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11660	----	ETHEL MORTON'S ENTERPRISE By MABELL S.C. SMITH CONTENTS I HOW IT STARTED II A SNOW MAN AND SEED CATALOGUES III DOROTHY TELLS HER SECRET IV GARDENING ON PAPER V A DEFECT IN THE TITLE VI WILD FLOWERS FOR HELEN'S GARDEN VII COLOR SCHEMES VIII CAVE LIFE IX "NOTHING BUT LEAVES" X THE U.S.C. AND THE COMMUNITY XI THE FLOWER FESTIVAL XII ENOUGH TO GIVE AWAY XIII IN BUSINESS XIV UNCLE DAN'S RESEARCHES XV FUR AND FOSSILS XVI FAIRYLAND XVII THE MISSING HEIRESS CHAPTER I HOW IT STARTED Ethel Morton, called from the color of her eyes Ethel "Blue" to distinguish her from her cousin, also Ethel Morton, whose brown eyes gave her the nickname of Ethel "Brown," was looking out of the window at the big, damp flakes of snow that whirled down as if in a hurry to cover the dull January earth with a gay white carpet. "The giants are surely having a pillow fight this afternoon," she laughed. "In honor of your birthday," returned her cousin. "The snowflakes are really as large as feathers," added Dorothy Smith, another cousin, who had come over to spend the afternoon. All three cousins had birthdays in January. The Mortons always celebrated the birthdays of every member of the family, but since there were three in the same month they usually had one large party and noticed the other days with less ceremony. This year Mrs. Emerson, Ethel Brown's grandmother, had invited the whole United Service Club, to which the girls belonged, to go to New York on a day's expedition. They had ascended the Woolworth Tower, gone through the Natural History Museum, seen the historic Jumel Mansion, lunched at a large hotel and gone to the Hippodrome. Everybody called it a perfectly splendid party, and Ethel Blue and Dorothy were quite willing to consider it as a part of their own birthday observances. Next year it would be Dorothy's turn. This year her party had consisted merely in taking her cousins on an automobile ride. A similar ride had been planned for Ethel Blue's birthday, but the giants had plans of their own and the young people had had to give way to them. Dorothy had come over to spend the afternoon and dine with her cousins, however. She lived just around the corner, so her mother was willing to let her go in spite of the gathering drifts, because Roger, Ethel Brown's older brother, would be able to take her home such a short distance, even if he had to shovel a path all the way. The snow was so beautiful that they had not wanted to do anything all the afternoon but gaze at it. Dicky, Ethel Brown's little brother, who was the "honorary member" of the U.S.C., had come in wanting to be amused, and they had opened the window for an inch and brought in a few of the huge flakes which grew into ferns and starry crystals under the magnifying glass that Mrs. Morton always kept on the desk. "Wouldn't it be fun if our eyeth could thee thingth like that!" exclaimed Dicky, and the girls agreed with him that it would add many marvels to our already marvellous world. "As long as our eyes can't see the wee things I'm glad Aunt Marion taught us to use this glass when we were little," said Ethel Blue who had been brought up with her cousins ever since she was a baby. "Mother says that when she and Uncle Roger and Uncle Richard," said Dorothy, referring to Ethel Brown's and Ethel Blue's fathers, her uncles--"were all young at home together Grandfather Morton used to make them examine some new thing every day and tell him about it. Sometimes it would be the materials a piece of clothing was made of, or the paper of a magazine or a flower--anything that came along." [Illustration: "It looked just as if it were a house with a lot of rooms"] "When I grow up," said Ethel Blue, "I'm going to have a large microscope like the one they have in the biology class in the high school. Helen took me to the class with her one day and the teacher let me look through it. It was perfectly wonderful. There was a slice of the stem of a small plant there and it looked just as if it were a house with a lot of rooms. Each room was a cell, Helen said." "A very suitable name," commented Ethel Brown. "What are you people talking about?" asked Helen, who came in at that instant. "I was telling the girls about that time when I looked through the high school microscope," answered Ethel Blue. [Illustration: Single Cell] [Illustration: Double Cell] "You saw among other things, some cells in the very lowest form of life. A single cell is all there is to the lowest animal or vegetable." [Illustration: Multiple Cells] "What do you mean by a single cell?" "Just a tiny mass of jelly-like stuff that is called protoplasm. The cells grow larger and divide until there are a lot of them. That's the way plants and animals grow." "If each is as small as those I saw under the microscope there must be billions in me!" and Ethel Blue stretched her arms to their widest extent and threw her head upwards as far as her neck would allow. "I guess there are, young woman," and Helen went off to hang her snowy coat where it would dry before she put it in the closet. "There'th a thnow flake that lookth like a plant!" cried Dicky who had slipped open the window wide enough to capture an especially large feather. "It really does!" exclaimed Ethel Blue, who was nearest to her little cousin and caught a glimpse of the picture through the glass before the snow melted. "Did it have 'root, stem and leaves'?" asked Dorothy. "That's what I always was taught made a plant--root, stem and leaves. Would Helen call a cell that you couldn't see a plant?" "Yes," came a faint answer from the hall. "If it's living and isn't an animal it's a vegetable--though way down in the lower forms it's next to impossible to tell one from the other. There isn't any rule that doesn't have an exception." "I should think the biggest difference would be that animals eat plants and plants eat--what do plants eat?" ended Dorothy lamely. "That is the biggest difference," assented Helen. "Plants are fed by water and mineral substances that come from the soil directly, while animals get the mineral stuff by way of the plants." "Father told us once about some plants that caught insects. They eat animals." "And there are animals that eat both vegetables and animals, you and I, for instance. So you can't draw any sharp lines." "When a plant gets out of the cell stage and has a 'root, stem and leaves' then you know it's a plant if you don't before," insisted Dorothy, determined to make her knowledge useful. "Did any of you notice the bean I've been sprouting in my room?" asked Helen. "I'll get it, I'll get it!" shouted Dicky. "Trust Dicky not to let anything escape his notice!" laughed his big sister. Dicky returned in a minute or two carrying very carefully a shallow earthenware dish from which some thick yellow-green tips were sprouting. "I soaked some peas and beans last week," explained Helen, "and when they were tender I planted them. You see they're poking up their heads now." [Illustration: Bean Plant] "They don't look like real leaves," commented Ethel Blue. "This first pair is really the two halves of the bean. They hold the food for the little plant. They're so fat and pudgy that they never do look like real leaves. In other plants where there isn't so much food they become quite like their later brothers." "Isn't it queer that whatever makes the plant grow knows enough to send the leaves up and the roots down," said Dorothy thoughtfully. "That's the way the life principle works," agreed Helen. "This other little plant is a pea and I want you to see if you notice any difference between it and the bean." She pulled up the wee growth very delicately and they all bent over it as it lay in her hand. "It hathn't got fat leaveth," cried Dicky. [Illustration: The Pea Plant] "Good for Dicky," exclaimed Helen. "He has beaten you girls. You see the food in the pea is packed so tight that the pea gets discouraged about trying to send up those first leaves and gives it up as a bad job. They stay underground and do their feeding from there." "A sort of cold storage arrangement," smiled Ethel Brown. "After these peas are a little taller you'd find if you pulled them up that the supply of food had all been used up. There will be nothing down there but a husk." "What happens when this bean plant uses up all its food?" "There's nothing left but a sort of skin that drops off. You can see how it works with the bean because that is done above the ground." "Won't it hurt those plants to pull them up this way?" "It will set them back, but I planted a good many so as to be able to pull them up at different ages and see how they looked." "You pulled that out so gently I don't believe it will be hurt much." "Probably it will take a day or two for it to catch up with its neighbors. It will have to settle its roots again, you see." "What are you doing this planting for?" asked Dorothy. "For the class at school. We get all the different kinds of seeds we can--the ones that are large enough to examine easily with only a magnifying glass like this one. Some we cut open and examine carefully inside to see how the new leaves are to be fed, and then we plant others and watch them grow." "I'd like to know why you never told me about that before?" demanded Ethel Brown. "I'm going to get all the grains and fruits I can right off and plant them. Is all that stuff in a horse chestnut leaf-food?" "The horse chestnut is a hungry one, isn't it?" "I made some bulbs blossom by putting them in a tall glass in a dark place and bringing them into the light when they had started to sprout," said Ethel Blue, "but I think this is more fun. I'm going to plant some, too." "Grandmother Emerson always has beautiful bulbs. She has plenty in her garden that she allows to stay there all winter, and they come up and are scrumptious very early in the Spring. Then she takes some of them into the house and keeps them in the dark, and they blossom all through the cold weather." "Mother likes bulbs, too," said Dorothy, "crocuses and hyacinths and Chinese lilies--but I never cared much about them. Somehow the bulb itself looks too fat. I don't care much for fat things or people." "Don't think of it as fat; it's the food supply." "Well, I think they're greedy things, and I'm not going ever to bother with them. I'll leave them to Mother, but I am really going to plant a garden this summer. I think it will be loads of fun." "We haven't much room for a garden here," said Helen, "but we always have some vegetables and a few flowers." "Why don't we have a fine one this summer, Helen?" demanded Ethel Brown. "You're learning a lot about the way plants grow, I should think you'd like to grow them." "I believe I should if you girls would help me. There never has been any member of the family who was interested, and I wasn't wild about it myself, and I just never got started." "The truth is," confessed Ethel Brown, "if we don't have a good garden Dorothy here will have something that will put ours entirely in the shade." The girls all laughed. They never had known Dorothy until the previous summer. When she came to live in Rosemont in September they had learned that she was extremely energetic and that she never abandoned any plan that she attempted. The Ethels knew, therefore, that if Dorothy was going to have a garden the next summer they'd better have a garden, too, or else they would see little of her. "If we both have gardens Dorothy will condescend to come and see ours once in a while and we can exchange ideas and experiences," continued Ethel Brown. "I'd love to have a garden," said Ethel Blue. "Do you suppose Roger would be willing to dig it up for us?" "Dig up what?" asked Roger, stamping into the house in time to hear his name. The girls told him of their new plan. "I'll help all of you if you'll plant one flower that I like; plant enough of it so that I can pick a lot any time I want to. The trouble with the little garden we've had is that there weren't enough flowers for more than the centrepiece in the dining-room. Whenever I wanted any I always had to go and give a squint at the dining room table and then do some calculation as to whether there could be a stalk or two left after Helen had cut enough for the next day." "And there generally weren't any!" sympathized Helen. "What flower is it you're so crazy over?" asked Ethel Blue. "Sweetpeas, my child. Never in all my life have I had enough sweetpeas." "I've had more than enough," groaned Ethel Brown. "One summer I stayed a fortnight with Grandmother Emerson and I picked the sweetpeas for her every morning. She was very particular about having them picked because they blossom better if they're picked down every day." "It must have taken you an awfully long time; she always has rows and rows of them," said Helen. "I worked a whole hour in the sun every single day! If we have acres of sweetpeas we'll all have to help Roger pick." "I'm willing to," said Ethel Blue. "I'm like Roger, I think they're darling; just like butterflies or something with wings." "We'll have to cast our professional eyes into the garden and decide on the best place for the sweetpeas," said Roger. "They have to be planted early, you know. If we plant them just anywhere they'll be sure to be in the way of something that grows shorter so it will be hidden." "Or grows taller and is a color that fights with them." "It would be hard to find a color that wasn't matched by one sweetpea or another. They seem to be of every combination under the sun." "It's queer, some of the combinations would be perfectly hideous in a dress but they look all right in Nature's dress." "We'll send for some seedsmen's catalogues and order a lot." "I suppose you don't care what else goes into the garden?" asked Helen. "Ladies, I'll do all the digging you want, and plant any old thing you ask me to, if you'll just let me have my sweetpeas," repeated Roger. "A bargain," cried all the girls. "I'll write for some seed catalogues this afternoon," said Helen. "It's so appropriate, when it's snowing like this!" "'Take time by the fetlock,' as one of the girls says in 'Little Women,'" laughed Roger. "If you'll cast your orbs out of the window you'll see that it has almost stopped. Come on out and make a snow man." Every one jumped at the idea, even Helen who laid aside her writing until the evening, and there was a great putting on of heavy coats and overshoes and mittens. CHAPTER II A SNOW MAN AND SEED CATALOGUES The snow was of just the right dampness to make snowballs, and a snow man, after all, is just a succession of snowballs, properly placed. Roger started the one to go at the base by rolling up a ball beside the house and then letting it roll down the bank toward the gate. "See it gather moss!" he cried. "It's just the opposite of a rolling stone, isn't it?" When it stopped it was of goodly size and it was standing in the middle of the little front lawn. "It couldn't have chosen a better location," commended Helen. "We need a statue in the front yard," said Ethel Brown. "This will give a truly artistic air to the whole place," agreed Ethel Blue. "What's the next move?" asked Dorothy, who had not had much experience in this kind of manufacture. "We start over here by the fence and roll another one, smaller than this, to serve as the body," explained Roger. "Come on here and help me; this snow is so heavy it needs an extra pusher already." Dorothy lent her muscles to the task of pushing on the snow man's "torso," as Ethel Blue, who knew something about drawing figures, called it. The Ethels, meanwhile, were making the arms out of small snowballs placed one against the next and slapped hard to make them stick. Helen was rolling a ball for the head and Dicky had disappeared behind the house to hunt for a cane. "Heigho!" Roger called after him. "I saw an old clay pipe stuck behind a beam in the woodshed the other day. See if it's still there and bring it along." Dicky nodded and raised a mittened paw to indicate that he understood his instructions. It required the united efforts of Helen and Roger to set the gentleman's head on his shoulders, and Helen ran in to the cellar to get some bits of coal to make his eyes and mouth. "He hasn't any expression. Let me try to model a nose for the poor lamb!" begged Ethel Blue. "Stick on this arm, Roger, while I sculpture these marble features." By dint of patting and punching and adding a long and narrow lump of snow, one side of the head looked enough different from the other to warrant calling it the face. To make the difference more marked Dorothy broke some straws from the covering of one of the rosebushes and created hair with them. "Now nobody could mistake this being his speaking countenance," decided Helen, sticking two pieces of coal where eyes should be and adding a third for the mouth. Dicky had found the pipe and she thrust it above his lips. "Merely two-lips, not ruby lips," commented Roger. "This is an original fellow; he's 'not like other girls.'" "This cane is going to hold up his right arm; I don't feel so certain about the left," remarked Ethel Brown anxiously. "Let it fall at his side. That's some natural, anyway. He's walking, you see, swinging one arm and with the other on the top of his cane." "He'll take cold if he doesn't have something on his head. I'm nervous about him," and Dorothy bent a worried look at their creation. "Hullo," cried a voice from beyond the gate. "He's bully. Just make him a cap out of this bandanna and he'll look like a Venetian gondolier." James Hancock and his sister, Margaret, the Glen Point members of the United Service Club, came through the gate, congratulated Ethel Blue on her birthday, and paid elaborate compliments to the sculptors of the Gondolier. "That red hanky on his massive brow gives the touch of color he needed," said Margaret. "We don't maintain that his features are 'faultily faultless,'" quoted Roger, "but we do insist that they're 'icily regular.'" "Thanks to the size of the nose Ethel Blue stuck on they're not 'splendidly null.'" "No, there's no 'nullness' about that nose," agreed James. "That's 'some' nose!" When they were all in the house and preparing for dinner Ethel Blue unwrapped the gift that Margaret had brought for her birthday. It was a shallow bowl of dull green pottery in which was growing a grove of thick, shiny leaves. The plants were three or four inches tall and seemed to be in the pink of condition. "This is for the top of your Christmas desk," Margaret explained. "It's perfectly beautiful," exclaimed not only Ethel Blue but all the other girls, while Roger peered over their shoulders to see what it was. "I planted it myself," said Margaret with considerable pride. "Each one is a little grapefruit tree." "Grapefruit? What we have for breakfast? It grows like this?" "Mother has some in a larger bowl and it is really lovely as a centrepiece on the dining room table." "Watch me save grapefruit seeds!" and Ethel Brown ran out of the room to leave an immediate request in the kitchen that no grapefruit seeds should be thrown away when the fruit was being prepared for the table. "When Mr. Morton and I were in Florida last winter," said Mrs. Morton, "they told us that it was not a great number of years ago that grapefruit was planted only because it was a handsome shrub on the lawn. The fruit never was eaten, but was thrown away after it fell from the tree." "Now nobody can get enough of it," smiled Helen. "Mother has a receipt for grapefruit marmalade that is better than the English orange marmalade that is made of both sweet and sour oranges," said Dorothy. "Sometimes the sour oranges are hard to find in the market, but grapefruit seems to have both flavors in itself." "Is it much work?" asked Margaret. "It isn't much work at any one time but it takes several days to get it done." "Why?" "First you have to cut up the fruit, peel and all, into tiny slivers. That's a rather long undertaking and it's hard unless you have a very, very sharp knife." "I've discovered that in preparing them for breakfast." "The fruit are of such different sizes that you have to weigh the result of your paring. To every pound of cut-up fruit add a pint of water and let it stand over night. In the morning pour off that water and fill the kettle again and let it boil until the toughest bit of skin is soft, and then let it stand over night more." "It seems to do an awful lot of resting," remarked Roger. "A sort of 'weary Willie,'" commented James. "When you're ready to go at it again, you weigh it once more and add four times as many pounds of sugar as you have fruit." "You must have to make it in a wash-boiler!" "Not quite as bad as that, but you'll be surprised to find how much three or four grapefruit will make. You boil this together until it is as thick as you like to have your marmalade." "I can recommend Aunt Louise's marmalade," said Ethel Brown. "It's the very best I ever tasted. She taught me to make these grapefruit chips," and she handed about a bonbon dish laden with delicate strips of sugared peel. "Let's have this receipt, too," begged Margaret, as Roger went to answer the telephone. "You can squeeze out the juice and pulp and add a quart of water to a cup of juice, sweeten it and make grapefruit-ade instead of lemonade for a variety. Then take the skins and cut out all the white inside part as well as you can, leaving just the rind." "The next step must be to snip the rind into these long, narrow shavings." "It is, and you put them in cold water and let them come to a boil and boil twenty minutes. Then drain off all the water and add cold water and do it again." "What's the idea of two boilings?" asked James. "I suppose it must be to take all the bitterness out of the skin at the same time that it is getting soft." "Does this have to stand over night?" "Yes, this sits and meditates all night. Then you put it on to boil again in a syrup made of one cup of water and four cups of sugar, and boil it until the bits are all saturated with the sweetness. If you want to eat them right off you roll them now in powdered sugar or confectioner's sugar, but if you aren't in a hurry you put them into a jar and keep the air out and roll them just before you want to serve them." "They certainly are bully good," remarked James, taking several more pieces. "That call was from Tom Watkins," announced Roger, returning from the telephone, and referring to a member of the United Service Club who, with his sister, Della, lived in New York. "O dear, they can't come!" prophesied Ethel Blue. "He says he has just been telephoning to the railroad and they say that all the New Jersey trains are delayed and so Mrs. Watkins thought he'd better not try to bring Della out. She sends her love to you, Ethel Blue, and her best wishes for your birthday and says she's got a present for you that is different from any plant you ever saw in a conservatory." "That's what Margaret's is," laughed Ethel. "Isn't it queer you two girls should give me growing things when we were talking about gardens this afternoon and deciding to have one this summer." "One!" repeated Dorothy. "Don't forget mine. There'll be two." "If Aunt Louise should find a lot and start to build there'd be another," suggested Ethel Brown. "O, let's go into the gardening business," cried Roger. "I've already offered to be the laboring man at the beck and call of these young women all for the small reward of having all the sweetpeas I want to pick." "What we're afraid of is that he won't want to pick them," laughed Ethel Brown. "We're thinking of binding him to do a certain amount of picking every day." "Anyway, the Morton-Smith families are going to have gardens and Helen is going to write for seed catalogues this very night before she seeks her downy couch--she has vowed she will." "Mother has always had a successful garden, she'll be able to give you advice," offered Margaret. "We'll ask it from every one we know, I rather imagine," and Dorothy beamed at the prospect of doing something that had been one of her great desires all her life. The little thicket of grapefruit trees served as the centrepiece of Ethel Blue's dinner table, and every one admired all over again its glossy leaves and sturdy stems. "When spring comes we'll set them out in the garden and see what happens," promised Ethel Blue. "We have grapefruit salad to-night. You must have sent a wireless over to the kitchen," Ethel Brown declared to Margaret. It was a delicious salad, the cubes of the grapefruit being mixed with cubes of apple and of celery, garnished with cherries and served on crisp yellow-green lettuce leaves with French dressing. Ethel Blue always liked to see her Aunt Marion make French dressing at the table, for her white hands moved swiftly and skilfully among the ingredients. Mary brought her a bowl that had been chilled on ice. Into it she poured four tablespoonfuls of olive oil, added a scant half teaspoonful of salt with a dash of red pepper which she stirred until the salt was dissolved. To that combination she added one tablespoonful either of lemon juice or vinegar a drop at a time and stirring constantly so that the oil might take up its sharper neighbor. Dorothy particularly approved her Aunt Marion's manner of putting her salads together. To-night, for instance, she did not have the plates brought in from the kitchen with the salad already upon them. "That always reminds me of a church fair," she declared. She was willing to give herself the trouble of preparing the salad for her family and guests with her own hands. From a bowl of lettuce she selected the choicest leaves for the plate before her; upon these she placed the fruit and celery mixture, dotted the top with a cherry and poured the dressing over all. It was fascinating to watch her, and Margaret wished that her mother served salad that way. The Club was indeed incomplete without the Watkinses, but the members nevertheless were sufficiently amused by several of the "Does"--things to do--that one or another suggested. First they did shadow drawings. The dining table proved to be the most convenient spot for that. They all sat around under the strong electric light. Each had a block of rather heavy paper with a rough surface, and each was given a camel's hair brush, a bottle of ink, some water and a small saucer. From a vase of flowers and leaves and ferns which Mrs. Morton contributed to the game each selected what he wanted to draw. Then, holding his leaf so that the light threw a sharp shadow upon his pad, he quickly painted the shadow with the ink, thinning it with water upon the saucer so that the finished painting showed several shades of gray. "The beauty of this stunt is that a fellow who can't draw at all can turn out almost as good a masterpiece as Ethel Blue here, who has the makings of a real artist," and James gazed at his production with every evidence of satisfaction. As it happened none of them except Ethel Blue could draw at all well, so that the next game had especial difficulties. "All there is to it is to draw something and let us guess what it is," said Ethel Blue. "You haven't given all the rules," corrected Roger. "Ethel Blue makes two dots on a piece of paper--or a short line and a curve--anything she feels like making. Then we copy them and draw something that will include those two marks and she sits up and 'ha-has' and guesses what it is." "I promise not to laugh," said Ethel Blue. "Don't make any such rash promise," urged Helen. "You might do yourself an injury trying not to when you see mine." It was fortunate for Ethel Blue that she was released from the promise, for her guesses went wide of the mark. Ethel Brown made something that she guessed to be a hen, Roger called it a book, Dicky maintained firmly that it was a portrait of himself. The rest gave it up, and they all needed a long argument by the artist to believe that she had meant to draw a pair of candlesticks. "Somebody think of a game where Ethel Brown can do herself justice," cried James, but no one seemed to have any inspiration, so they all went to the fire, where they cracked nuts and told stories. "If you'll write those orders for the seed catalogues I'll post them to-night," James suggested to Helen. "Oh, will you? Margaret and I will write them together." "What's the rush?" demanded Roger. "This is only January." "I know just how the girls feel," sympathized James. "When I make up my mind to do a thing I want to begin right off, and the first step of this new scheme is to get the catalogues hereinbefore mentioned." "We can plan out our back yards any time, I should think," said Dorothy. "Father says that somebody--was it Bacon, Margaret?--says that a man's nature runs always either to herbs or to weeds. Let's start ours running to herbs in the first month of the year and perhaps by the time the herbs appear we'll catch up with them." CHAPTER III DOROTHY TELLS HER SECRET "How queer it is that when you're interested in something you keep seeing and hearing things connected with it!" exclaimed Ethel Blue about a week after her birthday, when Della Watkins came out from town to bring her her belated birthday gift. The present proved to be a slender hillock covered with a silky green growth exquisite in texture and color. "What is it? What is it?" cried Ethel Blue. "We mentioned plants and gardens on my birthday and that very evening Margaret brought me this grapefruit jungle and now you've brought me this. Do tell me exactly what it is." "A cone, child. That's all. A Norway spruce cone. When it is dry its scales are open. I filled them with grass seed and put the cone in a small tumbler so that the lower end might be damp all the time. The dampness makes the scales close and starts the seed to sprouting. This has been growing a few days and the cone is almost hidden." "It's one of the prettiest plants--would you call it a plant or a greenhouse?--I ever saw. Does it have to be a Norway spruce cone?" "O, no. Only they have very regular scales that hold the seed well. I brought you out two more of them and some grass seed and canary seed so you could try it for yourself." "You're a perfect duck," and Ethel gave her friend a hug. "Now let me show you what one of the girls at school gave Ethel Brown." She indicated a strange-looking brown object hanging before the window. "What in the world is it? It looks--yes, it looks like a sweet potato." "That's what it is--a sweet potato with one end cut off and a cage of tape to hold it. You see it's sprouting already, and they say that the vines hang down from it and it looks like a little green hanging basket." "What's the object of cutting off the end?" "Anna--that's Ethel Brown's friend--said that she scooped hers out just a little bit and put a few drops of water inside so that the sun shouldn't dry it too much." "I should think it would grow better in a dark place. Don't you know how Irish potatoes send out those white shoots when they're in the cellar?" "She said she started hers in the cellar and then brought them into the light." "Just like bulbs." "Exactly. Aunt Louise is having great luck with her bulbs now. She had them in the cellar and now she is bringing them out a pot at a time, so she has something new coming forward every few days." "Dorothy doesn't care much for bulbs, but I think it's pretty good fun. You can make them blossom just about when you please by keeping them in the dark or bringing them into the light. I'm going to ask Aunt Louise to give me some of hers when they're finished flowering. She says you can plant them out of doors and next year they'll bloom in the garden." "Mother has some this winter, too. I'll ask her for them after she's through forcing them." "I like them in the garden, too--tulips and hyacinths and daffodils and narcissus and, jonquils. They come so early and give you a feeling that spring really has arrived." "You look as if spring had really arrived in the house here. If there wasn't a little bit of that snow man left in front I shouldn't know it had snowed last week. How in the world did you get all these shrubs to blossom now? They don't seem to realize that it's only January." "That's another thing that's happened since my birthday. Margaret told us about bringing branches of the spring shrubs into the house and making them come out in water, so we've been trying it. She sent over those yellow bells, the Forsythia, and Roger brought in the pussy willows from the brook on the way to Mr. Emerson's." "This thorny red affair is the Japan quince, but I don't recognize these others." "That's because you're a city girl! You'll laugh when I tell you what they are." "They don't look like flowering shrubs to me." "They aren't. They're flowering trees; fruit trees!" "O-o! That really is a peach blossom, then!" "The deep pink is peach, and the delicate pink is apple and the white is plum." "They're perfectly dear. Tell me how you coaxed them out. Surely you didn't just keep them in water in this room?" "We put them in the sunniest window we had, not too near the glass, because it wouldn't do for them to run any chance of getting chilled. They stayed there as long as the sun did, and then we moved them to another warm spot and we were very careful about them at night." "How often do you change the water?" "Every two or three days; and once in a while we spray them to keep the upper part fresh--and there you are. It's _fun_ to watch them come out. Don't want to take some switches back to town with you?" Della did. "They make me think of a scheme that my Aunt Rose is putting into operation. She went round the world year before last," she said, "and she saw in Japan lots of plants growing in earthenware vases hanging against the wall or in a long bamboo cut so that small water bottles might be slipped in. She has some of the very prettiest wall decorations now--a queer looking greeny-brown pottery vase has two or three sprigs of English ivy. Another with orange tints has nasturtiums and another tradescantia." "Are they growing in water?" "The ivy and the tradescantia are, but the nasturtiums and a perfectly darling morning glory have earth. She's growing bulbs in them, too, only she doesn't use plain water or earth, just bulb fibre." "What's that?" "Why, bulbs are such fat creatures that they don't need the outside food they would get from earth; all they want is plenty of water. This fibre stuff holds enough water to keep them damp all the time, and it isn't messy in the house like dirt." "What are you girls talking about?" asked Dorothy, who came in with Ethel Brown at this moment. Both of them were interested in the addition that Della had made to their knowledge of flowers and gardening. "Every day I feel myself drawn into more and more gardening," exclaimed Dorothy. "I've set up a notebook already." "In January!" laughed Della. "January seems to be the time to do your thinking and planning; that's what the people who know tell me." "It seems to be the time for some action," retorted Della, waving her hand at the blossoming branches about the room. "Aren't they wonderful? I always knew you could bring them out quickly in the house after the buds were started out of doors, but these fellows didn't seem to be started at all--and look at them!" "Mother says they've done so well because we've been careful to keep them evenly warm," said Ethel Brown. "Dorothy's got the finest piece of news to tell you. If she doesn't tell you pretty soon I shall come out with it myself!" "O, let her tell her own secret!" remonstrated Blue. "What is it?" You know that sloping piece of ground about a quarter of a mile beyond the Clarks' on the road to Mr. Emerson's?" "You don't mean the field with the brook where Roger got the pussy willows?" "This side of it. There's a lovely view across the meadows on the other side of the road, and the land runs back to some rocks and big trees." "Certainly I know it," assented Ethel Blue. "There's a hillock on it that's the place I've chosen for a house when I grow up and build one." "Well, you can't have it because I've got there first!" "What do you mean? Has Aunt Louise--?" "She has." "How grand! How _grand_! You'll be farther away from us than you are now but it's a dear duck of a spot--" "And it's right on the way to Grandfather Emerson's," added Ethel Brown. "Mother signed the papers this morning and she's going to begin to build as soon as the weather will allow." "With peach trees in blossom now that ought not to be far off," laughed Della, waving her hand again at the blossoms that pleased her so much. "How large a house is she going to build?" asked Ethel Blue. "Not very big. Large enough for her and me and a guest or two and of course Elisabeth and Miss Merriam," referring to a Belgian baby who had been brought to the United Service Club from war-stricken Belgium, and to her caretaker, a charming young woman from the School of Mothercraft. "Will it be made of concrete?" "Yes, and Mother says we may all help a lot in making the plans and in deciding on the decoration and everything." "Isn't she the darling! It will be the next best thing to building a house yourself!" "There will be a garage behind the house." "A garage! Is Aunt Louise going to set up a car?" "Just a small one that she can drive herself. Back of the garage there's plenty of space for a garden and she says she'll turn that over to me. I can do anything I want with it as long as I'll be sure to have enough vegetables for the table and lots of flowers for the house." "O, my; O, my; what fun we'll have," ejaculated Della, who knew that Dorothy could have no pleasure that she would not share equally with the rest of the Club. "I came over now to see if you people didn't want to walk over there and see it." "This minute?" "This minute." "Of course we do--if Della doesn't have to take the train back yet?" "Not for a long time. I'd take a later one anyway; I couldn't wait until the Saturday Club meeting to see it." "How did you know I'd suggest a walk there for the Saturday Club meeting?" "Could you help it?" retorted Della, laughing. They timed themselves so that they might know just how far away from them Dorothy was going to be and they found that it was just about half way to Grandfather Emerson's. As somebody from the Mortons' went there every day, and as the distance was, in reality, not long, they were reassured as to the Smiths being quite out in the country as the change had seemed to them at first. "You won't be able to live in the house this summer, will you?" asked Ethel Blue. "Not until late in the summer or perhaps even later than that. Mother says she isn't in a hurry because she wants the work to be done well." "Then you won't plant the garden this year?" "Indeed I shall. I'm going to plant the new garden and the garden where we are now." "Roger will strike on doing all the digging." "He'll have to have a helper on the new garden, but I'll plant his sweetpeas for him just the same. At the new place I'm going to have a large garden." "Up here on the hill?" The girls were climbing up the ascent that rose sharply from the road. "The house will perch on top of this little hill. Back of it, you see, on top of the ridge, it's quite flat and the garden will be there. I was talking about it with Mr. Emerson this morning--" "Oho, you've called Grandfather into consultation already!" "He's going to be our nearest neighbor on that side. He said that a ridge like this was one of the best places for planting because it has several exposures to the sun and you can find a spot to suit the fancy of about every plant there is." "Your garden will be cut off from the house by the garage. Shall you have another nearer the road?" "Next summer there will have to be planting of trees and shrubs and vines around the house but this year I shall attend to the one up here in the field." "Brrrr! It looks bleak enough now," shivered Ethel Blue. "Let's go up in those woods and see what's there." "Has Aunt Louise bought them?" "No, but she wants to. They don't belong to the same man who owned this piece of land. They belong to the Clarks. She's going to see about it right off, because it looks so attractive and rocky and woodsy." "You'd have the brook, too." "I hope she'll be able to get it. Of course just this piece is awfully pretty, and this is the only place for a house, but the meadow with the brook and the rocks and the woods at the back would be too lovely for words. Why, you'd feel as if you had an estate." The girls laughed at Dorothy's enthusiasm over the small number of acres that were included even in the combined lots of land, but they agreed with her that the additional land offered a variety that was worth working hard to obtain. They made their way up the slope and among the jumble of rocks that looked as if giants had been tossing them about in sport. Small trees grew from between them as they lay heaped in disorder and taller growths stretched skyward from an occasional open space. The brook began in a spring that bubbled clear and cold, from under a slab of rock. Round about it all was covered with moss, still green, though frozen stiff by the snowstorm's chilly blasts. Shrivelled ferns bending over its mouth promised summer beauties. "What a lovely spot!" cried Ethel Blue. "This is where fairies and wood nymphs live when that drift melts. Don't you know this must be a great gathering place for birds? Can't you see them now dipping their beaks into the water and cocking their heads up at the sky afterwards!" and she quoted:-- "Dip, birds, dip Where the ferns lean over, And their crinkled edges drip, Haunt and hover." "Here's the best place yet!" called Dorothy, who had pushed on and was now out of sight. "Where are you?" "Here. See if you can find me," came a muffled answer. "Where do you suppose she went to?" asked Ethel Brown, as they all three straightened themselves, yet saw no sign of Dorothy. "I hope she hasn't fallen down a precipice and been killed!" said Ethel Blue, whose imagination sometimes ran away with her. "More likely she has twisted her ankle," practical Ethel Brown. "She wouldn't sound as gay as that if anything had happened to her," Della reminded them. The cries that kept reaching them were unquestionably cheerful but where they came from was a problem that they did not seem able to solve. It was only when Dorothy poked out her head from behind a rock almost in front of them that they saw the entrance of what looked like a real cave. "It's the best imitation of a cave I ever did see!" the explorer exclaimed. "These rocks have tumbled into just the right position to make the very best house! Come in." Her guests were eager to accept her invitation. There was space enough for all of them and two or three more might easily be accommodated within, while a bit of smooth grass outside the entrance almost added another room, "if you aren't particular about a roof," as Ethel Brown said. "Do you suppose Roger has never found this!" wondered Dorothy. "See, there's room enough for a fireplace with a chimney. You could cook here. You could sleep here. You could _live_ here!" The others laughed at her enthusiasm, but they themselves were just as enthusiastic. The possibilities of spending whole days here in the shade and cool of the trees and rocks and of imagining that they were in the highlands of Scotland left them almost gasping. "Don't you remember when Fitz-James first sees Ellen in the 'Lady of the Lake'?" asked Ethel Blue. "He was separated from his men and found himself in a rocky glen overlooking a lake. The rocks were bigger than these but we can pretend they were just the same," and she recited a few lines from a poem whose story they all knew and loved. "But not a setting beam could glow Within the dark ravines below, Where twined the path in shadow hid, Round many a rocky pyramid." "I remember; he looked at the view a long time and then he blew his horn again to see if he could make any of his men hear him, and Ellen came gliding around a point of land in a skiff. She thought it was her father calling her." "And the stranger went home to their lodge and fell in love with her--O, it's awfully romantic. I must read it again," and Dorothy gazed at the rocks around her as if she were really in Scotland. "Has anybody a knife?" asked Della's clear voice, bringing them all sharply back to America and Rosemont. "My aunt--the one who has the hanging flowerpots I was telling you about--isn't a bit well and I thought I'd make her a little fernery that she could look at as she lies in bed." "But the ferns are all dried up." "'Greenery' is a better name. Here's a scrap of partridge berry with a red berry still clinging to it, and here's a bit of moss as green as it was in summer, and here--yes, it's alive, it really is!" and she held up in triumph a tiny fern that had been so sheltered under the edge of a boulder that it had kept fresh and happy. There was nothing more to reward their search, for they all hunted with Della, but she was not discouraged. "I only want a handful of growing things," she explained. "I put these in a finger bowl, and sprinkle a few seeds of grass or canary seed on the moss and dash some water on it from the tips of my fingers. Another finger bowl upside down makes the cover. The sick person can see what is going on inside right through the glass without having to raise her head." "How often do you water it?" "Only once or twice a week, because the moisture collects on the upper glass of the little greenhouse and falls down again on the plants and keeps them, wet." "We'll keep our eyes open every time we come here," promised Dorothy. "There's no reason why you couldn't add a little root of this or that any time you want to." [Illustration: Partridge Berry] "I know Aunty will be delighted with it," cried Della, much pleased. "She likes all plants, but especially things that are a little bit different. That's why she spends so much time selecting her wall vases--so that they shall be unlike other people's." "Fitz-James's woods," as they already called the bit of forest that Dorothy hoped to have possession of, extended back from the road and spread until it joined Grandfather Emerson's woods on one side and what was called by the Rosemonters "the West Woods" on the other. The girls walked home by a path that took them into Rosemont not far from the station where Della was to take the train. "Until you notice what there really is in the woods in winter you think there isn't anything worth looking at," said Ethel Blue, walking along with her eyes in the tree crowns. "The shapes of the different trees are as distinct now as they are in summer," declared Ethel Brown. "You'd know that one was an oak, and the one next to it a beech, wouldn't you?" "I don't know whether I would or not," confessed Dorothy honestly, "but I can almost always tell a tree by its bark." "I can tell a chestnut by its bark nowadays," asserted Ethel Blue, "because it hasn't any!" "What on earth do you mean?" inquired city-bred Della. "Something or other has killed all the chestnuts in this part of the world in the last two or three years. Don't you see all these dead trees standing with bare trunks?" "Poor old things! Is it going to last?" "It spread up the Hudson and east and west in New York and Massachusetts, and south into Pennsylvania." "Roger was telling Grandfather a few days ago that a farmer was telling him that he thought the trouble--the pest or the blight or whatever it was--had been stopped." "I remember now seeing a lot of dead trees somewhere when one of Father's parishioners took us motoring in the autumn. I didn't know the chestnut crop was threatened." "Chestnuts weren't any more expensive this year. They must have imported them from far-off states." There were still pools of water in the wood path, left by the melting snow, and the grass that they touched seemed a trifle greener than that beside the narrow road. Once in a while a bit of vivid green betrayed a plant that had found shelter under an overhanging stone. The leaves were for the most part dry enough again to rustle under their feet. Evergreens stood out sharply dark against the leafless trees. "What are the trees that still have a few leaves left clinging to them?" asked Della. "Oaks. Do you know why the leaves stay on?" "Is it a story?" "Yes, a pleasant story. Once the Great Evil Spirit threatened to destroy the whole world. The trees heard the threat and the oak tree begged him not to do anything so wicked. He insisted but at last he agreed not to do it until the last leaf had fallen in the autumn. All the trees meant to hold On to their leaves so as to ward off the awful disaster, but one after the other they let them go--all except the oak. The oak never yet has let fall every one of its leaves and so the Evil Spirit never has had a chance to put his threat into execution." "That's a lesson in success, isn't it? Stick to whatever it is you want to do and you're sure to succeed." "Watch me make my garden succeed," cried Dorothy. "If 'sticking' will make it a success I'm a stick!" CHAPTER IV GARDENING ON PAPER When Saturday came and the United Service Club tramped over Dorothy's new domain, including the domain that she hoped to have but was not yet sure of, every member agreed that the prospect was one that gave satisfaction to the Club as well as the possibility of pleasure and comfort to Mrs. Smith and Dorothy. The knoll they hailed as the exact spot where a house should go; the ridge behind it as precisely suited to the needs of a garden. As to the region of the meadow and the brook and the rocks and the trees they all hoped most earnestly that Mrs. Smith would be able to buy it, for they foresaw that it would provide much amusement for all of them during the coming summer and many to follow. Strangely enough Roger had never found the cave, and he looked on it with yearning. "Why in the world didn't I know of that three or four years ago!" he exclaimed. "I should have lived out here all summer!" "That's what we'd like to do," replied the Ethels earnestly. "We'll let you come whenever you want to." Roger gave a sniff, but the girls knew from his longing gaze that he was quite as eager as they to fit it up for a day camp even if he was nearly eighteen and going to college next autumn. When the exploring tour was over they gathered in their usual meeting place--Dorothy's attic--and discussed the gardens which had taken so firm a hold on the girls' imaginations. "There'll be a small garden in our back yard as usual," said Roger in a tone that admitted of no dispute. "And a small one in Dorothy's present back yard and a LARGE one on Miss Smith's farm," added Tom, who had confirmed with his own eyes the glowing tales that Della had brought home to him. "I suppose we may all have a chance at all of these institutions?" demanded James. "Your mother may have something to say about your attentions to your own garden," suggested Helen pointedly. "I won't slight it, but I've really got to have a finger in this pie if all of you are going to work at it!" "Well, you shall. Calm yourself," and Roger patted him with a soothing hand. "You may do all the digging I promised the girls I'd do." A howl of laughter at James's expense made the attic ring. James appeared quite undisturbed. "I'm ready to do my share," he insisted placidly. "Why don't we make plans of the gardens now?" "Methodical old James always has a good idea," commended Tom. "Is there any brown paper around these precincts, Dorothy?" "Must it be brown?" "Any color, but big sheets." "I see. There is plenty," and she spread it on the table where James had done so much pasting when they were making boxes in which to pack their presents for the war orphans. "Now, then, Roger, the first thing for us to do is to see--" "With our mind's eye, Horatio?" "--how these gardens are going to look. Take your pencil in hand and draw us a sketch of your backyard as it is now, old man." "That's easy," commented Roger. "Here are the kitchen steps; and here is the drying green, and back of that is the vegetable garden and around it flower beds and more over here next the fence." "It's rather messy looking as it is," commented Ethel Brown. "We never have changed it from the way the previous tenant laid it out." "The drying green isn't half large enough for the washing for our big family," added Helen appraisingly. "Mary is always lamenting that she can hang out only a few lines-ful at a time." "Why don't you give her this space behind the green and limit your flower beds to the fence line?" asked Tom, looking over Roger's shoulder as he drew in the present arrangement with some attention to the comparative sizes. "That would mean cutting out some of the present beds." "It would, but you'll have a share in Dorothy's new garden in case Mrs. Morton needs more flowers for the house; and the arrangement I suggest makes the yard look much more shipshape." "If we sod down these beds here what will Roger do for his sweetpeas? They ought to have the sun on both sides; the fence line wouldn't be the best place for them." "Sweetpeas ought to be planted on chicken wire supported by stakes and running from east to west," said Margaret wisely, "but under the circumstances, I don't see why you couldn't fence in the vegetable garden with sweetpeas. That would give you two east and west lines of them and two north and south." "And there would be space for all the blossoms that Roger would want to pick on a summer's day," laughed Della. "I've always wanted to have a garden of all pink flowers," announced Dorothy. "My room in the new house is going to be pink and I'd like to keep pink powers in it all the time." "I've always wanted to do that, too. Let's try one here," urged Ethel Brown, nodding earnestly at Ethel Blue. "I don't see why we couldn't have a pink bed and a blue bed and a yellow bed," returned Ethel Blue whose inner eye saw the plants already well grown and blossoming. "A wild flower bed is what I'd like," contributed Helen. "We mustn't forget to leave a space for Dicky," suggested Roger. "I want the garden I had latht year," insisted a decisive voice that preceded the tramp of determined feet over the attic stairs. "Where was it, son? I've forgotten." "In a corner of your vegetable garden. Don't you remember my raditheth were ripe before yourth were? Mother gave me a prithe for the firtht vegetableth out of the garden." "So she did. You beat me to it. Well, you may have the same corner again." "We ought to have some tall plants, hollyhocks or something like that, to cover the back fence," said Ethel Brown. "What do you say if we divide the border along the fence into four parts and have a wild garden and pink and yellow and blue beds? Then we can transplant any plants we have now that ought to go in some other color bed, and we can have the tall plants at the back of the right colors to match the bed in front of them?" "There can be pink hollyhocks at the back of the pink bed and we already have pinks and bleeding heart and a pink peony. We've got a good start at a pink bed already," beamed Ethel Brown. "We can put golden glow or that tall yellow snapdragon at the back of the yellow bed and tall larkspurs behind the blue flowers." "The Miss Clarks have a pretty border of dwarf ageratum--that bunchy, fuzzy blue flower. Let's have that for the border of our blue bed." "I remember it; it's as pretty as pretty. They have a dwarf marigold that we could use for the yellow border." "Or dwarf yellow nasturtiums." "Or yellow pansies." "We had a yellow stock last summer that was pretty and blossomed forever; nothing seemed to stop it but the 'chill blasts of winter.'" "Even the short stocks are too tall for a really flat border that would match the others. We must have some 'ten week stocks' in the yellow border, though." "Whatever we plant for the summer yellow border we must have the yellow spring bulbs right behind it--jonquils and daffodils and yellow tulips and crocuses." "They're all together now. All we'll have to do will be to select the spot for our yellow bed." "That's settled then. Mark it on this plan." Roger held it out to Ethel Brown, who found the right place and indicated the probable length of the yellow bed upon it. "We'll have the wild garden on one side of the yellow bed and the blue on the other and the pink next the blue," decreed Ethel Blue. "We haven't decided on the pink border," Dorothy reminded them. "There's a dwarf pink candytuft that couldn't be beaten for the purpose," said James decisively. "Mother and I planted some last year to see what it was like and it proved to be exactly what you want here." "I know what I'd like to have for the wild border--either wild ginger or hepatica," announced Helen after some thought. "I don't know either of them," confessed Tom. "You will after you've tramped the Rosemont woods with the U.S.C. all this spring," promised Ethel Brown. "They have leaves that aren't unlike in shape--" "The ginger is heart-shaped," interposed Ethel Blue, "and the hepatica is supposed to be liver-shaped." "You have to know some physiology to recognize them," said James gravely. "There's where a doctor's son has the advantage," and he patted his chest. "Their leaves seem much too juicy to be evergreen, but the hepatica does stay green all winter." [Illustration: Wild Ginger] "The ginger would make the better edging," Helen decided, "because the leaves lie closer to the ground." "What are the blossoms?" "The ginger has such a wee flower hiding under the leaves that it doesn't count, but the hepatica has a beautiful little blue or purple flower at the top of a hairy scape." "A hairy what?" laughed Roger. "A scape is a stem that grows up right from the or root-stock and carries only a flower--not any leaves," defined Helen. "That's a new one on me. I always thought a stem was a stem, whatever it carried," said Roger. [Illustration: Hepatica] "And a scape was a 'grace' or a 'goat' according to its activities," concluded Tom. "The hepatica would make a border that you wouldn't have to renew all the time," contributed Dorothy, who had been thinking so deeply that she had not heard a word of this interchange, and looked up, wondering why every one was laughing. "Dorothy keeps her eye on the ball," complimented James. "Have we decided on the background flowers for the wild bed?" "Joe-Pye-Weed is tall enough," offered James. "It's way up over my head." "It wouldn't cover the fence much; the blossom is handsome but the foliage is scanty." "There's a feathery meadow-rue that is tall. The leaves are delicate." "I know it; it has a fine white blossom and it grows in damp places. That will be just right. Aren't you going to have trouble with these wild plants that like different kinds of ground?" "Perhaps we are," Helen admitted. "Our garden is 'middling' dry, but we can keep the wet lovers moist by watering them more generously than the rest." "How about the watering systems of all these gardens, anyway? You have town water here and at Dorothy's, but how about the new place?" "The town water runs out as far as Mr. Emerson's, luckily for us, and Mother says she'll have the connection made as soon as the frost is out of the ground so the builders may have all they want for their work and I can have all I need for the garden there." "If you get that next field with the brook and you want to plant anything there you'll have to dig some ditches for drainage." "I think I'll keep up on the ridge that's drained by nature." "That's settled, then. We can't do much planning about the new garden until we go out in a body and make our decisions on the spot," said Margaret. "We'll have to put in vegetables and flowers where they'd rather grow." "That's what we're trying to do here, only it's on a small scale," Roger reminded her. "Our whole garden is about a twentieth of the new one." "I shouldn't wonder if we had to have some expert help with that," guessed James, who had gardened enough at Glen Point not to be ashamed to confess ignorance now and then. "Mr. Emerson has promised to talk it all over with me," said Dorothy. "Let's see what there is at Dorothy's present abode, then," said Roger gayly, and he took another sheet of brown paper and began to place on it the position of the house and the existing borders. "Do I understand, madam, that you're going to have a pink border here?" "I am," replied his cousin firmly, "both here and at the new place." "Life will take on a rosy hue for these young people if they can make it," commented Della. "Pink flowers, a pink room--is there anything else pink?" "The name. Mother and I have decided on 'Sweetbrier Lodge.' Don't you think it's pretty?" "Dandy," approved Roger concisely, as he continued to draw. "Do you want to change any of the beds that were here last summer?" he asked. "Mother said she liked their positions very well. This long, narrow one in front of the house is to be the pink one. I've got pink tulip bulbs in the ground now and there are some pink flowering shrubs--weigelia and flowering almond--already there against the lattice of the veranda. I'm going to work out a list of plants that will keep a pink bed blossoming all summer and we can use it in three places," and she nodded dreamily to her cousins. "We'll do that, but I think it would be fun if each one of us tried out a new plant of some kind. Then we can find out which are most suitable for our needs next year. We can report on them to the Club when they come into bloom. It will save a lot of trouble if we tell what we've found out about what some plant likes in the way of soil and position and water and whether it is best to cut it back or to let it bloom all it wants to, and so on." "That's a good idea. I hope Secretary Ethel Blue is taking notes of all these suggestions," remarked Helen, who was the president of the Club. Ethel Blue said she was, and Roger complimented her faithfulness in terms of extravagant absurdity. "Your present lot of land has the best looking fencing in Rosemont, to my way of thinking," approved Tom. "What is it? I hardly remember myself," said Dorothy thoughtfully. "Why, across the front there's a privet hedge, clipped low enough for your pink garden to be seen over it; and separating you from the Clarks' is a row of tall, thick hydrangea bushes that are beauties as long as there are any leaves on them; and at the back there is osage orange to shut out that old dump; and on the other side is a row of small blue spruces." "That's quite a showing of hedges all in one yard." exclaimed Ethel Blue admiringly. "And I never noticed them at all!" "At the new place Mother wants to try a barberry hedge. It doesn't grow regularly, but each bush is handsome in itself because the branches droop gracefully, and the leaves are a good green and the clusters of red berries are striking." "The leaves turn red in the autumn and the whole effect is stunning," contributed Della. "I saw one once in New England. They aren't usual about here, and I should think it would be a beauty." "You can let it grow as tall as you like," said James. "Your house is going to be above it on the knoll and look right over it, so you don't need a low hedge or even a clipped one." "At the side and anywhere else where she thinks there ought to be a real fence she's going to put honey locust." They all laughed. "That spiny affair _will_ be discouraging to visitors!" Helen exclaimed. "Why don't you try hedges of gooseberries and currants and raspberries and blackberries around your garden?" "That would be killing two birds with one stone, wouldn't it!" "You'll have a real problem in landscape gardening over there," said Margaret. "The architect of the house will help on that. That is, he and Mother will decide exactly where the house is to be placed and how the driveway is to run." "There ought to be some shrubs climbing up the knoll," advised Ethel Brown. "They'll look well below the house and they'll keep the bank from washing. I noticed this afternoon that the rains had been rather hard on it." "There are a lot of lovely shrubs you can put in just as soon as you're sure the workmen won't tramp them all down," cried Ethel Blue eagerly. "That's one thing I do know about because I went with Aunt Marion last year when she ordered some new bushes for our front yard." "Recite your lesson, kid," commanded Roger briefly. "There is the weigelia that Dorothy has in front of this house; and forsythia--we forced its yellow blossoms last week, you know; and the flowering almond--that has whitey-pinky-buttony blossoms." They laughed at Ethel's description, but they listened attentively while she described the spiky white blossoms of deutzia and the winding white bands of the spiraea--bridal wreath. "I can see that bank with those white shrubs all in blossom, leaning toward the road and beckoning you in," Ethel ended enthusiastically. "I seem to see them myself," remarked Tom, "and Dorothy can be sure that they won't beckon in vain." "You'll all be as welcome as daylight," cried Dorothy. "I hate to say anything that sounds like putting a damper on this outburst of imagination that Ethel Blue has just treated us to, but I'd like to inquire of Miss Smith whether she has any gardening tools," said Roger, bringing them all to the ground with a bump. "Miss Smith hasn't one," returned Dorothy, laughing. "You forget that we only moved in here last September and there hasn't been need for any that we couldn't borrow of you." [Illustration: Gardening Tools] "You're perfectly welcome to them," answered Roger, "but if we're all going to do the gardening act there'll be a scarcity if we don't add to the number." "What do we need?" "A rake and a hoe and a claw and a trowel and a spade and a heavy line with some pegs to do marking with." "We've found that it's a comfort to your back to have another claw mounted on the end of a handle as long as a hoe," contributed Margaret. "Two claws," Dorothy amended her list, isn't many." "And a lot of dibbles." "Dibbles!" "Short flat sticks whittled to a point. You use them when you're changing little plants from the to the hot bed or the hot bed to the garden." "Mother and I ought to have one set of tools here and one set at Sweetbrier Lodge," decided Dorothy. "We keep ours in the shed. I'm going to whitewash the corner where they belong and make it look as fine as a fiddle before the time comes to use them." "We have a shed here where we can keep them but at Sweetbrier there isn't anything," and Dorothy's mouth dropped anxiously. "We can build you a tool house," Tom was offering when James interrupted him. "If we can get a piano box there's your toolhouse all made," he suggested. "Cover it with tar paper so the rain won't come in, and hang the front on hinges with a hasp and staple and padlock, and what better would you want?" "Nothing," answered Ethel Brown, seriously. Ethel Blue noted it down in her book and Roger promised to visit the local piano man and see what he could find. "We haven't finished deciding how we shall plant Dorothy's yard behind this house," Margaret reminded them. "We shan't attempt a vegetable garden here," Dorothy said. "We'll start one at the other place so that the soil will be in good condition next year. We'll have a man to do the heavy work of the two places, he can bring over every morning whatever vegetables are ready for the day's use." "You want more flowers in this yard, then?" "You'll laugh at what I want!" "Don't you forget what you promithed me," piped up Dicky. "That's what I was going to tell them now. I've promised Dicky to plant a lot of sunflowers for his hens. He says Roger never has had space to plant enough for him." "True enough. Give him a big bed of them so he can have all the seeds he wants." "I'd like to have a wide strip across the back of the whole place, right in front of the osage orange hedge. They'll cover the lower part that's rather scraggly--then everywhere else I want nasturtiums, climbing and dwarf and every color under the sun." "That's a good choice for your yard because it's awfully stony and nasturtiums don't mind a little thing like that." "Then I want gourds over the trellis at the back door." "Gourds!" "I saw them so much in the South that I want to try them. There's one shape that makes a splendid dipper when it's dried and you cut a hole in it; and there's another kind just the size of a hen's egg that I want for nest eggs for Dickey's hens; and there's the loofa full of fibre that you can use for a bath sponge; and there's a pear-shaped one striped green and yellow that Mother likes for a darning ball; and there's a sweet smelling one that is as fragrant as possible in your handkerchief case. There are some as big as buckets and some like base ball bats, but I don't care for those." "What a collection," applauded Ethel Brown. "Beside that my idea of Japanese morning glories and a hop vine for our kitchen regions has no value at all," smiled Helen. "I'm going to have hops wherever the vines can find a place to climb at Sweetbrier," Dorothy determined. "I love a hop vine, and it grows on forever." "James and I seem to be in the same condition. If we don't start home we'll go on talking forever," Margaret complained humorously. "There's to be hot chocolate for us down stairs at half past four," said Dorothy, jumping up and looking at a clock that was ticking industriously on a shelf. "Let's go down and get it, and we'll ask Mother to sing the funny old song of 'The Four Seasons' for us." "Why is it funny?" asked Ethel Blue. "It's a very old English song with queer spelling." "Something like mine?" demanded Della. Ethel Blue kissed her. "Never mind; Shakspere spelled his name in several different ways," she said encouragingly, "Anyway, we can't tell how this is spelled when Aunt Louise sings it." As they sat about the fire in the twilight drinking their chocolate and eating sandwiches made of nuts ground fine, mixed with mayonnaise and put on a crisp lettuce leaf between slices of whole wheat bread, Mrs. Smith sang the old English song to them. "Springe is ycomen in, Dappled lark singe; Snow melteth, Runnell pelteth, Smelleth winde of newe buddinge. "Summer is ycomen in, Loude singe cucku; Groweth seede, Bloweth meade, And springeth the weede newe. "Autumne is ycomen in, Ceres filleth horne; Reaper swinketh, Farmer drinketh, Creaketh waine with newe corn. "Winter is ycomen in, With stormy sadde cheere; In the paddocke, Whistle ruddock, Brighte sparke in the dead yeare." "That's a good stanza to end with," said Ethel Blue, as she bade her aunt "Good-bye." "We've been talking about gardens and plants and flowers all the afternoon, and it would have seemed queer to put on a heavy coat to go home in if you hadn't said 'Winter is ycomen in.'" CHAPTER V A DEFECT IN THE TITLE In spite of their having made such an early start in talking about gardens the members of the United Service Club did not weary of the idea or cease to plan for what they were going to do. The only drawback that they found in gardening as a Club activity was that the gardens were for themselves and their families and they did not see exactly how there was any "service" in them. "I'll trust you youngsters to do some good work for somebody in connection with them," asserted Grandfather Emerson one day when Roger had been talking over with him his pet plan for remodelling the old Emerson farmhouse into a place suitable for the summer shelter of poor women and children from the city who needed country air and relief from hunger and anxiety. "We aren't rushing anything now," Roger had explained, "because we boys are all going to graduate this June and we have our examinations to think about. They must come first with us. But later on we'll be ready for work of some sort and we haven't anything on the carpet except our gardens." "There are many good works to be done with the help of a garden," replied Mr. Emerson. "Ask your grandmother to tell you how she has sent flowers into New York for the poor for many, many summers. There are people right here in Rosemont who haven't enough ground to raise any vegetables and they are glad to have fresh corn and Brussels sprouts sent to them. If you really do undertake this farmhouse scheme there'll have to be a large vegetable garden planted near the house to supply it, and you can add a few flower beds. The old place will look better flower-dressed than empty, and perhaps some of the women and children will like to work in the garden." Roger went home comforted, for he was very loyal to the Club and its work and he did not want to become so involved with other matters that he could not give himself to the purpose for which the Club was organized--helping others. As he passed the Miss Clarks he stopped to give their furnace its nightly shaking, for he was the accredited furnace man for them and his Aunt Louise as well as for his mother. He added the money that he earned to the treasury of the Club so that there might always be enough there to do a kind act whenever there should be a chance. As he labored with the shaker and the noise of his struggles was sent upward through the registers a voice called to him down the cellar stairs. "Ro-ger; Roger!" "Yes, ma'am," replied Roger, wishing the old ladies would let him alone until he had finished his work. "Come up here, please, when you've done." "Very well," he agreed, and went on with his racket. When he went upstairs he found that the cause of his summons was the arrival of a young man who was apparently about the age of Edward Watkins, the doctor brother of Tom and Della. "My nephew is a law student," said Miss Clark as she introduced the two young people, "and I want him to know all of our neighbors." "My name is Stanley Clark," said the newcomer, shaking hands cordially. "I'm going to be here for a long time so I hope I'll see you often." Roger liked him at once and thought his manner particularly pleasant in view of the fact that he was several years older. Roger was so accustomed to the companionship of Edward Watkins, who frequently joined the Club in their festivities and who often came to Rosemont to call on Miss Merriam, that the difference did not seem to him a cause of embarrassment. He was unusually easy for a boy of his age because he had always been accustomed to take his sailor father's place at home in the entertainment of his mother's guests. Young Clark, on his side, found his new acquaintance a boy worth talking to, and they got on well. He was studying at a law school in the city, it seemed, and commuted every day. "It's a long ride," he agreed when Roger suggested it, "but when I get home I have the good country air to breathe and I'd rather have that than town amusements just now when I'm working hard." Roger spoke of Edward Watkins and Stanley was interested in the possibility of meeting him. Evidently his aunts had told him all about the Belgian baby and Miss Merriam, for he said Elisabeth would be the nearest approach to a soldier from a Belgian battlefield that he had seen. Roger left with the feeling that his new acquaintance would be a desirable addition to the neighborhood group and he was so pleased that he stopped in at his Aunt Louise's not only to shake the furnace but to tell her about Stanley Clark. [Illustration: The Hot Bed] During the next month they all came to know him well and they liked his cheerfulness and his interest in what they were doing and planning. On Saturdays he helped Roger build a hot bed in the sunniest spot against the side of the kitchen ell. They found that the frost had not stiffened the ground after they managed to dig down a foot, so that the excavation was not as hard as they had expected. They dug a hole the size of two window sashes and four feet deep, lining the sides with some old bricks that they found in the cellar. At first they filled the entire bed with fresh stable manure and straw. After it had stayed under the glass two days it was quite hot and they beat it down a foot and put on six inches of soil made one-half of compost and one-half of leaf mould that they found in a sheltered corner of the West Woods. "Grandfather didn't believe we could manage to get good soil at this season even if we did succeed in digging the hole, but when I make up my mind to do a thing I like to succeed," said Roger triumphantly when they had fitted the sashes on to planks that sloped at the sides so that rain would run off the glass, and called the girls out to admire their result. "What are we going to put in here first?" asked Ethel Brown, who liked to get at the practical side of matters at once. "I'd like to have some violets," said Ethel Blue. "Could I have a corner for them? I've had some plants promised me from the Glen Point greenhouse man. Margaret is going to bring them over as soon as I'm ready for them." "I want to see if I can beat Dicky with early vegetables," declared Roger. "I'm going to start early parsley and cabbage and lettuce, cauliflower and egg plants, radishes and peas and corn in shallow boxes--flats Grandfather says they're called--in my room and the kitchen where it's warm and sunny, and when they've sprouted three leaves I'll set them out here and plant some more in the flats." "Won't transplanting them twice set them back?" "If you take up enough earth around them they ought not to know that they've taken a journey." "I've done a lot of transplanting of wild plants from the woods," said Stanley, "and I found that if I was careful to do that they didn't even wilt." "Why can't we start some of the flower seeds here and have early blossoms?" "You can. I don't see why we can't keep it going all the time and have a constant supply of flowers and vegetables earlier than we should if we trusted to Mother Nature to do the work unaided." "Then in the autumn we can stow away here some of the plants we want to save, geraniums and begonias, and plants that are pretty indoors, and take them into the house when the indoor ones become shabby." "Evidently right in the heart of summer is the only time this article won't be in use," decided Stanley, laughing at their eagerness. "Have you got anything to cover it with when the spring sunshine grows too hot?" "There is an old hemp rug and some straw matting in the attic--won't they do?" "Perfectly. Lay them over the glass so that the delicate little plants won't get burned. You can raise the sashes, too." "If we don't forget to close them before the sun sets and the night chill comes on, I suppose," smiled Ethel Blue. "Mr. Emerson says that seeds under glass do better if they're covered with newspaper until they start." It was about the middle of March when Mrs. Smith went in to call on her neighbors, the Miss Clarks, one evening. They were at home and after a talk on the ever-absorbing theme of the war Mrs. Smith said, "I really came in here on business. I hope you've decided to sell me the meadow lot next to my knoll. If you've made up your minds hadn't I better tell my lawyer to make out the papers at once?" "Sister and I made up our minds some time ago, dear Mrs. Smith, and we wrote to Brother William about it before he came to stay with us, and he was willing, and Stanley, here, who is the only other heir of the estate that we know about, has no objection." "That gives me the greatest pleasure. I'll tell my lawyer, then, to have the title looked up right away and make out the deed--though I feel as if I should apologize for looking up the title of land that has been in your family as long as Mr. Emerson's has been in his." "You needn't feel at all apologetic," broke in Stanley. "It's never safe to buy property without having a clear title, and we aren't sure that we are in a position to give you a clear title." "That's why we haven't spoken to you about it before," said the elder Miss Clark; "we were waiting to try to make it all straight before we said anything about it one way or the other." "Not give me a clear title!" cried Mrs. Smith. "Do you mean that I won't be able to buy it? Why, I don't know what Dorothy will do if we can't get that bit with the brook; she has set her heart on it." "We want you to have it not only for Dorothy's sake but for our own. It isn't a good building lot--it's too damp--and we're lucky to have an offer for it." "Can you tell me just what the trouble is? It seems as if it ought to be straight since all of you heirs agree to the sale." "The difficulty is," said Stanley, "that we aren't sure that we are all the heirs. We thought we were, but Uncle William made some inquiries on his way here, and he learned enough to disquiet him." "Our father, John Clark, had a sister Judith," explained the younger Miss Clark. "They lived here on the Clark estate which had belonged to the family for many generations. Then Judith married a man named Leonard--Peter Leonard--and went to Nebraska at a time when Nebraska was harder to reach than California is now. That was long before the Civil War and during those frontier days Aunt Judith and Uncle Peter evidently were tossed about to the limit of their endurance. Her letters came less and less often and they always told of some new grief--the death of a child or the loss of some piece of property. Finally the letters ceased altogether. I don't understand why her family didn't hold her more closely, but they lost sight of her entirely." "Probably it was more her fault than theirs," replied Mrs. Smith softly, recalling that there had been a time when her own pride had forbade her letting her people know that she was in dire distress. "It doesn't make much difference to-day whose fault it was," declared Stanley Clark cheerfully; "the part of the story that interests us is that the family thought that all Great-aunt Judith's children were dead. Here is where Uncle William got his surprise. When he was coming on from Arkansas he stopped over for a day at the town where Aunt Judith had posted her last letter to Grandfather, about sixty years ago. There he learned from the records that she was dead and all her children were dead--_except one_." "Except one!" repeated Mrs. Smith. "Born after she ceased writing home?" "Exactly. Now this daughter--Emily was her name--left the town after her parents died and there is no way of finding out where she went. One or two of the old people remember that the Leonard girl left, but nothing more." "She may be living now." "Certainly she may; and she may have married and had a dozen children. You see, until we can find out something about this Emily we can't give a clear title to the land." Mrs. Smith nodded her understanding. "It's lucky we've never been willing to sell any of the old estate," said Mr. William Clark, who had entered and been listening to the story. "If we had we should, quite ignorantly, have given a defective title." "Isn't it possible, after making as long and thorough a search as you can, to take the case into court and have the judge declare the title you give to be valid, under the circumstances?" "That is done; but you can see that such a decision would be granted only after long research on our part. It would delay your purchase considerably." "However, it seems to me the thing to do," decided Mrs. Smith, and she and Stanley at once entered upon a discussion of the ways and means by which the hunt for Emily Leonard and her heirs was to be accomplished. It included the employment of detectives for the spring months, and then, if they had not met with success, a journey by Stanley during the weeks of his summer vacation. Dorothy and Ethel were bitterly disappointed at the result of Mrs. Smith's attempt to purchase the coveted bit of land. "I suppose it wouldn't have any value for any one else on earth," cried Dorothy, "but I want it." "I don't think I ever saw a spot that suited me so well for a summer play place," agreed Ethel Blue, and Helen and Roger and all the rest of the Club members were of the same opinion. "The Clarks will be putting the price up if they should find out that we wanted it so much," warned Roger. "I don't believe they would," smiled Mrs. Smith. "They said they thought themselves lucky to have a customer for it, because it isn't good for building ground." "We'll hope that Stanley will unearth the history of his great-aunt," said Roger seriously. "And find that she died a spinster," smiled his Aunt Louise. "The fewer heirs there are to deal the simpler it will be." CHAPTER VI WILD FLOWERS FOR HELEN'S GARDEN Roger had a fair crop of lettuce in one of his flats by the middle of March and transplanted the tiny, vivid green leaves to the hotbed without doing them any harm. The celery and tomato seeds that he had planted during the first week of the month were showing their heads bravely and the cabbage and cauliflower seedlings had gone to keep the lettuce company in the hotbed. On every warm day he opened the sashes and let the air circulate among the young plants. "Wordsworth says 'It is my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes,' and I suppose that's true of vegetables, too," laughed Roger. The girls, meanwhile, had been planting the seeds of Canterbury bells and foxgloves in flats. They did not put in many of them because they learned that they would not blossom until the second year. The flats they made from boxes that had held tomato cans. Roger sawed through the sides and they used the cover for the bottom of the second flat. The dahlias they provided with pots, joking at the exclusiveness of this gorgeous flower which likes to have a separate house for each of its seeds. These were to be transferred to the garden about the middle of May together with the roots of last year's dahlias which they were going to sprout in a box of sand for about a month before allowing them to renew their acquaintance with the flower bed. By the middle of April they had planted a variety of seeds and were watching the growth or awaiting the germination of gay cosmos, shy four o'clocks, brilliant marigolds, varied petunias and stocks, smoke-blue ageratums, old-fashioned pinks and sweet williams. Each was planted according to the instructions of the seed catalogues, and the young horticulturists also read and followed the advice of the pamphlets on "Annual Flowering Plants" and "The Home Vegetable Garden" sent out by the Department of Agriculture at Washington to any one who asks for them. [Illustration: A Flat] They were prudent about planting directly in the garden seeds which did not require forcing in the house, for they did not want them to be nipped, but they put them in the ground just as early as any of the seedsmen recommended, though they always saved a part of their supply so that they might have enough for a second sowing if a frost should come. Certain flowers which they wished to have blossom for a long time they sowed at intervals. Candytuft, for instance, they sowed first in April and they planned to make a second sowing in May and a third late in July so that they might see the pretty white border blossoms late in the autumn. Mignonette was a plant of which Mr. Emerson was as fond as Roger was of sweetpeas and the girls decided to give him a surprise by having such a succession of blooms that they might invite him to a picking bee as late as the end of October. Nasturtiums also, they planted with a liberal hand in nooks and crannies where the soil was so poor that they feared other plants would turn up their noses, and pansies, whose demure little faces were favorites with Mrs. Morton, they experimented with in various parts of the gardens and in the hotbed. The gardens at the Mortons' and Smiths' were long established so that there was not any special inducement to change the arrangement of the beds, except as the young people had planned way back in January for the enlargement of the drying green. The new garden, however, offered every opportunity. Each bed was laid out with especial reference to the crop that was to be put into it and the land was naturally so varied that there was the kind of soil and the right exposure for plants that required much moisture and for those that preferred a sandy soil, for the sun lovers and the shade lovers. The newly aroused interest in plants extended to the care of the house plants which heretofore had been the sole concern of Mrs. Emerson and Mrs. Morton. Now the girls begged the privilege of trimming off the dead leaves from the ivies and geraniums and of washing away with oil of lemon and a stiff brush the scale that sometimes came on the palms. They even learned to kill the little soft white creature called aphis by putting under the plant a pan of hot coals with tobacco thrown on them. "It certainly has a sufficiently horrid smell," exclaimed Ethel Brown. "I don't wonder the beasties curl up and die; I'd like to myself." "They say aphis doesn't come on a plant with healthy sap," Ethel Blue contributed to this talk, "so the thing to do is to make these plants so healthy that the animals drop off starved." "This new development is going to be a great comfort to me if it keeps on," Mrs. Emerson confessed to her daughter humorously. "I shall encourage the girls to use my plants for instruction whenever they want to." "You may laugh at their sudden affection," returned Mrs. Morton seriously, "but I've noticed that everything the U.S.C. sets its heart on doing gets done, and I've no doubt whatever that they'll have what Roger calls 'some' garden this next summer." "Roger has had long consultations with his grandfather about fertilizers and if he's interested in the beginnings of a garden and not merely in the results I think we can rely on him." "They have all been absorbed in the subject for three months and now 'Lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come.'" Roger maintained that his Aunt Louise's house ought to be begun at the time that he planted his sweetpeas. "If I can get into the ground enough to plant, surely the cellar diggers ought to be able to do the same," he insisted. March was not over when he succeeded in preparing a trench a foot deep all around the spot which was to be his vegetable garden except for a space about three feet wide which he left for an entrance. In the bottom he placed three inches of manure and over that two inches of good soil. In this he planted the seeds half an inch apart in two rows and covered them with soil to the depth of three inches, stamping it down hard. As the vines grew to the top of the trench he kept them warm with the rest of the earth that he had taken out, until the opening was entirely filled. The builder was not of Roger's mind about the cellar digging, but he really did begin operations in April. Every day the Mortons and Smiths, singly or in squads, visited the site of Sweetbrier Lodge, as Mrs. Smith and Dorothy had decided to call the house. Dorothy had started a notebook in which to keep account of the progress of the new estate, but after the first entry--"Broke ground to-day"--matters seemed to advance so slowly that she had to fill in with memoranda concerning the growth of the garden. Even before the house was started its position and that of the garage had been staked so that the garden might not encroach on them. Then the garden had been laid out with a great deal of care by the united efforts of the Club and Mr. Emerson and his farm superintendent. Often the Ethels and Dorothy extended their walk to the next field and to the woods and rocks at the back. The Clarks had learned nothing more about their Cousin Emily, although they had a man searching records and talking with the older people of a number of towns in Nebraska. He reported that he was of the opinion that either the child had died when young or that she had moved to a considerable distance from the town of her birth or that she had been adopted and had taken the name of her foster parents. At any rate consultation of records of marriages and deaths in several counties had revealed to him no Emily Leonard. The Clarks were quite as depressed by this outcome of the search as was Mrs. Smith, but they had instructed the detective to continue his investigation. Meanwhile they begged Dorothy and her cousins to enjoy the meadow and woods as much as they liked. The warm moist days of April tempted the girls to frequent searches for wild flowers. They found the lot a very gold mine of delight. There was so much variety of soil and of sunshine and of shadow that plants of many different tastes flourished where in the meadow across the road only a few kinds seemed to live. It was with a hearty shout they hailed the first violets. "Here they are, here they are!" cried Ethel Blue. "Aunt Marion said she was sure she saw some near the brook. She quoted some poetry about it-- "'Blue ran the flash across; Violets were born!'" "That's pretty; what's the rest of it?" asked Ethel Brown, on her knees taking up some of the plants with her trowel and placing them in her basket so carefully that there was plenty of earth surrounding each one to serve as a nest when it should be put into Helen's wild flower bed. "It's about something good happening when everything seems very bad," explained Ethel Blue. "Browning wrote it." "Such a starved bank of moss Till, that May morn, Blue ran the flash across: Violets were born! "Sky--what a scowl of cloud Till, near and far, Ray on ray split the shroud: Splendid, a star! "World--how it walled about Life with disgrace Till God's own smile came out: That was thy face!" "It's always so, isn't it!" approved Dorothy. "And the more we think about the silver lining to every cloud the more likely it is to show itself." "What's this delicate white stuff? And these tiny bluey eyes?" asked Ethel Blue, who was again stooping over to examine the plants that enjoyed the moist positions near the stream. "The eyes are houstonia--Quaker ladies. We must have a clump of them. Saxifrage, Helen said the other was. She called my attention the other day to some they had at school to analyze. It has the same sort of stem that the hepatica has." [Illustration: Yellow Adder's Tongue] "I remember--a scape--only this isn't so downy." "They're pretty, aren't they? We must be sure to get a good sized patch; you can't see them well enough when there is only a plant or two." "Helen wants a regular village of every kind that she transplants. She says she'd rather have a good many of a few kinds than a single plant of ever so many kinds." "It will be prettier. What do you suppose this yellow bell-shaped flower is?" "It ought to be a lily, hanging its head like that." "It is a lily," corroborated Ethel Brown, "but it's called 'dog-tooth violet' though it isn't a violet at all." "What a queer mistake. Hasn't it any other name?" "Adder's-tongue. That's more suitable, isn't it?" "Yes, except that I hate to have a lovely flower called by a snake's name!" "Not all snakes are venomous; and, anyway, we ought to remember that every animal has some means of protecting himself and the snakes do it through their poison fangs." "Or through their squeezing powers, like that big constrictor we saw at the Zoo." "I suppose it is fair for them to have a defence," admitted Ethel Blue, "but I don't like them, just the same, and I wish this graceful flower had some other name." "It has." "O, _that_! 'Dog-tooth' is just about as ugly as 'adder's tongue'! The botanists were in bad humor when they christened the poor little thing!" "Do you remember what Bryant says about 'The Yellow Violet'?" asked Ethel Brown, who was always committing verses to memory. "Tell us," begged Ethel Blue, who was expending special care on digging up this contribution to the garden as if to make amends for the unkindness of the scientific world, and Ethel Brown repeated the poem beginning "When beechen buds begin to swell, And woods the blue-bird's warble know, The yellow violet's modest bell Peeps from last year's leaves below." Dorothy went into ecstasies over the discovery of two roots of white violets, but there seemed to be no others, though they all sought diligently for the fragrant blossoms among the leaves. A cry from Ethel Blue brought the others to a drier part of the field at a distance from the brook. There in a patch of soil that was almost sandy was a great patch of violets of palest hue, with deep orange eyes. They were larger than any of the other violets and their leaves were entirely different. "What funny leaves," cried Dorothy. "They look as if some one had crumpled up a real violet leaf and cut it from the edge to the stem into a fine fringe." "Turn it upside down and press it against the ground. Don't you think it looks like a bird's claw?" "So it does! This must be a 'bird-foot violet,'" "It is, and there's more meaning in the name than in the one the yellow bell suffers from. Do you suppose there are any violets up in the woods?" "They seem to fit in everywhere; I shouldn't be a bit surprised if there were some there." Sure enough, there were, smaller and darker in color than the flowers down by the brook and hiding more shyly under their shorter-stemmed leaves. "Helen is going to have some trouble to make her garden fit the tastes of all these different flowers," said Ethel Brown thoughtfully. "I don't see how she's going to do it." "Naturally it's sort of half way ground," replied Ethel Blue. "She can enrich the part that is to hold the ones that like rich food and put sand where these bird foot fellows are to go, and plant the wet-lovers at the end where the hydrant is so that there'll be a temptation to give them a sprinkle every time the hose is screwed on." [Illustration: Blue Flag] "The ground is always damp around the hydrant; I guess she'll manage to please her new tenants." "If only Mother can buy this piece of land," said Dorothy, "I'm going to plant forget-me-nots and cow lilies and arum lilies right in the stream. There are flags and pickerel weed and cardinals here already. It will make a beautiful flower bed all the length of the field." "I hope and hope every day that it will come out right," sighed Ethel Blue. "Of course the Miss Clarks are lovely about it, but you can't do things as if it were really yours." Almost at the same instant both the Ethels gave a cry as each discovered a plant she had been looking for. "Mine is wild ginger, I'm almost sure," exclaimed Ethel Brown. "Come and see, Dorothy." "Has it a thick, leathery leaf that lies down almost flat?" asked Dorothy, running to see for herself. "Yes, and a blossom you hardly notice. It's hidden under the leaves and it's only yellowish-green. You have to look hard for it." "That must be wild ginger," Dorothy decided. "What's yours, Ethel Blue?" "I know mine is hepatica. See the 'hairy scape' Helen talked about? And see what a lovely, lovely color the blossom is? Violet with a hint of pink?" "That would be the best of all for a border. The leaves stay green all winter and the blossoms come early in the spring and encourage you to think that after a while all the flowers are going to awaken." "It's a shame to take all this out of Dorothy's lot." "It may never be mine," sighed Dorothy. "Still, perhaps we ought not to take too many roots; the Miss Clarks may not want all the flowers taken out of their woods." "We'll take some from here and some from Grandfather's woods," decided Ethel Brown. "There are a few in the West Woods, too." So they dug up but a comparatively small number of the hepaticas, nor did they take many of the columbines nodding from a cleft in the piled-up rocks. "I know that when we have our wild garden fully planted I'm not going to want to pick flowers just for the sake of picking them the way I used to," confessed Ethel Blue. "Now I know something about them they seem so alive to me, sort of like people--I'm sure they won't like to be taken travelling and forced to make a new home for themselves." "I know how you feel," responded Dorothy slowly. "I feel as if those columbines were birds that had perched on those rocks just for a minute and were going to fly away, and I didn't want to disturb them before they flitted." They all stood gazing at the delicate, tossing blossoms whose spurred tubes swung in every gentlest breeze. "It has a bird's name, too," added Dorothy as if there had been no silence; "_aquilegia_--the eagle flower." "Why eagle? The eagle is a strenuous old fowl," commented Ethel Brown. "The name doesn't seem appropriate." "It's because of the spurs--they suggest an eagle's talons." "That's too far-fetched to suit me," confessed Ethel Brown. "It is called 'columbine' because the spurs look a little like doves around a drinking fountain, and the Latin word for dove is '_columba_," said Dorothy. "It's queer the way they name flowers after animals--" said Ethel Blue. "Or parts of animals," laughed her cousin. "Saxifrage isn't; Helen told me the name meant 'rock-breaker,' because some kinds grow in the clefts of rocks the way the columbines do." "I wish we could find a trillium," said Ethel Blue. "The _tri_ in that name means that everything about it is in threes." "What is a trillium?" asked Ethel Brown. "Roger brought in a handful the other day. 'Wake-robin' he called it." "O, I remember them. There was a bare stalk with three leaves and the flower was under the leaves." "There were three petals to the corolla and three sepals to the calyx. He had purple ones and white ones." "Here's a white one this very minute," said Dorothy, pouncing upon a plant eight or ten inches in height whose leaves looked eager and strong. "See," she said as they all leaned over to examine it; "the blossom has two sets of leaves. The outer set is usually green or some color not so gay as to attract insects or birds that might destroy the flower when it is in bud. These outer leaves are called, all together, the calyx, and each one of them is called a sepal." "The green thing on the back of a rose is the calyx and each of its leaflets is called a sepal," said Ethel Brown by way of fixing the definition firmly in her mind. "The pretty part of the flower is the corolla which means 'little crown,' and each of its parts is called a petal." "How did you learn all that?" demanded Ethel Brown admiringly. "Your grandmother told me the other day." "You've got a good memory. Helen has told me a lot of botanical terms, but I forget them," "I try hard to remember everything I hear any one say about flowers or vegetables or planting now. You never can tell when it may be useful," and Dorothy nodded wisely. "Shall we take up this wake-robin?" asked Ethel Blue. "Let's not," pleaded Ethel Brown. "We shall find others somewhere and there's only one here." [Illustration: Wind Flower] They left it standing, but when they came upon a growth of wind-flowers there were so many of them that they did not hesitate to dig them freely. "I wonder why they're called 'wind-flowers'?" queried Ethel Brown, whose curiosity on the subject of names had been aroused. "I know that answer," replied Ethel Blue unexpectedly. "That is, nobody knows the answer exactly; I know that much." The other girls laughed. "What is the answer as far as anybody knows it?" demanded Dorothy. "The scientific name is 'anemone.' It comes from the Greek word meaning 'wind.'" "That seems to be a perfectly good answer. Probably it was given because they dance around so prettily in the wind," guessed Dorothy. "Helen's botany says that it was christened that either because it grew in windy places or because it blossomed at the windy season." "Dorothy's explanation suits me best," Ethel Brown decided. "I shall stick to that." "I think it's prettiest myself," agreed Dorothy. "She's so much in earnest she doesn't realize that she's deciding against famous botanists," giggled Ethel Brown. "It _is_ prettier--a lot prettier," insisted Ethel Blue. "I'm glad I've a cousin who can beat scientists!" "What a glorious lot of finds!" cried Ethel Brown. "Just think of our getting all these in one afternoon!" "I don't believe we could except in a place like this where any plant can have his taste suited with meadow or brookside or woods or rocks." "And sunshine or shadow." They were in a gay mood as they gathered up their baskets and trowels and gently laid pieces of newspaper over the uprooted plants. "It isn't hot to-day but we won't run any risk of their getting a headache from the sun," declared Dorothy. "These woodsy ones that aren't accustomed to bright sunshine may be sensitive to it," assented Ethel Blue. "We must remember to tell Helen in just what sort of spot we found each one so she can make its corner in the garden bed as nearly like it as possible." "I'm going to march in and quote Shakespeare to her," laughed Ethel Brown. "I'm going to say 'I know a bank where the wild thyme blows, Where oxlip and the nodding violet grows,' and then I'll describe the 'bank' so she can copy it." "If she doesn't she may have to repeat Bryant's 'Death of the Flowers':-- 'The windflower and the violet, they perished long ago.'" CHAPTER VII COLOR SCHEMES "Look out, Della; don't pick that! _Don't_ pick that, it's poison ivy!" cried Ethel Brown as all the Club members were walking on the road towards Grandfather Emerson's. A vine with handsome glossy leaves reached an inviting cluster toward passers-by. "Poison ivy!" repeated Della, springing back. "How do you know it is? I thought it was woodbine--Virginia creeper." "Virginia creeper has as many fingers as your hand; this ivy has only three leaflets. See, I-V-Y," and Ethel Blue took a small stick and tapped a leaflet for each letter. "I must tell Grandfather this is here," said Helen. "He tries to keep this road clear of it even if he finds it growing on land not his own. It's too dangerous to be so close to the sidewalk." "It's a shame it behaves so badly when it's so handsome." "It's not handsome if 'handsome is as handsome does' is true. But this is stunning when the leaves turn scarlet." "It's a mighty good plan to admire it from a distance," decided Tom, who had been looking at it carefully. "Della and I being 'city fellers,' we're ignorant about it. I'll remember not to touch the three-leaved I-V-Y, from now on." The Club was intent on finishing their flower garden plans that afternoon. They had gathered together all the seedsmen's catalogues that had been sent them and they had also accumulated a pile of garden magazines. They knew, however, that Mr. Emerson had some that they did not have, and they also wanted his help, so they had telephoned over to find out whether he was to be at home and whether he would help them with the laying out of their color beds. "Nothing I should like better," he had answered cordially so now they were on the way to put him to the test. "We already have some of our color plants in our gardens left over from last year," Helen explained, "and some of the others that we knew we'd want we've started in the hotbed, and we've sowed a few more in the open beds, but we want to make out a full list." "Just what is your idea," asked Mr. Emerson, while Grandmother Emerson saw that the dining table around which they were sitting had on it a plentiful supply of whole wheat bread sandwiches, the filling being dates and nuts chopped together. Helen explained their wish to have beds all of one color. "We girls are so crazy over pink that we're going to try a pink bed at both of Dorothy's gardens as well as in ours," she laughed. "You'd like a list of plants that will keep on blooming all summer so that you can always run out and get a bunch of pink blossoms, I suppose." "That's exactly what we want," and they took their pencils to note down any suggestions that Mr. Emerson made. "We've decided on pink candytuft for the border and single pink hollyhocks for the background with foxgloves right in front of them to cover up the stems at the bottom where they haven't many leaves and a medium height phlox in front of that for the same reason." "You should have pink morning glories and there's a rambler rose, a pink one, that you ought to have in the southeast corner on your back fence," suggested Mr. Emerson. "Stretch a strand or two of wire above the top and let the vine run along it. It blooms in June." "Pink rambler," they all wrote. "What's its name?" "Dorothy--" "Smith?" "Perkins." James went through a pantomime that registered severe disappointment. "Suppose we begin at the beginning," suggested Mr. Emerson. "I believe we can make out a list that will keep your pink bed gay from May till frost." "That's what we want." "You had some pink tulips last spring." "We planted them in the autumn so that they'd come out early this spring. By good luck they're just where we've decided to have a pink bed." "There's your first flower, then. They're near the front of the bed, I hope. The low plants ought to be in front, of course, so they won't be hidden." "They're in front. So are the hyacinths." "Are you sure they're all pink?" "It's a great piece of good fortune--Mother selected only pink bulbs and a few yellow ones to put back into the ground and gave the other colors to Grandmother." "That helps you at the very start-off. There are two kinds of pinks that ought to be set near the front rank because they don't grow very tall--the moss pink and the old-fashioned 'grass pink.' They are charming little fellows and keep up a tremendous blossoming all summer long." "'Grass pink,'" repeated Ethel, Brown, "isn't that the same as 'spice pink'?" "That's what your grandmother calls it. She says she has seen people going by on the road sniff to see what that delicious fragrance was. I suppose these small ones must be the original pinks that the seedsmen have burbanked into the big double ones." "'Burbanked'?" "That's a new verb made out of the name of Luther Burbank, the man who has raised such marvelous flowers in California and has turned the cactus into a food for cattle instead of a prickly nuisance." "I've heard of him," said Margaret. "'Burbanked' means 'changed into something superior,' I suppose." "Something like that. Did you tell me you had a peony?" There's a good, tall tree peony that we've had moved to the new bed." "At the back?" "Yes, indeed; it's high enough to look over almost everything else we are likely to have. It blossoms early." "To be a companion to the tulips and hyacinths." "Have you started any peony seeds?" "The Reine Hortense. Grandmother advised that. They're well up now." "I'd plant a few seeds in your bed, too. If you can get a good stand of perennials--flowers that come up year after year of their own accord--it saves a lot of trouble." "Those pinks are perennials, aren't they? They come up year after year in Grandmother's garden." "Yes, they are, and so is the columbine. You ought to put that in." "But it isn't pink. We got some in the woods the other day. It is red," objected Dorothy. "The columbine has been 'burbanked.' There's a pink one among the cultivated kinds. They're larger than the wild ones and very lovely." "Mother has some. Hers are called the 'Rose Queen,'" said Margaret. "There are yellow and blue ones, too." "Your grandmother can give you some pink Canterbury bells that will blossom this year. They're biennials, you know." "Does that mean they blossom every two years?" "Not exactly. It means that the ones you planted in your flats will only make wood and leaves this year and won't put out any flowers until next year. That's all these pink ones of your grandmother's did last season; this summer they're ready to go into your bed and be useful." "Our seedlings are blue, anyway," Ethel Blue reminded the others. "They must be set in the blue bed." "How about sweet williams?" asked Mr. Emerson. "Don't I remember some in your yard?" "Mother planted some last year," answered Roger, "but they didn't blossom." "They will this year. They're perennials, but it takes them one season to make up their minds to set to work. There's an annual that you might sow now that will be blossoming in a few weeks. It won't last over, though." "Annuals die down at the end of the first season. I'm getting these terms straightened in my so-called mind," laughed Dorothy. "You said you had a bleeding heart--" "A fine old perennial," exclaimed Ethel Brown, airing her new information. "--and pink candy-tuft for the border and foxgloves for the back; are those old plants or seedlings?" "Both." "Then you're ready for anything! How about snapdragons?" "I thought snapdragons were just common weeds," commented James. "They've been improved, too, and now they are large and very handsome and of various heights. If you have room enough you can have a lovely bed of tall ones at the back, with the half dwarf kind before it and the dwarf in front of all. It gives a sloping mass of bloom that is lovely, and if you nip off the top blossoms when the buds appear you can make them branch sidewise and become thick." "We certainly haven't space for that bank arrangement in our garden," decided Roger, "but it will be worth trying in Dorothy's new garden," and he put down a "D" beside the note he had made. "The snapdragon sows itself so you're likely to have it return of its own accord another year, so you must be sure to place it just where you'd like to have it always," warned Mr. Emerson. "The petunia sows itself, too," Margaret contributed to the general stock of knowledge. "You can get pretty, pale, pink petunias now, and they blossom at a great rate all summer." "I know a plant we ought to try," offered James. "It's the plant they make Persian Insect Powder out of." "The Persian daisy," guessed Mr. Emerson. "It would be fun to try that." "Wouldn't it be easier to buy the insect powder?" asked practical Ethel Brown. "Very much," laughed her grandfather, "but this is good fun because it doesn't always blossom 'true,' and you never know whether you'll get a pink or a deep rose color. Now, let me see," continued Mr. Emerson thoughtfully, "you've arranged for your hollyhocks and your phlox--those will be blooming by the latter part of July, and I suppose you've put in several sowings of sweetpeas?" They all laughed, for Roger's demand for sweetpeas had resulted in a huge amount of seeds being sown in all three of the gardens. "Where are we now?" continued Mr. Emerson. "Now there ought to be something that will come into its glory about the first of August," answered Helen. "What do you say to poppies?" "Are there pink poppies?" "O, beauties! Big bears, and little bears, and middle-sized bears; single and double, and every one of them a joy to look upon!" "Put down poppies two or three times," laughed Helen in answer to her grandfather's enthusiasm. "And while we're on the letter 'P' in the seed catalogue," added Mr. Emerson, "order a few packages of single portulaca. There are delicate shades of pink now, and it's a useful little plant to grow at the feet of tall ones that have no low-growing foliage and leave the ground bare." "It would make a good border for us at some time." "You might try it at Dorothy's large garden. There'll be space there to have many different kinds of borders." "We'll have to keep our eyes open for a pink lady's slipper over in the damp part of the Clarks' field," said Roger. "O, I speak for it for my wild garden," cried Helen. "You ought to find one about the end of July, and as that is a long way off you can put off the decision as to where to place it when you transplant it," observed their grandfather dryly. "Mother finds verbenas and 'ten week stocks' useful for cutting," said Margaret. "They're easy to grow and they last a long time and there are always blossoms on them for the house." "Pink?" asked Ethel Blue, her pencil poised until she was assured. "A pretty shade of pink, both of them, and they're low growing, so you can put them forward in the beds after you take out the bulbs that blossomed early." "How are we going to know just when to plant all these things so they'll come out when we want them to?" asked Della, whose city life had limited her gardening experience to a few summers at Chautauqua where they went so late in the season that their flower beds had been planted for them and were already blooming when they arrived. "Study your catalogues, my child," James instructed her. "But they don't always tell," objected Della, who had been looking over several. "That's because the seedsmen sell to people all over the country--people living in all sorts of climates and with all sorts of soils. The best way is to ask the seedsman where you buy your seeds to indicate on the package or in a letter what the sowing time should be for our part of the world." "Then we'll bother Grandfather all we can," threatened Ethel Brown seriously. "He's given us this list in the order of their blossoming--" "More or less," interposed Mr. Emerson. "Some of them over-lap, of course. It's roughly accurate, though." "You can't stick them in a week apart and have them blossom a week apart?" asked Della. "Not exactly. It takes some of them longer to germinate and make ready to bloom than it does others. But of course it's true in a general way that the first to be planted are the first to bloom." "We haven't put in the late ones yet," Ethel Blue reminded Mr. Emerson. "Asters, to begin with. I don't see how there'll be enough room in your small bed to make much of a show with asters. I should put some in, of course, in May, but there's a big opportunity at the new garden to have a splendid exhibition of them. Some asters now are almost as large and as handsome as chrysanthemums--astermums, they call them--and the pink ones are especially lovely." "Put a big 'D' against 'asters,'" advised Roger. "That will mean that there must be a large number put into Dorothy's new garden." "The aster will begin to blossom in August and will continue until light frost and the chrysanthemums will begin a trifle later and will last a little longer unless there is a killing frost." "Can we get blossoms on chrysanthemums the first, year?" asked Margaret, who had not found that true in her experience in her mother's garden. "There are some new kinds that will blossom the first year, the seedsmen promise. I'd like to have you try some of them." "Mother has two or three pink ones--well established plants--that she's going to let us move to the pink bed," said Helen. "The chrysanthemums will end your procession," said Mr. Emerson, "but you mustn't forget to put in some mallow. They are easy to grow and blossom liberally toward the end of the season." "Can we make candy marshmallows out of it?" "You can, but it would be like the Persian insect powder--it would be easier to buy it. But it has a handsome pink flower and you must surely have it on your list." "I remember when Mother used to have the greatest trouble getting cosmos to blossom," said Margaret. "The frost almost always caught it. Now there is a kind that comes before the frost." "Cosmos is a delight at the end of the season," remarked Mr. Emerson. "Almost all the autumn plants are stocky and sturdy, but cosmos is as graceful as a summer plant and as delicate as a spring blossom. You can wind up your floral year with asters and mallow and chrysanthemums and cosmos all blooming at once." "Now for the blue beds," said Tom, excusing himself for looking at his watch on the plea that he and Della had to go back to New York by a comparatively early train. "If you're in a hurry I'll just give you a few suggestions," said Mr. Emerson. "Really blue flowers are not numerous, I suppose you have noticed." "We've decided on ageratum for the border and larkspur and monkshood for the back," said Ethel Brown. "There are blue crocuses and hyacinths and 'baby's breath' for your earliest blossoms, and blue columbines as well as pink and yellow ones! and blue morning glories for your 'climber,' and blue bachelors' buttons and Canterbury bells, and mourning bride, and pretty blue lobelia for low growing plants and blue lupine for a taller growth. If you are willing to depart from real blue into violet you can have heliotrope and violets and asters and pansies and primroses and iris." "The wild flag is fairly blue," insisted Roger, who was familiar with the plants that edged the brook on his grandfather's farm. "It is until you compare it with another moisture lover--forget-me-not." "If Dorothy buys the Clarks' field she can start a colony of flags and forget-me-nots in the stream," suggested James. "Can you remember cineraria? There's a blue variety of that, and one of salpiglossis, which is an exquisite flower in spite of its name." "One of the sweetpea packages is marked 'blue,'" said Roger, "I wonder if it will be a real blue?" "Some of them are pretty near it. Now this isn't a bad list for a rather difficult color," Mr. Emerson went on, looking over Ethel Blue's paper, "but you can easily see that there isn't the variety of the pink list and that the true blues are scarce." "We're going to try it, anyway," returned Helen. "Perhaps we shall run across some others. Now I wrote down for the yellows, yellow crocuses first of all and yellow tulips." "There are many yellow spring flowers and late summer brings goldenrod, so it seems as if the extremes liked the color," said Margaret observantly. "The intermediate season does, too," returned Mr. Emerson. "Daffodils and jonquils are yellow and early enough to suit the most impatient," remarked James. "Who wrote this," asked Mr. Emerson, from whom Ethel Brown inherited her love of poetry: "I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high on vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd A host of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze." "Wordsworth," cried Ethel Brown. "Wordsworth," exclaimed Tom Watkins in the same breath. "That must mean that daffies grow wild in England," remarked Dorothy. "They do, and we can have something of the same effect here if we plant them through a lawn. The bulbs must be put in like other bulbs, in the autumn. Crocuses may be treated in the same way. Then in the spring they come gleaming through the sod and fill everybody with Wordsworth's delight." "Here's another competition between Helen's wild garden and the color bed; which shall take the buttercups and cowslips?" "Let the wild bed have them," urged Grandfather. "There will be plenty of others for the yellow bed." "We want yellow honeysuckle climbing on the high wire," declared Roger. "Assisted by yellow jessamine?" asked Margaret. "And canary bird vine," contributed Ethel Blue. "And golden glow to cover the fence," added Ethel Brown. "The California poppy is a gorgeous blossom for an edge," said Ethel Blue, "and there are other kinds of poppies that are yellow." "Don't forget the yellow columbines," Dorothy reminded them, "and the yellow snapdragons." "There's a yellow cockscomb as well as a red." "And a yellow verbena." "Being a doctor's son I happen to remember that calendula, which takes the pain out of a cut finger most amazingly, has a yellow flower." "Don't forget stocks and marigolds." "And black-eyed-Susans--rudbeckia--grow very large when they're cultivated." "That ought to go in the wild garden," said Helen. "We'll let you have it," responded Roger generously, "We can put the African daisy in the yellow bed instead." "Calliopsis or coreopsis is one of the yellow plants that the Department of Agriculture Bulletin mentions," said Dorothy. "It tells you just how to plant it and we put in the seeds early on that account." "Gaillardia always reminds me of it a bit--the lemon color," said Ethel Brown. "Only that's stiffer. If you want really, truly prim things try zinnias--old maids." [Illustration: Rudbeckia--Black-eyed Susan] "Zinnias come in a great variety of colors now," reported Mr. Emerson. "A big bowl of zinnias is a handsome sight." "We needn't put any sunflowers into the yellow bed," Dorothy reminded them, "because almost my whole back yard is going to be full of them." "And you needn't plant any special yellow nasturtiums because Mother loves them and she has planted enough to give us flowers for the house, and flowers and leaves for salads and sandwiches, and seeds for pickle to use with mutton instead of capers." "There's one flower you must be sure to have plenty of even if you don't make these colored beds complete," urged Mr. Emerson; "that's the 'chalk-lover,' gypsophila." "What is it?" "The delicate, white blossom that your grandmother always puts among cut flowers. It is feathery and softens and harmonizes the hues of all the rest. 'So warm with light his blended colors flow,' in a bouquet when there's gypsophila in it." "But what a name!" ejaculated Roger. CHAPTER VIII CAVE LIFE The dogwood was in blossom when the girls first established themselves in the cave in the Fitz-James woods. Mrs. Morton and Mrs. Smith thought it was rather too cool, but the girls invited them to come and have afternoon cocoa with them and proved to their satisfaction that the rocks were so sheltered by their position and by the trees that towered above them that it would take a sturdy wind to make them really uncomfortable. Their first duty had been to clean out the cave. "We can pretend that no one ever has lived here since the days when everybody lived in caves," said Ethel Blue, who was always pretending something unusual. "We must be the first people to discover it." "I dare say we are," replied Dorothy. "Uhuh," murmured Ethel Brown, a sound which meant a negative reply. "Here's an old tin can, so we aren't the very first." "It may have been brought here by a wolf," suggested Ethel Blue. "Perhaps it was a werwolf," suggested Dorothy. "What's that?" "A man turned by magic into a wolf but keeping his human feelings. The more I think of it the more I'm sure that it was a werwolf that brought the can here, because, having human feelings, he would know about cans and what they had in them, and being a wolf he would carry it to his lair or den or whatever they call it, to devour it." "Really, Dorothy, you make me uncomfortable!" exclaimed Ethel Blue. "That may be one down there in the field now," continued Dorothy, enjoying her make-believe. The Ethels turned and gazed, each with an armful of trash that she had brought out of the cave. There was, in truth, a figure down in the field beside the brook, and he was leaning over and thrusting a stick into the ground and examining it closely when he drew it out. "That can't be a werwolf," remonstrated Ethel Brown. "That's a man." "Perhaps in the twentieth century wolves turn into men instead of men turning into wolves," suggested Dorothy. "This may be a wolf with a man's shape but keeping the feelings of a wolf, instead of the other way around." "Don't, Dorothy!" remonstrated Ethel Blue again. "He does look like a horrid sort of man, doesn't he?" They all looked at him and wondered what he could be doing in the Miss Clarks' field, but he did not come any nearer to them so they did not have a chance to find out whether he really was as horrid looking as Ethel Blue imagined. It was not a short task to make the cave as clean as the girls wanted it to be. The owner of the tin can had been an untidy person or else his occupation of Fitz-James's rocks had been so long ago that Nature had accumulated a great deal of rubbish. Whichever explanation was correct, there were many armfuls to be removed and then the interior of the cave had to be subjected to a thorough sweeping before the girls' ideas of tidiness were satisfied. They had to carry all the rubbish away to some distance, for it would not do to leave it near the cave to be an eyesore during the happy days that they meant to spend there. It was all done and Roger, who happened along, had made a bonfire for them and consumed all the undesirable stuff, before the two mothers appeared for the promised cocoa and the visit of inspection. The girls at once set about the task of converting them to a belief in the sheltered position of the cave and then they turned their attention to the preparation of the feast. They had brought an alcohol stove that consisted of a small tripod which held a tin of solid alcohol and supported a saucepan. When packing up time came the tripod and the can fitted into the saucepan and the handles folded about it compactly. "We did think at first of having an old stove top that Roger saw thrown away at Grandfather's," Ethel Brown explained. "We could build two brick sides to hold it up and have the stone for a back and leave the front open and run a piece of stove pipe up through that crack in the rocks." Mrs. Morton and Mrs. Smith, who were sitting on a convenient bit of rock just outside the cave, peered in as the description progressed. "Then we could burn wood underneath and regulate the draft by making a sort of blower with some piece of old sheet iron." The mothers made no comment as Ethel Brown seemed not to have finished her account. "Then we thought that perhaps you'd let us have that old oil stove up in the attic. We could set it on this flat rock on this side of the cave." "We thought there might be some danger about that because it isn't very, _very_ large in here, so we finally decided on this alcohol stove. It's safe and it doesn't take up any room and this solid alcohol doesn't slop around and set your dress afire or your table cloth, and we can really cook a good many things on it and the rest we can cook in our own little kitchen and bring over here. If we cover them well they'll still be warm when they get here." "That's a wise decision," assented Mrs. Morton, nodding toward her sister-in-law. "I should be afraid that the stove top arrangement might be like the oil stove--the fuel might fall about and set fire to your frocks." "And it would take up much more space in the cave," suggested Mrs. Smith. "Here's a contribution to your equipment," and she brought out a box of paper plates and cups, and another of paper napkins. "These are fine!" cried Ethel Blue. "They'll save washing." "Here's our idea for furnishing. Do you want to hear it?" asked Dorothy. "Of course we do." "Do you see that flat oblong space there at the back? We're going to fit a box in there. We'll turn it on its side, put hinges and a padlock on the cover to make it into a door, and fix up shelves." "I see," nodded her mother and aunt. "That will be your store cupboard." "And our sideboard and our linen closet, all in one. We're going to make it when we go home this afternoon because we know now what the measurements are and we've got just the right box down in the cellar." "Where do you get the water?" "Roger is cleaning out the spring now and making the basin under it a little larger, so we shall always have fresh spring water." "That's good. I was going to warn you always to boil any water from the brook." "We'll remember." The water for the cocoa was now bubbling in the saucepan. Ethel Blue took four spoonfuls of prepared cocoa, wet it with one spoonful of water and rubbed it smooth. Then she stirred it into a pint of the boiling water and when this had boiled up once she added a pint of milk. When the mixture boiled she took it off at once and served it in the paper cups that her aunt had brought. To go with it Ethel Brown had prepared almond biscuit. They were made by first blanching two ounces of almonds by pouring boiling water on them and then slipping off their brown overcoats. After they had been ground twice over in the meat chopper they were mixed with four tablespoonfuls of flour and one tablespoonful of sugar and moistened with a tablespoonful of milk. When they were thoroughly mixed and rolled thin they were cut into small rounds and baked in a quick oven for ten or fifteen minutes. "These are delicious, my dear," Mrs. Smith said, smiling at her nieces, and the Ethels were greatly pleased at their Aunt Louise's praise. They sat about on the rocks and enjoyed their meal heartily. The birds were busy over their heads, the leaves were beginning to come thickly in the tree crowns and the chipmunks scampered busily about, seeming to be not at all frightened by the coming of these new visitors to their haunts. Dorothy tried to coax one to eat out of her hand. He was curious to try the food that she held out to him and his courage brought him almost within reach of her fingers before it failed and sent him scampering back to his hole, the stripes on his back looking like ribbons as he leaped to safety. Within a month the cave was in excellent working order. The box proved to be a success just as the girls had planned it. They kept there such stores as they did not care to carry back and forth--sugar, salt and pepper, cocoa, crackers--and a supply of eggs, cream-cheese and cookies and milk always fresh. Sometimes when the family thermos bottle was not in use they brought the milk in that and at other times they brought it in an ordinary bottle and let it stand in the hollow below the spring. Glass fruit jars with screw tops preserved all that was entrusted to them free from injury by any marauding animals who might be tempted by the smell to break open the cupboard. These jars the girls placed on the top shelf; on the next they ranged their paper "linen"--which they used for napkins and then as fuel to start the bonfire in which they destroyed all the rubbish left over from their meal. This fire was always small, was made in one spot which Roger had prepared by encircling it with stones, and was invariably put out with a saucepanful of water from the brook. "It never pays to leave a fire without a good dousing," he always insisted. "The rascally thing may be playing 'possum and blaze out later when there is no one here to attend to it." A piece of board which could be moved about at will was used as a table when the weather was such as to make eating inside of the cave desirable. One end was placed on top of the cupboard and the other on a narrow ledge of stone that projected as if made for the purpose. One or two large stones and a box or two served as seats, but there was not room inside for all the members of the Club. When there was a general meeting some had to sit outside. They added to their cooking utensils a few flat saucepans in which water would boil quickly and they made many experiments in cooking vegetables. Beans they gave up trying to cook after several experiments, because they took so long--from one to three hours--for both the dried and the fresh kinds, that the girls felt that they could not afford so much alcohol. They eliminated turnips, too, after they had prodded a frequent fork into some obstinate roots for about three quarters of an hour. Beets were nearly as discouraging, but not quite, when they were young and tender, and the same was true of cabbage. "It's only the infants that we can use in this affair," declared Dorothy after she had replenished the saucepan from another in which she had been heating water for the purpose, over a second alcohol stove that her mother had lent them. Spinach, onions and parsnips were done in half an hour and potatoes in twenty-five minutes. They finally gave up trying to cook vegetables whole over this stove, for they concluded that not only was it necessary to have extremely young vegetables but the size of the cooking utensils must of necessity be too small to have the proceedings a success. They learned one way, however, of getting ahead of the tiny saucepan and the small stove. That was by cutting the corn from the cob and by peeling the potatoes and slicing them very thin before they dropped them into boiling water. Then they were manageable. "Miss Dawson, the domestic science teacher, says that the water you cook any starchy foods in must always be boiling like mad," Ethel Blue explained to her aunt one day when she came out to see how matters were going. "If it isn't the starch is mushy. That's why you mustn't be impatient to put on rice and potatoes and cereals until the water is just bouncing." "Almost all vegetables have some starch," explained Mrs. Morton. "Water _really_ boiling is your greatest friend. When you girls are old enough to drink tea you must remember that boiling water for tea is something more than putting on water in a saucepan or taking it out of a kettle on the stove." "Isn't boiling water boiling water?" asked Roger, who was listening. "There's boiling water _and_ boiling water," smiled his mother. "Water for tea should be freshly drawn so that there are bubbles of air in it and it should be put over the fire at once. When you are waiting for it to boil you should scald your teapot so that its coldness may not chill the hot water when you come to the actual making of the tea." "Do I seem to remember a rule about using one teaspoonful of tea for each person and one for the pot?" asked Tom. "That is the rule for the cheaper grades of tea, but the better grades are so strong that half a teaspoonful for each drinker is enough." "Then it's just as cheap to get tea at a dollar a pound as the fifty cent quality." "Exactly; and the taste is far better. Well, you have your teapot warm and your tea in it waiting, and the minute the water boils vigorously you pour it on the tea." "What would happen if you let it boil a while?" "If you should taste water freshly boiled and water that has been boiling for ten minutes you'd notice a decided difference. One has a lively taste and the other is flat. These qualities are given to the pot of tea of course." "That's all news to me," declared James. "I'm glad to know it." "I used to think 'tea and toast' was the easiest thing in the world to prepare until Dorothy taught me how to make toast when she was fixing invalid dishes for Grandfather after he was hurt in the fire at Chautauqua," said Ethel Brown. "She opened my eyes," and she nodded affectionately at her cousin. "There's one thing we must learn to make or we won't be true campers," insisted Tom. "What is it? I'm game to make it or eat it," responded Roger instantly. "Spider cakes." "Spiders! Ugh!" ejaculated Della daintily. "Hush; a spider is a frying pan," Ethel Brown instructed her. "Tell us how you do them, Tom," she begged. "You use the kind of flour that is called 'prepared flour.' It rises without any fuss." The Ethels laughed at this description, but they recognized the value in camp of a flour that doesn't make any fuss. "Mix a pint of the flour with half a pint of milk. Let your spider get hot and then grease it with butter or cotton seed oil." "Why not lard." "Lard will do the deed, of course, but butter or a vegetable fat always seems to me cleaner," pronounced Tom wisely. "Won't you listen to Thomas!" cried Roger. "How do you happen to know so much?" he inquired amazedly. "I went camping for a whole month once and I watched the cook a lot and since then I've gathered ideas about the use of fat in cooking. As little frying as possible for me, thank you, and no lard in mine!" They smiled at his earnestness, but they all felt the same way, for the girls were learning to approve of delicacy in cooking the more they cooked. "Go ahead with your spider cake," urged Margaret, who was writing down the receipt as Tom gave it. "When your buttered spider is ready you pour in half the mixture you have ready. Spread it smooth over the whole pan, put on a cover that you've heated, and let the cake cook four minutes. Turn it over and let the other side cook for four minutes. You ought to have seen our camp cook turn over his cakes; he tossed them into the air and he gave the pan such a twist with his wrist that the cake came down all turned over and ready to let the good work go on." "What did he do with the other half of his batter?" asked Ethel Brown, determined to know exactly what happened at every stage of proceedings. "When he had taken out the first cake and given it to us he put in the remainder and cooked it while we were attacking the first installment." "Was it good?" "You bet!" "I don't know whether we can do it with this tiny fire, but let's try--what do you say?" murmured Ethel Brown to Ethel Blue. "We ought to have trophies of our bow and spear," Roger suggested when he was helping with the furnishing arrangements. "There aren't any," replied Ethel Brown briefly, "but Dicky has a glass bowl full of tadpoles; we can have those." So the tadpoles came to live in the cave, carried out into the light whenever some one came and remembered to do it, and as some one came almost every day, and as all the U.S.C. members were considerate of the needs and feelings of animals as well as of people, the tiny creatures did not suffer from their change of habitation. Dicky had taken the frogs' eggs from the edge of a pool on his grandfather's farm. They looked like black dots at first. Then they wriggled out of the jelly and took their place in the world as tadpoles. It was an unfailing delight to all the young people, to look at them through a magnifying glass. They had apparently a round head with side gills through which they breathed, and a long tail. After a time tiny legs appeared under what might pass as the chin. Then the body grew longer and another pair of legs made their appearance. Finally the tail was absorbed and the tadpole's transformation into a frog was complete. All this did not take place for many months, however, but through the summer the Club watched the little wrigglers carefully and thought that they could see a difference from week to week. CHAPTER IX "NOTHING BUT LEAVES" When the leaves were well out on the trees Helen held an Observation Class one afternoon, in front of the cave. "How many members of this handsome and intelligent Club know what leaves are for?" she inquired. "As representing in a high degree both the qualities you mention, Madam President," returned Tom, with a bow, "I take upon myself the duty of replying that perhaps you and Roger do because you've studied botany, and maybe Margaret and James do because they've had a garden, and it's possible that the Ethels and Dorothy do inasmuch as they've had the great benefit of your acquaintance, but that Della and I don't know the very first thing about leaves except that spinach and lettuce are good to eat." "Take a good, full breath after that long sentence," advised James. "Go ahead, Helen. I don't know much about leaves except to recognize them when I see them." "Do you know what they're for?" demanded Helen, once again. "I can guess," answered Margaret. "Doesn't the plant breathe and eat through them?" "It does exactly that. It takes up food from water and from the soil by its roots and it gets food and water from the air by its leaves." "Sort of a slender diet," remarked Roger, who was blessed with a hearty appetite. "The leaves give it a lot of food. I was reading in a book on botany the other day that the elm tree in Cambridge, Massachusetts, under which Washington reviewed his army during the Revolution was calculated to have about seven million leaves and that they gave it a surface of about five acres. That's quite a surface to eat with!" "Some mouth!" commented Roger. "If each one of you will pick a leaf you'll have in your hand an illustration of what I say," suggested Helen. [Illustration: Lily of the Valley Leaf] They all provided themselves with leaves, picking them from the plants and shrubs and trees around them, except Ethel Blue, who already had a lily of the valley leaf with some flowers pinned to her blouse. "When a leaf has everything that belongs to it it has a little stalk of its own that is called a _petiole_; and at the foot of the petiole it has two tiny leaflets called _stipules_, and it has what we usually speak of as 'the leaf' which is really the _blade_." They all noted these parts either on their own leaves or their neighbors', for some of their specimens came from plants that had transformed their parts. "What is the blade of your leaf made of?" Helen asked Ethel Brown. "Green stuff with a sort of framework inside," answered Ethel, scrutinizing the specimen in her hand. "What are the characteristics of the framework?" "It has big bones and little ones," cried Della. "Good for Delila! The big bones are called ribs and the fine ones are called veins. Now, will you please all hold up your leaves so we can all see each other's. What is the difference in the veining between Ethel Brown's oak leaf and Ethel Blue's lily of the valley leaf?" [Illustration: Ethel Brown's Oak Leaf] After an instant's inspection Ethel Blue said, "The ribs and veins on my leaf all run the same way, and in the oak leaf they run every which way." "Right," approved Helen again. "The lily of the valley leaf is parallel-veined and the oak leaf is net-veined. Can each one of you decide what your own leaf is?" "I have a blade of grass; it's parallel veined," Roger determined. All the others had net veined specimens, but they remembered that iris and flag and corn and bear-grass--yucca--all were parallel. "Yours are nearly all netted because there are more net-veined leaves than the other kind," Helen told them. "Now, there are two kinds of parallel veining and two kinds of net veining," she went on. "All the parallel veins that you've spoken of are like Ethel Blue's lily of the valley leaf--the ribs run from the stem to the tip--but there's another kind of parallel veining that you see in the pickerel weed that's growing down there in the brook; in that the veins run parallel from a strong midrib to the edge of the leaf." James made a rush down to the brook and came back with a leaf of the pickerel weed and they handed it about and compared it with the lily of the valley leaf. "Look at Ethel Brown's oak leaf," Helen continued. "Do you see it has a big midrib and the other veins run out from it 'every which way' as Ethel Blue said, making a net? Doesn't it remind you of a feather?" They all agreed that it did, and they passed around Margaret's hat which had a quill stuck in the band, and compared it with the oak leaf. "That kind of veining is called pinnate veining from a Latin word that means 'feather,'" explained Helen. "The other kind of net veining is that of the maple leaf." Tom and Dorothy both had maple leaves and they held them up for general observation. "How is it different from the oak veining?" quizzed Helen. "The maple is a little like the palm of your hand with the fingers running out," offered Ethel Brown. "That's it exactly. There are several big ribs starting at the same place instead of one midrib. Then the netting connects all these spreading ribs. That is called _palmate_ veining because it's like the palm of your hand." "Or the web foot of a duck," suggested Dorothy. [Illustration: Tom and Dorothy both had Maple Leaves] "I should think all the leaves that have a feather-shaped framework would be long and all the palm-shaped ones would be fat," guessed Della. "They are, and they have been given names descriptive of their shape. The narrowest kind, with the same width all the way, is called '_linear_.'" "Because it's a line--more or less," cried James. "The next wider, has a point and is called '_lance-shaped_.' The '_oblong_' is like the linear, the same size up and down, but it's much wider than the linear. The '_elliptical_' is what the oblong would be if its ends were prettily tapered off. The apple tree has a leaf whose ellipse is so wide that it is called '_oval_.' Can you guess what '_ovate_' is?" "'Egg-shaped'?" inquired Tom. "That's it; larger at one end than the other, while a leaf that is almost round, is called '_rotund_.'" "Named after Della," observed Della's brother in a subdued voice that nevertheless caught his sister's ear and caused an oak twig to fly in his direction. "There's a lance-shaped leaf that is sharp at the base instead of the point; that's named '_ob-lanceolate_'; and there's one called '_spatulate_' that looks like the spatula that druggists mix things with." [Illustration: Linear Lance-shaped Oblong Elliptical Ovate] "That ought to be rounded at the point and narrow at the base," said the doctor's son. "It is. The lower leaves of the common field daisy are examples. How do you think the botanists have named the shape that is like an egg upside down?" "'_Ob-ovate_', if it's like the other _ob_," guessed Dorothy. "The leaflets that make up the horse-chestnut leaf are '_wedge-shaped_' at the base," Helen reminded them. "Then there are some leaves that have nothing remarkable about their tips but have bases that draw your attention. One is '_heart-shaped_'--like the linden leaf or the morning-glory. Another is '_kidney-shaped_'. That one is wider than it is long." [Illustration: Shield-shaped Oblancolate Spatulate Rotund Crenate Edge] [Illustration: Heart-shaped Kidney-shaped] "The hepatica is kidney-shaped," remarked James. "The '_ear-shaped_' base isn't very common in this part of the world, but there's a magnolia of that form. The '_arrow-shaped_' base you can find in the arrow-weed in the brook. The shape like the old-time weapon, the '_halberd_' is seen in the common sorrel." "That nice, acid-tasting leaf?" "Yes, that's the one. What does the nasturtium leaf remind you of?" "Dicky always says that when the Jack-in-the-Pulpit stops preaching he jumps on the back of a frog and takes a nasturtium leaf for a shield and hops forth to look for adventures," said Roger, to whom Dicky confided many of his ideas when they were working together in the garden. [Illustration: Arrow-shaped Ear-shaped Halberd-shaped] "Dicky is just right," laughed Helen. "That is a '_shield-shaped_' leaf." "Do the tips of the leaves have names?" "Yes. They are all descriptive--'_pointed_,' '_acute_,' '_obtuse_,' '_truncate_,' '_notched_,' and so on," answered Helen. "Did you notice a minute ago that I spoke of the 'leaflet' of a horse-chestnut leaf? What's the difference between a 'leaflet' and a 'leaf'?" "To judge by what you said, a leaflet must be a part of a leaf. One of the five fingers of the horse-chestnut leaf is a leaflet," Della reasoned out in answer. [Illustration: Obtuse Truncated Notched] "Can you think of any other leaves that have leaflets?" "A locust?" "A rose?" [Illustration: Pinnate Pinnate, tendrils Locust Leaf Sweet Pea Leaf] "A sweetpea?" The latter answer-question came from Roger and produced a laugh. "All those are right. The leaves that are made up of leaflets are called '_compound_' leaves, and the ones that aren't compound are '_simple_.'" "Most leaves are simple," decided Ethel Brown. "There are more simple than compound," agreed Helen. "As you recall them do you see any resemblance between the shape of the horse-chestnut leaf and the shape of the rose leaf and anything else we've been talking about this afternoon?" "Helen is just naturally headed for the teaching profession!" exclaimed James in an undertone. Helen flushed. "I do seem to be asking about a million questions, don't I?" she responded good naturedly. "The rose leaf is feather-shaped and the horse-chestnut is palm-shaped," Ethel Blue thought aloud, frowning delicately as she spoke. "They're like those different kinds of veining." "That's it exactly," commended her cousin. "Those leaves are '_pinnately compound_' and '_palmately compound_' according as their leaflets are arranged like a feather or like the palm of your hand. When you begin to notice the edges of leaves you see that there is about every degree of cutting between the margin that is quite smooth and the margin that is so deeply cut that it is almost a compound leaf. It is never a real compound leaf, though, unless the leaflets are truly separate and all belong on one common stalk." "My lily of the valley leaf has a perfectly smooth edge," said Ethel Blue. "That is called '_entire_.' This elm leaf of mine has a '_serrate_' edge with the teeth pointing forward like the teeth of a saw. When they point outward like the spines of a holly leaf they are '_dentate_-'toothed. The border of a nasturtium leaf is '_crenate_' or scalloped. Most honeysuckles have a '_wavy_' margin. When there are sharp, deep notches such as there are on the upper leaves of the field daisy, the edge is called '_cut_.'" "This oak leaf is 'cut,' then." "When the cuts are as deep as those the leaf is '_cleft_.' When they go about half way to the midrib, as in the hepatica, it is '_lobed_' and when they almost reach the midrib as they do in the poppy it is '_parted_.'" [Illustration: Dentate Wavy] "Which makes me think our ways must part if James and I are to get home in time for dinner," said Margaret. "There's our werwolf down in the field again," exclaimed Dorothy, peering through the bushes toward the meadow where a man was stooping and standing, examining what he took up from the ground. "Let's go through the field and see what he's doing," exclaimed Roger. "He's been here so many times he must have some purpose." But when they passed him he was merely looking at a flower through a small magnifying glass. He said "Good-afternoon" to them, and they saw as they looked back, that he kept on with his bending and rising and examination. "He's like us, students of botany," laughed Ethel Blue. "We ought to have asked him to Helen's class this afternoon." "I don't like his looks," Dorothy decided. "He makes me uncomfortable. I wish he wouldn't come here." Roger turned back to take another look and shook his head thoughtfully. "Me neither," he remarked concisely, and then added as if to take the thoughts of the girls off the subject, "Here's a wild strawberry plant for your indoor strawberry bed, Ethel Brown," and launched into the recitation of an anonymous poem he had recently found. "The moon is up, the moon is up! The larks begin to fly, And, like a drowsy buttercup, Dark Phoebus skims the sky, The elephant with cheerful voice, Sings blithely on the spray; The bats and beetles all rejoice, Then let me, too, be gay." CHAPTER X THE U.S.C. AND THE COMMUNITY Roger's interest in gardening had extended far beyond fertilizers and sweetpeas. It was not long after the discussion in which the Mortons' garden had been planned on paper that he happened to mention to the master of the high school, Mr. Wheeler, what the Club was intending to do. Mr. Wheeler had learned to value the enthusiasm and persistency of the U.S.C. members and it did not take him long to decide that he wanted their assistance in putting through a piece of work that would be both pleasant and profitable for the whole community. "It seems queer that here in Rosemont where we are on the very edge of the country there should be any people who do not have gardens," he said to Roger. "There are, though," responded Roger. "I was walking down by the station the other day where those shanties are that the mill hands live in and I noticed that not one of them had space for more than a plant or two and they seemed to be so discouraged at the prospect that even the plant or two wasn't there." "Yet all the children that live in those houses go to our public schools. Now my idea is that we should have a community garden, planted and taken care of by the school children." "Bully!" exclaimed Roger enthusiastically. "Where are you going to get your land?" "That's the question. It ought to be somewhere near the graded school, and there isn't any ploughed land about there. The only vacant land there is is that cheerful spot that used to be the dump." "Isn't that horrible! One corner of it is right behind the house where my aunt Louise lives. Fortunately there's a thick hedge that shuts it off." "Still it's there, and I imagine she'd be glad enough to have it made into a pleasant sight instead of an eyesore." "You mean that the dump might be made into the garden?" "If we can get people like Mrs. Smith who are personally affected by it, and others who have the benefit of the community at heart to contribute toward clearing off the ground and having it fertilized I believe that would be the right place." "You can count on Aunt Louise, I know. She'd be glad to help. Anybody would. Why it would turn that terrible looking spot into almost a park!" "The children would prepare the gardens once the soil was put into something like fair condition, but the first work on that lot is too heavy even for the larger boys." "They could pick up the rubbish on top." "Yes, they could do that, and the town carts could carry it away and burn it. The town would give us the street sweepings all spring and summer and some of the people who have stables would contribute fertilizer. Once that was turned under with the spade and topped off by some commercial fertilizer with a dash of lime to sweeten matters, the children could do the rest." "What is your idea about having the children taught? Will the regular teachers do it?" "All the children have some nature study, and simple gardening can be run into that, our superintendent tells me. Then I know something about gardening and I'll gladly give some time to the outdoor work." "I'd like to help, too," said Roger unassumingly, "if you think I know enough." "If you're going to have a share in planting and working three gardens I don't see why you can't keep sufficiently ahead of the children to be able to show them what to do. We'd be glad to have your help," and Mr. Wheeler shook hands cordially with his new assistant. Roger was not the only member of his family interested in the new plan. His Grandfather was public-spirited and at a meeting of citizens called for the purpose of proposing the new community venture he offered money, fertilizer, seeds, and the services of a man for two days to help in the first clearing up. Others followed his example, one citizen giving a liberal sum of money toward the establishment of an incinerator which should replace in part the duties of the dump, and another heading a subscription list for the purchase of a fence which should keep out stray animals and boys whose interests might be awakened at the time the vegetables ripened rather than during the days of preparation and backache. Mrs. Smith answered her nephew's expectations by adding to the fund. The town contributed the lot, and supported the new work generously in more than one way. When it came to the carrying out of details Mr. Wheeler made further demands upon the Club. He asked the boys to give some of their Saturday time to spreading the news of the proposed garden among the people who might contribute and also the people who might want to have their children benefit by taking the new "course of study." Although James and Tom did not live in Rosemont they were glad to help and for several Saturdays the Club tramps were utilized as a means of spreading the good news through the outskirts of the town. The girls were placed among the workers when the day came to register the names of the children who wanted to undertake the plots. There were so many of them that there was plenty to do for both the Ethels and for Dorothy and Helen, who assisted Mr. Wheeler. The registration was based on the catalogue plan. For each child there was a card, and on it the girls wrote his name and address, his grade in school and a number corresponding to the number of one of the plots into which the big field was divided. It did not take him long to understand that on the day when the garden was to open he was to hunt up his plot and that after that he and his partner were to be responsible for everything that happened to it. Two boys or two girls were assigned to each plot but more children applied than there were plots to distribute. The Ethels were disturbed about this at first for it seemed a shame that any one who wanted to make a garden should not have the opportunity. Helen reminded them, however, that there might be some who would find their interest grow faint when the days grew hot and long and the weeds seemed to wax tall at a faster rate than did the desirable plants. "When some of these youngsters fall by the wayside we can supply their places from the waiting list," she said. "There won't be so many fall by the wayside if there is a waiting list," prophesied her Aunt Louise who had come over to the edge of the ground to see how popular the new scheme proved to be. "It's human nature to want to stick if you think that some one else is waiting to take your place." The beds were sixteen feet long and five feet wide and a path ran all around. This permitted every part of the bed to be reached by hand, and did away with the necessity of stepping on it. It was decreed that all the plots were to be edged with flowers, but the workers might decide for themselves what they should be. The planters of the first ten per cent. of the beds that showed seedlings were rewarded by being allowed the privilege of planting the vines and tall blossoming plants that were to cover the inside of the fence. Most of the plots were given over to vegetables, even those cared for by small children, for the addition of a few extras to the family table was more to be desired than the bringing home of a bunch of flowers, but even the most provident children had the pleasure of picking the white candytuft or blue ageratum, or red and yellow dwarf nasturtiums that formed the borders. Once a week each plot received a visit from some one qualified to instruct the young farmer and the condition of the plot was indicated on his card. Here, too, and on the duplicate card which was filed in the schoolhouse, the child's attendance record was kept, and also the amount of seed he used and the extent of the crop he harvested. In this way the cost of each of the little patches was figured quite closely. As it turned out, some of the children who were not blessed with many brothers and sisters, sold a good many dimes' worth of vegetables in the course of the summer. "This surely is a happy sight!" exclaimed Mr. Emerson to his wife as he passed one day and stopped to watch the children at work, some, just arrived, getting their tools from the toolhouse in one corner of the lot, others already hard at work, some hoeing, some on their knees weeding, all as contented as they were busy. "Come in, come in," urged Mr. Wheeler, who noticed them looking over the fence. "Come in and see how your grandson's pupils are progressing." The Emersons were eager to accept the invitation. "Here is the plan we've used in laying out the beds," explained Mr. Wheeler, showing them a copy of a Bulletin issued by the Department of Agriculture. "Roger and I studied over it a long time and we came to the conclusion that we couldn't better this. This one is all vegetables, you see, and that has been chosen by most of the youngsters. Some of the girls, though, wanted more flowers, so they have followed this one." [Illustration: Plan of a vegetable Plan of a combined school garden vegetable and flower school garden] "This vegetable arrangement is the one I've followed at home," said Roger, "only mine is larger. Dicky's garden is just this size." "Would there be any objection to my offering a small prize?" asked Mr. Emerson. "None at all." "Then I'd like to give some packages of seeds--as many as you think would be suitable--to the partners who make the most progress in the first month." "And I'd like to give a bundle of flower seeds to the border that is in the most flourishing condition by the first of August," added Mrs. Emerson. "And the United Service Club would like to give some seeds for the earliest crop of vegetables harvested from any plot," promised Roger, taking upon himself the responsibility of the offer which he was sure the other members would confirm. Mr. Wheeler thanked them all and assured them that notice of the prizes would be given at once so that the competition might add to the present enthusiasm. "Though it would be hard to do that," he concluded, smiling with satisfaction. "No fair planting corn in the kitchen and transplanting it the way I'm doing at home," decreed Roger, enlarging his stipulations concerning the Club offer. "I understand; the crop must be raised here from start to finish," replied Mr. Wheeler. The interest of the children in the garden and of their parents and the promoters in general in the improvement that they had made in the old town dump was so great that the Ethels were inspired with an idea that would accomplish even more desirable changes. The suggestion was given at one of the Saturday meetings of the Club. "You know how horrid the grounds around the railroad station are," Ethel Blue reminded them. "There's some grass," objected Roger. "A tiny patch, and right across the road there are ugly weeds. I think that if we put it up to the people of Rosemont right now they'd be willing to do something about making the town prettier by planting in a lot of conspicuous places." "Where besides the railroad station?" inquired Helen. "Can you ask? Think of the Town Hall! There isn't a shrub within a half mile." "And the steps of the high school," added Ethel Brown. "You go over them every day for ten months, so you're so accustomed to them that you don't see that they're as ugly as ugly. They ought to have bushes planted at each side to bank them from sight." "I dare say you're right," confessed Helen, while Roger nodded assent and murmured something about Japan ivy. "Some sort of vine at all the corners would be splendid," insisted Ethel Brown. "Ethel Blue and Dorothy and I planted Virginia Creeper and Japan ivy and clematis wherever we could against the graded school building; didn't we tell you? The principal said we might; he took the responsibility and we provided the plants and did the planting." "He said he wished we could have some rhododendrons and mountain laurel for the north side of the building, and some evergreen azalea bushes, but he didn't know where we'd get them, because he had asked the committee for them once and they had said that they were spending all their money on the inside of the children's heads and that the outside of the building would have to look after itself." "That's just the spirit the city fathers have been showing about the park. They've actually got that started, though," said Roger gratefully. "They're doing hardly any work on it; I went by there yesterday," reported Dorothy. "It's all laid out, and I suppose they've planted grass seed for there are places that look as if they might be lawns in the dim future." "Too bad they couldn't afford to sod them," remarked James, wisely. "If they'd set out clumps of shrubs at the corners and perhaps put a carpet of pansies under them it would help," declared Ethel Blue, who had consulted with the Glen Point nurseryman one afternoon when the Club went there to see Margaret and James. "Why don't we make a roar about it?" demanded Roger. "Ethel Blue had the right idea when she said that now was the time to take advantage of the citizens' interest. If we could in some way call their attention to the high school and the Town Hall and the railroad station and the park." "And tell them that the planting at the graded school as far as it goes, was done by three little girls," suggested Tom, grinning at the disgusted faces with which the Ethels and Dorothy heard themselves called "little girls"; "that ought to put them to shame." "Isn't the easiest way to call their attention to it to have a piece in the paper?" asked Ethel Brown. "You've hit the right idea," approved James. "If your editor is like the Glen Point editor he'll be glad of a new crusade to undertake." "Particularly if it's backed by your grandfather," added Della shrewdly. The result of this conference of the Club was that they laid the whole matter before Mr. Emerson and found that it was no trouble at all to enlist his interest. "If you're interested right off why won't other people be?" asked Ethel Brown when it was clear that her grandfather would lend his weight to anything they undertook. "I believe they will be, and I think you have the right idea about making a beginning. Go to Mr. Montgomery, the editor of the Rosemont _Star_, and say that I sent you to lay before him the needs of this community in the way of added beauty. Tell him to 'play it up' so that the Board of Trade will get the notion through their heads that people will be attracted to live here if they see lovely grounds about them. He'll think of other appeals. Go to see him." The U.S.C. never let grass grow under its feet. The Ethels and Dorothy, Roger and Helen went to the office of the _Star_ that very afternoon. "You seem to be a delegation," said the editor, receiving them with a smile. "We represent our families, who are citizens of Rosemont," answered Roger, "and who want your help, and we also represent the United Service Club which is ready to help you help them." "I know you!" responded Mr. Montgomery genially. "Your club is well named. You've already done several useful things for Rosemont people and institutions. What is it now?" Roger told him to the last detail, even quoting Tom's remark about the "three little girls," and adding some suggestions about town prizes for front door yards which the Ethels had poured into his ears as they came up the stairs. While he was talking the editor made some notes on a pad lying on his desk. The Ethels were afraid that that meant that he was not paying much attention, and they glanced at each other with growing disappointment. When Roger stopped, however, Mr. Montgomery nodded gravely. "I shall be very glad indeed to lend the weight of the _Star_ toward the carrying out of your proposition," he remarked, seeming not to notice the bounce of delight that the younger girls could not resist. "What would you think of a series of editorials, each striking a different note?" and he read from his pad;--Survey of Rosemont; Effect of Appearance of Railroad Station, Town Hall, etc., on Strangers; Value of Beauty as a Reinforcement to Good Roads and Good Schools. "That is, as an extra attraction for drawing new residents," he explained. "We have good roads and good schools, but I can conceive of people who might say that they would have to be a lot better than they are before they'd live in a town where the citizens had no more idea of the fitness of things than to have a dump heap almost in the heart of the town and to let the Town Hall look like a jail." The listening party nodded their agreement with the force of this argument. "'What Three Little Girls Have Done,'" read Mr. Montgomery. "I'll invite any one who is interested to take a look at the graded schoolhouse and see how much better it looks as a result of what has been accomplished there. I know, because I live right opposite it, and I'm much obliged to you young ladies." He bowed so affably in the direction of the Ethels and Dorothy, and "young ladies" sounded so pleasantly in their ears that they were disposed to forgive him for the "little girls" of his title. "I have several other topics here," he went on, "some appealing to our citizens' love of beauty and some to their notions of commercial values. If we keep this thing up every day for a week and meanwhile work up sentiment, I shouldn't wonder if we had some one calling a public meeting at the end of the week. If no one else does I'll do it myself," he added amusedly. "What can we do?" asked Ethel Brown, who always went straight to the practical side. "Stir up sentiment. You stirred your grandfather; stir all your neighbors; talk to all your schoolmates and get them to talk at home about the things you tell them. I'll send a reporter to write up a little 'story' about the U.S.C. with a twist on the end that the grown-ups ought not to leave a matter like this for youngsters to handle, no matter how well they would do it." "But we'd like to handle it," stammered Ethel Blue. "You'll have a chance; you needn't be afraid of that. The willing horse may always pull to the full extent of his strength. But the citizens of Rosemont ought not to let a public matter like this be financed by a few kids," and Mr. Montgomery tossed his notebook on his desk with a force that hinted that he had had previous encounters with an obstinate element in his chosen abiding place. The scheme that he had outlined was followed out to the letter, with additions made as they occurred to the ingenious minds of the editor or of his clever young reporters who took an immense delight in running under the guise of news items, bits of reminder, gentle gibes at slowness, bland comments on ignorance of the commercial value of beauty, mild jokes at letting children do men's work. It was all so good-natured that no one took offence, and at the same time no one who read the _Star_ had the opportunity to forget that seed had been sown. It germinated even more promptly than Mr. Montgomery had prophesied. He knew that Mr. Emerson stood ready to call a mass meeting at any moment that he should tell him that the time was ripe, but both he and Mr. Emerson thought that the call might be more effective if it came from a person who really had been converted by the articles in the paper. This person came to the front but five days after the appearance of the first editorial in the surprising person of the alderman who had been foremost in opposing the laying out of the park. "You may think me a weathercock," he said rather sheepishly to Mr. Montgomery, "but when I make up my mind that a thing is desirable I put my whole strength into putting it through. When I finally gave my vote for the park I was really converted to the park project and I tell you I've been just frothing because the other aldermen have been so slow about putting it in order. I haven't been able to get them to appropriate half enough for it." Mr. Montgomery smothered a smile, and listened, unruffled, to his caller's proposal. "My idea now," he went on, "is to call a mass meeting in the Town Hall some day next week, the sooner the better. I'll be the chairman or Mr. Emerson or you, I don't care who it is. We'll put before the people all the points you've taken up in your articles. We'll get people who understand the different topics to talk about them--some fellow on the commercial side and some one else on the beauty side and so on; and we'll have the Glen Point nurseryman--" "We ought to have one over here," interposed Mr. Montgomery." "We will if this goes through. There's a new occupation opened here at once by this scheme! We'll have him give us a rough estimate of how much it would cost to make the most prominent spots in Rosemont look decent instead of like a deserted ranch," exclaimed the alderman, becoming increasingly enthusiastic. "I don't know that I'd call Rosemont that," objected the editor. "People don't like to have their towns abused too much; but if you can work up sentiment to have those public places fixed up and then you can get to work on some sort of plan for prizes for the prettiest front yards and the best grown vines over doors and-so on, and raise some competitive feeling I believe we'll have no more trouble than we did about the school gardens. It just takes some one to start the ball rolling, and you're the person to do it," and tactful Mr. Montgomery laid an approving hand on the shoulder of the pleased alderman. If it had all been cut and dried it could not have worked out better. The meeting was packed with citizens who proved to be so full of enthusiasm that they did not stand in need of conversion. They moved, seconded and passed resolution after resolution urging the aldermen to vote funds for improvements and they mentioned spots in need of improvement and means of improving them that U.S.C. never would have had the courage to suggest. "We certainly are indebted to you young people for a big move toward benefiting Rosemont," said Mr. Montgomery to the Club as he passed the settee where they were all seated together. "It's going to be one of the beauty spots of New Jersey before this summer is over!" "And the Ethels are the authors of the ideal" murmured Tom Watkins, applauding silently, as the girls blushed. CHAPTER XI THE FLOWER FESTIVAL The Idea of having a town flower-costume party was the Ethels', too. It came to them when contributions were beginning to flag, just as they discovered that the grounds around the fire engine house were a disgrace to a self-respecting community, as their emphatic friend, the alderman, described them. "People are always willing to pay for fun," Ethel Brown said, "and this ought to appeal to them because the money that is made by the party will go back to them by being spent for the town." Mrs. Morton and Mrs. Emerson and Mrs. Smith thought the plan was possible, and they offered to enlist the interest of the various clubs and societies to which they belonged. The schools were closed now so that there was no opportunity of advertising the entertainment through the school children, but all the clergymen co-operated heartily in every way in their power and Mr. Montgomery gave the plan plenty of free advertising, not only in the advertising columns but through the means of reading notices which his reporters prepared with as much interest and skill as they had shown in working up public opinion on the general improvement scheme. "It must be in the school house hall so everybody will go," declared Helen. "Why not use the hall and the grounds, too?" inquired Ethel Blue. "If it's a fine evening there are various things that would be prettier to have out of doors than indoors." "The refreshments, for instance," explained Ethel Brown. "Every one would rather eat his ice cream and cake at a table on the lawn in front of the schoolhouse than inside where it may be stuffy if it happens to be a warm night." "Lanterns on the trees and candles on each table would make light enough," decided Ethel Blue. "There could be a Punch and Judy show in a tent at the side of the schoolhouse," suggested Dorothy. "What is there flowery about a Punch and Judy show?" asked Roger scornfully. "Nothing at all," returned Dorothy meekly, "but for some reason or other people always like a Punch and Judy show." "Where are we going to get a tent?" "A tent would be awfully warm," Ethel Brown decided. "Why couldn't we have it in the corner where there is a fence on two sides? We could lace boughs back and forth between the palings and make the fence higher, and on the other two sides borrow or buy some wide chicken wire from the hardware store and make that eye-proof with branches." "And string an electric light wire over them. I begin to get enthusiastic," cried Roger. "We could amuse, say, a hundred people at a time at ten cents apiece, in the side-show corner and keep them away from the other more crowded regions." "Exactly," agreed Dorothy; "and if you can think of any other side show that the people will like better than Punch and Judy, why, put it in instead." "We might have finger shadows--rabbits' and dogs' heads and so on; George Foster does them splendidly, and then have some one recite and some one else do a monologue in costume." "Aren't we going to have that sort of thing inside?" "I suppose so, but if your idea is to give more space inside, considering that all Rosemont is expected to come to this festivity, we might as well have a performance in two rings, so to speak." "Especially as some of the people might be a little shy about coming inside," suggested Dorothy. "Why not forget Punch and Judy and have the same performance exactly in both places?" demanded Roger, quite excited with his idea. "The Club gives a flower dance, for instance, in the hall; then they go into the yard and give it there in the ten cent enclosure while number two of the program is on the platform inside. When number two is done inside it is put on outside, and so right through the whole performance." "That's not bad except that the outside people are paying ten cents to see the show and the inside people aren't paying anything." "Well, then, why not have the tables where you sell things--if you are going to have any?"-- "We are," Helen responded to the question in her brother's voice. "--have your tables on the lawn, and have everybody pay to see the performance--ten cents to go inside or ten cents to see the same thing in the enclosure?" "That's the best yet," decided Ethel Brown. "That will go through well if only it is pleasant weather." "I feel in my bones it will be," and Ethel Blue laughed hopefully. The appointed day was fair and not too warm. The whole U.S.C. which went on duty at the school house early in the day, pronounced the behavior of the weather to be exactly what it ought to be. The boys gave their attention to the arrangement of the screen of boughs in the corner of the school lot, and the girls, with Mrs. Emerson, Mrs. Morton and Mrs. Smith, decorated the hall. Flowers were to be sold everywhere, both indoors and out, so there were various tables about the room and they all had contributed vases of different sorts to hold the blossoms. "I must say, I don't think these look pretty a bit," confessed Dorothy, gazing with her head on one side at a large bowl of flowers of all colors that she had placed in the middle of one of the tables. Her mother looked at it and smiled. "Don't try to show off your whole stock at once," she advised. "Have a few arranged in the way that shows them to the best advantage and let Ethel Blue draw a poster stating that there are plenty more behind the scenes. Have your supply at the back or under the table in large jars and bowls and replenish your vases as soon as you sell their contents." The Ethels and Dorothy thought this was a sensible way of doing things and said so, and Ethel Blue at once set about the preparation of three posters drawn on brown wrapping paper and showing a girl holding a flower and saying "We have plenty more like this. Ask for them." They proved to be very pretty and were put up in the hall and the outside enclosure and on the lawn. "There are certain kinds of flowers that should always be kept low," explained Mrs. Smith as they all sorted over the cut flowers that had been contributed. "Flowers that grow directly from the ground like crocuses or jonquils or daffodils or narcissus--the spring bulbs--should be set into flat bowls through netting that will hold them upright. There are bowls sold for this purpose." "Don't they call them 'pansy bowls'?" "I have heard them called that. Some of them have a pierced china top; others have a silver netting. You can make a top for a bowl of any size by cutting chicken wire to suit your needs." "I should think a low-growing plant like ageratum would be pretty in a vase of that sort." "It would, and pansies, of course, and anemones--windflowers--held upright by very fine netting and nodding in every current of air as if they were still in the woods." "I think I'll make a covering for a glass bowl we have at home," declared Ethel Brown, who was diligently snipping ends of stems as she listened. "A glass bowl doesn't seem to me suitable," answered her aunt. "Can you guess why?" Ethel Brown shook her head with a murmured "No." It was Della who offered an explanation. "The stems aren't pretty enough to look at," she suggested. "When you use a glass bowl or vase the stems you see through it ought to be graceful." "I think so," responded Mrs. Smith. "That's why we always take pleasure in a tall slender glass vase holding a single rose with a long stem still bearing a few leaves. We get the effect that it gives us out of doors." "That's what we like to see," agreed Mrs. Morton. "Narcissus springing from a low bowl is an application of the same idea. So are these few sprays of clematis waving from a vase made to hang on the wall. They aren't crowded; they fall easily; they look happy." "And in a room you would select a vase that would harmonize with the coloring," added Margaret, who was mixing sweetpeas in loose bunches with feathery gypsophila. "When we were in Japan Dorothy and I learned something about the Japanese notions of flower arrangement," continued Mrs. Smith. "They usually use one very beautiful dominating blossom. If others are added they are not competing for first place but they act as helpers to add to the beauty of the main attraction." "We've learned some of the Japanese ways," said Mrs. Emerson. "I remember when people always made a bouquet perfectly round and of as many kinds of flowers as they could put into it." "People don't make 'bouquets' now; they gather a 'bunch of flowers,' or they give you a single bloom," smiled her daughter. "But isn't it true that we get as much pleasure out of a single superb chrysanthemum or rose as we do out of a great mass of them?" "There are times when I like masses," admitted Mrs. Emerson. "I like flowers of many kinds if the colors are harmoniously arranged, and I like a mantelpiece banked with the kind of flowers that give you pleasure when you see them in masses in the garden or the greenhouse." "If the vases they are in don't show," warned Mrs. Smith. Mrs. Emerson agreed to that. "The choice of vases is almost as important as the choice of flowers," she added. "If the stems are beautiful they ought to show and you must have a transparent vase, as you said about the rose. If the stems are not especially worthy of admiration the better choice is an opaque vase of china or pottery." "Or silver or copper?" questioned Margaret. "Metals and blossoms never seem to me to go well together," confessed Mrs. Emerson. "I have seen a copper cup with a bunch of violets loosely arranged so that they hung over the edge and the copper glinted through the blossoms and leaves and the effect was lovely; but flowers to be put into metal must be chosen with that in mind and arranged with especial care." "Metal _jardinières_ don't seem suitable to me, either," confessed Mrs. Emerson. "There are so many beautiful potteries now that it is possible to something harmonious for every flowerpot." "You don't object to a silver centrepiece on the dining table, do you?" "That's the only place where it doesn't seem out of place," smiled Mrs. Emerson. "There are so many other pieces of silver on the table that it is merely one of the articles of table equipment and therefore is not conspicuous. Not a standing vase, mind you!" she continued. "I don't know anything more irritating than to have to dodge about the centrepiece to see your opposite neighbor. It's a terrible bar to conversation." They all had experienced the same discomfort, and they all laughed at the remembrance. "A low bowl arranged flat is the rule for centrepieces," repeated Mrs. Emerson seriously. "Mother always says that gay flowers are the city person's greatest help in brightening up a dark room," said Della as she laid aside all the calliopsis from the flowers she was sorting. "I'm going to take a bunch of this home to her to-night." "I always have yellow or white or pink flowers in the dark corner of our sitting room," said Mrs. Smith. "The blue ones or the deep red ones or the ferns may have the sunny spots." "Father insists on yellow blossoms of some kind in the library," added Mrs. Emerson. "He says they are as good as another electric light to brighten the shadowy side where the bookcases are." "I remember seeing a gay array of window boxes at Stratford-on-Avon, once upon a time," contributed Mrs. Morton. "It was a sunshiny day when I saw them, but they were well calculated to enliven the very grayest weather that England can produce. I was told that the house belonged to Marie Corelli, the novelist." "What plants did she have?" asked Dorothy. "Blue lobelia and scarlet geraniums and some frisky little yellow bloom; I couldn't see exactly what it was." "Red and yellow and blue," repeated Ethel Brown. "Was it pretty?" "Very. Plenty of each color and all the boxes alike all over the front of the house." "We shouldn't need such vividness under our brilliant American skies," commented Mrs. Smith. "Plenty of green with flowers of one color makes a window box in the best of taste, to my way of thinking." "And that color one that is becoming to the house, so to speak," smiled Helen. "I saw a yellow house the other day that had yellow flowers in the window boxes. They were almost extinguished by their background." "I saw a white one in Glen Point with white daisies, and the effect was the same," added Margaret. "The poor little flowers were lost. There are ivies and some small evergreen shrubs that the greenhouse-men raise especially for winter window boxes now. I've been talking a lot with the nurseryman at Glen Point and he showed me some the other day that he warranted to keep fresh-looking all through the cold weather unless there were blizzards." "We must remember those at Sweetbrier Lodge," Mrs. Smith said to Dorothy. "Why don't you give a talk on arranging flowers as part of the program this evening?" Margaret asked Mrs. Smith. "Do, Aunt Louise. You really ought to," urged Helen, and the Ethels added their voices. "Give a short talk and illustrate it by the examples the girls have been arranging," Mrs. Morton added, and when Mrs. Emerson said that she thought the little lecture would have real value as well as interest Mrs. Smith yielded. "Say what you and Grandmother have been telling us and you won't need to add another thing," cried Helen. "I think it will be the very best number on the program." "I don't believe it will compete with the side show in the yard," laughed Mrs. Smith, "but I'm quite willing to do it if you think it will give any one pleasure." "But you'll be part of the side show in the yard," and they explained the latest plan of running the program. When the flowers had all been arranged to their satisfaction the girls went into the yard where they found the tables and chairs placed for the serving of the refreshments. The furniture had been supplied by the local confectioner who was to furnish the ice cream and give the management a percentage of what was received. The cake was all supplied by the ladies of the town and the money obtained from its sale was clear profit. The girls covered the bleakness of the plain tables by placing a centrepiece of radiating ferns flat on the wood. On that stood a small vase, each one having flowers of but one color, and each one having a different color. Under the trees among the refreshment tables, but not in their way, were the sales tables. On one, cut flowers were to be sold; on another, potted plants, and a special corner was devoted to wild plants from the woods. A seedsman had given them a liberal supply of seeds to sell on commission, agreeing to take back all that were not sold and to contribute one per cent. more than he usually gave to his sales people, "for the good of the cause." Every one in the whole town who raised vegetables had contributed to the Housewives' Table, and as the names of the donors were attached the table had all the attraction of an exhibit at a county fair and was surrounded all the time by so many men that the women who bought the vegetables for home use had to be asked to come back later to get them, so that the discussion of their merits among their growers might continue with the specimens before them. "That's a hint for another year," murmured Ethel Blue to Ethel Brown. "We can have a make-believe county fair and charge admission, and give medals--" "Of pasteboard." "Exactly. I'm glad we thought to have a table of the school garden products; all the parents will be enormously interested. It will bring them here, and they won't be likely to go away without: spending nickel or a dime on ice cream." A great part of the attractiveness of the grounds was due to the contribution of a dealer in garden furniture. In return for being allowed to put up advertisements of his stock in suitable places where they would not be too conspicuous, he furnished several artistic settees, an arbor or two and a small pergola, which the Glen Point greenhouseman decorated in return for a like use of his advertising matter. Still another table, under the care of Mrs. Montgomery, the wife of the editor, showed books on flowers and gardens and landscape gardening and took subscriptions for several of the garden and home magazines. Last of all a fancy table was covered with dolls and paper dolls dressed like the participants in the floral procession that was soon to form and pass around the lawn; lamp shades in the form of huge flowers; hats, flower-trimmed; and half a hundred other small articles including many for ten, fifteen and twenty-five cents to attract the children. At five o'clock the Flower Festival was opened and afternoon tea was served to the early comers. All the members of the United Service Club and the other boys and girls of the town who helped them wore flower costumes. It was while the Ethels were serving Mrs. Smith and the Miss Clarks that the latter called their attention to a man who sat at a table not far away. "That man is your rival," they announced, smiling, to Mrs. Smith. "My rival! How is that?" inquired Mrs. Smith. "He wants to buy the field." They all exclaimed and looked again at the man who sat quietly eating his ice cream as if he had no such dreadful intentions. The Ethels, however, recognized him as he pushed back a lock of hair that fell over his forehead. "Why, that's our werwolf!" they exclaimed after taking a good look at him, and they explained how they had seen him several times in the field, always digging a stick into the ground and examining what it brought up. "He says he's a botanist, and he finds so much to interest him in the field that he wants to buy it so that he may feel free to work there," said Miss Clark the younger. "That's funny," commented Ethel Blue. "He almost never looks at any flowers or plants. He just pokes his stick in and that's all." "He offered us a considerable sum for the property but we told him that you had an option on it, Mrs. Smith, and we explained that we couldn't give title anyway." "Did his interest seem to fail?" "He asked us a great many questions and we told him all about our aunt and the missing cousin. I thought you might be interested to know that some one else besides yourself sees some good in the land." "It's so queer," said the other Miss Clark. "That land has never had an offer made for it and here we have two within a few weeks of each other." "And we can't take advantage of either of them!" The Ethels noticed later on that the man was joined by a girl about their own age. They looked at her carefully so that they would recognize her again if they saw her, and they also noticed that the werwolf, as he talked to her, so often pushed back from his forehead the lock of hair that fell over it that it had become a habit. The full effect of the flower costumes was seen after the lanterns were lighted, when some of the young married women attended to the tables while their youngers marched around the lawn that all might see the costumes and be attracted to the entertainment in the hall and behind the screen in the open. Roger led the procession, impersonating "Spring." "That's a new one to me," ejaculated the editor of the _Star_ in surprise. "I always thought 'Spring' was of the feminine gender." "Not this year," returned Roger merrily as he passed by. He was dressed like a tree trunk in a long brown cambric robe that fitted him closely and gave him at the foot only the absolute space that he needed for walking. He carried real apple twigs almost entirely stripped of their leaves and laden with blossoms made of white and pink paper. The effect was of a generously flowering apple tree and every one recognized it. Behind Roger came several of the spring blossoms--the Ethels first, representing the yellow crocus and the violet. Ethel Brown wore a white dress covered with yellow gauze sewn with yellow crocuses. A ring of crocuses hung from its edge and a crocus turned upside down made a fascinating cap. All the flowers were made of tissue paper. Ethel Blue's dress was fashioned in the same way, her violet gauze being covered with violets and her cap a tiny lace affair with a violet border. In her case she was able to use many real violets and to carry a basket of the fresh flowers. The contents was made up of small bunches of buttonhole size and she stepped from the procession at almost every table to sell a bunch to some gentleman sitting there. A scout kept the basket always full. Sturdy James made a fine appearance in the spring division in the costume of a red and yellow tulip. He wore long green stockings and a striped tulip on each leg constituted his breeches. Another, with the points of the petals turning upwards, made his jacket, and yet another, a small one, upside down, served as a cap. James had been rather averse to appearing in this costume because Margaret had told him he looked bulbous and he had taken it seriously, but he was so applauded that he came to the conclusion that it was worth while to be a bulb if you could be a good one. Helen led the group of summer flowers. As "Summer" she wore bunches of all the flowers in the garden, arranged harmoniously as in one of the old-fashioned bouquets her grandmother had spoken of in the morning. It had been a problem to keep all these blossoms fresh for it would not be possible for her to wear artificial flowers. The Ethels had found a solution, however, when they brought home one day from the drug store several dozen tiny glass bottles. Around the neck of each they fastened a bit of wire and bent it into a hook which fitted into an eye sewed on to the old but pretty white frock which Helen was sacrificing to the good cause. After she had put on the dress each one of these bottles was fitted with its flowers which had been picked some time before and revived in warm water and salt so that they would not wilt. "These bottles make me think of a story our French teacher told us once," Helen laughed as she stood carefully to be made into a bouquet. "There was a real Cyrano de Bergerac who lived in the 17th century. He told a tale supposed to be about his own adventures in which he said that once he fastened about himself a number of phials filled with dew. The heat of the sun attracted them as it does the clouds and raised him high in the air. When he found that he was not going to alight on the moon as he had thought, he broke some of the phials and descended to earth again." "What a ridiculous story," laughed Ethel Blue, kneeling at Helen's feet with a heap of flowers beside her on the floor. "The rest of it is quite as foolish. When he landed on the earth again he found that the sun was still shining, although according to his calculation it ought to be midnight; and he also did not recognize the place he dropped upon in spite of the fact that he had apparently gone straight up and fallen straight down. Strange people surrounded him and he had difficulty in making himself understood. After a time he was taken before an official from whom he learned that on account of the rotation of the earth under him while he was in the air, although he had risen when but two leagues from Paris he had descended in Canada." The younger girls laughed delightedly at this absurd tale, as they worked at their task. Bits of trailing vine fell from glass to glass so that none of the holders showed, but a delicate tinkling sounded from them like the water of a brook. "This gown of yours is certainly successful," decided Margaret, surveying the result of the Ethels' work, "but I dare say it isn't comfortable, so you'd better have another one that you can slip into behind the scenes after you've made the rounds in this." Helen took the advice and after the procession had passed by, she put on a pretty flowered muslin with pink ribbons. Dorothy walked immediately behind Helen. She was dressed like a garden lily, her petals wired so that they turned out and up at the tips. She wore yellow stockings and slippers as a reminder of the anthers or pollen boxes on the ends of the stamens of the lilies. Dicky's costume created as much sensation as Roger's. He was a Jack-in-the-Pulpit. A suit of green striped in two shades fitted him tightly, and over his head he carried his pulpit, a wire frame covered with the same material of which his clothes were made. The shape was exact and he looked so grave as he peered forth from his shelter that his appearance was saluted with hearty hand clapping. Several of the young people of the town followed in the Summer division. One of them was a fleur-de-lis, wearing a skirt of green leaf blades and a bodice representing the purple petals of the blossom. George Foster was monkshood, a cambric robe--a "domino"--serving to give the blue color note, and a very correct imitation of the flower's helmet answering the purpose of a head-dress. Gregory Patton was Grass, and achieved one of the successful costumes of the line with a robe that rippled to the ground, green cambric its base, completely covered with grass blades. "That boy ought to have a companion dressed like a haycock," laughed Mr. Emerson as Gregory passed him. Margaret led the Autumn division, her dress copied from a chestnut tree and burr. Her kirtle was of the long, slender leaves overlapping each other. The bodice was in the tones of dull yellow found in the velvety inside of the opened burr and of the deep brown of the chestnut itself. This, too, was approved by the onlookers. Behind her walked Della, a combination of purple asters and golden rod, the rosettes of the former seeming a rich and solid material from which the heads of goldenrod hung in a delicate fringe. A "long-haired Chrysanthemum" was among the autumn flowers, his tissue paper petals slightly wired to make them stand out, and a stalk of Joe-Pye-Weed strode along with his dull pink corymb proudly elevated above the throng. All alone as a representative of Winter was Tom Watkins, decorated superbly as a Christmas Tree. Boughs of Norway spruce were bound upon his arms and legs and covered his body. Shining balls hung from the twigs, tinsel glistened as he passed under the lantern light, and strings of popcorn reached from his head to his feet. There was no question of his popularity among the children. Every small boy who saw him asked if he had a present for him. The flower procession served to draw the people into the hall and the screened corner. They cheerfully yielded up a dime apiece at the entrance to each place, and when the "show" was over they were re-replaced by another relay of new arrivals, so that the program was gone through twice in the hall and twice in the open in the course of the evening. A march of all the flowers opened the program. This was not difficult, for all the boys and girls were accustomed to such drills at school, but the effect in costumes under the electric light was very striking. Roger, still dressed as an apple tree, recited Bryant's "Planting of the Apple Tree." Dicky delivered a brief sermon from his pulpit. George Foster ordered the lights out and went behind a screen on which he made shadow finger animals to the delight of every child present. Mrs. Smith gave her little talk on the arrangement of flowers, illustrating it by the examples around the room which were later carried out to the open when she repeated her "turn" in the enclosure. The cartoonist of the _Star_ gave a chalk talk on "Famous Men of the Day," reciting an amusing biography of each and sketching his portrait, framed in a rose, a daisy, mountain laurel, a larkspur or whatever occurred to the artist as he talked. There was music, for Mr. Schuler, who formerly had taught music in the Rosemont schools and who was now with his wife at Rose House, where the United Service Club was taking care of several poor women and children, had drilled some of his former pupils in flower choruses. One of these, by children of Dicky's age, was especially liked. Every one was pleased and the financial result was so satisfactory that Rosemont soon began to blossom like the flower from which it was named. "Team work certainly does pay," commented Roger enthusiastically when the Club met again to talk over the great day. And every one of them agreed that it did. CHAPTER XII ENOUGH TO GIVE AWAY At the very beginning of his holidays Stanley Clark had gone to Nebraska to replace the detective who had been vainly trying to find some trace of his father's cousin, Emily Leonard. The young man was eager to have the matter straightened out, both because it was impossible to sell any of the family land unless it were, and because he wanted to please Mrs. Smith and Dorothy, and because his orderly mind was disturbed at there being a legal tangle in his family. Perhaps he put into his search more clearness of vision than the detective, or perhaps he came to it at a time when he could take advantage of what his predecessor had done;--whatever the reason, he did find a clue and it seemed a strange coincidence that it was only a few days after the Miss Clarks had received the second offer for their field that a letter came to them from their nephew, saying that he had not only discovered the town to which Emily's daughter had gone and the name of the family into which she had been adopted, but had learned the fact that the family had later on removed to the neighborhood of Pittsburg. "At least, this brings the search somewhat nearer home," Stanley wrote, "but it also complicates it, for 'the neighborhood of Pittsburg' is very vague, and it covers a large amount of country. However, I am going to start to-night for Pittsburg to see what I can do there. I've grown so accustomed to playing hide-and-seek with Cousin Emily and I'm so pleased with my success so far that I'm hopeful that I may pick up the trail in western Pennsylvania." The Clarks and the Smiths all shared Stanley's hopefulness, for it did indeed seem wonderful that he should have found the missing evidence after so many weeks of failure by the professional detective, and, if he had traced one step, why not the next? The success of the gardens planted by the U.S.C. had been remarkable. The plants had grown as if they wanted to please, and when blossoming time came, they bloomed with all their might. "Do you remember the talk you and I had about Rose House just before the Fresh Air women and children came out?" asked Ethel Blue of her cousin. Ethel Brown nodded, and Ethel Blue explained the conversation to Dorothy. "We thought Roger's scheme was pretty hard for us youngsters to carry out and we felt a little uncertain about it, but we made up our minds that people are almost always successful when they _want_ like everything to do something and _make up their minds_ that they are going to put it through and _learn how_ to put it through." "We've proved it again with the gardens," responded Ethel Brown. "We wanted to have pretty gardens and we made up our minds that we could if we tried and then we learned all we could about them from people and books." "Just see what Roger knows now about fertilizers!" exclaimed Dorothy in a tone of admiration. "Fertilizers aren't a bit interesting until you think of them as plant food and realize that plants like different kinds of food and try to find out what they are. Roger has studied it out and we've all had the benefit of his knowledge." "Which reminds me that if we want any flowers at all next week we'd better put on some nitrate of soda this afternoon or this dry weather will ruin them." "Queer how that goes right to the blossoms and doesn't seem to make the whole plant grow." "I did a deadly deed to one of my calceolarias," confessed Ethel Blue. "I forgot you mustn't use it after the buds form and I sprinkled away all over the plant just as I had been doing." "Did you kill the buds?" "It discouraged them. I ought to have put some crystals on the ground a little way off and let them take it in in the air." "It doesn't seem as though it were strong enough to do either good or harm, does it? One tablespoonful in two gallons of water!" "Grandfather says he wouldn't ask for plants to blossom better than ours are doing." Ethel Brown repeated the compliment with just pride. "It's partly because we've loved to work with them and loved them," insisted Ethel Blue. "Everything you love answers back. If you hate your work it's just like hating people; if you don't like a girl she doesn't like you and you feel uncomfortable outside and inside; if you don't like your work it doesn't go well." "What do you know about hating?" demanded Dorothy, giving Ethel Blue a hug. Ethel flushed. "I know a lot about it," she insisted. "Some days I just despise arithmetic and on those days I never can do anything right; but when I try to see some sense in it I get along better." They all laughed, for Ethel Blue's struggles with mathematics were calculated to arouse sympathy even in a hardened breast. "It's all true," agreed Helen, who had been listening quietly to what the younger girls were saying, "and I believe we ought to show people more than we do that we like them. I don't see why we're so scared to let a person know that we think she's done something well, or to sympathize with her when she's having a hard time." "O," exclaimed Dorothy shrinkingly, "it's so embarrassing to tell a person you're sorry." "You don't have to tell her in words," insisted Helen. "You can make her realize that you understand what she is going through and that you'd like to help her." "How can you do it without talking?" asked Ethel Brown, the practical. "When I was younger," answered Helen thoughtfully, "I used to be rather afraid of a person who was in trouble. I thought she might think I was intruding if I spoke of it. But Mother told me one day that a person who was suffering didn't want to be treated as if she were in disgrace and not to be spoken to, and I've always tried to remember it. Now, when I know about it or guess it I make a point of being just as nice as I know how to her. Sometimes we don't talk about the trouble at all; sometimes it comes out naturally after a while. But even if the subject isn't mentioned she knows that there is at least one person who is interested in her and her affairs." "I begin to see why you're so popular at school," remarked Margaret, who had known for a long time other reasons for Helen's popularity. Helen threw a leaf at her friend and asked the Ethels to make some lemonade. They had brought the juice in a bottle and chilled water in a thermos bottle, so that the preparation was not hard. There were cold cheese straws to eat with it. The Ethels had made them in their small kitchen at home by rubbing two tablespoonfuls of butter into four tablespoonfuls of flour, adding two tablespoonfuls of grated cheese, seasoning with a pinch of cayenne, another of salt and another of mace, rolling out to a thickness of a quarter of an inch, cutting into strips about four inches long and half an inch wide and baking in a hot oven. "'Which I wish to remark and my language is plain,'" Helen quoted, "that in spite of Dicky's picking all the blossoms we have so many flowers now that we ought to do--give them away. "Ethel Blue and I have been taking some regularly every week to the old ladies at the Home," returned Ethel Brown. "I was wondering if there were enough to send some to the hospital at Glen Point," suggested Margaret. "The Glen Point people are pretty good about sending flowers, but the hospital is an old story with them and sometimes they don't remember when they might." "I should think we might send some there and some to the Orphanage," said Dorothy, from whose large garden the greater part of the supply would have to come. "Have the orphans any gardens to work in?" "They have beds like your school garden here in Rosemont, but they have to give the vegetables to the house and I suppose it isn't much fun to raise vegetables and then have them taken away from you." "They eat them themselves." "But they don't know Willy's tomato from Johnny's. If Willy and Johnny were allowed to sell their crops they'd be willing to pay out of the profit for the seed they use and they'd take a lot of interest in it. The housekeeper would buy all they'd raise, and they'd feel that their gardens were self-supporting. Now they feel that the seed is given to them out of charity, and that it's a stingy sort of charity after all because they are forced to pay for the seed by giving up their vegetables whether they want to or not." "Do they enjoy working the gardens?" "I should say not! James and I said the other day that they were the most forlorn looking gardeners we ever laid our eyes on." "Don't they grow any flowers at all?" "Just a few in a border around the edge of their vegetable gardens and some in front of the main building where they'll be seen from the street." The girls looked at each other and wrinkled their noses. "Let's send some there every week and have the children understand that young people raised them and thought it was fun to do it." "And can't you ask to have the flowers put in the dining-room and the room where the children are in the evening and not in the reception room where only guests will see them?" "I will," promised Margaret. "James and I have a scheme to try to have the children work their gardens on the same plan that the children do here," she went on. "We're going to get Father to put it before the Board of Management, if we can." "I do hope he will. The kiddies here are so wild over their gardens that it's proof to any one that it's a good plan." "Oo-hoo," came Roger's call across the field. "Oo-hoo. Come up," went back the answer. "What are you girls talking about?" inquired the young man, arranging himself comfortably with his back against a rock and accepting a paper tumbler of lemonade and some cheese straws. Helen explained their plan for disposing of the extra flowers from their gardens. "It's Service Club work; we ought to have started it earlier," she ended. "The Ethels did begin it some time ago; I caught them at it," he accused, shaking his finger at his sister and cousin. "I told the girls we had been taking flowers to the Old Ladies' Home," confessed Ethel Brown. "O, you have! I didn't know that! I did find out that you were supplying the Atwoods down by the bridge with sweetpeas." "There have been such oodles," protested Ethel Blue. "Of course. It was the right thing to do." "How did you know about it, anyway? Weren't you taking flowers there yourself?" "No, ma'am." "What were you doing?" "I know; I saw him digging there one day." "O, keep still, Dorothy," Roger remonstrated. "You might as well tell us about it." "It isn't anything. I did look in one day to ask if they'd like some sweetpeas, but I found the Ethels were ahead of me. The old lady has a fine snowball bush and a beauty syringa in front of the house. When I spoke about them she said she had always wanted to have a bed of white flowers around the two bushes, so I offered to make one for her. That's all." "Good for Roger!" cried Margaret. "Tell us what you put into it. We've had pink and blue and yellow beds this year; we can add white next year." "Just common things," replied Roger. "It was rather late so I planted seeds that would hurry up; sweet alyssum for a border, of course, and white verbenas and balsam, and petunias, and candytuft and, phlox and stocks and portulaca and poppies. Do you remember, I asked you, Dorothy, if you minded my taking up that aster that showed a white bud? That went to Mrs. Atwood. The seeds are all coming up pretty well now and the old lady is as pleased as Punch." "I should think she might be! Can the old gentleman cultivate them or is his rheumatism too bad?" "I put in an hour there every once in a while," Roger admitted reluctantly. "It's nothing to be ashamed of!" laughed Helen encouragingly. "What I want to know is how we are to send our flowers in to New York to the Flower and Fruit Guild. Della said she'd look it up and let us know." "She did. I saw Tom yesterday and he gave me these slips and asked me to tell you girls about them and I forgot it." Roger bobbed his head by way of asking forgiveness, which was granted by a similar gesture. "It seems that the National Plant, Flower and Fruit Guild will distribute anything you send to it at 70 Fifth Avenue; or you can select some institution you're interested in and send your stuff directly to it, and if you use one of these Guild pasters the express companies will carry the parcel free." "Good for the express companies!" exclaimed Ethel Brown. "Here's one of the pasters," and Roger handed one of them to Margaret while the others crowded about to read it. APPROVED LABEL NATIONAL PLANT, FLOWER AND FRUIT GUILD, 70 Fifth Avenue, New York City. Express Companies Adams American Great Northern National United States Wells Fargo Western WILL DELIVER FREE Within a distance of one hundred (100) miles from stations on their lines to any charitable institution or organization within the delivery limits of adjacent cities. If an exchange of baskets is made they will be returned without charge. Conditions This property is carried at owner's risk of loss or damage. No box or basket shall exceed twenty (20) pounds in weight. All jellies to be carefully packed and boxed. All potted plants to be set in boxes. For _Chapel of Comforter_, _10 Horatio Street_, _New York City_. From _United Service Club_, _Rosemont, New Jersey_. KINDLY DELIVER PROMPTLY. "Where it says 'For,'" explained Roger, "you fill in, say, 'Chapel of the Comforter, 10 Horatio Street' or 'St. Agnes' Day Nursery, 7 Charles Street,' and you write 'United Service Club, Rosemont, N.J.,' after 'From.'" "It says 'Approved Label' at the top," Ethel Brown observed questioningly. "That's so people won't send flowers to their friends and claim free carriage from the express companies on the ground that it's for charity," Roger went on. "Then you fill out this postcard and put it into every bundle you send. Sender Will Please Fill Out One of These Cards as far as "Received by" and Enclose in Every Shipment. National Plant, Flower and Fruit Guild. National Office: 70 Fifth Avenue, N.Y.C. Sender Town Sends to-day (Date) Plants Flowers (Bunches) Fruit or Vegetables Quarts or Bushels Jelly, Preserved Fruit or Grape Juice (estimated @ 1/2 pint as a glass) Glasses. Nature Material To (Institution) Rec'd by Address Condition Date "That tells the people at the Day Nursery, for instance, just what you packed and assures them that the parcel hasn't been tampered with; they acknowledge the receipt at the foot of the card,--here, do you see?--and send it to the 'New York City Branch, National Plant, Flower and Fruit Guild, 70 Fifth Ave., New York City.' That enables the Guild to see that the express company is reporting correctly the number of bundles it has carried." "They've worked out the best way after long experience, Tom says, and they find this is excellent. They recommend it to far-off towns that send to them for help about starting a guild." "Let's send our flowers to Mr. Watkins's chapel," suggested Ethel Blue. "Della told me the people hardly ever see a flower, it's so far to any of the parks where there are any." "Our women at Rose House were pathetic over the flowers when they first came," said Helen. "Don't you remember the Bulgarian? She was a country girl and she cried when she first went into the garden." "I'm glad we planted a flower garden there as well as a vegetable garden." "It has been as much comfort to the women as ours have been to us." "I think they would like to send in some flowers from their garden beds to the chapel," suggested Ethel Blue. "I was talking with Mrs. Paterno the other day and she said they all felt that they wanted all their friends to have a little piece of their splendid summer. This will be a way for them to help." "Mr. Watkins's assistant would see that the bunches were given to their friends if they marked them for special people," said Ethel Brown. "Let's get it started as soon as we can," said Helen. "You're secretary, Ethel Blue; write to-day to the Guild for some pasters and postcards and tell them we are going to send to Mr. Watkins's chapel; and Ethel Brown, you seem to get on pretty well with Bulgarian and Italian and a few of the other tongues that they speak at Rose House--suppose you try to make the women understand what we are going to do. Tell them we'll let them know on what day we're going to send the parcel in, so that they can cut their flowers the night before and freshen them in salt and water before they travel." "Funny salt should be a freshener," murmured Dorothy, as the Ethels murmured their understanding of the duties their president assigned to them. CHAPTER XIII IN BUSINESS It was quite clear to the Clarks that the "botanist" had not given up his hope of buying the field, in spite of the owners' insistence that not only was its title defective but that the option had been promised to Mrs. Smith. He roamed up and down the road almost every day, going into the field, as the girls could see from their elevation in Fitz-James's woods, and stopping at the Clarks' on his return if he saw any of the family on the veranda, to inquire what news had come from their nephew. "I generally admire persistency," remarked Mr. Clark one day to Mrs. Smith and Dorothy, and the Ethels, "but in this case it irritates me. When you tell a man that you can't sell to him and that you wouldn't if you could it seems as if he might take the hint and go away." "I don't like him," and Mrs. Smith gave a shrug of distaste. "He doesn't look you squarely in the face." "I hate that trick he has of brushing his hair out of his eyes. It makes me nervous," confessed the younger Miss Clark. "I can't see why a botanist doesn't occasionally look at a plant," observed Dorothy. "We've watched him day after day and we've almost never seen him do a thing except push his stick into the ground and examine it afterwards." "Do you remember that girl who was with him at the Flower Festival?" inquired Ethel Brown. "I saw her with him again this afternoon at the field. When he pushed his cane down something seemed to stick to it when it came up and he wiped it off with his hand and gave it to her." "Could you see what it was like?" "It looked like dirt to me." "What did she do with it?" "She took it and began to turn it around in her hand, rubbing it with her fingers the way Dorothy does when she's making her clay things." Mr. Clark brought down his foot with a thump upon the porch. "I'll bet you five million dollars I know what he's up to!" he exclaimed. "What?" "What?" "What?" rang out from every person on the porch. "I'll go right over there this minute and find out for myself." "Find out what?" "Do tell us." "What do you think it is?" Mr. Clark paused on the steps as he was about to set off. "Clay," he answered briefly. "There are capital clays in different parts of New Jersey. Don't you remember there are potteries that make beautiful things at Trenton? I shouldn't wonder a bit if that field has pretty good clay and this man wants to buy it and start a pottery there." "Next to my house!" exclaimed Mrs. Smith disgustedly. "Don't be afraid; if we're ever able to sell the field you're the person who will get it," promised the old gentleman's sisters in chorus. "We don't want a pottery on the street any more than you do," they added, and expressed a wish that their brother might be able to convince the persistent would-be purchaser of the utter hopelessness of his wishes. "What do you hear from Stanley?" Mrs. Smith asked. "He's still quite at sea in Pittsburg--if one may use such an expression about a place as far from the ocean as that!" laughed Miss Clark. "He thinks he'll go fast if ever he gets a start, but he hasn't found any trace of the people yet. He's going to search the records not only in Allegheny County but in Washington and Westmoreland and Fayette Counties and the others around Pittsburg, if it's necessary. He surely is persistent." "Isn't it lucky he is? And don't you hope he'll find some clue before his holidays end? That detective didn't seem to make any progress at all!" Mr. Clark came back more than ever convinced that he had guessed the cause of the "botanist's" perseverance. "Unless my eyes and fingers deceive me greatly this is clay and pretty smooth clay," he reported to the waiting group, and Dorothy, who knew something about clay because she had been taught to model, said she thought so, too. "We know his reason for wanting the land, then," declared Mr. Clark; "now if we could learn why he can't seem to take it in that he's not going to get it, no matter what happens, we might be able to make him take his afternoon walks in some other direction." "Who is he? And where is he staying?" inquired Mrs. Smith. "He calls himself Hapgood and he's staying at the Motor Inn." "Is the little girl his daughter?" "I'll ask him if he ever comes here again," and Mr. Clark looked as if he almost wished he would appear, so that he might gratify his curiosity. The Motor Inn was a house of no great size on the main road to Jersey City. A young woman, named Foster, lived in it with her mother and brother. The latter, George, was a high school friend of Helen and Roger. Miss Foster taught dancing in the winter and, being an enterprising young woman, had persuaded her mother to open the old house for a tea room for the motorists who sped by in great numbers on every fair day, and who had no opportunity to get a cup of tea and a sandwich any nearer than Glen Point in one direction and Athens Creek in the other. "Here are we sitting down and doing nothing to attract the money out of their pockets and they are hunting for a place to spend it!" she had exclaimed. The house was arranged like the Emerson farmhouse, with a wide hall dividing it, two rooms on each side. Miss Foster began by putting out a rustic sign which her brother made for her. MOTOR INN TEA and SANDWICHES LUNCHEON DINNER it read. The entrance was attractive with well-kept grass and pretty flowers. Miss Foster took a survey of it from the road and thought she would like to go inside herself if she happened to be passing. They decided to keep the room just in front of the kitchen for the family, but the room across the hall they fitted with small tables of which they had enough around the house. The back room they reserved for a rest room for the ladies, and provided it with a couch and a dressing table always kept fully, equipped with brushes, pins and hairpins. "If we build up a real business we can set tables here in the hall," Miss Foster suggested. "Why not on the veranda at the side?" her mother asked. "That's better still. We might put a few out there to indicate that people can have their tea there if they want to, and then let them take their choice in fair weather." The Inn had been a success from the very first day when a car stopped and delivered a load of people who ate their simple but well-cooked luncheon hungrily and liked it so well that they ordered dinner for the following Sunday and promised to send other parties. "What I like best about your food, if you'll allow me to say so," the host of the machine-load said to Miss Foster, "is that your sandwiches are delicate and at the same time there are more than two bites to them. They are full-grown sandwiches, man's size." "My brother calls them 'lady sandwiches' though," laughed Miss Foster. "He says any sandwich with the crust cut off is unworthy a man's attention." "Tell him for me that he's mistaken. No crust on mine, but a whole slice of bread to make up for the loss," and he paid his bill enthusiastically and packed away into his thermos box a goodly pile of the much-to-be-enjoyed sandwiches. People for every meal of the day began to appear at the Motor Inn, for it was surprising how many parties made a before-breakfast start to avoid the heat of the day on a long trip, and turned up at the Inn about eight or nine o'clock demanding coffee and an omelette. Then one or two Rosemont people came to ask if friends of theirs might be accommodated with rooms and board for a week or two, and in this way the old house by the road grew rapidly to be more like the inn its sign called it than the tea room it was intended to be. Servants were added, another veranda was built on, and it looked as if Miss Foster would not teach dancing when winter came again but would have to devote herself to the management of the village hotel which the town had always needed. It was while the members of the U.S.C. were eating ices and cakes there late one afternoon when they had walked to the station with the departing Watkinses that the Ethels had one of the ideas that so often struck them at almost the same moment. It came as they watched a motor party go off, supplying themselves with a box of small cakes for the children after trying to buy from Miss Foster the jar of wild iris that stood in state on the table in the hall. It was not fresh enough to travel they had decided when their hostess had offered to give it to them and they all had examined the purple heads that showed themselves to be past their prime when they were brought out into the light from the semi-darkness of the hall. "Couldn't we--?" murmured Ethel Blue with uplifted eye-brows, glancing at Ethel Brown. "Let's ask her if we may?" replied Ethel Brown, and without any more discussion than this they laid before Miss Foster the plan that had popped into their minds ready made. Ethel Brown was the spokeswoman. "Would you mind if we had a flower counter here in your hall?" she asked. "We need to make some money for our women at Rose House." "A flower counter? Upon my word, children, you take my breath away!" responded Miss Foster. "We'd try not to give you any trouble," said Ethel Blue. "One of us would stay here every day to look after it and we'd pay rent for the use of the space." "Upon my word!" exclaimed Miss Foster again. "You must let me think a minute." She was a rapid thinker and her decision was quickly made. "We'll try it for a week," she said. "Perhaps we'll find that there isn't enough demand for the flowers to make it worth while, though people often want to buy any flowers they see here, as those people you saw did." "If you'll tell us just what space we can have we'll try not to bother you," promised Ethel Blue again, and Miss Foster smiled at her eagerness. "We want it to be a regular business, so will you please tell us how much rent we ought to pay?" asked Ethel Brown. Miss Foster smiled again, but she was trying to carry on a regular business herself and she knew how she would feel if people did not take her seriously. "We'll call it five per cent of what you sell," she said. "I don't think I could make it less," and she smiled again. "That's five cents on every dollar's worth," calculated Ethel Brown seriously. "That isn't enough unless you expect us to sell a great many dollars' worth." "We'll call it that for this trial week, anyway," decided Miss Foster. "If the test goes well we can make another arrangement. If you have a pretty table it will be an attraction to my hall and perhaps I shall want to pay you for coming," she added good naturedly. She pointed out to them the exact spot on which they might place their flowers and agreed to let them arrange the flowers daily for her rooms and tables and to pay them for it. "I have no flowers for cutting this summer," she said, "and I've been bothered getting some every day. It has taken George's time when he should have been doing other things." "We'll do it for the rent," offered Ethel Blue. "No, I've been buying flowers outside and using my own time in arranging them. It's only fair that I should pay you as I would have paid some one long ago if I could have found the right person. I stick to the percentage arrangement for the rent." On the way home the girls realized with some discomfiture that without consulting Mrs. Morton and Mrs. Smith they had made an arrangement that would keep them away from home a good deal and put them in a rather exposed position. "What do you suppose Mother and Aunt Louise will say?" asked Ethel Brown doubtfully. "I think they'll let us do it. They know we need the money for Rose House just awfully, and they like Miss Foster and her mother--I've heard Aunt Marion say they were so brave about undertaking the Inn." Her voice quavered off into uncertainty, for she realized as she spoke that what a young woman of Miss Foster's age did in connection with her mother was a different matter from a business venture entered into alone by girls of fourteen. The fact that the business venture was to be carried on under the eye of Mrs. Foster and her daughter, ladies whom Mrs. Morton knew well and respected and admired, was the turning point in her decision to allow the girls to conduct the affair which had entered their minds so suddenly. She and Mrs. Smith went to the Inn and assisted in the arrangement of the first assortment of flowers and plants, saw to it that there was a space on the back porch where they could be handled without the water or vases being in the way of the workers in the Inn, suggested that an additional sign reading PLANTS and CUT FLOWERS be hung below the sign outside and that a card FOR THE BENEFIT OF ROSE HOUSE be placed over the table inside, and then went away and left the girls to manage affairs themselves. It was while Ethel Blue was drawing the poster to hang over the table that the "botanist" walked into the hall and strolled over to investigate the addition to the furnishings. He asked a question or two in a voice they did not like. They noticed that the young girl with him called him "Uncle Dan" and that he called her "Mary." The girls had arranged their flowers according to Mrs. Smith's and Mrs. Emerson's ideas, not crowding them but showing each to its best advantage and selecting for each a vase that suited its form and coloring. Their supplies were kept out of sight in order not to mar the effect. The tables of the tea rooms were decorated with pink on this opening day, both because they thought that some of the guests might see some connection between pink and the purpose of the sale, helping _Rose House_--and for the practical reason that they had more pink blossoms than any other color, thanks to their love of that gay hue. It was noon before any people outside of the resident guests of the Inn stopped at the house. Then a party of people evidently from a distance, for they were covered with dust, ordered luncheon. While the women were arranging their hair in the dressing room the men came over to the flower table and asked countless questions. "Here, Gerald," one called to another, "these young women have just begun this business to-day and they haven't had a customer yet. I'm going to be the first; you can be the second." "Nothing of the sort; I'll be the first myself," and "Gerald" tossed half a dollar on to the table with an order for "Sweetpeas, all pink, please." Ethel Blue, flushed with excitement over this first sale, set about filling a box with the fresh butterfly blossoms, while Ethel Brown attended to the man who had begun the conversation. He wanted "A bunch of bachelor's buttons for a young lady with blue eyes." An older man who came to see what the younger ones were doing bought buttonholes for all the men and directed that a handful of flowers of different kinds be placed beside each plate on the large table on the shady porch where they were to have their meal. When the women appeared they were equally interested, and inquired all about Rose House. One of them directed that enough ferns for the renewal of a centerpiece should be ready for her to take away when they left and the other bought one of the hanging baskets which Roger had arranged as a sample of what they could supply if called upon. "Roger will be tickled to pieces that his idea caught on at once," Ethel Brown murmured to Ethel Blue as they sorted and packed their orders, not very deftly, but swiftly enough for the posies to add to the enjoyment of the people at the table and for the parcels to be ready for them when the motor came to the door. "We'll tell all our friends about you," the guests promised as they left. These were the only patrons until afternoon brought in several parties for tea. Almost every one of them was sufficiently drawn by the "Rose House" placard to make inquiries, and several of them bought flowers and potted plants. The same was true of the dinner arrivals. When the girls examined their receipts for the day they found they had taken in over seven dollars, had booked several orders and already had learned a good deal about what people liked and what they could carry conveniently in their machines. "We shan't need to have so many cut flowers here," they decided after the day's experience. "It's better to leave them on the plants and then if we run short to telephone to the house and have Dicky bring over an extra supply." "These potted plants are all right here, though. We can leave them on the back porch at night, Miss Foster says, and bring them in to the table in the morning." "We must get Roger to fill some more hanging baskets and ox muzzles and make some ivy balls; those are going to take." The plan worked out extremely well, its only drawback being that the girls had to give more time to the table at the Inn than they liked. They were "spelled" however, by other members of the Club, and finally, as a result of a trip when they all went away for a few days, they engaged a schoolmate of the Ethels who had helped them occasionally, to give her whole time to the work at the Inn. Financially the scheme worked out very well. When it came time to pay the rent for the first week the Ethels decided that they were accepting charity if they only paid Miss Foster five per cent. of their gross earnings, so they doubled it. "I am buying the cut flowers at the same price that the girls are selling them to other customers, and I am glad to pay for their arrangement for it releases me to attend to matters that need me more," she had explained. "Even if it should be a few cents on the wrong side of my account, I am glad to contribute something to Rose House. And the motoring season is comparatively short, too." Every once in a while they received an idea from some one who asked for something they did not have. One housekeeper wanted fresh herbs and the Ethels telephoned directions for the picking of the herb bed that Roger had planted for their own kitchen use. "We need the herbs ourselves, Miss Ethel," came back a protest from Mary. "I don't want to refuse to fill any order I get, Mary," Ethel Brown insisted. "Next year we'll plant a huge bed, enough for a dozen kitchens." This unexpected order resulted in the making of another poster giving the information that fresh kitchen herbs might be had on order and would be delivered by parcel post to any address. Several of their customers demanded ferns for their houses indoors or for their porches or wild gardens. This order was not welcome for it meant that some one had to go to the woods to get them as none had been planted in the gardens as yet. Still, in accordance with their decision never to refuse to fill an order unless it was absolutely impossible, the girls went themselves or sent one of the boys on a search for what they needed. One steady customer was an invalid who lived in Athens Creek and who could drive only a few miles once or twice a week. She happened in to the Inn one day and ever after she made the house her goal. Her especial delight was meadow flowers, and she placed a standing order to have an armful of meadow blossoms ready for her every Thursday. This necessitated a visit to the meadows opposite Grandfather Emerson's house every Wednesday afternoon so that the flowers should have recovered from their first shock by the next morning. "This takes me back to the days when I used to follow the flowers through the whole summer," the invalid cried delightedly. "Ah, Joe-Pye-Weed has arrived," she exclaimed joyfully over the handsome blossom. When the Ethels and Dorothy received their first order for the decoration of a house for an afternoon reception they were somewhat overcome. "Can we do it?" they asked each other. They concluded they could. One went to the house two days beforehand to examine the rooms and to see what vases and bowls they should have at their disposal. Then they looked over the gardens very carefully to see what blossoms would be cut on the appointed day, and then they made a plan with pencil and paper. Mr. Emerson lent his car on the morning of the appointed day and Roger went with them to unload the flowers and plants. They had kept the flowers of different colors together, a matter easy to do when cutting from their beds of special hues, and this arrangement made easy the work of decorating different rooms in different colors. The porch was made cool with ferns and hanging vines; the hall, which seemed dark to eyes blinded by the glare outside, was brightened with yellow posies; the dining room had delicate blue lobelia mingled with gypsophila springing from low, almost unseen dishes all over the table where the tea and coffee were poured, and hanging in festoons from the smaller table on which stood the bowl of grape juice lemonade, made very sour and very sweet and enlivened with charged water. The girls profited by this combination, for the various amounts used in it were being "tried out" during the morning and with every new trial refreshing glasses were handed about for criticism by the workers. In the drawing room where the hostess stood to receive, superb pink poppies reared their heads from tall vases, pink snapdragons bobbed on the mantel piece and a bank of pink candytuft lay on the top of the piano. A lovely vine waved from a wall vase of exquisite design and vines trailed around the wide door as naturally as if they grew there instead of springing from bottles of water concealed behind tall jars of pink hollyhocks. "It is perfectly charming, my dears, and I can't tell you how obliged I am," said their hostess as she pressed a bill into Ethel Brown's hand. "I know that every woman who will be here will want you the next time she entertains, and I shall tell everybody you did it." She was as good as her word and the attempt resulted in several other orders. The girls tried to make each house different from any that they had decorated before, and they thought that they owed the success that brought them many compliments to the fact that they planned it all out beforehand and left nothing to be done in a haphazard way. Meanwhile Rose House benefited greatly by the welcome weekly additions from the flower sale to its slender funds. "I'm not sure it isn't roses ye are yerselves, yer that sweet to look at!" exclaimed Moya, the cook at Rose House, one day when the girls were there. And they admitted themselves that if happiness made them sweet to look at it must be true. CHAPTER XIV UNCLE DAN'S RESEARCHES "Uncle Dan," whose last name was Hapgood, did not cease his calls upon the Clarks. Sometimes he brought with him his niece, whose name, they learned, was Mary Smith. "Another Smith!" ejaculated Dorothy who had lived long enough in the world to find out the apparent truth of the legend, that originally all the inhabitants of the earth were named Smith and so continued until some of them misbehaved and were given other names by way of punishment. No one liked Mr. Hapgood better as time went on. "I believe he is a twentieth century werwolf, as Dorothy said," Ethel Brown insisted. "He's a wolf turned into a man but keeping the feelings of a wolf." The girls found little to commend in the manners of his niece and nothing to attract. By degrees the "botanist's" repeated questioning put him in command of all the information the Clarks had themselves about the clue that Stanley was hunting down. He seemed especially interested when he learned that the search had been transferred to the vicinity of Pittsburg. "My sister, Mary's mother, lived near Pittsburg," he told them when he heard it; "I know that part of the country pretty well." For several days he was not seen either by the Clarks or by the girls who went to the Motor Inn to attend to the flowers, and Mrs. Foster told the Ethels that Mary had been left in her care while her uncle went away on a business trip. At the end of a week he appeared again at the Clarks', bringing the young girl with him. He received the usual courteous but unenthusiastic reception with which they always met this man who had forced himself upon them so many times. Now his eyes were sparkling and more nervously than ever he kept pushing back the lock of hair that hung over his forehead. "Well, I've been away," he began. The Clarks said that they had heard so. "I been to western Pennsylvania." His hearers expressed a lukewarm interest. "I went to hunt up the records of Fayette County concerning the grandparents of Mary here." "I hope you were successful," remarked the elder Miss Clark politely. "Yes, ma'am, I was," shouted Hapgood in reply, thumping his hand on the arm of his chair with a vigor that startled his hosts. "Yes, sir, I was, sir; perfectly successful; _en_-tirely successful." Mr. Clark murmured something about the gratification the success must be to Mr. Hapgood and awaited the next outburst. It came without delay. "Do you want to know what I found out?" "Certainly, if you care to tell us." "Well, I found out that Mary here is the granddaughter of your cousin, Emily Leonard, you been huntin' for." "Mary!" exclaimed the elder Miss Clark startled, her slender hands fluttering agitatedly as the man's heavy voice forced itself upon her ears and the meaning of what he said entered her mind. "This child!" ejaculated the younger sister, Miss Eliza, doubtfully, adjusting her glasses and leaning over to take a closer look at the proposed addition to the family. "Hm!" This comment came from Mr. Clark. A dull flush crept over Hapgood's face. "You don't seem very cordial," he remarked. "O," the elder Miss Clark, Miss Maria, began apologetically, but she was interrupted by her brother. "You have the proofs, I suppose." Hapgood could not restrain a glare of dislike, but he drew a bundle of papers from his pocket. "I knew you'd ask for 'em." "Naturally," answered the calm voice of Mr. Clark. "So I copied these from the records and swore to 'em before a notary." "You copied them yourself?" "Yes, sir, with my own hand," and the man held up that member as if to call it as a witness to his truth. "I should have preferred to have had the copying done by a typist accredited by the county clerk," said Mr. Clark coolly. Hapgood flushed angrily. "If you don't believe me--" he began, but Mr. Clark held up a warning finger. "It's always wise to follow the custom in such cases," he observed. Hapgood, finding himself in the wrong, leaned over Mr. Clark's shoulder and pointed eagerly to the notary's signature. "Henry Holden--that's the notary--that's him," he repeated several times insistently. Mr. Clark nodded and read the papers slowly aloud so that his sisters might hear their contents. They recited the marriage at Uniontown, the county seat of Fayette County, Pennsylvania, on the fifteenth day of December, 1860, of Emily Leonard to Edward Smith. "There you are," insisted Hapgood loudly. "That's her; that's the grandmother of Mary here." "You're sure of that?" "Here's the record of the birth of Jabez, son of Edward and Emily (Leonard) Smith two years later, and the record of his marriage to my sister and the record of the birth of Mary. After I got the marriage of this Emily straightened out the rest was easy. We had it right in the family." The two sisters gazed at each other aghast. The man was so assertive and coarse, and the child was so far from gentle that it seemed impossible that she could be of their own blood. Still, they remembered that surroundings have greater influence than inheritance, so they held their peace, though Miss Maria stretched out her hand to Mary. Mary stared at it but made no move to take it. "Your records look as if they might be correct," said Mr. Clark, an admission greeted by Hapgood with a pleased smile and a complacent rub of the hands; "but," went on the old gentleman, "I see nothing here that would prove that this Emily Leonard was our cousin." "But your nephew, Stanley, wrote you that he had found that your Emily had removed to the neighborhood of Pittsburg." "That's true," acknowledged the elder man, bending his head, "but Emily Leonard isn't an unusual name." "O, she's the one all right," insisted Hapgood bluffly. "Further, your record doesn't state the names of this Emily Leonard's parents." Hapgood tossed back the unruly lock of hair. "I ought to have gone back one step farther," he conceded. "I might have known you'd ask that." "Naturally." "I'll send to the county clerk and get that straightened out." "It might be well," advised Mr. Clark mildly. "One other point prevents my acceptance of these documents as proof that your niece belongs to our family. Neither the investigator whom we had working on the case nor my nephew have ever told us the date of birth of our Emily Leonard. We can, of course, obtain that, if it is not already in my nephew's possession, but without it we can't be sure that our cousin was of marriageable age on December fifteenth, 1860." It was Mr. Clark's turn to rub his hands together complacently as Hapgood looked more and more discomfited. "In fact, my dear sir," Mr. Clark continued, "you have proved nothing except that some Emily Leonard married a man named Smith on the date named." He tapped the papers gently with a thin forefinger and returned them to their owner, who began to bluster. "I might have known you'd put up a kick," he exclaimed. "I live, when I'm at home, in Arkansas," replied Mr. Clark softly, "and Arkansas is so near Missouri that I have come to belong to the brotherhood who 'have to be shown.'" Hapgood greeted this sally with the beginning of a snarl, but evidently thought it the part of discretion to remain friendly with the people he wanted to persuade. "I seem to have done this business badly," he said, "but I'll send back for the rest of the evidence and you'll have to admit that Mary's the girl you need to complete your family tree." "Come here, dear," Miss Clark called to Mary in her quiet voice. "Are your father and mother alive?" "Father is," she thought the child answered, but her reply was interrupted by Hapgood's loud voice, saying, "She's an orphan, poor kid. Pretty tough just to have an old bachelor uncle to look after yer, ain't it?" The younger Miss Clark stepped to the window to pull down the shade while the couple were still within the yard and she saw the man give the girl a shake and the child rub her arm as if the touch had been too rough for comfort. "Poor little creature! I can't say I feel any affection for her, but she must have a hard time with that man!" The interview left Mr. Clark in a disturbed state in spite of the calmness he had assumed in talking with Hapgood. He walked restlessly up and down the room and at last announced that he was going to the telegraph office. "I might as well wire Stanley to send us right off the date of Emily Leonard's birth, and, just as soon as he finds it, the name of the man she married." "If she did marry," interposed Miss Maria. "Some of our family don't marry," and she humorously indicated the occupants of the room by a wave of her knitting needles. At that instant the doorbell rang, and the maid brought in a telegram. "It's from Stanley," murmured Mr. Clark. "What a strange co-incidence," exclaimed the elder Miss Clark. "What does he say, Brother?" eagerly inquired the younger Miss Clark. "'Emily married a man named Smith,'" Mr. Clark read slowly. "Is that all he says?" "Every word." "Dear boy! I suppose he thought we'd like to know as soon as he found out!" and Miss Eliza's thoughts flashed away to the nephew she loved, forgetting the seriousness of the message he had sent. "The information seems to have come at an appropriate time," commented Mr. Clark grimly. "It must be true, then," sighed Miss Maria; "that Mary belongs to us." "We don't know at all if Hapgood's Emily is our Emily, even if they did both marry Smiths," insisted Mr. Clark stoutly, his obstinacy reviving. "I shall send a wire to Stanley at once asking for the dates of Emily's birth and marriage. He must have them both by this time; why on earth doesn't he send full information and not such a measly telegram as this!" and the old gentleman put on his hat and took his cane and stamped off in a rage to the Western Union office. The sisters left behind gazed at each other forlornly. "She certainly is an unprepossessing child," murmured Miss Maria, "but don't you think, under the circumstances, that we ought to ask her to pay us a visit?" Miss Clark the elder contemplated her knitting for a noticeable interval before she answered. "I don't see any 'ought' about it," she replied at last, "but I think it would be kind to do so." Meanwhile Mr. Clark, stepping into the telegraph office, met Mr. Hapgood coming out. That worthy looked somewhat startled at the encounter, but pulled himself together and said cheerfully "Just been sending off a wire about our matter." When the operator read Mr. Clark's telegram a few minutes later he said to himself wonderingly, "Emily Leonard sure is the popular lady!" Mr. Clark was not at all pleased with his sister's proposal that they invite Mary Smith to make them a visit. "It will look to Hapgood as if we thought his story true," he objected, when they suggested the plan the next morning. "I don't believe it is true, even if our Emily did marry a Smith, according to Stanley." "I don't believe it is, either," answered Miss Maria dreamily. "A great many people marry Smiths." "They have to; how are they to do anything else?" inquired the old gentleman testily. "There is such a lot of them you can't escape them. We're talking about your name, ladies," he continued as Dorothy and her mother came in, and then he related the story of Hapgood's visit and the possibility that Mary might prove to belong to them. "Do you think he honestly believes that she's the missing heir?" Mrs. Smith asked. The ladies looked uncertain but there was no doubt in their brother's mind. "Not for a moment of time do I think he does," he shouted. "But what would be his object? Why should he try to thrust the child into a perfectly strange family?" The elder Miss Clark ventured a guess. "He may want to provide for her future if she's really an orphan, as he says." "I don't believe she is an orphan. Before her precious uncle drowned her reply with one of his roars I distinctly heard her say that her father was alive," retorted the exasperated Mr. Clark. "The child would be truly fortunate to have all of you dear people to look after her," Mrs. Smith smiled, "but if her welfare isn't his reason, what is?" "I believe it has something to do with that piece of land," conjectured Mr. Clark. "He never said a word about it to-night. That's a bad sign. He wants that land and he's made up his mind to have it and this has something to do with it." "How could it have?" inquired Mrs. Smith. "This is all I can think of. Before we can sell that land or any of our land we must have the consent of all the living heirs or else the title isn't good, as you very well know. Now Emily Leonard and her descendants are the only heirs missing. This man says that the child, Mary, is Emily Leonard's grandchild and that Emily and her son, the child's father, are dead. That would mean that if we wanted to sell that land we'd be obliged to have the signatures of my sisters and my nephew, Stanley, and myself, and also of the guardian of this child. Of course Hapgood will say he's the child's guardian. Do you suppose, Mrs. Smith, that he's going to sign any deed that gives you that land? Not much! He'll say it's for the child's best interests that the land be not sold now, because it contains valuable clay or whatever it is he thinks he has found there. Then he'll offer to buy the land himself and he'll be willing enough to sign the deed then." "But _we_ might not be," interposed Miss Maria. "I should say not," returned her brother emphatically, "but he'd probably make a lot of trouble for us and be constantly appealing to us on the ground that we ought to sell the land for the child's good--or he might even say for Stanley's good or our good, the brazen, persistent animal." "Brother," remonstrated Miss Maria. "You forget that you may be speaking of the uncle of our little cousin." "Little cousin nothing!" retorted Mr. Clark fiercely. "It's all very nice for the Mortons to find that that charming girl who takes care of the Belgian baby is a relative. This is a very different proposition! However, I suppose you girls--" meaning by this term the two ladies of more than seventy--"won't be happy unless you have the youngster here, so you might as well send for her, but you'd better have the length of her visit distinctly understood." "We might say a week," suggested Miss Eliza hesitatingly. "Say a week, and say it emphatically," approved her brother, and trotted off to his study, leaving the ladies to compose, with Mrs. Smith's help, a note that would not be so cordial that Brother would forbid its being sent, but that would nevertheless give a hint of their kindly feeling to the forlorn child, so roughly cared for by her strange uncle. Mary Smith went to them, and made a visit that could not be called a success in any way. She was painfully conscious of the difference between her clothes and the Ethels' and Dorothy's and Della's, though why theirs seemed more desirable she could not tell, since her own were far more elaborate. The other girls wore middy blouses constantly, even the older girls, Helen and Margaret, while her dresses were of silk or some other delicate material and adorned with many ruffles and much lace. She was conscious, too, of a difference between her manners and theirs, and she could not understand why, in her heart, she liked theirs better, since they were so gentle as to seem to have no spirit at all, according to her views. She was always uncomfortable when she was with them and her efforts to be at ease caused her shyness to go to the other extreme and made her manners rough and impertinent. Mrs. Smith found her crying one day when she came upon her suddenly in the hammock on the Clarks' veranda. "Can I help?" she asked softly, leaning over the small figure whose every movement indicated protest. "No, you can't," came back the fierce retort. "You're one of 'em. You don't know." "Don't know what?" "How I feel. Nobody likes me. Miss Clark just told me to go out of her room." "Why were you in her room?" "Why, shouldn't I go into her room? When I woke up this morning I made up my mind I'd do my best to be nice all day long. They're so old I don't know what to talk to 'em about, but I made up my mind I'd stick around 'em even if I didn't know what to say. Right after breakfast they always go upstairs--I think it's to be rid of me--and they don't come down for an hour, and then they bring down their knitting and their embroidery and they sit around all day long except when that Belgian baby that lives at your house comes in--then they get up and try to play with her." Mrs. Smith smiled, remembering the efforts of the two old ladies to play with "Ayleesabet." Mary noticed the smile. "They do look fools, don't they?" she cried eagerly. "I think they look very dear and sweet when they are playing with Ayleesabet. I was not smiling _at_ them but because I sympathized with their enjoyment of the baby." "Well, I made up my mind they needn't think they had to stay upstairs because I wasn't nice; I'd go upstairs and be nice. So I went upstairs to Miss Maria's room and walked in." "Walked right in? Without knocking?" "I walked right in. She was sitting in front of that low table she has with the looking glass and all the bottles and boxes on it. Her hair was down her back--what there was of it--and she was doing up her switch." Mrs. Smith was so aghast at this intrusion and at the injured tone in which it was told that she had no farther inclination to smile. "I said, 'I thought I'd come up and sit with you a while,' and she said, 'Leave the room at once, Mary,' just like that. She was as mad as she could be." "Do you blame her?" "Why should she be mad, when I went up there to be nice to her? She's an old cat!" "Dear child, come and sit on this settee with me and let's talk it over." Mrs. Smith put her arm over the shaking shoulders of the angry girl and drew her toward her. After an instant's stiffening against it Mary admitted to herself that it was pleasant; she didn't wonder Dorothy was sweet if her mother did this often. "Now we're comfortable," said Mrs. Smith. "Tell me, dear, aren't there some thoughts in your mind that you don't like to tell to any one? thoughts that seem to belong just to you yourself? Perhaps they're about God; perhaps they're about people you love, perhaps they're about your own feelings--but they seem too private and sacred for you to tell any one. They're your own, ownest thoughts." Mary nodded. "Do you remember your mother?" Mary nodded again. "Sometimes when you recall how she took you in her arms and cuddled you when you were hurt, and how you loved her and she loved you I know you think thoughts that you couldn't express to any one else." Mary gave a sniff that hinted of tears. "Everybody has an inner life that is like a church. You know you wouldn't think of running into a church and making a noise and disturbing the worshippers. It's just so with people's minds; you can't rush in and talk about certain things to any one--the things that he considers too sacred to talk about." "How are you going to tell?" Mrs. Smith drew a long breath. How was she to make this poor, untutored child understand. "You have to tell by your feelings," she answered slowly. "Some people are more reserved than others. I believe you are reserved." "Me?" asked Mary wonderingly. "It wouldn't surprise me if there were a great many things that you might have talked about with your mother, if she had lived, but that you find it hard to talk about with your uncle." Mary nodded. "He's fierce," she commented briefly. "If he should begin to talk to you about some of the tender memories that you have of your mother, for instance, it might be hard for you to answer him. You'd be apt to think that he was coming into your own private church." "I see that," the girl answered; "but," returning to the beginning of the conversation, "I didn't want to talk secrets with Miss Maria; I just wanted to be nice." "Just in the same way that people have thoughts of their very own that you mustn't intrude on, so there are reserves in their habits that you mustn't intrude on. Every one has a right to freedom from intrusion. I insist on it for myself; my daughter never enters my bedroom without knocking. I pay her the same respect; I always tap at her door and wait for her answer before I enter." "Would you be mad if she went into your room without knocking?" "I should be sorry that she was so inconsiderate of my feelings. She might, perhaps, interrupt me at my toilet. I should not like that." "Is that what I did to Miss Maria?" "Yes, dear, it was. You don't know Miss Maria well, and yet you opened the door of her private room and went in without being invited." "I'm sorry," she said briefly. "I'm sure you are, now you understand why it wasn't kind." "I wish she knew I meant to be nice." "Would you like to have me tell her? I think she'll understand there are some things you haven't learned for you haven't a mother to teach you." "Uncle Dan says maybe I'll have to live with the old ladies all the time, so they might as well know I wasn't trying to be mean," she whispered resignedly. "I'll tell Miss Maria, then, and perhaps you and she will be better friends from now on because she'll know you want to please her. And now, I came over to tell you that the U.S.C. is going into New York to-day to see something of the Botanical Garden and the Arboretum. I'm going with them and they'd be glad to have you go, too." "They won't be very glad, but I'd like to go," responded the girl, her face lighted with the nearest approach to affection Mrs. Smith ever had seen upon it. CHAPTER XV FUR AND FOSSILS When the Club gathered at the station to go into town Mary was arrayed in a light blue satin dress as unsuitable for her age as it was for the time of day and the way of traveling. The other girls were dressed in blue or tan linen suits, neat and plain. Secretly Mary thought their frocks were not to be named in the same breath with hers, but once when she had said something about the simplicity of her dress to Ethel Blue, Ethel had replied that Helen had learned from her dressmaking teacher that dresses should be suited to the wearer's age and occupation, and that she thought her linen blouses and skirts were entirely suitable for a girl of fourteen who was a gardener when she wasn't in school. This afternoon Dorothy had offered her a pongee dust coat when she stopped at the Smiths' on her way to the cars. "Aren't you afraid you'll get that pretty silk all cindery?" she asked. Mary realized that Dorothy thought her not appropriately dressed for traveling, but she tossed her head and said, "O, I like to wear something good looking when I go into New York." One of the purposes of the expedition was to see at the Museum of Natural History some of the fossil leaves and plants about which the Mortons had heard from Lieutenant and Captain Morton who had found several of them themselves in the course of their travels. At the Museum they gathered around the stones and examined them with the greatest interest. There were some shells, apparently as perfect as when they were turned into stone, and others represented only by the moulds they had left when they crumbled away. There were ferns, the delicate fronds showing the veining that strengthened the leaflets when they danced in the breeze of some prehistoric morning. "It's wonderful!" exclaimed the Ethels, and Mary asked, "What happened to it?" "I thought some one would ask that," replied Mrs. Smith, "so I brought these verses by Mary Branch to read to you while we stood around one of these ancient rocks." THE PETRIFIED FERN "In a valley, centuries ago Grew a little fern-leaf, green and slender, Veining delicate and fibers tender; Waving when the wind crept down so low. Rushes tall and moss and grass grew round it, Playful sunbeams darted in and found it, Drops of dew stole in by night and crowned it, But no foot of man e'er trod that way; Earth was young and keeping holiday. "Monster fishes swam the silent main; Stately forests waved their giant branches, Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain; Nature revelled in grand mysteries, But the little fern was not of these, Did not number with the hills and trees; Only grew and waved its wild sweet way, No one came to note it day by day. "Earth, one time, put on a frolic mood, Heaved the rocks and changed the mighty motion Of the deep, strong currents of the ocean; Moved the plain and shook the haughty wood Crushed the little fern in soft, moist clay,-- Covered it and hid it safe away. O, the long, long centuries since that day! O, the changes! O, life's bitter cost, Since that useless little fern was lost! "Useless? Lost? There came a thoughtful man Searching Nature's secrets, far and deep; From a fissure in a rocky steep He withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran Fairy pencilings, a quaint design, Veinings, leafage, fibers clear and fine, And the fern's life lay in every line! So, I think, God hides some souls away, Sweetly to surprise us, the last day." From the Museum the party went to the Bronx where they first took a long walk through the Zoo. How Mary wished that she did not have on a pale blue silk dress and high heeled shoes as she dragged her tired feet over the gravel paths and stood watching Gunda, the elephant, "weaving" back and forth on his chain, and the tigers and leopards keeping up their restless pacing up and down their cages, and the monkeys, chattering hideously and snatching through the bars at any shining object worn by their visitors! It was only because she stepped back nimbly that she did not lose a locket that attracted the attention of an ugly imitation of a human being. The herds of large animals pleased them all. "How kind it is of the keepers to give these creatures companions and the same sort of place to live in that they are accustomed to," commented Ethel Brown. "Did you know that this is one of the largest herds of buffalo in the United States?" asked Tom, who, with Della, had joined them at the Museum. "Father says that when he was young there used to be plenty of buffalo on the western plains. The horse-car drivers used to wear coats of buffalo skin and every new England farmer had a buffalo robe. It was the cheapest fur in use. Then the railroads went over the plains and there was such a destruction of the big beasts that they were practically exterminated. They are carefully preserved now." "The prairie dogs always amuse me," said Mrs. Smith. "Look at that fellow! Every other one is eating his dinner as fast as he can but this one is digging with his front paws and kicking the earth away with his hind paws with amazing industry." "He must be a convict at hard labor," guessed Roger. "Or the Mayor of the Prairie Dog Town setting an example to his constituents," laughed James. The polar bear was suffering from the heat and nothing but the tip of his nose and his eyes were to be seen above the water of his tank where he floated luxuriously in company with two cakes of ice. The wolves and the foxes had dens among rocks and the wild goats stood daintily on pinnacles to see what was going on at a distance. No one cared much for the reptiles, but the high flying cage for birds kept them beside it for a long time. Across the road they entered the grounds of the Arboretum and passed along a narrow path beside a noisy brook under heavy trees, until they came to a grove of tall hemlocks. With upturned heads they admired these giants of the forest and then passed on to view other trees from many climes and countries. "Here's the Lumholtz pine that father wrote me about from Mexico," cried Ethel Blue, whose father, Captain Morton, had been with General Funston at Vera Cruz. "See, the needles hang down like a spray, just as he said. You know the wood has a peculiar resonance and the Mexicans make musical instruments of it." "It's a graceful pine," approved Ethel Brown. "What a lot of pines there are." "We are so accustomed about here to white pines that the other kinds seem strange, but in the South there are several kinds," contributed Dorothy. "The needles of the long leaf pine are a foot long and much coarser than these white pine needles. Don't you remember, I made some baskets out of them?" The Ethels did remember. "Their green is yellower. The tree is full of resin and it makes the finest kind of kindling." "Is that what the negroes call 'light wood'?" asked Della. "Yes, that's light wood. In the fields that haven't been cultivated for a long time there spring up what they call in the South 'old field pines' or 'loblolly pines.' They have coarse yellow green needles, too, but they aren't as long as the others. There are three needles in the bunch." "Don't all the pines have three needles in the bunch?" asked Margaret. "Look at this white pine," she said, pulling down a bunch off a tree they were passing. "It has five; and the 'Table Mountain pine' has only two." "Observant little Dorothy!" exclaimed Roger. "O, I know more than that," laughed Dorothy. "Look hard at this white pine needle; do you see, it has three sides, two of them white and one green? The loblolly needle has only two sides, though the under is so curved that it looks like two; and the 'Table Mountain' has two sides." "What's the use of remembering all that?" demanded Mary sullenly. Dorothy, who had been dimpling amusedly as she delivered her lecture, flushed deeply. "I don't know," she admitted. "We like to hear about it because we've been gardening all summer and anything about trees or plants interests us," explained Tom politely, though the way in which Mary spoke seemed like an attack on Dorothy. "I've always found that everything I ever learned was useful at some time or other," James maintained decidedly. "You never can tell when this information that Dorothy has given us may be just what we need for some purpose or other." "It served Dorothy's purpose just now when she interested us for a few minutes telling about the different kinds," insisted Ethel Blue, but Mary walked on before them with a toss of her head that meant "It doesn't interest me." Dorothy looked at her mother, uncertain whether to take it as a joke or to feel hurt. Mrs. Smith smiled and shook her head almost imperceptibly and Dorothy understood that it was kindest to say nothing more. They chatted on as they walked through the Botanical Gardens and exclaimed over the wonders of the hothouses and examined the collections of the Museum, but the edge had gone from the afternoon and they were not sorry to find themselves on the train for Rosemont. Mary sat with Mrs. Smith. "I really was interested in what Dorothy told about the pines," she whispered as the train rumbled on; "I was mad because I didn't know anything that would interest them, too." "I dare say you know a great many things that would interest them," replied Mrs. Smith. "Some day you must tell me about the most interesting thing you ever saw in all your life and we'll see if it won't interest them." "That was in a coal mine," replied Mary promptly. "It was the footstep of a man thousands and thousands of years old. It made you wonder what men looked like and how they lived so long ago." "You must tell us all about it, some time. It will make a good addition to what we learned to-day about the fossils." When the Mortons reached home they found Mr. Emerson waiting for them at their house. "I've a proposal to make to these children, with your permission, Marion," he said to his daughter. "Say on, sir," urged Roger. "Mr. Clark is getting very nervous about this man Hapgood. The man is beginning to act as if he, as the guardian of the child, had a real claim on the Clark estate, and he becomes more and more irritating every day. They haven't heard from Stanley for several days. He hasn't answered either a letter or a telegram that his uncle sent him and the old ladies are working themselves into a great state of anxiety over him. I tell them that he has been moving about all the time and that probably neither the letter nor the wire reached him, but Clark vows that Hapgood has intercepted them and his sisters are sure the boy is ill or has been murdered." "Poor creatures," smiled Mrs. Morton sympathetically. "Is there anything you can do about it?" "I told Clark a few minutes ago that I'd go out to western Pennsylvania and hunt up the boy and help him run down whatever clues he has. Clark was delighted at the offer--said he didn't like to go himself and leave his sisters with this man roaming around the place half the time." "It was kind of you. I've no doubt Stanley is working it all out well, but, boy-like, he doesn't realize that the people at home want to have him report to them every day." "My proposal is, Marion, that you lend me these children, Helen and the Ethels and Roger, for a few days' trip." "Wow, wow!" rose a shout of joy. "Or, better still, that you come, too, and bring Dicky." Mrs. Morton was not a sailor's wife for nothing. "I'll do it," she said promptly. "When do you want us to start?" "Can you be ready for an early morning train from New York?" "We can!" was the instant reply of every person in the room. CHAPTER XVI FAIRYLAND All day long the train pulled its length across across the state of Pennsylvania, climbing mountains and bridging streams and piercing tunnels. All day long Mr. Emerson's party was on the alert, dashing from one side to the other of the car to see some beautiful vista or to look down on a brook brawling a hundred feet below the trestle that supported them or waving their hands to groups of children staring open-mouthed at the passing train. "Pennsylvania is a beautiful state," decided Ethel Brown as they penetrated the splendid hills of the Allegheny range. "Nature made it one of the most lovely states of the Union," returned her grandfather. "Man has played havoc with it in spots. Some of the villages among the coal mines are hideous from the waste that has been thrown out for years upon a pile never taken away, always increasing. No grass grows on it, no children play on it, the hens won't scratch on it. The houses of the miners turn one face to this ugliness and it is only because they turn toward the mountains on another side that the people are preserved from the death of the spirit that comes to those who look forever on the unlovely." "Is there any early history about here?" asked Helen, whose interest was unfailing in the story of her country. "The French and Indian Wars were fought in part through this land," answered Mr. Emerson. "You remember the chief struggle for the continent lay between the English and the French. There were many reasons why the Indians sided with the French in Canada, and the result of the friendship was that; the natives were supplied with arms by the Europeans and the struggle was prolonged for about seventy-five years." "Wasn't the attack on Deerfield during the French and Indian War?" asked Ethel Blue. "Yes, and there were many other such attacks." "The French insisted that all the country west of the Alleghenies belonged to them and they disputed the English possession at every point. When Washington was only twenty-one years old he was sent to beg the French not to interfere with the English, but he had a hard journey with no fortunate results. It was on this journey that he picked out a good position for a fort and started to build it. It was where Pittsburg now stands." "That was a good position for a fort, where the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers join to make the Ohio," commended Roger. "It was such a good position that the French drove off the English workmen and finished the work themselves. They called it Fort Duquesne and it became one of a string of sixty French forts extending from Quebec to New Orleans." "Some builders!" commended Roger. "Fort Duquesne was so valuable that the English sent one of their generals, Braddock, to capture it. Washington went with him on his staff, to show him the way." "It must have been a long trip from the coast through all this hilly country." "It was. They had to build roads and they were many weeks on the way." "It was a different matter from the twentieth century transportation of soldiers by train and motor trucks and stages," reminded Mrs. Morton. "When the British were very near Fort Duquesne," continued Mr. Emerson, "the French sent out a small band, mainly Indians, to meet them. The English general didn't understand Indian fighting and kept his men massed in the road where they were shot down in great numbers and he lost his own life. There's a town named after him, on the site of the battle." "Here it is," and Helen pointed it out on the map in the railway folder. "It's about ten miles from Pittsburg." "Washington took command after the death of Braddock, and this was his first real military experience. However, his heart was in the taking of Fort Duquesne and when General Forbes was sent out to make another attempt at capturing it Washington commanded one of the regiments of Virginia troops." "Isn't there any poetry about it?" demanded Ethel Brown, who knew her grandfather's habit of collecting historical ballads. "Certainly there is. There are some verses on 'Fort Duquesne' by Florus Plimpton written for the hundredth anniversary of the capture." "Did they have a great old fight to take the fort?" asked Roger. "No fight at all. Here's what Plimpton says:-- "So said: and each to sleep addressed his wearied limbs and mind, And all was hushed i' the forest, save the sobbing of the wind, And the tramp, tramp, tramp of the sentinel, who started oft in fright At the shadows wrought 'mid the giant trees by the fitful camp-fire light. "Good Lord! what sudden glare is that that reddens all the sky, As though hell's legions rode the air and tossed their torches high! Up, men! the alarm drum beats to arms! and the solid ground seems riven By the shock of warring thunderbolts in the lurid depth of heaven! "O, there was clattering of steel and mustering in array, And shouts and wild huzzas of men, impatient of delay, As came the scouts swift-footed in--'They fly! the foe! they fly! They've fired the powder magazine and blown it to the sky.' "All the English had to do was to walk in, put out the fire, repair the fort and re-name it." "What did they call it?" "After the great statesman--Fort Pitt." "That's where 'Pittsburg' got its name, then! I never thought about its being in honor of Pitt!" exclaimed Helen. "It is 'Pitt's City,'" rejoined her grandfather. "And this street," he added somewhat later when they were speeding in a motor bus to a hotel near the park, "this street is Forbes Street, named after the British general. Somewhere there is a Bouquet Street, to commemorate another hero of the war." "I saw 'Duquesne Way' marked on the map," announced Ethel Blue. On the following morning they awakened to find themselves opposite a large and beautiful park with a mass of handsome buildings rising impressively at the entrance. "It is Schenley Park and the buildings house the Carnegie Institute. We'll go over them by and bye." "It's a library," guessed Dicky, who was not too young to have the steelmaker's name associated with libraries in his youthful mind. "It is a library and a fine one. There's also a Music Hall and an art museum and a natural history museum. You'll see more fossil ferns there, and the skeleton of a diplodocus--" "A dip-what?" demanded Roger. "Diplodocus, with the accent on the _plod_; one of the hugest animals that ever walked the earth. They found the bones of this monster almost complete in Colorado and wired them together so you can get an idea of what really 'big game' was like in the early geological days." "How long is he?" "If all the ten members of the U.S.C. were to take hold of hands and stretch along his length there would be space for four or five more to join the string." "Where's my hat?" demanded Roger. "I want to go over and make that fellow's acquaintance instanter." "When you go, notice the wall paintings," said his mother. "They show the manufacture and uses of steel and they are considered among the finest things of their kind in America. Alexander, the artist, did them. You've seen some of his work at the Metropolitan Museum in New York." "Pittsburg has the good sense to have a city organist," Mr. Emerson continued. "Every Sunday afternoon he plays on the great organ in the auditorium and the audience drifts in from the park and drifts out to walk farther, and in all several thousand people hear some good music in the course of the afternoon." "There seem to be some separate buildings behind the Institute." "The Technical Schools, and beyond them is the Margaret Morrison School where girls may learn crafts and domestic science and so on." "It's too bad it isn't a clear day," sighed Ethel Blue, as she rose from the table. "This is a bright day, Miss," volunteered the waiter who handed her her unnecessary sunshade. "You call this clear?" Mrs. Morton asked him. "Yes, madam, this is a bright day for Pittsburg." When they set forth they shook their heads over the townsman's idea of a clear day, for the sky was overcast and clouds of dense black smoke rolled together from the two sides of the city and met over their heads. "It's from the steel mills," Mr. Emerson explained as he advised Ethel Brown to wipe off a smudge of soot that had settled on her cheek and warned his daughter that if she wanted to preserve the whiteness of her gloves she had better replace them by colored ones until she returned to a cleaner place. They were to take the afternoon train up the Monongahela River to the town from which Stanley Clark had sent his wire telling his uncle that "Emily Leonard married a man named Smith," but there were several hours to devote to sightseeing before train time, and the party went over Schenley Park with thoroughness, investigated several of the "inclines" which carried passengers from the river level to the top of the heights above, motored among the handsome residences and ended, on the way to the station, with a flying visit to the old blockhouse which is all that is left of Port Pitt. "So this is really a blockhouse," Helen said slowly as she looked at the little two story building with its heavy beams. "There are the musket holes," Ethel Brown pointed out. "This is really where soldiers fought before the Revolution!" "It really is," her mother assured her. "It is in the care of one of the historical societies now; that's why it is in such good condition." Roger had secured the tickets and had telephoned to the hotel at Brownsville for rooms so they took their places in the train with no misgivings as to possible discomfort at night. Their excitement was beginning to rise, however, for two reasons. In the first place they had been quite as disturbed as Dorothy and her mother over the difficulties attending the purchase of the field and the Fitz-James Woods, and the later developments in connection with the man, Hapgood. Now that they were approaching the place where they knew Stanley Clark was working out the clue they began to feel the thrill that comes over explorers on the eve of discovery. The other reason for excitement lay in the fact that Mr. Emerson had promised them some wonderful sights before they reached their destination. He had not told them what they were, although he had mentioned something about fairyland that had started an abundant flow of questions from Dicky. Naturally they were all alert to find out what novelty their eyes were to see. "I saw one novelty this afternoon," said Roger. "When I stepped into that little stationery shop to get a newspaper I noticed in the rear a queer tin thing with what looked like cotton wool sticking against its back wall. I asked the woman who sold the papers what it was." "Trust Roger for not letting anything pass him," smiled Ethel Brown. "That's why I'm such a cyclopedia of accurate information, ma'am," Roger retorted. "She said it was a stove." "With cotton wool for fuel?" laughed Ethel Blue. "It seems they use natural gas here for heating as well as cooking, and the woolly stuff was asbestos. The gas is turned on at the foot of the back wall and the asbestos becomes heated and gives off warmth but doesn't burn." "I stayed in Pittsburg once in a boarding house where the rooms were heated with natural gas," said Mr. Emerson. "It made a sufficient heat, but you had to be careful not to turn the burner low just before all the methodical Pittsburgers cooked dinner, for if you made it too low the flame might go out when the pressure was light." "Did the opposite happen at night?" "It did. In the short time I was there the newspapers noted several cases of fires caused by people leaving their stoves turned up high at night and the flames bursting into the room and setting fire to some inflammable thing near at hand when the pressure grew strong after the good Pittsburgers went to bed." "It certainly is useful," commended Mrs. Morton. "A turn of the key and that's all." "No coal to be shovelled--think of it!" exclaimed Roger, who took care of several furnaces in winter. "No ashes to be sifted and carried away! The thought causes me to burst into song," and he chanted ridicuously:-- "Given a tight tin stove, asbestos fluff, A match of wood, an iron key, and, puff, Thou, Natural Gas, wilt warm the Arctic wastes, And Arctic wastes are Paradise enough." As the train drew out of the city the young people's expectations of fairyland were not fulfilled. "I don't see anything but dirt and horridness, Grandfather," complained Ethel Brown. Mr. Emerson looked out of the window thoughtfully for a moment. "True," he answered, "it's not yet dark enough for the magic to work." "No wonder everything is sooty and grimy with those chimneys all around us throwing out tons and tons of soft coal smoke to settle over everything. Don't they ever stop?" "They're at it twenty-four hours a day," returned her grandfather. "But night will take all the ugliness into its arms and hide it; the sordidness and griminess will disappear and fairyland will come forth for a playground. The ugly smoke will turn into a thing of beauty. The queer point of it all is," he continued, shaking his head sadly, "fairyland is there all the time and always beautiful, only you can't see it." Dicky's eyes opened wide and he gazed out of the window intent on peering into this mysterious invisible playground. "Lots of things are like that," agreed Roger. "Don't you remember how those snowflakes we looked at under the magnifying glass on Ethel Blue's birthday burst into magnificent crystals? You wouldn't think a handful of earth--just plain dirt--was pretty, would you? But it is. Look at it through a microscope and see what happens." "But, Grandfather, if the beauty is there right now why can't we see it?" insisted Ethel Brown. Mr. Emerson stared out of the window for a moment. "That was a pretty necklace of beads you strung for Ayleesabet." "We all thought they were beauty beads." "And that was a lovely string of pearls that Mrs. Schermerhorn wore at the reception for which you girls decorated her house." There could be no disagreement from that opinion. "Since Ayleesabet is provided with such beauties we shan't have to fret about getting her anything else when she goes to her coming-out party, shall we?" "What are you saying, Grandfather!" exclaimed Helen. "Of course Ayleesabet's little string of beads can't be compared with a pearl necklace!" "There you are!" retorted Mr. Emerson; "Helen has explained it. This fairyland we are going to see can't be compared with the glory of the sun any more than Ayleesabet's beads can be compared with Mrs. Schermerhorn's pearls. We don't even see the fairyland when the sun is shining but when the sun has set the other beauties become clear." "O-o-o!" shouted Dicky, whose nose had been glued to the window in an effort to prove his grandfather's statement; "look at that funny umbrella!" Everybody jumped to one window or another, and they saw in the gathering darkness a sudden blast of flame and white hot particles shooting into the air and spreading out like an umbrella of vast size. "Look at it!" exclaimed the two Ethels, in a breath; "isn't that beautiful! What makes it?" "The grimy steel mills of the daytime make the fairyland of night," announced Mr. Emerson. Across the river they noticed suddenly that the smoke pouring from a chimney had turned blood red with tongues of vivid flame shooting through it like pulsing veins. There was no longer any black smoke. It had changed to heavy masses of living fire of shifting shades. Great ingots of steel sent the observers a white hot greeting or glowed more coolly as the train shot by them. Huge piles of smoking slag that had gleamed dully behind the mills now were veined with vivid red, looking like miniature volcanoes streaked with lava. It was sometimes too beautiful for words to describe it suitably, and sometimes too terrible for an exclamation to do it justice. It created an excitement that was wearying, and when the train pulled into Brownsville it was a tired party that found its way to the hotel. As the children went off to bed Mr. Emerson called out "To-morrow all will be grime and dirt again; fairyland has gone." "Never mind, Grandfather," cried Ethel Brown, "we won't forget that it is there just the same if only we could see it." "And we'll think a little about the splendiferousness of the sun, too," called Helen from the elevator. "I never thought much about it before." CHAPTER XVII THE MISSING HEIRESS Mr. Emerson's investigations proved that Stanley Clark had left Brownsville several days previously and had gone to Millsboro, farther up the Monongahela. He had left that as his forwarding address, the hotel clerk said. This information necessitated a new move at once, so the next morning, bright and early, Mr. Emerson led his party to the river where they boarded a little steamer scarcely larger than a motor boat. They were soon puffing away at a fair rate of speed against the sluggish current. The factories and huge steel plants had disappeared and the banks looked green and country-like as mile after mile slipped by. Suddenly Roger, who was sitting by the steersman's wheel, exclaimed, "Why, look! there's a waterfall in front of us." So, indeed, there was, a wide fall stretching from shore to shore, but Roger, eyeing it suspiciously, added in an aggrieved tone, "But it's a dam. Must be a dam. Look how straight it is." "How on earth," called Ethel Blue, "are we going to get over it?" "Jump up it the way Grandpa told me the salmon fishes do," volunteered Dicky. Everybody laughed, but Mr. Emerson declared that was just about what they were going to do. The boat headed in for one end of the dam and her passengers soon found themselves floating in a granite room, with huge wooden doors closed behind them. The water began to boil around them, and as it poured into the lock from unseen channels the boat rose slowly. In a little while the Ethels cried that they could see over the tops of the walls, and in a few minutes more another pair of big gates opened in front of them and they glided into another chamber and out into the river again, this time above the "falls." "I feel as if I had been through the Panama Canal," declared Ethel Blue. "That's just the way its huge locks work," said Mrs. Morton. "The next time your Uncle Roger has a furlough I hope it will be long enough for us to go down there and see it." "I wonder," asked Roger, "if there are many more dams like this on the Monongahela." "There's one about every ten miles," volunteered the steersman. "Until the government put them in only small boats could go up the river. Now good sized ones can go all the way to Wheeling, West Virginia. If you want to, you can go by boat all the way from Wheeling to the Gulf of Mexico." "The Gulf of Mexico," echoed the two Ethels. Then they added, also together, "So you can!" and Ethel Brown said, "The Indians used to go from the upper end of Lake Chautauqua to the Gulf in their canoes? When they got to Fort Duquesne it was easy paddling." "What is that high wharf with a building on it overhanging the river?" asked Helen. "That's a coal tipple," said her grandfather. "Do you see on shore some low-lying houses and sheds? They are the various machinery plants and offices of the coal mine and that double row of small houses a quarter of a mile farther up is where the employés live." As the boat continued up the river it passed many such tipples. They were now in the soft coal country, the steersman said, and in due time they arrived at Millsboro, a little town about ten miles above Brownsville. Here Mr. Emerson made immediate inquiries about Stanley Clark, and found that he had gone on, leaving "Uniontown, Fayette County," as his forwarding address. "That's the county seat where Hapgood says he copied his records," said Mr. Emerson. "I hope we shall catch young Clark there and get that matter straightened out." As there was no train to Uniontown until the afternoon, Mr. Emerson engaged a motor car to take them to a large mine whose tipple they had passed on the way up. The Superintendent was a friend of the driver of the car and he willingly agreed to show them through. Before entering the mine he pointed out to them samples of coal which he had collected. Some had fern leaves plainly visible upon their surfaces and others showed leaves of trees and shrubs. "Fairy pencilings, a quaint design, Veinings, leafage, fibers clear and fine," quoted Ethel Blue softly, as she looked at them. Mrs. Morton stopped before a huge block of coal weighing several tons and said to her son, "Here's a lump for your furnace, Roger." "Phew," said Roger. "Think of a furnace large enough to fit that lump! Do you get many of them?" he asked of the Superintendent. "We keep that," said the Superintendent, "because it's the largest single lump of coal ever brought out of this mine. Of course, we could get them if we tried to, but it's easier to handle it in smaller pieces." "What'th in that little houthe over there?" asked Dicky. "Theems to me I thee something whithing round." "That's the fan that blows fresh air into the mine so that the miners can breathe, and drives out the poisonous and dangerous gases." "What would happen if the fan stopped running?" asked Ethel Brown. "Many things might happen," said the Superintendent gravely. "Men might suffocate for lack of air, or an explosion might follow from the collection of the dreaded 'fire damp' ignited by some miner's lamp." "Fire damp?" repeated Mrs. Morton. "That is really natural gas, isn't it?" "Yes, they're both 'marsh gas' caused by the decay of the huge ferns and plants of the carboniferous age. Some of them hardened into coal and others rotted when they were buried, and the gas was caught in huge pockets. It is gas from these great pockets that people use for heating and cooking all about here and even up into Canada." Ethel Brown had been listening and the words "some of them hardened into coal" caught her ear. She went close to her grandfather's side. "Tell me," she said, "exactly what is coal and how did it get here?" "What _I_ want to know," retorted Mr. Emerson, "is what brand of curiosity you have in your cranium, and how did it get there? Answer me that." Ethel Brown laughed. "Let's have a lecture," she urged, "and," handing her grandfather a small lump of coal, "here's your text." Mr. Emerson turned the bit of coal over and over. "When I look at this little piece of black stone," he said, "I seem to see dense forests filled with luxuriant foliage and shrubbery and mammoth trees under which move sluggish streams draining the swampy ground. The air is damp and heavy and warm." "What about the animals?" "There are few animals. Most of them are water creatures, though there are a few that can live on land and in the water, too, and in the latter part of the coal-making period enormous reptiles crawled over the wet floor of the forest. Life is easy in all this leafy splendor and so is death, but no eye of man is there to look upon it, no birds brighten the dense green of the trees, and the ferns and shrubs have no flowers as we know them. The air is heavy with carbon." "Where was the coal?" "The coal wasn't made yet. You know how the soil of the West Woods at home is deep with decayed leaves? Just imagine what soil would be if it were made by the decay of these huge trees and ferns! It became yards and yards deep and silt and water pressed it down and crushed from it almost all the elements except the carbon, and it was transformed into a mineral, and that mineral is coal." "Coal? Our coal?" "Our coal. See the point of a fern leaf on this bit?" and he held out the piece of coal he had been holding. "That fern grew millions of years ago." "Isn't it delicate and pretty!" exclaimed Ethel Blue, as it reached her in passing from hand to hand, "and also not as clean as it once was!" she added ruefully, looking at her fingers. By way of preparation for their descent into the mine each member of the party was given a cap on which was fastened a small open wick oil lamp. They did not light them, however, until they had all been carried a hundred feet down into the earth in a huge elevator. Here they needed the illumination of the tiny lamps whose flicker made dancing shadows on the walls. Following the Superintendent their first visit was to the stable. "What is a stable doing down here?" wondered Ethel Brown. "Mules pull the small cars into which the miners toss the coal as they cut it out. These fellows probably will never see the light of day again," and their leader stroked the nose of the animal nearest him which seemed startled at his touch. "He's almost blind, you see," the Superintendent explained. "His eyes have adjusted themselves to the darkness and even these feeble lights dazzle him." The girls felt the tears very near their eyelids as they thought of the fate of these poor beasts, doomed never to see the sun again or to feel the grass under their feet. "I once knew a mule who was so fond of music that he used to poke his head into the window near which his master's daughter was playing on the piano," said the Superintendent, who noticed their agitation and wanted to amuse them. "We might get up band concerts for these fellows." "Poor old things, I believe they would like it!" exclaimed Helen. "This is a regular underground village," commented Mrs. Morton, as they walked for a long distance through narrow passages until they found themselves at the heading of a drift where the men were working. "Is there any gas here?" asked the Superintendent, and when the miners said "Yes," he lifted his hand light, which was encased in wire gauze, and thrust it upwards toward the roof and gave a grunt as it flickered near the top. There it was, the dreaded fire-damp, in a layer above their heads. One touch of an open flame and there would be a terrible explosion, yet the miners were working undisturbed just beneath it with unprotected lamps on their caps. The visitors felt suddenly like recruits under fire--they were far from enjoying the situation but they did not want to seem alarmed. No one made any protest, but neither did any one protest when the Superintendent led the way to a section of the mine where there was no gas that they might see a sight which he assured them was without doubt wonderful. They were glad that they had been assured that there was no fire-damp here, for their leader lifted his lamp close to the roof. Ethel Blue made the beginning of an exclamation as she saw his arm rising, but she smothered her cry for her good sense told her that this experienced man would not endanger the lives of himself or his guests. The coal had been taken out very cleanly, and above them they saw not coal but shale. "What is shale?" inquired Helen. "Hardened clay," replied the Superintendent. "There were no men until long after the carboniferous period when coal was formed, but just in this spot it must have happened that the soil that had gathered above the deposits of coal was very light for some reason or other. Above the coal there was only a thin layer of soft clay. One day a hunter tramped this way and left his autograph behind." He held his lamp steadily upward, and there in the roof were the unmistakable prints of the soles of a man's feet, walking. "It surely does look mightily as if your explanation was correct," exclaimed Mr. Emerson, as he gazed at the three prints, in line and spaced as a walker's would be. Their guide said that there had been six, but the other three had fallen after being exposed to the air. "I wish it hadn't been such a muddy day," sighed Ethel Blue. "The mud squeezed around so that his toe marks were filled right up." "It certainly was a muddy day," agreed Roger, "but I'm glad it was. If he had been walking on rocks we never should have known that he had passed this way a million or so years ago." They were all so filled with interest that they were almost unwilling to go on in the afternoon, although Mr. Emerson promised them other sights around Uniontown, quite different from any they had seen yet. It was late in the afternoon when they ferried across the river in a boat running on a chain, and took the train for the seat of Fayette County. As the daylight waned they found themselves travelling through a country lighted by a glare that seemed to spread through the atmosphere and to be reflected back from the clouds and sky. "What is it?" Dicky almost whimpered, as he snuggled closer to his mother. "Ask Grandfather," returned Mrs. Morton. "It's the glare from the coke ovens," answered Mr. Emerson. "Do you see those long rows of bee-hives? Those are ovens in which soft coal is being burned so that a certain ingredient called bitumen may be driven off from it. What is left after that is done is a substance that looks somewhat like a dry, sponge if that were gray and hard. It burns with a very hot flame and is invaluable in the smelting of iron and the making of steel." "That's why they make so much here," guessed Ethel Brown, who had been counting the ovens and was well up in the hundreds with plenty more in sight. "Here is where they make most of the iron and steel in the United States and they have to have coke for it." "And you notice how conveniently the coal beds lie to the iron mines? Nature followed an efficiency program, didn't she?" laughed Roger. "They turn out about twenty million tons of coke a year just around here," Helen read from her guidebook, "and it is one of the two greatest coke burning regions of the world!" "Where's the other?" "In the neighborhood of Durham, England." "It is a wonderful sight!" exclaimed Ethel Blue. "I never knew fire could be so wonderful and so different!" Mr. Emerson's search for Stanley Clark seemed to be a stern chase and consequently a long one. Here again the hotel clerk told him that Mr. Clark had gone on, this time to Washington, the seat of Washington County. He was fairly sure that he was still there because he had received a letter from him just the day before asking that something he had left behind should be sent him to that point, which was done. As soon as the Record Office was open in the morning Mr. Emerson and Roger went there. "We might as well check up on Hapgood's investigations," said Mr. Emerson. "They may be all right, and he may be honestly mistaken in thinking that his Emily is the Clarks' Emily; or he may have faked some of his records. It won't take us long to find out. Mr. Clark let me take his copy of Hapgood's papers." It was not a long matter to prove that Hapgood's copy of the records was correct. Emily Leonard had married Edward Smith; their son, Jabez, had married a Hapgood and Mary was their child. Where Hapgood's copy had been deficient was in his failing to record that this Emily Leonard was the daughter of George and Sabina Leonard, whereas the Clarks' Emily was the daughter of Peter and Judith Leonard. "There's Hapgood's whole story knocked silly," remarked Mr. Emerson complacently. "But it leaves us just where we were about the person the Clarks' Emily married." "Stanley wouldn't have telegraphed that she married a Smith if he hadn't been sure. He sent that wire from Millsboro, you know. He must have found something in that vicinity." "I'm going to try to get him on the telephone to-night, and then we can join him in Washington tomorrow if he'll condescend to stay in one spot for a few hours and not keep us chasing over the country after him." "That's Jabez Smith over there now," the clerk, who had been interested in their search, informed them. "Jabez Smith!" repeated Roger, his jaw dropped. "Jabez Smith!" repeated Mr. Emerson. "Why, he's dead!" "Jabez Smith? The Hapgood woman's husband? Father of Mary Smith? He isn't dead. He's alive and drunk almost every day." He indicated a man leaning against the wall of the corridor and Mr. Emerson and Roger approached him. "Don't you know the Miss Clarks said they thought that Mary said her father was alive but her uncle interrupted her loudly and said she was 'an orphan, poor kid'?" Roger reminded his grandfather. "She's half an orphan; her mother really is dead, the clerk says." Jabez Smith acknowledged his identity and received news of his brother-in-law and his daughter with no signs of pleasure. "What scheming is Hapgood up to now?" he muttered crossly. "Do you remember what your grandfather and grandmother Leonards' names were," asked Mr. Emerson. The man looked at him dully, as if he wondered what trick there might be in the inquiry, but evidently he came to the conclusion that his new acquaintance was testing his memory, so he pulled himself together and after some mental searching answered, "George Leonard; Sabina Leonard." His hearers were satisfied, and left him still supporting the Court House wall with his person instead of his taxes. Stanley, the long pursued, was caught on the wire, and hailed their coming with delight. He said that he thought he had all the information he needed and that he had been planning to go home the next day, so they were just in time. "That's delightful; he can go with us," exclaimed Ethel Brown, and Helen and Roger looked especially pleased. The few hours that passed before they met in Washington were filled with guesses as to whether Stanley had built up the family tree of his cousin Emily so firmly that it could not be shaken. "We proved this morning that Hapgood's story was a mixture of truth and lies," Mr. Emerson said, "but we haven't anything to replace it. Our evidence is all negative." "Stanley seems sure," Roger reminded him. When Stanley met them at the station in Washington he seemed both sure and happy. He shook hands with them all. "It is perfectly great to have you people here," he said to Helen. "Have you caught Emily?" she replied, dimpling with excitement. "I have Emily traced backwards and forwards. Let's go into the writing room of the hotel and you shall see right off how she stands." They gathered around the large table and listened to the account of the young lawyer's adventures. He had had a lead that took him to Millsboro soon after he reached western Pennsylvania, but he missed the trail there and spent some time in hunting in surrounding towns before he came on the record in the Uniontown courthouse. "I certainly thought I had caught her then," he confessed. "I thought so until I compared the ages of the two Emilies. I found that our Emily would have been only ten years old at the time the Uniontown Emily married Edward Smith." "Mr. Clark wired you to find out just that point." "Did he? I never received the despatch. Hadn't I told him the date of our Emily's birth? "He has a crow to pick with you over that." "Too bad. Well, I moseyed around some more, and the trail led me back to Millsboro again, where I ought to have found the solution in the first place if I had been more persevering. I came across an old woman in Millsboro who had been Emily Leonard's bridesmaid when she married Julian Smith. That sent me off to the county seat and there I found it all set down in black and white;--Emily Leonard, adopted daughter of Asa Wentworth and daughter of Peter and Judith (Clark) Leonard. There was everything I wanted." "You knew she had been adopted by a Wentworth?" "I found that out before I left Nebraska." "What was the date of the marriage?" "1868. She was eighteen. Two years later her only child, a son, Leonard, was born, and she died--" "Her son Leonard! Leonard Smith!" exclaimed Mrs. Morton suddenly. "Do you suppose--" she hesitated, looking at her father. He raised his eyebrows doubtfully, then turning to Stanley he inquired: "You didn't find out what became of this Leonard Smith, did you?" "I didn't find any record of his marriage, but I met several men who used to know him. They said he became quite a distinguished musician, and that he married a Philadelphia woman." "Did they know her name?" asked Mrs. Morton, leaning forward eagerly. "One of them said he thought it was Martin. Smith never came back here to live after he set forth to make his fortune, so they were a little hazy about his marriage and they didn't know whether he was still alive." "The name wasn't Morton, was it?" The girls looked curiously at their mother, for she was crimson with excitement. Stanley could take them no farther, however. "Father," Mrs. Morton said to Mr. Emerson, as the young people chattered over Stanley's discoveries, "I think I'd better send a telegram to Louise and ask her what her husband's parents' names were. Wouldn't it be too strange if he should be the son of the lost Emily?" Mr. Emerson hurried to the telegraph office and sent an immediate wire to "Mrs. Leonard Smith, Rosemont, N.J. Wire names of your husband's parents," it read. The answer came back before morning;--"Julian and Emily Leonard Smith." "Now why in the wide world didn't she remember that when we've done nothing but talk about Emily Leonard for weeks!" cried Mrs. Smith's sister-in-law impatiently. "I dare say she never gave them a thought; Leonard Smith's mother died when he was born, Stanley says. How about the father, Stanley?" "Julian Smith? He died years ago. I saw his death record this morning." "Then I don't see but you've traced the missing heir right to your own next door neighbor, Stanley." "It looks to me as if that was just what had happened," laughed the young lawyer. "Isn't that jolly! It's Dorothy whose guardian's signature is lacking to make the deed of the field valid when we sell it to her mother!" "It's Dorothy who is a part owner of Fitz-James's woods already!" cried the Ethels. Another telegram went to Rosemont at once. This one was addressed to "Miss Dorothy Smith." It said, "Stanley welcomes you into family. Congratulations from all on your good fortune," and it was signed "The Travellers." THE END 
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19644	----	MARY'S MEADOW AND OTHER TALES OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS. BY JULIANA HORATIA EWING. SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE, LONDON: NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, W.C. 43, QUEEN VICTORIA STREET, E.C. BRIGHTON: 129, NORTH STREET. NEW YORK: E. & J.B. YOUNG & CO. [Published under the direction of the General Literature Committee.] * * * * * CONTENTS. MARY'S MEADOW LETTERS FROM A LITTLE GARDEN GARDEN LORE SUNFLOWERS AND A RUSHLIGHT DANDELION CLOCKS THE TRINITY FLOWER LADDERS TO HEAVEN * * * * * MARY'S MEADOW. PREFACE. "MARY'S MEADOW" first appeared in the numbers of _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ from November 1883 to March 1884. It was the last serial story which Mrs. EWING wrote, and I believe the subject of it arose from the fact that in 1883, after having spent several years in moving from place to place, she went to live at Villa Ponente, Taunton, where she had a settled home with a garden, and was able to revert to the practical cultivation of flowers, which had been one of the favourite pursuits of her girlhood. The Game of the Earthly Paradise was received with great delight by the readers of the story; one family of children adopted the word "Mary-meadowing" to describe the work which they did towards beautifying hedges and bare places; and my sister received many letters of inquiry about the various plants mentioned in her tale. These she answered in the correspondence columns of the Magazine, and in July 1884 it was suggested that a "Parkinson Society" should be formed, whose objects were "to search out and cultivate old garden flowers which have become scarce; to exchange seeds and plants; to plant waste places with hardy flowers; to circulate books on gardening amongst the Members;" and further, "to try to prevent the extermination of rare wild flowers, as well as of garden treasures." Reports of the Society, with correspondence on the exchanges of plants and books, and quaint local names of flowers, were given in the Magazine until it was brought to a close after Mrs. EWING'S death; but I am glad to say that the Society existed for some years under the management of the founder, Miss ALICE SARGANT, and when she was obliged to relinquish the work it was merged in the "Selborne Society," which aims at the preservation of rare species of animals as well as plants. The "Letters from a Little Garden" were published in _Aunt Judy's Magazine_ between November 1884 and February 1885, and as they, as well as "Mary's Meadow," were due to the interest which my sister was taking in the tending of her own Earthly Paradise,--they are inserted in this volume, although they were left unfinished when the writer was called away to be "Fast in Thy Paradise, where no flower can wither!" HORATIA K.F. EDEN. _December, 1895._ * * * * * NOTE.--If any readers of "Mary's Meadow" have been as completely puzzled as the writer was by the title of John Parkinson's old book, it may interest them to know that the question has been raised and answered in _Notes and Queries_. I first saw the _Paradisi in sole Paradisus terrestris_ at Kew, some years ago, and was much bewitched by its quaint charm. I grieve to say that I do not possess it; but an old friend and florist--the Rev. H.T. Ellacombe--was good enough to lend me his copy for reference, and to him I wrote for the meaning of the title. But his scholarship, and that of other learned friends, was quite at fault. My old friend's youthful energies (he will permit me to say that he is ninety-four) were not satisfied to rust in ignorance, and he wrote to _Notes and Queries_ on the subject, and has been twice answered. It is an absurd play upon words, after the fashion of John Parkinson's day. Paradise, as _Aunt Judy's_ readers may know, is originally an Eastern word, meaning a park, or pleasure-ground. I am ashamed to say that the knowledge of this fact did not help me to the pun. _Paradisi in sole Paradisus terrestris_ means Park--in--son's Earthly Paradise! J.H.E., _February 1884._ * * * * * How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean Are Thy returns! ev'n as the flowers in spring; To which, besides their own demean, The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing. Who would have thought my shrivel'd heart Could have recover'd greenness? It was gone Quite under ground; as flowers depart To see their mother-root, when they have blown; Where they together All the hard weather, Dead to the world, keep house unknown. * * * * * O that I once past changing were, Fast in Thy Paradise, where no flower can wither! Many a spring I shoot up fair, Offering at heaven, growing and groaning thither; Nor doth my flower Want a spring-shower, My sins and I joining together. * * * * * These are Thy wonders, Lord of love, To make us see we are but flowers that glide: Which when we once can find and prove, Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide. Who would be more, Swelling through store, Forfeit their Paradise by their pride. GEORGE HERBERT. * * * * * MARY'S MEADOW CHAPTER I. Mother is always trying to make us love our neighbours as ourselves. She does so despise us for greediness, or grudging, or snatching, or not sharing what we have got, or taking the best and leaving the rest, or helping ourselves first, or pushing forward, or praising Number One, or being Dogs in the Manger, or anything selfish. And we cannot bear her to despise us! We despise being selfish, too; but very often we forget. Besides, it is sometimes rather difficult to love your neighbour as yourself when you want a thing very much; and Arthur says he believes it is particularly difficult if it is your next-door-neighbour, and that that is why Father and the Old Squire quarrelled about the footpath through Mary's Meadow. The Old Squire is not really his name, but that is what people call him. He is very rich. His place comes next to ours, and it is much bigger, and he has quantities of fields, and Father has only got a few; but there are two fields beyond Mary's Meadow which belong to Father, though the Old Squire wanted to buy them. Father would not sell them, and he says he has a right of way through Mary's Meadow to go to his fields, but the Old Squire says he has nothing of the kind, and that is what they quarrelled about. Arthur says if you quarrel, and are too grown-up to punch each other's heads, you go to law; and if going to law doesn't make it up, you appeal. They went to law, I know, for Mother cried about it; and I suppose it did not make it up, for the Old Squire appealed. After that he used to ride about all day on his grey horse, with Saxon, his yellow bull-dog, following him, to see that we did not trespass on Mary's Meadow. I think he thought that if we children were there, Saxon would frighten us, for I do not suppose he knew that we knew him. But Saxon used often to come with the Old Squire's Scotch Gardener to see our gardener, and when they were looking at the wall-fruit, Saxon used to come snuffing after us. He is the nicest dog I know. He looks very savage, but he is only very funny. His lower jaw sticks out, which makes him grin, and some people think he is gnashing his teeth with rage. We think it looks as if he were laughing--like Mother Hubbard's dog, when she brought home his coffin, and he wasn't dead--but it really is only the shape of his jaw. I loved Saxon the first day I saw him, and he likes me, and licks my face. But what he likes best of all are Bath Oliver Biscuits. One day the Scotch Gardener saw me feeding him, and he pulled his red beard, and said, "Ye do weel to mak' hay while the sun shines, Saxon, my man. There's sma' sight o' young leddies and sweet cakes at hame for ye!" And Saxon grinned, and wagged his tail, and the Scotch Gardener touched his hat to me, and took him away. The Old Squire's Weeding Woman is our nursery-maid's aunt. She is not very old, but she looks so, because she has lost her teeth, and is bent nearly double. She wears a large hood, and carries a big basket, which she puts down outside the nursery door when she comes to tea with Bessy. If it is a fine afternoon, and we are gardening, she lets us borrow the basket, and then we play at being weeding women in each other's gardens. She tells Bessy about the Old Squire. She says--"He do be a real old skinflint, the Old Zquire a be!" But she thinks it--"zim as if 'twas having ne'er a wife nor child for to keep the natur' in 'un, so his heart do zim to shrivel, like they walnuts Butler tells us of as a zets down for desart. The Old Zquire he mostly eats ne'er a one now's teeth be so bad. But a counts them every night when's desart's done. And a keeps 'em till the karnels be mowldy, and a keeps 'em till they be dry, and a keeps 'em till they be dust; and when the karnels is dust, a cracks aal the lot of 'em when desart's done, zo's no one mayn't have no good of they walnuts, since they be no good to be." Arthur can imitate the Weeding Woman exactly, and he can imitate the Scotch Gardener too. Chris (that is Christopher, our youngest brother) is very fond of "The Zquire and the Walnuts." He gets nuts, or anything, like shells or bits of flower-pots, that will break, and something to hit with, and when Arthur comes to "_The karnels is dust_," Chris smashes everything before him, shouting, "_A cracks aal the lot of em_," and then he throws the bits all over the place, with "_They be no good to he_." Father laughed very much when he heard Arthur do the Weeding Woman, and Mother could not help laughing too; but she did not like it, because she does not like us to repeat servants' gossip. The Weeding Woman is a great gossip. She gossips all the time she is having her tea, and it is generally about the Old Squire. She used to tell Bessy that his flowers bloomed themselves to death, and the fruit rotted on the walls, because he would let nothing be picked, and gave nothing away, except now and then a grand present of fruit to Lady Catherine, for which the old lady returned no thanks, but only a rude message to say that his peaches were over-ripe, and he had better have sent the grapes to the Infirmary. Adela asked--"Why is the Old Squire so kind to Lady Catherine?" and Father said--"Because we are so fond of Lords and Ladies in this part of the country." I thought he meant the lords and ladies in the hedges, for we are very fond of them. But he didn't. He meant real lords and ladies. There are splendid lords and ladies in the hedges of Mary's Meadow. I never can make up my mind when I like them best. In April and May, when they have smooth plum-coloured coats and pale green cowls, and push up out of last year's dry leaves, or in August and September, when their hoods have fallen away, and their red berries shine through the dusty grass and nettles that have been growing up round them all the summer out of the ditch. Flowers were one reason for our wanting to go to Mary's Meadow. Another reason was the nightingale. There was one that used always to sing there, and Mother had made us a story about it. We are very fond of fairy books, and one of our greatest favourites is Bechstein's _As Pretty as Seven._ It has very nice pictures, and we particularly like "The Man in the Moon, and How He Came There;" but the story doesn't end well, for he came there by gathering sticks on Sunday, and then scoffing about it, and he has been there ever since. But Mother made us a new fairy tale about the nightingale in Mary's Meadow being the naughty woodcutter's only child, who was turned into a little brown bird that lives on in the woods, and sits on a tree on summer nights, and sings to its father up in the moon. But after our Father and the Old Squire went to law, Mother told us we must be content with hearing the nightingale from a distance. We did not really know about the lawsuit then, we only understood that the Old Squire was rather crosser than usual; and we rather resented being warned not to go into Mary's Meadow, especially as Father kept saying we had a perfect right so to do. I thought that Mother was probably afraid of Saxon being set at us, and of course I had no fears about him. Indeed, I used to wish that it could happen that the Old Squire, riding after me as full of fury as King Padella in the _Rose and the Ring_, might set Saxon on me, as the lions were let loose to eat the Princess Rosalba. "Instead of devouring her with their great teeth, it was with kisses they gobbled her up. They licked her pretty feet, they nuzzled their noses in her lap," and she put her arms "round their tawny necks and kissed them." Saxon gobbles us with kisses, and nuzzles his nose, and we put our arms round his tawny neck. What a surprise it would be to the Old Squire to see him! And then I wondered if my feet were as pretty as Rosalba's, and I thought they were, and I wondered if Saxon would lick them, supposing that by any possibility it could ever happen that I should be barefoot in Mary's Meadow at the mercy of the Old Squire and his bull-dog. One does not, as a rule, begin to go to bed by letting down one's hair, and taking off one's shoes and stockings. But one night I was silly enough to do this, just to see if I looked (in the mirror) at all like the picture of Rosalba in the _Rose and the Ring._ I was trying to see my feet as well as my hair, when I heard Arthur jumping the three steps in the middle of the passage between his room and mine. I had only just time to spring into the window-seat, and tuck my feet under me, when he gave a hasty knock, and bounced in with his telescope in his hand. "Oh, Mary," he cried, "I want you to see the Old Squire, with a great-coat over his evening clothes, and a squash hat, marching up and down Mary's Meadow." And he pulled up my blind, and threw open the window, and arranged the telescope for me. It was a glorious night. The moon was rising round and large out of the mist, and dark against its brightness I could see the figure of the Old Squire pacing the pathway over Mary's Meadow. Saxon was not there; but on a slender branch of a tree in the hedgerow sat the nightingale, singing to comfort the poor, lonely old Man in the Moon. CHAPTER II. Lady Catherine is Mother's aunt by marriage, and Mother is one of the few people she is not rude to. She is very rude, and yet she is very kind, especially to the poor. But she does kind things so rudely, that people now and then wish that she would mind her own business instead. Father says so, though Mother would say that that is gossip. But I think sometimes that Mother is thinking of Aunt Catherine when she tells us that in kindness it is not enough to be good to others, one should also learn to be gracious. Mother thought she was very rude to _her_ once, when she said, quite out loud, that Father is very ill-tempered, and that, if Mother had not the temper of an angel, the house could never hold together. Mother was very angry, but Father did not mind. He says our house will hold together much longer than most houses, because he swore at the workmen, and went to law with the builder for using dirt instead of mortar, so the builder had to pull down what was done wrong, and do it right; and Father says he knows he has a bad temper, but he does not mean to pull the house over our heads at present, unless he has to get bricks out to heave at Lady Catherine if she becomes quite unbearable. We do not like dear Father to be called bad-tempered. He comes home cross sometimes, and then we have to be very quiet, and keep out of the way; and sometimes he goes out rather cross, but not always. It was what Chris said about that that pleased Lady Catherine so much. It was one day when Father came home cross, and was very much vexed to find us playing about the house. Arthur had got a new Adventure Book, and he had been reading to us about the West Coast of Africa, and niggers, and tom-toms, and "going Fantee;" and James gave him a lot of old corks out of the pantry, and let him burn them in a candle. It rained, and we could not go out; so we all blacked our faces with burnt cork, and played at the West Coast in one of the back passages, and at James being the captain of a slave ship, because he tried to catch us when we beat the tom-toms too near him when he was cleaning the plate, to make him give us rouge and whitening to tattoo with. Dear Father came home rather earlier than we expected, and rather cross. Chris did not hear the front door, because his ears were pinched up with tying curtain rings on to them, and just at that minute he shouted, "I go Fantee!" and tore his pinafore right up the middle, and burst into the front hall with it hanging in two pieces by the armholes, his eyes shut, and a good grab of James's rouge-powder smudged on his nose, yelling and playing the tom-tom on what is left of Arthur's drum. Father was very angry indeed, and Chris was sent to bed, and not allowed to go down to dessert; and Lady Catherine was dining at our house, so he missed her. Next time she called, and saw Chris, she asked him why he had not been at dessert that night. Mother looked at Chris, and said, "Why was it, Chris? Tell Aunt Catherine." Mother thought he would say, "Because I tore my pinafore, and made a noise in the front hall." But he smiled, the grave way Chris does, and said, "Because Father came home cross." And Lady Catherine was pleased, but Mother was vexed. I am quite sure Chris meant no harm, but he does say very funny things. Perhaps it is because his head is rather large for his body, with some water having got into his brain when he was very little, so that we have to take care of him. And though he does say very odd things, very slowly, I do not think any one of us tries harder to be good. I remember once Mother had been trying to make us forgive each other's trespasses, and Arthur would say that you cannot _make_ yourself feel kindly to them that trespass against you; and Mother said if you make yourself do right, then at last you get to feel right; and it was very soon after this that Harry and Christopher quarrelled, and would not forgive each other's trespasses in the least, in spite of all that I could do to try and make peace between them. Chris went off in the sulks, but after a long time I came upon him in the toy-cupboard, looking rather pale and very large-headed, and winding up his new American top, and talking to himself. When he talks to himself he mutters, so I could only just hear what he was saying, and he said it over and over again: "_Dos first and feels afterwards_." "What are you doing, Chris?" I asked. "I'm getting ready my new top to give to Harry. _Dos first and feels afterwards._" "Well," I said, "Christopher, you _are_ a good boy." "I should like to punch his head," said Chris--and he said it in just the same sing-song tone--"but I'm getting the top ready. _Dos first and feels afterwards_." And he went on winding and muttering. Afterwards he told me that the "feels" came sooner than he expected. Harry wouldn't take his top, and they made up their quarrel. Christopher is very simple, but sometimes we think he is also a little sly. He can make very wily excuses about things he does not like. He does not like Nurse to hold back his head and wash his face; and at last one day she let him go down-stairs with a dirty face, and then complained to Mother. So Mother asked Chris why he was so naughty about having his face washed, and he said, quite gravely, "I do think it would be _such pity_ if the water got into my head again by accident." Mother did not know he had ever heard about it, but she said, "Oh, Chris! Chris! that's one of your excuses." And he said, "It's not my _'scusis_. She lets a good deal get in--at my ears--and lather too." But, with all his whimsical ways, Lady Catherine is devoted to Christopher. She likes him far better than any one of us, and he is very fond of her; and they say quite rude things to each other all along. And Father says it is very lucky, for if she had not been so fond of Chris, and so ready to take him too, Mother would never have been persuaded to leave us when Aunt Catherine took them to the South of France. Mother had been very unwell for a long time. She has so many worries, and Dr. Solomon said she ought to avoid worry, and Aunt Catherine said worries were killing her, and Father said "Pshaw!" and Aunt Catherine said "Care killed the cat," and that a cat has nine lives, and a woman has only one; and then Mother got worse, and Aunt Catherine wanted to take her abroad, and she wouldn't go; and then Christopher was ill, and Aunt Catherine said she would take him too, if only Mother would go with her; and Dr. Solomon said it might be the turning-point of his health, and Father said "the turning-point which way?" but he thanked Lady Catherine, and they didn't quarrel; and so Mother yielded, and it was settled that they should go. Before they went, Mother spoke to me, and told me I must be a Little Mother to the others whilst she was away. She hoped we should all try to please Father, and to be unselfish with each other; but she expected me to try far harder than the others, and never to think of myself at all, so that I might fill her place whilst she was away. So I promised to try, and I did. We missed Christopher sadly. And Saxon missed him. The first time Saxon came to see us after Mother and Chris went away, we told him all about it, and he looked very sorry. Then we said that he should be our brother in Christopher's stead, whilst Chris was away; and he looked very much pleased, and wagged his tail, and licked our faces all round. So we told him to come and see us very often. He did not, but we do not think it was his fault. He is chained up so much. One day Arthur and I were walking down the road outside the Old Squire's stables, and Saxon smelt us, and we could hear him run and rattle his chain, and he gave deep, soft barks. Arthur laughed. He said, "Do you hear Saxon, Mary? Now I dare say the Old Squire thinks he smells tramps and wants to bite them. He doesn't know that Saxon smells his new sister and brother, and wishes he could go out walking with them in Mary's Meadow." CHAPTER III. Nothing comforted us so much whilst Mother and Chris were away as being allowed to play in the library. We were not usually allowed to be there so often, but when we asked Father he gave us leave to amuse ourselves there at the time when Mother would have had us with her, provided that we did not bother him or hurt the books. We did not hurt the books, and in the end we were allowed to go there as much as we liked. We have plenty of books of our own, and we have new ones very often: on birthdays and at Christmas. Sometimes they are interesting, and sometimes they are disappointing. Most of them have pretty pictures. It was because we had been rather unlucky for some time, and had had disappointing ones on our birthdays, that Arthur said to me, "Look here, Mary, I'm not going to read any books now but grown-up ones, unless it is an Adventure Book. I'm sick of books for young people, there's so much _stuff_ in them." We call it _stuff_ when there seems to be going to be a story and it comes to nothing but talk; and we call it _stuff_ when there is a very interesting picture, and you read to see what it is about, and the reading does not tell you, or tells you wrong. Both Arthur and Christopher had had disappointments in their books on their birthdays. Arthur jumped at his book at first, because there were Japanese pictures in it, and Uncle Charley had just been staying with us, and had brought beautiful Japanese pictures with him, and had told us Japanese fairy tales, and they were as good as Bechstein. So Arthur was full of Japan. The most beautiful picture of all was of a stork, high up in a tall pine tree, and the branches of the pine tree, and the cones, and the pine needles were most beautifully drawn; and there was a nest with young storks in it, and behind the stork and the nest and the tall pine the sun was blazing with all his rays. And Uncle Charley told us the story to it, and it was called "the Nest of the Stork." So when Arthur saw a stork standing among pine needles in his new book he shouted with delight, though the pine needles were rather badly done, with thick strokes. But presently he said, "It's not nearly so good a stork as Uncle Charley's. And where's the stem of the pine? It looks as if the stork were on the ground and on the top of the pine tree too, and there's no nest. And there's no sun. And, oh! Mary, what do you think is written under it? '_Crane and Water-reeds_.' Well, I do call that a sell!" Christopher's disappointment was quite as bad. Mother gave him a book with very nice pictures, particularly of beasts. The chief reason she got it for him was that there was such a very good picture of a toad, and Chris is so fond of toads. For months he made friends with one in the garden. It used to crawl away from him, and he used to creep after it, talking to it, and then it used to half begin, to crawl up the garden wall, and stand so, on its hind legs, and let Chris rub its wrinkled back. The toad in the picture was exactly like Christopher's toad, and he ran about the house with the book in his arms begging us to read him the story about Dear Toady. We were all busy but Arthur, and he said, "I want to go on with my water-wheel." But Mother said, "Don't be selfish, Arthur." And he said, "I forgot. All right, Chris; bring me the book." So they went and sat in the conservatory, not to disturb any one. But very soon they came back, Chris crying, and saying, "It couldn't be the right one, Arthur;" and Arthur frowning, and saying, "It _is_ the right story; but it's _stuff_. I'll tell you what that book's good for, Chris. To paint the pictures. And you've got a new paint-box." So Mother said, "What's the matter?" And Arthur said, "Chris thinks I haven't read him the right story to his Toad Picture. But I have, and what do you think it's about? It's about the silliest little girl you can imagine--a regular mawk of a girl--_and a Frog_. Not a toad, but a F. R. O. G. frog! A regular hop, skip, jumping frog!" Arthur hopped round the room, but Chris cried bitterly. So Arthur ran up to him and kissed him, and said, "Don't cry, old chap, I'll tell you what I'll do. You get Mary to cut out a lot of the leaves of your book that have no pictures, and that will make it like a real scrap-book; and then I'll give you a lot of my scraps and pictures to paste over what's left of the stories, and you'll have such a painting-book as you never had in all your life before." So we did. And Arthur was very good, for he gave Chris pictures that I know he prized, because Chris liked them. But the very first picture he gave him was the "Crane and Water-reeds." I thought it so good of Arthur to be so nice with Chris that I wished I could have helped him over his water-wheel. He had put Japan out of his head since the disappointment, and spent all his play-time in making mills and machinery. He did grind some corn into flour once, but it was not at all white. He said that was because the bran was left in. But it was not only bran in Arthur's flour. There was a good deal of sand too, from his millstones being made of sandstone, which he thought would not matter. But it grinds off. Down in the valley, below Mary's Meadow, runs the Ladybrook, which turns the old water-wheel of Mary's Mill. It is a very picturesque old mill, and Mother has made beautiful sketches of it. She caught the last cold she got before going abroad with sketching it--the day we had a most delightful picnic there, and went about in the punt. And from that afternoon Arthur made up his mind that his next mill should be a water-mill. The reason I am no good at helping Arthur about his mills is that I am stupid about machinery; and I was so vexed not to help him, that when I saw a book in the library which I thought would do so, I did not stop to take it out, for it was in four very large volumes, but ran off at once to tell Arthur. He said, "What _is_ the matter, Mary?" I said, "Oh, Arthur! I've found a book that will tell you all about mills; and it is the nicest smelling book in the library." "The nicest _smelling_? What's that got to do with mills?" "Nothing, of course. But it's bound in russia, and I am so fond of the smell of russia. But that's nothing. It's a Miller's Dictionary, and it is in four huge volumes, 'with plates.' I should think you could look out all about every kind of mill there ever was a miller to." "If the plates give sections and diagrams"--Arthur began, but I did not hear the rest, for he started off for the library at once, and I ran after him. But when we got Miller's Dictionary on the floor, how he did tease me! For there was nothing about mills or millers in it. It was a Gardener's and Botanist's Dictionary, by Philip Miller; and the plates were plates of flowers, very truly drawn, like the pine tree in Uncle Charley's Jap. picture. There were some sections too, but they were sections of greenhouses, not of any kinds of mills or machinery. The odd thing was that it turned out a kind of help to Arthur after all. For we got so much interested in it that it roused us up about our gardens. We are all very fond of flowers, I most of all. And at last Arthur said he thought that miniature mills were really rather humbugging things, and it would be much easier and more useful to build a cold frame to keep choice auriculas and _half-hardies_ in. When we took up our gardens so hotly, Harry and Adela took up theirs, and we did a great deal, for the weather was fine. We were surprised to find that the Old Squire's Scotch Gardener knew Miller's Gardener's Dictionary quite well. He said, "It's a gran' wurrk!" (Arthur can say it just like him.) One day he wished he could see it, and smell the russia binding; he said he liked to feel a nice smell. Father was away, and we were by ourselves, so we invited him into the library. Saxon wanted to come in too, but the gardener was very cross with him, and sent him out; and he sat on the mat outside and dribbled with longing to get in, and thudded his stiff tail whenever he saw any one through the doorway. The Scotch Gardener enjoyed himself very much, and he explained a lot of things to Arthur, and helped us to put away the Dictionary when we had done with it. When he took up his hat to go, he gave one long look all round the library. Then he turned to Arthur (and Saxon took advantage of this to wag his way in and join the party), and said, "It's a rare privilege, the free entry of a book chamber like this. I'm hoping, young gentleman, that you're not insensible of it?" Then he caught sight of Saxon, and beat him out of the room with his hat. But he came back himself to say, that it might just happen that he would be glad now and again to hear what was said about this or that plant (of which he would write down the botanical name) in these noble volumes. So we told him that if he would bring Saxon to see us pretty often, we would look out anything he wanted to know about in Miller's Gardener's Dictionary. CHAPTER IV. Looking round the library one day, to see if I could see any more books about gardening, I found the Book of Paradise. It is a very old book, and very queer. It has a brown leather back--not russia--and stiff little gold flowers and ornaments all the way down, where Miller's Dictionary has gold swans in crowns, and ornaments. There are a good many old books in the library, but they are not generally very interesting--at least not to us. So when I found that though this one had a Latin name on the title-page, it was written in English, and that though it seemed to be about Paradise, it was really about a garden, and quite common flowers, I was delighted, for I always have cared more for gardening and flowers than for any other amusement, long before we found Miller's Gardener's Dictionary. And the Book of Paradise is much smaller than the Dictionary, and easier to hold. And I like old, queer things, and it is very old and queer. The Latin name is _Paradisi in sole, Paradisus terrestris_, which we do not any of us understand, though we are all learning Latin; so we call it the Book of Paradise. But the English name is--"Or a Garden of all sorts of pleasant flowers which our English ayre will permitt to be noursed up;" and on the top of every page is written "The Garden of Pleasant Flowers," and it says--"Collected by John Parkinson, Apothecary of London, and the King's Herbarist, 1629." I had to think a minute to remember who was the king then, and it was King Charles I.; so then I knew that it was Queen Henrietta to whom the book was dedicated. This was the dedication:-- "TO THE QUEEN'S MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY. "MADAME,--Knowing your Majesty so much delighted with all the fair flowers of a Garden, and furnished with them as far beyond others as you are eminent before them; this my Work of a Garden long before this intended to be published, and but now only finished, seemed as it were destined to be first offered into your Highness's hands as of right, challenging the propriety of Patronage from all others. Accept, I beseech your Majesty, this speaking Garden, that may inform you in all the particulars of your store as well as wants, when you cannot see any of them fresh upon the ground: and it shall further encourage him to accomplish the remainder; who in praying that your Highness may enjoy the heavenly Paradise, after many years' fruition of this earthly, submitteth to be your Majesties, "In all humble devotion, "JOHN PARKINSON." We like queer old things like this, they are so funny! I liked the Dedication, and I wondered if the Queen's Garden really was an Earthly Paradise, and whether she did enjoy reading John Parkinson's book about flowers in the winter time, when her own flowers were no longer "fresh upon the ground." And then I wondered what flowers she had, and I looked out a great many of our chief favourites, and she had several kinds of them. We are particularly fond of Daffodils, and she had several kinds of Daffodils, from the "Primrose Peerlesse,"[1] "of a sweet but stuffing scent," to "the least Daffodil of all,"[2] which the book says "was brought to us by a Frenchman called Francis le Vean, the honestest root-gatherer that ever came over to us." [Footnote 1: _Narcissus media lutens vulgaris._] [Footnote 2: _Narcissus minimus_, Parkinson. _N. minor_, Miller.] The Queen had Cowslips too, though our gardener despised them when he saw them in my garden. I dug mine up in Mary's Meadow before Father and the Old Squire went to law; but they were only common Cowslips, with one Oxlip, by good luck. In the Earthly Paradise there were "double Cowslips, one within another." And they were called Hose-in-Hose. I wished I had Hose-in-Hose. Arthur was quite as much delighted with the Book of Paradise as I. He said, "Isn't it funny to think of Queen Henrietta Maria gardening! I wonder if she went trailing up and down the walks looking like that picture of her we saw when you and I were in London with Mother about our teeth, and went to see the Loan Collection of Old Masters. I wonder if the Dwarf picked the flowers for her. I do wonder what Apothecary John Parkinson looked like when he offered his Speaking Garden into her Highness's hands. And what beautiful hands she had! Do you remember the picture, Mary? It was by Vandyck." I remembered it quite well. That afternoon the others could not amuse themselves, and wanted me to tell them a story. They do not like old stories too often, and it is rather difficult to invent new ones. Sometimes we do it by turns. We sit in a circle and one of us begins, and the next must add something, and so we go on. But that way does not make a good plot. My head was so full of the Book of Paradise that afternoon that I could not think of a story, but I said I would begin one. So I began: "Once upon a time there was a Queen--" "How was she dressed?" asked Adela, who thinks a good deal about dress. "She had a beautiful dark-blue satin robe." "_Princesse_ shape?" inquired Adela. "No; Queen's shape," said Arthur. "Drive on, Mary." "And lace ruffles falling back from her Highness's hands--" "Sweet!" murmured Adela. "And a high hat, with plumes, on her head, and--" "A very low dwarf at her heels," added Arthur. "Was there really a dwarf, Mary?" asked Harry. "There was," said I. "Had he a hump, or was he only a plain dwarf?" "He was a very plain dwarf," said Arthur. "Does Arthur know the story, Mary?" "No, Harry, he doesn't; and he oughtn't to interfere till I come to a stop." "Beg pardon, Mary. Drive on." "The Queen was very much delighted with all fair flowers, and she had a garden so full of them that it was called the Earthly Paradise." There was a long-drawn and general "Oh!" of admiration. "But though she was a Queen, she couldn't have flowers in the winter, not even in an Earthly Paradise." "Don't you suppose she had a greenhouse, by the bye, Mary?" said Arthur. "Oh, Arthur," cried Harry, "I do wish you'd be quiet: when you know it's a fairy story, and that Queens of that sort never had greenhouses or anything like we have now." "And so the King's Apothecary and Herbarist, whose name was John Parkinson--" "I shouldn't have thought he would have had a common name like that," said Harry. "Bessy's name is Parkinson," said Adela. "Well, I can't help it; his name _was_ John Parkinson." "Drive on, Mary!" said Arthur. "And he made her a book, called the Book of Paradise, in which there were pictures and written accounts of her flowers, so that when she could not see any of them fresh upon the ground, she could read about them, and think about them, and count up how many she had." "Ah, but she couldn't tell. Some of them might have died in the winter," said Adela. "Ah, but some of the others might have got little ones at their roots," said Harry. "So that would make up." I said nothing. I was glad of the diversion, for I could not think how to go on with the story. Before I quite gave in, Harry luckily asked, "Was there a Weeding Woman in the Earthly Paradise?" "There was," said I. "How was she dressed?" asked Adela. "She had a dress the colour of common earth." "_Princesse_ shape?" inquired Arthur. "No; Weeding Woman shape. Arthur, I wish you wouldn't--" "All right, Mary. Drive on." "And a little shawl, that had partly the colour of grass, and partly the colour of hay." "_Hay dear_!" interpolated Arthur, exactly imitating a well-known sigh peculiar to Bessy's aunt. "Was her bonnet like our Weeding Woman's bonnet?" asked Adela, in a disappointed tone. "Much larger," said I, "and the colour of a Marigold." Adela looked happier. "Strings the same?" she asked. "No. One string canary-colour, and the other white." "And a basket?" asked Harry. "Yes, a basket, of course. Well, the Queen had all sorts of flowers in her garden. Some of them were natives of the country, and some of them were brought to her from countries far away, by men called Root-gatherers. There were very beautiful Daffodils in the Earthly Paradise, but the smallest of all the Daffodils--" "A Dwarf, like the Hunchback?" said Harry. "The Dwarf Daffodil of all was brought to her by a man called Francis le Vean." "That was a _much_ nicer name than John Parkinson," said Harry. "And he was the honestest Root-gatherer that ever brought foreign flowers into the Earthly Paradise." "Then I love him!" said Harry. CHAPTER V. One sometimes thinks it is very easy to be good, and then there comes something which makes it very hard. I liked being a Little Mother to the others, and almost enjoyed giving way to them. "Others first, Little Mothers afterwards," as we used to say--till the day I made up that story for them out of the Book of Paradise. The idea of it took our fancy completely, the others as well as mine, and though the story was constantly interrupted, and never came to any real plot or end, there were no Queens, or dwarfs, or characters of any kind in all Bechstein's fairy tales, or even in Grimm, more popular than the Queen of the Blue Robe and her Dwarf, and the Honest Root-gatherer, and John Parkinson, King's Apothecary and Herbarist, and the Weeding Woman of the Earthly Paradise. When I said, "Wouldn't it be a good new game to have an Earthly Paradise in our gardens, and to have a King's Apothecary and Herbarist to gather things and make medicine of them, and an Honest Root-gatherer to divide the polyanthus plants and the bulbs when we take them up, and divide them fairly, and a Weeding Woman to work and make things tidy, and a Queen in a blue dress, and Saxon for the Dwarf"--the others set up such a shout of approbation that Father sent James to inquire if we imagined that he was going to allow his house to be turned into a bear-garden. And Arthur said, "No. Tell him we're only turning it into a Speaking Garden, and we're going to turn our own gardens into an Earthly Paradise." But I said, "Oh, James! please don't say anything of the kind. Say we're very sorry, and we will be quite quiet." And James said, "Trust me, Miss. It would be a deal more than my place is worth to carry Master Arthur's messages to his Pa." "I'll be the Honestest Root-gatherer," said Harry. "I'll take up Dandelion roots to the very bottom, and sell them to the King's Apothecary to make Dandelion tea of." "That's a good idea of yours, Harry," said Arthur. "I shall be John Parkinson--" "_My_ name is Francis le Vean," said Harry. "King's Apothecary and Herbarist," continued Arthur, disdaining the interruption. "And I'll bet you my Cloth of Gold Pansy to your Black Prince that Bessy's aunt takes three bottles of my dandelion and camomile mixture for 'the swimmings,' bathes her eyes every morning with my elder-flower lotion to strengthen the sight, and sleeps every night on my herb pillow (if Mary 'll make me a flannel bag) before the week's out." "I could make you a flannel bag," said Adela, "if Mary will make me a bonnet, so that I can be the Weeding Woman. You could make it of tissue-paper, with stiff paper inside, like all those caps you made for us last Christmas, Mary dear, couldn't you? And there is some lovely orange-coloured paper, I know, and pale yellow, and white. The bonnet was Marigold colour, was it not? And one string canary-coloured and one white. I couldn't tie them, of course, being paper; but Bessy's aunt doesn't tie her bonnet. She wears it like a helmet, to shade her eyes. I shall wear mine so too. It will be all Marigold, won't it, dear? Front _and_ crown; and the white string going back over one shoulder and the canary string over the other. They might be pinned together behind, perhaps, if they were in my way. Don't you think so?" I said "Yes," because if one does not say something, Adela never stops saying whatever it is she is saying, even if she has to say it two or three times over. But I felt so cross and so selfish, that if Mother _could_ have known she _would_ have despised me! For the truth was, I had set my heart upon being the Weeding Woman. I thought Adela would want to be the Queen, because of the blue dress, and the plumed hat, and the lace ruffles. Besides, she likes picking flowers, but she never liked grubbing. She would not really like the Weeding Woman's work; it was the bonnet that had caught her fancy, and I found it hard to smother the vexing thought that if I had gone on dressing the Weeding Woman of the Earthly Paradise like Bessy's aunt, instead of trying to make the story more interesting by inventing a marigold bonnet with yellow and white strings for her, I might have had the part I wished to play in our new game (which certainly was of my devising), and Adela would have been better pleased to be the Queen than to be anything else. As it was, I knew that if I asked her she would give up the Weeding Woman. Adela is very good, and she is very good-natured. And I knew, too, that it would not have cost her much. She would have given a sigh about the bonnet, and then have turned her whole attention to a blue robe, and how to manage the ruffles. But even whilst I was thinking about it, Arthur said: "Of course, Mary must be the Queen, unless we could think of something else--very good--for her. If we could have thought of something, Mary, I was thinking how jolly it would be, when Mother comes home, to have had _her_ for the Queen, with Chris for her Dwarf, and to give her flowers out of our Earthly Paradise." "She would, look just like a Queen," said Harry. "In her navy blue nun's cloth and Russian lace," said Adela. That settled the question. Nothing could be so nice as to have Mother in the game, and the plan provided for Christopher also. I had no wish to be Queen, as far as that went. Dressing up, and walking about the garden would be no fun for me. I really had looked forward to clearing away big baskets full of weeds and rubbish, and keeping our five gardens and the paths between them so tidy as they had never been kept before. And I knew the weeds would have a fine time of it with Adela, as Weeding Woman, in a tissue-paper bonnet! But one thing was more important, than tidy gardens--not to be selfish. I had been left as Little Mother to the others, and I had been lucky enough to think of a game that pleased them. If I turned selfish now, it would spoil everything. So I said that Arthur's idea was excellent; that I had no wish to be Queen, that I thought I might, perhaps, devise another character for myself by and by; and that if the others would leave me alone, I would think about it whilst I was making Adela's bonnet. The others were quite satisfied. Father says people always are satisfied with things in general, when they've got what they want for themselves, and I think that is true. I got the tissue-paper and the gum; resisted Adela's extreme desire to be with me and talk about the bonnet, and shut myself up in the library. I got out the Book of Paradise too, and propped it up in an arm-chair, and sat on a footstool in front of it, so that I could read in between whiles of making the bonnet. There is an index, so that you can look out the flowers you want to read about. It was no use our looking out flowers, except common ones, such as Harry would be allowed to get bits of out of the big garden to plant in our little gardens, when he became our Honest Root-gatherer. I looked at the Cowslips again. I am very fond of them, and so, they say, are nightingales; which is, perhaps, why that nightingale we know lives in Mary's Meadow, for it is full of cowslips. The Queen had a great many kinds, and there are pictures of most of them. She had the Common Field Cowslip, the Primrose Cowslip, the Single Green Cowslip, Curled Cowslips, or Galligaskins, Double Cowslips, or Hose-in-Hose, and the Franticke or Foolish Cowslip, or Jackanapes on Horsebacke. I did not know one of them except the Common Cowslip, but I remembered that Bessy's aunt once told me that she had a double cowslip. It was the day I was planting common ones in my garden, when our gardener despised them. Bessy's aunt despised them too, and she said the double ones were only fit for a cottage garden. I laughed so much that I tore the canary-coloured string as I was gumming it on to the bonnet, to think how I could tell her now that cowslips are Queen's flowers, the common ones as well as the Hose-in-Hose. Then I looked out the Honeysuckle, it was page 404, and there were no pictures. I began at the beginning of the chapter; this was it, and it was as funnily spelt as the preface, but I could read it. "Chap. cv. _Periclymemum_. Honeysuckles. "The Honisucle that groweth wilde in euery hedge, although it be very sweete, yet doe I not bring it into my garden, but let it rest in his owne place, to serue their senses that trauell by it, or haue no garden." I had got so far when James came in. He said--"Letters, miss." It was the second post, and there was a letter for me, and a book parcel; both from Mother. Mother's letters are always delightful; and, like things she says, they often seem to come in answer to something you have been thinking about, and which you would never imagine she could know, unless she was a witch. This was _the knowing bit_ in that letter:--"_Your dear father's note this morning did me more good than bottles of tonic. It is due to you, my trust-worthy little daughter, to tell you of the bit that pleased me most. He says_--'_The children seem to me to be behaving unusually well, and I must say, I believe the credit belongs to Mary. She seems to have a genius for keeping them amused, which luckily means keeping them out of mischief_.' _Now, good Little Mother, I wonder how you yourself are being entertained? I hope the others are not presuming on your unselfishness? Anyhow, I send you a book for your own amusement when they leave you a bit of peace and quiet. I have long been fond of it in French, and I have found an English translation with nice little pictures, and send it to you. I know you will enjoy it, because you are so fond of flowers_." Oh, how glad I was that I had let Adela be the Weeding Woman with a good grace, and could open my book parcel with a clear conscience! I put the old book away and buried myself in the new one. I never had a nicer. It was called _A Tour Round my Garden_, and some of the little stories in it--like the Tulip Rebecca, and the Discomfited Florists--were very amusing indeed; and some were sad and pretty, like the Yellow Roses; and there were delicious bits, like the Enriched Woodman and the Connoisseur Deceived; but there was no "stuff" in it at all. Some chapters were duller than others, and at last I got into a very dull one, about the vine, and it had a good deal of Greek in it, and we have not begun Greek. But after the Greek, and the part about Bacchus and Anacreon (I did not care about _them_; they were not in the least like the Discomfited Florists, or the Enriched Woodman!) there came this, and I liked it the best of all:-- "At the extremity of my garden the vine extends in long porticoes, through the arcades of which may be seen trees of all sorts, and foliage of all colours. There is an _azerolier_ (a small medlar) which is covered in autumn with little apples, producing the richest effect. I have given away several grafts of this; far from deriving pleasure from the privation of others, I do my utmost to spread and render common and vulgar all the trees and plants that I prefer; it is as if I multiplied the pleasure and the chances of beholding them of all who, like me, really love flowers for their splendour, their grace, and their perfume. Those who, on the contrary, are jealous of their plants, and only esteem them in proportion with their conviction that no one else possesses them, do not love flowers; and be assured that it is either chance or poverty which has made them collectors of flowers, instead of being collectors of pictures, cameos, medals, or any other thing that might serve as an excuse for indulging in all the joys of possession, seasoned with the idea that others do not possess. "I have even carried the vulgarization of beautiful flowers farther than this. "I ramble about the country near my dwelling, and seek the wildest and least-frequented spots. In these, after clearing and preparing a few inches of ground, I scatter the seeds of my most favourite plants, which re-sow themselves, perpetuate themselves, and multiply themselves. At this moment, whilst the fields display nothing but the common red poppy, strollers find with surprise in certain wild nooks of our country, the most beautiful double poppies, with their white, red, pink, carnation, and variegated blossoms. "At the foot of an isolated tree, instead of the little bindweed with its white flower, may sometimes be found the beautifully climbing convolvulus major, of all the lovely colours that can be imagined. "Sweet peas fasten their tendrils to the bushes, and cover them with the deliciously-scented white, rose-colour, or white and violet butterflies. "It affords me immense pleasure to fix upon a wild-rose in a hedge, and graft upon it red and white cultivated roses, sometimes single roses of a magnificent golden yellow, then large Provence roses, or others variegated with red and white. "The rivulets in our neighbourhood do not produce on their banks these forget-me-nots, with their blue flowers, with which the rivulet of my garden is adorned; I mean to save the seed, and scatter it in my walks. "I have observed two young wild quince trees in the nearest wood; next spring I will engraft upon them two of the best kinds of pears. "And then, how I enjoy beforehand and in imagination, the pleasure and surprise which the solitary stroller will experience when he meets in his rambles with those beautiful flowers and these delicious fruits! "This fancy of mine may, one day or another, cause some learned botanist who is herbarizing in these parts a hundred years hence, to print a stupid and startling system. All these beautiful flowers will have become common in the country, and will give it an aspect peculiar to itself; and, perhaps, chance or the wind will cast a few of the seeds or some of them amidst the grass which shall cover my forgotten grave!" This was the end of the chapter, and then there was a vignette, a very pretty one, of a cross-marked, grass-bound grave. Some books, generally grown-up ones, put things into your head with a sort of rush, and now it suddenly rushed into mine--"_That's what I'll be!_ I can think of a name hereafter--but that's what I'll do. I'll take seeds and cuttings, and off-shoots from our garden, and set them in waste places, and hedges, and fields, and I'll make an Earthly Paradise of Mary's Meadow." CHAPTER VI. The only difficulty about my part was to find a name for it. I might have taken the name of the man who wrote the book--it is Alphonse Karr,--just as Arthur was going to be called John Parkinson. But I am a girl, so it seemed silly to take a man's name. And I wanted some kind of title, too, like King's Apothecary and Herbarist, or Weeding Woman, and Alphonse Karr does not seem to have had any by-name of that sort. I had put Adela's bonnet on my head to carry it safely, and was still sitting thinking, when the others burst into the library. Arthur was first, waving a sheet of paper; but when Adela saw the bonnet, she caught hold of his arm and pushed forward. "Oh, it's sweet! Mary, dear, you're an angel. You couldn't be better if you were a real milliner and lived in Paris. I'm sure you couldn't." "Mary," said Arthur, "remove that bonnet, which by no means becomes you, and let Adela take it into a corner and gibber over it to herself. I want you to hear this." "You generally do want the platform," I said, laughing. "Adela, I am very glad you like it. To-morrow, if I can find a bit of pink tissue-paper, I think I could gum on little pleats round the edge of the strings as a finish." I did not mind how gaudily I dressed the part of Weeding Woman now. "You are good, Mary. It will make it simply perfect; and, kilts don't you think? Not box pleats?" Arthur groaned. "You shall have which you like, dear. Now, Arthur, what is it?" Arthur shook out his paper, gave it a flap with the back of his hand, as you do with letters when you are acting, and said--"It's to Mother, and when she gets it, she'll be a good deal astonished, I fancy." When I had heard the letter, I thought so too. "TO THE QUEEN'S MOST EXCELLENT MAIESTIE-- "MY DEAR MOTHER,--This is to tell you that we have made you Queen of the Blue Robe, and that your son Christopher is a dwarf, and we think you'll both be very much pleased when you hear it. He can do as he likes about having a hump back. When you come home we shall give faire flowers into your Highnesse hands--that is if you'll do what I'm going to ask you, for nobody can grow flowers out of nothing. I want you to write to John--write straight to him, don't put it in your letter to Father--and tell him that you have given us leave to have some of the seedlings out of the frames, and that he's to dig us up a good big clump of daffodils out of the shrubbery--and we'll divide them fairly, for Harry is the Honestest Root-gatherer that ever came over to us. We have turned the whole of our gardens into a _Paradisi in sole Paradisus terrestris_, if you can construe that; but we must have something to make a start. He's got no end of bedding things over--that are doing nothing in the Kitchen Garden and might just as well be in our Earthly Paradise. And please tell him to keep us a tiny pinch of seed at the bottom of every paper when he is sowing the annuals. A little goes a long way, particularly of poppies. And you might give him a hint to let us have a flower-pot or two now and then (I'm sure he takes ours if he finds any of our dead window-plants lying about), and that he needn't be so mighty mean about the good earth in the potting-shed, or the labels either, they're dirt cheap. Mind you write straight. If only you let John know that the gardens don't entirely belong to him, you'll see that what's spare from the big garden would more than set us going; and it shall further encourage him to accomplish the remainder, who in praying that your Highnesse may enjoy the heavenly Paradise after the many years fruition of this earthly, "Submitteth to be, Your Maiestie's, "In all humble devotion, "JOHN PARKINSON, "King's Apothecary and Herbarist. "P.S.--It was Mary's idea." "My _dear_ Arthur!" said I. "Well, I know it's not very well mixed," said Arthur. "Not half so well as I intended at first. I meant to write it all in the Parkinson style. But then, I thought, if I put the part about John in queer language and old spelling, she mightn't understand what we want. But every word of the end comes out of the Dedication; I copied it the other day, and I think she'll find it a puzzlewig when she comes to it." After which Arthur folded his paper and put it into an envelope which he licked copiously, and closed the letter with a great deal of display. But then his industry coming to an abrupt end, as it often did, he tossed it to me, saying, "You can address it, Mary;" so I enclosed it in my own letter to thank Mother for the book, and I fancy she did write to our gardener, for he gave us a good lot of things, and was much more good-natured than usual. After Arthur had tossed his letter to me, he clasped his hands over his head and walked up and down thinking. I thought he was calculating what he should be able to get out of John, for when you are planning about a garden, you seem to have to do so much calculating. Suddenly he stopped in front of me and threw down his arms. "Mary," he said, "if Mother were at home, she _would_ despise us for selfishness, wouldn't she just?" "I don't think it's selfish to want spare things for our gardens, if she gives us leave," said I. "I'm not thinking of that," said Arthur; "and you're not selfish, you never are; but she would despise me, and Adela, and Harry, because we've taken your game, and got our parts, and you've made that preposterous bonnet for Adela to be the Weeding Woman in--much she'll weed!--" "I _shall_ weed," said Adela. "Oh, yes! You'll weed,--Groundsel!--and leave Mary to get up the docks and dandelions, and clear away the heap. But, never mind. Here we've taken Mary's game, and she hasn't even got a part." "Yes," said I, "I have; I have got a capital part. I have only to think of a name." "How shall you be dressed?" asked Adela. "I don't know yet," said I. "I have only just thought of the part." "Are you sure it's a good-enough one?" asked Harry, with a grave and remorseful air; "because, if not, you must take Francis le Vean. Girls are called Frances sometimes." I explained, and I read aloud the bit that had struck my fancy. Arthur got restless half-way through, and took out the Book of Paradise. His letter was on his mind. But Adela was truly delighted. "Oh, Mary," she said. "It is lovely. And it just suits you. It suits you much better than being a Queen." "Much better," said I. "You'll be exactly the reverse of me," said Harry. "When I'm digging up, you'll be putting in." "Mary," said Arthur, from the corner where he was sitting with the Book of Paradise in his lap, "what have you put a mark in the place about honeysuckle for?" "Oh, only because I was just reading there when James brought the letters." "John Parkinson can't have been quite so nice a man as Alphonse Karr," said Adela; "not so unselfish. He took care of the Queen's Gardens, but he didn't think of making the lanes and hedges nice for poor wayfarers." I was in the rocking-chair, and I rocked harder to shake up something that was coming into my head. Then I remembered. "Yes, Adela, he did--a little. He wouldn't root up the honeysuckle out of the hedges (and I suppose he wouldn't let his root-gatherers grub it up, either); he didn't put it in the Queen's Gardens, but left it wild outside--" "To serve their senses that travel by it, or have no garden," interrupted Arthur, reading from the book, "and, oh, Mary! that reminds me--_travel--travellers._ I've got a name for your part just coming into my head. But it dodges out again like a wire-worm through a three-pronged fork. _Travel--traveller--travellers_--what's the common name for the--oh, dear! the what's his name that scrambles about in the hedges. A flower--you know?" "Deadly Nightshade?" said Harry. "Deadly fiddlestick!--" "Bryony?" I suggested. "Oh, no; it begins with C." "Clematis?" said Adela. "Clematis. Right you are, Adela. And the common name for Clematis is Traveller's Joy. And that's the name for you, Mary, because you're going to serve their senses that travel by hedges and ditches and perhaps have no garden." "Traveller's Joy," said Harry. "Hooray!" "Hooray!" said Adela, and she waved the Weeding Woman's bonnet. It was a charming name, but it was too good for me, and I said so. Arthur jumped on the rockers, and rocked me to stop my talking. When I was far back, he took the point of my chin in his two hands and lifted up my cheeks to be kissed, saying in his very kindest way, "It's not a bit too good for you--it's you all over." Then he jumped off as suddenly as he had jumped on, and as I went back with a bounce he cried, "Oh, Mary! give me back that letter. I must put another postscript and another puzzlewig. 'P.P.S.--Excellent Majesty: Mary will still be our Little Mother on all common occasions, as you wished, but in the Earthly Paradise we call her Traveller's Joy.'" CHAPTER VII. There are two or three reasons why the part of Traveller's Joy suited me very well. In the first place it required a good deal of trouble, and I like taking trouble. Then John was willing to let me do many things he would not have allowed the others to do, because he could trust me to be careful and to mind what he said. On each side of the long walk in the kitchen garden there are flowers between you and the vegetables, herbaceous borders, with nice big clumps of things that have suckers, and off-shoots and seedlings at their feet. "The Long Walk's the place to steal from if I wasn't an _honest_ Root-gatherer," said Harry. John had lovely poppies there that summer. When I read about the poppies Alphonse Karr sowed in the wild nooks of his native country, it made me think of John's French poppies, and paeony poppies, and ranunculus poppies, and carnation poppies, some very large, some quite small, some round and neat, some full and ragged like Japanese chrysanthemums, but all of such beautiful shades of red, rose, crimson, pink, pale blush, and white, that if they had but smelt like carnations instead of smelling like laudanum when you have the toothache, they would have been quite perfect. In one way they are nicer than carnations. They have such lots of seed, and it is so easy to get. I asked John to let me have some of the heads. He could not possibly want them all, for each head has enough in it to sow two or three yards of a border. He said I might have what seeds I liked, if I used scissors, and did not drag things out of the ground by pulling. But I was not to let the young gentlemen go seed gathering. "Boys be so destructive," John said. After a time, however, I persuaded him to let Harry transplant seedlings of the things that sow themselves and come up in the autumn, if they came up a certain distance from the parent plants. Harry got a lot of things for our Paradise in this way; indeed, he would not have got much otherwise, except wild flowers; and, as he said, "How can I be your Honest Root-gatherer if I mayn't gather anything up by the roots?" I can't help laughing sometimes to think of the morning when he left off being our Honest Root-gatherer. He did look so funny, and so like Chris. A day or two before, the Scotch Gardener had brought Saxon to see us, and a new kind of mouldiness that had got into his grape vines to show to John. He was very cross with Saxon for walking on my garden. (And I am sure I quite forgave him, for I am so fond of him, and he knew no better, poor dear!) But, though he kicked Saxon, the Scotch Gardener was kind to us. He told us that the reason our gardens do not do so well as the big garden, and that my _Jules Margottin_ has not such big roses as John's _Jules Margottin_ is because we have never renewed the soil. Arthur and Harry got very much excited about this. They made the Scotch Gardener tell them what good soil ought to be made of, and all the rest of the day they talked of nothing but _compost_. Indeed Arthur would come into my room and talk about compost after I had gone to bed. Father's farming man was always much more good-natured to us than John ever was. He would give us anything we wanted. Warm milk when the cows were milked, or sweet-pea sticks, or bran to stuff the dolls' pillows. I've known him take his hedging-bill, in his dinner-hour, and cut fuel for our beacon-fire, when we were playing at a French Invasion. Nothing could be kinder. Perhaps we do not tease him so much as we tease John. But when I say that, Arthur says, "Now, Mary, that's just how you explain away things. The real difference between John and Michael is, that Michael is good-natured and John is not. Catch John showing me the duck's nest by the pond, or letting you into the cow-house to kiss the new calf between the eyes--if he were farm man instead of gardener!" And the night Arthur sat in my room, talking about compost, he said, "I shall get some good stuff out of Michael, I know; and Harry and I see our way to road-scrapings if we can't get sand; and we mean to take precious good care John doesn't have all the old leaves to himself. It's the top-spit that puzzles us, and loam is the most important thing of all." "What is top-spit?" I asked. "It's the earth you get when you dig up squares of grass out of a field like the paddock. The new earth that's just underneath. I expect John got a lot when he turfed that new piece by the pond, but I don't believe he'd spare us a flower-pot full to save his life." "Don't quarrel with John, Arthur. It's no good." "I won't quarrel with him if he behaves himself," said Arthur, "but we mean to have some top-spit somehow." "If you aggravate him he'll only complain of us to Father." "I know," said Arthur hotly, "and beastly mean of him, too, when he knows what Father is about this sort of thing." "I know it's mean. But what's the good of fighting when you'll only get the worst of it?" "Why to show that you're in the right, and that you know you are," said Arthur. "Good-night, Mary. We'll have a compost heap of our own this autumn, mark my words." Next day, in spite of my remonstrances, Arthur and Harry came to open war with John, and loudly and long did they rehearse their grievances, when we were out of Father's hearing. "Have we ever swept our own walks, except that once, long ago, when the German women came round with threepenny brooms?" asked Arthur, throwing out his right arm, as if he were making a speech. "And think of all the years John has been getting leaf mould for himself out of our copper beech leaves, and now refuses us a barrow-load of loam!" The next morning but one Harry was late for breakfast, and then it seemed that he was not dressing he had gone out,--very early, one of the servants said. It frightened me, and I went out to look for him. When I came upon him in our gardens, it was he who was frightened. "Oh, dear," he exclaimed, "I thought you were John." I have often seen Harry dirty--very dirty,--but from the mud on his boots to the marks on his face where he had pushed the hair out of his eyes with earthy fingers, I never saw him quite so grubby before. And if there had been a clean place left in any part of his clothes well away from the ground, that spot must have been soiled by a huge and very dirty sack, under the weight of which his poor little shoulders were bent nearly to his knees. "What are you doing, Honest Root-gatherer?" I asked; "are you turning yourself into a hump-backed dwarf?" "I'm not honest, and I'm not a Root-gatherer just now," said Harry, when he had got breath after setting down his load. He spoke shyly and a little surlily, like Chris when he is in mischief. "Harry, what's that?" "It's a sack I borrowed from Michael. It won't hurt it, it's had mangel-wurzels in already." "What have you got in it now? It looks dreadfully heavy." "It _is_ heavy, I can tell you," said Harry, with one more rub of his dirty fingers over his face. "You look half dead. What is it?" "It's top-spit;" and Harry began to discharge his load on to the walk. "Oh, Harry; where did you get it?" "Out of the paddock. I've been digging up turfs and getting this out, and putting the turfs back, and stamping them down not to show, ever since six o'clock. It _was_ hard work; and I was so afraid of John coming. Mary, you won't tell tales?" "No, Harry. But I don't think you ought to have taken it without Mother's leave." "I don't think you can call it stealing," said Harry. "Fields are a kind of wild places anyhow, and the paddock belongs to Father, and it certainly doesn't belong to John." "No," said I, doubtfully. "I won't get any more; it's dreadfully hard work," said Harry, but as he shook the sack out and folded it up, he added (in rather a satisfied tone), "I've got a good deal." I helped him to wash himself for breakfast, and half-way through he suddenly smiled and said, "John Parkinson will be glad when he sees _you-know-what_, Mary, whatever the other John thinks of it." But Harry did not cut any more turfs without leave, for he told me that he had a horrid dream that night of waking up in prison with a warder looking at him through a hole in the door of his cell, and finding out that he was in penal servitude for stealing top-spit from the bottom of the paddock, and Father would not take him out of prison, and that Mother did not know about it. However, he and Arthur made a lot of compost. They said we couldn't possibly have a Paradise without it. It made them very impatient. We always want the spring and summer and autumn and winter to get along faster than they do. But this year Arthur and Harry were very impatient with summer. They were nearly caught one day by Father coming home just as they had got through the gates with Michael's old sack full of road-scrapings, instead of sand (we have not any sand growing near us, and silver sand is rather dear), but we did get leaves together and stacked them to rot into leaf mould. Leaf mould is splendid stuff, but it takes a long time for the leaves to get mouldy, and it takes a great many too. Arthur is rather impatient, and he used to say--"I never saw leaves stick on to branches in such a way. I mean to get into some of these old trees and give them a good shaking to remind them what time of year it is. If I don't we shan't have anything like enough leaves for our compost." CHAPTER VIII. Mother was very much surprised by Arthur's letter, but not so much puzzled as he expected. She knew Parkinson's _Paradisus_ quite well, and only wrote to me to ask, "What are the boys after with the old books? Does your Father know?" But when I told her that he had given us leave to be in the library, and that we took great care of the books, and how much we enjoyed the ones about gardening, and all that we were going to do, she was very kind indeed, and promised to put on a blue dress and lace ruffles and be Queen of our Earthly Paradise as soon as she came home. When she did come home she was much better, and so was Chris. He was delighted to be our Dwarf, but he wanted to have a hump, and he would have such a big one that it would not keep in its place, and kept slipping under his arm and into all sorts of queer positions. Not one of us enjoyed our new game more than Chris did, and he was always teasing me to tell him the story I had told the others, and to read out the names of the flowers which "the real Queen" had in her "real paradise." He made Mother promise to try to get him a bulb of the real Dwarf Daffodil as his next birthday present, to put in his own garden. "And I'll give you some compost," said Arthur. "It'll be ever so much better than a stupid book with 'stuff' in it." Chris did seem much stronger. He had colour in his cheeks, and his head did not look so large. But he seemed to puzzle over things in it as much as ever, and he was just as odd and quaint. One warm day I had taken the _Tour round my Garden_ and was sitting near the bush in the little wood behind our house, when Chris came after me with a Japanese fan in his hand, and sat down cross-legged at my feet. As I was reading, and Mother has taught us not to interrupt people when they are reading, he said nothing, but there he sat. "What is it, Chris?" said I. "I am discontented," said Chris. "I'm very sorry," said I. "I don't think I'm selfish, particularly, but I'm discontented." "What about?" "Oh, Mary, I do wish I had not been away when you invented Paradise, then I should have had a name in the game." "You've got a name, Chris. You're the Dwarf." "Ah, but what was the Dwarf's name?" "I don't know," I admitted. "No; that's just it. I've only one name, and Arthur and Harry have two. Arthur is a Pothecary" (Chris could never be induced to accept Apothecary as one word), "and he's John Parkinson as well. Harry is Honest Root-gatherer, and he is Francis le Vean. If I'd not been away I should have had two names." "You can easily have two names," said I. "We'll call the Dwarf Thomas Brown." Chris shook his big head. "No, no. That wasn't his name; I know it wasn't. It's only stuff. I want another name out of the old book." I dared not tell him that the Dwarf was not in the old book. I said: "My dear Chris, you really are discontented; we can't all have double names. Adela has only one name, she is Weeding Woman and nothing else; and I have only one name, I'm Traveller's Joy, and that's all." "But you and Adela are girls," said Chris, complacently: "The boys have two names." I suppressed some resentment, for Christopher's eyes were beginning to look weary, and said: "Shall I read to you for a bit?" "No, don't read. Tell me things out of the old book. Tell me about the Queen's flowers. Don't tell me about daffodils, they make me think what a long way off my birthday is, and I'm quite discontented enough." And Chris sighed, and lay down on the grass, with one arm under his head, and his fan in his hand; and, as well as I could remember, I told him all about the different varieties of Cowslips, down to the Franticke, or Foolish Cowslip, and he became quite happy. Dear Father is rather short-sighted, but he can hold a round glass in his eye without cutting himself. It was the other eye which was next to Chris at prayers the following morning; but he saw his legs, and the servants had hardly got out of the hall before he shouted, "Pull up your stockings, Chris!"--and then to Mother, "Why do you keep that sloven of a girl Bessy, if she can't dress the children decently? But I can't conceive what made you put that child into knickerbockers, he can't keep his stockings up." "Yes, I can," said Christopher, calmly, looking at his legs. "Then what have you got 'em down for?" shouted Father. "They're not all down," said Chris, his head still bent over his knees, till I began to fear he would have a fit. "One of 'em is, anyhow. I saw it at prayers. Pull it up." "Two of them are," said Christopher, never lifting his admiring gaze from his stockings. "Two of them are down, and two of them are up, quite up, quite tidy." Dear Father rubbed his glass and put it back into his eye. "Why, how many stockings have you got on?" "Four," said Chris, smiling serenely at his legs; "and it isn't Bessy's fault. I put 'em all on myself, every one of them." At this minute James brought in the papers, and Father only laughed, and said, "I never saw such a chap," and began to read. He is very fond of Christopher, and Chris is never afraid of him. I was going out of the room, and Chris followed me into the hall, and drew my attention to his legs, which were clothed in four stockings; one pair, as he said, being drawn tidily up over his knees, the other pair turned down with some neatness in folds a little above his ankles. "Mary," he said, "I'm contented now." "I'm very glad, Chris. But do leave off staring at your legs. All the blood will run into your head." "I wish things wouldn't always get into _my_ head, and nobody else's," said Chris, peevishly, as he raised it; but when he looked back at his stockings, they seemed to comfort him again. "Mary, I've found another name for myself." "Dear Chris! I'm so glad." "It's a real one, out of the old book. I thought of it entirely by myself." "Good Dwarf. What is your name?" "_Hose-in-Hose_," said Christopher, still smiling down upon his legs. CHAPTER IX. Alas for the hose-in-hose! I laughed over Christopher and his double stockings, and I danced for joy when Bessy's aunt told me that she had got me a fine lot of roots of double cowslips. I never guessed what misery I was about to suffer, because of the hose-in-hose. I had almost forgotten that Bessy's aunt knew double cowslips. After I became Traveller's Joy I was so busy with wayside planting that I had thought less of my own garden than usual, and had allowed Arthur to do what he liked with it as part of the Earthly Paradise (and he was always changing his plans), but Bessy's aunt had not forgotten about it, which was very good of her. The Squire's Weeding Woman is old enough to be Bessy's aunt, but she has an aunt of her own, who lives seven miles on the other side of the Moor, and the Weeding Woman does not get to see her very often. It is a very out-of-the-way village, and she has to wait for chances of a cart and team coming and going from one of the farms, and so get a lift. It was the Weeding Woman's aunt who sent me the hose-in-hose. The Weeding Woman told me--"Aunt be mortal fond of her flowers, but she've no notions of gardening, not in the ways of a gentleman's garden. But she be after 'em all along, so well as the roomatiz in her back do let her, with an old shovel and a bit of stuff to keep the frost out, one time, and the old shovel and a bit of stuff to keep 'em moistened from the drought, another time; cuddling of 'em like Christians. 'Ee zee, Miss, Aunt be advanced in years; her family be off her mind, zum married, zum buried; and it zim as if her flowers be like new childern for her, spoilt childern, too, as I zay, and most fuss about they that be least worth it, zickly uns and contrairy uns, as parents will. Many's time I do say to she--'Th' Old Zquire's garden, now, 'twould zim strange to thee, sartinly 'twould! How would 'ee feel to see Gardener zowing's spring plants by the hunderd, and a-throwing of 'em away by the score when beds be vull, and turning of un out for bedding plants, and throwing they away when he'eve made his cuttings?' And she 'low she couldn't abear it, no more'n see Herod a mass-sakering of the Innocents. But if 'ee come to Bible, I do say Aunt put me in mind of the par'ble of the talents, she do, for what you give her she make ten of, while other folks be losing what they got. And 'tis well too, for if 'twas not for givin' of un away, seeing's she lose nothing and can't abear to destry nothin', and never takes un up but to set un again, six in place of one, as I say, with such a mossel of a garden, 'Aunt, where would you be?' And she 'low she can't tell, but the Lard would provide. 'Thank He,' I says, 'you be so out o' way, and 'ee back so bad, and past travelling, zo there be no chance of 'ee ever seem' Old Zquire's Gardener's houses and they stove plants;' for if Gardener give un a pot, sure's death her'd set it in the chimbly nook on frosty nights, and put bed-quilt over un, and any cold corner would do for she." At this point the Weeding Woman became short of breath, and I managed to protest against taking so many plants of the hose-in-hose. "Take un and welcome, my dear, take un and welcome," replied Bessy's aunt. "I did say to Aunt to keep two or dree, but 'One be aal I want,' her says, 'I'll have so many agin in a few years, dividin' of un in autumn,' her says. 'Thee've one foot in grave, Aunt,' says I, 'it don't altogether become 'ee to forecast autumns,' I says, 'when next may be your latter end, 's like as not.' 'Niece,' her says, 'I be no ways presuming. His will be done,' her says, 'but if I'm spared I'll rear un, and if I'm took, 'twill be where I sha'n't want un. Zo let young lady have un,' her says. And there a be!" When I first saw the nice little plants, I did think of my own garden, but not for long. My next and final thought was--"Mary's Meadow!" Since I became Traveller's Joy, I had chiefly been busy in the hedge-rows by the high-roads, and in waste places, like the old quarry, and very bare and trampled bits, where there seemed to be no flowers at all. You cannot say that of Mary's Meadow. Not to be a garden, it is one of the most flowery places I know. I did once begin a list of all that grows in it, but it was in one of Arthur's old exercise-books, which he had "thrown in," in a bargain we had, and there were very few blank pages left. I had thought a couple of pages would be more than enough, so I began with rather full accounts of the flowers, but I used up the book long before I had written out one half of what blossoms in Mary's Meadow. Wild roses, and white bramble, and hawthorn, and dogwood, with its curious red flowers; and nuts, and maple, and privet, and all sorts of bushes in the hedge, far more than one would think; and ferns, and the stinking iris, which has such splendid berries, in the ditch--the ditch on the lower side where it is damp, and where I meant to sow forget-me-nots, like Alphonse Karr, for there are none there as it happens. On the other side, at the top of the field, it is dry, and blue succory grows, and grows out on the road beyond. The most beautiful blue possible, but so hard to pick. And there are Lent lilies, and lords and ladies, and ground ivy, which smells herby when you find it, trailing about and turning the colour of Mother's "aurora" wool in green winters; and sweet white violets, and blue dog violets, and primroses, of course, and two or three kinds of orchis, and all over the field cowslips, cowslips, cowslips--to please the nightingale. And I wondered if the nightingale would find out the hose-in-hose, when I had planted six of them in the sunniest, cosiest corner of Mary's Meadow. For this was what I resolved to do, though I kept my resolve to myself, for which I was afterwards very glad. I did not tell the others because I thought that Arthur might want some of the plants for our Earthly Paradise, and I wanted to put them all in Mary's Meadow. I said to myself, like Bessy's great-aunt, that "if I was spared" I would go next year and divide the roots of the six, and bring some off-sets to our gardens, but I would keep none back now. The nightingale should have them all. We had been busy in our gardens, and in the roads and bye-lanes, and I had not been in Mary's Meadow for a long time before the afternoon when I put my little trowel, and a bottle of water, and the six hose-in-hose into a basket, and was glad to get off quietly and alone to plant them. The highways and hedges were very dusty, but there it was very green. The nightingale had long been silent, I do not know where he was, but the rooks were not at all silent; they had been holding a parliament at the upper end of the field this morning, and were now all talking at once, and flapping about the tops of the big elms which were turning bright yellow, whilst down below a flight of starlings had taken their place, and sat in the prettiest circles; and groups of hedge-sparrows flew and mimicked them. And in the fields round about the sheep baaed, and the air, which was very sweet, was so quiet that these country noises were the only sounds to be heard, and they could be heard from very far away. I had found the exact spot I wanted, and had planted four of the hose-in-hose, and watered them from the bottle, and had the fifth in my hand, and the sixth still in the basket, when all these nice noises were drowned by a loud harsh shout which made me start, and sent the flight of starlings into the next field, and made the hedge-sparrows jump into the hedge. And when I looked up I saw the Old Squire coming towards me, and storming and shaking his fist at me as he came. But with the other hand he held Saxon by the collar, who was struggling to get away from him and to go to me. I had so entirely forgotten about Father's quarrel with the Squire, that when the sight of the old gentleman in a rage suddenly reminded me, I was greatly stupefied and confused, and really did not at first hear what he said. But when I understood that he was accusing me of digging cowslips out of his field, I said at once (and pretty loud, for he was deaf) that I was not digging up anything, but was planting double cowslips to grow up and spread amongst the common ones. I suppose it did sound rather unlikely, as the Old Squire knew nothing about our game, but a thing being unlikely is no reason for calling truthful people liars, and that was what the Old Squire called me. It choked me, and when he said I was shameless, and that he had caught me with the plants upon me, and yelled to me to empty my basket, I threw away the fifth and sixth hose-in-hose as if they had been adders, but I could not speak again. He must have been beside himself with rage, for he called me all sorts of names, and said I was my father's own child, a liar and a thief. Whilst he was talking about sending me to prison (and I thought of Harry's dream, and turned cold with fear), Saxon was tugging to get to me, and at last he got away and came rushing up. _Now_ I knew that the Old Squire was holding Saxon back because he thought Saxon wanted to worry me as a trespasser, but I don't know whether he let Saxon go at last, because he thought I deserved to be worried, or whether Saxon got away of himself. When his paws were almost on me the Old Squire left off abusing me, and yelled to the dog, who at last, very unwillingly, went back to him, but when he just got to the Squire's feet he stopped, and pawed the ground in the funny way he sometimes does, and looked up at his master as much as to say, "You see it's only play," and then turned round and raced back to me as hard as he could lay legs to ground. This time he reached me, and jumped to lick my face, and I threw my arms round his neck and burst into tears. When you are crying and kissing at the same time, you cannot hear anything else, so what more the Old Squire said I do not know. I picked up my basket and trowel at once, and fled homewards as fast as I could go, which was not very fast, so breathless was I with tears and shame and fright. When I was safe in our grounds I paused and looked back. The Old Squire was still there, shouting and gesticulating, and Saxon was at his heels, and over the hedge two cows were looking at him; but the rooks and the starlings were far off in distant trees and fields. And I sobbed afresh when I remembered that I had been called a liar and a thief, and had lost every one of my hose-in-hose; and this was all that had come of trying to make an Earthly Paradise of Mary's Meadow, and of taking upon myself the name of Traveller's Joy. CHAPTER X. I told no one. It was bad enough to think of by myself. I could not have talked about it. But every day I expected that the Old Squire would send a letter or a policeman, or come himself, and rage and storm, and tell Father. He never did; and no one seemed to suspect that anything had gone wrong, except that Mother fidgeted because I looked ill, and would show me to Dr. Solomon. It is a good thing doctors tell you what they think is the matter, and don't ask you what you think, for I could not have told him about the Squire. He said I was below par, and that it was our abominable English climate, and he sent me a bottle of tonic. And when I had taken half the bottle, and had begun to leave off watching for the policeman, I looked quite well again. So I took the rest, not to waste it, and thought myself very lucky. My only fear now was that Bessy's aunt might ask after the hose in-hose. But she never did. I had one more fright, where I least expected it. It had never occurred to me that Lady Catherine would take an interest in our game, and want to know what we had done, and what we were doing, and what we were going to do, or I should have been far more afraid of her than of Bessy's aunt. For the Weeding Woman has a good deal of delicacy, and often begs pardon for taking liberties; but if Aunt Catherine takes an interest, and wants to know, she asks one question after another, and does not think whether you like to answer or not. She took an interest in our game after one of Christopher's luncheons with her. She often asks Chris to go there to luncheon, all by himself. Father is not very fond of his going, chiefly, I fancy, because he is so fond of Chris, and misses him. Sometimes, in the middle of luncheon, he looks at Christopher's empty place, and says, "I wonder what those two are talking about over their pudding. They are the queerest pair of friends." If we ask Chris what they have talked about, he wags his head, and looks very well pleased with himself, and says, "Lots of things. I tell her things, and she tells me things." And that is all we can get out of him. A few weeks afterwards, after I lost the hose-in-hose, Chris went to have luncheon with Aunt Catherine, and he came back rather later than usual. "You must have been telling each other a good deal to-day, Chris," I said. "I told her lots," said Chris, complacently. "She didn't tell me nothing, hardly. But I told her lots. My apple fritter got cold whilst I was telling it. She sent it away, and had two hot ones, new, on purpose for me." "What _did_ you tell her?" "I told her your story; she liked it very much. And I told her Daffodils, and about my birthday; and I told her Cowslips--all of them. Oh, I told her lots. She didn't tell me nothing." A few days later, Aunt Catherine asked us to tea--all of us--me, Arthur, Adela, Harry, and Chris. And she asked us all about our game. When Harry said, "I dig up, but Mary plants--not in our garden, but in wild places, and woods, and hedges, and fields," Lady Catherine blew her nose very loud, and said, "I should think you don't do much digging and planting in that field your Father went to law about?" and my teeth chattered so with fright that I think Lady Catherine would have heard them if she hadn't been blowing her nose. But, luckily for me, Arthur said, "Oh, we never go near Mary's Meadow now, we're so busy." And then Aunt Catherine asked what made us think of my name, and I repeated most of the bit from Alphonse Karr, for I knew it by heart now; and Arthur repeated what John Parkinson says about the "Honisucle that groweth wilde in every hedge," and how he left it there, "to serue their senses that trauell by it, or haue no garden;" and then he said, "So Mary is called Traveller's Joy, because she plants flowers in the hedges, to serve their senses that travel by them." "And who serves them that have no garden?" asked Aunt Catherine, sticking her gold glasses over her nose, and looking at us. "None of us do," said Arthur, after thinking for a minute. "Humph!" said Aunt Catherine. Next time Chris was asked to luncheon, I was asked too. Father laughed at me, and teased me, but I went. I was very much amused by the airs which Chris gave himself at table. He was perfectly well-behaved, but, in his quiet old-fashioned way, he certainly gave himself airs. We have only one man indoors--James; but Aunt Catherine has three--a butler, a footman, and a second footman. The second footman kept near Christopher, who sat opposite Aunt Catherine (she made me sit on one side), and seemed to watch to attend upon him; but if Christopher did want any thing, he always ignored this man, and asked the butler for it, and called him by his name. After a bit, Aunt Catherine began to talk about the game again. "Have you got any one to serve them that have no garden, yet?" she asked. Christopher shook his head, and said "No." "Humph," said Aunt Catherine; "better take me into the game." "Could you be of any use?" asked Christopher. "Toast and water, Chambers." The butler nodded, as majestically as Chris himself, to the second footman, who flew to replenish the silver mug, which had been Lady Catherine's when she was a little girl. When Christopher had drained it (he is a very thirsty boy), he repeated the question: "Do you think you could be of any use?" Mr. Chambers, the butler, never seems to hear anything that people say, except when they ask for something to eat or drink; and he does not often hear that, because he watches to see what you want, and gives it of himself, or sends it by the footman. He looks just as if he was having his photograph taken, staring at a point on the wall and thinking of nothing; but when Christopher repeated his question I saw Chambers frown. I believe he thinks Christopher presumes on Lady Catherine's kindness, and does not approve of it. It is quite the other way with Aunt Catherine. Just when you would think she must turn angry, and scold Chris for being rude, she only begins to laugh, and shakes like a jelly (she is very stout), and encourages him. She said-- "Take care all that toast and water doesn't get into your head, Chris." She said that to vex him, because, ever since he heard that he had water on the brain, Chris is very easily affronted about his head. He was affronted now, and began to eat his bread-and-butter pudding in silence, Lady Catherine still shaking and laughing. Then she wiped her eyes, and said-- "Never mind, old man, I'm going to tell you something. Put the sugar and cream on the table, Chambers, and you needn't wait." The men went out very quietly, and Aunt Catherine went on-- "Where do you think I was yesterday? In the new barracks--a place I set my face against ever since they began to build it, and spoil one of my best peeps from the Rhododendron Walk. I went to see a young cousin of mine, who was fool enough to marry a poor officer, and have a lot of little boys and girls, no handsomer than you, Chris." "Are they as handsome?" said Chris, who had recovered himself, and was selecting currants from his pudding, and laying them aside for a final _bonne bouche_. "Humph! Perhaps not. But they eat so much pudding, and wear out so many boots, that they are all too poor to live anywhere except in barracks." Christopher laid down his spoon, and looked as he always looks when he is hearing a sad story. "Is barracks like the workhouse, Aunt Catherine?" he asked. "A good deal like the workhouse," said Aunt Catherine. Then she went on--"I told her Mother I could not begin calling at the barracks. There are some very low streets close by, and my coachman said he couldn't answer for his horses with bugles, and perhaps guns, going off when you least expect them. I told her I would ask them to dinner; and I did, but they were engaged. Well, yesterday I changed my mind, and I told Harness that I meant to go to the barracks, and the horses would have to take me. So we started. When we were going along the upper road, between the high hedges, what do you think I saw?" Chris had been going on with his pudding again, but he paused to make a guess. "A large cannon, just going off?" "No. If I'd seen that, you wouldn't have seen any more of me. I saw masses of wild clematis scrambling everywhere, so that the hedge looked as if somebody had been dressing it up in tufts of feathers." As she said this, Lady Catherine held out her hand to me across the table very kindly. She has a fat hand, covered with rings, and I put my hand into it. "And what do you think came into my head?" she asked. "Toast and water," said Chris, maliciously. "No, you monkey. I began to think of hedgeflowers, and travellers, and Traveller's Joy." Aunt Catherine shook my hand here, and dropped it. "And you thought how nice it was for the poor travellers to have such nice flowers," said Chris, smiling, and wagging his head up and down. "Nothing of the kind," said Aunt Catherine, brusquely. "I thought what lots of flowers the travellers had already, without Mary planting any more; and I thought not one traveller in a dozen paid much attention to them--begging John Parkinson's pardon--and how much more in want of flowers people 'that have no garden' are; and then I thought of that poor girl in those bare barracks, whose old home was one of the prettiest places, with the loveliest garden, in all Berkshire." "Was it an Earthly Paradise?" asked Chris. "It was, indeed. Well, when I thought of her inside those brick walls, looking out on one of those yards they march about in, now they've cut down all the trees, and planted sentry-boxes, I put my best bonnet out of the window, which always spoils the feather, and told Harness to turn his horses' heads, and drive home again." "What for?" said Chris, as brusquely as Lady Catherine. "I sent for Hobbs." "Hobbs the Gardener?" said Chris. "Hobbs the Gardener; and I told Chambers to give him the basket from the second peg, and then I sent him into the conservatory to fill it. Mary, my dear, I am very particular about my baskets. If ever I lend you my diamonds, and you lose them, I may forgive you--I shall know _that_ was an accident; but if I lend you a basket, and you don't return it, don't look me in the face again. I always write my name on them, so there's no excuse. And I don't know a greater piece of impudence--and people are wonderfully impudent now-a-days--than to think that because a thing only cost fourpence, you need not be at the trouble of keeping it clean and dry, and of sending it back." "Some more toast and water, please," said Chris. Aunt Catherine helped him, and continued--"Hobbs is a careful man--he has been with me ten years--he doesn't cut flowers recklessly as a rule, but when I saw that basket I said, 'Hobbs, you've been very extravagant.' He looked ashamed of himself, but he said, 'I understood they was for Miss Kitty, m'm. She's been used to nice gardens, m'm.' Hobbs lived with them in Berkshire before he came to me." "It was very nice of Hobbs," said Chris, emphatically. "Humph!" said Aunt Catherine, "the flowers were mine." "Did you ever get to the barracks?" asked Chris, "and what was they like when you did?" "They were about as unlike Kitty's old home as anything could well be. She has made her rooms pretty enough, but it was easy to see she is hard up for flowers. She's got an old rose-coloured Sèvres bowl that was my Grandmother's, and there it was, filled with bramble leaves and Traveller's Joy (which _she_ calls Old Man's Beard; Kitty always would differ from her elders!), and a soup-plate full of forget-me-nots. She said two of the children had half-drowned themselves and lost a good straw hat in getting them for her. Just like their mother, as I told her." "What did she say when you brought out the basket?" asked Chris, disposing of his reserve of currants at one mouthful, and laying down his spoon. "She said, 'Oh! oh! oh!' till I told her to say something more amusing, and then she said, 'I could cry for joy!' and, 'Tell Hobbs he remembers all my favourites.'" Christopher here bent his head over his empty plate, and said grace (Chris is very particular about his grace), and then got down from his chair and went up to Lady Catherine, and threw his arms round her as far as they would go, saying, "You are good. And I love you. I should think she thinked you was a fairy godmother." After they had hugged each other, Aunt Catherine said, "Will you take me into the game, if I serve them that have no garden?" Chris and I said "Yes" with one voice. "Then come into the drawing-room," said Aunt Catherine, getting up and giving a hand to each of us. "And Chris shall give me a name." Chris pondered a long time on this subject, and seemed a good deal disturbed in his mind. Presently he said, "I _won't_ be selfish. You shall have it." "Shall have what, you oddity?" "I'm not a oddity, and I'm going to give you the name I invented for myself. But you'll have to wear four stockings, two up and two down." "Then you may keep _that_ name to yourself," said Aunt Catherine. Christopher looked relieved. "Perhaps you'd not like to be called Old Man's Beard?" "Certainly not!" said Aunt Catherine. "It _is_ more of a boy's name," said Chris. "You might be the Franticke or Foolish Cowslip, but it is Jack an Apes on Horseback too, and that's a boy's name. You shall be Daffodil, not a dwarf daffodil, but a big one, because you are big. Wait a minute--I know which you shall be. You shall be Nonsuch. It's a very big one, and it means none like it. So you shall be Nonsuch, for there's no one like you." On which Christopher and Lady Catherine hugged each other afresh. * * * * * "Who told most to-day?" asked Father when we got home. "Oh, Aunt Catherine. Much most," said Christopher. CHAPTER XI. The height of our game was in autumn. It is such a good time for digging up, and planting, and dividing, and making cuttings, and gathering seeds, and sowing them too. But it went by very quickly, and when the leaves began to fall they fell very quickly, and Arthur never had to go up the trees and shake them. After the first hard frost we quite gave up playing at the Earthly Paradise; first, because there was nothing we could do, and, secondly, because a lot of snow fell; and Arthur had a grand idea of making-snow statues all along the terrace, so that Mother could see them from the drawing-room windows. We worked very hard, and it was very difficult to manage legs without breaking; so we made most of them Romans in togas, and they looked very well from a distance, and lasted a long time, because the frost lasted. And, by degrees, I almost forgot that terrible afternoon in Mary's Meadow. Only when Saxon came to see us I told him that I was very glad that no one understood his bark, so that he could not let out what had become of the hose-in-hose. But when the winter was past, and the snow-drops came out in the shrubbery, and there were catkins on the nut trees, and the missel-thrush we had been feeding in the frost sat out on mild days and sang to us, we all of us began to think of our gardens again, and to go poking about "with our noses in the borders," as Arthur said, "as if we were dogs snuffing after truffles." What we really were "snuffing after" were the plants we had planted in autumn, and which were poking and sprouting, and coming up in all directions. Arthur and Harry did real gardening in the Easter holidays, and they captured Adela now and then, and made her weed. But Christopher's delight was to go with me to the waste places and hedges, where I had planted things as Traveller's Joy, and to get me to show them to him where they had begun to make a Spring start, and to help him to make up rambling stories, which he called "Supposings," of what the flowers would be like, and what this or that traveller would say when he saw them. One of his favourite _supposings_ was--"Supposing a very poor man was coming along the road, with his dinner in a handkerchief; and supposing he sat down under the hedge to eat it; and supposing it was cold beef; and he had no mustard; and supposing there was a seed on your nasturtium plants, and he knew it wouldn't poison him; and supposing he ate it with his beef, and it tasted nice and hot, like a pickle, wouldn't he wonder how it got there?" But when the primroses had been out a long time, and the cowslips were coming into bloom, to my horror Christopher began "supposing" that we should find hose-in-hose in some of the fields, and all my efforts to put this idea out of his head, and to divert him from the search, were utterly in vain. Whether it had anything to do with his having had water on the brain I do not know, but when once an idea got into Christopher's head there was no dislodging it. He now talked of hose-in-hose constantly. One day he announced that he was "discontented" once more, and should remain so till he had "found a hose-in-hose." I enticed him to a field where I knew it was possible to secure an occasional oxlip, but he only looked pale, shook his head distressingly, and said, "I don't think nothin' of Oxlips." Coloured primroses would not comfort him. He professed to disbelieve in the time-honoured prescription, "Plant a primrose upside down, and it will come up a polyanthus," and refused to help me to make the experiment. At last the worst came. He suddenly spoke, with smiles--"I _know_ where we'll find hose-in-hose! In Mary's Meadow. It's the fullest field of cowslips there is. Hurrah! Supposing we find hose-in-hose, and supposing we find green cowslips, and supposing we find curled cowslips or galligaskins, and supposing--" But I could not bear it, I fairly ran away from him, and shut myself up in my room and cried. I knew it was silly, and yet I could not bear the thought of having to satisfy everybody's curiosity, and describe that scene in Mary's Meadow, which had wounded me so bitterly, and explain why I had not told of it before. I cried, too, for another reason. Mary's Meadow had been dear to us all, ever since I could remember. It was always our favourite field. We had coaxed our nurses there, when we could induce them to leave the high-road, or when, luckily for us, on account of an epidemic, or for some reason or another, they were forbidden to go gossiping into the town. We had "pretended" fairies in the nooks of the delightfully neglected hedges, and we had found fairy-rings to prove our pretendings true. We went there for flowers; we went there for mushrooms and puff-balls; we went there to hear the nightingale. What cowslip balls and what cowslip tea-parties it had afforded us! It is fair to the Old Squire to say that we were sad trespassers, before he and Father quarrelled and went to law. For Mary's Meadow was a field with every quality to recommend it to childish affections. And now I was banished from it, not only by the quarrel, of which we had really not heard much, or realized it as fully, but by my own bitter memories. I cried afresh to think I should never go again to the corner where I always found the earliest violets; and then I cried to think that the nightingale would soon be back, and how that very morning, when I opened my window, I had heard the cuckoo, and could tell that he was calling from just about Mary's Meadow. I cried my eyes into such a state, that I was obliged to turn my attention to making them fit to be seen; and I had spent quite half-an-hour in bathing them and breathing on my handkerchief, and dabbing them, which is more soothing, when I heard Mother calling me. I winked hard, drew a few long breaths, rubbed my cheeks, which were so white they showed up my red eyes, and ran down-stairs. Mother was coming to meet me. She said--"Where is Christopher?" It startled me. I said, "He was with me in the garden, about--oh, about an hour ago; have you lost him? I'll go and look for him." And I snatched up a garden hat, which shaded my swollen eyelids, and ran out. I could not find him anywhere, and becoming frightened, I ran down the drive, calling him as I went, and through the gate, and out into the road. A few yards farther on I met him. That child is most extraordinary. One minute he looks like a ghost; an hour later his face is beaming with a radiance that seems absolutely to fatten him under your eyes. That was how he looked just then as he came towards me, smiling in an effulgent sort of way, as if he were the noonday sun--no less, and carrying a small nosegay in his hand. When he came within hearing he boasted, as if he had been Cæsar himself-- "I went; I found it. I've got them." And as he held his hand up, and waved the nosegay--I knew all. He had been to Mary's Meadow, and the flowers between his fingers were hose-in-hose. CHAPTER XII. "I won't be selfish, Mary," Christopher said. "You invented the game, and you told me about them. You shall have them in water on your dressing-table; they might get lost in the nursery. Bessy is always throwing things out. To-morrow I shall go and look for galligaskins." I was too glad to keep them from Bessy's observation, as well as her unparalleled powers of destruction, which I knew well. I put them into a slim glass on my table, and looked stupidly at them, and then out of the window at Mary's Meadow. So they had lived--and grown--and settled there--and were now in bloom. _My_ plants. Next morning I was sitting, drawing, in the school-room window, when I saw the Old Squire coming up the drive. There is no mistaking him when you can see him at all. He is a big, handsome old man, with white whiskers, and a white hat, and white gaiters, and he generally wears a light coat, and a flower in his button-hole. The flower he wore this morning looked like--, but I was angry with myself for thinking of it, and went on drawing again, as well as I could, for I could not help wondering why he was coming to our house. Then it struck me he might have seen Chris trespassing, and he might be coming at last to lay a formal complaint. Twenty minutes later James came to tell me that Father wished to see me in the library, and when I got there, Father was just settling his eye-glass in his eye, and the Old Squire was standing on the hearth-rug, with a big piece of paper in his hand. And then I saw that I was right, and that the flowers in his button-hole were hose-in-hose. As I came in he laid down the paper, took the hose-in-hose out of his button-hole in his left hand, and held out his right hand to me, saying: "I'm more accustomed to public speaking than to private speaking, Miss Mary. But--will you be friends with me?" In Mary's Meadow my head had got all confused, because I was frightened. I was not frightened to-day, and I saw the whole matter in a moment. He had found the double cowslips, and he knew now that I was neither a liar nor a thief. I was glad, but I could not feel very friendly to him. I said, "You can speak when you are angry." Though he was behind me, I could feel Father coming nearer, and I knew somehow that he had taken out his glass again to rub it and put it back, as he does when he is rather surprised or amused. I was afraid he meant to laugh at me afterwards, and he can tease terribly, but I could not have helped saying what came into my head that morning if I had tried. When you have suffered a great deal about anything, you cannot sham, not even politeness. The Old Squire got rather red. Then he said, "I am afraid I am very hasty, my dear, and say very unjustifiable things. But I am very sorry, and I beg your pardon. Will you forgive me?" I said, "Of course, if you're sorry, I forgive you, but you have been a very long time in repenting." Which was true. If I had been cross with one, of the others, and had borne malice for five months, I should have thought myself very wicked. But when I had said it, I felt sorry, for the old gentleman made no answer. Father did not speak either, and I began to feel very miserable. I touched the flowers, and the Old Squire gave them to me in silence. I thanked him very much, and then I said-- "I am very glad you know about it now.... I'm very glad they lived ... I hope you like them?... I hope, if you do like them, that they'll grow and spread all over your field." The Old Squire spoke at last. He said, "It is not my field any longer." I said, "Oh, why?" "I have given it away; I have been a long time in repenting, but when I did repent I punished myself. I have given it away." It overwhelmed me, and when he took up the big paper again, I thought he was going, and I tried to stop him, for I was sorry I had spoken unkindly to him, and I wanted to be friends. "Please don't go," I said. "Please stop and be friends. And oh, please, please don't give Mary's Meadow away. You mustn't punish yourself. There's nothing to punish yourself for. I forgive you with all my heart, and I'm sorry I spoke crossly. I have been so very miserable, and I was so vexed at wasting the hose-in-hose, because Bessy's great-aunt gave them to me, and I've none left. Oh, the unkindest thing you could do to me now would be to give away Mary's Meadow." The Old Squire had taken both my hands in his, and now he asked very kindly--"Why, my dear, why don't you want me to give away Mary's Meadow?" "Because we are so fond of it. And because I was beginning to hope that now we're friends, and you know we don't want to steal your things, or to hurt your field, perhaps you would let us play in it sometimes, and perhaps have Saxon to play with us there. We are so very fond of him too." "You are fond of Mary's Meadow?" said the Old Squire. "Yes, yes! We have been fond of it all our lives. We don't think there is any field like it, and I don't believe there can be. Don't give it away. You'll never get one with such flowers in it again. And now there are hose-in-hose, and they are not at all common. Bessy's aunt's aunt has only got one left, and she's taking care of it with a shovel. And if you'll let us in we'll plant a lot of things, and do no harm, we will indeed. And the nightingale will be here directly. Oh, don't give it away!" My head was whirling now with the difficulty of persuading him, and I did not hear what he said across me to my father. But I heard Father's reply--"Tell her yourself, sir." On which the Old Squire stuffed the big paper into my arms, and put his hand on my head and patted it. "I told you I was a bad hand at talking, my dear," he said, "but Mary's Meadow is given away, and that's the Deed of Gift which you've got in your arms, drawn up as tight as any rascal of a lawyer can do it, and that's not so tight, I believe, but what some other rascal of a lawyer could undo it. However, they may let you alone. For I've given it to you, my dear, and it is yours. So you can plant, and play, and do what you please there. 'You, and your heirs and assigns, for ever,' as the rascals say." It was my turn now to be speechless. But as I stared blankly in front of me, I saw that Father had come round, and was looking at me through his eye-glass. He nodded to me, and said, "Yes, Mary, the Squire has given Mary's Meadow to you, and it is yours." * * * * * Nothing would induce the Old Squire to take it back, so I had to have it, for my very own. He said he had always been sorry he had spoken so roughly to me, but he could not say so, as he and Father were not on speaking terms. Just lately he was dining with Lady Catherine, to meet her cousins from the barracks, and she was telling people after dinner about our game (rather mean of her, I think, to let out our secrets at a dinner-party), and when he heard about my planting things in the hedges, he remembered what I had said. And next day he went to the place to look, and there were the hose-in-hose. Oh, how delighted the others were when they heard that Mary's Meadow belonged to me. "It's like having an Earthly Paradise given to you, straight off!" said Harry. "And one that doesn't want weeding," said Adela. "And oh, Mary, Mary!" cried Arthur. "Think of the yards and yards of top-spit. It does rejoice me to think I can go to you now when I'm making compost, and need not be beholden to that old sell-up-your-grandfather John for as much as would fill Adela's weeding basket, and that's about as small an article as any one can make-believe with." "It's very heavy when it's full," said Adela. "Is everything hers?" asked Christopher. "Is the grass hers, and the trees hers, and the hedges hers, and the rooks hers, and the starling hers, and will the nightingale be hers when he comes home, and if she could dig through to the other side of the world, would there be a field the same size in Australia that would be hers, and are the sheep hers, and--" "For mercy's sake stop that catalogue, Chris," said Father. "Of course the sheep are not hers; they were moved yesterday. By the bye, Mary, I don't know what you propose to do with your property, but if you like to let it to me, I'll turn some sheep in to-morrow, and I'll pay you so much a year, which I advise you to put into the Post Office Savings Bank." I couldn't fancy Mary's Meadow always without sheep, so I was too thankful; though at first I could not see that it was fair that dear Father should let me have his sheep to look pretty in my field for nothing, and pay me, too. He is always teasing me about my field, and he teases me a good deal about the Squire, too. He says we have set up another queer friendship in the family, and that the Old Squire and I are as odd a pair as Aunt Catherine and Chris. I am very fond of the Old Squire now, and he is very kind to me. He wants to give me Saxon, but I will not accept him. It would be selfish. But the Old Squire says I had better take him, for we have quite spoilt him for a yard dog by petting him, till he has not a bit of savageness left in him. We do not believe Saxon ever was savage; but I daren't say so to the Old Squire, for he does not like you to think you know better than he does about anything. There is one other subject on which he expects to be humoured, and I am careful not to offend him. He cannot tolerate the idea that he might be supposed to have yielded to Father the point about which they went to law, in giving Mary's Meadow to me. He is always lecturing me on encroachments, and the abuse of privileges, and warning me to be very strict about trespassers on the path through Mary's Meadow; and now that the field is mine, nothing will induce him to walk in it without asking my leave. That is his protest against the decision from which he meant to appeal. Though I have not accepted Saxon, he spends most of his time with us. He likes to come for the night, because he sleeps on the floor of my room, instead of in a kennel, which must be horrid, I am sure. Yesterday, the Old Squire said, "One of these fine days, when Master Saxon does not come home till morning, he'll find a big mastiff in his kennel, and will have to seek a home for himself where he can." Chris has been rather whimsical lately. Father says Lady Catherine spoils him. One day he came to me, looking very peevish, and said, "Mary, if a hedgehog should come and live in one of your hedges, Michael says he would be yours, he's sure. If Michael finds him, will you give him to me?" "Yes, Chris; but what do you want with a hedgehog?" "I want him to sleep by my bed," said Chris. "You have Saxon by your bed; I want something by mine. I want a hedgehog. I feel discontented without a hedgehog. I think I might have something the matter with my brain if I didn't get a hedgehog pretty soon. Can I go with Michael and look for him this afternoon?" and he put his hand to his forehead. "Chris, Chris!" I said, "you should not be so sly. You're a real slyboots. Double-stockings and slyboots." And I took him on my lap. Chris put his arms round my neck, and buried his cheek against mine. "I won't be sly, Mary," he whispered; and then, hugging me as he hugs Lady Catherine, he added, "For I do love you; for you are a darling, and I do really think it always was yours." "What, Chris?" "If not," said Chris, "why was it always called MARY'S MEADOW?" LETTERS FROM A LITTLE GARDEN. LETTER I. "All is fine that is fit."_--Old Proverb._ DEAR LITTLE FRIEND, When, with the touching confidence of youth, that your elders have made-up as well as grown-up minds on all subjects, you asked my opinion on _Ribbon-gardening_, the above proverb came into my head, to the relief of its natural tendency to see an inconvenient number of sides to every question. The more I reflect upon it, the more I am convinced it is a comfortably compact confession of my faith on all matters decorative, and thence on the decoration of gardens. I take some credit to myself for having the courage of my moderation, since you obviously expect a more sweeping reply. The bedding-out system is in bad odour just now; and you ask, "Wasn't it hideous?" and "Wasn't it hateful?" and "Will it ever come into fashion again, to the re-extermination of the dear old-fashioned flowers which we are now slowly, and with pains, recalling from banishment?" To discover one's own deliberate opinion upon a subject is not always easy--prophetic opinions one must refuse to offer. But I feel no doubt whatever that the good lady who shall coddle this little garden at some distant date after me will be quite as fond of her borders as I am of mine; and I suspect that these will be about as like each other as our respective best bonnets. The annals of Fashion must always be full of funny stories. I know two of the best amateur gardeners of the day; they are father and son. The father, living _and gardening_ still (he sent me a specimen lily lately by parcel post, and is beholden to no one for help, either with packing or addressing, in his constant use of this new convenience), is making good way between ninety and a hundred years of age. What we call old-fashioned flowers were the pets of his youth. About the time when ribbon-bordering "came in," he changed his residence, and, in the garden where he had cultivated countless kinds of perennials, his son reigned in his stead. The horticultural taste proved hereditary, but in the younger man it took the impress of the fashion of his day. Away went the "herbaceous stuff" on to rubbish heaps, and the borders were soon gay with geraniums, and kaleidoscopic with calceolarias. But "the whirligig of Time brings in his revenges," and, perhaps, a real love for flowers could never, in the nature of things, have been finally satisfied by the dozen or by the score; so it came to pass that the garden is once more herbaceous, and far-famed as such. The father--a _perennial_ gardener in more senses than one, long may he flourish!--has told me, chuckling, of many a penitential pilgrimage to the rubbish heaps, if haply fragments could be found of the herbaceous treasures which had been so rashly cast away. Doubtless there were many restorations. Abandoned "bedding stuff" soon perishes, but uprooted clumps of "herbaceous stuff" linger long in shady corners, and will sometimes flower pathetically on the heap where they have been thrown to rot. I once saw a fine Queen Anne country house--an old one; not a modern imitation. Chippendale had made the furniture. He had worked in the house. Whether the chairs and tables were beautiful or not is a matter of taste, but they were well made and seasoned; so, like the herbaceous stuff, they were hardy. The next generation decided that they were ugly. New chairs and tables were bought, and the Chippendale "stuff" was sent up into the maids' bedrooms, and down to the men's. It drifted into the farmhouses and cottages on the estate. No doubt a good deal was destroyed. The caprices of fashion are not confined to one class, and the lower classes are the more prodigal and destructive. I have seen the remains of Elizabethan bedsteads under hay-ricks, and untold "old oak" has fed the cottage fire. I once asked a village maiden why the people made firewood of carved arm-chairs, when painted pinewood, upholstered in American cloth, is, if lovelier, not so lasting. Her reply was--"They get stalled on[3] 'em." And she added: "Maybe a man 'll look at an old arm-chair that's stood on t' hearth-place as long as he can remember, and he'll say--I'm fair sick o' t' seet o' _yon_. We mun have a new 'un for t' Feast. _I'll chop thee oop_!'" [Footnote 3: "Stalled on" = tired of. "T' feast" = the village feast, an annual festival and fair, for which most houses in that district are cleaned within and whitewashed without.] Possibly some of the Chippendale chairs also fell to the hatchet and fed the flames, but most of them bore neglect as well as hardy perennials, and when Queen Anne houses and "old Chips" came into fashion again, there was routing and rummaging from attic to cellar, in farmhouse and cottage, and the banished furniture went triumphantly back to its own place. I first saw single dahlias in some "little gardens" in Cheshire, five or six years ago. No others had ever been cultivated there. In these quiet nooks the double dahlia was still a new-fangled flower. If the single dahlias yet hold their own, those little gardens must now find themselves in the height of the floral fashion, with the unusual luck of the conservative old woman who "wore her bonnet till the fashions came round again." It is such little gardens which have kept for us the Blue Primrose, the highly fragrant Summer Roses (including Rose de Meaux, and the red and copper Briar), countless beautiful varieties of Daffy-down-dillies, and all the host of sweet, various and hardy flowers which are now returning, like the Chippendale chairs, from the village to the hall. It is still in cottage gardens chiefly that the Crown Imperial hangs its royal head. One may buy small sheaves of it in the Taunton market-place on early summer Saturdays. What a stately flower it is! and, in the paler variety, of what an exquisite yellow! I always fancy _Fritillaria Imperialis flava_ to be dressed in silk from the Flowery Land--that robe of imperial yellow which only General Gordon and the blood royal of China are entitled to wear! "All is fine that is fit." And is the "bedding-out" system--Ribbon-gardening--ever fit, and therefore ever fine? My little friend, I am inclined to think that it sometimes is. For long straight borders in parks and public promenades, for some terrace garden on a large scale, viewed perhaps from windows at a considerable distance, and, in a general way, for pleasure-grounds ordered by professional skill, and not by an _amateur_ gardener (which, mark you, being interpreted, is gardener _for love_!), the bedding-out style _is_ good for general effect, and I think it is capable of prettier ingenuities than one often sees employed in its use. I think that, if I ever gardened in this expensive and mechanical style, I should make "arrangements," à la Whistler, with flowers of various shades of the same colour. But harmony and gradation of colour always give me more pleasure than contrast. Then, besides the fitness of the gardening to the garden, there is the fitness of the garden to its owner; and the owner must be considered from two points of view, his taste, and his means. Indeed, I think it would be fair to add a third, his leisure. Now, there are owners of big gardens and little gardens, who like to have a garden (what Englishman does not?), and like to see it gay and tidy, but who don't know one flower from the rest. On the other hand, some scientists are acquainted with botany and learned in horticulture. They know every plant and its value, but they care little about tidiness. Cut flowers are feminine frivolities in their eyes, and they count nosegays as childish gauds, like daisy chains and cowslip balls. They are not curious in colours, and do not know which flowers are fragrant and which are scentless. For them every garden is a botanical garden. Then, many persons fully appreciate the beauty and the scent of flowers, and enjoy selecting and arranging them for a room, who can't abide to handle a fork or meddle with mother earth. Others again, amongst whom I number myself, love not only the lore of flowers, and the sight of them, and the fragrance of them, and the growing of them, and the picking of them, and the arranging of them, but also inherit from Father Adam a natural relish for tilling the ground from whence they were taken and to which they shall return. With little persons in little gardens, having also little strength and little leisure, this husbandry may not exceed the small uses of fork and trowel, but the earth-love is there, all the same. I remember once, coming among some family papers upon an old letter from my grandmother to my grandfather. She was a clever girl (she did not outlive youth), and the letter was natural and full of energy and point. My grandfather seems to have apologized to his bride for the disorderly state of the garden to which she was about to-go home, and in reply she quaintly and vehemently congratulates herself upon this unpromising fact. For--"I do so dearly love _grubbing_." This touches another point. She was a botanist, and painted a little. So were most of the lady gardeners of her youth. The education of women was, as a rule, poor enough in those days; but a study of "the Linnean system" was among the elegant accomplishments held to "become a young woman"; and one may feel pretty sure that even a smattering of botanical knowledge, and the observation needed for third or fourth-rate flower-painting, would tend to a love of variety in beds and borders which Ribbon-gardening would by no means satisfy. _Lobelia erinus speciosa_ does make a wonderfully smooth blue stripe in sufficient quantities, but that would not console any one who knew or had painted _Lobelia cardinalis_, and _fulgens_, for the banishment of these from the garden. I think we may dismiss Ribbon-gardening as unfit for a botanist, or for any one who happens to like _grubbing_, or tending his flowers. Is it ever "fit" in a little garden? Well, if the owner has either no taste for gardening, or no time, it may be the shortest and brightest plan to get some nurseryman near to fill the little beds and borders with Spring bedding plants for Spring (and let me note that this _Spring bedding_, which is of later date than the first rage for ribbon-borders, had to draw its supplies very largely from "herbaceous stuff," _myosotis_, _viola_, _aubretia_, _iberis_, &c., and may have paved the way for the return of hardy perennials into favour), and with Tom Thumb Geranium, Blue Lobelia, and Yellow Calceolaria for the summer and autumn. These latter are most charming plants. They are very gay and persistent whilst they last, and it is not their fault that they cannot stand our winters. They are no invalids till frost comes. With my personal predilections, I like even "bedding stuff" best in variety. The varieties of what we call geraniums are many and most beautiful. I should always prefer a group of individual specimens to a band of one. And never have I seen the canary yellow of calceolarias to such advantage as in an "old-fashioned" rectory-garden in Yorkshire, where they were cunningly used as points of brilliancy at corners of beds mostly filled with "hardy herbaceous stuff." But there, again, one begins to spend time and taste! Let us admit that, if a little garden must be made gay by the neighbouring nurseryman, it will look very bright, on the "ribbon" system, at a minimum cost of time and trouble--_but not of money!_ Even for a little garden, bedding plants are very expensive. For you must either use plenty, or leave it alone. A ragged ribbon-border can have no admirers. If time and money are both lacking, and horticulture is not a hobby, divide what sum you are prepared to spend on your little garden in two. Lay out half in making good soil, and spend the rest on a limited range of hardy plants. If mother earth is well fed, and if you have got her _deep down_, and not a surface layer of half a foot on a substratum of builder's rubbish, she will take care of every plant you commit to her hold. I should give up the back of the borders (if the aspect is east or south) to a few very good "perpetual" roses to cut from; dwarfs, not standards; and for the line of colour in front it will be no great trouble to arrange roughly to have red, white, blue, and yellow alternately. One of the best cheap bedders is Pink Catchfly (_Silene pendula_). Its rosy cushions are as neat and as lasting as Blue Lobelia. It is a hardy annual, but the plants should be autumn sown of the year before. It flowers early and long, and its place might be taken for the autumn by scarlet dwarf nasturtiums, or clumps of geranium. Pink Catchfly, Blue Forget-me-not, White Arabis, and Yellow Viola would make gay any Spring border. Then to show, to last, and to cut from, few flowers rival the self-coloured pansies (Viola class). Blue, white, purple, and yellow alternately, they are charming, and if in good soil, well watered in drought, and constantly cut from, they bloom the whole summer long. And some of them are very fragrant. The secret of success with these is never to leave a flower to go to seed. They are not cut off by autumnal frosts. On the contrary, you can take them up, and divide, and reset, and send a portion to other little gardens where they are lacking. All mine (and they have been very gay this year and very sweet) I owe to the bounty of friends who garden _non sibi sed toti_. Lastly, if there is even a very little taste and time to spare, surely nothing can be so satisfactory as a garden full of such flowers as (in the words of John Parkinson) "our English ayre will permitt to be noursed up." Bearing in mind these counsels: Make a wise selection of hardy plants. Grow only good sorts, and of these choose what suit your soil and climate. Give them space and good feeding. Disturb the roots as little as possible, and cut the flowers constantly. Then they will be fine as well as fit. Good-bye, Little Friend, Yours, &c. LETTER II. "The tropics may have their delights; but they have not turf, and the world without turf is a dreary desert. The original Garden of Eden could not have had such turf as one sees in England. * * * * * "Woman always did, from the first, make a muss in a garden. * * * * * "Nevertheless, what a man needs in gardening is a cast-iron back, with a hinge in it." _Pusley; or, My Summer in a Garden_.--C. D. WARNER. DEAR LITTLE FRIEND, Do you know the little book from which these sayings are quoted? It is one you can laugh over by yourself, again and again. A very good specimen of that curious, new-world kind of wit--American humour; and also full of the truest sense of natural beauty and of gardening delights. Mr. Warner is not complimentary to woman's work in the garden, though he displays all the graceful deference of his countrymen to the weaker sex. In the charming dedication to his wife, whilst desiring "to acknowledge an influence which has lent half the charm to my labour," he adds: "If I were in a court of justice, or injustice, under oath, I should not like to say that, either in the wooing days of spring, or under the suns of the summer solstice, you had been, either with hoe, rake, or miniature spade, of the least use in the garden." Perhaps our fair cousins on the other side of the Atlantic do not _grub_ so energetically as we do. Certainly, with us it is very common for the ladies of the family to be the practical gardeners, the master of the house caring chiefly for a good general effect, with tidy walks and grassplots, and displaying less of that almost maternal solicitude which does bring flowers to perfection. I have sometimes thought that it would be a good division of labour in a Little Garden, if, where Joan coddles the roses and rears the seedlings, Darby would devote some of his leisure to the walks and grassplots. Few things in one's garden are pleasanter to one's own eye, or gain more admiration from others, than well-kept turf. Green grass is one of the charms of the British Isles, which are emerald isles throughout, though Ireland is so _par excellence_. It is so much a matter of course to us that we hardly realize this till we hear or read what foreigners say about it, and also our own American and colonial cousins. We go abroad and revel in real sunshine, and come home with glowing memories to abuse our own cloudy skies; but they come from burnt-up landscapes to refresh their eyes with our perpetual green. Even a little grassplot well repays pains and care. If you have to make it, never use cheap seed. Buy the very best from seedsmen of repute, or you will get a conglomeration of weeds instead of a greensward of fine grasses and white clover. Trench the ground to an _even_ depth, tread it firm, and have light, finely-sifted soil uppermost. Sow thickly early in April, cover lightly, and protect from birds. If the soil is good, and the seed first-rate, your sward will be green the first season. Turfs make a lawn somewhat quicker than seed. The best are cut from the road-side, but it is a hateful despoiling of one of the fairest of travellers' joys. Those who commit this highway robbery should reckon themselves in honour bound to sow the bare places they leave behind. Some people cut the pieces eighteen inches square, some about a yard long and twelve inches wide. Cut thin, roll up like thin bread-and-butter. When they are laid down, fit close together, like bits of a puzzle, and roll well after laying. If they gape with shrinking, fill in between with finely-sifted soil, and roll again and again. Strictly speaking, a grassplot should be all grass, grass and a little white clover. "Soldiers" (of the plantain type) are not to be tolerated on a lawn, but I have a weak corner for dog-daisies. I once owned a little garden in Canada, but never a dog-daisy grew there. A lady I knew had one--in a pot--sent from "Home." But even if you have a sentimental fondness for "the pretty things" (as their botanical name signifies), and like to see their little white faces peeping out of the grass, this must not be carried too far. In some soils dog-daisies will soon devour the whole lawn. How are they, and "soldiers," and other weeds to be extirpated? There are many nostrums, but none so effectual as a patient digging up (with a long "daisy fork") of plant after plant _by the roots_. The whole family party and any chance visitors will not be too many for the work, and, if each labourer is provided with a cast-iron back with a hinge in it, so much the better. A writer in the _Garden_ seems to have been very successful with salt, used early in the season and with great care. He says: "After the first cutting in the spring put as much salt on each weed, through the palm of the hand, as will distinctly cover it. In two or three days, depending on the weather, they will turn brown. Those weeds that have escaped can be distinctly seen, and the operation should be repeated. The weeds thus treated die, and in about three weeks the grass will have grown, and there will not be a vestige of disturbance left. Two years ago I converted a rough pasture into a tennis-ground for six courts. Naturally the turf was a mass of rough weeds. It took three days to salt them, and the result was curiously successful." Another prescription is to cut off the crowns of the offending plants, and dose them with a few drops of carbolic acid. Grass will only grow dense by constant cutting and moisture. The scythe works best when the grass is wet, and the machine when it is dry. Sweep it and roll it during the winter. Pick off stones, sticks, or anything that "has no business" on it, as you would pick "bits" off a carpet. If grass grows rank and coarse, a dressing of sand will improve it; if it is poor and easily burned up, give it a sprinkling of soot, or guano, or wood ashes (or all three mixed) before rain. "Slops" are as welcome to parched grass as to half-starved flowers. If the weather is hot and the soil light, it is well occasionally to leave the short clippings of one mowing upon the lawn to protect the roots. I do not know if it becomes unmanageable, but, in moderation, I think camomile a very charming intruder on a lawn, and the aromatic scent which it yields to one's tread to be very grateful in the open air. It is pleasant, too, to have a knoll or a bank somewhere, where thyme can grow among the grass. But the subject of flowers that grow well through grass is a large one. It is one also on which the members of our Parkinson Society would do kindly to give us any exceptional experiences, especially in reference to flowers which not only flourish among grass, but do not resent being mown down. The lovely blue windflower (_Anemone Apennina_) is, I believe, one of these. There is no doubt that now and then plants prefer to meet with a little resistance, and despise a bed that is made too comfortable. Self-sown ones often come up much more vigorously through the hard path than when the seed has fallen within the border. The way to grow the parsley fern is said to be to clap a good big stone on his crown very early in the spring, and let him struggle out at all corners from underneath it. It is undoubtedly a comfort to rock-plants and creeping things to be planted with a stone over their feet to keep them cool! Which reminds me of stones for bordering. I think they make the best of all edgings for a Little Garden. Box-edgings are the prettiest, but they are expensive, require good keeping, and harbour slugs. For that matter, most things seem to harbour slugs in any but a very dry climate, and there are even more prescriptions for their destruction than that of lawn weeds. I don't think lime does much, nor soot. Wet soon slakes them. Thick slices of turnip are attractive. Slugs really do seem to like them, even better than one's favourite seedlings. Little heaps of bran also, and young lettuces. My slugs do not care for cabbage leaves, and they are very untidy. Put thick slices of turnip near your auriculas, favourite primroses and polyanthuses, and Christmas roses, and near anything tender and not well established, and overhaul them early in the morning. "You can't get up too early, if you have a garden," says Mr. Warner; and he adds: "Things appear to go on in the night in the garden uncommonly. It would be less trouble to stay up than it is to get up so early!" To return to stone edgings. When quite newly laid, like miniature rockwork, they are, perhaps, the least bit cockneyfied, and suggestive of something between oyster-shell borderings and mock ruins. But this effect very rapidly disappears as they bury themselves in cushions of pink catch-fly (v. _compacta_), or low-growing pinks, tiny campanulas, yellow viola, London pride, and the vast variety of rock-plants, "alpines," and low-growing "herbaceous stuff," which delight in squeezing up to a big cool stone that will keep a little moisture for their rootlets in hot summer weather. This is a much more interesting kind of edging than any one kind of plant can make, I think, and in a Little Garden it is like an additional border, leaving the other free for bigger plants. If one kind is preferred, for a light soil there is nothing like thrift. And the white thrift is very silvery and more beautiful than the pink. There is a large thrift, too, which is handsome. But I prefer stones, and I like varieties of colour--bits of grey boulder, and red and yellow sandstone. I like warm colour also on the walks. I should always have red walks if I could afford them. There is a red material, the result of some process of burning, which we used to get in the iron and coal districts of Yorkshire, which I used to think very pretty, but I do not know what it is called. Good walks are a great luxury. It is a wise economy to go round your walks after rain and look for little puddles; make a note of where the water lodges and fill it up. Keep gratings swept. If the grating is free and there is an overflow not to be accounted for, it is very possible that a drain-pipe somewhere is choke-full of the roots of some tree. Some people advise hacking up your walks from time to time, and other people advise you not. Some people say there is nothing like salt to destroy walk weeds and moss, and brighten the gravel, and some people say that salt in the long run feeds the ground and the weeds. I am disposed to think that, in a Little Garden, there is nothing like a weeding woman with an old knife and a little salt afterwards. It is also advisable to be your own weeding woman, that you may be sure that the weeds come up by the roots! Next to the cast-iron back before mentioned, I recommend a housemaid's kneeling mat (such as is used for scrubbing floors), as a gardener's comfort. I hope, if you have been bulb planting, that you got them all in by Lord Mayor's Day. Whether bulbs should be planted deep or shallow is another "vexed question." In a Little Garden, where you don't want to disturb them, and may like to plant out some small-rooted annuals on the top of them later on, I should plant deep. If you are planting roses, remember that two or three, carefully planted in good stuff that goes deep, will pay you better than six times the number stuck _into a hole_ in cold clay or sand or builders' rubbish, and left to push their rootlets as best they can, or perish in the attempt. Spread out these rootlets very tenderly when planting. You will reap the reward of your gentleness in flowers. Rose roots don't like being squeezed, like a Chinese lady's feet. I was taught this by one who knows,--He has a good name for the briar suckers and sprouts which I hope you carefully cut off from your grafted roses,--He calls it "the old Adam!" Yours, &c. LETTER III. "A good rule Is a good tool." DEAR LITTLE FRIEND, January is not a month in which you are likely to be doing much in your Little Garden. Possibly a wet blanket of snow lies thick and white over all its hopes and anxieties. No doubt you made all tidy, and some things warm, for the winter, in the delicious opportunities of St. Luke's and St. Martin's little summers, and, like the amusing American I told you of, "turned away writing _resurgam_ on the gate-post." I write _resurgam_ on labels, and put them wherever bulbs lie buried, or such herbaceous treasures as die down, and are, in consequence, too often treated as mere mortal remains of the departed, by the undiscriminating hand of the jobbing gardener. Winter is a good time to make plans, and to put them down in your Garden-book. Have you a Garden-book? A note-book, I mean, devoted to garden memoranda. It is a very useful kind of commonplace book, and soon becomes as fascinating as autumn and spring catalogues. One has to learn to manage even a Little Garden chiefly by experience, which is sure teaching, if slow. Books and gardeners are helpful; but, like other doctors, they differ. I think one is often slower to learn anything than one need be, from not making at once for first principles. If one knew more of these, it would be easier to apply one's own experience, and to decide amid conflicting advice. Here are a few rough-and-ready "first principles" for you. _Hardy flowers in hedges and ditches are partly fed, and are also covered from cold and heat, and winds, and drought, by fallen leaves and refuse. Hardy flowers in gardens have all this tidied away from them, and, being left somewhat hungry and naked in proportion, are all the better for an occasional top-dressing and mulching, especially in autumn._ It is not absolutely necessary to turn a flower border upside down and dig it over every year. It may (for some years at any rate), if you find this more convenient, be treated on the hedge system, and _fed from the top_; thinning big clumps, pulling up weeds, moving and removing in detail. _Concentrated strength means large blooms._ If a plant is ripening seed, some strength goes to that; if bursting into many blooms, some goes to each of them; if it is trying to hold up against blustering winds, or to thrive on exhausted ground, or to straighten out cramped and clogged roots, these struggles also demand strength. Moral: Plant carefully, support your tall plants, keep all your plants in easy circumstances, don't put them to the trouble of ripening seed (unless you specially want it). To this end cut off fading flowers, and also cut off buds in places where they would not show well when they came out, and all this economized strength will go into the blossoms that remain. _You cannot grow everything. Grow what suits your soil and climate, and the best kinds of these, as well as you can._ You may make soil to suit a plant, but you cannot make the climate to suit it, and some flowers are more fastidious about the air they breathe than about the soil they feed upon. There are, however, scores of sturdy, handsome flowers, as hardy as Highlanders, which will thrive in almost any soil, and under all the variations of climate of the British Isles. Some will even endure the smoke-laden atmosphere of towns and town suburbs; which, sooner or later, is certain death to so many. It is a pity that small florists and greengrocers in London do not know more about this; and it would be a great act of kindness to them and to their customers to instruct them. Then, instead of encouraging the ruthless slaughter of primroses, scores and hundreds of plants of which are torn up and then sold in a smoky atmosphere to which they never adapt themselves, these small shopkeepers might offer plants of the many beautiful varieties of poppies, from the grand _Orientalis_ onwards, chrysanthemums, stocks, wall-flowers, Canterbury bells, salvias, oenotheras, snapdragons, perennial lobelias, iris, and other plants which are known to be very patient under a long course of soot. Most of the hardy Californian annuals bear town life well. Perhaps because they have only to bear it for a year. _Convolvulus major_--the Morning Glory, as our American cousins so prettily call it--flourishes on a smutty wall as generously as the Virginian creeper. _North borders are safest in winter._ They are free from the dangerous alternation of sunshine and frost. Put things of doubtful hardihood under a north wall, with plenty of sandy soil or ashes over their roots, some cinders on that, and perhaps a little light protection, like bracken, in front of them, and their chances will not be bad. Apropos to tender things, if your Little Garden is in a cold part of the British Isles, and has ungenial conditions of soil and aspect, don't try to keep tender things out of doors in winter; but, if it is in the south or west of the British Isles, I should be tempted to very wide experiments with lots of plants not commonly reckoned "hardy." Where laurels flower freely you will probably be successful eight years out of ten. Most fuchsias, and tender things which _die down_, may be kept. _Very little will keep Jack Frost out, if he has not yet been in_, either in the garden or the house. A "hot bottle" will keep frost out of a small room where one has stored geraniums, &c., so will a small paraffin lamp (which--N.B.--will also keep water-pipes from catastrophe). How I have toiled, in my young days, with these same hot-water bottles in a cupboard off the nursery, which was my nearest approach to a greenhouse! And how sadly I have experienced that where Mr. Frost goes out Mr. Mould is apt to slink in! Truly, as Mr. Warner says, "the gardener needs all the consolations of a high philosophy!" It is a great satisfaction if things _will_ live out of doors. And in a _little_ garden a good deal of coddling may be done. I am going to get some round fruit hampers to turn over certain tender pets this winter. When one has one's flowers by the specimen and not by the score, such cosseting is possible. Ashes and cinders are excellent protection for the roots, and for plants--like roses--which do not die back to the earth level, and which sometimes require a screen as well as a quilt, bracken, fir branches, a few pea-sticks, and matting or straw are all handy helps. The old gentleman who ran out--without his dressing-gown--to fling his own bed-quilt over some plants endangered by an unexpected frost, came very near to having a fine show of bloom and not being there to see it; but, short of this excessive zeal, when one's garden is a little one, and close to one's threshold, one may catch Jack Frost on the surface of many bits of rough-and-ready fencing on very cold nights. _In drought, one good soaking with tepid water is worth six sprinklings._ Watering is very fatiguing, but it is unskilled labour, and one ought to be able to hire strong arms to do it at a small rate. But I never met the hired person yet who could be persuaded that it was needful to do more than make the surface of the ground look as if it had been raining. There is a "first principle" of which some gardeners are very fond, but in which I do not believe, that if you begin to water you must go on, and that too few waterings do harm. What I don't believe is that they do harm, nor did I ever meet with a gardener who complained of an odd shower, even if the skies did not follow it up. An odd sprinkling does next to no good, but an odd soaking may save the lives of your plants. In very hot weather don't grudge a few waterings to your polyanthuses and primroses. If they are planted in open sunny borders, with no shade or hedge-mulching, they suffer greatly from drought. _Flowers, like human beings, are, to some extent, creatures of habit._ They get used to many things which they can't at all abide once in a way. If your Little Garden (like mine) is part of a wandering establishment, here to-day and there to-morrow, you may get even your roses into very good habits of moving good-humouredly, and making themselves quickly at home. If plants from the first are accustomed to being moved about,--every year, or two years,--they do not greatly resent it. A real "old resident," who has pushed his rootlets far and wide, and never tried any other soil or aspect, is very slow to settle elsewhere, even if he does not die of _nostalgia_ and nervous shock! In making cuttings, consider the habits and customs of the parent plant. If it has been grown in heat, the cuttings will require heat to start them. And so on, as to dry soil or moist, &c. If somebody gives you "a root" in hot weather, or a bad time for moving, when you have made your hole pour water in very freely. Saturate the ground below, "puddle in" your plants with plenty more, and you will probably save it, especially if you turn a pot or basket over it in the heat of the day. In warm weather plant in the evening, the new-comers then have a round of the clock in dews and restfulness before the sun is fierce enough to make them flag. In cold weather move in the morning, and for the same period they will be safe from possible frost. Little, if any, watering is needed for late autumn plantings. _Those parts of a plant which are not accustomed to exposure are those which suffer from it._ You may garden bare-handed in a cold wind and not be the worse for it, but, if both your arms were bared to the shoulders, the consequences would probably be very different. A bundle of rose-trees or shrubs will bear a good deal on their leaves and branches, but for every moment you leave their roots exposed to drying and chilling blasts they suffer. When a plant is out of the ground, protect its crown and its roots at once. If a plant is moved quickly, it is advantageous, of course, to take it up with as much earth as possible, if the roots remain undisturbed in their little plat. Otherwise, earth is no better than any other protection; and in sending plants by post, &c. (when soil weighs very heavily), it is better to wash every bit of soil out of the roots, and then thoroughly wrap them in moss, and outside that in hay or tow, or cotton-wool. Then, if the roots are comfortably spread in nice mould at the other end of the journey, all should go well. I reserve a sneaking credulity about "lucky fingers." Or rather, I should say, a belief that some people have a strange power (or tact) in dealing with the vegetable world, as others have in controlling and coaxing animals. It is a vivid memory of my childhood that (amongst the box-edged gardens of a family of eight), that of my eldest brother was almost inconvenienced by the luck of his fingers. "Survival of the fittest" (if hardiest does mean fittest!) kept the others within bounds; but what he begged, borrowed, and stole, survived, all of it, conglomerate around the "double velvet" rose, which formed the centre-piece. We used to say that when the top layer was pared off, a buried crop came up. An old friend with lucky fingers visited my Little Garden this autumn. He wanders all over the world, and has no garden of his own except window-boxes in London, where he seems to grow what he pleases. He is constantly doing kindnesses, and likes to do them his own way. He christened a border (out of which I had not then turned the builders' rubbish) Desolation Border, with more candour than compliment. He said it wanted flowers, and he meant to sow some. I suggested that, sown at that period of the summer, they would not flower this season. He said they would. (They did.) None of my suggestions met with favour, so I became gratefully passive, and watched the lucky fingers from a distance, fluttering small papers, and making mystic deposits here and there, through the length and breadth of the garden. I only begged him to avoid my labels. The seeds he sowed ranged from three (rather old) seeds of bottle gourd to a packet of mixed Virginian stock. They all came up. He said, "I shall put them in where I think it is desirable, and when they come up you'll see where they are." I did. For some days after his departure, on other country visits, I received plants by post. Not in tins, or boxes, but in envelopes with little or no packing. In this way came sea lavender in full bloom, crimson monkey plant from the London window-box, and cuttings of mesembryanthemum. They are all alive and thriving! The bottle gourd and the annuals have had their day, and it is over; but in the most unexpected places there still rise, like ghosts, certain plants which completely puzzle me.[4] They have not blossomed, but they grow on in spite of frost. Some of them are nearly as tall as myself. They almost alarm me when I am dividing violas, and trifling with alpines. They stand over me (without sticks) and seem to say, "We are up, you see where we are! We shall grow as long as we think it desirable." Farewell for the present, Little Friend, Yours, &c. [Footnote 4: When fully grown these plants proved to be the Tree-Mallow, _Lavatera arborea_; the seeds were gathered from specimens on the shores of the Mediterranean.] LETTER IV. "When Candlemas Day is come and gone, The snow lies on a hot stone."--_Old Saw_. DEAR LITTLE FRIEND, Among all the changes and chances of human life which go to make up fiction as well as fact, there is one change which has never chanced to any man; and yet the idea has been found so fascinating by all men that it appears in the literature of every country. Most other fancied transformations are recorded as facts somewhere in the history of our race. Poor men have become rich, the beggar has sat among princes, the sick have been made whole, the dead have been raised, the neglected man has awoke to find himself famous, rough and kindly beasts have been charmed by lovely ladies into very passable Princes, and it would be hard to say that the ugly have not seen themselves beautiful in the mirror of friendly eyes; but the old have never become young. The elixir of youth has intoxicated the imagination of many, but no drop of it has ever passed human lips. If we ever do just taste anything of the vital, hopeful rapture, the elastic delight of the old man of a fairy tale, who leaves his cares, his crutches, and his chimney-corner, to go forth again young amongst the young,--it is when the winter is ended and the spring is come. Some people may feel this rising of the sap of life within them more than others, but there are probably very few persons whom the first mild airs and bursting buds and pushing flower-crowns do not slightly intoxicate with a sort of triumphant pleasure. What then, dear little friend, must be the February feelings of the owner of a Little Garden? Knowing, as we do, every plant and its place,--having taken just pride in its summer bloom,--having preserved this by cares and trimmings and proppings to a picturesque and florid autumn, though wild-flowers have long been shrivelled and shapeless,--having tidied it up and put a little something comforting round it when bloom and outline were absolutely no more: what must we feel when we first detect the ruddy young shoots of our favourite pæonies, or perceive that the brown old hepaticas have become green and young again and are full of flower-buds? The process of strolling, with bent back and peering eyes, by the side of the still frosty borders is so deeply interesting, and a very little sunshine on a broad band of crocuses has such a summer-like effect, that one is apt to forget that it is one of the cheapest ways of catching cold. The last days of the gardening year not unfrequently lead from the flower-bed to the sick-bed. But though there is for susceptible folk a noxious influence in the decaying vegetation of autumn, from which spring is free, there is bitter treachery in many a spring wind, and the damp of the ground seems to reek with the exuding chill of all the frosts that have bound it in mid-winter. I often wonder that, for some exigencies of weather, the outdoor red-flannel knickerbockers which one wears in Canada are not more in use here. The very small children have all their clothes stuffed into them, and tumble safely about in the snow like little Dutchmen. Older wearers of petticoats cram all in except the outermost skirt. It is a very simple garment made of three pieces,--two (straight) legs and a large square. The square is folded like a kerchief, and the leg pieces attached to the two sloping sides. A broad elastic and small openings on each side and at the top enable these very baggy knickerbockers to be easily pulled on for going out (where they effectually exclude cold exhalations from snow or damp ground), and pulled off on coming in. Short of such coddling as this, I strongly urge fleecy cork socks inside your garden boots; and I may add that if you've never tried them, you can have no idea of the warmth and comfort of a pair of boy's common yellow-leather leggings, but the buttons will require some adjusting. Of course, very robust gardeners are independent of these troublesome considerations; but the gardening members of a family, whether young or old, are very often not those vigorous people who can enjoy their fresh air at unlimited tennis or a real good stretching walk over the hills. They are oftener those weaker vessels who have to be content with strolls, and drives, and sketching, and "pottering about the garden." Now, pottering about the garden in spring and autumn has many risks for feeble vitalities, and yet these are just the seasons when everything requires doing, and there is a good hour's work in every yard of a pet border any day. So _verbum sap_. One has to "pay with one's person" for most of one's pleasures, if one is delicate; but it is possible to do a great deal of equinoctial grubbing with safety and even benefit, if one is very warmly protected, especially about the feet and legs. These details are very tedious for young people, but not so tedious as being kept indoors by a cold. And not only must delicate gardeners be cosseted with little advantages at these uncertain seasons, the less robust of the flowers gain equally by timely care. Jack Frost comes and goes, and leaves many plants (especially those planted the previous autumn) half jumped out of the ground. Look out for this, and tread them firmly in again. A shovel-full of cinder-siftings is a most timely attention round the young shoots of such as are poking up their noses a little too early, and seem likely to get them frost-bitten. Most alpines and low-growing stuff will bear light rolling after the frost has unsettled them. This is done in large gardens, but in a Little Garden they can be attended to individually. Give a little protection to what is too forward in growth, or badly placed, or of doubtful hardihood, or newly planted. Roses and hardy perennials can be planted in open weather. But you will; not really be very busy outside till March, and we are not concerning ourselves with what has to be done "in heat," where a good deal is going on. Still, in mild climates or seasons (and one must always remember how greatly the British Isles vary in parts, as to climate), the idea of seedlings and cuttings will begin to stir our souls, when February "fills dike," if it is "with black and not with white," _i.e._ with rain and not snow. So I will just say that for a Little Garden, and a mixed garden, demanding patches, not scores of things, you can raise a wonderfully sufficient number of half-hardy things in an ordinary room, with one or two bell-glasses to give the moist atmosphere in which sitting-rooms are wanting. A common tumbler will cover a dozen "seedlings," and there you have two nice little clumps of half-a-dozen plants each, when they are put out. (And mind you leave them space to spread.) A lot of little cuttings can be rooted in wet sand. Hard-wooded cuttings may grow along slowly in cool places; little juicy soft ones need warmth, damp, and quick pushing forward. The very tips of fuchsias grow very easily struck early in wet sand, and will flower the same year. Kind friends will give you these, and if they will also give you "tips" of white, yellow, and blue Marguerites (this last is _Agathea celestis_), these strike as easily as chrysanthemums, and are delightful afterwards to cut from. They are not very tender, though not quite hardy. For the few pots and pans and boxes of cuttings and seedlings which you require, it is well worth while to get a small stock of good compost from a nursery gardener; leaf mould, peat, and sand, whether for seedlings or cuttings. Always _sink_ your pot in a second covering. Either have your pots sunk in a box of sand, which you can keep damp, or have small pots sunk in larger ones. A _great-coat_ to prevent evaporation, in some shape, is invaluable. Yours, &c., J.H.E. GARDEN-LORE. Every child who has gardening tools, Should learn by heart these gardening rules. He who owns a gardening spade, Should be able to dig the depth of its blade. He who owns a gardening hoe, Must be sure how he means his strokes to go. But he who owns a gardening fork, May make it do all the other tools' work. Though to shift, or to pot, or annex what you can, A trowel's the tool for child, woman, or man. 'Twas a bird that sits in the medlar-tree, Who sang these gardening saws to me. THE LITTLE GARDENER'S ALPHABET OF PROVERBS. AUTUMN-SOWN annuals flower soonest and strongest. What you sow in the spring, sow often and thin. BULBS bought early are best chosen. If you wish your tulips to wake up gay, They must all be in bed by Lord Mayor's Day. "Cut my leaves this year, and you won't cut my flowers next year," said the Daffodil to Tabitha Tidy. CUT a rose for your neighbour, and it will tell two buds to blossom for you. DON'T let me forget to pray for travellers when I thank Heaven I'm content to stay in my own garden. It is furnished from the ends of the earth. ENOUGH comes out of anybody's old garden in autumn, to stock a new one for somebody else. But you want sympathy on one side and sense on the other, and they are rarer than most perennials. FLOWERS are like gentlemen--"Best everywhere."[5] [Footnote 5: "Clowns are best in their own company, but gentlemen are best everywhere."--_Old Proverb._] GIVE Mother Earth plenty of food, and she'll give you plenty of flowers. HE who can keep what he gets, and multiply what he has got, should always buy the best kinds; and he who can do neither should buy none. IF nothing else accounts for it, ten to one there's a worm in the pot. JOBBING gardeners are sometimes neat, and if they leave their rubbish behind them, the hepaticas may turn up again. KNOWN sorts before new sorts, if your list has limits. LEAVE a bit behind you--for conscience's sake--if it's only _Polypodium Vulgaris_. MISCHIEF shows in the leaves, but lies at the root. NORTH borders are warmest in winter. OLD women's window-plants have guardian angels. PUSSY cats have nine lives and some pot-plants have more; but both do die of neglect. QUAINT, gay, sweet, and good for nosegays, is good enough for my garden. RUBBISH is rubbish when it lies about--compost when it's all of a heap--and food for flowers when it's dug in. SOW thick, and you'll have to thin; but sow peas as thick as you please. TREE-LEAVES in the garden, and tea-leaves in the parlour, are good for mulching. "USEFUL if ugly," as the toad said to the lily when he ate the grubs. VERY little will keep Jack Frost out--_before he gets in_. WATER your rose with a slop-pail when it's in bud, and you'll be asked the name of it when it's in flower. XERANTHEMUM, Rhodanthe, Helichrysum, white yellow, purple, and red. Grow us, cut us, tie us, and hang us with drooping head. Good Christians all, find a nook for us, for we bloom for the Church and the Dead. YOU may find more heart's-ease in your garden than grows in the pansy-bed. ZINNIA elegans flore-pleno is a showy annual, and there's a coloured picture in the catalogue; but--like many other portraits--it's a favourable likeness. SUNFLOWERS AND A RUSHLIGHT. _Sunflowers and a Rushlight originally appeared in "Aunt Judy's Magazine," November 1882. It is now re-published for the first time._ CHAPTER I. "A MAN NAMED SOLOMON"--JAEL AND THE CHINA POODLE--JOHNSON'S DICTIONARY--NAIL-SPOTS--FAMILY BEREAVEMENTS--A FAMILY DOCTOR--THE BOOKS IN THE ATTIC--A PUZZLING TALE--"A JOURNEY TO GO." Doctor Brown is our doctor. He lives in our village, at the top of the hill. When we were quite little, and had scarlet-fever, and measles, and those things, Dr. Brown used to be very kind to us, and dress his first finger up in his pocket-handkerchief with a knot for the turban, and rings on his thumb and middle finger, and do--"At the top of a hill lived a man named Solomon," in a hollow voice, which frightened me rather. And then he used to say--"Wise man, Solomon! He lived at the top of a hill," and laugh till his face got redder than usual, and his eyes filled with laughter-tears, and twinkled in the nice way they do, and I was not frightened any more. Dr. Brown left off being our doctor once. That was when he and Grandmamma quarrelled. But they made it up again. It was when I was so unhappy--I tried to help it, but I really could not--about my poor dear white china poodle (Jael broke him when she was dusting, and then she swept up his tail, though I have so begged her to keep the bits when she cleans our room, and breaks things; and now he never never can be mended, all the days of my life):--it was when I was crying about him, and Grandmamma told Dr. Brown how silly I was, to make me feel ashamed, that he said--"There are some tempers which, if they haven't enough people to love, will love things." Margery says he did not say _tempers_ but _temperaments_. I know it began with temper, because it reminded me of Jael, who said "them tears is all temper, Miss Grace," which was very hard, because she knew--she knew quite well--it was about my poodle; and though accidents will happen, she need not have swept up his tail. Margery is sure to be right. She always it. Besides, we looked it out in Johnson's Dictionary, which we are rather food of, though it is very heavy to lift. We like the bits out of books, in small print; but I could not understand the bits to the word _temperament_, and I do not think Margery could either, though she can understand much more than I can. There is a very odd bit to the word _temperamental_, and it is signed _Brown_; but we do not know if that means our Dr. Brown. This is the bit: "That _temperamental_ dignotions, and conjecture of prevalent humours, may be collected from spots in our nails, we concede."--_Brown_. We could not understand it, so we lifted down the other volume (one is just as heavy as the other), and looked out "Dignotion," and it means "distinction, distinguishing mark," and then there is the same bit over again, but at the end is "_Brown's Vulgar Errors_." And we did not like to ask Dr. Brown if they were his vulgar errors, for fear he should think us rude. I thought we might perhaps ask him if they were his errors, and leave out _vulgar_, which is rather a rude word, but Margery thought it better not, and she is sure to be right. She always is. But we should have liked to ask Dr. Brown about it, if it had not been rude, because we think a good deal of spots on our nails. All we know about them is that you begin at your thumb, and count on to your little finger, in this way, "A Gift, a Beau, A Friend, a Foe, A Journey to go." I like having a Beau, or a Friend; Margery likes a Gift, or a Journey to go. We neither of us like having Foes. And it shows that it does come true, because Margery had a white spot in the middle of her left little finger-nail, just when our father's old friend wrote to Grandmamma, for one of us to go and pay him a visit; and Margery went, because she was the elder of the two. I do not know how I bore parting with her, except with hoping that she would enjoy herself, for she always had wanted so very much to have a journey to go. But if she had been at home, so that I could have taken her advice, I do not think I should have been so silly about the Sunflowers and the Rushlight. She says--"You'd have put on your slippers, and had a blanket round you at least. But, oh, my dear Grace, you always are so rash!" I did not know I was. I thought rash people were brave; and if I had been brave, the Rushlight would never have come out of the roof. Still Margery is sure to be right. I know I am very foolish and lonely without her. There are only two of us. Our father, and our mother, and our brother, all died of fever, nearly five years ago. We shall never see them again till we go to Paradise, and that is one reason why we wish to try to be good and never to be naughty, so that we may be sure to see them again. I remember them a little. I remember being frightened by sitting so high up on my father's shoulder, and then feeling so safe when I got into my mother's lap; and I remember Robin's curls, and his taking my woolly ball from me. I remember our black frocks coming in the hair-trunk with brass nails to the seaside, where Margery and I were with our nurse, and her telling the landlady that our father and mother and brother were all laid in one grave. And I remember going home, and seeing the stone flags up in the yard, and a deep dark hole near the pump, and thinking that was the grave; and how Margery found me stark with fright, and knew better, and told me that the grave was in the churchyard, and that this hole was only where workmen had been digging for drains. And then never seeing those three, day after day, and having to do without them ever since! But Margery remembers a good deal more (she is three years older than I am). She remembers things people said, and the funeral sermon, and the books being moved into the attic, and she remembers Grandmamma's quarrel with Dr. Brown. She says she was sitting behind the parlour curtains with Mrs. Trimmer's Roman History, and Grandmamma was sitting, looking very grave in her new black dress, with a pocket-handkerchief and book in her lap, and sherry and sponge biscuits on a tray on the piano, for visitors of condolence, when Dr. Brown came in, looking very grave too, and took off one of his black gloves and shook hands. Then he took off the other, and put them both into his hat, and had a glass of sherry and a sponge biscuit, so Margery knew that he was a visitor of condolence. Then he and Grandmamma talked a long time. Margery does not know what about, for she was reading Mrs. Trimmer; but she thinks they were getting rather cross with each other. Then they got up, and Dr. Brown looked into his hat, and took out his gloves, and Grandmamma wiped her eyes with her pocket-handkerchief, and said, "I hope I know how to submit, but it has been a heavy judgment, Dr. Brown." And Margery was just beginning to cry too, when Dr. Brown said, "A very heavy judgment indeed, Madam, for letting the cesspool leak into the well;" and it puzzled her so much that she stopped. Then Grandmamma was very angry, and Dr. Brown was angry too, and then Grandmamma said, "I don't know another respectable practitioner, Dr. Brown, who would have said what you have said this morning." And Dr. Brown brushed his hat the wrong way with his coat-sleeve, and said, "Too true, madam! We are not a body of reformers, with all our opportunities we're as bigoted as most priesthoods, but we count fewer missionary martyrs. The sins, the negligences, and the ignorances of every age have gone on much the same as far as we have been concerned, though very few people keep family chaplains, and most folk have a family doctor." Then Grandmamma got very stiff, Margery says (she always is rather stiff), and said, "I am sorry, Dr. Brown, to hear you speak so ill of the members of an honourable profession, to which you yourself belong." And Dr. Brown found out that he had brushed his hat the wrong way, and he brushed it right, and said, "Not at all, Madam, not at all! I think we're a very decent set, for men with large public responsibilities, almost entirely shielded from the wholesome light of public criticism, who handle more lives than most Commanders, and are not called upon to publish our disasters or make returns of our losses. But don't expect too much of us! I say we are not reformers. They rise up amongst us now and again; but we don't encourage them, we don't encourage them. We are a privileged caste of medicine men, whose 'mysteries' are protected by the faith of those to whom we minister, a faith fortified by ignorance and fear. I wish you good-morning, Madam." Margery has often repeated this to me. We call it "Dr. Brown's Speeches." She is very fond of spouting speeches, much longer ones than Dr. Brown's. She learns them by heart out of history books, and then dresses up and spouts them to me in our attic. Margery says she did not understand at the time what they were quarrelling about; and when, afterwards, she asked Grandmamma what a cesspool was, Grandmamma was cross with her too, and said it was a very coarse and vulgar word, and that Dr. Brown was a very coarse and vulgar person. We've looked it out since in Johnson's Dictionary, for we thought it might be one of Dr. Brown's vulgar errors, but it is not there. Margery reads a great deal of history; she likes it; she likes all the sensible books in the attic, and I like the rest, particularly poetry and fairy tales. The books are Mother's books, they belonged to her father. She liked having them all in the parlour, "littering the whole place," Jael says; but Grandmamma has moved them to the attic now, all but a volume of Sermons for Sunday, and the Oriental Annual, to amuse visitors if they are left alone. Only she says you never ought to leave your visitors alone. Jael is very glad the books were taken to the attic, because "they gather dust worse than chimney ornaments;" so she says. Margery and I are very glad too, for we are sent to play in the attic, and then we read as much as ever we like; and we move our pet books to our own corner and pretend they are our very own. We have very cosy corners; we pile up some of the big books for seats, and then make a bigger pile in front of us for tables, and there we sit. Once Dr. Brown found us. We had got whooping cough, and he had come to see if we were better; and he is very big, and he tramped so heavily on the stairs I did really think he was a burglar; and Margery was a little frightened too, so we were very glad to see him; and when he saw us reading at our tables, he said, "So this is the Attic salt ye season life with, is it?" And then he laughed just as he always does. There is one story in my favourite Fairy Book which Margery likes too; it is called "A Puzzling Tale." I read it to Margery when we were sitting in our tree seat in the garden, and I put my hand over the answer to the puzzle, and she could not guess; and if Margery could not guess, I do not think any one else could. This is the tale:--"Three women were once changed into flowers, and grew in a field; but one was permitted to go home at night. Once, when day was dawning, and she was about to return to her companions in the field and become a flower again, she said to her husband, 'In the morning come to the field and pick me off my stalk, then I shall be released, and able to live at home for the future.' So the husband went to the field as he was told, and picked his wife and took her home. "Now how did he know his wife's flower from the other two, for all the three flowers were alike?" (That is the puzzle. This is the answer:) "_He knew his wife because there was no dew upon her flower._" There is a very nice picture of the three flowers standing stiff and upright, with leaves held out like hands, and large round flower faces, all three exactly alike. I have looked at them again and again, but I never could see any difference; for you can't see the dew on the ones who had been out all night, and so you can't tell which was the one who was allowed to go home. But I think it was partly being so fond of those round flower faces in the Puzzling Tale, that made me get so very very fond of Sunflowers. We have splendid Sunflowers in our garden, so tall, and with such large round faces! The Sunflowers were in bloom when Margery went away. She bade them good-bye, and kissed her hands to them as well as to me. She went away in a cab, with her things in the hair trunk with brass nails on the top. She waved her hand to me as long as ever I could see her, and she wagged one finger particularly. I knew which finger it was, and what she meant. It was the little finger with that dignotion on the nail, which showed that she had a journey to go. CHAPTER II. ON THE WING--SUNFLOWER SAINTS--DEW-DRENCHED--A BAD NIGHT--A BAD HEADACHE--REGULAR REGIMEN IN GRANDMAMMA'S YOUNG DAYS--TIRED NATURE'S SWEET RESTORER--A SINFUL WASTE OF CANDLE-GREASE. The Sunflowers were in bloom when Margery went away; and the swallows were on the wing. The garden was full of them all the morning, and when she had gone, they went too. They had been restless for days past, so I dare say they had dignotions of their own, that they had a journey to go as well as Margery. But when they were gone, and she was gone, the garden felt very lonely. The Sunflowers stretched out their round faces just as if they were looking to see if the cab was coming back; and there was a robin, which kept hopping on and off the pump and peeping about with his eyes, as if he could not imagine what had become of all the swallows. And Margery's black cat came and mewed to me, and rubbed itself against my pinafore, and walked up and down with me till I went in and got the "Ancient Mariner" and my little chair, and came back and read to the Sunflowers. Sunflowers are quite as good as dolls to play with. Margery and I think them better in some ways. You can't move them about unless you pick them; but then they will stand of themselves, which dolls will not. You can give them names just as well, and you can teach them lessons just as well. They will grow, which dolls won't; and they really live and die, which dolls don't. In fact, for tallness, they are rather like grown-up people. Then more come out, which is nice; and you see the little Sunflowers growing into big ones, which you can't see with dolls. We can play a Sunday game with the Sunflowers. We do not have any of our toys on Sunday, except in winter, when we have Noah's Ark. In the summer we may go in the garden between the services, and we always walk up and down together and play with the Sunflowers. The Sunday Sunflower game is calling them after the black-letter saints in the Kalendar, and reading about them in a very old book--a big one with a black leather binding--in the attic, called _Lives of the Saints_. I read, and then I tell it to Margery as we walk up and down, and say--"This is St. Prisca, this is St. Fabian, this is St. Agnes, this is St. Agatha, and this is St. Valentine"--and so on. What made us first think of having them for Saints on Sunday, was that the yellow does sometimes look so very like a glory round their faces. We choose by turns which name to give to each, but if there is a very big one with a lot of yellow flaming out, we always called him St. George of England, because there is a very old figure of St. George slaying the Dragon, in a painted window in our Church; and St. George's hair is yellow, and standing out all round; and when the sun shines through the window, so that you can't see his nose and his mouth at all clearly, he looks quite wonderfully like a Sunflower. Then on week-days, the game I like best is pretending that they are women changed into flowers. They feel so grown up with being so tall, that they are much more like grown-up people turned into flowers than like children. I pretend my doll is my child when I play with her; but I don't think I could pretend a Sunflower was my child; and sometimes if Margery leaves me alone with rather big Sunflowers, when it is getting dusk, and I look up at them, and they stare at me with their big faces in the twilight, I get so frightened for fear they should have got leave to go home at night, _and be just turning_, that I run indoors as hard as ever I can. Two or three times I have got up early and gone out to see if any one of them had no dew; but they have always been drenched, every one them. Dew, thick over their brown faces, and rolling like tears down their yellow glories. I am quite sure that I have never seen a Sunflower yet that had had leave to go home at night, and Margery says the same. And she is certain to know. I had a very bad night, the night after Margery went away. I was so terribly frightened with being alone in the dark. I know it was very silly, but it was most miserable. I was afraid to go and wake Jael, and I was more afraid of going to Grandmamma, and I was most of all afraid of staying where I was. It seemed to be years and years before the light began to come a little, and the noises left off creaking, and dropping, and cracking, and moving about. Next day I had a very bad headache. Jael does not like me when I have headaches, because I give trouble, and have to have hot water and mustard for my feet at odd times. Jael does not mind bringing up hot water at night; but she says she can't abide folk wanting things at odd times. So she does not like me when I have headaches; and when I have headaches, I do not much like her. She treads so very heavily, it shakes the floor just as ogres in ogre stories shake the ground when they go out kidnapping; and then the pain jumps in my head till I get frightened, and wonder what happens to people when the pain gets so bad that they cannot bear it any longer. That morning, I thought I never should have got dressed; stooping and fastening things do make you so very bad. I was very late, and Grandmamma was beginning to scold me, but when she saw I had got a headache she didn't--she only said I looked like a washed-out pocket-handkerchief; and when I could not eat any breakfast, she said I must have a dose of rhubarb and magnesia, and as she had not got any rhubarb left, she sent Jael up to Dr. Brown's to get some. I did not like having to take rhubarb and magnesia; but I was very glad to get rid of Jael for a bit, though I knew she would hate me for having had to take a message at an odd time. It was her shaking the room when she brought in the urn, and knocking the tongs into the fender with her dress as she went by, that had made me not able to eat any breakfast. Just as she was starting, Grandmamma beckoned to her to come back, and told her to call at the barber's, and tell him to come up in the afternoon to "thin" my hair. My hair is very thick. I brush as much out as I can; but I think it only gets thicker and thicker. Grandmamma says she believes that is what gives me so many headaches, and she says it is no use cutting it shorter, for it always is kept cut short; the only way is to thin it, that is, cutting lumps out here and there down to the roots. Thinning does make less of it; but when it grows again it is very difficult to keep tidy, which makes Jael say she "never see such a head, it's all odds and ends," and sometimes she adds--"inside _and_ out." Margery can imitate Jael exactly. When Jael came back, she said Dr. Brown would step down and see me himself. So he came. Then he felt my pulse and asked me what sort of a night I had had, and I was obliged to tell him, and Grandmamma was very much vexed, and made me tell the whole truth, and she said I did not deserve any pity for my headaches when I brought them on myself, which is true. I think it was being vexed with me that made her vexed with Dr. Brown, when he said rhubarb and magnesia would not do me any good. She said she liked a regular system with the health of young people; and when she and her six sisters were girls they were physicked with perfect regularity; they were bled in the spring, and the fall of the leaf; and had their hair thinned and their teeth taken out, once a quarter, by the advice of their excellent friend and local practitioner, who afterwards removed to London, and became very distinguished, and had his portrait painted in oils for one of the learned societies. And Grandmamma said she had been spared to survive all her family, and had never had a headache in her life. Though my head was so bad, I listened as hard as I could to hear what Dr. Brown would say. For I thought--"if he makes one of his speeches, they will quarrel, and he will leave off being our doctor again." But he didn't, he only said--"Well, well, madam, I'll send the child some medicine. Let her go and lie down at once, with a hot bottle to her feet, and as many pillows as she wants under her head; and don't let a sound reach her for the next three or four hours. When she wakes, give her a basin of bread-and-milk." So he went away, and presently he came back himself with the medicine. It tasted very nice, and he was very kind; only he made Jael so cross with saying she had not put boiling water in the hot bottle, and sending it down again; and then making her fetch more pillows out of the spare bedroom (Jael does not like odd things any more than odd times). But I never had such a hot bottle or such a comfortable headache before, and he pulled the blind down, and I went to sleep. At first I dreamt a little of the pain, and then I forgot it, and then slept like a top, for hours and hours. When I awoke I found a basin of bread-and-milk, with a plate over it to keep it warm, on the rush-bottomed chair by the bed. It hadn't kept it very warm. It made me think of the suppers of the Three Bears in their three basins, and I dare say theirs were rather cold too. Perhaps their Jael boiled their bread-and-milk at her own time, whether they were ready for it or not. But I think mine must have been like the Little Bear's supper, for I ate it all up. My head was much better, so I went up to our attic, and got out the Fairy Book, that I might not think too much about Margery, and it opened of itself at the Puzzling Tale. I was just beginning to read it, when I heard a noise under the rafters, in one of those low sort of cupboard places that run all round the attic, where spare boxes and old things are kept, and where Margery and I sometimes play at Voyages of Discovery. I thought Margery's black cat must be shut up there, but when I went to look, there was another crash, and then the door burst open, and out came Jael, with her cap so crushed that I could not help laughing. I was glad to see her, for my head was well, so I liked her again, and did not mind her being ogre-footed, and I wanted to know what she was doing; but Jael had not got to like me again, and she spoke very crossly, and said it was more trouble of my giving, and that Dr. Brown had said that I was to have a light in my bedroom till Miss Margery came back--"if ever there was a sinful waste of candle-grease!" and that it wasn't likely the Mistress was going to throw away money on box night-lights; and she had sent the boy to the shop for half-a-dozen farthing rushlights--if they kept them, and if not, for half-a-pound of "sixteen" dips, and had sent her to the attic to find the old Rushlight-tin. "What's it like, Jael?" "It's like a Rushlight-tin, to be sure," said Jael "And it's not been used since your Pa and Ma's last illness. So it's safe to be thick with dust, and a pretty job it is for me to have to do, losing the pin out of my cap, and tearing my apron on one of them old boxes, all to find a dirty old Rushlight, just because of _your_ whims and fancies, Miss Grace!" "Jael, I am so sorry for your cap and apron. I will go in and find the Rushlight for you. Tell me, is it painted black, with a lot of round holes in the sides, and a little door, and a place like a candlestick in the middle? If it is, I know where it is." I knew quite well. It was behind a very old portmanteau, and a tin box with a wig and moths in it, and the bottom part of the shower-bath, just at the corner, which Margery and I call Bass's Straits. So I made a Voyage of Discovery, and brought it out, "thick with dust," as Jael had said. And Jael took it, and went away very cross and very ogre-footed, with her cap still awry; and as she stumped down the attic-stairs, and kept clattering the Rushlight against the rails, I could hear her muttering--"A sinful waste of candle-grease--whims and fancies--scandilus!" CHAPTER III. PAIN PAST--A REPRIEVE FROM THE BARBER--SUNFLOWER SLEEP--LITTLE MICHAELMAS GOOSE--SNUFFING A RUSHLIGHT--A PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE UNDER DIFFICULTIES--GRANDMAMMA WITH A WATCHMAN'S RATTLE. Jael's ogre-footsteps had hardly ceased to resound from the wooden stairs, when these shook again to the tread of Dr. Brown. He said--"How are you?" and I said--"Very happy, thank you," which was true. For the only nice thing about dreadful pain is that, when it is gone, you feel for a little bit as if you could cry with joy at having nothing to bear. Then I thanked him for asking Grandmamma to let me have the Rushlight till Margery came home; and he said I ought to be very much obliged to him, for he had begged me off the barber too. So I asked him if he thought my hair gave me headaches, and he felt it, and said--"No!" which I was very glad of. He said he thought it was more what I grew inside, than what I grew outside my head that did it, and that I was not to puzzle too much over books. I was afraid he meant the Puzzling Tale, so I told him it was very short, and the answer was given; so he said he should like to hear it--and I read it to him. He liked it very much, and he liked the picture; and I told him we thought they were Sunflowers, only that the glory leaves were folded in so oddly, and we did not know why. And he said--"Why, because they're asleep, to be sure. Don't you know that flowers sleep as soundly as you do? _They_ don't lie awake in the dark!" And then he shook with laughing, till he shook the red into his face, and the tears into his eyes, as he always does. Dr. Brown must know a great deal about flowers, much more than I thought he did; I told him so, and he said, "Didn't think I looked as like a flower sprite as yourself, eh? 'Pon my word, I don't think I'm unlike one of your favourites. Tall, ye know, big beaming face, eh? There are people more unlike a Sunflower than Dr. Brown! Ha! ha! ha!" He laughed, he always does; but he told me quite delightful things about flowers: how they sleep, and breathe, and eat, and drink, and catch cold in draughts, and turn faint in the sun, and sometimes are all the better for a change ("like Miss Margery," so he said), and sometimes are home-sick and won't settle ("which I've a notion might be one of your follies, Miss Grace"), and turn pale and sickly in dark corners or stuffy rooms. But he never knew one that went home at night. Except for being too big for our chairs and tables, and for going voyages of discovery, I do think Dr. Brown would make a very nice person to play with; he seems to believe in fancy things, and he knows so much, and is so good-natured. He asked me what flower I thought Jael was like; and when I told him Margery could imitate her exactly, he said he must see that some day. I dared not tell him Margery can do him too, making his speeches in the shovel hat we found in an old old hat-box near Bass's Straits, and a pair of old black gloves of Grandmamma's. When he went away he patted my head, and said Margery and I must come to tea with him some day, and he would show us wonderful things in his microscope, and if we were very good, a plant that eats meat. "But most flowers thrive by 'eating the air,' as the Irish say, and you're one of 'em, Miss Grace. Do ye hear? You're not to bury yourself in this attic in the holidays. Run out in the garden, and play with your friends the Sunflowers, and remember what I've told you about their going to sleep and setting you a good example. It's as true as Gospel, and there's many a rough old gardener besides Dr. Brown will tell you that flowers gathered in the morning last longer than those gathered in the evening, because those are fresh after a night's nap, and these are tired and want to rest, and not to be taken into parlours, and kept awake with candles. Good-bye, little Michaelmas Goose!" And away he went, clomping down-stairs, but not a bit like Jael. When bed-time came I was a good deal tired; but after I got into bed I kept my candle alight for a time, hoping Jael would bring the Rushlight and put it on the floor near Margery's bed, as I had asked her to do. But after a while I had to put out my candle, for Grandmamma is rather particular about it, and then I was so sleepy I fell asleep. I was awakened by a noise and a sort of flashing, and I thought it was thunder and lightning, but it was only Jael; she had come stumping in, and was flashing the Rushlight about before my eyes to see if I was asleep, and when she saw I was, she wanted to take it away again, but I begged and prayed, and then I said Grandmamma had promised, and she always keeps her promises, and I should go and ask her. So at last Jael set it down by Margery's bed, and went away more ogre-footed than ever, grumbling and growling about the waste of candle-grease. But I had got the Rushlight, so I didn't mind; I only hugged my knees, and laughed, and lay down again. And when I heard Jael go stumping up-stairs, I knew that she had waited till her own bed-time to bring the Rushlight, and that was why it was late. And I thought to-morrow I would tell Grandmamma, for she promised, and she always performs. She does not spoil us, we know, but she is always fair. Jael isn't, always. A Rushlight is a very queer thing. It looked so grim as it stood by Margery's bed, in a little round of light; rather like a ruined castle in the middle of a lake in the moonshine. A castle with one big door, and a lot of round windows with the light coming through. They made big spots and patches of light all about the room. I could not shut my eyes for watching them, for they were not all the same shape, and they kept changing and moving; at last they got so faint, I was afraid the Rushlight was going out, so I jumped up and went to see, and I found there was a very big thief in the candle, so I got the snuffers out of my candlestick, and snuffed it, and got into bed again; and now there were beautiful big moons of light all over Margery's bed-valance. Thinking of the thief in the Rushlight made me think of a thief in a castle, and then of thieves getting into our house, and that if one got in at my window I could do nothing except scream for help, because Grandmamma keeps the Watchman's Rattle under her own pillow, and locks her bedroom door. And then I looked at my window, and saw a bit of light, and it made me quite cold, for I thought it was a burglar's lantern, till I saw it was the moon. Then I knew how silly I was, and I determined that I would not be such a coward. I determined I would not think of burglars, nor ghosts, nor even Margery. Margery and I are quite sure that we can think of things, and prevent ourselves thinking of things, by trying very hard. But it is rather difficult. I tried, and I did. I thought I would think of flowers, and of Dr. Brown, for he is very cheerful to think of. So I thought of Sunflowers, and how they eat the air, and go to sleep at night, and perhaps look like the three women in the Fairy Tale. And I thought I would always pick flowers in the morning now, and never at night, when they want to go to sleep and not to be woke up in a parlour with candles. And then I wondered: Would they wake with candles if they had begun to go to sleep? Would they wake with a jump, as I did, if Jael flashed the Rushlight in their faces? Would the moon wake them? Were they awake then, that very minute, like me, or asleep, as I was before Jael came in? Did they look like the picture in the Fairy Book, with their glory leaves folded over their faces? If I took a candle now, and held it before St. George of England, looking like that, would he wake with a start, and spread his glory leaves out all round, and stare at me, broad-wide awake? Then I thought how often I had gone out early, and wet my petticoats, to see if any of them had no dew on their faces, and that I had never gone out at night to see if they looked like the women in the Fairy Tale; and I wondered why I never had, and I supposed it was because I was silly, and perhaps afraid of going out in the dark. Then I remembered that it wasn't dark. There was a moon: besides my having a Rushlight. Then I wondered if I was very very silly, and why Dr. Brown had called me a Michaelmas Goose. But I remembered that it must be because to-morrow, was the 29th of September. Then the stairs clock struck eleven. I counted all the strokes, and then I saw that the Rushlight was getting dim again, so I got up and snuffed it, and all the moons came out as bright as ever; but I did not feel in the least sleepy. I did not feel frightened any more. I only wished I knew for certain what Sunflowers look like when they are asleep, and whether you can wake them up with candles. And I went on wondering, and watching the moons. Then the stairs clock struck a quarter-past eleven, and I thought--"Oh, Grace! If you were not such a coward, if you had jumped up when the clock struck eleven, and slipped down the back-stairs, with the Rushlight in your hands, and unlocked the side-door, you might have run down the grass walk without hurting your feet, and flashed it in the faces of the Sunflowers, and had a good look, and got back to bed again before the clock struck a quarter-past; and then it would have been done, and couldn't be undone, and you would have known whether they look like the picture, and if they wake up with candles, and you never could have unknown. But now, you'll go on putting off, and being frightened about it, and perhaps to-morrow Jael will tell Grandmamma you were asleep, and she won't let you have a Rushlight any more, not even when you are a grown-up young lady; and even when you get married and go away, you may marry a man who won't let you have one; and so you may never never know what you want to know, all because you're a Michaelmas Goose." Then the Rushlight began to get dim again, so I got up and snuffed it, and it shone out bright, and I thought, "If it was Margery she would do it straight off. I won't be a Michaelmas Goose; I'll go while I'm up, and be back before the stairs clock strikes again, and then it will be done and can't be undone, and I shall know, and can't unknow." So I took up the Rushlight and went as fast as I could. I met a black beetle on the back-stairs, which was horrid, but I went on. The side-door key is very rusty and very stiff; I had to put down the Rushlight and use both my hands, and just then the clock struck the half-hour, which was rather a good thing, for it drowned the noise of the lock. It did not take me two minutes to run down the grass path, and there were the Sunflowers. I did it and it can't be undone, but I don't know what I wanted to know after all, for the moon was shining in their faces, so they may not have been really sound asleep. They are so tall, the Rushlight was too heavy for me to lift right up, so I opened the door and took out the candle, and flashed it in their faces. But they did not take as much notice as I expected. Their glory leaves looked rather narrow and tight, but they were not quite like the flower-women in the picture. Sunflowers are alive, I know; they look so different when they are dead. And I am sure they go to sleep, and wake up with candles, or Dr. Brown would not have said so. But it is rather a quiet kind of being alive and awake, I think. Something like Grandmamma, when she is very stiff on Sunday afternoon, and goes to sleep upright in a chair, and wakes up a little when her book drops. But not alive and awake like Margery's black cat, which must have heard me open the side-door, and followed me without my seeing it. It did frighten me, with jumping out of the bushes, and looking at me with yellow eyes! Then I saw another eye. The eye of a moth, who was on one of the leaves. A most beautiful fellow! His coloured wings were rather tight, like the Sunflower's glory leaves, but he was wide awake--watching the candle. I should have got back to bed quicker if it had not been for Margery's black cat and the night-moths. I wanted to get the cat into the house again, but she would not follow me, and the moths would; and I had such hard work to keep them out of the Rushlight. There was nothing to drown the noise the key made when I locked the side-door again, and when I got to the bottom of the back-stairs, I saw a light at the top, and there was Grandmamma in the most awful night-cap you can imagine, with a candle in one hand, and the watchman's rattle in the other. CHAPTER IV. HEADS OFF!--JAEL AND MASTER JOHN--FAREWELL--A FRIEND IN NEED--A FREE PARDON. The worst of it was, I caught such a very bad cold, I gave more trouble than ever; besides Grandmamma having rheumatism in her back with the draught up the back-stairs, and nothing on but her night things and the watchman's rattle. I knew I deserved to be punished, but I did not think my punishment would have been such a terrible one. I hoped it might have been lessons, or even, perhaps, not having the Rushlight again, but I did not think Grandmamma would think of hurting the Sunflowers. She waited till I was well enough to go out, and I really began to think she was going to be kind enough to forgive me, with a free forgiveness. But that day she called me to her, and spoke very seriously, and said, that to punish me for my misconduct, and to try and cure me of the babyish nonsense I gave way to about things, she had decided to have all the Sunflowers destroyed at once, and not to have any seed sown for new ones, any more. The gardener was to do it next morning, and I was to be there to see. She hoped it would make me remember the occasion, and teach me better sense for the future. I should have begged and prayed, but it is no use begging and praying to Grandmamma; Jael attends more to that. There was no comfort anywhere, except in thinking that Margery would be at home in two days, and that I could pour out all my sorrow to her. As I went crying down the passage I met Jael. "What's the matter now?" said she. "Grandmamma's going to have all the Sunflowers killed," I sobbed. "Oh, I wish I'd never gone to look at them with the Rushlight!" "That's how it is," said Jael sagely, "folks always wishes they'd done different when it's too late. But don't sob your heart out that fashion, Miss Grace. Come into the pantry and I'll give you a bit of cake." "Thank you, dear Jael, you're very kind, but I don't think I _could_ eat cake. Oh, Jael, dear Jael! Do you think she would spare one, just one?" "That she wouldn't, Miss Grace, so you needn't trouble your head about it. When your grandmamma's made up her mind, there's no one ever I saw can move her, unless it be Dr. Brown. Besides, the missus has never much mattered those Sunflowers. They were your mamma's fancy, and she'd as many whims as you have, and put your grandmamma about a good deal. She was always at your papa to be doing this and that to the place, 'Wasting good money,' as your grandmamma said. Your poor papa was a very easy gentleman. He wanted to please his wife, and he wanted to please his mother. Deary me! I remember his coming to me in this very pantry--I don't know if it would be more than three months afore they were both taken--and, standing there, as it might be you, Miss Grace, and saying--'Jael,' he says, 'this window looks out on the yard,' he says; 'do you ever smell anything, Jael? You are here a good deal.' 'Master John,' I says, 'I thank my Maker, my nose never troubles me; but if it did,' I says, 'I hope I know better than to set _my_self up to smell more than my neighbours.'--'To be sure, to be sure,' he says, looking round in a foolish kind of a way at the sink. Then he says, 'Jael, do you ever taste anything in the water? My wife thinks there's something wrong with the well.' 'Master John,' I says, 'with all respect to your good lady, she disturbs her mind a deal too much with books. An ounce of ex-perience, I says, is worth a pound of book learning; and I'll tell you what my father said to them parties that goes round stirring up stinks, when they were for meddling with his farm-yard. "Let wells alone," he says, "and muck-heaps likewise." And my father passed three-score years and ten, Master John, and died where he was born.' Well-a-day! I see your poor Pa now. He stood and looked as puzzled as a bee in a bottle. Then he says--'Well, Jael, my wife says Sunflowers are good against fevers; and there's no harm in sowing some.' Which he did that very afternoon, she standing by him, with her hand on his shoulder; but, bless ye, my dear! they were took long before the seeds was up. Your mother was a pretty woman, I'll say that for her. You'd never have thought it, to look at her, that she was so fond of poking in dirty places." "Jael!" I said, "Mamma was right about the smells in the back-yard. Margery and I hold our noses"--"you'd a deal better hold your tongues," interrupted Jael. "We do, Jael, we do, because I don't like mustard-plasters on my throat, and when the back-yard smells a good deal, my throat is always sore. But oh, Jael! If Sunflowers are good for smells, don't you think we might tell Grandmamma, and she would let us have them for that?" "She'll not, Miss Grace," said Jael, "so don't worry on. They're ragged things at the best, and all they're good for is to fatten fowls; and I shall tell Gardener he may cut their heads off and throw 'em to the poultry, before he roots up the rest." I could not bear to hear her, so I went out to bid the Sunflowers good-bye. I held their dear rough stems, rough with nice little white hairs, and I knew how easily their poor heads would cut off, there is so much pith inside the stems. I kissed all their dear faces one after another. They are very nice to kiss, especially in the sun, for then they smell honey-sweet, like blue Scabious, and lots of flowers that have not much scent, but only smell as if bees would like them. I kissed them once round for myself, and then once for Margery, for I knew how sorry she would be. And it was whilst I was holding St. George of England's face in my two hands, kissing him for Margery, that I saw the Dignotion on my middle finger-nail. A Gift, a Beau, _A Friend_!-- And then it flashed into my mind, all in a moment--"There can be no friend to me and the Sunflowers, except Dr. Brown, for Jael says he is the only person who ever changes Grandmamma's mind." I dawdled that night when I could not make up my mind about going out with the Rushlight, but I did not wait one minute now. I climbed over the garden wall into the road, and ran as hard as I could run up to the top of the hill, where lived a man--I mean where Dr. Brown lived. Now, I know that he is the kindest person that ever could be. I told him everything, and he asked particularly about my throat and the smells. Then he looked graver than I ever saw him, and said, "Listen, little woman; you must look out for spots on your little finger-nails. You're going away for a bit, till I've doctored these smells. Don't turn your eyes into saucers. Margery shall go with you; I wish I could turn ye both into flowers and plant ye out in a field for three months! but you are not to give me any trouble by turning home-sick, do you hear? I shall have trouble enough with Grandmamma, though I am joint guardian with her (your dear mother's doing, that!), and have some voice in the disposal of your fates. Now, if I save the Sunflowers, will you promise me not to cry to come home again till I send for you?" "Shall you be able to change her mind, to let us have Sunflowers sown for next year, too?" "Yes!" "Then I promise." I could have danced for joy. The only thing that made me feel uncomfortable was having to tell Dr. Brown about the spot on my middle finger-nail. He Would ask all about it, and so I let out about Johnson's Dictionary and the Dignotions, and Brown's Vulgar Errors, and I was afraid Margery would say I had been very silly, and let a cat out of a bag. I hope he was not vexed about his vulgar errors. He only laughed till he nearly tumbled off his chair. I never did have a spot on my journey-to-go nail, but we went away all the same; so I suppose Dignotions do not always tell true. When Grandmamma forgave me, and told me she would spare the Sunflowers this time, as Dr. Brown had begged them off, she said--"And Dr. Brown assures me, Grace, that when you are stronger you will have more sense. I am sure I hope he is right." I hope so, too! DANDELION CLOCKS. Every child knows how to tell the time by a dandelion clock. You blow till the seed is all blown away, and you count each of the puffs--an hour to a puff. Every child knows this, and very few children want to know any more on the subject. It was Peter Paul's peculiarity that he always did want to know more about everything; a habit whose first and foremost inconvenience is that one can so seldom get people to answer one's questions. Peter Paul and his two sisters were playing in the pastures. Rich, green, Dutch pastures, unbroken by hedge or wall, which stretched--like an emerald ocean--to the horizon and met the sky. The cows stood ankle-deep in it and chewed the cud, the clouds sailed slowly over it to the sea, and on a dry hillock sat Mother, in her broad sun-hat, with one eye to the cows and one to the linen she was bleaching, thinking of her farm. Peter Paul and his sisters had found another little hillock where, among some tufts of meadow-flowers which the cows had not yet eaten, were dandelion clocks. They divided them quite fairly, and began to tell each other the time of day. Little Anna blew very hard for her size, and as the wind blew too, her clock was finished in a couple of puffs. "One, two. It's only two o'clock," she said, with a sigh. Her elder sister was more careful, but still the wind was against them. "One, two, three. It's three o'clock by me," she said. Peter Paul turned his back to the wind, and held his clock low. "One, two, three, four, five. It's five o'clock by my dandelion--I wonder why the fairy clocks all go differently." "We blow differently," said his sister. "Then they don't really tell the time," said Peter Paul. "Oh yes, they do--the fairy time." And the little girls got more clocks, and turned their backs to the wind in imitation of Peter Paul, and went on blowing. But the boy went up to his mother. "Mother, why do dandelion clocks keep different time? It was only two o'clock by Anna's, and three o'clock by Leena's, and five by mine. It can't really be evening with me and only afternoon with Anna. The days don't go quicker with one person than another, do they?" "Drive Daisy and Buttermilk nearer this way," said his mother; "and if you must ask questions, ask your Uncle Jacob." There was a reason for sending the boy to Uncle Jacob with his difficulties. He had been born after his father's death, and Uncle Jacob had taken up the paternal duties. It was he who had chosen the child's name. He had called him Peter Paul after Peter Paul Rubens, not that he hoped the boy would become a painter, but he wished him to be called after some great man, and--having just returned from Antwerp--the only great man he could think of was Peter Paul. "Give a boy a great name," said Uncle Jacob, "and if there's any stuff in him, there's a chance he'll live up to it." This was a kindly way of putting the proverb about giving a dog a bad name, and Uncle Jacob's strongest quality was kindness--kindness and the cultivation of tulips. He was sitting in the summer-house smoking, and reading over a bulb-list when Peter Paul found him. "Uncle Jacob, why do dandelion clocks tell different time to different people? Sixty seconds make a minute, sixty minutes make an hour, twenty-four hours make a day, three hundred and sixty-five days make a year. That's right, isn't it? Hours are the same length for everybody, aren't they? But if I got to tea-time when it was only two o'clock with Anna, and went on like that, first the days and then the years would go much quicker with me, and I don't know if I should die sooner,--but it couldn't be, could it?" "Certainly not," said Uncle Jacob; and he went on with his list. "Yellow Pottebakker, Yellow Tournesol and Yellow Rose." "Then the fairy clocks tell lies?" said Peter Paul. "That you must ask Godfather Time," replied Uncle Jacob, jocosely. "He is responsible for the clocks and the hour-glasses." "Where does he live?" asked the boy. But Uncle Jacob had spread the list on the summer-house table; he was fairly immersed in it and in a cloud of tobacco smoke, and Peter Paul did not like to disturb him. "Twenty-five Bybloemens, twenty-five Bizards, twenty-five Roses, and a seedling-bed for first bloom this year." * * * * * Some of Uncle Jacob's seedling tulips were still "breeders," whose future was yet unmarked[6] (he did not name them in hope, as he had christened his nephew!) when Peter Paul went to sea. [Footnote 6: The first bloom of seedling tulips is usually without stripes or markings, and it is often years before they break into stripes; till then they are called breeders, and are not named.] He was quite unfitted for a farmer. He was always looking forward to what he should do hereafter, or backward to the time when he believed in fairy clocks. Now a farmer should live in the present, and time himself by a steady-going watch with an enamelled face. Then little things get done at the right time, which is everything in farming. "Peter Paul puzzles too much," said his mother, "and that is your fault, Jacob, for giving him a great name. But while he's thinking, Daisy misses her mash and the hens lay away. He'll never make a farmer. Indeed, for that matter, men never farm like women, and Leena will take to it after me. She knows all my ways." They were a kindly family, with no minds to make this short life bitter for each other by thwarting, as so many well-meaning relatives do; so the boy chose his own trade and went to sea. He saw many places and many people; he saw a great deal of life, and came face to face with death more than once, and under strange shapes. He found answers to a lot of the old questions, and then new ones came in their stead. Each year seemed to hold more than a life-time at home would have held, and yet how quickly the years went by! A great many had gone by when Peter Paul set foot once more upon Dutch soil. "And it only seems like yesterday that I went away!" said he. Mother was dead. That was the one great change. Peter Paul's sisters had inherited the farm. They managed it together, and they had divided their mother's clothes, and also her rings and ear-rings, her gold skull-cap and head-band and pins,--the heirlooms of a Dutch farmeress. "It matters very little how we divide them, dear," Anna had said, "for I shall never marry, and they will all go to your girl." The elder sister was married and had two children. She had grown up very pretty--a fair woman, with liquid misleading eyes. They looked as if they were gazing into the far future, but they did not see an inch beyond the farm. Anna was a very plain copy of her in body, in mind she was the elder sister's echo. They were very fond of each other, and the prettiest thing about them was their faithful love for their mother, whose memory was kept as green as pastures after rain. On Sunday Peter Paul went with them to her grave, and then to service. The ugly little church, the same old clerk, even the look of that part of the seat where Peter Paul had kicked the paint off during sermons--all strengthened the feeling that it could only have been a few days since he was there before. As they walked home he told his sisters about the various religious services he had seen abroad. They were curious to hear about them, under a sort of protest, for they disapproved of every form of worship but their own. "The music in some of the cathedrals is very beautiful," said Peter Paul. "And the choristers in their gowns, singing as they come, always affect me. No doubt only some are devout at heart, and others careless--which is also the case with the congregation--but outward reverence is, at the lowest, an acknowledgment of what we owe, and for my own part it helps me. Those white figures are not angels I know; but they make one think of them, and I try to be worthier of singing GOD'S praises with them." There was a little pause, and Leena's beautiful eyes were full of reflections. Presently she said, "Who washes all the white gowns?" "I really don't know," said Peter Paul. "I fancy they don't bleach anywhere as they do in Holland," she continued. "Indeed, Brother, I doubt if Dutchwomen are what they were. No one bleaches as Mother did. Mother bleached beautifully." "Yes, she bleached beautifully," said Anna. Peter Paul was only to be three weeks at home before he sailed again; but when ten days were over, he began to think the rest of the time would never come to an end. And this was from no want of love for his sisters, or of respect for their friends. One cannot help having an irritable brain, which rides an idea to the moon and home again, without stirrups, whilst some folks are getting the harness of words on to its back. There had been hours in his youth when all the unsolved riddles, the untasted joys, the great possibilities of even a common existence like his, so pressed upon him, that the shortness of the longest life of man seemed the most pitiable thing about it. But when he took tea with Vrow Schmidt and her daughters, and supper-time would not come, Peter Paul thought of the penance of the Wandering Jew, and felt very sorry for him. The sisters would have been glad if Peter Paul would have given up the sea and settled down with them. Leena had a plan of her own for it. She wanted him to marry Vrow Schmidt's niece, who had a farm. "But I am afraid you do not care for young ladies?" said she. Peter Paul got red "Vrow Schmidt's niece is a very nice young lady," said he. He was not thinking of Vrow Schmidt's niece, he was thinking of something else--something for which he would have liked a little sympathy; but he doubted whether Leena could give it to him. Indeed, to cure heartache is Godfather Time's business, and even he is not invariably successful. It was probably a sharp twinge that made Peter Paul say, "Have you never wondered that when one's life is so very short, one can manage to get so much pain into it?" Leena dropped her work and looked up. "You don't say so?" said she. "Dear Brother, is it rheumatism? I'm sure it must be a dreadful risk being out on the masts in the night air, without a roof over your head. But do you wear flannel, Peter Paul? Mother was very much troubled with rheumatism latterly. She thought it was the dews at milking time, and she always wore flannel." "Yes, dear, Mother always wore flannel," said Anna. Peter Paul satisfied them on this head. He wore flannel, red flannel too, which has virtues of its own. Leena was more anxious than ever that he should marry Vrow Schmidt's niece, and be taken good care of. But it was not to be: Peter Paul went back to his ship and into the wide world again. Uncle Jacob would have given him an off-set of his new tulip--a real novelty, and named--if he had had any place to plant it in. "I've a bed of breeders that will be worth looking at next time you come home," said he. Leena walked far over the pastures with Peter Paul. She was very fond of him, and she had a woman's perception that they would miss him more than he could miss them. "I am very sorry you could not settle down with us," she said, and her eyes brimmed over. Peter Paul kissed the tears tenderly from her cheeks. "Perhaps I shall when I am older, and have shaken off a few more of my whims into the sea. I'll come back yet, Leena, and live very near to you and grow tulips, and be as good an old bachelor-uncle to your boy as Uncle Jacob was to me." "And if a foreign wife would suit you better than one of the Schmidts," said Leena, re-arranging his bundle for him, "don't think we sha'n't like her. Any one you love will be welcome to us, Peter Paul--as welcome as you have been." When they got to the hillock where Mother used to sit, Peter Paul took her once more into his arms. "Good-bye, good Sister," he said. "I have been back in my childhood again, and GOD knows that is both pleasant and good for one." "And it is funny that you should say so," said Leena, smiling through her tears; "for when we were children you were never happy except in thinking of when you should be a man." "And there sit your children, just where we used to play," said Peter Paul. "They are blowing dandelion clocks," said Leena, and she called them. "Come and bid Uncle Peter good-bye." He kissed them both. "Well, what o'clock is it?" said he. The boy gave one mighty puff and dispersed his fairy clock at a breath. "One o'clock," he cried stoutly. "One, two, three, four o'clock," said the girl. And they went back to their play. And Leena stood by them, with Mother's old sun-hat on her young head, and watched Peter Paul's figure over the flat pastures till it was an indistinguishable speck. He turned back a dozen times to wave his hands to her, and to the children telling the fairy time. But he did not ask now why dandelion clocks go differently with different people. Godfather Time had told him. He teaches us many things. THE TRINITY FLOWER. A LEGEND. "Break forth, my lips, in praise, and own The wiser love severely kind: Since, richer for its chastening grown, I see, whereas I once was blind." _The Clear Vision_, J.G. WHITTIER. In days of yore there was once a certain hermit, who dwelt in a cell, which he had fashioned for himself from a natural cave in the side of a hill. Now this hermit had a great love for flowers, and was moreover learned in the virtues of herbs, and in that great mystery of healing which lies hidden among the green things of GOD. And so it came to pass that the country people from all parts came to him for the simples which grew in the little garden which he had made before his cell. And as his fame spread, and more people came to him, he added more and more to the plat which he had reclaimed from the waste land around. But after many years there came a Spring when the colours of the flowers seemed paler to the hermit than they used to be; and as Summer drew on, their shapes became indistinct, and he mistook one plant for another; and when Autumn came, he told them by their various scents, and by their form, rather than by sight; and when the flowers were gone, and Winter had come, the hermit was quite blind. Now in the hamlet below there lived a boy who had become known to the hermit on this manner. On the edge of the hermit's garden there grew two crab trees, from the fruit of which he made every year a certain confection, which was very grateful to the sick. One year many of these crab-apples were stolen, and the sick folk of the hamlet had very little conserve. So the following year, as the fruit was ripening, the hermit spoke every day to those who came to his cell, saying-- "I pray you, good people, to make it known that he who robs these crab trees, robs not me alone, which is dishonest, but the sick, which is inhuman." And yet once more the crab-apples were taken. The following evening, as the hermit sat on the side of the hill, he overheard two boys disputing about the theft. "It must either have been a very big man, or a small boy, to do it," said one. "So I say, and I have my reason." "And what is thy reason, Master Wiseacre?" asked the other. "The fruit is too high to be plucked except by a very big man," said the first boy. "And the branches are not strong enough for any but a child to climb." "Canst thou think of no other way to rob an apple tree but by standing a-tip-toe, or climbing up to the apples, when they should come down to thee?" said the second boy. "Truly thy head will never save thy heels; but here's a riddle for thee: Riddle me riddle me re, Four big brothers are we; We gather the fruit, but climb never a tree. Who are they?" "Four tall robbers, I suppose," said the other. "Tush!" cried his comrade. "They are the four winds; and when they whistle, down falls the ripest. But others can shake besides the winds, as I will show thee if thou hast any doubts in the matter." And as he spoke he sprang to catch the other boy, who ran from him; and they chased each other down the hill, and the hermit heard no more. But as he turned to go home he said, "The thief was not far away when thou stoodst near. Nevertheless, I will have patience. It needs not that I should go to seek thee, for what saith the Scripture? _Thy sin_ will find thee out." And he made conserve of such apples as were left, and said nothing. Now after a certain time a plague broke out in the hamlet; and it was so sore, and there were so few to nurse the many who were sick, that, though it was not the wont of the hermit ever to leave his place, yet in their need he came down and ministered to the people in the village. And one day, as he passed a certain house, he heard moans from within, and entering, he saw lying upon a bed a boy who tossed and moaned in fever, and cried out most miserably that his throat was parched and burning. And when the hermit looked upon his face, behold it was the boy who had given the riddle of the four winds upon the side of the hill. Then the hermit fed him with some of the confection which he had with him, and it was so grateful to the boy's parched palate, that he thanked and blessed the hermit aloud, and prayed him to leave a morsel of it behind, to soothe his torments in the night. Then said the hermit, "My Son, I would that I had more of this confection, for the sake of others as well as for thee. But indeed I have only two trees which bear the fruit whereof this is made; and in two successive years have the apples been stolen by some thief, thereby robbing not only me, which is dishonest, but the poor, which is inhuman." Then the boy's theft came back to his mind, and he burst into tears, and cried, "My Father, I took the crab-apples!" And after a while he recovered his health; the plague also abated in the hamlet, and the hermit went back to his cell. But the boy would thenceforth never leave him, always wishing to show his penitence and gratitude. And though the hermit sent him away, he ever returned, saying-- "Of what avail is it to drive me from thee, since I am resolved to serve thee, even as Samuel served Eli, and Timothy ministered unto St. Paul?" But the hermit said, "My rule is to live alone, and without companions; wherefore begone." And when the boy still came, he drove him from the garden. Then the boy wandered far and wide, over moor and bog, and gathered rare plants and herbs, and laid them down near the hermit's cell. And when the hermit was inside, the boy came into the garden, and gathered the stones and swept the paths, and tied up such plants as were drooping, and did all neatly and well, for he was a quick and skilful lad. And when the hermit said, "Thou hast done well, and I thank thee; but now begone," he only answered, "What avails it, when I am resolved to serve thee?" So at last there came a day when the hermit said, "It may be that it is ordained; wherefore abide, my Son." And the boy answered, "Even so, for I am resolved to serve thee." Thus he remained. And thenceforward the hermit's garden throve as it had never thriven before. For, though he had skill, the hermit was old and feeble; but the boy was young and active, and he worked hard, and it was to him a labour of love. And being a clever boy, he quickly knew the names and properties of the plants as well as the hermit himself. And when he was not working, he would go far afield to seek for new herbs. And he always returned to the village at night. Now when the hermit's sight began to fail, the boy put him right if he mistook one plant for another; and when the hermit became quite blind, he relied completely upon the boy to gather for him the herbs that he wanted. And when anything new was planted, the boy led the old man to the spot, that he might know that it was so many paces in such a direction from the cell, and might feel the shape and texture of the leaves, and learn its scent. And through the skill and knowledge of the boy, the hermit was in no wise hindered from preparing his accustomed remedies, for he knew the names and virtues of the herbs, and where every plant grew. And when the sun shone, the boy would guide his master's steps into the garden, and would lead him up to certain flowers; but to those which had a perfume of their own the old man could go without help, being guided by the scent. And as he fingered their leaves and breathed their fragrance, he would say, "Blessed be GOD for every herb of the field, but thrice blessed for those that smell." And at the end of the garden was set a bush of rosemary. "For," said the hermit, "to this we must all come." Because rosemary is the herb they scatter over the dead. And he knew where almost everything grew, and what he did not know the boy told him. Yet for all this, and though he had embraced poverty and solitude with joy, in the service of GOD and man, yet so bitter was blindness to him, that he bewailed the loss of his sight, with a grief that never lessened. "For," said he, "if it had pleased our Lord to send me any other affliction, such as a continual pain or a consuming sickness, I would have borne it gladly, seeing it would have left me free to see these herbs, which I use for the benefit of the poor. But now the sick suffer through my blindness, and to this boy also I am a continual burden." And when the boy called him at the hours of prayer, paying, "My Father, it is now time for the Nones office, for the marigold is closing," or, "The Vespers bell will soon sound from the valley, for the bindweed bells are folded," and the hermit recited the appointed prayers, he always added, "I beseech Thee take away my blindness, as Thou didst heal Thy servant the son of Timæus." And as the boy and he sorted herbs, he cried, "Is there no balm in Gilead?" And the boy answered, "The balm of Gilead grows six full paces from the gate, my Father." But the hermit said, "I spoke in a figure, my Son. I meant not that herb. But, alas! Is there no remedy to heal the physician? No cure for the curer?" And the boy's heart grew heavier day by day, because of the hermit's grief. For he loved him. Now one morning as the boy came up from the village, the hermit met him, groping painfully with his hands, but with joy in his countenance, and he said, "Is that thy step, my Son? Come in, for I have somewhat to tell thee." And he said, "A vision has been vouchsafed to me, even a dream. Moreover, I believe that there shall be a cure for my blindness." Then the boy was glad, and begged of the hermit to relate his dream, which he did as follows:-- "I dreamed, and behold I stood in the garden--thou also with me--and many people were gathered at the gate, to whom, with thy help, I gave herbs of healing in such fashion as I have been able since this blindness came upon me. And when they were gone, I smote upon my forehead, and said, 'Where is the herb that shall heal my affliction?' And a voice beside me said, 'Here, my Son.' And I cried to thee, 'Who spoke?' And thou saidst, 'It is a man in pilgrim's weeds, and lo, he hath a strange flower in his hand.' Then said the Pilgrim, 'It is a Trinity Flower. Moreover, I suppose that when thou hast it, thou wilt see clearly.' Then I thought that thou didst take the flower from the Pilgrim and put it in my hand. And lo, my eyes were opened, and I saw clearly. And I knew the Pilgrim's face, though where I have seen him I cannot yet recall. But I believed him to be Raphael the Archangel--he who led Tobias, and gave sight to his father. And even as it came to me to know him, he vanished; and I saw him no more." "And what was the Trinity Flower like, my Father?" asked the boy. "It was about the size of Herb Paris, my Son," replied the hermit, "But instead of being fourfold every way, it numbered the mystic Three. Every part was threefold. The leaves were three, the petals three, the sepals three. The flower was snow-white, but on each of the three parts it was stained with crimson stripes, like white garments dyed in blood."[7] [Footnote 7: _Trillium erythrocarpum_. North America.] Then the boy started up, saying, "If there be such a plant on the earth I will find it for thee." But the hermit laid his hand on him, and said, "Nay, my Son, leave me not, for I have need of thee. And the flower will come yet, and then I shall see." And all day long the old man murmured to himself, "Then I shall see." "And didst thou see me, and the garden, in thy dream, my Father?" asked the boy. "Ay, that I did, my Son. And I meant to say to thee that it much pleaseth me that thou art grown so well, and of such a strangely fair countenance. Also the garden is such as I have never before beheld it, which must needs be due to thy care. But wherefore didst thou not tell me of those fair palms that have grown where the thorn hedge was wont to be? I was but just stretching out my hand for some, when I awoke." "There are no palms there, my Father," said the boy. "Now, indeed it is thy youth that makes thee so little observant," said the hermit. "However, I pardon thee, if it were only for that good thought which moved thee to plant a yew beyond the rosemary bush; seeing that the yew is the emblem of eternal life, which lies beyond the grave." But the boy said, "There is no yew there, my Father." "Have I not seen it, even in a vision?" cried the hermit. "Thou wilt say next that all the borders are not set with hearts-ease, which indeed must be through thy industry; and whence they come I know not, but they are most rare and beautiful, and my eyes long sore to see them again." "Alas, my Father!" cried the boy, "the borders are set with rue, and there are but a few clumps of hearts-ease here and there." "Could I forget what I saw in an hour?" asked the old man angrily. "And did not the holy Raphael himself point to them, saying, 'Blessed are the eyes that behold this garden, where the borders are set with hearts-ease, and the hedges crowned with palm!' But thou wouldst know better than an archangel, forsooth." Then the boy wept; and when the hermit heard him weeping, he put his arm round him and said, "Weep, not, my dear Son. And I pray thee, pardon me that I spoke harshly to thee. For indeed I am ill-tempered by reason of my infirmities; and as for thee, GOD will reward thee for thy goodness to me, as I never can. Moreover, I believe it is thy modesty, which is as great as thy goodness, that hath hindered thee from telling me of all that thou hast done for my garden, even to those fair and sweet everlasting flowers, the like of which I never saw before, which thou hast set in the east border, and where even now I hear the bees humming in the sun." Then the boy looked sadly out into the garden, and answered, "I cannot lie to thee. There are no everlasting flowers. It is the flowers of the thyme in which the bees are rioting. And in the hedge bottom there creepeth the bitter-sweet." But the hermit heard him not. He had groped his way out into the sunshine, and wandered up and down the walks, murmuring to himself, "Then I shall see." Now when the Summer was past, one Autumn morning there came to the garden gate a man in pilgrim's weeds; and when he saw the boy he beckoned to him, and giving him a small tuber root, he said, "Give this to thy master. It is the root of the Trinity Flower." And he passed on down towards the valley. Then the boy ran hastily to the hermit; and when he had told him, and given him the root, he said, "The face of the pilgrim is known to me also, O my Father! For I remember when I lay sick of the plague, that ever it seemed to me as if a shadowy figure passed in and out, and went up and down the streets, and his face was as the face of this pilgrim. But--I cannot deceive thee--methought it was the Angel of Death." Then the hermit mused; and after a little space he answered, "It was then also that I saw him. I remember now. Nevertheless, let us plant the root, and abide what GOD shall send." And thus they did. And as the Autumn and Winter went by, the hermit became very feeble, but the boy constantly cheered him, saying, "Patience, my Father. Thou shalt see yet!" But the hermit replied, "My Son, I repent me that I have not been patient under affliction. Moreover, I have set thee an ill example, in that I have murmured at that which GOD--Who knoweth best--ordained for me." And when the boy ofttimes repeated, "Thou shalt yet see," the hermit answered, "If GOD will. When GOD will. As GOD will." And when he said the prayers for the Hours, he no longer added what he had added beforetime, but evermore repeated, "If THOU wilt. When THOU wilt. As THOU wilt!" And so the Winter passed; and when the snow lay on the ground the boy and the hermit talked of the garden; and the boy no longer contradicted the old man, though he spoke continually of the hearts-ease, and the everlasting flowers, and the palm. For he said, "When Spring comes I may be able to get these plants, and fit the garden to his vision." And at length the Spring came. And with it rose the Trinity Flower. And when the leaves unfolded, they were three, as the hermit had said. Then the boy was wild with joy and with impatience. And when the sun shone for two days together, he would kneel by the flower, and say, "I pray thee, Lord, send showers, that it may wax apace." And when it rained, he said, "I pray Thee, send sunshine, that it may blossom speedily." For he knew not what to ask. And he danced about the hermit, and cried, "Soon shalt thou see." But the hermit trembled, and said, "Not as I will, but as THOU wilt!" And so the bud formed. And at length one evening, before he went down to the hamlet, the boy came to the hermit and said, "The bud is almost breaking, my Father. To-morrow thou shalt see." Then the hermit moved his hands till he laid them on the boy's head, and he said, "The Lord repay thee sevenfold for all thou hast done for me, dear child. And now I pray thee, my Son, give me thy pardon for all in which I have sinned against thee by word or deed, for indeed my thoughts of thee have ever been tender." And when the boy wept, the hermit still pressed him, till he said that he forgave him. And as they unwillingly parted, the hermit said, "I pray thee, dear Son, to remember that, though late, I conformed myself to the will of GOD." Saying which, the hermit went into his cell, and the boy returned to the village. But so great was his anxiety, that he could not rest; and he returned to the garden ere it was light, and sat by the flower till the dawn. And with the first dim light he saw that the Trinity Flower was in bloom. And as the hermit had said, it was white, and stained with crimson as with blood. Then the boy shed tears of joy, and he plucked the flower and ran into the hermit's cell, where the hermit lay very still upon his couch. And the boy said, "I will not disturb him. When he wakes he will find the flower." And he went out and sat down outside the cell and waited. And being weary as he waited, he fell asleep. Now before sunrise, whilst it was yet early, he was awakened by the voice of the hermit crying, "My Son, my dear Son!" and he jumped up, saying, "My Father!" But as he spoke the hermit passed him. And as he passed he turned, and the boy saw that his eyes were open. And the hermit fixed them long and tenderly on him. Then the boy cried, "Ah, tell me, my Father, dost thou see?" And he answered, "_I see now!_" and so passed on down the walk. And as he went through the garden, in the still dawn, the boy trembled, for the hermit's footsteps gave no sound. And he passed beyond the rosemary bush, and came not again. And when the day wore on, and the hermit did not return, the boy went into his cell. Without, the sunshine dried the dew from paths on which the hermit's feet had left no prints, and cherished the Spring flowers bursting into bloom. But within, the hermit's dead body lay stretched upon his pallet, and the Trinity Flower was in his hand. LADDERS TO HEAVEN. A LEGEND.[8] There was a certain valley in which the grass was very green, for it was watered by a stream which never failed; and once upon a time certain pious men withdrew from the wide world and from their separate homes, and made a home in common, and a little world for themselves, in the valley where the grass was green. [Footnote 8: "Ladders to Heaven" was an old name for Lilies of the Valley.] The world outside, in those days, was very rough and full of wars; but the little world in the Green Valley was quiet and full of peace. And most of these men who had taken each other for brothers, and had made one home there, were happy, and being good deserved to be so. And some of them were good with the ignorant innocence of children, and there were others who had washed their robes and made them white in the Blood of the Lamb. Brother Benedict was so named, because where he came blessings followed. This was said of him, from a child, when the babies stopped crying if he ran up to them, and when on the darkest days old women could see sunbeams playing in his hair. He had always been fond of flowers, and as there were not many things in the Brotherhood of the Green Valley on which a man could full-spend his energies, when prayers were said, and duties done, Brother Benedict spent the balance of his upon the garden. And he grew herbs for healing, and plants that were good for food, and flowers that were only pleasant to the eyes; and where he sowed he reaped, and what he planted prospered, as if blessings followed him. In time the fame of his flowers spread beyond the valley, and people from the world outside sent to beg plants and seeds of him, and sent him others in return. And he kept a roll of the plants that he possessed, and the list grew longer with every Autumn and every Spring; so that the garden of the monastery became filled with rare and curious things, in which Brother Benedict took great pride. The day came when he thought that he took too much pride. For he said, "The cares of the garden are, after all, cares of this world, and I have set my affections upon things of the earth." And at last, it so troubled him that he obtained leave to make a pilgrimage to the cell of an old hermit, whose wisdom was much esteemed, and to him he told his fears. But when Brother Benedict had ended his tale, the old man said, "Go in peace. What a man labours for he must love, if he be made in the image of his Maker; for He rejoices in the works of His hands." So Brother Benedict returned, and his conscience was at ease till the Autumn, when a certain abbot, who spent much care and pains upon his garden, was on a journey, and rested at the Monastery of the Green Valley. And it appeared that he had more things in his garden than Brother Benedict, for the abbey was very rich, and he had collected far and near. And Brother Benedict was jealous for the garden of the monastery, and then he was wroth with himself for his jealousy; and when the abbot had gone he obtained leave, and made a pilgrimage to the cell of the hermit and told him all. And the old man, looking at him, loved him, and he said: "My son, a man may bind his soul with fine-drawn strands till it is either entangled in a web or breaks all bonds. Gird thyself with one strong line, and let little things go by." And Benedict said, "With which line?" And the hermit answered, "What said Augustine? 'Love, and do what thou wilt.' If therefore thy labours and thy pride be for others, and not for thyself, have no fear. He who lives for GOD and for his neighbours may forget his own soul in safety, and shall find it hereafter; for, for such a spirit--of the toils and pains and pleasures of this life--grace shall, alike build Ladders unto Heaven." Then Benedict bowed his head, and departed; and when he reached home he found a messenger who had ridden for many days, and who brought him a bundle of roots, and a written message, which ran thus: "These roots, though common with us, are unknown where thou dwellest. It is a lily, as white and as fragrant as the Lily of the Annunciation, but much smaller. Beautiful as it is, it is hardy, and if planted in a damp spot and left strictly undisturbed it will spread and flourish like a weed. It hath a rare and delicate perfume, and having white bells on many footstalks up the stem, one above the other, as the angels stood in Jacob's dream, the common children call it Ladders to Heaven." And when Brother Benedict read the first part of the letter he laughed hastily, and said, "The abbot hath no such lily." But when he had finished it, he said, "GOD rid my soul of self-seeking! The common children shall have them, and not I." And, seizing the plants and a spade, he ran out beyond the bounds of the monastery, and down into a little copse where the earth was kept damp by the waters of the stream which never failed. And there he planted the roots, and as he turned to go away he said, "The blessing of our Maker rest on thee! And give joy of thy loveliness, and pleasure of thy perfume, to others when I am gone. And let him who enjoys remember the soul of him who planted thee." And he covered his face with his hands, and went back to the monastery. And he did not enter the new plant upon his roll, for he had no such lily in his garden. * * * * * Brother Benedict's soul had long departed, when in times of turbulence and change the monastery was destroyed, and between fire and plunder and reckless destruction everything perished, and even the garden was laid waste. But no one touched the Lilies of the Valley in the copse below, for they were so common that they were looked upon as weeds. And though nothing remained of the brotherhood but old tales, these lingered, and were handed on; and when the children played with the lilies and bickered over them, crying, "My ladder has twelve white angels and yours has only eight," they would often call them Brother Benedict's flowers, adding, "but the real right name of them is Ladders to Heaven." And after a time a new race came into the Green Valley and filled it; and the stream which never failed turned many wheels, and trades were brisk, and they were what are called black trades. And men made money soon, and spent it soon, and died soon; and in the time between each lived for himself, and had little reverence for those who were gone, and less concern for those who should come after. And at first they were too busy to care for what is only beautiful, but after a time they built smart houses, and made gardens, and went down into the copse and tore up clumps of Brother Benedict's flowers, and planted them in exposed rockeries, and in pots in dry hot parlours, where they died, and then the good folk went back for more; and no one reckoned if he was taking more than his fair share, or studied the culture of what he took away, or took the pains to cover the roots of those he left behind, and in three years there was not left a Ladder to Heaven in all the Green Valley. * * * * * The Green Valley had long been called the Black Valley, when those who laboured and grew rich in it awoke--as man must sooner or later awake--to the needs of the spirit above the flesh. They were a race famed for music, and they became more so. The love of beauty also grew, and was cultivated, and in time there were finer flowers blossoming in that smoky air than under many brighter skies. And with the earnings of their grimy trades they built a fine church, and adorned it more richly than the old church of the monastery that had been destroyed. The parson who served this church and this people was as well-beloved by them as Brother Benedict had been in his day, and it was in striving to link their minds with sympathies of the past as well as hopes of the future, that one day he told them the legend of the Ladders to Heaven. A few days afterwards he was wandering near the stream, when he saw two or three lads with grimy faces busily at work in the wood through which the stream ran. At first, when he came suddenly on them, they looked shyly at one another, and at last one stood up and spoke. "It's a few lily roots, sir, we got in the market, and we're planting them; and two or three of us have set ourselves to watch that they are not shifted till they've settled. Maybe we shall none of us see them fair wild here again, any more than Brother Benedict did. For black trades are short-lived trades, and there's none of us will be as old as he. But maybe we can take a pride too in thinking that they'll blow for other folk and other folk's children when we are gone." * * * * * Once more the fastidious[9] flowers spread, and became common in the valley, and were guarded with jealous care; and the memory of Brother Benedict lingered by the stream, and was doubly blessed. [Footnote 9: It is well known that Lilies of the Valley are flowers which resent disturbance, though they are perfectly hardy and vigorous if left in peace.] For if he is blessed whose love and wisdom add to the world's worth, and make life richer in pleasant things, thrice blessed is he whose unselfish example shall be culture to the ignorant or the thoughtless, and set Ladders to Heaven for the feet of those who follow him! THE END. * * * * * _The present Series of Mrs. Ewing's Works is the only authorized, complete, and uniform Edition published_. _It will consist of 18 volumes, Small Crown 8vo, at 2s. 6d. per vol., issued, as far as possible, in chronological order, and these will appear at the rate of two volumes every two months, so that the Series will be completed within 18 months. The device of the cover was specially designed by a Friend of Mrs. Ewing_. _The following is a list of the books included in the Series_-- 1. MELCHIOR'S DREAM, AND OTHER TALES. 2. MRS. OVERTHEWAY'S REMEMBRANCES. 3. OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY TALES. 4. A FLAT IRON FOR A FARTHING. 5. THE BROWNIES, AND OTHER TALES. 6. SIX TO SIXTEEN. 7. LOB LIE-BY-THE-FIRE, AND OTHER TALES. 8. JAN OF THE WINDMILL. 9. VERSES FOR CHILDREN, AND SONGS. 10. THE PEACE EGG--A CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY--HINTS FOR PRIVATE THEATRICALS, &c. 11. A GREAT EMERGENCY, AND OTHER TALES. 12. BROTHERS OF PITY, AND OTHER TALES OF BEASTS AND MEN. 13. WE AND THE WORLD, Part I. 14. WE AND THE WORLD, Part II. 15. JACKANAPES--DADDY DARWIN'S DOVECOTE--THE STORY OF A SHORT LIFE. 16. MARY'S MEADOW, AND OTHER TALES OF FIELDS AND FLOWERS. 17. MISCELLANEA, including The Mystery of the Bloody Hand--Wonder Stories--Tales of the Khoja, and other translations. 18. JULIANA HORATIA EWING AND HER BOOKS, with a selection from Mrs. Ewing's Letters. S.P.C.K., NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE, LONDON, W.C. * * * * * 
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11892	----	GARDENING FOR THE MILLION _By_ ALFRED PINK AUTHOR OF "RECIPES FOR THE MILLION." T. FISHER UNWIN PREFACE. It is with the object of stimulating the cultivation of gardens still more beautiful than those generally to be met with that the present volume has been written. It has not been thought necessary to repeat in each case the times when the seeds of the various flowers and plants are to be sown. A careful attention to the remarks made under the headings of "Annuals," "Biennials," "Perennials," and "Seed-Sowing" will supply all the information needed. That the work may prove useful to those at least who supervise their own gardens is the sincere wish of the author. DULWICH. GARDENING FOR THE MILLION A Aaron's Rod.--_See_ "Solidago." Abelia.--Very ornamental evergreen shrubs, bearing tubular, funnel-shaped flowers. They succeed in any ordinary soil if the situation is warm and sheltered, and are readily raised by cuttings. Height, 3 ft. to 4 ft. Abies _(Spruce Firs)_.--Among these ornamental conifers mention may be made of the beautiful Japanese Spruce Ajanensis, which grows freely in most soils and has dual-coloured leaves--dark green on the upper surface and silvery white underneath; this makes a grand single specimen anywhere. The White Spruce (_Abies Alba Glauca_) is a rapid grower, but while it is small makes a lovely show in the border; it prefers a moist situation. Of the slow-growing and dwarf varieties Gregorii is a favourite. The Caerulea, or Blue Spruce, is also very beautiful. Clanbrasiliana is a good lawn shrub, never exceeding 4 ft. in height. The Pigmy Spruce (_A. Pygmea_) is the smallest of all firs, only attaining the height of 1 ft. Any of these may be increased by cuttings. Abronia.--Handsome half-hardy annual trailers. Grow in sandy peat and multiply by root division. Flowers in April. Height, 4 in. to 6 in. Abutilon.--Evergreen greenhouse shrubs of great beauty and easy cultivation. May be raised from seed, or by cuttings of young shoots placed in spring or summer in sand under glass, or with a bottom heat. Cut the old plants back in January, and when new shoots appear re-pot the plants. Height, 5 ft. to 8 ft. Acacia.--Winter and spring flowering greenhouse shrubs with charming flowers and graceful foliage. May be grown from seed, which should be soaked in warm water for twenty-four hours, or they may be propagated by layers, cuttings placed in heat, or suckers. They like a rich sandy loam soil. Height, 2 ft. to 3 ft. Acæna.--These shrubby plants are herbaceous and mostly hardy, of a creeping nature, fast growers, and suitable for dry banks or rough stony places. They flourish best in sandy loam and peat, and may be increased by cuttings placed under glass. The flowers, which are green, are produced in May. The height of the various kinds varies from 3 in. to 2 ft. Acantholimon Glumaceum _(Prickly Thrift)_.--This is a frame evergreen perennial, thriving in any light, rich soil. It can be increased by dividing the roots. In May it puts forth its rose-coloured flowers. Height, 3 in. Acanthus.--A coarse, yet stately hardy perennial, which has large ornamental foliage, and flowers in August. It is not particular as to soil or situation, but free space should be given it. Will grow from seed sown from March to midsummer, or in August or September in a sheltered situation. Will also bear dividing. Height, 3 ft. Acer (_Maple_).--Very vigorous plants, suitable when young for pots, and afterwards for the shrubbery. The A. Negundo Variegata has silvery variegated leaves, which contrast effectively with dark foliage, Campestre Colchicum Rubrum, with its bright crimson palmate leaves, is very ornamental, as is also Negundo Californicum Aurem, with its golden-yellow foliage. The Maple grows best in a sandy loam. It may be increased by cuttings planted in a shaded situation, or by layers, but the choice varieties are best raised from seed sown as soon as it is ripe. Achillea Ptarmica (_Sneezewort_).--A pure white hardy perennial which blooms in August. The dried leaves, powdered, produce sneezing. Any soil. Best increased by rooted off-sets. Flowers from July to September. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Achimenes.--Fine plants, suitable for the greenhouse, sitting-room, or hanging baskets. Plant six tubers in a 5-in. pot, with their growing ends inclining to the centre and the roots to the edge of the pot, and cover them an inch deep with a compost of peat, loam, and leaf-mould, or a light, sandy soil. Keep them well supplied with liquid manure while in a growing state. Height, 6 in. to 2-1/2 ft. Aconite (_Monk's-Hood or Wolf's-Bane_).--Very pretty and very hardy, and succeeds under the shade of trees; but being very poisonous should not be grown where there are children. Increased by division or by seeds. Flowers June to July. Height, 4 ft. (_See also_ "Winter Aconites.") Acorus (_Sweet Flag)._--A hardy bog plant, having an abundance of light-coloured evergreen foliage. It will grow in any wet soil. Height, 2 ft. Acroclinium.--Daisy-like everlastings. Half-hardy annuals suitable for cutting during summer, and for winter bouquets. Sow in pots in February or March, cover lightly with fine soil, plunge the pot in gentle heat, place a square of glass on the top, and gradually harden off. Seed may also be sown in the open during May or in autumn for early flowering. Height, 1 ft. Acrophyllum Verticillatum.--A greenhouse evergreen shrub. It will grow in any soil, and may be increased by cuttings of half-ripened wood. March is its flowering season. Height, 3 ft. Acrotis.--These are mostly hardy herbaceous plants from South Africa. The soil should consist of two parts loam and one part leaf-mould, and the situation should be dry and sunny. Seed may be sown early in March in gentle heat, and the plants grown on in a cold frame till May, when they may be planted out a foot apart. They will flower at midsummer. Winter in a warm greenhouse. Height, 2 ft. Some few are of a creeping nature. Actaea Spicata (_Bane Berry_).--A hardy herbaceous perennial which delights in a shady position, and will even grow under trees. It is increased by division of the roots, or it may readily be raised from seed in ordinary soil. May is its flowering month. Height, 3 ft. Actinella Grandiflora.--A showy herbaceous plant, bearing large orange-coloured flowers in July. It is not particular as to soil, and is increased by dividing the roots. Height, 1 ft. Actinomeris Squarrosa.--This hardy and ornamental herbaceous plant bears heads of bright yellow flowers, resembling small sunflowers, from June to August. It thrives in any loamy soil, and is easily increased by dividing the root. Height, 4 ft. Adam's Needle.--_See_ "Yucca." Adenandra Fragrans.--An evergreen shrub suitable for the greenhouse. It thrives best in a mixture of sandy peat and turfy loam. Cuttings of the young branches stuck in sand will strike. It flowers in June. Height, 3 ft. Adenophora Lilifolia.--Pretty hardy perennials suitable for the border. Produce drooping pale blue flowers on branching spikes in July. Any soil suits them. They may be grown from seed, but will not allow being divided at the root. Height, 1 ft. Adlumia Cirrhosa.--Interesting hardy climbers. Will grow in any soil, and are readily increased by seeds sown in a damp situation. Require the support of stakes. Bloom in August. Height, 15 ft. Adonis Flos.--Showy crimson summer flowers, requiring only the simplest treatment of hardy annuals. Sow in March or April in the open border. Height, 1 ft. Adonis Pyrenaica.--A rare but charming Pyrenean perennial species, with thick ornamental foliage, and producing large golden-yellow flowers from May to July. It needs no special treatment. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Adonis Vernalis.--A favourite hardy perennial, which grows freely from seed in any garden soil. It may also be increased by dividing the roots. Height, 1 ft. Æthionema Cordifolium.--This little Alpine plant is a hardy evergreen that is very suitable for rock-work, as it will grow in any soil. Its rose-hued flowers are produced in June. It may be propagated by seeds or cuttings. Height, 3 in. Agapanthus (_African Lily_).--This is a noble plant, which succeeds well in the open if placed in a rich, deep, moist loam in a sunny situation or in partial shade. In pots it requires a strong loamy soil with plenty of manure. Throughout the summer the pots should stand in pans of water. Re-pot in March. Give it plenty of pot room, say a 9-in. pot for each plant. In winter protect from severe frost, and give but very little water. The flowers are both lovely and showy, being produced during August in great bunches on stems 3 ft. high. The plant is nearly hardy. Several growing together in a large tub produce a fine effect. It is increased by dividing the root while in a dormant state. Ageratum.--Effective half-hardy annual bedding plants, thriving best in a light, rich soil. Seed should be sown in heat in February or March. Cuttings root freely under glass. Height, 1-1/2 ft. There is a dwarf variety suitable for ribbon borders and edgings. Height, 6 in. Agricultural Seeds.--Required per statute acre. Carrot 5 to 6 lb. Cabbage (to transplant) 1" Cabbage (to drill) 2 to 3" Kohl Rabi (to drill) 2 to 3" Lucerne 16 to 20" Mangold Wurtzel 5 to 7" Mustard (Broadcast) 10 to 20" Rape or Cole 4 to 6" Rye Grass, Italian 3 bus. Rye Grass, Perennial 2" Sainfoin 4" Tares, or Vetches 3" Turnip, Swedish 3 lb. Turnip, Common 2 to 3" Trifolium 16 to 20" Agrostemma.--A hardy annual that is very pretty when in flower; suitable for borders. Flourishes in any soil, and is easily raised from seed sown in spring. Blooms in June and July. There are also perennial varieties: these are increased by division of the root. Height, 1 ft. to 3 ft. Agrostis.--A very elegant and graceful species of Bent-Grass. It is a hardy annual, and is largely used for bouquets. Sow the seed in March. Height, 1 ft. to 1-1/2 ft. Ajuga Reptans.--A hardy herbaceous perennial, suitable for the front of borders. It will grow in any soil, and may be propagated by seeds or division. May is its flowering season. Height, 6 in. Akebia Quinata.--This greenhouse evergreen twining plant delights in a soil of loam and peat; flowers in March, and is increased by dividing the roots. Height, 10 ft. Alchemilla Alpina (_Lady's Mantle_).--A useful hardy perennial for rock-work. It will grow in any soil, if not too wet, and may be increased by seed sown in the spring or early autumn, or by dividing the roots. It flowers in June. Height, 1 ft. Allium Descendens.--A hardy, bulbous perennial. Plant in October or November in any garden soil, and the flowers will be borne in July. Height, 1 ft. Allium Neapolitanum.--This is popularly known as the "Star." It bears large heads of pure white flowers, and is suitable for borders, pots, or forcing in a cool house. Any common soil suits it. It is increased by off-sets. Being one of our earliest spring flowers, the bulbs should be planted early in autumn. Height, 1 ft. Allspice.--_See_ "Calycanthus" and "Chimonanthus." Alonsoa.--A pretty and free-blooming half-hardy annual, which produces fine spikes of orange-scarlet flowers in June. It is multiplied by cuttings or seeds. Height, 1 ft. to 1-1/2 ft. Aloysia Citriodora.--This favourite lemon-scented verbena should be grown in rich mould. If grown in the open, it should be trained to a wall facing south, and in winter the roots need protecting with a heap of ashes and the branches to be tied up with matting. It is increased by cuttings planted in sand. August is its flowering season. Height, 3 ft. Alsine Rosani.--This pretty little herbaceous plant, with its cushions of green growth, makes a very fine display on rock-work or in any shady position. Ordinary soil suits; it is of easy culture, and flowers during June and July. Height, 3 in. Alstromeria (_Peruvian Lilies_).--These beautiful summer-flowering hardy perennials produce large heads of lily-like blossoms in great profusion, which are invaluable for cutting for vase decorations as the bloom lasts a long time in water. Plant in autumn 6 in. deep in a well-drained sunny situation, preferably on a south border. Protect in winter with a covering of leaves or litter. They may be grown from seed sown as soon as it is ripe in sandy loam. They bloom in July. Height, 2 ft. to 3 ft. Alternantheras.--Cuttings of this greenhouse herbaceous plant may be struck in autumn, though they are usually taken from the old plants in spring. Insert them singly in 4-1/2-in. pots filled with coarse sand, loam, and leaf-mould. When rooted, place them near the glass, and keep the temperature moist and at 60 degrees or 65 degrees, then they will flower in July. Height, 4 in. to 1 ft. Althea--_See_ "Hibiscus." Alyssum.--Well adapted for rock-work or the front of flower-beds, and is best sown in autumn. The annual, or Sweet Alyssum, bears an abundance of scented white flowers in June, and on to the end of September. The hardy perennial, Saxatile (commonly called Gold Dust), bears yellow flowers in spring. Height, 6 in. Amaranthus.--The foliage of these half-hardy annual plants are extremely beautiful, some being carmine, others green and crimson, some yellow, red, and green. They are very suitable either for bedding or pot plants. Sow the seed early in spring in gentle heat, and plant out in May or June in very rich soil. If put into pots, give plenty of room for the roots and keep well supplied with water. Flower in July and August. Height, 1-1/2 ft. to 6 ft. Amaryllis.--These plants bear large drooping bell-shaped lily-like blossoms. They thrive best in a compost of turfy loam and peat, with a fair quantity of sand. The pots must in all cases be well drained. Most of the stove and greenhouse species should be turned out of their pots in autumn, and laid by in a dry place until spring, when they should be re-potted and kept liberally supplied with water. A. Reticulata and A. Striatifolia bloom best, however, when undisturbed. Discontinue watering when the foliage shows signs of failing, but avoid shrivelling the leaves. The hardy varieties should be planted 6 in. deep in light, well--drained soil, and allowed to remain undisturbed for two or three years, when they will probably require thinning out. They are increased by off-sets from the bulbs. The Belladonna (_Belladonna Lily_) should be planted in June in a sheltered border in rich, well-drained soil. Formosissima (_the Scarlet Jacobean Lily_) is a gem for the greenhouse, and very suitable for forcing, as it will bloom two or three times in a season. It should be potted in February. Lutea (_Sternbergia)_ flowers in autumn. Plant 4 in. deep from October to December. Purpurea (_Vallota Purpurea or Scarborough Lily_) is a very beautiful free bloomer. October and November or March and April are the most favourable times for potting, but established plants should be re-potted in June or July. Ambrosia Mexicana.--A hardy annual of the simplest culture. Sow the seed in spring in any fine garden soil. Height, 1-1/2 ft. American Plants.--These thrive most in a peat or bog soil, but where this cannot be obtained a good fertile loam, with a dressing of fresh cow manure once in two years, may be used; or leaf-mould and soil from the surface of pasture land, in the proportions of three parts of the former to one of the latter. The soil should be chopped up and used in a rough condition. Sickly plants with yellowish foliage may be restored by applying liquid manure once a week during the month of July. A light top-dressing of cow manure applied annually, and keeping the roots free from stagnant water, will preserve the plants in good health. Ammobium.--Pretty hardy perennials which may be very easily raised from seed on a sandy soil. Flower in June. Height, 2 ft. Ampelopsis.--Handsome and rapid climbers, with noble foliage, some changing to a deep crimson in autumn. The Veitchii clings to the wall without nailing, and produces a profusion of lovely leaves which change colour. Any of the varieties may be grown in common garden soil, and may be increased by layers. Anagallis (_Pimpernel_.)--Very pretty. Sow the hardy annuals in the open early in March; the biennials or half-hardy perennials in pots in a greenhouse or a frame, and plant out when strong enough. May also be increased by cuttings planted in ordinary soil under glass. Flower in July. Height, 6 in. Anchusa.--Anchusa Capensis is best raised in a frame and treated as a greenhouse plant, though in reality it is a hardy perennial. The annual and biennial kinds succeed well if sown in the open in rich soil. All are ornamental and open their flowers in June. Height, 1-1/2 ft. (_See also_ "Bugloss.") Andromeda.--An ornamental evergreen shrub, commonly known as the Marsh Cystus, and thriving in a peat soil with partial shade. May be grown from seed sown directly it is ripe and only lightly covered with soil, as the seed rots if too much mould is placed over it. Place the seedlings in a cold frame and let them have plenty of air. It is more generally increased by layers in September, which must not be disturbed for a year. Drought will kill it, so the roots must never be allowed to get dry. It flowers in April and May. Height, 2 ft. Androsace.--Pretty little plants, mostly hardy, but some require the protection of a frame. They grow best in small pots in a mixture of turfy loam and peat. Water them very cautiously. They flower at different seasons, some blooming as early as April, while others do not put forth flower till August. They can be increased by division as well as by seed. Height, 6 in. Anemones.--These are highly ornamental, producing a brilliant display of flowers. The scarlets make very effective beds. They are mostly hardy, and may be grown in any moist, light, rich garden soil, preferably mixed with a good proportion of silver sand. They should occupy a sunny and well-drained situation. For early spring flowering plant from October to December, placing the tubers 2-1/2 or 3 in. deep and 4 or 5 in. apart, with a trowelful of manure under each plant, but not touching them. A little sea sand or salt mixed with the soil is a preventive of mildew. If planted in February and March they will bloom from April to June. They are increased by seeds, divisions, or off-sets; the greenhouse varieties from cuttings in light loam under glass. The tubers will not keep long out of the ground. In growing from seed choose seeds from single-flowering plants; sow in March where they are intended to flower 1 in. deep and 9 in. apart; cover with leaf-mould. Two or three sowings may be made also during the summer. Height, 6 in. to 2 ft. Anemonopsis Macrophylla.--A rather scarce but remarkably handsome perennial, producing lilac-purple flowers with yellow stamens in July and August. It will grow in ordinary soil, and may be increased by division. Height, 2 ft. Angelonia Grandiflora Alba.--An elegant and graceful greenhouse plant, giving forth a delicious aromatic odour. It grows best in a compost of turfy loam and peat, but thrives in any light, rich soil. Take cuttings during summer, place them under glass, but give a little air occasionally. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Annuals.--Plants of this description arrive at maturity, bloom, produce seed, and die in one season. _Hardy_.--The seed should be sown thinly in the open borders during March, April, or May in fine soil, covering slightly with well-prepared mould--very small seeds require merely a dusting over them. When the plants are large enough to handle, thin them out boldly, to allow them to develop their true character. By this means strong and sturdy plants are produced and their flowering properties are enhanced. Many of the hardy annuals may be sown in August and September for spring flowering, and require little or no protection from frost. _Half-Hardy._--These are best sown in boxes 2 or 3 in. deep during February and March, and placed on a slight hotbed, or in a greenhouse at a temperature of about 60 degrees. The box should be nearly filled with equal parts of good garden soil and coarse silver sand, thoroughly mixed, and have holes at the bottom for drainage. Scatter the seeds thinly and evenly over the soil and cover very lightly. Very small seeds, such as lobelia and musk, should not be covered by earth, but a sheet of glass over the box is beneficial, as it keeps the moisture from evaporating too quickly. Should watering become necessary, care must be taken that the seeds are not washed out. As soon as the young plants appear, remove the glass and place them near the light, where gentle ventilation can be given them to prevent long and straggly growth. Harden off gradually, but do not plant out until the weather is favourable. Seed may also be sown in a cold frame in April, or in the open border during May; or the plants may be raised in the windows of the sitting-room. _Tender_.--These must be sown on a hotbed, or in rather stronger heat than is necessary for half-hardy descriptions. As soon as they are large enough to be shifted, prick them off into small pots, gradually potting them on into larger sizes until the flowering size is reached. Anomatheca Cruenta.--This produces an abundance of bright red flowers with a dark blotch and a low growth of grass-like foliage. It is suitable for either vases, edges, or groups. Plant the bulbs in autumn in a mixture of loam and peat, and the plants will flower in July. They require a slight protection from frost. If the seed is set as soon as it is ripe it produces bulbs which will flower the following year. Height, 6 in. Antennaria.--Hardy perennial plants, requiring a rich, light soil. They flower in June and July, and may be increased by cuttings or division. The heights of the various kinds range from 3 in. to 2 ft. Anthemis Tinctoria (_Yellow Marguerites_).--These perennials are almost hardy, needing protection merely in severe weather. They are readily raised from seed sown in gentle heat early in spring or by slips during the summer months. Transplant into light soil. As pot plants they are very effective. June is their flowering period. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Anthericum Liliago (_St. Bernard's Lily_).--One of the finest of hardy plants, and easy to grow. Planted in deep, free, sandy soil, it will grow vigorously, and in early summer throw up spikes of snowy-white, lily-like blossoms from 2 to 3 feet in height. It may be divided every three or four years, but should not be disturbed oftener. Mulching in early springtime is advantageous. Anthericum Liliastrum _(St. Bruno's Lily_).--This hardy perennial is a profuse bloomer, throwing up spikes of starry white flowers from May to July. Treat in the same manner as the foregoing. Height, 2 ft. Anthoxanthum Gracila.--Sweet vernal grass. It is graceful and ornamental, and is used for edgings. Sow in spring, keeping the seed moist until it germinates. Height, 6 in. Anthyllis Montana.--A fine hardy perennial for rock-work. It is of a procumbent habit, and has a woody nature. A vegetable soil is best suited for its growth, and its roots should be in contact with large stones. It may be increased by cuttings taken in spring and planted in the shade in leaf-mould. It flowers at midsummer. Height, 6 in. Antirrhinum (_Snapdragon_).--Handsome hardy perennials; most effective in beds or borders. They stand remarkably well both drought and excessive rainfall, and succeed in any common soil. Seeds sown early in spring produce flowers the same year. For spring bedding, sow in July; keep the young plants in a cold frame, and plant out in March or April. Choice sorts may be plentifully increased by cuttings taken in July or August. Flower from July to September. Height, 1-1/2 ft. to 2 ft. Ants in Gardens.--Contrary to general belief, ants do more good than harm to a garden; but as they are unsightly on flowers, it is advisable to tie a little wool round the stems of standard roses and other things upon which they congregate. They will not crawl over the wool. A little sulphur sprinkled over a plant will keep them from it; while wall-fruit, etc., may be kept free from them by surrounding it with a broad band of chalk. Should they become troublesome on account of their numbers a strong decoction of elder leaves poured into the nest will destroy them; or a more expeditious method of getting rid of them is to put gunpowder in their nests and fire it with a piece of touch-paper tied on to a long stick. Aotus Gracillima.--A charming and graceful evergreen shrub, whose slender branches are covered with small pea-like flowers in May. It is most suitable for the greenhouse, and delights in a soil of loamy peat and sand. Cuttings of half-ripened wood planted under glass will take root. Height, 3 ft. Aphides, or plant-lice, make their presence known by the plant assuming an unhealthy appearance, the leaves curling up, etc. Frequently swarms of ants (which feed upon the aphides) are found beneath the plants attacked. Syringe the plant all over repeatedly with gas-tar water, or with tobacco or lime-water. The lady-bird is their natural enemy. Apios Tuberosa (_Glycine Apios_).--An American climbing plant which produces in the autumn bunches of purple flowers of an agreeable odour. The foliage is light and elegant. The plant is quite hardy. It enjoys a light soil and a good amount of sunshine. It may be increased by separating the tubers after the tops have died down, and planting them while they are fresh. Height, 12 ft. Aponogeton.--_See_ "Aquatics." Apples.--Apples delight in a moist, cool climate. All apples will not succeed on the same soil, some preferring clay, while others grow best in sandy loam or in well-drained peat. For a deep, good soil and a sheltered situation the standard form grafted on the Crab-apple is generally considered to be the most profitable. For shallow soils it is better to graft on to the Paradise stock, as its roots do not run down so low as the Crab. The ground, whether deep or shallow, should receive a good mulching in the autumn; that on the deep soil being dug in at the approach of spring, while that on the shallow soil should be removed in the spring to allow the ground to be lightly forked and sweetened, replacing the manure when the dry, hot weather sets in. The best time to perform the grafting is March, and it should be done on the whip-handle system, particulars of which will be found under "Grafting." Young trees may be planted in the autumn, as soon as the leaves have fallen. Budding is done in August, just in the same manner as roses. In spring head back to the bud; a vigorous shoot will then be produced, which can be trained as desired. Apples need very little pruning, it being merely necessary to remove branches growing in the wrong direction; but this should be done annually, while the branches are young--either at the end of July or in winter. If moss makes its appearance, scrape it off and wash the branches with hot lime. The following sorts may be specially recommended:--For heavy soils, Duchess of Oldenburgh, equally suitable for cooking or dessert; Warner's King, one of the best for mid-season; and King of the Pippins, a handsome and early dessert apple. For light, warm soils, Cox's Orange Pippin or Bess Pool. The Devonshire Quarrenden is a delicious apple, and will grow on any good soil. In orchards standards should stand 40 ft. apart each way, and dwarfs from 10 ft. to 15 ft. Apricots.--Early in November is the most favourable time for planting Apricots. The soil--good, sound loam for preference--should be dug 3 ft. deep, and mixed with one-fourth its quantity of rotten leaves and one-fourth old plaster refuse. Place a substratum of bricks below each tree and tread the earth very firmly round the roots. They will not need any manure until they are fruiting, when a little may be applied in a weak liquid form, but a plentiful supply of water should be given during spring and summer months. The fan shape is undoubtedly the best way of training the branches, as it allows a ready means of tucking small yew branches between them to protect the buds from the cold. They may be grown on their own roots by planting the stone, but a quicker way to obtain fruit is to bud them on to vigorous seedling plum trees. This should be done in August, inserting the bud on the north or north-west side of the stem and as near the ground as possible. To obtain prime fruit, thin the fruit-buds out to a distance of 6 in. one from the other. In the spring any leaf-buds not required for permanent shoots can be pinched back to three or four leaves to form spurs. The Apricot is subject to a sort of paralysis, the branches dying off suddenly. The only remedy for this seems to be to prevent premature vegetation. The following are good sorts: Moor Park, Grosse Peche, Royal St. Ambroise, Kaisha, Powell's Late, and Oullin's Early. In plantations they should stand 20 ft. apart. Aquatics.--All aquatics grow best in wicker-baskets filled with earth. Cover the surface of the earth with hay-bands twisted backwards and forwards and round the plant, and lace it down with tarred string, so as to keep the earth and plant from being washed out. The following make good plants:--White Water Lily (_Nymphaea Alba_) in deep water with muddy bottom; Yellow Water Lily (_Nuphar Lutea_); and Nuphar Advena, having yellow and red flowers; Hottonia Palustris, bearing flesh-coloured flowers, and Alismas, or Water Plantain, with white, and purple and white flowers. Water Forget-me-nots (_Myosotis Palustris_) flourish on the edges of ponds or rivers. The Water Hawthorn (_Aponogetou Distachyon_) does well in a warm, sheltered position, and may be grown in loam, plunged in a pan of water. Calla Ethiopica bears pretty white flowers, so also does the before-mentioned Aponogeton Distachyon. The Flowering Rush (_Butomus Umbellatus_), produces fine heads of pink flowers. The Water Violet merely needs to be laid on the surface of the water; the roots float. For shallow water Menyanthus Trifoliata (Three-leaved Buckbean) and Typha Latifolia (Broad-leaved Cat's Tail) are suitable. Weeping Willows grow readily from cuttings of ripened shoots, planted in moist soil in autumn. Spiraea does well in moist situations, near water. Aquatics are propagated by seed sown under water: many will allow of root-division. Tender Aquatics are removed in winter to warm-water tanks. Aquilegia (_Columbine_).--Very ornamental and easily-grown hardy perennials. Sow seed in March in sandy soil, under glass, and transplant when strong enough. Common garden soil suits them. The roots may be divided in spring or autumn. The flowers are produced from May to July. Height, 2 ft. Arabis Alpina (_Rock Cress, or Snow in Summer_).--Pure white hardy perennial, which is valuable for spring bedding. Not particular to soil, and easily raised from seed sown from March to June, placed under a frame, and transplanted in the autumn, or it may be propagated by slips, but more surely by rootlets taken after the plants have done flowering. Plant 3 in. apart. Height, 6 in. Aralia (_Fatsia Japonica_).--Fine foliage plants, very suitable for a shady situation in a living-room. They may be raised from seed sown in autumn in a gentle heat, in well-drained pots of light sandy soil. Keep the mould moist, and when the plants are large enough to handle, pot them off singly in thumb pots, using rich, light, sandy soil. Do not pot too firmly. Keep them moist, but do not over water, especially in winter, and re-pot as the plants increase in size. Be careful not to let the sun shine on them at any time, as this would cause the leaves to lose their fresh colour. Aralia Sieboldi (_Fig Palm_).--This shrub is an evergreen, and is generally given stove culture, though it proves quite hardy in the open, where its large deep-green leaves acquire a beauty surpassing those grown indoors. Slips of half-ripened wood taken at a joint in July may be struck in heat and for the first year grown on in the greenhouse. The young plants should be hardened off and planted out in May in a sunny situation. It should be grown in well-drained sandy loam. Is increased also by off-sets, and blooms (if at all) in July. Height, 3 ft. Aralia Sinensis. _See_ "Dimorphantus." Araucaria Imbricata (_The Monkey Puzzle, or Chilian Pine_).--This strikingly handsome conifer is very suitable for a forecourt or for a single specimen on grass. Young plants are sometimes grown in the conservatory and in the borders of shrubberies, as well as in the centres of beds. It requires a good stiff sandy loam, which must be well drained, and plenty of room for root action should be allowed. Young plants are obtained from seed sown in good mellow soil. Water sparingly, especially during the winter. Arbor Vitae. _See_ "Thuya." Arbutus (_Strawberry Tree_).--Elegant evergreen shrubs with dark foliage of great beauty during October and November, when they produce an abundance of pearly-white flowers, and the fruit of the previous year is ripe. A. Unedo is particularly charming. They flourish in the open in sandy loam. The dwarfs are increased by layers, the rest by seeds or by budding on each other. Arctostaphylos.--These evergreen shrubs need the same treatment as Arbutos. A. Uva-ursi, or Creeping Arbutos, is a pretty prostrate evergreen, which flowers in May, and is only 3 in. high. Arctotis.--A showy and interesting half-hardy annual. Raise the seed in a frame in March, and transplant in May. It succeeds best in a mixture of loam and peat. It flowers in June. Height, 1 ft. Arctotis Grandis.--A very handsome, half-hardy annual producing large daisy-like flowers on long wiry stems, the upper part being white and the base yellow and lilac, while the reverse of the petals are of a light lilac. The seed should be sown early in spring on a slight hot-bed, and the plants potted off, when sufficiently strong, using a rich, light mould. They may be transferred to the border as soon as all fear of frost is over. Height, 2-1/2 ft. Ardisia Japonica.--An evergreen shrub which delights in a mixture of loam and peat. Cuttings will strike if planted in sand under glass with a little bottom heat. It flowers in July. Height, 6 ft. Arenaria Balearica (_Sand Wort_).--A hardy evergreen trailing plant of easy culture, provided it is favoured with a sandy soil. Its cushions of white flowers are produced in July, and it may be increased by seed or division. Height, 3 in. It is a beautiful plant for moist, shady rock-work. Argemone.--Interesting hardy annuals, succeeding well in any common garden soil. Are increased by suckers or by seed sown in spring. Height, 6 in. to 3 ft. Aristolochia Sipho (_Dutchman's Pipe_).--This hardy, deciduous climber grows best in peat and sandy loam with the addition of a little dung. It may be raised from cuttings placed in sand under glass. Height, 30 ft. Armeria (_Thrift_).--Handsome hardy perennials for rock-work or pots. They require an open, rich, sandy soil. Bloom June to September. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Arnebia.--Ornamental hardy annuals, closely allied to the Anchusa. The seeds are sown in the open in spring, and flowers are produced in July. Height, 2 ft. There is also a dwarf hardy perennial variety (_A. Echioides_) known as the Prophet's Flower, growing about 1 ft. high, and flowering early in summer. It needs no special treatment. Artemisia Annua.--Pretty hardy annuals, the silvery leaves of the plant being very effective on rock-work. Sow the seed in spring where it is to flower. Height, 6 ft. Artemisia Arborea. _See_ "Southernwood." Artemisia Villarsii.--A hardy perennial whose graceful sprays of finely-cut silvery foliage are very useful for mixing with cut flowers. It may be grown from seed on any soil, and the roots bear dividing; flowers from June to August. Height, 2 ft. Artichokes.--The Jerusalem variety will flourish in light sandy soil where few other things will grow. Plant the tubers in March, 6 in. deep and 12 in. apart in rows 3 ft. asunder, and raise and store them in November. The Globe variety is increased by off-sets taken in March. Set them in deeply manured ground in threes, at least 2 ft. apart and 4 ft. from row to row. Keep them well watered, and the ground between them loose. They bear best when two or three years old. Arum Lilies.--In warm districts these beautiful plants may be grown in damp places out of doors, with a south aspect and a background of shrubs, though, not being thoroughly hardy, it is safer to grow them in pots. They may be raised from seed in boxes of leaf-mould and sand, covering them with glass, and keeping them well watered. As soon as they can be handled, transplant them into small pots, and pot on as they increase in size. They may also be increased by the small shoots that form round the base of the corms, using a compost of loam, leaf-mould, and sand, with a little crushed charcoal. In June transplant them in the open to ripen their corms, and in August put them carefully into 6-in. pots filled with the above-mentioned compost. They need at all times a good amount of moisture, especially at such times as they are removed from one soil to another. At the same time, it is necessary to procure good drainage. It is well to feed them every other day with weak liquid manure. A temperature of 55 degrees throughout the winter is quite sufficient. When grown in the open, the bulbs should be placed 3 in. below the soil, with a little silver sand beneath each, and not be disturbed oftener than once in four years. Three or four may stand a foot apart. Stake neatly the flower stems. They flower from September to June. Arums.--Remarkably handsome plants with fine foliage and curious inflorescence more or less enclosed in a hooded spathe, which is generally richly coloured and marked. They are hardy, easily grown in any soil (a good sandy one is preferable), and flower in July. Height, 1-1/2 ft. (_See also_ "Calla.") Asarum Europaeum.--This curious hardy perennial will grow in almost any soil, and may be increased by taking off portions of the root early in autumn, placing them in small pots till the beginning of spring, then planting them out. It produces its purple flowers in May. Height, 9 in. Asclepias (_Swallow-Wort_).--Showy hardy perennials which require plenty of room to develop. They may be grown from seed sown in August or April, or can be increased by division of the root. A very light soil is needed, and plenty of sunshine. Flowers are produced in July. Height, 1 ft. to 2-1/2 ft. Asparagus.--Sow in March or April, in rich light soil, allowing the plants to remain in the seed-beds until the following spring; then transplant into beds thoroughly prepared by trenching the ground 3 ft. deep, and mixing about a foot thick of well-rotted manure and a good proportion of broken bones and salt with the soil. The plants should stand 2 ft. apart. In dry weather water liberally with liquid manure, and fork in a good supply of manure every autumn. Give protection in winter. The plants should not be cut for use until they become strong and throw up fine grass, and cutting should not be continued late in the season. April is a good time for making new beds. The roots should be planted as soon as possible after they are lifted, as exposure to the air is very injurious to them. Asparagus Plumosus Nanus is a greenhouse variety, bearing fern-like foliage. The seeds should be sown in slight heat early in spring. Asparagus Sprengeri.--This delightful greenhouse climber is seen to best advantage when suspended in a hanging basket, but it also makes an attractive plant when grown on upright sticks, or on trellis-work. It is useful for cut purposes, lasting a long time in this state, and is fast taking the place of ferns, its light and elegant foliage making it a general favourite. It should be grown in rich, light mould, and may be propagated by seed or division. The roots should not be kept too wet, especially in cold weather. Asperula (_Woodruff_).--A. Azurea Setosa is a pretty, light-blue hardy annual, which is usually sown in the open in autumn for early flowering; if sown in the spring it will bloom in June or July. A. Odorata is a hardy perennial, merely needing ordinary treatment. It is serviceable for perfuming clothes, etc. Asperulas thrive in a moist soil, and grow well under the shade of trees. Height, 1 ft. Asphalte Paths.--Sift coarse gravel so as to remove the dusty portion, and mix it with boiling tar in the proportion of 25 gallons to each load. Spread it evenly, cover the surface with a layer of spar, shells, or coarse sand, and roll it in before the tar sets. Asphodelus.--Bold hardy herbaceous plants; fine for borders; will grow in common soil, and flower between May and August. Increased by young plants taken from the roots. Height, 2-1/2 ft. to 4 ft. Aspidistra.--This greenhouse herbaceous perennial is a drawing-room palm, and is interesting from the fact that it produces its flowers beneath the surface of the soil. It thrives in any fairly good mould, but to grow it to perfection it should be accommodated with three parts loam, one part leaf-mould, and one part sand. It will do in any position, but is best shaded from the midday sun. It may be increased by suckers, or by dividing the roots in April, May, or June. Supply the plant freely with water, especially when root-bound. When dusty, the leaves should be sponged with tepid milk and water--a teacup of the former to a gallon of the latter. This imparts a gloss to the leaves. A poor sandy soil is more suitable for the variegated kind, as this renders the variegation more constant. Height, 1 ft. to 2 ft. Asters.--This splendid class of half-hardy annuals has been vastly improved by both French and German cultivators. Speaking generally, the flowers of the French section resemble the chrysanthemum, and those of the German the paeony. They all delight in a very rich, light soil, and need plenty of room from the commencement of their growth. The first sowing may be made in February or March, on a gentle hotbed, followed by others at about fourteen days' interval. The seeds are best sown in shallow drills and lightly covered with soil, then pressed down by a board. Prick out the seedlings 2 in. apart, and plant them out about the middle of May in a deeply-manured bed. If plant food be given it must be forked in lightly, as the Aster is very shallow-rooting, and it should be discontinued when the buds appear. For exhibition purposes remove the middle bud, mulch the ground with some good rotten soil from an old turf heap, and occasionally give a little manure water. Astilbe.--Ornamental, hardy herbaceous perennials, with large handsome foliage, and dense plumes of flowers, requiring a peaty soil for their successful cultivation. They may be grown from seed sown in July or August, or may be increased by division. They flower at the end of July. The varieties vary in height, some growing as tall as 6 ft. Astragalus Alpinus.--A hardy perennial bearing bluish-purple flowers. It will grow in any decent soil, and can be propagated from seed sown in spring or autumn, or by division. Height, 6 ft. Astragalus Hypoglottis.--A hardy deciduous trailing plant, producing purple flowers in July. Sow the seed early in spring on a moderate hotbed, and plant out into any garden soil. Height, 3 in. Astragalus Lotoides.--This pretty little trailer is of the same height as A. Hypoglottis, and merely requires the same treatment. It flowers in August. Astrantia.--This herbaceous plant is quite hardy, and will thrive in any good garden soil, producing its flowers in June and July. Seed may be sown either in autumn or spring. Height, 1-1/2 ft. to 2 ft. Atragene Austriaca.--Handsome, hardy climbers, which may be grown in any garden soil. They flower in August, and are increased by layers or by cuttings under glass. Height, 8 ft. Atriplex.--Straggling hardy annuals of very little beauty. Will grow in any soil if sown in spring, and only require ordinary attention. Flower in July. Height, 5 ft. Aubergine.--_See_ "Egg-Plant." Aubrietia.--An early spring-blooming hardy perennial. Very ornamental either in the garden or on rock-work, the flowers lasting a long time. An open and dry situation suits it best. May be readily raised from seed, and increased by dividing the roots or by cuttings under a glass. Flowers in March and April. Height 6 in. Aucuba.--Hardy evergreen shrubs, some having blotched leaves. They look well standing alone on grass plots, and are indifferent to soil or position. Cuttings may be struck in any garden soil under a hand-glass in August, or by layers in April or May. When the male and female varieties are planted together, the latter produce an abundance of large red berries, rendering the plant very showy and ornamental. They bloom in June. Height, 6 ft. Auricula.--This is a species of primrose, and is sometimes called Bear's Ear from the shape of its leaves. It succeeds best in a mixture of loam and peat, or in four parts rotten loam, two parts rotten cow dung, and one part silver sand; delights in shade, and will not bear too much water. It makes an effective border to beds, and is readily propagated by off-sets taken early in autumn, or in February or March, by division of roots immediately after flowering, or from seed sown in March on gentle heat in firmly pressed light, rich soil, covered with a piece of glass and shaded from the sun till the plants are well up, when sun and air is needed. When large enough to handle, prick them out in a cold frame 6 in. apart, and keep them there through the winter. Take care to press the soil well round the roots of off-sets. October is a good time for making new borders. The half-hardy kinds require the protection of a house in winter. Height, 6 in. Avena Sterilis.--A very singular hardy-annual ornamental grass, generally known as Animated Oats. Very useful in a green state for mixing with cut flowers. Sow in March or early in April. Height, 3 ft. Azaleas (_Greenhouse_).--A good soil for these deciduous shrubs is made by mixing a fair quantity of silver sand with good fibrous peat. The plants must never be allowed to become too wet nor too dry, and must be shaded from excessive sunshine. After they have flowered remove the remains of the blooms, place the plants out of doors in the sun to ripen the wood, or in a temperature of 60 degrees or 65 degrees, and syringe them freely twice a day. If they require shifting, it must be done directly the flowers have fallen. Cuttings taken off close to the plant will root in sand under a glass placed in heat. A. Indica is a plant of great beauty. Stand it in the open air in summer, in a partially shaded position. In winter remove it to a cool part of the greenhouse. The hardy varieties should receive the same treatment as rhododendrons. Flowers in June. Height, 4 ft. Azara Microphylla--This hardy evergreen shrub, with its fan-like branches and small dark, glossy leaves, is very ornamental and sweet-scented. It is increased by placing cuttings of ripened wood in sand under glass with a little heat. Height, 3 ft. B Babianas.--Charming, sweet-scented flowers, suitable for either pot cultivation or the border. In August or September place five bulbs in a well-drained 5-in. pot, using rich, light, very sandy soil; cover them completely, and press the mould down gently. Water very sparingly until the roots are well formed; indeed, if the soil is moist when the bulbs are planted, no water will be needed till the new growth appears above ground. Stand the pots in ashes and cover them with 3 in. of cocoa-nut fibre. When the flower spikes are formed, give weak liquid manure twice a week till the flowers open. Keep them in a temperature of 55 degrees. When the foliage begins to die down gradually, lessen the amount of moisture given. The bulbs while dormant are best left in the pots. For cultivation in the open, choose a warm situation, make the soil light and sandy, adding a good proportion of well-rotted manure, and plant the bulbs 5 in. deep either in autumn or spring. Height, 6 in. to 9 in. Bahia Lanata.--A hardy herbaceous plant of easy culture from seed sown in spring or autumn in any garden soil. It produces bright orange flowers from June to August. Height, 1 ft. Bahia Trolliifolia.--This hardy herbaceous perennial will grow in any kind of soil. It flowers in August, and can be increased by division. Height, 1 ft. Balsams.--The seeds of these tender annuals require to be sown in early spring in a hot-house or a warm frame having a temperature of 65 to 75 degrees. When 2 or 3 in. high, or large enough to handle, prick off singly into small pots, shade them till they are established, and re-pot as they advance in strength in a compost of loam, leaf-mould, sand, and old manure. Give them air when the weather is favourable. The last shift should be into 24-sized pots. Supply them with an abundance of liquid manure, admit as much air as possible, and syringe freely. They must never be allowed to get dry. Secure their stems firmly to sticks. They will flower in the open early in September. Height, 1-1/2 ft. to 2 ft. Bambusa.--The dwarf-growing Bamboos Fortunei variegata and Viridi-striata make graceful edgings to borders or paths. The whole family like a rich, loamy, damp soil. Baneberry.--_See_ "Actæa." Baptisia Australis.--This ornamental hardy perennial makes a good border plant, growing in any loamy soil, and producing its blue flowers in June and July. It can be multiplied by dividing the root. Height, 3 ft. Barbarea.--_See_ "Rocket." Barberries.--Very ornamental hardy shrubs, bearing rich yellow flowers in spring and attractive fruit in the autumn. Most handsome when trained to a single stem and the head allowed to expand freely. They are not particular as to soil, but prefer a rather light one, and succeed best in a moist, shady situation. Cuttings or layers root freely in the open. They require very little attention, beyond occasionally cutting away some of the old branches to make room for new growth. Height, 1-1/2 ft. to 2 ft. Bartonia aurea.--Beautiful hardy annuals, the flowers of which open at night and effuse a delightful odour. Sow the seed in autumn on a gentle hotbed; pot off, and protect in a greenhouse during the winter. Plant them out in the open in May, where they will flower in June. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Bay, Sweet _(Laurus Nobilis_).--This half-hardy evergreen shrub likes a sheltered position. Protection from severe frosts is requisite, especially while it is young. It is more suitable as an isolated specimen plant than for the border. Increased by layers or by cuttings of the roots. Beans, Broad.--A deep, strong loam is most suitable, but good crops can be obtained from any garden soil. The first sowing should be made in February or March, and in succession to May. A sowing of Beck's Green Gem or Dwarf Fan may even be made in November in rows 2 ft. apart. Other varieties should be planted in rows 3 ft. apart, sowing the seed 3 in. deep and at intervals of 6 in. When the plants have done flowering pinch off the tops, to ensure a better crop; and if the black fly has attacked them, take off the tops low enough down to remove the pests, and burn them at once. Seville Longpod and Aquadulce may be recommended for an early crop, and Johnson's Wonderful and Harlington Windsor for a main one. Beans, French.--The soil should be dug over to a depth of at least 12 in. and liberally enriched with manure. In the open ground the first sowing may be made about the third week in April, another sowing early in May, and subsequent sowings for succession every two or three weeks until the end of July. Plant in rows 2 ft apart, and the seeds 6 to 9 in. apart in the rows. A sharp look-out ought to be kept for slugs, which are very partial to French Beans when pushing through the soil. For forcing, sow in pots under glass from December to March. Beans, Runner.--These are not particular as to position or soil, but the best results are obtained by placing them in a deep rich mould where they can get a fair amount of sunlight. Sow, from the second week in May until the first week in July for succession, in rows 6 ft. apart, thinning the plants out to 1 ft. apart in the rows. Protect from slugs when the plants are coming through the ground, and support them with sticks immediately the growth begins to run. Scarlet Runners may be kept dwarf by pinching off the tops when the plants are about 1 ft. high, and nipping off the subsequent shoots when 6 in. long. Beet.--Land that has been well manured for the previous crop is the best on which to obtain well-shaped roots of high quality. Sow in April and May in drills 18 in. apart, and thin out the plants to about 9 in. apart. Take up for use as wanted until November, when the whole crop should be taken up and stored in dry sand, and in a place where neither moisture nor frost can reach them. When storing them cut off the tails and some portion of the crowns, but be careful not to wound any part of the fleshy root. Begonias.--A somewhat succulent genus of conservatory plants. They all require a very rich loamy soil containing a little sand; and heat, moisture, and shade are essential to their health. Cuttings 2 or 3 in. long will root readily in spring or summer. Stand the cuttings in the shade and do not over-water them; or they may be raised from seed sown in March in a hot-house or frame having a temperature of 65 degrees. Height, 1 ft. to 3 ft. Tuberous Begonias should be planted in small pots placed in heat, early in spring, and at intervals of a fortnight for succession, using a compost of equal parts of fibrous loam, leaf-mould, and sand. Press the soil rather firmly so as to promote sturdy growth, and only just cover the top of the tuber. Water moderately till the plants begin to grow freely. Gradually harden off, and plant out the last week in May or early in June, or shift into larger pots for conservatory decoration. Cuttings may be taken in April. The plants may also be raised from seed sown in February or March in a temperature of 65 degrees. Before sowing mix the seed with silver sand, then sprinkle it evenly over a box or pan of moist, fine, light loam and silver sand; cover with a sheet of glass, and keep shaded. Transplant into small pots, and pot on from time to time as the plants increase in size. Plants so treated will flower in June or July. When the leaves of the old plants turn yellow keep the roots quite dry, afterwards turn them out of the pots and bury them in cocoa-nut fibre till January, when they must be re-potted. Belladonna Lily.--_See_ "Amaryllis." Bellis Perennis.--_See_ "Daisies." Benthamia.--An ornamental half-hardy shrub. A profuse bloomer, the flowers of which are followed by edible strawberry-like fruit. Will succeed in any good garden against a south wall. Easily raised from seed or by layers. Flowers in August. Height, 3 ft. Berberidopsis Corallina.--Distinct and very pretty evergreen climbing shrubs, which prove hardy in the south and west, but need protection in other places. They are not particular as to soil, and may be increased by cuttings. Bergamot _(Monardia Didyma_).--This hardy perennial will grow almost anywhere, and may be increased by seed or by division of the root. It flowers in _July_. Height, 4 ft. Beta Cicla.--A hardy annual which succeeds in any common soil. Its dark crimson and yellow flowers are borne in August. Height, 6 ft. It is used as spinach. In Germany the midrib of the leaf is boiled and eaten with gravy or melted butter. Betonica.--_See_ "Stachys." Biennials.--These plants take two years to flower, and then they die away altogether. The seed of the hardy varieties is sown thinly in the open border any time between April and June, and the plants transferred in the autumn to the place where they are intended to bloom. Seed is also sown in August and September for flowering the following year. The half-hardy kinds may be sown in May or June. These require protection during winter, such as is afforded by a cold pit, frame, or greenhouse, or the covering of a mat or litter. Bignonia _(Trumpet Flower_).--This is admirably suitable for a south wall, but it requires plenty of room. It is propagated by cuttings placed in sand, or by cuttings of the root. These should be planted out in the spring, or autumn will do if they are covered with a hand-glass. Biota.--_See_ "Thuya." Bird Cherry.--_See_ "Cerasus." Blackberries.--To obtain good crops plant in a poor, dry soil on raised banks facing south. The bushes should be planted 6 ft. apart. Bladder Nut.--_See_ "Staphylea." Blanket Flower.--_See_ "Gaillardia." Bleeding Heart.--_See_ "Dielytra." Bocconia Cordata.--Ornamental hardy perennials. They do best on a loamy soil, and may be increased by suckers taken from established plants in the summer and placed in rich soil; or by cuttings planted in sand, in a gentle heat under glass; also by seed sown during the autumn months. They appear to the greatest advantage when grown as solitary plants, away from other tall-growing flowers. The variety B. Frutescens has an exceedingly pretty foliage. August is the month in which they flower. Height, 6 ft. Bog or Marsh Land.--By planting a few of the more distinct species adapted for such positions, bogs or marshes may be made interesting. The following plants are suitable:--Arundo Donax, Bambusa Fortunei, Cypripedium Spectabile, Dondia Epipactis, Drosera Rotundifolia, Gunnera Scabra, Iris Kaempferi, Iris pseud-Acorus, Juncus Zebrinus, Myosotis Palustris, Osmunda Regalis, Parnassia Palustris, Pinguicula Vulgaris, Polygonum Sieboldi, and Sarracenia Purpurea. Boltonia Asteroides.--This is a hardy perennial which flowers in September. The same treatment that is given to Asters is suitable for this plant. Height, 3 ft. Bomarea.--A useful greenhouse climber, the flowers of which are valuable for cutting, as they last a long time in water. It thrives best in a mixture of sand, peat, and loam. Borago Laxiflora.--This very choice Boragewort is a trailing hardy biennial. It produces lovely pale pendent flowers from June to August, will grow in almost any soil, and can be increased by seed or division. Height, 1 ft. Borecole, Kale, or Curled Greens.--Sow towards the end of March or early in April. Plant out as soon as ready in moderately rich soil in rows 3 ft. apart, and the plants 2 ft. apart in the rows. If the seed is sown thickly, the young plants must be pricked off into another bed until ready for planting, as strong, sturdy plants always produce the best results. They may succeed peas without any fresh manure. Boronias.--Greenhouse evergreen shrubs. A single plant of B. Megastigma is sufficient to perfume a good-sized house. B. Drummondi, Elatior, Heterophylla, and Serrulata are all good plants. The pots should be filled with sandy peat and be well drained. They are propagated by cuttings taken at a joint and placed under glass. May is their flowering month. Height, 2 ft. Bougainvillea.--A greenhouse evergreen climber, thriving best in a loamy soil. It flowers in June, and may be increased by cuttings. Height, 15 ft. Bousingaultia Basselloides.--A rapidly growing climber, beautiful both in flower and foliage, the former of which is pure white, produced in July in elegant racemes from 6 in. to 8 in. long. It is nearly hardy; very suitable for a cool greenhouse. Any garden soil suits it. Height, 6 ft. Bouvardias.--Favourite stove plants. They are propagated by pieces of the thick fleshy roots, about 2 in. long, inserted in light, rich, sandy soil, and plunged in a bottom-heat. Plant out in May in rich, light soil, cutting back all the over-vigorous growth, so as to form a well-balanced plant. At the approach of cold weather they may be taken up and potted off, using small pots to prevent them damping off. In a warm greenhouse they will flower all the winter. Box Edging.--A deep loam suits the box best. Cuttings should be taken early in autumn. Dig a trench, and make the bottom firm and even. Set the young plants thinly and at regular intervals, leaving the tops 1 in. above the surface. Tread the soil firmly against them. Cover with 1 in. of gravel to prevent them growing too luxuriantly. The end of June is a good time for clipping. May be transplanted early in spring or late in autumn. (_See also_ "Buxus.") Brachycome (_Swan River Daisy_).--Beautiful little half-hardy annuals bearing cineraria-like flowers that open well in the border in summer. If well watered in autumn and removed to the greenhouse they will continue to bloom during early winter. Sow the seed as for ordinary half-hardy annuals in rich, light mould, covering them sparingly. Bloom in May. Height, 6 in. Bravoa Geminiflora (_Twin Flower_).--This hardy bulbous plant bears lovely racemes of coral-coloured flowers in July. A rich loam suits it best. Height, 1 ft. Briza (_Quaking Grass_).--There are several varieties of this ornamental hardy annual grass. Briza Gracillis is slender, and very pretty both in a green and dried state. Briza Maxima bears large and handsome panicles. Each variety should be sown in pots, or on a sheltered bed out of doors, early in spring. Height, 1 ft. Broccoli.--Requires a heavy, deep, rich soil, and liquid manure during growth. For earliest crop sow thinly in beds early in March, giving a little protection if necessary. Successional sowings should be made to the end of June, to produce a constant supply till Cauliflowers are ready. Transplant, when large enough to handle, about 2 ft. from each other. Keep the ground free from weeds, and earth the plants up as they advance in growth. Sow Purple Sprouting Broccoli in May for late spring supplies. Brodiaea Coccinea.--Handsome plants for rock-work or the border. On a dry, light, sandy soil, with plenty of sunshine, their gorgeous spikes of brilliant scarlet flowers are very attractive in May. The bulbs may be planted in November, and left undisturbed. Broom.--Hardy shrubs thriving in almost any soil. Cuttings will strike if planted in sand under glass. (_See also_ "Genista" _and_ "Spartium.") Broussonetia Papyrifera.--A very effective deciduous shrub, with large, curiously-cut leaves. It likes an open soil, and is propagated by cuttings. February is its blooming time. Height, 12 ft. Browallia.--Very handsome half-hardy annuals; will grow readily from seed in any garden soil, but prefer a sandy one. They bloom in July. Height, 2 ft. Brussels Sprouts.--For a first crop sow early in March, and in April for succession. Transplant as soon as ready into deeply-trenched, well-manured soil, about 2 ft. apart. Hoe well, and keep clear from weeds. For exhibition and early use sow in a greenhouse, or in a frame over a gentle hotbed, about the middle of February; prick off into a cold frame, gradually harden off, and plant out in May. Bryanthus Erectus.--A hardy evergreen shrub, which will grow in any soil if the situation is shady and damp. It thrives without any sunshine, but will not endure the constant dropping of moisture upon its leaves from trees. Cuttings strike readily. April is its flowering time. Height, 1 ft. Budding.--Budding consists in raising an eye or bud from one part of a bush or tree and transplanting it to another part, or to any other plant of the same species. The process is not only more simple and rapid than that of grafting, but many leading nurserymen contend that a better union is effected, without the risk of dead wood being left at the junction. It may be performed at any time from June to August, cloudy days being most suitable, as the buds unite better in wet weather. It is chiefly employed on young trees having a smooth and tender bark. Of the various systems of budding, that known as the Shield is probably the most successful. Make a small horizontal cut in the bark of the stock, and also a vertical one about an inch long, thus forming an elongated T shape. Next select a branch of the current year's growth on which there is a well-formed leaf-bud. Pass a sharp knife 1/2 in. above the bud and the same distance below it, taking about a third of the wood with the bud. If in the process of detaching it the interior of the bud is torn away it is useless, and a fresh bud must be taken. Now hold the bud in the mouth, and with as little delay as possible raise the bark of the stock with a knife, insert the bud, and bind it on with raffia. When the bud begins to grow the binding must be loosened. To prevent the shoots being torn away by the wind a stake may be tied on to the stock, and the new shoot secured to it by means of raffia. Fruit trees are sometimes budded close to the soil on stocks 1-1/2 ft. in height. The buds are rubbed off the stock as soon as they appear, but the stock is not cut away until the following spring. Buddlea.--Half-hardy, tall, deciduous greenhouse shrubs, delighting in a loamy soil mixed with peat. They may be grown out of doors during the summer, but need the protection of a house in winter. Bugloss (_Anchusa_).--This showy plant, bearing large blue flowers in June, may be increased by division of the roots into as many plants as there are heads, from slips, or from seed sown in the open border in spring. It is popularly known as Ox-Tongue. Bulbocodium Trigynum (_Colchicum Caucasium_).--A miniature hardy bulbous plant, which produces in February and March erect flowers about the size of snowdrops. Set the bulbs in sandy loam or leaf-mould, choosing a sunny situation. The bulbs may be divided every other year. Height, 2 in. Bulbocodium Vernum (_Spring Saffron_).--This bulb produces early in spring, and preceding the foliage, a mass of rose-purple flowers close to the ground. It is perfectly hardy, and valuable for edgings or rock-work. Plant in autumn in light vegetable mould, and in a sheltered, well-drained position. It will not grow in stiff, clay soil. The bulbs may be divided every two years, after the tops have died down. This dwarf plant flowers from January to March. Height, 6 in. Buphthalmum Salicifolium (_Deep Golden-yellow Marguerite_).--Showy and ornamental hardy perennials. They will grow in any good soil, and flower from May to September; may be increased by suckers. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Burning Bush.--_See_ "Dictamnus" _and_ "Fraxinella." Buxus (_Tree Box_).--A useful evergreen shrub which may be grown in any soil or situation. The B. Japonica Aurea is one of the best golden plants known for edgings to a walk. The closer it is clipped the brighter it becomes. Increased by suckers or layers. C Cabbage.--Sow from February to April for an autumn supply, and in July and August for spring cutting. As soon as the plants have made four or five leaves, transplant into soil that has been liberally manured and trenched, or dug deeply, placing them 18 in. or 2 ft. apart, according to the kind grown. Keep the soil well broken up, and give a liberal supply of liquid manure while they are in a growing state. An open and sunny situation is necessary. Among the best varieties for spring sowing are Heartwell, Early Marrow, Little Pixie, Nonpareil, Sugarloaf, and Early Dwarf York. For autumn sowing, Ellam's Dwarf Early Spring, Defiance, and Enfield Market may be recommended. Coleworts may be sown in June, July, and August for succession, placing them about a foot apart, and cutting before they heart. Chou de Burghley is of great value for spring sowing, and will be found very useful during autumn and early in winter. This vegetable is sometimes called Cabbage Broccoli, on account of the miniature Broccoli which are formed among its inner leaves towards autumn. Couve Tronchuda, known also as Braganza Marrow and Portugal Cabbage, should be sown in March, April, and May for succession. Savoy Cabbage is sown in March or April, and given the same treatment as other Cabbage. Its flavour is much improved if the plants are mellowed by frost before being cut for use. Red Dutch is used almost solely for pickling. Its cultivation is precisely the same as the white varieties. Cacalia.--Hardy annuals, remarkable for their awkward-looking stems and discoloured leaves. They grow best in a mixture of sandy loam, brick rubbish, and decomposed dung, well reduced. They require very little water while growing, and the pots must be well drained. Cuttings, laid by for a few days to dry, strike readily. Flower in June. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Cactus.--A sandy loam with brick rubbish and a little peat or rotten manure suits them. Echinopsis is a good plant for cool houses or windows. During the summer it should be syringed over-head with tepid water, and weak soot water should be given three times a week. It is propagated by off-sets planted in sand, also by slicing off a portion from the top of the plant and placing it in light, rich, porous loam. Caladiums.--Favourite hothouse foliage plants, generally grown in peat soil at a temperature of 70 degrees. They require plenty of light while growing, and to be kept moderately moist at the roots. As the leaves lose colour less water should be given, and during winter they must be kept almost dry. When fresh growth begins, shake them out of their pots and put them into fresh mould. In syringing the plants use nothing but the purest rainwater, but the less the leaves are wetted the better for the appearance of the plants. They may be increased by dividing the root stock into as many pieces as there are crowns. These should be planted in very rich, sandy soil, an inch or so below the surface. Calamintha Grandiflora.--This hardy herbaceous plant has sweetly-fragrant foliage, and bears rose-coloured flowers from May to September. Any loamy soil suits it, and it is easily increased by suckers. Height, 1 ft. Calampelis.--A species of half-hardy climbing plants of great merit. They are elegant when in flower, and will endure the open air. They should be trained to a south wall, or over a vase, or up a pillar. Any light loamy soil suits them, and they are easily increased by cuttings. Flower in July. Height, 10 ft. (_See also_ "Eccremocarpus.") Calandrinia.--Very pretty hardy annuals. They grow well in sunny places in a mixture of loam and peat, and may be raised from seed sown in the spring or by cuttings placed under hand-glasses. Bloom in July. Height, 6 in. to 1 ft. Calceolaria.--Many of the varieties are suitable for the greenhouse only. They may be grown from seed, but as this is so small it should not be covered; and in watering them it is best to stand the seed-pans in water so that the moisture ascends, as watering from the top might wash the seed too deeply into the soil. July and August are the two best months for sowing. The half-shrubby kinds make fine bedding plants. They are easily reared from cuttings. These are best taken in October. Put them in light, sandy mould on a well-drained north border; press the earth round them, and cover with a hand-glass. In very frosty weather a mat should be laid over the glass. Pot them off in spring; give plenty of air, and plant them out at the beginning of June, or before, if weather permits. Calendula (_Marigolds_).--Very showy hardy annuals. They merely require sowing in the open in autumn for an early display of bloom, or in spring for a later show, but the autumn sowing gives the more satisfaction. Flower during June and July. Height, 1 ft. Californian Plants.--Great care should be taken not to allow the sun to strike on the collar of any of the plants from California, as they readily succumb if it does so. Calla.--These showy plants, sometimes called Arum, are worth cultivating. They make handsome pot-plants, bearing fine white flowers in the spring. May be grown from seeds, or roots may be divided. They are quickly increased by off-sets from the root in August or September. Plant the off-sets from the fleshy roots singly in small, well-drained pots of sandy loam with one-fourth leaf-mould or well-rotted manure, and keep them in a very warm situation. Water them well while in growth, scantily after the leaves begin to wither, and afterwards give only enough moisture to keep them alive. Leave the plants in the light while the leaves die off, and then place them in a shed, in complete repose, for a month or so. Re-pot them in October or November, and give plenty of water. They may stand in saucers of water, but this must be changed daily. They flower from May to July. Height, 2 ft. Callichroa.--A hardy annual which well deserves a place in the garden border, both on account of its dwarf and slender habit and also the colour of its flowers. It is satisfied with any ordinary soil. The seed is raised on a hotbed in March, or in the open in April, and it blooms in the autumn. Height, 1 ft. Calliopsis.--_See_ "Coreopsis." Callirhoe (_Digitata_).--Hardy annuals demanding but little attention. The seed is sown in the open in March. Height, 1 ft. Calochortus Luteus.--This very handsome hardy perennial thrives best in sandy peat with a little loam. It produces yellow flowers in July, and is propagated by offsets from the bulbs. Height, 1 ft. Caltha.--Early-flowering, showy perennials, all thriving in a moist or boggy situation. C. Leptosepala is especially choice, its pure white flowers resembling a water-lily. They may be increased from seed, or by division. Height, 1 ft. Calthus Palustris Flore-Pleno (_Double Marsh Marigold_).--This hardy herbaceous perennial is very useful for mixing with cut flowers. It will grow anywhere, but prefers a clayey soil and a boggy situation, and may be increased by dividing the roots in spring. A succession of flowers are borne from April to June. Height, 9 in. Calycanthus Floridus (_Allspice_).--This shrub likes an open loamy soil; flowers in July, and is propagated by layers. Height, 6 ft. Calystegia.--A perfectly hardy climbing convolvulus, and a beautiful plant for covering arbours, etc., growing 20 ft. to 30 ft. in one season. It thrives in any loamy soil or situation; flowers from May to September, and may be increased by division of the roots. Camassia Esculenta.--A handsome, hardy, bulbous plant, bearing clusters of beautiful blue flowers in July. It needs a sandy peat border under a north wall, and is increased by bulbs or seeds. Plant the bulbs early in October, 4 in. deep and 5 in. apart. Height, 1-1/3 ft. Camellias.--The best soil for these beautiful greenhouse evergreens is a mixture of rough peat, plenty of sand, and a little turfy loam. The greenhouse should be kept rather close, at a temperature of 55 degrees to 60 degrees, while the plants are growing; but abundant syringing is necessary at all times. Induce a vigorous growth of wood, and let this be well matured by exposure to the sun and free ventilation. Old and straggling plants may be renovated by cutting them hard back as soon as they go out of flower, and placing them in a warm house where a moist atmosphere is maintained. This will induce them to break. Comparatively little water should be given for some time after they are cut back. When the state of the roots require the plants to be re-potted, remove as much of the old soil as possible without injuring them, and put them into the smallest sized pots into which they can be got, with fresh soil. This may be done after the last flower has fallen, or after the buds have fairly commenced to push. The plants may be placed out of doors at the beginning of June, and returned to the greenhouse in October. There are several varieties suitable for growing in the open. These should be provided with a soil, 2 ft. deep, composed of peat, leaf-mould, and cows' dung. The roots should always be kept moist and cool, and the plants disturbed as little as possible. A top dressing of fresh soil may be given each winter, and the plants protected from frost by binding straw round the stems. Campanula.--A showy genus of plants, mostly hardy perennials, which need no special treatment. They are readily raised from seed, or division of roots. The less hardy kinds may be sown on a hotbed or in the greenhouse, and when large enough potted off. Campanula Mayii is a grand plant for hanging baskets, and also grows well trained up sticks in a pyramidal form. A rich, gritty soil suits them all. The tall-growing varieties make fine pot-plants. Flower in July. Height, 1 ft. to 5 ft. Canary Creeper (_Tropaeolum Canariense_).--This is eminently suitable for trellis-work or for walls. Its elegant foliage and bright yellow flowers make it a general favourite. It may be raised from seed on a hotbed in spring, gradually hardened off, and planted out in May. Height, 10 ft. Candytuft (_Iberis_).--Very pretty hardy annuals. Sow the seed in autumn in a light, rich soil, or in spring if a less prolonged flowering season will give satisfaction. Bloom in May or June. Height, 1 ft. Canna (_Indian Shot or Hemp_).--For pot-plants on terraces, gravel walks, and such like places, few things can equal and none surpass Cannas. They are half-hardy perennials, and may be increased from seed or by dividing the roots late in autumn, allowing them first to partially dry. File the tough skin off one end of the seed, and steep it in hot water for a few hours before it is sown, then stand it in a hot place till it has germinated. Harden off and plant out, or shift into larger pots in June, using a rich, light soil. Lift and store the roots in autumn in the same way as Dahlias. Different kinds flower at various seasons, so that a succession of bloom may be had throughout the year. Height, 2 ft. to 10 ft. Cannabis Gigantea (_Giant Hemp_).--This half-hardy Hemp is grown for its ornamental foliage, and is treated as above described. Height, 6 ft. Canterbury Bells.--Showy hardy biennials, which may be raised from seed sown in the spring. Transplant in the autumn to the border where they are intended to flower. The seed may also be sown in a sheltered position in August or September. Flower in July. Height, 2 ft. Cape Primroses.--_See_ "Streptocarpus." Caprifolium.--_See_ "Honeysuckle." Capsicum.--Sow early in March in well-drained pots of rich, light, free mould; cover the seed with 1/2 in. of soil, and keep it constantly moist at a temperature of 65 degrees. When strong enough to handle put two or three plants in a 5-in. pot, and replace them in warmth. Keep them rather close till established, then shift them into 7-in. pots. When established remove them to a cold frame and harden off. Plant out at the end of May in a warm situation. Keep them well supplied with water in dry weather and syringe the leaves. By stopping the shoots they become nice, bushy shrubs. Flower in July. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Cardamine Pratensis (_Cuckoo Flower, or Milkmaid_).--This hardy perennial thrives in a moist, shady situation. It produces its purple flowers from May to August, and is easily propagated by seeds or division. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Cardamine Trifolia.--A hardy herbaceous plant; will grow in any soil, flowers in May, and is easily raised from seed. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Cardoons.--Sow two or three seeds together in clumps 1 ft. apart, in trenches prepared as for Celery, in April or May. When 6 in. high pull up the superfluous plants, leaving the strongest one in each case. When they have attained the height of 1-1/2 ft, tie the leaves lightly to a stake and earth-up the stem. Keep them well supplied with water, adding a little guano. They will be ready for use in September. Another sowing may be made in June for a spring crop. Carduus (_Milk Thistle_).--Coarse hardy annuals; somewhat ornamental, but are hardly more than weeds. They grow freely from seed, and flower from June to August. Height, 2 ft. to 4 ft. Carex Japonica.--This is a graceful and very beautiful variegated grass, striped green, silver, and gold, and makes a fine decoration for the table. It will grow in any moderately moist soil, and bears dividing. Sow in spring. Carlina.--Ornamental, thistle-like, hardy perennials, which will grow in any ordinary soil. Flowers are borne from June to September. Seed may be sown as soon as it is ripe. Height, 9 in. to 2 ft. Carnations.--These are divided into three classes, but they are all said originally to come from the clove: (1) Flakes, which are striped with one colour and white; (2) Bizarres, those streaked with two colours and white; (3) Picotees, which have each petal margined with colour on a white or yellow ground, or dotted with small spots. For pot culture, about the end of March put two roots in an 11-in. pot, filled with light, turfy loam, well drained (too much moisture being injurious), pressing the earth firmly round the roots. Stand them on a bed of ashes in a sheltered position, and when the flower-stems appear, stake and tie up carefully. As the buds swell thin out the weakly ones. To prevent them bursting unevenly put an india-rubber ring round the bud, or tie it with raffia. They will flourish in the open borders even in towns if planted in light loam, and may be propagated by _layers_ at the end of July or beginning of August. Choose for this purpose fine outside shoots, not those which have borne flowers. Cut off all the lower leaves, leaving half a dozen near the top untouched. Make incisions on the under sides of the layers, just below the third joint. Peg down, and cover the stems with equal quantities of leaf-mould and light loam. Do not water them till the following day. The young plants may be separated and potted off as soon as they have taken root--say, the end of August. They may also be increased by _pipings_. Fill the pots nearly to the top with light, rich mould and fill up with silver sand. Break off the pipings at the third joint, then in each piping cut a little upward slit, plant them pretty thickly in the sand, and place the pot on a gentle hotbed, or on a bed of sifted coal ashes. Put on the sashes, and keep the plants shaded from the sun till they have taken root, then harden off gradually, and place each of the young plants separately in a small pot. Carnations may also be grown from seed sown in spring. When the seedlings have made six or eight leaves, prick them out into pots or beds. They will flower the following year. The beds must be well drained, as stagnant wet is very injurious to them. Carnation Margaritae.--May be sown in heat during February or March, pricked out when strong enough, and planted in the open in May or June. Carpenteria Californica.--The white flowers of this evergreen shrub, which make their appearance in July, are delicately fragrant. The plant is most suitable for a cool greenhouse, but does well in the open, in warm, well-drained situations. When grown in pots the mould should consist of two parts turfy loam, one part peat, and a little sharp sand. It may be increased by seeds or by cuttings planted in sandy soil, with a medium bottom heat. Carrots.--To grow them to perfection carrots require a deep, rich, sandy soil, which has been thoroughly trenched and manured the previous autumn. For the main crop the seed should be sown in March, either broadcast or in rows 18 in. apart. A calm day must be chosen for sowing, as the seed is very light and liable to be blown about. It has also a tendency to hang together, to obviate which it is generally rubbed into some light soil or sand previously to being scattered. Thin out to a distance of from 4 to 7 in., according to the kind grown. For early use the French Horn may be sown on a hotbed in January and February. Keep the surface of the ground well open with the hoe. Cassia Corymbosa.--This stove shrub is an evergreen. It should be grown in a mixture of loam and peat, and may be increased by cuttings planted in sand under glass in a little heat. It flowers in July. Height, 3 ft. Castor Oil Plants.--_See_ "Ricinus." Catananche.--Pretty hardy biennials that will grow in almost any soil, and may be increased by seed or division. They bloom in August. Height, 21/2 ft. to 3 ft. Catchfly.--_See_ "Silene." Cathcartia Villosa.--A beautiful Himalayan poppy, possessing a rich, soft, hairy foliage and yellow flowers, borne in succession from June to September. Any light, rich soil suits it, but it requires a sheltered position. It is propagated by seeds sown in spring. Height, 11/2 ft. Cauliflowers.--Sow thinly in pans or shallow boxes early in February and March on a gentle bottom-heat. Make a larger and the main sowing in the open ground in March, April, and May for autumn cutting. A sowing should also be made in August for spring and summer use. These latter should be pricked into a frame or under a hand-glass during the winter, and in spring planted out so as to stand 30 in. apart. When the heads appear break some of the large leaves down over them to afford protection, and during the whole of their growth pour plenty of water round the stems in dry weather. They require a thoroughly rich and well-tilled soil to grow them to perfection. Ceanothus.--A genus of handsome and ornamental evergreen shrubs. They are free-flowering and suitable for the conservatory or outdoor decoration if placed in warm situations. They flourish best in peat and loam, and are increased by cuttings planted in sand and subjected to gentle heat. Height, 3 ft. to 6 ft. Cedronella.--Ornamental hardy perennials; will grow in any soil, but require a little protection in the winter. They produce their deep purple flowers in June. Height, 3 ft. Cedrus Deodora.--A beautiful and graceful conifer, its arched branches being thickly set with long grey-coloured or whitish-green leaves. In its young stage it makes an exquisite specimen for the lawn. It is the best of all the Cedars for such a purpose. The usual method of propagating it is by grafting it on to the common Larch. Celery.--Sow in February or early in March on a mild hotbed for the earliest crop. Prick the seedlings off into shallow boxes as soon as they are large enough to handle, and keep them rather close and warm until they are established. Towards the end of March prick them out in rows in a frame, setting them 6 in. apart each way, and early in May transfer to rather shallow trenches, protecting them from night frosts. For main and late crops sow in a cold frame in April and plant out in June or July, 9 in. apart, in trenches 3 ft. distant from each other, 9 in. wide, and 18 in. deep, pressing the soil firmly round the roots. Earthing up should be delayed until the plants are nearly full grown, and should be done gradually; but let the whole be completed before the autumn is far advanced. When preparing the trench plenty of manure should be dug into the soil. Water liberally until earthed up to ensure crisp, solid hearts, and an occasional application of liquid manure will benefit the plants. During winter protect from frost with straw, or other suitable material. Celosia (_Feathered Cockscomb_).--Sow the seed in early spring in a warm frame; prick off singly into small pots, and re-pot as they advance in strength in a compost of loam, leaf-mould, old manure, and sand. Their final shift should be into 24-sized pots. Give them abundance of liquid manure, never allowing them to become dry, and syringe freely. These half-hardy annuals, rising to the height of 3 ft. and bearing fine spikes of flowers in July and August, make fine pot-plants for table decoration. They may be planted in the open, in June, choosing a warm, sheltered situation and rich, loamy soil. Centaurea.--The hardy annual and biennial kinds merely require to be sown in the open in the autumn. The half-hardy ones must be sown on a slight hotbed, where they should remain till strong enough to be planted in the border. Cuttings of the perennials should be inserted singly in 3-in. pots filled with sandy loam, placed in a shady, cool frame till established, and then watered very carefully. The different varieties vary from 6 in. to 2 ft. in height, and flower from June to August. Centauridium Drummondi.--A blue hardy annual which may be sown in the open in spring. Centranthus.--Ornamental hardy annuals. Sow in the open border in March in any good, well-drained soil. They flower in June. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Cephalaria (_Yellow Scabious_).--Strong-growing hardy perennials, suitable for backs of borders. They succeed in any garden soil, and are propagated by seed or division of root. Height, 3 ft. to 5-1/2 ft. Cephalotaxus (_Podocarpus Koraiana_).--Handsome conifers of the Yew type. These shrubs are quite hardy, and in favoured localities will produce berries. They succeed best in a damp, shady spot, and may be increased by cuttings planted in heavy loam. Cerastium Biebersteini.--A hardy trailing perennial which will grow in any light soil, and may be increased by suckers. It flowers in June. Height, 6 in. Cerasus Padus (_Bird Cherry_).--An ornamental tree; useful in the shrubbery in its earlier stages, as it will grow in any soil. It may be increased by seed, budding, or grafting; flowers in April. Height, 35 ft. Cerinthe.--Hardy annuals, suitable for any ordinary soil, and needing merely ordinary treatment. A grand plant for bees. Height, 1 ft. Cestrums.--Charming conservatory plants, flowering early in spring. Cuttings may be taken in autumn, placed in small pots in a light compost of peat and sand, and given a little bottom-heat. The young plants may be topped to form bushy ones. Re-pot before the roots have filled the small pots, using two parts loam, one part peat, and one part sharp sand. C. Parqui is suitable for the open if planted in a sheltered position. Chamaepeuce.--Half-hardy perennial Thistle plants of little merit. Any soil suits them, and they may be increased by seed or division. Flower in June. Height, 2 ft. to 3 ft. Chamaerops (_Chusan Palm_).--Fine greenhouse plants, delighting in a rich, loamy soil. Height, 10 ft. Cheiranthus.--_See_ "Wallflower." Chelidonium.--This hardy perennial will flourish in any garden soil; flowers in May, and may be increased by division. Height, 2 ft. Chelone.--Charming hardy herbaceous plants. Succeed well in a mixture of peat and loam or any rich soil. Increased by division of root, or by seed treated like other hardy perennials. They are very effective for the centre of beds, or in groups. Bloom in July. Height, 3 ft. Cherries.--A light, rich soil is the one that Cherries succeed in best, though they will grow in any fairly good dry ground. The position should be open, but at the same time sheltered, as the blossoms are liable to be cut off by spring frosts. The planting may be done at any time during November and the beginning of March, when the ground is in a workable condition. Cherries are often worked upon the Mahaleb stock. As they have a tendency to gumming and canker, the knife should be used as little as possible, but where pruning is necessary, let it be done in the summer. If gumming occurs, cut away the diseased parts and apply Stockholm tar to the wounds. Aphides or black-fly may be destroyed by tobacco dust and syringing well with an infusion of soft soap. Morello succeeds on a north wall. Bigarreau, Waterloo, Black Eagle, Black Tartarian, May Duke, White Heart, and Kentish are all good sorts. Bush trees should stand 10 ft. apart, standards 30 ft. Cherry (_Cornelian_).--_See_ "Cornus Mas." Cherry Pie.--_See_ "Heliotrope." Chervil.--For summer use sow in March, and for winter requirements in July and August, in shallow drills 6 or 8 in. apart. Cut for use when 3 or 4 in. high. The tender tops and leaves are used in soups and stews, to which they impart a warm, aromatic flavour. They likewise give piquancy to mixed salads. Chestnuts.--To raise trees from seed sow the nuts in November, about 2 in. deep. When two years old they may be transplanted to their permanent site. The only pruning they require is to cut away any branches which would prevent the tree forming a well-balanced head. Chicory.--Sow in May or June in drills of rich soil, and thin out to 6 in. apart. In autumn lift the roots and store them in dry sand. To force leaves for salads, plant the roots closely together in boxes or large pots, with the tops only exposed, using ordinary soil; place in a temperature of 55 degrees, and keep in the dark. Long blanched leaves will soon appear, ready for use. Chilli.--Same treatment as Capsicum. Chimonanthus Fragrans (_Japan Allspice_).--This delightfully fragrant hardy shrub, known as the Winter Flower, produces its blooms in January before the leaves appear. Should sharp frost set in, protection ought to be given to the flowers. The plant requires a fairly good soil, and is most at home when trained against a wall. It is generally propagated by means of layers. Height, 6 ft. Chinese Sacred Narcissus (_Oriental Lily, Joss Flower, or Flower of the Gods, the Chinese emblem of good luck_).--This is a very beautiful variety of the Polyanthus Narcissus, and is grown to bloom at the advent of the Chinese New Year. It is very fragrant and free blooming, and is generally flowered in an ornamental bowl of water, the bulb being surrounded with pretty pebbles to keep it well balanced. It may also be grown in a pot of mould, kept in a dark place for about ten days, then placed in a sunny position and supplied with water. It flowers from six to eight weeks after planting. Chionanthus Virginica (_Fringe Tree_).--A curious shrub which is best raised from seed. It succeeds in any soil, and bears white flowers in July. It will grow to the height of 20 ft. or more. Chionodoxa Luciliae (_Glory of the Snow_).--A pretty hardy spring-flowering bulbous plant. The blossoms, from five to six in number, are produced on gracefully arched stems, 4 to 8 in. high, and are nearly 1 in. across, star-like in form, and of a lovely blue tint on the margin, gradually merging into pure white in the centre. Fine for growing in clumps. Plant the bulbs in autumn in equal parts of loam, peat, and sand. It succeeds fairly well in the open, but reaches perfection in a cold frame, where the flowers will be produced in March. Height, 6 in. Choisya Ternata (_Mexican Orange_).--A pretty evergreen wall plant, bearing sweet-scented white flowers in July. The bush is round, and extremely ornamental when grown in the shrubbery. It delights in a mixture of peat and loam, and is propagated by cuttings placed in sand under a handglass, or, better still, by layers of the lower branches in March, detaching them in the autumn. While young it makes a fine pot-plant. Height, 6 ft. Chorozemas.--These Australian plants delight in rich turfy peat mixed with fibrous loam, leaf-mould, and coarse sand. When freshly potted they should be given a warm part of the greenhouse and watered cautiously till they are in full growth, when a little clear liquid manure may be given twice a week. May be shifted at any time except from October to Christmas. Propagated by cuttings about 1 or 2 in. long of half-ripened young wood taken in July or August, and inserted in sand under a glass. When the pots are full of roots shift the plants into larger sizes. They bloom nearly all the year round, especially in the winter and spring. The plants have rather a rambling habit, and are usually trained over balloon or pyramidal trellises; but this trouble can be spared by cutting them back freely and employing a few light sticks to keep them within bounds. Christmas Rose.--_See_ "Helleborus." Chrysanthemum.--The Chrysanthemum will grow in any good mould, a naturally good soil being often preferable to an artificial one. Where the ground is not in good condition a compost may be made of one-half rich loam and one-fourth each of well-rotted manure and leaf-mould, with sufficient sand to keep it porous. Cuttings taken in November or December make the finest exhibition plants. Pot them singly in 2-in. or 3-in. pots; stand them on coal ashes in a cold frame, and re-pot them in March or April in 6-in. pots, making the soil moderately firm. When they attain the height of 6 in. pinch off the extreme point of the shoot, which will induce the growth of side-shoots. Shift the plants from time to time into larger pots, until at the end of May they receive their final shift into 10-in. pots, after which they must not on any account be stopped. In June they may be placed in a sheltered and partially shaded part of the open border, standing the pots on pieces of slate to prevent the ingress of worms. Syringe the leaves each day and give the roots a liberal supply of liquid manure. When the flower-buds begin to show colour, discontinue the manure water. Thin out the flower-buds, leaving two or three only of the strongest on each stem. At the end of September they must be removed to a cool greenhouse to flower. Where there is no greenhouse a canvas structure may be erected to protect them from the cold. Good plants for the border may be raised from cuttings in March or April. These should be kept close in a frame until rooted, then gradually hardened off, and planted in rich soil. Syringing with soot-water twice a week until the flower-buds appear will darken the leaves and deepen the colour of the flowers. Chrysogonum Virginianum.--A free-flowering, hardy, herbaceous plant, best grown in loam and peat. Its deep-golden, star-shaped flowers are produced from June to September. Cuttings of ripened wood planted in sand and subjected to moist heat will strike. It may also be increased by dividing the root. Height, 1 ft. Cichorium Intybus.--This is a hardy herbaceous plant producing blue flowers in July. It will grow in any soil and needs no special treatment. Seeds may be sown either in autumn or spring. Height, 2 ft. Cimcifuga.--These hardy herbaceous plants will flourish in any good garden soil and are easily raised from seed, or they may be increased by dividing the roots. Various species produce their flowers from May to September. Height, 1 ft. to 3 ft. Cinerarias.--These grow well in a soil composed of equal parts of rich loam, leaf-mould, and thoroughly rotted horse-dung, liberally mixed with sharp sand. They are increased by seed, cuttings, or off-sets. The seed should be sown as soon as it is ripe and covered with the lightest layer of the finest soil; or it may be sown during March on a slight hotbed. Keep the young plants shaded from the sun, and as soon as they can be handled put them into 3-in. pots. Return them to the hotbed and keep them shaded till established, then gradually harden them off, and towards the end of May they may be planted in the open, choosing a sheltered situation. The first flower-stem should be cut out close to the bottom, but the side-shoots may either be reduced or not. At the end of September place them in a cool frame to bloom during the following month. They require to be well supplied with manure water. As soon as the plants have done flowering, cut them down, and keep them well supplied with water, and in March shake them out of their pots and plant each sucker separately. Other sowings may be made in April and May. To obtain cuttings, when the plants have flowered cut them down, and when they have again grown large enough take the cuttings and plant them in pots filled with the above compost, putting a layer of silver sand on the top. When the cuttings have made shoots 3 in. long, pinch off the tops to make the plants grow bushy. Re-pot when the roots are well grown, but before they get matted, and give occasionally a little liquid manure. Keep a good look-out for green fly, and as soon as this nuisance appears fumigate the plants with tobacco paper. An excess of fumigation is injurious. Those that have bloomed in pots may be planted in the north border of the garden in July, where they may shed their seed, from which early plants will be produced. They may also be increased by off-sets. If the old plants are cut down and kept well watered they will throw up suckers, which may be separated and potted off into thumb pots, transplanting into larger ones when required. They must _always_ be kept shaded from the sun. A cool frame suits them in summer, and being nearly hardy, should never be subjected to a forcing temperature, sufficient heat to keep away frost and damp being all that is necessary. Cinnamon Plant.--This is a stove or greenhouse plant, and requires a loam and peat soil. Cuttings of the ripe wood strike freely. Cissus Orientalis.--Useful climbing plants which delight in a light, rich soil. They are increased by cuttings planted under glass and kept in a gentle, moist heat. Cistus (_Rock Rose_).--A compost of loam and peat suits these beautiful evergreen shrubs. They may be increased by layers, ripe cuttings covered with a hand-glass, or seed. Though the plants are pretty hardy it is advisable to afford them protection during severe frosts. June is their flowering month. Height, 3 ft. to 6 ft. Citrus Japonica.--A greenhouse evergreen tree, requiring a rich loamy soil. Very little water should be given it while in a growing state. It is generally budded on an orange or lemon tree and plunged in a bottom-heat. June is its flowering season. Height, 5 ft. Cladanthus.--The annuals may be sown in the open in April to flower in July. The greenhouse evergreens may be propagated by cuttings under glass. These produce flowers in June. Clarkia.--These hardy annuals make a pretty display in the borders during summer. Seed ripens plentifully, and merely requires sowing in the open in March, or in September if protected in winter. The bloom lasts from June to September. Height, 18 in. Claytonia Sibirica.--A hardy herbaceous plant which yields light yellow flowers in June. It is not particular as to soil, and may be raised from seed sown either in autumn or spring. It stands division of the root. Height, 4 ft. Clematis (_Virgin's Bower_).--These plants like a dry situation. They will grow in smoky districts, and may be increased by cuttings of firm side-shoots under a glass in summer or by layers in September. With the protection of a greenhouse they come into flower early in spring. They are the most beautiful of all flowering hardy climbers. The stove and greenhouse varieties are best planted in loam and peat, though they will thrive in any light soil. Any good garden soil suits the hardy kinds. The herbaceous varieties are increased by dividing the roots early in spring. They bloom at various periods. After they have ceased to flower, the Jackmanni and Viticella sections should be cut down to within 9 or 12 in. of the ground. The Patens and Florida do not require pruning; those of the Lanuginosa should be cut back moderately, but not too close. A good dressing of leaf-mould and manure should be dug in about November. Heights vary from 2 ft. to 20 ft. (_See also_ "Traveller's Joy.") Cleome.--The species of this genus are very pretty and free flowering, some being half-hardy climbers notable for their foliage. They like a rich, light soil. Cuttings of the stove kinds root freely under a glass. Some of the annual species require to be sown in a hotbed frame or in a hot-house, then potted off and placed with tender annuals. The hardier ones may be sown on a hotbed, and afterwards planted out in a sheltered position. They flower in May, June, and July. Heights vary from 6 in. to 8 ft. Clethra Alnifolia.--This hardy deciduous shrub bears in September deliciously scented pure white flowers on the side-shoots of the previous year's growth. It needs a light soil and a dry, sunny situation. It may be propagated by cuttings placed under glass in sandy loam, or by suckers taken when the leaves have fallen, but is more generally increased by layers. Height, 3 ft. Clianthus.--A genus of very elegant, free-flowering, evergreen greenhouse shrubs. They flourish in the border of the conservatory (or against a south wall if protected from cold) in an equal mixture of loam, peat, and sand. Cuttings root freely in the same soil under glass. Seed sown early in spring produce flowers the first year, in May. Height, 3 ft. to 4 ft. Clintonia.--Very pretty half-hardy annuals; useful for beds, edging, pots, or rock-work. They produce an abundance of Lobelia-like flowers in August. Sow the seed in the open in spring. Height, 6 in. Clitoria.--A greenhouse climbing or trailing plant, which thrives in a mixture of loam, peat, and sand. Cuttings will strike in heat, but it is more readily grown from seed. Clivias (_Caffre Lilies_).--Most beautiful evergreen plants for the greenhouse. The soil most suitable for them is a compost of leaf-mould, loam, and sand. Give a liberal supply of water when in full growth, but from September to February keep them only moderately moist. Shade from strong sunshine, and keep the temperature at from 60 to 70 degrees. They will not bear much disturbance. Seed may be sown in bottom-heat early in spring, or they may be increased by suckers. Cobæa Scandens.--This rapid climber is well adapted for the conservatory, but it will thrive in the open air if the root is protected during the winter. If planted against a rough wall its tendrils will catch in the crevices and support it without any assistance. It requires plenty of room and a rather poor soil, otherwise it runs to leaf instead of to bloom. The tops of the shoots should be constantly pinched off, to induce thickness of growth. Cuttings of firm side-shoots taken in summer will root under glass in a little moist heat; but it is best raised from seed, sown sideways, in a hotbed in March. Its blue and purple flowers are produced in August. Height, 10 ft. to 20 ft. Cob Nuts.--_See_ "Filberts." Cockscomb.--These tender annuals should be sown on a moderate hotbed in March or April, in pans of leaf-mould and sand, covering with 1/4 in. of soil. When a couple of inches high place them in small pots, replace them on the hotbed, and give shade till they have taken fresh root. When the weather is favourable let them have a moderate amount of fresh air. Afterwards shift them into larger pots, and when the combs are full grown place them in the greenhouse, taking care not to allow any damp to lodge on them, at the same time supplying them well with water and all the air possible. Height, 9 in. (_See also_ "Celosia.") Codonopsis.--These hardy perennials are best grown in sandy peat and loam. They are easily raised from seed or cuttings, and produce their flowers in July and August. Height, 1 ft. Coix Lachryma (_Job's Tears_).--A half-hardy, annual, ornamental grass bearing clusters of beautiful pearl-like seeds. Sow in a warm spot in April, barely covering the seed with fine soil, and keep the surface of the ground moist till germination is ensured. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Colchicum (_Autumn-Flowering Crocus_).--Plant the bulbs in February in light, loamy soil, placing them 2 in. deep and 3 in. apart. They are readily increased by off-sets from the bulb. September is their flowering season. Height, 3 in. (_See also_ "Bulbocodium.") Coleus.--Tender perennial shrubs of some merit, requiring the protection of a greenhouse. Keep the plants root-bound and near the glass, with a good supply of heat and moisture. They succeed best in a mixture of loam and peat. Cuttings of shoots 3 in. long planted in sand, covered with a glass, and plunged in heat 60 to 70 degrees, will strike. Pot off singly in loam and sand. Bloom in June or July. Height, 2 ft. to 3 ft. Colletia.--Ornamental evergreen shrubs. A mixture of peat and loam, with a sheltered position, is their delight. Cuttings will strike in sand if covered with glass. They produce their flowers in July. Height, 2 ft. to 3 ft. Collinsia.--Most elegant hardy annuals, doing well in any garden soil. The seed is sown in autumn for early flowering, and in spring for a later display. Bloom May to August. Height, 1 ft. Collomia.--Hardy annuals, possessing little beauty. Treat as Collinsia. Flower in July. Height, 1 ft. to 2 ft. Colt's-foot.--This hardy perennial flowers before the leaves appear. It grows best in a moist, clayey soil, and may be increased by pieces of the running root. Columbine.--_See_ "Aquilegia." Colutea Arborescens (_Bladder Senna_).--A shrub with Acacia-like leaves and producing yellow Pea-shaped flowers in July, followed with bladder-shaped seed vessels. It will grow in any soil, and may be raised either from seed or cuttings taken in autumn. Height, 10 ft. Commelina Sellowina (_Blue Spider Wort, or Day Flower_).--A pretty greenhouse climber, bearing cobalt-blue flowers. It should occupy a sunny position, and be watered freely from March to September, after which very little should be given. Commelina Tuberosa.--Perfectly hardy plants, bearing in June blue or white flowers the size of a shilling. The bulbs may be planted in spring in any garden soil; the plants are increased by off-sets. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Compost Heap.--Get a heap of dead leaves and press and jam them down as closely as possible. Then take as much manure, in appearance, as you have dead leaves, and for each cartload have two bushels of unslaked quicklime and some earth. Now spread upon the ground, in some out-of-the-way corner, a layer of the dead leaves, upon which sprinkle a layer of lime, and over that a thin layer of earth. Next lay on a covering of manure, then a layer of leaves, and one of lime and earth as before, and proceed in this way till all the materials are used up. It will be well, however, to give the heap a good watering whenever you come to the layer of leaves. This slakes the lime and hastens the decomposition of the vegetable matter. After letting it stand for about six weeks, begin at the top of the heap and turn it completely over, so that what was at the bottom will be at the top. Repeat this operation from time to time at intervals of six or seven weeks, until it has become perfectly friable and will powder through a garden-fork like dust. It will then be ready for use. This compost is invigorating to flowers of all kinds, and is so ready for them to assimilate. Comptonia Asplenifolia.--This ornamental deciduous shrub is quite hardy, but requires a light, sandy loam or peat soil and a shady situation. It is increased by layers. Blooms in April. Height, 4 ft. Cone Flower.--_See_ "Echinacea." Conifers.--Conifers (so called because they bear cones in place of ordinary seed) are mostly of tall growth, yet among the class are many low--growing evergreens well adapted for the lawn or border. Indeed, any of the specimens may be utilised in this way, but of course must be removed from the shrubbery or border before they attain undue proportions. They are hardy, and, generally speaking, not particular as to soil or situation. Firs, Pines, Cedars, etc., come under this heading, and mention is made in other parts of this work of those most suitable for the amateur's requirements. Convallaria Prolificans.--This is one of the most beautiful hardy perennials known. It has large, deep-green foliage, with erect and much-branched flower-stems. The flowers are white, internally flushed rose; are very fragrant, and are produced from May to September. The plant will grow in any ordinary soil, and may be increased by dividing the root. Height, 2-1/2 ft. Convolvulus (_Morning Glory_).--Showy plants. The tender species are well adapted for the stove or conservatory, and are best grown in loam and peat: cuttings strike freely in sand under a glass. The half-hardy annual kinds should be sown on a gentle hotbed in February, and when large enough transferred to the open; or they may be sown in the open in April. Hardy kinds merely require sowing in the open, early in spring. The stove and greenhouse annuals and biennials require to be sown in heat, and treated as other stove and greenhouse annuals and biennials. Flowering season, May to July. Height, 6 in. to 15 ft. Coral Plant.--_See_ "Erythrina." Corchorus.--_See_ "Kerria." Cordyline.--A stove evergreen shrub, which may be grown in any light, vegetable mould or in peat and loam, and is easily increased by suckers. It flowers in spring. Height, 3 ft. Coreopsis.--Very pretty and long-flowering. They all like a light, rich, and sandy soil. Cuttings of the stove kinds root freely under glass. Hardy perennials may be divided at the roots. The annuals may be sown either in the autumn or in March; they bear transplanting. Longipes flowers in April; Grandiflora in August. Useful as cut flowers. Height, 1-1/2 ft. to 3 ft. Cornel.--_See_ "Cornus." Cornflower.--_See_ "Cyanus." Corn Salad (_Lamb's Lettuce_).--Sow in drills--the plants to stand 6 in. apart--from March till August, in well-drained sandy loam. Autumn sowings will stand the winter and prove useful in early spring. It must be gathered young. Cornus Canadensis (_Canadian Cornel_).--A pretty herbaceous plant, suitable for moist parts of rock-work. It is very hardy, likes a light soil, and produces flowers from June to August. The roots may be divided in autumn, or in the early part of spring. Height, 8 in. Cornus Mas (_Cornelian Cherry_).--This hardy deciduous shrub does well in common soil if a fair amount of moisture be given. Its yellow flowers are produced on bare stems from February to April. It may be increased by seeds, cuttings, or layers, autumn being the time to propagate. Coronilla.--The greenhouse shrubs should be grown in peat and loam. They are raised by seeds and by cuttings. Most of the hardy perennials need protection in winter, therefore they are best grown in pots. These are propagated by seed or division. The annuals need no special treatment. Coronilla Iberica.--A pretty creeping hardy perennial suitable for rock-work, on which its bright yellow flowers are very attractive during June and July. It thrives best in a mixture of peat and loam, and may be increased by seeds or division of the roots. Height, 6 in. Correa Cardinalis.--An evergreen greenhouse shrub. Place in equal parts of sand and loam, and propagate by cuttings, which should have plenty of room, as they are liable to damp off. July is its flowering season. Height, 4 ft. C. Magnifica is also a capital plant. Cortusa Matthioli.--This ornamental hardy herbaceous plant thrives best in a mixture of peat and loam. It is advisable to give protection to the roots in winter. It may be increased by seeds or by division of the roots. It makes a good pot-plant, and produces flowers in May and June. Height, 1 ft. Corydalis (_Fumitory_).--These low-growing perennials are suitable for dry positions on rock-work. They are not particular as to soil, and may be increased by division of roots, while some scatter seed in abundance. Their flowering period extends over many months. Height, 6 in. to 1 ft. Cosmea Bipinnata.--A very pretty half-hardy annual which flowers in July. Sow the seed early in spring on a slight hotbed covered with glass, and transplant to the flower border at the end of May. Height, 2 ft. Cosmos.--Pretty plants, the flowers resembling a single Dahlia. They are mostly hardy, but some need protection. The annuals should be raised on a hotbed in February and be planted out in May. The perennials, too, are brought forward in heat. Some flower in June, others in September. Height, 1 ft. to 3 ft. Cotoneaster.--Evergreen shrubs which will grow in any soil and are easily increased by layers. C. Hookeriana attains the dimensions of small trees, and produces a profusion of white flowers and bright crimson berries. C. Simonsii is largely used as a hedge. Height, 6 ft. to 8 ft. C. Rupestris is a small-leaved, prostrate perennial species, bearing white flowers from May to August, followed by red berries. Height, 3 in. Cotyledon Chrysantha (_Umbilicus)._--A choice Alpine succulent which thrives in a sandy loam, or in well-drained pots of the same soil. It flowers from May to August, and is multiplied by cuttings, which must be left to dry for a few days in a sunny place. Flowers are produced from May to August. Height, 3 in. Cowslips.--Well-known hardy perennials. These require the same treatment as Primulas. Plant in a mixture of loam and peat, and divide as soon as the bloom has died off. Height, 6 in. Cowslips, Cape.--_See_ "Lachenalia." Crambe Cordifolia (_Tournefort, or Sea Cabbage_).--This hardy herbaceous plant is suitable for a wild garden. It likes a good, rich soil, and is easily increased by seed or division. August is its flowering period. Height, 3 ft. Crane's Bill.--_See_ "Geranium Argentium." Crataegus Pyracantha (_Fire Thorn_).--This hardy, ornamental shrub will grow in any soil. It should be planted early in spring on a south or south-west wall, and may be increased by seeds, by budding, or by grafting. The profuse brilliant orange-coloured berries of the C. Lelandii (Mespilus) ensures it a place on walls and trellises. A sunny position gives best results. Prune in March. Creeping Jenny.--_See_ "Lysimachia Nummularia." Crepis (_Hawkweed_).--An interesting hardy annual. It merely requires sowing in spring, and will grow in any soil. The flowers are produced in June. Height, 1 ft. Cress.--Sow at intervals of a week from March to September in the open ground, and during the winter months in frames. A shady position is most suitable. By these frequent sowings, and by often cutting over such as readily renew a bottom growth, a constant succession of tender shoots is obtained. Crocus.--Among our earliest spring flowers. These will grow in any garden soil, but prefer rich, sandy earth. Plant in October or November, 3 in. deep and 2 in. apart. Take the roots up every second year, and plant the small off-sets in a nursery bed for two years, when they will be fit for the beds or borders. Protect the bulbs from mice, as they are very partial to them, especially in winter. _Indoor Culture_.--Select strong bulbs of the seedling varieties, and plant them in succession, commencing early in autumn, in good, rich, sandy soil. A liberal supply of water is necessary during the blooming season, but perfect drainage must be secured. They grow well in bowls filled with wet moss or sand. Height, 6 in. (_See also_ "Colchicum.") Crotons.--Fine-foliaged hothouse plants. A mixture of peat and sandy loam suits their growth, and they require a good amount of light to properly colour their leaves, with a night temperature of 70 degrees. Crowea Saligna.--Charming greenhouse evergreen shrubs, which send forth their purple flowers in September. They grow best in loam and peat. Cuttings may be struck in sand under bell-glasses. Height, 3 ft. Crown Imperials.--_See_ "Fritillarias." Crucianella Stylosa.--A hardy perennial. Sow in August or September in a sheltered spot to stand the winter. The seed may also be sown from March to midsummer, and the plants moved in autumn to the place where they are to bloom. Their delicate pink flowers are produced in July. Height, 1 ft. Cuckoo Flower.--_See_ "Cardamine." Cucumbers.--A rich, loamy soil is most suitable for their growth. Sow frame varieties in a heat of 75 degrees or 85 degrees during February and March for summer use, and when the plants are of sufficient size transplant to a well-prepared hotbed. Sow again in September for winter use. The hardy or ridge cucumbers (which are not suited for frame or hothouse culture) should be raised in a frame or hot-bed in April, and planted out about the middle of May in a warm border on strawed ridges prepared with good stable manure, placing a hand-glass over each plant until it is well established. Cunila Mariana (_Dittany_).--This hardy perennial produces heads of pretty purple flowers from July to September. It is not particular as to soil, and can easily be increased by division. Height, 1 ft. Cuphea.--Shrubs of a rather pretty description. The stove varieties require a sandy loam to grow in, and may be propagated by cuttings. The annuals should be sown on a gentle hotbed, and when strong enough potted off and kept in the greenhouse; they should not be moved into the open before the end of May. The perennial species if sown early make good bedding plants the first year; they need protection in the winter. Currants.--_Black._--A rich, deep soil and a moist situation, together with partial shade, are most suitable for their growth. They succeed better as bushes than as espaliers or trained to walls. Cuttings of the previous year's growth are taken in autumn and planted firmly 1 ft. by 6 in. apart. In two years shift every alternate plant so as to allow room for expansion, and plant out finally to a distance of 5 ft. In pruning the bushes, remember that the fruit is borne on the young wood, therefore only sufficient should be cut away to allow of the admission of air and sunshine and the further growth of young branches. A portion of the old wood should be removed each year. Mulch the roots, and keep the plants supplied with water in dry seasons. Baldwin's Black, Ogden's Black, Black Naples, Lee's Prolific, James' Prolific, and Old Black are among the best. _Red and White._--An open, sunny position is needed. The soil that suits them best is a deeply-manured, stiff loam. They are readily raised from cuttings--which should be as long and strong as possible--taken in autumn. Cut away all the eyes except the three uppermost ones, and plant firmly in rows 1 ft. by 6 in. apart. Transplant at the end of the second year to a distance of 5 ft. apart. While the plants are young cut out all the top centre branches, cutting always to an outgrowing bud, so as to give a cylindrical form to the bush. In further pruning leave the leading shoots untouched, but shorten all others to 4 in. or 6 in., and cut out all old, mossy wood. Towards the end of June is a good time for cutting the young wood away. The fruit is produced on spurs. In the autumn of each year carefully dig in a good dressing of half-rotted manure, in such a manner as not to injure the roots. Among the leading red varieties are the following:--Champagne, Cherry, Chiswick Red, Houghton Castle, Raby Castle, and Red Dutch. Of the white fruit the White Dutch and the Cut-leaved White are the leaders. In plantations they should stand from 4 ft. to 6 ft. apart. Currants, Flowering.--_See_ "Ribes." Cyanthus Lobatus--A small, but very beautiful procumbent perennial, well adapted to fill moist places on rock-work if the situation is open and sunny. A mixture of vegetable mould and sand suits it, and it is best increased by cuttings placed in moist peat. It flowers in the autumn, the flower-stems being from 6 in. to 1 ft. in length. Cyanus(_Cornflower_).--Very pretty and free-blooming hardy annuals. Sow the seed in the open in autumn for an early display of flowers, or in March for a later one. Thin out to 2 ft. apart. Bloom in July. Height, 2 ft. to 3 ft. Cyclamen.--Charming winter and spring blooming bulbous greenhouse plants, which thrive in a mixture of sandy loam and vegetable mould. They require a moist atmosphere and a uniform temperature not lower than 50 degrees. They may be increased by seed sown in slight heat as soon as it is ripe. Plant the bulbs in October, also in February and March, placing them so that the crown is level with the top of the pots. One full-sized bulb is sufficient for a 6-in. pot, which must be provided with good drainage and placed on a layer of coal ashes that is kept constantly moist. Water moderately till growth begins, then increase the supply. Give a little liquid manure, in a weak state, if a large quantity of flower-buds appear. When the blooming season is over, plunge the pots in a shady, well-drained border, and when the leaves start afresh turn the plants carefully out of the pots, so as not to injure their roots, and re-pot in fresh soil. C. Persicum flowers in February, and C. Neapolitanum in April. C. Europeum is a hard variety, thriving in any situation. It produces sweetly-scented flowers throughout July and August. It does best when planted under trees, or in partial shade on rock-work, in well-drained, good loamy or peaty soil mixed with a fair proportion of brick rubble. Plant the corms in September 3 in. apart, and 1-1/2 in. deep. Height, 6 in. to 9 in. Cydonia (_Pyrus_).--These hardy plants are well adapted for trellis-work, but are more effective when grown as bushes, and flower more freely than when trained to the wall, the bloom often lasting to the winter. They will grow in any soil, and are increased by suckers. Height, 4 ft. and upwards. Cyperius Alternifolius.--A stove grass which will grow in any soil, but requires a plentiful supply of water. It is increased by dividing the roots. Height, 2 ft. Cypress (_Cupressus_).--Among these useful conifers C. Lawsoniana has no superior as a single specimen for the decoration of the lawn. Of free growth and perfectly hardy, it succeeds in almost any soil or situation. C. Fraserii is also hardy, of erect habit, and of a rich glaucous hue. When it attains a good size it is very ornamental. The beautiful silver variegated variety Argenteo Variegata deserves a place in every shrubbery. Nana Alba Maculata is a dwarf globular plant, the slender branches of which are tipped with white, giving it the appearance of being partly covered with snow. Pygmea is a compact dwarf-growing variety suitable for the centre of small beds and for rock-work. Japan Cypresses are elegant little shrubs, one of the finest being Retinospora Ericoides, whose peculiar violet-red leaves contrast charmingly with light green plants. Any of the above may be increased by cuttings. They succeed best in a rich, deep loam, and are improved by thinning out the branches where too thick, and pinching out the stronger shoots where too thin, so as to encourage new growth. Cypripedium (_Hardy Ladies' Slipper Orchid_).--This plant is of the simplest culture and is well adapted for pots, ferneries, or rock-work. It is most at home in a well-drained yet moist peaty soil, and kept in a frame or on a shady border, where it will bloom in June. Protect from frost and heavy rains, but never allow the roots to get dry. Height, 1 ft. Cytisus.--Elegant hardy shrubs with finely-cut leaves and terminal racemes of Pea-shaped flowers in July. They will grow in any soil, and are readily raised from seed or layers. Height, 3 ft. to 4 ft. D Daffodils.--These will grow in any good, cool, moist, well-drained garden soil if sand be put round their roots, but thrive best in a moderately rich loam. They may remain in the ground for years, for large bulbs produce the finest flowers. When the flowering is over the leaves must be allowed to die down, not cut off. Plant from September to December. The top of the bulb should be about 3 in. below the surface, according to its size; 10 in. apart is a good distance. Daffodils are also suitable for pot culture. Plant three to six bulbs, according to size, in a 4-in. or 5-in. pot, using a compost of two parts fibrous loam, one part leaf-mould, and one part sand. Place the pots on a bed of ashes, and cover with 4 in. of cocoa-nut fibre. As soon as top growth has commenced, remove the plants indoors, and give plenty of light and air to prevent them being drawn. Daffodils likewise make a good display when planted on a lawn. Dahlias.--These attractive plants require a deep, friable soil, not over rich. They may be grown from seed sown on a hotbed in March and lightly covered with fine mould. As soon as they are up give all the air which can with safety be given. When the seedlings are large enough pot them off singly in the smallest-sized pots or round the edges of 6-in. ones. Plant them out at the end of May, 1 ft. apart; they will flower at the end of August. Any that turn out very good had better be propagated by cuttings from the young tops, to save the kind in case the roots should die. When flowering is over take up the young bulbs and treat them as directed afterwards for old tubers. Another way to propagate them is to place the old tubers in soil over a hotbed early in March. When the shoots are a couple of inches high the tubers may be taken up and divided with a sharp knife. Pot off separately. Water them occasionally with liquid manure, made from guano and powdered charcoal, well mixed with rain water, and plant them out early in May. Give them plenty of room, and tie the branches securely to stakes firmly fixed in the soil. When they have become good bushy plants put a layer of half-rotted manure round each plant. As soon as frost turns their foliage brown take them up, cut off the roots, leaving about 6 in. of stem attached, and plunge them into a box of sand, chaff, or ashes, and preserve them from damp, frost, and heat during the winter. Daisies (_Bellis Perennis_).--These pretty, little hardy perennials are very useful as edgings. To grow them to perfection the ground should be highly manured, and the roots divided every year, planting them out 6 in. apart in a cool, shady situation. October is a suitable time for transplanting. They flower continuously from February to July. Height, 6 in. Dandelions.--Dandelions on lawns, etc., may be killed by cutting them down as low as possible, and putting a little gas-tar or a pinch of salt on the wound. Or they may be dug up and blanched for mixing with salad. In this case plant six roots in an 8-in. pot, and place an inverted flower-pot over the whole, in order to exclude the light; the plants are sometimes blanched in the open by covering them with old tan or fine ashes. The flowers must be kept picked off, for they soon run to seed, and if unattended to become troublesome. Daphne.--Beautiful shrubs, mostly evergreens, bearing elegant flowers followed by bright-red poisonous berries. D. Mezereum is the most common variety, and is very suitable for the front of shrubberies. The Chinese variety D. Odorata is too tender for outdoors, but makes a fine ornament for the greenhouse. The dwarf kinds, bearing fragrant pink flowers, are rather tender, but are very useful for rockeries occupying sheltered positions. They all need a peaty soil, and may be increased by grafting on to the common Spurge Laurel. Different varieties flower at various periods, from February to October. Height, 9 in. to 6 ft, but the majority are from 2 ft. to 3 ft. high. Datura.--Ornamental half-hardy annuals. The seeds of all the species must be sown on a hotbed early in spring. When the plants are strong enough transplant them in the border, where they will bloom more freely than in pots. The seeds of D. Ceratocaula will sometimes remain several years in the ground before they germinate. They flower in July. Height, 2 ft. to 3 ft. Day Flower.--_See_ "Commelina." Day Lily.--_See_ "Hemerocallis." Delphinium (_Larkspur_).--The gorgeous spikes of flowers produced by these plants render them invaluable for the border. They like a deep soil, highly enriched. The perennials may be divided at the root in autumn, care being taken not to injure the young fleshy sprouts. The annuals are readily raised from seed. The quickest way to grow the perennial varieties from seed is to sow in a frame with a slight bottom-heat, at any time from March to August; but sowings made in the open from April to June will succeed. Keep the ground moist, and shade from the sun till the plants are up, then transplant to nursery beds for the summer, afterwards transferring them to their final quarters. Flower in June and July. Height, 1-1/2 ft. to 6 ft. Dentaria Digitata (_Toothwort_).--This tuberous hardy perennial grows well in old leaf-mould, and is very suitable for the base portion of rock-work, where it can obtain both shade from the midday sun and moisture. It is readily increased by cutting the roots into pieces about 1-1/2 in. long, and replanting them where they are intended to bloom, putting 1 in. or so of sand round them. They flower in May. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Desfontania Spinosa.--A fine, evergreen wall shrub with holly-like leaves, and long, pendulous scarlet and orange flowers in June. It grows best in a compost of loam, peat, and sand, with a south or west aspect. It is propagated by cuttings under glass. Height, 10 ft. Desmodium Canadense.--This is a fine border hardy perennial, producing long racemes of rosy-purple flowers in June or July. It prefers a soil of sandy loam and peat, and may be increased by seed or by cuttings planted in sand and subjected to heat. Height, 4 ft. Desmodium Pendulaeflorum.--A hardy evergreen shrub, flowering in July. It thrives in sandy loam and peat. Cuttings planted in sand with a little bottom-heat and under glass will strike. Height, 6 ft. Deutzia.--A beautiful conservatory shrub, bearing in spring a large quantity of flowers resembling the snowdrop. A peaty soil suits it. It is pretty hardy. Height, 3 ft. Devil-in-a-Bush.--_See_ "Nigella." Dianthus.--Very beautiful and fragrant flowers. The genus embraces Carnations, Pinks, Picotees, and Sweet Williams. The soil most suitable for them is a light, loamy one, mixed with a little rotten dung and sand. It is well to confine the rarer kind to pots, so as the better to protect them in winter. They are propagated by layers, cuttings, or division of roots. If the cuttings are taken about the middle of June, and placed under glass on a gentle hotbed, they will be ready in about three weeks to plant out in the open. The annuals and biennials merely require sowing where they are intended to bloom. Flower in July. Height, 1-1/2 ft. to 2 ft. Dictamnus (_Burning Bush_).--_See_ "Fraxinella." Dielytra Spectabilis (_Venus's Car, Bleeding Heart, or Lyre Flower_).--One of the most elegant hardy perennials for forcing for table decorations, or cutting for vases. The graceful, pendent branches are laden with beautiful red or purple heart-shaped flowers; these, combined with the delicate green of the foliage, give them a conspicuous place among plants. Out of doors in summer, among shrubs or herbaceous plants, they are exceedingly attractive. Let them be planted in tufty groups in a warm, sheltered border of rich, light soil. They may be increased by division of the root, as in the Dahlia, or by cuttings. Height, 3 ft. Digitalis (_Foxglove_).--Very showy, hardy, perennial border plants. They will grow in any garden soil, and are readily raised from seed, which, if sown in the autumn, will produce flowers the following June and July. Height, 1 ft. to 3 ft. Digitata.--_See_ "Callirhoe." Dimorphantus _(Aralia Sinensis_).--The Dimorphantus Mandschuricus is one of the noblest of deciduous shrubs, the foliage being very large and much divided. Any soil is suitable for its growth, and it may be propagated by cuttings of ripe wood, taken at a joint and planted on a shaded site. It produces its flowers at midsummer. Height, 4 ft. to 6 ft. Dimorphotheca Ecklonis.--This plant is not perhaps quite hardy, still it may be grown out of doors in a sheltered, sunny situation. It grows well in sandy loam and leaf-mould, and requires a good deal of moisture in the summer months, though from autumn till spring it should be kept on the dry side. During winter it is safest to afford it protection. It is generally raised from cuttings late in summer, which are kept through the winter in small pots in the greenhouse. Diphylleia Cymosa.--A very pretty bog plant which blooms from June to August. Plant in rich, light soil, and give plenty of water. It is propagated by division. Height, 9 in. Diplacus Glutinosus _(Hard-wooded Mimulus_).--This elegant greenhouse shrub is an evergreen which delights in a rich, sandy loam. It flowers in June, and is increased by cuttings. Height, 3 ft. Diplopappus.--Dwarf-growing evergreen shrubs of pretty habit. The golden stems and leaves of D. Chrysophylla render that variety specially attractive. A sandy loam is most suitable for their growth. They require the warmest situation the garden affords, and to be protected during the winter. Cuttings strike readily. They flower in August. Height, 2 ft. Disbudding--The object of Disbudding is to prevent the growth of branches which, from their position, would be useless to the tree, and would consequently have to be cut away later on. The process is both simple and expeditious. The trees are gone over once a week during the spring, and the useless buds are rubbed off with the thumb, taking off first those which are most unfavourably situated. The work should be done gradually, so as not to give any check to the tree. The term is also applied to the pinching out of flower-buds, such as those of the Chrysanthemum, so as to give more room and strength to the remaining blooms. Disemma.--Splendid evergreen climbers, suitable either for the greenhouse or in a sheltered position out of doors. Plant in rich, loamy soil mixed with peat, and, if grown in the open, give protection to the roots during the winter. They flower in July, and may be increased by cuttings planted in sand under glass. Height, 20 ft. to 30 ft. Dittany.--_See_ "Cunila." Docks, to Kill.--Cut the weeds down to the ground, and run a skewer dipped in vitriol through the roots. Dodecatheon.--A hardy perennial, which is very ornamental when in flower. It grows best in a loamy soil, and is easily increased by dividing the roots. Blooms in May. Height, 1 ft. Dog's-Tooth Violets.--_See_ "Violets." Dolichos Lablab.--Half-hardy annuals. The seed should be sown in spring in pots placed in heat, and kept in the hothouse till May, when the plants may be set out in a sheltered position, placing sticks for them to run up, in the like manner to Beans. Flower in July. Height, 6 ft. Dondia Epipactis.--A very pretty and extremely hardy little perennial, suitable for either pot culture or rock-work. It thrives in peat or leaf-mould, and likes a moist position. Strong clumps may be divided in February, but it is rather shy at being moved. It flowers in May. Height, 6 in. Doronicum (_Leopards Bane_).--An ornamental hardy perennial. It will grow in any garden soil, and may be propagated from seed sown either in the autumn or spring, or by dividing the root. It produces its flowers in May. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Draba.--Pretty dwarf Alpine plants which bloom during April and May; very suitable for rock-work. They flourish in a compost of loam and peat, and may be propagated by seed or division. Height, 1-1/2 in. to 3 in. Dracaena Indivisa.--A stove evergreen shrub much valued for its foliage and as a table plant. It requires a light, loamy soil and plenty of light. Cuttings stuck in tan or peat and sand, and provided with strong heat, will strike. It flowers in June. Height, 3 ft. Dracocephalum (_Dragon's Head_).--Ornamental plants, mostly bearing lilac or blue flowers. Many of the half-hardy kinds are grown in pots, so that they may the more readily be removed to the greenhouse in winter. The perennials are propagated by dividing the roots. The annuals are increased from seed sown in March or early in April. They like a rich, light soil, and come into bloom in June and July. Height, 1 ft. to 2 ft. Dracophyllum.--Greenhouse evergreen shrubs of an ornamental character. The pots should be filled with an equal mixture of sand and peat. They are propagated by planting the young shoots in sand, covering them with a hand-glass, and plunging them in heat. They flower in June. Height, 2 ft. Dragon's Head.--_See_ "Dracocephalum." Dryas Octopetala (_Mountain Avens_).--A prostrate, creeping perennial which bears white Anemone-like flowers from July to September. It thrives in peat, and is increased by seeds, cuttings, or division. Not being quite hardy, protection should be afforded during winter. Height, 6 in. Dutchman's Pipe--_See_ "Aristolochia." E Earwigs, to Trap.--An inverted flower-pot, containing a little dry moss or hay, placed on a stick, forms a good trap for these pests. They will also congregate in any hollow stems of plants that may be laid about. They may be destroyed by shaking them into boiling water. Eccremocarpus (_Calampelis_).--These climbing half-hardy perennials will grow in any garden soil, a light, loamy one being preferable. Sow the seed in autumn on a slight hotbed, pot off, and winter in a greenhouse. The plants will be ready to turn out on a warm south wall in April or May. Cut them down in the autumn, and cover the roots with dry leaves: they will shoot up again in the spring. The foliage is dark and Clematis-like; the flowers are borne in clusters, are tube-shaped, and bright orange-scarlet in colour. They are increased by cuttings. Echeveria.--Choice greenhouse evergreen shrubs. They grow best in a sandy loam, with a little peat, mixed with pulverised brick rubbish. Water must be given cautiously. Young plants may be taken off the parent in October and pressed firmly, but without bruising them, in light, rich soil. Cuttings should be left for a few days to dry before planting. They flower in autumn. In winter keep them in a cold frame, and as dry as possible. Height, 1 ft. to 2 ft. Echinacea Purpurea (_Purple Cone Flower_).--A stately hardy perennial, very pretty when in flower, but hardly suitable for cutting purposes. It likes a rich, light, loam soil and plenty of sunshine. The roots may be divided in spring, after growth has fairly started. It blooms during September and October. Height, 2-1/2 ft. Echinops (_Globe Thistle_).--Coarse perennial plants, of stiff growth. Any soil suits them, and they may be increased by dividing the roots. They bloom in July. Height, 4 ft. Echium Creticum.--A scarlet-flowering hardy annual which should be grown wherever bees are kept. Sow in spring in any garden soil. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Edelweiss.--_See_ "Gnaphalium." Edraianthus Dalmaticus.--A charming little herbaceous perennial which proves quite hardy in our climate, and well deserves a place in the rockery. Plant in deep, rich loam, and cover the surface of the crown with 1/2 in. of coarse sand. It may be propagated from off-sets, taken with as much root as possible as soon as flowering ceases. Winter the young plants in a cold frame, and do not give them too much water, or they will rot. They will bloom in July and August. Height, 4 in. Egg-Plant (_Aubergine_).--The fruit of the egg-plant is edible. The seed is sown in March or April in pots of well-drained, light, rich soil, and placed in a cucumber frame or on a hotbed with a temperature of 75 degrees. When the plants are fairly up they are potted off separately, and when they have started into growth the points are pinched out, so as to induce a bushy habit. It is necessary to keep the roots well supplied with water. When the fruit is set, the growth is stopped at the first joint beyond it. They are mostly treated as greenhouse pot-plants, but may be grown in the open if planted on a south border, in ridges like those made for cucumbers, and covered with hand-glasses till established. The Aubergine is a tender annual. Height, 2 ft. Eggs of Insects, to Destroy.--Into 3 gallons of water stir 1/4 peck of lime, 1/2 lb. of sulphur, and 1/2 lb. of tobacco. When settled, syringe the trees and walls with the clear liquid. More water may be added afterwards. Eichhornia Crassipes Major.--A pretty and curious plant which may be grown in bowls of water like the Chinese Lily. The stalks are bladders about the size of a greengage, which enable the plant to float. The flowers are soft lilac-rose in colour, and sparkle as if polished, each one being about 2 in. in diameter. A little soil at the bottom of the bowl is beneficial. It will flourish out of doors in summer. Elder.--_See_ "Sambucus." Eleagnus.--Effective variegated shrubs which prove perfectly hardy in the south of England. They grow in any ordinary soil, and are increased by cuttings. Height, 10 ft. Elsholtzia Cristata.--Hardy annuals of great value where there are bees, the flowers being very sweet. Sow in the open in spring. Height, 1 ft. Empetrum.--Small hardy evergreen shrubs requiring an elevated and exposed position, and a dry, barren soil. They flower in May, and are propagated by layers. Height, 1 ft. Endive.--Sow at intervals from May till the end of August, but the principal sowing, to stand the winter, should be made the first week in August, giving the plants the protection of a frame. When the early sown ones are 2 in. high transplant them to a rich nursery bed. When 4 in. high lift them carefully, with the soil round the roots, and place them in drills about 3 in. deep and 1 ft. apart each way. Water well immediately after planting, and keep the soil moist. Epacris.--Pretty Heath-like shrubs. They like a sandy peat soil, and plenty of moisture. The pots in which they grow should be provided with ample drainage and stood in a larger-sized pot, with wet moss between the two. As soon they have done blooming cut them back freely, and when the fresh shoots are 2 or 3 in. long, pot them off, placing them in a close, cool pit for three or four weeks. Gradually harden off, then place them in a sunny situation out of doors, and remove them to the conservatory in October. They only need sufficient heat to keep out the frost. Cuttings of the young wood placed in sand with a little bottom-heat will strike. Epigaea Repens (_Creeping Laurel_).--This creeper is hardy and evergreen, and its flowers possess a delicious fragrance. It may be grown in loam and sandy peat or in leaf-mould with a little sand added, in a well-sheltered and moist situation; and may be propagated by layers, in the same manner as Carnations. It flowers in April. Height, 6 in. Epilobium Angustifolium.--An ornamental herbaceous plant which may be grown in any common soil from seed sown in autumn, or may be increased by division of the roots. It puts forth its flowers in July. Height, 4 ft. Epimedium.--An elegant hardy perennial, suitable for shaded borders or rock-work. The best soil for it is sandy peat. It flowers between April and June, and is increased by dividing the root. Height, 1 ft. Eragrostis Elegans (_Love Grass_).--One of the best of our hardy, annual, ornamental grasses. Sown in March, it will reach perfection in August or September. Height, 1 ft. Eranthis Hyemalis.--_See_ "Winter Aconite." Eremurus Robustus.--This hardy perennial bears tall, handsome spikes of sweetly-scented, peach-coloured flowers in May. It will grow in any ordinary soil, and is easily propagated by young plants from the roots. Height, I ft. Ericas (_Heaths_).--It is useless to attempt to grow these beautiful shrubs unless proper soil is provided. The free-growing kinds thrive best in good black peat and require large pots. The dwarf and hard-wooded kinds must be provided with sandy peat, and the pots thoroughly well drained. They need less water than the free-growing kinds. They all want a good deal of air, and must not be crowded too closely together. Protect from frost and damp. Cuttings off the tender tops of the shoots planted in sand under glass will strike. The cuttings of the stronger-growing kinds should be somewhat longer. As soon as rooted, pot off singly, place in a close frame, and harden off by degrees. The hardy sorts grow in a sandy peat, and may be increased by layers or by cuttings. They bloom at various times. Height, 6 in. to 4 ft. (_See_ "Heaths, Greenhouse.") Erigeron.--Very handsome hardy perennials, producing a copious display of bloom. They will grow in any soil, and may be increased by division or by seed sown between March and July, or in August or September. They flower at the end of July. Height, 1 ft. Erinus.--The hardy perennial kinds bloom in March, the greenhouse varieties in May. The latter are very pretty. They all like a sandy soil, and may be increased by seed or by division. Height, 6 in. to 9 in. Eriogonum.--These pretty, hardy, herbaceous plants bloom in June. They grow best in a compost of loam and peat, and are easily raised from seed. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Eriostemon.--Greenhouse evergreen shrubs. Grow in sandy peat with a little loam added. Cuttings will strike in sand. They flower in May and June. Height, 2 ft. to 3 ft. Erodium.--An extensive genus of very beautiful plants, mostly hardy. They will grow in any soil, and merely require ordinary treatment. The bloom is produced in June or July. Height, 4 in. to 1 ft. Eryngium.--A very ornamental and beautiful kind of Thistle. They are mostly quite hardy, and will grow in any garden soil, though they thrive best in a light, sandy one. The greenhouse and frame varieties should be grown in pots, so that they can be easily housed in winter. They are readily increased by seed or division, and produce their flowers in July. Height, 1 ft. to 4 ft. Erysimum.--Flowers of little merit. The herbaceous kinds thrive in common soil, but do best in a mixture of loam and peat. They may be increased by cuttings placed under glass. The annuals and biennials merely need sowing in the open during autumn. They bloom in June and July. Height, 1-1/2 ft. to 2 ft. Erythrina Crista Galli (_Coral Plant_).--A showy, summer-blooming greenhouse plant. Place it in turfy loam enriched with old manure. It may be transferred to the garden in the summer, and when the wood is ripe cut it back and keep it dry till spring. Cuttings taken at a joint, with the leaves left on, may be struck in sand. Erythronium Dens-Canis _(Dog's Tooth Violets_).--_See_ "Violets." Escallonia.--Handsome, half-hardy, evergreen shrubs, possessing rich glaucous leaves and bunches of tubular flowers. A peat and sandy loam soil suits them best. They may be planted against, and trained to, a south wall, but need protection from frost. The laterals may be cut back fairly close in March to encourage new growth. They may be propagated by layering in the autumn, or by suckers taken in the spring. Height, 3 ft. Eschscholtzia.--Pretty hardy annuals, especially during August, when they are in flower. Any rich soil suits them. Easily raised from seed sown on a gentle hotbed in spring, and afterwards transplanted to the border. They flower longest if sown in autumn, but the young plants need protection through the winter. Height, 1 ft. Eucalyptus Citriodora.--A useful window or greenhouse plant, with small, oblong, bright green leaves, furnished with appendages that emit an odour resembling the Lemon-scented Verbena. It is of easy cultivation, growing freely from seed sown in slight heat. Height, 4 ft. Eucalyptus Globulus.--A greenhouse everlasting tree, commonly known as Blue Gum. It delights in a mixture of peat, loam, and sand. Cuttings, which should not be too ripe, root in sand under glass. It may be grown from seed sown, in a temperature of 65 degrees, from February to April. It flowers in June. Eucharidium.--Pretty little hardy annuals, nearly allied to the Clarkia. The seed may be sown in autumn for early flowering, or in spring for blooming in July. Height, 1 ft. Eucomis Punctata.--A fine, autumn-blooming plant, bearing long spikes of fragrant creamy-white flowers and curiously-spotted stems. It may be grown in any rich soil. Height, 2 ft. Eucryphia Pinnatifida.--A dwarf evergreen shrub with flowers resembling a white St. John's Wort. It grows best in a compost of loam and peat, and is propagated by cuttings planted in sand, and subjected to heat. Eugenia Ugni.--An evergreen shrub which produces white flowers in May, succeeded by round, edible berries. It should be grown in loam and peat. Ripened cuttings may be struck in sand under glass. Height, 4 ft. Eulalia Japonica.--A hardy perennial Giant Grass. It is very handsome as single specimens on lawns, or used in groups on the margins of shrubberies. The flower panicles in their first stage have erect branches, but as the flowers open these curl over gracefully, resembling a Prince of Wales feather. Height, 6 ft. Euonymus Radicans Variegata.--A hardy evergreen shrub which, given a sunny situation, will grow in any soil, though a rich, sandy one is preferable. It may be increased by layers, by seed, by cuttings of ripe wood taken early in autumn and planted in the shade, or by dividing strong roots. May is its time to flower. Height, 6 ft. Other varieties of the Euonymus, or Spindle Tree, are equally hardy, and easy to propagate. Eupatorium Odoratum.--A greenhouse shrub which bears sweet-scented white flowers in August, continuing in bloom for a long while. It may be planted out at the end of May, but must be lifted before the frost comes. When flowering ceases, give less water and prune hard back. It grows well in peat and loam, and is increased by seed or by cuttings of the young shoots in spring in bottom-heat. Pinch back freely until the end of July, leaving all growth after that period. Height, 2-1/2 ft. Euphorbia.--An elegant class of plants. The stove and greenhouse varieties are generally succulent, and require but little water, while the hardy kinds need plenty of moisture. Any rich, light soil suits them, but for the tender, succulent plants it should be mixed with brick rubbish. Best grown from seed, though the roots may be divided. Height, 2 ft. Eurya Latifolia Variegata.--A fine, variegated, large-leaved evergreen, very suitable for covering a low wall, or for conservatory decoration. It delights in a compost of loam and peat, and is propagated by cuttings planted in a sandy soil on gentle heat. Height, 2 ft. Eurybia.--Very pretty flowering shrubs for walls, borders, or rockeries. They require a light, rich soil, and may be increased by seeds sown early in spring on a gentle hotbed. Height, 2 ft. Eutaxia Myrtifolia.--Pretty evergreen shrubs, suitable for the greenhouse. They thrive best in a mixture of peat and loam, and require the pots to be well drained. To have nice bushy plants they must be pinched back well. Cuttings will strike in sand under glass. They flower in August. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Eutoca.--Exceedingly pretty hardy annuals. Sow the seed in light soil early in spring where it is to flower, and thin out so that the plants have plenty of room. They bloom in July. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Evening Primrose.--_See_ "Oenothera." Everlasting Peas.--_See_ "Peas, Everlasting." F Fabacea.--_See_ "Thermopsis." Fatsia Japonica.--_See_ "Aralia." Feather Grass.--_See_ "Stipa Pennata." Fennel.--Sow the seed in April, cover lightly with fine mould, and when the plants are strong enough set them out 1 ft. apart. Cut off the flower-stalks as soon as they appear, to prevent them running to seed. The bed will last for years. (_See also_ "Ferula.") Fenzlia.--Elegant half-hardy annuals. Sow the seed on a peat soil. If this be done in autumn, they will flower in April or May; if sown in spring, they will bloom in autumn. Height, 6 in. Ferns.--Most Ferns delight in a loose soil, an abundance of moisture, and a warm, humid atmosphere. The stove and greenhouse kinds are best cultivated in a mixture of sandy loam and peat. The hardy kinds grow best among rock-work or in a shady border: a light, sandy soil suits them. They may be increased by dividing the roots. Ferns from Seed.--Collect the spore-fronds towards the end of summer, just as the spore-cases begin to open. Place them on a sheet of paper in a box for a few days, keeping it in a dry place. Most of the spores will fall out, the others may be rubbed out with the hand. These spores will keep good a long time, but are best sown within a year. Fill the pots with good heavy loam, water freely, and apply a coating of charcoal, coarse sand, and sphragnum moss, rubbed through a fine sieve. Damp the surface, sow the spores thinly, and cover with glass. Keep the soil moist by standing the pots for a time each day up to their rim in water. No surface water should be given. Stand the pots in a warm, light place in the greenhouse, but keep them shaded from the sun. When the surface is covered with growth, prick out into pans or boxes, using a rich, light soil. When they are large enough pot them off singly in thumb-pots, re-potting as soon as these are filled with roots. Ferraria.--_See_ "Tigridia." Ferula (_Giant Fennel_).--Strong-growing, hardy, herbaceous plants. F. Gigantea has bright, glistening foliage, changing to a brilliant orange, and attains a height of 8 ft or 10 ft. F. Tingitana is very stately and graceful, growing 4 ft. high. They are easily raised from seed, will grow in any garden soil, and flower in August and September. Festuca.--An annual ornamental grass, which is grown best on a loamy soil. Sow the seed in March, and keep moist till it germinates. Height, 1 ft. Feverfew.--This hardy perennial will grow in any soil and ripen its seed freely. Young plants, obtained by sowing the seed early in spring, are very useful for edgings; when planted alternately with, or in proximity to, Lobelia a pretty effect is produced. Ficaria Grandiflora.--A hardy perennial which thrives well when planted under the shade of trees. It is increased by separating the tubers in autumn, and produces its flowers in May. Height, 6 in. Ficus Elastica (_India-rubber Plant_).--This thrives well in any light, rich soil, or in loam and peat. Keep it moderately moist throughout the winter, using tepid water. In summer any of the artificial manures may be used. Sponge the leaves once a week to free them from dust, and keep the plant well sheltered from draughts. Cuttings with uninjured leaves will root in autumn in sand with a bottom-heat of 65 or 75 degrees; or the cuttings may be taken in spring, stem-rooting the slips. It flowers in May, and sometimes attains the height of 20 ft. Fig Palm.--_See_ "Aralia." Figs.--Though in some parts of our country Figs are cropped on standards, as a rule they require to be trained on a wall having a southern exposure. The soil should be a fairly good loam mixed with old mortar and crushed bones, but no manure is needed. The end of March or the beginning of April is the most favourable time for planting. The trees should be firmly set, and the surface of the soil kept moist until they are established. Manure may be given--preferably in a liquid state--when heavy crops of fruit are being borne. Old and exhausted wood may be cut away in April, but the knife must be used sparingly. The branches should be trained to a distance of 10 in. apart, and the fruit-bearing shoots may be pinched back with the thumb and finger at the end of August. The fruit is borne on the previous year's growth. They may be increased by layers, by suckers, or by cuttings of the young wood placed in sand and plunged in a bottom-heat under glass. Brown Turkey, Black Ischia, Yellow Ischia, White Marseilles, Brunswick, and St John's are all good varieties for open-air cultivation, or for growing in houses. When grown under glass, Figs may be trained on trellises near the roof of the house, or may be planted in tubs or pots, not allowing too much root-room. At starting the temperature in the day should be about 60 degrees, and at night 55 degrees. More heat can be given as the plants advance, keeping up a moist atmosphere, but taking care not to give too much water to the roots. By pinching off the points of the shoots when they have made five or six leaves a second crop of fruit will be obtained. Use the knife upon them as little as possible. When the fruit begins to ripen admit air, and as soon as it is gathered give liquid manure to the roots every other day to encourage a second crop. When the plants are at rest they need hardly any water. Filberts and Cob Nuts.--These Nuts will succeed on any soil that is not cold or wet. The bushes should be planted in October, when the leaves have nearly all fallen. Make the soil firm about the roots and give a mulching of stable manure. At the beginning of April the old and exhausted wood may be cut away, as well as any branches that obstruct light and air. Encourage well-balanced heads to the bushes by cutting back any branch that grows too vigorously, and remove all suckers as they make an appearance, except they are required for transplanting. The crop is produced on the small wood. The best method of propagation is by layers in November or any time before the buds swell in spring. The process is simple, it merely requiring a notch to be made in a branch of two or three years' growth, which is then pegged down 2 or 3 in. below the surface. The following autumn it may be cut away from its parent, pruned, and planted. They may also be grown from nuts sown in autumn and transplanted when two years old. In Kent the bushes are kept low and wide-spreading, by which means the harvest is more readily reaped. On a fairly good soil they should stand from 10 to 14 ft. apart. Lambert's Filberts, Frizzled Filberts, Purple Filberts are good varieties, the former two bearing abundantly. Among the best of the Cobs may be mentioned the Great Cob and Merveille de Bollwyller. Fire Thorn.--_See_ "Crataegus." Flea Bane.--_See_ "Inula" _and_ "Stenactis." Flower-Pots, Sizes of.--Various practices prevail at different potteries, but the appended names and sizes are generally adopted. In every case the inside measurement is taken. Inches Inches SIZES. across Top. Deep. Thimbles 2 2 Thumbs 2-1/2 2-1/2 Sixties (60's) 3 3-1/2 Fifty-fours (54's) 4 4 Forty-eights (48's) 4-1/2 5 Thirty-twos (32's) 6 6 Twenty-fours (24's) 8-1/2 8 Sixteens (16's) 9-1/2 9 Twelves (12's) 11-1/2 10 Eights (8's) 12 11 Sixes (6's) 13 11 Fours (4's) 15 13 Threes (3's) 17 13 Twos (2's) 18 14 Foam Flower.--_See_ "Tiarella." Fontanesia Phillyraeoides.--This shrub will grow in any soil, but needs protection in severe weather. It may be propagated by layers or by cuttings planted under glass. August is its time for flowering. Height, 10 ft. Forget-me-not.--_See_ "Myosotis." Forsythia.--Any good soil suits these pretty shrubs. F. Suspensa thrives best under greenhouse treatment, but F. Viridissima is quite hardy. The former flowers in March, the latter in February. They may be increased by layers or cuttings. Height, 10 ft. Foxglove.--_See_ "Digitalis." Fragaria Indica (_Ornamental Strawberry_).--A rich or peaty mould suits this half-hardy perennial. It may be saved through the winter by protecting the roots, but seed sown in spring will generally fruit the same year. It flowers in July. Height, 1 ft. Francoa.--Hardy perennials bearing white flowers from June to September. They like a good, warm soil. The only way of raising them is from seed. They require a slight protection in winter. Height, 2-1/2 ft. Fraxinella (_Dictamnus_).--This ornamental hardy perennial is commonly known as the Burning Bush. It succeeds in any garden soil, and is easily raised from seed, which ripens freely. If the flowers are rubbed they emit a fine odour. It blooms in June. Height, 3 ft. Freesia.--Remarkably pretty and graceful Cape flowers, possessing a most agreeable perfume. The plants grow about 9 in. high and produce six or eight tubular flowers on a stem. They are easily cultivated in a cool greenhouse, frame, or window, and are invaluable for cutting, the long sprays lasting from two to three weeks in water. The bulbs should be planted early in the spring in rich, very sandy soil, and given the protection of a cold frame in the winter. By successional plantings they may be had in bloom from January to May. Put six to twelve bulbs in a 4-in. or 8-in pot, place in a sunny position in a cold frame, and cover with damp cinder ashes to keep them fairly moist. When growth has begun and the pots are full of roots, remove the covering of ashes, but keep the pots in the frame, giving a little ventilation when the weather is mild, and watering carefully when the soil appears dry. Protect from frost by a covering of mats. For early flowering remove the plants to a warm greenhouse when the flower spikes appear, keeping them as near the glass as possible. When the buds are developed an occasional application of weak liquid manure will prove beneficial. Fremontia Californica.--A beautiful and somewhat singular wall shrub, with large yellow flowers. Any soil is suitable for it, but a south or west aspect is indispensable. Fringe Tree.--_See_ "Chionanthus." Fritillarias (_Crown Imperials, or Snake's Head Lilies_).--Soil, sandy loam, or well-drained, deep, rich mould. Plant in the open ground in autumn; take the bulbs up as soon as the leaves decay, and preserve them in a rather moist place. Increased by off-sets taken from the old roots every third year. They are not so suitable for pot culture as for outdoor decoration. They are quite hardy, and flower in the spring, bearing clusters of pendent bell-shaped flowers surrounded with tufts of fresh green leaves. F. Meleagris are of dwarf, slender growth, and bear in early spring elegant pendent flowers of various shades netted and marked with darker colours. These are suitable for either the border or pots. Plant in autumn. Fruit Trees, the Pruning of.--Cut away all growths that have an inward tendency, and do not allow any shoot to cross over or come in contact with another; also keep the centres of the trees or bushes open. The fruit of trees thus treated is not so liable to be blown down by the wind, and the sun can more readily ripen it. If the ground is poor a dressing of rotted manure worked into the soil will be beneficial to the roots. Fuchsias.--These like a warm and moist atmosphere. The hardy sorts do well out of doors in rich, light soil. On the approach of frost cut them down and cover the roots with 3 or 4 in. of coal dust, ashes, or moss. Remove the ashes in April and thin out the shoots in May. They will also grow well from cuttings taken off the old wood as soon as they are 1 in. long, inserted in sand and placed under glass, or plunged in dung at a temperature of 60 degrees. Cuttings will also strike in loam and leaf-mould. If grown in pots, take them indoors before the frosty weather begins, and give them very little or no water at all during the winter. Keep them in a cool place, yet free from frost. Re-pot them in the spring, trimming the branches and roots, and making a compost for them of one-half mellow yellow loam, one quarter leaf-mould, and one quarter old manure. Place them in a frame with bottom-heat, and water and syringe them moderately while they are growing. When they are in full growth never give them plain water, but always plenty of liquid manure. Fumitory.--_See_ "Corydalis." Funkia.--Ornamental plants which delight in a deep, light soil and a warm, moist situation, without which they will not flower. They are increased by division (which should not be too severe) and bloom in July and August. Height, 1 1/2 ft. Furze.--Enjoys a sandy soil. Increased by cuttings taken in spring or autumn and placed in a shady border under hand-glasses. It is of evergreen habit, and forms a dense and highly ornamental hedge. (_See also_ "Ulex.") G Gages.--The cultivation of Gages is similar to that of Plums. In the open they may be grown as dwarfs or pyramids, and in orchard-houses as gridirons, cordons, or in pots. The chief points to observe are to thin the branches in order to admit plenty of light into the middle of the tree, thus inducing the production of a plentiful supply of fruit spurs, and to occasionally lift and root-prune the tree if growing too strong. Among the choicest sorts are: Bonne Bouche (producing its fruit at the end of August), Coe's Golden Drop (end of September), Old Green Gage (August), Guthrie's Late Green Gage (September), M'Laughlin's Gage (end of August), Oullin's Golden Gage (end of August), and Reine Claude de Bavay (beginning of October). Gaillardia (_Blanket Flower_).--Very ornamental flowers, which will grow in any common soil, but thrive most in a light, rich one. Seeds of the annual kinds are sown in the spring. The perennials are increased by dividing the roots. Bloom in July. Height, 1 ft. to 2 ft. Galanthus.--_See_ "Snowdrops." Galax Aphylla (_Wand Plant_).--The Heart-shaped Galax is a charming little plant for rock-work. It is perennial, and does not lose the old leaves till the new ones appear. A rich, light mould is required for its growth, and its situation should be a somewhat shady one. Its flowers are borne in July and August, on stalks 1 ft. or more high. The plant may be increased by taking up a strong clump, shaking it apart, and transplanting at once. (_See also_ "Shortia.") Galega (_Goats Rue_).--Ornamental hardy perennials, requiring plenty of room. They are readily increased by seed or division of the root, and flower in July. Height, 3 ft. to 4 ft. Galium.--This hardy herbaceous plant blooms in July. It will grow in any soil, and can be increased by division of the root. Height, 1 ft. Gardenias.--Plant in a hothouse in fibrous peat mixed with a large proportion of sand. Give plenty of heat and moisture during growth, with a thin shade to keep off the sun's midday rays. Lower the temperature as soon as growth is completed, and in the middle of summer stand the plants out in the open for a week or two for the wood to ripen. Height, 3 ft. Garlic.--Plant small cloves from February to April in rows 9 in. apart and 6 in. from each other in the row. Lift them when the leaves die down, dry them in the sunshine, and store in an airy, cool shed. Garrya Elliptica.--A hardy evergreen shrub, which is very suitable in its early stages for pot-culture. A light, loamy soil is what it likes. Cuttings taken in August and placed in sand under a hand-glass will strike freely, but it is most readily increased by layers. In October it bears graceful yellowish-green tassels of flowers from the ends of its shoots. Height, 6 ft. Gasteria Verrucosa.--This plant grows best in pots of turfy loam and leaf-mould, to which has been added a little old mortar. Good drainage is essential. Water freely in summer, and keep just moist in winter. Keep the foliage clean by sponging. Give plenty of light, and during warm weather turn the plants out of doors. Gastrolobium.--Elegant evergreen shrubs which flower in April and May. They are most suitable for adorning the greenhouse, and grow best in a soil of loamy peat and sand. Cuttings of half-ripened wood planted under glass will take root. Height, 2 ft. Gaultheria.--Dwarf, creeping evergreen shrubs, having dark foliage and producing white flowers in May, June, or July. They require to be grown in peat, and are increased by layers. G. Procumbens is suitable for rockeries, as it only grows to the height of 6 in. G. Shallon attains the height of 2 ft. Gaura Lindheimeri.--This free-flowering, hardy, herbaceous plant will thrive in any light, rich soil. It bears elegant spikes of white flowers from May onwards, followed by red bracts in September, and is readily propagated by seeds. Height, 4 ft. Gazania Splendens.--A showy greenhouse plant. It may be planted in the open in warm positions, but will require protecting in winter. Grow it in peat and loam. Cuttings will strike if placed in sand under glass. It flowers in July. Height, 1 ft. Genethyllis.--Greenhouse evergreen shrubs which thrive best in sandy loam and peat. Cuttings of the young wood planted in the same soil and plunged in heat will take root. Their flowering season is in August. Height, 3 ft. Genista (_Broom_).--G. Canariense is an exceedingly ornamental and free-flowering greenhouse shrub. It should be planted in a mixture of loam, peat, and sand. Young cuttings inserted in sand under a glass take root readily. It blooms in June. Height, 2 ft. Hardy species of Genista may be placed in the front of shrubberies. They are increased by seeds or by layers. Gentians.--The herbaceous kinds do best in a light, rich soil, such as loam and peat mixed with vegetable mould. The annuals are raised from seed sown as soon as it is ripe; if left till spring before it is sown it will probably not come up till the second year. The perennials are increased by dividing the roots. Both of the latter kinds do best in a dry, sandy soil. Gentiana Acaulis, or Gentianella, is very suitable for edgings, or for rock-work; it is an evergreen creeper, and bears large trumpet-shaped flowers of rich ultramarine blue. All the Gentians need plenty of free air, and some of them moisture at the roots. Bloom in July. Height, 4 in. to 2 ft. Geranium Argentium(_Silvery Crane's-Bill_).--This hardy perennial alpine is very effective on rock-work, especially in front of dark stones; but provision must be made for its long tap roots. A rich, deep loam suits it well. Its seeds germinate freely when sown in peat and sand. Flowers are borne from May to July. Height, 6 in. Geraniums.--Take cuttings in July or August, and let them he to partially dry for twenty-four hours before planting. When rooted pot them off in 60's, and keep them under glass during the winter at a temperature of 55 degrees. If the cuttings are taken in September put three or four slips in a 48-size pot. In the spring they should be re-potted singly and hardened off as early as possible. A suitable soil for them is made by mixing two parts of good turfy loam, one of leaf-mould, one of well-decomposed cow-dung, and a good proportion of silver sand. Bone dust is an excellent addition to the soil. Old plants stripped of their leaves may be packed in sand during the winter, and re-potted in spring. Gerardia.--These hardy perennials form pyramidal bushes bearing Pentstemon-like flowers, thickly set and varying in colour from light pink to dark purple. A peat soil suits them best. They may be propagated by cuttings placed under glass, but are best grown from seed. July is their flowering season. Height, 1 ft. to 2 ft. German Seeds.--These require to be sown in a cold frame in seed-pans, in the greenhouse, or under a handglass, in good, rich compost, composed of old turf, leaf-mould, some well-rotted manure, and silver sand. The seeds should be sown thinly and watered sparingly. Sow early in April, and transplant in the middle or end of May in rich soil. Water occasionally with weak liquid manure. Gesneria.--Handsome greenhouse perennials. They thrive in any light, rich soil. Cuttings will strike readily either in sand or soil if placed under glass in heat. They may also be raised from seed sown in a temperature of 75 degrees in March or April. They flower in October. Height, 18 in. Geum.--Very handsome hardy perennials. They grow well in any light, rich, loamy soil, and may be increased either by seeds or by dividing the roots. G. Coccineum is extremely pretty. Flower in July. Height, 18 in. Gherkins.--Sow the seed the first week in April in small pots, and cover it lightly with fine soil. Plunge the pots in a hotbed covered with a frame. When grown to nice little plants, remove them to a cold frame to harden, and plant them out on a warm border towards the end of May. When the fruit begins to form, give liquid manure twice a week. For pickling they must be cut while small. Gilia.--Extremely pretty and free-flowering hardy annuals, deserving of a place in every garden. They are very suitable for small beds. They should be sown in the open early in spring. G. Tricolour may be sown in autumn. Bloom in July. Height, 1 ft. Gillenia Trifoliata.--The Three-Leaved Gillenia is a hardy herbaceous perennial which is very useful as a cut flower for the decoration of vases, etc. It should be grown in large clumps, delights in a deep, moist soil and partial shade, and may be propagated by dividing the roots early in spring. It lasts in bloom from June to August. Height, 1 ft. Gladiolus.--Dig the ground out to a depth of 1 ft. or 15 in.; put in a layer of leaf-mould or rotted manure, and then 4 or 5 in. of earth mixed with sand; insert the bulbs (6 in. from the surface and 9 in. apart), cover them with 1 in. of sand, and fill up with earth. In frosty weather cover with a thick layer of litter. Give plenty of water when they begin to throw up their flower-stems. They may be planted at any time between December and the end of March. If planted late in the season, a depth of 3 or 4 in. is enough. The roots must be kept dry in winter. They are increased by off-sets, taken when the bulbs are removed from the ground after the leaves have turned yellow. These should be planted at once in well-drained earth. If early flowers are required, plant the old bulbs in pots (three to six bulbs being placed in a 5-in. pot) any time between December and March. Give them frame culture up to the second week in May, when they may be transferred to the border. The flowers are invaluable for vase decoration. Glaucium Flavum Tricolor (_Hardy Horn Poppy_).--The large, brilliant, orange-red flowers of this plant are very effective in the border, and the bloom is continuous during the greater part of the summer. The seed is rather slow to germinate, but when sown in the open ground in autumn, it blooms from June to August; when sown in early spring it flowers from July to September. Height, 2 ft. Glaux Maritima (_Sea Milkweed_).--A pretty little hardy trailing plant bearing flesh-coloured flowers in June and July. It grows in sandy loam, and is raised from seed sown in spring. Height, 3 in. Globe Amaranthus (_Gomphrena_).--This tender annual is well known for its clover-like heads of everlasting flowers. It will grow in any rich soil, but to produce really fine plants, much attention must be given to shifting, watering, etc. Increased by seed in the same manner as other tender annuals. Blooms in July. Height, 1 ft. Globe Flower.--_See_ "Trollius." Globe Thistle.--_See_ "Echinops." Globularia Trichosantha.--A pretty dwarf perennial rock-plant bearing pale blue flowers in May and June. It is hardy, thrives in light, sandy soil, and is increased by either seeds or cuttings planted in sand. Height, 6 in. The greenhouse varieties of Globularia grow best in loam and peat. Glory of the Snow.--_See_ "Chionodoxa." Gloxinias.--A very ornamental family of tuberous-rooted hothouse plants. They are of two classes, the drooping and the erect. Pot at any time during January and March in a mixture of equal quantities of loam, peat, and sand, with the addition of a little vegetable soil, and place in a warm (60 degrees), moist temperature, where they can be favoured with a little shade. In summer supply the roots plentifully with water, but give them very little in winter. Overhead watering is likely to rot the leaves and flowers. G. Maculata is increased by division. The leaves of most of the others, if taken off close to the stem, and planted, will soon make young plants. They may be raised from seed sown from March to July in a hothouse or frame having a temperature of 65 to 75 degrees. They flower in June, and on into September. Height, 6 in. to 1 ft. Glycine.--_See_ "Wistaria" _and_ "Apios." Gnaphalium _(Edelweiss_).--Hardy everlasting flowers, which are covered with a woolly substance. They may be grown in any light, rich soil. The shrubby and herbaceous kinds may be increased by cuttings or division. The annuals are easily raised from seed. They flower in July. Height, 1 ft. Goat's Rue.--_See_ "Galega." Godetia.--Very pretty hardy annuals, that may be grown in any garden soil. Sow in the autumn for early flowering, or in spring for later blooms. July is their ordinary season of coming into flower. Height, 1-1/2 ft. to 2 ft. Golden Feather.--Hardy annual foliage plants. They are not particular as to soil, and are easily raised from seed sown early in spring. They bloom in July. Height, 1 ft. Golden Rod.--_See_ "Solidago." Gompholobium.--Delicate greenhouse evergreen shrubs requiring a soil of sandy loam and peat and but little water. They flower in June, and are propagated by cuttings planted in sand under glass. Height, 2 ft. Gomphrena.--_See_ "Globe Amaranthus." Gooseberries.--From the middle of October to the end of November is the best time for planting. To produce good crops the soil should be rich, deep, and well drained. The position should be somewhat cool and sheltered, and a liberal quantity of liquid manure is beneficial. In dry seasons mulching may be resorted to with advantage. Cuttings are taken in autumn as soon as the leaves begin to fall. Select strong shoots about 1 ft. long. Cut the bottom end straight across, just below a joint, and with a sharp knife remove all the buds or eyes from the base to within a couple of inches of the top, so as to prevent the formation of suckers. Plant the shoots firmly 3 in. deep, in rows 1 ft. apart and 6 in. apart in the rows, on a north border. At the end of the second season cut back all leading shoots to two-thirds of their length. In after years remove weak and superfluous branches, as also any that are growing near the ground, but plenty of young wood must always be left on the bushes. The pruning may be done either in spring or autumn. The following varieties may be recommended:--Red, White, and Yellow Champagne, Wilmot's Early Red, Golden Drop, Ironmonger, and Warrington Red for dessert; while for preserving and culinary purposes Old Rough Red, Conquering Hero, Favourite, Broom Girl, British Crown, Ironsides, Lady Leicester, Thumper, Green Walnut, Leader, and Moreton Hero may be classed among the leading varieties. When grown in bush form ample room must be allowed between each to enable one to get round the bushes to gather the fruit. Gooseberry Caterpillar.--To prevent caterpillars attacking Gooseberries syringe the bushes with a decoction of common foxglove (Digitalis), or dust the leaves with Hellebore powder. If the caterpillar has begun its attack, sprinkle some fresh lime below the bushes, and shake the bushes vigorously, so that the insects are dislodged. Gorse.--_See_ "Ulex." Gourds.--Sow at the end of March or the beginning of April on a slight hotbed; pot off when the plants are sufficiently advanced, and transplant to the open border in June. They are well adapted for arbours, trellis-work, or sloping banks. The following are among the most ornamental:--Abobra Viridiflora, Benincasa Cerifera (Wax Gourd), Bryonopsis Erythrocarpa, Coccinea Indica (scarlet fruit), Cucumis Anguinus (Serpent Gourd), Cucumis Dipsaceus (Teasel Gourd), Cucumis Dudaim (Balloon Gourd), Cucumis Erinaceus (Hedgehog Gourd), Cucumis Grossularoides (Gooseberry Gourd), Cucumis Perennis, Cucurbita Argyrosperma, Cucurbita Melopepo, Cyclanthera Explodens (Bombshell Gourd), Cyclanthera Pedata, Eopepon Aurantiacum, Eopepon Vitifolius, Lagenaria Clavata (Club Gourd), Lagenaria Enormis, Lagenaria Leucantha Depressa, Lagenaria Leucantha Longissima, Lagenaria Plate de Corse, Lagenaria Poire a Poudre, Lagenaria Siphon, Luffa Cylindrica, Luffa Solly Qua, Melothria Scabra, Momordica Balsamina, Momordica Charantia, Momordica Elaterium, Mukia Scabrella, Scotanthus Tubiflorus, Trichosanthes Anguina, Trichosanthes Coccinea, Trichosanthes Colubrina, and Trichosanthes Palmata. Grafting.--The objects of Grafting are to bring a bush or tree into an earlier state of bearing than it would do naturally; to produce good fruit from an inferior plant; and to save space by putting dwarf scions on to rampant-growing trees. By the process of uniting strong-growing trees to those of a weaker nature their exuberance is checked, and weaker ones are improved by being worked on those of a stronger growth. Whatever form of Grafting is adopted, the inner layers of the bark of the stock or tree on which the operation is performed, must be brought into direct contact with the inner layers of the bark of the branch which is grafted, or, as it is called, the scion. This scion should be a branch of the early growth of the previous year's wood, and should be in the same state of vegetation as the stock. If the scion is in a more advanced state than the stock, its growth may be stopped by cutting it off and burying it in the earth under a north wall until the stock has advanced sufficiently in growth. Grafting of all kinds is best done in March, when the sap is flowing freely. Many methods of Grafting are adopted, the following being the principal:-- Whip or Tongue Grafting is suitable for almost any description of trees. Saw the stock off level at any desired height, then make a deep upward slanting cut through the bark at the top 2 or 3 in. in length, and in the middle of the cut turn the knife downwards and cut out a thin wedge-shaped socket. Next cut the scion in a similar manner so that it will fit exactly into the incision of the stock, bringing the bark of each into direct contact. Bind it firmly in position, and cover it over, from the top of the stock to the bottom of the scion, with grafting wax or clay. When the scion and the stock are united, which is demonstrated by the former making growth, remove the wax and cut away all shoots that may be produced on the stock. In the French mode of Grafting known as the Bertemboise, the crown of the stock is cut at a long level, about 1 in. at the top being left square, and an angular piece is cut away in which the scion is inserted. It is then bound and waxed over. Theophrastes or Rind Grafting is used where a tree has strong roots but inferior fruit. The branches are cut off about 1-1/2 or 2 ft. from the main stem. A sharp cut 2 or 3 in. in length is made down the bark of the branches, and the lower parts of the scion, selected from a superior tree, having been cut into tongues resembling the mouth-piece of a flageolet, the bark of the branches is lifted with a knife, and the tongues of the scions are slipped in, bound, and waxed. Side Grafting is useful where it is desired to replenish the tree with a fresh branch. A T-shaped cut is made in the stem of the tree, extending to the inner bark; the scion is prepared by a longitudinal sloping cut of the same length as that in the stem, into which it is inserted, and the two are bound together and treated like other grafts. Approach Grafting is the most favourable method of obtaining choice varieties of the vine, or of growing weak sorts on roots of a stronger growth. The scion is generally grown in a pot. A portion of the bark is cut from both scion and stock while the vine is in active growth, and the two wounded parts brought into contact, so that they fit exactly. They are then tied together, and moss (kept constantly wet) is bound round the parts. The union may be completed by the following spring, but it is safer to leave the cutting down of the stock to the point of union and the separation of the scion from the potted plant until the second spring. Grafting Wax (_Cobbetts_), etc.--Pitch and resin four parts each, beeswax two parts, tallow one part. Melt and mix the ingredients, and use when just warm. It may be rolled into balls and stored in a dry place. Clay bands are frequently employed for excluding the air from wounds caused in the process of grafting. These are liable to crack, unless the clay is well kneaded and mixed with wood ashes or dry horse droppings. Grapes.--The cultivation of Grapes in the open in our cloudy and changeable climate cannot be looked forward to with any certainty of success. Two successive favourable seasons are indispensable--one to ripen the wood, and the next to ripen the fruit. Nevertheless, the highly ornamental foliage of the vine entitles it to a place on our walls, and every facility should be afforded for the production of a chance crop of fruit. The soil most suited to the growth of the vine is a medium loam, with which is incorporated a quantity of crushed chalk and half-inch bones. It should be given a south aspect, and be liberally supplied with water in dry seasons. April is the best time to plant it, spreading the roots out equally about 9 in. below the surface of the soil, and mulching with 3 or 4 in. of manure. Should mildew set in, syringe the vine with a mixture of soapsuds and sulphur. To secure a continuance of fruit, cut out some of the old rods each year as soon as the leaves fall, and train young shoots in their places. Last year's shoots produce other shoots the ensuing summer, and these are the fruit-bearers. One bunch of grapes is enough for a spur to carry. Professional gardeners cast off the weight of the bunches, and allow 1 ft. of rod to each pound of fruit. Tie or nail the bunches to the trellis or wall, and remove all branches or leaves that intercept light and air. The vine may be increased by layers at the end of September. Cut a notch at a bud, and bury it 4 or 5 in. deep, leaving two or three eyes above ground. It may also be propagated by cuttings, about 1 ft. in length, of the last year's growth, with 1 in. of old wood attached, taken the latter end of February. Plant these deep in the ground, leaving one eye only above the surface. Both the Black Hamburgh and Royal Muscadine ripen as well as any in the open. It is under glass only that Grapes can be brought to perfection. Here a night temperature of 55 to 65 degrees, with a rise of 5 or 10 degrees in the day, should be maintained, the walls and paths damped once or twice a day, and the vine syringed frequently until it comes into bloom, when syringing must cease, and a drier atmosphere is necessary; the moisture being reduced by degrees. As the grapes ripen, admit more air, and reduce the heat, otherwise the fruit will shrivel. After gathering the grapes syringe the vine frequently to clear it from spiders or dust, and keep the house cool to induce rest to the plant. The fruit may be preserved for a long while in a good condition by cutting it with about 1 ft. of the rod attached, and inserting the cuttings in bottles of water in which a piece of charcoal is placed: the bottles to be placed in racks nailed on to an upright post in any room or cellar where an equable temperature of 45 or 50 degrees can be kept up. The system of pruning adopted is that known as spur pruning (_see_ "Pruning"). Mrs. Pearson is a very fine variety, and produces very sweet berries; the Frontignan Grizzly Black and White are also delicious. Grasses, Natural-- _AGROSTIS STOLONIFERA_ (_Creeping Bent Grass_).--Useful for damp meadows. _ALOPECURUS PRATENSIS_ (_Meadow Foxtail_).--Strong-growing and very nutritious. _ANTHOXANTHUM ODORATUM_ (_True Sweet Vernal_),--Hardy and gives fragrance to hay. _AVENA FLAVESCENS_ (_Yellow Oat Grass_).--Fine for sheep; grows freely on light soils. _CYNOSURUS CRISTATUS_ (_Crested Dogstail_).--Suitable for any soil. _DACTYLIS GLOMERATA_ (_Cocksfoot_).--Strong and coarse-growing; cattle are fond of it. _FESTUCA DURIUSCULA_ (_Hard Fescue_).--Dwarf-growing; excellent for sheep. _FESTUCA ELATIOR_ (_Tall Fescue_).--Useful for cold, strong soils. _FESTUCA OVINA_ (_Sheep's Fescue_).--Fine for dry, sandy soils. _FESTUCA OVINA TENUIFOLIA_ (_Slender Fescue_).--Suitable for mountain pastures. _FESTUCA PRATENSIS_ (_Meadow Fescue_).--Good permanent grass for rich, moist soil. _PHLEUM PRATENSE_ (_Timothy, or Catstail_).--Suitable for strong soils; nutritious and hardy. _POA NEMORALIS_ (_Wood Meadow Grass_).--Good for poor soils. _POA PRATENSIS_ (_Smooth-stalked Meadow Grass_).--Grows well on light, dry soil, and also in water-meadows. _POA TRIVIALIS_ (_Rough-stalked Meadow Grass_).--Fine for damp soil. Grasses, Ornamental.--Fine for mixing in a green state with cut flowers, or in a dried condition for the decoration of vases, winter bouquets, etc. To have them in perfection gather them while quite fresh, with the pollen on them. Cut with as long stems as possible, arrange lightly in vases, and keep them in the dark till they are dried and the stems become stiff. The Grasses may be divided into two sections, viz., those for bouquets or edgings, and those grown in the border or on lawns for specimen plants. The class is numerous, but the following (which may be found described herein under alphabetical classification) may be mentioned:-- For bouquets and edgings: Agrostis, Anthoxanthum, Avena, Briza, Coix Lachryma, Eragrostis, Festuca, Hordeum Jubatum, Lagurus, and Stipa Pennata. For specimen plants: Eulalia, Gynerium, Panicum, Phalaris, and Zea. Gratiola Officinalis.--This hardy herbaceous plant bears light blue flowers in July. A rich, moist soil is its delight. It is propagated by dividing the roots. Height, 1 ft. Green Fly.--Fumigate the infected plants with tobacco, and afterwards syringe them with clear water; or the plants may be washed with tobacco water by means of a soft brush. Grevillea.--Handsome greenhouse shrubs, which require a mould composed of equal parts of peat, sand, and loam. Give plenty of water in summer, a moderate amount at other seasons. Ripened cuttings may be rooted in sand, under a glass. Young plants may also be obtained from seed. They bloom in June. Their common height is from 3 to 4 ft., but G. Robusta attains a great height. Grevilleas will grow well in windows facing south. Griselinia Littoralis.--A dwarf-growing, light-coloured evergreen shrub, which will thrive near the sea. It requires a light, dry soil, and may be increased by cuttings. Guelder Rose.--_See_ "Viburnum." Guernsey Lily (_Nerine Sarniense_).--Soil, strong, rich loam with sand, well drained. Plant the bulbs deeply in a warm, sheltered position, and let them remain undisturbed year by year. Keep the beds dry in winter, and protect the roots from frost. They also make good indoor plants, potted in moss or cocoa-nut fibre in September, or they may be grown in vases of water. Gumming of Trees.--Scrape the gum off, wash the place thoroughly with clear water, and apply a compost of horse-dung, clay, and tar. Gunnera Manicata (_Chilian Rhubarb_).--This hardy plant bears large leaves on stout foot-stalks, and is very ornamental in the backs of borders, etc. Planted in a rich, moist soil, it will flower in August. It can be propagated by division. Height, 6 ft. Gunnera Scabra.--Has gigantic leaves, 4 to 5 ft. in diameter, on petioles 3 to 6 ft. in length. It prefers a moist, shady position, and bears division. Makes a fine addition to a sub-tropical garden, where it will flower in August. Height, 6 ft. Gynerium (_Pampas Grass_).--This unquestionably is the grandest of all grasses, and is sufficiently hardy to endure most of our winters. It is, however, desirable to give it some protection. It requires a deep, rich, alluvial soil, with plenty of room and a good supply of water. Plants may be raised from seed sown thinly in pots during February or March, barely covering it with very fine soil, and keeping the surface damp. Plant out at end of May. They will flower when three or four years old. The old leaves should be allowed to remain on till the new ones appear, as they afford protection to the plant. It may be increased by division of the root. Height, 7 ft. Gypsophila.--Of value for table bouquets, etc. They will grow in any soil, but prefer a chalky one. The herbaceous kinds are increased by cuttings; the annuals are sown in the open either in autumn or spring. They bloom during July and August. Height, 1 ft. to 3 ft. H Habrothamnus.--These beautiful evergreen shrubs require greenhouse culture, and to be grown in sandy loam and leaf-mould. The majority of them flower in spring. Height, 4 ft. to 6 ft. Halesia Tetraptera (_Snowdrop Tree_).--This elegant shrub will grow in any soil, and may be propagated by cuttings of the roots or by layers. The pendent white flowers are produced close to the branches in June. Height, 8 ft. Hamamelis (_Witch Hazel_).--An ornamental shrub which will grow in ordinary soil, but thrives best in a sandy one. It is increased by layers. May is its season for flowering. Height, 12 ft. to 15 ft. H. Arborea is a curious small tree, producing brownish-yellow flowers in mid-winter. Harpalium Rigidum.--A hardy perennial, producing very fine yellow flowers in the autumn. It will grow in any good garden soil, and may be propagated by seed sown in early autumn, or by division of the roots. Height, 3 ft. Hawkweed.--_See_ "Crepis" _and_ "Hieracium." Heartsease.--_See_ "Pansies." Heaths, Greenhouse.--For their successful growth Heaths require a well-drained soil, composed of three parts finely pulverised peat and one part silver sand, free ventilation, and a careful supply of water, so that the soil is always damp. If they suffer a check they are hard to bring round, especially the hard-wooded kinds. Some of the soft-wooded Heaths, such as the H. Hyemalis, are easier of management. After they have flowered they may be cut hard back, re-potted, and supplied with liquid manure. The stout shoots thus obtained will bloom the following season. (_See also_ "Ericas.") Hedera.--_See_ "Ivy." Hedychium Gardnerianum.--A hothouse herbaceous plant, delighting in a rich, light soil, plenty of room in the pots for the roots, and a good amount of sunshine. In the spring a top-dressing of rich manure and soot should be given. From the time the leaves begin to expand, and all through its growing stage, it needs plenty water, and an occasional application of liquid manure. The foliage should not be cut off when it dies, but allowed to remain on all the winter. While the plant is dormant keep it rather dry and quite free from frost. It may be increased by dividing the roots, but it blooms best when undisturbed. July is its flowering month. Height, 6 ft. Hedysarum.--Hardy perennials, requiring a light, rich soil, or loam and peat. They may be raised from seed, or increased by dividing the roots in spring. H. Multijugum bears rich purple flowers. Height, 6 in. to 3 ft. Heleniums.--The Pumilum is a very pretty hardy perennial that may be grown in any soil, and increased by dividing the roots. It produces its golden flowers in August. Height, 1-1/2 ft. H. Autumnale is also easy to grow, but flowers a month later than the Pumilum, and attains a height of 3 ft. H. Bigelowi is the best of the late autumn-flowering species, producing an abundance of rich yellow flowers with purple discs. Flowers in August. Height, 3-1/2 ft. Helianthemum Alpinum (_Rock Roses_).--These hardy perennials are best grown in sandy loam and peat, and may be increased by cuttings placed under glass in a sheltered situation. Bloom in June or July. Height, 1 ft. Helianthus (_Sunflowers_).--The tall variety is a very stately plant, suitable for the background or a corner of the border. Well-grown flowers have measured 16 in. in diameter. The miniature kinds make fine vase ornaments. They grow in any garden soil, and are easily increased by seed raised on a hotbed in spring and afterwards transplanted. The perennials may be propagated by division of the root. They produce their flowers in August. Height, 3 ft. to 6 ft. Helichrysum.--Fine everlasting hardy annuals, that grow best in a mixture of three parts peat and one part sandy loam. May be readily raised from seed sown in a cold frame in March, or cuttings taken off at a joint will strike in peat and sand. Bloom during July and August. For winter decoration the flowers should be gathered in a young state, as they continue to develop after being gathered. Height, 1 ft. to 6 ft, but most of them are 2 ft. high. Heliophila.--Pretty little hardy annuals, thriving best in sandy loam and peat. Sow the seed early in spring in pots placed in a gentle hotbed, and plant out in May. They flower in June. Height, 9 in. Heliopsis.--This hardy perennial is useful for cutting purposes, the flowers being borne on long stalks, and lasting for two or three weeks in water. It is not particular as to soil, and may be increased by dividing the roots. Height, 5 ft. Heliotrope.--Commonly called Cherry Pie. Sow the seed early in spring in light, rich soil in a little heat, and plant out in May. The best plants, however, are obtained from cuttings taken off when young, in the same way as Verbenas and bedding Calceolarias. They are very sensitive to frost. Flower in June. Height, 1 ft. Helipterium.--A half-hardy annual, bearing everlasting flowers. It should receive the same treatment as Helichrysum. Blooms in May or June. Height, 2 ft. Helleborus (_Christmas Rose_).--As its name implies, the Hellebore flowers about Christmas, and that without any protection whatever. The foliage is evergreen, and of a dark colour. When the plant is once established it produces flowers in great abundance. The plants of the white-flowered variety should be protected with a hand-light when the flower-buds appear, in order to preserve the blossoms pure and clean. Any deeply-dug rich garden soil suits it, and it is most at home under the shade of a tree. It prefers a sheltered situation, and during the summer months a mulching of litter and an occasional watering will be beneficial. Readily increased by division in spring or seed. Height, 1 ft. Helonias Bullata.--A pretty herbaceous plant, bearing dense racemes of purple-rose flowers from June to August. It grows best in peat, in a moist position. It can be raised from seed or increased by division of the roots. Height 1-1/2 ft. Hemerocallis (_Day Lily_).--Old-fashioned plants of great merit. Planted in large clumps they produce a grand effect. They are easily grown in any common garden soil, and bloom in July. Height, 3 ft. H. Kwanso has handsome, variegated foliage. Hemp.--_See_ "Canna" _and_ "Cannabis." Hepatica.--This enjoys a rather light, sandy soil and a shady situation. The roots should be taken up and divided every second year. Well adapted for surrounding beds or clumps of Rhododendrons. Flowers in March. Height, 4 in. Heracleum.--Coarse hardy biennials, that may be grown in any kind of soil, and are readily raised from seed. They flower at midsummer. Height, 2 ft. to 4 ft. Herbs.--Thyme, Marjoram, Chervil, Basil, Burnet, Hyssop, Savory, etc., should be sown early in spring, in dry, mild weather, in narrow drills about 1/2 in. deep and 8 or 9 in. apart, covered evenly with soil, and transplanted when strong enough. Mint is quickly increased by separating the roots in spring, and covering them with 1 in. of earth. Sage is propagated by slips of the young shoots taken either in spring or autumn. If planted in light soil and in a sunny position it produces very fragrant flowers. Chives should be planted 6 or 8 in. apart: they are increased by division in spring. Penny Royal, like mint generally, will grow from very small pieces of the root; it needs to be frequently transplanted, and to be kept from a damp condition. Rosemary will grow from cuttings planted under glass in a shady spot. Thyme likes a light, rich soil, and bears division. Sorrel will grow in any soil, and the roots should be divided every two or three years. Chamomile roots are divided and subdivided in spring. Herbs should be harvested on a fine day, just before they are in full bloom. Tie them up in small bunches and hang in the shade to dry, then wrap in paper and store in air-tight vessels, or rub the leaves to a powder and keep in tightly-corked bottles. They will retain their strength for a long time. Herbs, the Uses of Sweet and Pot.-- _ANGELICA_.--A biennial. Leaves and stalks are eaten raw or boiled; the seeds are aromatic, and used to flavour spirits. _ANISE_.--Leaves used for garnishing, and for seasoning, like fennel; the seeds are medicinal. _BALM_.--A hardy perennial. Makes a useful tea and wine for fevers. _BASIL_, Sweet and Bush.--Half-hardy annuals. The leaves and tops of the shoots, on account of their clove-like flavour, are used for seasoning soups and introduced into salads. _BORAGE_.--Hardy annual. Used for salads and garnishing, and as an ingredient in cool drinks; excellent also for bees. _CHAMOMILE_.--A hardy perennial. Flowers used medicinally. _CARAWAY_.--A biennial. Leaves used in soups, and the seeds in confectionery and medicine. _CHERVIL_.--An annual. Useful for salads. _CHIVES_.--Hardy perennial. The young tops used to flavour soups, etc. _CORIANDER_.--A hardy annual. Cultivated for garnishing. _DILL_.--A hardy perennial. Leaves used in soups and sauces, also in pickles. _FENNEL_.--Hardy perennial. Used in salads and in fish sauce, also for garnishing dishes. _HOREHOUND_.--Hardy perennial. Leaves and young shoots used for making a beverage for coughs. _HYSSOP_.--Hardy evergreen shrub. Leaves and young shoots used for making tea; also as a pot herb. _LAVENDER_.--Hardy perennial. Cultivated for its flowers, for the distillation of lavender water, for flavouring sauces, and for medicinal purposes. _MARIGOLD_, Pot.--Hardy annual. Flowers used in soups. _MARJORAM_, Sweet or Knotted, and Pot.--Hardy annuals. Aromatic and sweet flavour. Used for stuffings and as a pot herb; leaves dried for winter use. _RAMPION_.--Hardy perennial. Roots used as a radish; they have a nutty flavour. _ROSEMARY_.--Hardy ornamental shrub. Sprigs used for garnishing and the leaves in drink. _RUE_.--Hardy evergreen shrub. Leaves used for medicinal drinks; useful for poultry with croup. _SAGE_.--Hardy perennial. Decoction of leaves drank as tea; used also for stuffing, meats, and sauces. _SAVORY_, Summer.--Hardy annual. Used for flavouring soups and salads. _SAVORY_, Winter.--Hardy evergreen shrub. Its aromatic flavour makes it valuable as a pot herb. _SCURVY GRASS_.--The small leaves are eaten as watercress. _SKIRRET_.--Hardy perennial. Sweet, white, and pleasant; the tubers are boiled and served up with butter. _SORREL_, Broad-Leaved.--Hardy perennial. Imparts an acid flavour to salads and soups. _THYME_, Broad-Leaved.--Hardy perennial. Young leaves and tops used for stuffing, also in soups and sauces. _TARRAGON_.--Hardy perennial. For flavouring vinegar; also used in salads, soups, and pickles. _WORMWOOD_.--A hardy shrub. Beneficial to horses and poultry, and is used for medical purposes. Herniaria Glabra.--These dwarf carpeting plants are of easy culture. Grow from seed in spring and transplant into sandy soil. Height, 1-1/2 in. Hesperis.--_See_ "Rocket." Heuchera.--Very neat, but not showy, hardy American perennials. They may be grown in any ordinary light garden soil, are increased by dividing the root, and bloom in May. Height, 1 ft. to 2 ft. Hibbertia Dentata.--An evergreen twining plant, requiring a greenhouse for its cultivation and a soil of sandy loam and peat. It flowers in July, and is increased by cuttings taken in spring or summer and kept under glass. Height, 6 ft. Hibiscus Africanus.--A handsome hardy annual Mallow. Sow in March in slight heat, and plant out in May 10 in. apart. Grows best in a mixture of loam and peat. Blooms in June. Height, 2 ft. Hibiscus Syriacus (_Rose of Sharon_).--A hardy, deciduous, autumn-flowering shrub, which will grow in common soil, and may be propagated by seeds, layers, or cuttings planted under glass. Height, 6 ft. Hieracium (_Hawkweed_).--A free-growing hardy perennial, suitable for a sunny bank or border. It is not particular as to soil. From June to September it produces orange-brown flowers. It grows freely from seed, and the roots bear division. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Hippeastrums.--_See_ "Amaryllis." Hippocrepis.--Very pretty hardy trailing perennials, covered from May to July with golden Pea-shaped flowers. They will grow in any light, sandy soil, and may be increased by cuttings, which root readily under glass. Height, 3 in. to 6 in. Hippophae.--Ornamental shrubs, thriving in ordinary soil, and increased by layers or cuttings of the roots. H. Rhamnoides (Sea Buckthorn) flowers in May. Height, 12 ft. Holboellia Latifolia.--_See_ "Stauntonia Latifolia." Holly (_Ilex_).--This pleasing hardy evergreen shrub thrives best on a deep, sandy loam, but will grow in any good soil, provided the position is dry. It succeeds well in the shade. Cuttings of young shoots having 1 in. of the old wood attached will strike root, but the plant is of very slow growth, and takes at least four years to grow into a good bush. Choice varieties may be grafted or budded on to the common sorts in June or July. To grow Holly from seed, gather the berries when ripe, crush them, and mix them up with a little sandy loam, bury them in a hole 3 ft. deep, and cover with litter. Dig them up and sow them in March. Big bushes are best moved at the end of August, mixing the earth to a puddle before planting. The less pruning they receive the better. They may be trimmed in spring. Hollyhock.--May be raised from seed or cuttings. Sow the seed about the second week of March in very rich soil, and cover it with 1 in. of dry earth. In June (having soaked the bed thoroughly overnight) remove the young plants to a nursery-bed, setting them 6 in. apart. Press the earth firmly round the roots, and water plentifully until settled. In the autumn plant them where they are to bloom. Cuttings may be taken as soon as the flowers appear, or from the old plants in autumn. Each joint having an eye will furnish a plant. Select side branches having two or three joints and leaves. Cut the shoots through just under the lower joint, leaving the leaf entire; cut it also about 2 in. above the joint. Plant in equal parts of loam, gritty sand, and leaf-mould; shelter from the sun, and sprinkle them every day in fine weather with water. If the cuttings are taken in autumn pot them off in 60-sized pots, and keep them in a cold frame till the spring, when they may be planted out. Flowers in August. Height, 6 ft. Homerias.--Beautiful little South African plants. For out-door cultivation plant the bulbs in a dry, warm situation, from October to January, 3 in. deep, and the same distance apart, in rich, light, well-drained soil, and protect them from heavy rains with a good layer of leaves. For pot culture put four or five bulbs in a 5-in. pot, place in a cold frame, and cover with cocoa-nut fibre until the growth appears. Water moderately, and when the flowers fade abstain from supplying moisture. The bulbs are not quite hardy, therefore they should be removed indoors before frosts appear. Homogyne Alpina.--Hardy herbaceous plants flowering in April. Any soil is suitable for them, and they may be increased by division. Height, 6 in. Honesty (_Lunaria_).--Interesting hardy biennials. When dried, the shining seed-pods make a handsome addition to winter bouquets, mixed with ornamental grass. Any common soil suits them. Sow the seed any time from April to June, and transplant them to the border in the autumn for flowering the following May. Height, 1-1/2 ft. to 3 ft. Honeysuckles.--These rapid twiners thrive in any loamy soil, and may be increased by putting down layers in the autumn, after the leaves begin to fall. They can also be propagated by cuttings taken in the autumn and planted in a shady, sheltered spot. Caprifolium Brachypoda and the evergreen C. Sempervirens are handsome, free-flowering kinds, suitable for almost any situation. C. Aurea-reticulata has beautifully variegated leaves, which render it very ornamental. Height, 6 ft. to 8 ft. Hop.--A useful hardy climber for covering verandahs, summer-houses, etc. Plant in rich, loamy soil, and increase by dividing the roots. (_See also_ "Humulus Japonicus.") Hordeum Jubatum (_Squirrel-tail Grass)_.--A very pretty species resembling miniature barley. Sow seed in March, covering it very lightly, and keep the surface of the soil moist till the grass appears. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Horminum Pyrenaicum.--This hardy perennial produces erect white flowers with blue corolla in June or July. It will grow in any ordinary soil, but needs protection in winter, as it is apt to be injured by damp. It may be propagated either by seed or division. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Horn Poppy.--_See_ "Glaucium." Horseradish.--Plant in October or February in deep, rich soil; or it may be grown on a heap of cinder-ashes, or on any light ground through which the roots can make their way readily. The best way to increase it is by slips taken from the roots. It requires little or no attention beyond pinching out the tops when running to seed and keeping the ground hoed. Hotbeds, to Make.--Take dead leaves and stable-straw, with the dung, in the proportion of two double loads for a three-light frame. Turn it over four or five times during a fortnight, watering it if it is dry. Then mark out the bed, allowing 1 ft. or more each way than the size of the frame. Shake the compost well up, and afterwards beat it down equally with the fork. Place the frame on the bed, leaving the lights off for four or five days to allow the rank steam to escape. Keep a thermometer in the frame, and as soon as the temperature falls below 70 degrees apply a lining of fresh dung to the front and one side of the bed, and when this again declines, add another lining to the back and other side, and so on from time to time as occasion requires. The mats used for covering the frames in frosty weather should be made to fit the top, and not hang over the sides. Houseleek.--_See_ "Sempervivum." Houstonia Coerulea.--These hardy little evergreens are more generally known as Bluets. They make charming ornaments for rock-work, planted between large stones, but in this position they need protection from severe frosts. When planted in pots and placed in a cold frame they show to most advantage. A mixture of leaf-mould and sand, and a moist but well-drained situation is what they delight in. They bloom continuously from April to July. Height, 3 in. Hovea Celsi.--A greenhouse shrub, which is evergreen and elegant when in flower in June. A sandy loam and peat soil is most suitable, and it may be increased by cuttings planted in sand under a hand-glass. Height, 3 ft. Humea.--A remarkably handsome and graceful plant, the leaves of which when slightly bruised yield a strong odour. It is equally suitable for the centre of beds or large borders, and placed in pots on terraces or the lawn it is very effective. The seed should be raised on a gentle hotbed, then potted off and kept in the greenhouse till the second year, when it may be turned out into a warm situation. It generally succeeds better in such a position than in the greenhouse. Flowers in July. Height, 6 ft. to 8 ft. Humulus Japonicus.--(_Japanese Hop_).--A hardy annual Hop of rapid growth, the leaves of which are splashed with white. Useful for covering arbours, verandahs, etc. A deep, loamy soil suits it best. Increased by seed sown in gentle heat in February, and gradually hardened off. Flowers in July. Height, 20 ft. Hutchinsia Alpina.--This small alpine creeper is a profuse bloomer, its glistening white flowers being produced at all seasons. It grows in moist vegetable mould, and bears transplanting at any season. Care, however, is required to prevent its roots over-running and choking other things. Height, 2 in. Hyacinths.--May be grown in pots, in glasses, or in beds and borders. The soil should be rich and light. Good loam mixed with old manure and a little leaf-mould and sand suits them very well. If intended to be grown in pots the best time to begin potting is early in September, putting more in at intervals of two or three weeks until the end of December. One bulb is sufficient for a 5-in. or 6-in. pot, or three may be placed in an 8-in. pot. The soil under the bulb should not be pressed down. The top of the bulb should be just above the surface. Place the pots on a bed of ashes in a cold frame, put a small inverted pot over the top of the bulb, and cover the whole with cocoa-nut fibre or cinder-ashes to the depth of about 4 in. In about a month roots will have formed with about 1 in. of top growth. The plants may then be taken out, gradually exposed to the light, and finally removed to the conservatory or sunny window. The doubles do best in pots. For growing in glasses select the firmest and best-shaped bulbs. Those with single blossoms are preferable, as they are of stronger constitution than the doubles. Fill the glasses with pure pond or rain water, so that the bulbs just escape touching it, and put a piece of charcoal in each glass, and change the water when it becomes offensive, taking care that the temperature is not below that which is poured away. Stand the glasses in a cool, dark place for three or four weeks until the roots have made considerable progress, then gradually inure to the full light. September is a good time to start the growth. When planted in beds or borders, place the bulbs about 4 in. deep and 6 in. apart, putting a little silver sand below each one. This may be done at any time from October till frost sets in. They succeed fairly well in any good garden soil, but give greatest satisfaction when the ground is rich and light. Hyacinthus (_Muscari_).--A very hardy race of spring-flowering bulbs. Though the varieties are very dissimilar in appearance, they all produce a good effect, especially when planted in good large clumps. Plant from September to December. A sandy soil suits them best. The following are well-known varieties:--_BOTRYOIDES_ (_Grape Hyacinth_).--Very pretty and hardy, bearing fine spikes of deep, rich blue flowers in compact clusters on a stem 6 to 9 in. high. Sweet-scented, and blooms about May. The _Alba_, or white, variety is also sweet-scented. Hyacinthus--_continued_. _CANDICANS_ (_Galtonia_).--The white Cape Hyacinth, or Spire Lily. A hardy, summer-flowering, bulbous plant 3 ft. to 4 ft. in height, gracefully surmounted with from twenty to fifty pendent, bell-shaped snow-white flowers. Thrives in any position and equally suitable for indoor or outdoor decoration. _MOSCHATUS_ (_Musk Hyacinth_).--Bears very fragrant purplish flowers. _PLVMOSUM_ (_Feather Hyacinth_).--A fine, hardy, dwarf plant suitable for any soil. Its massive sprays of fine blue flowers, arranged in curious clusters, 5 to 6 in. in length, resemble much-branched slender coral. _RACEMOSUM_ (_Starch Hyacinth_).--Rich dark-blue or reddish-purple flowers. Very free-flowering and fine for massing. It is similar to the Cape Hyacinth, but flowers in denser spikes. Hydrangea.--This shrub delights in a moist, sheltered position and rich soil. It may be increased at any time from cuttings of the young side-shoots, 2 or 3 in. long, under glass, in sandy soil. The old stems will also strike if planted in a sheltered situation. The plants should be cut back when they have done flowering, and protected from frost; or they may be cut down to the root and covered with manure. They are well suited for the front of shrubberies, and also make fine plants for pot cultivation. The flowers are produced in June and July. Height, 3 ft. Hymenanthera Crassifolia.--Ornamental evergreen shrubs, thriving best in a compost of loam and peat. They are increased by cuttings planted in sand and subjected to a little heat. Height, 6 ft. Hymenoxys.--Pretty little hardy annuals that may be easily raised from seed sown early in March in any garden soil. They bloom in June. Height, 1 ft. Hypericum (_St. John's Wort_).--Favourite dwarf shrubs. Any soil suits the hardy kinds, but they prefer shade and moisture. These may be increased by seed or division. The greenhouse varieties thrive best in a mixture of loam and peat. Young cuttings placed in sand under glass will strike. July is their flowering season. Height, 1-1/2 ft. to 2 ft. I Iberis.--_See_ "Candytuft." Ice Plants.--_See_ "Mesembryanthemum." Ilex.--_See_ "Holly." Impatiens Sultani.--Half-hardy perennials. May be raised from seed sown early in spring on a hotbed, or later on in a shady spot in the open border; greenhouse culture, however, is more suitable. They bloom in August. Height, 11/2 ft. Incarvilleas.--Ornamental hardy herbaceous plants, of easy culture. They are suitable for the border or the rockery, and will grow in any soil if not too dry and exposed. The tuberous roots may be planted at any time in autumn, 4 in. deep. I. Delavayi makes a fine solitary or lawn plant, its leaves being from 1 to 3 ft. long; the soft rose-pink, Mimulus-shaped flowers, which are carried on stout stems well above the foliage, appearing in May. Care should be taken not to disturb it in spring, and it is advisable to cover the roots in winter with a pyramid of ashes, which may be carefully removed at the end of April. Incarvilleas may be propagated by seed sown, as soon as it is ripe, in light, well-drained soil, giving the young plants protection in a frame during the first winter, with enough water merely to keep them moist. Height, 2 ft. Indian Corn.--_See_ "Zea." Indian Shot.--_See_ "Canna." India-rubber Plants.--_See_ "Ficus." Indigofera.--Beautiful evergreen shrubs. I. Australis has elegant, fern-like foliage and racemes of pink or purple Pea-shaped flowers in April. I. Decora Alba bears its white flowers in July. They require a sandy loam or peat soil, and greenhouse culture. Cuttings of the young wood planted in sand under glass will strike. Height, 21/2 ft. Insects on Plants.--To destroy insects on plants wash the plant with Tobacco-Water (_which see_). Or put 1 oz. of quassia chips in a muslin bag, pour on some boiling water, and make it up to I gallon; dissolve 1 oz. of soft soap, add it to the chips, and stir well. Use it two or three times during spring and early summer. Inula Royleana (_Fleabane_).--A hardy perennial which flowers in November. It will grow in any garden soil, and can be increased by seeds, or by division of the roots. Height, 3 ft. Ionopsidium.--These hardy annuals grow freely in any rich, damp soil; a shady position is indispensable. Height, 1/8 ft. Ipomoea.--These beautiful climbing plants are very suitable for covering trellis-work, or for the pillars or rafters of the stove-house. The seed is generally sown in April on a hotbed or under glass, and the young plants set out in the border of the house in May in light, rich soil. Success is mainly secured by allowing plenty of root-room. The perennial kinds are increased from cuttings taken from the small side-shoots placed in sand in a brisk bottom-heat. If grown in the open they often shed their seed, and come up year after year with but little attention. They make a good contrast to Canariensis. The Ipomoea Horsfalliae, with its bright scarlet flowers, has a lovely appearance, but must be treated as a stove evergreen. This is propagated by layers, or by grafting on some strong-growing kind. It thrives in loam and peat mixed with a little dung, and flowers in July or August. Height, 6 ft. to 10 ft. Ipomopsis.--A very beautiful half-hardy biennial, but difficult to cultivate. Some gardeners steep the seed in hot water before sowing it; but the best way seems to be to sow it in July in 3-in. pots in equal parts of sandy peat and loam, ensuring good drainage, and place it in a cold frame, giving it very little water. When the leaves appear, thin out the plants to three or four in each pot. Replace them in the frame for a week or so, then remove them to a light, airy part of the greenhouse for the winter. During this period be careful not to over-water them. In spring shift them into well-drained 4-1/2-in. pots, using the same kind of soil as before, and taking great care not to injure the roots; still give the least possible amount of water. If plenty of light and air be given, they will flower in July or August. Height, 2 ft. Iresines.--Take cuttings of these greenhouse plants in autumn; insert them thinly in 48-size pots filled with coarse sand, loam, and leaf-mould, and place in a uniform temperature of 60 or 70 degrees. When they have taken root place them near the glass. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Iris.--The Iris is the orchid of the flower garden; its blossoms are the most rich and varied in colour of hardy plants. For cutting, for vases, table decoration, etc., it is exceedingly useful, as it is very free-flowering, and lasts a long time in water. It thrives in almost any soil, though a sandy one suits it best, and is strikingly effective when planted in clumps. It soon increases if left undisturbed. The English Iris blooms in June and July, bearing large and magnificent flowers ranging in colour from white to deep purple, some being self-colours, while others are prettily marbled. The German Iris is especially suitable for town gardens. The Spanish Iris blooms a fortnight before the English. Its flowers, however, are smaller, and the combinations of colours very different. The Leopard Iris (_Pardanthus Chinensis_)is very showy, its orange-yellow flowers, spotted purple-brown, appearing in June and July. They are quite hardy. The best time for planting them is October or November, selecting a sunny position. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Isopyrums--Hardy herbaceous plants of great beauty, nearly related to the Thalictrums. They will grow in any ordinary soil, but flourish best in vegetable mould, and in a moist, yet open, situation. They are readily raised from seed, or may be propagated by division of the roots in autumn. They flower in July. Height, 1 ft. to 1-1/2 ft. Ivy (_Hedera_).--A deep, rich soil suits the common Ivy; the more tender kinds require a lighter mould. To increase them, plant slips in a north border in sandy soil. Keep them moist through the autumn, and plant them out when well rooted. The following are the principal choice sorts:--Aurea Spectabilis, palmate-leaved, blotched with yellow; Cavendishii, a slender-growing variety, leaves margined with white, with a bronzy shade on the edge; Conglomerata, crumpled leaves; Elegantissima, slender-growing, with silvery variegated leaves; Irish Gold-Blotch, large leaves, blotched with yellow; Latifolia Maculata, large white-blotched leaves; Lee's Silver, silver variegated; Maderiensis Variegata, leaves broadly marked with white; Marmorata, small leaves blotched and marbled with white; Pupurea, small leaves of a bright green changing to bronzy-purple; Rhomboides Obovata, deep green foliage; Rhomboides Variegata, greyish-green leaves, edged with white; and Silver Queen, a good hardy variety. Ixias.--Plant out of doors from September to December, in a sunny, sheltered position, in light, rich, sandy soil. For indoor cultivation, plant four bulbs in a 5-in. pot in a compost of loam, leaf-mould, and silver sand. Plunge the pot in ashes in a frame or cold pit, and withhold water until the plants appear. When making free growth remove them to the conservatory or greenhouse, placing them near the glass, and give careful attention to the watering. Ixias are also known under the name of African Corn Lilies. J Jacobaea (_Ragwort_).--May be raised from cuttings in the same way as Verbenas, and will grow freely from seeds sown in autumn or spring. It delights in a rich, light soil. The purple Jacobaea is a great favourite of the public. Flowers in August. Height, 1 ft. Jacob's Ladder.--_See_ "Polemonium." Jasione Perennis (_Sheep Scabious_).--A hardy perennial which produces a profusion of heads of blue flowers in June, and continues to bloom till August. It enjoys a peat soil, and should have the protection of a frame during the winter. It can be propagated by seeds, cuttings, or division. Height, 1 ft. Jasminum.--These are favourite plants for training over arbours or trellis-work, and for growing against walls. The hardy kinds will flourish in ordinary soil. The stove and greenhouse sorts should be provided with a mixture of sandy peat and loam. They may all be increased by cuttings of ripened wood planted in a sandy soil under glass. J. Nudifolium produces an abundance of bright flowers after its leaves have fallen, and is very suitable for town gardens. J. Unofficinale is likewise adapted for town, bearing confinement well, and has very sweet flowers. J. Revolutum needs protection in severe weather. They bloom in July. Height, 12 ft. Job's Tears.--_See_ "Coix Lachryma." Jonquils.--These are quite hardy, and may be grown in the open in the same manner as Hyacinths. Five or six bulbs in a 5-in. pot make a very pretty bouquet. They are excellent early flowers, and very odoriferous. Plant in autumn, placing sand round the bulbs. Best not disturbed too often. The leaves should not be cut off when withering, but allowed to die down. They bloom in April. Height, 1 ft. Joss Flower.--_See_ "Chinese Sacred Narcissus." Juniper (_Juniperus_).--These useful conifers prefer dry chalk or sandy soils, but will thrive in any ground that is not too heavy. J. Japonica, Sabina, and Tamariscifolia do well on steep banks and rock-work. They may be propagated by seeds, grafting, or by cuttings of firm young shoots planted in a sandy compost, kept shaded, and covered with a hand-glass. K Kadsura Japonica.--This is a beautiful creeper for a south or west aspect. It thrives best in loam and sandy peat. Cuttings may be struck in sand, placed under a glass, and subjected to heat. Kale.--_See_ "Borecole." Kalmia Latifolia.--This hardy, dwarf evergreen shrub is deservedly a great favourite. It produces a wealth of flowers in large clusters. It requires to be grown in peat or good leaf-mould, and needs pure air. It is increased by pegging down the lower branches, which soon become rooted. The flowers are produced from June to August. Height, 2 ft. Kalosanthes.--Showy greenhouse succulent plants. A light, turfy loam is suitable for them, and they may be increased by placing cuttings of the young shoots in a sandy soil on a slight hotbed in spring. Pinch them back so as to produce a bushy growth, and give support to the heavy heads of bloom. The cuttings should be left for twenty-four hours to dry before they are planted. The plants require very little water, and they flower in July. Height, 6 in. to 1 ft. Kaulfussia.--Sow this pretty hardy annual in April in the open border, or in March in slight heat. It may also be sown in autumn for early flowering. It will succeed in any light soil, blooming in July. Height, 6 in. Kennedya Marryattæ.--A greenhouse evergreen twining plant of a very beautiful order, which thrives best in a compost of sandy loam and peat. Cuttings of the young wood planted in sand, and having a bottom-heat, will strike. It produces its flowers in May. Height, 4 ft. Other varieties of Kennedyas range from 2 to 10 ft. They all need to be well drained and not to stand too near the pipes. Kerria (_Corchorus_).--Beautiful hardy shrubs, which may be grown in any garden soil, and can be propagated by cuttings of the young wood, taken at a joint, and placed under glass. They flower at midsummer. Height, 4 ft. Koelreuteria Paniculata.--This is an ornamental tree bearing long spikes of yellow flowers in July. It will grow in any soil, but requires a sheltered position, and may be increased by layers or root cuttings. Height, 10 ft. Kohl Rabi (_Turnip-rooted Cabbage_).--Though mostly grown as a farm crop, this vegetable is strongly recommended for garden cultivation, as it is both productive and nutritious, and is delicious when cooked while still very small and young. Sow in March, and transplant to deeply-dug and liberally manured ground, at a distance of 15 in. from each other. L Lachenalia. (_Cape Cowslips_).--Charming greenhouse plants for pot or basket culture. Pot in December in a compost of fibrous loam, leaf-mould, and sand; place as near the glass as possible, and never allow the soil to become dry, but maintain good drainage, and only give a little water till they have produced their second leaves. No more heat is required than will keep out the frost. Lactuca Sonchifolia. (_Sow Thistle-Leaved Lettuce_).--An ornamental, but not handsome, hardy perennial, with leaves 1 ft. in length and 9 in. in breadth. It is of neat habit and enjoys the sunshine. A deeply-dug, sandy loam suits it, and it may be increased by seed or division of the roots. The flowers are produced from September till frost sets in. Height, 2 ft. Ladies' Slipper Orchid.--_See_ "Cypripedium." Lady's Mantle.--_See_ "Alchemilla." Lagurus Ovatus.--This hardy annual is commonly known as Hare's-Tail Grass. It is distinctly ornamental, producing elegant egg-shaped tufts of a silvery-white hue, and is fine for ornamenting bouquets. Sow in March, and keep the ground moist till the seed germinates. Height, 1 ft. Lallemantia Canescens.--Bees are very fond of this blue hardy annual, which may readily be grown from seed sown in the spring. Height, 1 ft. Lamium.--These plants are mostly of a hardy herbaceous description and of little value. They will grow well in any kind of soil, flowering from March to July, according to their varieties, and can be propagated by seed or division. Height, 6 in. to 1 ft. Lantana.--These dwarf, bushy, half-hardy perennial shrubs bear Verbena-like blossoms. They like a dry and warm situation and rich, light soil. The seed is sown in March to produce summer and autumn blooming plants. If cuttings are placed in sand, in heat, they will take root easily. Height, 1 ft. to 1-1/2 ft. Lapageria Rosea.--A beautiful climbing plant which bears large rose-coloured flowers in May. It can be grown in any light, rich soil, but a compost of leaf-mould, sand, and peat suits it best. It makes a very desirable greenhouse plant, and can be increased either by cuttings or by division. Lapagerias require partial shade, plenty of water, and good drainage. Height, 10 ft. Lardizabala Biternata.--This climbing shrub has fine ornamental foliage. It is most suitable for a south or west aspect, where it proves hardy; in other positions protection should be afforded. It will grow in any good soil. May is the month in which it flowers. Height, 20 ft. Larkspur.--The Stock-flowered Larkspur is of the same habit as the Dutch Rocket, but has longer spikes and larger and more double flowers. The Hyacinth-flowered is an improved strain of the Rocket. Among other of the hardy annual varieties may be mentioned the Candelabrum-formed, the Emperor, and the Ranunculi-flowered. They are charming flowers for beds or mixed borders, and only require the same treatment as ordinary annuals, when they will flower in June. Height, 1 ft. to 2-1/2 ft. For perennial Larkspurs, _see_ "Delphinium." Lasiandra.--Stove evergreen shrubs, flourishing best in a mixture of equal parts of loam, peat, and sand. They are propagated by cuttings of the young wood, plunged in heat. July is their flowering month. Height, 5 ft. Lasthenia.--A hardy annual of a rather pretty nature, suitable for flower-beds or borders. Autumn is the best time for sowing the seed, but it may also be sown early in the spring. It blooms in May. Height, 1 ft. Lathyrus.--Handsome plants when in flower, the larger kinds being well adapted as backgrounds to other plants in the shrubbery, where they will require supports. They may be planted in any garden soil, and can be increased by seed, and some of the perennial kinds by division of the root. L. Latifolia (Everlasting Pea) flowers in August, other varieties at different times, from May onwards. Height, 1 ft. to 8 ft. Laurel.--Laurels will grow in any good garden soil. They are grown both as bushes and standards, and require but little attention beyond watering. The standards are produced by choosing a young Portugal plant and gradually removing the side-shoots on the lower part of the stem, and when the desired height is reached a well-balanced head is cultivated, any eyes that break out on the stem being rubbed off with the thumb. Lauro Rotundifolia is beyond dispute the best of all Laurels; it is of free growth and of dense habit, and its leaves are roundish and of a lively green. (_See also_ "Epigaea.") All Laurels may be propagated by cuttings and by layers, the latter being the plan usually adopted. Laurestinus.--_See_ "Viburnum Tinus." Laurus.--_See_ "Bay, Sweet." Lavatera.--The greenhouse and frame kinds grow in any light soil, and are increased by cuttings of the ripened wood, under glass. The hardy herbaceous species grow well in any common soil, and are propagated by seeds or division. The annuals are sown in the open in spring. Some bloom in June, others as late as August. Height, 2 ft. to 5 ft. Lavender (_Lavandula Spied_).--A hardy shrub whose sweetly-scented flowers, which are produced in August, are much prized. A dry, gravelly soil is what it likes best. Young plants should be raised every three years. It is readily propagated from seed sown in spring. Cuttings about 8 in. long, taken in autumn and planted 4 in. deep under a hand-light or in a shaded, sheltered position, will strike. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Lawns--To make or renovate Lawns sow the seed on damp ground during March or April, if possible, but in any case not later than September, as the young plants are easily ruined by frost. Rake the seed in lightly, afterwards roll with a wooden roller, and carefully weed the ground until the grass is well established. To form a thick bottom quickly on new Lawns sow 60 lbs., or 3 bushels, to the acre; for improving old ones, 20 lbs. per acre. Frequent cutting and rolling is essential to success. If the grass is inclined to grow rank and coarse it will be much improved by a good dressing of sand over it; if it has an inclination to scald and burn up, sprinkle it with guano or soot just before a shower of rain. An accumulation of moss upon a lawn can only be cured by under-draining. Lawns, Shrubs for.--_See_ "Shrubs for Lawns." Layering.--_See under_ "Carnations." Ledum (_Labrador Tea_).--Low-growing American evergreen shrubs, thriving best in sandy peat, and may be increased by layers. Leek.--Sow early in March, and prick out the plants in rich soil, in a sheltered position, to strengthen. As soon as they are large enough, plant them out in very rich, light ground in drills 6 in. between each plant and the rows 18 in. apart. For large exhibition Leeks sow in boxes in February, under glass. Plant out in June in trenches 15 in. wide and 18 in. deep, with plenty of old manure at the bottom of the trench and 6 in. of good light mould on the top of it. Gradually earth up as the stems grow. Water liberally in dry weather, and give a little weak liquid manure occasionally. Leontopodium.--Hardy perennials, succeeding best in peat soil. They are most suitable for rock-work, and may be increased by seed or division of the roots. Bloom is produced in June. Height, 6 in. Leopard's Bane.--_See_ "Doronicum." Leptosiphon.--Charming hardy annuals which make nice pot-plants. The seed should be sown in rich, light soil--peat for preference. If this is done in autumn they will flower in April and May; if sown in spring they will bloom in autumn. They are very attractive in beds or ribbons, and also on rock-work. Height, 3 in. to 1 ft. Leptospermum.--Neat greenhouse evergreen shrubs, most at home in equal portions of loam, peat, and sand. Cuttings may be struck in sand under glass. They flower in June. Height, 4 ft. to 5 ft. Leschenaultia.--Elegant greenhouse shrubs, delighting in a mixture of turfy loam, peat, and sand. They are evergreen, flower in June, and are propagated by cuttings of the young wood under glass. Height, 1 ft. Lettuce.--Sow early in February on a slight hotbed, and prick out into a well-manured and warm border, having the soil broken down fine on the surface. For early summer supplies sow outdoors in March, and at intervals till the middle of September for later crops. Some of the plants raised in September should be wintered in a cold frame, and the remainder transplanted to a dry, sheltered border, or protected with hand-lights. The June and July sowings may be made where the plants are intended to remain. They should stand from 6 to 9 in. apart. A north border is a suitable position in the summer months, as they are less exposed to the sun, and do not run to seed so quickly. The Cos Lettuce requires to be tied up to blanch; this should be done ten days before it is wanted for use. Cabbage Lettuce does not need to be tied. Leucanthemum (_Hardy Marguerites_).--Same treatment as Chrysanthemum. Leucojum (_Snowflake_).--Also known as St. Agnes' Flower. Handsome plants. The flowers are pure white, every petal being tipped with green, dropping in a cluster of from six to eight blooms, each nearly 1 in. long. They grow freely in almost any soil, sandy loam being preferable. Increased by off-sets from the bulb, or by seed as soon as it is ripe. The spring snowflake blooms in March, the summer variety in June. The latter is a much more vigorous plant than the former. Height, 12 in. to 18 in. Leucophyton Browni.--A popular white-foliaged bedding plant, which may be increased by dibbling cuttings in sandy soil and placing them in a cool frame. Lewisia Rediviva.--This makes a pretty rock-plant. It is a perennial and quite hardy, but requires plenty of sun. During April and May it produces large flowers varying in colour from satiny rose to white. The most suitable soil is a light loam mixed with brick rubbish. It is increased by division of the root, or it may be raised from seed. Height, 3 in. Leycesteria Formosa.--Ornamental plants, the flowers resembling Hops of a purple colour. They will grow in any soil, but need protection in winter. They are multiplied by cuttings. Height, 3 ft. Liatris Pycnostachya.--A curious old herbaceous perennial, now seldom met with, sending up late in summer a dense cylindrical purple spike 2 ft. high. It needs a rich, light, sandy soil, and to be protected during the winter with a thick covering of litter. The roots may be divided in the spring. Height, 3 ft. Libertia Formosa.--The narrow foliage and spikes of pure white flowers, produced in May and June, render this hardy perennial very ornamental. The soil should consist of equal parts of loam and peat. It is propagated by dividing the roots. Height, 1 ft. Libonia Floribunda.--This is a winter-flowering plant, and is easily grown in a cool greenhouse. It is very useful for table decoration, its slender red and yellow tubes of bloom being very effective, but it does not do to keep it for any length of time in a room where there is gas. When flowering has ceased, encourage new growth by giving it plenty of water, air, and sunlight. The new shoots should be cut back in May, and the tips of them used as cuttings, which strike readily in good mould. Height, 2 ft. Ligustrum _(Privet)._--L. Ovalifolium is a handsome hardy evergreen, of very rapid growth, and one of the best ornamental hedge plants in cultivation, especially for towns or smoky situations. L. Japonicum is likewise ornamental and hardy: Tricolor is considered one of the best light-coloured variegated plants grown. L. Coriaceum is a slow-growing, compact bush with very dark, shining green leaves, which are round, thick, and leathery. Privet will grow in any soil or situation, and is readily increased by cuttings planted in the shade in spring. Lilac--_See_ "Syringa." Lilium.--The Lily is admirably adapted for pot culture, the conservatory, and the flower border, and will flourish in any light soil or situation. To produce fine specimens in pots they should be grown in a mixture of light turfy loam and leaf-mould. Six bulbs planted in a 12-in. pot form a good group. The pots should have free ventilation, and the bulbs be covered with 1 in. of mould. For outdoor cultivation plant the bulbs 4 to 5 in. deep, from October to March. After once planting they require but little care, and should not be disturbed oftener than once in three years, as established plants bloom more freely than if taken up annually. Give a thin covering of manure during the winter. Lilium seed may be sown in well-drained pots or shallow boxes filled with equal parts of peat, leaf-mould, loam, and sand. Cover the seeds slightly with fine mould and place the boxes or pots in a temperature of 55 or 65 degrees. A cold frame will answer the purpose, but the seeds will take longer to germinate. The Lancifolium and Auratum varieties have a delicious fragrance. Lilium--_continued_. _CANDIDUM_ (the Madonna, or White Garden Lily) should be planted before the middle of October, if possible, in groups of three, in well-drained, highly-manured loam. Should they decline, take them up in September and re-plant at once in fresh, rich soil, as they will not stand being kept out of the ground long. They are increased by off-sets. As soon as these are taken from the parent bulb, plant them in a nursery-bed; after two years they may be transferred to the garden. This Lily is quite hardy, and needs no protection during winter. _LANCIFOLIUM_ make very fine pot-plants, or they may be placed in a sunny situation in the border, but in the latter case they must have a thick covering of dry ashes in winter. If grown in pots place them, early in March, in rich, sandy soil. Three bulbs are sufficient for an 11-in. pot. Give very little water, but plenty air in mild weather. Let them grow slowly. When all frost is over place pans under them, mulch the surface with old manure, and supply freely with air and water. They are propagated by off-sets. _MARTAGON_ (or Turk's Cap) requires the same treatment as the Candidum, with the exception that a little sand should be added to the soil. _TIGRINUM_ (Tiger Lily) also receives the same treatment as the Madonna. When the flower-stems grow up they throw out roots. A few lumps of horse manure should be placed round for these roots to lay hold of. They are increased by the tiny bulbs which form at the axis of the leaves of the flower-stem. When these fall with a touch they are planted in rich, light earth, about 6 in. apart. In four or five years' time they will make fine bulbs. _AURATUM_ and _SZOVITZIANUM_ (or Colchicum) thrive best in a deep, friable, loamy soil, which should be well stirred before planting. If the soil is of a clayey nature it should be loosened to a depth of several feet, and fresh loam, coarse sand, and good peat or leaf-mould added, to make it sufficiently light. For _PARDALINUM_ (the Panther Lily) and _SUPERBUM_ mix the garden soil with three parts peat and one part sand, and keep the ground moist. They should occupy a rather shady position. All the other varieties will succeed in any good garden soil enriched with leaf-mould or well-decayed manure. For _VALLOTA_ (Scarborough Lily), _BELLADONNA_, and _FORMOSISSIMA_ (or Jacobean) Lilies, _see_ "Amaryllis." For _AFRICAN LILY, see_ "Agapanthus." For _PERUVIAN LILIES, see_ "Alstromeria." For _ST BERNARD'S_ and _ST BRUNO'S LILIES, see_ "Anthericum." For _CAFFRE LILIES, see_ "Clivias." Lily of the Valley.--Set the roots in bunches 1 ft. apart, and before severe weather sets in cover them with a dressing of well-rotted manure. They should not be disturbed, even by digging among the roots. If grown in pots, they should be kept in a cool place and perfectly dry when their season is over: by watering they will soon come into foliage and flower again. For forcing put ten or twelve "buds" in a 5-in. pot--any light soil will do--plunge the pot in a sheltered part of the garden. From this they may be removed to the forcing-house as required to be brought into bloom. Plunge the pots in cocoa-nut fibre and maintain an even temperature of from 65 to 70 degrees. Limnanthes Douglasii.--Very elegant and beautiful hardy annuals, which are slightly fragrant. They must be grown in a moist and shady situation. The seeds ripen freely, and should be sown in autumn to produce bloom in June, or they may be sown in spring for flowering at a later period. Height, 1 ft. Linaria.--These all do best in a light, sandy loam, and make good plants for rock-work. L. Bipartita is suitable for an autumn sowing. The other annuals are raised in spring. L. Triornithophora is a biennial, and may be sown any time between April and June, or in August. The hardy perennial, L. Alpina, should be sown in April, and if necessary transplanted in the autumn. Linarias flower from July to September. Height, 6 in. to 1 ft. Linnaea Borealis.--A rare, native, evergreen creeping perennial. From July to September it bears pale pink flowers; it makes a pretty pot-plant, and also does well in the open when planted in a shady position. It enjoys a peat soil, and is propagated by separating the creeping stems after they are rooted. Height, 11/2 in. Linum (_Flax_).--This succeeds best in rich, light mould. The Linum Flavum, or Golden Flax, is very suitable for pot culture; it grows 9 in. in height, and bears brilliant yellow flowers. It requires the same treatment as other half-hardy perennials. The Scarlet Flax is an annual, very free-flowering, and unsurpassed for brilliancy; easily raised from seed sown in spring. Height, 11/2 ft. The hardy, shrubby kinds may be increased by cuttings placed under glass. A mixture of loam and peat makes a fine soil for the greenhouse and frame varieties. They flower from March to July. Lippia Reptans.--A frame creeping perennial which flowers in June. It requires a light soil. Cuttings of the young wood may be struck under glass. Height, 1 ft. Lithospermum Prostratum.--A hardy perennial, evergreen trailer, needing no special culture, and adapting itself to any soil. It is increased by cuttings of the previous year's growth, placed in peat and silver sand, shaded and kept cool, but not too wet. They should be struck early in summer, so as to be well rooted before winter sets in. Its blue flowers are produced in June. Height, 1 ft. Loasa.--The flowers are both beautiful and curiously formed, but the plants have a stinging property. They grow well in any loamy soil, and are easily increased by seed sown in spring. Flowers are produced in June and July. Height, 2 ft. Besides the annuals there is a half-hardy climber, L. Aurantiaca, bearing orange-coloured flowers, and attaining the height of 10 or 12 ft. Lobelia.--These effective plants may be raised from seed sown in January or February in fine soil. Sprinkle a little silver sand or very fine mould over the seed; place in a greenhouse, or in a frame having a slight bottom-heat, and when large enough prick them out about 1 in. apart; afterwards put each single plant in a thumb-pot, and plant out at the end of May. As the different varieties do not always come true from seed, it is best to propagate by means of cuttings taken in autumn, or take up the old plants before the frost gets to them, remove all the young shoots (those at the base of the plant are best, and if they have a little root attached to them so much the better), and plant them thinly in well-drained, shallow pans of leaf-mould and sand; plunge the pans in a hotbed under a frame, shade them from hot sunshine, and when they are rooted remove them to the greenhouse till spring, at which time growth must be encouraged by giving a higher temperature and frequent syringing. They may then be planted out in light, rich soil, where they will bloom in June or July. Height, 4 in. Lobels Catchfly.--_See_ "Silene." London Pride.--_See_ "Saxifrage." Lonicera.--Hardy deciduous shrubs, which will grow in any ordinary soil, and produce their flowers in April or May. They are propagated by cuttings planted in a sheltered position. Prune as soon as flowering is over. Height, from 3 ft. to 10 ft. Lophospermum.--Very elegant half-hardy climbers. Planted against a wall in the open air, or at the bottom of trellis-work, they will flower abundantly in June, but the protection of a greenhouse is necessary in winter. They like a rich, light soil, and may be grown from seeds sown on a slight hotbed in spring, or from cuttings taken young and placed under glass. Height, 10 ft. Love Apples.--_See_ "Tomatoes." Love Grass.--_See_ "Eragrostis." Love-in-a-Mist.--_See_ "Nigella." Love-lies-Bleeding (_Amaranthus Caudatus_).--A hardy annual bearing graceful drooping racemes of crimson blossom. The seed should be sown in the open at the end of March, and thinned out or transplanted with a good ball of earth. Makes a fine border plant. Height, 2 ft. Luculia Gratissima.--A fine plant either for the wall or border. It grows well in a compost of peat and light, turfy loam, but it is not suitable for pot culture. During growing time abundance of water is needed. When flowering has ceased, cut it hard back. It may be increased by layering, or by cuttings placed in sand under glass and subjected to heat. It flowers in August. Height, 8 ft. Lunaria.--_See_ "Honesty." Lupins.--Though old-fashioned flowers, these still rank among our most beautiful annual and herbaceous border plants. They may be grown in any soil, but a rich loam suits them best. The seed germinates freely when sown in March, and the flowers are produced in July. Height, 2 ft. to 3 ft. Lychnis.--Hardy perennials which, though rather straggling, deserve to be cultivated on account of the brilliancy of their flowers. L. Chalcedonica, commonly known as Ragged Robin, is perhaps the most showy variety; but L. Viscaria Plena, or Catchfly, is a very beautiful plant. They grow freely in light, rich, loamy soil, but need dividing frequently to prevent them dwindling away. The best season for this operation is early in spring. Beyond the care that is needed to prevent the double varieties reverting to a single state, they merely require the same treatment as other hardy perennials. They flower in June and July. Height, 2 ft. to 3 ft. Lyre Flower.--_See_ "Dielytra." Lysimachia Clethroides.--This hardy perennial has something of the appearance of a tall Speedwell. When in flower it is attractive, and as it blooms from July on to September it is worth a place in the border. A deep, rich loam is most suitable for its growth, and a sheltered position is of advantage. The roots may be divided either in November or early in spring. Height, 3 ft. Lysimachia Nummularia (_Creeping Jenny_).--This plant is extremely hardy, and is eminently suitable either for rock-work or pots. It is of the easiest cultivation, and when once established requires merely to be kept in check. Every little piece of the creeping root will, if taken off, make a fresh plant. Lythrum.--Very handsome hardy perennials which thrive in any garden soil, and may be raised from seed or increased by dividing the roots. They flower in July. Height, of different varieties, 6 in. to 4 ft. M Madia.--A hardy annual of a rather handsome order. The seed should be sown in May in a shady situation. The plant is not particular as to soil, and will flower about eight weeks after it is sown, and continue to bloom during August and September. Height, 11/2 ft. Magnolia Grandiflora.--A handsome, hardy evergreen, with large shining, Laurel-shaped leaves, and highly-scented, Tulip-shaped white flowers. A noble plant for a spacious frontage, but in most places requires to be grown on a wall. It flourishes in any damp soil, and is increased by layers. Flowers in August. Height, 20 ft. Mahonia.--Handsome evergreen shrubs, useful for covert planting or for grouping with others. They grow best in a compost of sand, peat, and loam, and may be propagated by cuttings or by layers of ripened wood, laid down in autumn. They flower in April. Height, 4 ft. to 6 ft. Maianthemum Bifolium.--The flowers of this hardy perennial are produced in April and May, and somewhat resemble miniature Lily of the Valley. Seed may be sown at the end of July. The plant will grow in any soil, but delights in partial shade. Height, 6 in. Maize.--_See_ "Zea." Malope.--Very beautiful hardy annuals having soft leaves. They may be raised from seed sown in April in any garden soil. They bloom in June or July. Height, 11/2 ft. to 2 ft. Malva.--Very ornamental plants, more especially the greenhouse varieties. The hardy perennials succeed in any good garden soil, and are increased by seed sown in the autumn, or by division of the root. The greenhouse kinds should be grown in rich earth: these are propagated by cuttings planted in light soil. The annuals are poor plants. Some of the varieties bloom in June, others in August. Height, 2 ft. Mandevillea Suaveolens.--A fine climbing plant bearing very sweet white flowers in June. It is rather tender, and more suitable for the conservatory than the open air. It does not make a good pot-plant, but finds a suitable home in the border of the conservatory in equal parts of peat and sandy loam. In pruning adopt the same method as for the vine or other plants which bear flowers on wood of the same year's growth. It is propagated by seed sown in heat, or by cuttings under glass. Syringe the leaves daily during the hot season. A temperature of from 40 to 50 degrees in winter, and from 55 to 65 degrees in summer should be maintained. Height, 10 ft. Manures.--One of the best fertilisers of the soil is made by saturating charred wood with urine. This may be drilled in with seeds in a dry state. For old gardens liquid manure is preferable to stable manure, and if lime or chalk be added it will keep in good heart for years without becoming too rich. A good manure is made by mixing 64 bushels of lime with 2 cwts. of salt. This is sufficient for one acre. It should be forked in directly it is put upon the ground. Superphosphate of lime mixed with a small amount of nitrate of soda and forked into the ground is also a fine manure, but is more expensive than that made from lime and salt. Charred cow-dung is ready for immediate use. For established fruit-trees use, in showery weather, equal quantities of muriate of potash and nitrate of soda, scattering 1 oz. to the square yard round the roots. Peruvian guano, in the proportion of 1 oz. to each gallon of water, is a very powerful and rapid fertiliser. In whatever form manure is given, whether in a dry or liquid form, care must be taken not to administer it in excessive quantities, for too strong a stimulant is as injurious as none at all. In ordinary cases loam with a fourth part leaf-mould is strong enough for potting purposes; and no liquid except plain water should be given until the plants have been established some time. For roses, rhubarb, and plants that have occupied the same ground for a considerable time, mix 1 lb. of superphosphate of lime with 1/2 lb. of guano and 20 gallons of water, and pour 2 or 3 gallons round each root every third day while the plants are in vigorous growth. Herbaceous plants are better without manure. Liquid manure should be of the same colour as light ale. Maple.--_See_ "Acer." Marguerites (_Chrysanthemums Frutescens_).--The White Paris Daisies are very effective when placed against scarlet Geraniums or other brightly-coloured flowers, and likewise make fine pot-plants. They will grow in any light soil, and merely require the same treatment as other half-hardy perennials. Height, 1 ft. (_See also_ "Anthemis" _and_ "Buphthalmum.") Margyricarpus Setosus (_Bristly Pearl Fruit_).--A charming little evergreen, of procumbent growth, bearing throughout the whole summer a number of berries on the main branches. Being only half-hardy, it requires protection from frost, but in the warmer weather it may be planted on rock-work in sandy loam and vegetable mould. Cuttings planted in moist peat under a hand-glass will strike, or it may be propagated by layers. Height, 6 in. Marigolds.--Handsome and free-flowering half-hardy annuals. The greenhouse varieties thrive in a mixture of loam and peat, and cuttings root easily if planted in sand under glass. The African and tall French varieties make a fine display when planted in shrubberies or large beds, while the dwarf French kinds are very effective in the foreground of taller plants, or in beds by themselves. They are raised from seed sown in a slight heat in March, and planted out at the end of May in any good soil. Height, 6 in. to 2 ft. (_See also_ "Calendula," "Tagetes," _and_ "Calthus.") Martynia.--Handsome half-hardy, fragrant annuals. The seed should be sown on a hotbed in March. When the plants are sufficiently advanced transplant them singly into pots of light, rich earth, and keep them in the stove or greenhouse, where they will flower in June. Height, 11/2 ft. Marvel of Peru (_Mirabilis_).--Half-hardy perennials, which are very handsome when in flower, and adorn equally the greenhouse or the open. They may be increased by seed sown in light soil in July or August and planted out in the border in spring. At the approach of frost take the roots up and store them in dry ashes or sand. They flower in July. Height, 2 ft. Massonia.--Singular plants, which to grow to perfection should be placed in a mixture of loam, peat, and sand. They require no water while in a dormant state, and may be increased by seed or by off-sets from the bulbs. Height, 3 in. to 6 in. Mathiola.--_See_ "Stocks." Mathiola Bicornis (_Night-scented Stocks_).--A favourite hardy annual whose lilac flowers are fragrant towards evening. They may be grown from seed sown between February and May on any ordinary soil. Height, 1 ft. Matricaria.--This is a half-hardy annual of little interest so far as its flowers are concerned, and is mostly grown as a foliage plant. The seed should be sown in a frame in March, and transplanted at the end of May. Height, 1 ft. Maurandia Barclayana.--This elegant twining plant is best grown in pots, so that it can more conveniently be taken indoors in the winter. The soil should be light and rich. Cuttings can be taken either in spring or autumn, or it may be raised from seed. It does very well in the open during the summer, placed against a wall or trellis-work, but will not stand the cold. In the greenhouse it reaches perfection, and blooms in July. Height, 10 ft. Mazus Pumilio.--A pretty diminutive herbaceous plant. When grown in peat and sand in an open situation it survives from year to year, but it will not live through the winter in cold clay soils. Its pale green foliage is seen to advantage in carpet bedding, and its branched violet flowers, put forth from June to September, make it a desirable rock-work plant. It may be increased by transplanting, at the end of April, the rooted stems which run under the surface of the ground. Meconopsis Cambrica(_Welsh Poppy_).--An ornamental hardy perennial, often found on English rocks. It may be grown in any light, rich soil, is easily raised from seed, and blooms in June. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Medlars.--These trees will grow on any well-drained soil. The Dutch Medlar is most prized, as it bears the largest fruit. It is raised from seed, and usually trained to a standard form. The Nottingham and Royal are also excellent varieties. Any special variety may be grafted on to the seedlings. On deep soils it is best grafted on the Pear stock; on light, sandy soil it may be grafted on the White Thorn. No pruning is required, beyond cutting away cross-growing branches. Megasea.--This hardy herbaceous plant flowers from April to June. A light, sandy soil suits it best. It may be grown from seed or multiplied by division. Height, 1 ft. Melissa Officinalis.--A hardy perennial, flowering in July. Any soil suits it. It is increased by division of the root. Height, 1 ft. Melittis Melissophyllum (_Large-flowered Bastard Balm_).--This handsome perennial is not often seen, but it deserves to be more generally grown, especially as it will thrive in almost any soil; but to grow it to perfection, it should be planted in rich loam. It flowers from June to August, and may be increased by division of the roots any time after the latter month. Height, 11/2 ft. Melon.--Sow from January to June in pots plunged in a hotbed, the temperature of which should not be under 80 degrees. When the plants have made four or five leaves, set them out in a house or hotbed having a temperature ranging from 75 to 85 degrees. Keep the plants well thinned and water carefully, as they are liable to damp off at the collar if they have too much wet. Do not allow them to ramble after the fruit has begun to swell, nor allow the plants to bear more than two, or at most three, melons each. They require a strong, fibry, loamy soil, with a little rotten manure worked in. The Hero of Lockinge is a grand white-fleshed variety, and Blenheim Orange is a handsome scarlet-fleshed sort. Menispermum Canadense (_Moon seed_).--A pretty slender-branched, hardy, climbing, deciduous shrub, with yellow flowers in June, followed with black berries. It grows in any soil, and can be propagated by seed, by division of roots, or by planting cuttings in spring in a sheltered spot. Height, 10 ft. Mentha Rotundifloria Variegata (_Variegated Mint_).--A hardy perennial, which may be grown in any soil, and is easily increased by dividing the roots. It flowers in July. Height, 2 ft. Menyanthes.--Treat as other hardy aquatics. Menziesia (_Irish Heath_).--This evergreen thrives best in fibrous peat to which a fair quantity of silver sand has been added. While excessive moisture is injurious, the plant must not be kept too dry; the best condition for it is to be constantly damp. Slips torn off close to the stem will root in sand under glass, placed in gentle heat. Height, 2 ft. Mertensia.--These hardy perennials flower from March to July. They will grow in any garden soil, but do best in peat, and are propagated by division. They make fine border plants. Mertensia Maritima and M. Parviflora, however, are best grown in pots, in very sandy soil, perfection being afforded them during the winter. Height, 11/2 ft. to 2 ft. Mesembryanthemums (_Ice Plants_).--These half-hardy, annual succulents have a bright green foliage covered with ice-like globules. They must be raised in a greenhouse or on a hotbed, sowing the seed in April on sandy soil. Prick the young plants out in May. If grown in pots they thrive best in a light, sandy loam. In the border they should occupy a hot and dry situation. Keep the plants well watered until established, afterwards give a little liquid manure. May be increased by cuttings taken in autumn. Cuttings of the more succulent kinds should be allowed to dry a little after planting before giving them water. A dry pit or frame is sufficient protection in the winter; they merely require to be kept from frost. Flower in July. Height, 1 ft. Mespilus.--_For treatment, see_ "Medlars." Meum Athamanticum.--A hardy perennial with graceful, feathery green foliage, but of no special beauty. It is a native of our shores, will grow in any soil, blooms in July or August, and is freely propagated by seeds. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Michaelmas Daisies (_Starworts_).--A numerous family of hardy herbaceous perennials. Some few are very pretty, while others can only be ranked with wild flowers. They thrive in any soil or position, but flourish best where there is a due proportion of sunshine. They are easily raised from seed, sown early in spring, or may be increased by root-division either in the autumn, as soon as they have done flowering, or in the spring. They vary in height from 1 ft. to 5 ft. Michauxia Campanuloides.--This is an attractive border biennial, bearing from March to June white campanula-like flowers tinged with purple, on erect stems. It is not particular as to soil, but requires a southern position and protection in winter. Propagated by seeds in the same way as other biennials. Height, 4 ft. Mignonette.--For summer-flowering plants sow the seed in spring, and thin out to a distance of 9 in. apart. To obtain bloom during the winter and spring successive sowings are necessary. Let the first of these be made the second week in July in light, rich soil; pot off before frost sets in, plunge them in old tan or ashes, and cover with a frame facing the west. Another sowing should be made about the middle of August, giving them the same treatment as the previous; and a third one in February, in gentle heat. Height, 9 in. to 3 ft. The Mignonette tree is produced by taking a vigorous plant of the spring sowing, and removing all the lower shoots in the autumn. Pot it in good loam, and keep it in the greenhouse in a growing state, but removing all the flowers. By the spring the stem will be woody. Let the same treatment be given it the second year, and the third season it will have become a fine shrub. It may be made to bloom during the winter by picking off the blossom in the summer and autumn. Height, 3 ft. Mildew.--Syringe with a strong decoction of green leaves and tender branches of the elder-tree, or with a solution of nitre made in the proportion of 1 oz. of nitre to each gallon of water. Another good remedy is to scatter sulphur over the leaves while the dew is upon them, afterwards giving them a syringing of clear water. Milkmaid.--_See_ "Cardamine." Milk Thistle.--_See_ "Carduus." Mimosa.--These shrubs are often called Sensitive Plants, on account of the leaves of several of the species of this genus shrinking when touched. They grow well in loam and peat with a little sand, but require to be planted in a warm situation or to have greenhouse care. Cuttings of the young wood root readily in sand under a glass. They may also be raised from seed. Mimosa Pudica exhibits most sensibility. Height, 2 ft. Mimulus (_Monkey Flower_).--Showy half-hardy perennials which thrive in moist and shady situations and in almost any soil. They may be grown from seed sown in slight heat from February to May, or increased by division of the root. The frame and greenhouse kinds grow best in a rich, light soil, and may be multiplied by cuttings. The annuals may be sown where they are to flower. They bloom in June and July. Height, 2 in. to 11/2 ft. (_See also_ "Diplacus.") Mina Lobata.--A charming half-hardy annual climber, bearing singularly shaped flowers, produced on long racemes. When young the buds are a vivid red, changing to orange-yellow, and when fully expanded the flowers are creamy-white. It thrives in loam and peat to which a little dung has been added, and is well adapted for arbours, trellises, or stumps of trees. Sow the seed on a hotbed in March, harden off, and transplant when all fear of frost is over. Height, 8 ft. to 12 ft. Mint.--May be grown in any garden soil. It is increased by runners, which, if not held in check, become very troublesome. The roots may be confined by means of tiles or slates. Flowers in July. Height, 11/2 ft. Mistletoe.--Raise the bark of an apple, pear, or oak tree on the underneath part of a branch and insert some well-ripened berries, then tie the bark down neatly with raffia or woollen yarn. If the berries were inserted on the top of the branch the operation would result in failure, as the birds would devour them. Mitella Diphylla.--A hardy perennial which bears slender racemes of white flowers in April. It makes a pretty rock plant, delights in a peat soil, and is increased by division of the root. Height, 6 in. Moles.--These pests may be destroyed by placing in their runs worms that have been kept for some time in mould to which carbonate of barytes has been added. Monardia Didyma (_Oswego Mint, or Horse Balm_).--_See_ "Bergamot." Monetia Barlerioides.--An ornamental shrub, suitable for the greenhouse or stove. It requires to be grown in loam and peat, and may be increased by cuttings planted in sand, under glass, in a bottom-heat. Height, 3 ft. Monkey Flower.--_See_ "Mimulus." Monkey Puzzle.--_See_ "Araucaria." Monk's-hood.--_See_ "Aconite." Montbretia.--Very graceful and showy plants. The flowers, which are like small Gladioli, are produced on long branched spikes and are excellent for cutting. Plant 3 in. deep and 2 in. apart in sandy loam and leaf-mould. The corms should never be kept long out of the ground, as they shrivel, and weak growth and few flowers are the result. Though they are hardy it is well to give them a covering of litter in winter. They may also be grown in pots. Height, 2-1/2 ft. Moraea Iridioides.--These plants flower in May, and require the same treatment as Ixias. Morina (_Whorl Flower_).--An ornamental hardy perennial, which is seldom met with. It forms rosettes of large, deep green, shiny foliage and stout spikes of rose-coloured flowers in whorls, which make it one of the most attractive of Thistles. It likes a rich, light soil, is increased by seed sown in the autumn, also by division in August, and flowers in July. Height, 21/2 ft. Morisia Hypogaea.--This is a pretty hardy perennial for rock-work. It flowers in May, and is raised from seed sown as soon as it is ripe. Height, 2 in. Morna Elegans.--Beautiful half-hardy annuals. For early flowering sow the seed in September: for later blooms sow in February in slight heat, pot off, affording good drainage to the plants. They are very sensitive to cold, and should not be placed out of doors before the end of May. Avoid over-watering, as this would prove fatal to them. The soil should be light and sandy. Those sown in September will bloom in the greenhouse in May; those sown in February will flower in the open in the autumn. Height, 11/2 ft. Morning Glory.--_See_ "Convolvulus." Morrenia Odorata.--A good twining plant for the greenhouse, producing fragrant cream-coloured flowers in July. It will grow in any good loamy soil, and may be increased by cuttings. Height, 3 ft. Moss.--To eradicate moss from fruit-trees wash the branches with strong brine or lime water. If it makes its appearance on the lawn, the first thing to do is to ensure a good drainage to the ground, rake the moss out, and apply nitrate of soda at the rate of 1 cwt. to the half-acre, then go over the grass with a heavy roller. Should moss give trouble by growing on gravel paths, sprinkle the ground with salt in damp weather. Mountain _Avens.--See_ "Dryas." Muhlenbeckia Complexa.--A very decorative climber, hardy in nature but requiring a good amount of sunshine to make it bloom. A well-drained, sandy soil is best for its growth, and it can be increased by cuttings of hardy shoots taken early in summer. Height, 6 ft. Mulberries.--Any good soil will grow the Mulberry. The tree is hardy, but the fruit wants plenty of sunshine to bring it to perfection. It may be propagated by cuttings of wood one year old with a heel two years old attached. The only pruning necessary is to keep the branches well balanced. Autumn is the time to do this, not forgetting that the fruit is borne on the young wood. When grown in tubs or large pots in the greenhouse the fruit attains the perfection of flavour. In addition to the Large Black and the White (Morus Alba) the New Weeping Russian White may be recommended. Mulching.--_See_ "Soil." Muscari.--_See_ "Hyacinthus." Muscari Botryoides.--_See_ "Hyacinthus." Mushrooms.--Take partially dry horse manure and lay it in a heap to ferment. Turn and mix it well every few days, and when well and equally fermented, which will be from ten to fourteen days, make it into a bed 4 ft. wide and 2 ft. deep, mixing it well together and beating or treading it firmly. When the temperature of the bed falls to 75 degrees, or a little under, the spawn may be inserted in pieces about the size of a walnut, 2 in. deep and 6 in. apart. Now give a covering of loamy soil, 2 in. deep, and beat it down evenly and firmly. Finish off with a covering of clean straw or hay about 1 ft. thick. Water when necessary with lukewarm water; but very little should be given till the Mushrooms begin to come up, then a plentiful supply may be given. They may be grown in any warm cellar or shed, and usually appear in from four to six weeks after planting. Musk (_Mimulus Moschatus_).--A well-known sweet-scented, half-hardy perennial, well adapted for pot culture. A moist, shady position is most congenial to it when placed in the border. Seed sown in autumn make fine, early-flowering greenhouse plants. For summer blooming the seed is sown early in spring, under a frame or hand-glass, at a temperature of from 55 to 60 degrees. It is readily propagated by division. Height, 6 in. Mustard and Cress.--For sowing in the open choose a shady border, make the surface fine and firm, and water it well before putting down the seed. Let the seed be sown thickly at intervals of seven or fourteen days from March to September. As the Cress does not germinate so quickly as the Mustard, the former should be sown four days before the latter. The seed must not be covered, but simply pressed into the surface of the soil. Keep the ground moist, and cut the crop when the second leaf appears. For winter use it is best sown in boxes and grown in a frame, the seed being covered with flannel kept constantly moist. This may be removed as soon as the seed germinates. Gardeners mostly prefer to grow it through coarse flannel, to avoid the possibility of grit being sent to table. The curled leaf Cress is the best, and the new Chinese Mustard is larger in leaf than the old variety, and is very pungent in flavour. Myosotis (_Forget-me-not_).--The perennial varieties of these beautiful plants grow best in moist places, such as the edges of ponds or ditches; but they also do well in pots among Alpine plants. Most of them may be increased by root division, and all of them by seed. The annuals like a dry, sandy soil, and are grown from seed sown in March. They flower in June or July. Height, 6 in. Myrica Gala (_Candleberry Myrtle_).--This hardy deciduous shrub is very ornamental, and its foliage is scented like the myrtle. It will grow in light, rich soil, but thrives best in peat, and may be increased by seeds or layers. May is its flowering time. Height, 4 ft. M. Cerifera is treated in precisely the same manner. Height, 6 ft. Myrsiphyllum Asparagoides.--_See_ "Smilax." Myrtle (_Myrtus_).--Will strike readily if the cuttings be placed in a bottle of water till roots grow, and then planted; or young cuttings will strike in sandy soil under a hand-glass. They succeed best in a mixture of sandy loam and peat and on a south wall. Near the sea they prove quite hardy. Height, 6 ft. N Narcissus.--_See_ "Daffodils." Nasturtiums.--These are among the most useful of our hardy annuals, producing a display of the brightest of colours throughout the entire summer. The tall-growing climbers make a gay background to a border, and are equally valuable for trellis-work, while the dwarf varieties are first-class bedding plants, and of great service for ribboning. The seeds may be sown in pots in September or in the open ground early in spring. A light sandy or gravelly soil is the best to produce a wealth of bloom. Height, 6 ft. and 1 ft. Nectarines.--Require the same treatment as the Peach. In fact, the Nectarine stone sometimes produces a Peach, and a Peach stone often produces a Nectarine. Fairchild's, Humboldt, Lord Napier, and Red Roman are useful varieties. They should stand 20 ft. apart. Neilla.--These shrubs thrive in ordinary soil, and are increased by cuttings of the young wood. They flower in July. N. Torreyi bears white Spiraea-like flowers, which are very effective. Height, 6 ft. Nemesia.--A most beautiful half-hardy annual of the Antirrhinum class. Sow the seed early in spring on a hotbed, and plant out in May in rich, light soil. Cuttings of the young wood will strike under glass. Height, 1-1/2 ft. to 2-1/2 ft. Nemophila.--Pretty, neat, and compact hardy annuals, well worth cultivating. They succeed best in a moist and shady situation, delight in peat or vegetable mould, and when grown in circles are very striking. If wanted to flower early, sow the seed in autumn, or on a hotbed in spring; and if required for late blooming, sow in the open in March. Treated thus they flower from June to September. Height, 1 ft. Nepeta Glechoma Variegata.--A very useful plant for hanging baskets. It can be trained as a pyramid or allowed to hang down; in many cases it is employed as edgings. It is of easy culture, and does well as a window plant or in a cool greenhouse. The soil should be light and dry. It flowers in July, and may be increased by root-division. Nerine Sarniense.--_See_ "Guernsey Lily." Nertera Depressa (_Coral Berry_).--This pretty Moss-like plant is fairly hardy, and is eminently suited for a sheltered position on the rockery. The soil should consist of leaf-mould and sand, and overhead sprinkling with soft water is very beneficial. In cold districts it is better to grow it in the greenhouse. The flowers are produced in July, succeeded by orange-coloured berries. It is easily increased by dividing it early in the spring. Height, 3 in. Neuvusia Alabamensis.--A tamarix-like shrub, bearing clusters of white flowers early in spring. Will grow in any soil or situation. Increased by cuttings placed in sand under glass. Nicotiana (_Tobacco Plants_).--Very showy half-hardy annuals. N. Affinis bears long, tubular, sweet-scented, white flowers in July, and grows to the height of 3 ft. N. Virginica produces immense leaves and pink flowers, and the plants are 4 to 5 ft. high. The seed is sown on a hotbed in spring, and when the second or third leaf appears the plants are put into small pots and placed in a frame till the end of May, when they are transferred to the border. Nierembergia (_Cup Flowers_).--These elegant half-hardy annuals grow well in any light soil, but prefer a mixture of sandy loam and leaf-mould. Sow the seed in March or April in slight heat, harden off, and plant out in May as soon as all fear of frost is over. They flower in July. Height, 9 in. to 1 ft. Nierembergia Rivularis.--This herbaceous plant is of a creeping nature; it has deep green ovate foliage and large saucer-shaped white flowers. It needs a moist position, and is increased by division. The bloom is produced throughout June, July, and August. Height, 3 in. Nigella.--These hardy annuals, a species of Fennel-flower, are both curious and ornamental. Perhaps the best known among them is N. Hispanica, or Love-in-a-Mist. They only require sowing in the open in spring--but not before the middle of March--to produce flowers in July and August. Height, 9 in. to 2 ft. Night-scented Stocks.--_See_ "Mathiola." Nolana.--Hardy annuals that are suitable for the border, as they are very showy when in flower. The seed should be sown in spring on a gentle hotbed, and the plants transferred to the garden about the middle of May. N. Atriplicifolia may be sown in the open in the autumn. They flower in July and August. Height, 6 in. to 2 ft. North Borders, Plants suitable for.--Hardy Camellias, Chrysanthemums, black and green Tea Plant, Rhododendrons, Ferns, Red Currants, Morello Cherries, and spring and summer cuttings of all sorts. Nuttallia.--This early-flowering shrub is only hardy in the south and south-west of our country. It requires a light, rich soil, and may be increased by division. Racemes of white flowers are produced during February and March. Height, 2 ft. Nycterina.--Exquisite little half-hardy plants, suitable for pots or rock-work. The seed should be sown early in spring on a gentle hotbed, and the young plants transferred to the pots or open ground at the end of May, using a light, rich soil. Height, 3 in. Nymphaea Alba.--A hardy aquatic perennial, frequently found in our ponds. It flowers in June, and may be increased by dividing the roots. Height, 1 ft. O Odontoglossum Grande.--A most beautiful orchid, delighting in a temperature of from 60 to 70 degrees and an abundance of water during summer, but good drainage is essential. The blooms are yellow, spotted and streaked with venetian red, and are often 6 in. across. The pots should be two-thirds filled with crocks, then filled up with fibrous peat and sphagnum moss. During winter only a very little moisture should be given. Oenothera.--The Evening Primroses are most useful and beautiful plants, well suited for ornamenting borders, beds, edgings, or rock-work. All the species are free-flowering, and grow well in any good, rich soil. The annual and biennial kinds are sown in the open in spring. The perennials may be increased by dividing the roots, by cuttings, or by seed, the plants from which will flower the first season if sown early in spring. They bloom in June and July. Height, 6 in. to 4 ft. Olearia.--These evergreen shrubs thrive in peat and loam, and may be increased by division of the roots. O. Haastii has foliage resembling the Box, and a profusion of white, sweet-scented flowers in summer: a chalk soil suits it admirably. Height, 3 ft. to 4 ft. Omphalodes Verna.--A hardy perennial which may be grown under the shade of trees in ordinary soil. It produces its flowers in March, and is increased by dividing the roots in autumn. Height, 6 in. Oncidium Sarcodes.--Plant these Orchids firmly in well-drained pots, using equal parts of live sphagnum and fibrous peat. Give one good watering as soon as the potting is finished, and stand them in a light, warm part of the greenhouse. They will require very little more water until the roots have taken hold of the soil--only sufficient to keep the pseudo-bulbs from shrivelling--and during the winter months scarcely any moisture is needed. They flower in August. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Onions.--Require a deep, rich, heavy soil. Where the ground is not suitable it should have had a good dressing of rotten manure the previous autumn, and left in ridges during the winter. Level the ground, and make it very firm just before the time of sowing. The seed should be sown early in March for the main crop and for salad and pickling Onions, and in August for summer use. Thin out to about 6 in. apart, excepting those intended to be gathered while small. The Tripoli varieties attain a large size if transplanted in the spring. The Silver-skins do best on a poor soil. For exhibition Onions sow in boxes early in February in a greenhouse; when about 1 in. high prick out, 3 in. apart, into other boxes; give gentle heat and plenty of air, and when they have grown 6 in. high put them in a cool frame until the middle of April, when they must be planted in the open, 1 ft. apart. Ononis Rotundifolia (_Round-leaved Restharrow_).--A charming hardy evergreen of a shrubby nature. It will grow in any ordinary garden soil, and is increased by seed, sown as soon as it is ripe. It is most effective in clumps, and blooms from June to September. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Onopordon.--Half-hardy perennials of a rather interesting nature and of easy cultivation. Sow the seed any time between March and June. They require the protection of a frame or greenhouse during winter, and produce flowers in July. Height, 6 in. to 8 ft. Onosma Taurica (_Golden Drop_).--This hardy herbaceous plant is very pretty when in flower, and suitable for rock-work. It requires a well-drained vegetable mould, and to be planted where it can obtain plenty of sun. It is increased from cuttings taken in summer, placed in a cucumber frame, kept shaded for about a fortnight, and hardened off before the winter. The flowers succeed one another from June to November. Height, 1 ft. Opuntia Rafinesquii (_Hardy Prickly Fig_).--A dwarf hardy Cactus with sulphur-coloured flowers, produced from June to August; very suitable for dry spots in rock-work. It grows best in peat with a little sand, and is propagated by separating the branches at a joint, and allowing them to dry for a day or so before putting them into the soil. Height, 2 ft. Orange, Mexican.--_See_ "Choisya." Orchids.--The four classes into which these charming and interesting plants are divided may be described as (1) those coming from the tropics, (2) from South Africa, (3) from the South of Europe, and (4) our native varieties. The first require a stove, the second a greenhouse, the third and fourth slight protection during winter. As their natural character differs so widely it is necessary to ascertain from what part of the globe they come, and to place them in houses having as near as possible the same temperature and humidity as that to which they are accustomed. The pots in which they are grown should be filled with fibrous peat and sphagnum moss, largely mixed with charcoal, and abundant drainage ensured. They are propagated by dividing the root stocks, by separating the pseudo-bulbs, and, in case of the Dendrobiums, by cuttings. Orchis Foliosa (_Leafy Orchis_) may be grown in the open ground in good sandy loam. When once established it is best not to disturb it, but if needed it may be increased by division, after the tops have died down. Orchis Fusca (_Brown Orchis_) may likewise be planted in the open, in a sheltered position, in fine loam and leaf-mould, the soil to be well drained, yet constantly moist. Origanum Pulchellum.--Popularly known as the Beautiful Marjoram, this plant is useful for cutting for vases. It is perennial and hardy, and thrives in a dry situation with a sunny aspect and in a sandy soil. The bloom is in its best condition in October. The rooted shoots may be divided in spring or almost at any other period, or it may be propagated by taking cuttings in summer. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Ornithogalum.--O. Arabicum bears a large white flower with a shiny black centre. It is a fine plant for pot culture, or it may be grown in water like the Hyacinth. It may be planted in the open early in spring in sandy loam and peat. Take it up before the frost sets in and store it in a dry place, as it requires no moisture while in a dormant state. In September the flowers are produced. Height, 6 in. O. Umbellatum (_Star of Bethlehem_) is a pretty little flower often found in English meadows, is quite hardy, and once established may be left undisturbed for years. It throws up large heads of starry flowers, which are produced in great abundance. While in a dormant state the bulbs should be kept almost dry. It is propagated by off-sets; flowers in May. Height, 1 ft. Orobus.--These hardy perennials bear elegant Pea-shaped blossoms. The plants will grow readily in any light soil, and are easily increased by root-division in the spring, or by seeds. They flower in June. Height, 2 ft. to 3 ft. Osmanthus.--These elegant hardy evergreen shrubs succeed best in light, sandy loam, and like a dry situation. They may be increased by cuttings of the young shoots with a little old wood attached, or they may be grafted on to common Privet. The variegated varieties are very beautiful. They grow well on chalk soils. Height, 4 ft. to 6 ft. Othera Japonica.--A newly introduced evergreen shrub very similar to the Holly. It is perfectly hardy and may be treated in the same manner as that plant. Ourisia Coccinea.--A hardy herbaceous, surface-creeping perennial of singular beauty as regards both leaf and flower. The soil in which it is grown must be well drained, a peat one being preferable; and the position it occupies must be well shaded from the rays of the midday sun. It flowers from May onwards to September, the cut bloom being admirable for mixing with fern leaves. As soon as new life starts in spring the roots may be divided. Height, 9 in. Oxalis.--A genus of very pretty bulbous plants that thrive well in a mixture of loam, peat, and sand, or will grow in any light soil. Most of the tender kinds may be reared in a frame if protected from frost in the winter. After they have done flowering they should be kept dry until they begin to grow afresh. They are increased by off-sets from the bulb. The hardy species should be planted in a shady border, where they will grow and flower freely. The seeds of these may be sown in the open in spring. Some of the varieties have fibrous roots: these will bear dividing. They are equally suitable for pots, borders, or rock-work. Height, 9 in. to 3 ft. Ox-Tongue.--_See_ "Bugloss." Oxythopis Campestris.--A hardy perennial with lemon-yellow flowers in June and July. It will grow in any good garden soil, and is propagated by seed only, which should be sown where the plants are intended to be grown. Height, 6 in. P Pachysandra.--This early hardy perennial has ornamental foliage and blooms in April. It will succeed in almost any soil, and may be increased by suckers from the roots. Height, 1 ft. Paeonies.--These beautiful flowering plants are mostly hardy enough to endure our winters. The herbaceous kinds are increased by dividing the plants at the roots, leaving a bud on each slip. The shrubby species are multiplied by cuttings taken in August or September, with a piece of the old wood attached, and planted in a sheltered situation. Tree Paeonies require protection in winter, and may be propagated by grafting on to the others, by suckers, or by layers. New varieties are raised from seed. A rich, loamy soil suits them best. Height, 2 ft. Palms from Seed.--Soak the seed in tepid water for twenty-four hours, then put them singly 1 in. deep in 2-in. pots filled with equal parts of loam, leaf-mould, and sand. Cover the pots with glass and stand them in the warmest part of a hothouse. Shade from strong sunshine, and keep the soil just moist. Re-pot as soon as the roots have filled the old ones. Pampas Grass.--_See_ "Gynerium." Pampas Lily of the Valley.--_See_ "Withania." Pancratium.--A handsome class of plants. Their habit of growth is somewhat like that of the Amaryllis. They are admirably adapted for growing in pots in the greenhouse. They may also be planted in the open ground under a south wall. The bulbs should be placed in a composition of three parts light, sandy loam and one of vegetable mould. They are increased by off-sets from the roots, or by seeds, by which the new varieties are obtained. Height, 1 ft. to 2 ft. Pandanus Veitchi (_Variegated Screw Pine_).--For table decoration or vases this is a most useful plant. It requires a warm greenhouse where a temperature of 60 or 70 degrees can be kept up throughout the year, and grows well in equal parts of peat and loam with one-sixth part sand. During the autumn a little liquid manure is beneficial. In the winter months it should be watered carefully, but in the summer it is improved by syringing with warm water. It is propagated very easily by suckers taken off in spring or summer, placed in a temperature of 75 degrees. Panicum.--Handsome ornamental grasses. They will grow in any soil or situation. P. Capillare is an annual, suitable for bouquets or edgings; it is increased by seed. P. Altissimum, an annual, and P. Sulcatum, a most elegant greenhouse plant, are fine for specimens. P. Plicatum is highly ornamental and hardy, but is best grown as a conservatory or window plant; it has a Palm-like appearance, and is of quick growth. Most of the plants flower in July. They may be propagated by seed or by division of the roots. Average height, 1-1/2 ft. Pansies (_Heartsease_).--Grow well from seed sown in July or August on a raised bed of light earth. They may also be increased from cuttings taken in August, September, April, or May, selecting young side-shoots and planting them in light earth mixed with silver sand. The cuttings should be kept in a cool frame, moderately moist, and shaded from the hot sun. They can likewise be increased by layers, merely pegging them down and not slitting them on account of their tendency to damp off. They may also be increased by dividing the roots in April or May. They should be planted where they will get all the morning sun, yet be sheltered from mid-day rays; in an open and airy situation, yet protected from cutting winds. While the plants are blooming they should be supplied with liquid manure. Papaver (_Poppy_).--These showy flowers are most at home in a rich, light soil. They are easily raised from seed sown where they are intended to bloom. The perennials may also be increased by dividing the roots. They flower at midsummer. Height varies from 1 ft. to 3 ft. Pardanthus Chinensis.--_See_ "Iris." Parsley.--In order to grow Parsley to perfection it is necessary that the ground be well drained, as the roots and stems must be kept dry, and the soil should be rich and light. Three sowings may be made during the year: the first in spring for late summer and autumn use, the next in June for succession, and another in August or September for spring and early summer use. Thin out or transplant, to 6 in. apart. Parsley takes longer than most seeds to germinate; it must therefore be watched during dry weather and watered if necessary. Plants potted in September and placed in a cold frame, or protected in the open from rain and frost with a covering of mats supported by arches, will be valuable for winter use. Parsnips.--These succeed best in a rich soil, but the application of fresh manure should be avoided, as it induces forked and ill-shaped roots. Let the ground be trenched two spits deep and left ridged up as long as possible. As early in March as the weather will permit level the surface and sow the seed in drills 15 in. apart, covering it with half an inch of fine soil. When the plants are 2 or 3 in. high, thin them out to 9 in. apart. They may be taken up in November and, after cutting off the tops, stored in a pit or cellar in damp sand, or they may be left in the ground till required for use. Passion Flower.--Cuttings of the young shoots strike readily in sand under glass. The plant likes a good loamy soil mixed with peat. A sheltered position with a south or south-western aspect should be assigned those grown out of doors, and the root should be well protected in winter. The flowers are borne on seasoned growth of the current year: this fact must be considered when pruning the plants. During the hot months the roots require a copious supply of water, and the foliage should be syringed freely. Passiflora Cærulea is fine for outdoor culture, and Countess Guiglini makes a capital greenhouse plant. Pavia Macrostachya.--This is a deciduous hardy shrub or tree which bears elegant racemes of white Chestnut-like flowers in July. Any soil suits it. It is propagated by layers or by grafting it on to the Horse-chestnut. Height, 10 ft. Peaches.--These are best grown on a strong loam mixed with old mortar; though any soil that is well drained will produce good fruit. When possible, a south wall should be chosen; but they are not particular as to position, providing they are afforded shelter from cold winds. November and February are the most favourable months for planting. The roots should be carefully arranged at equal distances apart, 3 or 4 in. below the surface of soil, and then covered with fine mould. Avoid giving manure at all times, except when the trees are bearing fruit heavily. Train the shoots about 6 in. apart, removing all the wood-buds except one at the base of the shoot and one at the point. Keep the flowers dry and free from frost by means of an overhead shelter, to which tiffany or canvas can be attached, which should, however, only be used so long as the cold weather lasts. To ensure good fruit, thin the same out to 6 in. apart as soon as it attains the size of a small pea, and when the stoning period is passed remove every alternate one, so that they will be 1 ft. apart. After gathering the fruit, remove any exhausted and weak wood, leaving all that is of the thickness of a black-lead pencil. To keep the foliage clean, syringe once a day with water; this may be continued until the fruit is nearly ripe. The following may be recommended for outdoor cultivation:--Hale's Early, Dagmar, and Waterloo for fruiting in July or August; Crimson Galande, Dymond, and the well-known Bellegarde for succession in September; and Golden Eagle for a late sort. When planted in quantities, Peaches should stand 20 ft. apart. When grown under glass a day temperature of 50 degrees, falling to 45 degrees at night, is sufficient to start with, gradually increasing it so that 65 degrees by day and 55 by night is reached at the period of blossoming. Syringe the leaves daily until the flowers are produced, then discontinue it, merely keeping the walls near the pipes and the paths damp. As soon as the fruit is set the syringing should recommence. Water of the same temperature as that of the house should in all cases be used. When the fruit begins to ripen, cease once more the syringing until it is gathered, then admit air freely, wash the trees daily, and apply liquid manure to the roots in sufficient quantities to keep the soil moist during the time the trees are at rest. Rivers's Early, Pitmaston Orange, Dagmar, and Royal George are all good under glass. Pears.--Wherever Apples are a success Pears will grow. As a rule, they are best grown dwarf. On light soils they should be grafted on to Pear stocks, but on heavy soils they are best worked on the Quince. The fruiting of young trees may be accelerated by lifting them when about five years old, spreading out the roots 1 ft. below the surface of the soil, and mulching the ground. The mulching should be raked off in the spring, the ground lightly stirred with a fork and left to sweeten, and another mulching applied when the weather becomes hot and dry. In pruning, leave the leading branches untouched, but let all cross shoots be removed, and the young wood be cut away in sufficient quantity to produce a well-balanced tree, and so equalise the flow of sap. Some of the pruning may be done in summer, but directly the leaves fall is the time to perform the main work. A good syringing once a week with the garden hose will keep the trees vigorous and free from insects. Should scab make its appearance on the leaves, spray them occasionally with Bordeaux Mixture, using the minimum strength at first, and a stronger application afterwards if necessary. There are over 500 varieties of Pears, so it is no easy matter to give a selection to suit all tastes, but a few may be named as most likely to give satisfaction. Louise Bonne de Jersey succeeds in almost any soil and in any situation, is a great favourite, and ripens its fruit in October. Beurré Giffard makes a fine standard, and ripens in July. Beurré Hardy is delicious in October and November. Doyenné du Comice is one of the best-flavoured, and is very prolific. Beurré d'Amanlis ripens in August. Williams's Bon Chrêtien, Aston Town, Pitmaston Duchess, Clapp's Favourite, Comte de Lamy, and Josephine de Malines are all reliable for dessert, while for stewing purposes Catillac, Black Pear of Worcester, Verulam, and Vicar of Winkfield are among the best. In orchards standards should be from 20 to 25 ft. apart; dwarfs 12 ft. to 1 rod. Peas.--For the production of heavy summer and autumn crops a rich and deeply-stirred soil is essential, one of the best fertilisers being well-decayed farmyard manure; but for the earliest crop a poorer soil, if deep and well pulverised, will give the best results. Peas under 3 ft. in height do not require sticking, but they can be more easily gathered if a few small twigs are used to keep the haulm off the ground. If sown in successive lines the space between the rows should correspond with the height of the variety grown. A good plan is to arrange the rows 10 or 15 ft. apart, and crop the intervening spaces with early dwarf vegetables. The earliest varieties may be sown from November to February, on the warmest and most sheltered border: these may be gathered in May and June. The second early round, varieties, if sown from January to April, will be ready for gathering in June and July. The main crop round varieties may be sown from February to May: these will be ready to gather in July and August. The early wrinkled varieties may be sown from March to June, for gathering between June and September. Sow main crop and late varieties at intervals of fourteen days from March to May: these will be ready to gather in July, August, and September. When the plants are a couple of inches high draw the earth neatly round them, and stake the taller varieties as soon as the tendrils appear. Keep them well watered in dry weather, and if on a light soil a mulching of manure will be beneficial. As soon as the pods are setting apply weak liquid manure to the roots when the ground is moist. Peas, Everlasting (_Lathyrus Latifolia_).--These well-known and favourite hardy perennials are very useful for covering trellises, etc. They will grow in any garden soil, and may be raised from seed sown early in spring in slight heat. Where there is no greenhouse or frame the seed may be planted, about 1/2 in. deep, round the edges of pots filled with nice, light soil, and covered with a sheet of glass, keeping the soil moist till the seed germinates. When the plants are strong enough they may be placed in their permanent quarters. They bloom from June to September. Old roots may be divided. Height, 6 ft. Peas, Sweet.--These most beautiful and profuse blooming hardy annuals will grow almost anywhere, but they prefer a dry soil that is both rich and light. The seed should be sown as early in March as practicable, and in April and May for succession. When the plants are 2 or 3 in. high a few twigs may be placed among them, to which they will cling. The flowers are produced in July, and the more liberally they are gathered the longer the plants will continue to bloom. Height, 3 ft. Pelargonium.--The shrubby kinds will grow well in any rich soil; loam and decayed leaves form a good compost for them. They require good drainage and plenty of air and light while in a vigorous state. Cuttings root readily in either soil or sand, especially if placed under glass. Most of the hard-wooded varieties are more easily increased by cuttings from the roots. The tuberous-rooted ones should be kept quite dry while dormant, and may be increased by small off-sets from the roots. Pentstemon.--This charming hardy perennial is deserving of a place in every garden. It may be grown in any good soil, but a mixture of loam and peat is most suitable. The seed may be sown in April, and the plants transferred when strong enough to their flowering quarters; or it may be sown in a sheltered position during August or September to stand the winter. It may also be increased by dividing the roots in spring, as soon as growth begins. Cuttings of the young side-shoots about 6 in. long may be taken at any period--the middle of September is a good time; these should be placed under a hand-glass in sandy loam and leaf-mould. These cuttings will flower the first year. It blooms from May to October. Height, 2 ft. Peppermint.--This may be grown on any damp or marshy soil, and increased by dividing the roots. Perennials.--These are plants that die down during the winter, but spring up and produce new stems annually. Some, as for instance Antirrhinums and Pansies, flower the first season, but usually they do not bloom till the second season. Many of the species improve by age, forming large clumps or bushes. The stock is increased by division of the roots, which, if judiciously done, improves the plant. Like annuals, they are divided into classes of Hardy, Half-hardy, and Tender plants. Hardy perennials do not require artificial heat to germinate the seeds, or at any period of their growth, but are the most easily cultivated of all plants. Seed may be sown from March to midsummer, transplanting in the autumn to their flowering quarters; or it may be sown in August and September in a sheltered position to stand the winter. Half-hardy plants require artificial heat to germinate their seed, and must be gradually introduced into the open. They may be sown during March and April in frames or a greenhouse, when many will bloom the first season. If sown between May and the end of August they will flower the following spring and summer. They require protection during winter, such as is afforded by a cold pit, frame, or greenhouse, or the covering of a mat or litter. Tender perennials may be sown as directed above, but the plants should be kept constantly under glass. Some perennials, such as Pinks, Carnations, Saxifrages, etc., do not die down, but retain their leaves. These are called evergreen perennials. Pergularia.--Very fragrant twining plants, suitable for trellis-work, arbours, etc. A rich soil suits them best. They are easily increased by cuttings sown in sand under glass. They flower at midsummer. Height, 8 ft. to 12 ft. Perilla Nankinensis.--A plant of little merit, except for its foliage, which is of a rich bronze purple. It bears a cream-coloured flower in July. It may be raised in the same manner as other half-hardy annuals, and prefers a light, loamy soil. Height, 1 1/2 ft. Periploca Graeca.--A hardy, deciduous, twining shrub, which will grow in any soil, and may be increased by layers or by cuttings placed under glass. It flowers in July. Height, 10 ft. Periwinkle.--_See_ "Vinca." Pernettya.--An American evergreen shrub, which, like all of its class, thrives best in sandy peat; it delights in partial shade, and a moist but well-drained position. It is increased by layers in September, which should not be disturbed for a year. It is a good plan to mulch the roots with leaf-mould or well-rotted manure. Height, 5 ft. Petunias.--These ornamental half-hardy perennials prefer a mixture of sandy loam and vegetable mould, but will grow in any rich, light soil. Seeds sown in March or April, at a temperature of from 65 to 75 degrees, make fine bedding plants for a summer or autumn display. As the seeds are very minute, they should be covered merely with a dusting of the finest of soil. Moisture is best supplied by standing the pots up to the rims in water. Pot off singly, harden off, and plant out at the end of May. May also easily be raised from cuttings, which will strike at any season in heat, but care must be taken that they do not damp off. They flower in July and August. Height, 1-1/2 ft. to 2 ft. Phacelia Campanularia.--A superb, rich blue, hardy annual. It will grow in any soil, and is easily raised from seed sown in spring. Flowers are borne in June. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Phalaris.--P. Arundinacea is the well-known perennial Ribbon Grass; it is easily grown from seed, and the root allows division. P. Canariensis is the useful canary seed: it may be propagated from seed on any soil. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Philadelphus.--Among the best of our flowering shrubs, producing a wealth of sweetly-scented flowers. For cultivation, _see_ "Syringa." Philesia.--An American evergreen shrub which grows best in peat, but will thrive in any light soil. It should occupy a cool position, but be well sheltered from winds. It is increased by suckers. Flowers in June. Height, 4 ft. Phillyrea.--This effective border evergreen will grow in any ordinary garden soil, and may be increased either by layers or cuttings. It has dark green shining leaves, and is quite hardy. Height, 6 ft. Phlomis (_Lion's Tail_).--This effective hardy perennial will grow in any rich, light soil in a warm position, and is a fine lawn plant. Flowers are produced from June to August. It may be increased by seed or division. Protect the plant from damp in winter. Height, 3 ft. Phlox.--For richness of colour and duration of bloom there are few plants that can rival either the annual or perennial Phlox. The trailing kinds are very suitable for small pots or rock-work, C. Drummondi for beds, and the French perennials, P. Decussata, for mixed borders. A rich, loamy soil suits them best, and they must never lack moisture. They are easily raised in spring from seed, and the perennials may be increased by cuttings placed under glass, or by division. Flower in July. Height, 1 ft. to 2 ft. Phormium Tenax.--A greenhouse herbaceous plant which succeeds best in rich loam. It flowers in August, and may be propagated by dividing the roots. Height, 3 ft. Phygelius Capensis.--A greenhouse perennial bearing carmine and yellow flowers in June, but is hardy enough to be grown on a warm border. It is increased by off-sets from the root, taken off in May. Height, 2 ft. Physalis (_Winter Cherry_).--A rich, light soil is most suitable for the stove and greenhouse kinds, cuttings of which root freely under glass. The hardy kinds will grow in any soil, and are increased by seed. P. Francheti produces seed-pods over 2 in. in diameter, the Cherry-like fruit of which is edible and makes a fine preserve. It is larger than that of the old Winter Cherry, P. Alkekengi. They flower in August. Height, 1 ft. to 2 ft. Physianthus Albens.--This evergreen climber is a good plant for training to the rafters of a greenhouse. It grows well in a mixture of sandy loam and peat, and should receive bold treatment. Its white flowers are produced in July. The plant is propagated by seeds, also by cuttings. Height, 20 ft. Physostegia.--Ornamental hardy herbaceous plants, ranging in colour from white to purple. They like a rich soil, and can be raised from seed sown in March. They also bear division. July and August are their flowering months. Height, from 1 ft. to 5 ft. Phyteuma Hallierii.--A very pretty hardy perennial. It will thrive in any soil, blooms from May to August, and can be readily increased by seed or division. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Phytolacca Decandra (_Virginian Poke_).--A very fine herbaceous plant, bearing bunches of pretty black berries. It requires a rich soil and plenty of room for its widespreading branches. Cuttings will strike under glass, or the seed may be sown in autumn. It flowers in August. Height, 6 ft. Picotees.--_See_ "Carnations." Pimelias.--Very beautiful, compact, and free-growing greenhouse everlasting shrubs. The most suitable soil consists of three parts sandy peat and one part loam, with good drainage. June or July is their flowering season. They may be grown from seed or young cuttings 2 in. long, placed in sandy peat, with a little bottom heat. Do not give too much water. Height, 2 ft. to 4 ft. Pimpernel.--_See_ "Anagallis." Pinguicula Grandiflora (_Great Irish Butterwort_).--This handsome, hardy bog-plant produces deep violet-blue flowers in August and September. It may be grown in any damp soil and increased by division. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Pinks.--Will live in almost any soil, but if large blooms are required rich earth is essential. They are increased by pipings taken in May or June. These should be planted out in October, but must be given a well-drained position, as too much wet is injurious to them. Do not set the roots too deep, but let the collar of the plant be on a level with the soil. Pinus.--As a tall specimen tree nothing is more graceful than the Corsican Pine (_Pinus Laricio_). P. Strobus Nana is a curious dwarf variety, rarely exceeding 3 ft. in height. The Argentea Aurea is also of dwarf habit. Its leaves, which are green in summer, change to a bright golden colour in winter. The Umbrella Pine (_Sciadopitys_) is a very striking conifer, and does well everywhere. It gets its name from its leaves being set at regular intervals round the branches, like the ribs of an umbrella. The Pinus may be increased by layers, or by sowing the cones in spring, after they have opened out, in rather sandy soil, covering them lightly. Piping.--This consists in drawing out the young grass, or shoots, from the joints of Pinks, etc., from May to July being the time for doing so. Place them in light, sandy soil, and cover them with a hand-glass. Towards the end of September they may be planted out in beds or potted off in rich, light loam. In either case they must not be planted too deeply. The crust of the soil should be level with the collar of the plant. If the pots are put into a frame the plants will require very little water during winter, but as much air should be given as is possible. In March re-pot them, using 8-1/2-in. pots. Platycodon (_Japanese Balloon Flower_).--Hardy and elegant herbaceous plants, requiring a sandy soil. They may be raised either from seeds or from cuttings of the young growth; they flower in July. Height, 1 ft. Platystemon Californicus.--Pretty hardy annuals which thrive in a sandy soil. They are easily raised from seed sown in March or April, and bring forth their flowers in August. Height, 1 ft. Pleroma Elegans.--A beautiful evergreen shrub for a greenhouse. Pot in equal parts of loam, peat, and sand. It flowers in July. Cuttings may be struck in peat in a rather warm temperature. Height, 4 ft. Plumbago.--These pretty evergreens will grow in any soil, and can be propagated in September by cuttings of half-ripened wood having a heal, planted in a sandy soil, and kept near the glass in a greenhouse. They flower in June. Height, 3 ft. P. Occidentalis is a charming greenhouse climber. P. Capensis Alba is a greenhouse evergreen shrub, flowering in November, and growing to a height of 2 ft. P. Larpentae is good for a sunny border, in light soil: it bears terminal clusters of rich violet-purple flowers in September. Height, 1 ft. Plumbagoes require very little attention in winter. Plums.--Almost any soil will grow this useful fruit. Young trees may be planted at any time, when the ground is friable, from November to March, but the earlier it is done the better. The situation should be somewhat sheltered. In exposed positions protection may be afforded by a row of damson trees. Many varieties are suitable for growing on walls or sheds, where they are trained into fans, as cordons, and other decorative designs; but it must not be overlooked that until the trees are well established a great deal of fruit is necessarily lost by the severe pruning and disbudding which is required to bring the tree into shape. A pyramid-shaped tree is useful, and is easily grown by training one straight, central shoot, which must be stopped occasionally so that fresh side branches may be thrown out, which of course must be kept at the desired length. A bush tree about 7 ft. in height is undoubtedly the best form of growth, and needs but a minimum amount of attention. In pruning wall trees the main object is to get the side-shoots equally balanced, and to prevent the growth advancing in the centre. The bush form merely require the removal of any dead wood and of cross-growing branches. This should be done late in the summer or in the autumn. The trees are frequently attacked by a small moth, known as the Plum Fortrix, which eats its way into the fruit and causes it to fall. In this case the fallen unripe fruit should be gathered up and burned, and the trees washed in winter with caustic potash and soda. For growing on walls the following kinds may be recommended: Diamond, White Magnum Bonum, Pond's Seedling, and Belle de Louvain for cooking; and Kirke, Coe's Golden Drop, and Jefferson for dessert. For pyramids and bushes, Victoria, Early Prolific, Prince Engelbert, Sultan, and Belgian Purple are good sorts. In orchards Plums should stand 20 ft. apart. Poa Trivalis.--A very pretty, dwarf-growing, variegated grass. Plant in a moist situation in a rich, light, loamy soil. It is increased either by seed or division. Podocarpus.--_See_ "Cephalotaxus." Podolepis.--Hardy annuals bearing yellow and red and white flowers. A mixture of loam and peat is most suitable for their growth. They are easily raised from seed sown in March, and bloom from June to August. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Podophyllum Peltatum (_Duck's Foot, or May Apple_).--Grown chiefly for its foliage and berries, this hardy herbaceous perennial forms a pleasing spectacle when planted in moist soil under trees; it likewise makes a splendid pot-plant. A mixture of peat and chopped sphagnum is what it likes. The pots are usually plunged in wet sand or ashes on a northern border. It is propagated by cutting the roots into pieces several inches in length, with a good bud or crown on each. During May and June the plant produces small white Dog-rose-like flowers. Height, 1 ft. Poinsettia Pulcherrima.--A stove evergreen shrub which produces lovely crimson bracts in the winter. Plant in sandy loam, give plenty of water to the roots, and syringe the leaves frequently. In early spring cut down the branches to within three or four eyes of the old wood. These cuttings, if laid aside for a day to dry and then planted under glass, will form new plants. It flowers in April. Height, 2 ft. Polemonium (_Jacob's Ladder_).--Hardy perennial border plants of an ornamental character and of the easiest culture. Any soil suits them, and they merely require sowing in the open either in spring or autumn. P. Richardsoni is most commonly met with, its blue flowers being produced in early autumn. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Polyanthus.--Sow the seed late in autumn in well-drained boxes of light, rich mould; cover it very lightly, place under glass, and water sparingly, but give enough to keep the plants moist. The seed requires no artificial heat to germinate it. The roots should be divided each year as soon as they have flowered, and fresh soil given. The single varieties only are florists' flowers. The Polyanthus is a species of primrose, grows best in a rather shady position in a loam and peat compost, and produces its flowers in May. Height, 6 in. Polygala Chamaesbuxus.--A hardy evergreen trailing plant requiring a peat soil in which to grow. It may be increased from seed or by division of the roots. May is the time at which it blooms. Height, 6 in. Polygala Dalmaisiana.--This showy evergreen shrub needs a greenhouse treatment. Soil--three parts peat, one part turfy loam, and a little sand. It flowers in March. To increase it, top the shoots, which will cause it to throw out new ones. Take the new growth off when it is 3 in. long, and place it under glass in a propagating house. Height, 1 ft. The hardy annual varieties of Polygala are obtained by seed sown in peat. These flower at midsummer. (_See also_ "Solomon's Seal.") Polygonatum.--These pretty herbaceous plants are quite hardy. The flowers, which are borne in May or June, are mostly white. Plants succeed best in a rich soil. They may be raised from seed, or the roots can be divided. Height, 1ft. to 3 ft. Polygonum Brunonis (_Knotweed_).--This strong-growing creeping perennial plant is not particular as to soil so long as it can enjoy plenty of sunshine. The shoots root of themselves and must be kept in check, else they will choke other things. It flowers in August, after which the leaves assume beautiful autumnal tints. Height, 1 ft. Pomegranate.--This requires a deep, loamy soil and a warm, airy situation. May be propagated by cuttings of the shrubs or the root, putting the cuttings into light, rich soil, or by layers. The double kinds of Punica, or Pomegranate, should be grafted on to the single ones. There is a dwarf kind, bearing scarlet flowers in August, which requires heat. Poppies.--_See_ "Papaver" _and_ "Stylophorum." Portulaca.--The seeds of the hardy annual species of this genus may be sown in a sheltered open spot in spring. The half-hardy annuals should be sown thinly in boxes during March and placed in gentle heat. Harden off and plant out in May, as soon as the weather permits, in a light, dry soil where it can get a good amount of sunshine. Its brilliant and striking colour admirably adapts it for small beds, edgings, or rock-work; and it will succeed in dry, hot sandy positions where scarcely any other plant would live. It flowers in June. Height, 6 in. Potatoes.--Ground intended for Potatoes should be dug deeply in the autumn, thoroughly drained, well manured and trenched, and left rough on the surface during the winter. At the beginning of February stand the tubers on end in shallow boxes, and expose them to the light to induce the growth of short, hard, purple sprouts. Allow one sprout to each tuber or set, rubbing off the rest. They may be planted at any time from the end of February to the end of March in rows 1-1/2 to 2-1/2 ft. asunder, placing the sets 6 in. deep and from 6 to 9 in. apart. As soon as growth appears keep the ground well stirred with the hoe to prevent the growth of weeds, and when the tops are 4 to 6 in. high ridge the earth up about them. Directly flower appears, pick it off, as it retards the growth of the tubers. They should be taken up and stored in October. If short of storage room dig up every other row only, and give the remaining ridges an additional covering of earth. They keep well this way. Potentilla.--Handsome herbaceous plants with Strawberry-like foliage. They will grow in any common soil, and may be increased by dividing the roots or by seeds treated like other hardy perennials. The shrubby kinds are well adapted for the fronts of shrubberies, and are propagated by cuttings taken in autumn and planted in a sheltered situation. They flower at midsummer. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Potting.--Great attention must be paid to this important gardening operation. It is necessary that the pots used be perfectly clean, and, if new, soaked in water for several hours previously, otherwise they would absorb the moisture from the soil to the detriment of the roots. At the bottom of the pots place a few layers of crocks, and on these some rough mould so as to ensure perfect drainage. For all delicate, hard-wooded plants one-third of each pot should be occupied with drainage, but a depth of 1-1/2 in. is sufficient for others. Lift the plant carefully so as not to break the ball of earth round the roots, and fill in with mould round the sides. In order to supply water readily the pots must not be filled up to the rim. Pot firmly, and in the case of hard-wooded plants ram the earth down with a blunt-pointed stick; soft-wooded ones may be left rather looser. Give shade till the plants have recovered themselves. The soil used for potting should be moist, but not clammy. A rather light, rich loam is most suitable for strong-growing plants; peat for slow-growing, hard-wooded ones, like Ericas, Camellias, etc.; and a mixture of light loam, one-third its bulk of leaf-soil, and silver sand in sufficient quantity to make the whole porous for quick-growing, soft-wooded plants, such as Pelargoniums, Calceolarias, Fuchsias etc. Pratia Repens (_Lobelia Pratiana_).--This pretty little creeping perennial is very suitable for the front of rock-work. It requires a well-drained vegetable soil and all the sun it can get. It is self-propagating. Though pretty hardy, it is safer to pot it off in autumn and place it in a cold frame throughout the winter. Flowers are produced in June, and are succeeded till cut off by frost. Primroses.--_See_ "Primulas," _and_ "Streptocarpus." Primulas.--This genus embraces the Auricula, the Polyanthus, and the Primrose. The greenhouse varieties are among the most useful of our winter-flowering plants. The seed may be sown at any time from March to July in a pot of two-year-old manure, leaf-mould, or fine, rich mould, but not covering it with the soil. Tie a sheet of paper over the pot and plunge it in a hotbed. Sufficient moisture will be communicated to the seed by keeping the paper damp. When the plants make their appearance remove the paper and place the pot in the shady part of the greenhouse. When they are strong enough to handle, pot off into 4-1/2 in. pots, and stand them near the glass. The roots may be divided as soon as the plants have done flowering. The hardy kinds may be sown in the open. It should be borne in mind that the seed must be new, as it soon loses its germinating properties. These flower in March or April. Height, 6 in. Prince's Feather.--An ornamental hardy annual, producing tall spikes of dark crimson flowers and purple-tinted foliage. It is not particular as to soil, and merely requires sowing in the open in spring to produce flowers in July. Height, 2 ft. Privet.--_See_ "Ligustrum." Prophet's Flower.--_See_ "Arnebia." Prunella Grandiflora.--A pretty hardy perennial, suitable for a front border or rock-work, bearing dense spikes of flowers from May to August. It grows well in any ordinary soil, and is propagated by division. Height, 6 in. Pruning.--The main objects to bear in mind in Pruning any kind of bush or tree are to prevent a congested growth of the branches, to remove any shoots that cross each other, as well as all useless and dead wood, and to obtain a well-balanced head. It may be done either in August or in the winter when the sap is at rest, after the worst of the frosts are over, the end of February being usually suitable; but the former period is generally acknowledged to be the better, especially for fruit-trees. The cuts should be clean and level, and when a saw is used should be made smooth with a chisel and covered with grafting wax. In all cases as little wound as possible should be presented. Root-pruning has for its object the suppression of over-vigorous growth and the restoration of old trees to a bearing condition. It consists in taking off all the small fibres, shortening the long roots to within 6 or 8 in. of the stem, and cutting away any bruised or injured roots before the trees are first planted out. The mode of procedure in the case of old or unproductive trees is to open the earth in autumn 3 ft. from the stem of the tree, and to saw through two-thirds of the strongest roots. The opening is then filled in with fresh mould. Should the growth still be too vigorous, the soil must be opened again the following season and the remaining roots cut through, care being taken not to injure the young fibrous roots. Prunus.--Beautiful early-flowering trees, which will grow in any soil, and can be increased by seeds or suckers. Ptelia Trifoliata (_Hop Tree_).--This is very suitable for planting on the borders of still waters, where its long frond-like leaves, which turn to a golden yellow in autumn, produce a fine effect. It blooms in June, and is propagated by layers. Height, 10 ft. Pulmonarias (_Lungworts_).--Hardy perennials that require but little attention; may be grown in any common soil, and propagated by division at any time. They flower in April and May. Height, 1 ft. Pumilum.--_See_ "Heleniums." Pumpkins.--Valuable for soups and pies in winter, and in summer the young shoots are an excellent substitute for Asparagus. For their cultivation, _see_ "Gourds." Punica Granata Nana.--A greenhouse deciduous shrub which flowers in August. The soil in which it is placed should be a light, rich loam. It can be most freely multiplied by layers, and cuttings will strike in sand under glass. Height, 4 ft. Puschkinia (_Striped Squills_).--This charming bulbous plant may be grown in any light, rich mould, provided it is drained well. The bulbs may be separated when the clumps get overcrowded, late in summer, after the tops have died down, being the most suitable time to do so. If planted in a warm position it will begin to flower in March, and continue in bloom till May. Height, 8 in. Pyrethrum.--The greenhouse kinds grow in any rich soil, and young cuttings planted under glass root readily. The hardy kinds are not particular as to soil so long as it is not cold and wet, and are increased by seeds sown in heat in February if wanted for early use, or in the open during March and April for later growth. The crowns may be divided either in autumn or spring: each eye or bud will make a fresh plant. Young plants produced in this way in the autumn require the protection of a frame during the winter. They flower in July. Height varies from 6 in. to 3 ft. Pyrola.--A handsome hardy plant, suitable for a moist, shady situation. It is raised from seed, or will bear dividing, but is rather hard to grow. Height, 6 in. Pyrus Japonica.--_See_ "Cydonia." Q Quaking Grass.--_See_ "Briza." Quercus Ilex.--A handsome evergreen Oak, delighting in a deep, loamy soil. It is propagated by seed sown as soon as it is ripe. Quinces.--Plant in autumn in a moist but well-drained soil. Cuttings of stout stems 6 or 8 in. long, firmly and deeply planted in a shady situation, mulched with leaf-mould, and kept watered in dry weather, will take root; but the surest method of propagation is by layers, pegged down in the soil and detached the following year. A good watering with liquid manure will swell the fruit to a large size. Keep the branches well thinned out and cut them regular, so as to let in light and air and form nicely shaped trees. The pruning should be done as soon as the leaves fall. In orchards they should stand 1 rod apart. R Radish.--For an early supply sow on a gentle hotbed under a frame in January, February, and March. For succession sow thinly on a warm and sheltered border early in March. Follow on with sowings in the open till the middle of September. The Black Spanish and China Rose should be sown during August and September for winter use. Lift in November, and store in sand in a cool place. Radishes should be liberally watered in dry weather, and the soil made rich and light some time before sowing commences. Ragged Robin.--_See_ "Lychnis." Ragwort.--_See_ "Jacobaea." Ramondia Pyrenaica.--A pretty dwarf perennial, suitable for moist interstices of rock-work. It should be planted in a slanting position, so that the roots, while absorbing plenty of moisture, will not rot through being continually in stagnant water. Peat soil suits it best. It may be increased by division in spring. If grown from seed it takes two years before flowers are produced. During the height of summer it is in full beauty. Rampion.--The roots are used in cooking, and also for salads. For winter use sow in April in rows 12 in. apart, covering the seeds lightly with fine mould, and thin out to 4 in. apart. Sow at intervals for a succession. Ranunculus.--These prefer a good stiff, rather moist, but well-drained loam, enriched with well-rotted cow-dung, and a sunny situation. February is probably the best time for planting, though some prefer to do it in October. Press the tubers (claws downwards) firmly into the soil, placing them 2 or 3 in. deep and 4 or 5 in. apart. Cover them with sand, and then with mould. Water freely in dry weather. Protect during winter with a covering of dry litter, which should be removed in spring before the foliage appears. They flower in May or June. Seeds, selected from the best semi-double varieties, sown early in October and kept growing during the winter, will flower the next season. They may likewise be increased by off-sets and by dividing the root. The claws may be lifted at the end of June and stored in dry sand. The plants are poisonous. Height, 8 in. to 12 in. Raphiolepis Ovata.--Beautiful evergreen shrubs, producing long spikes of white flowers in June. A compost of loam, peat, and sand is their delight. Cuttings will strike in sand under glass. Height, 4 ft. Raspberries.--A rich, moist, loamy soil is most suitable for their cultivation. Suckers are drawn by the hand from the old roots any time between October and February, and set in groups of three in rows 6 ft. apart. If taken in October, the young plants may be pruned early in November. It is usual to cut one cane to the length of 3 ft., the second one to 2 ft., and the third to within a few inches of the ground. As soon as the year's crop is gathered, the old bearing shoots are cut clean away, the young canes are drawn closer together, and at the end of August the tops of the tall ones are pinched off. When the leaves have fallen all the suckers are drawn out and the canes pruned (about four being left to each root). The canes are then tied and manure applied. About May they are, if necessary, thinned out again, and the suckers that are exhausting both soil and plant removed. They produce their fruit on one-year-old canes, which wood is of no further use. The general way of training them is by tying the tops together, or by training them in the shape of a fan on a south wall, but perhaps the best way is to tic them about equal distances apart round hoops supported by light sticks. Seed may be separated from the fruit, dried, and sown early in February on a gentle hotbed. Prick off into good rich mould, harden off by the middle of May, and plant in rich soil. Train them and keep down suckers. When they are grown tall pinch off the tops. Red Antwerp, Yellow Antwerp, Prince of Wales, Northumberland Filbasket, Carter's Prolific, and White Magnum Bonum are all good sorts. Red-hot Poker.--_See_ "Tritoma." Red Scale.--_See_ "Scale." Red Spiders.--These troublesome pests which appear in the heat of summer, may be got rid of by constantly syringing the plants attacked, and by occasionally washing the walls, etc., with lime or sulphur. Retinospora Filifera.--A large-growing, hardy evergreen shrub. It may be grown in any light soil, and increased by seed, or by cuttings planted under glass in the shade. It flowers in May. Rhamnus (_Buckthorn_).--Fine evergreen shrubs, of hardy habit and quick growth. They may be grown in any soil, but prefer a sheltered situation, and are very suitable for planting near the sea. R. Latifolius has handsome broad leaves. Some, such as R. Alaternus and R. Catharticus, attain large proportions, the former reaching 30 ft. and the latter 10 ft. in height. They may be propagated by layers or by seed. Rheum Palmatum.--This species of rhubarb makes an effective plant for the back portion of a border. It does well in rich loam, flowering in June, and is increased by dividing the root. Height, 5 ft. Rhodanthe (_Swan River Everlasting_).--These beautiful everlasting flowers are half-hardy annuals and are suitable for beds or ribbons, and make most graceful plants for pot culture, placing four plants in a 5-in. pot. They thrive best in fibrous peat or a rich, light soil, and prefer a warm situation. Used largely for winter bouquets, and are perfect gems for pot culture. A succession of bloom may be obtained by sowings made in August, October, and March. The temperature of the seed-pots should be kept at from 60 to 70 degrees, and the soil kept constantly damp with water of the same heat. After potting the seedlings remove them to a cooler house and keep them near the glass. Those sown in March may be planted in the open in June, where they will flower in autumn. Height, 1 ft. Rhodochiton--This evergreen climber makes a fine plant for trellis-work. It is more suitable for the greenhouse, though it may be grown in the open in summer. A light, rich, well-drained soil is its delight, and it may be propagated by seed or by cuttings under glass. In the greenhouse it should not be placed near the pipes. July is its time for flowering. Height, 10 ft. Rhododendrons.--Plant in October in peat, or in a compost of sandy, turfy loam, with a good proportion of decayed leaves and charred refuse. The best position for them is a sheltered one where they can get a moderate amount of sunshine to develop the flower-buds. They like plenty of moisture, but the ground must be well drained. If it is desired to shift their position spring is the best time, the next best being October. They are propagated by layers or seeds, and the small wooded kinds by slips torn off close to the stems, planted in sand, and placed under glass in heat. The seed should be sown early in spring in pans of peat soil, and covered very lightly. Place the pans in a frame, and when the soil becomes dry stand the pans in water nearly up to the rims until the surface is moist. Pot off when strong enough to handle, and keep close in the frame till fresh roots are produced, then harden off. Rhododendrons may, when desired, be transplanted in spring, even after the flower-buds are well advanced, if care be taken not to break the ball of earth round their roots. They bloom at the end of May. Height, 4 ft. Rhubarb.--Seed may be sown thinly during April in drills 1 ft. apart. Thin out the plants 12 in. from each other, and let them grow on till the following April, then plant them out 4 ft. apart in deeply trenched ground into which a good quantity of well-rotted manure has been worked. Large roots may be divided in autumn or early spring; every portion of the root that has a crown will make a fresh plant. When the last of the crop has been pulled, fork in a dressing of old manure. It may be forced out of doors by covering the ground thickly with stable manure, and placing large flower-pots over the plants to bleach them; but if forced in a frame the light need not be excluded. None but the earliest kinds should be selected for forcing. Rhubarb, Chilian.--_See_ "Gunnera." Rhus (_Sumach_).--Lovely shrubs, growing in any ordinary soil. The young shoots of R. Cotinus are clothed with round leaves which change to bright crimson and orange, surmounted with fluffy pink seed-vessels, while R. Glabra Laciniata resembles a tree fern. They may be propagated either by layers or cuttings. Height, 8 ft. to 10 ft. Rhynchospermum (Trachelospermum) Jasminoides.--A pretty, evergreen, woody climber for the conservatory, which succeeds best in a compost of light loam and peat; is of easy culture, and readily increased by cuttings. It is a fine plant for rafters or trellis, and produces in July deliciously fragrant white flowers at the ends of the branches. Height, 10 ft. Ribes (_Flowering Currants_).--Well-known shrubs, growing in any soil, and flowering early in spring. The colours vary from crimson to white. They may be raised from cuttings either in autumn or early spring. Height, 4 ft. Richardia Aethiopica.--A fine herbaceous perennial with very bold leaves. It needs a good supply of water, and on dry soils should be planted in trenches. A light, rich mould is best for it, and it should have sufficient sun to ripen the wood. Lift it in September and winter in the greenhouse. It is increased from off-sets from the root, and flowers in March. Height, 2 ft. Ricinus, or Palma Christi (_Castor-oil Plant, etc._).--The foliage of these half-hardy annuals is very ornamental. The plants like a rich soil. Sow the seed early in spring in a slight heat, harden off gradually, and put out at the end of May in a warm, sheltered spot. They may also be propagated by cuttings. Height, 3 ft. to 6 ft. Robinia.--All these shrubs have fine, Fern-like foliage which changes colour in autumn. The Pea-shaped flowers vary in colour from cream to purple, and while in bloom the plants are very handsome. They grow in any soil, flower in May and onwards, and are increased by layers. Height varies, the Rose Acacia _(Hispida)_ reaching 10 ft., while the Locust Tree (_Pseudo-Acacia_) grows to the height of 40 ft. Rock Cress.--_See_ "Arabis." Rocket (_Hesperis_).--The hardy perennials like a light, rich soil, and need to be frequently divided. The best time to divide them is just after they have done flowering, when they should be potted off, planting them out again in the spring. The annual and biennial kinds merely require to be sown in the open border. Most of the Rockets give forth greater fragrance towards evening. Their flowering season is June. Height, 1 ft. to 1-1/2 ft. Rock Rose.--_See_ "Cistus" _and_ "Helianthemum." Rodgersia Podophylla.--A hardy perennial having immense bronze foliage. It thrives best in a moist, peaty soil; flowers from May to July, and may readily be increased either by seed or division. Height, 3 ft. Rogiera Gratissima.--A pretty evergreen stove shrub, which is often trained to a single stem so as to form a standard. It succeeds in sandy loam and peat. It may be sunk in the flower-border during the height of summer, but must be taken indoors before frost sets in. Cuttings placed in sand under a hand-glass in heat will strike. It flowers in June. Height, 3 ft. Romneyi Coulteri.--This grand white-flowered Poppy Tree is quite hardy, and will grow in any light, rich soil. It blooms in August and September, and may be increased by seed or by division. Height, 4 ft. Rose Campion.--A pretty hardy perennial which may be grown from seed sown in autumn, choosing a sheltered site, or in March in a frame or under a hand-glass, transplanting it in the autumn into a light, rich, loamy soil. Height, 2 ft. Rosemary (_Rosmarinus Officinalis_).--This hardy evergreen shrub should occupy a dry and sheltered position. Its fragrant purple flowers are produced in February. Cuttings of the ripened wood, if planted in spring, will strike root freely. Height, 2 ft. Roses.--A good, deep, loamy soil, well drained, but which retains a certain amount of moisture, is the most suitable. The position should be sheltered, yet open and exposed to the sun. The latter part of October or November is the most favourable time for planting, but it may be continued with safety until the commencement of March. A fortnight before planting the holes should be dug out 1-1/2 or 2 ft. deep, and plenty of old manure thrown in and trodden down. On this a good layer of fine mould should be placed, so that the roots do not come in contact with the manure. Great care must be taken not to expose the roots to the cold air. When the ground is quite ready for their reception dip the roots in a pail of water, then spread them out carefully on top of the mould, fill in the earth, and tread it firmly. If the plants are standards they require to be firmly staked. Precaution is necessary not to plant too deeply, keeping them as near as possible at the depth at which they were previously grown, in no case exceeding 1 in. above the mark which the earth has left on the stem. Three weeks after planting tread the earth again round the roots. Pruning should be done in March, except in the case of those planted in spring, when the beginning of April will be early enough. Cut away all of the wood that is unripe, or exhausted and dead. Dwarf growers should be cut back to within two or three buds of the previous year's growth, but five or six eyes may be left on those of stronger growth. The majority of climbing and pillar roses do not require to be cut back, it being only necessary to take out the useless wood. In pruning standards aim at producing an equally balanced head, which object is furthered by cutting to buds pointing outwards. At the first sign of frost the delicate Tea and Noisette Roses need to be protected. In the case of standards a covering of bracken fern or straw must be tied round the heads; dwarfs should have the soil drawn up over the crowns, or they may be loosely covered by straw. Apply a top-dressing of farm-yard manure to the beds before the frosts set in, as this will both nourish and protect the roots. Fork it in carefully in the spring. Cow manure is especially valuable for Tea Roses. After the first year of planting most of the artificial manures may, if preferred, be used; but nothing is better than farmyard stuff. If the summer be dry, water freely in the evening. Roses may be propagated by cuttings in the summer or autumn. The slips should be 5 or 6 in. long, of the spring's growth, taken with 1 in. of the previous year's wood attached. A little bottom-heat is beneficial. They may also be increased by grafting or by separating the suckers. Keep a sharp look-out for maggots in the spring, which will generally be found where the leaves are curled up. These must be destroyed by hand-picking. Green fly can be eradicated with tobacco wash. Mildew may be cured by sprinkling the leaves with sulphur while dew is on them. Rose of Heaven.--_See_ "Viscaria Coeli Rosa." Rose of Sharon.--_See_ "Hibiscus Syriacus." Rubus.--_See_ "Blackberries." Rudbeckia (_Cone Flower._)--Hardy annuals yielding yellow flowers in July. They are readily grown from seed sown early in spring, and will grow in any garden soil, but naturally succeed best in deeply-worked, well-manured ground. They may be increased by division in October or November, as well as in spring-time. Height, 3 ft. Ruscus Aculeatus (_Butchers Broom_).--A hardy evergreen shrub which thrives in any rich soil, and may be increased by division of the root. Height, 1 ft. Ruta Graveolens.--This hardy evergreen shrub is a species of Rue. It enjoys a good, rich soil, in which it flowers freely in August. Cuttings may be struck under a hand-glass. Height, 3 ft. Ruta Patavina (_Rue of Padua_).--For rock-work this hardy perennial is very useful. It likes a dry yet rich and light soil. At midsummer it produces an abundance of greenish-yellow flowers. It can be raised from seed, or cuttings may be struck under a hand-glass. Height, 6 in. S Saffron, Spring.--_See_ "Bulbocodium." Sage.--This useful herb likes a rich, light soil, and is propagated by division of the root, by cuttings, or by seed. Saintpaulia Ionantha.--The leaves of this plant spread themselves laterally just over the soil, forming a rosette, in the centre of which spring up large violet-like flowers. It is a continuous bloomer. A rather light, rich soil or vegetable mould suits it best. The seed, which is very minute, should be sown early in spring, in gentle heat: to prevent it being washed away, the pots may stand up to the rims in water for a while when the ground wants moisture. Height, 1 ft. St. John's Wort.--_See_ "Hypericum." Salix Reticulata.--A dwarf creeping plant whose dark green leaves eminently fit it for the rock-work or carpet bedding. It will grow in any soil, but prefers a moist one, and produces unattractive brown flowers in September. Propagated in spring by detaching rooted portions from the parent plant and planting them in moist, sandy loam. Height, 2 in. Salpiglossis.--Very beautiful half-hardy annuals which are greatly prized for cut bloom. A light but not over-rich soil suits them best. The seed may be sown in the open border early in spring, or preferably on a hotbed at the same period. For early flowering raise the plants in the autumn, and winter them in a frame or greenhouse. Flowers are produced in July and August. Height, 2 ft. Salsafy (_Vegetable Oyster_).--Sow the seed in any good garden soil--deep sandy loam is best--towards the end of April in drills 1 ft. apart, and thin the plants out to a distance of 6 in. from each other. The roots may remain in the ground till required for use, or be lifted in October and stored in the same way as Beet or Carrots. They are prepared for table in the same manner as Parsnips, and are also used for flavouring soups. Salvia.--Very showy flowers, well worth cultivating, and easily grown in a rich, light soil. The annuals and biennials may be sown in the open early in spring. The herbaceous kinds are increased by dividing the roots; the shrubby varieties by cuttings of the young wood planted under glass in March; while the stove species require to be placed in heat. They flower in August in the open. Heights vary, according to the kinds, but S. Coccinea and S. Patens, which are most commonly met with in gardens, grow to a height of 2 ft. Sambucus (_The Elder_).--Useful deciduous shrubs. S. Nigra Aurea has golden foliage, and is suitable for town gardens. The silvery variegated variety (Variegata), is fine for contrasting with others. They may all be propagated by cuttings or by division. Flower in June. Sand Wort.--_See_ "Arenaria." Sanguinaria Canadensis (_Bloodroot_).--A hardy perennial, curious both in leaf and flower. It requires a light, sandy soil, shade, and moisture; is propagated by seed sown in July, also by division of the tuberous roots, and it blooms in March. The tubers should be planted 5 in. deep and 3 in. apart. Height, 6 in. Santolina.--This hardy evergreen shrub grows freely in any soil. It flowers in July, and is increased by cuttings. Height, 2 ft. Sanvitalia.--Interesting, hardy annual trailers, which may be readily raised from seed sown in March or April, and merely require ordinary treatment. They produce their golden and brown and yellow flowers in July. Height, 1 ft. Saponaria.--These grow best in a mixture of sandy loam and peat or decayed vegetable soil. The annuals may be sown either in autumn, and wintered in a frame, or in the open in April. The perennials are increased by seed or by division of the root, and young cuttings of the branching species root freely if planted under glass. S. Ocymoides, on account of its trailing nature, and S. Calabrica make fine rock-work plants. The leaves of S. Officinalis, or Soap Plant, if stirred in water form a lather strong enough to remove grease spots. They bloom in June and July. Height, 6 in. to 2 ft. Sarracenia.--Curious herbaceous plants, requiring to be grown in pots of rough peat, filled up with sphagnum moss, in a moderately cool house having a moist atmosphere. They flower in June, and are increased by division. Height, from 9 in. to 1 ft. Sauromatum Guttatum.--This makes a good window or cool greenhouse plant. Pot the tuber in good loam and leaf-soil, and keep the mould only just damp until the foliage, which follows the flowers, appears. When the foliage fails, keep the tubers dry till spring. If grown out of doors the tubers must be lifted before frost sets in. Savoys.--Sow the seed in March or April, and when the plants are 2 in. high remove them to a nursery-bed, selecting the strongest first. Let them remain till they are about 6 in. high, then transplant them, 18 in. apart, in well-manured soil. Their flavour is greatly improved if they are frozen before being cut for use. Saxifrage.--These beautiful Alpine perennials delight in a light, sandy soil, and are easily propagated by seed or division. It is most convenient to grow the rare and tender kinds in pots, as they require the protection of a frame in winter. Saxifraga Sibthorpii is very suitable for the lower and damper parts of rock-work; it is hardy, and sheds its seed freely. S. Umbrosa (London Pride) makes a neat border, and is also useful for rock-work. S. Sarmentosa (Mother-of-Thousands) is a fine hanging plant for greenhouse or window. They flower in April. Height, mostly 4 in. to 6 in., but some grow as high as 1-1/2 ft. Scabious.--Ornamental and floriferous hardy biennials, which grow freely in common soil. The seed may be sown at any time between March and midsummer; transplant in the autumn. They bloom in June. Height, 1 ft to 3 ft. (_See also_ "Cephalaria.") Scale.--Red Scale may be easily overcome with a strong solution of soft soap applied with a sponge. White Scale is harder to deal with. Syringe frequently with strong soapsuds heated to 120 degrees. If the plant is badly attacked it is best to destroy it. Schizanthus.--Extremely beautiful and showy annuals. A rather poor, light soil is most suitable for their growth. For early flowering sow the seed in autumn, and keep the young plants in a frame or greenhouse throughout the winter. For a succession of bloom sow in the open border early in the spring. They flower in July and August. Height, 2 ft. Schizopetalum.--This singular and delightfully fragrant annual does best in a mixture of loam, peat, and sand, or sandy loam and leaf-mould. Sow the seed in pots in the spring, place in a greenhouse, and when large enough to handle, plant out in the open border, or it may be kept in an airy part of the house, where it will bloom in June. Height, 1 ft. Schizostylis Coccinea (_Crimson Flag, or Kaffre Lily_).--A most lovely autumn-blooming plant, producing abundant spikes of Izia-like flowers about 2 ft. high. It is suitable for pot-culture or planting outdoors, and is quite hardy. It requires a rich, light soil. Scillas (_Squills_).--Very useful spring-flowering bulbs. They are hardy, and do well in any position in light soil. When mixed with Crocuses and Snowdrops they produce a very charming effect. To get perfection of bloom they require deep planting. S. Siberica especially looks well when grown in pots with Snowdrops. Scilla roots are poisonous. General height, 1 ft. Scorzonera.--Sow in March in light soil in rows 18 in. apart. Thin the plants out to about 7 in. one from the other. They may perhaps be ready for use in August, but to have large roots they should be left till they are two years old. They may remain in the ground till wanted for use, or they may be lifted in October and stored like Beet, etc. This vegetable is scraped and thrown into cold water for a few hours, then boiled in the same way as Carrots and Parsnips. Scutellaria.--These plants will grow in any good soil. The hardy perennials flower in July. The greenhouse varieties merely require protecting in the winter. They all bear division of the root, and are easily raised from seed. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Scyphanthus.--An elegant and curious trailer, which is best grown in a loamy soil. It may be increased from seed sown in April, and it flowers in August. Height, 2 ft. Sea Cabbage.--_See_ "Crambe Cordifolia." Seakale.--The readiest way of propagating this useful vegetable is by off-sets, but it may be raised from seed sown in March or April in rows 1 ft. apart. Thin out the young plants to 6 in. in the rows, and transplant in February or March into well-trenched, deep, rich soil in rows 2 ft. apart and the plants 15 in. asunder. Keep the plants to one crown, or shoot, and remove all flower-shoots as they appear. In dry weather give a liberal quantity of liquid manure. Cropping may commence after the roots have been planted two years. Sea Lavender.--_See_ "Statice." Sea Milkweed.--_See_ "Glaux." Sedum (_Stonecrop_).--This well-known hardy perennial is suitable for pots or rock-work. It delights in a light, sandy soil, and is readily increased by division or cuttings. It flowers in June or July. Height, 3 in. Seed-Sowing.--Two of the most important points in the sowing of seed are the proper condition of the ground and the regular and uniform depth at which the seed is sown. Seeds require light, heat, air, and moisture for their germination. The ground should be light, and in such a condition that the young roots can easily penetrate it, and in all cases should be freshly dug so as to communicate air and moisture: it should be neither too wet nor too dry. The most favourable time for seed-sowing is just before a gentle rain. If sown too early on cold, wet ground, the seed is apt to rot; when sown too shallow in a dry time, there may not be sufficient moisture to cause it to sprout. The seed should be sown evenly. The size of a seed is a nearly safe guide as to the depth at which it should be sown. For instance, Beans and Peas of all kinds should be sown about a couple of inches deep, while very small flower-seeds merely require to be just covered. As to the time for sowing, _see_ "Annuals," "Biennials," and "Perennials." Seeds, the Protection of.--In order to protect seeds against birds, insects, and rodents, soak them in water containing 20 or 25 per cent, of mineral oil. Vegetable seeds, such as Haricot Beans and Peas, should be soaked for twelve hours, and the pips of Apples and Pears for double that time. For soaking the finer seeds, bitter liquids, such as that of Quassia and Gentian, should be used. Sempervivum (_Houseleek_).--The hardy kinds are well known, and may often be seen growing on the roofs of cottages and on walls. They make good rock-work plants, and are easily increased by off-sets. The more tender kinds are suitable for the greenhouse. These should be planted in sandy loam and old brick rubbish. They require but very little water; more may be given when they are in flower. Cuttings, after being laid aside for a day or two to dry, will soon make root. Height, 6 in. Senecio Pulcher (_Noble Crimson Groundsel_).--A warm position and a deep, rich, well-drained soil are needed for this flower. It may be propagated by cutting the roots into pieces 5 or 6 in. long, and dibbling them into light soil. It is also increased by the rootlets, which send up small growths in spring. Protect from damp and frost, and keep a sharp look-out for slugs. The flowers are produced in autumn. Height, 3 ft. Senna, Bladder.--_See_ "Colutea." Sensitive Plant.--_See_ "Mimosa." Shallots.--Plant the bulbs in November, or in February or March, in rows 9 in. apart, and the bulbs 6 in. one from the other. In July, when the tops are dying down, lift the bulbs, lay them in the sunshine to dry, then store them in a cool place. Shamrock.--_See_ "Trifolium Repens." Sheep Scabious.--_See_ "Jasione." Shortia Galacifolia.--A hardy, creeping Alpine evergreen, having oval leaves, slightly notched at the margins, which turn to a brilliant crimson during the autumn and winter months. In April and May it produces pearly-white flowers, somewhat Campanulate in form. It may be planted in early autumn or spring. A light, rich soil suits it best, and it delights in partial shade. It is a lovely plant for rock-work. Height, 6 in. Shrubs.--Deciduous shrubs may be transplanted at any time during late autumn or winter when the ground is not too wet. Evergreen shrubs may be moved either early in autumn or in April or May, damp, warm, but not sunny weather being most suitable for the operation. They rejoice in a clean, healthy soil, such as good loam; animal manure does not agree with them, but wood ashes, or charcoal powder with a little guano, may be used. Cuttings of shrubs or trees may be taken in September, placed in a mixture of sandy loam and leaf-mould with 1/2 in. of sand on top, and covered with a hand-glass; 5 to 8 in. is a good length for the cuttings, all of which, with the exception of about 1 in., should be buried, and preferably with a heel of old wood. Keep the soil just damp and give shade. Shrubs for Lawns.--Monkey Puzzle (_Araucaria Imbricata_)--mix wood ashes and burnt refuse with the soil; Thujopsis Delabrata, Thujopsis Borealis (of taller growth), Irish Yews, Cupressus Lawsoniana Erecta Viridis, Thujas Orientalis, Vervaeneana, Semperaurescens, Standard Rhododendrons, Standard and Pyramid Hollies, Yucca Gloriosa (a perfect picture), Yucca Recurva (the best hardy plant for vases). The Cercis tree is also well adapted for lawns. Sicyos.--This hardy annual somewhat resembles the Cucumber, but is scarcely worth growing except as a curiosity. The seeds are sown on a hotbed in spring, potted off when strong enough, and transferred to the open border early in June. It is a climber, and flowers in August. Height, 3 ft. Sidalcea.--Very pretty hardy perennials, of easy culture. S. Candida has pure white flowers closely arranged on the upper part of the stems. S. Malvaeflora bears beautifully fringed, satiny pink flowers. They will grow in any good soil from seed sown in autumn and protected during the winter, or they may be increased by division of the roots. Height, 3 ft. Silene _(Catchfly_).--Elegant plants, delighting in a light, rich soil. Sow the seeds of the annual varieties early in April where they are intended to bloom. Silene Pendula, when sown in the autumn, makes a pleasing show of pink flowers in the spring. The roots of the herbaceous kinds may be divided in spring. The shrubby sorts are increased by cuttings planted under a hand-glass. The dwarfs make fine rock-work ornaments. Flowers are produced in June and July. Height, 2 in. to 1-1/2 ft. Silphium Aurantiacum.--A good and hardy border perennial, which produces during July and August large deep orange-yellow flowers resembling a Sunflower. It is very useful for cutting, will grow anywhere, and can be increased by dividing the root. Height, 4 ft. Sisyrinchium Grandifolium(_Satin Flower, or Rush Lily_).--A light loam suits this plant, which is moderately hardy. The soil should be moist, but not wet. It does not like being disturbed, but when necessary the crowns may be divided in autumn, taking care to spread the roots well out. It blooms in April or May. Height, 1 ft. Skimmia.--Neat-growing, dwarf evergreen shrubs having Laurel-like leaves, and producing a profusion of scarlet berries in winter. They succeed in any ordinary soil, but thrive best in peat and loam; and are propagated by cuttings placed in heat under glass. Slugs.--A sharp watch should be kept over all slugs, and constant visits paid to the garden at daybreak for their destruction. If fresh cabbage leaves are strewed about in the evening the slugs will congregate under them, and in the morning they may be gathered up and dropped into strong brine. The ground may also be dusted with fresh lime, which is fatal to them, but in wet weather the lime soon loses its power. Smilax.--A greenhouse climbing plant that is admired for its foliage rather than its bloom. A mixture of peat and loam or leaf-mould and sandy loam suits it. Train the shoots up string, and freely water the plant in summer; during the autumn and winter it does not need much moisture. Keep the temperature of the house up to 60 degrees throughout the winter. It is readily increased by cuttings. It flowers in July. Fine for table decoration. Height, 4 ft. Snails.--To prevent snails crawling up walls or fruit trees daub the ground with a thick paste of soot and train oil. There is no remedy so effectual for their destruction as hand-picking. Snake's Head Lilies.--_See_ "Fritillarias." Snapdragon.--_See_ "Antirrhinum." Sneezewort.--_See_ "Achillea." Snowball Tree.--_See_ "Viburnum." Snowberry.--_See_ "Symphoricarpus." Snowdrops _(Galanthus)._--These are most effective in clumps. They may be planted at any time from September to December, and left alone for three or four years, when they may be taken up and divided. They grow best in a light, rich soil. Snowdrop Tree.--_See_ "Halesia." Snowflake.--_See_ "Leucojum." Snow in Summer.--_See_ "Arabis." Soil and its Treatment.--Loam is a mixture of clay and sand. When the former predominates it is termed heavy loam, and when the latter abounds it is called light. Marl is a compound of chalk and clay, or chalk and loam. Though suitable for certain fruit-trees and a few other things, few flowers will grow in it. Drainage is one of the most important considerations in the cultivation of flowers. Should the soil be clayey, and hold water, make V-shaped drains, 3 ft. below the surface, and let 2-in. pipes lead to a deep hole made at the lowest part of the garden and filled with brick rubbish, or other porous substances, through which the water may drain; otherwise the cold, damp earth will rot the roots of the plants. Trenching is the process of digging deep, so as to loosen and expose the soil as much as possible to the action of the air. If this is done in the autumn or early winter to a new garden, it is best to dig it deep, say about 2 ft, and leave it in large clods to the pulverising action of the frost, after which it is easily raked level for spring planting. If the clods are turned over the grass will rot and help to improve the ground; new land thus treated will not require manuring the first year. Should the ground be clayey, fine ashes or coarse sand thrown over the rough clods after trenching will greatly improve it. Digging should be done when the ground is fairly dry, and about one spade deep. Avoid treading it down as much as possible. Hoeing must be constantly attended to, both to prevent the soil becoming exhausted of its nourishment by the rapid growth of weeds, and because when the surface becomes hard and cracked the rain runs through the deep fissures, leaving the surface soil dry and the roots of the plants unnourished. Mulching consists in spreading a layer of stable manure, about 3 in. deep, over the roots of trees and plants in the autumn to keep them warm and moist. The manure may be forked into the soil in the spring. Watering the plants carefully is of great consequence. Evening or early morning is the best time, and one copious application is far better than little and often. Water may be given to the _roots_ at any time, but should not be sprinkled over the leaves in a hot sun nor in cold weather. Plants having a soft or woolly foliage should never be wetted overhead, but those with hard and shiny leaves may be freely syringed, especially when in full growth. Solanum.--Showy greenhouse shrubs, some of which have ornamental foliage. The soil in which they are grown should be light and rich. Cuttings planted in sand under glass strike readily. The tender annual varieties may be sown on a hotbed in spring, and placed in the border at the end of May in a dry, sheltered situation, where they will flower in June. Height, 1 ft. and upwards. Soldanellas.--These small herbaceous perennials should find a place in all Alpine collections. They grow best in sandy peat, or in leaf-mould with a liberal addition of sand, and they require a moderate amount of moisture. They may be increased by dividing the roots in April. They flower from March to May. Height, 4 in. or 5 in. Solidago (_Golden Rod_).--A useful hardy perennial for the back of borders. Throughout late summer and autumn it produces masses of golden flowers. It is not over-particular as to soil, and may be increased by dividing the root in the spring. It increases very rapidly. Height, 2 ft. to 6 ft. Solomon's Seal (_Polygonatum Multiflorum_).--A graceful hardy plant bearing white pendulent flowers on long curving stems. Plant freely in light, rich soil, in a shady position or under trees. The plants should not be disturbed, even by digging among the roots. Flowers in May. Height, 2 ft. Soot-Water.--For room and window plants soot-water has this advantage over coarse animal manures, that while the latter are unhealthy and apt to taint the air, the former is purifying and has no unpleasant smell. It is easily made by tying a little soot in a coarse canvas bag and immersing it in a pail of water. It should be applied in a clear, thin state to plants in bud or in full growth during the summer months. Sorrel.--Sow in March or April in any garden soil, thin out to 1 ft. apart. It is desirable to cut away the flower-stems and to divide the roots every two or three years. The plants may be forced for winter use. Southernwood (_Artemisia Arborea_).--Any soil suits this odoriferous bush, and it is readily increased by cuttings or by division. Sparaxis.--Closely allied to the Ixias, equally beautiful and varied in colour, but rather dwarfer and compact in growth. Invaluable for pot-culture. For outdoor cultivation plant them early in September, 5 or 6 in. deep, on a sheltered border, in rich, well-drained, loamy soil. Protect from frost and wet in the winter, but keep the roots moist while they are growing. For indoor cultivation plant four to six bulbs in a 5-in. pot, plunge in ashes in a cold frame, withholding water till the plants appear. When making full growth remove them to a sunny window or conservatory, and water them carefully. They will bloom in March or April. Height, 3 ft. Sparmannia Africana.--An exceedingly handsome and attractive greenhouse evergreen shrub, thriving best in loam and peat. Cuttings may be struck in sand under glass. May is its flowering season. Height, 10 ft. Spartium Junceum(_Yellow Broom_).--A hardy evergreen shrub which will grow in any soil, and is propagated by seeds. It flowers in August. Height, 6 ft. Specularia Speculum.--_See_ "Venus's Looking-Glass." Spergula Pilfera.--May be grown in any moist situation in sandy soil. It is of little value. Sphenogyne Speciosa.--An elegant hardy annual. Sow the seed early in spring on a gentle hotbed in loam and peat, harden off, and transplant at the end of May to a soil composed of loam and leaf-mould, if peat cannot be obtained. The bloom is produced in July. Height, 1 ft. Spider Wort.--_See_ "Commelina" _and_ "Tradescantia." Spigelia Marilandica.--From August to October this hardy perennial produces tubular crimson and yellow flowers. It finds a congenial home in damp peat, shaded from the sun, and may be propagated by cuttings in loam and peat under glass. Height, 1 ft. Spinach.--For summer use sow the round-seeded kinds at intervals of two or three weeks from February to the end of July in rows 1 ft. apart, cover with the finest of soil, and thin out to a distance of 3 or 4 in. In dry weather give a liberal supply of manure water. Pull before it runs to seed. For winter use sow the prickly-seeded variety in August and September, and thin the plants out 9 in. apart. If the ground is hot and dry, the seed should be soaked for twenty-four hours before it is sown. New Zealand Spinach may be sown in the open during May, choosing the warmest spot for its growth; but it is best to sow it in heat in March, keeping the soil fairly moist, and, after hardening it off, to plant it out in June, 3 ft. apart Sow Perpetual Spinach or Spinach Beet in March in drills 1 ft. apart. Cut the leaves frequently, when a fresh crop will be produced. Spiraeas.--Placed in the open ground these make splendid plants, and are not particular as to soil, though a moist, rich one is preferable. For forcing, plant the clumps in 6-in. pots, and keep them in a cool frame until they are well rooted. They may then be removed indoors and forced rapidly, supplying them with an abundance of water. Their elegant flower spikes are invaluable for bouquets and table decoration. The shrubby kinds are increased by layers or cuttings of the young wood, the herbaceous varieties by division of the roots in autumn. Spiraea Aruncus, if potted early in the autumn, is very valuable for winter decoration. Spiraeas bloom at different periods, from May to August, and vary in height, 3 or 4 ft. being the general growth. Spruce Firs.--_See_ "Abies." Stachys Coccinea.--This scarlet hardy annual is fine for bees. It may be grown in any soil from seed sown in March or April. Height, 1 ft. Stachys Lanata.--A hardy perennial which will grow in any soil, and bears division. It flowers in July. Height, 2 ft. Staphylea Colchica_(Mexican Bladder Nut)._--This beautiful free-flowering shrub will grow in any garden soil, and produces bunches of fragrant, delicate white flowers in June. It forces well, and may be made to flower at Easter by potting it in rich, light soil, placing it in a cold frame till the middle of January, keeping the roots moist, then bringing it into the warm house. It may be propagated by suckers from the roots, by layers, or by cuttings taken in autumn. Star Flower.--_See_ "Trientalis." Star of Bethlehem.--_See_ "Ornithogalum." Statice _(Sea Lavender)._--The greenhouse and frame varieties succeed best in sandy loam and peat, and may be increased by cuttings placed under a bell-glass or in a warm pit. The hardy herbaceous kinds are very suitable for the front of flower borders, and may be freely increased by seeds or division. The annuals, if sown in March, will produce flowers in July. Statices require a good amount of water, but thorough drainage must be ensured. If the flowers are dried they will keep their colour for a considerable time. Height, 1 ft. to 1-1/2 ft. Stauntonia Latifolia.--A greenhouse evergreen climbing plant, which needs a peat and loam soil and plenty of room for its roots. It flowers in April, and is increased by cuttings planted in sand under glass, with a gentle heat. Height, 10 ft. Stenactis (_Fleabane_).--Showy hardy perennials which make fine bedding plants. They may be grown from seed, which is produced in great quantities, and merely requires the same treatment as other perennials, or they may be propagated by dividing the plants. They bloom in July. Height, 2 ft. Stephanotis.--This pretty evergreen twining plant is most suitable for the greenhouse, and flourishes in a mixture of loam and leaf-mould. It flowers in May, and is increased by cuttings struck in heat. Height, 10 ft. Sternbergia Lutea.--A hardy perennial which produces bright yellow flowers in August. It likes a rich soil, and is propagated by off-sets. Height, 6 in. Stipa Pennata (_Feather Grass_).--One of the most graceful of our ornamental grasses, and most attractive in the border. The seed may be sown early in March, keeping the ground moist until it has germinated, and it is also increased by division. Height, 2 ft. Stobæa Purpurea.--A hardy border plant with long spiny foliage, and bearing from July to September large light blue flowers. It requires a light, rich soil. Young cuttings may be struck in sand. Height, 1 ft. Stocks-- _ANNUAL, OR TEN WEEKS' STOCKS_.--Sow the seeds in February, March, April, and May for succession; those sown in May will continue to flower till Christmas. The soil should be rich, and occasionally a little manure-water may be given. Another sowing may be made in August and September. When the plants have several leaves pot off singly in vegetable loam and river sand. Height, 1 ft. to 1-1/2 ft. _BROMPTON_.--Sow very thinly during the first week in May in a rich, light, sandy border, with an eastern aspect. When 2 or 3 in. high, thin out to 9 in. apart. Those taken out may be re-planted in the flower border, 9 in. from each other. In transplanting reject those plants having a long tap-root: they generally prove to be single. If the following winter be severe they must be protected with mats. Any desirable varieties may be propagated by cuttings, which root readily under glass if kept shaded. Should it be desirable to transplant them to another part of the garden, March or April will be found the best time to remove them. Shade the plants till they are established, and use liquid manure till they begin to flower. _GREENHOUSE OR SHRUBBY_ species grow best in a mixture of light soil and sand, and cuttings of these Stocks root readily under glass. _NIGHT-SCENTED STOCKS_.--_See_ "Mathiola Bicornis." If Emperor, Imperial, or Intermediate Stocks are sown in March or April, they will flower in the autumn; if sown in June or July they will flower during the following June, and throughout the summer and autumn. Stokesia Cyanea.--A handsome herbaceous perennial which is quite hardy, but owing to the late period at which it flowers its blooms are liable to be cut off by frosts. It is therefore more suitable for a cool house than the open air, unless the warmest and most sheltered position be assigned to it. A rich, sandy soil is indispensable for its growth. It may be increased by dividing the roots in spring. The flowers are produced from October to December. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Stonecrop.--_See_ "Sedum." Strawberries.--The soil most suitable for the growth of this fruit is a rich, deep, adhesive loam. July or early in August is the best time to make new beds, but if the ground be not then available runners from the old plants may be planted in peat on a north border and lifted with good balls of earth to their permanent bed in the spring. Set them firmly in rows 2 ft. apart and 18 in. from plant to plant. Spread out the roots and avoid deep planting. Remove from the old plants all runners not required for new beds before they take root, as they exhaust the crown. In dry seasons liquid manure is highly beneficial. Some growers give supports to the fruit by means of forked-shaped pegs, while others lay straw down to keep the fruit free from grit. Keep a sharp look-out for snails and slugs. King of the Earlies, Auguste Nicaise, Royal Sovereign, Vicomtesse Héricart de Thury, Gunton Park, President, Sir Joseph Paxton, Lord Suffield, Noble, and Samuel Bradley are excellent sorts. For Ornamental Strawberries, _see_ "Fragaria Indica." Strawberry Tree.--_See_ "Arbutus." Streptocarpus (_Cape Primrose_).--This plant is a greenhouse perennial, showing great variety of colours, from white to violet and crimson, and is of neat habit. A light and rather rich soil or vegetable mould suits it best. Seed sown in February in slight heat will produce plants for flowering in July; that sown in March or April will flower in August and September. Grow slowly in small pots, and in February put them in their flowering pots. Give plenty of air and shade them from the sun. It may also be increased by division, or leaf-cuttings may be taken under a bell-glass. The plants like plenty of water, but need good drainage. Height, 9 in. Streptosolen Jamesoni.--A good compost for this greenhouse evergreen shrub is two parts sandy loam, one part leaf-mould, and a little silver sand. During growth it needs a liberal supply of water and to be kept near the glass; only a small amount of moisture should be given in winter. In March cut it into shape, and re-pot it as soon as new growth starts. During the summer syringe it frequently to keep off red spider, and during winter maintain a temperature of 55 degrees. Stylophorum _(Celandine Poppy, or Poppywort)._--During May and June this hardy and handsome plant produces fine yellow flowers. It accommodates itself to any soil, but prefers a rich, light one, and can be increased by seed sown in autumn or early spring. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Styrax.--Ornamental shrubs requiring a light soil for their cultivation. S. Japonica has Snowdrop-like flowers, and S. Obasa Lily-of-the-Valley-like scented flowers. They are best propagated by layers. Height, 4 ft. to 10 ft. Sunflower.--_See_ "Helianthus." Swainsonia Galegifolia Alba.--A graceful and charming cool greenhouse plant, with Fern-like evergreen foliage and pure white flowers, which are borne from April to November. The soil most suitable for it is a mixture of loam and sandy peat. Cuttings of the young growth planted in sand under glass strike readily. Height, 2 ft. Swallow Wort.--_See_ "Asclepias." Swamp Lilies.--_See_ "Zephyranthes." Swan River Daisy.--_See_ "Brachycome." Sweet Alyssum.--_See_ "Alyssum." Sweet Flag.--_See_ "Acorus." Sweet Peas.--_See_ "Peas, Sweet." Sweet Rocket.--_See_ "Rocket." Sweet Scabious.--_See_ "Scabious." Sweet Sultan.--Sweet-scented, Thistle-shaped hardy annual flowers, which are very useful for cutting. They may be raised in any garden soil from seed sown in March or April, and will flower in August. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Sweet William.--Well-known hardy perennials, and deservedly favourite border plants, which may be grown in any good soil; but to have them to perfection they should be placed in light, loamy ground mixed with a little old manure and sand. They can be raised with little trouble from seed sown thinly at any time between March and midsummer where they are to bloom, and may also be increased by dividing the old plants in spring. They produce their flowers in July. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Symphoricarpus (_Snowberry_).--A handsome species of St. Peter's Wort. The shrubs will grow in any ordinary soil, are hardy, and readily propagated by suckers, which are produced abundantly; or cuttings may be taken either in spring or autumn. They bloom in August. Height, 4 ft. Symphytum Caucasicum.--Hardy perennials. They will grow in any soil or situation, even thriving under the shade of trees, and may be increased by division. June is the month in which they flower. Height, 3 ft. Syringa (_Lilac_.)--There are many choice varieties of these favourite shrubs, but any of them may be grown in a tolerably good soil. They are propagated by layers or by suckers from the root. They bloom in May or June. Height varies from 4 ft. to 12 ft. T Tacsonia.--A beautiful twining shrub belonging to the Passiflora family. It should be provided with a rich soil, and, as the flowers are produced upon the lateral shoots, it requires frequent stopping. Syringe frequently in warm weather to induce a quick growth. It is a quick grower, and, when properly treated, a profuse bloomer, the flowers being produced in July, August, and September. Cuttings of young shoots placed under glass in a sandy soil will strike. Height, 20 ft. Tagetes (_French and African Marigolds_).--Half-hardy annuals, very elegant when in flower, and deserve a place in the garden. The seed should be sown on a hotbed in March or April, the plants gradually hardened off, and placed in the open at the end of May in a rich, light soil, when they will flower in August. Height, 1 ft. to 2-1/2 ft. Tamarix.--Neat feathery plants, very suitable for banks and thriving at the seaside, as is evidenced by its luxuriant growth along the parades at Eastbourne. The hardy kinds will grow in any soil, and may be propagated by cuttings planted in the open either in spring or autumn. The greenhouse and stove varieties require a soil of loam and peat. Cuttings of these should be placed in sand under glass. They flower in June and July. Height, 8 ft. to 10 ft. Tansy.--A feathery-foliaged hardy perennial, useful for mixing with cut blooms. No special treatment is required. Height, 11 ft. Taxus.--_See_ "Yew." Tecoma.--Ornamental evergreen shrubs of a twining nature, needing a greenhouse for their cultivation. They require a rich, loamy soil mixed with a little sand, or loam and peat, and rejoice in shade and moisture. T. Radicans will grow in the open against a wall, but a warm situation is needed to make it flower. They may be propagated by cuttings of the roots placed in sand under a hand-glass, and by layers. Their flowers are produced in July and August. Height, 6 ft. to 30 ft. Telekia.--_See_ "Buphthalmum." Tellima Grandiflora.--A hardy and very ornamental perennial with round bronzy foliage and spikes of white flowers at midsummer. It succeeds best in peat, but will grow in any rich, light soil. To increase it, divide the roots. Height, 1 ft. Tetratheca.--Pretty greenhouse evergreen shrubs which produce pink flowers in July. They flourish in a soil consisting of equal proportions of loam, peat, and sand. Cuttings of the young wood planted under glass in a sandy soil will strike. Height, 1 ft. Teucrium Scorodonia.--This hardy herbaceous plant will grow in any ordinary garden soil. It flowers in July, and is easily raised from seed or increased by division. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Thalictrum.--Hardy Fern-like perennials, suitable for the backs of borders. They grow well in any light soil from seed sown in spring or autumn, and may also be increased by division. Thermopsis Montana_(Fabacea)._--This hardy perennial produces spikes of yellow Lupin-like flowers from June to September. The soil should be light and rich. As the plants suffer by division, it is best to raise them by seed, which may be sown either in autumn or spring. Height, 2 ft. Thladianthe Dubia.--A fine climbing plant with handsome foliage and an abundance of fine yellow flowers. Quite hardy. Sow on a hotbed early in spring, and when sufficiently large and strong, pot off, place in a cold frame to harden, and plant out at the end of May in rich soil. Thrift.--_See_ "Armeria." Thumbergia.--These slender, rapid-growing climbers are extremely pretty when in bloom during June, but they are only half-hardy; they therefore need greenhouse care, or to be planted in a warm situation. They flourish best in a mixture of sandy loam and leaf-mould, and may be grown from seed sown in heat (65 to 75 degrees) early in spring. Cuttings strike readily. Height, 4 ft. Thuya (_Arbor Vitae_).--Very decorative conifers, mostly of conical shape, and indispensable to the shrubbery. They thrive in any soil, but prefer a moist situation. For sheltered positions, where a small dome-shaped bush is required, the Chinese Arbor Vitae _(Biota Orientalis)_ is most desirable; it delights in a heavy soil. The Biota Elegantissima is one of the most unique hardy shrubs cultivated, and presents a bright golden appearance. Another effective yellow variety is the Semperaurescens, which retains its colour throughout the winter, and makes a fine pot-plant. One of the most beautiful of all evergreens is the Thuyopsis Dolabrata; its flat, spray-like leaves are bright green above and silvery below. The China varieties are somewhat tender, and require protection from frost. They may all be propagated from seed or by cuttings. Thymus.--Effective little perennials for rock-work, growing best in a light, dry, sandy soil. The hardy kinds like an exposed position; rarer kinds should be grown in pots, as they need protection in winter. They are easily increased by seed sown in spring, by cuttings or division. Height, 3 in. to 6 in. Tiarella.--These hardy herbaceous plants are very suitable for rock-work or the front of a border. They are not particular as to soil; they flower in April, and may be propagated by seed or division. Height, 9 in. to 1 ft. Tiarella Cordifolia (_Foam Flower_).--A hardy herbaceous perennial, having fine foliage. It will grow in any good soil, but likes shade and moisture. It may be increased by dividing the roots at the end of the summer. The blooms are produced during May and June. Height, 1 ft. Tigridia (_Ferraria; Mexican Tiger Flower, popularly called the Tiger Iris_).--A gorgeous flower of exceptional beauty. Plant the bulbs in the sunniest spot out of doors during March, April, or May, in a sandy loam enriched with a liberal amount of leaf-mould, placing them 3 in. deep and 6 in. apart, and putting a little silver sand round each bulb before covering it with the soil. Shelter from cutting winds. The blossoms appear in July or August. Each bloom lasts only one day, but is succeeded on the next by fresh ones, so that a continuance of bloom is maintained. Protect them in winter with a covering of dead leaves, or, better still, take them up when they have done flowering, and keep them dry and free from frost. For pot-culture plant the bulbs in sandy loam and peat, plunge them in a cold frame, and withhold water until the foliage appears. They may be increased by off-sets or seeds. Height, 1 ft. Tobacco Plants.--_See_ "Nicotiana." Tobacco-Water.--Boil 2 oz. of shag, or other strong tobacco, in a pint of water. Apply with a soft brush. This is a deadly poison to insects. Tomatoes (_Love Apples_).--Those intended to be grown in the open should be raised from seed sown the first week in March in pots of very rich, light mould. Place them in a cucumber-house or other gentle heat, and when the second leaf appears, pot them off singly, keeping them near the glass and well watered. Towards the end of May remove them to a cold frame to harden off, and plant out as soon as fear of frost is over, in deeply-dug and moderately manured ground, against a south wall fully exposed to the sun. Train to a single stem and remove all lateral growths. When the plants are 3 or 4 ft. high pinch off the tops to prevent further growth and throw strength into the fruit. Watering should cease as soon as the blossom-buds appear, except in periods of very severe drought. When grown under glass Tomatoes need to be trained in much the same way as Grape Vines. Constant attention must be given to removing all useless shoots and exposing the fruit to air and light. An average temperature of 60 degrees should be maintained, with a rather dry and buoyant atmosphere. Toothwort.--_See_ "Dentaria." Torch Lily.--_See_ "Tritoma." Torenia.--These stove and greenhouse plants require a rich soil. They may be increased by seed or division. They flower during June and July. Height, 6 in. to 9 in. Tournefort.--_See_ "Crambe Cordifolia." Tradescantia Virginica (_Spider Wort_).--A hardy herbaceous plant. In a light, rich soil it will flower in July. Height, 1 ft. There are other varieties of Tradescantia; they all make good border plants, thrive in any situation, and are continuous bloomers. Transplanting.--Plants may be transplanted as soon as they are large enough to handle. They must be lifted carefully with a small trowel, or if they are very small, such as Golden Feather, with a still smaller blunt article, disturbing the roots as little as possible. It should be done when the ground is wet, and preferably in the evening. In dry weather they should be well watered twelve hours before they are disturbed. Shade them from sun for one or two days. Cabbages, Lettuces, Cauliflowers, Broccoli, Kale, and other members of the Brassica family _must_ be transplanted, or they will be a failure. Root crops such as Carrots, Parsnips, Turnips, etc., must not be transplanted, but thinned out. Celery may be transplanted in June or July. Traveller's Joy (_Clematis Viorna_).--This hardy climbing plant grows best in a light soil, flowers in August, and is increased by layers of the young shoots in summer. Height, 12 ft. Trees, Plants that Flourish under.--Ivy, St. John's Wort (Hypericum Calycinum), early-flowering White Aconite. Tricyrtis.--These greenhouse herbaceous plants bloom in May. A rich, light soil suits them. Height, 6 in. Trientalis Europæa (_Star Flower_).--To grow this native perennial to advantage, it should be planted in leaf-mould with which a large proportion of sand has been mixed. Confine the roots to a narrow compass by means of slates placed just beneath the surface of the soil. Let the ground be kept moist, but well drained. The bloom is produced during May and June, and it is propagated by runners. Height, 6 in. to 8 in. Trifolium Repens Pentaphyllum.--A showy, hardy, deciduous perennial. It thrives in ordinary soil, puts forth its white flowers in June, and is propagated by seed or division. Height, 6 in. Trillium Erectum (_Wood Lily_).--This tuberous perennial is quite hardy, and flourishes in partial shade. The soil must be light and rich, yet moist. The plant does not increase very fast, but the roots of good-sized plants may be divided. It flowers in May and June. Height, 6 in. Tritelia.--A charming spring-flowering plant, bearing pretty white star-like flowers on slender stalks. It is used largely for edgings. It looks well in clumps on the front of borders. Plant in autumn, and divide the bulbs every two or three years. Height, 6 in. Tritoma (_Red-hot Poker, or Torch Lily_).--Requires a rich, sandy soil, and to be protected in a frame from wet and frost in the winter. Increase by division or by suckers from the root. The flower spikes grow 18 to 27 in. long. The crown of the plant should not be more than 11/2 in. in the soil, which should be dug deeply and mixed with rotted manure. In winter, if it is left in the ground, surround the plant with 2 in. of sawdust, well trodden. Remove this in May, and water liberally with liquid manure till it blooms. The best time to plant is March or October. By many it is considered advisable not to disturb the plant too often. Tritonias.--These somewhat resemble miniature Gladioli, and are among the most useful bulbs for pot-culture. Plant from September to December, placing five or six bulbs in a 5-in. pot, and using a compost of loam, leaf-mould, and silver sand. Plunge the pots in ashes in a cold pit or frame, and keep them dry until the plants appear. When in full growth they may be removed to the conservatory, placing them near the glass, and giving careful attention to watering. For outdoor cultivation choose a sunny, sheltered position, with a light, rich, sandy soil. Give protection in frosty weather by covering with dry litter. Trollius Altaiense (_Globe Flower_).--A pretty, hardy herbaceous plant, with very handsome foliage. It likes a light but moist soil, may be increased by seed or by dividing the root, and flowers in May. Height, 9 in. to 2 ft. Trollius Asiaticus.--A very pretty herbaceous plant, suitable for the border. It may be raised from seed sown in the autumn, and grown on in light, moist soil. The plant is hardy and flowers in May. Height, 1 ft. Tropæolums-- _JARRATTI_ (_scarlet, orange, and black_) are remarkable for a slender and graceful growth. Well adapted for covering wire globes, trellises, etc. _LOBBIANUM_ (_various colours_).--Elegant dwarf climbers, suitable either for the conservatory or for outdoor culture. They may also be used for bedding if planted thinly and kept pegged down; or may be grown in window-boxes. Height, 6 ft. _PENTAPHYLLUM_ (_red_) is slender and graceful, and an elegant climber. _POLYPHYLLUM_ (_yellow_) succeeds best against a south wall. It is hardy, has rich abundant glaucous foliage, and is a particularly fine climber. _SPECIOSUM_ (_scarlet_).--Of wild, graceful, luxuriant and slender growth. Fine for covering walls and fences, festooning arches, etc. Plant at the beginning of October in an eastern aspect or at the base of a north wall, the soil and atmosphere being moderately moist. Bury the roots 4 in. deep. _TUBEROSUM_ (_yellow and red_) is quite hardy, and may be planted in any situation. Generally a light, rich soil is most suitable. The greenhouse varieties may be increased by cuttings placed in sandy soil under glass. The tuberous-rooted kinds should be taken up in winter and kept in sand till spring, when they may be planted in a sheltered part of the garden. The annuals merely require to be sown in the open in spring. They flower in July, August, and September. Height, 1 ft. to 10 ft. (_See also_ "Canary Creeper.") Trumpet Flower.--_See_ "Bignonia." Tuberose.--Plant the bulbs in January in a mixture of sandy loam and rotten dung, or leaf-mould, using a small pot for each bulb. Plunge them in a hotbed, taking care that the temperature does not fall below 60 degrees, and withhold water until the foliage appears, when a moderate amount should be given. When the pots are full of roots, shift the plants into larger ones, and grow on in a house with a uniform high temperature and moist atmosphere. For a succession of bloom place the roots in a cold frame and cover with cocoanut fibre until growth begins, then remove the fibre, water moderately, and transfer the most forward plants to the conservatory. Bloom may be had all the year round by planting in succession from September to June. Tulips.--Drainage may be considered as the chief means of success in the cultivation of these showy spring flowers. The soil they like best is well-rotted turf cut from pasture land and mixed with a moderate amount of sand, but they will thrive in any ground that is well drained. The bulbs should be planted during October and November about 3 in. deep and 5 in. apart, either in lines or groups, and they retain their bloom longest in a shady situation. As soon as the leaves begin to decay the bulbs may be taken up, dried, and stored away, keeping the colours separate. For pot-culture the single varieties are best. Put three bulbs in a 5-in. pot and six in a 6-in. one, and treat in the same manner as the Hyacinth. They may, if desired, be forced as soon as the shoots appear. When required to fill vases, etc., it is a good plan to grow them in shallow boxes, and transfer them when in flower to the vases or baskets. By this method exactitude of height and colouring is ensured. Tulips are divided into three classes: (1) Roses, which have a white ground, with crimson, pink, or scarlet marks; (2) Byblomens, having also a white ground, but with lilac, purple, or black marks; and (3) Bizarres, with a yellow ground having marks of any colour. Tunica.--Same treatment as "Dianthus." Turkey's Beard.--_See_ "Xerophyllum." Turnips.--To obtain mild and delicately-flavoured Turnips a somewhat light, sandy, but deep, rich soil is necessary. For a first crop sow the Early White Dutch variety in February or the beginning of March on a warm border. For succession sow Early Snowball at intervals of three weeks until the middle of July. For winter use sow Golden Ball, or other yellow-fleshed kinds, early in August. Thin each sowing out so that the bulbs stand 9 in. apart. To ensure sound, crisp, fleshy roots they require to be grown quickly, therefore moist soil and liberal manuring is necessary, and the ground kept free from weeds. If fly becomes troublesome, dust the plants with quicklime early in the day, while the dew is on them, and repeat the operation as often as is necessary. Tussilago Fragrans (_Winter Heliotrope_).--A very fragrant hardy perennial, flowering in January and February. It will grow in any good garden soil and bears division. Height, 1 ft. Twin Flower.--_See_ "Bravoa." U Ulex Europaeus Flore Pleno (_Double Furze_).--This elegant, hardy, evergreen shrub likes a rich, sandy soil, and may be increased by cuttings planted in a shady border and covered with a hand-glass. Height, 5 ft. Umbilicus Chrysanthus.--This little Alpine plant should occupy a warm, sheltered, and dry situation, and be protected with an overhead screen in wet seasons. The soil it most enjoys is a mixture of peat and coarse sand. Its procumbent stalks emit roots. This new growth may be transplanted in the spring or early summer months. Height, 6 in. Uvularia.--Beautiful hardy perennials, producing drooping flowers from May to July. They succeed best in a light, sandy soil, and may be increased by dividing the roots. Height, 1 ft. V Vaccineum Myrtillus and V. Uliginosum.--Attractive deciduous shrubs. They require to be grown in peat or very sandy loam. In April or May they produce flowers. They can be increased by dividing the creeping roots. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Vaccineum Vitis-Idæa (_Red Whortleberry_).--A neat native shrub which, with its flowers and clusters of bright red berries, is very attractive in autumn. A rich, light, sandy soil, moist but well drained, is necessary, and the position should be sunny so as to ripen the berries. It may be increased at any time by division. It flowers from May to October. Height, 9 in. Valeriana.--An ornamental hardy perennial. It will succeed in any garden soil, and merely requires the same treatment as ordinary perennials. It is readily increased by dividing the roots, and produces its flowers in July. Height, 1 ft. Vegetable Marrow.--Sow in pots during March or April, and place in a cucumber frame or on a hotbed, and cover with a hand-glass. Harden off, and plant out about the third week in May in ground previously prepared with a heavy dressing of good stable or farmyard manure, protecting the plants at night for the first week or so with a handglass or large flower-pot. Do not allow the roots to feel the want of water, and keep a sharp look-out for slugs. Seed may also be sown in May in the open. The best way of proceeding in this case is to dig a pit 2 ft. deep and the same in width, fill it with fermenting manure, and put 1 ft. of light mould on top. Let it remain for a week so that the soil may get warm, then sow the seed, and cover it with a hand-glass. Train the shoots so that they may have plenty of room, and pinch off the tops when the plant has attained its desired length. Venidium.--Hardy annuals, which are best raised from seed sown early in March on a slight hotbed, and grown in turfy loam, or loam and peat. They bloom in May. Height, 1 ft. Venus's Car.--_See_ "Dielytra." Venus's Looking-Glass (_Specularia Speculum_).--A pretty hardy annual, bearing a profusion of Campanula-like flowers in July. Suitable for beds, pots, hanging baskets, or rock-work. It flourishes most in a compost of sandy loam and peat. The seeds are best sown in autumn and wintered in a greenhouse, but they may be raised on a hotbed early in spring. Cuttings of the young wood planted under glass root freely. Height, 9 in. Venus's Navel Wort.--A charming hardy annual for rock-work. The seed should be sown early in spring in good garden mould. Height, 6 in. Veratum.--Handsome foliage plants. They are quite hardy, and delight in a rich soil. July is the month in which they flower. They may be raised from seed, or propagated by division. Height, 5 ft. Verbascum.--A hardy annual, which produces a profusion of showy flowers in July, and is very suitable for the backs of borders. It will thrive in any soil, and is easily raised from seed sown early in spring. Height, 3 ft. Verbena.--This charming half-hardy perennial succeeds best in light, loamy soil. It seeds freely, and roots rapidly by being pegged down. It is usual to take the cuttings in February, as spring-struck plants prove best both for growth and flowering. Place a score of cuttings in a 48-sized pot containing 1/3 of drainage material, covered with 1 in. of rough leaf-mould, then filled to within 1-1/2 in. of the rim with equal parts of loam, leaf-mould, or peat and sand, with 1/3 in. of sand on the top. Make the soil firm at the base of the cuttings, and water level. It is, however, more easily obtained from seed raised on a gentle hotbed, and the plants thus raised are more robust and floriferous. It flowers in July. Height, 1 ft. Verbena, Lemon-scented.--_See_ "Aloysia." Veronica.--This graceful evergreen, commonly called Speedwell, bears handsome spikes of autumn flowers, and makes a good conservatory or sitting-room plant. It stands the winter out of doors in a sheltered position with a dry sub-soil. The annual varieties may be sown in autumn for spring flowering. Any light, rich, moist soil suits them. The hardy perennial kinds are increased by dividing the roots, and the greenhouse varieties by seeds or cuttings. The different species flower from July to October. Height, 1 ft. to 10 ft. Vesicaria Graeca.--A small hardy evergreen shrub, suitable for rock-work or edgings. It likes a light, dry soil and an open situation. It may be propagated by seeds, which are freely produced; but the readiest way to increase it is by cuttings of the side-shoots, taken as early as possible so as to become well rooted before cold weather sets in. It flowers from April to June. Height, 6 in. to 8 in. Viburnum Opulus(_Guelder Rose_, or _Snowball Tree_).--A very elegant and hardy deciduous shrub, which will grow in any soil, and may be increased by layers, or by cuttings planted in the shade under glass. It blooms in June. Height, 12 ft. Viburnum Tinus (_Laurestinus_).--This well-known and much-admired evergreen shrub produces masses of white flowers through the winter months, at which season it is especially ornamental. It is generally propagated by layers, but where a number of the plants are required they may be obtained from autumn cuttings planted in the shade and covered with a hand-glass. Height, 5 ft. Vicia Pyrenaica.--A hardy and good perennial for rock-work, having compact tufts of green growth and producing deep crimson flowers in May and June. It will grow in any soil, and is of easy culture. It is increased by seed, also by division of the roots. Height, 1 ft. Vinca (_Periwinkle_).--Many of these are variegated and very showy as rock-work plants, and will grow in any moist soil, enjoying a shady situation. They may be raised from seed sown early in spring in a warm situation, or may be increased by runners, which strike root at the joints like the Strawberry. They may be planted under the shade of trees. Many choice greenhouse evergreens bearing fine circular flowers and shining foliage are also included under the name of Vinca. Height, 2 ft. Vines.--_See_ "Grapes." Violas.--The hardy perennials are suitable for the front of flower borders or rock-work, but the smaller species succeed best when grown in pots in a mixture of loam, peat, and sand. The herbaceous kinds are increased by seed or division of the roots, the shrubby varieties by cuttings planted under glass, and the annuals by seed sown in the open in spring. Height, 3 in. to 6 in. Violets.--Plant the runners or off-sets in May in loam and leaf-mould, choosing a damp, shady situation. Russian and Neapolitan Violets may be made to flower throughout the winter and early spring by placing them in a stove or warm pit. Dog-toothed Violets will grow in any light soil. Autumn is the best time to plant them, and 1 in. of silver sand round the roots prevents decay; they are hardy and early, but will not bloom unless planted 9 in. deep. White Violets like a chalky soil. One of the best manures for Violets is the ash from bonfires. They may be multiplied to any extent by pegging down the side-shoots in April. The common Violet flowers in March and April. Height, 6 in. Virgilia.--For the most part greenhouse shrubs, requiring to be grown in a compost of loam, peat, and sand. Young cuttings planted in sandy loam and covered with glass will strike. The hardy kinds, such as V. Lutea, grow in any light soil, and are increased by laying down shoots in autumn or spring. July is the month in which they flower. Height, from 2 ft. to 12 ft. Virginian Creeper (_Ampelopsis Hederacea_).--May be propagated by layers or cuttings, and will grow in any common garden soil. The plant is also known as the Five-leaved Ivy, is a rapid grower, and a favourite for covering unsightly walls. Virginian Stock.--This pretty little hardy annual is readily raised from seed sown on a border in autumn or spring. It is not particular as to soil. Height, 9 in. Virgin's Bower.--_See_ "Clematis." Viscaria Coeli Rosa (_the Rose of Heaven_).--Sow in April, or on a warm, dry, sheltered spot in September. Other varieties of Viscaria are graceful and effective in beds, masses, or lines, and only require the usual care bestowed upon hardy annuals. The flowers are produced in June and July. Height, 1 ft. Vitis Heterophylla.--These vines are hardy, and will grow in any rich soil. They are propagated by cuttings, and also by layers. V. Purpureus has purple leaves, which are very effective. V. Coignettae, or the Chinese Vine, has very noble foliage. W Wahlenbergia.--The hardy perennial kinds thrive best in pots, the soil in which should be kept moist. The annuals, which are raised on a hotbed in March, may be planted out in May in a warm situation. Waitzia.--Very beautiful half-hardy annuals, but more suitable for the greenhouse than the open flower-bed. They require a sandy peat and leaf-mould, and the pots to be well drained, as too much water is as destructive to them as too little. They may be had in flower from May to August by making two sowings, one in September and the other in February, and keeping them in the greenhouse. When large enough to handle, pot off into 3-in. pots, putting two plants in each pot close to the sides, and shift them into larger ones when they have made sufficient growth. Place them in a dry and airy situation and near the glass. They are unable to stand the least frost, therefore, if they are planted out, it should not be done before the beginning of June. Height, 11/2 ft. Waldsteina Fragarioides.--A hardy and pretty trailing rock plant, with deep green foliage. From March to May it bears yellow Strawberry-like flowers. Any soil suits it, and it may be increased by seed or division. Height, 6 in. Wall-flower (_Cheiranthus_).--These favourite hardy perennials prefer a rich, light, sandy soil, and a dry situation. The seed may be sown where it is intended for them to bloom either in autumn or spring. Thin out to 2 ft. apart. They may also be increased by shoots torn from the stems of old plants. As well as flowering early in spring, they often bloom in the autumn. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Walnuts.--The Nuts for raising young trees may be planted at any time between October and the end of February, 3 in. deep and 1-1/2 ft. apart. Train to a single stem 8 to 10 ft. high, removing all the side branches as soon as they make an appearance. The following year they may be planted in their permanent position, which should be high, yet sheltered from frost. Two of the best tall-growing varieties are Thin-shelled and Noyer à Bijou. The Dwarf Prolific makes a good bush tree. Wand Plant.--_See_ "Galax." Wasps.--To destroy Wasps rinse a large bottle with spirits of turpentine, and thrust the neck into the principal entrance to their nest, stopping up all the other holes to prevent their escape. In a few days the nest may be dug up. The fumes of the spirit first stupefies and eventually destroys the insects. Water-cress.--Sow in prepared places, during spring, in sluggish brooks and moist situations; or it may be grown on a shady border if kept moist by frequent waterings. It may also be grown in a frame in September from cuttings placed 6 in. apart, sprinkling them daily, but keeping the frame closed for two or three weeks, then watering once a week. Give all the air possible in fine weather, but cover the frame with mats during frosts. It is best when grown quickly. Watsonia.--Plant the bulbs during January in sandy loam with a little peat. They flower in April. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Weeds in Paths.--These may be destroyed by strong brine, applied when hot. Or mix 1/2 lb. of oil of vitriol with 6 gallons of water, and apply, taking care not to get the vitriol on the hands or clothes. Weigelia.--Free-flowering, hardy, deciduous shrubs, the flowers being produced in profusion along the shoots in April, and varying in colour from white to deep crimson. The plants will grow in any soil, and require no special culture. All the varieties force well, and may be increased by cuttings. Height, 6 ft. White Scale.--_See_ "Scale." Whitlavia.--A hardy annual, needing no special treatment. It may be sown in autumn, and protected during winter in a frame, or it may be raised in spring in the open ground, where it will bloom in June. Height, 2 ft. Whortleberry.--_See_ "Vaccineum." Wigandia Caraccasana.--A stove deciduous shrub which thrives best in a mixture of loam and peat. Cuttings in sand will strike if placed under glass and in heat. It flowers in April. Height, 10 ft. Windflowers.--_See_ "Anemones." Winter Aconite (_Eranthis Hyemalis_).--This is one of the very first of flowers to bloom, being in advance of the Snowdrop. In the bleakest days of winter this little flower covers the ground with its gilt spangles. Plant in early autumn. Any soil or situation suits it, but it does best in a light mould and a moist, shady position, or under trees. Most effective when planted in masses. The tubers may remain permanently in the ground, or they may be lifted and divided in summer, as soon as the foliage dies down. Flowers are produced from December to February. Winter Cherry.--_See_ "Physalis." Winter Heliotrope.--_See_ "Tussilago." Wire-worms.--Before using mould for potting purposes it is advisable to examine it carefully and pick out any Wire-worms that are in it. For the border the best traps are small potatoes with a hole cut in them, buried at intervals just beneath the surface of the soil. Wistaria.--This noble wall plant may be abundantly produced, as a long layer will root at every joint. It will also grow from cuttings of the plant and root. Though of slow growth at first, when well established it is very free-growing and perfectly hardy. It may also be grown as a small tree for the lawn or centres of large beds by keeping the long twining shoots pinched in. Witch Hazel.--_See_ "Hamamelis." Withania Origanifolia (_Pampas Lily-of-the-Valley_).--A hardy climbing plant, attaining a height of 20 or 30 ft. in a very short period. The foliage is small, but very dense and of a dark green, the flowers being white. It may be raised from seed, and when once established the roots may remain undisturbed for any length of time, merely removing the stems as soon as they are destroyed by frost. Wolf's Bane.--_See_ "Aconite." Wood, to Preserve.--In order to prevent wooden posts, piles, etc., from rotting, dip the parts to be sunk in the earth in the following composition:--Fine, hard sand, three hundred parts; powdered chalk, forty parts; resin, fifty parts; linseed oil, four parts. Heat these together in a boiler, then add red lead, one part; sulphuric acid, one part. Mix well together, and use while hot. If too thick, more linseed oil may be added. This composition when dry attains the consistency of varnish, and becomes extremely hard. Wood Lily.--_See_ "Trillium." Woodruff.--_See_ "Asperula." Worms, to Destroy.--To each 5 lbs. of newly-slaked lime add 15 gallons of water. Stir it well, let it settle, draw off the clear portion, and with it water the surface of the lawn, etc. The Worms will come to the top and may be swept up. Worms in pots may be brought to the top by sprinkling a little dry mustard on the surface of the soil, and then giving the plant a good watering. Wulfenia Carinthiaca.--A pretty and hardy perennial from the Corinthian Alps, suitable alike for rock-work or the border, throwing up spikes of blue flowers from May to July. During winter place it in a frame, as it is liable to rot in the open. It needs a light, rich, sandy soil and plenty of moisture when in growth. Cuttings will strike in sand; it may also be propagated by seeds or division. Height, 1 ft. X Xeranthemum.--These charming everlasting annuals retain, in a dried state, their form and colour for several years. They are of the easiest culture, merely requiring to be sown in spring in light, rich soil to produce flowers in July. Height, 2 ft. Xerophyllum Asphodeloides (_Turkey's Beard_).--A showy hardy perennial with tufts of graceful, curving, slender foliage. From May to July, when it bears spikes of white flowers, it is very handsome. It does best in a peat border, and may be increased by well-ripened seed or by division. Height, 1-1/2 ft. Xerotes.--Herbaceous plants, which thrive well in any light, rich soil, and are readily increased by dividing the roots. They flower in June. Height, 2 ft. Y Yew (_Taxus_).--For landscape gardening the old gold-striped (_Baccata Aurea Variegata_) is most effective. The Japanese variety, T. Adpressa, is a pleasing evergreen having dark green leaves and large scarlet berries; it is very suitable for the front of large borders. The Common Yew (_Baccata_) grows dense and bushy, and is excellent for hedges. The dark green leaves of the Irish Yew (_Baccata Fastigiata_) make a fine contrast with lighter foliage. Dovastonii is a fine Weeping Yew with long dark green leaves and extra large red berries. There are many other good sorts. The Yew likes shade and moisture, but it is not very particular as to soil, loams and clays suiting it admirably. Yucca.--This plant, popularly known as Adam's Needle thrives best in dry, sandy loam. It is quite hardy, and does well on rock-work, to which it imparts a tropical aspect, Yucca Recurva has fine drooping leaves, and is suitable for vases, etc. It bears a white flower. Yuccas are mostly evergreen shrubs, are very beautiful, and have the habit of palm-trees. A light, rich soil suits them all. They are increased by suckers from the root. They make handsome plants for lawns, terraces, ornamental vases, the centre of beds, or sub-tropical gardens, and bloom in September. Height, 2 ft. Z Zauschneria.--A Californian half-hardy perennial plant which bears a profusion of scarlet tube-shaped flowers from June to October. It grows freely in a sunny position in any dry, light, gravelly, rich soil, and is increased by division of roots or by cuttings. Height, 1 ft. Zea (_Indian Corn_).--This is best raised in a hotbed early in spring, but it will germinate in ordinary soil in May. It requires a sunny situation. Height, 2 ft. to 3 ft. Zea Japonica Variegata (_Striped Japanese Maize_).--A fine half-hardy annual ornamental grass, the foliage being striped green and white, and growing to the height of 3 ft. The cultivation is the same as the foregoing. Zephyranthes (_Swamp Lilies_).--Plant on a warm border in a rather sandy, well-drained soil. Give protection in severe weather, and supply with water during the growing season. Take up and divide every second or third year. The flowers are produced in July. Height, 9 in. Zinnia.--A genus of very pretty annuals, well deserving of cultivation. The seeds must be raised on a gentle hotbed in spring, and planted out in June 1 ft. apart in the richest of loamy soil and warmest and most sheltered position. Height 1 ft. to 11/2 ft. 
13537	----	Distributed Proofreaders Team _The Library of Work and Play_ GARDENING AND FARMING BY ELLEN EDDY SHAW 1911 COPYRIGHT, 1911 THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE REAL BOYS OF THIS REAL CLUB AND TO THE GIRLS WHO ARE JUST AS GOOD AS BOYS CONTENTS PART I--THE GARDEN CLUB CHAPTER I. The Garden Club II. The Boys' Garden Difficulties III. The Girls' Secret IV. Garden Experiments Performed Indoors V. The Work Shop End of the Garden VI. What the Girls Made Winter Evenings VII. Improving the School Grounds VIII. Myron's Strawberry Bed IX. Jack's All-Round Garden X. Albert and Jay's Drainage Problem XI. George's Cabbage Troubles XII. Peter, Potatoes and Profit XIII. Philip's Backyard XIV. The Corn Contest XV. The Girls' Secret Work XVI. More About the Girls' Work XVII. The Girls' Winter Work XVIII. The Grand Wind-Up--Girls vs. Boys PART II.--THE CHIEF'S GARDEN TALKS CHAPTER I. The Soil II. Plant Food III. Seeds IV. The Plant Itself V. Increasing Plants VI. Garden Operations VII. Common Weeds VIII. Garden Pests IX. Vegetable Culture X. Flower Culture XI. The Wild-Flower Garden XII. Landscape Gardening XIII. How Boys and Girls Can Make Money from Their Gardens ILLUSTRATIONS Dee's Garden Was a "Lovesome Thing" _Frontispiece_ The Way The Chief Taught His Boys to Handle Tools Jay's Tile Drain Converted a Swamp into a Garden Philip's Backyard Made Beautiful by Annuals and Quick-growing Vines The Bulb Story Constant Cultivation of the Soil Saved George's Cabbages Jack's Rake Handle as a Measuring Stick Albert Sowing Large Seeds Singly Elizabeth Sowing Small Seed from the Package Myron Transplanting His Long-rooted Strawberry Plants Katharine Transplanting Her Flowers by a Method of Lifting PART I--THE GARDEN CLUB I THE GARDEN CLUB The door opened. A gust of wind and rain literally swept five boys, wet and breathless, into the room. The man at the big oak table in front of a huge open fire looked up, smiled, and said, "Off with your duds, boys! Bar the door securely, Jay, for it's a wild night. Throw a fresh log on the fire, Albert. And all line up." For a few moments the big cheerful room seemed full of wriggling, twisting boys as great coats were pulled off and hung up carefully on pegs at the far end of the room. It was a rule here at The Chief's home that things should always be shipshape. Then the "line up" came. This was a little ceremony the boys always went through, having dropped into it quite of their own accord. They formed a line in front of the open fire with backs to it and faces toward the man. Then they solemnly saluted in military style. At this The Chief arose, saluted, and by a wave of the hand assigned each boy to his place at the table. This little group of boys had formed itself naturally into a club. It met with The Chief every Saturday night. He was really no chief, this big, boy-loving man who had come to spend a while in this little country village, to rest and to write. The boys had named him The Chief because, as Albert said, "He could lead any tribe and tame any savage." At this Albert always laughed for he himself had been called a savage so many times he almost believed he was one. The boys dropped into their places. Jay, or the "Little Chief" as the boys called him, sat opposite the Big Chief at the end of the table and right in front of the fire. He was slim and tall and light of foot. He could run faster, throw farther, and play better than any other boy in the village. He always led, he never bullied, he played fair, so the other boys always followed. Albert, Jay's brother, big and heavy and as full of mischief as he could hold, took his place at The Chief's right hand. Albert called this his place of honour although knowing full well that he was there so The Chief might have him within reach. Next to Albert came George, frank-faced and bashful, sturdy and loyal. Opposite him red-headed, stubby Peter sat always on the edge of his chair, always with a bit of a smile on his face, never talking much, always agreeing good-naturedly. Beside Peter and at The Chief's left was Jack, who wriggled constantly like a young eel. After the boys were seated and quiet, The Chief pushed back his work, a plan of his summer's garden, leaned back in his chair and said, "I think first we had better take up your reports." Then he pointed at Jay who began: "Well, when Albert and I asked father for a piece of the garden for our very own to work exactly as we pleased this summer, with no questions asked or answered, he laughed. He said that Albert wouldn't stick to it a day." "I will, just the same," shouted out Albert quite red in the face. "Just keep out of this, Savage, until I get through." The man laid a restraining hand on Albert's arm and Jay continued: "But I begged father, and told him we'd always worked for him, and he might let us try for ourselves. Besides, I told him we'd not shirk his work. So finally he said we each could have the ten hills in the corn patch for the experiment, just as you wished. And then--" "And then," broke in Albert, unable longer to contain himself, "what do you think he gave us? It's just no use trying, for he gave us an old piece of land below the barn. It's a regular old swamp; why, water stands there the whole spring long, and it takes half the summer to dry it out. Then it gets hard as a brick. Now what is the use of trying on that?" "We'll take it just the same, and so we told father," continued Jay. "We have just got to make that old land do something." The Chief nodded and pointed to George for his report. "Same here," began George. "My father wouldn't listen at all at the first; then he said I might have the hills of corn. He threw in also an old side slope which he thinks is too poor for any use." George sank back in his chair in a quite dejected manner. It was now Jack's turn. "You see," he began at his lightning rate, "we haven't much land anyway, seeing as we live in the village. I can have the backyard, such as it is, but that's precious little use. It's never been used for a garden, and it's full of rock. One of our neighbours says I may have a piece of her corn patch for my corn, if I'll take care of hers, too. Of course I took her offer. Just had to." Peter took his turn last, as usual. "We have no place at our home; too much lawn, and mother will not have it cut up. Grandfather said I might have any place I wanted in his garden if I'd really care for it myself." "My!" said Albert, "what a snap! Your grandfather has the best garden land around here. You'll win The Chief's five dollars for the best garden; you just can't help yourself. I'd like to punch you, Peter, for having such luck." Peter smiled a little more broadly. "Fin sorry the garden's so good, but I can't help it." "It's all right, Peter," began The Chief; "after all, boys, I believe we are not having such bad luck. Cheer up! We are going to surprise those fathers of yours, and have a good time out of it, too. Jay and Albert have a big problem of draining; George has simply got to put that sandy slope in shape; it looks as if Jack would have to fill in for his garden; and Peter--well, some of you may beat Peter yet." At this last Peter smiled, Jack skilfully tumbled him off his chair and Albert gave a war whoop. The Chief called his meeting to order again. "And now, boys, I shall see you each one separately about your garden problems. Remember, not a word at home, for we are going to surprise the people. And at our next regular meeting, and at all others this winter we shall have reports on the manner in which you are going to get at your work and the way in which you will beat conditions. In this way we can keep track of each other's work. We must make our plans, too, on paper, which will help out. We have catalogues to write for, garden stakes to make, and no end of things will come up. But first you boys ought to understand a bit more than you do about the soil. It is a storehouse of good things. Knowledge of the soil is a key to this storehouse. "We can roughly divide the soil into three classes and call these sand, clay, and humus. The ideal soil has all three of these elements in it. Sandy soil is made up, as the name itself really tells, of broken up rock masses. One can tell this sort of soil by its lightness and the ease with which a mass of it drops apart. By the word lightness one does not mean colour or weight, but looseness. A clay soil may be told by its stickiness; its power to form lumps or masses; its tendency to crack and bake under the hot sun. Such a soil is called heavy. Humus soil is made up largely of decayed animal and vegetable matter. Its presence is told by a dark, rich colour. "In trying to improve the soil we are dealing with, we have first to think of its physical, and second, its chemical condition. "The great needs of the soil are air and water. Just think of all soils as made up of many particles; let us say like a lot of marbles, one placed upon another. Each given mass of particles has a given air space between every particle. Again, if a marble is dipped in water a film of water remains on it a short time. Let us think of the particles as always having a film of water on them. Then, as roots and root-hairs of plants strike down among these they find the two necessities, air and water. "Now sand is very loose and so lets the water drain down through it too rapidly. How shall we improve a sandy soil? Just add something to bind the loose sand particles together. Humus is good for this binding purpose. "Clay absorbs much water. Then its particles squeeze tightly together and so air is shut out. Add sand to clay soils, to lighten them. "Humus soil is very rich in nitrogen. This brings us to the chemical side of soils. There are many chemicals in soils which act as foods to plants, but only three are the essentials. If these cannot be unlocked from the soil, or are lacking, they must be supplied. These plant foods are nitrogen, potash, and phosphorus. "The chief source of nitrogen is manure; of potash, nitrate or sulphate of potash, and wood ashes; of phosphorus, bone ash or phosphates. How can you tell when one of these is lacking? Well, first it is well to know what each one does for a plant. Nitrogen makes fine, green, sturdy growth of leaf and stalk; phosphorus helps blossoming plants; while potash makes plump fruit. If foliage looks sickly then nitrogen is needed. If one wishes a good growth of leaves, as in lettuce, nitrogen is needed. If the fruit is small and poor, supply potash; while if the flower and stalk need better growth, add phosphorus. "Be careful in adding nitrogen. Nitrogen is the plant food which is most easily lost out of the soil. Study the soil you are dealing with, supply if possible what it lacks, and try to unlock to your seedlings the goodness already in the garden soil." The interesting talk ended. "Couldn't we meet oftener than just Saturdays?" questioned Jack. "We'll see; it all depends upon how much work there is. Possibly we may have to meet Fridays, too, later on, for you have no lessons that night. Anything more, boys, before the popcorn?" "I'd like to know," asked Peter, "if my cousin Philip, who comes from the city to grandfather's to spend almost every Saturday and Sunday, may join us too. He wants to fix up his city backyard and doesn't know how to begin." "Bring him along next Saturday. We'll be glad to have him, shan't we, boys?" "Don't know," blurted out Albert, "it's our club." "Keep quiet, Albert. Let him in as long as he behaves and works. Isn't that right?" asked Jay. "Yes," answered George and Jack. "Then, boys, we'll have Jack's report next week, as his problem is not so difficult. If Jay and Albert drop in some day from school they shall have a book which will help them, and George needs one, too." At this point Albert dropped off his seat in mock alarm murmuring as he fell, "Worse, much worse than school!" George dropped a heavy book on top of him to add to his comfort. The Chief went on as if nothing had happened. "Jack and Peter, shell and pop the corn, George and Jay, crack the nuts. And you, Albert, run to the cellar for the apples. Get good ones, young man." "Why," questioned Albert, as he picked himself up, "why must poor Albert always do the hard work, while the other fellows stay by the warm fire?" No one answered him and he slowly marched off. Soon the corn was popped, the nuts cracked and the big red apples on deck. And then it was a quiet room save for the snapping of a shell from a half-cracked nut, and the munching of the firm apples as the boys ate. The firelight played softly over the old room bringing out strongly the big oak table, the group of boys, the silent man, throwing far back into the shadows the old rush-bottomed chairs, the short-legged rockers and the pieces of furniture at all distant from the fire. The clock struck nine. The boys reluctantly got up from the floor and struggled into their coats. Jay unbarred the door. The man held the light high above his head sending a stream of light after them, George astride his old farm horse ready for his three-mile ride, Jay and Albert trudging after him, and Jack and Peter hand in hand on a run toward the village. "Good-night!" they shouted back at the man, "We'll be on time next Saturday night, seven sharp. Good-night!" II THE BOYS' GARDEN DIFFICULTIES "It's fine to see you back, Myron," began The Chief, looking at a big, good looking fellow, who had dropped quietly into his place by George. "Are you here for all the time, now?" "Yes," replied Myron, "I got tired of the town and am glad enough to be back again." "We are just as glad as you are. Is Philip here for Sunday?" Philip wriggled happily beside Peter and said nothing. For Peter had impressed Philip with the fact that he must keep quiet for it wasn't very much his club anyway. "There is business up for discussion, and two applications," began The Chief. "Applications!" broke in Albert. "May we have those first?" "If you can't keep still," retorted Jay, "you'll get applications all right, but of quite another sort." The Chief passed two letters to George. George stood up, swallowed hard, for he was a bashful lad, and began. "'Will the Junior Garden Club give suggestions and practical help for the improvement of the Oldfield Centre School Grounds?' Signed 'The Teacher.'" "Crickey!" said Albert. "That's white in her! Expert advice! I guess we will!" "What shall we do about this?" asked The Chief. "We just ought to do it, I think," began Jack. "There surely is no other public-spirited club in this place." "Just so," murmured Peter. "We ought now to have a secretary for the club, and a chairman, too. I believe to-night is the time to vote for these officers," suggested The Chief. "Suppose Jack and Philip tear up slips of paper and pass them. Then Myron and George collect, and count the ballots. We should vote for chairman first." "What does the chairman have to do?" asked Myron. "A chairman always calls a meeting to order and presides," answered the man. For a few minutes they were all very busy with paper and pencil. The results were given by Myron. "Jay has all the votes for chairman. Albert has four for secretary, and so I suppose we'll have to have him." Albert, nothing daunted, said, "I guess you will, but I write like a hen." "That's right, you do," chimed in Jack to Albert's apparent annoyance. "Now, Jack, call your meeting to order and let's have these matters voted on." "Come to order all of you. What shall we do about this school-ground business?" "I vote," began Myron. "Stand on your feet," advised Jay. "I vote--" "No, Myron," corrected The Chief, "move--not vote." "I move, then, that we fix up those grounds." "Who seconds this?" and Jay looked hard at George. "I will," he responded. "I'm not sure, now," appealed Jay to The Chief, "I'm not sure just how to go on." "It's this way--it has been moved and seconded that this request be granted. All in favour say 'aye'; all contrary minded 'no'. It is a vote." Jay repeated this and the boys voted, Albert, as usual, voting "no," just for fun. "Now, if George will read the second letter-----" "I should think," Jack half questioned, "that the secretary should read things, now we have a secretary." "So he should, hand those papers over, George." George, delighted, gave place to Albert, who stumblingly read. "We girls wish to garden, too. We'd like to join your club. We can do just as good work as boys. Will you take us in?" "Not much!" went on Alfred just as if he were still reading, "Girls in our club, no siree, girls never!" "Girls might do something," began Myron. "But," Jack broke in, "they'd after all spoil a boys' club. Why, it wouldn't be a boys' club then." "They might have one of their own," suggested Peter. "And do different things," continued Philip. "I really don't see," Jay went on, "quite how we could have them. But, I suppose, they might meet with The Chief and we could help them sometimes." "No," said Albert, "we don't wish to get mixed up with that sort of thing. They'd run the whole club in the end." "That's right," agreed George. This was put to vote properly and the girls were barred out. "You must write them a letter, Albert," concluded Jay. "Write a letter! A letter to those girls! Never!" "Yes you will; you are the secretary and you have to, understand," said Jay. Poor Albert, not long before so proud of his office, looked as if he'd rather be whipped than be the secretary. "The real business to-night is to hear reports so we can do a little experimenting and testing next week," suggested the man. "All right, we'll have George's first." "I shall, of course," began George, "plant my corn, Country Gentleman, in with father's. We have plenty of seed corn, so I shall not have to buy any. As far as my old slope goes I have to pick all the stone off. Then I am not sure just how to drain it, for the rains from another slope above wash it all the spring and summer. I shall then put some barnyard manure on and plant it all to corn. Of course, I must plough and harrow it, too." "Now," said The Chief, "I guess we'd better stop right here and have a little talk, for George has brought up some problems for discussion. In the first place--let us consider the draining. All George has to consider is that he has to conduct or lead the water off his land." "But," said George, "that is what seems to me difficult." "Have you noticed how water takes definite courses down hills? That ought to give you some help." "I see," cried Jack, "George could make gutters for the rain to travel along and so lead the water off his garden." "Exactly, Jack has the idea. It is really a bit of engineering. Suppose George finds the highest point, the greatest slope, of his land. From this point a gutter or furrow should be dug so that the water is made to flow off and away from his land." "How deep shall I dig the gutter?" "Dig it about three feet deep and fill stones right into this gutter. Two feet of stone in the gutter is about right. Water falling on a stone mass drains off properly. It would sink into an earth mass. Bring a little sketch of this with you next week, George, showing where you are going to dig the drain. Now boys, how much fertilizer do you think ought to go on this poor land of George's?" "I was going to put on two inches," said George. "I should think he ought to put at least four inches on," half questioned Myron. "I'll say eight," began Philip. The boys shouted at this. "Philip," went on the man after the laughter ceased, "is very nearly right. If George wishes to get anything from this old land at once, he must fertilize it heavily. If your father can spare a foot of fertilizer put it on." The boys all whistled. "Now about the corn! Did you know, George, that corn is a most exhaustive crop?" "I don't even know what you mean." "I do," said Jack, "he means corn tires the soil." "Just so," continued The Chief, "the soil supplies food to the plant. Some crops use up more of the soil's goodness than others. Corn is one of these. Now, George, what do you think about planting a crop that works the soil very hard, especially when the soil you are dealing with is rather poor?" "It wouldn't be the best thing, I should say. Will you suggest good things to plant?" "Well, potatoes, tomatoes and cabbage demand less from the soil." "Then I choose cabbage, I'll plant that entire old slope to cabbage." "Now, Jack, suppose you talk." "I have decided to build a coldframe, so I can get a little earlier start with my plants; I suppose I should have begun this frame last fall. I know this--that I have to dig out my whole garden spot and fill it in. So I thought I could get a start with the coldframe while I was working at filling in. I have decided to plant lettuce, radish, beets, tomatoes, peppers and some flowers. I think I shall plant asters, stock and sunflowers." "Why sunflowers?" asked Philip. "I want the seed for my squirrel's feed next winter. Then, too, I think sunflowers make a pretty nice background for a garden." "If you wish to drop in to see me before the next week's meeting we'll have plans for the coldframe worked out to explain to the boys then. You measure the space where you are going to put the frame and ask your father about the lumber. As lumber is your father's business, I should almost think you could get us some soft wood, say white-wood, for our stakes and markers," suggested The Chief. "Of course, I can," promised Jack. "Now Peter," said Jay. "My garden is to be just potatoes." "Peter and potatoes!" jeered Albert. "Oh, Peter!" "I don't care, I'm for potatoes and profit." "Peter always does make money. So I suppose his potatoes will turn into money, too," volunteered Philip. "My stunt," said Myron next, "is to be strawberries. I want to raise strawberries. Mr. Marsh, on the Longmeadow Farm, has offered to give me some plants. I'll do the corn stunt; aren't you going to, Pete?" "Of course, that was understood, and Philip will have his corn at grandfather's too, for a city backyard is no place for corn." "Now, Albert, you may talk for both of us," said Jay. "Our land has to be drained, but it is not exactly the same proposition that George has. Water stands on our land. We had thought of putting a drain pipe in. It seems as if there should be an easier way, but we don't know one," Albert stopped and looked at The Chief, who leaned back in his chair and thought a minute. "I guess, boys, we had better stop and talk over the matter of drainage. There are three kinds of drains, namely: the open drain, the blind drain, and the tile drain. Each one has worked out of the other. The simplest sort and the one man first used is the open ditch. A piece of land was covered with water. A ditch was dug through the land at the place or places where water was standing. Usually a little stone is thrown into the bottom to help drain the water off. "Such a drain put out of use quite a bit of land. So partly because of this a second sort of drain was worked out. A good body of stone was put into the drain, then earth filled in over this. Water percolating down through the soil followed along these drainage courses. Formerly it settled in spots and made boggy land. Finally a more systematic sort of drain developed from this last one. Instead of a body of stone, a drain tile was placed on the bottom of the trench. "Straight off you boys can see which one of these three represents the best all around drain. Out in the country or where there is no need to think of utilizing every bit of land, the open drain is often seen. But where every bit of land must be used, the open drain is out of the question. "All drains come under the head of one of these three types. After all, boys, since you can put in the tile drain would it not be wiser to do so?" "Surely," answered Albert. "But I should think soil which has been under water for some time, as this has, would be a bit poor." "In case you find the soil is sour, as it may be, you can sweeten it up. There is a certain farm sweetener in lime," added The Chief. "We shall plant on our land onions, peas, and tomatoes." continued Albert. "We believe that the soil is going to be especially good for onions." "I guess I shall have to break in again right here. Onions need a fine, rich, deep soil. To be sure moist soil is good for certain varieties of onions. That is why, I imagine, you thought your soil good. You must get this soil into better garden condition before you devote it to a crop like onions. Try a general vegetable garden this season. Work out the crop value of the soil. "Philip, do you know what you are going to do?" "I know that I have everything to do. I thought perhaps I should do something like this. We want that old backyard to be really pretty. The yard is a long narrow strip of land just like most city backyards. I thought I'd make a walk straight through it. I want a little fish pond at the end. I thought I'd lay out a few flower beds with paths in between them. Mother says she will buy me a few shrubs." "I say, Chief, don't you think some of us might go up to the city and help Philip make the cement pond?" asked Albert eagerly. "We might," murmured Jay, "if we get invited." "Boys, it's late. We know a little of what our stunts are to be. Next week each of you bring about fifty seeds of each kind you intend to plant. Be able to tell just how these seeds should be planted. Also have the dimensions of your plots. Jack will bring some soft wood along, too. And Philip, find out, if possible just how much money you can have for shrubs. Now on with your coats! Out of my house in two seconds!" "No food to-night is a sad blow, Chief," said Albert pretending to weep as he opened the outside door. "This blow is sadder," replied Jack, playfully shoving Albert clean out of the door. III THE GIRLS' SECRET A very timid little knock roused The Chief from his study of Jack's coldframe plans. The outer door gently opened and three little girls entered and advanced to where the man sat. One, the smallest of the three, was thrust forward as spokesman. Gathering herself together she began with a rush. She thrust a letter into The Chief's hands. "This is the boys' horrid letter. We don't care particularly about belonging to a boys' club. We wouldn't now, any way. But we'd like to show those boys a thing or two and we thought perhaps you would help us. Will you?" "Sit down, and we will work out a little plot together. But first tell me your names. I like to know the names of people with whom I plot." The girls came close to the man. The spokesman did the introducing. "I am Delia, Peter's sister, and just as smart as he is. This," pointing to a quiet, pleasant-faced girl, "is Ethel. And the other is Jack's sister, Elizabeth." "How many more girls belong to this company?" "They are all outside waiting, I'll call them in if you say so. They are behind the lilac bushes. You see we were afraid some of the boys might come to see you, so we hid. For we don't wish them to know about this at all. I'll call the girls in now." So Delia ran to the door, held it wide open, and called "Come girls, he wants to meet you!" "Come right in, girls. This one," pointing to a girl with light hair and bright eyes, "is Eloise. Her father keeps the Inn. And this is Josephine, who has no yard at all; and Helena who has plenty of ground; and this," with a grand flourish, "this is the judge's daughter, Katharine." "I hate," said Katharine, "always being labelled; I think it's pretty hard on a girl to be tagged this way." "If you'll sit down," began The Chief--"although there are not chairs enough--we'll get right down to business." And then how they talked! Closer and closer they drew up to The Chief until the eight heads were so close together they seemed almost one huge head. Finally they all shouted with laughter. "Not a word outside, mind you, not one word. Prove that girls can keep a secret." "We solemnly promise," said Katharine for the others. "Look," cried Elizabeth, "there comes Jack; what shall we do?" "Out this way," quietly replied the man, almost sweeping seven happy little girls out of the door. "Now, cut and run." And off they scampered over the fields. IV GARDEN EXPERIMENTS PERFORMED INDOORS "The meeting is called to order," began Jay. "To-night, so The Chief says, each fellow has some special thing to talk about. Albert will have an accident with that bottle unless he begins right off, so tune up, Savage." "This bottle is full of vinegar. I might have brought a lemon or anything else acid. This blue paper is called litmus paper. I got it at the drug store for ten cents. Just look right here, and you will see magic worked. I shall put some vinegar on this piece of paper. See!" "Turned red as quick as scat!" said Jack. "Litmus will always turn red when any acid gets on it. I've tried several acids at home. It works every time," went on Albert as if no one else had spoken. "I cannot see what this has to do with gardens." began Philip. "Now you keep quiet until I finish. Haven't you fellows heard your fathers talk about sour ground? Well, that means acid soil." "Why, we have a piece of ground, where sorrel grows thick; father says that is sour," added George. "Just a minute, Albert," broke in The Chief; "that is one way, George, that farmers tell a sour bit of land. Weeds grow thickly over such ground, but as George has said, sorrel is likely to predominate. Go on, Albert." "Any soil may be tested with this litmus. The Chief calls this the scientific way of going at it. I was able to get a little soil from our future garden plot, and I'll find out right now if it's acid." Albert opened a small box which was full of soil that looked quite clayey. He wet a piece of litmus and buried it in the soil. "We'll have to leave this a few minutes, and I'll finish what I have to say. If soil is very acid it has to be changed back again." "Back again to what?" asked Jack. "Why, back again, so it isn't acid," Albert continued, decidedly confused. "I'll help you a bit," and The Chief came to the rescue, "Get that big bottle over there, Albert." Albert brought the bottle. In it was a liquid clear as water. "Taste it, Peter," and The Chief handed Peter a little in a small glass. "Why it doesn't taste like much of anything; sort of flat." "That's it exactly, Peter. It certainly is not an acid, is it?" Peter shook his head. "It is lime water and does not belong in the acid class, but to one which is exactly opposite to the acids, the alkalies. Soils ought to be neither acid nor alkaline, but neutral, as it is called. An alkali will help make neutral an acid. If the soil is acid it is bad for your crop. Put a little lime water on the litmus which the acid has turned red." Albert did this and the boys watched interestedly to see the effect. "Back again," sang out Jack as the red litmus changed to blue. "Now from this you see a way to overcome the acid conditions of Albert's piece of land, if it proves to be acid." "I see," said Jack, "lime it." "Exactly! Now see, Albert, if the paper has changed colour." "My, I should say it had!" and Albert held up the piece of litmus paper, now quite red from its contact with the soil. "Well, Albert, it is pretty plain to see what you have to do. Did you find out the amount of lime to use?" "In the book I read it said for clay soils 400-2000 pounds per acre." "I should say," said The Chief, "for that special piece of land use about 20 bushels to the acre." "How many pounds of lime," asked Jack, "to the bushel?" "I can answer," grandly went on Albert, "there are 70 pounds to the bushel. So that makes 1400 pounds." "Quite a proposition!" said Jay. "Yes, but your land is only a half acre and so that changes matters a little. How much is lime a bushel, Jack? Ask your father, will you?" "I think," said The Chief, "that we'll have to lay a drain pipe through your land. Anyway I shall come around in early spring and have a look at it." "Now Peter, we'll hear from you," Jay announced. "My work was to find out how long it took different kinds of seeds to germinate, that is sprout. I took a dozen each of different seeds, put blotters in dishes, wet the blotters, and placed the seeds on these. I kept them in a warm place in the dining room. I have made each of you fellows a copy of the table." PETER'S GERMINATING TABLE Beans 5-10 days. Onion 7-10 days. Beets 7-10 " Peas 6-10 " Cabbage 5-10 " Pepper 9-14 " Carrot 12-18 " Radish 3-6 " Celery 10-20 " Tomato 6-12 " Lettuce 6-8 " Turnip 4-8 " "I'd like to know what use a germinating table is, anyway?" asked Albert scornfully. "Well," Peter replied thoughtfully, "it gives you an exact knowledge of the time to expect your seedlings to poke up. Now suppose radish came up in four days. The carrot you had planted didn't come up and after twelve days, discouraged, you plant more seed. Now two days later the first carrots you sowed begin to appear. If you had known that it took carrots from 12 to 18 days to germinate you'd not have made the mistake of planting again so soon. I think of another reason," went on Peter warming up to his subject. "Suppose you planted beet seed. You waited ten days; nothing happened; you wait two more and still no seedling appears; something is surely wrong and you plant over again." "What could be wrong," asked Philip. "The seed might be poor," replied Peter. "George has been testing seed," said Jay, "and he might tell us about it now, couldn't he, Chief? It seems to come in here." The Chief nodded. "I have been finding out whether certain seeds which I happen to have on hand are worth planting or not. If any of you fellows have seed and wish to find this out, you can easily enough. So you can be sure whether old seed is worth planting. Now it happens that father had some of his last year's corn and some from four years ago. So I took 100 seeds of each. If you test small seed like lettuce, The Chief says 50 seeds will do. These I put on blotters just as Pete did his. Of course, I kept them separate. From last year's seed 90 seeds sprouted out of the 100, or 9/10 of them. And that equals 90 per cent. If all seed was 90 per cent. good it would be all right to use, I think. Now when I looked at the four-year-old seed, what do you think? Only five seeds had started. That makes only 1/20, or 5 per cent. Of course, no one would care to use seed where only 5 per cent. of the seed sprouted." "Is there any real percentage of germination that seeds should have?" Jack asked eagerly. "Yes," replied The Chief, "although value as you see from George's experiment is lost by age. The real standard germination value for corn is 87 per cent., for beans 90, for turnips 90, for peas 93, etc. You can see that the per cents. for these vegetables run high. So do not use seeds when the per cent. has dropped too low. "Has George found out the time when other seeds lose value?" asked Peter. "I did not work this table out because I did not have the old seed to work with," replied George, "but The Chief gave me a book to look it up in. I have printed on our press the table. So you fellows may each have a copy." George handed the sheets around the table. It happened that The Chief had a little old printing press that he had presented to the Club. Club real estate, Albert called it. GEORGE'S TABLE AGE OF SEEDS FOR PLANTING PURPOSES 2-3 years. 3-4 years. 5-6 years. 8-10 years. Corn Tomato Beet Pea (5-6) Cucumber Celery Pepper Lettuce Radish (4-5) Melon Carrot Onion Turnip (3-6) Squash Bean Parsley Pumpkin "Now, George," Albert begged, "give us a table of germinating per cents." "Not much, each fellow can work out the value of his own old seeds and see if they are worth using." "I think George is right," began The Chief after the laugh at Albert's expense ceased. "Perhaps you'd like to try the effect of depth of planting on corn. Here are some boxes of earth. George, you plant six kernels of corn one inch deep and mark the box with your name and the depth on it, Peter, plant the next box with six kernels at two inches. Albert, try three inches, and Jack, four inches. It will be your business, Myron, to drop in here each half day and note the first appearance of corn in the different boxes." The result of this experiment, which took about two weeks in all, was as follows: DEPTH OF PLANTING TIME TO COME UP 1 in. 8-1/2 days 2 in. 10 " 3 in. 12 " 4 in. 13-1/2 " This experiment showed the boys that seeds too deeply planted are hindered in progress. "Myron, you may take the floor now," signalled Jay. "I have worked out and printed for you the amount of seed necessary to plant a certain space. I have printed my table just as George did. 'H' stands for hills and 'D' means drills." "What is a drill?" asked Philip. "Why a drill is a furrow. You can make a drill with a rake handle, or a hoe. We can show you better when we get outdoors, Philip," Myron answered quite condescendingly. MYRON'S SEED-ESTIMATE TABLE NAME METHOD OF PLANTING QUANTITY OF SEED HILLS OR DRILLS Bean (Bush) D 1 qt. for 100ft. Beet D 1 oz. " 50ft. Cabbage H 1 oz. " 2000 plants Carrot D 1 oz. " 100 ft. Corn H 1 qt. " 100 hills. Lettuce D 1 oz. " 120 ft. Musk melon H 1 oz. " 60 hills. Onion D 1 oz. " 100 ft. Parsley D 1 oz. " 150 ft. Pea D 1 oz. " 100 ft. Pepper D 1 oz. " 2000 plants. Potato H 1 peck " 100 hills. Pumpkin H 1 oz. " 30 hills. Radish D 1 oz. " 100 ft. Tomato H 1 oz. " 1000 plants. Turnip D 1 oz. " 150 ft. "This table is all right, I suppose," began Philip, "but if a fellow doesn't know quite how far apart to plant his cabbage, say, I can't see how this table helps much." "I took it for granted," Myron answered, "that you fellows know a little about things. But if a person didn't know what you ask, Philip, I suppose this table isn't much good. Shall I call all the tables in, Chief?" "Not at all, Myron, this is a good table so far as it goes. Next time each of you boys look up this matter. Perhaps you can work out a good scheme for such information." "Now, Philip, we'd like to hear about your shrub money and then we'll have time to see Jack's coldframe plans, before club time is over," at which Jay settled back in his chair as if club work was a strain on a fellow after all. "I may have one dollar to spend. I have decided to buy three shrubs. I shall plant one by itself; the two others together in a clump. I wanted forsythia, but I have finally decided on Japan snowball and Van Houtte's spirea." "Why?" asked Albert. "You see the forsythia shows up best against a dark background because of the bright yellow flowers. I have no good setting for such a shrub. Then, too, it blossoms so very early in the spring, in April you know, that it seemed to me, since I must plant this spring, I'd disturb less a later flowering shrub. I chose the Japan snowball because it's less liable to have lice than some others and because it looks well all by itself on the lawn. That spirea is a specially good variety of spirea because it does well almost anywhere, and also it is very showy and the foliage is handsome all summer long. Some shrubs look scrubby after awhile." "Where did you get all this knowledge, Philip?" asked Albert, half enviously. "I made it my business to know. I hunted up shrubs in a catalogue, then I called on a florist, and we had a shrub talk together." "Now, I call that getting down to real work," Jay remarked. Philip looked happy and Peter nearly tilted his chair over in his pleasure for he evidently felt the city was making good. "Now, Jack, bring on the coldframe." "I have my drawing right here," began Jack, spreading it out on the table while the boys crowded about. "You look at the drawing as I explain. Myron and Jay have promised to help me make it. It will be a coldframe this year; next fall I shall change it into a hotbed." "How?" broke in Albert. "I shall dig out the soil from the coldframe. Then I shall put in two feet of manure and cover it with four inches of soil. This spring about all I can do is to mix into the soil some well-rotted manure. I guess I shall put in about three inches in all. I guess I can explain," continued Jack, delighted at this opportunity to air his newly acquired knowledge. "The Chief has talked this over with me. It all depends upon what you wish to use the frame for. I want to use mine to get an early start this spring, so I make the bed rich and depend on the sun's rays mostly for heat. This, then, is a coldframe. The sloping glass frame helps you see. But next winter I hope to really get results out of this frame, so I have to supply extra heat. The layer of manure underneath gives this. I then have a hotbed. If I just wish to keep plants along, ready to force next spring, then the sun's rays would be enough for that work without the layer of heat." "I see, thank you, and why do you say layer of heat? I should call it a layer of manure." "Because it is heat, isn't it? And anyway real gardeners call it that. We may as well use the right names; don't you think so, Chief?" "Surely, Jack. It's our business to know right terms. Each line of work has its own language. Jack has done a good piece of work so far. We shall have most of our next meeting in the workshop. Jack, Myron and Jay are going to work on this frame. You other fellows will be able to make stakes and dibbers enough for the crowd." "What is a dibber?" asked Albert. "That is for you to look up. If you have any old rake or hoe handles bring them along for dibber making. Good-night, boys." Off into the night they scampered--a jolly, sound lot of lads. V THE WORKSHOP END OF THE GARDEN "Before we go to the workshop we might take up the methods of planting our vegetables. Then if any fellow has worked out a table, Peter, the star printer, may strike off copies for all of us," began Jay, after calling the meeting to order. "I'd be glad to hear from any of you fellows who have done anything on this matter." All was quiet. Finally Myron arose and began to read from a paper covered with writing. "The carrot--common name of the _Daucus Carota_--a biennial, indigenous to Europe, believed by some botanists to have been derived from the common wild carrot." "Where'd you copy that stuff? No table can be made from that! Imagine a fellow out planting carrots and reading before he sows: The carrot--a bi--bi what, biped, did you say, Myron?" Albert chuckled away and Myron dropped into his seat saying angrily, "I tried hard, anyway. It took me a whole evening to copy just the carrot." "I should think it might have. Has any fellow a really simple table?" "I've worked at it," Peter replied modestly. "I think I have something here that will really be of use." At this Peter spread out on the big table a neat piece of work. PETER'S OUTDOOR PLANTING TABLE NAME DEPTH TO DISTANCE APART PLANT SEEDS FURROWS Bean (Bush) 2 in. 12-20 in. 3 ft. Beet 1-1/2 in. 4-9 in. 12-15 in. Cabbage 1/2 in. 20-24 in. 3 ft. Corn 1-1/2 in. 3 ft. 3-4 ft. (hills) Lettuce 1/2 in. 6-8 in. 12-18 in. Musk melon 1 in. 4-6 ft. 4-6 ft. (hills) Onion 1/2 in. 4-12 in. 10-12 in. Parsley 1/2 in. 6 in. 1 ft. Pepper 1/2 in. 18 in. 2 ft. Potato 5 in. 12-18 in. 24-36 in. (hills) Pumpkin 1-1/2 in. 8-10 ft. 8-10 ft. (hills) Radish 1/2 in. 3 in. 6-8 in. Tomato 1/2-1 in. 3 ft. 3 ft. (hills) Turnip 1/2 in. 6 in. 12 in. "That's all right," and The Chief laid a hand on Peter's shoulder and he smiled across at Myron. "Each one of you boys ought to know how to make a working plan of his garden. I showed Jack how to make his coldframe plan. It is well done. Now gather about the table and I will make a plan of a supposed garden." [Illustration: DRAWING I DRAWING II DRAWING III DRAWING IV This very simple plan of a garden, used by The Chief, has in it the essentials for all your garden plan drawing. Follow each step as the boys did and you will be able to make a drawing of your own garden.] "I will lend you mine and you might make a drawing of that," craftily suggested Albert. "No, young man, you are to make your own. Let us suppose for the sake of an easy problem that we claim our garden is to be on a square piece of land, forty feet by forty feet. In drawing to a scale, one takes a certain small measure to stand for a foot. If we take an inch to be a foot, then the entire forty-foot length would have to be forty inches. That is a pretty good large drawing. Let us take something smaller and say one-eighth of an inch equals a foot, thus 1/8 in. = 1 ft. So we shall have a length and a width of five inches. "The first step in the actual drawing is to find the centre of your given piece of drawing paper. See, I just make short lines or portions of diagonals through the centre as shown right here in what I call Drawing I. Draw a vertical line through the centre extending to the top and the bottom of the paper. Now draw a horizontal line through the centre to the extreme left and right of the sheet. Now measure up from the centre on the vertical line the half width of the garden. If the centre is to stand for the centre of the garden, then the garden itself would extend up, down, and to the right and left of its centre, just 20 ft. or 2-1/2 in. in a plan with scale 1/8 in. to 1 ft. So measure up from the centre along the vertical line just two and one-half inches and place a dot. Letter this dot A. Do this same thing down the vertical line and we have dot B. Also measure the same distance along the horizontal to left, calling the dot D and along the right calling the last dot C. Now draw a horizontal line 5 in. long through A with 2-1/2 in. either side of the dot. This gives you one side of your garden or a 40-ft. length. Do a similar thing through dot B. Through C and D draw similar lines. We now have the outline of our garden of 40 ft. square. We have on our paper, though, a square 5 x 5 in. "I have decided to have a circular bed in the centre of the garden which shall be 10 ft. in diameter. Therefore, the radius of the circle should be 5 ft. or 5/8 in. Get a pair of compasses for that, Jack. Now I shall swing the circle. But I wish a 2-ft. path all about this circular garden. If the path is 2 ft., then I must set my compasses on 2/8 in. more or now make the 5/8 in. into 7/8 in. Let us swing another circle with the same point as a centre. "It strikes me that if I should lay my garden out into four squares, the combination of squares, central circles and straight main paths would look incongruous. So I shall cut the central points of the four square beds off by swinging circles. Have patience and you will see, for the general plan is in my mind just as it ought to be in the mind of any person who is to make a garden. Now swing another circle with a radius of 1 in., and still another the radius of which shall be 1-1/8 in. "Now we come to stage two of this working drawing (Drawing II). I wish a 4-ft. path going down to the centre bed from the points A, B, C and D. Place your ruler, Jay, on point A, for you may draw now. Measure to the right of A 1/4 in. and to the left 1/4 in., and place dots at these points. You have the width of your 4-ft. paths. Do this same thing at points B, C and D. Number these points 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8. With very light lines connect points 1 and 3, 2 and 4, 5 and 7, 6 and 8. Where the line 1-3 cuts the second circle from the centre, letter the intersections E and F. The intersections of 2-4 mark G and H, of 5-7 I and J, and of 6-8 N and L. You now see the outline of these paths running through the garden. Let us border each path with two 1-ft. borders. So place the ruler at point 1 and mark off two 1/8 in. spaces by dots. Do the same at points 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 and 8. Connect the opposite dots by light lines. "Now let George take the third stage (Drawing III). Go right over the inside circle so as to make it stand out boldly. Strengthen line 1 to E, 2 to G, 3 to F, 4 to H, 5 to I, 6 to N, 7 to J and 8 to L. Now these circles should be strengthened and lines erased that interfere. That leaves curve EI, GJ, LH, and FN standing out clearly. You see in the drawing one-half the garden plan erased and all right. "After Myron has erased every line (Drawing IV), you will see the garden plan in all its neatness. Place the measurements on the drawing. It looks well, does it not, boys? "These are the steps. Any of you can work out your plan if you have one to work out." "Now boys, for the shop! Myron, Jay and Jack are to work on the coldframe. Peter will have an evening's work printing this planting table. Albert will tell us the use of the dibber and make you one each from all these old handles." Albert, assuming a grand oratorical manner, gave the boys the benefit of his search for knowledge. "A dibber is a pointed tool, usually a stick, used to make holes for planting seeds, bulbs, setting out plants and transplanting of seedlings." Off they all trooped to a little workshop back of the man's home. Soon the boys were hard at work, sawing, whittling, and setting up type. [Illustration: A sturdy dibber. This needs no directions for the making. The cut tells the story.] Here are directions for what the boys made. DIRECTIONS FOR MAKING A COLDFRAME Hemlock was the wood Jack used. The lumber for sides and ends is one inch thick while strips marked A and B are one and one-fourth inches thick. Cut out pieces 14 in. x 5 ft. 7 in., and 10 in. x 5 ft. 7 in., for the back and the front. Cut two pieces 14 x 36 in. and shape them according to drawing for the ends. Nail these four pieces together to form the frame. The sides should be nailed to the ends. Use ten-penny nails and drive them slantingly. [Illustration: WORKING SKETCH OF HOTBED Jack's working drawing of his hotbed. This was to serve for a coldframe temporarily.] Saw out strips A two inches wide and as long as the slanting edge of the end of the frame. Be careful with this measurement not to measure the slanting edge of the _end_ piece only, but to include with it the thickness of both front and back pieces. Saw out two more pieces two inches wide and as long as the frame is wide at the bottom. Make strip B 2-1/2 in. x 5 ft. 7 in. Lay out notches marked A by dividing top and bottom edges of front and back into three equal spaces. Cut notches to receive strips marked A. Nail strips A in place, also B. To make a neat piece of work the ends of strips A should be planed slightly slanting to make them exactly even, or "flush" with front and back boards. The real object of strips A is to keep the frame from bulging at the centre. Jack had three common single window sashes, 22-in. x 3 ft. which made an excellent cover for the frame. These should be placed in position and fastened to strip B with two-inch butts. Notice the sashes project over the front so as to carry the water away from the frame. The sash should be fastened to the frame, putty side out. GARDEN STAKE The stake may be made of soft wood or hard. It is a good one to use in staking off the garden. It is entirely a piece of knife work. The dimensions are clearly given on the working plan. If the stake is made 12 inches instead of 14 inches, it may be used as a foot rule in measuring off furrows. [Illustration: A heavy stake like this one, Jack used in marking off his drills. It is adapted to just such work.] THE BOY'S GARDEN REEL A piece of wood (ash is suitable for this work), 11-3/8 x 4-1/2 x 1/2 in. is needed. Draw pencil lines lengthwise and widthwise through the centre of this piece. From the centre measure out one inch in both directions, placing dots. These give the central points for centre cut. Measure from the four corners of the piece 3 inches along the length. Connect by line the opposite dots. This gives the line marked 4-1/2 in. in the diagram. It shows the beginning of the cut to the centre line. One inch above these lines draw other lines straight across the wood. Find centre of these. Place a dot one-half inch on both sides of each from centre. This gives the one-inch end cuts. Cut this up to one-half inch of each corner. This makes a large substantial garden reel. [Illustration: Made of hard wood this reel will last forever.] A PLANT STOOL OR TABOURET The materials needed are four pieces 18 x 3 x 7/8 in. planed, for legs; one piece 14 x 14 x 7/8 in., planed, top; two pieces 8-1/2 x 1-3/4 x 7/8 in., planed, lower braces; one piece 8-1/2 x 8-1/2 x 7/8 in., planed, upper brace. Use chestnut, white wood, white oak, mahogany, cherry or birch. You will need also 2-in. blued screws, round head, for fastenings. [Illustration: This looks like a pretentious piece of woodwork for a lad to make. George did not think so. The construction is simple. Note the good lines.] To construct the stool make with the two 8-1/2 x 1-3/4 x 7/8 in. pieces the lower braces, a lap joint. Find the mid-line of each piece by measuring 4-1/4 in. from the ends. From this line lay off two other lines parallel to it and at a distance of 7/8 in. to the right and left. This makes a 1-3/4 in. square in the centre of each piece. Now transfer these lines down the edges of the lower brace pieces. Saw on the inside of the lines down one-half the thickness or saw and chisel down to one-half. It is necessary to saw on the inside of the lines or a loose joint will result. The joint must be exactly in the middle and all arms must be equal in length when completed. Brads or finishing nails should be used to hold the joint in place. This lower brace is 7 in. up from the floor or bottom of the stool. In the picture the screws, which hold the brace, show plainly. Now lay off an octagon, with a diameter of 8-1/2 in. on the 8-1/2 x 8-1/2 x 7/8 in. piece, sawing off the corner pieces so as to just fit the leg. Glue and screw this to the under sides of the top piece, placing the grain across that of the top wood. Warping is thus prevented. This brace acts as a support to which the upper ends of the legs are firmly screwed and glued. A 3/16 in. gimlet hole should be bored for each screw or the wood will split. The holes should not be deeper than 1-1/2 in. if the screws are to hold firmly. Try drawing the screws across a cake of soap and see if they will not be applied more easily. To be sure that the legs go on exactly rigid it would be well to draw lines diagonally through the centre of the under surface of the top piece. The legs are to be attached at right angles to these diagonals. After the legs are screwed to the upper and lower braces sandpaper the entire stool. Do this lengthwise to the grain, never across. Then stain and wax. VI WHAT THE GIRLS MADE WINTER EVENINGS While the boys were making their pieces of garden apparatus the girls were at work also. They met with The Chief at Katharine's house and made a number of pieces of garden apparatus. The directions for making these are given so that other children may make some too. DIRECTIONS FOR MAKING SEED ENVELOPES Cut paper 7-1/2 in. by 5-3/4 in.; place it the long way of the paper going from front to back of the desk or table at which you work. Measure from the upper left corner down 1-3/4 in., and place point 1; 3-1/4 in. farther down place point 2. Measure from the upper right corner down 1-3/4 in. and place point 3; 3-1/4 in. farther down place point 4. Measure from the upper left corner toward the right 1-1/4 in. and place point 5; 3-3/4 in. farther toward the right place point 6. Measure from the lower left corner toward the right 1-1/4 in., and place point 7; 3-3/4 in. farther toward the right place point 8. [Illustration: PATTERN FOR SEED ENVELOPE Katharine made this seed envelope of rather stiff paper So it was of real service] Draw dotted lines through 1 and 3, 2 and 4, 5 and 7, 6 and 8. Measure 1/4 in. toward the right from points 5 and 7 and place a dot. Draw full lines toward the left to the intersection of the dotted lines. Measure 1/4 in. down from 1 and 3, and place dots. Draw full lines upward to the intersection of the dotted lines. Measure 1/4 in. up from points 2 and 4, place dots, and draw full lines downward to the intersection of the dotted lines. Draw a full line from points 6 and 8 to the intersection of dotted lines. Cut on full lines. Fold on dotted lines. Fold A, B, and C, in this order, and paste, leaving D for flap to be pasted down when the envelope has been filled with seeds. DIMENSIONS OF MARKERS The right marker is 3-1/2 in. long. The distance from head to central point of notch is 1/2 in. The distance between notches, or from the central point of one notch across the marker to the central point of the other, is 3/8 in. The width is 1/2 in. and the thickness 1/8 in. The middle marker is 4-1/2 in. long, 1/2 in. wide, and 1-1/16 in. thick. Allow about 5/8 in. for the pointing at the end. The left marker is rather larger and stronger; it, too, may be pointed and not notched, so acting as a good pot-marker. Make it 5 ins. long, 7/8 in. wide, and 3/15 in. thick. The line between the notches measures 5/8 in. and is 1 in. from the top of the marker. [Illustration: Such labels as these, made of thin wood, serve as plant labels as well as being useful in the outdoor garden] A GARDEN SIEVE--MATERIALS 2 small boards 13 x 2-1/2 x 1/2 in. 2 small boards 7 x 2-1/2 x 1/2 in. 2 strips of wood 12 x 1/2 x 1/4 in. 2 strips of wood 8 x 1/2 x 1/4 in. Fine wire netting 13 x 8 in. [Illustration: Josephine's box had too limited a drainage area] [Illustration: Make a flat like this one of Eloise's and so provide plenty of drainage space] Make the framework of a box without a lid, using the 13-inch pieces for the sides and 7-inch pieces for ends, putting the ends between the side pieces. Use the wire netting for the bottom of the box, nailing it on with the strips of wood. Paint the sieve with two coats of dark green paint. A BULB FLAT The dimensions of the box are the same as those for the sieve except for the depth, which is three inches instead of two and a half inches. Of course the bottom is wood with three drainage holes bored in it. A flat may be constructed without the drainage holes as shown in the cut. In this case make the bottom of small pieces of wood leaving an inch space between each piece. This is Eloise's kind of a bulb box. A GATHERING BASKET FOR FLOWERS The materials needed are: 8 spokes, 10 ins. long, of number 6 reed. 3 weavers of number 2 reed. 12 weavers of number 3 reed. 31 spokes, 20 in. long, of number 4 reed. _Directions_.--Split four spokes of number 6 reed exactly in the centre, and slip the remaining four through the slits in the first group. [Illustration: This is the basket made and used by Katharine. It is a gathering basket just right for fruit and short-stemmed flowers] Double a number 2 weaver and slip the loop over the upper vertical group and with the pairing weave go around each group four times. Next, separate the spokes in groups of two and continue the pairing weave until four more rows have been woven in. Then separate the spokes by ones and weave until the diameter is 4-1/2 in. Cut all off that remains of the number 2 weaver, and insert 3 weavers of number 3 reed. Continue with the triple weave to a diameter of 9 in. Cut off the ends of the spokes and insert 31 spokes, 20 in. long, of number 4 reed; one on each side of the spokes, except the first; in this instance insert but one. Use the side which has been next the weaver for the inside of the basket, letting rough ends come on the outside of the basket. Turn the spokes up, and hold in place with one row of quadruple, weave over three spokes and back of one, using the number 3 reed. With the same reed put in eleven rows of plain weave, over one spoke and under the next. Next, one row of quadruple and follow with seven rows of double weave, over two and under one, and finish with one row of quadruple weave. For the first row of the border carry number 1 spoke back to number 2 spoke, or the next spoke at the right, and out; number 2 spoke back of number 3, and out. Continue once around the basket. For the second row carry number 1 spoke over number 2 and 3, and down; number 2 over 3 and 4 and down, and so on around. For the third row carry number 1 over number 2 and down; number 2 over number 3 and down. This may be continued until you have formed a roll over the entire edge. If handles are desired, on each side of the basket insert a piece of number 9 reed for the foundation of these. The end of a number 3 weaver is woven in at the left of the foundation under the third row from the top of the basket, and the long end of the weaver is twisted around the foundation to the other side of the handle. Here it is pushed down inside the basket on one side of the handle and over again on the other side of the handle, three rows from the top, making a loop inside. The weaver is then laid close beside the first twist and follows it across to the opposite side. Now it goes in under the third row on the left of the handle and out on the right side. Each row of twisting must follow close beside the last. Six or seven rows will cover the foundation. The end is fastened off by bringing it inside the basket again where it is cut off. This flower basket may be made without the handles. But they add much to it without being a great deal of extra work. A SUNDIAL Take two pieces of the wood you have chosen: A, 6-1/2 x 6-1/2 x 1/4 in. and B, 7 x 7-1/2 x 1/4 in. _Construction_.--True up each piece to the given dimensions, and sandpaper carefully. Be careful to stroke the wood always with the grain--never across the fibres. [Illustration: Dee's sundial kept fairly accurate time. It is a real ornament to the garden.] [Illustration: Gnomon pattern just one-half actual size] Next make a shadow-piece, or gnomon, as it is called. Get a thin piece of the same kind of wood as is used in piece A, and lay it out as follows: With the fibres running in the direction AB, beginning at point A construct an angle equal to the latitude of the place where the dial is to be used. For example, if the latitude of a town is 41 degrees construct the angle D 41 degrees, or if it is 42 degrees, let D be 42 degrees. Then cut from A to C, and sandpaper carefully. Take the wooden shadow-piece and fasten it to the centre of piece A. Fasten by two brads or small nails about 3/4 inch or 1 inch long, or glue it. Place piece A over piece B so that a margin of 1/4 in. will be left on all sides. Place A so that the fibres will run at right angles to B to prevent the boards from warping. These two pieces may be fastened together by driving a brad in each corner, or gluing, or both. POT-REST Use almost any kind of wood, as white wood, cherry or white oak. Two pieces of wood 8 x 1/2 x 1-1/2 in. are needed for the cross pieces. These should be planed. There are needed also four little pieces as feet or pads. The dimensions of these should be 1-1/2 x 1-1/2 x 1/2 in. To make this stand, draw a line across the two long pieces 4 inches from either end. Lay off two other lines parallel to this 5/8 inch to the right and left. Transfer these lines down the edges by the aid of the try square. Saw on the inside of these lines down one half the thickness, or 1/4 inch. Chisel out for a half-lap joint. [Illustration: A pot-rest like the above is worth making because it lasts] The sawing and chiseling should be done carefully. It is necessary to saw on the inside of the lines or a loose joint will be had. Doubling the passage of the saw through the wood will often make the difference of 1/8 inch. After these are made to fit, the upper ends may be rounded down by chisel and compasses, or bevelled, using the plane. Use 7/8-inch brads or finishing nails, four in each pad or foot to fasten pads to the arms. The pads should project 1/8 inch from ends and sides. To finish the work nicely so the rest will both look well and stand exposure, apply a suitable stain. Allow it to stand at least thirty minutes. Then rub down with a cloth to an even stain. It is better to allow the stain to stand a day or so. This gives time for the stain to set before applying the wax. Otherwise, some of the stain will be loosened and removed when waxing and a lighter shade of stain will result. PLANT JARDINI�RE The measurements are easy since the scale is one-half inch. That is, as you measure the line in the working plan you allow one whole inch for every one-half inch you measure on that. So, if a line measures three and one-half inches, make the line for your box seven inches. This is the real height of the box. Notice some lines have their real measures given at the side. Directions for making are as follows: Fold a piece of paper large enough for one of the sides and sketch one-half the outline on one of the folds. Cut to line and then draw the other half. This will give perfect balance. Cut two pieces of wood from this pattern by placing it on the wood and tracing. [Illustration: From the ruler you can read off the exact size of the jardinière] Draw a line parallel to each side 3/8 inch in on the pattern for a new pattern for the other two sides. These sides will need to be 3/4 inch narrower, 3/8 inch on each side, as they must fit between the other two sides. If wood of different thickness is used it will be double the thickness. Use a coping saw to cut out the base. The tapering sides may be cut to lines by saw, plane or chisel. The curve at the base may be bored by 1/2-inch auger, and in this way a better curve may be had. [Illustration: Helena used a scale of 1/2 inch in the construction of this jardinière So the plan is very easy to work from] Use 1-1/4-inch brads or finishing nails. A little glue added will make a firmer box. A much larger box after the same pattern will make a beautiful holder for a larger plant or shrub, using, of course, thicker wood. Two small cleats should be nailed and glued from the inside to support a bottom. The bottom will give better service if it does not entirely fill the space. Let it be the proper length but allow a space of an inch on both sides for dirt and leaves to fall through and out. Chestnut was the wood Helena used. It was stained and later waxed and polished. A beautiful permanent brown stain may be had on chestnut or white oak by applying strong ammonia to it with a brush and later sandpapering down and waxing. White wood is another good wood to use, but a stain will have to be applied to white wood, as ammonia will not act on it. A strong solution of permanganate of potash put on with a brush will darken any wood; it has no fumes. VII IMPROVING THE SCHOOL GROUNDS During the first days of early spring The Chief and his boy assistants looked over the school grounds to see what should be done for its improvement. The school was situated on a triangular piece of land right in the fork of two roads. The land was elevated; so much so that the building stood on a real slope; it was practically a road bank. This slope was washed by spring rains leaving large rocks exposed to view. The country road was especially poor at this section. There were deep gullies in it; the gutters were full of leaves and rock. About the school building was a comparatively level spot covered with rock. No trees grew here; a little grass struggled up each year, soon to lose heart and die. "It seems to me," said Albert thrusting his hands deep down into his pockets, "that we have our life work here." "Not at all," announced The Chief, "this is just the sort of thing which confronts most country schools." Sitting on a rock The Chief gathered his clan in solemn conclave. At the close of the conference Jay marched into the schoolhouse and wrote the following headings on the board: I. Constructing a wall to form an embankment. II. Cleaning the grounds and making a lawn. III. Planting of trees. IV. Preparation and planting of the flower garden. V. Cleaning and mending the road. These headings represented the general lines of work the conclave had decided were the right ones, the most pressing ones to begin on. First all the stones were picked up. The smaller boys and girls made little heaps of the small stones, while the larger rocks, requiring strength to move, were left to the older boys and girls. To some rocks the boys were obliged to take the pickaxe and crowbar. These were rolled, dragged and carted to the gutter at the bottom of the bank. A sand bank of this description where the wash is great always needs an embankment of some sort to hold the soil in place. So the boys built a stone wall. They made this wall of the stones picked from the grounds. First the height was decided on. This was to be two feet. They drove stakes, one at the beginning, and so on for every five feet of extent. After leveling, two inches was measured from top of each stake down and a cord was strung along from stake to stake. Previously, to be sure that the stakes were at the same level, one of the boys, squatting down on the ground so that his eye was on a level with the stake nearest him, looked or "sighted" along the stakes. Where one stake seemed to rise up above the others it was hammered down a little to fall into line. Thus a straight line or top level for the wall was obtained. The wall itself was not difficult to build. It meant only the selection of stones and firming them into place. Close to the wall there was a strip of level land; then the slope arose from this quite gently. After the stones were picked off the boys raked the ground all over fine, free from lumps and small stones. One evening in the village store George's father offered to plough and harrow the entire grounds if Jack's father would give the grass seed. The bargain was sealed. But after all, this sandy soil was no sort of soil to plant grass seed in. The father of one of the girls gave to the school a few loads of good soil. This was spread over the slope to a depth of about a foot. Again they raked it all over smooth, filling in and making as pleasing a grade as possible. The Chief told them it would have been far better if they could have had two feet of good soil. Grass needs all of that. Another way to have improved the soil conditions would have been to plant corn or potatoes on this ground for one year. With such a crop the boys and girls would have been constantly working it, stirring it up. This improves soil. After the soil was spread the next thing was to make it firm. This was done in three ways. One day the teacher decided that for gymnastic work they might all turn out and tramp the soil. Up the bank they stamped, then down by the old drive to the road again, and up the bank. Another way was by using tamping sticks. The boys made these sticks from old broom handles, to the ends of which they fitted solid pieces of board about ten inches square. Some were merely nailed upon the ends of the broom handle; but this method was insecure. The others were made with holes in the centre of the boards of the same diameter as the handles. These sticks were used to tamp the soil or spank it down. But on the day when an old farmer, stopping to watch the work, offered his roller, there was great rejoicing. Between classes, during recesses and at any odd time the slope was rolled. One boy in the very beginning pushed the roller but not after that, for when it was explained to him he understood why he should pull the roller. First, because pulled there are no foot prints left; and secondly, one slips and makes bad places on the lawn when pushing. Next came the seed sowing. The allowance of seed was one quart to each 300 square feet. Jack's father chuckled when his son refused absolutely the variety he offered him. "No, sir, I do not wish Kentucky Blue Grass. It takes three years to get good results from it. The results are all right." "Thanks," murmured the highly entertained father. "We can't wait three years, we must have speedy results. I wish a recleaned mixture, and no chaff in it." "Very well, young man, I wish to know two things: First, where did you get your knowledge? And second, where does my pay come in?" "The Chief told me what book to read to understand about lawns. As for the pay, you made your bargain with George's father. Anyway I should think it would be pay enough to see a fine lawn in a public place made from your grass seed." "Right you are, young man. Go on, read and read. But remember to work as well." They chose a rather cloudy day for the planting, and a day when the wind did not blow. Grass seed is so fine it will blow all about if the wind is stirring. Grass seed is sown broadcast, that is, scattered by the hand. It is not sown in drills. It was a pleasure to watch the sowing, for it was done right. First, the sowing hand was held low, the person stooping down. Some seed was taken with the fingers. Then the sowing arm was swung freely in a semi-circle. After going over the ground once, a second sowing was made at right angles to the first. A second relay of boys and girls came out and raked the sown ground all over. A third relay then rolled the ground. Do you see that there was little opportunity then for the seed being blown off the surface of the ground? The children were delighted when a gentle rain, followed by several warm days came right after the sowing. A soaking rain or a series of cold damp days might have spoiled the work. The only way to have a good lawn from a poor piece of land is to do a thorough piece of work. Patching up means constant patching. The paths and driveway to the school were just rock masses. The first thing was to clear out all the rock. Then loads of ashes were brought from the houses of the different children. All the parents were glad to get rid of the ash-dumps in the backyards. All kinds of carts were brought into use. For a week no boy dared appear without a load of ashes. All these ashes were dumped into the drive and paths. Then the whole ash layer was rolled and rolled. It finally made a good solid kind of walk. It was the business of the tree-planting committee to have two saplings ready by Arbor Day and to know themselves just how to plant. In the start of this work, committees had been formed. Now these committees were supposed to know exactly how to do the work and to procure the necessary material for it. It was not the duty of the committee to do all the work; by no means, or the others would not have known how to work. Two trees were to be planted, one little maple near the building; another, a buttonball tree, down on the lower grade. A maple was chosen because it was easy to get from the woods and also because the maple is such a good all-round tree. Then later, because of a cold wind exposure on one side of the schoolhouse it was decided to plant a screen of little poplar trees. This was to shut off an unsightly view which could not be remedied in any other way. One of the girls on the tree committee suggested a poplar in place of the maple. She was voted down. Now if quick results had been wished, of course the poplar would have been the tree to have chosen. That was why the poplars were chosen for screening purposes. But for permanence the maple, the oak, the buttonball are all better. The poplar shoots up quickly, to be sure, but again it sheds its leaves early in the season. Its life is not as long as the oak's. There are more reasons, too. But if you must have quick results, here is a trick. Plant first a poplar then a maple or some other tree and so on. Later the poplars may be cut out and you have left the fine sturdy, long-lived trees. At the same time the poplars have tided over that in-between period. We sometimes weary of waiting for an oak to grow sizable. The tree planting was left until May because of the state Arbor Day. The maple and buttonball or plane-tree were dug up by the boys in the woods the morning of Arbor Day. The trees were chosen from a rather open part of the wood. It is better to choose trees from the open places than from the denser woods. Trees thus selected are far more likely to grow on being transplanted into a place similar to that from which they came. The boys chose trees about five feet tall. The smaller the tree the better. The following directions were the ones agreed upon: (1) Dig a hole large enough and deep enough to accommodate the roots without cramping. Allow so that the tree shall sit one inch lower than it did before. (2) Place the topsoil on one side of the hole; on the other the poorer subsoil. If the topsoil is very poor, get some good, rich, black soil. (3) Place good soil in the bottom of the hole. (4) Put the tree on this layer, spreading the roots out carefully. (5) Shovel rich soil over the roots. See that it goes in between the roots. Don't be afraid to use your fingers for this work. (6) The poorer soil goes in on top. (7) Tramp the soil down with your feet, making firm about the tree trunk. (8) If the planting comes late in the warm weather make the soil into a soft mud with plenty of water, in this form washing it in between and about the roots, all roots and rootlets come in direct contact with the mud. (9) Last of all cut the tree back, shortening the larger branches about one-quarter their length. After planting the boys kept the trees soaked with water, thus making it possible for the young saplings to have plenty of water. As the spring went on the little maple prospered but the plane-tree started to put out a few sickly looking leaves and finally died in midsummer. Just what was the trouble? Supposedly these two trees were planted according to the same directions. It finally came out that the boys who planted the plane-tree had not cut off the bruised rootlets. These rootlets being in a bad condition rotted and affected the entire root. Another mistake was the failure of the boys to put the good soil about the roots, and they had made the hole a little too small for the entire root area. Well, it simply went to show that such a piece of work must be done right and carefully, if success is to be certain. These were the reasons why our boys lost one of their Arbor Day trees. The Chief told the children that it might have been done over then, but that spring was the better time, because the transplanted tree has the good long feeding season ahead of it, and therefore has an opportunity to get over the shock and to get accustomed to its new surroundings before winter is on. Trees planted in the fall should not be cut back. Leave this until the next spring. The children wished later that they had used something else for a screen. The poplar trees grew fast but of course did not fill out as evergreens and shrubs do. So, after all, the hedge of shrubs would have acted as a better screen. Had they chosen evergreens these would have made a better wind-break in the winter season for the exposure was north, cold, and windy. Such work, though, is worth while, because we learn so many better ways of doing things. The flower garden was almost entirely the girls' work. In the first place the school had no money. Seeds do cost something. But the amount of seed which can be purchased for one dollar is amazing. Peter's grandfather, hearing of the school's needs, gave a dollar. This was money enough to buy seeds of ageratum, zinnia, dwarf nasturtium, California poppy and verbena besides some others. Most schools have interested friends. All along the sides and front of the schoolhouse close to the building the nasturtiums were planted. The ground was hard packed. The plough had left the soil untouched near the building. So the boys spaded this up. All the stone was picked out. Good soil was brought from the woods, fertilizer from the barn and it was all worked thoroughly in. Stakes had to be made. An easy stake to make is one from a lath. Mark off 18-inch lengths or such lengths as are required. Make one end pointed for about six inches; sandpaper. You have a good stake, that is, a good temporary one. These were driven in to the outer edge of these nasturtium strips at distances of four feet and strung with three cords four inches apart. The cords should be carried about the stakes in a groove made for this purpose. Thus the cord will be held and not slip up or down. Thus strung off, border beds will not be stepped on or run over by cats and dogs. The nasturtiums were planted four inches apart, in drills one foot apart. Just two rows were planted. The first row was six inches from the front edge, then a foot space left, then another drill. Finally one foot was left between that and the foundation of the building. The girls of the fourth grade made the drills with the hoe handle. The children of the first and second grades cut out pieces of paper in inch lengths. Four of these placed along in a row gave the right distance for planting the seeds. The nasturtium seeds were soaked over night. And since the soil was warm and mellow, it helped. Along the walks ageratum was planted in the following manner to serve as a border. A drill was made as if for lettuce planting. The seeds were sown in the same way as for that vegetable. When the plants were an inch high they were thinned to six inches apart. The zinnia was planted according to Helen's way of planting and told by her under the girls' planting in a later chapter. The verbenas, as the other flowers, were planted in early May. They were planted one-fourth inch deep and six inches apart in drills one foot apart. The poppy bed was made fine, very fine, by much raking. Then the seed was sown as the grass seed was, that is, by the method we term broadcast sowing. These plants were thinned later so as to stand about eight inches apart. But the plants thinned out were not used again, for these poppies will not stand transplanting. This bed was simply one gorgeous red in August. In the early spring days the gutters were cleaned out thoroughly. The road patching was quite a different matter. These country roads, like those of many places, were just dirt roads. Now earth is poor material for road construction. But if drainage is properly looked out for, and the earth road is smooth from rolling, earth roads make, after all, fine roads for summer travel. It was suggested that rock be filled in, and the earth over this. But when the boys considered how deep cuts would be formed in such a mend by wagon wheels, this was given up. Then it was decided to fill in with layers of rock mass. Myron brought a load of slate for this purpose. But slate, while it makes a smooth road, does not stand wet weather well. So Myron had to return his slate to the road-side bed from which he had taken it. Then The Chief told the children briefly about road materials; how soft limestone makes too weak roads for loads, how easily they wash and wear; how granite, because of its being made up of several materials, is poor, too; how flint and quartz, while hard, are brittle, and are not sufficiently tough; and that sandstone was impossible. Then he told them that good gravel, tough limestone and trap-rock were good road materials. Roads need materials having hardness, toughness and cementing qualities. By taking a trip to a gravel bed, some three miles out of town, the boys were able to get gravel for their patchwork. They did not merely fill in the breaks but dug out the road bed straight across wherever a break occurred until they came to good road. Coarse gravel was put at the bottom up to six inches of the top surface. This was packed down and rolled. At the same time it was watered until mud rose or flushed over the top surface. Finally pebbles from about a half-inch size to coarse sand were laid on and rolled thoroughly. This is the way these lads fixed one piece of poor roadway. It happened that one of the farmers near by tethered his cow on the school grounds during the summer. One of the girls gave a workable solution for this problem. This was it: the boys should come back in relays all summer long and keep the grass so short that no cow could get a nibble from their new lawn. This was done and it worked. When the subject of the care of the flower garden arose it was easily settled. The girls gladly divided themselves off into committees. Each committee's business was that of weeding, picking and distributing the flowers. The prophecy that there would be blossoms enough to supply the homes, the churches and the sick proved true. To be sure the garden did not look so well in the fall as in early summer, but it took only a short time to fix up the grounds when school re-opened. Plans were made for another spring during the first weeks of school. The lawn would need a little more work done on it, an oak should be planted, a group of shrubs put in. But the foundation work had been done. And one day when the news was brought that the town was going to put the first strip of real macadam road by the schoolhouse, a deafening shout went up. VIII MYRON'S STRAWBERRY BED One fine day in early April Myron spaded up his strawberry bed. The bed was made in a sunny spot, on moist but not soggy soil, land excellent for strawberry culture because the year before it was part of a potato field. Following The Chief's advice he had spread over the bed only a very light covering of well-rotted manure. Myron first measured off his garden bed driving stakes in at the four corners. Then he strung off the bed with stout garden cord. "Now," he said to himself, "I know exactly what I have to do." Then going to one corner of the space with his back toward all the rest of the bed he began his work. [Illustration: Photographs by Edward Mahoney The Way the Chief Taught His Boys to Handle Tools] He had a fine spading fork which he had bought a few days before. Grasping the top of the handle with his right hand, with the left midway down the handle, he pressed the prongs of the fork with his left foot vertically into the ground. Then lowering the top of the handle toward the ground and backward, he slipped his left hand down the handle to about a foot from the prongs, and drew up the spading fork with earth on it. This earth he threw a little forward and with the prongs broke up the lumps. He continued this until all the work was done. Then he looked at his spading fork, his brand new fork, and found the prongs quite bent, "The Chief told us to buy decent tools, but I thought I'd save a little money. Well, I'll break up some of these lumps a bit with my hoe and see how that will stand a little work." The land Myron's father had given him was very good indeed, rich and light, so that work of lump breaking was really very slight, yet it made the new hoe-blade rattle in its socket. After this work had been thoroughly done the boy took his rake and started making fine the soil for the bed. Myron had learned well how to handle his tools. These lessons of handling tools The Chief had taught the boys for he felt that a tool should be a skilful instrument in the hand. "A gardener should wield his hoe as well as a surgeon does his scalpel," The Chief had often said. So the boys were proud of really knowing how to work. After looking proudly at the fine, smooth bed the boy shouldered his tools and marched off to the village. [Illustration: The crosses show where Myron set the strawberry plants. The dotted lines signify the plantings of succession crops] Do not think that you can save money by purchasing poor tools. It is quite impossible, because always one has either to buy new and better ones, or mend and remend the poor ones. The lad found out that a good trowel costs at least 50 cents although a smaller one called a transplanting trowel may be had for 15 cents; cast steel rake, 50 cents (10 teeth), 75 cents (14 teeth); hoe, 50 cents; Dutch hoe, four inches, 40 cents; spading fork, $1.25, and weeder 10 cents. That afternoon armed with cord, stakes, a tape, and the plan of the bed, Myron started to mark it off for the plants. After tacking his plan up on the fence post he began the measuring. The piece of ground was 5-3/4 feet wide by 6 feet long. Beginning at one edge of the garden he measured in six inches along the width. The same thing was done from the opposite edge. Stakes were driven in at these two points and a cord stretched between. The same thing was done from the other two ends. So Myron had two cords extending down the length of his garden each six inches from the edge of the patch. These cords are lettered A A and D D in his plan. B B is 15 inches from A A; C C is 15 inches from D D. The next thing was to get the position of each plant in the bed. This is the way it was done: beginning with A A, measure from the upper stake nine inches down the line and place a small stake. This is the place to set the first plant. From this, measure and place stakes at one-foot distances. There will be five plants down the line. Down B B, measure fifteen inches and place a stake. This gives the position for the first plant, then, as before, place stakes at one-foot intervals. C C is marked off similar to A A; and D D to B B. In all Myron then had places for twenty plants. As the work was finished Myron looked up to see Jack's face peeping over the fence. "How do you like my strawberry bed?" "It's all right," Jack replied, "especially the strawberry plants. They look very promising." "Quit your fooling, and come in and see this bed face to." As Jack went over the fence he stopped to look at the plan. "I say, Myron, this shows a plan's of some use to a man. What do you mean by succession crops?" "That stands for the sort of seed you keep sowing at intervals and so getting several crops a season. I shall put in radish and lettuce. I am to supply our own table all summer. Father is not going to sow either of these. He is depending on me." The trip to Longmeadow Farm for strawberry plants was one of pleasure and profit to Myron. The boys used to say that while old Mr. Mills had a crust inches deep, underneath this he was as fine as the strawberries he raised. I. Constructing a wall to form an embankment. II. Cleaning the grounds and making a lawn. III. Planting of trees. IV. Preparation and planting of the flower garden. V. Cleaning and mending the road. "Strawberry plants are worth," said the old gentleman, "about two cents apiece. I will give you your plants if you will do two things. First, during this season, you are to pinch all the blossoms as they appear, off the plants. Secondly, I wish to experiment with a new variety of berry to see if it is good for this locality. I wish you to take five of these plants and try the experiment with me. Do you agree?" "Certainly. But can't I leave just one blossom on each plant to see what the fruit is like?" And also leave one entire row blossoming as it will?" "Yes, that will be all right. The reason for pinching off the blossoms the first year is to save the strength of the young plant. Otherwise it all goes to fruit forming. It pays to do this, because the second year you will have a good yield. Remember that strawberries which flourish in certain localities may fail utterly in others. That is why you and I are experimenting with this new berry. I am going to give you five plants of Marshall, five of Nick Ohmer, and five of Brandywine. Remember, shorten back the roots three inches before you plant. I shall be around to see your strawberry bed. Remember to cultivate after every rain, and in between times, too." "Thank you, and good-bye," said the boy. Myron set his plants after the following fashion: he dug trenches along the cord lines previously marked out. Then the roots were shortened. To plant, hold the plant against one side of the trench just as Myron did, as illustrated in one of the pictures. Then push the earth in from the other side and press firmly in place. The plants should sit so that their crowns are even with the top of the ground. When Mr. Mills came to see that bed he found two or three plants badly placed. Care must be taken in the placing. The days after planting were very hot so Myron covered the plants with straw to protect them from the heat. As the season advanced the little plants sent out runners. These were immediately cut off. If they had not been, they would have become entangled and thus formed what is called a matted row. Some people cultivate strawberries this way. But Myron's way, the hill culture, while it means constant attention, is perhaps a better method. One day, old Mr. Mills took Myron on a little trip with him to a farm where a man was cultivating berries by the matted row method and doing it in a very slovenly way. "It taught me a lesson," the boy told his mother that evening, "that lazy methods are pretty bad." Once or twice that season he sprinkled wood ashes on the ground of the bed. Just a little should be sprinkled on, as one sprinkles salt on a potato. Soil gives food to a plant. This food is nitrogen in various forms, potash and phosphorus. Sometimes we help the soil supply one or more of these chemicals. The wood ash adds a little extra potash which is very good for the strawberry. It turned out after a second year that the new variety gave very small and flavourless berries. So the old gentleman and Myron wasted no more space on that variety. The second year Myron obtained excellent results. From some of his plants he got one quart of berries each, during the season. That was good, but no better than a strawberry plant should do under good cultivation. As far as his lettuce and radish went there was nothing new or startling in his experience. He tried this little trick of lettuce sowing with some success: Instead of sprinkling the seed in the drill, he placed each seed separately and four inches apart. By this method one need not transplant to get good heads. He tried the Black Tennis Ball seed. This forms a good head. Did you ever try the Icicle radish? Myron recommends it. It is long and white and so gets its name. Along with the radish he planted parsley. This is a good way to do as these vegetables do not interfere one with the other. "Grow any more lettuce and radish?" exclaimed Myron's father one evening in the village store, "not while I have a boy who can do it as Myron can. He beats me all right. And I am glad." IX JACK'S ALL-ROUND GARDEN Just as soon as the ground was workable Jack set his coldframe. He chose a southern exposure, back of the barn, so that the frame should sit up against the stone foundation of the I. Constructing a wall to form an embankment. II. Cleaning the grounds and making a lawn. III. Planting of trees. IV. Preparation and planting of the flower garden. V. Cleaning and mending the road. building. First he dug down about a foot deep. As he dug, he knocked up the lumps and picked out the stone. Then he went to the barn and got a barrow load of horse manure, not fresh, but old, rotted manure. This he very carefully mixed in with the soil already made fine. "Now I shall put the frame on. Come, Elizabeth, and give me a lift with this." After some tugging the frame was set. "I thought frames were usually sunk in the ground," commented Elizabeth. "I shall do that this fall and make a real hotbed out of it. You see this spring I just want to give my seeds a little extra start. That's why I made the soil so rich and so deep. Now I am going to bank the frame about with manure. Then I shall put dirt over that. You see I get some extra heat that way. Just see the fine slope of the glass. I guess Old Sun will get caught all right." Jack busily banked the frame, spanking the fertilizer down hard with the back of his spade. He sloped it up some four inches along the sides and front. "Now I am going to make drills for my seed. In the first partition I shall plant lettuce and tomato; then pepper and onion go in, and the third is for flower seed." Jack bent over the frame, and began to scratch lengthwise of the beds with the edge of his trowel. Red-faced from bending over, and hot from his former exertion, his trouser knees covered with earth and manure, he stood off and looked at his work. "I'm precious glad Elizabeth has gone, for if those aren't the worst, crookedest old rows I ever saw." And so they were. They were all distances apart, of different depths and entirely untidy-looking. Jack picked up his rake and again raked the little beds over, so that no trace of his poor work was left. Then he found a board which stretched across the frame widthwise, so that he could kneel upon this and work to advantage in the bed. He next whittled out two little pointed sticks to act as stakes, and tying to these a piece of cord just the right length for the drills, he was ready for work. With one stake stuck in the bed at the upper end, the other at the lower, the cord between gave Jack a good string line for the drill. Then, with the end of a small round stick held close against the taut line, the drill was made. So he continued making drills at distances of four inches apart. Pouring out some lettuce seed in his hand, Jack began to sprinkle it rather unevenly in the first little drill. Elizabeth, having returned, stood by watching and shaking her head. "I didn't know you were here. You make me nervous," began Jack. "I feel more nervous than you possibly can, for you are wasting seed and sowing in a poor way. See, here you have a little pile of seed, and there you have none," and Elizabeth bent eagerly over the bed. "Well, if you think you can do better, just try this next drill." Jack straightened up, and gave way to Elizabeth. "Wait a minute," and Elizabeth ran into the house. Soon she came out with some small seed envelopes in her hand. From the bag of lettuce seed--for Jack had bought his seed by bulk--Elizabeth poured some into a small envelope. Then by shaking the envelope she carefully and sparingly sowed the lettuce in the drill. "I say, that is good!" said Jack admiringly. "Now I'll do some myself." "I should think you would wish only one more row; then have a row, or perhaps two, to transplant in. For I believe you'll have to prick out the plants before the garden is ready." "You talk like the real thing, Elizabeth. What do you mean by pricking out?" "Why, pricking is just lifting out the seedlings with a pointed stick from one row to another, or from a box or hotbed into the outside garden. What else are you going to plant, Jack?" "I thought I'd put in--say two rows of tomatoes, one row of onions, and one of peppers. In the third partition I'd start asters. I just love asters. So I've made up my mind to make a kind of specialty of these." "That's fine! May I help?" "You certainly may, for you are a help." Elizabeth chuckled away to herself, for Jack evidently was not questioning where she got her knowledge. "It seems to me," she rather timidly suggested, "that it would look more shipshape to label these rows, and put in little sticks where each row begins and ends." "Well now, that is a fine suggestion." So Jack stuck in some little sticks he got from the woodshed. Elizabeth did not dare offer some nicely made little markers laid away in her desk for future use. She feared those would call forth questions. Jack brought out a hammer and tacks. Then writing the names of the seeds on the little envelopes Elizabeth had brought out, he tacked one over each row onto the inside of the frame. They both stood off and admired the work. Warm days Jack opened the frame, at first only a little, and later, wide open for all day. One night he forgot to close it, and a slight frost made a sorry looking set of seedlings next morning. He lost every single plant except a few little asters, which were protected by the inner partition of the frame. These seedlings he watered at intervals all day. This was at Elizabeth's suggestion. By this treatment these were saved. So Jack, sadder and wiser, started over again. When the lettuce plants had four little leaves Jack, with Elizabeth's help, transplanted some into the drills left for them. When they were larger yet, they transplanted the lettuce to the real garden. This is the way they did it. In the first place the children chose a cloudy day for the work. A cloudy day is far better than a bright sunny one because bright sun is too strong for little lettuces which have been disturbed from their places and put into new ones. To transplant, dig up a number of plants and plenty of earth with them. Use a trowel for this work, gently lifting plants and earth. A drill may be made; or, perhaps better yet, make holes with the dibber. Pour a little water into the hole. Then gently separate a plant taking as much soil with it as you can keep on its roots. Place the little plant in the hole or drill, and cover the roots with soil. With the fingers press the soil firmly about the plant. Water the earth, not the leaves of the plant. Next day, and for several days, cover the transplanted plants with strawberry baskets. These are far better than newspaper coverings, because light and air freely come through the crevices of the basket. The newspaper makes a covering too tight and close for the tender lettuces. Between plants the children left six inches. Jack raised Boston lettuce. He not only had enough for his mother all summer long, but sold some, too. The way he happened to sell it was merely an accident. Not far from the village was a large summer hotel. One day the proprietor had driven around to the house to see Jack's father on business. As the men were talking Jack and Elizabeth came from the garden with two fine heads of lettuce. "Have you any more lettuce than what you can use yourself?" asked the proprietor, after feeling of the heads of lettuce and admiring the good firm centres. "Yes," replied Jack, "I have now, and shall have all along, more than we can use. You see I keep making sowings every ten days in the coldframe, and transplanting." "I'll take all the extra lettuce you have at five cents a head. That is what I pay all summer long for it. To-morrow bring me up what you can." "Thank you, sir. Ten heads will walk up to-morrow." "The first time I've ever heard of heads walking," laughed Jack's father, well pleased with his lad. But we are away ahead of the story, for we have planted and sold lettuce before Jack has had a chance to really make his garden. The soil in the backyard was very poor, so Jack decided to cultivate only a strip twenty feet long and eight feet wide. He dug out all the soil to the depth of two feet. His father lent him the use of a horse and wagon, and gave him from the barns whatever fertilizer he needed. The digging was a long, tedious piece of work. It was hard, too; but the boy kept at it. Any piece of land can be used if a boy has a mind to work hard over it. Some of the poorest of the soil was carted off, then into the top of the remaining soil he mixed the old manure. Then into the garden space six inches of manure was spread, and over this was filled in the old top soil and fertilizer, that mixture which he had previously prepared. About one foot of this was put in. Jack's father lent him the horse again and the services of a man. They drove to the Longmeadow Farm and got a load of top soil. Old Mr. Mills said he would give the soil if Jack could answer three garden questions correctly. "All right," said the boy, "you'll probably knock me over, for I don't know much about gardening, but I'm trying hard." "Question number one: suppose your backyard had been clay soil--what would you have done with it then?" "I should have mixed in sand, using about one-quarter the amount of sand as I had of clay." "Good! Question number two: suppose you had no sand--what then?" "I'd have used ashes; old clinkers I guess would be best. Everyone has ashes." "Question number three: what is the object of mixing sand or coal ashes or clinkers with clay." "The reason is to break up the clay. Clay bakes hard, becomes sticky, and little air or light gets into it. Ash or sand breaks it up. I think that's about all I know about this." "The soil is yours, young man, I shall be around to see your garden some day. Remember good gardening means working your muscles hard." "Thank you, Mr. Mills. By the way my arms and legs ache, I guess I know about muscles." "And remember too," continued Mr. Mills, "that certain vegetables are very closely related and will intermingle. For example, do not plant different kinds of corn close together. The pollen from one kind will fertilize another kind and so you get a crossing which results in a mongrel sort of corn. Melons and cucumbers will do the same thing. And so care must be taken in order that this sort of intermingling does not take place. You see, Jack, that there are many things a real good gardener has to consider. Gardening is not only a matter of soil preparation but it is also a matter of understanding plants and their relations one to the other." So the good soil was put on and Jack was ready for business. Straight across the back was planted a row of sunflowers. Sunflower seeds belong under the head of large seeds, and should be planted one inch deep and one foot apart. Two seeds were placed in together. This is a safe plan, because if one fails to come up, the other doubtless will come up. If both appear, when the plants get about three inches high, pull out the weaker one. Then the boy planted a second row two feet from the first one. The first row was planted close up to the fence. Jack found out that this was a mistake. Always leave all about the garden a space of a foot or so, in order that one may walk about freely and get at the rear row of plants without trouble. Again, do not plant too close to a fence, unless the planting be some vine or climbing plant, which you desire to have cover the fence. Next the aster plants were transplanted. This was done after the same manner as the lettuce. They were placed about one foot apart each way. These were put across the entire spot just as the sunflowers had been. Thirty-two little aster plants were set out and still Jack had a number left over. It is amazing the amount of aster plants one can raise from a little packet of seeds. "I'm going to sell the rest of these aster plants," he declared. And he did. The boy tramped about until he found a lady desiring the plants, to whom he sold 50 little plants for $1 and set them out for 50 cents. The rest of the garden space was used for the onions, peppers, lettuce, tomatoes and radish. The onions transplanted from the coldframe gave fine early onions with a mild flavour. When Jack was making furrows for the sunflower seed Jay came along and leaned over the fence. "Jack," he drawled, "you look like a kangaroo all humped over making that furrow. Why don't you use your hoe right?" "I thought I was using it right. Come in here and show me how, will you?" So Jay jumped the fence and picked up the hoe. "Stand this way! Straddle the furrow with your back in the direction you are going to hoe; or else stand on the left side of the furrow facing it. Grasp the handle of the hoe in the right hand near the upper end. The back of your hand should be up. Now the left hand should be a foot or more below the other hand. And see the back of my hand. It is toward the left and my thumb points down the handle, just so with the rake handle." All summer long the boy worked or cultivated his piece of land. He kept hoeing and weeding constantly. One of the August pieces of work was to fix the hotbed for winter. Now the frame was taken up and the pit dug deeper--about two feet this time. Previous to this a great pile of manure had been heaped up near by. Jack had sprinkled it with hot water to start fermentation. Steam rising from the heap was proof of this, and it may be used at this time. Then the manure was put into the pit. An eighteen-inch bed of it was made and firmly tramped down. At first the temperature of this was over one hundred degrees. When it dropped to ninety-five degrees soil was put on. The temperature was taken by means of a thermometer buried in the manure. The frame was placed after two inches of soil had been put in; then four more inches went on. The surface of the soil was made to slope at the same angle as the glass. All about the frame was banked, again, manure covered with earth and leaf matter. Jack transplanted violet plants into one compartment. These were good violets and were placed four inches apart. In the second bed he sowed foxglove, pansy and stock. The third was left for radish and lettuce, a bit later. Elizabeth helped him sew together several thicknesses of straw matting as covering for the winter nights. They had decided that newspapers next the glass, then the mats, and finally a rubber blanket, would be protection sufficient. But Jack's hotbed work is quite another story. However, I can tell you that the next winter he added two other frames to this one. X ALBERT AND JAY'S DRAINAGE PROBLEM. The problem of draining which Albert and Jay had to consider, was perhaps the biggest piece of work that was done all that spring. In the first place, it should have been done in the fall. That is the time to do such work, for if put off until spring it delays greatly the spring planting. It was a wet spring, too. The boys, rather impatient of waiting, started digging one day, but it ended in disaster. The ground was soft and wet and hence very heavy to handle. This piece of land was one hundred feet wide or deep. It had a frontage of one hundred and fifty feet. A slope rose up in front of it, which accounted for the water being drained onto this land. The water naturally would have run off the land into a brook at the back. But in about the centre was a hollow, and beyond that the ground rose a little, and then dropped toward the brook. The depression made a kind of drain hole and the water settled there all the spring through. This strip of land of the boys was not by any means the entire piece of land, which was much larger, but the boys' father had given them this largely to try their mettle. He felt so certain they could not do it that he said they might have all they needed from a pile of drain pipe he intended to use himself on a piece of wet land the next fall. "I shall have all my drain pipe left to me," he said to the boys' mother one night. She smiled, for the boys had talked matters over a bit with her. Myron's strawberry bed was all made, Jack's garden-filling work done, George's ploughing and planting finished, before the boys could lay the drain. "It's no use," said Albert, "I'm ready to give up." "Now Savage, there's to be no quitting. I'd be ashamed of you, at least we can surprise father." "All right, Jay, I'm with you." Finally the day came when The Chief and the boys started work. A drain pipe should be laid ordinarily anywhere from twenty inches to three feet deep. One may dig or plough to make the trench. It is wise to dig as narrow a trench as possible and so lift as little soil as possible. Then, too, the bed of the drain should slope gradually from the upper or highest point to the lowest. The drop in level should be about four inches per hundred feet. So the boys had to consider just this. This is the way they "sighted" to get the drop in level. They drove a stake into the ground at some twenty feet from the place where the drain was to begin. Previously a cord had been stretched from one end of the centre of the field to the other end. Since the centre of the field seemed to be the place for the deposit of water the drain was to go directly through the centre. If you ever have a piece of draining to do the problem may not be so simple as this. You may find several natural drainage areas. Then you must lay drains through these. Or instead of separate drains make side ones which empty into a main drain. Going back again to the "sighting" for the drain bed level--the boys have driven a stake into the ground. It stands five feet above the ground level. If a tree had been in line with the drain line this might have been used and saved driving the stakes. Across the stake, at right angles to it, a board with a perfectly straight edge was nailed. This board was about four feet long, one end pointed at the drain line. At the other end Jay placed his eye looking across this to where Albert had driven stakes. One stake had been driven into the ground at the beginning where the drain was to be dug; another at the extreme end or outlet of the drain. Albert stood at the first stake and ran a little piece of paper slowly up and down the stake until Jay raised his hand. This meant that the paper was on the same line with the sighting board. Then Albert ran to the other stake and did the same. The difference in these two points gives the difference in level of the ground. Albert measured from the ground to his mark on the first stake, and, doing the same in the case of the other stake, found the difference to be eight inches. This was too great a drop. Then the boys drove two stakes in between these others and did the same work of level finding. From stake 1 to 2, or for the first twenty-five feet there was no difference in level. For the first fifty feet there was four inches drop; for the next twenty-five feet, five inches rise; and the last twenty-five feet, six inches drop. They marked all this on the stakes in order to make sure they got the level right. The bed must, you see, drop one inch for every twenty-five feet. For the first fifty feet of the line the drop was just twice too much; then came the abrupt rise and drop. Albert ploughed a furrow straight along the line and ploughed back again. Then he reploughed. The boys then began to dig, making a ditch three feet deep right through the land. In order to get the right level they used a home-made device and plumb-line which can be made as follows: Nail the ends of two six-inch boards ten feet long, so as to make a right angle; then across the open end of the triangle, nail another six-inch board having the lower edge about a foot from the ends of the boards. Cut off the ends of the boards on a level, so that they will rest evenly on the ground. Next drive a nail into the apex of the triangle, and to it tie a line long enough so that when the triangle is stood on its legs, the plumb-bob, which you will tie on the other end of it, will almost reach the ground. The centre must next be determined. To do it, set the triangle up on its legs on a level place and when the plumb-line comes to rest, mark the place. A lead-pencil mark will do, but as it is liable to become obliterated by the dirt, a saw mark is more permanent. Now you know what the grade of the bottom of your ditch will be. Reproduce this on a level place by means of a board with a large enough block under one end to give the right pitch; put the triangle on this and when the plumb-line comes to a rest, mark the place on the cross piece. Reverse the ends of the triangle to get a similar mark on the other side of the centre or level mark. This makes a level by which a fairly accurate grade can be made. The tile pipes were laid upon a bed of gravel. This prevents the clogging up of the loosely put together joints. To fit tiles place the small end of one into the large end of the next, and so on. Over the end of the last tile, which emptied into the brook, they wired a bit of rather fine-meshed chicken wire. Then the trench was filled in. By test Albert had found the soil of this land acid. Lime was to be put on it. Now lime must be in a crumbling state for this purpose. So after they had bought the lime they dumped it in a heap on a corner of the plot. After it had become air slaked, or reduced to a powder by the action of air upon it, it was spread over the lot. This and considerable fertilizer was ploughed in. The boys then had an ideal sort of planting soil for almost anything. The drain actually worked. Now some boy may ask, suppose a fellow has no tile and cannot afford to buy any. In such a case there are two alternatives or choices. A wooden trough may be made by nailing together boards six inches wide. Then make a gravel bed and tip this trough over on it peak up. The wooden drain, however, is likely to rot. The other way is to put a double row of stones right through the centre of the bed slope. These stones--perfectly flat ones--should be placed on end with a foot between the rows. In this space put small stones. The chief thing to remember in the drainage problem is that one wants a gradual flow of water from inlet to outlet. Any boy can fix his wet, soggy garden spot even though he has no tiles. Stones can be found surely, and, if no gravel beds are near, all the little brothers and sisters can pick small stones. The boys had decided on planting what they called a general vegetable garden--corn, pumpkins, beans (bush), melons, tomatoes, beets and carrots. This combination of vegetables was a happy choice as they all can well wait until rather late for planting. The boys used the planting table that Peter had worked out. [Illustration: Photograph by H.L. Schultz <b>Jay's Tile Drain Converted a Swamp Into a Garden</b>] Many times boys and girls are bothered by the word "hill". I have seen boys make nice little heaps of earth and then make a hole in the top of these like a crater in a volcano. Down into this crater they poke seeds. Now a hill merely means a place. This place is not to be heaped up above the level of the ground. Place five seeds to the hill. Do not, of course, make a little pile of these seeds but lay them on the ground with a little space between seeds, say an inch. When planting beans place the eye of each bean down against the ground. The bean stands up on edge. The pumpkins were planted in between the hills of corn. This is just the place to plant pumpkin or squash because there is opportunity sufficient for the vines to run. Remember not to plant these two together. Soon after the pumpkins began to come up the boys noticed one morning that the leaves had been eaten. Some were completely riddled, looking like lace work. Digging about the ground Albert found a black and white striped beetle. Its name is the Striped Beetle. The boys killed these in the course of three days. They bought five cents' worth of white hellebore, which is a powder, and sprinkled it on the ground in a circle about the stems of the young plants. They made the circles some six inches from the plant stalk. Doing this at night, the evening dews prevented the scattering about of the powder. They put this on for three nights. Afterwards sand was sprinkled lightly over the hills and at the end of the runners. This makes a discouraging sort of prospect for the beetle who is hunting for something good to eat, not sand to walk over. If instead of sand they had used lime it would have been better. For the lime is quite likely to form a sticky mass on the legs of the insect pest. The moisture from dew or rainwater helps this along, while sand is far more likely to drop off the victim's legs. The Chief felt sure that besides the beetles there were slugs in the garden. Slugs are very likely to bother. They appear early in the season, feed chiefly at night and after rains, and lay eggs throughout the summer and autumn. These eggs are laid in the ground and in rubbish heaps. The treatment suggested above and started just as soon as there are signs of slugs, will work. The boys treated their melons in the same way and had no further trouble with beetles and slugs. The tomato plants were started inside. They were transplanted into strawberry baskets. These are excellent to use, because in transplanting to the ground the little strawberry baskets may be knocked apart without disturbing the plant nearly so much as if it were planted in a compact box. Be sure to line the basket with paper before filling with earth. When the plants began to straggle about and bend over stakes were driven into the ground and the plants tied to these. Jay used hoops and made a sort of cage for the separate plants. He drove four stakes into the ground at distances of eighteen inches from the stalk and in a circular form. Then slipping hoops over the plant he nailed these hoops to the stakes. Some plants had two hoops about them, some three; it all depends on the size and needs of the plant. Only keep this in mind; that the object in staking tomatoes is not only to keep the plant erect, and the fruit off of the ground, but to allow plenty of light and air to get at all parts of the plant. The bean culture resulted in a little private contest between Albert and Jay. That winter The Chief had given the boys a talk on inoculation of soil. One day while they were working on their land Jay suggested that they separate the bean section of their garden, having a bean plot at one end and another of the same size at the extreme other end; that one of them should inoculate the soil of his plot and the other should not. These plots being so far removed would not be in danger of soil washing one from the other. Albert, who rather scorned inoculation of soil, willingly agreed to make the experiment, stipulating that he have the uninoculated plot. By inoculation of the soil is meant introducing into the soil a germ. This germ makes it possible that the nitrogen already in the soil be given to the plant in such a form that it may be absorbed, and absorbed in greater quantities than it otherwise could be. Jay sent to the nearest State Agricultural Experiment Station, asking for the soil. This was sent free of charge. It was a soil, fine in texture and brown in appearance. According to the directions sent with it Jay spread it evenly over the top of his bean patch. A piece of land for inoculation should be prepared all ready for planting; then the inoculated soil is merely put over this, as frosting on a cake. After this the seeds are planted. They planted bush limas. Of course they had to plant the same kind of bean for the sake of the experiment. Beans are not hard to cultivate. They should be kept free from weeds and the soil well stirred up. Albert, fearful of his beans becoming affected by spots or anthracnose, sprayed them from the start. This disease is likely to affect beans about July. So in order to get ahead of the inoculated crop the boy did what he later found there was no need of. To be sure beans are liable to this trouble, but it is not a surety. It is never likely to appear unless the weather be very moist. This summer happened to be a dry one. The spray he used was the Bordeaux mixture. His father offered to supply him with the mixture if he would do mixing for both. So he used this receipt: Dissolve six pounds of copper sulphate in six gallons of water. It is an excellent plan to crush up this chemical in a mortar and put this powder into a bag. Hang the bag up so it just touches the surface of the water. Add twenty-five gallons of water to this. To four pounds of slaked lime add twenty-five gallons of water. Then add this solution to the other. The boy's father had a spraying machine. So Albert used this. I have known boys to use a corn broom to spray with. Dip this in the spraying mixture and shake over the foliage. The only spraying rule Albert used was to keep the foliage covered with the mixture; this does not mean many applications. At the close of the bean season Jay had the finer, larger, beans with a better flavour. His yield was one-third greater than Albert's. "And think, too, how I worked," Albert moaned. "Hereafter I shall not make fun of inoculation." There is not much more to tell of this garden. The poppies yielded well. These were supported as they grew by stakes, as tomatoes are. Carrots need rather mellow, upland soil. The boys found that their carrots did not do so well as the other vegetables. The soil was a bit heavy and moist for them. They found this out about beets: beets should not be transplanted. Transplanting puts them back. Albert transplanted a few and learned this fact. XI GEORGE'S CABBAGE TROUBLES George had a long task in stone picking. The old slope seemed to be full of stone. George would pick continuously from school to supper time, and next morning declare that new stones had grown in the night. The ditching was very little work. It meant digging a ditch about two feet deep and then making at either end of this gutter a side ditch at a very severe angle to the main ditch. These side ditches were directed along the sides of the hill for about six feet, and the water thus directed would conduct itself off. Of course the angle was such that the ditch led away from the garden spot. [Illustration: SLOPE SLOPE --------------------- / DITCH \ SIDE / -------------------- \ SIDE SLOPE / / \ \ SLOPE / / GARDEN \ \ / / \ \ Picture this as the ditch George dug right above his garden. The water passed through the side slopes away from the garden.] As the stones were picked off he piled them into the gutter, where this stony bottom also helped the drainage problem. George was a master hand at ploughing, for he had always done his share of it, so ploughing meant nothing to him. First, you will remember George had one foot of dressing to put on the land. This he ploughed in; and then reploughed. After this the slope was harrowed. You all know that the harrow simply makes fine the soil after the plough has done its work of throwing up the earth. The rake is a kind of harrow. Of course, when the garden plot is large, the rake is impossible, and then the harrow, really a big rake dragged by a horse, must do this work. It took the boy longer than some of the others to do his work, for George did more work at home than the others. He was probably better informed on farm matters, however. His father was a real farmer; the other boys' fathers farmed, too, but not as a business. Anticipating the amount of time this preparatory work would take he had not started his cabbage inside. To get an early crop of cabbage, seed must be planted in January or February; then one may start in March. But for the late crop plant in the open in May or June. This is just what George did. He made furrows straight down his sunny southern slope. These furrows were two feet apart. The seed, of Savoy cabbage, was sprinkled in the furrows. This was done after rain. Cabbage needs much moisture for quick germination. George might have poured water into the furrows and puddled or stirred the earth a bit, if the garden had been small, but his was too large for this, so he took advantage of Nature's watering. When the plants were about two inches above ground they were thinned out to stand two feet apart in the furrow. Cabbage, you know, is quite likely to become infested by pests. Perhaps the most common of which are lice or aphis and the cabbage worm, a green caterpillar. Therefore it is well to try a little prevention. So all over the ground about the plants sprinkle unslaked lime. Tobacco dust or soot may be used for this purpose, too. Good cultivation also helps prevent these pests. One row of cabbage began to develop worms. These George picked off, but he found that he could not keep up with them; so The Chief advised him to buy a little pyrethrum powder at the store. This he mixed with five times its bulk of dust. Putting the mixture into an old potato sack he shook it over the infested heads of cabbage. Except for this drawback the cabbage did well. He lost the infested row of cabbage. For he pulled them all up, spaded the ground over, and sprinkled it with the poison mixture. All the other cabbage heads were sprinkled with it, too. One may easily lose all his cabbage from these worms. In the fall the cabbages were harvested. This was about the last of October. George pulled them up by the roots. He found some of the heads rather soft, some bursting open. As it does not pay to keep such cabbage over, these were fed to the cattle--a gift, George called it, to pay for the fertilizer. All the fine solid heads are worth storing. In order to get nice white inner leaves, as the head begins to form break and bend over the outer leaves and those that protect the inner ones. It is a sort of blanching or bleaching process. Two hundred fine firm heads were the result of the work of this boy. "What are you going to do with all these, I'd like to know?" asked Jack. "I expect to store a number of them--one hundred and fifty, I should say. I'm going to give away fifty. In the winter I hope to sell about one hundred of my stored ones." George's way of storing cabbages is a good one. A spot was ploughed in the orchard between the rows of trees. Then the cabbages were piled in a neat pile roots up, one cabbage fitting into the other. All about and over this heap a layer of straw about four inches thick was placed. To hold the pile in place stakes were driven in about its base. To hold the straw, branches were placed over the whole and boards put on last. The straw packing kept the cabbage from freezing. If George's father had had a good tight shed the cabbage could have been stored on shelves in this. The ordinary home cellar is no place for storage of cabbage. Later in the winter he sold one hundred heads of cabbage to the markets in a near-by city. These he sold at two cents per head. They kept fifty at home. The boys tried long and hard to find out where the other fifty went. But George would not tell. There was an orphans' home some few miles from the village. It seems that at one time an appeal had been made at the school to the boys and girls to give whatever they could to this home. At that time George had nothing to give. No one knew how badly the boy felt, so as his cabbages grew the lad made a pledge with himself to give one quarter of his cabbage to this home. One evening in late October, George had hitched up an old farm horse, loaded his cabbage in, and had driven over to the home. The Chief learned of his kindness one December evening, when he visited the matron to see about Christmas gifts for the children. She told him that one evening in the fall a bashful lad had brought a load of cabbage to her, but would not tell his name. As the man walked home he thought of the really splendid ending of George's cabbage experiment. After all a garden reaches its real work when some of its product is given to those who are in need. "Now I see," said The Chief out loud, as he walked past George's house on his homeward way, "why George made out of his garden so much less than the others. I never could understand why he lost the prize. I am glad there are boys who care less for money than for other things." XII PETER, POTATOES, AND PROFIT Peter had a mile to go to his garden, which was on his grandfather's farm. This farm land, you will remember, was especially good. The ploughing, fertilizing and harrowing were done for Peter. The soil was just the sort potatoes thrive on, a sandy loam. After the furrows had been made about six inches deep and two feet apart, Peter put a sprinkling of chemical fertilizer into the bottom of each furrow. This was sprinkled on as one puts salt on potato before eating it. Over this he placed some dirt so the fertilizer would not burn the potato. Early the morning of planting Peter cut his seed potatoes. The date was the 1st of April, not a bit too soon to get in early potatoes. The seed potatoes chosen were fair, smooth specimens of good size. These he cut so that only one eye was left to a piece of potato the size of a hen's egg. These pieces were dropped into the furrows at distances of fifteen inches apart and four inches deep. After covering, the man went over the potato patch with a harrow. A boy might use a rake for this work, but as Peter's patch was a small part of his grandfather's field the harrowing of the whole was done by the man. When the little potato plants were well up Peter sprayed them with Paris green. This was wise because he thus got ahead of the potato bug. Some one may like to know how to mix up Paris green. The proportion used was one tablespoonful to a pail of water. This was put on with a watering pot every two weeks, thus Peter kept his potatoes quite free from bugs. Although the rest of the potato patch was cultivated by the horse, Peter used the hoe. He could not plough, for Peter was a rather small boy for his age and not very muscular. The secret of potato culture is to cultivate well and keep the bugs down. He dug his potatoes about the middle of June. From the one quarter acre his grandfather had lent him for his garden Peter dug seven bushels of potatoes. At the time new potatoes were selling for $1.25 per bushel. His father bought three bushels and the other four were sold in the city to Philip's mother and friends. The constant working of the soil for potato culture gets it into a fine mellow condition exactly right for celery. Peter's grandfather suggested that the boy put this in, and so have another crop, a fall one. Although this soil had been well fertilized in the spring for the potatoes this was yet not sufficient for celery culture. Celery ought to be started either indoors in flats, or in a hothouse or seed bed late in February--transplanted to other flats, and again finally to the open ground. To prepare for the celery trenches were dug three feet apart and one foot wide. The earth thrown out in trench digging was piled between the ditches to be used later in banking up the celery. These trenches were six inches deep. In the bottom of the trench was put some enriched manure. This was of different materials. Peter used well-rotted barnyard dressing, a little hen manure, and about the same quantity of chemical fertilizer. Hen manure is rich, so he did not use the bulk of that. Over this was put an inch of soil. Celery plants should be set about six inches apart in the trench. First cut them back; that is, cut off about one quarter of the root and one-third of the top. This cutting back increases the spread of root-growth later and decreases the amount of respiration of water from the leaves. The top alone grows more stocky and bulky. Firm the plants well. That is, press the soil firmly about the roots and stalk. When the plant has received its growth it must be blanched. This process not only whitens celery, but also takes the bitter taste out of it. This may be done in various ways, but Peter used the earth process. He tied the bunches up together with bits of raffia. This was done merely to keep the earth from pressing in between the stalks. Then the earth which had been left in between the trenches was drawn up with the hoe about the stalks until only the top leaves poked out above. Do not do all this banking at once. Take several days at it. Boards may be placed along the sides of the banked celery hills. Peter having heard of the self-blanching kinds told his grandfather that he would plant this kind to obviate blanching. But there were two drawbacks. In the first place, he had waited too late to start seed. And secondly, these varieties, too, should be bleached to take out the bitter taste. So Peter bought young celery plants from his grandfather. He paid $1 for two hundred small plants. Later in November he sold these to the same market where his potatoes had gone. Fifty bunches he sold to his father. These were left protected in the ground for use when needed. The rest he sold in the city. From his celery he made $1.80. In all the lad made $9.55. This was a pretty good sum to make. So Peter's saying of "potatoes and profit" actually worked out. XIII PHILIP'S BACKYARD On a beautiful Saturday in late April one might have seen The Chief and his boys boarding the train for the city. It was the day set apart for helping Philip. The boy had cleared up the yard ready for work. You will remember shrubs were to be planted, a walk and cement pond made, and a little gardening done. The shrubs were planted as the school trees were. One must be careful to dig the hole large enough to receive the roots of the shrub. If old shrubs are transplanted be sure to cut out all the old wood, and also cut the top back severely; that is, reduce it to one-third its former size. It was great fun to make the little pond. Such a pond may be used for fish or for water plants or for both. Do not make too large a one, unless you have a very large yard. The smaller ones are easier to care for, and more pleasing in appearance. First stake off the outside limits for the pond. Philip's was to be four feet by two and one-half feet. Dig down three feet. Fill in the bottom of the pond up to fifteen inches of the top with large stones. Then in between and over these put small stones so that you have filled in about six to eight inches of the cavity. Now it is time to mix cement. Mix only a little at a time. Get a board about two feet square. With a trowel put on the board one part of Portland cement to three parts of sand. Have a watering pot full of water at hand. Add water enough each time to the cement and sand to make a soft but not running mass. If it be possible for you to have small stones to put in, it will improve the mortar you are mixing. These stones should not be larger than one inch in size. Add four parts of these to the mixture. Now over the bottom of the pond put on the paste about three inches thick. Fill in with the trowel and smooth it off with the back of this same tool. The sides are the next job. Put a board slantwise against the bottom of the pond so there is a space between the board and the side you are to plaster. Drop the mortar down into this space and press the board against the sides. This firms the mortar. Keep up this work all around the sides of the pond. Another way to do this work is to make a box that will fit approximately into the pond, but that gives a space all around over three inches from the sides. Then the mortar may be dropped in. After three days knock out the box and you have the inside all right. If you wet the sides and bottom of the box the mortar will cling to it less. If the mortar looks rather rough after you finish, mix cement with water, take a whisk broom and with this brush the paste all over the bottom and sides of the pond. All around the ground by the pond, mortar for about six inches. This prevents the breaking in of the edges. Albert and George, who worked on this job, did the mortaring the first way. The pond was left unfilled for a week to dry thoroughly. Then after placing two inches of sand in the bottom it was filled with water. Philip bought two pond lily roots. He tied stones with string on the roots of the plants to keep them down: otherwise they would have bobbed up and floated on the surface of the water. Some one gave him two water hyacinths. In the middle of the yard a round bed was made. To do this take a cord and tie a stake at either end. The cord should be whatever length you have decided shall be the radius of the circle. The radius of a circle, you remember, is the distance from the centre to the circumference. Now drive one of the stakes into the ground at the exact centre. Grasp in your hand the other stake and swing a circle with it. The stake will scratch a well-defined line so that you have the outline of the circle, the boundary of the bed. Jay spaded down to about six inches all along the outlines of bed. After that the bed itself was spaded. Philip insisted on outlining it with brick which had been given him. Some children use whitewashed stones, some use shells. Either plan gives a spotty effect. The idea fails of being artistic. A neat cutting of the turf and a slight heaping up of a round bed toward the centre gives after all a far more pleasing effect. Try to keep as near to Nature's own plan as you can. Shells belong on the seashore or in a collection; keep stones for road making, wall building, cement work and curbs; bricks are for foundations and buildings. Rarely use things for what they were not intended. It is better usually to border a bed with low-growing flowers. Ageratum, candytuft and dwarf nasturtiums are good for the purpose. Along a walk to an old outhouse they planted asters on one side and four o'clocks on the other. Asters, as all boys and girls know, are better if started inside early. Then they may be transplanted to the outside. In his way one gets a bit ahead of the season. But Philip was obliged to plant seed for both. So he planted it in a drill as one plants lettuce. Later the little seedlings were thinned out to stand six inches apart. This thinning was done when the plants were four inches high. Four o'clocks need lots of room as they grow bushy. Plants in narrow strips are quite likely to drop over their limits. To keep these in bounds Philip later built a fence. For this he used stakes driven into the ground at intervals of every four feet. To these he nailed strips of railing. Sometimes cords are used instead of railings. An old fence was all about the yard and an old unused outbuilding in the rear. These were both unsightly in appearance, so they had to be hidden. Vines were used for this purpose. About six inches from the fence a furrow was made four inches deep. Climbing nasturtium seeds were dropped into this furrow at distances of every four inches. The seeds had been soaked over night. This was because the ground was very dry and the weather was now quite settled and warm. If the ground is wet and the weather cold, never soak seed. It just adds to the general soggy condition to do this. [Illustration: Photograph by Mary H. Northend. Philip's Backyard Made Beautiful by Annuals and Quick-growing Vines.] Morning-glory seeds were planted along the end of the fence by the outbuilding and all around it. After these climbing things began to grow the pretty effect of the vines was amazing. Many times one has to train vines so they will grow where one wishes. In such cases drive small stakes into the ground back of where the vine is planted. Tie a cord or string to the stake and carry this up to where you wish the vine to go. The string may be attached in the best way, according to the place. If it is to an old building, drive a nail into the side, roof or peak of this. Some people make latticed trellises. These may be made from laths. A neighbour gave Philip some canna bulbs which he planted in an old sieve filled with rich dirt. Canna bulbs look much like sweet potatoes. Usually a bit of stalk is left on the bulb. Leave this in planting above ground for about one-half inch. Dig a hole large enough to place the canna bulb and deep enough so the stalk comes above the ground. Place one big, fat bulb, or two or three little chaps in one spot. Leave about one foot between plantings. In the fall after frost cut off the stalks about two inches above the ground, dig up the bulbs, shake all dirt off, and put into a box with a little thoroughly dry dirt until spring. Leave this box where it is dark and cool. It would have been far better had Philip planted the cannas either in the round bed or against the fence as a screen. As a general rule the planting in tubs, kettles, kegs and similar receptacles is not only inartistic, but gives the plant very confined and cramped quarters. When possible plant right out in the ground. Window boxes and roof gardening in boxes is "another story." The cost of Philip's flower garden was 25 cents. He bought five-cent packages of each of the flower seeds. The cannas cost nothing. The shrubs were $1, the cement 70 cents, and the water-lily roots 50 cents. So the total cost for changing an ugly yard to a mass of flowers was $2.46. Philip's clearing up seemed to be catching for the girl across the street started in with her work. For ten cents she bought a collection of flower seed. These seed were planted in three-foot beds. The beds were banked up or supported by strips of board. This same girl planted flowers in two old kettles and set one upon an empty cask and the other on an old drain tile. But she later decided very wisely that this was not after all so very pretty. Kettles are better for potato boiling than for flowers. But such a good time as she had all summer in her own green, pleasant backyard! And so had Philip, too! "Just a few cents and some hard work will change your backyard into something beautiful," Philip was heard to say one day to a group of city boys. XIV THE CORN CONTEST Each boy was to take a certain number of hills of corn in his father's corn patch. He was to select his seed corn after a few suggestions given him by The Chief. These hills of selected corn were to be cared for by the boy himself, but it was perfectly legitimate that the soil be prepared for him, since most of the boys were to plant in their fathers' cornfields. In the growing of corn the first matter for a boy or girl to consider is the selection of the seed. Corn should be selected carefully by the individual stalk; that is, choose ears from stalks bearing an ear or ears at, or a little below, the middle of the stalk. The stalk itself should be thick and free from suckers or any evidence of disease. The ear should be cylindrical. The kernels should be deep setting, uniform and compact. Then the cob should not be too large. Look at some samples. See how some ears have too large a cob, others too small, while still others show a right amount of cob. The butt and tip of the ear should be well filled out. Look for a perfect ear. The kernels are uniform in size, in even rows, with only a slight space between rows. See the tip and butt. Very little space is lost at the butt. You have seen ears where the butt was all space. There is still another sort of corn. It might be called mongrel. Any one can raise such corn. Good care shows in corn as good breeding does in boys and girls. One more point the boys were told to consider in selecting seed ears, that was the relation of the circumference of the ear to its length. An ear should have a fairly large circumference at the base and taper toward the tip. To estimate relation of circumference to length, which should be as three is to four, measure the ear one-third the distance from butt to tip. So if the ear is eight inches long the circumference should be about six inches. All the boys but Jack and Myron tested their seed corn to be sure of its vitality. Peter went a little further than the other boys. He not only tested for general vitality, but he tested for vitality among the ears he had selected as good seed ears. This he did in the following manner: He chose twenty-five ears, and used four kernels from each ear. First a soup plate was filled with sand. This was moistened by dropping a little water on the sand. Sand must not be too wet for this work. He partitioned off the sand-bed into rows with cardboard between them. On the cardboards was marked over each row of four kernels the number of the ear from which they came. The sand was moistened each day. Peter worked out from this the best ears for quick germination. The next point to be considered in corn culture is that of the soil. Soil for corn should be mellow and fine. If it has vegetable matter or humus in it, then its value as a corn-growing soil is increased. Fertilize well and plough, or if the plot is small, spade. You ought to have surely eight inches of good, mellow soil. In planting corn place five kernels in a hill. You will remember that a hill means a place. For corn which grows high make the hills four feet apart; while for the low growing varieties place three feet apart. Cover the early varieties with one inch of soil; the later varieties with one-half inch. As the corn shoots begin to appear every boy should appear with his hoe or cultivator, for one secret of good gardening is constant cultivation or stirring of the soil. Water, as you know, rises in the ground and coming to the surface evaporates. Now the point is to keep the moisture in the ground for the plant's food supply. So if one keeps stirring the soil he makes a layer of earth which stops the water as it rises. We call this a mulch. When the shoots are six inches high choose the three finest little corn seedlings in the group of five. Pull the others out. The reason for putting in five kernels in the first place, instead of three, is that some may not come up. And, too, some that do come up may be poor and sickly. Myron did a very stupid thing. At least he called it stupid. Some one sent him a packet of seed popcorn. Myron thought it would be pretty interesting to raise some and supply the club with popcorn at its meetings all the next winter. Now Myron did not know that from the corn tassels the pollen when ripe or dry blows all over the corn field. This pollen falls on the silk of corn plants anywhere in the field. The pollen fertilizes the plant and the ear of corn sets and grows. Because the pollen being light is blown to such distances and because different kinds of corn can interpollinate, is reason enough for not planting different varieties of corn in one patch. Myron's popcorn and sweet corn fertilized each other and he got a corn which was a cross between the sweet corn and popcorn. He learned a lesson of pollination, but at the expense of the corn crop. One may plant early and late corn in the same patch but otherwise he should stick to one kind of corn. The boys in the fall were to submit twelve of the finest ears they had raised. These were to be scored or sized up as follows: ---------------------------------------------------------- | NAME OF CONTESTANT | VARIETY OF | DATES OF PLANTING | | | CORN | | | .................. | ..............| ................. | |------------------------------------|-------------------| | (1) Ear: | | | | A. Trueness to type | 10 | | | B. Shape | 10 | 20 | |------------------------------------|---------|---------| | (2) Filling of: | | | | A. Tip | 10 | | | B. Butt | 10 | 20 | |------------------------------------|---------|---------| | (3) Kernels: | | | | A. Shape | 6 | | | B. Arrangement of cob | 12 | | | C. Depth | 6 | | | D. Colour | 6 | 30 | |------------------------------------|---------|---------| | (4) Measurements of ear: | | | | A. Length | 10 | | | B. Circumference | 10 | 20 | |------------------------------------|---------|---------| | (5) Proportion of Corn to Cob: | 10 | 10 | |------------------------------------|---------|---------| | Total 100 | |--------------------------------------------------------| This score card needs a little explanation. Take up (1) Ear, first. All the twelve ears presented ought to be much alike; that is, like the type or parent ear you are striving to produce again. So if, out of twelve specimens, six were fine ears and the other six were rather poor, then surely ten credits or points could not be given. The shape of an ear should in general be tapering, well rounded a little below the centre, and tapering not too abruptly toward the tip. The second point is the Filling of the Tip and Butt. The tip should be filled with even, regularly arranged kernels. It should not be too pointed nor too blunt. The butts should be covered over with kernels except where a deep, clean-cut depression is left. Here, as in the tips, the shape has to be considered, for flattened and blunted butts are bad form. As to Kernels, they should be uniform and well-shaped, not only on the single cob, but in all the specimens. The furrows must be uniform, regular, and with only a slight space between. To determine depth cut a square inch right out of an ear. All kernels should be of one colour. If a red kernel is in with the white then there has been an intermixing. All kernels on all ears ought to have the colour of those of the type form. Not only should there be a proper proportion between Length of Ear and Circumference, but an ear may be too long. The usual length of ears is from eight to twelve inches, according to variety. We have spoken of cob-relation before. This cannot be determined accurately by your eye but must be done by weight; so shell the corn, weighing the ear first. Now weigh the cob. The difference is weight of corn. Divide the weight of the corn by the weight of the ear. This gives per cent. of corn. For the exhibit the boys afterward used half their samples submitted and reckoned per cent. on this. The proper percentage of corn to cob should be 86 or 87 per cent. You can easily find out if you come up to standard. Myron brought in some corn merely to show his mistake but of course did not submit any. Jack, you will remember, did not test his corn and results showed this. Out of his twelve samples there were two good ears. The others showed many changes. The poorly filled tips, irregular rows, and wide space between rows--all these scored against Jack. George's corn was thrown out because black kernels were found here and there in with the others. Albert's and Jay's Peep-o-day came out in fine shape. But Peter's Country Gentleman after all had the record. Philip dropped out of the race because he went on a summer vacation. So for a slight amount Peter took over Philip's corn hills. That fall the boys made very careful selection of seed corn. "After all," Myron said one night at club meeting, "although Peter's corn was the only really fine specimen, I think some of the rest of us got fully as much out of the corn contest." "So do I," added Jack; "and I, for one, shall test corn after this." "I think our corn was pretty good," Albert went on in a half-injured way; "but we are going to beat that record next year. We shall rotate our crop, planting our corn where the beans were this season. That's a thing fellows ought to know; that it's a mighty good thing to rotate crops." "What's that?" asked Philip. "Rotating crops means not always planting the same crop on the same piece of land, but changing every two or three years. It happens that beans are very good to plant before corn. They do not take from the soil, The Chief says, what the corn needs. So a piece of soil planted to beans gets in shape for corn planting another year. It would not be well to plant corn on a certain piece of land more than two successive years. Then something else should be planted on this land and the corn put somewhere else." "Good!" said The Chief. "Some day we shall discuss rotation of crops more fully. There are no end of topics for us to work over this next winter." XV THE GIRLS' SECRET WORK The girls were each to raise something special at their own home and then each was to have a share in a big garden. Katharine, who had quite a lovely yard, was to give the space for the general garden. This was largely because Katharine's home was on the river road, a bit out of the village and near none of the boys' places, for the girls wished to keep the knowledge of their work from the boys as long as possible. Helena lived next house to George and the land she might have used for this big garden would have bordered George's corn patch. So that, of course, would never do. The garden while formal was ornamental. The girls were all to work on the staking out and preparation. But each girl was then to take a section of it and plant and care for that. Katharine was to take the centre portion of grass and cannas. Now a grass plot is very pleasing in a garden. It is restful to the eye and is much more harmonious with the other colours in a garden than a mass of brilliant blossoms. Cannas have some height, a delicate splash of colour in the blossom and so work in well. It is always well to put some tall-growing plant in the centre. The effect is that of working up to a climax. One should not immediately jump from very low flowers in the beds to a few tall ones in the centre. This is ludicrous. Make the gradation gradual from low to high. This garden of the girls may seem almost to violate this principle. Not so, for the nasturtiums merely acted as a border. Then all around the garden were the zinnias, poppies and marigolds a step up to the cannas. One may buy tall or rather low growing cannas. These latter grow about four feet high. They chose these low ones with yellow and orange in the blossom to harmonize with the yellow and orange of the nasturtiums. Note the proportional amount of grass space in the girls' garden. Observe too that it is the centre of interest. The nasturtium border was Elizabeth's. Zinnias were chosen by Helena, and Katharine was to help in this work. Eloise loving the mignonette had asked for it, poppies were Josephine's and marigold was for Dee. Ethel wanted the border of sweet alyssum although it represented a long strip to work. [Illustration Diagram: Scale 1/8 in.-1 ft. Note the proportional amount of grass space in the girls' garden. Observe, too, that it is the centre of interest.] If you think over this garden with its brilliant poppy colour, the heavy yellow of the marigold, the lighter colour effect of yellow in the nasturtium, the dark red zinnia--quite a splash of colour, was it not? In order to have great masses of brilliant colour in the same garden one must break them in some way. There are two possibilities that are good: first, paths between beds, and second, borders of white or inconspicuously coloured plants. Sweet alyssum is good for this purpose and so too is mignonette. Mignonette has such a small and modest little flower that one thinks always of mignonette in terms of green. The mignonette was massed at the entrance of the garden for pleasing and subdued effect. In staking out a garden it is well first to put heavy stakes, like the ones the boys made, in each of the four corners of the entire plot and put a string around. This strings off the outline of the entire garden. Sight along the lines as Jay and Albert did to be sure the lines are straight. In sloping land true up with great care. On a level bit of land sighting is easy. Next if there is a main path string that off using twine, stakes and always sighting. If the garden is a large one of many small plots the next thing to do is to string lengthwise the entire garden, measuring off plots and paths. Then widthwise measure off paths. The side paths give you the width-boundary of the plots. But the paths have cords through portions of them. So put stakes in the corners of the plots. Cut the cord in the centres of cross paths and tie to stakes. If carefully done each plot is marked off shipshape. In general make the main paths four feet wide, plot paths or side paths eighteen inches. Plots with widths about one-third of the lengths are right. This did not hold true for this garden since the beds were long narrow strips. In such cases the width should be a comfortable one to lean over and work across. In staking such a garden plot as the girls' it is well to first line off with stakes and cord the entire outline of the garden. Then next string off main paths and intermediate ones. It is very easy then to string off the beds, for the path boundaries have done most of the work for you. The girls planted all their seeds except poppy and grass seed in drills just as one plants lettuce and radish. This is a far easier way to plant since as the little seedlings come up one can easily distinguish the nice even row of little plants from weeds. They decided later that it would have been easier if the poppy had come up in drills. For it came up in little tufts here and there. And, sad to say, the poppy does not stand transplanting. In making drills take two stakes and a string. To either end of the string tie a stake. The length of the string after tying should be the length of the drill one wishes to make. This will be usually either the length or width of the bed. This, then, is your line for the drill making. Another thing the girls did which makes garden measurements easy is the following: mark off on the rake or hoe handle three feet. One of these feet measure off into inches. This saves carrying a measuring rod into the garden. The marking should be done on the edge of the handle and not on either the under or upper surface of it. If garden stakes are made one foot in length they can be used in measuring. Nasturtium culture needs some explanation. Nasturtiums are the most accommodating of flowers. They will live on almost any soil. The seeds are large and so are very easy for little girls to handle. They may be placed two seeds together six inches apart in the furrow. If the soil is very dry and the weather very warm, soak the seeds over night. Plant the seeds about one inch deep, cover over the soil and firm it well. It is easy enough to keep the nasturtium bed weeded for the seedlings are large and not to be mistaken. Keep the flowers well picked all summer and you will have numberless blooms. Sweet alyssum is a charming border plant. This, too, grows in almost any soil. It is well to sow the seed in a box indoors. Transplant when the little seedlings are two inches high. But alyssum may be sown right outdoors in the garden plot. Sprinkle the seeds along in the drill. After the seedlings come up and are about an inch high thin out until the seedlings stand six to twelve inches apart. Marigolds are very gay sort of flowers. Many do not like them on account of their disagreeable odour. But a strong point about these flowers is this: they bloom and bloom, and then they bloom again. There are three kinds of marigolds one might plant. These are the African, French and dwarf. They differ in height and also bushiness. The African varieties must be thinned out to stand fifteen inches apart, the French ten inches and the dwarf six inches. These seeds are dry, dead looking chaps, but are not so small that they cannot be handled separately and placed carefully in the drill. Plant them nearer together than they are to stand later. For instance, put the African five inches apart, the French five inches, too, and the dwarf three inches. Then you have extras, so if some do not come up your garden is not crippled. Mignonette, again, is accommodating and will grow in almost any kind of soil. These seeds are small and may be sprinkled along in the drill. Later thin out so the plants stand from six to twelve inches apart. In choosing mignonette seed remember that there is a great difference in mignonette. Some is very sweet, some is not: some have large sturdy spikes, while others have rather small spikes. It pays to buy good seed. Poppy is a trifle more particular about the soil it grows in. It requires a rather rich, sandy loam. Again remember that poppies never stand transplanting. Poppy may be planted broadcast or in drills. The tall growing varieties should finally stand eighteen inches apart and the smaller ones nine inches. In order that poppies may blossom freely you should never let a seed capsule form. For you see that if one wishes bloom, one must not let the strength of a plant go to any other work except blossom making. Zinnias are satisfactory just as marigolds are. To be sure they are not a very graceful flower. But what of that? We need all kinds of flowers. When you buy the little packets of seed you usually get a mixture of colour. In order to have just the colour one wishes, seed must be bought from the seedsman by the ounce. The girls wanted dark red zinnia. One ounce planted this space. It is not as expensive to buy seed this way. A number of people may club together for seed. Helena's method of planting zinnia was to sow the seeds in a drill. Later she thinned her seedlings so that they stood eight inches apart in the row. Cornflowers or bachelor's buttons are lovely too. They are far lovelier if bought by bulk so one may have the one colour, that lovely blue. These seeds may be planted in drills two seeds every six inches apart. Later thin to twelve inches apart. Most people start cannas from the bulb. When one does this, plant a good sized bulb and leave about an inch of stalk above ground. If the bulbs are smaller use two to a hole or planting. If cannas are started from seed follow this direction: File holes in the canna seed. The reason for this is that the outer crust is tough and filing helps the young plant to get out. These seeds should be soaked in warm water for a day. Plant in pots. When the plants are six to eight inches tall transplant to the garden. Cannas should stand two to six feet apart. It depends on variety, whether tall or dwarfed, how far apart to place them. When the flower garden was first started the question arose: "Shall we plant annuals, biennials or perennials." "For my part," said Josephine, "I don't know at all what these words mean." Katharine got a dictionary and soon she and Eloise had these botanical terms worked out as follows: A perennial is a plant which lives year after year in the soil. It usually blossoms its second season. Trees and shrubs are hardy perennials. A biennial is sown one year, blossoms the next and then dies. Biennials should be covered lightly with straw or leaves through the winter. An annual blossoms and dies its first season. But some annuals sow themselves and so come up again the next season. The girls worked out a table of planting by months which Ethel called the plant time-table. Besides the garden which the girls all had together each one did something to improve things at home. THE FLOWER TIME-TABLE +--------------+-------------+--------------------+ | NAME | SOWING TIME | BLOSSOMING TIME | +--------------+-------------+--------------------+ |Ageratum | May | June-October | |Aster | May | Until frost | |Balsam | May | June-September | |Calendula | May | June-October | |Cal. Poppy | May | August | |Candytuft | May | June-September | |Coreopsis | May | June-August | |Cornflower | April | June | |Cosmos | May | August-September | |Four o'clock | May | July-August | |Foxglove | May | June | |Gaillardia | May | July-October | |Helianthus | May | August-September | |Hollyhocks | August | August | |Iceland Poppy | May | June-September | |Larkspur | May | June-July | |Marigold | May | Until frost | |Mignonette | May | Until frost | |Morning-glory | May | July-August | |Petunia | May | July-September | |Phlox | May | July-October | |Scabiosa | May | July-August | |Stock | May | June-July | |Sunflower | April | July-September | +--------------+-------------+--------------------+ Ethel and Dee set up a sundial in Ethel's own backyard. The directions that follow will help other girls and boys in setting up theirs. Sun-time and clock-time are not quite the same. There are four days in the year when, if you work out the sun-shadow time, your dial will be almost accurate. This is because on these days the sun-time and the clock-time practically coincide. These dates are April 15th, June 15th, September 1st, and December 24th. Before you go outdoors draw on the platform of the sundial a straight line from angle B of the gnomon to the front edge of the platform. Set the dial out in direct sunlight. The shadow cast must fall right on the straight line which you previously drew. When the shadow and the line coincide, mark the extreme end of the line XII. This stands for twelve o'clock. Now screw the sundial in this position to the column you have made for it to rest upon. At one o'clock mark where the shadow points, and keep on with this for every hour. You remember the gnomon angle was the number of degrees corresponding to the degrees in latitude of your special place. Poughkeepsie boys and girls will be interested to know that if a sundial be brought to them from Rome, it will be right for them. And if New York City boys and girls could get one from Florence, they would find it accurate for their own use. These girls lived near Poughkeepsie. Elizabeth planted a border of nasturtium, sunflower and zinnia along her sidewalk. It cost eight cents for seed to plant these two by ten feet strips. Helena made a bed of different kinds of flowers right back of her father's field. The garden was thirteen and one-half feet square. The edges her father helped her sod, this making a terrace effect. Nine little flower beds were marked off with paths between. In the beds were asters, celosia, balsam, nasturtiums, marigold, zinnia, carnation, schizanthus, sweet peas, dahlias, gladiolus, candytuft, lilies, scabiosa, stocks, salvia, snapdragon, phlox, mignonette, four o'clocks and petunias. Helena's mother worked with her in the garden as did one of the boys across the street. He was not a club member but was hoping to be one the next year. And so Leston worked with Helena all summer long. He finally won his place in The Chief's club. Eloise decided she would have a window garden and so before all the front windows of the inn, window boxes were placed. Most of the trouble with the window box is a lack of drainage space. Estimate off the bottom of the box something like this: To every foot bore six holes. This is none too much. The great trouble usually is lack of drainage, or lack of air, or sour soil. Over each drainage hole put a bit of broken pot. Then it is well to put a half-inch of drainage material in the box. Stone, broken pot, sphagnum moss, or hay will do for this. The soil should be good, rich, garden soil. With this one might mix in some sand to help drainage. Window boxes should be watered with care; they should not be flooded. Eloise had very effective boxes. Vincas trailed over the edges; dwarf cannas were in the back of each box; and red and white geraniums were a glory all summer long. Josephine's gardening was a little difficult. She had no space at all. The backyard at her house was seeded down and her mother did not wish it spaded up. She had no front yard. Josephine thought and thought for some time, then decided she would just simply have to make a way to have a garden. So one day she went to the grocery store and bought a soap box for ten cents. This she filled with soil from Eloise's garden. Then she bought a five-cent package of parsley seed. These seeds were soaked over night in warm water, for parsley seeds are slow to germinate. Then the seeds were planted in neat little rows in her box garden. This garden was most convenient. It stood out near the house in the backyard all summer. It went to the exhibit in the fall. It stayed on the piazza until frost and then went into the kitchen for the winter. Josephine had parsley enough for her mother's table all the year around. XVI MORE ABOUT THE GIRLS' WORK. In late September the girls began agitating the matter of bulb planting for the school grounds and their homes. The boys were rather scornful of it. "I believe in gardens," said Albert with great finality, "but bulb work seems to me like fancy work. And then too, bulbs are pretty expensive." "Very well," answered Dee, "we girls are quite able, as you boys know, to work alone. But spading is pretty hard, and I should think some of you would be glad to help." "I'll help any time," Myron volunteered, "and I promise to bring two of these other chaps whenever you say." "Thank you, Myron. We'll not bother you boys further now." Off the girls ran to Katharine's home to study bulb catalogues. Katharine's father gave five dollars for bulbs for the school grounds. This he stipulated was for outdoor planting. Elizabeth and Ethel were going to plant outdoors at home. The other girls had each some money for indoor work. You may all like to know what the girls found out from their search in bulb catalogues. In the first place very good and perfectly reliable information is obtained from the catalogue of any reputable seed house. The girls found out that certain bulbs are better adapted to outside planting, while others do equally well indoors or out. Take tulips first; these are suited to the outdoor conditions. To be sure the florist, whose business it is to raise them inside does so with great success. But boys and girls are more likely to have trouble with inside planting of tulips than of other bulbs. Oftentimes lice cover them when the bulb is first brought up from the cellar. Then when treated with kerosene emulsion or some other insecticide the bud becomes blasted, for the blossom is close under the folded outer leaves, so is in a very precarious position. Then, too, tulip bulbs rot easily and the buds blast easily. So it is wise not to run so many risks but try the kinds of bulbs which are less prone to trouble. The easiest and safest bulbs for children to work with are narcissus (including daffodils, jonquils, Chinese lily bulbs and paper narcissus), and hyacinth. Hyacinth has one bad habit when planted indoors. This is the tendency to unfold its blossom too soon. So the beautiful hyacinth blossom appears dwarfed and stunted close down near the ground. To avoid this condition do not take the bulb from the dark until the leaves are about an inch to two inches above the earth and until they have spread apart. This gives the blossom a chance to shoot up. Tip the pot over and see if the roots are visible through the drainage hole. The time to buy bulbs is in late August or early September. After this bulbs through shrinkage depreciate in value; by which value is meant not one in price but in soundness and ability to produce blossoms. Do not buy cheap or cut-rate bulbs. Buy good, big, sound ones. The Roman hyacinths are excellent for forcing. They are small flowered, quite different from the large sturdy Dutch hyacinths more commonly planted. In choosing hyacinths you have to decide upon the colour and whether you wish double or single varieties. In general most people enjoy single flowers better. If you are to use the hyacinths for outdoor planting or bedding it is perfectly safe just to write for bulbs which are to be bedded. La Grandesse is a beautiful white; King of the Blues speaks for itself and the Sarah Bernhardt is a salmon pink. These do well inside, too. Charles Dickens is a fine rose colour, Prince of Wales, violet, and L'Innocence, a fine white. These are good for inside planting. Some may like the smaller Roman hyacinths, which do splendidly indoors. Very good hyacinths are bought for fifteen cents. Tulips do especially well outdoors. A capital one for either bedding or indoor forcing is the Isabelle. It is a beautiful red tulip which is bought for five cents. The Summer Beauty, a hardy white tulip, is well worth the ten cents asked for each one. Some of you may like to raise some freaks; then try parrot tulips at about thirty-five cents a dozen. A thing to remember about the indoor planting of tulips is this--tulips, more than other bulbs, are likely to have plant lice, so watch out! In daffodils you may be sure of the Van Sion. These are worth forty cents a dozen. You can buy daffodils for twenty. If you wish to lay in a stock of bulbs for water planting choose, of course, Chinese lilies, but try, too, the paper white narcissus. These bulbs cost forty cents a dozen. Buy from the five-and-ten-cent store a glass dish, and gather stones for it. About three weeks before you wish blossoms plant a dozen of these narcissi in the glass dish with the stones as a foundation, and water enough to come up around the base of the bulbs. It is a good plan to set the dish of bulbs in the dark for four or five days. You can grow hyacinths in water too. For this a special glass is sold, although I have seen children place a bulb in the top of a preserve jar. It works all right. Bulbs must never drop low into water or they decay. These, too, should be placed in the dark for about a week. Suppose you have a quarter to spend. You can make all kinds of interesting combinations. Three daffodils for ten cents, a hyacinth for ten, and a tulip for five, give you a chance to experiment. A word more about narcissus. This is a large family, One gets confused sometimes with the names daffodil, jonquil and paper white narcissus. All these are of the family narcissus. The daffodils are the bulbs with large single or double cups. The jonquil has a cluster of small blossoms of from three to six single flowers. The paper white narcissus has four to twelve single blossoms to the flower head. Ethel and Dee had good lawns at home which their mothers were not willing to have spaded up, but they gave consent to the girls putting crocus bulbs here and there over the lawns. These bulbs should be planted about an inch deep and three inches apart in the group. These were dotted about in clusters of six. The dibble is a good instrument to use in dotting bulbs around the turf. Crocuses are good for indoor planting as well. They may be planted in flats or in indoor boxes. Remember crocuses are of practically no use for cut-flower purposes. The school tulip bed was made just as Philip's round bed was made. The time to plant depends on the weather. It is always well to get all outdoor planting done before the time of frost. Why? Because you wish to get the bulbs in while the earth is still warm. Bulbs lie in the ground all winter slowly putting out roots, slowly starting to push up toward the light above. For good root forming they need this long time of slow growth. Get the outdoor bulbs in the ground during September. Before this the ground may be prepared. In all the beds dig down about two feet. Work over the soil well. Make it fine and free from lumps and stones. Ordinary garden soil will be right for these beds. Put no fertilizer in. If your ground is clayey, mix sand with it. Use one-quarter sand in a mixture of this sort. This makes a lighter soil. Clay soil is what we call a heavy soil. Bulbs require light soils. Now comes planting. Different kinds of bulbs require different depths of soil. Place the tulip bulbs four inches deep, and six inches apart. Hyacinths were planted by Elizabeth in a strip beside the house. Jack also planted daffodils in a corner sheltered by the house foundation and an old high fence. The daffodils were planted exactly as the tulips, but the hyacinths were planted six inches deep, instead of four. In buying bulbs for outdoor planting ask for bedding bulbs, while for indoor work buy forcing varieties. One bright day in October the girls met at Katharine's house to pot their bulbs for winter. Some had made wooden boxes or flats during the winter; others had bought low pots; while still others had the ordinary high pot. In potting bulbs or any other plant two things are to be kept in mind--first, the soil, and second, the drainage. The soil may be any good garden soil. To a given quantity one may add one-fourth rotted manure and one-fourth sand. This last helps lighten the material, allowing more air to get at the entire mass and making good drainage easier. Mix all this together. If one lacks the well-rotted manure and sand, any good garden soil may be used. Sift the soil until it is perfectly fine. A simple sieve, which works well, may be made from a small soap or starch box. Knock the bottom out and use in place of this wire netting. Helena and Eloise made two sieves which did for all the girls. Eloise also made some very good flats as described before under the chapter on the girls' winter work. You can easily see how excellent this style of flat is from a drainage point of view. More trouble, in potted bulbs and all kinds of plants, comes from too little drainage space than from any other one thing. Most boys and girls think it enough if one little stone or piece of pot is put in the hole of the flower pot. Not so; there should be from one to two inches of drainage material in the pot. That seems a great deal, doesn't it? But it will give not only drainage but air space, too, and this keeps the plant in good healthy shape. With too little drainage area the earth in a pot gets clogged and very often sour. A high pot needs more drainage matter in it than a low one. First use a piece of broken pot to place over the drainage hole. But put this in such a position that the drainage hole will be kept open. Then put in two inches of coarse material like broken pot. It is now a good plan to place over this a layer of coarse material. This gives a greater opportunity for air. Over this goes the soil you have already prepared. Place bulbs just below the surface and have soil one inch below the top of pot. Narcissus and hyacinths may be planted with their tops out of the soil. A low pot needs less drainage material. Some pots have sphagnum moss over the drainage. Instead of this use old sod finely torn up or coarse soil. See, too, that the bulb comes nearly to the top of the soil. When indoor bulbs are planted at some distance below the surface of the soil they have too much work to do to force their way up and out. It takes too long. After the girls had finished potting the next step was to make arrangements for the resting time. Bulbs should stay in the dark and cold from five to ten weeks. It is difficult to give an exact time as conditions differ and bulbs too. Bulbs may take their retirement in a dark cold cellar where there is no danger from mice. Some attics are suited for this. Eloise put hers in an old bureau. This bureau was in an unused, cold room. The bulbs were placed in the drawers which were then closed, but not tightly. Ethel, Dee and Josephine put theirs in the cellar. Helena, Elizabeth and Katharine tried another plan. They had a trench dug outdoors two feet deep and eighteen inches wide. In this they placed their pots and flats. Then the trench was filled in with dirt and over this a layer of ashes was put. The pots were given a good watering before they were sunk into the ground. Unless the winter is a very dry and open one the bulbs will need no more water. If there should be little snow-fall then it may be necessary to water the ground where the bulbs are, but this is not usual. Little sticks were put into the ground just where the bulbs were. These help in locating them when digging-up time comes. The girls left them in the ground for six weeks. Then they were taken in and put in a cold north window for a week. Helena put hers in the dark a week and then brought them to a north window for another week. Then she put them in a south window. Bulbs should go very slowly from dark and cold to warmth and light. This is a point to be remembered. The girls who stored their pots in attic and cellar of course had to water them. This should be done as often as the plant needs it, perhaps three times a week. [Illustration: THE BULB STORY 1. Ample Drainage 2. Depth of Planting 3. Perfect Root Development 4. Ready to Come to the Light Photographs by H.E. Angell and Henry Schultz.] When the plant is about an inch above the ground, as one of the pictures shows, it is the time to bring it to the light. Be sure the outer leaves have spread apart in the ease of hyacinths and tulips; also invert the pot and see if the roots are poking through; this is another way to be sure that the bulb is ready to come to the light. A way to help a hyacinth or tulip develop its stems properly and so prevent blossoming low down in the box is to put a cone over the bulb as soon as you bring it to the light. Make the cone of paper and have one opening at the top two inches in diameter. The flower stem and leaves of the bulb will quickly start to grow up to the light. Take this cone off when the leaves are several inches high. The girls did some water-planting, too. For this purpose hyacinths, Chinese lilies, paper narcissus and jonquils are good. Some people put these dishes and glasses immediately in the light. But it is better if they are set away in the dark until the shoots start and the roots, too, begin development. The girls bought glass dishes at the five-and-ten-cent store. Into these dishes were put small stones which they had gathered in the fall for this purpose. Stones should be small for this work, from one-half inch to an inch in diameter. Josephine had a lot of fine white sand which she packed in all about the stones. The sand was kept thoroughly wet all the time. This is a good method of treatment. Paper white narcissus, if planted early, will blossom by Thanksgiving. They may be held back until Christmas. These blossoms are sweet smelling and very graceful in appearance. Eloise tried the same method with jonquils with excellent results. In February they had a bulb exhibit and their display was really fine. In the spring they all felt that the outdoor work, too, had paid. The beds were uncovered as early as possible. The outdoor bulb will stand considerable cold, even after it is well up. Cut worms may trouble the hyacinths; if so try the paper collar treatment. Finally remember then three things about bulbs: good bulbs, good drainage, plenty of time in the dark. After bulbs are through blooming let the blossom dry thoroughly and the leaves get yellow and dry. One need not keep these homely looking plants in the living room in plain sight. Put them away down cellar to finish drying out. Then cut the leaves and blossoms off to one inch of the bulb itself. Take bulb out of pot, shake all dirt off, and dry thoroughly. These may be put into paper bags and hung up in a dry place or just packed in a pasteboard box. These indoor bulbs may be planted outdoors in the fall. They will do better for the change. Indoor bulb culture means forcing, a hard strain and demand on a bulb. Outdoor planting gives a long winter's rest, not entire rest, to be sure, but the growth during the winter is slow. LIST OF BULBS BY COLOURS WHITE FLOWERS ---------+-------+-------+---------+-------+------------------------- NAME |DEPTH |OUTDOOR|INDOOR |HEIGHT |SPECIAL POINTS | TO | | | | |PLANT |BLOOM |BLOOM | | ---------+-------+-------+---------+-------+------------------------- Snowdrop 2 in. March Christmas 3-4 in. Earliest of spring flowers. Likes cool and shady spots Crocus 2 in. " " 3-5 in. Buy _Crocus_ _biflorus_. var. _argenteus_ White 3-4 in. April January 10 in. Increases very crowned rapidly daffodils Poet's 3-4 in. May " 12 in. Excellent for narcissus outdoor work Grape 3 in. March " 4-6 in. Plant in shady hyacinth places in the lawn Bell- 3 in. May Christmas 12 in. Poet's narcissus flowered and this scilla scilla planted together bloom at same time Star of 3 in. " 12 in. Most satisfactory Bethlehem for bloom Tulips 4 in. April January 6-12 in. Try Duc Van Thol and d'Immaculée Hyacinths 5 in. " " 6-12 in. Plant Baroness Van Thuyl, very large and very early --------------------------------------------------------------------- YELLOW FLOWERS ---------+-------+-------+---------+-------+------------------------- NAME |DEPTH |OUTDOOR|INDOOR |HEIGHT |SPECIAL POINTS | TO | | | | |PLANT |BLOOM |BLOOM | | ---------+-------+-------+---------+-------+------------------------- Crocus 2-3 in. March Christmas 3-5 in. Plant Cloth of Gold Trumpet daffodils 4 in. April January 15 in. Van Sion is especially satisfactory. Flowers double Jonquil 4 in. " " 12 in. Flowers sweetly fragrant Daffodil 3 in. " " 4 in. Variety _Narcissus_ _Bulbocodium_ Tulips 4 in. " " 12 in. Due Van Thol, yellow Hyacinths 5 in. " " 12 in. Choose from those called bedding varieties ---------+-------+-------+---------+-------+------------------------- BLUE FLOWERS ---------+-------+-------+---------+-------+------------------------- NAME |DEPTH |OUTDOOR|INDOOR |HEIGHT |SPECIAL POINTS | TO | | | | |PLANT |BLOOM |BLOOM | | ---------+-------+-------+---------+-------+------------------------- Common crocus 2-3 in. March Christmas 5 in. Good for lawn effects Grape Hyacinths 2-3 in. April January 15 in. Good for pot culture Iris 4 in. May " 12-24 Plant in groups (Spanish) in. for garden effect Iris 3 in. June " 12-24 If planted outdoors in (English) in. September, cover well with leaves Bulb- 2-3 in. May " 12 in. Satisfactory for flowered bloom scilla Hyacinths 5 in. " " 12 in. King of the Blues ---------+-------+-------+---------+-------+------------------------- RED FLOWERS ---------+-------+-------+---------+-------+------------------------- NAME |DEPTH |OUTDOOR|INDOOR |HEIGHT |SPECIAL POINTS | TO | | | | |PLANT |BLOOM |BLOOM | | ---------+-------+-------+---------+-------+------------------------- Peony 4 in. May 2 - Plant outdoors 2-1/2 ft. in September. Increases and lives a long time Late 6 in. July 3 ft. Showy and peony attractive Red 6-8 in. August 3 ft. Protect through speciosum the winter, lily leaving bulbs in the ground Tulips 4 April January 6-18 in. Isabelle Choose variety ---------------------------------------------------------------------- XVII THE GIRLS' WINTER WORK. "We want some plants at school this winter, and we each should like some plants of our own at home." This remark greeted The Chief one day in late September as he entered his home after a long tramp in the woods. The slant rays of the late afternoon sun and the low fire in the fireplace were not able to give The Chief any clue as to the speakers. "Who are '_we_'?" he demanded. "I am Dee," was the reply, "and 'we' are all the girls." "Dear me" said the man, "I thought I had settled your case by recommending bulb culture to you." "Not much!" shouted the girls all together. "We have finished our bulb work," Katharine went on to say, "and now we are very anxious to do something with house plants. We have a good six weeks or more to wait for our bulbs, and so we thought possibly you would be willing to help us." "I did think," grumbled the man, "that after I had invited you to a series of talks this winter you would leave me in peace." And then they all laughed gaily together. "Well, what is your stock you have to work with, girls? I shall have to know that before I can help you." "We have--that is, most of us have--a lot of old straggly geraniums in our gardens. Then Katharine's mother has some fuchsias and begonias which she has promised us," replied Miriam. "Up at the hotel where Jack sold his lettuce there are a few things I have been promised," added Elizabeth. "Do you know what these are?" asked Ethel. "Yes. There are some heliotrope plants, marguerites, some lovely rose geraniums, and a few flowering maples or--I have forgotten the long name for them." "Abutilon is the other name," added The Chief. "Well, that is a start, surely. I'll do some potting with you next Saturday afternoon. That will give Elizabeth time to get her hotel plants. I guess Dee will drive you up. You are to take a big basket with you, and your trowels. Carefully lift each plant from its resting-place. Water the soil a bit before you take up the plants. They come up easier for this, and soil is more likely to remain clinging to the roots. If it should rain Friday you will be saved the trouble of taking a watering pot with you. Be sure to take up with the plant some of its own soil. Then pack all these soil-encased plants in your basket. Do not let the sun get at them before we get at potting. Come all of you at two in the afternoon. Bring your plants with their own earth, your straggly geraniums, pots, and each a trowel. Now perhaps you will be willing to trot home so I may eat my supper." Next Saturday at two a grand collection of girls, plants, big pots, little pots, and trowels arrived. The Chief took girls and all out into his potting shed. This was once an old woodhouse; now a shed with benches running along two sides of it. Under the benches were great heaps of soil. Pots and pans were piled in one corner and garden implements were neatly put up on the walls. "I call this a pretty nice place for work," said Eloise in tones full of real interest. The Chief nodded smilingly at her, for there was a bond of sympathy between the man and this real outdoor girl. Eloise had a greater appreciation of the work than any one of the others. "Where did that splendid window box come from?" asked Josephine. "That is one the boys made last winter especially for the school. I shall have to give you girls some group work first. Then I'll demonstrate potting and slipping to you all together. Eloise and Josephine will start to put the drainage material into the pots. Ethel and Dee may do the same for the window box. Put in your curved pieces of pot over the drainage hole, then about an inch of drainage material. There is a wooden mallet. Crack up some bits of old flower pot as you need them. Outside is a half barrel of old pots. Instead of using all pot for this half inch of drainage material, use some charcoal. In that barrel marked charcoal you will find plenty of pieces. The charcoal is not only good for drainage but helps keep the soil sweet. Helena, Miriam and Katharine will mix the soil. Here are some firkins and peck measures. To every three measures of soil from that pile there, which is nothing but garden soil, add one measure of sand and one of leaf mould. Now, my leaf mould over there in that tub isn't real mould from the woods. You see the part desired in leaf mould is vegetable matter. I can get that from old rotted leaves and rotted sods. Notice, girls, that you see no green grass in that soddy matter I have shaved off with my spade--only the under surface of the sods. This surface is full of vegetable matter in the form of young roots. Stir up all these portions thoroughly. "Now, Elizabeth, look at these pots. Some are brand new, some are clogged with soil and green matter. Soak the new ones in a pailful of water and clean and wash the dirty ones." "I'd like to ask why I am to soak the new pots, and why, since soil is going right back into these old pots, I have to clean them. I should think the soil clinging to the sides would help out." "Yes, I should like to know that, too," said Miriam, stopping her work. "If new pots are not soaked the soil in them dries out very rapidly. You can see that would be bad. Old soil clinging to plants interferes with the new root growth while the green affects the porosity of the pot." The girls stirred, scraped, and placed bits of pot in boxes and pots for a time without speaking. "Are we putting the right amount of drainage into these pots?" finally questioned Eloise. "Not quite enough into those large pots. In the small ones the inch of drainage you have in the pots is quite sufficient, but in those pots over six inches in size put an inch and a half of drainage material. There should be two inches of drainage in that window box. Katherine, you are taking those new pots out of the water too soon. Leave them in until the bubbling is all over. Wait a minute, you mixing girls over there. You mustn't put such coarse soil into your mixture. That could well go into the pots and window box above the drainage material. But it is far too coarse for a good potting soil. What soil you need for potting one of you should sift. If the lumps were not so large it would have been all right. What is that you are saying, Dee?" "I wanted to know what you were going to use in place of sphagnum moss. We have the drainage fixed in the box. Shall we put on the coarse material next? Helena said you always used sphagnum moss." "So I do when I can get it. But I can't always, so I just take some old thin sods and put them on, green side down, next to the drainage. To be sure, the coarse material could go on next, but it is very apt to settle badly in the pot or box. You will find that sod just outside. Pick out the very thinnest pieces; any others will be too thick." "Now," said Elizabeth, "if you will bring your pots over, we'll fill them up with soil for you." "Wait a little, Elizabeth. What is going to happen with that pot already full of soil when you put the plant in? Just how are you going to work that?" "Why, I had intended to make a hole in the soil and put the plant in." "That is no way to pot plants. Come here, girls, and let us talk this point out. I will pot a plant for you. I guess this begonia would be a good one. See, it has quite a ball of earth of its own. Now look at Elizabeth's full pot. Trying to plant in a pot already full of soil is beginning entirely wrong. Hand over another pot, Josephine. Thank you. See, here is a pot with its drainage, and a very little bit of old sod over this. The soddy matter takes up only about a quarter inch. Give me a trowel full of the potting soil, or a little coarse soil first. Now I lower into the pot my plant with its own earth still about it. See, it is going to be about right. Now, while I hold the plant in position in the pot with my left hand, I shake the potting soil in all about the plant. Here is a stick. I made it and call it my potting stick. It is about the length of a foot ruler. See, it is about an inch thick and has a rounded end. With this end I gently poke the soil into place. Occasionally, I give the pot a little shake, which settles the soil into crevices and crannies. But never do this jerkily or violently. When the soil is within a half inch of the top of the pot, press it down all about the plant stem; that is, firm the plant. You should be able to take up a potted plant by the plant stalk without uprooting it. The florist can do this with any of his potted plants. If the plant is loose in its new home it will not do well." "You said to have a half-inch space between top of soil and top of pot. I should like to know why, because all the plants at my aunt's house are done the other way," eagerly inquired Helena. "The purpose of the half-inch space is for watering the plant. I should be willing to wager that when your aunt waters her plants she has a bad time with water spilling over and soil washing out. The space allows for this and prevents its happening." "I shall tell her about that when I go to see her. I am to go next week. Don't you think I might carry her a plant nicely potted?" "Indeed I do. I think we can spare a begonia for her. Just let me water this plant a little. Notice that I do not flood it. Now, set it outside, Elizabeth, right by my back door where it will be sheltered." "Why put it outside?" asked the child, as she took the pot; "I'd have left it here under shelter." "It goes out because good fresh air is as important for newly potted plants as good soil, careful handling, and watering. Now for a slipping geranium lesson! "Old, stocky geraniums in the fall garden are exactly right to slip. These properly slipped and started, if well cared for, will blossom by January or February. If closely crowded into the window box, you may be certain of bloom provided you have good, strong sunlight on them. Florists slip geraniums and put them into sand; many people put the slips into water to form roots; but it is far easier for you children and for schools to place the slips immediately into the earth of the window box. "The slipping process itself is easy. Suppose we have a big, old geranium from which to take our slips. It is full of branches. These branches or stems have around them at intervals rings called nodes. The space between two nodes is called an internode. On the nodes are what seem to be small leaves. Press one aside, notice between it and the stem what appears to be a very small bud. Here a new shoot can start. "So choose a branch, pick off all the large leaves except two at the extreme end. If there are more than two, choose the two smallest leaves. Now it is ready to cut. About four inches down the stem cut it off between two nodes. Do not cut straight across the stem but cut slantwise. "You have now as I have in my hand, a geranium slip which is four inches long. At one end of the stalk are two leaves; the other end is cut obliquely across. Before you plant this slip look between the two leaves and see if there is a small bud. If so, and it is all green, leave it. For this green means that as the bud develops only leaves will unfold. If you see any other colour in the bud, pinch it out with your fingers. The colour tells us that the bud is a flower bud. If this be left on the slip, all the strength of the little plant will be taken up in forming the blossom. A new plant is not strong enough to stand this. It needs all its power for plant growth. "Plant the slip in your window box, burying it in earth above the first node; that is, the node just above the cut. Thus you have buried in the earth the place where roots will form. "Crowd the slips in, three or four inches only apart. They should not be exposed to the full glare of the sun at first. Some gardeners say to let the slips wilt before watering. But it is quite safe to water a little from the first. Do not soak the soil, however, or the young plants will decay. "Now the slips may be put right into a window box, or into these flats. I would not place them immediately in a sunny window. But place them where the sun does not shine directly. It is excellent to leave window boxes and newly potted plants outdoors for a time, until in the fresh air they get accustomed to their new living conditions." "Shall we fix up the school window boxes now?" asked Josephine. "Yes, we will get right at that. But first I will give you a window-box talk. "The most satisfactory way to grow plants in the schoolroom and in many cases, at home, is in the window box. The window box means the possibility of easily caring for a number of plants in a small space. Plants in pots take much more space than the same number of plants in a window box. "It is the cleanest way, too. You are all familiar with the sight of a pot covered with crêpe paper stained and discoloured from water spilt upon it and moisture given off from the porous pot. "The window box, if properly watered, need never leak. Its freshly painted sides need never be covered with any material. It stands for just what it is--a well-made, well-painted wooden box. "It is quite impossible to give dimensions for the construction of the window box, since it must fit the space one wishes to use. It is wise to keep in mind this--that these boxes when filled with soil are very, very heavy and awkward to handle. So if your window is large, why not have two small boxes for the space rather than one large one? When these are placed end to end the effect is of one long box. The ordinary house window may well have the single box. "Other things to keep in mind for the constructing of the box are depth, drainage, holes, joints and paint. "Just as bulb boxes need no great depth, so with window boxes. If the depth be great the plants spend too much energy in root growth. A shallow box means, if properly filled, a compact root mass. So if your box is to be, say three and a half feet long make it not more than ten inches deep. "As we make drainage holes in the bottom of the bulb box, so we do in the window box. Many people make window boxes without drainage holes. It seems rather better to have them since they offer exit for surplus water, and places for the roots to get at the air. These holes may be bored six inches apart down through the centre of the box; or they may be bored in two lines, thus doubling the number of holes and the amount of air space. Take this rule, for every square foot of space have four drainage holes. "A box filled with soil all winter constantly in a state of moisture is quite likely to spring or spread apart at the joints. The better fitted the joints the better the box, and the better it stands the inside pressure and moisture continually brought to bear upon it. "As to paint, of course the box must have one coat (perhaps two) on the outside. A dark green is all around the best. Green is always the best setting for plants. Nature made this colour scheme. We only follow her lead. "After the box is made, and the paint dry, it must be filled. "Do any of you girls happen to know just where in the school room the boxes are to be placed?" "One goes into a south window, and I believe the other is to be in a north one," replied Dee. "That certainly tells us enough to help us in selecting plants for these boxes. The kind of plants to place in the box depends upon whether the box is to go into a bright sunny window or into one which gets little or no sun. Everyone knows the most satisfactory plant of all for sunny windows is the geranium. It is easy enough to get them for schools without money, because this is the time when everyone's mother is taking up plants for the winter, some of which are always thrown away. Many large, old plants slipped make six or more good little chaps. Begonias are most satisfactory; you can plant these either in sun or shade. A good one for a shady window is the one called the 'beefsteak' begonia. "Fuchsias make a fine show. If you wish to have a plant of some height do not choose a fern or palm, for these plants need so much water they should always be planted by themselves in single pots or in fern dishes. The amount of water required for a palm would cause ordinary plants, like geraniums, to decay. So choose plants which take up about the same quantity of water. For height, then, one might plant a flowering maple. These are fine in leaf and blossom. So they add much to the box. Dracenas are good for both sun and shade; so, too, is pandanus. The foliage of this is pleasing. Much is added to the general effect if some plants which form long hangers are put in, and planted close to the front side of the box. In sun or shade the Wandering Jew grows. A bit breaks off; it is stuck back into the earth and again it grows. Pieces cut and put into water grow equally well. Trailing over the sides of the vessel they are in, they make a pleasing effect in a corner, or by the side of a window. "An important thing to be remembered in connection with window boxes is that the closer you plant the better the growth of the plants. It sounds wrong. We think that plants ought to have space to grow in. They should, usually; but space defeats the object of the window box, because the idea is to have top growth and blossom. If you give plants a chance to grow under the ground they will do it at a sacrifice to their growth above ground. So crowd the plants in. The root growth, thus limited and checked, gives added strength above. This is true too, in a measure, of planting in pots. Most people put plants in too large pots, and so fail often to get good top growth and blossom. Notice next time you drop into a florist's shop the large palms in comparatively small pots. Why is this? Just to get good growth of foliage. "Finally, as to sunny and sunless windows: put into the boxes for the shady windows plants which run to foliage, and into those for the sunny windows plants from which you expect blossom. For blossoms, sun is necessary. "The last thing of all is the placing of the box. Shall it go on the sill? Not if you wish to keep the sill in good condition. Shall it be screwed to the casement? It may be, but it is hard to place each year, and often the strain is too great on the screws. The best arrangement is that of iron brackets screwed to the casement beneath the window sill. These brackets when not in use may be folded in against the wall and so are quite out of the way and do not have to be removed from schoolrooms each spring when the box goes outdoors. The weight of the box is sufficient to hold the brackets out, and so steadies them that it is not necessary to even screw the box on. Two boys holding the brackets straight, two others placing the box on, is all the labour needed to make that box permanently secure. It remains here now until its journey outdoors next spring. "I would like to add the English ivy to the list of trailing plants for the window box. "Some people have candytuft and others marguerites in the indoor box. They do not look as well through an entire indoor season as geraniums, fuchsias and begonias. I think I'll ask Miriam, Elizabeth, and Helena to work on the shady window box. We will use dracena, vincas, pandanus, begonia and Wandering Jew. Ethel, Katharine, and Josephine fix up the sunny window box--the fuchsia, heliotrope, marguerite, geraniums, Wandering Jew, and English ivy. This will be a charming box. Dee, you and I will plant the rest of these geranium slips for the girls." They all worked away busily for some time. Then The Chief asked the girls to come into the house for a time. As they entered the living room they noticed an array of plants on the big table. "Sit down, girls, I have a little gift for each of you. I wish you to study and nurse these plants throughout the winter. "This first tall, rather stiff-looking plant is called an aspidistra. It is the best all-around plant for the house or schoolroom. It does not need much or special care. Be sure to keep the leaves clean. See that you do it, Miriam. "This little Norfolk Island pine is the only one of the cone-bearing trees that you can bank on. Notice that the method of branching is by whorls. You are to have this plant, Elizabeth. "I imagined that Eloise would love this little lemon tree called Ponderosa. You can raise lemon trees from seed, but like the apple tree, they need special attention before they grow good fruit. "The Jersualem cherry tree is for Josephine. It does not absolutely need sun. It, too, stands a great deal of neglect. Remember I am not recommending neglect to you. I am giving you the house plants that are of easiest culture. You will be glad to make note of this entire list. Of course, the berries are the charm of this Jerusalem cherry tree. "To Ethel I will give this lovely genista. It is the finest of all yellow-flowered winter plants. As the blossoms fade they should be taken off. Since this is a good winter flower, it should be allowed to rest in the summer. "The azalea is for Dee. It needs the same care as Ethel's plant. These need not be thrown away next spring. But put them in a shady spot laid on their sides. "Helena's plant is a palm called the _Cocos Weddelliana_, and Katharine's is a fern, the holly fern. "I wish to tell you a bit about ferns and palms. "In most school buildings and homes these two kinds of plants hold chief place. This doubtless is because they, too, stand lack of attention. Most people keep them water-logged because supposedly they are accustomed to and need lots of water. We must keep in mind that while ferns for instance are found outdoors in very damp spots, they are not in places undrained and choked off from air. So the jardinière half full of water does not quite represent the real environment of the fern. "Going on with the fern there are a few points to hold in mind. Do not permit the room temperature to fall below 55 degrees. Neither should it rise above 70 degrees. Direct sunlight injures the delicate fronds of ferns. A north window where there is light without direct sunshine is the right fern place. Keep the leaves clean by spraying with clear water on bright days. If bugs appear, spray weekly with tobacco water. This solution should be very weak. "The best varieties to grow are the sword, Boston, holly, and maidenhair. Use spider ferns for a fern dish. "Palms require great quantities of water, even temperatures, little direct sunlight, and daily sponging of the leaves. A sponge dampened in clean water is the best thing to use for this purpose. The most popular and easiest-to-grow palms are the following: _Cocos Weddelliana_, date palm, kentia, and the arcea." "Will you tell us about the watering of plants?" asked Ethel. "Surely, although I can say but little since it depends largely upon good judgment. Water a plant when it needs it. Keep the soil moist but not soaked. If plants are beginning to decay or a mould is coming on the surface of the soil, the trouble usually is over watering. At such a time let the soil of the pot or box dry out. Then water carefully after that. If the pot is always damp or has become green you may know that the trouble is either too much water or poor drainage." "What pests are likely to attack our plants?" questioned Elizabeth. "Lice and scale troubles are the chief pests of the house plants. You all know plant lice. Use kerosene emulsion for these. The scale appears as a scaly mass, usually on the stems of plants. These scales are living animal forms. The best way to get rid of them is to wipe them off with a rag soaked in kerosene emulsion." "Why didn't you give some one a rubber plant?" was the next question from Miriam. "I guess because of its bad habit of growing so tall and losing its lower leaves. They look like giraffes at the circus. But one may top these plants." "What is topping?" and "How do you do it?" burst from Dee and Helena at the same time. "I suppose you see that if one could get that nice-looking top off and start again the old rubber plant would be all right. So about a foot below the last leaf on the stalk--I mean the last leaf numbering from the top--- you should start the operation. Cut a slit in the bark at this place. Pack soil about the stem. Then encase this with sacking. So you have a nice ball of earth packed about the stem. Let the ball be about six inches in diameter. Keep it moist. You can sprinkle the water on. After a time roots will appear coming through the sacking. The roots have started to develop at this incision of the stem. Now the stalk may be cut below these new roots and the new rubber plant potted." "That is very interesting," began Katharine. "I should so like to try it," broke in Dee. "Now, girls, I believe you'd better pick up your new plants and scamper. We certainly have done a good afternoon's work. The chief things to try for in indoor plant culture are cleanliness of the plant, proper drainage, and freedom from abrupt changes in temperature and draughts. Good-by, girls. We meet again soon at our exhibits." "Good-by, and thank you so much," cried the girls in chorus. XVIII THE GRAND WIND-UP--GIRLS VS. BOYS One day in late September the Boys' Garden Club received an invitation to Katharine's house for four o'clock the following Saturday. Never were boys more astonished than these as they were ushered into the girls' garden. "Well," Albert said quite frankly, "you have beaten us as far as beauty goes. You try vegetables next summer, and we fellows will race you." "Thank you!" answered Dee, "You are very kind to us, very! You may possibly have noticed those beautiful window boxes at the Inn. Eloise made those herself, stocked the boxes, and has cared for them, too. Elizabeth's borders have grown as well, I should say, as Jack's flowers. Peter will tell you of our sundial. Helena has a beautiful garden. To be sure Leston has helped her but only because he wanted to so badly. Girls are not such bad gardeners, are they?" "Not bad?" shouted the boys, "you are wonders!" "Every fellow here give three cheers for the girls," commanded Jay. This was done with a hearty good will. A week later the girls received an invitation to attend the boys' fall exhibit, held at The Chief's house. Early that morning the boys had gone to the woods to gather autumn boughs. The walls were a blaze of bright-coloured leaves. About the room were placed tables upon which the boys' products were exhibited. Fathers and mothers had come to the exhibit; in fact, the whole village had turned out. The prize went to Peter, for he had made the most money out of his garden. Just a word from a talk given by The Chief about the arrangement of exhibits and matters in general. He said, "There are as many ways to prepare vegetables and flowers for an exhibit as there are boys and girls to exhibit. It is not enough to bring the articles to be exhibited. The real art of showing one's things comes in artistic and attractive arrangement. "Vegetables should be thoroughly scrubbed and cleaned. Dirt clinging to the roots needs sometimes a brush to get it entirely off. Carrots, beets, radishes, turnips, celery and other vegetables where the edible part is beneath ground, need this sort of attention, not only to make them clean, but to bring out the colours in each case. "The foliage of a vegetable plant often adds much to its appearance in exhibition. For instance, the carrot has quite lovely lacey leaves. Beet leaves have such good red colours in them that they, too, add something to the general effect. The colours of the leaf and the colour of the fruit itself are a harmony. When radish leaves are taken off there is no good way of bunching the radishes. They are cut quite off from kith and kin. "The only objection to the foliage is its wilting, drooping, tired looking leaves certainly add nothing lovely to the exhibit. If the exhibition is of short duration there is no trouble along this line; if it is one of several days the problem is different. "Children's exhibits, however, usually last but a short time. But if the products can be put away in cold storage over night, or in water in a cool place, then it is possible to keep them in good shape. "An outdoor exhibit is not wholly satisfactory because of the effect of the air on the products. They wilt badly. A tent is far better than the open-air table for exhibiting. With care the exhibition may always be made attractive. "The arrangement of products is one of the main features. Generally children's exhibits are pretty messy and mussy looking. This is because of two things: first, the children have so many little separate exhibits; second, we do not stop to discuss carefully the matter of arrangement and preparation. If the children understood fully that no products would be admitted for exhibition unless these were cleaned, were of uniform size, and of the requisite number, there would be little trouble. With them, arrangement would have to be worked out largely on the scene of action, although colour effects, bunching, and general matters could be taken up beforehand. "Let us think out a few general directions for exhibiting. First, all products must be thoroughly cleaned. Heading vegetables, as cabbage and lettuce, should be cleaned well, and perhaps two heads of each kind shown by the exhibitor. Radishes, carrots, young onions and small vegetables which are to be bunched should have anywhere from twelve to twenty specimens in the bunch. Leave the foliage on such bunches. The large vegetables like beets and parsnips may have from four mammoth specimens to eight smaller ones. Potatoes are exhibited by the plate and so are tomatoes. There are supposed to be seven large specimens to the plate. "Flowers are usually shown cut and arranged in vases. The vases should be of clear, white glass for the best effects. Rose bowls may be used, too. Do not put grand collections of all varieties and colours of flowers together. Suppose the exhibit of a certain person is to be one of asters. Then put the purple ones together in a vase, the pink ones together in another vase. "Another mistake of exhibitors is the huddling of products into close quarters. Give your individual specimens plenty of room. Let the things stand out as individual. The entire exhibit is spoiled when it looks messy and huddled up. "The labelling is often done poorly. Any little piece of paper is stuck on the vases or under a bunch of vegetables. The child's name is written in abominable handwriting. Write or neatly print a little card. Put on this the date, name of the exhibitor (or number) and his place of residence, if required. "These, in brief, show the real educative lines along which one ought to conduct a children's exhibit. The aesthetic side enters in largely, and a proper bit of the commercial is here, too." Well, this exhibit of the boys' was pretty good. Each boy had a set of photographs showing the round of his work. These had been made into books. Some of the boys had kept diaries. The diaries had in them not only an account of experiences, but also the tables worked out with The Chief. Jack had what he called an improvement section, which gave ways by which he might improve over his present methods of work. The garden plans drawn to a scale were on the walls. Myron had brought his set of real garden tools. The pieces of hand work made by the boys were there, too. George had made a collection of garden pests, while Philip and Peter had made collections of weed pests. All the pamphlets from Washington which they had used in their work and those from their own state experiment station were on a little table. Each boy told briefly the difficulties he had encountered and how he had met them. After a talk by Jay, Albert spoke of the experiment in inoculation of soil. Then he and Jay disappeared, and returned with plates, one for each guest, and on each plate were two spoonfuls of beans, one of the inoculated and the other of the uninoculated beans. The visitors were not told which were which. Then a vote was taken as to which were the better. Of course, the inoculated beans won out. After this, the real refreshments were served. "I should like to ask," Dee made bold to say, "where you boys got strawberries to make ice cream of? Strawberries in October! You certainly do not expect us to believe you raised them." "I did," said Myron, striking an attitude before her. "I did in my own little patch." "Did you make a few cakes of ice and thus have a cold storage plant?" Dee continued sarcastically. "Dear me, no! I'm much more clever than that. One day, with a few baskets of berries tucked under this noble right arm of mine, I walked to this house. I knocked at the door. A man let me in. He tied an apron about this waist. We actually canned these same berries which you are now eating as a frozen delicacy." "You boys are altogether too smart," and Dee turned her back on Myron to accept a second dish of cream from Philip. That didn't disturb Myron any, for he cakewalked back to the kitchen for more cream. "Well, it was a fine exhibit for mere lads," Jack's father was heard to say on his way home; "If we could bring into this little village a few more men like our boys' Chief there would be no question about a boy's coming up all right. It makes me ashamed to think that we parents have left this work to an outsider." "I feel," answered George's father, "that this man is a real 'insider'." After all the guests had left The Chief's once again the boys formed their line and saluted the man. "Is there nothing for us this winter, O Chief?" asked Albert. "Plenty. We are going to have a beautiful winter, and next spring better work." Laden with their trophies the boys reluctantly started for home. They stood in the road in front of The Chief's gate, and the moon shone down on seven happy, manly boys. The three cheers to The Chief arose clear and shrill on the still evening air. As it died away the boys seemed to melt into the shadows of the road. The man stood motionless in his doorway until the last sound of the boys died away. Then he went back into the room to dream over the fire dreams for his boys. PART II THE CHIEF'S GARDEN TALKS I THE SOIL The following winter The Chief gave Friday afternoon talks to his boys and girls. These meetings did not in any way interfere with the boys' regular Saturday evening club. Immediately after school each Friday afternoon they all trooped round to The Chief's little house, which had become a centre of village interest. Finally the men came too, for they had found out that this man knew of what he spoke. But we are wandering away from those Friday afternoons. There was the strangest collection of stools and benches in The Chief's side entry, all belonging to the boys and girls. "You must each one bring your own seat, because you all know that I haven't chairs enough to go around." And this called forth the collection. It was an odd sight that first Friday in early November. A long straggly line of boys and girls, each one with a seat of some kind, wound its way up to The Chief's hospitable door, where he stood waiting, laughing aloud at the sight. In they came, and made a semi-circle about the big fireplace. "I just love this room," said Albert, voicing the feelings of them all. "I have thought," began The Chief, "that since our really successful first year of gardening, we ought to be in a position to undertake and to desire to know more about certain subjects which I shall discuss. Each Friday I am going to take up a topic such as I should if I were teaching you in school." "You do not mean that we'll have to remember and answer questions just like school? You surely do not mean that, Big Chief," broke in Albert. "No," replied the man laughing, "no, you may forget it all if you like. Remember it, if it seems to you useful. But if it's a strain on you, Albert, make it your business to forget." They all laughed at this, but none so heartily as Albert himself. "That's one on this old head of mine," he said, banging that member up against the side of the chimney. "My first talk I have given you in part, but I have more I wish to add. I believe even Albert can stand it. The subject is the soil. "Soil primarily had its beginning from rock together with animal and vegetable decay, if you can imagine long stretches or periods of time when great rock masses were crumbling and breaking up. Heat, water action, and friction were largely responsible for this. By friction here is meant the rubbing and grinding of rock mass against rock mass. Think of the huge rocks, a perfect chaos of them, bumping, scraping, settling against one another. What would be the result? Well, I am sure you all could work that out. This is what happened: bits of rock were worn off, a great deal of heat was produced, pieces of rock were pressed together to form new rock masses, some portions becoming dissolved in water. Why, I myself, almost feel the stress and strain of it all. Can you? "Then, too, there were great changes in temperature. First everything was heated to a high temperature, then gradually became cool. Just think of the cracking, the crumbling, the upheavals, that such changes must have caused! You know some of the effects in winter of sudden freezes and thaws. But the little examples of bursting water pipes and broken pitchers are as nothing to what was happening in the world during those days. The water and the gases in the atmosphere helped along this crumbling work. "From all this action of rubbing, which action we call mechanical, it is easy enough to understand how sand was formed. This represents one of the great divisions of soil--sandy soil. The sea shores are great masses of pure sand. If soil were nothing but broken rock masses then indeed it would be very poor and unproductive. But the early forms of animal and vegetable life decaying became a part of the rock mass and a better soil resulted. So the soils we speak of as sandy soils have mixed with the sand other matter, sometimes clay, sometimes vegetable matter or humus, and often animal waste. [Illustration: Constant Cultivation of the Soil Saved George's Cabbages Photograph by Karl W. Helmer] "Clay brings us right to another class of soils--clayey soils. It happens that certain portions of rock masses became dissolved when water trickled over them and heat was plenty and abundant. This dissolution took place largely because there is in the air a certain gas called carbon dioxide or carbonic acid gas. This gas attacks and changes certain substances in rocks. Sometimes you see great rocks with portions sticking up looking as if they had been eaten away. Carbonic acid did this. It changed this eaten part into something else which we call clay. A change like this is not mechanical but chemical. The difference in the two kinds of change is just this: in the one case of sand, where a mechanical change went on, you still have just what you started with, save that the size of the mass is smaller. You started with a big rock, and ended with little particles of sand. But you had no different kind of rock in the end. Mechanical action might be illustrated with a piece of lump sugar. Let the sugar represent a big mass of rock. Break up the sugar, and even the smallest bit is sugar. It is just so with the rock mass; but in the case of a chemical change you start with one thing and end with another. You started with a big mass of rock which had in it a portion that became changed by the acid acting on it. It ended in being an entirely different thing which we call clay. So in the case of chemical change a certain something is started with and in the end we have an entirely different thing. The clay soils are often called mud soils because of the amount of water used in their formation. The slate that Myron brought for road making belongs to the clay family, and so does shale. "The third sort of soil which we farm people have to deal with is lime soil. Remember we are thinking of soils from the farm point of view. This soil of course ordinarily was formed from limestone. Just as soon as one thing is mentioned about which we know nothing, another comes up of which we are just as ignorant. And so a whole chain of questions follows. Now you are probably saying within yourselves, how was limestone first formed? "At one time ages ago the lower animal and plant forms picked from the water particles of lime. With the lime they formed skeletons or houses about themselves as protection from larger animals. Coral is representative of this class of skeleton-forming animal. "As the animal died the skeleton remained. Great masses of this living matter pressed all together, after ages, formed limestone. Some limestones are still in such shape that the shelly formation is still visible. Marble, another limestone, is somewhat crystalline in character. Another well-known limestone is chalk. Perhaps you'd like to know a way of always being able to tell limestone. I'll drop a little of this acid on some lime. See how it bubbles and fizzles. Now Albert will drop some on this chalk and on the marble, too. The same bubbling takes place. So lime must be in these three structures. One does not have to buy a special acid for this work, for even the household acids like vinegar will cause the same result. Albert will prove this to you. "Then these are the three types of soil with which the farmer has to deal, and which we wish to understand. For one may learn to know his garden soil by studying it, just as one learns a lesson by study. "I believe the boys from their last winter's work feel fairly familiar with soils, I have in these three tumblers the three types of soil. As I pour water on them just see what happens. Observe how little water it takes to saturate sand. The limy soil holds more water and the clayey an amazing quantity. "I do not know whether you are much acquainted with the sea shore, I doubt it." "I am," broke in Katharine, "for each summer, except this last one, I have spent a month at the beach." "Then possibly you can tell us, Katharine, whether, or not, the sand takes in, or absorbs, much heat during the day." "Indeed it does absorb heat; why some days we used to go barefooted on the beach right after dinner. I can tell you there were times when we couldn't stand the heat of the sand." "That is quite true," continued The Chief, "sand absorbs heat to a remarkable degree. This heat is, to be sure, in the upper layers of the sand. Had Katharine burrowed down with her toes below those upper layers she would have found moist, cool sands. But an upper layer of soil, made up of particles which fall apart easily because of the loose make-up, a layer which has absorbed little water and much heat--well, to me that sort of soil doesn't sound quite right for good gardening. Add to such a soil, humus in the shape of stable manure in large quantities and this same poor soil becomes very good. "Now here is the lime soil tumbler. This soil has taken up rather more water than the sand took. But it, too, surely needs to develop greater power to take in and hold water. So the same sort of medicine which we gave the sandy soil may be dealt out to the lime soil. Lime is a pretty good substance to have in soil. Lime is a kind of fertilizer in itself; it's a soil sweetener; it helps to put plant food in shape for use, and causes desirable bacteria to grow. This sounds a bit staggering but all of these things I am going to talk over with you. So just at present forget it, Albert, if it is a heavy burden. "The clay soil, you observe, has taken in quite a quantity of water. That seems like a good thing. It is. But clay has a mean little habit of squeezing tightly its particles together with the aid of water so that air is excluded from the mass. It forms huge lumps; it bakes out and cracks badly; and it is also very damp, cold and soggy in early spring. "As the problem with sand is to add something so that more water may be held in the soil, so the problem with clay is to overcome that bothersome habit of baking and caking and cracking. To do this we might add sand or ashes. But perhaps it would be better yet to add manure with a lot of straw in it. This is the easiest kind of thing for country boys and girls to get, because the bedding swept out of horses' stalls is just the thing. "When I speak of clay's horrid habit of tight squeezing, I always have to stop and talk about the two great needs of all soils. One is the need for water; the other, for air. A soil cannot exist without these two things any more than we can. Without these, or poorly supplied with them, a soil is as if it were half-starved. "That trouble always comes from a lack of one or the other is quite sufficient to prove to us that these are essential. Just see how sand lacks water, as does lime soil too! But there is plenty of air space, unless these soils are too finely powdered. Now look at clay! plenty of water, but how about the air? When clay begins its packing, then air is excluded. "So one of the questions to be asked in soil improvement concerns the water and air problem. We must have air spaces, and we must have water-holding capacity. "Before we go home I must just speak of soil and subsoil. When you strike your spade down into the earth and lay bare a section of the soil this is what you see: on top is the plant growth, the soil beneath this, dark in texture and about our locality of a depth of from six to eight inches. This layer is called the topsoil. In sections of the West it is several feet in depth. Now below the topsoil is a lighter coloured, less fertile, more rocky layer, the subsoil. Beneath comes a layer of rock. "And finally you may be a bit confused by the word loam. It is often given as one of the classes of soils. By loam we mean clay, sand and humus. You will often hear people speaking of a sandy loam or a clayey loam according as there is a greater percentage of sand or clay in the soil. "Next Friday I shall talk about soil fertility. So trot home lively now!" II PLANT FOOD A soil, as I have said before to the boys, may contain all the food necessary for plant growth and still not support any good growth at all. That means then we ought to be able in some way or other so to understand the soil that it will be possible to unlock these good things for the plants to live on. "I see a question in Josephine's and Miriam's faces. I guess that this question is concerning what the plant food is in soils. That is right, is it not? "Well, I'll take that up first, then;--different ways of improving and increasing the goodness of the soil. "The foods that are necessary and essential to plants and most likely to be lacking in the soil are nitrogen, potash and phosphorus. Now by no means must you think that these are the only chemicals which are foods, for there are something like thirteen, all of which do a share in the food supply. Oxygen and carbon are very necessary indeed. Oxygen is both in the air and in water. Carbon plants take entirely from the air. I might go on and tell you of iron, of sulphur, of silicon and all the others. But you would only get confused, so I am going to make you acquainted with these three entirely necessary ones. They are capricious; often missing, and when not missing hard to make into available food for plants. "The soil contains many bacteria, small living organisms. These may be divided into two classes, the good ones and the bad ones. The good ones acting on nitrogenous matter put it in shape for the plant to absorb or feed upon. You see nitrogen may be in soil in quantities sufficient for nourishment. But unless it is in a compound available for use, it is of no value to the plant. Then there are the bad bacteria which act upon nitrogen in such a way as to form compounds which escape from the soil as a gas. That is pretty bad, is it not? "How can the good bacteria be encouraged to grow, and the bad ones prevented from forming? The necessary conditions for the growth of good bacteria are air, water, darkness, humus matter and freedom from acid condition of the soil. If the soil is acid then these other 'chaps' set up their work; so we must see to it that our soils are well cultivated, well aired, have plenty of manure, and, if acid, have a liming, so that these bacteria missionaries can start their good work. "The manure I spoke of above is the great source of nitrogen upon which most plants depend. There is nitrogen sufficient right in the air, but that again is not available. Certain plants like beans, peas and clovers belonging to the family of legumes are a great deal more fortunate than the rest of the plant families, for, under favourable conditions, they develop bacteria which make it possible to take into themselves free nitrogen. Just look here! See this narrow box; I can drop down one side of it. Here is a sheet of glass put on so you may look at the roots of the beans which are planted close to this glass side. Just observe the great extent of root system. Now see on the roots these white lumps, or nodules as they are called. These contain nitrogen-gathering bacteria. Some farmers in order to get more available nitrogen in the soil plant a crop of some legume. Then these root masses with their treasures on them are spaded into the soil. "But most plants depend for nitrogen on manure. Whenever you see sickly looking foliage know that nitrogen is lacking, and supply manure in order to obtain it. "The next element is potash. Its most common source of supply is wood ashes, not coal ashes. One may buy potash in the form of the muriate or sulphate. I told the boys before that potash was good for seed and fruit. Pretty necessary to have in the soil, is it not? Stunted fruit and poor seed mean lack of potash. Phosphorus helps in this work too, and also assists in the forming of fine flowers. Bone ash and phosphates are the sources of this food element. "So if we just consider the classes of soils with which we have to deal, remember the foods that must be had, and the effects on plants where one (or all) of these is lacking, we have in our hands a help to soil troubles. "Take sandy soil--what is its greatest need? I should say humus. It certainly should have more nitrogen. So add humus in the form of manure. Spread it on your piece of garden plot anywhere from two to six inches deep. This spaded in will, I think, do the work. You see sand allows water to trickle away too fast. Water must be held properly in the soil. "The clay soil really needs air. The good bacteria will not work without this. So spade the soil up in the fall, and leave it weathering in huge lumps. Sand or ashes added in the spring helps the air question too. A sprinkling of lime over the surface tends to sweeten the entire soil; for clay soil, so often too wet, is liable to get sour. Lime also adds another plant food called calcium. It would not be bad to add some humus in order to have an even greater supply of nitrogen. "The lime soil, light and sweet, needs humus too. It should have this to add body and ability to hold water. "Sometimes it is well to add in the spring a sprinkling of phosphates; that is a chemical fertilizer. Chemical fertilizers are like tonics to the soil. "All this very briefly puts us in touch with plant foods. I think you all know from your school work that plants take their foods in liquid form. These solutions of foods are very, very weak. That is another reason why we should see that, if possible, there is plenty of nourishment available in the soil, and plenty of water too. "These bean roots and rootlets show the feeding area or places of plants. Notice the small roots which apparently have a fringe on them. These fringes we call the root hairs. These absorb, soak up the dilute food which is in the soil. "It is very wonderful what power they have of penetrating the soil. See the bit of blotter I have put down the path of one bean's root course. It would seem to shut the rootlets entirely off from the soil. "Jay will gently press the bit of blotter away from the soil. See here and there how these root hairs have wound their way through the blotter to the soil, their feeding place. It is well that plants have this power of seeking and finding food. Because it greatly increases their food chances. "So much very briefly for plant food. I have not told you very much to be sure, but it is quite enough, I think, for a 'starter,' I wish to tell you a bit about the plant itself soon. A few experiments may liven up the subject. So I shall ask Josephine, Miriam, and Ethel to attend to those for us. We can take turns at demonstrating as Jay and Albert have to-day. So you girls must remember to drop in to see me--say, Wednesday of next week." III SEEDS Now before we begin just have a look at these geraniums. They have turned entirely around again and are looking out of the window at the sun. The power which plants have to move is very clearly shown, is it not? I am going to talk a little this afternoon about seeds. "Any reliable seed house can be depended upon for good seeds; but even so, there is a great risk in seeds. A seed may to all appearances be all right and yet not have within it vitality enough, or power, to produce a hardy plant. "If you save seed from your own plants you are able to choose carefully. Suppose you are saving seed of aster plants. What blossoms shall you decide upon? Now it is not the blossom only which you must consider, but the entire plant. Why? Because a weak, straggly plant may produce one fine blossom. Looking at that one blossom so really beautiful you think of the numberless equally lovely plants you are going to have from the seeds. But just as likely as not the seeds will produce plants like the parent plant. "So in seed selection the entire plant is to be considered. Is it sturdy, strong, well shaped and symmetrical; does it have a goodly number of fine blossoms? These are questions to ask in seed selection. "If you boys and girls should happen to have the opportunity to visit a seedsman's garden, you will see here and there a blossom with a string tied around it. These are blossoms chosen for seed. If you look at the whole plant with care you will be able to see the points which the gardener held in mind when he did his work of selection. "Last winter we had quite a discussion on corn seed selection. So we will not discuss that further. Only let me say this for the benefit of the girls in order to show them the care which must be exercised in selection. Should a finely formed ear of corn have one or two black kernels on it, then that shows a cross or taint, do not use such an ear for the old trouble may crop out. Take an ear of seed corn, notice the small and rather undersized kernels at the top; do not use these. Select kernels, the largest, plumpest and best shaped. "In seed selection size is another point to hold in mind. Suppose Peter had bought a package of bean seed. Pull the little envelope out of your pocket, young man, and open it up. Just look at those seeds as Peter spreads them out here. Now we know no way of telling anything about the plants from which this special collection of seeds came. So we must give our entire thought to the seeds themselves. It is quite evident that there is some choice; some are much larger than the others; some far plumper, too. By all means choose the largest and fullest seed. The reason is this: When you break open a bean--and this is very evident, too, in the peanut--you see what appears to be a little plant. So it is. Under just the right conditions for development this 'little chap' grows into the bean plant you know so well. "This little plant must depend for its early growth on the nourishment stored up in the two halves of the bean seed. For this purpose the food is stored. Beans are not full of food and goodness for you and me to eat, but for the little baby bean plant to feed upon. And so if we choose a large seed, we have chosen a greater amount of food for the plantlet. This little plantlet feeds upon this stored food until its roots are prepared to do their work. So if the seed is small and thin, the first food supply insufficient, there is a possibility of losing the little plant. "You may care to know the name of this pantry of food. It is called a cotyledon if there is but one portion, cotyledons if two. Thus we are aided in the classification of plants. A few plants that bear cones like the pines have several cotyledons. But most plants have either one or two cotyledons. "Some plantlets, as they develop and start to push above the ground, bear along the cotyledon. This is true in the case of the bean. Jack and Peter have planted corn and beans in this box, not to have succotash but to show you about the habits of seeds. See the bean plantlet, big, sturdy, fellow, is still clinging to its seed leaves or cotyledons, its baby nourishment. Now look at the corn: there is absolutely no sign above ground of its one seed leaf. "So from large seeds come the strongest plantlets. That is the reason why it is better and safer to choose the large seed. It is the same case exactly as that of weak children. Look at Myron, great strapping fellow! Hasn't he a fine chance in the world? Do you remember that little sickly boy who was in school last spring? He was as old as Myron, yet see how handicapped he is. Try not to bring weak little plantlets into the plant world. Bring strong, sturdy, healthy ones by careful seed selection. "There is often another trouble in seeds that we buy. The trouble is impurity. Seeds are sometimes mixed with other seeds so like them in appearance that it is impossible to detect the fraud. Pretty poor business, is it not? The seeds may be unclean. Bits of foreign matter in with large seed are very easy to discover. One can merely pick the seed over and make it clean. By clean is meant freedom from foreign matter. But if small seed are unclean, it is very difficult, well nigh impossible, to make them clean. "The third thing to look out for in seed is viability. We know from our testings that seeds which look to the eye to be all right may not develop at all. There are reasons. Seeds may have been picked before they were ripe or mature; they may have been frozen; and they may be too old. Seeds retain their viability or germ developing power, a given number of years and are then useless. There is a viability limit in years which differs for different seeds. This matter, along with directions for testing, the girls may get from our club secretary, Albert. All of this we took up last year in our preliminary garden work before we started outdoor work. "From the test of seeds we find out the germination percentage of seeds. Now if this percentage is low, don't waste time planting such seed unless it be small seed. Immediately you question that statement. Why does the size of the seed make a difference? This is the reason. When small seed is planted it is usually sown in drills. Most amateurs sprinkle the seed in very thickly. So a great quantity of seed is planted. And enough seed germinates and comes up from such close planting. So quantity makes up for quality. "But take the case of large seed, like corn for example. Corn is planted just so far apart and a few seeds in a place. With such a method of planting the matter of per cent, of germination is most important indeed. "Small seeds that germinate at fifty per cent. may be used but this is too low a per cent. for the large seed. Suppose we test beans. The percentage is seventy. That per cent. would pass you in school, but it does not pass muster here. For if such low-vitality seeds were planted, we could not be absolutely certain of the seventy per cent. coming up. But if the seeds are lettuce go ahead with the planting. Peter will pass around these germinating per cent. tables which he has printed for you. I'd advise you to paste these in your garden diaries. After a test refer to this table which is from a United States Agricultural Dept. list for seeds not over one year old. You then know at once whether the seed is worth using. -------------------------------------------------------- PER CENT. OF GERMINATION -------------------------------------------------------- Beans 90 | Leek 80 | Pumpkin 87 Cabbage 90 | Lettuce 85 | Radish 90 Carrots 80 | Muskmelon 87 | Spinach 84 Cauliflower 80 | Okra 80 | Squash 87 Celery 60 | Onion 80 | Tomatoes 85 Corn 87 | Parsley 70 | Turnips 90 Cucumber 87 | Peas 93 | Watermelon 87 Eggplant 80 | Peppers 80 | -------------------------------------------------------- "After being sure of good seed the next step to consider is when to plant the seed. It is well to start certain seed inside and so get a bit ahead of the season. Other seed may as well wait, and be planted out in the open when the ground is warm. "Such vegetable seed as the following may be started inside. -------------------------------------------- INDOOR PLANTING TIME-TABLE -------------------------------------------- FEBRUARY | MARCH | APRIL -------------------------------------------- Artichoke | | Cabbage | | Celery | Cucumber | Egg plant | Egg plant | Lettuce | Lettuce | Muskmelon Onion | Pepper | Radish | Radish | Tomato | | Tomato -------------------------------------------- "Flower seeds I will take up later because I wish to think over the flower garden by itself. "When shall we plant seeds outdoors? Now no one under the sun can say plant such and such a seed on May 30th or April 1st. It is the same absurd case as saying change your winter clothes for summer ones on May 1st. Many writers will cover this subject by saying plant seeds when the earth is warm. But even that is a pretty general sort of direction. "Nature has given us a planting guide. She tacks her notice on the fruit trees. When those early blooming trees, the peach and the plum, put out their beautiful blossoms the first planting time is on. To be sure the temperature then is a bit low, only about 45 degrees, so the planting is not of the more tender vegetables. Get your seed of beet, carrot, cabbage, cauliflower, endive, kale, lettuce, parsley, parsnip, onion, pea, radish, turnip and spinach. These may all be planted. "The next signal to watch for is given by the blooming of the apple trees. This is the planting time for the more tender seed. These need a temperature of about 60 degrees in the shade, real apple-blooming time. Corn, beans, egg plant, melon, squash, cucumber, pumpkin, tomato and pepper seeds may be planted. "But when is the time to put out the hotbed, or indoor-started seedlings? When the apple blossoms drop their petals and have passed by is the signal for them to go into the ground. Of course, they naturally would be the last, for they are made very tender from their glass-grown coddling. "When it comes to the planting of seed there are certain things to remember always. First the ground should be made very fine. This is an easy matter if the planting is done in the hotbed, but more of a problem in the outdoor garden. It is foolish to plant at all if one does not intend to do things right. So work over the seed bed thoroughly. After all is fine and deeply worked, say to about a foot deep, the next thing to consider is this--how deep should a seed be planted? "The depth depends upon the size of the seed. Take such small seed as poppy, parsley, even lettuce, and these may be just sprinkled on the surface of the ground. Then tread them in with the foot or place a board over them and walk on the board. In this way the small seed are pressed into the soil quite sufficiently. "For seeds in general the following might answer for a rule: There are seeds like corn, oats, wheat and the grasses which come up unhampered by their seed leaves. Such seed may be planted deeply--say ten times the thickness of the seed. Other seed like beans, squash, radish, etc., push and carry their seed leaves up through the soil with them. So these, because of this extra work, should be planted nearer the surface. Four or five times the thickness of the seed is a safe rule to follow. "When the seed becomes entirely or nearly saturated with water then germination begins. Sometimes people soak their corn in tepid water before planting. This hastens germination. But on the other hand if the soil is very wet and cold the soaked seeds may rot in so much moisture. Certain seeds have very thick coverings. Canna, date and nut seeds are examples. Their cases are so hard and absorb moisture so slowly that germination is a long process. To hasten this little holes may be drilled in the case, thus giving the plant germ a chance to get out. Nurserymen crack the nuts in order to help matters along. You can readily see what a really difficult piece of work it is for a tiny embryo or baby plant to break open a thick case. "If seeds are planted too deeply again, a tremendous piece of work is imposed upon the little plant. To push up through, say one inch of soil, would be quite a task for a lettuce seedling. "Finally in seed planting, the soil must be safely compacted or pressed about the seed. The object of this is to bring in contact with all parts of the seed soil particles with their films of water. Suppose a radish seed is planted and no soil happens to come in direct contact with the seed. That distance, so slight to us, is a well-nigh impossible one for the rootlets to extend to. "There is a possibility of course, of too close compacting. This occurs when the soil is very wet. Do not compact at all then. In fact, such soil condition represents a very bad time for planting, anyway. Moisture is necessary for germination, but superabundance of water is fatal. It is simply ideal when after a planting a gentle rain comes--germination. "I remember once seeing a garden which school children had planted so close to the surface that after a rain most of the seeds were lying all sprouted on the surface of the soil. Take care not to plant in such a manner. "This talk has been largely for the purpose of bringing to your minds certain necessary points. Let me sum them up: Cheap seed are expensive because they are often full of impurities and lack vital power. Buy good seed and test _them_. Plant large seed, because the storage of food is greater. Make the soil conditions right in order to give every help to the seed. Plant neither too deep, nor too near the surface. Compact the soil, and so aid germination. The first start of work must be right; otherwise, trouble comes." IV THE PLANT ITSELF "To think of a plant as a breathing, growing thing is wonderful, but it is far more wonderful to think of it as something possible for even boys and girls to train and improve. Here is a bed of petunias, let us say; do you know just how it is possible to have larger, finer petunias next year? "A slight operation performed, and behold magic has been worked! "First, we will go over the life history of a plant, and then I'll tell you of this magic and how to work it. Or better yet my assistants here, Josephine, Miriam and Ethel, will do the trick. "A plant really goes through much the same operations in life as does an animal. Only to be sure, these operations are performed in a rather different way. A plant has a digestive, or feeding, system, a breathing apparatus, the power to rid itself of waste and to make seed; it moves, and it grows, too. Philip looked a bit skeptical when I said it moves. Well, it does. Of course, a plant does not walk about, and move from spot to spot. But a plant can and does move. Why it can turn itself around back to, even. Just look at my geranium slips there! they seem to be breaking their backs to peep out of the window and look at their best friend, the sun. Turn all of them around, George. See, they face us now! remember to look at them next Friday. "But to start over again. A plant has just three necessary and important parts: these parts are the roots, stem, and leaves. No, Elizabeth, the fruit and flowers are not separate parts. Why? Well, merely because by some queer provision of the plant world, the leaves are responsible for making or forming both the flower and the fruit. If you watch a bud form and unfold, you will notice that the entire little bud seems to be a series of leaves. And if your fingers were clever enough you could take tiny leaves and fold them into the parts which go to make up the flower and the fruit. This last, like most of the rest of that I am telling you, is just one of the miracles of nature. "The root, rootlets and root hairs all go to make up the root-system of a plant. This system is a feeding and food storage system; cold storage, we might call it. "I have spoken before about how the root hairs absorb food. Food is soaked up something as a blotter soaks up ink. Underground plant food must be liquid in nature. This is because plants, like babies, must have very dilute food. Plants can no more get food out of a dry lump of soil than a little baby can get its food from a hunk of bread or a thick slice of corn beef. But let that soil be water-soaked, and have the proper bacteria at work, and the material is in plant-food form. Josephine has here an old, old experiment. What was a white pink is now a red one. It has been in that glass of red ink and a little water. And lo, up the stem the red fluid climbed until it suffused the white flower and made it red. Notice as Miriam holds that lump of sugar only just touching the surface of the water, the water moves up that lump. In this way water and liquid food rise up the stems of plants. Just so, too, water rises in the soil from the lower layers up to the feeding place of the roots, and even up to the surface of the ground. "As the roots are feeding and storing places, so the stem is a sort of passage way for the passing back and forth of liquids. Take a stem of a big plant, like an oak tree, and you see in the wood where storage of fibre has gone on. But the great work is that of interchange. "Leaves are very active portions of the plant. They represent a great, busy manufactory. Manufacturing what? That question I see stamped on Myron's face so plainly he need not speak it out. Manufacturing real food out of raw material--that is the work of these plant shops. "Let me tell you about this. Ethel has in her hands two little plants. The one in her right hand has been growing in the light; the other, in her left hand, has been put away in the dark to grow. The absence of green colour is very marked in this latter plant. So you see it takes light to form this green, or chlorophyll as it is called. The chlorophyll-saturated cells, absorbing carbonic acid and the water-diluted food from the soil, literally break them up. And when broken, food is found suitable for plants to absorb. Wonderful, is it not? "I spoke of carbonic acid; well, this is a gas, as some of you have found out before, made up of carbon and oxygen. It is a gas which we of the animal kingdom breathe out as waste from our bodies. The plant takes it in through the leaf--and, by the way, I ought to explain that. It is this way: if we had a magnifying glass we should find over the inner surface of leaves, pores, or stomata as they are called. They open in the presence of light; and from these openings what the plant has no use for passes out, and gases from the air may pass in. Some call these openings breathing pores. "Quantities of water pass out through these pores. When this process goes on too rapidly a plant will wilt. "So, to go back, we will suppose that carbonic acid gas has passed into the leaves. Straightway the chlorophyll bodies get to work. The gas is broken up, and oxygen and carbon are left. The carbon is wood the plant builds. Some of the oxygen passes out into the air and some is kept for plant food use. "It is a good thing for us that some of the oxygen does escape into the air for we need it. So you see we, in our respiration, and the plant, in its breathing, are doing each other a good turn. "Of course, there is the dilute food from the soil, which is largely mineral matter and water. The chlorophyll bodies work away on these minerals, and make them into foods. A great body of water, as I have said before, passes out of the plant through the stomata. "I have told you a thing that the plant can do which we are not capable of doing. A plant takes a mineral and makes it over into food. You and I, unless we happen to be circus glass-eaters, are not built to do this work. But the vegetables which we eat do the work for us. "A great deal of plant food is in the form of sugars and starches. I remember Katharine and Peter told me last winter that in their physiology they learned how sugars and starches were made in our own bodies. And lo and behold, the geranium can do a similar thing. "Some plants store up lots of starch, as the potato. Others store quantities of sugar, as the Southern sugar cane and the beet. Wonderful? Well, I guess it is. If we could hear and see all the work these energetic little chlorophyll bodies are doing, we should be amazed. "You will remember that I told you some plants could take the very necessary chemical nitrogen from the air; most of them, however, must get it from the soil. And so again this from the soil solution is worked over into available food. "After all we must not fail to see that water is most important. It floats all the important food elements to the leaves for the work to be done there. The food carbon, of course, is an exception to this rule and I will say again in certain cases nitrogen is, also. "Thus you boys and girls now understand how necessary it is that a soil should be of the right texture to hold water. If it is not, it must be helped to be so. Sand, you will remember, had to be doctored to hold water. Clay needed treatment in order to make it quit its bad habit of baking out. "Here is a rather interesting experiment set up by Josephine and Ethel. Look at the first piece of apparatus--a tumbler partly full of water, a piece of cardboard over the top of the tumbler, and passing down through a hole in the cardboard a piece of plant just stem stripped of leaves, and finally a second tumbler clapped over the first. The second piece of apparatus is exactly like the first, only that the stem, one end of which is in the water, has leaves on the other end. Notice that the upper glass in the second case has moisture on it. The upper tumbler of the other set is perfectly dry. Whence, then, came the moisture? It must, of course, be the leaves which gave it off, since they represent the only difference in the two pieces of apparatus. "I wish we might go on with whole sets of experiments, but for that we have not time. "You understand a little of the mission of root, stem and leaf. The root does a good work in holding a plant in place. It is the foundation material of the plant. There is much, much more to be learned about all these subjects. This little is just to open your eyes to the wonders of the work each plant is performing all the time. "I said I would show you some magic. Well, this magic has to do with plant improvement. It is not much of a trick to raise a plant, but it is a great one to be able to improve that plant. "Let me tell you of a friend of mine whom we will call Rodney, because that is his real name. One day Rodney noticed the gardener doing something with a little flat knife to a pansy. Then he tied a little paper bag over the pansy, of course leaving the whole thing on the plant. "'What are you doing?' asked the lad. 'I am fixing that pansy so that the seed from it shall be finer seed than they otherwise would be.' "Then the old gardener explained this to Rodney: There are two parts to flowers which are very necessary, absolutely necessary to making seed. One part is the pistil, the other the stamen. Some flowers have both pistils and stamen, while others have just the pistil and one has to hunt for another plant having the stamen. You can tell the stamens in this way: they are the parts which have in their care the pollen. Most of you know pollen as a yellow powder or dust. Sometimes it is a sticky gummy mass. The pistil is that part of the flower which ends in the seed vessel. It very often takes a central position in the flower, standing up importantly as if it were the 'part' of the flower. And after all, it is. Now, when this pollen powder falls on the pistil it does not explode. The pistil merely opens up a bit and down travels the powder into the seed vessel to help form seed. There would be no real fertile seed without the pollen. "Sometimes the pollen from one flower falls on its own pistil, sometimes the wind, the bees, the birds carry the pollen to flowers far off and drop it on their pistils. Marvelous, is it not? Everything has to be just right, or the pollen does not do its work nor the pistil, either. Pollen has to be ripe to help make the seed. "But how can the work of the wind and the bees and the birds be improved on? Just as the old gardener was doing it. He had one pansy, oh such a large one, but not at all beautiful in colour. He had another one, small but exquisite in colouring. If he could but grow those two together, shake them up, say a magic word and get a pansy both beautiful and large! "Rodney's gardener used magic but not a magic wand. He took a little knife called a scalpel. He carefully took some pollen from the beautiful pansy and then rubbed it gently over the pistil of the big pansy. The pollen was all ready to drop, and by this he knew it was ripe. "Why did he place a bag over the pansy? Well, simply because he didn't wish that pansy interfered with. Suppose the bag were not on; suppose after he had put the pollen on, the wind had blown other pollen to this same pistil? Let us suppose that this other pollen came from a very inferior flower. The experiment would have been spoiled. "Any of you can try this plant improvement. I see by Katharine's eyes and Dee's also that they are going to try it. It is well if you have a pair of forceps. Then you need not use your fingers against the plant at all. Gently pull the pistil a bit forward, gently place the pollen on with the scalpel and you have performed the operation entirely with the proper instruments. "The girls did some saving of fine specimens of flowers this fall, but the kind of work of which I have just told you means far more. In the one case you choose from what you have; in the other case you make what you want. "Good-by, again, until next Friday afternoon!" V INCREASING PLANTS "This last garden season we have tried two methods of raising plants: one was by seed; the other by slips or cuttings. The girls will typify still another method with their bulbs. This last method is by division. A bulb as it stores up its nourishment after the blossoming time forms new little bulbs. These may be separated from the parent tuber if large enough. You all saw me dividing my peonies. Those peonies doubtless were started years ago from one or two roots. And now when I dug them up it looked as if I were laying in a stock of sweet potatoes so great was the increase. "There are just three other methods of propagating or increasing plants. These are layering, budding and grafting. "Layering is done in several ways. Suppose you have a gooseberry bush you wish to layer. The time to do the work is after the flowering season is past. Choose a branch which has not flowered. Strip off the lower leaves. Now where the old and new wood meet is the place for the cut. Make a cut right into the stem which will be like a tongue. Let this be about an inch long. Hold this to the ground with the cut side down. Bank soil over this. At and under the tongue the new shoots will start, and the new gooseberry bush grow from this. This new plant may be cut off from the parent. If the twig will not stay bent down in this position, cut a forked piece of wood which shall act as a pin. Do you picture this? A branch bent so that not far from the parent plant it is buried under ground with the rest of the root protruding from the ground. "A rubber plant may be layered or topped as it is called. Rubber plants have an ugly habit of going to top, dropping off their lower leaves as they do this. So they look as if they were trying to develop into huge bushes, and they become very ugly in so doing. The top looks all right and many a person wishes that top were off all by itself and nicely potted. "This is the way it is topped. A slit is cut in the bark about where you would like to see roots growing. Then soil and florists' moss is bound about the wound. These may easily be kept moist. A paper pot could be put about the soil if one wished. The soil mass should be a ball of about six inches in diameter. When the new roots appear through the moss or poking out of the paper pot, cut the stem of the plant below the pot. And behold you have a little rubber plant just as good as new, I have told this before to the girls. "Another method of layering is to cut the parent off down to the ground. What is left is called the stool. This stool should be covered with about six inches of earth. Let us suppose this is done in early spring. When fall comes around uncover the stool. There will be found a number of new shoots or plants all nicely protected. These may be transplanted. Do you know that stool can be used over again? "This work of layering is really very simple. Myron used it with his strawberries. The runners were bent and buried just as those of the gooseberry I spoke of. In this way new strawberry plants were obtained. One shoot may be bent and buried more than once. So one may get just as easily two or more new plants from one shoot. This seems as much a miracle as the cross fertilization of plants. "The fifth method is that of budding. Apple, peach, plum, cherry and pear trees may be budded; so, too, may roses. "In a word, a bud is taken from some desirable tree and inserted within the bark of a tree either less desirable or young. Young fruit trees, as you know, need some help before they produce good fruit. Now if George had at home a peach tree which bore very fine fruit he would be glad to cross a young tree with this. Budding is a kind of crossing. "This work should be done in the spring, although it may be done in the fall. But the spring is a more limber time with Nature. Sap is begining to flow; life is new and fresh again; all the plant world is ready to start up and do something. Then, too, the bark of trees should be in as flexible a condition as possible. The two things really necessary for the work are mature buds and bark easy to peel. "Buds should be taken from the very strongest and best twigs of the last year's growth. The little seedlings in which the buds are to be inserted should be one year old. These are called the stock. "This is the manner of inserting the bud: first make a T-shaped cut in the bark of the stock. This cut should be made on the north side of the little tree, because it will thus be more sheltered from the sun's rays. The cut should not be far from the ground on the main trunk, although it may be at the base of strong shoots. But make it in the former position for these yearlings. Then loosen the bark with the flat handle of a regular budding knife. Not many boys and girls own such knives. Some of you have scalpels. The handles of these are flat enough to use. Again, you could easily whittle a piece of wood thin and flat enough for this work. "The next question is how to sever a bud from its parent shoot. Suppose you have chosen a nice full bud. About a quarter of an inch below the base of the bud start cutting into the wood. Run the knife up to about one quarter of an inch above the bud. Do not cut out through to the surface, but rather from the upper surface cut the bark loose and peel this carefully down until you can see the under surface of the bud. You still have the wood attached to the twig at its upper edge. If as you look at the under surface of the bud you see that it is hollow, throw the whole thing away. If it has fibres then it is all right. The proper layer is left to reunite with the stock. Now the bud and peeled-off bark may be inserted in the T-shaped slip. Bind the bud in place with raffia. Do this raffia bandaging both above and below the slit. "In about ten days the bandage may come off, for the knitting of fibres is well under way. Now the top of the little tree should be cut right back to about two inches above the bud, because you wish all the growth to go to the bud. This is the part of promise to the tree. All its hope lies in this new bud. "The best method of increase is that of grafting. A graft or scion, which is a shoot with two or more buds on it of last year's growth, is inserted on the stem of another plant called the stock. "By means of this process of grafting, trees bearing poor fruit are made to bear good fruit. Wild fruit trees are brought under cultivation, and a given tree may bear several varieties of its given fruit. For example, I have in mind a tree, the marvel of my childhood, which bore big sour apples, beautiful Gravensteins, and a good quality of Baldwins. This sort of experimenting with trees is not only as good as a puzzle, but is of great value. To make a wild apple tree with its gnarly, little sour apples into a really truly, well-behaved tree bearing good fruit is worth while, is it not? Grafting is not only a method of improvement but of taming stock, which is after all improvement. "There are certain necessary precautions to take in this operation of grafting; for this, like budding, is a surgical operation. "In all woody branches the outer layer is the bark; next comes the green layer. Between this layer and the real wood is a mass of fibres which go by the name of 'cambium'. The cambium layer of the stock and the scion must be one against the other in grafting in order that the sap may flow freely as before. This layer of cambium might be likened to our blood system. The two cambium layers must be pressed closely together so that the operation may be successful. And finally no cut surface should be left exposed to the air. It is air, you know, that plays havoc with flesh wounds. More and more we see that tree doctors have a work something like our own physicians. "Grafting is usually done in the spring--in March or April--about the time sap begins to flow. The grafts or scions may be cut before this. Choose the tree from which you wish to take a scion. You choose it because of its fine-flavoured, sound fruit. Perhaps the fruit is especially large, too. Size of fruit, however, does not denote fine fruit. I once had an apple that weighed a pound. It was a beauty, fair to look upon. But what a tasteless, pithy piece of fruit it was. Appearances in fruit are often deceitful. The scions were to be of the last year's growth with two or more buds. The shoots should be clean, healthy and vigorous. You must transmit no disease along with the scions. These may be cut off in January or February, and stuck into the soil for about four to six inches. Keep away from direct sunlight. The buds of scions cut at this time are dormant as they should be. "Grafting is named according to the manner in which the scion is put into the stock. There is whip grafting, and cleft grafting. Whip grafting is sometimes spoken of as tongue grafting. "This latter method is accomplished in this way: Suppose you have a scion in your hand. Cut across the end of it diagonally. Use a sharp knife for this, and make a clean cut, as I now cut across this twig. About two-thirds of the distance back from the narrow or more pointed end of the cut make a vertical cut of about an inch right up into the scion. Cut the stock in a similar way. Then insert the tongue of the stock into the slit of the scion. Press these together carefully. Bind with raffia. Whenever this work is done outdoors, as it would be in the case of any of you who try this experiment, the union must be sealed over. As official documents are sealed with wax, so this union is legally sealed in wax. One can buy a regular grafting wax. Sometimes people mix clay and grease together. That is simple, but pretty sticky sounding. "Realgrafting wax is made this way: To two parts of beeswax, add four of resin. Melt these together with one pound of tallow or linseed oil. When all are melted together, pour into cold water. Pull like molasses candy until it is light coloured. One's fingers should be greased to apply this wax properly. "Cleft grafting is almost described by its name. A cleft or cut is made in the stock after the stem has been neatly cut across. The cleft is a vertical cut of about an inch in length. This is made through the centre of the stock. The scion is made to fit down into this, so naturally it is cut like a wedge. But there should be cuts made on both sides of the scion diagonally to form this wedge. So two cut surfaces of cambium are laid bare to fit against two similar surfaces of the stock. If the stock is several times thicker than the graft or scion, there should be two of these latter inserted. Place one at either end of the cleft. Bind and wax. "If the stock is the same thickness as the graft then these two fit perfectly one into the other. "This is only a little bit about grafting; but I trust this is enough to get you all interested in this work. "'Is grafting really necessary?' I heard Albert whisper a while ago. It does seem like a great deal of work. The trouble with starting fruit from seed and expecting to get good results lies in this point: Fruit trees seems to lose in their development from seed the ability to produce fruit as fine as the parent stock; and so grafting becomes a necessity. Strange that this should be so, but it is. "Start with a peach stone or seed. It came from a fine tree; the fruit was luscious. And yet the little seedling which comes from that very stone as a rule must be grafted to bear fruit of equally fine flavour as that of the original peach. Fruit trees have a tendency to revert to old wild poor forms. And so we must save them and help them. "If any of you should start a little orchard he would wish to know how far apart the trees should be. Apple trees should be set thirty to forty feet apart each way; pear trees twenty to thirty feet each way; plums and peaches sixteen to twenty feet each way. Trees need room in which to spread out and develop; hence the distance given them. I am glad that Myron has made a start on small fruits. His strawberries were a success. I'd like to think that next season each of you was to have in his garden, vegetables, flowers, one small fruit and one of the larger ones, such as a seedling apple or peach." VI GARDEN OPERATIONS "I suppose the talk to-day will seem to you all merely a repetition of things you already know. Beginnings, however, are most important. Results often take care of themselves, but beginnings never do. Gardens started wrong always go wrong; that is, unless one tears up one's work and begins over again. "The first thing in garden making is the selection of a spot. Some of us are saved that trouble, since we have no choice; or like Josephine, have nothing at all in the way of space. Without a choice, it means simply doing the best one can with conditions. With space limited it resolves itself into no garden, or a box garden. Surely a box garden is better than nothing at all. At least, Josephine felt this to be true, and proved that parsley grows (with care) as well in a box as in the garden. I claim that everyone may have something of a garden if he be willing to take what comes to hand. "But we will now suppose that it is possible to really choose just the right site for the garden. What shall be chosen? The greatest determining factor is the sun. No one would have a north corner, unless it were absolutely forced upon him; because, while north corners do for ferns, certain wild flowers, and begonias, they are of little use as spots for a general garden. "If possible, choose the ideal spot--a southern exposure. Here the sun lies warm all day long. When the garden is thus located the rows of vegetables and flowers should run north and south. Thus placed, the plants receive the sun's rays all the morning on the eastern side, and all the afternoon on the western side. One ought not to have any lopsided plants with such an arrangement. "Suppose the garden faces southeast. In this case the western sun is out of the problem. In order to get the best distribution of sunlight run the rows northwest and southeast. "The idea is to get the most sunlight as evenly distributed as possible for the longest period of time. From the lopsided growth of window plants it is easy enough to see the effect on plants of poorly distributed light. So if you use a little diagram remembering that you wish the sun to shine part of the day on one side of the plants and part on the other, you can juggle out any situation. The southern exposure gives the ideal case because the sun gives half time nearly to each side. A northern exposure may mean an almost entire cut-off from sunlight; while northeastern and southwestern places always get uneven distribution of sun's rays, no matter how carefully this is planned. "The garden, if possible, should be planned out on paper. The plan is a great help when the real planting time comes. It saves time and unnecessary buying of seed. Last winter we drew some plans to a scale. Peter, Philip, and Myron did this work in fine shape. They offer to take groups of you girls and show you how to do it; so whenever you are ready for this, the boys are ready, too. Sometimes we do change our plans some, anyway a change is easily made when a plan has been drawn as a basis. "New garden spots are likely to be found in two conditions: they are covered either with turf or with rubbish. In large garden areas the ground is ploughed and the sod turned under; but in small gardens remove the sod. How to take off the sod in the best manner is the next question. Stake and line off the garden spot. The line gives an accurate and straight course to follow. Cut the edges with the spade all along the line. If the area is a small one, say four feet by eighteen or twenty, this is an easy matter. Such a narrow strip may be marked off like a checkerboard, the sod cut through with the spade, and easily removed. This could be done in two long strips cut lengthwise of the strip. When the turf is cut through, roll it right up like a roll of carpet. "But suppose the garden plot is large. Then divide this up into strips a foot wide and take off the sod as before. What shall be done with the sod? Do not throw it away for it is full of richness, although not quite in available form. So pack the sod grass side down one square on another. Leave it to rot and to weather. When rotted it makes a fine fertilizer. Such a pile of rotting vegetable matter is called a compost pile. All through the summer add any old green vegetable matter to this. In the fall put the autumn leaves on. A fine lot of goodness is being fixed for another season. "The girls, I suppose, think this is a wretched heap to have in the corner of a garden. So it is. But it is possible to screen it. Plant before the space allotted to this, castor beans, tall cannas or sunflowers. Perhaps the castor beans would be the best of all. Sunflowers get brown and straggly looking before the season is past its prime. "Even when the garden is large enough to plough, I would pick out the largest pieces of sod rather than have them turned under. Go over the ploughed space, pick out the pieces of sod, shake them well and pack them up in a compost heap. "What is to be done with the rubbish often found on new garden sites? If this be only weeds and other vegetable matter it may be very easily burned on the garden spot. But suppose it is a grand collection of tin cans, bottles and such things as cannot be burned? What can we do with them? Cities have public dumps where lots are to be filled in. All such trash may go to these. Oftentimes it is possible to find suitable places in the country for dumping. But do not dump where the rubbish is to be unsightly for others as it has been for yourself; far better have a dump heap on your own land and screen this as the compost heap was to be shielded from view. We take the wrong point of view if we dump rubbish anywhere, for the sake of getting rid of it. You remember your plan is to help make a more beautiful village. "How must the small garden be spaded? A method called trenching, is good because it is so thorough. Here is a diagram George has made. Just get your heads around this, and I'll explain it. [Illustration: From this plan see the scheme of trenching. Top soil from AA' is carted to EE'. Then the top soil from BB' goes into AA'. Continue this method and see that the soil on EE' finally goes into trench DD'. So all the top soil in this given area is worked over and is still kept on top.] "This rectangle is supposed to be the plot which needs digging. Line it off into strips one foot wide. Have your wheelbarrow right beside AA'. Dig one foot of top soil out of strip A' along all its length. Put this into the barrow and dump it into the strip marked EE' outside of the garden proper. Do the same thing to strip BB', only throw the soil into trench AA'. The top soil from CC' goes into BB'; that of DD' into CC'. Now the soil that was dumped outside the garden upon the strip EE' of course is already to go right into trench DD'. "The value of this work is to get the soil of the bed entirely worked over. Most people dig but poorly. Digging is hard work; so a boy digs a little here, and a little there, throughout the seed bed and thinks the work is all done. It is really done when the above method is used. And after all we have said about the necessity for airing soil, and the need of stirring things up so that the good bacteria may do their work, I know you will all see the point immediately. "Mere spading of the ground is not sufficient. The soil is still left in lumps. Always as one spades one should break up the big lumps. But even so the ground is in no shape for planting. Ground must be very fine indeed to plant in, because seeds can get very close indeed to fine particles of soil. But the large lumps leave large spaces which no tiny root hair can penetrate. A seed is left stranded in a perfect waste when planted in chunks of soil. A baby surrounded with great pieces of beefsteak would starve. A seed among large lumps of soil is in a similar situation. The spade never can do this work of pulverizing soil. But the rake can. That's the value of the rake. It is a great lump breaker, but will not do for large lumps. If the soil still has large lumps in it take the hoe. "Many people handle the hoe awkwardly. Get up, Jay, and show us just how to hold it! Walk along as you hoe, drawing the hoe toward you. The chief work of this implement is to rid the soil of weeds and stir up the top surface. It is used in summer to form that mulch of dust so valuable in retaining moisture in the soil. I often see boys hoe as if they were going to chop into atoms everything around. Hoeing should never be such vigorous exercise as that. Spading is vigorous, hard work, but not hoeing and raking. "After lumps are broken use the rake to make the bed fine and smooth. Now the great piece of work is done. To be sure I have said nothing of fertilizing. The kind and amount of fertilizer depends on the kind of soil. Well-rotted manure being the best all-around fertilizer, we will say that we have spaded that into the seed bed after the trenching operation is over. "Now the plan made on paper comes into practical use, and garden stakes, cord and a means of measuring are the things necessary to have on hand. Jay and Albert have made their garden stakes one foot in length. They will serve as a good rule in furrow making. On their hoe handles Jack and Elizabeth have marked two feet off into inches. This is another scheme for measuring. George has a pole four feet long which he uses. This has inches marked on one foot of its length. Katharine has a seventy-five foot tape measure. And Leston and Helena have made this tool I have here in my hand. It looks like a wooden toothed rake with its teeth eight inches apart. This dragged over the surface of a nice, fine garden bed marks off furrows. It makes the most regular furrows you ever saw because it cannot help itself. Miriam used a board last summer. She laid this across her seed bed, kneeling on it, then she drew a dibber along the board's straight edge, pressing firmly into the soil with the dibber. This also made a good straight furrow. "Peter and Philip always use a line and two stout garden stakes. Their hoes do the rest. "We usually think of furrows, or drills, as they really should be called when little soil is removed, as being about a half inch or even less in width. Sometimes certain seed, beans and peas, for example, are placed in double rows in a wide drill. "I think you all understand hill making. Then you remember how we planted certain seeds broadcast, as grass and poppy seeds. Remember that seeds thus sown need only a dusting of soil over them. "But in general, drill sowing for both vegetables and flower seeds is the most satisfactory method. "Most boys and girls sow seeds too thickly. The seedlings as they come up are too crowded for proper amounts of sunlight, air and food. You have seen lettuce seedlings crowded together growing small and weak. Why? Lack of light and air, lack of moisture and food are the reasons for this. Thin out pretty severely. Wait, of course, until the seedlings are an inch or more high. Then look over the little plants and gently take out the weakest and smallest specimens. Press the soil firmly about those which remain. If the first planting has been very thick have two times of thinning. It is a bit easier on those seedlings remaining if too many comrades do not go at once. [Illustration: Jack's Rake Handle as a Measuring Stick] [Illustration: Albert Sowing Large Seeds Singly Photographs by Edward Mahoney] "Of course, some of these seedlings may be transplanted. They should be about two inches above ground for this purpose. Lettuce, cabbage and peppers transplant beautifully; so do asters. I would not try to transplant beets, radish or turnips. The reason is that these plants have long tap roots. Usually a portion of the root is left in the ground and the transplanted seedling has an injured root. So you either lose it, or it does poorly. "Beets may be allowed to grow thickly for a time. Then when the thinning is done, the tender beet tops may be used for greens. "Transplanting is a delicate operation. A trowel or a thin garden marker, a can of water and dibber are the necessary tools for the business. A cloudy day is a good thing to have on hand, also. If this is impossible, place the sun behind a cloud. The little seedling should be taken up with great care from its old home. A little soil should come with the roots. This gives the little plant a home feeling in its new quarters. The thin stick is often better to use than the trowel. If the soil is watered a bit about the small plant, one is far more likely to get the soil up with the roots. "Now make the hole in the ground with the dibber just where you wish. A motion, like that of a revolving top, is the one to use in working the dibber. Water the hole. Drop a little soil in the bottom of the hole. You see the dibber leaves an awkward little peak there at the bottom of the hole. Water lodges there and stays. The tiny rootlets do not quite reach into the bottom of the hole, and perhaps dangle in the water and begin to decay. A little soil dropped in prevents all this. Now a little plant goes in. Do not place it too low, nor too high in the hole. Have the roots uncramped. Drop soil in gently and finally firm it all with both hands. "The sun must not shine too hotly for the first few days on these little plants in their new home. They are not yet used to their surroundings and must be coddled a bit if they are to do well. "The remaining garden operations are weeding and constant cultivation. A part of the work in the flower garden is close picking, if constant bloom is wished. "I have said nothing about how to plant different seeds because each of you had tables to cover all of that. "The object of this talk is to impress upon you the necessity for careful preparation. Well-prepared soil, carefully handled tools and plants are ways to success. "Good tools, good seed, good hard work make for results such as will satisfy your highest hopes. But it is not the result only that is worth the struggle; the knowledge and the power are the greater glories." VII COMMON WEEDS What a delight it would be if we could garden without weeds. But that is well-nigh impossible. For these rascals, the weeds, are such persistent fellows, so clever in their devices for getting over the surface of the earth, so able to live where nothing else in the plant world can live, that it is a discouraging matter to attempt to exterminate them. They always seem to me like pushing sort of people trying to live among those who do not want them. Then, too, they crowd the better class of inhabitants out. "There are a certain number of plants which we always looked upon as weeds, such as burdock and wild carrot, for example. But if a beautiful garden plant should persist in living and spreading itself over our vegetable garden, then that, too, would become a weed. Over across the sea in England the poppy grows wild in the fields. It looks very beautiful to the traveler, because it makes lovely red splashes of colour through the field. But I doubt very much if it looks really attractive to the farmer. These things depend largely, do they not, upon one's point of view? "Even a question like weeds we have no right to look at from one point of view only. The good points of weeds do not balance up the bad points; but it is well to give even weeds their due. Rid the world of weeds and unless these despoiled spots were cultivated, think of the great waste places there would be over the earth's surface. The weeds shade the ground thus preventing too great surface evaporation. Then the weeds are a signal to farmers and all gardeners to get busy. We people of the world are lazy, just naturally so, and perhaps if there were no weeds we might cultivate the soil too little. Years ago certain weeds were much used in medicine. This is more or less true, to-day. The dandelion with its bitter secretion was good, it was believed, for the liver, a sort of spring tonic. The Department of Agriculture has printed a pamphlet on 'Weeds Used in Medicine' (Farmers' Bulletin, No. 188). Jack and Jay each sent for a copy last spring. You all might start a garden library with these pamphlets for a basis. They are sent to you free and are invaluable in your work. Get together all the helps you can on the subject you are studying. Boys and girls receive free so much in the present day that it seems a shame not to make use of these things. The boys have written to the Department of Agriculture and each month it sends to the club a list of the publications sent out or reprinted during the previous month. You girls might follow this good example set you by the boys. "Well, we have wandered a bit from the subject in hand. Weeds are again discouraging because they have such facilities for travel. Talk about flying machines--weeds are centuries ahead of men along these lines. Look at a milkweed seed; it is a complete flying apparatus. With its perfect ballast it flies beautifully along over field and river ready to alight in proper seed style, end down. "There is a piece of mechanism in the end of each burdock seed that seems to make travel possible, and dissemination sure. Never was fish hook more cleverly made than this hook of the bur seed. It catches on to your clothing and travels until you feel its pull. Then you pick it off and cast it aside. So it goes. It sticks to the furry and hairy coats of animals and again is carried along. "Did you ever observe the seed of wild carrot? It, too, is arranged with clinging points all around and about its seed. If you should give just a little attention to the subject of the means of distribution of wild seeds you would have a greater respect for the ways and means of Nature. "Here is another discouraging side to the weed question. Weeds produce so many, many seeds! Look at a single stalk of plantain. This stalk does not stand for one seed capsule, but all up and down the stalk are the seeds; again, not one seed here and one there, but each capsule or seed case holding many seeds. When these become ripe, then the top of the capsule comes off just like the cover of a box, or the top of a salt cellar, and the seeds are sent out. It would not be a useless thing to count sometimes the number of seeds on one plantain stalk, and thus gain an idea of the tremendous possibilities of increase which the weeds have. "A lad I once knew counted the number of seeds in a milkweed pod which he had, and found very nearly two hundred. I do not remember the exact number. It was between one hundred and ninety-five and two hundred. Think of one pod scattering that number of seeds! Think again of the number of pods on one milkweed plant! It is staggering, is it not? To be sure we can remember the parable of the sower and have some hope, for some seed may fall on soil in which they will never come to maturity. "Weeds, like the wild morning glory, form new plants not from their seed only, but from their travelling, trailing branches. "If, then, the chances are so good for renewal of weeds, what is the plan of campaign which we should follow? Once a German gentleman who loved and cultivated roses was asked how to get rid of rose bugs. 'Kill them,' he said. 'Pick them off by hand and kill them by foot is the sure method!' he continued. "So, to get rid of weeds, just destroy them. Persistently and constantly weed them out and cultivate the soil. Clean cultivation is the only sort for good crops and freedom from weeds. "Weeds, as flowers, drop in the three classes of annuals, biennials and perennials. Any annual is easy enough to hold down. Just pull such weeds up. Some merely cut the weed off at the surface of the ground, but it is a better way to be rid of the thing entirely. And should you not be quite sure of the kind of weed, then pulling up is the only really safe plan. For if the weed happened to be a perennial, leaving the root in the ground would be the worst possible thing to do. "The greatest business of all annuals is to form seed. Now I know you wish to say that this is the business of all plants. It is. But with annuals there is only one chance to produce seed. That chance is the one short year of their lives, and this is doubtless the reason why these chaps work so hard at seed forming, and produce so many seed. Therefore, the thing evidently to be done is to make it impossible for annuals to form seed. "The biennials and perennials must have further treatment than just that of preventing seed formation. The underground part of such weeds must be destroyed. For these live in the ground ready to come up again. Biennials may be killed out by deep hoeing. Get rid of all the young plants, keep at the older ones with the hoe and prevent seed formation, too. Biennials are found most abundantly in waste places along woodsides and where the soil for a long time has been left undisturbed. "Perennials need about the same treatment as biennials. But even greater persistency should be exercised in destroying the underground portion. For these underground plants produce new plants as surely as seeds do. The bindweed has a creeping root, wild garlic has a bulb, and such forms are always producing new forms underground while the seed above the ground is able to do the same thing. "Ploughing helps destroy perennials, as the roots are exposed to direct sunlight and so destroyed. Another method of treatment is that of cutting off the top down to the root and putting salt on the freshly cut root tap. Then again these roots may be starved out by never allowing the top or leafy part to form. You will remember that it is the leaf which makes the food. And if there is no food then there will be none to store away in the root for new root formation. Some farmers smother roots. This is done by planting such crops as hemp, clover or cowpeas. These crops choke out the weeds. They cover the ground very completely, and so the weeds have less of a chance. "I give the following table of a few very common weeds in order that you may know just how to handle them. "I must speak especially about snapdragon or butter and eggs. It came to our country as a garden flower. It has spread and spread, partly by its seeds and partly by its root stalks, which are creeping ones, and now it is a perennial weed. For since it has become a nuisance it must be classed as a weed. As it spreads along it tends to force out other plants. "This weed, like the wild carrot, is really very lovely. Could such weeds be properly held down in small garden areas they would be very ornamental. I saw a little flower garden once, quite beautiful, with two small clumps, one of wild mustard and one of field daisy, among the other flowers. ----------------------------------------------------------------- COMMON NAME CLASS SEED TIME COLOUR OF FLOWER ----------------------------------------------------------------- Burdock Biennial Aug.-Oct. Purple Bur-marigold or Annual July-Nov. Yellow beggar ticks Canada thistle Perennial " " " Chickweed Annual Mar.-July White Cocklebur " July-Oct. Green Dandelion Perennial May-Oct. Yellow English bindweed or " Aug.-Oct. White morning glory Moth Mullein Biennial July-Nov. Yellow Narrow-leaved Annual July-Oct. Blue stickseed or beggar tick Ox-eye daisy or Perennial Aug.-Oct. White white daisy Pigweed Annual Aug.-Nov. Green Prickly lettuce, " July-Nov. Yellow milkweed Purslane, pursley " June-Dec. " Rib-grass, plantain Biennial July-Nov. White Ragweed, Roman wormwood Annual Aug.-Nov. Yellow Russian thistle " " " Purplish Smartweed Perennial Aug.-Sept. Pink Sorrel Perennial June-Nov. Red Wild carrot, Biennial July-Nov. White Queen Anne's lace Wild garlic, onion Perennial July-Oct. " Wild mustard Annual June-Oct. Yellow Wild parsnip Biennial July-Oct. " Yellow daisy, " July-Sept. " ox-eye daisy, brown-eyed Susan Yellow dock Perennial Aug.-Oct. Green ----------------------------------------------------------------- "The seeds of the wild mustard, like those of the plantain and other weeds, get in with the grain seed and so cause constant trouble. Farmers feel that such weeds must be thoroughly gotten out of the fields. "It is not our own native weeds which are so troublesome but the foreign ones. Most of our worst weeds are foreigners. They have come to this country as stowaways from across the seas. They have fought for centuries and can keep the fight up over here. "I am not going to give you a description of each weed we have. This table, a copy of which is for each of you, will be, I think, of true help. The study of weeds is something quite by itself. It is for you to help prevent the seeding of weeds everywhere. Do not carelessly scatter seeds. Keep your own garden plots free from these pests by clean and careful cultivation. Remember, too, the value of cover crops. "There is another pest to fight. This pest is of the animal kingdom and not of the plant kingdom. Next Friday our talk is on animal pests, and how to destroy them." VIII GARDEN PESTS If we could garden without any interference from the pests which attack plants, then indeed gardening would be a simple matter. But all the time we must watch out for these little foes--little in size, but tremendous in the havoc they make. "As human illness may often be prevented by healthful conditions, so pests may be kept away by strict garden cleanliness. Heaps of waste are lodging places for the breeding of insects. I do not think a compost pile will do the harm, but unkempt, uncared-for spots seem to invite trouble. "There are certain helps to keeping pests down. The constant stirring up of the soil by earthworms is an aid in keeping the soil open to air and water. Many of our common birds feed upon insects. The sparrows, robins, chickadees, meadow larks and orioles are all examples of birds who help in this way. Some insects feed on other and harmful insects. Some kinds of ladybugs do this good deed. The ichneumon-fly helps too. And toads are wonders in the number of insects they can consume at one meal. The toad deserves very kind treatment from all of us. "Each girl and boy gardener should try to make her or his garden into a place attractive to birds and toads. A good birdhouse, grain sprinkled about in early spring, a water-place, are invitations for birds to stay a while in your garden. If you wish toads, fix things up for them too. During a hot summer day a toad likes to rest in the shade. By night he is ready to go forth to eat but not to kill, since toads prefer live food. How can one "fix up" for toads? Well, one thing to do is to prepare a retreat, quiet, dark and damp. A few stones of some size underneath the shade of a shrub with perhaps a carpeting of damp leaves, would appear very fine to a toad. "Suppose a certain crop in your garden has had an insect pest. Do not plant this same crop next year, for it would doubtless have the same pest. Don't let the soil get full of insect troubles; therefore, keep the soil open and aired and study it well. "There are two general classes of insects known by the way they do their work. One kind gnaws at the plant really taking pieces of it into its system. This kind of insect has a mouth fitted to do this work. Grasshoppers and caterpillars are of this sort. The other kind sucks the juices from a plant. This, in some ways, is the worst sort. Plant lice belong here, as do mosquitoes, which prey on us. All the scale insects fasten themselves on plants, and suck out the life of the plants. "Now can we fight these chaps? The gnawing fellows may be caught with poison sprayed upon plants, which they take into their bodies with the plant. The Bordeaux mixture which Peter used is a poison sprayed upon plants for this purpose. So, too, is Paris green. "In the other case the only thing is to attack the insect direct. So certain insecticides, as they are called, are sprayed on the plant to fall upon the insect. They do a deadly work of attacking, in one way or another, the body of the insect. The kerosene emulsion made by the girls for their infested house plants worked this same way. Tobacco water and tobacco dust sprinkled on act in similar manner. "Lime, soot, and sand are other means of blocking and choking off insects. "Sometimes we are much troubled with underground insects at work. You have seen a garden covered with ant hills. Here is a remedy, but one of which you must be careful. "Carbon bisulphid comes in little tin cans. It is a liquid of a vile smell, something like onions and rotten eggs mixed. The girls' noses are going up sky-high now. But it does the work of ant killing. You must be careful in handling this. It has a horrid explosive habit. Pour about a teaspoonful down an ant hole. Do not use a good silver spoon from the dining room. Get an old spoon, or buy a tin one. For you will never use it again except it be for carbon-bisulphid work. After this liquid has been poured down the hole, place a bit of a chip over it, for there may be a slight volcanic action underground. It is well to do this on a damp, cloudy day when all the ants are at home. "Remember this stuff is not to be fooled with, as it is poisonous and also takes fire readily. Never open the can inside by a fire, in too great a heat, or near a lighted match. Invite your fathers to help in this. By no means do anything silly. Keep the can closed except when pouring out a teaspoonful. "This question is constantly being asked, 'How can I tell what insect is doing the destructive work?' Well, you can tell partly by the work done, and partly by seeing the insect itself. This latter thing is not always so easy to accomplish. I had cutworms one season and never saw one. I saw only the work done. If stalks of tender plants are cut clean off be pretty sure the cutworm is abroad. What does he look like? Well, that is a hard question because his family is a large one. Should you see sometime a grayish striped caterpillar, you may know it is a cutworm. But because of its habit of resting in the ground during the day and working by night, it is difficult to catch sight of one. The cutworm is around early in the season ready to cut the flower stalks of the hyacinths. When the peas come on a bit later, he is ready for them. A very good way to block him off is to put paper collars, or tin ones, about the plants. These collars should be about an inch away from the plant. "Of course, plant lice are more common. Those we see are often green in colour. But they may be red, yellow or brown. Kerosene emulsion is the medicine for plant lice. Lice are easy enough to find since they are always clinging to their host. As sucking insects they have to cling close to a plant for food, and one is pretty sure to find them. But the biting insects do their work, and then go hide. That makes them much more difficult to deal with. "Rose slugs do great damage to the rose bushes. They eat out the body of the leaves, so that just the veining is left. They are soft-bodied, green above and yellow below. Since they are eating insects Paris green will kill them. But the kerosene emulsion penetrates their soft bodies; so this also may be used. "A beetle, the striped beetle, attacks young melons and squash leaves. It eats the leaf by riddling out holes in it. This beetle, as its name implies, is striped. The back is black with yellow stripes running lengthwise. White hellebore powder kills these pests. Ask the druggist for five cents' worth and you will have a great plenty for any of your gardens. It, too, is a poison. This poison is also good to use for the caterpillars that eat many of our garden plants. Make a circle four inches from the stalk of an infested plant and sprinkle the powder in this. Evening time is good for this, because the dew moistens the powder just enough to make it a nuisance to the insect. "Then there are the slugs, which are garden pests. The slug will devour almost any garden plant, whether it be a flower or a vegetable. They lay lots of eggs in old rubbish heaps. Do you see the good of cleaning up rubbish? The slugs do more harm in the garden than almost any other single insect pest. You can discover them in the following way. There is a trick for bringing them to the surface of the ground in the day time. You see they rest during the day below ground. So just water the soil in which the slugs are supposed to be. How are you to know where they are? They are quite likely to hide near the plants they are feeding on. So water the ground with some nice clean lime water. This will disturb them, and up they'll poke to see what the matter is. "Beside these most common of pests already mentioned, pests which attack many kinds of plants, there are special pests for special plants. Discouraging, is it not? Beans have pests of their own; so have potatoes and cabbages, as George well knows. In fact, the vegetable garden has many inhabitants. In the flower garden lice are very bothersome, the cutworm and the slug have a good time there, too, and ants often get very numerous as the season advances. But for real discouraging insect troubles the vegetable garden takes the prize. If we were going into fruit to any extent, perhaps the vegetable garden would have to resign in favour of the fruit garden. "A common pest in the vegetable garden is the tomato worm. This is a large yellowish or greenish striped worm. Its work is to eat into the young fruit. "A great, light green caterpillar is found on celery. This caterpillar may be told by the black bands, one on each ring or segment of its body. "The squash bug may be told by its brown body, which is long and slender, and by the disagreeable odour from it when killed. The potato bug is another fellow to look out for. It is a beetle with yellow and black stripes down its crusty back. The little green cabbage worm is a perfect nuisance. It is a small caterpillar and smaller than the tomato worm. These are perhaps the most common of garden pests by name. It might be well to take up the common vegetables and flowers mentioning the pests which prey on each one. "Let us take the vegetables first. None of us have grown asparagus yet; but it will be well to know about this vegetable. There is a beetle which may trouble asparagus plants. It is red with markings of black. The grub of this beetle is dark green. Look out for the asparagus beetle during April and May, for these are the months when it appears. The eggs are laid on young shoots of the plant. Such shoots should be cut right off. After the cutting season is over the plants should be sprayed. This may be done in August. Very dilute Bordeaux mixture or Paris green may be used for a spray. "Next in the alphabet come beans. The most common trouble that beans have is one called anthracnose. That staggering word means that the leaves become covered with spots which are round with purple borders. Again, a spray of Bordeaux mixture should be used. The plants should be sprayed until the pods form. Look for this trouble in July. "Beets are prone to leaf spots. As soon as such spots appear, the plants should be sprayed with the Bordeaux mixture. Every two weeks give the plants about three sprayings. "The cabbage worm I have spoken of. This worm works all summer. Cabbages, if neglected, become literally alive with the little caterpillars. They eat and eat the foliage, riddling it completely. They eat into the heads so that the cabbage plant is completely spoiled. George treated his with pyrethrum powder. This he mixed with five times its bulk of dust. It was then dusted or shaken over the cabbage plant. A very good thing to do before trouble begins is to dust the soil and tender plants with lime. After the plants have begun to head use hellebore powder. "Lice appear on cauliflower. The kerosene emulsion which we use on our indoor plants is all right for this work, too. The lice appear on the foliage in great white masses. They suck the life and goodness from the plant. They come all through the summer at any time. Whale oil soap is another good spray to use. Peter has typewritten receipts for these sprays which you may have at the close of this talk. Sometimes the root of the cauliflower is attacked. Little white maggots mine or burrow through the root. They are quite likely to begin their bad work in June or July. That rather dangerous carbon bisulphid is the medicine for this trouble. Make a hole in the soil as you did when treating the ant. Do not make this too near the plant. I should say six inches away would be about right. Pour a teaspoonful of the poison into the hole and it will take care of itself. Cover the hole over as you would in the case of the ant. When cauliflower plants begin to look sickly pull one up. If it is full of maggots that is easy to determine. But it may be that you will find great lumps or knots on the root. Since these knots appear during the same months as the maggots, you can only be sure of the real cause by pulling up a plant. If these knots are on the root, then you have a very serious trouble to contend with. So serious is the club root condition that the only safe thing to do is to pull up and completely destroy the diseased plants. Dig the soil up after this. Then lime it. Put a lot of lime on, not just a dusting over the surface of the soil. This represents soil that is in trouble, so do not plant cauliflower here again, or its coarser cousin, the cabbage. "Sometimes a little red or orange and black bug appears. This is called the harlequin bug from its fantastic appearance. This bug may come all summer long at any time. The whale oil soap spray is the one to use. Celery may be troubled with the light green caterpillar with the black bands before spoken of. This caterpillar arrives in August. It is not difficult at all to see, so many may be picked off just by hand. One may use Paris green as a spray. "None of you had any trouble with corn being infested. But sometimes a worm, called the earworm, which is like the tomato worm, will appear during June and eat the tips of the young ears. A little Paris green sprinkled on the leaves, at their base will kill them. "Cucumbers and melons, as I have before said, are prone to be preys of the cutworms, squash bugs, striped beetles, and lice or aphis. You know treatment for cutworms and lice. The squash bug may be destroyed by hand. Sometimes when bits of sticks are placed on the ground the bugs will crawl under them. Next morning a small harvest of bugs can be killed. The squash bug lays its eggs on the under surface of the plant's leaves. These leaves should be removed and burned. The striped beetle is kept off by the Bordeaux mixture spray. This beetle appears in June. A spraying during this month often prevents a blight of the leaves in July. This blight appears first as a spotting on the leaves, after which the leaves soon wither up. "Onions, as well as radishes, are affected by maggots which will mine through the onion bulb as well as the stems of the young, tender plants. A solution made from carbolic soap and water is excellent with which to water the soil about the plants. "Peas have green lice as melons and cucumbers do. The lice appear early in May and June, and are killed and kept down by the regulation treatment. Many times during the latter part of summer peas may become mildewed. You can tell this by a growth of white down on stem and leaves. Put some soap in the Bordeaux mixture and spray. "From May to October potato bugs flourish. Paris green is the spray to use. In the start they may be hand picked. But do not let them get ahead of your hand. A very serious potato disease is that of scab. Scales appear on the potatoes themselves. To prevent this, uncut seed potatoes are soaked in poison. But this is not a work for you to do alone by any means. "The squash bug naturally seeks out the squash vine. He should be treated as we said when we talked of the same bug and melons. "Tomatoes have numerous troubles. The cutworm, the tomato worm, the horn worm, potato beetle and various blights may come to tomatoes. The horn worm is a large green worm named from the horn at one end of its body. It appears in midsummer. Such large worms usually may be hand picked. If you should see a tomato plant wilting for no reason at all, pull it up and burn it; it probably has an infectious trouble which is carried from one plant to another by insects. It is really an infectious disease. "These are the most common vegetable garden pests and their remedies. "As the girls know, the flower garden is not without pests, too. Plant lice are plenty enough. These may appear at one time or another during the entire year. "Some plants become covered with a little red spider. It attacks the foliage and does great damage. This may be due to lack of moisture with house plants. I do not mean lack of watering, but a dry condition of the air of the room. Often just a spray of clear water is sufficient to rid the plant of the mites. "Roses have more troubles than any one other flower. The rose bush may have lice or it may have a little green bug that jumps very quickly and so gets its name of leaf-hopper. Kerosene emulsion is good to use. Often slugs will feed upon the surface of the leaves. A dusting of lime over the leaves keeps these feeders away. There is a brown beetle called the rose chafer, which eats the flower itself. Hand picking is about the best weapon to employ against this enemy. A scale sometimes comes on the stems. This scale looks like a white crust. It is wise to spray such rose bushes with kerosene emulsion. And better still, if possible, cut off and burn such scale-encrusted parts. "Cutworms bother the early bulbs and the violets, too. A great many of the larger pests may be hand picked. The lice should be sprayed. "And for the remedies. The following will be the ones you will need the most: KEROSENE EMULSION Soap (Ivory) 1/4 pound Boiling water 2 quarts Kerosene 4 quarts "The soap should be shaved up and dissolved in the water. To this add the kerosene (of course not when the soap and water is on the stove) a little at a time. Beat it with an egg beater to be kept for that purpose; or shake it vigorously. "For use against plant lice add to one cup of this emulsion 8 cups of water. For scale insects dilute with four cups of water. BORDEAUX MIXTURE I. Copper sulphate (blue vitriol) 1 lb. Water 1 gal. Dissolve the sulphate in the water. II. Slaked lime 1 lb. Water 1 gal. Dissolve the lime in the water. To one bucket (2-1/2 gallons) of fresh water add four pints of the first solution. To another bucket of fresh water add six pints of the second solution. Stir these together. Keep the rest of the solutions I. and II. for later mixing when it is needed. WHALE OIL SOAP HOT WATER SOLUTION Whale oil soap 1 pound Hot water 6 quarts This is the right dilution for plant lice but for scale insects it is too weak; for them use about two quarts of water to one pound of soap. "The best way to apply liquid sprays in small gardens is to use a whisk broom. Just dip the little broom into the mixture needed and shake the brush over the plant. Then the hands need never come in contact with the poison. Careful children can use sprays without any trouble. Josephine has used kerosene emulsion in this fashion: she pours a little into a saucer, takes a bit of cheese cloth and dipping it into the emulsion wipes the lice off an infested part. Usually one application is enough. This sounds like a much more disagreeable task than it really is. A plant syringe may be used. But personally I like the hand method. Of course if there are lots of lice on many plants this would not be practical at all. "It stands to reason that sick plants need medicines of some kind. Sometimes to be sure they need better living conditions. Often the soil is sour, water-logged, unaired and totally unfit for a self-respecting plant to live in. The whole thing resolves itself into a study of conditions, and a desire to help the plant have as comfortable a time as possible in life." IX VEGETABLE CULTURE "As a rule, boys and girls choose to grow bush beans rather than pole beans. I cannot make up my mind whether or not this is from sheer laziness. In a city backyard the tall varieties might perhaps be a problem since it would be difficult to get poles. But these running beans can be trained along old fences and with little urging will run up the stalks of the tallest sunflowers. So that settles the pole question. There is an ornamental side to the bean question. Suppose you plant these tall beans at the extreme rear end of each vegetable row. Make arches with supple tree limbs, binding them over to form the arch. Train the beans over these. When one stands facing the garden, what a beautiful terminus these bean arches make. "Beans like rich, warm, sandy soil. In order to assist the soil be sure to dig deeply, and work it over thoroughly for bean culture. It never does to plant beans before the world has warmed up from its spring chills. There is another advantage in early digging of soil. It brings to the surface eggs and larvae of insects. The birds eager for food will even follow the plough to pick from the soil these choice morsels. A little lime worked in with the soil is helpful in the cultivation of beans. "Bush beans are planted in drills about eighteen inches apart, while the pole-bean rows should be three feet apart. The drills for the bush limas should be further apart than those for the other dwarf beans--say three feet. This amount of space gives opportunity for cultivation with the hoe. If the running beans climb too high just pinch off the growing extreme end, and this will hold back the upward growth. "Among bush beans are the dwarf, snap or string beans, the wax beans, the bush limas, one variety of which is known as brittle beans. Among the pole beans are the pole limas, wax and scarlet runner. The scarlet runner is a beauty for decorative effects. The flowers are scarlet and are fine against an old fence. These are quite lovely in the flower garden. Where one wishes a vine, this is good to plant for one gets both a vegetable, bright flowers and a screen from the one plant. When planting beans put the bean in the soil edgewise with the eye down. "Beets like rich, sandy loam, also. Fresh manure worked into the soil is fatal for beets, as it is for many another crop. But we will suppose that nothing is available but fresh manure. Some gardeners say to work this into the soil with great care and thoroughness. But even so, there is danger of a particle of it getting next to a tender beet root. The following can be done; Dig a trench about a foot deep, spread a thin layer of manure in this, cover it with soil, and plant above this. By the time the main root strikes down to the manure layer, there will be little harm done. Beets should not be transplanted. If the rows are one foot apart there is ample space for cultivation. Whenever the weather is really settled, then these seeds may be planted. Young beet tops make fine greens. Greater care should be taken in handling beets than usually is shown. When beets are to be boiled, if the tip of the root and the tops are cut off, the beet bleeds. This means a loss of good material. Pinching off such parts with the fingers and doing this not too closely to the beet itself is the proper method of handling. I throw this in for the benefit of our future cooks, the girls. "There are big coarse members of the beet and cabbage families called the mangel wurzel and ruta baga. About here these are raised to feed to the cattle. They are a great addition to a cow's dinner. "The cabbage family is a large one. There is the cabbage proper, then cauliflower, broccoli or a more hardy cauliflower, kale, Brussels sprouts and kohlrabi, a cabbage-turnip combination. George has worked out cabbage culture successfully. I refer to him for full particulars. "Cauliflower is a kind of refined, high-toned cabbage relative. It needs a little richer soil than cabbage and cannot stand the frost. A frequent watering with manure water gives it the extra richness and water it really needs. The outer leaves must be bent over, as in the case of the young cabbage, in order to get the white head. The dwarf varieties are rather the best to plant. "Kale is not quite so particular a cousin. It can stand frost. Rich soil is necessary, and early spring planting, because of slow maturing. It may be planted in September for early spring work. "Brussels sprouts are a very popular member of this family. On account of their size many people who do not like to serve poor, common old cabbage will serve these. Brussels sprouts are interesting in their growth. The plant stalk runs skyward. At the top, umbrella like, is a close head of leaves, but this is not what we eat. Shaded by the umbrella and packed all along the stalk are delicious little cabbages or sprouts. Like the rest of the family a rich soil is needed and plenty of water during the growing period. The seed should be planted in May, and the little plants transplanted into rich soil in late July. The rows should be eighteen inches apart, and the plants one foot apart in the rows. "Kohlrabi is a go-between in the families of cabbage and turnip. It is sometimes called the turnip-root cabbage. Just above the ground the stem of this plant swells into a turnip-like vegetable. In the true turnip the swelling is underground, but like the cabbage, kohlrabi forms its edible part above ground. It is easy to grow. Only it should develop rapidly, otherwise the swelling gets woody, and so loses its good quality. Sow out as early as possible; or sow inside in March and transplant to the open. Plant in drills about two feet apart. Set the plants about one foot apart, or thin out to this distance. To plant one hundred feet of drill buy half an ounce of seed. Seed goes a long way, you see. Kohlrabi is served and prepared like turnip. It is a very satisfactory early crop. "Before leaving the cabbage family I should like to say that the cabbage called Savoy is an excellent variety to try. It should always have an early planting under cover, say in February, and then be transplanted into open beds in March or April. If the land is poor where you are to grow cabbage, then by all means choose Savoy. "Carrots are of two general kinds: those with long roots, and those with short roots. If long-rooted varieties are chosen, then the soil must be worked down to a depth of eighteen inches, surely. The shorter ones will do well in eight inches of well-worked sandy soil. Do not put carrot seed into freshly manured land. Another point in carrot culture is one concerning the thinning process. As the little seedlings come up you will doubtless find that they are much, much too close together. Wait a bit, thin a little at a time, so that young, tiny carrots may be used on the home table. These are the points to jot down about the culture of carrots. I am saying very little about depths and distances because these were all worked out by the boys last winter and tables may be had for the asking. "Peter covered the ground of celery raising. One or two points only I will speak of. A very rich, workable soil is a celery soil. In the process of getting such a bed ready it ought to have a thorough wetting down a day before planting. Celery seed is small, and, as is the case with other small seed, it is quite likely to be planted in clumps or bunches. To avoid this the seed should be mixed with sand and then sprinkled in drills. These drills should be six inches apart, and very shallow. Sow the seed, cover, and water. This bed should be screened from direct sunlight. A careful, gentle, daily watering is necessary. Thin the little plants to four inches apart. Peter can tell the rest of the story. The only other thing I need add is this, that in transplanting the work should be done quickly. One should not take up celery plants and perhaps leave them a long time before placing in new quarters. Plant immediately. It takes little to upset a celery plant and check its growth. So never take up a whole lot of celery plants at one time. Take up a few, keep them moist, plant them, and then start again. [Illustration: Elizabeth Sowing Small Seed From the Package. Photograph by Helen W. Cook.] "I am not going to say a word about corn. You all remember the boys' work of last year. Your teacher has planned next Friday afternoon for the boys to discuss this at school. So we shall not have our meeting, but I shall come to the school to hear their report. I hope our girls will take notes on this. For I know that Eloise has decided to raise corn next year; Helena is going to; and Leston will not be out of the corn contest this season. "The cucumber is the next vegetable in the line. This is a plant from foreign lands. Some think that the cucumber is really a native of India. It is believed that it was brought here by the Negro, and that a species of cucumber from Africa became finally at home in this country. A light, sandy and rich soil is needed--I mean rich in the sense of richness in organic matter. When cucumbers are grown outdoors, as we are likely to grow them, they are planted in hills. Nowadays, they are grown in hothouses; they hang from the roof, and are a wonderful sight. In the greenhouse a hive of bees is kept so that cross-fertilization may go on. "But if you intend to raise cucumbers follow these directions: Sow the seed inside, cover with one inch of rich soil. In a little space of six inches diameter, plant six seeds. Place like a bean seed with the germinating end in the soil. When all danger of frost is over, each set of six little plants, soil and all, should be planted in the open. Later, when danger of insect pests is over, thin out to three plants in a hill. The hills should be about four feet apart on all sides. "Egg plant is another vegetable we have not tried. It is another of those which has been improved by crossing, usually with peppers and tomatoes. But as we are not Burbanks yet, I shall not talk of that side of egg plant culture. Some varieties of egg plant grow to a large size but the smaller fruits, on the whole, have the better flavour. A good, well-worked, rich garden loam is the soil for this vegetable. The seed may be planted out in the open in little drills six inches apart. The seed should be scattered along as lettuce seed is. When the plants are about six inches high, transplant them to their permanent place. They should then stand about two feet apart on all sides. More often the seeds are started inside in March. When the little plants are about two inches high they should be transplanted into boxes or pots. Screen from too hot sunshine. About the time of corn planting the plants should go into the open. A rich soil is now quite necessary. Again I would suggest as a good method the placing of a little well-rotted manure under each place where an egg plant is to go. There is a rather interesting parasite which sometimes fastens itself upon the egg plant. A parasite is a form which clings to another and takes its nourishment from this latter or host. The parasite is a lazy shirk. So in this case the parasite grows on the egg plant and absorbs the food which the egg plant needs for itself. This is not an uncommon thing in nature. When such a thing happens first pull up and destroy the poor egg plant, for the parasite is clinging too closely and persistently to be removed. "Nearly everyone in our country clings to lettuce as the only plant for a salad. Over across the sea in old England this is not so. Other plants are used in this way and called salad plants. Endive is one of these. Some of the endives are curly-leaved, and when blanched are attractive to look upon; and surely there is no reason why we should not consider the side of beauty in vegetables. "Endive is a very hardy plant. One-half an ounce of the seed will sow one hundred feet of drill. Sow it as you would lettuce seed in soil which should be moist and rich. The plants finally should be about eight inches apart in the drill. The outer leaves should be tied over the top in order to blanch the inner ones for table use. In the fall the plants from summer sowings may be taken up with balls of earth on the roots and placed in the coldframes ready for use through the winter. The coldframe is a blessing. It is a place of storage all the fall and early winter. It is a place for early work in the late winter and first part of spring. "Lettuce with children has always been a prime favourite for cultivation. Before the time of Christ, lettuce was grown and served. There is a wild lettuce from which the cultivated probably came. There are a number of cultivated vegetables which have wild ancestors, carrots, turnips and lettuce being the most common among them. Lettuce may be tucked into the garden almost anywhere. It is surely one of the most decorative of vegetables. The compact head, the green of the leaves, the beauty of symmetry--all these are charming characteristics of lettuces. "Not all form heads. There is a mistaken idea abroad among children that by transplanting, any lettuce can be made to head. Only such varieties as are called heading lettuces will head. And these must be transplanted in order to have really good heads. There are two general types of lettuce--the Cos and the cabbage. The cabbage grows more like a cabbage with great tendency toward heading. The Cos grows longer, narrower, and has spoon-shaped leaves, which have a big, coarse midrib. The inner leaves cling more closely together after a heading fashion; the outer leaves spread apart. We grow in our American gardens more of the cabbage type than of the Cos. Should we go to see our French cousins next summer, the Cos lettuce would be served to us with plenty of oil as a dressing. "As the summer advances and as the early sowings of lettuce get old they tend to go to seed. Don't let them. Pull them up. None of us are likely to go into the seed-producing side of lettuce. What we are interested in is the raising of tender lettuce all the season. To have such lettuce in mid and late summer is possible only by frequent plantings of seed. If seed is planted every ten days or two weeks all summer, you can have tender lettuce all the season. When lettuce gets old it becomes bitter and tough. "Melons are most interesting to experiment with. We suppose that melons originally came from Asia, and parts of Africa. Watermelons grow wild in Africa. The Negroes and wild animals feed upon them. Perhaps that is the reason why the coloured people so love them. Anyway, melons belong to these countries. Melons are a summer fruit. Over in England we find the muskmelons often grown under glass in hothouses. The vines are trained upward rather than allowed to lie prone. As the melons grow large in the hot, dry atmosphere, just the sort which is right for their growth, they become too heavy for the vine to hold up. So they are held by little bags of netting, just like a tennis net in size of mesh. The bags are supported on nails or pegs. It is a very pretty sight I can assure you. Over here usually we raise our melons outdoors. They are planted in hills. Eight seeds are placed two inches apart and an inch deep. The hills should have a four foot sweep on all sides; the watermelon hills ought to have an allowance of eight to ten feet. Make the soil for these hills very rich. As the little plants get sizeable--say about four inches in height--reduce the number of plants to two in a hill. Always in such work choose the very sturdiest plants to keep. Cut the others down close to or a little below the surface of the ground. Pulling up plants is a shocking way to get rid of them. I say shocking because the pull is likely to disturb the roots of the two remaining plants. When the melon plant has reached a length of a foot, pinch off the end of it. This pinch means this to the plant: just stop growing long, take time now to grow branches. Sand or lime sprinkled about the hills tends to keep bugs away. "Onions are about as popular a vegetable as we have. Some people are quite scornful of onions because of their truly disagreeable odour. But I do not know what we should do without the onion for flavourings. Peter is to plant onions where he last had celery. That is very wise, because onions do especially well coming after a crop for which the land was heavily fertilized. Onions like moisture of soil, too. If the soil is not rich enough, nitrate of soda may be added. The most discouraging thing about chemical fertilizers is the fact that advertisements say to have a certain quantity for an acre of land. Few boys and girls are planting entire acres, to just one thing. Now, suppose you write down this: Add 1/4 pound of nitrate of soda to 100 square feet of land then use the proper fractional amount. To buy 1/40 of a pound for example sounds absurd. Buy your quarter pound and put the approximate amount on. Sprinkle chemical fertilizer over the surface of the soil and rake it in just under the surface. "There are two methods for the planting of onions. One way is to use seed; the other, sets. Sets mean little onion bulbs. These are placed in drills about six inches apart and so that the little bulb may be just beneath the surface of the soil. Do not set too low. These bulbs are ready before seed onions. Seeds are rather slow in development. If you make sowings pretty thick the tender tops may be used, and so the thinning process is done to advantage. "I believe that all your gardens should have some parsley in them. It can be planted as a border, since it grows low and has a fringy, decorative effect. If you were Italian girls and boys you would have parsley if you had nothing else; for the Italians always use it in their soups. There is a European variety, not as pretty as the common variety, which grows taller and ranker. It has a stronger smell. An Italian boy who was living in America had a garden in which he grew both kinds of parsley. He was asked which he liked the better. Straightening up, he pointed to the European saying, 'Smells stronger.' ''I believe none of us have raised parsnips. It takes 1/4 of an ounce of seed to plant 100 feet of drill. Any deep, rich, moist garden soil will do. Just as early as the ground is workable, the seed should be sown. Sow in drills of 1/2 inch depth and 6 inches apart. The plants should finally stand about eight inches apart. They may be dug before or after frost. Some people think that the early frosts improve the flavour of parsnips. "I suppose there is no vegetable so well liked as peas. Who would wish a Fourth of July dinner without peas? The early varieties of peas go into the ground just as early as possible. I like best to dig trenches six inches deep and about eighteen inches apart. As the peas are dropped into the trench, cover over with about two inches of soil. As the plants grow, fill soil into the trench. Of course, peas have to be brushed. So as soon as the little runners form put brush behind the plant and start the twiners about the brush stalks. A variety of pea called Gradus is very excellent in flavour. "As for potatoes--well, now, just see Peter grin! He has covered that subject. Of course, I can add nothing to an expert's advice. "Peppers are worth trying. If you do not care for them in your home gardens, add them to the school garden. They work in with the courses in cooking. Just as egg plants are started inside, so ought peppers to be. Whenever the soil is warm and the weather settled, the pepper plants may go out. The best soil for them is a rich, sandy one. The little plants should have about one and a half foot of space on all sides. At first they look pretty lonesome so far apart but soon they will grow to large, bushy plants. A little hen manure mixed with soil and put on top of the ground about the little peppers gives them a good start in their new quarters. There are many interesting kinds of peppers to grow. If a pepper with a little sting is wished try such varieties as Bird's Eye, Red Cluster, and Tobasco. Suppose the peppers are to be used for stuffing. Then large, rather more mild-flavoured kinds are needed. Ruby King pepper is a bouncing beauty. The Red Etna, Improved Bull Nose and Golden King are other good ones. "The word pumpkin stands for good, old-fashioned pies, for Thanksgiving, for grandmother's house. It really brings more to mind than the word squash. I suppose the squash is a bit more useful, when we think of the fine Hubbard, and the nice little crooked-necked summer squashes; but after all, I like to have more pumpkins. And as for Jack-o'-lanterns--why they positively demand pumpkins. In planting these, the same general directions hold good which were given for melons. And use these same for squash-planting, too. But do not plant the two cousins together, for they have a tendency to run together. Plant the pumpkins in between the hills of corn and let the squashes go in some other part of the garden. "We have very nearly worn out the subject of radish. About the only cultural point I would add is this: Make radish develop quickly. If growth is slow, the radish is likely to be poor. Sometimes all the growth goes to top. Fine, green leaves result, but no good radishes. Then doctor the soil in order that fruit development may be quickened. Radishes are the quickest in maturing of all vegetables. That is why your teacher had radish beds for the lower grades in the school. The children got a result and got it quickly. Josephine might have raised radishes as well as parsley in the box garden she had. People in cities could raise these two vegetables on their roofs just as well as not. They are worth the effort it takes in trying. "There is one point I wish to speak of in tomato culture. The great trouble in cultivating comes in the overgrowth of vines. Each plant becomes a large, overgrown, unwieldy sort of affair unless looked out for. Use a stake for each vine. Tie the main stalk of the plant to this. Let the development of fruit come from the top of the plant. So pinch back the lateral branches and remove these. In this way the tomato garden is a neat and pretty one. This treatment is similar to that given grapes. "There is a tomato called the dwarf champion. This is a dwarf variety and so gives less trouble than the other kinds. It does not get troublesome and often does not need staking. If you were little boys and girls, I should say plant this kind of tomato every time. "I have little more to say about turnips. They are an old vegetable, for over two thousand years ago, the Greeks dined on turnips. I usually plant mine right out in the open. The soil may be a sandy one. X FLOWER CULTURE In planting the flower garden there are a few things always to be considered. These are matters of colour, of time and of persistency. "The subject of colour is not so trying, after all, as many gardeners seem to think. If you people wish to plant a few of a good many gay-blooming plants, then I guess colour is a problem. The chief thought in a flower garden should be, how I can make a beautiful picture of this garden of mine. You see right off how tiring and dazzling the garden of too many little dots of colour could be. Look about in nature--see the beautiful range of the butterfly weed, the pinky purple of Joe Pye, the scarlet of cardinal flowers, the blue of certain asters, the pink of bouncing Bet, the yellow of tansy and goldenrod. Nature is constantly presenting perfect splashes of brilliant colour here and there. And yet it is not inharmonious. Why? One reason is that much of the colour is in great masses, and what is not has been softened by stretches of soft green. "Let us take a hint from this for our small gardens. Plant colours in masses, and have breaks of green in between. Not a bad idea! I seem to hear you say. "Then a garden should have a strong time element about it. By this I mean that one should plan a garden for a round of bloom. Why have all the blooms in August? If you look at this bulb time-table I shall have ready for you, you will find that it is possible to start with bulbs. Snowdrops and crocuses will gladly usher in a continuous round of bloom for you. I do not mean that these two will bloom continuously. Not at all! But I mean they are the starters. There are conditions, where spring bloom and fall bloom alone is desired. This is the case with all school gardens where summer care is impossible. Another table called a garden of continuous bloom will help you plan this. "Another point to think of is persistency. Why not plant some seed which will produce plants that come up year after year? Why not have some hardy perennials and some self-sowing annuals? Poppy and cornflower sow themselves. These are annuals. Think of the perennials, which come year after year to welcome us. I think you should have hardy matter in your gardens. Peonies come up year after year, iris takes care of itself, helianthus or perennial sunflower bobs up each year. "George asked me one day, what I meant when I spoke of herbaceous plants. A herbaceous plant is one with a non-woody stem, as geraniums. Mock orange is not herbaceous, because it has a woody stem. When I speak of hardy plants, I mean those which can stand living outdoors through their existence, from start to finish. A half-hardy plant is one that requires fostering before being planted outdoors. We consider asters half-hardy, because they need the extra heat for start which the nasturtium does not need. You would not think of starting nasturtiums indoors. But asters and stock really need this sort of a start in life. "The tall flowers must go toward the back of the garden, for if they were placed in the foreground they would screen the others. The plants of medium height make up the main part of the garden; while the low plants are in the foreground as borders. "Perhaps it would be wiser to put some tall perennials or self-sowing annuals in the background, and among the shrubbery. Then save bed spaces for the annuals. This will cause less disturbance in the garden than the sowing of annuals in with the perennials. "I cannot take up all the garden flowers with you, because it is an impossibility. But a certain number of the more common ones I will talk of. "There are certain plants rather easier to grow than others, and very satisfactory in results. One of these all-around plants is the pansy. It likes best of all cool, moist places but it will do well, under rather reverse conditions. Pansies are the easiest of plants to grow from seed, and they offer a ready response to experiments with cross-fertilization. The very best time to sow plants is after midsummer. Anyway, the work must be done before October the first. Let us claim then that the middle of August is a good time. Make little drills a quarter of an inch deep for the seed; or better, sprinkle it on a fine seed bed. Over the seed sift a little soil. Pansy seed is fine and small, so great care must be taken in the early waterings; better far to cover the bed with old sacking, and water the sacking. In this way, the seed is not washed away. The little sturdy plants should be covered over with leaves or straw for the wintertime. When early spring comes, you will be delighted with plants which are well along. "Pansy flowers should always be kept well picked. Do not let the seed pods form if you desire continuous bloom. It is well to hold this in mind--that if plants are hurried along too fast, the flowers suffer in size. Small, inferior flowers result from such treatment. Pansies have a habit of running out--that is, the flowers grow smaller each year. It is merely a warning to keep making new sowings in order that one may always have large, vigorous blooms. "Choice seed of this flower is very expensive. It is a plant that some florists have put all their time upon. It has seemed to certain men that one of the greatest things in the world, is to find out ways of improving the plants of the earth. So certain fruits are crossed to make new and better ones; and certain flowers are being constantly worked over to get superior strains. Sweet peas, pansies, stock, and dahlias are plants which have been much improved by man's skill. "Larkspur is one of those plants which children so rarely try. I have wondered often why. It is not hard to raise, and so I am hoping that some of you will try it another season. The larkspur is a hardy plant, and there are both annuals and perennials in this family. Some varieties are dwarfed, and grow only a foot and a half high, while others grow five feet in height. This latter growth is very charming in the background of the garden. The flower spikes are showy and the foliage pretty. The larkspur likes a pretty rich sort of soil. The seed is very slow in germinating, and that is reason enough for fall planting. The stay over winter gives these fussy seeds time to make up their minds to germinate. This sowing should be done after the middle of October. "Really charming blue flowers are a bit difficult to find because we have fewer blue flowers than those of the reds and yellows. Do not get the impression that larkspurs are only blue in colour. There are yellow, pink, red, and white varieties. But the blue is very fine. So when you are thinking of high flowers for backgrounds, keep the larkspur in mind. "Hollyhock is another good background plant, because of its height and sentinel-like effect. It sows itself, so will take care of itself. Perennial phlox is well to put into the garden. Helianthus, I have mentioned, as suitable for backgrounds. It has a rather bad habit of too free spreading. "Peonies are very satisfactory. I am sure you will all want some of them. They look their best planted in clumps. A certain pink and white peony is called the rose peony. It is sweet scented, and when in blossom it scents the portion of the yard where it is placed. These look well planted in wide borders. The roots, or bulbs, should go about three inches below ground in nice, rich, garden soil. Do not plant where they get the full blaze of early sun. "I'd put some iris in the border, too. It requires no care. You need not bed it over, even, in the fall. It likes a certain amount of moisture, but grows readily under almost all conditions. The German iris is an easy grower; the French fleur-de-lis is lovely with its more delicate blossom. Certain irises, to be sure, are particular about their quarters, but the two kinds mentioned are not. They like a certain amount of open space. Do not hide them in the shrubbery, although they may be planted near it. "You might put in some hardy chrysanthemums. These need good rich garden soil. They should also be placed near the back of the garden for good effect. You may choose almost any colour in these. Some of the little button chrysanthemums are good for backgrounds. The yellow ones make good splashes of colour, while the dull reds are most beautiful. These bloom after frost. When the frost has made havoc with the foliage, cut the plant down to about one inch of the ground. It is well to cut the flowers before frost. "You have now a few good background plants which are hardy. "The biennials can be so planted as to behave like perennials. These plants, you remember, are doing their best blossoming work the second summer. So by yearly sowings you may always have good effects. I have mentioned some already for your garden:--Canterbury bell, cornflower and foxglove are biennials. Cornflower tends to self sow, but needs help in this work from you. Sweet William is an old favourite. Of course, it is pretty gaudy. But I like old sweet William in spite of his gay tendency. They are rather stiff, but so easy to raise, being not very particular about anything. "When it comes to annuals there is a multitude of these to plant each season. There are candytuft and alyssum for borders. Then mignonette is absolutely necessary to keep the garden sweet. Coreopsis is easy to raise, and so is godetia. If a great big bold mass of colour is desired, put in Shirley poppies. These grow well even on sandy soil. It is well to remember, that these do not lend themselves kindly to transplanting. "Suppose there is a bit of sandy ground which needs a low-growing plant. Put in this spot portulaca. The bright little blossoms, constantly blooming, add a bit of cheer to that old sandy place. "There are the old stand-bys which are good bloomers--nasturtiums, zinnias, marigolds and petunias. In the case of zinnia, it is better to buy these seeds by the ounce. Children's penny packages and the regular five-cent packages are filled usually with seeds which produce variously coloured blossoms. One can plan for no good effects in this way. If you get a seed catalogue, and look through the zinnia list, you can choose just what you like. "Certain plants are spoken of as plants for bedding. These plants are placed in a formal bed after the spring flowers have finished their blooming. You sometimes see in the park fine beds of tulips and hyacinths early in the season. After these have finished their blooming, plants which are all started are put in their bed. If seeds were planted they would take so long to develop that the bed would look bad for a long time. So bedding plants are put in. Geraniums are the most popular of all. Begonias, fuchsias, heliotrope and coleus are often used. Geraniums will stand almost any kind of soil, and therefore have great advantages over most plants. Begonias will flourish in the shade; while the strong point about coleus is that of beauty of foliage. "To those of you who have started outdoor bulb beds, the bedding list will be of some service. Marguerites look well in such a bed. Often one sees a border of ageratum about such a one. There is always a sort of stiff effect about such borders, however. A canna bed is after the same order, yet is effective. Salvia, or scarlet sage, looks well in wide borders, or near the underpinning of the house. Both these may act as bedding plants. "There are three other kinds of gardens I should like to bring to your minds--the rock garden, the herb garden and the wild-flower garden. This last we shall have to leave for another time, however. "Whenever a rockery is mentioned to some people they shrug their shoulders, and murmur something about a mere heap of rocks. Now, a rock garden may be very pretty, or very ugly. Such a garden should never be stuck out in the front yard to hit one in the face. But if you have a place in your yard, which is near the woods or in the vicinity of trees, or by a rocky ledge--in short, if you have any place with a bit of wildness surrounding it, use this for a rockery. If your yard is just a plain, tame, civilized yard, you'd better leave the rock garden out. I know of a lady living in a city, whose backyard is a rocky ledge. That ledge itself told her what her garden ought to be. It just cried out to her, 'Build a rock garden on me.' And she did it. Any other kind of a garden would have been out of place and taste there. Wherever a rocky ledge is found, there is a possibility for a rock garden. "To have a good garden of this sort, one must have earth as well as rocks. Earth must be put into all the crevices of rock, so that there is some depth to it, and at such an angle that it won't be washed out by hard rains. A rock garden should have an earth foundation. I mean that there must be much of earth about it. I saw a charming one, which had only climbing nasturtiums planted over it. It was a great rock jutting out, and extending back into the yard--a big, flat, irregular affair--and all over it were these running vines. It was very simple and very effective. Go to the woods and seek out ferns which are growing in rocky places. Take what little earth they have about them, and try to give them a similar position in your own rockery. Bring back some leaf mould from the woods, and mix the garden soil for the rockery. Candytuft, dwarf phlox, stonecrop, morning glory, saxifrage, bleeding heart, rock cress, myrtle, thrift, columbine, bell flower, and moss pink. Get some moss, too, for chinks between rocks. "If we could go back to old colonial days, and visit a dame's garden, I am sure we should find a little herb garden there. Our mothers might call these herbs pot herbs. Here all the flavourings for the soups were raised. Here sweet lavender might be found, its flowers used to make fragrant the bed linen. Horehound, anise and others were used in medicines; while little caraway seeds made delicious the cakes and cookies. I can see bunches of dried sage hung in the attic. "Even with us there might be good use made of this garden both at home and at school. We do, of course, grow parsley, which is an herb, but the others seem to have dropped out of our gardens. We might at least grow next summer the sage and savoury for the turkey stuffing. "Herbs need a sandy, well-worked soil. Seed should be sown in drills about twelve inches apart. The seed should be sown in early spring, as soon as the ground is warm. Sprinkle the seed just below the surface, and cover lightly with soil. "A list of common herbs includes the following: Anise, balm, basil, borage, caraway, catnip, coriander, dill, fennel, horehound, hop, hyssop, lavender, pot marigold, sweet and pot marjoram, parsley, pennyroyal, rosemary, rue, sage, savoury, tansy, sorrel, thyme, and wormwood. It would be of little use to plant all of these, even to see what the plants were like. I would suggest your trying lavender, sage, savoury, and dill. "Lavender seed is very slow to germinate, so sow the seed plentifully in early spring. The soil should have a dusting of lime over it as lavender plants enjoy lime. The flower is the part you wish. Pick these flower stalks before the flowers get old. Dry, and then sprinkle the dried flowers in the linen chest. Lavender is very sweet, and is often spoken of as sweet lavender. To this day one will hear women singing in the streets of London, 'Sweet lavender, buy my sweet lavender.' "Sage likes a good, well-drained soil. It, too, likes lime. The little seedlings should be thinned out to stand about ten inches apart. When you see flowers forming cut the sage plant and quickly dry. It makes a pretty border plant in the garden. Savoury is also a border plant. But this is a hardy annual, while lavender and sage are perennials. It likes a light but rich soil. Both the leaves and flowers are used in soup flavouring. "Dill is also sown in early spring. It is the seed of the dill plant, and not the leaves and flowers, which is the useful part. The seeds are used in the making of pickles. "I shall hope to see something in the herb line, in your gardens next year--a hardy garden started, and a good bit of taste displayed by all of you. You girls might raise mint to put in lemonade. "Next time we shall have our talk on wild flowers. Some of you know and love many of these wild flowers." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ANNUALS FOR SANDY SOILS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NAME COLOUR TIME HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Clarkia Rose June 1-1/2 ft. Good to use for a border White Oct. plant. Purple Use single varieties. Poppy White July 1-1/2 ft. Do not transplant. Fine for Red Aug. mass effects. Nasturtium Yellow June Most satisfactory, especially to Maroon Oct. 1-5 ft. for cut flowers. Blooms freely. Portulaca White June 1/2 ft. Blooms freely -- grows close Red to the ground. Yellow Zinnia Red June 1-1/2 ft. Grows without great care. Magenta Frost Blooms freely. Looks best when massed. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ANNUALS FOR HEAVY SOILS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NAME COLOUR TIME HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Godetia Red July 1-2 ft. Easy to grow. An English White Oct. favourite: blooms freely. Sweet Pea Variety July 4-6 ft. Plant early in the spring in Oct. a sunny spot. Keep flowers well clipped for constant bloom. Petunia Magenta May 1-2 ft. Mass or use in borders. Give plenty of sun. Good for the outdoor window box. Sweet White July 1/2 ft. Sow thickly in the borders. Alyssum Sept. Blooms freely. Grows in every soil. Pot Orange June 1-1/2 ft. Blooms freely. Looks well Marigold Yellow Frost in masses. Stiff effect as a cut flower. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ SEVEN FAVOURITE ANNUALS FOR CUT FLOWERS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NAME COLOUR TIME HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Sweet White July 1/2 ft. Use in low bowls for table Alyssum Red Sept. decorations. China Aster White July 1 ft. Lasts long after cutting. Blue to Oct. Purple Baby's White June 2-3 ft. Use in bouquets with other Breath Rose Oct. flowers. Coreopsis Yellow June 1-2 ft. Place by themselves in tall Brown Nov. vases. Nasturtium Scarlet June 1-5 ft. Cut freely for constant Yellow Oct. bloom. Use in great masses in low vases. Pansy Purple May 1/2-1 ft. Cut closely. Place in low Blue June dishes. Yellow White Pink White May 1 ft. Lasts well after cutting. Maroon Aug. Rose ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ANNUALS THAT BLOOM AFTER FROST ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NAME COLOUR TIME HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Sweet Alyssum White July 1/2 ft. Withstands early frosts. Sept. Good border plant. Candytuft Red June to 1/2 ft. Sow at intervals through White Sept. the summer. Good cut flower. Cornflower Rose June 2-3 ft. Good for cut flowers. Blue Blooms freely. White Marigold Yellow June 1/2 - 2 Better for garden effects Browns Aug. ft. than for cut flowers. Annual Phlox Yellow May 1/2 - 1 Self sows. Good all round Reds Aug. ft. plant. White Ten-weeks White June 1 1/2 A second sowing made in stock Purple July ft. May flowers the same Pink season. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ FRAGRANT ANNUALS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NAME COLOUR TIME HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Mignonette Green May 1 ft. Beautifully fragrant. Do Oct. not transplant. Good to use as a break for clashing colours. Sweet Peas White July 4-6 ft. Free bloomer. Try variety Scarlet Oct. _Lathyrus odorata._ Blue Yellow Ten- weeks Pink June 1 ft. Good for cut flowers. stock Purple July Fragrant at night. White Sweet Sultan White June 2 ft. _Centaurea moschata_ good Yellow Aug. for cut flowers. Purple Sweet Alyssum White July 1/2 ft. _Alyssum maritimun._ Low Sept. growing, border plant. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ANNUALS THAT RE-SOW THEMSELVES ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NAME COLOUR TIME HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Morning glory Reds July 15-30 ft. Grows rapidly. Makes a Blues Oct good screen. Whites Poppy Pink June 1/2-2 ft. _Papaver Rhocas_ and P. Scarlet Sept. _somniferum_. White Phlox Yellow May l/2-1 ft. _Phlox Drummondii._ Reds Aug. Need much water. White Pot Marigold Orange June 1-2 ft. _Calendula officinalis_ Yellow Oct. Likes a warm soil. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ANNUALS THAT CLIMB ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NAME COLOUR TIME HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Balloon Vine White Aug. 10 ft. Grows rapidly. Good screen. Japanese Hop Incon- July 8-20 ft. Rapid grower. Looks well spicuous Oct. growing along old fences. Moon-flower White July 15-30 ft. Night bloomer. Grows Sept. rapidly. Morning Glory Purple June 20 ft. Rapid grower. Good White Aug. screen. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ANNUALS FOR SHADY PLACES ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NAME COLOUR TIME HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Godetia White July 1-2 ft. The flowers are showy. Red to Oct. Musk Yellow June 1/2-1 ft. Need moisture and coolness. to Aug Nemophila Blue June 1-3 ft. Moisture, partial shade and White to Oct. coolness. Pansy White May 1/2-1 ft. Sow under same conditions Yellow to Oct. as musk in early spring. Purple Blooms freely in the fall. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ANNUALS FOR SUNNY PLACES ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NAME COLOUR TIME HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Balsam Red June to 1-2 ft. Plant in rich sandy loam Yellow Oct. under direct rays of sun. White Cornflower Blue May to 2 ft. Full flower. Resows itself Sept. Cosmos White July to 4 ft. Overrich soil retards Pink Sept. bloom. Crimson Gaillardia Red July to 3 ft. Good cut flower. Blossoms Yellow Oct. freely. Marigold, Yellow July to 3 ft. Blooms profusely; stiff African Frost flower head. Nasturtium Yellow June to 1-5 ft. Both dwarf and tall varieties Scarlet Oct. are rapid growers and free bloomers. Rose moss White June 1/2-3/4 ft. _Portulaca grandiflora._ Magenta Aug. Plant in position direct sunshine. Verbena Various July to 2 ft. Start inside for early Sept. bloom. Wallflower Orange June 1-1/2 ft. Sown in Sept. blooms in July May. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ANNUALS FOR ROCKY PLACES ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NAME COLOUR TIME HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Phlox Red June to 1-1-1/2 ft. Variety _Phlox Drumondii_ White Oct. Duration of bloom depends on richness of soil. Candytuft Red May 1/2-1-1/2 ft. Plant in the fall and cover White Frost for early spring bloom. Clarkia Purple June 1-1/2 ft. Use _Clarkia elegans._ Red Oct. Thrives in both sun and White partial shade. Nasturtium Reds June 1 ft. _Tropoeolum minor;_ blooms (Dwarf) Yellows Oct. very early. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ FRAGRANT PERENNIALS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NAME COLOUR TIME HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Winter Lilac Dec. 1 ft. Blooms outdoors in winter. Heliotrope Feb. Flowers small. Russian Violet March 1/2 ft. Double flowers. Hardy. Violets Lily-of- White May 3/4 ft. Plant by middle of March the-Valley for that season's bloom. Needs part shade. Spreads. Valerian Pinkish June 3 ft. Finely cut foliage. Easy to grow. Lemon Lily Yellow June 2 ft. Flowers 4 in. long. Tubers which multiply rapidly. Fringed Pink Lilac July 1 ft. Blooms until autumn if prevented from seeding. Bee Balm Scarlet July 2 ft. Odour of mint. Good for Aug. mass effects. White Day White Aug. 2 ft. Lilies 4-6 in. long. Fine, Lily Sept. broad-leaved foliage. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ PERENNIALS FOR CUT FLOWERS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NAME COLOUR TIME HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Christmas Rose White Nov. 1/2 ft. Blooms outdoors in the Feb. snow. No fragrance. Charming in masses. California Violet March 1/2 ft. Large flowers but single. Violets Fragrant. Foxglove Purple June 3-4 ft. Large flowers, long stems. Oriental Blue June 2-3 ft. Beautiful colour, long Larkspur White stems. Let no flowers go to seed. Japan Iris Variety July 3-4 ft. Short lived when cut. of Fine blooms. Japan Anemone Pink Sept. 3 ft. Finest September flower. White Plant in spring. Plant for afternoon sun. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ TALL PERENNIALS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NAME COLOUR TIME HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Hollyhock Variety July 6 ft. Single varieties are the of hardier; double varieties last longer. Plume Poppy Pinkish July 6 ft. Spreads rapidly. Fine for massing and screening. Do not plant on the west as it shuts off sun. Golden Glow Yellow Aug. 6 ft. Multiplies rapidly. Fine bloomer. Liable to pest lice. Spray with soap solution. Double Yellow Aug. 5 ft. Largest double flower of Sunflower any perennial. Likely to run out unless divided Late Yellow Sept. 10-12 ft. Tallest of perennials; Sunflower blooms till October. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ LOW GROWING PERENNIALS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NAME COLOUR TIME HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Crested Blue April 9 in. Earliest of iris. Good for Dwarf Iris edgings. Plant the middle of March. Dwarf Flag Purple April 9 in. Increases rapidly. Large flowers. Good colouring English Pink April 6 in. Good for spring budding Daisy White purposes. Tufted Blue June 6 in. More but smaller flowers Pansies or Yellow than pansies. After Violets White July cut back, manure and they will bloom again in September. Carpathian Blue July 8 in. Bloom for 6 weeks. Easy Harebell to grow. Coral Bells Red Aug. 12 in. Grow in sandy, well-drained soil. Coral red flowers. Popp-mallow Crimson Sept. 9 in. Blooms nearly 12 weeks. Colour does not harmonize with others. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ PERENNIALS OF MEDIUM HEIGHT ------------------------------------------------------------------------ NAME COLOUR TIME HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Bleeding Pink May 1-1/2 ft. Long lived and long of Heart bloom. Graceful. European Crimson May 3 ft. Earliest of peonies. Poor Peony White appearance in the fall. Sweet Red June 12 in. Self sows. Flowers at their William Pink best the second year. White Chinese Crimson June 2-1/2 ft. Long-lived. Very Peony Pink satisfactory. Plant White in September. Foxglove Purple June 3-3-1/4 ft. Spire-like cluster White of flowers. Oriental Blue June 2-3 ft. Best blue perennial. Cut Larkspur flower spikes as soon as they fade. Oriental Red June 3 ft. Self sows. Flowers 6 in. Poppy across. Gaillardia Red June 1 ft. Flowers more freely than Yellow Nov. any other perennial. Cover plants after ground freezes. Late Phlox All best Aug. 1-1/2 ft. Fragrant in the evening. Blue Sept. Many colours of bloom. and Yellow Hardy Blue Sept. 3ft. Long season of bloom. Chrysanthemum Scarlet Nov. Deep rich soil and sunny exposure for best results. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ XI THE WILD-FLOWER GARDEN "A wild-flower garden has a most attractive sound. One thinks of long tramps in the woods, collecting material, and then of the fun in fixing up a real for sure wild garden. "If the wild garden is to be a school affair, then I certainly should plant the different kinds of flowers together. The north corner near the building is a suitable place. But if the garden is to be at home--your own private little garden--I am inclined to think it would be better to plant the wild flowers here and there among the cultivated ones. "A wild-flower garden is a joy each year, because up it comes without constant replanting of seed. It is a hardy garden. As Nature often covers her wood-flowers over with leaves preparatory to winter, so you might copy her and do the same. "Many people say they have no luck at all with such a garden. It is not a question of luck, but a question of understanding, for wild flowers are like people and each has its personality. What a plant has been accustomed to in Nature it desires always. In fact, when removed from its own sort of living conditions, it sickens and dies. That is enough to tell us that we should copy Nature herself. Suppose you are hunting wild flowers. As you choose certain flowers from the woods, notice the soil they are in, the place, conditions, the surroundings, and the neighbours. "Suppose you find dog-tooth violets and wind-flowers growing near together. Then place them so in your own new garden. Suppose you find a certain violet enjoying an open situation; then it should always have the same. You see the point, do you not? If you wish wild flowers to grow in a tame garden make them feel at home. Cheat them into almost believing that they are still in their native haunts. "Wild flowers ought to be transplanted after blossoming time is over. Take a trowel and a basket into the woods with you. As you take up a few, a columbine, or a hepatica, be sure to take with the roots some of the plant's own soil, which must be packed about it when replanted. "The bed into which these plants are to go should be prepared carefully before this trip of yours. Surely you do not wish to bring those plants back to wait over a day or night before planting. They should go into new quarters at once. The bed needs soil from the woods, deep and rich and full of leaf mold. The under drainage system should be excellent. Then plants are not to go into water-logged ground. Some people think that all wood plants should have a soil saturated with water. But the woods themselves are not water-logged. It may be that you will need to dig your garden up very deeply and put some stone in the bottom. Over this the top soil should go. And on top, where the top soil once was, put a new layer of the rich soil you brought from the woods. "Before planting water the soil well. Then as you make places for the plants put into each hole some of the soil which belongs to the plant which is to be put there. "I think it would be a rather nice plan to have a wild-flower garden giving a succession of bloom from early spring to late fall; so let us start off with March, the hepatica, spring beauty and saxifrage. Then comes April bearing in its arms the beautiful columbine, the tiny bluets and wild geranium. For May there are the dog-tooth violet and the wood anemone, false Solomon's seal, Jack-in-the-pulpit, wake robin, bloodroot and violets. June will give the bellflower, mullein, bee balm and foxglove. I would choose the gay butterfly weed for July. Let turtle head, aster, Joe Pye weed, and Queen Anne's lace make the rest of the season brilliant until frost. "Let us have a bit about the likes and dislikes of these plants. After you are once started you'll keep on adding to this wild-flower list. "There is no one who doesn't love the hepatica. Before the spring has really decided to come, this little flower pokes its head up and puts all else to shame. Tucked under a covering of dry leaves the blossoms wait for a ray of warm sunshine to bring them out. The last year's leaves stay on through the winter brooding over the little fresh sprouts. These embryo flowers are further protected by a fuzzy covering. This reminds one of a similar protective covering which new fern leaves have. In the spring a hepatica plant wastes no time on getting a new suit of leaves. It makes its old ones do until the blossom has had its day. Then the new leaves, started to be sure before this, have a chance. These delayed, are ready to help out next season. You will find hepaticas growing in clusters, sort of family groups. They are likely to be found in rather open places in the woods. The soil is found to be rich and loose. So these should go only in partly shaded places and under good soil conditions. If planted with other woods specimens give them the benefit of a rather exposed position, that they may catch the early spring sunshine. I should cover hepaticas over with a light litter of leaves in the fall. During the last days of February, unless the weather is extreme take this leaf covering away. You'll find the hepatica blossoms all ready to poke up their heads. "The spring beauty hardly allows the hepatica to get ahead of her. With a white flower which has dainty tracings of pink, a thin, wiry stem, and narrow, grass-like leaves, this spring flower cannot be mistaken. You will find spring beauties growing in great patches in rather open places. Plant a number of the roots and allow the sun good opportunity to get at them. For this plant loves the sun. "The other March flower mentioned is the saxifrage. This belongs in quite a different sort of environment. It is a plant which grows in dry and rocky places. Often one will find it in chinks of rock. There is an old tale to the effect that the saxifrage roots twine about rocks and work their way into them so that the rock itself splits. Anyway, it is a rock garden plant. I have found it in dry, sandy places right on the borders of a big rock. It has white flower clusters borne on hairy stems. "The columbine is another plant that is quite likely to be found in rocky places. Standing below a ledge and looking up, one sees nestled here and there in rocky crevices one plant or more of columbine. The nodding red heads bob on wiry, slender stems. The roots do not strike deeply into the soil; in fact, often the soil hardly covers them. Now, just because the columbine has little soil, it does not signify that it is indifferent to the soil conditions. For it always has lived, and always should live, under good drainage conditions. I wonder if it has struck you, how really hygienic plants are? Plenty of fresh air, proper drainage, and good food are fundamentals with plants. "It is evident from study of these plants how easy it is to find out what plants like. After studying their feelings, then do not make the mistake of huddling them all together under poor drainage conditions. "I always have a feeling of personal affection for the bluets. When they come I always feel that now things are beginning to settle down outdoors. They start with rich, lovely, little delicate blue blossoms. As June gets hotter and hotter their colour fades a bit, until at times they look quite worn and white. Some people call them Quaker ladies, others innocence. Under any name they are charming. They grow in colonies, sometimes in sunny fields, sometimes by the road-side. From this we learn that they are more particular about the open sunlight than about the soil. "If you desire a flower to pick and use for bouquets, then the wild geranium is not your flower. It droops very quickly after picking and almost immediately drops its petals. But the purplish flowers are showy, and the leaves, while rather coarse, are deeply cut. This latter effect gives a certain boldness to the plant that is rather attractive. The plant is found in rather moist, partly shaded portions of the woods. I like this plant in the garden. It adds good colour and permanent colour as long as blooming time lasts, since there is no object in picking it. "I suppose little children would not have a perfect spring without the dog's tooth violet. The leaves are attractive and almost make the beauty of a bouquet. It is sometimes called trout lily. The mottled effect of the leaves accounts for the trout part of the name, and as for lily, it _is_ a lily, and never belonged to the violet family at all. Dig the plant up, and the bulbous root tells the story. It really does belong to the lily family. The nodding yellow flower is pretty, too. These, when picked, last a long time in water. They like to grow in the neighbourhood of the brook. A moist, half-shaded half-open piece of land is their delight, and therefore in many gardens the trout lily might have to be left out. "There is a sweet little flower called the wood anemone, or wind-flower. It is another modest little flower, white in colour. The constant nodding of the petals stirred by even a breath of wind gives it the name of wind-flower. These also grow in colonies. Have you noticed how social, but clannish, our wild flowers are? Especially is this true of the real woods flowers, rather than of the wayside flowers. The anemone grows in open places by the woods or the hillside. They are a sort of border plant evidently trying to leave the woods, but still bound to it. "If in your yard there happens to be a big old fatherly tree or a decaying stump, plant wind-flowers all about it. You may make the flowers feel that they are on the edge of the woods. "While I have numbered bloodroot among May flowers, it often does appear in April, and before the wood anemone. The silvery, white blossom pushes its head above the leaves in a fine fashion. They are sensitive flowers, closing partly in cloudy weather, and actually dropping to pieces in a rainstorm or under severe winds. The leaves are large, rather coarse, but pretty with their light under surfaces. The stems have tinges of red on them, a dark red sap in the roots. These roots bleed when disturbed. The Indians used to stain their faces with this orange sap-blood. You will find bloodroot growing in rich soil either in open woods or on rocky slopes. "In a nice, rich, moist place put a few Jack-in-the pulpits. This flower is much like a child's jack-in-the-box. It is so different from most of our plants that it has the effect of the joker in a pack of cards. Push back the flap over Jack's face and you will see a club like a policeman's billy. Along this club the inconspicuous flowers are borne. Later, in the fall, the fruit forms, and inside, instead of rather uninteresting flowers, are bright red berries. So Jack jokes again. "There is always a great feeling of joy when the first trilliums, or wake robins, appear. Walking in the deep, moist woods suddenly one sees a mass of big leaves and white flowers. The same irresistably lovely trilliums have come again. Three big leaves, then a flower stalk shooting up from the centre of this whorl of leaves, and on top the crowning glory--the three-petaled trillium flower. A fragrant white or pink form is called the nodding wake robin. These in a glance tell their wishes. The plant sometimes is nearly two feet high. So a clump of these could easily go toward the back of the wild-flower garden in shade and moist soil. "Another wild flower of striking beauty is the May apple or mandrake. It comes very early in May, often in April. This plant grows to about the same height as the trillium. Only the big spreading leaves of the mandrake are visible at first sight. Beneath these, and daintily hung in the junction of the leaf stalks, is the lovely, waxy, white blossom. Late after the fading of the blossom the fruit appears. So its name of May apple comes from this fruit, which has a sickly sweet taste. The leaf and stalk part of the May apple are of a poisonous nature. This flower, too, likes rather low, moist, shaded places. "The false Solomon's seal is found in woods where moisture is. During June and July this plant is in blossom. After the white flowers the fruit, or berry, appears. The berry changes from green, to white, to red. There is a two-leaved Solomon's seal called the false lily-of-the-valley which is found at this same time. It has usually two little lily-like leaves and a blossom stalk running up from these. Tiny fragrant flowers are borne on this stalk. These plants grow in moist woods, also. One might plant these two near together in the garden, for the soil conditions are the same for both. "Who would wish a wild-flower garden without violets? The little sweet wood ones, the big horse shoes, the rare white, and more rare yellow--any and all are worth our while! Violets, at least the most of them, prefer not to be huddled away. I wonder why, when people think of transplanting violets, a dull, dark, moist spot immediately comes to mind? Violets like the sun, like good soil, and plenty of air. Some violets are found in the swamps, but did you happen to notice what long stems they have? Why? The reason is to raise the lovely flowers into the light. Nothing could be sweeter or more satisfactory than a violet bed. I rather like violets bedded by themselves. They fill in corners beautifully. They grow gladly about trees. They adorn borders. You may cover them, in the fall or not as you like. They are not fussy. Take a north corner at school, a corner not wholly shaded by any means--fill that in solid with violet plants in the fall. That corner always will be a thing of real beauty. "The bellflower coming in May blooms on until September. The flower is blue, purple or violet. It is a flower found in dry places, on grassy slopes, along hillsides, and is common to most localities. "I have a sneaking fondness for mullein. One or two stalks of it give a charming effect in the garden. Its yellow flowers, its tall flower stalk, the thick, hairy leaves--all these are its charms. It is said that these same hairy leaves were used as wicks by the ancients. Anyway, the flowers themselves on the tall stalks that often reach to seven feet, look like gleaming lights on a torch. The mullein has a simple dignity. It grows in the dry fields and along roadsides. So you see it is by no means particular about its habitat, its place of abode. "Another tall plant is the foxglove. The flowers are gathered together in a sort of spike at the end of the stalk, are large and yellow and really lovely. The plant grows to about four feet in height. It has a bad habit, this downy false foxglove, of absorbing some of its nourishment from the roots of plants near which it stands. This plant, too, is fond of dry places. "A very gay flower, intensely red, is the bee balm. It is an herb, and a perennial. It is often called Oswego tea, because the Indians are supposed to have used it for tea. Then, again, you will hear it called Indian's plume. This name seems most suitable. I can just imagine a chief strutting around with this gay plume on his head. It likes a somewhat secluded, moist, shady, cool place. I think it would be possible for some of you to make it grow at home. For colour it would be invaluable. The cardinal flower is the only flower more gaudy in red than this bee balm. "When one comes to orange colour the butterfly weed takes the prize. This flower has a variety of names: it is called pleurisy root, and wind root, and orange root. Would you think that this gay little beggar was a member of the milkweed family? It is. When seed time comes it produces a seed pod like unto the milkweed pod only more slender than this. All summer long the insects hover about it. It is just like a signal to them. "Come over here to me!" it calls to them all. It is found in dry places, in the fields and pastures, along the dusty road sides, and by the sooty railroad track it flashes its signal. You can make this plant feel at home surely. And think of the butterflies that will visit your garden all summer long. "Then later comes old Joe Pye weed. Joe Pye was an Indian doctor but that doesn't seem to have anything to do with his weed. Yes, it has its connection. For when old Joe Pye went out on a case of typhoid fever he carried this plant along; hence, its name. The plant sometimes grows to ten feet in height. Really the swamp is its home. So if you are to use it at all remember that it must have this condition of great moisture, even to swampiness. The flower clusters are of a charming colour, a beautiful dull pink. "Another inhabitant of wet places is the turtle head. The flower resembles in shape a turtle's or a snake's head, and so receives both names. "When it comes to Queen Anne's lace, you say that is a troublesome weed. Yes, it is. But it is truly beautiful with its lacy flower head. A great bouquet of these on the porch, the dining table, or the school piano is a real picture. A clump of these in the garden, if held in check, is simply stunning. How can they be held down? The only way is to let no flower heads go to seed. The little, clinging, persistent, numerous seeds are seeds of trouble. This lovely bother grows in any sort of soil. "There are numbers and numbers of wild flowers I might have suggested. These I have mentioned were not given for the purpose of a flower guide, but with just one end in view--your understanding of how to study soil conditions for the work of starting a wild-flower garden. "If you fear results, take but one or two flowers and study just what you select. Having mastered, or better, become acquainted with a few, add more another year to your garden. I think you will love your wild garden best of all before you are through with it. It is a real study, you see." XII LANDSCAPE GARDENING The subject to-night is a very pretentious one, for no one would expect boys and girls to be landscape gardeners. But many boys and girls have excellent taste and taste is the foundation stone of landscape gardening. This work has often been likened to the painting of a picture. Your art-work teacher has doubtless told you that a good picture should have a point of chief interest, and the rest of the points simply go to make more beautiful the central idea, or to form a fine setting for it. Look at that picture over Miriam's head. See that lone pine, the beautiful curve of the hillside, the scrub undergrowth about the tree, the bit of sky beyond! As soon as one looks at that picture one's eye rests on the pine, and the other features seem to appear afterward. "So in landscape gardening there must be in the gardener's mind a picture of what he desires the whole to be when he completes his work. Take, for example, your school grounds. You did a bit of landscape work there, although we never called it that before. The little schoolhouse itself was our centre of interest. How could we fix up the grounds so that the little building should have a really attractive setting? That, I believe, was the thought in each of your heads, although no one of you ever put this into words. "Notice now with me the good points about that work, and from this study we shall be able to work out a little theory of landscape gardening. "First there is a good extent of lawn about the building, the path to the door is slightly curved and pleasingly so, a fine little maple stands out rather interestingly on the side lawn, the flower garden has a good mass effect, the screen of poplar trees at the back acts as a stately rear guard, and the vines over the outbuilding hide what was once a blemish. "Let us go back to the lawn. A good extent of open lawn space is always beautiful. It is restful. It adds a feeling of space to even small grounds. So we might generalize and say that it is well to keep open lawn spaces. If one covers his lawn space with many trees, with little flower beds here and there, the general effect is choppy and fussy. It is a bit like an over-dressed person. One's grounds lose all individuality thus treated. A single tree or a small group is not a bad arrangement on the lawn. Do not centre the tree or trees. Let them drop a bit into the background. Make a pleasing side feature of them. In choosing trees one must keep in mind a number of things. You should not choose an overpowering tree; the tree should be one of good shape, with something interesting about its bark, leaves, flowers or fruit. While the poplar is a rapid grower, it sheds its leaves early and so is left standing, bare and ugly, before the fall is old. Mind you, there are places where a row or double row of Lombardy poplars is very effective. But I think you'll agree with me that one lone poplar is not. The catalpa is quite lovely by itself. Its leaves are broad, its flowers attractive, the seed pods which cling to the tree until away into the winter, add a bit of picturesqueness. The bright berries of the ash, the brilliant foliage of the sugar maple, the blossoms of the tulip tree, the bark of the white birch, and the leaves of the copper beech--all these are beauty points to consider. "Place makes a difference in the selection of a tree. Suppose the lower portion of the grounds is a bit low and moist, then the spot is ideal for a willow. Don't group trees together which look awkward. I never should have Peter and Myron march together in school. Why? Because they look wretchedly together. Myron makes Peter look short and Peter causes Myron to look overgrown. So it is with trees. A long-looking poplar does not go with a nice rather rounded little tulip tree. A juniper, so neat and prim, would look silly beside a spreading chestnut. One must keep proportion and suitability in mind. "I'd never advise the planting of a group of evergreens close to a house, and in the front yard. The effect is very gloomy indeed. Houses thus surrounded are overcapped by such trees and are not only gloomy to live in, but truly unhealthful. The chief requisite inside a house is sunlight and plenty of it. "There are no shrubs on the school grounds. You had spoken of doing that but bulbs took up the attention of the girls this fall. And as for you boys--you were attending to your own crops. Shrubbery is very pleasing if properly placed. It is just the thing to fill in corners near buildings, to help define the turns in walks, and to use as hedges. Usually one shrub standing by itself is not nearly so pleasing as one tree by itself. It has a squatty and isolated appearance. There is a corner close by the school building where shrubs should go. Why? Because the place looks bare and staring, and the building is very ugly at that point; the shrubs would fill in the space, and make the building look much better. "As trees are chosen because of certain good points, so shrubs should be. In a clump I should wish some which bloomed early, some which bloomed late, some for the beauty of their fall foliage, some for the colour of their bark and others for the fruit. Some spireas and the forsythia bloom early. The red bark of the dogwood makes a bit of colour all winter, and the red berries of the barberry cling to the shrub well into the winter. This list of shrubs which Philip has made out will be a help to you in this work. PHILIP'S SHRUB TABLE --------------------------------------------------------------------- COMMON NAME BOTANICAL NAME HEIGHT COLOUR SPECIAL POINTS --------------------------------------------------------------------- _March_ Spice Bush _Benzoin_ 6-15 ft. Yellow Flowers appear _odoriferum_ before leaves. Crimson fruit in fall. Aromatic odour. Daphne _Daphne Mezereum_ 4 ft. Purple The only hardy deciduous daphne. Plant in light soil and in shade. _April_ Barberry _Berberis- 2-4 ft. Yellow Prefers dry soil. Berries _Thunbergii_ all winter. Golden Bell _Forsythia_ 5-8 ft. Yellow Flowers appear before _suspensa_ leaves. Hardy; free from insects. _May_ Red-osier _Cornus_ 4-8 ft. White Red branched. Plant Dogwood _stolonifera_ in moist soil. Japanese Snow _Deutzia_ 1-3 ft. White Very beautiful when Flower _gracilis_ flowering. Needs well drained soil. Japanese _Viburnum_ 8 ft. White Not as likely to have Snowball _plicatum_ lice as common snowball. Larger balls. Lilac _Syringa_ 15 ft. Purple Very fragrant. Will _vulgaris_ grow anywhere even in some shade. _June_ Deutzia _Deutzia_ 1-3 ft. White Hardy; flowers showy. _Lemoinei_ Weigela _Diervilla_ 6 ft. Pink May have white or red _Florida_ White flowers. Flowers under Red trees. Lives where other shrubs die. Spirea _Spiræa_ 4 ft. White Most showy of spireas. _Van Houttei_ Grows anywhere. Mock Orange _Philadelphus_ 10 ft. Varieties Fragrant; _Coronarius_ of different makes good screen. colours. Smoke Bush _Rhus cotinus_ 4-10 ft. Purplish Hardy. Beautiful all summer. Purple colour changes to smoke colour. _July_ Spirea _Spirea_ 3 ft. White Flowers run from white _Bumalda_, to deep pink. Late var._Anthony_ flowering. Hardy. _Waterer_ Sweet Pepper _Clethra_ 3-10 ft. White Moist soil or sandy. Bush _alnifolia_ Late blooming; fragrant flowers. _August_ Althea, Rose _Hibiscus_ 12 ft. White to Very hardy. Plant in of Sharon _Syriacus_ purple any good garden soil. _September_ Hardy _Hydrangea_ 8 ft. White to A showy shrub. Flowers Hydrangea _paniculata_ pink remain on all winter. _October_ Witch Hazel _Hamamelis_ 6-20 ft. Yellow Grows anywhere. Likes _Virginiana_ moisture. Fruit "explodes." "Certain shrubs are good to use for hedge purposes. A hedge is rather prettier usually than a fence. The Californian privet is excellent for this purpose. Osage orange, Japan barberry, buckthorn, Japan quince, and Van Houtte's spirea are other shrubs which make good hedges. "You have to remember that not only should grounds look well to the passerby but they should look equally well from the inside of the building. As your mother is working in the kitchen during the hot summer or sewing during a long dull winter afternoon, would it not be a joy to her to look out at a syringa sweet with blossom or a barberry with nodding red berries? Landscape gardening is not only for the purpose of adding beauty to the earth's surface, but also for the putting joy into the heart of a person as well. "I forgot to say that in tree and shrub selection it is usually better to choose those of the locality one lives in. Unusual and foreign plants do less well, and often harmonize but poorly with their new setting. "I spoke of the path to the schoolhouse with its slight curve. Landscape gardening may follow along very formal lines or along informal lines. The first would have straight paths, straight rows in stiff beds, everything, as the name tells, perfectly formal. The other method is, of course, the exact opposite. There are danger points in each. "The formal arrangement is likely to look too stiff; the informal, too fussy, too wiggly. As far as paths go, keep this in mind, that a path should always lead somewhere. That is its business--to direct one to a definite place. Now, straight, even paths are not unpleasing if the effect is to be that of a formal garden. The danger in the curved path is an abrupt curve, a whirligig effect. It is far better for you to stick to straight paths unless you can make a really beautiful curve. No one can tell you how to do this. "Garden paths may be of gravel, of dirt, or of grass. One sees grass paths in some very lovely gardens. I doubt, however, if they would serve as well in your small gardens. Your garden areas are so limited that they should be re-spaded each season, and the grass paths are a great bother in this work. Of course, a gravel path makes a fine appearance, but again you may not have gravel at your command. It is possible for any of you to dig out the path for two feet. Then put in six inches of stone or clinker. Over this, pack in the dirt, rounding it slightly toward the centre of the path. There should never be depressions through the central part of paths, since these form convenient places for water to stand. The under layer of stone makes a natural drainage system. "A building often needs the help of vines or flowers or both to tie it to the grounds in such a way as to form a harmonious whole. Vines lend themselves well to this work. It is better to plant a perennial vine, and so let it form a permanent part of your landscape scheme. The Virginia creeper, wistaria, honeysuckle, a climbing rose, the clematis and trumpet vine are all most satisfactory. "Just close your eyes and picture a house of natural colour, that mellow gray of the weathered shingles. Now add to this old house a purple wistaria. Can you see the beauty of it? I shall not forget soon a rather ugly corner of my childhood home, where the dining room and kitchen met. Just there climbing over, and falling over a trellis was a trumpet vine. It made beautiful an awkward angle, an ugly bit of carpenter work. "Of course, the morning-glory is an annual vine, as is the moon-vine and wild cucumber. Now, these have their special function. For often, especially in school work, it is necessary to cover an ugly thing for just a time, until the better things and better times come. The annual is 'the chap' for this work. "Along an old fence a hop vine is a thing of beauty. One might try to rival the woods' landscape work. For often one sees festooned from one rotted tree to another the ampelopsis vine. "Flowers may well go along the side of the building, or bordering a walk. In general, though, keep the front lawn space open and unbroken by beds. What lovelier in early spring than a bed of daffodils close to the house? Hyacinths and tulips, too, form a blaze of glory. These are little or no bother, and start the spring aright. One may make of some bulbs an exception to the rule of unbroken front lawn. Snowdrops and crocuses planted through the lawn are beautiful. They do not disturb the general effect, but just blend with the whole. One expert bulb gardener says to take a basketful of bulbs in the fall, walk about your grounds, and just drop bulbs out here and there. Wherever the bulbs drop, plant them. Such small bulbs as those we plant in lawns should be in groups of four to six. Daffodils may be thus planted, too. You all remember the grape hyacinths that grow all through Katharine's side yard. "The place for a flower garden is generally at the side or rear of the house. The backyard garden is a lovely idea, is it not? Who wishes to leave a beautiful looking front yard, turn the corner of a house, and find a dump heap? Not I. The flower garden may be laid out formally in neat little beds, or it may be more of a careless, hit-or-miss sort. Both have their good points. Great masses of bloom are attractive. "You should have in mind some notion of the blending of colour. Nature appears not to consider this at all, and still gets wondrous effects. This is because of the tremendous amount of her perfect background of green, and the limitlessness of her space, while we are confined at the best to relatively small areas. So we should endeavour not to blind people's eyes with clashes of colours which do not at close range blend well. In order to break up extremes of colours you can always use masses of white flowers, or something like mignonette, which is in effect green. "The old-fashioned flowers are lovely--sweet William, phlox, old-fashioned pinks, petunia, verbena, zinnia, marigold, mignonette, and poppy are always dear and sweet. Hollyhocks are charming. They represent a kind of guard for the garden. Stand this hollyhock phalanx up against a wall like naughty boys, close to the house, or by an old fence. They are so tall that they must be in the background. They grace it. Otherwise they would overtop and shadow the other garden plants. If there is an old ash pile, an old dump or anything else unsightly, plant something tall before it. Hollyhocks would not do for this, since their foliage is too scanty. Castor beans are just the thing, however; and sunflowers, the old giant ones, are good, too. A screen is for screening, so that the foliage is of first consideration. "A wild-flower garden is a good scheme, too. What is lovelier? Bank in a north corner full of these. Hepatica, columbines, anenome, bellflower, butterfly weed, turtle head and aster represent wild flowers which bloom from March through October. I can see that north corner now. Miriam has planned to have one, and has really done the work this fall. "The water garden is another good thing to try with just the right setting. A place at the end of a slope of land, near some drooping trees, a bit shaded would be right. The garden Philip made is a pattern for you all to follow. "Finally, let us sum up our landscape lesson. The grounds are a setting for the house or buildings. Open, free lawn spaces, a tree or a proper group well placed, flowers which do not clutter up the front yard, groups of shrubbery--these are points to be remembered. The paths should lead somewhere, and be either straight or well curved. If one starts with a formal garden, one should not mix the informal with it before the work is done. "At one time we said a little about poor taste in garden furnishings. Painted kettles, old drain pipes, whitewashed bricks, and edgings of shells seemed to us then a bit fussy and crude. So, too, is a summer house stuck out on the front lawn, a rustic seat all by itself in an open spot, an archway which forms an arch over nothing. The summer house should be placed in the side yard, or in the rear in a spot where trees lend it a background. If its use is that of a resting spot for your mother, she certainly would not wish it right out on the front lawn. If the house is for children to play in, then again it is not for the front of the house. An appropriate place is near the garden where it makes a cool place to rest after labour, a spot from which to view the beauties of the garden, and a charming place to serve afternoon tea. "A good general plan to follow in this landscape work is to see what natural charms your place has, and then try to increase and help these. 'Help Nature' is a good watchword. Even though the garden plan is to be a formal one, the natural resources and setting of your place should be kept in mind. The little we did last year on the school grounds was a bit of landscape garden work. I did not call it that to you then, for if I had you would have been scared off. Philip's work in his backyard was of the same nature. The girls' flower garden was a bit of formal work. I guess, too, the outdoor bulb planting which Albert scorned might come under the same head. So you see you have been landscape gardeners without knowing it. To continue to be, all we have to do is to go on somewhat along the general lines I have spoken of to-night. Different committees have prepared a number of tables which should help you much in matters of selection." GARDEN OF CONSTANT BLOOM BY MONTHS -------------------------------------------------------------- NAME COLOUR HEIGHT SPECIAL POINTS -------------------------------------------------------------- _March_ Columbine Red 1 ft. Grows on rocky places. Graceful flower. Hepatica White 6 in. Early spring flower. Ready to blossom Blue under the snow. Last year's Pink leaves shelter flower. Saxifrage White 8 in. Grows in rocky, sandy places. --------------------------------------------------------------------- _April_ Bluebell Blue 16 in. Likes rock soil and sun. Dwarf Iris Blue 1 ft. A good border plant. Does not require any special soil. Spreads. Moss Pink Pink 6 in. Likes full sun. Spreads rapidly. Violet Blue 6 in. Good soil. Plant in either sun or shade. --------------------------------------------------------------------- _May_ Lily-of- White 9 in. Grows under trees, spreads rapidly. the-Valley Flowers fragrant. Cut flower effect. German Iris Different 2 ft. The best of flags for general planting purposes. Forget- Blue low Thrives on moist soil. Planted with me-not tulips follows them in bloom. Chinese Different 4 ft. The earliest of peonies. Good in Peony borders. Myrtle Blue low Grows even in shade and poorly drained soils. Spreads rapidly. --------------------------------------------------------------------- _June_ Bleeding Pink 2 ft. A hardy plant. Needs moist, good Heart soil. Good border plant. Foxglove Purple 4 ft. Perennial which self sows. Effective in backgrounds. Likes shade. Garden Peony Crimson 3 ft. The real old-fashioned peony. Good border plant. Large blossoms. Larkspur Blue 4 ft. Good for borders and backgrounds. The finest of blue flowers. Sweet Different 2 ft. A self sewing perennial. Bright William colours. Good for massing. Sweet and constant bloomer. --------------------------------------------------------------------- _July_ Baby's White 3 ft. Grows in rocky soil. Use for formal Breath bouquets. Butterfly Orange 2 ft. Likes full sunlight and dry soil. Fine Weed colour effect. Perennial Different 2-5 ft. Good for borders and cut flowers. Phlox Spiked Pink 3 ft. Belongs in wet swamp lands. Will Loosestrife grow in borders. Hollyhock Different 6 ft. Use for backgrounds and borders. --------------------------------------------------------------------- _August_ Aster, New Blue 4 ft. Grows in any soil. The best of tall England asters. Golden Glow Yellow 6 ft. Grows in any soil and spreads rapidly. Good background. Japanese White Climber Rapid flowering vine. Use on trellis. Clematis Sweet flowers. Sunflower Yellow 6 ft. Fine for backgrounds and screens. Any dry soil. Turtle Head Rose 2 ft. Flowers on spikes. Any soil, but wet Purple preferred. --------------------------------------------------------------------- _September_ Hardy White 6 ft. Blooms till frost. Blossom heads Hydrangea effective. Japanese Carmine 3 ft. Good border plant. Blossoms last Anemone till frost. --------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------- WATER AND BOG PLANTS --------------------------------------------------------------------- COMMON NAME SCIENTIFIC NAME SPECIAL POINTS --------------------------------------------------------------------- Arrowhead _Sagittaria latifolia_ One of the most popular water plants. Spreads badly. Arum (water) _Calla palustris_ Popular water plant. Grows less than 1 ft. high. Blooms in June. Blue Flag _Iris versicolor_ Grows from 2-3 ft. high. Grows in bogs and gardens. Cat-tail _Typha latifolia_ Grows to 8 ft. or more. Spreads rapidly. Floating Heart _Limnanthemum Grows less than 1 ft. high. nymphoides_ Good plant for a pond. Spreads readily. Forget-me-not _Myosotis Palustris_ Grows less than 1 ft. high. Prefers half-shady places. Lotus, American _Nelumbo lutea_ Good for a pond. Marsh Marigold _Caltha palustris_ Grows 1-1/2 ft. high. Blooms in May. Pickerel Weed _Pontederia Grows 3-4 ft. high. Blooms in cordata_ July. Pitcher Plant _Darlingtonia Grows less than 1 ft. Good for Californica_ bog planting. Sweet Flag _Acorus Calamus_ Height is 2 ft. Flowers in early summer. Water-lily _Nymphaea odorata_ Sweet-scented, most popular water-lily. Water Mint _Mentha Aquatica_ One of the popular mint family. Low growing. --------------------------------------------------------------------- FOUR WATER-LILIES FOR BEGINNERS --------------------------------------------------------------------- NAME COLOUR SPECIAL POINTS --------------------------------------------------------------------- _Nymphaea Gladstoniana_ White This is a hardy variety " _Marliacea_ Yellow " " " " " _dentata_ White Tender, night blooming plant " _Zanzibariensis_ Blue Tender, day blooming plant. --------------------------------------------------------------------- WATER-LILIES FOR SMALL PONDS --------------------------------------------------------------------- NAME |COLOUR |REQUIRED DEPTH | | OF WATER --------------------------------------------------------------------- _Nymphoea alba_ (hardy) | White |More than 2 ft. " _tuberosa_ (hardy) | White | " " " " _Marliacea rosea_ (hardy) | Pink | " " " " _odorata_, var. _minor_ |White |Less than 1 ft. (hardy) | | " _tetragona_ (hardy) |Yellow | " " " " _Laydekeri_, var. |Pink | " " " _rosea_ (hardy) | | " _Zanzibariensis_ (tender) |White | " " " --------------------------------------------------------------------- NOTE:--Any of these forms may be grown in from 1 to 2 ft. of water. --------------------------------------------------------------------- TREE TABLE --------------------------------------------------------------------- NAME |HEIGHT | SPECIAL POINTS --------------------------------------------------------------------- Carolina Poplar |100 ft.|Grows in a dry soil. Fastest growing street | | tree. Its dropping fruit is a nuisance. | | Sheds leaves early. Catalpa |50ft. |Lovely white blossoms in June. Seed pods | | stay on into winter. Quick growing. | | Good lawn tree. English Hawthorn|30ft. |Flowers in June. Red berries. Grows on | | dry soils. Slow grower. Sharp thorns. Linden |90ft. |Easy to grow. Fragrant flowers. Rapid | | grower. European species smaller than | | American. Live Oak |100 ft.|Not hardy in the North. Grows south of | | Virginia. Beautiful evergreen oak. Likes | | moist soil. Locust |80ft. |Fragrant flowers in May and June. Rapid | | grower. Seeds in pods. Thorny bark. Lombardy Poplar |90ft. |Quick grower. Stiff, straight and tall. | | Dignified but melancholy tree. Fine for | | pathway effect. Norway Maple |100 ft.|Tall, well rounded tree. Yellow foliage in | | the fall. Pin Oak |100 ft.|Fastest grower among oaks. You cannot | | grow plants under it. Red Maple |100 ft.|Earliest flowering maple. Good for lowlands. | | Bright red foliage in the fall. Sugar Maple |100 ft.|Moist soil. Bright foliage in the fall. Best | | street tree among maples. Horse Chestnut |60 ft. |Fine white flowers in June. Attractive buds | | and leaves. Foliage grows very dense. --------------------------------------------------------------------- XIII HOW BOYS AND GIRLS CAN MAKE MONEY FROM THEIR GARDENS Naturally, we are all interested in ways and means of earning money. It is not a bad thing at all for a boy or girl to wish to turn work into cash. Not always is it possible for one to find a market next door for products. No, it is rarely as easy a matter as that. One has to really work a bit. "Let me tell you one boy's story. This lad, let us call him Newton, had a nice vegetable and flower garden. He had worked so hard over it, it did seem to him as if he ought to be able to sell some of his produce. One day he loaded a little cart with vegetables and went down the street to a corner market. I imagine he went in a half-hearted sort of way. The market-man was busy and he spoke a bit roughly to the boy. But Newton went on to another store. He received the same sort of treatment there. This time he gave up discouraged and went home. His mother was not discouraged. She showed him how he should have made his vegetables, wagon and all, look more attractive. "So Newton went to work again. He scrubbed his radishes and new carrots until they shone. He bunched them up into neat little bundles. Then the lettuce came in for its washing and cleaning. Thus he treated all the vegetables. Then he printed a sign 'Fresh Vegetables For Sale' and started off again. This time he went to the largest hotel in the little city in which he lived. There he was sent to the cook. This big, good-natured fellow said that he would look at his stuff. 'Looks good to me,' said the cook, 'it really looks like home-grown things,' Straightway he bought a good part of what Newton had and there and then made arrangements for daily deliveries of certain vegetables. "The lesson from Newton's experience is this: in order to sell, you must put your wares in attractive shape. Who wishes to buy dirty radishes or droopy looking lettuce? No one is willing to pay decent prices. Putting materials in such condition that all the good points speak loudly at first, is one way to attract notice and sell later. If you find you can sell by shipping your goods the same points hold true. "Another way to make money is to raise young plants for sale. Jack did this with his aster plants. Lots of people wish their garden plants partly started. They either do not have the interest, or else they have not the time for initial work. Asters, stock, tomatoes, lettuce, cabbage, pepper, celery--all of these may be started for market purposes. "Suppose you have planted tomato seed. You are bound to have more young plants than you wish. Why not sell them? Suppose Mrs. Jones always buys hers. Then go to her and ask if she will not buy of you. She may not believe you can be a very good gardener, so she hesitates. Well, then just ask her if you cannot bring your little plants around for her to see when the time comes. Get to work in your best style. Transplant in little paper cups or strawberry baskets. Then the setting out of the plants will be very easy and quite a scientific performance. I think you will sell to Mrs. Jones all right. "If you really intend to go into this early market side then you should certainly have a coldframe. You could not blame your mother if she refused to have the kitchen littered up with old tin cans and boxes all the spring. Do not be a nuisance at home just to make money. [Illustration: Photograph by W.H. Jenkins Myron Transplanting his Long-rooted Strawberry Plants. Photograph by Helen W. Cooke Katherine Transplanting Her Flowers by a Method of Lifting.] "I know a little girl who raised aster and stock plants, also young vegetable plants. She had a coldframe. In the spring, when people were starting their gardens and wondering where they should go for plants, she fixed up an attractive basket filled with her plants. She asked no exorbitant price, but a fair one for a little girl's good work. One year she bought herself a dressing table from her garden earnings. I think that well worth while. Don't you? "Another way to make money from your garden is to sell your seed. I do not think any of you will be at all likely to try to rival the seed houses. But I am sure that you can supply certain seeds for your own fathers and mothers. "Such seed as those of radish, lettuce and turnip you would not save. It is better to buy them. But surely you can make some pretty good selections for seed corn. I believe you can manage beans, peas, melons, pumpkins, potatoes and squash. Then we have, I believe, learned from the school flower garden how to select seed. Nasturtium seed may always be saved, dried and put into its own envelope. This will be found to be true, that seeds saved from our own flower garden often do not give satisfactory results as time goes on. The plants and flowers after a few seasons seem to spindle out. In the large seed gardens the varieties of flowers raised are either many or cross-pollination is carried on. "In putting up your seeds in envelopes give a few cultural directions on them; that is, tell how to plant the special seed. Also, put on when to plant and the proper soil conditions under which planting should go on. If the seeds are those of flowers add information concerning height, colour of blossom, and time of blossoming. Someone might like to know also if the seed was that of an annual, biennial or perennial plant. Think out a neat, attractive way to fix these envelopes. If you do not wish to sell them, they will serve as nice Christmas gifts. "Among the garden trappings which we made last winter are things you could easily sell. Such a plant stand as Jack made for his own room is certainly marketable. Make samples of your wares and then take orders for them. Again, these represent Christmas gifts, too. "Rustic seats, a woven mat of corn husks to kneel on when weeding, a bit of nice trellis work, a little tool house are all possible pieces of work. "I saw once what a boy called his handy boxes. These were wooden boxes, with hinged covers and handles, so that they might be carried about. One was for seeds. This box had partitions inside, and all the different envelopes of seeds were arranged in the different cubby holes. Another box had garden accessories. The word sounds interesting. It means all the little extras needed in the work. Labels, small stakes, a garden reel, measure, knife, cord, note book, pencil--all were in the box, all were things which the boy often used. You can make variations on these. But a box which may be carried about has advantages over one that is screwed up in the tool house. "I believe the flower-gathering basket would sell well. It is not that it is a rather picturesque sort of Englishy custom to go out and pick flowers with a pretty basket tucked under one's arm, but it is very inconvenient, very hot work, and very mussy, to have to hold bunches of flowers in the hand as one gathers. "In some places where there are summer colonies it is possible to sell bunches of flowers. I knew of a case where big bunches of sweet peas were brought to the hotel every morning. These sold for ten and fifteen cents the bunch and went like hot cakes. "The girls may think of all sorts of wicker mats and trays that would make the garden tea more attractive. One ought to think of the aesthetic side. "I have not mentioned working for others. Hire yourself out. Let it be known that you can and will weed, mow lawns, plant and transplant for so much per hour. Someone may be going off for a few weeks; see to it that you are the boy or girl to be employed. Prove yourself faithful. "In the winter make garden utensils and also attend to the bulb end of it. At Christmas time you could do a big business. "Someone might make and bottle kerosene emulsion. Paste on each bottle directions for using. Print very neatly, so it will look well. "There are doubtless many other ways of making money. But, above all, do not neglect the other side; give away some things from your garden and some of your labour, too. If all you think of is the making of money the soul and heart of you all will get as small and shrivelled as a dry pea. Who wants to be stingy? Better never to make money than to grow like that. Don't let people pay you for everything you do. Do certain things for mother and father for nothing. The home garden is as much theirs as yours. Wouldn't it be ludicrous if your mother said, 'No, Katharine, you cannot have those flowers to carry to school unless you pay ten cents for them,' How cross you would be! Just as absurd, is it not, for you to suggest that you cannot work on that same garden unless you receive ten cents an hour? No, that is all wrong. And if any one of you feels that way do one of two things--either sit down and be ashamed for a good, long time and think of all the things done freely for you; or else go take all the money in your own little bank at home, buy something your mother wants, and give it, being glad, so glad you can get rid of what you have been so stingy about. "Give flowers to the poor, the sick at home and the sick in hospitals, the church, the people you love, the people you think you don't love, and the people who seem lonely and forlorn. "Once upon a time there was made a wondrous garden. It was called the earth. The flowers, the trees, the plants which afterwards became through man's skill our staple products--all these were free, absolutely free. "If this is a true story, how can we be so small as always to make money from this garden? Let us pay our debt to it freely and gladly. "This is our last talk. Some of you already have started your early vegetables and flowers. Instead of one coldframe we have four in our family and one belongs to a girl. "It is going to be a better year of gardening than before. Leston is with us now. Another season there will be others. The school grounds look well, and if you have noticed the entire village looks a little better than ever before. "We will shake hands all around. In a few weeks we shall have hands quite dirty with good old garden soil. You may take your stools and benches off with you, or leave them all here." "We shall leave them," said Eloise; "for I am coming back often to sit on my little cricket right on your hearth." "I am a little large for a cricket," went on Albert; "but I'd not quit this hearthstone, so my stool stays." "And mine, too," each one added. Off they trooped again, some down the country road, some up the road, others across the fields, and George, as usual, on his old horse. They shouted until out of sight. "The best things in the world," the man murmured as he stepped out into the open and drew into his lungs deep breaths of the fresh spring air. 
29951	----	immutable, unchangeable, natural law= that produced the =human organism itself=, it supplies to that organism those elements which in poor health are lacking, elements that must be placed and retained in the system if permanent good health is to be enjoyed, and Vitae-Ore and Vitae-Ore only can put and retain them there. If you are sick and ailing, if you are all run down, if your organs, your blood, your stomach, your heart, your kidneys, are not working right, =if you are sick and do not know what is the matter with you=, if the doctors cannot and do not tell you, cannot and do not help you, =you ought to give this wonderful, natural, mineral remedy a trial= and the chance it needs =to prove= all this to you. It won't cost you a penny! =The owners take all the risk!= What doctor, what hospital, what sanitarium, has ever offered to treat you this way? What other medicine has ever been so offered? =You are to be both judge and jury, to pass upon it.= You have the entire say-so. If it helps you, you pay for it--if it does not help you, you do not pay for it. One package, =ENOUGH= for a month's trial, is all that is necessary to convince you. How can you refuse? If you need it and do not send for it, =what is your excuse?= You are to be the judge. READ THIS SPECIAL OFFER! WE WILL SEND to every sick and ailing person who writes us, mentioning THE MAYFLOWER, a full-sized =One Dollar= package of =VITAE-ORE=, by mail, =postpaid=, sufficient for one month's treatment, to be paid for within one month's time after receipt, if the receiver can truthfully say that its use has done him or her more good than all the drugs and dopes of quacks or good doctors or patent medicines he or she has ever used. =Read= this over again carefully, and understand that we ask our pay only =when it has done you good, not before=. We take all the risk; you have nothing to lose. If it does not benefit you, you pay us nothing. =Vitae-Ore= is a natural, hard, adamantine rock-like substance--mineral--=Ore=--mined from the ground like gold and silver, and requires about twenty years for oxidization. It contains free iron, free sulphur and magnesium, and one package will equal in medicinal strength and curative value 800 gallons of the most powerful efficacious mineral water drunk fresh at the springs. It is a geological discovery, to which there is nothing added or taken from. It is the marvel of the century for curing such diseases as--=Rheumatism, Bright's Disease, Blood Poisoning, Heart Trouble, Dropsy, Catarrh and Throat Affections, Liver, Kidney and Bladder Ailments, Stomach and Female Disorders, La Grippe, Malarial Fever, Nervous Prostration and General Debility= as thousands testify, and as no one, answering this, writing for a package, will deny after using. =Vitae-Ore= has cured more chronic, obstinate, pronounced incurable cases than any other known medicine, and will reach every case with a more rapid and powerful curative action than any medicine, combination of medicines, or doctor's prescriptions which it is possible to procure. =Vitae-Ore= will do the same for you as it has for hundreds of readers of THE MAYFLOWER, if you will give it a trial. =Send for a $1. package at our risk.= You have nothing to lose but the stamp to answer this announcement. =We want no one's money whom Vitae-Ore cannot benefit. You are to be the judge!= Can anything be more fair? What sensible person, no matter how prejudiced he or she may be, who desires a cure and is willing to pay for it, would hesitate to try =Vitae-Ore= on this liberal offer? One package is usually sufficient to cure ordinary cases; two or three for chronic, obstinate cases. =We mean just what we say= in this announcement and will do just as we agree. Write to-day for a package at our risk and expense, giving your age and ailments, and mention THE MAYFLOWER, so we may know that you are entitled to this liberal offer. NOT A PENNY UNLESS YOU ARE BENEFITED. This offer will challenge the attention and consideration, and afterwards the gratitude of every living person who desires better health or who suffers pains, ills, and diseases which have defied the medical world and grown worse with age. We care not for your skepticism, but ask only your investigation and at our expense, regardless of what ills you have, by sending to us for a package, Address THEO. NOEL CO. M. G. Dept. Vitae-Ore Building, CHICAGO. 
12286	----	from images provided by the Million Book Project. FLOWERS AND FLOWER-GARDENS. BY DAVID LESTER RICHARDSON, PRINCIPAL OF THE HINDU METROPOLITAN COLLEGE, AND AUTHOR OF "LITERARY LEAVES," "LITERARY RECREATIONS," &C. WITH AN APPENDIX OF PRACTICAL INSTRUCTIONS AND USEFUL INFORMATION RESPECTING THE ANGLO-INDIAN FLOWER-GARDEN. CALCUTTA: MDCCCLV. PREFACE. In every work regard the writer's end, Since none can compass more than they intend. _Pope_. This volume is far indeed from being a scientific treatise _On Flowers and Flower-Gardens_:--it is mere gossip in print upon a pleasant subject. But I hope it will not be altogether useless. If I succeed in my object I shall consider that I have gossipped to some purpose. On several points--such as that of the mythology and language of flowers--I have said a good deal more than I should have done had I been writing for a different community. I beg the London critics to bear this in mind. I wished to make the subject as attractive as possible to some classes of people here who might not have been disposed to pay any attention to it whatever if I had not studied their amusement as much as their instruction. I have tried to sweeten the edge of the cup. I did not at first intend the book to exceed fifty pages: but I was almost insensibly carried on further and further from the proposed limit by the attractive nature of the materials that pressed upon my notice. As by far the largest portion, of it has been written hurriedly, amidst other avocations, and bit by bit; just as the Press demanded an additional supply of "_copy_," I have but too much reason to apprehend that it will seem to many of my readers, fragmentary and ill-connected. Then again, in a city like Calcutta, it is not easy to prepare any thing satisfactorily that demands much literary or scientific research. There are very many volumes in all the London Catalogues, but not immediately obtainable in Calcutta, that I should have been most eager to refer to for interesting and valuable information, if they had been at hand. The mere titles of these books have often tantalized me with visions of riches beyond my reach. I might indeed have sent for some of these from England, but I had announced this volume, and commenced the printing of it, before it occurred to me that it would be advisable to extend the matter beyond the limits I had originally contemplated. I must now send it forth, "with all its imperfections on its head;" but not without the hope that in spite of these, it will be found calculated to increase the taste amongst my brother exiles here for flowers and flower-gardens, and lead many of my Native friends--(particularly those who have been educated at the Government Colleges,--who have imbibed some English thoughts and feelings--and who are so fortunate as to be in possession of landed property)--to improve their parterres,--and set an example to their poorer countrymen of that neatness and care and cleanliness and order which may make even the peasant's cottage and the smallest plot of ground assume an aspect of comfort, and afford a favorable indication of the character of the possessor. D.L.R. _Calcutta, September 21st_ 1855. ERRATA. A friend tells me that the allusion to the Acanthus on the first page of this book is obscurely expressed, that it was not the _root_ but the _leaves_ of the plant that suggested the idea of the Corinthian capital. The root of the Acanthus produced the leaves which overhanging the sides of the basket struck the fancy of the Architect. This was, indeed, what I _meant_ to say, and though I have not very lucidly expressed myself, I still think that some readers might have understood me rightly even without the aid of this explanation, which, however, it is as well for me to give, as I wish to be intelligible to _all_. A writer should endeavor to make it impossible for any one to misapprehend his meaning, though there are some writers of high name both in England and America who seem to delight in puzzling their readers. At the bottom of page 200, allusion is made to the dotted lines at some of the open turns in the engraved labyrinth. By some accident or mistake the dots have been omitted, but any one can understand where the stop hedges which the dotted lines indicated might be placed so as to give the wanderer in the maze, additional trouble to find his way out of it. [Illustration of a garden.] ON FLOWERS AND FLOWER-GARDENS, For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. _The Song of Solomon_. * * * * * These are thy glorious works, Parent of good! Almighty, Thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair; Thyself how wondrous then! _Milton_. * * * * * Soft roll your incense, herbs and fruits and flowers, In mingled clouds to HIM whose sun exalts Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. _Thomson_. A taste for floriculture is spreading amongst Anglo-Indians. It is a good sign. It would be gratifying to learn that the same refining taste had reached the Natives also--even the lower classes of them. It is a cheap enjoyment. A mere palm of ground may be glorified by a few radiant blossoms. A single clay jar of the rudest form may be so enriched and beautified with leaves and blossoms as to fascinate the eye of taste. An old basket, with a broken tile at the top of it, and the root of the acanthus within, produced an effect which seemed to Calimachus, the architect, "the work of the Graces." It suggested the idea of the capital of the Corinthian column, the most elegant architectural ornament that Art has yet conceived. Flowers are the poor man's luxury; a refinement for the uneducated. It has been prettily said that the melody of birds is the poor man's music, and that flowers are the poor man's poetry. They are "a discipline of humanity," and may sometimes ameliorate even a coarse and vulgar nature, just as the cherub faces of innocent and happy children are sometimes found to soften and purify the corrupted heart. It would be a delightful thing to see the swarthy cottagers of India throwing a cheerful grace on their humble sheds and small plots of ground with those natural embellishments which no productions of human skill can rival. The peasant who is fond of flowers--if he begin with but a dozen little pots of geraniums and double daisies upon his window sills, or with a honeysuckle over his humble porch--gradually acquires a habit, not only of decorating the outside of his dwelling and of cultivating with care his small plot of ground, but of setting his house in order within, and making every thing around him agreeable to the eye. A love of cleanliness and neatness and simple ornament is a moral feeling. The country laborer, or the industrious mechanic, who has a little garden to be proud of, the work of his own hand, becomes attached to his place of residence, and is perhaps not only a better subject on that account, but a better neighbour--a better man. A taste for flowers is, at all events, infinitely preferable to a taste for the excitements of the pot-house or the tavern or the turf or the gaming table, or even the festal board, especially for people of feeble health--and above all, for the poor--who should endeavor to satisfy themselves with inexpensive pleasures.[001] In all countries, civilized or savage, and on all occasions, whether of grief or rejoicing, a natural fondness for flowers has been exhibited, with more or less tenderness or enthusiasm. They beautify religious rites. They are national emblems: they find a place in the blazonry of heraldic devices. They are the gifts and the language of friendship and of love. Flowers gleam in original hues from graceful vases in almost every domicile where Taste presides; and the hand of "nice Art" charms us with "counterfeit presentments" of their forms and colors, not only on the living canvas, but even on our domestic China-ware, and our mahogany furniture, and our wall-papers and hangings and carpets, and on our richest apparel for holiday occasions and our simplest garments for daily wear. Even human Beauty, the Queen of all loveliness on earth, engages Flora as her handmaid at the toilet, in spite of the dictum of the poet of 'The Seasons,' that "Beauty when unadorned is adorned the most." Flowers are hung in graceful festoons both in churches and in ball-rooms. They decorate the altar, the bride-bed, the cradle, and the bier. They grace festivals, and triumphs, and processions; and cast a glory on gala days; and are amongst the last sad honors we pay to the objects of our love. I remember the death of a sweet little English girl of but a year old, over whom, in her small coffin, a young and lovely mother sprinkled the freshest and fairest flowers. The task seemed to soften--perhaps to sweeten--her maternal grief. I shall never forget the sight. The bright-hued blossoms seemed to make her oblivious for a moment of the darkness and corruption to which she was so soon to consign her priceless treasure. The child's sweet face, even in death, reminded me that the flowers of the field and garden, however lovely, are all outshone by human beauty. What floral glory of the wild-wood, or what queen of the parterre, in all the pride of bloom, laughing in the sun-light or dancing in the breeze, hath a charm that could vie for a single moment with the soft and holy lustre of that motionless and faded human lily? I never more deeply felt the force of Milton's noble phrase "_the human face divine_" than when gazing on that sleeping child. The fixed placid smile, the smoothly closed eye with its transparent lid, the air of profound tranquillity, the simple purity (elevated into an aspect of bright intelligence, as if the little cherub already experienced the beatitude of another and a better world,) were perfectly angelic--and mocked all attempt at description. "Of such is the Kingdom of Heaven!" O flower of an earthly spring! destined to blossom in the eternal summer of another and more genial region! Loveliest of lovely children--loveliest to the last! More beautiful in death than aught still living! Thou seemest now to all who miss and mourn thee but a sweet name--a fair vision--a precious memory;--but in reality thou art a more truly living thing than thou wert before or than aught thou hast left behind. Thou hast come early into a rich inheritance. Thou hast now a substantial existence, a genuine glory, an everlasting possession, beyond the sky. Thou hast exchanged the frail flowers that decked thy bier for amaranthine hues and fragrance, and the brief and uncertain delights of mortal being for the eternal and perfect felicity of angels! I never behold elsewhere any of the specimens of the several varieties of flowers which the afflicted parent consigned to the hallowed little coffin without recalling to memory the sainted child taking her last rest on earth. The mother was a woman of taste and sensibility, of high mind and gentle heart, with the liveliest sense of the loveliness of all lovely things; and it is hardly necessary to remind the reader how much refinement such as hers may sometimes alleviate the severity of sorrow. Byron tells us that the stars are A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves _a star_. But might we not with equal justice say that every thing excellent and beautiful and precious has named itself _a flower_? If stars teach as well as shine--so do flowers. In "still small accents" they charm "the nice and delicate ear of thought" and sweetly whisper that "the hand that made them is divine." The stars are the poetry of heaven--the clouds are the poetry of the middle sky--the flowers are the poetry of the earth. The last is the loveliest to the eye and the nearest to the heart. It is incomparably the sweetest external poetry that Nature provides for man. Its attractions are the most popular; its language is the most intelligible. It is of all others the best adapted to every variety and degree of mind. It is the most endearing, the most familiar, the most homefelt, and congenial. The stars are for the meditation of poets and philosophers; but flowers are not exclusively for the gifted or the scientific; they are the property of all. They address themselves to our common nature. They are equally the delight of the innocent little prattler and the thoughtful sage. Even the rude unlettered rustic betrays some feeling for the beautiful in the presence of the lovely little community of the field and garden. He has no sympathy for the stars: they are too mystical and remote. But the flowers as they blush and smile beneath his eye may stir the often deeply hidden lovingness and gentleness of his nature. They have a social and domestic aspect to which no one with a human heart can be quite indifferent. Few can doat upon the distant flowers of the sky as many of us doat upon the flowers at our feet. The stars are wholly independent of man: not so the sweet children of Flora. We tend upon and cherish them with a parental pride. They seem especially meant for man and man for them. They often need his kindest nursing. We place them with guardian hand in the brightest light and the most wholesome air. We quench with liquid life their sun-raised thirst, or shelter them from the wintry blast, or prepare and enrich their nutritious beds. As they pine or prosper they agitate us with tender anxieties, or thrill us with exultation and delight. In the little plot of ground that fronts an English cottage the flowers are like members of the household. They are of the same family. They are almost as lovely as the children that play with them--though their happy human associates may be amongst The sweetest things that ever grew Beside a human door. The Greeks called flowers the _Festival of the eye_: and so they are: but they are something else, and something better. A flower is not a flower alone, A thousand sanctities invest it. Flowers not only touch the heart; they also elevate the soul. They bind us not entirely to earth; though they make earth delightful. They attract our thoughts downward to the richly embroidered ground only to raise them up again to heaven. If the stars are the scriptures of the sky, the flowers are the scriptures of the earth. If the stars are a more glorious revelation of the Creator's majesty and might, the flowers are at least as sweet a revelation of his gentler attributes. It has been observed that An undevout astronomer is mad. The same thing may be said of an irreverent floriculturist, and with equal truth--perhaps indeed with greater. For the astronomer, in some cases, may be hard and cold, from indulging in habits of thought too exclusively mathematical. But the true lover of flowers has always something gentle and genial in his nature. He never looks upon his floral-family without a sweetened smile upon his face and a softened feeling in his heart; unless his temperament be strangely changed and his mind disordered. The poets, who, speaking generally, are constitutionally religious, are always delighted readers of the flower-illumined pages of the book of nature. One of these disciples of Flora earnestly exclaims: Were I, O God, in churchless lands remaining Far from all voice of teachers and divines, My soul would find in flowers of thy ordaining Priests, sermons, shrines The popular little preachers of the field and garden, with their lovely faces, and angelic language--sending the while such ambrosial incense up to heaven--insinuate the sweetest truths into the human heart. They lead us to the delightful conclusion that beauty is in the list of the _utilities_--that the Divine Artist himself is _a lover of loveliness_--that he has communicated a taste for it to his creatures and most lavishly provided for its gratification. Not a flower But shows some touch, in freckle, streak or stain, Of His unrivalled pencil. He inspires Their balmy odours, and imparts then hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes In grains as countless as the sea side sands The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth. _Cowper_. In the eye of Utilitarianism the flowers are but idle shows. God might indeed have made this world as plain as a Quaker's garment, without retrenching one actual necessary of physical existence; but He has chosen otherwise; and no earthly potentate was ever so richly clad as his mother earth. "Behold the lilies of the field, they spin not, neither do they toil, yet Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these!" We are thus instructed that man was not meant to live by bread alone, and that the gratification of a sense of beauty is equally innocent and natural and refining. The rose is permitted to spread its sweet leaves to the air and dedicate its beauty to the sun, in a way that is quite perplexing to bigots and stoics and political economists. Yet God has made nothing in vain! The Great Artist of the Universe must have scattered his living hues and his forms of grace over the surface of the earth for some especial and worthy purpose. When Voltaire was congratulated on the rapid growth of his plants, he observed that "_they had nothing else to do_." Oh, yes--they had something else to do,--they had to adorn the earth, and to charm the human eye, and through the eye to soften and cheer the heart and elevate the soul! I have often wished that Lecturers on Botany, instead of confining their instructions to the mere physiology, or anatomy, or classification or nomenclature of their favorite science, would go more into the poetry of it, and teach young people to appreciate the moral influences of the floral tribes--to draw honey for the human heart from the sweet breasts of flowers--to sip from their radiant chalices a delicious medicine for the soul. Flowers are frequently hallowed by associations far sweeter than their sweetest perfume. "I am no botanist:" says Southey in a letter to Walter Savage Landor, "but like you, my earliest and best recollections are connected with flowers, and they always carry me back to other days. Perhaps this is because they are the only things which affect our senses precisely as they did in our childhood. The sweetness of the violet is always the same; and when you rifle a rose and drink, as it were, its fragrance, the refreshment is the same to the old man as to the boy. Sounds recal the past in the same manner, but they do not bring with them individual scenes like the cowslip field, or the corner of the garden to which we have transplanted field-flowers." George Wither has well said in commendation of his Muse: Her divine skill taught me this; That from every thing I saw I could some instruction draw, And raise pleasure to the height By the meanest object's sight, By the murmur of a spring _Or the least bough's rustelling; By a daisy whose leaves spread Shut, when Titan goes to bed; Or a shady bush or tree_, She could more infuse in me Than all Nature's beauties can In some other wiser man. We must not interpret the epithet _wiser_ too literally. Perhaps the poet speaks ironically, or means by some other _wiser man_, one allied in character and temperament to a modern utilitarian Philosopher. Wordsworth seems to have had the lines of George Wither in his mind when he said Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. Thomas Campbell, with a poet's natural gallantry, has exclaimed, Without the smile from partial Beauty won, Oh! what were man?--a world without a sun! Let a similar compliment be presented to the "painted populace that dwell in fields and lead ambrosial lives." What a desert were this scene without its flowers--it would be like the sky of night without its stars! "The disenchanted earth" would "lose her lustre." Stars of the day! Beautifiers of the world! Ministrants of delight! Inspirers of kindly emotions and the holiest meditations! Sweet teachers of the serenest wisdom! So beautiful and bright, and graceful, and fragrant--it is no marvel that ye are equally the favorites of the rich and the poor, of the young and the old, of the playful and the pensive! Our country, though originally but sparingly endowed with the living jewelry of nature, is now rich in the choicest flowers of all other countries. Foreigners of many lands, They form one social shade, as if convened By magic summons of the Orphean lyre. _Cowper_. These little "foreigners of many lands" have been so skilfully acclimatized and multiplied and rendered common, that for a few shillings an English peasant may have a parterre more magnificent than any ever gazed upon by the Median Queen in the hanging gardens of Babylon. There is no reason, indeed, to suppose that even the first parents of mankind looked on finer flowers in Paradise itself than are to be found in the cottage gardens that are so thickly distributed over the hills and plains and vallies of our native land. The red rose, is the red rose still, and from the lily's cup An odor fragrant as at first, like frankincense goes up. _Mary Howitt_. Our neat little gardens and white cottages give to dear old England that lovely and cheerful aspect, which is so striking and attractive to her foreign visitors. These beautiful signs of a happy political security and individual independence and domestic peace and a love of order and a homely refinement, are scattered all over the land, from sea to sea. When Miss Sedgwick, the American authoress, visited England, nothing so much surprised and delighted her as the gay flower-filled gardens of our cottagers. Many other travellers, from almost all parts of the world, have experienced and expressed the same sensations on visiting our shores, and it would be easy to compile a voluminous collection of their published tributes of admiration. To a foreign visitor the whole country seems a garden--in the words of Shakespeare--"a _sea-walled garden_." In the year 1843, on a temporary return to England after a long Indian exile, I travelled by railway for the first time in my life. As I glided on, as smoothly as in a sledge, over the level iron road, with such magical rapidity--from the pretty and cheerful town of Southampton to the greatest city of the civilized world--every thing was new to me, and I gave way to child-like wonder and child-like exultation.[002] What a quick succession of lovely landscapes greeted the eye on either side? What a garden-like air of universal cultivation! What beautiful smooth slopes! What green, quiet meadows! What rich round trees, brooding over their silent shadows! What exquisite dark nooks and romantic lanes! What an aspect of unpretending happiness in the clean cottages, with their little trim gardens! What tranquil grandeur and rural luxury in the noble mansions and glorious parks of the British aristocracy! How the love of nature thrilled my heart with a gentle and delicious agitation, and how proud I felt of my dear native land! It is, indeed, a fine thing to be an Englishman. Whether at home or abroad, he is made conscious of the claims of his country to respect and admiration. As I fed my eyes on the loveliness of Nature, or turned to the miracles of Art and Science on every hand, I had always in my mind a secret reference to the effect which a visit to England must produce upon an intelligent and observant foreigner. Heavens! what a goodly prospect spreads around Of hills and dales and woods and lawns and spires, And glittering towns and gilded streams, 'till all The stretching landscape into smoke decays! Happy Brittannia! where the Queen of Arts, Inspiring vigor, Liberty, abroad Walks unconfined, even to thy farthest cots, And scatters plenty with unsparing hand. _Thomson_. And here let me put in a word in favor of the much-abused English climate. I cannot echo the unpatriotic discontent of Byron when he speaks of The cold and cloudy clime Where he was born, but where he would not die. Rather let me say with the author of "_The Seasons_," in his address to England. Rich is thy soil and merciful thy clime. King Charles the Second when he heard some foreigners condemning our climate and exulting in their own, observed that in his opinion that was the best climate in which a man could be out in the open air with pleasure, or at least without trouble and inconvenience, the most days of the year and the most hours of the day; and this he held was the case with the climate of England more than that of any other country in Europe. To say nothing of the lovely and noble specimens of human nature to which it seems so congenial, I may safely assert that it is peculiarly favorable, with, rare exceptions, to the sweet children of Flora. There is no country in the world in which there are at this day such innumerable tribes of flowers. There are in England two thousand varieties of the rose alone, and I venture to express a doubt whether the richest gardens of Persia or Cashmere could produce finer specimens of that universal favorite than are to be found in some of the small but highly cultivated enclosures of respectable English rustics. The actual beauty of some of the commonest flowers in our gardens can be in no degree exaggerated--even in the daydreams of the most inspired poet. And when the author of Lalla Rookh talks so musically and pleasantly of the fragrant bowers of Amberabad, the country of Delight, a Province in Jinnistan or Fairy Land, he is only thinking of the shrubberies and flower-beds at Sloperton Cottage, and the green hills and vales of Wiltshire. Sir William Temple observes that "besides the temper of our climate there are two things particular to us, that contribute much to the beauty and elegance of our gardens--which are, _the gravel of our walks and the fineness and almost perpetual greenness of our turf_." "The face of England is so beautiful," says Horace Walpole, "that I do not believe that Tempe or Arcadia was half so rural; for both lying in hot climates must have wanted _the moss of our gardens_." Meyer, a German, a scientific practical gardener, who was also a writer on gardening, and had studied his art in the Royal Gardens at Paris, and afterwards visited England, was a great admirer of English Gardens, but despaired of introducing our style of gardening into Germany, _chiefly on account of its inferior turf for lawns_. "Lawns and gravel walks," says a writer in the _Quarterly Review_, "are the pride of English Gardens," "The smoothness and verdure of our lawns," continues the same writer, "is the first thing in our gardens that catches the eye of a foreigner; the next is the fineness and firmness of our gravel walks." Mr. Charles Mackintosh makes the same observation. "In no other country in the world," he says, "do such things exist." Mrs. Stowe, whose _Uncle Tom_ has done such service to the cause of liberty in America, on her visit to England seems to have been quite as much enchanted with our scenery, as was her countrywoman, Miss Sedgwick. I am pleased to find Mrs. Stowe recognize the superiority of English landscape-gardening and of our English verdure. She speaks of, "the princely art of landscape-gardening, for which England is so famous," and of "_vistas of verdure and wide sweeps of grass, short, thick, and vividly green_ as the velvet moss sometimes seen growing on rocks in new England." "Grass," she observes, "is an art and a science in England--it is an institution. The pains that are taken in sowing, tending, cutting, clipping, rolling and otherwise nursing and coaxing it, being seconded by the often-falling tears of the climate, produce results which must be seen to be appreciated." This is literally true: any sight more inexpressibly exquisite than that of an English lawn in fine order is what I am quite unable to conceive.[003] I recollect that in one of my visits to England, (in 1827) I attempted to describe the scenery of India to William Hazlitt--not the living son but the dead father. Would that he were still in the land of the living by the side of his friend Leigh Hunt, who has been pensioned by the Government for his support of that cause for which they were both so bitterly persecuted by the ruling powers in days gone by. I flattered myself into the belief that Hazlitt was interested in some of my descriptions of Oriental scenes. What moved him most was an account of the dry, dusty, burning, grassless plains of Bundelcund in the hot season. I told him how once while gasping for breath in a hot verandah and leaning over the rails I looked down upon the sun-baked ground. "A change came o'er the spirit of my dream." I suddenly beheld with all the distinctness of reality the rich, cool, green, unrivalled meads of England. But the vision soon melted away, and I was again in exile. I wept like a child. It was like a beautiful mirage of the desert, or one of those waking dreams of home which have sometimes driven the long-voyaging seaman to distraction and urged him by an irresistible impulse to plunge headlong into the ocean. When I had once more crossed the wide Atlantic--and (not by the necromancy of imagination but by a longer and more tedious transit) found myself in an English meadow,--I exclaimed with the poet, Thou art free My country! and 'tis joy enough and pride For one hour's perfect bliss, _to tread the grass Of England once again_. I felt my childhood for a time renewed, and was by no means disposed to second the assertion that "Nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower." I have never beheld any thing more lovely than scenery characteristically English; and Goldsmith, who was something of a traveller, and had gazed on several beautiful countries, was justified in speaking with such affectionate admiration of our still more beautiful England, Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride. It is impossible to put into any form of words the faintest representation of that delightful summer feeling which, is excited in fine weather by the sight of the mossy turf of our country. It is sweet indeed to go, Musing through the _lawny_ vale: alluded to by Warton, or over Milton's "level downs," or to climb up Thomson's Stupendous rocks That from the sun-redoubling valley lift Cool to the middle air their _lawny_ tops. It gives the Anglo-Indian Exile the heart-ache to think of these ramblings over English scenes. ENGLAND. Bengala's plains are richly green, Her azure skies of dazzling sheen, Her rivers vast, her forests grand. Her bowers brilliant,--but the land, Though dear to countless eyes it be, And fair to mine, hath not for me The charm ineffable of _home_; For still I yearn to see the foam Of wild waves on thy pebbled shore, Dear Albion! to ascend once more Thy snow-white cliffs; to hear again The murmur of thy circling main-- To stroll down each romantic dale Beloved in boyhood--to inhale Fresh life on green and breezy hills-- To trace the coy retreating rills-- To see the clouds at summer-tide Dappling all the landscape wide-- To mark the varying gloom and glow As the seasons come and go-- Again the green meads to behold Thick strewn with silvery gems and gold, Where kine, bright-spotted, large, and sleek, Browse silently, with aspect meek, Or motionless, in shallow stream Stand mirror'd, till their twin shapes seem, Feet linked to feet, forbid to sever, By some strange magic fixed for ever. And oh! once more I fain would see (Here never seen) a poor man _free_,[004] And valuing more an humble name, But stainless, than a guilty fame, How sacred is the simplest cot, Where Freedom dwells!--where she is not How mean the palace! Where's the spot She loveth more than thy small isle, Queen of the sea? Where hath her smile So stirred man's inmost nature? Where Are courage firm, and virtue fair, And manly pride, so often found As in rude huts on English ground, Where e'en the serf who slaves for hire May kindle with a freeman's fire? How proud a sight to English eyes Are England's village families! The patriarch, with his silver hair, The matron grave, the maiden fair. The rose-cheeked boy, the sturdy lad, On Sabbath day all neatly clad:-- Methinks I see them wend their way On some refulgent morn of May, By hedgerows trim, of fragrance rare, Towards the hallowed House of Prayer! I can love _all_ lovely lands, But England _most_; for she commands. As if she bore a parent's part, The dearest movements of my heart; And here I may not breathe her name. Without a thrill through all my frame. Never shall this heart be cold To thee, my country! till the mould (Or _thine_ or _this_) be o'er it spread. And form its dark and silent bed. I never think of bliss below But thy sweet hills their green heads show, Of love and beauty never dream. But English faces round me gleam! D.L.R. I have often observed that children never wear a more charming aspect than when playing in fields and gardens. In another volume I have recorded some of my impressions respecting the prominent interest excited by these little flowers of humanity in an English landscape. * * * * * THE RETURN TO ENGLAND. When I re-visited my dear native country, after an absence of many weary years, and a long dull voyage, my heart was filled with unutterable delight and admiration. The land seemed a perfect paradise. It was in the spring of the year. The blue vault of heaven--the clear atmosphere--the balmy vernal breeze--the quiet and picturesque cattle, browsing on luxuriant verdure, or standing knee deep in a crystal lake--the hills sprinkled with snow-white sheep and sometimes partially shadowed by a wandering cloud--the meadows glowing with golden butter-cups and be-dropped with daisies--the trim hedges of crisp and sparkling holly--the sound of near but unseen rivulets, and the songs of foliage-hidden birds--the white cottages almost buried amidst trees, like happy human nests--the ivy-covered church, with its old grey spire "pointing up to heaven," and its gilded vane gleaming in the light--the sturdy peasants with their instruments of healthy toil--the white-capped matrons bleaching their newly-washed garments in the sun, and throwing them like snow-patches on green slopes, or glossy garden shrubs--the sun-browned village girls, resting idly on their round elbows at small open casements, their faces in sweet keeping with the trellised flowers:--all formed a combination of enchantments that would mock the happiest imitative efforts of human art. But though the bare enumeration of the details of this English picture, will, perhaps, awaken many dear recollections in the reader's mind, I have omitted by far the most interesting feature of the whole scene--_the rosy children, loitering about the cottage gates, or tumbling gaily on the warm grass_.[005][006] Two scraps of verse of a similar tendency shall follow this prose description:-- AN ENGLISH LANDSCAPE. I stood, upon an English hill, And saw the far meandering rill, A vein of liquid silver, run Sparkling in the summer sun; While adown that green hill's side, And along the valley wide, Sheep, like small clouds touched with light, Or like little breakers bright, Sprinkled o'er a smiling sea, Seemed to float at liberty. Scattered all around were seen, White cots on the meadows green. Open to the sky and breeze, Or peeping through the sheltering trees, On a light gate, loosely hung, Laughing children gaily swung; Oft their glad shouts, shrill and clear, Came upon the startled ear. Blended with the tremulous bleat, Of truant lambs, or voices sweet, Of birds, that take us by surprise, And mock the quickly-searching eyes. Nearer sat a fair-haired boy, Whistling with a thoughtless joy; A shepherd's crook was in his hand, Emblem of a mild command; And upon his rounded cheek Were hues that ripened apples streak. Disease, nor pain, nor sorrowing, Touched that small Arcadian king; His sinless subjects wandered free-- Confusion without anarchy. Happier he upon his throne. The breezy hill--though all alone-- Than the grandest monarchs proud Who mistrust the kneeling crowd. On a gently rising ground, The lovely valley's farthest bound, Bordered by an ancient wood, The cots in thicker clusters stood; And a church, uprose between, Hallowing the peaceful scene. Distance o'er its old walls threw A soft and dim cerulean hue, While the sun-lit gilded spire Gleamed as with celestial fire! I have crossed the ocean wave, Haply for a foreign grave; Haply never more to look On a British hill or brook; Haply never more to hear Sounds unto my childhood dear; Yet if sometimes on my soul Bitter thoughts beyond controul Throw a shade more dark than night, Soon upon the mental sight Flashes forth a pleasant ray Brighter, holier than the day; And unto that happy mood All seems beautiful and good. D.L.R. LINES TO A LADY, WHO PRESENTED THE AUTHOR WITH SOME ENGLISH FRUITS AND FLOWERS. Green herbs and gushing springs in some hot waste Though, grateful to the traveller's sight and taste, Seem far less sweet and fair than fruits and flowers That breathe, in foreign lands, of English bowers. Thy gracious gift, dear lady, well recalls Sweet scenes of home,--the white cot's trellised walls-- The trim red garden path--the rustic seat-- The jasmine-covered arbour, fit retreat For hearts that love repose. Each spot displays Some long-remembered charm. In sweet amaze I feel as one who from a weary dream Of exile wakes, and sees the morning beam Illume the glorious clouds of every hue That float o'er scenes his happy childhood knew. How small a spark may kindle fancy's flame And light up all the past! The very same Glad sounds and sights that charmed my heart of old Arrest me now--I hear them and behold. Ah! yonder is the happy circle seated Within, the favorite bower! I am greeted With joyous shouts; my rosy boys have heard A father's voice--their little hearts are stirred With eager hope of some new toy or treat And on they rush, with never-resting feet! * * * * * Gone is the sweet illusion--like a scene Formed by the western vapors, when between The dusky earth, and day's departing light The curtain falls of India's sudden night. D.L.R. The verdant carpet embroidered with little stars of gold and silver--the short-grown, smooth, and close-woven, but most delicate and elastic fresh sward--so soothing to the dazzled eye, so welcome to the wearied limbs--so suggestive of innocent and happy thoughts,--so refreshing to the freed visitor, long pent up in the smoky city--is surely no where to be seen in such exquisite perfection as on the broad meadows and softly-swelling hills of England. And perhaps in no country in the world could _pic-nic_ holiday-makers or playful children with more perfect security of life and health stroll about or rest upon Earth's richly enamelled floor from sunrise to sunset on a summer's day. No Englishman would dare to stretch himself at full length and address himself to sleep upon an Oriental meadow unless he were perfectly indifferent to life itself and could see nothing terrible in the hostility of the deadliest reptiles. When wading through the long grass and thick jungles of Bengal, he is made to acknowledge the full force of the true and beautiful expression--"_In the midst of life we are in death_." The British Indian exile on his return home is delighted with the "sweet security" of his native fields. He may then feel with Wordsworth how Dear is the forest frowning o'er his head. And dear _the velvet greensward_ to his tread. Or he may exclaim in the words of poor Keats--now slumbering under a foreign turf-- Happy is England! I could be content To see no other verdure than her own. It is a pleasing proof of the fine moral influence of natural scenery that the most ceremonious strangers can hardly be long seated together in the open air on the "velvet greensward" without casting off for a while the cold formalities of artificial life, and becoming as frank and social as ingenuous school-boys. Nature breathes peace and geniality into almost every human heart. "John Thelwall," says Coleridge, "had something very good about him. We were sitting in a beautiful recess in the Quantocks when I said to him 'Citizen John, this is a fine place to talk treason in!' 'Nay, Citizen Samuel,' replied he, 'it is rather a place to make us forget that there is any necessity for treason!'" Leigh Hunt, who always looks on nature with the eye of a true painter and the imagination of a true poet, has represented with delightful force and vividness some of those accidents of light and shade that diversify an English meadow. RAIN AND SUNSHINE IN MAY. "Can any thing be more lovely, than the meadows between the rains of May, when the sun smites them on the sudden like a painter, and they laugh up at him, as if he had lighted a loving cheek! I speak of a season when the returning threats of cold and the resisting warmth of summer time, make robust mirth in the air; when the winds imitate on a sudden the vehemence of winter; and silver-white clouds are abrupt in their coming down and shadows on the grass chase one another, panting, over the fields, like a pursuit of spirits. With undulating necks they pant forward, like hounds or the leopard. See! the cloud is after the light, gliding over the country like the shadow of a god; and now the meadows are lit up here and there with sunshine, as if the soul of Titian were standing in heaven, and playing his fancies on them. Green are the trees in shadow; but the trees in the sun how twenty-fold green _they_ are--rich and variegated with gold!" One of the many exquisite out-of-doors enjoyments for the observers of nature, is the sight of an English harvest. How cheering it is to behold the sickles flashing in the sun, as the reapers with well sinewed arm, and with a sweeping movement, mow down the close-arrayed ranks of the harvest field! What are "the rapture of the strife" and all the "pomp, pride and circumstance of glorious war," that bring death to some and agony and grief to others, compared with the green and golden trophies of the honest Husbandman whose bloodless blade makes no wife a widow, no child an orphan,--whose office is not to spread horror and desolation through shrieking cities, but to multiply and distribute the riches of nature over a smiling land. But let us quit the open fields for a time, and turn again to the flowery retreats of Retired Leisure That in trim gardens takes his pleasure. In all ages, in all countries, in all creeds, a garden is represented as the scene not only of earthly but of celestial enjoyment. The ancients had their Elysian Fields and the garden of the Hesperides, the Christian has his Garden of Eden, the Mahommedan his Paradise of groves and flowers and crystal fountains and black eyed Houries. "God Almighty," says Lord Bacon, "first planted a garden; and indeed it is the purest of all pleasures: it is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man." Bacon, though a utilitarian philosopher, was such a lover of flowers that he was never satisfied unless he saw them in almost every room of his house, and when he came to discourse of them in his Essays, his thoughts involuntarily moved harmonious numbers. How naturally the following prose sentence in Bacon's Essay on Gardens almost resolves itself into verse. "For the heath which was the first part of our plot, I wish it to be framed as much as may be to a natural wildness. Trees I would have none in it, but some thickets made only of sweet briar and honeysuckle, and some wild vine amongst; and the ground set with violets, strawberries and primroses; for these are sweet, and prosper in the shade." "For the heath which was the third part of our plot-- I wish it to be framed As much as may be to a natural wildness. Trees I'd have none in't, but some thickets made Only of sweet-briar and honey-suckle, And some wild vine amongst; and the ground set With violets, strawberries, and primroses; For these are sweet and prosper in the shade." It has been observed that the love of gardens is the only passion which increases with age. It is generally the most indulged in the two extremes of life. In middle age men are often too much involved in the affairs of the busy world fully to appreciate the tranquil pleasures in the gift of Flora. Flowers are the toys of the young and a source of the sweetest and serenest enjoyments for the old. But there is no season of life for which they are unfitted and of which they cannot increase the charm. "Give me," says the poet Rogers, "a garden well kept, however small, two or three spreading trees and a mind at ease, and I defy the world." The poet adds that he would not have his garden, too much extended. He seems to think it possible to have too much of a good thing. "Three acres of flowers and a regiment of gardeners," he says, "bring no more pleasure than a sufficiency." "A hundred thousand roses," he adds, "which we look at _en masse_, do not identify themselves in the same manner as even a very small border; and hence, if the cottager's mind is properly attuned, the little cottage-garden may give him more real delight than belongs to the owner of a thousand acres." In a smaller garden "we become acquainted, as it were," says the same poet, "and even form friendships with, individual flowers." It is delightful to observe how nature thus adjusts the inequalities of fortune and puts the poor man, in point of innocent happiness, on a level with the rich. The man of the most moderate means may cultivate many elegant tastes, and may have flowers in his little garden that the greatest sovereign in the world might enthusiastically admire. Flowers are never vulgar. A rose from a peasant's patch of ground is as fresh and elegant and fragrant as if it had been nurtured in a Royal parterre, and it would not be out of place in the richest porcelain vase of the most aristocratical drawing-room in Europe. The poor man's flower is a present for a princess, and of all gifts it is the one least liable to be rejected even by the haughty. It might he worn on the fair brow or bosom of Queen Victoria with a nobler grace than the costliest or most elaborate production of the goldsmith or the milliner. The majority of mankind, in the most active spheres of life, have moments in which they sigh for rural retirement, and seldom dream of such a retreat without making a garden the leading charm of it. Sir Henry Wotton says that Lord Bacon's garden was one of the best that he had seen either at home or abroad. Evelyn, the author of "Sylva, or a Discourse of Forest Trees," dwells with fond admiration, and a pleasing egotism, on the charms of his own beautiful and highly cultivated estate at Wooton in the county of Surrey. He tells us that the house is large and ancient and is "sweetly environed with delicious streams and venerable woods." "I will say nothing," he continues, "of the air, because the pre-eminence is universally given to Surrey, the soil being dry and sandy; but I should speak much of the gardens, fountains and groves that adorn it, were they not generally known to be amongst the most natural, and (till this later and universal luxury of the whole nation, since abounding in such expenses) the most magnificent that England afforded, and which indeed gave one of the first examples to that elegancy, since so much in vogue and followed, for the managing of their waters and other elegancies of that nature." Before he came into the possession of his paternal estate he resided at _Say's Court_, near Deptford, an estate which he possessed by purchase, and where he had a superb holly hedge four hundred feet long, nine feet high and five feet broad. Of this hedge, he was particularly proud, and he exultantly asks, "Is there under heaven a more glorious and refreshing object of the kind?" When the Czar of Muscovy visited England in 1698 to instruct himself in the art of ship-building, he had the use of Evelyn's house and garden, at _Say's Court_, and while there did so much damage to the latter that the owner loudly and bitterly complained. At last the Government gave Evelyn £150 as an indemnification. Czar Peter's favorite amusement was to ride in a wheel barrow through what its owner had once called the "impregnable hedge of holly." Evelyn was passionately fond of gardening. "The life and felicity of an excellent gardener," he observes, "is preferable to all other diversions." His faith in the art of Landscape-gardening was unwavering. It could _remove mountains_. Here is an extract from his Diary. "Gave his brother some directions about his garden" (at Wooton Surrey), "which, he was desirous to put into some form, for which he was to remove a mountain overgrown with large trees and thickets and a moat within ten yards of the house." No sooner said than done. His brother dug down the mountain and "flinging it into a rapid stream (which carried away the sand) filled up the moat and levelled that noble area where now the garden and fountain is." Though Evelyn dearly loved a garden, his chief delight was not in flowers but in forest trees, and he was more anxious to improve the growth of plants indigenous to the soil than to introduce exotics.[007] Sir William Temple was so attached to his garden, that he left directions in his will that his heart should be buried there. It was enclosed in a silver box and placed under a sun-dial. Dr. Thomson Reid, the eminent Scottish metaphysician, used to be found working in his garden in his eighty-seventh year. The name of Chatham is in the long list of eminent men who have enjoyed a garden. We are told that "he loved the country: took peculiar pleasure in gardening; and had an extremely happy taste in laying out grounds." What a delightful thing it must have been for that great statesman, thus to relieve his mind from the weight of public care in the midst of quiet bowers planted and trained by his own hand! Burton, in his _Anatomy of Melancholy_, notices the attractions of a garden as amongst the finest remedies for depression of the mind. I must give the following extracts from his quaint but interesting pages. "To see the pleasant fields, the crystal fountains, And take the gentle air amongst the mountains. "To walk amongst orchards, gardens, bowers, mounts, and arbours, artificial wildernesses, green thickets, arches, groves, lawns, rivulets, fountains, and such like pleasant places, (like that Antiochian Daphne,) brooks, pools, fishponds, between wood and water, in a fair meadow, by a river side, _ubi variae avium cantationes, florum colores, pratorum frutices_, &c. to disport in some pleasant plain, or park, run up a steep hill sometimes, or sit in a shady seat, must needs be a delectable recreation. _Hortus principis et domus ad delectationem facta, cum sylvâ, monte et piscinâ, vulgò la montagna_: the prince's garden at Ferrara, Schottus highly magnifies, with the groves, mountains, ponds, for a delectable prospect; he was much affected with it; a Persian paradise, or pleasant park, could not be more delectable in his sight. St. Bernard, in the description of his monastery, is almost ravished with the pleasures of it. "A sick man (saith he) sits upon a green bank, and when the dog-star parcheth the plains, and dries up rivers, he lies in a shady bower," _Fronde sub arborea ferventia temperat astra_, "and feeds his eyes with variety of objects, herbs, trees, to comfort his misery; he receives many delightsome smells, and fills his ears with that sweet and various harmony of birds; _good God_, (saith he), _what a company of pleasures hast thou made for man!_" * * * * * "The country hath his recreations, the city his several gymnics and exercises, May games, feasts, wakes, and merry meetings to solace themselves; the very being in the country; that life itself is a sufficient recreation to some men, to enjoy such pleasures, as those old patriarchs did. Dioclesian, the emperor, was so much affected with it, that he gave over his sceptre, and turned gardener. Constantine wrote twenty books of husbandry. Lysander, when ambassadors came to see him, bragged of nothing more than of his orchard, _hi sunt ordines mei_. What shall I say of Cincinnatus, Cato, Tully, and many such? how they have been pleased with it, to prune, plant, inoculate and graft, to show so many several kinds of pears, apples, plums, peaches, &c." The Romans of all ranks made use of flowers as ornaments and emblems, but they were not generally so fond of directing or assisting the gardener, or taking the spade or hoe into their own hands, as are the British peasantry, gentry and nobility of the present day. They were not amateur Florists. They prized highly their fruit trees and pastures and cool grottoes and umbrageous groves; but they expended comparatively little time, skill or taste upon the flower-garden. Even their love of nature, though thoroughly genuine as far as it went, did not imply that minute and exact knowledge of her charms which characterizes some of our best British poets. They had no Thompson or Cowper. Their country seats were richer in architectural than floral beauty. Tully's Tuscan Villa, so fondly and minutely described by the proprietor himself, would appear to little advantage in the eyes of a true worshipper of Flora, if compared with Pope's retreat at Twickenham. The ancients had a taste for the _rural_, not for the _gardenesque_, nor perhaps even for the _picturesque_. The English have a taste for all three. Hence they have good landscape-gardeners and first-rate landscape-painters. The old Romans had neither. But though, some of our Spitalfields weavers have shown a deeper love, and perhaps even a finer taste, for flowers, than were exhibited by the citizens of Rome, abundant evidence is furnished to us by the poets in all ages and in all countries that nature, in some form or another has ever charmed the eye and the heart of man. The following version of a famous passage in Virgil, especially the lines in Italics, may give the English reader some idea of a Roman's dream of RURAL HAPPINESS. Ah! happy Swains! if they their bliss but knew, Whom, far from boisterous war, Earth's bosom true With easy food supplies. If they behold No lofty dome its gorgeous gates unfold And pour at morn from all its chambers wide Of flattering visitants the mighty tide; Nor gaze on beauteous columns richly wrought, Or tissued robes, or busts from Corinth brought; Nor their white wool with Tyrian poison soil, Nor taint with Cassia's bark their native oil; _Yet peace is theirs; a life true bliss that yields; And various wealth; leisure mid ample fields, Grottoes, and living lakes, and vallies green, And lowing herds; and 'neath a sylvan screen, Delicious slumbers. There the lawn and cave With beasts of chase abound._ The young ne'er crave A prouder lot; their patient toil is cheered; Their Gods are worshipped and their sires revered; And there when Justice passed from earth away She left the latest traces of her sway. D.L.R. Lord Bacon was perhaps the first Englishman who endeavored to reform the old system of English gardening, and to show that it was contrary to good taste and an insult to nature. "As for making knots or figures," he says, "with divers colored earths, that may lie under the windows of the house on that side on which the garden stands, they be but toys: you may see as good sights many times in tarts." Bacon here alludes, I suppose, to the old Dutch fashion of dividing flowerbeds into many compartments, and instead of filling them with flowers, covering one with red brick dust, another with charcoal, a third with yellow sand, a fourth with chalk, a fifth with broken China, and others with green glass, or with spars and ores. But Milton, in his exquisite description of the garden of Eden, does not allude to the same absurd fashion when he speaks of "curious knots," Which not nice art, In beds and _curious knots_, but nature boon Poured forth profuse on hill and dale and plain. By these _curious knots_ the poet seems to allude, not to figures of "divers colored earth," but to the artificial and complicated arrangements and divisions of flowers and flower-beds. Though Bacon went not quite so freely to nature as our latest landscape-gardeners have done, he made the _first step_ in the right direction and deserves therefore the compliment which Mason has paid him in his poem of _The English Garden_. On thy realm Philosophy his sovereign lustre spread; Yet did he deign to light with casual glance The wilds of Taste, Yes, sagest Verulam, 'Twas thine to banish from the royal groves Each childish vanity of crisped knot[008] And sculptured foliage; to the lawn restore Its ample space, and bid it feast the sight With verdure pure, unbroken, unabridged; For verdure soothes the eye, as roseate sweets The smell, or music's melting strains the ear. Yes--"_verdure soothes the eye_:"--and the mind too. Bacon himself observes, that "nothing is more pleasant to the eye than green grass kept finely shorn." Mason slightly qualifies his commendation of "the sage" by admitting that he had not quite completed his emancipation from the bad taste of his day. Witness his high arched hedge In pillored state by carpentry upborn, With colored mirrors decked and prisoned birds. But, when our step has paced the proud parterre, And reached the heath, then Nature glads our eye Sporting in all her lovely carelessness, There smiles in varied tufts the velvet rose, There flaunts the gadding woodbine, swells the ground In gentle hillocks, and around its sides Through blossomed shades the secret pathway steals. _The English Garden_. In one of the notes to _The English Garden_ it is stated that "Bacon was the prophet, Milton the herald of modern Gardening; and Addison, Pope, and Kent the champions of true taste." Kent was by profession both a Painter and a Landscape-Gardener. Addison who had a pretty little retreat at Bilton, near Rugby, evinces in most of his occasional allusions to gardens a correct judgment. He complains that even in _his_ time our British gardeners, instead of humouring nature, loved to deviate from it as much as possible. The system of verdant sculpture had not gone out of fashion. Our trees still rose in cones, globes, and pyramids. The work of the scissors was on every plant and bush. It was Pope, however, who did most to bring the topiary style into contempt and to encourage a more natural taste, by his humorous paper in the _Guardian_ and his poetical Epistle to the Earl of Burlington. Gray, the poet, observes in one of his letters, that "our skill in gardening, or rather laying out grounds, is the only taste we can call our own; the only proof of original talent in matters of pleasure. This is no small honor to us;" he continues, "since neither France nor Italy, has ever had the least notion of it." "Whatever may have been reported, whether truly or falsely" (says a contributor to _The World_) "of the Chinese gardens, it is certain that we are the first of the Europeans who have founded this taste; and we have been so fortunate in the genius of those who have had the direction of some of the finest spots of ground, that we may now boast a success equal to that profusion of expense which has been destined to promote the rapid progress of this happy enthusiasm. Our gardens are already the astonishment of foreigners, and, in proportion as they accustom themselves to consider and understand them will become their admiration." The periodical from which this is taken was published exactly a century ago, and the writer's prophecy has been long verified. Foreigners send to us for gardeners to help them to lay out their grounds in the English fashion. And we are told by the writer of an interesting article on gardens, in the _Quarterly Review_, that "the lawns at Paris, to say nothing of Naples, are regularly irrigated to keep up even the semblance of English verdure; and at the gardens of Versailles, and Caserta, near Naples, the walks have been supplied from the Kensington gravel-pits." "It is not probably known," adds the same writer, "that among our exportations every year is a large quantity of evergreens for the markets of France and Germany, and that there are some nurserymen almost wholly engaged in this branch of trade." Pomfret, a poet of small powers, if a poet at all, has yet contrived to produce a popular composition in verse--_The Choice_--because he has touched with great good fortune on some of the sweetest domestic hopes and enjoyments of his countrymen. If Heaven the grateful liberty would give That I might choose my method how to live; And all those hours propitious Fate should lend In blissful ease and satisfaction spend; Near some fair town I'd have a private seat Built uniform; not little; nor too great: Better if on a rising ground it stood, On this side fields, on that a neighbouring wood. _The Choice_. Pomfret perhaps illustrates the general taste when he places his garden "_near some fair town_." Our present laureate, though a truly inspired poet, and a genuine lover of Nature even in her remotest retreats, has the garden of his preference, "_not quite beyond the busy world_." Not wholly in the busy world, nor quite Beyond it, blooms the garden that I love, News from the humming city comes to it In sound of funeral or of marriage bells; And sitting muffled in dark leaves you hear The windy clanging of the minster clock; Although between it and the garden lies A league of grass. Even "sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh" are often pleasing when mellowed by the space of air through which they pass. 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the _sound_. Shelley, in one of his sweetest poems, speaking of a scene in the neighbourhood of Naples, beautifully says:-- Like many a voice of one delight, The winds, the birds, the ocean floods, _The city's voice itself is soft_, like solitude's. No doubt the feeling that we are _near_ the crowd but not _in_ it, may deepen the sense of our own happy rural seclusion and doubly endear that pensive leisure in which we can "think down hours to moments," and in This our life, exempt from public haunt, Find tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. _Shakespeare_. Besides, to speak truly, few men, however studious or philosophical, desire a total isolation from the world. It is pleasant to be able to take a sort of side glance at humanity, even when we are most in love with nature, and to feel that we can join our fellow creatures again when the social feeling returns upon us. Man was not made to live alone. Cowper, though he clearly loved retirement and a garden, did not desire to have the pleasure entirely to himself. "Grant me," he says, "a friend in my retreat." To whom to whisper solitude is sweet. Cowper lived and died a bachelor. In the case of a married man and a father, garden delights are doubled by the presence of the family and friends, if wife and children happen to be what they should be, and the friends are genuine and genial. All true poets delight in gardens. The truest that ever lived spent his latter days at New Place in Stratford-upon-Avon. He had a spacious and beautiful garden. Charles Knight tells us that "the Avon washed its banks; and within its enclosures it had its sunny terraces and green lawns, its pleached alleys and honeysuckle bowers," In this garden Shakespeare planted with his own hands his celebrated Mulberry tree. It was a noble specimen of the black Mulberry introduced into England in 1548[009]. In 1605, James I. issued a Royal edict recommending the cultivation of silkworms and offering packets of mulberry seeds to those amongst his subjects who were willing to sow them. Shakespeare's tree was planted in 1609. Mr. Loudon, observes that the black Mulberry has been known from the earliest records of antiquity and that it is twice mentioned in the Bible: namely, in the second Book of Samuel and in the Psalms. When New Place was in the possession of Sir Hough Clopton, who was proud of its interesting association with the history of our great poet, not only were Garrick and Macklin most hospitably entertained under the Mulberry tree, but all strangers on a proper application were admitted to a sight of it. But when Sir Hough Clopton was succeeded by the Reverend Francis Gastrell, that gentleman, to save himself the trouble of showing the tree to visitors, had "the gothic barbarity" to cut down and root up that interesting--indeed _sacred_ memorial--of the Pride of the British Isles. The people of Stratford were so enraged at this sacrilege that they broke Mr. Gastrell's windows. That prosaic personage at last found the place too hot for him, and took his departure from a town whose inhabitants "doated on his very absence;" but before he went he completed the fall sum of his sins against good taste and good feeling by pulling to the ground the house in which Shakespeare had lived and died. This was done, it is said, out of sheer spite to the towns-people, with some of whom Mr. Gastrell had had a dispute about the rate at which the house was taxed. His change of residence was no great relief to him, for the whole British public felt sorely aggrieved, and wherever he went he was peppered with all sorts of squibs and satires. He "slid into verse," and "hitched in a rhyme." Sacred to ridicule his whole life long, And the sad burden of a merry song. Thomas Sharp, a watchmaker, got possession of the fragments of Shakespeare's Mulberry tree, and worked them into all sorts of elegant ornaments and toys, and disposed of them at great prices. The corporation of Stratford presented Garrick with the freedom of the town in a box made of the wood of this famous tree, and the compliment seems to have suggested to him his public festival or pageant in honor of the poet. This Jubilee, which was got up with great zeal, and at great expense and trouble, was attended by vast throngs of the admirers of Shakespeare from all parts of the kingdom. It was repeated on the stage and became so popular as a theatrical exhibition that it was represented night after night for more than half a season to crowded audiences. Upon the subject of gardens, let us hear what has been said by the self-styled "melancholy Cowley." When in the smoky city pent, amidst the busy hum of men, he sighed unceasingly for some green retreat. As he paced the crowded thorough-fares of London, he thought of the velvet turf and the pure air of the country. His imagination carried him into secluded groves or to the bank of a murmuring river, or into some trim and quiet garden. "I never," he says, "had any other desire so strong and so like to covetousness, as that one which I have had always, that I might be master at last of a small house and a large garden, with very moderate conveniences joined to them, and there dedicate the remainder of my life only to the culture of them and the study of nature," The late Miss Mitford, whose writings breathe so freshly of the nature that she loved so dearly, realized for herself a similar desire. It is said that she had the cottage of a peasant with the garden of a Duchess. Cowley is not contented with expressing in plain prose his appreciation of garden enjoyments. He repeatedly alludes to them in verse. Thus, thus (and this deserved great Virgil's praise) The old Corycian yeoman passed his days; Thus his wise life Abdolonymus spent; Th' ambassadors, which the great emperor sent To offer him a crown, with wonder found The reverend gardener, hoeing of his ground; Unwillingly and slow and discontent From his loved cottage to a throne he went; And oft he stopped, on his triumphant way: And oft looked back: and oft was heard to say Not without sighs, Alas! I there forsake A happier kingdom than I go to take. _Lib. IV. Plantarum_. Here is a similar allusion by the same poet to the delights which great men amongst the ancients have taken in a rural retirement. Methinks, I see great Dioclesian walk In the Salonian garden's noble shade Which by his own imperial hands was made, I see him smile, methinks, as he does talk With the ambassadors, who come in vain To entice him to a throne again. "If I, my friends," said he, "should to you show All the delights which in these gardens grow, 'Tis likelier much that you should with me stay, Than 'tis that you should carry me away: And trust me not, my friends, if every day I walk not here with more delight, Than ever, after the most happy sight In triumph to the Capitol I rode, To thank the gods, and to be thought myself almost a god," _The Garden_. Cowley does not omit the important moral which a garden furnishes. Where does the wisdom and the power divine In a more bright and sweet reflection shine? Where do we finer strokes and colors see Of the Creator's real poetry. Than when we with attention look Upon the third day's volume of the book? If we could open and intend our eye _We all, like Moses, might espy, E'en in a bush, the radiant Deity_. In Leigh Hunt's charming book entitled _The Town_, I find the following notice of the partiality of poets for houses with gardens attached to them:-- "It is not surprizing that _garden-houses_ as they were called; should have formerly abounded in Holborn, in Bunhill Row, and other (at that time) suburban places. We notice the fact, in order to observe _how fond the poets were of occupying houses of this description. Milton seems to have made a point of having one_. The only London residence of Chapman which is known, was in Old Street Road; doubtless at that time a rural suburb. Beaumont and Fletcher's house, on the Surrey side of the Thames, (for they lived as well as wrote together,) most probably had a garden; and Dryden's house in Gerard Street looked into the garden of the mansion built by the Earls of Leicester. A tree, or even a flower, put in a window in the streets of a great city, (and the London citizens, to their credit, are fond of flowers,) affects the eye something in the same way as the hand-organs, which bring unexpected music to the ear. They refresh the common-places of life, shed a harmony through the busy discord, and appeal to those first sources of emotion, which are associated with the remembrance of all that is young and innocent." Milton must have been a passionate lover of flowers and flower-gardens or he could never have exhibited the exquisite taste and genial feeling which characterize all the floral allusions and descriptions with which so much of his poetry is embellished. He lived for some time in a house in Westminster over-looking the Park. The same house was tenanted by Jeremy Bentham for forty years. It would be difficult to meet with any two individuals of more opposite temperaments than the author of _Paradise Lost_ and the Utilitarian Philosopher. There is or was a stone in the wall at the end of the garden inscribed TO THE PRINCE OF POETS. Two beautiful cotton trees overarched the inscription, "and to show" says Hazlitt, (who subsequently lived in the same house himself,) "how little the refinements of taste or fancy entered Bentham's system, he proposed at one time to cut down these beautiful trees, to convert the garden, where he had breathed an air of truth and heaven for near half a century, into a paltry Chreistomathic School, and to make Milton's house (the cradle of _Paradise Lost_) a thoroughfare, like a three-stalled stable, for the idle rabble of Westminster to pass backwards and forwards to it with their cloven hoofs!" No poet, ancient or modern, has described a garden on a large scale in so noble a style as Milton. He has anticipated the finest conceptions of the latest landscape-gardeners, and infinitely surpassed all the accounts we have met with of the gardens of the olden time before us. His Paradise is a Spot more delicious than those gardens feigned Or of revived Adonis or renowned Alcinous, host of old Laertes' son Or that, not mystic, where the sapient King Held dalliance with his fair Egyptian spouse[010] The description is too long to quote entire, but I must make room for a delightful extract. Familiar as it must be to all lovers of poetry, who will object to read it again and again? Genuine poetry is like a masterpiece of the painter's art:--we can gaze with admiration for the hundredth time on a noble picture. The mind and the eye are never satiated with the truly beautiful. "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever." PARADISE.[011] So on he fares, and to the border comes Of Eden, where delicious Paradise, Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green, As with a rural mound, the champaign head Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild, Access denied: and overhead up grew Insuperable height of loftiest shade, Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene; and as, the ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops, The verdurous wall of Paradise up-sprung: Which to our general sire gave prospect large Into his nether empire neighbouring round; And higher than that wall a circling row Of goodliest trees, loaden with fairest fruit, Blossoms and fruits at once, of golden hue, Appear'd, with gay enamell'd colours mix'd; On which the sun more glad impress'd his beams, Than on fair evening cloud, or humid bow. When God hath shower'd the earth; so lovely seem'd That landscape: and of pure now purer air Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires Vernal delight and joy, able to drive All sadness but despair: now gentle gales, Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense Native perfumes and whisper whence they stole Those balmy spoils. As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow Sabean odours from the spicy shore Of Araby the Blest; with such delay Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league Cheer'd with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles. * * * * * Southward through Eden went a river large, Nor changed his course, but through the shaggy hill Pass'd underneath ingulf'd; for God had thrown That mountain as his garden mould, high raised Upon the rapid current, which through veins Of porous earth with kindly thirst up-drawn, Rose a fresh fountain, and with many a rill Water'd the garden; thence united fell Down the steep glade, and met the nether flood, Which from his darksome passage now appears; And now, divided into four main streams, Runs diverse, wandering many a famous realm And country, whereof here needs no account; But rather to tell how, if art could tell, How from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks, Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold, With mazy error under pendent shades, Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice art In beds and curious knots, but nature boon Pour'd forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain, Both where the morning sun first warmly smote The open field, and where the unpierced shade Imbrown'd the noontide bowers; thus was this place A happy rural seat of various view; Groves whose rich, trees wept odorous gums and balm; Others whose fruit, burnish'd with golden rind, Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true, If true, here only, and of delicious taste: Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks Grazing the tender herb, were interposed; Or palmy hillock, or the flowery lap Of some irriguous valley spread her store, Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose: Another side, umbrageous grots and caves Of cool recess, o'er which the mantling vine Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps Luxuriant; meanwhile murmuring waters fall Down the slope hills, dispersed, or in a lake, That to the fringed bank with myrtle crown'd Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams. The birds their quire apply; airs, vernal airs, Breathing the smell of field and grove attune, The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, Led on the eternal Spring. Pope in his grounds at Twickenham, and Shenstone in his garden farm of the Leasowes, taught their countrymen to understand how much taste and refinement of soul may be connected with the laying out of gardens and the cultivation of flowers. I am sorry to learn that the famous retreats of these poets are not now what they were. The lovely nest of the little Nightingale of Twickenham has fallen into vulgar hands. And when Mr. Loudon visited (in 1831) the once beautiful grounds of Shenstone, he "found them in a state of indescribable neglect and ruin." Pope said that of all his works that of which he was proudest was his garden. It was of but five acres, or perhaps less, but to this he is said to have given a charming variety. He enumerates amongst the friends who assisted him in the improvement of his grounds, the gallant Earl of Peterborough "whose lightnings pierced the Iberian lines." Know, all the distant din that world can keep, Rolls o'er my grotto, and but soothes my sleep. There my retreat the best companions grace Chiefs out of war and statesmen out of place. There St. John mingles with my friendly bowl The feast of reason and the flow of soul; And he whose lightnings pierced the Iberian lines Now forms my quincunx and now ranks my vines; Or tames the genius of the stubborn plain Almost as quickly as he conquered Spain. Frederick Prince of Wales took a lively interest in Pope's tasteful Tusculanum and made him a present of some urns or vases either for his "laurel circus or to terminate his points." His famous grotto, which he is so fond of alluding to, was excavated to avoid an inconvenience. His property lying on both sides of the public highway, he contrived his highly ornamented passage under the road to preserve privacy and to connect the two portions of his estate. The poet has given us in one of his letters a long and lively description of his subterranean embellishments. But his verse will live longer than his prose. He has immortalized this grotto, so radiant with spars and ores and shells, in the following poetical inscription:-- Thou, who shalt stop, where Thames' translucent wave Shines a broad mirror through the shadowy cave, Where lingering drops from mineral roofs distil, And pointed crystals break the sparkling rill, Unpolished gems no ray on pride bestow, And latent metals innocently glow, Approach! Great Nature studiously behold, And eye the mine without a wish for gold Approach--but awful! Lo, the Egerian grot, Where, nobly pensive, ST JOHN sat and thought, Where British sighs from dying WYNDHAM stole, And the bright flame was shot thro' MARCHMONT'S soul; Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor Who dare to love their country, and be poor. Horace Walpole, speaking of the poet's garden, tells us that "the passing through the gloom from the grotto to the opening day, the retiring and again assembling shades, the dusky groves, the larger lawn, and the solemnity at the cypresses that led up to his mother's tomb, were managed with exquisite judgment." Cliveden's proud alcove, The bower of wanton Shrewsbury and love, alluded to by Pope in his sketch of the character of Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, though laid out by Kent, was probably improved by the poet's suggestions. Walpole seems to think that the beautiful grounds at Rousham, laid out for General Dormer, were planned on the model of the garden at Twickenham, at least the opening and retiring "shades of Venus's Vale." And these grounds at Rousham were pronounced "the most engaging of all Kent's works." It is said that the design of the garden at Carlton House, was borrowed from that of Pope. Wordsworth was correct in his observation that "Landscape gardening is a liberal art akin to the arts of poetry and painting." Walpole describes it as "an art that realizes painting and improves nature." "Mahomet," he adds, "imagined an Elysium, but Kent created many." Pope's mansion was not a very spacious one, but it was large enough for a private gentleman of inexpensive habits. After the poet's death it was purchased by Sir William Stanhope who enlarged both the house and garden.[012] A bust of Pope, in white marble, has been placed over an arched way with the following inscription from the pen of Lord Nugent: The humble roof, the garden's scanty line, Ill suit the genius of the bard divine; But fancy now displays a fairer scope And Stanhope's plans unfold the soul of Pope. I have not heard who set up this bust with its impudent inscription. I hope it was not Stanhope himself. I cannot help thinking that it would have been a truer compliment to the memory of Pope if the house and grounds had been kept up exactly as he had left them. Most people, I suspect, would greatly have preferred the poet's own "unfolding of his soul" to that "_unfolding_" attempted for him by a Stanhope and commemorated by a Nugent. Pope exhibited as much taste in laying out his grounds as in constructing his poems. Sir William, after his attempt to make the garden more worthy of the original designer, might just as modestly have undertaken to enlarge and improve the poetry of Pope on the plea that it did not sufficiently _unfold his soul_. A line of Lord Nugent's might in that case have been transferred from the marble bust to the printed volume: His fancy now displays a fairer scope. Or the enlarger and improver might have taken his motto from Shakespeare: To my _unfolding_ lend a gracious ear. This would have been an appropriate motto for the title-page of "_The Poems of Pope: enlarged and improved: or The Soul of the Poet Unfolded_." But in sober truth, Pope, whether as a gardener or as a poet, required no enlarger or improver of his works. After Sir William Stanhope had left Pope's villa it came into the possession of Lord Mendip, who exhibited a proper respect for the poet's memory; but when in 1807 it was sold to the Baroness Howe, that lady pulled down the house and built another. The place subsequently came into the possession of a Mr. Young. The grounds have now no resemblance to what the taste of Pope had once made them. Even his mother's monument has been removed! Few things would have more deeply touched the heart of the poet than the anticipation of this insult to the memory of so revered a parent. His filial piety was as remarkable as his poetical genius. No passages in his works do him more honor both as a man and as a poet than those which are mellowed into a deeper tenderness of sentiment and a softer and sweeter music by his domestic affections. There are probably few readers of English poetry who have not the following lines by heart, Me, let the tender office long engage To rock the cradle of reposing age; With lenient arts extend a mother's breath; Make langour smile, and smooth the bed of death; Explore the thought, explain the asking eye, And keep at least one parent from the sky. In a letter to Swift (dated March 29, 1731) begun by Lord Bolingbroke and concluded by Pope, the latter speaks thus touchingly of his dear old parent: "My Lord has spoken justly of his lady; why not I of my mother? Yesterday was her birth-day, now entering on the ninety-first year of her age; her memory much diminished, but her senses very little hurt, her sight and hearing good; she sleeps not ill, eats moderately, drinks water, says her prayers; this is all she does. I have reason to thank God for continuing so long to me a very good and tender parent, and for allowing me to exercise for some years those cares which are now as necessary to her, as hers have been to me." Pope lost his mother two years, two months, and a few days after the date of this letter. Three days after her death he entreated Richardson, the painter, to take a sketch of her face, as she lay in her coffin: and for this purpose Pope somewhat delayed her interment. "I thank God," he says, "her death was as easy as her life was innocent; and as it cost her not a groan, nor even a sigh, there is yet upon her countenance such an expression of tranquillity, nay almost of pleasure, that it is even amiable to behold it. It would afford the finest image of a saint expired, that ever painting drew, and it would be the greatest obligation which even that obliging art could ever bestow upon a friend if you would come and sketch it for me." The writer adds, "I shall hope to see you this evening, as late as you will, or to-morrow morning as early, _before this winter flower is faded_." On the small obelisk in the garden, erected by Pope to the memory of his mother, he placed the following simple and pathetic inscription. AH! EDITHA! MATRUM OPTIMA! MULIERUM AMANTISSIMA! VALE! I wonder that any one could have had the heart to remove or to destroy so interesting a memorial. It is said that Pope planted his celebrated weeping willow at Twickenham with his own hands, and that it was the first of its particular species introduced into England. Happening to be with Lady Suffolk when she received a parcel from Spain, he observed that it was bound with green twigs which looked as if they might vegetate. "Perhaps," said he, "these may produce something that we have not yet in England." He tried a cutting, and it succeeded. The tree was removed by some person as barbarous as the reverend gentleman who cut down Shakespeare's Mulberry Tree. The Willow was destroyed for the same reason, as the Mulberry Tree--because the owner was annoyed at persons asking to see it. The Weeping Willow That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream,[013] has had its interest with people in general much increased by its association with the history of Napoleon in the Island of St. Helena. The tree whose boughs seemed to hang so fondly over his remains has now its scions in all parts of the world. Few travellers visited the tomb without taking a small cutting of the Napoleon Willow for cultivation in their own land. Slips of the Willow at Twickenham, like those of the Willow at St. Helena, have also found their way into many countries. In 1789 the Empress of Russia had some of them planted in her garden at St. Petersburgh. Mr. Loudon tells us that there is an old _oak_ in Binfield Wood, Windsor Forest, which is called _Pope's Oak_, and which bears the inscription "HERE POPE SANG:"[014] but according to general tradition it was a _beech_ tree, under which Pope wrote his "Windsor Forest." It is said that as that tree was decayed, Lady Gower had the inscription alluded to carved upon another tree near it. Perhaps the substituted tree was an oak. I may here mention that in the Vale of Avoca there is a tree celebrated as that under which Thomas Moore wrote the verses entitled "The meeting of the Waters." The allusion to _Pope's Oak_ reminds me that Chaucer is said to have planted three oak trees in Donnington Park near Newbury. Not one of them is now, I believe, in existence. There is an oak tree in Windsor Forest above 1000 years old. In the hollow of this tree twenty people might be accommodated with standing room. It is called _King's Oak_: it was William the Conqueror's favorite tree. _Herne's Oak_ in Windsor Park, is said by some to be still standing, but it is described as a mere anatomy. ----An old oak whose boughs are mossed with age, And high top bald with dry antiquity. _As You Like it_. "It stretches out its bare and sapless branches," says Mr. Jesse, "like the skeleton arms of some enormous giant, and is almost fearful in its decay." _Herne's Oak_, as every one knows, is immortalised by Shakespeare, who has spread its fame over many lands. There is an old tale goes that Herne the hunter, Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest, Doth all the winter time, at still midnight, Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns, And there he blasts the trees, and takes the cattle; And makes milch cows yield blood, and shakes a chain In a most hideous and dreadful manner. You have heard of such a spirit; and well you know, The superstitious, idle-headed eld Received, and did deliver to our age, This tale of Herne the Hunter for a truth. _Merry Wives of Windsor_. "Herne, the hunter" is said to have hung himself upon one of the branches of this tree, and even, ----Yet there want not many that do fear, In deep of night to walk by this Herne's Oak. _Merry Wives of Windsor_. It was not long ago visited by the King of Prussia to whom Shakespeare had rendered it an object of great interest. It is unpleasant to add that there is considerable doubt and dispute as to its identity. Charles Knight and a Quarterly Reviewer both maintain that _Herne's Oak_ was cut down with a number of other old trees in obedience to an order from George the Third when he was not in his right mind, and that his Majesty deeply regretted the order he had given when he found that the most interesting tree in his Park had been destroyed. Mr. Jesse, in his _Gleanings in Natural History_, says that after some pains to ascertain the truth, he is convinced that this story is not correct, and that the famous old tree is still standing. He adds that George the Fourth often alluded to the story and said that though one of the trees cut down was supposed to have been _Herne's Oak_, it was not so in reality. George the Third, it is said, once called the attention of Mr. Ingalt, the manager of Windsor Home Park to a particular tree, and said "I brought you here to point out this tree to you. I commit it to your especial charge; and take care that no damage is ever done to it. I had rather that every tree in the park should be cut down than that this tree should be hurt. _This is Hernes Oak_." Sir Philip Sidney's Oak at Penshurst mentioned by Ben Jonson-- That taller tree, of which the nut was set At his great birth, where all the Muses met-- is still in existence. It is thirty feet in circumference. Waller also alludes to Yonder tree which stands the sacred mark Of noble Sidney's birth. Yardley Oak, immortalized by Cowper, is now in a state of decay. Time made thee what thou wert--king of the woods! And time hath made thee what thou art--a cave For owls to roost in. _Cowper_. The tree is said to be at least fifteen hundred years old. It cannot hold its present place much longer; but for many centuries to come it will Live in description and look green in song. It stands on the grounds of the Marquis of Northampton; and to prevent people from cutting off and carrying away pieces of it as relics, the following notice has been painted on a board and nailed to the tree:--"_Out of respect to the memory of the poet Cowper, the Marquis of Northampton is particularly desirous of preserving this Oak_." Lord Byron, in early life, planted an oak in the garden at Newstead and indulged the fancy, that as that flourished so should he. The oak has survived the poet, but it will not outlive the memory of its planter or even the boyish verses which he addressed to it. Pope observes, that "a tree is a nobler object than a prince in his coronation robes." Yet probably the poet had never seen any tree larger than a British oak. What would he have thought of the Baobab tree in Abyssinia, which measures from 80 to 120 feet in girth, and sometimes reaches the age of five thousand years. We have no such sylvan patriarch in Europe. The oldest British tree I have heard of, is a yew tree of Fortingall in Scotland, of which the age is said to be two thousand five hundred years. If trees had long memories and could converse with man, what interesting chapters these survivors of centuries might add to the history of the world! Pope was not always happy in his Twickenham Paradise. His rural delights were interrupted for a time by an unrequited passion for the beautiful and highly-gifted but eccentric Lady Mary Wortley Montague. Ah! friend, 'tis true--this truth you lovers know; In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow; In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes Of hanging mountains and of sloping greens; Joy lives not here, to happier seats it flies, And only dwells where Wortley casts her eyes. What are the gay parterre, the chequered shade, The morning bower, the evening colonnade, But soft recesses of uneasy minds, To sigh unheard in to the passing winds? So the struck deer, in some sequestered part, Lies down to die, the arrow at his heart; He, stretched unseen, in coverts hid from day, Bleeds drop by drop, and pants his life away. These are exquisite lines, and have given delight to innumerable readers, but they gave no delight to Lady Mary. In writing to her sister, the Countess of Mar, then at Paris, she says in allusion to these "most musical, most melancholy" verses--"_I stifled them here; and I beg they may die the same death at Paris_." It is not, however, quite so easy a thing as Lady Mary seemed to think, to "stifle" such poetry as Pope's. Pope's notions respecting the laying out of gardens are well expressed in the following extract from the fourth Epistle of his Moral Essays.[015] This fourth Epistle was addressed, as most readers will remember, to the accomplished Lord Burlington, who, as Walpole says, "had every quality of a genius and an artist, except envy. Though his own designs were more chaste and classic than Kent's, he entertained him in his house till his death, and was more studious to extend his friend's fame than his own." Something there is more needful than expense, And something previous e'en to taste--'tis sense; Good sense, which only is the gift of Heaven, And though no science fairly worth the seven; A light, which in yourself you must perceive; Jones and Le Nôtre have it not to give. To build, or plant, whatever you intend, To rear the column or the arch to bend; To swell the terrace, or to sink the grot; In all let Nature never be forgot. But treat the goddess like a modest fair, Nor over dress nor leave her wholly bare; Let not each beauty every where be spied, Where half the skill is decently to hide. He gains all points, who pleasingly confounds, Surprizes, varies, and conceals the bounds. _Consult the genius of the place in all_;[016] That tells the waters or to rise or fall; Or helps the ambitious hill the heavens to scale, Or scoops in circling theatres the vale; Calls in the country, catches opening glades, Joins willing woods and varies shades from shades; Now breaks, or now directs, th' intending lines; Paints as you plant, and, as you work, designs. Still follow sense, of every art the soul; Parts answering parts shall slide into a whole, Spontaneous beauties all around advance, Start e'en from difficulty, strike from chance; Nature shall join you; time shall make it grow A work to wonder at--perhaps a STOWE.[017] Without it proud Versailles![018] Thy glory falls; And Nero's terraces desert their walls. The vast parterres a thousand hands shall make, Lo! Cobham comes and floats them with a lake; Or cut wide views through mountains to the plain, You'll wish your hill or sheltered seat again. Pope is in most instances singularly happy in his compliments, but the allusion to STOWE--as "_a work to wonder at_"--has rather an equivocal appearance, and so also has the mention of Lord Cobham, the proprietor of the place. In the first draught of the poem, the name of Bridgeman was inserted where Cobham's now stands, but as Bridgeman mistook the compliment for a sneer, the poet thought the landscape-gardener had proved himself undeserving of the intended honor, and presented the second-hand compliment to the peer. The grounds at Stowe, more praised by poets than any other private estate in England, extend to 400 acres. There are many other fine estates in our country of far greater extent, but of less celebrity. Some of them are much too extensive, perhaps, for true enjoyment. The Earl of Leicester, when he had completed his seat at Holkham, observed, that "It was a melancholy thing to stand alone in one's country. I look round; not a house is to be seen but mine. I am the Giant of Giant-castle and have ate up all my neighbours." The Earl must have felt that the political economy of Goldsmith in his _Deserted Village_ was not wholly the work of imagination. Sweet smiling village! Loveliest of the lawn, Thy sports are fled and all thy charms withdrawn; Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen And desolation saddens all the green,-- _One only master grasps thy whole domain_. * * * * * Where then, ah! where shall poverty reside, To scape the pressure of contiguous pride? "Hearty, cheerful Mr. Cotton," as Lamb calls him, describes Stowe as a Paradise. ON LORD COBHAM'S GARDEN. It puzzles much the sage's brains Where Eden stood of yore, Some place it in Arabia's plains, Some say it is no more. But Cobham can these tales confute, As all the curious know; For he hath proved beyond dispute, That Paradise is STOWE. Thomson also calls the place a paradise: Ye Powers That o'er the garden and the rural seat Preside, which shining through the cheerful land In countless numbers blest Britannia sees; O, lead me to the wide-extended walks, _The fair majestic paradise of Stowe!_ Not Persian Cyrus on Ionia's shore E'er saw such sylvan scenes; such various art By genius fired, such ardent genius tamed By cool judicious art, that in the strife All-beauteous Nature fears to be out-done. The poet somewhat mars the effect of this compliment to the charms of Stowe, by making it a matter of regret that the owner His verdant files Of ordered trees should here inglorious range, Instead of squadrons flaming o'er the field, And long embattled hosts. This representation of rural pursuits as inglorious, a sentiment so out of keeping with his subject, is soon after followed rather inconsistently, by a sort of paraphrase of Virgil's celebrated picture of rural felicity, and some of Thomson's own thoughts on the advantages of a retreat from active life. Oh, knew he but his happiness, of men The happiest he! Who far from public rage Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life, &c. Then again:-- Let others brave the flood in quest of gain And beat for joyless months, the gloomy wave. _Let such as deem it glory to destroy, Rush into blood, the sack of cities seek; Unpierced, exulting in the widow's wail, The virgin's shriek and infant's trembling cry._ * * * * * While he, from all the stormy passions free That restless men involve, hears and _but_ hears, At distance safe, the human tempest roar, Wrapt close in conscious peace. The fall of kings, The rage of nations, and the crush of states, Move not the man, who from the world escaped, In still retreats and flowery solitudes, To nature's voice attends, from month to month, And day to day, through the revolving year; Admiring sees her in her every shape; Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart; Takes what she liberal gives, nor asks for more. He, when young Spring, protudes the bursting gems Marks the first bud, and sucks the healthful gale Into his freshened soul; her genial hour He full enjoys, and not a beauty blows And not an opening blossom breathes in vain. Thomson in his description of Lord Townshend's seat of Rainham--another English estate once much celebrated and still much admired--exclaims: Such are thy beauties, Rainham, such the haunts Of angels, in primeval guiltless days When man, imparadised, conversed with God. And Broome after quoting the whole description in his dedication of his own poems to Lord Townshend, observes, in the old fashioned fulsome strain, "This, my lord, is but a faint picture of the place of your retirement which no one ever enjoyed more elegantly."[019] "A faint picture!" What more would the dedicator have wished Thomson to say? Broome, if not contented with his patron's seat being described as an earthly Paradise, must have desired it to be compared with Heaven itself, and thus have left his Lordship no hope of the enjoyment of a better place than he already possessed. Samuel Boyse, who when without a shirt to his back sat up in his bed to write verses, with his arms through two holes in his blanket, and when he went into the streets wore paper collars to conceal the sad deficiency of linen, has a poem of considerable length entitled _The Triumphs of Nature_. It is wholly devoted to a description of this magnificent garden,[020] in which, amongst other architectural ornaments, was a temple dedicated to British worthies, where the busts of Pope and Congreve held conspicuous places. I may as well give a specimen of the lines of poor Boyse. Here is his description of that part of Lord Cobham's grounds in which is erected to the Goddess of Love, a Temple containing a statue of the Venus de Medicis. Next to the fair ascent our steps we traced, Where shines afar the bold rotunda placed; The artful dome Ionic columns bear Light as the fabric swells in ambient air. Beneath enshrined the Tuscan Venus stands And beauty's queen the beauteous scene commands: The fond beholder sees with glad surprize, Streams glisten, lawns appear, and forests rise-- Here through thick shades alternate buildings break, There through the borders steals the silver lake, A soft variety delights the soul, And harmony resulting crowns the whole. Congreve in his Letter in verse addressed to Lord Cobham asks him to Tell how his pleasing Stowe employs his time. It would seem that the proprietor of Stowe took particular interest in the disposition of the water on his grounds. Congreve enquires Or dost thou give the winds afar to blow Each vexing thought, and heart-devouring woe, And fix thy mind alone on rural scenes, _To turn the level lawns to liquid plains_? To raise the creeping rills from humble beds And force the latent spring to lift their heads, On watery columns, capitals to rear, That mix their flowing curls with upper air? * * * * * Or slowly walk along the mazy wood To meditate on all that's wise and good. The line:-- To turn the level lawn to liquid plains-- Will remind the reader of Pope's Lo! Cobham comes and floats them with a lake-- And it might be thought that Congreve had taken the hint from the bard of Twickenham if Congreve's poem had not preceded that of Pope. The one was published in 1729, the other in 1731. Cowper is in the list of poets who have alluded to "Cobham's groves" and Pope's commemoration of them. And _Cobham's groves_ and Windsor's green retreats When Pope describes them have a thousand sweets. "Magnificence and splendour," says Mr. Whately, the author of _Observations on Modern Gardening_, "are the characteristics of Stowe. It is like one of those places celebrated in antiquity which were devoted to the purposes of religion, and filled with sacred groves, hallowed fountains, and temples dedicated to several deities; the resort of distant nations and the object of veneration to half the heathen world: the pomp is, at Stowe, blended with beauty; and the place is equally distinguished by its amenity and grandeur." Horace Walpole speaks of its "visionary enchantment." "I have been strolling about in Buckinghamshire and Oxfordshire, from garden to garden," says Pope in one of his letters, "but still returning to Lord Cobham's with fresh satisfaction."[021] The grounds at Stowe, until the year 1714, were laid out in the old formal style. Bridgeman then commenced the improvements and Kent subsequently completed them. Stowe is now, I believe, in the possession of the Marquis of Chandos, son of the Duke of Buckingham. It is melancholy to state that the library, the statues, the furniture, and even some of the timber on the estate, were sold in 1848 to satisfy the creditors of the Duke. Pope was never tired of improving his own grounds. "I pity you, Sir," said a friend to him, "because you have now completed every thing belonging to your gardens."[022] "Why," replied Pope, "I really shall be at a loss for the diversion I used to take in carrying out and finishing things: I have now nothing left me to do but to add a little ornament or two along the line of the Thames." I dare say Pope was by no means so near the end of his improvements as he and his friend imagined. One little change in a garden is sure to suggest or be followed by another. Garden-improvements are "never ending, still beginning." The late Dr. Arnold, the famous schoolmaster, writing to a friend, says--"The garden is a constant source of amusement to us both (self and wife); there are always some little alterations to be made, some few spots where an additional shrub or two would be ornamental, something coming into blossom; so that I can always delight to go round and see how things are going on." A garden is indeed a scene of continual change. Nature, even without the aid of the gardener, has "infinite variety," and supplies "a perpetual feast of nectared sweets where no crude surfeit reigns." Spence reports Pope to have said: "I have sometimes had an idea of planting an old gothic cathedral in trees. Good large poplars, with their white stems, cleared of boughs to a proper height would serve very well for the columns, and might form the different aisles or peristilliums, by their different distances and heights. These would look very well near, and the dome rising all in a proper tuft in the middle would look well at a distance." This sort of verdant architecture would perhaps have a pleasing effect, but it is rather too much in the artificial style, to be quite consistent with Pope's own idea of landscape-gardening. And there are other trees that would form a nobler natural cathedral than the formal poplar. Cowper did not think of the poplar, when he described a green temple-roof. How airy and how light the graceful arch, Yet awful as the consecrated roof Re-echoing pious anthems. Almost the only traces of Pope's garden that now remain are the splendid Spanish chesnut-trees and some elms and cedars planted by the poet himself. A space once laid out in winding walks and beautiful shrubberies is now a potatoe field! The present proprietor, Mr. Young, is a wholesale tea-dealer. Even the bones of the poet, it is said, have been disturbed. The skull of Pope, according to William Howitt, is now in the private collection of a phrenologist! The manner in which it was obtained, he says, is this:--On some occasion of alteration in the church at Twickenham, or burial of some one in the same spot, the coffin of Pope was disinterred, and opened to see the state of the remains. By a bribe of £50 to the Sexton, possession of the skull was obtained for one night; another skull was then returned instead of the poet's. It has been stated that the French term _Ferme Ornée_ was first used in England by Shenstone. It exactly expressed the character of his grounds. Mr. Repton said that he never strolled over the scenery of the Leasowes without lamenting the constant disappointment to which Shenstone exposed himself by a vain attempt to unite the incompatible objects of ornament and profit. "Thus," continued Mr. Repton, "the poet lived under the continual mortification of disappointed hope, and with a mind exquisitely sensible, he felt equally the sneer of the great man at the magnificence of his attempt and the ridicule of the farmer at the misapplication of his paternal acres." The "sneer of the great man." is perhaps an allusion to what Dr. Johnson says of Lord Lyttelton:--that he "looked with disdain" on "the petty State" of his neighbour. "For a while," says Dr. Johnson, "the inhabitants of Hagley affected to tell their acquaintance of the little fellow that was trying to make himself admired; but when by degrees the Leasowes forced themselves into notice, they took care to defeat the curiosity which they could not suppress, by conducting their visitants perversely to inconvenient points of view, and introducing them at the wrong end of a walk to detect a deception; injuries of which Shenstone would heavily complain." Mr. Graves, the zealous friend of Shenstone, indignantly denies that any of the Lyttelton family had evinced so ungenerous a feeling towards the proprietor of the Leasowes who though his "empire" was less "spacious and opulent" had probably a larger share of true taste than even the proprietor of Hagley, the Lyttelton domain--though Hagley has been much, and I doubt not, deservedly, admired.[023] Dr. Johnson states that Shenstone's expenses were beyond his means,-- that he spent his estate in adorning it--that at last the clamours of creditors "overpowered the lamb's bleat and the linnet's song; and that his groves were haunted by beings very different from fauns and fairies." But this is gross exaggeration. Shenstone was occasionally, indeed, in slight pecuniary difficulties, but he could always have protected himself from the intrusion of the myrmidons of the law by raising money on his estate; for it appears that after the payment of all his debts, he left legacies to his friends and annuities to his servants. Johnson himself is the most scornful of the critics upon Shenstone's rural pursuits. "The pleasure of Shenstone," says the Doctor, "was all in his eye: he valued what he valued merely for its looks. Nothing raised his indignation more than to ask if there were any fishes in his water." Dr. Johnson would have seen no use in the loveliest piece of running water in the world if it had contained nothing that he could masticate! Mrs. Piozzi says of him, "The truth is, he hated to hear about prospects and views, and laying out grounds and taste in gardening." "That was the best garden," he said, "which produced most roots and fruits; and that water was most to be prized which contained most fish." On this principle of the valuelessness of those pleasures which enter the mind through the eye, Dr. Johnson should have blamed the lovers of painting for dwelling with such fond admiration on the canvas of his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds. In point of fact, Dr. Johnson had no more sympathy with the genius of the painter or the musician than with that of the Landscape gardener, for he had neither an eye nor an ear for Art. He wondered how any man could be such a fool as to be moved to tears by music, and observed, that, "one could not fill one's belly with hearing soft murmurs or looking at rough cascades." No; the loveliness of nature does not satisfy the thirst and hunger of the body, but it _does_ satisfy the thirst and hunger of the soul. No one can find wheaten bread or wine or venison or beef or plum-pudding or turtle-soup in mere sounds and sights, however exquisite--neither can any one find such substantial diet within the boards of a book--no not even on the pages of Shakespeare, or even those of the Bible itself,--but men can find in sweet music and lovely scenery and good books something infinitely more precious than all the wine, venison, beef, or plum-pudding, or turtle-soup that could be swallowed during a long life by the most craving and capacious alderman of London! Man is of a dual nature: he is not all body. He has other and far higher wants and enjoyments than the purely physical--and these nobler appetites are gratified by the charms of nature and the creations of inspired genius. Dr. Johnson's gastronomic allusions to nature recal the old story of a poet pointing out to a utilitarian friend some white lambs frolicking in a meadow. "Aye," said, the other, "only think of a quarter of one of them with asparagus and mint sauce!" The story is by some supposed to have had a Scottish origin, and a prosaic North Briton is made to say that the pretty little lambs, sporting amidst the daisies and buttercups, would "_mak braw pies_." A profound feeling for the beautiful is generally held to be an essential quality in the poet. It is a curious fact, however, that there are some who aspire to the rank of poet, and have their claims allowed, who yet cannot be said to be poetical in their nature--for how can that nature be, strictly speaking, _poetical_ which denies the sentiment of Keats, that A thing of beauty is a joy for ever? Both Scott and Byron very earnestly admired Dr. Johnson's "_London_" and "_The Vanity of Human Wishes_." Yet the sentiments just quoted from the author of those productions are far more characteristic of a utilitarian philosopher than of one who has been endowed by nature with The vision and the faculty divine, and made capable, like some mysterious enchanter, of Clothing the palpable and the familiar With golden exhalations of the dawn. Crabbe, also a prime favorite with the authors of the _Lay of the Last Minstrel_, and _Childe Harold_, is recorded by his biographer--his own son--to have exhibited "a remarkable indifference to all the proper objects of taste;" to have had "no real love for painting, or music, or architecture or for what a painter's eye considers as the beauties of landscape." "In botany, grasses, the most _useful_ but the least ornamental, were his favorites." "He never seemed to be captivated with the mere beauty of natural objects or even to catch any taste for the arrangement of his specimens. Within, the house was a kind of scientific confusion; in the garden the usual showy foreigners gave place to the most scarce flowers, especially to the rarer weeds, of Britain; and were scattered here and there only for preservation. In fact he neither loved order for its own sake nor had any very high opinion of that passion in others."[024] Lord Byron described Crabbe to be Though nature's sternest painter, yet _the best_. What! was he a better painter of nature than Shakespeare? The truth is that Byron was a wretched critic, though a powerful poet. His praises and his censures were alike unmeasured. His generous ardor no cold medium knew. He seemed to recognize no great general principles of criticism, but to found all his judgments on mere prejudice and passion. He thought Cowper "no poet," pronounced Spenser "a dull fellow," and placed Pope above Shakespeare. Byron's line on Crabbe is inscribed on the poet's tombstone at Trowbridge. Perhaps some foreign visitor on reading the inscription may be surprized at his own ignorance when he learns that it is not the author of _Macbeth_ and _Othello_ that he is to regard as the best painter of nature that England has produced, but the author of the _Parish Register_ and the _Tales of the Hall_. Absurd and indiscriminate laudations of this kind confound all intellectual distinctions and make criticism ridiculous. Crabbe is unquestionably a vigorous and truthful writer, but he is not the _best_ we have, in any sense of the word. Though Dr. Johnson speaks so contemptuously of Shenstone's rural pursuits, he could not help acknowledging that when the poet began "to point his prospects, to diversify his surface, to entangle his walks and to wind his waters," he did all this with such judgment and fancy as "made his little domain the envy of the great and the admiration of the skilful; a place to be visited by travellers, and copied by designers." Mason, in his _English Garden_, a poem once greatly admired, but now rarely read, and never perhaps with much delight, does justice to the taste of the Poet of the Leasowes. Nor, Shenstone, thou Shalt pass without thy meed, thou son of peace! Who knew'st, perchance, to harmonize thy shades Still softer than thy song; yet was that song Nor rude nor inharmonious when attuned To pastoral plaint, or tale of slighted love. English pleasure-gardens have been much imitated by the French. Viscomte Girardin, at his estate of Ermenonville, dedicated an inscription in amusing French-English to the proprietor of the Leasowes-- THIS PLAIN STONE TO WILLIAM SHENSTONE; IN HIS WRITINGS HE DISPLAYED A MIND NATURAL; AT LEASOWES HE LAID ARCADIAN GREENS RURAL. The Viscomte, though his English composition was so quaint and imperfect, was an elegant writer in his own language, and showed great taste and skill in laying out his grounds. He had visited England, and carefully studied our modern style of gardening. He had personally consulted Shenstone, Mason, Whateley and other English authors on subjects of rural taste. He published an eloquent description of his own estate. His famous friend Rousseau wrote the preface to it. The book was translated into English. Rousseau spent his last days at Ermenonville and was buried there in what is called _The Isle of Poplars_. The garden is now in a neglected state, but the tomb of Rousseau remains uninjured, and is frequently visited by the admirers of his genius. "Dr. Warton," says Bowles, "mentions Milton and Pope as the poets to whom English Landscape is indebted, but _he forgot poor Shenstone_." A later writer, however, whose sympathy for genius communicates such a charm to all his anecdotes and comments in illustration of the literary character, has devoted a chapter of his _Curiosities of Literature_ to a notice of the rural tastes of the proprietor of the Leasowes. I must give a brief extract from it. "When we consider that Shenstone, in developing his fine pastoral ideas in the Leasowes, educated the nation into that taste for landscape-gardening, which has become the model of all Europe, this itself constitutes a claim on the gratitude of posterity. Thus the private pleasures of a man of genius may become at length those of a whole people. The creator of this new taste appears to have received far less notice than he merited. The name of Shenstone does not appear in the Essay on Gardening, by Lord Orford; even the supercilious Gray only bestowed a ludicrous image on these pastoral scenes, which, however, his friend Mason has celebrated; and the genius of Johnson, incapacitated by nature to touch on objects of rural fancy, after describing some of the offices of the landscape designer, adds, that 'he will not inquire whether they demand any great powers of mind.' Johnson, however, conveys to us his own feelings, when he immediately expresses them under the character of 'a sullen and surly speculator.' The anxious life of Shenstone would indeed have been remunerated, could he have read the enchanting eulogium of Whateley on the Leasowes; which, said he, 'is a perfect picture of his mind--simple, elegant and amiable; and will always suggest a doubt whether the spot inspired his verse, or whether in the scenes which he formed, he only realised the pastoral images which abound in his songs.' Yes! Shenstone had been delighted could he have heard that Montesquieu, on his return home, adorned his 'Chateau Gothique, mais orné de bois charmans, don't j'ai pris l'idée en Angleterre;' and Shenstone, even with his modest and timid nature, had been proud to have witnessed a noble foreigner, amidst memorials dedicated to Theocritus and Virgil, to Thomson and Gesner, raising in his grounds an inscription, in bad English, but in pure taste, to Shenstone himself; for having displayed in his writings 'a mind natural,' and in his Leasowes 'laid Arcadian greens rural;' and recently Pindemonte has traced the taste of English gardening to Shenstone. A man of genius sometimes receives from foreigners, who are placed out of the prejudices of his compatriots, the tribute of posterity!" "The Leasowes," says William Howitt, "now belongs to the Atwood family; and a Miss Atwood resides there occasionally. But the whole place bears the impress of desertion and neglect. The house has a dull look; the same heavy spirit broods over the lawns and glades: And it is only when you survey it from a distance, as when approaching Hales-Owen from Hagley, that the whole presents an aspect of unusual beauty." Shenstone was at least as proud of his estate of the Leasowes as was Pope of his Twickenham Villa--perhaps more so. By mere men of the world, this pride in a garden may be regarded as a weakness, but if it be a weakness it is at least an innocent and inoffensive one, and it has been associated with the noblest intellectual endowments. Pitt and Fox and Burke and Warren Hastings were not weak men, and yet were they all extremely proud of their gardens. Every one, indeed, who takes an active interest in the culture and embellishment of his garden, finds his pride in it and his love for it increase daily. He is delighted to see it flourish and improve beneath his care. Even the humble mechanic, in his fondness for a garden, often indicates a feeling for the beautiful, and a genial nature. If a rich man were openly to boast of his plate or his equipages, or a literary man of his essays or his sonnets, as lovers of flowers boast of their geraniums or dahlias or rhododendrons, they would disgust the most indulgent hearer. But no one is shocked at the exultation of a gardener, amateur or professional, when in the fulness of his heart he descants upon the unrivalled beauty of his favorite flowers: 'Plants of his hand, and children of his care.' "I have made myself two gardens," says Petrarch, "and I do not imagine that they are to be equalled in all the world. I should feel myself inclined to be angry with fortune if there were any so beautiful out of Italy." "I wish," says poor Kirke White writing to a friend, "I wish you to have a taste of these (rural) pleasures with me, and if ever I should live to be blessed with a quiet parsonage, and _another great object of my ambition--a garden_, I have no doubt but we shall be for some short intervals at least two quite contented bodies." The poet Young, in the latter part of his life, after years of vain hopes and worldly struggles, gave himself up almost entirely to the sweet seclusion of a garden; and that peace and repose which cannot be found in courts and political cabinets, he found at last In sunny garden bowers Where vernal winds each tree's low tones awaken, And buds and bells with changes mark the hours. He discovered that it was more profitable to solicit nature than to flatter the great. For Nature never did betray The heart that loved her. People of a poetical temperament--all true lovers of nature--can afford, far better than more essentially worldly beings, to exclaim with Thomson. I care not Fortune what you me deny, You cannot bar me of free Nature's grace, You cannot shut the windows of the sky Through which Aurora shows her brightening face: You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns and living streams at eve: Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the _great children_ leave:-- Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave. The pride in a garden laid out under one's own directions and partly cultivated by one's own hand has been alluded to as in some degree unworthy of the dignity of manhood, not only by mere men of the world, or silly coxcombs, but by people who should have known better. Even Sir William Temple, though so enthusiastic about his fruit-trees, tells us that he will not enter upon any account of _flowers_, having only pleased himself with seeing or smelling them, and not troubled himself with the care of them, which he observes "_is more the ladies part than the men's_." Sir William makes some amends for this almost contemptuous allusion to flowers in particular by his ardent appreciation of the use of gardens and gardening in general. He thus speaks of their attractions and advantages: "The sweetness of the air, the pleasantness of the smell, the verdure of plants, the cleanness and lightness of food, the exercise of working or walking, but above all, the exemption from cares and solicitude, seem equally to favor and improve both contemplation and health, the enjoyment of sense and imagination, and thereby the quiet and ease of the body and mind." Again: "As gardening has been the inclination of kings and the choice of philosophers, so it has been the common favorite of public and private men, a pleasure of the greatest and the care of the meanest; and indeed _an employment and a possession for which no man is too high or too low_." This is just and liberal; though I can hardly help still feeling a little sore at Sir William's having implied in the passage previously quoted, that the care of flowers is but a feminine occupation. As an elegant amusement, it is surely equally well fitted for all lovers of the beautiful, without reference to their sex. It is not women and children only who delight in flower-gardens. Lord Bacon and William Pitt and the Earl of Chatham and Fox and Burke and Warren Hastings--all lovers of flowers--were assuredly not men of frivolous minds or of feminine habits. They were always eager to exhibit to visitors the beauty of their parterres. In his declining years the stately John Kemble left the stage for his garden. That sturdy English yeoman, William Cobbett, was almost as proud of his beds of flowers as of the pages of his _Political Register_. He thus speaks of gardening: "Gardening is a source of much greater profit than is generally imagined; but, merely as an amusement or recreation it is a thing of very great value. It is not only compatible with but favorable to the study of any art or science; it is conducive to health by means of the irresistible temptation which it offers to early rising; to the stirring abroad upon one's legs, for a man may really ride till he cannot walk, sit till he cannot stand, and lie abed till he cannot get up. It tends to turn the minds of youth from amusements and attachments of a frivolous and vicious nature, it is a taste which is indulged at home; it tends to make home pleasant, and to endear to us the spot on which it is our lot to live,--and as to the _expenses_ attending it, what are all these expenses compared with those of the short, the unsatisfactory, the injurious enjoyment of the card-table, and the rest of those amusements which are sought from the town." _Cobbett's English Gardener_. "Other fine arts," observes Lord Kames, "may be perverted to excite irregular and even vicious emotions: but gardening, which inspires the purest and most refined pleasures, cannot fail to promote every good affection. The gaiety and harmony of mind it produceth, inclining the spectator to communicate his satisfaction to others, and to make them happy as he is himself, tend naturally to establish in him a habit of humanity and benevolence." Every thoughtful mind knows how much the face of nature has to do with human happiness. In the open air and in the midst of summer-flowers, we often feel the truth of the observation that "a fair day is a kind of sensual pleasure, and of all others the most innocent." But it is also something more, and better. It kindles a spiritual delight. At such a time and in such a scene every observer capable of a religious emotion is ready to exclaim-- Oh! there is joy and happiness in every thing I see, Which bids my soul rise up and bless the God that blesses me _Anon._ The amiable and pious Doctor Carey of Serampore, in whose grounds sprang up that dear little English daisy so beautifully addressed by his poetical proxy, James Montgomery of Sheffield, in the stanzas commencing:-- Thrice welcome, little English flower! My mother country's white and red-- was so much attached to his Indian garden, that it was always in his heart in the intervals of more important cares. It is said that he remembered it even upon his death-bed, and that it was amongst his last injunctions to his friends that they should see to its being kept up with care. He was particularly anxious that the hedges or railings should always be in such good order as to protect his favorite shrubs and flowers from the intrusion of Bengalee cattle. A garden is a more interesting possession than a gallery of pictures or a cabinet of curiosities. Its glories are never stationary or stale. It has infinite variety. It is not the same to-day as it was yesterday. It is always changing the character of its charms and always increasing them in number. It delights all the senses. Its pleasures are not of an unsocial character; for every visitor, high or low, learned or illiterate, may be fascinated with the fragrance and beauty of a garden. But shells and minerals and other curiosities are for the man of science and the connoisseur. And a single inspection of them is generally sufficient: they never change their aspect. The Picture-Gallery may charm an instructed eye but the multitude have little relish for human Art, because they rarely understand it:--while the skill of the Great Limner of Nature is visible in every flower of the garden even to the humblest swain. It is pleasant to read how the wits and beauties of the time of Queen Anne used to meet together in delightful garden-retreats, 'like the companies in Boccaccio's Decameron or in one of Watteau's pictures.' Ritchings Lodge, for instance, the seat of Lord Bathurst, was visited by most of the celebrities of England, and frequently exhibited bright groups of the polite and accomplished of both sexes; of men distinguished for their heroism or their genius, and of women eminent for their easy and elegant conversation, or for gaiety and grace of manner, or perfect loveliness of face and form--all in harmonious union with the charms of nature. The gardens at Ritchings were enriched with Inscriptions from the pens of Congreve and Pope and Gay and Addison and Prior. When the estate passed into the possession of the Earl of Hertford, his literary lady devoted it to the Muses. "She invited every summer," says Dr. Johnson, "some poet into the country to hear her verses and assist her studies." Thomson, who praises her so lavishly in his "Spring," offended her ladyship by allowing her too clearly to perceive that he was resolved not to place himself in the dilemma of which Pope speaks so feelingly with reference to other poetasters. Seized and tied down to judge, how wretched I, Who can't be silent, and who will not lie. I sit with sad civility, I read With honest anguish and an aching head. But though "the bard more fat than bard beseems" was restive under her ladyship's "poetical operations," and too plainly exhibited a desire to escape the infliction, preferring the Earl's claret to the lady's rhymes, she should have been a little more generously forgiving towards one who had already made her immortal. It is stated, that she never repeated her invitation to the Poet of the Seasons, who though so impatient of the sound of her tongue when it "rolled" her own "raptures," seems to have been charmed with her _at a distance_--while meditating upon her excellencies in the seclusion of his own study. The compliment to the Countess is rather awkwardly wedged in between descriptions of "gentle Spring" with her "shadowing roses" and "surly Winter" with his "ruffian blasts." It should have commenced the poem. O Hertford, fitted or to shine in courts With unaffected grace, or walk the plain, With innocence and meditation joined In soft assemblage, listen to my song, Which thy own season paints; when nature all Is blooming and benevolent like thee. Thomson had no objection to strike off a brief compliment in verse, but he was too indolent to keep up _in propriâ personâ_ an incessant fire of compliments, like the _bon bons_ at a Carnival. It was easier to write her praises than listen to her verses. Shenstone seems to have been more pliable. He was personally obsequious, lent her recitations an attentive ear, and was ever ready with the expected commendation. It is not likely that her ladyship found much, difficulty in collecting around her a crowd of critics more docile than Thomson and quite as complaisant as Shenstone. Let but a _Countess_ Once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens, how the style refines! Though Thomson's first want on his arrival in London from the North was a pair of shoes, and he lived for a time in great indigence, he was comfortable enough at last. Lord Lyttleton introduced him to the Prince of Wales (who professed himself the patron of literature) and when his Highness questioned him about the state of his affairs, Thomson assured him that they "were in a more poetical posture than formerly." The prince bestowed upon the poet a pension of a hundred pounds a year, and when his friend Lord Lyttleton was in power his Lordship obtained for him the office of Surveyor General of the Leeward Islands. He sent a deputy there who was more trustworthy than Thomas Moore's at Bermuda. Thomson's deputy after deducting his own salary remitted his principal three hundred pounds per annum, so that the bard 'more fat than bard beseems' was not in a condition to grow thinner, and could afford to make his cottage a Castle of Indolence. Leigh Hunt has versified an anecdote illustrative of Thomson's luxurious idleness. He who could describe "_Indolence_" so well, and so often appeared in the part himself, Slippered, and with hands, Each in a waistcoat pocket, (so that all Might yet repose that could) was seen one morn Eating a wondering peach from off the tree. A little summer-house at Richmond which Thomson made his study is still preserved, and even some articles of furniture, just as he left them.[025] Over the entrance is erected a tablet on which is the following inscription: HERE THOMSON SANG THE SEASONS AND THEIR CHANGE. Thomson was buried in Richmond Church. Collins's lines to his memory, beginning In yonder grave a Druid lies, are familiar to all readers of English poetry. Richmond Hill has always been the delight not of poets only but of painters. Sir Joshua Reynolds built a house there, and one of the only three landscapes which seem to have survived him, is a view from the window of his drawing-room. Gainsborough was also a resident in Richmond. Richmond gardens laid out or rather altered by Brown, are now united with those of Kew. Savage resided for some time at Richmond. It was the favorite haunt of Collins, one of the most poetical of poets, who, as Dr. Johnson says, "delighted to rove through the meanders of enchantment, to gaze on the magnificence of golden palaces, to repose by the waterfalls of Elysian gardens." Wordsworth composed a poem upon the Thames near Richmond in remembrance of Collins. Here is a stanza of it. Glide gently, thus for ever glide, O Thames, that other bards may see As lovely visions by thy side As now fair river! come to me; O glide, fair stream for ever so, Thy quiet soul on all bestowing, Till all our minds for ever flow As thy deep waters now are flowing. Thomson's description of the scenery of Richmond Hill perhaps hardly does it justice, but the lines are too interesting to be omitted. Say, shall we wind Along the streams? or walk the smiling mead? Or court the forest-glades? or wander wild Among the waving harvests? or ascend, While radiant Summer opens all its pride, Thy hill, delightful Shene[026]? Here let us sweep The boundless landscape now the raptur'd eye, Exulting swift, to huge Augusta send, Now to the sister hills[027] that skirt her plain, To lofty Harrow now, and now to where Majestic Windsor lifts his princely brow In lovely contrast to this glorious view Calmly magnificent, then will we turn To where the silver Thames first rural grows There let the feasted eye unwearied stray, Luxurious, there, rove through the pendent woods That nodding hang o'er Harrington's retreat, And stooping thence to Ham's embowering walks, Beneath whose shades, in spotless peace retir'd, With her the pleasing partner of his heart, The worthy Queensbury yet laments his Gay, And polish'd Cornbury woos the willing Muse Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt In Twit nam's bowers, and for their Pope implore The healing god[028], to loyal Hampton's pile, To Clermont's terrass'd height, and Esher's groves; Where in the sweetest solitude, embrac'd By the soft windings of the silent Mole, From courts and senates Pelham finds repose Enchanting vale! beyond whate'er the Muse Has of Achaia or Hesperia sung! O vale of bliss! O softly swelling hills! On which the _Power of Cultivation_ lies, And joys to see the wonders of his toil. The Revd. Thomas Maurice wrote a poem entitled _Richmond Hill_, but it contains nothing deserving of quotation after the above passage from Thomson. In the _English Bards and Scotch Reviewers_ the labors of Maurice are compared to those of Sisyphus So up thy hill, ambrosial Richmond, heaves Dull Maurice, all his granite weight of leaves. Towards the latter part of the last century the Empress of Russia (Catherine the Second) expressed in a French letter to Voltaire her admiration of the style of English Gardening.[029] "I love to distraction," she writes, "the present English taste in gardening. Their curved lines, their gentle slopes, their pieces of water in the shape of lakes, their picturesque little islands. I have a great contempt for straight lines and parallel walks. I hate those fountains which torture water into forms unknown to nature. I have banished all the statues to the vestibules and to the galleries. In a word English taste predominates in my _plantomanie_."[030] I omitted when alluding to those Englishmen in past times who anticipated the taste of the present day in respect to laying out grounds, to mention the ever respected name of John Evelyn, and as all other writers before me, I believe, who have treated upon gardening, have been guilty of the same oversight, I eagerly make his memory some slight amends by quoting the following passage from one of his letters to his friend Sir Thomas Browne. "I might likewise hope to refine upon some particulars, especially concerning the ornaments of gardens, which I shall endeavor so to handle as that they may become useful and practicable, as well as magnificent, and that persons of all conditions and faculties, which delight in gardens, may therein encounter something for their owne advantage. The modell, which I perceive you have seene, will aboundantly testifie my abhorrency of those painted and formal projections of our cockney gardens and plotts, which appeare like gardens of past-board and marchpane, and smell more of paynt then of flowers and verdure; our drift is a noble, princely, and universal Elysium, capable of all the amoenities that can naturally be introduced into gardens of pleasure, and such as may stand in competition with all the august designes and stories of this nature, either of antient or moderne tymes; yet so as to become useful and significant to the least pretences and faculties. We will endeavour to shew how the air and genious of gardens operat upon humane spirits towards virtue and sanctitie: I mean in a remote, preparatory and instrumentall working. How caves, grotts, mounts, and irregular ornaments of gardens do contribute to contemplative and philosophicall enthusiasme; how _elysium, antrum, nemus, paradysus, hortus, lucus_, &c., signifie all of them _rem sacram it divinam_; for these expedients do influence the soule and spirits of men, and prepare them for converse with good angells; besides which, they contribute to the lesse abstracted pleasures, phylosophy naturall; and longevitie: and I would have not onely the elogies and effigie of the antient and famous garden heroes, but a society of the _paradisi cultores_ persons of antient simplicity, Paradisean and Hortulan saints, to be a society of learned and ingenuous men, such as Dr. Browne, by whome we might hope to redeeme the tyme that has bin lost, in pursuing _Vulgar Errours_, and still propagating them, as so many bold men do yet presume to do." The English style of landscape-gardening being founded on natural principles must be recognized by true taste in all countries. Even in Rome, when art was most allowed to predominate over nature, there were occasional instances of that correct feeling for rural beauty which the English during the last century and a half have exhibited more conspicuously than other nations. Atticus preferred Tully's villa at Arpinum to all his other villas; because at Arpinum, Nature predominated over art. Our Kents and Browns[031] never expressed a greater contempt, than was expressed by Atticus, for all formal and artificial decorations of natural scenery. The spot where Cicero's villa stood, was, in the time of Middleton, possessed by a convent of monks and was called the Villa of St. Dominic. It was built, observes Mr. Dunlop, in the year 1030, from the fragments of the Arpine Villa! Art, glory, Freedom, fail--but Nature still is fair. "Nothing," says Mr. Kelsall, "can be imagined finer than the surrounding landscape. The deep azure of the sky, unvaried by a single cloud--Sora on a rock at the foot of the precipitous Appennines--both banks of the Garigliano covered with vineyards--the _fragor aquarum_, alluded to by Atticus in his work _De Legibus_--the coolness, the rapidity and ultramarine hue of the Fibrenus--the noise of its cataracts--the rich turquoise color of the Liris--the minor Appennines round Arpino, crowned with umbrageous oaks to the very summits--present scenery hardly elsewhere to be equalled, certainly not to be surpassed, even in Italy." This description of an Italian landscape can hardly fail to charm the imagination of the coldest reader; but after all, I cannot help confessing to so inveterate a partiality for dear old England as to be delighted with the compliment which Gray, the poet, pays to English scenery when he prefers it to the scenery of Italy. "Mr. Walpole," writes the poet from Italy, "says, our _memory_ sees more than our eyes in this country. This is extremely true, since for _realities_ WINDSOR or RICHMOND HILL is infinitely preferable to ALBANO or FRESCATI." Sir Walter Scott, with all his patriotic love for his own romantic land, could not withhold his tribute to the loveliness of Richmond Hill,--its "_unrivalled landscape_" its "_sea of verdure_." "They" (The Duke of Argyle and Jeanie Deans) "paused for a moment on the brow of a hill, to gaze on the unrivalled landscape it presented. A huge sea of verdure, with crossing and intersecting promontories of massive and tufted groves was tenanted by numberless flocks and herds which seemed to wander unrestrained and unbounded through the rich pastures. The Thames, here turreted with villas, and there garlanded with forests, moved on slowly and placidly, like the mighty monarch of the scene, to whom all its other beauties were but accessaries, and bore on its bosom an hundred barks and skiffs whose white sails and gaily fluttering pennons gave life to the whole." _The Heart of Mid-Lothian_. It must of course be admitted that there are grander, more sublime, more varied and extensive prospects in other countries, but it would be difficult to persuade me that the richness of English verdure could be surpassed or even equalled, or that any part of the world can exhibit landscapes more truly _lovely_ and _loveable_, than those of England, or more calculated to leave a deep and enduring impression upon the heart. Mr. Kelsall speaks of an Italian sky "_uncovered by a single cloud_," but every painter and poet knows how much variety and beauty of effect are bestowed upon hill and plain and grove and river by passing clouds; and even our over-hanging vapours remind us of the veil upon the cheek of beauty; and ever as the sun uplifts the darkness the glory of the landscape seems renewed and freshened. It would cheer the saddest heart and send the blood dancing through the veins, to behold after a dull misty dawn, the sun break out over Richmond Hill, and with one broad light make the whole landscape smile; but I have been still more interested in the prospect when on a cloudy day the whole "sea of verdure" has been swayed to and fro into fresher life by the fitful breeze, while the lights and shadows amidst the foliage and on the lawns have been almost momentarily varied by the varying sky. These changes fascinate the eye, keep the soul awake, and save the scenery from the comparatively monotonous character of landscapes in less varying climes. And for my own part, I cordially echo the sentiment of Wordsworth, who when conversing with Mrs. Hemans about the scenery of the Lakes in the North of England, observed: "I would not give up the mists that _spiritualize_ our mountains for all the blue skies of Italy." Though Mrs. Stowe, the American authoress already quoted as one of the admirers of England, duly appreciates the natural grandeur of her own land, she was struck with admiration and delight at the aspect of our English landscapes. Our trees, she observes, "are of an order of nobility and they wear their crowns right kingly." "Leaving out of account," she adds, "our _mammoth arboria_, the English Parks have trees as fine and effective as ours, and when I say their trees are of an order of nobility, I mean that they (the English) pay a reverence to them such as their magnificence deserves." Walter Savage Landor, one of the most accomplished and most highly endowed both by nature and by fortune of our living men of letters, has done, or rather has tried to do, almost as much for his country in the way of enriching its collection of noble trees as Evelyn himself. He laid out £70,000 on the improvement of an estate in Monmouthshire, where he planted and fenced half a million of trees, and had a million more ready to plant, when the conduct of some of his tenants, who spitefully uprooted them and destroyed the whole plantation, so disgusted him with the place, that he razed to the ground the house which had cost him £8,000, and left the country. He then purchased a beautiful estate in Italy, which is still in possession of his family. He himself has long since returned to his native land. Landor loves Italy, but he loves England better. In one of his _Imaginary Conversations_ he tells an Italian nobleman: "The English are more zealous of introducing new fruits, shrubs and plants, than other nations; you Italians are less so than any civilized one. Better fruit is eaten in Scotland than in the most fertile and cultivated parts of your peninsula. _As for flowers, there is a greater variety in the worst of our fields than in the best of your gardens._ As for shrubs, I have rarely seen a lilac, a laburnum, a mezereon, in any of them, and yet they flourish before almost every cottage in our poorest villages." "We wonder in England, when we hear it related by travellers, that peaches in Italy are left under the trees for swine; but, when we ourselves come into the country, our wonder is rather that the swine do not leave them for animals less nice." Landor acknowledges that he has eaten better pears and cherries in Italy than in England, but that all the other kinds of fruitage in Italy appeared to him unfit for dessert. The most celebrated of the private estates of the present day in England is Chatsworth, the seat of the Duke of Devonshire. The mansion, called the Palace of the Peak, is considered one of the most splendid residences in the land. The grounds are truly beautiful and most carefully attended to. The elaborate waterworks are perhaps not in the severest taste. Some of them are but costly puerilities. There is a water-work in the form of a tree that sends a shower from every branch on the unwary visitor, and there are snakes that spit forth jets upon him as he retires. This is silly trifling: but ill adapted to interest those who have passed their teens; and not at all an agreeable sort of hospitality in a climate like that of England. It is in the style of the water-works at Versailles, where wooden soldiers shoot from their muskets vollies of water at the spectators.[032] It was an old English custom on certain occasions to sprinkle water over the company at a grand entertainment. Bacon, in his Essay on Masques, seems to object to getting drenched, when he observes that "some sweet odours suddenly coming forth, _without any drops falling_, are in such a company as there is steam and heat, things of great pleasure and refreshment." It was a custom also of the ancient Greeks and Romans to sprinkle their guests with fragrant waters. The Gascons had once the same taste: "At times," says Montaigne, "from the bottom of the stage, they caused sweet-scented waters to spout upwards and dart their thread to such a prodigious height, as to sprinkle and perfume the vast multitudes of spectators." The Native gentry of India always slightly sprinkle their visitors with rose-water. It is flung from a small silver utensil tapering off into a sort of upright spout with a pierced top in the fashion of that part of a watering pot which English gardeners call the _rose_. The finest of the water-works at Chatsworth is one called the _Emperor Fountain_ which throws up a jet 267 feet high. This height exceeds that of any fountain in Europe. There is a vast Conservatory on the estate, built of glass by Sir Joseph Paxton, who designed and constructed the Crystal Palace. His experience in the building of conservatories no doubt suggested to him the idea of the splendid glass edifice in Hyde Park. The conservatory at Chatsworth required 70,000 square feet of glass. Four miles of iron tubing are used in heating the building. There is a broad carriage way running right through the centre of the conservatory.[033] This conservatory is peculiarly rich in exotic plants of all kinds, collected at an enormous cost. This most princely estate, contrasted with the little cottages and cottage-gardens in the neighbourhood, suggested to Wordsworth the following sonnet. CHATSWORTH. Chatsworth! thy stately mansion, and the pride Of thy domain, strange contrast do present To house and home in many a craggy tent Of the wild Peak, where new born waters glide Through fields whose thrifty occupants abide As in a dear and chosen banishment With every semblance of entire content; So kind is simple Nature, fairly tried! Yet he whose heart in childhood gave his troth To pastoral dales, then set with modest farms, May learn, if judgment strengthen with his growth, That not for Fancy only, pomp hath charms; And, strenuous to protect from lawless harms The extremes of favored life, may honour both. The two noblest of modern public gardens in England are those at Kensington and Kew. Kensington Gardens were begun by King William the III, but were originally only twenty-six acres in extent. Queen Anne added thirty acres more. The grounds were laid out by the well-known garden-designers, London and Wise.[034] Queen Caroline, who formed the Serpentine River by connecting several detached pieces of water into one, and set the example of a picturesque deviation from the straight line,[035] added from Hyde Park no less than three hundred acres which were laid out by Bridgeman. This was a great boon to the Londoners. Horace Walpole says that Queen Caroline at first proposed to shut up St. James's Park and convert it into a private garden for herself, but when she asked Sir Robert Walpole what it would cost, he answered--"Only three Crowns." This changed her intentions. The reader of Pope will remember an allusion to the famous Ring in Hyde Park. The fair Belinda was sometimes attended there by her guardian Sylphs: The light militia of the lower sky. They guarded her from 'the white-gloved beaux,' These though unseen are ever on the wing, Hang o'er the box, _and hover o'er the Ring_. It was here that the gallantries of the "Merry Monarch" were but too often exhibited to his people. "After dinner," says the right garrulous Pepys in his journal, "to Hyde Parke; at the Parke was the King, and in another Coach, Lady Castlemaine, they greeting one another at every turn." The Gardens at Kew "Imperial Kew," as Darwin styles it, are the richest in the world. They consist of one hundred and seventy acres. They were once private gardens, and were long in the possession of Royalty, until the accession of Queen Victoria, who opened the gardens to the public and placed them under the control of the Commissioners of Her Majesty's Woods and Forests, "with a view of rendering them available to the general good." She hath left you all her walks, Her private arbors and new planted orchards On this side Tiber. She hath left them you And to your heirs for ever; common pleasures To walk abroad and recreate yourselves. They contain a large Palm-house built in 1848.[036] The extent of glass for covering the building is said to be 360,000 square feet. My Mahomedan readers in Hindostan, (I hope they will be numerous,) will perhaps be pleased to hear that there is an ornamental mosque in these gardens. On each of the doors of this mosque is an Arabic inscription in golden characters, taken from the Koran. The Arabic has been thus translated:-- LET THERE BE NO FORCE IN RELIGION. THERE IS NO OTHER GOD EXCEPT THE DEITY. MAKE NOT ANY LIKENESS UNTO GOD. The first sentence of the translation is rather ambiguously worded. The sentiment has even an impious air: an apparent meaning very different from that which was intended. Of course the original text _means_, though the English translator has not expressed that meaning--"Let there be no force _used_ in religion." When William Cobbett was a boy of eleven years of age he worked in the garden of the Bishop of Winchester at Farnham. Having heard much of Kew gardens he resolved to change his locality and his master. He started off for Kew, a distance of about thirty miles, with only thirteen pence in his pocket. The head gardener at Kew at once engaged his services. A few days after, George the Fourth, then Prince of Wales, saw the boy sweeping the lawns, and laughed heartily at his blue smock frock and long red knotted garters. But the poor gardener's boy became a public writer, whose productions were not exactly calculated to excite the merriment of princes. Most poets have a painter's eye for the disposition of forms and colours. Kent's practice as a painter no doubt helped to make him what he was as a landscape-gardener. When an architect was consulted about laying out the grounds at Blenheim he replied, "you must send for a landscape-painter:" he might have added--"_or a poet_." Our late Laureate, William Wordsworth, exhibited great taste in his small garden at Rydal Mount. He said of himself--very truly though not very modestly perhaps,--but modesty was never Wordsworth's weakness--that nature seemed to have fitted him for three callings--that of the poet, the critic on works of art, and the landscape-gardener. The poet's nest--(Mrs. Hemans calls it 'a lovely cottage-like building'[037])--is almost hidden in a rich profusion of roses and ivy and jessamine and virginia-creeper. Wordsworth, though he passionately admired the shapes and hues of flowers, knew nothing of their fragrance. In this respect knowledge at one entrance was quite shut out. He had possessed at no time of his life the sense of smell. To make up for this deficiency, he is said (by De Quincey) to have had "a peculiar depth of organic sensibility of form and color." Mr. Justice Coleridge tells us that Wordsworth dealt with shrubs, flower-beds and lawns with the readiness of a practised landscape-gardener, and that it was curious to observe how he had imparted a portion of his taste to his servant, James Dixon. In fact, honest James regarded himself as a sort of Arbiter Elegantiarum. The master and his servant often discussed together a question of taste. Wordsworth communicated to Mr. Justice Coleridge how "he and James" were once "in a puzzle" about certain discolored spots upon the lawn. "Cover them with soap-lees," said the master. "That will make the green there darker than the rest," said the gardener. "Then we must cover the whole." "That will not do," objects the gardener, "with reference to the little lawn to which you pass from this." "Cover that," said the poet. "You will then," replied the gardener, "have an unpleasant contrast with the foliage surrounding it." Pope too had communicated to his gardener at Twickenham something of his own taste. The man, long after his master's death, in reference to the training of the branches of plants, used to talk of their being made to hang "_something poetical_". It would have grieved Shakespeare and Pope and Shenstone had they anticipated the neglect or destruction of their beloved retreats. Wordsworth said, "I often ask myself what will become of Rydal Mount after our day. Will the old walls and steps remain in front of the house and about the grounds, or will they be swept away with all the beautiful mosses and ferns and wild geraniums and other flowers which their rude construction suffered and encouraged to grow among them. This little wild flower, _Poor Robin_, is here constantly courting my attention and exciting what may be called a domestic interest in the varying aspect of its stalks and leaves and flowers." I hope no Englishman meditating to reside on the grounds now sacred to the memory of a national poet will ever forget these words of the poet or treat his cottage and garden at Rydal Mount as some of Pope's countrymen have treated the house and grounds at Twickenham.[038] It would be sad indeed to hear, after this, that any one had refused to spare the _Poor Robins_ and _wild geraniums_ of Rydal Mount. Miss Jewsbury has a poem descriptive of "the Poet's Home." I must give the first stanza:-- WORDSWORTH'S COTTAGE. Low and white, yet scarcely seen Are its walls of mantling green; Not a window lets in light But through flowers clustering bright, Not a glance may wander there But it falls on something fair; Garden choice and fairy mound Only that no elves are found; Winding walk and sheltered nook For student grave and graver book, Or a bird-like bower perchance Fit for maiden and romance. Another lady-poet has poured forth in verse her admiration of THE RESIDENCE OF WORDSWORTH. Not for the glory on their heads Those stately hill-tops wear, Although the summer sunset sheds Its constant crimson there: Not for the gleaming lights that break The purple of the twilight lake, Half dusky and half fair, Does that sweet valley seem to be A sacred place on earth to me. The influence of a moral spell Is found around the scene, Giving new shadows to the dell, New verdure to the green. With every mountain-top is wrought The presence of associate thought, A music that has been; Calling that loveliness to life, With which the inward world is rife. His home--our English poet's home-- Amid these hills is made; Here, with the morning, hath he come, There, with the night delayed. On all things is his memory cast, For every place wherein he past, Is with his mind arrayed, That, wandering in a summer hour, Asked wisdom of the leaf and flower. L.E.L. The cottage and garden of the poet are not only picturesque and delightful in themselves, but from their position in the midst of some of the finest scenery of England. One of the writers in the book entitled '_The Land we Live in_' observes that the bard of the mountains and the lakes could not have found a more fitting habitation had the whole land been before him, where to choose his place of rest. "Snugly sheltered by the mountains, embowered among trees, and having in itself prospects of surpassing beauty, it also lies in the midst of the very noblest objects in the district, and in one of the happiest social positions. The grounds are delightful in every respect; but one view--that from the terrace of moss-like grass--is, to our thinking, the most exquisitely graceful in all this land of beauty. It embraces the whole valley of Windermere, with hills on either side softened into perfect loveliness." Eustace, the Italian tourist, seems inclined to deprive the English of the honor of being the first cultivators of the natural style in gardening, and thinks that it was borrowed not from Milton but from Tasso. I suppose that most genuine poets, in all ages and in all countries, when they give full play to the imagination, have glimpses of the truly natural in the arts. The reader will probably be glad to renew his acquaintance with Tasso's description of the garden of Armida. I shall give the good old version of Edward Fairfax from the edition of 1687. Fairfax was a true poet and wrote musically at a time when sweetness of versification was not so much aimed at as in a later day. Waller confessed that he owed the smoothness of his verse to the example of Fairfax, who, as Warton observes, "well vowelled his lines." THE GARDEN OF ARMIDA. When they had passed all those troubled ways, The Garden sweet spread forth her green to shew; The moving crystal from the fountains plays; Fair trees, high plants, strange herbs and flowerets new, Sunshiny hills, vales hid from Phoebus' rays, Groves, arbours, mossie caves at once they view, And that which beauty most, most wonder brought, No where appear'd the Art which all this wrought. So with the rude the polished mingled was, That natural seem'd all and every part, Nature would craft in counterfeiting pass, And imitate her imitator Art: Mild was the air, the skies were clear as glass, The trees no whirlwind felt, nor tempest's smart, But ere the fruit drop off, the blossom comes, This springs, that falls, that ripeneth and this blooms. The leaves upon the self-same bough did hide, Beside the young, the old and ripened fig, Here fruit was green, there ripe with vermeil side; The apples new and old grew on one twig, The fruitful vine her arms spread high and wide, That bended underneath their clusters big; The grapes were tender here, hard, young and sour, There purple ripe, and nectar sweet forth pour. The joyous birds, hid under green-wood shade, Sung merry notes on every branch and bow, The wind that in the leaves and waters plaid With murmer sweet, now sung and whistled now; Ceaséd the birds, the wind loud answer made: And while they sung, it rumbled soft and low; Thus were it hap or cunning, chance or art, The wind in this strange musick bore his part. With party-coloured plumes and purple bill, A wondrous bird among the rest there flew, That in plain speech sung love-lays loud and shrill, Her leden was like humane language true; So much she talkt, and with such wit and skill, That strange it seeméd how much good she knew; Her feathered fellows all stood hush to hear, Dumb was the wind, the waters silent were. The gently budding rose (quoth she) behold, That first scant peeping forth with virgin beams, Half ope, half shut, her beauties doth upfold In their dear leaves, and less seen, fairer seems, And after spreads them forth more broad and bold, Then languisheth and dies in last extreams, Nor seems the same, that deckéd bed and bower Of many a lady late, and paramour. So, in the passing of a day, doth pass The bud and blossom of the life of man, Nor ere doth flourish more, but like the grass Cut down, becometh wither'd, pale and wan: O gather then the rose while time thou hast, Short is the day, done when it scant began; Gather the rose of love, while yet thou may'st Loving be lov'd; embracing, be embrac'd. He ceas'd, and as approving all he spoke, The quire of birds their heav'nly tunes renew, The turtles sigh'd, and sighs with kisses broke, The fowls to shades unseen, by pairs withdrew; It seem'd the laurel chaste, and stubborn oak, And all the gentle trees on earth that grew, It seem'd the land, the sea, and heav'n above, All breath'd out fancy sweet, and sigh'd out love. _Godfrey of Bulloigne_ I must place near the garden of Armida, Ariosto's garden of Alcina. "Ariosto," says Leigh Hunt, "cared for none of the pleasures of the great, except building, and was content in Cowley's fashion, with "a small house in a large garden." He loved gardening better than he understood it, was always shifting his plants, and destroying the seeds, out of impatience to see them germinate. He was rejoicing once on the coming up of some "capers" which he had been visiting every day, to see how they got on, when it turned out that his capers were elder trees!" THE GARDEN OF ALCINA. 'A more delightful place, wherever hurled, Through the whole air, Rogero had not found; And had he ranged the universal world, Would not have seen a lovelier in his round, Than that, where, wheeling wide, the courser furled His spreading wings, and lighted on the ground Mid cultivated plain, delicious hill, Moist meadow, shady bank, and crystal rill; 'Small thickets, with the scented laurel gay, Cedar, and orange, full of fruit and flower, Myrtle and palm, with interwoven spray, Pleached in mixed modes, all lovely, form a bower; And, breaking with their shade the scorching ray, Make a cool shelter from the noon-tide hour. And nightingales among those branches wing Their flight, and safely amorous descants sing. 'Amid red roses and white lilies _there_, Which the soft breezes freshen as they fly, Secure the cony haunts, and timid hare, And stag, with branching forehead broad and high. These, fearless of the hunter's dart or snare, Feed at their ease, or ruminating lie; While, swarming in those wilds, from tuft or steep, Dun deer or nimble goat disporting leap.' _Rose's Orlando Furioso_. Spenser's description of the garden of Adonis is too long to give entire, but I shall quote a few stanzas. The old story on which Spenser founds his description is told with many variations of circumstance and meaning; but we need not quit the pages of the Faerie Queene to lose ourselves amidst obscure mythologies. We have too much of these indeed even in Spenser's own version of the fable. THE GARDEN OF ADONIS. Great enimy to it, and all the rest That in the Gardin of Adonis springs, Is wicked Time; who with his scythe addrest Does mow the flowring herbes and goodly things, And all their glory to the ground downe flings, Where they do wither and are fowly mard He flyes about, and with his flaggy wings Beates downe both leaves and buds without regard, Ne ever pitty may relent his malice hard. * * * * * But were it not that Time their troubler is, All that in this delightful gardin growes Should happy bee, and have immortall blis: For here all plenty and all pleasure flowes; And sweete Love gentle fitts emongst them throwes, Without fell rancor or fond gealosy. Franckly each paramour his leman knowes, Each bird his mate; ne any does envy Their goodly meriment and gay felicity. There is continual spring, and harvest there Continuall, both meeting at one tyme: For both the boughes doe laughing blossoms beare. And with fresh colours decke the wanton pryme, And eke attonce the heavy trees they clyme, Which seeme to labour under their fruites lode: The whiles the ioyous birdes make their pastyme Emongst the shady leaves, their sweet abode, And their trew loves without suspition tell abrode. Right in the middest of that Paradise There stood a stately mount, on whose round top A gloomy grove of mirtle trees did rise, Whose shady boughes sharp steele did never lop, Nor wicked beastes their tender buds did crop, But like a girlond compasséd the hight, And from their fruitfull sydes sweet gum did drop, That all the ground, with pretious deaw bedight, Threw forth most dainty odours and most sweet delight. And in the thickest covert of that shade There was a pleasaunt arber, not by art But of the trees owne inclination made, Which knitting their rancke braunches part to part, With wanton yvie-twine entrayld athwart, And eglantine and caprifole emong, Fashioned above within their inmost part, That neither Phoebus beams could through them throng, Nor Aeolus sharp blast could worke them any wrong. And all about grew every sort of flowre, To which sad lovers were transformde of yore, Fresh Hyacinthus, Phoebus paramoure And dearest love; Foolish Narcisse, that likes the watry shore; Sad Amaranthus, made a flowre but late, Sad Amaranthus, in whose purple gore Me seemes I see Amintas wretched fate, To whom sweet poet's verse hath given endlesse date. _Fairie Queene, Book III. Canto VI_. I must here give a few stanzas from Spenser's description of the _Bower of Bliss_ In which whatever in this worldly state Is sweet and pleasing unto living sense, Or that may dayntiest fantasy aggrate Was pouréd forth with pleantiful dispence. The English poet in his Fairie Queene has borrowed a great deal from Tasso and Ariosto, but generally speaking, his borrowings, like those of most true poets, are improvements upon the original. THE BOWER OF BLISS. There the most daintie paradise on ground Itself doth offer to his sober eye, In which all pleasures plenteously abownd, And none does others happinesse envye; The painted flowres; the trees upshooting hye; The dales for shade; the hilles for breathing-space; The trembling groves; the christall running by; And that which all faire workes doth most aggrace, The art, which all that wrought, appearéd in no place. One would have thought, (so cunningly the rude[039] And scornéd partes were mingled with the fine,) That Nature had for wantonesse ensude Art, and that Art at Nature did repine; So striving each th' other to undermine, Each did the others worke more beautify; So diff'ring both in willes agreed in fine; So all agreed, through sweete diversity, This Gardin to adorn with all variety. And in the midst of all a fountaine stood, Of richest substance that on earth might bee, So pure and shiny that the silver flood Through every channel running one might see; Most goodly it with curious ymageree Was over-wrought, and shapes of naked boyes, Of which some seemed with lively iollitee To fly about, playing their wanton toyes, Whylest others did themselves embay in liquid ioyes. * * * * * Eftsoones they heard a most melodious sound, Of all that mote delight a daintie eare, Such as attonce might not on living ground, Save in this paradise, be heard elsewhere: Right hard it was for wight which did it heare, To read what manner musicke that mote bee; For all that pleasing is to living eare Was there consorted in one harmonee; Birdes, voices, instruments, windes, waters all agree: The ioyous birdes, shrouded in chearefull shade, Their notes unto the voice attempred sweet; Th' angelicall soft trembling voyces made To th' instruments divine respondence meet; The silver-sounding instruments did meet With the base murmure of the waters fall; The waters fall with difference discreet, Now soft, now loud, unto the wind did call; The gentle warbling wind low answeréd to all. _The Faerie Queene, Book II. Canto XII._ Every school-boy has heard of the gardens of the Hesperides. The story is told in many different ways. According to some accounts, the Hesperides, the daughters of Hesperus, were appointed to keep charge of the tree of golden apples which Jupiter presented to Juno on their wedding day. A hundred-headed dragon that never slept, (the offspring of Typhon,) couched at the foot of the tree. It was one of the twelve labors of Hercules to obtain possession of some of these apples. He slew the dragon and gathered three golden apples. The gardens, according to some authorities, were situated near Mount Atlas. Shakespeare seems to have taken _Hesperides_ to be the name of the garden instead of that of its fair keepers. Even the learned Milton in his _Paradise Regained_, (Book II) talks of _the ladies of the Hesperides_, and appears to make the word Hesperides synonymous with "Hesperian gardens." Bishop Newton, in a foot-note to the passage in "Paradise Regained," asks, "What are the Hesperides famous for, but the gardens and orchards which _they had_ bearing golden fruit in the western Isles of Africa." Perhaps after all there may be some good authority in favor of extending the names of the nymphs to the garden itself. Malone, while condemning Shakespeare's use of the words as inaccurate, acknowledges that other poets have used it in the same way, and quotes as an instance, the following lines from Robert Greene:-- Shew thee the tree, leaved with refined gold, Whereon the fearful dragon held his seat, That watched _the garden_ called the _Hesperides_. _Robert Greene_. For valour is not love a Hercules, Still climbing trees in the Hesperides? _Love's Labour Lost_. Before thee stands this fair Hesperides, With golden fruit, but dangerous to be touched For death-like dragons here affright thee hard. _Pericles, Prince of Tyre_. Milton, after the fourth line of his Comus, had originally inserted, in his manuscript draft of the poem, the following description of the garden of the Hesperides. THE GARDEN OF THE HESPERIDES Amid the Hesperian gardens, on whose banks Bedewed with nectar and celestial songs Eternal roses grow, and hyacinth, And fruits of golden rind, on whose fair tree The scaly harnessed dragon ever keeps His uninchanted eye, around the verge And sacred limits of this blissful Isle The jealous ocean that old river winds His far extended aims, till with steep fall Half his waste flood the wide Atlantic fills; And half the slow unfathomed Stygian pool But soft, I was not sent to court your wonder With distant worlds and strange removéd climes Yet thence I come and oft from thence behold The smoke and stir of this dim narrow spot Milton subsequently drew his pen through these lines, for what reason is not known. Bishop Newton observes, that this passage, saved from intended destruction, may serve as a specimen of the truth of the observation that Poets lose half the praise they should have got Could it be known what they discreetly blot. _Waller_. As I have quoted in an earlier page some unfavorable allusions to Homer's description of a Grecian garden, it will be but fair to follow up Milton's picture of Paradise, and Tasso's garden of Armida, and Ariosto's Garden of Alcina, and Spenser's Garden of Adonis and his Bower of Bliss, with Homer's description of the Garden of Alcinous. Minerva tells Ulysses that the Royal mansion to which the garden of Alcinous is attached is of such conspicuous grandeur and so generally known, that any child might lead him to it; For Phoeacia's sons Possess not houses equalling in aught The mansion of Alcinous, the king. I shall give Cowper's version, because it may be less familiar to the reader than Pope's, which is in every one's hand. THE GARDEN OF ALCINOUS Without the court, and to the gates adjoined A spacious garden lay, fenced all around, Secure, four acres measuring complete, There grew luxuriant many a lofty tree, Pomgranate, pear, the apple blushing bright, The honeyed fig, and unctuous olive smooth. Those fruits, nor winter's cold nor summer's heat Fear ever, fail not, wither not, but hang Perennial, while unceasing zephyr breathes Gently on all, enlarging these, and those Maturing genial; in an endless course. Pears after pears to full dimensions swell, Figs follow figs, grapes clustering grow again Where clusters grew, and (every apple stripped) The boughs soon tempt the gatherer as before. There too, well rooted, and of fruit profuse, His vineyard grows; part, wide extended, basks In the sun's beams; the arid level glows; In part they gather, and in part they tread The wine-press, while, before the eye, the grapes Here put their blossoms forth, there gather fast Their blackness. On the garden's verge extreme Flowers of all hues[040] smile all the year, arranged With neatest art judicious, and amid The lovely scene two fountains welling forth, One visits, into every part diffused, The garden-ground, the other soft beneath The threshold steals into the palace court Whence every citizen his vase supplies. _Homer's Odyssey, Book VII_. The mode of watering the garden-ground, and the use made of the water by the public-- Whence every citizen his vase supplies-- can hardly fail to remind Indian and Anglo-Indian readers of a Hindu gentleman's garden in Bengal. Pope first published in the _Guardian_ his own version of the account of the garden of Alcinous and subsequently gave it a place in his entire translation of Homer. In introducing the readers of the _Guardian_ to the garden of Alcinous he observes that "the two most celebrated wits of the world have each left us a particular picture of a garden; wherein those great masters, being wholly unconfined and pointing at pleasure, may be thought to have given a full idea of what seemed most excellent in that way. These (one may observe) consist entirely of the useful part of horticulture, fruit trees, herbs, waters, &c. The pieces I am speaking of are Virgil's account of the garden of the old Corycian, and Homer's of that of Alcinous. The first of these is already known to the English reader, by the excellent versions of Mr. Dryden and Mr. Addison." I do not think our present landscape-gardeners, or parterre-gardeners or even our fruit or kitchen-gardeners can be much enchanted with Virgil's ideal of a garden, but here it is, as "done into English," by John Dryden, who describes the Roman Poet as "a profound naturalist," and "_a curious Florist_." THE GARDEN OF THE OLD CORYCIAN. I chanc'd an old Corycian swain to know, Lord of few acres, and those barren too, Unfit for sheep or vines, and more unfit to sow: Yet, lab'ring well his little spot of ground, Some scatt'ring pot-herbs here and there he found, Which, cultivated with his daily care And bruis'd with vervain, were his frugal fare. With wholesome poppy-flow'rs, to mend his homely board: For, late returning home, he supp'd at ease, And wisely deem'd the wealth of monarchs less: The little of his own, because his own, did please. To quit his care, he gather'd, first of all, In spring the roses, apples in the fall: And, when cold winter split the rocks in twain, And ice the running rivers did restrain, He stripp'd the bear's foot of its leafy growth, And, calling western winds, accus'd the spring of sloth He therefore first among the swains was found To reap the product of his labour'd ground, And squeeze the combs with golden liquor crown'd His limes were first in flow'rs, his lofty pines, With friendly shade, secur'd his tender vines. For ev'ry bloom his trees in spring afford, An autumn apple was by tale restor'd He knew to rank his elms in even rows, For fruit the grafted pear tree to dispose, And tame to plums the sourness of the sloes With spreading planes he made a cool retreat, To shade good fellows from the summer's heat _Virgil's Georgics, Book IV_. An excellent Scottish poet--Allan Ramsay--a true and unaffected describer of rural life and scenery--seems to have had as great a dislike to topiary gardens, and quite as earnest a love of nature, as any of the best Italian poets. The author of the "Gentle Shepherd" tells us in the following lines what sort of garden most pleased his fancy. ALLAN RAMSAY'S GARDEN. I love the garden wild and wide, Where oaks have plum-trees by their side, Where woodbines and the twisting vine Clip round the pear tree and the pine Where mixed jonquils and gowans grow And roses midst rank clover grow Upon a bank of a clear strand, In wrimplings made by Nature's hand Though docks and brambles here and there May sometimes cheat the gardener's care, _Yet this to me is Paradise_, _Compared with prim cut plots and nice_, _Where Nature has to Act resigned,_ _Till all looks mean, stiff and confined_. I cannot say that I should wish to see forest trees and docks and brambles in garden borders. Honest Allan here runs a little into the extreme, as men are apt enough to do, when they try to get as far as possible from the side advocated by an opposite party. I shall now exhibit two paintings of bowers. I begin with one from Spenser. A BOWER And over him Art stryving to compayre With Nature did an arber greene dispied[041] Framéd of wanton yvie, flouring, fayre, Through which the fragrant eglantine did spred His prickling armes, entrayld with roses red, Which daintie odours round about them threw And all within with flowers was garnishéd That, when myld Zephyrus emongst them blew, Did breathe out bounteous smels, and painted colors shew And fast beside these trickled softly downe A gentle streame, whose murmuring wave did play Emongst the pumy stones, and made a sowne, To lull him soft asleepe that by it lay The wearie traveiler wandring that way, Therein did often quench his thirsty head And then by it his wearie limbes display, (Whiles creeping slomber made him to forget His former payne,) and wypt away his toilsom sweat. And on the other syde a pleasaunt grove Was shott up high, full of the stately tree That dedicated is t'Olympick Iove, And to his son Alcides,[042] whenas hee In Nemus gaynéd goodly victoree Theirin the merry birds of every sorte Chaunted alowd their cheerful harmonee, And made emongst themselves a sweete consórt That quickned the dull spright with musicall comfórt. _Fairie Queene, Book 2 Cant. 5 Stanzas 29, 30 and 31._ Here is a sweet picture of a "shady lodge" from the hand of Milton. EVE'S NUPTIAL BOWER. Thus talking, hand in hand alone they pass'd On to their blissful bower. It was a place Chosen by the sov'reign Planter, when he framed All things to man's delightful use, the roof Of thickest covert was inwoven shade, Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew Of firm and fragrant leaf, on either side Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub, Fenced up the verdant wall, each beauteous flower Iris all hues, roses, and jessamine, Rear'd high their flourish'd heads between, and wrought Mosaic, under foot the violet, Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay Broider'd the ground, more colour'd than with stone Of costliest emblem other creature here, Beast, bird, insect, or worm, durst enter none, Such was their awe of man. In shadier bower More sacred and sequester'd, though but feign'd, Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor nymph Nor Faunus haunted. Here, in close recess, With flowers, garlands, and sweet smelling herbs, Espoused Eve deck'd first her nuptial bed, And heavenly quires the hymenean sung I have already quoted from Leigh Hunt's "Stories from the Italian poets" an amusing anecdote illustrative of Ariosto's ignorance of botany. But even in these days when all sorts of sciences are forced upon all sorts of students, we often meet with persons of considerable sagacity and much information of a different kind who are marvellously ignorant of the vegetable world. In the just published Memoirs of the late James Montgomery, of Sheffield, it is recorded that the poet and his brother Robert, a tradesman at Woolwich, (not Robert Montgomery, the author of 'Satan,' &c.) were one day walking together, when the trader seeing a field of flax in full flower, asked the poet what sort of corn it was. "Such corn as your shirt is made of," was the reply. "But Robert," observes a writer in the _Athenaeum_, "need not be ashamed of his simplicity. Rousseau, naturalist as he was, could hardly tell one berry from another, and three of our greatest wits disputing in the field whether the crop growing there was rye, barley, or oats, were set right by a clown, who truly pronounced it wheat." Men of genius who have concentrated all their powers on some one favorite profession or pursuit are often thus triumphed over by the vulgar, whose eyes are more observant of the familiar objects and details of daily life and of the scenes around them. Wordsworth and Coleridge, on one occasion, after a long drive, and in the absence of a groom, endeavored to relieve the tired horse of its harness. After torturing the poor animal's neck and endangering its eyes by their clumsy and vain attempts to slip off the collar, they at last gave up the matter in despair. They felt convinced that the horse's head must have swollen since the collar was put on. At last a servant-girl beheld their perplexity. "La, masters," she exclaimed, "you dont set about it the right way." She then seized hold of the collar, turned it broad end up, and slipped it off in a second. The mystery that had puzzled two of the finest intellects of their time was a very simple matter indeed to a country wench who had perhaps never heard that England possessed a Shakespeare. James Montgomery was a great lover of flowers, and few of our English poets have written about the family of Flora, the sweet wife of Zephyr, in a more genial spirit. He used to regret that the old Floral games and processions on May-day and other holidays had gone out of fashion. Southey tells us that in George the First's reign a grand Florist's Feast was held at Bethnall Green, and that a carnation named after his Majesty was _King of the Year_. The Stewards were dressed with laurel leaves and flowers. They carried gilded staves. Ninety cultivators followed in procession to the sound of music, each bearing his own flowers before him. All elegant customs of this nature have fallen into desuetude in England, though many of them are still kept up in other parts of Europe. Chaucer who dearly loved all images associated with the open air and the dewy fields and bright mornings and radiant flowers makes the gentle Emily, That fairer was to seene Than is the lily upon his stalkie greene, rise early and do honor to the birth of May-day. All things now seem to breathe of hope and joy. Though long hath been The trance of Nature on the naked bier Where ruthless Winter mocked her slumbers drear And rent with icy hand her robes of green, That trance is brightly broken! Glossy trees, Resplendent meads and variegated flowers Flash in the sun and flutter in the breeze And now with dreaming eye the poet sees Fair shapes of pleasure haunt romantic bowers, And laughing streamlets chase the flying hours. D.L.R. The great describer of our Lost Paradise did not disdain to sing a SONG ON MAY-MORNING. Now the bright Morning star, Day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose Hail bounteous-May, that dost inspire Mirth and youth and warm desire; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale do boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee and wish thee long. Nor did the Poet of the World, William Shakespeare, hesitate to Do observance to a morn of May. He makes one of his characters (in _King Henry VIII_.) complain that it is as impossible to keep certain persons quiet on an ordinary day, as it is to make them sleep on May-day--once the time of universal merriment-- when every one was wont "_to put himself into triumph_." 'Tis as much impossible, Unless we sweep 'em from the doors with cannons To scatter 'em, _as 'tis to make 'em sleep On May-day Morning_. Spenser duly celebrates, in his "Shepheard's Calender," Thilke mery moneth of May When love-lads masken in fresh aray, when "all is yclad with pleasaunce, the ground with grasse, the woods with greene leaves, and the bushes with bloosming buds." Sicker[043] this morowe, no longer agoe, I saw a shole of shepeardes outgoe With singing and shouting and iolly chere: Before them yode[044] a lustre tabrere,[045] That to the many a hornepype playd Whereto they dauncen eche one with his mayd. To see those folks make such iovysaunce, Made my heart after the pype to daunce. Tho[046] to the greene wood they speeden hem all To fetchen home May with their musicall; And home they bringen in a royall throne Crowned as king; and his queene attone[047] Was LADY FLORA. _Spenser_. This is the season when the birds seem almost intoxicated with delight at the departure of the dismal and cold and cloudy days of winter and the return of the warm sun. The music of these little May musicians seems as fresh as the fragrance of the flowers. The Skylark is the prince of British Singing-birds--the leader of their cheerful band. LINES TO A SKYLARK. Wanderer through the wilds of air! Freely as an angel fair Thou dost leave the solid earth, Man is bound to from his birth Scarce a cubit from the grass Springs the foot of lightest lass-- _Thou_ upon a cloud can'st leap, And o'er broadest rivers sweep, Climb up heaven's steepest height, Fluttering, twinkling, in the light, Soaring, singing, till, sweet bird, Thou art neither seen nor heard, Lost in azure fields afar Like a distance hidden star, That alone for angels bright Breathes its music, sheds its light Warbler of the morning's mirth! When the gray mists rise from earth, And the round dews on each spray Glitter in the golden ray, And thy wild notes, sweet though high, Fill the wide cerulean, sky, Is there human heart or brain Can resist thy merry strain? But not always soaring high, Making man up turn his eye Just to learn what shape of love, Raineth music from above,-- All the sunny cloudlets fair Floating on the azure air, All the glories of the sky Thou leavest unreluctantly, Silently with happy breast To drop into thy lowly nest. Though the frame of man must be Bound to earth, the soul is free, But that freedom oft doth bring Discontent and sorrowing. Oh! that from each waking vision, Gorgeous vista, gleam Elysian, From ambition's dizzy height, And from hope's illusive light, Man, like thee, glad lark, could brook Upon a low green spot to look, And with home affections blest Sink into as calm a nest! D.L.R. I brought from England to India two English skylarks. I thought they would help to remind me of English meadows and keep alive many agreeable home-associations. In crossing the desert they were carefully lashed on the top of one of the vans, and in spite of the dreadful jolting and the heat of the sun they sang the whole way until night-fall. It was pleasant to hear English larks from rich clover fields singing so joyously in the sandy waste. In crossing some fields between Cairo and the Pyramids I was surprized and delighted with the songs of Egyptian skylarks. Their notes were much the same as those of the English lark. The lark of Bengal is about the size of a sparrow and has a poor weak note. At this moment a lark from Caubul (larger than an English lark) is doing his best to cheer me with his music. This noble bird, though so far from his native fields, and shut up in his narrow prison, pours forth his rapturous melody in an almost unbroken stream from dawn to sunset. He allows no change of season to abate his minstrelsy, to any observable degree, and seems equally happy and musical all the year round. I have had him nearly two years, and though of course he must moult his feathers yearly, I have not observed the change of plumage, nor have I noticed that he has sung less at one period of the year than another. One of my two English larks was stolen the very day I landed in India, and the other soon died. The loss of an English lark is not to be replaced in Calcutta, though almost every week, canaries, linnets, gold-finches and bull-finches are sold at public auctions here. But I must return to my main subject.--The ancients used to keep the great Feast of the goddess Flora on the 28th of April. It lasted till the 3rd of May. The Floral Games of antiquity were unhappily debased by indecent exhibitions; but they were not entirely devoid of better characteristics.[048] Ovid describing the goddess Flora says that "while she was speaking she breathed forth vernal roses from her mouth." The same poet has represented her in her garden with the Florae gathering flowers and the Graces making garlands of them. The British borrowed the idea of this festival from the Romans. Some of our Kings and Queens used '_to go a Maying_,' and to have feasts of wine and venison in the open meadows or under the good green-wood. Prior says: Let one great day To celebrate sports and floral play Be set aside. But few people, in England, in these times, distinguish May-day from the initial day of any other month of the twelve. I am old enough to remember _Jack-in-the-Green_. Nor have I forgotten the cheerful clatter--the brush-and-shovel music--of our little British negroes--"innocent blacknesses," as Lamb calls them--the chimney-sweepers,--a class now almost _swept away_ themselves by _machinery_. One May-morning in the streets of London these tinsel-decorated merry-makers with their sooty cheeks and black lips lined with red, and staring eyes whose white seemed whiter still by contrast with the darkness of their cases, and their ivory teeth kept sound and brilliant with the professional powder, besieged George Selwyn and his arm-in-arm companion, Lord Pembroke, for May-day boxes. Selwyn making them a low bow, said, very solemnly "I have often heard of _the sovereignty of the people_, and I suppose you are some of the young princes in court mourning." My Native readers in Bengal can form no conception of the delight with which the British people at home still hail the spring of the year, or the deep interest which they take in all "the Seasons and their change"; though they have dropped some of the oldest and most romantic of the ceremonies once connected with them. If there were an annual fall of the leaf in the groves of India, instead of an eternal summer, the natives would discover how much the charms of the vegetable world are enhanced by these vicissitudes, and how even winter itself can be made delightful. My brother exiles will remember as long as life is in them, how exquisite, in dear old England, is the enjoyment of a brisk morning walk in the clear frosty air, and how cheering and cosy is the social evening fire! Though a cold day in Calcutta is not exactly like a cold day in London, it sometimes revives the remembrance of it. An Indian winter, if winter it may be called, is indeed far less agreeable than a winter in England, but it is not wholly without its pleasures. It is, at all events, a grateful change--a welcome relief and refreshment after a sultry summer or a _muggy_ rainy season. An Englishman, however, must always prefer the keener but more wholesome frigidity of his own clime. There, the external gloom and bleakness of a severe winter day enhance our in-door comforts, and we do not miss sunny skies when greeted with sunny looks. If we then see no blooming flowers, we see blooming faces. But as we have few domestic enjoyments in this country--no social snugness,--no sweet seclusion--and as our houses are as open as bird-cages,--and as we almost live in public and in the open air--we have little comfort when compelled, with an enfeebled frame and a morbidly sensitive cuticle, to remain at home on what an Anglo-Indian Invalid calls a cold day, with an easterly wind whistling through every room.[049] In our dear native country each season has its peculiar moral or physical attractions. It is not easy to say which is the most agreeable--its summer or its winter. Perhaps I must decide in favor of the first. The memory of many a smiling summer day still flashes upon my soul. If the whole of human life were like a fine English day in June, we should cease to wish for "another and a better world." It is often from dawn to sunset one revel of delight. How pleasantly, from the first break of day, have I lain wide awake and traced the approach of the breakfast hour by the increasing notes of birds and the advancing sun-light on my curtains! A summer feeling, at such a time, would make my heart dance within me, as I thought of the long, cheerful day to be enjoyed, and planned some rural walk, or rustic entertainment. The ills that flesh is heir to, if they occurred for a moment, appeared like idle visions. They were inconceivable as real things. As I heard the lark singing in "a glorious privacy of light," and saw the boughs of the green and gold laburnum waving at my window, and had my fancy filled with images of natural beauty, I felt a glow of fresh life in my veins, and my soul was inebriated with joy. It is difficult, amidst such exhilarating influences, to entertain those melancholy ideas which sometimes crowd upon, us, and appear so natural, at a less happy hour. Even actual misfortune comes in a questionable shape, when our physical constitution is in perfect health, and the flowers are in full bloom, and the skies are blue, and the streams are glittering in the sun. So powerfully does the light of external nature sometimes act upon the moral system, that a sweet sensation steals gradually over the heart, even when we think we have reason to be sorrowful, and while we almost accuse ourselves of a want of feeling. The fretful hypochondriac would do well to bear this fact in mind, and not take it for granted that all are cold and selfish who fail to sympathize with his fantastic cares. He should remember that men are sometimes so buoyed up by the sense of corporeal power, and a communion with nature in her cheerful moods, that things connected with their own personal interests, and which at other times might irritate and wound their feelings, pass by them like the idle wind which they regard not. He himself must have had his intervals of comparative happiness, in which the causes of his present grief would have appeared trivial and absurd. He should not, then, expect persons whose blood is warm in their veins, and whose eyes are open to the blessed sun in heaven, to think more of the apparent causes of his sorrow than he would himself, were his mind and body in a healthful state. With what a light heart and eager appetite did I enter the little breakfast parlour of which the glass-doors opened upon a bright green lawn, variegated with small beds of flowers! The table was spread with dewy and delicious fruits from our own garden, and gathered by fair and friendly hands. Beautiful and luscious as were these garden dainties, they were of small account in comparison with the fresh cheeks and cherry lips that so frankly accepted the wonted early greeting. Alas! how that circle of early friends is now divided, and what a change has since come over the spirit of our dreams! Yet still I cherish boyish feelings, and the past is sometimes present. As I give an imaginary kiss to an "old familiar face," and catch myself almost unconsciously, yet literally, returning imaginary smiles, my heart is as fresh and fervid as of yore. A lapse of fifteen years, and a distance of fifteen thousand miles, and the glare of a tropical sky and the presence of foreign faces, need not make an Indian Exile quite forgetful of home-delights. Parted friends may still share the light of love as severed clouds are equally kindled by the same sun. No number of miles or days can change or separate faithful spirits or annihilate early associations. That strange magician, Fancy, who supplies so many corporeal deficiencies and overcomes so many physical obstructions, and mocks at space and time, enables us to pass in the twinkling of an eye over the dreary waste of waters that separates the exile from the scenes and companions of his youth. He treads again his native shore. He sits by the hospitable hearth and listens to the ringing laugh of children. He exchanges cordial greetings with the "old familiar faces." There is a resurrection of the dead, and a return of vanished years. He abandons himself to the sweet illusion, and again Lives over each scene, and is what he beholds. I must not be too egotistically garrulous in print, or I would now attempt to describe the various ways in which I have spent a summer's day in England. I would dilate upon my noon-day loiterings amidst wild ruins, and thick forests, and on the shaded banks of rivers--the pic-nic parties--the gipsy prophecies--the twilight homeward walk--the social tea-drinking, and, the last scene of all, the "rosy dreams and slumbers light," induced by wholesome exercise and placid thoughts.[050] But perhaps these few simple allusions are sufficient to awaken a train of kindred associations in the reader's mind, and he will thank me for those words and images that are like the keys of memory, and "open all her cells with easy force." If a summer's day be thus rife with pleasure, scarcely less so is a day in winter, though with some little drawbacks, that give, by contrast, a zest to its enjoyments. It is difficult to leave the warm morning bed and brave the external air. The fireless grate and frosted windows may well make the stoutest shudder. But when we have once screwed our courage to the sticking place, and with a single jerk of the clothes, and a brisk jump from the bed, have commenced the operations of the toilet, the battle is nearly over. The teeth chatter for a while, and the limbs shiver, and we do not feel particularly comfortable while breaking the ice in our jugs, and performing our cold ablutions amidst the sharp, glass-like fragments, and wiping our faces with a frozen towel. But these petty evils are quickly vanquished, and as we rush out of the house, and tread briskly and firmly on the hard ringing earth, and breathe our visible breath in the clear air, our strength and self-importance miraculously increase, and the whole frame begins to glow. The warmth and vigour thus acquired are inexpressibly delightful. As we re-enter the house, we are proud of our intrepidity and vigour, and pity the effeminacy of our less enterprising friends, who, though huddled together round the fire, like flies upon a sunny wall, still complain of cold, and instead of the bloom of health and animation, exhibit pale and pinched and discolored features, and hands cold, rigid, and of a deadly hue. Those who rise with spirit on a winter morning, and stir and thrill themselves with early exercise, are indifferent to the cold for the rest of the day, and feel a confidence in their corporeal energies, and a lightness of heart that are experienced at no other season. But even the timid and luxurious are not without their pleasures. As the shades of evening draw in, the parlour twilight--the closed curtains--and the cheerful fire--make home a little paradise to all. Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cups That cheer but not inebriate wait on each, So let us welcome peaceful evening in _Cowper_. The warm and cold seasons of India have no charms like those of England, but yet people who are guiltless of what Milton so finely calls "a sullenness against nature," and who are willing, in a spirit of true philosophy and piety, to extract good from every thing, may save themselves from wretchedness even in this land of exile. While I am writing this paragraph, a bird in my room, (not the Caubul songster that I have already alluded to, but a fine little English linnet,) who is as much a foreigner here as I am, is pouring out his soul in a flood of song. His notes ring with joy. He pines not for his native meadows--he cares not for his wiry bars--he envies not the little denizens of air that sometimes flutter past my window, nor imagines, for a moment, that they come to mock him with their freedom. He is contented with his present enjoyments, because they are utterly undisturbed by idle comparisons with those experienced in the past or anticipated in the future. He has no thankless repinings and no vain desires. Is intellect or reason then so fatal, though sublime a gift that we cannot possess it without the poisonous alloy of care? Must grief and ingratitude inevitably find entrance into the heart, in proportion to the loftiness and number of our mental endowments? Are we to seek for happiness in ignorance? To these questions the reply is obvious. Every good quality may be abused, and the greatest, most; and he who perversely employs his powers of thought and imagination to a wrong purpose deserves the misery that he gains. Were we honestly to deduct from the ills of life all those of our own creation, how trifling, in the majority of cases, the amount that would remain! We seem to invite and encourage sorrow, while happiness is, as it were, forced upon us against our will. It is wonderful how some men pertinaciously cling to care, and argue themselves into a dissatisfaction with their lot. Thus it is really a matter of little moment whether fortune smile or frown, for it is in vain to look for superior felicity amongst those who have more "appliances and means to boot," than their fellow-men. Wealth, rank, and reputation, do not secure their possessors from the misery of discontent. As happiness then depends upon the right direction and employment of our faculties, and not on worldly goods or mere localities, our countrymen might be cheerful enough, even in this foreign land, if they would only accustom themselves to a proper train of thinking, and be ready on every occasion to look on the brighter side of all things.[051] In reverting to home-scenes we should regard them for their intrinsic charms, and not turn them into a source of disquiet by mournfully comparing them with those around us. India, let Englishmen murmur as they will, has some attractions, enjoyments and advantages. No Englishman is here in danger of dying of starvation as some of our poets have done in the inhospitable streets of London. The comparatively princely and generous style in which we live in this country, the frank and familiar tone of our little society, and the general mildness of the climate, (excepting a few months of a too sultry summer) can hardly be denied by the most determined malcontent. The weather is indeed too often a great deal warmer than we like it; but if "the excessive heat" did not form a convenient subject for complaint and conversation, it is perhaps doubtful if it would so often be thought of or alluded to. But admit the objection. What climate is without its peculiar evils? In the cold season a walk in India either in the morning or the evening is often extremely pleasant in pleasant company, and I am glad to see many sensible people paying the climate the compliment of treating it like that of England. It is now fashionable to use our limbs in the ordinary way, and the "Garden of Eden"[052] has become a favorite promenade, particularly on the evenings when a band from the Fort fills the air with a cheerful harmony and throws a fresher life upon the scene. It is not to be denied that besides the mere exercise, pedestrians at home have great advantages over those who are too indolent or aristocratic to leave their equipages, because they can cut across green and quiet fields, enter rural by-ways, and enjoy a thousand little patches of lovely scenery that are secrets to the high-road traveller. But still the Calcutta pedestrian has also his gratifications. He can enjoy no exclusive prospects, but he beholds upon an Indian river a forest of British masts--the noble shipping of the Queen of the Sea--and has a fine panoramic view of this City of Palaces erected by his countrymen on a foreign shore;--and if he is fond of children, he must be delighted with the numberless pretty and happy little faces--the fair forms of Saxon men and women in miniature--that crowd about him on the green sward;--he must be charmed with their innocent prattle, their quick and graceful movements, and their winning ways, that awaken a tone of tender sentiment in his heart, and rekindle many sweet associations. SONNETS, WRITTEN IN EXILE. I. Man's heart may change, but Nature's glory never;-- And while the soul's internal cell is bright, The cloudless eye lets in the bloom and light Of earth and heaven to charm and cheer us ever. Though youth hath vanished, like a winding river Lost in the shadowy woods; and the dear sight Of native hill and nest-like cottage white, 'Mid breeze-stirred boughs whose crisp leaves gleam and quiver, And murmur sea-like sounds, perchance no more My homeward step shall hasten cheerily; Yet still I feel as I have felt of yore, And love this radiant world. Yon clear blue sky-- These gorgeous groves--this flower-enamelled floor-- Have deep enchantments for my heart and eye. II. Man's heart may change, but Nature's glory never, Though to the sullen gaze of grief the sight Of sun illumined skies may _seem_ less bright, Or gathering clouds less grand, yet she, as ever, Is lovely or majestic. Though fate sever The long linked bands of love, and all delight Be lost, as in a sudden starless night, The radiance may return, if He, the giver Of peace on earth, vouchsafe the storm to still This breast once shaken with the strife of care Is touched with silent joy. The cot--the hill, Beyond the broad blue wave--and faces fair, Are pictured in my dreams, yet scenes that fill My waking eye can save me from despair. III. Man's heart may change, but Nature's glory never,-- Strange features throng around me, and the shore Is not my own dear land. Yet why deplore This change of doom? All mortal ties must sever. The pang is past,--and now with blest endeavour I check the ready tear, the rising sigh The common earth is here--the common sky-- The common FATHER. And how high soever O'er other tribes proud England's hosts may seem, God's children, fair or sable, equal find A FATHER'S love. Then learn, O man, to deem All difference idle save of heart or mind Thy duty, love--each cause of strife, a dream-- Thy home, the world--thy family, mankind. D.L.R. For the sake of my home readers I must now say a word or two on the effect produced upon the mind of a stranger on his approach to Calcutta from the Sandheads. As we run up the Bay of Bengal and approach the dangerous Sandheads, the beautiful deep blue of the ocean suddenly disappears. It turns into a pale green. The sea, even in calm weather, rolls over soundings in long swells. The hue of the water is varied by different depths, and in passing over the edge of soundings, it is curious to observe how distinctly the form of the sands may be traced by the different shades of green in the water above and beyond them. In the lower part of the bay, the crisp foam of the dark sea at night is instinct with phosphoric lustre. The ship seems to make her way through galaxies of little ocean stars. We lose sight of this poetical phenomenon as we approach the mouth of the Hooghly. But the passengers, towards the termination of their voyage, become less observant of the changeful aspect of the sea. Though amused occasionally by flights of sea-gulls, immense shoals of porpoises, apparently tumbling or rolling head over tail against the wind, and the small sprat-like fishes that sometimes play and glitter on the surface, the stranger grows impatient to catch a glimpse of an Indian jungle; and even the swampy tiger-haunted Saugor Island is greeted with that degree of interest which novelty usually inspires. At first the land is but little above the level of the water. It rises gradually as we pass up further from the sea. As we come still nearer to Calcutta, the soil on shore seems to improve in richness and the trees to increase in size. The little clusters of nest-like villages snugly sheltered in foliage--the groups of dark figures in white garments--the cattle wandering over the open plain--the emerald-colored fields of rice--the rich groves of mangoe trees--the vast and magnificent banyans, with straight roots dropping from their highest branches, (hundreds of these branch-dropped roots being fixed into the earth and forming "a pillared shade"),--the tall, slim palms of different characters and with crowns of different forms, feathery or fan-like,--the many-stemmed and long, sharp-leaved bamboos, whose thin pliant branches swing gracefully under the weight of the lightest bird,--the beautifully rounded and bright green peepuls, with their burnished leaves glittering in the sunshine, and trembling at the zephyr's softest touch with a pleasant rustling sound, suggestive of images of coolness and repose,--form a striking and singularly interesting scene (or rather succession of scenes) after the monotony of a long voyage during which nothing has been visible but sea and sky. But it is not until he arrives at a bend of the river called _Garden Reach_, where the City of Palaces first opens on the view, that the stranger has a full sense of the value of our possessions in the East. The princely mansions on our right;--(residences of English gentry), with their rich gardens and smooth slopes verdant to the water's edge,--the large and rich Botanic Garden and the Gothic edifice of Bishop's College on our left--and in front, as we advance a little further, the countless masts of vessels of all sizes and characters, and from almost every clime,--Fort William, with its grassy ramparts and white barracks,--the Government House, a magnificent edifice in spite of many imperfections,--the substantial looking Town Hall--the Supreme Court House--the broad and ever verdant plain (or _madaun_) in front--and the noble lines of buildings along the Esplanade and Chowringhee Road,--the new Cathedral almost at the extremity of the plain, and half-hidden amidst the trees,--the suburban groves and buildings of Kidderpore beyond, their outlines softened by the haze of distance, like scenes contemplated through colored glass--the high-sterned budgerows and small trim bauleahs along the edge of the river,--the neatly-painted palanquins and other vehicles of all sorts and sizes,--the variously-hued and variously-clad people of all conditions; the fair European, the black and nearly naked Cooly, the clean-robed and lighter-skinned native Baboo, the Oriental nobleman with his jewelled turban and kincob vest, and costly necklace and twisted cummerbund, on a horse fantastically caparisoned, and followed in barbaric state by a train of attendants with long, golden-handled punkahs, peacock feather chowries, and golden chattahs and silver sticks,--present altogether a scene that is calculated to at once delight and bewilder the traveller, to whom all the strange objects before him have something of the enchantment and confusion of an Arabian Night's dream. When he recovers from his surprise, the first emotion in the breast of an Englishman is a feeling of national pride. He exults in the recognition of so many glorious indications of the power of a small and remote nation that has founded a splendid empire in so strange and vast a land. When the first impression begins to fade, and he takes a closer view of the great metropolis of India--and observes what miserable straw huts are intermingled with magnificent palaces--how much Oriental filth and squalor and idleness and superstition and poverty and ignorance are associated with savage splendour, and are brought into immediate and most incongruous contact with Saxon energy and enterprize and taste and skill and love of order, and the amazing intelligence of the West in this nineteenth century--and when familiarity breeds something like contempt for many things that originally excited a vague and pleasing wonder--the English traveller in the East is apt to dwell too exclusively on the worst side of the picture, and to become insensible to the real interest, and blind to the actual beauty of much of the scene around him. Extravagant astonishment and admiration, under the influence of novelty, a strong re-action, and a subsequent feeling of unreasonable disappointment, seem, in some degree, natural to all men; but in no other part of the world, and under no other circumstances, is this peculiarity of our condition more conspicuously displayed than in the case of Englishmen in India. John Bull, who is always a grumbler even on his own shores, is sure to become a still more inveterate grumbler in other countries, and perhaps the climate of Bengal, producing lassitude and low spirits, and a yearning for their native land, of which they are so justly proud, contribute to make our countrymen in the East even more than usually unsusceptible of pleasurable emotions until at last they turn away in positive disgust from the scenes and objects which remind them that they are in a state of exile. "There is nothing," says Hamlet, "either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." At every change of the mind's colored optics the scene before it changes also. I have sometimes contemplated the vast metropolis of England--or rather _of the world_--multitudinous and mighty LONDON--with the pride and hope and exultation, not of a patriot only, but of a cosmopolite--a man. Its grand national structures that seem built for eternity--its noble institutions, charitable, and learned, and scientific, and artistical--the genius and science and bravery and moral excellence within its countless walls--have overwhelmed me with a sense of its glory and majesty and power. But in a less admiring mood, I have quite reversed the picture. Perhaps the following sonnet may seem to indicate that the writer while composing it, must have worn his colored spectacles. LONDON, IN THE MORNING. The morning wakes, and through the misty air In sickly radiance struggles--like the dream Of sorrow-shrouded hope. O'er Thames' dull stream, Whose sluggish waves a wealthy burden bear From every port and clime, the pallid glare Of early sun-light spreads. The long streets seem Unpeopled still, but soon each path shall teem With hurried feet, and visages of care. And eager throngs shall meet where dusky marts Resound like ocean-caverns, with the din Of toil and strife and agony and sin. Trade's busy Babel! Ah! how many hearts By lust of gold to thy dim temples brought In happier hours have scorned the prize they sought? D.L.R. I now give a pair of sonnets upon the City of Palaces as viewed through somewhat clearer glasses. VIEW OF CALCUTTA. Here Passion's restless eye and spirit rude May greet no kindred images of power To fear or wonder ministrant. No tower, Time-struck and tenantless, here seems to brood, In the dread majesty of solitude, O'er human pride departed--no rocks lower O'er ravenous billows--no vast hollow wood Rings with the lion's thunder--no dark bower The crouching tiger haunts--no gloomy cave Glitters with savage eyes! But all the scene Is calm and cheerful. At the mild command Of Britain's sons, the skilful and the brave, Fair palace-structures decorate the land, And proud ships float on Hooghly's breast serene! D.L.R. SONNET, ON RETURNING TO CALCUTTA AFTER A VOYAGE TO THE STRAITS OF MALACCA. Umbrageous woods, green dells, and mountains high, And bright cascades, and wide cerulean seas, Slumbering, or snow-wreathed by the freshening breeze, And isles like motionless clouds upon the sky In silent summer noons, late charmed mine eye, Until my soul was stirred like wind-touched trees, And passionate love and speechless ecstasies Up-raised the thoughts in spiritual depths that lie. Fair scenes, ye haunt me still! Yet I behold This sultry city on the level shore Not all unmoved; for here our fathers bold Won proud historic names in days of yore, And here are generous hearts that ne'er grow cold, And many a friendly hand and open door. D.L.R. There are several extremely elegant customs connected with some of the Indian Festivals, at which flowers are used in great profusion. The surface of the "sacred river" is often thickly strewn with them. In Mrs. Carshore's pleasing volume of _Songs of the East_[053] there is a long poem (too long to quote entire) in which the _Beara Festival_ is described. I must give the introductory passage. "THE BEARA FESTIVAL. "Upon the Ganges' overflowing banks, Where palm trees lined the shore in graceful ranks, I stood one night amidst a merry throng Of British youths and maidens, to behold A witching Indian scene of light and song, Crowds of veiled native loveliness untold, Each streaming path poured duskily along. The air was filled with the sweet breath of flowers, And music that awoke the silent hours, It was the BEARA FESTIVAL and feast When proud and lowly, loftiest and least, Matron and Moslem maiden pay their vows, With impetratory and votive gift, And to the Moslem Jonas bent their brows. _Each brought her floating lamp of flowers_, and swift A thousand lights along the current drift, Till the vast bosom of the swollen stream, Glittering and gliding onward like a dream, Seems a wide mirror of the starry sphere Or more as if the stars had dropt from air, And in an earthly heaven were shining here, And far above were, but reflected there Still group on group, advancing to the brink, As group on group retired link by link; For one pale lamp that floated out of view Five brighter ones they quickly placed anew; At length the slackening multitudes grew less, And the lamps floated scattered and apart. As stars grow few when morning's footsteps press When a slight girl, shy as the timid halt, Not far from where we stood, her offering brought. Singing a low sweet strain, with lips untaught. Her song proclaimed, that 'twas not many hours Since she had left her childhood's innocent home; And now with Beara lamp, and wreathed flowers, To propitiate heaven, for wedded bliss had come" To these lines Mrs. Carshore (who has been in this country, I believe, from her birth, and who ought to know something of Indian customs) appends the following notes. "_It was the Beara festival_." Much has been said about the Beara or floating lamp, but I have never yet seen a correct description. Moore mentions that Lalla Rookh saw a solitary Hindoo girl bring her lamp to the river. D.L.R. says the same, whereas the Beara festival is a Moslem feast that takes place once a year in the monsoons, when thousands of females offer their vows to the patron of rivers. "_Moslem Jonas_" Khauj Khoddir is the Jonas of the Mussulman; he, like the prophet of Nineveh, was for three days inside a fish, and for that reason is called the patron of rivers." I suppose Mrs. Carshore alludes, in the first of these notes, to the following passage in the prose part of Lalla Rookh:-- "As they passed along a sequestered river after sunset, they saw a young Hindoo girl upon the bank whose employment seemed to them so strange that they stopped their palanquins to observe her. She had lighted a small lamp, filled with oil of cocoa, and placing it in an earthern dish, adorned with a wreath of flowers, had committed it with a trembling hand to the stream: and was now anxiously watching its progress down the current, heedless of the gay cavalcade which had drawn up beside her. Lalla Rookh was all curiosity;--when one of her attendants, who had lived upon the banks of the Ganges, (where this ceremony is so frequent that often, in the dusk of evening, the river is seen glittering all over with lights, like the Oton-Jala or Sea of Stars,) informed the Princess that it was the usual way, in which the friends of those who had gone on dangerous voyages offered up vows for their safe return. If the lamp sunk immediately, the omen was disastrous; but if it went shining down the stream, and continued to burn till entirely out of sight, the return of the beloved object was considered as certain. Lalla Rookh, as they moved on, more than once looked back, to observe how the young Hindoo's lamp proceeded: and while she saw with pleasure that it was unextinguished, she could not help fearing that all the hopes of this life were no better than that feeble light upon the river." Moore prepared himself for the writing of Lalla Rookh by "long and laborious reading." He himself narrates that Sir James Mackintosh was asked by Colonel Wilks, the Historian of British India, whether it was true that the poet had never been in the East. Sir James replied, "_Never_." "Well, that shows me," said Colonel Wilks, "that reading over D'Herbelot is as good as riding on the back of a camel." Sir John Malcolm, Sir William Ouseley and other high authorities have testified to the accuracy of Moore's descriptions of Eastern scenes and customs. The following lines were composed on the banks of the Hooghly at Cossipore, (many long years ago) just after beholding the river one evening almost covered with floating lamps.[054] A HINDU FESTIVAL. Seated on a bank of green, Gazing on an Indian scene, I have dreams the mind to cheer, And a feast for eye and ear. At my feet a river flows, And its broad face richly glows With the glory of the sun, Whose proud race is nearly run Ne'er before did sea or stream Kindle thus beneath his beam, Ne'er did miser's eye behold Such a glittering mass of gold 'Gainst the gorgeous radiance float Darkly, many a sloop and boat, While in each the figures seem Like the shadows of a dream Swiftly, passively, they glide As sliders on a frozen tide. Sinks the sun--the sudden night Falls, yet still the scene is bright Now the fire-fly's living spark Glances through the foliage dark, And along the dusky stream Myriad lamps with ruddy gleam On the small waves float and quiver, As if upon the favored river, And to mark the sacred hour, Stars had fallen in a shower. For many a mile is either shore Illumined with a countless store Of lustres ranged in glittering rows, Each a golden column throws To light the dim depths of the tide, And the moon in all her pride Though beauteously her regions glow, Views a scene as fair below D.L.R. Mrs. Carshore alludes, I suppose to the above lines, or the following sonnet, or both perhaps, when she speaks of my erroneous Orientalism-- SCENE ON THE GANGES. The shades of evening veil the lofty spires Of proud Benares' fanes! A thickening haze Hangs o'er the stream. The weary boatmen raise Along the dusky shore their crimson fires That tinge the circling groups. Now hope inspires Yon Hindu maid, whose heart true passion sways, To launch on Gungas flood the glimmering rays Of Love's frail lamp,--but, lo the light expires! Alas! what sudden sorrow fills her breast! No charm of life remains. Her tears deplore A lover lost and never, never more Shall hope's sweet vision yield her spirit rest! The cold wave quenched the flame--an omen dread That telleth of the faithless--_or the dead_! D.L.R. Horace Hayman Wilson, a high authority on all Oriental customs, clearly alludes in the following lines to the launching of floating lamps by _Hindu_ females. Grave in the tide the Brahmin stands, And folds his cord or twists his hands, And tells his beads, and all unheard Mutters a solemn mystic word With reverence the Sudra dips, And fervently the current sips, That to his humbler hope conveys A future life of happier days. But chief do India's simple daughters Assemble in these hallowed waters, With vase of classic model laden Like Grecian girl or Tuscan maiden, Collecting thus their urns to fill From gushing fount or trickling rill, And still with pious fervour they To Gunga veneration pay And with pretenceless rite prefer, The wishes of their hearts to her The maid or matron, as she throws _Champae_ or lotus, _Bel_ or rose, Or sends the quivering light afloat In shallow cup or paper boat, Prays for a parent's peace and wealth Prays for a child's success and health, For a fond husband breathes a prayer, For progeny their loves to share, For what of good on earth is given To lowly life, or hoped in heaven, H.H.W. On seeing Miss Carshore's criticism I referred the subject to an intelligent Hindu friend from whom I received the following answer:-- My dear Sir, The _Beara_, strictly speaking, is a Mahomedan festival. Some of the lower orders of the Hindus of the NW Provinces, who have borrowed many of their customs from the Mahomedans, celebrate the _Beara_. But it is not observed by the Hindus of Bengal, who have a festival of their own, similar to the _Beara_. It takes place on the evening of the _Saraswati Poojah_, when a small piece of the bark of the Plantain Tree is fitted out with all the necessary accompaniments of a boat, and is launched in a private tank with a lamp. The custom is confined to the women who follow it in their own house or in the same neighbourhood. It is called the _Sooa Dooa Breta_. Yours truly, * * * * * Mrs. Carshore it would seem is partly right and partly wrong. She is right in calling the _Beara_ a _Moslem_ Festival. It is so; but we have the testimony of Horace Hayman Wilson to the fact that _Hindu maids and matrons also launch their lamps upon the river_. My Hindu friend acknowledges that his countrymen in the North West Provinces have borrowed many of their customs from the Mahomedans, and though he is not aware of it, it may yet be the case, that some of the Hindus of _Bengal_, as elsewhere, have done the same, and that they set lamps afloat upon the stream to discover by their continued burning or sudden extinction the fate of some absent friend or lover. I find very few Natives who are able to give me any exact and positive information concerning their own national customs. In their explanations of such matters they differ in the most extraordinary manner amongst themselves. Two most respectable and intelligent Native gentlemen who were proposing to lay out their grounds under my directions, told me that I must not cut down a single cocoa-nut tree, as it would be dreadful sacrilege--equal to cutting the throats of seven brahmins! Another equally respectable and intelligent Native friend, when I mentioned the fact, threw himself back in his chair to give vent to a hearty laugh. When he had recovered himself a little from this risible convulsion he observed that his father and his grandfather had cut down cocoa-nut trees in considerable numbers without the slightest remorse or fear. And yet again, I afterwards heard that one of the richest Hindu families in Calcutta, rather than suffer so sacred an object to be injured, piously submit to a very serious inconvenience occasioned by a cocoa-nut tree standing in the centre of the carriage road that leads to the portico of their large town palace. I am told that there are other sacred trees which must not be removed by the hands of Hindus of inferior caste, though in this case there is a way of getting over the difficulty, for it is allowable or even meritorious to make presents of these trees to Brahmins, who cut them down for their own fire-wood. But the cocoa-nut tree is said to be too sacred even for the axe of a Brahmin. I have been running away again from my subject;--I was discoursing upon May-day in England. The season there is still a lovely and a merry one, though the most picturesque and romantic of its ancient observances, now live but in the memory of the "oldest inhabitants," or on the page of history.[055] See where, amidst the sun and showers, The Lady of the vernal hours, Sweet May, comes forth again with all her flowers. _Barry Cornwall_. The _May-pole_ on these days is rarely seen to rise up in English towns with its proper floral decorations[056]. In remote rural districts a solitary May-pole is still, however, occasionally discovered. "A May-pole," says Washington Irving, "gave a glow to my feelings and spread a charm over the country for the rest of the day: and as I traversed a part of the fair plains of Cheshire, and the beautiful borders of Wales and looked from among swelling hills down a long green valley, through which the Deva wound its wizard stream, my imagination turned all into a perfect Arcadia. One can readily imagine what a gay scene old London must have been when the doors were decked with hawthorn; and Robin Hood, Friar Tuck, Maid Marian, Morris dancers, and all the other fantastic dancers and revellers were performing their antics about the May-pole in every part of the city. I value every custom which tends to infuse poetical feeling into the common people, and to sweeten and soften the rudeness of rustic manners without destroying their simplicity." Another American writer--a poet--has expressed his due appreciation of the pleasures of the season. He thus addresses the merrie month of MAY.[057] MAY. Would that thou couldst laugh for aye, Merry, ever merry May! Made of sun gleams, shade and showers Bursting buds, and breathing flowers, Dripping locked, and rosy vested, Violet slippered, rainbow crested; Girdled with the eglantine, Festooned with the dewy vine Merry, ever Merry May, Would that thou could laugh for aye! _W.D. Gallagher._ I must give a dainty bit of description from the poet of the poets--our own romantic Spenser. Then comes fair May, the fayrest mayde on ground, Decked with all dainties of the season's pryde, And throwing flowres out of her lap around. Upon two brethren's shoulders she did ride, The twins of Leda, which, on eyther side, Supported her like to their Sovereign queene Lord! how all creatures laught when her they spide, And leapt and danced as they had ravisht beene! And Cupid's self about her fluttred all in greene. Here are a few lines from Herrick. Fled are the frosts, and now the fields appeare Re-clothed in freshe and verdant diaper; Thawed are the snowes, and now the lusty spring Gives to each mead a neat enameling, The palmes[058] put forth their gemmes, and every tree Now swaggers in her leavy gallantry. The Queen of May--Lady Flora--was the British representative of the Heathen Goddess Flora. May still returns and ever will return at her proper season, with all her bright leaves and fragrant blossoms, but men cease to make the same use of them as of yore. England is waxing utilitarian and prosaic. The poets, let others neglect her as they will, must ever do fitting observance, in songs as lovely and fresh as the flowers of the hawthorn, To the lady of the vernal hours. Poor Keats, who was passionately fond of flowers, and everything beautiful or romantic or picturesque, complains, with a true poet's earnestness, that in _his_ day in England there were No crowds of nymphs, soft-voiced and young and gay In woven baskets, bringing ears of corn, Roses and pinks and violets, to adorn The shrine of Flora in her early May. The Floral Games--_Jeux Floraux_--of Toulouse--first celebrated at the commencement of the fourteenth century, are still kept up annually with great pomp and spirit. Clemence Isaure, a French lady, bequeathed to the Academy of Toulouse a large sum of money for the annual celebration of these games. A sort of College Council is formed, which not only confers degrees on those poets who do most honor to the Goddess Flora, but sometimes grants them more substantial favors. In 1324 the poets were encouraged to compete for a golden violet and a silver eglantine and pansy. A century later the prizes offered were an amaranthus of gold of the value of 400 livres, for the best ode, a violet of silver, valued at 250 livres, for an essay in prose, a silver pansy, worth 200 livres, for an eclogue, elegy or idyl, and a silver lily of the value of sixty livres, for the best sonnet or hymn in honor of the Virgin Mary,--for religion is mixed up with merriment, and heathen with Christian rites. He who gained a prize three times was honored with the title of Doctor _en gaye science_, the name given to the poetry of the Provençal troubadours. A mass, a sermon, and alms-giving, commence the ceremonies. The French poet, Ronsard who had gained a prize in the floral games, so delighted Mary Queen of Scots with his verses on the Rose that she presented him with a silver rose worth £500, with this inscription--"_A Ronsard, l'Apollon de la source des Muses_." At Ghent floral festivals are held twice a year when amateur and professional florists assemble together and contribute each his share of flowers to the grand general exhibition which is under the direct patronage of the public authorities. Honorary medals are awarded to the possessors of the finest flowers. The chief floral festival of the Chinese is on their new year's day, when their rivers are covered with boats laden with flowers, and gay flags streaming from every mast. Their homes and temples are richly hung with festoons of flowers. Boughs of the peach and plum trees in blossom, enkíanthus quinque-flòra, camelias, cockscombs, magnolias, jonquils are then exposed for sale in all the streets of Canton. Even the Chinese ladies, who are visible at no other season, are seen on this occasion in flower-boats on the river or in the public gardens on the shore. The Italians, it is said, still have artificers called _Festaroli_, whose business it is to prepare festoons and garlands. The ancient Romans were very tasteful in their nosegays and chaplets. Pliny tells us that the Sicyonians were especially celebrated for the graceful art exhibited in the arrangement of the varied colors of their garlands, and he gives us the story of Glycera who, to please her lover Pausias, the painter of Sicyon, used to send him the most exquisite chaplets of her own braiding, which he regularly copied on his canvas. He became very eminent as a flower-painter. The last work of his pencil, and his master-piece, was a picture of his mistress in the act of arranging a chaplet. The picture was called the _Garland Twiner_. It is related that Antony for some time mistrusting Cleopatra made her taste in the first instance every thing presented to him at her banquets. One day "the Serpent of old Nile" after dipping her own coronet of flowers into her goblet drank up the wine and then directed him to follow her example. He was off his guard. He dipped his chaplet in his cup. The leaves had been touched with poison. He was just raising the cup to his lips when she seized his arm, and said "Cease your jealous doubts, for know, that if I had desired your death or wished to live without you, I could easily have destroyed you." The Queen then ordered a prisoner to be brought into their presence, who being made to drink from the cup, instantly expired.[059] Some of the nosegays made up by "flower-girls" in London and its neighbourhood are sold at such extravagant prices that none but the very wealthy are in the habit of purchasing them, though sometimes a poor lover is tempted to present his mistress on a ball-night with a bouquet that he can purchase only at the cost of a good many more leaves of bread or substantial meals than he can well spare. He has to make every day a banian-day for perhaps half a month that his mistress may wear a nosegay for a few hours. However, a lover is often like a cameleon and can almost live on air--_for a time_--"promise-crammed." 'You cannot feed capons so.' At Covent Garden Market, (in London) and the first-rate Flower-shops, a single wreath or nosegay is often made up for the head or hand at a price that would support a poor labourer and his family for a month. The colors of the wreaths are artfully arranged, so as to suit different complexions, and so also as to exhibit the most rare and costly flowers to the greatest possible advantage. All true poets --The sages Who have left streaks of light athwart their pages-- have contemplated flowers--with a passionate love, an ardent admiration; none more so than the sweet-souled Shakespeare. They are regarded by the imaginative as the fairies of the vegetable world--the physical personifications of etherial beauty. In _The Winter's Tale_ our great dramatic bard has some delightful floral allusions that cannot be too often quoted. Here's flowers for you, Hot lavender, mint, savory, majoram, The marigold, that goes to bed with the sun, And with him rises weeping these are flowers Of middle summer, and I think they are given To men of middle age. * * * * * O, Proserpina, For the flowers now that, frighted, thou lett'st fall From Dis's waggon! Daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty, violets dim, But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath, pale primroses, That die unmarried ere they can behold Great Phoebus in his strength,--a malady Most incident to maids, bold oxlips and The crown imperial, lilies of all kinds, The flower de luce being one Shakespeare here, as elsewhere, speaks of "_pale_ primroses." The poets almost always allude to the primrose as a _pale_ and interesting invalid. Milton tells us of The yellow cowslip and the _pale_ primrose[060] The poet in the manuscript of his _Lycidas_ had at first made the primrose "_die unwedded_," which was a pretty close copy of Shakespeare. Milton afterwards struck out the word "_unwedded_," and substituted the word "_forsaken_." The reason why the primrose was said to "die unmarried," is, according to Warton, because it grows in the shade uncherished or unseen by the sun, who was supposed to be in love with certain sorts of flowers. Ben Jonson, however, describes the primrose as _a wedded lady_--"the Spring's own _Spouse_"--though she is certainly more commonly regarded as the daughter of Spring not the wife. J Fletcher gives her the true parentage:-- Primrose, first born child of Ver There are some kinds of primroses, that are not _pale_. There is a species in Scotland, which is of a deep purple. And even in England (in some of the northern counties) there is a primrose, the bird's-eye primrose, (Primula farinosa,) of which the blossom is lilac colored and the leaves musk-scented. In Sweden they call the Primrose _The key of May_. The primrose is always a great favorite with imaginative and sensitive observers, but there are too many people who look upon the beautiful with a utilitarian eye, or like Wordsworth's Peter Bell regard it with perfect indifference. A primrose by the river's brim A yellow primrose was to him. And it was nothing more. I have already given one anecdote of a utilitarian; but I may as well give two more anecdotes of a similar character. Mrs. Wordsworth was in a grove, listening to the cooing of the stock-doves, and associating their music with the remembrance of her husband's verses to a stock-dove, when a farmer's wife passing by exclaimed, "Oh, I do like stock-doves!" The woman won the heart of the poet's wife at once; but she did not long retain it. "Some people," continued the speaker, "like 'em in a pie; for my part I think there's nothing like 'em stewed in inions." This was a rustic utilitarian. Here is an instance of a very different sort of utilitarianism--the utilitarianism of men who lead a gay town life. Sir W.H. listened, patiently for some time to a poetical-minded friend who was rapturously expatiating upon the delicious perfume of a bed of violets; "Oh yes," said Sir W. at last, "its all very well, but for my part I very much prefer the smell of a flambeau at the theatre." But intellects far more capacious than that of Sir W.H. have exhibited the same indifference to the beautiful in nature. Locke and Jeremy Bentham and even Sir Isaac Newton despised all poetry. And yet God never meant man to be insensible to the beautiful or the poetical. "Poetry, like truth," says Ebenezer Elliot, "is a common flower: God has sown it over the earth, like the daisies sprinkled with tears or glowing in the sun, even as he places the crocus and the March frosts together and beautifully mingles life and death." If the finer and more spiritual faculties of men were as well cultivated or exercised as are their colder and coarser faculties there would be fewer utilitarians. But the highest part of our nature is too much neglected in all our systems of education. Of the beauty and fragrance of flowers all earthly creatures except man are apparently meant to be unconscious. The cattle tread down or masticate the fairest flowers without a single "compunctious visiting of nature." This excites no surprize. It is no more than natural. But it is truly painful and humiliating to see any human being as insensible as the beasts of the field to that poetry of the world which God seems to have addressed exclusively to the heart and soul of man. In South Wales the custom of strewing all kinds of flowers over the graves of departed friends, is preserved to the present day. Shakespeare, it appears, knew something of the customs of that part of his native country and puts the following _flowery_ speech into the mouth of the young Prince, Arviragus, who was educated there. With fairest flowers, While summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale Primrose, nor The azured Harebell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of Eglantine; whom not to slander, Out-sweetened not thy breath. _Cymbeline_. Here are two more flower-passages from Shakespeare. Here's a few flowers; but about midnight more; The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night Are strewings fitt'st for graves.--Upon their faces:-- You were as flowers; now withered; even so These herblets shall, which we upon you strow. _Cymbeline_. Sweets to the sweet. Farewell! I hoped thou shoulds't have been my Hamlet's wife; I thought thy bride-bed to have decked, sweet maid, And not t' have strewed thy grave. _Hamlet_. Flowers are peculiarly suitable ornaments for the grave, for as Evelyn truly says, "they are just emblems of the life of man, which has been compared in Holy Scripture to those fading creatures, whose roots being buried in dishonor rise again in glory."[061] This thought is natural and just. It is indeed a most impressive sight, a most instructive pleasure, to behold some "bright consummate flower" rise up like a radiant exhalation or a beautiful vision--like good from evil--with such stainless purity and such dainty loveliness, from the hot-bed of corruption. Milton turns his acquaintance with flowers to divine account in his Lycidas. Return; Sicilian Muse, And call the vales, and bid them hither cast Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. Ye vallies low, where the mild whispers use Of shades and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, On whose fresh lap the swart-star sparely looks; Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes, That on the green turf suck the honied showers. And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies. The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,[062] And every flower that sad embroidery wears; Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies, For, so to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with faint surmise Here is a nosegay of spring-flowers from the hand of Thomson:-- Fair handed Spring unbosoms every grace, Throws out the snow drop and the crocus first, the daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue, And polyanthus of unnumbered dyes, The yellow wall flower, stained with iron brown, And lavish stock that scents the garden round, From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed, Anemonies, auriculas, enriched With shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves And full ranunculus of glowing red Then comes the tulip race, where Beauty plays Her idle freaks from family diffused To family, as flies the father dust, The varied colors run, and while they break On the charmed eye, the exulting Florist marks With secret pride, the wonders of his hand Nor gradual bloom is wanting, from the bird, First born of spring, to Summer's musky tribes Nor hyacinth, of purest virgin white, Low bent, and, blushing inward, nor jonquils, Of potent fragrance, nor Narcissus fair, As o'er the fabled fountain hanging still, Nor broad carnations, nor gay spotted pinks; Nor, showered from every bush, the damask rose. Infinite varieties, delicacies, smells, With hues on hues expression cannot paint, The breath of Nature and her endless bloom. Here are two bouquets of flowers from the garden of Cowper Laburnum, rich In streaming gold, syringa, ivory pure, The scentless and the scented rose, this red, And of an humbler growth, the other[063] tall, And throwing up into the darkest gloom Of neighboring cypress, or more sable yew, Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf That the wind severs from the broken wave, The lilac, various in array, now white, Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set With purple spikes pyramidal, as if Studious of ornament yet unresolved Which hue she most approved, she chose them all, Copious of flowers the woodbine, pale and wan, But well compensating her sickly looks With never cloying odours, early and late, Hypericum all bloom, so thick a swarm Of flowers, like flies clothing her slender rods, That scarce a loaf appears, mezereon too, Though leafless, well attired, and thick beset With blushing wreaths, investing every spray, Althaea with the purple eye, the broom Yellow and bright, as bullion unalloy'd, Her blossoms, and luxuriant above all The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets, The deep dark green of whose unvarnish'd leaf Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more, The bright profusion of her scatter'd stars * * * * * Th' amomum there[064] with intermingling flowers And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts Her crimson honors, and the spangled beau Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long All plants, of every leaf, that can endure The winter's frown, if screened from his shrewd bite, Live their and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, Levantine regions those, the Azores send Their jessamine, her jessamine remote Caffraia, foreigners from many lands, They form one social shade as if convened By magic summons of the Orphean lyre Here is a bunch of flowers laid before the public eye by Mr. Proctor-- There the rose unveils Her breast of beauty, and each delicate bud O' the season comes in turn to bloom and perish, But first of all the violet, with an eye Blue as the midnight heavens, the frail snowdrop, Born of the breath of winter, and on his brow Fixed like a full and solitary star The languid hyacinth, and wild primrose And daisy trodden down like modesty The fox glove, in whose drooping bells the bee Makes her sweet music, the Narcissus (named From him who died for love) the tangled woodbine, Lilacs, and flowering vines, and scented thorns, And some from whom the voluptuous winds of June Catch their perfumings _Barry Cornwall_ I take a second supply of flowers from the same hand Here, this rose (This one half blown) shall be my Maia's portion, For that like it her blush is beautiful And this deep violet, almost as blue As Pallas' eye, or thine, Lycemnia, I'll give to thee for like thyself it wears Its sweetness, never obtruding. For this lily Where can it hang but it Cyane's breast? And yet twill wither on so white a bed, If flowers have sense of envy.--It shall be Amongst thy raven tresses, Cytheris, Like one star on the bosom of the night The cowslip and the yellow primrose,--they Are gone, my sad Leontia, to their graves, And April hath wept o'er them, and the voice Of March hath sung, even before their deaths The dirge of those young children of the year But here is hearts ease for your woes. And now, The honey suckle flower I give to thee, And love it for my sake, my own Cyane It hangs upon the stem it loves, as thou Hast clung to me, through every joy and sorrow, It flourishes with its guardian growth, as thou dost, And if the woodman's axe should droop the tree, The woodbine too must perish. _Barry Cornwall_ Let me add to the above heap of floral beauty a basket of flowers from Leigh Hunt. Then the flowers on all their beds-- How the sparklers glance their heads, Daisies with their pinky lashes And the marigolds broad flashes, Hyacinth with sapphire bell Curling backward, and the swell Of the rose, full lipped and warm, Bound about whose riper form Her slender virgin train are seen In their close fit caps of green, Lilacs then, and daffodillies, And the nice leaved lesser lilies Shading, like detected light, Their little green-tipt lamps of white; Blissful poppy, odorous pea, With its wing up lightsomely; Balsam with his shaft of amber, Mignionette for lady's chamber, And genteel geranium, With a leaf for all that come; And the tulip tricked out finest, And the pink of smell divinest; And as proud as all of them Bound in one, the garden's gem Hearts-ease, like a gallant bold In his cloth of purple and gold. Lady Mary Wortley Montague, who introduced inoculation into England--a practically useful boon to us,--had also the honor to be amongst the first to bring from the East to the West an elegant amusement--the Language of Flowers.[065] Then he took up his garland, and did show What every flower, as country people hold, Did signify; and how all, ordered thus, Expressed his grief: and, to my thoughts, did read The prettiest lecture of his country art That could be wished. _Beaumont's and Fletcher's "Philaster."_ * * * * * There from richer banks Culling out flowers, which in a learned order Do become characters, whence they disclose Their mutual meanings, garlands then and nosegays Being framed into epistles. _Cartwright's "Love's Covenant."_ * * * * * An exquisite invention this, Worthy of Love's most honied kiss, This art of writing _billet-doux_ In buds and odours and bright hues, In saying all one feels and thinks In clever daffodils and pinks, Uttering (as well as silence may,) The sweetest words the sweetest way. _Leigh Hunt_. * * * * * Yet, no--not words, for they But half can tell love's feeling; Sweet flowers alone can say What passion fears revealing.[066] A once bright rose's withered leaf-- A towering lily broken-- Oh, these may paint a grief No words could e'er have spoken. _Moore_. * * * * * By all those token flowers that tell What words can ne'er express so well. _Byron_. * * * * * A mystic language, perfect in each part. Made up of bright hued thoughts and perfumed speeches. _Adams_. If we are to believe Shakespeare it is not human beings only who use a floral language:-- Fairies use flowers for their charactery. Sir Walter Scott tells us that:-- The myrtle bough bids lovers live-- A sprig of hawthorn has the same meaning as a sprig of myrtle: it gives hope to the lover--the sweet heliotrope tells the depth of his passion,--if he would charge his mistress with levity he presents the larkspur,--and a leaf of nettle speaks her cruelty. Poor Ophelia (in _Hamlet_) gives rosemary for remembrance, and pansies (_pensees_) for thoughts. The laurel indicates victory in war or success with the Muses, "The meed of mighty conquerors and poets sage." The ivy wreathes the brows of criticism. The fresh vine-leaf cools the hot forehead of the bacchanal. Bergamot and jessamine imply the fragrance of friendship. The Olive is the emblem of peace--the Laurel, of glory--the Rue, of grace or purification (Ophelia's _Herb of Grace O'Sundays_)--the Primrose, of the spring of human life--the Bud of the White Rose, of Girl-hood,--the full blossom of the Red Rose, of consummate beauty--the Daisy, of innocence,--the Butter-cup, of gold--the Houstania, of content--the Heliotrope, of devotion in love--the Cross of Jerusalem, of devotion in religion--the Forget-me-not, of fidelity--the Myrrh, of gladness--the Yew, of sorrow--the Michaelmas Daisy, of cheerfulness in age--the Chinese Chrysanthemum, of cheerfulness in adversity--the Yellow Carnation, of disdain--the Sweet Violet, of modesty--the white Chrysanthemum, of truth--the Sweet Sultan, of felicity--the Sensitive Plant, of maiden shyness--the Yellow Day Lily, of coquetry--the Snapdragon, of presumption--the Broom, of humility--the Amaryllis, of pride--the Grass, of submission--the Fuschia, of taste--the Verbena, of sensibility--the Nasturtium, of splendour--the Heath, of solitude--the Blue Periwinkle, of early friendship--the Honey-suckle, of the bond of love--the Trumpet Flower, of fame--the Amaranth, of immortality--the Adonis, of sorrowful remembrance,--and the Poppy, of oblivion. The Witch-hazel indicates a spell,--the Cape Jasmine says _I'm too happy_--the Laurestine, _I die if I am neglected_--the American Cowslip, _You are a divinity_--the Volkamenica Japonica, _May you be happy_--the Rose-colored Chrysanthemum, _I love_,--and the Venus' Car, _Fly with me_. For the following illustrations of the language of flowers I am indebted to a useful and well conducted little periodical published in London and entitled the _Family Friend_;--the work is a great favorite with the fair sex. "Of the floral grammar, the first rule to be observed is, that the pronoun _I_ or _me_ is expressed by inclining the symbol flower to the _left_, and the pronoun _thou_ or _thee_ by inclining it to the _right_. When, however, it is not a real flower offered, but a representation upon paper, these positions must be reversed, so that the symbol leans to the heart of the person whom it is to signify. The second rule is, that the opposite of a particular sentiment expressed by a flower presented upright is denoted when the symbol is reversed; thus a rose-bud sent upright, with its thorns and leaves, means, "_I fear, but I hope_." If the bud is returned upside down, it means, "_You must neither hope nor fear_." Should the thorns, however, be stripped off, the signification is, "_There is everything to hope_;" but if stript of its leaves, "_There is everything to fear_." By this it will be seen that the expression of almost all flowers may be varied by a change in their positions, or an alteration of their state or condition. For example, the marigold flower placed in the hand signifies "_trouble of spirits_;" on the heart, "_trouble or love_;" on the bosom, "_weariness_." The pansy held upright denotes "_heart's ease_;" reversed, it speaks the contrary. When presented upright, it says, "_Think of me_;" and when pendent, "_Forget me_." So, too, the amaryllis, which is the emblem of pride, may be made to express, "_My pride is humbled_," or, "_Your pride is checked_," by holding it downwards, and to the right or left, as the sense requires. Then, again, the wallflower, which is the emblem of fidelity in misfortune, if presented with the stalk upward, would intimate that the person to whom it was turned was unfaithful in the time of trouble. The third rule has relation to the manner in which certain words may be represented; as, for instance, the articles, by tendrils with single, double, and treble branches, as under-- [Illustration of _The_, _An_ & _A_.] The numbers are represented by leaflets running from one to eleven, as thus-- [Illustration of '1', '2', '3', '4', '5', & '6'.] From eleven to twenty, berries are added to the ten leaves thus-- [Illustration of '12' & '15'.] From twenty to one hundred, compound leaves are added to the other ten for the decimals, and berries stand for the odd numbers so-- [Illustration of '20', '34' & '56'.] A hundred is represented by ten tens; and this may be increased by a third leaflet and a branch of berries up to 999. [Illustration of '100'.] A thousand may be symbolized by a frond of fern, having ten or more leaves, and to this a common leaflet may be added to increase the number of thousands. In this way any given number may be represented in foliage, such as the date of a year in which a birthday, or other event, occurs, to which it is desirable to make allusion, in an emblematic wreath or floral picture. Thus, if I presented my love with a mute yet eloquent expression of good wishes on her eighteenth birthday, I should probably do it in this wise:--Within an evergreen wreath (_lasting as my affection_), consisting of ten leaflets and eight berries (_the age of the beloved_), I would place a red rose bud (_pure and lovely_), or a white lily (_pure and modest_), its spotless petals half concealing a ripe strawberry (_perfect excellence_); and to this I might add a blossom of the rose-scented geranium (_expressive of my preference_), a peach blossom to say "_I am your captive_" fern for sincerity, and perhaps bachelor's buttons for _hope in love_"--_Family Friend_. There are many anecdotes and legends and classical fables to illustrate the history of shrubs and flowers, and as they add something to the peculiar interest with which we regard individual plants, they ought not to be quite passed over by the writers upon Floriculture. THE FLOS ADONIS. The Flos Adonis, a blood-red flower of the Anemone tribe, is one of the many plants which, according to ancient story sprang from the tears of Venus and the blood of her coy favorite. Rose cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase Hunting he loved, but love he laughed to scorn _Shakespeare_. Venus, the Goddess of Beauty, the mother of Love, the Queen of Laughter, the Mistress of the Graces and the Pleasures, could make no impression on the heart of the beautiful son of Myrrha, (who was changed into a myrrh tree,) though the passion-stricken charmer looked and spake with the lip and eye of the fairest of the immortals. Shakespeare, in his poem of _Venus and Adonis_, has done justice to her burning eloquence, and the lustre of her unequalled loveliness. She had most earnestly, and with all a true lover's care entreated Adonis to avoid the dangers of the chase, but he slighted all her warnings just as he had slighted her affections. He was killed by a wild boar. Shakespeare makes Venus thus lament over the beautiful dead body as it lay on the blood-stained grass. Alas, poor world, what treasure hast thou lost! What face remains alive that's worth the viewing? Whose tongue is music now? What can'st thou boast Of things long since, or any thing ensuing? The flowers are sweet, their colors fresh and trim, But true sweet beauty lived and died with him. In her ecstacy of grief she prophecies that henceforth all sorts of sorrows shall be attendants upon love,--and alas! she was too correct an oracle. The course of true love never does run smooth. Here is Shakespeare's version of the metamorphosis of Adonis into a flower. By this the boy that by her side lay killed Was melted into vapour from her sight, And in his blood that on the ground lay spilled, A purple flower sprang up, checquered with white, Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood. She bows her head, the new sprung flower to smell, Comparing it to her Adonis' breath, And says, within her bosom it shall dwell Since he himself is reft from her by death; She crops the stalk, and in the branch appears Green dropping sap which she compares to tears. The reader may like to contrast this account of the change from human into floral beauty with the version of the same story in Ovid as translated by Eusden. Then on the blood sweet nectar she bestows, The scented blood in little bubbles rose; Little as rainy drops, which fluttering fly, Borne by the winds, along a lowering sky, Short time ensued, till where the blood was shed, A flower began to rear its purple head Such, as on Punic apples is revealed Or in the filmy rind but half concealed, Still here the fate of lonely forms we see, _So sudden fades the sweet Anemone_. The feeble stems to stormy blasts a prey Their sickly beauties droop, and pine away The winds forbid the flowers to flourish long Which owe to winds their names in Grecian song. The concluding couplet alludes to the Grecian name of the flower ([Greek: anemos], _anemos_, the wind.) It is said of the Anemone that it never opens its lips until Zephyr kisses them. Sir William Jones alludes to its short-lived beauty. Youth, like a thin anemone, displays His silken leaf, and in a morn decays. Horace Smith speaks of The coy anemone that ne'er discloses Her lips until they're blown on by the wind Plants open out their leaves to breathe the air just as eagerly as they throw down their roots to suck up the moisture of the earth. Dr. Linley, indeed says, "they feed more by their leaves than their roots." I lately met with a curious illustration of the fact that plants draw a larger proportion of their nourishment from light and air than is commonly supposed. I had a beautiful convolvulus growing upon a trellis work in an upper verandah with a south-western aspect. The root of the plant was in pots. The convolvulus growing too luxuriantly and encroaching too much upon the space devoted to a creeper of another kind, I separated its upper branches from the root and left them to die. The leaves began to fade the second day and most of them were quite dead the third or fourth day, but two or three of the smallest retained a sickly life for some days more. The buds or rather chalices outlived the leaves. The chalices continued to expand every morning, for--I am afraid to say how long a time--it might seem perfectly incredible. The convolvulus is a plant of a rather delicate character and I was perfectly astonished at its tenacity of life in this case. I should mention that this happened in the rainy season and that the upper part of the creeper was partially protected from the sun. The Anemone seems to have been a great favorite with Mrs. Hemans. She thus addresses it. Flower! The laurel still may shed Brightness round the victor's head, And the rose in beauty's hair Still its festal glory wear; And the willow-leaves droop o'er Brows which love sustains no more But by living rays refined, Thou the trembler of the wind, Thou, the spiritual flower Sentient of each breeze and shower,[067] Thou, rejoicing in the skies And transpierced with all their dyes; Breathing-vase with light o'erflowing, Gem-like to thy centre flowing, Thou the Poet's type shall be Flower of soul, Anemone! The common anemone was known to the ancients but the finest kind was introduced into France from the East Indies, by Monsieur Bachelier, an eminent Florist. He seems to have been a person of a truly selfish disposition, for he refused to share the possession of his floral treasure with any of his countrymen. For ten years the new anemone from the East was to be seen no where in Europe but in Monsieur Bachelier's parterre. At last a counsellor of the French Parliament disgusted with the florist's selfishness, artfully contrived when visiting the garden to drop his robe upon the flower in such a manner as to sweep off some of the seeds. The servant, who was in his master's secret, caught up the robe and carried it away. The trick succeeded; and the counsellor shared the spoils with all his friends through whose agency the plant was multiplied in all parts of Europe. THE OLIVE. The OLIVE is generally regarded as an emblem of peace, and should have none but pleasant associations connected with it, but Ovid alludes to a wild species of this tree into which a rude and licentious fellow was converted as a punishment for "banishing the fair," with indecent words and gestures. The poet tells us of a secluded grotto surrounded by trembling reeds once frequented by the wood-nymphs of the sylvan race:-- Till Appulus with a dishonest air And gross behaviour, banished thence the fair. The bold buffoon, whene'er they tread the green, Their motion mimics, but with jest obscene; Loose language oft he utters; but ere long A bark in filmy net-work binds his tongue; Thus changed, a base wild olive he remains; The shrub the coarseness of the clown retains. _Garth's Ovid_. The mural of this is excellent. The sentiment reminds me of the Earl of Roscommon's well-known couplet in his _Essay on Translated Verse_, a poem now rarely read. Immodest words admit of no defense,[068] For want of decency is want of sense, THE HYACINTH. The HYACINTH has always been a great favorite with the poets, ancient and modern. Homer mentions the Hyacinth as forming a portion of the materials of the couch of Jove and Juno. Thick new-born Violets a soft carpet spread, And clustering Lotos swelled the rising bed, And sudden _Hyacinths_[069] the turf bestrow, And flaming Crocus made the mountains glow _Iliad, Book 14_ Milton gives a similar couch to Adam and Eve. Flowers were the couch Pansies, and Violets, and Asphodel And _Hyacinth_, earth's freshest, softest lap With the exception of the lotus (so common in Hindustan,) all these flowers, thus celebrated by the greatest of Grecian poets, and represented as fit luxuries for the gods, are at the command of the poorest peasant in England. The common Hyacinth is known to the unlearned as the Harebell, so called from the bell shape of its flowers and from its growing so abundantly in thickets frequented by hares. Shakespeare, as we have seen, calls it the _Blue_-bell. The curling flowers of the Hyacinth, have suggested to our poets the idea of clusters of curling tresses of hair. His fair large front and eye sublime declared Absolute rule, and hyacinthine locks Round from his parted forelock manly hung, Clustering _Milton_ The youths whose locks divinely spreading Like vernal hyacinths in sullen hue _Collins_ Sir William Jones describes-- The fragrant hyacinths of Azza's hair, That wanton with the laughing summer air. A similar allusion may also be found in prose. "It was the exquisitely fair queen Helen, whose jacinth[070] hair, curled by nature, intercurled by art, like a brook through golden sands, had a rope of fair pearl, which, now hidden by the hair, did, as it were play at fast and loose each with the other, mutually giving and receiving richness."--_Sir Philip Sidney_ "The ringlets so elegantly disposed round the fair countenances of these fair Chiotes [071] are such as Milton describes by 'hyacinthine locks' crisped and curled like the blossoms of that flower" _Dallaway_ The old fable about Hyacinthus is soon told. Apollo loved the youth and not only instructed him in literature and the arts, but shared in his pastimes. The divine teacher was one day playing with his pupil at quoits. Some say that Zephyr (Ovid says it was Boreas) jealous of the god's influence over young Hyacinthus, wafted the ponderous iron ring from its right course and caused it to pitch upon the poor boy's head. He fell to the ground a bleeding corpse. Apollo bade the scarlet hyacinth spring from the blood and impressed upon its leaves the words _Ai Ai_, (_alas! alas!_) the Greek funeral lamentation. Milton alludes to the flower in _Lycidas_, Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. Drummond had before spoken of That sweet flower that bears In sanguine spots the tenor of our woes Hurdis speaks of: The melancholy Hyacinth, that weeps All night, and never lifts an eye all day. Ovid, after giving the old fable of Hyacinthus, tells us that "the time shall come when a most valiant hero shall add his name to this flower." "He alludes," says Mr. Riley, "to Ajax, from whose blood when he slew himself, a similar flower[072] was said to have arisen with the letters _Ai Ai_ on its leaves, expressive either of grief or denoting the first two letters of his name [Greek: Aias]." As poets feigned from Ajax's streaming blood Arose, with grief inscribed, a mournful flower. _Young_. Keats has the following allusion to the old story of Hyacinthus, Or they might watch the quoit-pitchers, intent On either side; pitying the sad death Of Hyacinthus, when the cruel breath Of Zephyr slew him,--Zephyr penitent, Who now, ere Phoebus mounts the firmament Fondles the flower amid the sobbing rain. _Endymion_. Our English Hyacinth, it is said, is not entitled to its legendary honors. The words _Non Scriptus_ were applied to this plant by Dodonaeus, because it had not the _Ai Ai_ upon its petals. Professor Martyn says that the flower called _Lilium Martagon_ or the _Scarlet Turk's Cap_ is the plant alluded to by the ancients. Alphonse Karr, the eloquent French writer, whose "_Tour Round my Garden_" I recommend to the perusal of all who can sympathize with reflections and emotions suggested by natural objects, has the following interesting anecdote illustrative of the force of a floral association:-- "I had in a solitary corner of my garden _three hyacinths_ which my father had planted and which death did not allow him to see bloom. Every year the period of their flowering was for me a solemnity, a funeral and religious festival, it was a melancholy remembrance which revived and reblossomed every year and exhaled certain thoughts with its perfume. The roots are dead now and nothing lives of this dear association but in my own heart. But what a dear yet sad privilege man possesses above all created beings, while thus enabled by memory and thought to follow those whom he loved to the tomb and there shut up the living with the dead. What a melancholy privilege, and yet is there one amongst us who would lose it? Who is he who would willingly forget all" Wordsworth, suddenly stopping before a little bunch of harebells, which along with some parsley fern, grew out of a wall, he exclaimed, 'How perfectly beautiful that is! Would that the little flowers that grow could live Conscious of half the pleasure that they give The Hyacinth has been cultivated with great care and success in Holland, where from two to three hundred pounds have been given for a single bulb. A florist at Haarlem enumerates 800 kinds of double-flowered Hyacinths, besides about 400 varieties of the single kind. It is said that there are altogether upwards of 2000 varieties of the Hyacinth. The English are particularly fond of the Hyacinth. It is a domestic flower--a sort of parlour pet. When in "close city pent" they transfer the bulbs to glass vases (Hyacinth glasses) filled with water, and place them in their windows in the winter. An annual solemnity, called Hyacinthia, was held in Laconia in honor of Hyacinthus and Apollo. It lasted three days. So eagerly was this festival honored, that the soldiers of Laconia even when they had taken the field against an enemy would return home to celebrate it. THE NARCISSUS Foolish Narcisse, that likes the watery shore _Spenser_ With respect to the NARCISSUS, whose name in the floral vocabulary is the synonyme of _egotism_, there is a story that must be familiar enough to most of my readers. Narcissus was a beautiful youth. Teresias, the Soothsayer, foretold that he should enjoy felicity until he beheld his own face but that the first sight of that would be fatal to him. Every kind of mirror was kept carefully out of his way. Echo was enamoured of him, but he slighted her love, and she pined and withered away until she had nothing left her but her voice, and even that could only repeat the last syllables of other people's sentences. He at last saw his own image reflected in a fountain, and taking it for that of another, he fell passionately in love with it. He attempted to embrace it. On seeing the fruitlessness of all his efforts, he killed himself in despair. When the nymphs raised a funeral pile to burn his body, they found nothing but a flower. That flower (into which he had been changed) still bears his name. Here is a little passage about the fable, from the _Two Noble Kinsmen_ of Beaumont and Fletcher. _Emilia_--This garden hath a world of pleasure in it, What flower is this? _Servant_--'Tis called Narcissus, Madam. _Em._--That was a fair boy certain, but a fool To love himself, were there not maids, Or are they all hard hearted? _Ser_--That could not be to one so fair. Ben Jonson touches the true moral of the fable very forcibly. 'Tis now the known disease That beauty hath, to hear too deep a sense Of her own self conceived excellence Oh! had'st thou known the worth of Heaven's rich gift, Thou would'st have turned it to a truer use, And not (with starved and covetous ignorance) Pined in continual eyeing that bright gem The glance whereof to others had been more Than to thy famished mind the wide world's store. Gay's version of the fable is as follows: Here young Narcissus o'er the fountain stood And viewed his image in the crystal flood The crystal flood reflects his lovely charms And the pleased image strives to meet his arms. No nymph his inexperienced breast subdued, Echo in vain the flying boy pursued Himself alone, the foolish youth admires And with fond look the smiling shade desires, O'er the smooth lake with fruitless tears he grieves, His spreading fingers shoot in verdant leaves, Through his pale veins green sap now gently flows, And in a short lived flower his beauty glows Addison has given a full translation of the story of Narcissus from Ovid's Metamorphoses, Book the third. The common daffodil of our English fields is of the genus Narcissus. "Pray," said some one to Pope, "what is this _Asphodel_ of Homer?" "Why, I believe," said Pope "if one was to say the truth, 'twas nothing else but that poor yellow flower that grows about our orchards, and, if so, the verse might be thus translated in English --The stern Achilles Stalked through a mead of daffodillies" THE LAUREL Daphne was a beautiful nymph beloved by that very amorous gentleman, Apollo. The love was not reciprocal. She endeavored to escape his godship's importunities by flight. Apollo overtook her. She at that instant solicited aid from heaven, and was at once turned into a laurel. Apollo gathered a wreath from the tree and placing it on his own immortal brows, decreed that from that hour the laurel should be sacred to his divinity. THE SUN-FLOWER Who can unpitying see the flowery race Shed by the morn then newflushed bloom resign, Before the parching beam? So fade the fair, When fever revels in their azure veins But one, _the lofty follower of the sun_, Sad when he sits shuts up her yellow leaves, Drooping all night, and when he warm return, Points her enamoured bosom to his ray _Thomson_. THE SUN-FLOWER (_Helianthus_) was once the fair nymph Clytia. Broken-hearted at the falsehood of her lover, Apollo, (who has so many similar sins to answer for) she pined away and died. When it was too late Apollo's heart relented, and in honor of true affection he changed poor Clytia into a _Sun-flower_.[073] It is sometimes called _Tourne-sol_--a word that signifies turning to the sun. Thomas Moore helps to keep the old story in remembrance by the concluding couplet of one of his sweetest ballads. Oh! the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to its close As the sun flower turns on her god when he sets The same look that she turned when he rose But Moore has here poetized a vulgar error. Most plants naturally turn towards the light, but the sun-flower (in spite of its name) is perhaps less apt to turn itself towards Apollo than the majority of other flowers for it has a stiff stem and a number of heavy heads. At all events it does not change its attitude in the course of the day. The flower-disk that faces the morning sun has it back to it in the evening. Gerard calls the sun-flower "The Flower of the Sun or the Marigold of Peru". Speaking of it in the year 1596 he tells us that he had some in his own garden in Holborn that had grown to the height of fourteen feet. THE WALL-FLOWER The weed is green, when grey the wall, And blossoms rise where turrets fall Herrick gives us a pretty version of the story of the WALL-FLOWER, (_cheiranthus cheiri_)("the yellow wall-flower stained with iron brown") Why this flower is now called so List sweet maids and you shall know Understand this firstling was Once a brisk and bonny lass Kept as close as Danae was Who a sprightly springal loved, And to have it fully proved, Up she got upon a wall Tempting down to slide withal, But the silken twist untied, So she fell, and bruised and died Love in pity of the deed And her loving, luckless speed, Turned her to the plant we call Now, 'The Flower of the Wall' The wall-flower is the emblem of fidelity in misfortune, because it attaches itself to fallen towers and gives a grace to ruin. David Moir (the Delta of _Blackwood's Magazine_) has a poem on this flower. I must give one stanza of it. In the season of the tulip cup When blossoms clothe the trees, How sweet to throw the lattice up And scent thee on the breeze; The butterfly is then abroad, The bee is on the wing, And on the hawthorn by the road The linnets sit and sing. Lord Bacon observes that wall-flowers are very delightful when set under the parlour window or a lower chamber window. They are delightful, I think, any where. THE JESSAMINE. The Jessamine, with which the Queen of flowers, To charm her god[074] adorns his favorite bowers, Which brides, by the plain hand of neatness dressed-- Unenvied rivals!--wear upon their breast; Sweet as the incense of the morn, and chaste As the pure zone which circles Dian's waist. _Churchill._ The elegant and fragrant JESSAMINE, or Jasmine, (_Jasmimum Officinale_) with its "bright profusion of scattered stars," is said to have passed from East to West. It was originally a native of Hindustan, but it is now to be found in every clime, and is a favorite in all. There are many varieties of it in Europe. In Italy it is woven into bridal wreaths and is used on all festive occasions. There is a proverbial saying there, that she who is worthy of being decorated with jessamine is rich enough for any husband. Its first introduction into that sunny land is thus told. A certain Duke of Tuscany, the first possessor of a plant of this tribe, wished to preserve it as an unique, and forbade his gardener to give away a single sprig of it. But the gardener was a more faithful lover than servant and was more willing to please a young mistress than an old master. He presented the young girl with a branch of jessamine on her birth-day. She planted it in the ground; it took root, and grew and blossomed. She multiplied the plant by cuttings, and by the sale of these realized a little fortune, which her lover received as her marriage dowry. In England the bride wears a coronet of intermingled orange blossom and jessamine. Orange flowers indicate chastity, and the jessamine, elegance and grace. THE ROSE. For here the rose expands Her paradise of leaves. _Southey._ The ROSE, (_Rosa_) the Queen of Flowers, was given by Cupid to Harpocrates, the God of Silence, as a bribe, to prevent him from betraying the amours of Venus. A rose suspended from the ceiling intimates that all is strictly confidential that passes under it. Hence the phrase--_under the Rose_[075]. The rose was raised by Flora from the remains of a favorite nymph. Venus and the Graces assisted in the transformation of the nymph into a flower. Bacchus supplied streams of nectar to its root, and Vertumnus showered his choicest perfumes on its head. The loves of the Nightingale and the Rose have been celebrated by the Muses of many lands. An Eastern poet says "You may place a hundred handfuls of fragrant herbs and flowers before the Nightingale; yet he wishes not, in his constant heart, for more than the sweet breath of his beloved Rose." The Turks say that the rose owes its origin to a drop of perspiration that fell from the person of their prophet Mahommed. The classical legend runs that the rose was at first of a pure white, but a rose-thorn piercing the foot of Venus when she was hastening to protect Adonis from the rage of Mars, her blood dyed the flower. Spenser alludes to this legend: White as the native rose, before the change Which Venus' blood did on her leaves impress. _Spenser_. Milton says that in Paradise were, Flowers of all hue, and _without thorns the rose_. According to Zoroaster there was no thorn on the rose until Ahriman (the Evil One) entered the world. Here is Dr. Hooker's account of the origin of the red rose. To sinless Eve's admiring sight The rose expanded snowy white, When in the ecstacy of bliss She gave the modest flower a kiss, And instantaneous, lo! it drew From her red lip its blushing hue; While from her breath it sweetness found, And spread new fragrance all around. This reminds me of a passage in Mrs. Barrett Browning's _Drama of Exile_ in which she makes Eve say-- --For was I not At that last sunset seen in Paradise, When all the westering clouds flashed out in throngs Of sudden angel-faces, face by face, All hushed and solemn, as a thought of God Held them suspended,--was I not, that hour The lady of the world, princess of life, Mistress of feast and favour? _Could I touch A Rose with my white hand, but it became Redder at once?_ Another poet. (Mr. C. Cooke) tells us that a species of red rose with all her blushing honors full upon her, taking pity on a very pale maiden, changed complexions with the invalid and became herself as white as snow. Byron expressed a wish that all woman-kind had but one _rosy_ mouth, that he might kiss all woman-kind at once. This, as some one has rightly observed, is better than Caligula's wish that all mankind had but one head that he might cut it off at a single blow. Leigh Hunt has a pleasant line about the rose: And what a red mouth hath the rose, the woman of the flowers! In the Malay language the same word signifies _flowers_ and _women_. Human beauty and the rose are ever suggesting images of each other to the imagination of the poets. Shakespeare has a beautiful description of the two little princes sleeping together in the Tower of London. Their lips were four red roses on a stalk That in their summer beauty kissed each other. William Browne (our Devonshire Pastoral Poet) has a _rosy_ description of a kiss:-- To her Amyntas Came and saluted; never man before More blest, nor like this kiss hath been another But when two dangling cherries kist each other; Nor ever beauties, like, met at such closes, But in the kisses of two damask roses. Here is something in the same spirit from Crashaw. So have I seen Two silken sister-flowers consult and lay Their bashful cheeks together; newly they Peeped from their buds, showed like the garden's eyes Scarce waked, like was the crimson of their joys, Like were the tears they wept, so like that one Seemed but the other's kind reflection. Loudon says that there is a rose called the _York and Lancaster_ which when, it comes true has one half of the flower red and the other half white. It was named in commemoration of the two houses at the marriage of Henry VII. of Lancaster with Elizabeth of York. Anacreon devotes one of his longest and best odes to the laudation of the Rose. Such innumerable translations have been made of it that it is now too well known for quotation in this place. Thomas Moore in his version of the ode gives in a foot-note the following translation of a fragment of the Lesbian poetess. If Jove would give the leafy bowers A queen for all their world of flowers The Rose would be the choice of Jove, And blush the queen of every grove Sweetest child of weeping morning, Gem the vest of earth adorning, Eye of gardens, light of lawns, Nursling of soft summer dawns June's own earliest sigh it breathes, Beauty's brow with lustre wreathes, And to young Zephyr's warm caresses Spreads abroad its verdant tresses, Till blushing with the wanton's play Its cheeks wear e'en a redder ray. From the idea of excellence attached to this Queen of Flowers arose, as Thomas Moore observes, the pretty proverbial expression used by Aristophanes--_you have spoken roses_, a phrase adds the English poet, somewhat similar to the _dire des fleurettes_ of the French. The Festival of the Rose is still kept up in many villages of France and Switzerland. On a certain day of every year the young unmarried women assemble and undergo a solemn trial before competent judges, the most virtuous and industrious girl obtains a crown of roses. In the valley of Engandine, in Switzerland, a man accused of a crime but proved to be not guilty, is publicly presented by a young maiden with a white rose called the Rose of Innocence. Of the truly elegant Moss Rose I need say nothing myself; it has been so amply honored by far happier pens than mine. Here is a very ingenious and graceful story of its origin. The lines are from the German. THE MOSS ROSE The Angel of the Flowers one day, Beneath a rose tree sleeping lay, The spirit to whom charge is given To bathe young buds in dews of heaven, Awaking from his light repose The Angel whispered to the Rose "O fondest object of my care Still fairest found where all is fair, For the sweet shade thou givest to me Ask what thou wilt 'tis granted thee" "Then" said the Rose, "with deepened glow On me another grace bestow." The spirit paused in silent thought What grace was there the flower had not? 'Twas but a moment--o'er the rose A veil of moss the Angel throws, And robed in Nature's simple weed, Could there a flower that rose exceed? Madame de Genlis tells us that during her first visit to England she saw a moss-rose for the first time in her life, and that when she took it back to Paris it gave great delight to her fellow-citizens, who said it was the first that had ever been seen in that city. Madame de Latour says that Madame de Genlis was mistaken, for the moss-rose came originally from Provence and had been known to the French for ages. The French are said to have cultivated the Rose with extraordinary care and success. It was the favorite flower of the Empress Josephine, who caused her own name to be traced in the parterres at Malmaison with a plantation of the rarest roses. In the royal rosary at Versailles there are standards eighteen feet high grafted with twenty different varieties of the rose. With the Romans it was no metaphor but an allusion to a literal fact when they talked of sleeping upon beds of roses. Cicero in his third oration against Verres, when charging the proconsul with luxurious habits, stated that he had made the tour of Sicily seated upon roses. And Seneca says, of course jestingly, that a Sybarite of the name of Smyrndiride was unable to sleep if one of the rose-petals on his bed happened to be curled! At a feast which Cleopatra gave to Marc Antony the floor of the hall was covered with fresh roses to the depth of eighteen inches. At a fête given by Nero at Baiae the sum of four millions of sesterces or about 20,000_l_. was incurred for roses. The Natives of India are fond of the rose, and are lavish in their expenditure at great festivals, but I suppose that no millionaire amongst them ever spent such an amount of money as this upon flowers alone.[076] I shall close the poetical quotations on the Rose with one of Shakespeare's sonnets. O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem, By that sweet ornament which truth doth give. The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, When summer's breath their masked buds discloses; But for their virtue only is their show, They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade; Die to themselves. Sweet Roses do not so; Of then sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall fade, my verse distils your truth. There are many hundred acres of rose trees at Ghazeepore which are cultivated for distillation, and making "attar." There are large fields of roses in England also, for the manufacture of rose-water. There is a story about the origin of attar of Roses. The Princess Nourmahal caused a large tank, on which she used to be rowed about with the great Mogul, to be filled with rose-water. The heat of the sun separating the water from the essential oil of the rose, the latter was observed to be floating on the surface. The discovery was immediately turned to good account. At Ghazeepoor, the _essence_, _atta_ or _uttar_ or _otto_, or whatever it should be called, is obtained with great simplicity and ease. After the rose water is prepared it is put into large open vessels which are left out at night. Early in the morning the oil that floats upon the surface is skimmed off, or sucked up with fine dry cotton wool, put into bottles, and carefully sealed. Bishop Heber says that to produce one rupee's weight of atta 200,000 well grown roses are required, and that a rupee's weight sells from 80 to 100 rupees. The atta sold in Calcutta is commonly adulterated with the oil of sandal wood. LINNAEA BOREALIS The LINNAEA BOREALIS, or two horned Linnaea, though a simple Lapland flower, is interesting to all botanists from its association with the name of the Swedish Sage. It has pretty little bells and is very fragrant. It is a wild, unobtrusive plant and is very averse to the trim lawn and the gay flower-border. This little woodland beauty pines away under too much notice. She prefers neglect, and would rather waste her sweetness on the desert air, than be introduced into the fashionable lists of Florist's flowers. She shrinks from exposure to the sun. A gentleman after walking with Linnaeus on the shores of the lake near Charlottendal on a lovely evening, writes thus "I gathered a small flower and asked if it was the _Linnaea borealis_. 'Nay,' said the philosopher, 'she lives not here, but in the middle of our largest woods. She clings with her little arms to the moss, and seems to resist very gently if you force her from it. She has a complexion like a milkmaid, and ah! she is very, very sweet and agreeable!" THE FORGET-ME-NOT The dear little FORGET-ME-NOT, (_myosotis palustris_)[077] with its eye of blue, is said to have derived its touching appellation from a sentimental German story. Two lovers were walking on the bank of a rapid stream. The lady beheld the flower growing on a little island, and expressed a passionate desire to possess it. He gallantly plunged into the stream and obtained the flower, but exhausted by the force of the tide, he had only sufficient strength left as he neared the shore to fling the flower at the fair one's feet, and exclaim "_Forget-me-not!_" (_Vergiss-mein-nicht_.) He was then carried away by the stream, out of her sight for ever. THE PERIWINKLE. The PERIWINKLE (_vinca_ or _pervinca_) has had its due share of poetical distinction. In France the common people call it the Witch's violet. It seems to have suggested to Wordsworth an idea of the consciousness of flowers. Through primrose tufts, in that sweet bower, The Periwinkle trailed its wreaths, _And 'tis my faith that every flower Enjoys the air it breathes._ Mr. J.L. Merritt, has some complimentary lines on this flower. The Periwinkle with its fan-like leaves All nicely levelled, is a lovely flower Whose dark wreath, myrtle like, young Flora weaves; There's none more rare Nor aught more meet to deck a fairy's bower Or grace her hair. The little blue Periwinkle is rendered especially interesting to the admirers of the genius of Rousseau by an anecdote that records his emotion on meeting it in one of his botanical excursions. He had seen it thirty years before in company with Madame de Warens. On meeting its sweet face again, after so long and eventful an interim, he fell upon his knees, crying out--_Ah! voila de la pervanche!_ "It struck him," says Hazlitt, "as the same little identical flower that he remembered so well; and thirty years of sorrow and bitter regret were effaced from his memory." The Periwinkle was once supposed to be a cure for many diseases. Lord Bacon says that in his time people afflicted with cramp wore bands of green periwinkle tied about their limbs. It had also its supposed moral influences. According to Culpepper the leaves of the flower if eaten by man and wife together would revive between them a lost affection. THE BASIL. Sweet marjoram, with her like, _sweet basil_, rare for smell. _Drayton._ The BASIL is a plant rendered poetical by the genius which has handled it. Boccaccio and Keats have made the name of the _sweet basil_ sound pleasantly in the ears of many people who know nothing of botany. A species of this plant (known in Europe under the botanical name of _Ocymum villosum_, and in India as the _Toolsee_) is held sacred by the Hindus. Toolsee was a disciple of Vishnu. Desiring to be his wife she excited the jealousy of Lukshmee by whom she was transformed into the herb named after her.[078] THE TULIP. Tulips, like the ruddy evening streaked. _Southey_. The TULIP (_tulipa_) is the glory of the garden, as far as color without fragrance can confer such distinction. Some suppose it to be 'The Lily of the Field' alluded to in the Sermon on the Mount. It grows wild in Syria. The name of the tulip is said to be of Turkish origin. It was called Tulipa from its resemblance to the tulipan or turban. What crouds the rich Divan to-day With turbaned heads, of every hue Bowing before that veiled and awful face Like Tulip-beds of different shapes and dyes, Bending beneath the invisible west wind's sighs? _Moore_. The reader has probably heard of the Tulipomania once carried to so great an excess in Holland. With all his phlegm, it broke a Dutchman's heart, At a vast price, with one loved root to part. _Crabbe_. About the middle of the 17th century the city of Haarlem realized in three years ten millions sterling by the sale of tulips. A single tulip (the _Semper Augustus_) was sold for one thousand pounds. Twelve acres of land were given for a single root and engagements to the amount of £5,000 were made for a first-class tulip when the mania was at its height. A gentleman, who possessed a tulip of great value, hearing that some one was in possession of a second root of the same kind, eagerly secured it at a most extravagant price. The moment he got possession of it, he crushed it under his foot. "Now," he exclaimed, "my tulip is unique!" A Dutch Merchant gave a sailor a herring for his breakfast. Jack seeing on the Merchant's counter what he supposed to be a heap of onions, took up a handful of them and ate them with his fish. The supposed onions were tulip bulbs of such value that they would have paid the cost of a thousand Royal feasts.[079] The tulip mania never leached so extravagant a height in England as in Holland, but our country did not quite escape the contagion, and even so late as the year 1836 at the sale of Mr. Clarke's tulips at Croydon, seventy two pounds were given for a single bulb of the _Fanny Kemble_; and a Florist in Chelsea in the same year, priced a bulb in his catalogue at 200 guineas. The Tulip is not endeared to us by many poetical associations. We have read, however, one pretty and romantic tale about it. A poor old woman who lived amongst the wild hills of Dartmoor, in Devonshire, possessed a beautiful bed of Tulips, the pride of her small garden. One fine moonlight night her attention was arrested by the sweet music which seemed to issue from a thousand Liliputian choristers. She found that the sounds proceeded from her many colored bells of Tulips. After watching the flowers intently she perceived that they were not swayed to and fro by the wind, but by innumerable little beings that were climbing on the stems and leaves. They were pixies. Each held in its arms an elfin baby tinier than itself. She saw the babies laid in the bells of the plant, which were thus used as cradles, and the music was formed of many lullabies. When the babies were asleep the pixies or fairies left them, and gamboled on the neighbouring sward on which the old lady discovered the day after, several new green rings,--a certain evidence that her fancy had not deceived her! At earliest dawn the fairies had returned to the tulips and taken away their little ones. The good old woman never permitted her tulip bed to be disturbed. She regarded it as holy ground. But when she died, some Utilitarian gardener turned it into a parsley bed! The parsley never flourished. The ground was now cursed. In gratitude to the memory of the benevolent dame who had watched and protected the floral nursery, every month, on the night before the full moon, the fairies scattered flowers on her grave, and raised a sweet musical dirge--heard only by poetic ears--or by maids and children who Hold each strange tale devoutly true. For as the poet says: What though no credit doubting wits may give, The fair and innocent shall still believe. Men of genius are often as trustful as maids and children. Collins, himself a lover of the wonderful, thus speaks of Tasso:-- Prevailing poet! whose undoubting mind Believed the magic wonders that he sung. All nature indeed is full of mystery to the imaginative. And visions as poetic eyes avow Hang on each leaf and cling to every bough. The Hindoos believe that the Peepul tree of which the foliage trembles like that of the aspen, has a spirit in every leaf. "Did you ever see a fairy's funeral, Madam?" said Blake, the artist. "Never Sir." "_I_ have," continued that eccentric genius, "One night I was walking alone in my garden. There was great stillness amongst the branches and flowers and more than common sweetness in the air. I heard a low and pleasant sound, and knew not whence it came: at last I perceived _the broad leaf of a flower move_, and underneath I saw a procession of creatures the size and color of green and gray grasshoppers, _bearing a body laid out on a rose leaf_, which they buried with song, and then disappeared." THE PINK. The PINK (_dianthus_) is a very elegant flower. I have but a short story about it. The young Duke of Burgundy, grandson of Louis the Fifteenth, was brought up in the midst of flatterers as fulsome as those rebuked by Canute. The youthful prince was fond of cultivating pinks, and one of his courtiers, by substituting a floral changeling, persuaded him that one of those pinks planted by the royal hand had sprung up into bloom in a single night! One night, being unable to sleep, he wished to rise, but was told that it was midnight; he replied "_Well then, I desire it to be morning_." The pink is one of the commonest of the flowers in English gardens. It is a great favorite all over Europe. The botanists have enumerated about 400 varieties of it. THE PANSY OR HEARTS-EASE. The PANSY (_víola trîcolor_) commonly called _Hearts-ease_, or _Love-in-idleness_, or _Herb-Trinity_ (_Flos Trinitarium_), or _Three-faces-under-a-hood_, or _Kit-run-about_, is one of the richest and loveliest of flowers. The late Mrs. Siddons, the great actress, was so fond of this flower that she thought she could never have enough of it. Besides round beds of it she used it as an edging to all the flower borders in her garden. She liked to plant a favorite flower in large masses of beauty. But such beauty must soon fatigue the eye with its sameness. A round bed of one sort of flowers only is like a nosegay composed of one sort of flowers or of flowers of the same hue. She was also particularly fond of evergreens because they gave her garden a pleasant aspect even in the winter. "Do you hear him?"--(John Bunyan makes the guide enquire of Christiana while a shepherd boy is singing beside his sheep)--"I will dare to say this boy leads a merrier life, and wears more of the herb called _hearts-ease_ in his bosom, than he that is clothed in silk and purple." Shakespeare has connected this flower with a compliment to the maiden Queen of England. That very time I saw (but thou couldst not) Flying between the cold moon and the earth, Cupid all armed, a certain aim he took At a fair Vestal, throned by the west; And loosed his love-shaft smartly from his bow As it should pierce a hundred thousand hearts. But I might see young Cupid's fiery shaft Quenched in the chaste beams of the watery moon-- And the imperial votaress passed on In maiden meditation fancy free, Yet marked I where the bolt of Cupid fell. It fell upon _a little western flowers, Before milk white, now purple with love's wound-- And maidens call it_ LOVE IN IDLENESS Fetch me that flower, the herb I showed thee once, The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, Will make or man or woman madly dote Upon the next live creature that it sees. Fetch me this herb and be thou here again, Ere the leviathan can swim a league. _Midsummer Night's Dream._ The hearts-ease has been cultivated with great care and success by some of the most zealous flower-fanciers amongst our countrymen in India. But it is a delicate plant in this clime, and requires most assiduous attention, and a close study of its habits. It always withers here under ordinary hands. THE MIGNONETTE. The MIGNONETTE, (_reseda odorato_,) the Frenchman's _little darling_, was not introduced into England until the middle of the 17th century. The Mignonette or Sweet Reseda was once supposed capable of assuaging pain, and of ridding men of many of the ills that flesh is heir to. It was applied with an incantation. This flower has found a place in the armorial bearings of an illustrious family of Saxony. I must tell the story: The Count of Walsthim loved the fair and sprightly Amelia de Nordbourg. She was a spoilt child and a coquette. She had an humble companion whose christian name was Charlotte. One evening at a party, all the ladies were called upon to choose a flower each, and the gentlemen were to make verses on the selections. Amelia fixed upon the flaunting rose, Charlotte the modest mignonette. In the course of the evening Amelia coquetted so desperately with a dashing Colonel that the Count could not suppress his vexation. On this he wrote a verse for the Rose: Elle ne vit qu'un jour, et ne plait qu'un moment. (She lives but for a day and pleases but for a moment) He then presented the following line on the Mignonette to the gentle Charlotte: "Ses qualities surpassent ses charmes." The Count transferred his affections to Charlotte, and when he married her, added a branch of the Sweet Reseda to the ancient arms of his family, with the motto of Your qualities surpass your charms. VERVAIN. The vervain-- That hind'reth witches of their will. _Drayton_ VERVAIN (_verbena_) was called by the Greeks _the sacred herb_. It was used to brush their altars. It was supposed to keep off evil spirits. It was also used in the religious ceremonies of the Druids and is still held sacred by the Persian Magi. The latter lay branches of it on the altar of the sun. The ancients had their _Verbenalia_ when the temples were strewed with vervain, and no incantation or lustration was deemed perfect without the aid of this plant. It was supposed to cure the bite of a serpent or a mad dog. THE DAISY. The DAISY or day's eye (_bellis perennis_) has been the darling of the British poets from Chaucer to Shelley. It is not, however, the darling of poets only, but of princes and peasants. And it is not man's favorite only, but, as Wordsworth says, Nature's favorite also. Yet it is "the simplest flower that blows." Its seed is broadcast on the land. It is the most familiar of flowers. It sprinkles every field and lane in the country with its little mimic stars. Wordsworth pays it a beautiful compliment in saying that Oft alone in nooks remote _We meet it like a pleasant thought When such is wanted._ But though this poet dearly loved the daisy, in some moods of mind he seems to have loved the little celandine (common pilewort) even better. He has addressed two poems to this humble little flower. One begins with the following stanza. Pansies, Lilies, Kingcups, Daisies, Let them live upon their praises; Long as there's a sun that sets Primroses will have their glory; Long as there are Violets, They will have a place in story: There's a flower that shall be mine, 'Tis the little Celandine. No flower is too lowly for the affections of Wordsworth. Hazlitt says, "the daisy looks up to Wordsworth with sparkling eye as an old acquaintance; a withered thorn is weighed down with a heap of recollections; and even the lichens on the rocks have a life and being in his thoughts." The Lesser Celandine, is an inodorous plant, but as Wordsworth possessed not the sense of smell, to him a deficiency of fragrance in a flower formed no objection to it. Miss Martineau alludes to a newspaper report that on one occasion the poet suddenly found himself capable of enjoying the fragrance of a flower, and gave way to an emotion of tumultuous rapture. But I have seen this contradicted. Miss Martineau herself has generally no sense of smell, but we have her own testimony to the fact that a brief enjoyment of the faculty once actually occurred to her. In her case there was a simultaneous awakening of two dormant faculties--the sense of smell and the sense of taste. Once and once only, she enjoyed the scent of a bottle of Eau de Cologne and the taste of meat. The two senses died away again almost in their birth. Shelley calls Daisies "those pearled Arcturi of the earth"--"the constellated flower that never sets." The Father of English poets does high honor to this star of the meadow in the "Prologue to the Legend of Goode Women." He tells us that in the merry month of May he was wont to quit even his beloved books to look upon the fresh morning daisy. Of all the floures in the mede Then love I most these floures white and red, Such that men callen Daisies in our town, To them I have so great affectión. As I sayd erst, when comen is the Maie, That in my bedde there dawneth me no daie That I nam up and walking in the mede To see this floure agenst the Sunne sprede, When it up riseth early by the morrow That blisfull sight softeneth all my sorrow. _Chaucer_. The poet then goes on with his hearty laudation of this lilliputian luminary of the fields, and hesitates not to describe it as "of all floures the floure." The famous Scottish Peasant loved it just as truly, and did it equal honor. Who that has once read, can ever forget his harmonious and pathetic address to a mountain daisy on turning it up with the plough? I must give the poem a place here, though it must be familiar to every reader. But we can read it again and again, just as we can look day after day with undiminished interest upon the flower that it commemorates. Mrs. Stowe (the American writer) observes that "the daisy with its wide plaited ruff and yellow centre is not our (that is, an American's) flower. The English flower is the Wee, modest, crimson tippéd flower which Burns celebrated. It is what we (in America) raise in green-houses and call the Mountain Daisy. Its effect, growing profusely about fields and grass-plats, is very beautiful." TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL, 1786 Wee, modest, crimson tippéd flow'r, Thou's met me in an evil hour, For I maun[080] crush amang the stoure[081] Thy slender stem, To spare thee now is past my pow'r, Thou bonnie gem. Alas! its no thy neobor sweet, The bonnie lark, companion meet, Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet[082] Wi' speckled breast, When upward springing, blythe, to greet The purpling east Cauld blew the bitter biting north Upon thy early, humble, birth, Yet cheerfully thou glinted[083] forth Amid the storm, Scarce reared above the patient earth Thy tender form The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, High sheltering woods and wa's[084] maun shield, But thou beneath the random bield[085] O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie[086] stibble field[087] Unseen, alane. There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawye bosom sun ward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise, But now the share up tears thy bed, And low thou lies! Such is the fate of artless Maid, Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade! By love's simplicity betrayed, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soiled is laid Low i' the dust. Such is the fate of simple Bard, On Life's rough ocean luckless starred! Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard And whelm him o'er! Such fate to suffering worth is given Who long with wants and woes has striven By human pride or cunning driven To misery's brink, Till wrenched of every stay but Heaven, He, ruined, sink! Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, That fate is thine--no distant date; Stern Ruin's plough-share drives elate, Full on thy bloom; Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight Shall be thy doom. _Burns._ The following verses though they make no pretension to the strength and pathos of the poem by the great Scottish Peasant, have a grace and simplicity of their own, for which they have long been deservedly popular. A FIELD FLOWER. ON FINDING ONE IN FULL BLOOM, ON CHRISTMAS DAY, 1803. There is a flower, a little flower, With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky. The prouder beauties of the field In gay but quick succession shine, Race after race their honours yield, They flourish and decline. But this small flower, to Nature dear, While moons and stars their courses run, Wreathes the whole circle of the year, Companion of the sun. It smiles upon the lap of May, To sultry August spreads its charms, Lights pale October on his way, And twines December's arms. The purple heath and golden broom, On moory mountains catch the gale, O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume, The violet in the vale. But this bold floweret climbs the hill, Hides in the forest, haunts the glen, Plays on the margin of the rill, Peeps round the fox's den. Within the garden's cultured round It shares the sweet carnation's bed; And blooms on consecrated ground In honour of the dead. The lambkin crops its crimson gem, The wild-bee murmurs on its breast, The blue-fly bends its pensile stem, Light o'er the sky-lark's nest. 'Tis FLORA'S page,--in every place, In every season fresh and fair; It opens with perennial grace. And blossoms everywhere. On waste and woodland, rock and plain, Its humble buds unheeded rise; The rose has but a summer-reign; The DAISY never dies. _James Montgomery_. Montgomery has another very pleasing poetical address to the daisy. The poem was suggested by the first plant of the kind which had appeared in India. The flower sprang up unexpectedly out of some English earth, sent with other seeds in it, to this country. The amiable Dr. Carey of Serampore was the lucky recipient of the living treasure, and the poem is supposed to be addressed by him to the dear little flower of his home, thus born under a foreign sky. Dr. Carey was a great lover of flowers, and it was one of his last directions on his death-bed, as I have already said, that his garden should be always protected from the intrusion of Goths and Vandals in the form of Bengallee goats and cows. I must give one stanza of Montgomery's second poetical tribute to the small flower with "the silver crest and golden eye." Thrice-welcome, little English flower! To this resplendent hemisphere Where Flora's giant offsprings tower In gorgeous liveries all the year; Thou, only thou, art little here Like worth unfriended and unknown, Yet to my British heart more dear Than all the torrid zone. It is difficult to exaggerate the feeling with which an exile welcomes a home-flower. A year or two ago Dr. Ward informed the Royal Institution of London, that a single primrose had been taken to Australia in a glass-case and that when it arrived there in full bloom, the sensation it excited was so great that even those who were in the hot pursuit of gold, paused in their eager career to gaze for a moment upon the flower of their native fields, and such immense crowds at last pressed around it that it actually became necessary to protect it by a guard. My last poetical tribute to the Daisy shall be three stanzas from Wordsworth, from two different addresses to the same flower. With little here to do or see Of things that in the great world be, Sweet Daisy! oft I talk to thee, For thou art worthy, Thou unassuming Common-place Of Nature, with that homely face, And yet with something of a grace, Which Love makes for thee! * * * * * If stately passions in me burn, And one chance look to Thee should turn, I drink out of an humbler urn A lowlier pleasure; The homely sympathy that heeds The common life, our nature breeds; A wisdom fitted to the needs Of hearts at leisure. When, smitten by the morning ray, I see thee rise, alert and gay, Then, cheerful Flower! my spirits play With kindred gladness; And when, at dusk, by dews opprest Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest Hath often eased my pensive breast Of careful sadness. It is peculiarly interesting to observe how the profoundest depths of thought and feeling are sometimes stirred in the heart of genius by the smallest of the works of Nature. Even more ordinarily gifted men are similarly affected to the utmost extent of their intellect and sensibility. We grow tired of the works of man. In the realms of art we ever crave something unseen before. We demand new fashions, and when the old are once laid aside, we wonder that they should ever have excited even a moment's admiration. But Nature, though she is always the same, never satiates us. The simple little Daisy which Burns has so sweetly commemorated is the same flower that was "of all flowres the flowre," in the estimation of the Patriarch of English poets, and which so delighted Wordsworth in his childhood, in his middle life, and in his old age. He gazed on it, at intervals, with unchanging affection for upwards of fourscore years. The Daisy--the miniature sun with its tiny rays--is especially the favorite of our earliest years. In our remembrances of the happy meadows in which we played in childhood, the daisy's silver lustre is ever connected with the deeper radiance of its gay companion, the butter-cup, which when held against the dimple on the cheek or chin of beauty turns it into a little golden dell. The thoughtful and sensitive frequenter of rural scenes discovers beauty every where; though it is not always the sort of beauty that would satisfy the taste of men who recognize no gaiety or loveliness beyond the walls of cities. To the poet's eye even the freckles on a milk-maid's brow are not without a grace, associated as they are with health, and the open sunshine. Chaucer tells us that the French call the Daisy _La belle Marguerite_. There is a little anecdote connected with the appellation. Marguerite of Scotland, the Queen of Louis the Eleventh, presented Marguerite Clotilde de Surville, a poetess, with a bouquet of daisies, with this inscription; "Marguerite d'Ecosse à Marguerite (_the pearl_) d'Helicon." The country maidens in England practise a kind of sortilége with this flower. They pluck off leaf by leaf, saying alternately "_He loves me_" and "_He loves me not_." The omen or oracle is decided by the fall of either sentence on the last leaf. It is extremely difficult to rear the daisy in India. It is accustomed to all weathers in England, but the long continued sultriness of this clime makes it as delicate as a languid English lady in a tropical exile, and however carefully and skilfully nursed, it generally pines for its native air and dies.[088] THE PRICKLY GORSE. --Yon swelling downs where the sweet air stirs The harebells, and where prickly furze Buds lavish gold. _Keat's Endymion_. Fair maidens, I'll sing you a song, I'll tell of the bonny wild flower, Whose blossoms so yellow, and branches so long, O'er moor and o'er rough rocky mountains are flung Far away from trim garden and bower _L.A. Tuamley_. The PRICKLY GORSE or Goss or Furze, (_ulex_)[089] I cannot omit to notice, because it was the plant which of all others most struck Dillenius when he first trod on English ground. He threw himself on his knees and thanked Heaven that he had lived to see the golden undulation of acres of wind-waved gorse. Linnaeus lamented that he could scarcely keep it alive in Sweden even in a greenhouse. I have the most delightful associations connected with this plant, and never think of it without a summer feeling and a crowd of delightful images and remembrances of rural quietude and blue skies and balmy breezes. Cowper hardly does it justice: The common, over-grown with fern, and rough With prickly gorse, that shapeless and deformed And dangerous to the touch, has yet its bloom And decks itself with ornaments of gold, Yields no unpleasing ramble. The plant is indeed irregularly shaped, but it is not _deformed_, and if it is dangerous to the touch, so also is the rose, unless it be of that species which Milton places in Paradise--"_and without thorns the rose_." Hurdis is more complimentary and more just to the richest ornament of the swelling hill and the level moor. And what more noble than the vernal furze With golden caskets hung? I have seen whole _cotees_ or _coteaux_ (sides of hills) in the sweet little island of Jersey thickly mantled with the golden radiance of this beautiful wildflower. The whole Vallée des Vaux (_the valley of vallies_) is sometimes alive with its lustre. VALLEE DES VAUX. AIR--THE MEETING OF THE WATERS. If I dream of the past, at fair Fancy's command, Up-floats from the blue sea thy small sunny land! O'er thy green hills, sweet Jersey, the fresh breezes blow, And silent and warm is the Vallée des Vaux! There alone have I loitered 'mid blossoms of gold, And forgot that the great world was crowded and cold, Nor believed that a land of enchantment could show A vale more divine than the Vallée des Vaux. A few scattered cots, like white clouds in the sky, Or like still sails at sea when the light breezes die, And a mill with its wheel in the brook's silver glow, Form thy beautiful hamlet, sweet Vallée des Vaux! As the brook prattled by like an infant at play, And each wave as it passed stole a moment away, I thought how serenely a long life would flow, By the sweet little brook in the Vallée des Vaux. D.L.R. Jersey is not the only one of the Channel Islands that is enriched with "blossoms of gold." In the sister island of Guernsey the prickly gorse is much used for hedges, and Sir George Head remarks that the premises of a Guernsey farmer are thus as impregnably fortified and secured as if his grounds were surrounded by a stone wall. In the Isle of Man the furze grows so high that it is sometimes more like a fir tree than the ordinary plant. There is an old proverb:--"When gorse is out of blossom, kissing is out of fashion"--that is _never_. The gorse blooms all the year. FERN. I'll seek the shaggy fern-clad hill And watch, 'mid murmurs muttering stern, The seed departing from the fern Ere wakeful demons can convey The wonder-working charm away. _Leyden_. "The green and graceful Fern" (_filices_) with its exquisite tracery must not be overlooked. It recalls many noble home-scenes to British eyes. Pliny says that "of ferns there are two kinds, and they bear neither flowers nor seed." And this erroneous notion of the fern bearing no seed was common amongst the English even so late as the time of Addison who ridicules "a Doctor that had arrived at the knowledge of the green and red dragon, _and had discovered the female fern-seed_." The seed is very minute and might easily escape a careless eye. In the present day every one knows that the seed of the fern lies on the under side of the leaves, and a single leaf will often bear some millions of seeds. Even those amongst the vulgar who believed the plant bore seed, had an idea that the seeds were visible only at certain mysterious seasons and to favored individuals who by carrying a quantity of it on their person, were able, like those who wore the helmet of Pluto or the ring of Gyges, to walk unseen amidst a crowd. The seed was supposed to be best seen at a certain hour of the night on which St. John the Baptist was born. We have the receipt of fern-seed; we walk invisible, _Shakespeare's Henry IV. Part I_. In Beaumont's and Fletcher's _Fair Maid of the Inn_, is the following allusion to the fern. --Had you Gyges' ring, _Or the herb that gives invisibility_. Ben Jonson makes a similar allusion to it: I had No medicine, sir, to go invisible, _No fern-seed in my pocket_. Pope puts a branch of spleen-wort, a species of fern, (_Asplenium trichomanes_) into the hand of a gnome as a protection from evil influences in the Cave of Spleen. Safe passed the gnome through this fantastic band A branch of healing spleen-wort in his hand. The fern forms a splendid ornament for shadowy nooks and grottoes, or fragments of ruins, or heaps of stones, or the odd corners of a large garden or pleasure-ground. I have had many delightful associations with this plant both at home and abroad. When I visited the beautiful Island of Penang, Sir William Norris, then the Recorder of the Island, and who was a most indefatigable collector of ferns, obligingly presented me with a specimen of every variety that he had discovered in the hills and vallies of that small paradise; and I suppose that in no part of the world could a finer collection of specimens of the fern be made for a botanist's _herbarium_. Fern leaves will look almost as well ten years after they are gathered as on the day on which they are transferred from the dewy hillside to the dry pages of a book. Jersey and Penang are the two loveliest islands on a small scale that I have yet seen: the latter is the most romantic of the two and has nobler trees and a richer soil and a brighter sky--but they are both charming retreats for the lovers of peace and nature. As I have devoted some verses to Jersey I must have some also on THE ISLAND OF PENANG. I. I stand upon the mountain's brow-- I drink the cool fresh, mountain breeze-- I see thy little town below,[090] Thy villas, hedge-rows, fields and trees, And hail thee with exultant glow, GEM OF THE ORIENTAL SEAS! II. A cloud had settled on my heart-- My frame had borne perpetual pain-- I yearned and panted to depart From dread Bengala's sultry plain-- Fate smiled,--Disease withholds his dart-- I breathe the breath of life again! III. With lightened heart, elastic tread, Almost with youth's rekindled flame, I roam where loveliest scenes outspread Raise thoughts and visions none could name, Save those on whom the Muses shed A spell, a dower of deathless fame. IV. I _feel_, but oh! could ne'er _pourtray_, Sweet Isle! thy charms of land and wave, The bowers that own no winter day, The brooks where timid wild birds lave, The forest hills where insects gay[091] Mimic the music of the brave! V. I see from this proud airy height A lovely Lilliput below! Ships, roads, groves, gardens, mansions white, And trees in trimly ordered row,[092] Present almost a toy like sight, A miniature scene, a fairy show! VI. But lo! beyond the ocean stream, That like a sheet of silver lies, As glorious as a poet's dream The grand Malayan mountains rise, And while their sides in sunlight beam Their dim heads mingle with the skies. VI. Men laugh at bards who live _in clouds_-- The clouds _beneath_ me gather now, Or gliding slow in solemn crowds, Or singly, touched with sunny glow, Like mystic shapes in snowy shrouds, Or lucid veils on Beauty's brow. VIII. While all around the wandering eye Beholds enchantments rich and rare, Of wood, and water, earth, and sky A panoramic vision fair, The dyal breathes his liquid sigh, And magic floats upon the air! IX. Oh! lovely and romantic Isle! How cold the heart thou couldst not please! Thy very dwellings seem to smile Like quiet nests mid summer trees! I leave thy shores--but weep the while-- GEM OF THE ORIENTAL SEAS! D.L.R. HENNA. The henna or al hinna (_Lawsonia inermis_) is found in great abundance in Egypt, India, Persia and Arabia. In Bengal it goes by the name of _Mindee_. It is much used here for garden hedges. Hindu females rub it on the palms of their hands, the tips of their fingers and the soles of their feet to give them a red dye. The same red dye has been observed upon the nails of Egyptian mummies. In Egypt sprigs of henna are hawked about the streets for sale with the cry of "_O, odours of Paradise; O, flowers of the henna!_" Thomas Moore alludes to one of the uses of the henna:-- Thus some bring leaves of henna to imbue The fingers' ends of a bright roseate hue, So bright, that in the mirror's depth they seem Like tips of coral branches in the stream. MOSS. MOSSES (_musci_) are sometimes confounded with Lichens. True mosses are green, and lichens are gray. All the mosses are of exquisitely delicate structure. They are found in every part of the world where the atmosphere is moist. They have a wonderful tenacity of life and can often be restored to their original freshness after they have been dried for years. It was the sight of a small moss in the interior of Africa that suggested to Mungo Park such consolatory reflections as saved him from despair. He had been stripped of all he had by banditti. "In this forlorn and almost helpless condition," he says, "when the robbers had left me, I sat for some time looking around me with amazement and terror. Whichever way I turned, nothing appeared but danger and difficulty. I found myself in the midst of a vast wilderness, in the depth of the rainy season--naked and alone,--surrounded by savages. I was five hundred miles from any European settlement. All these circumstances crowded at once upon my recollection; and I confess that my spirits began to fail me. I considered my fate as certain, and that I had no alternative, but to lie down and perish. The influence of religion, however aided and supported me. I reflected that no human prudence or foresight could possibly have averted my present sufferings. I was indeed a stranger in a strange land, yet I was still under the eye of that Providence who has condescended to call himself the stranger's friend. At this moment, painful as my reflections were, the extraordinary beauty of a small Moss irresistibly caught my eye; and though the whole plant was not larger than the top of one of my fingers, I could not contemplate the delicate conformation of its roots, leaves, and fruit, without admiration. Can that Being (thought I) who planted, watered, and brought to perfection, in this obscure part of the world, a thing which appears of so small importance, look with unconcern upon the situation and sufferings of creatures formed after his own image? Surely not.--Reflections like these would not allow me to despair. I started up; and disregarding both, hunger and fatigue, traveled forward, assured that relief was at hand; and I was not disappointed." VICTORIA REGIA. On this Queen of Aquatic Plants the language of admiration has been exhausted. It was discovered in the first year of the present century by the botanist Haenke who was sent by the Spanish Government to investigate the vegetable productions of Peru. When in a canoe on the Rio Mamore, one of the great tributaries of the river Amazon, he came suddenly upon the noblest and largest flower that he had ever seen. He fell on his knees in a transport of admiration. It was the plant now known as the Victoria Regia, or American Water-lily. It was not till February 1849, that Dr. Hugh Rodie and Mr. Lachie of Demerara forwarded seeds of the plant to Sir W.T. Hooker in vials of pure water. They were sown in earth, in pots immersed in water, and enclosed in a glass case. They vegetated rapidly. The plants first came to perfection at Chatsworth the seat of the Duke of Devonshire,[093] and subsequently at the Royal gardens at Kew. Early in November of the same year, (1849,) the leaves of the plant at Chatsworth were 4 feet 8 inches in diameter. A child weighing forty two pounds was placed upon one of the leaves which bore the weight well. The largest leaf of the plant by the middle of the next month was five feet in diameter with a turned up edge of from two to four inches. It then bore up a person of 11 stone weight. The flat leaf of the Victoria Regia as it floats on the surface of the water, resembles in point of form the brass high edged platter in which Hindus eat their rice. The flowers in the middle of May 1850 measured one foot one inch in diameter. The rapidity of the growth of this plant is one of its most remarkable characteristics, its leaves often expanding eight inches in diameter daily, and Mr. John Fisk Allen, who has published in America an admirably illustrated work upon the subject, tells us that instances under his own observation have occurred of the leaves increasing at the rate of half an inch hourly. Not only is there an extraordinary variety in the colours of the several specimens of this flower, but a singularly rapid succession of changes of hue in the same individual flower as it progresses from bud to blossom. This vegetable wonder was introduced into North America in 1851. It grows to a larger size there than in England. Some of the leaves of the plant cultivated in North America measure seventy-two inches in diameter. This plant has been proved to be perennial. It grows best in from 4 to 6 feet of water. Each plant generally sends but four or five leaves to the surface. In addition to the other attractions of this noble Water Lily, is the exquisite character of its perfume, which strongly resembles that of a fresh pineapple just cut open. The Victoria Regia in the Calcutta Botanic Garden has from some cause or other not flourished so well as it was expected to do. The largest leaf is not more than four feet and three quarters in diameter. But there can be little doubt that when the habits of the plant are better understood it will be brought to great perfection in this country. I strongly recommend my native friends to decorate their tanks with this the most glorious of aquatic plants. THE FLY-ORCHIS--THE BEE-ORCHIS. Of these strange freaks of nature many strange stories are told. I cannot repeat them all. I shall content myself with quoting the following passage from D'Israeli's _Curiosities of Literature_:-- "There is preserved in the British Museum, a black stone, on which nature has sketched a resemblance of the portrait of Chaucer. Stones of this kind, possessing a sufficient degree of resemblance, are rare; but art appears not to have been used. Even in plants, we find this sort of resemblance. There is a species of the orchis found in the mountainous parts of Lincolnshire, Kent, &c. Nature has formed a bee, apparently feeding on the breast of the flower, with so much exactness, that it is impossible at a very small distance to distinguish the imposition. Hence the plant derives its name, and is called, the _Bee-flower_. Langhorne elegantly notices its appearance. See on that floweret's velvet breast, How close the busy vagrant lies? His thin-wrought plume, his downy breast, Th' ambrosial gold that swells his thighs. Perhaps his fragrant load may bind His limbs;--we'll set the captive free-- I sought the living bee to find, And found the picture of a bee,' The late Mr. James of Exeter wrote to me on this subject: 'This orchis is common near our sea-coasts; but instead of being exactly like a BEE, _it is not like it at all_. It has a general resemblance to a _fly_, and by the help of imagination, may be supposed to be a fly pitched upon the flower. The mandrake very frequently has a forked root, which may be fancied to resemble thighs and legs. I have seen it helped out with nails on the toes.' An ingenious botanist, a stranger to me, after reading this article, was so kind as to send me specimens of the _fly_ orchis, _ophrys muscifera_, and of the _bee_ orchis, _ophrys apifera_. Their resemblance to these insects when in full flower is the most perfect conceivable; they are distinct plants. The poetical eye of Langhorne was equally correct and fanciful; and that too of Jackson, who differed so positively. Many controversies have been carried on, from a want of a little more knowledge; like that of the BEE _orchis_ and the FLY _orchis_; both parties prove to be right."[094] THE FUCHSIA. The Fuchsia is decidedly the most _graceful_ flower in the world. It unfortunately wants fragrance or it would be the _beau ideal_ of a favorite of Flora. There is a story about its first introduction into England which is worth reprinting here: 'Old Mr. Lee, a nurseryman and gardener, near London, well known fifty or sixty years ago, was one day showing his variegated treasures to a friend, who suddenly turned to him, and declared, 'Well, you have not in your collection a prettier flower than I saw this morning at Wapping!'--'No! and pray what was this phoenix like?' 'Why, the plant was elegant, and the flowers hung in rows like tassels from the pendant branches; their colour the richest crimson; in the centre a fold of deep purple,' and so forth. Particular directions being demanded and given, Mr. Lee posted off to Wapping, where he at once perceived that the plant was new in this part of the world. He saw and admired. Entering the house, he said, 'My good woman, that is a nice plant. I should like to buy it.'--'I could not sell it for any money, for it was brought me from the West Indies by my husband, who has now left again, and I must keep it for his sake.'--'But I must have it!'--'No sir!'--'Here,' emptying his pockets; 'here are gold, silver, copper.' (His stock was something more than eight guineas.)--'Well a-day! but this is a power of money, sure and sure.'--''Tis yours, and the plant is mine; and, my good dame, you shall have one of the first young ones I rear, to keep for your husband's sake,'--'Alack, alack!'--'You shall.' A coach was called, in which was safely deposited our florist and his seemingly dear purchase. His first work was to pull off and utterly destroy every vestige of blossom and bud. The plant was divided into cuttings, which were forced in bark beds and hotbeds; were redivided and subdivided. Every effort was used to multiply it. By the commencement of the next flowering season, Mr. Lee was the delighted possessor of 300 Fuchsia plants, all giving promise of blossom. The two which opened first were removed into his show-house. A lady came:--'Why, Mr. Lee, my dear Mr. Lee, where did you get this charming flower?'--'Hem! 'tis a new thing, my lady; pretty, is it not?'--'Pretty! 'tis lovely. Its price?'--'A guinea: thank your ladyship;' and one of the plants stood proudly in her ladyship's boudoir. 'My dear Charlotte, where did you get?' &c.--'Oh! 'tis a new thing; I saw it at old Lee's; pretty, is it not?'--'Pretty! 'tis beautiful! Its price!'--'A guinea; there was another left.' The visitor's horses smoked off to the suburb; a third flowering plant stood on the spot whence the first had been taken. The second guinea was paid, and the second chosen Fuchsia adorned the drawing-room of her second ladyship The scene was repeated, as new-comers saw and were attracted by the beauty of the plant. New chariots flew to the gates of old Lee's nursery-ground. Two Fuchsias, young, graceful and bursting into healthy flower, were constantly seen on the same spot in his repository. He neglected not to gladden the faithful sailor's wife by the promised gift; but, ere the flower season closed, 300 golden guineas clinked in his purse, the produce of the single shrub of the widow of Wapping; the reward of the taste, decision, skill, and perseverance of old Mr. Lee.' Whether this story about the fuchsia, be only partly fact and partly fiction I shall not pretend to determine; but the best authorities acknowledge that Mr. Lee, one of the founders of the Hammersmith Nursery, was the first to make the plant generally known in England and that he for some time got a guinea for each of the cuttings. The fuchsia is a native of Mexico and Chili. I believe that most of the plants of this genus introduced into India have flourished for a brief period and then sickened and died. The poets of England have not yet sung the Fuschia's praise. Here are three stanzas written for a gentleman who had been presented, by the lady of his love with a superb plant of this kind. A FUCHSIA. I. A deed of grace--a graceful gift--and graceful too the giver! Like ear-rings on thine own fair head, these long buds hang and quiver: Each tremulous taper branch is thrilled--flutter the wing-like leaves-- For thus to part from thee, sweet maid, the floral spirit grieves! II. Rude gods in brass or gold enchant an untaught devotee-- Fair marble shapes, rich paintings old, are Art's idolatry; But nought e'er charmed a human breast like this small tremulous flower, Minute and delicate work divine of world-creative power! III. This flower's the Queen of all earth's flowers, and loveliest things appear Linked by some secret sympathy, in this mysterious sphere; The giver and the gift seem one, and thou thyself art nigh When this glory of the garden greets thy lover's raptured eye. D.L.R. "Do you know the proper name of this flower?" writes Jeremy Bentham to a lady-friend, "and the signification of its name? Fuchsia from Fuchs, a German botanist." ROSEMARY. There's rosemary--that's for remembrance: Pray you, love, remember. _Hamlet_ There's rosemarie; the Arabians Justifie (Physitions of exceeding perfect skill) It comforteth the brain and memory. _Chester_. Bacon speaks of heaths of ROSEMARY (_Rosmarinus_[095]) that "will smell a great way in the sea; perhaps twenty miles." This reminds us of Milton's Paradise. So lovely seemed That landscape, and of pure, now purer air, Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires Vernal delight and joy, able to drive All sadness but despair. Now gentle gales Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole Those balmy spoils. As when to them who sail Beyond the Cape of Hope, and now are past Mozambic, off at sea north east winds blow Sabean odours from the spicy shore Of Araby the blest, with such delay Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league Cheered with the grateful smell, old Ocean smiles. Rosemary used to be carried at funerals, and worn as wedding favors. _Lewis_ Pray take a piece of Rosemary _Miramont_ I'll wear it, But for the lady's sake, and none of your's! _Beaumont and Fletcher's "Elder Brother."_ Rosemary, says Malone, being supposed to strengthen the memory, was the emblem of fidelity in lovers. So in _A Handfull of Pleasant Delites, containing Sundrie New Sonets, 16mo_. 1854: Rosemary is for remembrance Between us daie and night, Wishing that I might alwaies have You present in my sight. The poem in which these lines are found, is entitled, '_A Nosegay alwaies sweet for Lovers to send for Tokens of Love_.' Roger Hochet in his sermon entitled _A Marriage Present_ (1607) thus speaks of the Rosemary;--"It overtoppeth all the flowers in the garden, boasting man's rule. It helpeth the brain, strengtheneth the memorie, and is very medicinable for the head. Another propertie of the rosemary is, it affects the heart. Let this rosemarinus, this flower of men, ensigne of your wisdom, love, and loyaltie, be carried not only in your hands, but in your hearts and heads." "Hungary water" is made up chiefly from the oil distilled from this shrub. * * * * * I should talk on a little longer about other shrubs, herbs, and flowers, (particularly of flowers) such as the "pink-eyed Pimpernel" (the poor man's weather glass) and the fragrant Violet, ('the modest grace of the vernal year,') the scarlet crested Geranium with its crimpled leaves, and the yellow and purple Amaranth, powdered with gold, A flower which once In Paradise, fast by the tree of life Began to bloom, and the crisp and well-varnished Holly with "its rutilant berries," and the white Lily, (the vestal Lady of the Vale,--"the flower of virgin light") and the luscious Honeysuckle, and the chaste Snowdrop, Venturous harbinger of spring And pensive monitor of fleeting years, and the sweet Heliotrope and the gay and elegant Nasturtium, and a great many other "bonnie gems" upon the breast of our dear mother earth,--but this gossipping book has already extended to so unconscionable a size that I must quicken my progress towards a conclusion[096]. I am indebted to the kindness of Babu Kasiprasad Ghosh, the first Hindu gentlemen who ever published a volume of poems in the English language[097] for the following interesting list of Indian flowers used in Hindu ceremonies. Many copies of the poems of Kasiprasad Ghosh, were sent to the English public critics, several of whom spoke of the author's talents with commendation. The late Miss Emma Roberts wrote a brief biography of him for one of the London annuals, so that there must be many of my readers at home who will not on this occasion hear of his name for the first time. A BRIEF ACCOUNT OF INDIAN FLOWERS, COMMONLY USED IN HINDU CEREMONIES.[098] A'KUNDA (_Calotropis Gigantea_).--A pretty purple coloured, and slightly scented flower, having a sweet and agreeable smell. It is called _Arca_ in Sanscrit, and has two varieties, both of which are held to be sacred to Shiva. It forms one of the five darts with which the Indian God of Love is supposed to pierce the hearts of young mortals.[099] Sir William Jones refers to it in his Hymn to Kama Deva. It possesses medicinal properties.[100] A'PARA'JITA (_Clitoria ternatea_).--A conically shaped flower, the upper part of which is tinged with blue and the lower part is white. Some are wholly white. It is held to be sacred to Durgá. ASOCA. (_Jonesia Asoca_).--A small yellow flower, which blooms in large clusters in the month of April and gives a most beautiful appearance to the tree. It is eaten by young females as a medicine. It smells like the Saffron. A'TASHI.--A small yellowish or brown coloured flower without any smell. It is supposed to be sacred to Shiva, and is very often alluded to by the Indian poets. It resembles the flower of the flax or Linum usitatissimum.[101] BAKA.--A kidney shaped flower, having several varieties, all of which are held to be sacred to Vishnu, and are in consequence used in his worship. It is supposed to possess medicinal virtues and is used by the native doctors. BAKU'LA (_Mimusops Etengi_).--A very small, yellowish, and fragrant flower. It is used in making garlands and other female ornaments. Krishna is said to have fascinated the milkmaids of Brindabun by playing on his celebrated flute under a _Baku'la_ tree on the banks of the Jumna, which is, therefore, invariably alluded to in all the Sanscrit and vernacular poems relating to his amours with those young women. BA'KASHA (_Justicia Adhatoda_).--A white flower, having a slight smell. It is used in certain native medicines. BELA (_Jasminum Zambac_).--A fragrant small white flower, in common use among native females, who make garlands of it to wear in their braids of hair. A kind of _uttar_ is extracted from this flower, which is much esteemed by natives. It is supposed to form one of the darts of Kama Deva or the God of Love. European Botanists seem to have confounded this flower with the Monika, which they also call the Jasminum Zambac. BHU'MI CHAMPAKA.--An oblong variegated flower, which shoots out from the ground at the approach of spring. It has a slight smell, and is considered to possess medicinal properties. The great peculiarity of this flower is that it blooms when there is not apparently the slightest trace of the existence of the shrub above ground. When the flower dies away, the leaves make their appearance. CHAMPA' (_Michelia Champaka_).--A tulip shaped yellow flower possessing a very strong smell.[102] It forms one of the darts of Kama Deva, the Indian Cupid. It is particularly sacred to Krishna. CHUNDRA MALLIKA' (_Chrysanthemum Indiana_).--A pretty round yellow flower which blooms in winter. The plant is used in making hedges in gardens and presents a beautiful appearance in the cold weather when the blossoms appear. DHASTU'RA (_Datura Fastuosa_).--A large tulip shaped white flower, sacred to Mahadeva, the third Godhead of the Hindu Trinity. The seeds of this flower have narcotic properties.[103] DRONA.--A white flower with a very slight smell. DOPATI (_Impatiens Balsamina_).--A small flower having a slight smell. There are several varieties of this flower. Some are red and some white, while others are both white and red. GA'NDA' (_Tagetes erecta_).--A handsome yellow flower, which sometimes grows very large. It is commonly used in making garlands, with which the natives decorate their idols, and the Europeans in India their churches and gates on Christmas Day and New Year's Day. GANDHA RA'J (_Gardenia Florida_).--A strongly scented white flower, which blooms at night. GOLANCHA (_Menispermum Glabrum_).--A white flower. The plant is already well known to Europeans as a febrifuge. JAVA' (_Hibiscus Rosa Sinensis_).--A large blood coloured flower held to be especially sacred to Kali. There are two species of it, viz. the ordinary Javá commonly seen in our gardens and parterres, and the _Pancha Mukhi_, which, as its name imports, has five compartments and is the largest of the two.[104] JAYANTI (_Aeschynomene Sesban_).--A small yellowish flower, held to be sacred to Shiva. JHA'NTI.--A small white flower possessing medicinal properties. The leaves of the plants are used in curing certain ulcers. JA'NTI (_Jasminum Grandiflorum_).--Also a small white flower having a sweet smell. The _uttar_ called _Chumeli_ is extracted from it. JUYIN (_Jasminum Auriculatum_).--The Indian Jasmine. It is a very small white flower remarkable for its sweetness. It is also used in making a species of _uttar_ which is highly prized by the natives, as also in forming a great variety of imitation female ornaments. KADAMBA (_Nauclea Cadamba_).--A ball shaped yellow flower held to be particularly sacred to Krishna, many of whose gambols with the milkmaids of Brindabun are said to have been performed under the Kadamba tree, which is in consequence very frequently alluded to in the vernacular poems relating to his loves with those celebrated beauties. KINSUKA (_Butea Frondosa_).--A handsome but scentless white flower. KANAKA CHAMPA (_Pterospermum Acerifolium_).--A yellowish flower which hangs down in form of a tassel. It has a strong smell, which is perceived at a great distance when it is on the tree, but the moment it is plucked off, it begins to lose its fragrance. KANCHANA (_Bauhinia Variegata_).--There are several varieties of this flower. Some are white, some are purple, while others are red. It gives a handsome appearance to the tree when the latter is in full blossom. KUNDA (_Jasminum pulescens_).--A very pretty white flower. Indian poets frequently compare a set of handsome teeth, to this flower. It is held to be especially sacred to Vishnu. KARABIRA (_Nerium Odosum_).--There are two species of this flower, viz. the white and red, both of which are sacred to Shiva. KAMINI (_Murraya Exotica_).--A pretty small white flower having a strong smell. It blooms at night and is very delicate to the touch. The _kamini_ tree is frequently used as a garden hedge. KRISHNA CHURA (_Poinciana Pulcherrima_).--A pretty small flower, which, as its name imports resembles the head ornament of Krishna. When the Krishna Chura tree is in full blossom, it has a very handsome appearance. KRISHNA KELI (_Mirabilis Jalapa_.)[105]--A small tulip shaped yellow flower. The bulb of the plant has medicinal properties and is used by the natives as a poultice. KUMADA (_Nymphaea Esculenta_)--A white flower, resembling the lotus, but blooming at night, whence the Indian poets suppose that it is in love with Chandra or the Moon, as the lotus is imagined by them to be in love with the Sun. LAVANGA LATA' (_Limonia Scandens_.)--A very small red flower growing upon a creeper, which has been celebrated by Jaya Deva in his famous work called the _Gita Govinda_. This creeper is used in native gardens for bowers. MALLIKA' (_Jasminum Zambac_.)--A white flower resembling the _Bela_. It has a very sweet smell and is used by native females to make ornaments. It is frequently alluded to by Indian poets. MUCHAKUNDA (_Pterospermum Suberifolia_).--A strongly scented flower, which grows in clusters and is of a brown colour. MA'LATI (_Echites Caryophyllata_.)--The flower of a creeper which is commonly used in native gardens. It has a slight smell and is of a white colour. MA'DHAVI (_Gaertnera Racemosa_.)--The flower of another creeper which is also to be seen in native gardens. It is likewise of a white colour. NA'GESWARA (_Mesua Ferrua_.)--A white flower with yellow filaments, which are said to possess medicinal properties and are used by the native physicians. It has a very sweet smell and is supposed by Indian poets to form one of the darts of Kama Deva. See Sir William Jones's Hymn to that deity. PADMA (_Nelumbium Speciosum_.)--The Indian lotus, which is held to be sacred to Vishnu, Brama, Mahadava, Durga, Lakshami and Saraswati as well as all the higher orders of Indian deities. It is a very elegant flower and is highly esteemed by the natives, in consequence of which the Indian poets frequently allude to it in their writings. PA'RIJATA (_Buchanania Latifolia_.)--A handsome white flower, with a slight smell. In native poetry, it furnishes a simile for pretty eyes, and is held to be sacred to Vishnu. PAREGATA (_Erythrina Fulgens_.)--A flower which is supposed to bloom in the garden of Indra in heaven, and forms the subject of an interesting episode in the _Puranas_, in which the two wives of Krisna, (Rukmini and Satyabhama) are said to have quarrelled for the exclusive possession of this flower, which their husband had stolen from the celestial garden referred to. It is supposed to be identical with the flower of the _Palta madar_. RAJANI GANDHA (_Polianthus Tuberosa_.)--A white tulip-shaped flower which blooms at night, from which circumstance it is called "the Rajani Gandha, (or night-fragrance giver)." It is the Indian tuberose. RANGANA.--A small and very pretty red flower which is used by native females in ornamenting their betels. SEONTI. _Rosa Glandulefera_. A white flower resembling the rose in size and appearance. It has a sweet smell. SEPHA'LIKA (_Nyctanthes Arbor-tristis_.)--A very pretty and delicate flower which blooms at night, and drops down shortly after. It has a sweet smell and is held to be sacred to Shiva. The juice of the leaves of the Sephalika tree are used in curing both remittant and intermittent fevers. SURYJA MUKHI (_Helianthus Annuus_).--A large and very handsome yellow flower, which is said to turn itself to the Sun, as he goes from East to West, whence it has derived its name. SURYJA MANI (_Hibiscus Phoeniceus_).--A small red flower. GOLAKA CHAMPA.--A large beautiful white tulip-shaped flower having a sweet smell. It is externally white but internally orange-colored. TAGUR (_Tabernoemontana Coronaria_).--A white flower having a slight smell. TARU LATA.--A beautiful creeper with small red flowers. It is used in native gardens for making hedges. K.G. * * * * * Pliny in his Natural History alludes to the marks of time exhibited in the regular opening and closing of flowers. Linnaeus enumerates forty-six flowers that might be used for the construction of a floral time-piece. This great Swedish botanist invented a Floral horologe, "whose wheels were the sun and earth and whose index-figures were flowers." Perhaps his invention, however, was not wholly original. Andrew Marvell in his "_Thoughts in a Garden_" mentions a sort of floral dial:-- How well the skilful gardener drew Of flowers and herbs this dial new! Where, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run: And, as it works, th'industrious bee Computes its time as well as we: How could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckoned, but with herbs and flowers? _Marvell_[106] Milton's notation of time--"_at shut of evening flowers_," has a beautiful simplicity, and though Shakespeare does not seem to have marked his time on a floral clock, yet, like all true poets, he has made very free use of other appearances of nature to indicate the commencement and the close of day. The sun no sooner shall the mountains touch-- Than we will ship him hence. _Hamlet_. Fare thee well at once! The glow-worm shows the matin to be near And gins to pale his uneffectual fire. _Hamlet_. But look! The morn, in russet mantle clad, Walks o'er the dew of yon high eastern hill:-- Break we our watch up. _Hamlet_. _Light thickens_, and the crow Makes wing to the rooky wood. _Macbeth_. Such picturesque notations of time as these, are in the works of Shakespeare, as thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks in Valombrosa. In one of his Sonnets he thus counts the years of human life by the succession of the seasons. To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed, Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers' pride; Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned In process of the seasons have I seen; Three April's perfumes in three hot Junes burned Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green. Grainger, a prosaic verse-writer who once commenced a paragraph of a poem with "Now, Muse, let's sing of rats!" called upon the slave drivers in the West Indies to time their imposition of cruel tasks by the opening and closing of flowers. Till morning dawn and Lucifer withdraw His beamy chariot, let not the loud bell Call forth thy negroes from their rushy couch: And ere the sun with mid-day fervor glow, When every broom-bush opes her yellow flower, Let thy black laborers from their toil desist: Nor till the broom her every petal lock, Let the loud bell recal them to the hoe, But when the jalap her bright tint displays, When the solanum fills her cup with dew, And crickets, snakes and lizards gin their coil, Let them find shelter in their cane-thatched huts. _Sugar Cane_.[107] I shall here give (_from Loudon's Encyclopaedia of Gardening_) the form of a flower dial. It may be interesting to many of my readers:-- 'Twas a lovely thought to mark the hours As they floated in light away By the opening and the folding flowers That laugh to the summer day.[108] _Mr. Hemans_. A FLOWER DIAL. TIME OF OPENING. [109] h. m. YELLOW GOAT'S BEARD T.P. 3 5 LATE FLOWERING DANDELION Leon.S. 4 0 BRISTLY HELMINTHIA H.B. 4 5 ALPINE BORKHAUSIA B.A. 4 5 WILD SUCCORY C.I. 4 5 NAKED STALKED POPPY P.N. 5 0 COPPER COLOURED DAY LILY H.F. 5 0 SMOOTH SOW THISTLE S.L. 5 0 ALPINE AGATHYRSUS Ag.A. 5 0 SMALL BIND WEED Con.A. 5 6 COMMON NIPPLE WORT L.C. 5 6 COMMON DANDELION L.T. 5 6 SPORTED ACHYROPHORUS A.M. 6 7 WHITE WATER LILY N.A. 7 0 GARDEN LETTUCE Lec.S. 7 0 AFRICAN MARIGOLD T.E. 7 0 COMMON PIMPERNEL A.A. 7 8 MOUSE-EAR HAWKWEED H.P. 8 0 PROLIFEROUS PINK D.P. 8 0 FIELD MARIGOLD Cal.A. 9 0 PURPLE SANDWORT A.P. 9 10 SMALL PURSLANE P.O. 9 10 CREEPING MALLOW M.C. 9 10 CHICKWEED S.M. 9 10 TIME OF CLOSING. h. m. HELMINTHIA ECHIOIDES B.H. 12 0 AGATHYRSUS ALPINUS A.B. 12 0 BORKHAUSIA ALPINA A.B. 12 0 LEONTODON SEROTINUS L.D. 12 0 MALVA CAROLINIANA C.M. 12 1 DAINTHUS PROLIFER P.P. 1 0 HIERACIUM PILOSELLA M.H. 0 2 ANAGALLIS ARVENSIS S.P. 2 3 ARENARIA PURPUREA P.S. 2 4 CALENDULA ARVENSIS F.M. 3 0 TACETES ERECTA A.M. 3 3 CONVOLVULUS ARVENSIS S.B. 4 0 ACHYROPHORUS MACULATUS S.A. 4 5 NYMPHAEA ALBA W.W.B. 5 0 PAPAVER NUDICAULE N.P. 7 0 HEMEROCALLIS FULVA C.D.L. 7 0 CICHORIUM INTYBUS W.S. 8 9 TRAGOPOGON PRATENSIS Y.G.B. 9 10 STELLARIA MEDIA C. 9 10 LAPSANA COMMUNIS C.N. 10 0 LACTUCA SATIVA G.L. 10 0 SONCHUS LAEVIS S.T. 11 10 PORTULACA OLERACEA S.P. 11 12 Of course it will be necessary to adjust the _Horologium Florae_ (or Flower clock) to the nature of the climate. Flowers expand at a later hour in a cold climate than in a warm one. "A flower," says Loudon, "that opens at six o'clock in the morning at Senegal, will not open in France or England till eight or nine, nor in Sweden till ten. A flower that opens at ten o'clock at Senegal will not open in France or England till noon or later, and in Sweden it will not open at all. And a flower that does not open till noon or later at Senegal will not open at all in France or England. This seems as if heat or its absence were also (as well as light) an agent in the opening and shutting of flowers; though the opening of such as blow only in the night cannot be attributed to either light or heat." The seasons may be marked in a similar manner by their floral representatives. Mary Howitt quotes as a motto to her poem on _Holy Flowers_ the following example of religious devotion timed by flowers:-- "Mindful of the pious festivals which our church prescribes," (says a Franciscan Friar) "I have sought to make these charming objects of floral nature, the _time-pieces of my religious calendar_, and the mementos of the hastening period of my mortality. Thus I can light the taper to our Virgin Mother on the blowing of the white snow-drop which opens its floweret at the time of Candlemas; the lady's smock and the daffodil, remind me of the Annunciation; the blue harebell, of the Festival of St George; the ranunculus, of the Invention of the Cross; the scarlet lychnis, of St. John the Baptist's day; the white lily, of the Visitation of our Lady, and the Virgin's bower, of her Assumption; and Michaelmas, Martinmas, Holyrood, and Christmas, have all their appropriate monitors. I learn the time of day from the shutting of the blossoms of the Star of Jerusalem and the Dandelion, and the hour of the night by the stars." Some flowers afford a certain means of determining the state of the atmosphere. If I understand Mr. Tyas rightly he attributes the following remarks to Hartley Coleridge.-- "Many species of flowers are admirable barometers. Most of the bulbous-rooted flowers contract, or close their petals entirely on the approach of rain. The African marigold indicates rain, if the corolla is closed after seven or eight in the morning. The common bind-weed closes its flowers on the approach of rain; but the anagallis arvensis, or scarlet pimpernel, is the most sure in its indications as the petals constantly close on the least humidity of the atmosphere. Barley is also singularly affected by the moisture or dryness of the air. The awns are furnished with stiff points, all turning towards one end, which extend when moist, and shorten when dry. The points, too, prevent their receding, so that they are drawn up or forward; as moisture is returned, they advance and so on; indeed they may be actually seen to travel forwards. The capsules of the geranium furnish admirable barometers. Fasten the beard, when fully ripe, upon a stand, and it will twist itself, or untwist, according as the air is moist or dry. The flowers of the chick-weed, convolvulus, and oxalis, or wood sorrel, close their petals on the approach of rain." The famous German writer, Jean Paul Richter, describes what he calls _a Human Clock_. A HUMAN CLOCK. "I believe" says Richter "the flower clock of Linnaeus, in Upsal (_Horologium Florae_) whose wheels are the sun and earth, and whose index-figures are flowers, of which one always awakens and opens later than another, was what secretly suggested my conception of the human clock. I formerly occupied two chambers in Scheeraw, in the middle of the market place: from the front room I overlooked the whole market-place and the royal buildings and from the back one, the botanical garden. Whoever now dwells in these two rooms possesses an excellent harmony, arranged to his hand, between the flower clock in the garden and the human clock in the marketplace. At three o'clock in the morning, the yellow meadow goats-beard opens; and brides awake, and the stable-boy begins to rattle and feed the horses beneath the lodger. At four o'clock the little hawk weed awakes, choristers going to the Cathedral who are clocks with chimes, and the bakers. At five, kitchen maids, dairy maids, and butter-cups awake. At six, the sow-thistle and cooks. At seven o'clock many of the Ladies' maids are awake in the Palace, the Chicory in my botanical garden, and some tradesmen. At eight o'clock all the colleges awake and the little mouse-ear. At nine o'clock, the female nobility already begin to stir; the marigold, and even many young ladies, who have come from the country on a visit, begin to look out of their windows. Between ten and eleven o'clock the Court Ladies and the whole staff of Lords of the Bed-chamber, the green colewort and the Alpine dandelion, and the reader of the Princess rouse themselves out of their morning sleep; and the whole Palace, considering that the morning sun gleams so brightly to-day from the lofty sky through the coloured silk curtains, curtails a little of its slumber. At twelve o'clock, the Prince: at one, his wife and the carnation have their eyes open in their flower vase. What awakes late in the afternoon at four o'clock is only the red-hawkweed, and the night watchman as cuckoo-clock, and these two only tell the time as evening-clocks and moon-clocks. From the eyes of the unfortunate man, who like the jalap plant (Mirabilia jalapa), first opens them at five o'clock, we will turn our own in pity aside. It is a rich man who only exchanges the fever fancies of being pinched with hot pincers for waking pains. I could never know when it was two o'clock, because at that time, together with a thousand other stout gentlemen and the yellow mouse-ear, I always fell asleep; but at three o'clock in the afternoon, and at three in the morning, I awoke as regularly as though I was a repeater. Thus we mortals may be a flower-clock for higher beings, when our flower-leaves close upon our last bed; or sand clocks, when the sand of our life is so run down that it is renewed in the other world; or picture-clocks because, when our death-bell here below strikes and rings, our image steps forth, from its case into the next world. On each event of the kind, when seventy years of human life have passed away, they may perhaps say, what! another hour already gone! how the time flies!"--_From Balfour's Phyto-Theology_. Some of the natives of India who possess extensive estates might think it worth their while to plant a LABYRINTH for the amusement of their friends. I therefore give a plan of one from London's _Arboretum et Fruticetum Britannicum_. It would not be advisable to occupy much of a limited estate in a toy of this nature; but where the ground required for it can be easily spared or would otherwise be wasted, there could be no objection to adding this sort of amusement to the very many others that may be included in a pleasure ground. The plan here given, resembles the labyrinth at Hampton Court. The hedges should be a little above a man's height and the paths should be just wide enough for two persons abreast. The ground should be kept scrupulously clean and well rolled and the hedges well trimmed, or in this country the labyrinth would soon be damp and unwholesome, especially in the rains. To prevent its affording a place of refuge and concealment for snakes and other reptiles, the gardener should cut off all young shoots and leaves within half a foot of the ground. The centre building should be a tasteful summer-house, in which people might read or smoke or take refreshments. To make the labyrinth still more intricate Mr. Loudon suggests that stop-hedges might be introduced across the path, at different places, as indicated in the figure by dotted lines.[110] [Illustration of A GARDEN LABYRINTH with a scale in feet.] Of strictly Oriental trees and shrubs and flowers, perhaps the majority of Anglo Indians think with much less enthusiasm than of the common weeds of England. The remembrance of the simplest wild flower of their native fields will make them look with perfect indifference on the decorations of an Indian Garden. This is in no degree surprizing. Yet nature is lovely in all lands. Indian scenery has not been so much the subject of description in either prose or verse as it deserves, but some two or three of our Anglo-Indian authors have touched upon it. Here is a pleasant and truthful passage from an article entitled "_A Morning Walk in India_," written by the late Mr. Lawson, the Missionary, a truly good and a highly gifted man:-- "The rounded clumps that afford the deepest shade, are formed by the mangoe, the banian, and the cotton trees. At the verge of this deep-green forest are to be seen the long and slender hosts of the betle and cocoanut trees; and the grey bark of their trunks, as they catch the light of the morning, is in clear relief from the richness of the back-ground. These as they wave their feathery tops, add much to the picturesque interest of the straw-built hovels beneath them, which are variegated with every tinge to be found amongst the browns and yellows, according to the respective periods of their construction. Some of them are enveloped in blue smoke, which oozes through every interstice of the thatch, and spreads itself, like a cloud hovering over these frail habitations, or moves slowly along, like a strata of vapour not far from the ground, as though too heavy to ascend, and loses itself in the thin air, so inspiring to all who have courage to leave their beds and enjoy it. The champa tree forms a beautiful object in this jungle. It may be recognized immediately from the surrounding scenery. It has always been a favourite with me. I suppose most persons, at times, have been unaccountably attracted by an object comparatively trifling in itself. There are also particular seasons, when the mind is susceptible of peculiar impressions, and the moments of happy, careless youth, rush upon the imagination with a thousand tender feelings. There are few that do not recollect with what pleasure they have grasped a bunch of wild flowers, when, in the days of their childhood, the languor of a lingering fever has prevented them for some weary months from enjoying that chief of all the pleasures of a robust English boy, a ramble through the fields, where every tree, and bush, and hillock, and blossom, are endeared to him, because, next to a mother's caresses, they were the first things in the world upon which he opened his eyes, and, doubtless, the first which gave him those indescribable feelings of fairy pleasure, which even in his dreams were excited; while the coloured clouds of heaven, the golden sunshine of a landscape, the fresh nosegay of dog-roses and early daisies, and the sounds of busy whispering trees and tinkling brooks presented to the sleeping child all the pure pleasure of his waking moments. And who is there here that does not sometimes recal some of those feelings which were his solace perhaps thirty years ago? Should I be wrong, were I to say that even, at his desk, amid all the excitements and anxieties of commercial pursuits, the weary Calcutta merchant has been lulled into a sort of pensive reminiscence of the past, and, with his pen placed between his lips and his fevered forehead leaning upon his hand, has felt his heart bound at some vivid picture rising upon his imagination. The forms of a fond mother, and an almost angel-looking sister, have been so strongly conjured up with the scenes of his boyish days, that the pen has been unceremoniously dashed to the ground, and 'I will go home' was the sigh that heaved from a bosom full of kindness and English feeling; while, as the dream vanished, plain truth told its tale, and the man of commerce is still to be seen at his desk, pale, and getting into years and perhaps less desirous than ever of winding up his concern. No wonder! because the dearest ties of his heart have been broken, and those who were the charm of home have gone down to the cold grave, the home of all. Why then should he revisit his native place? What is the cottage of his birth to him? What charms has the village now for the gentleman just arrived from India? Every well remembered object of nature, seen after a lapse of twenty years, would only serve to renew a host of buried, painful feelings. Every visit to the house of a surviving neighbour would but bring to mind some melancholy incident; for into what house could he enter, to idle away an hour, without seeing some wreck of his own family, such as a venerable clock, once so loved for the painted moon that waxed and waned to the astonishment of the gazer, or some favorite ancient chair, edged so nobly with rows of brass nails, --but perforated sore, and dull'd in holes By worms voracious, eating through and through. These are little things, but they are objects which will live in his memory to the latest day of his life, and with which are associated in his mind the dearest feelings and thoughts of his happiest hours." Here is an attempt at a description in verse of some of the most common TREES AND FLOWERS OF BENGAL This land is not my father land, And yet I love it--for the hand Of God hath left its mark sublime On nature's face in every clime-- Though from home and friends we part, Nature and the human heart Still may soothe the wanderer's care-- And his God is every where Beneath BENGALA'S azure skies, No vallies sink, no green hills rise, Like those the vast sea billows make-- The land is level as a lake[111] But, oh, what giants of the wood Wave their wide arms, or calmly brood Each o'er his own deep rounded shade When noon's fierce sun the breeze hath laid, And all is still. On every plain How green the sward, or rich the grain! In jungle wild and garden trim, And open lawn and covert dim, What glorious shrubs and flowerets gay, Bright buds, and lordly beasts of prey! How prodigally Gunga pours Her wealth of waves through verdant shores O'er which the sacred peepul bends, And oft its skeleton lines extends Of twisted root, well laved and bare, Half in water, half in air! Fair scenes! where breeze and sun diffuse The sweetest odours, fairest hues-- Where brightest the bright day god shows, And where his gentle sister throws Her softest spell on silent plain, And stirless wood, and slumbering main-- Where the lucid starry sky Opens most to mortal eye The wide and mystic dome serene Meant for visitants unseen, A dream like temple, air built hall, Where spirits pure hold festival! Fair scenes! whence envious Art might steal More charms than fancy's realms reveal-- Where the tall palm to the sky Lifts its wreath triumphantly-- And the bambu's tapering bough Loves its flexile arch to throw-- Where sleeps the favored lotus white, On the still lake's bosom bright-- Where the champac's[112] blossoms shine, Offerings meet for Brahma's shrine, While the fragrance floateth wide O'er velvet lawn and glassy tide-- Where the mangoe tope bestows Night at noon day--cool repose, Neath burning heavens--a hush profound Breathing o'er the shaded ground-- Where the medicinal neem, Of palest foliage, softest gleam, And the small leafed tamarind Tremble at each whispering wind-- And the long plumed cocoas stand Like the princes of the land, Near the betel's pillar slim, With capital richly wrought and trim-- And the neglected wild sonail Drops her yellow ringlets pale-- And light airs summer odours throw From the bala's breast of snow-- Where the Briarean banyan shades The crowded ghat, while Indian maids, Untouched by noon tide's scorching rays, Lave the sleek limb, or fill the vase With liquid life, or on the head Replace it, and with graceful tread And form erect, and movement slow, Back to their simple dwellings go-- [Walls of earth, that stoutly stand, Neatly smoothed with wetted hand-- Straw roofs, yellow once and gay, Turned by time and tempest gray--] Where the merry minahs crowd Unbrageous haunts, and chirrup loud-- And shrilly talk the parrots green 'Midst the thick leaves dimly seen-- And through the quivering foliage play, Light as buds, the squirrels gay, Quickly as the noontide beams Dance upon the rippled streams-- Where the pariah[113] howls with fear, If the white man passeth near-- Where the beast that mocks our race With taper finger, solemn face, In the cool shade sits at ease Calm and grave as Socrates-- Where the sluggish buffaloe Wallows in mud--and huge and slow, Like massive cloud of sombre van, Moves the land leviathan--[114] Where beneath the jungle's screen Close enwoven, lurks unseen The couchant tiger--and the snake His sly and sinuous way doth make Through the rich mead's grassy net, Like a miniature rivulet-- Where small white cattle, scattered wide, Browse, from dawn to even tide-- Where the river watered soil Scarce demands the ryot's toil-- And the rice field's emerald light Out vies Italian meadows bright,-- Where leaves of every shape and dye, And blossoms varied as the sky, The fancy kindle,--fingers fair That never closed on aught but air-- Hearts, that never heaved a sigh-- Wings, that never learned to fly-- Cups, that ne'er went table round-- Bells, that never rang with sound-- Golden crowns, of little worth-- Silver stars, that strew the earth-- Filagree fine and curious braid, Breathed, not labored, grown, not made-- Tresses like the beams of morn Without a thought of triumph worn-- Tongues that prate not--many an eye Untaught midst hidden things to pry-- Brazen trumpets, long and bright, That never summoned to the fight-- Shafts, that never pierced a side-- And plumes that never waved with pride;-- Scarcely Art a shape may know But Nature here that shape can show. Through this soft air, o'er this warm sod, Stern deadly Winter never trod; The woods their pride for centuries wear, And not a living branch is bare; Each field for ever boasts its bowers, And every season brings its flowers. D.L.R. We all "uphold Adam's profession": we are all gardeners, either practically or theoretically. The love of trees and flowers, and shrubs and the green sward, with a summer sky above them, is an almost universal sentiment. It may be smothered for a time by some one or other of the innumerable chances and occupations of busy life; but a painting in oils by Claude or Gainsborough, or a picture in words by Spenser or Shakespeare that shall for ever Live in description and look green in song, or the sight of a few flowers on a window-sill in the city, can fill the eye with tears of tenderness, or make the secret passion for nature burst out again in sudden gusts of tumultuous pleasure and lighten up the soul with images of rural beauty. There are few, indeed, who, when they have the good fortune to escape on a summer holiday from the crowded and smoky city and find themselves in the heart of a delicious garden, have not a secret consciousness within them that the scene affords them a glimpse of a true paradise below. Rich foliage and gay flowers and rural quiet and seclusion and a smiling sun are ever associated with ideas of earthly felicity. And oh, if there be an Elysium on earth, It is this, it is this! The princely merchant and the petty trader, the soldier and the sailor, the politician and the lawyer, the artist and the artisan, when they pause for a moment in the midst of their career, and dream of the happiness of some future day, almost invariably fix their imaginary palace or cottage of delight in a garden, amidst embowering trees and fragrant flowers. This disposition, even in the busiest men, to indulge occasionally in fond anticipations of rural bliss-- In visions so profuse of pleasantness-- shows that God meant us to appreciate and enjoy the beauty of his works. The taste for a garden is the one common feeling that unites us all. One touch of nature makes the whole world kin. There is this much of poetical sensibility--of a sense of natural beauty--at the core of almost every human heart. The monarch shares it with the peasant, and Nature takes care that as the thirst for her society is the universal passion, the power of gratifying it shall be more or less within the reach of all.[115] Our present Chief Justice, Sir Lawrence Peel, who has set so excellent an example to his countrymen here in respect to Horticultural pursuits and the tasteful embellishment of what we call our "_compounds_" and who, like Sir William Jones and Sir Thomas Noon Talfourd, sees no reason why Themis should be hostile to the Muses, has obliged me with the following stanzas on the moral or rather religious influence of a garden. They form a highly appropriate and acceptable contribution to this volume. I HEARD THY VOICE IN THE GARDEN. That voice yet speaketh, heed it well-- But not in tones of wrath it chideth, The moss rose, and the lily smell Of God--in them his voice abideth. There is a blessing on the spot The poor man decks--the sun delighteth To smile upon each homely plot, And why? The voice of God inviteth. God knows that he is worshipped there, The chaliced cowslip's graceful bending Is mute devotion, and the air Is sweet with incense of her lending. The primrose, aye the children's pet, Pale bride, yet proud of its uprooting, The crocus, snowdrop, violet And sweet-briar with its soft leaves shooting. There nestles each--a Preacher each-- (Oh heart of man! be slow to harden) Each cottage flower in sooth doth teach God walketh with us in the garden. I am surprized that in this city (of Calcutta) where so many kinds of experiments in education have been proposed, the directors of public instruction have never thought of attaching tasteful Gardens to the Government Colleges--especially where Botany is in the regular course of Collegiate studies. The Company's Botanic Garden being on the other side of the river and at an inconvenient distance from the city cannot be much resorted to by any one whose time is precious. An attempt was made not long ago to have the Garden of the Horticultural Society (now forming part of the Company's Botanic Garden) on this side of the river, but the public subscriptions that were called for to meet the necessary expenses were so inadequate to the purpose that the money realized was returned to the subscribers, and the idea relinquished, to the great regret of many of the inhabitants of Calcutta who would have been delighted to possess such a place of recreation and instruction within a few minutes' drive. Hindu students, unlike English boys in general, remind us of Beattie's Minstrel:-- The exploit of strength, dexterity and speed To him nor vanity, nor joy could bring. A sort of Garden Academy, therefore, full of pleasant shades, would be peculiarly suited to the tastes and habits of our Indian Collegians. They are not fond of cricket or leap-frog. They would rejoice to devote a leisure hour to pensive letterings in a pleasure-garden, and on an occasional holiday would gladly pursue even their severest studies, book in hand, amidst verdant bowers. A stranger from Europe beholding them, in their half-Grecian garments, thus wandering amidst the trees, would be reminded of the disciples of Plato. "It is not easy," observes Lord Kames, "to suppress a degree of enthusiasm, when we reflect on the advantages of gardening with respect to virtuous education. In the beginning of life the deepest impressions are made; and it is a sad truth, that the young student, familiarized to the dirtiness and disorder of many colleges pent within narrow bounds in populous cities, is rendered in a measure insensible to the elegant beauties of art and nature. It seems to me far from an exaggeration, that good professors are not more essential to a college, than a spacious garden, sweetly ornamented, but without any thing glaring or fantastic, is upon the whole to inspire our youth with a taste no less for simplicity than for elegance. In this respect the University of Oxford may justly be deemed a model." It may be expected that I should offer a few hints on the laying out of gardens. Much has been said (by writers on ornamental and landscape gardening) on _art_ and _nature_, and almost always has it been implied that these must necessarily be in direct opposition. I am far from being of this opinion. If art and nature be not in some points of view almost identical, they are at least very good friends, or may easily be made so. They are not necessarily hostile. They admit of the most harmonious combinations. In no place are such combinations more easy or more proper than in a garden. Walter Scott very truly calls a garden the child of Art. But is it not also the child of Nature?--of Nature and Art together? To attempt to exclude art--or even, the appearance of art--from a small garden enclosure, is idle and absurd. He who objects to all art in the arrangement of a flower-bed, ought, if consistent with himself, to turn away with an expression of disgust from a well arranged nosegay in a rich porcelain vase. But who would not loathe or laugh at such manifest affectation or such thoroughly bad taste? As there is a time for every thing, so also is there a place for every thing. No man of true judgment would desire to trace the hand of human art on the form of nature in remote and gigantic forests, and amidst vast mountains, as irregular as the billows of a troubled sea. In such scenery there is a sublime grace in wildness,--_there_ "the very weeds are beautiful." But what true judgment would be enchanted with weeds and wildness in the small parterre. As Pope rightly says, we must Consult the genius of the place in all. It is pleasant to enter a rural lane overgrown with field-flowers, or to behold an extensive common irregularly decorated with prickly gorse or fern and thistle, but surely no man of taste would admire nature in this wild and dishevelled state in a little suburban garden. Symmetry, elegance and beauty, (--no _sublimity_ or _grandeur_--) trimness, snugness, privacy, cleanliness, comfort, and convenience--the results of a happy conjunction of art and nature--are all that we can aim at within a limited extent of ground. In a small parterre we either trace with pleasure the marks of the gardener's attention or are disgusted with his negligence. In a mere patch of earth around a domestic dwelling nature ought not to be left entirely to herself. What is agreeable in one sphere of life is offensive in another. A dirty smock frock and a soiled face in a ploughman's child who has been swinging on rustic gates a long summer morning or rolling down the slopes of hills, or grubbing in the soil of his small garden, may remind us, not unpleasantly, of one of Gainsborough's pictures; but we look for a different sort of nature on the canvas of Sir Joshua Reynolds or Sir Thomas Lawrence, or in the brilliant drawing-rooms of the nobility; and yet an Earl's child looks and moves at least as _naturally_ as a peasant's. There is nature every where--in the palace as well as in the hut, in the cultivated garden as well as in the wild wood. Civilized life is, after all, as natural as savage life. All our faculties are natural, and civilized man cultivates his mental powers and studies the arts of life by as true an instinct as that which leads the savage to make the most of his mud hut, and to improve himself or his child as a hunter, a fisherman, or a warrior. The mind of man is the noblest work of its Maker (--in this world--) and the movements of man's mind may be quite as natural, and quite as poetical too, as the life that rises from the ground. It is as natural for the mind, as it is for a tree or flower to advance towards perfection. Nature suggests art, and art again imitates and approximates to nature, and this principle of action and reaction brings man by degrees towards that point of comparative excellence for which God seems to have intended him. The mind of a Milton or a Shakespeare is surely not in a more unnatural condition than that of an ignorant rustic. We ought not then to decry refinement nor deem all connection of art with nature an offensive incongruity. A noble mansion in a spacious and well kept park is an object which even an observer who has no share himself in the property may look upon with pleasure. It makes him proud of his race.[116] We cannot witness so harmonious a conjunction of art and nature without feeling that man is something better than a mere beast of the field or forest. We see him turn both art and nature to his service, and we cannot contemplate the lordly dwelling and the richly decorated land around it--and the neatness and security and order of the whole scene--without associating them with the high accomplishments and refined tastes that in all probability distinguish the proprietor and his family. It is a strange mistake to suppose that nothing is natural beyond savage ignorance--that all refinement is unnatural--that there is only one sort of simplicity. For the mind elevated by civilization is in a more natural state than a mind that has scarcely passed the boundary of brutal instinct, and the simplicity of a savage's hut, does not prevent there being a nobler simplicity in a Grecian temple. Kent[117] the famous landscape gardener, tells us that _nature_ _abhors a straight line_. And so she does--in some cases--but not in all. A ray of light is a straight line, and so also is a Grecian nose, and so also is the stem of the betel-nut tree. It must, indeed, be admitted that he who should now lay out a large park or pleasure-ground on strictly geometrical principles or in the old topiary style would exhibit a deplorable want of taste and judgment. But the provinces of the landscape gardener and the parterre gardener are perfectly distinct. The landscape gardener demands a wide canvas. All his operations are on a large scale. In a small garden we have chiefly to aim at the _gardenesque_ and in an extensive park at the _picturesque_. Even in the latter case, however, though 'Tis Nature still, 'tis nature methodized: Or in other words: Nature to advantage dressed. for even in the largest parks or pleasure-grounds, an observer of true taste is offended by an air of negligence or the absence of all traces of human art or care. Such places ought to indicate the presence of civilized life and security and order. We are not pleased to see weeds and jungle--or litter of any sort--even dry leaves--upon the princely domain, which should look like a portion of nature set apart or devoted to the especial care and enjoyment of the owner and his friends:--a strictly private property. The grass carpet should be trimly shorn and well swept. The trees should be tastefully separated from each other at irregular but judicious distances. They should have fine round heads of foliage, clean stems, and no weeds or underwood below, nor a single dead branch above. When we visit the finest estates of the nobility and gentry in England it is impossible not to perceive in every case a marked distinction between the wild nature of a wood and the civilized nature of a park. In the latter you cannot overlook the fact that every thing injurious to the health and growth and beauty of each individual tree has been studiously removed, while on the other hand, light, air, space, all things in fact that, if sentient, the tree could itself be supposed to desire, are most liberally supplied. There is as great a difference between the general aspect of the trees in a nobleman's pleasure ground and those in a jungle, as between the rustics of a village and the well bred gentry of a great city. Park trees have generally a fine air of aristocracy about them. A Gainsborough or a Morland would seek his subjects in remote villages and a Watteau or a Stothard in the well kept pleasure ground. The ruder nature of woods and villages, of sturdy ploughmen and the healthy though soiled and ragged children in rural neighbourhoods, affords a by no means unpleasing contrast and introduction to the trim trees and smoothly undulating lawns, and curved walks, and gay parterres, and fine ladies and well dressed and graceful children on some old ancestral estate. We look for rusticity in the village, and for elegance in the park. The sleek and noble air of patrician trees, standing proudly on the rich velvet sward, the order and grace and beauty of all that meets the eye, lead us, as I have said already, to form a high opinion of the owner. In this we may of course be sometimes disappointed; but a man's character is generally to be traced in almost every object around him over which he has the power of a proprietor, and in few things are a man's taste and habits more distinctly marked than in his park and garden. If we find the owner of a neatly kept garden and an elegant mansion slovenly, rude and vulgar in appearance and manners, we inevitably experience that shock of surprize which is excited by every thing that is incongruous or out of keeping. On the other hand if the garden be neglected and overgrown with weeds, or if every thing in its arrangement indicate a want of taste, and a disregard of neatness and order, we feel no astonishment whatever in discovering that the proprietor is as negligent of his mind and person as of his shrubberies and his lawns. A civilized country ought not to look like a savage one. We need not have wild nature in front of our neatly finished porticos. Nothing can be more strictly artificial than all architecture. It would be absurd to erect an elegantly finished residence in the heart of a jungle. There should be an harmonious gradation from the house to the grounds, and true taste ought not to object to terraces of elegant design and graceful urns and fine statues in the immediate neighbourhood of a noble dwelling. Undoubtedly as a general rule, the undulating curve in garden scenery is preferable to straight lines or abrupt turns or sharp angles, but if there should happen to be only a few yards between the outer gateway and the house, could anything be more fantastical or preposterous than an attempt to give the ground between them a serpentine irregularity? Even in the most spacious grounds the walks should not seem too studiously winding, as if the short turns were meant for no other purpose than to perplex or delay the walker.[118] They should have a natural sweep, and seem to meander rather in accordance with the nature of the ground and the points to which they lead than in obedience to some idle sport of fancy. They should not remind us of Gray's description of the divisions of an old mansion: Long passages that lead to nothing. Foot-paths in small gardens need not be broader than will allow two persons to walk abreast with ease. A spacious garden may have walks of greater breadth. A path for one person only is inconvenient and has a mean look. I have made most of the foregoing observations in something of a spirit of opposition to those Landscape gardeners who I think once carried a true principle to an absurd excess. I dislike, as much as any one can, the old topiary style of our remote ancestors, but the talk about free nature degenerated at last into downright cant, and sheer extravagance; the reformers were for bringing weeds and jungle right under our parlour windows, and applied to an acre of ground those rules of Landscape gardening which required a whole county for their proper exemplification. It is true that Milton's Paradise had "no nice art" in it, but then it was not a little suburban pleasure ground but a world. When Milton alluded to private gardens, he spoke of their trimness. Retired Leisure That in _trim_ gardens takes his pleasure. The larger an estate the less necessary is it to make it merely neat, and symmetrical, especially in those parts of the ground that are distant from the house; but near the architecture some degree of finish and precision is always necessary, or at least advisable, to prevent the too sudden contrast between the straight lines and artificial construction of the dwelling and the flowing curves and wild but beautiful irregularities of nature unmoulded by art. A garden adjacent to the house should give the owner a sense of _home_. He should not feel himself abroad at his own door. If it were only for the sake of variety there should be some distinction between the private garden and the open field. If the garden gradually blends itself with a spacious park or chase, the more the ground recedes from the house the more it may legitimately assume the aspect of a natural landscape. It will then be necessary to appeal to the eye of a landscape gardener or a painter or a poet before the owner, if ignorant of the principles of fine art, attempt the completion of the general design. I should like to see my Native friends who have extensive grounds, vary the shape of their tanks, but if they dislike a more natural form of water, irregular or winding, and are determined to have them with four sharp corners, let them at all events avoid the evil of several small tanks in the same "compound." A large tank is more likely to have good water and to retain it through the whole summer season than a smaller one and is more easily kept clean and grassy to the water's edge. I do not say that it would be proper to have a piece of winding water in a small compound--that indeed would be impracticable. But even an oval or round tank would be better than a square one.[119] If the Native gentry could obtain the aid of tasteful gardeners, I would recommend that the level land should be varied with an occasional artificial elevation, nicely sloped or graduated; but Native _malees_ would be sure to aim rather at the production of abrupt round knobs resembling warts or excrescences than easy and natural undulations of the surface. With respect to lawns, the late Mr. Speede recommended the use of the _doob_ grass, but it is so extremely difficult to keep it clear of any intermixture of the _ooloo_ grass, which, when it intrudes upon the _doob_ gives the lawn a patchwork and shabby look, that it is better to use the _ooloo_ grass only, for it is far more manageable; and if kept well rolled and closely shorn it has a very neat, and indeed, beautiful appearance. The lawns in the compound of the Government House in Calcutta are formed of _ooloo_ glass only, but as they have been very carefully attended to they have really a most brilliant and agreeable aspect. In fact, their beautiful bright green, in the hottest summer, attracts even the notice and admiration of the stranger fresh from England. The _ooloo_ grass, however, on close inspection is found to be extremely coarse, nor has even the finest _doob_ the close texture and velvet softness of the grass of English lawns. Flower beds should be well rounded. They should never have long narrow necks or sharp angles in which no plant can have room to grow freely. Nor should they be divided into compartments, too minute or numerous, for so arranged they must always look petty and toy-like. A lawn should be as open and spacious as the ground will fairly admit without too greatly limiting the space for flowers. Nor should there be an unnecessary multiplicity of walks. We should aim at a certain breadth of style. Flower beds may be here and there distributed over the lawn, but care should be taken that it be not too much broken up by them. A few trees may be introduced upon the lawn, but they must not be placed so close together as to prevent the growth of the grass by obstructing either light or air. No large trees should be allowed to smother up the house, particularly on the southern and western sides, for besides impeding the circulation through the rooms of the most wholesome winds of this country, they would attract mosquitoes, and give an air of gloominess to the whole place. Natives are too fond of over-crowding their gardens with trees and shrubs and flowers of all sorts, with no regard to individual or general effects, with no eye to arrangement of size, form or color; and in this hot and moist climate the consequent exclusion of free air and the necessary degree of light has a most injurious influence not only upon the health of the resident but upon vegetation itself. Neither the finest blossoms nor the finest fruits can be expected from an overstocked garden. The native malee generally plants his fruit trees so close together that they impede each other's growth and strength. Every Englishman when he enters a native's garden feels how much he could improve its productiveness and beauty by a free use of the hatchet. Too many trees and too much embellishment of a small garden make it look still smaller, and even on a large piece of ground they produce confused and disagreeable effects and indicate an absence of all true judgment. This practice of over-filling a garden is an instance of bad taste, analogous to that which is so conspicuously characteristic of our own countrymen in India with respect to their apartments, which look more like an upholsterer's show-rooms or splendid ornament-shops than drawing-rooms or parlours. There is scarcely space enough to turn in them without fracturing some frail and costly bauble. Where a garden is over-planted the whole place is darkened, the ground is green and slimy, the grass thin, sickly and straggling, and the trees and shrubs deficient in freshness and vigor. Not only should the native gentry avoid having their flower-borders too thickly filled,--they should take care also that they are not too broad. We ought not to be obliged to leave the regular path and go across the soft earth of the bed to obtain a sight of a particular shrub or flower. Close and entangled foliage keeps the ground too damp, obstructs wholesome air, and harbours snakes and a great variety of other noxious reptiles. Similar objections suggest the propriety of having no shrubs or flowers or even a grass-plot immediately under the windows and about the doors of the house. A well exposed gravel or brick walk should be laid down on all sides of the house, as a necessary safeguard against both moisture and vermin. I have spoken already of the unrivalled beauty of English gravel. It cannot be too much admired. _Kunkur_[120] looks extremely smart for a few weeks while it preserves its solidity and freshness, but it is rapidly ground into powder under carriage wheels or blackened by occasional rain and the permanent moisture of low grounds when only partially exposed to the sun and air. Why should not an opulent Rajah or Nawaub send for a cargo of beautiful red gravel from the gravel pits at Kensington? Any English House of Agency here would obtain it for him. It would be cheap in the end, for it lasts at least five times as long as the kunkur, and if of a proper depth admits of repeated turnings with the spade, looking on every turn almost as fresh as the day on which it was first laid down. Instead of brick-bat edgings, the wealthy Oriental nobleman might trim all his flower-borders with the green box-plant of England, which would flourish I suppose in this climate or in any other. Cobbett in his _English Gardener_ speaks with so much enthusiasm and so much to the purpose on the subject of box as an edging, that I must here repeat his eulogium on it. The box is at once the most efficient of all possible things, and the prettiest plant that can possibly be conceived; the color of its leaf; the form of its leaf; its docility as to height, width and shape; the compactness of its little branches; its great durability as a plant; its thriving in all sorts of soils and in all sorts of aspects; _its freshness under the hottest sun_, and its defiance of all shade and drip: these are the beauties and qualities which, for ages upon ages, have marked it out as the chosen plant for this very important purpose. The edging ought to be clipped in the winter or very early in spring on both sides and at top; a line ought to be used to regulate the movements of the shears; it ought to be clipped again in the same manner about midsummer; and if there be _a more neat and beautiful thing than this in the world, all that I can say is, that I never saw that thing_. A small green edging for a flower bed can hardly be too _trim_; but large hedges with tops and sides cut as flat as boards, and trees fantastically shaped with the shears into an exhibition as full of incongruities as the wildest dream, have deservedly gone out of fashion in England. Poets and prose writers have agreed to ridicule all verdant sculpture on a large scale. Here is a description of the old topiary gardens. These likewise mote be seen on every side The shapely box, of all its branching pride Ungently shorn, and, with preposterous skill To various beasts, and birds of sundry quill Transformed, and human shapes of monstrous size. * * * * * Also other wonders of the sportive shears Fair Nature misadorning; there were found Globes, spiral columns, pyramids, and piers With spouting urns and budding statues crowned; And horizontal dials on the ground In living box, by cunning artists traced, And galleys trim, or on long voyage bound, But by their roots there ever anchored fast. _G. West_. The same taste for torturing nature into artificial forms prevailed amongst the ancients long after architecture and statuary had been carried to such perfection that the finest British artists of these times can do nothing but copy and repeat what was accomplished so many ages ago by the people of another nation. Pliny, in his description of his Tuscan villa, speaks of some of his trees having been cut into letters and the forms of animals, and of others placed in such regular order that they reminded the spectator of files of soldiers.[121] The Dutch therefore should not bear all the odium of the topiary style of gardening which they are said to have introduced into England and other countries of Europe. They were not the first sinners against natural taste. The Hindus are very fond of formally cut hedges and trimmed trees. All sorts of verdant hedges are in some degree objectionable in a hot moist country, rife with deadly vermin. I would recommend ornamental iron railings or neatly cut and well painted wooden pales, as more airy, light, and cheerful, and less favorable to snakes and centipedes. This is the finest country in the world for making gardens speedily. In the rainy season vegetation springs up at once, as at the stroke of an Enchanter's wand. The Landscape gardeners in England used to grieve that they could hardly expect to live long enough to see the effect of their designs. Such artists would have less reason, to grieve on that account in this country. Indeed even in England, the source of uneasiness alluded to, is now removed. "The deliberation with which trees grow," wrote Horace Walpole, in a letter to a friend, "is extremely inconvenient to my natural impatience. I lament living in so barbarous an age when we are come to so little perfection in gardening. I am persuaded that 150 years hence it will be as common to remove oaks 150 years old as it now is to plant tulip roots." The writer was not a bad prophet. He has not yet been dead much more than half a century and his expectations are already more than half realized. Shakespeare could not have anticipated this triumph of art when he made Macbeth ask Who can impress the forest? Bid the tree Unfix his earth-bound root? The gardeners have at last discovered that the largest (though not perhaps the _oldest_) trees can be removed from one place to another with comparative facility and safety. Sir H. Stewart moved several hundred lofty trees without the least injury to any of them. And if broad and lofty trees can be transplanted in England, how much more easily and securely might such a process be effected in the rainy season in this country. In half a year a new garden might be made to look like a garden of half a century. Or an old and ill-arranged plantation might thus be speedily re-adjusted to the taste of the owner. The main object is to secure a good ball of earth round the root, and the main difficulty is to raise the tree and remove it. Many most ingenious machines for raising a tree from the ground, and trucks for removing it, have been lately invented by scientific gardeners in England. A Scotchman, Mr. McGlashen, has been amongst the most successful of late transplanters. He exhibited one of his machines at Paris to the present Emperor of the French, and lifted with it a fir tree thirty feet high. The French ruler lavished the warmest commendations on the ingenious artist and purchased his apparatus at a large price.[122] Bengal is enriched with a boundless variety of noble trees admirably suited to parks and pleasure grounds. These should be scattered about a spacious compound with a spirited and graceful irregularity, and so disposed with reference to the dwelling as in some degree to vary the view of it, and occasionally to conceal it from the visitor driving up the winding road from the outer gate to the portico. The trees, I must repeat, should be so divided as to give them a free growth and admit sufficient light and air beneath them to allow the grass to flourish. Grassless ground under park trees has a look of barrenness, discomfort and neglect, and is out of keeping with the general character of the scene. The Banyan (_Ficus Indica or Bengaliensis_)-- The Indian tree, whose branches downward bent, Take root again, a boundless canopy-- and the Peepul or Pippul (_Ficus Religiosa_) are amongst the finest trees in this country--or perhaps in the world--and on a very spacious pleasure ground or park they would present truly magnificent aspects. Colonel Sykes alludes to a Banyan at the village of Nikow in Poonah with 68 stems descending from and supporting the branches. This tree is said to be capable of affording shelter to 20,000 men. It is a tree of this sort which Milton so well describes. The fig tree, not that kind for fruit renowned, But such as at this day, to Indians known In Malabar or Deccan, spreads her arms Branching so broad and long, a pillared shade, High over arched, and echoing walks between There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat, Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds At loop holes cut through the thickest shade those leaves, They gathered, broad as Amazonian taige; And with what skill they had together sewed, To gird their waste. Milton is mistaken as to the size of the leaves of this tree, though he has given its general character with great exactness.[123] A remarkable banyan or buri tree, near Manjee, twenty miles west of Patna, is 375 inches in diameter, the circumference of its shadow at noon measuring 1116 feet. It has sixty stems, or dropped branches that have taken root. Under this tree once sat a naked fakir who had occupied that situation for 25 years; but he did not continue there the whole year, for his vow obliged him to be during the four cold months up to his neck in the water of the Ganges![124] It is said that there is a banyan tree near Gombroon on the Persian gulf, computed to cover nearly 1,700 yards. The Banyan tree in the Company's Botanic garden, is a fine tree, but it is of small dimensions compared with those of the trees just mentioned.[125] The cocoanut tree has a characteristically Oriental aspect and a natural grace, but it is not well suited to the ornamental garden or the princely villa. It is too suggestive of the rudest village scenery, and perhaps also of utilitarian ideas of mere profit, as every poor man who has half a dozen cocoanut trees on his ground disposes of the produce in the bazar. I would recommend my native friends to confine their clumps of plaintain trees to the kitchen garden, for though the leaf of the plaintain is a proud specimen of oriental foliage when it is first opened out to the sun, it soon gets torn to shreds by the lightest breeze. The tattered leaves then dry up and the whole of the tree presents the most beggarly aspect imaginable. The stem is as ragged and untidy as the leaves. The kitchen garden and the orchard should be in the rear of the house. The former should not be too visible from the windows and the latter is on many accounts better at the extremity of the grounds than close to the house, as we too often find it. A native of high rank should keep as much out of sight as possible every thing that would remind a visitor that any portion of the ground was intended rather for pecuniary profit than the immediate pleasure of the owner. The people of India do not seem to be sufficiently aware that any sign of parsimony in the management of a large park or pleasure ground produces in the mind of the visitor an unfavorable impression of the character of the owner. I have seen in Calcutta vast mansions of which every little niche and corner towards the street was let out to very small traders at a few annas a month. What would the people of England think of an opulent English Nobleman who should try to squeeze a few pence from the poor by dividing the street front of his palace into little pigeon-sheds of petty shops for the retail of petty wares? Oh! Princes of India "reform this altogether." This sordid saving, this widely published parsimony, is not only not princely, it is not only not decorous, it is positively disgusting to every passer-by who himself possesses any right thought or feeling. The Natives seem every day more and more inclined to imitate European fashions, and there are few European fashions, which could be borrowed by the highest or lowest of the people of this country with a more humanizing and delightful effect than that attention to the exterior elegance and neatness of the dwelling-house, and that tasteful garniture of the contiguous ground, which in England is a taste common to the prince and the peasant, and which has made that noble country so full of those beautiful homes which surprize and enchant its foreign visitors. The climate and soil of this country are peculiarly favorable to the cultivation of trees and shrubs and flowers; and the garden here is at no season of the year without its ornaments. The example of the Horticultural Society of India, and the attractions of the Company's Botanic Garden ought to have created a more general taste amongst us for the culture of flowers. Bishop Heber tells us that the Botanic Garden here reminded hint more of Milton's description of the Garden of Eden than any other public garden, that he had ever seen.[126] There is a Botanic Garden at Serampore. In 1813 it was in charge of Dr. Roxburgh. Subsequently came the amiable and able Dr. Wallich; then the venerable Dr. Carey was for a time the Officiating Superintendent. Dr. Voigt followed and then one of the greatest of our Anglo-Indian botanists, Dr. Griffiths. After him came Dr. McLelland, who is at this present time counting the teak trees in the forests of Pegu. He was succeeded by Dr. Falconer who left this country but a few months ago. The garden is now in charge of Dr. Thomson who is said to be an enthusiast in his profession. He explored the region beyond the snowy range I think with Captain Cunningham, some years ago. With the exceptions of Voigt and Carey, all who have had charge of the garden at Serampore have held at the same time the more important appointment of Superintendent of the Company's Botanic Garden at Garden Beach. There is a Botanic Garden at Bhagulpore, which owes its origin to Major Napleton. I have been unable to obtain any information regarding its present condition. A good Botanic Garden has been already established in the Punjab, where there is also an Agricultural and Horticultural Society. I regret that it should have been deemed necessary to make stupid pedants of Hindu malees by providing them with a classical nomenclature for plants. Hindostanee names would have answered the purpose just as well. The natives make a sad mess of our simplest English names, but their Greek must be Greek indeed! A _Quarterly Reviewer_ observes that Miss Mitford has found it difficult to make the maurandias and alstraemerias and eschxholtzias--the commonest flowers of our modern garden--look passable even in prose. But what are these, he asks, to the pollopostemonopetalae and eleutheroromacrostemones of Wachendorf, with such daily additions as the native name of iztactepotzacuxochitl icohueyo, or the more classical ponderosity of Erisymum Peroffskyanum. --like the verbum Graecum Spermagoraiolekitholakanopolides, Words that should only be said upon holidays, When one has nothing else to do. If these names are unpronounceable even by Europeans, what would the poor Hindu malee make of them? The pedantry of some of our scientific Botanists is something marvellous. One would think that a love of flowers must produce or imply a taste for simplicity and nature in all things.[127] As by way of encouragement to the native gardeners--to enable them to dispose of the floral produce of their gardens at a fair price--the Horticultural Society has withdrawn from the public the indulgence of gratuitous supplies of plants, it would be as well if some men of taste were to instruct these native nursery-men how to lay out their grounds, (as their fellow-traders do at home,) with some regard to neatness, cleanliness and order. These flower-merchants, and even the common _malees_, should also be instructed, I think, how to make up a decent bouquet, for if it be possible to render the most elegant things in the creation offensive to the eye of taste, that object is assuredly very completely effected by these swarthy artists when they arrange, with such worse than Dutch precision and formality, the ill-selected, ill-arranged, and tightly bound treasures of the parterre for the classical vases of their British masters. I am often vexed to observe the idleness or apathy which suffers such atrocities as these specimens of Indian taste to disgrace the drawing-rooms of the City of Palaces. This is quite inexcusable in a family where there are feminine hands for the truly graceful and congenial task of selecting and arranging the daily supply of garden decorations. A young lady--"herself a fairer flower"--is rarely exhibited to a loving eye in a more delightful point of view than when her delicate and dainty fingers are so employed. If a lovely woman arranging the nosegays and flower-vases, in her parlour, is a sweet living picture, a still sweeter sight does she present to us when she is in the garden itself. Milton thus represents the fair mother of the fair in the first garden:-- Eve separate he spies. Veil'd in a cloud of fragrance, where she stood, Half spied, so thick the roses blushing round About her glow'd, oft stooping to support Each flower of slender stalk, whose head, though gay, Carnation, purple, azure, or speck'd with gold, Hung drooping unsustain'd; them she upstays Gently with myrtle band, mindless the while Herself, though fairest unsupported flower, From her best prop so far, and storm so nigh. Nearer he drew, and many a walk traversed Of stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm; Then voluble and bold, now hid, now seen, Among thick woven arborets, and flowers Imborder'd on each bank, the hand of Eve[128] _Paradise Lost. Book IX_. Chaucer (in "The Knight's Tale,") describes Emily in her garden as fairer to be seen Than is the lily on his stalkie green; And Dryden, in his modernized version of the old poet, says, At every turn she made a little stand, And thrust among the thorns her lily hand To draw the rose. Eve's roses were without thorns-- "And without thorn the rose,"[129] It is pleasant to see flowers plucked by the fairest fingers for some elegant or worthy purpose, but it is not pleasant to see them _wasted_. Some people pluck them wantonly, and then fling them away and litter the garden walks with them. Some idle coxcombs, vain Of the nice conduct of a clouded cane, amuse themselves with switching off their lovely heads. "That's villainous, and shows a most pitiful ambition in the fool that uses it." Lander says And 'tis my wish, and over was my way, To let all flowers live freely, and so die. Here is a poetical petitioner against a needless destruction of the little tenants of the parterre. Oh, spare my flower, my gentle flower, The slender creature of a day, Let it bloom out its little hour, And pass away. So soon its fleeting charms must lie Decayed, unnoticed and o'erthrown, Oh, hasten not its destiny, Too like thine own. _Lyte_. Those who pluck flowers needlessly and thoughtlessly should be told that other people like to see them flourish, and that it is as well for every one to bear in mind the beautiful remark of Lord Bacon that "the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air than in the hand; for in the air it comes and goes like the warbling of music." The British portion of this community allow their exile to be much more dull and dreary than it need be, by neglecting to cultivate their gardens, and leaving them entirely to the taste and industry of the _malee_. I never feel half so much inclined to envy the great men of this now crowded city the possession of vast but gardenless mansions, (partly blocked up by those of their neighbours,) as I do to felicitate the owner of some humbler but more airy and wholesome dwelling in the suburbs, when the well-sized grounds attached to it have been touched into beauty by the tasteful hand of a lover of flowers. But generally speaking my countrymen in most parts of India allow their grounds to remain in a state which I cannot help characterizing as disreputable. It is amazing how men or women accustomed to English modes of life can reconcile themselves to that air of neglect, disorder, and discomfort which most of their "compounds" here exhibit. It would afford me peculiar gratification to find this book read with interest by my Hindu friends, (for whom, chiefly, it has been written,) and to hear that it has induced some of them to pay more attention to the ornamental cultivation of their grounds; for it would be difficult to confer upon them a greater blessing than a taste for the innocent and elegant pleasures of the FLOWER-GARDEN. SUPPLEMENT. SACRED TREES AND SHRUBS OF THE HINDUS. The following list of the trees and shrubs held sacred by the Hindus is from the friend who furnished me with the list of Flowers used in Hindu ceremonies.[130] It was received too late to enable me to include it in the body of the volume. AMALAKI (_Phyllanthus emblica_).--A tree held sacred to Shiva. It has no flowers, and its leaves are in consequence used in worshipping that deity as well as Durga, Kali, and others. The natives of Bengal do not look upon it with any degree of religious veneration, but those of the Upper Provinces annually worship it on the day of the _Shiva Ratri_, which generally falls in the latter end of February or the beginning of March, and on which all the public offices are closed. ASWATH-THA (_Ficus Religiosa_).--It is commonly called by Europeans the Peepul tree, by which name, it is known to the natives of the Upper Provinces. The _Bhagavat Gita_ says that Krishna in giving an account of his power and glory to Arjuna, before the commencement of the celebrated battle between the _Kauravas_ and _Pándavas_ at _Kurukshetra_, identified himself with the _Aswath-tha_ whence the natives consider it to be a sacred tree.[131] BILWA OR SREEFUL (_Aegle marmelos_).--It is the common wood-apple tree, which is held sacred to Shiva, and its leaves are used in worshipping him as well as Durga, Kali, and others. The _Mahabharat_ says that when Shiva at the request of Krishna and the Pandavas undertook the protection of their camp at Kurukshetra on the night of the last day of the battle, between them and the sons of Dhritarashtra, Aswathama, a friend and follower of the latter, took up a Bilwa tree by its roots and threw it upon the god, who considering it in the light of an offering made to him, was so much pleased with Aswathama that he allowed him to enter the camp, where he killed the five sons of the Pandavas and the whole of the remnants of their army. Other similar stories are also told of the Bilwa tree to prove its sacredness, but the one I have given above, will be sufficient to shew in what estimation it is held by the Hindus. BAT (_Ficus indica_).--Is the Indian Banian tree, supposed to be immortal and coeval with the gods; whence it is venerated as one of them. It is also supposed to be a male tree, while the Aswath-tha or Peepul is looked upon as a female, whence the lower orders of the people plant them side by side and perform the ceremony of matrimony with a view to connect them as man and wife.[132] DURVA' (_Panicum dactylon_).--A grass held to be sacred to Vishnu, who in his seventh _Avatara_ or incarnation, as Rama, the son of Dasaratha, king of Oude, assumed the colour of the grass, which is used in all religious ceremonies of the Hindus. It has medicinal properties. KA'STA' (_Saccharum spontaneum_).--It is a large species of grass. In those ceremonies which the Hindus perform after the death of a person, or with a view to propitiate the Manes of their ancestors this grass is used whenever the Kusa is not to be had. When it is in flower, the natives look upon the circumstance as indicative of the close of the rains. KU'SA (_Poa cynosuroides_).--The grass to which, reference has been made above. It is used in all ceremonies performed in connection with the death of a person or having for their object the propitiation of the Manes of ancestors. MANSA-SHIJ (_Euphorbia ligularia_).--This plant is supposed by the natives of Bengal to be sacred to _Mansa_, the goddess of snakes, and is worshipped by them on certain days of the months of June, July, August, and September, during which those reptiles lay their eggs and breed their young. The festival of Arandhana, which is more especially observed by the lower orders of the people, is in honor of the Goddess Mansa.[133] NA'RIKELA (_Coccos nucifera_).--The Cocoanut tree, which is supposed to possess the attributes of a Brahmin and is therefore held sacred.[134] NIMBA (_Melia azadirachta_).--A tree from the trunk of which the idol at Pooree was manufactured, and which is in consequence identified with the ribs of Vishnu.[135] TU'LSI (_Ocymum_).--The Indian Basil, of which there are several species, such as the _Ram Tulsi_ (ocymum gratissimum) the _Babooye Tulsi_ (ocymum pilosum) the _Krishna Tulsi_ (osymum sanctum) and the common _Tulsi_ (ocymum villosum) all of which possess medicinal properties, but the two latter are held to be sacred to Vishnu and used in his worship. The _Puranas_ say that Krishna assumed the form of _Saukasura_, and seduced his wife Brinda. When he was discovered he manifested his extreme regard for her by turning her into the _Tulsi_ and put the leaves upon his head.[136] APPENDIX. * * * * * THE FLOWER GARDEN IN INDIA. The following practical directions and useful information respecting the Indian Flower-Garden, are extracted from the late Mr. Speede's _New Indian Gardener_, with the kind permission of the publishers, Messrs. Thacker Spink and Company of Calcutta. THE SOIL. So far as practicable, the soil should be renewed every year, by turning in vegetable mould, river sand, and well rotted manure to the depth of about a foot; and every second or third year the perennials should be taken up, and reduced, when a greater proportion of manure may be added, or what is yet better, the whole of the old earth removed, and new mould substituted. It used to be supposed that the only time for sowing annuals or other plants, (in Bengal) is the beginning of the cold weather, but although this is the case with a great number of this class of plants, it is a popular error to think it applies to all, since there are many that grow more luxuriantly if sown at other periods. The Pink, for instance, may be sown at any time, Sweet William thrives best if sown in March or April, the variegated and light colored Larkspurs should not be put in until December, the Dahlia germinates most successfully in the rains, and the beautiful class of Zinnias are never seen to perfection unless sown in June. This is the more deserving of attention, as it holds out the prospect of maintaining our Indian flower gardens, in life and beauty, throughout the whole year, instead of during the confined period hitherto attempted. The several classes of flowering plants are divided into PERENNIAL, BIENNIAL, and ANNUAL. PERENNIALS. The HERON'S BILL, Erodium; the STORK'S BILL, Pelargonium; and the CRANE'S BILL, Geranium; all popularly known under the common designation of Geranium, which gives name to the family, are well known, and are favorite plants, of which but few of the numerous varieties are found in this country. Of the first of these there are about five and twenty fixed species, besides a vast number of varieties; of which there are here found only the following:-- The _Flesh-colored Heron's bill_, E. incarnatum, is a pretty plant of about six inches high, flowering in the hot weather, with flesh-colored blossoms, but apt to become rather straggling. Of the hundred and ninety species of the second class, independently of their varieties, there are few indeed that have found their way here, only thirteen, most of which are but rarely met with. The _Rose-colored Stork's bill_, P. roseum, is tuberous rooted, and in April yields pretty pink flowers. The _Brick-colored Stork's bill_, P. lateritium, affords red flowers in March and April. The _Botany Bay Stork's bill_, P. Australe, is rare, but may be made to give a pretty red flower in March. The _Common horse-shoe Stork's bill_, P. zonale, is often seen, and yields its scarlet blossoms freely in April. The _Scarlet-flowered Stork's bill_, P. inquinans, affords a very fine flower towards the latter end of the cold weather, and approaching to the hot; it requires protection from the rains, as it is naturally of a succulent nature, and will rot at the joints if the roots become at all sodden: many people lay the pots down on their sides to prevent this, which is tolerably successful to their preservation. The _Sweet-Scented Stork's bill_, P. odoratissimum, with pink flowers, but it does not blossom freely, and the branches are apt to grow long and straggling. The _Cut-leaved Stork's bill_, P. incisum, has small flowers, the petals being long and thin, and the flowers which appear in April are white, marked with pink. The _Ivy-leaved Stork's bill_, P. lateripes, has not been known to yield flowers in this country. The _Rose-scented Stork's bill_, P. capitatum, the odour of the leaves is very pleasant, but it is very difficult to force into blossom. The _Ternate Stork's bill_, P. ternatum, has variegated pink flowers in April. The _Oak-leaved Stork's bill_, P. quercifolium, is much esteemed for the beauty of its leaves, but has not been known to blossom in this climate. The _Tooth-leaved Stork's bill_, P. denticulatum, is not a free flowerer, but may with care be made to bloom in April. The _Lemon, or Citron-scented Stork's bill_, P. gratum, grows freely, and has a pretty appearance, but does not blossom. Of the second class of these plants the forty-eight species have only three representatives. The _Aconite-leaved Crane's bill_, G. aconiti-folium, is a pretty plant, but rare, yielding its pale blue flowers with difficulty. The _Wallich's Crane's bill_ G. Wallichianum, indigenous to Nepal, having pale pink blossoms and rather pretty foliage, flowering in March and April; but requiring protection in the succeeding hot weather, and the beginning of the rains, as it is very susceptible of heat, or excess of moisture. _Propagation_--may be effected by seed to multiply, or produce fresh varieties, but the ordinary mode of increasing the different sorts is by cuttings, no plant growing more readily by this mode. These should be taken off at a joint where the wood is ripening, at which point the root fibres are formed, and put into a pot with a compost of one part garden mould, one part vegetable mould, and one part sand, and then kept moderately moist, in the shade, until they have formed strong root fibres, when they may be planted out. The best method is to plant each cutting in a separate pot of the smallest size. The germinating of the seeds will be greatly promoted by sinking the pots three parts of their depth in a hot bed, keeping them moist and shaded and until they germinate. _Soil, &c._ A rich garden mould, composed of light loam, rather sandy than otherwise, with very rotten dung, is desirable for this shrub. _Culture_. Most kinds are rapid and luxurious growers, and it is necessary to pay them constant attention in pruning or nipping the extremities of the shoots, or they will soon become ill-formed and straggling. This is particularly requisite during the rains, when heat and moisture combine to increase their growth to excess; allowing them to enjoy the full influence of the sun during the whole of the cold weather, and part of the hot. At the close of the rains, the plants had better be put out into the open ground, and closely pruned, the shoots taken off affording an ample supply of cuttings for multiplying the plants; this putting out will cause them to throw up strong healthy shoots and rich blossoms; but as the hot weather approaches, or in the beginning of March, they must be re-placed in moderate sized pots, with a compost similar to that required for cuttings and placed in the plant shed, as before described. The earth in the pots should be covered with pebbles, or pounded brick of moderate size, which prevents the accumulation of moss or fungi. Geraniums should at no time be over watered, and must at all seasons be allowed a free ventilation. There is no doubt that if visitors from this to the Cape, would pay a little attention to the subject, the varieties might be greatly increased, and that without much trouble, as many kinds may be produced freely by seed, if brought to the country fresh, and sown immediately on arrival; young plants also in well glazed cases would not take up much space in some of the large vessels coming from thence. The ANEMONE has numerous varieties, and is, in England, a very favorite flower, but although A. cernua is a native of Japan, and many varieties are indigenous to the Cape, it is very rare here. The _Double anemone_ is the most prized, but there are several _Single_ and _Half double_ kinds which are very handsome. The stem of a good anemone should be eight or nine inches in height, with a strong upright stalk. The flower ought not to be less than seven inches in circumference, the outer row of petals being well rounded, flat, and expanding at the base, turning up with a full rounded edge, so as to form a well shaped cup, within which, in the double kinds, should arise a large group of long small petals reverted from the centre, and regularly overlapping each other; the colors clear, each shade being distinct in such as are variegated. The _Garden, or Star Wind flower_, A. hortensis, _Boostan afrooz_, is another variety, found in Persia, and brought thence to Upper India, of a bright scarlet color; a blue variety has also blossomed in Calcutta, and was exhibited at the Show of February, 1847, by Mrs. Macleod, to whom Floriculture is indebted for the introduction of many beautiful exotics heretofore new to India. But it is to be hoped this handsome species of flowering plants will soon be more extensively found under cultivation. _Propagation_. Seed can hardly be expected to succeed in this country, as even in Europe it fails of germinating; for if not sown immediately that it is ripe, the length of journey or voyage would inevitably destroy its power of producing. Offsets of the tubers therefore are the only means that are left, and these should not be replanted until they have been a sufficient time out of the ground, say a month or so, to become hardened, nor should they be put into the earth until they have dried, or the whole offset will rot by exposure of the newly fractured side to the moisture of the earth. The tubers should be selected which are plump and firm, as well as of moderate size, the larger ones being generally hollow; these may be obtained in good order from Hobart Town. _Soil, &c._ A strong rich loamy soil is preferable, having a considerable portion of well rotted cow-dung, with a little leaf mould, dug to a depth of two feet, and the beds not raised too high, as it is desirable to preserve moisture in the subsoil; if in pots, this is effected by keeping a saucer of water under them continually, the pot must however be deep, or the fibres will have too much wet; an open airy situation is desirable. _Culture_. When the plant appears above ground the earth must be pressed well down around the root, as the crowns and tubers are injured by exposure to dry weather, and the plants should be sheltered from the heat of the sun, but not so as to confine the air; they require the morning and evening sun to shine on them, particularly the former. The IRIS is a handsome plant, attractive alike from the variety and the beauty of its blossoms; some of them are also used medicinally. All varieties produce abundance of seed, in which form the plant might with great care be introduced into this country. The _Florence Iris_, I. florentina, _Ueersa_, is a large variety, growing some two feet in height, the flower being white, and produced in the hot weather. The _Persian Iris_ I. persica, _Hoobur_, is esteemed not only for its handsome blue and purple flowers, but also for its fragrance, blossoming in the latter part of the cold weather; one variety has blue and yellow blossoms. The _Chinese Iris_, I. chinensis, _Soosun peelgoosh_, in a small sized variety, but has very pretty blue and purple flowers in the beginning of the hot weather. _Propagation_. Besides seed, which should be sown in drills, at the close of the rains, in a sandy soil, it may be produced by offsets. _Soil, &c._ Almost any kind of soil suits the Iris, but the best flowers are obtained from a mixture of sandy loam, with leaf mould, the Persian kind requiring a larger proportion of sand. _Culture_. Little after culture is required, except keeping the beds clear from weeds, and occasionally loosening the earth. But the roots must be taken, up every two, or at most three years, and replanted, after having been kept to harden for a month or six weeks; the proper season for doing this being when the leaves decay after blossoming. The TUBEROSE, Polianthes, is well deserving of culture, but it is not by any means a rare plant, and like many indigenous odoriferous flowers, has rather too strong an odour to be borne near at hand, and it is considered unwholesome in a room. The _Common Tuberose_, P. tuberosa, _Chubugulshubboo_, being a native of India thrives in almost any soil, and requires no cultivation: it is multiplied by dividing the roots. It flowers at all times of the year in bunches of white flowers with long sepals. The _Double Tuberose_, P. florepleno, is very rich in appearance, and of more delicate fragrance, although still too powerful for the room. Crows are great destroyers of the blossoms, which they appear fond of pecking. This variety is more rare, and the best specimens have been obtained from Hobart Town. It is rather more delicate and requires more attention in culture than the indigenous variety, and should be earthed up, so as to prevent water lodging around the stem. The LOBELIA is a brilliant class of flowers which may be greatly improved by careful cultivation. The _Splendid Lobelia_, L. splendens, is found in many gardens, and is a showy scarlet flower, well worthy of culture. The _Pyramidal Lobelia_, L. pyramidalis, is a native of Nepal, and is a modest pretty flower, of a purple color. _Propagation_--is best performed by offsets, suckers, or cuttings, but seeds produce good strong plants, which may with care, be made to improve. _Soil, &c._--A moist, sandy soil is requisite for them, the small varieties especially delighting in wet ground. Some few of this family are annuals, and the roots of no varieties should remain more than three years without renewal, as the blossoms are apt to deteriorate; they all flower during the rains. The PITCAIRNIA is a very handsome species, having long narrow leaves, with, spined edges and throwing up blossoms in upright spines. The _Long Stamened Pitcairnia_, P. staminea, is a splendid scarlet flower, lasting long in blossom, which, appears in July or August, and continues till December. The _Scarlet Pitcairnia_, P. bromeliaefolia, is also a fine rich scarlet flower, but blossoming somewhat sooner, and may be made to continue about a month later. _Propagation_--is by dividing the roots, or by suckers, which is best performed at the close of the rains. _Soil, &c._ A sandy peat is the favorite soil of this plant, which should be kept very moist. The DAHLIA, Dahlia; a few years since an attempt was made to rename this beautiful and extensive family and to call it Georgina, but it failed, and it is still better known throughout the world by its old name than the new. It was long supposed that the Dahlia was only found indigenous in Mexico, but Captain Kirke some few years back brought to the notice of the Horticultural Society, that it was to be met with in great abundance in Dheyra Dhoon, producing many varieties both single and double; and he has from time to time sent down quantities of seed, which have greatly assisted its increase in all parts of India. It has also been found in Nagpore. A good Dahlia is judged of by its form, size, and color. In respect to the first of these its _form_ should be perfectly round, without any inequalities of projecting points of the petals, or being notched, or irregular. These should also be so far revolute that the side view should exhibit a perfect semicircle in its outline, and the eye or prolific disc, in the centre should be entirely concealed. There has been recently introduced into this country a new variety, all the petals of which are quilled, which has a very handsome appearance. In _size_ although of small estimation if the other qualities are defective, it is yet of some consideration, but the larger flowers are apt to be wanting in that perfect hemispherical form that is so much admired. The _color_ is of great importance to the perfection of the flower; of those that are of one color this should be clear, unbroken, and distinct; but when mixed hues are sought, each color should be clearly and distinctly defined without any mingling of shades, or running into each other. Further, the flowers ought to be erect so as to exhibit the blossom in the fullest manner to the view. The most usual colors of the imported double Dahlias, met with in India, are crimson, scarlet, orange, purple, and white. Amongst those raised from seed from. Dheyra Dhoon[137] of the double kind, there are of single colors, crimson, deep crimson approaching to maroon, deep lilac, pale lilac, violet, pink, light purple, canary color, yellow, red, and white; and of mixed colors, white and pink, red and yellow, and orange and white: the single ones of good star shaped flowers and even petals being of crimson, puce, lilac, pale lilac, white, and orange. Those from Nagpore seed have yielded, double flowers of deep crimson, lilac, and pale purple, amongst single colors; lilac and blue, and red and yellow of mixed shades; and single flowered, crimson, and orange, with mixed colors of lilac and yellow, and lilac and white. _Propagation_--is by dividing the roots, by cuttings, by suckers, or by seed; the latter is generally resorted to, where new varieties are desired. Mr. George A. Lake, in an article on this subject (_Gardeners' Magazine_, 1833) says: "I speak advisedly, and from, experience, when I assert that plants raised from cuttings do not produce equally perfect flowers, in regard to size, form, and fulness, with those produced by plants grown from division of tubers;" and he more fully shews in another part of the same paper, that this appears altogether conformable to reason, as the cutting must necessarily for a long period want that store of starch, which is heaped up in the full grown tuber for the nutriment of the plant. This objection however might be met by not allowing the cuttings to flower in the season when they are struck. To those who are curious in the cultivation of this handsome species, it may be well to know how to secure varieties, especially of mixed colors; for this purpose it is necessary to cover the blossoms intended for fecundation with fine gauze tied firmly to the foot stalk, and when it expands take the pollen from the male flowers with a camel's hair pencil, and touch with it each floret of the intended bearing flower, tying the gauze again over it, and keeping it on until the petals are withered. The operation requires to be performed two or three successive days, as the florets do not expand together. _Soil &c._ They thrive best in a rich loam, mixed with sand; but should not be repeated too often on the same spot, as they exhaust the soil considerably. _Culture_. The Dahlia requires an open, airy position unsheltered by trees or walls, the plants should be put out where they are to blossom, immediately on the cessation of the rains, at a distance of three feet apart, either in rows or in clumps, as they make a handsome show in a mass; and as they grow should be trimmed from the lower shoots, to about a foot in height, and either tied carefully to a stake, or, what is better, surrounded by a square or circular trellis, about five feet in height. As the buds form they should be trimmed off, so as to leave but one on each stalk, this being the only method by which full, large, and perfectly shaped blossoms are obtained. Some people take up the tubers every year in February or March, but this is unnecessary. The plants blossom in November and December in the greatest perfection, but may with attention be continued from the beginning of October to the end of February. Those plants which are left in the ground during the whole year should have their roots opened immediately on the close of the rains, the superabundant or decayed tubers, and all suckers being removed, and fresh earth filled in. The earth should always be heaped up high around the stems, and it is a good plan to surround each plant with a small trench to be filled daily with water so as to keep the stem and leaves dry. The PINK, Dianthus, _Kurunful_, is a well known species of great variety, and acknowledged beauty. The _Carnation_, D. caryophyilus, _Gul kurunful_, is by this time naturalized in India, adding both beauty and fragrance to the parterre; the only variety however that has yet appeared in the country is the clove, or deep crimson colored: but the success attending the culture of this beautiful flower is surely an encouragement to the introduction of other sorts, there being above four hundred kinds, especially as they may be obtained from seed or pipings sent packed in moss, which will remain in good condition for two or three months, provided no moisture beyond what is natural to the moss, have access to them. The distinguishing marks of a good carnation may be thus described: the stem should be tall and straight, strong, elastic, and having rather short foot stalks, the flower should be fully three inches in diameter with large well formed petals, round and uncut, long and broad, so as to stand out well, rising about half an inch above the calyx, and then the outer ones turned off in a horizontal direction, supporting those of the centre, decreasing gradually in size, the whole forming a near approach to a hemisphere. It flowers in April and May. _Propagation_--is performed either by seed, by layers, or by pipings; the best time for making the two latter is when the plant is in full blossom, as they then root more strongly. In this operation the lower leaves should be trimmed off, and an incision made with a sharp knife, by entering the knife about a quarter of an inch below the joint, passing it through its centre; it must then be pegged down with a hooked peg, and covered with about a quarter of an inch of light rich mould; if kept regularly moist, the layers will root in about a month's time: they may then be taken off and planted out into pots in a sheltered situation, neither exposed to excessive rain, nor sun, until they shoot out freely. Pipings (or cuttings as they are called in other plants) must be taken off from a healthy, free growing plant, and should have two complete joints, being cut off horizontally close under the second one; the extremities of the leaves must also be shortened, leaving the whole length of each piping two inches; they should be thrown into a basin of soft water for a few minutes to plump them, and then planted out in moist rich mould, not more than an inch being inserted therein, and slightly watered to settle the earth close around them; after this the soil should be kept moderately moist, and never exposed to the sun. Seed is seldom resorted to except to introduce new varieties. _Soil, &c._--A mixture of old well rotted stable manure, with one-third the quantity of good fine loamy earth, and a small portion of sand, is the best soil for carnations. _Culture_.--The plants should be sheltered from too heavy a fall of rain, although they require to be kept moderately moist, and desire an airy situation. When the flower stalks are about six or eight inches in height, they must be supported by sticks, and, if large full blossoms be sought for, all the buds, except the leading one, must be removed with a pair of scissors; the calyx must also be frequently examined, as it is apt to burst, and if any disposition to this should appear, it will be well to assist the uniform expansion by cutting the angles with a sharp penknife. If, despite all precautions the calyx burst and let out the petals, it should be carefully tied with thread, or a circular piece of card having a hole in the centre should be drawn over the bud so as to hold the petals together, and display them to advantage by the contrast of the white color. _Insects, &c._--The most destructive are the red, and the large black ant, which attack, and frequently entirely destroy the roots before you can be aware of its approach; powdered turmeric should therefore be constantly kept strewed around this flower. The _Common Pink_, Dianthus Chinensis, _Kurunful_, and the _Sweet William_, D: barbatus, are pretty, ornamental plants, and may be propagated and cultivated in the same way as the carnation, save that they do not require so much care, or so good a soil, any garden mould sufficing; they are also more easily produced from seed. The VIOLET, Viola, _Puroos_, is a class containing many beautiful flowers, some highly ornamental and others odoriferous. The _Sweet Violet_, V. odorata, _Bunufsh'eh_, truly the poet's flower. It is a deserved favorite for its delightful fragrance as well as its delicate and retiring purple flowers; there is also a white variety, but it is rare in this country, as is also the double kind. This blossoms in the latter part of the cold weather. The _Shrubby Violet_, V. arborescens, or suffruticosa, _Rutunpuroos_, grows wild in the hills, and is a pretty blue flower, but wants the fragrance of the foregoing. The _Dog's Violet_, V. canina, is also indigenous in the hills. _Propagation_.--All varieties may be propagated by seed, but the most usual method is by dividing the roots, or taking off the runners. _Soil, &c._--The natural _habitat_ of the indigenous varieties is the sides and interstices of the rocks, where leaf mould, and micaceous sand, has accumulated and moisture been retained, indicating that the kind of soil favorable to the growth of this interesting little plant is a rich vegetable mould, with an admixture of sand, somewhat moist, but having a dry subsoil. _Culture_.--It would not be safe to trust this plant in the open ground except during a very short period of the early part of the cold weather, when the so doing will give it strength to form blossoms. In January, however, it should be re-potted, filling the pots about half-full of pebbles or stone-mason's cuttings, over which should be placed good rich vegetable mould, mixed with a large proportion of sand, covering with a thin layer of the same material as has been put into the bottom of the pot; a top dressing of ground bones is said to improve the fineness of the blossoms. They should not be kept too dry, but at the same time watered cautiously, as too much of either heat or moisture destroys the plants. The _Pansy_ or _Heart's-ease_, V. tricolor, _Kheeroo, kheearee_, derives its first name from the French _Pensée_. It was known amongst the early Christians by the name of _Flos Trinitatis_, and worn as a symbol of their faith. The high estimation which it has of late years attained in Great Britain as a florist's flower has, in the last two or three years, extended itself to this country. There are nearly four hundred varieties, a few of which only have been found here. _The characters of a fine Heart's-ease_ are, the flower being well expanded, offering a flat, or if any thing, rather a revolute surface, and the petals so overlapping each other as to form a circle without any break in the outline. These should be as nearly as possible of a size, and the greater length of the two upper ones concealed by the covering of those at the side in such manner as to preserve the appearance of just proportion: the bottom petal being broad and two-lobed, and well expanded, not curving inwards. The eye should be of moderate, or rather small size, and much additional beauty is afforded, if the pencilling is so arranged as to give the appearance of a dark angular spot. The colors must also be clear, bright, and even, not clouded or indistinct. Undoubtedly the handsomest kinds are those in which the two upper petals are of deep purple and the triade of a shade less: in all, the flower stalk should be long and stiff. The plant blossoms in this country in February and March, although it is elsewhere a summer flower. _Propagation_.--In England the moat usual methods are dividing the roots, layers, or cuttings from the stem, and these are certainly the only sure means of preserving a good variety; but it is almost impossible in India to preserve the plant through the hot weather, and therefore it is more generally treated as an annual, and raised every year from seed, which should be sown at the close of the rains; as however their growth, in India is as yet little known, most people put the imported seed into pots as soon as it arrives, lest the climate should deteriorate its germinating power, as it is well known, that even in Europe the seed should be sown as soon as possible after ripening. It will be well also to assist its sprouting with a little bottom heat, by plunging the pot up to its rim in a hot bed. American seed should be avoided as the blossoms are little to be depended on, and generally yield small, ill-formed flowers, clouded and run in color. _Soil, &c._--This should be moist, and the best compost is formed of one-sixth of well rotted dung from an old hot bed, and five-sixth of loam, or one-fourth of leaf mould and the remainder loam, but in either case well incorporated and exposed for some time previous to use to the action of the sun and air by frequent turning. _Culture_.--A shady situation is to be preferred, especially for the dark varieties which assume a deeper hue if so placed. But it has been observed by Mackintosh, that "the light varieties bloomed lighter in the shade, and darker in the sunshine--a very remarkable effect, for which I cannot account." The plants must at all times be kept moist, never being allowed to become dry, and should be so placed as to receive only the morning sun before ten o'clock. Under good management the plants will extend a foot or more in height, and have a handsome appearance if trained over a circular trellis of rattan twisted. When they rise too high, or it is desirable to fill out with side shoots, the tops must be pinched off, and larger flowers will be obtained if the flower buds are thinned out where they appear crowded. These plants look very handsome when grown in large masses of several varieties, but the seeds of those grown in this manner should not be made use of, as they are sure to sport; to prevent which it is also necessary that the plants which it is desired to perpetuate in this manner should be isolated at a distance from any other kind, and it would be advisable to cover them with thin gauze to prevent impregnation from others by means of the bees and other insects. For show flowers the branches should be kept down, and not suffered to straggle out or multiply; these will also be improved by pegging the longer branches down under the soil, and thereby increasing the number of the root fibres, hence adding to their power of accumulating nourishment, and not allowing them to expand beyond a limited number of blossoms, and those retained should be as nearly equal in age as possible. The HYDRANGEA is a hardy plant requiring a good deal of moisture, being by nature an inhabitant of the marshes. The _Changeable Hydrangea_, H. hortensis, is of Chinese origin and a pretty growing plant that deserves to be a favorite; it blossoms in bunches of flowers at the extremities of the branches which are naturally pink, but in old peat earth, or having a mixture of alum, or iron filings, the color changes to blue. It blooms in March and April. _Propagation_ may be effected by cuttings, which root freely, or by layers. _Soil, &c._--Loam and old leaf mould, or peat with a very small admixture of sand suits this plant. Their growth is much promoted by being turned out, for a month or two in the rains, into the open ground, and then re-potted with new soil, the old being entirely removed from the roots: and to make it flower well it must not be encumbered with too many branches. The HOYA is properly a trailing plant, rooting at the joints, but have been generally cultivated here as a twiner. The _Fleshy-leaved Hoya_, H. carnosa, is vulgarly called the wax flower from its singular star shaped-whitish pink blossoms, with a deep colored varnished centre, having more the appearance of a wax model than a production of nature. The flowers appear in globular groups and have a very handsome appearance from the beginning of April to the close of the rains. The _Green flowered Hoya_, H. viridiflora, _Nukchukoree, teel kunga_, with its green flowers in numerous groups, is also an interesting plant, it is esteemed also for its medicinal properties. _Propagation_.--Every morsel of these plants, even a piece of the leaf, will form roots if put in the ground, cuttings therefore strike very freely, as do layers, the joints naturally throwing out root-fibres although not in the earth. _Soil, &c._--A light loam moderately dry is the best for these plants, which look well if trained round a circular trellis in the open border. The STAPELIA is an extensive genus of low succulent plants without leaves, but yielding singularly handsome star-shaped flowers; they are of African origin growing in the sandy deserts, but in a natural state very diminutive being increased to their present condition and numerous varieties by cultivation, they mostly have an offensive smell whence some people call them the carrion plant. They deserve more attention than has hitherto been shown to them in India. The _Variegated Stapelia_, S. variegata, yields a flower in November, the thick petals of which are yellowish green with brown irregular spots, it is the simplest of the family. The _Revolute-flowered Stapelia_, S. revoluta, has a green blossom very fully sprinkled with deep purple, it flowers at the close of the rains. The _Toad Stapelia_, S. bufonia, as its name implies, is marked like the back of the reptile from whence it has its name; it flowers in December and January. The _Hairy Stapelia_, S. hirsuta, is a very handsome variety, being, like the rest, of green and brown, but the entire flower covered with fine filaments or hairs of a light purple, at various periods of the year. The _Starry Stapelia_, S. stellaris, is perhaps the most beautiful of the whole, being like the last covered with hairs, but they are of a bright pinkish blue color; there appears to be no fixed period for flowering. The HAIRY CARRULLUMA, C. crinalata, belongs to the same family as the foregoing species, which it much resembles, except that it blossoms in good sized globular groups of small star-shaped flowers of green, studded and streaked with brown. _Propagation_ is exceedingly easy with each of the last named two species; as the smallest piece put in any soil that is moist, without being saturated, will throw out root fibres. _Soil, &c._--This should consist of one-half sand, one-fourth garden mould, and one-fourth well rotted stable manure. The pots in which they are planted should have on the top a layer of pebbles, or broken brick. All the after culture they require is to keep them within bounds, removing decayed portions as they appear and avoiding their having too much moisture. The perennial border plants, besides those included above, are very numerous; the directions for cultivation admitting, from their similarity, of the following general rules:-- _Propagation_.--Although some few will admit of other modes of multiplication, the most usually successful are by seed, by suckers, or by offsets, and by division of the root, the last being applicable to nine-tenths of the hardy herbaceous plants, and performed either by taking up the whole plant and gently separating it by the hand, or by opening the ground near the one to be divided, and cutting off a part of the roots and crown to make new the sections being either at once planted where they are to stand, or placed for a short period in a nursery; the best time for this operation is the beginning of the rains. Offsets or suckers being rapidly produced during the rains, will be best removed towards their close, at which period, also, seed should be sown to benefit by the moisture remaining in the soil. The depth at which seeds are buried in the earth varies with their magnitude, all the pea or vetch kind will bear being put at a depth of from half an inch to one inch; but with the smallest seeds it will be sufficient to scatter them, on the sifted soil, beating them down with, the palm of the hand. _Culture_.--Transplanting this description of plants will be performed to best advantage during the rains. The general management is comprehended in stirring the soil occasionally in the immediate vicinity of the roots; taking up overgrown plants, reducing and replanting them, for which the rains is the best time; renewing the soil around the roots; sticking the weak plants; pruning and trimming others, so as to remove all weakly or decayed parts. Once a year, before the rains, the whole border should be dug one or two spits deep, adding soil from the bottom of a tank or river; and again, in the cold weather, giving a moderate supply of well rotted stable manure, and leaf mould in equal portions. Crossing is considered as yet in its infancy even in England, and has, except with the Marvel of Peru, hardly even been attempted in this country. The principles under which this is effected are fully explained at page 27 of the former part of this work; but it may also be done in the more woody kinds by grafting one or more of the same genus on the stock of another, the seed of which would give a new variety. Saving seed requires great attention in India, as it should be taken during the hot weather if possible; to effect which the earliest blossoms must be preserved for this purpose. With some kinds it will be advisable to assist nature by artificial impregnation with a camel hair pencil, carefully placing the pollen on the point of the stigma. The seeds should be carefully dried in some open, airy place, but not exposed to the sun, care being afterwards taken that they shall be deposited in a dry place, not close or damp, whence the usual plan of storing the seeds in bottles is not advisable. * * * * * BULBS. Bulbs have not as yet received that degree of attention in this country (India) that they deserve, and they may be considered to form a separate class, requiring a mode of culture differing from that of others. Their slow progress has discouraged many and a supposition that they will only thrive in the Upper Provinces, has deterred others from attempting to grow them, an idea which has also been somewhat fostered by the Horticultural Society, when they received a supply from England, having sent the larger portion of them to their subscribers in the North West Provinces. The NARCISSUS will thrive with care, in all parts of India, and it is a matter of surprise that it is not more frequently met with. A good Narcissus should have the six petals well formed, regularly and evenly disposed, with a cup of good form, the colors distinct and clear, raised on strong erect stems, and flowering together. The _Polyanthes Narcissus_, N. tazetta, _Narjus, hur'huft nusreen_, is of two classes, white and sulphur colored, but these have sported into almost endless varieties, especially amongst the Dutch, with whom this and most other bulbs are great favorites. It flowers in February and March. The _Poet's Narcissus_, N. poeticus, _Moozhan, zureenkuda_ is the favorite, alike for its fragrance and its delicate and graceful appearance, the petals being white and the cup a deep yellow: it flowers from the beginning of January to the end of March and thrives well. The first within the recollection of the author, in Bengal, was at Patna, nearly twelve years since, in possession of a lady there under whose care it blossomed freely in the shade, in the month of February. The _Daffodil_, N. pseudo-narcissus, _Khumsee buroonk_, is of pale yellow, and some of the double varieties are very handsome. _Propagation_ is by offsets, pulled off after the bulbs are taken out of the ground, and sufficiently hardened. _Soil, &c._--The best is a fresh, light loam with some well rotted cow dung for the root fibres to strike into, and the bottom of the pot to the height of one-third filled with pebbles or broken brick. They will not blossom until the fifth year, and to secure strong flowers the bulbs should only be taken up every third year. An eastern aspect where they get only the morning sun, is to be preferred. The PANCRATIUM is a handsome species that thrives well, some varieties being indigenous, and others fully acclimated, generally flowering about May or June. The _One-flowered Pancratium_, P. zeylanicum, is rather later than the rest in flowering and bears a curiously formed white flower. The _Two-flowered Pancratium_, P. triflorum, _Sada kunool_, was so named by Roxburg, and gives a white flower in groups of threes, as its name implies. The _Oval leaved pancratium_, P. ovatum, although of West Indian origin, is so thoroughly acclimated as to be quite common in the Indian Garden. _Propagation_.--The best method is by suckers or offsets which are thrown out very freely by all the varieties. _Soil, &c._--Any common garden soil will suit this plant, but they thrive best with a good admixture of rich vegetable mould. The HYACINTH, Hyacinthus, is an elegant flower, especially the double kind. The first bloomed in Calcutta was exhibited at the flower show some three years since, but proved an imperfect blossom and not clear colored; a very handsome one, however, was shown by Mrs. Macleod in February 1847, and was raised from a stock originally obtained at Simlah. The Dutch florists have nearly two thousand varieties. The distinguishing marks of a good hyacinth are clear bright colors, free from clouding or sporting, broad bold petals, full, large and perfectly doubled, sufficiently revolute to give the whole mass a degree of convexity: the stem strong and erect and the foot stalks horizontal at the base, gradually taking an angle upwards as they approach the crown, so as to place the flowers in a pyramidical form, occupying about one-half the length of the stem. The _Amethyst colored Hyacinth_, H. amethystimus, is a fine handsome flower, varying in shade from pale blue to purple, and having bell shaped flowers, but the foot stalks are generally not strong and they are apt to become pendulous. The _Garden Hyacinth_, H. orientalis, _Sumbul, abrood_, is the handsomer variety, the flowers being trumpet shaped, very double and of varying colors--pink, red, blue, white, or yellow, and originally of eastern growth. It flowers in February and has considerable fragrance. _Propagation_.--In Europe this is sometimes performed by seed, but as this requires to be put into the ground as soon as possible after ripening, and moreover takes a long time to germinate, this method would hardly answer in this country, which must therefore, at least for the present, depend upon imported bulbs and offsets. _Soil, &c._--This, as well as its after culture, is the same as for the Narcissus. They will not show flowers until the second year, and not in good bloom before the fifth or sixth of their planting out. The CROCUS, Crocus lutens, having no native name, has yet, it is believed, been hardly ever known to flower here, even with the utmost care. A good crocus has its colors clear, brilliant, and distinctly marked. _Propagation_--must be effected, for new varieties, by seeds, but the species are multiplied by offsets of the bulb. _Soil, &c._ Any fair garden soil is good for the crocus, but it prefers that which is somewhat sandy. _Culture_. The small bulbs should be planted in clumps at the depth of two inches; the leaves should not be cut off after the plant has done blossoming, as the nourishment for the future season's flower is gathered by them. The IXIA, is originally from the Cape, and belongs to the class of Iridae: the Ixia Chinensis, more properly Morea Chinensis, is a native of India and China, and common in most gardens. _Propagation_--is by offsets. _Soil, &c._ The best is of peat and sand, it thrives however in good garden soil, if not too stiff, and requires no particular cultivation. The LILY, Lilium, _Soosun_, the latter derived from the Hebrew, is a handsome species that deserves more care than it has yet received in India, where some of the varieties are indigenous. The _Japan Lily_, L. japonicum, is a very tall growing plant, reaching about 5 feet in height with broad handsome flowers of pure white, and a small streak of blue, in the rains. The _Daunan Lily_, L. dauricum, _Rufeef, soosun_, gives an erect, light orange flower in the rains. The _Canadian lily_, L. Canadense _B'uhmutan_, flowers in the rains in pairs of drooping reflexed blossoms of a rather darker orange, sometimes spotted with a deeper shade. _Propagation_--is effected by offsets, which however will not flower until the third or fourth year. _Soil, &c._ This is the same as for the Narcissus, but they do not require taking up more frequently than once in three years, and that only for about a month at the close of the rains, the Japan lily will thrive even under the shade of trees. The AMARYLLIS is a very handsome flower, which has been found to thrive well in this country, and has a great variety, all of which possess much beauty, some kinds are very hardy, and will grow freely in the open ground. The _Mexican Lily_, A. regina Mexicanae, is a common hardy variety found in most gardens, yielding an orange red flower in the months of March and April, and will thrive even under the shades of trees. The _Ceylonese Amaryllis_, A: zeylanica, _Suk'h dursun_, gives a pretty flower about the same period. The _Jacoboean Lily_, A, formosissima, has a handsome dark red flower of singular form, having three petals well expanded above, and three others downwards rolled over the fructile organs on the base, so as to give the idea of its being the model whence the Bourbon _fleur de lis_ was taken, the stem is shorter than the two previous kinds, blossoming in April or May. The _Noble Amaryllis_, A: insignia, is a tall variety, having pink flowers in March or April. The _Broad-leaved Amaryllis_, A: latifolia, is a native of India with pinkish white flowers about the same period of the year. The _Belladonna Lily_. A: belladonna is of moderately high stem, supporting a pink flower of the same singular form as the Jacoboean lily, in May and June. _Propagation_--is by offsets of the bulb, which most kinds throw out very freely, sometimes to the extent of ten, or a dozen in the season. _Soil, &c._--For the choice kinds is the same as is required for the narcissus, and water should on no account be given over the leaves or upper part of the bulb. The common kinds look well in masses, and a good form of planting them is in a series of raised circles, so as for the whole to form a round bed. The DOG'S TOOTH VIOLET, Erythronium, is a pretty flowering bulb and a great favorite with florists in Europe. The _Common Dog's tooth Violet_, E. dens canis, is ordinarily found of reddish purple, there is also a white variety, but it is rare, neither of them grow above three or four inches in height, and flower in March or April. The _Indian Dog's tooth Violet_, E. indicum, _junglee kanda_, is found in the hills, and flowers at about the same time, with a pink blossom. The SUPERB GLORIOSA, Gloriosa superba, _Kareearee, eeskooee langula_, is a very beautiful species of climbing bulb, a native of this country, and on that account neglected, although highly esteemed as a stove plant in England; the leaves bear tendrils at the points, and the flower, which is pendulous, when first expanded, throws its petals nearly erect of yellowish green, which gradually changes to yellow at the base and bright scarlet at the point; the pistil which shoots from the seed vessel horizontally possesses the singular property of making an entire circuit between sun-rise and sun-set each day that the flower continues, which is generally for some time, receiving impregnation from every author as it visits them in succession. It blooms in the latter part of the rains. _Propagation_ is in India sometimes from seed, but in Europe it is confined to division of the offsets. _Soil, &c._--Most garden soils will suit this plant, but it affords the handsomest, and richest colored flowers in fresh loam mixed with peat or leaf mould, without dung. It should not have too much water when first commencing its growth, and it requires the support of a trellis over which it will bear training to a considerable extent, growing to the height of from five to six feet. MANY OTHER BULBS, there is no doubt, might be successfully grown in India where every thing is favorable to their growth, and so much facility presents itself for procuring them from the Cape of Good Hope; the natural _habitat_ of so many varieties of the handsomest species, nearly all of them flowering between the end of the cold weather and the close of the rains. Some of these being hardy, thrive in the open ground with but little care or trouble, others requiring very great attention, protection from exposure, and shelter from the heat of the sun, and the intensity of its rays; which should therefore have a particular portion of the plant-shed assigned to them, such being inhabitants of the green house in colder climates, and the reason of assigning them such separated part of the chief house, or what is better perhaps, a small house to themselves, is that in culture, treatment, and other respects they do not associate with plants of a different character. One great obstacle which the more extensive culture of bulbs has had to contend against, may be found in that impatience that refuses to give attention to what requires from three to five years to perfect, generally speaking people in India prefer therefore to cultivate such plants only as afford an immediate result, especially with relation to the ornamental classes. _Propagation_.--The bulb after the formation of the first floral core is instigated by nature to continue its species, as immediately the flower fades the portion of bulb that gave it birth dies, for which purpose it each year forms embryo bulbs on each side of the blossoming one, and which although continued in the same external coat, are each perfect and complete plants in themselves, rising from the crown of the root fibres: in some kinds this is more distinctly exhibited by being as it were, altogether outside and distinct from, the main, or original bulb. These being separated for what are called offsets, and should be taken off only when the parent bulb has been taken up and hardened, or the young plant will suffer. Some species of bulbous rooted plants produce seeds, but this method of reproduction, can seldom be resorted to in this country, and certainly not to obtain new kinds, as the seeds require to be sown as soon as ripe. _Soil, Culture, &c_.--For the delicate and rare bulbs, it is advisable to have pots purposely made of some fifteen inches in height with a diameter of about seven or eight inches at the top, tapering down to five, with a hole at the bottom as in ordinary flower pots, and for this to stand in, another pot should be made without any hole, of a height of about four inches, sufficient size to leave the space of about an inch all round between the outer side of the plant pot and the inner side of the smaller pot or saucer. This will allow the plant pot to be filled with crocks, pebbles, or stone chippings to the height of five inches, or about an inch higher than the level of the water in the saucer, above which may be placed eight inches in depth of soil and one inch on the top of that, pebbles or small broken brick. By this arrangement, the saucer being kept filled, or partly filled, as the plant may require, with water, the fibres of the root obtain a sufficiency of moisture for the maintenance and advancement of the plant without chance of injury to the bulb or stem, by applying water to the upper earth which is also in this prevented from becoming too much saturated. Light rich sandy loam, with a portion of sufficiently decomposed leaf mould, is the best soil for the early stages of growing bulbs. So soon as the leaves change color and wither, then all moisture must be withheld, but as the repose obtained by this means is not sufficient to secure health to the plant, and ensure its giving strong blossoms, something more is required to effect this purpose. This being rendered the more necessary because in those that form offsets by the sides of the old bulbs, they would otherwise become crowded and degenerate, the same occurring also with those forming under the old ones, which will get down so deep that they cease to appear. The time to take up the bulb is when the flower-stem and leaves have commenced decay; taking dry weather for the purpose, if the bulbs are hardy, or if in pots having reduced the moisture as above shown, but it must be left to individual experience to discover how long the different varieties should remain out of the ground, some requiring one month's rest, and others enduring three or four, with advantage; more than that is likely to be injurious. When out of the ground, during the first part of the period they are so kept, it should be, say for a fortnight at least, in any room where no glare exists, with free circulation of air, after which the off-sets may be removed, and the whole exposed to dry on a table in the verandah, or any other place that is open to the air, but protected from the sunshine, which would destroy them. Little peculiarity of after treatment is requisite, except perhaps that the bulbs which are to flower in the season should have a rather larger proportion of leaf mould in the compost, and that if handsome flowers are required, it will be well to examine the bulb every week at least by gently taking the mould from around them, and removing all off-sets that appear on the old bulb. For the securing strength to the plant also, it will be well to pinch off the flower so soon as it shews symptoms of decay. The wire worm is a great enemy to bulbs, and whenever it appears they should be taken up, cleaned, and re-planted. It is hardly necessary to say that all other vermin and insects must be watched, and immediately removed. * * * * * THE BIENNIAL BORDER PLANTS. It is only necessary to mention a few of these, as the curious in floriculture will always make their own selection, the following will therefore suffice.-- The SPEEDWELL-LEAVED HEDGE HYSSOP, Gratiola veronicifolia, _Bhoomee, sooél chumnee_, seldom cultivated, though deserving to be so, has a small blue flower. The SIMPLE-STALKED LOBELIA, Lobelia simplex, introduced from the Cape, yields a pretty blue flower. The EVENING PRIMROSE, Oenothera mutabilis, a pretty white flower that blossoms in the evening, its petals becoming pink by morning. The FLAX-LEAVED PIMPERNEL, Anagallis linifolia, a rare plant, giving a blue flower in the rains; introduced from Portugal. The BROWALLIA, of two lauds, both pretty and interesting plants; originally from South America. The _Spreading Browallia_, B. demissa is the smallest of these, and blossoms in single flowers of bright blue, at the beginning of the cold weather. The _Upright Browallia_, B. alata, gives bloom in groups, of a bright blue; there is also a white variety, both growing to the height of nearly two feet. The SMALL-FLOWERED TURNSOLE, Heliotropium parviflorum, _B'hoo roodee_, differs from the rest of this family which are mostly perennials; it yields groups of white flowers, which are fragrant. The FLAX-LEAVED CANDYTUFT, Iberis linifolia, with its purple blossoms, is very rare, but it has been sometimes grown with, success. The STOCK, Mathiola, is a very popular plant, and deserves more extensive cultivation in this country. The _Great Sea Stock_, M sinuata, is rare and somewhat difficult to bring into bloom, it possesses some fragrance and its violet colored groups of flowers have rather a handsome appearance about May. The _Ten weeks' Stock_, M annua, is also a pleasing flower about the same time. In England this is an annual, but here it is not found to bloom freely until the second year, its color is scarlet, and it has some fragrance. The _Purple Gilly flower_, M incana, is a pretty flower of purple color, and fragrant. There are some varieties of it such as the _Double_, multiplex, the _Brompton_, coccinea, and the _White_, alba, varying in color and blossoming in April. The STARWORT, Aster, is a hardy flowering plant not very attractive, except as it yields blossoms at all seasons, if the foot stalks are cut off as soon as the flower has faded, there are very numerous varieties of this plant which is, in Europe a perennial, but it is preferable to treat it here as only biennial, otherwise it degenerates. The _Bushy Starwort_, A dumosus, is a free blossoming plant in the rains, with white flowers. The _Silky leaved Starwort_, A. sericeus, is Indigenous in the hills, putting forth its blue blossoms during the rains. The _Hairy Starwort_, A pilosus, is of very pale blue, and may, with care, be made to blossom throughout the year. The _Chinese Starwort,_ A chinensis, is of dark purple and very prolific of blossoms at all times. The BEAUTIFUL JUSTICIA, J speciosa, although, described by Roxburgh as a perennial, degenerates very much after the second year, it affords bright carmine colored flowers at the end of the cold weather. The COMMON MARVEL OF PERU, Mirabilis Jalapa _Gul abas, krushna kelee_, is vulgarly called the Four o'clock from its blossoms expanding in the afternoon. There are several varieties distinguished only by difference of color, lilac, red, yellow, orange, and white, which hybridize naturally, and may easily be obliged to do so artificially, if any particular shades are desired. The HAIRY INDIGO, Indigofera hirsuta, yields an ornamental flower with abundance of purple blossoms. The HIBISCUS This class numbers many ornamental plants, the blossoms of which all maintain the same character of having a darkened spot at the base of each petal. The _Althaea frutex_, H syriacus, _Gurhul,_ yields a handsome purple flower in the latter part of the rains, there are also a white, and a red variety. The _Stinging Hibiscus_ H pruriens, has a yellow flower at the same season. The _Hemp leaved Hibiscus_, H cannabinus, _Anbaree_, is much the same as the last. The _Bladder Ketmia_, H trionum, is a dwarf species, yellow, with a brown spot at the base of the petal. The _African Hibiscus_ H africanus, is a very handsome flower growing to a considerable height, expanding to the diameter of six to seven inches, of a bright canary color, the dark blown spots at the base of the petals very distinctly marked, the seeds were considered a great acquisition when first obtained from Hobarton, but the plant has since been seen in great perfection growing wild in the _Turaee_ at the foot of the Darjeeling range of hills, blooming in great perfection at the close of the rains. The _Chinese Hibiscus_, H rosa sinensis, _Jooua, jasoon, jupa_, although, really a perennial flower, is in greatest perfection if kept as a biennial, it flowers during the greater part of the season a dark red flower with a darker hued spot, there are also some other varieties of different colors yellow, scarlet, and purple. The TREE MALLOW, Lavatera arborea, has of late years been introduced from Europe, and may now be found in many gardens in India yielding handsome purple flowers in the latter part of the rains. But it is unnecessary to continue such a mere catalogue, the character and general cultivation of which require no distinct rules, but may all be resolved into one general method, of which the following is a sketch. _Propagation_--They are all raised from seed, but the finest double varieties require to be continued by cuttings. The seed should be sown as soon as it can after opening, but if this occur during the rains, the beds, or pots, perhaps better, must be sheltered, removing the plants when they are few inches high to the spot where they are to remain, care being at the same time taken in removing those that have tap roots, such as Hollyhock, Lavatera, &c not to injure them, as it will check their flowering strongly, the best mode is to sow those in pots and transplant them, with balls of earth entire, into the borders, at the close of the rains. Cuttings of such as are multiplied by that method, are taken either from the flower stalks, or root-shoots, early in the rains, and rooted either in pots, under shelter, or in beds, protected from the heavy showers. _Culture_--Cultivation after the plants are put into the borders, is the same as for perennial plants. But the duration and beauty of the flowers is greatly improved by cutting off the buds that shew the earliest, so as to retard the bloom--and for the same reason the footstalk should be cut off when the flowers fade, for as soon as the plant begins to form seed, the blossoms deteriorate. * * * * * THE ANNUAL BORDER PLANTS. These are generally known to every one, and many of them are so common as hardly to need notice, a few of the most usual are however mentioned, rather to recal the scattered thoughts of the many, than as a list of annuals. The MIGNIONETTE, Resoda odorata, is too great a favorite both on account of its fragrance and delicate flowers not to be well known, and by repeated sowings it may be made under care to give flowers throughout the year but it is advisable to renew the seed occasionally by fresh importations from Europe, the Cape, or Hobarton. The PROLIFIC PINK, Dianthus prolifer _Kurumful_, is a pretty variety; that blossoms freely throughout the year, sowing to keep up succession, the shades and net work marks on them are much varied, and they make a very pretty group together. The LUPINE, Lupinus, is a very handsome class of annuals, many of which grow well in India, all of them flowering in the cold season. The _Small blue Lupine_, L. varius, was introduced from the Cape and is the only one noticed by Roxburgh. The _Rose, and great blue Lupine_, L. pilosus and hirsutus, are both good sized handsome flowers. The _Egyptian, or African Lupins_, L. thermis, _Turmus_, is the only one named in the native language, and has a white flower. The _Tree Lupine_, L. arboreus, is a shrubby plant with a profusion of yellow flowers which has been successfully cultivated from Hobarton seed. The CATCHFLY, Silene, the only one known here is the small red, S. rubella, having a very pretty pink flower appearing in the cold weather. The LARKSPUR, Delphinum, has not yet received any native name, and deserves to be much more extensively cultivated, especially the Neapolitan and variegated sorts. The common purple, D. Bhinensis, being the one usually met with; it should be sown in succession from September to December, but the rarer kinds must not be put in sooner than the middle of November, as these do not blossom well before February, March, or April. The SWEET PEA, Lathyrus odoralus, is not usually cultivated with success, because it has been generally sown too late in the season, to give a sufficient advance to secure blossoming. The seeds should be put in about the middle of the rains in pots and afterwards planted out when these cease, and carefully cultivated to obtain blossoms in February or March. The ZINNIA, has only of late years been introduced, but by a mistake it has generally been sown too late in the year to produce good flowers, whereas if the seed is put into the ground about June, fine handsome flowers will be the result, in the cold weather. The CENTAURY, Centaurea, is a very pretty class of annuals which grows, and blossoms freely in this country. The _Woolly Centaury_, C. lanata, is mentioned by Roxburgh as indigenous to the country, but the flowers are very small, of a purple color, blossoming in December. The _Blue bottle_ O. cyanus, _Azeez_, flowers in December and January, of pink and blue. The _Sweet Sultan_, C. moschata, _Shah pusund_ is known by its fragrant and delicate lilac blossoms in January and February. The BALSAM, Impatiens, _Gulmu'hudee, doopatee_ is not cultivated, or encouraged as it should be in India, where some of the varieties are indigenous. A very rich soil should be used. Dr. R. Wight observes, that Balsams of the colder Hymalayas, like those of Europe, split from the base, rolling the segment towards the apex, whilst those of the hotter regions do the reverse. All annuals require the same, or nearly the same treatment, of which the following may be considered a fair sketch. _Propagation_.--These plants are all raised from seed put in the earth generally on the close of the rains, although some plants, such as nasturtium, sweet pea, scabious, wall-flower, and stock, are better to be sown in pots about June or July, and then put out into the border as soon as the rains cease. The seed must be sown in patches, rings, or small beds according to taste, the ground being previously stirred, and made quite fine, the earth sifted over them to a depth proportioned to the size of the seed, and then gently pressed down, so as closely to embrace every part of the seed. When the plants are an inch high they must be thinned out to a distance of two, three, five, seven, or more inches apart, according to their kind, whether spreading, or upright, having reference also to their size; the plants thinned out, if carefully taken up, may generally be transplanted to fill up any parts of the border where the seed may have failed. _Culture_. Weeding and occasionally stirring the soil, and sticking such as require support, is all the cultivation necessary for annuals. If it be desired to save seed, some of the earliest and most perfect blossoms should be preserved for this purpose, so as to secure the best possible seed for the ensuing year, not leaving it to chance to gather seed from such plants as may remain after the flowers have been taken, as is generally the case with native gardeners, if left to themselves. * * * * * FLOWERS THAT GROW UNDER THE SHADE OF TREES. It is of some value to know what these are, but at the same time it must be observed that no plant will grow under trees of the fir tribe, and it would be a great risk to place any under the _Deodar_--with all others also it must not be expected that any trees having their foliage so low as to affect the circulation of air under their branches, can do otherwise than destroy the plants placed beneath them. Those which may be so planted are;--Wood Anemone.--Common Arum.--Deadly Nightshade--Indian ditto.--Chinese Clematis--Upright ditto--Woody Strawberry--Woody Geranium.--Green Hellebore.--Hairy St. John's Wort.--Dog's Violet.--Imperial Fritillaria--The common Oxalis, and some other bulbs.--Common Hound's Tongue.--Common Antirrhinum.--Common Balsam.--To these may be added many of the orchidaceous plants. * * * * * ROSES. THE ROSE, ROSA, _Gul_ or _gulab_: as the most universally admired, stands first amongst shrubs. The London catalogues of this beautiful plant contain upwards of two thousand names: Mr. Loudon, in his "_Encyclopaedia of Plants_" enumerates five hundred and twenty-two, of which he describes three species, viz. Macrophylla, Brunonii, and Moschata Nepalensis, as natives of Nepal; two, viz. Involucrata, and Microphylla, as indigenous to India, and Berberifolia, and Moschata arborea, as of Persian origin, whilst twelve appear to have come from China. Dr. Roxburgh describes the following eleven species as inhabitants of these regions:-- Rosa involucrata, -- Chinensis, -- semperflorens, -- recurva, -- microphylla, -- inermis, Rosa centiflora, -- glandulifera, -- pubescens, -- diffusa, -- triphylla, most of which, however, he represents to have been of Chinese origin. The varieties cultivated generally in gardens are, however, all that will be here described. These are-- 1. The _Madras rose,_ or _Rose Edward_, a variety of R centifolia, _Gul ssudburul_, is the most common, and has multiplied so fast within a few years, that no garden is without it, it blossoms all the year round, producing large bunches of buds at the extremities of its shoots of the year, but, if handsome, well-shaped flowers are desired, these must be thinned out on their first appearance, to one or two, or at the most three on each stalk. It is a pretty flower, but has little fragrance. This and the other double sorts require a rich loam rather inclining to clay, and they must be kept moist.[138] 2. The _Bussorah Rose_, R gallica, _Gulsooree_, red, and white, the latter seldom met with, is one of a species containing an immense number of varieties. The fragrance of this rose is its greatest recommendation, for if not kept down, and constantly looked to, it soon gets straggling, and unsightly, like the preceding species too, the buds issue from the ends of the branches in great clusters, which must be thinned, if well formed fragrant blossoms are desired. The same soil is required as for the preceding, with alternating periods of rest by opening the roots, and of excitement by stimulating manure. 3. The _Persian rose_, apparently R collina, _Gul eeran_ bears a very full-petaled blossom, assuming a darker shade as these approach nearer to the centre, but, it is difficult to obtain a perfect flower, the calyx being so apt to burst with excess of fulness, that if perfect flowers are required a thread should be tied gently round the bud, it has no fragrance. A more sandy soil will suit this kind, with less moisture. 4. The _Sweet briar_ R rubiginosa, _Gul nusreen usturoon_, grows to a large size, and blossoms freely in India, but is apt to become straggling, although, if carefully clipped, it may be raised as a hedge the same as in England, it is so universally a favorite as to need no description. 5. The _China blush rose_, R Indica (R Chinensis of Roxburgh), _Kut'h gulab_, forms a pretty hedge, if carefully clipped, but is chiefly usefully as a stock for grafting on. It has no odour. 6 The _China ever-blowing rose_, R damascena of Roxburgh, _Adnee gula, gulsurkh_, bearing handsome dark crimson blossoms during the whole of the year, it is branching and bushy, but rather delicate, and wants odour. 7 The _Moss Rose_, R muscosa, having no native name is found to exist, but has only been known to have once blossomed in India; good plants may be obtained from Hobart Town without much trouble. 8 The _Indian dog-rose_, R arvensis, R involucrata of Roxburgh, _Gul bé furman_, is found to glow wild in some parts of Nepal and Bengal, as well as in the province of Buhar, flowering in February, the blossoms large, white, and very fragrant, its cultivation extending is improving the blossoms, particularly in causing the petals to be multiplied. 9. The _Bramble-flowered rose_ R multiflora, _Gul rana_, naturally a trailer, may be trained to great advantage, when it will give beautiful bunches of small many petaled flowers in February and March, of delightful fragrance. 10. The _Due de Berri rose_, a variety of R damascena, but having the petals more rounded and more regular, it is a low rather drooping shrub with delicately small branches. _Propagation_.--All the species may be multiplied by seed, by layers, by cuttings, by suckers, or from grafts, almost indiscriminately. Layering is the easiest, and most certain mode of propagating this most beautiful shrub. The roots that branch, out and throw up distinct shoots may be divided, or cut off from the main root, and even an eye thus taken off may be made to produce a good plant. Suckers, when they have pushed through the soil, may be taken up by digging down, and gently detaching them from the roots. Grafting or budding is used for the more delicate kinds, especially the sweet briar, and, by the curious, to produce two or more varieties on one stem, the best stocks being obtained from the China, or the Dog Rose. _Soil &c._--Any good loamy garden soil without much sand, suits the rose, but to produce it in perfection the ground can hardly be too rich. _Culture_.--Immediately at the close of the rains, the branches of most kinds of roses, especially the double ones, should be cut down to not more than six inches in length, removing at the same time, all old and decayed wood, as well as all stools that have branched out from the main one, and which will form new plants; the knife being at the same time freely exercised in the removal of sickly and crowded fibres from the roots; these should likewise be laid open, cleaned and pinned, and allowed to remain exposed until blossom buds begin to appear at the end of the first shoots; the hole must then be filled with good strong stable manure, and slightly earthed over. About a month after, a basket of stable dung, with the litter, should be heaped up round the stems, and broken brick or turf placed over it to relieve the unsightly appearance. While flowering, too, it will be well to water with liquid manure at least once a week. If it be desired to continue the trees in blossom, each shoot should be removed as soon as it has ceased flowering. To secure full large blossoms, all the buds from a shoot should be cut off, when quite young, except one. The _Sweet briar rose_ strikes its root low, and prefers shade, the best soil being a deep rich loam with very little sand, rather strong than otherwise; it will be well to place a heap of manure round the stem, above ground, covering over with turf, but it is not requisite to open the roots, or give them so much manure as for other varieties. The sweet briar must not be much pruned, overgrowth being checked rather by pinching the young shoots, or it will not blossom, and it is rather slower in throwing out shoots than other roses. In this country the best mode of multiplying this shrub is by grafting on a China rose stock, as layers do not strike freely, and cuttings cannot be made to root at all. The _Bramble-flowered rose_ is a climber, and though not needing so strong a soil as other kinds, requires it to be rich, and frequently renewed, by taking away the soil from about the roots and supplying its place with a good compost of loam, leaf mould, and well rotted dung, pruning the root. The plants require shelter from the cold wind from the North, or West, this, however, if carefully trained, they will form for themselves, but until they do so, it is impossible to make them blossom freely, the higher branches should be allowed to droop, and if growing luxuriantly, with the shoots not shortened, they will the following season, produce bunches of flowers at the end of every one, and have a very beautiful effect, no pruning should be given, except what is just enough to keep the plants within bounds, as they invariably suffer from the use of the knife. This rose is easily propagated by cuttings or layers, both of which root readily. The _China rose_ thrives almost anywhere, but is best in a soil of loam and peat, a moderate supply of water being given daily during the hot weather. They will require frequent thinning out of the branches, and are propagated by cuttings, which strike freely.[139] As before mentioned, Rose trees look well in a parterre by themselves, but a few may be dispersed along the borders of the garden. _Insects, &c._ The green, and the black plant louse are great enemies to the rose tree, and, whenever they appear, it is advisable to cut out at once the shoot attacked, the green caterpillar too, often makes skeletons of the leaves in a short time, the ladybird, as it is commonly called, is an useful insect, and worthy of encouragement, as it is a destroyer of the plant louse. * * * * * CREEPERS AND CLIMBERS The CLIMBING, and TWINING SHRUBS offer a numerous family, highly deserving of cultivation, the following being a few of the most desirable. The HONEY-SUCKLE, Caprifolium, having no native name, is too well known, and too closely connected with the home associations of all to need particularizing. It is remarkable that they always twine from east to west, and rather die than submit to a change. The TRUMPET FLOWER, Bignonia, are an eminently handsome family, chiefly considered stove plants in Europe, but here growing freely in the open ground, and flowering in loose spikes. The MOUNTAIN EBONY, Bauhinia, the distinguishing mark of the class being its two lobed leaves, most of them are indigenous, and in their native woods attain an immense size, far beyond what botanists in Europe appear to give them credit for. The VIRGIN'S BOWER, Clematis, finds some indigenous representatives in this country, although unnamed in the native language; the odour however is rather too powerful, and of some kinds even offensive, except immediately after a shower of rain. They are all climbers, requiring the same treatment as the honey suckle. The PASSION FLOWER, Passiflora, is a very large family of twining shrubs, many of them really beautiful, and generally of easy cultivation, this country being of the same temperature with their indigenous localities. The RACEMOSE ASPARAGUS, A. racemosus, _Sadabooree, sutmoolee_, is a native of India, and by nature a trailing plant, but better cultivated as a climber on a trellis, in which way its delicate setaceous foliage makes it at all times ornamental, and at the close of the rains it sends forth abundant bunches of long erect spires of greenish white color, and of delicious fragrance, shedding perfume all around to a great distance. * * * * * KALENDAR WORK TO BE PERFORMED. JANUARY. Thin out seeding annuals wherever they appear too thick. Water freely, especially such plants as are in bloom, and keep all clean from weeds. Cut off the footstalks of flowers, except such as are reserved for seed, as soon as the petals fade. Collect the seeds of early annuals as they ripen. FEBRUARY. Continue as directed in last month. Prepare stocks for roses to be grafted on, R. bengalensis, and R. canina are the best. Great care must be paid to thinning out the buds of roses to insure perfect blossoms, as well as to rubbing off the succulent upright shoots and suckers that are apt to spring up at this period. Collect seeds as they ripen, to be dried, or hardened in the shade. Collect seeds as they ripen, drying them carefully, for a few days in the pods, and subsequently when freed from them in the shade, to put them in the sun being highly injurious. Give a plentiful supply of water in saucers to Narcissus, or other bulbs when flowering. MARCH. Cut down the flower stalks of Narcissus that have ceased flowering, and lessen the supply of water. Take up the tubers of Dahlias, and dry gradually in an open place in the shade, but do not remove the offsets for some days. Pot any of the species of Geranium that have been put out after the rains, provided they are not in bloom. Give water freely to the roots of all flowers that are in blossom. Mignionette that is in blossom should have the seed pods clipped off with a pair of scissors every day to continue it. Convolvulus in flower should be shaded early in the morning, or it will quickly fade. The Evening Primrose should be freely watered to increase the number of blossoms. Look to the Carnations that are coming into bloom, give support to the flower stem, cutting off all side shoots and buds, except the one intended to give a handsome flower. APRIL. Careful watering, avoiding any wetting of the leaves is necessary at this period, and the saucers of all bulbs not yet flowered should be kept constantly full, to promote blossoming--the saucers should however be kept clean, and washed out every third day at least. Frequent weeding must be attended to, with occasional watering all grass plots, or paths. Wherever any part of the garden becomes empty by the clearing off of annuals, it should be well dug to a depth of at least eighteen inches, and after laying exposed in clods for a week or two, manured with tank or road mud; leaf mould, or other good well rotted manure. MAY. This is the time to make layers of Honeysuckle, Bauhinia, and other climbing and twining shrubs. Mignionette must be very carefully treated, kept moist, and every seed-pod clipped off as soon as the flower fades, or it will not be preserved. Continue to dig, and manure the borders, not leaving the manure exposed, or it will lose power. Make pipings and layers of Carnations. JUNE. Thin out the multitudinous buds of the Madras rose, also examine the buds of the Persian rose, to prevent the bursting of the calyx by tying with thread, or with a piece of parchment, or cardboard as directed for Carnations. Watch Carnations to prevent the bursting of the calyx, and to remove superfluous buds. Re pot Geraniums that are in sheds, or verandahs, so soon as they have done flowering, also take up, and pot any that may yet remain in the borders. Prune off also all superfluous, or straggling branches. Continue digging over and manuring the flowering borders. Sow Zinnias, also make cuttings of perennials and biennials that are propagated by that means, and put in seeds of biennials under shelter, as well as a few of the early annuals, particularly Stock and Sweet-pea. JULY. Make cuttings and layers of hardy shrubs, and of the Fragrant Olive; put in cuttings of the Willow, and some other trees. Plant out Pines, and Casuarina, Cypress, Large-leaved fig, and the Laurel tribe. Transplant young shrubs of a hardy nature. Divide the roots, and plant out suckers, or offsets of perennial border plants. Make cuttings and sow seeds of biennials, as required; also a few annuals to be hereafter transplanted. Sow also Geraniums. Continue making pipings of Carnation, plant out, or transplant hardy perennials into the borders. AUGUST. This may be considered the best time for sowing the seeds of hardy shrubs. Plant out Aralia, Canella, Magnolia, and other ornamental trees. Transplant delicate and exotic shrubs. Remove, and plant out suckers, and layers of hardy shrubs. Prune all shrubs freely. Divide, and plant out suckers, and offsets of hardy perennials, that have formed during the rains. Plant out tender perennial plants, in the borders, also biennials. Prune, and thin out perennial plants in the borders. Put out in the borders such annuals as were sown in June, protecting them from the heat of the sun in the afternoon. Sow a few early annuals. Plant out Dahlia tubers where they are intended to blossom, keeping them as much as possible in classes of colors. Make pipings of Carnations. SEPTEMBER. Prick out the cuttings of hardy shrubs that have been made before, or during the rains, in beds for growing. Prune all flowering shrubs, having due regard to the character of each, as bearing flowers on the end of the shoots, or from the side exits, give the annual dressing of manure to the entire shrubbery, with new upper soil. Remove the top soil from the borders, and renew with addition of a moderate quantity of manure. Put out Geraniums into the borders, and set rooted cuttings singly in pots. Plant out biennials in the borders, also such annuals as have been sown in pots. Re-pot and give fresh earth to plants in the shed. OCTOBER. Open out the roots of a few Bussorah roses for early flowering, pruning down all the branches to a height of six inches, removing all decayed, and superannuated wood, dividing the roots, and pruning them freely. The Madras roses should be treated in the same manner, not all at the same time, but at intervals of a week between each cutting down, so as to secure a succession for blossoming. Plant out rooted cuttings in beds, to increase in size. Sow annuals freely, and thin out those put in last month, so as to leave sufficient space for growing, at the same time transplanting the most healthy to other parts of the border. NOVEMBER. Continue opening the roots of Bussorah roses, as well as the Rose Edward, and Madras roses, for succession to those on which this operation was performed last month. Prune, and trim the Sweetbriar, and Many-flowered rose. _Flower-Garden_--Divide, and plant bulbs of all kinds, both, for border, and pot flowering. Continue to sow annuals. DECEMBER Continue opening the roots, and cutting down the branches of Bussorah, and other roses for late flowering. Prune, and thin out also the China and Persian roses, as well as the Many-flowered rose, if not done last month. Train carefully all climbing and twining shrubs. Weed beds of annuals, and thin out, where necessary. Sow Nepolitan, and other fine descriptions of Larkspur, as well as all other annuals for a late show. Dahlias are now blooming in perfection, and should be closely watched that every side-bud, or more than one on each stalk may be cut off close, with a pair of scissors to secure full, distinctly colored, and handsome flowers. [For further instructions respecting the culture of flowers in India I must refer my readers to the late Mr. Speede's works, where they will find a great deal of useful information not only respecting the flower-garden, but the kitchen-garden and the orchard.] * * * * * MISCELLANEOUS ITEMS. THE TREE-MIGNONETTE.--This plant does not appear to be a distinct variety, for the common mignonette, properly trained becomes shrubby. It may be propagated by either seed or cuttings. When it has put forth four leaves or is about an inch high, take it from the bed and put it by itself into a moderate sized pot. As it advances in growth, carefully pick off all the side shoots, leaving the leaf at the base of each shoot to assist the growth of the plant. When it has reached a foot in height it will show flower. But every flower must be nipped off carefully. Support the stem with a stick to make it grow straight. Even when it has attained its proper height of two feet again cut off the bloom for a few days. It is said that Miss Mitford, the admired authoress, was the first to discover that the common mignonette could be induced to adopt tree-like habits. The experiment has been tried in India, but it has sometimes failed from its being made at the wrong season. The seed should be sown at the end of the rains. GRAFTING.--Take care to unite exactly the inner bark of the scion with the inner bark of the stock in order to facilitate the free course of the sap. Almost any scion will take to almost any sort of tree or plant provided there be a resemblance in their barks. The Chinese are fond of making fantastic experiments in grafting and sometimes succeed in the most heterogeneous combinations, such as grafting flowers upon fruit trees. Plants growing near each other can sometimes be grafted by the roots, or on the living root of a tree cut down another tree can be grafted. The scions are those shoots which united with the stock form the graft. It is desirable that the sap of the stock should be in brisk and healthy motion at the time of grafting. The graft should be surrounded with good stiff clay with a little horse or cow manure in it and a portion of cut hay. Mix the materials with a little water and then beat them up with a stick until the compound is quite ductile. When applied it may be bandaged with a cloth. The best season for grafting in India is the rains. MANURE.--Almost any thing that rots quickly is a good manure. It is possible to manure too highly. A plant sometimes dies from too much richness of soil as well as from too barren a one. WATERING.--Keep up a regular moisture, but do not deluge your plants until the roots rot. Avoid giving very cold water in the heat of the day or in the sunshine. Even in England some gardeners in a hot summer use luke-warm water for delicate plants. But do not in your fear of overwatering only wet the surface. The earth all round and below the root should be equally moist, and not one part wet and the other dry. If the plant requires but little water, water it seldom, but let the water reach all parts of the root equally when you water at all. GATHERING AND PRESERVING FLOWERS.--Always use the knife, and prefer such as are coming into flower rather than such as are fully expanded. If possible gather from crowded plants, or parts of plants, so that every gathering may operate at the same time as a judicious pruning and thinning. Flowers may be preserved when gathered, by inserting their ends in winter, in moist earth, or moss; and may be freshened, when withered, by sprinkling them with water, and putting them in a close vessel, as under a bellglass, handglass, flowerpot or in a botanic box; if this will not do, sprinkle them with warm water heated to 80° or 90°, and cover them with a glass.--_Loudon's Encyclopaedia of Gardening_. PIPING---is a mode of propagation by cuttings and is adopted in plants having joined tubular stems, as the dianthus tribe. When the shoot has nearly done growing (soon after its blossom has fallen) its extremity is to be separated at a part of the stem where it is hard and ripe. This is done by holding the root with one hand and with the other pulling the top part above the pair of leaves so as to separate it from the root part of the stem at the socket, formed by the axillae of the leaves, leaving the stem to remain with a tubular or pipe-looking termination. The piping is inserted in finely sifted earth to the depth of the first joint or pipe and its future management regulated on the same general principles as cuttings.--_From the same_. BUDDING.--This is performed when the leaves of plants have grown to their full size and the bud is to be seen at the base of it. The relative nature of the bud and the stock is the same as in grafting. Make a slit in the bark of the stock, to reach from half an inch to an inch and a half down the stock, according to the size of the plant; then make another short slit across, that you may easily raise the bark from the wood, then take a very thin slice of the bark from the tree or plant to be budded, a little below a leaf, and bring the knife out a little above it, so that you remove the leaf and the bud at its base, with the little slice you have taken. You will perhaps have removed a small bit of the wood with the bark, which you must take carefully out with the sharp point of your knife and your thumb; then tuck the bark and bud under the bark of the stock which you carefully bind over, letting the bud come at the part where the slits cross each other. No part of the stock should be allowed to grow after it is budded, except a little shoot or so, above the bud, just to draw the sap past the bud.--_Gleenny's Hand Book of Gardening_. ON PYRAMIDS OF ROSES.--The standard Roses give a fine effect to a bed of Roses by being planted in the middle, forming a pyramidal bed, or alone on grass lawns; but the _ne plus ultra_ of a pyramid of Roses is that formed of from one, two, or three plants, forming a pyramid by being trained up three strong stakes, to any length from 10 to 25 feet high (as may suit situation or taste), placed about two feet apart at the bottom; three forming an angle on the ground, and meeting close together at the top; the plant, or plants to be planted inside the stakes. In two or three years, they will form a pyramid of Roses which baffles all description. When gardens are small, and the owners are desirous of having _multum in parvo_, three or four may be planted to form one pyramid; and this is not the only object of planting more sorts than one together, but the beauty is also much increased by the mingled hues of the varieties planted. For instance, plant together a white Boursault, a purple Noisette, a Stadtholder, Sinensis (fine pink), and a Moschata scandens and such a variety may be obtained, that twenty pyramids may have each, three or four kinds, and no two sorts alike on the whole twenty pyramids. A temple of Roses, planted in the same way, has a beautiful appearance in a flower garden--that is, eight, ten, or twelve stout peeled Larch poles, well painted, set in the ground, with a light iron rafter from each, meeting at the top and forming a dome. An old cable, or other old rope, twisted round the pillar and iron, gives an additional beauty to the whole. Then plant against the pillars with two or three varieties, each of which will soon run up the pillars, and form a pretty mass of Roses, which amply repays the trouble and expense, by the elegance it gives to the garden--_Floricultural Cabinet_. How TO MAKE ROSE WATER, &c--Take an earthen pot or jar well glazed inside, wide in the month, narrow at the bottom, about 15 inches high, and place over the mouth a strainer of clean coarse muslin, to contain a considerable quantity of rose leaves, of some highly fragrant kind. Cover them with a second strainer of the same material, and close the mouth of the jar with an iron lid, or tin cover, hermetically sealed. On this lid place hot embers, either of coal or charcoal, that the heat may reach the rose-leaves without scorching or burning them. The aromatic oil will fall drop by drop to the bottom with the water contained in the petals. When time has been allowed for extracting the whole, the embers must be removed, and the vase placed in a cool spot. Rose-water obtained in this mode is not so durable as that obtained in the regular way by a still but it serves all ordinary purposes. Small alembics of copper with a glass capital, may be used in three different ways. In the first process, the still or alembic must be mounted on a small brick furnace, and furnished with a worm long enough to pass through a pan of cold water. The petals of the rose being carefully picked so as to leave no extraneous parts, should be thrown into the boiler of the still with a little water. The great point is to keep up a moderate fire in the furnace, such as will cause the vapour to rise without imparting a burnt smell to the rose water. The operation is ended when the rose water, which falls drop by drop in the tube, ceases to be fragrant. That which is first condensed has very little scent, that which is next obtained is the best, and the third and last portion is generally a little burnt in smell, and bitter in taste. In a very small still, having no worm, the condensation must be produced by linen, wetted in cold water, applied round the capital. A third method consists in plunging the boiler of the still into a larger vessel of boiling water placed over a fire, when the rose-water never acquires the burnt flavour to which we have alluded. By another process, the still is placed in a boiler filled with sand instead of water, and heated to the necessary temperature. But this requires alteration, or it is apt to communicate a baked flavour. SYRUP OF ROSES--May be obtained from Belgian or monthly roses, picked over, one by one, and the base of the petal removed. In a China Jar prepared with a layer of powdered sugar, place a layer of rose-leaves about half an inch thick; then of sugar, then of leaves, till the vessel is full. On the top, place a fresh wooden cover, pressed down with a weight. By degrees, the rose-leaves produce a highly-coloured, highly-scented syrup; and the leaves form a colouring-matter for liqueurs. PASTILLES DU SERAIL.--Sold in France as Turkish, in rosaries and other ornaments, are made of the petals of the Belgian or Puteem Rose, ground to powder and formed into a paste by means of liquid gum. Ivory-black is mixed with the gum to produce a black colour; and cinnabar or vermilion, to render the paste either brown or red. It may be modelled by hand or in a mould, and when dried in the sun, or a moderate oven, attains sufficient hardness to be mounted in gold or silver.--_Mrs. Gore's Rose Fancier's Manual_. OF FORMING AND PRESERVING HERBARIUMS.--The most exact descriptions, accompanied with the most perfect figures, leave still something to be desired by him who wishes to know completely a natural being. This nothing can supply but the autopsy or view of the object itself. Hence the advantage of being able to see plants at pleasure, by forming dried collections of them, in what are called herbariums. A good practical botanist, Sir J.E. Smith observes, must be educated among the wild scenes of nature, while a finished theoretical one requires the additional assistance of gardens and books, to which must be superadded the frequent use of a good herbarium. When plants are well dried, the original forms and positions of even their minutest parts, though not their colours, may at any time be restored by immersion in hot water. By this means the productions of the most distant and various countries, such as no garden could possibly supply, are brought together at once under our eyes, at any season of the year. If these be assisted with drawings and descriptions, nothing less than an actual survey of the whole vegetable world in a state of nature, could excel such a store of information. With regard to the mode or state in which plants are preserved, desiccation, accompanied by pressing, is the most generally used. Some persons, Sir J.E. Smith observes, recommend the preservation of specimens in weak spirits of wine, and this mode is by far the most eligible for such as are very juicy: but it totally destroys their colours, and often renders their parts less fit for examination than by the process of drying. It is, besides, incommodious for frequent study, and a very expensive and bulky way of making an herbarium. The greater part of plants dry with facility between the leaves of books, or other paper, the smoother the better. If there be plenty of paper, they often dry best without shifting; but if the specimens are crowded, they must be taken out frequently, and the paper dried before they are replaced. The great point to be attended to is, that the process should meet with no check. Several vegetables are so tenacious of their vital principle, that they will grow between papers; the consequence of which is, a destruction of their proper habit and colors. It is necessary to destroy the life of such, either by immersion in boiling water or by the application of a hot iron, such as is used for linen, after which they are easily dried. The practice of applying such an iron, as some persons do, with great labor and perseverance, till the plants are quite dry, and all their parts incorporated into a smooth flat mass is not approved of. This renders them unfit for subsequent examination, and destroys their natural habit, the most important thing to be preserved. Even in spreading plants between papers, we should refrain from that practice and artificial disposition of their branches, leaves, and other parts, which takes away from their natural aspect, except for the purpose of displaying the internal parts of some one or two of their flowers, for ready observation. The most approved method of pressing is by a box or frame, with a bottom of cloth or leather, like a square sieve. In this, coarse sand or small shot may be placed; in any quantity very little pressing is required in drying specimens; what is found necessary should be applied equally to every part of the bundle under the operation. Hot-pressing, by means of steel net-work heated, and placed in alternate layers with the papers, in the manner of hot pressing paper, and the whole covered with the equalizing press, above described, would probably be an improvement, but we have not heard of its being tried. At all events, pressing by screw presses, or weighty non-elastic bodies, must be avoided, as tending to bruise the stalks and other protuberant parts of plants. "After all we can do," Sir J.E. Smith observes, "plants dry very variously. The blue colours of their flowers generally fade, nor are reds always permanent. Yellows are much more so, but very few white flowers retain their natural aspect. The snowdrop and parnassia, if well dried, continue white. Some greens are much more permanent than others; for there are some natural families whose leaves, as well as flowers, turn almost black by drying, as melampyrum, bartsia, and their allies, several willows, and most of the orchideae. The heaths and firs in general cast off their leaves between papers, which appears to be an effort of the living principle, for it is prevented by immersion of the fresh specimen in boiling water." The specimens being dried, are sometimes kept loose between leaves of paper; at other times wholly gummed or glued to paper, but most generally attached by one or more transverse slips of paper, glued on one end and pinned at the other, so that such specimens can readily be taken out, examined, and replaced. On account of the aptitude of the leaves and other parts of dried plants to drop off, many glue them entirely, and such seems to be the method adopted by Linnaeus, and recommended by Sir J.E. Smith. "Dried specimens," the professor observes, "are best preserved by being fastened, with weak carpenter's glue, to paper, so that they may be turned over without damage. Thick and heavy stalks require the additional support of a few transverse strips of paper, to bind them more firmly down. A half sheet, of a convenient folio size, should be allotted to each species, and all the species of a genus may be placed in one or more whole sheets or folios. On the latter outside should be written the name of the genus, while the name of every species, with its place of growth, time of gathering, the finder's name, or any other concise piece of information, may be inscribed on its appropriate paper. This is the plan of the Linnaean herbarium."--_Loudon_. THE END. FOOTNOTES. [001] Some of the finest _Florists flowers_ have been reared by the mechanics of Norwich and Manchester and by the Spitalfield's weavers. The pitmen in the counties of Durham and Northumberland reside in long rows of small houses, to each of which is attached a little garden, which they cultivate with such care and success, that they frequently bear away the prize at Floral Exhibitions. [002] Of Rail-Road travelling the reality is quite different from the idea that descriptions of it had left upon my mind. Unpoetical as this sort of transit may seem to some minds, I confess I find it excite and satisfy the imagination. The wondrous speed--the quick change of scene--the perfect comfort--the life-like character of the power in motion, the invisible, and mysterious, and mighty steam horse, urged, and guided, and checked by the hand of Science--the cautionary, long, shrill whistle--the beautiful grey vapor, the breath of the unseen animal, floating over the fields by which we pass, sometimes hanging stationary for a moment in the air, and then melting away like a vision--furnish sufficiently congenial amusement for a period-minded observer. [003] "That which peculiarly distinguishes the gardens of England," says Repton, "is the beauty of English verdure: _the grass of the mown lawn_, uniting with, the grass of the adjoining pastures, and presenting _that permanent verdure_ which is the natural consequence of our soft and humid clime, but unknown to the cold region of the North or the parching temperature of the South. This it is impossible to enjoy in Portugal where it would be as practicable to cover the general surface with the snow of Lapland as with the verdure of England." It is much the same in France. "There is everywhere in France," says Loudon, "a want _of close green turf_, of ever-green bushes and of good adhesive gravel." Some French admirers of English gardens do their best to imitate our lawns, and it is said that they sometimes partially succeed with English grass seed, rich manure, and constant irrigation. In Bengal there is a very beautiful species of grass called Doob grass, (_Panicum Dactylon_,) but it only flourishes on wide and exposed plains with few trees on them, and on the sides of public roads, Shakespeare makes Falstaff say that "the camomile the more it is trodden on the faster it grows" and, this is the case with the Doob grass. The attempt to produce a permanent Doob grass lawn is quite idle unless the ground is extensive and open, and much trodden by men or sheep. A friend of mine tells me that he covered a large lawn of the coarse Ooloo grass (_Saccharum cylindricum_) with mats, which soon killed it, and on removing the mats, the finest Doob grass sprang up in its place. But the Ooloo grass soon again over-grew the Doob. [004] I allude here chiefly to the ryots of wealthy Zemindars and to other poor Hindu people in the service of their own countrymen. All the subjects of the British Crown, even in India, are _politically free_, but individually the poorer Hindus, (especially those who reside at a distance from large towns,) are unconscious of their rights, and even the wealthier classes have rarely indeed that proud and noble feeling of personal independence which characterizes people of all classes and conditions in England. The feeling with which even a Hindu of wealth and rank approaches a man in power is very different indeed from that of the poorest Englishman under similar circumstances. But national education will soon communicate to the natives of India a larger measure of true self-respect. It will not be long, I hope, before the Hindus will understand our favorite maxim of English law, that "Every man's house is his castle,"--a maxim so finely amplified by Lord Chatham: "_The poorest man may in his cottage bid defiance to all the forces of the Crown. It may be frail--its roof may shake--the wind may blow through it--the storm may enter--but the king of England cannot enter!--all his force dares not cross the threshold of the ruined tenement_." [005] _Literary Recreations_. [006] I have in some moods preferred the paintings of our own Gainsborough even to those of Claude--and for this single reason, that the former gives a peculiar and more touching interest to his landscapes by the introduction of sweet groups of children. These lovely little figures are moreover so thoroughly English, and have such an out-of-doors air, and seem so much a part of external nature, that an Englishman who is a lover of rural scenery and a patriot, can hardly fail to be enchanted with the style of his celebrated countryman.--_Literary Recreations_. [007] Had Evelyn only composed the great work of his 'Sylva, or a Discourse of Forest Trees,' &c. his name would have excited the gratitude of posterity. The voice of the patriot exults in his dedication to Charles II, prefixed to one of the later editions:--'I need not acquaint your Majesty, how many millions of timber-trees, besides infinite others, have been propagated and planted throughout your vast dominions, at the instigation and by the sole direction of this work, because your Majesty has been pleased to own it publicly for my encouragement.' And surely while Britain retains her awful situation among the nations of Europe, the 'Sylva' of Evelyn will endure with her triumphant oaks. It was a retired philosopher who aroused the genius of the nation, and who casting a prophetic eye towards the age in which we live, has contributed to secure our sovereignty of the seas. The present navy of Great Britain has been constructed with the oaks which the genius of Evelyn planted.--_D'Israeli's Curiosities of Literature_. [008] _Crisped knots_ are figures curled or twisted, or having waving lines intersecting each other. They are sometimes planted in box. Children, even in these days, indulge their fancy in sowing mustard and cress, &c. in 'curious knots,' or in favorite names and sentences. I have done it myself, "I know not how oft,"--and alas, how long ago! But I still remember with what anxiety I watered and watched the ground, and with what rapture I at last saw the surface gradually rising and breaking on the light green heads of the delicate little new-born plants, all exactly in their proper lines or stations, like a well-drilled Lilliputian battalion. Shakespeare makes mention of garden _knots_ in his _Richard the Second_, where he compares an ill governed state to a neglected garden. Why should we, in the compass of a pale, Keep law, and form, and due proportion, Showing, as in a model, our firm estate? When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, Is full of weeds; her finest flowers choked up, Her fruit-trees all unpruned, her hedges ruined, Her _knots_ disordered, and her wholesome herbs Swarming with caterpillars. There is an allusion to garden _knots_ in _Holinshed's Chronicle_. In 1512 the Earl of Northumberland "had but one gardener who attended hourly in the garden for setting of erbis and _chipping of knottis_ and sweeping the said garden clean." [009] Ovid, in his story of Pyramus and Thisbe, tells us that the black Mulberry was originally white. The two lovers killed themselves under a white Mulberry tree and the blood penetrating to the roots of the tree mixed with the sap and gave its color to the fruit. [010] _Revived Adonis_,--for, according to tradition he died every year and revived again. _Alcinous, host of old Laertes' son_,--that is, of Ulysses, whom he entertained on his return from Troy. _Or that, not mystic_--not fabulous as the rest, but a real garden which Solomon made for his wife, the daughter of Pharoah, king of Egypt--WARBURTON "Divested of harmonious Greek and bewitching poetry," observes Horace Walpole, "the garden of Alcinous was a small orchard and vineyard with some beds of herbs and two fountains that watered them, inclosed within a quickset hedge." Lord Kames, says, still more boldly, that it was nothing but a kitchen garden. Certainly, gardening amongst the ancient Greeks, was a very simple business. It is only within the present century that it has been any where elevated into a fine art. [011] "We are unwilling to diminish or lose the credit of Paradise, or only pass it over with [the Hebrew word for] _Eden_, though the Greek be of a later name. In this excepted, we know not whether the ancient gardens do equal those of late times, or those at present in Europe. Of the gardens of Hesperides, we know nothing singular, but some golden apples. Of Alcinous his garden, we read nothing beyond figs, apples, olives; if we allow it to be any more than a fiction of Homer, unhappily placed in Corfu, where the sterility of the soil makes men believe there was no such thing at all. The gardens of Adonis were so empty that they afforded proverbial expression, and the principal part thereof was empty spaces, with herbs and flowers in pots. I think we little understand the pensile gardens of Semiramis, which made one of the wonders of it [Babylon], wherein probably the structure exceeded the plants contained in them. The excellency thereof was probably in the trees, and if the descension of the roots be equal to the height of trees, it was not [absurd] of Strebæus to think the pillars were hollow that the roots might shoot into them."--_Sir Thomas Browne.--Bohn's Edition of Sir Thomas Browne's Works, vol. 2, page_ 498. [012] The house and garden before Pope died were large enough for their owner. He was more than satisfied with them. "As Pope advanced in years," says Roscoe, "his love of gardening, and his attention to the various occupations to which it leads, seem to have increased also. This predilection was not confined to the ornamental part of this delightful pursuit, in which he has given undoubted proofs of his proficiency, but extended to the useful as well as the agreeable, as appears from several passages in his poems; but he has entered more particularly into this subject in a letter to Swift (March 25, 1736); "I wish you had any motive to see this kingdom. I could keep you: for I am rich, that is, have more than I want, I can afford room to yourself and two servants. I have indeed room enough; nothing but myself at home. The kind and hearty housewife is dead! The agreeable and instructive neighbour is gone! Yet my house is enlarged, and the gardens extend and flourish, as knowing nothing of the guests they have lost. I have more fruit trees and kitchen garden than you have any thought of; and, I have good melons and apples of my own growth. I am as much a better gardener, as I am a worse poet, than when you saw me; but gardening is near akin to philosophy, for Tully says, _Agricultura proxima sapientiae_. For God's sake, why should not you, (that are a step higher than a philosopher, a divine, yet have too much grace and wit than to be a bishop) even give all you have to the poor of Ireland (for whom you have already done every thing else,) so quit the place, and live and die with me? And let _tales anima concordes_ be our motto and our epitaph." [013] The leaves of the willow, though green above, are hoar below. Shakespeare's knowledge of the fact is alluded to by Hazlitt as one of the numberless evidences of the poet's minute observation of external nature. [014] See Mr. Loudon's most interesting and valuable work entitled _Arboretum et Fruticetum Britanicum_. [015] All the rules of gardening are reducible to three heads: the contrasts, the management of surprises and the concealment of the bounds. "Pray, what is it you mean by the contrasts?" "The disposition of the lights and shades."--"'Tis the colouring then?"--"Just that."--"Should not variety be one of the rules?"--"Certainly, one of the chief; but that is included mostly in the contrasts." I have expressed them all in two verses[140] (after my manner, in very little compass), which are in imitation of Horace's--_Omne tulit punctum. Pope.--Spence's Anecdotes_. [016] In laying out a garden, the chief thing to be considered is the genius of the place. Thus at Tiskins, for example, Lord Bathurst should have raised two or three mounts, because his situation is _all_ plain, and nothing can please without variety. _Pope--Spence's Anecdotes_. [017] The seat and gardens of the Lord Viscount Cobham, in Buckinghamshire. Pope concludes the first Epistle of his Moral Essays with a compliment to the patriotism of this nobleman. And you, brave Cobham! to the latest breath Shall feel your ruling passion strong in death: Such in those moments as in all the past "Oh, save my country, Heaven!" shall be your last. [018] Two hundred acres and two hundred millions of francs were made over to Le Notre by Louis XIV. to complete these geometrical gardens. One author tells us that in 1816 the ordinary cost of putting a certain portion of the waterworks in play was at the rate of 200 £. per hour, and another still later authority states that when the whole were set in motion once a year on some Royal fête, the cost of the half hour during which the main part of the exhibition lasted was not less than 3,000 £. This is surely a most senseless expenditure. It seems, indeed, almost incredible. I take the statements from _Loudon's_ excellent _Encyclopaedia of Gardening_. The name of one of the original reporters is Neill; the name of the other is not given. The gardens formerly were and perhaps still are full of the vilest specimens of verdant sculpture in every variety of form. Lord Kames gives a ludicrous account of the vomiting stone statues there;--"A lifeless statue of an animal pouring out water may be endured" he observes, "without much disgust: but here the lions and wolves are put in violent action; each has seized its prey, a deer or a lamb, in act to devour; and yet, as by hocus-pocus, the whole is converted into a different scene: the lion, forgetting his prey, pours out water plentifully; and the deer, forgetting its danger, performs the same work: a representation no less absurd than that in the opera, where Alexander the Great, after mounting the wall of a town besieged, turns his back to the enemy, and entertains his army with a song." [019] Broome though a writer of no great genius (if any), had yet the honor to be associated with Pope in the translation of the Odyssey. He translated the 2nd, 6th, 8th, 11th, 16th, 18th, and 23rd books. Henley (Orator Henley) sneered at Pope, in the following couplet, for receiving so much assistance: Pope came clean off with Homer, but they say, Broome went before, and kindly swept the way. Fenton was another of Pope's auxiliaries. He translated the 1st, 4th, 19th and 20th books (of the Odyssey). Pope himself translated the rest. [020] Stowe [021] The late Humphrey Repton, one of the best landscape-gardeners that England has produced, and who was for many years employed on alterations and improvements in the house and grounds at Cobham, in Kent, the seat of the Earl of Darnley, seemed to think that Stowe ought not to monopolize applause and admiration, "Whether," he said, "we consider its extent, its magnificence or its comfort, there are few places that can vie with Cobham." Repton died in 1817, and his patron and friend the Earl of Darnley put up at Cobham an inscription to his memory. The park at Cobham extends over an area of no less than 1,800 acres, diversified with thick groves and finely scattered single trees and gentle slopes and broad smooth lawns. Some of the trees are singularly beautiful and of great age and size. A chestnut tree, named the Four Sisters, is five and twenty feet in girth. The mansion, of which, the central part was built by Inigo Jones, is a very noble one. George the Fourth pronounced the music room the finest room in England. The walls are of polished white marble with pilasters of sienna marble. The picture gallery is enriched with valuable specimens of the genius of Titian and Guido and Salvator Rosa and Sir Joshua Reynolds. There is another famous estate in Kent, Knole, the seat of Dorset, the grace of courts, the Muse's pride. The Earl of Dorset, though but a poetaster himself, knew how to appreciate the higher genius of others. He loved to be surrounded by the finest spirits of his time. There is a pleasant anecdote of the company at his table agreeing to see which amongst them could produce the best impromptu. Dryden was appointed arbitrator. Dorset handed a slip of paper to Dryden, and when all the attempts were collected, Dryden decided without hesitation that Dorset's was the best. It ran thus: "_I promise to pay Mr. John Dryden, on demand, the sum of £500. Dorset_." [022] This is generally put into the mouth of Pope, but if we are to believe Spence, who is the only authority for the anecdote, it was addressed to himself. [023] It has been said that in laying out the grounds at Hagley, Lord Lyttelton received some valuable hints from the author of _The Seasons_, who was for some time his Lordship's guest. The poet has commemorated the beauties of Hagley Park in a description that is familiar to all lovers of English poetry. I must make room for a few of the concluding lines. Meantime you gain the height, from whose fair brow, The bursting prospect spreads immense around: And snatched o'er hill, and dale, and wood, and lawn, And verdant field, and darkening heath between, And villages embosomed soft in trees, And spiry towns by surging columns marked, Of household smoke, your eye excursive roams; Wide stretching from the hall, in whose kind haunt The hospitable genius lingers still, To where the broken landscape, by degrees, Ascending, roughens into rigid hills; O'er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds, That skirt the blue horizon, dusky rise. It certainly does not look as if there had been any want of kindly feeling towards Shenstone on the part of Lyttelton when we find the following inscription in Hagley Park. To the memory of William Shenstone, Esquire, In whose verse Were all the natural graces. And in whose manners Was all the amiable simplicity Of pastoral poetry, With the sweet tenderness Of the elegiac. There is also at Hagley a complimentary inscription on an urn to Alexander Pope; and, on an octagonal building called _Thomson's Seat_, there is an inscription to the author of _The Seasons_. Hagley is kept up with great care and is still in possession of the descendants of the founder. But a late visitor (Mr. George Dodd) expresses a doubt whether the Leasowes, even in its comparative decay, is not a finer bit of landscape, a more delightful place to lose one-self in, than even its larger and better preserved neighbour. [024] Coleridge is reported to have said--"There is in Crabbe an absolute defect of high imagination; he gives me little pleasure. Yet no doubt he has much power of a certain kind, and it is good to cultivate, even at some pains, a catholic taste in literature." Walter Savage Landor, in his "Imaginary Conversations," makes Porson say--"Crabbe wrote with a two-penny nail and scratched rough truths and rogues' facts on mud walls." Horace Smith represents Crabbe, as "Pope in worsted stockings." That there is merit of some sort or other, and that of no ordinary kind, in Crabbe's poems, is what no one will deny. They relieved the languor of the last days of two great men, of very different characters--Sir Walter Scott and Charles James Fox. [025] The poet had a cottage and garden in Kew-foot-Lane at or near Richmond. In the alcove in the garden is a small table made of the wood of the walnut tree. There is a drawer to the table which in all probability often received charge of the poet's effusions hot from the brain. On a brass tablet inserted in the top of the table is this inscription--"_This table was the property of James Thomson, and always stood in this seat._" [026] Shene or Sheen: the old name of Richmond, signifying in Saxon _shining_ or _splendour_. [027] Highgate and Hamstead. [028] In his last sickness [029] On looking back at page 36 I find that I have said in the foot note that it is only within _the present century_ that gardening has been elevated into _a fine art_. I did not mean within the 55 years of this 19th century, but _within a hundred years_. Even this, however, was an inadvertency. We may go a little further back. Kent and Pope lived to see Landscape-Gardening considered a fine art. Before their time there were many good practical gardeners, but the poetry of the art was not then much regarded except by a very few individuals of more than ordinary refinement. [030] Catherine the Second grossly disgraced herself as a woman--partly driven into misconduct herself by the behaviour of her husband--but as a sovereign it cannot be denied that she exhibited a penetrating sagacity and great munificence; and perhaps the lovers of literature and science should treat her memory with a little consideration. When Diderot was in distress and advertized his library for sale, the Empress sent him an order on a banker at Paris for the amount demanded, namely fifteen thousand livres, on condition that the library was to be left as a deposit with the owner, and that he was to accept a gratuity of one thousand livres annually for taking charge of the books, until the Empress should require them. This was indeed a delicate and ingenious kindness. Lord Brougham makes D'Alembert and not Diderot the subject of this anecdote. It is a mistake. See the Correspondence of Baron de Gumm and Diderot with the Duke of Saxe-Gotha. Many of the Russian nobles keep up to this day the taste in gardening introduced by Catherine the Second, and have still many gardens laid out in the English style. They have often had in their employ both English and Scottish gardeners. There is an anecdote of a Scotch gardener in the Crimea in one of the public journals:-- "Our readers"--says the _Banffshire Journal_--"will recollect that when the Allies made a brief expedition to Yalto, in the south of the Crimea, they were somewhat surprised and gratified by the sight of some splendid gardens around a seat of Prince Woronzow. Little did our countrymen think that these gardens were the work of a Scotchman, and a Moray loon; yet such was the case." The history of the personage in question is a somewhat singular one: "Jamie Sinclair, the garden boy, had a natural genius, and played the violin. Lady Cumming had this boy educated by the family tutor, and sent him to London, where he was well known in 1836-7-8, for his skill in drawing and colouring. Mr. Knight, of the Exotic Nursery, for whom he used to draw orchids and new plants, sent him to the Crimea, to Prince Woronzow, where he practised for thirteen years. He had laid out these beautiful gardens which the allies the other day so much admired; had the care of 10,000 acres of vineyards belonging to the prince; was well known to the Czar, who often consulted him about improvements, and gave him a "medal of merit" and a diploma or passport, by which he was free to pass from one end of the empire to the other, and also through Austria and Prussia, I have seen these instruments. He returned to London in 1851, and was just engaged with a London publisher for a three years' job, when Menschikoff found the Turks too hot for him last April twelve-month; the Russians then made up for blows, and Mr. Sinclair was more dangerous for them in London than Lord Aberdeen. He was the only foreigner who was ever allowed to see all that was done in and out of Sebastopol, and over all the Crimea. The Czar, however, took care that Sinclair could not join the allies; but where he is and what he is about I must not tell, until the war is over--except that he is not in Russia, and that he will never play first fiddle again in Morayshire." [031] Brown succeeded to the popularity of Kent. He was nicknamed, _Capability Brown_, because when he had to examine grounds previous to proposed alterations and improvements he talked much of their _capabilities_. One of the works which are said to do his memory most honor, is the Park of Nuneham, the seat of Lord Harcourt. The grounds extend to 1,200 acres. Horace Walpole said that they contained scenes worthy of the bold pencil of Rubens, and subjects for the tranquil sunshine of Claude de Lorraine. The following inscription is placed over the entrance to the gardens. Here universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, Leads on the eternal Spring. It is said that the _gardens_ at Nuneham were laid out by Mason, the poet. [032] Mrs. Stowe visited the Jardin Mabille in the Champs Elysées, a sort of French Vauxhall, where small jets of gas were so arranged as to imitate "flowers of the softest tints and the most perfect shape." [033] Napoleon, it is said, once conceived the plan of roofing with glass the gardens of the Tuileries, so that they might be used as a winter promenade. [034] Addison in the 477th number of the _Spectator_ in alluding to Kensington Gardens, observes; "I think there are as many kinds of gardening as poetry; our makers of parterres and flower gardens are epigrammatists and sonnetteers in the art; contrivers of bowers and grottos, treillages and cascades, are romance writers. Wise and London are our heroic poets; and if I may single out any passage of their works to commend I shall take notice of that part in the upper garden at Kensington, which was at first nothing but a gravel pit. It must have been a fine genius for gardening that could have thought of forming such an unsightly hollow unto so beautiful an area and to have hit the eye with so uncommon and agreeable a scene as that which it is now wrought into." [035] Lord Bathurst, says London, informed Daines Barrington, that _he_ (Lord Bathurst) was the first who deviated from the straight line in sheets of water by following the lines in a valley in widening a brook at Ryskins, near Colnbrook; and Lord Strafford, thinking that it was done from poverty or economy asked him to own fairly how little more it would have cost him to have made it straight. In these days no possessor of a park or garden has the water on his grounds either straight or square if he can make it resemble the Thames as described by Wordsworth: The river wanders at its own sweet will. Horace Walpole in his lively and pleasant little work on Modern Gardening almost anticipates this thought. In commending Kent's style of landscape-gardening he observes: "_The gentle stream was taught to serpentize at its pleasure."_ [036] This Palm-house, "the glory of the gardens," occupies an area of 362 ft. in length; the centre is an hundred ft. in width and 66 ft. in height. It must charm a Native of the East on a visit to our country, to behold such carefully cultured specimens, in a great glass-case in England, of the trees called by Linnaeus "the Princes of the vegetable kingdom," and which grow so wildly and in such abundance in every corner of Hindustan. In this conservatory also are the banana and plantain. The people of England are in these days acquainted, by touch and sight, with almost all the trees that grow in the several quarters of the world. Our artists can now take sketches of foreign plants without crossing the seas. An allusion to the Palm tree recals some criticisms on Shakespeare's botanical knowledge. "Look here," says _Rosalind_, "what I found on a palm tree." "A palm tree in the forest of Arden," remarks Steevens, "is as much out of place as a lioness in the subsequent scene." Collier tries to get rid of the difficulty by suggesting that Shakespeare may have written _plane tree_. "Both the remark and the suggestion," observes Miss Baker, "might have been spared if those gentlemen had been aware that in the counties bordering on the Forest of Arden, the name of an exotic tree is transferred to an indigenous one." The _salix caprea_, or goat-willow, is popularly known as the "palm" in Northamptonshire, no doubt from having been used for the decoration of churches on Palm Sunday--its graceful yellow blossoms, appearing at a time when few other trees have put forth a leaf, having won for it that distinction. Clare so calls it:-- "Ye leaning palms, that seem to look Pleased o'er your image in the brook." That Shakespeare included the willow in his forest scenery is certain, from another passage in the same play:-- "West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom. The _rank of osiers_ by the murmuring stream, Left on your right hand brings you to the place." The customs and amusements of Northamptonshire, which are frequently noticed in these volumes, were identical with those of the neighbouring county of Warwick, and, in like manner illustrate very clearly many passages in the great dramatist.--_Miss Baker's "Glossary of Northamptonshire Words." (Quoted by the London Athenaeum_.) [037] Mrs. Hemans once took up her abode for some weeks with Wordsworth at Rydal Mount, and was so charmed with the country around, that she was induced to take a cottage called _Dove's Nest_, which over-looked the lake of Windermere. But tourists and idlers so haunted her retreat and so worried her for autographs and Album contributions, that she was obliged to make her escape. Her little cottage and garden in the village of Wavertree, near Liverpool, seem to have met the fate which has befallen so many of the residences of the poets. "Mrs. Hemans's little flower-garden" (says a late visitor) "was no more--but rank grass and weeds sprang up luxuriously; many of the windows were broken; the entrance gate was off its hinges: the vine in front of the house trailed along the ground, and a board, with '_This house to let_' upon it, was nailed on the door. I entered the deserted garden and looked into the little parlour--once so full of taste and elegance; it was gloomy and cheerless. The paper was spotted with damp, and spiders had built their webs in the corner. As I mused on the uncertainty of human life, I exclaimed with the eloquent Burke,--'What shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue!'" The beautiful grounds of the late Professor Wilson at Elleray, we are told by Mr. Howitt in his interesting "_Homes and Haunts of the British Poets_" have also been sadly changed. "Steam," he says, "as little as time, has respected the sanctity of the poet's home, but has drawn its roaring iron steeds opposite to its gate and has menaced to rush through it and lay waste its charmed solitude. In plain words, I saw the stages of a projected railway running in an ominous line across the very lawn and before the windows of Elleray." I believe the whole place has been purchased by a Railway Company. [038] In Churton's _Rail Book of England_, published about three years ago, Pope's Villa is thus noticed--"Not only was this temple of the Muses--this abode of genius--the resort of the learned and the wittiest of the land--levelled to the earth, but all that the earth produced to remind posterity of its illustrious owner, and identify the dead with the living strains he has bequeathed to us, was plucked up by the roots and scattered to the wind." On the authority of William Hewitt I have stated on an earlier page that some splendid Spanish chesnut trees and some elms and cedars planted by Pope at Twickenham were still in existence. But Churton is a later authority. Howitt's book was published in 1847. [039] _One would have thought &c._ See the garden of Armida, as described by Tasso, C. xvi. 9, &c. "In lieto aspetto il bel giardin s'aperse &c." Here was all that variety, which constitutes the nature of beauty: hill and dale, lawns and crystal rivers, &c. "And, that which all faire works doth most aggrace, "The art, which all that wrought, appearéd in no place." Which is literally from Tasso, C, xvi 9. "E quel, che'l bello, e'l caro accresce à l'opre, "L'arte, che tutto fa, nulla si scopre." The next stanza is likewise translated from Tasso, C. xvi 10. And, if the reader likes the comparing of the copy with the original, he may see many other beauties borrowed from the Italian poet. The fountain, and the two bathing damsels, are taken from Tasso, C. xv, st. 55, &c. which he calls, _Il fonte del riso_. UPTON. [040] Cowper was evidently here thinking rather of Milton than of Homer. _Flowers of all hue_, and without thorns the rose. _Paradise Lost_. Pope translates the passage thus; Beds of all various _herbs_, for ever green, In beauteous order terminate the scene. Homer referred to pot-herbs, not to flowers of all hues. Cowper is generally more faithful than Pope, but he is less so in this instance. In the above description we have Homer's highest conception of a princely garden:--in five acres were included an orchard, a vineyard, and some beds of pot-herbs. Not a single flower is mentioned, by the original author, though his translator has been pleased to steal some from the garden of Eden and place them on "the verge extreme" of the four acres. Homer of course meant to attach to a Royal residence as Royal a garden; but as Bacon says, "men begin to build stately sooner than to garden finely, as if gardening were the greater perfection." The mansion of Alcinous was of brazen walls with golden columns; and the Greeks and Romans had houses that were models of architecture when their gardens exhibited no traces whatever of the hand of taste. [041] _And over him, art stryving to compayre With nature, did an arber greene dispied_ This whole episode is taken from Tasso, C. 16, where Rinaldo is described in dalliance with Armida. The bower of bliss is her garden "Stimi (si misto il culto e col negletto) "Sol naturali e gli ornamenti e i siti, "Di natura arte par, che per diletto "L'imitatrice sua scherzando imiti." See also Ovid, _Met_ iii. 157 "Cujus in extremo est antrum nemorale necessu, "Arte laboratum nulla, simulaverat artem "Ingenio natura fuo nam pumice vivo, "Et lenibus tophis nativum duxerat arcum "Fons sonat a dextra, tenui perlucidas unda "Margine gramineo patulos incinctus hiatus" UPTON If this passage may be compared with Tasso's elegant description of Armida's garden, Milton's _pleasant grove_ may vie with both.[141] He is, however, under obligations to the sylvan scene of Spenser before us. Mr. J.C. Walker, to whom the literature of Ireland and of Italy is highly indebted, has mentioned to me his surprise that the writers on modern gardening should have overlooked the beautiful pastoral description in this and the two following stanzas.[142] It is worthy a place, he adds, in the Eden of Milton. Spenser, on this occasion, lost sight of the "trim gardens" of Italy and England, and drew from the treasures of his own rich imagination. TODD. _And fast beside these trickled softly downe. A gentle stream, &c._ Compare the following stanza in the continuation of the _Orlando Innamorato_, by Nilcolo degli Agostinti, Lib. iv, C. 9. "Ivi è un mormorio assai soave, e basso, Che ogniun che l'ode lo fa addornientare, L'acqua, ch'io dissi gia per entro un sasso E parea che dicesse nel sonare. Vatti riposa, ormai sei stanco, e lasso, E gli augeletti, che s'udian cantare, Ne la dolce armonia par che ogn'un dica, Deh vien, e dormi ne la piaggia, aprica," Spenser's obligations to this poem seem to have escaped the notice of his commentators. J.C. WALKER. [042] The oak was dedicated to Jupiter, and the poplar to Hercules. [043] _Sicker_, surely; Chaucer spells it _siker_. [044] _Yode_, went. [045] _Tabreret_, a tabourer. [046] _Tho_, then [047] _Attone_, at once--with him. [048] Cato being present on one occasion at the floral games, the people out of respect to him, forbore to call for the usual exposures; when informed of this he withdrew, that the spectators might not be deprived of their usual entertainment. [049] What is the reason that an easterly wind is every where unwholesome and disagreeable? I am not sufficiently scientific to answer this question. Pope takes care to notice the fitness of the easterly wind for the _Cave of Spleen_. No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows, The dreaded east is all the wind that blows. _Rape of the Lock_. [050] One sweet scene of early pleasures in my native land I have commemorated in the following sonnet:-- NETLEY ABBEY. Romantic ruin! who could gaze on thee Untouched by tender thoughts, and glimmering dreams Of long-departed years? Lo! nature seems Accordant with thy silent majesty! The far blue hills--the smooth reposing sea-- The lonely forest--the meandering streams-- The farewell summer sun, whose mellowed beams Illume thine ivied halls, and tinge each tree, Whose green arms round thee cling--the balmy air-- The stainless vault above, that cloud or storm 'Tis hard to deem will ever more deform-- The season's countless graces,--all appear To thy calm glory ministrant, and form A scene to peace and meditation dear! D.L.R. [051] "I was ever more disposed," says Hume, "to see the favourable than the unfavourable side of things; _a turn of mind which it is more happy to possess, than to be born to an estate of ten thousand a year_." [052] So called, because the grounds were laid out in a tasteful style, under the direction of Lord Auckland's sister, the Honorable Miss Eden. [053] _Songs of the East by Mrs. W.S. Carshore. D'Rozario & Co, Calcutta_ 1854. [054] The lines form a portion of a poem published in _Literary Leaves_ in the year 1840. [055] Perhaps some formal or fashionable wiseacres may pronounce such simple ceremonies _vulgar_. And such is the advance of civilization that even the very chimney-sweepers themselves begin to look upon their old May-day merry-makings as beneath the dignity of their profession. "Suppose now" said Mr. Jonas Hanway to a sooty little urchin, "I were to give you a shilling." "Lord Almighty bless your honor, and thank you." "And what if I were to give you a fine tie-wig to wear on May-day?" "Ah! bless your honor, my master wont let me go out on May-day," "Why not?" "Because, he says, _it's low life_." And yet the merrie makings on May-day which are now deemed _ungenteel_ by chimney-sweepers were once the delight of Princes:-- Forth goth all the court, both most and least, To fetch the flowres fresh, and branch and blome, And namely hawthorn brought both page and grome, And then rejoicing in their great delite Eke ech at others threw the flowres bright, The primrose, violet, and the gold With fresh garlants party blue and white. _Chaucer_. [056] The May-pole was usually decorated with the flowers of the hawthorn, a plant as emblematical of the spring as the holly is of Christmas. Goldsmith has made its name familiar even to the people of Bengal, for almost every student in the upper classes of the Government Colleges has the following couplet by heart. The _hawthorn bush_, with seats beneath the shade, For talking age and whispering lovers made. The hawthorn was amongst Burns's floral pets. "I have," says he, "some favorite flowers in spring, among which are, the mountain daisy, the harebell, the fox-glove, the wild-briar rose, the budding birch and the hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with particular delight." L.E.L. speaks of the hawthorn hedge on which "the sweet May has showered its white luxuriance," and the Rev. George Croly has a patriotic allusion to this English plant, suggested by a landscape in France. 'Tis a rich scene, and yet the richest charm That e'er clothed earth in beauty, lives not here. Winds no green fence around the cultured farm _No blossomed hawthorn shields the cottage dear_: The land is bright; and yet to thine how drear, Unrivalled England! Well the thought may pine For those sweet fields where, each a little sphere, In shaded, sacred fruitfulness doth shine, And the heart higher beats that says; 'This spot is mine.' [057] On May-day, the Ancient Romans used to go in procession to the grotto of Egeria. [058] See what is said of palms in a note on page 81. [059] Phillips's _Flora Historica_. [060] The word primrose is supposed to be a compound of _prime_ and _rose_, and Spenser spells it prime rose The pride and prime rose of the rest Made by the maker's self to be admired The Rev. George Croly characterizes Bengal as a mountainous country-- There's glory on thy _mountains_, proud Bengal-- and Dr. Johnson in his _Journey of a day_, (Rambler No. 65) charms the traveller in Hindustan with a sight of the primrose and the oak. "As he passed along, his ears were delighted with the morning song of the bird of paradise; he was fanned by the last flutters of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled with dew by groves of spices, he sometimes contemplated the towering height of the oak, monarch of the hills; and sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose, eldest daughter of the spring." In some book of travels, I forget which, the writer states, that he had seen the primrose in Mysore and in the recesses of the Pyrenees. There is a flower sold by the Bengallee gardeners for the primrose, though it bears but small resemblance to the English flower of that name. On turning to Mr. Piddington's Index to the Plants of India I find under the head of _Primula_--Primula denticula--Stuartii--rotundifolia--with the names in the Mawar or Nepaulese dialect. [061] In strewing their graves the Romans affected the rose; the Greeks amaranthus and myrtle: the funeral pyre consisted of sweet fuel, cypress, fir, larix, yew, and trees perpetually verdant lay silent expressions of their surviving hopes. _Sir Thomas Browne_. [062] The allusion to the cowslip in Shakespeare's description of Imogene must not be passed over here.-- On her left breast A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drop I' the bottom of the cowslip. [063] The Guelder rose--This elegant plant is a native of Britain, and when in flower, has at first sight, the appearance of a little maple tree that has been pelted with snow balls, and we almost fear to see them melt away in the warm sunshine--_Glenny_. [064] In a greenhouse [065] Some flowers have always been made to a certain degree emblematical of sentiment in England as elsewhere, but it was the Turks who substituted flowers for words to such an extent as to entitle themselves to be regarded as the inventors of the floral language. [066] The floral or vegetable language is not always the language of love or compliment. It is sometimes severe and scornful. A gentleman sent a lady a rose as a declaration of his passion and a slip of paper attached, with the inscription--"If not accepted, I am off to the war." The lady forwarded in return a mango (man, go!) [067] No part of the creation supposed to be insentient, exhibits to an imaginative observer such an aspect of spiritual life and such an apparent sympathy with other living things as flowers, shrubs and trees. A tree of the genus Mimosa, according to Niebuhr, bends its branches downward as if in hospitable salutation when any one approaches near to it. The Arabs, are on this account so fond of the "courteous tree" that the injuring or cutting of it down is strictly prohibited. [068] It has been observed that the defense is supplied in the following line--_want of sense_--a stupidity that "errs in ignorance and not in cunning." [069] There is apparently so much doubt and confusion is to the identity of the true Hyacinth, and the proper application of its several names that I shall here give a few extracts from other writers on this subject. Some authors suppose the Red Martagon Lily to be the poetical Hyacinth of the ancients, but this is evidently a mistaken opinion, as the azure blue color alone would decide and Pliny describes the Hyacinth as having a sword grass and the smell of the grape flower, which agrees with the Hyacinth, but not with the Martagon. Again, Homer mentions it with fragrant flowers of the same season of the Hyacinth. The poets also notice the hyacinth under different colours, and every body knows that the hyacinth flowers with sapphire colored purple, crimson, flesh and white bells, but a blue martagon will be sought for in vain. _Phillips' Flora Historica_. A doubt hangs over the poetical history of the modern, as well as of the ancient flower, owing to the appellation _Harebell_ being, indiscriminately applied both to _Scilla_ wild Hyacinth, and also to _Campanula rotundifolia, Blue Bell_. Though the Southern bards have occasionally misapplied the word _Harebell_ it will facilitate our understanding which flower is meant if we bear in mind as a general rule that that name is applied differently in various parts of the island, thus the Harebell of Scottish writers is the _Campanula_, and the Bluebell, so celebrated in Scottish song, is the wild Hyacinth or _Scilla_ while in England the same names are used conversely, the _Campanula_ being the Bluebell and the wild Hyacinth the Harebell. _Eden Warwick_. The Hyacinth of the ancient fabulists appears to have been the corn-flag, (_Gladiolus communis_ of botanists) but the name was applied vaguely and had been early applied to the great larkspur (Delphinium Ajacis) on account of the similar spots on the petals, supposed to represent the Greek exclamation of grief _Ai Ai_, and to the hyacinth of modern times. Our wild hyacinth, which contributes so much to the beauty of our woodland scenery during the spring, may be regarded as a transition species between scilla and hyacinthus, the form and drooping habit of its flower connecting it with the latter, while the six pieces that form the two outer circles, being separate to the base, give it the technical character of the former. It is still called _Hyacinthus non-scriptus_--but as the true hyacinth equally wants the inscription, the name is singularly inappropriate. The botanical name of the hyacinth is _Hyacinthus orientalis_ which applies equally to all the varieties of colour, size and fulness.--_W. Hinks_. [070] Old Gerard calls it Blew Harebel or English _Jacint_, from the French _Jacinthe_. [071] Inhabitants of the Island of Chios [072] Supposed by some to be Delphinium Ajacis or Larkspur. But no one can discover any letters on the Larkspur. [073] Some _savants_ say that it was not the _sunflower_ into which the lovelorn lass was transformed, but the _Heliotrope_ with its sweet odour of vanilla. Heliotrope signifies _I turn towards the sun_. It could not have been the sun flower, according to some authors because that came from Peru and Peru was not known to Ovid. But it is difficult to settle this grave question. As all flowers turn towards the sun, we cannot fix on any one that is particularly entitled to notice on that account. [074] Zephyrus. [075] "A remarkably intelligent young botanist of our acquaintance asserts it as his firm conviction that many a young lady who would shrink from being kissed under the mistletoe would not have the same objection to that ceremony if performed _under the rose_."--_Punch_. [076] Mary Howitt mentions that amongst the private cultivators of roses in the neighbourhood of London, the well-known publisher Mr. Henry S. Bohn is particularly distinguished. In his garden at Twickenham one thousand varieties of the rose are brought to great perfection. He gives a sort of floral fete to his friends in the height of the rose season. [077] The learned dry the flower of the Forget me not and flatten it down in their herbals, and call it, _Myosotis Scorpioides--Scorpion shaped mouse's ear_! They have been reproached for this by a brother savant, Charles Nodier, who was not a learned man only but a man of wit and sense.--_Alphonse Karr_. [078] The Abbé Molina in his History of Chili mentions a species of basil which he calls _ocymum salinum_: he says it resembles the common basil, except that the stalk is round and jointed; and that though it grows sixty miles from the sea, yet every morning it is covered with saline globules, which are hard and splendid, appearing at a distance like dew; and that each plant furnishes about an ounce of fine salt every day, which the peasants collect and use as common salt, but esteem it superior in flavour.--_Notes to Darwin's Loves of the Plants_. [079] The Dutch are a strange people and of the most heterogeneous composition. They have an odd mixture in their nature of the coldest utilitarianism and the most extravagant romance. A curious illustration of this is furnished in their tulipomania, in which there was a struggle between the love of the substantial and the love of the beautiful. One of their authors enumerates the following articles as equivalent in money value to the price of one tulip root--"two lasts of wheat--four lasts of rye--four fat oxen--eight fat swine--twelve fat sheep--two hogsheads of wine--four tons of butter--one thousand pounds of cheese--a complete bed--a suit of clothes--and a silver drinking cup." [080] _Maun_, must [081] _Stoure_, dust [082] _Weet_, wetness, rain [083] _Glinted_, peeped [084] _Wa's_, walls. [085] _Bield_, shelter [086] _Histie_, dry [087] _Stibble field_, a field covered with stubble--the stalks of corn left by the reaper. [088] _The origin of the Daisy_--When Christ was three years old his mother wished to twine him a birthday wreath. But as no flower was growing out of doors on Christmas eve, not in all the promised land, and as no made up flowers were to be bought, Mary resolved to prepare a flower herself. To this end she took a piece of bright yellow silk which had come down to her from David, and ran into the same, thick threads of white silk, thread by thread, and while thus engaged, she pricked her finger with the needle, and the pure blood stained some of the threads with crimson, whereat the little child was much affected. But when the winter was past and the rains were come and gone, and when spring came to strew the earth with flowers, and the fig tree began to put forth her green figs and the vine her buds, and when the voice or the turtle was heard in the land, then came Christ and took the tender plant with its single stem and egg shaped leaves and the flower with its golden centre and rays of white and red, and planted it in the vale of Nazareth. Then, taking up the cup of gold which had been presented to him by the wise men of the East, he filled it at a neighbouring fountain, and watered the flower and breathed upon it. And the plant grew and became the most perfect of plants, and it flowers in every meadow, when the snow disappears, and is itself the snow of spring, delighting the young heart and enticing the old men from the village to the fields. From then until now this flower has continued to bloom and although it may be plucked a hundred times, again it blossoms--_Colshorn's Deutsche Mythologie furs Deutsche Volk_. [089] The Gorse is a low bush with prickly leaves growing like a juniper. The contrast of its very brilliant yellow pea shaped blossoms with the dark green of its leaves is very beautiful. It grows in hedges and on commons and is thought rather a plebeian affair. I think it would make quite an addition to our garden shrubbery. Possibly it might make as much sensation with us (Americans) as our mullein does in foreign green-houses,--_Mrs. Stowe_. [090] George Town. [091] The hill trumpeter. [092] Nutmeg and Clove plantations. [093] Leigh Hunt, in the dedication of his _Stories in Verse_ to the Duke of Devonshire speaks of his Grace as "the adorner of the country with beautiful gardens, and with the far-fetched botany of other climates; one of whom it may be said without exaggeration and even without a metaphor, that his footsteps may be traced in flowers." [094] The following account of a newly discovered flower may be interesting to my readers. "It is about the size of a walnut, perfectly white, with fine leaves, resembling very much the wax plant. Upon the blooming of the flower, in the cup formed by the leaves, is the exact image of a dove lying on its back with its wings extended. The peak of the bill and the eyes are plainly to be seen and a small leaf before the flower arrives at maturity forms the outspread tail. The leaf can be raised or shut down with the finger without breaking or apparently injuring it until the flower reaches its bloom, when it drops,"--_Panama Star_. [095] Signifying the _dew of the sea_. The rosemary grows best near the sea-shore, and when the wind is off the land it delights the home-returning voyager with its familiar fragrance. [096] Perhaps it is not known to _all_ my readers that some flowers not only brighten the earth by day with their lovely faces, but emit light at dusk. In a note to Darwin's _Loves of the Plants_ it is stated that the daughter of Linnaeus first observed the Nasturtium to throw out flashes of light in the morning before sunrise, and also during the evening twilight, but not after total darkness came on. The philosophers considered these flashes to be electric. Mr. Haggren, Professor of Natural History, perceived one evening a faint flash of light repeatedly darted from a marigold. The flash was afterwards often seen by him on the same flower two or three times, in quick succession, but more commonly at intervals of some minutes. The light has been observed also on the orange, the lily, the monks hood, the yellow goats beard and the sun flower. This effect has sometimes been so striking that the flowers have looked as if they were illuminated for a holiday. Lady Blessington has a fanciful allusion to this flower light. "Some flowers," she says, "absorb the rays of the sun so strongly that in the evening they yield slight phosphoric flashes, may we not compare the minds of poets to those flowers which imbibing light emit it again in a different form and aspect?" [097] The Shan and other Poems [098] My Hindu friend is not answerable for the following notes. [099] And infants winged, who mirthful throw Shafts rose-tipped from nectareous bow. Kam Déva, the Cupid of the Hindu Mythology, is thus represented. His bow is of the sugar cane, his string is formed of wild bees, and his arrows are tipped with the rose.--_Tales of the Forest_. [100] In 1811 this plant was subjected to a regular set of experiments by Dr. G. Playfair, who, with many of his brethren, bears ample testimony of its efficacy in leprosy, lues, tenia, herpes, dropsy, rheumatism, hectic and intermittent fever. The powdered bark is given in doses of 5-6 grains twice a day.--_Dr. Voight's Hortus Suburbanus Calcuttensis_. [101] It is perhaps of the Flax tribe. Mr. Piddington gives it the Sanscrit name of _Atasi_ and the Botanical name _Linum usitatissimum_. [102] Roxburgh calls it "intensely fragrant." [103] Sometimes employed by robbers to deprive their victims of the power of resistance. In a strong dose it is poison. [104] It is said to be used by the Chinese to blacken their eyebrows and their shoes. [105] _Mirábilis jálapa_, or Marvel of Peru, is called by the country people in England _the four o'clock flower_, from its opening regularly at that time. There is a species of broom in America which is called the American clock, because it exhibits its golden flowers every morning at eleven, is fully open by one and closes again at two. [106] Marvell died in 1678; Linnaeus died just a hundred years later. [107] This poem (_The Sugar Cane_) when read in manuscript at Sir Joshua Reynolds's, had made all the assembled wits burst into a laugh, when after much blank-verse pomp the poet began a paragraph thus.-- "Now, Muse, let's sing of rats." And what increased the ridicule was, that one of the company who slyly overlooked the reader, perceived that the word had been originally _mice_ and had been altered to _rats_ as more dignified.--_Boswell's Life of Johnson_. [108] Hazlitt has a pleasant essay on a garden _Sun-dial_, from which I take the following passage:-- _Horas non numero nisi serenas_--is the motto of a sun dial near Venice. There is a softness and a harmony in the words and in the thought unparalleled. Of all conceits it is surely the most classical. "I count only the hours that are serene." What a bland and care-dispelling feeling! How the shadows seem to fade on the dial plate as the sky looms, and time presents only a blank unless as its progress is marked by what is joyous, and all that is not happy sinks into oblivion! What a fine lesson is conveyed to the mind--to take no note of time but by its benefits, to watch only for the smiles and neglect the frowns of fate, to compose our lives of bright and gentle moments, turning always to the sunny side of things, and letting the rest slip from our imaginations, unheeded or forgotten! How different from the common art of self tormenting! For myself, as I rode along the Brenta, while the sun shone hot upon its sluggish, slimy waves, my sensations were far from comfortable, but the reading this inscription on the side of a glaring wall in an instant restored me to myself, and still, whenever I think of or repeat it, it has the power of wafting me into the region of pure and blissful abstraction. [109] These are the initial letters of the Latin names of the plants, they will be found at length on the lower column. [110] Hampton Court was laid out by Cardinal Wolsey. The labyrinth, one of the best which remains in England, occupies only a quarter of an acre, and contains nearly a mile of winding walks. There is an adjacent stand, on which the gardener places himself, to extricate the adventuring stranger by his directions. Switzer condemns this plan for having only four stops and gives a plan for one with twenty.--_Loudon_. [111] The lower part of Bengal, not far from Calcutta, is here described [112] Sir William Jones states that the Brahmins believe that the _blue_ champac flowers only in Paradise, it being yellow every where else. [113] The wild dog of Bengal [114] The elephant. [115] Even Jeremy Bentham, the great Utilitarian Philosopher, who pronounced the composition and perusal of poetry a mere amusement of no higher rank than the game of Pushpin, had still something of the common feeling of the poetry of nature in his soul. He says of himself--"_I was passionately fond of flowers from my youth, and the passion has never left me._" In praise of botany he would sometimes observe, "_We cannot propagate stones_:" meaning that the mineralogist cannot circulate his treasures without injuring himself, but the botanist can multiply his specimens at will and add to the pleasures of others without lessening his own. [116] A man of a polite imagination is let into a great many pleasures that the vulgar are not capable of receiving. He can converse with a picture and find an agreeable companion in a statue. He meets with a secret refreshment in a description, _and often feels a greater satisfaction in the prospect of fields and meadows, than another does in the possession_.--_Spectator_. [117] Kent died in 1748 in the 64th year of his age. As a painter he had no great merit, but many men of genius amongst his contemporaries had the highest opinion of his skill as a Landscape-gardener. He sometimes, however, carried his love of the purely natural to a fantastic excess, as when in Kensington-garden he planted dead trees to give an air of wild truth to the landscape. In Esher's peaceful grove, Where Kent and nature strove for Pelham's love, this landscape-gardener is said to have exhibited a very remarkable degree of taste and judgment. I cannot resist the temptation to quote here Horace Walpole's eloquent account of Kent: "At that moment appeared Kent, painter and poet enough to taste the charms of landscape, bold and opinionative enough to dare and to dictate, and born with a genius to strike out a great system from the twilight of imperfect essays. He leaped the fence and saw that all nature was a garden[143]. He felt the delicious contrast of hill and valley changing imperceptibly into each other, tasted the beauty of the gentle swell, or concave swoop, and remarked how loose groves crowned an easy eminence with happy ornament, and while they called in the distant view between their graceful stems, removed and extended the perspective by delusive comparison."--_On Modern Gardening_. [118] When the rage for a wild irregularity in the laying out of gardens was carried to its extreme, the garden paths were so ridiculously tortuous or zig-zag, that, as Brown remarked, a man might put one foot upon _zig_ and the other upon _zag_. [119] The natives are much too fond of having tanks within a few feet of their windows, so that the vapours from the water go directly into the house. These vapours are often seen hanging or rolling over the surface of the tank like thick wreaths of smoke. [120] Broken brick is called _kunkur_, but I believe the real kunkur is real gravel, and if I am not mistaken a pretty good sort of gravel, formed of particles of red granite, is obtainable from the Rajmahal hills. [121] Pope in his well known paper in the _Guardian_ complains that a citizen is no sooner proprietor of a couple of yews but he entertains thoughts of erecting them into giants, like those of Guildhall. "I know an eminent cook," continues the writer, "who beautified his country seat with a coronation dinner in greens, where you see the Champion flourishing on horseback at one end of the table and the Queen in perpetual youth at the other." When the desire to subject nature to art had been carried to the ludicrous extravagances so well satirized by Pope, men rushed into an opposite extreme. Uvedale Price in his first rage for nature and horror of art, destroyed a venerable old garden that should have been respected for its antiquity, if for nothing else. He lived to repent his rashness and honestly to record that repentance. Coleridge, observed to John Sterling, that "we have gone too far in destroying the old style of gardens and parks." "The great thing in landscape gardening" he continued "is to discover whether the scenery is such that the country seems to belong to man or man to the country." [122] In England it costs upon the average about 12 shillings or six rupees to have a tree of 30 feet high transplanted. [123] I believe the largest leaf in the world is that of the Fan Palm or Talipot tree in Ceylon. "The branch of the tree," observes the author of _Sylvan Sketches_, "is not remarkably large, but it bears a leaf large enough to cover twenty men. It will fold into a fan and is then no bigger than a man's arm." [124] Southey's Common-Place Book. [125] The height of a full grown banyan may be from sixty to eighty feet; and many of them, I am fully confident, cover at least two acres.--_Oriental Field Sports_. There is a banyan tree about five and twenty miles from Berhampore, remarkable for the height of the lower branches from the ground. A man standing up on the houdah of an elephant may pass under it without touching the foliage. A tree has been described as growing in China of a size so prodigious that one branch of it only will so completely cover two hundred sheep that they cannot be perceived by those who approach the tree, and another so enormous that eighty persons can scarcely embrace the trunk.--_Sylvan Sketches_. [126] This praise is a little extravagant, but the garden is really very tastefully laid out, and ought to furnish a useful model to such of the people of this city as have spacious grounds. The area of the garden is about two hundred and fifty nine acres. This garden was commenced in 1768 by Colonel Kyd. It then passed to the care of Dr. Roxburgh, who remained in charge of it from 1793 to the date of his death 1813. [127] Alphonse Karr, bitterly ridicules the Botanical _Savants_ with their barbarous nomenclature. He speaks of their mesocarps and quinqueloculars infundibuliform, squammiflora, guttiferas monocotyledous &c. &c. with supreme disgust. Our English poet, Wordsworth, also used to complain that some of our familiar English names of flowers, names so full of delightful associations, were beginning to be exchanged even in common conversation for the coldest and harshest scientific terms. [128] _The Hand of Eve_--the handiwork of Eve. [129] _Without thorn the rose_: Dr. Bentley calls this a puerile fancy. But it should be remembered, that it was part of the curse denounced upon the Earth for Adam's transgression, that it should bring forth thorns and thistles. _Gen._ iii. 18. Hence the general opinion has prevailed, that there were _no thorns_ before; which is enough to justify a poet, in saying "_the rose was without thorn_."--NEWTON. [130] See page 188. My Hindu friend is not responsible for the selection of the following notes. [131] Birdlime is prepared from the tenacious milky juice of the Peepul and the Banyan. The leaves of the Banyan are used by the Bramins to eat off, for which purpose they are joined together by inkles. Birds are very fond of the fruit of the Peepul, and often drop the seeds in the cracks of buildings, where they vegetate, occasioning great damage if not removed in time.--_Voight_. [132] The ancient Greeks and Romans also married trees together in a similar manner.--_R._ [133] The root of this plant, (_Euphorbia ligularia_,) mixed up with black pepper, is used by the Natives against snake bites.--_Roxburgh_. [134] Coccos nucifera, the _root_ is sometimes masticated instead of the Betle-nut. In Brazil, baskets are made of the _small fibres_. The _hard case of the stem_ is converted into drums, and used in the construction of huts. The lower part is so hard as to take a beautiful polish, when it resembles agate. The reticulated substance at base of the leaf is formed into cradles, and, as some say, into a coarse kind of cloth. The _unexpanded terminal bud_ is a delicate article of food. The _leaves_ furnish thatch for dwellings, and materials for fences, buckets, and baskets; they are used for writing on, and make excellent torches; potash in abundance is yielded by their ashes. The _midrib of the_ leaf serves for oars. The _juice of the flower and stems_ is replete with sugar, and is fermented into excellent wine, or distilled into arrack, or the sugary part is separated as Jagary. The tree is cultivated in many parts of the Indian islands, for the sake not only of the sap and _milk_ it yields, but for the _kernel_ of its fruit, used both as food and for culinary purposes, and as affording a large proportion of _oil_ which is burned in lamps throughout India, and forms also a large article of export to Europe. The fibrous and uneatable rind of the fruit is not only used to polish furniture and to scour the floors of rooms, but is manufactured into a kind of cordage, (_Koir_) which is nearly equal in strength to hemp, and which Roxburgh designates as the very best of all materials for cables, on account of its great elasticity and strength. The sap of this as well as of other palms is found to be the simplest and easiest remedy that can be employed for removing constipation in persons of delicate habit, especially European females.--_Voigt's Suburbanus Calcuttensis_. [135] The root is bitter, nauseous, and used in North America as anthelmintic. _A. Richard_. [136] Of one species of tulsi (_Babooi-tulsi_) the seeds, if steeped in water, swell into a pleasant jelly, which is used by the Natives in cases of catarrh, dysentry, chronic diarrhoea &c. and is very nourishing and demulcent--_Voigt_. [137] This list is framed from such as were actually grown by the author between 1837 and the present year, from seed received chiefly through the kindness of Captain Kirke. [138] The native market gardens sell Madras roses at the rate of thirteen young plants for the rupee. Mrs. Gore tells us that in London the most esteemed kinds of old roses are usually sold by nurserymen at fifty shillings a hundred the first French and other varieties seldom exceed half a guinea a piece. [139] I may add to Mr. Speede's list of Roses the _Banksian Rose_. The flowers are yellow, in clusters, and scentless. Mrs. Gore says it was imported into England from the Calcutta Botanical Garden, it is called _Wong moue heong_. There is another rose also called the _Banksian Rose_ extremely small, very double, white, expanding from March till May, highly scented with violets. The _Rosa Brownii_ was brought from Nepaul by Dr. Wallich. A very sweet rose has been brought into Bengal from England. It is called _Rosa Peeliana_ after the original importer Sir Lawrence Peel. It is a hybrid. I believe it is a tea scented rose and is probably a cross between one of that sort and a common China rose, but this is mere conjecture. The varieties of the tea rose are now cultivated by Indian malees with great success. They sell at the price of from eight annas to a rupee each. A variety of the Bengal yellow rose, is now comparatively common. It fetches from one to three rupees, each root. It is known to the native gardeners by the English name of "_Yellow Rose_". Amongst the flowers introduced here since Mr. Speede's book appeared, is the beautiful blue heliotrope which the natives call _kala heliotrope_. [140] He gains all points who pleasingly confounds, Surprizes, varies, and conceals the bounds. [141] The following is the passage alluded to by Todd A pleasant grove With chant of tuneful birds resounding loud, Thither he bent his way, determined there To rest at noon, and entered soon the shade, High roofed, and walks beneath and alleys brown, That opened in the midst a woody scene, Nature's own work it seemed (nature taught art) And to a superstitious eye the haunt Of wood gods and wood nymphs. _Paradise Regained, Book II_ [142] The following stanzas are almost as direct translations from Tasso as the two last stanzas in the words of Fairfax on page 111:-- The whiles some one did chaunt this lovely lay;-- Ah! see, whoso fayre thing doest faine to see, In springing flowre the image of thy day! Ah! see the virgin rose, how sweetly shee Doth first peepe forth with bashful modesty; That fairer seems the less you see her may! Lo! see soone after how more bold and free Her baréd bosome she doth broad display; Lo! see soone after how she fades and falls away! So passeth, in the passing of a day, Of mortal life, the leaf, the bud, the flowre, Ne more doth florish after first decay, That erst was sought, to deck both bed and bowre Of many a lady and many a paramoure! Gather therefore the rose whilest yet is prime For soone comes age that will her pride deflowre; Gather the rose of love, whilest yet is time Whilest loving thou mayst loved be with equal crime[144] _Fairie Queene, Book II. Canto XII._ [143] I suppose in the remark that Kent leapt the fence, Horace Walpole alludes to that artist's practice of throwing down walls and other boundaries and sinking fosses called by the common people _Ha! Ha's!_ to express their astonishment when the edge of the fosse brought them to an unexpected stop. Horace Walpole's History of Modern Gardening is now so little read that authors think they may steal from it with safety. In the _Encyclopaedia Britannica_ the article on Gardening is taken almost verbatim from it, with one or two deceptive allusions such as--"_As Mr. Walpole observes_"--"_Says Mr. Walpole_," &c. but there is nothing to mark where Walpole's observations and sayings end, and the Encyclopaedia thus gets the credit of many pages of his eloquence and sagacity. The whole of Walpole's _History of Modern Gardening_ is given piece-meal as an original contribution to _Harrrison's Floricultural Cabinet_, each portion being signed CLERICUS. [144] Perhaps Robert Herrick had these stanzas in his mind's ear when he wrote his song of Gather ye rosebuds while ye may Old time is still a flying; And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying. * * * * * Then be not coy, but use your time; And while ye may, so marry: For having lost but once your prime You may for ever tarry. 
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ENSIGN, Forest Commissioner of Colorado. " E. S. CARMAN, Editor of the _Rural New Yorker_. " WM. M. CANBY. Wilmington, Del. " JOHN ROBINSON, Salem, Mass. " J. D. LYMAN, Exeter, N. H. " SAMUEL PARSONS, Jr., Superintendent of Central Park, N. Y. " WM. MCMILLAN, Superintendent of Parks, Buffalo. N. Y. " SYLVESTER BAXTER, Boston. " CHARLES ELIOT, Boston. " JOHN THORPE, Secretary of the New York Horticultural Society. " EDWIN LONSDALE, Secretary of the Philadelphia Horticultural Society. " ROBERT CRAIG, President of the Philadelphia Florists' Club. " SAMUEL B. PARSONS, Flushing, N. Y. " GEORGE ELLWANGER, Rochester. " P. H. BARRY, Rochester. " W. J. STEWART, Boston, Mass. " W. A. MANDA, Botanic Gardens, Cambridge, Mass. " DAVID ALLAN, Mount Vernon, Mass. " WM. ROBINSON, North Easton, Mass. " A. H. FEWKES, Newton Highlands, Mass. " F. GOLDRING, Kenwood, N. Y. " C. M. ATKINSON, Brookline, Mass. * * * * * Dr. MAXWELL T. MASTERS, Editor of the Gardener's Chronicle. Mr. GEO. NICHOLSON, Curator of the Royal Gardens, Kew. " W. B. HEMSLEY, Herbarium, Royal Gardens, Kew. " WM. GOLDRING, London. Mr. MAX LEICHTLIN, Baden Baden. M. EDOUARD ANDRÉ, Editor of the Revue Horticole, Paris, France. Dr. G. M. DAWSON, Geological Survey of Canada. Prof. JOHN MACOUN, " " " M. CHARLES NAUDIN, Director of the Gardens of The Villa Thuret, Antibes. Dr. CHAS. BOLLE, Berlin. M. J. ALLARD, Angers, Maine & Loire, France. Dr. H. MAYE, University of Tokio, Japan. Prof. D. P. PENHALLOW, Director of the Botanical Gardens, Montreal. Mr. WM. SAUNDERS, Director of the Agricultural Experiment Station, Ontario. " WM. LITTLE, Montreal. Single numbers, 10 cents. Subscription price, Four Dollars a year, in advance. THE GARDEN AND FOREST PUBLISHING CO., Limited, D. A. MUNRO, _Manager_. TRIBUNE BUILDING, NEW YORK GARDEN AND FOREST. PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY THE GARDEN AND FOREST PUBLISHING CO. [LIMITED.] OFFICE: TRIBUNE BUILDING, NEW YORK. Conducted by Professor C. S. SARGENT. ENTERED AS SECOND-CLASS MATTER AT THE POST OFFICE AT NEW YORK, N. Y. NEW YORK, WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 29, 1888. TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE. EDITORIAL ARTICLES:--Asa Gray. The Gardener's Monthly. The White Pine in Europe 1 The Forests of the White Mountain _Francis Parkman._ 2 Landscape Gardening.--A Definition _Mrs. Schuyler Van Rensselaer._ 2 Floriculture in the United States _Peter Henderson._ 2 How to Make a Lawn _Professor W. J. Beal._ 3 Letter from London _W. Goldring._ 4 A New Departure in Chrysanthemums _A. H. Fewkes._ 5 New Plants from Afghanistan _Max Leichtlin._ 6 Iris Tenuis, with figure _Sereno Watson._ 6 Hardy Shrubs for Forcing _Wm. Falconer._ 6 Plant Notes _C. C. Pringle; Professor W. Trelease._ 7 Wire Netting for Tree Guards _A. A. Crozier._ 7 Artificial Water, with Illustration 8 Some New Roses _Edwin Lonsdale._ 8 Two Ferns and Their Treatment _F. Goldring._ 9 Timely Hints about Bulbs _John Thorpe._ 9 ENTOMOLOGY: Arsenical Poisons in the Orchard _Professor A. S. Packard._ 9 THE FOREST: The White Pine in Europe _Professor H. Mayr._ 10 European Larch in Massachusetts 11 Thinning Pine Plantations _B. E. Fernow._ 11 BOOK REVIEWS: Gray's Elements of Botany _Professor G. L. Goodale._ 11 Kansas Forest Trees _Professor G. L. Goodale._ 12 PUBLIC WORKS:--The Falls of Minnehaha--A Park for Wilmington 12 FLOWER MARKETS:--New York--Philadelphia--Boston 12 * * * * * Asa Gray. The whole civilized world is mourning the death of Asa Gray with a depth of feeling and appreciation perhaps never accorded before to a scholar and man of science. To the editors of this Journal the loss at the very outset of their labors is serious indeed. They lose a wise and sympathetic adviser of great experience and mature judgment to whom they could always have turned with entire freedom and in perfect confidence; and they lose a contributor whose vast stores of knowledge and graceful pen might, it was reasonable to hope, have long enriched their columns. The career of Asa Gray is interesting from many points of view. It is the story of the life of a man born in humble circumstances, without the advantages of early education, without inherited genius--for there is no trace in his yeoman ancestry of any germ of intellectual greatness--who succeeded in gaining through native intelligence, industry and force of character, a position in the very front rank of the scientific men of his age. Among the naturalists who, since Linnæus, have devoted their lives to the description and classification of plants, four or five stand out prominently in the character and importance of their work. In this little group Asa Gray has fairly won for himself a lasting position. But he was something more than a mere systematist. He showed himself capable of drawing broad philosophical conclusions from the dry facts he collected and elaborated with such untiring industry and zeal. This power of comprehensive generalization he showed in his paper upon the "Characters of Certain New Species of Plants Collected in Japan" by Charles Wright, published nearly thirty years ago. Here he first pointed out the extraordinary similarity between the Floras of Eastern North America and Japan, and then explained the peculiar distribution of plants through the northern hemisphere by tracing their direct descent through geological eras from ancestors which flourished in the arctic regions down to the latest tertiary period. This paper was Professor Gray's most remarkable and interesting contribution to science. It at once raised him to high rank among philosophical naturalists and drew the attention of the whole scientific world to the Cambridge botanist. Asa Gray did not devote himself to abstract science alone; he wrote as successfully for the student as for the professional naturalist. His long list of educational works have no equals in accuracy and in beauty and compactness of expression. They have had a remarkable influence upon the study of botany in this country during the half century which has elapsed since the first of the series appeared. Botany, moreover, did not satisfy that wonderful intellect, which hard work only stimulated but did not weary, and one of Asa Gray's chief claims to distinction is the prominent and commanding position he took in the great intellectual and scientific struggle of modern times, in which, almost alone and single handed he bore in America the brunt of the disbelief in the Darwinian theory shared by most of the leading naturalists of the time. But the crowning labor of Asa Gray's life was the preparation of a descriptive work upon the plants of North America. This great undertaking occupied his attention and much of his time during the last forty years of his life. Less fortunate than his greatest botanical contemporary, George Bentham, who turned from the last page of corrected proof of his work upon the genera of plants to the bed from which he was never to rise again, Asa Gray's great work is left unfinished. The two volumes of the "Synoptical Flora of North America" will keep his memory green, however, as long as the human race is interested in the study of plants. But his botanical writings and his scientific fame are not the most valuable legacy which Asa Gray has left to the American people. More precious to us is the example of his life in this age of grasping materialism. It is a life that teaches how industry and unselfish devotion to learning can attain to the highest distinction and the most enduring fame. Great as were his intellectual gifts, Asa Gray was greatest in the simplicity of his character and in the beauty of his pure and stainless life. * * * * * It is with genuine regret that we read the announcement of the discontinuance of the _Gardener's Monthly_. It is like reading of the death of an old friend. Ever since we have been interested in the cultivation of flowers we have looked to the _Monthly_ for inspiration and advice, and its pages have rarely been turned without finding the assistance we stood in need of. But, fortunately, the _Gardener's Monthly_, and its modest and accomplished editor, Mr. Thomas Meehan, were one and the same thing. It is Mr. Meehan's long editorial experience, high character, great learning and varied practical knowledge, which made the _Gardener's Monthly_ what it was. These, we are happy to know, are not to be lost to us, as Mr. Meehan will, in a somewhat different field and with new associates, continue to delight and instruct the horticultural public. Americans who visit Europe cannot fail to remark that in the parks and pleasure grounds of the Continent no coniferous tree is more graceful when young or more dignified at maturity than our White Pine. The notes of Dr. Mayr, of the Bavarian Forest Academy, in another column, testify that it holds a position of equal importance as a forest tree for economic planting. It thrives from Northern Germany to Lombardy, corresponding with a range of climate in this country from New England to Northern Georgia. It needs bright sunshine, however, and perhaps it is for lack of this that so few good specimens are seen in England. It was among the first of our trees to be introduced there, but it has been universally pronounced an indifferent grower. The Forests of the White Mountains. New Hampshire is not a peculiarly wealthy State, but it has some resources scarcely equaled by those of any of its sisters. The White Mountains, though worth little to the farmer, are a piece of real estate which yields a sure and abundant income by attracting tourists and their money; and this revenue is certain to increase, unless blind mismanagement interposes. The White Mountains are at present unique objects of attraction; but they may easily be spoiled, and the yearly tide of tourists will thus be turned towards other points of interest whose owners have had more sense and foresight. These mountains owe three-fourths of their charms to the primeval forest that still covers them. Speculators have their eyes on it, and if they are permitted to work their will the State will find a most productive piece of property sadly fallen in value. If the mountains are robbed of their forests they will become like some parts of the Pyrenees, which, though much higher, are without interest, because they have been stripped bare. The forests of the White Mountains have a considerable commercial value, and this value need not be sacrificed. When lumber speculators get possession of forests they generally cut down all the trees and strip the land at once, with an eye to immediate profit. The more conservative, and, in the end, the more profitable management, consists in selecting and cutting out the valuable timber when it has matured, leaving the younger growth for future use. This process is not very harmful to the landscape. It is practiced extensively in Maine, where the art of managing forests with a view to profit is better understood than elsewhere in this country. A fair amount of good timber may thus be drawn from the White Mountains, without impairing their value as the permanent source of a vastly greater income from the attraction they will offer to an increasing influx of tourists. At the same time the streams flowing from them, and especially the Pemigewasset, a main source of the Merrimac, will be saved from the alternate droughts and freshets to which all streams are exposed that take their rise in mountains denuded of forests. The subject is one of the last importance to the mill owners along these rivers. _F. Parkman._ Landscape Gardening.--A Definition. Some of the Fine Arts appeal to the ear, others to the eye. The latter are the Arts of Design, and they are usually named as three--Architecture, Sculpture and Painting. A man who practices one of these in any of its branches is an artist; other men who work with forms and colors are at the best but artisans. This is the popular belief. But in fact there is a fourth art which has a right to be rated with the others, which is as fine as the finest, and which demands as much of its professors in the way of creative power and executive skill as the most difficult. This is the art whose purpose it is to create beautiful compositions upon the surface of the ground. The mere statement of its purpose is sufficient to establish its rank. It is the effort to produce organic beauty--to compose a beautiful whole with a number of related parts--which makes a man an artist; neither the production of a merely useful organism nor of a single beautiful detail suffices. A clearly told story or a single beautiful word is not a work of art--only a story told in beautifully connected words. A solidly and conveniently built house, if it is nothing more, is not a work of architecture, nor is an isolated stone, however lovely in shape and surface. A delightful tint, a graceful line, does not make a picture; and though the painter may reproduce ugly models he must put some kind of beauty into the reproduction if it is to be esteemed above any other manufactured article--if not beauty of form, then beauty of color or of meaning or at least of execution. Similarly, when a man disposes the surface of the soil with an eye to crops alone he is an agriculturist; when he grows plants for their beauty as isolated objects he is a horticulturist; but when he disposes ground and plants together to produce organic beauty of effect, he is an artist with the best. Yet though all the fine arts are thus akin in general purpose they differ each from each in many ways. And in the radical differences which exist between the landscape-gardener's and all the others we find some reasons why its affinity with them is so commonly ignored. One difference is that it uses the same materials as nature herself. In what is called "natural" gardening it uses them to produce effects which under fortunate conditions nature might produce without man's aid. Then, the better the result, the less likely it is to be recognized as an artificial--artistic--result. The more perfectly the artist attains his aim, the more likely we are to forget that he has been at work. In "formal" gardening, on the other hand, nature's materials are disposed and treated in frankly unnatural ways; and then--as a more or less intelligent love for natural beauty is very common to-day, and an intelligent eye for art is rare--the artist's work is apt to be resented as an impertinence, denied its right to its name, called a mere contorting and disfiguring of his materials. Again, the landscape-gardener's art differs from all others in the unstable character of its productions. When surfaces are modeled and plants arranged, nature and the artist must work a long time together before the true result appears; and when once it has revealed itself, day to day attention will be forever needed to preserve it from the deforming effects of time. It is easy to see how often neglect or interference must work havoc with the best intentions, how often the passage of years must travesty or destroy the best results, how rare must be the cases in which a work of landscape art really does justice to its creator. Still another thing which affects popular recognition of the art as such is our lack of clearly understood terms by which to speak of it and of those who practice it. "Gardens" once meant pleasure-grounds of every kind and "gardener" then had an adequately artistic sound. But as the significance of the one term has been gradually specialized, so the other has gradually come to denote a mere grower of plants. "Landscape gardener" was a title first used by the artists of the eighteenth century to mark the new tendency which they represented--the search for "natural" as opposed to "formal" beauty; and it seemed to them to need an apology as savoring, perhaps, of grandiloquence or conceit. But as taste declined in England it was assumed by men who had not the slightest right, judged either by their aims or by their results, to be considered artists; and to-day it is fallen into such disesteem that it is often replaced by "landscape architect." This title has French usage to support it and is in many respects a good one. But its correlative--"landscape architecture"--is unsatisfactory; and so, on the other hand, is "landscape artist," though "landscape art" is an excellent generic term. Perhaps the best we can do is to keep to "landscape gardener," and try to remember that it ought always to mean an artist and an artist only. _M. G. van Rensselaer._ Floriculture in the United States. At the beginning of the present century, it is not probable that there were 100 florists in the United States, and their combined green-house structures could not have exceeded 50,000 square feet of glass. There are now more than 10,000 florists distributed through every State and Territory in the Union and estimating 5,000 square feet of glass to each, the total area would be 50,000,000 feet, or about 1,000 acres of green-houses. The value of the bare structures, with heating apparatus, at 60 cents per square foot would be $30,000,000, while the stock of plants grown in them would not be less than twice that sum. The present rate of growth in the business is about 25% per annum, which proves that it is keeping well abreast of our most flourishing industries. The business, too, is conducted by a better class of men. No longer than thirty years ago it was rare to find any other than a foreigner engaged in commercial floriculture. These men had usually been private gardeners, who were mostly uneducated, and without business habits. But to-day, the men of this calling compare favorably in intelligence and business capacity with any mercantile class. Floriculture has attained such importance that it has taken its place as a regular branch of study in some of our agricultural colleges. Of late years, too, scores of young men in all parts of the country have been apprenticing themselves to the large establishments near the cities, and already some of these have achieved a high standing; for the training so received by a lad from sixteen to twenty, better fits him for the business here than ten years of European experience, because much of what is learned there would prove worse than useless here. The English or German florist has here to contend with unfamiliar conditions of climate and a manner of doing business that is novel to him. Again he has been trained to more deliberate methods of working, and when I told the story a few years ago of a workman who had potted 10,000 cuttings in two inch pots in ten consecutive hours, it was stigmatized in nearly every horticultural magazine in Europe as a piece of American bragging. As a matter of fact this same workman two years later, potted 11,500 plants in ten hours, and since then several other workmen have potted plants at the rate of a thousand per hour all day long. Old world conservatism is slow to adopt improvements. The practice of heating by low pressure steam will save in labor, coal and construction one-fifth of the expense by old methods, and nearly all the large green-house establishments in this country, whether private or commercial, have been for some years furnished with the best apparatus. But when visiting London, Edinburgh and Paris in 1885, I neither saw nor heard of a single case where steam had been used for green-house heating. The stress of competition here has developed enterprise, encouraged invention and driven us to rapid and prudent practice, so that while labor costs at least twice as much as it does in Europe, our prices both at wholesale and retail, are lower. And yet I am not aware that American florists complain that their profits compare unfavorably with those of their brethren over the sea. Commercial floriculture includes two distinct branches, one for the production of flowers and the other for the production of plants. During the past twenty years the growth in the flower department of the business has outstripped the growth of the plant department. The increase in the sale of Rosebuds in winter is especially noteworthy. At the present time it is safe to say that one-third of the entire glass structures in the United States are used for this purpose; many large growers having from two to three acres in houses devoted to Roses alone, such erections costing from $50,000 to $100,000 each, according to the style in which they are built. More cut flowers are used for decoration in the United States than in any other country, and it is probable that there are more flowers sold in New York than in London with a population four times as great. In London and Paris, however, nearly every door-yard and window of city and suburb show the householder's love for plants, while with us, particularly in the vicinity of New York (Philadelphia and Boston are better), the use of living plants for home decoration is far less general. There are fashions in flowers, and they continually change. Thirty years ago thousands of Camellia flowers were retailed in the holiday season for $1 each, while Rosebuds would not bring a dime. Now, many of the fancy Roses sell at $1 each, while Camellia flowers go begging at ten cents. The Chrysanthemum is now rivaling the Rose, as well it may, and no doubt every decade will see the rise and fall of some floral favorite. But beneath these flitting fancies is the substantial and unchanging love of flowers that seems to be an original instinct in man, and one that grows in strength with growing refinement. Fashion may now and again condemn one flower or another, but the fashion of neglecting flowers altogether will never prevail, and we may safely look forward in the expectation of an ever increasing interest and demand, steady improvement in methods of cultivation, and to new and attractive developments in form, color and fragrance. _Peter Henderson._ How to Make a Lawn. "A smooth, closely shaven surface of grass is by far the most essential element of beauty on the grounds of a suburban home." This is the language of Mr. F. J. Scott, and it is equally true of other than suburban grounds. A good lawn then is worth working for, and if it have a substantial foundation, it will endure for generations, and improve with age. We take it for granted that the drainage is thorough, for no one would build a dwelling on water soaked land. No labor should be spared in making the soil deep, rich and fine in the full import of the words, as this is the stock from which future dividends of joy and satisfaction are to be drawn. Before grading, one should read that chapter of Downing's on "The Beauty in Ground." This will warn against terracing or leveling the whole surface, and insure a contour with "gentle curves and undulations," which is essential to the best effects. If the novice has read much of the conflicting advice in books and catalogues, he is probably in a state of bewilderment as to the kind of seed to sow. And when that point is settled it is really a difficult task to secure pure and living seeds of just such species as one orders. Rarely does either seller or buyer know the grasses called for, especially the finer and rarer sorts; and more rarely still does either know their seeds. The only safe way is to have the seeds tested by an expert. Mr. J. B. Olcott, in a racy article in the "Report of the Connecticut Board of Agriculture for 1886," says, "Fifteen years ago nice people were often sowing timothy, red top and clover for door-yards, and failing wretchedly with lawn-making, while seedsmen and gardeners even disputed the identity of our June grass and Kentucky blue-grass." We have passed beyond that stage of ignorance, however; and to the question what shall we sow, Mr. Olcott replies: "Rhode Island bent and Kentucky blue-grass are their foolish trade names, for they belong no more to Kentucky or Rhode Island than to other Northern States. Two sorts of fine _Agrostis_ are honestly sold under the trade name of Rhode Island bent, and, as trade goes, we may consider ourselves lucky if we get even the coarser one. The finest--a little the finest--_Agrostis canina_--is a rather rare, valuable, and elegant grass, which should be much better known by grass farmers, as well as gardeners, than it is. These are both good lawn as well as pasture grasses." The grass usually sold as Rhode Island bent is _Agrostis vulgaris_, the smaller red top of the East and of Europe. This makes an excellent lawn. _Agrostis canina_ has a short, slender, projecting awn from one of the glumes; _Agrostis vulgaris_ lacks this projecting awn. In neither case have we in mind what Michigan and New York people call red top. This is a tall, coarse native grass often quite abundant on low lands, botanically _Agrostis alba_. Sow small red top or Rhode Island bent, and June grass (Kentucky blue grass, if you prefer that name), _Poa pratensis_. If in the chaff, sow in any proportion you fancy, and in any quantity up to four bushels per acre. If evenly sown, less will answer, but the thicker it is sown the sooner the ground will be covered with fine green grass. We can add nothing else that will improve this mixture, and either alone is about as good as both. A little white clover or sweet vernal grass or sheep's fescue may be added, if you fancy them, but they will not improve the appearance of the lawn. Roll the ground after seeding. Sow the seeds in September or in March or April, and under no circumstance yield to the advice to sow a little oats or rye to "protect the young grass." Instead of protecting, they will rob the slender grasses of what they most need. Now wait a little. Do not be discouraged if some ugly weeds get the start of the numerous green hairs which slowly follow. As soon as there is any thing to be cut, of weeds or grass, mow closely, and mow often, so that nothing need be raked from the ground. As Olcott puts it, "Leave one crop where it belongs for home consumption. The rains will wash the soluble substance of the wilted grass into the earth to feed the growing roots." During succeeding summers as the years roll on, the lawn should be perpetually enriched by the leaching of the short leaves as they are often mown. Neither leave a very short growth nor a very heavy growth for winter. Experience alone must guide the owner. If cut too closely, some of it may be killed or start too late in spring; if left too high during winter, the dead long grass will be hard to cut in spring and leave the stubble unsightly. After passing through one winter the annual weeds will have perished and leave the grass to take the lead. Perennial weeds should be faithfully dug out or destroyed in some way. Every year, add a top dressing of some commercial fertilizer or a little finely pulverized compost which may be brushed in. No one will disfigure his front yard with coarse manure spread on the lawn for five months of the year. If well made, a lawn will be a perpetual delight as long as the proprietor lives, but if the soil is thin and poor, or if the coarser grasses and clovers are sown instead of those named, he will be much perplexed, and will very likely try some expensive experiments, and at last plow up, properly fit the land and begin over again. This will make the cost and annoyance much greater than at first, because the trees and shrubs have already filled many portions of the soil. A small piece, well made and well kept, will give more satisfaction than a larger plot of inferior turf. _W. J. Beal._ Horticultural Exhibitions in London. At a late meeting of the floral committee of the Royal Horticultural Society at South Kensington among many novelties was a group of seedling bulbous Calanthes from the garden of Sir Trevor Lawrence, who has devoted much attention to these plants and has raised some interesting hybrids. About twenty kinds were shown, ranging in color from pure white to deep crimson. The only one selected for a first-class certificate was _C. sanguinaria_, with flowers similar in size and shape to those of _C. Veitchii_, but of an intensely deep crimson. It is the finest yet raised, surpassing _C. Sedeni_, hitherto unequaled for richness of color. The pick of all these seedlings would be _C. sanguinaria_, _C. Veitchii splendens_, _C. lactea_, _C. nivea_, and _C. porphyrea_. The adjectives well describe the different tints of each, and they will be universally popular when once they find their way into commerce. CYPRIPEDIUM LEEANUM MACULATUM, also shown by Sir Trevor Lawrence, is a novelty of sterling merit. The original _C. Leeanum_, which is a cross between _C. Spicerianum_ and _C. insigne Maulei_, is very handsome, but this variety eclipses it, the dorsal sepal of the flower being quite two and one-half inches broad, almost entirely white, heavily and copiously spotted with purple. It surpasses also _C. Leeanum superbum_, which commands such high prices. I saw a small plant sold at auction lately for fifteen guineas and the nursery price is much higher. LÆLIA ANCEPS SCHR[OE]DERÆ, is the latest addition to the now very numerous list of varieties of the popular _L. anceps_. This new form, to which the committee with one accord gave a first class certificate, surpasses in my opinion all the colored varieties, with the possible exception of the true old Barkeri. The flowers are of the average size and ordinary form. The sepals are rose pink, the broad sepals very light, almost white in fact, while the labellum is of the deepest and richest velvety crimson imaginable. The golden tipped crest is a veritable beauty spot, and the pale petals act like a foil to show off the splendor of the lip. TWO NEW FERNS of much promise received first class certificates. One named _Pteris Claphamensis_ is a chance seedling and was found growing among a lot of other sporelings in the garden of a London amateur. As it partakes of the characters of both _P. tremula_ and _P. serrulata_, old and well known ferns, it is supposed to be a natural cross between these. The new plant is of tufted growth, with a dense mass of fronds about six inches long, elegantly cut and gracefully recurved on all sides of the pot. It is looked upon by specialists as just the sort of plant that will take in the market. The other certificated fern, _Adiantum Reginæ_, is a good deal like _A. Victoriæ_ and is supposed to be a sport from it. But _A. Reginæ_, while it has broad pinnæ of a rich emerald green like _A. Victoriæ_, has fronds from nine to twelve inches long, giving it a lighter and more elegant appearance. I don't know that the Victoria Maidenhair is grown in America yet, but I am sure those who do floral decorating will welcome it as well as the newer _A. Reginæ_. A third Maidenhair of a similar character is _A. rhodophyllum_ and these form a trio that will become the standard kinds for decorating. The young fronds of all three are of a beautiful coppery red tint, the contrast of which with the emerald green of the mature fronds is quite charming. They are warm green-house ferns and of easy culture, and are supposed to be hybrid forms of the old _A. scutum_. _Nerine Mansellii_, a new variety of the Guernsey Lily, was one of the loveliest flowers at the show. From the common Guernsey Lily it differs only in color of the flowers. These have crimpled-edged petals of clear rose tints; and the umbel of flowers is fully six inches across, borne on a stalk eighteen inches high. These Guernsey Lilies have of recent years come into prominence in English gardens since so many beautiful varieties have been raised, and as they flower from September onward to Christmas they are found to be indispensable for the green-house, and indoor decoration. The old _N. Fothergillii major_, with vivid scarlet-crimson flowers and crystalline cells in the petals which sparkle in the sunlight like myriads of tiny rubies, remains a favorite among amateurs. Baron Schroeder, who has the finest collection in Europe, grows this one only in quantity. An entire house is filled with them, and when hundreds of spikes are in bloom at once, the display is singularly brilliant. A NEW VEGETABLE, a Japanese plant called Choro-Gi, belonging to the Sage family, was exhibited. Its botanical name is _Stachys tuberifera_ and it was introduced first to Europe by the Vilmorins of Paris under the name of _Crosnes du Japon_. The edible part of the plant is the tubers, which are produced in abundance on the tips of the wiry fibrous roots. These are one and a half inches long, pointed at both ends, and have prominent raised rings. When washed they are as white as celery and when eaten raw taste somewhat like Jerusalem artichokes, but when cooked are quite soft and possess the distinct flavor of boiled chestnuts. A dish of these tubers when cooked look like a mass of large caterpillars, but the Committee pronounced them excellent, and no doubt this vegetable will now receive attention from some of our enterprising seedsmen and may become a fashionable vegetable because new and unlike any common kind. The tubers were shown now for the first time in this country by Sir Henry Thompson, the eminent surgeon. The plant is herbaceous, dying down annually leaving the tubers, which multiply very rapidly. They can be dug at any time of the year, which is an advantage. The plant is perfectly hardy here and would no doubt be so in the United States, as it remains underground in winter. [A figure of this plant with the tubers appeared in the _Gardener's Chronicle_, January 7th, 1888.--ED.] PHALÆNOPSIS F. L. AMES, a hybrid moth orchid, the result of intercrossing _P. grandiflora_ of Lindley with _P. intermedia Portei_ (itself a natural hybrid between the little _P. rosea_ and _P. amabilis_), was shown at a later exhibition. The new hybrid is very beautiful. It has the same purplish green leaves as _P. amabalis_, but much narrower. The flower spikes are produced in the same way as those of _P. grandiflora_, and the flowers in form and size resemble those of that species, but the coloring of the labellum is more like that of its other parent. The sepals and petals are pure white, the latter being broadest at the lips. The labellum resembles that of _P. intermedia_, being three-lobed, the lateral lobes are erect, magenta purple in color and freckled. The middle or triangular lobe is of the same color as the lateral lobes, but pencilled with longitudinal lines of crimson, flushed with orange, and with the terminal cirrhi of a clear magenta. The column is pink, and the crest is adorned with rosy speckles. The Floral Committee unanimously awarded a first-class certificate of merit to the plant. A NEW LÆLIA named _L. Gouldiana_ has had an eventful history. The representative of Messrs. Sander, of St. Albans, the great orchid importers, while traveling in America saw it blooming in New York, in the collection of Messrs. Siebrecht & Wadley, and noting its distinctness and beauty bought the stock of it. The same week another new Lælia flowered in England and was sent up to one of the London auction rooms for sale. As it so answered the description of the American novelty which Messrs. Sander had just secured it was bought for the St. Albans collection, and now it turns out that the English novelty and the American novelty are one and the same thing, and a comparison of dates shows that they flowered on the same day, although in different hemispheres. As, however, it was first discovered in the United States, it is intended to call it an American orchid, and that is why Mr. Jay Gould has his name attached to it, In bulb and leaf the novelty closely resembles _L. albida_, and in flower both _L. anceps_ and _L. autumnalis_. The flowers are as large as those of an average form of _L. anceps_, the sepals are rather narrow, the petals as broad as those of _L._ _anceps Dawsoni_, and both petals and sepals are of a deep rose pink, intensified at the tips as if the color had collected there and was dripping out. The tip is in form between that of _L. anceps_ and _L. autumnalis_ and has the prominent ridges of the latter, while the color is a rich purple crimson. The black viscid pubescence, always seen on the ovary of _L. autumnalis_, is present on that of _L. Gouldiana_. The plants I saw in the orchid nursery at St. Albans lately, bore several spikes, some having three or four flowers. Those who have seen it are puzzled about its origin, some considering it a hybrid between _L. anceps_ and _L. autumnalis_, others consider it a distinct species and to the latter opinion I am inclined. Whatever its origin may be, it is certain we have a charming addition to midwinter flowering orchids. _W. Goldring._ London, February 1st. [Illustration: Fig. 1.--Chrysanthemum--Mrs. Alpheus Hardy.] A New Departure in Chrysanthemums. The Chrysanthemum of which the figure gives a good representation is one of a collection of some thirty varieties lately sent from Japan to the lady for whom it has been named, Mrs. Alpheus Hardy of Boston, by a young Japanese once a protégé of hers, but now returned as a teacher to his native country. As may be seen, it is quite distinct from any variety known in this country or Europe, and the Japanese botanist Miyabe, who saw it at Cambridge, pronounces it a radical departure from any with which he is acquainted. The photograph from which the engraving was made was taken just as the petals had begun to fall back from the centre, showing to good advantage the peculiarities of the variety. The flower is of pure white, with the firm, long and broad petals strongly incurved at the extremities. Upon the back or outer surface of this incurved portion will be found, in the form of quite prominent hairs, the peculiarity which makes this variety unique. [Illustration: Fig. 2.--Hair from Petal of Chrysanthemum, much enlarged. _a_--resin drop. _b_--epidermis of petal with wavy cells.] These hairs upon close examination are found to be a glandular outgrowth of the epidermis of the petals, multi-cellular in structure and with a minute drop of a yellow resinous substance at the tip. The cells at first conform to the wavy character of those of the epidermis, but gradually become prismatic with straight walls, as shown in the engraving of one of the hairs, which was made from a drawing furnished by Miss Grace Cooley, of the Department of Botany at Wellesley College, who made a microscopic investigation of them. This is one of those surprises that occasionally make their appearance from Japan. Possibly it is a chance seedling; but since one or two other specimens in the collection are striking in form, and others are distinguished for depth and purity of color, it is more probable that the best of them have been developed by careful selection. This Chrysanthemum was exhibited at the Boston Chrysanthemum Show last December by Edwin Fewkes & Son of Newton Highlands, Mass. _A. H. Fewkes._ New Plants from Afghanistan. ARNEBIA CORNUTA.--This is a charming novelty, an annual, native of Afghanistan. The little seedling with lancet-like hairy, dark green leaves, becomes presently a widely branching plant two feet in diameter and one and one-half feet high. Each branch and branchlet is terminated by a lengthening raceme of flowers. These are in form somewhat like those of an autumnal Phlox, of a beautiful deep golden yellow color, adorned and brightened up by five velvety black blotches. These blotches soon become coffee brown and lose more and more their color, until after three days they have entirely disappeared. During several months the plant is very showy, the fading flowers being constantly replaced by fresh expanding ones. Sown in April in the open border, it needs no care but to be thinned out and kept free from weeds. It must, however, have some soil which does not contain fresh manure. DELPHINIUM ZALIL.--This, also, is a native of Afghanistan, but its character, whether a biennial or perennial, is not yet ascertained. The Afghans call it Zalil and the plant or root is used for dyeing purposes. Some years ago we only knew blue, white and purple larkspurs, and then California added two species with scarlet flowers. The above is of a beautiful sulphur yellow, and, all in all, it is a plant of remarkable beauty. From a rosette of much and deeply divided leaves, rises a branched flower stem to about two feet; each branch and branchlet ending in a beautiful spike of flowers each of about an inch across and the whole spike showing all its flowers open at once. It is likely to become a first rate standard plant of our gardens. To have it in flower the very first year it must be sown very early, say in January, in seed pans, and transplanted later, when it will flower from the end of May until the end of July. Moreover, it can be sown during spring and summer in the open air to flower the following year. It is quite hardy here. _Max Leichtlin._ Baden-Baden. Iris tenuis.[1] This pretty delicate species of Iris, Fig. 3, is a native of the Cascade Mountains of Northern Oregon. Its long branching rootstocks are scarcely more than a line in thickness, sending up sterile leafy shoots and slender stems about a foot high. The leaves are thin and pale green, rather taller than the stems, sword-shaped and half an inch broad or more. The leaves of the stem are bract-like and distant, the upper one or two subtending slender peduncles. The spathes are short, very thin and scarious, and enclose the bases of their rather small solitary flowers, which are "white, lightly striped and blotched with yellow and purple." The sepals and petals are oblong-spatulate, from a short tube, the sepals spreading, the shorter petals erect and notched. The peculiar habitat of this species doubtless accounts in good measure for its slender habit and mode of growth. Mr. L. F. Henderson, of Portland, Oregon, who discovered it in 1881, near a branch of the Clackamas River called Eagle Creek, about thirty miles from Portland, reports it as growing in the fir forests in broad mats, its very long rootstocks running along near the surface of the ground, just covered by moss or partly decayed fir-needles, with a light addition of soil. This also would indicate the need of special care and treatment in its cultivation. In May, 1884, Mr. Henderson took great pains to procure roots for the Botanic Garden at Cambridge, which were received in good order, but which did not survive the next winter. If taken up, however, later in the season or very early in the spring, it is probable that with due attention to soil and shade there would be little trouble in cultivating it successfully. The accompanying figure is from a drawing by Mr. C. E. Faxon. _Sereno Watson._ [Footnote 1: TENUIS. Watson, _Proc. Amer. Acad._, xvii, 380. Rootstock elongated, very slender (a line thick); leaves thin, ensiform, about equaling the stems, four to eight lines broad; stems scarcely a foot high, 2 or 3-flowered, with two or three bract-like leaves two or three inches long; lateral peduncles very slender, as long as the bracts; spathes scarious, an inch long; pedicels solitary, very short; flowers small, white marked with yellow and purple; tube two or three lines long; segments oblong-spatulate, the sepals spreading, one and one-half inches long, the petals shorter and emarginate; anthers as long as the filaments; styles with narrow entire crests; capsule oblong-ovate, obtuse, nine lines long.] Hardy Shrubs for Forcing. Shrubs for forcing should consist of early blooming kinds only. The plants should be stocky, young and healthy, well-budded and well-ripened, and in order to have first-class stock they should be grown expressly for forcing. For cut flower purposes only, we can lift large plants of Lilacs, Snowballs, Deutzias, Mock oranges and the like with all the ball of roots we can get to them and plant at once in forcing-houses. But this should not be done before New Year's. We should prepare for smaller plants some months ahead of forcing time. say in the preceding April or August, by lifting them and planting in small pots, tubs or boxes as can conveniently contain their roots, and we should encourage them to root well before winter sets in. Keep them out of doors and plunged till after the leaves drop off; then either mulch them where they are or bring them into a pit, shed or cool cellar, where there shall be no fear of their getting dry, or of having the roots fastened in by frost. Introduce them into the green-house in succession; into a cool green-house at first for a few weeks, then as they begin to start, into a warmer one. From the time they are brought into the green-house till the flowers begin to open give a sprinkling overhead twice a day with tepid water. When they have done blooming, if worth keeping over for another time, remove them to a cool house and thus gradually harden them off, then plant them out in the garden in May, and give them two years' rest. Shrubs to be forced for their cut flowers only should consist of such kinds as have flowers that look well and keep well after being cut. Among these are _Deutzia gracilis_, common Lilacs of various colors, _Staphyllea Colchica_, _Spiræa Cantonensis_ (_Reevesii_) single and double, the Guelder Rose, the Japanese Snowball and _Azalea mollis_. To these may be added some of the lovely double-flowering and Chinese apples, whose snowy or crimson-tinted buds and leafy twigs are very pretty. The several double-flowered forms of _Prunus triloba_ are also desirable, but a healthy stock is hard to get. _Andromeda floribunda_ and _A. Japonica_ set their flower buds the previous summer for the next year's flowers, and are, therefore, like the Laurestinus, easily forced into bloom after New Year's. Hardy and half-hardy Rhododendrons with very little forcing may be had in bloom from March. In addition to the above, for conservatory decoration we may introduce all manner of hardy shrubs. Double flowering peach and cherry trees are easily forced and showy while they last. Clumps of _Pyrus arbutifolia_ can easily be had in bloom in March, when their abundance of deep green leaves is an additional charm to their profusion of hawthorn-like flowers. The Chinese _Xanthoceras_ is extremely copious and showy, but of brief duration and ill-fitted for cutting. Bushes of yellow Broom and double-flowering golden Furze can easily be had after January. _Jasminum nudiflorum_ may be had in bloom from November till April, and Forsythia from January. They look well when trained up to pillars. The early-flowering Clematises may be used to capital advantage in the same way, from February onward. Although the Mahonias flower well, their foliage at blooming time is not always comely. Out-of-doors the American Red-bud makes a handsomer tree than does the Japanese one; but the latter is preferable for green-house work, as the flowers are bright and the smallest plants bloom. The Chinese Wistaria blooms as well in the green-house as it does outside; indeed, if we introduce some branches of an out-door plant into the green-house, we can have it in bloom two months ahead of the balance of the vine still left out-of-doors. Hereabout we grow Wistarias as standards, and they bloom magnificently. What a sight a big standard wistaria in the green-house in February would be! Among other shrubs may be mentioned Shadbush, African Tamarix, Daphne of sorts and Exochorda. We have also a good many barely hardy plants that may be wintered well in a cellar or cold pit, and forced into bloom in early spring. Among these are Japanese Privet, Pittosporum, Raphiolepis, Hydrangeas and the like. And for conservatory decoration we can also use with excellent advantage some of our fine-leaved shrubs, for instance our lovely Japanese Maples and variegated Box Elder. _Wm. Falconer._ Glen Cove, N. Y. [Illustration: Fig. 3.--Iris tenuis.--_See page 6._] Plant Notes. A HALF-HARDY BEGONIA.--When botanizing last September upon the Cordilleras of North Mexico some two hundred miles south of the United States Boundary, I found growing in black mould of shaded ledges--even in the thin humus of mossy rocks--at an elevation of 7,000 to 8,000 feet, a plant of striking beauty, which Mr. Sereno Watson identifies as _Begonia gracilis_, _HBK._, _var. Martiana_, _A. DC_. From a small tuberous root it sends up to a height of one to two feet a single crimson-tinted stem, which terminates in a long raceme of scarlet flowers, large for the genus and long enduring. The plant is still further embellished by clusters of Scarlet gemmæ in the axils of its leaves. Mr. Watson writes: "It was in cultivation fifty years and more ago, but has probably been long ago lost. It appears to be the most northern species of the genus, and should be the most hardy." Certainly the earth freezes and snows fall in the high region, where it is at home. NORTHERN LIMIT OF THE DAHLIA.--In the same district, and at the same elevation, I met with a purple flowered variety of _Dahlia coccinea_, _Cav._ It was growing in patches under oaks and pines in thin dry soil of summits of hills. In such exposed situations the roots must be subjected to some frost, as much certainly as under a light covering of leaves in a northern garden. The Dahlia has not before been reported, as I believe, from a latitude nearly so high. _C. G. Pringle._ CEANOTHUS is a North American genus, represented in the Eastern States by New Jersey Tea, and Red Root (_C. Americanus_ and _C. ovalus_), and in the West and South-west by some thirty additional species. Several of these Pacific Coast species are quite handsome and well worthy of cultivation where they will thrive. Some of the more interesting of them are figured in different volumes of the _Botanical Magazine_, from plants grown at Kew, and I believe that the genus is held in considerable repute by French gardeners. In a collection of plants made in Southern Oregon, last spring, by Mr. Thomas Howell, several specimens of _Ceanothus_ occur which are pretty clearly hybrids between _C. cuneatus_ and _C. prostratus_, two common species of the region. Some have the spreading habit of the latter, their flowers are of the bright blue color characteristic of that species, and borne on slender blue pedicels, in an umbel-like cluster. But while many of their leaves have the abrupt three-toothed apex of _C. prostratus_, all gradations can be found from this form to the spatulate, toothless leaves of _C. cuneatus_. Other specimens have the more rigid habit of the latter species, and their flowers are white or nearly so, on shorter pale pedicels, in usually smaller and denser clusters. On these plants the leaves are commonly those of _C. cuneatus_, but they pass into the truncated and toothed form proper to _C. prostratus_. According to Focke (_Pflanzenmischlinge_, 1881, p. 99), the French cross one or more of the blue-flowered Pacific Coast species on the hardier New Jersey Tea, a practice that may perhaps be worthy of trial by American gardeners. Have any of the readers of GARDEN AND FOREST ever met with spontaneous hybrids? _W. Trelease._ WIRE NETTING FOR TREE GUARDS.--On some of the street trees of Washington heavy galvanized wire netting is used to protect the bark from injury by horses. It is the same material that is used for enclosing poultry yards. It comes in strips five or six feet wide, and may be cut to any length required by the size of the tree. The edges are held in place by bending together the cut ends of the wires, and the whole is sustained by staples over the heavy wires at the top and bottom. This guard appears to be an effective protection and is less unsightly than any other of which I know, in fact it can hardly be distinguished at the distance of a few rods. It is certainly an improvement on the plan of white-washing the trunks, which has been extensively practiced here since the old guards were removed. _A. A. Crozier._ Artificial Water. One of the most difficult parts of a landscape gardener's work is the treatment of what our grandfathers called "pieces of water" in scenes where a purely natural effect is desired. The task is especially hard when the stream, pond or lake has been artificially formed; for then Nature's processes must be simulated not only in the planting but in the shaping of the shores. Our illustration partially reveals a successful effort of this sort--a pond on a country-seat near Boston. It was formed by excavating a piece of swamp and damming a small stream which flowed through it. In the distance towards the right the land lies low by the water and gradually rises as it recedes. Opposite us it forms little wooded promontories with grassy stretches between. Where we stand it is higher, and beyond the limits of the picture to the left it forms a high, steep bank rising to the lawn, on the further side of which stands the house. The base of these elevated banks and the promontories opposite are planted with thick masses of rhododendrons, which flourish superbly in the moist, peaty soil, protected, as they are, from drying winds by the trees and high ground. Near the low meadow a long stretch of shore is occupied by thickets of hardy azaleas. Beautiful at all seasons, the pond is most beautiful in June, when the rhododendrons are ablaze with crimson and purple and white, and when the yellow of the azalea-beds--discreetly separated from the rhododendrons by a great clump of low-growing willows--finds delicate continuation in the buttercups which fringe the daisied meadow. The lifted banks then afford particularly fortunate points of view; for as we look down upon the rhododendrons, we see the opposite shore and the water with its rich reflected colors as over the edge of a splendid frame. No accent of artificiality disturbs the eye despite the unwonted profusion of bloom and variety of color. All the plants are suited to their place and in harmony with each other; and all the contours of the shore are gently modulated and softly connected with the water by luxuriant growths of water plants. The witness of the eye alone would persuade us that Nature unassisted had achieved the whole result. But beauty of so suave and perfect a sort as this is never a natural product. Nature's beauty is wilder if only because it includes traces of mutation and decay which here are carefully effaced. Nature suggests the ideal beauty, and the artist realizes it by faithfully working out her suggestions. [Illustration: A Piece of Artificial Water.] Some New Roses. The following list comprises most of the newer Roses that have been on trial to any extent in and about Philadelphia during the present winter: PURITAN (H. T.) is one of Mr. Henry Bennett's seedlings, and perhaps excites more interest than any other. It is a cross between Mabel Morrison and Devoniensis, creamy white in color and a perpetual bloomer. Its flowers have not opened satisfactorily this winter. The general opinion seems to be that it requires more heat than is needed for other forcing varieties. Further trial will be required to establish its merit. METEOR (H. T., BENNETT.)--Some cultivators will not agree with me in classing this among hybrid Teas. In its manner of growth it resembles some Tea Roses, but its coloring and scanty production of buds in winter are indications that there is Hybrid Remontant blood in it. It retains its crimson color after being cut longer than any Rose we have, and rarely shows a tendency to become purple with age, as other varieties of this color are apt to do. For summer blooming under glass it will prove satisfactory. In winter its coloring is a rich velvety crimson, but as the sun gets stronger it assumes a more lively shade. MRS. JOHN LAING (H. R., BENNETT,) is a seedling from Francois Michelon, which it somewhat resembles in habit of growth and color of flower. It is a free bloomer out-of-doors in summer and forces readily in winter. Blooms of it have been offered for sale in the stores here since the first week in December. It is a soft shade of pink in color, with a delicate lilac tint. It promises to become a general favorite, as in addition to the qualities referred to, it is a free autumnal bloomer outside. For forcing it will be tried extensively next winter. PRINCESS BEATRICE (T., BENNETT,) was distributed for the first time in this country last autumn, but has so far been a disappointment in this city. But some lots arrived from Europe too late and misfortunes befell others, so that the trial can hardly be counted decisive, and we should not hastily condemn it. Some have admired it for its resemblance, in form of flower, to a Madame Cuisin, but its color is not just what we need. In shade it somewhat resembles Sunset, but is not so effective. It may, however, improve under cultivation, as some other Roses have done; so far as I know it has not been tried out-of-doors. PAPA GONTIER (H. B., NABONNAUD.)--This, though not properly a new rose, is on trial for the first time in this city. It has become a great favorite with growers, retailers and purchasers. In habit it is robust and free blooming, and in coloring, though similar to Bon Silene, is much deeper or darker. There seems to be a doubt in some quarters as to whether it blooms as freely as Bon Silene; personally, I think there is not much difference between the two. Gontier is a good Rose for outdoor planting. _Edwin Lonsdale._ Two Ferns and their Treatment. ADIANTUM FARLEYENSE.--This beautiful Maidenhair is supposed to be a subfertile, plumose form of _A. tenerum_, which much resembles it, especially in a young state. For decorative purposes it is almost unrivaled, whether used in pots or for trimming baskets of flowers or bouquets. It prefers a warm, moist house and delights in abundant water. We find it does best when potted firmly in a compost of two parts loam to one of peat, and with a good sprinkling of sifted coal ashes. In this compost it grows very strong, the fronds attaining a deeper green and lasting longer than when grown in peat. When the pots are filled with roots give weak liquid manure occasionally. This fern is propagated by dividing the roots and potting in small pots, which should be placed in the warmest house, where they soon make fine plants. Where it is grown expressly for cut fronds the best plan is to plant it out on a bench in about six inches of soil, taking care to give it plenty of water and heat, and it will grow like a weed. ACTINIOPTERIS RADIATA.--A charming little fern standing in a genus by itself. In form it resembles a miniature fan palm, growing about six inches in height. It is generally distributed throughout the East Indies. In cultivation it is generally looked upon as poor grower, but with us it grows as freely as any fern we have. We grow a lot to mix in with Orchids, as they do not crowd at all. We pot in a compost of equal parts loam and peat with a few ashes to keep it open, and grow in the warmest house, giving at all times abundance of water both at root and overhead. It grows very freely from spores, and will make good specimens in less than a year. It is an excellent Fern for small baskets. _F. Goldring._ Timely Hints About Bulbs. Spring flowering bulbs in-doors, such as the Dutch Hyacinths, Tulips and the many varieties of Narcissus, should now be coming rapidly into bloom. Some care is required to get well developed specimens. When first brought in from cold frames or wherever they have been stored to make roots, do not expose them either to direct sunlight or excessive heat. A temperature of not more than fifty-five degrees at night is warm enough for the first ten days, and afterwards, if they show signs of vigorous growth and are required for any particular occasion, they may be kept ten degrees warmer. It is more important that they be not exposed to too much light than to too much heat. Half the short stemmed Tulips, dumpy Hyacinths and blind Narcissus we see in the green-houses and windows of amateurs are the result of excessive light when first brought into warm quarters. Where it is not possible to shade bulbs without interfering with other plants a simple and effective plan is to make funnels of paper large enough to stand inside each pot and six inches high. These may be left on the pots night and day from the time the plants are brought in until the flower spike has grown above the foliage; indeed, some of the very finest Hyacinths cannot be had in perfection without some such treatment. Bulbous plants should never suffer for water when growing rapidly, yet on the other hand, they are easily ruined if allowed to become sodden. When in flower a rather dry and cool temperature will preserve them the longest. Of bulbs which flower in the summer and fall, Gloxinias and tuberous rooted Begonias are great favorites and easily managed. For early summer a few of each should be started at once--using sandy, friable soil. Six-inch pots, well drained, are large enough for the very largest bulbs, while for smaller even three-inch pots will answer. In a green-house there is no difficulty in finding just the place to start them. It must be snug, rather shady and not too warm. They can be well cared for, however, in a hot-bed or even a window, but some experience is necessary to make a success. Lilies, in pots, whether _L. candidum_ or _L. longiflorum_ that are desired to be in flower by Easter, should now receive every attention--their condition should be that the flower buds can be easily felt in the leaf heads. A temperature of fifty-five to sixty-five at night should be maintained, giving abundance of air on bright sunny days to keep them stocky. Green fly is very troublesome at this stage, and nothing is more certain to destroy this pest than to dip the plants in tobacco water which, to be effective, should be the color of strong tea. Occasional waterings of weak liquid manure will be of considerable help if the pots are full of roots. _J. Thorpe._ Entomology. Arsenical Poisons in the Orchard. As is well known, about fifty per cent. of the possible apple crop in the Western states is sacrificed each year to the codling moth, except in sections where orchardists combine to apply bands of straw around the trunks. But as is equally well known this is rather a troublesome remedy. At all events, in Illinois, Professor Forbes, in a bulletin lately issued from the office of the State Entomologist of Illinois, claims that the farmers of that state suffer an annual loss from the attacks of this single kind of insect of some two and three-quarters millions of dollars. As the results of two years' experiments in spraying the trees with a solution of Paris green, only once or twice in early spring, before the young apples had drooped upon their stems, there was a saving of about seventy-five per cent. of the apples. The Paris green mixture consisted of three-fourths of an ounce of the powder by weight, of a strength to contain 15.4 per cent. of metallic arsenic, simply stirred up in two and a half gallons of water. The tree was thoroughly sprayed with a hand force-pump, and with the deflector spray and solid jet-hose nozzle, manufactured in Lowell, Mass. The fluid was thrown in a fine mist-like spray, applied until the leaves began to drip. The trees were sprayed in May and early in June while the apples were still very small. It seems to be of little use to employ this remedy later in the season, when later broods of the moth appear, since the poison takes effect only in case it reaches the surface of the apple between the lobes of the calyx, and it can only reach this place when the apple is very small and stands upright on its stem, It should be added that spraying "after the apples have begun to hang downward is unquestionably dangerous," since even heavy winds and violent rains are not sufficient to remove the poison from the fruit at this season. At the New York Experimental station last year a certain number of trees were sprayed three times with Paris green with the result that sixty-nine per cent. of the apples were saved. It also seems that last year about half the damage that might have been done by the Plum weevil or curculio was prevented by the use of Paris green, which should be sprayed on the trees both early in the season, while the fruit is small, as well as later. The cost of this Paris green application, when made on a large scale, with suitable apparatus, only once or twice a year, must, says Mr. Forbes, fall below an average of ten cents a tree. The use of solutions of Paris green or of London purple in water, applied by spraying machines such as were invented and described in the reports of the national Department of Agriculture by the U. S. Entomologist and his assistants, have effected a revolution in remedies against orchard and forest insects. We expect to see them, in careful hands, tried with equal success in shrubberies, lawns and flower gardens. _A. S. Packard._ The Forest. The White Pine in Europe. The White Pine was among the very first American trees which came to Europe, being planted in the year 1705 by Lord Weymouth on his grounds in Chelsea. From that date, the tree has been cultivated in Europe under the name of Weymouth Pine; in some mountain districts of northern Bavaria, where it has become a real forest tree, it is called Strobe, after the Latin name _Pinus strobus_. After general cultivation as an ornamental tree in parks this Pine began to be used in the forests on account of its hardiness and rapid growth, and it is now not only scattered through most of the forests of Europe, but covers in Germany alone an area of some 300 acres in a dense, pure forest. Some of these are groves 120 years old, and they yield a large proportion of the seed demanded by the increasing cultivation of the tree in Europe. The White Pine has proved so valuable as a forest tree that it has partly overcome the prejudices which every foreign tree has to fight against. The tree is perfectly hardy, is not injured by long and severe freezing in winter, nor by untimely frosts in spring or autumn, which sometimes do great harm to native trees in Europe. On account of the softness of the leaves and the bark, it is much damaged by the nibbling of deer, but it heals quickly and throws up a new leader. The young plant can endure being partly shaded by other trees far better than any other Pine tree, and even seems to enjoy being closely surrounded, a quality that makes it valuable for filling up in young forests where the native trees, on account of their slow growth, could not be brought up at all. The White Pine is not so easily broken by heavy snowfall as the Scotch Pine, on account of the greater elasticity of its wood. The great abundance of soft needles falling from it every year better fits it for improving a worn-out soil than any European Pine, therefore the tree has been tried with success as a nurse for the ground in forest plantations of Oak, when the latter begin to be thinned out by nature, and grass is growing underneath them. And finally, all observations agree that the White Pine is a faster growing tree than any native Conifer in Europe, except, perhaps, the Larch. The exact facts about that point, taken from investigations on good soil in various parts of Germany, are as follows: Years. Height. Annual Growth During Last Decade. The White Pine at 20 reaches 7.5 meters. 37 centimeters " 30 " 12.5 " 50 " " 40 " 18.5 " 60 " " 50 " 22.5 " 40 " " 60 " 26.5 " 40 " " 70 " 28.5 " 20 " " 80 " 30.0 " 15 " " 90 " 32.0 " 20 " For comparison I add here the average growth on good soil, of the Scotch Pine, one of the most valuable and widely distributed timber trees of Europe. Years. Height. Annual Growth During Last Decade. The Scotch Pine at 20 reaches 7.3 meters. 36.5 centimeters " 30 " 11.6 " 43.0 " " 40 " 15.7 " 41.0 " " 50 " 19.4 " 37.0 " " 60 " 22.1 " 27.0 " " 70 " 24.0 " 22.0 " " 80 " 26.0 " 17.0 " " 90 " 27.5 " 15.0 " " 100 " 28.5 " 10.0 " " 120 " 30.0 " 7.5 " That is, the White Pine is ahead of its relative during its entire life and attains at 80 years a height which the Scotch Pine only reaches in 120 years. It appears then that the whole volume of wood formed within a certain period by an acre of White Pine forest is greater than that yielded by a forest of Scotch Pine within the same period. As far as reliable researches show, a forest of White Pine when seventy years old gives an annual increment of 3 cords of wood per acre. On the same area a forest of Scotch Pine increases every year by 2.4 cords on the best soil, 2 cords on medium soil, and 1.5 cords on poor soil. But notwithstanding the splendid qualities which distinguish the White Pine as a forest tree its wood has never been looked upon with favor in Europe. Many of those who are cultivating the White Pine for business seem to expect that they will raise a heavy and durable wood. These are the qualities prized in their own timber trees, and they seem to think that the White Pine must be so highly prized at home for the same qualities, when in fact it is the lightness and softness of the wood which are considered in America. It would seem also that some European planters believe that a Pine tree exists which will yield more and at the same time heavier wood than any other tree on the same area. It is a general rule that the amount of woody substance annually formed on the same soil does not vary in any great degree with the different kinds of trees. For instance, if we have good soil we may raise 2,200 lbs. per acre of woody substance every year, from almost any kind of timber tree. If we plant a tree forming a wood of low specific gravity, we get a large volume of wood, and this is the case with the White Pine. If we plant on the same ground an Oak tree, we will get small volume of wood, but the weight of the woody substance will be the same, that is, 2,200 pounds of absolutely dried wood per acre. It is remarkable that there is hardly any difference in the specific gravity of the wood of the White Pine grown in Europe and in its native country. I collected in Central Wisconsin wood-sections of a tall tree and compared the specific gravity with the wood of a full-grown tree of White Pine from a Bavarian forest. The average specific gravity of the Bavarian tree was 38.3. The average specific gravity of the American tree was 38.9. In both trees the specific gravity slightly increased from the base to the top. Professor Sargent gives 38 as the result of his numerous and careful investigations. I was much surprised that the thickness of the sap-wood varied much in favor of the Bavarian tree. The sap-wood measured in thickness: Of the Bavarian tree. Of the American tree. At the base 2.7 centimeters 9 centimeters. In the middle .4 " 6 " Within the crown .3 " 4 " I am inclined to believe that on account of the generally drier climate of America a greater amount of water, and, therefore, of water-conducting sap-wood, is necessary to keep the balance between the evaporation and transportation of the water. The wood of the White Pine is certainly better fitted for many purposes than any tree with which nature has provided Europe, and yet one can hardly expect it to easily overcome fixed habits and prejudices. It will devolve upon the more intelligent proprietors of wood-land in Europe to begin with the plantation of the White Pine on a large scale. No Conifer in Europe can be cultivated with so little care and risk as the White Pine; the frost does not injure the young plant, and the numerous insects invading the European trees during their whole life-time inflict but little harm. Subterranean parasites are thinning out the plantations to some extent, but in no dangerous way. _H. Mayr._ Tokio, Japan. ABIES AMABILIS.--Professor John Macoun detected this species during the past summer upon many of the mountains of Vancouver's Island where with _Tsuga Pattoniana_ it is common above 3,000 feet over the sea level. The northern distribution of this species as well as some other British Columbia trees is still a matter of conjecture. It has not been noticed north of the Fraser River, but it is not improbable that _Abies amabilis_ will be found to extend far to the north along some of the mountain ranges of the north-west coast. European Larch in Massachusetts. In 1876 the Trustees of the Massachusetts Society for the Promotion of Agriculture offered a premium for the best plantations of not less than five acres of European Larch. The conditions of the competition were that not less than 2,700 trees should be planted to the acre, and that only poor, worn-out land, or that unfit for agricultural purposes, be used in these plantations. The prize was to be awarded at the end of ten years. The committee appointed to award the prize were C. S. Sargent and John Lowell. The ten years having expired, this Committee lately made the following report: Mr. James Lawrence, of Groton, and Mr. J. D. W. French, of North Andover, made plantations during the spring of 1877 in competition for this prize. Mr. Lawrence, however, at the end of one year withdrew from the contest, and Mr. French is the only competitor. Your Committee have visited his plantation at different times during the past ten years, and have now made their final inspection. The plantation occupies a steep slope facing the South and covered with a thin coating of gravelly loam largely mixed towards the bottom of the hill with light sand. This field in 1877 was a fair sample of much of the hillside pasture land of the eastern part of the State. It had been early cleared, no doubt, of trees, and the light surface soil practically exhausted by cultivation. It was then used as a pasture, producing nothing but the scantiest growth of native Grasses and Sedges with a few stunted Pitch Pines. Land of this character has no value for tillage, and has practically little value for pasturage. Upon five acres of this land Mr. French planted fifteen thousand European Larch. The trees were one foot high, and were set in the sod four feet apart each way, except along the boundary of the field, where the plantation was made somewhat thicker. The cost of the plantation, as furnished by Mr. French, has been as follows: 15,000 Larch (imported), $108 50 Fencing, 20 81 Surveying, 6 00 Labor, 104 69 ------- Total, $240 00 This, with compound interest at five per cent. for ten years, makes the entire cost to date of the plantation of five acres, $390.90. The Trees for several years grew slowly and not very satisfactorily. Several lost their leaders, and in various parts of the plantation small blocks failed entirely. The trees, however, have greatly improved during the last four years, and the entire surface of the ground is now, with one or two insignificant exceptions, sufficiently covered. There appear to be from 10,000 to 12,000 larch trees now growing on the five acres. The largest tree measured is 25 feet high, with a trunk 26 inches in circumference at the ground, There are several specimens of this size at least, and it is believed that all the trees, including many which have not yet commenced to grow rapidly or which have been overcrowded and stunted by their more vigorous neighbors, will average 12 feet in height, with trunks 10 to 12 inches in circumference at the ground. Many individuals have increased over four feet in height during the present year. It is interesting to note as an indication of what Massachusetts soil of poor quality is capable of producing, that various native trees have appeared spontaneously in the plantation since animals were excluded from this field. Among these are White Pines 6 to 8 feet high, Pitch Pines 14 feet high, a White Oak 15 feet high and a Gray Birch 17 feet high. The Trustees offered this prize in the belief that it would cause a plantation to be made capable of demonstrating that unproductive lands in this State could be cheaply covered with trees, and the result of Mr. French's experiment seems to be conclusive in this respect. It has shown that the European Larch can be grown rapidly and cheaply in this climate upon very poor soil, but it seems to us to have failed to show that this tree has advantages for general economic planting in this State which are not possessed in an equal degree by some of our native trees. Land which will produce a crop of Larch will produce in the same time at least a crop of white pine. There can be no comparison in the value of these two trees in Massachusetts. The White Pine is more easily transplanted than the Larch, it grows with equal and perhaps greater rapidity, and it produces material for which there is an assured and increasing demand. The White Pine, moreover, has so far escaped serious attacks of insects and dangerous fungoid diseases which now threaten to exterminate in different parts of Europe extensive plantations of Larch. Your Committee find that Mr. French has complied with all the requirements of the competition: they recommend that the premium of one thousand dollars be paid to him. Answers to Correspondents. When the woods are cut clean in Southern New Hampshire White Pine comes in very, very thickly. Is it best to thin out the growth or allow the trees to crowd and shade the feebler ones slowly to death? J. D. L. It is better to thin such over-crowded seedlings early, if serviceable timber is wanted in the shortest time. The statement that close growth is needed to produce long, clean timber, needs some limitation. No plant can develop satisfactorily without sufficient light, air and feeding room. When trees are too thickly crowded the vigor of every one is impaired, and the process of establishing supremacy of individuals is prolonged, to the detriment even of those which are ultimately victorious. The length is drawn out disproportionately to the diameter, and all the trees remain weak. Experience has proved that plantations where space is given for proper growth in their earlier years, yield more and better wood than do Nature's dense sowings. Two records are added in confirmation of this statement, and many others could be given: 1. A pine plantation of twelve acres was made, one half by sowing, the other half by planting at proper distances. In twenty-four years the first section had yielded, including the material obtained in thinnings, 1,998 cubic feet, and the latter, 3,495 cubic feet of wood. The thinnings had been made, when appearing necessary, at ten, fifteen and eighteen years in the planted section, yielding altogether ten and three-quarter cords of round firewood and seven cords of brush; and at eight, ten and twenty years in the sowed section, with a yield of only three and one-fifth cords of round firewood at the last thinning and seven and four-fifths cords of brush wood. 2. A spruce growth seeded after thirty-three years was still so dense as to be impenetrable, with scarcely any increase, and the trees were covered with lichens. It was then thinned out when thirty-five, and again when forty-two years old. The appearance greatly improved, and the accretion in seven years after thinning showed 160 per cent. increase, or more than 26 per cent. every year. The density of growth which will give the best results in all directions depends upon the kind of timber and soil conditions. --_B. E. Fernow._ Washington, D. C. Book Reviews. Gray's Elements of Botany. Fifty-one years ago, Asa Gray, then only twenty-six years of age, published a treatise on botany adapted to the use of schools and colleges. It was entitled "The Elements of Botany." Its method of arrangement was so admirably adapted to its purpose, and the treatment of all the subjects so mature and thorough, that the work served as a model for a large work which soon followed,--the well-known Botanical Text-book, and the same general plan has been followed in all the editions of the latter treatise. About twenty-five years after the appearance of the Elements, Dr. Gray prepared a more elementary work for the use of schools, since the Text-book had become rather too advanced and exhaustive for convenient use. This work was the "Lessons in Botany," a book which has been a great aid throughout the country, in introducing students to a knowledge of the principles of the science. Without referring to other educational works prepared by Dr. Gray, such as "How Plants Grow," etc., it suffices now to say that for two or three years, he had been convinced that there was need of a hand-book, different in essential particulars from any of its predecessors. When we remember that all of these had been very successful from an educational point of view, as well as from the more exacting one of the publishers, we can understand how strong must have been the motive which impelled the venerable but still active botanist to give a portion of his fast-flying time to the preparation of another elementary work. In answer to remonstrances from those who believed that the remnant of his days should be wholly given to the completion of the "Synoptical Flora," he was wont to say pleasantly, "Oh, I give only my _evenings_ to the 'Elements.'" And, so, after a day's work, in which he had utilized every available moment of sunlight, he would turn with the fresh alertness which has ever characterized every motion and every thought, to the preparation of what he called fondly, his "legacy" to young botanists. That precious legacy we have now before us. In form it is much like the Lessons, but more compact and yet much more comprehensive. Its conciseness of expression is a study in itself. To give it the highest praise, it may be said to be French in its clearness and terseness. Not a word is wasted: hence, the author has been able to touch lightly and still with firmness every important line in this sketch of the principles of botany. This work, in the words of its author, "is intended to ground beginners in Structural Botany and the principles of vegetable life, mainly as concerns Flowering or Phanerogamous plants, with which botanical instruction should always begin; also to be a companion and interpreter to the Manuals and Floras by which the student threads his flowery way to a clear knowledge of the surrounding vegetable creation. Such a book, like a grammar, must needs abound in technical words, which thus arrayed may seem formidable; nevertheless, if rightly apprehended, this treatise should teach that the study of botany is not the learning of names and terms, but the acquisition of knowledge and ideas. No effort should be made to commit technical terms to memory. Any term used in describing a plant or explaining its structure can be looked up when it is wanted, and that should suffice. On the other hand, plans of structure, types, adaptations, and modifications, once understood, are not readily forgotten; and they give meaning and interest to the technical terms used in explaining them." The specific directions given for collecting plants, for preparing herbarium specimens, and for investigating the structure of plants make this treatise of great use to those who are obliged to study without a teacher. The very extensive glossary makes the work of value not only to this class of students, but to those, as well, whose pursuits are directed in our schools. The work fills, in short, the very place which Dr. Gray designed it should. _G. L. Goodale._ _The Kansas Forest Trees Identified by Leaves and Fruit_, by W. A. Kellerman, Ph.D., and Mrs. W. A. Kellerman (Manhattan, Kansas). This octavo pamphlet of only a dozen pages contains a convenient artificial key for the rapid determination of seventy-five species of trees. By the use of obvious characters the authors have made the work of identification comparatively easy in nearly every instance, and even in the few doubtful cases, the student will not be allowed to go far astray. The little hand-book ought to be found of use even beyond the limits of the State for which it was designed. _G. L. Goodale._ Public Works. THE FALLS OF MINNEHAHA.--A tract of fifty acres, beautifully located on the Mississippi, opposite the mouth of the Minnehaha, has been acquired by the City of St. Paul, and land will most probably be secured for a drive of several miles along the river. The bank here is more than 100 feet high, often precipitous, clothed with a rich growth of primeval forest, shrubbery and vines. It is hoped that Minneapolis may secure the land immediately opposite, including the Falls of Minnehaha and the valley of the stream to the great river. In this event a great park could be made between the two cities, easily reached from the best part of both, with the Mississippi flowing through it and the Falls as one of its features. This, in connection with the park so beautifully situated on Lake Como, three miles from St. Paul, and the neat parks of Minneapolis and its superbly kept system of lake shore drives, would soon be an object worthy of the civic pride of these enterprising and friendly rivals. A PARK FOR WILMINGTON, DEL.--After many delays and defeats the people of this city have secured a tract of more than 100 acres, mostly of fine rocky woodland, with the classic Brandywine flowing through it, and all within the city limits, together with two smaller tracts, one a high wooded slope, the other lying on tide water, and both convenient to those parts of the city inhabited by workingmen and their families. A topographical survey of these park lands is now in progress as preparation for a general plan of improvement. Of the "Brandywine Glen" Mr. Frederick Law Olmsted once wrote: "It is a passage of natural scenery which, to a larger city, would be of rare value--so rare and desirable that in a number of cities several million dollars have been willingly spent to obtain results of which the best that can said is, that they somewhat distantly approach, in character and expression, such scenery as the people of Wilmington have provided for them without expense." Flower Market. Retail Prices in the Flower Market. NEW YORK, _February 23d._ There is a glut of flowers, particularly of tea roses of an indifferent quality. Bon Silene buds cost from 75 cts. to $1 a dozen, Perle des Jardins, Niphetos, Souvenir d'un Ami, and Papa Gontiers bring $1.50 a dozen. C. Mermets are very fine and from 30 to 35 cts. each. Not more than one in three La France roses is perfect; they bring from 25 cts. to 50 cts. each. Mde. Cuisin and Duke of Connaught are 25 cts. each, Bennets 20 cts. each and Brides 25 cts. each. American Beauties are $1 to $1.50 each, according to the location where they are sold. Puritans cost 75 cts. each, and Jacqueminots 50 cts. Magna Chartas are the most popular of the hybrid roses at present. They, Anna de Diesbach and Mad. Gabriel Luizet bring from $1 to $1.50 each. Mignonette is very plentiful, well grown and of the spiral variety; it brings 75 cts. a dozen spikes retail, very large spikes bring as high as 15 cts. each. Hyacinths, Lilies-of-the-Valley and Tulips bring $1 a dozen. Lilacs cost 25 cts. for a spray of one or two tassels. Violets are abundant, mostly of the Marie Louise variety, and bring $2 a hundred. Fancy long stem red Carnations cost 75 cts. a dozen; short stem Carnations are 50 cts. a dozen; the dyed Carnations, named "Emerald," are in brisk demand and sell for 15 cts. each. Daffodils are $1 a dozen; those dyed bring 20 cts. each. Finely grown Forget-me-not brought in small quantity to retail dealers sells for 10 cts. a spray. Calla Lilies bring $2 and $3 a dozen, and Longiflorum Lilies $4 a dozen. PHILADELPHIA, _February 23d._ Heavy demands for flowers dropped off short on Ash Wednesday, and decreased each day until Saturday, when the regular orders for loose flowers caused the trade to pick up again. The demand for Orchids is steadily growing; a fair quantity is used at balls and parties, but nothing in comparison to Roses, Violets and Lily-of-the-Valley. Violets have been in greater demand, so far, than for several years. Large quantities of Tulips have been used recently for table decorations, especially the pink varieties, the favorite color for dinners and lunches. The American Beauty Rose, when cut with long stems, and really first class in every other respect, has been in great demand, at the best prices. Md. Gabrielle Luizet is scarce, the local growers not having commenced to cut in quantity; it is frequently asked for. Carnation plateaus in solid colors have been used freely. Lilacs are considered choice and have been in good demand. Retail prices rule as follows: Orchids, from 25 cts. to $1 each; La France, Mermet, Bride and Bennet Roses, $3 per dozen; Jacques, $4 to $5; American Beauty, $4 to $9; Puritan, $4; Anna de Diesbach, $5 to $7.50; Papa Gontier, Sunset, Perle des Jardins and Mad. Cuisin, $1.50; Bon Silene, $1.00; Niphetos, $1 to $1.50. Lily-of-the-Valley, and Roman Hyacinths, bring $1 per dozen; Mignonette, 50 cts., and Freesia the same per dozen; Heliotrope, Pansies, Carnations, and Forget-me-nots, 35 cts. per dozen. Violets bring from $1 to $1.50 per hundred; Lilium Harrisii, $3.00 per dozen; Callas $2 per dozen, and Lilacs $2 per bunch of about eight sprays. Daffodils sell briskly at from $1 to $1.50 per dozen. BOSTON, _February 23d._ The season of Lent is always looked forward to by the florists with anxiety, for the rest from receptions, assemblies and balls cuts off one of the chief outlets for the choicest flowers: a few warm days are sufficient to overstock the market, and prices take a fall. Buyers are learning, however, that at no period of the year can cut flowers be had in such perfection and variety as during February and March, and although not much required for party occasions they are bought for other purposes in increasing quantities every year, so that the advent of Lent does not now produce utter stagnation in the flower trade. In Roses there is at present a large assortment offered. From the modest Bon Silene, and its new competitor, Papa Gontier, up to the magnificent American Beauty and Hybrid Perpetuals, may be found every gradation of color, size and fragrance. Retail prices vary from 75 cts. per dozen for Bon Silenes and $1.50 to $2 for Perles, Niphetos, etc., up to $3 and $4 for the best Mermets, Niels and La France; Hybrids and Jacques of best quality bring from $6 to $9 per dozen. In bulbous flowers a large variety is shown. Lily-of-the-Valley sells for $1.50 per dozen sprays; Narcissus of various kinds, Hyacinths and Tulips for $1 per dozen; Violets, 50 cts. per bunch; Pansies, Mignonette, Heliotrope, Forget-me-not and Calendulas, 50 cts. per doz. Long stemmed Carnations are to be had in great variety at 75 cts. per dozen; Callas 25 cts. each, and Smilax 50 cts. a string. At this season Smilax is at its best, being its time of flowering, and the flowers are deliciously fragrant. Publishers' Note. A photogravure of Mr. A. St. Gaudens's bronze medallion of the late Professor Asa Gray will be published as a supplement to the second number of GARDEN AND FOREST. [Illustration: Advertisement - RARE WATER LILIES] [Illustration: Advertisement - TREES Fruit and Ornamental. ROSES] [Illustration: Advertisement - Sibley's Tested Seed] [Illustration: Advertisement - BARR'S PROVEN SEEDS] [Illustration: Advertisement - SEEDS ROSES PLANTS] [Illustration: Advertisement - BEAUTIFUL TREES For lawn and cemetery planting. These can now be furnished in great variety, from our extensive collection, at reduced prices. We have now on hand a large supply of the following rare BEECHES, all of which have been recently transplanted, and are in consequence abundantly furnished with fine roots:-- PURPLE-LEAVED BEECH. From 6 to 10 feet high; elegant specimens. All were grafted from the beautiful "Rivers' variety," so justly celebrated for the intense blood-red color of its foliage. WEEPING BEECH. From 6 to 10 feet high, suitable for immediate effect, and well supplied with decidedly pendulous branches. CRESTED and FERN-LEAVED BEECHES. We offer a superb stock of these, averaging in height from 5 or 6 to 10 feet, all well rooted and nicely furnished. In EVERGREENS We have now in stock a large supply of AMERICAN, SIBERIAN and GOLDEN ARBOR VITÆS, BALSAM FIRS, HEMLOCKS and NORWAY SPRUCE; good, young, healthy plants, especially desirable for screens and hedges. In SHRUBBERY Our assortment is very complete, embracing many rare and elegant species. Our immense stock of some kinds enables us to accept orders at very low rates. HOOPES, BRO. & THOMAS, Maple Avenue Nurseries, WEST CHESTER, PA.] [Illustration: Advertisement - DREER'S GARDEN CALENDAR] [Illustration: Advertisement - H. W. S. Cleveland, Landscape Gardener] [Illustration: Advertisement - CHARLES ELIOTT, Landscape Gardener] [Illustration: Advertisement - BAKER'S BREAKFAST COCOA] [Illustration: J. LAING & SONS, The Nurseries, FOREST HILL, LONDON ENGLAND. LEADING SPECIALTIES.] TUBEROUS BEGONIAS. AWARDED FOUR GOLD MEDALS. Gold Medal Collection, quite unrivaled. _Tubers in a dry state_ can be safely transmitted from England until April. PRICES WHEN SELECTION IS LEFT TO US: _Per Doz._ A Collection, Named, our best collection 42s. B " " very choice selection 36s. C " " choice selection 30s. D " " very good selection 24s. E " " good selection 18s. F " " ordinary selection 12s. G " Unnamed best selections to color 21s. H " " very choice selection 18s. J " " best whites, distinct 15s. K " " choice selection 12s. L " " very good, selected to color for bedding 9s. M " " good best do. per 100, 40s., 6s. DOUBLE VARIETIES. PRICES (OUR SELECTION): P Collection, Named, our best collection, each 7s. 6d. and 13s. 6d. _Per Doz._ R " " very choice ditto 63s. S " " choice ditto 48s. T " " very good ditto 42s. W " Unnamed our very choice, selected, distinct 30s. X " " choice, selected in 6 colors 24s. Z " " mixed ditto 18s. BEGONIA SEED. Gold Medal strain from Prize Plants. New Crop. Sealed packets. Choice mixed, from single varieties. 1s. and 2s. 6d. per packet; 5s. and 10s. extra large packets; double varieties, 1s., 2s. 6d. and 5s. per packet; large packets, 10s. Collections--12 named varieties, single, separate, 5s. 6d.; 6 named varieties, separate, 3s. CALADIUM ROOTS. The Finest Collection in the world. Best named varieties, per doz., 30s., 36s., 42s., 48s. and 60s. GLOXINIA ROOTS. In dormant state till March. Our unequalled collection. Self colors, and spotted. Best sorts to name, 12s., 18s., 24s., 30s., 36s. and 42s. per doz. Unnamed, very choice, 6s., 9s. and 12s. per doz. GLOXINIA SEED. Saved from our Prize Plants; erect flowering, drooping, mixed and spotted, separate, per packet, 1s., 2s. 6d. and 5s. OTHER FLOWER SEEDS. The choicest strains of Primula, Cineraria, Calceolaria, Cyclamen, Hollyhock, Dahlia, Pansies, Asters, Stocks, and every other sort. All kinds of Plants, Roses, Fruit Trees, etc., that can be imported from England, safely transmitted in Wardian cases. --> Remittances or London References must always accompany orders. Flower Seeds by post. Orders should reach us soon as possible. --> CATALOGUES GRATIS AND POST FREE. <-- SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE FOR MARCH CONTAINS BLÜCHER UNHORSED AT LIGNY. Drawn by R. F. Zogbaum. Engraved by Peckwell. THE CAMPAIGN OF WATERLOO. By JOHN C. ROPES. With illustrations by R. F. Zogbaum, and drawings made by W. T. Smedley, especially commissioned by this Magazine to visit the field. A strikingly original history of this greatest of military events. A concluding article, beautifully illustrated, will appear in April. BEGGARS. The third of the series of charming essays by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. The New York _Tribune_ says in referring to this series: "The matter is of itself enough to interest every person in the least interested in literature, and the manner of it is such as to make us ask again of him for the hundredth time, as it was asked of Macaulay, 'Where did he get that style?'" A SHELF OF OLD BOOKS.--LEIGH HUNT. By MRS. JAMES T. FIELDS. Illustrated with drawings, portraits and fac-similes. A charming account of some of the literary treasures owned by the late James T. Fields. THE ELECTRIC MOTOR AND ITS APPLICATIONS. By FRANKLIN LEONARD POPE. With 14 illustrations. Mr. Pope describes the great advances recently made by which electricity takes the place of steam, or supplements it in so many directions. THE NIXIE. A Fantastic Story. By MRS. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. MENDELSSOHN'S LETTERS TO MOSCHELES. From the MSS. in the possession of Felix Moscheles. By WILLIAM F. APTHORP. II. (_Conclusion_.) With portraits, reproductions of drawings, musical scores, etc. "The letters are full of interest, especially in their frank observations on musical affairs of Mendelssohn's day."--_Boston Saturday Evening Gazette._ THE DAY OF THE CYCLONE. A stirring Western story, founded on the Grinnell (Ia.) tornado. By OCTAVE THANET. FIRST HARVESTS.--Chapters VII-X. By F. J. STIMSON. (To be continued.) NATURAL SELECTION--A Novelette in Three Parts. By H. C. BUNNER. (_Conclusion_.) With Illustrations. POEMS. By THOMAS NELSON PAGE, C. P. CRANCH, BESSIE CHANDLER, and CHARLES EDWIN MARKHAM. "In its one year of life SCRIBNER'S MAGAZINE has taken not only an exalted and permanent place in periodical literature but one that the world could in no sense spare."--_Boston Traveller._ _A year's subscription, consisting of twelve monthly numbers, gives more than 1,500 pages of the best, most interesting, and valuable literature. More than 700 illustrations from designs by famous artists, reproduced by the best methods._ Price, 25 cents. $3.00 a year. CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, 743-745 Broadway, New York. A Brilliant New Novel by the author of "The Story of Margaret Kent." QUEEN MONEY. 1 vol., 12mo, $1.50. "This is _the strongest story that this author has yet told_. It is essentially a novel of character-painting, more even than 'Margaret Kent' or 'Sons and Daughters'. It is superior to either of these. The merits of 'Queen Money' are very great.... Interesting and valuable and remarkably true to life. It is a book to be quoted, to be thought about, to be talked about." LOOKING BACKWARD. 2000-1887. BY EDWARD BELLAMY, author of "Miss Ludington's Sister." $1.50. "'The Duchess Emilia' and 'She' are not more strange than this story." UNDER THE SOUTHERN CROSS. By M. M. BALLOU, author of "Due North," "Edge-Tools of Speech," etc. $1.50. A journey, in 1887, to Australia, Tasmania, Samoa, New Zealand and other South-Sea Islands. _For sale by all booksellers, or will be sent, post free, on receipt of price by_ TICKNOR & CO., Boston. The Sun FOR 1888. The year 1888 promises to be a year of splendid political development, one and all redounding to the glory and triumph of a UNITED DEMOCRACY. In the Front Line will be found THE SUN, Fresh from its magnificent victory over the combined foes of Democracy in its own State, true to its convictions, truthful before all else, and fearless in the cause of truth and right. THE SUN has six, eight, twelve, and sixteen pages, as occasion requires, and is ahead of all competition in everything that makes a newspaper. Daily, $6 00 Daily and Sunday, 7 50 Sunday, 16 and 20 pages, 1 50 Weekly, 1 00 Address THE SUN, New York. THE UNITED STATES MUTUAL ACCIDENT ASSOCIATION is offering the very best accident insurance at cost. $5,000 for death by accident, $25 weekly indemnity, and liberal indemnity for loss of eye or limb. Costs $13 to $15 per year. Membership Fee, $5. 320 & 322 Broadway, New York. Charles B. Peet, President. James R. Pitcher, Secretary and Gen'l Manager. FOR SPRING PLANTING. Rhododendrons, Azaleas, Japanese Maples, And all other hardy Ornamental Trees, Street Trees, Evergreens, Shrubs, Roses and Vines of selected quality, in quantity, at lowest rates; also, all the best Fruits. Priced Catalogue on application. FRED. W. KELSEY, 208 Broadway, NEW YORK. [Illustration: Advertisement - YOUNG AND ELLIOTT'S COLLECTION OF CHOICE FLOWER SEEDS] SOME WORKS ON NATURAL SCIENCE PUBLISHED BY HENRY HOLT & CO., NEW YORK. PACKARD'S (A. S.) WORKS. GUIDE TO THE STUDY OF INSECTS $5 00 OUTLINES OF COMPARATIVE EMBRIOLOGY 2 50 ZOOLOGY--ADVANCED COURSE 3 00 ZOOLOGY--BRIEFER COURSE 1 40 FIRST LESSONS IN ZOOLOGY 1 00 BESSEY'S (C. E.) WORKS. BOTANY--ADVANCED COURSE $2 75 ESSENTIALS OF BOTANY 1 35 SEDGWICK (W. T.) AND WILSON'S (E. B.) GENERAL BIOLOGY--PART I $2 00 ARTHUR (J. C.) BARNES (C. R.) AND COULTER'S (J. M.) PLANT DISSECTION $1 50 Gray's Botanical Text Books. At once the most complete and the best Botanical series published, COMPRISING: Gray's How Plants Grow, Gray's How Plants Behave, Gray's Lessons in Botany, Gray's Field, Forest and Garden Botany, Gray's School and Field Botany, Apgar's Plant Analysis, Gray's Manual of Botany, Gray's Lessons and Manual, Gray's Structural Botany, Goodale's Physiological Botany, Gray's Structural and Systematic Botany, Coulter's Manual of the Rocky Mountains, The same, Tourist's Edition, Gray and Coulter's Manual of Western Botany, Gray's Synoptical Flora--The Gamopetalæ, Chapman's Flora of Southern U.S. Send for our new descriptive pamphlet of Gray's Botanies, containing PORTRAIT AND BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH of the Author. Books for Introduction or examination furnished on very favorable terms. IVISON, BLAKEMAN & CO., 753-755 Broadway, New York, AND 149 Wabash Ave., Chicago. A Few Flowers Worthy of General Culture. In presenting to our large and growing company of patrons this, the fifth edition of our book, our dominant feeling is one of extreme pleasure at the generous welcome given our preceding efforts. And we offer this edition in the belief and hope that it may suggest ideas that may be of use, and that may be practically carried out in the making of gardens that must be a source of delight. The wide-spread desire for better and more artistic gardening is evidenced by the articles recently published on the subject by the foremost and ablest magazines. An excellent article on "Old Garden Plants," in Harper's Monthly for December, 1887, encourages us greatly in our efforts to popularize the Hardy Flowers so loved by our grandmothers, together with many fine plants of more recent introduction. As we were the first in this country to gather a fine collection of Hardy Plants from all quarters of the earth, and to offer them when there was but small demand for such, we are pleased indeed that so much attention is now being given to them, feeling that our efforts in behalf of the almost FORGOTTEN HARDY PLANTS, will tend to the creation of gardens more permanent and beautiful, and at much smaller outlay than any that can be made with tender plants. The fifth edition of our book is now ready. It is the largest and best work on hardy plants published in this country, and contains many finely illustrated articles, among which are, "A Talk about Roses;" "Hardy Plants and Modes of Arranging Them;" "The Making of the Hardy Border;" "Some Beauties in their Native Wilds;" "Rhododendrons, Kalmias and Hardy Azaleas;" "Hardy Aquatic Plants;" "Tropical Garden Effects with Hardy Plants;" "A Garden Party;" etc., etc. The book is finely printed on the best of paper, is of real merit and rare beauty, and will be sent post-paid, bound in durable flexible covers for 50 cents, or in leather for 75 cents, but the price paid will be allowed on the first order for plants, making the book really free to our customers. Our descriptive catalogue, containing a complete descriptive list of the best and largest collection of Hardy Plants in America, sent on receipt of 10 cents in stamps. Our special list of valuable, low-priced, well-grown plants mailed upon application. B. A. ELLIOTT CO., No. 56 Sixth Street, Pittsburgh, Pa. New Seeds, Bulbs, Plants, Fruits,--Rare Tropical Fruits. GRAND PALMS FROM SEED. We are now able to offer for the first time, both seed and plants of that King of Ornamental plants, the new FILIFERA PALM. Stately and beautiful beyond description, it is the finest addition that can be made to any collection of plants, and can be grown in any window or garden as easy as a geranium. It is of a compact growth with elegant large leaves, from which hang long thread-like filaments, giving the plant a most odd and beautiful appearance. In fact there is nothing like it in cultivation and good specimens sell for enormous prices. Plants are easily raised as the seed are large, germinate quick and grow rapidly. Per packet 25cts. 5 for $1.00. Year old plants 40cts. each, 3 for $1.00, 7 for $2.00 by mail post paid. Will also mail 3 STORM KING FUCHSIAS for 50cts., 12 EXCELSIOR PEARL TUBEROSES for 85cts., 12 CHOICE MIXED GLADIOLAS for 30cts. Our GIANT EXCELSIOR PANSIES, best in the world, 20cts. per packet. NEW PRIMROSE VERBENA, yellow, a sterling novelty. 25cts. per packet. True PYGMAS ASTER, 50cts. per packet. Our Seed Catalogue for 1888 Is the most elegant ever issued. Illustrated with 10 colored plates, stipple-litho. covers and hundreds of fine engravings. In it is offered a great variety of FLOWER AND VEGETABLE SEEDS, BULBS AND PLANTS OF ALL SORTS, NEW FRUITS AND RARE TROPICAL FRUITS suitable for pot culture, such as dwarf Oranges, Pine Apples, Bananas, Figs, Guavas, Sugar Apple, &c. THIS ELEGANT AND EXPENSIVE CATALOGUE will be sent for only 10cts., which is only a part of its cost to us. Or if you order a packet of Palm seed or anything here offered and ask for Catalogue, it will be sent FREE. SPECIAL OFFER. For 50 cts. we will send Palm, Pansy, and Primrose Verbena Seed and Catalogue. Write at once as this offer may not appear again. To every order we will add an elegant Seed or Bulb novelty free. Address, JOHN LEWIS CHILDS, FLORAL PARK, Queens Co., N. Y. [Illustration: FILIFERA PALM.] CHRYSANTHEMUMS A SPECIALTY. Our catalogue for Spring of 1888, contains a select list of New and Old Chrysanthemums, including: "MRS. ALPHEUS HARDY," the beautiful variety figured in this paper. Also a collection of Fine Flowering Cannas. EDWIN FEWKES & SON, NEWTON HIGHLANDS, MASS. A REAL BONANZA IN SEEDS.--Being one of the largest growers of Flower Seeds in America, I want to induce extensive trial, and for 65cts. will send, postpaid, 32 papers Choice New Seeds, growth of '81, 75 to 500 seeds & mixed colors in each. _New Large & Fancy Pansies, the finest ever offered_, (awarded _Special Prize by Mass. Hort'l Society_) 60 distinct sorts and an endless variety of rich colors, all mixed; _Double Asters; Japan Pinks_, 50 vars. mixed; _Large A. D. Phlox; Double Portulaca; New Godelias; New White Mignonette; New Nivaliana; Everlastings; New Giant Candytuft; V. Stocks; New Marigolds; Mottled, Striped and Fringed Petunias; Verbenas, 300 vars. mixed; New Golden Chrysanthemums; Double Larkspurs; Velvet fl.; New Yellow Mignonette; Double Gaillardia; New Double Dwarf Zinnias; Double Salens; New Double White Aster_, the finest white ever offered; _Butterfly fl.; Double Daisies_ & 8 other choice kinds, amounting to $3.75 at regular rates, but to introduce will send the whole 32 papers for only 65 cts. This is an honest, square offer, but if you doubt it, send 15 cts. or 5 letter stamps, and I will send you 7 sample papers, my choice, but including _Pansies, Asters and Improved Prime Sweet Williams_, 50 vars. mixed. Am sure a trial will prove all claims. New Catalogue _free_. L. W. GOODELL, Pansy Park, Dwight P. O. Mass. The Popular Science Monthly, Edited by W. J. YOUMANS, Is filled with scientific articles by well-known writers on subjects of popular and practical interest. Its range of topics, which is widening with the advance of science, comprises: Domestic and Social Economy. Political Science, or the Functions of Government. Psychology and Education. Relations of Science and Religion. Conditions of Health and Prevention of Disease. Art and Architecture in Practical Life. Race Development. Agriculture and Food-Products. Natural History; Exploration; Discovery, etc. It contains Illustrated Articles, Portraits, Biographical Sketches; records the advance made in every branch of science; is not technical; and is intended for non-scientific as well as scientific readers. No magazine in the world contains papers of a more instructive and at the same time of a more interesting character. Single number, 50 cents. Yearly subscription, $5.00. D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers, New York. POINTS TO ADVERTISERS. Nothing is sold without pushing, unless it has a monopoly. No two articles can be pushed in exactly the same way. In advertising you want to reach possible _customers_, not merely people. The best mediums for one line of goods may be the worst for another. Advertising should not be visionary, it should not be attended to as a mere pastime. Success means thought, the day of chance successes is nearly over. It costs no more to publish good matter than it does poor. The preparation of an advertisement is as important as the publishing. An advertiser needs an agent, as a client does a lawyer. The agent, however, asks no retainer and saves his customer money. A merchant cannot study advertising all the time--a good agent studies nothing else. The customer's interests are the agent's. If the agent is to succeed, the business done must be successful. The undersigned want business, but not badly enough to handle what is "questionable." They are honest and capable, their customers say, and they give close personal attention to their business. HERBERT BOOTH KING & BROTHER, ADVERTISING AGENTS, 202 Broadway, N. Y. (Copyright, 1887.) Send for Circulars. A VALUABLE WORK UPON AMERICAN TREES, Which should be in every Library in the United States. Fourth Edition, Just Ready. Price Reduced. EMERSON'S TREES AND SHRUBS. THE TREES AND SHRUBS GROWING NATURALLY in the Forests of Massachusetts. By George B. Emerson. Fourth Edition. Superbly illustrated with nearly 150 plates (46 beautiful heliotypes and 100 lithographs), 2 vols. 8vo. Cloth. Price, $10.00 net; formerly $12.00 net. THE SAME, with 36 of the plates beautifully colored. Price, $16.00 net; formerly $20.00 net. Though this work nominally treats of the trees and shrubs of Massachusetts, it is equally applicable to the flora of many other States; indeed all New England and a greater part of the Middle States. In it is described every important tree or shrub that grows naturally in Massachusetts, and in other States of the same latitude, the descriptions being the result of careful personal observation. It is, indeed, a comprehensive and convenient manual for almost every section of the Union. The illustrations of these volumes constitute one of their most important and attractive features. A large number of the plates are by the eminent authority on this subject, ISAAC SPRAGUE. Volume I. treats of the Pines, Oaks, Beeches, Chestnuts, Hazels, Hornbeams, Walnuts, Hickories, Birches, Alders, Plane Trees, Poplars, and Willows. Volume II. treats of the Elms, Ashes, Locusts, Maples, Lindens, Magnolias, Liriodendrons, and the shrubs. LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY, Publishers, 234 Washington Street, Boston. HOUGHTON MIFFLIN & CO'S Beautiful New Books. BIOGRAPHY. Memoir of Ralph Waldo Emerson. By JAMES ELLIOT CABOT. With a fine new steel Portrait. 2 vols. 12mo, gilt top, $3.50. Henry Clay. Vols. XV. and XVI. in series of American Statesmen. By CARL SCHURZ. 2 vols. 16mo, gilt top, $2.50; half morocco, $5.00. Patrick Henry. Vol. XVII. of American Statesmen. By MOSES COIT TYLER. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. Benjamin Franklin. Vol. X. of American Men of Letters. By JOHN BACH MCMASTER, author of "A History of the People of the United States." With a steel Portrait. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25. NOVELS AND SHORT STORIES. The Second Son. By Mrs. M. O. W. OLIPHANT and THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. 12mo, $1.50. The Gates Between. By ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS, author of "The Gates Ajar," "Beyond the Gates," etc. $1.25. Paul Patoff. By F. MARION CRAWFORD, author of "A Roman Singer," etc. Crown 8vo, $1.50. Jack the Fisherman. A powerful and pathetic temperance story. By ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS. 50 cents. Knitters in the Sun. A book of excellent Short Stories. By OCTAVE THANET. 16mo, $1.25. A Princess of Java. A novel of life, character and customs in Java. By Mrs. S. J. HIGGINSON, 12mo, $1.50. The Story of Keedon Bluffs. By CHARLES EGBERT CRADDOCK. A story for Young Folks, and Older Ones. $1.00. A New Book by Bret Harte. "A Phyllis of the Sierras," and "A Drift from Redwood Camp," $1.00. *.* _For sale by all Booksellers. Sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price by the Publishers_, HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., BOSTON. 11 EAST 17TH STREET, NEW YORK. Shady Hill Nurseries, Cambridge, Mass. THE SOURCE OF NOVELTIES IN ORNAMENTALS! The New TREE LILAC (SYRINGA JAPONICA) was first grown commercially, and first sold from SHADY HILL NURSERIES. The Beautiful WEEPING LILAC (SYRINGA LIGUSTRINA PEKINENSIS PENDULA), called by Mr. Samuel B. Parsons, at the American Pomological Convention, at Boston (where it was first exhibited and received a first-class Certificate of Merit from the Mass. Hort. Society), "the most beautiful of all our small Weeping Trees." This also will be sent out in the autumn of this year. Here also is grown, in large numbers, the lovely little flowering tree, called the "TEA ROSE CRAB," the most exquisite of all our flowering trees. Ten thousand of this tree have been ordered by Messrs. V. H. Hallock & Son. Here originated the HARDY PERENNIAL GAILLARDIA (G. Aristata Templeana of Peter Henderson's new catalogue), the most showy and only hardy Gaillardia of this latitude. A full descriptive catalogue, of all the things grown at Shady Hill, will be issued in February, fully illustrated with engravings and containing four full page lithographs, in eight colors, of the four new trees, viz.: "Tea Rose Crab," Tree Lilac, Weeping Lilac, and the Fastigiate Maiden Hair Tree. This will be sent free to all who will send address. F. L. TEMPLE, Cambridge, Mass. JOHN SAUL'S WASHINGTON NURSERIES. Our Catalogue of new, rare and beautiful Plants for 1888 will be ready in February. It contains list of all the most beautiful and rare Green-house and Hot-house Plants in cultivation, as well as all novelties of merit. Well grown and at very low prices. Every Plant lover should have a copy. ORCHIDS.--A very large stock of choice East Indian, American, etc. Also, Catalogues of Roses, Orchids, Seeds, Trees, etc. All free. JOHN SAUL, Washington, D. C. WESTERN N. C. ORNAMENTAL SHRUBS AND TREES. Descriptive Price List sent on application. Detailed description of the _new_ Rhododendron Vaseyi, with each List. Azalea arborescens is one of our specialties. Correspondence solicited. KELSEY BROS., Highlands Nursery, Highlands, N. C. GARDENERS.--Thorough, practical man, wants situation to take charge of a good private place or institution; 19 years' experience in Europe and U. S.; English, age 35, married, one of family; first-class reference. Address J. S., care H. A. Dreer, 714 Chestnut St. Philadelphia, Pa. GOLD STRAWBERRY, a New Berry of very fine quality, now offered for the first time. Also, JEWELL, JESSIE, BELMONT, and other varieties. Address. P. M. AUGUR & SONS, Originators, MIDDLEFIELD, CONN. NEW PLANTS. Our illustrated Floral Catalogue of new, rare and beautiful Plants, Orchids, Palms, Roses, Bulbs, Vines, Trees, Shrubs and Seeds, also, all the Novelties of the season, NOW READY. Every lover of plants should have a copy. _Prices low._ Send for it; FREE _to all_. PAUL BUTZ & SON. New Castle, Pa. [Illustration: VAUGHAN'S CHICAGO PARKS FLOWERS] You are about to write for a catalogue. No doubt you want the best--the truest descriptions, the clearest notes on plant culture, plainest type and most beautiful illustrations. We have put forth every effort to make ours such. Those who have seen it, say it is. It tells many reasons why you can buy SEEDS and Plants--so many of which are grown on the Western prairies--BETTER AND CHEAPER AT CHICAGO than you can elsewhere. Then why not do so? Our Chicago Parks FLOWERS AND PLANTS; our MARKET VEGETABLES and our GARDENING IMPLEMENTS make up a book that TELLS THE WHOLE STORY, and is a work of art which will please you. Send 15 cents and receive the catalogue and a paper of the above seeds free. J. C. VAUGHAN, 88 STATE STREET, CHICAGO. [Illustration: Japan Snowball] MEEHAN'S NURSERIES Though with the usual assortment of Fruits and Flowers found in all leading Nurseries, we pay especial attention to Ornamental Trees. We have nearly fifty acres of these alone, and well on to a thousand varieties. JAPAN MAPLES . and . JAPAN SNOWBALL --A SPECIALTY-- SEND SIX CENTS IN STAMPS FOR DESCRIPTIVE CATALOGUE. THOMAS MEEHAN & SON, Germantown, Philadelphia, Pa. ORCHIDS Palms and Fine Tropical Plants. We have the most complete collection of fine plants in the country. Descriptions of specimens and a general catalogue of stock can be had on application either at 409 5th Avenue, New York City, OR AT THE ROSE HILL NURSERIES, NEW ROCHELLE, N. Y. SIEBRECHT & WADLEY. [Illustration: CHRYSANTHEMUMS] [Illustration: LAWSON 1838 POMONA NURSERIES 1888] [Illustration: FARQUHARS' BOSTON SEEDS] [Illustration: THE NEW MODEL--OUR--LATEST AND BEST MOWER.] TRIED BY TIME PRACTICAL people are well pleased with the recent development in horticultural journalism by which the young AMERICAN GARDEN absorbed the old _Gardener's Monthly_, which included the _Horticulturist_, started by Andrew Jackson Downing, over forty-two years ago. I told our local society just what I really think the other day, that you come the nearest my ideal of a Horticultural Monthly for popular circulation of any of the makers of such literature.--CHAS. W. GARFIELD, _Sec'y Michigan Horticultural Society_. The magazine in now clearly the best horticultural publication in America, and soon I trust I can say the best extant.--DR. E. LEWIS STURTEVANT. As much as I regret the melting away of that old landmark, the _Gardener's Monthly_, of which I was a reader since 1867, as glad I feel that the transfer has been made into good hands.--R. MAITRE. _Florist, New Orleans._ I have been a subscriber to the _Gardener's Monthly_ from its first number. I feel sorry that the journal is going away from Philadelphia, but am glad it has gone into such good hands.--CHAS. H. MILLER. _Landscape Gardener, Fairmount Park._ Indispensable to the fruit growers, horticulturists, gardeners and florists (both practical and amateur) of this country.--CYRUS T. FOX, _State Pomologist of Pennsylvania._ It is a lamentable failing of horticultural educators in making the work intricate and apparently hard of execution. Your new cover is in perfect accord with the contents, viz.: It expresses and teaches horticulture pure and simple.--GEO. R. KNAPP, _Rahway, N. J._ Adapted to the wants of Amateurs, Country Dwellers, Practical Gardeners and Fruit Growers, THE AMERICAN GARDEN has stood the test of Time, the great leveler, and receives the endorsements and support of all these classes in every section and many lands. The equal in cost and value of many $2, and $4 publications, this handsome and practical illustrated magazine of horticulture costs only $1.00 a year. In Club with Garden and Forest for $4.50. Address: E. H. LIBBY, Publisher, 751 Broadway, N. Y. The American Florist, A SEMI-MONTHLY JOURNAL For florists, and all who grow plants or flowers under glass. It prints nothing but hard common-sense matter, the experience of practical men who have been there themselves and know what they are talking about. _Liberally Illustrated. Price, $1.00 a Year of 24 Numbers._ SAMPLE COPY 6 CENTS IN STAMPS. American Florist Co., 54 La Salle St., Chicago. [Illustration: FOREST TREES] [Illustration: TREES ROCHESTER - COMMERCIAL NURSERIES.] [Illustration: New and Rare Trees and Shrubs] RED FLOWERING DOGWOOD, EXOCHORDA GRANDIFLORA, WEEPING DOGWOOD, EUONYMUS LATIFOLIUS, WEEPING BEECH, BERBERIS THUNBERGII, PURPLE BEECH, MAGNOLIAS, GOLDEN SYRINGO, CHINESE CYPRESS, NEW CONIFERS, JAPAN QUINCE, YELLOW WOOD, HYDRANGEAS, JAPAN GINGKO JAPANESE MAPLES, SPIREAS, GOLDEN -<JAPANESE UMBRELLA AND SUNRAY PINES>- GOLDEN OAK. ALDER. -------------------------------------------- --> New and Rare Trees and Shrubs, <-- -------------------------------------------- FRUIT RHODODENDRONS YEWS, TREES, JUNIPERS, SMALL FRUITS, CHINESE AZALEAS HEMLOCKS, TREE PÆONIES, ARBOR VITÆ, ROSES IN VARIETY, HARDY AZALEAS RETINOSPORAS, AMERICAN HOLLY, CAMELLIAS DWARF, BLUE, CONICAL, HERBACEOUS PÆONIES, WEEPING AND OTHER SPRUCES, SHADE TREES & HEDGE PLANTS. ASSORTMENT OF PINES. ------------------------------- Plans Made, Estimates Furnished, Grounds Laid Out, Catalogues on Application. PARSONS & SONS COMPANY, Limited, Kissena Nurseries, ESTABLISHED 1839. FLUSHING, N. Y. Seeds, Seeds, Seeds. To our friends who have not already received it, we are ready to mail our NEW CATALOGUE OF HIGH CLASS SEEDS FOR 1888, Containing all the Novelties of the Season, both in VEGETABLE, FLOWER and TREE Seeds. J. M. Thorburn & Co., 15 JOHN STREET, NEW YORK. OUR MANUAL OF EVERYTHING FOR THE GARDEN is this season the grandest ever issued, containing three colored plates and superb illustrations of everything that is new, useful and rare in Seeds and Plants, together with plain directions of "How to grow them," by PETER HENDERSON. This Manual, which is a book of 140 pages, we mail to any address on receipt of 25 cents (in stamps.) To all so remitting 25 cents for the Manual, we will, at the same time, send free by mail, in addition, their choice of any one of the the following novelties, the price of either of which is 25 cents: One packet of the new Green and Gold Watermelon or one packet of new Succession Cabbage, or one packet of new Zebra Zinnia, or one packet of Butterfly Pansy (see illustration), or one packet of new Mammoth Verbena, or one plant of the beautiful Moonflower, on the distinct understanding, however, that those ordering will state in what paper they saw this advertisement. PETER HENDERSON & CO 35 & 37 Cortlandt St., New York. [Illustration: W. W. RAWSON & CO.] BOTANY CLASSES furnished with fresh plants and flowers from the Southern Mountains, including all the AZALEAS and RHODODENDRONS found east of the Rockies, I can furnish Rhododendron Vastyi and Shortii galacifolia, and other rare plants. Order Shortii early, as it blooms in March and April. T. G. HARBISON, Principal of Highlands Academy, Highlands, N. C. * * * * * Transcriber's Note: Missing and/or damaged punctuation has been repaired. Errata: p. 3: (Floriculture) 'county' probably error for 'country'. "... scores of young men in all parts of the country have..." p. 4: (Lawn) 'whch' corrected to 'which' "... finely pulverized compost which may be brushed in." p. vi: (WESTERN N. C. ORNAMENTAL SHRUBS AND TREES). 'Rhodendron' corrected to 'Rhododendron' "Descriptive Price List sent on application. Detailed description of the _new_ Rhododendron Vaseyi, with each List." 
33323	----	Small Gardens and How to Make the Most of Them SPECIAL NOTICE. SEEDS IF YOU WANT REALLY GOOD BULBS & SEEDS AT MODERATE PRICES, SEND TO Mr. ROBERT SYDENHAM, 44, Tenby Street, Birmingham. No One will serve you Better. HIS UNIQUE LISTS Are acknowledged by all to be the Best, Cheapest, and most Reliable ever published. They contain only the Best VEGETABLES, FLOWERS, AND BULBS WORTH GROWING. Being the Selections of the Largest Seed Growers, Market Gardeners, and the most celebrated Professional Gardeners and Amateurs in the kingdom. They also contain very useful cultural instructions. Mr. SYDENHAM'S Bulbs and Seeds were represented and gained First Prizes at London, Birmingham, Preston, Newcastle-on-Tyne, Shrewsbury, Edinburgh, etc., etc., in 1893, 1894, 1895, 1896, 1897, 1898, 1899 and 1900. SWEET PEAS A SPECIALITY. No Flowers give so much cut bloom at so little cost and trouble if treated as instructions sent with each collection. 12 good varieties, 50 seeds of each, 1s. 6d.; 12 choice varieties, 50 seeds of each, 2s.; or the Two Collections for 2s. 6d.; a Third Collection of the 12 best varieties for Exhibition, 3s.; or the Three Collections, 5s., post free, with a packet each of the four best striped varieties added free of charge. Generally sold at twice or three times the money. THE BEST TOMATOES, 3d. per packet of 200 Seeds. THE BEST CUCUMBERS, 6d. per packet of 10 Seeds. ALL OTHER SEEDS equally cheap and good. FULL LISTS POST FREE ON APPLICATION. =PUT IT ON TOP= of your Fowlhouse, Tool or Bicycle Shed, or anything in the shape of a shed that you are building. Ask your ironmonger for our handy booklet, which will help you considerably with useful hints on building all kinds of structures, and roofing them with =RED HAND ROOFING FELT= If your ironmonger has not got it, you can get it free, and name of nearest holder, from D. ANDERSON & SON, LD., LAGAN WORKS, BELFAST. SPECIAL NOTICE. LAXTON'S GRAND NEW LARGE-FRUITED, EARLY STRAWBERRY FOR 1901. The "Laxton," THE IDEAL AMATEURS' AND MARKET GROWERS' FRUIT. The Fruit that everyone must Grow! _A DARKER, FIRMER, AND IMPROVED "ROYAL SOVEREIGN."_ We believe this to be by far the =finest= of our many introductions, and in it we claim to have combined all the good points of those two fine varieties from which it was raised, viz, "Royal Sovereign" and "Sir J. Paxton," and believe it to be the most wonderful Strawberry for earliness, size, firmness, quality, hardiness, and vigour of plant combined. =The following are some of its good points--= =Earliness.=--In earliness it is as early as "Royal Sovereign." =Size.=--In size it is as large as, if not larger than, "Sovereign," and certainly larger than "Sir J. Paxton." =Colour.=--But in colour it is much =darker and brighter= than "Sovereign," partaking of the rich colour and taking appearance of "Sir J. Paxton." =Flavour.=--In flavour it is quite as rich as "Royal Sovereign." =Firmness.=--It is also =much firmer= than "Sovereign," does not rot on the ground in damp weather, and is a far better traveller. =Cropping Qualities.=--Its cropping qualities are prodigious, heavier than either "Sovereign" or "Paxton," throwing its bold tresses well above the foliage. =Constitution.=--A very hardy and vigorous grower, retaining its foliage well in winter. =Fast Selling Out for 1901.=--The demand for this variety has been already very large, and as the stock is small and is fast selling out, we must ask for early orders or we shall be unable to execute until 1902. =PLANTS IN POTS ONLY SUPPLIED.= =PRICE 18s. per doz.; £5 per 100.= (Not less than 1/2 at the doz. and 100 rates.) As the demand is very great, and the stock limited, the price cannot be much lower for several years. A Handsome Coloured Plate, and full descriptive Catalogue published shortly. Free on application. LAXTON BROTHERS, Strawberry Plant Growers and Specialists, BEDFORD. SMALL GARDENS [Illustration] Green's Lawn Mowers Imitated by Many! Equalled by None! Over 270,000 Sold! [Illustration] GREEN'S GARDEN ROLLERS ARE UNSURPASSED! Known and appreciated throughout the World. [Illustration] THOS. GREEN & SON, Ltd., Blackfriars Road, LONDON, S.E., and LEEDS. _Please write for List, S. G., 1901. May be had from Local Ironmongers and Seedsmen._ Small Gardens and How to make the most of them By Violet Purton Biddle London C. Arthur Pearson Ltd. Henrietta Street W.C. [Sidenote: Patent Coil Stake] NOTICE. DON'T STAKE YOUR CARNATIONS TILL YOU HAVE SEEN THE Patent Improved Coil Stake. No Tying required. Stakes last a Lifetime. The Greatest Boon ever offered to Growers. Only wants seeing. _Prices (Cash with Order)_:-- 20in., = 7/6= per 100, =1/-= per doz. 25in., =10/6= " =1/6= " 30in., =13/6= " =2/-= " 36in., stouter, =17/6= per 100, =2/6= per doz. =A. PORTER=, Stone House, =MAIDSTONE=. [Sidenote: Fruit Trees, Shrubs, Seeds, etc.] THE FINEST APPLE ON EARTH IS UNDOUBTEDLY BRAMLEY'S SEEDLING, Unequalled for Productiveness and Quality. ALL KINDS OF FRUIT TREES ON OFFER TO SUIT EVERY PLANTER. THE ROSE (the Queen of Flowers), All new varieties stocked. FLOWERING AND ORNAMENTAL SHRUBS A SPECIALITY. My Flower and Vegetable Seeds cannot be excelled. Send for my lists which contain valuable remarks on Profitable Fruit Growing. Free on application to-- Henry Merryweather, The Nurseries, Southwell, Notts. [Sidenote: Garden Netting] TANNED GARDEN NETTING. Protect your Strawberry Beds, Seeds, &c., from the ravages of birds. NETS OILED AND DRESSED; 36 SQUARE YARDS FOR 1/-. Can be sent any width or length; carriage paid on orders over 6s. HENRY ROBINSON, GARDEN NET WORKS, RYE, SUSSEX. [Sidenote: Plants for Small Gardens] SMALL GARDENS AND HOW TO MAKE THE MOST OF THEM (_COUNTRY OR SUBURBAN_). =Send a small Rough Plan of your Garden=, showing points of the compass, and stating whether in town, country, or suburb, to Mr. WOOD, and he will give you a list of PLANTS sufficient and suitable for the different positions. Communication in regard to _Rockeries_ and _Rock Plants_ is specially invited. List of ALPINES, Hardy HERBACEOUS PLANTS and AQUATICS on application to J. WOOD, Woodville, Kirkstall, LEEDS. SYNOPSIS OF CONTENTS CHAPTER I =The General Arrangement of the Garden= _What to go in for, and what to avoid--Brick walls--Trees, their advantages and disadvantages, etc._ CHAPTER II =Lawns, Paths, Beds, and Border= _How to keep the lawns level--Paths, and how to lay them--Beds and bedding--The new style VERSUS the old--Flower borders and their backgrounds--Improvement of the soil._ CHAPTER III =On the Duty of Making Experiments= _Description of a small yet lovely garden--Colour schemes--A novel way of growing flowers, the spring dell--Variety in the flower-garden._ CHAPTER IV =Some Neglected but Handsome Plants= _The sweet old columbine--BOCCONIA CORDATA at Hampton Court--CAMPANULAS as continuous bloomers--The heavenly larkspurs--Christmas roses--The tall and brilliant lobelias--Chinese-lantern plants--Tufted pansies._ CHAPTER V =The Conservatory and Greenhouse= _Mistakes in staging--Some suitable climbers--Economical heating--Aspect, shading, etc.--The storing of plants--No waste space--Frames._ CHAPTER VI =The Tool Shed and Summer-House= _Spades and the Bishop--Weeding a pleasure--Trusty thermometers-- Summer-houses and their adornment._ CHAPTER VII =Roses for Amateurs= _Teas--Hybrid perpetuals--Bourbons--Rose-hedges--Pillar roses--Suitable soil._ CHAPTER VIII =Enemies of the Garden= _Slugs, and how to trap them--Blight or green fly--Earwigs--Wireworms-- Snails--Mice--Friends or Foes?_ CHAPTER IX =The Rockery= _A few hints on its construction--Aspect and soil--A list of alpines-- Other suitable plants._ CHAPTER X =Trees, and How to Treat Them--Shrubs= _Some good plants for growing beneath trees--List of hardy shrubs-- Climbers--Enriching the soil._ CHAPTER XI =The Ins and Outs of Gardening= _Planting--Watering--"Puddling"--Shelter--Youth and age, in relation to plants--Catalogue defects--A time for everything._ CHAPTER XII =The Profitable Portion= _Fruit, best kinds for small gardens--Size minus flavour--Vegetables-- Herbs._ CHAPTER XIII =Annuals and Biennials= _Why they fail--Table of good annuals--Table of biennials._ CHAPTER XIV =Window-Boxes= _How to make them--Relation of box to residence they are intended to adorn--Suitable soil--Window-plants for different aspects._ CHAPTER XV =Table Decoration= _Graceful arrangement--Thick-skinned stems--Preserving and resuscitating flowers--Colour schemes--Table of flowers in season._ CHAPTER XVI =The Propagation of Plants= _By division--By cuttings--By seeds--By layers._ CHAPTER XVII =The Management of Room Plants= _Best kinds for "roughing it"--Importance of cleanliness--The proper way of watering them._ CHAPTER XVIII =Various Hints= _Artificial manures--Labelling--Cutting off dead flowers--Buying plants--Tidiness in the garden, etc._ TERMS USED BY GARDENERS =Mulching=--Term used for applying manure in a thick layer round the roots of shrubs, as a protection from frost. =Pricking off=--Transplanting seedlings into separate pots. ="Eyes"=--Incipient leaf-buds. ="Heel"=--The hardened part of a cutting, formed where it is joined to the original plant. =Annual=--Lasting one year. =Biennial=--Lasting two years. =Perennial=--Lasting several years. =Herbaceous=--Term applied to plants which die down completely every winter. =Deciduous=--Not ever-green; this term is applied to trees the leaves of which fall off every autumn. =Suckers=--Shoots that spring up from the common stock, as distinct from those which belong to the engrafted portion. =Pegging down=--Bending branches down close to the ground, and securing them with a peg. =Runners=--Separate little plants, issuing from the parent, and ultimately rooting for themselves. =Spit=--A spade's depth. ="Strike"=--A term applied to cuttings making roots. =Pinching out=--Rubbing off undesirable shoots. ="Blind"=--A term applied to plants which turn out flowerless. =Heeling in=--The process of temporarily covering plants with soil, till the weather is suitable for setting them out in their permanent quarters. =Carpet-bedding=--The geometrical arrangement of plants. _All Seeds and Bulbs sent carriage and packing free on receipt of remittance._ BARR'S SEEDS FOR FLOWER & KITCHEN GARDEN OF FINEST SELECTED STRAINS & TESTED GROWTH =The Best Seeds in the World= for securing a supply of Vegetables "the year round," and for keeping the Flower Garden and Greenhouse always gay, and with abundance of Flowers to cut for vases and bouquets. BARR'S 21/-Collection of Vegetable Seeds Contains a liberal assortment of the following useful Vegetables:--Beans (Broad and French), Beet, Borecoli, Broccoli, Brussels Sprouts, Cabbage, Capsicum, Carrot, Cauliflower, Celery, Colewort, Corn Salad, Cucumber, Cress, Endive, Herbs, Leek, Lettuce, Melon, Mustard, Onions, Parsley, Parsnips, Peas, Radish, Salsify, Savoy Cabbage, Scorzonera, Spinach, Tomato, Turnip, and Vegetable Marrow. Other Collections of =Barr's Superior Vegetable Seeds=:--=5/6=, =7/6=, =12/6=, =42/-=, =63/-=, and =105/-=. Full particulars sent on application. BARR'S CHOICE FLOWER SEEDS =BARR'S SEED GUIDE= contains a Select List of all the most beautiful Annuals and Perennials. Special Collections for all purposes and many Sterling Novelties. =12= Packets of the Best Hardy Annuals =2/6= =25= " " " " " =5/6= =10= " " " " Perennials =2/6= =25= " " " " " =7/6= For Collections of Half-hardy Annuals or Perennials, and Seeds of Plants for Rockwork, &c., see BARR'S SEED GUIDE, _free on application_. =BARR'S= Seed Guide, containing many useful notes on culture, which will be found of great value to Gardeners, Amateurs and Exhibitors, free on application. =BARR'S= Catalogue of Hardy Perennials and Alpines, Ready in February, Free. =BARR'S= Catalogue of Bulbs and Tubers for Spring Planting, Ready in February, Free. =BARR'S= List of Autumn-flowering Bulbs, Ready 1st July, Free. =BARR'S= Catalogue of Beautiful Daffodils, Ready in August, Free. =BARR'S= Catalogue of Bulbs for Garden and Greenhouse, Ready 1st September, Free. BARR & SONS, 11, 12 & 13, KING ST., COVENT GARDEN, LONDON Nurseries--Long Ditton, Near Surbiton, Surrey. [Sidenote: Corpulency and the Cure.] "HOW STOUT YOU ARE GETTING." There is too often a scarcely veiled reproach in that exclamation: "How stout you are getting!" At any rate, the corpulent one is generally sensitive on that point, and perhaps feels a reproach where none is intended. Certain it is that to lose the _svelte_ symmetry of youth, to broaden out, to "swell wisibly," as Sam Weller has it, and finally to become "fat and scant of breath," is a process at once humiliating and distressing, especially to those who possess that keen appreciation of personal appearance which is a part of what is termed good breeding. There is now, however, no excuse for those who have resigned themselves to carry to the grave the rotund proportions of a Falstaff. The perusal of a little book entitled "Corpulency and the Cure," by F. CECIL RUSSELL, has afforded us not a little interest and instruction on a subject that has hitherto received but superficial attention from the medical profession. Mr. Russell has made the cure of obesity his life's study, and judging from the record of his achievements--over a thousand grateful letters from his patients are printed in the book--he has been singularly successful. The author's treatment is not by "wasting." There is no "sweating"; there are no stringent restrictions as to eating and drinking; no drastic conditions of any kind. The medicine prescribed is simple and pleasant, purely vegetable, and perfectly harmless. Its action is two-fold; it reduces the abundant fatty tissue at a very rapid rate--in some cases to the extent of over 1lb. or 2lbs. in twenty-four hours--usually from 3lbs. to 4lbs. in a week (sometimes considerably more), and at the same time it acts as a refreshing and invigorating tonic, promoting a healthy appetite, and dispelling the feeling of depression and extreme _malaise_ experienced by the majority of corpulent people. "Does the fat return after cessation of the treatment?" is a question that many will ask. No, under normal conditions it does not. Mr. Russell's treatment goes to the root of the malady, and, without having the slightest pernicious effect even on the most delicate persons, eliminates the cause of the tendency to corpulence. "Corpulency and the Cure," a dainty little book of some 256 pages, is now in its eighteenth edition. We would cordially recommend such of our readers who are troubled with what we will call, for the sake of euphony, "exaggerated _embonpoint_," to procure a copy by sending two penny stamps to Mr. F. C. Russell, Woburn House, Store Street, Bedford Square, London. This well-known specialist can claim the unique distinction of having successfully treated over 10,000 cases of obesity. A UNIQUE TREATMENT. The "Russell" treatment is a marvellously efficacious and radical cure which is not only not harmful, but extremely vitalising and strengthening, promoting appetite and aiding digestion, assimilation and nutrition. Meanwhile the reduction of adipose matter goes steadily on until normal weight is reached. =No Noxious Drugs.= =No Stringent Dietary.= =No Drastic Restrictions.= AN UNFAILING TEST. The weighing machine will prove that the reduction of fat commences within 24 hours, the loss of weight varying from 1/2 to 2lb.; even more than this in severe cases of obesity. The compound forming the basis of the treatment is purely vegetable, & wholly free from objectionable ingredients. Whilst permanently reducing the body to normal weight and size, the "Russell" treatment has a wonderfully strengthening & invigorating effect upon the system. Mr. Russell will be pleased to give to all readers suffering from Obesity a copy of his book, "Corpulency and the Cure," 256 pages. When writing for the Book, enclose two penny stamps to cover its postage. The Book will be forwarded in a sealed plain envelope. ADDRESS:-- Woburn House, 27, Store Street, Bedford Square, London, W.C. SMALL GARDENS CHAPTER I The General Arrangement of the Garden _What to go in for, and what to avoid--Brick walls--Trees, their advantages and disadvantages, etc._ It is imperative that =a small garden=, such as one generally finds attached to suburban or small houses, should be made the very most of. Frequently, however, its owners seem to think that to attempt to grow anything in such a little plot of ground is a veritable waste of time and money, as nothing ever comes of it. The aim of this book is to show that even the tiniest piece of land can be made pretty and even profitable, if due attention be given it. =WELL BEGUN IS HALF DONE.= To begin with, it is well to remember that the tenant of a small garden should not endeavour to represent every feature he sees in large grounds; the poverty-stricken shrubbery and pond just about large enough for a nice bath, are too often seen, and only call forth ridicule. Some landscape gardeners have even objected to the presence of a lawn, where the space at disposal is very limited indeed, but to my mind =a little turf is always advisable=, for it not onl entices people into the fresh air for a game, but forms a good foil for flowering plants, and above all looks so well during the winter. =A long narrow garden= is always easier to deal with than a square plot of land, the range of vision not being "brought up short," as it were. It is well to take heed of this fact where there is any choice in the matter. =Good brick walls= are a great help in gardening, though alas! in these hurried days they are becoming much rarer, the wooden fence being run up so quickly, and at far less expense. As regards =the walks=, it is better to have one path wide enough for two people abreast than several unsociably narrow ones. Each path should lead somewhere, to the summer-house, or a gate, for instance: otherwise it looks inconsequent. Besides the flower-garden proper, =a nursery= for making experiments, sowing seeds, and striking cuttings, should find a place, if possible; a rubbish-heap is invaluable, too, where all decayed vegetable refuse, road-scraping, soapsuds, etc., should be thrown. In autumn, all the leaves the gardener sweeps up should be placed near by, both heaps being frequently turned over to allow of the noxious gas escaping, and to assist decomposition. The =rubbish corner= should be at the furthest extremity of the garden, though it need not be unsightly if a screen is placed around it. Privet is certainly the quickest growing shrub for that purpose, but, as it is so common, other shrubs, such as =pyrus japonica=, =arbutus=, =barberry=, and =pyracantha=, may be used. =THE JOYS OF A GREENHOUSE.= If there is no greenhouse, try to obtain one; it is such an infinite delight all through the dark months of the year, and this without any great cost for fuel. A Rippingille oil-stove, with one four-inch wick, will suffice to keep the frost out of a structure measuring 16 × 10, if a lean-to (that is, attached to a dwelling-house). Even this expense may be avoided where it is built against a kitchen wall, though, if the wall happened to face north, only ferns and just a few flowers would thrive. But even these would form a great interest, especially to invalids, who often find their greatest pleasure in pottering about under their "little bit of glass." =A VEXED QUESTION.= The vexed question of =lopping one's neighbours' trees= is sure to crop up sooner or later. However much detriment the trees may be doing, by preventing the free access of sun and air, tenants should know that the law only justifies them in cutting down those branches which actually overhang their own domains. This being the case, it is often the best "to grin and bear it," and lop the trees as little as possible, for we must acknowledge that the fine form of a tree is always spoilt when interfered with to any great extent. If the border would, in any case be shady, so much the better; it will only require a little more attention in the matter of watering, etc. After all, shade from the hot summer sun is absolutely necessary if we would enjoy a garden, therefore it is always well to hesitate over an act which takes but a few minutes to do, but may need years to repair. Where the trees overhang a good south or west wall the matter is more serious; it is then advisable to cut back as far as possible, for roses, peach-trees, and, indeed, most =climbers resent the constant drip= they are obliged to endure in wet weather. A list of plants which do well under trees in various aspects is given in another chapter. =BREAKING UP.= As the eye wearies of the straight piece of lawn with gravel path and border surrounding it, where practicable the ground should be broken up a bit. Some wide =trellis-work=, painted dark-green, with an arch-way on either side, helps to do this, and lends a pleasant sense of mystery to what might otherwise be a prosaic garden. It should be covered with all manner of creepers, such as clematis, jasmine, roses in variety, and some of the hardy annuals. Very tender plants should not be put on a trellis, as it does not by any means take the place of a wall, being more draughty than the open ground, though such things as the _ceanothus_ will often live through several winters, and bloom beautifully every summer in such a spot, till an unusually hard frost kills them outright. =Mulching=, however, of which more anon (see Glossary), materially aids in preserving them. =In gardening it is the little things that tell.= A mere trifle often makes the difference between failure and success. People will hardly believe, for instance, how important it is that certain plants should only receive =soft water=, and continue giving the water laid on by the company when all the time gallons and gallons of =precious rain= from heaven are running to waste. It is only a question of a tank to preserve it, which should be in an unobtrusive situation, though easily get-at-able. Where alpines are concerned, rainwater should be the only beverage, and this reminds me that a =rockery= on which to grow these gems of other countries is not such an impossibility in a town garden as might be thought by their scarcity. =HOW NOT TO DO IT.= The rockery, as seen in most gardens, both public and private, is too often an example of "how not to do it." A heterogeneous mass of clinkers, planted here and there with ivy, and exposed to the full force of sun and wind, is not to be named in the same breath with those at Kew, for instance. Of course, these are not made with bricks at all, but of soft grey stone, rather difficult to obtain by amateurs. Nevertheless, the shape and general characteristics may be copied; indeed, a day every now and then spent in the Royal Gardens at Kew or in any other well planned gardens, is a liberal education in such matters, and a great help in laying out a garden to good effect, though, naturally, everything must be considerably modified. CHAPTER II Lawn, Paths, Beds, and Border _How to keep a lawn level--Paths, how to lay them--Beds and bedding--The new style versus the old--Flower-borders and their backgrounds--Improvement of the soil._ =THE AUTOCRAT OF THE GARDEN.= We have spoken of the general arrangement of the suburban garden, and must now proceed to particularize. First as to =the lawn=: It might often be described as a thing invented to keep the journeyman gardener in constant work, for where that individual only comes for a day or even half a day each week (on which basis this book is written) he generally seems to occupy his time in rolling, mowing, and sweeping the grass. An endeavour should a made to curtail this lengthy business, if it can be done without hurting his very sensitive feelings. When a boot-boy is kept, he can be set to roll the grass before and after it is mown, and also assist in the tidying up, thus giving the man leisure to attend to other matters. Where tennis or more especially croquet is played, great care should be taken to keep the turf level; =inequalities= can always be remedied in the winter or early spring. =Fine soil= should be scattered over each depression where these are only slight, and a little seed sown about March; but when the turf is very uneven it is a better plan to lift it, fill up underneath with soil, and re-lay, rolling well so that it may settle down properly. To keep a lawn even =constant rolling= is most necessary. Even when the lawn is smooth, it is as well to some seed in the spring of every year, for there are sure to be weeds to eradicate, and this is apt to leave bare patches which mar the beauty of any lawn. During hot, dry summers, water must be regularly applied or the grass will wither and perhaps die out altogether. =Grassy slopes= especially should be looked after, as they are the first to show signs of distress. Where there is no hose, a "spreader" will be found a most useful adjunct to a water-can, and is quite inexpensive. The knives of a mowing-machine should not be set too low in warm weather, as =close cutting= of grass is often responsible for it turning brown. The =paths= of a garden can be composed of several substances, gravel possibly being the best, as it is so easily renewed and kept in order. In cottage gardens delightful pebble walks with an edging of tiles can be sometimes seen, but unless plants having a mossy or cushion-like growth are allowed to fall over the tiles, this arrangement is rather stiff. When laying gravel down, see that it is of a ="binding" quality=, and laid fairly thick, as this method is economical in the long run, because it can be easily turned. The paths must be kept clear of weeds, and, except in the wild portion, free also of moss, a difficult thing where the growth of trees is very rank. Picking up the path constantly with a rake and =scattering common salt= over it, is one way of keeping moss down. It is important that the centre of a path be higher than the sides, so that it should =dry quickly after rain=. =BEDS AND BEDDING.= As regards the beds in the garden, these are usually all on the lawn, though =a long raised bed= with a path on either side looks extremely well if filled with flowers, and can be easily got at on dewy mornings without wetting the feet. Fantastic shapes are not advisable, unless =carpet-bedding=[1] is the style aimed at. Rose-trees look best in round or oblong beds, and do not lend themselves to filling up stars, though a crescent-shaped bed suits the low-growing kinds very well. As a rule only one or two different kinds of flowers should be used in the same bed, and if a good display of blossom is required these must be frequently changed. =Cuttings a year old= make the best bedding-plants in a general way, for, though the quantity of bloom may not be quite so great the habit is more bushy, the individual flower far finer, and the period of blossoming greatly prolonged. It has been found that many of the old-fashioned flowers bloom much better if they also are =divided= and =new soil added=. This is particularly noticeable in such flowers as _delphiniums_, _campanulas_, and _japonica_ anemones. Once every two or three years, however, is often enough for these hardy denizens of our gardens. [1] See Glossary, p. 7. =MAKING THE MOST OF THE LAND.= A new style of bedding has cropped up lately, or rather a lesson that Nature has always been teaching us has at last been taken to heart, for the idea is really as old as the hills. Two =plants flowering at different seasons= are placed together where formerly each would have had a separate piece of ground; thus, a tall, autumn phlox will be seen rearing its panicles of flowers from a carpet of _aubrietia_, _alyssum_, or forget-me-not, which all flower in spring. In this way each foot of ground has something to interest us at all seasons of the year. Lilies have been planted amongst rhododendrons and azaleas for some time past, and now the system has been extended. When once we have made up our minds to have =no bare soil=, various schemes will present themselves to us. Bulbs can be treated so, to the great improvement of the garden, as when they grow out of some hardy herbaceous plant, their dying leaves which present such an untidy appearance are nearly hidden. This double system of planting is especially necessary in beds which are in full view of the house, as these must never look empty. =WANTED--AN EYE FOR COLOUR.= Borders are not so much trouble in this way, as, if the wall or fence at the back is well covered with a succession of flowering shrubs, this makes =a very good back-ground=, and, as every artist knows, that is half the battle. The colours, however, must be carefully chosen, so that the plants in front blend with the creepers on the wall. The inconsistency of people in this matter is very noticeable, for they will mix shades in their borders which they would not dream of allowing on their dinner-tables. Who has not had his teeth set on edge by the sight of a pinkish-mauve everlasting pea in juxtaposition with a flaming red geranium! it is repeated every year in scores of gardens, to the great offence of every artistic eye. =Colours that quarrel= so violently with each other should never be visible from the same point of view, but kept rigorously apart. It is important that =the soil of the border= be of fairly good quality; if the staple be poor and rocky, plenty of loam must be incorporated with a small proportion of manure. On the other hand, if it is heavy, cold, and clayey, sand must be added to make it porous, and thus improve the drainage. Where the soil is not improved, some trouble should be taken to choose only those plants which will do really well in the particular soil the garden possesses. CHAPTER III On the Duty of Making Experiments _Description of a small yet lovely garden--Colour schemes--The spring dell--A novel way of growing flowers--Variety in flower-gardens._ ="Be original!"= is a motto that every amateur gardener should adopt. Far too few experiments are made by the average owner of a garden; he jogs along on the same old lines, without a thought of the delightful opportunities he misses. Each garden, however small, should possess an =individuality= of its own--some feature that stamps it as out of the common run. I remember seeing a tiny strip in a large town quite fairy-like in its loveliness, and it has always been a lesson to me on what enthusiasm can do. The old lady to whom it belonged was not rich, but an ardent lover of all that is beautiful in nature and art; moreover, she did nearly all the work herself. Though it was situated amid smoke and dirt, it almost invariably looked bright and pretty, reminding one somehow, from its quaintness, of the "days of long ago," for there were no geraniums, no calceolarias, no lobelias, and not a single Portugal laurel in the whole place. =Gardeners of the red, white, and blue school=, if any read this book, will open their eyes at all this, and wonder, maybe, how a proper garden could manage to exist without these indispensable plants. But then it was not a proper garden in their sense of the term; paths were winding instead of straight, flowers grew so well, and bloomed so abundantly that they even ran into the walks occasionally, and, what was yet more reprehensible, there was not a shadow of a box edging to =restrain= their mad flight! Roses and jasmine threw their long flower-laden shoots over the arches in wild luxuriance, and were a pretty sight, as viewed from the seat hidden in a bower near by. There was a small fernery, too, containing some of the choicest specimens that can be grown in this country. Altogether it was a most charming little garden, and gave infinite pleasure to the owner and her friends; indeed, I for one have often been much less pleased with formal ground of several acres in extent, though the latter might cost a mint of money to keep up. Experiments in the way of colour-schemes are most interesting, and should appeal to ladies, who may gain ideas for their costumes from the blending of shades in their garden, or _vice-versâ_. Here a word of warning will not be out of place; do not rely too much on the =coloured descriptions in the catalogues=, for, as they are usually drawn up by men, they are frequently inaccurate; so many men are =partially colour-blind=, and will describe a crushed strawberry as a carmine! Frequently a flower will change its colour, however, when in different soil and position, even in the same district. =THE DELL AT CHERTSEY.= A novel way of growing plants is to open up a spring dell. I wonder if any of my readers have ever seen the one on St. Ann's Hill, Chertsey? I will try to picture it here. A large basin is scooped out of the hill, and on the slopes of this basin are grown masses of rhododendrons and azaleas. Round the rim at the top is some light rustic fencing, partially covered with climbing plants, and there was also a narrow bridge of the same material. This dell could not be copied in very small gardens, because it should be so placed as to come upon one rather in the way of a surprise, but where there are any corners not quite in view of all the windows, a little ingenuity will make a lovely thing of it. The shrubs used need not be identical; less expensive plants may be grown in just the same way. Those on the slope of the dell will do best; the plants for the bottom must be carefully chosen, as, of course, they will get =much moisture and little sun=. Wall-flowers would run to leaf in that position; and so, I am afraid, would forget-me-not; daisies (double ones) would revel there, however, particularly if the soil were made fairly rich; they are extremely reasonable in price, and easily obtained. Bluebells, wood anemones, _doronicums_, _hepaticas_, narcissus, snowdrops, all like such a situation, but perhaps the queen of them all is _dicentra spectabilis_, or "lady's locket," as it is sometimes called; it has pink drooping racemes and finely-cut foliage, and is generally found under glass, though it is never seen to such advantage as when well grown out of doors. This dell is the very place for it, as, when out in the open ground, rough winds injure its precocious blooms. The =hardy cyclamen= would do admirably, too, but these must be planted on the slope of the dell, as they need perfect drainage. In summer it should be a mass of filmy ferns, foxgloves, and hardy orchids; the best of the orchids is _cypripedium spectabile_, and it should be planted in peat and leaf-mould, and in such a way that it is fairly dry in winter and well watered in summer. Experiments in the way of growing uncommon plants are always interesting; in the next chapter, therefore, I will mention a few unreasonably neglected plants, including some novelties which I can personally testify to as well worth obtaining. CHAPTER IV Some Neglected but Handsome Plants _The sweet old columbine--BOCCONIA CORDATA at Hampton Court-- CAMPANULAS as continuous bloomers--The heavenly larkspurs--Christmas roses--The tall and brilliant lobelias--The Chinese-lantern plants--Tufted pansies._ We will begin alphabetically, therefore I will first say a few words regarding the =pink-flowered anemone japonica=. Though the white variety (_alba_) is to be seen in every garden, the older kind is not grown half enough; perhaps this is owing to the peculiar pinkish shade of the petals, a colour that will harmonize with few others, and might be termed æsthetic; it should be grown in a large clump by itself or mixed with white; it flowers at the same time as _A. j. alba_, and equally approves of a rich and rather heavy soil, and also likes a shady place. Both kinds spread rapidly. =Aquilegias, or columbines, are most elegant plants=, generally left to the cottage garden, though their delicate beauty fits them for the best positions; they do well on borders, and generally flower about the end of May; in a light soil they seed freely, and spring up all round the parent plant. =Asters=, the botanical name for Michaelmas daisies, are beautiful flowers for a small garden if the right sort are chosen; those that take up a great deal of room should be discarded where space is an object, and such kinds as _A. amellus bessaribicus_, planted instead; this is perhaps the finest of the genus, and is =first-rate for cutting=. It is only two feet high, of neat habit, and bears large, bright mauve flowers with golden centres very freely, from the beginning of August right into October. =A. ericoides= is another one of neat habit, and is only half a foot taller than the last; it bears long sprays, covered the whole way up the stem with tiny white flowers and mossy foliage. Some of the _novi-belgii_ asters are also very good and easy to grow. One of the most =effective and beautiful= plants in the summer months is _bocconia cordata_; it has delicate, heart-shaped foliage of a clear apple-green, silvered beneath, and creamy flower-spikes which measure from three to five feet in height; though so tall, it is eminently =fitted for the town garden=, for it is not a straggling plant and rarely requires staking. At Hampton Court Palace it is one of the most striking things in the herbaceous border during July. The hardy =campanulas= are good things to have, and in their own shade of blue are not to be beaten; of the taller varieties, the blue and white peach-leaved kinds are the handsomest, and come in very usefully for cutting. _C. carpatica_ and _C. c. alba_ are shorter, being only one foot high; they =flower continuously=, and look very well in a bed with the double _potentillas_, which are described further on. =Coreopsis grandiflora= is handsomer than the old _lanceolata_, and bears large bright yellow flowers, which are very handsome when cut and =bloom for a long period=. It is difficult to imagine what we should do without =delphiniums= (larkspurs) in the hardy flower-border; they are absolutely invaluable, and seem to have almost =every good quality=, neither are they at all difficult to grow; some of their blossoms are of an azure blue, a rare colour in nature; then they can be had of a Cambridge blue, purple, white, rose, and even red; the last, however, is a fickle grower and not to be recommended, save for the rockery. Though one may give 21s. and even more per dozen for them, beautiful kinds can be had for 10s.; these plants run from two to five feet high in good soil, but need plenty of manure to do them really well, as they belong to the tribe of "=gross-feeders=." The =erigerons= are useful plants to grow, very much like the large-flowered Michaelmas daisies, except that they come in earlier and are of a dwarfer habit; they may be had in orange as well as blue shades. The =funkias= are grand plants, grown chiefly for their =foliage=, which is sometimes green margined with white, or green mixed with gold, and in one kind the leaves are marbled blue and green; they =set off the flowers near them= to great advantage. In the early spring slugs attack them; these must be trapped and killed (see Chap. VIII.). Why are the old =Christmas roses= seen so little, I wonder? Grown in heavy soil and cold aspect they do beautifully, and bring us their pure white flowers =when little else is obtainable outside=. One thing against them in this hurry-skurry age is the fact that they increase so slowly; this makes them rather expensive too. Good plants of _helleborus niger maximus_ may, however, be bought for half-a-crown; this variety has =very handsome leaves=, and is all the better for a little manure. =A flower that everybody admires= is the =heuchera sanguinea=, a rare and lovely species; it has graceful sprays of coral-red flowers, borne on stems from one to two feet high, which generally appear in June, and are first-rate for cutting. =Lobelia fulgens= is a brilliantly beautiful species, not to be confounded with the dwarf blue kinds; these tall varieties have quaintly-shaped red flowers, and narrow leaves of the darkest crimson; the roots are rather tender, and much dislike damp during the autumn and winter. =Lychnis chalcedonica= is one of the unreasonably neglected plants; it has =bright scarlet flowers=, a good habit, and grows from two to three feet high; it must have a sunny position and prefers a sandy soil. Some of the new hardy =penstemons= are lovely, and =flower during the whole summer=; they look very well in a round bed by themselves, and do not require much looking after; they are rather too tender to withstand our damp winters without protection, therefore the old plants should be mulched, after having had cuttings taken from them, to be kept secure from frost in a frame. The =winter cherry=, or =Cape gooseberry (physalis alkekengi)= is a most fascinating plant; =its fruit is the attraction=, and resembles Chinese-lanterns; they appear early in September, and make quite a good show in the garden. When bad weather comes, the stalks should be cut, hung up to dry for about a week, and then mixed in vases with dried grasses and the effect is very pretty. Care must be taken when asking for this plant under the English name, as there is a greenhouse plant so termed which is quite different, and, of course, will not stand frost. A dozen plants cost about 5s.; do not be persuaded to get the newer sort--_franchetti_--the berries are larger, but coarse and flabby, and not nearly so decorative. =Polemonium richardsoni= is a very pretty plant, its English name being =Jacob's ladder=. The flowers are borne in clusters, and are pale sky-blue in colour with a yellow eye: the foliage is fernlike in character and very abundant. This plant =likes a shady nook=, which must not be under trees, however, and if well watered after its first bloom is over in June, it will flower again in autumn. The double =potentillas= are glorious things for bedding, and are most uncommon looking. Their flowers are =like small double roses= in shape: generally orange, scarlet, or a mixture of both: the leaves, greyish-green in colour, resemble those of the strawberry. Unfortunately, these plants require a good deal of staking, but they are well worth the trouble. The large-leaved =saxifrages=, sometimes called _megaseas_, merit a good deal more attention than they receive. For one thing they begin flowering very early, holding up their close pink umbels of flowers so bravely in cold winds: then their foliage is quite distinct, and turns to such =a rich red in September= that this fact, added to their easy cultivation, makes it wonderful that they are not more grown. I remember, on a dreary day in mid-February, being perfectly charmed by the sight of a large bed of this _saxifraga ligulata_, completely filling up the front garden of a workman's cottage in one of the poorest roads of a large town. The flowers are particularly =clean and fresh-looking=, and having shiny leaves they of course resist dust and dirt well. =Tradescantias= and =trollius= are two good families of plants for growing on north borders; the first have curious blue or reddish-purple flowers, rising on stiff stalks clothed with long pointed leaves, and they continue in =flower from May till September=. The =trollius= has bright orange or lemon-yellow cup-shaped blossoms and luxuriant foliage. It flowers from the end of May for some weeks. Both these plants grow about two feet high. =Violas= or =tufted pansies= are very pretty, and extremely =suitable for the ground work of beds=, especially where these are in shade, though they will not do under trees. Cuttings must constantly be taken, as one-year-old plants flower more continuously, and have larger blooms and a more compact habit than older plants, besides which they are apt to die out altogether, if left to themselves. These are but a few of the wealth of good things to be made use of, for, when once real enthusiasm is awakened, the amateur who wishes to have a thoroughly interesting garden will only be too eager to avail himself of all that is best in the horticultural world. CHAPTER V The Conservatory and Greenhouse _Mistakes in staging--Some suitable climbers--Economical heating--Aspect, shading, etc.--The storing of plants--No waste space--Frames._ =A well-kept conservatory= adds much to the charm of a drawing-room, but requires careful management. Potting and the like cannot very well go on in a place which must always look presentable. A conservatory, of course, is tiled, and therefore every dead leaf and any soil that may be spilled show very much; it is therefore advisable to have a greenhouse as well, or, failing that, some frames. A greenhouse, though it may be only just large enough to turn round in, is a great help towards a nice garden, and a boon in winter; it also allows of =a change of plants= for the dwelling-house and conservatory, greatly to their advantage. =Staging generally takes up far too much room=; the middle part of a conservatory should be left free, so that there is space to walk about; stands for plants are easily arranged, and give a more natural appearance than fixed staging, which always looks rather stiff. Being a good deal more liable to visits from guests than an ordinary greenhouse, the conservatory must be kept scrupulously clean and neat; the floor, walls, and woodwork must be washed very often, and the glass kept beautifully bright. Cobwebs must never be allowed to settle anywhere, and all the shelves must be kept free of dirt and well painted; curtains should be hung near the entrance to the drawing-room, so that they may be pulled across the opening at any time, to hide work of this sort. =Hanging plants= are great adjuncts where the structure is lofty, and open-work iron pillars, when draped with some graceful climbing plant, are a great improvement. Where there is but little fire heat, considerable care will be needed to choose something which will look well all the year round. We will suppose that the frost is merely kept out; in the summer, such a house can be bright with _plumbago_, _pelargoniums_, _salvias_, and indeed all the regular greenhouse flowering plants, as, except in hot-houses, no artificial heat is then necessary anywhere. In winter, there is more difficulty, for all the climbing plants which are in conspicuous positions must be nearly hardy; of these, the trumpet flower (_bignonia_), _swainsonia_, passion-flower, _choisya ternata_, myrtle and camellia, are the best; these are nearly evergreen, and consequently look ornamental even when out of flower. =Plants suitable for hanging baskets= are the trailing _tradescantias_, the white _campanula_, lobelia, pelargonium, and many ferns. For the pot plants there are hosts of things; _freesias_, _cyclamen_, marguerite-carnations, _primulas_, Christmas roses, arums, azaleas, _kalmias_, _spireas_, chrysanthemums, narcissus, roman hyacinths, and so on. Many late-flowering hardy plants, will, if potted up, continue in bloom long after the cold has cut them off outside. =Cactus plants=, too, ordinarily grown in a warm green-house, will even withstand one or two degrees of frost when kept perfectly dry, dust-dry, in fact. During winter in England =it is the damp that kills=, not the cold; bearing that in mind, we shall be able to grow many things that hitherto have puzzled us. All those delicate iris, half-hardy ferns, and tiresome plants that would put off flowering till too late, why, a cold conservatory or greenhouse is the very place for them! =Green-houses are altogether easier to manage than conservatories=, and therefore are the best for amateurs. There cuttings may be struck, plants repotted, fuchsias, geraniums, etc., stored, and tender annuals reared. A =lean-to greenhouse= should face south preferably, and the door should be placed at the warm end, that is, the west, so that when opened no biting wind rushes in. When the summer comes, a temporary shading will be necessary; twopennyworth of whitening and a little water mixed into a paste will do this. About the middle of September it should be washed off, if the rain has not already done so; for if it remains on too long the plants will grow pale and lanky. =ARTIFICIAL HEAT.= The Rippingille stove before referred to must be placed at the coldest end, and only sufficient warmth should emanate from it just to keep out the frost, unless it is intended to use it all day. It is well to remember that =the colder the atmosphere outside, the cooler in proportion must the interior be=. Even a hot-house is allowed by a good gardener to go down to 60° or even 55° on a bitterly cold night, as a great amount of fire-heat at such times is inimical to plant life, though it will stand a tremendous amount of sun-power. Several mats or lengths of woollen material, canvas, etc., stretched along outside will save expense, and be a more natural way of preserving the plants. =One great advantage that a greenhouse has= over a conservatory is this: that any climbers can be planted out, whereas tubs have to be used where the floor is tiled. =Cucumbers and tomatoes= do very well in a small house, and an abundance of these is sure to please the housekeeper. Seeds of the cucumber should be sown about the first week in March on a hot-bed; if in small pots all the better, as their roots suffer less when transferred to where they are to fruit. Do not let the shoots become crowded, or insects and mildew will attack them. In the summer, "damp down" pretty frequently and give plenty of air, avoiding anything like a draught, however. "=Telegraph=," though not new, is a reliable cucumber of good flavour and a first-rate cropper. =Tomato seed= should be sown about the same time and the plants treated similarly, giving plenty of water but no stimulant in the way of guano till they have set their fruit, which can be assisted by passing a camel's hair brush over the flowers, and thus fertilising them. Of course, out of doors the bees do this; their "busyness" materially aiding the gardener. As to =storing plants=, a box of sand placed in a dry corner where no drip can reach it, is best for this, burying the roots of dahlias, etc., fairly deep in it, and withholding water till the spring, when they may be taken out, each root examined, decayed parts removed, and every healthy plant repotted. The pots should be placed under the shelves till they shoot forth, when they can be gradually brought forward to the light. This reminds me that =the dark parts of a greenhouse= should never be wasted, as, besides their use in bringing up bulbs, ferns can be grown for cutting, and such things as rhubarb, may be readily forced there. =Frames= are very useful and fairly cheap, though it is best to get them set with 21-oz. glass, or they will not last long. Seedlings may be brought up in them with greater success than if in a greenhouse, and a supply of violets may be kept up in them during the coldest weather. The mats they are covered with during the night must never be removed till the frost is well off the grass, say about 11 a.m., as a sudden thaw makes terrible havoc. =The great point to remember= when about to indulge in a greenhouse is this: unless sufficient time and trouble can be given to make it worth while, it is better to spend the money on the outdoor department, which to a certain extent takes care of itself. Where there is leisure to attend to a greenhouse, however, few things will give more return for the care spent on it. CHAPTER VI The Tool Shed and Summer-House _Spades and the Bishop--Weeding without back-ache--The indispensable thermometer--Well-made tools a necessity--Summer-houses and their adornment._ Though it is true enough that the best workmen need little mechanical aid, yet =a well-stocked tool-shed= is not to be despised. Sometimes it may only be a portion of a bicycle-shed which can be set apart for our implements, or the greenhouse may have to find room for a good many of them, but certain it is that a few nicely-finished tools are an absolute necessity to the would-be gardener. Of course a good many of them can be hired; it is not everyone, for instance, who possesses a =lawn-mower=, but if the owner of a garden is ambitious enough to wish to do without a gardener altogether, a lawn-mower will be one of the first things he will wish to possess himself of. In that case he cannot do better than invest is one of Ransome's or Green's machines. Their work is always of a high standard and the firms are constantly making improvements in them. The newest ones are almost perfection, but it is better to get a second-hand one of either of these firms than a new one of an inferior make. A =roller= is useful too, but, as these large implements run into a good deal of money, it may be as well to state that, on payment of 2d. or so, any of them may be borrowed for an hour or two. Ladders can be had in this way; also shears, fret-saws--anything that is only wanted occasionally. A =spade= is a daily necessity, however. Has not one of our most learned divines exalted the art of digging by his commendation thereof, and who shall say him nay? It is expedient to wear =thick boots=, however, during this operation, not only on account of the earth's moisture, but also because otherwise it is ruinous to our soles. To preserve the latter, a spade with a sharp edge should never be chosen, but one which has a flat piece of iron welded on to the body of it. Digging is good because it breaks up the earth, and exposes it to the sun and also to the frost, which sweetens and purifies it; care must be taken however, in doing it, as so many things die down in the winter and are not easily seen. The ordinary hired gardener is very clever at =burying things so deep that they never come up again=! Most people abhor =weeding=, yet if done with a Dutch hoe it is rather =pleasant work=, as no stooping is required. After a few showers of rain the hoe runs along very easily, and the good it does is so patent that I always think it very satisfactory labour indeed. These hoes cost about 1s. 6d. each. =Raking= is easy work, and very useful for smoothing beds or covering seeds over with soil. English made, with about eight or ten teeth, their cost is from two to three shillings. One of the most necessary implements is a =trowel=, in particular for a lady, as its use does not need so much muscle as a spade; their price is from 1s. 6d. to 2s. 6d. each. Where there are many climbers =a hammer= is wanted, not a toy one of German make; these are sometimes chosen by amateurs under the mistaken idea that the lighter the hammer the lighter the work. One of English make, strong and durable, is the kind of thing required, and costs about 2s. or 2s. 6d. =Wall-nails=, one inch long (the most useful size), are 2d. a pound, and may be had at any ironmongers. The =shreds of cloth= may be bought too, but anyone who deals at a tailor's can procure a mixed bundle of cloth pieces for nothing, when there is the light labour of cutting them into shreds, work of a few minutes only. In choosing =watering-cans=, see that they are thoroughly good tin, as a strong can will last for years; moreover, when it begins to leak it will bear mending; they cost from 3s. upwards, the roses should be made to take off as a rule, and a special place assigned to them on the shelf of the tool-shed, as they readily get lost. =Syringes=, much used for washing off insects, are rather expensive, consequently are not to be found in many small gardens; a more fortunate friend will sometimes lend one, as there is a good deal of freemasonry amongst people who indulge in the hobby of gardening. A thing everyone must have is =a thermometer=, in greenhouses they are indispensable; the minimum kind are the most useful, telling one as they do exactly the degree of frost experienced during the preceding night. They may be bought at a chemist's for 1s. each, and must be re-set every day; the aforesaid chemist will show any purchaser the way to do this--it is quite simple. =Raffia=, or =bass=, for tying flower-sticks, and =labels= are minor necessities which cost little, though sticks may run into a good deal if bought prepared for staking. Personally, I dislike both the coloured kinds (never Nature's green) and the white. Both show far more than the =unobtrusive sticks= obtained by cutting down the stalks of Michaelmas daisies, for instance. =Galvanised iron stakes last practically for ever=, and if they are of the twisted kind, no tying is required, greatly lessening labour. It is a curious fact that though =arches made of iron set up electrical disturbance= and injure the climbers, these stakes seem to have no bad effect whatever. At the end of the autumn they should be collected, and stored in a safe place till summer comes round again. Thin ones suitable for carnations, etc., may be procured from A. Porter, Storehouse, Maidstone, for 1s. a dozen, carriage paid. The thicker ones can be made to order at small cost at any ironmonger's. A handy man can often make =frames= himself, especially if they are not required to be portable, and really these home-made ones answer almost as well as those that are bought. Good frames can sometimes be had at sales for an old song, and only require a coat of paint to make them as good as new. Here I will end my list, only reiterating that, however few tools you may have, it is foolish to get any but the best. A =summer-house= need not necessarily be bought ready-made. I have seen many a pretty bower put together in the spare hours of the carpenter of the family. There is one advantage in these =home-made summer-houses=, that they are generally more roomy than those which are bought, and can be made to suit individual requirements. =HOW TO COVER A SUMMER-HOUSE.= Of course, it is more necessary to cover these amateur and therefore somewhat clumsy structures with creepers, but that is not difficult. Even the first summer they can be made to look quite presentable by planting the =Japanese hop=. The leaves are variegated, and in shape like the Virginia creeper. Messrs. Barr, of Long Ditton, Surrey, told me it grew 25 feet in one season. It can be had from them in pots, about the first week in May, for 3s. 6d. a dozen. Then there are the =nasturtiums=, always so effective when =trained up lengths of string=, with the dark back-ground of the summer-house to show up their beautiful flowers. If the soil in which they grow is poor and gravelly, the blossoms will be more numerous. The =canary creeper= is another plant, which is so =airy and graceful= that one never seems to tire of it. Get the seeds up in good time, so that when planted out they are of a fair height, else so much of the summer is lost. There are so many =uncommon climbing plants= which should be tried, notably _eccremocarpus scaber_, _cobea scandens_, and _mina lobata_. The last two are annual, and the first can be grown as such, though in mild winters and in sunny positions it is a perennial. It =flowers whenever the weather will let it=, and its blossoms are orange-yellow in colour, very curious and invariably noticed by visitors. Reliable seeds of all three can be had from Messrs. Barr, at 6d. a packet. The _cobea_ bears pale purple bell-shaped flowers, and is a quick grower. _Mina lobata_ is generally admired, and though of a different family bears a slight resemblance to an _eccremocarpus_, both in the shape of its flowers and in the way they are arranged on the stem. It is only half hardy. Clematis _jackmanni_ and _montana_ are good for this position too. _Jackmanni_ is the well-known velvety purple kind, and must be cut down to the ground every autumn, and well mulched; that is because it flowers on the new growth of each year. _Montana_, however, flowers on the wood of the previous year, and therefore must be cut back about the end of June, if at all, as May is the month it blooms. The Dutchman's pipe, or _aristolochia sipho_, is not to be altogether recommended, as =its huge leaves always seem to make small gardens appear smaller still=, which is not desirable; otherwise, it is a splendid plant for covering summer-houses, as it is a rapid climber. It is wise to plant some of the =decorative ivies= as well, so that, if the flowering plants fail, it will not be of so much consequence. The =varieties with pointed leaves= are exceedingly elegant, and are much more suitable than the common sort for decorating churches and dwelling-house, and cost no more to buy. =FRAGRANT ODOURS.= At =the base of the summer-house= there should be quantities of sweet-scented plants, as this will make the time spent there all the pleasanter. There are lavender, rosemary, thyme, bay, sweet peas, stocks, and mignonette, besides the oak-leaved geranium, tobacco plant, marvel of Peru, and, of course, roses, though the latter do not give off scent quite so much as the other plants mentioned. The =position of the summer-house= is important. I have seen some divided, but where there is no partition it should generally face west. It is delightful on a fine evening to sit and watch the clouds change from glory to glory, as the sun gradually sinks to its rest, and the stars gleam out in the darkening sky. CHAPTER VII Roses for Amateurs _Teas--Hybrid perpetuals--Some good climbing varieties--Treatment and soil--Rose hedges--Pillar roses._ The reason for the heading given to this chapter is that growing roses for show will not be mentioned, as it is quite a separate branch of the art and would require a book to itself to do it full justice. =Blooms of a fair size, but in abundance= during five months of the year, that is what most amateurs need, for, after all, the amount of disbudding that has to be done when growing roses for show quite goes to one's heart! We want fine, well-coloured, healthy flowers, and to attain that end a =good soil is absolutely necessary=. This is especially the case with =Hybrid Perpetuals=, but Teas will often do in a light soil, if manure is given them, and plenty of water in the dry season. The H.P.'s, as gardeners call them, =must have loam and clay= to do them properly; where the soil is not improved by adding these ingredients, it is advisable to rely chiefly on Tea Roses. =THE ADVANTAGES OF TEAS.= For many reasons Tea Roses are the best for small gardens, as they like the shelter found there. They =flower more continuously= and in much greater profusion, are not so troubled with green fly, and are far =more decorative= in habit of growth and colour of leafage than most of the other species. In their particular shades of colour they cannot be equalled, though for cherry reds and dark maroons we have to look to the Hybrid Perpetual, at least, if we want flowers of fine form, and also for that =lovely fresh pink= of the Captain Christy type (though this is now termed a Hybrid Tea by rosarians). The name Perpetual is apt to give =a false idea= to those who are not experienced. Most of these roses are not at all continuous, many only lasting six weeks or so in bloom, and some even less, if the season is hot; that is one great reason why they are being superseded by Teas, at least in the suburbs of London and the South of England. In the Midlands and North the =hardiness of the H.P.'s= is greatly in their favour. =Teas will stand the closeness= of a garden surrounded by houses and trees much better than the Perpetuals, which are very apt to become mildewed in such positions. Of course, many remedies are given for this, but often they are =worse than the disease=; flowers of sulphur, for instance, to take the best-known remedy, disfigures the whole plant terribly. =Teas= are much the =best for planting in beds= which are very conspicuous, for, as I said previously, they are always ornamental. Where standards are placed down each side of the lawn, it is rather a good plan to place all the =Hybrid Perpetuals on one side and the Teas on the other=, giving the greater amount of sun to the latter. =GOOD CLIMBERS FOR WARM WALLS.= When covering a very hot wall, too, it is best, in the South of England, to stick to the tender roses, as the others become almost burnt up. I will name here five of the =best climbing Tea roses= for a south or west wall. William Allan Richardson the beautiful orange variety so much admired; Bouquêt d'or, a daughter of Gloire de Dijon, but prettier in the bud than the old variety; Madame Berard, fawny yellow, very floriferous; L'Idéal, and Gustave Regis. =L'Ideal is a most beautiful rose=, its colouring almost defying description--a peculiar yellow, streaked with red and gold, like a Turner sunset. Gustave Regis, though often classed as a bush rose, easily covers a low wall, and is one of the best kinds there are, as it is covered with bloom the whole of the season. The buds make =lovely button-holes=, and are creamy yellow, long, and pointed. They are just like water-lilies when fully open, and on a warm sunny day exhale a perfectly delicious fragrance, unlike any other rose with which I am acquainted. Another good climbing =tea-rose= is Duchesse d'Auerstadt. Though introduced as long ago as 1887, this variety is =not often heard of=, perhaps on account of its shy blooming qualities. This however need deter no one from growing it, as its =lovely foliage= makes it quite a picture at all times: bronze, crimson, rich metallic green, its shoots and leaves are a pleasure to look at. Its flowers, too, when they come how splendid they are! =great golden goblets= full to overflowing with the firm, rich petals and with a scent to match; they are indeed worth waiting for! Anxiously is each bud watched, for they take so long to come to perfection that the anxiety is not ill-founded. I have known a bud take four weeks to come out, but then it had to stand a lot of bad weather, and came through it safely after all. All these rose-trees may be had from Benjamin R. Cant & Sons, Colchester, at 1s. 6d. each. This firm always sends out good plants, with plenty of vitality in them, and as these old-established rose-nurseries are by no means in a sheltered spot, you may be sure of each tree being hardily grown and thoroughly ripened, great points in their future well-being. =CLIMBERS FOR COOL WALLS.= East, or better still E.S.E., is a good aspect for Hybrid Perpetual and Bourbon roses on walls. I have frequently noticed that they have a great dislike to the very hottest of the sun's rays, and that is the reason I have advised those places to be reserved for Teas. Some good climbing varieties for cool aspects are:--Mrs. John Laing, a satiny pink of lovely form and sweet scent. Jules Margottin, cherry-red, globular in shape, sweet-scented and very floriferous. Prince Camille de Rohan, =one= of =the best dark roses= to be had, as they are generally so difficult to grow--it is blackish-maroon in colour, and flowers abundantly. Boule-de-neige, a Bourbon, with white flowers in great abundance. Madame Isaac Pereire another Bourbon; it is a quick grower and =most abundant flowerer=, the flowers are bright rose crimson. Souvenir-de-la-Malmaison, one of the best Bourbons we have; does particularly well on cold walls, even on those facing north. Its flowers are very large, somewhat flat in form, and blush-white; it =blooms abundantly in autumn=, and is rarely subject to blight. =CLIMBERS REQUIRE VERY LITTLE PRUNING.= It is a case chiefly of cutting out all dead wood, and snipping the decayed ends of those that are left. =When planting rose-trees= of any description, choose mild and if possible calm weather, for it is better to keep the trees out of the ground a few days rather than plant them in frosty weather. =The soil should be friable=, so that it crumbles fairly well, and when the plant is in position it is advisable =to cover the roots with potting-soil= for two or three inches. Spread the roots out like a fan, and be sure not to plant the tree too deep. =Look carefully for the mark= showing the union =of graft and stock=, and be careful not to cover this with more than two inches of soil. Tread down the soil well to make it firm, and thus induce the rose-trees to make fresh roots. In =planting out climbers=, carefully tack all loose shoots to the wall or fence behind it, else the wind may do much harm. When all is finished give a good mulching of strawy manure, which should be dug in when March comes; and if there is a likelihood of frost, protect the branches with bracken or any light covering. =BUSH ROSES OF THE H.P. TYPE.= I will now give a few of the best Hybrid Perpetuals of the bush type; many of the varieties I shall name, however, =make very good standards= though they are more expensive. The "dwarfs," as rosarians call them, only cost from 9d. to 1s. each at Messrs. Cant's, except in the case of =novelties=; and where these are concerned, it is well to wait a year or two, as they rapidly go down to the normal price. Duke of Teck, bright carmine scarlet, of good form, and occasionally blooms in the autumn. Dupuy Jamain, =one of the best H.P.'s ever introduced=, the flowers are almost cherry-red in colour, sweet-scented, and come out in succession =the whole of the summer=: it is a quick grower, and does well in a somewhat shady position. Heinrich Schultheis flowers of a true rose-pink touched with silver, very prettily shaped and exceedingly fragrant. Unfortunately, this variety is =subject to attacks of mildew=, though this does not seem to affect the beauty of the flowers but spoils the leaves. Baroness Rothschild, a faultless rose as regards form and colour, which is a beautiful pale pink, but utterly =devoid of scent=, a serious fault in my opinion. Comtesse de Bearn, large, dark, and very floriferous. Madame Gabriel Luizet, light silvery pink, quick growing, and free blooming. Ulrich Brunner, always given an excellent character in the catalogues, and indeed it is a good rose, cherry-red in colour, sweet-scented, and of fine form: it =rarely ails=, mildew and rust passing it by altogether. It is exceedingly vigorous, and makes therefore a good pillar-rose. Pride of Waltham, a =rose little heard-of= yet most lovely; its blossoms are of the brightest pink, sweetly scented, and beautifully cupped. Charles Lefèvre, beautiful crimson with dark shading; also very good at Kew (and continuous). Abel Carrière, another dark maroon of fine form, and Queen of the bedders, producing carmine flowers so freely that it must be disbudded; it is subject to mildew. So many roses formerly classed as Hybrid Perpetuals are now called Hybrid Teas. The dear old La France is one that has undergone this change; it is =a rose no-one should be without=, and should be grown both as a standard and a bush; its silvery pink flowers have a most exquisite scent and perfect shape (that is, when nearly wide open; it is not a good button-hole variety). Another Hybrid Tea rose that has come to the fore lately is Bardou Job, a =splendid bedding variety=, with flaming roses almost single in form, but produced in prodigal profusion; it pays for feeding. Queen Mab is a somewhat similar rose but has apricot flowers, tinted pink and orange, borne in the same generous manner. It is a china rose; neither of these kinds attain a great height, nevertheless beds entirely composed of them are exceedingly effective and may be seen some distance off; they require very little pruning. =PILLAR ROSES.= Having mentioned pillar-roses, I will add a few more names especially calculated to do well in such positions; perhaps =one of the best= is Paul's Carmine Pillar, with its sheets; of lovely flowers covering the stems the whole way up, with plenty of healthy foliage to set them off. When better known, I should imagine it would be a rival even to Turner's Crimson Rambler, magnificent as that is when grown to perfection. At Kew recently a bed of the Carmine Pillar was quite =one of the sights of the garden=. A close investigation of the bed in which they were planted revealed the fact that every alternate rose-tree was a Gloire de Dijon, but each one was a sorry failure, and instead of scaling the heights, crouched low at the foot of its iron stake, as though unwilling to compete with the other blushing occupants. The "glories" were not very youthful either, that one could see by their thick hard stems; plenty of time had evidently been given them to do the work, but for some unknown reason they had shirked it. I have known several cases of this sort with the much-loved "glory de John," as the gardeners broadly term it. Madame Plantier is =a good white pillar-rose=, doing well in any situation, and Cheshunt Hybrid is also most accommodating, and blooms well even in poor soil, though it well repays good cultivation. Its flowers, cherry-carmine in colour, are large and full, and the petals are prettily veined and curl over at the edges. The foliage is rich, and the tree =never seems attacked by any disease=; it is a Hybrid Tea. Aimée Vibert, a noisette, is very good as a pillar-rose and extremely hardy: it also does well on arches; the flowers are small and white, with pink tips to the petals; it is very free, and flowers continuously. =ROSE HEDGES.= Hedges of roses are quite as effective as pillars, and make a very pretty screen for two-thirds of the year. The =ever-green roses are best= for this purpose, and of these Flora is by far-and-away the nicest rose. It has sweet flowers, small, full, and of the loveliest pink; they are borne in clusters, each one looking just ready for a fairy-wedding bouquet. They have a delightful scent, too, their =only fault being their short duration=; in one summer they will grow from five to ten feet, and are so free-flowering as almost to hide the leaves. Dundee Rambler, Ruga, Mirianthes, and Léopoldine d'Orléans are all equally suitable for hedges. =DWARF TEAS.= I will now name a list of the best dwarf Tea-roses; to begin with, Alba Rosea is a dear old rose-tree, moderate in growth, bearing numbers of flesh-white blossoms, good in form though small in size. These have a faint, sweet scent, and are very pretty for cutting. One day last August, I cut a whole branch off with about six open flowers upon it, and put it in a tall vase just as it was; they arranged themselves, and were much admired. The tree is decidedly dwarf and moderate in growth, and the leaves are very dark green, thus making a beautiful foil to the roses. Catherine Mermet is somewhat of the same type, but the flowers are larger and more deeply flushed with pink; it is =a good green-house rose=. Madame de Watteville resembles a tulip, having thick firm petals of a creamy-white colour, distinctly edged with pink. It is a strong grower and free in flowering. Madame Hoste is a pretty lemon-yellow colour, one of the easiest to grow in this particular shade; the flowers are of good form, and if well manured are large and full; it has a sweet scent. Madame Lambard is =a rose no one can do without=, it is so free-blooming and continuous; the colour is not constant, sometimes being mostly pink, at others almost a fawn, but as a rule it is a blend of those two shades. Marie van Houtte is another =indispensable variety=; the roses are lovely in form, of a pale lemon-yellow colour, each petal being flushed with pink at the edges, and the whole having a soft bloom, as it were, over it. This carmine-marking, however, is not constant; weather and position seem to have a good deal to do with it. Meteor is one of the darker Teas, being carmine-crimson shaded with blackish-maroon; the roses are not full though of good shape, consequently they =look best in bud=. This tree wants feeding to do well, and is not a vigorous grower. Grace Darling is =a gem= which everyone should have; the blossoms are large, full, perfect in shape and exquisite in colour, which is generally a peachy-pink, the reverse of the petals being a rich cream, and, as these curl over in a charming manner, the effect is unique and extremely beautiful. The foliage is abundant, of a ruddy tint, and keeps free from blight; indeed, =this entirely fascinating rose= has only one fault, it is altogether too unassuming. A bright, pink rose of fine form is the Duchess of Albany; it is often called =a deep coloured La France=, as it is a "sport" from that famous rose. The Marquis of Salisbury is another dark tea-rose; it is small but well-shaped though thin, and the blooms are abundant; it is strictly moderate in growth, being somewhat like the Chinas in habit. A fine rose =in a warm summer= is Kaiserin Friedrich, as it has large, very full, flowers, which take a good deal of building up; it appears to dislike cold and rainy weather. =Sunrise is a new kind= that is making a considerable stir in the rose-world; its flowers vary from reddish-carmine to pale fawn, and the tree has glorious foliage. =THE TIME TO PLANT.= October and November are the best months to plant rose-trees, except in very cold parts; February is then a safer time, especially for the tender sorts. =Their first season they require a great deal of looking after=; their roots have not got a proper foot-hold in the earth, and this means constant watering in dry weather. At blooming-time, an occasional application of guano does a great deal of good, making both flowers and leaves richer in colour. =Dead blooms, too, must be sedulously cut off=, as, if left on, the tree is weakened. =PRUNING.= Do a little pruning in October, though March and April are the chief months. In the autumn, however, the shoots of rose-trees should be thinned out, the branches left can then be shortened a fourth of their length with advantage, as the winter's howling winds are less likely to harm them. Standards especially require this, as when "carrying much sail" they are very liable to be up-rooted. When the spring comes, look the trees carefully over before commencing operations, remembering that =the sturdier a tree is the less it needs pruning=. The knife must go the deepest in the case of the poor, weak ones. Always prune down to an "eye," that is an incipient leaf-bud; if this is not done the wood rots. Evergreen roses need scarcely be touched, save to cut out dead branches and snip off decayed ends. For Teas and Noisettes also, little actual pruning is necessary. H.P.'s require the most. As a general rule for roses, if you want quality, not quantity, prune: hard, but to enable you to "cut and come again," only prune moderately. =Dis-budding= is a certain method of improving the blooms if it is done =in time=. It is little use to do it when the buds once begin to show colour; start picking off the superfluous ones when they are quite small, and the difference in size and shape is often amazing. CHAPTER VIII Enemies of the Garden _Slugs, and how to trap them--Blight or green fly--Earwigs-- Wireworm--Snails--Mice--Friends mistakenly called foes._ =The best garden as a rule has the fewest insects=, indeed, no foe is allowed to lodge for any length of time without means being taken for its extermination. Some enemies are more easily got rid of than others; for instance, green fly, or _aphis_ (to give it the scientific name), rarely attacks healthy plants to any extent; it goes for the sick ones, therefore =good cultivation will speedily reduce their numbers=. When any is seen, a strong syringing of =soapy water= will generally dislodge them, or, if this is impracticable, a dusting of =tobacco-powder= is a very good substitute. Tait and Buchanan's Anti-blight, to be had of most seedsmen, is a reliable powder; it is also efficacious in preventing mildew in potatoes, chrysanthemums, etc. In some gardens, especially those inclined to be damp, =slugs are very troublesome=; their depredations are usually carried on by night, so that it is rather difficult to trap them; many things are sold for this purpose, but =hand-picking= is the surest method. In the evening, sink a saucer a little way in the border, and fill this with moist bran; =it is irresistible to the slugs=, and when twilight comes on they will steal out from their hiding-places and make a supper off it. Then comes man's opportunity. Armed with a pointed stick and a pail of salt and water, they must be picked off and popped into the =receptacle=, there =to meet a painless death=; one can squash them under foot, but where they are plentiful this is rather a messy proceeding. Snails may be trapped in exactly the same way; =salt or sand= should be placed in a ring round any plant they are specially fond of, or else in a single night they will graze off the whole of the juicy tops. Young growths are their greatest delicacy, hence they are most troublesome in the spring. =Wireworm= is another tiresome enemy well known to carnation growers, and more difficult to get rid of than the slug, owing to its hard and horny covering which resists crushing; salt again, however, is =a splendid cure=. It should be well mixed with the soil though not brought too close to the plants. =Earwigs= are horrid insects to get into a garden; they often come in with a load of manure, simply swarms of them imbedding themselves in such places. Dahlias are the plants they like best, and, if not kept down with a watchful eye, they will completely spoil both flowers and leaves. Hollow tubes, such as short straws, put round will collect many, or =the old plan= of filling an inverted flower-pot with moss is also useful, though somewhat disfiguring, if perched on the tops of the stakes supporting the dahlias. =Mice= are dreadfully destructive, too, especially in the country, and being so quick in their movements they are troublesome to catch. Traps must be baited with the daintiest morsels, to make them turn away from the succulent tops of the new vegetation. Owls and other large birds are most effectual in doing away with these troublesome little animals, a fact which should be taken into account. =Many people from ignorance= destroy birds or insects which may be urgently required to keep down annoying pests--take, for instance, =ladybirds=--the pretty creatures are =invaluable= where there is much green fly, yet how often are they doomed to death by some well-meaning gardener, and it is the same with birds. =A robin or sparrow will eat hundreds of aphides in one day=, so that, unless there are many fruit-trees in the garden, it is most unwise to shoot the dear little songsters; and even in the latter case, if protection can be afforded, by all means save the birds! A while ago some farmers had been so enraged by the devastation made by the sparrows and starlings that they determined to kill all the old birds. The consequence was that they were so over-run the next season by insects of every description, that they had to import birds at great trouble, to take the place of those they had killed. Foes are often mistaken for friends, but occasionally the reverse is the case! CHAPTER IX The Rockery _A few hints on its construction--Aspect and soil--A list of Alpines--Other suitable plants._ A well-constructed rockery filled with a good selection of Alpine plants is a =never-failing delight= to anyone fond of a garden. Yet how rare a thing it is! most of the erections one sees are mere apologies for the real thing. The truth is not one gardener in a hundred knows how to make a rockery, though he does not like to say so! =An artistic mind is needed= to construct one that will be pleasing to the eye, besides a knowledge of draining, water-supply, and so forth. An educated person is not actually necessary, but one with common sense, who would not dream of making it merely another back-ground for gorgeous bedding-plants which are all very well in their right place, but absolutely =unsuited to a rockery=. =As regards aspect=, one that is built on each side of a narrow path running north and south, does very well, but as this may be impossible in a small garden, =a corner rockery= built high in the form of a triangle and facing south-east, can be made extremely pretty, as I know from experience. Where the rockery is in the shade, no overhanging trees must be near, if choice Alpines are expected to live there. =The material= may be either slabs of grey stone as at Kew, or the more easily obtained "clinkers." =Clinkers= are really bricks spoiled in the baking, having all sorts of excrescences on them which unfit them for ordinary building purposes; they should always be ordered from a strictly local contractor, as carriage adds considerably to the cost. =The soil= should be a mixture of peat, sand, and loam; no manure should be incorporated, the ="pockets"= for special favourites and plants that have individual wants can be filled in at the time of planting. =One advantage= pertaining to a rockery is that many plants which quite refuse to thrive in a border will grow and flourish there, and the attention they need is less troublesome to give; in fact, it is =a delightful form of gardening=, especially for a lady, as there is no fear of the feet getting dirty or wet, and a trowel, not a spade, is the chief implement used. A small piece of turf, just a few feet wide, at the bottom of the corner style of rockery, is =a great set-off=, and a vast improvement on a gravel path. =SUITABLE PLANTS FOR A ROCKERY.= The following are some of the best flowers for a rockery. The _aubrietias_ are very pretty little plants, having creeping rosettes of greyish-green leaves, and a perfect sheet of mauve or lilac bloom about April. The effect is greatly enhanced when =planted so as to fall over a stone= or brick; indeed, it is for those things which are so easily lost sight of in a border that a rockery comes in; they can be closely inspected there without much stooping. The _arabis_ is a pretty plant, somewhat like the _aubrietia_ in habit and time of flowering; hence, where only a small selection can be made, it might be left out, as it is =a trifle coarse=. Such a term could never be applied to the _androsaces_, which may be numbered among =the= _élite_ =of rock plants=; they are evergreens, and do not exceed six inches in height; they bear tiny but very bright flowers, varying from rose in some species to lavender in others. =APENNINE GEMS.= Some of the alpine anemones are lovely, notably _A. appennina_, which has sky-blue flowers that open out flat on very short stalks, surrounded by pale green denticulated foliage. _A. blanda_ is much the same, save that it flowers a month or so earlier; they are spring-blooming plants, and like moisture and shade, and will not do at all if subjected to much hot sun. These and many similar plants can often be planted on a =rockery facing south-east= (which aspect suits so many sun-loving plants), by arranging bricks, stones, or small shrubs, so as to shelter them from its hottest rays. _Aquilegias_, mentioned in the list of border plants, look quite as well on a rockery, if moisture can be given them, as their flowers are so delicate, and the leaves so fragile and prettily coloured, especially in the early spring. The blue and white _A. cærulea_, from the Rocky Mountains, is =a gem=, and the scarlet kinds are very effective. =For forming close green carpets=, _arenaria balearica_ is most useful; it creeps over rocks and stones, covering them completely with its moss-like growth, and hiding any hard, unlovely surfaces. The _campanula_ family is =a host in itself=, many of the smaller varieties looking better on a rockery than anywhere else. Some of these tiny bell-flowers have, however, the very longest of names! _C. portenschlagiana_, for instance, is only four inches high, and =a charming little plant= it is, and flowers for months, beginning about July. The blossoms are purple-blue in colour, and continue right into November, unless very hard frosts come to stop it. _C. cespetosa_ is another variety well suited to rock-work, as it is even smaller than the last. =The alpine wall-flower=, _cheiranthus alpinus_, is a very choice little plant; it has creamy-yellow flowers, borne on stalks a few inches high, and, though each individual plant is biennial, they seed so freely that they are practically perennial. A light, dry soil and a sunny situation suits them; they will even grow on old walls, and very picturesque they look perched up on some mossy old ruin. =An attractive rock plant=, though rarely seen, is _chrysogonum virginianum_; its flowers are creamy-yellow, and grow in a very quaint manner; this plant =blooms the whole season through=. Plants of this character should be noted carefully, as they help to give a rockery =a well-furnished appearance=, so that one always has something to show visitors. For warm, dry, sunny nooks =rock-roses= are the very thing; where other plants would be burnt up, the _cistus_ flourishes, for it requires no particular depth of soil. _C. florentinus_ (white) and _C. crispus_ (dark crimson), are two of the best. =One of the most exquisite and interesting rock-plants= I have ever seen is _clematis davidiana_, a plant only introduced of recent years, but noticeable wherever seen; it is not a climber, as its name might lead one to suppose, for =it only grows two feet high=, and generally trails along the ground; the flowers are curious in shape, and of a metallic blue-grey colour; the foliage is very neat and pretty; it blooms about July, and should be planted so that it can be examined closely. =The fumitories= are elegant plants, and nearly always in flower; the blossoms are small, yellow, sometimes white, and borne in profusion amongst the finely-cut foliage, which, =the whole summer through=, is a bright clear green. With one plant of _corydalis lutea_ a stock can soon be obtained, as this variety seeds freely. All the fumitories prefer a light soil and a sunny position. Dwarf evergreen shrubs greatly improve the appearance of the rockery in late autumn and winter, especially when they add berries to their attractions. The _cotoneasters_ are evergreen, and when about a foot high are very suitable for such a position. _C. horizontalis_ and _C. micicrophylla_ bear scarlet berries, and are altogether very choice; they must not be allowed to get too large, but taken up when little over a foot high, and others substituted for them. =Various bulbs=, which we generally plant in the border, find a prettier background in the rockery; here each bulb is made the most of, and, where very small, is seen to greater advantage; even if ever so insignificant, it cannot get buried away under a spadeful of soil, nor get splashed with mud. You must often have noticed how crocuses get blown over and spoilt by the wind, but in a cosy nook of the rock-work, planted fairly close together, and in a "pocket" surrounded by bricks, they find a happy home, and can be inspected without any difficulty. Personally, I do not care for =crocuses in a line=; one cannot see their pure transparency, and only get an idea of a broad band of colour; close at hand, their dewy chalices, exquisitely veined and streaked, seem far more beautiful, particularly where the finer sorts are selected. =All crocuses do not flower in spring=; some of the prettiest species bloom in autumn, though many people, seeing them at that time, imagine they are _colchicums_; the latter, though certainly very decorative when in flower, are followed by such coarse leaves that the crocus is decidedly preferable. The =hardy cyclamen= are very suitable for a rockery, as, being beauties in miniature, they are apt to get lost in a mixed border. _C. neapolitanum_ has marbled foliage and pretty pink flowers, and _C. europeum_ (maroonish crimson) is also well worth growing; they must be placed in a shady part, yet where the drainage is perfect; stagnant moisture kills them. The =hardy orchids= should be tried too, especially the _cypripedium_; it is not generally known how handsome some of them are; they like shade and moisture; indeed, through the summer the peat they are growing in should be a regular swamp, or they will fail to produce fine flowers. Another plant that likes peat is the little _daphne eneorum_. This is =an evergreen=, and produces its pink fragrant flowers every spring; it will not do in very smoky places, but, like the heath, must have a fairly pure atmosphere. =The alpine pinks are treasures for the rockery=, and do well in town gardens; they flower nearly all the summer, and are not particular as to soil and position, though they prefer plenty of sun. =The gentians= look very well on rockwork, but like a stronger soil than most alpines, loam suiting them best. Water should be generously given during spring and summer. _G. acaulis_ is the best for amateurs. The red shades found in the =geum tribe= are very uncommon, being neither crimson, scarlet, nor orange, but a mixture of all three, with a dash of brown thrown in. They =flower continuously=, and have dull green woolly foliage, which sets the flowers off well. They need a light, well-drained soil. _Geum chilense_, or _coccineum plenum_, is a good kind, and so is _G. miniatum_; both are about two feet high, but require no staking whatever. Of course, it will be understood that sticks, except of the lightest kind, are =quite inadmissible= on a rockery. =Helianthemums=, or =rock roses=, are charming little evergreen plants, with wiry prostrate stems, and small flowers, which are freely produced all the summer. They may be had in white, yellow, pink, scarlet, and crimson, and either double or single; the variety named Mrs. C. W. Earle is a very effective double scarlet, and quite a novelty. =Iris reticulata= is =a very fascinating little bulbous plant=, well adapted for a rockery; it blooms in the early spring, and very beautiful the flowers are, being rich violet-purple, with gold blotches on each petal; they are scented, too; when in blossom, the stems reach to about nine inches in height. One of the most lovely plants that can be imagined for a rockery is =lithospermum prostratum=, and yet how rarely one sees it; the glossy green leaves always look cheerful, and the flowers are exquisite, they are a bright full blue, and each petal is slightly veined with red, it is not difficult to grow, a dry, sunny position being all it requires; it is of trailing habit and an ever-green. Everyone knows =the creeping jenny=, but it is not to be despised for rock-work, especially for filling up odd corners where other things will not thrive. It blooms best where there is a certain amount of sun. =St. Dabeoc's Heath= is a pretty little shrub, very neat and of good habit; its flowers are the true pink, shading off to white, and of the well-known heath shape. Somewhat slow-growing, it prefers peat. =Plants that flower the whole season through= are most valuable on the rockery. =OEnotheras= may be depended on to present a pleasing appearance for several weeks, especially if all dead flowers are picked off. The dwarf kinds are the most suitable, such as _Oenothera marginata_, _missouriensis_, _linearis_, and _taraxacifolia_. The last-named, however, is only a biennial, but has the advantage of =opening in the morning=, while most of the evening primroses do not seem to think it worth while to make themselves attractive till calling-hours. =The most fairy-like little plant= for filling up narrow crevices in sunny quarters is the dear old =wood-sorrel=. It has tiny leaves like a shamrock in shape, but of a warm red-brown colour, and the sweetest little yellow flowers imaginable; they are borne on very short stalks, and only come out when the sunshine encourages them; the whole plant does not exceed three inches in height; it spreads rapidly, seeds freely, and thrives best in a very light soil; it will also do well on walls. The =alpine poppies= are so delicate and graceful that they seem made for the rockery. They only grow six inches high, and continue in flower at least four months; they may be had in a great range of colours, and are easily brought up from seed. Nice bushy plants can be had of these poppies for about four shillings a dozen, and it is needless to say they require plenty of sunshine. The word _phlox_ conveys to many people the idea of a tall autumn-flowering plant, with large umbels of flowers, individually about the size of a shilling. But these are not the only species; the alpine varieties are just as beautiful in a different way, though some are not more than a few inches high, and each flower no bigger than a ladies' glove-button. In spring and early summer they become =perfect sheets of bloom=, so that the foliage is completely hidden; when out of flower, they are soft green cushions of plants, and serve to cover bare bricks well. The =alpine potentillas= are pretty, and keep in flower for a long time. _P. nepalensis_ is a good one, but the merits of _p. fruticosa_ are much exaggerated, its dirty-looking yellow flowers are by no means prepossessing. =No rockery is complete= without several specimens of the family of _saxifrages_. One cannot do better than make a beginning with them, as they are so fine in form and diverse in style. _S. aizoon compactum_ is one of the best rosette species, and _S. hypnoides densa_ of the mossy tribe; other kinds well worth growing are _S. burseriana_, which has pretty white flowers on red hairy stems in early March; _S. cunifolia_, with charming fresh pink blossoms, and of course _S. umbrosa_, the sweet old-fashioned =London pride=. A dry sunny situation suits the _saxifrages_ best. The =House leeks= are somewhat similar in appearance, but like drier situations than the last-named plants. The _sempervivums_ delight to creep along a piece of bare rock, and one marvels how they can derive enough sustenance from the small amount of poor soil in which they are often seen growing. The =cobweb species=, called _arachnoideum_, is most interesting, and invariably admired by visitors; it has greyish-green rosettes, each one of which is covered with a downy thread in the form of a spider's web. A kind more often seen is _sempervivum montanum_, and certainly it is a =very handsome species=, with curious flowers supported on firm succulent red stems. It is to be seen in broad clumps at Kew, and very well it looks. There are no better carpetters than the =dwarf sedums=, or =stone crops=. _S. glaucum_ has blue-grey foliage, and spreads rapidly; _S. lydium_ is the variety most in use, and can be had very cheaply. The tall, old variety, _sedum spectabile_, has been improved upon, and the novelty is called _S. s. rosea_. Another novelty is _shortia galacifolia_; it is a native of North America, and has white, bell-shaped flowers supported on elegant, hairy stems, the leaves are heart shaped, and turn almost scarlet in autumn; thus, the plant has =two seasons of beauty=, as it blooms in the spring. A peaty soil, with a little sand added, suits it well, if the drainage is good; and it likes a half-shady position. =Plants that are sadly neglected= are the airy-fairy Sea-lavenders or _Statices_, with their filmy heads like purple foam; _S. gmelini_ and _S. limonium_ are two of the best. When cut, they last a long time, and are very useful for giving a graceful appearance to =stiff bouquets=. The dwarf _thalictrums_ are =good rockery plants=; they are =grown for their foliage=, which bears a striking resemblance to the maidenhair fern. _T. adiantifolium_ and _T. minus_ are very pretty; their flower-heads should always be cut off, so as to promote the production of their fine fronds, which have the property of lasting well when cut. The =aromatic scent of thyme= is very pleasant on a rockery; not only should the silver and golden varieties be grown, but also those bright kinds which give us sheets of purple, pink, and white blossom during summer; to thrive they must be exposed to full sunshine, when =they will attract innumerable bees=. The new kind, _T. serpyllum roseus_, is splendid, the tiny flowers coming in such profusion as to completely hide the foliage. All are low-growing, having the cushion habit of growth. _Veronicas_ are not often seen, yet they are exceedingly pretty, and continuous bloomers. =Amateurs should not begin with the shrub tribe=, as these are somewhat tender, but if _V. incana_, _V. longifolia-subsessilis_, and _V. prostrata_ are obtained, they will be sure to please. The first and last are low-growing, but the other is two feet high, and has long racenes like soft blue tassels, which hang down in the most charming way. =A few words on some more bulbs= that look well on rockeries, besides the crocus and dwarf iris before-mentioned, may not be amiss: the =winter aconites= are most appropriate so placed, and show to greater advantage than in the level border. Their golden flowers, each surrounded by a frill of green, come forth as early as January, if the weather be propitious. The _chionodoxa_, called also =glory of the snow=, is very fresh and pretty, with its bright blue flowers having a conspicuous white eye. If left undisturbed they will spread rapidly, and come up year after year without any further trouble; they are =very cheap=, and will do in any soil. =Snowdrops= are charming on rock-work, and may be placed close to the _chionodoxa_, as they bloom almost together. The =grape-hyacinths= have very quaint little flowers of a bright dark-blue colour, on stalks about five or six inches high; they flower for some weeks, and must be massed together to get a good effect. =The early-flowering scillas= resemble the _chionodoxas_, but last much longer in bloom. They are very =easy to manage=, and rarely fail to make a good show. _S. siberica_ is the best-known variety, and can be obtained very cheaply. =The miniature narcissus= is the sweetest thing imaginable; _N. minus_, is only a few inches high, and when in the open border is apt to get splashed, but amongst stones in a sheltered position on the rockery they are charming. All these dwarf bulbs look so well in such positions, because =their purity remains unsullied=. Here I will leave the rockery, merely intimating that =early autumn is the best time for planting=, and that if pains are taken to construct it properly at first, a great amount of trouble will be saved in the end. Most of these plants and bulbs may be had of Messrs. Barr & Sons, 12, King Street, Covent Garden. Their daffodil nurseries at Long Ditton, near Surbiton, Surrey, are famous all the world over, but they also go in a great deal for hardy perennials and rock plants, of which they have a splendid stock; their prices are very reasonable, too, when you take into consideration that everything they send out is absolutely true to name. Their interesting catalogues will be sent post free on application. CHAPTER X Trees, Shrubs, and How to Treat Them. _Some good plants for growing beneath them--Selection of hardy shrubs--Enriching the soil--Climbers._ Forest-trees in a small garden are somewhat out of place, but as they are often found in such positions, I will deal with them here. It is to be remembered that though they give most grateful shade, not only do they rob everything beneath them of sunshine, but also =take so much out of the soil=, that, unless constant renewals are made, very little can be grown in their immediate vicinity; the class of plants that will do best beneath their branches also find the soil they are growing in best renewed by the leaves which fall therefrom. For the sake of tidiness, these of course are swept away, but they should be kept for two or three years, and then brought back, converted into =leaf-mould=; if this is not done, the quality of the soil will steadily deteriorate, instead of getting richer, as it does in woods; and this is one reason why so many wild plants fail to thrive when brought into cultivation; manure is no substitute, but often distasteful to them. =SOMETHING BESIDES IVY.= Trees must be divided into two broad sections, =deciduous and ever-green=. Very few plants will do well under the latter, but as regards the first, =ivy= is not by any means the only thing that will grow, though it is often a good plan to use it as a foundation, and work in plants here and there afterwards. There is no need to choose the large kind; those elegant varieties with long pointed leaves are =more ornamental and just as easy to grow=. Their roots must be restricted when other plants are near, or they will soon take up all the room. =Ferns= will do very well under trees, if they are plentifully watered during the dry season. Here also a few of the choicest kinds should be grown, for though some of them may not do so well as in a shady open spot, most of them will give a fairly good account of themselves. Always plant them with the rhizome above ground, not forgetting that when each fern has its full complement of fronds, it will take up a considerably larger space than it does at the time it is set out. If the _Osmunda regalis_ is tried--=the royal fern=--it is necessary to get a good established turf of it; strong clumps cost about 1s. 6d. each; plenty of water must be given it in the summer. I have seen it in splendid form under a tree in a very small garden. Perhaps the =St. John's worts= come next to ivy and ferns in their usefulness for planting under trees, as they are =always decorative, being ever-green=. In the spring, the foliage is a most lovely soft apple-green, and in summer when the golden cups filled with anthers issue forth from the axils of the leaves, the effect is beautiful. _Hypericum calycinum_ is the Latin term for these plants, and though they will do on the dryest bank and in the poorest soil, being very tough and wiry, if they are grown in good loam and manure is occasionally given them, they will repay with far finer flowers, which will be produced for a longer season. =A good breadth of woodruff= makes a very pretty picture for several weeks, and has a delightful scent; here and there bulbs can be planted amongst it, neither being harmed by this plan. The _aubrietias_ =flower with unfailing regularity= under trees, even when the aspect is north, and no gleam of sunshine reaches them; their greyish-green rosettes resist drought splendidly, and though these plants do not give us so much blossom in unfavourable positions, still they make a very pretty show. _Aubrietias_ can be easily propagated by division; every morsel grows. =BANKS UNDER TREES.= The white _arabis_ also does well under similar conditions; both are useful for draping perpendicular surfaces, such as the steep side of a bank or hedge. A raised border, with facing of bricks, is rather a nice way of growing plants under trees, and the work of tending them is pleasant, less stooping being required. The =mossy saxifrage= droops over the edges, and mingles well with the _arabis_, but it must be more carefully watered, as it is apt to die out; pieces should constantly be taken off, and dibbled in so as to fill up any gaps. The =periwinkles= meander charmingly over the roughest stones, and in the most dreary spots; their glossy ever-green leaves, and fresh bright little flowerets =always looking cheerful= whatever the weather. They creep quickly, rooting every few inches as they grow; on the perpendicular face of the rock, succulent plants like =echeverias= can sometimes be made to grow (those little green rosettes, having each leaf tipped with red, which can be bought so readily in May for about twopence each). =Many things will do for a time=, that want renewing each year, even if hardy. Cowslips, primroses, polyanthus, wallflowers, all will make a fair show if planted out just before flowering, but, unless a few hours' sun daily shines on them, they will not retain enough vitality to produce seed, and being biennial soon die out, leaving not a trace behind. =A great many bulbs do admirably under deciduous trees=, especially those which blossom before the new leaves on the branches above them have reached any appreciable size. =Scillas= bloom in the same place year after year; snowdrops also do fairly well, and lilies of the valley ring out a few of their dainty bells every spring (a rich vegetable soil suits them best). =Tulips= only do well when planted afresh every autumn; but, as they are so cheap, that is not a great matter. The _megaseas_, mentioned in another chapter, give forth many of their fine leaves, but they refuse to turn colour, owing to the want of sun. Fox-gloves, also, grow and flower, seeming to enjoy their position. =If the aspect of the space to be filled is a cold one=, such things as geraniums will only give a few poor flowers, and then succumb. Even pansies wilt and gradually fade away under trees, for their soft, weak stems and leaves soon get drawn up for want of light, though they will do well enough on an _open_ border, facing north. =Hard-wooded plants= will be generally found to do best; indeed, some of the shrub tribe succeed very well, particularly barberry, _pernettyas_, the early _daphnes_, whortleberries, _gaultheria shallon_ and _cotoneaster_. While on the subject of =shrubs=, it may be as well to mention several attractive kinds which may be planted in place of the =eternal box= and Portugal laurel; of course, these two have almost every good quality; they will do in any soil, are ever-green, and resist smoke, dust and dirt well; but, in places where poor soil and a soot-laden atmosphere are absent, =substitutes might occasionally be found for those shrubs=, which will have the added charm of novelty. One of the nicest for small gardens is _cotoneaster microphylla_; this is a joy to look at, all through the winter months, when it is at its best; the branches grow in an uncommon manner, and are of somewhat prostrate habit; they are thickly clothed with dark, small leaves the whole way up the stem, and shining amongst them are the pretty crimson, almost transparent berries. It is quite distinct from the ordinary berry-bearing shrubs, as there is =nothing stiff about its gracefully-curving sprays=, which look well cut and wedged in the Japanese fashion. Shrubs of this variety may be had as low as sixpence, but it is better policy to get a larger one, costing about eighteen pence, as they will sooner be of a presentable size; they are shrubs, too, that do not altogether show their capabilities when at a very youthful stage. =A GOOD ALL ROUND PLANT.= _Berberis aquifolium_ is another shrub which has a great deal to recommend it; it is ever-green, and will do in almost any position; it bears lovely yellow flowers in spring, purple powdered berries in August, and the foliage turns a rich red in October. Always ornate, it is one of the easiest shrubs to grow, and =just the thing for a small garden=. =The myrtle=, though liable to be killed in a very hard frost, can often be grown to a great size in a sheltered garden; I have seen bushes eight yards round, in an exposed position near the river Thames, which must have been braving the storms for many a year past. They should not be planted out till March or April, though November is the month for most other shrubs. The old _pyrus japonica_ =makes a good bush=, though most often grow on a wall; its bright flowers, carmine-scarlet in colour with yellow anthers in the centre, appear early in April, a week or two later than the climbers, which of course are protected. When grown in bush form, it =is sometimes pruned out of all recognition=; this is especially the case in public gardens, and is quite an affliction to any one who knows how lovely it can be! The knife should be restrained, allowing the _pyrus_ to take its own shape as much as possible; it is often sold under the name of _cydonia japonica_, as that is really its rightful title. =One or two of the _araucarias_ make very good shrubs for a small garden=; they should not be grown in cold, wind-swept places, as their branches soon turn brown if exposed to continued frost and furious blasts. There is a magnificent specimen in the nurseries of Messrs. Veitch, Kingston Hill, Surrey, planted about 1865; its ornamental appearance is greatly due to the number of young branches springing out from the main trunk and almost completely covering it; they nestle under the larger branches, and produce a very picturesque effect. Small plants of this variety may be had for three or four shillings. Messrs. Veitch have a splendid selection of shrubs, all in the best of health; their hollies are well grown, and include all the good sorts; a variety that bears fruit when quite young is _ilex glabrum_, of which they have a large stock; these trees are such slow growers, that it is advisable to get one that will look attractive almost at once. =Pernettyas are ornamental little shrubs=, not so much grown as they deserve; in winter, when most things look drooping and unhappy, these American visitors to our gardens are bright and cheerful. =The dwarf erica carnea=, both pink and white, show their buds as early as November, and at the turn of the year present a very pretty appearance; they look well as edgings to rhododendron beds; their price is about sixpence each. =Another charming winter shrub= is _cornus sanguinea_; its beauty lies in the red glow of its leafless stems, which makes it visible some distance off. _Spirea Anthony Waterer_ is a =fine plant in late summer=, having pink umbels of flowers and a habit somewhat like the valerian. =The snow-berry= is good in autumn and winter, having large white berries which hang on a long time; it is deciduous, and likes a rich soil. Messrs. Veitch have a splendid collection of conifers for all aspects and positions; their small junipers are most fascinating little trees, with flat spreading branches of the loveliest shade of green, and their seedling firs are well balanced. They sell a great variety of lilac trees too. =GRAFTED LILACS.= A note on lilacs will not be amiss; if you notice that any lilacs you may happen to have flower sparsely, and are poor in size and colour it will be as well to examine the stems close to the soil, and you will probably find a fine crop of suckers; all these must be cut away as sedulously as those on your rose-trees, for =nearly all lilacs are grafted=, very few kinds being sold on their own roots. The _forsythias_ are =pretty climbers or shrubs=, according to the variety chosen, much like the yellow jasmine, with its golden stars on leafless stems. Just as the latter, however, is going out of flower the _forsythias_ are coming on, and therefore give a succession of very pretty blossoms. Originally from China, =the wigelias= have now taken a place in many English gardens, by reason of their fresh pink and white flowers and easy cultivation. They bloom late in spring, and should be placed by preference =against a dark wall=, as their flowers, being surrounded by pale-green foliage, do not stand out sufficiently on a light one. =THE DELICATE CEANOTHUS.= The exquisite summer-flowering _ceanothus_ has been mentioned before, but I notice it here again because it is one of those =shrubs that should not be overlooked= on any account; its leaves are somewhat like those of a heliotrope, and its flowers are bluish-mauve in colour and borne in trusses; it blooms for many weeks and has a most delicious scent, and should be planted out in the spring. =A neglected but really remarkable shrub is the= _rhus cotinus_--=the smoke plant.= In early August it is a striking sight, with its curious inflorescence quite impossible to describe. At Hampton Court there are two or three fine species. =WINTER SHRUBBERY.= It will be observed that shrubs presenting a decorative appearance in winter are made much of; this is because soft-wooded plants always look miserable then, whereas with a few berry-bearing shrubs and a nice selection of bulbs, we may have a =pretty garden all the year round=. Once planted, however, they should not be left entirely to take care of themselves; the soil must be enriched occasionally, if we wish for good results, and great care taken to =train them in the way they should go=, by pinching out shoots which would tend to give a lop-sided effect. Such things as firs must be unobtrusively staked till they are able to support themselves, as =symmetrical growth= is part of their charm, and we must remember that "as the twig is bent, the tree is inclined." =Standard rhododendrons= require to be very carefully staked until they have a fair hold of the ground, or their big heads are caught by the wind, and this loosens the soil to such an extent that it is impossible for fresh roots to be made. Generally, some of the =bush rhododendrons= should be grown amongst the standards, and if these are dotted about with clumps of lilies the effect is very rich. _Lilium tigrinum splendens_ is =one of the best for this purpose=, and is most brilliantly beautiful during August and September; they are six feet in height, and the flowers are a rich orange red, with black spots on each petal; they can be obtained for half-a-crown the dozen. =A lily suitable for placing amongst azaleas=, as it is only three feet high, is _lilium speciosum album_; it has glistening pure-white flowers, and a graceful habit. The shade of the shrub is most beneficial to the lilies, as they dislike strong sunshine, and of course they are also protected from cold in winter. The same soil, a mixture of peat, loam and sand, suits both. CHAPTER XI =The Ins and Outs of Gardening= _Planting--Watering--"Puddling"--Aspect--Shelter--Youth and age in relation to plants--Catalogue defects--A time for everything._ Now that we have seen what to plant, it will be advisable to learn =how to plant it=. Perhaps the most important point to be taken notice of is the necessity of =firm planting=. Watch how a clever gardener presses the earth well round the roots of everything he puts in, where the plants are large, treading the soil down with his foot. =Loose planting is ruinous= (except in a few isolated cases), and yet it is a favourite practice with amateurs, who call it treating their flowers tenderly! But, as with the human kind, =a judicious mixture of firmness and tenderness= is the happy medium to be aimed at, and which alone insures success. =A good watering= helps to make the soil settle as much as anything; therefore, when put into the ground the plants should be well soaked, after which they should be left for a few days, with the exception of =overhead watering=, which is most refreshing. In very hot weather, it is often possible to transplant with perfect safety, if the roots are put into "puddle." =PLANTING IN "PUDDLE."= "Puddle" is a very expressive gardening term, which signifies soil mixed with so much water as almost to have acquired the consistency of a paste. =Operation 1=--well water the plant to be removed; =operation 2=--dig the hole which is to receive it; =operation 3=--fill the same with water up to the rim; =operation 4=--carefully take up your plant with plenty of soil round it; =operation 5=--gently place it in hole prepared, the walls of which will then be thoroughly soaked; =operation 6=--fill in with the "puddle" above referred to; =operation 7=--tread gently but firmly down; and, lastly, scatter a little dryer soil on the top. Flowers planted in this fashion can be taken up even during June, July and August; and, if properly looked after, will scarcely flag at all. =EFFECTS OF ASPECT.= The influence of aspect on plants is an interesting study; we all know that a shrub on a south wall is practically in a different climate to a shrub on a north wall. One reason why tender plants do so well on a =south or west aspect= is because the sun does not reach it till some hours after it has risen and warmed the air. The =sun shining on half-frozen buds= often has a disastrous effect on plants climbing walls with an eastern aspect; consequently, a north wall is often better for a delicate plant, if the warmest aspect cannot be given it; camellias, for instance, when outside prefer it to any other. =If a succession of one kind of flower is desired=, a group facing each corner o£ the compass will often accomplish this, sometimes as much difference as a month being noted. Certain unimpressionable plants refuse to alter their season of blooming, but, as a rule, it is a sure method of attaining this object. =Colouring is also vastly influenced by aspect=; such things as pansies, for example, never show such rich markings under a hot sun, but require an east border to bring out their true beauties. Scotland suits them admirably, with its cool summer nights and moist atmosphere. =THE IMPORTANCE OF SHELTER.= Shelter has a great deal to do with success in a garden; in the ordinary town garden, the builder has generally been only too obliging in this respect, but in bleak hilly spots it might almost be called the gardener's watchword. Few things except Scotch firs and the like will stand a =long-continued high wind= with impunity; not only does it wrench the plants out of the soil, but, if it comes from a cold quarter, both flowers and leaves curl up at its approach and refuse to thrive; they become nipped in the bud, as at the touch of frost. Everyone has experienced the meaning of shelter when out in a cold nor'-easter; how it bites one, making the blood stand still with its fury! then, all at once, we round the corner, and hey presto! all is changed; the air is quite caressing, and the blood tingles to our very finger-tips from the sudden reaction. With due regard to shelter, then, =climates can be "manufactured" without glass=. In extensive grounds, these wind-breaks are made by planting lines of trees, but in smaller spaces it may be done differently. The construction of =light fences=, not over five feet in height, run up inside the compound, accomplish a good deal, as may be seen by any visitor to the nurseries of Messrs. Barr, at Long Ditton; they are =not ugly if well clothed=, and make an effectual break in a much shorter time than would be the case if fruit-trees were planted, though there is nothing prettier than a row of apple or pear trees, grown espalier fashion, if time is no object. Many things will nestle beneath them, and flower beautifully for months together, for, though these fruit-trees are deciduous, the force of the wind is considerably lessened by them, on the same principle that =fishing-nets are such a protection from frost= to wall-climbers; and this again may be compared to the veils which ladies use to protect their skin. Though of wide mesh, the fishing-nets will keep off five or six degrees of frost, and in certain cases are better than a closer protection, like tiffany, which sometimes "coddles" the trees too much. =A few words on the respective qualities of youth and age= may not be amiss. Amateurs are so often disappointed in their garden purchases, because they will not allow the plants sufficient time to demonstrate their capabilities. =Catalogues are much to blame= in this respect; an enticing description of a shrub is given, and the confiding amateur orders it, believing that in a year or two it will fulfil its character. How can he be expected to know that that particular variety never bears any flowers worth speaking of till it is at least seven years old! In the long run, I think nurserymen will find it pay to tell the whole truth regarding each plant they send out, not merely in a negative way either. If an alpine, for example, like _linnea borealis_, is extremely difficult to grow and flower in this country, it is only fair to say so; to place it amongst a lot of easily-cultivated plants without a word of warning is =not straightforward dealing=, moreover is apt to make people disgusted with the whole thing. Some plants bloom much the best when in their first youth; this is the case with many of the soft-wooded plants, which soon give signs of exhaustion, especially in a light soil. When it is noticed that the outside flowering stems produce finer blossoms than those from the centre, it is generally =a sign that division is required=, and that the soil wants enriching. =THE CALENDAR.= That there is =a time for everything in gardening= is almost a truism; the calendar is considered one of the most important parts of a technical book on this subject. It is advisable for an amateur gardener to =have a note-book=, in which he jots down what he has to do several weeks or months in advance; so often some fault easily remedied is left over from year to year, because perhaps it is only observed in the summer, and cannot be mended till winter. Recently, the calendar has not been given quite so much prominence; gardeners find out more and more that the weather is not governed by it, and that though one year it may be best to sow a certain seed at the beginning of February, another season may be so cold that it will have to go in at least a fortnight later. Nevertheless, taken roughly, this diary of events, as the dictionary calls it, holds good for most years, and it is wise to stick to it as far as possible. CHAPTER XII The Profitable Portion _Fruit--The best kinds for a small garden--Avoidance of size minus flavour--Vegetables--Herbs._ If a small garden has room for any fruit-trees, =apples are the most useful= kind to grow; they can be so trained as to take up little room; for instance, in _espalier_ fashion, down each side of a sunny walk. These =apple-hedges= are a lovely sight in spring and also in the autumn, when the ruddy fruit is waiting to drop into the outstretched hand. Though names can easily be given, it is generally a good plan to =make enquiries in the neighbourhood as to the best varieties= to grow, for so much depends on soil and position. Colloquial names are often given, which require identifying with existing varieties; this can be done by sending up a specimen of the fruit to the manager of a correspondence column in some reliable gardening magazine. These gentlemen are generally able to give the desired information, and no charge is made. =A surer method= still is to send the fruit which it is desired to identify to some well-known nurseries, such as those of Messrs. Rivers at Sawbridgeworth, Hertfordshire; they have acres upon acres of splendid fruit-trees of every kind, and my readers cannot do better than purchase all they require from them. Having such wide experience, they can recommend varieties suitable for all kinds of soil and all sorts of positions. For small gardens, apple-trees grafted on =the paradise stock= are much to be recommended, as they are compact in habit, taking up but little room and =begin bearing almost at once=. Messrs. Rivers guarantee their trees on this stock to continue in full-bearing for many years. "Plant pears, and you plant for your heirs" is the old saying, but this is all changed now that the =quince stock= is used so much. _Cordon_ pears on wire fencing bear first-rate crops, and are particularly good for small gardens; the diagonal cordon is perhaps the best. =Cooking pears= can be grown on north walls, but it is not advisable to try dessert varieties on such a cold aspect. =STONE FRUIT.= To grow stone fruit successfully, =the soil must contain a fair quantity of lime=; moreover the trees, especially if trained against walls, must be kept well-watered at the stoning period. After the fruit has been picked, less moisture is required. =Standard plants are very profitable=, as crops of currants and gooseberries can be grown beneath them; this double system of cropping the ground being a great advantage where space is a consideration. =Plums= require little pruning, and are also not so liable to attacks of birds as other fruit. When ordering, =do not get too many trees of one variety=, a good selection will give a long succession of fruit; this applies to all kinds of fruit-trees. =Currants are a very manageable fruit=, as they do well in almost any position; heavy crops can be secured from bushes planted on north borders, the =black currant= thriving though it only gets a minimum of sunshine; =gooseberries= are not exacting either, and will give a good return for a small amount of labour. Both may be propagated by cuttings, and are very reasonable in price, only costing about four shillings a dozen. Messrs. Rivers' stock of =maiden peach-trees= and =nectarines= is unsurpassed, and many of the best kinds obtainable have been raised by them, and are of worldwide fame. Regarding that oft-debated question of protecting the blossom in spring, they do not advise anything in the nature of bracken to be used, this often doing more harm than good. If possible, =a glass coping= should be placed along the top of the wall, from which tiffany can depend on cold nights; unless this be done, it is best to leave them alone. Fine crops are often obtained in the south and west of England without any protection whatever, the good seasons amply compensating for the bad. It occasionally happens that the amateur has an advantage over the market grower. This is particularly the case where one wants to curtail the =depredations of birds=; it pays to protect a few yards of fruit, but where it is a case of several acres, the trees have to take their chance. =Cherries= have to be watched very carefully in this respect; it is very desirable to keep the =Morello cherries= hanging long, as they then become sweeter and make good tarts. These trees do very well on north walls. =WANT OF FLAVOUR.= One great fault noticeable in fruit-growing of recent years is that everything is sacrificed to size and appearance, flavour being at a discount; the shows have had a great deal to do with this; in the old days, when they were fewer in number, the test of a fruit was its taste. =Strawberries= in particular have deteriorated in this way, the huge kinds now seen often being absolutely devoid of the luscious flavour generally associated with them. Of course we have =better keeping varieties=, and they can be obtained much later than was once the case. If the culture of the perpetual varieties is extended strawberries will be in season many weeks longer, and this will be extremely good news for invalids, who find it as a rule one of the easiest fruits to digest. =The cultivation of strawberries is fairly easy=, but their wants must be regularly attended to. Once in three years the old plants must be taken up, and new ones (the "runners" issuing from the old) planted instead; in the summer a good mulching of strawy manure should be placed between the rows, as this helps to keep the fruit clean, besides enriching the soil. Plants which are expected to bear a good crop of fruit must have all their runners cut off as fast as they appear, as it exhausts the plants much to bear both. =Strawberries are partial to rather a light soil=, but nearly all other fruit-trees revel in a mixture of loam and clay, with a little sand to keep it open. This soil does not suffer so much from drought, and, being firmer, the larger trees can send their roots down and get a far better hold of the ground than is possible in shingly, poor soils. =ORNAMENTAL AND USEFUL.= =Vegetables= take up a good deal of room in a garden if they are wanted all the year round, but a few things can be easily grown. =Scarlet runner beans=, being ornamental as well as useful, are some of the best vegetables to grow, as they can be made to form a convenient screen for a rubbish heap. These can be brought up from seed sown early in April, and, when a foot high, require sticks; these come rather expensive if new ones are used every summer, but with care they will last two and even three seasons, though latterly they become very brittle. On the rubbish heap, =marrows= can be grown with the greatest facility, as they revel in the rich warmth there found. They should be bought when a few inches high, and planted out at the end of May, as they are only half hardy. When the flower at the end drops off they are ready to cut; if allowed to get much larger they lose all their flavour. A few, however, should be allowed to become quite ripe, as they can be used in the autumn for making apple-tart, two parts apple to one part marrow, and they also make =a good jam= when spiced with ginger, etc. =RELATIONS OF THE SUNFLOWERS.= =Jerusalem artichokes= will flourish on a north border, and come in very nicely during November; they are planted in exactly the same manner as potatoes, that is, by means of pieces containing two or three "eyes," which should go in about February. Like potatoes, too, they can be stored; though so tall, they do not require any sticks; these artichokes present much the same appearance as the ordinary cottager's sun-flower (indeed, the botanical name is identical, _helianthus_), having thick, hollow stems, covered with long, pointed, hairy leaves. =Potatoes are rather "kittle-kattle"= for amateurs, but where the soil is light they should certainly be tried, especially where there is room for a rotation of crops, as successive planting should not be made in the same place. Beware of giving rank manure to them, a sure precursor of disease; artificial manures, such as guano are far more suitable. =No trees must be allowed near them=, but a sunny open piece of ground be given up to them. March is the month to plant and the rows should be from fifteen inches to two feet apart. =Carrots and turnips= also prefer a light soil and sunny situation. Seeds of both should be sown in March, when the soil is in a friable condition, several times subsequently; the seeds must be well thinned out, and the space between the rows constantly turned by the hoe; the latter operation is particularly needful in heavy land, as it not only destroys weeds, but prevents the soil from caking: the rows should be about a foot apart. Before the turnips are ready, the young green tops make a vegetable by no means to be despised. =Herbs=, such as mint, parsley, mustard and cress, should be grown in every garden, as they take up but little space and are so much dearer to buy. =Mint= is perennial, and will come up year after year, giving no trouble whatever; it spreads rapidly and will grow anywhere. To start a bed, roots can be bought from some market-gardener, or cuttings can be struck from the bunches bought in the shops. =Parsley= is a biennial, though generally grown as an annual, because the leaves from young plants are much the best; the seeds should be sown two or three times a year, beginning about February, in a sheltered nook; =this herb likes plenty of sun=; even the curliest varieties degenerate if placed in a damp shady situation. It prefers light soil, and gives a better winter supply than where the soil is heavy. Flower-heads must be cut off regularly to keep the plants in good condition, though just a few of the best kinds may be allowed to perfect their seed, which should be sown as soon as ripe. =Mustard and cress= should also be sown several times during the summer; the cress must be sown three or four days before the mustard, to obtain them ready for cutting at the same time; both must be cut almost directly they appear, as, if allowed to grow tall, they become tough, and their flavour is lost; these seeds require no thinning out, the exception that proves the rule. CHAPTER XIII Annuals and Biennials _How to grow annuals--Some good kinds--Some good biennials._ Many amateurs look upon annuals as rubbishy things to grow, and only suitable for the children's gardens, but that is because they have generally failed to grow them properly. With the improved kinds now in cultivation, it is possible to make the portion of the flower-garden devoted to them "a thing of beauty" if not "a joy for ever." As it is more satisfactory to bring them up from the beginning, I have described in Chapter XVI. a method generally successful. =Seed-sowing out-of-doors= being rather precarious, I have found it advisable to =sow all the smaller seeds either in a green-house or frame=, however hardy the annual be. This not only saves endless trouble in the way of protecting the seed from birds, etc., but is advantageous in that one has an earlier display of bloom, owing to the growth being quicker under glass. Below is a table of the choicest kinds:-- ANNUALS. NAME. LENGTH. COLOUR. Bartonia aurea 1 to 1-1/2 ft. Golden yellow. Celosia plumosa 1-1/2 ft. Red and yellow. (Somewhat after the style of Prince's feather; tender.) Coreopsis (or Calliopsis) 2 ft. Yellow and red. Eschscholtzia 1 ft. Bright yellow. (Very pretty grey-green foliage; select.) Gaillardia 1-1/2 ft. Yellow and red. (The "blanket flower"; good for cutting.) Godetia 9 ins. Red to white. (Cup-shaped; showy.) Mesembryanthemum 1/2 to 1 ft. Ice plant. (Grown for its foliage, which glistens beautifully; must have sun.) Ionopsidium acaule 2 to 3 ins. Pale mauve. (Miniature plants for filling up crevices in rockwork.) Linum coccineum 1 ft. New scarlet variety. Lupinus arboreus, "Snow-queen" 3 to 4 ft. Pure white. (A very stately plant; new.) Nemophila grandiflora 1/2 ft. Beautiful blue and white. (Remind one of the eyes of a child.) Phlox drummondi 1 ft. All shades of red to white (Half-hardy; must be massed.) Shirley poppy 1 ft. All shades of pink. (Very graceful and free; light soil.) Portulaca 1/2 ft. Mixed colours. (The most effective of all annuals; half-hardy; must have plenty of sun and a light soil.) Salpiglossis 1-1/2 ft. All shades. (Very fragile flowers, veined and marked in exquisite fashion; must be massed.) Silene pendula compacta 1/2 ft. Bright pink. (Flowers shaped somewhat like a Maltese cross.) Stocks, double, ten-week 1 ft. Various. (When thinning, only keep the weakest seedlings, as those are the double ones.) BIENNIALS. These, if sown one spring, will not flower the following summer, but do so the year after. NAME. LENGTH. COLOUR. Fox-gloves 3 to 4 ft. White and coloured (White, most picturesque; all do well in shade; unless seed is required, cut out main stem, when side shoots will flower.) Lunaria biennis 1-1/2 to 2 ft. The old "honesty." (Much prized for its silvery seed-pods.) Polyanthus 1/2 ft. Mixed colours. (Admirable for shady places; water well.) Japanese pinks 1 ft. Deepest crimson to white. (Fringed petals; a whole bed of this is lovely.) Sweet Williams 1 ft. Mixed shades. (Auricula type, the best; there is a novelty, blackish-maroon in shade, which should be placed amongst some of the crimson varieties.) Snap-dragons 2 ft. Varied. (Flower from June to November; eschew reds of a mauve hue.) Wallflower, "Ruby Gem" 2 ft. Reddish violet. The seeds of all these, true to name and ripe for germination, may be obtained from Messrs. Barr, Long Ditton, Surrey, who sell sixpenny packets of all these kinds; small quantities of the well-known sorts only costing threepence. This is a =great advantage to owners of small gardens=, as one does not wish to give 1s. 6d. or 2s. 6d. for perhaps two thousand seeds of one variety, when only two or three dozen are required. Penny packets of seeds may be had from the One and All Company at most greengrocer's, and are really wonderful value for the money. CHAPTER XIV Window Boxes _How to make them--Relation of box to residence they are intended to adorn--Suitable soil--Window plants for different aspects._ Where gardens are small, one seems to need window boxes more than where there is land and to spare. They add to the number of one's flowers, and, if carefully looked after, decidedly =improve the appearance of a house=. That is a large "If" though, for unkempt boxes only make it look untidy. =FLOWERS FIRST, BOX SECOND.= Though the tiled sort obtain a good deal of patronage, nothing really looks much better than boxes covered with virgin cork, if constantly renewed, for it acts as =a foil to the flowers=, whereas patterned tiles are rather apt to take one's attention away from them. In summer, certainly, they have the advantage of preserving the earth in a moist condition, and in smoky towns they help to give a bright, clean look to the houses so decorated. Old-fashioned houses, however, should always have their window boxes made in the virgin cork style, as they accord better with their surroundings. When strong wooden boxes have been procured, it is quite easy to tack on the cork one's self, provided one has a sharp knife and a good supply of long nails, and it is =most fascinating work=; it is advisable to wear gloves during the process, as the hands may become rough otherwise. Seven pounds of the cork may be had for a shilling of any seedsman, and three lots will do two boxes of the average size. =The soil should be fairly light=, like that used for potting, but before the boxes are filled, several holes, bored with a red-hot poker, should be made in the bottom, and a thin layer of "crocks" spread over them; do not quite fill the box with soil, but leave an inch or two free to allow of watering, and even more if a layer of moss or =cocoa-nut fibre= is used to cover the surface of the soil; this is certainly an improvement till the plants get large enough to cover it themselves. Only =artificial manures= must be used to fertilize the roots, and even those must not be given too often, but only in the hot weather, when growth is quick, as they are stimulating to a great degree. =Constant renewals are necessary=, if the boxes are to look gay all the year round; even the best gardeners acknowledge this. If continuous bloomers are chosen, however, the cost is considerably modified. Perhaps the =winter shrubs= are the most expensive item; yet they are often chosen without much regard to cheerfulness; indeed, the favourite kinds present a most funereal appearance. =Aspect= has always a good deal to do with the selection of plants, but in the case of windows facing north and east, it is the cold winds more than the absence of sun which restricts the choice. Shelter is a great factor in their well-being. =SHOWY IN WINTER.= In a cosy box with a western exposure, and protected on the north, the golden-tipped _retinosporas_ make =a pretty show during the cold months= of the year, and form a welcome change from the prevailing dark green tones. _Cotoneasters_, _pernettyas_, and the variegated _euonymus_ are also very suitable. The polypody ferns, being evergreen, look very well too, and =will thrive facing all four points of the compass=. In the spring, =dwarf wall-flowers=, interspersed with different kinds of bulbs, make the boxes look bright, and the new _pyrus maulei_ is also very pretty at this season. The =perennial candytuft=, too, is a splendid flower for late spring, particularly _iberis correafolia_, which has a neat habit, and bears quantities of snow-white flowers; it likes sun, and not too much moisture. The =yellow jasmine=, which is so pretty in winter, looks extremely well when allowed to droop over the edges of a box, as it flowers in quite a young state. The mossy _saxifrages_ are suitable for the edges of the box, and are always ornamental; their charming white flowers, supported on red stalks, appear about May. Such =bulbs= as the Duc Van Thol tulips are very bright, and mix well with the shrubs; they should be put in some time in October. =Crocuses= look well, too, but should not be placed in the same box as the tulips, or too gaudy an appearance will result. A thick planting along the front of the box of the Starch hyacinth--_muscari_--is =uncommon=, and an exceedingly nice thing to have, as the moment the window is open fragrant whiffs, resembling new-mown hay, pour into the room, especially on a sunny morning. When these bulbs have to make way for the summer flowers, it is advisable to plant them out in the garden and use another lot next year, as the =constant transplantation somewhat weakens them=. Of course, one could leave them in the box during the summer, if it were not for the unsightly decaying leaves, which =must on no account be cut off=. About the middle of May for the South of England, and a fortnight later for the North, is the time to furnish the boxes for the summer. If the window is small, low-growing plants and trailers should prevail. =FOR COLD ASPECTS.= Some good flowers for north and east aspects are _fuschias_, _calceolarias_, _begonias_, and the lovely white _campanula isophylla_; the latter thrives best in such conditions, bearing finer flowers for a much greater length of time than where the sun scorches it. =These plants accord well with stucco=, which serves to show up their whiteness more than anything. =Marguerites=, yellow and white, also thrive in the cooler windows of a house, and are not so exigent in the matter of watering when so placed. When selecting =begonias= for boxes it is well to choose the single varieties with moderate-sized blossoms; the big flabby ones soon become spoilt by rain, and are not produced so freely, nor is their habit of growth so good. =For hot situations= the double geraniums are splendid, but they should not be mixed with lobelias, as they look infinitely better when grouped by themselves, the shades ranging from dark crimson to the palest salmon-pink. =PRETTY TRAILERS.= The quick-growing _tradescantia_ with its many-jointed stems and glossy bright green leaves, softens =the somewhat formal appearance of the geraniums=, and will cover all the bare soil in a marvellously short space of time, and droop over the edges in long streamers; it is quite distinct from the tall _tradescantias_ mentioned in a former chapter, and is the easiest thing in the world to propagate, as any little bits saved over from a bouquet will make roots in a bowl of water, or they can be "struck" in the ordinary way in a pot under glass. The variegated _tradescantia_ is =a very choice trailer=, but a little more tender than the other, and requires a sunny position, while the plain green variety will do anywhere outside in the summer, even growing well under trees. =For autumn= there are the =hardy chrysanthemums=, and if dwarf varieties with fibrous roots are chosen, a very good show can be made with these till the middle or end of November. The protection afforded them by the house keeps them in good condition longer than when they are in the open, especially when a thin veiling, such as tiffany, is afforded them on cold nights. Even newspapers will keep out several degrees of frost, and form a very cheap method of protection. CHAPTER XV Table Decoration and Flowers in Season _Graceful arrangement--How to manage thick-skinned stems--Colour-schemes--Bad colours for artificial light--Preserving and resuscitating--Table of flowers in season._ The fashion of decorating tables to the extent now done is of comparatively recent date. When the duties were taken off the importation of foreign flowers, they became so much lower in price that the great middle-class could afford to buy some even in mid-winter. In the British Isles themselves, too, the carriage of flowers is much cheaper and more expeditious, though there is plenty of room for improvement still in that respect. =The manner of arranging= them has much altered, for, instead of cramming a clumsy vase to its utmost limits with a dozen different flowers of as many shades, only one, two, or at most three, kinds are now used, and these are set out in as =graceful and airy= a manner as possible. =Plain glass vases=, as a rule, show the blossoms off best, though pale green or ruby occasionally looks very well. The water need not be changed every day in all cases; it depends on the flower; wall-flowers, for instance, turn the water putrid very soon, while it keeps fresh much longer where roses are concerned. =The vases should, however, be filled up once a day=, as the stems suck up moisture rapidly. Hard-wooded flower stalks should receive special attention, or they will droop directly. =STEM-SPLITTING.= Lilac, when cut and placed in water will absorb no more moisture than a lead pencil, unless the stems are split up; this can be done either with a hammer or a knife or both. As many leaves as possible should be left on the stems, for when under water they largely help to make the blossoms last well; it is only where the stalks are nearly leafless that the splitting and peeling is necessary. =Maidenhair fern may be made to last= much longer if the end of the black, wiry stem is hammered for about an inch up. It must not be forgotten that =cutting from a plant strengthens it=, and induces it to continue sending up flower-stalks. People often seem chary of cutting their roses with any length of stem, I suppose because it has leaves and shoots all the way up, but this is an error; they should be cut with about eight or ten inches of stalk; pansies and _violas_ also look much more natural when a portion of the shoot is cut along with each blossom. =BY PARCEL POST.= On hot summer days, when flowers are to be sent by post, =they should be picked early in the morning=, several hours before they are to be sent off, and placed in bowls of water; then, if they are packed close together in tin, wood, or even card-board boxes they will arrive quite fresh at their destination, where otherwise they would be hopelessly faded. When a box of flowers is received, the contents should be put =in luke-warm water= in a dim light for an hour or so; they can then be re-arranged in the vases they are intended to occupy. =BLUE--A DAYLIGHT COLOUR.= Some colours respond to artificial light much better than others. =Most shades of blue are not suitable for decorating dinner tables=, because they turn almost brown, or at best a dull mauve. In choosing violets, therefore, for evening wear, it will be found that the blossoms which have thin, rather washed-out petals of the lightest purple will look best, the full blue not being nearly so effective. =For luncheon=, an arrangement of purple clematis in vases on the palest pink ground is lovely, but does not look quite so well by gas-light, though here again if the least velvety flowers are chosen for evening, a good effect can be obtained. =Yellow is a splendid evening colour=, but must be bright, or it will look merely cream. A dining-room panelled in light oak, adorned with yellow marguerites alone, is very pleasing to the eye. In the spring, =laburnum makes a novel dressing for a dining-table=; care, however, must be exercised with this flower, as the pods are poisonous. Blue also looks well with brown in the day-time; larkspurs, forget-me-nots, _plumbago_, _campanulas_, _nemophilla_, etc., all look very well. We know how artistic blue porcelain is on oak shelves, and, if the flowers have a white eye or are veined with white, the effect is somewhat the same. =Scarlet is a good gas or electric light colour=, but it must be used judiciously, and as a rule only be mixed with white, just as the ladies at a regimental ball are generally only allowed to robe themselves in this pure shade. =SIMPLICITY.= Now-a-days the decorations are rarely made so high that one cannot see the other side of the table. Though this arrangement might occasionally be useful in hiding the face of an enemy, on the whole it was found inconvenient; accordingly they have climbed down; the "bazaar-stall" fashion is also disappearing, and flat table-centres are used instead, or none at all. Simplicity is the great cry now, and though of course it may be costly, a charming effect is obtained with fewer flowers than was formerly considered correct, and is moreover easily imitated by an artistic eye in less expensive blossoms. Some of the flowers to be had in each respective season are enumerated on p. 86. It will be noticed that where plenty of out-door blossoms are to be had, the hot-house varieties are omitted. TABLE OF NATURAL AND FORCED FLOWERS FOR EACH MONTH. JANUARY. _Natural._ Christmas rose. Yellow jasmine. _Forced._ Carnations. Eucharis. Gardenias. Poinsettias. Tuberoses. Late chrysanthemums. Roman hyacinths. Odontoglossum (orchid). Tulips. Violet, single and double. Narcissus. FEBRUARY. _Natural._ Christmas roses. Yellow jasmine. Daphne. Snowdrops. _Forced._ White lilac. Carnation. Hyacinths. Tulips. Geraniums. Marguerites. Cattleya (orchid). Camellias. Roses. Dicentra. Narcissus. MARCH. _Natural._ Violets. Early narcissus. Almond blossom. Cowslips. Polyanthus. _Forced._ Freesias. Lily of the valley. Arums. Narcissus. Mauve lilac. Anemones. Lilium Harrisii. " longiflorum. Roses. Azaleas. APRIL. _Natural._ Daffodils. Wallflowers. Forget-me-not. Tulips. Alyssum. Anemones. Doronicums. _Forced._ Sweet peas. Roses. Carnations. Arums. Lilies of the valley. Alliums. Acacia. Epacris. MAY. _Natural._ Laburnum. Poet's eye narcissus. Doronicums. Trollius. Iris. Parrot tulips. Lilies of the valley. Syringa. Lilac. Ranunculus. _Forced._ Arums. Ixias. Gladiolus (scarlet and white). JUNE. _Natural._ Sweet peas. Roses. Pinks. Pyrethrums (single). Larkspurs. Canterbury bells. Penstemons. Lilies. Columbines. Flag iris and other iris. JULY. _Natural._ Clematis. Montbretias. St. John's wort. Campanulas. Poppies (to be picked in the bud). Carnations. Cornflowers. Indian pinks. Erigeron (like an early Michaelmas daisy). Gladiolus. AUGUST. _Natural._ Clematis. Coreopsis. Gaillardias. Snapdragons. Sunflowers. Gladiolus. Dahlias. Roses. Carnations. SEPTEMBER. _Natural._ Michaelmas daisies. Pinks. Chrysanthemums. Lilies. Sunflowers. Japanese anemones. Roses. _Forced._ Tuberoses. Cattleyas. Eucharis. Gardenias. OCTOBER. _Natural._ Michaelmas daisies. Chrysanthemums. Physalis (or Cape gooseberry). Violets. Single Marigolds. _Forced._ Salvias. Marguerites. Tuberoses. Eucharis. Odontoglossum. Cattleya. Bouvardia. Roses. Carnations. NOVEMBER. _Natural._ Michaelmas daisies. Chrysanthemums. The gladwin iris (berries). Violets. _Forced._ Eucharis. Geraniums. Marguerites. Salvias. Carnations. Chrysanthemums. Odontoglossum. Cattleya. Bouvardia. Camellias. DECEMBER. _Natural._ Yellow jasmine. Christmas roses. _Forced._ Salvias. Cypripediums. Violets. Poinsettias. Geraniums. Chrysanthemums. Lilies of the valley. Roman hyacinths. Coelogyne (orchid). Narcissus in variety. =The cost of a flower is always in proportion to its blooming time.= If lilies of the valley are wanted in August, they must be paid for heavily, as retarded bulbs (those which have been kept in ice) are used to produce them. CHAPTER XVI The Propagation of Plants _By dividing--By cuttings--By seeds--By layers._ =Propagation may be affected in various ways=, of which division is perhaps the easiest. It must be done very carefully, or decay will set in. Some plants lend themselves to this form of propagation very readily; in others, the root stock is single and obviously resents division, wherefore it is better to try another plan. The Michaelmas daisies are good instances of the first kind; their roots are fibrous, and soon take to the new soil; it is tap-rooted plants which dislike division so much. =CAREFUL DIVISION.= It is advisable to divide most plants in the growing season, which is from spring to early autumn; if it is done in the winter months, each piece frequently remains quite inert and eventually rots. The plant should be taken up, with a fork by preference, and then pulled carefully apart with the hand. =The smallest fragment of the old white anemone will grow=, but few plants will stand quite so much division. Each piece should be well watered as it is planted, and if the sun is hot some shade improvised. Such things as _delphiniums_, _phloxes_, _campanulas_, and quick-growing subjects in general, should not be left too long without being divided, or the flowers will dwindle, and the plants become straggling in habit. A good many plants which might be propagated by =division= of the roots are propagated instead by cuttings, as the flowers come finer in every way, and of course this method suits many plants which cannot be divided. Chrysanthemums present few difficulties; though the ultimate growth of this Japanese plant entails a vast amount of labour (if prizes are the object in view), yet cuttings from them are the easiest things possible to strike, even easier than a geranium, as there is no damping off. =Cuttings are generally struck under glass=, this method being the surest, even with hardy plants. The shoots selected should be well ripened, and the cut made squarely below a joint and be =taken with a "heel"= if possible, that is, with a piece of the old wood attached. All but the topmost leaves should be pinched off, and then the cuttings must be inserted round the sides of the pot, and the soil well pressed down,--the best cuttings in the world cannot make roots unless this be attended to. After that a good watering should be given them, and the pots set in a shady place till they have emitted roots, which may be known by the fact of their beginning to make new leaves. Some cuttings root better when the cut is allowed to form a "callus," which in warm weather only takes a few hours. =Rose cuttings= root very well out of doors on a north border, and trees produced in this manner are often very satisfactory, but they take a long while to come to a flowering stage, somewhat trying the patience of ardent amateurs. One can gradually get quite a nice collection of interesting plants, by striking all the likely shoots in the different bunches of flowers received from friends, but it is generally best to identify them as soon as possible, so as to give each the right treatment. =Propagation by seed= is quite a fascinating employment, and is a successful method, if pains are taken; though so many amateurs seem to fail. I have found it the safest plan, with all except the largest seeds, to bring them up under glass. Even the hardiest can be treated in this way, and one feels so much more sure of the result. For one thing, birds cannot get at them, therefore there is no need to make a network of black cotton to keep them off; neither can the cat meddle with them, and we all know pussy is a very bad gardener. =The pans= specially sold for the purpose are the best, but pots will do very well. Fill them with fine moist soil, and press firmly down; then scatter the seed thinly on the top, and only cover with a slight layer of soil, afterwards placing in a dark corner. Where the seed is very small, do not cover with any mould at all, but, as an extra protection, place a piece of cardboard over the top of the pot, so that they shall not be blown away. =Seeds like a still atmosphere=, moisture, warmth, and darkness. Seeds and seedlings must not be watered in the ordinary way, but the pan containing them should be placed in a saucer of water, when enough moisture will be drawn up by capillary attraction. Thinning is extremely necessary; every plant must be given room to attain its full dimensions; where this is not done, the result is most unsatisfactory. As regards the =time for sowing=, of course, spring is the most usual, but in the case of annuals it will often be found a good plan to sow a few in autumn, as, by pursuing this method, nice stocky little plants are ready for the garden quite early in the season, and give flowers long before spring-sown seed could possibly do so. =Propagation by layering= is very useful, as cuttings of some plants will not strike readily. Strong shoots are denuded of their leaves for a few inches, and their stems slit up and pressed into the ground by means of a peg; when firmly rooted, they can be detached from the parent plant by means of a penknife. Carnations are generally reproduced in this way, as it is the surest method of all. CHAPTER XVII The Management of Room Plants _Best kinds for "roughing" it--Importance of cleanliness--The proper way of watering them._ The majority of English women like to see their rooms, and specially their drawing-rooms, adorned with =growing plants=. Nevertheless, a great many do not cultivate them successfully, so a few hints will not be amiss. =Constant attention= is needed to keep plants in perfect health, and this is exactly what is so often denied them. A lady buys two or three ferns that take her fancy, and feels for a while quite interested in their welfare; but, after a week or so, she leaves them to take care of themselves, which means to dwindle, and ultimately die. Many shillings, therefore, are constantly being spent in renewing plants which, with proper care, should last for years. All room plants =must be looked after daily=, a few minutes every morning being far better than an hour once a week, which is all they receive in some homes. I will treat first of =palms=, which, though such slow-growing subjects, seem the favourite of all for home decoration, owing to their grace of form and good lasting properties. If you observe the roots of most palms, you will see that, attached in an odd way to the rising stem is =a sort of bulb=, not unlike a pigmy potato. This excrescence, which should only be covered by a thin layer of soil, stores up nutriment for the plant's use, in much the same way as a hyacinth or daffodil does. This accounts in a great measure for its power in enduring dryness of the soil without flagging, which property, however, should not be abused. Palms should be watered as regularly, though not so often, as more sappy plants. =THE CORRECT WAY TO WATER.= Numbers of people do not know how to give water in the correct way, whereby the florist prospers! =The golden rule= is never to water a plant until it requires it, and then to do it thoroughly. It is fatal merely to moisten the top of the soil, and to leave the deeper roots dry. First give =a sharp tap to the pot=; if it rings, water is required; if, on the contrary, a dull sound is given out, the soil is wet enough. Lifting a pot is a sure test too, as one's hand soon becomes accustomed to the difference in weight of a moist and dry pot; the former, of course, being so much heavier. Always see that the water runs through the hole at the bottom of the pot, then you may be sure that each particle of soil is wet, and not till then. If you possibly can, it is best to =use water of a corresponding temperature to that of the room they are in=; this is most important with delicate plants. Large, shiny, horizontal-leaved plants require a weekly sponging to remove the inevitable dust which settles on them. =Gloves should be worn= while this is being done, as contact with the skin turns the edges of the leaves yellow; also gloves, of course, help to keep the hands soft and white. Plants with large leaves should never be watered overhead, unless immediately wiped dry, as each drop allowed to stand on the leaf turns yellow, rots, and finally quite spoils the leaf, so that it has to be removed. Palms will stand gas fairly well, but not so well as _aspidistras_. =THE BEST PLANTS FOR DARK CORNERS.= An _aspidistra_ (please note spelling) is =the best plant there is for roughing it=. The long, thick, dark leaves seem to stand draughts, gas, dark corners, poor soil, and general neglect almost with impunity. But here again watering overhead is fatal, as regards the appearance of these plants. The =leaves should be washed once a week=, but I will just say here that where one is in a hurry, and cannot wait to get a sponge and water, a good polish with a duster is not at all a bad substitute. There are disputes occasionally as to whether _aspidistras_ ever flower. Of course, it is an undoubted fact that they do, and I can give a decided affirmative to any who may question it. My plants flower regularly every spring, but, as these blooms are a dull, greenish-purple in colour, and only sit, as it were, on the top of the soil, they are naturally overlooked. The modesty of the violet is nowhere when compared with the _aspidistra_! =Aralias are good room plants=, for they have a bold and handsome form, and glossy, bright green foliage, very like that of a fig. They do not stand gas well, however, but, as so many houses are lighted by electricity, this is less of a drawback than was formerly the case. If not regularly watered, too, they have a habit of dropping their leaves; otherwise they are of easy culture. As they grow taller, the lower leaves, even on a healthy plant, generally drop off. =LEGGY PLANTS.= It is a good way, when these and kindred plants become "leggy," to improve their appearance by cutting off the old root, and making them root higher up the stem. Where the plant is valuable, it is best to be sure of new roots before throwing away the old, but, as a rule, _aralias_ have so many joints that they may easily be induced to strike by just pressing the stem firmly into the soil, then putting the pot in some dark place, and keeping the soil rather dry, though the foliage must be kept moist. =To be quite sure of success=, however, it is best to treat them in the following manner:--Choose a handful of soil with a little loam in it, and, wetting the stem slightly, press the soil round two or three of the joints, and bind closely with some raffia or bass, being very careful to keep the soil always moist, or the plant will fail to make roots. Some people enclose this part of the stem in two halves of a small flower-pot, which is a good plan, if the stem will bear the weight, as it preserves a more even temperature. =The hare's-foot fern=--_Davallia canariensis_--with its beautiful blue-green fronds, much divided and elegantly arched, makes the loveliest room plant imaginable, and, though fairly common, is =not often seen in a good state of health=. I have found that, on first buying a pot of this fern, the leaves almost invariably turn rusty and drop off, so that, as the new fronds sometimes do not appear for some while, an amateur might really be pardoned for _imagining the plant dead_. This is not so; the hare's-foot merely resents the change of atmosphere (it has probably been in a moist green-house), and, like most of us, takes time to settle down. Once it has acclimatised itself, there is no better plant to be had for the purpose. It is so essentially decorative that no one can fail to admire it. Firm potting is important in growing the =davallia=, and it does not seem so partial to water as most of the fern tribe. It will also stand gas pretty well, if not shut up for the night in an atmosphere charged with it, and this is the case with many room plants; they =strongly object to being left to spend the night in the impure air=, though a few hours each evening will not do them much harm. The plan of taking them out at bed-time also prevents so much dust accumulating on their leaves, an inevitable drawback where a room is thoroughly swept and dusted. =Always endeavour to keep your plants well balanced.= In a room, it is impossible to do this, without constantly turning the pots round, so that all parts may get the light. In summer, this has to be attended to nearly every day, but in winter less often, as the sun is, of course, much less powerful. As regards =re-potting=, great care must be exercised, or more harm than good will result. Palms will grow for years in quite small pots, and do not thrive if over-potted. On the other hand, some plants require it annually, but, seldom or often, unless for some special reason, =re-potting should always be done in the spring=. From the beginning of February until the end of May, a plant may safely be shifted on, as it is called, because all these months comprise the growing season, when fresh roots are emitted and new leaves being produced almost daily. See that the pot is perfectly clean and dry, and the soil in a friable condition; it should be composed of peat, loam and sand in equal parts; a little leaf mould, where it is for a fern proper, will be beneficial. A =potting soil= ready prepared may be had for about a shilling a peck from any seedsman, which saves time and trouble in mixing. Be sure to put clean crocks in at the bottom, or the soil will become sour. Shake the pot every now and again as you fill it up, to ensure no crevices being left; =loose potting= has caused the death of many a fine plant. When the pot is full, press the mould down, leaving from half an inch to an inch (according to the size) bare of soil to the rim of the pot, to allow of watering. It is well to put a layer, about half an inch thick, of cocoa-nut fibre on the top of the soil, as this looks neat, and serves to show off the foliage to the best advantage. Enough of the fibre to cover several dozen pots may be had for threepence. Guano is good, if supplied to the plants during the warmer months of the year. The proportions of guano to water can always be seen on the label pasted on the outside of the tin. It is well to remember that =guano should never be given to a plant when the soil is dry=, but always just after it has been watered. =Saucers or jardinieres should be emptied= as a rule an hour after the plants have been watered, though where ferns seem to flourish most when allowed to stand in water, it is well to continue the practice. In very hot weather, this is undoubtedly of benefit to many plants, but in the winter the soil of all pot plants should err on the dry side, cold and damp together often proving fatal. =GOOD FOR TWO-THIRDS OF THE YEAR.= There are some first-rate plants which refuse to look well for the coldest part of the year (unless one is possessed of an hot-house), but which are really =capital for brightening our rooms= for at least eight months in the twelve. Of these, the _asparagus_ "fern" is perhaps the most useful. It is a lovely and graceful plant, which bears cutting, and it lasts so long, both in and out of water. Being, however, in reality a stove plant, amateurs who have no warmed green-house must not expect to keep it in thoroughly good health during the winter, but so soon as the spring appears, new green stems will shoot up in all directions, and the old fronds will soon be replaced by bright green feathery plumes of infinite grace. =Pteris wimsetti= is a charming room plant. =Young eucalyptus plants= are also very pretty for decorating a room, and are supposed to be good as a disinfectant. Their habit of growth is uncommon, and very charming to watch, as they quickly reach to an effective size, and make large handsome plants to set in the corners of reception rooms. It is best to bring them up by seed, which should be sown in February or March. =Spring is the best time to buy room-plants.= CHAPTER XVIII Various Hints _Artificial manures--Labelling--Cutting off dead flowers--Buying plants--Tidiness in the garden, etc._ With far the larger half of our population =the question of cost= comes into everything. There are so many claims on our purses, that the money spent on recreations can only be a small part; moreover, is always liable to be drawn on at any moment. Somehow, the money laid out on a garden always seems to be grudged, especially when it is for such things as manure, so that if that item can be reduced, so much the better. =A "WRINKLE."= One good way of buying it, is to get the boys who sweep the roads to bring the contents of their cart to your garden instead of taking it away. Quite a lot can be purchased for sixpence or so, and the mixture is even more beneficial to some plants than the loads bought from the contractor. When the neat little heaps are swept up at the roadside, anyone may take it away. Householders can employ their own errand-boys to do so, no charge being made whatever. =Guano and artificial manures= in general are very stimulating, and must only be given to plants in bud, or at all events full-growth. Sickly plants or those at rest must never have it. =Soapsuds= form a mild stimulant for rose-trees in summer, but these things do not come in place of the manure with which the soil must be dressed in autumn; they are only additions. =LABELLING.= There has been much controversy over the labelling of plants; it must be done very delicately, or the appearance of the garden is spoilt; the word label usually presupposes a name to be written thereon, but, in reality, =just a mark to show where a plant is=, often seems all that is necessary, and this is very important indeed with plants which die right down every winter. The most unobtrusive tallies must be used, and they should be of zinc, or they will inevitably get lost. The wooden ones are all right in the greenhouse, but no good at all outside. For rose-trees, names are required, and =the "acme" labels are much the best= ever invented for these, and have now been in use by all rosarians for years; they can be had at Cant's Rose Nurseries, Colchester, for about 1s. 3d. a dozen, post paid. =If we would keep plants in good health=, all dead flowers must be cut off regularly; this is specially important in the case of sweet peas, pansies, and other free-flowering plants, which become poor, and soon leave off blossoming altogether, if allowed to form seed-pods. It is =a good plan= to go round every morning with a basket and scissors, and snip off all faded blooms, as, when several days elapse, the work becomes long and irksome. =As regards buying plants=, this comes somewhat expensive, until a little knowledge and experience has been gained. After a while, the different plants are known by sight, and one is able to see directly whether a flower or shrub is well grown and of good colour. Then, instead of ordering everything at the large nurseries, one can often pick up, in one's wanderings, very =good things at small cost=. Until that is the case, it is wiser to order from some reliable firm who is sure to send out everything true to name. People who go in for gardening, should always be ready to learn; there are so many points which cannot be acquired all at once. One can often gain a "wrinkle" if one keeps one's eyes open, as the saying is. Constant visits should be made to Kew, Hampton Court, or any other well-kept public garden, if at all within reach. A stroll round a neighbour's garden, too, will often give one new ideas, and the interchange of opinions does a deal of good. A magazine keeps up one's interest wonderfully, and there are many specially published for amateurs. One must not be surprised that the advice often seems contradictory. =The right way of growing a plant is the way that succeeds=, and experience shows how varied may be the means by which success is attained. I should like here to warn my readers that before launching out into any great expense, they first come to a full understanding as to what they will or will not be able to take away. Greenhouses can be put up as =tenants' fixtures=, but a very slight difference in the manner of placing them may result in a good deal of unpleasantness with the landlord, and it is the same with rose-trees, and other shrubs and plants. Where a shrub has attained to goodly proportions, it is really the best way to let it remain, even though the associations connected with it may be pleasant, as transplanting would probably mean death, in which case neither party would have gained anything. Of course, in the nature of things, a lover of gardening is loth to move at all, a rolling stone is not at all in his line. =Tidiness is most important in a small garden=, especially in the winter time; plants may be allowed to get rampant in summer, but in the cold weather, this wildness tends to make it look miserable. One sometimes sees the brown, mildewed stalks of sunflowers and other tall plants, left on right into December, even in a front garden, and it =gives such a deserted look= to the place, that one longs to "have at them" there and then with a knife. It is the same way with autumn leaves; in woods they look beautiful, as they flutter down and make a rich, rustling carpet for our feet, but, somehow, in the garden the beauty seems gone, and it is generally the best plan to sweep them away as soon as possible into some corner, where they can be left to turn into leaf mould. Of course there is a certain beautiful freedom which is very desirable in a garden, and which no one could call untidiness. What looks lovelier, for instance, than the jasmine, with its long sprays hanging down over the window, or the break made in a straight-edged path by some luxurious patch of thrift or forget-me-not? these are only fascinating irregularities! =Winter need not be a time for idleness=; it must be spent in getting ready for the spring. Tools should be overhauled thoroughly, and new supplies of sticks and labels prepared. Plans, too, should be made for filling each different bed, so that when the warm days arrive, and one scarcely knows what to be at first, everything may be in train. The faculty of looking ahead must needs be used, if we wish to succeed. I often think that =living in anticipation constitutes a great part of the charm of gardening=. When sowing the seed, have we not bright visions of the time when that self-same seed will bear most exquisite blossoms? When pruning our rose trees, dreams of what they will become lend added interest to our occupations, and, indeed, this quality of imagination turns arduous work into a veritable labour of love, so that its devotees always aver it is the most delightful recreation in the world. JANUARY. _Average Temperature 37._ In frosty weather wheel manure on to ground. See that every plant which is not quite hardy is well protected from frost. Shake off any snow which may be lying on the branches of fir trees, etc. In mild weather digging may be done. If it has not already been done cut back all deciduous trees, such as chestnuts, limes and sycamores. Prune all except the tender fruit trees, cutting back weak shoots hard, and strong ones little. Sow early peas on a warm border. Do not transplant this month. Start covering rhubarb with pots or boxes for forcing, and surround them with manure. Paths may be relaid with gravel. The erection of arches, trellis work, or any alteration of this sort may be attended to. Keep all plants under glass clear of decaying leaves and anything likely to cause mouldiness. Raise temperature of greenhouses as the days become lighter. FEBRUARY. _Average Temperature 39._ Begin sowing hardy annuals outside in a sheltered position. Refrain from pruning rose-trees, or they will suffer later on. New lawns can be made now, though Autumn is the best time. See that all trees are securely staked and shoots of wall climbers well nailed in before the winds of March come. Prune remaining fruit trees. Seeds of broad beans, peas, carrots, onions, beetroot, parsley, lettuce, etc., can now be sown, though the largest sowing should be made next month. Plants under glass must have more air and more water as they begin to grow quickly. Ventilate carefully and close all the houses before sunset. Give manure to fruit trees. Look over fuchsias, dahlias, etc.; cut back and place in gentle warmth. MARCH. _Average Temperature 41._ Hardy perennials may be planted. Prune hardy rose trees. Sow the bulk of flowering annuals. Cut back ivy during last week. Free the lawn of plantains and sow grass-seed on bare patches. Renew or fill up box edgings. Hoe beds and borders frequently to keep down weeds. Rose trees may be planted, though Autumn is the best time. See that bedding plants in frames have plenty of water. Clear out all dead plants and give a general tidy-up to the greenhouse. Give plenty of air from top-lights to glasshouses. Plant out Jerusalem artichokes. Sow seeds of vegetables of all kinds. Pick up gravel paths, and give another layer if necessary. Protect anything newly planted from rough winds. Mulch bush fruit trees. APRIL. _Average Temperature 46._ Make last sowing of annuals and thin out those appearing above ground. Fill up gaps in the flower border. Plant out dahlias. Prune tea-roses during first week. If rather dry weather ensues keep rockery and all Spring-flowering plants well-watered. Beds must be prepared for the tender plants put out next month by turning the soil well over and thus pulverizing it. Protect tender fruit trees from late frosts. Sow seeds of vegetables for succession. If the weather is hot, shading can be put on greenhouses. Bedding plants must be gradually hardened off by giving plenty of air. Mow and roll lawn frequently. Plant out potato tubers. Edgings can be planted or filled up. MAY. _Average Temperature 53._ Keep a sharp look-out for insects. Commence bedding out this month and continue all through, reserving tender things such as coleus till the last. Hoe well between annuals and keep them well watered. Carefully train the various climbers or they will grow into an inextricable mass. Fill vases and baskets. Clip evergreen hedges as this makes them break out at the bottom. Put some strawy manure between the rows of strawberries and keep well watered. Sow vegetable seeds for succession. Plant out gourds, marrows, etc. If the weather is hot keep everything well watered. Transplant violets to their cool Summer quarters. Syringe frequently under glass. JUNE. _Average Temperature 59._ If the garden is not altogether dependent on bedding plants it ought to be looking its freshest and best. See that everything has enough water. Continue to thin out flowering annuals as they increase in size. Carefully stake larkspurs, carnations, etc. If the leaves of Spring bulbs have turned quite yellow, cut them off, but not before. Give copious supplies of water to all wall plants as a slight shower of rain scarcely touches them. Give occasional doses of manure to rose trees, and pick off all faded flowers. Water rockeries. Stake runner beans. Sow late broccoli. Sow more lettuce. Water peaches, apricots, etc., copiously. Mulch all fruit trees. Protect cherries from birds. Draw earth up round potatoes. Water marrows well and often with liquid manure. Early this month plant out tomatoes on a south or west wall. Keep greenhouses well ventilated both day and night. Harden off azaleas before being set outside next month. Most plants under glass will want watering twice a day or they must stand in a saucer of water. JULY. _Average Temperature 62._ Look out for rose suckers and cut them off. Syringe rose trees. Mulch those going out of flower to induce them to make fresh buds. Keep faded flowers picked off. Commence propagating carnations. Take note of gaps in the flower beds and fill up from the nursery garden. Place azaleas, heaths, etc., outside in a shady place to rest awhile. Pansies which are blooming well on cool borders should have weak solutions of guano water afforded them. Cut down faded spikes of larkspur and mulch and water well. This month bedding plants are valuable as July is not a good month for herbaceous perennials. Stake the later runner beans. Plant out celery. Sow more turnip seed. Syringe both wall fruit and standards. Make new plantations of strawberries. Water lawn every day if possible. Thin out the superfluous wood of fig trees and shorten gross shoots on all fruit trees. Keep everything well watered under glass. Give air all night to greenhouses. Tie up climbers to roof neatly and frequently syringe. Damp down several times daily. AUGUST. _Average Temperature 61._ Take pansy cuttings. Stake dahlias, phloxes, etc. Keep soil from caking by constant hoeing. Take cuttings of geraniums, fuchsias, etc., and strike them out of doors. Give copious supplies of water to rose trees and syringe foliage often. Cuttings of rose trees may be inserted now on a cool border. Rockeries must be constantly watered. Disentangle shoots of climbing plants and tie back artistically. Water lawn daily and do not cut too low. Cuttings of most plants may be taken now and inserted in a shady border with every chance of success. Cut down old raspberry canes to make way for the new. Protect fruit from wasps and other insects. Pinch off the tops of runner beans. Earth up celery and put out more young plants. Remove leaves which obstruct light on wall-peaches, apricots, etc. Syringe frequently. Give air day and night to greenhouses. Give constant supplies of liquid manure to chrysanthemums. Cut back climbing plants on the roof. SEPTEMBER. _Average Temperature 57._ Begin planting spring bulbs. Continue to take cuttings of bedding plants, but insert in frames now. Leave off giving outside plants stimulants. Sow hardy annuals to flower next Spring. Plant out rooted layers of carnations. Thin dahlia shoots and give plenty of water. Remove rose suckers. Pluck apples and pears as soon as ripe, and put on dry shelves to keep. The fruit should not touch. Prepare ground for new plantations. On hot days fruit trees can still be syringed to keep down insects. Plant out cabbages, sprouts, etc., from the seed bed. Earth up celery. Dig up and store potatoes. Towards the middle of the month remove greenhouse shading. Thin out climbers on roof again. Save for chrysanthemums guano is little needed now. Tender plants outside should be housed at the end of the month. Pot up freesias. Damp down less often and reduce the amount of air supplied. Ferns which were not repotted in the Spring can be done now. OCTOBER. _Average Temperature 50._ Plant Spring bulbs and the madonna lily. Take up all bedding plants and house carefully. Fill the beds with polyanthus, wallflower, forget-me-not and other early flowers. This is a good month for planting most things. Begin putting in shrubs. Thin out annuals sown last month. Cut back climbing plants. Keep hardy chrysanthemums well staked. Alterations can now proceed. Continue to pick pears and apples, and go over them daily to pick out mouldy ones. Commence planting fruit trees. Raspberry plantations should now be made. Mulch strawberry beds after forking lightly between the rows. Sow early peas in sheltered situations. Store potatoes, carrots, parsnips, etc. Give liquid manure to chrysanthemums under glass. Ventilate carefully and do not damp down. Bring September planted bulbs to the light as soon as they appear above ground. NOVEMBER. _Average Temperature 43._ Plant rose trees. Mulch every rose tree in the garden. Continue planting hardy perennials. Cut down all dead stalks of dahlias, sunflowers, phloxes, etc. Finish planting bulbs. Roll lawn frequently. New ones can now be made. Continually tidy up the garden. Finish planting shrubs. Protect fig-trees by mulching and cut back some of the over-luxuriant shoots. Plant fruit trees of all kinds. Trench ground not in use that the rain and frost may sweeten it. Prune currants and gooseberries. Hoe frequently between rows of cauliflower and cabbage. Celery must be earthed up higher. Any alterations that may be in hand should be completed this month. See that oil-lamp and other heating apparatus is in good order. Look over cuttings of geraniums, etc., and remove all decayed leaves, which should be burnt. Ventilate all glass houses much less, especially during fogs. DECEMBER. _Average Temperature 39._ Give a final glance to tender plants to see that they are well protected. Cut down faded stalks of hardy chrysanthemums. Place hand-lights over Christmas roses. This is a good time for writing new labels, preparing stakes, and making plans for the following summer. Roll gravel walks, and if mossy sprinkle with salt. Planting of fruit trees may continue if the weather be mild. Thin out gross wood to allow the air to circulate. Wheel manure on to the ground in frosty weather. Prepare vegetable seeds for sowing, by separating them from the husk, drying, labelling and sorting them. Earth up greens of all kinds with the hoe. In glasshouses avoid too much moisture at this dead season of the year. Only ventilate in mild, calm weather. Keep everything scrupulously clean. Give as much light as possible to growing things. Plants at rest should be kept dark. INDEX Aspect, Influence of, on plants, 67 Conservatory, the-- Cactus plants for, 26 Hanging plants in, 26 How to stage, 25 Plants suitable for hanging baskets, 26 Enemies of the garden-- Earwigs, to get rid of, 45 Mice, to get rid of, 45 Slugs, to get rid of, 44 Wireworms, to get rid of, 45 Flowers-- Annuals, 76 Biennials, 78 Colours for day and evening use, 84 Natural and forced procurable each month, 86 To pack for post, 84 Fruit, want of flavour in, 72 Gardens, small-- Be original in planting, 17 Beds and bedding, hints for, 14 Border soil for, 16 Breaking up the straight appearance of, 11 Description of a small and lovely garden, 17 Duty of making experiments in, 17 Eye for colour needed in, 15 Fruit for, 70 General arrangement of, 9 How not to plant, 12 Lawns, to keep in order, 13 Little things that tell in, 12 Making the most of land, 15 Ornamental and useful, 73 Paths of, to keep in order, 14 Stone fruit for, 71 The Dell at Chertsey, 18 To begin well, 9 Walks, the, 10 Gardening Hints-- Art of buying plants, the, 98 Cut off dead flowers, 98 Labelling, 97 Manures, 97 Tidiness, 99 Glossary of terms used by Gardeners, 7 Greenhouses-- Advantages of, over conservatories, 27 Artificial heat for, 27 Climbers in, 26 Houseleeks, 54 Storing plants in, 28 The joys of, 10 To manage, 26 Lopping one's neighbour's trees. A vexed question, 11 Monthly Hints for Gardeners-- January, 101 February, 102 March, 103 April, 104 May, 105 June, 106 July, 107 August, 108 September, 109 October, 110 November, 111 December, 112 Planting, the art of, 66 Plants that are neglected but handsome-- Asters, 20 Campanulas, 21 Cape Gooseberry, 23 Christmas roses, 22 Columbines, 20 Coreopsis grandiflora, 21 Delphiniums (larkspurs), 21 Erigerons, 22 Funkias, 22 Heuchera sanguinea, 22 Jacob's ladder, 23 Lobelia fulgens, 22 Lychnis Chalcedonica, 22 Penstemons, 22 Pink flowered anemone japonica, 20 Potentillas, 23 Saxifrages, 23 Tradescantias & Trollius, 24 Violas, 24 Propagation of plants. By careful division, 88 By layering, 90 By cuttings, 89 By seed, 89 Room Plants-- When to buy, 96 Correct way of watering, 92 For dark corners, 92 Good for two-thirds of the year, 96 Hare's-foot ferns, 94 To keep them well balanced, 94 Leggy plants and what to do for, 93 Management of, 91 Palms, 91 Rockery, The-- Apennine gems for, 48 Bulbs for, 56 Hints for the construction of, 47 Rock roses, 50 Suitable plants for, 48 Roses-- Bush roses of H.P. type, 38 Climbers for cool walls, 37 Dwarf teas, 41 Good climbers for warm walls, 36 Hedges of, 41 Pillar, 40 Pruning, 38, 43 Tea, 35 Time to plant, 43 Shelter for plants, 67 Shrubs-- Ceanothus, The delicate, 64 Good all round, 62 Lilacs grafted, 64 St. John's Wort, 59 Winter shrubbery, 64 Summer-houses-- Fragrant odours for, 33 How to cover, 32 Position of, 34 Table, Decoration-- Hints on, 83 Maidenhair, To make it last, 84 Simplicity in, 85 Stem-splitting, 83 Time for everything in gardening, A 69 Tool-sheds, Well stocked, 29 Trees-- Bank under, 60 Good plants for growing beneath, 58 Vegetables for small gardens, 73 Window Boxes-- Flowers for cold aspects, 81 Flowers for warm aspects, 82 How to make, 79 Pretty trailers for, 82 Showy flowers for winter, 80 [Sidenote: Garden Seeds and Bulbs] AMATEUR GARDENERS and others should apply for our CATALOGUE before ordering elsewhere. A. C. TAYLOR, Ltd., Seedsmen and Bulb Importers, 28, ELECTRIC AVENUE, BRIXTON, LONDON, S.W. The Choicest BULBS AND SEEDS at moderate prices. Catalogues gratis (issued in January and August). [Sidenote: Fencing] BAYLISS. JONES & BAYLISS WOLVERHAMPTON. LONDON SHOW ROOMS:-- 139-141 CANNON ST E.C. CATALOGUES FREE MAKERS OF ALL KINDS OF IRON & WIRE FENCING, RAILING, ETC. GALVd. WIRE NETTING. Averages 20 per cent. Cheaper than Ordinary. Lists free. IRON BARROWS. GATES. _Low Prices._ TREE GUARDS. IRON AND WIRE ESPALIER, &c. AMUSING AND USEFUL BOOKS THE CONFESSIONS OF A POACHER By J. CONNELL. With Illustrations by F. T. DADD. Crown 8vo. Price 3s. 6d. These confessions are unique as being the actual experiences of a living poacher. The book is interesting as well as amusing, and one cannot but admire the ingenious though illegitimate means of gaining a subsistence. THE NEW MASTER By ARNOLD GOLSWORTHY, Author of "Hands in the Darkness." Cr. 8vo, cloth. Price 3s. 6d. 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THE BEST LARGE MACHINES. New Patterns; New Adjustments; New Patent Spring Handles; Double Angle Cutters. =Made in Six Sizes, 26 in. to 48 in. wide.= _SUPPLIED PROMPTLY BY ALL IRONMONGERS._ CATALOGUES FREE ON APPLICATION TO RANSOMES, SIMS & JEFFERIES, LTD., IPSWICH. [Sidenote: Dobbie's Guide] [Illustration] DOBBIE'S CATALOGUE & COMPETITORS' GUIDE.--224 large quarto pages, beautifully Illustrated Lists of all Flower and Vegetable Seeds, with most valuable, cultural notes, times of sowing, colours, heights, &c.; also all the best flowering plants, including our world-famed Collections of Dahlias, Pansies, Violas, Early Flowering Chrysanthemums, Herbaceous Plants, Pentstemons, Pyrethrums, Roses, Fruit Trees, &c., &c. "Indispensable alike to amateur and professional gardeners." Copies per Parcel Post on receipt of Sixpence. DOBBIE & CO., THE ROYAL SEEDSMEN, ROTHESAY. [Sidenote: Alkan] "ALKAN" cures in =One Minute= by Inhalation. The Effect is Marvellous. The ONE MINUTE Cure For Headache, Neuralgia, Toothache, Neuralgia of the Ear. This simple and perfectly harmless remedy has cured instantaneously thousands suffering from the above complaints. Of all Chemists and Stores, prices =2/9= & =4/6= per bottle. Sent post paid to any part of the United Kingdom on receipt of price. Or of the Proprietors, =B. & G. ALKAN=, _General Depot_, 150, STRAND, LONDON, W.C. [Sidenote: Vegetable and Flower Seeds] SHILLING'S SEEDS ARE THE BEST FOR AMATEURS & GARDENERS Because they produce the finest Flowers and Vegetables. CATALOGUE SENT GRATIS AND POST FREE. C. R. SHILLING, Seedsman, WINCHFIELD, HANTS. [Illustration: "Ill Weeds Grow Apace." Root them out!] A PRESENT PRECAUTION MAY SAVE YOU GREAT FUTURE TROUBLE. Work in the Garden is Pleasant Work, But it is Hard Work, and every invention to lessen labour is an advantage! WITH THE "GNU" WEEDING FORK [Illustration] FLOWER BEDS, &c. may be kept in perfect order with a minimum of Labour. The Prongs being very close together it loosens the soil and removes weeds better and quicker than by hand. No Stooping or Soiled Hands. Price complete, with 3ft. handle, =1/3 each.= DAISY FORK [Illustration] Such unsightly WEEDS as DAISIES and PLANTAINS can be COMPLETELY REMOVED from LAWNS, TENNIS COURTS, &c., QUICKER and BETTER than by any other method. Having 3 prongs, close together, and a strong lever, the ENTIRE Root is removed without exertion or without disturbing the surrounding grass. Price complete with 3ft handle, =1/6 each.= Manufactured solely by J. LYTLE, 3 BARTON ROAD, WALTON, LIVERPOOL. Transcriber's Notes: Passages in italics are indicated by _italics_. Passages in bold are indicated by =bold=. Punctuation has been corrected without note. Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from the original. 
39993	----	Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic text is surrounded by _underscores_. GARDENING FOR LITTLE GIRLS PRACTICAL ARTS FOR LITTLE GIRLS A Series Uniform with this Volume _Each book, illustrated, 75 cents net_ COOKERY FOR LITTLE GIRLS SEWING FOR LITTLE GIRLS WORK AND PLAY FOR LITTLE GIRLS HOUSEKEEPING FOR LITTLE GIRLS GARDENING FOR LITTLE GIRLS [Illustration: PUZZLE PICTURE,--FIND THE LITTLE GIRL] GARDENING FOR LITTLE GIRLS BY OLIVE HYDE FOSTER AUTHOR OF "COOKERY FOR LITTLE GIRLS" "SEWING FOR LITTLE GIRLS" "HOUSEKEEPING FOR LITTLE GIRLS" [Illustration] NEW YORK DUFFIELD & COMPANY 1917 Copyright, 1916 by HOUSE AND GARDEN Copyright, 1916, by HOUSEWIVES MAGAZINE Copyright, 1917, by ST. NICHOLAS The Century Co. Copyright, 1917, by COUNTRYSIDE MAGAZINE The Independent Co. Copyright, 1917, by OLIVE HYDE FOSTER _DEDICATED TO Junior and Allan, Two of the dearest children that ever showed love for the soil._ Preface Children take naturally to gardening, and few occupations count so much for their development,--mental, moral and physical. Where children's garden clubs and community gardens have been tried, the little folks have shown an aptitude surprising to their elders, and under exactly the same natural, climatic conditions, the children have often obtained astonishingly greater results. Moreover, in the poor districts many a family table, previously unattractive and lacking in nourishment, has been made attractive as well as nutritious, with their fresh green vegetables and flowers. Ideas of industry and thrift, too, are at the same time inculcated without words, and habits formed that affect their character for life. A well-known New York City Public School superintendent once said to me that she had a flower bed every year in the children's gardens, where a troublesome boy could always be controlled by giving to him the honor of its care and keeping. The love of nature, whether inborn or acquired, is one of the greatest sources of pleasure, and any scientific knowledge connected with it of inestimable satisfaction. Carlyle's lament was, "Would that some one had taught me in childhood the names of the stars and the grasses." It is with the hope of helping both mothers and children that this little book has been most lovingly prepared. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I FIRST STEPS TOWARD A GARDEN 1 II PLANNING AND PLANTING THE FLOWER BEDS 9 III FLOWERS THAT MUST BE RENEWED EVERY YEAR (ANNUALS) 19 IV FLOWERS THAT LIVE THROUGH TWO YEARS 30 V FLOWERS THAT COME UP EVERY YEAR BY THEMSELVES (PERENNIALS) 37 VI FLOWERS THAT SPRING FROM A STOREHOUSE (BULBS AND TUBERS) 48 VII THAT QUEEN--THE ROSE 58 VIII VINES, TENDER AND HARDY 71 IX SHRUBS WE LOVE TO SEE 78 X VEGETABLE GROWING FOR THE HOME TABLE 82 XI YOUR GARDEN'S FRIENDS AND FOES 94 XII A MORNING-GLORY PLAYHOUSE 102 XIII THE WORK OF A CHILDREN'S GARDEN CLUB 107 XIV THE CARE OF HOUSE PLANTS 115 XV GIFTS THAT WILL PLEASE A FLOWER LOVER 130 XVI THE GENTLEWOMAN'S ART--ARRANGING FLOWERS 137 ILLUSTRATIONS PUZZLE PICTURE,--FIND THE LITTLE GIRL, _Frontispiece_ FACING PAGE FIRST WORK IN THE SPRING 14 KIM AND COLUMBINE 40 TAKING CARE OF TABLE FERNS 56 CLEANING UP AROUND THE SHRUBS 78 ALL READY TO HOE 90 AN OUTGROWN PLAYHOUSE 112 SPRING BEAUTIES 126 LINE DRAWINGS IN TEXT PAGE PLAN FOR A SMALL BACK YARD 12 AN ARTISTIC ARRANGEMENT OF A NARROW CITY LOT 14 FLOWERS THAT WILL BLOOM FROM EARLY SUMMER UNTIL FROST 16 BLOSSOMS IN JAPANESE ARRANGEMENT 138 NOTE As the desire is to give the widest possible range of information about the plants and flowers mentioned herein, and space forbids going into details in each case, the writer has endeavored to mention all the colors, extremes of height, and entire season of bloom of each kind. But the grower must find out the particular variety obtained, and NOT expect a shrubby clematis to climb, or a fall rose to blossom in the spring! GARDENING FOR LITTLE GIRLS A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot! Rose plot, Fringed pool, Fern'd grot-- The veriest school Of peace; and yet the fool Contends that God is not-- Not God! in gardens! when the eve is cool? Nay but I have a sign: 'Tis very sure God walks in mine. --_Thomas Edward Brown._ GARDENING FOR LITTLE GIRLS CHAPTER I First Steps Toward a Garden And because the breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air (where it comes and goes, like the warbling of music) than in the hand, therefore nothing is more fit for that delight than to know what be the flowers and plants that do best perfume the air. --_Bacon._ IF you want a flower garden, you can begin work as early as March. Does that sound strange,--with cold winds and occasional snow? Ah, but the plans should all be laid then, and many things started in the house. Four steps must be taken before starting actual work: _First._--Find out what space you can have for your garden. _Second._--Consider the soil, situation, surroundings. _Third._--Make a list of seeds, bulbs, etc., desired. _Fourth._--Decide on planting with view to height and color. As to the first step, find out positively where you can have your garden. It makes considerable difference whether you can have the whole back yard, a plot along the walk, a round bed in the center of the lawn (only worse than none at all!), or a window-box. You can not very well decide on a single plant until this is settled. As to the second step, learn all you can about the soil, situation, surroundings. Is your ground rich or poor? If light and sandy, you can grow such flowers as nasturtiums and mignonette. By adding fertilizer you can have poppies, roses, and dahlias. If the ground is heavy and stiff with clay, you can still have your roses and dahlias if you will add both manure and sand. So find out what kind of earth you are going to work with. Quite poor soil will grow sweet alyssum, California poppies, coreopsis and geraniums, while rich soil is needed for asters, larkspur, zinnias and marigolds. And think about your location (a dry spot being necessary for portulaca, and a cool, moist place for lily-of-the-valley), as well as bear in mind whether your garden is sheltered and warm or exposed to the chilly winds. Any desert can be made to blossom as the rose,--if you only know how. As to the third step, make the list of the seeds, bulbs, etc., that you would like, with the idea of having some flowers in bloom the whole summer long. If you are lucky enough to have a kind friend or neighbor give you of her store, they will probably be good and come up as they should. If you have to buy, though, be sure to go to a first-class, reliable dealer, for you don't want to waste your time and money on old things that won't grow. Then last of all, decide on your planting from this list with a view to height and color, so that you will arrange to the best advantage,--the nasturtiums which climb, for instance, going to the back of the bed against wall or trellis, while the dwarf variety should be at the front. BIG WORDS FOR COMMON THINGS To select your flowers intelligently, though, you must know something about their nature, habits, and tendencies, and certain words always found in seed catalogues and garden books may be puzzling to a beginner. a. _Annuals_, for example, are the plants that live but a year or a single season. b. _Biennials_, however, continue for two years before they perish, making roots and leaves the first year and usually flowering the second. c. _Perennials_ are the kind that continue for more than two years. d. _Deciduous_ refers to the shrubs and trees that lose their leaves in the fall. e. _Evergreens_ are those that keep their verdure the whole year round. f. _Herbaceous_ plants may be annual, biennial or perennial, but they have a stem that does not become woody, and that dies down after flowering. g. _Hybrids_ are plants produced by "crossing," or mixing two distinct varieties. PLANT NEEDS All plant life, you must understand, requires five things,--WARMTH, LIGHT, AIR, WATER and FOOD. But plants differ as much as people, and some need more of one thing than they do of another. Some grow best in sunlight, others in the shade; some in sand, others in rich soil. You will have to find out what each kind requires. The food properties needed in the soil have some big names, too,--_nitrogen_, _potash_, and _phosphoric acid_, all of which are found in farm manures. If you can not conveniently get these, however, florists and seed-men can supply you with other fertilizers more easily handled. THE SEED NURSERY If you are just getting ready to start your garden, the annuals,--the plants that flower from seed the first season though they do not come up again,--will probably interest you most as they give the quickest returns. Many kinds can be started in the house in March, and for this purpose any kind of a shallow box will answer. Bore holes in the bottom and put in a layer of broken pottery or stones, to permit drainage, so the roots will not rot. Fill three or four inches deep with good soil, after pulverizing and taking out all sticks and stones. RULES FOR INDOOR PLANTING Mark grooves in seed boxes (or "flats") with a stick, in parallel lines. Plant seeds only about their own depth. Scatter thinly to avoid crowding. Press soil down firmly after seeds have been covered. Keep the earth moist by means of a fine spray, or sprinkle with a whisk broom. The ordinary sprinkler lets out the water with such force as to wash the seeds clear out of the ground. The very finest seeds should be _sprinkled_ lightly--and thinly--over the pulverized soil and then pressed into the earth with a small board. The different seeds should be sown in separate rows, and the names plainly marked on the edge of the box, so you will not become confused, or forget what you are growing. Cover the boxes with glass or a newspaper for the first week, to keep the earth moist and warm until the seeds sprout. FAMILIAR ANNUALS Even as early as March you can start in the boxes in this way any of the following annuals, which will bloom at the time mentioned or even earlier:-- Ageratum, blue, good for edging; blooms for three months during summer. Asters, white, pink, red, purple; early in the fall. Alyssum, sweet, white; from May to November. Amethyst, blue, violet, white; flowers all summer. Balsam, white, red, yellow; from July to middle of September. Chrysanthemum, tricolor; August to middle of October. Cosmos, white, pink, crimson; August to November. Cypress vine, red, and white starry blossoms; June and July. Godetia, red, white; July to October. Moonflower (Japanese morning-glory), white, a vine; August to September. Pansy, all shades and combinations, of white, yellow, purple; July on. Chinese pink, white, rose, maroon; May to August. Salvia, red; August to frost. Ten Weeks' Stock, white, pink, purple; June and July. Zinnia, red, yellow, magenta; July to November. EASILY GROWN PERENNIALS Both the perennials and the biennials following should all blossom the first year if started in the house in March:-- Gaillardia, red, yellow. Forget-me-not, lovely blue. Larkspur, blue. Snapdragon, white, red, purple, yellow, pink. Sweet William, white, pink, red, maroon, plain, varigated. Coreopsis, yellow. Cupid's Dart, blue. Iceland Poppy, yellow, white, scarlet. Get as many as you can--and your space will permit,--of all the lovely old perennials and the bulbs that come up every season with little or no care. One of the oldest,--now deserted--farmhouses on Long Island, still carries in its dooryard the impress of some gentle flower-lover long since passed away, in its annual spring beauty of daffodils and lilies-of-the-valley. And the few bulbs and pips transplanted from there to my own garden, have thrived and spread so profusely that I, too, can pass them on to others. HARDY FLOWERS ALL SUMMER With carefully chosen bulbs and perennials alone, it is possible to have a succession of lovely blooms. In March your heart will be made happy with snowdrop and crocus; in April with violet, daffodil, narcissus, hyacinth and tulip; in May and June with spirea, peony, iris, forget-me-not, columbine, baby's breath, bleeding heart, mountain pink, candytuft, Chinese pink; in July and August, golden glow, hollyhock, larkspur, hardy phlox, snap-dragon; September and October, sunflower, dahlia, gladiolus and aster, with November closing the season with all kinds of beautiful chrysanthemums. And many of these often come earlier than expected, or stay later. How easily raised are they by the person with little time! CHAPTER II Planning and Planting the Flower Beds God the first garden made.--_Cowley._ WHILE the snow is on the ground, you can be deciding on the best place for your garden, and finding out the kind of flowers and vegetables best suited to your soil and locality. Write to your Representative at Washington, requesting the seeds he may have to give away. Write to two or three prominent seed firms for catalogues, and look over the garden books at your Public Library. Then if you do not quickly find yourself suffering from a violent attack of Garden Fever, you might as well give up, and not attempt to have a garden, for you will be lacking the real love and enthusiasm that count for success. Did you ever realize that gardens differ as much as people? "No two gardens, no two human faces, were ever quite alike," says one writer, and you want to make yours expressive of yourself. So before taking another step, study your grounds, large and small,--for if you can have only part of a tiny plot, you still have many possibilities of expressing your own ideas and taste. The garden is for the personal pleasure of the family, so DON'T put it out in front, for the careless passerby. Choose a more secluded spot where, if you wish, you can train a vine to shade your seat when you want to sit down and enjoy the birds, butterflies and flowers. EASY RULES FOR ARTISTIC PLANTING Right here is the place to stop and draw a map of your proposed garden, and mark off the spaces for your chosen plants. You might draw half a dozen plans, and then choose the most suitable. Only never forget the simple rules of a famous landscape gardener:-- 1. Plant in masses, not isolated. 2. Avoid straight lines. 3. Preserve open lawn centers. When you have decided on the location of your garden, coax some one stronger than yourself to dig up the ground thoroughly, and spade in some fertilizer,--preferably farmyard manure. Plants live on the tonic salts they draw out of the soil through their roots, as much as they do on the carbonic acid gas which they take out of the air through their leaves. So have the ground nourishing, and also nicely pulverized and free from sticks and stone, that the little rootlets can easily work their way through and find their needed nutriment. Never forget that third rule before mentioned,--"Preserve open lawn centers." A beautiful lawn is as satisfying to the eye as flowers, so never spoil one by cutting it up with beds. They can be put along the sides, used for bordering walks, and nestled close to the house. PLAN FOR SMALL BACK YARD One of the loveliest gardens I know is at the back end of a city lot, not more than thirty feet square, with a plot of velvety grass in the center. The irregular border surrounding this bit of lawn is a mass of flowers from earliest spring until black frost,--from March until December,--and delights the whole neighborhood. The secret lies in the fact that the owner knows how to plant for succession of bloom. The ground is laid out this way. [Illustration: PLAN FOR A SMALL BACK YARD] If you can have only a single flower bed, however, try to get it in a sunny, protected spot, preferably facing south, where the cold winds of early spring and late fall will do the least damage. Make a list of the flowers that like such conditions,--and most of them do,--and then pick out those you prefer, writing after each name the time that it blooms. Be sure to select some of each of the early spring, late spring, summer, early fall, and late fall, so that you will have flowers to enjoy the whole season through. SUCCESSION OF BLOOM For example, you can choose first from the crocus, snowdrop, scilla, the hardy candytuft that rivals the snow for whiteness, and the tiny creeping phlox that will carpet your bed with pink; next, from the daffodil, narcissus and jonquil groups, with the tulips,--all of which must be set out in the fall for bloom in April and May: then the iris in May and June. Sweet alyssum, nasturtiums, corn flowers, Shirley poppies and cosmos (all annuals), you can count on blooming around New York from July to black frost; dahlias from August to black frost, and monthly roses the entire summer,--with a tidal wave in June. (I know, for I have seen them all, over and over again.) Many of the annuals can be started indoors, or in a glass-covered box outside. Then when the early flowering bulbs have faded, you can turn their green tops under the ground, first to allow the sap to run back into the bulb (the storehouse for next year), and next to decay and fertilize the soil. The annual seedlings can then be placed right on top! You thus avoid bare, ugly spots, and keep your garden lovely. Dahlias planted out about the first of June will bloom from early fall until cold weather sets in; and certain roses, like the Mrs. John Laing and all of the hybrid teas, will flower nearly as late. In fact, in the famous rose garden of Jackson Park, Chicago, as well as in private grounds around New York, I have seen roses blooming in December. You hardly need be afraid of crowding, either, if you will be particular to keep out the weeds, and occasionally work into the soil some bone-meal for fertilizer. Water in dry weather. This does not mean top sprinkling, for that is decidedly injurious. When the ground is dry, soak it thoroughly. A CITY GARDEN [Illustration: AN ARTISTIC ARRANGEMENT OF A NARROW CITY LOT] [Illustration: FIRST WORK IN THE SPRING] If you live in a city, you may be interested in a garden I have seen, which ran along the side and rear end of a long, narrow lot. The tallest flowers,--dahlias and hollyhocks,--were at the back of the bed, at the extreme end, and although late in flowering, formed a beautiful green background for the rest all summer. The first irregular section was given up to the blues, and--planted with both annual and perennial larkspur, and cornflowers,--kept the dining-table supplied with blossoms to match the old blue china until the frost came. Frost, by the way, you will find of two kinds,--hoar frost, which the Psalmist so vividly described when he said, "He scattereth the hoarfrost like ashes," and which injures only the tenderest flowers; and black frost, which is of intense enough cold to freeze the sap within the plant cells, so that when the sun's heat melts this frozen sap the plant--leaf and stalk--wilts down and turns black. Therefore, both in the early spring and the late fall, you must watch out for Jack, whichever garb he dons, and give your tender plants some nighty covering. A LITTLE BED FOR A LITTLE GIRL If you can have only one small bed, however, you can get a lot of pleasure out of it most of the season if you will carefully choose your plants. Pansies set along the outer edge will blossom until mid-summer if you keep them picked and watered every day; and verbenas, which have the same harmonizing shades, you can count on blooming until late in the fall. They would be attractive in either of the following simple designs: [Illustration: FLOWERS THAT WILL BLOOM FROM EARLY SUMMER UNTIL FROST] Candytuft for a border, with petunias in the center, is another combination that should blossom from June until frost. Poppies and cornflowers would also last all summer if you would keep out part of the seed and sow a couple of times at intervals of several weeks. The combinations of red and blue is very pretty, too. Sweet alyssum, with red or pink geraniums, would be lovely all season. For an all yellow bed, plant California poppies to bloom early in the border, and African marigolds, or Tom Thumb nasturtiums to bloom in the center from July on late into the fall. With any of the combinations suggested you could gather flowers almost any time you pleased, for they are all profuse bloomers. WINDOW BOXES If you are a little city child, and can have only a flower box in a window or along a porch-rail, cheer up! There is still a chance for you to have posies all the long hot days. After having your box filled with good, rich soil on top of a layer of broken crockery or stones,--for drainage, you know,--you can plant running nasturtiums along the edge for a hanging vine. Inside of that plant a row of the blue lobelia, or set in a few pansies already in bloom. Then you would have room for still another row of taller plants,--say pink and white geraniums, with a fern or two. Another pretty box could be made by putting Wandering Jew or "inch plant" along the edge for the drooping vine, then blue ageratum for your edging, with next a row of lovely pink begonias. As it takes a number of weeks for any seeds to grow and come to flower, you might better save your candy pennies and buy a few blooming plants from the spring pedlar. They will gladden your heart while waiting. All kinds of green add to these little boxes, and all the white flowers soften and help to blend the bright colors. China asters, in white, pink, and lavender, are lovely in a window box, and if started in shallow trays or old pots early in the spring, can be transplanted later. Then when your early flowers have seen their best days, you can remove them, put in your asters, and have beauties all fall. CHAPTER III Flowers that Must be Renewed Every Year--(Annuals) And 'tis my faith that every flower enjoys the air it breathes. --_Wordsworth._ IF you want flowers that grow quickly, plant annuals! Some will bloom within six weeks, so if you can help out meantime with some transplanted roots and bulbs, you will have flowers from the first of the season. "Plant thickly," says one writer. "It is easier and more profitable to grow flowers than weeds." The following annuals can be sown outdoors late in April, as far North as New York, in ordinary seasons,--only remember that those marked with a * do not like to be transplanted:-- Alyssum Aster Candytuft Chrysanthemum (Annual) Coreopsis (Annual) Cosmos Godetia Larkspur (Annual) Marigold Nicotiana Pansy Petunia Phlox Drummondi Pink, Chinese Salvia Stock, Ten Weeks' Zinnia * California Poppy * Cornflower * Mignonette * Morning glory * Nasturtium * Portulaca * Sweet Sultan OUTDOOR PLANTING Have the soil in your flower bed made fine and light with sand and fertilizer, and entirely free from sticks and stones. If it should happen to be already too sandy, add black loam or leaf mold. (Either father or brother will probably have time to help you get this right.) Plant your seeds evenly, and rather sparingly if you do not want to pull up a lot later on account of being crowded. And you can plant either in lines or scatter in patches in bed or border, as you prefer, only be sure that the seed is covered about four times its own depth. A few things, like poppies and portulaca, have such tiny seeds that it is best to mix them with half a teaspoonful of fine soil, and scatter it where you wish, afterwards pressing down firmly with a small board. TRANSPLANTING--ANNUALS When your plants have developed a few leaves, and are big enough to handle, prepare to transplant them. This exercise does them good, and while a few resent it, the rest will grow better and be stronger. Choose morning or evening for the work, although it can be done at any time on a cloudy day. (One of my friends loves to do her transplanting in the rain!) Be sure that the ground is thoroughly damp, even if you have to sprinkle it well beforehand. PUDDLING Lift each seedling with a spoon, so as to keep a ball of the moist earth around the roots, set it in a hole made where you want your flower to grow, and then fill up this hole with water before you begin to put in the rest of the soil. This is called puddling, and will enable you to do your transplanting with the least possible disturbance to the roots. Next add all the soil necessary to fill up the hole, and press firmly around the plant. Then cover with an old can or berry box, or even a cone of newspaper held in place with stones, until the seedling has had time to get used to its new surroundings. And remember that this "puddling," followed by protection from the sun, will enable you to transplant almost anything you wish, successfully. SWEET PEAS Sweet peas require peculiar treatment for an annual. As early as the ground can be worked,--about the middle of March around New York,--get some one to dig you a trench (and it is best to have it run north and south), about fifteen inches deep. Have put in this trench a layer of well-rotted manure, then a layer of soil, a sprinkling of wood ashes, and then another layer of soil, filling the trench until it is left only six or eight inches deep. Soak your seeds over night in warm water to make them start more quickly, and then plant them two inches apart, in a double row. Cover with only a few inches of soil until they sprout, and then gradually fill up the trench as the vines grow. Train them on brush or chicken wire, and keep them well watered in order to get the best results. The latest method I have had recommended for growing sweet peas,--but which I have not tried,--is to have the soil just as carefully prepared, but then to rake it smooth, make a straight drill only half an inch deep, and plant 3 seeds every 6 inches in the row. If all three grow, pull up the two weakest, leaving only the best plant every 16 inches apart. This way,--with plenty of water and cultivation, is said to produce the very finest kind of flowers. You might try a few on the side. During the hot weather put grass clippings around the roots to help keep them moist and protected from the hot sun. Cut the flowers every day in order to prolong their blooming. A word about names, though, before we go a step farther. I intended at first to give you only the common names, despite the protests of a very good friend,--an English botanist. To clinch her argument one day, she exclaimed with considerable heat, "Why, what they call 'baby's breath' here on Long Island might be 'infant's sneeze' up in Connecticut! But if you tell the children it's real name is GYPSOPHILA, they'll never be mistaken." And later, when I found that foxglove (originally Folk's glove, alluding to the "little folk," or fairies) has been known also--according to Holland--as Thimbles, Fairy Cap, Fairy Fingers, Fairy Thimbles, Fairy Bells, Dog's Fingers, Finger Flowers, Lady's Glove, Lady Fingers, Lady's Thimble, Pop Dock, Flap Dock, Flop Dock, Lion's Mouth, Rabbit's Flower, Cottages, Throatwort, and Scotch Mercury, I concluded I would better urge you to remember its Latin name, DIGITALIS, by which the plant is known the world over. The botanical terms will easily stick in your mind, too, because they are unusual. Then people who are familiar with flowers will know exactly what you are talking about, and you yourself will always have a certain pride in the scientific knowledge that enables you to call things by their right name. You will see, if you study the lists given, what a simple matter it is to plan for a garden, big or little, and with reasonable care you will be rewarded with flowers throughout the season. The following list will give you more explicit information about the ones people like best:-- FLOWERS THAT MUST BE RENEWED EVERY YEAR A GUIDE TO THE COMMON ANNUALS NOTE.--The time that they will bloom and the quality of your flowers will depend on the time you sow your seed, on your soil, your location, and your care. The dates given apply to the locality around New York, and will be earlier if you are South, and later if North, of this section. Both the height and the flowering time of the same plants vary with the different varieties, so find out the particular kind you get. The richer the soil, the finer the flowers, as a rule, and therefore fertilizer of some kind should be applied at least once a season, about the time the buds are forming. ================+=======+=======+==========+===========+=========+========+======== | | | SOW | SOW | GOOD | |BLOOMING NAME | COLOR |HEIGHT | INDOORS | OUTDOORS | FOR | PLACE | SEASON ----------------+-------+-------+----------+-----------+---------+--------+-------- Ageratum |Blue | 8 in. | March | May | Edging | Sun |June to (_Ageratum |White | | | | | |frost conyzoides_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Alyssum, Sweet |White | 4 to | March | April to | Edging | Sun |June to | | 8 in. | | Sept. | | |frost | | | | | | | Antirrhinum, | | | | | | | see | | | | | | | Snapdragon | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Aster, China |White |18 to | March | April, | Bed | Sun |Aug. to (_Callistephus |Pink |24 in. | | May | | |Sept. hortensis_) |Violet | | | | | | | | | | | | | Baby's Breath |White | 1 to | | April | Border | Sun |May (_Gypsophila_) | | 2 ft. | | | | |(sow | | | | | | |again) | | | | | | | Bachelor's | | | | | | | Buttons, see | | | | | | | Cornflower | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Balsam |White | 1 to | March | May | Border | Sun |July to (_Impatiens |Red | 2 ft. | April | | Bed | |Oct. balsamina_) |Yellow | | | | | | | | | | | | | California |Yellow |12 in. | | April | Edging | Sun |June to Poppy |White | | | (sow in | | |frost (_Eschscholtzia|Orange | | |succession)| | | Californica_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Candytuft | White | 6 to | | April, | Edging | Sun |June to (_Iberis_) | Pink | 8 in. | | and every | | |frost | Red | | | two weeks | | | | | | | after | | | | | | | | | | Castor-oil Bean | | 3 to | | April |Tropical | Sun | Until (_Ricinus_) | | 8 ft. | | | effects | | frost | | | | | | | China Aster, | | | | | | | see Aster | | | | | | | | | | | | | | [A]Coreopsis |Yellow | 1 to | | April | Border | Sun |June to (_Coreopsis | | 3 ft. | | | Bed | |Oct. lanceolata_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Cornflower | Blue | 1 to | | April | Border | Sun |June to (_Centaurea | | 2 ft. | | | Bed | |frost cyanus_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Cosmos | White | 4 to | March | April | Back of | Sun |July to | Pink | 8 ft. | | | border | |frost |Crimson| | | | | | | | | | | | | Cypress Vine | Red |10 to | April | May | Screen | Sun |June, (_Ipom[oe]a | White |20 ft. | | | | |July quamoclit_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Eschscholtzia, | | | | | | | see California| | | | | | | Poppy | | | | | | | | | | | | | | [B]Forget-me-not| Blue | 6 to | | April to | Bed | Half |April to (_Myosotis_) | | 18 in.| | July | | Shade |fall | | | | | | | Floss Flower, | | | | | | | see Ageratum | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Gilliflower, | | | | | | | see Ten Weeks'| | | | | | | Stock | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Godetia |White | 1 to | March | May | Border | Shade |July to | Red | 2 ft. | | | Bed | or |Oct. | | | | | | sun | | | | | | | | Gypsophila, | | | | | | | see | | | | | | | Baby's Breath | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Hyacinth Bean |Purple |10 to | | May | Screen | Sun |July to (_Dolichos_) | White |20 ft. | | | | |frost | | | | | | | Lady's Slipper, | | | | | | | see Balsam | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Larkspur, Annual|White | 1 to | | April | Border | Sun |July to (_Delphinium_)| Pink | 3 ft | | | Bed | |frost | Blue | | | | | | | | | | | | | Lobelia | Blue | 6 to | March | May | Edging | Sun |June to (_Lobelia | |12 in. | | | | |Nov. erinus_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Lupin |Most | 2 ft. |Successive|From May on| Border |Partial |From (_Lupinus_) | shades| | sowing | | Bed | shade |June on | | | | | | | Marigold, |Yellow | 2 ft. | March | May | Border | Sun | African | | | | | Bed | |Aug. to (_Tagetes | | | | | | |frost erecta_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Mignonette |White | 1 ft. | | April | Border | Sun |June to (_Reseda | Red | | | and July | Bed | |Oct. odorata_) | Yellow| | | | | | | | | | | | | Morning-glory |White | 10 to | | April | Vine | Sun |July to (_Convolvulus_)| Pink | 20 ft.| | | | |frost | Purple| | | | | | | | | | | | | Myosotis, see | | | | | | | Forget-me-not | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Nasturtium |Yellows| 1 to | | April |Climber | Sun |July to (_Tropæolum_) |to reds| 10 ft.| | May | Dwarf | |frost | | | | | | | Nicotiana, see | | | | | | | Tobacco Plant | | | | | | | | | | | | | | [A]Pansy (_Viola|No red | 6 to | Feb. | April | Bed | Half |May to tricolor_) | | 12 in.| | May | | shade |Oct. | | | | | | | Petunia | White | 1 to | |On surface | Border | Sun |June to (_Petunia | to | 2 ft.| | in May | Bed | |frost hybrida_) |Magenta| | | | | | | | | | | | | Phlox, Annual | White | 1 ft.| March | May | Border | Sun |June to (_Phlox | Pink | | | | Bed | |frost Drummondi_) | Red | | | | | | | | | | | | | [B]Pink, Chinese|White | 1 ft. | Feb. | March | Border | Sun |All (_Dianthus | Pink | | | April | Bed | |summer Chinensis_) | Rose | | | | | | | | | | | | | Poppy, Shirley | White | 1 to | | March, | Bed | Sun |June to (_Papaver | Pink | 2 ft. | | April | | |Oct. rhæas_) | Red | | |Later for | | | | | | |succession | | | | | | | | | | Portulaca |No blue| 6 to | | May 1st |Carpeting| In |All (_Portulaca | | 9 in. | | | | dry, |summer grandiflora_) | | | | | | sunny | | | | | | |position| | | | | | | | Rose Moss, | | | | | | | see Portulaca | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Sage, Blue or | | | | | | | Scarlet, | | | | | | | see Salvia | | | | | | | | | | | | | | [A]Salvia | White | 3 ft. | March | May | Border | Sun |July to | Blue | | | | Bed | |frost |Scarlet| | | | | | | | | | | | | Scarlet Runner | Red |12 ft. | | April |Climber | Sun |July to Bean | | | | | | |frost | | | | | | | [A]Snapdragon |No blue| 1 to | March | May | Border | Sun |July to (_Antirrhinum_)| | 3 ft. | | | Bed | |frost | | | | | | | Stock, |White | 1 to | March | May | Border | Sun |July to Ten Weeks' | Pink | 2 ft. | | | Bed | |frost (_Matthiola | Purple| | | | | | incana_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Sunflower |Yellow | 3 to | | April |Back of | Sun |July to (_Helianthus | |12 ft. | | | bed | |frost annus_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Sun Plant, | | | | | | | see Portulaca | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Sweet Pea | All | 3 to | | March | Back of | Sun |July to (_Lathyrus |Colors | 6 ft. | | | border | |Oct. odoratus_) | | | | | vines | | | | | | | | | [B]Sweet William|White |12 to | | April | Border | Sun |July to (_Dianthus | |18 in. | | | Bed | |Oct. barbatus_) | Pink | | | | | | | Red | | | | | | | | | | | | | Tobacco Plant |White | 2 to | | May | Border | Sun |July to (_Nicotiana_) | Pink | 5 ft. | | | | |Oct. | Red | | | | | | |Purple | | | | | | | | | | | | | Verbena |No Blue| 1 ft. | March | May | Border | Sun |June to | | | | | Bed | |Oct. | | | | | | | Zinnia |Yellows| 1 to | March | May | Border | Sun |June to (_Zinnia |to reds| 2 ft. | | | Bed | |Oct. elegans_) | | | | | | | ----------------+-------+-------+----------+-----------+---------+--------+-------- FOOTNOTES: [A] A tender perennial, flowering the first year from seed sown early. [B] A biennial, flowering the first year from seed sown early. CHAPTER IV Flowers that Live Through Two Years In all places then, and in all seasons, Flowers expand their light and soul-like wings, Teaching us by most persuasive reasons, How akin they are to human things. --_Longfellow._ BETWEEN the flowers that we have to plant every year,--the annuals,--and those that after once being started continue to greet us summer after summer,--the perennials,--comes a little group of old favorites that has to be planted one summer (and then generally protected from the cold), in order to bring them to their full beauty the second year. And as few of them self-sow, it is necessary to plant and carry over every season. The biennial seeds are best sown in the seed nursery, where they can be watched and protected. In the late summer the young plants will be big and strong enough to set out in the border, although you must give them a light covering of leaves and litter. The seeds started in July and August, however, better be left protected in the nursery and moved in the early spring. The dainty blue forget-me-not, or myosotis, is one of the best loved of this class. Some varieties are hardy, and often found growing wild. It generally does best in a damp, partly shaded location. It grows from 6 to 18 inches high, according to the different kinds, which blossom most of the summer. The seeds of biennials seldom produce flowers the first summer, but several--and among them the myosotis,--after being grown a few years in the same spot, come up like perennials, on account of sowing themselves. The foxglove is another of the few biennials that are hardy, and it also likes a cool, shady spot. If the plants come up thickly, transplant part of them to any well-prepared, rich ground, and keep moist and well cultivated until the middle of September, when you should move them again to their permanent home. Foxgloves, like forget-me-nots, sow themselves, and the little plants coming up this way should be transplanted and given plenty of room to grow and become strong before their time to bloom. Do not forget to cover during the winter! English daisies (which are tender perennials), and pansies (which generally are grown as annuals), can both be started in the seed nursery in August, thinned out and protected before cold weather sets in, and then moved to where you wish them to bloom, in the early spring. Canterbury bells do best when the seed is sown the middle of April in ground that is rich, well prepared, moist, and partly shady. The middle of July move to a temporary place, and set the plants 6 to 8 inches apart. Then early in October transplant to where you want them to blossom the next season. But before the frost comes, protect these tender little plants with some old berry boxes, then straw or leaves over the top, and in the spring work a small quantity of fertilizer around the roots. Tie the stalks as they begin to get tall, to stout stakes, to prevent their being blown over by storms: and if you will keep cutting off the old flowers so they will not go to seed, you can coax your plants to bloom an extra month or six weeks. Properly treated, they will last from July to the middle of September. But to enjoy these lovely visitors regularly, it is necessary to plant the seed every year. Of the border carnations, the Chabaud and Marguerite types are hardy enough to stand the winter if slightly covered, and will flower profusely the second year, but they make off-shoots, which bring to bloom a few weeks after sowing. Hollyhocks from seed do not blossom until the second year, but they make off-shoots, which bring flowers every season thereafter. And as they sow themselves, people often mistake them for perennials. They come both single and double, and are especially lovely against a wall or a green background. The evening primrose, tall and stately, with large yellow flowers, is easily grown in almost any soil. It thrives in almost any soil, and blooms the entire summer. Of the wallflowers, the biennial variety will blossom most of the summer if grown in a moist, shady place and not allowed to go to seed. These come in yellows, reddish brown and purplish brown. They need winter protection. The horned poppy, though a biennial, will flower the first year if started indoors in March. It likes an open, sunny spot, and if old flowers are kept picked off, will bloom all summer. Sweet William is another old-fashioned garden favorite that is usually considered a perennial, but which does its best the second year from seed. As it self-sows, it goes on forever, like Tennyson's brook, once it gets started. In protecting, however, do not get fertilizer directly over the crown, or it will cause decay. Mullein pink, or Rose Campion as it is often called, is another of our grandmothers' pets, and if started very early, will flower the first season. Now all of the biennials I have described are easily grown, and sure to bring great pleasure. And really it is worth while to curb one's impatience, and wait, when necessary, until the second season, for the sake of these lovely hardy beauties. FLOWERS THAT LIVE THROUGH TWO YEARS A GUIDE TO THE COMMON BIENNIALS NOTE.--English Daisies (a perennial), Forget-me-nots, Hollyhocks and Pansies are often started about the 1st of August. Most of the biennials need slight protection during the winter. Remember that in nearly every case seed must be sown every year in order to secure succession of bloom. -----------------+-------+----------+---------+--------+--------+-----+-------- | | | SOW | SOW | | |BLOOMING NAME | COLOR | HEIGHT | INDOORS |OUTDOORS|GOOD FOR|PLACE|SEASON -----------------+-------+----------+---------+--------+--------+-----+-------- [A]Canterbury |White | 2½ ft. | March | May | Border | Sun |June, Bells |Pink | | 1st | June | | |July (_Campanula |Blue | | | | | | medium_) |Purple | | | | | | | | | | | | | [A]Carnation, |White |1 to 2 ft.| | May | Border | Sun |August Border |Pink | | | | | | (_Dianthus | | | | | | | caryophyllus_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | [D]English Daisy |White |4 to 6 in.| | July | Border | Sun |April, (_Bellis |Pink | Aug. | | | Bed | |May perennis_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Evening Primrose |Yellow | 5 ft. | Many | May | Border | Sun |June to (_OEnothera | | |varieties| June | | |Sept. biennis_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Forget-me-not |Blue |1 to 2 ft.|Self-sows| May |Border |Half |April to (_Myosotis_) | | | | June | |shade|Sept. | | | | | | | Foxglove |Pinkish|3 to 5 ft.| |April to|Border |Half |June, (_Digitalis_) |purple | | |June |Clumps |shade|July |White | | | | |or | |Yellow | | | | |sun | | | | | | | | Hollyhock |White |4 to 8 ft.|Self-sows| May, |Back of |Sun |July, (_Althæa |Pink | |Also | June or|border | |Aug. rosea_) |Rose | |makes | Aug. |or | | |Yellow | |offsets | |clumps | | |Red | | | | | | | | | | | | | Horned Poppy |Yellow | 6 in. | |May |Border |Sun |July (_Glaucium |Orange | | |June | | |to Sept. luteum_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | [C]Mullein Pink |White | 1 to | |May 1st |Border |Sun |June, (_Lychnis | to | 2½ ft. | | |Rockery | |July coronaria_) |Crimson| | | | | | | | | | | | | Rose Campion, see| | | | | | | Mullein Pink | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Wallflower |Yellow | 1 to | |May |Border |Sun | May (_Cheiranthus |to | 2½ ft. | |June |Rockery | or | cheiri_) |browns | | | | |part | |and | | | | |shad | |purples| | | | | | | | | | | | | Pansy, more | | | | | | | easily treated | | | | | | | as an annual | | | | | | | -----------------+-------+----------+---------+--------+--------+-----+------- FOOTNOTES: [C] Will blossom the first year from seed that is sown as early as possible. [D] A perennial often started in August, so it will bloom the next spring. CHAPTER V Flowers that come up Every Year by Themselves (Perennials) No, the heart that has truly lov'd never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close; As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets The same look which she turn'd when he rose. --_Moore._ THAT big word ARISTOCRACY simply means "those who rise above the rest of the community in any important respect,"--and rightly, indeed, are the perennials called "the aristocrats of the garden." They are strong and sturdy (good points in both people and flowers), and can be depended on to appear about a certain time, make us a nice visit with all their loveliest clothes, and show their appreciation of our attention and care by returning every season with increased beauty and grace. A few of the perennials, such as the peony and the iris, grow so slowly that generally people haven't the patience to wait for them to flower from seed, and instead try to get some roots from their more fortunate friends, or buy from a florist. But I will tell you more about this class in connection with the bulb and tuber families. THE SEED BED While a small number of these beauties will bloom the first year if started early in the spring, most of them make their début in garden society the second summer. Before that they have to be watched, or they might meet with accident. A good way, therefore, is to have a little bed (preferably a cold frame) for a seed nursery off to one side, in a safe place, where the baby plants can be cared for, protected from cold, and tended like the infants they are, until grown up and old enough to enter the society of bed or border. In such a place the seeds should be planted in fine, rich soil, preferably from the middle of May to the 1st of July, and all carefully marked. Sow thinly, and then cover the seed by sifting over with fine soil from 1/8 to 1/4 inch deep. Sprinkle very lightly by means of a whisk broom dipped in water, so as not to wash out the seed, and if you possibly can, cover with a piece of glass. Keep in the shade at first, and never let dry out. Some of this seed will germinate in less than a week, while some may take so long that you will think it is not going to grow at all! But don't give up; and maybe some day when you have forgotten all about it, you will discover a lot of new babies in your nursery. TRANSPLANTING PERENNIALS As soon as your seedlings are big and strong enough to be handled, they must be carefully lifted and set in another part of the nursery, not less than 3 inches apart, protected from the hot sun, and left until they become strong, sturdy children. Then early in the fall, before the middle of September, you can take them up very gently, without disturbing their tiny rootlets, and put them with their friends and relatives in the garden, wherever you wish them to bloom the following summer. Of course you couldn't,--and you wouldn't want to grow everything you ever saw or heard about! Just think of the fun, however, of picking out a small number that will be sure to give you flowers, one after another, from earliest spring until cold weather! Yet the following list, suggested by one authority, is easy to get and little trouble to care for: PERENNIALS FOR A WHOLE SEASON'S BLOOM Creeping Phlox (_Phlox subulata_); white, rose, lavender; bloom April and May. Lily-of-the-Valley (_Convallaria majalis_); white; May, June. Bleeding Heart (_Dicentra spectabilis_); rose pink; April through June. Iris (_Fleur-de-lis_); white, purple, yellow; April to July. Peony (_Pæonia officinalis_); white, rose to crimson; May, June. Larkspur (_Delphinium_); blues; June, July, September. Balloon Flower (_Platycodon_); blue, purple, white; July to October. Phlox, Hardy (_Phlox paniculata_); no blue nor real yellow; June through September. Golden Glow (_Rudbeckia laciniata_); yellow; August. Blanket Flower (_Gaillardia aristata_); yellow, red; July to October. Boltonia (_Boltonia latisquama_); lilac; August to October. Sunflower (_Helianthus_); yellow; July to October. [Illustration: KIM AND COLUMBINE] The fault that I would find with the gentleman's list is that he has omitted chrysanthemums, which could be substituted for sunflowers to most people's satisfaction,--and which also would bloom as late as November. Also I should prefer columbine to his bleeding hearts,--and the golden-spurred variety will bloom from early May to early August! Above all, instead of boltonia, I would use the adorable snapdragons, which, although considered a "tender perennial," will survive cold weather if well protected. But then, as I once heard, "A man's garden is like his wife, whom he never would think of comparing with anybody else's." So you don't have to follow any one's choice. Just make a list of the flowers that you like, find out when they bloom, and then choose as few or as many as you have room for, remembering to plan for something lovely every month of the blooming season. One note of warning, however. After you have made your list, consult some friend that is a successful gardener, and make sure that what you have chosen will thrive in your particular locality. If you find it does not, strike it off, and put in something that will. FLOWERS THAT COME UP EVERY YEAR BY THEMSELVES A GUIDE TO THE COMMON PERENNIALS NOTE.--A few of these will blossom the first summer, if started early. Also, some varieties of the same plant will flower in the spring, others in the fall. Make sure which kind you get. ------------------+--------+-------+-------+--------+-----------+------+---------- | | | SOW | SOW | | |BLOOMING NAME | COLOR |HEIGHT |INDOORS|OUTDOORS| GOOD FOR |PLACE | SEASON ------------------+--------+-------+-------+--------+-----------+------+---------- Alyssum (_Alyssum |Rich |1 ft. | | May |Rockery |Half |April, saxatile_) |yellow | | | June |Edging |shade | May | | | | |or sun | | | | | | | | | Anemone, Japanese |Rose |2 to | | May |Border |Half |Sept., (_Anemone |White | 4 ft. | | June |Bed |shade | Oct. Japonica_) | | | | | |or sun| | | | | | | | Aster, Hardy |White |2 to | | May |Anywhere |Shade |Aug. to (_Aster Novæ- |Pink | 5 ft. | | June | |or sun| Oct. Angliæ_) |Lavender| | | | | | |Purple | | | | | | | | | | | | | Baby's Breath |White |2 to | | May |Rockery | Sun |June, (_Gypsophila | | 3 ft. | | June |Border | | July paniculata_) | | | | | | | Balloon Flower |White |1 to | | May |Border | Sun |July to (_Platycodon_) |Blue | 3 ft. | | June | | | Oct. | | | | | | | Begonia, Hardy |White |1 to | | May |Border | Sun |June to (_Begonia |Pink | 2 ft. | | June | | | Aug. Evansiana_) |Rose | | | | | | | | | | | | | Bellflower |White |1 to | | May |Border | Sun |June, (_Campanula_) |Blue | 3 ft. | | June | | | July | | | | | | | [A]Blanket Flower |Red |3 to | | May |Border | Sun |July to (_Gaillardia | Yellow |5 ft. | | June |Bed | |Oct. aristata_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Bleeding Heart |Pink | 2 ft. | | May |Border |Likes |May, (_Dicentra | | | | June |Bed | half |June spectabilis_) | | | | | | shade| | | | | | | | Boltonia |Lilac |2 to | | May |Border | Sun |Aug. to (_Boltonia | | 6 ft. | | June |Bed | | Oct. latisquama_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Candytuft, Hardy |White |6 to | | May |Border | Sun |April, (_Iberis | | 12 in.| | June |Edging | |May sempervirens_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Chrystmas Rose |White |12 to | | May |Border |Half |Dec. to (_Helleborus | | 15 in.| | June | | Shade|March, niger_) | | | | | | |_outdoors_ | | | | | | | Chrysanthemum, |No |2 to | | May |Border | Sun |Sept. to Hardy |blue | 3 ft. | | June | Bed | | Nov. | | | | | | | Columbine |All |2 to | | May |Rockery | Sun |May to (_Aguilegia_) |shades | 4 ft. | | June |Bed | | Aug. | | | | | | | Coreopsis |Yellow |1 to | | May |Border | Sun |June to (_Coreopsis | | 2 ft. | | June |Bed | | Oct. lanceolata_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Daisy, English |Pink |3 to | | May |Bed | Sun |April to (_Bellis |White | 6 in. | | June | | | June perennis_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Delphinium |Blue |2 to |March | May |Border | Sun |June, (_Delphinium |to | 6 ft. | | June |Bed | |July, Sep. formosum_, |white | | | | | |Oct. Cut _D. Belladonna_,| | | | | | |down after _D. Chinense_) | | | | | | |each | | | | | | |flowering | | | | | | | Flag, see Iris | | | | | | | | | | | | | | [B]Forget-me-not, |Blue |6 to | | May |Border |Shade |May to Perennial | | 18 in.| | June | |or sun| fall (_Myosotis | | | | | | | palustris_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | [C]Foxglove |White |3 to | | May |Border | Half |June, (usually |Purple | 5 ft. | | June |Bed | shade|July biennial) |Rose | | | | | | (_Digitalis_) |Yellow | | | | | | | | | | | | | Fraxinella, | | | | | | | see Gas Plant | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Gaillardia, see | | | | | | | Blanket Flower | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Gas Plant |Rose | 2½ ft |Long | May |Border | Sun |June, (_Dictamnus |White | | lived | June |Bed | |July albus_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Golden Glow |Yellow | 6 to | | May |Back of | Sun |July to (_Rudbeckia | | 8 ft. | | June | border | | Sept. laciniata_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | [B]Hollyhock |All | 4 to | | May |Back of | Sun |July, (_Althæa rosea_)|shades | 6 ft. | | June | border | |August | | | | | or bed | | | | | | | | | Iris |White | 1 to | | May |Border | Sun |May to |Purple | 3 ft. | | June |Bed | | July |Yellow | | | |Clump | | |Maroon | | | | | | | | | | | | | Larkspur, | | | | | | | see Delphinium | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Lupin |White | 2 to | | May |Border |Sun or|May, (_Lupinus_) |Blue | 5 ft. | | June |Bed | half |June |Pink | | | |Clump | shade| |Yellow | | | | | | | | | | | | | Madwort, | | | | | | | see Alyssum | | | | | | | | | | | | | | [A]Mallow, Musk |White | 1 to | | May |Border |Sun or|July to (_Malva|Rose | | 2 ft. | | June | | shade| Sept. moschata_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Michaelmas Daisy, | | | | | | | see Aster | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Monk's-hood |Blue to |3 to |Slow to| May |_Poisonous_|Sun or|July to (_Aconitum |white | 5 ft. | start | June | |shade |Sept. napellus_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Moss Pink, see | | | | | | | _Phlox subulata_| | | | | | | | | | | | | | Mullein Pink |White |1 to | | May |Border |Sun |June, (_Lychnis |Red | 3 ft. | | June |Bed | |July coronaria_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Myosotis, see | | | | | | | Forget-me-not | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Myrtle, see | | | | | | | Periwinkle | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Pansy |White |6 to |March | April |Border |Sun or|All (_Viola |Blue | 8 in. | | May |Bed |half |summer, tricolor_) |Yellow | | | | |shade |with |Purple | | | | | |care | | | | | | | Peony |White |3 ft. |Slow | May |Border |Sun or|May, (_Pæonia |Rose | |grower | June |Clumps |half |June officinalis_) |Crimson | | | | |shade | | | | | | | | Periwinkle |Blue |6 to |March | May |Trailing |Shaded|All (_Vinca minor_) |White | 10 in.| | June | vine |bare |summer | | | | | |spots | Phlox, Perennial |No blue |2 to |Slow | May |Border | Sun |Aug., (_Phlox | or | 3 ft. | | June | Bed | |Sept. paniculata_) | yellow | | | | | | (_Phlox |White |2 in. | | May |Carpeting | Sun |April, subulata_) |Pink | | | June |Border | |May |Lavender| | | | | | | | | | | | | Pink, Grass |White |1 ft. | | May |Rockery | Sun |May, (_Dianthus |Vari- | | | June |Border | |June plumaris_) |colored | | | | | | | | | | | | | Platycodon, | | | | | | | see Bellflower | | | | | | | | | | | | | | [A]Poppy, Iceland |White |1 ft. | | April |Border | Sun |June to (_Papaver |Red | | | May |Bed | | Oct. nudicaule_ |Yellow | | | | | | | | | | | | | Poppy, Oriental |Scarlet |3 ft. | | March |Border | Sun |June, (_Papaver |Orange | | | April |Bed | |July orientale_) |to pink | | | | | | | | | | | | | Pyrethrum |White |3 ft. | | May |Border | Sun |June, (_Chrysanthemum |Rose | | | June |Bed | |July coccineum_) |Crimson | | | | | | | | | | | | | [A]Rocket, Sweet |White |2 to | | May |Border | Sun |June to (_Hesperis_) |to | 3 ft. | | June |Clump | | Aug. |purple | | | | | | | | | | | | | Rockmadwort, | | | | | | | see Alyssum | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Rose Campion, | | | | | | | see Mullein Pink| | | | | | | | | | | | | | Rudbeckia, | | | | | | | see Golden Glow | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Sage, see Salvia | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Salvia |White |2 to | | May |Border | Sun |May to (perennial) |Blue | 4 ft. | | June |Bed | | Sept. | | | | | | | [F]Snapdragon |No |1 to |March |May 1st |Border | Sun |June to (_Antirrhinum_) |blues | 3 ft. | | |Bed | | Oct. | | | | | | | Sunflower |Yellow |2 to | | May |Back of | Sun |Sept. to (_Helianthus_) | | 8 ft. | | June |border | |Nov. | | | | | | | [E]Sweet William |White |1 ft. | | May |Border | Sun |June to (_Dianthus |Pink | | | June |Bed | | Aug. barbatus_) |Maroon | | | | | | | | | | | | | Tickseed, see | | | | | | | Coreopsis | | | | | | | | | | | | | | [G]Wallflower |Yellows | 1 to | | May |Rock |Part |May (_Cheiranthus | to | 2½ ft.| | June |garden | shade| cheiri_) |browns | | | | or | | | and | | | |border | | |purples | | | | | | | | | | | | | Windflower, |White | 1 to | | May |Clump |Part |April Snowdrop | | 1½ ft.| | June |Border |shade |to (_Anemone | | | | | |or sun|July sylvestris_) | | | | | | | ------------------+--------+-------+-------+--------+-----------+------+---------- FOOTNOTES: [E] Will bloom the first year from seed sown in March. [F] Perennial in the South, but should be grown annually in the North. [G] Really a biennial. CHAPTER VI Flowers that Spring from a Storehouse (Bulbs and Tubers) Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they toil not, neither do they spin: and yet I say unto you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. --_Matthew_ vi, 28, 29. IF you are going to be a really-truly gardener, you will want to know something about the plants and flowers that you try to grow, so let's have a few words right here about the difference between the bulb and tuber families. They can be classed together because they both spring from what is in fact a storehouse filled one season with food to help them through the next season's bloom! Hyacinths and daffodils, for example, come from BULBS, which are built up, layer on layer, exactly like an onion. Dahlias and Cannas, however, grow from a TUBER, which is an underground knob on the stem, quite a little like a sweet potato, and which sends out the shoots that make new plants. The crocus and the gladiolus both spring from a CORM, which differs from the bulb in that it is solid (not in layers), and from the tuber in that it is not like a potato in shape but oval. The iris, though, grows from a RHIZOME, a thickened root running along the ground (often half exposed), which throws up the new plants as it spreads. The bulb and tuber families are treated very much alike. Some of each are left in the ground year after year, like the daffodils and the lilies, while others, like the cannas and dahlias, have to be dug up, allowed to dry a little in the open air, and then stored in a cool, dark place for the winter. The rhizomes do not have to be "lifted," but are increased generally by root division,--cutting off a piece of the root soon after flowering, and planting where it will get a good start before next season's time to bloom. Some people today would follow Mohammed's advice: "He that hath two cakes of bread, let him sell one of them--for bread is only food for the body, but the narcissus is food for the soul;" but few individuals--let alone a nation--would grow so wildly enthusiastic as once did the Dutch, as to spend every last possession to buy tulips! But we dearly love all of these groups, and are using them in increasing numbers every season. The fascinating work of growing certain kinds indoors during the winter I tell you about in the chapter on "The Care of House Plants," so here we will consider the outdoor culture. The delicate snowdrop is the very earliest of these visitors, and planted in groups in half-shady places,--like under trees,--where they will not be disturbed, will thereafter take care of themselves. Then quickly follow the lovely crocuses, white, yellow, lavender, purple, and the varigated, which often are planted right where they fall after being scattered broadcast over the lawn,--though if the head of the house cuts the grass before the middle of April they should be set in a bed where they will not be touched. Hyacinths are beautiful, but personally I do not care much about them in the garden, as they generally have to be planted in masses to get any effect, and need, therefore, to be used in large numbers, are more expensive than the other bulbs, and should be taken out of the ground soon after blooming and stored in a cool place until fall. However, one enthusiast that I know plants in rings of 6, and leaves them in the ground! The daffodil, jonquil and narcissus are three types of the narcissus family, the daffodils usually being distinguished by their long trumpets, while the jonquils and narcissi have the little cup-like centers, and, moreover, are fragrant. They should be planted in the late fall, 4 in. below the surface, in soil that has been enriched 8 in. below the bulb. They increase rapidly, and do not have to be taken up, or even divided for years. If set in a border where their room is needed after they bloom, simply turn the tops down under the soil, and sow over them any low-growing annual, such as candytuft or poppies. My friend of the tiny "handkerchief" garden described in Chapter II, has--think of it!--over 1500 of these various spring-flowering bulbs in her border that are treated this way, and never taken up! Yet a few weeks after they have bloomed, the space they occupied is filled with new beauties. Tulips--but as I told you, they once drove a whole country mad! Today we have probably far more beautiful ones,--and many can be bought in the fall at planting time, for $1.00 per hundred! Some bloom early, some late; some are short, some tall; some are cheap, some expensive. They will grow in partial shade or sun, and can be planted in groups in the border, or in marginal rows for edging. By carefully choosing from both the early and late varieties, you can enjoy your tulips for nearly two months; and by as carefully choosing your colors, have all sorts of artistic combinations. They should be planted 3 or 4 in. deep if the soil is heavy, and an inch deeper in soil that is light, and set 6 in. apart. They will prove a joy to your heart. Tuberous-rooted begonias supply a much-felt want for lovely flowers in half-shady or shady places. If the bulbs are started in the house in sand in February, they will be in full leaf when ready to set out in May, and will bloom from June until frost. Don't, please don't, plant them upside down, but be sure that the rounded part rests on the soil. They require light, rich earth, with plenty of water, given after sundown. Cannas only too often are planted in big, showy beds where they break our rule of "open lawn centers." In fact, they are a little hard to place, but look well in a corner, in beds along a drive, or outlining a boundary. The ground should be spaded 2 ft. deep, well fertilized, and then kept watered. Set plants 2 ft. apart. The iris is one of the most beautiful and most satisfactory of all the hardy plants. It grows in almost any soil, and any situation, but does best in rich ground, with plenty of water. It may be planted either in early spring or after August. The dwarf varieties, from 6 to 18 in. high, bloom during March, April and May; the German iris, standing often 3 ft. high, in May; and the marvelous Japanese kinds, sometimes 4 ft., with blossoms 8 to 10 in. across, closing the season in July! (In heavy soil they are not so tall.) When used alone in beds, one prominent grower suggests that the German iris be combined with hardy asters (set in between), and the Japanese with gladioli, to keep a succession of bloom until late fall. Lilies for the garden are of many varieties, requiring different kinds of treatment. As a general rule, however, when the soil is heavy, set your bulb in a nice little nest of sand, and give a blanket of the same before filling in with the ordinary earth. Lilies-of-the-valley will grow almost anywhere, but do well in a half-shady position. They should be planted in masses, and fertilized in September. When too thick, they can be transplanted in the early spring. They increase rapidly. The gladiolus (accent on the i, please,) can get along in almost any kind of soil,--though it does best in rich,--if only it is planted in the sunshine. The ground should be well dug up and fertilized beforehand and around New York the corms set as early as April. Then, for succession of bloom, plant at least every 10 days up to July 1st. After they are well started, fertilize with (preferably) sheep manure, dug in around the roots, every two weeks. Cultivate often, and keep well watered. Plant gladioli at least 4 in. apart, and 4 in. deep, and tie up for protection to 4-ft. stakes. Lift your bulbs,--corms, I should have said,--late in the fall, let them dry in the air a few days, and then store in a cool, dark place, free from frost. Narcissi are described with the daffodils. Peonies are classed with the Perennials, in Chapter III. Their tuberous roots are best divided and set out in September. They can be left undisturbed for five or six years. Tuberoses can now be procured which will bloom from May until frost. They are easily grown, with no particular care, and take up very little room. Stake for safety from storms. The dahlia next,--saved until the last for all the space I could possibly give it! And so popular is this flower today, that some growers raise nothing else!! One man offers us over 700 _named_ varieties!!! Moreover, a great big club, known as The American Dahlia Society, has been formed by people who are interested in--and wish to help along--the growing of dahlias. And it's no wonder that they are popular, for no other flower can be grown in the garden that will give as many, as large, as vari-colored and as beautiful flowers as the dahlias. Coming in every shade but true blue, and ranging from the tiny button pom-pon to the largest prim show or the formal decorative,--from the unique collarette to the ragged pæony-flowered, the amateur gardener can hardly believe that they really all belong to one family! Of such easy culture, too. Anybody can grow them! Any good, well-drained garden soil will do, but must have manure spaded in 10 in. deep and the tubers must be planted in the sun. The poorer the ground, though, the more fertilizer will you have to use. Heavy soil should be dug up and mixed with ashes to make it light. Plant the tubers _lengthwise_--not up and down!--in a drill at least 6 in. deep, and not less than 2½ ft. apart. For early flowering, put in your bulbs as soon as all danger of frost is past, but do not set near trees or shrubs that would take their nourishment. When they sprout, pull up all shoots but one or two, in order to produce the finest flowers. Keep the ground well cultivated, but do not water until after the buds have formed, otherwise you will have principally stalks and leaves. But once the buds do show, water frequently in order to enrich the color, and dig in fertilizer around the roots several times during the flowering season, to produce fine, big blossoms. [Illustration: TAKING CARE OF TABLE FERNS] Tie each plant to a 5-ft. stake, to protect from the wind, but in driving be careful not to pierce--and ruin--your tuber. Nip off all the buds that are imperfect or weak, and cut your flowers with their attendant buds and foliage. They will look better, and no further disbudding of the plants will be necessary. And the more you cut, the better your dahlias will bloom! Soon after frost has killed the leaves, carefully dig up the tubers with a spading fork. You will be surprised to find often half-a-dozen where you set but one! Allow them to dry in the air for a day or two, then put away in a cool, dark cellar, with a bag or paper thrown over them, and leave for the winter. In the spring when ready to plant again, cut each tuber so it will have a little bit of the heart of the clump on its end, as it is close to this that the new shoots start. Growing dahlias from seed is a most fascinating pastime, for there is no telling what you may get! The child is rarely, if ever, like its mother,--and this is the only way that we get the new varieties. YOU might happen to grow one of the finest yet! The seed is started early indoors, and very easily grown. Certainly it is worth trying. CHAPTER VII That Queen--The Rose Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying, And this same flower that smiles today Tomorrow will be dying. --_Herrick._ EVERY one longs for roses, the most highly prized of all the flowers; and roses today can be grown almost anywhere. Rose growers have finally succeeded in budding the tender tea rose on to the hardy briar and also on to the more recent Manetti stock, and in crossing the teas with the hybrid perpetuals,--developed from the old June favorites. The result is ideal roses, that are hardy and bloom all season, with the desired lovely coloring and fragrance. Many of the so-called June roses also have been coaxed to bloom all season, while all those that I draw to your attention are among the loveliest and most easily grown. With even three or four, well taken care of, you should be able,--as far north as New York,--to cut a bud any time you wish from May to November. These hybrid teas and hybrid perpetuals are the most satisfactory for growing in this climate. Field-grown stock, in dormant condition, is brought here from Holland every spring early in March, and good plants can be bought as low as fifteen or twenty cents apiece. The weather is usually fit for them to be set out by the 25th of March, and they will produce more and better roses than the costlier potted plants procurable later. The American grown roses, however, are really the best, as they are adapted to our soil and climatic conditions, and produce both more and better flowers. Of these potted plants, though, just a word. The Richmond, a deep, rich red, and the single white Killarney, I have found exceptionally good, free bloomers; and with little winter covering they should, on account of a season's rest, be better the second year. The 6-inch or "bench plants," as they are termed, sell for only 25 cents each. These can be set out from April on all summer. As soon as a rose bush comes into your hand, whether from a dealer or a friend, get it into the ground as quickly as possible. If its permanent home is not ready, dig a little trench and cover it entirely with the moist earth for a few days. But never, oh, never! allow the roots to dry out. While a few specimen roses may be set out anywhere (as long as they do not cut up the lawn and so violate the landscape rule, "Preserve open lawn centers"), a number of rose bushes are usually preferred set together in a bed, from 3 to 4 ft. wide. MAKING A ROSE BED Have your rose bed with a south or east exposure if possible, as many roses so planted will not "winter kill," and others need but little protection. Dig a trench about 2½ ft. deep, and put in the bottom a layer of cow manure, as this will be lasting. Over this put a layer of good top soil for the plants to rest on, so that they do not directly touch the fertilizer. Then hold your rose with your left hand while you straighten out the roots, and sprinkle enough fine soil to hold it in position while you set the next bush. Be sure that your budding point is 3 inches below the level of the ground,--and Baily says even 4! When all are in place, fill the trench half full of soil, and then nearly to the top with water. After this has sunk in, add the rest of your rich top soil, and pack down hard with your foot, so as to shut out the air from the roots, leaving the packed earth at least an inch below the surrounding surface to catch and hold the moisture. Potted roses, however, should be sunk with as little disturbance to the roots as possible. Then over the smoothly raked surface of the bed spread leaves, litter or grass clippings, to keep the sun from drying out the earth. Some gardeners for this purpose cover the bed with pansies, English daisies, and similar low flowers, though many like better to see nicely cultivated soil. To have splendid roses, however, you must supply plenty of food and drink! When the buds start, dig in around the roots every two weeks, two tablespoonfuls of bonemeal, and wet thoroughly. Manure from the chicken house is especially good as the chickens are meat eaters, and it is, therefore, better adapted to the needs of the roses and easily absorbed by the rootlets. But use carefully--not more than a small trowelful at a time, and that well mixed with the soil. One of the very best foods is cheaply made as follows: ROSE FERTILIZER 10 lbs. sheep manure, 5 lbs. bonemeal, 1 lb. Scotch soot. Mix well. Give a level trowelful to roots of each rosebush every two weeks, after buds start, and wet down thoroughly. Being hearty feeders, roses need a rich, light soil, and they do best in an open, sunny spot, away from the roots of trees and shrubs that would steal their food. And while they do not thrive in low, damp ground, neither do they stand being set "high and dry." Too damp beds should be drained with a first layer of small stones or gravel. Cultivate your roses every week or ten days, and keep the ground covered with grass clippings unless it is protected from the sun by the shade of other plants. Cut off close to the parent stem any wild shoots or "suckers,"--generally recognizable by their briary stems,--as they will cause the budded part to die. FALL PROTECTION Late in the fall mound up the earth well around the roots of all your roses, and give them a good covering of coarse manure or leaves. The more tender kinds can be laid over and protected with litter or boughs. SPRING PRUNING Then early in the spring, before the first of April, cut back the hardy roses, keeping only the strong canes, which, however, should be shortened to about 10 inches. The middle of April prune the more tender varieties. But remove from both all shoots growing in toward the center, and cut all weak plants back to the third or fourth eye, to promote stronger growth and larger flowers. Climbing roses need only the weak branches and tips removed. Date new climbing canes with wired wooden tags each spring, and cut out all over three years old. This renews the stock, restrains ambitious climbing, and produces better flowers. SPRAYING About this time a spraying first of Bordeaux mixture to prevent disease, and a little later a spraying of whale-oil soapsuds as warning to the great army of bugs, slugs, etc., will give your roses a good start toward a successful season of bloom. Watch for that robber, the rose bug! Talk about salt on a bird's tail! The surest way to end His Majesty is to take a stick and knock him into a cup of kerosene. Slow process? Yes, but sure. The leaf-roller, too, is most effectively disposed of by physical force,--pressure of thumb and forefinger. Clear, cold water, twice a day through a hose, comes with force enough to wash off many of the rose's foes; but if they get a start, fall back on strong soapsuds, pulverized tobacco, or some other popular remedy. The Garden Club of Philadelphia is said to recommend the following: EFFECTIVE SPRAY FOR ROSE BUGS 3 pts. sweet milk. 3 pts. kerosene. 1 qt. water. Shake well in a jug, then put one-half pint of the fluid to one gallon of water. Stir well and both spray the bushes thoroughly and wet the ground around the roots. Repeat every ten days from May 1st to June 15th, by which time the pests seem to get discouraged and give up the fight! And the reward for all this care and attention? "A devoted cottager," says Neltje Blanchan, "may easily have more beautiful roses than the indifferent millionaire." The following lists comprise a few of the best of the different classes mentioned. I wish you success in your choice. ROSES A FEW OF THE BEST OF EACH KIND =Teas.= (Tenderest of roses, needing winter protection. Noted for delicate shades and fragrance.) Maman Cochet, free bloomer, hardiest of the teas; rose-pink. Marie Van Houtte, also a free bloomer and quite hardy; canary yellow. Souvenir de Catherine Guillot, a rose of excellence; copper-carmine. White Maman Cochet, a strong grower, like the pink; white. =Hybrid Teas.= (Best for the garden, as they combine the best qualities of the teas and the hybrid perpetuals,--color, hardiness, and steady bloom.) Caroline Testout, one of the most popular, slightly fragrant; rose pink. Etoile de France, continuous bloomer and fragrant; crimson. Gruss an Teplitz, the best dark rose, and fragrant; velvety crimson. Kaiserin Augusta Victoria, blooms of lovely shape, on long stems; pearly white. Killarney, very popular and one of the best of its color; lovely pink. Killarney, a "sport," same as the pink; white. La France, especially good form, fragrant; bluish-pink. Mrs. Aaron Ward, a vigorous plant, of compact growth, very popular; pinkish-yellow. Richmond, a steady bloomer all summer, with a beautiful bud; rich deep red. =Hybrid Perpetuals.= (Commonly known as June roses, and hardy. The following will bloom most of the summer.) Anna de Diesbach (_Gloire de Paris_), splendid in the garden and fragrant; rich carmine. American Beauty, successful in most localities; rose-carmine. Frau Karl Druschki, very large and fragrant; snowy white. General Jacqueminot, a favorite that does well everywhere; crimson. Louis van Houtte, very desirable and fragrant; deep red. Mrs. John Laing, late blooming and hardy, fragrant; lovely pink. Mrs. R. G. Sharman-Crawford, a splendid bloomer; rose-pink. Ulrich Brunner, large, fragrant, with well-formed flowers; cherry red. =Moss.= (Loved for the beautiful fragrant buds with their mossy covering.) Blanche Moreau, flowers in clusters; white. Countess de Murinais, one of the best; white. Crested Moss, finely crested; rose pink. Henry Martin, very vigorous; crimson. Luxembourg, exceptionally good; crimson. =Climbing and Rambler.= (Used over walls, fences, pillars, arbors and trellises.) Baby ramblers, 18 in. to 24 in. high, are good for hedges, beds, or carpeting, and can be bought in white, pink, salmon pink, red and yellow. Climbing American Beauty, well worth growing; rose-pink. Dorothy Perkins, a profuse bloomer and rapid grower; shell-pink. Crimson Rambler, first of the ramblers, but disliked by many gardeners today; crimson. Dr. Van Fleet, one of the best, resisting mildew and insects,--a gem; flesh-pink. Excelsa, an improvement on the formerly popular crimson rambler; crimson. Hiawatha, most brilliant of all, between 40 and 50 roses to the spray; carmine. Tausendschoen, roses 3 in. across, graceful in form, and 10 or 15 to the truss; pink. White Dorothy, like satisfactory Dorothy Perkins, except for color; white. Yellow Rambler, new variety called "Aviator Bleriot," the first hardy yellow; yellow. =Briar, Austrian and Hybrids.= (Loved by our grandmothers, and some known here in this country as far back as 1596. They must not be crowded.) Austrian Copper, beautiful single reddish-copper and one of the oldest; copper. Austrian Yellow, lovely single flowers (introduced late in 1500); deep yellow. English Sweet Briar, or Eglantine, loved for its fragrance, also single; pink. Anne of Gerstein, very graceful; dark crimson. Brenda, very dainty; peach. Refulgence, fragrant foliage,--deepens in color on developing; scarlet to crimson. AMERICAN GROWN ROSES The American grown rose, however, I find is considered by many people to be by far the best. While its slender brown stems are not as attractive to the ignorant gardener as the thick, green of the imported, it is much more adapted to our soil and climatic conditions. It is cheaper, too, and splendid varieties, in 2½-in. and 3-in. pots, can be bought as low as $5.00 or $6.00 a hundred from expert growers, by the person willing to start a rose garden and then wait a year for really fine results. In lots of fifteen, however, many of these fine varieties of one-year-old plants can be bought for $1.00, with the growers' guarantee that "they will bloom the first and each succeeding year, from early spring until severe frost." The plants are small, of course, but who could ask for more at that price! The (probably) best informed man in the Eastern United States recommends the following list of Teas and Hybrid Teas,--and it has been adopted by a number of firms as suggestions for planting. Don't go looking for these plants at the 5- and 10-cent stores, for they never carry such specialties. They are cheap, though, and well known throughout this section, but they should be procured from people WHO MAKE A BUSINESS OF GROWING ROSES! A SPECIALIST'S LIST OF TEAS AND HYBRID TEAS White Grossherzogin Alexandra Kaiserin Augusta Victoria Marie Guillot White Bougere Yellow Blumenschmidt Etoile de Lyon Lady Hillingdon Sunburst Light Pink Col. R. S. Williamson Helen Good Mrs. Foley Hobbs Souvenir du President Carnot Wm. R. Smith Yvonne Vacherot Dark Pink Aurora F. R. Patger Jonkheer J. L. Mock Lady Alice Stanley Maman Cochet Mme. Jules Grolez Mrs. George Shawyer Radiance Red Crimson Queen Etoile de France Mme. Eugene Marlitt General McArthur Helen Gould Laurent Carle Rhea Reid CHAPTER VIII Vines, Tender and Hardy They shall sit every man under his vine and under his figtree. --_Micah_ iv, 4. EVERYBODY likes a pretty vine, and there is sure to be some place where you will want to plant at least one. Where? Why, at one corner of the porch where you like to play; round the pillar at the front door, where you read, or by the window where you sit to sew; in the backyard to cover the clothespoles, hide the chicken fence, or screen some old, ugly building. The common annual vines you probably know pretty well,--the climbing nasturtium, morning glory, moonflower, cypress vine, scarlet runner, hyacinth bean, wild cucumber, gourds and hops. They are treated very much alike, grow with little care if they only have something to climb on, and spread rapidly. The hardy vines are not so easily disposed of. For instance, the clematis (with accent on the _clem_,) numbers throughout the world about one hundred and fifty species,--generally climbers,--in white, blue, purple, red and yellow, and ranges from the 2-ft. shrubby kind to the 25-ft. vine. While our common mountain clematis (Montana grandiflora) flowers as early as April, the Jackmani in mid-summer, and the Paniculata often as late as September, the Henryi is seen even in November. And while some can be grown from seed, the rest have to be propagated by cutting or grafting. WARNING Right here let me again urge you to make sure of the particular kind of flower, plant or vine that you get, so that you will know how to treat it, and not count on flowers in June from a variety that blossoms in September, or expect purple posies from the white sort. The gentleman printing this book will not let me take space enough to go into details about every thing I mention (he says paper is too dear!) so the only way out of the difficulty is for me to make the lists include all the colors, all the heights, all the months of bloom, and then impress on YOU the necessity of ascertaining the particular kind you want to grow. BOOKS THAT WILL HELP As the people you would ask might make a mistake about these things, get in the habit of looking them up for yourself. Go to the Public Library and just see the fascinating books that have been written about plants and flowers,--many for children and in the form of stories. For real facts, though, given in few words and easily found from a complete index in the back, ask for "The American Flower Garden," by Neltje Blanchan, or "The Garden Month by Month," by Mabel Cabot Sedgwick. This latter gives a little description of all the _hardy_ plants and flowers, and is filled with beautiful pictures. And some of the big seed dealers and nurserymen get out fine catalogues that are really garden books in themselves, chock full of information accompanied by colored illustrations, which can be had for the asking! VINES THAT MUST BE RENEWED EVERY YEAR THE ANNUAL CLIMBERS =============================================================================== NAME | COLOR |HEIGHT| SOW | SOW | GOOD FOR |PLACE|BLOOMING | | |INDOORS|OUTDOORS| | | SEASON -----------------+--------+------+-------+--------+-------------+-----+-------- Balloon Vine |White |10 to | |May 1st | Rapid | Sun | (_Cardiospermum|Seeds in|15 ft.| |6 in. | growing | | halicacabum_) |tiny | | |apart | | | |balloons| | | | | | | | | | | | | Balsam Apple |Has |10 ft.| |May | Trellis or | Sun | (_Momordica_) |curious | | |6 in. | rock-work | | |fruit | | |apart | | | | | | | | | | Cardinal Climber |Cardinal|15 to | March |May | Rapid | Sun |June (new) (_Ipomoea| |20 ft.| | | growing | | quamoclit | | | | | | | hybrid_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Cypress Vine | Red |10 to | March |May | Dense mass | Sun |June (_Ipomoea | White |20 ft.| April | | | | quamoclit_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Fire Bean, | | | | | | | see Scarlet | | | | | | | Runner | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Gourds, | Odd |15 to | |May |Over arbor or| Sun | Ornamental | shapes |30 ft.| | |summer-house | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Hop, Japanese | Green |20 to | |May |Rapid growing| Sun | (annual) | |30 ft.| | | Arbors and | | (_Humulus_) | | | | | screens | | | | | | | | | Hyacinth Bean | Purple |10 to | |May | Arbors and | Sun |July (_Dolichos_) | White |20 ft.| | | trellises | | | | | | | | | Moon Flower | White |15 to |Feb. or|May | Rapid | Sun |July (_Ipomoea | |30 ft.|March | | growing | |to frost bona-nox_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Morning Glory | White |10 to | |May | Rapid | Sun |July, (_Ipomoea | Pink |20 ft.| | | growing | |Aug. purpurea_) | Purple | | | | | | | Blue | | | | | | | | | | | | | Nasturtium, Tall | Yellows|6 to | |May | Screens and | Sun |July (_Tropæolum | to reds|12 ft.| | | trellises | |to Oct. majus_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Scarlet Runner |Scarlet |10 to | |April | Screens | Sun |July (_Phaseolus | |12 ft.| |May | | |to frost multiflorus_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Sweet Pea |All |3 to | |March | Train on | Sun |July (_Lathyrus | colors |6 ft. | | | brush o | |to Sept. odoratus_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Wild Cucumber | White |12 to | |May 1st | Screens or | Sun |July, (_Echinocystis_)| |15 ft.| | | coverings | |Aug. -----------------+--------+------+-------+--------+-------------+-----+-------- VINES THAT LIVE ON FROM YEAR TO YEAR THE HARDY CLIMBERS NOTE.--Different varieties of same kind will bloom at different times. ==================+=========+=======+========+========+============+========== | | | START | | | BLOOMING NAME | COLOR |HEIGHT |OUTDOORS|GOOD FOR| PLACE | SEASON ------------------+---------+-------+--------+--------+------------+---------- Akabia | Violet- | | |Light | | May, June (_Akabia | brown | | | screen | | quinata_) | | | | | | | | | | | | Bittersweet | Yellow |20 ft. |In the |Sun or | |Bright (_Celastrus | | | fall |shade | |seeds scandens_) | | | | | |for winter | | | | | | Cinnamon Vine | White |15 to |Plant |Rapid | Sun |July, Aug. (_Dioscorea_) | |30 ft. |roots in|growth | | | | |early | | | | | |spring | | | | | | | | | Clematis | White |5 to |Start in|Rapid |Stands part |Different (numerous | Red |25 ft. |early |growth | shade |kinds at varieties) | Purple | |spring | | |different | | | | | |times. | | | | | |June | | | | | |to frost | | | | | | Creeping Spindle |Evergreen|Varies |Procure |Wall | | (_Euonymus | trailer |in |roots |covering| | radicans_) | |height | |like Ivy| | | | | | | | Dutchman's Pipe |Brownish-|Grows | May |Dense | Anywhere | (_Aristolochia_)| yellow |to 30 | |shade | | | | ft. | | | | | | | | | | Honeysuckle, | Yellow- |15 ft. |Procure |Trellis | |June to Japanese | white | | plants |Fence | |Aug. (_Lonicera | | | |Walls | | Halliana_) | | | | | | | | | | | | Hop, Perennial | Green |15 to |Procure |Trellis | Sun | (_Humulus | |20 ft. | roots | | | lupulus_) | | | | | | | | | | | | Ivy, Boston or | |Spreads|Procure |Covers | Sun or | Japan | |rapidly|plants |walls | shade | (_Ampelopsis or | | | |or trees| | Veitchii_) | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | Ivy, English |Evergreen| |Procure |Wall |Shade-loving| (_Hedera | | |plants |covering| | helix_) | | | | | | | | | | | | Kudzu Vine, |Rosy- |10 ft. |Early |Thick | Sun |August Japanese |purple |First |spring |screen | | (_Pueraria | |year | | | | Thunbergiana_) | |from | | | | | |seed | | | | | | | | | | Matrimony Vine |Purplish |Shrubby|Procure |Ornament| Sun |Late (_Lycium | | | roots |and use | |summer barbaum_) | | | | | | | | | | | | Pea, Everlasting | Red |6 to 8 |Plant |Trellis | Sun |August (_Lathyrus | White | ft. |tuber or|or rough| | latifolius_) | | |seed |places | | ------------------+---------+-------+--------+--------+------------+--------- CHAPTER IX Shrubs We Love to See "Every yard should be a picture. The observer should catch the entire effect and purpose, without analyzing its parts." --_Bailey._ OF course you want to know something about shrubs. For what? Possibly just to make a tiny hedge around your garden, or a taller one to shut out the view of some neighbor's untidy backyard. More likely for a lovely specimen plant for your own grounds. In that case, don't, oh, don't! set it out in the middle of the lawn! And two or three thus dotted around (in "spotty planting," so called) are the acme of bad taste, and violate the fundamental principles of landscape gardening. [Illustration: CLEANING UP AROUND THE SHRUBS] Our grandmothers all loved the tall syringa, honeysuckle, snowball, strawberry shrub, weigela, rose of Sharon and lilac, while they hedged both their yards and gardens with box, privet and evergreens. Today we use a good deal of the Japanese barberry, while Uncle Sam's recent free distribution has widely introduced that pretty little annual bush-like plant--the kochia, or summer cypress, good for low hedges. But there is that publisher cutting off my space again! So I can just add a word about the lovely new summer lilac or buddleia. A tiny plant of this, costing only 25 cents, grows into a nice four-foot bush the first summer, and blooms until late in the season. Most of these shrubs can be easily grown from cuttings, however, so just ask your friends to remember you when they do their pruning. SHRUBS ================+==========+===========+===============+================ NAME | COLOR | HEIGHT | GROWN FROM |BLOOMING SEASON ----------------+----------+-----------+---------------+---------------- Althea, see | | | | Rose of Sharon| | | | | | | | Azalea |No blues |1 to 6 ft. | |Spring, early | | | |summer | | | | Barberry, Japan | Red | 4 ft. | Seed |Red berries all (_Berberis | berries | | |winter Thunbergii_) | | | | | | | | Boxwood | Green |4 to 20 ft.| | (_Buxus | | | | sempervirens_)| | | | | | | | Bridal Wreath, | | | | see Spirea | | | | (_Thunbergii_)| | | | | | | | Buddleia | Lavender |3 to 6 ft. | Cuttings |July to frost | | | | Currant, | Yellow | 4 ft. | |May Flowering | | | | (_Ribes | | | | aureum_) | | | | | | | | Deutzia | White, |3 to 12 ft.| Cuttings |May, June | Pink | | | | | | | Forsythia |Yellow |6 to 10 ft.|Cuttings or |Earliest spring | | |seed | | | | | Golden Bell, | | | | see Forsythia | | | | | | | | Honeysuckle |White, |6 to 12 ft.|Cuttings or | March to June (numerous |Yellow | |seed | varieties) |Pink, Red | | | (_Lonicera_) | | | | | | | | Hydrangea | White |8 to 12 ft.| Cuttings |July to November (_Paniculata | | generally | | grandiflora_) | | | | | | | | Japanese Quince | Scarlet | 8 ft. | | May (_Cydonia | | | | japonica_) | | | | | | | | Kochia (small | | 3 ft. | Seed |Bush reddens in annual bush) | | | |fall | | | | Lilac (_Syringa |Lavender, | 5 to | |May, June vulgaris_) | White | 20 ft. | | | | | | Mock Orange | White | 10 ft. | |May, June (_Philadelphus| | | | coronarius_) | | | | | | | | Privet | Green | 15 ft. | Cuttings | (_Ligustrum | | unless | | ovalifolium_) | |sheared | | | | | | Rose of Sharon | White, | Up to | |August to (_Hibiscus | Pink to | 18 ft. | |October Syriacus_) | Purple | | | | | | | Snowball, | White | 8 to | Cuttings |May, June Japanese | | 10 ft. | | (_Viburnum | | | | tomentosum_) | | | | | | | | Spirea | White | 2 to | |May (_Thunbergii_)| | 4 ft. | | | | | | Spirea (numerous| White, | 4 to | |Different months other |Pink, Rose| 6 ft. | |from May to varieties) | | | |September | | | | Strawberry Shrub|Chocolate-| 6 to | By division |May | colored | 10 ft. | | Syringa, | | | | see Mock | | | | Orange | | | | | | | | Viburnum, | | | | see Snowball | | | | | | | | Weigela |White, | 6 ft. | |June (_Diervilla |Pink, Red | | | florida_) | | | | ----------------+----------+-----------+---------------+---------------- CHAPTER X Vegetable Growing for the Home Table The life of the husbandman,--a life fed by the bounty of earth, and sweetened by the airs of heaven. --_Jerrold._ IT is predicted that this year,--1917,--will be the greatest year for gardening that the country ever has known! The high cost of living first stimulated interest. Then after war was declared, the slogan, "Food as important as men or munitions," stirred young and old. Garden clubs sprang up everywhere, and in free lectures people were instructed how to prepare, plant and cultivate whatever ground they could get, from small backyards to vacant lots. In our neighborhood last year a man with a plot of ground less than half the size of a tennis court, grew $50.00 worth of vegetables,--enough to supply his whole family! He got his planting down to a science, however,--what he called "intensive gardening," so that every foot of the soil was kept busy the whole summer. He fertilized but once, too, at the beginning of the season, when he had a quantity of manure thoroughly worked in. Then between slow growing crops, planted in rows as closely as possible, he planted the quick-growing things, which would be out of the way before their space was needed. Incidentally he worked out a chart (which he afterwards put on the market), ruled one way for the months, and the other for the number of feet, with name cards for the vegetables that could be fitted in so as to visualize--and make a record of the entire garden the entire season. Such a plan means a great saving of both time and space. Garden soil must be warm, light and rich. It must be well spaded to begin with, well fertilized, well raked over, and kept well cultivated. Vegetables require plenty of moisture, and during dry weather especially must be thoroughly watered. As I have said before, simply wetting the surface of the ground is almost useless, and often, by causing the ground then to cake over the top as it dries, worse than none at all, if the soil were cultivated instead. Pests must be watched for on all the crops, and treated according to the special needs of each variety when whale-oil, soapsuds, tobacco dust or insect powder seem ineffective. Then with weeding, and reasonable care, you can safely expect to keep your table supplied with that greatest of all luxuries,--your own green vegetables, fresh from the soil. VEGETABLE GUIDE _Beans. Bush_ Plant from early May on, every two weeks, for succession of crops. Drop beans 3 in. apart, in 2-in. deep drills, allowing 2 ft. between rows. Hoe often, drawing the earth up towards the roots. Be sure that the ground is warm and dry before planting, however, or the beans will rot. _Beans. Pole_ Set stakes 5 to 8 feet high, in rows 3 ft. apart each way; or plant in drills to grow on a trellis. Put four or five beans around each stake, and when well started, thin out the poorest, leaving but three at each pole. A cheap trellis is made by stretching two wires (one near the ground and the other six feet above), and connecting them with stout twine for the vines to run on. _Beans. Lima_ As these are more tender, they should be planted a couple of weeks later than other beans. They need especially good, rich soil, with plenty of humus or the fine soft earth that is full of decayed vegetable matter. Allow each plant 6 in. in the row, and make rows 2 ft. apart. Give a good dose of fertilizer about the time they start, and keep well cultivated. Beans are among the easiest of all vegetables to grow, and as they can be dried for winter use, are especially valuable. _Beets._ Any well-tilled, good garden soil will produce nice beets. Make drills or rows 18 in. apart, and plant the seed about 1 in. deep if earth is light and sandy, but only half an inch if heavy and sticky, as early as the ground can be put in condition. Cultivate often, and thin out the plants to about 3 in. apart. Sow at intervals of two or three weeks for successive crops up to the middle of July. An extra early lot can be had by starting seed in the house in boxes in February or March, and then setting the young plants out at time of first outdoor planting. _Cabbage._ For early crop, start seed indoors in February or March and transplant, when four leaves appear, to another seed box until you can plant in open ground in May. For later crop sow seeds in rows in open ground during April and May, and transplant during July and August, to 20 in. apart, in rows 3 ft. apart. Cultivate often, to keep moisture in the soil. Prepare to fight pests, early and late. After the seventy or more remedies suggested by one authority, for maggots alone, the amateur might feel like abandoning cabbage, but at the price this moment of $160.00 a ton, wholesale, in New York City, a person with even a handkerchief bed feels like attempting this luxury. _Carrots._ Hardy and easily grown, they can be sown in rows that are 12 in. apart, and thinned out to 3 in. apart in the row. They can be started as early as April, and sown for succession up to the middle of July. Cultivate often. _Cauliflower._ Treat like cabbage, except that you must start as early as possible, to get ahead of the hot weather, and give the plants plenty of water. When the heads are well-formed and firm, bring the outside leaves up and tie together, to shut out the sun and keep the heads white and tender. And don't forget,--plenty of water! _Celery._ Seed for an early crop can be started in February, in a shallow box in a sunny window, then transplanted to another box, pinching off the tall leaves. In May or June dig a shallow trench in good rich soil, and set plants, 6 in. apart at bottom. Fill up the trench as the plants grow, to within a few inches of the tip leaves, in order to bleach out white. Set up boards against the rows to exclude light, or cover in the easiest way. For winter keeping, take up plants with roots and place on damp soil in boxes in a cool, dark cellar. _Chicory Witloof--or French Endive._ Often seventy-five cents a pound in the market, but easily grown by the amateur. Seed is sold under name of Witloof chicory, and should be sown in open ground, during May or June, in rows a foot apart. Allow to grow until November, cultivating and keeping moist. Then dig up roots,--long, thick tubers,--trim down tops to within 1½ in., and cut off bottom of root so that whole plant will be less than a foot long. Place upright in separate pots or a long box in a cool cellar, fill up to within a couple of inches from tops of roots, and cover each top with an inverted pot or box, to exclude the light. Make thoroughly damp and never allow to dry out. In about four weeks the new tops can be cut for the table, and by covering and keeping wet, often three or four successive crops can be secured. A friend of mine keeps two families supplied most of the winter, at little cost or trouble. A delicious salad. _Corn. Sweet_ Plant early and then every two weeks for succession, in good rich soil, dropping the seed 10 in. apart in rows 3 ft. apart (for hand cultivation). Start early in May, and hoe often. Golden Bantam, Evergreen and Country Gentleman are especial favorites. _Cucumbers._ Plant as soon as weather is settled, and warm, (early in May around New York,) in hills at least 4 ft. each way. Give good rich soil, and keep moist. Leave only two or three plants to a hill, and do not allow cucumbers to ripen on vines. Plant for succession. The Japanese climbing variety runs up a pole or trellis, is free from blight, and produces especially fine, big cucumbers. _Endive._ See Chicory _Lettuce._ Can be started in boxes indoors, in March. Make sowing in the open ground from April to November, if you protect the first and last. Put in nice, rich soil, in warm spot, and transplant when big enough to handle, into rows, setting 5 in. apart. Don't forget to weed! _Melons._ Muskmelons are most easily grown, but both the weather and the ground must be warm. Give them a light, rich soil,--which, if you haven't, you must make by mixing the heavy soil with old manure. Make hills 6 ft. apart, putting a few shovelfuls of fertilizer in each, and planting about a dozen seeds to a hill. After well started, and when most of the pests have had their fill and disappeared, thin out so as to leave only four or five of the strongest vines to each hill. Spray repeatedly with some good mixture. _Watermelons._ These take up so much room that not many people try to grow them. The culture, however, is about the same as for muskmelons, only make hills 8 to 10 ft. apart. [Illustration: ALL READY TO HOE] _Onions._ Plant seed in fine, rich, well-prepared soil, as early as possible, in shallow drills, 12 in. apart. Firm down with the back of your spade, and when well started, thin out to 3 in. apart in the rows. Hoe often without covering the bulbs, and water freely. _Parsley._ This requires a rich, mellow soil. Sow early in April, in rows 1 ft. apart, after soaking the seed a few hours in warm water to make it come up more quickly. Plant seed ½ in. deep, and thin out the little plants to 5 in. apart in the drills. _Parsnips._ Sow as early as you can in well-prepared ground, ½ in. deep, in rows 1 ft. apart. When well started, thin out to 6 in. apart in the row. Parsnips are improved by being left in the ground over winter, for spring use. _Peas._ The early smooth varieties are the first seeds to put into the garden, though the wrinkled are a better quality. Dig furrows 2 in. deep in earliest spring, but when weather is warm, 4 in. deep; and 3 ft. apart. Select the kind of peas desired, scatter in the rows, and cover with a hoe. They need good soil, plenty of cultivation, and the tall sorts should be given brush for support. Sow several times for succession. Early crop may be hurried by first soaking the seed. _Potatoes._ Selling as they are today (February, 1917), for 10 cents a pound, one is strongly tempted to turn the flower garden into a potato patch! The early varieties need especially rich soil. Drop a couple of pieces about every foot, in 3 to 4 in. deep drills that are 3 ft. apart. Cultivate often, and fight the vast army of potato bugs with Paris green, or Bordeaux mixture. _Radishes._ A light, rich, sandy soil will grow the early kinds in from four to six weeks. Sow in drills a foot apart (scatteringly, so as not to require thinning,) every two weeks, keep free from weeds, and water in dry weather. Start outdoors in early April. _Spinach._ Sow in early spring in drills made 3/4 in. deep, and 1 ft. apart, as early as the ground can be worked. Thereafter, every two weeks for succession. Good rich soil is necessary. _Squash._ Be sure of rich, warm soil. Plant in well-fertilized hills, like melons or cucumbers, at least 4 or 5 ft. apart. Sow eight to ten seeds to a hill, and after the insects have had their feast, keep only three or four of the vines that are strongest. To repress the ardor of the squash vine borer, scatter a handful of tobacco dust around each plant. _Tomatoes._ Most easily started by getting the young plants grown under glass, and setting out in the open ground in May. Put 4 ft. apart, in rich, mellow soil, and water freely. Seed can be started, however, in the house, in March, then the seedlings transplanted into old berry-boxes or flowerpots, and allowed to grow slowly until about May 15th (around New York), when they can be set in the open ground. Plants are attractive when tied to stakes or a trellis, and produce earlier, better and higher grade tomatoes, without the musty taste of those that are allowed to sprawl over the ground. _Turnips._ Sow early in the open ground, in drills 15 in. apart, and thin out to 6 in. apart in the row. Up to June, sow every two weeks for succession. CHAPTER XI Your Garden's Friends and Foes A cow is a very good animal in the field; but we turn her out of a garden. --_Johnson._ YOUR garden's friends and foes,--have you ever thought about them as such? You go to a lot of trouble to raise fine flowers and vegetables, and then, if you are not on the lookout, before you know it something has happened! Your rose leaves are discovered full of holes, and your potato vines almost destroyed; your tomato plants are being eaten up by the big, ugly "tomato worm," while your choicest flowers are dying from the inroads of green or brown insects so tiny that at first you do not notice them; and strong plants of all kinds are found cut off close to the ground. What further proof do you need that your beloved garden has its enemies? Here indeed "Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty." If you would be free and escape such ravages, you can not wait until your foes are full-fledged and hard at work, because usually considerable damage has then been done. Instead, you should learn at the time you begin gardening all about the many difficulties you have to contend with, including the various things that prey upon your plants. When you plant seed, for instance, and it fails to come up, you are apt to blame either the dealer or the weather man. Just as likely as not, though, some insect had attacked the seed before it was planted, or else the grubs got busy and enjoyed a full meal. These pests, with their various relations, are the most difficult of all to control, but poisoned bait (freshly cut clover that has been sprayed with Paris green,) scattered on the ground where cut worms come out at night to feed, will destroy many of them. When your plants have begun to grow, however, and you find them being nipped off close to the ground, dig close to the stem and you will probably bring to light a cut worm curled up in his favorite position, and you can end him then and there from doing further damage. The wire worm, on the contrary, works entirely below the surface, and when you spade up a long, slender, jointed, brownish, wriggling worm, quite hard, you will know that he is one of the kind to be immediately destroyed. These grubs and worms are the different kind of caterpillars,--the children,--of several varieties of moths that fly by night, the shining brown beetle that bumps against the ceiling on a summer evening, and the funny "snap-bug." Crawling or flying, young or old, parent or child, they generally do their worst after dark. Equal parts of soot and lime, well mixed, scattered in a four-inch ring around each stem on the top of the soil, will keep away the things that crawl, while white hellebore (a poison that must not get on little fingers,) dusted on the plants will keep off most of the things that fly. Rose bugs, however, seem to come in a class by themselves! Apparently, they don't mind any of the well-known deterrents and about the only way to really get rid of them is to "go bugging," which means knocking them off into a cup of kerosene or a box where they can be killed. Caterpillars, naked or hairy, eat vegetation, and are consequently most unwelcome visitors. The sowbug or pill-bug, while disagreeable to look at, is not quite so injurious as often thought, but the mite called the red spider can do a lot of damage. Most of the beetles seriously injure the vegetables. The saw-flies with their offspring, and certain kinds of ants (especially the "soldier ants") are as troublesome as the caterpillars, while the next family group, the grasshoppers, locusts, katydids and crickets are all great feeders,--the grasshoppers and locusts often becoming an actual plague and destroying whole crops. To get rid of the caterpillars and beetles various means are employed, such as spraying with Paris green, Bordeaux mixture, kerosene emulsion, or even strong suds made with whale-oil soap; and Paris green is also applied dry. A pretty good poison is bran-and-arsenic mixture, but the different liquids and powders make a story by themselves, and require great care in using; so you better consult some successful gardener-friend about the best one (and the way to use it,) for your particular foe. Of the sucking insects,--those that draw out the juice or sap of the plant,--the aphides or "plant lice" do inestimable damage to all kinds of plants and flowers, while the chinch bug and garden tree-hopper seem to prefer to attack vegetables. The most familiar aphides are green, and they have tiny, soft, pear-shaped bodies, with long legs and "feelers." They usually live on the under side of the leaves and along the stems, and one good way to get rid of them is to spray with kerosene emulsion or tobacco water, or else sprinkle with clear water and then dust with tobacco dust. Not all of the live things that you find about your plants and flowers are injurious, however, and you must learn to recognize those which are beneficial. The ladybug, although a beetle, lives on aphides, and so is your helper in destroying them. Several beetles, like the fiery ground beetle, subsist on cutworms, and the soldier bug dines on the destructive offspring of beetles and moths. The daddy-long-legs and the spider are also friends to your garden, together with many wasps. As for the bees, many, many plants are dependent on them for fertilization, as the insects in their search for honey go clear down into the flowers and carry with them the necessary pollen from one blossom to another. Two stories I have heard illustrate this point. In Australia many years ago people tried to introduce clover, but they could not make it grow until some one thought of importing the bees also. The native insects did not have a proboscis long enough to reach to the bottom of the flower, so that the pollen had never been properly placed. Then, not very long ago, a farmer living near a railroad had his crop of tomatoes ruined because the railroad used soft coal, the soot of which--settling on the tomato blossoms--kept away the bees so that the flowers were not fertilized! He sued the company and recovered damages. So you see the bee is really necessary for the success of your garden. Toads eat many of your small enemies, and should be encouraged by providing an upturned box or some cool, shady place in your garden where they can rest during the day,--for much of this "dog-eat-dog" business, sometimes termed "the law of the jungle," goes on at night. Birds, however, wage open warfare, in broad daylight, and wherever the soil has been cultivated, in the fields or among the plants and flowers, the feathered tribe seek the very things you want destroyed. A well-known nurseryman, when the English sparrow was first introduced in this country, noticed many of the birds among his choice roses, and to satisfy himself that they were not injuring the plants, killed one of the fattest. An investigation of his little stomach showed it to be chock-full of rose slugs and aphides,--the rose's worst enemies! The robins, of the thrush family, live almost entirely on worms and insects, and the bluebirds, orioles, tanagers and starlings, with the various songsters, should all be given a most cordial invitation to pay you a long visit. And this invitation? A place to live, if only a box nailed up on a tree, with an opening small enough to keep out intruders. A bird house more attractive in your own eyes is easily made by any boy or girl handy with a knife or a jig-saw, and really artistic houses, suited to particular birds, are described in various books and magazines, made from pieces of bark, sections of limb, or fir cones. A little study of the kind of nest each bird makes for itself may enable you to select your guests. The swallow, the cat-bird, the blackbird, the finch,--all should be welcomed: and suet tied on the branches, bread crumbs scattered around your door, grain sprinkled where you especially want them to come, will encourage the winter birds to pay you a daily visit. A bird bath is sure to prove an irresistible attraction. I have seen my back yard full of starlings and sparrows, pushing and crowding each other to get into a little pool where the snow has melted around a clothes-pole! A shallow pan, with an inch or two of water, will often draw so many birds that it has to be filled again and again during the day. Birds suffer, too, in winter from thirst, and greatly appreciate a drinking place. A bird fountain, with its running water, is a delight for the rich; but a pretty enamelled tray, white or gray, and round, square or oval, can be bought in a department store for less than a dollar, and it can be sunk in the top of a vine-covered rockery or securely placed on a mossy stump, where it will bring both joy and birds to the smallest gardener. So cheer up. Though your foes, as described, seem a formidable army, remember all the friends that will rally to your aid, and with reasonable watchfulness and care, you and your garden will come out victorious. CHAPTER XII A Morning Glory Playhouse Small service is true service while it lasts. Of humblest friends, bright creature! scorn not one; The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun. --_Wordsworth._ YOU children love a playhouse, don't you? Yet it isn't always easy to get one. A morning glory bower, however, is a perfect delight, and very easy to make. Persuade some big brother to drive a few long stakes in the ground so as to mark out either a square or a circle, as you prefer. Then ask him to fasten some heavy cord from the bottom of one stake to the top of the next nearest, and then across the top, leaving only a place at one side for an entrance. Soak your morning glory seeds over night, so that they will germinate more quickly, and then plant them along the line of the circle or square marked on the ground. As soon as they begin to grow, train the vines on the cords, and if necessary tie in a few more strings near the bottom, to help the baby climbers get started. The morning glory grows very rapidly, and is justly popular because of its lovely blossoms which come in the most beautiful shades. And as the flowers always turn away from the sun, you will find them soon completely lining the inside of your playhouse. The most common kind (Convolvulus major,) grows from 15 to 20 ft., and will do well in almost any location. It costs only five cents per packet, and will flower all summer. Who could ask more! The rarer kinds are known as the Japanese Morning Glory, which grows from 30 to 50 ft., and has blossoms measuring from 3 to 4 inches across. These range from snowy white to darkest purple through the pinks, both plain and with all kinds of variations. They grow and spread very fast, and love a sunny location. If you prefer, you can use the trunk of some tree for the center pole of your playhouse. (Possibly some of you at the opera may have seen Siegmund draw the magic sword from the big tree-trunk in the center of his sweetheart's home.) Well, you could attach cords from pegs driven in a circle around the base, to the tree at any height desired, and here plant either the scarlet runner or the hyacinth bean. Still another way is to plant two poles 8 or 10 ft. apart, and have a stick nailed across the top, like the ridge pole of a tent. Drive pegs into the ground along each side, in parallel lines 6 or 8 ft. apart, and tie heavy cords from the pegs on one side to the pegs on the other,--carried, of course, over the ridgepole. Plant your seeds close to the pegs, and in a few weeks your vines will form a flower tent. For this purpose, you might use the climbing nasturtiums or the wild cucumber vine. Or, if you can save up the fifteen cents necessary, buy the new cardinal climber, which has clusters of five to seven blossoms each, of a beautiful cardinal red, from July until late fall. The vine grows rapidly, and often more than 20 ft. long, so that when it reaches the ridge-pole, you can let it run over the other side, and make a good thick roof. The seeds are very hard, however, and so should either be soaked over night, or slightly nicked with a file. If you get a firm, strong framework for your playhouse, you might like to plant a hardy vine that would live through the winter and be ready for use early next summer without further trouble. In that case, you could use the Dutchman's pipe, which is a fast growing climber having peculiar yellow-brown flowers the shape of a pipe. Though these seeds are only ten cents per packet, the young plants are sold by the nurserymen for fifty cents apiece: so if you grow them yourself you can figure out what a valuable little house you will have! The everlasting pea is a sprawling, quick grower, having many flowers in a cluster, and blooming in August. It thrives in even the most common soil, and gets better every year. It comes in white, pink and red, and a package of the mixed colors can be bought for five cents. Other things besides vines are good for flower playhouses. Hollyhocks, planted in a square or a circle, will soon be high enough to screen you from the curious butcher-boy or the neighbor's maid. While most kinds are biennials, and so do not bloom until the second summer, you can either coax a few plants from some grown-up friend that has a lot already established, or you can buy seed of the new annual variety, which, if sown in May, will flower in July! Sunflowers, too, are to be found in several varieties, ranging from 6 to 8 ft. in height, which you could use for a sort of a stockade, a là Robinson Crusoe. Those having the small blossoms are nice for cutting, while the old-fashioned kind furnishes good feed for the chickens,--in which case your plants would be well worth growing for the seed. It will never do, however, for you simply to get your flower playhouse started, and then leave it to take care of itself! You must watch the baby plants as soon as they peep out of the ground, help the vines to grow in the right direction and water thoroughly whenever there is a dry spell. Cultivate around the roots every few days, as this breaking up of the hard crust which forms on top will prevent the moisture from escaping through the air channels in the soil, and keep the roots moist. Several times during the season dig in a trowelful of bonemeal around each plant, and then give a good wetting. While the hardy vines, after once getting started, bloom every year without much more attention, the annuals have one advantage,--you can have a different kind every time. In other words, you would then be able to give your house a fresh coat of paint,--I should say, flowers--every summer. CHAPTER XIII The Work of a Children's Garden Club I am ever being taught new lessons in my garden: patience and industry by my friends the birds, humility by the great trees that will long outlive me, and vigilance by the little flowers that need my constant care. --_Rosaline Neish._ DID you ever see the boy or girl that did not want to get up a club? I never did; and the reason is that people, young and old, like to both work and play together. Now a garden club is really worth while, and although I might simply TELL you how to proceed after getting your friends to meet and agree on the purpose, you probably will get a much clearer idea if I relate what a certain group of little folks actually did accomplish. Fifteen boys and girls living in old Greenwich Village,--today one of the poor, crowded sections of New York City, where even the streets are darkened by a tall, unsightly elevated railroad,--were invited to form a club that would be taken once a week out on Long Island to garden. A vacant lot, one hundred by one hundred and ten feet, in Flushing, about twelve miles away, had been offered for their use, and some of the older people saw that the ground was first properly ploughed up, for, of course, the children couldn't be expected to do that kind of hard work. But they could, and they eagerly did see that the soil was then properly prepared by breaking up the clods, removing all the sticks and stones, and getting the earth raked beautifully smooth. Several Flushing ladies agreed to help, making out lists of the flowers and vegetables most easily grown there, getting the seeds free by asking for them from their Congressman at Washington, and then showing the children how to plant. First a five-foot border was measured off clear around the lot, for a flower bed, and each child had its own section. After finding out what each one wanted to grow, one bed was planted to show how the work should be done,--the depth to put in the seeds, the distance the rows should be apart, the way to cover, besides the placing of the tallest flowers at the back or outer edge, and the lowest or edging plants along the foot path. This 18-in. path ran clear around the lot, leaving a large plot in the center. This plot was then marked off by string or wire to divide it into the vegetable gardens, with little walks between. The vegetable beds measured about 6 by 9 ft., but as 6 ft. proved wide for small arms to reach over and cultivate, this year the beds are to be made 5 by 10 ft. At first, too, each child grew its own few stalks of corn on its own bed, but it was difficult to manage, so now all the corn will be grown in one patch, where it can be more easily hoed. The radishes and lettuce, of course, grew most quickly, and within five or six weeks were ready for the table. On that memorable first day, from the fifteen beds, over one thousand radishes alone were picked, and that original planting continued to produce for nearly a month. Successive plantings brought on plenty for the rest of the season. The lettuce, too, grew abundantly, while the cucumbers were especially fine. String beans were ready very early, and three plantings during the season produced sometimes two to three quarts a week for each child. Tomatoes grew in such profusion that once during the hot weather when they ripened faster than usual, a neighboring hospital was given two bushels! And flowers! The children actually could not carry them away. They took home all they wanted, and made up the rest into thousands of little bunches which the city Plant, Flower and Fruit Guild gladly called for and distributed to the New York City hospitals, jails and missions. Freshly cut, they would last a week, until the children's next visit to their gardens. With hollyhocks, dahlias, cannas and cosmos at the back of the border, and in front stocks, poppies, sweet alyssum, Japanese pinks, nicotiana, and the loveliest blue cornflowers imaginable, they offered a choice variety. How the children loved the work! One poor little lame boy took some of his morning glory seed back to the slums and planted--where? In a box on the window ledge of a dark court that never saw a ray of sunshine. (The woman in the tenement below objected to having it on the fire escape in front and he had no other place.) And there it actually bloomed, dwarfed like its little owner, fragile beyond words, with a delicate flower no bigger than a dime, but answering the call of love. The gardens thrived in spite of the only once-a-week care. A pipe line, with a faucet, ran to the center of the lot, and plenty of watering cans were provided for the weekly use, but during any extra hot weather a friendly neighbor would turn on her hose in between times to save the crops. And a children's outgrown playhouse, donated for the purpose, served as a convenient place to keep the garden tools. The garden work created general interest in all nature study, and the children would go on trips to gather all kinds of grasses, wild flowers, and swamp treasures. These were dried, then classified, and later presented to the Public Library for the use of teachers and students of botany. And the little lame boy mentioned made a really beautiful collection of butterflies. If the club you organize wants a community garden, almost any owner of a vacant lot will give you its use,--especially if you offer in return to give him some fresh flowers and vegetables. If you prefer, however, you can have your gardens on your own grounds. Then a committee of your elders could be invited to give you suggestions as to the flowers and vegetables best adapted to your location and soil, and also to act as judges at your show. For, of course, when everything is at its best you will want to have an exhibition. Perhaps some father or mother will offer a prize,--a book on gardening, a vase or a plant for winter blooming. [Illustration: AN OUTGROWN PLAYHOUSE HELD THE TOOLS USED BY THE CHILDREN IN THESE GARDENS] Remember that both the Department of Agriculture at Washington, and your State College of Agriculture are anxious to help this kind of work. The former gives you all the seeds you need, free of charge. Write to some well-known seed houses for catalogues, and you will get particulars about all the different varieties. Go to your Public Libraries, and you will find the most fascinating books, many written especially for children, telling you just what to do. "When Mother Lets Us Garden," by Frances Duncan, is one of the best and simplest, while "Little Gardens for Boys and Girls," by Higgins, "Mary's Garden and How It Grew," by Duncan, "Children's Library of Work and Play Gardening," by Shaw, and "The School Garden Book," by Weed-Emerson, are all intensely interesting. If you find yourself so successful in your work that you have more flowers and vegetables than you can use, remember that there are always plenty of poor people in your own town who would gladly accept your gifts, and any church organization would tell you how to reach them. If, however, you are trying to earn some money for yourself, you can always find regular customers glad to buy things fresh from the garden. For a meeting place during the summer, why not plan a flower club-house? Perhaps some of the dear old grandmothers will give you a few hollyhock roots, which you can plant in a circle big enough to hold your little club. Leave an opening in the ring just big enough to enter through, and before the season is very far along, the hollyhocks will be tall enough to screen you from the passerby. The hollyhocks sow themselves, and come up every year, and hybridized by the bees, show different colors every season. Better still, go to the woods for a lot of brush, stick it in the ground to form a square room, and cover with a brush roof. Over this you can train wild honeysuckle, which you can find in lengths of ten and twelve feet. Or you can buy a package or two of the Varigated Japanese Hop, which will grow ten feet in a month or six weeks,--and sowing itself, come up and cover your house every year. A garden club proves a source of pleasure through the winter, too. You can go on with the care and cultivation of house plants, and the growing of all kinds of bulbs. You can meet regularly at the different homes, and have the members prepare and read little papers such as "How to Grow Roman Hyacinths in Water," "The Best Flowers for a Window-Box," "Raising Plants from Cuttings," "Starting Seeds Indoors," "How to Make a Table Water-Garden," etc. In case you wish to know exactly how to organize and conduct a club, just like big folks do,--get from your Public Library a book called "Boys' Clubs," by C. S. Bernheimer and J. M. Cohen. This has also a chapter on girls' clubs, and it tells you all about club management, so that you can have a lot of fun at your meetings, besides learning a great many important things in a way that you will never forget. CHAPTER XIV The Care of House Plants Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too. --_Cowper._ "IF you are one of those people who love flowers and can make them grow," said a Fifth Avenue florist to me recently, "you can do almost anything you please with them, and they will thrive." "So, then," I laughed, "you think love has a great deal to do with the matter?" And he replied, "I most certainly do!" Therefore, if you love to see "the green things growing," enough to give them the least bit of intelligent care, you can reasonably hope to raise all you have room for. The main points to bear in mind are light, heat and moisture. Flowering plants need sunlight at least part of the day, and generally do best in a south window. Most of the decorative or foliage plants, on the other hand, will keep looking well with only a reasonable amount of light, as when near a north or east window, if they have the proper amount of heat and moisture. But don't, please, set any plant back in the room, away from the light, and expect it to succeed very long,--for it never will! Select, then, growing things suited to your living quarters, and learn their needs. The heat of many living-rooms is too great,--and too dry,--for some plants to do their best in, and they should be kept near the windows, although out of draughts. They usually will stand as much cold at night as they are likely to get in an ordinary house, so it is best not to overheat them during the day, but instead, keep them in a cool part of the room. Moreover, they thrive better if, when suitably placed, they are allowed to remain undisturbed. The atmosphere should be kept moist by means of water kept on stove, register or radiator, but water to the roots should be applied to most plants only when the soil is dry. This during the winter generally means two or three times a week. With few exceptions, plants should not be watered while still showing dampness. "I often wonder," said another florist, "that women with gardens do not try to save some of their flowering plants that might easily be moved into the house. Perhaps they think it isn't worth while." If they can afford to buy all they want to, that may be the reason, but the real flower lover will delight in coaxing some favorite to go on blooming indoors. Heliotropes cut back, petunias and salvias, by being carefully lifted with a ball of earth so as not to disturb the roots, and then kept in the shade for a couple of days, ought to continue to bloom for some time. Begonias I have moved this way without affecting them for a single day. A small canna, thus potted, will last a long time and help out among the more expensive foliage plants. Geraniums, however, are the old stand-by of window gardeners. If "slipped" during the summer, by cutting off a tender shoot just below a joint, and putting it in a pot of light, rather sandy soil, and kept moist, it should bloom during the winter. It does best in sunshine. The kind of soil best adapted to houseplants generally, is given by one authority as two parts loam, one part leaf mould, one part sharp sand. The variation of different growers simply proves what I have seen contended, that it is the proper temperature and moisture that really count. The city girl, with little space to spare, will find the begonias, in their many varieties, most satisfactory. They respond quickly to house treatment, and a small plant from the florist's will grow so rapidly as to soon need repotting. These favorites are of a large family, and some will stand considerable shade. A large, lovely specimen now about three years old, in my own home has developed from a little thing costing fifteen cents. Get cultural directions for the kind you buy, as they differ. A couple of stalks broken from an old plant early in the season, and stuck in a small pot, if kept thoroughly damp, will soon root, and blossom in a very little while. Fuchsias are another old favorite easily grown from cuttings, and thriving well in a window. Primroses are easily grown from seed, and when started in February or March, should begin blooming in November and under careful treatment, last through the winter. The crab cactus or "Christmas cactus," as I have heard it called, is one of the most easily grown houseplants, and sends out bright red flowers at the ends of the joints, making an attractive plant for the holidays. Of the ferns, I have found several varieties exceptionally satisfactory. A little Boston, costing only twenty-five cents when bought for a small table decoration four or five years ago, and changed from one pot to another as growth demanded, today is five feet in diameter,--and the despair of the family on account of the room it requires. It has always stood near either an east or a west window during the winter, in a furnace-heated, gas-lighted house, and been moved to a north porch during the summer. This type needs considerable moisture, and does best when watered every day. I have even seen it growing in a large basket placed in a pan of water. The leaves of this group must be kept clean, and I wash mine occasionally with a small cloth and warm water, using a little soap and then rinsing, if I discover any trace of scale,--that little hard-shelled, brown pest often found on both stems and leaves. Both of the asparagus ferns,--the plumosus and the Sprengeri, I have grown from tiny pots until they became positively unwieldy, by giving about the same kind of treatment. None of these should be allowed to dry out, as they then turn brown and wither. The asparagus plumosus can be either pinched back to keep as a pot plant, or encouraged to grow as a vine. The asparagus Sprengeri is especially valuable for boxes and baskets, on account of its long, drooping sprays, and if allowed to develop naturally during the summer, should be well covered with its lovely berries at Christmas time. The holly fern is especially beautiful, while also quite hardy and--to its advantage--not so common as the varieties already mentioned. Several small specimens found planted at the base of a Christmas poinsettia were afterwards set out in small pots, and grew with surprising rapidity. They stood the dry heat of a steam-heated house, and kept a lovely glossy green when other plants were seriously affected. Fern dishes are frequently filled with the spider ferns, though often combined with the others mentioned. On a certain occasion, when a neglected fern dish had to be discarded, I discovered in the center a tiny plant still growing that looked so hardy I decided to repot it. It grew and, to my surprise, soon developed into an attractive little kentia palm, now three or four years old and eighteen inches high. I think that one reason the ordinary fern dish does not last long is that it is kept on table or sideboard all the time, too far away from the light. Often, too, it is not properly watered. If every morning after breakfast it were sprinkled in the sink, and then set near a window, though not in the sun, it would soon be getting too big for its quarters, and need dividing. It is well to remember that the container is shallow and holds very little earth, hence its roots are in danger of drying out. All these ferns mentioned I have seen grown repeatedly, under varying conditions, in a furnace-heated house as well as a steam-heated apartment; and with a reasonable amount of light, and water enough to keep them thoroughly moist, I have had them green and beautiful the year around. Palms and the popular foliage plants can be grown satisfactorily with little or no sunlight. The kentia palm before mentioned is one of the very hardiest, and will thrive where few others will grow. Both the cocoanut and date varieties can be easily grown from seed,--an interesting experiment. None of them require any particular treatment. A place by a north or east window will suit them perfectly; they will stand a temperature of forty-five degrees at night; but they do require plenty of water, and cleanliness of leaf. Water them as the earth becomes dry, but do not leave standing in half-filled jardinieres, (as people often do,) as much soaking spoils the soil. A good plan for plants of this class is to set them in a pail of warm water and leave for a few hours or over night, about once a week, and then when they become dry in between times, pour water enough around the roots to wet thoroughly. The rubber plant grows quickly compared with the palm, and requires very little attention. It does best in good soil, and thrives on being set in a half shady place outdoors during the summer. One that I have watched for four years has stood during the winter near a west window, only a few feet from a steam radiator. It would get quite dry at times, but never seemed to be affected at all. When a plant gets too tall for a room, and looks ungainly, make a slanting cut in the stem at the height desired, slip in a small wedge, and wrap the place with wet sphagnum moss, which must be then kept wet for several weeks. When you find a lot of new roots coming through this wrapping, cut off just below the mass and plant the whole ball in a pot with good soil. Keep in a shady place for a few days, and in a short time you will have two nice, well-shaped plants instead of the single straggly one. A group of three long, slender-leaved plants are the next of those easily grown for their foliage. The hardiest is the aspidistra, with its drooping dark green leaves, each coming directly from the root stalk, and it will stand almost any kind of treatment. From one plant costing a dollar and a half five years ago, I now have two that are larger than the original and have given away enough for five more. It has an interesting flower, too,--a wine-colored, yellow-centered, star-shaped blossom that pushes up through the earth just enough to open, and which often is hidden by the mud of excessive watering. The pandanus produces long, narrow leaves from one center stem, and can be bought in plain green, green and white or green and yellow. It needs good drainage, but takes a rich soil and plenty of water. It stands exceedingly well the dust, dryness and shade of an ordinary living-room, so is a valuable addition to any collection of houseplants. It is easily multiplied by using the suckers as cuttings. The dracænas are quite similar to the pandanus, only they are usually marked with a beautiful red. They are equally suitable for living quarters, and will thrive under the same conditions. The umbrella plant requires an unusual amount of water, and will grow nicely in a water garden. Its tall, graceful umbrellas make it an especially attractive plant. The Norfolk Island pine is another popular houseplant that asks only to be kept cool and moist. Beautifully symmetrical, it fits especially well in certain places, and will respond gratefully to even a reasonable amount of attention. For a small plant, the saxifraga I like very much, with its beautifully marked leaves and the runners which make it so effective for a bracket or basket. The "inch plant," or "Wandering Jew," as some people call it, in both the green and the variegated, looks and does well in wall pockets or when grown on a window sill in a fine, thin glass. Smilax is also recommended for the window garden, and will grow in quite shady places, though it needs to be trained up. All the ferns and green plants mentioned are likely to prove more satisfactory than the flowering ones to the amateur doomed to live in sunless rooms,--which, however, can be made most attractive with what is suitable. SIMPLE INDOOR NOVELTIES The prettiest kind of a little hanging basket is made by cutting off the top of a big carrot, carefully scraping out the inside, running a cord through holes made near the rim, and keeping it full of water. It will soon resemble a mass of ferns. A lovely little water garden for the dining-room table is made by slicing a 3/4-in. thick piece from the top of a beet and a carrot, and laying them in a shallow dish or bowl, with half an inch of water,--to not quite cover the slices. Set in the light for a few days and you will have soon a beautiful mass of feathery green and sword-like dark red foliage that will last for months. Grape fruit pips will sprout in a bit of soil very quickly, and make a mass of attractive green often where ferns have failed to grow. WINTER BLOOMING BULBS Of all the bulbs for winter blooming, the Chinese lily is one of the most satisfactory, as it flowers in a few weeks, and is grown in a shallow bowl in water, with pebbles to hold it in position. It is best to set it in a dark place for a week or two until the roots start, when it can be brought to a light window. The paper white narcissus and the Roman hyacinth can also be grown in water, or placed in soil if preferred. They will blossom in about eight weeks. The other "Dutch" bulbs will take longer, although the hyacinths are easily grown in water by setting each bulb in a hyacinth glass or an open-mouth pickle bottle, with water enough to just touch the bottom of the bulb, and then putting away in a cold, dark place (like a cellar), until the roots nearly touch the bottom of the glass. A few pieces of charcoal help to keep the water sweet. Bring gradually to a light window, and when flower buds are well started, put in the sun. By bringing out this way in the order of their best development, flowers can be had for a long season. The hyacinth bulbs can be bought from five cents to twenty-five cents apiece, according to their fine breeding. [Illustration: SPRING BEAUTIES,--TULIPS, DAFFODILS, CROCUSES, PUSSY WILLOWS AND FORSYTHIA,--BLOOMING INDOORS AGAINST A SNOWY BACKGROUND] Tulips, daffodils and hyacinths when grown in good soil in the shallow "pans," should be set deeply enough to be just covered, quite closely together if wanted in a group, thoroughly watered, and then put in a cold, dark place (frost free, however). Keep moist for from two to four mos.--when you can begin bringing them into the warm living-room as desired, and place in the sunlight after buds form. With this method is secured a succession of bloom from January until the spring flowers come out-of-doors. The freesia and the oxalis are of the "Cape" group of bulbs, and when started in the fall should blossom in four or five months. Plant in good, rich soil (half a dozen to a 5-in. pot), set away in a cool but light place, and leave until some leaf growth has started. Then bring into a light, warm room as desired for different periods of bloom. The amaryllis is another foreign bulb that comes into market in the late fall. Pot it in rich soil, rather sandy, do not cover the top of the bulb, and keep rather dry until it gets a good start. When buds are noticed, put the plant where it will get the sunlight, and water regularly. SPRING BEAUTIES As I look up from my work, my eyes rest on the different spring bulbs blooming this 28th day of February, in my south window, against their snowy background,--purple crocus, both red and white tulips, and that loveliest of daffodils, the white-tipped Queen Victoria. They were potted last October, covered up in an ash-lined trench outdoors until after the holidays, then carried into a cold but light attic for a week, before finally being brought into a warm room. The daffodils cost but three cents apiece, yet each fills an ordinary pot, and produces three lovely blossoms, four inches across. A new fibre is now on the market at a very low price that can be used exactly like earth, only it does not sour, and consequently can be put in any fine bowl or jar, as it does not need drainage. Once thoroughly wet, it has only to be kept moist and the plants do as well as in soil. I, personally, prefer to plant in soil. The family living in an apartment with no cold place to start the bulbs that take so long, could easily fix a box or egg-crate under the coldest window and darken it with a small rug, hiding there for a few weeks the Roman hyacinths and narcissi. BOOKS FOR THE INDOOR GARDENER However successful you are with your window gardening, you are sure to enjoy knowing what other people have learned and written on the subject, and a number of simple, interesting books are available. Your librarian will be glad to point out the best she has to offer, and there are several you may want to own. "Manual of Gardening," by L. H. Bailey, formerly Dean of the Agricultural College at Cornell University, is one of the most comprehensive, covering every phase of gardening, summer and winter, indoors and out; "The Flower Garden," by Ida D. Bennett, devotes considerable space to house plants, window gardens, hot beds, etc.; "Green House and Window Plants," by Chas. Collins, is a little book by an English authority, and goes quite fully into soils, methods of propagating, management of green houses, and also the growing of house plants; "Practical Horticulture," by our own Peter Henderson, while especially valuable to the large commercial grower, contains much interesting information for the amateur; "House Plants and How to Grow Them," by P. T. Barnes, however, is one of the simplest and best, and sure to suit the busy school-girl, in a hurry to find out the proper way to make her particular pet plant do its very best. And just as surely as she would not attempt to make a new kind of cake without a reliable recipe, just so surely ought she not to expect to grow flowers successfully without finding out first how it should be done. Flowers, like friends, have to be cultivated, and consideration of their needs produces similar delightful results. CHAPTER XV Gifts that will Please a Flower Lover You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. --_Moore._ CHRISTMAS giving to the flower lover is a matter of delight, for if you stop to think you will know what the recipient will be sure to appreciate. Cut flowers always afford joy, from an inexpensive bunch of carnations to the choicest American Beauties. The Christmas blooming plants, however, last much longer, and the rich scarlet berries of the ardesia will survive the holiday season by several months. Poinsettia has been steadily increasing in popularity, and can be surrounded by ferns that will live on indefinitely. All the decorative foliage plants are sure to be welcomed, for with care they will last for years, and improve in size and beauty. The growing fad for winter-blooming bulbs affords another opportunity for pleasing. If you did not start in time to grow to flower yourself, give your friend one of the new flat lily bowls, procurable from fifty cents up, and with it a collection of bulbs for succession of bloom. These may be started in any kind of dishes with pebbles and water, set in a cool, dark place until the roots start, and then brought out to the light as desired. With narcissi at three cents each, Chinese lilies at ten cents, and fine hyacinths up to twenty cents, for named varieties, a dollar's worth will keep her in flowers for the rest of the winter. Pretty little stem holders, made in pottery leaves, mushrooms, frogs, etc., cost only from forty cents to fifty cents, and will be nice to use in the bowl afterward, for holding any kind of cut flowers. We are adopting more and more the Japanese method of displaying a few choice specimens artistically, and assuredly this way they do show up to better advantage. Many new vases are displayed for the purpose. A charming Japanese yellow glaze, ten in. high, with a brown wicker cover, I saw for only a dollar and a quarter, while the graceful Japanese yellow plum blossom shown with it at thirty-five cents a spray, was a delight to the eye. A slender ground glass vase in a plated cut silver holder was only twenty-five cents, while the Sheffield plate bud vase was but fifty cents. These could be duplicated in cut glass and sterling silver at almost any price one wished to pay. Venetian glass is quite fashionable, and can be had in all colors--red, blue, green, yellow and black, and while expensive, has been imitated in domestic ware at reasonable prices. Some of the new pottery bowls come in unusual shapes, in white, gray, green, blue, and many are small enough for a single bulb. A lover of the narcissus myself, I am delighted with the idea of bringing out my paper whites one at a time, so as to keep a lovely gray-green piece in use all winter. One of my friends, on the other hand, is growing hers in groups of half-a-dozen, the warm brown of the bulbs harmonizing most artistically with her delicately colored stones in a brown wicker-covered Japanese glazed dish. This brown Japanese wicker, by the way, is most decorative, and can be found in various kinds of baskets, metal-lined, for cut flowers or plants of that grow in water,--some as low as ten cents apiece. A tall-handled basket of this kind is now standing on my buffet, beautiful with the varigated trailing sprays of the Wandering Jew. One could not ask for a more satisfying arrangement. Enamelled tinware, hand-painted, is new, too, and comes in many pottery shapes, though strange to say, often at higher prices. Hand-painted china butterflies, bees and birds, at from twenty-five cents to fifty cents, are among this year's novelties, and look very realistic when applied invisibly with a bit of putty to the edge of bowl or vase. Some of the birds are painted on wood, life-sized, and mounted on long sticks, to be stuck in among growing plants or on the tiny trellises used for indoor climbers. Many novelties in growing things can be found at the florist's--from the cheapest up to all you feel like paying. A dainty new silver fern, big enough for a small table, comes in a thumb pot at only ten cents. Haworthia is cheap, too, and has the advantage of being uncommon. More and more do we see of the dwarf Japanese plants, many quite inexpensive. The Japanese cut leaf maple, for example, can be bought for seventy-five cents. All are hardy, and suitable for small table decorations. The new "air plant," or "Wonder of the Orient" (really an autumn crocus), surprises every one not acquainted with it, as it flowers during the late fall and early winter, without either soil or water, as soon as put in the sunlight for a few days. Better still, when through blooming, it will live through the year if put in soil, and store up enough energy to repeat the performance when taken out next season. Costing a dollar each when first introduced here, it can now be bought as low as ten cents a bulb. Japanese fern balls, black and unpromising as they look when purchased, respond to plenty of light, heat and water by sending out the daintiest kind of feathery ferns in a few weeks, and will last for several years. They cost only thirty-five cents, too. Quaint, square pottery jars, suspended in pairs by a cord over a little wheel, like buckets on a well rope, make unusual hanging baskets and can be filled with your favorite vines and flowers. Garden tools are always acceptable as the old ones wear out or get lost, and you can choose from the three-prong pot claw at a nickel up to the fully equipped basket at several dollars. Handwoven cutting baskets, mounted on sharp sticks for sticking in the ground when you are cutting your posies, cost two dollars and a half, but will last for years. Small hand-painted, long-spouted watering cans, for window sprinkling, cost less than a dollar and look pretty when not in use. And for the person with only a window garden, the self-watering, metal-lined window boxes, that preclude dripping on the floor, will be a boon indeed. Goldfish are pretty sure to please, for your flower lover is also the nature lover. Even the tiniest bowl is attractive, and one I saw recently had been in the house over two winters. The globe, however, does not meet our modern ideas for the reason that the curved glass reduces the area of water exposed to the air, so is bad for the fish. The new all-glass aquariums can be bought in either the square or cylindrical shapes, from a dollar and a quarter up, according to size and quality, while the golden inmates can be found from five cents, for the child's pet up to the fancier's Japanese prize-winner at one thousand dollars. Your aquarium will require no change of water, either, if properly balanced. Put in for the fishes' needs such oxygen-producing plants as milfoil, (Millefolium,) fish grass, (Cabomba,) common arrow head, (Sagittaria natans,) and mud plant, plantain, (Heteranthera Reniformis,) the first and third being especially good together. These in turn will thrive on the carbonic acid gas the fish exhale, so that one supports the other. A snail or two (the Japanese red, at twenty-five cents, preferred for looks,) and a newt will act as scavengers, and keep the water clear as crystal. For food, put in a small quantity of meat once a week, as the commercial "fish food" eventually causes tuberculosis. Birds, too, are generally popular with flower lovers. Canaries probably are the stand-bys, though in the cities the uncommon little beauties often are preferred. Polly, however, holds her own, and with many people is the favorite. Books,--always a safe and inexpensive gift,--are obtainable for the flower lover, in the most fascinating editions. They cover all phases of the subject, indoors and out, from the window garden to the vast estate, the amateur to the professional grower. And no true gardener could sit down by a blazing log on a blizzardy night, with Helena Rutherford Ely's "The Practical Flower Garden," or L. B. Holland's "The Garden Blue Book," filled with wonderful photographs and colored plates, without quickly becoming lost to the storm outside, and conscious only of sun-kissed lawns with blossoms nodding in the breeze. Heaven? Your friend will already be in imagination's Paradise, with an increasing sense of gratitude over your thoughtful selection. CHAPTER XVI The Gentlewoman's Art--Arranging Flowers In Eastern lands they talk in flowers, And they tell in a garland their loves and cares; Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers, On its leaves a mystic language bears. --_Percival._ THE above is almost literally true! You may be surprised to know that the arranging of flowers has not only long been considered an art, but that for centuries it has been closely connected with the whole life of a nation. Away back in 1400, a certain ruler of Japan became so interested in this fascinating subject that he resigned his throne in order to study that and the other fine arts! One of his friends,--a great painter,--worked out the scientific rules which are still generally accepted, and the study became the pastime of cultured people. Moreover, Japan's greatest military men have always practised the art, claiming that it calmed their minds so that they could make clearer decisions on going into battle! [Illustration: BLOSSOMS IN JAPANESE ARRANGEMENT] Briefly put, the Japanese ideas are as follows: First, to use very few flowers (preferably three, five, or seven, with their foliage), and but one kind together. Then to arrange these so that the three main blossoms form a triangle,--the highest point of which they usually call Heaven, the middle point Man, and the lowest point Earth. If five or seven flowers are used, the others are the unimportant ones, and used as "attributes," placed near the important points. And as many of their favorite flowers, like the iris and the chrysanthemum, have quite straight stems, people have to learn how to bend them without breaking. Each flower is studied, selected for its place in this triangle, and then, oh! so very delicately, shaped to the desired line. And then as so few flowers would be apt to slip around, they skilfully hold them in place by means of slender sticks, cut the exact size, split at one end, and then sprung into place across the vase or bowl. If the stems curve to one side, it is called the male style, if to the other, the female style; the arrangement must look not like cut flowers, but like the living plant, and suggest the growth by the use of buds, open flowers and withered leaves. Good and evil luck are connected with the placing, as well as with the colors and the numbers chosen,--even numbers and red being ill-omened. Certain arrangements also suggest the seasons, one style, for instance, representing spring and another autumn. While we today are not interested in Japanese symbolism, we, many of us, are quite interested in Japanese methods on account of their artistic effects. Many books have been written by the Japanese on their favorite subject,--some as far back as the Thirteenth Century! Of course you never could read them even if you could find them here; but a Western woman spent a long time over there, studying under the guidance of their priests, and recently wrote a book ("Japanese Flower Arrangement," by Mary Averill,) which explains everything and is full of illustrations, so that you can see for yourself the results of following the Japanese way. Her most interesting message for you may be one method they have of making their flowers last. During moderate weather it can be done in this country by simply holding the stems of the flowers in a gas or candle flame until black and charred, and then putting the flowers in very cold water for seven or eight hours. Another book, with a lot of beautiful pictures showing us how to arrange flowers to please better, perhaps, our American taste, is "The Flower Beautiful," by Clarence Moores Weed. It illustrates most of our own familiar flowers, in all kinds of artistic holders, and is sure to give us new ideas about arranging them so as to enable us to bring out their full loveliness. Both of these books should be found in any good Public Library, and in looking them over, you will have a treat. A prominent New York florist, in showing our Garden Club his methods of arranging flowers, advised (for one thing) filling a low bowl with broken twigs or branches, to hold the stems and keep the flowers in position without crowding. Breaking up a few ferns to illustrate; he dropped them in a cut glass dish, and then stuck in a dozen stalks of pale pink primroses. The result was an inexpensive table decoration as beautiful as any costly display of roses. Personally, I did not approve of his ferns, as they would very quickly decay in the water: but as a child I had learned from my grandmother his better idea of half-filling the dish with clean sand. It holds the stems exactly as placed, and can be entirely hidden by the foliage. Roses, the gentleman also told us, draw up water above the surface only one-half the length of the stem in the water, and consequently should not extend more than that height above the water,--else the "forcing power" (as it is called) will not carry it far enough to sustain the flowers at the end of the stems. (This may account for my own success in keeping roses often for a week, for I usually take them out of the water, lay them in a wet box or paper, and place them flat in the ice-box over night so the water in the stems can flow to the extreme end.) He also said they should never be crowded together, but rather be separated as the primroses were. Both the leaves and the thorns under water should be removed, as the leaves quickly foul the water, and the breaking off of the thorns opens new channels for nourishment to reach the flowers. The flat Japanese bowls so popular the past few years, are not only artistic, but good for the flowers, which in them are not crowded, and so can get their needed oxygen. They can be held in place by the transparent glass holders if one objects (as the florist did,) to the perforated frogs, turtles, mushrooms, etc., now to be bought wherever vases and other flower holders are sold. Any one who has tried to arrange even half a dozen blooms in this simple way will never go back to the crude, old-fashioned mixed bouquet! On the tables of the fine restaurants in New York City one most often sees only a simple, clear glass vase, with perhaps only two or three flowers; but they can be enjoyed for their full beauty. The secret of the whole subject is _simplicity_!--and you never know what you can do until you try. At our last Garden Show I had expected to make a well-studied arrangement of wild flowers for that class of table decorations, but did not have the time. At the last moment I took an odd little glass basket, filled it with damp sand, and stuck it full of cornflowers, (what you might call ragged robins or bachelor buttons, and which I grow to go with my blue china,) so that the holder was nearly hidden. On seeing it in place, on the show table, I frankly confess I was quite ashamed of my effort, it looked so very modest: and you can imagine my great surprise when I discovered later that it was decorated with a coveted ribbon! There is one way, however, in which the mixed bouquet can be put together so as to look its best, and our florist-guest demonstrated it. On coming to the close of his remarks he began picking up the flowers he had been using in his various arrangements with his right hand and placing in his left,--paying no attention whatever to what he took, nor even looking at what he was already holding. Rose, daisy, jonquil, primrose, everything, just as he chanced to find it at hand, went together. _But_,--and here was the secret of the successful result--he grasped them all at the extreme lower end of their stems, whether long or short, so that the bouquet on being completed had that beautiful irregular outline as well as the mixed color that Mother Nature herself offers us in the garden! So if you ever have to put a quantity of mixed flowers together, remember to do it this way. And now a last word about flower growing. Don't you know that old adage, ending "try, try again?" When you think of the great Burbank, growing thousands upon thousands of a single kind of plant or flower in order to develop one to perfection, you can have patience in spite of pests and weather. I hope you will have quantities of the loveliest blossoms, and for the happiest occasions of life. May you realize all your fondest expectations. * * * * * Transcriber's Notes: Obvious punctuation errors repaired. This text prefers "varigated" (three times) to "variegated" (once). This was retained. Preface, "nutritous" changed to "nutritious" (well as nutritious) Table of Contents, "Flower-beds" changed to "Flower Beds" to match usage in text (the Flower Beds) Page 19, smallcaps added to first word of chapter to match rest of text. Page 35, in the "Good for" column for "Hollyhock" the word "or" was repeated. The original read Back of border or or clumps Page 40, "Paeonia" changed to "Pæonia" (Pæonia officinalis) 
29058	----	{Transcriber's note: This etext contains 1. A New Orchard and Garden, by William Lawson 2. The Country Housewifes Garden, by William Lawson 3. A Most Profitable new treatise, from approved experience of the Art of Propagating Plants, by Simon Harwood 4. The Husband Mans Fruitful Orchard The first edition of "A New Orchard and Garden", which included "The Country Housewifes Garden" appeared in 1618; many further editions appeared over the period to 1695. The "Art of Propagating Plants" and "The Husband Mans Fruitful Orchard" appeared in all editions from 1623. This transcript is taken from the 1631 edition. The transcriber used a modern facsimile of the 1657 edition to clarify some doubtful readings. The spelling and hyphenation in the original are erratic. No corrections have been made other than those listed at the end of the etext. The formatting of the original tables of contents has been normalised. Sidenotes are enclosed in braces, prefixed with "SN" and placed before the paragraph in which they appear. Transcriber's notes in the text are enclosed in braces and prefixed with "TN". } A NEVV ORCHARD AND GARDEN OR The best way for planting, grafting, and to make _any ground good, for a rich Orchard: Particularly in the North,_ and generally for the whole kingdome of _England_, as in nature, _reason, situation, and all probabilitie, may and doth appeare_. With the Country Housewifes Garden for hearbes of common vse: _their vertues, seasons, profits, ornaments, varietie of knots, models_ for trees, and plots for the best ordering of Grounds and Walkes. AS ALSO, _The Husbandry of Bees, with their seuerall vses and annoyances_ being the experience of 48 yeares labour, and now the second time corrected and much enlarged, by _William Lawson_. Whereunto is newly added the Art of propagating Plants, with the true _ordering of all manner of Fruits, in their gathering, carrying home, & preseruation._ {Illustration: Skill and paines bring fruitfull gaines. _Nemo sibi natus._} _LONDON_, Printed by _Nicholas Okes_ for IOHN HARISON, at the golden Vnicorne in Pater-noster-row. 1631. TO THE RIGHT WORSHIPFVLL SIR HENRY BELOSSES, Knight and Baronet, _Worthy Sir_, When in many yeeres by long experience I had furnished this my Northerne Orchard and Countrey Garden with needfull plants and vsefull hearbes, I did impart the view thereof to my friends, who resorted to me to conferre in matters of that nature, they did see it, and seeing it desired, and I must not denie now the publishing of it (which then I allotted to my priuate delight) for the publike profit of others. Wherefore, though I could pleade custome the ordinarie excuse of all Writers, to chuse a Patron and Protector of their Workes, and so shroud my selfe from scandall vnder your honourable fauour, yet haue I certaine reasons to excuse this my presumption: First, the many courtesies you haue vouchsafed me. Secondly, your delightfull skill in matters of this nature. Thirdly, the profit which I receiued from your learned discourse of Fruit-trees. Fourthly, your animating and assisting of others to such endeuours. Last of all, the rare worke of your owne in this kind: all which to publish vnder your protection, I haue aduentured (as you see). Vouchsafe it therefore entertainement, I pray you, and I hope you shall finde it not the vnprofitablest seruant of your retinue: for when your serious employments are ouerpassed, it may interpose some commoditie, and raise your contentment out of varietie. _Your Worships most bounden_, WILLIAM LAVVSON. THE PREFACE to all well minded. _Art hath her first originall out of experience, which therefore is called the Schoole-mistresse of fooles, because she teacheth infallibly, and plainely, as drawing her knowledge out of the course of Nature, (which neuer failes in the generall) by the senses, feelingly apprehending, and comparing (with the helpe of the minde) the workes of nature; and as in all other things naturall, so especially in Trees; for what is Art more then a prouident and skilfull Collectrix of the faults of Nature in particular workes, apprehended by the senses? As when good ground naturally brings forth thistles, trees stand too thicke, or too thin, or disorderly, or (without dressing) put forth vnprofitable suckers, and suchlike. All which and a thousand more, Art reformeth, being taught by experience: and therefore must we count that Art the surest, that stands vpon experimentall rules, gathered by the rule of reason (not conceit) of all other rules the surest._ _Whereupon haue I of my meere and sole experience, without respect to any former written Treatise, gathered these rules, and set them downe in writing, not daring to hide the least talent giuen me of my Lord and Master in Heauen: neither is this iniurious to any, though it differ from the common opinion in diuers points, to make it knowne to others, what good I haue found out in this facultie by long triall and experience. I confesse freely my want of curious skill in the Art of planting. And I admire and praise _Plinie_, _Aristotle_, _Virgil_, _Cicero_, and many others for wit and iudgement in this kind, and leaue them to their times, manner, and seuerall Countries._ _I am not determined (neither can I worthily) to set forth the praises of this Art: how some, and not a few, euen of the best, haue accounted it a chiefe part of earthly happinesse, to haue faire and pleasant Orchards, as in _Hesperia_ and _Thessaly_, how all with one consent agree, that it is a chiefe part of Husbandry (as _Tully de senectute_) and Husbandry maintaines the world; how ancient, how profitable, how pleasant it is, how many secrets of nature it doth containe, how loued, how much practised in the best places, and of the best: This hath already beene done by many. I only aime at the common good. _I_ delight not in curious conceits, as planting and graffing with the root vpwards, inoculating Roses on Thornes, and such like, although I haue heard of diuers prooued some, and read of moe._ _The Stationer hath (as being most desirous with me, to further the common good) bestowed much cost and care in hauing the Knots and Models by the best Artizan cut in great varietie, that nothing might be any way wanting to satisfie the curious desire of those that would make vse of this Booke._ _And I shew a plaine and sure way of planting, which I haue found good by 48. yeeres (and moe) experience in the North part of _England_: I preiudicate and enuie none, wishing yet all to abstaine from maligning that good (to them vnknowne) which is well intended. Farewell._ Thine, for thy good, _W. L._ A Table of the things Contayned in this Booke CHAP. 1. _Of the Gardner his labour and wadges._ _pag. 1_ CHAP. 2. _Of the Soyle._ _p. 3_ _The kinds of trees._ _p. 3_ _Of barren earth._ _p. 4_ _Of Grasse._ _p. 5_ _Of the Crust of the earth._ _p. 6_ CHAP. 3. _Lowe & neere the Riuer_. _p. 6_ _Of Windes._ _p. 8_ _Of the Sunne._ _p. 8_ _Trees against a wall._ _p. 8_ CHAP. 4. _Of the quantity._ _p. 10_ _Orchards as good as a Corne-field._ _p. 10_ _Good as the Vineyard._ _p. 11_ _What quantity of ground._ _p. 11_ _Want no hinderance._ _p. 12_ _How Land-lords by their Tenants may make flourishing Orchards._ _p. 12_ CHAP. 5. _The forme of the Orchard._ _p. 12_ CHAP. 6. _Of Fences._ _p. 14_ _Effects of euill Fencing._ _p. 14_ _The kinds of Fencinge._ _p. 15_ _Of Pales and Rayles._ _p. 15_ _Of Stone-walles._ _p. 15_ _Of Quicksets and Moates._ _p. 16_ CHAP. 7. _Of Setts._ _p. 17_ _Of Slipps._ _p. 17_ _Of Burknots._ _p. 17_ _Of Small Setts._ _p. 18_ _Tying of Trees._ _p. 19_ _Signes of diseases._ _p. 19_ _Of Suckers._ _p. 20_ _A Running plant._ _p. 20_ _Of bought Setts._ _p. 21_ _The best Sett._ _p. 22_ _Times of remouing._ _p. 23_ _The manner of setting._ _p. 26_ CHAP. 8. _Of the distance of trees._ _p. 28_ _The hurts of too neere planting._ _p. 28_ _All touches hurtfull._ _p. 29_ _The best distance._ _p. 29_ _Of wast ground in an Orchard._ _p. 30_ CHAP. 9. _Of the placing of trees._ _p. 31_ CHAP. 10. _Of Grafting._ _p. 33_ _The kinds of Grafting._ _p. 34_ _How to Graft._ _p. 34_ _What a Graft is._ _p. 34_ _The eies of a Graft._ _p. 34_ _Time of Grafting._ _p. 35_ _Gathering of Grafts._ _p. 36_ _Of Incising._ _p. 37_ _Of Packing._ _p. 38_ _Of Inoculating._ _p. 39_ _Grafting in the Scutcheon._ _p. 39_ CHAP. 11. _The right dressing of trees._ _p. 40_ _Timber-wood euill drest._ _p. 41_ _The cause of hurts in wood._ _p. 42_ _How to dresse Timber._ _p. 43_ _The profit of dressing._ _p. 43-45_ _Trees will take any forme._ _p. 44_ _How to dresse all Fruit-trees._ _p. 44_ _The best times for proyning._ _p. 47_ _Faults of euill dressing and the remedies._ _p. 48_ _Of water-boughes._ _p. 49_ _Barke-pyld._ _p. 49-56_ _Instruments for dressing._ _p. 50_ CHAP. 12 _Of Foyling._ _p. 51_ _Time fit for Foyling._ _p. 53_ CHAP. 13 _Of Annoyances._ _p. 54_ _Two euills in an Orchard._ _p. 54_ _Of galls cankers, mosse &c._ _p. 55_ _Of wilfull annoyances._ _p. 60_ CHAP. 14. _Of the age of trees._ _p. 60_ _The parts of a trees age._ _p. 61_ _Of Mans age._ _p. 62_ _The age of timber-trees._ _p. 64_ _To discerne the age of trees._ _p. 65_ CHAP. 15. _Of gathering and keeping Fruit._ _p. 65_ CHAP. 16. _The profit of Orchards._ _p. 67_ _Of Cydar and Perry._ _p. 67_ _Of Fruit, Waters and Conserue._ _p. 68_ CHAP. 17. _Of Ornaments._ _p. 68_ _Of the delights._ _p. 69_ _The causes of delights._ _p. 70_ _Of Flowers, Borders, Mounts &c._ _p. 70_ _Of Bees._ _p. 72_ THE BEST, SVRE AND READIEST VVAY to make a good _Orchard_ and _Garden_. CHAPTER. 1. _Of the Gardner, and his Wages._ {SN: Religious.} Whosoeuer desireth & endeauoureth to haue a pleasant, and profitable Orchard, must (if he be able) prouide himselfe of a Fruicterer, religious, honest, skilful in that faculty, & therwithall painfull: By religious, I meane (because many think religion but a fashion or custome to go to Church) maintaining, & cherishing things religious: as Schooles of learning, Churches, Tythes, Church-goods, & rights; and aboue all things, Gods word, & the Preachers thereof, so much as he is able, practising prayers, comfortable conference, mutuall instruction to edifie, almes, and other works of Charity, and all out of a good conscience. {SN: Honest.} Honesty in a Gardner, will grace your Garden, and all your house, and helpe to stay vnbridled Seruingmen, giuing offence to none, not calling your name into question by dishonest acts, nor infecting your family by euill counsell or example. For there is no plague so infectious as Popery and knauery, he will not purloine your profit, nor hinder your pleasures. {SN: Skilfull.} Concerning his skill, he must not be a Scolist, to make shew or take in hand that, which he cannot performe, especially in so weighty a thing as an Orchard: than the which, there can be no humane thing more excellent, either for pleasure or profit, as shall (God willing) be proued in the treatise following. And what an hinderance shall it be, not onely to the owner, but to the common good, that the vnspeakeble benefit of many hundred yeeres shall be lost, by the audacious attempt of an vnskilfull Arborist. {SN: Painfull.} The Gardner had not need be an idle, or lazie Lubber, for to your Orchard being a matter of such moment, will not prosper. There will euer be some thing to doe. Weedes are alwaies growing. The great mother of all liuing Creatures, the Earth, is full of seed in her bowels, and any stirring giues them heat of Sunne, and being laid neere day, they grow: Mowles worke daily, though not alwaies alike. Winter herbes at all times will grow (except in extreame frost.) In Winter your young trees and herbes would be lightned of snow, and your Allyes cleansed: drifts of snow will set Deere, Hares, and Conyes, and other noysome beasts ouer your walles & hedges, into your Orchard. When Summer cloathes your borders with greene and peckled colours, your Gardner must dresse his hedges, and antike workes: watch his Bees, and hiue them: distill his Roses and other herbes. Now begins Summer Fruit to ripe, and craue your hand to pull them. If he haue a Garden (as he must need) to keepe, you must needs allow him good helpe, to end his labours which are endlesse, for no one man is sufficient for these things. {SN: Wages.} Such a Gardner as will conscionably, quietly and patiently, trauell in your Orchard, God shall crowne the labours of his hands with ioyfulnesse, and make the clouds drop fatnesse vpon your trees, he will prouoke your loue, and earne his wages, and fees belonging to his place: The house being serued, fallen fruite, superfluity of herbes, and flowers, seedes, grasses, sets, and besides all other of that fruit which your bountifull hand shall reward him withall, will much augment his wages, and the profit of your bees will pay you backe againe. If you be not able, nor willing to hire a gardner, keepe your profits to your selfe, but then you must take all the pains: And for that purpose (if you want this faculty) to instruct you, haue I vndertaken these labours, and gathered these rules, but chiefly respecting my Countries good. CHAP. 2. _Of the soyle._ {SN: Kinds of trees.} {SN: Soyle.} Fruit-trees most common, and meetest for our Northerne Countries: (as Apples, Peares, Cheries, Filberds, red and white Plummes, Damsons, and Bulles,) for we meddle not with Apricockes nor Peaches, nor scarcely with Quinces, which will not like in our cold parts, vnlesse they be helped with some reflex of Sunne, or other like meanes, nor with bushes, bearing berries, as Barberies, Goose-berries, or Grosers, Raspe-berries, and such like, though the Barbery be wholesome, and the tree may be made great: doe require (as all other trees doe) a blacke, fat, mellow, cleane and well tempered soyle, wherein they may gather plenty of good sap. Some thinke the Hasell would haue a chanily rocke, and the sallow, and eller a waterish marish. The soile is made better by deluing, and other meanes, being well melted, and the wildnesse of the earth and weedes (for euery thing subiect to man, and seruing his vse (not well ordered) is by nature subiect to the curse,) is killed by frosts and drought, by fallowing and laying on heapes, and if it be wild earth, with burning. {SN: Barren earth.} If your ground be barren (for some are forced to make an Orchard of barren ground) make a pit three quarters deepe, and two yards wide, and round in such places, where you would set your trees, and fill the same with fat, pure, and mellow earth, one whole foot higher then your Soile, and therein set your Plant. For who is able to manure an whole Orchard plot, if it be barren? But if you determine to manure the whole site, this is your way: digge a trench halfe a yard deepe, all along the lower (if there be a lower) side of your Orchard plot, casting vp all the earth on the inner side, and fill the same with good short, hot, & tender muck, and make such another Trench, and fill the same as the first, and so the third, and so through out your ground. And by this meanes your plot shall be fertile for your life. But be sure you set your trees, neither in dung nor barren earth. {SN: Plaine.} {SN: Moyst.} Your ground must be plaine, that it may receiue, and keepe moysture, not onely the raine falling thereon, but also water cast vpon it, or descending from higher ground by sluices, Conduits, &c. For I account moisture in Summer very needfull in the soile of trees, & drought in Winter. Prouided, that the ground neither be boggy, nor the inundation be past 24. houres at any time, and but twice in the whole Summer, and so oft in the Winter. Therefore if your plot be in a Banke, or haue a descent, make Trenches by degrees, Allyes, Walkes, and such like, so as the Water may be stayed from passage. And if too much water be any hinderance to your walks (for dry walkes doe well become an Orchard, and an Orchard them:) raise your walkes with earth first, and then with stones, as bigge as Walnuts: and lastly, with grauell. In Summer you need not doubt too much water from heauen, either to hurt the health of your body, or of your trees. And if ouerflowing molest you after one day, auoid it then by deepe trenching. Some for this purpose dig the soile of their Orchard to receiue moisture, which I cannot approue: for the roots with digging are oftentimes hurt, and especially being digged by some vnskilfull seruant: For the Gardiner cannot doe all himselfe. And moreouer, the roots of Apples & Peares being laid neere day, with the heate of the Sun, will put forth suckers, which are a great hinderance, and sometimes with euill guiding, the destruction of trees, vnlesse the deluing be very shallow, and the ground laid very leuell againe. Cherries and Plummes without deluing, will hardly or neuer (after twenty yeares) be kept from such suckers, nor aspes. {SN: Grasse.} Grasse also is thought needfull for moisture, so you let it not touch the roots of your trees: for it will breed mosse, and the boall of your tree neere the earth would haue the comfort of the Sunne and Ayre. Some take their ground to be too moist when it is not so, by reason of waters standing thereon, for except in soure marshes, springs, and continuall ouerflowings, no earth can be too moyst. Sandy & fat earth will auoid all water falling by receit. Indeed a stiffe clay will not receiue the water, and therefore if it be grassie or plaine, especially hollow, the water will abide, and it wil seeme waterish, when the fault is in the want of manuring, and other good dressing. {SN: Naturally plaine.} {SN: Crust of the earth.} This plainnesse which we require, had need be naturall, because to force an vneuen ground will destroy the fatnesse. For euery soile hath his crust next day wherein trees and herbes put their roots, and whence they draw their sap, which is the best of the soile, and made fertile with heat and cold, moisture and drought, and vnder which by reason of the want of the said temperature, by the said foure qualities, no tree nor herbe (in a manner) will or can put root. As may be seene if in digging your ground, you take the weeds of most growth: as grasse or docks, (which will grow though they lie vpon the earth bare) yet bury them vnder the crust, and they will surely dye and perish, & become manure to your ground. This crust is not past 15. or 18. inches deepe in good ground, in other grounds lesse. Hereby appeares the fault of forced plaines, viz. your crust in the lower parts, is couered with the crust of the higher parts, and both with worse earth: your heights hauing the crust taken away, are become meerely barren: so that either you must force a new crust, or haue an euill soile. And be sure you leuell, before you plant, lest you be forced to remoue, or hurt your plants by digging, and casting amongst their roots. Your ground must be cleered as much as you may of stones, and grauell, walls, hedges, bushes, & other weeds. CHAP. 3. _Of the Site._ {SN: Low and neere a Riuer.} There is no difference, that I find betwixt the necessity of a good soile, and a good site of an Orchard. For a good soile (as is before described) cannot want a good site, and if it do, the fruit cannot be good, and a good site will much mend an euill soile. The best site is in low grounds, (and if you can) neere vnto a Riuer. High grounds are not naturally fat. And if they haue any fatnesse by mans hand, the very descent in time doth wash it away. It is with grounds in this case as it is with men in a common wealth. Much will haue more: and once poore, seldome or neuer rich. The raine will scind, and wash, and the wind will blow fatnesse from the heights to the hollowes, where it will abide, and fatten the earth though it were barren before. {SN: Psal. 1. 3.} {SN: Ezek. 17. 8.} {SN: Eccl. 39. 17.} {SN: Mr. _Markham_.} Hence it is, that we haue seldome any plaine grounds, and low, barren: and as seldome any heights naturally fertill. It is vnspeakeable, what fatnesse is brought to low grounds by inundations of waters. Neither did I euer know any barren ground in a low plaine by a Riuer side. The goodnesse of the soile in _Howle_ or _Hollowdernes_, in _York-shire_, is well knowne to all that know the Riuer _Humber_, and the huge bulkes of their Cattell there. By estimation of them that haue seene the low grounds in _Holland_ and _Zealand_ they farre surpasse the most Countries in _Europe_ for fruitfulnesse, and only because they lie so low. The world cannot compare with _�gypt_, for fertility, so farre as _Nilus_ doth ouer flow his bankes. So that a fitter place cannot be chosen for an Orchard, then a low plaine by a riuer side. For besides the fatnesse which the water brings, if any cloudy mist or raine be stirring, it commonly falls downe to, and followes the course of the Riuer. And where see we greater trees of bulke and bough, then standing on or neere the waters side? If you aske why the plaines in _Holderns_, and such countries are destitute of woods? I answer that men and cattell (that haue put trees thence, from out of Plaines to void corners) are better then trees. Neither are those places without trees. Our old fathers can tel vs, how woods are decaied, & people in the roomth of trees multiplied. I haue stood somwhat long in this poynt, because some do condemne a moist soile for fruit-trees. {SN: Winds. Chap. 13.} A low ground is good to auoide the danger of winds, both for shaking downe your vnripe fruite. Trees the most (that I know) being loaden with wood, for want of proyning, and growing high, by the vnskilfulnesse of the Arborist, must needes be in continuall danger of the South-west, West, and North west winds, especially in _September_ and _March_, when the aire is most temperate from extreme heat, and cold, which are deadly enemies to great winds. Wherefore chuse your ground low: Or if you be forced to plant in a higher ground, let high and strong wals, houses, and trees, as wall-nuts, plane trees, Okes, and Ashes, placed in good order, be your fence for winds. The sucken of your dwelling house, descending into your orchard, if it be cleanly conueyed, is good. {SN: Sunne.} The Sunne, in some sort, is the life of the world. It maketh proud growth, and ripens kindly, and speedily, according to the golden tearme: _Annus fructificat, non tellus_. Therefore in the countries, neerer approching the Zodiake, the Sunnes habitation, they haue better, and sooner ripe fruite, then we that dwell in these frozen parts. {SN: Trees against a wall.} This prouoketh most of our great Arborists, to plant Apricockes, Cherries and Peaches, by a wall, and with tackes, and other meanes to spread them vpon, and fasten them to a wall, to haue the benefit of the immoderate reflexe of the Sunne, which is commendable, for the hauing of faire, good & soone ripe fruit. But let them know it is more hurtfull to their trees then the benefit they reape therby: as not suffering a tree to liue the tenth part of his age. It helpes Gardners to worke, for first the wall hinders the roots, because into a dry and hard wall of earth or stone a tree will not, nor cannot put any root to profit, but especially it stops the passage of sap, whereby the barke is wounded, & the wood, & diseases grow, so that the tree becomes short of life. For as in the body of a man, the leaning or lying on some member, wherby the course of bloud is stopt, makes that member as it were dead for the time, till the bloud returne to his course, and I thinke, if that stopping should continue any time, the member would perish for want of bloud (for the life is in the bloud) and so endanger the body: so the sap is the life of the tree, as the bloud is to mans body: neither doth the tree in winter (as is supposed) want his sap, no more then mans body his bloud, which in winter, and time of sleep draws inward. So that the dead time of winter, to a tree, is but a night of rest: for the tree at all times, euen in winter is nourished with sap, & groweth as well as mans body. The chilling cold may well some little time stay, or hinder the proud course of the sap, but so little & so short a time, that in calme & mild season, euen in the depth of winter, if you marke it, you may easily perceiue, the sap to put out, and your trees to increase their buds, which were formed in the summer before, & may easily be discerned: for leaues fall not off, til they be thrust off, with the knots or buds, wherupon it comes to passe that trees cannot beare fruit plentifully two yeares together, and make themselues ready to blossome against the seasonablenesse of the next Spring. And if any frost be so extreme, that it stay the sap too much, or too long, then it kils the forward fruit in the bud, and sometimes the tender leaues and twigs, but not the tree. Wherefore, to returne, it is perillous to stop the sap. And where, or when, did you euer see a great tree packt on a wall? Nay, who did euer know a tree so vnkindly splat, come to age? I haue heard of some, that out of their imaginary cunning, haue planted such trees, on the North side of the wall, to auoide drought, but the heate of the Sunne is as comfortable (which they should haue regarded) as the drought is hurtfull. And although water is a soueraigne remedy against drought, ye want of Sun is no way to be helped. Wherefore to conclude this Chapter, let your ground lie so, that it may haue the benefit of the South, and West Sun, and so low and close, that it may haue moysture, and increase his fatnesse (for trees are the greatest suckers & pillers of earth) and (as much as may be) free from great winds. CHAP. 4. _Of the quantity._ {SN: Orchard as good as a corn-field.} {SN: Compared with a vinyard.} {SN: Compared with a garden.} It would be remembred what a benefit riseth, not onely to euery particular owner of an Orchard, but also to the common wealth, by fruit, as shall be shewed in the 16. Chapter (God willing) whereupon must needes follow: the greater the Orchard is (being good and well kept) the better it is, for of good things, being equally good, the biggest is the best. And if it shall appeare, that no ground a man occupieth (no, not the corne field) yeeldeth more gaine to the purse, and house keeping (not to speake of the vnspeakeable pleasure) quantity for quantity, than a good Orchard (besides the cost in planting, and dressing an orchard, is not so much by farre, as the labour and feeding of your corne fields, nor for durance of time, comparable, besides the certainty of the on before the other) I see not how any labour, or cost in this kind, can be idly or wastfully bestowed, or thought too much. And what other things is a vineyard, in those countries where vines doe thriue, than a large Orchard of trees bearing fruit? Or what difference is there in the iuice of the Grape, and our Cyder & Perry, but the goodnes of the soile & clime where they grow? which maketh the one more ripe, & so more pleasant then the other. What soeuer can be said for the benefit rising from an orchard, that makes for the largenesse of the Orchards bounds. And (me thinkes) they do preposterously, that bestow more cost and labours, and more ground in and vpon a garden than vpon an orchard, whence they reape and may reape both more pleasure and more profit, by infinite degrees. And further, that a Garden neuer so fresh, and faire, and well kept, cannot continue without both renewing of the earth and the hearbs often, in the short and ordinary age of a man: whereas your Orchard well kept shall dure diuers hundred yeares, as shall be shewed chap. 14. In a large orchard there is much labour saued, in fencing, and otherwise: for three little orchards, or few trees, being, in a manner, all out-sides, are so blasted and dangered, and commonly in keeping neglected, and require a great fence; whereas in a great Orchard, trees are a mutuall fence one to another, and the keeping is regarded, and lesse fencing serues sixe acres together, than three in seuerall inclosures. {SN: What quantity of ground.} Now what quantity of ground is meetest for an Orchard can no man prescribe, but that must be left to euery mans seuerall iudgement, to be measured according to his ability and will, for other necessaries besides fruite must be had, and some are more delighted with orchard then others. {SN: Want is no hinderance.} {SN: How Land-lords by their Tenants may make flourishing Orchards in _England_.} Let no man hauing a fit plot plead pouerty in this case, for an orchard once planted will maintaine it selfe, and yeeld infinite profit besides. And I am perswaded, that if men did know the right and best way of planting, dressing, and keeping trees, and felt the profit and pleasure thereof, both they that haue no orchards would haue them, & they that haue orchards, would haue them larger, yea fruit-trees in their hedges, as in _Worcester-shire_, &c. And I think, that the want of planting, is a great losse to our common-wealth, & in particular, to the owners of Lord-ships, which Land lords themselues might easily amend, by granting longer terme, and better assurance to their tenants, who haue taken vp this Prouerbe _Botch and sit, Build and flit_: for who will build or plant for an other mans profit? Or the Parliament mighte ioyne euery occupier of grounds to plant and mainetaine for so many acres of fruitfull ground, so many seuerall trees or kinds of trees for fruit. Thus much for quantity. CHAP. 5. _Of the forme._ {SN: The vsuall forme is a square.} The goodnesse of the soile, and site, are necessary to the wel being of an orchard simply, but the forme is so farre necessary, as the owner shall thinke meete, for that kind of forme wherewith euery particular man is delighted, we leaue it to himselfe, _Suum cuique pulchrum_. The forme that men like in generall is a square, for although roundnesse be _forma perfectissima_, yet that principle is good where necessity by art doth not force some other forme. If within one large square the Gardner shall make one round Labyrinth or Maze with some kind of Berries, it will grace your forme, so there be sufficient roomth left for walkes, so will foure or more round knots do. For it is to be noted, that the eye must be pleased with the forme. I haue seene squares rising by degrees with stayes from your house-ward, according to this forme which I haue, _Crassa quod aiunt Minerua_, with an vnsteady hand, rough hewen, for in forming the country gardens, the better sort may vse better formes, and more costly worke. What is needefull more to be sayd, I referre that all (concerning the Forme,) to the Chapter 17 of the ornaments of an Orchard. {Illustration: _A._ Al these squares must bee set with trees, the Gardens and other ornaments must stand in spaces betwixt the trees, & in the borders & fences. _B._ Trees 20. yards asunder. _C._ Garden Knots. _D._ Kitchen garden. _E._ Bridge. _F._ Conduit. _G._ Staires. _H._ Walkes set with great wood thicke. _I._ Walkes set with great wood round about your Orchard. _K._ The out fence. _L._ The out fence set with stone-fruite. _M._ Mount. To force earth for a mount, or such like set it round with quicke, and lay boughes of trees strangely intermingled tops inward, with the earth in the midle. _N._ Still-house. _O._ Good standing for Bees, if you haue an house. _P._ If the riuer run by your doore, & vnder your mount, it will be pleasant.} CHAP. 6. _Of Fences._ {SN: Effects of euill fencing.} {SN: Let the fence be your owne.} All your labour past and to come about an Orchard is lost vnlesse you fence well. It shall grieue you much to see your young sets rubd loose at the rootes, the barke pild, the boughes and twigs cropt, your fruite stolne, your trees broken, and your many yeares labours and hopes destroyed, for want of fences. A chiefe care must be had in this point. You must therefore plant in such a soile, where you may prouide a conuenient, strong and seemely fence. For you can possesse no goods, that haue so many enemies as an orchard, looke Chapter 13. Fruits are so delightsome, and desired of so many (nay, in a manner of all) and yet few will be at cost and take paines to prouide them. Fence well therefore, let your plot be wholly in your owne power, that you make all your fence your selfe: for neighbours fencing is none at all, or very carelesse. Take heed of a doore or window, (yea of a wall) of any other mans into your orchard: yea, though it be nayld vp, or the wall be high, for perhaps they will proue theeues. {SN: Kinds of fences, earthen walles.} All Fences commonly are made of Earth, Stone, Bricke, Wood, or both earth and wood. Dry wall of earth, and dry Ditches, are the worst fences saue pales or railes, and doe waste the soonest, vnlesse they be well copt with glooe and morter, whereon at _Mighill-tide_ it will be good to sow Wall-flowers, commonly called Bee-flowers, or winter Gilly-flowers, because they will grow (though amongst stones) and abide the strongest frost and drought, continually greene and flowring euen in Winter, and haue a pleasant smell, and are timely, (that is, they will floure the first and last of flowers) and are good for Bees. And your earthen wall is good for Bees dry and warme. But these fences are both vnseemly, euill to repaire, and onely for need, where stone or wood cannot be had. Whosoeuer makes such Walles, must not pill the ground in the Orchard, for getting earth, nor make any pits or hallowes, which are both vnseemly and vnprofitable. Old dry earth mixt with sand is best for these. This kind of wall will soone decay, by reason of the trees which grow neere it, for the roots and boales of great trees, will increase, vndermine, and ouerturne such walles, though they were of stone, as is apparant by Ashes, Rountrees, Burt-trees, and such like, carried in the chat, or berry, by birds into stone-walles. {SN: Pale and Raile.} Fences of dead wood, as pales, will not last, neither will railes either last or make good fence. {SN: Stone walls.} Stone walles (where stone may be had) are the best of this sort, both for fencing, lasting, and shrouding of your young trees. But about this must you bestow much paines and more cost, to haue them handsome, high and durable. {SN: Quicke wood and Moates.} But of all other (in mine owne opinion) Quickwood, and Moats or Ditches of water, where the ground is leuell, is the best fence. In vnequall grounds, which will not keepe water, there a double ditch may be cast, made streight and leuel on the top, two yards broad for a faire walke, fiue or sixe foot higher then the soyle, with a gutter on either side, two yards wide, and foure foot deepe set with out, with three or foure chesse of Thorns, and within with Cherry, Plumme, Damson, Bullys, Filbirds, (for I loue these trees better for their fruit, and as well for their forme, as priuit) for you may make them take any forme. And in euery corner (and middle if you will) a mount would be raised, whereabout the wood may claspe, powdered with wood-binde: which wil make with dressing a faire, plesant, profitable, & sure fence. But you must be sure that your quicke thornes either grow wholly, or that there be a supply betime, either with planting new, or plashing the old where need is. And assure your selfe, that neither wood, stone, earth, nor water, can make so strong a fence, as this after seuen yeares growth. {SN: Moates.} Moates, Fish-ponds, and (especially at one side a Riuer) within and without your fence, will afford you fish, fence, and moysture to your trees, and pleasure also, if they be so great and deepe that you may haue Swans, & other water birds, good for deuouring of vermine, and boat for many good vses. It shall hardly auaile you to make any fence for your Orchard, if you be a niggard of your fruit. For as liberality will saue it best from noysome neighbours, liberality I say is the best fence, so Iustice must restraine rioters. Thus when your ground is tempered, squared, and fenced, it is time to prouide for planting. CHAP. 7. _Of Sets._ There is not one point (in my opinion) about an Orchard more to be regarded, than the choyce getting and setting of good plants, either for readinesse or hauing good fruite, or for continuall lasting. For whosoeuer shall faile in the choyce of good Sets, or in getting, or gathering, or setting his plants, shall neuer haue a good or lasting Orchard. And I take want of skill in this faculty to be a chiefe hinderance to the most Orchards, and to many for hauing of Orchards at all. {SN: Slips.} Some for readinesse vse slips, which seldome take roote: and if they doe take, they cannot last, both because their roote hauing a maine wound will in short time decay the body of the tree: and besides that rootes being so weakely put, are soone nipt with drought or frost. I could neuer see (lightly) any slip but of apples onely set for trees. {SN: Bur-knot.} A Bur-knot kindly taken from an Apple tree, is much better and surer. You must cut him close at the roote ende, an handfull vnder the knot. (Some vse in Summer about _Lammas_ to circumcise him, and put earth to the knots with hay roaps, and in winter cut him off and set him, but this is curiosity, needlesse, and danger with remouing, and drought,) and cut away all his twigs saue one, the most principall, which in setting you must leaue aboue the earth, burying his trunk in the crust of the earth for his root. It matters not much what part of the bough the twig growes out of. If it grow out of or neere the roote end, some say such an Apple will haue no coare nor kirnell. Or if it please the Plantor, he may let his bough be crooked, and leaue out his top end, one foote or somewhat more, wherein will be good grafting, if either you like not, or doubt the fruite of the bough (for commonly your bur-knots are summer fruit) or if you thinke he will not couer his wound safely. {SN: Vsuall Sets.} {SN: Maine rootes cut.} {SN: Stow sets remoued.} {SN: Generall rule.} {SN: Tying of trees.} {SN: Generall rule.} {SN: Signes of diseases, Chap 13.} The most vsuall kind of sets, is plants with rootes growing of kirnels of Apples, Peares, and Crabbes, or stones of Cherries, Plummes, &c. Remoued out of a Nursery, Wood or other Orchard, into, and set in your Orchard in their due places I grant this kind to be better than either of the former, by much, as more sure and more durable. Herein you must note that in sets so remoued, you get all the roots you can; and without brusing of any; I vtterly dislike the opinion of those great Gardners, that following their Bookes would haue the maine rootes cut away, for tops cannot growe without rootes. And because none can get all the rootes, and remouall is an hinderance, you may not leaue on all tops, when you set them: For there is a proportion betwixt the top and root of a tree, euen in the number (at least) in the growth. If the roots be many, they will bring you many tops, if they be not hindred. And if you vse to stow or top your tree too much or too low, and leaue no issue, or little for sap, (as is to be seene in your hedges) it will hinder the growth of rootes and boale, because such a kind of stowing is a kind of smothering, or choaking the sap. Great wood, as Oke, Elme, Ash, &c. being continually kept downe with sheeres, knife, axe, &c. neither boale nor roote will thriue, but as an hedge or bush. If you intend to graff in your Set, you may cut him closer with a greater wound, and nearer the earth, within a foote or two, because the graft or grafts will couer his wound. If you like his fruite, and would haue him to be a tree of himselfe, be not so bold: this I can tell you, that though you do cut his top close, and leaue nothing but his bulke, because his rootes are few, if he be (but little) bigger than your thumbe (as I with all plants remoued to be) he will safely recouer wound within seuen yeares; by good guidance that is. In the next time of dressing immediatly aboue his vppermost sprig, you cut him off aslope cleanely, to that the sprigge stand on the backe side, (and if you can Northward, that the wound may haue the benefit of Sunne) at the vpper ende of the wound: and let that sprigge onely be the boale. And take this for a generall rule; Euery young plant, if he thriue, will recouer any wound aboue the earth, by good dressing, although it be to the one halfe, and to his very heart. This short cutting at the remoue, saues your plants from Wind, and neede the lesse or no staking. I commend not Lying or Leaning of trees against holds or stayres; for it breedes obstruction of sap and wounds incureable. All remouing of trees as great as your arme, or aboue, is dangerous: though sometime some such will grow but not continue long: Because they be tainted with deadly wounds, either in the roote or top. (And a tree once throughly tainted is neuer good) And though they get some hold in the earth with some lesser taw, or tawes, which giue some nourishment to the body of the tree: yet the heart being tainted, he will hardly euer thriue; which you may easily discerne by the blackenesse of the boughes at the heart, when you dresse your trees. Also, when he is set with moe tops than the rootes can nourish, the tops decaying, blacken the boughes, and the boughs the armes, and so they boile at the very heart. Or this taint in the remouall, if it kill not presently, but after some short time, it may be discerned by blacknesse or yellownesse in the barke, and a small hungred leafe. Or if your remoued plant put forth leaues the next and second summer, and little or few spraies, it is a great signe of a taint, and next yeares death. I haue knowne a tree tainted in setting, yet grow, & beare blossomes for diuers yeares: and yet for want of strength could neuer shape his fruit. {SN: Suckers good sets.} Next vnto this or rather equall with these plants, are suckers growing out of the roots of great trees, which cherries and plums do seldome or neuer want: and being taken kindly with their roots, will make very good sets. And you may helpe them much by enlarging their rootes with the taws of the tree, whence you take them. They are of two sorts: Either growing from the very root of the tree: and here you must be carefull, not to hurt your tree when you gather them, by ripping amongst the rootes; and that you take them cleane away: for these are a great and continuall annoyance to the growth of your tree: and they will hardly be cleansed. Secondly, or they do arise from some taw: and these may be taken without danger, with long and good rootes, and will soone become trees of strength. {SN: A running Plant.} There is another way, which I haue not throughly proued, to get not onely plants for graffing, but sets to remaine for trees, which I call a _Running Plant_: the manner of it is this: Take a roote or kirnell, and put it into the middle of your plot, and the second yeare in the spring, geld his top, if he haue one principall (as commonly by nature they haue) and let him put forth onely foure Cyons toward the foure corners of the orchard, as neere the earth as you can. If he put not foure, (which is rare) stay his top till he haue put so many. When you haue such foure, cut the stocke aslope, as is aforesayd in this chapter, hard aboue the vttermost sprig, & keepe those foure without Cyons cleane and straight, till you haue them a yard and a halfe, at least, or two yards long. Then the next spring in grassing time, lay downe those foure sprayes, towards the foure corners of your Orchard, with their tops in an heape of pure and good earth, and railed as high as the roote of your Cyon (for sap will not descend) and a sod to keepe them downe, leauing nine or twelue inches of the top to looke vpward. In that hill he will put rootes, and his top new Cyons, which you must spread as before, and so from hill to hill till he spread the compasse of your ground, or as farre as you list. If in bending, the Cyons cracke, the matter is small, cleanse the ground and he will recouer. Euery bended bough will put forth branches, and become trees. If this plant be of a burre knot, there is no doubt. I haue proued it in one branch my selfe: and I know at _Wilton_ in _Cleeue-land_ a Peare-tree of a great bulke and age, blowne close to the earth, hath put at euery knot rootes into the earth, and from roote to top, a great number of mighty armes or trees, filling a great roomth, like many trees, or a little Orchard. Much better may it be done by Art in a lesse tree. And I could not mislike this kind, saue that the time will be long before it come to perfection. {SN: Sets bought.} Many vse to buy sets already grafted, which is not the best way: for first, All remoues are dangerous: Againe, there is danger in the carriage: Thirdly, it is a costly course of planting: Fourthly, euery Gardner is not trusty to sell you good fruite: Fifthly, you know not which is best, which is worst, and so may take most care about your worst trees. Lastly, this way keepes you from practise, and so from experience in so good, Gentlemanly, Scholerlike, and profitable a faculty. {SN: The best sets.} {SN: Vnremoued how.} The onely best way (in my opinion) to haue sure and lasting sets, is neuer to remoue: for euery remoue is an hinderance, if not a dangerous hurt or deadly taint. This is the way. The plot forme being layd, and the plot appointed where you will plant euery set in your orchard, digge the roomth, where your sets shall stand, a yard compasse, and make the earth mellow and cleane, and mingle it with a few coale-ashes, to auoide wormes: and immediately after the first change of the Moone, in the latter end of _February_, the earth being a fresh turn'd ouer, put in euery such roomth three or foure kirnels of Apples or Peares, of the best: euery kirnell in an hole made with your finger, finger deepe, a foote distant one from another: and that day moneth following, as many moe, (lest some of the former misse) in the same compasse; but not in the same holes. Hence (God willing) shall you haue rootes enough. If they all, or diuers of them come vp, you may draw (but not digge) vp (nor put downe) at your pleasure, the next _Nouember_. How many soeuer you take away, to giue or bestow elsewhere, be sure to leaue two of the proudest. And when in your 2. and 3. yeare you Graffe, if you graffe then at all, leaue the one of those two vngraffed, lest in graffing the other you faile: For I find by tryall, that after first or second graffing in the same stocke, being mist (for who hits all) the third misse puts your stocke in deadly danger, for want of issue of sap. Yea, though you hit in graffing, yet may your graffes with winde or otherwise be broken downe. If your graffes or graffe prosper, you haue your desire, in a plant vnremoued, without taint, and the fruite at your owne choyce, and so you may (some little earth being remooued) pull, but not digge vp the other Plant or Plants in that roomth. If your graffe or stocke, or both perish, you haue another in the same place, of better strength to worke vpon. For thriuing without snub he will ouer-lay your grafted stocke much. And it is hardly possible to misse in graffing so often, if your Gardiner be worth his name. {SN: Sets vngrafted best of all.} It shall not be amisse (as I iudge it) if your Kirnels be of choyce fruite, and that you see them come forward proudly in their body, and beare a faire and broad leafe in colour, tending to a greenish yellow (which argues pleasant and great fruit) to try some of them vngraffed: for although it be a long time ere this come to beare fruit, ten or twelue yeares, or moe; and at their first bearing, the fruit will not seeme to be like his owne kind: yet am I assured, vpon tryall, before twenty yeares growth, such trees will increase the bignesse and goodnesse of their fruite, and come perfectly to their owne kind. Trees (like other breeding creatures) as they grow in yeares, bignes and strength, so they mend their fruit. Husbands and Houswiues find this true by experience, in the rearing of their yong store. More then this, there is no tree like this for soundnes and dureable last, if his keeping and dressing be answerable. I grant, the readiest way to come soone to fruit is graffing: because in a manner, all your graffes are taken of fruit bearing trees. {SN: Time of remouing.} {SN: Generall rule.} Now when you haue made choise of your sets to remoue, the ground being ready, the best time is, immediatly after the fall of the leafe, in, or about the change of the Moone, when the sap is most quiet: for then the sap is in turning: for it makes no stay, but in the _extremity_ of drought or cold. At any time in winter, may you transplant trees so you put no ice nor snow to the root of your plant in the setting: and therefore open, calme and moist weather is best. To remoue, the leafe being ready to fall and not fallen, or buds apparantly put forth in a moist warme season, for need, sometime may do well: but the safest is to walke in the plaine trodden path. Some hold opinion that it is best remouing before the fall of the leafe, and I heare it commonly practised in the South by our best arborists, the leafe not fallen: and they giue the reason to be, that the descending of the sap will make speedy rootes. But marke the reasons following and I thinke you shall find no soundnesse, either in that position or practise, at least in the reason. 1. I say, it is dangerous to remoue when the sap is not quiet, for euery remoue giues a maine checke to the stirring sap, by staying the course therof in the body of your plant, as may appeare in trees remoued any time in summer, they commonly dye, nay hardly shall you saue the life of the most young and tender plant of any kinde of wood (scarcely herbes) if you remoue them in the pride of sap. For proud sap vniuersally staied by remoual, euer hinders; often taints and so presently, or in very short time kills. Sap is like bloud in mans body, in which is the life, _Cap. 3. p. 9._ If the blood vniuersally be cold, life is excluded; so is sap tainted by vntimely remouall. A stay by drought, or cold, is not so dangerous (though dangerous if it be extreme) because more naturall. 2. The sap neuer descends, as men suppose, but is consollidated & transubstantiated into the substance of the tree, and passeth (alwayes aboue the earth) vpward, not onely betwixt the barke and the wood, but also into and in both body & barke, though not so plentifully, as may appeare by a tree budding, nay fructifying two or three yeres, after he be circumcised at the very root, like a riuer that inlargeth his channel by a continual descent. 3. I cannot perceiue what time they would haue the sap to descend. At _Midsommer_ in a biting drought it staies, but descends not, for immediatly vpon moisture it makes second shoots, at (or before rather) _Michaeltide_, when it shapens his buds for next yeares fruit. If at the fal of leafe, I grant, about that time is the greatest stand, but no descent, of sap, which begins somwhat before the leafe fall, but not long, therfore at that time must be the best remouing, not by reason of descent, but stay of sap. 4. The sap in this course hath his profitable and apparant effects, as the growth of the tree, couering of wounds, putting of buds, &c. Wherupon it follows, if the sap descend, it must needs haue some effect to shew it. 5. Lastly, boughs plasht and laid lower then the root, dye for want of sap descending, except where it is forced by the maine streame of the sap, as in top boughs hanging like water in pipes, or except the plasht bough lying on the ground put rootes of his owne, yea vnder boughs which we commonly call water boughs, can scarcely get sap to liue, yea in time dye, because the sap doth presse so violently vpward, and therefore the fairest shootes and fruits are alwayes in the top. {SN: Remooue soone.} _Obiect._ If you say that many so remoued thriue, I say that somewhat before the fall of the leafe (but not much) is the stand, for the fall & the stand are not at one instant, before the stand is dangerous. But to returne. The sooner in winter you remoue your sets, the better; the latter the worse: For it is very perillous if a strong drought take your Sets before they haue made good their rooting. A Plant set at the fall, shall gaine (in a a manner) a whole yeeres growth of that which is set in the Spring after. {SN: The manner of setting.} I vse in the setting to be sure, that the earth be mouldy, (and somewhat moist) that it may runne among the small tangles without straining or bruising: and as I fill in earth to his root, I shake the Set easily to and fro, to make the earth settle the better to his roots: and withall easily with my foot I put in the earth close; for ayre is noysome, and will follow concauities. Some prescribe Oates to be put in with the earth. I could like it, if I could know any reason thereof: and they vse to set their Plant with the same side toward the Sunne: but this conceit is like the other. For first I would haue euery tree to stand so free from shade, that not onely the root (which therefore you must keepe bare from graffe) but body, boughes, and branches, and euery spray, may haue the benefit of Sunne. And what hurt, if that part of the tree, that before was shadowed, be now made partaker of the heat of the Sunne? In turning of Bees, I know it is hurtfull, because it changeth their entrance, passage, and whole worke: But not so in Trees. {SN: Set in the crust.} Set as deepe as you can, so that in any wise you goe not beneath the crust. Looke Chap. 2. {SN: Moysture good.} We speake in the second Chapter of moysture in generall: but now especially hauing put your remoued plant into the earth, powre on water (of a puddle were good) by distilling presently, and so euery weeke twice in strong drought, so long as the earth will drinke, and refuse by ouerflowing. For moisture mollifies, and both giues leaue to the roots to spread, and makes the earth yeeld sap and nourishment with plenty & facility. Nurses (they say) giue most & best milke after warme drinks. If your ground be such that it will keepe no moisture at the root of your plant, such plant shall neuer like, or but for a time. There is nothing more hurtfull for young trees then piercing drought. I haue known trees of good stature after they haue beene of diuers yeeres growth, & thriue well for a good time, perish for want of water, and very many by reason of taints in setting. {SN: Grafts must be fenced.} It is meet your sets and grafts be fenced, till they be as big as your arme, for feare of annoyances. Many waies may sets receiue dammages, after they be set, whether grafted or vngrafted. For although we suppose, that no noysome beast, or other thing must haue accesse among your trees: yet by casualty, a Dog, Cat, or such like, or your selfe, or negligent friend bearing you company, or a shrewd boy, may tread or fall vpon a young and tender plant or graft. To auoid these and many such chances, you must stake them round a pretty distance from the set, neither so neere, nor so thicke, but that it may haue the benefit of Sun, raine, and ayre. Your stakes (small or great) would be so surely put, or driuen into the earth, that they breake not, if any thing happen to leane vpon them, else may the fall be more hurtfull, then the want of the fence. Let not your stakes shelter any weeds about your sets, for want of Sunne is a great hinderance. Let them stand so farre off, that your grafts spreading receiue no hurt, either by rubbing on them, or of any other thing passing by. If your stocke be long, and high grafted (which I must discommend (except in need) because there the sap is weake, and they are subiect to strong wind, and the lighting of birds) tie easily with a soft list three or foure prickes vnder the clay, and let their tops stand aboue the grafts, to auoid the lighting of Crowes, Pyes, &c. vpon your grafts. If you sticke some sharpe thornes at the roots of your stakes, they will make hurtfull things keepe off the better. Other better fences for your grafts I know none. And thus much for sets and setting. CHAP. 8. _Of the distance of Trees._ {SN: Hurts of too neere planting.} I Know not to what end you should prouide good ground, well fenced, & plant good sets; and when your trees should come to profit, haue all your labours lost, for want of due regard to the distance of placing your trees. I haue seene many trees stand so thicke, that one could not thriue for the throng of his neighbours. If you doe marke it, you shall see the tops of trees rubd off, their sides galled like a galled horses backe, and many trees haue more stumps then boughes, and most trees no well thriuing, but short, stumpish, and euill thriuing boughes: like a Corne field ouer seeded, or a towne ouer peopled, or a pasture ouer-laid, which the Gardiner must either let grow, or leaue the tree very few boughes to beare fruit. Hence small thrift, galls, wounds, diseases, and short life to the trees: and while they liue greene, little, hard, worme-eaten, and euill thriuing fruit arise, to the discomfort of the owners. {SN: Remedy.} {SN: Generall rule.} {SN: All touches hurtfull.} To preuent which discommodity, one of the best remedies is the sufficient and fit distance of trees. Therefore at the setting of your plants you must haue such respect, that the distance of them be such, that euery tree be not annoyance, but an helpe to his fellowes: for trees (as all other things of the same kind) should shroud, and not hurt one another. And assure your selfe that euery touch of trees (as well vnder as aboue the earth) is hurtfull. Therefore this must be a generall rule in this Art: That no tree in an Orchard well ordered, nor bough, nor Cyon, drop vpon, or touch his fellowes. Let no man thinke this vnpossible, but looke in the eleuenth Chapter of dressing of trees. If they touch, the winde will cause a forcible rub. Young twigs are tender, if boughes or armes touch or rub, if they are strong, they make great galls. No kind of touch therefore in trees can be good. {SN: The best distance of trees.} {SN: The parts of a tree.} Now it is to be considered what distance amongst sets is requisite, and that must be gathered from the compasse and roomth, that each tree by probability will take and fill. And herein I am of a contrary opinion to all them, which practise or teach the planting of trees, that euer yet I knew, read, or heard of. For the common space betweene tree and tree is ten foot: if twenty foot, it is thought very much. But I suppose twenty yards distance is small enough betwixt tree and tree, or rather too too little. For the distance must needs be as far as two trees are well able to ouer spread, and fill, so they touch not by one yard at least. Now I am assured, and I know one Apple-tree, set of a slip _finger-great_, in the space of 20 yeares, (which I account a very small part of a trees age, as is shewed Chapter 14.) hath spred his boughes eleuen or twelue yards compasse, that is, fiue or sixe yards on euery side. Here I gather, that in forty or fifty yeares (which yet is but a small time of his age) a tree in good soile, well liking, by good dressing (for that is much auaileable to this purpose) will spread double at the least, viz. twelue yards on a side, which being added to twelue alotted to his fellow, make twenty and foure yards, and so farre distant must euery tree stand from another. And looke how farre a tree spreads his boughes aboue, so far doth he put his roots vnder the earth, or rather further, if there be no stop, nor let by walls, trees, rocks, barren earth and such like: for an huge bulk, and strong armes, massie boughes, many branches, and infinite twigs, require wide spreading roots. The top hath the vast aire to spread his boughs in, high and low, this way and that way: but the roots are kept in the crust of the earth, they may not goe downward, nor vpward out of the earth, which is their element, no more then the fish out of the water, Camelion out of the Aire, nor Salamander out of the fire. Therefore they must needs spread farre vnder the earth. And I dare well say, if nature would giue leaue to man by Art, to dresse the roots of trees, to take away the tawes and tangles, that lap and fret and grow superfluously and disorderly, (for euery thing _sublunary_ is cursed for mans sake) the tops aboue being answerably dressed, we should haue trees of wonderfull greatnes, and infinite durance. And I perswade myselfe that this might be done sometimes in Winter, to trees standing in faire plaines and kindly earth, with small or no danger at all. So that I conclude, that twenty foure yards are the least space that Art can allot for trees to stand distant one from another. {SN: Waste ground in an Orchard.} If you aske me what vse shall be made of that waste ground betwixt tree and tree? I answer: If you please to plant some tree or trees in that middle space, you may, and as your trees grow contigious, great and thick, you may at your pleasure take vp those last trees. And this I take to be the chiefe cause, why the most trees stand so thicke. For men not knowing (or not regarding) this secret of needfull distance, and louing fruit of trees planted to their handes, thinke much to pull vpp any, though they pine one another. If you or your heires or successors would take vp some great trees (past setting) where they stand too thicke, be sure you doe it about _Midsummer_, and leaue no maine root. I destinate this space of foure and twenty yards, for trees of age & stature. More then this, you haue borders to be made for walkes with Roses, Berries, &c. And chiefly consider: that your Orchard, for the first twenty or thirty yeeres, will serue you for many Gardens, for Safron, Licoras, roots, and other herbs for profit, and flowers for pleasure: so that no ground need be wasted if the Gardiner be skillfull and diligent. But be sure you come not neere with such deepe deluing the roots of your trees, whose compasse you may partly discerne, by the compasse of the tops, if your top be well spread. And vnder the droppings and shadow of your trees, be sure no herbes will like. Let this be said for the distance of Trees. CHAP. 9. _Of the placing of Trees._ The placing of trees in an Orchard is well worth the regard: For although it must be granted, that any of our foresaid trees (Chap. 2.) will like well in any part of your Orchard, being good and well drest earth: yet are not all Trees alike worthy of a good place. And therefore I wish that your Filbird, Plummes, Damsons, Bulesse, and such like, be vtterly remoued from the plaine soile of your Orchard into your fence: for there is not such fertility and easefull growth, as within: and there also they are more subiect to, and can abide the blasts of _�olus_. The cherries and plummes being ripe in the hot time of Summer, and the rest standing longer, are not so soone shaken as your better fruit: neither if they suffer losse, is your losse so great. Besides that, your fences and ditches will deuoure some of your fruit growing in or neere your hedges. And seeing the continuance of all these (except Nuts) is small, the care of them ought to be the lesse. And make no doubt but the fences of a large Orchard will containe a sufficient number of such kind of Fruit trees in the whole compasse. It is not material, but at your pleasure, in the said fences, you may either intermingle your seueral kinds of fruit-trees, or set euery kind by himselfe, which order doth very well become your better and greater fruit. Let therefore your Apples, Peares, and Quinches, possesse all the soile of your Orchard, vnlesse you be especially affected to some of your other kinds: and of them let your greatest trees of growth stand furthest from Sunne, and your Quinches at the South side or end, and your Apples in the middle, so shall none be any hinderance to his fellowes. The Warden-tree, and Winter-Peare will challenge the preheminence for stature. Of your Apple-trees you shall finde difference in growth. A good Pippin will grow large, and a Costard-tree: stead them on the North side of your other Apples, thus being placed, the least will giue Sun to the rest, and the greatest will shroud their fellowes. The fences and out-trees will guard all. CHAP. 10. _Of Grafting._ {SN: Of Grauing or Caruing.} {SN: Grafting What.} {SN: A Graffe.} Now are we come to the most curious point of our faculty: curious in conceit, but indeede as plaine and easie as the rest, when it is plainely shewne, which we commonly call _Graffing_, or (after some) _Grafting_. I cannot _Etymologize_, nor shew the originall of the Word, except it come of _Grauing_ and _Caruing_. But the thing or matter is: The reforming of the fruite of one tree with the fruit of another, by an artificiall transplacing, or transposing of a twigge, bud or leafe, (commonly called a _Graft_) taken from one tree of the same, or some other kind, and placed or put to, or into another tree in one time and manner. {Illustration} {SN: Kinds of grafting.} Of this there be diuers kinds, but three or foure now especially in vse: to wit, Grafting, incising, packing on, grafting in the scutchion, or inoculating: whereof the chiefe and most vsuall, is called grafting (by the generall name, _Catahexocen_:) for it is the most knowne, surest, readiest, and plainest way to haue store of good fruit. {SN: Graft how.} It is thus wrought: You must with a fine, thin, strong and sharpe Saw, made and armed for that purpose, cut off a foot aboue the ground, or thereabouts, in a plaine without a knot, or as neere as you can without a knot (for some Stocks will be knotty) your Stocke, set, or plant, being surely stayed with your foot and legge, or otherwise straight ouerthwart (for the Stocke may be crooked) and then plaine his wound smoothly with a sharpe knife: that done, cleaue him cleanly in the middle with a cleauer, and a knocke or mall, and with a wedge of wood, Iron or Bone, two handfull long at least, put into the middle of that clift, with the same knocke, make the wound gape a straw bredth wide, into which you must put your Graffes. {SN: A Graft what.} The graft is a top twig taken from some other Tree (for it is folly to put a graffe into his owne Stocke) beneath the vppermost (and sometime in need the second) knot, and with a sharpe knife fitted in the knot (and some time out of the knot when need is) with shoulders an ynch downeward, and so put into the stocke with some thrusting (but not straining) barke to barke inward. {SN: Eyes.} {SN: Generall rule.} Let your graffe haue three or foure eyes, for readinesse to put forth, and giue issue to the sap. It is not amisse to cut off the top of your graffe, and leaue it but fiue or sixe inches long, because commonly you shall see the tops of long graffes die. The reason is this. The sap in graffing receiues a rebuke, and cannot worke so strongly presently, and your graffes receiue not sap so readily, as the naturall branches. When your graffes are cleanely and closely put in, and your wedge puld out nimbly, for feare of putting your graffes out of frame, take well tempered morter, soundly wrought with chaffe or horse dung (for the dung of cattell will grow hard, and straine your graffes) the quantity of a Gooses egge, and diuide it iust, and therewithall, couer your stocke, laying the one halfe on the one side and the other halfe on the other side of your graffes (for thrusting against your graffes) you moue them, and let both your hands thrust at once, and alike, and let your clay be tender, to yeeld easily; and all, lest you moue your graffes. Some vse to couer the clift of the Stocke, vnder the clay with a piece of barke or leafe, some with a sear-cloth of waxe and butter, which as they be not much needfull, so they hurt not, vnlesse that by being busie about them, you moue your graffes from their places. They vse also mosse tyed on aboue the clay with some bryer, wicker, or other bands. These profit nothing. They all put the graffes in danger, with pulling and thrusting: for I hold this generall rule in graffing and planting: if your stocke and graffes take, and thriue (for some will take and not thriue, being tainted by some meanes in the planting or graffing) they will (without doubt) recouer their wounds safely and shortly. {SN: Time of graffing.} The best time of graffing from the time of remouing your stocke is the next Spring, for that saues a second wound, and a second repulse of sap, if your stocke be of sufficient bignesse to take a graffe from as big as your thumbe, to as big as an arme of a man. You may graffe lesse (which I like) and bigger, which I like not so well. The best time of the yeere is in the last part of _February_, or in _March_, or beginning of _Aprill_, when the Sunne with his heat begins to make the sap stirre more rankely, about the change of Moone before you see any great apparancy of leafe or flowers but onely knots and buds, and before they be proud, though it be sooner. Cheries, Peares, Apricocks, Quinces, and Plummes would be gathered and grafted sooner. {SN: Gathering graffes.} {SN: Graffes of old trees.} The graffes may be gathered sooner in _February_, or any time within a moneth, or two before you graffe or vpon the same day (which I commend) If you get them any time before, for I haue knowne graffes gathered in _December_, and doe well, take heed of drought. I haue my selfe taken a burknot of a tree, & the same day when he was laid in the earth about mid _February_, gathered grafts and put in him, and one of those graffes bore the third yeere after, and the fourth plentifully. Graffes of old trees would be gathered sooner then of young trees, for they sooner breake and bud. If you keepe graffes in the earth, moisture with the heat of the Sun will make them sprout as fast, as if they were growing on the tree. And therefore seeing keeping is dangerous, the surest way (as I iudge) is to take them within a weeke of the time of your grafting. {SN: Where taken.} The grafts would be taken not of the proudest twigs, for it may be your stocke is not answerable in strength. And therefore say I, the grafts brought from South to vs in the North although they take and thriue (which is somewhat doubtfull, by reason of the difference of the Clime and carriage) yet shall they in time fashion themselues to our cold Northerne soile, in growth, taste &c. {SN: Emmits.} Nor of the poorest, for want of strength may make them vnready to receiue sap (and who can tell but a poore graft is tainted) nor on the outside of your tree, for there should your tree spread but in the middest; for there you may be sure your Tree is no whit hindered in his growth or forme. He will stil recouer inward, more then you would wish. If your clay clift in Summer with drought, looke well in the Chinkes for Emmits and Earewigs, for they are cunning and close theeues about grafts you shall finde them stirring in the morning and euening, and the rather in the moist weather. I haue had many young buds of Graffes, euen in the flourishing, eaten with Ants. Let this suffice for graffing, which is in the faculty counted the chiefe secret, and because it is most vsuall it is best knowne. Graffes are not to be disliked for growth, till they wither, pine, and die. Vsually before _Midsummer_ they breake, if they liue. Some (but few) keeping proud and greene, will not put till the second yeere, so is it to be thought of sets. The first shew of putting is no sure signe of growth, it is but the sap the graffe brought with him from his tree. So soone as you see the graft put for growth, take away the clay, for then doth neither the stocke nor the graffe need it (put a little fresh well tempered clay in the hole of the stocke) for the clay is now tender, and rather keepes moistture then drought. The other waies of changing the naturall fruit of Trees, are more curious then profitable, and therefore I mind not to bestow much labour or time about them, onely I shall make knowne what I haue proued, and what I doe thinke. {SN: Incising.} {SN: A great stocke.} And first of incising, which is the cutting of the backe of the boale, a rine or branch of a tree at some bending or knee, shoulderwise with two gashes, onely with a sharpe knife to the wood: then take a wedge, the bignes of your graffe sharpe ended, flat on the one side, agreeing with the tree, and round on the other side, and with that being thrust in, raise your barke, then put in your graffe, fashioned like your wedge iust: and lastly couer your wound, and fast it vp, and take heed of straining. This will grow but to small purpose, for it is weake hold, and lightly it will be vnder growth. Thus may you graft betwixt the barke and the tree of a great stocke that will not easily be clifted: But I haue tryed a better way for great trees, viz First, cut him off straight, and cleanse him with your knife, then cleaue him into foure quarters, equally with a strong cleauer: then take for euery Clift two or three small (but hard) wedges iust of the bignesse of your grafts, and with those Wedges driuen in with an hammer open the foure clifts so wide (but no wider) that they may take your foure graffes, with thrusting not with straining: and lastly couer and clay it closely, and this is a sure and good way of grafting: or thus, clift your stocke by his edges twice or thrice with your cleauer, and open him with your wedge in euery clift one by one, and put in your grafts, and then couer them. This may doe well. {SN: Packing thus.} Packing on is, when you cut aslope a twig of the same bignesse with your graft, either in or besides the knot, two inches long, and make your graft agree iumpe with the Cyon, and gash your graft and your Cyon in the middest of the wound, length-way, a straw breadth deepe, and thrust the one into the other, wound to wound, sap to sap, barke to barke, then tie them close and clay them. This may doe well. The fairest graft I haue in my little Orchard, which I haue planted, is thus packt on, and the branch whereon I put him, is in his plentifull roote. To be short in this point, cut your graft in any sort or fashion, two inches long, and ioyne him cleanly and close to any other sprig of any tree in the latter end of the time of grafting, when sap is somewhat rife, and in all probability they will close and thriue: thus {Illustration: _The Sprig._ _The graft._ _The twig._ _The graft._} Or any other fashion you thinke good. {SN: Inoculating.} Inoculating is an eye or bud, taken barke and all from one tree, and placed in the roome of another eie or bud of another, cut both of one compasse, and there bound. This must be done in Summer, when the sap is proud. {SN: Graffing in the Scutchion.} Much like vnto this is that, they call grafting in the scutchion, they differ thus: That here you must take an eie with his leafe, or (in mine opinion) a bud with his leaues. (Note that an eie is for a Cyon, a bud is for flowers and fruit,) and place them on another tree, in a plaine (for so they teach) the place or barke where you must set it, must be thus cut with a sharpe knife, and the barke raised with a wedge, and then the eie or budde put in and so bound vp. {TN: a diagram of an H} I cannot denie but such may grow. And your bud if he take will flowre and beare fruit that yeere: as some grafts & sets also, being set for bloomes. If these two kinds thriue, they reforme but a spray, and an vndergrowth. Thus you may place Roses on Thornes, and Cherries on Apples, and such like. Many write much more of grafting, but to small purpose. Whom we leaue to themselues, & their followers; & ending this secret we come in the next Chapter to a point of knowledge most requisite in an Arborist, as well for all other woods as for an Orchard. CHAP. 11. _Of the right dressing of Trees._ {SN: Necessity of dressing trees.} {SN: Generall rule.} If all these things aforesaid were indeed performed, as we haue shewed them in words, you should haue a perfect Orchard in nature and substance, begunne to your hand; And yet are all these things nothing, if you want that skill to keepe and dresse your trees. Such is the condition of all earthly things, whereby a man receiueth profit or pleasure, that they degenerate presently without good ordering. Man himselfe left to himselfe, growes from his heauenly and spirituall generation, and becommeth beastly, yea deuillish to his owne kind, vnlesse he be regenerate No maruell then, if Trees make their shootes, and put their spraies disorderly. And truly (if I were worthy to iudge) there is not a mischiefe that breedeth greater and more generall harme to all the Orchard (especially if they be of any continuance) that euer I saw, (I will not except three) then the want of the skilfull dressing of trees. It is a common and vnskilfull opinion, and saying. Let all grow, and they will beare more fruit: and if you lop away superfluous boughes, they say, what a pitty is this? How many apples would these haue borne? not considering there may arise hurt to your Orchard, as well (nay rather) by abundance, as by want of wood. Sound and thriuing plants in a good soile, will euer yeeld too much wood, and disorderly, but neuer too little. So that a skilfull and painfull Arborist, need neuer want matter to effect a plentifull and well drest Orchard: for it is an easie matter to take away superfluous boughes (if your Gardner haue skill to know them) whereof your plants will yeeld abundance, and skill will leaue sufficient well ordered. All ages both by rule and experience doe consent to a pruining and lopping of trees: yet haue not any that I know described vnto vs (except in darke and generall words) what or which are those superfluous boughes, which we must take away, and that is the chiefe and most needfull point to be knowne in lopping. And we may well assure our selues, (as in all other Arts, so in this) there is a vantage and dexterity, by skill, and an habite by practise out of experience, in the performance hereof for the profit of mankind; yet doe I not know (let me speake it with the patience of our cunning Arborists) any thing within the compasse of humane affaires so necessary, and so little regarded, not onely in Orchards, but also in all other timber trees, where or whatsoeuer. {SN: Timber wood euill drest.} {SN: The cause of hurts in woods.} {SN: Dresse timber trees how.} How many forrests and woods? wherein you shall haue for one liuely thriuing tree, foure (nay sometimes 24.) euill thriuing, rotten and dying trees, euen while they liue. And instead of trees thousands of bushes and shrubs. What rottennesse? what hollownesse? what dead armes? withered tops? curtailed trunkes? what loads of mosses? drouping boughes? and dying branches shall you see euery where? And those that like in this sort are in a manner all vnprofitable boughes, canked armes, crooked, little and short boales: what an infinite number of bushes, shrubs, and skrogs of hazels, thornes, and other profitable wood, which might be brought by dressing to become great and goodly trees. Consider now the cause: The lesser wood hath beene spoiled with carelesse, vnskilfull, and vntimely stowing, and much also of the great wood. The greater trees at the first rising haue filled and ouer-loaden themselues with a number of wastfull boughes and suckers, which haue not onely drawne the sap from the boale, but also haue made it knotty, and themselues and the boale mossie for want of dressing, whereas if in the prime of growth they had bene taken away close, all but one top (according to this patterne) and cleane by the bulke, the strength of all the sap should haue gone to the bulke, and so he would haue recouered and couered his knots, and haue put forth a faire, long and streight body (as you see) for timber profitable, huge great of bulke, and of infinite last. {Illustration: _Imagine the roote to be spread farre wider._} If all timber trees were such (will some say) how should we haue crooked wood for wheeles, courbs, &c. _Answ._ Dresse all you can, and there will be enough crooked for those vses. More than this, in most places, they grow so thicke, that neither themselues, nor earth, nor any thing vnder or neere them can thriue, nor Sunne, nor raine, nor aire can doe them, nor any thing neere or vnder them any profit or comfort. I see a number of Hags, where out of one roote you shall see three or foure (nay more, such as mens vnskilfull greedinesse, who desiring many haue none good) pretty Okes or Ashes straight and tall, because the root at the first shoote giues sap amaine: but if one onely of them might bee suffered to grow, and that well and cleanely pruned, all to his very top, what a tree should we haue in time? And we see by those rootes continually and plentifully springing, notwithstanding so deadly wounded. What a commodity should arise to the owner, and the Common-wealth, if wood were cherished, and orderly dressed. {SN: Profit of trees dressed.} {SN: The end of Trees.} The wast boughes closely and skilfully taken away, would giue vs store of fences and fewell, and the bulke of the tree in time would grow of huge length and bignes. But here (me thinkes) I heare an vnskilfull Arborist say, that trees haue their seuerall formes, euen by nature, the Peare, the Holly, the Aspe, &c. grow long in bulke with few and little armes, the Oke by nature broad, and such like. All this I graunt: but grant me also, that there is a profitable end, and vse of euery tree, from which if it decline (though by nature) yet man by art may (nay must) correct it. Now other end of trees I neuer could learne, than good timber, fruit much and good, and pleasure. Vses physicall hinder nothing a good forme. {SN: Trees will take any forme.} Neither let any man euer so much as thinke, that it vnprobable, much lesse vnpossible, to reforme any tree of what kind soeuer. For (beleeue me) I haue tried it, I can bring any tree (beginning by time) to any forme. The peare and holly may be made to spread, and the Oke to close. {SN: The end of Trees.} But why do I wander out of the compasse of mine Orchard, into the Forrests and Woods? Neither yet am I from my purpose, if boales of timber trees stand in need of all the sap, to make them great and straight (for strong growth and dressing makes strong trees) then it must needes be profitable for fruit (a thing more immediately seruing a mans need) to haue all the sap his roote can yeeld: for as timber sound, great and long, is _the good of timber trees_, and therefore they beare no fruite of worth: so fruit, good, sound, pleasant, great and much, is the end of fruit-trees. That gardner therefore shall performe his duty skilfully and faithfully, which shall so dresse his trees, that they may beare such and such store of fruit, which he shall neuer do (dare vndertake) vnlesse he keepe this order in dressing his trees. {SN: How to dresse a fruit-tree.} A fruit tree so standing, that there need none other end of dressing but fruit (not ornaments for walkes, nor delight to such as would please their eye onely, and yet the best forme can not but both adorne and delight) must be parted from within two foote, or thereabouts, of the earth, so high to giue liberty to dresse his roote, and no higher, for drinking vp the sap that should feede his fruit, for the boale will be first, and best serued and fed, because he is next the roote, and of grenest waxe and substance, and that makes him longest of life, into two, three, or foure armes, as your stocke or graffes yeelde twigs, and euery arme into two or more branches, and euery branch into his seuerall Cyons, still spreading by equall degrees, so that his lowest spray be hardly without the reach of a mans hand, and his highest be not past two yards higher, rarely (especially in the middest) that no one twig touch his fellow. Let him spread as farre as he list without his maister-bough or lop equally. And when any bough doth grow sadder and fall lower, than his fellowes (as they will with weight of fruite) ease him the next spring of his superfluous twigs, and he will rise: when any bough or spray shall amount aboue the rest; either snub his top with a nip betwixt your finger and your thumbe, or with a sharpe knife, and take him cleane away, and so you may vse any Cyon you would reforme, and as your tree shall grow in stature and strength, so let him rise with his tops, but slowly, and earely, especially in the middest, and equally, and in bredth also, and follow him vpward with lopping his vndergrowth and water boughes, keeping the same distance of two yards, but not aboue three in any wise, betwixt the lowest and the highest twigs. {SN: Benefits of good dressing.} 1. Thus you shall haue well liking, cleane skind, healthfull great, and long-lasting trees. 2. Thus shall your tree grow low, and safe from winds, for his top will be great, broad and weighty. 3. Thus growing broad, shall your trees beare much fruit (I dare say) one as much as sixe of your common trees, and good without shadowing, dropping and fretting: for his boughes, branches, and twigs shalbe many, and those are they (not the boale) which beare the fruit. 4. Thus shall your boale being little (not small but low) by reason of his shortnesse, take little, and yeeld much sap to the fruit. 5. Thus your trees by reason of strength in time of setting shall put forth more blossomes, and more fruite, being free from taints; for strength is a great helpe to bring forth much and safely, whereas weakenesse failes in setting though the season be calme. Some vse to bare trees rootes in Winter, to stay the setting til hotter seasons, which I discommend, because, 1. They hurt the rootes. 2. It stayes it nothing at all. 3. Though it did, being small, with vs in the North, they haue their part of our _Aprill_ and _Mayes_ frosts. 4. Hinderance cannot profit weake trees in setting. 5. They wast much labour. 6. Thus shall your tree be easie to dresse, and without danger, either to the tree or the dresser. 7. Thus may you safely and easily gather your fruite without falling, bruising or breaking of Cyons. This is the best forme of a fruit tree, which I haue here onely shadowed out for the better capacity of them that are led more with the eye, than the mind, crauing pardon for the deformity, because I am nothing skilfull either in painting or caruing. Imagine that the paper makes but one side of the tree to appeare, the whole round compasse will giue leaue for many more armes, boughes, branches, and Cyons. {Illustration: _The perfect forme of a Fruit-tree._} If any thinke a tree cannot well be brought to this forme: _Experto crede Roberto_, I can shew diuers of them vnder twenty yeeres of age. {SN: Time best for proining.} The fittest time of the Moone for proyning is as of grafting, when the sap is ready to stirre (not proudly stirring) and so to couer the wound, and of the yeere, a moneth before (or at least when) you graffe. Dresse Peares, Apricocks, Peaches, Cherries, and Bullys sooner. And old trees before young plants, you may dresse at any time betwixt Leafe and Leafe. And note, where you take any thing away, the sap the next Summer will be putting: be sure therefore when he puts a bud in any place where you would not haue him, rub it off with your finger. {SN: Dressing betime.} And here you must remember the common homely Prouerbe: _Soone crookes the Tree, That good Camrell must be._ {SN: Faults of euill drest trees, and the remedy.} Beginne betime with trees, and do what you list: but if you let them grow great and stubborne, you must do as the trees list. They will not bend but breake, nor bee wound without danger. A small branch will become a bough, and a bough an arme in bignesse. Then if you cut him, his wound will fester, and hardly, without good skill, recouer: therefore, _Obsta principys_. Of such wounds, and lesser, of any bough cut off a handfull or more from the body, comes hollownesse, and vntimely death. And therefore when you cut, strik close, and cleane, and vpward, and leaue no bunch. {SN: The forme altered.} This forme in some cases sometimes may be altered: If your tree, or trees, stand neere your Walkes, if it please your fancy more, let him not breake, till his boale be aboue you head: so may you walke vnder your trees at your pleasure. Or if you set your fruit-trees for your shades in your Groues, then I expect not the forme of the tree, but the comelinesse of the walke. {SN: Dressing of old trees.} All this hitherto spoken of dressing, must be vnderstood of young plants, to be formed: it is meete somewhat be sayd for the instruction of them that haue olde trees already formed, or rather deformed: for, _Malum non vitatur nisi cognitum_. The faults therefore of the disordered tree, I find to be fiue: {SN: Faults are fiue, and their remedies.} 1. An vnprofitable boale. 2. Water-boughes. 3. Fretters. 4. Suckers: And, 5. One principall top. {SN: 1. Long boale.} {SN: No remedy.} A long boale asketh much feeding, and the more he hath the more he desires, and gets (as a drunken man drinke, or a couetuous man wealth) and the lesse remaines for the fruit, he puts his boughes into the aire, and makes them, the fruit, and it selfe more dangered with windes: for this I know no remedy, after that the tree is come to growth, once euill, neuer good. {SN: 2. Water boughs.} Water boughes, or vndergrowth, are such boughes as grow low vnder others and are by them ouergrowne, ouershadowed, dropped on, and pinde for want of plenty of sap, and by that meanes in time die: For the sap presseth vpward; and it is like water in her course, where it findeth most issue, thither it floweth, leauing the other lesser floes dry: euen as wealth to wealth, and much to more. These so long as they beare, they beare lesse, worse, and fewer fruit, and waterish. {SN: Remedy.} {SN: Barke-pild, and the remedy.} The remedy is easie if they be not growne greater then your arme. Lop them close and cleane, and couer the midel of the wound, the next Summer when he is dry, with a salue made of tallow, tarre, and a very little pitch, good for the couering of any such wound of a great tree: vnlesse it be barke-pild, and then sear-cloath of fresh Butter, Hony, and Waxe, presently (while the wound is greene) applyed, is a soueraigne remedy in Summer especially. Some bind such wounds with a thumbe rope of Hay, moist, and rub it with dung. {SN: Fretters.} {SN: Touching.} {SN: Remedy.} Fretters are, when as by the negligence of the Gardner, two or moe parts of the tree, or of diuers trees, as armes, boughes, branches, or twigs, grow to neere and close together, that one of them by rubbing, doth wound another. This fault of all other shewes the want of skill or care (at least) in the Arborist: for here the hurt is apparant, and the remedy easie, seene to betime: galls and wounds incurable, but by taking away those members: for let them grow, and they will be worse and worse, & so kill themselues with ciuill strife for roomth, and danger the whole tree. Auoide them betime therefore, as a common wealth doth bosome enemies. {SN: Suckers.} A Sucker is a long, proud, and disorderly Cyon, growing straight vp (for pride of sap makes proud, long, and straight growth) cut of any lower parts of the tree, receiuing a great part of the sap, and bearing no fruit, till it haue tyrannized ouer the whole tree. These are like idle and great Drones amongst Bees; and proud and idle members in a common wealth. {SN: Remedy.} The remedy of this is, as of water-boughes, vnlesse he be growne greater then all the rest of the boughs, and then your Gardner (at your discretion) may leaue him for his boale, and take away all, or the most of the rest. If he be little, slip him, and set him, perhaps he will take: my fairest Apple-tree was such a Slip. {SN: One principall top or bough, and remedy.} One or two principall top boughes are as euill, in a manner, as Suckers, they rise of the same cause, and receiue the same remedy; yet these are more tolerable, because these beare fruit, yea the best: but Suckers of long doe not beare. {SN: Instruments for dressing.} I know not how your tree should be faulty, if you reforme all your vices timely, and orderly. As these rules serue for dressing young trees and sets in the first planting: so may they well serue to helpe old trees, though not exactly to recouer them. The Instruments fittest for all these purposes, are most commonly: For the great trees an handsome long, light Ladder of Firpoles, a little, nimble, and strong armed Saw, and sharpe. For lesse Trees, a little and sharpe Hatchet, a broad mouthed Chesell, strong and sharpe, with an hand-beetle, your strong and sharpe Cleeuer, with a knock, & (which is a most necessary Instrument amongst little trees) a great hafted and sharpe Knife or Whittle. And as needfull is a Stoole on the top of a Ladder of eight or moe rungs, with two backe-feet, whereon you may safely and easefully stand to graffe, to dresse, and to gather fruit thus formed: The feet may be fast wedged in: but the Ladder must hang loose with two bands of iron. And thus much of dressing trees for fruit, formerly to profit. {Illustration} CHAP. 12. _Of Foyling._ {SN: Necessity of foiling.} There is one thing yet very necessary for make your Orchard both better, and more lasting: Yea, so necessary, that without it your Orchard cannot last, nor prosper long, which is neglected generally both in precepts and in practice, viz. manuring with Foile: whereby it hapneth that when trees (amongst other euils) through want of fatnesse to feed them, become mossie, and in their growth are euill (or not) thriuing, it is either attributed to some wrong cause, as age (when indeed they are but young) or euill standing (stand they neuer so well) or such like, or else the cause is altogether vnknowne, and so not amended. {SN: Trees great suckers.} {SN: Great bodies.} Can there be deuised any way by nature, or art, sooner or soundlier to seeke out, and take away the heart and strength of earth, then by great trees? Such great bodies cannot be sustained without great store of sap. What liuing body haue you greater then of trees? The great Sea monsters (whereof one came a land at _Teesmouth_ in _Yorkeshire_, hard by vs, 18. yards in length, and neere as much in compasse) seeme hideous, huge, strange and monstrous, because they be indeed great: but especially because they are seldome seene: But a tree liuing, come to his growth and age, twice that length, and of a bulke neuer so great, besides his other parts, is not admired, because he is so commonly seene. And I doubt not, but if he were well regarded from his kirnell, by succeeding ages, to his full strength, the most of them would double their measure. About fifty yeeres agoe I heard by credible and constant report, That in _Brooham_ Parke in _West more-land_, neere vnto _Penrith_, there lay a blowne Oake, whose trunke was so bigge, that two Horse men being the one on the one side, and the other on the other side, they could not one see another: to which if you adde his armes, boughs, and roots, and consider of his bignesse, what would he haue been, if preserued to the vantage. Also I read in the History of the _West-Indians_, out of _Peter Martyr_, that sixteene men taking hands one with another, were not able to fathome one of those trees about. Now Nature hauing giuen to such a faculty by large and infinite roots, taws and tangles, to draw immediately his sustenance from our common mother the Earth (which is like in this point to all other mothers that beare) hath also ordained that the tree ouer loden with fruit, and wanting sap to feed all she hath brought forth, will waine all she cannot feed, like a woman bringing forth moe children at once then she hath teats. See you not how trees especially, by kind being great, standing so thicke and close, that they cannot get plenty of sap, pine away all the grasse, weeds, lesser shrubs, and trees, yea and themselues also for want of vigor of sap? So that trees growing large, sucking the soile whereon they stand, continually, and amaine, and the foyzon of the earth that feeds them decaying (for what is there that wastes continually, that shall not haue end?) must either haue supply of sucker, or else leaue thriuing and growing. Some grounds will beare Corne while they be new, and no longer, because their crust is shallow, and not very good, and lying they scind and wash, and become barren. The ordinary Corne soiles continue not fertile, with fallowing and foyling, and the best requires supply, euen for the little body of Corne. How then can we thinke that any ground (how good soeuer) can containe bodies of such greatnesse, and such great feeding, without great plenty of Sap arising from good earth? This is one of the chiefe causes, why so many of our Orchards in _England_ are so euill thriuing when they come to growth, and our fruit so bad. Men are loth to bestow much ground, and desire much fruit, and will neither set their trees in sufficient compasse, nor yet feed them with manure. Therefore of necessity Orchards must be foiled. {SN: Time fit for foyling.} {SN: Kind of foyle.} The fittest time is, when your trees are growne great, and haue neere hand spread your earth, wanting new earth to sustaine them, which if they doe, they will seeke abroad for better earth, and shun that, which is barren (if they find better) as cattell euill pasturing. For nature hath taught euery creature to desire and seeke his owne good, and to auoid hurt. The best time of the yeere is at the Fall, that the Frost may bite and make it tender, and the Raine wash it to the roots. The Summer time is perillous if ye digge, because the sap fills amaine. The best kind of Foile is such as is fat, hot, and tender. Your earth must be but lightly opened, that the dung may goe in, and wash away; and but shallow, lest you hurt the roots: and the spring closely and equally made plaine againe for feare of Suckers. I could wish, that after my trees haue fully possessed the soile of mine Orchard, that euery seuen yeeres at least, the soile were bespread with dung halfe a foot thicke at least. Puddle water out of the dunghill powred on plentifully, will not onely moisten but fatten especially in _Iune_ and _Iuly_. If it be thicke and fat, and applied euery yeere, your Orchard shall need none other foiling. Your ground may lye so low at the Riuer side, that the floud standing some daies and nights thereon, shall saue you all this labour of foiling. CHAP. 13. _Of Annoyances._ A Chiefe helpe to make euery thing good, is to auoid the euils thereof: you shall neuer attaine to that good of your Orchard you looke for, vnlesse you haue a Gardner, that can discerne the diseases of your trees, and other annoyances of your Orchard, and find out the causes thereof, and know & apply fit remedies for the same. For be your ground, site, plants, and trees as you would wish, if they be wasted with hurtfull things, what haue you gained but your labour for your trauell? It is with an Orchard and euery tree, as with mans body, The best part of physicke for preseruation of health, is to foresee and cure diseases. {SN: Two kinds of euils in an Orchard.} All the diseases of an Orchard are of two sorts, either internall or externall. I call those inward hurts which breed on and in particular trees. 1 Galles. 2 Canker. 3 Mosse. 4 Weaknes in setting. 5 Barke bound. 6 Barke pild. 7 Worme. 8 Deadly wounds. {SN: Galls.} Galles, Canker, Mosse, weaknes, though they be diuers diseases: yet (howsoeuer Authors thinke otherwise) they rise all out of the same cause. Galles we haue described with their cause and remedy, in the 11. Chapter vnder the name of fretters. {SN: Canker.} Canker is the consumption of any part of the tree, barke and wood, which also in the same place is deceiphered vnder the title of water-boughes. {SN: Mosse.} Mosse is sensibly seene and knowne of all, the cause is pointed out in the same Chapter, in the discourse of timber-wood, and partly also the remedy: but for Mosse adde this, that at any time in summer (the Spring is best) When the cause is remoued, with an Harecloth, immediatly after a showre of raine, rub off your Mosse, or with a peece of weed (if the Mosse abound) formed like a great knife. {SN: Weaknesse in setting.} Weaknesse in the setting of your fruit shall you finde there also in the same Chapter, and his remedy. All these flow from the want of roomth in good soile, wrong planting, Chap. 7. and euill or no dressing. {SN: Barke-bound.} Bark-bound (as I thinke) riseth of the same cause, and the best, & present remedy (the causes being taken away) is with your sharpe knife in the Spring, length-way to launch his bark throughout, on 3. or 4. sides of his boale. {SN: Worme.} {SN: Remedy.} The disease called the Worme is thus discernd: The barke will be hoald in diuers places like gall, the wood will die & dry, and you shall see easily the barke swell. It is verily to be thought, that therin is bred some worm I haue not yet thorowly sought it out, because I was neuer troubled therewithall: but onely haue seene such trees in diuers places. I thinke it a worme rather, because I see this disease in trees, bringing fruit of sweet taste, and the swelling shewes as much. The remedy (as I coniecture) is so soone as you perceiue the wound, the next Spring cut it out barke and all, and apply Cowes pisse and vineger presently, and so twice or thrice a weeke for a moneths space: For I well perceiue, if you suffer it any time, it eates the tree or bough round, and so kils. Since I first wrote this Treatise, I haue changed my mind concerning the disease called the worme, because I read in the History of the _West-Indians_, that their trees are not troubled with the disease called the worme or canker, which ariseth of a raw and euill concocted humor or sap, Witnesse _Pliny_, by reason their Country is more hot then ours, whereof I thinke the best remedy is (not disallowing the former, considering that the worme may breed by such an humor) warme standing, sound lopping and good dressing. {SN: Barke pild.} Bark-pild you shall find with his remedy in the 11. Chapter. {SN: Wounds.} Deadly wounds are when a mans Arborist wanting skill, cut off armes, boughes or branches an inch, or (as I see sometimes) an handfull, or halfe a foot or more from the body: These so cut cannot couer in any time with sap, and therefore they die, and dying they perish the heart, and so the tree becomes hollow, and with such a deadly wound cannot liue long. {SN: Remedy.} The remedy is, if you find him before he be perished, cut him close, as in the 11. Chapter: if he be hoald, cut him close, fill his wound, tho neuer so deepe, with morter well tempered & so close at the top his wound with a Seare-cloth doubled and nailed on, that no aire nor raine approach his wound. If he be not very old, and detaining, he will recouer, and the hole being closed, his wound within shall not hurt him for many yeeres. {SN: Hurts on trees.} {SN: Ants, Earewigs, Caterpillars, and such like wormes.} Hurts on your trees are chiefly Ants, Earewigs, and Caterpillars. Of Ants and Earewigs is said Chap. 10. Let there be no swarme of Pismires neere your tree-root, no not in your Orchard, turne them ouer in a frost, and powre in water, and you kill them. For Caterpillars, the vigilant Fruterer shall soone espy their lodging by their web, or the decay of leaues eaten around about them. And being seene, they are easily destroyed with your hand, or rather (if your tree may spare it) take sprig and all: for the red peckled butterfly doth euer put them, being her sparm, among the tender spraies for better feeding, especially in drought, and tread them vnder your feet. I like nothing of smoke among my trees. Vnnaturall heates are nothing good for naturall trees. This for diseases of particular trees. {SN: Externall euils.} Externall hurts are either things naturall or artificiall. Naturall things, externally hurting Orchards. 1 Beasts. 1 Deere. 2 Birds. 1 Bulfinch. 2 Goates. 2 Thrush. 3 Sheepe. 3 Blackbird. 4 Hare. 4 Crow. 5 Cony. 5 Pye. 6 Cattell. 7 Horse. &c. _The other things are_, 1 Winds. 2 Cold. 3 Trees. 4 Weeds. 5 Wormes. 6 Mowles. 7 Filth. 8 Poysonfull smoke. _Externall wilfull euils are these._ 1 Walls. 2 Trenches. 3 Other works noisome done in or neere your Orchard. 4 Euill Neighbours. 5 A carelesse Master. 6 An vndiscreet, negligent or no keeper. See you here an whole Army of mischeifes banded in troupes against the most fruitfull trees the earth beares? assailing your good labours. Good things haue most enemies. {SN: Remedy.} A skilfull Fructerer must put so his helping hand, and disband and put them to flight. {SN: Deere, &c.} For the first ranke of beasts, besides your out strong fence, you must haue a faire and swift Greyhound, a stone-bow, gun, and if need require, an Apple with an hooke for a Deere, and an Hare-pipe for an Hare. {SN: Birds.} Your Cherries and other Berris when they be ripe, will draw all the Black-birds, Thrushes, and Maw Pies to your Orchard. The Bul-finch is a deuourer of your Fruit in the bud, I haue had whole trees shald out with them in Winter-time. {SN: Remedy.} The best remedy here is a Stone bow, a Piece, especially if you haue a Musket or Spar-hawke in Winter to make the Black bird stoope into a bush or hedge. {SN: Other trees.} The Gardner must cleanse his soile of all other trees: but fruit-trees aforesaid Chapter 2 for which it is ordained, and I would especially name Oakes, Elmes, Ashes, and such other great wood, but that I doubt it should be taken as an admission of lesser trees: for I admit of nothing to grow in mine Orchard but fruit and flowers. If sap can hardly be good to feed our fruit-trees, why should we allow of any other, especially those, that will becom their Masters, & wrong them in their liuelyhood. {SN: Winds.} {SN: Frosts.} And although we admit without the fence of Wall-nuts in most plaine places, Trees middle-most, and ashes or Okes, or Elmes vtmost, set in comely rowes equally distant with faire Allies twixt row and row to auoide the boisterous blasts of winds, and within them also others for Bees; yet wee admit none of these into your Orchard-plat: other remedy then this haue wee none against the nipping frosts. {SN: Weeds.} Weeds in a fertile soile (because the generall curse is so) till your Trees grow great, will be noysome, and deforme your allies, walkes, beds, and squares, your vnder Gardners must labour to keepe all cleanly & handsome from them and all other filth with a Spade, weeding kniues, rake with iron teeth: a skrapple of Iron thus formed. IC For Nettles and ground-Iuy after a showre. {SN: Remedy.} When weeds, straw, stickes and all other scrapings are gathered together, burne them not, but bury them vnder your crust in any place of your Orchard, and they will dye and fatten your ground. {SN: Wormes. Moales.} Wormes and Moales open the earth, and let in aire to the roots of your trees, and deforme your squares and walkes, and feeding in the earth, being in number infinite, draw on barrennesse. {SN: Remedy.} Worms may be easily destroyed. Any Summer euening when it is darke, after a showre with a candle, you may fill bushels, but you must tred nimbly & where you cannot come to catch them so; sift the earth with coale ashes an inch or two thicknes, and that is a plague to them, so is sharpe grauell. Moales will anger you, if your Gardner or some skilful Moale-catcher ease you not, especially hauing made their fortresses among the roots of your trees: you must watch her wel with a Moal spare, at morne, noon, and night, when you see her vtmost hill, cast a Trench betwixt her and her home (for she hath a principall mansion to dwell and breed in about _Aprill_, which you may discerne by a principall hill, wherein you may catch her, if you trench it round and sure, and watch well) or wheresoeuer you can discerne a single passage (for such she hath) there trench, and watch, and haue her. {SN: Wilfull annoyances.} Wilfull annoyances must be preuented and auoided by the loue of the Master and Fruterer, which they beare to their Orchard. {SN: Remedy.} Iustice and liberality will put away euill neighbours or euill neighbour-hood. And then if (God blesse and giue successe to your labours) I see not what hurt your Orchard can sustaine. CHAP. 14. _Of the age of Trees._ {SN: The age of trees.} It is to be considered: All this Treatise of trees tends to this end, that men may loue and plant Orchards, whereunto there cannot be a better inducement then that they know (or at least be perswaded) that all that benefit they shall reape thereby, whether of pleasure or profit, shall not be for a day or a moneth, or one, or many (but many hundreth) yeeres. Of good things the greatest, and most durable is alwaies the best. If therefore out of reason grounded vpon experience, it be made (I thinke) manifest, but I am sure probable, that a fruit tree in such a soile and site, as is described so planted and trimmed and kept, as is afore appointed and duely foiled, shall dure 1000 yeeres, why should we not take paines, and be at two or three yeeres charges (for vnder seuen yeeres will an Orchard be perfected for the first planting, and in that time be brought to fruit) to reape such a commodity and so long lasting. {SN: Gathered by reason out of experience.} Let no man thinke this to be strange, but peruse and consider the reason. I haue Apple trees standing in my little Orchard, which I haue knowne these forty yeeres, whose age before my time I cannot learne, it is beyond memory, tho I haue enquired of diuers aged men of 80. yeeres and vpwards: these trees although come into my possession very euill ordered, mishapen, and one of them wounded to his heart, and that deadly (for I know it will be his death) with a wound, wherein I might haue put my foot in the heart of his bulke (now it is lesse) notwithstanding, with that small regard they haue had since, they so like, that I assure my selfe they are not come to their growth by more then 2. parts of 3. which I discerne not onely by their owne growth, but also by comparing them with the bulke of other trees. And I find them short (at least) by so many parts in bignesse, although I know those other fruit-trees to haue beene much hindred in their stature by euill guiding. Herehence I gather thus. {SN: Parts of a trees age.} If my trees be a hundred yeeres old, and yet want two hundred of their growth before they leaue encreasing, which make three hundred, then we must needs resolue, that this three hundred yeere are but the third part of a Trees life, because (as all things liuing besides) so trees must haue allowed them for their increase one third, another third for their stand, and a third part of time also for their decay. All which time of a Tree amounts to nine hundred yeeres, three hundred for increase, three hundred for his stand, whereof we haue the terme stature, and three hundred for his decay, and yet I thinke (for we must coniecture by comparing, because no one man liueth to see the full age of trees) I am within the compasse of his age, supposing alwaies the foresaid meanes of preseruing his life. Consider the age of other liuing creatures. The Horse and moiled Oxe wrought to an vntimely death, yet double the time of their increase. A Dog likewise increaseth three, stanns three at least, end in as many (or rather moe) decayes. {SN: Mans age.} Euery liuing thing bestowes the least part of his age in his growth, and so must it needs be with trees. A man comes not to his full growth and strength (by common estimation) before thirty yeeres, and some slender and cleane bodies, not till forty, so long also stands his strength, & so long also must he haue allowed by course of nature to decay. Euer supposing that he be well kept with necessaries, and from and without straines, bruises, and all other dominyring diseases. I will not say vpon true report, that Physicke holds it possible, that a cleane body kept by these 3. Doctors, _Doctor Dyet_, _Doctor Quiet_, and _Doctor Merriman_, may liue neere a hundred yeeres. Neither will I here vrge the long yeeres of _Methushalah_, and those men of that time, because you will say, Mans dayes are shortned since the floud. But what hath shortned them? God for mans sinnes: but by meanes, as want of knowledge, euill gouernment, ryot, gluttony, drunkenesse, and (to be short) the encrease of the curse, our sinnes increasing in an iron and wicked age. Now if a man, whose body is nothing (in a manner) but tender rottennesse, whose course of life cannot by any meanes, by counsell, restraint of Lawes, or punishment, nor hope of praise, profet, or eturnall glory, be kept within any bounds, who is degenerate cleane from his naturall feeding, to effeminate nicenesse, and cloying his body with excesse of meate, drinke, sleepe &c. and to whom nothing is so pleasant and so much desired as the causes of his owne death, as idlenesse, lust, &c. may liue to that age: I see not but a tree of a solide substance, not damnified by heate or cold, capable of, and subiect to any kinde of ordering or dressing that a man shall apply vnto him, feeding naturally, as from the beginning disburdened of all superfluities, eased of, and of his owne accord auoiding the causes that may annoy him, should double the life of a man, more then twice told; and yet naturall phylosophy, and the vniuersall consent of all Histories tell vs, that many other liuing creatures farre exceed man in the length of yeeres: As the Hart and the Rauen. Thus reporteth that famous _Roterodam_ out of _Hesiodus_, and many other Historiographers. The testimony of _Cicero_ in his booke _De Senectute_, is weighty to this purpose: that we must _in posteras ætates ferere arbores_, which can haue none other fence: but that our fruit-trees whereof he speakes, can endure for many ages. What else are trees in comparison with the earth: but as haires to the body of a man? And it is certaine, without poisoning, euill and distemperate dyet, and vsage, or other such forcible cause, the haires dure with the body. That they be called excrements, it is by reason of their superfluous growth: (for cut them as often as you list, and they will still come to their naturall length) Not in respect of their substance, and nature. Haires endure long, and are an ornament and vse also to the body, as trees to the earth. So that I resolue vpon good reason, that fruit-trees well ordered, may liue and like a thousand yeeres, and beare fruit, and the longer, the more, the greater, and the better, because his vigour is proud and stronger, when his yeeres are many: You shall see old trees put their buds and blossomes both sooner and more plentifully then young trees by much. And I sensibly perceiue my young trees to inlarge their fruit, as they grow greater, both for number and greatnesse. Young Heifers bring not forth the Calues so faire, neither are they so plentifull to milke, as when they become to be old Kine. No good Houswife will breed of a young but of an old bird-mother: It is so in all things naturally, therefore in trees. {SN: The age of timber trees.} And if fruit-trees last to this age, how many ages is it to be supposed, strong and huge timber-trees will last? whose huge bodies require the yeeres of diuers _Methushalaes_, before they end their dayes, whose sap is strong and bitter, whose barke is hard and thicke, and their substance solid and stiffe: all which are defences of health and long life. Their strength withstands all forcible winds, their sap of that quality is not subiect to wormes and tainting. Their barke receiues seldome or neuer by casualty any wound. And not onely so, but he is free from remoualls, which are the death of millions of trees, where as the fruit-tree in comparison is little, and often blowne downe, his sap sweet, easily and soone tainted, his barke tender, and soone wounded, and himselfe vsed by man, as man vseth himselfe, that is either vnskilfully or carelessely. {SN: Age of trees discerned.} It is good for some purposes to regard the age of your fruit trees, which you may easily know, till they come to accomplish twenty yeeres, by his knots: Reckon from his root vp an arme and so to hys top-twig, and euery yeeres growth is distinguished from other by a knot, except lopping or remouing doe hinder. CHAP. 15. _Of gathering and keeping Fruit._ {SN: Generall Rule.} {SN: Cherries, &c.} Although it be an easie matter, when God shall send it, to gather and keepe fruit, yet are they certaine things worthy your regard. You must gather your fruit when it is ripe, and not before, else will it wither and be tough and sowre. All fruit generally are ripe, when they beginne to fall. For Trees doe as all other bearers doe, when their yong ones are ripe, they will waine them. The Doue her Pigeons, the Cony her Rabbets, and women their children. Some fruit tree sometimes getting a taint in the setting with a frost or euill wind, will cast his fruit vntimely, but not before he leaue giuing them sap, or they leaue growing. Except from this foresaid rule, Cherries, Damsons and Bullies. The Cherry is ripe when he is sweld wholy red, and sweet: Damsons and Bulies not before the first frost. {SN: Apples.} Apples are knowne to be ripe, partly by their colour, growing towards a yellow, except the Leather-coat and some Peares and Greening. {SN: When.} Timely Summer fruit will be ready, some at Midsummer, most at Lammus for present vse; but generally noe keeping fruit before _Michal-tide_. Hard Winter fruit and Wardens longer. {SN: Dry stalkes.} Gather at the full of the Moone for keeping, gather dry for feare of rotting. Gather the stalkes with all: for a little wound in fruit, is deadly: but not the stumpe, that must beare the next fruit, nor leaues, for moisture putrifies. {SN: Seuerally.} Gather euery kind seuerally by it selfe, for all will not keepe alike, and it is hard to discerne them, when they are mingled. {SN: Ouerladen trees.} If your trees be ouer-laden (as they will be, being ordered, as is before taught you) I like better of pulling some off (tho they be not ripe) neere the top end of the bough, then of propping by much, the rest shall be better fed. Propping puts the bough in danger, and frets it at least. {SN: Instruments.} {SN: Bruises.} Instruments: A long ladder of light Firre: A stoole-ladder as in the 11. Chapter. A gathering apron like a poake before you, made of purpose, or a Wallet hung on a bough, or a basket with a siue bottome, or skinne bottome, with Lathes or splinters vnder, hung in a rope to pull vp and downe: bruise none, euery bruise is to fruit death: if you doe, vse them presently. An hooke to pull boughs to you is necessary, breake no boughes. {SN: Keeping.} For keeping, lay them in a dry Loft, the longest keeping Apples first and furthest on dry straw, on heapes ten or fourteene dayes, thicke, that they may sweat. Then dry them with a soft and cleane cloth, and lay them thinne abroad. Long keeping fruit would be turned once in a moneth softly: but not in nor immediately after frost. In a loft couer well with straw, but rather with chaffe or branne: For frost doth cause tender rottennesse. CHAP. 16. _Of Profits._ Now pause with your selfe, and view the end of all your labours in an Orchard: vnspeakable pleasure, and infinite commodity. The pleasure of an Orchard I referre to the last Chapter for the conclusion: and in this Chapter, a word or two of the profit, which thorowly to declare is past my skill: and I count it as if a man should attempt to adde light to the Sunne with a Candle, or number the Starres. No man that hath but a meane Orchard or iudgement but knowes, that the commodity of an Orchard is great: Neither would I speake of this, being a thing so manifest to all; but that I see, that through the carelesse lazinesse of men, it is a thing generally neglected. But let them know, that they lose hereby the chiefest good which belongs to house-keeping. Compare the commodity that commeth of halfe an acre of ground, set with fruit-trees and hearbs, so as is prescribed, and an whole acre (say it be two) with Corne, or the best commodity you can wish, and the Orchard shall exceed by diuers degrees. {SN: Cydar and Perry.} In _France_ and some other Countries, and in _England_, they make great vse of Cydar and Perry, thus made: Dresse euery Apple, the stalke, vpper end, and all galles away, stampe them, and straine them, and within 24. houres tun them vp into cleane, sweet, and sound vessels, for feare of euill ayre, which they will readily take: and if you hang a poakefull of Cloues, Mace, Nutmegs, Cinamon, Ginger, and pils of Lemmons in the midst of the vessell, it will make it as wholesome and pleasant as wine. The like vsage doth Perry require. These drinks are very wholesome, they coole, purge, and preuent hot Agues. But I leaue this skill to Physicians. {SN: Fruit.} The benefit of your Fruit, Roots and Hearbs, though it were but to eate and sell, is much. {SN: Waters.} Waters distilled of Roses, Woodbind, Angelica, are both profitable and wondrous pleasant, and comfortable. {SN: Conserue.} Saffron and Licoras will yeeld you much Conserues and Preserues, are ornaments to your Feasts, health in your sicknesse, and a good helpe to your friend, and to your purse. He that will not be moued with such vnspeakable profits, is well worthy to want, when others abound in plenty of good things. CHAP. 17. _Ornaments._ Me thinks hitherto we haue but a bare Orchard for fruit, and but halfe good, so long as it wants those comely Ornaments, that should giue beauty to all our labours, and make much for the honest delight of the owner and his friends. {SN: Delight the chiefe end of Orchards.} {SN: An Orchard delightsome.} {SN: An Orchard is Paradise.} {SN: Causes of wearisomnesse.} {SN: Orchard is the remedy.} For it is not to be doubted: but as God hath giuen man things profitable, so hath he allowed him honest comfort, delight, and recreation in all the workes of his hands. Nay, all his labours vnder the Sunne without this are troubles, and vexation of mind: For what is greedy gaine, without delight, but moyling, and turmoyling in slauery? But comfortable delight, with content, is the good of euery thing, and the patterne of heauen. A morsell of bread with comfort, is better by much then a fat Oxe with vnquietnesse. And who can deny, but the principall end of an Orchard, is the honest delight of one wearied with the works of his lawfull calling? The very workes of, and in an Orchard and Garden, are better then the ease and rest of and from other labours. When God had made man after his owne Image, in a perfect state, and would haue him to represent himselfe in authority, tranquillity, and pleasure vpon the earth, he placed him in _Paradise_. What was _Paradise_? but a Garden and Orchard of trees and hearbs, full of pleasure? and nothing there but delights. The gods of the earth, resembling the great God of heauen in authority, Maiestie, and abundance of all things, wherein is their most delight? and whither doe they withdraw themselues from the troublesome affaires of their estate, being tyred with the hearing and iudging of litigious Controuersies? choked (as it were) with the close ayres of their sumptuous buildings, their stomacks cloyed with variety of Banquets, their eares filled and ouerburthened with tedious discoursings? whither? but into their Orchards? made and prepared, dressed and destinated for that purpose, to renue and refresh their sences, and to call home their ouer-wearied spirits. Nay, it is (no doubt) a comfort to them, to set open their Cazements into a most delicate Garden and Orchard, whereby they may not onely see that, wherein they are so much delighted, but also to giue fresh, sweet, and pleasant ayre to their Galleries and Chambers. {SN: All delight in Orchards.} And looke, what these men do by reason of their greatnes and ability, prouoked with delight, the same doubtlesse would euery of vs doe, if power were answerable to our desires, whereby we shew manifestly, that of all other delights on earth, they that are taken by Orchards, are most excellent, and most agreeing with nature. {SN: This delights all the senses.} For whereas euery other pleasure commonly filles some one of our senses, and that onely, with delight, this makes all our sences swimme in pleasure, and that with infinite variety, ioyned with no lesse commodity. {SN: Delighteth old age.} That famous _Philosopher_, and matchlesse Orator, _M.T.C._ prescribeth nothing more fit, to take away the tediousnesse and heauy load of three or foure score yeeres, then the pleasure of an Orchard. {SN: Causes of delight in an Orchard.} What can your eye desire to see, your eares to hear, your mouth to tast, or your nose to smell, that is not to be had in an Orchard, with abundance and variety? What more delightsome then an infinite variety of sweet smelling flowers? decking with sundry colours, the greene mantle of the Earth, the vniuersall Mother of vs all, so by them bespotted, so dyed, that all the world cannot sample them, and wherein it is more fit to admire the Dyer, then imitate his workemanship. Colouring not onely the earth, but decking the ayre, and sweetning euery breath and spirit. {SN: Flowers.} The Rose red, damaske, veluet, and double double prouince Rose, the sweet muske Rose double and single, the double and single white Rose. The faire and sweet senting Woodbinde, double and single, and double double. Purple Cowslips, and double Cowslips, and double double Cowslips. Primerose double and single. The Violet nothing behinde the best, for smelling sweetly. A thousand more will prouoke your content. {SN: Borders and squares.} And all these, by the skill of your Gardner, so comely, and orderly placed in your Borders and Squares, and so intermingled, that none looking thereon, cannot but wonder, to see, what Nature corrected by Art can doe. {SN: Mounts.} {SN: Whence you may shoote a Bucke.} {SN: Dyall.} {SN: Musique.} When you behold in diuers corners of your Orchard _Mounts_ of stone, or wood curiously wrought within and without, or of earth couered with fruit-trees: Kentish Cherry, Damsons, Plummes, &c. with staires of precious workmanship. And in some corner (or moe) a true Dyall or Clocke and some Anticke-workes and especially siluer-sounding Musique, mixt Instruments and voices, gracing all the rest: How will you be rapt with delight? {SN: Walkes.} {SN: Seates.} Large Walkes, broad and long, close and open, like the _Tempe_ groues in _Thessalie_, raised with grauell and sand, hauing seats and bankes of Cammomile, all this delights the minde, and brings health to the body. {SN: Order of trees.} View now with delight the workes of your owne hands, your fruit-trees of all sorts, loaden with sweet blossomes, and fruit of all tasts, operations, and colours: your trees standing in comely order which way soeuer you looke. {SN: Shape of men and beasts.} Your borders on euery side hanging and drooping with Feberries, Raspberries, Barberries, Currens, and the rootes of your trees powdred with Strawberries, red, white, and greene, what a pleasure is this? Your Gardner can frame your lesser wood to the shape of men armed in the field, ready to giue battell: or swift running Greyhounds: or of well sented and true running Hounds, to chase the Deere, or hunt the Hare. This kind of hunting shall not waste your corne, nor much your coyne. {SN: Mazes.} Mazes well framed a mans height, may perhaps make your friend wander in gathering of berries, till he cannot recouer himselfe without your helpe. {SN: Bowle-Alley.} {SN: Buts.} To haue occasion to exercise within your Orchard: it shall be a pleasure to haue a Bowling Alley, or rather (which is more manly, and more healthfull) a paire of Buts, to stretch your armes. {SN: Hearbes.} Rosemary and sweete Eglantine are seemely ornaments about a Doore or Window, and so is Woodbinde. {SN: Conduit.} Looke Chapter 5, and you shall see the forme of a Conduite. If there were two or more, it were not amisse. {SN: Riuer.} {SN: Moats.} And in mine opinion, I could highly commend your Orchard, if either through it, or hard by it there should runne a pleasant Riuer with siluer streames; you might sit in your Mount, and angle a peckled Trout, or fleightie Eele, or some other dainty Fish. Or moats, whereon you might row with a Boate, and fish with Nettes. {SN: Bees.} Store of Bees in a dry and warme Bee-house, comely made of Fir-boords, to sing, and sit, and feede vpon your flowers and sprouts, make a pleasant noyse and sight. For cleanely and innocent Bees, of all other things, loue and become, and thriue in an Orchard. If they thriue (as they must needes, if your Gardiner bee skilfull, and loue them: for they loue their friends, and hate none but their enemies) they will, besides the pleasure, yeeld great profit, to pay him his wages Yea, the increase of twenty Stockes or Stooles, with other fees will keepe your Orchard. You need not doubt their stings, for they hurt not whom they know, and they know their keeper and acquaintance. If you like not to come amongst them, you need not doubt them: for but neere their store, and in their owne defence, they will not fight, and in that case onely (and who can blame them?) they are manly, and fight desperately. Some (as that Honorable Lady at _Hacknes_, whose name doth much grace mine Orchard) vse to make seates for them in the stone wall of their Orchard, or Garden, which is good, but wood is better. {SN: Vine.} A Vine ouer-shadowing a seate, is very comely, though her Grapes with vs ripe slowly. {SN: Birds.} {SN: Nightingale.} {SN: Robin-red-brest.} {SN: Wren.} One chiefe grace that adornes an Orchard, I cannot let slip: A brood of Nightingales, who with their seuerall notes and tunes, with a strong delightsome voyce, out of a weake body, will beare you company night and day. She loues (and liues in) hots of woods in her hart. She will helpe you to cleanse your trees of Caterpillers, and all noysome wormes and flyes. The gentle Robin-red-brest will helpe her, and in winter in the coldest stormes will keepe a part. Neither will the silly Wren be behind in Summer, with her distinct whistle (like a sweete Recorder) to cheere your spirits. {SN: Black-bird.} {SN: Thrush.} The Black-bird and Threstle (for I take it the Thrush sings not, but deuoures) sing loudly in a _May_ morning and delights the eare much (and you neede not want their company, if you haue ripe Cherries or Berries, and would as gladly as the rest do you pleasure:) But I had rather want their company than my fruit. What shall I say? A thousand of pleasant delightes are attendant in an Orchard: and sooner shall I be weary, then I can recken the least part of that pleasure, which one that hath and loues an Orchard, may find therein. What is there of all these few that I haue reckoned, which doth not please the eye, the eare, the smell, and taste? And by these sences as Organes, Pipes, and windowes, these delights are carried to refresh the gentle, generous, and noble mind. {SN: Your owne labour.} To conclude, what ioy may you haue, that you liuing to such an age, shall see the blessings of God on your labours while you liue, and leaue behind you to heires or successors (for God will make heires) such a worke, that many ages after your death, shall record your loue to their Countrey? And the rather, when you consider (_Chap. 14._) to what length of time your worke is like to last. _FINIS._ THE COVNTRY HOVSE-VVIFES GARDEN. _Containing Rules for Hearbs and Seedes_ of common vse, with their times and seasons, when to set and sow them. TOGETHER, With the Husbandry of Bees, published with secrets _very necessary for euery House-wife_. As also diuerse new Knots for Gardens. The Contents see at large in the last Page. Genes. 2. 29. _I haue giuen vnto you euery Herbe, and euery tree, that shall be to you for meate._ IC _LONDON_, Printed by _Nicholas Okes_ for IOHN HARISON, at the golden Vnicorne in Pater-noster-row. 1631. THE COVNTRY HOVSVVIFES GARDEN. CHAP. 1. _The Soyle._ {SN: Dry.} {SN: Hops.} The soyle of an Orchard and Garden, differ onely in these three points: First, the Gardens soyle would be somewhat dryer, because hearbes being more tender then trees, can neither abide moisture nor drought, in such excessiue measure, as trees; and therefore hauing a dryer soyle, the remedy is easie against drought, if need be: water soundly, which may be done with small labour, the compasse of a Garden being nothing so great, as of an Orchard, and this is the cause (if they know it) that Gardners raise their squares: but if moysture trouble you, I see no remedy without a generall danger, except in Hops, which delight much in a low and sappy earth. {SN: Plaine.} Secondly, the soyle of a Garden would be plaine and leuell, at least euery square (for we purpose the square to be the fittest forme) the reason: the earth of a garden wanting such helpes, as should stay the water, which an orchard hath, and the rootes of hearbes being short, and not able to fetch their liquor from the bottome, are more annoyed by drought, and the soyle being mellow and loose, is soone either washt away, or sends out his heart by too much drenching and washing. Thirdly, if a garden soyle be not cleere of weedes, and namely, of grasse, the hearbes shall neuer thriue: for how should good hearbes prosper, when euill weeds waxe so fast: considering good hearbes are tender in respect of euill weedes: these being strengthened by nature, and the other by art? Gardens haue small place in comparison, and therefore may be more easily be fallowed, at the least one halfe yeare before, and the better dressed after it is framed. And you shall finde that cleane keeping doth not onely auoide danger of gathering weedes, but also is a speciall ornament, and leaues more plentifull sap for your tender hearbes. CHAP. 2. _Of the Sites._ I cannot see in any sort, how the site of the one should not be good, and fit for the other: The ends of both being one, good, wholesome, and much fruit ioyned with delight, vnlesse trees be more able to abide the nipping frostes than tender hearbes: but I am sure, the flowers of trees are as soone perished with cold, as any hearbe except Pumpions, and Melons. CHAP. 3. _Of the Forme._ Let that which is sayd in the Orchards forme, suffice for a garden in generall: but for speciall formes in squares, they are as many, as there are diuices in Gardners braines. Neither is the wit and art of a skilfull Gardner in this poynt not to be commended, that can worke more variety for breeding of more delightsome choyce, and of all those things, where the owner is able and desirous to be satisfied. The number of formes, Mazes and Knots is so great, and men are so diuersly delighted, that I leaue euery House-wife to her selfe, especially seeing to set downe many, had bene but to fill much paper; yet lest I depriue her of all delight and direction, let her view these few, choyse, new formes, and note this generally, that all plots are square, and all are bordered about with Priuit, Raisins, Fea-berries, Roses, Thorne, Rosemary, Bee-flowers, Isop, Sage, or such like. {Illustration: The ground plot for Knots.} {Illustration: Cinkfoyle.} {Illustration: Flower-deluce.} {Illustration: The Trefoyle.} {Illustration: The Fret.} {Illustration: Lozenges.} {Illustration: Crosse-bow.} {Illustration: Diamond.} {Illustration: Ouall.} {Illustration: Maze.} CHAP. 4. _Of the Quantity._ A Garden requireth not so large a scope of ground as an Orchard, both in regard of the much weeding, dressing and remouing, and also the paines in a Garden is not so well repaied home, as in an Orchard. It is to be graunted, that the Kitchin garden doth yeeld rich gaines by berries, roots, cabbages, &c. yet these are no way comparable to the fruits of a rich Orchard: but notwithstanding I am of opinion, that it were better for _England_, that we had more Orchards and Gardens, and more large. And therefore we leaue the quantity to euery mans ability and will. CHAP. 5. _Of Fence._ Seeing we allow Gardens in Orchard plots, and the benefit of a Garden is much, they both require a strong and shrowding fence. Therefore leauing this, let vs come to the hearbes themselues, which must be the fruit of all these labours. CHAP. 6. _Of two Gardens._ Hearbes are of two sorts, and therefore it is meete (they requiring diuers manners of Husbandry) that we haue two Gardens: A garden for flowers, and a Kitchen garden: or a Summer garden: not that we meane so perfect a distinction, that the Garden for flowers should or can be without hearbes good for the Kitchen, or the Kitchen garden should want flowers, nor on the contrary: but for the most part they would be seuered: first, because your Garden flowers shall suffer some disgrace, if among them you intermingle Onions, Parsnips, &c. Secondly, your Garden that is durable, must be of one forme: but that, which is for your Kitchens vse, must yeeld daily rootes, or other hearbes, and suffer deformity. Thirdly, the hearbs of both will not be both alike ready, at one time, either for gathering, or remouing. First therefore _Of the Summer Garden._ These hearbs and flowers are comely and durable for squares and knots and all to set at _Michael-tide_, or somewhat before, that they may be setled in, and taken with the ground before winter, though they may be set, especially sowne in the spring. Roses of all sorts (spoken of in the Orchard) must be set. Some vie to set slips and twine them, which sometimes, but seldome thriue all. Rosemary, Lauender, Bee-flowers, Isop, Sage, Time, Cowslips, Pyony, Dasies, Cloue Gilliflowers, Pinkes, Sothernwood, Lillies, of all which hereafter. _Of the Kitchen Garden._ Though your Garden for flowers doth in a sort peculiarly challenge to it seise a profit, and exquisite forme to the eyes, yet you may not altogether neglect this, where your hearbes for the pot do growe. And therefore, some here make comely borders with the hearbes aforesayd. The rather because aboundance of Roses and Lauender yeeld much profit, and comfort to the sences: Rose-water and Lauender, the one cordial (as also the Violets, Burrage, and Buglas) the other reuiuing the spirits by the sence of smelling: both most durable for smell, both in flowers and water: you need not here raise your beds, as in the other garden, because Summer towards, will not let too much wet annoy you. And these hearbes require more moysture: yet must you haue your beds diuided, that you may goe betwixt to weede, and somewhat forme would be expected: To which it auaileth, that you place your herbes of biggest growth, by walles, or in borders, as Fenell, &c. and the lowest in the middest, as Saffron, Strawberries, Onions, &c. CHAP. 7. _Diuision of hearbs._ Garden hearbs are innumerable, yet these are common and sufficient for our country House-wifes. _Hearbs of greatest growth._ Fenell, Anglica, Tansie, Hollihock, Louage, Elly Campane, French mallows, Lillies, French poppy, Endiue, Succory and Clary. _Herbes of middle growth._ Burrage, Buglas, Parsley, sweet Sicilly, Floure-de-luce, Stocke Gilliflowers, Wall-flowers, Anniseedes, Coriander, Feather fewell, Marigolds, Oculus Christi, Langdibeefe, Alexanders, Carduus Benedictus. _Hearbes of smallest growth._ Pansy, or Harts-ease, Coast Margeram, Sauery, Strawberries, Saffron, Lycoras, Daffadowndillies, Leekes, Chiues, Chibals, Skerots, Onions, Batchellors buttons, Dasies, Peniroyall. Hitherto I haue onely reckoned vp, and put in this ranke, some hearbs. Their Husbandry follow each in an Alphabeticall order, the better to be found. CHAP. 8. _Husbandry of Herbes._ _Alexanders_ are to be renewed as _Angelica_. It is a timely Pot-hearbe. _Anglica_ is renued with his seede, whereof he beareth plenty the second yeare, and so dieth. You may remoue the rootes the first yeare. The leaues distilled, yeeld water soueraigne to expell paine from the stomacke. The roote dried taken in the fall, stoppeth the poares against infections. _Annyseedes_ make their growth, and beareth seeds the first yeere, and dieth as _Coriander_: it is good for opening the pipes, and it is vsed in Comfits. _Artichoakes_ are renewed by diuiding the rootes into sets, in _March_, euery third or fourth yeare. They require a seuerall vsage, and therefore a seuerall whole plot by themselues, especially considering they are plentifull of fruite much desired. _Burrage_ and _Buglas_, two Cordials, renue themselues by seed yearely, which is hard to be gathered: they are exceeding good Pot-hearbes, good for Bees, and most comfortable for the heart and stomacke, as Quinces and Wardens. _Camomile_, set rootes in bankes and walkes. It is sweete smelling, qualifying head-ach. _Cabbages_ require great roome, they seed the second yeare: sow them in _February_, remoue them when the plants are an handfull long, set deepe and wet. Looke well in drought for the white Caterpillers worme, the spaunes vnder the leafe closely; for euery liuing Creature doth seeke foode and quiet shelter, and growing quicke, they draw to, and eate the heart: you may finde them in a rainy deawy morning. It is a good Pothearbe, and of this hearbe called _Cole_ our Countrie House-wiues giue their pottage their name, and call them _Caell_. _Carduus Benedictus_, or blessed thistle, seeds and dyes the first yeere, the excellent vertue thereof I referre to Herbals, for we are Gardiners, not Physitians. _Carrets_ are sowne late in _Aprill_ or _May_, as Turneps, else they seede the first yeere, and then their roots are naught: the second yeere they dye, their roots grow great, and require large roome. _Chibals_ or _Chiues_ haue their roots parted, as Garlick, Lillies, &c. and so are they set euery third or fourth yeere: a good pot-hearb opening, but euill for the eies. _Clarie_ is sowne, it seeds the second yeere, and dyes. It is somewhat harsh in taste, a little in pottage is good, it strengtheneth the reines. _Coast_, Roote parted make sets in _March_: it beares the second yeere: it is vsed in Ale in _May_. _Coriander_ is for vsage and vses, much like Anniseeds. _Daffadowndillies_ haue their roots parted, and set once in three or foure yeere, or longer time. They flower timely, and after _Midsummer_, are scarcely seene. They are more for ornament, then for vse, so are Daisies. _Daisie_-rootes parted and set, as Flowre-deluce and Camomile, when you see them grow too thicke or decay. They be good to keepe vp, and strengthen the edges of your borders, as Pinkes, they be red, white, mixt. _Ellycampane_ root is long lasting, as is the Louage, it seeds yeerely, you may diuide the root, and set the roote, taken in VVinter it is good (being dryed, powdered and drunke) to kill itches. _Endiue_ and _Succory_ are much like in nature, shape, and vse, they renue themselues by seed, as Fennell, and other hearbs. You may remoue them before they put forth shankes, a good Pot-hearbe. _Fennell_ is renued, either by the seeds (which it beareth the second yeere, and so yeerely in great abundance) sowne in the fall or Spring, or by diuiding one root into many Sets, as Artichoke, it is long of growth and life. You may remoue the roote vnshankt. It is exceeding good for the eyes, distilled, or any otherwise taken: it is vsed in dressing Hiues for swarmes, a very good Pot-hearbe, or for Sallets. _Fetherfewle_ shakes seed. Good against a shaking Feuer, taken in a posset drinke fasting. _Flower-deluce_, long lasting. Diuide his roots, and set: the roots dryed haue a sweet smell. _Garlicke_ may be set an handfull distance, two inches deepe, in the edge of your beds. Part the heads into seuerall cloues, and euery cloue set in the latter end of _February_, will increase to a great head before _September_: good for opening, euill for eyes: when the blade is long, fast two & two together, the heads will be bigger. _Hollyhocke_ riseth high, seedeth and dyeth: the chiefe vse I know is ornament. _Isop_ is reasonable long lasting: young roots are good set, slips better. A good pot-hearbe. _Iuly-flowers_, commonly called _Gilly-flowers_, or _Cloue-Iuly-flowers_ (I call them so, because they flowre in _Iuly_) they haue the name of _Cloues_, of their sent. I may well call them the King of flowers (except the Rose) and the best sort of them are called _Queene-Iuly flowers_. I haue of them nine or ten seuerall colours, and diuers of them as big as Roses; of all flowers (saue the Damaske Rose) they are the most pleasant to sight and smell: they last not past three or foure yeeres vnremoued. Take the slips (without shanks) and set any time, saue in extreme frost, but especially at _Michael tide_. Their vse is much in ornament, and comforting the spirits, by the sence of smelling. _Iuly flowers_ of the wall, or wall-_Iuly-flowers_, wall-flowers, or Bee-flowers, or Winter-_Iuly-flowers_, because growing in the walles, euen in Winter, and good for Bees, will grow euen in stone walls, they will seeme dead in Summer, and yet reuiue in Winter. They yeeld seed plentifully, which you may sow at any time, or in any broken earth, especially on the top of a mud-wall, but moist, you may set the root before it be brancht, euery slip that is not flowr'd will take root, or crop him in Summer, and he will flower in Winter: but his Winter-seed is vntimely. This and Palmes are exceeding good, and timely for Bees. _Leekes_ yeeld seed the second yeere, vnremoued and die, vnlesse you remoue them, vsuall to eate with salt and bread, as Onyons alwaies greene, good pot-hearb, euill for the eyes. _Lauendar spike_ would be remoued within 7 yeeres, or eight at the most. Slips twined as Isop and Sage, would take best at _Michael-tide_. This flower is good for Bees, most comfortable for smelling, except Roses; and kept dry, is as strong after a yeere, and when it is gathered. The water of this is comfortable. White _Lauendar_ would be remoued sooner. _Lettice_ yeelds seed the first yeere, and dyes: sow betime, and if you would haue them _Cabbage_ for Sallets, remoue them as you doe _Cabbage_. They are vsuall in Sallets, and the pot. _Lillies_ white and red, remoued once in three or foure yeeres their roots yeeld many Sets, like the Garlicke, _Michael-tide_ is the best: they grow high, after they get roote: these roots are good to breake a Byle, as are Mallowes and Sorrell. _Mallowes_, French or gagged, the first or second yeere, seed plentifully: sow in _March_, or before, they are good for the house-wifes pot, or to breake a bunch. _Marigolds_ most commonly come of seed, you may remoue the Plants, when they be two inches long. The double Marigold, being as bigge as a little Rose, is good for shew. They are a good Pot-hearbe. _Oculus Christi_, or Christs eye, seeds and dyes the first or second yeere: you may remoue the yong Plants, but seed is better: one of these seeds put into the eye, within three or foure houres will gather a thicke skinne, cleere the eye, and bolt it selfe forth without hurt to the eye. A good Pot-hearbe. _Onyons_ are sowne in _February_, they are gathered at _Michael-tide_, and all the Summer long, for Sallets; as also young Parsly, Sage, Chibals, Lettice, sweet Sicily, Fennell, &c. good alone, or with meate as Mutton, &c. for sauce, especially for the pot. _Parsly_ sow the first yeere, and vse the next yeere: it seedes plentifully, an hearbe of much vse, as sweet Sicily is. The seed and roots are good against the Stone. _Parsneps_ require and whole plot, they be plentifull and common: sow them in _February_, the Kings (that is in the middle) seed broadest and reddest. Parsneps are sustenance for a strong stomacke, not good for euill eies: When they couer the earth in a drought, to tread the tops, make the rootes bigger. _Peny-royall_, or Pudding Grasse, creepes along the ground like ground Iuie. It lasts long, like Daisies, because it puts and spreads dayly new roots. Diuide, and remoue the roots, it hath a pleasant taste and smell, good for the pot, or hackt meate, or Haggas Pudding. _Pumpions_: Set seedes with your finger, a finger deepe, late in _March_, and so soone as they appeare, euery night if you doubt frost, couer them, and water them continually out of a water-pot: they be very tender, their fruit is great and waterish. _French poppy_ beareth a faire flower, and the Seed will make you sleepe. _Raddish_ is sauce for cloyed stomacks, as Capers, Oliues, and Cucumbers, cast the seeds all Summer long here and there, and you shall haue them alwaies young and fresh. _Rosemary_, the grace of hearbs here in _England_, in other Countries common. To set slips immediately after _Lammas_, is the surest way. Seede sowne may proue well, so they be sowne in hot weather, somewhat moist, and good earth: for the hearbe, though great, is nesh and tender (as I take it) brought from hot Countries to vs in the cold North: set thinne. It becomes a Window well. The vse is much in meates, more in Physicke, most for Bees. _Rue, or Hearbe of Grace_, continually greene, the slips are set. It lasts long as Rosemary, Sothernwood, &c. too strong for mine Housewifes pot, vnlesse she will brue Ale therewith, against the Plague: let him not seede, if you will haue him last. _Saffron_ euery third yeere his roots would be remoued at _Midsummer_: for when all other hearbs grow most, it dyeth. It flowreth at _Michael-tide_, and groweth all Winter: keepe his flowers from birds in the morning, & gather the yellow (or they shape much like Lillies) dry, and after dry them: they be precious, expelling diseases from the heart and stomacke. _Sauery_ seeds and dyes the first yeere, good for my Housewifes pot and pye. _Sage_: set slips in _May_, and they grow aye: Let it not seed it will last the longer. The vse is much and common. The Monkish Prouerbe is _tritum_: _Cur moritur homo, cum saluia crescit in horto?_ _Skerots_, roots are set when they be parted, as _Pyonie_, and Flower-deluce at _Michael-tide_: the roote is but small and very sweet. I know none other speciall vse but the Table. Sweet _Sicily_, long lasting, pleasantly tasting, either the seed sowne, or the root parted, and remoued, makes increase, it is of like vse with Parsly. _Strawberries_ long lasting, set roots at _Michael-tide_ or the Spring, they be red, white and greene, and ripe, when they be great and soft, some by _Midsummer_ with vs. The vse is: they will coole my Housewife well, if they be put in Wine or Creame with Sugar. _Time_, both seeds, slips and rootes are good. If it seed not, it will last three or foure yeeres or more, it smelleth comfortably. It hath much vse: namely, in all cold meats, it is good for Bees. _Turnep_ is sowne. In the second yeere they beare plenty of seed: they require the same time of sowing that Carrets doe: they are sicke of the same disease that Cabbages be. The roots increaseth much, it is most wholesome, if it be sowne in a good and well tempered earth: Soueraigne for eyes and Bees. I reckon these hearbs onely, because I teach my Countrey Housewife, not skilfull Artists, and it should be an endlesse labour, and would make the matter tedious to reckon vp _Landtheefe_, _Stocke-Iuly-flowers_, _Charuall_, _Valerian_, _Go-to bed at noone_, _Piony_, _Licoras_, _Tansie_, _Garden mints_, _Germander_, _Centaurie_, and a thousand such physicke Hearbs. Let her first grow cunning in this, and then she may enlarge her Garden as her skill and ability increaseth. And to helpe her the more, I haue set her downe these obseruations. CHAP. 9. _Generall Rules in Gardening._ In the South parts Gardening may be more timely, and more safely done, then with vs in _Yorkeshire_, because our ayre is not so fauourable, nor our ground so good. 2 Secondly most seeds shakt, by turning the good earth, are renued, their mother the earth keeping them in her bowels, till the Sunne their Father can reach them with his heat. 3 In setting hearbs, leaue no top more then an handfull aboue the ground, nor more then a foot vnder the earth. 4 Twine the roots of those slips you set, if they will abide it. Gilly-flowers are too tender. 5 Set moist, and sowe dry. 6 Set slips without shankes any time, except at _Midsummer_, and in frosts. 7 Seeding spoiles the most roots, as drawing the heart and sap from the root. 8 Gather for the pot and medicines, hearbs tender and greene, the sap being in the top, but in Winter the root is best. 9 All the hearbs in the Garden for flowers, would once in seuen yeeres be renued, or soundly watered with puddle water, except Rosemary. 10 In all your Gardens and Orchards, bankes and seates of Camomile, Peny-royall, Daisies and Violets, are seemely and comfortable. 11 These require whole plots: Artichokes, Cabbages, Turneps, Parsneps, Onyons, Carrets, and (if you will) Saffron and Scerrits. 12 Gather all your seeds, dead, ripe, and dry. 13 Lay no dung to the roots of your hearbs, as vsually they doe: for dung not melted is too hot, euen for trees. 14 Thin setting and sewing (so the rootes stand not past a foot distance) is profitable, for the hearbs will like the better. Greater hearbs would haue more distance. 15 Set and sow hearbs in their time of growth (except at _Midsummer_, for then they are too too tender) but trees in their time of rest. 16 A good Housewife may, and will gather store of hearbs for the pot, about _Lammas_, and dry them, and pownd them, and in Winter they will make good seruice. Thus haue I lined out a Garden to our Countrey Housewiues, and giuen them rules for common hearbs. If any of them (as sometimes they are) be knotty, I referre them to Chap. 3. The skill and paines of weeding the Garden with weeding kniues or fingers, I refer to themselues, and their maides, willing them to take the opportunitie after a showre of raine: withall I aduise the Mistresse, either be present her selfe, or to teach her maides to know hearbs from weeds. CHAP. 10. _The Husbandry of Bees._ There remaineth one necessary thing to be prescribed, which in mine opinion makes as much for ornament as either Flowers, or forme, or cleanlinesse, and I am sure as commodious as any of, or all the rest: which is Bees, well ordered. And I will not account her any of my good House-wiues, that wanteth either Bees or skilfulnesse about them. And though I knowe some haue written well and truely, and others more plentifully vpon this theame: yet somewhat haue I learned by experience (being a Bee-maister my selfe) which hitherto I cannot finde put into writing, for which I thinke our House-wiues will count themselues beholding vnto me. {SN: Bee-house.} The first thing that a Gardiner about Bees must be carefull for, is an house not stakes and stones abroad, _Sub dio_: for stakes rot and reele, raine and weather eate your hiues, and couers, and cold most of all is hurtfull for your Bees. Therefore you must haue an house made along, a sure dry wall in your Garden, neere, or in your Orchard: for Bees loue flowers and wood with their hearts. This is the forme, a Frame standing on posts with a Floore (if you would haue it hold more Hiues, two Floores boorded) layd on bearers, and backe posts, couered ouer with boords, slate-wise. IC Let the floores be without holes or clifts, least in casting time, the Bees lye out, and loyter. And though your Hiues stand within an hand breadth the one of another: yet will Bees know their home. In this Frame may your Bees stand drye and warme, especially if you make doores like doores of windows to shroud them in winter, as in an house: prouided you leaue the hiues mouths open. I my self haue deuised such an house, and I find that it keeps and strengthens my Bees much, and my hiues will last sixe to one. {SN: Hiues.} M. _Markham_ commends Hiues of wood. I discommend them not: but straw Hiues are in vse with vs, and I thinke with all the world, which I commend for nimblenesse, closenesse, warmnesse and drinesse. Bees loue no externall motions of dawbing or such like. Sometimes occasion shall be offered to lift and turne Hiues, as shall appeare hereafter. One light entire hiue of straw in that case is better, then one that is dawbed, weighty and cumbersome. I wish euery hiue, for a keeping swarme, to hold three pecks at least in measure. For too little Hiues procure Bees, in casting time, either to lye out, and loyter, or else to cast before they be ripe and strong, and so make weake swarmes and vntimely: Whereas if they haue roome sufficient, they ripen timely, and casting seasonably, are strong, and fit for labour presently. Neither would the hiue be too too great, for then they loyter, and waste meate and time. {SN: Hiuing of Bees.} Your Bees delight in wood, for feeding, especially for casting: therefore want not an Orchard. A _Mayes_ swarme is worth a Mares Foale: if they want wood, they be in danger of flying away. Any time before _Midsummer_ is good, for casting and timely before _Iuly_ is not euill. I much like M _Markhams_ opinion for hiuing a swarme in combes of a dead or forsaken hiue, so they be fresh & cleanly. To thinke that a swarme of your owne, or others, will of it selfe come into such an hiue, is a meere conceit. _Experto crede Roberto._ His smearing with honey, is to no purpose, for the other Bees will eate it vp. If your swarme knit in the top of a tree, as they will, if the winde beate them not to fall downe: let the stoole or ladder described in the Orchard, doe you seruice. {SN: Spelkes.} The lesse your Spelkes are, the lesse is the waste of your honey, and the more easily will they draw, when you take your Bees. Foure Spelkes athwart, and one top Spelke are sufficient. The Bees will fasten their combes to the Hiue. A little honey is good: but if you want, Fennell will serue to rub your Hiue withall. The Hiue being drest and ready spelkt, rubd and the hole made for their passage (I vse no hole in the Hiue, but a piece of wood hoal'd to saue the hiue & keep out Mice) shake in your Bees, or the most of them (for all commonly you cannot get) the remainder will follow. Many vse smoke, Nettles, &c. which I vtterly dislike: for Bees loue not to be molested. Ringing in the time of casting is a meere fancie, violent handling of them is simply euill, because Bees of all other creatures, loue cleanlinesse and peace. Therefore handle them leasurely & quietly, and their Keeper whom they know, may do with them, what he will, without hurt: Being hiued at night, bring them to their seat. Set your hiues all of one yeere together. Signes of breeding, if they be strong: 1 They will auoid dead young Bees and Droanes. 2 They will sweat in the morning, till it runne from them; alwaies when they be strong. _Signes of casting._ 1 They will fly Droanes, by reason of heat. 2 The young swarme will once or twice in some faire season, come forth mustering, as though they would cast, to proue themselues, and goe in againe. 3 The night before they cast, if you lay your eare to the Hiues mouth, yo shall heare two or three, but especially one aboue the rest, cry, Vp, vp, vp; or, Tout, tout, tout, like a trumpet, sounding the alarum to the battell. {SN: Catching.} {SN: Clustering.} Much descanting there is, of, and about the Master-Bee, and their degrees, order and gouernment: but the truth in this point is rather imagined, then demonstrated. There are some coniectures of it, _viz._ we see in the combs diuers greater houses then the rest, & we heare commonly the night before they cast, sometimes one Bee, sometimes two, or more Bees, giue a lowd and seueral sound from the rest, and sometimes Bees of greater bodies then the common sort: but what of all this? I leane not on coniectures, but loue to set downe that I know to be true, and leaue these things to them that loue to diuine. Keepe none weake, for it is hazard, oftentimes with losse: Feeding will not helpe them: for being weake, they cannot come downe to meate, or if they come downe, they dye, because Bees weake cannot abide cold. If none of these, yet will the other Bees being strong, smell the honey, and come and spoile, and kill them. Some helpe is in casting time, to put two weake swarmes together, or as M. _Markham_ well saith: Let not them cast late, by raising them with wood or stone: but with impes (say I.) An impe is three or foure wreathes, wrought as the hiue, the same compasse, to rase the hiue withall: but by experience in tryall, I haue found out a better way by Clustering, for late or weake swarmes hitherto not found out of any that I know. That is this: After casting time, if I haue any stocke proud, and hindered from timely casting, with former Winters pouerty, or euill weather in casting time, with two handles and crookes, fitted for the purpose, I turne vp that stocke so pestred with Bees, and set it on the crowne, vpon which so turned with the mouth vpward, I place another empty hiue well drest, and spelkt, into which without any labour, the Swarme that would not depart, and cast, will presently ascend, because the old Bees haue this qualitie (as all other breeding creatures haue) to expell the young, when they haue brought them vp. IC There will the swarme build as kindely, as if they had of themselues beene cast. But bee sure you lay betwixt the Hiues some straight and cleanly sticke or stickes, or rather a boord with holes, to keepe them asunder: otherwise they will ioyne their workes together so fast, that they cannot be parted. If you so keepe them asunder at _Michael-tide_, if you like the weight of your swarme (for the goodnesse of swarmes is tryed by weight) so catched, you may set it by for a stocke to keepe. Take heed in any case the combes be not broken, for then the other Bees will smell the honey, and spoyle them. This haue I tryed to be very profitable for the sauing of Bees. The Instrument hath this forme. The great straight piece is wood, the rest are iron claspes and nailes, the claspes are loose in the Stapes: Two men with two of these fastened to the Hiue, will easily turne it vp. They gather not till _Iuly_; for then they be discharged of their young, or else they are become now strong to labour, and now sap in flowers is strong and proud: by reason of time, and force of Sunne. And now also in the North (and not before) the hearbs of greatest vigour put their Flowers; As Beanes, Fennell, Burrage, Rape, &c. The most sensible weather for them, is heat and drought, because the nesh Bee can neither abide cold or wet: and showres (which they well fore-see) doe interrupt their labours, vnlesse they fall on the night, and so they further them. {SN: Droanes.} After casting time, you shall benefit your stockes much, if you helpe them to kill their Droanes, which by all probability and iudgement, are an idle kind of Bees, and wastefull. Some say they breed and haue seene young Droanes in taking their honey, which I know is true. But I am of opinion, that there are also Bees which haue lost their stings, and so being, as it were gelded, become idle and great. There is great vse of them: _Deus, et natura nihil fecit frustra_. They hate the Bees, and cause them cast the sooner. They neuer come foorth but when they be ouer heated. They neuer come home loaden. After casting time, and when the Bees want meate, you shall see the labouring Bees fasten on them, two, three, or foure at once, as if they were theeues to be led to the gallowes, and killing them, they cast out, and draw them farre from home, as hatefull enemies. Our Housewife, if she be the Keeper of her owne Bees (as she had need to be) may with her bare hand in the heate of the day, safely destroy them in the hiues mouth. Some vse towards night, in a hot day, to set before the mouth of the hiue a thin board, with little holes, in at which the lesser Bees may enter, but not the Droanes, so that you may kill them at your pleasure. {SN: Annoyances.} Snayles spoile them by night like theeues: they come so quietly, and are so fast, that the Bees feare them not. Looke earely and late, especially in a rainie or dewey euening or morning. Mice are no lesse hurtfull, and the rather to hiues of straw: and therefore couerings of straw draw them. They will in either at the mouth, or sheere themselues an hole. The remedy is good Cats, Rats-bane and watching. The cleanly Bee hateth the smoake as poison, therefore let your Bees stand neerer your garden then your Brew-house or Kitchen. They say Sparrowes and Swallowes are enemies to Bees, but I see it not. More hiues perish by Winters cold, then by all other hurts: for the Bee is tender and nice, and onely liues in warme weather, and dyes in cold: And therefore let my Housewife be perswaded, that a warme dry house before described, is the chiefest helpe she can make her Bees against this, and many more mischiefes. Many vse against cold in Winter, to stop vp their hiue close, and some set them in houses, perswading themselues, that thereby they relieue their Bees. First, tossing and mouing is hurtfull. Secondly, in houses, going, knocking, and shaking is noysome. Thirdly, too much heate in an house is vnnaturall for them: but lastly, and especially, Bees cannot abide to be stopt close vp. For at euery warme season of the Sunne they reuiue, and liuing eate, and eating must needs purge abroad, (in her house) the cleanly Bee will not purge her selfe. Iudge you what it is for any liuing creature, not to disburden nature. Being shut vp in calme seasons, lay your care to the Hiue, and you shall heare them yarme and yell, as so many hungred prisoners. Therefore impound not your Bees, so profitable and free a creature. {SN: Taking of Bees.} Let none stand aboue three yeares, else the combes will be blacke and knotty, your honey will be thinne and vncleanly: and if any cast after three yeares, it is such as haue swarmes, and old Bees kept all together, which is great losse. Smoaking with ragges, rozen, or brimstone, many vse: some vse drowning in a tub of cleane water, and the water well brewde, will be good botchet. Drawe out your spelkes immediatly with a paire of pinchars, lest the wood grow soft and swell, and so will not be drawne, then must you cut your Hiue. {SN: Straining Honey.} Let no fire come neere your hony, for fire softeneth the waxe and drosse, and makes them runne with the hony. Fire softneth, weakeneth, and hindereth hony for purging. Breake your combes small (when the dead empty combes are parted from the loaden combes) into a siue, borne ouer a great bowle, or vessell, with two staues, and so let it runne two or three dayes. The sooner you tunne it vp, the better will it purge. Runne your swarme honey by it selfe, and that shall be your best. The elder your hiues are, the worse is your honey. {SN: Vessels.} Vsuall vessels are of clay, but after wood be satiated with honey (for it will leake at first: for honey is maruellously searching, the thicke, and therefore vertuous.) I vse it rather because it will not breake so soone, with fals, frosts, or otherwise, and greater vessels of clay will hardly last. When you vse your honey, with a spoone take off the skin which it hath put vp. And it is worth the regard, that bees thus vsed, if you haue but forty stockes, shall yeeld you more commodity cleerely than forty acres of ground. And thus much may suffice, to make good Housewiues loue and haue good Gardens and Bees. _Deo Laus._ _FINIS._ The Contents of the Countrey _House-wifes Garden._ Chap. 1. _The Soyle._ _Pag. 77_ Chap. 2. _Site._ _p. 78_ Chap. 3. _Forme._ _p. 79_ Chap. 4. _Quantity._ _p. 85_ Chap. 5. _Fences._ _p. ibid._ Chap. 6. _Two Gardens._ _p. 86_ Chap. 7. _Diuision of herbs._ _p. 88_ Chap. 8. _The Husbandry of herbes._ _p. ibid._ Chap. 9. _Generall rules._ _p. 96_ Chap. 10. _The Husbandry of Bees._ _p. 98_ _Bee-house._ _p. 98._ _Hiues._ _p. 100._ _Hiuing of Bees._ _p. ibid._ _Spelkes._ _p. 101._ _Catching._ _p. 102._ _Clustering._ _p. 103._ _Droanes._ _p. 104._ _Annoyances._ _p. 105._ _Taking of Bees._ _p. 106._ _Straining honey._ _p. ibid._ _Vessels._ _p. ibid._ A MOST PROFITABLE NEWE TREATISE, From approued experience of the art _of propagating Plants: by_ Simon Harward. CHAP. 1. _The Art of propagating Plants._ {SN: 1.} There are foure sorts of Planting, or propagating, as in laying of shootes or little branches, whiles they are yet tender in some pit made at their foote, as shall be sayd hereafter, or vpon a little ladder or Basket of earth, tyed to the bottome of the branch, or in boaring a Willow thorow, and putting the branch of the tree into the hole, as shall be fully declared in the Chapter of Grafting. {SN: 2.} There are likewise seasons to propagate in; but the best is in the Spring, and _March_, when the trees are in the Flower, and doe begin to grow lusty. The young planted Siens or little Grafts must be propagated in the beginning of Winter, a foot deepe in the earth, and good manure mingled amongst the earth, which you shall cast forth of the pit, wherein you meane to propagate it, to tumble it in vpon it againe. In like manner your superfluous Siens, or little Plants must be cut close by the earth, when as they grow about some small Impe, which we meane to propagate, for they would doe nothing but rot. For to propagate, you must digge the earth round about the tree, that so your rootes may be laid in a manner halfe bare. Afterward draw into length the pit on that side where you meane to propagate, and according as you perceiue that the roots will be best able to yeeld, and be gouerned in the same pit, to vie them, and that with all gentlenesse, and stop close your Siens, in such sort, as that the wreath which is in the place where it is grafted, may be a little lower then the Siens of the new Wood, growing out of the earth, euen so high as it possible may be. If the trees that you would propagate be somewhat thicke, and thereby the harder to ply, and somewhat stiffe to lay in the pit: then you may wet the stocke almost to the midst, betwixt the roote and the wreathing place, and so with gentle handling of it, bow downe into the pit the wood which the grafts haue put forth, and that in as round a compasse as you can, keeping you from breaking of it: afterward lay ouer the cut, with gummed Waxe, or with grauell and sand. CHAP. 2. _Grafting in the Barke._ Grafting in the Barke, is vsed from mid-_August_, to the beginning of Winter, and also when the Westerne winde beginneth to blow, being from the 7. of _February_, vnto 11. of _Iune_. But there must care be had, not to graffe in the barke in any rainy season, because it would wash away the matter of ioyning the one and the other together, and so hinder it. {SN: 3.} Grafting in the budde, is vsed in the Summer time, from the end of _May_, vntill _August_, as being the time when the trees are strong and lusty, and full of sap and leaues. To wit, in a hot Countrey, from the midst of _Iune_, vnto the midst of _Iuly_: but cold Countries, to the midst of _August_, after some small showres of Raine. If the Summer be so exceeding dry, as that some trees doe withhold their sap, you must waite the time till it doe returne. Graft from the full of the Moone, vntill the end of the old. You may graft in a Cleft, without hauing regard to the Raine, for the sap will keepe it off. You may graft from mid-_August_, to the beginning of _Nouember_: Cowes dung with straw doth mightily preserue the graft. It is better to graft in the euening, then the morning. The furniture and tooles of a Grafter, are a Basket to lay his Grafts in, Clay, Grauell, Sand, or strong Earth, to draw ouer the plants clouen: Mosse, Woollen clothes, barkes of Willow to ioyne to the late things and earth before spoken, and to keepe them fast: Oziers to tye againe vpon the barke, to keepe them firme and fast: gummed Wax, to dresse and couer the ends and tops of the grafts newly cut, that so the raine and cold may not hurt them, neither yet the sap rising from belowe, be constrained to returne againe vnto the shootes. A little Sawe or hand Sawe, to sawe off the stocke of the plants, a little Knife or Pen-knife to graffe, and to cut and sharpen the grafts, that so the barke may not pill nor be broken; which often commeth to passe when the graft is full of sap. You shall cut the graffe so long, as that it may fill the cliffe of the plant, and therewithall it must be left thicker on the barke-side, that so it may fill vp both the cliffe and other incisions, as any need is to be made, which must be alwaies well ground, well burnished without all rust. Two wedges, the one broad for thicke trees, the other narrow for lesse and tender trees, both of them of box, or some other hard and smooth wood, or steele, or of very hard iron, that so they may need lesse labour in making them sharpe. A little hand-Bill to set the plants at more liberty, by cutting off superfluous boughs, helu'd of Iuory, Box, or Brazell. CHAP. 3. _Grafting in the cleft._ The manner of grafting in a cleft, to wit, the stocke being clou'd, is proper not onely to trees, which are as great as a mans legs or armes, but also to greater. It is true that in as much as the trees cannot easily be clouen in their stocke, that therefore it is expedient to make incision in some one of their branches, and not in the maine body, as we see to be practised in great Apple trees, and great Peare-trees, and as we haue already declared heretofore. To graft in the cleft, you must make choise of a graft that is full of sap and iuyce, but it must not bee, but till from after _Ianuary_ vntill _March_: And you must not thus graft in any tree that is already budded, because a great part of the iuyce and sap would be already mounted vp on high, and risen to the top, and there dispersed and scattered hither and thither, into euery sprigge and twigge, and vse nothing welcome to the graft. You must likewise be resolued not to gather your graft the day you graft in, but ten or twelue dayes before: for otherwise, if you graft it new gathered, it will not be able easily to incorporate itselfe with the body and stocke, where it shall be grafted; because that some part of it will dry, and by this meanes will be a hinderance in the stocke to the rising vp of the sap, which it should communerate vnto the graft, for the making of it to put forth, and whereas this dried part will fall a crumbling, and breaking thorow his rottennesse, it will cause to remaine a concauity, or hollow place in the stock, which will be an occasion of a like inconuenience to befall the graft. Moreouer, the graft being new and tender, might easily be hurt of the bands, which are of necessity to be tyed about the Stocke, to keepe the graft firme and fast. And you must further see, that your Plant was not of late remoued, but that it haue already fully taken root. When you are minded to graft many grafts into one cleft, you must see that they be cut in the end all alike. {SN: 7.} See that the grafts be of one length, or not much differing, and it is enough, that they haue three or foure eylets without the wrench when the Plant is once sawed, and lopped of all his small Siens and shootes round about, as also implyed of all his branches, if it haue many: then you must leaue but two at the most, before you come to the cleauing of it: then put to your little Saw, or your knife, or other edged toole that is very sharpe, cleaue it quite thorow the middest, in gentle and soft sort: First, tying the Stocke very sure, that so it may not cleaue further then is need: and then put to your Wedges into the cleft vntill such time as you haue set in your grafts, and in cleauing of it, hold the knife with the one hand, and the tree with the other, to helpe to keepe it from cleauing too farre. Afterwards put in your wedge of Boxe or Brazill, or bone at the small end, that so you may the better take it out againe, when you haue set in your grafts. {SN: 8.} If the Stocke be clouen, or the Barke loosed too much from the wood: then cleaue it downe lower, and set your grafts in, and looke that their incision bee fit, and very iustly answerable to the cleft, and that the two saps, first, of the Plant and graft, be right and euen set one against the other, and so handsomely fitted, as that there may not be the least appearance of any cut or cleft. For if they doe not thus lumpe one with another, they will neuer take one with another, because they cannot worke their seeming matter, and as it were cartilaguous glue in conuenient sort or manner, to the gluing of their ioynts together. You must likewise beware, not to make your cleft ouerthwart the pitch, but somewhat aside. The barke of your Plant being thicker then that of your Graft, you must set the graft so much the more outwardly in the cleft, that so the two saps may in any case be ioyned, and set right the one with the other but the rinde of the Plant must be somewhat more out, then that of the grafts on the clouen side. {SN: 9.} {SN: 10.} To the end that you may not faile of this worke of imping, you must principally take heed, not to ouer-cleaue the Stockes of your Trees. But before you widen the cleft of your wedges, binde, and goe about the Stocke with two or three turnes, and that with an Ozier, close drawne together, vnderneath the same place, where you would haue your cleft to end, that so your Stocke cleaue not too farre, which is a very vsuall cause of the miscarrying of grafts, in asmuch as hereby the cleft standeth so wide and open, as that it cannot be shut, and so not grow together againe; but in the meane time spendeth it selfe, and breatheth out all his life in that place, which is the cause that the Stocke and the Graft are both spilt. And this falleth out most often in Plum-trees, & branches of trees. You must be careful so to ioyne the rinds of your grafts, and Plants, that nothing may continue open, to the end that the wind, moisture of the clay or raine, running vpon the grafted place, do not get in: when the plant cloueth very straight, there is not any danger nor hardnesse in sloping downe the Graft. If you leaue it somewhat vneuen, or rough in some places, so that the saps both of the one and of the other may the better grow, and be glued together, when your grafts are once well ioyned to your Plants, draw out your wedges very softly, lest you displace them againe, you may leaue there within the cleft some small end of a wedge of greene wood, cutting it very close with the head of the Stocke: Some cast glue into the cleft, some Sugar, and some gummed Waxe. {SN: 11.} If the Stocke of the Plant whereupon you intend to graft, be not so thicke as your graft, you shall graft it after the fashion of a Goates foot, make a cleft in the Stocke of the Plant, not direct, but byas, & that smooth and euen, not rough: then apply and make fast thereto, the graft withall his Barke on, and answering to the barke of the Plant. This being done, couer the place with the fat earth and mosse of the Woods tyed together with a strong band: sticke a pole of Wood by it, to keepe it stedfast. CHAP. 4. _Grafting like a Scutcheon._ In grafting after the manner of a Scutcheon, you shall not vary nor differ much from that of the Flute or Pipe, saue only that the Scutcheon-like graft, hauing one eyelet, as the other hath yet the wood of the tree whereupon the Scutcheon-like graft is grafted, hath not any knob, or budde, as the wood whereupon the graft is grafted, after the manner of a pipe. {SN: 12.} In Summer when the trees are well replenished with sap, and that their new Siens begin to grow somewhat hard, you shall take a shoote at the end of the chiefe branches of some noble and reclaimed tree, whereof you would faine haue some fruit, and not many of his old store or wood, and from thence raise a good eylet, the tayle and all thereof to make your graft. But when you choose, take the thickest, and grossest, diuide the tayle in the middest, before you doe any thing else, casting away the leafe (if it be not a Peare plum-tree: for that would haue two or three leaues) without remouing any more of the said tayle: afterward with the point of a sharpe knife, cut off the Barke of the said shoote, the patterne of a shield, of the length of a nayle. {SN: 13.} In which there is onely one eylet higher then the middest together, with the residue of the tayle which you left behinde: and for the lifting vp of the said graft in Scutcheon, after that you haue cut the barke of the shoote round about, without cutting of the wood within, you must take it gently with your thumbe, and in putting it away you must presse vpon the wood from which you pull it, that so you may bring the bud and all away together with the Scutcheon: for if you leaue it behinde with the wood, then were the Scutcheon nothing worth. You shall finde out if the Scutcheon be nothing worth, if looking within when it is pulled away from the wood of the same sute, you finde it to haue a hole within, but more manifestly, if the bud doe stay behind in the VVood, which ought to haue beene in the Scutcheon. {SN: 14.} Thus your Scutcheon being well raised and taken off, hold it a little by the tayle betwixt your lips, without wetting of it, euen vntill you haue cut the Barke of the tree where you would graft it, and looke that it be cut without any wounding of the wood within, after the manner of a crutch, but somewhat longer then the Scutcheon that you haue to set in it, and in no place cutting the wood within; after you haue made incision, you must open it, and make it gape wide on both sides, but in all manner of gentle handling, and that with little Sizers of bone, and separating the wood and the barke a little within, euen so much as your Scutcheon is in length and breadth: you must take heed that in doing hereof, you do not hurt the bark. {SN: 15.} {SN: 17.} This done take your Scutcheon by the end, and your tayle which you haue left remaining, and put into your incision made in your tree, lifting vp softly your two sides of the incision with your said Sizers of bone, and cause the said Scutcheon to ioyne, and lye as close as may be, with the wood of the tree, being cut, as aforesaid, in waying a little vpon the end of your rinde: so cut and let the vpper part of your Scutcheon lye close vnto the vpper end of your incision, or barke of your said tree: afterward binde your Scutcheon about with a band of Hempe, as thicke as a pen or a quill, more or lesse, according as your tree is small or great, taking the same Hempe in the middest, to the end that either part of it may performe a like seruice; and wreathing and binding of the said Scutcheon into the incision of a tree, and it must not be tyed too strait, for that would keepe it from taking the ioyning of the one sap to the other, being hindred thereby, and neither the Scutcheon, nor yet the Hempe must be moist or wet: and the more iustly to binde them together, begin at the backe side of the Tree, right ouer against the middest of the incision, and from thence come forward to ioyne them before, aboue the eylet and tayle of the Scutcheon, crossing your band of Hempe, so oft as the two ends meet, and from thence returning backe againe, come about and tye it likewise vnderneath the eylets: and thus cast about your band still backward and forward, vntill the whole cleft of the incision be couered aboue and below with the said Hempe, the eylet onely excepted, and his tayle which must not be couered at all; his tayle will fall away one part after another, and that shortly after the ingrafting, if so be the Scutcheon will take. Leaue your trees and Scutcheons thus bound, for the space of one moneth, and the thicker, a great deale longer time. Afterward looke them ouer, and if you perceiue them to grow together, vntye them, or at the leastwise cut the Hempe behinde them, and leaue them vncouered. Cut also your branch two or three fingers aboue that, so the impe may prosper the better: and thus let them remaine till after Winter, about the moneth of _March_, and _Aprill_. {SN: 18.} If you perceiue that your budde of your Scutcheon doe swell and come forward: then cut off the tree three fingers or thereabouts, aboue the Scutcheon: for if it be cut off too neere the Scutcheon, at such time as it putteth forth his first blossome, it would be a meanes greatly to hinder the flowring of it, and cause also that it should not thriue and prosper so well after that one yeere is past, and that the shoote beginneth to be strong: beginning to put forth the second bud and blossome, you must goe forward to cut off in byas-wise the three fingers in the top of the tree, which you left there, when you cut it in the yeere going before, as hath beene said. {SN: 19.} {SN: 20.} {SN: 21.} When your shoote shall haue put foorth a great deale of length, you must sticke down there, euen hard ioyned thereunto, little stakes, tying them together very gently and easily; and these shall stay your shootes and prop them vp, letting the winde from doing any harme vnto them. Thus you may graft white Roses in red, and red in white. Thus you may graft two or three Scutcheons: prouided that they be all of one side: for they will not be set equally together in height because then they would bee all staruelings, neither would they be directly one ouer another; for the lower would stay the rising vp of the sap of the tree, and so those aboue should consume in penury, and vndergoe the aforesaid inconuenience. You must note, that the Scutcheon which is gathered from the Sien of a tree whose fruite is sowre, must be cut in square forme, and not in the plaine fashion of a Scutcheon. It is ordinary to graffe the sweet Quince tree, bastard Peach-tree, Apricock-tree, Iuiube-tree, sowre Cherry tree, sweet Cherry-tree, and Chestnut tree, after this fashion, howbeit they might be grafted in the cleft more easily, and more profitably; although diuers be of contrary opinion, as thus best: Take the grafts of sweet Quince tree, and bastard Peach-tree, or the fairest wood, and best fed that you can finde, growing vpon the wood of two yeeres old, because the wood is not so firme nor solid as the others, and you shall graffe them vpon small Plum-tree stocks, being of the thicknes of ones thumbe; these you shall cut after the fashion of a Goats foot: you shall not goe about to make the cleft of any more sides then one, being about a foot high from the ground; you must open it with your small wedge: and being thus grafted, it will seeme to you that it is open but of one side; afterward you shall wrap it vp with a little Mosse, putting thereto some gummed Wax, or clay, and binde it vp with Oziers to keepe it surer, because the stocke is not strong enough it selfe to hold it, and you shall furnish it euery manner of way as others are dealt withall: this is most profitable. _The time of grafting._ All moneths are good to graft in, (the moneth of _October_ and _Nouember_ onely excepted). But commonly, graft at that time of the Winter, when sap beginneth to arise. In a cold Countrey graft later, and in a warme Countrey earlier. The best time generall is from the first of _February_, vntill the first of _May_. The grafts must alwaies be gathered, in the old of the Moone. For grafts choose shootes of a yeere old, or at the furthermost two yeeres old. If you must carry grafts farre, pricke them into a Turnep newly gathered, or lay earth about the ends. If you set stones of Plummes, Almonds, Nuts, or Peaches: First let them lye a little in the Sunne, and then steepe them in Milke or Water, three or foure dayes before you put them into the earth. Dry the kernels of Pippins, and sow them in the end of _Nouember_. The stone of a Plum-tree must be set a foot deepe in _Nouember_, or _February_. The Date-stone must be set the great end downwards, two cubits deepe in the earth, in a place enriched with dung. The Peach-stone would be set presently after the Fruit is eaten, some quantity of the flesh of the Peach remaining about the stone. If you will haue it to be excellent, graft it afterward vpon an Almond tree. The little Siens of Cherry-trees, grown thicke with haire, rots, and those also which doe grow vp from the rootes of the great Cherry-trees, being remoued, doe grow better and sooner then they which come of stones: but they must be remoued and planted while they are but two or three yeeres old, the branches must be lopped. The Contents of the Art of _Propagating Plants_. _The Art of propagating Plants._ _page 109._ _Grafting in the Barke._ _p. 111._ _Grafting in the cleft._ _p. 113._ _Grafters Tooles._ _Time of planting & seting._ _Time of grafting._ _How to cut the stumps in grafting._ _Sprouts and imps: how gathered._ _Grafting like a Scutcheon._ _p. 116._ _Inoculation in the Barke._ _Emplaister-wise grafting._ _To pricke stickes to beare the first yeere._ _To haue Cherries or Plums without stones._ _To make Quinces great._ _To set stones of Plummes._ _Dates, Nut, and Peaches._ _To make fruit smell well._ _To plant Cherry-trees._ THE HVSBAND MANS FRVITEFVLL ORCHARD. For the true ordering of all sorts of _Fruits in their due seasons; and how double_ increase commeth by care in gathering _yeere after yeare: as also the best way_ of carriage by land or by water: _With their preseruation for_ longest continuance. {SN: Cherries.} Of all stone Fruit, Cherries are the first to be gathered: of which, though we reckon foure sorts; _English_, _Flemish_, _Gascoyne_ and _Blacke_, yet are they reduced to two, the early, and the ordinary: the earely are those whose grafts came first from _France_ and _Flanders_, and are now ripe with vs in _May_: the ordinary is our owne naturall Cherry, and is not ripe before _Iune_; they must be carefully kept from Birds, either with nets, noise, or other industry. {SN: Gathering of Cheries.} They are not all ripe at once, nor may be gathered at once, therefore with a light Ladder, made to stand of it selfe, without hurting the boughes, mount to the tree, and with a gathering hooke, gather those which be full ripe, and put them into your Cherry-pot, or Kybzey hanging by your side, or vpon any bough you please, and be sure to breake no stalke, but that the cherry hangs by; and pull them gently, lay them downe tenderly, and handle them as little as you can. {SN: To carry Cherries.} For the conueyance or portage of Cherries, they are best to be carried in broad Baskets like siues, with smooth yeelding bottomes, onely two broad laths going along the bottome: and if you doe transport them by ship, or boate, let not the siues be fil'd to the top, lest setting one vpon another, you bruise and hurt the Cherries: if you carry by horse-backe, then panniers well lined with Fearne, and packt full and close is the best and safest way. {SN: Other stone-fruit.} Now for the gathering of all other stone-fruite, as Nectarines, Apricockes, Peaches, Peare-plumbes, Damsons, Bullas, and such like, although in their seuerall kinds, they seeme not to be ripe at once on one tree: yet when any is ready to drop from the tree, though the other seeme hard, yet they may also be gathered, for they haue receiued the full substance the tree can giue them; and therefore the day being faire, and the dew drawne away; set vp your Ladder, and as you gathered your Cherries, so gather them: onely in the bottomes of your large siues, where you part them, you shall lay Nettles, and likewise in the top, for that will ripen those that are most vnready. {SN: Gathering of Peares.} In gathering of Peares are three things obserued; to gather for expence, for transportation, or to sell to the Apothecary. If for expence, and your owne vse, then gather them as soone as they change, and are as it were halfe ripe, and no more but those which are changed, letting the rest hang till they change also: for thus they will ripen kindely, and not rot so soone, as if they were full ripe at the gathering. But if your Peares be to be transported farre either by Land or Water, then pull one from the tree, and cut it in the middest, and if you finde it hollow about the choare, and the kernell a large space to lye in: although no Peare be ready to drop from the tree, yet then they may be gathered, and then laying them on a heape one vpon another, as of necessity they must be for transportation, they will ripen of themselues, and eate kindly: but gathered before, they will wither, shrinke and eate rough, losing not onely their taste, but beauty. Now for the manner of gathering; albeit some climb into the trees by the boughes, and some by Ladder, yet both is amisse: the best way is with the Ladder before spoken of, which standeth of it selfe, with a basket and a line, which being full, you must gently let downe, and keeping the string still in your hand, being emptied, draw it vp againe, and so finish your labour, without troubling your selfe, or hurting the tree. {SN: Gathering of Apples.} Now touching the gathering of Apples, it is to be done according to the ripening of the fruite; your Summer apples first, and the Winter after. For Summer fruit, when it is ripe, some will drop from the tree, and birds will be picking at them: But if you cut one of the greenest, and finde it as was shew'd you before of the Peare: then you may gather them, and in the house they will come to their ripenesse and perfection. For your Winter fruit, you shall know the ripenesse by the obseruation before shewed; but it must be gathered in a faire, Sunny, and dry day, in the waine of the Moone, and no Wind in the East, also after the deaw is gone away: for the least wet or moysture will make them subiect to rot and mildew: also you must haue an apron to gather in, and to empty into the great baskets, and a hooke to draw the boughes vnto you, which you cannot reach with your hands at ease: the apron is to be an Ell euery way, loopt vp to your girdle, so as it may serue for either hand without any trouble: and when it is full, vnloose one of your loopes, and empty it gently into the great basket, for in throwing them downe roughly, their owne stalkes may pricke them; and those which are prickt, will euer rot. Againe, you must gather your fruit cleane without leaues or brunts, because the one hurts the tree, for euery brunt would be a stalke for fruit to grow vpon: the other hurts the fruit by bruising, and pricking it as it is layd together, and there is nothing sooner rotteth fruit, then the greene and withered leaues lying amongst them; neither must you gather them without any stalke at all: for such fruit will begin to rot where the stalke stood. {SN: To vse the fallings.} For such fruit as falleth from the trees, and are not gathered, they must not be layd with the gathered fruit: and of fallings there are two sorts, one that fals through ripenesse, and they are best, and may be kept to bake or roast; the other windfals, and before they are ripe, and they must be spent as they are gathered, or else they will wither and come to nothing: and therefore it is not good by any meanes to beate downe fruit with Poales, or to carrie them in Carts loose and iogging or in sacks where they may be bruised. {SN: Carriage of fruit.} When your fruit is gathered, you shall lay them in deepe Baskets of Wicker, which shall containe foure or sixe bushels, and so betweene two men, carry them to your Apple-Loft, and in shooting or laying them downe, be very carefull that it be done with all gentlenesse, and leasure, laying euery sort of fruit seuerall by it selfe: but if there be want of roome hauing so many sorts that you cannot lay them seuerally, then such some fruite as is neerest in taste and colour, and of Winter fruit, such as will taste alike, may if need require, be laid together, and in time you may separate them, as shall bee shewed hereafter. But if your fruit be gathered faire from your Apple-Loft, them must the bottomes of your Baskets be lined with greene Ferne, and draw the stuborne ends of the same through the Basket, that none but the soft leafe may touch the fruit, and likewise couer the tops of the Baskets with Ferne also, and draw small cord ouer it, that the Ferne may not fall away, nor the fruit scatter out, or iogge vp and downe: and thus you may carry fruit by Land or by Water, by Boat, or Cart, as farre as you please: and the Ferne doth not onely keepe them from bruising, but also ripens them, especially Peares. When your fruit is brought to your Apple-Loft or store house, if you finde them not ripened enough, then lay them in thicker heapes vpon Fearne, and couer them with Ferne also: and when they are neere ripe, then vncouer them, and make the heapes thinner, so as the ayre may passe thorow them: and if you will not hasten the ripening of them, then lay them on the boords without any Fearne at all. Now for Winter, or long lasting Peares, they may be packt either in Ferne or Straw, and carried whither you please; and being come to the iourneys end must be laid vpon sweet straw; but beware the roome be not too warme, nor windie, and too cold, for both are hurtfull: but in a temperate place, where they may haue ayre, but not too much. {SN: Of Wardens.} Wardens are to be gathered, carried, packt, and laid as Winter Peares are. {SN: Of Medlers.} Medlers are to be gathered about _Michaelmas_, after a frost hath toucht them; at which time they are in their full growth, and will then be dropping from the tree, but neuer ripe vpon the tree. When they are gathered, they must be laid in a basket, siue, barrell, or any such caske, and wrapt about with woollen cloths, vnder, ouer, and on all sides, and also some waight laid vpon them, with a boord betweene: for except they be brought into a heat, they will neuer ripen kindly or taste well. Now when they haue laine till you thinke some of them be ripe, the ripest, still as they ripen, must be taken from the rest: therefore powre them out into another siue or basket leasurely, that so you may well finde them that be ripest, letting the hard one fall into the other basket, and those which be ripe laid aside: the other that be halfe ripe, seuer also into a third siue or basket: for if the ripe and halfe ripe be kept together, the one will be mouldy, before the other be ripe: And thus doe, till all be throughly ripe. {SN: Of Quinces.} Quinces should not be laid with other fruite; for the sent is offensiue both to other fruite, and to those that keepe the fruite or come amongst them: therefore lay them by themselues vpon sweet strawe, where they may haue ayre enough: they must be packt like Medlers, and gathered with Medlers. {SN: To packe Apples.} Apples must be packt in Wheat or Rye-straw, and in maunds or baskets lyned with the same, and being gently handled, will ripen with such packing and lying together. If seuerall sorts of apples be packt in one maund or basket, then betweene euery sort, lay sweet strawe of a pretty thicknesse. {SN: Emptying and laying apples.} Apples must not be powred out, but with care and leasure: first, the straw pickt cleane from them, and then gently take out euery seuerall sort, and place them by themselues: but if for want of roome you mixe the sorts together, then lay those together that are of equall lasting; but if they haue all one taste, then they need no separation. Apples that are not of the like colours should not be laid together, and if any such be mingled, let it be amended, and those which are first ripe, let them be first spent; and to that end, lay those apples together, that are of one time ripening: and thus you must vse Pippins also, yet will they endure bruises better then other fruit, and whilst they are greene will heale one another. {SN: Difference in Fruit.} Pippins though they grow of one tree, and in one ground, yet some will last better then other some, and some will bee bigger then others of the same kinde, according as they haue more or lesse of the Sunne, or more or lesse of the droppings of the trees or vpper branches: therefore let euery one make most of that fruite which is fairest, and longest lasting. Againe, the largenesse and goodnesse of fruite consists in the age of the tree: for as the tree increaseth, so the fruite increaseth in bignesse, beauty, taste, and firmnesse: and otherwise, as it decreaseth. {SN: Transporting fruit by water.} If you be to transport your fruit farre by water, then prouide some dry hogges-heads or barrells, and packe in your apples, one by one with your hand, that no empty place may be left, to occasion sogging; and you must line your vessell at both ends with fine sweet straw; but not the sides, to auoid heat: and you must bore a dozen holes at either end, to receiue ayre so much the better; and by no meanes let them take wet. Some vse, that transport beyond seas, to shut the fruite vnder hatches vpon straw: but it is not so good, if caske may be gotten. {SN: When not to transport fruit.} It is not good to transport fruite in _March_, when the wind blowes bitterly, nor in frosty weather, neither in the extreme heate of Summer. {SN: To conuay small store of fruit.} If the quantity be small you would carry, then you may carry them in Dossers or Panniers, prouided they be euer filled close, and that Cherries and Peares be lined with greene Fearne, and Apples with sweete straw; and that, but at the bottomes and tops, not on the sides. {SN: Roomes for fruite.} Winter fruite must lye neither too hot, nor too cold; too close, nor too open: for all are offensiue. A lowe roome or Cellar that is sweet, and either boorded or paued, and not too close, is good, from _Christmas_ till _March_: and roomes that are seeled ouer head, and from the ground, are good from _March_ till _May_: then the Cellar againe, from _May_ till _Michaelmas_. The apple loft would be seeled or boorded, which if it want, take the longest Rye-straw, and raise it against the walles, to make a fence as high as the fruite lyeth; and let it be no thicker then to keepe the fruite from the wall, which being moyst, may doe hurt, or if not moist, then the dust is offensiue. {SN: Sorting of Fruit.} There are some fruite which will last but vntill _Allhallontide_: they must be laid by themselues; then those which will last till _Christmas_, by themselues: then those which will last till it be _Candlemas_, by themselues: those that will last till _Shrouetide_, by themselues: and Pippins, Apple-Iohns, Peare-maines, and Winter-Russettings, which will last all the yeere by themselues. Now if you spy any rotten fruite in your heapes, pick them out, and with a Trey for the purpose, see you turne the heapes ouer, and leaue not a tainted Apple in them, diuiding the hardest by themselues, and the broken skinned by themselues to be first spent, and the rotten ones to be cast away; and euer as you turne them, and picke them, vnder-lay them with fresh straw: thus shall you keepe them safe for your vse, which otherwise would rot suddenly. {SN: Times of stirring fruit.} Pippins, Iohn Apples, Peare maines, and such like long lasting fruit, need not to be turned till the weeke before _Christmas_, vnlesse they be mixt with other of a riper kind, or that the fallings be also with them, or much of the first straw left amongst them: the next time of turning is at _Shroue-tide_, and after that, once a moneth till _Whitson-tide_; and after that, once a fortnight; and euer in the turning, lay your heapes lower and lower, and your straw very thinne: prouided you doe none of this labour in any great frost, except it be in a close Celler. At euery thawe, all fruit is moyst, and then they must not be touched: neither in rainy weather, for then they will be danke also: and therefore at such seasons it is good to set open your windowes, and doores, that the ayre may haue free passage to dry them, as at nine of the clocke in the fore-noone in Winter; and at sixe in the fore-noone, and at eight at night in Summer: onely in _March_, open not your windowes at all. All lasting fruite, after the middest of _May_, beginne to wither, because then they waxe dry, and the moisture gone, which made them looke plumpe: they must needes wither, and be smaller; and nature decaying, they must needes rot. And thus much touching the ordering of fruites. _FINIS._ * * * * * IC LONDON, Printed by _Nicholas Okes_ for IOHN HARISON, at the golden Vnicorne in Pater-noster-row. 1631. {Transcriber's notes The following corrections have been made: Title page "carring home" changed to "carrying home". Sig. A2r "SIR HENRY BELOSSES" possible error for "SIR HENRY BELLOSES"; not changed. Sig. A3v "how ancient, how, profitable," changed to "how ancient, how profitable,". "Roses on Thornes. and such like," changed to "Roses on Thornes, and such like,". Sig. A4r "_Of bough Setts._" changed to "_Of bought Setts._" for consistency with the text. Sig. A4v Page number for "_Of Foyling_" in Chapter 12 changed from 53 to 51, for consistency with the text. Page number for "_Of Flowers, Borders, Mounts &c._" in Chapter 17 changed from 71 to 70, for consistency with the text. Chapter 1, page 3 "other offall, that fruit" changed to "all other of that fruit" Chapter 2, page 3 "nor searcely with Quinces," changed to "nor scarcely with Quinces,". "(not well ordered," changed to "(not well ordered)". Page 5 "will pu forth suckers" changed to "will put forth suckers". Page 6 "become manure to your ground" changed to "become manure to your ground.". "15. or 18 inches deepe" changed to "15. or 18. inches deepe". Chapter 3, page 6 "(as is before described," changed to "(as is before described)". Page 7 "in _Holland_ and _Zealand_" the "a" in "and" is italicised in the original. "Our old fathers can telvs" changed to "Our old fathers can tel vs". Page 8 "chuse your ground low Or if you be forced" changed to "chuse your ground low: Or if you be forced". Page 10 "(for trees are the greatest suckers & pillers of earth," changed to "(for trees are the greatest suckers & pillers of earth)". Chapter 7, page 18 "for commonly your bur-knots are summer fruit)" changed to "(for commonly your bur-knots are summer fruit)". Page 20 "arse from some taw" changed to "arise from some taw". Page 21 "I could not mislke this kind" changed to "I could not mislike this kind". Page 27 "Let not you stakes" changed to "Let not your stakes". "or of auy other thing" changed to "or of any other thing". Chapter 8, page 29 "forty or fity yeares" changed to "forty or fifty yeares". "alotted to his felllow" changed to "alotted to his fellow". Page 30 "vpward out of he earth" changed to "vpward out of the earth". Chapter 9, page 32 "they are more subiect," changed to "they are more subiect to,". Chapter 10, page 33 "commonly called a _Graft_)" changed to "(commonly called a _Graft_)". Chapter 11, page 43 "(nay more) such as mens" changed to "(nay more, such as mens". Page 46 "It stayes it nothing at al" changed to "It stayes it nothing at all.". Chapter 12, page 53 "wastes cotinually" changed to "wastes continually". Chapter 13, page 57 "take sprig and all (for" changed to "take sprig and all: for". Page 58 "cleanse his foile" changed to "cleanse his soile". Chapter 14, page 63 "growth: for cut them" changed to "growth: (for cut them". Page 64 "to inlarge their frust" changed to "to inlarge their fruit". Chapter 16, page 67 "Orchrad shall exceed" changed to "Orchard shall exceed" Chapter 17, page 70 "double double Cowslips" not changed. The Country Housewifes Garden Chapter 8, page 90 "drunke to kill itches" changed to "drunke) to kill itches". Page 94 "It floweth at _Michael-tide_" changed to "It flowreth at _Michael-tide_". Page 95 "_Cur moritur homo, cum saluia crescit in horto?_" not changed. Possible error for "... cui saluia ...". Chapter 9, page 97 "for then they are too too tender" not changed. Chapter 10, page 99 "the Beees lye out" changed to "the Bees lye out". Page 100 "Neither would the hiue be too too great" not changed. Page 102 "hey cannot come downe" changed to "they cannot come downe". Page 103 "claspes are loose in the Stapes" not changed. Page 106 "combes into a siue" changed to "combes) into a siue". The Art of propagating plants Chapter 3, page 116 The last side note has been changed from "1." to "11.". Chapter 4, page 120 "aud these shall stay" changed to "and these shall stay". "sowre Cherry treee" changed to "sowre Cherry tree". The Husband mans fruitefull orchard Page 125 "_Gascoyne_ and Blacke" changed to "_Gascoyne_ and _Blacke_". Page 126 "if you doe trasport them" changed to "if you doe transport them". "Nertarines, Apricockes" changed to "Nectarines, Apricockes". } 
17514	----	THE GARDEN, YOU, AND I [Illustration: A SEASIDE GARDEN.] THE GARDEN, YOU, AND I BY BARBARA AUTHOR OF "THE GARDEN OF A COMMUTER'S WIFE," "PEOPLE OF THE WHIRLPOOL," "AT THE SIGN OF THE FOX," ETC. New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD. 1906 _All rights reserved_ COPYRIGHT, 1906. BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. Published June, 1906. Norwood Press J.S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass., U.S.A. ~Dedicated~ TO J.L.G. I.M.T. AND A.B.P. THE LITERARY GARDENERS OF REDDING GREETING This book is for those who in treading the garden path have no thought of material gain; rather must they give,--from the pocket as they may,--from the brain much,--and from the heart all,--if they would drink in full measure this pure joy of living. "Allons! the road is before us! It is safe--I have tried it--my own feet have tried it well--be not detained." --WALT WHITMAN. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. THE WAYS OF THE WIND 1 II. THE BOOK OF THE GARDEN, YOU, AND I 7 III. CONCERNING HARDY PLANTS 29 IV. THEIR GARDEN VACATION 48 V. ANNUALS--WORTHY AND UNWORTHY 70 VI. THEIR FORTUNATE ESCAPE 92 VII. A SIMPLE ROSE GARDEN 117 VIII. A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE 155 IX. FERNS, FENCES, AND WHITE BIRCHES 183 X. FRANKNESS--GARDENING AND OTHERWISE 202 LIST OF FLOWER COMBINATIONS FOR THE TABLE FROM BARBARA'S _Garden Boke_ 230 XI. A SEASIDE GARDEN 233 XII. THE TRANSPLANTING OF EVERGREENS 246 XIII. LILIES AND THEIR WHIMS 262 XIV. FRAGRANT FLOWERS AND LEAVES 281 XV. THE PINK FAMILY OUTDOORS 305 XVI. THE FRAME OF THE PICTURE 320 XVII. THE INS AND OUTS OF THE MATTER 336 XVIII. THE VALUE OF WHITE FLOWERS 352 XIX. PANDORA'S CHEST 365 XX. EPILOGUE 374 APPENDIX FOR THE HARDY SEED BED 375 SOME WORTHY ANNUALS 387 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS A SEASIDE GARDEN (see p. 243) _Frontispiece_ "THE MAGNOLIAS BELOW AT THE ROAD-BEND" 8 ENGLISH LARKSPUR SEVEN FEET HIGH 32 FRAXINELLA--GERMAN IRIS AND CANDY-TUFT 44 LONGFELLOW'S GARDEN 81 THE SUMMER GARDEN--VERBENAS 86 ASTERS 90 THE PICTORIAL VALUE OF EVERGREENS 102 "MY ROSES ARE SCATTERED HERE, THERE, AND EVERYWHERE" 119 MADAME PLANTIER AT VAN CORTLAND MANOR 128 A CONVENIENT ROSE-BED 138 "THE LAST OF THE OLD ORCHARD" 156 THE SCREEN OF WHITE BIRCHES 166 "AN ENDLESS SHELTER FOR EVERY SORT OF WILD THING" 184 SPECIOSUM LILIES IN THE SHADE 270 THE POET'S NARCISSUS 278 A BED OF JAPAN PINKS 296 SINGLE AND DOUBLE PINKS 314 "THE SILVER MAPLE BY THE LANE GATE" 326 "A CURTAIN TO THE SIDE PORCH" 328 AN IRIS HEDGE 358 DAPHNE CNEORUM 360 A TERRIBLE EXAMPLE 362 "THE LOW SNOW-COVERED MEADOW" 372 "PUNCH ... HAS A CACHE UNDER THE SYRINGA BUSHES" 374 THE GARDEN, YOU, AND I I THE WAYS OF THE WIND "Out of the veins of the world comes the blood of me; The heart that beats in my side is the heart of the sea; The hills have known me of old, and they do not forget; Long ago was I friends with the wind; I am friends with it yet." --GERALD GOULD. Whenever a piece of the land is to be set apart for a garden, two mighty rulers must be consulted as to the boundaries. When this earth child is born and flower garnished for the christening, the same two must be also bidden as sponsors. These rulers are the Sun and the Wind. The sun, if the matter in hand is once fairly spread before him and put in his charge, is a faithful guardian, meeting frankness frankly and sending his penetrating and vitalizing messengers through well-nigh inviolable shade. But of the wind, who shall answer for it or trust it? Do we really ever learn all of its vagaries and impossible possibilities? If frankness best suits the sun, diplomacy must be our shield of defence windward, for the wind is not one but a composite of many moods, and to lure one on, and skilfully but not insultingly bar out another, is our portion. To shut out the wind of summer, the bearer of vitality, the uplifter of stifling vapours, the disperser of moulds, would indeed be an error; therefore, the great art of the planters of a garden is to learn the ways of the wind and to make friends with it. If the soil is sodden and sour, it may be drained and sweetened; if it is poor, it may be nourished; but when all this is done, if the garden lies where the winds of winter and spring in passing swiftly to and fro whet their steel-edged tempers upon it, what avails? What does it matter if violet or pansy frames are set in a sunny nook, if it be one of the wind's winter playgrounds, where he drifts the snow deep for his pastime, so that after each storm of snow or sleet a serious bit of engineering must be undergone before the sashes can be lifted and the plants saved from dampness; or if the daffodils and tulips lie well bedded all the winter through, if, when the sun has called them forth, the winds of March blight their sap-tender foliage? Yet the lands that send the north winds also send us the means to deter them--the cold-loving evergreens, low growing, high growing, medium, woven dense in warp and woof, to be windbreaks, also the shrubs of tough, twisted fibre and stubborn thorns lying close to the earth for windbuffers. Therefore, before the planting of rose or hardy herbs, bulbs or tenderer flowers, go out, compass in hand, face the four quarters of heaven, and, considering well, set your windbreaks of sweeping hemlocks, pines, spruces, not in fortress-like walls barring all the horizon, but in alternate groups that flank, without appearing to do so heavily, the north and northwest. Even a barberry hedge on two sides of a garden, wedge point to north, like the wild-goose squadrons of springtime, will make that spot an oasis in the winter valley of death. A wise gardener it is who thinks of the winter in springtime and plants for it as surely as he thinks of spring in the winter season and longs for it! If, in the many ways by which the affairs of daily life are re-enforced, the saying is true that "forethought is coin in the pocket, quiet in the brain, and content in the heart," doubly does it apply to the pleasures of living, of which the outdoor life of working side by side with nature, called gardening, is one of the chief. When a garden is inherited, the traditions of the soil or reverence for those who planned and toiled in it may make one blind to certain defects in its conception, and beginning with _a priori_ set by another one does as one can. But in those choosing site, and breaking soil for themselves, inconsistency is inexcusable. Follow the lay of the land and let it lead. Nature does not attempt placid lowland pictures on a steep hillside, nor dramatic landscape effects in a horizonless meadow, therefore why should you? For one great garden principle you will learn from nature's close companionship--consistency! You who have a bit of abrupt hillside of impoverished soil, yet where the sky-line is divided in a picture of many panels by the trees, you should not try to perch thereon a prim Dutch garden of formal lines; neither should you, to whom a portion of fertile level plain has fallen, seek to make it picturesque by a tortuous maze of walks, curving about nothing in particular and leading nowhere, for of such is not nature. Either situation will develop the skill, though in different directions, and do not forget that in spite of better soil it takes greater individuality to make a truly good and harmonious garden on the flat than on the rolling ground. I always tremble for the lowlander who, down in the depth of his nature, has a prenatal hankering for rocks, because he is apt to build an undigested rockery! These sort of rockeries are wholly separate from the rock gardens, often majestic, that nowadays supplement a bit of natural rocky woodland, bringing it within the garden pale. The awful rockery of the flat garden is like unto a nest of prehistoric eggs that have been turned to stone, from the interstices of which a few wan vines and ferns protrude somewhat, suggesting the garnishing for an omelet. Also, if you follow Nature and study her devices, you will alone learn the ways of the winds and how to prepare for them. Where does Spring set her first flag of truce--out in the windswept open? No! the arbutus and hepatica lie bedded not alone in the fallen leaves of the forest but amid their own enduring foliage. The skunk cabbage raises his hooded head first in sheltered hollows. The marsh marigold lies in the protection of bog tussocks and stream banks. The first bloodroot is always found at the foot of some natural windbreak, while the shad-bush, that ventures farther afield and higher in air than any, is usually set in a protecting hedge, like his golden forerunner the spice-bush. If Nature looks to the ways of the wind when she plants, why should not we? A bed of the hardiest roses set on a hill crest is a folly. Much more likely would they be to thrive wholly on the north side of it. A garden set in a cut between hills that form a natural blowpipe can at best do no more than hold its own, without advancing. But there are some things that belong to the never-never land and may not be done here. You may plant roses and carnations in the shade or in dry sea sand, but they will not thrive; you cannot keep upland lilies cheerful with their feet in wet clay; you cannot have a garden all the year in our northern latitudes, for nature does not; and you cannot afford to ignore the ways of the wind, for according as it is kind or cruel does it mean garden life or death! "Men, they say, know many things; But lo, they have taken wings,-- The arts and sciences, And a thousand appliances; The wind that blows Is all that anybody knows." --THOREAU. II THE BOOK OF THE GARDEN, YOU, AND I _April 30._ Gray dawn, into which father and Evan vanished with their fishing rods; then sunrise, curtained by a slant of rain, during which the birds sang on with undamped ardour, a catbird making his début for the season as soloist. It must not be thought that I was up and out at dawn. At twenty I did so frequently, at thirty sometimes, now at thirty-five I _can_ do it _perfectly well_, if necessary, otherwise, save at the change of seasons, to keep in touch with earth and sky, I raise myself comfortably, elbow on pillow, and through the window scan garden, wild walk, and the old orchard at leisure, and then let my arm slip and the impression deepen through the magic of one more chance for dreams. _9 o'clock._ The warm throb of spring in the earth, rising in a potent mist, sap pervaded and tangible, having a clinging, unctuous softness like the touch of unfolding beech leaves, lured me out to finish the transplanting of the pansies among the hardy roses, while the first brown thrasher, high in the bare top of an ash, eyes fixed on the sky, proclaimed with many turns and changes the exact spot where he did not intend to locate his nest. This is an early spring, of a truth. Presently pale sunbeams thread the mist, gathering colour as they filter through the pollen-meshed catkins of the black birches; an oriole bugling in the Yulan magnolias below at the road-bend, fire amid snow; a high-hole laughing his courtship in the old orchard. Then Lavinia Cortright coming up to exchange Dahlia bulbs and discuss annuals and aster bugs. She and Martin browse about the country, visiting from door to door like veritable natives, while their garden, at first so prim and genteel, like one of Lavinia's own frocks, has broken bounds and taken on brocade, embroidery, and all sorts of lace frills, overflowed the south meadow, and only pauses at the stile in the wall of our old crab-apple orchard, rivalling in beauty and refined attraction any garden at the Bluffs. Martin's purse is fuller than of yore, owing to the rise in Whirlpool real estate, and nothing is too good for Lavinia's garden. Even more, he has of late let the dust rest peacefully on human genealogy and is collecting quaint garden books and herbals, flower catalogues and lists, with the solemn intent of writing a book on Historic Flowers. At least so he declares; but when Lavinia is in the garden, there too is Martin. To-day, however, he joined my men before noon at the lower brook. Fancy a house-reared man a convert to fishing when past threescore! Evan insists that it is because, being above all things consistent, he wishes to appear at home in the company of father's cherished collection of Walton's and other fishing books. Father says, "Nonsense! no man can help liking to fish!" [Illustration: "THE MAGNOLIAS BELOW AT THE ROAD-BEND."] Toward evening came home a creel lined with bog moss; within, a rainbow glimmer of brook trout, a posy of shad-bush, marsh marigolds, anemones, and rosy spring beauties from the river woods,--with three cheerfully tired men, who gathered by the den hearth fire with coffee cup and pipe, inside an admiring but sleepy circle of beagle hounds, who had run free the livelong day and who could doubtless impart the latest rabbit news with thrilling detail. All this and much more made up to-day, one of red letters. Yesterday, Monday, was quite different, and if not absolutely black, was decidedly slate coloured. It is only when some one of the household is positively ill that the record must be set down in black characters, for what else really counts? Why is it that the city folk persist in judging all rural days alike, that is until they have once really _lived_ in the country, not merely boarded and tried to kill time and their own digestions at one and the same moment. Such exceptional days as yesterday should only be chronicled now and then to give an added halo to happy to-morrows,--disagreeables are remembered quite long enough by perverse human nature. Yesterday began with the pipe from the water-back bursting, thereby doing away with hot water for shaving and the range fire at the same time. The coffee resented hurry, and the contact with an oil stove developed the peanutty side of its disposition, something that is latent in the best and most equable of brands. The spring timetable having changed at midnight Sunday, unobserved by Evan, he missed the early train, which it was especially important that he should take. Three other men found themselves in the same predicament, two being Bluffers and one a Plotter. (These are the names given hereabout to our two colonies of non-natives. The Bluffers are the people of the Bluffs, who always drive to the station; the Plotters, living on a pretty tract of land near the village that was "plotted" into house-lots a few years ago, have the usual newcomer's hallucination about making money from raising chickens, and always walk.) After a hasty consultation, one of the Bluffers telephoned for his automobile and invited the others to make the trip to town with him. In order to reach the north turnpike that runs fairly straight to the city, the chauffeur, a novice in local byways, proposed to take a short cut through our wood road, instead of wheeling into the pike below Wakeleigh. This wood road holds the frost very late, in spite of an innocent appearance to the contrary; this fact Evan stated tersely. Would a chauffeur of the Bluffs listen to advice from a man living halfway down the hill, who not only was autoless but frequently walked to the station, and therefore to be classed with the Plotters? Certainly not; while at the same moment the owner of the car decided the matter by pulling out his watch and murmuring to his neighbour something about an important committee meeting, and it being the one day in the month when time meant money! Into the road they plunged, and after several hair-breadth lurches, for the cut is deep and in places the rocks parallel with the roadway, the turnpike was visible; then a sudden jolt, a sort of groan from the motor, and it ceased to breathe, the heavy wheels having settled in a treacherous spot not wholly free from frost, its great stomach, or whatever they call the part that holds its insides, wallowed hopelessly in the mud! The gentlemen from the Bluffs deciding that, after all, there was no real need of going to town, as they had only moved into the country the week previous, and the auto owner challenged to a game of billiards by his friend, they returned home, while the Plotter and Evan walked back two miles to the depot and caught the third train! At home things still sizzled. Father had an important consultation at the hospital at ten; ringing the stable call for the horses, he found that Tim, evidently forgetting the hour, had taken them, Evan's also being of the trio, to the shoer half an hour before. There was a moment's consternation and Bertel left the digging over of my hardy beds to speed down to the village on his bicycle, and when the stanhope finally came up, father was as nearly irritable as I have ever seen him, while Tim Saunders's eyes looked extra small and pointed. Evidently Bertel had said things on his own account. Was an explosion coming at last to end twelve years of out-of-door peace, also involving my neighbour and domestic standby, Martha Corkle Saunders? No; the two elderly men glanced at each other; there was nothing of the domineering or resentful attitude that so often renders difficult the relation of master and man--"I must be getting old and forgetful," quoth father, stepping into the gig. "Nae, it's mair like I'm growin' deef in the nigh ear," said Tim, and without further argument they drove away. I was still pondering upon the real inwardness of the matter, when the boys came home to luncheon. Two hungry, happy boys are a tonic at any time, and for a time I buttered bread--though alack, the real necessity for so doing has long since passed--when, on explaining father's absence from the meal, Ian said abruptly, "Jinks! grandpa's gone the day before! he told Tim _Tuesday_ at 'leven, I heard him!" But, as it chanced, it was a slip of tongue, not memory, and I blessed Timothy Saunders for his Scotch forbearance, which Evan insists upon calling prudence. My own time of trial came in the early afternoon. During the more than ten years that I have been a gardener on my own account, I have naturally tried many experiments and have gradually come to the conclusion that it is a mistake to grow too many species of flowers,--better to have more of a kind and thus avoid spinkiness. The pink family in general is one of those that has stood the test, and this year a cousin of Evan's sent me over a quantity of Margaret carnation seed from prize stock, together with that of some exhibition single Dahlias. Late in February I sowed the seed in two of the most protected hotbeds, muffled them in mats and old carpets every night, almost turned myself into a patent ventilator in order to give the carnations enough air during that critical teething period of pinks, when the first grasslike leaves emerge from the oval seed leaves and the little plants are apt to weaken at the ground level, damp off, and disappear, thinned them out with the greatest care, and had (day before yesterday) full five hundred lusty little plants, ready to go out into the deeply dug cool bed and there wax strong according to the need of pinks before summer heat gains the upper hand. The Dahlias had also thriven, but then they are less particular, and if they live well will put up with more snubs than will a carnation. Weather and Bertel being propitious, I prepared to plant out my pets, though of course they must be sheltered of nights for another half month. As I was about to remove one of the props that held the sash aloft, to let in air to the Dahlias, and still constitute it a windbreak, I heard a violent whistling in our grass road north of the barn that divides the home acres from the upper pastures and Martha's chicken farm. At first I thought but little of it, as many people use it as a short cut from the back road from the Bluffs down to the village. Soon a shout came from the same direction, and going toward the wall, I saw Mr. Vandeveer struggling along, his great St. Bernard Jupiter, prize winner in a recent show and but lately released from winter confinement, bounding around and over him to such an extent that the spruce New Yorker, who had the reputation of always being on dress parade from the moment that he left bed until he returned to it in hand-embroidered pink silk pajamas, was not only covered with abundant April mud, but could hardly keep his footing. At the moment I spied the pair, a great brindled cat, who sometimes ventures on the place, in spite of all the attentions paid her by the beagles, and who had been watching sparrows in the barnyard, sprang to the wall. Zip! There was a rush, a snarl, a hiss, and a smash! Dog and what had been cat crashed through the sash of my Dahlia frame, and in the rebound ploughed into the soft earth that held the carnations. The next minute Mr. Vandeveer absolutely leaped over the wall, and seeing the dog, apparently in the midst of the broken glass, turned almost apoplectic, shouting, "Ah, his legs will be cut; he'll be ruined, and Julie will never forgive me! He's her best dog and cost $3000 spot cash! Get him out, somebody, why don't you? What business have people to put such dangerous skylights near a public road?" Meanwhile, as wrath arose in my throat and formed ugly words, Jupiter, a great friend of ours, who has had more comfortable meals in our kitchen during the winter than the careless kennel men would have wished to be known, sprang toward me with well-meant, if rough, caresses,--evidently the few scratches he had amounted to nothing. I forgave him the cat cheerfully, but my poor carnations! They do not belong to the grovelling tribe of herbs that bend and refuse to break like portulaca, chickweed, and pusley the accursed. Fortunately, just then, a scene of the past year, which had come to me by report, floated across my vision. Our young hounds, Bob and Pete, in the heat of undisciplined rat-catching (for these dogs when young and unbroken will chase anything that runs), completely undermined the Vandeveers' mushroom bed, the door of the pit having been left open! When Mr. Vandeveer recovered himself, he began profuse apologies. Would "send the glazier down immediately"--"so sorry to spoil such lovely young onions and spinach!" "What! not early vegetables, but flowers?" Oh, then he should not feel so badly. Really, he had quite forgotten himself, but the truth was Julie thought more of her dogs and horses than even of himself, he sometimes thought,--almost, but not quite; "ha! ha! really, don't you know!" While, judging by the comparative behaviour of dog and man, the balance was decidedly in favour of Jupiter. But you see I never like men who dress like ladies, I had lost my young plants, and I love dogs from mongrel all up the ladder (lap dogs excepted), so I may be prejudiced. After Bertel had carefully removed the splintered glass from the earth, so that I could take account of my damaged stock, about half seemed to be redeemable; but even those poor seedlings looked like soldiers after battle, a limb gone here and an eye missing there. At supper father, Evan, and I were silent and ceremoniously polite, neither referring to the day's disasters, and I could see that the boys were regarding us with open-eyed wonder. When the meal was almost finished, the bell of the front door rang and Effie returned, bearing a large, ornamental basket, almost of the proportions of a hamper, with a card fastened conspicuously to the handle, upon which was printed "With apologies from Jupiter!" Inside was a daintily arranged assortment of hothouse vegetables,--cucumbers, tomatoes, eggplant eggs, artichokes,--with a separate basket in one corner brimming with strawberries, and in the other a pink tissue-paper parcel, tied with ribbon, containing mushrooms, proving that, after all, fussy Mr. Vandeveer has the saving grace of humour. My righteous garden-indignation dwindled; laughter caught me by the throat and quenched the remainder. Evan, knowing nothing of the concatenation, but scenting something from the card, joined sympathetically. Glancing at father, I saw that his nose was twitching, and in a moment his shoulders began to shake and he led the general confession that followed. It seems that he arrived at the hospital really the day of the consultation, but found that the patient, in need of surgical care, had been seized with nervous panic and gone home! After such a thoroughly vulgar day there is really nothing to do but laugh and plan something pleasant for to-morrow, unless you prefer crying, which, though frequently a relief to the spirit, is particularly bad for eye wrinkles in the middle-aged. _May-day._ I always take this as a holiday, and give myself up to any sort of outdoor folly that comes into my head. There is nothing more rejuvenating than to let one's self thoroughly go now and then. Then, besides, to an American, May-day is usually a surprise in itself. You never can tell what it will bring, for it is by no means the amiable and guileless child of the poets, breathing perfumed south wind and followed by young lambs through meadows knee deep in grass and flowers. In the course of fifteen years I have seen four May-days when there was enough grass to blow in the wind and frost had wholly left for the season; to balance this there have been two brief snow squalls, three deluges that washed even big beans out of ground, and a scorching drought that reduced the brooks, unsheltered by leafage, to August shallowness. But to-day has been entirely lovable and full of the promise that after all makes May the garden month of the year, the time of perfect faith, hope, and charity when we may believe all things! This morning I took a stroll in the woods, partly to please the dogs, for though they always run free, they smile and wag furiously when they see the symptoms that tell that I am going beyond the garden. What a difference there is between the north and south side of things! On the south slope the hepaticas have gone and the columbines show a trace of red blood, while on the north, one is in perfection and the other only as yet making leaves. This is a point to be remembered in the garden, by which the season of blooming can be lengthened for almost all plants that do not demand full, unalloyed sun, like the rose and pink families. Every year I am more and more surprised at the hints that can be carried from the wild to the cultivated. For instance, the local soil in which the native plants of a given family nourish is almost always sure to agree better with its cultivated, and perhaps tropical, cousin than the most elaborately and scientifically prepared compost. This is a matter that both simplifies and guarantees better success to the woman who is her own gardener and lives in a country sufficiently open for her to be able to collect soil of various qualities for special purposes. Lilies were always a very uncertain quantity with me, until the idea occurred of filling my bed with earth from a meadow edge where _Lilium Canadense_, year after year, mounted her chimes of gold and copper bells on leafy standards often four feet high. We may read and listen to cultural ways and methods, but when all is said and done, one who has not a fat purse for experiments and failures must live the outdoor life of her own locality to get the best results in the garden. Then to have a woman friend to compare notes with and prove rules by is a comforting necessity. No living being can say positively, "I _will_ do so and so;" or "I _know_," when coming in contact with the wise old earth! Lavinia Cortright has only had a garden for half a dozen summers, and consults me as a veteran, yet I'm discovering quite as much from her experiments as she from mine. Last winter, when seed-catalogue time came round, and we met daily and scorched our shoes before the fire, drinking a great deal too much tea in the excitement of making out our lists, we resolved to form a horticulture society of only three members, of which she elected me the recording secretary, to be called "The Garden, You, and I." We expect to have a variety of experiences this season, and frequent meetings both actual and by pen, for Lavinia, in combination with Horace and Sylvia Bradford, last year built a tiny shore cottage, three miles up the coast, at Gray Rocks, where they are going for alternate weeks or days as the mood seizes them, and they mean to try experiments with real seashore gardening, while Evan proposes that we should combine pleasure with business in a way to make frequent vacations possible and take driving trips together to many lovely gardens both large and small, to our mutual benefit, his eyes being open to construction and landscape effect, and mine to the soul of the garden, as it were; for he is pleased to say that a woman can grasp and translate this more easily and fully than a man. What if the records of The Garden, You, and I should turn into a real book, an humble shadow of "Six of Spades" of jovial memory! Is it possible that I am about to be seized with Agamemnon Peterkin's ambition to write a book to make the world wise? Alas, poor Agamemnon! When he had searched the woods for an oak gall to make ink, gone to the post-office, after hours, to buy a sheet of paper, and caused a commotion in the neighbourhood and rumour of thieves by going to the poultry yard with a lantern to pluck a fresh goose quill for a pen, he found that he had nothing to say, and paused--thereby, at least, proving his own wisdom. I'm afraid I ramble too much to be a good recording secretary, but this habit belongs to my very own garden books that no critical eyes can see. That reminds me! Father says that he met Bartram Penrose in town last week and that he seemed rather nervous and tired, and worried about nothing, and wanted advice. After looking him over a bit, father told him that all he needed was a long vacation from keeping train, as well as many other kinds of time, for it seems during the six years of his marriage he has had no real vacation but his honeymoon. Mary Penrose's mother, my mother, and Lavinia Cortright were all school friends together, and since Mary married Bartram and moved to Woodridge we've exchanged many little visits, for our husbands agree, and now that she has time she is becoming an enthusiastic gardener, after my own heart, having last season become convinced of the ugliness of cannas and coleus beds about a restored colonial farmhouse. Why might they not join us on our driving trips, by way of their vacation? Immediately I started to telephone the invitation, and then paused. I will write instead. Mary Penrose is on the long-distance line,--toll thirty cents in the daytime! In spring I am very stingy; thirty cents means six papers of flower seeds, or three heliotropes. Whereas in winter it is simply thirty cents, and it must be a very vapid conversation indeed that is not worth so much on a dark winter day of the quality when neither driving nor walking is pleasant, and if you get sufficiently close to the window to see to read, you develop a stiff neck. Also, the difficulty is that thirty cents is only the beginning of a conversation betwixt Mary Penrose and myself, for whoever begins it usually has to pay for overtime, which provokes quarterly discussion. Is it not strange that very generous men often have such serious objections to the long-distance tails to their telephone bills, and insist upon investigating them with vigour, when they pay a speculator an extra dollar for a theatre ticket without a murmur? They must remember that telephones, whatever may be said to the contrary, are one of the modern aids to domesticity and preventives of gadding, while still keeping one not only in touch with a friend but within range of the voice. Surely there can be no woman so self-sufficient that she does not in silent moments yearn for a spoken word with one of her kind. When I had finished sowing my first planting of mignonette and growled at the prospective labour entailed by thinning out the fall-sown Shirley poppies (I have quite resolved to plant everything in the vegetable-garden seed beds and then transplant to the flowering beds as the easier task), Lavinia Cortright came up, note-book in hand, inviting herself comfortably to spend the day, and thoroughly inspect the hardy seed bed, to see what I had for exchange, as well as perfect her plan of starting one of her own. By noon the sun had made the south corner, where the Russian violets grow, quite warm enough to make lunching out-of-doors possible, and promising to protect Lavinia's rather thinly shod feet from the ground with one of the rubber mats whereon I kneel when I transplant, she consented to thus celebrate the coming of the season of liberty, doors open to the air and sun, the soul to every whisper of Heart of Nature himself, the steward of the plan and eternal messenger of God. "Hard is the heart that loveth naught in May!" Yes, so hard that it is no longer flesh and blood, for under the spell of renewal every grass blade has new beauty, every trifle becomes of importance, and the humble song sparrow a nightingale. The stars that blazed of winter nights have fallen and turned to dandelions in the grass; the Forsythias are decked in gold, a colour that is carried up and down the garden borders in narcissus, dwarf tulips, and pansies, peach blossoms giving a rosy tinge to the snow fall of cherry bloom. To-day there are two catbirds, Elle et Lui, and the first Johnny Wren is inspecting the particular row of cottages that top the long screen of honeysuckles back of the walk named by Richard _Wren Street_. Why is the song sparrow calling "Dick, Dick!" so lustily and scratching so testily in the leaves that have drifted under an old rose shrub? The birds' bath and drinking basin is still empty; I pour out the libation to the day by filling it. The seed bed is reached at last. It has wintered fairly well, and the lines of plants all show new growth. As I started to point out and explain, Lavinia Cortright began to jot down name and quantity, and then, stopping, said: "No, you must write it out as the first record for The Garden, You, and I. I make a motion to that effect." As I was about to protest, the postman brought some letters, one being from Mary Penrose, to whom Mrs. Cortright stands as aunt by courtesy. I opened it, and spreading it between us we began to read, so that afterward Lavinia declared that her motion was passed by default. "WOODRIDGE, _April_ 30. "MY DEAR MRS. EVAN, "I am going into gardening in earnest this spring, and I want you and Aunt Lavinia to tell me things,--things that you have done yourselves and succeeded or failed in. Especially about the failures. It is a great mistake for garden books and papers to insist that there is no such word in horticulture as fail, that every flower bed can be kept in full flower six months of the year, in addition to listing things that will bloom outdoors in winter in the Middle States, and give all floral measurements as if seen through a telephoto lens. It makes one feel the exceptional fool. It's discouraging and not stimulating in the least. Doesn't even nature meet with disaster once in a while as if by way of encouragement to us? And doesn't nature's garden have on and off seasons? So why shouldn't ours? "There is a quantity of _Garden Goozle_ going about nowadays that is as unbelievable, and quite as bad for the constitution and pocket, as the guarantees of patent medicines. No, _Garden Goozle_ is not my word, you must understand; it was invented by a clever professor of agriculture, whom Bart met not long ago, and we loved the word so much that we have adopted it. The mental quality of _Garden Goozle_ seems to be compounded of summer squash and milkweed milk, and it would be quite harmless were it not for the strong catbriers grafted in the mass for impaling the purses of the trusting. "Ah, if we only lived a little nearer together, near enough to talk over the garden fence! It seems cruel to ask you to write answers to all my questions, but after listing the hardy plants I want for putting the garden on a consistent old-time footing, I find the amount runs quite to the impossible three figures, aside from everything else we need, so I've decided on beginning with a seed bed, and I want to know before we locate the new asparagus bed how much ground I shall need for a seed bed, what and how to plant, and everything else! "I like all the hardy things you have, especially those that are mice, lice, and water proof! If you will send me ever so rough a list, I shall be grateful. Would I better begin at once or wait until July or August, as some of the catalogues suggest? "Bart has just come in and evidently has something on his mind of which he wishes to relieve himself via speech. "Your little sister of the garden, "MARY P." "She must join The Garden, You, and I," said Lavinia Cortright, almost before I had finished the letter. "She will be entertainer in chief, for she never fails to be amusing!" "I thought there were to be but three members," I protested, thinking of the possible complications of a three-cornered correspondence. "Ah, well," Lavinia Cortright replied quickly, "make the Garden an _Honorary_ member; it is usual so to rank people of importance from whom much is expected, and then we shall still be but three--with privilege of adding your husband as councillor and mine as librarian and custodian of deeds!" So I have promised to write to Mary Penrose this evening. III CONCERNING HARDY PLANTS THE SEED BED FOR HARDY FLOWERS When the Cortrights first came to Oaklands, expecting to remain here but a few months each summer, their garden consisted of some borders of old-fashioned, hardy flowers, back of the house. These bounded a straight walk that, beginning at the porch, went through an arched grape arbour, divided the vegetable garden, and finally ended under a tree in the orchard at the barrier made by a high-backed green wooden seat, that looked as if it might have been a pew taken from some primitive church on its rebuilding. There were, at intervals, along this walk, some bushes of lilacs, bridal-wreath spirea, flowering almond, snowball, syringa, and scarlet flowering quince; for roses, Mme. Plantier, the half double Boursault, and some great clumps of the little cinnamon rose and Harrison's yellow brier, whose flat opening flowers are things of a day, these two varieties having the habit of travelling all over a garden by means of their root suckers. Here and there were groups of tiger and lemon lilies growing out of the ragged turf, bunches of scarlet bee balm, or Oswego tea, as it is locally called, while plantain lilies, with deeply ribbed heart-shaped leaves, catnip, southernwood, and mats of grass pinks. Single hollyhocks of a few colours followed the fence line; tall phlox of two colours, white and a dreary dull purple, rambled into the grass and was scattered through the orchard, in company with New England asters and various golden rods that had crept up from the waste pasture-land below; and a straggling line of button chrysanthemums, yellow, white, maroon, and a sort of medicinal rhubarb-pink, had backed up against the woodhouse as if seeking shelter. Lilies-of-the-valley planted in the shade and consequently anæmic and scant of bells, blended with the blue periwinkle until their mingled foliage made a great shield of deep, cool green that glistened against its setting of faded, untrimmed grass. This garden, such as it was, could be truly called hardy, insomuch as all the care it had received for several years was an annual cutting of the longest grass. The fittest had survived, and, among herbaceous things, whatsoever came of seed, self-sown, had reverted nearly to the original type, as in the case of hollyhocks, phlox, and a few common annuals. The long grass, topped by the leaves that had drifted in and been left undisturbed, made a better winter blanket than many people furnish to their hardy plants,--the word _hardy_ as applied to the infinite variety of modern herbaceous plants as produced by selection and hybridization not being perfectly understood. While a wise selection of flowering shrubs and truly hardy roses will, if properly planted, pruned, and fertilized, live for many years, certain varieties even outlasting more than one human generation, the modern hardy perennial and biennial of many species and sumptuous effects must be watched and treated with almost as much attention as the so-called bedding-plants demand in order to bring about the best results. The common idea, fostered by inexperience, and also, I'm sorry to say, by what Mary Penrose dubs _Garden Goozle_, that a hardy garden once planted is a thing accomplished for life, is an error tending to bitter disappointment. If we would have a satisfactory garden of any sort, we must in our turn follow Nature, who never rests in her processes, never even sleeping without a purpose. But if fairly understood, looked squarely in the face, and treated intelligently, the hardy garden, supplemented here and there with annual flowers, is more than worth while and a perpetual source of joy. If money is not an object to the planter, she may begin by buying plants to stock her beds, always remembering that if these thrive, they must be thinned out or the clumps subdivided every few years, as in the case of hybrid phloxes, chrysanthemums, etc., or else dug up bodily and reset; for if this is not done, smaller flowers with poorer colours will be the result. The foxglove, one of the easily raised and very hardy plants, of majestic mien and great landscape value, will go on growing in one location for many years; but if you watch closely, you will find that it is rarely the original plant that has survived, but a seedling from it that has sprung up unobserved under the sheltering leaves of its parent. The old plant grows thick at the juncture of root stock and leaf, the action of the frost furrows and splits it, water or slugs gain an entrance, and it disappears, the younger growth taking its place. Especially true is this also of hollyhocks. The larkspurs have different roots and more underground vigour, and all tap-rooted herbs hold their own well, the difficulty being to curb their spreading and undermining their border companions. [Illustration: ENGLISH LARKSPUR SEVEN FEET HIGH.] It is conditions like these that keep the gardener of hardy things ever on the alert. Beds for annuals or florists' plants are thoroughly dug and graded each spring, so that the weeds that must be combated are of new and comparatively shallow growth. The hardy bed, on the contrary, in certain places must be stirred with a fork only and that with the greatest care, for, if well-planned, plants of low growth will carpet the ground between tall standing things, so that in many spots the fingers, with a small weeding hoe only, are admissible. Thus a blade of grass here, some chickweed there, the seed ball of a composite dropping in its aerial flight, and lo! presently weedlings and seedlings are wrestling together, and you hesitate to deal roughly with one for fear of injuring the constitution of the other. To go to the other extreme and keep the hardy garden or border as spick and span clean as a row of onions or carrots in the vegetable garden, is to do away with the informality and a certain gracious blending of form and colour that is one of its greatest charms. Thus it comes about, with the most successful of hardy mixed borders, that, at the end of the third season, things will become a little confused and the relations between certain border-brothers slightly strained; the central flowers of the clumps of phloxes, etc., grow small, because the newer growth of the outside circle saps their vitality. Personally, I believe in drastic measures and every third or fourth year, in late September, or else April, according to season and other contingencies, I have all the plants carefully removed from the beds and ranged in rows of a kind upon the broad central walk. Then, after the bed is thoroughly worked, manured, and graded, the plants are divided and reset, the leavings often serving as a sort of horticultural wampum, the medium of exchange among neighbours with gardens, or else going as a freewill offering to found a garden for one of the "plotters" who needs encouragement. The limitations of the soil of my garden and surroundings serve as the basis of an experience that, however, I have found carried out practically in the same way in the larger gardens of the Bluffs and in many other places that Evan and I have visited. So that any one thinking that a hardy garden, at least of herbaceous plants, is a thing that, once established, will, if not molested, go on forever, after the manner of the fern banks of the woods or the wild flowers of marsh and meadow, will be grievously disappointed. Of course, where hardy plants are massed, as in nurseries, horticultural gardens, or the large estates, each in a bed or plot of its kind, this resetting is far simpler, as each variety can receive the culture best suited to it, and there is no mixing of species. Another common error in regard to the hardy garden, aided and abetted by _Garden Goozle_, is that it is easy or even practicable to have every bed in a blooming and decorative condition during the whole season. It is perfectly possible always to have colour and fragrance in some part of the garden during the entire season, after the manner of the natural sequence of bloom that passes over the land, each bed in bloom some of the time, but not every bed all of the time. Artifice and not nature alone can produce this, and artifice is too costly a thing for the woman who is her own gardener, even if otherwise desirable. For it should appeal to every one having a grain of garden sense that, if the plants of May and June are to grow and bloom abundantly, those that come to perfection in July and August, if planted in their immediate vicinity, must be overshadowed and dwarfed. The best that can be done is to leave little gaps or lines between the hardy plants, so that gladioli, or some of the quick-growing and really worthy annuals, can be introduced to lend colour to what becomes too severely of the past. There is one hardy garden, not far from Boston, one of those where the landscape architect lingers to study the possibilities of the formal side of his art in skilful adjustment of pillar, urn, pergola, and basin,--this garden is never out of flower. At many seasons Evan and I had visited it, early and late, only to find it one unbroken sheet of bloom. How was it possible, we queried? Comes a day when the complex secret of the apparent simple abundance was revealed. It was as the foxgloves, that flanked a long alley, were decidedly waning when, quite early one morning, we chanced to behold a small regiment of men remove the plants, root and branch, and swiftly substitute for them immense pot-grown plants of the tall flower snapdragon (_Antirrhinum_), perfectly symmetrical in shape, with buds well open and showing colour. These would continue in bloom quite through August and into September. So rapidly was the change made that, in a couple of hours at most, all traces were obliterated, and the casual passer-by would have been unaware that the plants had not grown on the spot. This sort of thing is a permissible luxury to those who can afford and desire an exhibition garden, but it is not watching the garden growing and quivering and responding to all its vicissitudes and escapes as does the humble owner. Hardy gardening of this kind is both more difficult and costly, even if more satisfactory, than filling a bed with a rotation of florists' flowers, after the custom as seen in the parks and about club-houses: to wit, first tulips, then pansies and daisies, next foliage plants or geraniums, and finally, when frost threatens, potted plants of hardy chrysanthemums are brought into play. No, The Garden, You, and I know that hardy plants, native and acclimated, may be had in bloom from hepatica time until ice crowns the last button chrysanthemum and chance pansy, but to have every bed in continuous bloom all the season is not for us, any more than it is to be expected that every individual plant in a row should survive the frost upheavals and thaws of winter. If a garden is so small that half a dozen each of the ten or twelve best-known species of hardy herbs will suffice, they may be bought of one of the many reliable dealers who now offer such things; but if the place is large and rambling, affording nooks for hardy plants of many kinds and in large quantities, then a permanent seed bed is a positive necessity. This advice is especially for those who are now so rapidly taking up old farmsteads, bringing light again to the eyes of the window-panes that have looked out on the world of nature so long that they were growing dim from human neglect. In these places, where land is reckoned by the acre, not by the foot, there is no excuse for the lack of seed beds for both hardy and annual flowers (though these latter belong to another record), in addition to space for cuttings of shrubs, hardy roses, and other woody things that may be thus rooted. If there is a bit of land that has been used for a vegetable garden and is not wholly worn out, so much the better. The best seed bed I have ever seen belongs to Jane Crandon at the Jenks-Smith place on the Bluffs. It was an old asparagus bed belonging to the farm, thoroughly well drained and fertilized, but the original crop had grown thin and spindling from being neglected and allowed to drop its seed. In the birth of this bed the wind and sun, as in all happy gardens, had been duly consulted, and the wind promised to keep well behind a thick wall of hemlocks that bounded it on the north and east whenever he was in a cruel mood. The sun, casting his rays about to get the points of compass, promised that he would fix his eye upon the bed as soon as he had bathed his face in mist on rising and turned the corner of the house, and then, after watching it until past noon, turn his back, so no wonder that the bed throve. Any well-located bit of fairly good ground can be made into a hardy seed bed, provided only that it is not where frozen water covers it in winter, or in the way of the wind, coming through a cut or sweeping over the brow of a hill, for flowers are like birds in this respect,--they can endure cold and many other hardships, but they quail before the blight of wind. For all gardens of ordinary size a bit of ground ten feet by thirty feet will be sufficient. If the earth is heavy loam and inclined to cake or mould, add a little sifted sand and a thin sprinkling of either nitrate of soda or one of the "complete" commercial manures. Barn-yard manure, unless very well rotted and thoroughly worked under, is apt to develop fungi destructive to seedlings. This will be sufficient preparation if the soil is in average condition; but if the earth is old and worn out, it must be either sub-soiled or dug and enriched with barnyard (not stable) manure to the depth of a foot, or more if yellow loam is not met below that depth. If the bed is on a slight slope, so much the better. Dig a shallow trench of six or eight inches around it to carry off the wash. An abrupt hillside is a poor place for such a bed, as the finer seeds will inevitably be washed out in the heavy rains of early summer. If the surface soil is lumpy or full of small stones that escape fine raking, it must be shovelled through a sand-screen, as it is impossible for the most ambitious seed to grow if its first attempt is met by the pressure of what would be the equivalent of a hundred-ton boulder to a man. It is to details such as these that success or failure in seed raising is due, and when people say, "I prefer to buy plants; I am very unlucky with seeds," I smile to myself, and the picture of something I once observed done by one of the so-called gardeners of my early married days flits before me. The man scraped a groove half an inch deep in hard-baked soil, with a pointed stick, scattered therein the dustlike seeds of the dwarf blue lobelia as thickly as if he had been sprinkling sugar on some very sour article, then proceeded to trample them into the earth with all the force of very heavy feet. Of course the seeds thus treated found themselves sealed in a cement vault, somewhat after the manner of treating victims of the Inquisition, the trickle of moisture that could possibly reach them from a careless watering only serving to prolong their death from suffocation. The woman gardener, I believe, is never so stupid as this; rather is she tempted to kill by kindness in overfertilizing and overwatering, but too lavish of seed in the sowing she certainly is, and I speak from the conviction born of my own experience. When the earth is all ready for the planting, and the sweet, moist odour rises when you open the seed papers with fingers almost trembling with eagerness, it seems second nature to be lavish. If a few seeds will produce a few plants, why not the more the merrier? If they come up too thick, they can be thinned out, you argue, and thick sowing is being on the safe side. But is it? Quite the contrary. When the seedlings appear, you delay, waiting for them to gain a good start before jarring their roots by thinning. All of a sudden they make such strides that when you begin, you are appalled by the task, and after a while cease pulling the individual plants, but recklessly attack whole "chunks" at once, or else give up in a despair that results in a row of anæmic, drawn-out starvelings that are certainly not to be called a success. After having tried and duly weighed the labour connected with both methods, I find it best to sow thinly and to rely on filling gaps by taking a plant here and there from a crowded spot. For this reason, as well as that of uniformity also, it is always better to sow seeds of hardy or annual flowers in a seed bed, and then remove, when half a dozen leaves appear, to the permanent position in the ornamental part of the garden. With annuals, of course, there are some exceptions to this rule,--in the case of sweet peas, nasturtiums, mignonette, portulaca, poppies, and the like, where great quantities are massed. When you have prepared a hardy seed bed of the dimensions of ten by thirty feet, which will allow of thirty rows, ten feet long and a foot apart (though you must double the thirty feet if you intend to cultivate between the rows with any sort of weeding machine, and if you have room there should be two feet or even three between the rows), draw a garden line taut across the narrow way of the plot at the top, snap it, and you will have the drill for your first planting, which you may deepen if the seeds be large. Before beginning, make a list of your seeds, with the heights marked against each, and put the tallest at the top of the bed. "Why bother with this, when they are to be transplanted as soon as they are fist up?" I hear Mary Penrose exclaim quickly, her head tipped to one side like an inquisitive bird. Because this seed bed, if well planned, will serve the double purpose of being also the "house supply bed." If, when the transplanting is done, the seedlings are taken at regular intervals, instead of all from one spot, those that remain, if not needed as emergency fillers, will bloom as they stand and be the flowers to be utilized by cutting for house decoration, without depriving the garden beds of too much of their colour. At the commercial florists, and in many of the large private gardens, rows upon rows of flowers are grown on the vegetable-garden plan, solely for gathering for the house, and while those with limited labour and room cannot do this extensively, they can gain the same end by an intelligent use of their seed beds. Many men (and more especially many women), many minds, but however much tastes may differ I think that a list of thirty species of herbaceous perennials should be enough to satisfy the ambition of an amateur, at least in the climate of the middle and eastern United States. I have tried many more, and I could be satisfied with a few less. Of course by buying the seeds in separate colours, as in the single case of pansies, one may use the entire bed for a single species, but the calculation of size is based upon either a ten-foot row of a mixture of one species, or else that amount of ground subdivided among several colours. Of the seeds for the hardy beds themselves, the enticing catalogues offer a bewildering array. The maker of the new garden would try them all, and thereby often brings on a bit of horticultural indigestion in which gardener and garden suffer equally, and the resulting plants frequently perish from pernicious anæmia. Of the number of plants needed, each gardener must be the judge; also, in spite of many warnings and directions, each one must finally work on the lines of personally won experience. What is acceptable to the soil and protected by certain shelter in my garden on one side of hill crest or road may not flourish in a different soil and exposure only a mile away. One thing is very certain, however,--it is time wasted to plant a hardy garden of herbaceous plants in shallow soil. In starting the hardy seed bed it is always safe to plant columbines, Canterbury bells, coreopsis, larkspur, pinks in variety, foxgloves, hollyhocks, gaillardia, the cheerful evergreen candy-tuft, bee balm and its cousin wild bergamot, forget-me-nots, evening primroses, and the day-flowering sundrops, Iceland and Oriental poppies, hybrid phlox, the primrose and cowslips of both English fields and gardens, that are quite hardy here (at least in the coastwise New England and Middle states), double feverfew, lupins, honesty, with its profusion of lilac and white bloom and seed vessels that glisten like mother-of-pearl, the tall snapdragons, decorative alike in garden or house, fraxinella or gas plant, with its spikes of odd white flowers, and pansies, always pansies, for the open in spring and autumn, in rich, shady nooks all summer, and even at midwinter a few tufts left in a sunny spot, at the bottom of a wall by the snowdrops, will surprise you with round, cheerful faces with the snow coverlet tucked quite under their chins. [Illustration: FRAXINELLA,--GERMAN IRIS AND CANDY-TUFT.] It is well to keep a tabulated list of these old-time perennials in the _Garden Boke_, so that in the feverish haste and excitement of the planting season a mere glance will be a reminder of height, colour, and time of bloom. I lend you mine, not as containing anything new or original, but simply as a suggestion, a hint of what one garden has found good and writ on its honour list. Newer things and hybrids are now endless, and may be tested and added, one by one, but it takes at least three seasons of this adorably unmonotonous climate of alternate drought, damp, open or cold winter, to prove a plant hardy and worthy a place on the honour roll. (See p. 376.) Before you plant, sit down by yourself with the packages spread before you and examine the seeds at your leisure. This is the first uplifting of the veil that you may see into the real life of a garden, a personal knowledge of the seed that mothers the perfect plant. It may seem a trivial matter, but it is not so; each seed, be it seemingly but a dust grain, bears its own type and identity. Also, from its shape, size, and the hardness or thinness of its covering, you may learn the necessities of its planting and development, for nowhere more than in the seed is shown the miraculous in nature and the forethought and economy of it all. The smaller the seed, the greater the yield to a flower, as if to guard against chances of loss. The stately foxglove springs from a dust grain, and fading holds aloft a seed spike of prolific invention; the lupin has stout, podded, countable seeds that must of necessity fall to the ground by force of weight. Also in fingering the seeds, you will know why some are slow in germinating: these are either hard and gritty, sandlike, like those of the English primrose, smooth as if coated with varnish, like the pansy, violet, columbine, and many others, or enclosed in a rigid shell like the iris-hued Japanese morning-glories and other ipomeas. Heart of Nature is never in a hurry, for him time is not. What matters it if a seed lies one or two years in the ground? With us of seed beds and gardens, it is different. We wish present visible growth, and so we must be willing to lend aid, and first aid to such seeds is to give them a whiff of moist heat to soften what has become more hard than desirable through man's intervention. For in wild nature the seed is sown as soon as it ripens, and falls to the care of the ground before the vitality of the parent plant has quite passed from it. That is why the seed of a hardy plant, self-sown at midsummer, grows with so much more vigour than kindred seed that has been lodged in a packet since the previous, season. My way of "first aiding" these seeds is to tie them loosely in a wisp of fine cheese-cloth or muslin, leaving a length of string for a handle (as tea is sometimes prepared for the pot by those who do not like mussy tea leaves). Dip the bag in hot (not boiling) water, and leave it there at least an hour, oftentimes all night. In this way the seed is softened and germination awakened. I have left pansy seeds in soak for twenty-four hours with good results. Of course the seed should be planted before it dries, and rubbing it in a little earth (after the manner of flouring currants for cake) will keep the seeds from sticking either to the fingers or to each other. What a contrast it all is, our economy and nature's lavishness; our impatience, nature's calm assurance! In the garden the sower feels a responsibility, the sweat beads stand on the brow in the sowing. With nature undisturbed it may be the blind flower of the wild violet perfecting its moist seed under the soil, a nod of a stalk to the wind, a ball of fluff sailing by, or the hunger of a bird, and the sowing is done. IV THEIR GARDEN VACATION (From Mary Penrose to Barbara Campbell) WOODRIDGE, _May_ 10. "DEAR MRS. EVAN, "For the past week I have been delving in the seed bed, and until it was an accomplished fact, that is as far as putting on the top sheet of finely sifted dirt over the seeds sleeping in rows and rounding the edges after the most approved methods of bed-making, praying the while for a speedy awakening, I had neither fingers for pen, ink, and paper, nor the head to properly think out the answer to your May-day invitation. "So you have heard that we are to take a long vacation this summer, and therefore ask us to join your driving and tramping trip in search of garden and sylvan adventure; in short to become your fellow-strollers in the Forest of Arden, now transported to the Berkshires. "It was certainly a kind and gracious thought of yours to admit outsiders into the intimacies of such a journey, and on the moment we both cried, 'Yes, we will go!' and then appeared _but_--that little word of three letters, and yet the condensation of whole volumes, that is so often the stumbling-block to enthusiasm. "The translation of this particular _but_ will take a quire of paper, much ink, and double postage on my part, and a deal of perusive patience on yours, so to proceed. Like much else that is hearable the report is partly true, insomuch that your father, Dr. Russell, thinks it necessary for Bart to take a real vacation, as he put it, 'An entire change in a place where time is not beaten insistently at the usual sixty-seconds-a-minute rate, day in and out,' where he shall have no train-catching or appointments either business or social hanging over him. At the same time he must not hibernate physically, but be where he will feel impelled to take plenty of open-air exercise, as a matter of course! For you see, as a lawyer, Bart breathes in a great deal of bad air, and his tongue and pen hand get much more exercise than do his legs, while all the spring he has 'gone back on his vittles that reckless it would break your heart,' as Anastasia, our devoted, if outspoken, Celtic cook puts it. "The exact location of this desired valley of perfection, the ways and means of reaching it, as well as what shall become of the house and Infant during our absence, have formed a daily dialogue for the past fortnight, or I should say triologue, for Anastasia has decided opinions, and has turned into a brooding raven, informing us constantly of the disasters that have overtaken various residents of the place who have taken vacations, the head of one family having acquired typhoid in the Catskills, a second injured his spine at the seaside by diving in shallow water, while the third was mistaken for a moose in Canada and shot. However, her interest is comforting from the fact that she evidently does not wish to part with us at present. "It must be considered that if we take a really comfortable trip of a couple of months' duration, and Bart's chief is willing to allow him a three months' absence, as it will be his first real vacation since we were married six years ago, it will devour the entire sum that we have saved for improving the farm and garden. "You live on the place where you were born, which has developed by degrees like yourselves, yet you probably know that rescuing, not an abandoned farm but the abode of ancient and decayed gentility, even though the house is oak-ribbed Colonial, and making it a tangible home for a commuter, is not a cheap bit of work. "As to the Infant--to take a human four-and-a-half-year-old travelling, for the best part of a summer, is an imposition upon herself, her parents, and the public at large. To leave her with Bart's mother, whose forte is Scotch crossed with Pennsylvania Dutch discipline, will probably be to find on her return that she has developed a quaking fear of the dark; while, if she goes to my mother, bless her! who has the beautiful and soothing Southern genius for doing the most comfortable thing for the moment, regardless of consequences, the Infant for months after will expect to be sung to sleep, my hand cuddled against her cheek, until I develop laryngitis from continued vocal struggles with 'Ole Uncle Ned,' 'Down in de Cane Brake,' and 'De Possum and de Coon.' "This mental and verbal struggle was brought to an end yesterday by _The Man from Everywhere_. Do you remember, that was the title that we gave Ross Blake, the engineer, two summers ago, when you and Evan visited us, because he was continually turning up and always from some new quarter? Just now he has been put in charge of the construction of the reservoir that is to do away with our beloved piece of wild-flower river woods in the valley below Three Brothers Hills. "As usual he turned up unexpectedly with Bartram Saturday afternoon and 'made camp,' as a matter of course. A most soothing sort of person is this same _Man from Everywhere_, and a special dispensation to any woman whose husband's best friend he chances to be, as in my case, for a man who is as well satisfied with crackers, cheese, and ale as with your very best company spread, praises the daintiness of your guest chamber, but sleeps equally sound in a hammock swung in the Infant's attic play-room, is not to be met every day in this age of finnickiness. Then again he has the gift of saying the right thing at difficult moments, and meaning it too, and though a born rover, has an almost feminine sympathy for the little dilemmas of housekeeping that are so vital to us and yet are of no moment to the masculine mind. Yes, I do admire him immensely, and only wish I saw an opportunity of marrying him either into the family or the immediate neighbourhood, for though he is nearly forty, he is neither a misanthrope nor a woman hater, but rather seems to have set himself a difficult ideal and had limited opportunities. Once, not long ago, I asked him why he did not marry. 'Because,' he answered, 'I can only marry a perfectly frank woman, and the few of that clan I have met, since there has been anything in my pocket to back my wish, have always been married!' "'I have noticed that too,' said Bart, whom I did not know was listening; 'then there is nothing for us to do but find you a widow!' "'No, that will not do, either; I want born, not acquired, frankness, for that is only another term for expediency,' he replied with emphasis. "So you see this _Man_ is not only somewhat difficult, but he has observed! "Last night after dinner, when the men drew their chairs toward the fire,--for we still have one, though the windows are open,--and the fragrance from the bed of double English violets, that you sent me, mingled with the wood smoke, we all began to croon comfortably. As soon as _he_ had settled back in the big chair, with closed eyes and finger tips nicely matched, we propounded our conundrum of taking three from two and having four remain. "A brief summary of the five years we have lived here will make the needs of the place more clear. "The first year, settling ourselves in the house and the arrival of the Infant completely absorbed ourselves, income, and a good bit of savings. Repairing the home filled the second year. The outdoor time and money of the third year was eaten up by an expensive and obliterative process called 'grading,' a trap for newly fledged landowners. This meant taking all the kinks and little original attitudes out of the soil and reproving its occasional shoulder shrugs, so to speak,--Delsarte methods applied to the earth,--and you know that Evan actually laughed at us for doing it. "Even in the beginning we didn't care much for this grading, but it was in the plan that father Penrose had made for us by a landscape gardener, renowned about Philadelphia at the time he gave us the place as a 'start in life,' so we felt in some way mysteriously bound by it. And I may as well assert right here that, though it is well to have a clear idea of what you mean to do in making a garden, or ever so small pleasure grounds, that every bit of labour, however trivial, may go toward one end and not have to be undone, a conventional plan unsympathetically made and blindly followed often becomes a cross between Fetish and Juggernaut. It has taken me exactly four years of blundering to find that you must live your garden life, find out and study its peculiarities and necessities yourself, just as you do that of your indoor home, if success is to be the result! "As it was, the grading began behind the lilac bushes inside the front fence and proceeded in fairly graceful sweeps, dividing each side of the level bit where the old garden had been, the still remaining boxwood bushes and outlines of walks and beds, saving this from obliteration, and meeting again at the drying yard. "Here the proceeding stopped abruptly, as if it had received a shock, which it had, as at this point the family purse wholly collapsed with a shudder, for the next requirement of the plan was the turning of a long crest of rocky woodland, shaped like a three-humped camel, that bounded us on the northwest, into a series of terraces, to render the assent from a somewhat trim residential section to the pastures of the real farming country next door less abrupt. "In its original state this spur of woodland had undoubtedly been very beautiful, with hemlocks making a windbreak, and all manner of shrubs, wild herbs, and ferns filling in the leaf-mould pockets between the boulders. Now it is bare of everything except a few old hemlocks that sweep the pasture and the rocks, wandering cattle and excursionists from the village, during the 'abandoned' period of the place, having caused havoc among the shrubs and ferns. "Various estimates have been given, but $1000 seemed to be the average for carrying out the terrace plan even partially, as much blasting is involved, and $1000 is exactly one-fourth of the spendable part of Bart's yearly earnings! "The flower garden also cries for proper raiment, for though the original lines have been preserved and the soil put in a satisfactory shape, in lieu of the hardy plants and old-time favourites that belong to such a place, in emergency we were reduced, last summer, to the quick-growing but monotonous bedding plants for fillers. Can you imagine anything more jarring and inconsistent than cannas, castor-oil beans, coleus, and nasturtiums in a prim setting of box? "Then, too, last Christmas, Bart's parents sent us a dear old sundial, with a very good fluted column for a base. The motto reads 'Never consult me at night,' which Bart insists is an admonition for us to keep, chickenlike, early hours! Be this as it may, in order to live up to the dial, the beds that form its court must be consistently clothed--for cannas, coleus, and beans, read peonies, Madonna lilies, sweet-william, clove-pinks, and hollyhocks, which latter the seed bed I hope will duly furnish. "All these details, and more too, I poured into the ears of _The Man from Everywhere_, while Bart kept rather silent, but I could tell by the way his pipe breathed, short and quick, that he was thinking hard. One has to be a little careful in talking over plans and wishes with Bart; his spirit is generous beyond his pocket-power and he is a bit sensitive. He wants to do so much for the Infant, the home, and me, that when desire outruns the purse, he seems to feel that the limit lies somewhere within the range of his own incapacity, and that bare, camel-backed knoll outlining the horizon, as seen from the dining-room window, showing the roof of the abandoned barn and hen yards, and the difficulty of wrestling with it, is an especially tender spot. "'If it was anything possible, I'd hump my back and do it, but it isn't!' he jerked, knocking his pipe against the chimney-side before it was half empty and then refilling it; 'it's either a vacation _or_ the knoll--which shall it be? "'I don't hanker after leaving home, but that's what a complete change means, I suppose, though I confess I should enjoy a rest for a time from travelling to and fro, like a weaver's shuttle! Mary hates to leave home too; she's a regular sit-by-the-fire! Come, which shall it be? This indecision makes the cure worse than the disease!' and Bart fingered a penny prior to giving it the decisive flip--'head, a vacation; tail, an attack on the knoll!' The penny spun, and then taking a queer backward leap fell into the ashes, where it lay buried. "'That reads like neither!' said Bart, sitting up with a start. "'No, both!' replied _The Man from Everywhere_, opening his eyes and gazing first at Bart and then at me with a quizzical expression. "Instantly curiosity was piqued, for compared to this most domestic of travelled bachelors, the Lady from Philadelphia was without either foresight or resources. "'You said that your riddle was to take three from two and have four. My plan is very simple; just add three to two and you have not only four but five! Take a vacation from business, but stay at home; do your own garden improvements with your head and a horse and cart and a pair of strong hands with a pick and spade to help you out, for you can't, with impunity, turn an office man, all of a sudden, into a day labourer. As to hewing the knoll into terraces up and down again, tear up that confounded plan. Restore the ground on nature's lines, and you'll have a better windbreak for your house and garden in winter than the best engineer could construct, besides having a retreat for hot weather where you can sit in your bones without being observed by the neighbours!' "He spoke very slowly, letting the smoke wreaths float before his eyes, as if in them he sought the solution he was voicing. "'A terrace implies closely shorn turf and formal surroundings, out of keeping with this place; besides, young people with only a general maid and a useful man can't afford to be formal,--if they would, the game isn't worth the strain.' (Did I not tell you that he observes?) "'Let us take a look at the knoll to-morrow and see what has grown there and guess at what may be coaxed to grow, and then you can spend a couple of months during this summer and autumn searching the woods and byways for native plants for the restoration. This reservoir building is your opportunity; you can rob the river valley with impunity, for the clearing will begin in October, consequently anything you take will be in the line of a rescue. So there you are--living in the fresh air, improving your place, and saving money at both ends.' "'By George! It sounds well, as far as I'm concerned!' ejaculated Bart, 'but how will such a scheme give Mary a vacation from housekeeping and the everlasting three meals a day? She seldom growls, but the last month she too has confessed to feeling tired.' "'I think it's a perfectly fascinating idea, but how will it give Bart a "complete change, away from the sound of the beat of time," as the doctor puts it?' I asked with more eagerness than I realized, for I always dislike to be far away from home at night, and you see there has been whooping cough in the neighbourhood and there are also green apples to be reckoned with in season, even though the Infant has long ago passed safely through the mysteries of the second summer. "_The Man from Everywhere_ did not answer Bart at all, but, turning to me with the air of a paternal sage and pointing an authoritative forefinger, said, somewhat sarcastically, I thought, 'What greater change can an American have than leisure in which to enjoy his own home? For giving Time the slip, all you have to do is to stop the clocks and follow the sun and your own inclinations. As to living out of doors, the old open-sided hay barn on the pasture side of the knoll, that you have not decided whether to rebuild or tear down, will make an excellent camp. Aside from the roof, it is as open as a hawk's nest. Don't hurry your decision; incubate the idea over Sunday, Madam Penrose, and I'll warrant by Monday you will have hatched a really tangible plan, if not a brood of them.' "I looked at Bart, he nodded back approvingly, so I slipped out, first to see that the Infant was sleeping properly, head up, and not down under the clothes, as I had once found her, and then to walk to and fro under the budding stars for inspiration, leaving the pair to talk the men's talk that is so good and nourishing for a married man like Bart, no matter how much he cares for the Infant and me. "Jumbled up as the garden is, the spring twilight veils all deficiencies and releases persuasive odours from every corner, while the knoll, with its gnarled trees outlined against the sky, appealed to me as never before, a thing desirable and to be restored and preserved even at a cost rather than obliterated. "'Oh, Mrs. Evan, I wish I could tell you how _The Man's_ plan touches me and seems made for me especially this spring. I seem fairly to have a passion for home and the bit of earth about and sky above it that is all our own. And unlike other times when I loved to have my friends come and visit me, and share and return the hospitality of neighbours, I want to be alone with myself and Bart, to spend long days under the sky and trees and have nothing come between our real selves and God, not even the ticking and dictation of a clock! There is so much that I want to tell my husband just now, that cannot be put in words, and that he may only read by intuition. When I was younger and first married, I did not feel this need so much, but now life seems to take on so much deeper a meaning! Do you understand? Ah, yes, I know you do! But I am wandering from the point, just as I yearn to wander from all the stringencies of life this summer. "Evidently seeing me, the Rural Delivery man whistled from his cart, instead of leaving the evening mail in its wren box, as usual. I went to the gate rather reluctantly, I was so absorbed in garden dreams, took the letters from the carrier, and, as the men were still sitting in the dark, carried them up to the lamp in my own sitting room, little realizing that even at that moment I was holding the key to the 'really tangible plan' in my hand. * * * * * "_The next morning._ Two of the letters I received on Saturday night would have been of great importance if we were still planning to go away for a vacation, instead of hoping to stay at home for it. The first, from mother, told me that she and my brother expect to spend the summer in taking a journey, in which Alaska is to be the turning-point. She begs us to go with them and offers to give me her right-hand-reliable, Jane McElroy, who cared for me when a baby, to stay here with the Infant. The second letter was from Maria Maxwell, a distant cousin of Bart's. She has also heard of our intended vacation,--indeed the rapidity with which the news travels and the interest it causes are good proofs of our stay-at-home tendencies and the general sobriety of our six years of matrimony! "Maria is a very bright, adaptable woman of about thirty-five, who teaches music in the New York public schools, is alone in the world, and manages to keep an attractive home in a mere scrap of a flat. When she comes to visit us, we like her as well the last day of her stay as the first, which fact speaks volumes for her character! Though forced by circumstances to live in town, she has a deep love for the country, and wishes, if we intend to leave the house open, to come and care for it in our absence, even offering to cook for herself if we do not care to have the expense of a maid, saying, 'to cook a real meal, with a real fire instead of gas, will be a great and refreshing change for me, so you need feel under no obligation whatever!' "Thinking of the pity of wasting such tempting offers as these, I went to church with my body only, my mind staying outside under a horse-chestnut tree, and instead of listening as I should, I looked sidewise out of the window at my double in the shade and wondered if, after all, the stay-at-home vacation was not a wild scheme. There being a Puritan streak in me, via my father, I sometimes question the right of what I wish to do simply because I like to do it. "At dinner I was so grumpy, answering in monosyllables, that sensitive Bart looked anxious, and as if he thought I was disappointed at the possible turn of affairs, but _The Man from Everywhere_ laughed, saying, 'Let her alone; she is not through incubating the plan, and you know the best of setting hens merely cluck and growl when disturbed.' "Immediately after dinner Bart and _The Man_ went for a walk up the river valley, and I, going to the living room, seated myself by the window, where I could watch the Infant playing on the gravel outside, it being the afternoon out of both the general maid Anastasia and Barney the man, between whom I suspect matrimonial intentions. "The singing of the birds, the hum of bees in the opening lilacs, and the garden fragrance blending with the Infant's prattle, as she babbled to her dolls, floated through the open door and made me drowsy, and I turned from the light toward the now empty fireplace. "A snap! and the air seemed suddenly exhilarating! Was it an electric spark from the telephone? No, simply the clarifying of the thoughts that had been puzzling me. "Maria Maxwell shall come during our vacations,--at that moment I decided to separate the time into several periods,--she shall take entire charge of all within doors. "Bart and I will divide off a portion of the old hay-barn with screens, and camp out there (unless in case of very bad thunder or one of the cold July storms that we sometimes have). Anastasia shall serve us a very simple hot dinner at noon in the summer kitchen, and keep a supply of cooked food in the pantry, from which we can arrange our breakfasts and suppers in the opposite side of the barn from our sleeping place, and there we can have a table, chairs, and a little oil stove for making tea and coffee. "Maria, besides attending to domestic details, must also inspect the mail and only show us letters when absolutely necessary, as well as to say 'not at home,' with the impenetrable New York butler manner to every one who calls. "Thus Bart and I will be equally free without the rending of heart strings--free to love and enjoy home from without, for it is really strange when one comes to think of it, we learn of the outside world by looking out the windows, but we so seldom have time to stand in another view-point and look in. Thus it occurred to me, instead of taking one long vacation, we can break the time into three or four in order to follow the garden seasons and the work they suggest. A bit at the end of May for both planning and locating the spring wild flowers before they have wholly shed their petals, and so on through the season, ending in October by the transplanting of trees and shrubs that we have marked and in setting out the hardy roses, for which we shall have made a garden according to the plan that Aunt Lavinia says is to be among the early Garden, You, and I records. "_May 15._ Maria Maxwell has joyfully agreed to come the twenty-first, having obtained a substitute for her final week of teaching, as well as rented her 'parlor car,' as she calls her flat, to a couple of students who come from the South for change of air and to attend summer school at Columbia College. It seems that many people look upon New York as a summer watering place. Strange that a difference in climate can be merely a matter of point of view. "Now that we have decided to camp out at home, we are beginning to realize the positive economy of the arrangement, for as we are not going among people,--neither are they coming to us,--we shall need no new clothes! "We, a pair of natural spendthrifts, are actually turning miserly for the garden's sake. "Last night Bart went to the attic with a lantern and dragged from obscurity two frightful misfit suits of the first bicycle cuff-on-the-pants period, that were ripening in the camphor chest for future missionary purposes, announcing that these, together with some flannel shirts, would be his summer outfit, while this morning I went into town and did battle at a sale of substantial, dollar shirt-waists, and turning my back upon all the fascinations of little girls' frills and fur-belows, bought stout gingham for aprons and overalls, into which I shall presently pop the Infant, and thus save both stitches and laundry work. "Mother has sent a note expressing her pleasure in our plan and enclosing a cheque for $50, suggesting that it should be put into a birthday rose bed--my birthday is in two days--in miniature like the old garden at her home on the north Virginia border. I'm sending you the list of such roses as she remembered that were in it, but I'm sure many, like Gloire de Dijon, would be winter killed here. Will you revise the list for me? "Bart has arranged to shut off the back hall and stairs, so that when we wish, we can get to our indoor bedroom and bath at any hour without going through the house or disturbing its routine. "Anastasia has been heard to express doubts as to our entire sanity confidentially to Barney, on his return from the removal of two cots from the attic to the part of the barn enclosed by some old piazza screens, thereby publicly declaring our intention of sleeping out in all seasonable weather. "_May 20._ The Blakes, next door below, are going to Europe, and have offered us their comfortable family horse, the buggy, and a light-work wagon, if we will feed, shoe, pet, and otherwise care for him (his name, it seems, is Romeo). Could anything be more in keeping with both our desires and needs? "To-day, half as a joke, I've sent out P.P.C. cards to all our formal friends in the county. Bart frowns, saying that they may be taken seriously and produce like results! "_May 22._ Maria has arrived, taken possession of the market-book, housekeeping box, and had a satisfactory conference with Anastasia. "Hurrah for Liberty and outdoors! _It_ begins to-morrow. You may label it Their Garden Vacation, and admit it to the records of The Garden, You, and I, at your own risk and peril; but as you say that if you are to boil down the practical part of your garden-boke experiences for the benefit of Aunt Lavinia and me and I must send you my summer doings, I shall take this way of accomplishing it, at intervals, the only regular task, if gossiping to you can be so called, that I shall set myself this summer. "A new moon to-night. Will it prove a second honeymoon, think you, or end in a total eclipse of our venture? I'm poppy sleepy! "_May 23._ 10 A.M. (A postal.) Starting on vacation; stopped bedroom clock and put away watches last night, and so overslept. It seems quite easy to get away from Time! Please tell me what annuals I can plant as late in the season as this, while we are locating the rose bed. "MARY PENROSE." V ANNUALS--WORTHY AND UNWORTHY THE MIDSUMMER GARDEN _Oaklands, May 25._ A garden vacation! Fifty dollars to spend for roses! What annuals may be planted now to tide you easily over the summer? Really, Mary Penrose, the rush of your astonishing letter completely took away my breath, and while I was recovering it by pacing up and down the wild walk, and trying to decide whether I should answer your questions first, and if I did which one, or ask you others instead, Scotch fashion, about your unique summer plans, Evan came home a train earlier than usual, with a pair of horticultural problems for which he needed an immediate solution. Last evening, in the working out of these schemes, we found that we were really travelling on lines parallel with your needs, and so in due course you shall have Evan's prescription and design for A Simple Rose Garden (if it isn't simple enough, you can begin with half, as the proportions will be the same), while I now send you my plans for an inexpensive midsummer garden, which will be useful to you only as a part of the whole chain, but for which Evan has a separate need. Over at East Meadow, a suburb of Bridgeton that lies toward the shore and is therefore attractive to summer people, a friend of Evan's has put up a dozen tasteful, but inexpensive, Colonial cottages, and Evan has planned the grounds that surround them, about an acre being allotted to each house, for lawn and garden of summer vegetables, though no arbitrary boundaries separate the plots. The houses are intended for people of refined taste and moderate means who, only being able to leave town during the school vacation, from middle June to late September, yet desire to have a bit of garden to tend and to have flowers about them other than the decorative but limited piazza boxes or row of geraniums around the porch. The vegetable gardens consist of four squares, conveniently intersected by paths, these squares to be edged by annuals or bulbs of rapid growth, things that, planted in May, will begin to be interesting when the tenants come a month later. But here am I, on the verge of rushing into another theme, without having expressed our disappointment that you cannot bear us company this summer, yet I must say that the edge of regret is somewhat dulled by my interest in the progress and result of your garden vacation, which to us at least is a perfectly unique idea, and quite worthy of the inventive genius of _The Man from Everywhere_. Plainly do I see by the scope of this same letter of yours that the records of The Garden, You, and I, instead of being a confection of undistinguishable ingredients blended by a chef of artistic soul, will be a home-made strawberry shortcake, for which I am to furnish the necessary but uninspired crust, while you will supply the filling of fragrant berries. With the beginning of your vacation begin my questions domestic that threaten to overbalance your questions horticultural. If the Infant should wail at night, do you expect to stay quietly out "in camp" and not steal on tiptoe to the house, and at least peep in at the window? Also, you have put a match-making thought in a head swept clean of all such clinging cobwebs since Sukey Crandon married Carthy Latham and, turning their backs on his ranch experiment, they decided to settle near the Bradfords at the Ridge, where presently there will be another garden growing. If you have no one either in the family or neighbourhood likely to attract _The Man from Everywhere_, why may we not have him? Jane Crandon is quite unexpectedly bright, as frank as society allows, this being one of his requirements, besides having grown very pretty since she has virtually become daughter to Mrs. Jenks-Smith and had sufficient material in her gowns to allow her chest to develop. But more of this later; to return to the annuals, I understand that you have had your hardy beds prepared and that you want something to brighten them, as summer tenants, until early autumn, when the permanent residents may be transplanted from the hardy seed bed. Annuals make a text fit for a very long sermon. Verily there are many kinds, and the topic forms easily about a preachment, for they may be divided summarily into two classes, the worthy and the unworthy, though the worth or lack of it in annuals, as with most of us humans, is a matter of climate, food, and environment, rather than inherent original sin. The truth is, nature, though eternally patient and good-natured, will not be hurried beyond a certain point, and the life of a flower that is born under the light cloud shelter of English skies, fed by nourishing mist through long days that have enough sunlight to stimulate and not scorch, has a different consummation than with us, where the climate of extremes makes the perfection of flowers most uncertain, at least in the months of July and August when the immature bud of one day is the open, but often imperfect, flower of the next. As no one may change climatic conditions, the only thing to be done is to give to this class of flowers of the summer garden room for individual development, all the air they need to breathe both below ground, by frequent stirring of the soil, and above, by avoidance of over-crowding, and then select only those varieties that are really worth while. This qualification can best be settled by pausing and asking three questions, when confronting the alluring portrait of an above-the-average specimen of annual in a catalogue, for _Garden Goozle_ applies not only to the literature of the subject, but to the pictures as well, and a measurement of, for instance, a flower stalk of Drummond phlox, taken from a specimen pot-grown plant, raised at least partly under glass, is sure to cause disappointment when the average border plant is compared with it. First--is the species of a colour and length of flowering season to be used in jungle-like masses for summer colour? Second--has it fragrance or decorative quality for house decoration? Thirdly, has it the backbone to stand alone or will the plant flop and flatten shapelessly at the first hard shower and so render an array of conspicuous stakes necessary? Stakes, next to unsightly insecticides and malodorous fertilizers, are the bane of gardening, but that subject is big enough for a separate chronicle. By ability to stand alone, I do not mean is every branchlet stiff as if galvanized, like a balsam, for this is by no means pretty, but is the plant so constructed that it can languish gracefully, petunia fashion, and not fall over stark and prone like an uprooted castor bean. Hybridization, like physical culture in the human, has evidently infused grace in the plant races, for many things that in my youth seemed the embodiment of stiffness, like the gladiolus, have developed suppleness, and instead of the stiff bayonet spike of florets, this useful and indefatigable bulb, if left to itself and not bound to a stake like a martyr, now produces flower sprays that start out at right angles, curve, and almost droop, with striking, orchid-like effect. For making patches of colour, without paying special heed to the size of flower or development of individual plants, annuals may be sown thinly broadcast, raked in lightly, and, if the beds or borders are not too wide for reaching, thinned out as soon as four or five leaves appear. Portulaca, sweet alyssum, Shirley poppies, and the annual gaillardias belong to this class, as well as single petunias of the inexpensive varieties used to edge shrubberies, and dwarf nasturtiums. Sweet peas, of course, are to be sown early and deep, where they are to stand half an inch apart, like garden peas, and then thinned out so that there is not less than an inch between (two is better, but it is usually heartbreaking to pull up so many sturdy pealets) and reënforced by brush or wire trellising. Otherwise I plant the really worthy, or what might be called major annuals, in a seed bed much like that used for the hardy plants, at intervals during the month of May, according to the earliness of the season, and the time they are wanted to bloom. Later, I transplant them to their summer resting places, leaving those that are not needed, for it is difficult to calculate too closely without scrimping, in the seed bed, to cut for house decoration, as with the perennials. Of course if annuals are desired for very early flowering, many species may be started in a hotbed and taken from thence to the borders. Biennials that it is desired shall flower the first season are best hurried in this way, yet for the gardenerless garden of a woman this makes o'er muckle work. The occasional help of the "general useful" is not very efficient when it comes to tending hotbeds, giving the exact quantity of water necessary to quench the thirst of seedlings without producing dropsy, and the consequent "damping off" which, when it suddenly appears, seems as intangible and makes one feel as helpless as trying to check a backing horse by helpless force of bit. A frame for Margaret carnations, early asters, and experiments in seedling Dahlias and chrysanthemums will be quite enough. The woman who lives all the year in the country can so manage that her spring bulbs and hardy borders, together with the roses, last well into July. After this the annuals must be depended upon for ground colour, and to supplement the phloxes, gladioli, Dahlias, and the like. By the raising of these seeds in hotbeds they are apt to reach their high tide of bloom during the most intense heat of August, when they quickly mature and dry away; while, on the other hand, if they are reared in an open-air seed bed, they are not only stronger but they last longer, owing to more deliberate growth. Asters sown out-of-doors in May bloom well into October, when the forced plants barely outlast August. Of many annuals it is writ in the catalogues, "sow at intervals of two weeks or a month for succession." This sounds very plausible, for are not vegetables so dealt with, the green string-beans in our garden being always sown every two weeks from early April until September first? Yes, but to vegetables is usually given fresher and deeper soil for the crop succession than falls to flower seeds, and in addition the seeds are of a more rugged quality. My garden does not take kindly to this successive sowing, and I have gradually learned to control the flower-bearing period by difference in location. Spring, and in our latitude May, is the time of universal seed vitality, and seeds germinating then seem to possess the maximum of strength; in June this is lessened, while a July-sown seed of a common plant, such as a nasturtium or zinnia, seems to be impressed by the lateness of the season and often flowers when but a few inches high, the whole plant having a weazened, precocious look, akin to the progeny of people, or higher animals, who are either born out of due season or of elderly parents. On the other hand, the plant retarded in its growth by a less stimulating location, when it blooms, is quite as perfect and of equal quality with its seed-bed fellows who were transplanted at once into full sunlight. Take, for example, mignonette, which in the larger gardens is always treated by successive sowings. A row sown early in April, in a sunny spot in the open garden and thinned out, will flower profusely before very hot weather, bloom itself out, and then leave room for some late, flowering biennial. That sown in the regular seed bed early in May may be transplanted (for this is the way by which large trusses of bloom may be obtained) early in June into three locations, using it as a border for taller plants, except in the bed of sweet odours, where it may be set in bunches of a dozen plants, for in this bed individuality may be allowed to blend in a universal mass of fragrance. In order to judge accurately of the exact capabilities for shade or sunlight of the different portions of a garden, one must live with it, follow the shadows traced by the tree fingers on the ground the year through, and know its moods as the expressions that pass over a familiar face. For you must not transplant any of these annuals, that only live to see their sun father for one brief season, into the shade of any tree or overhanging roof, but at most in the travelling umbra of a distant object, such as a tall spruce, the northeastern side of a hedge, or such like. In my garden one planting of mignonette in full sun goes in front of the March-planted sweet peas; of the two transplantings from the seed, one goes on the southwest side of the rose arbour and the other on the upper or northeast side, where it blooms until it is literally turned into green ice where it stands. This manipulation of annuals belongs to the realm of the permanent resident; the summer cottager must be content to either accept the conditions of the garden as arranged by his landlord, or in a brief visit or two made before taking possession, do his own sowing where the plants are to stand. In this case let him choose his varieties carefully and spare his hand in thickness of sowing, and he may have as many flowers for his table and as happy an experience with the summer garden, even though it is brief, as his wealthy neighbour who spends many dollars for bedding plants and foliage effects that may be neither smelled, gathered nor familiarized. Among all the numerous birds that flit through the trees as visitors, or else stay with us and nest in secluded places, how comparatively few do we really depend upon for the aerial colour and the song that opens a glimpse of Eden to our eager eyes and ears each year, for our eternal solace and encouragement? There are some, like the wood thrush, song-sparrow, oriole, robin, barn-swallow, catbird, and wren, without which June would not be June, but an imperfect harmony lacking the dominant note. [Illustration: LONGFELLOW'S GARDEN.] Down close to the earth, yes, in the earth, the same obtains. Upon how few of all the species of annuals listed does the real success of the summer garden rest? This is more and more apparent each year, when the fittest are still further developed by hybridization for survival and the indifferent species drop out of sight. We often think erroneously of the beauty of old-time gardens. This beauty was largely that of consistency of form with the architecture of the dwelling and simplicity, rather than the variety, of flowers grown. Maeterlinck brings this before us with forcible charm in his essay on Old-Fashioned Flowers, and even now Martin Cortright is making a little biography of the flowers of our forefathers, as a birthday surprise for Lavinia. These flowers depended more upon individuality and association than upon their great variety. First among the worthy annuals come sweet peas, mignonette, nasturtiums, and asters, each one of the four having two out of the three necessary qualifications, and the sweet pea all of them,--fragrance and decorative value for both garden and house. To be sure, the sweet pea, though an annual, must be planted before May if a satisfactory, well-grown hedge with flowers held on long stems well above the foliage is to be expected, and in certain warm, well-drained soils it is practicable to sow seed the autumn before. This puts the sweet pea a little out of the running for the hirer of a summer cottage, unless he can have access to the place early in the season, but sown thinly and once fairly rooted and kept free from dead flowers and pods, the vines will go on yielding quite through September, though on the coming of hot weather the flower stems shorten. I often plant seeds of the climbing nasturtium in the row with the sweet peas at a distance of one seed to the fist, the planting not being done until late May. The peas mature first, and after the best of their season has passed they are supplanted by the nasturtiums, which cover the dry vines and festoon the supporting brush with gorgeous colour in early autumn, keeping in the same colour scheme with salvia, sunflowers, gaillardias, and tritomas. This is excellent where space is of account, and also where more sweet peas are planted for their early yield than can be kept in good shape the whole season. Centaurea or cornflower, the bachelor's button or ragged sailor of old gardens, is in the front rank of the worthies. The flowers have almost the keeping qualities of everlastings, and are of easy culture, while the sweet sultan, also of this family, adds fragrance to its other qualities. The blue cornflower is best sown in a long border or bed of unconventional shape, and may be treated like a biennial, one sowing being made in September so that the seedlings will make sturdy tufts before cold weather. These, if lightly covered with salt hay or rough litter (not leaves), will bloom in May and June, and if then replaced by a second sowing, flowers may be had from September first until freezing weather, so hardy is this true, blue _Kaiser-blumen_. All the poppies are worthy, from the lovely Shirley, with its butterfly-winged petals, to the Eschscholtzia, the state flower of California. One thing to be remembered about poppies is not to rely greatly upon their durability and make the mistake of expecting them to fill too conspicuous a place, or keep long in the marching line of the garden pageant. They have a disappointing way, especially the great, long-stemmed double varieties, of suddenly turning to impossible party-coloured mush after a bit of damp weather that is most discouraging. Treated as mere garden episodes and massed here and there where a sudden disappearance will not leave a gap, they will yield a feast of unsurpassed colour. To me the Shirley is the only really satisfactory annual poppy, and I sow it in autumn and cover it after the fashion of the cornflower, as it will survive anything but an open, rainy winter, and in the resulting display that lasts the whole month of June it rivals the roses in everything but perfume. Godetia is a good flower for half-shady places that it is difficult to fill, and rings the colour change from white through pink to crimson and carmine. Marigolds hold their own for garden colour, but not for gathering or bringing near the nose, and zinnias meet them on the same plane. The morning-glory tribe of _ipomæa_ is both useful and decorative for rapid-growing screens, but heed should be taken that the common varieties be not allowed to scatter their seeds at random, or the next season, before you know it, every plant in the garden will be held tight in their insinuating grasp. Especially beautiful are the new Imperial Japanese morning glories that are exquisitely margined and fringed, and of the size and pattern of rare glass wine cups. Petunias, if judiciously used, and of good colour, belong in the second grade of the first rank. They have their uses, but the family has a morbid tendency to run to sad, half-mourning hues, and I have put a black mark against it as far as my own garden is concerned. Drummond phlox deserves especial mention, for so wide a colour range has it, and so easy is its growth (if only you give it plenty of water and elbow room, and remember that a crowded Drummond phlox is an unhappy plant of short life), that a very tasteful group of beds could be made of this flower alone by a careful selection of colours, while by constant cutting for the house the length of the blooming season is prolonged. The dwarf salvias, too, grow readily from seed, and balsams, if one has room, line up finely along straight walks, the firm blossoms of the camelia-flowered variety, with their delicate rosettes of pink, salmon, and lavender, also serving to make novel table decorations when arranged in many ways with leaves of the laurel, English ivy, or fern fronds. Portulaca, though cousin to the objectionable "pusley," is most useful where mere colour is wanted to cover the ground in beds that have held early tulips or other spring bulbs, as well as for covering dry, sandy spots where little else will grow. It should not be planted until really warm weather, and therefore may be scattered between the rows of narcissi and late tulips when their tops are cut off, and by the time they are quite withered and done away with, the cheerful portulaca, feeding upon the hottest sunbeams, will begin to cover the ground, a pleasure to the eye as well as a decorative screen to the bulbs beneath, sucking the fiercest sun rays before they penetrate. Chief among the low-growing worthies comes the verbena, good for bedding, good for cutting, and in some of the mammoth varieties subtly fragrant. Verbenas may be raised to advantage in a hotbed, but if the seed be soaked overnight in warm water, it will germinate freely out of doors in May and be a mass of bloom from July until late October. For beds grouped around a sundial or any other garden centre, the verbena has no peer; its trailing habit gives it grace, the flowers are borne erect, yet it requires no staking and it is easily controlled by pinching or pinning to the soil with stout hair-pins. One little fragrant flower, fraught with meaning and remembrance, belongs to the annuals, though its family is much better known among the half-hardy perennials that require winter protection here. This is the gold and brown annual wall-flower, slender sister of _die gelbe violet_, and having that same subtle violet odour in perfect degree. It cannot be called a decorative plant, but it should have plenty of room given it in the bed of sweet odours and be used as a border on the sunny side of wall or fence, where, protected from the wind and absorbing every ray of autumn sunlight, it will often give you at least a buttonhole bouquet on Christmas morning. [Illustration: THE SUMMER GARDEN--VERBENAS.] The cosmos is counted by catalogues and culturists one of the most worthy of the newer annuals, and so it is when it takes heed to its ways and behaves its best, but otherwise it has all the terrible uncertainty of action common to human and garden parvenues. From the very beginning of its career it is a conspicuous person, demanding room and abundance of food. Thinking that its failure to bloom until frost threatened was because I had sown the seed out of doors in May, I gave it a front room in my very best hotbed early in March, where, long before the other occupants of the place were big enough to be transplanted, Mrs. Cosmos and family pushed their heads against the sash and insisted upon seeing the world. Once in the garden, they throve mightily, and early in July, at a time when I had more flowers than I needed, the entire row threatened to bloom. After two weeks of coquettish showing of colour here and there, up and down the line, they concluded that midsummer sun did not agree with any of the shades of pink, carmine, or crimson of which their clothes were fashioned, and as for white, the memory of recent acres of field daisies made it too common, so they changed their minds and proceeded to grow steadily for two months. When they were pinched in on top, they simply expanded sidewise; ordinary and inconspicuous staking failed to restrain them, and they even pulled away at different angles from poles of silver birch with stout rope between, like a festive company of bacchantes eluding the embraces of the police. A heavy wind storm in late September snapped and twisted their hollow trunks and branches. Were they discouraged? Not a particle; they simply rested comfortably upon whatever they had chanced to fall and grew again from this new basis. Meanwhile the plants in front of them and on the opposite side of the way began to feel discouraged, and a fine lot of asters, now within the shadow, were attacked by facial paralysis and developed their blossoms only on one side. The middle of October, the week before the coming of Black Frost, the garden executioner, the cosmos, now heavy with buds, settled down to bloom. Two large jars were filled with them, after much difficulty in the gathering, and then the axe fell. Sometimes, of course, they behave quite differently, and those who can spare ground for a great hedge backed by wall or fence and supported in front by pea brush deftly insinuated betwixt and between ground and plants, so that it restrains, but is at the same time invisible, may feast their eyes upon a spectacle of billows of white and pink that, at a little distance, are reminiscent of the orchards of May. But if you, Mary Penrose, are leaning toward cosmos and reading in the seed catalogue of their size and wonderful dawn-like tints, remember that the best of highly hybridized things revert unexpectedly to the commonest type, and somewhere in this family of lofty Mexicans there must have been a totally irresponsible wayside weed. Then turn backward toward the front of the catalogue, find the letter A, and buy, in place of cosmos, aster seeds of every variety and colour that your pocket will allow. Of course the black golden-rod beetle may try to dwell among the aster flowers, and the aphis that are nursery maids to the ants infest their roots; you must pick off the one and dig sulphur and unslaked lime deeply into the soil to discourage the other, but whatever labour you spend will not be lost. Other annuals there are, and their name is legion, that are pretty enough, perhaps, and well adapted to special purposes, like the decorative and curious tassel flower, cockscombs, gourds, four o'clocks, etc., and the great tribe of "everlastings" for those people, if such there be, who still prefer dried things for winter bouquets, when an ivy-wreathed window filled with a succession of bulbs, ferns, or oxalis is so easily achieved! It is too harsh, perhaps, to call these minor annuals unworthy, but as they are unimportant and increase the labour rather than add to the pleasure, they are really unworthy of admission to the woman's garden where there is only time and room for the best results. But here I am rambling at large instead of plainly answering your question, "What annuals can we plant as late as this (May 25) while we are locating the rose bed?" You may plant any or all of them up to the first of June, the success of course depending upon a long autumn and late frosts. No, not quite all; the tall-growing sweet peas should be in the ground not later than May 1 in this south New England latitude, though in the northern states and Canada they are planted in June as a matter of course. Blanche Ferry, of the brilliant pink-and-white complexion, however, will do very nicely in the light of a labour-saving afterthought, as, only reaching a foot and a half high, little, if any, brush is needed. [Illustration: ASTERS WELL MASSED.] We found your rose list replete with charming varieties, but most of them too delicate for positive success hereabouts. I'm sending you presently the list for a fifty-dollar rose garden, which it seems is much in demand, so that I've adapted my own experience to the simple plan that Evan drew to enlighten amateur rose lovers and turn them from coveting their wealthy neighbours' goods to spending their energy in producing covetable roses of their own! By the way, I send you my own particular list of Worthy Annuals to match the hardy plants and keep heights and colours easily before you until your own Garden Book is formulated and we can compare notes. (See page 387.) You forgot to tell me whether you have decided to keep hens or not! I know that the matter has been discussed every spring since you have lived at Woodridge. If you are planning a hennery, I shall not encourage the rosary, for the days of a commuter's wife are not long enough for both without encountering nervous prostration on the immediate premises. Some problems are ably solved by coöperation. As I am a devotee of the ornamental and comfortable, Martha Saunders _née_ Corkle runs a coöperative hen-yard in our north pasture for the benefit of the Cortrights and ourselves to our mutual joy! VI THEIR FORTUNATE ESCAPE CONCERNING EVERGREENS AND HENS (Mary Penrose to Barbara Campbell) _June 5._ I have not dipped pen in ink for an entire week, which has been one of stirring events, for not only have we wholly emerged from indoor life, but we have had a hair-breadth escape from something that not only threatened to mar the present summer, but to cast so heavy a shadow over the garden that no self-respecting flowers could flourish even under the thought of it. You cannot possibly guess with what we were threatened, but I am running ahead of myself. The day that we began _it_--the vacation--by stopping the clocks, we overslept until nine o'clock. When we came downstairs, the house was in a condition of cheerful good order unknown to that hour of the day. There is such a temperamental difference in this mere setting things to rights. It can be done so that every chair has a stiffly repellent look, and the conspicuous absence of dust makes one painfully conscious that it has not always been thus, while the fingers inadvertently stray over one's attire, plucking a shred here and a thread there. Even flowers can be arranged in a vase so as to look thoroughly and reproachfully uncomfortable, and all the grace and meaning crushed out of them. But Maria Maxwell has the touch gracious that makes even a plainly furnished room hold out detaining hands as you go through, and the flowers on the greeting table in the hall (yes, Lavinia Cortright taught me that little fancy of yours during her first visit), though much the same as I had been gathering for a week past, wore an air of novelty! For a moment we stood at the foot of the stairs looking about and getting our bearings, as guests in an unfamiliar place rather than householders. It flitted through my body that I was hungry, and one of the "must be's" of the vacation country was that we were to forage for breakfast. At the same time Bart sauntered unconsciously toward the mail-box under the hat-rack and then, suddenly putting his hands behind him, turned to me with a quizzical expression, saying: "Letters are forbidden, I know, but how about the paper? Even the 'Weekly Tribune' would be something; you know that sheet was devised for farmers!" "If this vacation isn't to be a punishment, but a pleasure, I think we had both better 'have what we want when we want it'!" I replied, for at that moment I spied the Infant out on the porch, and to hug her ladyship was a swiftly accomplished desire. For some reason she seemed rather astonished at this very usual performance, and putting her hands, boy-fashion, into the pockets of her checked overalls, surveyed herself deliberately, and then looking up at me rather reproachfully remarked, "Tousin Maria says that now you and father are tumpany!" "And what is company?" I asked, rather anxious to know from what new point we were to be regarded. "Tumpany is people that comes to stay in the pink room wif trunks, and we play wif them and make them do somfing to amuse 'em all the time hard, and give 'em nicer things than we have to eat, and father shaves too much and tuts him and wears his little dinky coat to dinner. And by and by when they've gone away Ann-stasia says, 'Glory be!' and muvver goes to sleep. But muvver, if you are the tumpany, you can't go to sleep when you've gone away, can you?" A voice joined me in laughter, Maria Maxwell's, from inside the open window of the dining room. Looking toward the sound, I saw that, though the dining table itself had been cleared, a side table drawn close to the window was set with places for two, a posy of poets' narcissus and the last lilies-of-the-valley between, while a folded napkin at one place rested on a newspaper! "I thought we were to get our own breakfasts," I said, in a tone of very feeble expostulation, which plainly told that, at that particular moment, it was the last thing I wished to do. "You are, the very minute you feel like it, and not before! You must let yourselves down gradually, and not bolt out of the house as if you had been evicted. If Bart went paperless and letterless this very first morning, until he has met something that interests him more, he would think about the lack of the news and the mail all day until they became more than usually important!" So saying, Maria swept the stems and litter of the flowers she had been arranging into her apron, and annexing the Infant to one capable finger, all the other nine being occupied, she went down the path toward the garden for fresh supplies, leaving Ann-stasia, as the Infant calls her, to serve the coffee, a prerogative of which she would not consent to be bereft, not even upon the plea of lightening her labours! "Isn't this perfect!" I exclaimed, looking toward a gap in the hills that was framed by the debatable knoll on one side and reached by a short cut across the old orchard and abandoned meadows of the farm above, the lack of cultivation resulting in a wealth of field flowers. "Entirely!" assented Bart, his spoon in the coffee cup stirring vigorously and his head enveloped in the newspaper. But what did the point of view matter: he was content and unhurried--what better beginning for a vacation? In fact in those two words lies the real vacation essence. Meanwhile, as I munched and sipped, with luxurious irresponsibility, I watched Maria moving to and fro between the shrubs that bounded the east alley of the old garden. In her compressed city surroundings she had always seemed to me a very big sort of person, with an efficiency that was at times overpowering, whose brown eyes had a "charge bayonet" way of fixing one, as if commanding the attention of her pupils by force of eye had become a habit. But here, her most cherished belongings given room to breathe in the spare room that rambles across one end of the house, while her wardrobe has a chance to realize itself in the deep closet, Maria in two short days had become another person. She does not seem large, but merely well built. The black gowns and straight white collars that she always wore, as a sort of professional garb, have vanished before a shirtwaist with an openwork neck and half sleeves, while the flesh exposed thereby is pink and wholesome. Hair not secured for the wear and tear of the daily rounds of school, but allowed to air itself, requires only a few hair-pins, and, if it is naturally wavy, follows its own will with good effect. While as to her eyes, what in them seemed piercing at short range melted to an engaging frankness in the soft light under the trees. In short, if she had been any other than Maria Maxwell, music teacher, Bart's staid cousin and the avowed family spinster, I should have thought of her as a fine-looking woman who only needed a magic touch of some sort to become positively handsome. Coffee and paper finished, I became aware that Bart was gazing at me. "Well," I said, extending my hand, "what next?" I had speedily made up my mind that Bart should take the initiative in our camping-out arrangement, and I therefore did not suggest that the first thing to be done was to set our camp itself in order. "Come out," he said, taking my hand in the same way that the Infant does when she wishes to lead the way to the discovery of the fairyland that lies beyond the meadows of the farm. So we sauntered out. Once under the sun, the same delicious thought occurred to each that, certain prudences having been seen to, we were for the time without responsibilities, and the fact made us laugh for the very freedom of it and pull one another hither and thither like a couple of children. Meanwhile the word _knoll_ had not been uttered, but our feet were at once drawn in its direction by an irresistible force, and presently we found ourselves standing at the lower end of the ridge and looking up the slope! "I wish we had a picture of it as it must have been before the land was cleared,--it would be a great help in replanting," I said; "it needs something dense and bold for a background to the rocks." "The skeleton of the old barn on the other side spoils it; it ought to come down," was Bart's rejoinder. "It seems as if everything we wish to do hinges on some other thing." This barn had been set back against the knoll so that from the house the hayloft window seemed like a part of a low shed. Certainly our forbears knew the ways of the New England wind very thoroughly, judging by the way they huddled their houses and outbuildings in hollows or under hillsides to avoid its stress. And when they couldn't do that, they turned sloping, humpbacked roofs toward the northeast to shed the snow and tempt the wind in its wild moods to play leapfrog and thus pass over. Such a roof as this has the house at the next farm, and judging by the location of the old hay barn, and the lay of the road, it must have once belonged to this adjoining property rather than to ours. Slowly we circled the knoll, dropped into the hollow, and stood upon the uneven floor of wide chestnut planks that was to be our camp. Other lodgers had this barn besides ourselves and, unlike ourselves, hereditary tenants. Swallows of steel-blue wings hung their nests in a whispering colony against the beams, a pair of gray squirrels arched their tails at us and chattering whisked up aloft, where they evidently have a family in the dilapidated pigeon cote, while among some cornstalks and other litter in the low earth cellar beneath we could hear the rustling doubtless born of the swift little feet of mice. (Yes, I know that it is a feminine quality lacking in me, but I have never yet been able to conjure up any species of fear in connection with these playful little rodents.) The cots, table, chairs, and screens were as I had placed them several days ago; but it was not the interior that held us but the view looking eastward across the sunlit meadows. In fact this side of the barn had the wide openings of an observatory. The gnarled apple trees of the orchard still bore pink-and-white wreaths on the shady side, and the purling of bluebirds blended with the voice of the river that ran between the hills afar off--the same stream that further up country was to be pent between walls and prisoned to make a reservoir. Sitting there, we gazed upon the soft yet glowing beauty of it all, with never a thought of pick and spade, grub axe or crowbar, to pry between the rocks of the knoll to find the depth or quality of its soil or test the planting possibilities. "Let us go up to the woods and see Blake; he wrote me that he is to be there to-day, and suggested we should both meet him and see the treasure-trove to be found there before the spring blossoms are quite shed," said Bart, suddenly, fumbling among the letters in his pocket; "and by the way, he said he would come back with us. He evidently forgets that we are not 'at home' to company!" "But _The Man from Everywhere_ is not company. He is simply a permanent institution and can go on dropping in as usual all summer if he likes. Ann-stasia adores him, for did he not bring her a beautiful sandalwood rosary of carved beads from somewhere and a pair of real tortoise-shell combs not two months ago? And of course Maria Maxwell will not object; why should she? he will come and go as usual, and she will hardly know that he is in the house." Barney harnessed the mild-faced horse of our neighbour's lending to that most comfortable of all vehicles, a buggy with an ample box behind and a top that can be dropped and made into a deep pocket to hold gleanings, or raised as a shield from sun and rain. Ah! dear Mrs. Evan, is there anything that turns a sober, settled married couple backward to the enchanted "engaged" region like driving away through the spring lanes in a buggy pulled by a horse who has had nature-loving owners, so that he seems to know by intuition when to pause and when it would be most acceptable to his passengers to have him wander from the beaten track and browse among the tender wayside grasses that always seem so much more tempting than any pasture grazing? As you will infer from this, Romeo is not only of a gentle, meditative disposition, but his harness is destitute of a check rein, overdraw, or otherwise. "Have you put in the trowels?" I asked, as we drove out the gate, the reins hanging so loosely from between Bart's knees, as he lit his pipe, that it was by mere chance that Romeo took the right turn. "No, I never thought of them; this is merely a prospecting trip. Did you put in the lunch?" I was obliged to confess that I had not, but later on a box of sandwiches was found under the seat in company with Romeo's nose-bag of oats, this indication being that, as Barney alone knew directly of our destination, he must have informed Anastasia, who took pity, regarding us, as she does, as a cross between lunatics and the babes in the woods. We chose byways, and only crossed the macadamized highroad, that haunt of automobiles, once, and after an hour's sauntering crossed the river and drove into the woodlots to the north of it, now the property of the water company, who have already posted warning to trespassers. We straightway began to trespass, seeing _The Man from Everywhere_ on horseback coming down to meet us. Without an apparent change of soil or altitude, the scenery at once grew more bold and dramatic. "What is it?" I said. "We have been driving through lanes lined by dogwood and yet that little tree below and the scrubby bit of hillside make a more perfect picture than any we have seen!" [Illustration: THE PICTORIAL VALUE OF EVERGREENS.] Bart, who had left the buggy and was walking beside it with _The Man_, who had dismounted and led his nag, turned and looked backward, but did not answer. "It is the evergreens that give it the quality," said _The Man_, "even though they are only those stiff little Noah's-ark cedars. I notice it far and wide, wherever I go; a landscape is never monotonous so long as there is a pine, spruce, hemlock, or bit of a cedar to bind it together. I believe that is why I am never content for long in the land of palms!" "I love evergreens in winter, but I've never thought much about them in the growing leafy season; they seem unimportant then," I said. "Unimportant or not, they are still there. Look at that wall of trees rising across the river! Every conceivable tint of green is there, besides shades of pink and lavender in leaf case and catkin, but what dominates and translates the whole? The great hemlocks on the crest and the dark pointed cedars off on the horizon where the woodland thins toward the pastures. Whether you separate them or not, they are there. People are only just beginning to understand the value of evergreens in their home gardens, both as windbreaks and backgrounds. No, I don't mean stark, isolated specimens, stiff as Christmas trees. You have a magnificent chance to use them on that knoll of yours that you are going to restore!" As he was speaking I thought Bart paid very scant attention, but following his pointing finger I at once saw what had absorbed him. On the opposite side of the river, extending into the brush lots, was a knoll the size and counterpart of ours, even in the way that it lay by the compass, only this was untouched, as nature planned it, and the model for our restoration. "Do you clear the land as far back as this?" Bart asked of _The Man_, eagerly. "Yes, not for the sake of the land, but for the boulders and loose rock on those ledges; all the rock hereabout will be little enough for our masonry!" "Then," said Bart, "I'm going to transplant the growth on this knoll, root and branch, herb and shrub, moss and fern, to our own, if it takes me until Christmas! It isn't often that a man finds an illustrated plan with all the materials for carrying it out under his hand for merely the taking. There are enough young hemlocks up there to windbreak our whole garden. The thing I'm not sure about is just when it will do to begin the transplanting. Meanwhile I'll make a list of the plants we know that we can add to as others develop and blossom." So he set to work on his list then and there, _The Man from Everywhere_ helping, because he can name a plant from its leaves or even the twigs. I said that I would write to you _at once_ and ask you or Evan to tell us about the best way to transplant all the wild things, except woody shrubs and trees, because we know it's best to wait for those until leaf fall. But as it turns out, I've waited six days--oh! such aggravating days when there is so much to decide and do! That afternoon _The Man_ rode home with us, as a matter of course, we quite forgetting that instead of late dinner, as usual, the meal would be tea, as the Infant and Maria Maxwell are to dine now at one! As a shower threatened, it seemed much more natural for us to turn into the house than the camp, and before I knew how it happened I was sitting at the head of my own table serving soup instead of tea! I dared not look at Maria, but as the meal was nearly ended she remarked demurely, looking out of the west window to where the shower was passing off slantwise, leaving a glorious sunset trail in its wake, "Wouldn't you like to have your coffee in camp, as the rain forced you to take dinner indoors?" by which I knew that Maria would not allow us to lose sight of our outdoor intentions. Bart laughed, and _The Man_, gazing around the table innocently said, "Oh, has _it_ begun, and am I intruding and breaking up plans? Why didn't you tell me?" So we went out through the sweet-smelling twilight, or rather the glow that comes before it, and as we idly sipped the coffee, lo and behold, the old farm lay before us--a dream picture painted by the twilight! The little window-panes, iridescent with age and bulged into odd shapes by yielding sashes, caught the sunset hues and turned to fire opals; the light mist rising over the green meadows where the flowers now slept with heads bent and eyes closed lent the green and pearl tints of those mysterious gems to which drops of rain or dew strung everywhere made diamond settings. "By Jove!" exclaimed Bart, "how beautiful the Opie farm looks to-night! If a real-estate agent could only get a photograph of what we see, we should soon have a neighbour to rescue the place!" "You mustn't call it the Opie farm any more; it is Opal Farm from to-night!" I cried, "and no one shall buy it unless they promise to leave in the old windows and let the meadow and crab orchard stay as they are, besides giving me right of way through it quite down to the river woods!" But to get back by this circuitous route to the threatened danger with which I opened this letter-- The postman whistled, as he has an alluring way of doing when he brings the evening mail, always hoping that some one will come out for a bit of evening gossip, in which he is rarely disappointed. We all started to our feet, but Maria, whose special duty it had become to look over the mail, distanced us all by taking a short cut, regardless of wet grass. Talk branched into divers pleasant ways, and we had almost forgotten her errand when she returned and, breaking abruptly into the conversation, said to Bart, "Sorry to interrupt, but the postman reports that there are three large crates of live stock down at the station, and the agent says will you please send for them to-night, as he doesn't dare leave them out, there are so many strangers about, and they will surely stifle if he crowds them into the office!" "Live stock!" exclaimed Bart, "I'm sure I've bought nothing!" Then, as light broke in his brain,--"Maybe it's that setter pup that Truesdale promised me as soon as it was weaned, which would be about now!" "Would a setter pup come in three crates?" inquired _The Man_, solemnly. "It must be live plants and not live stock!" I said, coming to Bart's rescue, "for Aunt Lavinia Cortright wrote me last week that she was sending me some of her prize pink Dahlias, and some gladioli bulbs!" "Possibly these might fill three large cases!" laughed Bart, in his turn. "Why not see if any of those letters throw light upon the mystery, and then I'll help 'hook up,' as I suppose Barney has gone home, and we will bring up the crates even if they contain crocodiles!" said _The Man_, cheerfully. Complications always have an especially cheering effect upon him, I've often noticed. The beams of a quarter moon were picturesque, but not a satisfactory light by which to read letters, especially when under excitement, so Bart brought out a carriage lantern with which we had equipped our camp, and proceeded to sort the mail, tossing the rejected letters into my lap. Suddenly he paused at one, extra bulky and bearing the handwriting of his mother, weighed it on the palm of his hand, and opened it slowly. From it fell three of the yellow-brown papers upon which receipts for expressage are commonly written; I picked them up while Bart read slowly-- "MY DEAR SON, "We were most glad to hear through daughter Mary of your eminently sensible and frugal plan for passing your summer vacation in the improvement of your land without the expense of travel. "Wishing to give you some solid mark of our approval, as well as to contribute what must be a material aid to your income, father and I send you to-day, by express, three crates of Hens--one of White Leghorns, one of Plymouth Rocks, and one of Brown Dorkings, a male companion accompanying each crate, as I am told is usual. We did not select an incubator, thinking you might have some preference in the matter, but it will be forthcoming when your decision is made. "Of course I know that you cannot usually spare the time for the care of these fowls, but it will be a good outdoor vocation for Mary, amusing and lucrative, besides being thoroughly feminine, for such poultry raising was considered even in my younger days. "A book, _The Complete Guide to Poultry Farming_, which I sent Mary a year ago on her birthday, as a mere suggestion, will tell her all she need know in the beginning, and the responsibility and occupation itself will be a good corrective for giving too much time to the beauties of the flower garden, which are merely pleasurable. "I need not remind you that the different breeds should be housed separately, but you who always had a gift for carpentry can easily arrange this. Indeed it was only yesterday that in opening a chest of drawers I came across a small lead saw bought for sixpence, with which you succeeded in quite cutting through the large Wisteria vine on Grandma Bartram's porch! I wished to punish you, but she said--'No, Susanna, rather preserve the tool as a memento of his industry and patience.' "I wish that I could be near to witness your natural surprise on receiving this token of our approval, but I must trust Mary to write us of it. "Your mother, "SUSAN BARTRAM PENROSE." With something between a groan and a laugh Bart dropped this letter into my lap, with the others. "So, after a successful struggle all these five years of our country life against the fatal magnetism of _Hens_ that has run epidemic up and down the population of commuting householders, bringing financial prostration to some and the purely nervous article to others; after avoiding 'The Wars of the Chickens, or Who scratched up those Early Peas,'--events as celebrated in local history as the Revolution or War of the Rebellion,--we are to be forced into the chicken business for the good of Bart's health and pocket, and my mental discipline, and also that a thrifty Pennsylvania air may be thrown about our altogether too delightful and altruistic summer arrangements! It's t-o-o bad!" I wailed. Of course I know, Mrs. Evan, that I was in a temper, and that my "in-laws" mean well, but since comfortable setting hens have gone out of fashion, and incubators and brooders taken their place, there is no more pleasure or sentiment about raising poultry than in manufacturing any other article by rule. It's a business, and a very pernickety one to boot, and it's to keep Bart away from business that we are striving. Besides, that chicken book tells how many square feet per hen must be allowed for the exercising yards, and how the pens for the little chicks must be built on wheels and moved daily to fresh pasture. All the vegetable garden and flower beds and the bit of side lawn which I want for mother's rose garden would not be too much! But I seem to be leaving the track again. Bart didn't say a word, except that "At any rate we must bring the fowls up from the station," and as the stable door was locked and the key in Barney's pocket, Bart and _The Man_ started to walk down to the village to look him up in some of his haunts, or failing in this to get the express wagon from the stable. Maria and I sat and talked for some time about _The_ _Man from Everywhere_, the chickens, and the location of the rose beds. She is surprisingly keen about flowers, considering that it is quite ten years since her own home in the country was broken up, but then I think this is the sort of knowledge that stays by one the longest of all. I hope that I have succeeded in convincing her that _The Man_ is not company to be bothered about, but a comfortable family institution to come and go as he likes, to be taken easily and not too seriously. When the moon disappeared beyond the river woods, we went to the southwest porch, and there decided that the piece of lawn where we had some uninteresting foliage beds one summer was the best place for the roses and we might possibly have a trellis across the north wall for climbers. Would you plant roses in rows or small separate beds? And how about the soil? But perhaps the plan you are sending me will explain all this. It was more than an hour before the men returned, and, not having found Barney, Bart had signed for the poultry in order to leave the express agent free to go home, and had left word at the stable for them to send the crates up as soon as the long wagon returned from Leighton, whither it had gone with trunks. After much discussion we decided that the fowls should be housed for the night in the small yard back of the stable, where the Infant's cow (a present from _my_ mother) spends her nights under the shed. "Did you find any signs of a chicken house on the place when you first came?" asked Maria, in a matter-of-fact tone, as if its location was the only thing now to be considered. "Yes, there was one directly in the fence line at the eastern gap where we see the Three Brothers Hills," said Bart, "and I've always intended to plant a flower bed of some sort there both to hide the gap in the wall and that something may be benefited by the hen manure of decades that must have accumulated there!" "How would the place do for the new hen-house?" pursued Maria, relentlessly. "Not at all!" I snapped very decidedly: "it is directly in the path the cool summer winds take on their way to the dining room, and you know at best fowl houses are not bushes of lemon balm!" "Then why not locate your bed of good-smelling things in the gap, and sup on nectar and distilled perfume," said _The Man from Everywhere_, soothingly. "The very thing! and I will write Mrs. Evan at once for a list of the plants in her 'bed of sweet odours,' as she calls it." Then presently, as the men sat talking, Maria having gone into the house, our summer work seemed to lie accomplished and complete before me, even as you once saw your garden of dreams before its making,--the knoll restored to its wildness, ending not too abruptly at the garden in some loose rock; the bed of sweet odours filling the gap between it and the gate of the little pasture in the rear; straight beds of hardy plants bordering the vegetable squares; the two seed beds topping the furthest bit, then a space of lawn with the straight walk of the old garden running through, to the sundial amid some beds of summer flowers at the orchard end, while the open lawn below the side porch is given up to roses! I even crossed the fence in imagination, and took in the possibilities of Opal Farm. If only I could have some one there to talk flowers and other perplexities to, as you have Lavinia Cortright, without going through the front gate! Two hours must have passed in pleasant chat, for the hall clock, the only one in the front part of the house we had not stopped, was chiming eleven when wheels paused before the house and the latch of the gate that swung both ways gave its double click! "The hens have come!" I cried in dismay, the dream garden vanishing before an equally imaginary chorus of clucks and crows. Mr. Hale himself, the stable keeper, appeared at the house corner at the same moment that Bart and _The Man_ reached it. Consternation sat upon his features, and his voice was fairly husky as he jerked out,--"They've gone,--clean gone,--Mr. Penrose, all three crates! and the dust is so kicked up about that depot that you can't read out no tracks. Some loafers must hev seen them come and laid to get in ahead o' you, as hevin' signed the company ain't liable! What! don't you want to drive down to the sheriff's?" and Mr. Hale's lips hung loose with dismay at Bart's apparent apathy. "Mr. Hale," said Bart, in mock heroic tones, "I thank you for your sympathy, but because some troubles fall upon us unawares, it does not follow that we should set bait for others!" Whereupon Mr. Hale the next day remarked that he didn't know whether or not Penrose was taking action in the matter, because you could never judge a good lawyer's meanings by his speech. However, if the hens escaped, so did we, and the next morning Bart forgot his paper until afternoon, so eager was he to test the depth of soil in the knoll. I'm sending you a list of the wild things at hand. Will you tell me in due course which of the ferns are best for our purpose? I've noticed some of the larger ones turn quite shabby early in August. VII A SIMPLE ROSE GARDEN (Barbara Campbell to Mary Penrose) _Oaklands, June 5._ Yesterday my roses began to bloom. The very old bush of thorny, half-double brier roses with petals of soft yellow crêpe, in which the sunbeams caught and glinted, took the lead as usual. Before night enough Jacqueminot buds showed rich colour to justify my filling the bowl on the greeting table, fringing it with sprays of the yellow brier buds and wands of copper beech now in its velvety perfection of youth. This morning, the moment that I crossed my bedroom threshold, the Jacqueminot odour wafted up. Is there anything more like the incense of praise to the flower lover? Not less individual than the voice of friends, or the song of familiar birds, is the perfume of flowers to those who live with them, and among roses none impress this characteristic more poignantly than the crimson Jacqueminot and the silver-pink La France, equally delicious and absolutely different. As one who has learned by long and sometimes disastrous experience, to one who is now really plunging headlong into the sea of garden mysteries and undercurrents for the first time, I give you warning! if you have a real rose garden, or, merely what Lavinia Cortright calls hers, a rosary of assorted beads, try as far as possible to have all your seed sowing and transplanting done before the June rose season begins, that you may give yourself up to this one flower, heart, soul, yes, and body also! It was no haphazard symbolist that, in troubadour days, gave Love the rose for his own flower, for to be its real self the rose demands all and must be all in all to its possessor. As for you, Mary Penrose, who eschewed hen-keeping as a deceitful masquerade of labour, under the name of rural employment, ponder deeply before you have spade put to turf in your south lawn, and invest your birthday dollars in the list of roses that at this very moment I am preparing to send you, with all possible allurement of description to egg you on. For unless you have very poor luck, which the slope of your land, depth of soil, and your own pertinacity and staying qualities discount, many more dollars in quarters, halves, or entire will follow the first large outlay, and I may even hear of your substituting the perpetual breakfast prune of boarding-houses for your grapefruit in winter, or being overcome in summer by the prevailing health-food epidemic, in order that you may plunder the housekeeping purse successfully. [Illustration: MY ROSES ARE SCATTERED HERE, THERE, AND EVERYWHERE.] But this is the time and hour that one gardener, on a very modest scale, may be excused if she overrates the charms of rose possessing, for it is a June morning, both bright and overcast by turns. A wood thrush is practising his arpegios in the little cedar copse on one side, and a catbird is hurling every sort of vocal challenge and bedevilment from his ancestral syringa bush on the other, and all between is a gap filled with a vista of rose-bushes--not marshalled in a garden together, but scattered here, there, and everywhere that a good exposure and deep foothold could be found. As far as the arrangement of my roses is concerned, "do as I say, not as I do" is a most convenient motto. I have tried to formalize my roses these ten years past, but how can I, for my yellow brier (Harrison's) has followed its own sweet will so long that it makes almost a hedge. The Madame Plantiers of mother's garden are stalwart shrubs, like many other nameless bushes collected from old gardens hereabout, one declining so persistently to be uprooted from a particularly cheerful corner that it finds itself in the modern company of Japanese iris, and inadvertently sheds its petals to make rose-water of the birds' bath. An English sweetbrier of delicious leafage hobnobs with honeysuckle and clematis on one of the wren arbours, while a great nameless bush of exquisite blush buds, quite destitute of thorns (one of the many cuttings sent "the Doctor's wife" in the long ago), stands an unconscious chaperone between Marshall P. Wilder and Mrs. John Lang. I must at once confess that it is much better to keep the roses apart in long borders of a kind than to scatter them at random. By so doing the plants can be easily reached from either side, more care being taken not to overshadow the dwarf varieties by the more vigorous. Lavinia Cortright has left the old-fashioned June roses that belonged to her garden where they were, but is now gathering the new hybrids after the manner of Evan's little plan. In this way, without venturing into roses from a collector's standpoint, she can have representatives of the best groups and a continuous supply of buds of some sort both outdoors and for the house from the first week in June until winter. To begin with, roses need plenty of air. This does not mean that they flourish in a draught made by the rushing of north or east wind between buildings or down a cut or roadway. If roses are set in a mixed border, the tendency is inevitably to crowd or flank them by some succulent annual that overgrows the limit we mentally set for it, thereby stopping the circulation of air about the rose roots, and lo! the harm is done! If you want good roses, you must be content to see a little bare, brown earth between the bushes, only allowing a narrow outside border of pansies, the horned bedding violets (_cornuta_), or some equally compact and clean-growing flower. To plant anything thickly between the roses themselves prevents stirring the soil and the necessary seasonal mulchings, for if the ground-covering plants flourish you will dislike to disturb them. The first thing to secure for your rosary is sun--sun for all the morning. If the shadow of house, barn, or of distant trees breaks the direct afternoon rays in July and August, so much the better, but no overhead shade at any time or season. This does not prevent your protecting a particularly fine quantity of buds, needed for some special occasion, with a tentlike umbrella, such as one sees fastened to the seat in pedlers' wagons. A pair of these same umbrellas are almost a horticultural necessity for the gardener's comfort as well, when she sits on her rubber mat to transplant and weed. Given your location, consideration of soil comes next, for this can be controlled in a way in which the sun may not be, though if the ground chosen is in the bottom of a hollow or in a place where surface water is likely to settle in winter, you had better shift the location without more ado. It was a remark pertinent to all such places that Dean Hole made to the titled lady who showed him an elaborately planned rose garden, in a hollow, and waited for his praise. She heard only the remark that it was an admirable spot for _ferns_! If your soil is clayey, and holds water for this reason, it can be drained by porous tiles, sunk at intervals in the same way as meadow or hay land would be drained, that is if the size of your garden and the lay of the land warrants it. If, however, the roses are to be in separate beds or long borders, the earth can be dug out to the depth of two and a half or three feet, the good fertile portion being put on one side and the clay or yellow loam, if any there be, removed. Then fill the hole with cobblestones, rubbish of old plaster, etc., for a foot in depth (never tin cans); mix the good earth thoroughly with one-third its bulk of well-rotted cow dung, a generous sprinkling of unslaked lime and sulphur, and replace, leaving it to settle for a few days and watering it thoroughly, if it does not rain, before planting. One of the advantages of planting roses by themselves is that the stirring of the soil and giving of special fertilizers when needful may be unhampered. In the ordinary planting of roses by the novice, the most necessary rules are usually the first violated. The roses are generally purchased in pots, with a certain amount of foliage and a few buds produced by forcing. A hole is excavated, we will suppose, in a hardened border of hardy plants that, owing to the tangle of roots, can be at best but superficially dug and must rely upon top dressing for its nutriment. Owing to the difficulty of digging the hole, it is likely to be a tight fit for the pot-bound ball of calloused roots that is to fill it. Hence, instead of the woody roots and delicate fibres being carefully spread out and covered, so that each one is surrounded by fresh earth, they are jammed just as they are (or often with an additional squeeze) into a rigid socket, and small wonder if the conjunction of the two results in blighting and a lingering death rather than the renewal of vitality and increase. Evan, who has had a wide experience in watching the development of his plans, both by professional gardeners and amateurs, says that he is convinced more and more each day that, where transplanting of any sort fails, it is due to carelessness in the securing of the root anchors, rather than any fault of the dealer who supplies the plants, this of course applying particularly to all growths having woody roots, where breakage and wastage cannot be rapidly restored. When a rose is once established, its persistent roots may find means of boring through soil that in its first nonresistant state is impossible. While stiff, impervious clay is undesirable, a soil too loose with sand, that allows the bush to shift with the wind, instead of holding it firmly, is quite as undesirable. In planting all hardy or half-hardy roses,--whether they are of the type that flower once in early summer, the hybrid perpetuals that bloom freely in June and again at intervals during late summer and autumn, or the hybrid teas that, if wisely selected and protected, combine the wintering ability of their hardy parents with the monthly blooming cross of the teas,--it is best to plant dormant field-grown plants in October, or else as early in April as the ground is sufficiently dry and frost free. These field-grown roses have better roots, and though, when planted in the spring, for the first few months the growth is apparently slower than that of the pot-grown bushes, it is much more normal and satisfactory, at least in the Middle and New England states of which I have knowledge. All roses, even the sturdy, old-fashioned damasks, Madame Plantier, and the like, should have some covering in winter, such as stable litter of coarse manure with the straw left in. Hybrid perpetuals I hill up well with earth after the manner of celery banked for bleaching, the trenches between making good water courses for snow water, while in spring cow manure and nitrate of soda is scattered in these ruts before the soil is restored to its level by forking. The hybrid teas, of which La France is the best exponent, should be hilled up and then filled in between with evergreen branches, upland sedge grass, straw or corn stalks, and if you have the wherewithal, they may be capped with straw. I do not care for leaves as a covering, unless something coarse underlies them, for in wet seasons they form a cold and discouraging poultice to everything but the bob-tailed meadow mice, who love to bed and burrow under them. Such tea roses as it is possible to winter in the north should be treated in the same way, but there is something else to be suggested about their culture in another place. The climbing roses of arbours, if in very exposed situations, in addition to the mulch of straw and manure, may have corn stalks stacked against the slats, which makes a windbreak well worth the trouble. But the more tender species of climbing roses should be grown upon pillars, English fashion. These can be snugly strawed up after the fashion of wine bottles, and then a conical cap of the waterproof tar paper used by builders drawn over the whole, the manure being banked up to hold the base firmly in place. With this device it is possible to grow the lovely Gloire de Dijon, in the open, that festoons the eaves of English cottages, but is our despair. [Illustration: PILLAR FOR CORNERS OF ROSE BED.] Not long ago we invented an inexpensive "pillar" trellis for roses and vines which, standing seven feet high and built about a cedar clothes-pole, the end well coated with tar before setting, is both symmetrical and durable, not burning tender shoots, as do the metal affairs, and costing, if the material is bought and a carpenter hired by the day, the moderate price of two dollars and a half each, including paint, which should be dark green. [Illustration: ROSE GARDEN WITH OUTSIDE BORDER OF GRAVEL AND GRASS.] Evan has made a sketch of it for you. He finds it useful in many ways, and in laying out a new garden these pillars, set at corners or at intervals along the walks, serve to break the hot look of a wide expanse and give a certain formality that draws together without being too stiff and artificial. For little gardens, like yours and mine, I think deep-green paint the best colour for pergola, pillars, seats, plant tubs, and the like. White paint is clean and cheerful, but stains easily. If one has the surroundings and money for marble columns and garden furniture, it must form part of a well-planned whole and not be pitched in at random, but the imitation article, compounded of cement or whitewashed wood, belongs in the region of stage properties or beer gardens! The little plan I'm sending you needs a bit of ground not less than fifty feet by seventy-five for its development, and that, I think, is well within the limits of your southwest lawn. The pergola can be made of rough cedar posts with the bark left on. Evan says that there are any quantity of cedar trees in your river woods that are to be cleared for the reservoir, and you can probably get them for a song. The border enclosing the grass plots is four feet in width, which allows you to reach into the centre from either side. Two rows of hybrid perpetuals or three of hybrid tea or summer roses can be planted in these beds, according to their size, thus allowing, at the minimum, for one hundred hybrid perpetuals, fifty hybrid teas, fifty summer roses, and eighteen climbers, nine on either side of the pergola, with four additional for the corner pillars. The irregular beds in the small lawns should not be planted in set rows, but after the manner of shrubberies. Rugosa roses, if their colours be well chosen, are best for the centre of these beds. They are striking when in flower and decorative in fruit, while the handsome leaves, that are very free from insects, I find most useful as green in arranging other roses the foliage of which is scanty. The pink-and-white damask roses belong here, and the dear, profuse, and graceful Madame Plantier,--a dozen bushes of this hybrid China rose of seven leaflets are not too many. For seventy years it has held undisputed sway among hardy white roses and has become so much a part of old gardens that we are inclined to place its origin too far back in the past among historic roses, because we cannot imagine a time when it was not. This is a rose to pick by the armful, and grown in masses it lends an air of luxury to the simplest garden. [Illustration: MADAME PLANTIER AT VAN CORTLAND MANOR.] Personally, I object to the rambler tribe of roses for any but large gardens, where in a certain sense the personality of flowers must sometimes be lost in decorative effect. A scentless rose has no right to intrude on the tender intimacies of the woman's garden, but pruned back to a tall standard it may be cautiously mingled with Madame Plantier with good effect, lending the pale lady the reflected touch of the colour that gives life. For the pergola a few ramblers may be used for rapid effect, while the slower growing varieties are making wood, but sooner or later I'm sure that they will disappear before more friendly roses, and even to-day the old-fashioned Gem of the Prairies, Felicité Perpetual, and Baltimore Belle seem to me worthier. Colour and profusion the rambler has, but equally so has the torrent of coloured paper flowers that pours out of the juggler's hat, and they are much bigger. No, I'm apt to be emphatic (Evan calls it pertinacious), but I'm sure the time will come when at least the crimson rambler, trained over a gas-pipe arch, except for purely decorative purposes, will be as much disliked by the real rose lover as the tripod with the iron pot painted red and filled with red geraniums! The English sweetbrier is a climbing or pillar rose, capable of being pruned into a bush or hedge that not only gives fragrance in June but every time the rain falls or dew condenses upon its magic leaves. This you must have as well as some of its kin, the Penzance hybrid-sweetbriers, either against the pergola or trained to the corner pillars, where you will become more intimate with them. You may be fairly sure of success in wintering well-chosen hybrid perpetual roses and the hybrid teas. If, for any reason, certain varieties that succeed in Lavinia Cortright's garden and ours do not thrive with you, they must be replaced by a gradual process of elimination. You alone may judge of this. I'm simply giving you a list of varieties that have thriven in my garden; others may not find them the best. Only let me advise you to begin with roses that have stood a test of not less than half a dozen years, for it really takes that long to know the influence of heredity in this highly specialized race. After the rose garden has shown you all its colours, it is easy to supplement a needed tint here or a proven newcomer there without speculating, as it were, in garden stock in a bull market. Too much of spending money for something that two years hence will be known no more is a financial side of the _Garden-Goozle_ question that saddens the commuter, as well as his wife. It is a continual proof of man's, and particularly woman's, innocency that such pictures as horticultural pedlers show when extolling their wares do not deter instead of encouraging purchasers. If the fruits and flowers were believable, as depicted, still they should be unattractive to eye and palate. The hybrid perpetuals give their great yield in June, followed by a more or less scattering autumn blooming. It is foolish to expect a rose specialized and proven by the tests climatic and otherwise of Holland, England, or France, and pronounced a perpetual bloomer, to live up to its reputation in this country of sudden extremes: unveiled summer heat, that forces the bud open before it has developed quality, causing certain shades of pink and crimson to fade and flatten before the flower is really fit for gathering. Americans in general must be content with the half loaf, as far as garden roses are concerned, for in the cooler parts of the country, where the development of the flower is slower and more satisfactory, the winter lends added dangers. Good roses--not, however, the perfect flowers of the connoisseur or even of the cottage exhibitions of England--may be had from early June until the first week of July, but the hybrid tea roses that brave the latter part of that month and August are but short lived, even when gathered in the bud. Those known as summer bedders of the Bourbon class, chiefly scentless, of which Appoline is a well-known example, are simply bits of decorative colour without the endearing attributes of roses, and garden colour may be obtained with far less labour. In July and August you may safely let your eyes wander from the rosary to the beds of summer annuals, the gladioli, Japan lilies, and Dahlias, and depend for fragrance on your bed of sweet odours. But as the nights begin to lengthen, at the end of August, you may prepare for a tea-rose festival, if you have a little forethought and a very little money. You have, I think, a florist in your neighbourhood who raises roses for the market. This is my method, practised for many years with comforting success. Instead of buying pot-grown tea roses in April or May, that, unless a good price (from twenty-five cents up) is paid for them, will be so small that they can only be called bushes at the season's end, I go to our florist and buy fifty of the bushes that he has forced during the winter and being considered spent are cast out about June first, in order to fill in the new stock. All such roses are not discarded each season, but the process is carried on in alternate benches and years, so that there are always some to be obtained. These plants, big, tired-looking, and weak in the branches, I buy for the nominal sum of ten dollars per hundred, five dollars' worth filling a long border when set out in alternating rows. On taking these home, I thin out the woodiest shoots, or those that interfere, and plant deep in the border, into which nitrate of soda has been dug in the proportion of about two ounces to a plant. After spreading out the roots as carefully as possible, I plant firmly and water thoroughly, but do not as yet prune off the long branches. In ten days, having given meanwhile two waterings of liquid manure, I prune the bushes back sharply. By this time they will have probably dropped the greater part of their leaves, and having had a short but sufficient nap, are ready to grow, which they proceed to do freely. I do not encourage bloom in July, but as soon as we have dew-heavy August nights it begins and goes on, increasing in quality until hard frost. Many of these bushes have wintered comfortably and on being pruned to within three inches of the ground have lasted many years. As to the varieties so treated, that is a secondary consideration, for under these circumstances you must take what the florist has to offer, which will of course be those most suitable to the winter market. I have used Perle des Jardins, Catherine Mermet, Bride and Bridesmaid, Safrano, Souvenir d'un Ami, and Bon Silene (the rose for button-hole buds) with equal success, though a very intelligent grower affirms that both Bride and Bridesmaid are unsatisfactory as outdoor roses. I do not say that the individual flowers from these bushes bear relation to the perfect specimens of greenhouse growth in anything but fragrance, but in this way I have roses all the autumn, "by the fistful," as Timothy Saunders's Scotch appreciation of values puts it, though his spouse, Martha Corkle, whose home memories are usually expanded by the perspective of time and absence, in this case speaks truly when she says on receiving a handful, "Yes, Mrs. Evan, they're nice and sweetish and I thank you kindly, but, ma'am, they couldn't stand in it with those that grows as free as corn poppies round the four-shillin'-a-week cottages out Gloucester way, and _no_ disrespec' intended." The working season of the rose garden begins the first of April with the cutting out of dead wood and the shortening and shaping of last year's growth. With hardy roses the flowers come from fresh twigs on old growth. I never prune in the autumn, because winter always kills a bit of the top and cutting opens the tubular stem to the weather and induces decay. Pruning is a science in itself, to be learned by experience. This is the formula that I once wrote on a slate and kept in my attic desk with my first _Boke of the Garden_. _April 1._ Uncover bushes, prune, and have the winter mulch thoroughly dug in. Place stakes in the centre of bushes that you know from experience will need them. Re-tie climbers that have broken away from supports, but not too tightly; let some sprays swing and arch in their own way. _May._ As soon as the foliage begins to appear, spray with whale-oil soap lotion mixed hot and let cool: strength--a bit the size of a walnut to a gallon of water. Do this every two weeks until the rosebuds show decided colour, then stop. This is to keep the rose Aphis at bay, the little soft green fly that is as succulent as the sap upon which it feeds. If the spring is damp and mildew appears, dust with sulphur flower in a small bellows. _June._ The Rose Hopper or Thrip, an active little pale yellow, transparent-winged insect that clings to the under side of the leaf, will now come if the weather is dry; dislodged easily by shaking, it immediately returns. _Remedy_, spraying leaves from underneath with water and applying powdered helebore with a bellows. If _Black Spot_, a rather recent nuisance, appears on the leaves, spray with Bordeaux Mixture, bought of a horticultural dealer, directions accompanying. Meanwhile the leaf worm is sure to put in appearance. This is also transparent and either brownish green, or yellow, seemingly according to the leaves upon which it feeds. _Remedy_, if they won't yield to helebore (and they seldom do unless very sickly), brush them off into a cup. An old shaving brush is good for this purpose, as it is close set but too soft to scrape the leaf. _June 15._ When the roses are in bloom, stop all insecticides. There is such a thing as the cure being worse than the disease, and a rose garden redolent of whale-oil soap and phosphates and encrusted with helebore and Bordeaux Mixture has a painful suggestion of a horticultural hospital. Now is the time for the Rose Chafer, a dull brownish beetle about half an inch long, who times his coming up out of the ground to feast upon the most fragrant and luscious roses. These hunt in couples and are wholly obnoxious. Picking into a fruit jar with a little kerosene in the bottom is the only way to kill them. In one day last season Evan came to my rescue and filled a quart jar in two hours; they are so fat and spunky they may be considered as the big game among garden bugs, and their catching, if not carried to an extreme, in the light of sport. _July._ See that all dead flowers are cut off and no petals allowed to mould on the ground. Mulch with short grass during hot, dry weather, and use liquid manure upon hybrid teas and teas every two weeks, immediately after watering or a rain. Never, at any season, allow a rose to wither on the bush! _August._ The same, keeping on the watch for all previous insects but the rose beetle; this will have left. Mulch hybrid perpetuals if a dry season, and give liquid manure for the second blooming. _September._ Stir the ground after heavy rains, and watch for tendencies of mould. _October._ The same. _November._ Begin to draw the soil about roots soon after black frost, and bank up before the ground freezes, but do not add straw, litter, or manure in the trenches until the ground is actually frozen, which will be from December first onward, except in the case of teas, which should be covered gradually until the top is reached. By this you will judge, Mary Penrose, that a rosary has its labours, as well as pleasures, and that like all other joys it is accompanied by difficulties. Yet you can grow good roses if you _will_, but the difficulty is that most people _won't_. I think, by the way, that remark belongs to Dean Hole of fragrant rose-garden memory, and of a truth he has said all that is likely to be spoken or written about the rose on the side of both knowledge and human fancy for many a day. Modern roses of the hybrid-perpetual and hybrid-tea types may be bought of several reliable dealers for twenty-five dollars per hundred, in two conditions, either grown on their own roots or budded on Manette or brier stock. Personally I prefer the first or natural condition, if the constitution of the plant is sufficiently vigorous to warrant it. There are, however, many indispensable varieties that do better for the infusion of vigorous brier blood. A budded rose will show the junction by a little knob where the bud was inserted; this must be planted at least three inches below ground so that new shoots will be encouraged to spring from _above_ the bud, as those below are merely wild, worthless suckers, to be removed as soon as they appear. [Illustration: A CONVENIENT ROSE BED.] How can you tell wild suckers from the desired growth? At first by following them back to the root until you have taken their measure, but as soon as experience has enlightened you they will be as easily recognized at sight as the mongrel dog by a connoisseur. Many admirable varieties, like Jacqueminot, Anne de Diesbach, Alfred Colomb, Madame Plantier, and all the climbers, do so well on their own roots that it is foolish to take the risk of budded plants, the worse side of which is a tendency to decay at the point of juncture. Tea roses, being of rapid growth and flowering wholly upon new wood, are perfectly satisfactory when rooted from cuttings. Of many well-attested varieties of hybrid perpetuals, hybrid China, or other so-called June roses, you may at the start safely select from the following twenty. _Pink, of various shades_ 1. Anne de Diesbach. One of the most fragrant, hardy, and altogether satisfactory of hybrid perpetual roses. Forms a large bush, covered with large deep carmine-pink flowers. Should be grown on own root. 2. Paul Neyron. Rose pink, of large size, handsome even when fully open. Fragrant and hardy. 3. Cabbage, or Rose The Provence rose of history and old of 100 Leaves. gardens, supposed to have been known to Pliny. Rich pink, full, fragrant, and hardy. Own roots. 4. Magna Charta. A fine fragrant pink rose of the hybrid China type. Not seen as often as it should be. Own roots. 5. Clio. A vigorous grower with flesh-coloured and pink-shaded blossoms. 6. Oakmont. Exquisite deep rose, fragrant, vigorous, and with a long blooming season. _White_ 7. Marchioness of Free, full, and fragrant. Immense Londonderry. cream-white flowers, carried on long stems. Very beautiful. 8. Madame Plantier A medium-sized, pure white rose, (Hybrid China). with creamy centre; flowers so profusely as to appear to be in clusters. Delicately fragrant, leaves deep green and remarkably free from blights. Perfectly hardy; forms so large a bush in time that it should be placed in the rose shrubbery rather than amid smaller species. 9. Margaret Dickson. A splendid, finely formed, fragrant white rose, with deep green foliage. 10. Coquette des Blanches. One of the very hardy white roses, an occasional pink streak tinting the outside petals. Cup-shaped and a profuse bloomer. 11. Coquette des Alps. A very hardy bush, coming into bloom rather later than the former and lasting well. Satisfactory. _Red and Crimson_ 12. General Jacqueminot. Bright velvety crimson. The established favourite of its colour and class, though fashion has in some measure pushed it aside for newer varieties. May be grown to a large shrub. Fragrant and hardy. Best when in bud, as it opens rather flat. 13. Alfred Colomb. Bright crimson. Full, sweet. A vigorous grower and entirely satisfactory. If you can grow but one red rose, take this. 14. Fisher Holmes. A seedling of Jacqueminot, but of the darkest velvety crimson; fragrant, and blooms very early. 15. Marshal P. Wilder. Also a seedling of Jacqueminot. Vigorous and of well-set foliage. Full, large flowers of a bright cherry red. Very fragrant. 16. Marie Bauman. A crimson rose of delicious fragrance and lovely shape. This does best when budded on brier or Manette stock, and needs petting and a diet of liquid manure, but it will repay the trouble. 17. Jules Margottin. A fine, old-fashioned, rich red rose, fragrant, and while humble in its demands, well repays liberal feeding. 18. John Hopper. A splendid, early crimson rose, fragrant and easily cared for. 19. Prince Camille de Rohan. The peer of dark red roses, not large, but rich in fragrance and of deep colour. 20. Ulrich Brunner. One of the best out-of-door roses, hardy, carries its bright cerise flowers well, which are of good shape and substance; has few diseases. _Moss Roses_ 1. Blanch Moreau (Perpetual). A pure, rich white; the buds, which are heavily mossed, borne in clusters. 2. White Bath. The most familiar white moss rose, sometimes tinged with pink. Open flowers are attractive as well as buds. 3. Crested Moss. Rich pink, deeply mossed, each bud having a fringed crest; fragrant and full. 4. Gracilis. An exquisite moss rose of fairylike construction, the deep pink buds being wrapped and fringed with moss. 5. Common Moss. A hardy pink variety, good only in the bud. The moss roses as a whole only bloom satisfactorily in June. _Climbers_ 1. 1. English Sweetbrier. Single pink flowers of the wild-rose type. Foliage of delicious fragrance, perfuming the garden after rain the season through. _Penzance Hybrid Sweetbriers, Having Fragrant Foliage and Flowers of Many Beautiful Colours_ 2. Amy Robsart. Pink. 3. Anne of Geierstein. Crimson. 4. Minna. White. 5. Rose Bradwardine. Deep rose. 2. 1. Climbing Jules Margottin. Rosy carmine, very fragrant and full, satisfactory for the pergola, but more so for a pillar, where in winter it can be protected from wind by branches or straw. 2. Baltimore Belle. The old-fashioned blush rose, with clean leaves and solid flowers of good shape. Blooms after other varieties are over. Trustworthy and satisfactory, though not fragrant in flower or leaf. 3. Gem of the Prairie. Red flowers of large size, but rather flat when open. A seedling from Queen of the Prairie, and though not as free as its parent, it has the desirable quality of fragrance. 4. Climbing Belle Siebrecht Fragrant, vigorous, and of (Hybrid Tea). the same deep pink as the standard variety. Grow on pillars. 5. Gloire de Dijon. Colour an indescribable blending of rose, buff, and yellow, deliciously fragrant, double to the heart of crumpled, crêpelike petals. A tea rose and, as an outdoor climber, tender north of Washington, yet it can be grown on a pillar by covering as described on page 126. _Hybrid Tea Roses_ 1. La France. The fragrant silver-pink rose, with full, heavy flowers,--the combination of all a rose should be. In the open garden the sun changes its delicate colour quickly. Should be gathered in the bud at evening or, better yet, early morning. Very hardy if properly covered, and grows to a good-sized bush. 2. Kaiserin Augusta White, with a lemon tint in the Victoria. folds; the fragrance is peculiar to itself, faintly suggesting the Gardenia. 3. Gruss an Teplitz. One of the newer crimson roses, vigorous, with well-cupped flowers. Good for decorative value in the garden, but not a rose of sentiment. 4. Killarney. One of the newer roses that has made good. Beautiful pointed buds of shell-pink, full and at the same time delicate. The foliage is very handsome. If well fed, will amply repay labour. 5. Souvenir de Malmaison. A Bourbon rose that should be treated like a hybrid tea. Shell-pink, fragrant flowers, that have much the same way of opening as Gloire de Dijon. A constant bloomer. 6. Clothilde Soupert. A polyantha or cluster rose of vigorous growth and glistening foliage, quite as hardy as the hybrid tea. It is of dwarf growth and suitable for edging beds of larger roses. The shell-pink flowers are of good form and very double; as they cluster very thickly on the ends of the stems, the buds should be thinned out, as they have an aggravating tendency to mildew before opening. 7. Souvenir de President A charming rose with shadows of all Carnot. the flesh tints, from white through blush to rose; sturdy and free. 8. Caroline Testout. Very large, round flowers, of a delicate shell-pink, flushed with salmon; sturdy. _Teas_ 1. Bon Silene. The old favourite, unsurpassed for fragrance as a button-hole flower, or table decoration when blended with ferns or fragrant foliage plants. Colour "Bon Silene," tints of shaded pink and carmine, all its own. 2. Papa Gontier. A rose as vigorous as the hybrid teas, and one that may be easily wintered. Pointed buds of deep rose shading to crimson and as fragrant as Bon Silene, of which it is a hybrid. Flowers should be gathered in the bud. 3. Safrano. A true "tea" rose of characteristic shades of buff and yellow, with the tea fragrance in all its perfection. Best in the bud. Vigorous and a fit companion for Papa Gontier and Bon Silene. 4. Perle des Jardins. An exquisite, fragrant double rose of light clear yellow, suggesting the Marechal Niel in form, but of paler colour. Difficult to winter out of doors, but worth the trouble of lifting to cold pit or light cellar, or the expense of renewing annually. One of the lovable roses. 5. Bride. The clear white rose, sometimes with lemon shadings used for forcing; clean, handsome foliage and good fragrance. Very satisfactory in my garden when old plants are used, as described. 6. Bridesmaid. The pink companion of the above with similar attributes. 7. Etoille de Lyon. A vigorous, deep yellow rose, full and sweet. Almost as hardy as a hybrid tea and very satisfactory. 8. Souvenir d'un Ami. A deliciously fragrant light pink rose, with salmon shadings. Very satisfactory and as hardy as some of the hybrid teas. _Miscellaneous Roses for the Shrubbery_ 1. Harrison's Yellow. An Austrian brier rose with clear yellow semi-double flowers. Early and very hardy. Should be grown on its own roots, as it will then spread into a thicket and make the rosary a mass of shimmering gold in early June. _Damask Roses_ Should be grown on own root, when they will form shrubs five feet high. 2. Madame Hardy. Pure white. Very fragrant, well-cupped flower, Time tried and sturdy. 3. Rosa Damascena Rose colour. Triginitipela. _Rugosa_ The tribe of Japanese origin, conspicuous as bushes of fine foliage and handsome shape, as well as for the large single blossoms that are followed by seed vessels of brilliant scarlet hues. 4. Agnes Emily Carman. Flowers in clusters, "Jacqueminot" red, with long-fringed golden stamens. Continuous bloomer. Hardy and perfect. 5. Rugosa alba. Pure white, highly scented. 6. Rugosa rubra. Single crimson flowers of great beauty. 7. Chedane Guinoisseau. Flowers, satin pink and very large. Blooms all the summer. Now, Mary Penrose, having made up your mind to have a rosary, cause garden line and shovel to be set in that side lawn of yours without hesitation. Do not wait until autumn, because you cannot plant the hardy roses until then and do not wish to contemplate bare ground. This sight is frequently wholesome and provocative of good horticultural digestion. You need only begin with one-half of Evan's plan, letting the pergola enclose the walk back of the house, and later on you can add the other wing. If the pergola itself is built during the summer, you can sit under it, and by going over your list and colour scheme locate each rose finally before its arrival. By the way, until the climbers are well started you may safely alternate them with vines of the white panicled clematis, that will be in bloom in August and can be easily kept from clutching its rose neighbours! By and by, when you have planted your roses, tucked them in their winter covers, and can sit down with a calm mind, I will lend you three precious rose books of mine. These are Dean Hole's _Book about Roses_, for both the wit and wisdom o't; _The Amateur Gardener's Rose Book_, rescued from the German by John Weathers, F.R.H.S., for its common sense, well-arranged list of roses, and beautiful coloured plates, and H.B. Ellwanger's little treatise on _The Rose_, a competent chronology of the flower queen up to 1901, written concisely and from the American standpoint. If I should send them now, you would be so bewildered by the enumeration of varieties, many unsuited to this climate, intoxicated by the descriptions of Rose-garden possibilities, and carried away by the literary and horticultural enthusiasm of the one-time master of the Deanery Garden, Rochester, that, like the child turned loose in the toy shop, you would lose the power of choosing. Lavinia Cortright lost nearly a year in beginning her rosary, owing to a similar condition of mind, and Evan and I long ago decided that when we read we cannot work, and _vice versa_, so when the Garden of Outdoors is abed and asleep each year, we enter the Garden of Books with fresh delight. Have you a man with quick wit and a straight eye to be the spade hand during the Garden Vacation? If not, make haste to find him, for, as you have had Barney for five years, he is probably too set in his ways to work at innovations cheerfully! VIII A MIDNIGHT ADVENTURE (Mary Penrose to Barbara Campbell) _June 21._ The rosary has been duly surveyed, staked according to the plan, and the border lines fixed with the garden line dipped in whitewash, so that if we only plant a bed at a time, our ambition will always be before us. But as yet no man cometh to dig. This process is of greater import than it may seem, because with the vigorous three-year-old sod thus obtained do we purpose to turf the edges of the beds for hardy and summer flowers that border the squares of the vegetable garden. These strips now crumble earth into the walks, and the slightest footfall is followed by a landslide. We had intended to use narrow boards for edging, but Bart objects, like the old retainer in Kipling's story of _An Habitation Enforced_, on the ground that they will deteriorate from the beginning and have to be renewed every few years, whereas the turf will improve, even if it is more trouble to care for. At present the necessity of permanence is one of the things that is impressing us both, for after us--the Infant! Until a year ago I had a positive dread of being so firmly fixed anywhere that to spread wings and fly here and there would be difficult, but now it seems the most delightful thing to be rooted like the old apple tree on the side hill, the last of the old orchard, that has leaned against the upland winds so many years that it is well-nigh bent double, yet the root anchors hold and it is still a thing of beauty, like rosy-cheeked old folk with snowy hair. I do not think that I ever realized this in its fulness until I left the house and came out, though but a short way, to live with and in it all. You were right in thinking that Barney would not encourage innovations,--he does not! He says that turf lifted in summer always lies uneasy and breeds worms. This seems to be an age for the defiance of horticultural tradition, for we are finding out every day that you can "lift" almost anything of herbaceous growth at any time and make it live, if you are willing to take pains enough, though of course transplanting is done with less trouble and risk at the prescribed seasons. The man-with-the-shovel question is quite a serious one hereabouts at present, for the Water Company has engaged all the rough-and-ready labourers for a long season and that has raised both the prices and the noses of the wandering accommodators in the air. Something will probably turn up. Now we are transplanting hardy ferns; for though the tender tops break, there is yet plenty of time for a second growth and rooting before winter. [Illustration: THE LAST OF THE OLD ORCHARD. Copyright, 1903, H. Hendrickson.] Meanwhile there is a leisurely old carpenter who recently turned up as heir of the Opal Farm, Amos Opie by name, who is thinking of living there, and has signified his willingness to undertake the pergola by hour's work, "if he is not hustled," as soon as the posts arrive. The past ten days have been full of marvellous discoveries for the "peculiar Penroses," as Maria Maxwell heard us called down at the Golf Club, where she represented me at the mid-June tea, which I had wholly forgotten that I had promised to manage when I sent out those P.P.C. cards and stopped the clocks! It seems that the first impression was that financial disaster had overtaken us, when instead of vanishing in a touring car preceded by tooting and followed by a cloud of oil-soaked steam, we took to our own woods, followed by Barney with our effects in a wheelbarrow. It is a very curious fact--this attributing of every action a bit out of the common to the stress of pocket hunger. It certainly proves that advanced as we are supposed to be to-day as links in the evolutionary chain, we have partially relapsed and certainly show strong evidences of sheep ancestry. Haven't you noticed, Mrs. Evan, how seldom people are content to accept one's individual tastes or desire to do a thing without a good and sufficient reason therefor? It seems incomprehensible to them that any one should wish to do differently from his neighbour unless from financial incapacity; the frequency with which one is suspected of being in this condition strongly points to the likelihood that the critics themselves chronically live beyond their means and in constant danger of collapse. If this was thought of us a few weeks ago, it seems to have been sidetracked by Maria Maxwell's contribution to, and management of, the golf tea. She is said not only to have compounded viands that are ordinarily sold in exchange for many dollars by New York confectioners, but she certainly made more than a presentable appearance as "matron" of the receiving committee of young girls. Certainly Maria with a music roll, a plain dark suit, every hair tethered fast, and common-sense shoes, plodding about her vocation in snow and mud, and Maria "let loose," as Bart calls it, are a decided contrast. Except that she has not parted with her sunny common-sense, she is quite a new person. Of course I could not have objected to it, but I was afraid that she might take it into her head to instruct the Infant in vocal music after the manner of the locustlike sounds that you hear coming over the lowered tops of school windows as soon as the weather grows warm, or else take to practising scales herself, for we had only known the technical part of her calling. In short, we feared that we should be do-re-mi-ou'd past endurance. Instead of which, scraps of the gayest of ballads float over the knoll in the evening, and the Infant's little shrill pipe is being inoculated with real music, _via_ Mother Goose melodies sung in a delightfully subdued contralto. From the third day after her arrival people began to call upon Maria. I made such a positive declaration of surrender of all matters pertaining to the household, including curiosity, when Maria took charge,--and she in return promised that we should not be bothered with anything not "of vital importance to our interests,"--that, unless she runs through the housekeeping money before the time, I haven't a ghost of an excuse for asking questions,--but I do wonder how she manages! Also, to whom the shadows belong that cross the south piazza at night or intercept the rays of the dining-room lamp, our home beacon of dark nights. In addition to the usual and convenient modern shirt-waist-and-skirt endowment, Maria had when she came but two gowns, one of black muslin and the other white, with improvised hats to match,--simple, graceful gowns, yet oversombre. But lo! she has blossomed forth like a spring seed catalogue, and Bart insists that I watched the gate with his field-glass an hour the afternoon of the tea, to see her go out. I did no such thing; I was looking at an oriole's nest that hangs in the elm over the road, but I could not help seeing the lovely pink flower hat that she wore atilt, with just enough pink at the neck and streamers at the waist of her dress to harmonize. I visited the larder that evening for supper supplies,--yes, we have become so addicted to the freedom of outdoors that for the last few days Bart has brought even the dinner up to camp, waiting upon me beautifully, for now we have entirely outgrown the feeling of the first few days that we were taking part in a comedy, and have found ourselves, as it were--in some ways, I think, for the first time. Anastasia seemed consumed with a desire for a dish of gossip, but was not willing to take the initiative. She chuckled to herself and tried several perfectly transparent ways of attracting my attention, until I took pity on her, a very one-sided pity too, for, between ourselves, Anastasia is the domestic salt and pepper that gives the Garden Vacation a flavour that I should sadly miss. "Miss Marie," she exclaimed, "do be the tastiest creaytur ever I set me eyes on." (She refused absolutely to call her Maria; that name, she holds, is only fit for a settled old maid, "and that same it's not sure and fair to mark any woman wid being this side the grave.") Then I knew that I only had to sit down and raise my eyes to Anastasia's face in an attitude of attention, to open the word gates, and this I did. "Well, fust off win she got the invite ter sing at the swarry that tops off the day's doings down to that Golf Club, she was that worried about hats you never seen the like! She wus over ter Bridgeton, and Barney swore he drove her ter every milliner in the place, and says she ter me, pleasant like, that evenin', when returned, in excuse fer havin' nothin' to show, 'Oh, Annie, Annie, it would break yer heart to see the little whisp of flowers they ask five dollars for; to fix me hats a trifle would part me from a tin-dollar bill!'" (The sentiments I at once perceived might be Maria's, but their translation Anastasia's.) "Now Miss Marie, she's savin' like,--not through meanness, but because she's got the good Irish heart that boils against payin' rint, and she's hoardin' crown by shillin' till she kin buy her a cabin and to say a pertaty patch for a garden, somewhere out where it's green! Faith! but she'll do it too; she's a manager! Yez had orter see the illigant boned turkey she made out o' veal, stuck through with shrivelled black ground apples, she called 'puffles'! an glued it up foine wid jelly. Sez I, 'They'll never know the difference,' but off she goes and lets it out and tells the makin' uv it ter every woman on the hill,--that's all I hev agin her. She's got a disease o' truth-telling when there's no need that would anguish the saints o' Hiven theirselves! "'I kin make better 'n naturaler-lookin' hats fer nothin', here at home, than they keep in N' York,' she says after looking out the back window a piece. 'And who'll help yer?' says I, 'and where'll yer git the posies and what all?' "'I bought some bolts o' ribbon to-day,' says she, smilin'; 'and fer the rest, the garden, you, and I will manage it together, if you'll lend me a shelf all to meself in the cold closet whenever I need it!' Sure fer a moment I wuz oneasy, fer I thought a wild streak run branchin' through all the boss's family!" (At the words Garden, You, and I, there flashed through me the thought of some telepathic influence at work.) "'The garden's full o' growin' posies that outshames the flower-makers; watch out and see, Anastasia!' "Well and I did!! This mornin' early she picks a lot o' them sticky pink flowers by the stoop, the colour o' chiny shells, wid spokes in them like umbrellas, and the thick green leaves, and after leavin' 'em in water a spell, puts 'em in me cold closet, a small bit o' wet moss tied to each stem end wid green sewin' silk! A piece after dinner out she comes wid the hat that's covered with strong white lace, and she cocks it this way and pinches it that and sews the flowers to it quick wid a big thread and a great splashin' bow on behind, and into the cold box agin! "'That's fer this afternoon,' says she, and before she wore it off (a hat that Eve, mother o' sin, and us all would envy), she'd another ready for the night! 'Will it spoil now and give yer away, I wonder?' says I, anxious like. "'Not fer two hours, at least; and it'll keep me from stayin' too long; if I do, it'll wither away and leave me all forlorn, like Cinderella and her pumpkin coach!' she said a-smilin' kind uv to herself in me kitchen mirror, when she put the hat on. 'But I'm not insultin' God's flowers tryin' to pass them off for French ones, Annie,' says she. 'I'm settin' a new garden fashion; let them follow who will!' and away wid her! That same other is in here now, and it's no sin to let yer peep, gin it's ye own posies and ye chest they're in." So, throwing open the door Anastasia revealed the slate shelf covered by a sheet of white paper, while resting on an empty pickle jar, for a support, was the second hat, of loosely woven black straw braid, an ornamental wire edging the brim that would allow it to take a dozen shapes at will. It was garlanded by a close-set wreath of crimson peonies grading down to blush, all in half bud except one full-blown beauty high in front and one under the brim set well against the hair, while covering the wire, caught firm and close, were glossy, fragrant leaves of the wild sweetbrier made into a vine. Ah, well, this is an unexpected development born of our experiment and a human sort of chronicle for The Garden, You, and I. One of the most puzzling things in this living out-of-doors on our own place is the reversal of our ordinary viewpoints. Never before did I realize how we look at the outdoor world from inside the house, where inanimate things force themselves into comparison. Now we are seeing from outside and looking in at ourselves, so to speak, very much like the robin, who has his third nest, lop-sided disaster having overtaken the other two, in the old white lilac tree over my window. Some of our doings, judged from the vantage point of the knoll, are very inconsistent. The spot occupied by the drying yard is the most suitable place for the new strawberry bed, and is in a direct line between the fence gap, where my fragrant things are to be, and the Rose Garden. Several of the walks that have been laid out according to the plan, when seen from this height, curve around nothing and reach nowhere. We shall presently satisfy their empty embraces with shrubs and locate various other conspicuous objects at the terminals. Also, the house is kept too much shut up; it looks inhospitable, seen through the trees, with branches always tossing wide to the breeze and sun. Even if a room is unoccupied by people, it is no reason why the sun should be barred out, and at best we ourselves surely spend too much time in our houses in the season when every tree is a roof. We have decided not to move indoors again this summer, but to lodge here in the time between vacations and to annex the Infant. Oh, Mrs. Evan, dear! there is one thing in which _The Man from Everywhere_ reckoned without his host! Stopping the clocks when we went in camp did not dislodge Time from the premises; rather did it open the door to his entrance hours earlier than usual, when one of the chiefest luxuries we promised ourselves was late sleeping. Stretched on our wire-springed, downy cots (there is positively no virtue in sleeping on hard beds, and Bart considers it an absolute vice), there is a delicious period before sleep comes. Bats flit about the rafters, and an occasional swallow twitters and shifts among the beams as the particular nest it guarded grew high and difficult to mount from the growth of the lusty brood within. The scuffle of little feet over the rough floor brings indolent, half-indifferent guessing as to which of the lesser four-foots they belonged. The whippoorwills down in the river woods call until they drop off, one by one, and the timid ditty of a singing mouse that lives under the floor by my cot is the last message the sandman sends to close our eyes before sleep. And such sleep! That first steel-blue starlit night in the open we said that we meant to sleep and sleep it out, even if we lost a whole day by it. It seemed but a moment after sleep had claimed us, when, struggling through the heavy darkness, came far-away light strands groping for our eyes, and soft, half-uttered music questioning the ear. Returning I opened my eyes, and there was the sun struggling slowly through the screen of white birches in Opie's wood lot, and scattering the night mists that bound down the Opal Farm with heavy strands; the air was tense with flitting wings, bird music rose, fell, and drifted with the mist, and it was only half-past four! You cannot kill time, you see, by stopping clocks--with nature day _Is_, beyond all dispute. In two days, by obeying instead of opposing natural sun time, we had swung half round the clock, only now and then imitating the habits of our four-footed brothers that steal abroad in the security of twilight. [Illustration: THE SCREEN OF WHITE BIRCHES. Copyright, 1901, H. Hendrickson.] _June 24._ Amos Opie, the carpenter, owner of Opal Farm, is now keeping widower's hall in the summer kitchen thereof. A thin thread of smoke comes idly from the chimney of the lean-to in the early morning, and at evening the old man sits in the well-house porch reading his paper so long as the light lasts, a hound of the ancient blue-spotted variety, with heavy black and tan markings, keeping him company. These two figures give the finishing touch to the picture that lies beyond us as we look from the sheltered corner of the camp, and strangely enough, though old Opie is not of the direct line and has never lived in this part of New England before, he goes about with a sort of half-reminiscent air, as if picking up a clew long lost, while Dave, the hound, at once assumed proprietary rights and shows an uncanny wisdom about the well-nigh fenceless boundaries. After his master has gone to bed, Dave will often come over to visit us, after the calm fashion of a neighbour who esteems it a duty. At least that was his attitude at first; but after a while, when I had told him what a fine, melancholy face he had, that it was a mistake not to have christened him Hamlet, and that altogether he was a good fellow, following up the conversation with a comforting plate of meat scraps (Opie being evidently a vegetarian), Dave began to develop a more youthful disposition. A week ago Bart's long-promised, red setter pup arrived, a spirit of mischief on four clumsy legs. Hardly had I taken him from his box (I wished to be the one to "first foot" him from captivity into the family, for that is a courtesy a dog never forgets) when we saw that Dave was sitting just outside the doorless threshold watching solemnly. The puppy, with a gleeful bark, licked the veteran on the nose, whereat the expression of his face changed from one of uncertainty to a smile of indulgent if mature pleasure, and now he takes his young friend on a daily ramble down the pasture through the bit of marshy ground to the river, always bringing him back within a reasonable length of time, with an air of pride. Evidently the hound was lonely. _The Man from Everywhere_, who prowls about even more than usual, using Bart's den for his own meanwhile, says that the setter will be ruined, for the hound will be sure to trail him on fox and rabbit, and that in consequence he will never after keep true to birds, but somehow we do not care, this dog-friendship between the stranger and the pup is so interesting. By the way, we have financially persuaded Opie to leave his straggling meadow, that carpets our vista to the river, for a wild garden this summer, instead of selling it as "standing grass," which the purchasers had usually mown carelessly and tossed into poor-grade hay, giving a pittance in exchange that went for taxes. So many flowers and vines have sprung up under shelter of the tumble-down fences that I was very anxious to see what pictures would paint themselves if the canvas, colour, and brushes were left free for the season through. Already we have had our money's worth, so that everything beyond will be an extra dividend. The bit of marshy ground has been for weeks a lake of iris, its curving brink foamed with meadow rue and Osmundas that have all the dignity of palms. Now all the pasture edge is set with wild roses and wax-white blueberry flowers. Sundrops are grouped here and there, with yellow thistles; the native sweetbrier arches over gray boulders that are tumbled together like the relic of some old dwelling; and the purple red calopogon of the orchid tribe adds a new colour to the tapestry, the cross-stitch filling being all of field daisies. Truly this old farm is a well-nigh perfect wild garden, the strawberries dyeing the undergrass red, and the hedges bound together with grape-vines. It does not need rescuing, but letting alone, to be the delight of every one who wishes to enjoy. On being approached as to his future plans, Amos Opie merely sets his lips, brings his finger-tips together, and says, "I'm open to offers, but I'm not bound to set a price or hurry my decisions." Meanwhile I am living in a double tremor, of delight at the present and fear lest some one may snap up the place and give us what the comic paper called a Queen Mary Anne cottage and a stiff lawn surrounded by a gas-pipe fence to gaze upon. O for a pair of neighbours who would join us in comfortable vagabondage, leave the white birches to frame the meadows and the wild flowers in the grass! _June 25._ We have been having some astonishing thunder-storms of nights lately, and I must say that upon one occasion I fled to the house. Two nights ago, however, the sun set in an even sky of lead, there was no wind, no grumblings of thunder. We had passed a very active day and finished placing the stakes on the knoll in the locations to be occupied by shrubs and trees, all numbered according to the tagged specimens over in the reservoir woods. _The Man from Everywhere_ suggested this system, an adaptation, he says, from the usual one of numbering stones for a bit of masonry. It will prevent confusion, for the perspective will be different when the leaves have fallen, and as we lift the bushes, each one will go to its place, and we shall not lose a year's growth, or perhaps the shrub itself, by a second moving. Our one serious handicap is the lack of a pair of extra hands, in this work as in the making of the rose bed, for our transplanting has developed upon a wholesale plan. Barney does not approve of our passion for the wild; besides, between potatoes and corn to hoe, celery seedlings to have their first transplanting, vegetables to pick, turf grass to mow, and edges to keep trim, with a horse and cow to tend in addition, nothing more can be expected of him. I was half dozing, half listening, as usual, to the various little night sounds that constantly pique my curiosity, for no matter how long you may have lived in the country you are not wholly in touch with it until you have slept at least a few nights in the open,--when rain began to fall softly, an even, persevering, growing rain, entirely different from the lashing thunder-showers, and though making but half the fuss, was doubly penetrating. Thinking how good it was for the ferns, and venturing remarks to Bart about them, which, however, fell on sleep-deaf ears, I made sure that the pup was in his chosen place by my cot and drifted away to shadow land, glad that something more substantial than boughs covered me! I do not know how long it was before I wakened, but the first sound that formulated itself was the baying of Dave, the hound, from the well-house porch, where he slept when his evening rambles kept him out until after Amos Opie had gone to bed. Having freed his mind, Dave presently stopped, but other nearer-by sounds made me again on the alert. The rain, that was falling with increasing power, held one key; the drip from the eaves and the irregular gush from a broken waterspout played separate tunes. I am well used to the night-time bravado of mice, who fight duels and sometimes pull shoes about, of the pranks of squirrels and other little wood beasts about the floor, but the noise that made me sit up in the cot and reach over until I could clutch Bart by the arm belonged to neither of these. There was a swishing sound, as of water being wrung from something and dropping on the floor, and then a human exclamation, blended of a sigh, a wheeze, and a cough, at which the pup wakened with a growl entirely out of proportion to his age and inexperience. "I wonder, now, is that a dog or only uts growl ter sind me back in the wet fer luv av the laugh at me?" chirped a voice as hoarse as a buttery brogue would allow it to be. My clutch had brought Bart to himself instantly, and at the words he turned the electric flashlight, that lodged under his pillow, full in the direction of the sound, where it developed a strange picture and printed it clearly on the opposite wall. In the middle of the circle of light was a little barefoot man, in trousers and shirt; a pair of sodden shoes lay at different angles where they had been kicked off, probably making the sound that had wakened me, and at the moment of the flash he was occupied in the wringing out of a coat that seemed strangely long for the short frame upon which it had hung. The face turned toward us was unmistakably Irish, comical even, entirely unalarming, and with the expression, blended of terror and doubt, that it now wore, he might have slipped from the pages of a volume of Lever that lay face down on the table. The nose turned up at the tip, as if asking questions of the eyes, that hid themselves between the half-shut lids in order to avoid answering. The skin was tanned, and yet you had a certain conviction that minus the tan the man would be very pale, while the iron-gray hair that topped the head crept down to form small mutton-chop whiskers and an Old Country throat thatch that was barely half an inch long. Bart touched me to caution silence, and I, seeing at once that there was nothing to fear, waited developments. As soon as he could keep his eyes open against the sudden glare, the little man tried to grasp the column of light in his fingers, then darted out of it, and I thought he had bolted from the barn; but no, he was instantly back again, and dilapidated as he was, he did not look like a professional tramp. "No, yez don't fool Larry McManus agin! Yez are a mane, cold light with all yer blinkin', and no fire beneath to give 'im the good uv a cup o' tay or put a warm heart in 'im! Two nights agone 'twas suspicion o' rats kep' me from shlapin', yesternight 'twas thought o' what wud become of poor Oireland (Mary rest her) had we schnakes there ter fill the drames o' nights loike they do here whin a man's a drap o'er full o' comfort. 'Tis a good roof above! Heth, thin, had I a whisp o' straw and a bite, wid this moonlight fer company, I'd not shog from out this the night to be King! "Saints! but there's a dog beyant the bark!" he cried a minute after, as the pup crept over to him and began to be friendly,--"I wonder is a mon sinsible to go to trustin' the loight o' any moon that shines full on a pitch-black noight whin 'tis rainin'? Och hone! but me stomach's that empty, gin I don't put on me shoes me lungs'll lake trou the soles o' me fate, and gin I do, me shoes they're that sopped, I'll cough them up--o-whurra-r-a! whurra-a! but will I iver see Old Oireland agin,--I don't know!" Bart shut off the light, slipped on his shoes, and drawing a coat over his pajamas lighted the oil stable lantern, hung it with its back toward me, on a long hook that reached down from one of the rafters, and bore down upon Larry, whose face was instantly wreathed in puckered smiles at the sight of a fellow-human who, though big, evidently had no intention of being aggressive. "Well, Larry McManus," said Bart, cheerfully, "how came you in this barn so far away from Oireland a night like this?" "Seein' as yer another gintleman o' the road in the same ploice, what more loike than the misfortune's the same?" replied he, lengthening his lower lip and stretching his stubby chin, which he scratched cautiously. Then, as he raised his eyes to Bart's, he evidently read something in his general air, touselled and tanned as he was, that shifted his opinion at least one notch. "Maybe, sor, you're an actor mon, sor, that didn't suit the folks in the town beyant, sor, but I'd take it as praise, so I would, for shure they're but pigs there,--I couldn't stop wid thim meself! Thin agin, mayhap yer jest a plain gintleman, a bit belated, as it were,--a little belated on the way home, sor,--loike me, sor, that wus moinded to be in Kildare, sor, come May-day, and blessed Peter's day's nigh come about an' I'm here yit!" "You are getting on the right scent, Larry," said Bart, struggling with laughter, and yet, as he said after, not wishing possibly to huff this curious person. "I hope I'm a gentleman, but I'm not tramping about; this is my barn, in which my wife and I are sleeping, so if I were you, I wouldn't take off that shirt until I can find you a dry one!" The change that came over the man was comical. In a lightning flash he had fastened the few buttons in his blouse that it had taken his fumbling fingers several moments to unloose, and dropping one hand to his side, he held it there rigid as he saluted with two fingers at the brim of an imaginary hat; while his roving eye quickly took in the various motley articles of furniture of our camp,--a small kitchen table with oil-stove and tea outfit of plain white ware, some plates and bowls, a few saucepans, half a dozen chairs, no two alike, and the two cots huddled in the shadows,--his voice, that had been pitched in a confidential key, arose to a wail:-- "The Saints luv yer honor, but do they be afther havin' bad landlords in Meriky too, that evicted yer honor from yer house, sor? I thought here nigh every poor body owned their own bit, ground and roof, sor, let alone a foine man loike yerself that shows the breedin' down to his tin toes, sor. Oi feel fer yer honor, fer there wuz I meself set out wid pig and cow both, sor (for thim bein' given Kathy by her aunt fer her fortin could not be took), six years ago Patrick's tide, sor, and hadn't she married Mulqueen that same week, sor (he bein' gardener a long time to his Riverence over in England, sor, and meetin' Kathy only at his mother's wakin'), I'd maybe been lodged in a barn meself, sor! Sure, hev ye the cow below ud let me down a drap o' milk?" Then did Bart laugh long and heartily, for this new point of view in regard to our doings amused him immensely. Of all the local motives attributed to our garden vacation, none had been quite so naïve and unexpected as this! "But we haven't been evicted," said Bart, unconsciously beginning to apologize to an unknown straggler. "I own this place and my home is yonder; we are camping here for our health and pleasure. Come, it's time you gave an account of yourself, as you are trespassing." That the situation suddenly began to annoy Bart was plain. Ignoring the tail of the speech, Larry saluted anew: "Sure, sor, I knew ye at first fer gintleman and leddy, which this same last proves; a rale gintleman and his leddy can cut about doin' the loikes of which poor folks ud be damned fer! I mind well how Lord Kilmartin's youngest--she wid the wild red hair an' eyes that wud shame a doe--used to go barefoot through the dew down to Biddie Macks's cabin to drink fresh buttermilk, whin they turned gallons o' it from their own dairy. Some said, underbreath, she was touched, and some wild loike, but none spoke loud but to wish her speed, fer that's what it is to be a leddy! "Meself, is it? Och, it's soon told. Six years lived I there wid Kathy and Mulqueen, workin' in the garden, he keepin' before me, until one day his Riverence come face agin me thruble. Oh, yis, sor, that same, that bit sup that's too much for the stomick, sor, and so gets into the toes and tongue, sor! Four times a year the spell's put on me, sor, and gin I shlape it over, I'm a good man in between, sor, but that one time, sor, Mulqueen was sint to Lunnon, sor, and I missed me shlape fer mischief. "Well, thinks I, I'll go to Meriky and see me Johnny, me youngest; most loike they're more used to the shlapin' spells out there where all is free; but they wasn't! Johnny's a sheriff and got money wid his woman, and she's no place in her house fit fer the old man resting the drap off. So he gives me money to go home first class, and says he'll sind another bit along to Kathy fer me keepin'. "This was come Easter, and bad cess, one o' me shlapes was due, and so I've footed it to get a job to take me back to Kathy. If I could strike a port just right, Hiven might get me home between times in a cattle boat. "I'm that well risted now I could do good work if I had full feed, maybe till Michaelmas. Hiven rest ye, sor, but have ye ever a job o' garden work now on yer estate, sor, that would kape me until I got the bit to cross to Kathy?" As Bart hesitated, I burst forth, "Have you ever tended flowers, Larry?" "Flowers, me leddy?--that's what I did fer his Riverence, indoors and out, and dressed them fer the shows, mem, and not few's the prize money we took. His Riverence, he called a rose for Kathy, that is to say Kathleen; 'twas that big 'twould hide yer face. Flowers, is it? Well, I don't know!" Bart, meanwhile, had made a plan, telling Larry that he would draw a cup of tea and give him something to eat, while he thought the matter over. He soon had the poor fellow wrapped in an old blanket and snoring comfortably in the straw, while, as the rain had stopped and dawn began to show the outlines of Opal Farm, Bart suggested that I had best go indoors and finish my broken sleep, while he had a chance to scrutinize Larry by daylight before committing himself. When he rejoined me several hours later for an indoor breakfast, for it had turned to rain again and promised several days of the saturate weather that makes even a mountain camp utterly dreary, he brought me the news that Larry was to work for me especially, beginning on the rose bed,--that he would lodge with Amos Opie and take his meals with Anastasia, who thinks it likely that they are cousins on the mothers' side, as they are both of the same parish and name. The _exact_ way of our meeting with him need not be dwelt upon domestically, for the sake of discipline, as he will have more self-respect among his fellows in the combination clothes we provided, "until his baggage arrives." He is to be paid no money, and allowed to "shlape" if a spell unhappily arrives. When the season is over, Bart agrees to see him on board ship with a prepaid passage straight to Kathy, and whatever else is his due sent to her! Meanwhile he promised to "fit the leddy with the tastiest garden off the old sod!" So here we are! This chronicle should have a penny-dreadful title, "Their Midnight Adventure, or How it Rained a Rose Gardener!" Tell me about the ferns next time; we have only moved the glossy Christmas and evergreen-crested wood ferns as yet, being sure of these. How about our fencing? Ask Evan. You remember that we have a picket-fence toward the road, but on three sides the boundary is only a tumble-down stone wall in which bird cherries have here and there found footing. We have a chance to sell the stones, and Bart is thinking of it, as it will be too costly to rebuild on a good foundation. The old wall was merely a rough-laid pile. IX FERNS, FENCES, AND WHITE BIRCHES (Barbara Campbell to Mary Penrose) _Hemlock Hills, July 3._ For nearly a week we have been sauntering through this most entrancing hill country, practically a pedestrian trip, except that the feet that have taken the steps have been shod with steel instead of leather. Your last chronicle has followed me, and was read in a region so pervaded by ferns that your questions concerning their transplanting would have answered themselves if you could have only perched on the rock beside me. There is a fern-lined ravine below, a fern-bordered road in front; and above a log cottage, set in a clearing in the hemlocks which has for its boundaries the tumble-down fence piled by the settlers a century or two ago, its crevices now filled by leaf-mould, has become at once a natural fernery and a barrier. Why do you not use your old wall in a like manner? Of course your stones may be too closely piled and lack the time-gathered leaf-mould, but a little discretion in removing or tipping a stone here and there, and a crowbar for making pockets, would work wonders. You might even exchange the surplus rocks for leaf-mould, load by load; at any rate large quantities of fern soil must be obtainable for the carting at the reservoir woods. Imagine the effect, if you please, of that irregular line of rocks swathed in vines and sheltering great clumps of ferns, while it will afford an endless shelter for every sort of wild thing that you may pick up in your rambles. Of course you need not plant it all at once, but having made the plan, develop it at leisure. You should never quite finish a country place unless you expect to leave it. The something more in garden life is the bale of hay before the horse's nose on the uphill road. Last year, for almost a week, we thought our garden quite as finished as the material and surroundings would allow,--it was a strange, dismal, hollow sort of feeling. However, it was soon displaced by the desire that I have to collect my best roses in one spot, add to them, and gradually form a rosary where the Garden Queen and all her family may have the best of air, food, and lodgings. You see I feared that the knoll, hardy beds, and rose garden were not sufficient food for your mind to ruminate, so I add the fern fence as a sort of dessert! [Illustration: AN ENDLESS SHELTER FOR EVERY SORT OF WILD THING.] "Where is the shade that ferns need?" I hear you ask, "for except under some old apple trees and where the bird cherries grow (and they, though beautiful at blooming time and leaf fall, attract tent caterpillars), the stone wall lies in the sun!" Yes, but in one of the woodland homes of this region I have seen a screen placed by such a rustic stone fence that it not only served the purpose of giving light shade, but was a thing of beauty in itself, dividing the vista into many landscapes, the frame being long or upright according to the planter's fancy. Do you remember the old saying "When away keep open thine eyes, and so pack thy trunk for the home-going?" On this drive of ours I've been cramming my trunk to overflowing, and yet the ideas are often the simplest possible, for the people of this region, with more inventive art than money, have the perfect gift of adapting that which lies nearest to hand. You spoke in your last chronicle of the screen of white birches through which you saw the sun rise over the meadows of Opal Farm. This birch springs up in waste lands almost everywhere. We have it in abundance in the wood lot on the side of our hill, and it is scattered through the wet woods below our wild walk, showing that all it needs is a foothold. Because it is common and the wood rather weak and soft, landscape gardening has rather passed it by, turning a cold shoulder, yet the slender tree is very beautiful. True, it has not the length of life, the girth and strength of limb, of the silver-barked canoe birch, but the white birch will grow in a climate that fevers its northern cousin. In spite of its delicate qualities, it is not a trivial tree, for I have seen it with a bole of more than forty feet in length, measuring eighteen inches through at the ground. When you set it, you are not planting for posterity, perhaps, but will gain a speedy result; and the fertility of the tree, when once established, will take care of the future. What is more charming after a summer shower than a natural cluster of these picturesque birches, as they often chance to group themselves in threes, like the Graces--the soft white of the trunks, with dark hieroglyphic shadows here and there disappearing in a drapery of glossy leaves, green above and reflecting the bark colour underneath, all a-quiver and more like live things poised upon the russet twigs than delicate pointed leaves! Then, when the autumn comes, how they stand out in company with cedar bushes and sheep laurel on the hillsides to make beautiful the winter garden, and we stand in mute admiration when these white birches reach from a snowbank and pencil their frosty tracery against a wall of hemlocks. This is the simple material that has been used with such wonderful effect. In the gardens hereabout they have flanked their alleys with the birches, for even when fully grown their habit is more poplar-like than spreading, and many plants, like lilies, requiring partial shade flourish under them; while for fences and screens the trees are planted in small groups, with either stones and ferns, or shrubs set thick between, and the most beautiful winter fence that Evan says he has ever seen in all his wanderings amid costly beauty was when, last winter, in being here to measure for some plans, he came suddenly upon an informal boundary and screen combined, over fifty feet in length, made of white birches,--the groups of twos and threes set eight or ten feet apart, the gaps being filled by Japanese barberries laden with their scarlet fruit. Even now this same screen is beautiful enough with its shaded greens, while the barberries in their blooming time, and the crimson leaf glow of autumn, give it four distinct seasons. The branches of the white birch being small and thickly set, they may be trimmed at will, and windows thus opened here and there without the look of artifice or stiffness. Fences are always a moot question to the gardener, for if she has a pleasant neighbour, she does not like to raise an aggressive barrier or perhaps cut off the view, yet to a certain extent I like being walled in at least on two sides. A total lack of boundaries is too impersonal,--the eye travels on and on: there is nothing to rest it by comparison. Also, where there are no fences or hedges,--and what are hedges but living fences,--there is nothing to break the ground draught in winter and early springtime. The ocean is much more beautiful and full of meaning when brought in contact with a slender bit of coast. The moon has far more majesty when but distancing the tree-tops than when rolling apparently at random through an empty sky. A vast estate may well boast of wide sweeps and open places, but the same effect is not gained, present fashion to the contrary, by throwing down the barriers between a dozen homes occupying only half as many acres. Preferable is the cosey English walled villa of the middle class, even though it be a bit stuffy and suggestive of earwigs. The question should not be to fence or not to fence, but rather _how_ to fence usefully and artistically, and any one who has an old stone wall, such as you have, moss grown and tumble-down, with the beginnings of wildness already achieved, has no excuse for failure. We have seen other fences here where bushes, wire, and vines all take part, but they cannot compete with an old wall. With ferns, a topic opens as long and broad and deep as the glen below us, and of almost as uncertain climbing, for it is not so much what ferns may be dug up and, as individual plants, continue to grow in new surroundings, but how much of their haunt may be transplanted with them, that the fern may keep its characteristics. Many people do not think of this, nor would they care if reminded. Water lilies, floating among their pads in the still margin of a stream, with jewelled dragon-flies darting over, soft clouds above and the odour of wild grapes or swamp azalea wafting from the banks, are no more to them than half a dozen such lilies grown in a sunken tub or whitewashed basin in a backyard; rather are they less desirable because less easily controlled and encompassed. Such people, and they are not a few, belong to the tribe of Peter Bell, who saw nothing more in the primrose by the river's brim than that it was a primrose, and consequently yellow. Doubtless it would have looked precisely the same to him, or even more yellow, if it had bloomed in a tin can! We do not treat our native ferns with sufficient respect. Homage is paid in literature to the palm, and it is an emblem of honour, but our New England ferns, many of them equally majestic, are tossed into heaps for hay and mown down by the ruthless scythe of the farmer every autumn when he shows his greatest agricultural energy by stripping the waysides of their beauty prior to the coming of the roadmender with his awful "turn-piking" process. If, by the way, the automobilists succeed in stopping this piking practice, we will print a nice little prayer for them and send it to Saint Peter, so that, though it won't help them in this world,--that would be dangerous,--it will by and by! In the woods the farmer allows the ferns to stand, for are they not one of the usual attributes of a picnic? Stuck in the horses' bridle, they keep off flies; they serve to deck the tablecloth upon which the food is spread; gathered in armfuls, they somewhat ease the contact of the rheumatic with the rocks, upon which they must often sit on such occasions. They provide the young folks with a motive to seek something further in the woods, and give the acquisitive ladies who "press things" much loot to take home, and all without cost. This may not be respectful treatment, but it is not martyrdom; the fern is a generous plant, a thing of wiry root-stock and prehistoric tenacity; it has not forgotten that tree ferns are among its ancestors; when it is discouraged, it rests and grows again. But imagine the feelings of a mat of exquisite maidenhair rent from a shady slope with moss and partridge vine at its feet, and quivering elusive woodland shade above, on finding itself unceremoniously crowded into a bed, between cannas or red geraniums! Or fancy the despair of either of the wide-spreading Osmundas, lovers of stream borders opulent with leaf-mould, or wood hollows deep with moist richness, on finding themselves ranged in a row about the porch of a summer cottage, each one tied firmly to a stake like so many green parasols stuck in the dry loam point downward! It is not so much a question of how many species of native ferns can be domesticated, for given sufficient time and patience all things are possible, but how many varieties are either decorative, interesting, or useful away from their native haunts. For any one taking what may be called a botanical interest in ferns, a semi-artificial rockery, with one end in wet ground and the other reaching dry-wood conditions, is extremely interesting. In such a place, by obtaining some of the earth with each specimen and tagging it carefully, an out-of-door herbarium may be formed and something added to it every time an excursion is made into a new region. Otherwise the ferns that are worth the trouble of transplanting and supplying with soil akin to that from which they came, are comparatively few. Of decorative species the Osmundas easily lead; being natives of swampy or at least moist ground, they should have a like situation, and yet so strong are their roots and crown of leaves that they will flourish for years after the moisture that has fed them has been drained and the shading overgrowth cut away, even though dwarfed in growth and coarsened in texture. Thus people seeing them growing under these conditions in open fields and roadside banks mistake their necessities. The Royal fern (_Osmunda regalis_) positively demands moisture; it will waive the matter of shade in a great degree, but water it must have. The Cinnamon fern, that encloses the spongelike, brown, fertile fronds in the circle of green ones, gains its greatest size of five feet in roadside runnels or in springy places between boulders in the river woods; yet so accommodating is it that you can use it at the base of your knoll if a convenient rock promises both reasonable dampness and shelter. The third of the family (_Osmunda Claytonia_) is known as the Interrupted fern, because in May the fertile black leaflets appear in the middle of the fronds and interrupt the even greenness. This fern will thrive in merely moist soil and is very charming early in the season, but like the other two, out of its haunts, cannot be relied upon after August. As a fern for deep soil, where walking room can be allowed it, the common brake, or bracken (_Pteris aquilina_) is unsurpassed. It will grow either in sandy woods or moist, and should have a certain amount of high shade, else its broad fronds, held high above the ground umbrella-wise, will curl, grow coarse, and lose the fernlike quality altogether. You can plant this safely in the bit of old orchard that you are giving over to wild asters, black-eyed Susan, and sundrops, but mind you, be sure to take both Larry and Barney, together with a long post-hole spade, when you go out to dig brakes,--they are not things of shallow superficial roots, I can assure you. A few years ago Evan, Timothy Saunders, and I went brake-hunting, I selecting the groups and the menkind digging great solid turfs a foot or more in depth, in order to be sure the things had native earth enough along to mother them into comfortable growth. Proudly we loaded the big box wagon, for we had taken so much black peat (as the soil happened to be) that not a root hung below and success was certain. When, on reaching home, in unloading, one turf fell from the cart and crumbled into fragments, to my dismay I found that the long, tough stalk ran quite through the clod and we had no roots at all, but that (if inanimate things can laugh) they were all laughing at us back in the meadow and probably another foot underground. Yet brakes are well worth the trouble of deep digging, for if once established, a waste bit, where little else will flourish, is given a graceful undergrowth that is able to stand erect even though the breeze plays with the little forest as it does with a field of grain. Then, too, the brake patch is a treasury to be drawn from when arranging tall flowers like foxgloves, larkspurs, hollyhocks, and others that have little foliage of their own. The fact that the brake does not mature its seeds that lie under the leaf margin until late summer also insures it a long season of sightliness, and when ripeness finally draws nigh, it comes in a series of beautiful mellow shades, varying from straw through deep gold to russet, such as the beech tree chooses for its autumn cloak. Another plant there is, a low-growing shrub, having long leaves with scalloped edges, giving a spicy odour when crushed or after rain, that I must beg you to plant with these brakes. It is called Sweet-fern, merely by courtesy, from its fernlike appearance, for it is of the bayberry family and first cousin to sweet gale and waxberry. The digging of this also is a process quite as elusive as mining for brakes; but when once it sets foot in your orchard, and it will enjoy the drier places, you will have a liberal annex to your bed of sweet odours, and it may worthily join lemon balm, mignonette, southernwood, and lavender in the house, though in the garden it would be rather too pushing a companion. Next, both decorative and useful, comes the Silvery Spleenwort, that is content with shade and good soil of any sort, so long as it is not rank with manure. It has a slender creeping root, but when it once takes hold, it flourishes mightily and after a year or so will wave silver-lined fronds three feet long proudly before you, a rival of Osmunda! A sister spleenwort is the beautiful Lady fern, whose lacelike fronds have party-coloured stems, varying from straw through pink and reddish to brown, giving an unusual touch of life and warmth to one of the cool green fern tribe. In autumn the entire leaf of this fern, in dying, oftentimes takes these same hues; it is decorative when growing and useful to blend with cut flowers. It naturally prefers woods, but will settle down comfortably in the angle of a house or under a fence, and will be a standby in your wall rockery. The ferns that seem really to prefer the open, one taking to dry and two to moist ground, are the hay-scented fern (_Dicksonia punctilobula_), the New York fern (_Dryopteris Noveboracencis_), and the Marsh Shield-fern. Dicksonia has a pretty leaf of fretwork, and will grow three feet in length, though it is usually much shorter. It is the fern universal here with us, it makes great swales running out from wood edges to pastures, and it rivals the bayberry in covering hillsides; it will grow in dense beds under tall laurels or rhododendrons, border your wild walk, or make a setting of cheerful light green to the stone wall; while if cut for house decoration, it keeps in condition for several days and almost rivals the Maidenhair as a combination with sweet peas or roses. The New York fern, when of low stature, is one of the many bits of growing carpet of rich cool woods. If it is grown in deep shade, the leaves become too long and spindling for beauty. When in moist ground, quite in the open, or in reflected shade, the fresh young leaves of a foot and under add great variety to the grass and are a perfect setting for table decorations of small flowers. We have these ferns all through the dell. If they are mown down in June, July sees a fresh crop, and their spring green is held perpetual until frost. The Marsh Shield-fern of gentian meadows is the perfect small fern for a bit of wet ground, and is the green to be used with all wild flowers of like places. One day last autumn I had a bouquet of grass-of-Parnassus, ladies' tresses, and gentian massed thickly with these ferns, and the posey lived for days on the sunny window shelf of the den (for gentians close their eyes in shade),--a bit of the September marshland brought indoors. The two Beech-ferns, the long and the broad, you may grow on the knoll; give the long the dampest spots, and place the broad where it is quite dry. As the rootstocks of both these are somewhat frail, I would advise you to peg them down with hairpins and cover well with earth. By the way, I always use wire hairpins to hold down creeping rootstocks of every kind; it keeps them from springing up and drying before the rootlets have a chance to grasp the soil. The roots of Maidenhair should always be treated in this way, as they dry out very quickly. This most distinctive of our New England ferns will grow between the rocks of your knoll, as well as in deep nooks in the fence. It seems to love rich side-hill woods and craves a rock behind its back, and if you are only careful about the soil, you can have miniature forests of it with little trouble. As for maidenhair, all its uses are beauty! Give me a bouquet of perfect wild rosebuds within a deep fringe of maidenhair to set in a crystal jar where I may watch the deep pink petals unfold and show the golden stars within; let me breathe their first breath of perfume, and you may keep all the greenhouse orchids that are grown. Though you can have a variety of ferns in other locations, those that will thrive best on the knoll and keep it ever green and in touch with laurel and hemlock, are but five,--the Christmas fern, the Marginal Shield-fern, the common Rock Polypody, the Ebony Spleenwort, and the Spinulose Wood-fern. Of the first pair it is impossible to have too many. The Christmas fern, with its glistening leaves of holly green, has a stout, creeping rootstock, which must be firmly secured, a few stones being added temporarily to the hairpins to give weight. The Evergreen Wood-fern and Ebony Spleenwort, having short rootstocks, can be tucked into sufficiently deep holes between rocks or in the hollows left by small decayed stumps, while the transplanting of the Rock Polypody is an act where luck, recklessness, and a pinch of magic must all be combined. You will find vast mats of these leathery little Polypodys growing with rock-selaginella on the great boulders of the river woods. As these are to be split up for masonry, the experiment of transferring the polypody is no sin, though it savours somewhat of the process of skin-grafting. Evan and I have tried the experiment successfully, so that it is no fable. We had a bit of shady bank at home that proved by the mosses that grew on it that it was moistened from beneath the year through. The protecting shade was of tall hickories, and a rock ledge some twenty feet high shielded it from the south and east. We scraped the moss from a circle of about six feet and loosened the surface of the earth only, and very carefully. Then we spread some moist leaf-mould on the rough but flat surface of a partly exposed rock. Going to a near-by bit of woods that was being despoiled, as in your valley, we chose two great mats of polypody and moss that had no piercing twigs to break the fabric, and carefully peeled them from the rocks, as you would bark from a tree, the matted rootstocks weaving all together. Moistening these thoroughly, we wrapped them in a horse blanket and hurried home. The earth and rock already prepared were sprinkled with water and the fern fabric applied and gently but firmly pressed down, that resting on the earth being held by the ever useful hairpin! The rock graft was more difficult, but after many failures by way of stones that rolled off, a coarse network of cords was put across and fastened to whatever twigs or roots came in the way. Naturally a period of constant sprinkling followed, and for that season the rock graft seemed decidedly homesick, but the next spring resignation had set in, and two years later the polypodys had completely adopted the new location and were prepared to appropriate the whole of it. So you see that there are comparatively only a few ferns, after all, that are of great value to The Garden, You, and I, and likewise there are but a few rules for their transplanting, viz.:-- Don't bother about the tops, for new ones will grow, but look to the roots, and do not let them be exposed to the air or become dry in travel. Examine the quality of soil from which you have taken the ferns, and if you have none like it nearer home, take some with you for a starter! Never dig up more on one day than you can plant during the next, and above all remember that if a fern is worth tramping the countryside for, it is worth careful planting, and that the moral remarks made about the care in setting out of roses apply with double force to the handling of delicate wild flowers and ferns. Good luck to your knoll, Mary Penrose, and to your fern fence, if that fancy pleases you. May the magic of fern seed fill your eyes and let you see visions, the goodly things of heart's desire, when, all being accomplished, you pause and look at the work of your hands. "And nimble fay and pranksome elf Flash vaguely past at every turn, Or, weird and wee, sits Puck himself, With legs akimbo, on a fern!" X FRANKNESS,--GARDENING AND OTHERWISE (Mary Penrose to Barbara Campbell) _July 15._--_Midsummer Night._ Since the month came in, vacation time has been suspended, insomuch that Bart goes to the office every day, Saturdays excepted; but we have not returned to our indoor bedroom. Once it seemed the definition of airy coolness, with its three wide windows, white matting, and muslin draperies, but now--I fully understand the relative feelings of a bird in a cage and a bird in the open. The air blows through the bars and the sun shines through them, but it is still a cage. In these warm, still nights we take down the slat screens that hang between the hand-hewn chestnut beams of the old barn, and with the open rafters of what was a hay-loft above us, we look out of the door-frame straight up at the stars and sometimes drag our cots out on the wide bank that tops the wall, overlooking the Opal Farm, and sleep wholly under the sky. These two weeks past we have had the Infant with us at night, clad in a light woollen monkey-suit nighty with feet, her crib being, however, under cover. Her open-eyed wonder has been a new phase of the vacation. Knowing no fear, she has begun to develop a feeling of kinship with all the small animals, not only of the barn but dwellers on Opal Farm as well, and when she discovered a nest of small mice in an old tool-box under the eaves and proposed to take them, in their improvised house, to her very own room at the opposite end, this "room" being a square marked around her bed by small flower-pots, set upside down, I protested, as a matter of course, saying that mice were not things to handle, and besides they would die without their mother. The Infant, still clutching the box, looked at me in round-eyed wonder: "I had Dinah and the kittens to play with in the nursery, didn't I, mother?" "Certainly!" "And when Ann-stasia brought them up in her ap'n, Dinah walked behind, didn't she?" "Yes, I think so!" "Ver-r-y well, the mouse mother will walk behind too, and I love mice better'n cats, for they have nicer hands; 'sides, mother, don't you know who mice really and truly are, and why they have to hide away? They are the horses that fairlies drive, and I'm going to have these for the fairlies in my village!" making a sweep of her arm toward the encampment of flower-pots; "if you want fairlies to stay close beside your bed, you must give them horses to drive, 'cause when it gets cold weather cobwebs gets too sharp for them to ride on and there isn't always fireflies 'n candle worms to show 'em the way,--'n it's true, 'cause Larry says so!" she added, probably seeing the look of incredulity on my face. "Larry knows fairlies and they're really trulies; if you're bad to them, you'll see the road and it won't be there, and so you'll get into Hen'sy's bog! Larry did,--and if you make houses for them like mine (pointing to the flower-pots) and give 'em drinks of milk and flower wine, they'll bring you _lots_ of childrens! They did to Larry, so I'm trying to please 'em wif my houses, so's to have some to play wif!" Larry's harmless folklore (for when he is quite himself, as he is in these days, he has a certain refinement and an endless fund of marvellous legends and stories), birds and little beasts for friends, dolls cut from paper with pansies fastened on for faces, morning-glories for cups in which to give the fairies drink, what could make a more blissful childhood for our little maid? That is the everlasting pity of a city childhood. Creature comforts may be had and human friends, but where is the vista that reaches under the trees and through the long meadow-grass where the red-gold lily bells tinkle, up the brook bed to the great flat mossy rock, beneath which is the door to fairyland, the spotted turtle being warder. Fairyland, the country of eternal youth and possibility! I wouldn't give up the fairies that I once knew and peopled the solemn woods with down in grandfather's Virginia home for a fortune, and even now, any day, I can put my ear to the earth, like Tommy-Anne, and hear the grass grow. It occurred to me yesterday that the Infant, in age, temperament, and heredity, is suited to be a companion for your Richard. Could you not bring him down with you before the summer is over? Though, as the unlike sometimes agree best, Ian and she might be more compatible, so bring them both and we will turn the trio loose in the meadows of Opal Farm with a mite of a Shetland pony that _The Man from Everywhere_ has recently bestowed upon the Infant--crazy, extravagant man! What we shall do with it in winter I do not know, as we cannot yet run into the expense of keeping such live stock. But why bother? it is only midsummer now, grazing is plentiful and seems to suit the needs of this spunky little beast, and the Infant riding him "across country," as Bart calls her wanderings about Opal Farm, is a spectacle too pretty to be denied us. Yes, I know I'm silly, and that you have the twins to rhapsodize about, but girls are so much more picturesque in the clothes! What! thought she wore gingham bloomers! Yes, but not all the time, for Maria will frill her up and run her with ribbons of afternoons! * * * * * Back to the house and garden! I'm wandering, but then I'm Lady Lazy this summer, as _The Man from Everywhere_ calls me, and naturally a bit inconsequent! As I said, Bart is at the office daily, and will be for another week, but Lady Lazy has not returned to what Maria Maxwell calls "The Tyranny of the Three M's,"--the mending basket, the market book, and the money-box! I was willing, quite willing; in fact it is only fair that Maria should have her time of irresponsibility, for I know that she has half a dozen invitations to go to pleasant places and meet people, one being from Lavinia Cortright to visit her shore cottage. I'm always hoping that Maria may meet the "right man" some summer day, but that she surely will never do if she stays here. "I've everything systematized, and it's easier for me to go on than drop the needles for a fortnight or so and then find, on coming back, that you have been knitting a mitten when I had started the frame of a sock," Maria said, laughing; "make flower hay while the crop is to be had for the gathering, my lady! Another year you may not have such free hands!" Then my protests grew weaker and weaker, for the establishment had thriven marvellously well without my daily interference. The jam closet shows rows of everything that might be made of strawberries, cherries, currants, and raspberries, and it suddenly struck me that possibly if domestic machinery is set going on a consistent basis, whether it is not a mistake to do too much oiling and tightening of a screw here and there, unless distinct symptoms of a halt render it absolutely necessary. "Very well," I said, with a show of spunk, "give me one single task, that I may not feel as if I had no part in the homemaking. Something as ornamental and frivolous as you choose, but that shall occupy me at least two hours a day!" Maria paused a moment; we were then standing in front of the fireplace, where a jar of bayberry filled the place of logs between the andirons. First, casting her eyes through the doors of dining room, living room, and den, she fixed them on me with rather a mischievous twinkle, as she said, "You shall gather and arrange the flowers for the house; and always have plenty of them, but never a withered or dropsical blossom among them all. You shall also invent new ways for arranging them, new combinations, new effects, the only restriction being that you shall not put vases where the water will drip on books, or make the house look like the show window of a wholesale florist. I will give you a fresh mop, and you can have the back porch and table for your workshop, and if I'm not mistaken, you will find two hours a day little enough for the work!" she added with very much the air of some one engaging a new housemaid and presenting her with a broom! It has never taken me two hours to gather and arrange the flowers, and though of course we are only beginning to have much of a garden, we've always had flowers in the house,--quantities of sweet peas and such things, besides wild flowers. I began to protest, an injured feeling rising in my throat, that she, Maria Maxwell, music teacher, city bound for ten years, should think to instruct _me_ of recent outdoor experience. "Yes, you've always had flowers, but did you pick the sweet peas or did Barney? Did you cram them haphazard into the first thing that came handy (probably that awful bowl decorated in ten discordant colours and evidently a wedding present, for such atrocities never find any other medium of circulation)? Or did you separate them nicely, and arrange the pink and salmon peas with the lavender in that plain-coloured Sevres vase that is unusually accommodating in the matter of water, then putting the gay colours in the blue-and-white Delft bowl and the duller ones in cut glass to give them life? Having plenty, did you change them every other day, or the moment the water began to look milky, or did you leave them until the flowers clung together in the first stages of mould? Meanwhile, the ungathered flowers on the vines were seriously developing peas and shortening their stems to be better able to bear their weight. And, Mary Penrose,"--here Maria positively glared at me as if I had been a primary pupil in the most undesirable school of her route who was both stone deaf and afflicted with catarrh, "did you wash out your jars and vases with a mop every time you changed the flowers, and wipe them on a towel separate from the ones used for the pantry glass? No, you never did! You tipped the water out over there at the end of the piazza by the honeysuckles, because you couldn't quite bring yourself to pouring it down the pantry sink, refilled the vases, and that was all!" In spite of a certain sense of annoyance that I felt at the way in which Maria was giving me a lecture, and somehow when a person has taught for ten years she (particularly _she_) inevitably acquires a rather unpleasant way of imparting the truth that makes one wish to deny it, I stood convicted in my own eyes as well as in Maria's. It had so often happened that when either Barney had brought in the sweet peas and left them on the porch table, or Bart had gathered a particularly beautiful wild bouquet in one of his tramps, I had lingered over a book or some bit of work upstairs until almost the time for the next meal, and then, seeing the half-withered look of reproach that flowers wear when they have been long out of water, I have jammed them helter-skelter into the first receptacle at hand. Sometimes a little rough verbal handling stirs up the blood under a too-complacent cuticle. Maria's preachment did me good, the more probably because the time was ripe for it, and therefore the past two weeks have been filled with new pleasures, for another thing that the month spent in the open has shown me is the wonderful setting the natural environment and foliage gives to a flower. At first the completeness appeals insensibly, and unless one is of the temperament that seeks the cause behind the effect, it might never be realized. The Japanese have long since arrived at a method of arranging flowers which is quality and intrinsic value as opposed to miscellaneous quantity. The way of nature, however, it seems to me, is twofold, for there are flowers that depend for beauty, and this with nature that seems only another word for perpetuity, upon the strength of numbers, as well as those that make a more individual appeal. The composite flowers--daisies, asters, goldenrod--belong to the class that take naturally to massing, while the blue flag, meadow and wood lilies, together with the spiked orchises, are typical of the second. By the same process of comparison I have decided that jars and vases having floral decorations themselves are wholly unsuitable for holding flowers. They should be cherished as bric-a-brac, when they are worthy specimens of the art of potter and painter, but as receptacles for flowers they have no use beyond holding sprays of beautiful foliage or silver-green masses of ferns. Porcelain, plain in tint and of carefully chosen colours, such as beef-blood, the old rose, and peach-blow hues, in which so many simple forms and inexpensive bits of Japanese pottery may be bought, a peculiar creamy yellow, a dull green, gobelin, and Delft blue and white, sacred to the jugs and bowls of our grandmothers, all do well. Cut glass is a fine setting for flowers of strong colour, but kills the paler hues, and above and beyond all is the dark moss-green glass of substantial texture that is fashioned in an endless variety of shapes. By chance, gift, and purchase we have gathered about a dozen pieces of this, ranging from a cylinder almost the size of an umbrella-stand down through fluted, hat-shaped dishes, for roses or sweet peas, to some little troughs of conventional shapes in which pansies or other short-stemmed flowers may be arranged so as to give the look of an old-fashioned parterre to the dining table. I had always found these useful, but never quite realized to the full that green or brown is the only consistent undercolour for all field and grass-growing flowers until this summer. But during days that I have spent browsing in the river woods, while Bart and Barney, and more recently Larry, have been digging the herbs that we have marked, I have realized the necessity of a certain combination of earth, bark, and dead-leaf browns in the receptacles for holding wood flowers and the vines that in their natural ascent clasp and cling to the trunks and limbs of trees. Several years ago mother sent me some pretty flower-holders made of bamboos of different lengths, intended evidently to hang against door-jambs or in hallways. The pith was hollowed out here and there, and the hole plugged from beneath to make little water pockets. These did admirably for a season, but when the wood dried, it invariably split, and treacherous dripping followed, most ruinous to furniture. A few weeks back, when looking at some mossed and gnarled branches in the woods, an idea occurred to Bart and me at the same moment. Why could we not use such pieces as these, together with some trunks of your beloved white birch, to which I, _via_ the screen at Opal Farm, was becoming insensibly devoted at the very time that you wrote me? Augur holes could be bored in them at various distances and angles, if not too acute; the thing was to find glass, in bottle or other forms, to fit in the openings. This difficulty was solved by _The Man from Everywhere_ on his reappearance the night before the Fourth, after an absence of a whole week, laden with every manner of noise and fire making arrangement for the Infant, though I presently found that Bart had partly instigated the outfit, and the two overgrown boys revelled in fire-balloons and rockets under cover of the Infant's enthusiasm, much as the grandpa goes to the circus as an apparent martyr to little Tommy's desire! A large package that, from the extreme care of its handling, I judged must hold something highly explosive, on being opened divulged many dozens of the slender glass tubes, with a slight lip for holding cord or wire, such as, filled with roses or orchids, are hung in the garlands of asparagus vines and smilax in floral decorations of either houses or florists' windows. These tubes varied in length from four to six inches, the larger being three inches in diameter. "Behold your leak-proof interiors!" he cried, holding one up. "Now set your wits and Bart's tool-box to work and we shall have some speedy results!" Dear _Man from Everywhere_, he had bought a gross of the glasses, thereby reminding me of a generous but eccentric great-uncle of ours who had a passion for attending auctions, and once, by error, in buying, as he supposed, twelve yellow earthenware bowls, found himself confronted by twelve _dozen_. Thus grandmother's storeroom literally had a golden lining, and my entire childhood was pervaded with these bowls, several finally falling into my possession for the mixing of mud pies! But between the durability of yellow bowls and blown-glass tubes there is little parallel, and already I have found the advantage of having a good supply in stock. Our first natural flower-holder is a great success. Having found a four-pronged silver birch, with a broken top, over in the abandoned gravel-pit (where, by the way, are a score of others to be had for the digging, and such easy digging too), Larry sawed it off a bit below the ground, so as to give it an even base. The diameter of the four uprights was not quite a foot, all told, and these were sawn of unequal lengths of four, six, seven, and nine inches, care being taken not to "haggle," as Larry calls it, the clean white bark in the process. Then Bart went to work with augur and round chisel, and bored and chipped out the holes for the glass tubes, incidentally breaking two glasses before we had comfortably settled the four, for they must fit snugly enough not to wiggle and tip, and yet not so tight as to bind and prevent removal for cleaning purposes. This little stand of natural wood was no sooner finished and mounted on the camp table than its possibilities began to crowd around it. Ferns being the nearest at hand, I crawled over the crumbling bank wall into the Opal Farm meadow and gathered hay-scented, wood, and lady ferns from along the fence line and grouped them loosely in the stand. The effect was magical, a bit of its haunt following the fern indoors. Next day I gathered in the hemlock woods a basket of the waxy, spotted-leaved pipsissewa, together with spikes and garlands of club moss. I had thought these perfect when steadied by bog moss in a flat, cut-glass dish, but in the birch stump they were entirely at home. If these midsummer wood flowers harmonize so well, how much more charming will be the blossoms of early spring, a season when the white birch is quite the most conspicuous tree in the landscape! Picture dog-tooth violets, spring beauties, bellwort, Quaker-ladies, and great tufts of violets, shading from white to deepest blue, in such a setting! Or, of garden things, poets' narcissus and lilies-of-the-valley! Other receptacles of a like kind we have in different stages of progress, made of the wood of sassafras, oak, beech, and hackberry, together with several irregular stumps of lichen-covered cedar. Two long limbs with several short side branches Bart has flattened on the back and arranged with picture-hooks, so that they can be bracketed against the frame of the living-room door, opposite the flower-greeting table that I have fashioned after yours. These are to be used for vines, and I shall try to keep this wide, open portal cheerfully garlanded. The first week of my flower wardenship was a most strenuous one. I use the word reluctantly, but having tried half a dozen others, no equivalent seemed to fit. I had flowers in every room in the house, bedchambers included, using in this connection the cleanest-breathed and longest-lived blossoms possible. Late as was the sowing, the annuals remaining in the seed bed have begun to yield a glorious crop. The fireplaces were filled with black-eyed Susans from the fields and hollyhocks from an old self-seeded colony at Opal Farm, and every available vase, bowl, and pitcher had something in it. How I laboured! I washed jars, sorted colours, and freshened still passable arrangements of the day before, and all the while I felt sure that Maria was watching me, with an amused twinkle in the tail of her eye! One day, the middle of last week, the temperature dropped suddenly, and we fled from camp to the house for twenty-four hours, lighted the logs in the hall, and actually settled down to a serious game of whist in the evening, Maria Maxwell, _The Man_, Bart, and I. Yes, I know how you detest the game, but I--though I am not exactly amused by it--rather like it, for it gives occupation at once for the hands and thoughts and a cover for studying the faces and moods of friends without the reproach of staring. By the way, _The Man_ has hired half the house from Amos Opie--it was divided several years ago--and established helter-skelter bachelor quarters at Opal Farm. Bart has told him, over and over again, how welcome he is to stay here, under any and all conditions, while he works in the vicinity, but he says that he needs a lot of room for his traps, muddy boots, etc., while Opie, a curious Jack-at-all-trades, gives him his breakfast. I'm wondering if _The Man_ felt that he was intruding upon Maria by staying here, or if she has any Mrs. Grundy ideas and was humpy to him, or even suggested that he would better move up the road. She is quite capable of it! However, he seems glad enough to drop in to dinner of an evening now, and the two are so delightfully cordial and unembarrassed in their talk, neither yielding a jot to the other, in the resolute spinster and bachelor fashion, that I must conclude that his going was probably a natural happening. This evening, while Maria and I were waiting together for the men to finish toying with their coffee cups and match-boxes and emerge refreshed from the delightful indolence of the after-dinner smoke, the odour of the flowers--intensified both by dampness and the woodsmoke--was very manifest. "How do you like your employment?" asked Maria. "I like the decorative and inventive part of it," I said, thinking into the fire, "but I believe"--and here I hesitated as a chain of peculiar green flame curled about the log and held my attention. "That it is quite as possible to overdo the house decoration with flowers as it is to spoil a nice bit of lawn with too many fantastic flower beds!" Bart broke in quite unexpectedly, coming behind me and raising my face, one hand beneath my chin. "Isn't that what you were thinking, my Lady Lazy?" "Truly it was, only I never meant to let it pop out so suddenly and rudely," I was forced to confess. "In one way it would seem impossible to have too many flowers about, and yet in another it is unnatural, for are not nature's unconscious effects made by using colour as a central point, a focus that draws the eye from a more sombre and soothing setting?" "How could we enjoy a sunset that held the whole circle of the horizon at once?" chimed in _The Man_, suddenly, as if reading my thoughts. "Or twelve moons?" added Bart, laughing. No, Mrs. Evan, I am convinced by so short a trial as two weeks that the art of arranging flowers for the house is first, your plan of having some to greet the guest as he enters, a bit of colour or coolness in each room where we pause to read or work or chat, and a table garnishing to render æsthetic the aspect and surroundings of the human animal at his feeding time; otherwise, except at special seasons of festivity, a surplus of flowers in the house makes for restlessness, not peace. Two days ago I had thirty-odd vases and jars filled with flowers, and I felt, as I sat down to sew, as if I was trespassing in a bazaar! Also, if there are too many jars of various flowers in one room, it is impossible that each should have its own individuality. To-day I began my new plan. I put away a part of my jars and vases and deliberately thought out what flowers I would use before gathering them. The day being overcast though not threatening, merely the trail, as it were, of the storm that had passed, and the den being on the north side of the house and finished in dark woodwork and furniture, I gathered nasturtiums in three shades for it, the deep crimson, orange-scarlet, and canary-yellow, but not too many--a blue-and-white jar of the Chinese "ginger" pattern for one corner of the mantel-shelf, and for the Japanese well buckets, that are suspended from the central hanging lamp by cords, a cascade of blossoms of the same colour still attached to their own fleshy vines and interspersed with the foliage. Strange as it may seem, this little bit of pottery, though of a peculiar deep pink, harmonizes wonderfully well with the barbaric nasturtium colours. There seems to be a kind of magic blended with the form and colour of these buckets, plain and severe in shape, that swing so gracefully from their silken cords, for they give grace to every flower that touches them. When filled with stiff stalks of lilies-of-the-valley or tulips, they have an equally distinguished air as when hung with the bells of columbines or garlands of flowering honeysuckles twisted about the cords climbing quite up to the lamp. In the hall I placed my tallest green-glass jar upon the greeting table and filled it with long stalks of red and gold Canada lilies from the very bottom of Amos Opie's field, where the damp meadow-grass begins to make way for tussocks and the marshy ground begins. The field now is as beautiful as a dream; the early grasses have ripened, and above them, literally by the hundreds,--rank, file, regiment, and platoon,--stand these lilies, some stalks holding twenty bells, ranged as regularly as if the will of man had set them there, and yet poised so gracefully that we know at once that no human touch has placed them. I wish that you could have stood with me in the doorway of the camp and looked across that field this morning. Bart declared the sight to be the first extra dividend upon our payment to Amos Opie for leaving the grass uncut. I left the stalks of the lilies full three feet long and used only their own foliage, together with some broad-leaved grasses, to break the too abrupt edge of the glass. This is a point that must be remembered in arranging flowers, the keeping the relative height and habit of the plant in the mind's eye. These lilies, gathered with short stems and massed in a crowded bunch, at once lose their individuality and become mere little freckled yellow gamins of the flower world. A rather slender jar or vase also gives an added sense of height; long-stemmed flowers should never be put in a flat receptacle, no matter how adroitly they may be held in place. Only last month I was called upon to admire a fine array of long-stemmed roses that were held in a flat dish by being stuck in wet sand, and even though this was covered by green moss, the whole thing had a painfully artificial and embalmed look, impossible to overcome. For the living room, which is in quiet green tones and chintz-upholstered wicker furniture, I gathered Shirley poppies. They are not as large and perfectly developed as those I once saw in your garden from fall-sown seed, but they are so delicately tinted and the petals so gracefully winged that it seemed like picking handfuls of butterflies. Maria Maxwell has shown me how, by looking at the stamens, I can tell if the flower is newly opened, for by picking only such they will last two full days. How lasting are youthful impressions! She remembers all these things, though she has had no very own garden these ten years and more. Will the Infant remember creeping into my cot in these summer mornings, cuddling and being crooned to like a veritable nestling, until her father gains sufficient consciousness to take his turn and delight her by the whistled imitation of a few simple bird songs? Yes, I think so, and I would rather give her this sort of safeguard to keep off harmful thoughts and influences than any worldly wisdom. The poppies I arranged in my smallest frosted-white and cut-glass vases in two rows on the mantel-shelf, before the quaint old oblong mirror, making it look like a miniature shrine. Celia Thaxter had this way of using them, if I remember rightly, the reflection in the glass doubling the beauty and making the frail things seem alive! For the library, where oak and blue are the prevailing tints, I filled a silver tankard with a big bunch of blue cornflowers, encircled by the leaves of "dusty miller," and placed it on the desk. The dining-room walls are of deep dark red that must be kept cool in summer. At all seasons I try to have the table decorations low enough not to oblige us to peer at one another through a green mist, and to-day I made a wreath of hay-scented ferns and ruby-spotted Japan lilies (_Speciosum rubrum_, the tag says--they were sent as extras with my seeds), by combining two half-moon dishes, and in the middle set a slender, finely cut, flaring vase holding two perfect stems, each bearing half a dozen lily buds and blossoms. These random bulbs are the first lilies of my own planting. There are a few stalks of the white Madonna lilies in the grass of the old garden and a colony of tiger lilies and an upright red lily with different sort of leaves, all clustered at the root, following the tumble-down wall, the rockery to be. I am fascinated by these Japanese lilies and desire more, each stalk is so sturdy, each flower so beautifully finished and set with jewels and then powdered with gold, as it were. Pray tell me something about the rest of the family! Do they come within my range and pocket, think you? The first cost of a fair-sized bed would be considerable, but if they are things that by care will endure, it is something to save up for, _when the rose bed is completed_--take note of that! When Bart came home this afternoon, he walked through the rooms before going out and commented on the different flowers, entirely simple in arrangement, and lingered over them, touching and taking pleasure in them in a way wholly different from last week, when each room was a jungle and I was fairly suffering from flower surfeit. Now I find myself taking note of happy combinations of colour in other people's gardens and along the highways for further experiments. I seem to remember looking over a list of flower combinations and suggestions in your garden book. Will you lend it to me? By the way, opal effects seem to circle about the place this season--the sunsets, the farm-house windows, and finally that rainy night when we were playing whist, when _The Man_, taking a pencil from his pocket, pulled out a little chamois bag that, being loose at one end, shed a shower of the unset stones upon the green cloth, where they lay winking and blinking like so many fiery coals. "Are you a travelling jeweler's shop?" quizzed Bart. "No," replied _The Man_, watching the stones where they lay, but not attempting to pick them up; "the opal is my birth stone, and I've always had a fancy for picking them up at odd times and carrying them with me for luck!" "I thought that they are considered unlucky," said Maria, holding one in the palm of her hand and watching the light play upon it. "That is as one reads them," said _The Man_; "to me they are occasionally contradictory, that is all; otherwise they represent adaptation to circumstances, and inexpensive beauty, which must always be a consolation." Then he gave us each one, "to start a collection," he said. I shall have mine set as a talisman for the Infant. I like this new interpretation of the stone, for to divine beauty in simple things is a gift equal to genius. Maria, however, insisted upon giving an old-fashioned threepenny bit, kept as a luck penny in the centre of her purse, in exchange. How can any woman be so devoid of even the little sentiment of gifts as she is? A moment later _The Man from Everywhere_ electrified us by saying, in the most casual manner, "Now that we are on the subject of opals, did I tell you that, being in some strange manner drawn to the place, I have made Opie an offer for the Opal Farm?" "Good enough! but what for?" exclaimed Bart, nearly exposing a very poor hand. "How splendid!" I cried, checking an impulse to throw my arms around his neck so suddenly that I shied my cards across the room--"Then the meadow need never be cut again!" "What a preposterous idea! Did he accept the offer?" jerked Maria Maxwell, with a certain eagerness. _The Man's_ face, already of a healthy outdoor hue, took a deeper colour above the outline of his closely cropped black beard, which he declined to shave, in spite of prevailing custom. "I'm afraid my popularity as a neighbour is a minor quality, when even my Lady Lazy makes it evident that her enthusiasm is for meadow weeds and not myself!" "When would you live there?" asked practical Bart. "All the time, when I'm not elsewhere!" said _The Man_. "No, seriously, I want permanent headquarters, a house to keep my traps in, and it can easily be somewhat remodelled and made comfortable. I want to own a resting-place for the soles of my feet when they are tired, and is it strange that I should pitch my tent near two good friends?" It was a good deal for _The Man_ to say, and instantly there was hand-shaking and back-clapping between Bart and himself, and the game became hopelessly mixed. As for Maria, she as nearly sniffed audibly at the idea as a well-bred woman could. It is strange, I had almost fancied during the course of the past month, and especially this evening, that _The Man's_ glance, when toward her, held a special approval of a different variety than it carried to Bart and me! If Maria is going to worry him, she shall go back to her flat! I've often heard Bart say that men's feelings are very woundable at forty, while at twenty-five a hurt closes up like water after a pebble has been dropped in it. * * * * * Yes, Maria _has_ been rude to _The Man_, and in my house, too, where she represents me! Anastasia told me! I suppose I really ought not to have listened, but it was all over before I realized what she was saying. "Yes, mem, for all Miss Marie do be fixed out, so tasty and pleasant like to everybody, and so much chicked up by the country air, she's no notion o' beaus or of troubling wid the men!" "What do you mean, Anastasia?" said I, in perfect innocence. "Of course Miss Maria is not a young girl to go gadding about!" "It's not gadding I mean, mem, but here on the porch, one foine night, jest before the last time Mister Blake went off fer good, they was sat there some toime, so still that, says I to meself, 'When they do foind spach, it'll be something worth hearing!' "'Do I annoy you by staying here? Would you prefer I went elsewhere?' says he, and well I moind the words, for Oi thought an offer was on the road, and as 'twas the nearest I'd been to wan, small wonder I got excoited! Then Miss Marie spoke up, smooth as a knife cutting ice cream,--'To speak frankly,' says she, 'you do not exactly annoy me, but I'd much rather you went elsewhere!' Och, but it broke me heart, the sound of it!" * * * * * LIST OF FLOWER COMBINATIONS FOR THE TABLE FROM BARBARA'S _GARDEN BOKE_ HEAVILY SCENTED FLOWERS, SUCH AS HYACINTHS, LEMON AND AURATUM LILIES, POLYANTHUS NARCISSUS, MAGNOLIAS, LILACS, AND THE LIKE, SHOULD BE AVOIDED. Snowdrops and pussy-willows. Hepaticas and moss. Spice-bush and shad-bush sprays. Trailing arbutus and sweet, white garden violets. Double daffodils and willow sprays. Crocus buds and moss. Blue garden scillas and wild white saxifrage. Black-birch catkins and wind-flowers. Plants of the various wild violets, according to season, arranged in an earthen pan with a moss or bark covering. Old-fashioned myrtle, with its glossy leaves, and single narcissus, or English primroses. Bleeding-heart and young ferns. English border primroses in small rose bowls. Lilies-of-the-valley, with plenty of their own leaves, and poets' narcissus. Tulip-tree flowers and leaves. The wild red-and-gold columbine with young white-birch sprays. Pinxter flower and the New York or wood fern. Jack-in-the-pulpit with its own leaves, in a bark or moss covered jar. Pink moccasin-flowers with ferns, in bark-covered jar. Pansies with ivy or laurel leaves, arranged in narrow dishes to form a parterre about a central mirror. Iceland poppies with small ferns or grasses. May pinks and forget-me-nots. Blue larkspurs and deutzia (always put white with blue flowers). Peonies with evergreen ferns, in a central jar. Sweet-william, arranged in separate colours for parterre effect or in a large blue-and-white bowl, with graceful sprays of honeysuckle flowers. Wild roses with plenty of buds and foliage, in blue-and-white bowls. Roses in large sprays with branches of the young leaves of copper beech--or masses of Chinese honeysuckle. Roses with short stems arranged with their own or _rugosa_ foliage in blue-and-white dishes that have coarse wire netting fitted to the top to keep the flowers in place. White field daisies, clover, and flowering grasses, in a large bowl or jar. Mountain laurel with its own leaves, in central jar and parterre dishes. Nasturtiums, in cut-glass bowl or vase, with the foliage of lemon verbena. Sweet peas of five colours with a fringe of maiden-hair ferns, the deepest colour in a central jar, with other smaller bowls at corners, and small ferns laid around mirror and on cloth between. Japan lilies, single flowers, in parterre dishes with ivy leaves, and sprays in central vase. Balsams arranged in effect of set borders. Asters in separate colours. Spotted-leaved pipsissewa of the woods with fern border, in bark-covered dish. Red and gold bell meadow lilies, in large jar, with field grasses. Gladioli--the flowers separated from the stalks and arranged with various leaves for parterre effect, or stalks laid upon the cloth with evergreen ferns to separate the places at a formal meal. Sweet sultan, in separate colours, in rose bowls, with fragrant geranium or lemon-verbena foliage. Shirly poppies with grasses or green rye, in four slender vases about a larger centrepiece. Margaret or picotee carnations with mignonette, arranged loosely in a cut-glass vase or bowl. Green rye, wheat, or oats with the blue garden cornflower--or wild blue chickory. Wild asters with heavy tasselled marsh-grasses. Goldenrods with purple iron weed and vines of wild white clematis, arranged about a flat dish of peaches and pears. All through autumn place your central mirror on a mat made by laying freshly gathered coloured leaves upon the cloth. Wallflowers and late pansies. White Japanese anemonies and ferns. Grass of Parnassus, ladies tresses, and marsh shield ferns. Garden chrysanthemums, in blue-and-white jars and bowls, on a large mat of brown magnolia leaves. Sprays of yellow witch-hazel flowers and leaves of red oak. Sprays of coral winterberry, from which leaves have been removed, and white-pine tassels. Club-mosses, small evergreen ferns, and partridge vine with its red berries, in a bark-covered dish of earth. XI A SEASIDE GARDEN (Barbara Campbell to Mary Penrose) _Gray Rocks, July 19._ Your epistle upon the evils of an excess of flowers in the house found us here with the Cortrights and Bradfords, and I read it with Lavinia and Sylvia on either side, as the theme had many notes in it familiar to us all! There are certainly times and seasons when the impulse is overpowering to lay hold of every flower that comes in the way and gather it to one's self, to cram every possible nook and corner with this portable form of beauty and fairly indulge in a flower orgie. Then sets in a reaction that shows, as in so many things, the middle path is the best for every day. Also there are many enthusiastic gardeners, both among those who grow their own flowers and those who cause them to be grown, who spare neither pains nor money until the flowers are gathered; then their grip relaxes, and the house arrangement of the fruit of their labour is left to chance. In many cases, where a professional gardener is in charge, several baskets, containing a confused mass of blossoms, are deposited daily in porch or pantry, often at a time when the mistress is busy, and they are either overlooked or at the last moment crammed into the first receptacle that comes to hand, from their very inopportuneness creating almost a feeling of dislike. When once lodged, they are frequently left to their fate until they become fairly noisome, for is there anything more offensive to æsthetic taste than blackened and decaying flowers soaking in stagnant water? Was it not Auerbach, in his _Poet and Merchant_, who said, "The lovelier a thing is in its perfection, the more terrible it becomes through its corruption"? and certainly this applies to flowers. Flowers, like all of the best and lasting pleasures, must be taken a little seriously from the sowing of the seed to the placing in the vase, that they may become the incense of home, and the most satisfactory way of choosing them for this use is to make a daily tour about the garden, or, if a change is desired, through the fields and highways, and, with the particular nook you wish to fill in mind, gather them yourself. Even the woman with too wide a selection to gather from personally can in this way indicate what she wishes. In the vegetable garden the wise man thinks out his crop and arranges a variety for the table; no one wishes every vegetable known to the season every day, and why should not the eye be educated and nourished by an equal variety? We are all very much interested in your flower-holders of natural wood, and I will offer you an idea in exchange, after the truly coöperative Garden, You, and I plan. In the flower season, instead of using your embroidered centrepieces for the table, which become easily stained and defaced by having flowers laid upon them, make several artistic table centres of looking-glass, bark, moss, or a combination of all three. Lavinia Cortright and I, as a beginning, have oval mirrors of about eighteen inches in length, with invisibly narrow nickel bindings. Sometimes we use these with merely an edge of flowers or leaves and a crystal basket or other low arrangement of flowers in the centre. The glass is only a beginning, other combinations being a birch-bark mat, several inches wider than the glass, that may be used under it so that a wide border shows, or the mat by itself as a background for delicate wood flowers and ferns. A third mat I have made of stout cardboard and covered with lichens, reindeer moss, and bits of mossy bark, and I never go to the woods but what I see a score of things that fairly thrust themselves before me and offer to blend with one of these backgrounds, and by holding the eye help to render meal-times less "foody," as Sukey Latham puts it, though none the less nourishing. Last night when we gathered at dinner, a few moments after our arrival and our first meeting at this cottage, I at once became aware that though host and hostess were the same delightful couple, we were not dining at Meadow's End, their Oaklands cottage, but at Gray Rocks, with silver sea instead of green grass below the windows. While the sea surroundings were brought indoors and on the centre of the dinner table the mirror was edged by a border of sea-sand, glistening pebbles and little shells were arranged as a background instead of mosses and lichens, and rich brown seaweeds still moist with the astringent tonic sea breath edged this frame, and the more delicate rose-coloured and pale green weeds seemed floating upon the glass, that held a giant periwinkle shell filled with the pink star-shaped sabbatia, or sea pink, of the near-by salt marshes. There was no effort, no strain after effect, but a consistent preparation of the eye for the simple meal of sea food that followed. In front of the cottage the rocks slope quickly to the beach, but on either side there is a stretch of sand pocketed among the rocks, and in the back a dune stops abruptly at the margin of wide salt meadows, creek-fed and unctuous, as befits the natural gardens of the sea. The other cottages lying to the eastward are gay in red-and-white striped awnings, and porch and window boxes painted red or green are filled with geraniums, nasturtiums, petunias,--any flowers, in short, that will thrive in the broiling sun, while some of the owners have planted buoy-like barrels at the four corners of their enclosures and filled them with the same assortment of foliage plants with which they would decorate a village lawn. This use of flowers seemed at once to draw the coolness from the easterly breeze and intensify the heat that vibrates from the sand. Have you ever noticed that the sea in these latitudes has no affinity for the brightest colours, save as it is a mirror for the fleeting flames of sunrise and sunset? The sea-birds are blended tints of rock, sand, sky, and water, save the dash of coral in bill and foot of a few, just as the coral of the wild-rose hips blends with the tawny marsh-grasses. Scarlet is a colour abhorred even by the marshes, until late in autumn the blaze of samphire consumes them with long spreading tongues of flame. How can people be so senseless as to come seaward to cool their bodies, and yet so surround themselves with scarlet that it is never out of range of the eye? Lavinia Cortright and the botanical Bradfords, as Evan calls them, because though equally lovers of flowers, they go further than some for the reason why that lies hid beneath the colour and perfume, have laid out and are still developing a sand garden that, while giving the cottage home the restful air that is a garden's first claim, has still the distinct identity of the sand and sea! To begin, with one single exception, they have drawn upon the wild for this garden, even as you are doing in the restoration of your knoll. Back of the cottage a dozen yards is a sand ridge covering some fairly good, though mongrel, loam, for here, as along most of the coasts of sounds and bays, the sea, year by year, has bitten into the soil and at the same time strewn it with sand. Considering this as the garden boundary, a windbreak of good-sized bayberry bushes has been placed there, not in a stiff line, but in blended groups, enclosing three sides, these bays being taken from a thicket of them farther toward the marshes. An alley from the back porch into this enclosure is bordered on either side by bushes of beach plum, that, when covered with feathery white bloom in May, before the leaves appear, gives the sandy shore the only orchard touch it knows. Of course the flowering period is over when the usual shore season begins, though nowadays there is no off time--people go to shore and country when they are moved; yet the beach plum is a picturesque bush at any time, especially when, in September, it is loaded with the red purple fruit. In the two spaces on either side the alley the sand is filled with massed plants that, when a little more time has been given them for stretching and anchoring their roots, will straightway weave a flower mat upon the sand. Down beyond the next point, one day last autumn, Horace and Sylvia found a plantation of our one New England cactus, the prickly pear (_Opuntia opuntia_). We have it here and there in our rocky pasture; but in greater heat and with better underfeeding it seemed a bit of a tropical plain dropped on the eastern coast. Do you know the thing? The leaves are shaped like the fans of a lobster's tail and sometimes are several-jointed, smooth except for occasional tufts of very treacherous spikes, and of a peculiar semitranslucent green; the half-double flowers set on the leaf edges are three inches across and of a brilliant sulphur-yellow, with tasselled stamens; the fruit is fleshy, somewhat fig-shaped, and of a dark red when ripe--altogether a very decorative plant, though extremely difficult to handle. After surveying the plantation on all sides, the tongs used by the oyster dredges suggested themselves to Horace, and thus grasped, the prickly pears were safely moved and pegged in their new quarters with long pieces of bent wire, the giant equivalents of the useful hairpins that I recommended for pegging down your ferns. Now the entire plot of several yards square, apparently untroubled by the removal, is in full bloom, and has been for well-nigh a month, they say, though the individual blossoms are but things of a day. Close by, another yellow flower, smaller but more pickable, is just now waving, the rock rose or frostweed, bearing two sorts of flowers: the conspicuous yellow ones, somewhat resembling small evening primroses, while all the ground between is covered with an humble member of the rock rose family--the tufted beach heather with its intricate branches, reminding one more of a club-moss than a true flowering plant. Not a scrap of sand in the enclosure is left uncovered, and the various plants are set closely, like the grasses and wild flowers of a meadow, the sand pinweed that we gather, together with sea lavender, for winter bouquets much resembling a flowering grass. The rabbit-foot clover takes kindly to the sandy soil, and, as it flowers from late May well into September, and holds its little furry tails like autumn pussy-willows until freezing weather, makes a very interesting sort of bed all by itself, and massed close to it, as if recognizing the family relationship, is the little creeping bush clover with its purplish flowers. Next, set thickly in a mass representing a stout bush, comes the fleshy beach pea with rosy purple flowers. When it straggles along according to its sweet will, it has a poor and weedy look, but massed so that the somewhat difficult colour is concentrated, it is very decorative, and it serves as a trellis for the trailing wild bean, a sand lover that has a longer flowering season. A patch of a light lustrous purple, on closer view, proves to be a mass of the feathered spikes of blazing star or colic-root, first cousin of the gay-feather of the West, that sometimes grows six feet high and has been welcomed to our gardens. On the opposite side of the beach-plum alley, the Bradfords have made preparations for autumn glory, such as we always drive down to the marsh lands from Oaklands not only to see but to gather and take home. Masses of the fleshy tufted seaside goldenrod, now just beginning to throw up its stout flowerstalks, flank a bed of wild asters twenty feet across. Here are gathered all the asters that either love or will tolerate dry soil, a certain bid for their favour having been made by mixing several barrels of stiff loam with the top sand, as an encouragement until the roots find the hospitable mixture below. The late purple aster (_patens_) with its broad clasping leaves, the smooth aster (_lævis_) with its violet-blue flowers, are making good bushes and preparing for the pageant. Here is the stiff white-heath aster, the familiar Michaelmas daisy, that is so completely covered with snowy flowers that the foliage is obliterated, and proves its hold upon the affections by its long string of names,--frostweed, white rosemary, and farewell summer being among them,--and also the white-wreath aster, with the flowers ranged garland-wise among the rigid leaves, and the stiff little savory-leaved aster or sand starwort with pale violet rays. Forming a broad, irregular border about the asters are stout dwarf bushes of the common wild rose (_humilis_), that bears its deep pink flowers in late spring and early summer and then wears large round hips that change slowly from green to deep glowing red, in time to make a frame of coral beads for the asters. Outside the hedge of bays, where a trodden pathway leads to the boat landing, the weathered rocks, washed with soft tints blended of the breath of sea mist and sunset rays, break through the sand. In the lee of these, held in place by a line of stones, is a long, low bed of large-flowered portulaca, borrowed from inland gardens, and yet so in keeping with its surroundings as to seem a native flower of sea sands. The fleshy leaves at a little distance suggest the form of many plants of brackish marsh and creek edges, and even the glasswort itself. When the day is gray, the flowers furl close and disappear, as it were, but when the sun beats full upon the sand, a myriad upraised fleshy little arms stretch out, each holding a coloured bowl to catch the sunbeams, as if the heat made molten the sand of quartz and turned it into pottery in tints of rose, yellow, amber, scarlet, and carnation striped. It was a bold experiment, this garden in the sand, but already it is making good. Then, too, what a refreshment to the eyes is it, when the unbroken expanse of sky and sea before the house tires, to turn them landward over the piece of flowers toward the cool green marshes ribboned with the pale pink camphor-scented fleabane, the almost intangible sea lavender, the great rose mallows and cat-tail flags of the wet ground, the false indigo that, in the distance, reminds one of the broom of Scottish hills, the orange-fringed orchis, pink sabbatia, purple maritime gerardia, milkwort, the groundsel tree, that covers itself with feathers in autumn, until, far away beyond the upland meadows, the silver birches stand as outposts to the cool oak woods, in whose shade the splendid yellow gerardia, or downy false foxglove, nourishes. Truly, while the land garden excels in length of season and profusion, the gardens of the sea appeal to the lighter fancies and add the charmed spice of variety to out-of-door life. One of the most interesting features of this cottage and its surroundings is the further transplanting of Martin Cortright from his city haunts. At Meadow's End, though he works in the garden in a dilettante sort of way with Lavinia, takes long walks with father, and occasionally ventures out for a day's fishing with either or both of my men, he is still the bookworm who dives into his library upon every opportunity and has never yet adapted his spine comfortably to the curves of a hammock! In short he seems to love flowers historically--more for the sake of those in the past who have loved and written of them than for their own sake. But here, even as I began to write to you, Mary Penrose, entrenched in a nook among the steep rocks between the cottage and the sea, a figure coming up the sand bar, that runs northward and at low water shows a smooth stretch a mile in length, caught my eye. Laboriously but persistently it came along; next I saw by the legs that it was a man, a moment later that he was lugging a large basket and that a potato fork protruded from under one arm, and finally that it was none other than Martin Cortright, who had been hoeing diligently in the sand and mud for a couple of hours, that his guests might have the most delectable of all suppers,--steamed clams, fresh from the water, the condition alone under which they may be eaten _sans peur et sans reproche_! XII THE TRANSPLANTING OF EVERGREENS (Mary Penrose to Barbara Campbell) _Woodridge, August 8._ Back again in our camp, we thought to pause awhile, rest on our oars, and drift comfortably with the gentle summer tide of things. We have transplanted all the ferns and wild herbs for which we have room, and as a matter of course trees and shrubs must wait until they have shed their leaves in October. That is, all the trees that _do_ shed. The exceptions are the evergreens, of which the river woods contain any number in the shape of hemlocks, spruces, and young white pines, the offspring, I take it, of a plantation back of the Windom farm, for we have not found them anywhere else. The best authorities upon the subject of evergreens say that trees of small size should be transplanted either in April, before they have begun to put on their dressy spring plumes, or, if the season be not too hot and dry, or the distance considerable, in August, after this growth has matured, time thus being given for them to become settled in the ground before winter. We weighed the matter well. The _pros_ in favour of spring planting lay in the fact that rain is very likely to be plentiful in April, and given but half a chance, everything grows best in spring; the _cons_ being that the spring rush is usually overpowering, that in a late season the frost would not be fairly out of the knoll and ground by the fence, where we need a windbreak, before garden planting time, and that during the winter clearing that will take place in the river valley, leaf fires may be started by the workmen that will run up the banks and menace our treasure-trove of evergreens. The _pros_ for August consisted mainly of the pith of a proverb and a bit of mad Ophelia's sanity: "There is no time like the present" and "We know what we are, but know not what we may be!" At present we have a good horse, Larry, and plenty of time, the _con_ being, suppose we have a dry, hot autumn. The fact that we have a new water-barrel on wheels and several long-necked water-pots is only a partial solution of the difficulty, for the nearest well is an old-fashioned arrangement with a sweep, located above the bank wall at Opal Farm. This well is an extremely picturesque object in the landscape, but as a water-producer as inadequate as the shaving-mug with which the nervous gentleman, disturbed at his morning task, rushed out to aid in extinguishing a fire! Various predictions as to the weather for the month have been lavished upon us, the first week having produced but one passing shower. Amos Opie foresees a muggy, rainless period. Larry declares for much rain, as it rained at new moon and again at first quarter; but, as he says, as if to release himself from responsibility, "That's the way we read it in Oireland, but maybe, as this is t'other side of the warld, it's all the other way round wid rain!" Barney was noncommittal, but then his temperament is of the kind that usually regrets whatever is. For three or four days we remained undecided, and then _The Man from Everywhere_ brought about a swift decision for August transplanting, by the information that the general clearing of the woodlands would begin November first, the time for fulfilling the contract having been shortened by six months at the final settlement. We covet about fifty specimen pines and hemlocks for the knoll and fully two hundred little hemlocks for the windbreaks, so we at once began the work and are giving two days a week to the digging and transporting and the other four to watering. That is, Bart and Larry are doing this; I am looking on, making suggestions as to which side of a tree should be in front, nipping off broken twigs, and doing other equally light and pleasant trifles. Our system of transplanting is this: we have any number of old burlap feed bags, which, having become frayed and past their usefulness, we bought at the village store for a song. These Larry filled with the soft, elastic moss that florists use, of which there is any quantity in the low backwater meadows of the river. A good-sized tree (and we are not moving any of more than four or five feet in height; larger ones, it seems, are better moved in early winter with a ball of frozen earth) has a bag to itself, the roots, with some earth, being enveloped in the moss, the bag as securely bound about them as possible with heavy cord, and the whole thing left to soak at the river edge while the next one is being wrapped. Of the small hemlocks for the windbreak,--and we are using none over two or three feet for this purpose, as we want to pinch them in and make them stocky,--the roots of three or four will often go into a bag. When enough for a day's planting is thus collected, we go home, stack them in the shade, and the next morning the resetting begins! The bags are not opened until they are by the hole in which the trees are to be placed, which, by the way, is always made and used after the directions you gave us for rose planting; and I'm coming to agree with you that the success in gardening lies more than half in the putting under ground, and that the proper spreading and securing of roots in earth thoroughly loosened to allow new roots to feel and find their way is one of the secrets of what is usually termed "luck"! This may sound like a very easy way of acquiring trees, but it sometimes takes an hour to loosen a sturdy pine of four feet. Of course a relentless hand that stops at nothing, with a grub-axe and spade, could do it in fifteen minutes, but the roots would be cut or bruised and the pulling and tugging be so violent that not a bit of earth would cleave, and thus the fatal drying process set in almost before the digging was completed. Larry first loosens the soil all about the tree with a crowbar, dislodging any binding surface stones in the meantime; then the roots are followed to the end and secured entire when possible, a bit of detective work more difficult than it sounds in a bank where forest trees of old growth have knit roots with saplings for mutual protection. Setting-out day sees a procession of three water-carriers going Indian file up one side of the knoll and down the other. Bart declares that by the time his vacation is over he will be sufficiently trained to become captain of the local fire company, which consists of an antique engine, of about the capacity of one water-barrel, and a bucket brigade. This profuse use of water, upon the principle of imitation, has brought about another demand for it on the premises. The state of particularly clay-and-leaf-mouldy perspiration in which Bart finds himself these days cries aloud for a shower-bath, nor is he or his boots and clothing in a suitable condition for tramping through the house and turning the family bath-tub into a trough wherein one would think flower-pots had been washed. With the aid of Amos Opie an oil-barrel has been trussed up like a miniature windmill tank in the end of the camp barn, one end of which rests on the ground, and being cellarless has an earth floor. Around the supports of this tank is fastened an unbleached cotton curtain, and when standing within and pulling a cord attached to an improvised spray, the contents of the barrel descend upon Bart's person with hygienic thoroughness, the only drawback being that twelve pails of water have to be carried up the short ladder that leads from floor to barrel top each time the shower is used. Bart, however, seems to enjoy the process immensely, and Larry, by the way in which he lingers about the place and grins, evidently has a secret desire to experiment with it himself. Larry has been a great comfort up to now, but we both have an undefined idea that one of his periods of "rest" is approaching. He works with feverish haste, alternating with times of sitting and looking at the ground, that I fear bodes no good. He also seems to take a diabolic pleasure in tormenting Amos Opie as regards the general make-up and pedigree of his beloved hound David. David has human intelligence in a setting that it would be difficult to classify for a dog-show; a melancholy bloodhound strain certainly percolates thoroughly through him, and his long ears, dewlaps, and front legs, tending to bow, separate him from the fox "'ounds" of Larry's experience. To Amos Opie David is the only type of hound worthy of the name; consequently there has been no little language upon the subject. That is, Larry has done the talking, punctuated by contemptuous "huhs" and sniffs from Amos, until day before yesterday. On this day David went on a hunting trip extending from five o'clock in the afternoon until the next morning, during which his voice, blending with two immature cries, told that he was ranging miles of country in company with a pair of thoroughbred fox-hound pups, owned by the postmaster, the training of which Amos Opie was superintending, and owing to an attack of rheumatism had delegated to David, whose reliability for this purpose could not be overestimated according to his master's way of thinking. For a place in some ways so near to civilization, the hills beyond the river woods abound in fox holes, and David has conducted some good runs on his own account, it seems; but this time alack! alack! he came limping slowly home, footsore and bedraggled, followed by his pupils and bearing a huge dead cat of the half-wild tribe that, born in a barn and having no owner, takes to a prowling life in the woods. I cannot quite appreciate the enormity of the offence, but doubtless Dr. Russell and your husband can, as they live in a fox-hunting country. It seems that a rabbit would have been bad enough, something however, to be condoned,--but not a cat! Instantly Amos fixed upon Larry as the responsible cause of the calamity,--Larry, who is so soaked in a species of folk-lore, blended of tradition, imagination, and high spirits that, after hearing him talk, it is easy to believe that he deals in magic by the aid of a black cat, and unfortunately the cat brought in by David was of this colour! Then Amos spoke, for David's honour was as his own, and Larry heard a pronounced Yankee's opinion, not only of all the inhabitants of the Emerald Isle, but of one in particular! After freeing his mind, he threatened to free his house of Larry as a lodger, this being particularly unfortunate considering the near approach of one of that gentleman's times of retirement. Last night I thought the sky had again cleared, for Amos discovered that the postmaster did not suspect the cat episode, and as Larry had no friends in the village through which it might leak out, the old man seemed much relieved; also, Larry apparently is not a harbourer of grievances. Within an hour, however, a second episode has further strained the relationship of lodger and host, and it has snapped. Though still quite stiff in the joints, Amos came over this morning to do some little tinkering in the barn camp, especially in strengthening the stays of the shower-bath tank, when, as he was on his knees fastening a brace to a post, in some inexplicable manner the string was pulled and the contents of the entire barrel of cold well-water were released, the first sprinkle so astonishing and bewildering poor Amos that he remained where he was, and so received a complete drenching. Bart and Larry were up in the woods getting the day's load of hemlocks, and I, hearing the spluttering and groans, went to Amos's rescue as well as I could, and together with Maria Maxwell got him to the kitchen, where hot tea and dry clothes should have completely revived him in spite of age. As, however, to-day, it seems, is the anniversary of a famous illness he acquired back in '64, on his return from the Civil War, the peculiarities of which he has not yet ceased proclaiming, he is evidently determined to celebrate it forthwith, so he has taken to his bed, groaning with a stitch in his side. The doctor has been telephoned, and Maria Maxwell, as usual bursting with energy, which on this occasion takes a form between that of a dutiful daughter and a genuine country neighbour, has gone over to Opal Farm to tidy up a bit until the doctor gives his decision and some native woman, agreeable to Amos's taste, can be found to look after the interesting yet aggravating crank. But this is not all. Amos declines to allow Larry to lodge in the house for another night, attributing the ducking to him, in spite of the fact that he was at least six miles away. In this both Bart and I think Amos right, for Larry's eye had a most inquiring expression on his return, and I detected him slipping into the old barn at the first opportunity to see if the tank was empty, while Bart says that he has been talking to himself in a gleeful mood all the morning, and so he has decided that, as Larry has worked long enough to justify it, he will buy him a prepaid passage home to his daughter and see him off personally by to-morrow's steamer. As Amos will have none of Larry, to send the man into village lodgings would probably hasten his downfall. I did hope to keep him until autumn, for he has taught me not a little gardening in a genial and irresponsible sort of way, and the rose garden is laid out in a manner that would do credit to a trained man, Larry having the rare combination of seeing a straight line and yet being able to turn a graceful curve. But even if Amos had been willing to allow him to sleep over one of his attacks, it would have been a dubious example for Barney, and in spite of the comfort he has been I now fully realize the limitations of so many of his race, at once witty, warm-hearted, soothing, and impossible; it is difficult not to believe what they say, even when you know they are lying, and this condition is equally demoralizing both to master and man. _August 11._ Anastasia wept behind her apron when Larry left, but Barney assumed a cheerfulness and interest in his work that he has never shown before. Bart says that in spite of a discrepancy of twenty-odd years he thinks that Larry, by his fund of stories and really wonderful jig dancing, was diverting Anastasia's thoughts, and the comfortable savings attached, from Barney, who, though doubtless a sober man and far more durable in many ways, is much less interesting an object for the daily contemplation of an emotional Irishwoman. While Bart was in town yesterday seeing Larry started on his journey, Maria and I, with the Infant tucked between in the buggy, went for an outing under the gentle guidance of Romeo, who through constant practice has become the most expert standing horse in the county. I'm only afraid that his owners on their return may not appreciate this accomplishment. Being on what Maria calls "a hunt for antiques," we drove in the direction of Newham village, which you know is away from railroads and has any number of old-time farms. We were not looking for spinning-wheels and andirons, but old-fashioned roses and peonies, especially the early double deep crimson variety that looks like a great Jack rose. We located a number of these in June and promised to return for our plunder in due season. Last year I bought some peony roots in August, and they throve so well, blooming this spring, that I think it is the best time for moving them. In one of the houses where we bought pink-and-white peonies the woman said she had a bed, as big as the barn-door, of "June" lilies, and that, as they were going to build a hen-house next autumn on the spot where they grew, she was going to lift some into one of her raised mounds (an awful construction, being a cross between a gigantic dirt pie and a grave), and said that I might have all the spare lily bulbs that I wanted if I would give her what she termed a "hatching" of gladiolus bulbs. Just at present the lilies have entirely disappeared, and nothing but bare earth is visible, but I think from the description that they must be the lovely Madonna lilies of grandmother's Virginia garden that made a procession from the tea-house quite down to the rose garden, like a bevy of slender young girls in confirmation array. If so, they do not take kindly to handling, and I have an indistinct remembrance of some rather unusual time of year when it must be done if necessary. Please let me know about this, for I can be of little use in the moving of the evergreens and I want something to potter about in the garden. There are two places for a lily bed, but I am uncertain which is best until I hear from you. Either will have to be thoroughly renovated in the matter of soil, so that I am anxious to start upon the right basis. One of these spots is in full sun, with a slope toward the orchard; in the other the sun is cut off after one o'clock, though there are no overhanging branches; there is also a third place, a squashy spot down in the bend of the old wall. On our return, toward evening, we met _The Man from Everywhere_ driving down from the reservoir ground toward Opal Farm, a pink-cheeked young fellow of about twenty sharing the road wagon with him. As he has again been away for a few days, we drew up to exchange greetings and _The Man_ said, rather aside, "I'm almost sorry that Larry fell from the skies to help out your gardening, for here is a young German who has come from a distance, with a note from a man I know well, applying for work at the quarry; but there will be nothing suitable for him there for several months, for he's rather above the average. He would have done very well for you, as, though he speaks little English, I make out that his father was an under-forester in the fatherland. As it is, I'm taking him to the farm with me for the night and will try to think of how I may help him on in the morning." Instantly both Maria and I began to tell of Larry's defection in different keys, the young man meanwhile keeping up a deferential and most astonishing bowing and smiling. Having secured the seal of Bart's approval, Meyer has been engaged, and after to-day we must accustom our ears to a change from Larry's rich brogue to the juicy explosiveness of German; and worse yet, I must rack my brains for the mostly forgotten dialect of the schoolroom language that is learned with such pain and so quickly forgotten. I'm wondering very much about _The Man's_ sudden return to Opal Farm and if it will interfere with Maria Maxwell's daily care of Amos Opie; for, as it turns out, he is really ill, the chill resulting from Larry's prank having been the final straw, and no suitable woman having been found, who has volunteered to tend the old man in the emergency, but Maria! That is, to the extent of taking him food and giving him medicines, for though in pain he is able to sit in an easy-chair. Maria certainly is capable, but so stupid about _The Man_. However, as the farm-house is now arranged as two dwellings, with the connecting door opening in the back hall and usually kept locked on Amos's side, she cannot possibly feel that she is putting herself in _The Man's_ way! XIII LILIES AND THEIR WHIMS (Barbara Campbell to Mary Penrose) _Oaklands, August 18._ As a suitable text for this chronicle, as well as an unanswerable argument for its carrying out, combined with a sort of premium, I'm sending you to-day, freight paid, a barrel of lily-of-the-valley roots, all vigorous and with many next year's flowering pips attached. No,--I hear your decorous protest,--I have not robbed myself, neither am I giving up the growing of this most exquisite of spring flowers, whose fragrance penetrates the innermost fastnesses of the memory, yet is never obtrusive. Simply my long border was full to overflowing and last season some of the lily bells were growing smaller. When this happens, as it does every half a dozen years, I dig two eight-inch trenches down the bed's entire length, and taking out the matted roots, fill the gap with rich soil, adding the plants thus dispossessed to my purse of garden wampum, which this time falls into your lap entire. Of the treatment of the little flower, that is erroneously supposed to feast only upon leaf-mould in the deep shade, you shall hear later. By all means begin your lily bed now, for the one season at which the Madonna lily resents removal the least is during the August resting time. Then, if you lift her gently while she sleeps, do not let the cool earth breath that surrounds her dry away, and bed her suitably, she will awaken and in a month put forth a leafy crown of promise to be fulfilled next June. Madonna does not like the shifting and lifting that falls to the lot of so many garden bulbs owing to the modern requirements that make a single flower bed often a thing of three seasonal changes. Many bulbs, many moods and whims. Hyacinths and early tulips blossom their best the first spring after their autumn planting (always supposing that the bob-tailed meadow-mice, who travel in the mole tunnels, thereby giving them a bad reputation, have not feasted on the tender heart buds in the interval). The auratum lily of the gorgeous gold-banded and ruby-studded flower exults smilingly for a season or two and then degenerates sadly. Madonna, if she be healthy on her coming, and is given healthy soil free from hot taint of manure, will live with you for years and love you and give you every season increasing yield of silver-white-crowned stalks, at the very time that you need them to blend with your royal blue delphiniums. But this will be only if you obey the warning of "hands and spade off." The three species of the well-known recurved Japan lily--_speciosum roseum_, _s. rubrum_, and _s. album_--have the same love of permanence; likewise the lily-of-the-valley and all the tribe of border narcissi and daffodils; so if you wish to keep them at their best, you must not only give them bits of ground all of their own, but study their individual needs and idiosyncrasies. Lilies as a comprehensive term,--the Biblical grass of the field,--as far as concerns a novice or the Garden, You, and I, may be made to cover the typical lilies themselves, tulips, narcissi (which are of the amaryllis flock), and lilies-of-the-valley, a tribe by itself. You will wish to include all of them in your garden, but you must limit yourself to the least whimsical varieties on account of your purse, the labor entailed, and the climate. Of the pieces of ground that you describe, take that in partial shade for your Madonna lilies and their kin, and that in the open sun for your lilies-of-the-valley, while I would keep an earth border free from silver birches, on the sunny side of your tumble-down stone-wall rockery, for late tulips and narcissi; and grape hyacinths, scillas, trilliums, the various Solomon's seals, bellworts, etc., can be introduced in earth pockets between the rocks if, in case of the deeper-rooted kinds, connection be had with the earth below. It is much more satisfactory to plant spring bulbs in this way,--in groups, or irregular lines and masses, where they may bloom according to their own sweet will, and when they vanish for the summer rest, scatter a little portulaca or sweet alyssum seed upon the soil to prevent too great bareness,--than to set them in formal beds, from which they must either be removed when their blooming time is past, or else one runs the risk of spoiling them by planting deep-rooted plants among them. The piece of sunny ground in the angled dip of the old wall, which you call "decidedly squashy," interests me greatly, for it seems the very place for Iris of the Japanese type,--lilies that are not lilies in the exact sense, except by virtue of being built on the rule of three and having grasslike or parallel-veined leaves. But these closely allied plant families and their differences are a complex subject that we need not discuss, the whole matter being something akin to one of the dear old Punch stories that adorn Evan's patriotic scrap-book. A railway porter, puzzled as in what class of freight an immense tortoise shall be placed, as dogs are the only recognized standard, pauses, gazing at it as he scratches his head, and mutters, "Cats is dogs and rabbits is dogs, but this 'ere hanimal's a hinsect!" The Iris may be, in this respect, a "hinsect," but we will reckon it in with the lilies. The culture of this Japan Iris is very simple and well worth while, for the species comes into bloom in late June and early July, when the German and other kinds are through. I should dig the wet soil from the spot of which you speak, for all muck is not good for this Iris, and after mixing it with some good loam and well-rotted cow manure replace it and plant the clumps of Iris two feet apart, for they will spread wonderfully. In late autumn they should have a top dressing of manure and a covering of corn stalks, but, mind, water must not stand on your Iris bed in winter; treating them as hardy plants does not warrant their being plunged into water ice. It is almost impossible, however, to give them too much water in June and July, when the great flowers of rainbow hues, spreading to a size that covers two open hands, cry for drink to sustain the exhaustion of their marvellous growth. So if your "squashy spot" is made so by spring rains, all is well; if not, it must be drained in some easy way, like running a length of clay pipe beneath, so that the overplus of water will flow off when the Iris growth cannot absorb it. Ah me! the very mention of this flower calls up endless visions of beauty. Iris--the flower of mythology, history, and one might almost say science as well, since its outline points to the north on the face of the mariner's compass; the flower that in the dawn of recorded beauty antedates the rose, the fragments of the scattered rainbow of creation that rests upon the garden, not for a single hour or day or week, but for a long season. The early bulbous _Iris histriodes_ begins the season in March, and the Persian Iris follows in April. In May comes the sturdy German Iris of old gardens, of few species but every one worthy, and to be relied upon in mass of bloom and sturdy leafage to rival even the peony in decorative effect. Next the meadows are ribboned by our own blue flags; and the English Iris follows and in June and July meets the sumptuous Iris of Japan at its blooming season, for there seems to be no country so poor as to be without an Iris. There are joyous flowers of gold and royal blue, the Flower de Luce (Flower of Louis) of regal France, and sombre flowers draped in deep green and black and dusky purple, "The widow" (_Iris tuberosa_) and the Chalcedonian Iris (_Iris Susiana_), taking its name from the Persian Susa. _Iris Florentina_ by its powdered root yields the delicate violet perfume orris, a corruption doubtless of Iris. Many forms of root as well as blossom has the Iris, tuberous, bulbous, fibrous, and if the rose may have a garden to itself, why may not the Iris in combination with its sister lilies have one also? And when my eyes rest upon a bed of these flowers or upon a single blossom, I long to be a poet. * * * * * Now to begin: will your shady place yield you a bed four feet in width by at least twenty in length? If so, set Barney to work with pick and spade. The top, I take it, is old turf not good enough to use for edging, so after removing this have it broken into bits and put in a heap by itself. When the earth beneath is loosened, examine it carefully. If it is good old mellow loam without the pale yellow colour that denotes the sterile, undigested soil unworked by roots or earthworms, have it taken out to eighteen inches in depth and shovelled to one side. When the bad soil is reached, which will be soon, have it removed so that the pit will be three feet below the level. Next, let Barney collect any old broken bits of flower-pots, cobbles, or small stones of any kind, and fill up the hole for a foot, and let the broken turf come on top of this. If possible, beg or buy of Amos Opie a couple of good loads of the soil from the meadow bottom where the red bell-lilies grow, and mix this with the good loam, together with a scattering of bone, before replacing it. The bed should not only be full, but well rounded. Grade it nicely with a rake and wait a week or until rain has settled it before planting. When setting these lilies, let there be six inches of soil above the bulb, and sprinkle the hole into which it goes with fresh-water sand mixed with powdered sulphur. This bed will be quite large enough for a beginning and will allow you four rows of twenty bulbs in a row, with room for them to spread naturally into a close mass, if so desired. Or better yet, do not put them in stiff rows, but in groups, alternating the early-flowering with the late varieties. A row of German Iris at the back of this bed will give solidity and the sturdy foliage make an excellent windbreak in the blooming season. If your friendly woman in the back country will give you two dozen of the Madonna lily bulbs, group them in fours, leaving a short stake in the middle of each group that you may know its exact location, for the other lilies you cannot obtain before October, unless you chance to find them in the garden of some near-by florist or friend. These are-- _Lilium speciosum album_--white recurved. _Lilium speciosum rubrum_--spotted with ruby-red. _Lilium speciosum roseum_--spotted with rose-pink. All three flower in August and September, _rubrum_ being the latest, and barring accidents increase in size and beauty with each year. In spite of the fact of their fickleness, I would buy a dozen or two of the auratum lilies, for even if they last but for a single year, they are so splendid that we can almost afford to treat them as a fleeting spectacle. As the _speciosum_ lilies (I wish some one would give them a more gracious name--we call them curved-shell lilies here among ourselves) do not finish flowering sometimes until late in September, the bulbs are not ripe in time to be sold through the stores, until there is danger of the ground being frozen at night. [Illustration: SPECIOSUM LILIES IN THE SHADE.] On the other hand, if purchased in spring, unless the bulbs have been wintered with the greatest care in damp, not wet, peat moss, or sand, they become so withered that their vitality is seriously impaired. There are several dealers who make a specialty of thus wintering lily bulbs,[A] and if you buy from one of these, I advise spring planting. If, however, for any reason you wish to finish your bed this fall, after planting and covering each bulb, press a four or five inch flower-pot lightly into the soil above it. This will act as a partial watershed to keep the drip of rain or snow water from settling in the crown of the bulb and decaying the bud. Or if you have plenty of old boards about the place, they may be put on the bed and slightly raised in the centre, like a pitched roof, so as to form a more complete watershed, and the winter covering of leaves, salt, hay, or litter, free of manure, can be built upon this. Crocuses, snowdrops, and scillas make a charming border for a lily bed and may be also put between the lilies themselves to lend colour early in the season. To cover your bed thoroughly, so that it will keep out cold and damp and not shut it in, is a _must be_ of successful lily culture. Have you ever tried to grow our hardiest native lilies like the red-wood, Turk's cap, and Canada bell-lily in an open border where the porous earth, filled by ice crystal, was raised by the frost to the consistency of bread sponge? I did this not many years ago and the poor dears looked pinched and woebegone and wholly unlike their sturdy sisters of meadow and upland wood edges. Afterward, in trying to dig some of these lilies from their native soil, I discovered why they were uncomfortable in the open borders; the Garden, You, and I would have to work mighty hard to find a winter blanket for the lily bed to match the turf of wild grasses sometimes half a century old. Many other beautiful and possible lilies there are besides these four, but these are to be taken as first steps in lily lore, as it were; for to make anything like a general collection of this flower is a matter of more serious expense and difficulty than to collect roses, owing to the frailness of the material and the different climatic conditions under which the rarer species, especially those from India and the sea islands, originated; but given anything Japanese and a certain cosmopolitan intelligence seems bred in it that carries a reasonable hope of success under new conditions. We have half a dozen species of beautiful native lilies, but like some of our most exquisite ferns they depend much for their attractiveness upon the setting their natural haunts offer, and I do not like to see them caged, as it were, within strict garden boundaries. The red wood-lily should be met among the great brakes of a sandy wood edge, where white leafless wands of its cousin, star-grass, or colic root, wave above it, and the tall late meadow-rue and white angelica fringe the background. The Canada bell-lily needs the setting of meadow grasses to veil its long, stiff stalks, while the Turk's-cap lily seems the most at home of all in garden surroundings, but it only gains its greatest size in the deep meadows, where, without being wet, there is a certain moisture beneath the deep old turf, and this turf itself not only keeps out frost, but moderates the sun's rays in their transit to the ground. Two lilies there are that, escaping from gardens, in many places have become half wild--the brick-red, black-spotted tiger lily with recurved flowerets, after the shape of the Japanese _roseum_, _rubrum_, and _album_, being also a native of Japan and China, and the tawny orange day lily, that is found in masses about old cellars and waysides, with its tubular flowers, held on leafless stems, springing from a matted bed of leaves. This day lily (_hemerocallis fulva_) is sister to the familiar and showy lemon lily of old gardens (_hemerocallis flava_). If you have plenty of room by your wall, I should lodge a few good bunches by it when you find some in a location where digging is possible. It is a decorative flower, but hardly worthy of good garden soil. The same may be said of the tiger lily, on account of the very inharmonious shade of red it wears; yet if you have a half-wild nook, somewhere that a dozen bulbs of it may be tucked in company with a bunch of the common tall white phlox that flowers at the same time, you will have a bit of colour that will care for itself. The lemon lily should have a place in the hardy border well toward the front row and be given enough room to spread into a comfortable circle after the manner of the white plantain lily (_Funkia subcordata_). This last lily, another of Japan's contributions to the hardy garden, blooms from August until frost and unlike most of the lily tribe is pleased if well-rotted manure is deeply dug into its resting-place. As with humanity the high and lowly born are subject to the same diseases, so is it with the lily tribe, and because you choose the sturdiest and consequently least expensive species for your garden, do not think that you may relax your vigilance. There is a form of fungous mould that attacks the bulbs of lilies without rhyme or reason and is the insidious tuberculosis of the race. _Botrytis cinerea_ is its name and it seizes upon stalk and leaves in the form of spots that are at first yellow and then deepen in colour, until finally, having sapped the vitality of the plant, it succumbs. Cold, damp, insufficient protection in winter, all serve to render the lily liable to its attacks, but the general opinion among the wise is that the universal overstimulation of lilies by fertilizers during late years, especially of the white lilies used for church and other decorative purposes, has undermined the racial constitution and made it prone to attacks of the enemy. Therefore, if you please, Mary Penrose, sweet soil, sulphur, sand, and good winter covering, if you would not have your lily bed a consumptives' hospital! Some lilies are also susceptible to sunstroke. When growing in the full light and heat of the sun, and the buds are ready to open, suddenly the flowers, leaves, and entire stalk will wither, as when in spring a tulip collapses and we find that a meadow-mouse has nipped it in the core. But with the lily the blight comes from above, and the only remedy is to plant in half shade. On the other hand the whims of the flower require that this be done carefully, for if the scorching sun is an evil, a soaking, sopping rain, coming at the height of the blooming season and dripping from overhanging boughs, is equally so. The gold-and-copper pollen turns to rusty tears that mar the petals of satin ivory or inlaid enamel, and a sickly transparency that bodes death comes to the crisp, translucent flower! "What a pother for a bed of flowers!" I hear you say, "draining, subsoiling, sulphuring, sanding, covering, humouring, and then sunstroke or consumption at the end!" So be it, but when success does come, it is something worth while, for to be successful with these lilies is "aiming the star" in garden experience. The plantain lilies and hemerocallis seem free from all of these whims and diseases, but it is when we come to the lily-of-the-valley that we have the compensation for our tribulations with the royal lilies of pure blood. The lily-of-the-valley asks deep, very rich soil in the open sun; if a wall or hedge protects it from the north, so much the better. I do not know why people preach dense shade for this flower; possibly because they prefer leaves to flowers, or else that they are of the sheeplike followers of tradition instead of practical gardeners of personal experience. One thing grows to perfection in the garden of this commuter's wife, and that is lilies-of-the-valley, and shade knows them not between eight in the morning and five at night, and we pick and pick steadily for two weeks, for as the main bed gives out, there are strips here and there in cooler locations that retard the early growth, but never any overhanging branches. In starting a wholly new bed, as you are doing, it is best to separate the tangled roots into small bunches, seeing to it that a few buds or "pips" remain with each, and plant in long rows a foot apart, three rows to a four-foot bed. Be sure to bury a well-tarred plank a foot in width edgewise at the outer side of the bed, unless you wish, in a couple of years' time, to have this enterprising flower walk out and about the surrounding garden and take it for its own. Be sure to press the roots in thoroughly and cover with three inches of soil. In December cover the bed with rotten _cow_ manure for several inches and rake off the coarser part in April, taking care not to break the pointed "pips" that will be starting, and you will have a forest of cool green leaves and such flowers as it takes much money to buy. Not the first season, of course, but after that--forever, if you thin out and fertilize properly. In the back part of your lily-of-the-valley bed plant two or three rows of the lovely poets' narcissus (_poeticus_). It opens its white flowers of the "pheasant's eye" cup at the same time as the lilies bloom, it grows sufficiently tall to make a good upward gradation, and it likes to be let severely alone. But do not forget in covering in the fall to put leaves over the narcissi instead of manure. Of other daffodils and narcissi that I have found very satisfactory, besides the good mixtures offered by reliable houses at only a dollar or a dollar and a quarter a hundred (the poets' narcissi only costing eighty cents a hundred for good bulbs), are Trumpet Major, Incomparabilis, the old-fashioned "daffy," and the monster yellow trumpet narcissus, Van Sion. The polyanthus narcissi, carrying their many flowers in heads at the top of the stalk, are what is termed half hardy and they are more frequently seen in florists' windows than in gardens. I have found them hardy if planted in a sheltered spot, covered with slanted boards and leaves, which should not be removed before April, as the spring rain and winds, I am convinced, do more to kill the species than winter cold. The flowers are heavily fragrant, like gardenias, and are almost too sweet for the house; but they, together with violets, give the garden the opulence of odour before the lilacs are open, or the heliotropes that are to be perfumers-in-chief in summer have graduated from thumb pots in the forcing houses. [Illustration: THE POET'S NARCISSUS.] Unless one has a large garden and a gardener who can plant and tend parterres of spring colour, I do not set much value upon outdoor hyacinths; they must be lifted each year and often replaced, as the large bulbs soon divide into several smaller ones with the flowers proportionately diminished. To me their mission is, to be grown in pots, shallow pans, or glasses on the window ledge, for winter and spring comforters, and I use the early tulips much in the same way, except for a cheerful line of them, planted about the foundation of the house, that when in bloom seems literally to lift home upon the spring wings of resurrection! All my tulip enthusiasm is centred in the late varieties, and chief among these come the fascinating and fantastic "parrots." When next I have my garden savings-bank well filled, I am going to make a collection of these tulips and guard them in a bed underlaid with stout-meshed wire netting, so that no mole may leave a tunnel for the wicked tulip-eating meadow-mouse. It is these late May-flowering tulips of long stalks, like wands of tall perennials, that you can gather in your arms and arrange in your largest jars with a sense at once combined of luxury and artistic joy. Better begin as I did by buying them in mixture; the species you must choose are the bizarre, bybloems, parrots, breeders, Darwin tulips, and the rose and white, together with a general mixture of late singles. Five dollars will buy you fifty of each of the seven kinds, three hundred and fifty bulbs all told and enough for a fine display. The Darwin tulips yield beautiful shades of violet, carmine, scarlet, and brown; the bizarres, many curious effects in stripes and flakes; the rose and white, delicate frettings and margins of pink on a white ground; but the parrots have petals fringed, twisted, beaked, poised curiously upon the stalks, splashed with reds, yellows, and green, and to come suddenly upon a mass of them in the garden is to think for a brief moment that a group of unknown birds blown from the tropics in a forced migration have alighted for rest upon the bending tulip stalks. [A] F.H. Horsford of Charlotte, Vt., is very reliable in this matter. XIV FRAGRANT FLOWERS AND LEAVES (Mary Penrose to Barbara Campbell) _Woodridge, August 26._ The heliotrope is in the perfection of bloom and seems to draw perfume from the intense heat of the August days only to release it again as the sun sets, while as long as daylight lasts butterflies of all sizes, shapes, and colours are fluttering about the flowers until the bed is like the transformation scene of a veritable dance of fairies! Possibly you did not know that I have a heliotrope bed planted at the very last moment. I had never before seen a great mass of heliotrope growing all by itself until I visited your garden, and ever since I have wondered why more people have not discovered it. I think that I wrote you anent _hens_ that the ancient fowl-house of the place had been at the point where there was a gap in the old wall below the knoll, and that the wind swept up through it from the river, across the Opal Farm meadows, and into the windows of the dining room? The most impossible place for a fowl-house, but exactly the location, as _The Man from Everywhere_ suggested, for a bed of sweet odours. I expected to do nothing with it this season until one day Larry, the departed, in a desire to use some of the domestic guano with which the rough cellar of the old building was filled, carted away part of it, and supplying its place with loam, dug over and straightened out the irregular space, which is quite six feet wide by thirty long. The same day, on going to a near-by florist's for celery plants, I found that he had a quantity of little heliotropes in excess of his needs, that had remained unpotted in the sand of the cutting house, where they had spindled into sickly-looking weeds. In a moment of the horticultural gambling that will seize one, I offered him a dollar for the lot, which he accepted readily, for it was the last of June and the poor things would probably have been thrown out in a day or two. I took them home and spent a whole morning in separating and cutting off the spindling tops to an even length of six inches. Literally there seemed to be no end to the plants, and when I counted them I found that I had nearly a hundred and fifty heliotropes, which, after rejecting the absolutely hopeless, gave me six rows for the bed. For several weeks my speculation in heliotropes was a subject of much mirth between Bart and myself, and the place was anything but a bed of sweet odours! The poor things lost the few leaves they had possessed and really looked as if they had been haunted by the ghosts of all the departed chickens that had gone from the fowl-house to the block. Then we had some wet weather, followed by growing summer heat, and I did not visit the bed for perhaps a week or more, when I rubbed my eyes and pinched myself; for it was completely covered with a mass of vigorous green, riotous in its profusion, here and there showing flower buds, and ever since it is one of the places to which I go to feast my eyes and nose when in need of garden encouragement! Another year I shall plant the heliotrope in one of the short cross-walk borders of the old garden, where we may also see it from the dining room, and use the larger bed for the more hardy sweet things, as I shall probably never be able to buy so many heliotrope plants again for so little money. Now also I have a definite plan for a large border of fragrant flowers and leaves. I have been on a journey, and, having spent three whole days from home, I am able for once to tell you something instead of endlessly stringing questions together. We also have been to the Cortrights' at Gray Rocks, and through a whiff of salt air, a touch of friendly hands, much conversation, and a drive to Coningsby (a village back from the shore peopled by the descendants of seafarers who, having a little property, have turned mildly to farming), we have received fresh inspiration. You did not overestimate the originality of the Cortrights' seaside garden, and even after your intimate description, it contained several surprises in the shape of masses of the milkweeds that flourish in sandy soil, especially the dull pink, and the orange, about which the brick-red monarch butterflies were hovering in great flocks. Neither did you tell me of the thistles that flank the bayberry hedge. I never realized what a thing of beauty a thistle might be when encouraged and allowed room to develop. Some of the plants of the common deep purple thistle, that one associates with the stunted growths of dusty roadsides, stood full five feet high, each bush as clear cut and erect as a candelabrum of fine metal work, while another group was composed of a pale yellow species with a tinge of pink in the centre set in very handsome silvery leaves. I had never before seen these yellow thistles, but Lavinia Cortright says that they are very plentiful in the dry ground back of the marshes, where the sand has been carried in drifts both by wind and tide. The table and house decorations the day that we arrived were of thistles blended with the deep yellow blossoms of the downy false foxglove or Gerardia and the yellow false indigo that looks at a short distance like a dwarf bush pea. We drove to Coningsby, as I supposed to see some gay little gardens, fantastic to the verge of awfulness, that had caught Aunt Lavinia's eye. In one the earth for the chief bed was contained in a surf-boat that had become unseaworthy from age, and not only was it filled to the brim, but vines of every description trailed over the sides. A neighbour opposite, probably a garden rival of the owner of the boat but lacking aquatic furniture, had utilized a single-seated cutter which, painted blue of the unmerciful shade that fights with everything it approaches, was set on an especially green bit of side lawn, surrounded by a heavy row of conch shells, and the box into which the seat had been turned, as well as the bottom of the sleigh itself, was filled with a jumble of magenta petunias and flame-coloured nasturtiums. After we had passed down a village street a quarter of a mile long, bordered on either side by floral combinations of this description, the sight began to pall, and I wondered how it was possible that any flowers well watered and cared for could produce such a feeling of positive aversion as well as eye-strained fatigue; also, if this was all that the Cortrights had driven us many miles to see, when it was so much more interesting to lounge on either of the porches of their own cottage, the one commanding the sea and the other the sand garden, the low dunes, and the marsh meadows. "It is only half a mile farther on," said Aunt Lavinia, quick to feel that we were becoming bored, without our having apparently given any sign to that effect. "It! What is _it_?" asked Bart, while I, without shame it is confessed, having a ravenous appetite, through outdoor living, hoped that _it_ was some quaint and neat little inn that "refreshed travellers," as it was expressed in old-time wording. "How singular!" ejaculated Aunt Lavinia; "I thought I told you last night when we were in the garden--well, it must have been in a dream instead. _It_ is the garden of Mrs. Marchant, wholly of fragrant things; it is on the little cross-road, beyond that strip of woods up there," and she waved toward a slight rise in the land that was regarded as a hill of considerable importance in this flat country. "It does not contain merely a single bed of sweet odours like Barbara's and mine, but is a garden an acre in extent, where everything admitted has fragrance, either in flower or leaf. We chanced upon it quite by accident, Martin and I, when driving ourselves down from Oaklands, across country, as it were, to Gray Rocks, by keeping to shady lanes, byways, and pent roads, where it was often necessary to take down bars and sometimes verge on trespassing by going through farmyards in order to continue our way. "After traversing a wood road of unusual beauty, where everything broken and unsightly had been carefully removed that ferns and wild shrubs might have full chance of life, we came suddenly upon a white picket gate covered by an arched trellis, beyond which in the vista could be seen a modest house of the real colonial time, set in the midst of a garden. "At once we realized the fact that the lane was also a part of the garden in that it was evidently the daily walk of some one who loved nature, and we looked about for a way of retracing our steps. At the same moment two female figures approached the gate from the other side. At the distance at which we were I could only see that one was tall and slender, was dressed all in pure white, and crowned by a mass of hair to match, while the other woman was short and stocky, and the way in which she opened the gate and held it back told that whatever her age might be she was an attendant, though probably an intimate one. "In another moment they discovered us, and as Martin alighted from the vehicle to apologize for our intrusion the tall figure immediately retreated to the garden, so quickly and without apparent motion that we were both startled, for the way of moving is peculiar to those whose feet do not really tread the earth after the manner of their fellows; and before we had quite recovered ourselves the stout woman had advanced and we saw by the pleasant smile her round face wore that she was not aggrieved at the intrusion but seemed pleased to meet human beings in that out-of-the-way place rather than rabbits, many of which had scampered away as we came down the lane. "Martin explained our dilemma and asked if we might gain the highway without retracing our steps. The woman hesitated a moment, and then said, 'If you come through the gate and turn sharp to the right, you can go out across the apple orchard by taking down a single set of bars, only you'll have to lead your horse, sir, for the trees are set thick and are heavy laden. I'd let you cross the bit of grass to the drive by the back gate yonder but that it would grieve Mrs. Marchant to see the turf so much as pressed with a wheel; she'd feel and know it somehow, even if she didn't see it.' "'Mrs. Marchant! Not Mrs. Chester Marchant?' cried Martin, while the far-away echo of something recalled by the name troubled the ears of my memory. "'Yes, sir, the very same! Did you know Dr. Marchant, sir? The minute I laid eyes on you two I thought you were of her kind!' replied the woman, pointing backward over her shoulder and settling herself against the shaft and side of Brown Tom, the horse, as if expecting and making ready for a comfortable chat. "As she stood thus I could take a full look at her without intrusiveness. Apparently well over sixty years old, and her face lines telling of many troubles, yet she had not a gray hair in her head and her poise was of an independent landowner rather than an occupier of another's home. I also saw at a glance that whatever her present position might be, she had not been born in service, but was probably a native of local importance, who, for some reason perfectly satisfactory to herself, was 'accommodating.' "'Dr. Marchant, Dr. Russell, and I were college mates,' said Martin, briefly, 'and after he and his son died so suddenly I was told that his widow was mentally ill and that none could see her, and later that she had died, or else the wording was so that I inferred as much,' and the very recollection seemed to set Martin dreaming. And I did not wonder, for there had never been a more brilliant and devoted couple than Abbie and Chester Marchant, and I still remember the shock of it when word came that both father and son had been killed by the same runaway accident, though it was nearly twenty years ago. "'She was ill, sir, was Mrs. Marchant; too ill to see anybody. For a long time she wouldn't believe that the accident had happened, and when she really sensed it, she was as good as dead for nigh five years. One day some of her people came to me--'twas the year after my own husband died--and asked if I would take a lady and her nurse here to live with me for the summer. They told me of her sickness and how she was always talking of some cottage in a garden of sweet-smelling flowers where she had lived one happy summer with her husband and her boy, and they placed the house as mine. "'Her folks said the doctors thought if she could get back here for a time that it might help her. Then I recollected that ten years before, when I went up to Maine to visit my sister, I'd rented the place, just as it stood, to folks of the name of Marchant, a fine couple that didn't look beyond each other unless 'twas at their son. In past times my grandmother had an old-country knack of raising healing herbs and all sorts of sweet-smelling things, along with farm truck, so that folks came from all about to buy them and doctors too, for such things weren't sold so much in shops in those days as they are now, and so this place came to be called the Herb Farm. After that it was sold off, little by little, until the garden, wood lane, and orchard is about all that's left. "'I was lonesome and liked the idea of company, and besides I was none too well fixed; yet I dreaded a mournful widow that wasn't all there anyway, according to what they said, but I thought I'd try. Well, sir, she come, and that first week I thought I'd never stand it, she talked and wrung her hands so continual. But one day what do you think happened? I chanced to pick a nosegay, not so much fine flowers perhaps as good-smelling leaves and twigs, and put it in a little pitcher in her room. "'It was like witchcraft the way it worked; the smell of those things seemed to creep over her like some drugs might and she changed. She stopped moaning and went out into the garden and touched all the posies with her fingers, as if she was shaking hands, and all of a sudden it seemed, by her talk, as if her dead were back with her again; and on every other point she's been as clear and ladylike as possible ever since, and from that day she cast off her black clothes as if wearing 'em was all through a mistake. "'The doctors say it's something to do with the 'sociation of smells, for that season they spent in my cottage was the only vacation Dr. Marchant had taken in years, and they say it was the happiest time in her life, fussing about among my old-fashioned posies with him; and somehow in her mind he's got fixed there among those posies, and every year she plants more and more of them, and what friends of hers she ever speaks of she remembers by some flowers they wore or liked. "'Well, as it turned out, her trustees have bought my place out and fixed it over, and here we live together, I may say, both fairly content! "'Come in and see her, won't you? It'll do no harm. Cortright, did you say your name was?' and before we could retreat, throwing Brown Tom's loose check-rein across the pickets of the gate, she led us to where the tall woman, dressed in pure white, stood under the trees, a look of perfectly calm expectancy in the wonderful dark eyes that made such a contrast to her coils of snow-white hair. "'Cortright! Martin Cortright, is it not?' she said immediately, as her companion spoke the surname. 'And your wife? I had not heard that you were married, but I remember you well, Lavinia Dorman, and your city garden, and the musk-rose bush that ailed because of having too little sun. Chester will be so sorry to miss you; he is seldom at home in the mornings, for he takes long walks with our son. He is having the first entire half year's vacation he has allowed himself since our marriage. But you will always find him in the garden in the afternoon; he is so fond of fragrant flowers, and he is making new studies of herbs and such things, for he believes that in spite of some great discoveries it will be proven that the old simples are the most enduring medicines.' "As she spoke she was leading the way, with that peculiar undulating progress, like a cloud blown over the earth's surface, that I had noticed at first. Then we came out from under the shade of the trees into the garden enclosure and I saw borders and beds, but chiefly borders, stretching and curving everywhere, screening all the fences, approaching the house, and when almost there retreating in graceful lines into the shelter of the trees. The growth had the luxuriance of a jungle, and yet there was nothing weedy or awry about it, and as the breeze blew toward us the combination of many odours, both pungent and sweet, was almost overpowering. "'You very seldom wore a buttonhole flower, but when you did it was a safrano bud or else a white jasmine,' Mrs. Marchant said, wheeling suddenly and looking at Martin with a gaze that did not stop where he stood, but went through and beyond him; 'it was Dr. Russell who always wore a pink! See! I have both here!' and going up to a tea-rose bush, grown to the size of a shrub and lightly fastened to the side of the house, she gathered a few shell-like buds and a moment later pulled down a spray of the jasmine vine that festooned a window, as we see it in England but never here, and carefully cut off a cluster of its white stars by aid of a pair of the long, slender flower-picking scissors that hung from her belt by a ribbon, twisted the stems together, and placed them in Martin's buttonhole almost without touching it. "Having done this, she seemed to forget us and drifted away among the flowers, touching some gently as she passed, snipping a dead leaf here and arranging a misplaced branch there. "We left almost immediately, but have been there many times since, and though as a whole the garden is too heavily fragrant, I thought that it might suggest possibilities to you." As Aunt Lavinia paused we were turning from the main road into the narrow but beautifully kept lane upon which the Herb Farm, as it was still called, was located, by one of those strange freaks that sometimes induces people to build in a strangely inaccessible spot, though quite near civilization. I know that you must have come upon many such places in your wanderings. Of course my curiosity was piqued, and I felt, besides, as if I was about to step into the page of some strange psychological romance, nor was I disappointed. The first thing that I saw when we entered was a great strip of heliotrope that rivalled my own, and opposite it an equal mass of silvery lavender crowned by its own flowers, of the colour that we so frequently use as a term, but seldom correctly. There were no flagged or gravel walks, but closely shorn grass paths, the width of a lawn-mower, that followed the outline of the borders and made grateful footing. Bounding the heliotrope and lavender on one side was a large bed of what I at first thought were Margaret carnations, of every colour combination known to the flower, but a closer view showed that while those in the centre were Margarets, those of the wide border were of a heavier quality both in build of plant, texture of leaf, and flower, which was like a compact greenhouse carnation, the edges of the petals being very smooth and round, while in addition to many rich, solid colours there were flowers of white-and-yellow ground, edged and striped and flaked with colour, and the fragrance delicious and reminiscent of the clove pinks of May. Mrs. Puffin, the companion, could tell us little about them except that the seed from which they were raised came from England and that, as she put it, they were fussy, troublesome things, as those sown one season had to be lifted and wintered in the cold pit and get just so much air every day, and be planted out in the border again in April. Aunt Lavinia recognized them as the same border carnations over which she had raved when she first saw them in the trim gardens of Hampton Court. Can either you or Evan tell me more of them and why we do not see them here? Before long I shall go garden mad, I fear; for after grooming the place into a generally decorative and floriferous condition of trees, shrubs, vines, ferns, etc., will come the hunger for specialties that if completely satisfied will necessitate not only a rosary, a lily and wild garden, a garden--rather than simply a bed--of sweet odours, and lastly a garden wholly for the family of pinks or carnations, whichever is the senior title. I never thought of these last except as a garden incident until I saw their possibilities in Mrs. Marchant's space of fragrant leaves and flowers. [Illustration: A BED OF JAPAN PINKS.] The surrounding fences were entirely concealed by lilacs and syringas, interspersed with gigantic bushes of the fragrant, brown-flowered strawberry shrub; the four gates, two toward the road, one to the barn-yard, and one entering the wood lane, were arched high and covered by vines of Wisteria, while similar arches seemed to bring certain beds together that would have looked scattered and meaningless without them. In fact next to the presence of fragrant things, the artistic use of vines as draperies appealed to me most. The border following the fence was divided, back of the house, by a vine-covered arbour, on the one side of which the medicinal herbs and simples were massed; on the other what might be classed as decorative or garden flowers, though some of the simples, such as tansy with its clusters of golden buttons, must be counted decorative. The plants were never set in straight lines, but in irregular groups that blended comfortably together. Mrs. Marchant was not feeling well, Mrs. Puffin said, and could not come out, greatly to my disappointment; but the latter was only too glad to do the honours, and the plant names slipped from her tongue with the ease of long familiarity. This patch of low growth with small heads of purple flowers was broad-leaved English thyme; that next, summer savory, used in cooking, she said. Then followed common sage and its scarlet-flowered cousin that we know as salvia; next came rue and rosemary, Ophelia's flower of remembrance, with stiff leaves. Little known or grown, or rather capricious and tender here, I take it, for I find plants of it offered for sale in only one catalogue. Marigolds were here also, why I do not know, as I should think they belonged with the more showy flowers; then inconspicuous pennyroyal and several kinds of mints--spearmint, peppermint, and some great plants of velvet-leaved catnip. Borage I saw for the first time, also coriander of the aromatic seeds, and a companion of dill of vinegar fame; and strangely enough, in rotation of Bible quotation, cumin and rue came next. Caraway and a feathery mass of fennel took me back to grandmother's Virginia garden; balm and arnica, especially when I bruised a leaf of the latter between my fingers, recalled the bottle from which I soothe the Infant's childish bumps, the odour of it being also strongly reminiscent of my own childhood. Angelica spoke of the sweet candied stalks, but when we reached a spot of basil, Martin Cortright's tongue was loosed and he began to recite from Keats; and all at once I seemed to see Isabella sitting among the shadows holding between her knees the flower-pot from which the strangely nourished plant of basil grew as she watered it with her tears. A hedge of tall sunflowers, from whose seeds, Mrs. Puffin said, a soothing and nourishing cough syrup may be made, antedating cod-liver oil, replaced the lilacs on this side, and with them blended boneset and horehound; while in a springy spot back toward the barn-yard the long leaves of sweet flag or calamus introduced a different class of foliage. On the garden side the border was broken every ten feet or so with great shrubs of our lemon verbena, called lemon balm by Mrs. Puffin. It seemed impossible that such large, heavily wooded plants could be lifted for winter protection in the cellar, yet such Mrs. Puffin assured us was the case. So I shall grow mine to this size if possible, for what one can do may be accomplished by another,--that is the tonic of seeing other gardens than one's own. Between the lemon verbenas were fragrant-leaved geraniums of many flavours--rose, nutmeg, lemon, and one with a sharp peppermint odour, also a skeleton-leaved variety; while a low-growing plant with oval leaves and half-trailing habit and odd odour, Mrs. Puffin called apple geranium, though it does not seem to favour the family. Do you know it? Bee balm in a blaze of scarlet made glowing colour amid so much green, and strangely enough the bluish lavender of the taller-growing sister, wild bergamot, seems to harmonize with it; while farther down the line grew another member of this brave family of horsemints with almost pink, irregular flowers of great beauty. Southernwood formed fernlike masses here and there; dwarf tansy made the edging, together with the low, yellow-flowered musk, which Aunt Lavinia, now quite up in such things, declared to be a "musk-scented mimulus!" whatever that may be! Stocks, sweet sultan, and tall wands of evening primrose graded this border up to another shrubbery. Of mignonette the garden boasts a half dozen species, running from one not more than six inches in height with cinnamon-red flowers to a tall variety with pointed flower spikes, something of the shape of the white flowers of the clethra bush or wands of Culver's root that grow along the fence at Opal Farm. It is not so fragrant as the common mignonette, but would be most graceful to arrange with roses or sweet peas. Aunt Lavinia says that she thinks that it is sold under the name of Miles spiral mignonette. Close to the road, where the fence angle allows for a deep bed and the lilacs grade from the tall white of the height of trees down to the compact bushes of newer French varieties, lies the violet bed, now a mass of green leaves only, but by these Aunt Lavinia's eye read them out and found here the English sweet wild violet, as well as the deep purple double garden variety, the tiny white scented that comes with pussy-willows, the great single pansy violet of California, and the violets grown from the Russian steppes that carpeted the ground under your "mother tree." From this bed the lilies-of-the-valley start and follow the entire length of the front fence, as you preach on the sunny side, the fence itself being hidden by a drapery of straw-coloured and pink Chinese honeysuckle that we called at home June honeysuckle, though this is covered with flower sprays in late August, and must be therefore a sort of monthly-minded hybrid, after the fashion of the hybrid tea-rose. If I were to tell of the tea-roses grown here, they would fill a chronicle by itself, though only a few of the older kinds, such as safrano, bon silene, and perle, are favourites. Mrs. Puffin says that some of them, the great shrubs, are wintered out-of-doors, and others are lifted, like the lemon balms, and kept in the dry, light cellar in tubs. But oh! Mrs. Evan, you must go and see Mrs. Marchant's lilies! They are growing as freely as weeds among the uncut grass, and blooming as profusely as the bell-lilies in Opal Farm meadows! And all the spring bulbs are also grown in this grass that lies between the shorn grass paths, and in autumn when the tops are dead and gone it is carefully burned over and the turf is all the winter covering they have. Does the grass look ragged and unsightly? No, because I think that it is cut lightly with a scythe after the spring bulbs are gone and that the patient woman, whose life the garden is, keeps the tallest seeded grasses hand trimmed from between the lily stalks! Ah, but how that garden lingers with me, and the single glimpse I caught of the deep dark eyes of its mistress as they looked out of a vine-clad window toward the sky! I have made a list of the plants that are possible for my own permanent bed of fragrant flowers and leaves, that I may enjoy them, and that the Infant may have fragrant memories to surround all her youth and bind her still more closely to the things of outdoor life. I chanced upon a verse of Bourdillon's the other day. Do you know it? "Ah! full of purest influence On human mind and mood, Of holiest joy to human sense Are river, field, and wood; And better must all childhood be That knows a garden and a tree!" XV THE PINK FAMILY OUTDOORS (Barbara Campbell to Mary Penrose) _Oaklands, September 1._ So you have been away and in going discovered the possibilities of growing certain pinks and carnations out-of-doors that, in America at least, are usually considered the winter specialties of a cool greenhouse! We too have been afield somewhat, having but now returned from a driving trip of ten days, nicely timed as to gardens and resting-places until the last night, when, making a false turn, ten o'clock found us we did not know where and with no prospect of getting our bearings. We had ample provisions for supper with us, including two bottles of ginger ale; no one knew that we were lost but ourselves and no one was expecting us anywhere, as we travel quite _con amore_ on these little near-by journeys of ours. The August moon was big and hot and late in rising; there was a rick of old hay in a clean-looking field by the roadside that had evidently been used as winter fodder for young cattle, for what remained of it was nibbled about the base, leaving a protruding, umbrella-like thatch, not very substantial, but sufficient shelter for a still night. Then and there we decided to play gypsy and camp out, literally under the sky. Evan unharnessed the horse, watered him at a convenient roadside puddle, and tethered him at the rear of the stack, where he could nibble the hay, but not us! Then spreading the horse-blanket on some loose hay for a bed, with the well-tufted seat of the buggy for a pillow, and utilizing the lap robe for a cover against dew, we fell heavily asleep, though I had all the time a half-conscious feeling as if little creatures were scrambling about in the hay beneath the blanket and occasionally brushing my face or ears with a batlike wing, tiny paws, or whisking tail. When I awoke, and of course immediately stirred up Evan, the moon was low on the opposite side of the stack, the stars were hidden, and there was a dull red glow among the heavy clouds of the eastern horizon like the reflection of a distant fire, while an owl hooted close by from a tree and then flew with a lurch across the meadow, evidently to the destruction of some small creature, for a squeal accompanied the swoop. A mysterious thing, this flight of the owl: the wings did not flap, there was no sound, merely the consciousness of displaced air. We were not, as it afterward proved, ten miles from home, and yet, as far as trace of humanity was concerned, we might have been the only created man and woman. Do you remember the old gypsy song?--Ben Jonson's, I think-- "The owl is abroad, the bat, the toad, And so is the cat-a-mountain; The ant and the mole both sit in a hole, And frog peeps out o' the fountain; The dogs they bay and the timbrels play And the spindle now is turning; The moon it is red, and the stars are fled But all the sky is a-burning." But we were still more remote, for of beaters of timbrels and turners of spindles were there none! * * * * * Your last chronicle interested us all. In the first place father remembers Mrs. Marchant perfectly, for he and the doctor used to exchange visits constantly during that long-ago summer when they lived on the old Herb Farm at Coningsby. Father had heard that she was hopelessly deranged, but nothing further, and the fact that she is living within driving distance in the midst of her garden of fragrance is a striking illustration both of the littleness of the earth and the social remoteness of its inhabitants. Father says that Mrs. Marchant was always a very intellectual woman, and he remembers that in the old days she had almost a passion for fragrant flowers, and once wrote an essay upon the psychology of perfumes that attracted some attention in the medical journal in which it was published by her husband. That the perfume of flowers should now have drawn the shattered fragments of her mind together for their comfort and given her the foretaste of immortality, by the sign of the consciousness of personal presence and peace, is beautiful indeed. Your declaration that henceforth one garden is not enough for your ambition, but that you crave several, amuses me greatly. For a mere novice I must say that you are making strides in seven-league horticultural boots, wherein you have arrived at the heart of the matter, viz.:--one may grow many beautiful and satisfactory flowers in a mixed garden such as falls to the lot of the average woman sufficiently lucky to own a garden at all, but to develop the best possibilities of any one family, like the rose, carnation, or lily, that is a bit whimsical about food and lodging, each one must have a garden of its own, so to speak, which, for the amateur, may be made to read as a special bed in a special location, and not necessarily a vast area. This need is always recognized in the English garden books, and the chapter headings, The Rose Garden,--Hardy Garden,--Wall Garden,--Lily Garden,--Alpine Garden, etc., lead one at first sight to think that it is a great estate alone that can be so treated; but it is merely a horticultural protest, born of long experience, against mixing races to their mutual hurt, and this precaution, together with the climate, makes of all England a gardener's paradise! What you say of the expansiveness of the list of fragrant flowers and leaves is also true, for taken in the literal sense there are really few plants without an individual odour of some sort in bark, leaf, or flower usually sufficient to identify them. In a recent book giving what purports to be a list of fragrant flowers and leaves, the chrysanthemum is included, as it gives out an aromatic perfume from its leaves! This is true, but so also does the garden marigold, and yet we should not include either among fragrant leaves in the real sense. Hence to make the right selection of plants for the bed of sweet odours it is best, as in the case of choosing annuals, to adhere to a few tried and true worthies. But at your rhapsody on the bed of carnations, I am also tempted to launch forth in praise of all pinks in general and the annual flowering garden carnation, early Marguerite, and picotee varieties in particular, especially when I think what results might be had from the same bits of ground that are often left to be overrun with straggling and unworthy annuals. For to have pinks to cut for the house, pinks for colour masses out-of-doors, and pinks to give away, is but a matter of understanding, a little patience, and the possession of a cold pit (which is but a deeper sort of frame like that used for a hotbed and sunken in the ground) against a sunny wall, for the safe wintering of a few of the tenderer species. In touching upon this numerous family, second only to the rose in importance, the embarrassment is, where to begin. Is a carnation a pink, or a pink a carnation? I have often been asked. You may settle that as you please, since the family name of all, even the bearded Sweet-William, is _Dianthus_, the decisive title of Linnæus, a word from the Greek meaning "flower of Jove," while the highly scented species and varieties of the more or less pungent clove breath remain under the old subtitle--_Caryophyllus_. To go minutely into the differences and distinctions of the race would require a book all to itself, for in 1597, more than three hundred years ago, Gerarde wrote: "There are, under the name of _Caryophyllus_, comprehended diuers and sundrie sorts of plants, of such variable colours and also severall shapes that a great and large volume would not suffice to write of euery one in particular." And when we realize that the pink was probably the first flower upon which, early in the eighteenth century, experiments in hybridization were tried, the intricacy will be fully understood. For the Garden, You, and I, three superficial groups only are necessary: the truly hardy perennial pinks, that when once established remain for years; the half-hardy perennials that flower the second year after planting, and require protection; and the biennials that will flower the first year and may be treated as annuals. The Margaret carnations, though biennials, are best treated as annuals, for they may be had in flower in three to four months after the sowing of the seed, and the English perennial border carnations, bizarres, and picotees will live for several years, but in this climate must be wintered in a _dry wooden_ cold pit, after the manner of the perennial varieties of wallflowers, tender roses, and the like. I emphasize the words _dry wooden_ in connection with a cold pit from my experience in seeking to make mine permanent by replacing the planks, with which it was built and which often decayed, by stone work, with most disastrous results, causing me to lose a fine lot of plants by mildew. The truly hardy pinks (_dianthus plumarius_), the fringed and clove-scented species both double and single of old-time gardens, that bloom in late spring and early summer, are called variously May and grass pinks. Her Majesty is a fine double white variety of this class, and if, in the case of double varieties, you wish to avoid the risk of getting single flowers, you would better start your stock with a few plants and subdivide. For myself, every three or four years, I sow the seed of these pinks in spring in the hardy seed bed, and transplant to their permanent bed early in September, covering the plants lightly in winter with evergreen boughs or corn stalks. Leaf litter or any sort of covering that packs and holds water is deadly to pinks, so prone is the crown to decay. In the catalogues you will find these listed under the names of Pheasant's Eye, Double Scotch pinks (_Scotius_), and Perpetual Pink (_semperflorens_). With this class belongs the Sweet-William (_dianthus barbatus_), which should be sown and treated in a like manner. It is also a hardy perennial, but I find it best to renew it every few years, as the flowers of young plants are larger, and in spite of care, the most beautiful hybrids will often decay at the ground. There is no garden flower, excepting the Dahlia, that gives us such a wealth of velvet bloom, and if you mean to make a specialty of pinks, I should advise you to buy a collection of Sweet-Williams in the separate colours, which range from white to deepest crimson with varied markings. Directions for sowing the biennial Chinese and Japanese pinks were given in the chronicle concerning the hardy seed bed. These pinks are not really fragrant, though most of them have a pleasant apple odour that, together with their wonderful range of colour, makes them particularly suitable for table decoration. In addition to the mixed colours recommended for the general seed bed, the following Japanese varieties are of special beauty, among the single pinks: Queen of Holland, pure white; Eastern Queen, enormous rose-pink flowers, Crimson Belle, dark red. Among the double, Fireball, an intense scarlet; the Diadem pink, Salmon Queen, and the lovely Oriental Beauty with diversely marked petals of a crêpy texture. The double varieties of course are more solid and lasting, if they do not insist upon swelling so mightily that they burst the calyx and so have a dishevelled and one sided look; but for intrinsic beauty of colour and marking the single Chinese and Japanese pinks, particularly the latter, reign supreme. They have a quality of holding one akin to that of the human eye and possess much of the power of individual expression that belongs to pansies and single violets. By careful management and close clipping of withered flowers, a bed of these pinks may be had in bloom from June until December, the first flowers coming from the autumn-sown plants, which may be replaced in August by those sown in the seed bed in late May, which by this time will be well budded. "August is a kittle time for transplanting border things," I hear you say. To be sure; but with your water-barrel, the long-necked water-pots, and a judicious use of inverted flower-pots between ten A.M. and four P.M., there is no such word as fail in this as in many other cases. [Illustration: SINGLE AND DOUBLE PINKS.] Upon the second and third classes you must depend for pinks of the taller growth ranging from one to two feet in height and flourishing long-stemmed clusters of deliciously clove-scented flowers. The hardy Margarets might be wintered in the pit, if it were worth the while, but they are so easily raised from seed, and so prone literally to bloom themselves to death in the three months between midsummer and hard frost, that I prefer to sow them each year in late March and April and plant them out in May, as soon as their real leaves appear, and pull them up at the general autumnal garden clearance. Upon the highly scented perpetual and picotee pinks or carnations (make your own choice of terms) you must depend for fragrance between the going of the May pinks and the coming of the Margarets; not that they of necessity cease blooming when their more easily perfected sisters begin; quite the contrary, for the necessity of lifting them in the winter gives them a spring set-back that they do not have in England, where they are the universal hardy pink, alike of the gardens of great estates and the brick-edged cottage border. These are the carnations of Mrs. Marchant's garden that filled you with such admiration, and also awoke the spirit of emulation. Lavinia Cortright was correct in associating them with the lavish bloom of the gardens of Hampton Court, for if anything could make me permanently unpatriotic (which is impossible), it would be the roses and picotee pinks of the dear old stupid (human middle-class, and cold bedroom-wise), but florally adorable mother country! The method by which you may possess yourself of these crowning flowers of the garden, for _coro_nations is one of the words from which _car_nation is supposed but to be derived, is as follows:-- Be sure of your seed. Not long ago it was necessary to import it direct, but not now. You may buy from the oldest of American seed houses fifty varieties of carnations and picotees, in separate packets, for three dollars, or twenty-five sorts for one dollar and seventy-five cents, or twelve (enough for a novice) for one dollar, the same being undoubtedly English or Holland grown, while a good English house asks five shillings, or a dollar and a quarter, for a single packet of mixed varieties! Moral--it is not necessary that "made in England" should be stamped upon flower seeds to prove them of English origin! If you can spare hotbed room, the seeds may be sown in April, like the early Margarets, and transplanted into some inconspicuous part of the vegetable garden, where the soil is deep and firm and there is a free circulation of air (not between tall peas and sweet corn), as for the first summer these pinks have no ornamental value, other than the pleasurable spectacle made by a healthy plant of any kind, by virtue of its future promise. Before frost or not later than the second week in October the pinks should be put in long, narrow boxes or pots sufficiently large to hold all the roots comfortably, but with little space to spare, watered, and partly shaded, until they have recovered themselves, when they should be set in the lightest part of the cold pit. During the winter months they should have only enough water to keep the earth from going to dust, and as much light and air as possible without absolutely freezing hard, after the manner of treating lemon verbenas, geraniums, and wall-flowers. By the middle of April they may be planted in the bed where they are to bloom, and all the further care they need will be judicious watering and the careful staking of the flower stalks if they are weak and the buds top-heavy,--and by the way, as to the staking of flowers in general, a word with you later on. In the greenhouse, pinks are liable to many ailments, and several of these follow them out-of-doors, three having given me some trouble, the most fatal being of a fungoid order, due usually to unhealthy root conditions or an excess of moisture. _Rust_ is one of these, its Latin name being too long for the simple vocabulary of The Garden, You, and I. It first shows itself in a brown spot that seems to have worked out from the inner part of the leaf. Sometimes it can be conquered by snipping the infected leaves, but if it seizes an entire bed, the necessary evil of spraying with Bordeaux mixture must be resorted to, as in the case of fungus-spotted hollyhocks. _Thrip_, the little transparent, whitish fly, will sometimes bother border carnations in the same way as it does roses. If the flowers are only in bud, I sprinkle them with my brass rose-atomizer and powder slightly with helebore. But if the flowers are open, sprinkling and shaking alone may be resorted to. For the several kinds of underground worms that trouble pinks, of which the wireworm is the chief, I have found a liberal use of unslaked lime and bone-dust in the preparation of the soil before planting the best preventive. Other ailments have appeared only occasionally. Sometimes an apparently healthy, full-grown plant will suddenly wither away, or else swell up close to the ground and finally burst so that the sap leaks out and it dies like a punctured or girdled tree. The first trouble may come from the too close contact of fresh manure, which should be kept away from the main roots of carnations, as from contact with lily bulbs. As to the swelling called _gout_, there is no cure, so do not temporize. Pull up the plant at once and disinfect the spot with unslaked lime and sulphur. Thus, Mary Penrose, may you have either pinks in your garden or a garden of pinks, whichever way you may care to develop your idea. "A deal of trouble?" Y-e-s; but then only think of the flowers that crown the work, and you might spend an equal amount of time in pricking cloth with a steel splinter and embroidering something, in the often taken-in-vain name of decorative art, that in the end is only an elaborated rag--without even the bone and the hank of hair! XVI THE FRAME OF THE PICTURE VINES AND SHRUBS (Mary Penrose to Barbara Campbell) _Woodridge, September 10._ Your chronicle of the Pink Family found me by myself in camp, dreaming away as vigorously as if it was a necessary and practical occupation. After all, are we sure that it is not, in a way, both of these? This season my dreams of night have been so long that they have lingered into the things of day and _vice versa_, and yet neither the one nor the other have whispered of idleness, but the endless hope of work. Bart's third instalment of vacation ends to-morrow, though we shall continue to sleep out of doors so long as good weather lasts; the remaining ten days we are saving until October, when the final transplanting of trees and shrubs is to be made; and in addition to those for the knoll we have marked some shapely dogwoods, hornbeams, and tulip trees for grouping in other parts of the home acres. There are also to be had for the digging good bushes of the early pink and clammy white azalea, mountain-laurel, several of the blueberry tribe, that have white flowers in summer and glorious crimson foliage in autumn, white-flowered elder, button-bush, groundsel tree, witchhazel, bayberry, the shining-leaved sumach, the white meadow-sweet, and pink steeplebush, besides a number of cornels and viburnums suitable for shrubberies. As I glance over the list of what the river and quarry woods have yielded us, it is like reading from the catalogue of a general dealer in hardy plants, and yet I suppose hundreds of people have as much almost at their doors, if they did but know it. The commercial side of a matter of this kind is not the one upon which to dwell the most, except upon the principle of the old black woman who said, "Chillun, count yer marcies arter every spell o' pain!" and to-day, in assaying our mercies and the various advantages of our garden vacation, I computed that the trees, shrubs, ferns, herbaceous wild flowers, and vines (yes, we have included vines, of which I must tell you), if bought of the most reasonable of dealers, would have cost us at least three hundred dollars, without express or freight charges. The reason for my being by myself at this particular moment is that Bart, mounted on solemn Romeo, has taken the Infant, astride her diminutive pony, by a long leader, for a long-promised ride up the river road, the same being the _finale_ of the celebration of his birthday, that began shortly after daylight. The Infant, in order to be early enough to give him the first of his thirty-three kisses, came the night before, and though she has camped out with us at intervals all summer, the novelty has not worn off. She has a happy family of pets that, without being caged or in any way coerced or confined, linger about the old barn, seem to watch for her coming, and expect their daily rations, even though they do not care to be handled. Punch and Judy, the gray squirrels of the dovecote, perch upon her shoulders and pry into the pockets of her overalls for nuts or kernels of corn, all the while keeping a bright eye upon Reddy, the setter pup, who, though he lies ever so sedately, nose between paws, they well know is not to be trusted. While as for birds, all the season we have had chipping-sparrows, catbirds, robins, and even a wood-thrush, leader of the twilight orchestra, all of whom the little witch has tempted in turn by a bark saucer spread with leaves and various grains and small fruits, from strawberries to mulberries, for which she has had a daily hunt through the Opal Farm land the season through. Toward the English sparrow she positively declines to harden her heart, in spite of my having repeated the story of its encroachments and crimes. She listens and merely shakes her head, saying, "We 'vited them to come, didn't we, mother? When we 'vites people, we always feed 'em; 'sides, they're the only ones'll let me put them in my pocket," which is perfectly true, for having learned this warm abiding-place of much oats and cracked corn, they follow her in a flock, and a few confiding spirits allow themselves to be handled. At the birthday dinner party, arranged by the Infant, a number of these guests were present. We must have looked a motley crew, in whose company Old King Cole himself would have been embarrassed, for Bart wore a wreath of pink asters, while a gigantic sunflower made my head-dress, and the cake, made and garnished with red and white peppermints, an American and an Irish flag, by Anastasia, was mounted firmly upon a miscellaneous mass of flowers, with a superstructure of small yellow tomatoes, parsley, young carrots, and beets, the colour of these vegetables having caught the Infant's eye. The pony, Ginger, had a basket of second-crop clover flowers provided for him; Reddy some corned-beef hash, his favourite dish, coaxed from Anastasia; while for Punch, Judy, and as many of their children as would venture down from the rafters, the Infant had compounded a wonderful salad of mixed nuts and corn. As the Infant ordained that "the childrens shan't tum in 'til d'sert," we had the substantial part of our meal in peace; but the candles were no sooner blown out and the cake cut than Ginger left his clover to nibble the young carrots, the squirrels got into the nut dish bodily and began sorting over the nuts to find those they liked best, with such vigour that the others flew in our faces, and Reddy fell off the box upon which the Infant had balanced him with difficulty, nearly carrying the table-cloth with him, while at this moment, the feast becoming decidedly crumby, we were surrounded by the entire flock of English sparrows! * * * * * Now this is not at all what I started to tell you; quite the contrary. Please forgive this domestic excursion into the land of maternal pride and happenings. What I meant to write of was my conviction, that came through sitting on the hay rafters and looking down upon the garden, that as a beautiful painting is improved by proper framing, so should the garden be enclosed at different points by frames, to focus the eye upon some central object. Though the greater part of the garden is as yet only planned and merely enough set out in each part to fix special boundaries, as in the case of the rose bed, I realize that as a whole it is too open and lacks perspective. You see it all at once; there are no breaks. No matter in what corner scarlet salvia and vermilion nasturtiums may be planted, they are sure to get in range with the pink verbenas and magenta phlox in a teeth-on-edge way. From other viewpoints the result is no better. Looking from the piazza that skirts two sides of the house, where we usually spend much time, three portions of the garden are in sight at once, and all on different planes, without proper separating frames; the rose garden is near at hand, the old borders leading to the sundial being at right angles with it. At the right, the lower end of the knoll and the gap with its bed of heliotrope are prominent, while between, at a third distance, is the proposed location of the white-birch screen, the old wall rockery, etc. The rockery and rose garden are in their proper relation, but the other portions should be given perspective by framing, and the result of my day-dreams is that this, according to nature, should be done by the grouping of shrubs and the drapery of vines. I now for the first time fully understand the uses of the pergola in landscape gardening, the open sides of which form a series of vine-draped frames. I had always before thought it a stiff and artificial sort of arrangement, as well as the tall clipped yews, laurel trees in tubs, and marble vases and columns that are parts of the usual framework of the more formal gardens. And while these things would be decidedly out of place in gardens of our class, and at best could only be indulged in via white-painted wooden imitations, the woman who is her own gardener may exercise endless skill in bringing about equally good results with the rustic material at hand and by following wild nature, who, after all, is the first model. [Illustration: THE SILVER MAPLE BY THE LANE GATE.] I think I hear Evan laughing at my preachment concerning his special art, but the comprehension of it has all come through looking at the natural landscape effects that have happened at Opal Farm owing to the fact that the hand of man has there been stayed these many years. On either side of the rough bars leading between our boundary wall and the meadow stands a dead cedar tree, from which the dry, moss-covered branches have been broken by the loads of hay that used to be gathered up at random and carted out this way. Wild birds doubtless used these branches as perches of vantage from which they might view the country, both during feeding excursions and in migration, and thus have sown the seed of their provender, for lo and behold, around the old trees have grown vines of wild grapes, with flowers that perfume the entire meadow in June. Here the woody, spiral-climbing waxwork holds aloft its clusters of berries that look like bunches of miniature lemons until on being ripe they open and show the coral fruit; Virginia creeper of the five-pointed fingers, clinging tendrils, glorious autumn colour, and spreading clusters of purple blackberries, and wild white clematis, the "traveller's joy" of moist roadside copses, all blending together and stretching out hands, until this season being undisturbed, they have clasped to form a natural arch of surpassing beauty. Having a great pile of cedar poles, in excess of the needs of all our other projects, my present problem is to place a series of simple arches constructed on this natural idea, that shall frame the different garden vistas from the best vantage-point. Rustic pillars, after the plan of Evan's that you sent me for the corners of the rose garden, will give the necessary formal touch, while groups of shrubs can be so placed as not only to screen colours that should not be seen in combination, but to make reasons for turns that would otherwise seem arbitrary. Aunt Lavinia has promised me any number of Chinese honeysuckle vines from the little nursery bed of rooted cuttings that is Martin Cortright's special province, for she writes me that they began with this before having seed beds for either hardy plants or annuals, as they wished to have hedges of flowering shrubs in lieu of fences, and some fine old bushes on the place furnished ample cuttings of the old-fashioned varieties, which they have supplemented. Aunt Lavinia also says that the purple Wisteria grows easily from the beanlike seed and blossoms in three years, and that she has a dozen of these two-year-old seedlings that she will send me as soon as I have place for them. Remembering your habit of giving every old tree a vine to comfort its old age, and in particular the silver maple by the lane gate of your garden, with its woodpecker hole and swinging garniture of Wisteria bloom, I have promised a similar cloak to a gnarled bird cherry that stands midway in the fence rockery, and yet another to an attenuated poplar, so stripped of branches as to be little more than a pole and still keeping a certain dignity. [Illustration: A CURTAIN TO THE SIDE PORCH.] The honeysuckles I shall keep for panelling the piazza, they are such clean vines and easily controlled; while on the two-story portion under the guest-room windows some Virginia creepers can be added to make a curtain to the side porch. As for other vines, we have many resources. Festooned across the front stoop at Opal Farm is an old and gigantic vine of the scarlet-and-orange trumpet creeper, that has overrun the shed, climbed the side of the house, and followed round the rough edges of the eaves, while all through the grass of the front yard are seedling plants of the vine that, in spring, are blended with tufts of the white star of Bethlehem and yellow daffies. In the river woods, brush and swamp lots, near by, we have found and marked for our own the mountain fringe with its feathery foliage and white flowers shaded with purple pink, that suggest both the bleeding heart of gardens and the woodland Dutchman's breeches. It grows in great strings fourteen or fifteen feet in length and seems as trainable as smilax or the asparagus vine. Here are also woody trailers of moonseed, with its minute white flowers in the axils of leaves that might pass at first glance for one of the many varieties of wild grapes; the hyacinth bean, with its deliciously fragrant chocolate flowers tinged with violet, that is so kind in covering the unsightly underbrush of damp places. And here, first, last, and always, come the wild grapes, showing so many types of leaf and fruit, from the early ripening summer grape of the high-climbing habit, having the most typical leaf and thin-skinned, purple berries, that have fathered so many cultivated varieties; the frost grape, with its coarsely-toothed, rather heart-shaped, pointed leaf and small black berries, that are uneatable until after frost (and rather horrid even then); to the riverside grape of the glossy leaf, fragrant blossoms and fruit. One thing must be remembered concerning wild grapes: they should be planted, if in the open sunlight, where they will be conspicuous up to late summer only, as soon after this time the leaves begin to grow rusty, while those in moist and partly-shady places hold their own. I think this contrast was borne in upon me by watching a mass of grape-vines upon a tumble-down wall that we pass on our way to the river woods. In August the leaves began to brown and curl at the edges, while similar vines in the cool lane shade were still green and growing. So you see, Mrs. Evan, that, in addition to our other treasure-trove, we are prepared to start a free vinery as well, and as our lucky star seems to be both of morning and evening and hangs a long while in the sky, Meyer, Larry's successor, we find, has enough of a labourer's skill at post setting and a carpenter's eye and hand at making an angled arch (this isn't the right term, but you know what I mean), so that we have not had to pause in our improvements owing to Amos Opie's rheumatic illness. Not that I think the old man _very_ ill, and I believe he could get about more if he wished, for when I went down to see him this morning, he seemed to have something on his mind, and with but little urging he told me his dilemma. Both _The Man from Everywhere_ and Maria Maxwell have made him good offers for his farm, _The Man's_ being the first! Now he had fully determined to sell to _The Man_, when Maria's kindness during his illness not only turned him in her favour, but gave him an attachment for the place, so that now he doesn't really wish to sell at all! It is this mental perturbation, in his very slow nature, that is, I believe, keeping him an invalid! _What_ Maria wants of the farm neither Bart nor I can imagine. She has a little property, a few thousand dollars, enough probably to buy the farm and put it in livable repair, but this money we thought she was saving for the so-called rainy day (which is much more apt to be a very dry period) of spinsterhood! Of course she has some definite plan, but whether it is bees or boarders, jam or a kindergarten, we do not know, but we may be very sure that she is not jumping at random. Only I'm a little afraid, much as I should like her for a next-door neighbour, that, with her practical head, she would insist upon making hay of the lily meadow! "Straying away again from the horticultural to the domestic things," I hear you say. Yes; but now that the days are shortening a bit, it seems natural to think more about people again. If I only knew whether Maria means to give up her teaching this winter, I would ask her to stay with us and begin to train the Infant's mind in the way it should think, for my head and hands will be full and my heart overflowing, I imagine. Ah! this happy, blessed summer! Yes, I know that you know, though I have never told you. That's what it means to have real friends. But to the shrubs. Will you do me one more favour before even the suspicion of frost touches my enthusiasm, that I may have everything in order in my _Garden Boke_ against a planting season when Time may again hold his remorseless sway. This list of eighteen or more shrubs is made from those I know and like, with selections from that Aunt Lavinia sent me. Is it comprehensive, think you? Of course we cannot go into novelties in this direction, any more than we may with the roses. There is the little pale pink, Daphne Mezereum, that flowers before its leaves come in April. I saw it at Aunt Lavinia's and Mrs. Marchant had a great circle of the bushes. Then Forsythias, with yellow flowers, the red and pink varieties of Japanese quince, double-flowering almond and plum, the white spireas (they all have strange new names in the catalogue), the earliest being what mother used to call bridal-wreath (_prunifolia_), with its long wands covered with double flowers, like tiny white daisies, the St. Peter's wreath (_Van Houttei_) with the clustered flowers like small white wild roses, two pink species, Billardii and Anthony Waterer, beautiful if gathered before the flowers open, as the colour fades quickly, and a little dwarf bush, Fortune's white spirea, that I have seen at the florist's. Next the old-fashioned purple lilac, that seems to hold its own against all newcomers for garden use, the white tree lilac, the fragrant white mock orange or syringa (_Coronarius_), the Japanese barberry of yellow flowers and coral berries, the three deutzias, two being the tall _crenata_ and _scabra_ and the third the charming low-growing _gracilis_, the old-fashioned snowball or Guelder rose (_viburnum opulus sterilis_), the weigelias, rose-pink and white, the white summer-flowering hydrangea (_paniculata grandiflora_), and the brown-flowered, sweet-scented strawberry shrub (_calycanthus floridus_). "Truly a small slice from the loaf the catalogues offer," you say. Yes; but you must remember that our wild nursery has a long chain to add to these. In looking over the list of shrubs, it seems to me that the majority of them, like the early wild flowers, are white, but then it is almost as impossible to have too many white flowers as too many green leaves. _September 15._ I was prevented from finishing this until to-day, when I have a new domestic event to relate. Maria, no longer a music mistress, has leased the Opal Farm, it seems, and will remain with me this winter pending the repairing of the house, which Amos Opie himself is to superintend. I wish I could fathom the ins and outs of the matter, which are not at present clear, but probably I shall know in time. Meanwhile, I have Maria for a winter companion, and a mystery to solve and puzzle about; is not this truly feminine bliss? XVII THE INS AND OUTS OF THE MATTER Chronicled by the rays of light and sound waves upon the walls of the house at Opal Farm. PEOPLE INVOLVED _The Man from Everywhere_, keeping bachelor's hall in the eastern half of the farm home. _Amos Opie_, living in the western half of the house, the separating door being locked on his side. _Maria Maxwell_, who, upon hearing Opie is again ill, has dropped in to give him hot soup and medicine. Amos Opie was more than usually uncomfortable this particular September evening. It may have been either a rather sudden change in the weather or the fact that now that he was sufficiently well to get about the kitchen and sit in the well-house porch, of a sunny morning, Maria Maxwell had given up the habit of running over several times a day to give him his medicine and be sure that the kettle boiled and his tea was freshly drawn, instead of being what she called "stewed bitterness" that had stood on the leaves all day. Whichever it was, he felt wretched in body and mind, and began to think himself neglected and was consequently aggrieved. He hesitated a few minutes before he opened the door leading to _The Man's_ part of the house, took a few steps into the square hall, and called "Mr. Blake" in a quavering voice; but no answer came, as the bachelor had not yet returned from the reservoir. Going back, he settled heavily into the rocking-chair and groaned,--it was not from real pain, simply he had relaxed his grip and was making himself miserable,--then he began to talk to himself. "_She_ doesn't come in so often now _he's_ come home, and _he_ fights shy o' the place, thinkin' mebbe _she's_ around, and they both wants to buy. _He's_ offered me thirty-five hundred cash, and _she's_ offered me thirty hundred cash, which is all the place's worth, for it'll take another ten hundred to straighten out the house, with new winder frames, floorin' 'nd plaster 'nd shingles, beams and sills all bein' sound,--when the truth is I don't wish ter sell nohow, yet can't afford to hold! I don't see light noway 'nd I'm feelin' another turn comin' when I was nigh ready ter git about agin to Miss'ss Penrose flower poles. O lordy! lordy! I wish I had some more o' that settling medicine Maria Maxwell brought me" (people very seldom spoke of that young woman except by her complete name). "If I had my wind, I'd yell over to her to come up! Yes, I vow I would!" David, the hound, who had been lying asleep before the stove, in which the fire had died away, got up, stretched himself, and, going to his master, after gazing in his face for several minutes, licked his hands thoroughly and solemnly, in a way totally different from the careless and irresponsible licks of a joyous dog; then raising his head gave a long-drawn bay that finally broke from its melancholy music and degenerated into a howl. Amos must have dozed in his chair, for it seemed only a moment when a knock sounded on the side door and, without waiting for a reply, Maria Maxwell entered, a cape thrown about her shoulders, a lantern in one hand, and in the other a covered pitcher from which steam was curling. "I heard David howling and I went to our gate to look; I saw that there wasn't a light in the farm-house and so knew that something was the matter. No fire in the stove and the room quite chilly! Where is that neighbour of yours in the other half of the house? Couldn't he have brought you in a few sticks?" "He isn't ter hum just now," replied Amos, in tones that were unnecessarily feeble, while at the same time an idea entered his brain that almost made him chuckle; but the sound which was quenched in his throat only came to Maria as an uncomfortable struggle for breath that hastened her exit to the woodpile by the side fence for the material to revive the fire. In going round the house, her arms laden with logs, she bumped into the figure of _The Man_ leading his bicycle across the grass, which deadened his footfall, as the lantern she carried blinded her to all objects not within its direct rays. "Maria Maxwell! Is Opie ill again? You must not carry such a heavy load!" he exclaimed all in one breath, as he very quickly transferred the logs to his own arms, and was making the fire in the open stove almost before she had regained the porch, so that when she had lighted a lamp and drawn the turkey-red curtains, the reflections of the flames began to dance on the wall and cheerfulness suddenly replaced gloom. Still Amos sat in an attitude of dejection. Thanking _The Man_ for his aid, but taking no further notice of him, Maria began to heat the broth which was contained in the pitcher, asking Amos at the same time if he did not think that he would feel better in bed. "I dunno's place has much to do with it," he grumbled; "this can't go on no longer, it's doing for me, that it is!" Maria, thinking that he referred to bodily illness, hastened the preparations for bed, and _The Man_, feeling helpless as all men do when something active is being done in which they have no part, rose to go, and, with his hand on the latch of the porch door, said in a low voice: "If I might help you in any way, I should be very glad; I do not quite like leaving you alone with this old fellow,--you may need help in getting him to bed. Tell me frankly, would you like me to stay?" "Frankly I would rather you would not," said Maria, yet in so cordial a tone that no offence could be gathered from it in any way. So the door opened and closed again and Maria began the rather laborious task of coaxing the old man to bed. When once there, the medicine given, and the soup taken, which she could not but notice that he swallowed greedily, she seated herself before the fire, resolving that, if Amos did not feel better by nine o'clock, she would have Barney come over for the night, as of course she must return to be near the Infant. As she sat there she pictured for the hundredth time how she would invest her little capital and rearrange her life, if Amos consented to sell her the farm,--how best to restore the home without elaborating the care of it, and take one or two people to live with her who had been ill or needed rest in cheerful surroundings. Not always the same two, for that is paralyzing after a time when the freshness of energetic influence wears off; but her experience among her friends told her that in a city's social life there was an endless supply of overwrought nerves and bodies. The having a home was the motive, the guests the necessity. Then she closed her eyes again and saw the upper portion of the rich meadow land that had lain fallow so long turned into a flower farm wherein she would raise blossoms for a well-known city dealer who had, owing to his artistic skill, a market for his wares and decorative skill in all the cities of the eastern coast. She had consulted him and he approved her plan. The meadow was so sheltered that it would easily have a two weeks' lead over the surrounding country, and the desirability of her crop should lie in its perfection rather than rarity. Single violets in frames, lilies-of-the-valley for Easter and spring weddings, sweet peas, in separate colours, peonies, Iris, Gladioli, asters, and Dahlias: three acres in all. Upon these was her hope built, for with a market waiting, what lay between her and success but work? Yes, work and the farm. Then came the vision of human companionship, such as her cousin Bartram and Mary Penrose shared. Could flowers and a home make up for it? After all, what is home? Her thoughts tangled and snapped abruptly, but of one thing she was sure. She could no longer endure teaching singing to assorted tone-deaf children, many of whom could no more keep on the key than a cow on the tight rope; and when she found a talented child and gave it appreciative attention, she was oftentimes officially accused of favouritism by some disgruntled parent with a political pull, for that was what contact with the public schools of a large city had taught her to expect. A log snapped--she looked at the clock. It was exactly nine! Going to the window, she pulled back the curtain; the old moon, that has a fashion of working northward at this time, was rising from a location wholly new to her. She looked at Amos; he was very still, evidently asleep, yet unnaturally so, for the regular breathing of unconsciousness was not there and the firelight shadows made him look pinched and strange. Suddenly she felt alone and panic stricken; she forgot the tests so well known to her of pulse taking, and all the countryside tales of strokes and seizures came back to her. She did not hesitate a moment; a man was in the same house and she felt entirely outside of the strength of her own will. Going to the separating door, she found it locked, on which side she could not be sure; but seeing a long key hanging by the clock she tried it, on general principles. It turned hard, and the lock finally yielded with a percussive snap. Stepping into the hall, she saw a light in the front of the house, toward which she hurried. _The Man_ was seated by a table that was strewn with books, papers, and draughting instruments; he was not working, but in his turn gazing at the flames from a smouldering hearth fire, though his coat was off and the window open, for it was not cold but merely chilly. Hearing her step, he started, turned, and, as he saw her upon the threshold, made a grab for his coat and swung it into place. It is strange, this instinct in civilized man of not appearing coatless before a woman he respects. "Amos Opie is very ill, I'm afraid," she said gravely, without the least self-consciousness or thought of intrusion. "Shall I go for the doctor?" said _The Man_, reaching for his hat and at the same time opening the long cupboard by the chimney, from which he took a leather-covered flask. "No, not yet; please come and look at him. Yes, I want you very much!" This in answer to a questioning look in his eyes. Standing together by the bed, they saw the old man's eyelids quiver and then open narrowly. _The Man_ poured whiskey from his flask into a glass, added water, and held it to Amos's lips, where it was quickly and completely absorbed! Next he put a finger on Amos's pulse and after a minute closed his watch with a snap, but without comment. "You feel better now, Opie?" he questioned presently in a tone that, to the old man at least, was significant. "What gave you this turn? Is there anything on your mind? You might as well tell now, as you will have to sooner or later, and Miss Maxwell must go home presently. You'll have to put up with me for the rest of the night and a man isn't as cheerful a companion as a woman--is he, Amos?" "No, yer right there, Mr. Blake, and it's the idee o' loneliness that's upsettin' me! Come down ter facts, Mr. Blake, it's the offers I've had fer the farm--yourn and hern--and my wishin' ter favour both and yet not give it up myself, and the whole's too much fer me!" "Hers! Has Miss Maxwell made a bid for the farm? What do you want it for?" he said, turning quickly to Maria, who coloured and then replied quietly--"To live in! which is exactly what you said when I asked you a similar question a couple of months ago!" "The p'int is," continued Amos, quickly growing more wide awake, and addressing the ceiling as a neutral and impartial listener, "that Mr. Blake has offered me five hundred more than Maria Maxwell, and though I want ter favour her (in buyin', property goes to the highest bidder; it's only contract work that's fetched by the lowest, and I never did work by contract--it's too darned frettin'), I can't throw away good money, and neither of 'em yet knows that whichsomever of 'em buys it has got ter give me a life right ter live in the summer kitchen and fetch my drinkin' water from the well in the porch! A lone widder man's a sight helplesser 'n a widder, but yet he don't get no sympathy!" _The Man from Everywhere_ began to laugh, and catching Maria's eye she joined him heartily. "How do you mean to manage?" he asked in a way that barred all thought of intrusion. "I'm going to have a flower farm and take in two invalids--no, not cranks or lunatics, but merely tired people," she added, a little catch coming in her voice. "Then you had better begin with me, for I'm precious tired of taking care of myself, and here is Amos also applying, so I do not see but what your establishment is already complete!" Then, as he saw by her face that the subject was not one for jest, he said, in his hearty way that Mary Penrose likes, "Why not let me buy the place, as mine was the first offer, put it in order, and then lease it to you for three years, with the privilege of buying if you find that your scheme succeeds? If the house is too small to allow two lone men a room each, I can add a lean-to to match Opie's summer kitchen, for you know sometimes a woman finds it comfortable to have a man in the house!" Maria did not answer at first, but was looking at the one uncurtained window, where the firelight again made opals of the panes. Then turning, she said, "I will think over your offer, Mr. Blake, if everything may be upon a strictly business basis. But how about Amos? He seems better, and I ought to be going. I do not know why I should have been so foolish, but for a moment he did not seem to breathe, and I thought it was a stroke." "I'm comin' too all in good time, now my mind's relieved," replied the old man, with a chuckle, "and I think I'll weather to-night fer the sake o' fixin' that deed termorrow, Mr. Blake, if you'll kindly give me jest a thimbleful more o' that old liquor o' yourn--I kin manage it fust rate without the water, thank 'ee!" _The Man_ followed Maria to the door and out into the night. He did not ask her if he might go with her--he simply walked by her side for once unquestioned. Maria spoke first, and rather more quickly and nervously than usual: "I suppose you think that my scheme in wishing the farm is a madcap one, but I'm sure I could not see why you should wish to own it!" "Yes and no! I can well understand why you should desire a broader, freer life than your vocation allows, but--well, as for reading women's motives, I have given that up long since; it often leads to trouble though I have never lost my interest in them. "I think Amos Opie will revive, now that his mind is settled" (if it had been sufficiently light, Maria would have seen an expression upon _The Man's_ face indicative of his belief that the recent attack of illness was not quite motiveless, even though he forgave the ruse). "In a few days, when the deeds are drawn, will you not, as my prospective tenant, come and look over the house by daylight and tell me what changes would best suit your purpose, so that I may make some plans? I imagine that Amos revived will be able to do much of the work himself with a good assistant. "When would you like the lease to begin? In May? It is a pity that you could not be here in the interval to overlook it all, for the pasture should be ploughed at once for next year's gardening." "May will be late; best put it at the first of March. As to overseeing, I shall not be far away. I'm thinking of accepting cousin Mary's offer to stay with her and teach the Infant and a couple of other children this winter, which may be well for superintending the work, as I suppose you are off again with the swallows, as usual." "Oh, no, you forget the reservoir and the tunnelling of Three Brothers for the aqueduct to Bridgeton!" "Then let it be March first!" said Maria, after hesitating a moment, during which she stood looking back at Opal Farm lying at peace in the moonlight; "only, in making the improvements, please do them as if for any one else, and remember that it is to be a strictly business affair!" "And why should you think that I would deal otherwise by you?" _The Man_ said quickly, stepping close, where he could see the expression of her face. Maria, feeling herself cornered, did not answer immediately, and half turned her face away,--only for a moment, however. Facing him, she said, "Because men of your stamp are always good to women,--always doing them kindnesses both big and little (ask Mary Penrose),--and sometimes kindness hurts!" "Well, then, the lease and all pertaining to it shall be strictly in the line of business until you yourself ask for a modification,--but be careful, I may be a hard landlord!" Then, dropping his guard, he said suddenly, "Why is it that you and I--man and woman--temperamentally alike, both interested in the same things, and of an age to know what in life is worth while, should stand so aloof? Is there no more human basis upon which I can persuade you to come to Opal Farm when it is mine? Give me a month, three months,--lessen the distance you always keep between us, and give me leave to convince you! Why will you insist upon deliberately keeping up a barrier raised in the beginning when I was too stupidly at home in your cousin's house to see that I might embarrass you? Frankly, do you dislike me?" Maria began two different sentences, stumbled, and stopped short; then drawing herself up and looking _The Man_ straight in the face, she said, "I have kept a barrier between us, and deliberately, as you say, but--" here she faltered--"it was because I found you too interesting; the barrier was to protect my own peace of mind more than to rebuff you." "Then I may try to convince you that my plan is best?" "Yes," said Maria, with a glint of her mischievous smile, "if you have plenty of time to spare." "And you will give me no more encouragement than this? No good wish or omen?" "Yes," said Maria again, "I wish that you may succeed--" here she slipped her hand in the belt of her gown and drew out a little chamois bag attached to her watch, "and for an omen, here is the opal you gave me--you give it a happy interpretation and one is very apt to lose an unset stone, you know!" But as neither walls nor leaves have tongues, Mary Penrose never learned the real ins and outs of this matter. XVIII THE VALUE OF WHITE FLOWERS (Barbara Campbell to Mary Penrose) _Oaklands, September 29._ Michaelmas. The birthdays of our commuters are not far apart. This being Evan's festival, we have eaten the annual goose in his honour, together with several highly indigestible old-country dishes of Martha Corkle's construction, for she comes down from the cottage to preside over this annual feast. Now the boys have challenged Evan to a "golf walk" over the Bluffs and back again, the rough-and-ready course extending that distance, and I, being "o'er weel dined," have curled up in the garden-overlook window of my room to write to you. It has been a good gardener's year, and I am sorry that the fall anemones and the blooming of the earliest chrysanthemums insist upon telling me that it is nearly over,--that is, as far as the reign of complete garden colour is concerned. And amid our vagrant summer wanderings among gardens of high or low degree, no one point has been so recurrent or interesting as the distribution of colour, and especially the dominance of white flowers in any landscape or garden in which they appear. In your last letter you speak of the preponderance of white among the flowering shrubs as well as the early blossoms of spring. That this is the case is one of the strong points in the decorative value of shrubs, and in listing seeds for the hardy or summer beds or sorting the bushes for the rosary, great care should be taken to have a liberal sprinkling of white, for the white in the flower kingdom is what the diamond is in the mineral world, necessary as a setting for all other colours, as well as for its own intrinsic worth. Look at a well-cut sapphire of flawless tint. It is beautiful surely, but in some way its depth of colour needs illumination. Surround it with evenly matched diamonds and at once life enters into it. Fill a tall jar with spires of larkspur of the purest blue known to garden flowers. Unless the sun shines fully on them they seem to swallow light; mingle with them some stalks of white foxgloves, Canterbury bells, or surround them with Madonna lilies, a fringe of spirea, or the slender _Deutzia gracilis_, more frequently seen in florists' windows than in the garden, and a new meaning is given the blue flower; the black shadows disappear from its depth and sky reflections replace them. The blue-fringed gentian, growing deep among the dark grasses of low meadows, may be passed over without enthusiasm as a dull purplish flower by one to whom its possibilities are unknown; but come upon it backgrounded by Michaelmas daisies or standing alone in a meadow thick strewn with the white stars of grass of Parnassus or wands of crystal ladies' tresses, and all at once it becomes,-- "Blue, blue, as if the sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall!" The same white setting enhances the brighter colours, though in a less degree than blue, which is, next to magenta, one of the most difficult colours to place in the garden. In view of this fact it is not strange that it is a comparatively unusual hue in the flower world and a very rare one among our neighbourly eastern birds, the only three that wear it conspicuously being the bluebird, indigo bird, and the bluejay. It is this useful quality as a setting that gives value to many white flowers lacking intrinsic beauty, like sweet alyssum, candy-tuft, the yarrows, and the double feverfew. In buying seeds of flowers in mixed varieties, such as asters, verbenas, Sweet-William, pansies, or any flower in short that has a white variety, it is always safe to buy a single packet of the latter, because I have often noticed that the usual mixtures, for some reason, are generally shy not only of the white but often of the very lightest tints as well. In selecting asters the average woman gardener may not be prepared to buy the eight or ten different types that please her fancy in as many separate colours; a mixture of each must suffice, but a packet of white of each type should be added if the best results are to be achieved. The same applies to sweet peas when planted in mixture; at least six ounces of either pure white or very light, and therefore quasi-neutral tints harmonizing with all darker colours, should be added. For it is in the lighter tints of this flower that its butterfly characteristics are developed. Keats had not the heavy deep-hued or striped varieties in mind when he wrote of "... Sweet Peas on tiptoe for a flight, With wings of gentle flush: o'er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things To bind them all about with tiny rings." If you examine carefully the "flats" of pansies growing from mixed seed and sold in the market-places or at local florists', you will notice that in eight out of ten the majority of plants are of the darker colours. There are white varieties of almost every garden flower that blooms between the last frost of spring and winter ice. The snowdrop of course is white and the tiny little single English violet of brief though unsurpassing fragrance; we have white crocuses, white hyacinths, narcissus, lilies-of-the-valley, Iris, white rock phlox, or moss-pink, Madonna and Japan lilies, gladiolus, white campanulas of many species, besides the well-known Canterbury bells, white hollyhocks, larkspurs, sweet Sultan, poppies, phloxes, and white annual as well as hardy chrysanthemums. Almost all the bedding plants, like the geranium, begonia, ageratum, lobelia, etc., have white species. There are white pinks of all types, white roses, and wherever crimson rambler is seen Madame Plantier should be his bride; white stocks, hollyhocks, verbenas, zinnias, Japanese anemones, Arabis or rock cress, and white fraxinella; white Lupins, nicotiana, evening primroses, pentstemons, portulaca, primulas, vincas, and even a whitish nasturtium, though its flame-coloured partner salvia declines to have her ardour so modified. Among vines we have the white wisteria, several white clematis, the moon-flower, and other Ipomeas, many climbing and trailing roses, the English polygonum, the star cucumber, etc., so that there is no lack of this harmonizing and modifying colour (that is not a colour after all) if we will but use it intelligently. Aside from the setting of flower to flower, white has another and wider function. As applied to the broader landscape it is not only a maker of perspective, but it often indicates a picture and fairly pulls it from obscurity, giving the same lifelike roundness that the single white dot lends in portraiture to the correctly tinted but still lifeless eye. Take for instance a wide field without groups of trees to divide and let it be covered only with grass, no matter how green and luxuriant, and there is a monotonous flatness, that disappears the moment the field is blooming with daisies or snowy wild asters. Follow the meandering line of a brook through April meadows. Where does the eye pause with the greatest sense of pleasure and restfulness? On the gold of the marsh marigolds edging the water? or on the silver-white plumes of shad-bush that wave and beckon across the marshes, as they stray from moist ground toward the light woods? Could any gay colour whatsoever compete with the snow of May apple orchards?--the fact that the snow is often rose tinged only serving to accentuate the contrasting white. In the landscape all light tints that at a distance have the value of white are equally to the purpose, and can be used for hedges, boundaries, or what may be called punctuation points. German or English Iris and peonies are two very useful plants for this purpose, flowering in May and June and for the rest of the season holding their substantial, well-set-up foliage. These two plants, if they receive even ordinary good treatment, may also be relied upon for masses of uniform bloom held well above the leaves; and while pure white peonies are a trifle monotonous and glaring unless blended with the blush, rose, salmon, and cream tints, there are any number of white iris both tall and dwarf with either self-toned flowers, or pencilled, feathered, or bordered with a variety of delicate tints, and others equally valuable of pale shades of lilac or yellow, the recurved falls being of a different tint. Thus does Nature paint her pictures and give us hints to follow, and yet a certain art phase proclaims Nature's colour combinations crude and rudimentary forsooth! [Illustration: AN IRIS HEDGE.] Nature is never crude except through an unsuccessful human attempt to reproduce the uncopyable. Give one of these critics all the colour combinations of the evening sky and let him manipulate them with wires and what a scorched omelet he would make of the most simple and natural sunset! While Nature does not locate the different colours on the palette to please the eye of man, but to carry out the various steps in the great plan of perpetuation, yet on that score it is all done with a sense of colour value, else why are the blossoms of deep woods, as well as the night-blooming flowers that must lure the moth and insect seekers through the gloom, white or light-coloured? In speaking of white or pale flowers there is one low shrub with evergreen leaves and bluish-white flowers that I saw blooming in masses for the first time not far from Boston in early May. There was a slight hollow where the sun lay, that was well protected from the wind. This sloped gently upward toward some birches that margined a pond. The birches themselves were as yet but in tassel, the near-by grass was green in spots only, and yet here in the midst of the chill, reluctant promise of early spring was firmness of leaf and clustered flowers of almost hothouse texture and fragrance. Not a single spray or a dozen, but hundreds of them, covered the bushes. This shrub is _Daphne cneorum_, a sturdier evergreen cousin of _Daphne mezereum_, that brave-hearted shrub that often by the south wall of my garden hangs its little pink flower clusters upon bare twigs as early as the tenth of March. Put it on your list of desirables, for aside from any other situation it will do admirably to edge laurels or rhododendrons and so bring early colour of the rosy family hue to brighten their dark glossy leaves, for the sight and the scent thereof made me resolve to cover a certain nook with it, where the sun lodges first every spring. I am planting mine this autumn, which is necessary with things of such early spring vitality. Another garden point akin to colour value in that it makes or mars has, I may say, run itself into my vision quite sharply and painfully this summer, and many a time have I rubbed my eyes and looked again in wonder that such things could be. This is the spoiling of a well-thought-out garden by the obtrusive staking of its plants. Of course there are many tall and bushy flowers--hollyhocks, golden glow, cosmos--that have not sufficient strength of stem to stand alone when the weight of soaking rain is added to their flowers and the wind comes whirling to challenge them to a dizzy dance, which they cannot refuse, and it inevitably turns their heavy heads and leaves them prone. [Illustration: DAPHNE CNEORUM.] Besides these there are the lower, slender, but top-heavy lilies, gladioli, carnations, and the like, that must not be allowed to soil their pretty faces in the mud. A little thinking must be done and stakes suitable to the height and girth of each plant chosen. If the purse allows, green-painted stakes of sizes varying from eighteen inches for carnations to six feet for Dahlias are the most convenient; but lacking these, the natural bamboos, that may be bought in bundles by the hundred, in canes of eight feet or more, and afterward cut in lengths to suit, are very useful, being light, tough, and inconspicuous. In supporting a plant, remember that the object is as nearly as possible to supplement its natural stem. Therefore cut the stake a little shorter than the top of the foliage and drive it firmly at the back of the plant, fastening the main stem to the stake by loosely woven florist's string. If, on the other hand, the plant to be supported is a maze of side branches, like the cosmos, or individual bushes blended so as to form a hedge, a row of stout poles, also a little lower than the bushes, should be set firmly behind them, the twine being woven carefully in and out among the larger branches, and then tightened carefully, so that the whole plant is gradually drawn back and yet the binding string is concealed. If it is possible to locate cosmos, hollyhocks, and Dahlias (especially Dahlias) in the same place for several successive years, a flanking trellis fence of light posts, with a single top and bottom rail and poultry wire of a three inch mesh between, will be found a good investment. Against this the plants may be tethered in several places, and thus not only separate branches can be supported naturally, but individual flowers as well, in the case of the large exhibition Dahlias. [Illustration: A TERRIBLE EXAMPLE!] Practicable as is the proper carrying out of the matter, in a score of otherwise admirable gardens we have seen the results of weeks and months of preparation either throttled and bound martyrlike to a stake or twisted and tethered, until the natural, habit of growth was wholly changed. In some cases the plants were so meshed in twine and choked that it seemed as if a spiteful fairy had woven a "cat's cradle" over them or that they had followed out the old proverb and, having been given enough rope, literally hanged themselves. In other gardens green stakes were set at intervals (I noticed it in the case of gladioli and carnations especially) and strings carried from one stake to the other, leaving each plant in the centre of a twine square, like chessmen imprisoned on the board. But the most terrible example of all was where either the owner or the gardener, for they were not one and the same, had purchased a quantity of half-inch pine strips at a lumber yard and proceeded to scatter them about his beds at random, regardless of height or suitability, very much as if some neighbouring Fourth of July celebration had showered the place with rocket sticks. If your young German has time in the intervals of tree-planting and trellis-making, get him to trim some of the cedars of a diameter of two or three inches and stack them away for Dahlia poles. Next season you will become a victim of these gorgeous velvet flowers, I foresee, especially as I have fully a barrel of the "potatoes" of some very handsome varieties to bestow upon you. Make the most of Meyer, for he will probably grow melancholy as soon as cool weather sets in and he thinks of winter evenings and a sweetheart he has left in the fatherland! We have had several Germans and they all had _lieber schatz_, for jealousy or the scorn of whom they had left home, were for the same reason loath to stay away from it, and at the same time, owing to contending emotions, were unable to work so that they might return. Are you not thinking about returning to your indoor bed and board again? With warm weather I fly out of the door as a second nature, but with a smart promise of frost I turn about again and everything--furniture, pictures, books, and the dear people themselves--seems refreshingly new and wholly lovable! If you are thinking of making out a book list of your needs as an answer to your mother's or your "in-law's" query, "What do you want for Christmas?" write at the beginning--Bailey's _Cyclopædia of American Horticulture_, in red ink. Lavinia and Martin Cortright gave it to us last Christmas, the clearly printed first edition on substantial paper in four thick volumes, mind you, and it is the referee and court of appeals of the Garden, You, and I in general and myself in particular. Not only will it tell you everything that you wish or ought to know, but do it completely and truthfully. In short it is the perfect antidote to _Garden Goozle_! XIX PANDORA'S CHEST (Mary Penrose to Barbara Campbell) _Woodridge, October 10_. Nearly a month of pen silence on my part, during which I have felt many times as if I must go from one to another of our chosen trees in the river woods and shake the leaves down so that the transplanting might proceed forthwith, lest the early winter that Amos Opie predicts both by a goose bone and certain symptoms of his own shall overtake us. Be this as it may, the leaves thus far prefer their airy quarters to huddling upon the damp ground. However, there is another reason for haste more urgent than the fear of frost--the melancholy vein that you predicted we should find in Meyer is fast developing, and as we wish to have him leave us in a perfectly natural way, we think it best that his stay shall not be prolonged. At first he seemed not only absorbed by his work and to enjoy the garden and especially the river woods, but the trees and water rushing by. A week ago a change came over him; he became morose and silent, and yesterday when I was admiring, half aloud, the reflection of a beautiful scarlet oak mirrored in the still backwater of the river, he paused in the kneeling position in which he was loosening the grasp of a white flowering dogwood, and first throwing out his arms and then beating his chest with them, exclaimed--"Other good have trees and water than for the eye to see; they can surely hang and drown the man the heart of whom holds much sorrow, and that man is I!" Of course I knew that it was something a little out of the ordinary state of affairs that had sent a man of his capability to tramp about as a vagrant sort of labourer, but I had no previous idea that melancholy had taken such a grip upon him. Much do I prefer Larry, with periods of hilarity ending in peaceful "shlape." Certain peoples have their peculiar racial characteristics, but after all, love of an occasional drink seems a more natural proposition than a tendency to suicide, while as to the relative value of the labour itself, that is always an individual not a racial matter. I too am feeling the domestic lure of cooler weather. All the day I wish to be in the open, but when the earlier twilight closes in, the house, with its lamps, hearth fires, and voices, weaves a new spell about me, though having once opened wide the door of outdoors it can never be closed. Do you remember the _Masque of Pandora_, and the mysterious chest? "_Pandora_ Hast thou never Lifted the lid? _Epimetheus_ The oracle forbids. Safely concealed there from all mortal eyes Forever sleeps the secret of the Gods. Seek not to know what they have hidden from thee Till they themselves reveal it." Bart was reading it aloud to me last night. Prose read aloud always frets me, because one's mind travels so much faster than the spoken words and arrives at the conclusion, even if not always the right one, long before the printed climax is reached; but with good poetry it is different--the thoughts are so crystallized that the sound of a melodious voice liberates them more swiftly. Verily Pandora's Chest has been opened this season here in the garden; the gods were evidently not unwilling and turned the lock for me, though perhaps I have thrown back the cover too rashly, for out has flown, instead of dire disaster, ambition in a flock of winged ideals, hopes, and wishes masquerading cleverly as necessities, that will keep me alert in trying to overtake and capture them all my life long. Last night, once again comfortably settled in the den, we took inventory of the season's doings, and unlike most ventures, find there is nothing to write upon the nether page that records loss. Of the money set aside for the improvement of the knoll half yet remains, allowing for the finishing of the tree transplanting. Into this remainder we are preparing to tuck the filling for the rose bed, a goodly store of lily bulbs, some flowering shrubs, an openwork wire fence to be a vine-covered screen betwixt us and the road, instead of the broken rattling pickets, a new harness for Romeo to wear when he returns home, as a thank offering for his comfortable services (really the bridle of the old one is quite scratched to bits upon the various trees and rough fence rails to which he has been tethered), and last of all, what do you think? Three guesses may be easily wasted without hitting the mark, for instead of, as we expected, tearing down the old barn, our summer camp, we are going to remodel it to be a permanent outdoor shelter. It is to have a wide chimney and fireplace at one end, before which our beds may be drawn campfire fashion if it is too cool, and adjustable shutters so that it may be either merely a roof or a fairly substantial cabin and at all possible seasons a study and playroom for us all. Then too we shall overlook "Maria Maxwell's Experiment," as Bart calls her scheme of running the Opal Farm. We were heartily glad to know that she had leased and not bought it, but we were much surprised to learn, first through the village paper, and not the man and woman concerned, that "Mr. Ross Blake, the engineer in charge of the construction of the new reservoir, believing in the future of the real-estate boom in Woodridge (we didn't know there was one), has recently purchased the Amos Opie farm as an investment, the deed being to-day recorded in the town house. He has already leased it for a young ladies' seminary, pending its remodelling, for which he himself is drawing the plans." Dear _Man from Everywhere!_ much as I like Maria, I think he would be the more restful neighbour of the two. What a complete couple they might have made, but that is a bit of drift thought that I have put out of my head, for if any two people ever had a chance this summer to fall in love if they had the capacity, it was Maria and _The Man_, and the strange part of it is that as far as may be known neither is nourishing the sentiment of a melancholy past and no other present man or woman stands between; perhaps it is some uncanny Opal spell that stays them. Yet even as it is, in this farm restoration both are unconsciously preparing to take a peep into Pandora's Chest full of the unknown, so let us hope the gods are willing. _Hallowe'en._ The Infant and Anastasia, her memories revived by Larry's voluble and personally adapted folk-lore, are preparing all sorts of traps and feasts for good luck and fairies, while Lady Lazy is content to look at the log fire and plan for putting the garden to sleep. Yesterday I finished taking up my collection of peonies, Iris, and hardy chrysanthemums that had been "promised" at various farm gardens beyond the river woods, and duly cleared off my indebtednesses for the same with a varied assortment of articles ranging from gladioli bulbs, which seem to multiply by cube root here, to a pair of curling tongs, an article long coveted by a simple-minded woman of more than middle age, for the resuscitation of her Sunday front locks, and which though willing to acquire by barter she, as a deacon's wife, had a prejudice against buying openly over the counter. Meyer has gone, having relapsed into comparative cheerfulness a few days before his departure on the receipt of a bulky letter which, in spite of the wear and tear of travel, remained heavily scented, coupled with Bart's assurance that he could remain in America another four weeks and still be at a certain Baltic town of an unpronounceable name in time for Christmas. In spite of heavy frosts my pansies are a daily cheer, but it is really of no use for even the flowers of very hardy plants to struggle on against nature's decree of a winter sleeping time; the wild animals all come more or less under its spell, and the dogs, the nearest creatures of all to man, as soon as snow covers the ground and they have their experience of ice-cut feet, drowse as near the fire as possible and in case of a stove almost under it. I wonder if nature did not intend that we also should have at least a half-drowsy brooding time, instead of making the cold season so often a period of stress and strain and short days stretched into long nights. If so, we have taken the responsibility of acting for ourselves, of flying in nature's face in this as in many other ways. Does it ever seem to you strange that our contrariness began within the year of our legendary creation, when Eve came to misery not by gazing in a bonnet shop, but when innocently wandering in her garden, the most beautiful of earth? By which we women gardeners should all take warning, for though the Tree of Life may be found in every garden, "Yet sin and sorrow's pedigree Spring from a garden and a tree." _December 10._ Snow a month earlier than last year, but we rejoice in it, for it will keep the winds from the roots of the trees not yet wholly settled and comfortable in their new homes. The young hemlocks are bewitching in their wreaths and garlands, and one or two older trees give warmth to the woods beyond the Opal Farm and sweep the low, snow-covered meadow, that looks like a crystal lake, with their feathery branches. The cedars were beautiful in the May woods and so are they now, where I see them through the gap standing sentinels against the white of the brush lot. It seems to me that we cannot have too many evergreens any more than we can have too much cheerfulness. [Illustration: THE LOW, SNOW-COVERED MEADOW THAT LOOKS LIKE A CRYSTAL LAKE. Copyright, 1902, H. Hendrickson] There are no paths in the garden now, a hint that our feet must travel elsewhere for a time, and I confess that Lady Lazy has not yet redeemed herself, and at present likes her feet to fall upon soft rugs. The Infant's gray squirrels, Punch and Judy, and the persistent sparrows have found their way to the house, taking their daily rations from the roof of the shed. Punch, stuffed to repletion, has a _cache_ under the old syringa bushes, the sparrows seeming to escort him in his travels to and fro, but whether for companionship or in hope of gain, who can say? The plans for the remodelling of Opal Farm-house are really very attractive and yet it will be delightfully simple to care for. Maria and _The Man_ have agreed better about them than over anything I have ever heard them discuss; but then, as it is purely a business arrangement, I suppose that Maria feels free from her usual pernickety restraint. We surmise that either she has much more laid by than we supposed or she is waxing extravagant, for she has had the opal, that _The Man_ gave her once in exchange for an old coin, surrounded with very good diamonds and set as a ring! Really I never before noticed what fine strong white hands she has. I shall ask Father Penrose for the _Cyclopædia_--it has a substantial sound that may soften his suspicion that we are not practical and were not properly grieved over the loss of the hens! XX EPILOGUE (DICTATED) _Woodridge, January 3._ In the face of circumstances that prevent my holding the pen in my own hand, I am resolved that the first chronicle of the New Year shall be mine,--for by me it has sent The Garden, You, and I a new member and our own garden a new tree, an oak we hope. The Infant is exultant at the evident and direct result of her dealings with the fairies, and keeps a plate of astonishing goodies by the nursery hearth fire; these, if the fairies do not feast upon personally, are appreciated by their horses, the mice. His name is John Bartram Penrose, a good one to conjure with gardenwise, though he is no kin to the original. He has fresh-air lungs, and if he does not wax strong of limb and develop into a naturalist of some sort, he cannot blame his parents or their garden vacation. MARY PENROSE, her [Illustration: ROSE MOTIF.] mark. [Illustration: PUNCH ... HAS A CACHE UNDER THE OLD SYRINGA BUSHES.] FOR THE HARDY SEED BED ====================+=========+========+=======+=======+==================== NAME |TENDER | | | | |OR HARDY | COLOUR |HEIGHT |SEASON |REMARKS --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- Aquilegia-COLUMBINE | H.P.* | | 3 ft. |June |Columbines are among | | | | |the most graceful Chrysantha | |Golden | | |and easily raised | |yellow | | |of hardy plants. Coerulea | |Rich | | |They will thrive in | |Blue | | |open borders, but do Glandulosa vera | |Blue and| | |better in partial | |white | | |shade, after the | | | | |habit of our local | | | | |species, the "Red | | | | |Bells" of hillsides | | | | |and rocky wood. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- CANTERBURY-BELL | H.B.** | | 2 ft. |June |Old-fashioned plants Campanula media | |Blue, | | |of decorative value. | |white, | | |As with all | |pink | | |biennials, the plant | | | | |dies soon after | | | | |maturing seed; a new | | | | |sowing should be | | | | |made each spring and | | | | |seedlings | | | | |transplanted as soon | | | | |as the old plant | | | | |dies; this secures | | | | |strong growth before | | | | |winter. CHIMNEY BELL-FLOWER | H.P. |Blue |3-4 ft.|Aug. |Desirable because of | | | |to |of its late blooming Campanula | | | |Oct. |combined with its pyramadalis | | | | |striking appearance. | | | | |Should be planted in | | | | |connection with the | | | | |tall white hardy | | | | |phlox. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- Coreopsis | H.P. |Yellow |1-2 ft.|Summer |A sturdy plant lanceolata | | | | |either for massing | | | | |or as a border to | | | | |sunny shrubberies. | | | | |Flowers carried on | | | | |long stems suitable | | | | |for cutting. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- CANDYTUFT--Iberis | H.P. | |1 ft. |Summer |When transplanted | | | | |from seed bed, Sempervirens | |White | | |plants should be | | | | |set eight inches | | | | |apart to make the | | | | |best effect, given | | | | |room, they make fine | | | | |compact bushes. The | | | | |foliage is | | | | |evergreen. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- Delphinium-- | H.P. |Blue, |3-7 ft.|June, |Our most satisfactory LARKSPUR |Flowering|all | |July, |blue flower, but |first |shades | |and |like all of this |year | |Oct. |colour should have | | | | |a setting of white. | | | | |If plants are cut | | | | |down to the ground | | | | |as soon as the | | | | |blossoms fade, they | | | | |will give a second | | | | |crop in October. D. Grandiflorum | |White |1-2 ft.|Summer |These flowers have Chinensis | |and blue| | |a peculiar | | | | |brilliancy, and if SIBERIAN LARKSPUR | | | | |set in a bed edged | | | | |by sweet alyssum, | | | | |are very | | | | |satisfactory. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- Dianthus | H.P. | |1 ft. |May |There is nothing plumarius | | | |and |more suggestive of SCOTCH CLOVE PINK | |Various | |June |the old time gardens Her Majesty | |White | | " |of sweet flowers Lord Lyon | |Pink | | " |than these fringed | | | | |pinks. If once | | | | |established in a | | | | |well-drained spot, | | | | |and not harassed, | | | | |they will sow | | | | |themselves and last | | | | |for years. Her | | | | |Majesty and Lord | | | | |Lyon are new | | | | |varieties, and as | | | | |double as | | | | |carnations. Dianthus | H.P. |Var. |6 in.- |Summer |Excellent for either Chinensis | | | 1 ft. | |bedding or edging. CHINA PINK |first | | | |Have an apple | year | | | |fragrance. Dianthus | H.P. |Var. |9 in.- |Summer |These summer pinks Heddewigii | | | 1 ft. | |are not grown in JAPAN PINK |first | | | |masses as freely as | year | | | |as they deserve. | | | | |They bloom with all | | | | |the profusion of | | | | |annuals without | | | | |their frailty. For a | | | | |succession the seed | | | | |should be sown every | | | | |year, as the old | | | | |plants bloom | | | | |earliest and the new | | | | |follow them. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- Dianthus barbatus | H.P. |Var. | 1 ft. |June |An old-time SWEET-WILLIAM | | | | |favourite with | | | | |slightly fragrant | | | | |blossoms that will | | | | |keep a week in water | | | | |when cut. A bed when | | | | |once established | | | | |will last a long | | | | |time if a few of the | | | | |finest heads of | | | | |flowers are allowed | | | | |to go to seed, as | | | | |with many perennials | | | | |the younger plants | | | | |bloom more | | | | |vigorously than the | | | | |old. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- Digitalis--FOXGLOVE | H.P. | |3 ft. |June |A dignified as well Variety | |White, | | |as a poetic flower gloxinoides | |pink, | | |if given its | |purple, | | |natural, half-wild | |light | | |surroundings. It | |yellow | | |will thrive best | | | | |in partial shade if | | | | |the soil be good. | | | | |While if the stalks | | | | |of seeds are saved | | | | |and the contents | | | | |scattered along wild | | | | |walks or at the edge | | | | |of woods, surprising | | | | |results will follow. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- FEVERFEW | H.P. | |1-3 ft.|Summer |A very useful, Chrysanthemum |first |White | | |double-flowered parthenium, | year | | | |white composite, double | | | | |resembling a small | | | | |chrysanthemum. It | | | | |should be used | | | | |freely as a setting | | | | |for blue, pink, or | | | | |magenta flowers. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- FORGET-ME-NOT | H.P. | |1 ft. |Spring |Well-known flowers Myosotis alpestris | |Blue | |and |that do best in Victoria | | | |autumn |moist borders or | | | | |places where they | | | | |can be watered | | | | |freely. If cut down | | | | |after first | | | | |flowering, will | | | | |bloom again in | | | | |autumn. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- Gaillardia | H.P. |Yellow |1 ft. |Until |Brilliant and hardy cristata | first |and | |frost |plants for edging BLANKET FLOWER | year |red | | |shrubbery or in | | | | |separate beds. | | | | |Sprawl too much for | | | | |the mixed border. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- HOLLYHOCKS | H.P. | | |Summer |Of late years these Double and single | |All |4-7 ft.| |decorative plants | |colors | | |have suffered from a New Hybrid Hollyhock| |All |4 ft. | |blight that turns flowers first year | |colors | | |the leaves yellow from seed | | | | |and soon spreads to | | | | |the stalks. Use | | | | |great care that the | | | | |soil be new and | | | | |well drained, | | | | |sprinkle powdered | | | | |sulphur and unslaked | | | | |lime on surface and | | | | |dig it in shortly | | | | |before setting out | | | | |the seedlings. | | | | |Also spray young | | | | |plants well with | | | | |diluted Bordeaux | | | | |mixture at intervals | | | | |before the flowers | | | | |show colour. | | | | |A large bed should | | | | |be given to this | | | | |flower, with either | | | | |a wall or hedge as a | | | | |background, and they | | | | |should be allowed to | | | | |seed themselves from | | | | |the best flowers. | | | | |Thus a natural and | | | | |artistic effect is | | | | |produced unlike the | | | | |stiff lines of | | | | |tightly staked | | | | |plants. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- HONESTY | H.B. | | | |The old English Lunaria biennis | |White |2 ft. |June |flower of colonial | | to | | |gardens. Should be | | lilac | | |massed. The silvery | | | | |moons of its seed | | | | |vessels make unusual | | | | |winter bouquets. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- LUPINS | H.P. | | | |Good for planting Lupinus polyphyllus | |Rich |3 ft. |June |before the white | | blue | | |flowering June | | | | |shrubs. Flowers borne | | | | |erect upon long | | | | |spikes. Very | | | | |difficult to | | | | |transplant unless | | | | |the long root is | | | | |kept intact. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- HORSEMINT | H.P. | |2-3 ft.|Summer |Sturdy and somewhat Monada didyma-Bee | |Deep red| | |coarse plants, their balm or Oswego tea | | | | |square stems telling Monada fistulosa | | | | |the kinship with the WILD BERGAMOT | H.P. |Lavender|3-6 ft.|Summer |familiar mints. Of | | | | |good decorative | | | | |effect, should be | | | | |used as a background | | | | |in the bed of sweet | | | | |odours, as | | | | |especially after a | | | | |rain they yield the | | | | |garden a clean | | | | |fragrance of tonic | | | | |quality. The bergamot | | | | |grows wild in many | | | | |places and is easily | | | | |transplanted. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- Primula | H.P. | |6 in. |May |The beautiful tufted ENGLISH FIELD | |Primrose| | |primrose of the PRIMROSE | |yellow | | |English poets. Grows | | | | |in this country best | | | | |on moist, grassy | | | | |banks under high or | | | | |in partial shade. | | | | |It has, during the | | | | |ten years that I | | | | |have grown it, | | | | |proved entirely | | | | |hardy. The seed may | | | | |be in the ground a | | | | |year before | | | | |germinating, but | | | | |once established the | | | | |plant cares for | | | | |itself. Primula Japonica | H.P. |Yellows |6 in.- |May |The border primrose mixed border | |and reds| 1 ft. | |so freely used in | | | | |England but rarely | | | | |seen in everyday | | | | |gardens here, where | | | | |I have found it | | | | |perfectly hardy. | | | | |Makes a border of | | | | |rich colour for the | | | | |May garden. Must be | | | | |watered freely in | | | | |hot, dry seasons. Primula Officinalis | H.P. |Yellow |1 ft. |May |The English cowslip, COWSLIP | | | | |a charming garden | | | | |flower, but more at | | | | |home in nooks of | | | | |grassy banks, like | | | | |the primrose, or in | | | | |the open. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- POPPY | H.P. |Yellow |1 ft. |Early |Poppies are very { Iceland poppy | |and | |Summer |difficult to { P. nudicale | |white | | |transplant, owing to | | | | |their long, | | | | |sensitive roots, | | | | |though it can be | | | | |done. It is easier, | | | | |therefore, to sow | | | | |them thinly where | | | | |they are to remain | | | | |and weed them out. P. orientale | H.P. |Dazzling|2-3 ft.|June |A gorgeous flower, | | scarlet| | |subject to damping | | | | |off if heavy rains | | | | |come when it is in | | | | |full bloom. Should | | | | |be used to fill in | | | | |between white | | | | |shrubs, as its | | | | |colour is impossible | | | | |near any of the | | | | |pink, purple, or | | | | |magenta June | | | | |flowers, and a | | | | |single plant | | | | |misplaced will ruin | | | | |your garden. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- PHLOX | H.P. |In |3-4 ft.|July- |Offshoots of these P. paniculata | |variety,| | Oct. |hardy phloxes may be | |crimson,| |Miss |usually obtained by | |purple, | |Lingard|exchange from some | |salmon, | |in June|friend, as they | |carmine,| | |increase rapidly. | |and | | |But there is a charm | |white | | |in raising seedlings | |with | | |on the chance of | |colored | | |growing a new | |eye | | |species. These | | | | |phloxes are the | | | | |backbone of the | | | | |hardy garden from | | | | |July until frost, | | | | |while Miss Lingard, | | | | |a fine white | | | | |variety, blooms in | | | | |June to be a setting | | | | |for the blue | | | | |larkspurs. Phlox subulata | H.P. |Pink and|6 in. | |The dwarf phlox that MOSS PINK | |white | | |hides its foliage | | | | |under sheets of pink | | | | |or white bloom and | | | | |makes the great mats | | | | |of colour seen among | | | | |rock work and on dry | | | | |banks in parks and | | | | |public gardens. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- PENTSTEMON | H.P. | |3 ft. |Summer |Very fine border European | |Many | | |plants, almost as varieties. Mixed | | rich | | |decorative as | | colours| | |foxgloves, showing | | | | |tints of reds | | | | |through pink, white, | | | | |blue and white | | | | |cream, etc. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- PANSIES | H.B. |Many |1 ft. |April |It is usual to sow in varieties | flowers | rich | | to |pansies in frames | first | colours| |Dec. |during September | year | | | |and October, winter | | | | |them under cover, | | | | |and transplant to | | | | |beds the following | | | | |spring. | | | | |If pansies (well | | | | |soaked previously) | | | | |are sown in the seed | | | | |bed in late August | | | | |or early September, | | | | |they will be compact | | | | |little plants by | | | | |November, when they | | | | |may be transplanted | | | | |to their permanent | | | | |bed or else covered | | | | |where they stand, | | | | |protected by leaves | | | | |between the rows and | | | | |a few evergreen | | | | |boughs or a little | | | | |salt hay over them. | | | | |If an entire bed is | | | | |set apart set apart | | | | |for pansies and only | | | | |the finest flowers | | | | |allowed to seed, the | | | | |bed will keep itself | | | | |going for several | | | | |years by merely | | | | |thinning and | | | | |adjusting the | | | | |seedlings. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- DAY PRIMROSE | H.P. |Golden |1 ft. |Early |A day-flowering Oenothera fruticosa | |yellow | |summer |member of the | | | | |evening-primrose | | | | |family, resembling | | | | |the golden sundrops | | | | |of our June meadows. | | | | |Very fragrant, and | | | | |if once established, | | | | |will sow itself. EVENING PRIMROSE | H.B. |Yellow |3 ft. |All |The exquisitely Oenothera biennis | | | |summer |scented silver-gold | | | | |flower that unfurls | | | | |at twilight to give | | | | |a supper to the hawk | | | | |moths, upon whom it | | | | |depends for | | | | |fertilization. Grows | | | | |in dry soil and | | | | |should be used in | | | | |masses to fill in | | | | |odd corners. --------------------+---------+--------+-------+-------+-------------------- Violas | H.P. |Purple, |6 in. |April |A race of plants TUFTED PANSY-VIOLETS| |yellow, | |to Oct.|closely resembling for bedding | |rose, | | |pansies, that fill | |mauve, | | |an important place | |white | | |in the gardens of | | | | |Europe, but are as | | | | |yet little known | | | | |here, though they | | | | |are as hardy as the | | | | |primulas. As a | | | | |border for shrubs or | | | | |rose beds they are | | | | |excellent, but when | | | | |planted as a bed, | | | | |should be in partial | | | | |shade. ====================+=========+========+=======+=======+==================== *: Hardy Perennial. **: Hardy Biennial. SOME WORTHY ANNUALS ====================+========+==========+========+========================== | TENDER | | | NAME |OR HARDY| COLOUR | HEIGHT | REMARKS --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- ASTER | H.A. |All shades|18 in. |Asters are the standby of Most reliable | |of blues, |- 2 ft. |the late summer and autumn varieties-- | |purples, | |garden, and for this Truffants | |and pink | |reason it is better to sow Victoria | |up to deep| |them in the outdoor seed QUEEN OF MARKET | |blue, also| |bed than to attempt (very early) | |white. | |forcing. They require Comet | | | |light, rich soil, mixed (quaint and | | | |with old manure, as fresh artistic) | | | |manure breeds many aster EMPEROR FREDERICK | | | |ills. Two enemies--lice at (best white) | | | |the root and black HOHENZOLLERN | | | |goldenrod beetles on the (new large | | | |flowers--must be guarded flowers.) | | | |against--the first by | | | |digging sulphur powder, | | | |unslaked lime, nitrate of | | | |soda, or wood ashes into | | | |the soil both before | | | |sowing the seed and again | | | |into the place where they | | | |are transplanted; the | | | |beetle must be dislodged | | | |by careful hand picking. | | | |Cover the seeds with half | | | |an inch of soil, and in | | | |transplanting set the | | | |plants from a foot to | | | |eighteen inches apart, | | | |according to variety. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- SWEET ALYSSUM, | H.A. |White, | 1 ft. |A cheerful little Variety | | fragrant | |mustard-shaped flower Maritimum | | | |borne in short, thick | | | |spikes, useful for edgings | | | |or to supply the white | | | |setting necessary to | | | |groups of party-coloured | | | |flowers. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- BALSAM | T.A. |White, | 18 in. |A rapid-growing, tender Camellia flowered | |peach, | |annual from India, and | |carmine, | |while rather stiff in form | |lavender, | |of growth, very decorative | |rose, | |for the summer borders | |scarlet, | |surrounding a sundial. | |spotted, | |The flowers, like | |and straw | |compact, double roses, are | | | |very useful for set table | | | |decorations and may be | | | |used in many ways. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- Calendula--POT | H.A. |Yellow | 1 ft. |Showy flowers for summer MARIGOLD | |and orange| |beds, not good for Calendula | |White | |cutting, as they grow officinalis | | | |sleepy indoors and in grandiflora | | | |cloudy weather. Calendula Pongei. | | | | fl. pl. | | | | --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- CANDYTUFT | H.A. |White, | 1 ft. |A sturdy white flower Iberis Coronaria | |fine | |useful for edgings in the Rocket Candytuft | |erect form| |same way as sweet alyssum. | | | |May be sown in fall for | | | |early flowering. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- CORNFLOWER | H.A. | | 1-2 ft.|One of the most Centaurea | | | |satisfactory of the taller Centaurea Margaritæ,| | | |growing annuals, the fragrant | |White | |flowers having some of the SWEET SULTAN | | | |qualities of an Suaveolens | |Yellow | |everlasting, and making Moschata | |Purple | |fine buttonhole flowers CYANUS--EMPEROR | | | |or house bouquets. The WILLIAM | |Deep blue | |Sweet Sultans are (Rich blue | | | |delightfully fragrant, and cornflower) | | | |the Cornflower one of the | | | |finest of our blue | | | |flowers. They should be | | | |sown in borders or large | | | |beds where they are to | | | |bloom and while the Sweet | | | |Sultans must be spring | | | |sown, the Cornflower if | | | |sown in October will bloom | | | |in May. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- COSMOS | H.A. |White |4-8 ft. |A beautiful autumn flower Giant fancy | |Pink | |if they are on their best | |Maroon | |behaviour and bloom on | | | |time, but like the little | | | |girl with the curl--when | | | |they are bad, they are | | | |horrid.--They take a | | | |great deal of room during | | | |a long season which can be | | | |often used to better | | | |advantage--planted with | | | |asters. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- Dahlia | H.H.P. |Various |3-6 ft. |If sown either indoors or Single and cactus, | | | |in a frame, these Dahlias mixed varieties | | | |may be as cheaply raised | | | |as any common annual--with | | | |the chance of growing | | | |many beautiful and new | | | |varieties. The roots may | | | |be stored in sand in the | | | |cellar during winter like | | | |other bulbs. | | | |I class this seed with | | | |annuals from the fact that | | | |it must be sown in spring | | | |and cannot be left over | | | |winter in the hardy bed | | | |though it is a _half_ | | | |hardy perennial. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- Gaillardia, called | H.A. |Red and |1 ft. |Fine daisy-shaped flower BLANKET FLOWER from| |yellow | |for colour-masses or its habit of | | | |picking. May be sown in covering the ground| | | |in the borders after bulbs with bloom | | | |have died away, and will Gaillardia, picta | | | |and will bloom until hard Lorenziania | | | |frost. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- Ipomæa | T.A. | |10-15 |Our most beautiful annual | | | ft. |vines. The common morning | | | |glories should be kept | | | |from seeding in flower or | | | |vegetable gardens, because | | | |before you know it the | | | |strong tendrils will have | | | |twined about vegetables | | | |and flowers alike and | | | |strangled them. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- Ipomæa | T.A. | | |An early variety of the | | | |of the popular moonflower Ipomæa, Mexicana | |Satiny | 15 ft. | grandiflora | | white | | alba--Large white | | | | moonflower | | | | Ipomæa, Northern | T.A. |Pinkish | 15 ft. | Light | |heliotrope| | --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- Imperial Japanese | T.A. |White, |30-40 |One of the most artistic morning-glories | |rose, | ft. |flowers of the modern | |crimson, | |garden, the seed must be | |all | |must be sown early, | |shades of | |preferably in a hotbed, | |purple | |and extra precautions | | | |taken to insure its | | | |germination, as the | | | |coverings are exceedingly | | | |hard. It is best to soak | | | |them over night in several | | | |changes of warm water or | | | |else very carefully notch | | | |the shell of the seed with | | | |a knife. This last | | | |performance is rather | | | |risky, if the knife slip | | | |ever so little, and it is | | | |best to trust to the | | | |soaking. For those who are | | | |in the country only from | | | |June to October and have | | | |little room for vines, | | | |these morning-glories | | | |will prove a new | | | |experience, for in flower | | | |and leaf they present an | | | |infinite variety of shape | | | |and marking. The flowers | | | |are both self-coloured as | | | |well as marbled, spotted, | | | |striped, margined, and | | | |fringed. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- MIGNONETTE | H.A. | |1-2 ft. |These three species of Miles Spiral | |Green | |mignonette I have found | | and white| |perfectly satisfactory. Giant Pyramidal | |Green, | 18 in. |If quantity is desired | | deep | |rather than quality, the Parson's White | |White and | 9 in. |seed may be sown thinly | | buff | |where it is to remain. But | | | |for specimen stalks to | | | |come up to catalogue | | | |descriptions, each plant | | | |must have individual | | | |treatment, like the | | | |asters. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- NASTURTIUMS | H.A. |All shades| |A showy climbing or Tall | |of reds | |trailing plant, useful for Make your own | |and | |outdoor decorations and mixture by buying | |yellows, | |the clean-smelling flowers the twenty named | |chocolate,| |being equally valuable for colours offered and| |pink, and | |table decorations. blending them. | |salmon | |Should be either planted | | | |on a bank, wall, or in | | | |front of a fence, stone or | | | |otherwise. If stone, a | | | |thick support of peabrush | | | |should be given, set | | | |slantwise toward the wall. | | | |Be careful not to place | | | |nasturtiums where you will | | | |look over them toward beds | | | |containing pink or magenta | | | |flowers or where they will | | | |form a background for the | | | |same, as in spite of some | | | |beautiful tints of | | | |straw-colour and maroon, | | | |the general nasturtium | | | |colour is dazzling, | | | |uncompromising | | | |vermilion-orange. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- PHLOX DRUMMONDII | H.A. | |1½ ft. |A thoroughly satisfactory Best colours in | | | |flower for the summer tall flowering class| | | |garden, whether sown | | | |broadcast to cover beds Alba | |White | |left empty by spring bulbs Coccinea | |Scarlet | |or sown in a seed bed and Isabellina | |Light | |transplanted eight inches | | yellow | |to a foot apart, when if Rosea | |Pink | |the dead flowers are kept Stella Splendens | |Crimson | |well picked off, they will Atropurpurea | |Purple | |make sturdy, compact | | | |bushes. DRUMMOND PHLOX | | |6-8 ft. |The dwarf varieties make Snowball | |White | |charming edges for hardy Chamois Rose | |Pink | |rose beds or shrubberies. Fireball | |Flame | | Surprise | |Scarlet | | | |edged with| | | |white | | --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- POPPIES | H.A. | |1 ft. - |Poppies are gorgeous | | | 18 in. |flowers, but in our SHIRLEY, the most | |All shades| |changeable climate, as a satisfactory reds | |class, are too short-lived of poppies for | | | |to pay their way, except outdoor decoration | | | |in summer gardens where a or cutting | | | |brief period of bloom | | | |suffices, or in a garden | | | |so large that there need | | | |be no economy of space. | | | |Shirley is sown in May and | | | |again in August for spring | | | |flowering. | | | |Even under adverse | | | |conditions the Shirley is | | | |always dainty and never | | | |makes a disagreeable, | | | |soppy exhibition after a | | | |rainy period like the | | | |carnation and peony | | | |flowered varieties. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- PORTULACA | T.A. |Red, |6-8 in. |A most useful "filler" for Buy the separate | |white, | |sunny nooks,--rockwork,-- colours and mix | |pink, | |for covering bulb beds, them yourself, as | |crimson, | |and concealing mishaps in the commercial | |yellow | |and disappointments. mixtures both | | | |Its fat, uninteresting scarlet and pink | | | |foliage, that makes mats appear in tints | | | |a foot broad and proclaims that set the teeth | | | |it first cousin to on edge | | | |"pusley," is covered | | | |during bright sunshine by | | | |a wealth of gay flowers | | | |two inches across and of | | | |satiny texture. | | | |Heat, and plenty of it, is | | | |what Portulaca craves, | | | |backyards agree with it, | | | |also dry banks, and even | | | |seashore sand if there is | | | |a foothold of loam | | | |beneath. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- Salvia Splendens-- | H.A. | |2-2½ ft.|The familiar flower that FLOWERING SAGE | | | |sends up its spikes of Bonfire | |Intense | |flame from August until | | flame | |frost--should be sown in | | | |seed beds and set out from | | | |one to two feet apart. | | | |Watch out and do not put | | | |your salvia where it will | | | |come in competition with | | | |the crimson-hued hardy | | | |phlox tribe. Scarlet | | | |geraniums and the crimson | | | |rambler rose in | | | |conjunction are not more | | | |painful. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- SWEET PEAS, twelve | H.A. |Various |6 ft. |If sweet peas are to be good colours | | | |grown in any quantity, | | | |they should be sown after Apple blossom | |Pink | |the manner of tall garden Black knight | |Maroon | |peas and the colours kept Boreatton | |Deep | |separate. This is a great | | Crimson | |aid both to their Coquette | |Primrose | |gathering and artistic Crown jewel | |Cream, | |arrangement. | | violet | | | | veins | | Duke of Clarence | |Claret | | Firefly | |Dazzling | | | | scarlet | | Gorgeous | |Orange and| | | | rose | | Mrs. Kenyon (very | |Primrose- | | large) | | yellow | | King Edward VII | |Very fine | | | | crimson | | Mrs. Dugdale | |Best | | | | rose-pink| | Navy blue | |Rich dark | | | | blue | | Primrose | |Light | | | | yellow | | Senator | |White, | | | | purple, | | | | and | | | | maroon | | | | striped | | Mont Blanc, very | |White | 2 ft. | early | | | | Stella Morse | |Primrose | | | | flushed | | | | with pink| | --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- SUNFLOWERS | H.A. |All shades|4-8 ft. |Cheerful flowers to line Henry Wilde | |of yellow | |up against fences or at Primrose-coloured | | | |the back of shrubberies, Cucumerifolius | | | |whose seeds, if left to hybridus fl. pl., | | | |ripen, will secure the a fine mixture of | | | |company of many birds for new varieties, | | | |your garden through the decorative and | | | |autumn and early winter. good for cutting | | | | Single Russian (The | | | 8 ft. | Henyard Sunflower),| | | | large head heavy | | | | with seeds | | | | --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- VERBENA | H.A. | |1½ ft. |The best summer-bedding Defiance, scarlet | | | |plant that is raised from bedder | | | |seed, which must be well Candidissima | | | |soaked before sowing. The Auriculæflora, | | | |mammoth varieties are the various, with | | | |most satisfactory, and white eye | | | |among them are to be Mammoth, mixed, | |Red, | |found shaded tints of rose large flowers, often| |white, | |and lavender that have fragrant, of many | |blue, | |decided perfume. beautiful colours. | |purple, | | | |crimson, | | | |pink, | | | |striped | | --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- WALLFLOWER | H.A. |Gold and |1½ ft. |While the most beautiful Paris single annual | | Brown | |species of wallflowers are | | | |in this climate so tender | | | |that they must be wintered | | | |in pits or cold frames, | | | |this single species, if | | | |sown in spring and | | | |transplanted, will bloom | | | |until Christmas. | | | |It is one of the most | | | |valuable and | | | |characteristic plants of | | | |the bed of sweet odours | | | |and can be used to fill | | | |odd nooks, against stone | | | |walls, or the foundation | | | |of buildings. --------------------+--------+----------+--------+-------------------------- ZINNIA (Crabbed age | H.A. | |1-16 in.|Bedding annual, of and Youth) | | | |brilliant colours and Salmon | | | |vigorous growth. If room Snowball | | | |is lacking, the dwarf Sulphur | | | |varieties are best unless Golden | | | |the soil is very poor. It Fireball | | | |is best to buy the seed in Rose | | | |separate colours, and when | | | |transplanting from the | | | |seed bed, combine as | | | |required. | | | |Avoid the purple and | | | |magenta shades, they are | | | |quite impossible. ====================+========+==========+========+========================== 
39228	----	Canada Team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net) from page images generously made available by the Digital Media Repository, Archives and Special Collections, Ball State University Libraries (http://libx.bsu.edu) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 39228-h.htm or 39228-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39228/39228-h/39228-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39228/39228-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through the Digital Media Repository, Archives and Special Collections, Ball State University Libraries. See http://libx.bsu.edu/cdm4/item_viewer.php?CISOROOT=/chapbks&CISOPTR=213&CISOBOX=1&REC=1 WOODBINE-ARBOR; Or the Little Gardeners. A Story of a Happy Childhood. [Illustration] New Haven. Published by S. Babcock. 1849. [Illustration: BUILDING THE ARBOR.] WOODBINE ARBOR; OR THE LITTLE GARDENERS. Let me tell you, my dear young reader, about a happy little family of three brothers and three sisters, who lived in a pleasant home, not far from the great city of New-York. Their father, Mr. Howard, was a wealthy merchant, and had his store in the city, to which he usually rode early in the morning, directly after breakfast, and returned home in season to take tea with his family. He had six children, the little folks whom I am now going to tell you about. The girls were named Maria, Elizabeth, and Harriet. The boys were Henry, Charles, and John.--Henry was the oldest, then Charles, Maria, John, Elizabeth, and Harriet. Their home was a beautiful country-seat, situated not far from the East river, with fine old shade trees in front of it. In the rear was a very large garden, laid out with great neatness and taste, and well stocked with fruits and flowers. Then there were walks and borders, and summer-houses, and arbors, and almost every thing which could render it a delightful place. One portion of his grounds Mr. Howard had laid out for a garden for his children. This was to be their own, and in it they were to dig, and hoe, and rake, and plant, and transplant, and water, just as they pleased, so long as they were attentive to their lessons, obedient to their parents, and kind to each other. When any of them misbehaved,--which was very seldom,--that child was forbidden to visit the garden for one or two days, or a week, according to the nature of its offence. [Illustration: TRANSPLANTING.] Mr. and Mrs. Howard were both anxious that their children should grow up, not only good and intelligent, but that they should acquire active and industrious habits; they therefore encouraged them all, girls as well as boys, to pass their play-hours in the healthy and delightful employment of gardening. Well, our young friends heartily seconded the wishes of their parents, and except in cold or stormy weather, their little garden was the scene of great industry, as soon as their several lessons for the day were recited. They had a complete set of garden tools, just the right size for such little folks: spades, hoes, rakes, watering-pots, and a wheelbarrow. I assure you they did not let these tools lie idle. Their garden, which produced flowers of all kinds, and many varieties of fruit, always presented a neat and workman-like appearance. The boys usually took upon themselves the most laborious part of the work, such as digging, and hoeing, and raking, while their sisters planted and transplanted, and watered, and pruned and trimmed, as occasion required. [Illustration: THE LITTLE GARDENERS.] One day, early in the Spring, the little folks took it into their heads to build an arbor in their garden. So, getting their mother's consent, they applied to the gardener, who furnished them with some stout poles and strips of boards necessary for their purpose. Accordingly, they were soon industriously engaged in their first essay at building. Henry planned the shape and the frame, and then he and Charles, with mallet and hammer in hand, drove the poles into the ground, and nailed on the strips of board; while Maria and Elizabeth held the materials for them, and Harriet and John handed up such things as were needed. In four or five days, "WOODBINE ARBOR," as the little folks named it, was quite finished. In the center of it they had placed a table, and built seats around the sides of the arbor. These the girls covered very neatly with cloth, which their mamma gave them for the purpose. At each corner of the arbor, our young gardeners set out a fine large woodbine, which the gardener gave them, and at the sides several beautiful climbing roses. These vines they trained up to, and over the top of the arbor, in such a way as to shade the inside from the rays of the sun. When these plants were in full bloom, the arbor presented a lovely appearance, and was filled with the most delightful fragrance. Here our little gardeners retired when they were fatigued with their labors, or when the heat of the sun prevented their working in the garden. [Illustration: ARRANGING THE BOUQUETS.] On the anniversary of the wedding day of Mr. and Mrs. Howard, the children always selected from their garden the choicest flowers, as an offering to their beloved parents; indeed, each of them cultivated several rare and beautiful kinds for this particular occasion. Gathering the flowers together, they exerted their utmost skill in forming two fine large bouquets for their father and mother, which were presented as an offering from all the children, and which were designed to grace the vases on the parlor mantle-piece. When these two bouquets were arranged to the satisfaction of all the little folks, each one made two of a smaller size, just alike, which they presented in their own name. You may be sure these little gifts of affection were duly prized by the fond parents, and were kept from fading as long as possible. They were rewarded, too, by some suitable present to each child, accompanied by kind wishes, and such words of advice and instruction as the occasion called for. These words of advice, given at such times, made a lasting impression; they were remembered by the little ones as long as they remembered the happy events which called them forth. But you must not suppose these little masters and misses were so fond of gardening as to spend all their play-hours there. Oh, no; like most other children, they liked play and play-things. The girls all had dolls, and a pet rabbit and two little white poodles to amuse themselves with. Henry made kites, bows, arrows, and other toys, and Charles was quite fond of making and sailing little toy ships, while John, the youngest, liked nothing much better than playing with a ball or trundling his hoop. Still, the garden, after all, afforded them more real and lasting pleasure than any thing else. [Illustration: THE TOY SHIP.] But the year I am telling you about,--the year in which our little friends built their arbor,--instead of presenting the bouquets as usual, they begged their parents to visit them at the arbor. The invitation was readily accepted, and the children accordingly made the necessary preparations. Having selected the very choicest fruits from their garden, they arranged it to the best advantage on the table, placing the two large bouquets in the center; they then each held the two smaller ones in their hands, and presented them, with their best wishes, as their parents entered the arbor. I shall not attempt to tell you how delighted the young people all were on this occasion, when their neat little arbor, the work of their own hands, was thus honored with a visit from their parents. With some crowding, there was room for the eight persons, but mamma made a little more by taking the youngest up in her lap. Then the different fruits were handed round, and all partook of such as suited them best. Never were happier children assembled, or happier parents. Not even the finest fruit raised by their experienced gardener, ever tasted half as sweet as that which was eaten at the little feast in "WOODBINE ARBOR." When it was over, mamma, at the urgent request of the children, sang one of her sweetest songs, and then they all took a walk through the garden. Many, very many, were the words of praise and encouragement spoken by the parents, as they beheld the neatness and good order in which every thing was kept. The handsomely laid out beds and borders, the straight rows of plants, the well-trained vines, the beautiful flowers, and the luxuriant growth of the little trees and shrubbery, without a single weed to mar the beauty of the garden, excited their highest admiration. "My dear little ones," said Mr. Howard, "let the care which you have bestowed upon this sweet little spot, and the success which has attended your efforts, incite you to higher and nobler aims, which will most certainly be rewarded with higher and nobler results. With the same care and industry which you have bestowed upon your garden, cultivate your _minds_, and raise in them the lovely and unfading flowers of piety and virtue. Root out from them the noxious weeds of vice and evil habits, and train all your thoughts upward to your heavenly Father and Benefactor. Assist each other in this mental cultivation, with the same kindness which you have all shown in cultivating your garden; be ready at all rimes to share with the poor and needy the blessings which you enjoy, as freely as you have this day shared the productions of your garden with your parents. Then, like the plants which you have here cultivated, you will bear fruit and flowers to bless and cheer your fellow-men; and when you are removed from earth you will be transplanted in heaven, and blossom forever in the _Garden of the Lord_." END. BABCOCK'S No. 3 TOY BOOKS, NEW SERIES, MORAL, INSTRUCTIVE, AND ENTERTAINING, ALL BEAUTIFULLY EMBELLISHED WITH SUPERIOR ENGRAVINGS. EDITED BY THOMAS TELLER. CHILDREN'S BOOKS OF EVERY DESCRIPTION CONSTANTLY PUBLISHING. [Illustration: Back Cover] * * * * * Transcriber's note: Obvious punctuation and spelling errors were corrected. 
40183	----	[Illustration: The Hollyhock Bed] A GARDEN WITH HOUSE ATTACHED BY SARAH WARNER BROOKS AUTHOR OF "MY FIRE OPAL," "POVERTY KNOB," ETC "I never had any desire so strong, and so like to covetousness, as that one which I have had always, that I might be master at least of a small house, and a large garden."--Abraham Cowley. BOSTON: RICHARD G. BADGER The Gorham Press 1904 Copyright 1904 by Sarah Warner Brooks _All rights reserved_ PRINTED AT THE GORHAM PRESS BOSTON, U. S. A. TO MY SUMMER CHILD CONTENTS Page _CHAPTER ONE_ _A Garden with House Attached_ 5 _CHAPTER TWO_ _The Man with the Hoe_ 10 _CHAPTER THREE_ _The "Lady's" Conservatory_ 14 _CHAPTER FOUR_ _The House Garden, The Selection, Arrangement, and Culture of House Plants_ 20 _CHAPTER FIVE_ _At Easter-time_ 35 _CHAPTER SIX_ _Burglar-proof_ 37 _CHAPTER SEVEN_ _Perennials_ 40 _CHAPTER EIGHT_ _Hollyhocks and Violets_ 68 _CHAPTER NINE_ _The Rose_ 74 _CHAPTER TEN_ _Border Bulbs_ 84 _CHAPTER ELEVEN_ _Annuals_ 88 _CHAPTER TWELVE_ _Climbers_ 94 _CHAPTER THIRTEEN_ _Gardens "in Spain"_ 99 _CHAPTER FOURTEEN_ _The Cerebral Processes of Plants_ 108 _CHAPTER FIFTEEN_ _"Auf Wiedersehen"_ 115 A GARDEN WITH HOUSE ATTACHED CHAPTER I "_A Garden with House Attached_" When, by an unlooked-for sequence of events, I became manager of "The Garden with House Attached" (as an important preliminary) along with "The Third Son"[1] I went over from Cambridge to take account of its possibilities. And here be it stated that from the time of his first trousers "The Third Son" had been my assistant gardener; and in all my horticultural enterprises, might still be counted in as "aider and abettor." "Mother," said this astute young person--on our return from this inspection--"It is a big job; but there is yet another week of my vacation. Let us make a beginning." In shaping the ground plan of this quaint old garden, its long-dead projectors had shown a capability which came within an ace of genius itself! Hence, so far as laying out went, there was absolutely no call for improvement. All had been so well and effectively outlined, that the landscape gardener himself must have approved. The long South walk--leading past the front door of the "Mansion House"--passing orchard and kitchen garden on its way up the long, gradual ascent towards the western boundary of the estate, and then turning a corner, followed the low stone wall hedged with sturdy purple lilacs (free to all the country round) and making a second turn, skirted the low northern ledge, where in June the locust hangs its tassels of perfumed snow, and, in autumn time, the wild barberry perfects its coral clusters. There, all summer long, the wind blows cool and sweet, and, resting on low, mossy boulders, you may sight, on the left, Middlesex Fells, and, across the blue distance, glimpse Tufts College on its broad, grassy hill, with the Mystic River (if the tide be in) creeping leisurely between you and that ancient seat of learning. Following the walk down the lazy declivity, you take a turn with it beneath two aged pines, with the big lily-of-the-valley patch nestling in their shade; and (hard by) the well-appointed triangular flower plot, from time immemorial "bedded out" with "The Lady's" house plants. Turning on your track, you take a stroll through "The Lover's Walk"--a little, lilac-embowered pathway--and turning, follow, past the back of the house, the long, rocky ledge, with its glorious crown of white lilac trees--their tall tops touching the very ridge-pole of the roof. There orange toadstools, like fairy parasols, push up through the damp mosses. There a giant Norway spruce drops its cones and spreads its brown carpet of needles; and in summer-time you may dream away the hours upon the cool stone steps and, harkening to an ancient pine singing its slow song, may "Eat of the lotus, and dream, and forget." The rough wagon road on the East takes you from the high road to the big old-fashioned barn, beneath whose eaves, year after year, the punctual swallow nests; while, high among the rafters within, immemorial pigeons rear their toothsome squabs. The flower-borders of this garden--anciently edged with box (which, of late, gave up, piece by piece, the long struggles of existence)--had, no doubt, in their prime, been well worth seeing. Lovely blue-eyed Periwinkle yet wandered among the tangled shrubs. A persistent Day-lily and a stunted Flowering Almond still held their own; and in May-time a single root of double English Violet made shift to perfect a scented flower or two,--"dim, but sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes." Thrifty old-time shrubs still flourished in the wide borders. Alicanthus sent far and wide its fruity odor. Yellow Globe flowers straggled here and there. Waxberry bushes stoutly thrived, and, in early springtime, an aged Pyrrhus Japonica put on its blaze of scarlet bloom. Big domes of Tartarean Honeysuckle--all rosy pink with bloom--yet held their own. Creamy Syringas made sweet the summer air, and as for Lilacs (white and purple) they were like "the rats of Bingen," _everywhere_--dominating the entire grounds! It was a blessed day for us all when, in the sixteenth century, this darling Persian shrub was introduced into English gardens. In Persia they called it the "lilag" (which means simply a flower) and from this we have our word _Lilac_. Surely, "by no other name"--save by the dear country one of _laylock_--would it "smell as sweet." The native West Indian has a pretty superstition in regard to this familiar flower. He holds that lilac branches, when in blossom, if hung up around the room, protect from malignant influences. He believes that the "jumbies," or evil spirits, will not enter a house where there are lilac blooms. I like to borrow from the pagan this harmless belief; and, each morning throughout their flowering time, I cut big "bowpots" of blown lilacs, and setting them about the house, idly fancy that--thus kept at bay--no evil thing "with spell or charm" may enter the dear home. And, further to guard it, I have named our place "The Lilacs." A garden is hardly complete without the restful shade of trees--the loveliness of interchanging sunshine and shadow. Therefore was it good to find trees, many and thrifty, hobnobbing together in our new holding. A big sturdy hornbeam, with song-birds nesting high among its branches, shaded the eastern lawn, while close beside the kitchen porch a graceful rose-acacia reared its slender trunk, and every May-time wove its garlands of rosy bloom. All about us grew maple and ash trees. Tall pines to hold the song of the wind among their boughs. Spruces and Arbor Vitæs (these absolutely upon their last legs, but still persistent), and, fairest of them all, two glorious tulip-trees towering upward, like sturdy masts, towards the blue heaven, flinging to the winds their high leafy boughs, like pale green pennants, picked out (in blooming time) with shapely miracles of color. Here and there an apple or a pear tree had strayed from orchard to lawn; and in the very midst of things a huge cherry tree rendered its yearly tale of juicy blackhearts--enough and to spare for neighbors and robins, and for our own preserve jars. On a bleak northern rise behind the house, an ancient juniper (like another "Cleopatra's needle") stood slenderly against the sky--as perfect a pyramid as if shaped by the gardener's shears, instead of the keen-edged winter wind. CHAPTER II "_The Man with the Hoe_" As before our advent at the "Mansion House" the man-of-all-work--after a long administration of its out-door affairs in the soft service of an easily-gratified mistress (the dear "Lady of the Wheeled Chair") had been abstracted from the family circle, the first step in our gardening was to call in the local "Man with the Hoe." This useful personage (let it here be said) was not--like Mr. Markham's terrible hero--"Brother to the ox." His "jaw" and "forehead" were all right, and, owing to the use of a hoe with proper length of handle, "The Weight of the Centuries" had not disturbed the contour of his back. One could not swear that he knew his "Plato" (alas, how few of us _do_!) and as to "The Swing of the Pleiades," it was not his immediate concern. His it was, rather, to interest himself with the hoeing and edging of graveled walks, the weeding of kitchen and flower-gardens, the pruning of shrubs and vines, and the "making of two" lilies "grow where but one grew before." And so far from being (like Markham's man) "fraught with menace to the universe" _our_ "Man with the Hoe"--in that small section of it within his immediate radius--was considered a positive _blessing_! Was it not on _his_ good right arm that we--"the deserving poor"--to whom Providence had apportioned vegetable patches, flower-borders, and bits of lawn with intersecting graveled paths, and denied the luxury of a resident "hired man"--depended for the presentability of our "outdoors"? Poor Millet! one fancies his astonishment at Markham's terrible presentation of his peasant model! Himself of their guild, he painted his brother peasants in all honesty; and being neither pessimist nor anarchist, but working simply from the standpoint of the artist, has so made them immortal. But to return to our own undertaking--our first task was the dislodgment of the stubborn tangle of persistent thimbleberry vines, sturdy saplings of ash and chestnut, and long-established waxberries. This done, we made, on the south, facing the "king's highway" and near enough to give delight and perfume to the foot-passenger, a brand new flower bed. In the middle of each square of lawn a raised circle, edged with stone, was made for the spring hyacinths and tulips (these to be succeeded later with cannas and bright summer flowers). Relegating the kitchen garden to a less conspicuous place, we prepared the cabbage-patch for our little rose-garden. All this heavy work done--"The Man with the Hoe" was, for the time, discharged. Our Cambridge home had, for nearly two decades, been the property of one who in the Harvard Botanical Garden had "a friend at court" and had thus found it possible to secure for his grounds many choice shrubs and hardy herbaceous plants. Himself a skilled and enthusiastic horticulturist--after twenty years of painstaking cultivation, his garden close, with its mellow low-lying site and unobstructed southern exposure, had become a miracle of productiveness. It had not, like the Medford garden, been "laid out." Flowers, fruit, and vegetables, were all in a riotous jumble; yet each the perfection of its kind. The marvel was that one small garden could carry such a load of growth! Pears, early and late, of the juiciest and sweetest; big yellow quinces, currants, white and red, raspberries, thimbleberries, and blackberries by the bushel! And (crowning glory of all) a huge gravenstein with fruit fair as the famous golden apples tended by the "Daughters of the Evening Star." To this garden, for many years, my good husband had devoted his leisure hours. Two years before our removal to "The Garden with House Attached" he had left us for the far-off Unknown Land; and it was therefore with tender touch that we uprooted the shrubs and plants of his care--together with the flowers that _I_ had tended. The cold frame was full of thrifty seedlings--Primroses, Iceland poppies, and other beauties. In the open, there were Lilies, Peonies--rose-pink and creamy white--big Drummond Phloxes, and Roses _ad infinitum_--two heaped cartloads in all--carried over by "The Third Son," and before the earliest frost, so well bestowed by his able hands, as to have rooted themselves in the mellow soil of the new garden. Not one of these succumbed to the perils of transplantation--not even the five-year-old peach tree, whose certain dissolution all had prophesied, but which bravely withstood the risk of removal, and now, each spring, puts on its crown of pink splendor, which duly turns to juicy fruit beneath the sun that shines upon the grave of him whose hand, long years ago, planted its tiny stone. Later on, we put in the tulip and hyacinth bulbs, and, when at last the entire garden, beneath its warm coverlet of dressing and leaves, composed itself for a long winter nap--like the poet's "goose-woman"--we "Blessed ourselves, and cursed ourselves, And rested from our labors." CHAPTER III _The "Lady's" Conservatory_ Meantime, the dear "Lady" (who had anticipated our coming to the Mansion House, by a sudden resolve to commit her burden of housekeeping to younger and abler hands--and retain of her old establishment but a single personal attendant--as faithful friend, companion, and amanuensis) wheeled into the very thick of action--had watched with anxious eyes this removal of ancient landmarks--this general upheaval of things. An almost helpless invalid--wheeled daily through eight patient summers into her beloved garden--she had sat with her beautiful silver hair arranged in careful curls, a big white sun-bonnet shading her kind old face, to receive her friends (both gentle and simple) with a cordial hospitality, and an old-time courtesy in fine keeping with herself and her surroundings. Innately conservative, the Lady was scarce in touch with innovation of any sort. A passionate lover of flowers, but scantily endowed with horticultural talent, and without a spark of creative genius, she smiled with dubious complacency on this awful devastation--comforting herself with the sweet anticipation of spring tulips and summer roses, in her very own garden! Dear Lady--her absolute trust in my gardening ability was indeed touching! One must "live up to the blue china" of one's reputation; so I did my very best; and when all was done, and the out-door darlings nestled safely beneath their winter coverlet, came the pleasure of looking after the house-plants--(by this time well-recovered from the vicissitudes of repotting and removal) and the bestowal of each in its winter quarters; and this leads me to a description of "The Conservatory." In a warm southwestern angle of "The Mansion House" there nestled a narrow piazza-like structure--opening, by long French windows, from both drawing and sitting room, and leading by a short flight of steps into the old garden. This erection--having been enclosed by sash-work of glass--and furnished with rugs, a big easy chair, a round table, and a penitential hair-cloth sofa, and supplied with rocking chairs, was, when the temperature permitted, the favorite lounging place of family and guest. Though warmed only by the sun, it had always been known as "The Conservatory" (probably because herein every autumn, the Lady's geraniums and fuchsias, taken in from the early frost, stood on the corner table, recovering from the fall potting on their way to winter quarters on the broad ledge of a sunny south window of her own bed chamber). Through the winter this unwarmed place was neither available for plant or man. Long before the possibility of ever moving to the Mansion House had entered my head, I had looked upon this conservatory with loving eyes, and, in fancy, pictured it, warmed and filled all winter long with lovely flowering plants. A Conservatory had been the dream of my life! And when _this_ fell to my lot, and, abolishing the stuffy cylinder stoves that had, heretofore, warmed the Mansion House, we put in a big furnace, I had directed the leading of a roomy pipe to this glass-enclosed quarter, and the out-door work well over, I pleased myself with arranging this new winter home for my darlings. The light sashes--warped by Time--had become "ram-shackly." I wedged them securely, and stuffing gaps with cotton batting carefully listed the outer door against "The west wind Mudjekeewis," and when all was done delightedly watched the vigorous growth of my well-housed darlings. Alas! short and sweet was my day of content. One fatal January night the mercury dropped suddenly to zero, and (as luck would have it) the furnace fire followed suit, and, in the morning, I awoke to find my precious plants stark and stiff against the panes. We promptly showered them with ice-cold water ("a hair of the dog that bit you" advises the old proverb). In vain! The blighted foliage stood black and shriveled in the morning sunshine! "All the King's horses and all the King's men Couldn't bring Humpty Dumpty up again!" All that could be done was to clip away the frost-bitten members, mellow the soil, and await a fresh supply of sap from the uninjured roots. As a matter of course the slowly recuperating plants could no longer be left to the random winter gambols of tricky "Mudjekeewis," but must be relegated to the old-time safety of window-seat and flower-stand. Thus ended my day-dream of a conservatory! Under this dispensation I consoled myself by nursing the invalids back to health and comparative prosperity, and, in late February, they amply repaid my care by abundant leafage and wealth of bloom. Meantime, the Freesias, and Narcissi, the Hyacinths and Tritelias, came one after another from the dark cellar, to sit in the sun, and cheer our wintry days with odor and bloom, and give delight to the dear invalid Lady. And here let me say that of all winter gardening I have found the house cultivation of bulbs most interesting and repaying. First there is the eager looking over the autumn catalogues and the well-considered selection of your bulbs. If your purse is long enough to warrant it, you may put on your list the costly _named_ varieties of your favorite colors among the hyacinths; if otherwise, you may still have the satisfaction of making a dollar or two go a long way; since after putting on your list a few choice bulbs, you get, at the department store, oceans of five-cent hyacinth bulbs, and, taking your chance as to color, have the added pleasure of the surprises thus secured. As the other desirable bulbs are comparatively inexpensive, you can finish your list from the catalogue, and thus have as many as you desire. The Oxalis has, presumably, been saved over from last winter's stock, and so, too, have the best of the Freesias. These are, no doubt, well-started about the first of September. Early in October some of the newly bought Freesias and some of all the other bulbs may be planted. The remainder may be potted in instalments, two or three weeks apart, the _last_ as late as December. You may use for hyacinths, at a pinch, quite small pots--say four-inch ones; but success is more certain in the five or six-inch sizes. The smaller bulbs may be planted in clumps in such sized pots as you like, about two inches apart. You may use prepared soil furnished very reasonably by the florist, or, if preferred, prepare it yourself after this formula: one-half mellow garden loam, one-quarter well-rotted cow manure, and for the remainder use leaf-mold, well-pulverized peat, and a good trowel-full of fine beach sand. Bulbs, though needing rich food, should never come directly in contact with their manure supply. In potting the larger bulbs leave about quarter of an inch above ground, but entirely bury the smaller ones. The big bulbs should be pressed firmly down, as they have a way of working up from the covering soil. Water well, and set in a cool, dark cellar. The oxalis and freesia sprout more quickly, and must not be left to send long pale shoots up in the dark, but the hyacinths and narcissi, though promised in six weeks, are often two months, and even longer, getting ready to come into the light. This should be done with caution, as they must first be greened in a shaded window, and not until later exposed to the direct beams of the sun. They may be given water in moderate supplies, and I have sometimes found a weekly allowance of "Bowker's Flower Food" desirable. My own selection of house bulbs usually comprises oxalis, freesia, the narcissi, hyacinth, and tritelia; many other desirable ones are to be had, but with a good supply of the above-named varieties, including a generous number of such inexpensive bulbs as the Paper-white Narcissus, and the Yellow "Daffies," one may count on a sweet succession of bloom from Christmas to May-time. In this connection I add a reprint of a paper long ago published in the "American Garden." It was originally prepared by me for the "Cambridge Plant Club," whose members were so kind as to assure me that they found it helpful and entertaining. It was copied from the "Garden" by the _Cambridge Tribune_, but may, nevertheless, be new to the present reader: CHAPTER IV _The House Garden. The Selection, Arrangement, and Culture of House Plants_ Apart from that æsthetic satisfaction which house plants afford, the principle of growth, which they exemplify, has its own strong and almost universal attraction. Thus it is that we behold in dust-blurred windows of squalid tenements rows of dented tomato cans, desolately holding their stunted geraniums, fuchsias, and other feeble bits of greenery. Such half-pathetic attempts at floriculture are, indeed, "touches of nature" that "make us kin" to the forlorn inmates of these shabby, ill-conditioned dwellings who, amid poverty and its possible degradation, have still courage for, at least, _one fine endeavor_. The sole purpose of this paper is to impart some simple knowledge gained through a long and earnestly-loving experience in the beautiful art of plant-culture. Our first step is the choice of our plants; and we shall do wisely to select such as will best accommodate themselves to the somewhat adverse conditions of furnace-heated and gas-lighted rooms such as most of us occupy. First and foremost in our collection should stand sweet-scented plants; not only because these impart to our rooms a delicious air of summer, and etherealize the atmosphere of our homes, but also because of their sanitary value, medical authority having distinctly declared that the perfume of growing flowers, exhaling on the in-door air, tends to neutralize fever and other disease-germs. For delicacy of perfume and continuity of bloom the heliotrope may take the first rank among odorous house plants. Its very name--derived from two Greek words, Helio, the sun, and trope, to turn--is charmingly suggestive of summer-time. The plant does not belie its name. It cannot have too many sun-kisses. As a cut-flower it is perishable and unsatisfactory, but its growing bloom lasts long, and holds its odor even in decay; it is delightful up to its very last breath. To secure good winter bloom from the heliotrope, begin in early summer with the plant while in the ground, and by repeated pinching-back make it sturdy and robust. This done, choose some cloudy afternoon, about the middle of August, for potting. Your soil should be thus prepared: one-third good loam, one-third leaf-mold, and one-third well-rotted manure; a few pinches of soot may be added, and enough white sand mixed through the whole to keep it light and dainty. Pot carefully, and with as little root disturbance as may be. Water thoroughly, and keep the plant in shade until its leaves recover their tone. After this it may stand in the sun, if given plenty of water, for a week or two, while the buds get under way. Be sure to house before the faintest suspicion of frost, as this sun-lover is extremely tender, and the slightest nipping harms it. Give it a southern exposure in your room, and place close to the glass; and if you have not a double window, leave the fly-screen in to save the leaves and blossoms from immediate contact with frosty panes. A heliotrope should never once become wholly dry, and should have a weekly drink of manure-water, which must be about the color of moderately strong coffee. For insect pests, dust the leaves with a light feather-brush, and then wash thoroughly. This process must be repeated as often as the insects appear. The odorous sacred lily of China we all, no doubt, grow yearly in water, with a bottom layer or two of pebbles. It is well to make incisions lengthwise of the bulb with a sharp knife before planting, and there should be lumps of charcoal among the pebbles to keep the water sweet. A single bulb, thus treated, will give one seven flower-stalks. The old-fashioned plant, the calla, though less common than it was twenty years ago, if grown in an artistic vase and given an entire window, is beautiful. It has been said of the calla that "it needs water like a mill, heat like a furnace, food like an army, and absolute rest during the summer." "Keep its feet in water," says the florist. In its native habitat it is in water to the depth of a foot or more, in broad open sunlight, and in soil as rich as decayed vegetation can make it. Soon after flowering season the water subsides, and the soil becomes as dry as it is possible to get in the tropics. Here, nature teaches us how to cultivate the calla. The canna thrives admirably as a house plant, and has a happy way of accommodating itself to circumstances, which makes it especially desirable for decorative effect. In a sunny window it will flower all winter if given abundant heat. In a north window of the same room it will give one beautiful foliage, and it will, "at a pinch," take a back seat and hold its own in the shade, grouped with the statuary and screens, where, with its large, handsome leaves, it will impart to the drawing-room a certain air of oriental languor and magnificence. The canna should be lifted early in September and placed in rich loam, in a large, well-shaped pot or vase, and kept for a week or two in the open, in partial shade, and well watered. It must be carefully housed before the lightest frost appears. Its vigor and beauty are increased by the addition of wood soot to the soil. All the begonias thrive well as house plants. My experience with the new and choice varieties has not been sufficient to enable me to give valuable advice in regard to their culture. I had formerly supposed that a north window might suit a begonia. It was a mistaken impression. The plant, I find, needs sunlight and a warm atmosphere. It must be regularly and carefully watered, and I have found it best to give the small-leaved begonia its water from the saucer. The smooth-leaved begonias are said to affect a Sunday morning cup of coffee by way of gloss to their foliage. I have seen a superb one thus treated, but have never tried the experiment. The plant likes an occasional watering with soot tea while making its summer growth in the garden. The coleus, as a window plant, affords fine color effects, but the plant is too tender to be agreeable for house-culture. It requires an invariably high temperature, a fair amount of sunlight, regular moisture, and very rich soil. This given it will grow superbly, but if overtaken, in some unguarded hour, with the slightest chill, it loses its beauty and vigor. The house coleus is almost sure to become infested with mealy-bugs. These may be picked off, and thereafter the plant should be given a careful wash of kerosene water, which must be repeated as often as the pests appear. The formula for this spray, which is used for roses at Mount Auburn, was thus given me by an expert. It is simply one wine-glass of kerosene oil to a gallon of water. Ferns, as decorative plants, are beautiful and easily grown, though all do not succeed with the maidenhair. All ferns should have an abundance of light, but not too much sun. I have found an eastern exposure the very best possible. Ferns should be placed in the full light of a window, given a high temperature and watered evenly, but not too much. The soil should be partially renewed annually, and care should be taken with the roots, which do not like disturbance; especially is this to be observed with the maidenhair, which, if possible, should _never_ be transplanted, and should have its stated period of entire rest, during which it should be kept almost dry. The fuchsia is, properly, an out-door bloomer, but with care can be brought to flower in winter. To this end, pinch back in summer, and in September house, and place in a north or east window. Give much light, water freely with warm water, and give liquid manure and soot tea about twice a week. If given an entire window both flower and foliage will be superb, with this treatment. Time would fail me to enumerate all the desirable plants for house-culture; there is the orange tree, the costly palm, the delicate asparagus, the achyranthes, anthericum, and curculigo, the aspidistra, cyclamen, and many more equally beautiful and practicable, and last, but not least, the inevitable rubber plant, a little stiff and heavy perhaps, but as a single plant decidedly effective. In arranging a table or stand of mixed plants, care should be taken to give each its proper growing place without marring the general effect. Heliotrope, that ardent sun-lover, should have the front row, close to the window-glass. Beside it should sit a begonia or two, and some flowering geraniums. A petunia and a bridal-rose might come next--the petunia twined among the others to hide its scraggy limbs. A nicotiana, well in the light, might make the evenings sweet with its perfume, and if the room be not over-warm, a pot of mignonette might sweeten the air by day, and at night be removed to cooler quarters. In the "middle aisle" an achyranthes or two may stand with sunlight sifting through its fiery leaves, which have thus all the color-effect of blossoms without their perishability. Further back, anthericum may flourish, with curculigo spreading queenly its fluted palm-like leaves, and always craving moisture. And in the "pauper's pew" Wandering Jew will contentedly sit, like charity, kindly covering the entire defects of staring pots that needs must hold its betters; and on the floor, at the foot of all, aspidistra may seem to "choose darkness rather than light." If you need a growing amaryllis or two to eke out your foliage display, they will take a shady place, though to bring them into flower you need a strong, steady sunlight. Nicotiana, or tobacco plant, is another fragrant and desirable plant. It thrives in about the same soil as the heliotrope, but needs an entirely different exposure, being one of the few plants that flower perfectly in a sunless window. Experimenting with the nicotiana as a house plant, I found that in a south window the plant was not robust, was scant of bloom, and the flowers quite perishable in comparison with the blossoms in a north window, where the plants grew to a height of more than five feet, and, together, produced one hundred and fifty-six flowers. Through the entire winter no ray of sunlight reached them. They were trained on stout strings quite close to the glass of a double window, kept moist, and given an even temperature of from sixty-five to seventy degrees, and were watered well with liquid manure. [Illustration: The Circle on the Lawn] At evening the blossoms expand, and all through the night it is as if the room were "Perfumed from an unseen censer, swung by angels." Among the sweet-scented tribe mignonette ranks high as an out-door plant, and as a window bloomer it is exquisite. It rarely outlives transplanting, but may be sown in pots about mid-summer, and pinched back for the house. Another method is to obtain the plant from the florist when in bud. The cost is trifling, and if kept cool and in a sunny window, it will continue in bloom for weeks. Mignonette needs much sunlight, but not too high a temperature, and the plant is much weakened by a single day's omission in watering. Another--now almost obsolete--fragrant house plant is the night-blooming jasmine. Its odor is peculiar and intense, and--as its name implies--is only emitted by night. Its foliage is not especially delicate, but nothing can be more dainty than its slender spikes of pale, greenish-white bloom. It is a thrifty plant, making in a single summer a growth of five or six feet. It is a shrub, but one could fancy that, ages ago, it must have been a "sport" of a climber, so slender and rapid is its habit of growth. After flowering-time, which begins late in July and continues until late in October, it drops most of its foliage, which is soon replaced by young, delicate shoots and fresh leaves and buds. The Daphne odora, which combines in its small clusters of bloom the exquisite perfume of many sweet flowers, may not be lightly passed by. It is not an easy plant to manage, and often drops its buds just as they seem ready to open. By placing it in the sunny window of a cool room, and watering evenly and not too copiously, it may be brought into flower; and then nothing can be finer than its fragrance. The more homely and familiar hyacinth is not only delightful in form, color, and odor, but may be recommended as a "safe investment," as it seldom fails to flower and needs comparatively little care. The mahernia is another desirable fragrant plant. It is very effective in a hanging-basket. It comes in flower about the first of February, and its tiny yellow cups are brimful of delicious odor. A home-bred mahernia makes fine foliage, but seldom blooms abundantly; it is, therefore, best to procure the plant from the florist when fully budded. It will then flower well in a sunny window, and for three or four weeks one's room will be as sweet as summer. The wax-plant, though properly a summer blooming plant, sometimes flowers in winter. Its blossoms are very odorous, especially by night, and in structure and color they are exquisite. It is a long-lived plant, easily raised and tended, and, being a climber, may be tastefully trained on a trellis, where, with its glossy, rubber-like leaves, it is very effective. The petunia, as a window plant, blooms freely, and the white variety is fragrant--especially by night. The plant is rather ungainly in its habit of growth. To conceal its scragginess of structure twine its stems among other foliage on your stand, and place it close to the glass, and you will find it pretty and effective. And now that sweet-smelling plants are under consideration, may I not give you the details of an experiment with the common lilac as a house plant? It was made some fifteen years ago, and before I had the slightest knowledge of lilac-forcing, which is now quite common among our florists. Early in December a stout, low bush of the hardy purple variety was, with the aid of a pickaxe, dislodged from the frost-bound earth, and with its frozen ball of sod still adhering, thus treated: a large nail-keg, having an auger-hole in its bottom on which some bits of crock were strewn, was filled to about half its depth with warm stable manure; on this the dry leafless bush, with its frozen soil, was set, and the keg filled in with mellow loam. After a good watering, the keg was placed in a deep pan, which was then filled with boiling water, and the whole set near a huge hall stove. The hot water was daily renewed at the bottom, and before many days leaf and flower-buds began to swell on the hard, bare stems of the bush. When these were well formed and the tiny buds quite distinguishable among the pale green foliage, the lilac was removed from its dim corner beside the stove, and given an entire east window in the long hall, where the temperature ranged from forty to sixty, and sometimes as high as seventy degrees. In about two months from the time of housing fourteen large and perfect clusters of pearl-white lilacs rejoiced our eyes. These blossoms were far more delicate in odor than out-door lilacs, and made a delightful atmosphere of spring-time in the homely old farm-house which was then our dwelling-place. We had, too, the novel pleasure of surprising our friends with clusters of fresh lilac in February. French florists, who give much attention to lilac-forcing, lay great stress upon the necessity of keeping the bush in the dark in order to bleach the flowers--white lilacs being most marketable, and the common purple lilac most available for forcing on account of its superior vitality. Fortunately I stumbled upon the right treatment, and mine seemed to come white of their own sweet will. For a hanging-basket use the oxalis, of which there are many beautiful varieties. It flowers abundantly, but as the season advances, must be stimulated with repeated applications of liquid manure and soot tea, that its foliage may not lose its vigor and become straggly. Wandering Jew, though structurally coarse, is a good hanging plant, and will accommodate itself to any exposure, really doing its very best in a north window. Ivy geranium is another hanging plant, beautiful in structure, and with its double rose-pink blossoms, as in the improved varieties, most fair to see. It demands strong food, much moisture, and oceans of sunlight. Madeira vine and German ivy both make effective hanging-baskets. The latter is too alluring to the green fly to make its house-culture easy or satisfactory. Smilax, if trained on strings, in a sunny window, is exquisitely delicate, and its blossom is odorous. The English ivy, as in-door greenery, is delightful. I have attempted its culture, but my experience being but a series of ignoble defeats, is not commendable. I wish it were! The odious scale has at last compelled me to abandon the field. I must also confess to repeated failure with in-door geraniums. Mine have not bloomed well, and a geranium without its blossoms is a poor affair (not including the scented varieties). Last autumn, after having tried many methods with many kinds, I turned over a new leaf in geranium culture. All my best geraniums were consigned to an upper room, where no furnace heat could reach them, and where, in cold nights, the temperature falls perilously near to freezing point. The plants have a southern window, and through the day the room is moderately warmed from the ascending heat of the kitchen. Geraniums (and fuchsias and nasturtiums as well) have taken kindly to this low temperature, the geraniums blooming as finely as in the open during summer. Many of us have, no doubt, seen floating about in print, the little story of that pot of geranium which was the sole bequest of a dying man to his family, who carefully tended this precious, though not pecuniarily valuable legacy. When spring came the pot was reverently committed to the cemetery lot to summer close beside the grave of the buried husband and father. On removing it in autumn, the plant was found to have outgrown its quarters, and was tenderly dislodged for repotting. To the great surprise of these good people a hollow false bottom was found in the original pot, and on its removal a little fortune in bank notes was disclosed, which, as the story ran, had obligingly kept themselves intact for the heirs in this odd storing-place. This tale has been cited of late by a scientific floriculturist, as evidence of the deplorable ignorance of the common mind in regard to absolutely necessary conditions for growth demanded by a plant. "A geranium," he authoritatively tells us, "cannot exist without drainage, hence an account which asserts that one has for months survived the ordeal of a tight-bottom pot can have no foundation in fact." So we have been taught, but, alas for the infallibility of time-honored theories! In the material world new discoveries are continually upsetting old conclusions; and we are now told that our geraniums and fuchsias have a natural affinity for tight-bottomed tomato cans! The finest geranium in my present collection has the proud distinction of growing in a water-tight lard kettle. Though a young and blooming plant, it was held in light esteem by its owner because of a vicious tendency to magenta, and in the autumn, no pot being at hand, was given this apparently thin chance of survival. Not only has it carried its buds and blossoms straight on through the entire winter, but it has graciously overcome its perversity in the matter of color, changing from a glaring magenta to a deep and lovely rose. In the same group is a large white geranium three years old, which, after blooming all summer in the garden, has never once, throughout the winter, been out of bud and blossom. This well-behaved plant grows in an old butter tub which stands squarely on its "own" sound "bottom," unmutilated by gimlet or auger. The plant had, in late winter, ten clusters of bud and bloom, while its small neighbor of the lard kettle had six. A nasturtium, in the same window, flowers abundantly, and a fuchsia beside it is a paragon among plants. All these have had weekly applications of manure water and soot tea, and have not been kept over-wet. Especially is this true of the geraniums--which may, perhaps, partly explain their dispensing with drainage. The finest hyacinth I have ever grown in the house perfected in a handleless fancy pitcher which had no outlet at the bottom. Having no pot of the right size, some lumps of charcoal were thrown into this make-shift affair, the soil tossed in, and the bulb, not without serious misgivings, carefully planted. It flowered late, but its foliage was abundant and its bloom exquisite. It gave me five perfect rose-colored spikes. These all, in common with my other plants (excepting ferns and aspidistras) were well fed with liquid manure and soot tea, and, in potting, a little wood ashes was added to the soil. That very old-fashioned plant, the bridal-rose, is a free winter bloomer, and has a kindly way of sending up a perpetual supply of shoots for one's neighbors and friends. But, taking roses altogether, they are not profitable house plants. The constant battle with insect pests is fatiguing, and one cannot spray and fumigate and spray and fumigate incessantly, as the florist does. Now and then, after hard labor, virtue has its reward in the shape of an exquisite rose or two, but even then, "the play is scarce worth the candle." The same may be said of carnations, which not only teem with insects, but require a much lower temperature than we have in our living rooms, as also do winter violets. As to the finer uses of house plants, I have but time to suggest, in conclusion, that whoever cultivates them from sheer material satisfaction in their growth, from mere pleasure in their structural perfection, or with an eye single to their market value (as a florist naturally must), overlooking their poetical--I had almost said their religious side--has grasped but a small portion of the delight to be derived from floriculture, and has wholly missed that divine inspiration, that mental help, which emanates from "a thing of beauty" and makes it "a joy forever." CHAPTER V _At Easter-time_ April was two weeks old. Already Passion-week had come. Easter-time would soon begin. Crocuses dotted the short new grass on the lawn. Mated robins chose nesting places in the old orchard, and the big cherry tree had put on its crown of snow-tipped buds. On that cheery spring morning--wheeled out for her daily airing--"The Lady" looked expectantly at the bulbs' circles, where the newly uncovered hyacinths and tulips--pushing vigorously up for the sun's warm kisses--already showed bud and leaf of pale tender green. Dear patient Lady! Would that God had spared her to see another "Spring put on its bloom," but ere the day had done He called her to the "Immortal gardens where angels are the wardens." With scarce a pang, her tired old heart ceased beating. It had been the fancy of this dear cousin of my husband to select me among her relatives as the superintendent of her funeral--to "lay her away," as she quaintly expressed it--and it had long been impressed upon me that I must "save myself" for that responsible trust. Often when I came over from Cambridge to share her mid-day meal, she looked compassionately at my tired face, as I arranged the big basket of flowers brought for her vases (among which she especially doted on the pansies, with their charming variety of color), and holding up a warning finger, said discouragedly: "Cousin, you over-work. Take more rest, or you will pass on before me, and _then_, who will lay me away?" And so it was, that on Easter Sunday--not altogether without that "pomp and circumstance" which, from time immemorial, had attended the Mansion House funerals--I arranged her burial. With the sweet spring air coming in at the open sunny window--flowers perfuming and brightening the house and clasped loosely in her folded hands, and with so sweet a smile upon her lips that it half seemed a welcome to the neighbors and friends who looked their last upon her benignant face, still untouched by "the finger of decay"--I gave her grudgingly to the cold dark grave, where among her dear kindred (in a self-chosen site) we laid her--"ashes to ashes, dust to dust." The simple head-stone appointed by herself marks the spot; it holds this tender legend, prepared by one who knew her: "Her life was sweet with charity and patience." I like to fancy her "homing shade" still, in the long summer afternoons, haunting the old garden of her love; watching, as of old, the flitting of butterflies, listening to the glad singing of birds, and marking upon the lawn the lovely shadows lengthen in the west'ring sun. "Only the forgotten are dead." CHAPTER VI _Burglar-proof_ That strain in the New England make-up which manifests itself in "taking care of things" ran in the blood of the dear Lady. Her provident forbears--intent upon "getting the best" of any burglar bent upon the acquisition of the family silver--had protected many of the first floor windows with prison-like bars of iron. Later on, when the "Conservatory," with its long southern exposure of glass, had been added to the Mansion, there arose the necessity of some invincible protection of _that_ quarter from midnight prowlers. To this end, Jacobs--the family carpenter--was called in. This good man having constructed six stout wooden trellises--all precisely alike--they were set along the southern flower border, giving upon the exposed glass stretch of conservatory. In front of these trellises were planted six thrifty young _"Akebia Quinata" vines_--funereal of flower, and dense and clover-like in foliage. These greedy feeders, gradually crowding out the more dainty flowering perennials, were ultimately joined by a tangled growth of coarse encroaching shrubs and vigorous self-sown saplings, the whole interlaced by a strong poison-ivy vine. Meantime, the outer door of the conservatory had but the protection of a common lock, at which, as we all know, any enterprising burglar would derisively snap his capable fingers. Be that as it may, the dear Lady found in this leafy barricade her chief defense against midnight robbery. Now that the conservatory was to be widened and made into a piazza--early one May morning, during the "Third Son's" week of vacation, he put his capable shoulder to the wheel, along with that of the "Man with the Hoe"--who, like the Sexton in Cock Robin, equipped with "his little spade and shovel," fell upon this tangled border. Although in most respects a very lion of valor, the "Man" would run like a frighted girl from a troop of Yellow Jackets--and before Poison Ivy he "shook in his shoes." So work was delayed while he went for his pruning gloves, and thus armed and equipped, came stoutly to the onset. And now carefully removing the few bulbs of Japan Lily that year after year found strength to hold their own on the outskirts of this jungle, the two fell mightily on the trellised vines, the shrubs, the young trees, and the insidious ivy, and when the town clock that day told the hour of noon, the "burglar barricade" was among the things that _had been_, and were _not_; and the unharmful ashes of poison ivy lay blackened on its funeral pyre. Since the dear Lady had gone where the burglar ceases from troubling, we held it no disrespect to her honored memory to demolish the "barricade" preparatory to the widening of the old conservatory, and the turning of the whole into a roomy piazza--where, all summer long, one may take after-dinner coffee and naps, may read, write, and sew, have afternoon tea with friend or neighbor--breathing, meantime, invigorating out-door air. And now began the earnest work of "putting to rights" the entire garden; and if in this little account of that undertaking (without adding one iota to the reader's botanical knowledge) I may furnish some useful hints to the amateur, and may, incidentally, entertain with such various bits of information in regard to the works and ways of flowering plants, the origin and fitness of their names, and their relations to human life, as come of the "reading of many books," and so encourage in my fellow-woman that habit of spending much time "with body and with spirit," in "God's out-of-doors," which is one of Van Dyke's beautiful steps "in the footpath of peace," my end in making this book will be well attained. CHAPTER VII _Perennials_ To begin with the hardy perennials--which, to be effective, should be in a border of their own. At the outset, this should be made free of stones, then mellow the earth as far down as two feet. At the bottom put in about one foot of well-seasoned manure. Now add leaf-mold, a little peat, a sprinkling of wood ashes, and a top layer of sifted garden loam. If the soil be clayey, add some fine pure sand, to keep it friable. Seeds of perennials are naturally slow in germinating--their time of coming up being a period varying from one week to two months. It may here be stated that all perennial plants undergo a period of rest. It is not certain that this "_rest_" is in any sense a recuperation. It is supposed to be a hereditary trait induced by natural environment--a means by which the plant resists untoward circumstances of climate. In the tropics, plants rest during dry seasons, in much the same manner as during our Northern winters. Investigations--so far--show that this hereditary trait has not been entirely overcome by culture. Any attempt of the cultivator to ignore this resting period is apt to injure the plant, from the fact that any energy used in abnormal development may be subtracted from subsequent growth or development. Before I had taken this "old-time garden" in hand--fashioning new borders, and freeing the old from encumbering jungles--many plants, both annual and perennial, had, no doubt, found place in it as before stated. Groups of blue-eyed periwinkle still held their own among usurping forces. A discouraged day-lily looked forlornly out of the tangle, where year by year a courageous double English violet shyly perfected a blossom or two. Here and there a straggling bush of blush roses reached out for the June sunshine, and, to my delight, I found--half strangled among the over-growth--my old acquaintance, a pink flowering almond. The dear old thing was "on its last legs." We carefully removed it to kindlier quarters. Straightway it took heart, and sending up new green shoots, gave us, that very year, upon "the parent stem" a tuft or two of rosy bloom. Now, after ten years of high living, it has become an illustrious shrub; and to sit in the old garden in the May-time while the shadows and sunshine dance together on the lawn and vernal odors sweeten all the air, watching the long pink wreaths of flowering almond sway in the south wind, is to lend one's self to the divine gladness of spring, and know that simple joy in living, that is the birthright of all God's creatures in this--His beautiful and perfect--world. The flowering almond has been often divided, and all about the garden its rosy wreaths may now be seen. * * * * * Here, too, was another old friend, the Yellow Globe flower--a shrub too large and straggling of habit to find a home in the perennial beds. It has taken a front seat among the tall shrubs and repeated itself many times. It has a long period of blooming, and is a most satisfactory inhabitant of the garden. And now, as a possible help in the selection and arrangement of the perennial border, let me tell you what I have learned in regard to those under my care, in respect to their habit of growth, their treatment, and characteristics. * * * * * The Rose is, as we know, crowned queen of the flowers, and has her own separate place in the garden; but as the Lily kindly fraternizes with all her sister-flowers, and is easily Queen among the _social perennials_, I give her the first place in this catalogue of my border favorites. The Lily--we are told--derives its name from the Celtic word _li_--signifying whiteness and purity. Quick to seize upon symbolic accessories to their art, the old painters put in the hand of the angelic messenger who brought to the Virgin Mary tidings of her divine motherhood, this chaste and exquisite flower. Hence the _Lilium Candidum_ was known as the "Lily of Annunciation" and as the Madonna Lily, which last is, I think, the more poetic and beautiful of the two names. As the genus _lilium_ embraces about fifty distinct species one may not aspire to a large show of lilies in a moderate-sized garden. "It does not seem necessary," says Mr. C. L. Allen (an expert in lily cultivation) "to improve, or rather, to attempt an improvement on that which is already perfect, as the lily is, wherever found in its natural habitat. It seems to us that nature has exhausted her resources in the perfection of the species, and regards as an interference all efforts of man to improve her work." "L. Candidum," says the same authority, "is older than history, as the first notice made of plants speaks of it as a 'well-known plant.' It is the loveliest, as well as the oldest, and if we were to have but one lily Candidum would be the one." I quite agree with this decision. The Madonna has ever been the lily dearest to my heart. Although its native habitat is the Levant, the Candidum has adapted itself to our colder temperature, and is easily perfected in our temperate climate, and in the hardy garden. Some twenty years ago this lily was extensively forced for the Easter market. In the present decade the Bermuda Lily (L. longiflorum) is almost exclusively forced for the Easter trade, and popularly known as the "Easter Lily." Its cultivation for that April festival has now become one of the established industries of that lovely clime. The bulbs--there grown in wide flowery fields--are, early in autumn, received by our florists and directly potted for the Easter harvest. A lady passing the winter in Bermuda brought from that island some bulbs of L. longiflorum, which finally coming into the possession of Mr. H. K. Harris of Philadelphia, he honored the flower by bestowing upon it his own name, and as L. Harrisii, brought it into prominent notice among our florists, who now force it for Easter-time. The Bermuda-grown bulbs are preferred by them to the Dutch-grown ones, as they are earlier ripened and come into bloom quicker. For myself I prefer the Madonna, with its more open flower, to the trumpet-like Bermuda. It is, too, an old acquaintance, has a more delicate odor, and hangs its sprays more gracefully. The Bermuda needs much coaxing to live through our bleak Northern winters, but the Candidum is absolutely hardy. The Madonna holds to her corner with the tenacity of a family cat--she is a long time settling herself in a "strange garret." Mine had undergone the vicissitude of three moving days before settling in their present quarters. I distributed them well through my sunniest border. Their next neighbors were some elderly Bee Larkspurs. The first and second year the lovely blue Delphiniums did most of the blooming. After that the Lilies and Larkspurs punctually celebrated together the "great and glorious Fourth"--the tall Madonnas (some years in throngs of two hundred) leading the fair procession--the Larkspurs like swarms of blue butterflies flitting about among the snow of the lilies. Then, for a time, every friend in the neighborhood had a dainty spray of summer lilies for decorative uses. Finally, it befell that the coarser perennials elbowed the lilies too closely. They grew chary of bloom, and sometimes the bulbs quite gave up the struggle for existence. Then it was that, calling in the aid of "The Man with the Hoe," I made for my "Queen Lilies" a new home, with better drainage. The Madonna after her July flowering takes a rest. Her favorite moving day is about the last of July. I have not an extensive knowledge of lily-culture, having but few varieties of this lovely plant in my garden. All, excepting the Japanese (Lilium auratum) take kindly to my borders, and "increase an hundred fold." My list includes a few plants of the Japanese found here in the purlieus of the old "burglar barricade." I am indebted to Mrs. Ely for this information in regard to L. auratum: "As soon as planted in this country a microbe disease attacks the bulb and they gradually disappear under its ravages." This, no doubt, accounts for the unhealthy appearance of my few L. auratums, their scant tale of blossoms, and their sad tendency, year by year, to "grow beautifully less." America, after all, is but the step-mother of this charming flower, and Nature somewhat repudiates this much calumniated tie. In English gardens they are said to thrive well, which may, in part, be due to better climatic conditions. In my borders the _Candidum_ takes the front seat. Here and there I make place for L. Tigrinum (the well-known tiger-lily). In shady places sits the Day Lily. I have a single plant of the tall Nankin-colored Lily, variously named (Lilium Excelsum, Testacum, Isabellinum). The stalk is sometimes nearly five feet high, and produces from three to twelve reflex flowers of a dainty Nankin hue--delicately shaded and fragrant. In flowering it immediately follows the Madonna. The Excelsum is not of Japanese origin. How, when, or where it was born is yet unknown. It is said to be easy of culture, and this season I intend to remove mine to a less crowded situation, as I should long ago have done, but for dread of taking chances with the one plant. There may be a garden where Nankin Lilies are "thick as blackberries," but it has been my fortune to see but one plant, and I have found that the flower is a stranger to all who have met it in my border. The Nankin Lily came from our Cambridge garden, and presumably was originally grown in the Harvard Botanic Garden. I have, too, the old-fashioned, sweet-scented, early-blooming Yellow Lily. I have never known it by its Latin name, but believe it to be Hansoni--a Japanese lily, as it answers in every particular to the description of that plant. Were the flower more lasting it would be more desirable. Its bloom, which comes in clusters, has, singly, but the short life of a day. With delight I found this dear lily of my far-away childhood in one of these old-time borders. It is perfectly hardy, and wonderfully prolific in bulbs. My garden has now scant room for all its Yellow Lilies, and _this_ after friends and neighbors have kindly relieved me of some of this "embarrassment of riches." The Lilies-of-the-valley must be kept to their own beds, where they double and treble themselves incontinently. Last, but not of least place in my heart, comes that flower thus charmingly vended by "Perdita"--in "Winter's Tale"-- "Lilies of all kinds--the Flower de Luce being one." The familiar old-time Flower de Luce, a vigorous clump of which I found in the "Attached Garden" (growing along with the Yellow Lily and the "live-forever" plants), is with us a native product, and absolutely hardy. The smaller varieties grow wild in swamp and meadow, and are, I think, invariably, blue as the noon-day heaven. These are sometimes known as "Flags." The cultivated hardy Irises are of several colors. Mine is a lively blue, shading off to bluish white. In these days we grow in our gardens many lovely foreign Irises--some of them so beautiful that they have been called "the connecting link between the Lilies and the Orchids." The flower of the Spanish Iris is very lovely and of various colors, quite fragrant, and appears in June. It is classed by Dutch bulb growers as perfectly hardy, but in our trying climate needs to be protected by a slight winter covering. The (so named) English Iris is a native of the Pyrenees, but, as we are told, has been common in English gardens since 1571. The flowers are of varied color--blue, white, lavender, crimson, and yellow. _L. Germanica_, or German Iris, is one of the most valuable of the early-flowering sorts for the herbaceous border. This Iris is bulbous-rooted, easily propagated, and (though classed as hardy) is greatly benefited by a light winter covering of leaves. In color the flowers are blue, bright yellow, purple, of all shades, and white. Japanese Iris (I. Kæmpferi) is with us fully acclimated, a gross feeder, and a strong grower, and an abundant bloomer. Its flowers are from six to ten inches in diameter, in various shades of color--pure white, dark purple, porcelain blue, maroon, violet, plum, and so on--all with very distinct pencilings and marblings, and exquisitely beautiful. I have no Japanese Irises in my garden, but a kind neighbor sends me superb cut-blooms from his perfect Iris border. Mr. Allen says that the well-cultivated seedling of Japan Iris "has no superior in the floral world." Iris is named from Iris, the goddess of the rainbow--in classic mythology the swift-footed Olympian messenger. The root of the Florentine Iris is fragrant. It has a charming violet-like odor, and is the well-known sweet Orris root (the name corrupted from Iris) of commerce. In Shakespeare's day the Iris and the Daffodil were both included among the lilies. Some species of Iris have from early times been called _Fleur de lis_, or in English, Flower de luce. The Fleur de lis adopted by Louis the VIIth of France as the emblem for his shield during the Crusades was, probably, the White Iris. Older monarchies in Eastern countries, considering the Iris an emblem of power, used it--in a conventionalized form--as an emblem, on their scepters, and in this form the manufacturer still patterns it on table-linen. In the mysterious representations of antique Egypt the Iris was placed on the brow of the Sphinx. Altogether considered it is a most desirable ornament of the garden, and a flower "of mark and likelihood." It is recorded in the Greek legends that the physician Pæon cured Pluto of a wound with the common Peony; hence it is called after him in almost every country in Europe. The ancient Greeks are said to have held the plant in high repute, believing it to be of divine origin, and an emanation from the moon. Pagan superstitions die hard, and in our Christian civilization still hold their own among the ignorant masses. Mrs. Pratt tells us that in England "the lower classes turn beads of the Peony root, which form necklaces for their children, and are supposed to aid dentition, and prevent convulsions." We learn from her that at the end of the 16th century the double red Peony--at that time introduced into Antwerp from Switzerland--was too expensive a flower for any but the rich man's garden, a single plant selling for twelve pounds! "The Mongols," she tells us, "use the seed of the wild Peony in tea, and flavor their broth with its roots." Among ourselves no garden is complete without this lovely hardy perennial. From my childhood the big red Peony--coming in late May-time--has been, to my mind, the very embodiment of Spring! Of all the Peonies this flower of my early love is most precious--beloved less for its dear blowsy self than for its sweet associations--memories of by-gone springs when life and joy went hand in hand, and grass was not greening on the graves of my dead. I have in my borders but four colors of this fine flower--red, white, pink, and pink with white center--this last a single variety, and an indefatigable bloomer. The red, white, and rose pink are all the doublest of their kind, and the two latter are deliriously odorous. Of late, Peonies of many colors are to be had from the seedsman--pink, purple, and salmon-colored varieties of exquisite form and color. The Peony is greatly disquieted by removal, and, though sturdily tenacious of life, refuses for a year or two after transplanting, to "do its level best." It is increased by division of tubers, or may be propagated by seed. The division and replanting should be done in October, and one should see that there is, at least, one eye on each tuber. The Peony may be commended to the perennial grower, not only as a lovely flower, but as a plant to "tie to." It never gets winter-killed, blossoms punctually, and has no pernickity notions in regard to situation. It will grow in any soil, but to do its best requires to be well fed and to have the loam about it kept loose and friable, the same as for the rose. * * * * * The Foxglove (Digitalis) beautifully repays one's care. Unhappily it has a tendency to succumb to the harshness of our climate, and often gets winter-killed; surviving this ordeal, it is--with its charming spikes of white, purple, and pinkish lilac bloom--the pride of the garden. Four years ago I had, in the western end of a southward-facing border, a superb clump of this lovely biennial. Many times a day I went to look at these exquisite flowers. As I stood before them in admiration a friend often joined me, and while we stood admiring them, I thought of the Persian flower-worship--an account of which I had come across in my reading and stored in my collection of "Useful Clippings." Here it is. I cannot now recall the name of its author: "A Persian saunters into a garden and stands and meditates on each flower before him, as in a half vision. "When the vision is fulfilled, and the ideal flower sought for found, he spreads his mat and sits before it until the setting of the sun, then folding his mat he goes home. "The next night he returns with friends--in ever-increasing troops, and they sit before it playing the lute, or guitar, and then all together join in prayer. "After prayer they still sit before it sipping sherbet and chatting late in the moonlight, and so again every evening until the flower dies." This oriental vein of plant and flower-worship seems to have been found in all Persians--even in royalty itself! It is related of Xerxes the Great that he lost a battle by delaying a whole day with his army under the shade of a gigantic plane tree, which so charmed him that he caused it to be adorned with a golden circlet. But, to return to the Foxgloves--five or six years ago one in my border made a new departure. It "sported"! It should perhaps be explained that to _sport_ is to produce a flower, or a shoot, of abnormal growth. Long ago I read a most interesting paper "On Sports." I do not remember the name of its writer, nor of the English magazine in which I found it, and after an exhaustive search in our town library have not been able to find a second paper on the subject, or to obtain further information in regard to this curious tendency from any botanist. I remember that the English article stated that this tendency in plant or shrub to ignore Nature and take things into its own hands, was sometimes utilized by the horticulturist as an opportunity to propagate from the "Sport" a new variety of the normal plant, or shrub. Here then was my chance! From the seed of this enterprising _digitalis_ (which bore at its apex a flower almost as flat as a daisy) I would develop a new variety--a radiate Foxglove. I confided my ambition to a friend who, although himself a teacher of botany, had never included in his research the subject of "Sports." This botanical expert took great interest in my "Sport"--watching it with me from day to day. Alas, vain were my hopes of giving to the world a new flower! The radiate Foxglove declined the honor of reproduction; dropping its mottled petals, and slowly shrinking away without forming a seed pod! A queer characteristic of the "Sport" was thus asserted in the English article before mentioned: "When a plant _sports_, all plants of its kind, wherever growing, also _sport_." Now one may admit the fact of a single plant having (as it were) flown in the face of Mother Nature, but when it comes to the whole family--"all the aunts and cousins," from Dan to Beersheba, joining in the frolic, one can but wonder and doubt the Munchausen-like statement. Calling that summer on a Cambridge friend (a member of our Plant Club, whose flower-garden is a miracle of beauty): "One of my Foxgloves has sported," I proudly boasted. "So has one of _mine_," she said, "and it is the first _sport_ I have ever seen." So the magazine statement was, after all, believable! Yes, away across the Atlantic, in English gardens, the Foxglove--obedient to this marvelous natural impulse of its being--was trying its hand at a radiate flower! I find it well that my _sport_ did not germinate, since the regularly formed Foxglove suits the tall spike "to a T," and is far lovelier than any freak of a flower could be. Since making a record of my Foxglove _sport_ I have learned that this flower often produces at the tip of its blossom stalk an abortive radiate flower. I wonder if the Foxglove did not originally start out as a radiate, and if this freak is not a wild tendency of the plant to escape that evoluted form (which is its civilization) and lapse into its primitive barbarism? The Foxglove comes in bloom late in June and continues flowering about four weeks. Though classed as a biennial, it sometimes lingers on through a third summer, and continues flowering. It is named from its finger-shaped corolla. The dried leaf of _Digitalis Purpurea_ is a specific for disturbance of circulation, and is used in heart disease. Its colors are pure white, white mottled with pencil-color, purple, lavender, from the palest to the deepest shades--some almost pink--all curiously mottled on the inside of the flower, which grows in tall spikes. Sow Foxgloves in seed bed about last of April, and, late in September, transplant to their permanent place. They will bloom the following year. Both Foxgloves and Canterbury Bells sow themselves profusely if stalk is left to perfect its seeds. The self-sown plants are said to be stronger than the hand-sown ones, and may be transplanted for the next year's blooming. CANTERBURY BELLS, _Campanula medium_ It has been suggested that "the name of Canterbury Bells may have been given to the giant species of Campanula from its resemblance to the hand-bells which were placed on poles, and rung by pilgrims while proceeding to the shrine of Thomas à Becket." Chaucer, in his "Canterbury Tales," has described in detail these processions to the tomb of the "blisful martir." The Canterbury Bell is, like the Foxglove, a biennial, and may be sown in the seed bed at the same time, or the self-sown plants may be used. It needs winter protection (not too heavy), for it is easily winter-killed. I have, at times, had in my garden most lovely Campanulas--both double, single, and "cup and saucers." The most beautiful variety is the single. In color mine were white, purple, and lavender, of many shades, but the pride of my heart was a rose-pink Canterbury Bell. "Beautiful as a dream!" said the garden visitor, moved to admiration at the sight of these pink beauties. Lovely as they are, Canterbury Bells have not the grace to die nicely. Their dead blossoms cling, withered and unsightly, to the parent stem, and unless one has time and patience to go among the plants daily and remove the dead bells it is, for this reason, well to cultivate them in inconspicuous beds apart by themselves. Another most desirable plant for the perennial border is Phlox (from the Greek _flame_). Time was when we had but the white and purple, the latter tending to that odious color magenta, which some one has happily said is "a color that has no right to be." The above varieties I found in the old border, growing amicably together. It is not without touches of remorse that I deliberately uproot anything that bears the name of flower, but, since I could remember, there has been a deadly feud between purple Phlox and myself. I keep a single root for old-time sake, which it gives me a megrim to look at. The white has been transplanted and has grown apace, until there are oceans of it in my borders. I have, too, some of the fine varieties of "Phlox Drummondi." One of them, a deep salmon red, with a dark eye, is literally a bit of "_flame_." There are pinks with maroon-colored eyes, whites with pinkish eyes, pure white, lilac shaded with carmine, and light salmon with wine-colored eyes. I love best the pure white and dark salmon pink, but scarce could spare any of these from my color-scheme. The Phlox is the hardiest of herbaceous perennials, easily propagated by division, or from seed. With me, the seed-grown Phloxes have not come true in color. It is, I think, wisest to select plants in flowering time among varieties in a florist's collection, and order them at once. They are so tough that any moving day suits them, and one can scarce have too many, as they begin blooming in early August, when the border is somewhat forlorn, and last until frost. * * * * * Day-lily is the common name of a species of the Asphodelus. The ancients planted Asphodels near graves to supply the manes of their dead with nourishment. The poets, probably taking their cue from this, have celebrated the Asphodel in song as the flower of the immortals. I have thought that the bloom of the Day-lily, exquisite in form and odor, needs but the added charm of immortality to fit it for "Angel gardens," but alas, its only defect is its evanescence--a single day bounds its life on this planet. Its foliage is very ornamental, and for grouping with perennials it is a plant greatly to be desired. It is easily propagated. From one sickly root found in the old garden I have grown for my own garden Day-lilies ad infinitum, and easily spared many for those of my neighbors. It needs to be well fed, and will accept any respectable situation, and, though doing well in the sun, is most eligible for shady spots where other plants refuse to grow. * * * * * The Sweet-William--Dianthus--is hardy enough and perennial enough, profuse of bloom, and gay in color, yet nevertheless from the show places of my garden I have banished it "for good and all," because of its tendency to sprawl about the borders after flowering time, wan and withered, and making faces at the freshly-gowned Foxgloves and Canterbury Bells, then thronging the borders. The Sweet-William has quietly taken a back seat, and, owing me no grudge, contentedly blooms on, as if to "blush unseen" were its special province. [Illustration: The Man with the Hoe] With those tough little members of the Dianthus family, China Pinks, I have been most successful. It is a perennial, but too low-growing to make any marked show among the taller flowers. It is prettily varied in color, but lacks the odor of the Clove Pink. It is a profuse bloomer, and makes a desirable pot-plant for the window garden. "The flower of the family" is the old Clove Pink, to which the parentage of our Carnation is by some accorded. The Elizabethan poet Drayton calls these sweet-smelling flowers "Cloves of Paradise," and Lawson--at the close of the sixteenth century--thus extols it: "Of all the flowers save the damask rose they are the most pleasant to sight and smell." "Their use," continues he, "is much in ornament, and comforting the spirits by the sense of smelling." A syrup made of Clove Pinks (with the probable addition of some stimulant) and called by our English forbears "Sops-in-wine," because of its use in giving flavor to the festive cup, gave to this flower its rather material appellation of Sops-in-wine. Thus sings Spenser: "Bring Carnations and Sops-in-wine Worn of paramours" (lovers--wooers). Bacon informs us that "Sops-in-wine, quantity for quantity, inebriate more than wine itself." A precious Clove Pink of Botanic Garden origin, for a time bloomed in my border. It has, long since, died of old age. * * * * * Shakespeare says in Othello: "Not poppy, nor mandragora, Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep Which thou had'st yesterday." Keats and many others have immortalized it in their verse. Burns thus points a moral with the flower: "Pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flower, its bloom is shed." The Papaver family has wrought much ill in its day. It is from P. _somniferum_, one of its members, that the opium of commerce is collected. It is the milky juice of the capsule, or of any other part of the plant which exudes from incisions in the cortical part. This juice, scraped off, is worked in the sun's heat till it is of a consistency to form cakes. The Oriental and Iceland Poppy are both perennial. Although like the Irishman, "not born in their own native country," they take kindly to our soil. Ten years ago I carefully sowed some seed of Oriental Poppy. Two of them consented to germinate, and now, from this small beginning, I have in my garden Orientals galore. Last spring these beauties kept my borders all aflame with their splendor. I counted, in a single border, eighty-five buds and blooms, and felt well-repaid for their careful nurture. Nevertheless, Oriental Poppies raised from seed mean much patient care, and many failures, but once thoroughly established they are "real estate," and have a kindly way of sowing themselves. As the Poppy, with its long "_tap_ root," is most impatient of removal, this habit especially commends them to the grower. The Iceland Poppy, though far less considerable in size, is very hardy, and with its dainty bloom of lemon, orange, red, and white, makes a pretty show in a bed by itself; and the Iceland is one of the few poppies available for one's vases. Mrs. Thaxter, in the beautiful account of her Isle of Shoals gardening, tells us that by cutting poppies in the dew of the morning, with the right hand, and plumping them straight into water with the left, she had great success with them as cut flowers. Following her method--unsuccessfully--I am forced to believe that the long and beautiful survival of her cut poppies depended largely on the crisp cool air of her Island home. Here the summer is many degrees hotter, and has far less moisture in its air, and, though morning after morning, tempted by their exquisite shades of color, I gather Shirley Poppies for the house, and like the Persian, fall down and worship them; in their slender vases they scarce outlive the day. A friend making a pilgrimage to Stratford-on-Avon brought me some seed supposedly from Anne Hathaway's garden. I sowed Madame Shakespeare's poppies with reverent care, but these English-born seeds patriotically refused to quicken in alien soil. No matter! they may have been but half-wild wind-sown things, and with my Shirleys, Icelands, and glorious Orientals, I can spare them. With the ancient Greeks, the poppy with its crowded capsules was an emblem of fertility. Cybele, the mother of the gods, wears a crown of poppies. In Roman gardens Somnus, the god of slumber, was anciently figured as reclining on a mass of snowy poppies, with a posy of these emblems of oblivion in his motionless hand. Mexican Indians are pictured as returning home after a day of toil, dancing and singing to the music of a guitar, and crowned with wreaths of this "forgetful flower." In the shops of Constantinople poppy juice mixed with rich fruit syrups is sold as a sweetmeat, or in the form of small lozenges on which are stamped "_Mash Allah_" (the work of God). Tartar couriers, traveling immense distances, and with marvelous speed and endurance, often, it is said, take no other nourishment than the famous "Mash Allah" of the Turks, in which the juice of hemp is mingled with that of the poppy. * * * * * The Columbine (Aquilegia) is a desirable plant for the border. Mine came from choice seed sent the Plant Club from Mr. Childs, a Philadelphia florist. They soon germinated, but were two years coming to bloom. There are now many beautiful colors to be had. I have but the yellow and white, the purple and white, and pure yellows. Once well-established, Columbines come to stay, and are most lovely! the garden plants flowering from the middle of May until late in June, and having the same graceful carriage of the wild variety, with flowers double their size, and with elegant long "spurs." Its name is from the Latin Columbinas (dove-like) so called from the beak-like spurs of its flowers. * * * * * In my mention of early-blooming perennials I had forgotten the Crown Imperial. It is a resident of most old gardens, and has the distinction of remote antiquity. Mention is made of it in an Herbal of 1596 for its "stately beautifulness," and the herbalist accords it a "first place in the _Garden_ of _Delight_." I have but a single plant of this early flower, which punctually leads off in the spring procession along with its neighbor, the red peony. The Eupatorium is not, I think, extensively cultivated in the garden. It is one of the hardiest of the later perennials. Mine was raised from seed. Having but one clump of it, I am always meaning to sow and to raise more plants of this dainty white flower, which comes with the Phloxes at the most flowerless time of the borders, but (to borrow an excuse from my slack old colored woman-of-all-work) "I haint jus' fetch roun' to it." I find the Eupatorium's name in my seed catalogue. It is not, there, classed with the hardy perennials. It grows high enough to make a fair show among the border plants. As will be seen, I have not in my borders a large assortment of perennials. My purse forbids a costly collection, and I think it well to undertake no more plants than can be well cared for in my hands, when much extra help cannot be afforded. To my list let me add a few low-growing beauties. The Italian peasant twines wreaths of the Periwinkle around the head of the departed infant or young maiden, and calls it _Fler di morte_ (Death's Flower). Because of the laurel-like tint and texture of its glossy leaves the Greek has termed it _Daphnoides_. In olden times it was highly valued for its medicinal virtues. Lord Bacon tells us that, in _his_ day, bands of green Periwinkle were bound about the limbs to prevent cramps. By Americans it is often miscalled _Myrtle_. It carpets finely the bare spaces in borders, especially the shady ones, where other perennials will not thrive. The Periwinkle is not an "up-to-date" plant. The seedsman of today gives it no place in his catalogue. I have several thrifty clumps of this pretty blue-eyed darling, and delight greatly in its bloom and its glossy trailing foliage. Periwinkle is one of the oldest flowers of the English garden. Chaucer in describing a garden of the olden time speaks of it as "Fresh Periwinkle, rich of hue," and places it on the same plane with the rose and violet. * * * * * The Forget-me-not is another low-growing perennial which may prettily carpet the bare spots between the taller occupants of the border. We have all associated the name of this charming little flower with the story of the chivalrous knight who wandered beside a stream with the lady of his love. In the attempt to procure for her some of its much-desired flowers growing on the opposite shore he was borne away by the current while returning to her side with the gathered blossoms, and, making a last effort, threw them on the margin of the engulfing flood, and crying "Forget-me-not," sank beneath the waters. Miss Strickland gives a less romantic but more probable narrative of the origin of the name. The exiled Henry of Lancaster, whose fortunes are related by Shakespeare in "King John," according to this writer, first gave to the Forget-me-not its emblematic meaning by writing it on his collar with the initial letter of his _mot_, or watchword, and on his restoration from banishment continued this heraldic use of the flower, adopted in his homesickness, even when raised to the fatal eminence of a king. * * * * * Some of the showiest of the annuals may be, in June, transplanted from the seed beds to brighten the borders through August and September, as the Yellow Marigolds, the Zinnias, the Nicotianas, the Cosmos, and the seedling Single Dahlias, which will bloom the first year, and if that dictum of Linnæus ("a double flower is a vegetable monster") may be accepted, are the beauties of the family. They are certainly more lovely for one's vases than the double Dahlias, and the white ones are, as a table decoration, scarce less charming than the white Cosmos. The Dahlia is named after Andrew Dahl, a Swedish botanist, and is a native of Mexico and Central America. It shows a natural disposition to _sport_ from its original form (single). Florists directed their attention to raising new forms of this flower. First attempts finally resulted in semi-double varieties, and early in the 18th century M. Doukelan, botanic gardener at Louvain, produced from seed three perfectly double plants. These are said to be the very first double Dahlia plants ever produced. The Dahlia is decidedly progressive. Its up-to-date achievement is the elegant Cactus variety. I sowed, this year, some seeds of double Dahlia. It is now October and a few of them (some very beautiful and quite Cactus-like) are in bloom. * * * * * Once upon a time there were in this garden thrifty borders of Box. These the dear Lady tried hard to keep intact. Every spring the failing rows were reset with small plants from the ancient stock, and were, first and last, the plague and despair of "the man's" busy life. At first I made the same futile attempt to restore the Box bordering. Now I have given up this idea of repairing the withered sections, but some six or eight large plants still in their beautiful perfection delight my heart. Some there are who object to the odor of Box, to others it is very pleasant and grateful. I am very fond of it, partly, I suppose, from its association with some much-admired gardens that I knew in childhood. Common Box has but two varieties, one of which is the Dwarf Box, used as an edging for flower-beds--the other (Tree Box) is described as of surprising thickness, and as tall as the beech tree. This tree is of great antiquity. It is mentioned in the Bible, with the fir tree and the pine, as affording wood for the temple of King Solomon. The wood of the Box tree is very valuable and durable. Virgil has thus sung its virtues: "Smooth-grained and proper for the turner's trade, Which curious hands may carve, and steel invade." Mrs. Pratt tells us that "in the North of England the old custom of each mourner carrying a sprig of Box at a funeral and throwing it in the grave still lingers." Wordsworth thus baldly refers to this practice, in his verse-- "Fresh sprigs of boxwood, not six months before, Filled the funeral basin at Timothy's door." In Turkey, the widow, who goes weekly to pray at the tomb of her husband, plants a sprig of Box at the head of the grave. CHAPTER VIII _Hollyhocks and Violets_ Hard by the Lover's walk, in an old-time bed, a blue Flower-de-luce, some roots of white and purple Phlox, a bunch or two of "Leaf-for-ever," and another of scented yellow Lilies, had long stoutly held their own. Here, every spring-time, the Lady caused to be planted her Dahlia bulbs--by no means the choicest of their kind, but taking amicably to the situation, and every autumn generously contributing their scarlet, lavender, and purple bloom to the color scheme of the big bowpots that adorned the side table in the "Mansion House" hall. Four years ago, late in July, to deaden the pain of a new bereavement, I prepared this bed for the reception of a few dozen Hollyhock plants. It was the place suggested for this use by him who had left me, and with many tender thoughts of the beloved one I undertook the carrying out of his wishes. Removing to other quarters the old inhabitants of the bed "The Man with the Hoe" dug deep and spared not for manure. This done, on a cloudy day we set the young plants. It seemed a risky undertaking to transplant at midsummer, but, covered for a time from the sun and faithfully watered, they all adjusted themselves to their new home, and have, ever since, thriven to my heart's content. The bed is long and of moderate width. The plants were set in two rows, about one foot apart, and in the space between the outer rows we put, here and there, smaller plants. In late autumn they all had a covering of litter and boughs, and were made snug for their winter nap. As the situation is high and exposed to "all the airts the wind may blow," it was not without misgivings that I waited for the spring uncovering and the after development. In due time the hardy darlings showed their pretty green shoots, and before midsummer they stood up in budded rows, ready to be staked, and about the thirteenth of July the bed burst into splendid bloom. My color scheme called for but two colors, pink and white, and wonderful it was to see the shading of the roseate flowers, varying, as it did, from wine color to such faint pink as lives between the dainty lips of a sea shell. On some stalks (more than eight feet high) the flowers came double as a cabbage rose; on others they were half double, and the out-and-out single ones had the sheen of satin and the transparency of gauze, and all were more or less creamy or lemon-hued at the center. I think it must be from the old association of Hollyhocks with village Fourth of July celebrations that the flower has to my mind a distinctly festal appearance. Standing at the end of my bed and looking down the rows of pink and white is to me like watching a holiday procession. Not a commonplace ordinary one, keeping step to the music of a brass band, with doughty policemen hustling the hoodlums in its rear, but one of chaste and joyous maidens gowned gayly in pink and white, such as may of old have been led by "Jephthah's daughter," what time she "went forth with timbrel and dances" to meet her rash, exultant father fresh from his victory over Israel's uncircumcised foes. Yes, the Hollyhock, though lacking the delicacy of the Lily and the fragrance of the Rose, is a flower "most fair to see." The yellows and purples are both beautiful, but for massing give me the reds, pinks, and whites. Sow in the seed bed each spring and thus have new plants to supply places made vacant in the show bed, and to bestow on neighbors who are starting rows of this fine hardy perennial. Hollyhock--O E holihoc--"holy mallow"--"blessed mallow"--is probably so named because brought from the Holy Land. * * * * * No garden is complete without its Violet bed. Ours was started eight years ago. We selected for it a spot "half in shade and half in shine," with a southern frontage, sheltered from the north by tall shrubs. Two packets of choice Russian Violet seed were then sown in friable soil, well sifted, and made rich with a bottom layer of old cow manure. The bed had been laid out, prepared, and sown by the dear hands of one whose gardening is now "all done." After all his care the seed never germinated, and early in the following autumn the bed was set with well-grown double Russian Violet plants bought of the florist. For a year or two these plants throve finely, blossomed abundantly, and increased fourfold. The third year the flowers degenerated in size and beauty, and though still, at May-time, the bloom punctually puts in an appearance, the Russians are, on the whole, far less satisfactory than the single English Violets brought from the Cambridge garden and growing in the end of the same bed. These flower most generously and come into bloom about ten days earlier than the Russians. The Violet has an obliging way of sowing its own seed, projecting them from its capsule with dynamic force. My English darlings have a lavish habit of scattering themselves about the lawn, in that fashion, and filling in the bare places in the bed. The Russians choose rather to be propagated from runners. Friends I have who grow year after year big velvety Russian Violets. Would that I had the skill to do likewise, but to me heaven denies the power of bringing these beauties to perfection. Yet (such as they are) I hold my Violets dear, and without them spring would scarce be spring. In all the old floral usages of the English the Violet holds a place next to the Rose. It was used at weddings, and had its place in other and sadder religious ceremonials. With the Troubadours it was an emblem of constancy. Their prize of a golden Violet to the best versifier of the flower's graces and beauties proves in how much esteem they held this April blossom. * * * * * The Pansy, one of the _Violas_, was much celebrated by the elder English poets, who gave it the charming name of "Heartsease." Pansies may be easily grown from seed. As they are less troubled by cold than most flowers--being half hardy--the seedlings may be treated as biennials. Transplant them from seed bed in September, and in November cover well with old manure, then add piled leaves and evergreen boughs, and the minute spring opens uncover. The young plants should not be allowed to flower in the autumn. Pick off the buds as they appear and they will be likely to give you bloom all summer long. I confess to an impatience that prompts to the buying of many baskets of Pansies in May, and thus securing flowers on the spot, besides selecting my favorite colors. These plants will not achieve much after their first season, but will grow "beautifully less" in size, and finally become like Lady's Delights, those pretty plebeian Violas that accept any soil, or situation, and show their cheery little faces among the cabbages, and even in the skimpy soil of the gravel walks. "There's Pansy, that's for thought," says Perdita, in "Winter's Tale." Pansy--French _pensee_, fancy or thought, from _penser_, to think. Heartsease--ease of heart--tranquillity of mind--is the poet's name of the flower. Of the common names one may choose between "Johnny Jump-up" and the more elegant Lady's Delight. The Violet, though but a tiny unassuming flower, is (both in verse and prose) often classed with the regal Rose. Both are delightful in perfume, and in that respect equally popular. Having small knowledge of rose-growing I do not presume to hold forth on "Rose Culture." Books on that subject are many and excellent, and I should but say with "Denis," the "Minister's double," when his turn came to make a speech at the committee meeting: "So much has been said, and so well said, that I will not further pursue the subject." Nevertheless, my next chapter shall be devoted to this "Queen-flower." CHAPTER IX _The Rose_ The Rose is no mushroom Queen. Her ancestry dates away back to the Garden of Eden, and if Eve did not there gather a rosebud _boutonniere_ for Adam, it was because that primitive young man had not a buttonhole "to his name." The Rose of all flowers has been most praised by poets. From Isaiah's day to our own they have celebrated its charms. In English history it figured as the badge in the feuds between the houses of York and Lancaster. Among the ancients the Rose was the symbol of secrecy, and was hung up at entertainments as a token that nothing there said was to be divulged--hence the well-known phrase "under the rose" (sub rosa). The Romans at their voluptuous entertainments suspended roses in golden network from the ceiling, which, throughout the feast, fell slowly upon the reclining guest. All day, while the skillful Roman _chef_ busied himself with his _ragouts_ of flamingo tongues, his _patés_ of locusts and honey, and his roasts garnished with "chilled mushrooms," slaves, in garden or forcing-house (as the season might be), wove fresh wreaths of roses for the invited guests, which beautiful youths, with hair in golden nets, waiting at the door of the _triclinium_, put upon their heads, warning them, as the custom was, to pass the threshold "right foot foremost." One sees, in fancy, the couches of these recumbent feasting voluptuaries, with the roses dropping, dropping, all night long, while the wine cup brimmed and "the hours went by on velvet feet." The flower-loving Persians held annually a "Feast of Roses," which, we are told, continued the whole time of their remaining in bloom, and still another known as "The Scattering of the Roses." Groups of beautiful children then went through the streets strewing these delicious flowers. Tom Moore tells us that "every part of the city was then as fragrant as if a caravan of musk from Khoten had passed through it." My own rose garden is not much to brag of, having been made up of such miscellaneous rose bushes as were (without outlay) attainable. The greater part of these had come over with us from the Cambridge garden. Most plentiful of all are the Blush Roses. (Bushels of their scented petals are yearly cured by me for Potpourri.) One or two bushes of it still straggled on in the old-time border, and brought up to their possibilities by transplantation and sufficient food, soon became good to see, as also did the lone rose bush from the edge of the grass-plot, dear to the Lady's heart as the gift of a dead friend, and, summer after summer feeding the delusive hope of bloom, nursed in her optimistic soul. Now there is a second bush of its kind, both bravely blooming. I have never learned the name of the Lone Rose. It is so very double that I have fancied it might be a descendant of the Persian "Gul sad buk," the Rose of a hundred leaves, a particular species much prized in the Vale of Cashmere. Be that as it may, it is a lovely flower. Its petals are legion, and its buds so rounded and compact as to have the appearance of big pink "alleys." More exquisite still is a single rose rescued from choking in a snarl of waxberry bushes. It has since taken to itself a big slice of the rose garden, and, enlarged by good living to twice its ancient size, its daintily shaded flowers, for decorative use, are simply perfection. Unhappily their bloom is evanescent. They seldom outlast in water a day and a night. Among the Cambridge roses was a little half-wild pink darling "unknown to fame." I found it at Farm Hill (Weymouth Town), where it ran riot among the vegetables in a carelessly ordered garden patch, and straggling through the picket fence, held its own among the seldom-trodden wayside weeds and grasses. Its color is bright pink, and it has the size and habit of the Scotch Rose, and is in full bloom when other roses are but buds. Another early pink rose which we found in the Cambridge garden is the next earliest. It flowers about the 9th of June. I have no clue to its name. It must have been one of the Botanic Garden roses. Its blossom is exquisite in form, but not over fragrant. In habit it is straggling, almost a climber, and does not take kindly to pruning. Then there are the well-known Damask Roses, which must have come long, long ago from the Harvard collection. In their own habitat the Damasks are cultivated for their mercantile value, being, as we are told, the special roses from which the costly foreign Attar is obtained. I had thought that the Damask Rose had in the family three colors, but Bacon sets me right. He says: "It is large, _pink_, hardy, and has not been known in England (at the time of his writing) above one hundred years." It is by no means a distinguished-looking rose, but seems to have conserved within its sweet heart the perfume of a thousand summers. A Yellow Scotch Rose takes kindly to my garden. A rose bought of a Cambridge florist for the beloved daughter, gone home to God (whose latest care it was), and now known as "Mary's Rose," bore well its second uprooting. It has come to be a tall bush, bearing abundant clusters of deep pink bloom, and all summer putting forth crisp shoots, with leaves red as a sunset cloud, and lovely as flowers for decorative uses. A Sweetbriar--rifled years ago from the wildwood--after a fourth transplanting knew three summers of thrifty growth in its latest home, and then gave up, without notice, the experiment of being cultivated. Not so a sturdy wilding brought all the way from Maine, as a dear souvenir of happy seaside "days that are no more." It still accommodates itself to Massachusetts soil and bears with fortitude the exigencies of Massachusetts "culchure." Last and best is my heart's joy--the white rose of my childhood. It has never revealed to me the secret of its botanic name; I simply know it as the "White Rose." Fifty years ago its sister roses might have been found in many dooryards--side by side with ragged pink cinnamon roses--thriving untended, loaded with bloom, and covering the low fronts of roadside farm-houses. Its flowers are lovely in form, with creamy petals, and just the faint suspicion of a blush at their heart. Its odor is all its own--a strong, chaste, wholesome scent, yet sweet withal as the "honey of Hymettus." All my life long it had been the desire of my heart to have a bush of this old-time white rose in my _very own_ garden. Time after time I had bought and planted it, but to watch it die; at last, when half a century of my life had gone, it surprised me in the Cambridge garden! The bush had evidently seen its best days, and when we moved to The Lilacs opinions varied as to the wisdom of transplanting so old a settler. We could but try, and so we tried and succeeded. The big scraggly bush is (ten years after) bravely holding its own, and summer after summer scantily bearing the same dear old roses. A second bush, propagated from the parent root, has been put in our Mt. Auburn burying lot. It is one of my idle fancies to have a white rose tree near my grave. Surely when "petals of its blown roses" fall upon the grass above my head "My heart will hear them and beat Tho' lain for a century dead." And now it is on my conscience that, in this authentic history, I have not yet confessed my disgraceful failure with Perpetual Roses. In the little bed, started ten years ago, but six decadent specimens now "hold the fort." I cannot state whether this shameful fact is the result of unfitness of soil, mistaken pruning, insufficient winter protection, or simply the malice of opposing Fate. Innumerable "Rose-grower's Guides" have been consulted in regard to loam, manure, and phosphates since I made this venture. Naturally, then, the soil cannot be greatly at fault, and as to "winter protection" I have, as directed, stacked the bushes in straw, covered the ground with good manure, topped by a covering of leaves held in place by strips of board. This failing, I have tried omitting the stacking, and using manure, leaves, and boards, and finally have fallen back on manure and leaves as a permanent "winter arrangement." In regard to pruning I have consulted many authorities, but "who shall decide when doctors disagree?" My Perpetuals have been pruned in early spring, at mid-summer, and in autumn--have been pruned a little and pruned a good deal, and with the same dreary result, and my ultimatum is--_prune not at all_. This final decision is in direct opposition to the convictions of "The Man with the Hoe," who, once the pruning shears are in his hand, is prone to emulate the insatiate old fellow of the New England Primer, commended to our childish attention by this awesome couplet: "Time cuts down all, Both great and small." This propensity to "trim things up" is the one flaw in the character of this useful person. On such days as he takes up his shears I follow anxiously in his wake, and with mild remonstrance stay his ruthless hand. So many Perpetuals have, first and last, lived out their little day in my garden that my poor brain refuses the task of recalling their names. Of the six bushes that still survive, two are Jacques, one an unreliable pink rose (name forgotten), which blooms when "so dispoged," usually drops its shrunken buds right and left, and, if quite convenient, perfects annually two or three lovely flowers of delicate pink and of marvelous size. Next in order are the two cherished white roses, the gift of a kind neighbor, that, regardless of early frosts, bear their pretty clusters up to the very last days of October. Lastly comes the tall thrifty bush procured years ago along with five sister bushes in the prize collection of a florist; the latter all died young. I cannot recall the name of the survivor, nor tell its color, for never once has it put forth bud or bloom. Hope, however, dies hard in the plant-lover's breast. Like the scriptural proprietor of the barren fig tree I still "dig about and dung" this incorrigible rose. Last year I sowed Single Dahlias in the bare spaces in this untoward rose bed, and when these and the two obliging white roses blossomed together I looked with complacency upon the effect and thanked Heaven that matters were no worse. Meantime my flower-loving neighbor, summer after summer, is bringing Perpetual Roses into perfect bloom--red roses, pink roses, and roses of waxy whiteness--large, fragrant, and altogether exquisite! To walk among his Tea Roses and sniff the scented air is like going out to "afternoon tea." The fine foliage of his bushes (in itself only less beautiful than their bloom) is the result of neither hellebore, insect powder, nor emulsion, but is simply kept immaculate with pure cold water. At early morning the bushes are vigorously showered. At nightfall the ever-ready hose is again in play. Under this heroic treatment the red spider gives up the fight and hostile insects of every variety hide their diminished heads. For the rest I think this marvelous success (which extends to every plant, shrub, and tree in his garden) is mainly due to a wise understanding of their individual needs, a fond love of them all, and a never-tiring patience. I have never cared for the Standard Roses. Like boys walking on stilts their performance is odd, but unbecoming. From Isaiah's day to our own the Rose has been well praised by poets. Here are some of the many stanzas, lines, and couplets that celebrate this beautiful Queen: "The desert shall blossom as the rose." --_Isaiah._ Before the Hebrew poet sung Eve was thus pictured in paradise: "Veiled in a cloud of fragrance where she stood Half-spied, so thick the roses blushing round About her glowed." --_Milton._ "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may; Old Time is still a-flying, And that same flower that smiles today Tomorrow may be dying." --_Herrick._ "What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet." "But earthlier happy is the rose distilled Than that which, withering on the virgin stem, Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness." --_Shakespeare._ "Die of a rose in aromatic pain." --_Pope._ "The budding rose above the rose full blown." --_Wordsworth._ "The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew." --_Scott._ "As though a rose should shut and be a bud again." --_Keats._ "You may place a hundred handfuls of fragrant herbs and flowers before the nightingale, yet he wishes not in his constant heart for more than the sweet breath of his beloved rose." --_Janie._ There is an Eastern legend telling that when Paradise was fading from earth an angel plucked and saved a single rose, which from that day has transmitted to its kind an immortal fragrance. No other flower has so many intimate relations to our humanity. It goes to the altar with the bride--to the tomb with the dead. Young happy hearts rejoice at its coming, and aged pulses ("slowed down" by Time's relentless hand) quicken anew with memories of long-past Junes. In the primal garden Eve herself must have given it its lovely, fitting name, and Juliet was wrong--by no "other" would it "smell as sweet." CHAPTER X _Border Bulbs_ The Salvias, grouped in the perennial border, make a fine color show. Coming when the earlier brightness of the season has passed, their scarlet clumps last from late August to the time of frost. Raised from seed their flowering season is briefer, and, as the plants are comparatively inexpensive, it is well to get their full worth by setting out well-grown Salvia plants in early June. The Gladiolus is another effective flower, and should find place in the perennial borders. Plant bulbs about the middle of May, and again in July, and thus secure a long flowering time, as a light frost does no harm to the plant. Gladiolus prefers a light loam, or a _moist_ sandy soil. Fresh manure will prove injurious. Mr. Allen tells us, in his book on "Bulbs, etc.," that "flowering bulbs of this plant may be produced from seed with a certainty of a greater variety and a chance for some remarkable forms. There is," declares he, "no other pleasure in gardening equal to that which comes from the growing of Gladiolus from seed." It is claimed for the Gladiolus that if cut for decorative use when the first flower on the stalk opens the spike will develop better in water than if left out in the open sun. I have no experimental knowledge of this assertion. Take up early in October, and store bulbs in cellar. "The Gladiolus belongs to the genera Iridaceæ. The genus contains about ninety species, nearly all of which are natives of the Cape of Good Hope." The Tuberose may be used in the garden with the same effect as the Gladiolus. Mexico is the land of its nativity, and two species make up the genus. In a quaint old book published in 1629 and entitled "The Garden of Pleasant Flowers" it is classed with the "Greater Indian Knobbed Hyacinth." "I have," says Parkinson (an old-time author), "thought it best to begin with this Jacinth (Hyacinth) because it is the greatest and highest, and also because the flowers hereof are in some likeness neare unto a Daffodille, although his root be tuberous, and not bulbous, as the rest are. The Indian Jacinth hath a thicke knobbed roote, yet formed into several heades, somewhat like unto bulbous rootes, with many thick fibres at the bottom of them. The toppes of the stalkes," he goes on to inform us, "are garnished with many faire, large, white flowers, each whereof are composed of six leaves, lying spread open as the flowers of the white Daffodille, with some short threads in the middle, and of a very sweet scent, or rather strong and headey." As may be seen in the above statement the Tuberose was first known as a "Jacinth" (Hyacinth) and was at that time a single flower. The double variety was raised as a seedling by M. Le Cour of Leyden, in Holland, who for many years would not under any circumstances part with a root of it. Even if after propagating a desired quantity, there was a surplus, he would cause every tuber to be cut in pieces and destroyed, in order to be the only possessor of so valuable a plant, and one which he considered the finest in the world. The Tuberose is a gross feeder, and succeeds best in light loam, but will grow in any moist rich soil. Its complete requisites are heat, water, and manure. If these are proportionate, no matter how much there may be, the plant will consume it. And here is an incident in Tuberose culture (backed by good authority) where Nature, scorning slower methods of evolution, "got on a hustle" and produced a new variety on the spot. I copy it verbatim from Mr. Allen's book: "In 1870 John Henderson of Flushing, N. Y. (a Tuberose cultivator), discovered growing in his field a number of plants of strong habit of growth, and with dark broad foliage. These he determined to keep apart from his main stock in order to see what the result would be. "Cultivating them in the same manner as his other Tuberose bulbs he discovered a distinct type of dwarf habit and much larger flowers. This he at once named the 'Pearl,' and from the then small stock the trade in what is known as 'Excelsior Pearl' is now wholly supplied. The Pearl is the favorite of the buyer, and takes the first place in the seedsman's catalogue." The Single Dahlia, flowering as it does after the early summer beauties have had their day, is an inexpensive "stop-gap" for the perennial border. One may plant, in late April, kept-over bulbs or propagate from seed sown first of May, and sure to flower the same year. The Nicotiana, though an annual, may be used freely in the perennial border. It is an evening bloomer and opens an hour or two before sunset, and looks and smells its divinest by the light of the full round moon. The young plants take kindly to removal, and may, with care, be changed from seed bed to border while flowering. CHAPTER XI _Annuals_ A well-ordered garden is, in a measure, dependent upon the annuals, coming in bloom (as they do) after most of the perennials have had their short summer hour. As February days lengthen the seedsman's catalogues come pouring in. Turning a resolute back on the allurements and temptations of "Prize Collections" I find it safer to pin my hopes to some well-tried seedsman, and selecting in accordance with experience and the length of my purse, send in an early order. Time was when I anticipated the season by starting, in early March, window boxes of asters, petunias, cosmos, and nasturtiums; experience has since taught me to await the slower seed time appointed for me by wise Mother Nature and sow in the open about the first week in May. The nasturtiums and sweet peas may be soaked over night and put in earlier, the _latter_ the moment frost is out of the ground, the _former_ about mid-April. If one can command a cold frame still earlier sowing of transplantable annuals is desirable. Seedlings thus raised are hardier than window growths and may be set in the open bed before May is over; with the house-sown annual one loses more of vigor than is gained by "forehandedness." Most annuals may be sown in the seed bed, which is the necessary appendage to the show beds--indeed, all excepting the cosmos and poppy, which cannot well bear removal. The transplanting may be done late in June, and, indeed, if a cloudy day be chosen for the work, on any afternoon throughout the summer. I have found that not only annuals but herbaceous plants, vines, and even shrubs may be moved at one's convenience without regard to the popular idea which restricts one to spring and fall transplanting. My own method is--first, have a coolish cloudy day, then dig holes and put oceans of water in them. Having made the soil of the seedling quite wet one may keep a little ball of it about the plant. Cover quickly with moist loam, then screen from sun with newspaper, a big basket, or a box in which airholes have been made, and keep well-watered until apparently rooted. A few high-growing annuals, as marigolds, coxcombs, zinnias, and four-o'clocks, may be used with effect in the empty spaces in perennial beds, where Oriental poppies and candidums have died down and have had their stalks cut. For this purpose let not the stiff-necked zinnia be despised. Easy of culture, ready to move at any date, and without a moment's notice and (if one save seed) in such cheap abundance that the undesirable colors and shades may be pulled up as soon as the blossom shows its face and cast aside with the weeds. The dreadful magentas are never once permitted a foothold in my garden; the whites, yellows, true pinks, salmon-pinks, and bright scarlets are all effective. That out-of-date annual, dear to our grandmothers, the Four-O'Clock should find a place in the perennial border. As will be inferred from its name, it is an afternoon bloomer. "Motley is its wear," and its color surprises more than repays one for the pains of raising. It has a faint delicate odor all its own, recalling the enchanted gardens of one's childhood, and that time of day when "school was out," and one went skipping home to pull nosegays. I lack space to give here the long list of desirable annuals. Most of these are low-growing and look best in their own beds, as Mignonette, Lady Slipper, Escholzia, Poppies, and so on. Centaurea (Bachelor's Button) should especially have an entire bed to itself. Mrs. Pratt tells us that in Germany it has been brought from the field to the garden bed, and by the gardener's skill has increased the number of its flowerets, and sometimes varied their hue. "It is the pet of the German ladies, who have given it the pretty name of _Bluet_. With us it is sometimes known as the 'Corn Flower.'" The Centaurea, according to Pliny, "is that famous hearbe wherewith Charon, the Centaure, as the report goeth, was cured; at what time having entertained Hercules in his cabin he would needs be handling and tampering with the weapons of his said guest so long, untille one of the arrows light upon his foote and wounded him dangerously." To this legend the plant may probably refer its name. [Illustration: Winter Corner at The Lilacs] Some of the low-growing annuals may effectively border the show beds where late in May the geraniums are set on the removal of spring bulbs, which I find it best to lift and dry off for fall planting. Clumps of Narcissi and Daffodils may remain permanently in the borders to make their summer growth, and the half-grown bulbs may be put in beds made in some out-of-the-way place for their especial propagation. In central positions on the lawn build raised circles for show bulbs; border with stone. Avoid turf borders, which imply a continual fight with tough grass roots. Have good loam, sifted fine, and well enriched with old cow manure. Make holes four inches deep, and put in each a sprinkling of fine sand to prevent the bulb coming in direct contact with manure in the soil. Plant bulbs in October, but do not cover with the final dry leaves and pine boughs until the very last of November, and be sure to uncover in spring as soon as the young sprouts push up for the sun. In summer, with two or three choice cannas in the center, some bright geraniums, and coleuses next, and a filling out of asters, petunias, and low Drummond Phlox from the seed bed, the circles will make a lovely show of color up to the very last day of summer and all through the month of September, and, on their groundwork of green lawn, be indeed fair to see. In back places of the garden sow seed for flower-cutting; among the best of these is the "White Branching Aster," the single Dahlia, and (if one can bring enough of these beauties into bloom) the white Cosmos. The yellow Daffodil, although in our climate it does not, as in Shakespeare's England, "Come before the swallow dares And take the winds of March with beauty," is among the earliest of our spring flowers and laughs our raw east winds to scorn. "Yellow," says Mrs. Jameson, "symbolizes the goodness of God." We cannot be better reminded of this divine attribute than by the Daffodil's smiling face looking up to us from the edge of perennial beds. The single white variety of Narcissi, known as Poet's Narcissus, must, I think, be the identical flower into which the vain beautiful youth of mythological notoriety (enamored of his own image reflected in a fountain) was changed. The gods did well by him. To this day it makes our May-time sweet, and as a cut flower it is perfection itself. Later, as the plants die down, one can remove its dead tops and sow Shirley Poppies above the bulbs, while they increase beneath and get ready for the next "spring opening." The Asphodel of the Greek poets, by some declared to be the Day Lily, is by others supposed to be the _Narcissus Poeticus_. The Tulip, as a bulb, is historically famous. It was brought to Europe from Persia in 1559 and was cultivated at Constantinople. From this city it found its way over Europe under the name of the Turkish Tulip. About a century after its first introduction it became, as we know, the object of commercial speculation. It is said that enormous prices were paid for a single bulb, and that as much as $3,000 was offered and refused in one instance. Speculators were even more excited and reckless than the growers, and many of the Dutch florists were ruined by their ventures. This mania happily wore itself out and the industry finally assumed a healthy tone. At the present time, according to the statement of Mr. C. L. Allen, to whom I am indebted for the above facts, more than seven hundred acres of Dutch soil are devoted to Tulip culture. Tulips have been grown from the seed by the millions. The named varieties are so great that it would be impossible to enumerate. One dealer alone boasts of more than eighteen hundred varieties. The seed bed's important part it is to furnish fresh plants to take the place of such perennials and biennials as are winter-killed or have outlived their flowering time. It should have light rich soil and, if possible, should have half the day in shade. CHAPTER XII _Climbers_ The originator of the "Mansion House" was compelled to obey literally the scripture injunction and "build upon a rock." A substratum of that safe "foundation" lay directly beneath the site chosen for his home and must have been hewn or exploded out previous to the placing of its corner stone. Consequently within a good foot or more of the house there is found but a thin layer of soil, where climbers may not obtain a foothold. I had formerly great success with perennial vines and creepers, among them may be counted Bignonia Radicans (Trumpet Creeper), "Baltimore Belle" (rose), Matrimony (now nearly obsolete), which I once trained with yellow Flowering Currant over the entire length and breadth of a veranda. This method of growing the Currant I claim as entirely my own. We latticed the piazza with copper wire, and its combination with the Matrimony (or "Tea Vine") was most effective and made a very dense screen. My Prairie Rose was also a marked success. So was my Hop Vine, my Scarlet Honeysuckle, and a pink climbing rose given me by a neighbor. I cannot recall its name, but well remember how it ran riot over an entire lattice, arched over the long French window in my first parlor, and how the June west wind blew its petals in from the raised window, in scented showers, about the parlor floor. Among the annual vines I have had fine Coboea Scandens--climbing like "Jack's bean" to the very top of things. With Moonflower I have failed, although I soaked the big seed over night and sowed with great care. It is an exquisite flower, and I have seen it brought into beautiful bloom. The common native Morning Glory, which "grows and takes no care," as a matter of course does well with all. Not so the Japanese (Ipomoea Imperialis). Lured by the seedsman's pictures of this wonder, year after year I waste good money on seed packets of that disappointing flower. My seed germinates after a fashion and sometimes I get a flower or two a trifle larger than those on the native vines, but about the same in color. Three summers ago I potted a seedling and gave it a small trellis. To my great delight it bore a few precious flowers of cerulean hue daintily striped with white. Thus encouraged I still include Japanese Morning Glories in my list of annuals, ordering them from one seedsman after another, if, peradventure, I might hit the man who furnishes the marvels which I have read about--the fluted, fringed, and rainbow-hued, the _bona fide Ipomoea Imperialis_. When, fifteen years ago, after a long absence, I went for a summer outing to my native town it was the time of Honeysuckles--the evening air was loaded with their perfume, for _there_ not to have a Honeysuckle is to be poor indeed. Glad was I to walk in the June moonlight and again revel in the dear familiar odor. When I again left my old home I bore with me three thrifty roots of this lovely vine given me by kind friends. These were carefully planted in a sheltered corner of our Cambridge garden. From that hour I have had Honeysuckles to spare. Grown to big precious vines the three came with us to this garden, where they now cover four wooden trellises, a bit of the garden wall, and an irregular arch at the end of our piazza. Their runners have supplied the entire neighborhood with young vines, twelve of which have already come into bloom, not counting one in Malden and another in Chelsea. Last winter in common with many others I suffered a partial loss of my Honeysuckles from winter-killing. The roots were, however, still intact, and, though we missed their full bloom, their foliage is now (middle of August) as fine as ever. It is but lately that I have learned that the Honeysuckle and the Woodbine of England are one and the same. The English Honeysuckle blooms monthly; the Japanese Honeysuckle is _not_ a monthly bloomer. It blossoms with the June roses, and sometimes bears a spray or two of bloom in late autumn. It differs in other ways from the English--has not its pink shading nor its dainty scent. Milton, in Lycidas, calls it "the well-attired Woodbine"--perhaps this is because of its continuous flowering. The oriental variety has in this day superseded the English. More rapid in growth and easier of culture it falls in with the hurrying sentiment of the time. It has been my good fortune to possess in my day three English Honeysuckles--_now_, mine are _all_ Japanese. The poets, from Chaucer down to Wordsworth, have sung the praises of the Woodbine. The elder poet drew his image of constant affection from the clinging nature of the Woodbine (or "bind") and its enduring hold on the wedded tree. Contrary to the habit of most other vines the Honeysuckle follows, in its windings, the sun. The Weigelia, a shrub belonging to the Honeysuckle family, was introduced from China, and is named after Weigel, a German naturalist. Here end my hints in regard to the selection and culture of such everyday herbaceous plants, shrubs, annuals, and vines as are attainable to the garden-lover of moderate means. Many rarer specimens are (as a matter of course) within reach of one with a longer purse, who holds (with me) that Victor Hugo "hit the nail on the head" when he paradoxically asserted that "the beautiful is as useful as the useful, perhaps more so." To me one of the beautiful uses of flowers is to cut them for interior decoration. Our grandmothers had no vocation for out-of-door life. A garden was to them a place to "grow things" in, to work and walk in, but to sit in? never! All the same the big "bowpots" were duly filled, and although less artistically arranged than the vases of today, were a part of the housewife's plan of living, and bore witness to the divine truth that "man cannot live by bread alone." Lafcadio Hearn tells us that "to the Japanese the arranging of a bough of blossoms is a serious act of life. That the placing of flowers is indeed an exact science, to the study of which a man may devote seven years, even fourteen years, before he will be acknowledged a master." As a rule avoid painted china vases in arranging cut flowers. Let the vase be artistic in shape and well adapted to the flowers it holds, but never so gay in color as to rival them. Single flowers arrange best, and, as a general rule, put each variety in a glass by itself. Roses, Nasturtiums, and Sweet Peas seem especially well-suited to table decoration. They are all "good enough to eat." CHAPTER XIII _Gardens "in Spain"_ The poorest of us have our "castles in Spain." Why not have our _gardens_? Such a garden I have "in my mind's eye," but before I make bold to describe this airy creation (which, for lack of leisure and "hard cash," is doomed never to materialize) let me explain that my garden in Spain is not purely ornamental; that its beds and walks, although tastefully laid out, are strictly devoted to "the useful," to culinary and medicinal ends. In earlier times our _Materia Medica_ (including though it did the unsavory pills and potions now become somewhat out of date) pinned its faith largely to Nature's ready-to-hand specifics. "Simples," as these herbs were then called (probably in contradistinction to the complex preparations of the doctor), were even in our own generation zealously gathered by our grandmothers; and I well remember the time when to be without dried herbs--Boneset, Hoarhound, Wormwood, Motherwort, Catnip, and Gentian--was to be shiftless indeed. In laying out this imaginary garden plot I have covered a good half acre of rich soil, which I have, in fancy, divided into pretty beds of various size and shape, with neat intersecting gravel walks. There I have sown or planted such herbs as once hung in generous bunches, drying leisurely, in all respectable garrets, when such minor ailments as "flesh is heir to" were cured on the spot and only on alarming occasions the doctor, with his pill boxes, his blisters, and lancet, called in. Various are the uses and virtues of these medicinal herbs. "Gentian," says an old herbalist, "will worke admirable cures for the stomache and lungs. It is also a special counter-poison against any poison, as against the violence of a mad dog's tooth." Modern physicians find one species of Gentian soporific and use it to procure sleep for the weary sufferer. G. Latea is the Gentian of commerce, and is used as a tonic. The old herbalists commend the Common Centaury as a cure for jaundice and ague, and tell us that an infusion of the plant removes freckles. Of Jacob's Ladder (a plant of the genus Smilax) Pliny tells us that the name by which it is known to us is derived from Polimis (war), because two kings having each claimed the merit of discovering the great uses of the herb had recourse to arms to settle the disputed question. The old "Simplers" (herbalists) commend Penny Royal tea as a remedy for coughs and colds--"goode and wholesome for the lungs"--and add that "a garlande of the plant worn about the heade will cure giddeness." Foxglove (Digitalis) was praised by old herbalists for its various medicinal uses, "divers having been cured thereby of falling sickness." Later, skillful practitioners have discovered its power over the action of the heart, and Digitalis has come to be a highly-valued medicine. Common Vervain rivals the Mistletoe in its occult usages. "Many old wives' fables tending to witchcraft and sorcerie," says Gerarde, "are written of Vervayne." "The Druids," according to Pliny, often used Vervain in "casting lots, telling fortunes, and foreshadowing future national events." Its gathering was attended with peculiar ceremonies. "It was to be sought for at the rising of the great Dog-star, and when plucken an offering of honeycomb was to be made to the Earth as a recompense for depriving her of so goodly an herb." The ancients believed that "if the hall or dining chamber be sprinkled with the water wherein Vervain lay steeped all that sate at the table should be very pleasant, and make merry more jocundly." The Romans considered it a sacred plant, placing it in the hands of ambassadors who were about to enter on important embassies; and the floors of their houses were rubbed with Vervain to drive away evil spirits. In England, at a later time, the plant was called "_Holy herb_," and had its superstitious usages intimating a belief in its magical properties. Of late years it is there tied round the neck as a charm to cure ague. Vervain is still believed to possess great medicinal virtues, and is described as a remedy for thirty different maladies. It had of old the expressive name of "Simpler's Joy." The Verbena tribe of this plant is cultivated in our gardens for its showy clusters of pink, purple, white, and dazzling scarlet blossoms, and the Lemon variety for its delicately fragrant leaves. According to the old "Simplers" "the roote of the Caraway may be eaten like the parsnip, and helpeth digestion and strengtheneth the stomaches of ancient (aged) people exceedingly, and they need not make a whole meal of them neither." In some countries Angelica is (we are told) called by a name signifying the "Holy Ghost." In ancient times its leaf stalks were blanched like those of celery and eaten as a salad, or they were dried and preserved as a sweet-meat, "Candied Angelica." The Laplander believes that the use of Angelica prolongs life, and chews it as he would do tobacco. The Highlanders have the same opinion of the virtues of Lovage. The simplers have advised "gentlewomen" "to nourse it up in their kitchen gardens to helpe their own family and their poore neighbors that are faire remote from phisitions and Chirurgeons." They also affirm that "if a man carry about him Angelica root the witches doe have no power over him." The nourishment in the roots of wild herbs has often kept the Indian tribes from starvation in times of scarcity of game, when they had to depend on these and on crows, eagles, and devil fish to sustain life while awaiting the "coming of the salmon," that in fishing time leaped in prodigious numbers in their rivers. I remember reading of an especially providential instance where in a region desolated by grasshoppers the people were, for the time, sustained on the _roots_ of herbs which these greedy cormorants had, necessarily, left intact. For an interesting and exhaustive treatment of this branch of botanical information the reader is referred to Anna Pratt's "British Flowering Plants," a work from which much of my own knowledge has been obtained. "If," says an old writer, "I shoulde set down all the sortes of herbes that are usually gathered for sallets I should not only speake of garden herbes, but of many herbes which grow wilde in the fieldes, or else be but weedes in a garden." George Herbert, in his "Priest to the Temple," while enumerating the duties of the parson and his family, thus writes: "For salves his wife seeks not the city, but prefers her gardens and fields before all outlandish gums; and surely hyssop, valerian, adder's tongue, melilot, and St. John's-wort, made into a salve, and elder, comfrey, and smallage made into poultice, have done great and rare cures." And he piously adds: "In curing of any, the Parson and his family, use to premise with prayer; for this is to cure like a parson, and this raiseth the action from the Shop to the Church." Catmint or Catnip is the "New Wine" of the Grimalkin family. It is said that it is not intoxicating to them until its odor is perceptible to their smell by breaking or bruising the plant. Catnip is fabled to make the most gentle human beings fierce and wrathful, and it is related of a certain pusillanimous hangman that he only gained courage to perform the duties of his wretched vocation by chewing catnip root. One who experimented with Catnip as an incitement to ferocity assures us that "for 24 hours after a dose of this root she retained a perfect equanimity of temper and feeling." But enough space has already been given to the healing herbs that plant themselves in my Garden in Spain, and now let me tell you of the dear little imaginary beds devoted to my sweet-scented "pot-herbs." In these I please myself with tending Coriander, Mint, Anise, and Cumin, Dill, Lovage, Thyme, Lavender, Angelica, Sweet Sicily, Rosemary, Comfrey, Fennel, Sweet Basil, Penny Royal, and Balm. Here, too, may be found less poetical herbs of solid worth in the cuisine--as Sage, Parsley, Summer Savory, Sweet Marjoram, and so on. Many fragrant pot-herbs are dear to my heart simply from long association, others are widely distinguished by historical eminence. Coriander has the especial claim of "long descent." Its pedigree dates back to the time of the Egyptian Pharaohs, and it is possibly coeval with the Sphinx and the pyramids. It would seem to have been in common use among the Hebrews at the time of their exodus from Egypt, as Moses, in the Book of Numbers, tells us that Manna was in appearance like Coriander seed. It is said to have been in use by the ancients both as a condiment and a medicine. In our day it forms an ingredient in Curry powder, and is used in confectionery. Mint, Rue, and Cumin have each a delightful flavor of antiquity. The tithe or tax upon these ancient herbs paid so scrupulously by the Pharisees bears testimony to their commercial value full nineteen centuries ago. To think of these miserable hypocrites having mint-sauce to their "spring lamb" and, possibly, "peppermint creams" to their dessert! It is, however, good to know that the dear little babies of the time were privileged with anise seed tea in the stress of colic. How bitter-flavored cumin served them I cannot say, but it is to be hoped that these "Scribes and Pharisees" (whom even their imitators frankly anathematize) what time they had "spring feelin's" were not let off with homemade decoctions of innocent "Simples," but were mercilessly dosed, by the "Holy Land" doctors, with nasty potions of Senna and Salts. Lavender, Rosemary, Basil, and Sweet Marjoram have all been celebrated in verse. Keats has sent cold shivers down our backs with his gruesome story of "Isabella" and her flower-pot of Sweet Basil, with its ghastly hiding: "And she forgot the stars, the moon, and sun, And she forgot the blue above the trees, And she forgot the dells where waters run, And she forgot the chilly autumn breeze; She had no knowledge when the day was done, And the new moon she saw not: but in peace Hung over her sweet Basil evermore, And moisten'd it with tears unto the core." Sweet Marjoram in England produces its fragrant blossom at such elevations as to have gained the pretty name "Joy of the Mountains." Shakespeare has added interest to it by making it the password in the tragedy of "King Lear." In fancy one can see the faithful Edgar with his mutilated father, the duke, climbing to the "dread summit of that chalky bourn," and hear Edgar saying to his father: "Hark! do you hear the sea?" "The swete marjoroms," says an old writer, "are not only much used to please the outward senses in nosegaies, and in the windows of houses, as also in swete powders, swete bags, and swete washing waters, but are also of much use in physick, to comfort the inward members." Caraway calls up the cookies dear to childhood, and a spray of green Fennel brings back, as if by touch of the enchanter's wand--"Minister Garner" in the old meetin'-house under the big "sounding board" (relentless as fate) pursuing his theme to the bitter end, while seated, in the pen-like box pew, beside our devout grandmother, we tone ourselves down to the solemn occasion, with no higher aspiration than the wish to be butterflies sailing gayly in the outside sunshine. Virtue has, at last, its reward. At about the minister's soporific "fifthly" our grandmother catches herself nodding. Opening her roomy black silk workbag she gives herself a saving nibble of fennel and passes a delicious spray of this spicy herb to each of her three grandchildren. Dear old grandma! a full half century ago her soul went home to God, yet still I recall my childish picture of her angel sweeping with wide wings the blue eternal spaces, with never-withering sprays of fennel in her hand. One lingers lovingly over these pretty "Herbs O' Grace," of which the half has not here been told. But, already it is time to write _finis_ at the end of this vagary--"My Garden in Spain." CHAPTER XIV _The Cerebral Processes of Plants_ I find it good to think of plants as mysterious fellow-existences, about which the half is not yet known--to speculate on their psychological properties--on what has been called "The cerebral processes of plants." Darwin has thus expressed himself on this interesting question: "It has," he says, "always pleased me to exalt plants in the scale of organized beings, and I therefore felt especial pleasure in showing how many and what admirably well-adapted movements the tip of a root possesses.... It was impossible in accordance with the principle of evolution," he goes on to say, "to account for climbing plants having been developed in so many widely different groups, unless all plants possess some slight power of movement of an analogous kind. This I proved to be the case." In his "Power of Movement in Plants" he still farther expresses this conviction: "The tips of all young growing parts of the higher plants continually revolve, bowing successively towards every point of the compass." And he declares that "it is hardly an exaggeration to say that the tip of the radicle endowed with such diverse kinds of sensitiveness and having the power to direct the movements of the adjoining parts, acts like the brain of one of the lower animals, the brain being seated within the anterior end of the body, receiving impressions from the sense-organs and directing the several movements." Great truths gain ground by inches. This assumption of the great scientist is not yet generally admitted, although, as I think, well established by experimental proof. An interesting paper in "Forest and Garden," prepared by T. D. Ingersoll of Erie, Pennsylvania, and entitled "Signs of Intelligence in a Madeira Vine." I here copy verbatim: "Two or three years ago I began, without any great seriousness, an experiment on some Madeira Vines, which presently began to prove more interesting than was anticipated. Before this my attention had been attracted to peculiar movements made by this plant in the course of its spiral ascent of a stick. If allowed to grow a few inches above the support the extremity of the plant will sway backward and forward a few hours and then will enter upon a regular revolving movement, always from right to left, or contrary to the direction in which the hands of a watch move. One revolution consumes about three hours. One of my plants began to grow on April first, and at the end of fourteen days was twelve inches tall and showing signs of uneasiness--now bending away from a vertical position and again standing nearly upright. On the 16th it was eighteen inches high, and, being too top-heavy to stand erect, it began to fall away from the pot, which stood upon a table, towards the floor. This was done gradually and apparently with conscious care. It seemed to feel at times that it was letting itself down too fast, when it would stop with a jerk, like a nodding child half asleep. When near the floor it began describing ellipses, about three inches in diameter, with its upturned extremity. On the 19th it was twenty-six inches in length, and would describe a crescent-shaped loop, seventeen inches in length by six inches in breadth, in about two hours. On the 23d it was three feet four inches long, revolving with less regularity, and at times drooped as if weary or discouraged in trying to find something upon which it might entwine itself. Thus far no opportunity had been given the plant to climb, since it was desirable to see what it would do to meet the absence of some support. On the 26th a new route of traverse was undertaken at 6 a.m., and at nine o'clock the extremity, which was near the floor at the left side of the pot, had described a circle six inches in diameter. It then slowly swept around to the right side and made another irregular circle, and then returned to the left side of the pot; these movements occupied just twelve hours. The track of the tip of the vine was carefully traced with a pencil upon a sheet of paper laid beneath it, and the entire line of traverse measured no less than six feet nine inches. During the evening the plant became quiet, and probably remained so all night. At 10 a.m. the next day, however, it began pointing its tip in various directions, and at noon assumed the form of a corkscrew, about four inches long, which posture it retained until night and then straightened out. On May first the vine was lifted and tied to a vertical support--a large thread--where it remained entirely quiescent for two days. Then it began growing again as if it had recovered from what had been for six days a condition near the point of death. "Another vine was observed carefully during several days of cloudy weather. It uncoiled itself from the stick and reached away toward the light at an angle with the horizon of forty-five degrees. It was carefully recoiled about its stick, but after it had grown some three inches more it unwound itself and stood away toward the window as before. Time after time during the continuance of the cloudy weather it was brought back to its support but invariably left it. Then followed a fortnight of bright sunny weather, during which the vine showed no disposition to escape from its stick or stop its twining growth. Attempts were made to induce another plant to twine in the direction opposite to its normal one, but no ingenuity could deceive the plant as to its proper course. All the experiments seemed to show how much like an animal was the plant in its sensitiveness, not only to changes of light and temperature, but to harsh treatment. Whenever restrained or forced, no matter how tenderly, out of its natural method of growth, all progress was retarded and the health of the vine disturbed in a marked degree. Plants seem to be creatures of feeling and the similarity of movement and apparent purpose between them and the lower orders of animals are used to strengthen their theory by those who hold to the doctrine of the identity of life in the two kingdoms." Dr. Dwight, in his paper in "Scribner's" entitled "Right-handedness" still further develops the theory of brain power in plants. "The spiral growth," says this writer, "of a graceful climbing plant, at first sight, suggests nothing like right or left-handedness, but the analogy when once seen is very striking. As the young plant begins its upward course it is clear that to make the coils which it is its nature to describe, it must either turn to the right or left. It might be supposed that its deviation to either side is the result of an accident, but this is impossible, for, though the individual plants of some kinds do twine indiscriminately to either side, some only curl to the right and others to the left. More remarkable still, some species twist in the opposite direction to that of the larger families to which they belong, and finally, sometimes a particular plant grows the wrong way. This is analogous to being left-handed." From Mrs. Pratt's "Flowering Plants of England" I take this account of the curious movements of the seed-vessel of the "Musk Stork's Bill." It is a relation of Mr. Mallet of Dublin of his personal observation of the capsule movements of this remarkable flower. "Each seed," says the writer, "of which there are five to each flower, is enclosed in a carpel, attached by its upper extremity to a tail or awn, which possesses the most wonderful hygrometric sensibility, as, indeed, does every other part of the plant. These five awns lie in grooves in the receptacle of the flowers, and this receptacle is central to and is the axis of all parts of the flower and the fruit. "When the whole system has arrived at a certain point of aridity the awns, which are provided with an exquisite power of torsion, hoist themselves out from their grooves and at the same moment a number of downy filaments, hidden in the back or inward face of the awns, bristle forth; they all now become detached and fall to the ground. But here they still continue to twist, and from the position in which they always lie keep tumbling over and over, and thus receding from the parent plant until at length they become perfect balloons, ready to be wafted away by every zephyr." The theory that "plants can see," or, at any rate, manage to find food and support by some special sense, which the unscientific mind cannot better name than to call it sight, has been corroborated in the "Rural Press" by Mrs. King, who thus describes her husband's observation of this interesting habit on the part of a creeping plant in India: "He was sitting on the veranda, with one foot up against a large pillar near to which grows a kind of convolvulus. Its tendrils were leaning over into the veranda, and, to Robert's surprise, he presently noticed that they were visibly turning toward his leg. He remained in the same position and in less than an hour the tendrils had laid themselves over his leg. "This was in the early morning, and when at breakfast he told me of this discovery we determined to make further experiments. When we went out into the veranda the tendrils had turned their heads back to the railing in disgust. We got a pole and leaned it up against the pillar quite twelve inches from the nearest sprays of convolvulus. "In ten minutes they had begun to curve themselves in that direction and acted exactly as you might fancy a very slow snake would do if he wished to reach anything. The upper tendrils bent down, and the side ones curved themselves until they touched the pole, and in a few hours were twisted quite round it. "It was on the side away from the light, and, excepting the faculty of sight, we can think of no other means by which the tendrils could be aware that the pole had been placed there. They had to turn away from the light to reach it, and they set themselves in motion visibly within a few minutes of the pole's being there." My own experience with climbing plants has long since convinced me that they have "a will of their own," and that if their will differs from my own no amount of coaxing will induce them to take the path which is laid out for them. Well, if plants had but tongues they could, no doubt, tell us things well worth hearing in regard to their special mode of existence. CHAPTER XV "_Auf Wiedersehen_" It seems but yesterday that the punctual year brought back her Daffodils--that Hyacinth and Tulip pushed up green shoots for the spring sunshine--and now the Syringa bushes are white with bloom. In one short week midsummer will have come, that beautiful holiday of the summer solstice, whose festal observance is, in England, of great antiquity. The old practice of lighting bonfires in London and in other towns (and even in villages) is probably a remnant of the pagan rites once observed on that day. Later, the Christian monks dedicated this festival to one of their saints, and, accordingly, the people on that day made their houses gay with St. John's-wort and other flowers and at evening kept the "vigil of St. John the Baptist," lighting bonfires in honor of this saint. Every man's door was then hung with birch boughs and lamps of glass, whose oil burnt on through the night. An old parish entry--dating so far back as the reign of Edward IVth--thus stands: "For birch at Midsummer VIII d"; and again, "Various payments for birch bowes at Midsummer." Old English poets commemorate in verse the hanging at this season of birch branches over the sign boards of shop doors. Perhaps in our increasing demand for holidays we may yet adopt this charming festival of our English forbears, as we have that of their Yule-tide. It would fall at the same season as did that pretty Persian festival, "The Feast of Roses." Today, in after-dinner "idlesse," with the unread morning paper in my hand, I sit beneath the blossomed Tulip trees, taking in so much of the beauty and perfection of the hour as my limited being will hold. Shadow and sunshine interchange upon the lush green lawn, where today the Syringa sprinkles its first light snow. The breath of blown Peonies scents the summer air along with the languorous odor of the mock-orange flowers. Yonder, in the old pear tree hard by the Lover's bowery walk, a happy thrush sings out his little heart while his silent mate broods patiently the family nest. A distant robin pipes cheerily among the apple boughs, and somewhere among the treetops a gurgling oriole sings--sings as if in this whole wide world of ours there were neither pain nor death, but only life, and joy, and never-ending summer. Last night a Damask Rose opened in the garden-- "God's in his Heaven; all's right with the world!" For myself--attuned to the blessed influences of the hour--I am at peace with all mankind. My enemies, one and all, are forgiven on the spot, and I meekly consider the advisability of "turning the other cheek" for a second "smite." For what saith the old herbalist--combining in his ancient book floriculture and ethical instruction? "Flowers, through their beautie, variety of color, and exquisite forme, doe bring to a liberal and gentlemanly minde the remembrance of honestie, comeliness, and all kinds of virtues. For it woulde be an unseemly thing for him that dothe looke upon and handle faire and beautiful things to have his minde not faire, but filthy and depraved." The Japanese, in their days of heathendom, celebrated with great care their ancient "Festival of Departed Spirits." A fire was then built in front of every house in the empire as a signal or invitation for all the departed members of the house to revisit their old homes. So tonight, with pulses slowed down to peace, musing in the quiet of this sleepy garden, I keep the "Festival of Departed Spirits," and, signaling to the unseen, hear in the tender silence faint footfalls of the departed along the familiar garden ways. Said the dear Lady (who at one time in her life was much fascinated by Spiritualism, and wont to map out with great accuracy the "Undiscovered Country" with its pursuits and privileges), referring to that time when this house and garden should no longer know her in the flesh: "I shall not forget my home on earth, I shall still be around." And thou, "my summer child"[2] (best loved and last to go), born with the roses and gifted with the sunny sweetness of a thousand Junes, but yesterday we trod together these garden paths, whose improvement was thy latest care. The echo of thy parting footfall yet lingers in this garden, making it "holy ground." "They sin who tell us Love can die." "Auf wiedersehen," my "summer child." FOOTNOTES: [1] A nickname suggested by this item in a bill of our German cobbler--which ran thus--"To souling shues for _Tird sun_ 50 sense." [2] Miss Bremer in "The Home." * * * * * TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES The following variant spellings are used in this text: 1) midsummer (3 times) and mid-summer (twice) 2) springtime (once) and spring-time (twice) 3) sweetmeat and sweet-meat (once each). The two occasions on which the [oe] ligature is used have been rendered as "oe": "Coboea" and "Ipomoea", both on p. 95. The following amendments to the text have been made: 1) "remaider" changed to "remainder" on p. 18. 2) "Eastern" changed to "Easter" on p. 43. 3) A double quotation mark (") has been added after "shrine of Thomas à Becket" on p. 55. 4) "Stratford-on Avon" changed to "Stratford-on-Avon" on p. 61. 5) A double quotation mark (") has been deleted before "O E holihoc" on p. 70. 
22973	----	[Transcriber's note Spellings are inconsistent, especially the use of ée and ee. Notes of changes that have been made for obvious misprints, and of other anomalies, are at the end of this etext. There are many sidenotes in the original. They are indicated thus: {SN: }, and have been grouped together at the start of the paragraph in which they appear.] THE ENGLISH HVSBANDMAN. * * * * * _The first Part_: CONTAYNING the Knowledge of the true Nature of euery Soyle within this Kingdome: how to Plow it; and the manner of the Plough, and other Instruments belonging thereto. _TOGETHER WITH THE_ Art of Planting, Grafting, and Gardening after our latest and rarest fashion. A worke neuer written before by any Author: and now newly compiled for the benefit of this KINGDOME. _By_ G. M. _Bramo assai, poco, spero nulla chieggio._ _LONDON:_ Printed by _T. S._ for _Iohn Browne_, and are to be sould at his shop in Saint _Dunstanes_ Church-yard. 1613. TO THE RIGHT HONOVRABLE, and his singular good Lord, the Lord _Clifton_, Baron of Layton. It was a custome (right Honorable, and my most singular good Lord) both amongst the auntient _Romans_, and also amongst the wise _Lacedemonians_, that euery idle person should giue an account of the expence of his howers: Now I that am most idle, and least imployed in your Familie, present here vnto your Lordships hands an account of the expence of my idle time, which how well, or ill, it is, your Noble wisedome must both iudge and correct; onely this I am acertain'd, that for the generall rules and Maximes of the whole worke, they are most infallibly true, and perfectly agreeing with our English climate. Now if your Lordship shall doubt of the true tast of the liquor because it proceedeth from such a vessell as my selfe, whom you may imagine vtterly vnseasoned vvith any of these knowledges, beleeue it (my most best Lord) that for diuers yeeres, wherein I liued most happily, I liued a Husbandman, amongst Husbandmen of most excellent knowledge; during all which time I let no obseruation ouer-slip me: for I haue euer from my Cradle beene naturally giuen to obserue, and albe I haue not that oylie tongue of ostentation which loueth euer to be babling all, and somewhat more then it knoweth, drawing from ignorance admiration, and from wisedome laughter, filling meale-times with much vnprofitable noyse; yet I thanke my maker I haue a breast which containeth contentment inough for my selfe, and I hope much benefit for the whole Kingdome; how euer or whatsoeuer it is, it is all your Lordships, vnder the couert of whose fauourable protection if it may finde grace it is the vttermost aime whereunto my wishes aspire, nor shall I feare the malignitie of the curious, for it is not to them but the honest plaine English Husbandman, I intend my labours, vvhose defender you haue euer beene, and for whose Honorable prosperitie both they and I will continually pray. _Your honours in all seruiceable humblenesse_, G. M. The Epistle to the generall and gentle Reader. Although (generall reader) the nature of this worst part of this last age hath conuerted all things to such vildnesse that whatsoeuer is truely good is now esteemed most vitious, learning being derided, fortitude drawne into so many definitions that it consisteth in meere words onely, and although nothing is happy or prosperous, but meere fashion & ostentation, a tedious fustian-tale at a great mans table, stuft with bigge words, with out sence, or a mimicke Iester, that can play three parts in one; the Foole, the Pandar and the Parasit, yet notwithstanding in this apostate age I haue aduentured to thrust into the world this booke, which nothing at all belongeth to the silken scorner, but to the plaine russet honest Husbandman, for whose particular benefit, and the kingdomes generall profit, I haue with much paine, care, and industry, passed through the same. Now for the motiues which first drew me to vndertake the worke, they were diuers: as first, when I saw one man translate and paraphrase most excellently vpon _Virgils Georgickes_, a worke onely belonging to the Italian climbe, & nothing agreeable with ours another translates _Libault & Steuens_, a worke of infinit excellency, yet onely proper and naturall to the French, and not to vs: and another takes collections from _Zenophon_, and others; all forrainers and vtterly vnacquainted with our climbes: when this I beheld, and saw with what good liking they were entertained of all men; and that euery man was dumbe to speake any thing of the _Husbandry_ of our owne kingdome, I could not but imagine it a worke most acceptable to men, and most profitable to the kingdome, to set downe the true manner and nature of our right English _Husbandry_, our soyle being as delicate, apt, and fit for increase as any forraine soyle whatsoeuer, and as farre out-going other kingdomes in some commoditie, as they vs in other some. Hence, and from these considerations, I began this worke, of which I haue here sent thee but a small tast, which if I finde accepted, according to mine intent, I will not cease (God permitting mee life) to passe through all manner of English _Husbandry_ and _Huswifery_ whatsoeuer, without omission of the least scruple that can any way belong to either of their knowledges. Now gentle reader whereas you may be driuen to some amazement, at two titles which insue in the booke, namely, a former part before the first, and the first part, you shall vnderstand that those first sheetes were detained both from the Stationer and me, till the booke was almost all printed; and my selfe by extreame sicknesse kept from ouer-viewing the same, wherefore I must intreate your fauour in this impression and the rather in as much as there wanteth neither any of the words or matter whatsoeuer: _Farewell_. Thine _G. M._ A FORMER PART, before the first Part: Being an absolute perfect Introduction into all the Rules of true Husbandry; and must first of all be read, or the Readers labour will be frustrate. CHAP. I. _The Proem of the Author. What a Husbandman is: His Vtilitie and Necessitie._ It is a common Adage in our English spéech, that a man generally séene in all things can bée particularly perfect or compleate in none: Which Prouerbe there is no question will both by the curious and enuious be heauily imposed vpon my backe, because in this, and other workes, I haue delt with many things of much importance, and such as any one of them would require a whole liues experience, whereas neither my Birth, my Education, nor the generall course of my life can promise no singularitie in any part of those Artes they treate of: but for suggestions (the liberty whereof the wisedome of Kings could neuer bridle) let them poison themselues with their owne gall, they shall not so much as make me looke ouer my shoulder from my labour: onely to the curteous and well meaning I giue this satisfaction, I am but onely a publique Notary, who record the most true and infallible experience of the best knowing Husbands in this land. Besides, I am not altogether vnséene in these misteries I write of: for it is well knowne I followed the profession of a Husbandman so long my selfe, as well might make mee worthy to be a graduate in the vocation: wherein my simplicitie was not such but I both obserued well those which were estéemed famous in the profession, and preserued to my selfe those rules which I found infallible by experience. _Virgill_ was an excellent Poet, and a seruant, of trusty account, to _Augustus_, whose court and study-imployments would haue said he should haue little knowledge in rurall businesse, yet who hath set downe more excellently the manner of Italian Husbandry then himselfe, being a perfect lanthorne, from whose light both Italie and other countries haue séene to trace into the true path of profit and frugallitie? _Steuens_ and _Libault_, two famous Phisitions, a profession that neuer medleth with the Plough, yet who hath done more rarely! nay, their workes are vtterly vncontrolable touching all manner of french Husbandry whatsoeuer; so my selfe although by profession I am onely a horse-man, it being the predominant outward vertue I can boast of, yet why may not I, hauing the sence of man, by the ayde of obseruation and relation, set downe all the rules and principles of our English Husbandry in as good and as perfect order as any of the former? there is no doubt but I may and this I dare bouldly assure vnto all Readers that there is not any rule prescribed through this whole worke, but hath his authoritie from as good and well experienced men, in the Art of which the rule treateth, as any this kingdome can produce: neither haue I béene so hasty, or willing, to publish this part as men may imagining, for it is well knowne it hath laine at rest this many yéeres, and onely now at the Instigation of many of my friends is bolted into the world, to try the censure of wits, and to giue aide to the ignorant Husbandman. Wherefore to leaue off any further digression, I will fall to mine intended purpose: and because the whole scope of my labour hath all his aime and reuerence to the English Husbandman, I will first shew you what a Husbandman is. {SN: The definition of a Husbandman.} A Husbandman is he which with discretion and good order tilleth the ground in his due seasons, making it fruitfull to bring forth Corne, and plants, meete for the sustenance of man. This Husbandman is he to whom God in the scriptures giueth many blessings, for his labours of all other are most excellent, and therefore to be a Husbandman is to be a good man; whence the auntients did baptise, and wée euen to this day doe seriously obserue to call euery Husbandman, both in our ordinary conference and euery particular salutation, goodman such a one, a title (if wée rightly obserue it) of more honour and vertuous note, then many which precede it at feasts and in gaudy places. {SN: The Vtillitie of the Husbandman.} A Husbandman is the Maister of the earth, turning sterillitie and barrainenesse, into fruitfulnesse and increase, whereby all common wealths are maintained and upheld, it is his labour which giueth bread to all men and maketh vs forsake the societie of beasts drinking vpon the water springs, féeding vs with a much more nourishing liquor. The labour of the Husbandman giueth liberty to all vocations, Arts, misteries and trades, to follow their seuerall functions, with peace and industry, for the filling and emptying of his barnes is the increase and prosperitie of all their labours. To conclude, what can we say in this world is profitable where Husbandry is wanting, it being the great Nerue and Sinew which houldeth together all the ioynts of a Monarchie? {SN: Of the necessitie of a Husbandman.} Now for the necessitie, the profit inferreth it without any larger amplification: for if of all things it be most profitable, then of all things it must néeds be most necessary, sith next vnto heauenly things, profit is the whole aime of our liues in this world: besides it is most necessary for kéeping the earth in order, which else would grow wilde, and like a wildernesse, brambles and wéeds choaking vp better Plants, and nothing remayning but a Chaos of confusednesse. And thus much of the Husbandman his vtillity and necessitie. CHAP. II. _Of the situation of the Husbandmans house; the necessaries there to belonging, together with the modell thereof._ Since couerture is the most necessariest thing belonging vnto mans life, and that it was the first thing that euer man inuented, I thinke it not amisse first to beginne, before I enter into any other part of Husbandry, with the Husbandmans house, without which no Husbandry can be maintained or preserued. And albeit the generall Husbandman must take such a house as hée can conueniently get, and according to the custome and abillitie of the soyle wherein he liueth, for many countries are very much vnprouided of generall matter for well building: some wanting timber, some stone, some lime, some one thing, some another: yet to that Husbandman whom God hath enabled with power both of riches and euery other necessary fit to haue all things in a comely conuenientnesse about him, if he desire to plant himselfe decently and profitable, I would then aduise him to chuse for his situation no high hill, or great promontary (the seate of Princes Courts) where hée may be gazed vpon by the eye of euery traueller, but some pretty hard knole of constant and firme earth, rather assending then descending, frée from the danger of water, and being inuironed either with some pretty groues, of tall young spiers, or else with rowes of greater timber, which besids the pleasure and profit thereof (hauing wode so neare a mans dore) the shelter will be most excellent to kéepe off the bleaknesse of the sharpe stormes and tempests in winter, and be an excellent wormestall for cattell in the summer. This house would be planted, if possible, neare to some riuer, or fresh running brooke, but by no meanes vpon the verge of the riuer, nor within the danger of the ouerflow thereof: for the one is subiect to too much coldnesse and moisture, the other to danger. You shall plant the face, or forefront, of your house vpon the rising of the Sunne, that the vigor of his warmth may at no time depart from some part thereof, but that as he riseth on the oneside so he may set on the other. You shall place the vpper or best end of your house, as namely, where your dining Parlor and cheifest roomes are, which euer would haue their prospect into your garden, to the South, that your buttery, kitching and other inferiour offices may stand to the North, coldnesse bringing vnto them a manifold benefit. Now touching the forme, fashion, or modell of the house, it is impossible almost for any man to prescribe a certaine forme, the world is so plentifull in inuention and euery mans minde so much adicted to nouelty and curiouity, yet for as much as it is most commended by the generall consent of all the auntients, and that from the modell of that proportion may be contracted and drawne the most curious formes that are almost at this day extant, I will commend vnto you that modell which beareth the proportion of the Roman _H._ which as it is most plaine of all other, and most easie for conuaiance, so if a man vpon that plaine song, (hauing a great purse) will make descant, there is no proportion in which he may with best ease show more curiositie, and therefore for the plaine Husbandmans better vnderstanding I will here shew him a _facsimile_ (for to adde a scale were néedlesse in this generall worke, all men not being desirous to build of one bignesse) & this it is: {Illustration} Here you behould the modell of a plaine country mans house, without plaster or imbosture, because it is to be intended that it is as well to be built of studde and plaster, as of lime and stone, or if timber be not plentifull it may be built of courser woode, and couered with lime and haire, yet if a man would bestow cost in this modell, the foure inward corners of the hall would be conuenient for foure turrets, and the foure gauell ends, being thrust out with bay windowes might be formed in any curious manner: and where I place a gate and a plaine pale, might be either a tarrisse, or a gatehouse: of any fashion whatsoeuer, besides all those windowes which I make plaine might be made bay windowes, either with battlements, or without, but the scope of my booke tendeth onely to the vse of the honest Husbandman, and not to instruct men of dignitie, who in Architecture are able wonderfully to controle me; therefore that the Husbandman may know the vse of this _facsimile_, he shall vnderstand it by this which followeth. _A._ Signifieth the great hall. _B._ The dining Parlor for entertainment of strangers. _C._ An inward closset within the Parlor for the Mistrisses vse, for necessaries. _D._ A strangers lodging within the Parlor. _E._ A staire-case into the roomes ouer the Parlor. _F._ A staire-case into the Good-mans roomes ouer the Kitchin and Buttery. _G._ The Skréene in the hall. _H._ An inward cellar within the buttery, which may serue for a Larder. _I._ The Buttery. _K._ The Kitchin, in whose range may be placed a bruing lead, and conuenient Ouens, the bruing vessels adioyning. _L._ The Dairy house for necessary businesse. _M._ The Milke house. _N._ A faire sawne pale before the formost court. _O._ The great gate to ride in at to the hall dore. _P._ A place where a Pumpe would be placed to serue the offices of the house. {Illustration: This figure signifieth the dores of the house.} {Illustration: This figure signifieth the windowes of the house.} {Illustration: This figure signifieth the Chimnies of the house.} Now you shall further vnderstand that on the South side of your house, you shall plant your Garden and Orchard, as wel for the prospect thereof to al your best roomes, as also because your house will be a defence against the Northerne coldnesse, whereby your fruits will much better prosper. You shall on the West side of your house, within your inward dairy and kitchin court, fence in a large base court, in the midst whereof would be a faire large Pond, well ston'd and grauelled in the bottome, in which your Cattell may drinke, and horses when necessitie shall vrge be washt: for I doe by no meanes alow washing of horses after instant labour. Néere to this Pond you shall build your Doue-coate, for Pigions delight much in the water: and you shall by no meanes make your Doue-house too high, for Pigions cannot endure a high mount, but you shall build it moderately, cleane, neate, and close, with water pentisses to kéepe away vermine. On the North side of your base-court you shall build your Stables, Oxe-house, Cow-house, and Swine-coates, the dores and windowes opening all to the South. On the South side of the base-court, you shall builde your Hay-barnes, Corne-barnes, pullen-houses for Hennes, Capons, Duckes, and Géese, your french Kilne, and Malting flowres, with such like necessaries: and ouer crosse betwixt both these sides, you shall build your bound houels, to cary your Pease, of good and sufficient timber, vnder which you shall place when they are out of vse your Cartes, Waynes, Tumbrels, Ploughs, Harrowes, and such like, together with Plough timber, and axletrées: all which would very carefully be kept from wet, which of all things doth soonest rot and consume them. And thus much of the Husbandmans house, and the necessaries there to belonging. CHAP. III. _Of the seuerall parts and members of an ordinarie Plough, and of the ioyning of them together._ If a workeman of any trade, or mistery, cannot giue directions how, and in what manner, the tooles where with he worketh should be made or fashioned, doubtlesse hée shall neuer worke well with them, nor know when they are in temper and when out. And so it fareth with the Husbandman, for if hée know not how his Plough should be made, nor the seuerall members of which it consisteth, with the vertue and vse of euery member, it is impossible that euer hée should make a good furrow, or turne ouer his ground in Husbandly manner: Therefore that euery Husbandman may know how a well shaped Plough is made, he shall vnderstand that the first member thereof, as being the strongest and most principallest péece of timber belonging to the same, is called the Plough-beame, being a large long péece of timber much bending, according to the forme of this figure. {Illustration} This beame hath no certaine length nor thicknesse, but is proportioned according to the ground, for if it be for a clay ground the length is almost seauen foote, if for any other mixt or lighter earth, then fiue or sixe foote is long inough. The second member or part of the Plough, is called the skeath, and is a péece of woode of two foote and a halfe in length, and of eight inches in breadth, and two inches in thicknesse: it is driuen extreamly hard into the Plough-beame, slopewise, so that ioyned they present this figure. {Illustration} The third part is called the Ploughes principall hale, and doth belong to the left hand being a long bent péece of woode, some what strong in the midst, and so slender at the vpper end that a man may easily gripe it, which being fixed with the rest presenteth this figure. {Illustration} The fourth part is the Plough head, which must be fixed with the sheath & the head all at one instant in two seuerall mortisse holes: it is a flat péece of timber, almost thrée foote in length if it be for clay ground, otherwise shorter, of breadth seauen inches, and of thicknesse too inches and a halfe, which being ioyned to the rest presenteth this figure. {Illustration} The fift part is the Plough spindels, which are two small round pieces of woode, which coupleth together the hales, as in this figure. {Illustration} The sixt part is the right hand hale, through which the other end of the spindels runne, and is much slenderer then the left hand hale, for it is put to no force, but is onely a stay and aide to the Plough houlder when hée cometh to heauy, stiffe, and strong worke, and being ioyned with the rest presenteth this figure. {Illustration} The seauenth part is the Plough-rest, which is a small péece of woode, which is fixt at one end in the further nicke of the Plough head, and the other end to the Ploughs right-hand hale, as you may sée by this figure. {Illustration} The eight part is called the shelboard, and is a broad board of more then an inche thicknesse, which couereth all the right side of the Plough, and is fastned with two strong pinnes of woode through the sheath, and the right-hand hale, according to this figure. {Illustration} The ninth part is the coulture, which is a long péece of Iron, made sharpe at the neather end, and also sharpe on one side and being for a stiffe clay it must be straight without bending, which passeth by a mortisse-hole through the beame, and to this coulture belongeth an Iron ring, which windeth about the beame and kéepeth it in strength from breaking as may appeare by this figure. {Illustration} The tenth part of a compleate Plough, is the share; which is fixed to the Plough head, and is that which cutteth and turneth vp the earth: if it be for a mixt earth then it is made without a wing, or with a very small one, but if it be for a déepe, or stiffe clay, then it is made with a large wing, or an outward point, like the figure following. {Illustration} The eleuenth part of a perfect Plough is called the Plough foote, and is through a mortisse-hole fastned at the farre end of all the beame with a wedge or two, so as the Husbandman may at his discretion set it higher or lower, at his pleasure: the vse of it is to giue the Plough earth, or put it from the earth, as you please, for the more you driue it downeward, the more it raiseth the beame from the ground, and maketh the Irons forsake the earth, and the more you driue it vpward the more it letteth downe the beame, and so maketh the Irons bite the sorer; the figure whereof is this. {Illustration} Thus haue you all the parts and members of a Plough, and how they be knit and ioyned together, wherein I would wish you to obserue to make your Plough-wright euer rather giue your Plough land then put her from the land, that is, rather leaning towards the earth and biting sore, then euer slipping out of the ground: for if it haue two much earth the Husbandman may help it in the houlding, but if it haue too little, then of necessitie it must make foule worke: but for as much as the error and amends lye both in the office of the Plough-wright, I will not trouble the Husbandman with the reformation thereof. Now you shall vnderstand that there is one other thing belonging to the Plough, which albe it be no member thereof, yet is it so necessary that the Husbandman which liueth in durty and stiffe clayes can neuer goe to Plough without it, and it is called the Aker-staffe, being a pretty bigge cudgell, of about a yarde in length, with an Iron spud at the end, according to this figure: {Illustration} This Akerstaffe the Husbandman is euer to carry within his Plough, and when at any time the Irons, shelboard, or Plough, are choaked with durt, clay, or filth, which will cling about the ould stubble, then with this Akerstaffe you shall put the same off (your Plough still going) and so kéepe her cleane and smooth that your worke may lye the handsomer; and this you must euer doe with your right hand: for the Plough choaketh euer on the shelboard side, and betwéene the Irons. And thus much touching the perfect Plough, and the members thereof. CHAP. IIII. _How the Husbandman shall temper his Plough, and make her fit for his worke._ A Plough is to a Husbandman like an Instrument in the hand of a Musition, which if it be out of tune can neuer make good Musicke, and so if the Plough, being out of order, if the Husbandman haue not the cunning to temper it and set it in the right way, it is impossible that euer his labour should come to good end. It is very necessary then that euery good Husbandman know that a Plough being perfectly well made, the good order or disorder thereof consisteth in the placing of the Plough-Irons and the Plough-foote. Know then, that for the placing of the Irons, the share would be set to looke a little into the ground: and because you shall not bruise, or turne, the point thereof, you shall knocke it fast vpon the head, either with a crooked Rams-horne, or else with some piece of soft Ash woode: and you shall obserue that it stand plaine, flat, and leuell, without wrying or turning either vpward or downeward: for if it runne not euen vpon the earth it will neuer make a good furrow, onely as before I said, the point must looke a little downeward. Now, for the coulture, you must place it slopewise through the beame, so as the point of it and the point of the share may as it were touch the ground at one instant, yet if the coulture point be a little thought the longer it shall not be amisse: yet for a more certaine direction and to try whether your Irons stand true I or no, you shall take a string, and measure from the mortisse-hole through which the coulture passeth, to the point of the coulture, and so kéeping your vpper hand constant lay the same length to the of point your share, and if one measure serue them both right, there being no difference betwéene them, then the Irons stand true for their length, otherwise they stand false. Now your coulture albe it stand true for the length, yet it may stand either too much to the land, or too much from the land, either of which is a great errour, and will kéepe the Plough from going true: your coulture therefore shall haue certaine wedges of ould dry Ash woode, that is to say, one before the coulture on the vpper side the beame, and another on the land side, or left side, the coulture on the vpper side the beame also; then you shall haue another wedge behinde the coulture vnderneath the beame, and one on the furrow side, or right side, the beame vnderneath also. Now, if your coulture haue too much land, then you shall driue in your vpper side wedge and ease the contrary: if it haue too little land, then you shall contrarily driue in your right side vnder wedge and ease the other: If your coulture stand too forward, then you shall driue in your vpper wedge which standeth before the coulture; and if it stand too backward and too néere your share, then you shall driue in your vnder wedge which standeth behinde the coulture: if your coulture standeth awry any way, then are either your side wedges too small, or else not euen and plaine cut, which faults you must amend, and then all will be perfect. Now, when your Irons are iust and truely placed, then you shall driue in euery wedge hard and firme, that no shaking or other straine may loosen them: as for the Plough foote it also must haue a wedge or two, which when your Plough goeth right and to your contentment (for the foote will kéepe it from sinking or rising) then you shall also driue them in hard, that the foote may not stirre from the true place where you did set it. And that these things when a man commeth into the field may not be to séeke, it is the office of euery good Husbandman neuer to goe forth with his Plough but to haue his Hatchet in a socket, fixt to his Plough beame, and a good piece of hard wedge woode, in case any of your wedges should shake out and be lost. {SN: Of holding the Plough.} When your Plough is thus ordered and tempered in good manner, and made fit for her worke, it then resteth that you know the skill and aduantages in holding thereof, which indéed are rules of much diuersitie, for if it be a stiffe, blacke clay which you Plow, then can you not Plow too déepe, nor make your furrowes too bigge: if it be a rich hassell ground, and not much binding, then reasonable furrowes, laid closse, are the best: but if it be any binding, stony, or sandy ground, then you cannot make your furrowes too small. As touching the gouerning of your Plough, if you sée shée taketh too much land, then you shall writh your left hand a little to the left side and raise your Plough rest somewhat from the ground: if shée taketh too little earth, then you shall raise vp your left hand, and carry your Plough as in a direct line: If your Plough-Irons forbeare and will not bite on the earth at all, then it is a signe that you hang too heauy on the Plough hales, raising the head of the Plough from the ground, which errour you must amend, and of the two rather raise it vp behind then before, but to doe neither is best, for the Plough hale is a thing for the hand to gouerne, and not to make a leaning stocke of: And thus much touching the tempring of the Plough and making her fit for worke. CHAP. V. _The manner of Plowing the rich, stiffe, blacke Clay, his Earings, Plough, and other Instruments._ Of all soyles in this our kingdome there is none so rich and fruitfull, if it be well handled and Husbanded, as is that which we call the stiffe, blacke, Clay, and indeed is more blacker to looke on then any other soyle, yet some times it will turne vp very blewish, with many white vaines in it, which is a very speciall note to know his fruitfulnesse; for that blewish earth mixt with white is nothing else but very rich Marle, an earth that in Cheshire, Lanckashire, and many other countries, serueth to Manure and make fat their barrainest land in such sort that it will beare Corne seauen yeeres together. This blacke clay as it is the best soyle, well Husbanded, so it is of all soyles the worst if it be ill Husbanded: for if it loose but one ardor, or seasenable Plowing, it will not be recouered in foure yéeres after, but will naturally of it selfe put forth wilde Oates, Thistels, and all manner of offensiue wéedes, as Cockle, Darnell, and such like: his labour is strong, heauy, and sore, vnto the cattell that tilleth it, but to the Husbandman is more easie then any other soyle, for this asketh but foure times Plowing ouer at the most, where diuers other soyles aske fiue times, and sixe times, as shalbe shewed hereafter. But to come to the Plowing of this soyle, I hold it méete to beginne with the beginning of the yéere, which with Husbandmen is at Plow-day, being euer the first Munday after the Twelft-day, at which time you shall goe forth with your draught, & begin to plow your Pease-earth, that is, the earth where you meane to sow your Pease, or Beanes: for I must giue you to vnderstand, that these Clayes are euer more naturall for Beanes then Pease, not but that they will beare both alike, only the Husbandman imployeth them more for Beanes, because pease & fitches wil grow vpon euery soyle, but Beanes wil grow no where but on the clayes onely. This Pease-earth is euer where barley grew the yéere before, & hath the stubble yet remayning thereon. You shal plow this Pease-earth euer vpward, that is, you shall beginne on the ridge of the land, & turne all your furrowes vp, one against another, except your lands lye too high (which seldome can be séene) and then you shall begin at the furrow, & cast downe your land. Now, when you haue plowed all your Pease-ground, you shall let it so lye, till it haue receiued diuers Frosts, some Raine, and then a fayre season, which betwixt plow-day and Saint _Valentines_ day you shalbe sure to inioy: and this is called, _The letting of Land lye to baite_: for without this rest, and these seasons, it is impossible to make these Clayes harrow, or yéelde any good mould at all. After your Land hath receiued his kindely baite, then you shall cast in your séede, of Beanes, or Pease: but in my conceit, an equall mixture of them is the best séede of all, for if the one faile, the other will be sure to hit: and when your land is sowne you shall harrow it with a harrow that hath woodden téeth. The next Ardor after this, is the sowing of your Barley in your fallow field: the next is the fallowing of your ground for Barley the next yéere: the next Ardor is the Summer-stirring of that which you fallowed: the next is the foyling of that which you Summer-stirde: and the last is the Winter rigging of that which you foil'd: of all which Ardors, and the manner of Plowing them, with their seasons, I haue written sufficiently in the first Chapter of the next part; where I speake of simple earths vncompounded. Now whereas I told you before that these clayes were heauy worke for your Cattell, it is necessary that I shew you how to ease them, and which way they may draw to their most aduantage, which onely is by drawing in beare-geares, an inuention the skilfull Husbandman hath found out, wherein foure horses shall draw as much as sixe, and sixe as eight, being geard in any other contrary fashion. Now because the name onely bettereth not your knowledge, you shall heare behould the figure and manner thereof. {Illustration} Now you shall vnderstand the vse of this Figure by the figures therein contayned, that is to say, the figure (1) presenteth the plough-cleuisse, which being ioyned to the plough-beame, extendeth, with a chaine, vnto the first Toastrée: and touching this Cleuisse, you shall vnderstand, that it must be made with thrée nickes in the midst thereof, that if the Plough haue too much land giuen it in the making, that is, if it turne vp too much land, then the chaine shall be put in the outwardmost nicke to the land side, that is, the nicke towards your right hand: but if it take too little land, then it shall be put in the nicke next the furrow, that is, towards the right hand: but if it goe euen and well, then you shall kéepe it in the middle nicke, which is the iust guide of true proportion. And thus this Cleuisse is a helpe for the euill making or going of a plough. (2) Is the hind-most Toastrée, that is, a broad piece of Ash woode, thrée inches broad, which going crosse the chaine, hath the Swingletrées fastned vnto it, by which the horses draw. Now you shall vnderstand that in this Toastrée is great helpe and aduantage: for if the two horses which draw one against the other, be not of equall strength, but that the one doth ouer-draw the other, then you shall cause that end of the Toastrée by which the weaker horse drawes, to be longer from the chaine then the other, by at least halfe a foote, and that shall giue the weaker horse such an aduantage, that his strength shall counterpoyse with the stronger horse. Now there be some especiall Husbandmen that finding this disaduantage in the Toastrée, and that by the vncertaine shortening, and lenthening of the Toastrée, they haue sometimes more disaduantaged the strong horse, then giuen helpe to the weake, therefore they haue inuented another Toastrée, with a double chaine, and a round ring, which is of that excellent perfection in draught, that if a Foale draw against an olde horse, yet the Foale shall draw no more then the abilitie of his owne strength, each taking his worke by himselfe, as if they drew by single chaines. Now because this Toastrée is such a notable Implement both in Plough, Cart, or Waine, and so worthy to be imitated of all good husbands, I thinke it not amisse to shew you the figure thereof. {Illustration: The Toastree with double chaines.} (3) The Swingletrées, being pieces of Ash wood cut in proportion afore-shewed, to which the Treates, by which the horses draw, are fastned with strong loopes. (4) The Treates by which the horses draw, being strong cords made of the best Hempe. (5) The place betwéene the Treats, where the horses must stand. (6) The Hames, which girt the Collers about, to which the other end of the Treats are fastned, being compassed pieces of wood, eyther cleane Ash, or cleane Oake. (7) The round Withes of wood, or broad thongs of leather, to put about the horses necke, to beare the maine chayne from the ground, that it trouble not the horses in their going. (8) The Single-linckes of Iron, which ioyne the Swingle-trées vnto the Toastrées. (9) The Belly-bands, which passe vnder the belly of the horse, and are made fast to both sides of the Treates, kéeping them downe, that when the horse drawes, his coller may not choake him: being made of good small line or coard. (10) The Backe-bands, which going ouer the horses backe, and being made fast to both sides of the Treates, doe hold them, so as when the horses turne, the Treates doe not fall vnder their féete. {SN: How many beasts in a plough.} Thus I haue giuen you the perfect portraiture of a well yoakt Plough, together with his Implements, and the vse of them, being the best which hath yet béene found out by any of our skilfullest English Husbandmen, whose practise hath béene vpon these déepe, stiffe, blacke clayes. Now you shall vnderstand, that for the number of Cattell to be vsed in these ploughes, that in fallowing your land, and plowing your Pease-earth, eight good Cattell are the best number, as being the strongest, and within the compasse of gouernment, whereas more were but troublesome, and in all your other Ardors, sixe good beasts are sufficient, yet if it be so, that eyther want of abilitie, or other necessity vrge, you shall know that sixe beasts will suffice eyther to fallow, or to plow Pease-earth, and foure beasts for euery other Ardor or earing: and lesse then this number is most insufficient, as appeares by daily experience, when poore men kill their Cattell onely by putting them to ouer-much labour. And thus much touching the plowing of the blacke clay. CHAP. VI. _The manner of plowing the white or gray Clay, his Earings, Plough, and Instruments._ Now as touching the white or gray clay, you shall vnderstand that it is of diuers and sundry natures, altering according to his tempers of wet or drynesse: the wet being more tough, and the dry more brittle: his mixture and other characters I haue shewed in a former Chapter, wherefore for his manner of plowing (obseruing my first methode, which is to beginne with the beginning of the yéere, I meane at Christmas) it is thus: {SN: Of sowing of Pease and Beanes.} If you finde that any of this white or gray clay, lying wet, haue lesse mixture of stone or chaulke in it, and so consequently be more tough, as it doth many times fall out, and that vpon such land, that yéere, you are to sow your Pease and Beanes: for as in the former blacke clay, so in this gray clay you shall begin with your Pease-earth euer: then immediately after Plow-day, you shall plow vp such ground as you finde so tough, in the selfe-same manner as you did plow the blacke clay, and so let it lye to baite till the frost haue seasoned it, and then sow it accordingly. But if you haue no such tough land, but that it holdes it owne proper nature, being so mixt with small stones and chaulke, that it will breake in reasonable manner, then you shall stay till the latter end of Ianuary, at what time, if the weather be seasonable, and inclining to drynesse, you shall beginne to plow your Pease-earth, in this manner: First, you shall cause your séedes-man to sow the land with single casts, as was shewed vpon the blacke clay, with this caution, that the greater your séede is, (that is, the more Beanes you sow) the greater must be your quantitie: and being sowne, you shall bring your plough, and beginning at the furrow of the land, you shall plow euery furrow downeward vpon the Pease and Beanes: which is called sowing of Pease vnder furrow: and in this manner you shall sow all your Pease and Beanes, which is cleane contrary to your blacke clay. Besides, whereas vpon the stiffe clay it is conuenient to take as large furrowes as you please, vpon this kinde of gray clay you shall take as small furrowes as is possible. Now the reason for this manner of plowing your Pease-earth, is, because it is a light kinde of breaking earth, so that should it be sowne according to the stiffe blacke clay, it would neuer couer your Pease, but leaue them bare, both to be destroyed by the Fowles of the ayre, and the bitternesse of the weather. As soone as your Pease and Beanes are risen a fingers length aboue the earth, then if you finde that any of your lands doe lye very rough, and that the clods be great, it shall not be amisse, to take a payre of woodden Harrowes, and harrow ouer all your rough lands, the benefit whereof is this, that it will both breake the hard clots, and so giue those Pease leaue to sprout through the earth, which before lay bound in and drowned, and also lay your lands smooth and cleane, that the Mowers when they come to mowe your Pease and Beanes, shall haue better worke, and mowe them with more ease, and much better to the owners profit. For you must vnderstand that where you sow Beanes, there it is euer more profit to mowe them with Sythes, then to reape them with Hookes, and much sooner, and with lesse charge performed. The limitation of time for this Ardor of earing, is from the latter end of Ianuary vntill the beginning of March, not forgetting this rule, that to sow your Pease and Beanes in a shower, so it be no beating raine is most profitable: because they, as Wheat, take delight in a fresh and a moyst mould. {SN: Of sowing of Barley.} After the beginning of March, you shall beginne to sow your Barley vpon that ground which the yéere before did lye fallow, and is commonly called your tilth, or fallow field: and if any part of it consist of stiffe and tough ground, then you shall, vpon such ground, sow your Barley vnder furrow, in such manner and fashion as I described vnto you for the sowing of your stiffe blacke clay: but if it be (as for the most part these gray and white clayes are) of a much lighter, and as it were, fussie temper, then you shall first plow your land vpward, cleane and well, without baukes or stiches: and hauing so plowed it, you shall then sow it with Barley, that is to say, with double casts, I meane, bestowing twise so many casts of Barley, as you would doe if you were to sow it with Pease. And as soone as you haue sowne your Barley, you shall take a payre of woodden Harrowes, and harrow it as small as is possible: and this is called sowing aboue furrow. {SN: Of sowing Oates.} Now if you haue any land, which eyther through the badnesse of the soyle, or for want of manure, is more barrayne, and hard to bring forth then generally the rest of your land is, then you shall not bestow Barley thereupon, but sow it with Oates, in such manner and fashion as is appointed for the sowing of Pease, that is to say, if it be stiffe ground you shall sow it aboue furrow, if it be light ground, then you shall sow it vnder furrow, knowing this for a rule, that the barraynest ground will euer beare indifferent Oates, but if the ground haue any small hart, then it will beare Oates in great abundance: neither néede you to be very precise for the oft plowing of your ground before you sow your Oates, because Oates will grow very well if they be sowne vpon reasonable ground, at the first plowing: whence it comes to passe that many Husbandmen doe oft sow their Oates where they should sow their Pease, and in the same manner as they doe sow their Pease, and it is held for a rule of good husbandry also: because if the ground be held any thing casuall for Pease, it is better to haue good Oates then naughty Pease: besides, your Oates are both a necessary graine in the house, as for Oate-meale, for the pot, for Puddings, and such like, and also for the stable, for Prouender, and the féeding of all manner of Poultry. The time for sowing of your Barley and Oates, is from from the first of March till the first of Aprill, obseruing euer to sow your Oates first, and your Barley after, for it being onely a Summer graine, would participate as little as may be with any part of the Winter. {SN: Of Fallowing.} {SN: Of sleighting Barley.} About the middest of Aprill you shall beginne to fallow that part of your ground, which you entend shall take rest that yéere, and so become your fallow or tilth-field. And in fallowing this gray or white clay, you shall obserue all those rules and ceremonies, which are formerly described for the fallowing of the stiffe blacke clay, knowing that there is in this worke no difference betwéene the blacke clay, and the gray clay, but both to be plowed after one manner, that is to say, to haue all the furrowes cast downeward, and the ridges of the lands laid largely open, and of a good depth, onely the furrowes which you turne vpon this gray clay must be much smaller and lesse then those which you turne vpon your stiffe blacke clay, because this earth is more naturally inclined to binde and cleaue together then that of the blacke clay. The time for fallowing of this ground, is from the middest of Aprill vntill the middest of May: at what time you shall perceiue your Barley to appeare aboue the ground, so that then you shall beginne to sleight and smooth it: but not with backe Harrowes, as was described for the blacke clay, because this gray clay being not so fat and rich, but more inclined to fastnesse and hardnesse, therefore it will not sunder and breake so easily as the other: wherefore when you will smooth or sleight this ground, you shall take a round piece of wood, being in compasse about at least thirty inches, and in length sixe foote, hauing at each end a strong pinne of Iron, to which making fast two small poales, by which the horse shall draw, yet in such sort that the round piece of wood may roule and turne about as the horse drawes it: and with this you shall roule ouer all your Barley, and by the waight of the round piece of wood bruise and breake all the hard clots asunder. This is called amongst Husbandmen a Rouler, and is for this purpose of sleighting and smoothing of grounds of great vse and profit. Now you shall vnderstand that you must not at any time sleight or smooth your Corne, but after a shower of Raine, for if the mould be not a little moistned the rouler will not haue power to breake it. Now for as much as this rouler is of so good vse and yet not generally vsed in this kingdome, I thinke it not amisse to shew you the figure thereof. {Illustration: The great Rouler.} As soone as you haue roulled ouer your Barley, & laid it so smooth as you can with your rouler, if then you perceiue any hard clots, such as the rouler cannot breake, then you shal send forth your seruants with long clotting béetels, made broad and flat, and with them you shall breake asunder all those hard clots, and so lay your Barley as smooth and cleane as is possible: the profit whereof you shall both finde in the multiplying of your Corne and also in the sauing of your sithes from breaking, at such time as you shall come to mowe your Corne, and gather in your Haruest. {SN: Of Summer-stirring.} {SN: Of weeding.} {SN: Of stone gathering.} Your Barley being thus laide smooth, you shall then follow your other necessary businesses, as preparing of your fewell, and other néedements for houshould, vntill the beginning of Iune, at which time you shall beginne to Summer-stirre your fallow field, which shalbe done in all points after the same manner as you did Summer-stirre your blacke Clay, that is to say, you shall beginne in the ridge of the land, and as when you fallowed your land you turned your furrowes downeward, so now in Summer-stirring, you shall turne your furrowes vpward and close the ridge of you land againe. As soone as this Ardor is finished, or when the vnseasonablenesse of the weather, as either too much wet, or too much drynesse shall hinder you from Plowing, you shall then looke into your Cornefields, that is to say: first into your Wheate and Rye field, and if there you shall finde any store of wéedes, as Thistell, Darnell, Tare-Cockle, or such like, you shall with weede-hookes, or nippers of woode, cut, or plucke them vp by the rootes; and also if you finde any annoyance of stones, which hinders the growth of your Corne, as generally it happens in this soyle, you shall then cause some Boyes and Girles, or other waste persons, to gather them vp and lay them in heapes at the lands ends, to be imployed either about the mending of high wayes or other occasions, and for this purpose their is a generall custome in most Villages, that euery houshoulder is bound to send out one seruant to be imployed about this businesse: whence it comes to passe, that it is called common worke, as being done at the generall charge of the whole Parish. After you haue wéeded your Wheate and Rye, you shall then wéede your Barley also, which being finished about the midst of Iuly, you shall then beginne to looke into your medowes and to the preparing of your Hay haruest. {SN: Of foyling.} Now at such time as either the vnseasonablenesse of the weather, or the growth of your grasse shall hinder you from following that businesse of Haruest, you shall then looke into your fallow or tilth field againe, and whereas before at your Summer-stirring you Plowed your land vpward, now you shall beginne to foile, that is to say, you shall cast your land downe againe, and open the ridge: and this Ardor of all other Ardors you must by no meanes neglect vpon the gray, white clay, because it being most subiect vnto wéede, and the hardest to bring to a fine mould, this Ardor of all others, doth both consume the one and makes perfect the other, and the drier season you doe foile your land in, the better it is, and the more it doth breake and sunder the clots in pieces: for as in Summer-stirring the greater clots you raise vp, and the rougher your land lies the better it is, because it is a token of great store of mould, so when you foile, the more you breake the clots in pieces the better season will your land take, and the richer it wilbe when the séede is sowne into it: And the season for the foiling of this soile is from the midst of Iuly till the midst of September. {SN: Of Manuring.} Now albe I haue omitted the Manuring of this land in his due place, as namely, from the midst of Aprill, till the end of May, yet you shall vnderstand that of all other things it is not in any wise to be neglected by the carefull Husbandman, both because the soyle being not so rich as the blacke Clay, will very hardly bring forth his séede without Manure, and also because it is for the most part subiect vnto much wet, and stones, both which are signes of cold and barrainenesse. Now for those Manures, which are best and most proper for this soile, you shall vnderstand that all those which I formerlie described for the blacke Claies, as namely, Oxe or Cowes dung, Horse dung and Shéepes dung, are also very good for this soile, and to be vsed in the same manner as is specified in the former Chapter: but if you haue not such store of this Manure as will serue to compasse your whole land, you shall then vnderstand, that the blacke mud, or durt which lies in the bottome of olde ponds, or else standing lakes, is also a very good manure for this soile, or else straw which is spread in high-wayes, and so rotted by the great concourse or vse of much trauelling, and after in the Spring-time shouelled vp in great heapes, is a good manure for this earth: but if you finde this soile to be subiect to extraordinary wet and coldnesse, you shall then know that the ashes eyther of wood, coale, or straw, is a very good manure for it. But aboue all other, and then which there is no manure more excellent for cold barraine clayes of this nature, the Pigions dung, or the dung of houshold Pullen, as Capons, Hennes, Chickens, Turkies, and such like, so there be no Goose-dung amongst it, is the best of all other: but not to be vsed in such sort as the other manures, that is to say, to be laid in great heapes vpon the land, or to be spread from the Cart vpon the land, for neyther is there such abundance of such manure to be gotten, nor if there were, it would not be held for good husbandrie to make lauish hauocke of a thing so precious. {SN: The vse of Pigion or Pullen-dung.} You shall then know that for the vse of Pigion or Pullen-dung, it is thus: you shall first with your hand breake it as small as may be, and then put it into the Hopper, in such sort as you put your corne when you sow it: and then looke how you sow your corne, in such sort you shall sow your Pigion or Pullen-dung: which done, you shall immediately put your Barley into the same Hopper, and so sow it after the Pigions or Pullen-dung: by which you are to vnderstand that this kinde of manuring is to be vsed onely in Séede-time, and at no other season. This manure is of the same nature that shéepes manure is, and doth last but onely for one yéere, onely it is much hotter, as being in the greatest extremitie of heate. Now if it happen that you cannot get any of this Pigions or Pullen-dung, because it is scarce, and not in euery mans power, if then you take Lime and sow it vpon your land in such sort as is before said of the Pigions-dung, and then sow your corne after it, you shall finde great profit to come thereon, especially in colde wet soiles, such as for the most part, these gray white clayes are. {SN: Of sowing Wheate.} After your land is foild, which worke would be finished by the middest of September, then you shall beginne to sow your Wheate, Rye, and Maslin, which in all things must be done as is before set downe for the blacke clay, the choice of séede, and euery obseruation being all one: for Wheate not taking delight in a very rich ground, doth prosper best vpon this indifferent soile. Whence it comes that in these gray white clayes, you shall for the most part, sée more Wheate sowne then any other Graine whatsoeuer. But as touching your Rye and Maslin, that euer desires a rich ground and a fine mould, and therefore you shall make choise of your better earth for that Séede, and also obserue to helpe it with manure, or else shéepes folding, in such manner as is described in the former Chapter, where I spake of the sowing of Wheate, Rye, and Maslin. {SN: Of winter-ridging.} As soone as you haue sowne your Wheate, Rye, and Maslin, you shall then about the latter end of October, beginne to Winter ridge, or set vp your land for the whole yéere: which you shall doe in all points, as you doe vpon the blacke clay, without any change or alteration. And the limitation for this Ardor is, from the latter end of October vntill the beginning of December, wherein your yéeres worke is made perfect and compleate. {SN: Obseruations.} Now you shall vnderstand, that although I haue in this generall sort passed ouer the Ardors and seuerall Earings of this white or gray clay, any of which are in no wise to be neglected: yet there are sundry other obseruations to be held of the carefull Husbandman, especially in the laying of his land: as thus, if the soile be of good temper, fruitfull, drie, and of a well mixed mould, not being subiect to any naturall spring or casting forth of moisture, but rather through the natiue warmth drying vp all kinde of fluxes or colde moistures, neyther binding or strangling the Séede, nor yet holding it in such loosenesse, that it loose his force of increasing, in this case it is best to lay your lands flat and leuell, without ridges or furrowes, as is done in many parts of Cambridge-shire, some parts of Essex, and some parts of Hartford-shire: but if the clay be fruitfull and of good temper, yet either by the bordering of great hils, the ouer-flow of small brookes, or some other casuall meanes it is subiect to much wet or drowning, in this case you shall lay your lands large and high, with high ridges and déepe furrowes, as generally you sée in Lincolne-shire, Nottingham-shire, Huntington-shire, and most of the middle Shires in England. But if the land be barraine, colde, wet, subiect to much binding, and doth bring forth great store of wéedes, then you shall lay your land in little stiches, that is to say, not aboue thrée or foure furrowes at the most together, as is generally séene in Middlesex, Hartford-shire, Kent and Surrey: for by that meanes neither shall the land binde and choake the Corne, nor shall the wéede so ouer-runne it, but that the Husbandman may with good ease helpe to strengthen and clense it, the many furrowes both giuing him many passages, whereby he may correct those enormities, and also in such sort conuaying away the water and other moistures, that there cannot be made any land more fruitfull. {SN: Of the Plough.} Now to speake of the Plough which is best and most proper for this gray or white clay, of which we now speake, you shall vnderstand that it differeth excéeding much from that of which we spake concerning the blacke clay: I, and in such sort, that there is but small alliance or affinitie betwéene them: as thus for example: First, it is not so large and great as that for the blacke clay: for the head thereof is not aboue twentie inches in length, and not aboue one inch and a halfe in thicknesse, the maine beame thereof is not aboue fiue foot long, & the rest is broader by an inch and more then that for the blacke clay: this Plough also hath but one hale, & that is onely the left hand Hale: for the Plough-staffe, or Aker-staffe serueth euer in stead of the right hand Hale, so that the Rough-staues are fixed, the vpper vnto the shelboard, and the neather vnto the Plough-rest, as for your better vnderstanding you may perceiue by this figure. {Illustration: The Plough with one Hale.} Now you shall vnderstand that the especiall care which is to be held in the making of this Plough, is, that it be wide and open in the hinder part, that it may turne and lay the furrowes one vpon another: whereas if it should be any thing straitned in the hinder part, considering that this clay naturally is somewhat brittle of it selfe, and that the furrowes which you plow must of necessitie be very narrow and little, it were not possible so to lay them, but that they would fall downe backe againe, and inforce the Plow-man to lose his labour. Also you shall vnderstand that whereas in the former plough, which is for the blacke clay, you may turne the shelboard, that is, when the one end is worne, you may eftsoones turne the other, and make it serue the like season: in this Plough you must neuer turne the shelboard, because the rising wing of the Share will so defend it, that it will euer last as long as the Plough-head, without change or turning. Now for the Irons belonging vnto this Plough, which is the Share and Coulture, there is more difference in them then in the Plough: for to speake first of the Share, whereas the former Share for the blacke clay, was made broad, plaine, and with a large wing, this Share must be made narrow, sharpe, and small, with no wing at all, hauing from the vpper part thereof, close by the shelboard, a certaine rising wing, or broad piece of Iron, which comming vp and arming that part of the shelboard which turnes ouer the land, defends the wood from the sharpe mould, which hauing the mixture of pible stone in it, would otherwise in lesse then one dayes worke consume the shelboard vnto nothing, forcing the Plow-man to much trouble and double cost. The fashion of the Share is presented in this Figure following. {Illustration: The Share.} This Share is onely made that it may take a small furrow, and so by breaking the earth oftner then any other Share, causeth the land to yéeld a good and plentifull mould, and also kéepe it from binding or choaking the séede when it is cast into it. Now for the Coulture, it differeth from the former Coulture both in breadth and thicknesse, but especially in compasse: for whereas the former Coulture for the blacke clay, was made straight, narrow, and thicke, this must be compassed like an halfe bent bow: it must be broader then thrée fingers, and thinner then halfe an inche, according to this Figure. {Illustration: The Coulture.} Now when these Irons, the Shelboard, and other implements are fixed vnto the Plough, you shall perceiue that the Plough will carry the proportion of this Figure following. {Illustration: The Plough for the gray Clay.} Hauing thus shewed you the substance, difference, and contraries of these two Ploughs, which belong to these two seuerall clayes, the blacke and gray, you shall vnderstand that there is no clay-ground whatsoeuer, which is without other mixture, but one of these Ploughs will sufficiently serue to eare and order it: for all clayes are of one of these tempers. {SN: The vse and handling.} Now for the vse and manner of handling or holding this Plough, it differeth nothing in particular obseruation from the vse and handling of the Plough formerly described, more then in the largenesse and smalnesse of the furrowes: for as before I said, whereas the blacke clay must be raised with a great furrow, and a broad stitch, this gray clay must be raised with a small furrow, and a narrow stitch: and although this plough haue nothing but a left hand Hale, yet considering the Plough-staffe, vpon which the Plow-man resteth his right hand, it is all one as if he had a right. And indéede, to make your knowledge the more perfect, you shall know that these gray clayes are generally in their owne natures so wet, tough, and slimy, and doe so clogge, cleaue, and choake vp the Plough, that hée which holds it shall haue enough to doe with his right hand onely to clense and kéepe the Plough from choaking, insomuch that if there were another Hale, yet the Plow-man should haue no leasure to hold it. {SN: Of the draught or Teame.} Now for the Draught or Teame which should draw this Plough, they ought in all points, as well in strength as tryuing to be the same with those before shewed for the vse of the blacke clay: as namely, eyther Oxen or Horse, or Horse and Oxen mixt together, according to the custome of the soile wherein the Plow-man liues, or his abilitie in prouision, obseruing euer to kéepe his number of beasts for his Plough certaine, that is to say, for fallowing, and Pease-earth, neuer vnder sixe, and for all other Ardors foure at the least. And thus much for the plowing of this gray or white clay. CHAP. VII. _The manner of plowing the red-Sand, his Earings, Plough, and Implements._ Next vnto these Clayes, which are soiles simple and vncompound, as being perfect in their owne natures, without the helpe of other mixtures, I place the Sand soiles, as being of like qualitie, not borrowing any thing but from their owne natures, nor bréeding any defects more then their owne naturall imperfections: and of Sands, sith the red Sand is the best and most fruitfull, therefore it is fit that it take prioritie of place, and be here first spoken of. You shall then vnderstand that this red Sand, albeit it is the best of Sands, yet it is the worst of many soiles, as being of it selfe of such a hot and drie nature, that it scorcheth the séede, and dryeth vp that nutriment and fatnesse which should occasion increase: whereby it comes to passe, that the Barley which growes vpon this red Sand is euer more yealow, leane and withered, then that which growes vpon the clayes or other mixt earths. This Sand especially taketh delight in Rye, because it is a Graine which loues warmth aboue all other, and yet notwithstanding, if it be well ordered, manured and plowed, it will bring forth good store of Barley, albeit the Barley be not so good as Clay-Barley, either for the colour, or for the yéeld, whether it be in meale or in Malt. {SN: Of Fallowing.} Now for the manner of Earing or plowing this redde Sand, it differeth much from both the former soyles, insomuch that for your better vnderstanding, I must in many places alter my former methode, yet so little as may be, because I am loath to alter or clogge the memory of the Reader: wherefore to pursue my purpose. As soone as Christmas is ended, that is to say, about the middest of Ianuary, you shall goe with your Plough into that field where the Haruest before did grow your Rye, and there you shall in your plowing cast your lands downe-ward, and open the ridges well, for this yéere it must be your fallow field: for as in the former soiles, wée did diuide the fields either into thrée parts, that is, one for Barley and Wheate, another for Pease, and the third fallow, which is the best diuision: or into foure parts, that is, one for Wheate and Rye, another for Barley, a third for Pease, and a fourth fallow, which is the worst diuision and most toilesome, so in this red Sand soile, we must euer diuide it into thrée parts, that is, one for Barley, another for Rye, and a third fallow. For this Sand-soile being hot, drie, and light, will neither bring forth good Beanes nor good Pease, and therefore that Ardor is in this place but onely to be spoke of by way of discourse in vrgent necessitie. Wherefore (as before I said) about the middest of Ianuary you shall beginne to lay fallow that field, where formerly did grow your Rye, the manner of plowing whereof differeth nothing from the manner of plowing the clayes before written of, onely that the discretion of the Plow-man must thus farre forth gouerne him, that in as much as this soile is lighter, dryer, and of a more loose temper, by so much the more he must be carefull to make his furrowes lesse, and to lay them the closer together: & also in as much as this soile, through his naturall warmth and temperate moisture, is excéeding apt to bring forth much wéede, especially Brakes, Ling, Brambles, and such like, therefore the Plow-man shall be very carefull to plow all his furrowes very cleane, without baukes or other impediments by which may be ingendred any of these inconueniences. {SN: Of Spring-foyling.} After you haue thus broke vp and fallowed your fallow or tilth-field, the limitation of which time is from the middest of Ianuary vntill the middest of February, you shall then at the middest of February, when the clay-men begin to sow their Beanes and Pease, goe with your plough into your other fallow-field, which all the yéere before hath laine fallow and already receiued at your hands at least foure seuerall Ardors; as Fallowing, Summer-stirring, Foyling, and Winter-rigging; and there you shall plow all that field ouer the fift time, which is called the Spring-foyling: and in this Ardor you shall plow all your lands vpward, in such sort as when you Winter-ridge it, by which meanes you shall plow vp all those wéedes which haue sprung forth in the Winter season. For you must vnderstand that in these light, hot, sandy soiles, there is a continuall spring (though not of good fruits) yet of wéeds, quicks, and other inconueniences: for it is a rule amongst Husbandmen, that warme soiles are neuer idle, that is, they are euer bringing forth something. {SN: Of Sowing March-Rye.} Now the limitation for this Ardor is from the middest of Februarie vntill the middest of March, at which time you shall, by comparing former experience with your present iudgement, take into your consideration the state, goodnesse, and powerfulnesse of your land, I meane especially of this fallow-field, which hath laine fallow the yéere before, and hath now receiued fiue Ardors: and if you finde any part of it, either for want of good ordoring in former times, or for want of manure in the present yéere, to be growne so leane and out of hart, that you feare it hath not strength enough to beare Barley, you shall then at this time, being the middest of March, sow such land with Rye, which of Husbandmen is called the sowing of March-Rye: and this Rye is to be sowne and harrowed in such sort as you did sow it vpon the clay soiles, that is to say, aboue furrow, and not vnder furrow, except the land be very full of quickes, that is, of Brakes, Ling, Brambles, Dockes, or such like, and then you shall first with a paire of Iron harrowes, that is, with harrowes that haue Iron téeth, first of all harrow the land ouer, and by that meanes teare vp by the rootes all those quickes, and so bring them from the land: which done, you shall sow the land ouer with Rye, and then plow it downeward which is vnder furrow: & as soone as it is plowed, you shall then with a paire of Iron Harrowes harrow it all ouer so excéedingly, that the mould may be made as fine, and the land lie as smooth as is possible. {SN: Of the harrow.} Now because I haue in the former Chapters spoke of Harrowes and harrowing, yet haue not deliuered vnto you the shape and proportion thereof, and because both the woodden harrow and the Iron harrow haue all one shape, and differ in nothing but the téeth onely, I thinke it not amisse before I procéede any further to shew you in this Figure the true shape of a right Harrow. {Illustration: The Harrow.} The parts of this Harrow consisteth of buls, staues, and téeth: of buls, which are broad thicke pieces eyther of well seasoned Willow, or Sallow, being at least thrée inches euery way square, into which are fastned the téeth: of staues, which are round pieces of well seasoned Ash, being about two inches and a halfe about, which going thorow the buls, holde the buls firmely in equall distance one from the other: and of téeth, which are either long pinnes of wood or Iron, being at least fiue inches in length, which are made fast, and set slope-wise through the buls. {SN: The diuersitie of Harrowes.} Now you shall vnderstand that Harrowes are of two kindes, that is, single and double: the single Harrow is called of Husbandmen the Horse-harrow, and is not aboue foure foote square: the double Harrow is called the Oxe-harrow, and it must be at least seauen foote square, and the téeth must euer be of Iron. Now whereas I spake of the Horse-harrow and the Oxe-harrow, it is to be vnderstood that the single Harrow doth belong to the Horse, because Horses drawing single, doe draw each a seuerall Harrow by himselfe, albeit in the common vse of harrowing, we couple two horses euer together, and so make them draw two single Harrowes: but Oxen not being in good Husbandry to be separated, because euer two must draw in one yoake, therefore was the double Harrow deuised, containing in substance and worke as much as two single Harrowes. {SN: The vse of Harrowes.} Now for the vse of Harrowes. The woodden Harrow which is the Harrow with woodden téeth, is euer to be vsed vpon clay grounds and light grounds, which through drynesse doth grow loose, and fals to mould of it owne nature, as most commonly Sand grounds doe also: and the Iron Harrow which is the Harrow with Iron téeth, is euer to be vsed vpon binding grounds, such as through drynesse grow so hard that they will not be sundered, and through wet turne soone to mire and loose durt. Now whereas there be mingled earths, which neither willingly yéeld to mould, nor yet bindes so sore, but small industry breaks it, of which earth I shall speake hereafter, to such grounds the best Husbands vse a mixture, that is to say, one woodden Harrow, and one Iron Harrow, that the woodden Harrow turning ouer and loosening the loosest mould, the Iron Harrow comming after, may breake the stiffer clots, and so consequently turne all the earth to a fine mould. And thus much for Harrowes. {SN: Of the sowing of Pulse.} {SN: Of Pease, Lentles, and Lupines.} Now to returne to my former purpose touching the tillage of this red Sand: if (as before I said) you finde any part of your fallow-field too weake to beare Barley, then is your March-Rye, a graine which will take vpon a harder earth: but if the ground be too weake either for Barley or Rye, (for both those Séedes desire some fatnesse of ground) then shall you spare plowing it at all vntill this time of the yéere, which is mid-March, and then you shall plow it, and sow it with either the smallest Pease you can get, or else with our true English Fitches, which by forraine Authors are called _Lentles_, that is, white Fitches, or _Lupines_, which are red Fitches: for all these thrée sorts of Pulse will grow vpon very barraine soiles, and in their growth doe manure and make rich the ground: yet your Pease desire some hart of ground, your _Lentles_, or white Fitches, lesse, and your _Lupines_, or red Fitches, the least of all, as being apt to grow vpon the barrainest soile: so likewise your Pease doe manure barraine ground well, your _Lentles_ better and your _Lupines_ the best of all. Now for the nature and vse of these graines, the Pease as all Husbandmen know, are both good for the vse of man in his bread, as are vsed in Leicester-shire, Lincolne-shire, Nottingham-shire, and many other Countries: and also for Horses in their Prouender, as is vsed generally ouer all England: for _Lentles_, or white Fitches, or the _Lupines_ which are redde Fitches, they are both indifferent good in bread for man, especially if the meale be well scalded before it be knodden (for otherwise the sauour is excéeding rancke) or else they are a very good foode being sodden in the manner of Leaps-Pease, especially at Sea, in long iourneyes where fresh meate is most exceeding scarce: so that rather then your land should lye idle, and bring forth no profit, I conclude it best to sow these Pulses, which both bring forth commoditie, and also out of their owne natures doe manure and inrich your ground, making it more apt and fit to receiue much better Séede. For the manner of sowing these thrée sorts of Pulse: you shall sow them euer vnder furrow, in such sort as is described for the sowing of Pease and Beanes vpon the white or gray clay which is of indifferent drinesse and apt to breake. {SN: Of Manuring.} Now the limitation for this Ardor or séede time, is from the middest of March, till the middest of Aprill: then from the middest of Aprill, till the middest of May, you shall make your especiall worke, to be onely the leading forth of your Manure to that field which you did fallow, or lay tilth that present yéere immediatelie after Christmas, and of which I first spake in this Chapter. And herein is to be vnderstood, that the best and principallest Manure for this redde-sand, is the ouldest Manure of beasts which can be-gotten, which you shall know by the excéeding blacknesse and rottennesse thereof, being in the cutting both soft and smooth, all of one substance, as if it were well compact morter, without any shew of straw or other stuffe which is vnrotted, for this dung is of all the fattest and coolest, and doth best agrée with the nature of this hot sand. Next to the dung of beasts, is the dung of Horses if it be old also, otherwise it is somewhat of the hottest, the rubbish of old houses, or the swéepings of flowres, or the scowrings of old Fish-ponds, or other standing waters where beasts and horses are vsed to drinke, or be washt, or wherevnto the water and moisture of dunghills haue recourse are all good Manures for this redde-sand: as for the Manure of Shéepe vpon this redde-sand, it is the best of all in such places as you meane to sow Rie, but not fully so good where you doe intend to sow your Barley: if it be a cold moist redde-sand (which is seldome found but in some particular low countries) then it doth not amisse to Manure it most with Shéepe, or else with Chaulke, Lime, or Ashes, of which you can get the greatest plentie: if this soile be subiect to much wéede and quickes, as generally it is, then after you haue torne vp the wéedes and quickes with Harrowes, you shall with rakes, rake them together, and laying them in heapes vpon the land, you shall burne them and then spreading the ashes they will be a very good Manure, and in short space destroy the wéedes also; likewise if your land be much ouergrowne with wéedes, if when you sheare your Rie you leaue a good long stubble, and then mowing the stubble burne it vpon the land, it is both a good Manure and also a good meanes to destroy the wéedes. {SN: Of sowing Barley.} After your Manure is lead forth and either spread vpon the lands, or set in great heapes, so as the land may be couered ouer with Manure (for it is to be obserued that this soile must be throughly Manured) then about the middest of May, which is the time when this worke should be finished, you shall repaire with your Plough into the other fallow field, which was prepared the yéere before for this yéeres Barley, & there you shall sow it all ouer with Barley aboue furrow, that is to say, you shall first Plough it, then sow it, and after Harrow it, making the mould as fine and smooth as may be, which is done with easie labour, because this sand of it owne nature is as fine as ashes. {SN: Of Summer-stirring.} {SN: Of sleighting.} Now the limitation for this séede time, is from the middest of May, till the middest of Iune, wherein if any man demand why it should not be sowne in March and Aprill, according as it is sowne in the former soiles, I answere, that first this redde-sand cannot be prepared, or receiue his full season in weather, and earings, before this time of the yéere, and next that these redde-sands, by how much they are hotter and drier then the other claies, by so much they may wel stay the longer before they receiue their séede, because that so much the sooner the séede doth sprout in them, & also the sooner ripen being kept warmer at the roote then in any could soile whatsoeuer. As soone as the middest of Iune approacheth, you shall then beginne to Summer-stirre your fallow field, and to turne your Manure into your land, in such sort as you did vpon your clay soiles, for this Ardor of Summer-stirring altereth in no soile, and this must be done from the middest of Iune, till the middest of Iuly, for as touching sleighting, clotting, or smoothing of this Barley field, it is seldome in vse, because the finenesse of the sand will lay the land smooth inough without sleighting: yet if you finde that any particular land lieth more rough then the rest, it shall not be amisse, if with your backe Harrowes you smooth it a little within a day or two after it is sowne. {SN: Of Foiling.} {SN: Of sowing Rye.} From the middest of Iuly vntill the middest of August, you shall foile and throw downe your fallow field againe, if your lands lie well and in good order, but if any of your lands doe lie in the danger of water, or by vse of Plowing are growne too flat, both which are hinderances to the growth of Corne, then when you foile your lands you shall Plow them vpward, and so by that meanes raise the ridges one furrow higher. After you haue foiled your land, which must be about the middest of August, then will your Barley be ready to mowe, for these hot soiles haue euer an earely haruest, which as soone as it is mowne and carried into the Barne, forthwith you shall with all expedition carry forth such Manure as you may conueniently spare, and lay it vpon that land from whence you receiued your Barley, which is most barraine: and if you want cart Manure, you shall then lay your fould of Shéepe thereupon, and as soone as it is Manured, you shall immediately Plow both it & the rest, which Ardor should be finished by the middest of September, and so suffered to rest vntill the beginning of October, at which time you shall beginne to sow all that field ouer with Rye in such sort as hath béene spoken of in former places. {SN: Obiection.} Now in as much as the ignorant Husbandman may very easiely imagine that I reckon vp his labours too thicke, and therein leaue him no leasure for his necessarie businesses, especially because I appoint him to foile his land from the middest of Iuly, till the middest of August, which is both a busie time for his Hay haruest, and also for his Rye shearing. {SN: Answere.} To this I make answere, that I write not according to that which poore men are able (for it were infinit to looke into estates) but according as euery good Husband ought, presupposing that he which will liue by the Plough, ought to pursue all things belonging vnto the Plough, and then he shall finde that there is no day in the yéere, but the Saboth, but it is necessarie that the Plough be going: yet to reconcile the poore and the rich together, they shall vnterstand, that when I speake of Plowing in the time of Haruest, I doe not meane that they should neglect any part of that principall Worke, which is the true recompence of their labour: but because whilst the dew is vpon the ground, or when there is either raine or mizling there is then no time for Haruest Worke, then my meaning is that the carefull Husbandman shall take those aduantages, and rising earelier in the mornings, be sure to be at his Plough two howers before the dew be from the ground, knowing that the getting but of one hower in the day compasseth a great worke in a month, neither shall hée néede to feare the ouer toiling of his cattell, sith at that time of the yéere Grasse being at greatest plenty, strongest and fullest of hart, Corne scattered almost in euery corner, and the mouth of the beast not being muzeld in his labour, there is no question but he will indure and worke more then at any other season. {SN: Of Winter ridging.} In the beginning of Nouember, you shall beginne to Winter-ridge your fallow, or tilth-field, which in all points shalbe done according to the forme described in the former soiles: for that Ardor of all other neuer altereth, because it is as it were a defence against the latter spring, which else would fill the lands full of wéedes, and also against the rigor of Winter, and therefore it doth lay vp the furrow close together, which taking the season of the frost, winde, and weather makes the mould ripe, mellow, and light: and the limitation for this Ardor, is from the beginning of Nouember, vntill the middest of December. {SN: Of the Plough.} {SN: Of the coulture.} Now as touching the Plough which is best and most proper for this redde-sand, it differeth nothing in shape and composure of members from that Plough which is described for the blacke Clay, hauing necessarily two hales, because the ground being loose and light, the Plough will with great difficulty hold land, but with the least disorder be euer ready to runne into the furrow, so that a right hand hale is most necessarie for the houlding of the plough euen, onely the difference of the two Ploughes consisteth in this, that the plough for this red-sand, must be much lesse then the plough for the blacke Clay houlding in the sizes of the timber the due proportion of the plough for the white or gray clay, or if it be somewhat lesse it is not amisse, as the head being eightéene inches, the maine beame not aboue foure foote, and betwéene the hinder part of the rest, and the out-most part of the plough head in the hinder end not aboue eight inches. Now for the Plough-Irons which doe belong vnto this plough, the Coulture is to be made circular, in such proportion as the coulture for the gray, or white clay, and in the placing, or tempering vpon the Plough it is to be set an inch at least lower then the share, that it may both make way before the share, and also cut déeper into the land, to make the furrow haue more easie turning. {SN: Of the share.} Now for the share, it differeth in shape from both the former shares, for it is neither so large nor out-winged, as that for the gray Clay, for this share is onely made broad to the Plough ward, and small to the point of the share, with onely a little peake and no wing according to this figure. {Illustration: The share.} {SN: Of the plough-slip.} These Plough-irons, both coulture and share, must be well stéeled and hardned at the points, because these sandy soiles being full of moisture and gréete, will in short space weare and consume the Irons, to the great hinderance and cost of the Husbandman, if it be not preuented by stéele and hardning, which notwithstanding will waste also in these soiles, so that you must at least twise in euery Ardor haue your Irons to the Smith, and cause him to repaire them both with Iron and stéele, besides these Irons, of coulture and share, you must also haue a long piece of Iron, which must be iust of the length of the Plough head, and as broad as the Plough head is thicke, and in thicknesse a quarter of an inch: and this piece of Iron must be nailed vpon the outside of the Plough head, next vnto the land, onely to saue the Plough head from wearing, for when the Plough is worne it can then no longer hould the land, and this piece of Iron is called of Husbandmen the Plough-slip and presenteth this figure. {Illustration: The Plough-slip.} {SN: Of Plough clouts.} Ouer and besides this Plough-slip, their are certaine other pieces of Iron which are made in the fashion of broad thinne plates, and they be called Plough clouts, and are to be nailed vpon the shelboard, to defend it from the earth or furrow which it turneth ouer, which in very short space would weare the woode and put the Husbandman to double charge. {SN: The houlding of the Plough.} Thus hauing shewed you the parts, members, and implements, belonging to this Plough, it rests that I procéede vnto the teame or draught: for to speake of the vse and handling of this Plough, it is néedelesse, because it is all one with those Ploughes, of which I haue spoken in the former Chapters, and he which can hould and handle a Plough in stiffe clayes must néedes (except he be excéeding simple) hould a Plough in these light sands, in as much as the worke is much more easie and the Plough a great deale lesse chargeable. {SN: Of the draught.} Now for the Draught or Teame, they ought to be as in the former Soiles, Oxen or Horses, yet the number not so great: for foure Beasts are sufficient to plow any Ardor vpon this soile, nay, thrée Horses if they be of reasenable strength will doe as much as sixe vpon either of the Clay-soiles: asfor their attire or Harnessing, the Beare-geares, before described, are the best and most proper. And thus much concerning this red Sand, wherein you are to take this briefe obseruation with you, that the Graines which are best to be sowne vpon it, are onely Rye, Barley, small Pease, _Lentles_ and _Lupines_, otherwise called Fitches, and the graines to which it is aduerse, are Wheat, Beanes and Maslin. CHAP. VIII. _The manner of plowing the white Sand, his Earings, Plough, and Implements._ Next vnto this red Sand, is the white sand, which is much more barraine then the red Sand, yet by the industry of the Husbandman in plowing, and by the cost of Manure it is made to beare corne in reasonable plentie. Now of white Sands there be two kindes, the one a white Sand mixt with a kinde of Marle, as that in Norffolke, Suffolke, and other such like places butting vpon the Sea-coast: the other a white Sand with Pible, as in some parts of Surrey, about Ancaster in Lincolne shire, and about Salisbury in Wil-shire. {SN: Of the white Sand with Pible.} Now for this white Sand with Pible, it is the barrainest, and least fruitfull in bringing forth, because it hath nothing but a hot dustie substance in it. For the manner of Earing thereof, it agréeth in all points with the redde Sand, the Ardors being all one, the Tempers, Manurings and all other appurtenances: the Séede also which it delights in is all one with the red Sand, as namely, Rye, Barley, Pease and Fitches. Wherefore who so shall dwell vpon such a soile, I must referre him to the former Chapter of the red Sand, and therein he shall finde sufficient instruction how to behaue himselfe vpon this earth: remembring that in as much as it is more barraine then the red Sand, by so much it craueth more care and cost, both in plowing and manuring thereof, which two labours onely make perfect the ill ground. {SN: Of the white Sand with Marle.} Now for the white Sand which hath as it were a certaine mixture, or nature of Marle in it, you shall vnderstand that albeit vnto the eye it be more dry and dustie then the red Sand, yet it is fully as rich as the red Sand: for albe it doe not beare Barley in as great plenty as the red Sand, yet it beareth Wheate abundantly, which the red Sand seldome or very hardly bringeth forth. {SN: Of Fallowing.} Wherefore to procéede to the Earings or tillage of this white Marly sand, you shall vnderstand that about the middest of Ianuary is fit time to beginne to fallow your field which shall be tilth and rest for this yéere: wherein by the way, before I procéede further, you shall take this obseruation with you, that whereas in the former soiles I diuided the fields into thrée & foure parts, this soile cannot conueniently, if it be well husbanded, be diuided into any more parts then two, that is to say, a fallow field, and a Wheat-field: in which Wheate-field if you haue any land richer then other, you may bestow Barley vpon it, vpon the second you may bestow Wheat, vpon the third sort of ground Rye, and vpon the barrainest, Pease or Fitches: and yet all these must be sowne within one field, because in this white sand, Wheate and Rye will not grow after Barley or Pease, nor Barley and Pease after Wheate or Rye. Your fields being then diuided into two parts, that is, one for corne, the other for rest, you shall as before I said, about the middest of Ianuary beginne to fallow your Tith-field, which in all obseruations you shall doe according as is mentioned for the red sand. {SN: Of sowing Pease.} About the middest of March, if you haue any barraine or wasted ground within your fallow field, or if you haue any occasion to breake vp any new ground, which hath not béene formerly broake vp, in eyther of these cases you shall sow Pease or Fitches thereupon, and those Pease or Fitches you shall sow vnder furrow as hath béene before described. {SN: Of Spring-fallowing.} About the middest of Aprill you shall plow your fallow-field ouer againe, in such manner as you plowed when you fallowed it first: and this is called Spring-fallowing, and is of great benefit because at that time the wéedes and quickes beginning to spring, nay, to flowrish, by reason that the heate of the climbe puts them forth sooner then in other soyles, if they should not be plowed vp before they take too strong roote, they would not onely ouer-runne, but also eate out the hart of the Land. {SN: Of sowing Barley.} About the middest of May you shall beginne to sow your Barley vpon the richest part of your old fallow-field, which at the Michaelmas before, when you did sow your Wheate, and Rye, and Maslin, you did reserue for that purpose: and this Barley you shall sow in such sort as is mentioned in the former Chapter of the red Sand, in so much that this Ardor being finished, which is the last part of your Séede-time, your whole field shall be furnished eyther with Wheate, if it hold a temperate fatnesse, or with Wheate and Barley, if it be rich and richer, or with Wheate, Barley and Pulse, if it be rich, poore or extreame barraine: and the manner of sowing all these seuerall séedes is described in the Chapters going before. {SN: Of Summer-stirring.} About the middest of Iune you shall beginne to Summer-stirre your fallow-field, in such sort as was spoken of in the former Chapters concerning the other soiles: for in this Ardor there is no alteration of methode, but onely in gouernment of the Plough, considering the heauinesse and lightnesse of the earth. During this Ardor you shall busily apply your labour in leading forth your Manure, for it may at great ease be done both at one season, neyther the Plough hindering the Cart, nor the Cart staying the Plough: for this soile being more light and easie in worke then any other soile whatsoeuer, doth euer preserue so many Cattell for other imployment that both workes may goe forward together, as shall be shewed when wee come to speake of the Plough, and the Teame which drawes it. {SN: Of Manuring.} Now as touching the Manures most fit for this soyle, they be all those of which we haue formerly written, ashes onely excepted, which being of an hot nature doe scald the Séede, and detaine it from all fruitfulnesse, being mixt with this hot soile, so is likewise Lyme, and the burning of stubble: other Manures are both good and occasion much fertilitie, as being of a binding and coole nature, and holding together that loosenesse which in his too much separation taketh all nutriment from the earth. {SN: Of Weeding.} After you haue ledde forth your Manure, and Summer-stird your Land, you shall then about the beginning of Iulie looke into your Corne-field, and if you perceiue any Thistles, or any other superfluous wéedes to annoy your Corne, you shall then (as is before said) either cut, or plucke them vp by the rootes. {SN: Of Foyling.} About the middest of August you shall beginne to foile or cast downe your fallow-field againe, and in that Ardor you shall be very carefull to plow cleane and leaue no wéedes vncut vp: for in these hot soiles if any wéedes be left with the least roote, so that they may knit and bring forth séede, the annoyance thereof will remaine for at least foure yéeres after, which is a double fallowing. And to the end that you may cut vp all such wéedes cleane, although both your Share and Coulture misse them, you shall haue the rest of your Plough in the vnder part which strokes alongst the earth filled all full of dragges of Iron, that is, of olde crooked nailes or great tenter-hookes, such as vpon the putting downe of your right hand when you come néere a wéed shall catch hold thereof and teare it vp by the rootes, as at this day is vsed be many particular Husbands in this kingdome, whose cares, skils, and industries are not inferiour to the best whatsoeuer. {SN: Of Sowing Wheate and Rye.} {SN: The choise of Seede.} About the middest of September, you shall beginne to sow your Wheate and Rye vpon your fallow field, which Graine vpon this soile is to be reckoned the most principall: and you shall sow it in the same manner that is described in the former Chapters, wherein your especiallest care is the choise of your séede: for in this soile your whole-straw Wheate, nor your great Pollard taketh any delight, neither your Organe, for all those thrée must haue a firme and a strong mould: but your Chilter-wheate, your Flaxen-wheate, your White-pollard, and your Red-wheate, which are the Wheates which yéeld the purest and finest meale, (although they grow not in so great abundance) are the séedes which are most proper and naturall for this soile. As for Rye or Maslin, according to the goodnesse of the ground so you shall bestow your séede: for it is a generall rule, that wheresoeuer your Wheate growes, there will euer Rye grow, but Rye will many times grow where Wheate will not prosper; and therefore for the sowing of your Rye, it must be according to the temper of the earth, and the necessitie of your houshold: for Wheate being a richer graine then Rye, if you be assured that your ground will beare Wheate well, it is small Husbandrie to sow more Rye or Maslin then for your house: but if it be too hot for Wheate, and kindly for Rye, then it is better to haue good Rye, then ill Wheate. Now for the sowing of your Rye or Maslin in this soile, it differeth nothing from the former soiles, either in plowing or any other obseruation, that is to say, it must be plowed aboue furrow: for Rye being the most tender graine, it can neither abide the waight of earth, nor yet moisture; the one, as it were, burying, and the other drowning the vigour and strength of the séede. {SN: Of Winter-ridging.} About the beginning of Nouember you shall Winter-ridge your fallow field, I meane that part which you doe preserue for Barley (for the other part is furnished with séede) and this Winter-ridging differeth nothing from the Winter ridging of other soiles, onely you shall a little more precisely obserue to set vp your lands more straight and high then in other soiles, both to defend them from wet, which this soile is much subiect vnto, because commonly some great riuer is neare it, and also for the preseruing of the strength and goodnesse of the Manure within the land which by lying open and vnclosed would soone be washt forth and consumed. {SN: Of the clensing of lands, or drawing of water-furrowes.} Now sith I haue here occasion to speake something of the draining of lands, and the kéeping of them from the annoyance of superfluous wet, whether it be by invndation or otherwise, you shall vnderstand that it is the especiall office and dutie of euery good Husbandman, not onely in this soile, but in all other whatsoeuer, to haue a principall respect to the kéeping of his land dry, and to that end hée shall diligently (as soone as he hath Winter-rigged his land) take a carefull view how his lands lie, which way the descent goes from whence annoyance or water may possibly come, and so consequently from those obseruations, with a Spade or strong Plough, of extraordinary greatnesse, draw certaine déepe furrowes from descent vnto descent, by which meanes all the water may be conuayed from his lands, eyther into some common Sewer, Lake, Brooke, or other maine Riuer: and to this end it is both a rule in the common Lawes of our Land, and a laudable custome in the Common-wealth of euery Towne, that for as much as many Townes haue their lands lie in common, that is to say, mixed neighbour with neighbour, few or none hauing aboue two or three lands at the most lying together in one place, therefore euery man shall ioyne, and make their water-furrowes one from another, vntill such time as the water be conuayed into some common issue, as well hée whose lands be without all danger, as he that is troubled with the greatest annoyance, and herein euery one shall beare his particular charge: which is an Act of great vertue and goodnesse. {SN: Of the Plough.} Now for the Plough which is to plow this white sand it doth differ nothing in size, proportion, and vse of handling from the Plough described for the red Sand, onely it hath one addition more, that is to say, at the further end of the maine Beame of the Plough, where you fixe your Plough-foote, there you shall place a little paire of round whéeles, which bearing the Beame vpon a loose mouing Axletrée, being iust the length of two furrows and no more, doth so certainly guide the Plough in his true furrow that it can neither lose the land by swaruing (as in these light soiles euery Plough is apt to doe) nor take too much land, eyther by the gréedinesse of the plough or sharpnesse of the Irons, neither can it drownd through the easie lightnesse of the earth, nor runne too shallow through the fussinesse of the mould, but the whéeles being made of a true proportion, which should not be aboue twelue inches from the centre, the Plough with a reasonable hand of gouernment shall runne in a direct and euen furrow: the proportion of which Plough is contained in this Figure. {Illustration: The Plough with Wheeles.} This plough of all others I hold to be most ancient, and as being the modell of the first inuention, and at this day is preserued both in France, Germany, & Italy, and no other proportion of Ploughes knowne, both as we perceiue by our experience in séeing them plow, & also by reading of their writings: for neither in _Virgil_, _Columella_, _Xenophon_, nor any olde Writer: nor in _Heresbachius_, _Steuens_, nor _Libault_, being later Writers, finde wée any other Plough bequeathed vnto our memories. Yet it is most certaine, that in many of our English soiles, this Plough is of little profit, as we finde by daily experience both in our clayes, and many of our mixt earths: for in truth this Plough is but onely for light, sandy, or grauelly soiles, as for the most part these forraine Countries are, especially about the sea-coast, or the borders of great Cities, from whence these Writers most generally tooke the presidents for their writings. {SN: Of the plough-Irons.} Now for the parts of this Plough, it consisteth of the same members which the former Ploughs doe, onely that in stead of the Plough-foote it hath a paire of whéeles. It hath also but one Hale, in such sort as the Plough for the gray or white clay. The beame also of this Plough is much more straight then the former, by which meanes the Skeath is not full so long. The Irons belonging vnto this Plough are of the fashion of the former Irons, onely they be somewhat lesse, that is to say, the Coulture is not so long, neyther so full bent as that for the red Sand, nor so straight as that for the blacke clay, but as it were holding a meane betwéene both: so likewise the Share is not fully so broad as that for the red sand, nor so narrow as that for the gray clay, but holds as it were a middle size betwéene both, somewhat leaning in proportion to the shape of that for the blacke clay. As for the Plough-slip, Plough-clouts, and other implements which are to defend the wood from the hardnesse of the earth, they are the same, and in the same wise to be vsed as those for the red Sand. {SN: Of the draught.} Now for the Draught or Teame which drawes this Plough, they are as in all other Draughts, Oxen or Horses, but for the number thereof they differ much from those which are formerly written of: for you shall vnderstand that in this white sandy soile, which is of all soiles the lightest, eyther two good Horses, or two good Oxen are a number sufficient to plow any Ardor vpon this soile whatsoeuer, as by daily experience we may sée in those countries whose soile consists of this white light Sand, of which wée haue now written: neyther shall the Plow-man vpon this soile néede any person to driue or order his Plough more then himselfe: for the soile being so light and easie to cut, the Plough so nimble, and the Cattell so few and so neare him, hauing euer his right hand at libertie (because his plough hath but onely a left hand Hale) he hath liberty euer to carry a goade or whip in his right hand, to quicken and set forward his Cattell, and also a line which being fastned to the heads of the Beasts, hée may with it euer when hée comes to the lands end, stop them and turne them vpon which hand he pleases. And thus much for the tillage and ordering of this white Sand. CHAP. IX. _The manner of plowing the Grauell with Pible stones, or the Grauell with Flint, their Earings, Plough, and implements._ Hauing in the plainest manner I can written sufficiently already of the foure simple and vncompounded soiles, to wit, two Clayes, blacke and gray, and two Sands, red and white, it now rests that I also giue you some perfect touch or taste of the mixt or compounded soiles, as namely, the grauell which is a kinde of hard sand, clay and stone mixt together: and of Grauels there be two kindes, that is to say, one that is mixt with little small Pible stones, as in many parts of Middlesex, Kent, and Surry: and the Grauell mixt with broad Flints, as in many parts of Hartford-shire, Essex, and sundry such places. These Grauels are both, in generall, subiect to much barrainnesse, especially if they be accompanied with any extraordinary moisture, yet with the good labour of plowing, and with the cost of much Manure, they are brought to reasonable fruitfulnesse, where it comes to passe that the Plow-man which is master of such a soile, if either he liue not neare some Citie or Market-towne, where great store of Manure, by the concourse of people, is daily bred, and so consequently is very cheape, or else haue not in his owne store and bréede, meanes to raise good store of Manure, hée shall seldome thriue and prosper thereupon. Now although in these grauell soiles there is a diuersity of mixture, as the one mingled with small Pibles, which indéede is the worst mixture, the other with broad Flints, which is the better signe of fruitfulnesse: yet in their order of tillage or Earings, in their wéeding and cleansing, and in all other ardors and obseruations, they differ nothing at all, the beginning and ending of each seuerall worke being all one. Now for the manner of worke belonging vnto these two soiles, it altereth in no respect nor obseruation eyther in Plough, plowing, manuring, weeding, or any other thing whatsoeuer, from that of the white sand, the same times of the yéere, the same Séedes, and the same Earings being euer to be obserued, wherefore it shall be needlesse to write so amply of these soiles as of the former, because being all one with the white Sand, without alteration, it were but to write one thing twice, and therefore I referre the Reader to the former Chapter, and also the Husbandman that shall liue vpon either of these soiles, onely with these few caueats: First, that for the laying his lands, hée shall lay them in little small stitches, that is, not hauing aboue foure furrowes laid together, as it were for one land, in such sort as you sée in Hartford-shire, Essex, Middlesex, Kent and Surry: for this soile being for the most part subiect to much moisture and hardnesse, if it should be laid in great lands, according to the manner of the North parts, it would ouer-burden, choake and confound the séed which is throwne into it. Secondly, you shall not goe about to gather off the stones which séeme as it were to couer the lands, both because the labour is infinite and impossible, as also because those stones are of good vse, and as it were a certaine Manuring and helpe vnto the ground: for the nature of this Grauell being colde and moist, these stones doe in the winter time, defend and kéepe the sharpnesse of the Frosts and bleake windes from killing the heart or roote of the séedes, and also in the Summer it defends the scorching heate of the Sunne from parching and drying vp the Séede, which in this grauelly soile doth not lie so well couered, as in other soyles, especially if this kinde of earth be inuironed with any great hils (as most commonly it is) the reflection whereof makes the heate much more violent. And lastly, to obserue that there is no manure better or more kindly for this kinde of earth then Chaulke, white Marle, or Lyme: for all other matters whatsoeuer the former Chapter of the white Sand, will giue you sufficient instructions. CHAP. X. _The manner of plowing the blacke Clay mixt with red Sand, and the white Clay mixt with white Sand, their Earings, Plough and Implements._ Next to these grauelly soiles, there be also two other compounded earths, as namely, the blacke Clay mixt with red Sand, and the white Clay mixt with white sand, which albe they differ in composition of mould, yet they hold one nature in their Tillage and Husbandry: wherefore first to speake of the blacke Clay mixt with red Sand, which (as before I said) is called of Husbandmen an hassell earth, you shall vnderstand that it is a very rich and good soile, very fruitfull both for Corne and Grasse: for Corne, being apt to beare any séede whatsoeuer: and for Grasse, as naturally putting it forth very earely in the yéere, by which your Cattell shall get reliefe sooner then in other soiles of colder nature: for both the blacke and white claies doe seldome flowrish with any store of Grasse before Iune, which is the time of wood-seare, and this soile will boast of some plenty about the beginning of Aprill at the furthest: but for Grasse we shall speake in his proper place. {SN: Of fallowing.} Now for his tillage it is thus: you shall about the middest of Ianuary, beginne to fallow that field which you intend that yéere shall lye at rest or tilth, and you shall fallow it in such sort as is specified in the Chapter of the blacke clay: onely you shall raise small furrowes and Plow the land cleane, being sure to open and cast the land downeward if the land lie high and round, otherwise you shall neuer at any time cast the land downe but ridge it vp, that is to say, when you fallow it, you shall cast the first furrow downeward, and so likewise the second, which two furrowes being cleane ploughed, will lay the land open inough, that is, there wilbe no part of the ridge vnploughed: which done, by changing your hand and the gate of your Plough, you shall plough those furrowes backe againe and lay them vpward, and so plough the whole land vpward, also laying it round and high: the reason for this manner of plowing being this, that for as much as this land being mixt of clay and sand, must néedes be a sore binding land, therefore if it should be laid flat, if any great raine or wet should fall, and a present drought follow it, neither should you possibly force your Plough to enter into it and breake it, or being broken should you get so much mould as to couer your Corne and giue the séede comfort, whereas vpon the contrary part, if it be laid high and vpright, it must necessarily be laid hollow and light, in so much that you may both Plough it at your pleasure, and also beget so perfect a mould as any other soile whatsoeuer, both because the wet hath liberty to auoide through the hollownesse, and also because the Sunne and weather hath power to enter and season it, wherefore in conclusion you shall fallow this field downeward if it lye high and vpright, otherwise you shall fallow it vpward as the meanes to bring it to the best Ardor. Now for this fallow field it must euer be made where the yéere before you did reape your Pease, in case you haue but thrée fields, or where you did reape your Wheate, Rye, and Maslin, in case you haue foure fields, according to the manner of the blacke clay. {SN: Of sowing Pease.} About the middest of February, which is within a day or two of Saint _Valentines_ day, if the season be any thing constant in fairenesse and drinesse, you shall then beginne to sow your Pease, for you must vnderstand that albeit this soile will beare Beanes, yet they are nothing so naturall for it as Pease, both because they are an hungry séede and doe much impaire and wast the ground, and also because they prosper best in a fat, loose, and tough earth, which is contrary to this hard and drie soile: but especially if you haue foure fields, you shall forbeare to sow any Beanes at all, least you loose two commodities, that is, both quantitie of graine (because Beanes are not so long and fruitfull vpon this earth, as vpon the clayes) and the Manuring of your ground, which Pease out of their owne natures doe, both by the smoothering of the ground and their owne fatnesse, when your Beanes doe pill and sucke the hart out of the earth. Now for the manner of sowing your Pease, you shall sow them aboue furrow, that is, first plough the land vpward, then immediately sow your Pease, and instantly after Harrow them, the Plough, the Séedes-man, and the Harrower, by due course, following each other, and so likewise you may sow Oates vpon this soile. {SN: Of sowing Barley.} About the middest of March, which is almost a fortnight before our Lady day, you shall beginne to sow your Barley, which Barley you shall sow neither vnder-furrow nor aboue, but after this order: first, you shall plow your land downeward, beginning at the furrow and so assending vpward to the ridge of the land, which as soone as you haue opened, you shall then by pulling the plough out of the earth, and laying the shelboard crosse the ridge, you shall fill the ridge in againe with the same mould which you plowed vp: this done, your séedes-man shall bring his Barley and sow the land aboue furrow: after the land is sowne, you shall then Harrow it as small as may be, first with a paire of woodden Harrowes, and after with a paire of Iron Harrowes, or else with a double Oxe Harrow, for this earth being somewhat hard and much binding, will aske great care and dilligence in breaking. {SN: Of sleighting.} After your Barley is sowne, you shall about the latter end of Aprill beginne to smooth and sleight your land, both with the backe Harrowes and with the rouler, and looke what clots they faile to breake, you shall with clotting beetles beate them asunder, making your mould as fine and laying your land as smooth as is possible. {SN: Of Summer-stirring.} About the middest of May, you shall, if any wet fall, beginne to Summer-stirre your land, or if no wet fall, you shall doe your indeauour to Summer-stirre your land, rather aduenturing to breake two ploughes, then to loose one day in that labour, knowing this, that one land Summer-stird in a dry season, is better then thrée Summer-stird in a wet or moist weather, both because it giues the earth a better temper, and kils the wéedes with more assurednesse, and as I speake of Summer-stirring, so I speake of all other Ardors, that the drier they are done the better they are euer done: and in this season you shall also gather the stones from your ground. {SN: Obiection.} Now it may be obiected, that if it be best to plough in drie seasons, it is then best to fallow also in a dry season, and by that meanes not to beginne to fallow vntill the beginning of May, as is prescribed for the blacke clay, and so to deferre the Summer-stirring till the next month after, sith of necessitie Ianuary must either be wet or else vnkindely. {SN: Answere.} To this I make answere, that most true it is, that the land which is last fallowed is euer the best and most fruitfull, yet this mixt earth which is compound of sand and clay, is such a binding earth, that if it be not taken and fallowed in a moist-time of the yéere, as namely, in Ianuary or February, but suffered to lye till May, at which time the drought hath so entered into him, that the greatest part of his moisture is decaied, then I say, the nature of the ground is such and so hard, that it wilbe impossible to make any plough enter into it, so that you shall not onely aduenture the losse of that speciall Ardor, but also of all the rest which should follow after, and so consequently loose the profit of your land: where contrary wise if you fallow it at the beginning of the yéere, as in Ianuary, and February, albe they be wet, yet shall you lay vp your furrowes and make the earth more loose, by which meanes you shall compasse all the other Earings which belong to your soile: for to speake briefely, late fallowing belongs vnto claies, which by drought are made loose and light, and earely fallowings vnto mixt soiles, such as these which by drinesse doe ingender and binde close together. {SN: Of weeding.} About the middest of Iune, you shall beginne to wéede your Corne, in such sort as hath béene before described in the former Chapters: and although this soile naturally of it selfe (if it haue receiued his whole Ardor in due seasons, and haue béene Ploughed cleane, according to the office of a good Husband) doth neither put forth Thistle or other wéede, yet if it want either the one or the other, it is certaine that it puts them forth in great abundance, for by Thistles and wéedes, vpon this soile, is euer knowne the goodnesse and dilligence of the Husbandman. {SN: Of Foiling.} About the middest of Iuly, you shall beginne to foile your land, in such sort also as hath béene mentioned in the former Chapters, onely with this obseruation that if any of your lands lie flat, you shall then, in your foiling, plough those lands vpward and not downeward, holding your first precept that in this soile, your lands must lie high, light, and hollow, which if you sée they doe, then you may if you please in your foiling cast them downeward, because at Winter ridging you may set them vp againe. {SN: Of Manuring.} Now for as much as in this Chapter I haue hitherto omitted to speake of Manuring this soile, you shall vnderstand that it is not because I hold it so rich that it néedeth no Manure, but because I know there is nothing more néedfull vnto it then Manure, in so much that I wish not the Husbandman of this ground to binde himselfe vnto any one particular season of the yéere for the leading forth of his Manure, but to bestow all his leasurable houres and rest from other workes onely vpon this labor, euen through the circuit of the whole yéere, knowing this most precisely, that at what time of the yéere so euer you shall lay Manure vpon this earth it will returne much profit. As for the choise of Manures vpon this soile they are all those whatsoeuer, of which I haue formerly intreated in any of the other Chapters, no Manure whatsoeuer comming amisse to this ground: prouided that the Husbandman haue this respect to lay vpon his moystest and coldest ground his hottest Manures, and vpon his hottest and driest earth his coolest and moistest Manures: the hot Manures being Shéepes-dung, Pigions-dung, Pullen-dung, Lyme, Ashes, and such like: the coole being Oxe-dung, Horse-dung, the scowrings of Ponds, Marle, and such like. {SN: Of Winter-ridging.} About the middest of September you shall beginne to Winter-ridge your Land, which in all points you shall doe according as is mentioned in the former Chapters of the Clayes: for in this Ardor there is neuer any difference, onely this one small obseruation, that you may aduenture to Winter-ridge this mixt earth sooner then any other: for many of our best English Husbandmen which liue vpon this soile doe hold this opinion, that if it be Winter-ridged so earely in the yéere, that through the vertue of the latter spring it put forth a certaine gréene wéede like mosse, bring short and soft, that the land is so much the better therefore, being as they imagine both fed and comforted by such a slender expression which doth not take from the land any hart, but like a warme couering doth ripen and make mellow the mould, and this cannot be effected but onely by earely Winter-ridging. {SN: Of Sowing of Wheate, Rye, and Maslin.} At the end of September you shall beginne to sow your Wheate, Rye, and Maslin, all which Graines are very naturall, good, and profitable vpon this soile, and are to be sowne after the same manner, and with the same obseruations which are specified in the former Chapter of the blacke clay, that is to say, the Wheate vnder furrow, and vnharrowed, the Rye and Maslin aboue furrow, and well harrowed. And herein is also to be remembred all those precepts mentioned in the Chapter of the blacke Clay, touching the diuision of the fields, that is to say, if you haue three fields, you shall then sow your Wheate, Rye and Maslin in your fallow-field, and so saue both the Foyling and double manuring of so much earth: but if you haue foure fields, then you shall sow those graines vpon that land from whence the same yéere you did reape your Pease; your Wheate hauing no other Manure then that which came by the Pease, your Rye hauing, if possible, eyther Manure from the Cart, or from the Folde, in such sort as hath béene shewed in the Chapter of the blacke Clay, and this of Husbandmen is called Inam-wheate or Inam-rye, that is, white-corne sowne after white-corne, as Barley after Barley, or hard-corne after hard-corne, which is wheate after Pease. {SN: Of the plough.} Now for the Plough which is most proper for this soile it is to be made of a middle size betwixt that for the blacke Clay, and that for the red Sand, being not all out so bigge and vnwieldy as the first, nor so slender and nimble as the latter, but taking a middle proportion from them both, you shall make your Plough of a competent fitnesse. {SN: Of the plough-Irons.} As for the Irons, the Share must be of the same proportion that the Share for the red Sand is, yet a little thought bigger, and the Coulture of the fashion of that Coulture, onely not full so much bent, but all-out as sharpe and as long: and these Irons must be euer well maintained with stéele, for this mixt earth is euer the hardest, and weareth both the Plough and Irons soonest, and therefore it is agréed by all Husbandmen that this Plough must not at any time want his Plough-slip, except at the first going of the Plough you shall finde that it hath too much land, that is to say, by the crosse setting on of the beame, that it runneth too gréedily into the land, which to helpe, you shall let your Plough goe without a plough-slip, till the plough-head be so much worne, that it take no more but an ordinary furrow, and then you shall set on your Plough-slips and Plough clouts also: but I write this in case there be imperfection in the Plough, which if it be otherwise, then this obseruation is néedlesse. {SN: Of the Teame.} Now for the Teame or Draught which shall draw this Plough, they are as the former, Oxen or Horses, and their number the same that is prescribed for the blacke Clay, as namely, eight or sixe Beasts for Pease-earth, for Fallowing, and Summer-stirring, and sixe or foure for all other Ardors: for you must vnderstand that this mixt and binding soile, through his hardnesse, and glutenous holding together, is as hard to plow as any clay-soile whatsoeuer, and in some speciall seasons more by many degrées. {SN: Of the white clay with white Sand.} Now for the white clay mixt with white sand, it is an earth much more barraine, then this former mixt earth, and bringeth forth nothing without much care, diligence, and good order: yet, for his manner of Earings, in their true natures euery way doe differ nothing from the Earings of this blacke clay and red Sand, onely the Séede which must be sowne vpon this soile differeth from the former: for vpon this soile in stead of Barley you must sow most Oates, as a Graine which will take much strength from little fertilitie: and in stead of Rye you shall sow more Wheate and more Pease, or in stead of Pease then you shall sow Fitches of eyther kinde which you please, and the increase will be (though not in abundance, yet) so sufficient as shall well quit the Plow-mans labour. {SN: Of Manuring.} Now for the Manuring of this ground, you shall vnderstand that Marle is the chiefest: for neyther will any man suppose that this hard soile should bring vp cattell sufficient to manure it, nor if it would, yet that Manure were not so good: for a barraine clay being mixt with a most barraine sand, it must consequently follow that the soile must be of all the barenest, insomuch that to giue perfect strength and life vnto it, there is nothing better then Marle, which being a fat and strong clay, once incorporated within these weake moulds, it must néedes giue them the best nourishment, loosening the binding substance, and binding that weaknesse which occasioneth the barrainnesse: but of this Marle I shall haue more occasion to speake hereafter in a particular Chapter, onely thus much I must let you vnderstand, that this soile, albe it be not within any degrée of praise for the bringing forth of Corne, yet it is very apt and fruitfull for the bréeding of grasse, insomuch that it will beare you corne for at least nine yéeres together (without the vse of any fallow or Tilth-field) if it be well marled, and immediately after it will beare you very good bréeding grasse, or else reasonable Medow for as many yéeres after, as by daily experience we sée in the Countries of Lancaster and Chester. So that the consequence being considered, this ground is not but to be held indifferent fruitfull: for whereas other soiles afore shewed (which beare abundance of Graine) are bound to be manured once in thrée yéeres, this soile, albe it beare neither so rich graine, nor so much plenty, yet it néedes marling not aboue once in sixtéene or eightéene yéeres: and albe Marle be a Manure of the greatest cost, yet the profit by continuance is so equall that the labour is neuer spent without his reward, as shall more largely appeare hereafter. {SN: Of the Plough.} As touching the Plough, it is the same which is mentioned in the other soile of the blacke Clay, and red Sand, altering nothing eyther in quantitie of timber, or strength of Irons: so that to make any large description thereof, is but to double my former discourses, and make my writings tedious. For to conclude briefely, these two soiles differ onely but in fatnesse and strength of nature, not in Earing, or plowing, so that the labours of tillage being equall there is not any alteration more then the true diligence of much manuring, which will bréede an affinitie or alyance betwixt both these soiles. And thus much for this blacke Clay and red Sand, or white Clay and white Sand. {Illustration} THE FIRST PART OF THE ENGLISH Husbandman: Contayning, the manner of plowing and Manuring all sorts of Soyles, together with the manner of planting and setting of Corne. CHAP. I. _Of the manner of plowing all simple Earths, which are vncompounded._ That many famous and learned men, both in Fraunce, Spaine, Italy and Germany, haue spent all their best time in shewing vnto the world the excellencie of their experiences, in this onely renowned Arte of Husbandry, their large and learned Volumes, most excellently written, in that kinde, are witnesses: from whence we by translations haue gotten some contentment, though but small profit; because those forraine clymates, differing much from ours, both in nature of earth, and temper of Ayre, the rules and obseruations belonging vnto them can be little auailable to vs, more then to know what is done in such parts, a thing more appertaining to our conference then practise. But now, that other kingdomes may sée though wée write lesse yet wée know as much as belongeth to the office of the English Husbandman, I, though the meanest of many millions, haue vndertaken to deliuer vnto the world all the true rudiments, obseruations and knowledges what soeuer, which hath any affinitie or alliance with English Husbandry. And for as much as the best and principallest part of Husbandry consisteth in the plowing and earring of the ground (for in that onely _Adam_ began his first labours) I thinke it not vnméete, first to treate of that subiect, procéeding so from braunch to braunch, till I haue giuen euery one sufficient knowledge. To speake then first of the Tilling of Grounds. You shall well vnderstand, that it is the office of euery good Husbandman before he put his plough into the earth, truly to consider the nature of his Grounds, and which is of which quallitie and temper. To procéede then to our purpose; all soyles what soeuer, in this our kingdome of England, are reduced into two kindes onely, that is to say, Simple or Compound. Simple, are those which haue no mixture with others of a contrary quallitie, as are your stiffe clayes, or your loose sands: your stiffe clayes are likewise diuers, as a blacke clay, a blew clay, and a clay like vnto Marble. Your sands are also diuers, as a red sand, a white sand, a yellow sand, and a sand like vnto dust. Your mixt earths are where any of these clayes and sands are equally or vnindifferently mixed together, as shalbe at large declared hereafter. Now as touching the tilling of your simple clayes, it is to be noted, that the blacke clay, of all earth, is the most fruitfull, and demandeth from the Husbandman the least toyle, yet bringeth forth his increase in the greatest abundance: it will well and sufficiently bring forth thrée crops, eare it desire rest: namely, the first of Barly, the second of Pease, and the third of Wheate: It doth not desire much Manure, for it is naturally of it selfe so fat, rich, and fruitfull, that if you adde strength vnto his strength, by heaping Manure or Compasse thereupon, you make it either blast, and mildew the Corne that growes, with the too much fatnesse of the earth, or else through his extreame rankenesse, to bring it vp in such abundance that it is not able to stand vpright when it is shot vp, but falling downe flat to the ground, and the eares of Corne smothering one another, they bring forth nothing but light Corne, like an emptie huske, without a kirnell. The best Manure or Compasse therefore that you can giue such ground, is then to plow it in orderly and dew seasons, as thus: you shall begin to fallow, or breake vp this soyle, at the beginning of May, at which time you shall plow it déepe, & take vp a large furrow, and if your Lands lye any thing flat, it shalbe méete that you begin on the ridge of the land, and turne all your furrowes vpward, but if your Lands lye high and vpright, then shall you begin in the furrow and turne all your furrowes downeward, which is called of Husbandmen, the casting downe of Land. This first plowing of ground, or as Husbandmen tearme it, the first ardor, is called fallowing: the second ardor, which we call stirring of ground, or sommer stirring, you shall begin in Iuly, which is of great consequence, for by meanes of it you shall kill all manner of wéedes and thistells that would annoy your Land. In this ardor you must oft obserue that if when you fallowed you did set vp your Land, then now when you stirre you must cast downe your Land, and so contrarily, if before you did cast downe, then now you must set vp: your third ardor, which is called of Husbandmen, winter ridgeing, or setting vp Land for the whole yéere, you shall begin at the latter end of September, and you must euer obserue that in this third ardor you doe alwaies ridge vp your Land, that is to say, you most turne euery furrow vpward and lay them as close together as may be, for should you doe otherwise, that is to say, either lay them flat or loosely, the winter season would so beat and bake them together, that when you should sow your séede you would hardly get your plough into the ground. Now your fourth and last ardor, which must be when you sow your séede, you shall begin euer about the midst of March, at least one wéeke before our Ladies day, commonly called the Annunciation of _Mary_, and this ardor you shall euer plow downeward, laying your ridges very well open, and you shall euer obserue in this ardor, first to sow your séede, and then after to plow your ground, turning your séede into the earth, which is called of Husbandmen, sowing vnderfurrow: as soone as your ground is plowed you shall harrow it with an harrow whose téeth are all of wood, for these simple earths are of easie temper and will of themselues fall to dust, then after you haue thus sowne your ground, if then there remaine any clots or lumpes of earth vnbroken, you shall let them rest till after the next shower of raine, at which time you shall either with a heauie rouler, or the backside of your harrowes, runne ouer your Lands, which is called the sleighting of ground, and it will not onely breake such clots to dust, but also lay your Land plaine and smoth, leauing no impediment to hinder the Corne from sprouting and comming forth. In this same ordor as you are appointed for this blacke clay, in this same manner you shall ordor both your blew clay & your clay which is like vnto marble. Now as touching the plough which is fittest for these clayes, it must be large and strong, the beame long and well bending, the head thicke and large, the skéeth broad, strong, and well sloaping, the share with a very large wing, craueing much earth, and the coulter long, thicke and very straight. Now touching those lands which are simple and vncompounded, you shall vnderstand that euery good Husbandman must begin his first ardor (which is to fallow them) at the beginning of Ianuary, hée must sooner stirre them, which is the second ardor, at the latter end of Aprill, he shall cast them downe againe, which is called foyling of Land, at the beginning of Iuly, which is the third ardor, and wherein is to be noted, that how soeuer all other ardors are plowed, yet this must euer be cast downward: the fourth ardor, which is winter-stirring or winter-ridgeing, must euer begin at the end of September, and the fift and last ardor must be performed when you sow your ground, which would be at the middest of May, at the soonest, and if your leasure and abilitie will giue you leaue, if you turne ouer your ground againe in Ianuary, it will be much better, for these sands can neuer haue too much plowing, nor too much Manure, and therefore for them both, you shall apply them so oft as your leasure will conueniently serue, making no spare when either the way or opportunitie will giue you leaue. Now for as much as all sands, being of a hot nature, are the fittest to bring foorth Rye, which is a graine delighting in drynesse onely, you shall vnderstand, that then you shall not néed to plow your ground aboue foure times ouer, that is, you shall fallow, sommer stirre, foyle, and in September sow your Corne: and as these ardors serue the red sand, so are they sufficient for your white sand, and your yealow sand also. As touching the ploughes fit for these light earths, they would be little and strong, hauing a short slender beame and a crooked; a narrow and thinne head, a slender skéeth, a share without a wing, a coulter thinne and very crooked, and a paire of hales much bending forward towards the man; and with this manner of plough you may plow diuers mixt and compounded earths, as the blacke clay and red sand, or the red sand and white grauell: and thus much as touching earths that are simple and vncompounded. CHAP. II. _Of the manner of plowing the blacke clay mixt with white sand, and the white clay mixt with red sand: their Earrings, Plough, and Implements._ As touching the mixture of these two seuerall soyles, that is to say, the blacke clay with white sand, and the white clay with red sand, they differ not in the nature of plowing, sowing, or in Manuring, from the soyle which is mixt of a blacke clay and red sand, of which I haue sufficiently intreated before: onely thus much you shall vnderstand, that the blacke clay mixt with white sand is so much better and richer then the white clay mixt with red sand, by as much as the blacke clay is better then the white clay: and although some Husbandmen in our Land, hould them to be both of one temper and goodnesse, reasoning thus, that by how much the blacke clay is better then the white, by so much the red sand is better then the white sand, so that what the mixture of the one addeth, the mixture of the other taketh away, and so maketh them all one in fruitfulnesse and goodnesse: but in our common experience it doth not so fall out, for wée finde that the blacke clay mixt with white sand, if it be ordered in the forme of good Husbandry, that is to say, be plowed ouer at least foure times, before it come to be sowne, and that it be Manured and compassed in Husbandly fashion, which is to allow at least eight waine-load to an Aker, that if then vpon such Land you shall sow either Organe Wheat (in the south parts called red Wheat) or flaxen, or white Pollard Wheat, that such Wheat will often mildew, and turne as blacke as soote, which onely showeth too much richnesse and fatnesse in the earth, which the white clay mixt with red sand hath neuer beene séene to doe, especially so long as it is vsed in any Husbandly fashion, neither will the white clay mixt with red sand indure to be deuided into foure fields, that is to say, to beare thrée seuerall crops, one after another, as namely, Barly, Pease, and Wheat, without rest, which the blacke clay mixt with white sand many times doth, and thereby againe showeth his better fruitfulnesse: neuerthelesse, in generalitie I would not wish any good Husbandman, and especially such as haue much tillage, to deuide either of these soyles into any more then thrée fields, both because hee shall ease himselfe and his Cattell of much toyle, shall not at any time loose the best seasons for his best workes, and make his commodities, and fruit of his hands labours, by many degrées more certaine. You shall also vnderstand, that both these soyles are very much binding, especially the white clay with red sand, both because the clay, procéeding from a chaukie and limie substance, and not hauing in it much fatnesse or fertillitie (which occasioneth seperation) being mixt with the red sand, which is of a much more hardnesse and aptnesse to knit together, with such tough matter, it must necessarilie binde and cleaue together, and so likewise the blacke clay, from whence most naturally procéedeth your best limestone, being mixt with white sand, doth also binde together and stifle the séede, if it be not preuented by good Husbandry. You shall therefore in the plowing and earring of these two soyles, obserue two especiall notes; the first, that by no meanes you plow it in the wet, that is, in any great glut of raine: for if you either lay it vp, or cast it downe, when it is more like morter then earth, if then any sunshine, or faire weather, doe immediately follow vpon it, it will so drie and bake it, that if it be sowne, neither will the séede haue strength to sprout thorrow it, nor being in any of your other summer ardors, shall you by any meanes make your plough enter into it againe, when the season falleth for other plowing. The second, that you haue great care you lay your Land high and round, that the furrowes, as it were standing vpright one by another, or lying light and hollow, one vpon another, you may with more ease, at any time, enter in your plough, and turne your moulde which way you please, either in the heate of Sommer, or any other time of the yéere whatsoeuer. Now as touching the plough, which is most best and proper for these soyles, it would be the same in sise which is formerly directed for the red sand, onely the Irons must be altered, for the Coulter would be more long, sharpe, and bending, and the share so narrow, sharpe, and small as can conueniently be made, according as is formerly expressed, that not hauing power to take vp any broad furrow, the furrowes by reason of there slendernesse may lye many, and those many both hollow, light and at any time easily to be broken. As for the Teame which is best to worke in this soyle, they may be either Horses or Oxen, or Oxen and Horse mixt together, according to the Husbandmans abillitie, but if hée be a Lord of his owne pleasure and may commaund, and haue euery thing which is most apt and proper, then in these two soyles, I preferre the Teame of Horses single, rather then Oxen, especially in any winter or moist ardor, because they doe not tread and foyle the ground making it mirie and durtie as the Oxe doth, but going all in one furrow, doe kéepe the Land in his constant firmenesse. As touching the clotting, sleighting, wéeding, and dressing of these two soyles, they differ in nothing from the former mixt earths, but desire all one manner of dilligence: and thus much for these two soyles the blacke clay mixt with white sand, and the white clay with white red sand. CHAP. III. _A comparison of all the former soyles together, and most especiall notes for giuing the ignorant Husbandman perfect vnderstanding, of what is written before._ The reason why I haue thus at large discoursed of euery seuerall soyle, both simple and compounded, is to show vnto the industrious Husbandman, the perfect and true reason of the generall alteration of our workes in Husbandry, through this our Realme of England: for if all our Land, as it is one kingdome, were likewise of one composition, mixture, and goodnesse, it were then excéeding preposterous to sée those diuersities, alterations, I, and euen contrary manners of procéedings in Husbandry, which are daily and hourely vsed: but euery man in his owne worke knowes the alteration of clymates. Yet for so much as this labour of Husbandry, consisteth not for the most part in the knowing and vnderstanding breast, but in the rude, simple, and ignorant Clowne, who onely knoweth how to doe his labour, but cannot giue a reason why he doth such labour, more then the instruction of his parents, or the custome of the Countrie, where it comes to passe (and I haue many times séene the same to mine admiration) that the skillfullest Clowne which is bred in the clay soyles, when hée hath béene brought to the sandy ground, hée could neither hould the plough, temper the plough, nor tell which way in good order to driue the Cattell, the heauinesse of the one labour being so contrary to the lightnesse of the other, that not hauing a temperance, or vnderstanding in his hands, hée hath béene put euen vnto his wittes ends; therefore I thinke it conuenient, in this place, by a slight comparison of soyles together, to giue the simplest Husbandman such direct & plaine rules that he shall with out the study of his braines, attaine to absolute knowledge of euery seuerall mixture of earth: and albeit hée shall not be able distinctly to say at the first that it is compounded of such and such earths, yet hée shall be very able to deliuer the true reason and manner how such ground (of what nature soeuer) shall be Husbanded and tilled. Therefore to begin the Husbandman, is to vnderstand, that generally there are but two soyles for him to regard, for in them consisteth the whole Arte of Husbandry: as namely, the open and loose earth, and the close and fast binding earth, and these two soyles being meare opposites and contraries, most necessarily require in the Husbandman a double vnderstanding, for there is no soyle, of what simplicitie or mixture soeuer it be, but it is either loose or fast. Now to giue you my meaning of these two words, _loose_ and _fast_, it is, that euery soyle which vpon parching and dry weather, euen when the Sunne beames scorcheth, and as it were baketh the earth, if then the ground vpon such excéeding drought doe moulder and fall to dust, so that whereas before when it did retaine moisture it was heauie, tough, and not to be seperated, now hauing lost that glewinesse it is light, loose, and euen with a mans foote to be spurnd to ashes, all such grounds are tearmed loose and open grounds, because at no time they doe binde in or imprison the séede (the frost time onely excepted, which is by accidence, and not from the nature of the soyle:) and all such grounds as in their moisture or after the fall of any sodaine raine are soft, plyable, light, and easie to be wrought, but after when they come to loose that moistnesse and that the powerfulnesse of the Sunne hath as it were drid vp their veynes, if then such earths become hard, firme, and not to be seperated, then are those soyles tearmed fast and binding soyles, for if there ardors be not taken in their due times, and their séede cast into them in perfect and due seasons, neither is it possible for the Plowman to plow them, nor for the séede to sprout through, the earth being so fastned and as it were stone-like fixt together. Now sithence that all soyles are drawne into these two heads, fastnes, and loosenesse, and to them is annexed the diuersitie of all tillage, I will now show the simple Husbandman which earths be loose, and which fast, and how without curiositie to know and to distinguish them. Breifely, all soyles that are simple and of themselues vncompounded, as namely, all claies, as blacke, white, gray, or blew, and all sands, as either red, white, or blacke, are open and loose soyles: the claies because the body and substance of them being held together by moistnes, that moisture being dryed vp, their strength and stifnesse decayeth, and sands by reason of their naturall lightnesse, which wanting a more moist and fixt body to be ioyned with them doe loose all strength of binding or holding together. Now all mixt or compound earths (except the compositions of one and the same kinds, as clay with clay, or sand with sand) are euer fast and binding earths: for betwixt sand and clay, or clay & grauell, is such an affinitie, that when they be mixt together the sand doth giue to the clay such hardnesse and drynesse, and the clay to the sand such moisture and coldnesse, that being fixt together they make one hard body, which through the warmth of the Sunne bindeth and cleaueth together. But if it be so that the ignorance of the Husbandman cannot either through the subtiltie of his eye sight, or the obseruations gathered from his experience, distinguish of these soyles, and the rather, sith many soyles are so indifferently mixt, and the colour so very perfect, that euen skill it selfe may be deceiued: as first to speake of what mixture some soyles consist, yet for as much as it is sufficient for the Husbandman to know which is loose and which is binding, hée shall onely when he is perplext with these differences, vse this experiment, hée shall take a good lumpe of that earth whose temperature hée would know, and working it with water and his wet hands, like a péece of past, he shall then as it were make a cake thereof, and laying it before an hot fire, there let it lye, till all the moisture be dried & backt out of it, then taking it into your hands and breaking it in péeces, if betwéene your fingers it moulder and fall into a small dust, then be assured it is a loose, simple, and vncompounded earth, but if it breake hard and firme, like a stone, and when you crumble it betwéene your fingers it be rough, gréetie, and shining, then be assured it is a compounded fast-binding earth, and is compounded of clay and sand, and if in the baking it doe turne red or redish, it is compounded of a gray clay and red sand, but if it be browne or blewish, then it is a blacke clay & white sand, but if when you breake it you finde therein many small pibles, then the mixture is clay and grauell. Now there be some mixt soyles, after they are thus bak't, although they be hard and binding, yet they will not be so excéeding hard and stone-like as other soyles will be, and that is where the mixture is vnequall, as where the clay is more then the sand, or the sand more then the clay. When you haue by this experiment found out the nature of your earth, and can tell whether it be simple or compounded, you shall then looke to the fruitfulnesse thereof, which generally you shall thus distinguish. First, that clayes, simple and of themselues vncompounded, are of all the most fruitfull, of which, blacke is the best, that next to clayes, your mixt earths are most fertill, and the mixture of the blacke clay and red sand, called a hasell earth, is the best, and that your sands are of all soyles most barraine, of which the red sand for profit hath euer the preheminence. Now for the generall tillage and vse of these grounds, you shall vnderstand that the simple and vncompounded grounds, being loose and open (if they lye frée from the danger of water) the Lands may be layd the flattest and greatest, the furrowes turned vp the largest and closest, and the plough and plough-Irons, most large and massie, onely those for the sandy grounds must be more slender then those for the clayes and much more nimble, as hath béene showed before. Now for the mixt earths, you shall lay your Lands high, round, and little, set your furrowes vpright, open, and so small as is possible, and make your plough and plow Irons most nimble and slender, according to the manner before specified: and thus I conclude, that hée which knoweth the loose earth and the binding earth, can either helpe or abate the strength of the earth, as is néedfull, and knowes how to sorte his ploughes to each temper, knowes the ground and substance of all tillage. CHAP. IIII. _Of the planting or setting of Corne, and the profit thereof._ Not that I am conceited, or carried away with any nouelty or strange practise, vnusually practised in this kingdome, or that I will ascribe vnto my selfe to giue any iudiciall approbation or allowance to things mearely vnfrequented, doe I publish, within my booke, this relation of the setting of Corne, but onely because I would not haue our English Husbandman to be ignorant of any skill or obscure faculty which is either proper to his profession, or agréeable with the fertillitie and nature of our clymates, and the rather, since some few yéeres agoe, this (as it then appeared secret) being with much admiration bruted through the kingdome, in so much that according to our weake accustomed dispositions (which euer loues strange things best) it was held so worthy, both for generall profit and perticular ease, that very fein (except the discréet) but did not alone put it in practise, but did euen ground strong beleifes to raise to themselues great common-wealthes by the profits thereof; some not onely holding insufficient arguments, in great places, of the invtilitie of the plough, but euen vtterly contemning the poore cart Iade, as a creature of no necessitie, so that Poulters and Carriers, were in good hope to buy Horse-flesh as they bought egges, at least fiue for a penie; but it hath proued otherwise, and the Husbandman as yet cannot loose the Horses seruice. But to procéede to the manner of setting or planting of Corne, it is in this manner. {SN: Of setting Wheate.} Hauing chosen out an aker of good Corne ground, you shall at the beginning of March, appoint at least sixe diggers or laborers with spades to digge vp the earth gardenwise, at least a foote and thrée inches déepe (which is a large spades graft) and being so digged vp, to rest till Iune, and then to digge it ouer againe, and in the digging to trench it and Manure it, as for a garden mould, bestowing at least sixtéene Waine-load of Horse or Oxe Manure vpon the aker, and the Manure to be well couered within the earth, then so to let it rest vntill the beginning of October, which being the time for the setting, you shall then digge it vp the third time, and with rakes and béetells breake the moulde somewhat small, then shall you take a board of sixe foot square, which shalbe bored full of large wimble holes, each hole standing in good order, iust sixe inches one from another, then laying the board vpon the new digged ground, you shall with a stick, made for the purpose, through euery hole in the board, make a hole into the ground, at least fore inches déepe, and then into euery such hole you shall drop a Corne of Wheate, and so remouing the board from place to place, goe all ouer the ground that you haue digged, and so set each seuerall Corne sixe inches one from another, and then with a rake you shall rake ouer and couer all the holes with earth, in such sort that they may not be discerned. And herein you are to obserue by the way that a quarte of Wheate will set your aker: which Wheate is not to be taken as it falles out by chance when you buy it in the market, but especially culd and pickt out of the eare, being neither the vppermost Cornes which grow in the toppes of the eares, nor the lowest, which grow at the setting on of the stalke, both which, most commonly are light and of small substance, but those which are in the midst, and are the greatest, fullest, and roundest. {SN: Of setting Barly, or Pease.} Now in the selfe-same sort as you dresse your ground for your Wheate, in the selfe same manner you shall dresse your ground for Barly, onely the first time you digge it shalbe after the beginning of May, the second time and the Manuring about the midst of October, wherein you shall note that to your aker of Barly earth, you shall alow at least foure and twentie Waine-load of Manure, and the last time of your digging and setting shalbe at the beginning of Aprill. Now for the dressing of your earth for the setting of Pease, it is in all things answerable to that for Barly, onely you may saue the one halfe of your Manure, because a dosen Waine-load is sufficient, and the time for setting them, or any other pulse, is euer about the midst of February. {SN: Of the profit of setting Corne.} Now for the profit which issueth from this practise of setting of Corne, I must néeds confesse, if I shall speake simply of the thing, that is, how many foulds it doubleth and increaseth, surely it is both great and wonderfull: and whereas ingenerall it is reputed that an aker of set Corne yéeldeth as much profit as nine akers of sowne Corne, for mine owne part I haue séene a much greater increase, if euery Corne set in an aker should bring forth so much as I haue séene to procéede from some thrée or foure Cornes set in a garden, but I feare me the generalitie will neuer hould with the particular: how euer, it is most certaine that earth in this sort trimmed and inriched, and Corne in this sort set and preserued, yéeldeth at least twelue-fold more commoditie then that which by mans hand is confusedly throwne into the ground from the Hopper: whence it hath come to passe that those which by a few Cornes in their gardens thus set, séeing the innumerable increase, haue concluded a publique profit to arise thereby to the whole kingdome, not looking to the intricacie, trouble, and casualtie, which attends it, being such and so insupportable that almost no Husbandman is able to vndergoe it: to which we néed no better testimony then the example of those which hauing out of meare couetousnesse and lucre of gaine, followed it with all gréedinesse, séeing the mischiefes and inconueniences which hath incountred their workes, haue euen desisted, and forgotten that euer there was any such practise, and yet for mine owne part I will not so vtterly condemne it, that I will depriue it of all vse, but rather leaue it to the discretion of iudgement, and for my selfe, onely hould this opinion, that though it may very wel be spared from the generall vse of Wheat and Barly in this kingdome, yet for hastie-Pease, French Beanes, and such like pulse, it is of necessary imployment, both in rich and poore mens gardens. And thus much for the setting of Corne. CHAP. V. _Of the choice of seede-Corne, and which is best for which soyle._ Hauing thus showed vnto you the seuerall soyles and temperatures of our English land, together with the order of Manuring, dressing and tillage of the same, I thinke it méete (although I haue in generall writ something already touching the séede belonging to euery seuerall earth) now to procéede to a particular election and choice of séede-Corne, in which there is great care and diligence to be vsed: for as in Men, Beasts, Fowle, & euery mouing thing, there is great care taken for the choice of the bréeders, because the creatures bred doe so much participate of the parents that for the most part they are séene not onely to carry away their outward figures and semblances, but euen their naturall conditions and inclinations, good issuing from good, and euill from euill: so in the choise of séede-Corne, if their be any neglect or carelessenesse, the crop issuing of such corrupt séede must of force bring forth a more corrupt haruest, by as much as it excéedeth in the multiplication. {SN: The choise of seede Wheate.} To procéede therefore to the choise of séede-Corne, I will begin with Wheate, of which there are diuers kindes, as your whole straw Wheate, the great browne Pollard, the white Pollard, the Organe or red Wheate, the flaxen Wheate, and the chilter Wheate. Your whole straw Wheate, and browne Pollard, are knowne, the first, by his straw, which is full of pith, and hath in it no hollownesse (whence it comes that Husbandmen estéeme it so much for their thacking, allowing it to be as good and durable as réede:) the latter is knowne by his eare, which is great, white, and smooth, without anes or beard vpon it: in the hand they are both much like one to another, being of all Wheates the biggest, roundest and fullest: they be somewhat of a high colour, and haue vpon them a very thicke huske, which making the meale somewhat browne causeth the Baker not all together to estéeme them for his purest manchet, yet the yéeld of flower which cometh from them is as great and greater then any other Wheate whatsoeuer. These two sortes of Wheate are to be sowne vpon the fallow field, as crauing the greatest strength and fatnesse of ground, whence it comes that they are most commonly séene to grow vpon the richest and stiffest blacke clayes, being a graine of that strength that they will seldome or neuer mildew or turne blacke, as the other sortes of Wheate will doe, if the strength of the ground be not abated before they be throwne into the earth. Now for the choise of these two Wheates, if you be compelled to buy them in the market, you must regard that you buy that which is the cleanest and fairest, being vtterly without any wéedes, as darnell, cockell, tares or any other foulnesse whatsoeuer: you shall looke that the Wheate, as neare as may be, hould all of one bignesse and all of one colour, for to beholde it contrary, that is to say, to see some great Cornes, some little, some high coloured, some pale, so that in their mixture they resemble changeable taffata, is an apparant signe that the Corne is not of one kinde but mixt or blended, as being partly whole-straw, partly Pollard, partly Organe, and partly Chelter. For the flaxen, it is naturally so white that it cannot be mixt but it may easily be discerned, and these mixt séedes are neuer good, either for the ground or the vse of man. Againe you shall carefully looke that neither this kinde of Wheate, nor any other that you buy for séede be blacke at the ends, for that is a signe that the graine comming from too rich a soyle was mildewed, and then it will neuer be fruitfull or proue good séede, as also you shall take care that it be not too white at the ends, showing the Corne to be as it were of two colours, for that is a signe that the Wheate was washt and dried againe, which vtterly confoundeth the strength of the Corne and takes from it all abilitie of bringing forth any great encrease. Now if it be so that you haue a crop of Wheate of your owne, so that you haue no néed of the market, you shall then picke out of your choisest sheafes, and vpon a cleane floare gently bat them with a flaile, and not thresh them cleane, for that Corne which is greatest, fullest, and ripest, will first flie out of the eare, and when you haue so batted a competent quantitie you shall then winnow it and dresse it cleane, both by the helpe of a strong winde and open siues, and so make it fit for your séede. I haue séene some Husbands (and truely I haue accounted them both good and carefull) that haue before Wheate séede time both themselues, wiues, children, and seruants at times of best leasure, out of a great Wheate mow or bay, to gleane or pull out of the sheafes, eare by eare, the most principall eares, and knitting them vp in small bundells to bat them and make their séede thereof, and questionlesse it is the best séede of all other: for you shall be sure that therein can be nothing but the cleanest and the best of the Corne, without any wéedes or foulnesse, which can hardly be when a man thresheth the whole sheafe, and although some men may thinke that this labour is great and troblesome, especially such as sowe great quantities of Wheate, yet let them thus farre encourage themselues, that if they doe the first yéere but gleane a bushell or two (which is nothing amongst a few persons) and sowe it vp on good Land, the encrease of it will the next yéere goe farre in the sowing the whole crop: for when I doe speake of this picking of Wheate, eare by eare, I doe not intend the picking of many quarters, but of so much as the increase thereof may amount to some quarter. Now there is also another regarde to be had (as auailable as any of the former) in chusing of your séede Wheate, and that is to respect the soyle from whence you take your séede, and the soyle into which you put it, as thus. If the ground whereon you meane to sowe your Wheat be a rich, blacke, clay, stiffe and full of fertillitie, you shall then (as neare as you can) chuse your séede from the barrainest mixt earth you can finde (so the Wheate be whole-straw or Pollard) as from a clay and grauell, or a clay and white sand, that your séede comming from a much more barraine earth then that wherein you put it, the strength may be as it were redoubled, and the encrease consequently amount to a higher quantitie, as we finde it proueth in our daylie experience; but if these barraine soyles doe not afforde you séede to your contentment, it shall not then be amisse (you sowing your Wheate vpon fallow or tilth ground) if you take your séede-Wheate either from an earth of like nature to your owne, or from any mixt earth, so that such séede come from the niams, that is, that it hath béene sowne after Pease, as being the third crop of the Land, and not from the fallow or tilth ground, for it is a maxiome amongst the best Husbands (though somewhat proposterous to common sence) bring to your rich ground séede from the barraine, and to the barraine séede from the rich, their reason (taken from their experience) being this, that the séede (as before I said) which prospereth vpon a leane ground being put into a rich, doth out of that superfluitie of warmth, strength and fatnesse, double his increase; and the séede which commeth from the fat ground being put into the leane, hauing all the vigour, fulnesse and iuyce of fertilnes, doth not onely defend it selfe against the hungrinesse of the ground but brings forth increase contrary to expectation; whence procéedeth this generall custome of good Husbands in this Land, that those which dwell in the barraine woode Lands, heathes and high mountaine countries of this kingdome, euer (as néere as they can) séeke out their séede in the fruitfull low vales, and very gardens of the earth, & so likewise those in the vales take some helpes also from the mountaines. Now for your other sortes of Wheate, that is to say, the white Pollard and the Organe, they are graines nothing so great, full, and large, as the whole straw, or browne Pollard, but small, bright, and very thinly huskt: your Organe is very red, your Pollard somewhat pale: these two sorts of Wheate are best to be sowne vpon the third or fourth field, that is to say, after your Pease, for they can by no meanes endure an ouer rich ground, as being tender and apt to sprout with small moisture, but to mildew and choake with too much fatnesse, the soyles most apt for them are mixt earths, especially the blacke clay and red sand, or white clay and red sand, for as touching other mixtures of grounds, they are for the most part so barraine, that they will but hardly bring forth Wheate vpon their fallow field, and then much worse vpon a fourth field. Now for any other particular choise of these two séedes, they are the same which I shewed in the whole straw, and great Pollard. As for the flaxen Wheate, and chilter Wheate, the first, is a very white Wheate both inward and outward, the other a pale red or déepe yellow: they are the least of all sorts of Wheate, yet of much more hardnes and toughnesse in sprouting, then either the Organe or white Pollard, and therefore desire somewhat a more richer soyle, and to that end they are for the most part sowne vpon fallow fields, in mixt earths, of what natures or barrainenesse soeuer, as is to be séene most generally ouer all the South parts of this Realme: and although vncompounded sands out of their owne natures, doe hardly bring forth any Wheate, yet vpon some of the best sands and vpon the flintie grauels, I haue séene these two Wheates grow in good abundance, but being seldome it is not so much to be respected. {SN: The choise of seede Rye.} After your Wheate you shall make choise of your Rie, of which there is not diuers kindes although it carrie diuers complections, as some blackish, browne, great, full and long as that which for the most part growes vpon the red sand, or red clay, which is thrée parts red sand mixt with blacke clay, and is the best Rie: the other a pale gray Rie, short, small, and hungry, as that which growes vpon the white sand, or white clay and white sand, and is the worst Rie. Now you shall vnderstand that your sand grounds are your onely naturall grounds for Rie, as being indéede not principally apt for any other graine, therefore when you chuse your Rie for séede, you shall chuse that which is brownest, full, bould, and longest, you shall haue great care that it be frée from wéedes or filth, sith your sand grounds, out of their owne naturall heat, doth put forth such store of naughtie wéeds, that except a man be extraordinarily carefull, both in the choise and dressing of his Rie, he may easily be deceiued and poyson his ground with those wéedes, which with great difficultie are after rooted out againe. Now for your séedes to each soyle, it is euer best to sow your best sand-Rie vpon your best clay ground, and your best clay-Rie vpon your best sand ground, obseruing euer this generall principle, not onely in Rie, but euen in Wheat, Barly, Pease and other graine of account, that is, euer once in thrée yéeres, to change all your séede, which you shall finde both to augment your encrease and to returne you double profit. {SN: The choise of seede-Barly.} Now for the choise of your séede-Barly, you shall vnderstand, that for as much as it is a graine of the greatest vse, & most tendernesse, therefore there is the greatest diligence to be vsed in the election thereof. Know then that of Barly there be diuers sorts, as namely, that which wée call our common Barly, being long eares with two rankes of Corne, narrow, close, and vpright: another called spike or batteldore-Barly, being a large eare with two rankes of Corne, broad, flat, and in fashion of a batteldore: and the third called beane-Barly, or Barly big, being a large foure-square eare, like vnto an eare of Wheate. Of these thrée Barlyes the first is most in vse, as being most apt and proper to euery soyle, whether it be fruitfull or barraine, in this our kingdome, but they haue all one shape, colour and forme, except the soyle alter them, onely the spike-Barly is most large and plentifull, the common Barly hardest and aptest to grow, and the beane-Barly least, palest, & tenderest, so that with vs it is more commonly séene in gardens then in fields, although in other Countries, as in Fraunce, Ireland, and such like, they sowe no other Barly at all, but with vs it is of no such generall estimation, and therefore I will neither giue it precedencie nor speake of it, otherwise then to referre it to the discreation of him who takes delight in many practises: but for the common Barly, or spike-Barly, which our experience findes to be excellent and of great vse, I will knit them in one, and write, my full opinion of them, for their choise in our séede. You shall know then that when you goe into the market to chuse Barly for your séede, you shall to your best power elect that which is whitest, fullest, and roundest, being as the ploughman calles it, a full bunting Corne, like the nebbe or beake of a Bunting, you shall obserue that it be all of one Corne, and not mingled, that is, clay Barly, and sand Barly together, which you shall distinguish by these differences: the clay Barly is of a palish, white, yellow colour; smoth, full, large, and round, and the sand Barly is of a déepe yellow, browne at the neather end, long, slender, and as it were, withered, and in generall no sand Barly is principall good for séede: but if the Barly be somewhat of a high colour, and browne at the neather end, yet notwithstanding is very full, bould, and bigge, then it is a signe that such Barly comes not from the sand, but rather from an ouer fat soyle, sith the fatnesse of the earth doth euer alter the complection of the Barly; for the whiter Barly euer the leaner soyle, and better séede: you shall also obserue, that there be not in it any light Corne, which is a kinde of hungry graine without substance, which although it filleth the séeds-mans hand, yet it deceiueth the ground, and this light Corne will commonly be amongst the best Barly: for where the ground is so rich that it bringeth forth the Barly too rankely, there the Corne, wanting power to stand vpon roote, falleth to the ground, and so robde of kindly ripening, bringeth forth much light and insufficient graine. Next this, you shall take care that in your séede-Barly there be not any Oates, for although they be in this case amongst Husbandmen accounted the best of wéede, yet are they such a disgrace, that euery good Husband will most diligently eschew them, and for that cause onely will our most industrious Husbands bestow the tedious labour of gleaning their Barly, eare by eare, by which gleanings, in a yéere, or two, they will compasse their whole séede, which must infallibly be without either Oates or any wéede whatsoeuer: and although some grounds, especially your richest blacke clayes, will out of the abundance of their fruitfulnesse (as not induring to be Idle) bring forth naturally a certaine kinde of wilde Oates, which makes some ignorant Husbands lesse carefull of their séede, as supposing that those wilde ones are a poisoning to their graine, but they are infinetly deceiued: for such wilde Oates, wheresoeuer they be, doe shake and fall away long before the Barly be ready, so that the Husbandman doth carry of them nothing into the Barne, but the straw onely. Next Oates, you must be carefull that there be in your Barly no other foule wéede: for whatsoeuer you sow, you must looke for the increase of the like nature, and therefore as before I said in the Wheate, so in the Barly, I would wish euery good Husband to imploy some time in gleaning out of his Mow the principall eares of Barly, which being batted, drest, and sowne, by it selfe, albeit no great quantitie at the first, yet in time it may extend to make his whole séede perfect, and then hée shall finde his profit both in the market, where hée shall (for euery vse) sell with the déerest, and in his owne house where he shall finde his yeeld redoubled. Now for fitting of seuerall séedes to seuerall soyles, you shall obserue, that the best séede-Barly for your clay field, is ninam Barly, sowne vpon the clay field, that is to say, Barly which is sowne where Barly last grew, or a second crop of Barly: for the ground hauing his pride abated in the first croppe, the second, though it be nothing néere so much in quantitie, yet that Corne which it doth bring forth is most pure, most white, most full, and the best of all séedes whatsoeuer, and as in case of this soyle, so in all other like soyles which doe hould that strength or fruitfulnesse in them that they are either able of themselues, or with some helpe of Manure in the latter end of the yéere, to bring forth two croppes of Barly, one after the other: but if either your soyle deny you this strength, or the distance of place bereaue you of the commoditie thereof, then you shall vnderstand that Barly from a hasell ground is the best séede, for the clay ground, and Barly from the clay ground is the best séede, not onely for the hasell earth, but euen for all mixt earths whatsoeuer, and the Barly which procéedes from the mixt earths is the best séede for all simple and vncompounded sands or grauells, as wée finde, both by their increasings and dayly experience. {SN: The choise of seede-Beanes, Pease, and Pulse.} Now for the choise of séede-Beanes, Pease, or other Pulse, the scruple is nothing néere so great as of other séedes, because euery one that knowes any graine, can distinguish them when hée sées them: besides they are of that massie waight, and so well able to indure the strength of the winde, that they are easie to be seuered from any wéede or filth whatsoeuer: it resteth therefore that I onely giue you instruction how to imploy them. You shall vnderstand therefore, that if your soyle be a stiffe, blacke, rich, clay, that then your best séede is cleane Beanes, or at the least thrée partes Beanes, and but one part Pease: if it be a gray, or white clay, then Beanes and Pease equally mixt together: if the best mixt earths, as a blacke clay and red sand, blacke clay and white sand, or white clay and red sand, then your séede must be cleane Pease onely: if it be white clay and white sand, blacke clay and blacke sand, then your séede must be Pease and Fitches mixt together: but if it be grauell or sand simple, or grauell and sand compounded, then your séede must be either cleane Fitches, cleane Bucke, or cleane Tares, or else Fitches, Bucke and Tares mixt together. {SN: The choise of seede-Oates.} Now to conclude with the choise of your Oates. You shall vnderstand that there be diuers kindes of them, as namely, the great long white Oate, the great long blacke Oate, the cut Oate, and the skegge: the two first of these are knowne by their greatnesse and colours, for they are long, full, bigge, and smooth, and are fittest to be sowne vpon the best of barraine grounds, for sith Oates are the worst of graine, I will giue them no other prioritie of place. The next of these, which is the cut Oate, it is of a pale yealow colour, short, smooth, and thicke, the increase of them is very great, and they are the fittest to be sowne vpon the worst of best grounds, for most commonly where you sée them, you shall also sée both good Wheate, good Barly, and good Beanes and Pease also. Now for the skegge Oate, it is a little, small, hungry, leane Oate, with a beard at the small end like a wilde Oate, and is good for small vse more then Pullen onely: it is a séede méete for the barrainest and worst earth, as fit to grow but there where nothing of better profit will grow. And thus much for those séedes which are apt and in vse in our English soyles: wherein if any man imagine me guiltie of errour, in that I haue omitted particularly to speake of the séede of blend-Corne, or Masline, which is Wheate and Rye mixt together, I answere him, that sith I haue shewed him how to chuse both the best Wheate and the best Rye, it is an easie matter to mixe them according to his owne discretion. CHAP. VI. _Of the time of Haruest and the gathering in of Corne._ {SN: The getting in of Masline.} {SN: The getting in of Wheate.} Next vnto plowing, it is necessary that I place Reaping, sith it is the end, hope, and perfection of the labour, and both the merit and incouragement which maketh the toyle both light and portable: then to procéede vnto the time of Haruest. You shall vnderstand that it is requisite for euery good Husband about the latter end of Iuly, if the soyle wherein he liueth be of any hot temper, or about the beginning of August, if it be of temperate warmth, with all dilligence constantly to beholde his Rye, which of all graines is the first that ripeneth, and if he shall perceiue that the hull of the eare beginneth to open, and that the blacke toppes of the Corne doth appeare, he may then be assured that the Corne is fully ripe, and ready for the Sickle, so that instantly he shall prouide his Reapers, according to the quantitie of his graine: for if hée shall neglect his Rye but one day more then is fit, it is such a hasty graine, that it will shale forth of the huske to the ground, to the great losse of the Husbandman. When hée hath prouided his shearers, which he shall be carefull to haue very good, he shall then looke that neither out of their wantonnesse nor emulation, they striue which shall goe fastest, or ridd most ground, for from thence procéedeth many errors in their worke, as namely, scattering, and leauing the Corne vncut behind them, the cutting the heads of the Corne off so that they are not possible to be gathered, and many such like incommodities, but let them goe soberly and constantly, and sheare the Rye at least fourtéene inches aboue the ground. Then he must looke that the gatherers which follow the Reapers doe also gather cleane, & the binders binde the Sheafes fast from breaking, then if you finde that the bottomes of the Sheafes be full of gréenes, or wéedes, it shall not be amisse to let the Sheafes lye one from another for a day, that those gréenes may wither, but if you feare any Raine or foule weather, which is the onely thing which maketh Rye shale, then you shall set it vp in Shockes, each Shocke containing at least seauen Sheafes, in this manner: first, you shall place foure Sheafes vpright close together, and the eares vpwards, then you shall take other thrée Sheafes and opening them and turning the eares downeward couer the other foure Sheafes that stoode vpwards, and so let them stand, vntill you may with good conueniencie lead them home, which would be done without any protraction. Next after your cleane Rye, you shall in the selfe-same sort reape your blend-Corne, or Masline: and albeit your Wheate will not be fully so ripe as your Rye, yet you shall not stay your labour, being well assured that your Rye is ready, because Wheate will harden of it selfe after it is shorne, with lying onely. After you haue got in your Rye and blend-Corne, you shall then looke vnto your cleane Wheate, and taking heare and there an eare thereof, rubbe them in your hand, and if you finde that the Corne hath all perfection saue a little hardning onely, you shall then forthwith set your Reapers vnto it, who shall sheare it in all things as they did sheare your Rye, onely they shall not put it in Shockes for a day or more, but let the Sheafes lye single, that the winde and Sunne may both wither the gréenes, and harden the Corne: which done, you shall put the Sheafes into great Shockes, that is to say, at least twelue or fouretéene Sheafes in a Shocke, the one halfe standing close together with the eares vpward, the other halfe lying crosse ouerthwart those eares, and their eares downeward, and in this sort you shall let your Wheate stand for at least two dayes before you lead it. Now it is a custome in many Countries of this kingdome, not to sheare their Wheate, but to mow it, but in my conceit and in generall experience, it is not so good: for it both maketh the Wheate foule, and full of wéede, and filleth vp a great place with little commoditie, as for the vse of thacking, which is the onely reason of such disorderly cutting, there is neither the straw that is shorne, nor the stubble which is left behinde, but are both of sufficiencie inough for such an imployment, if it passe through the hands of a workman, as we sée in dayly experience. {SN: The getting in of Barly.} Next to your Wheate, you shall haue regard to your Barly, for it sodainely ripeneth, and must be cut downe assoone as you perceiue the straw is turned white, to the bottome, and the eares bended downe to the groundward. Your Barly you shall not sheare, although it is a fashion in some Country, both because it is painefull and profitlesse, but you shall Mowe it close to the ground, and although in generall it be the custome of our kingdome, after your Barly is mowen and hath lyne a day or two in swathe, then with rackes to racke it together, and make it into great cockes, and so to leade it to the Barne, yet I am of this opinion that if your Barly be good and cleane without thistles or wéedes, that if then to euery sitheman, or Mower you alot two followers, that is to say, a gatherer, who with a little short rake and a small hooke shall gather the Corne together, and a binder, who shall make bands and binde vp the Barly in smale Sheafes, that questionlesse you shall finde much more profit thereby: and although some thinke the labour troublesome and great, yet for mine owne part, I haue séene very great croppes inned in this manner, and haue séene two women, that with great ease, haue followed and bound after a most principall Mower, which made me vnderstand that the toyle was not so great as mine imagination; and the profit ten-fold greater then the labour: but if your Corne be ill Husbanded, and full of thistles, wéedes, and all filthinesse, then this practise is to be spared, and the loose cocking vp of your Corne is much better. Assoone as you haue cleansed any Land of Barly, you shall then immediatly cause one with a great long rake, of at least thirtie téeth, being in a sling bound bauticke-wise crosse his body, to draw it from one end of the Land to the other, all ouer the Land, that he may thereby gather vp all the loose Corne which is scattered, and carry it where your other Corne standeth, obseruing euer, as your cheifest rule, that by no meanes you neither leade Barly, nor any other graine whatsoeuer, when it is wet, no although it be but moistned with the dew onely: for the least dankishnesse, more then the sweate which it naturally taketh, will soone cause it to putrifie. {SN: The getting in of Oates.} Now for the gathering in of your Oates, they be a graine of such incertaintie, ripening euer according to the weather, & not after any setled or naturall course, that you are to looke to no constant season, but to take them vpon the first show of ripenesse, and that with such diligence that you must rather take them before, then after they be ripe, because if they tarry but halfe a day too long, they will shed vpon the ground, & you shal loose your whole profit. The time then fittest to cut your Oates is, assoone as they be somewhat more then halfe changed, but not altogether changed, that is, when they are more then two parts white, and yet the gréene not vtterly extinguished, the best cutting of them is to mow them (albeit I haue séene them shorne in some places) & being mowen to let them dry and ripen in the swathe, as naturally they will doe, and then if you bind them vp in Sheafes, as you should binde your Barly, it is best: for to carry them in the loose cocke, as many doe, is great losse and hindrance of profit. {SN: The getting in of Pulse.} After you haue got in your white Corne, you shall then looke vnto your Pulse, as Beanes, Pease, Fitches, and such like, which you shall know to be ready by the blacknesse of the straw: for it is a rule, whensoeuer the straw turnes, the Pulse is ripe. If then it be cleane Beanes, or Beanes and Pease mixt, you shall mowe them, and being cleane Beanes rake them into heapes, and so make them vp into cockes, but if they be mixt you shall with hookes fould the Beanes into the Pease, and make little round reapes thereof, which after they haue béene turned and dryed, you may put twenty reapes together, and thereof make a cocke, and so lead them, and stacke them: but if they be cleane Pease, or Pease and Fitches, then you shall not mowe them, but with long hookes cut them from the ground, which is called Reaping, and so foulding them together into small reapes, as you did your Pease and Beanes, let them be turned and dryed, and so cocked, and carried either to the Barne, stacke, or houell. Now hauing thus brought in, and finished your Haruest, you shall then immediately mowe vp the stubble, both of your Wheate, Rye, and Masline, and with all expedition there-with thacke, and couer from Raine and weather, all such graine as for want of house-roome, you are compeld to lay abroad, either in stacke, or vpon houell: but if no such necessitie be, and that you haue not other more necessary imployment for your stubble, it shall be no part of ill Husbandry to let the stubble rot vpon the Land, which will be a reasonable Manuring or fatting of the earth. Now hauing brought your Corne into the Barne, it is a lesson néedlesse to giue any certaine rules how to spend or vtter it forth, sith euery man must be ruled according to his affaires, and necessitie, yet sith in mine owne experience I haue taken certaine setled rules from those who haue made themselues great estates by a most formall and strickt course in their Husbandry, I thinke it not amisse to show you what I haue noted from them, touching the vtterance and expence of their graine: first, for your expence in your house, it is méete that you haue euer so much of euery seuerall sort of graine thresht, as shall from time to time maintaine your family: then for that which you intend shall returne to particular profit, you shall from a fortnight before Michaelmas, till a fortnight after, thresh vp all such Wheate, Rye, & Masline, as you intend to sell for séede, which must be winnowed, fand, and drest so cleane as is possible, for at that time it will giue the greatest price; but as soone as séede-time is past, you shall then thresh no more of those graines till it be neare Midsummer, but begin to thresh vp all such Barly as you intend to conuert and make into Malt, and so from Michaelmas till Candlemas, apply nothing but Malting, for in that time graine is euer the cheapest, because euery Barne being full, some must sell for the payment of rents, some must sell to pay seruants wages, and some for their Christmas prouisions: in which time Corne abating and growing scarse, the price of necessitie must afterwards rise: at Candlemas you shall begin to thresh all those Pease which you intend to sell for séede, because the time being then, and euery man, out of necessitie, inforced to make his prouision, it cannot be but they must néedes passe at a good price and reckoning. After Pease séede-time, you shall then thresh vp all that Barly which you meane to sell for séede, which euer is at the dearest reckoning of any graine whatsoeuer, especially if it be principally good and cleane. After your séede-Barly is sould, you may then thresh vp all such Wheate, Rye, and Masline, as you intend to sell: for it euer giueth the greatest price from the latter end of May vntill the beginning of September. In September you shall begin to sell your Malt, which being old and hauing lyne ripening the most part of the yéere, must now at the latter end of the yéere, when all old store is spent, and the new cannot be come to any perfection, be most deare, and of the greatest estimation: and thus being a man of substance in the world, and able to put euery thing to the best vse, you may by these vsuall obseruations, and the helpe of a better iudgement, imploy the fruits of your labours to the best profit, and sell euery thing at the highest price, except you take vpon you to giue day and sell vpon trust, which if you doe, you may then sell at what vnconscionable reckoning you will, which because such vnnaturall exactions neither agrée with charitie, nor humanitie, I will forbeare to giue rules for the same, and referre euery man that is desirous of such knowledge, to the examples of the world, wherein he shall finde presidents inough for such euill customes. And thus much for the first part of this worke, which containeth the manner of Plowing and tillage onely. THE SECOND PART OF THE FIRST BOOKE OF the English Husbandman, Contayning the Art of Planting, Grafting and Gardening, either for pleasure or profit; together with the vse and ordering of Woodes. CHAP. I. _Of the Scyte, Modell, Squares, and Fashion of a perfect Orchard._ Although many authors which I haue read, both in Italian, French, and Dutch, doe make a diuersitie and distinguishment of Orchardes, as namely, one for profit, which they fashion rudely and without forme, the other for delight, which they make comely, decent, and with all good proportion, deuiding the quarters into squares, making the alleyes of a constant breadth, and planting the fruit-trées in arteficiall rowes: yet for as much as the comelinesse and well contriuing of the ground, doth nothing abate, but rather increase the commoditie, I will therefore ioyne them both together, and make them onely but one Orchard. Now for the scyte and placing of this Orchard, I haue in the modell of my Country house, or Husbandmans Farme, shewed you where if it be possible it should stand, and both what Sunne & ayre it should lye open vpon: but if the scyte or ground-plot of your house will not giue you leaue to place your Orchard according to your wish, you shall then be content to make a vertue of necessitie, and plant it in such a place as is most conuenient, and nearest alyed to that forme before prescribed. {Illustration} Now when you haue found out a perfect ground-plot, you shall then cast it into a great large square, which you shall fence in either with a stone or bricke wall, high, strong pale, or great ditch with a quicke-set hedge, but the wall is best and most durable, and that wall would haue vpon the inside within twelue or fourtéene foote on of another, Iames or outshoots of stone or bricke, betweene which you may plant and plash those fruit-trées which are of greatest tendernesse, the South and West Sunne hauing power to shine vpon them. When you haue thus fenc'st in this great square, you shall then cast foure large alleyes, at least fourtéene foote broad, from the wall round about, and so likewise two other alleyes of like breadth, directly crosse ouerthwart the ground-plot, which will deuide the great square into foure lesser squares, according to the figure before set downe. The figure 1. sheweth the alleyes which both compasse about, and also crosse ouer the ground-plot, and the figure 2. sheweth the foure quarters where the fruit-trées are to be planted. Now if either the true nature and largnesse of the ground be sufficient, or your owne abilitie of pursse so great that you may compasse your desires in these earthly pleasures, it shall not be amisse, but a matter of great state, to make your ground-plot full as bigge againe, that is to say, to containe eight large quarters, the first foure being made of an euen leuell, the other foure being raysed at least eight foote higher then the first, with conuenient stayres of state for ascending to the same, to be likewise vpon another euen leuell of like forme, and if in the center of the alleyes, being the mid-point betwéene the squares, might be placed any quaint fountaines or any other antique standard, the platforme would be more excellent and if vpon the ascent from one leuell to another there might be built some curious and arteficiall banquetting house, it would giue luster to the Orchard. Now for the planting and furnishing of these quarters: you shall vnderstand that if your Orchard containe but foure quarters, then the first shalbe planted with Apple-trées of all sorts, the second with Peares and Wardens of all sorts, the third with Quinces & Chesnutes, the fourth with Medlars & seruices. Against the North side of your Orchard wall against which the South sunne reflects, you shall plant the Abricot, Verdochio, Peach, and Damaske-plumbe: against the East side of the wall, the whit Muskadine Grape, the Pescod-plumbe, and the Emperiall-plumbe: against the West side the grafted Cherries, and the Oliue-trée: and against the South side the Almond, & Figge trée. Round about the skirts of euery other outward or inward alley, you shall plant, the Wheate-plumbe, both yealow & redde, the Rye-plumbe, the Damson, the Horse-clog, Bulleys of all kindes, ordinary french Cherryes, Filberts, and Nuts of all sorts, together with the Prune-plumbe, and other such like stone fruits. But if your Orchard be of state and prospect, so that it containe eight quarters or more (according to the limitation of the earth) then you shall in euery seuerall quarter plant a seuerall fruit, as Apple-trées in one quarter, Peares in another, Quinces in another, Wardens in another, and so forth of the rest. Also you shall obserue in planting your Apples, Peares, and Plumbes, that you plant your summer or early fruit by themselues, and the Winter or long lasting fruit by themselues. Of Apples, your Ienitings, Wibourns, Pomederoy, and Quéene-Apples are reckoned the best earely fruits, although their be diuers others, and the Pippin, Peare-maine, Apple-Iohn, and Russetting, your best Winter and long lasting fruit, though there be a world of other: for the tastes of Apples are infinite, according to there composition and mixture in grafting. Of Peares your golden Peare, your Katherine-Peare, your Lording, and such like, are the first, and your stone-Peare, Warden-Peare, and choake-Peare, those which indure longest. And of Plumbes the rye-plumbe is first, your Wheate-plumbe next, and all the other sorts of plumbes ripen all most together in one season, if they haue equall warmth, and be all of like comfortable standing. {Illustration} Now for the orderly placing of your trées, you shall vnderstand that your Plumbe-trées (which are as it were a fence or guard about your great quarters) would be placed in rowes one by one, aboue fiue foote distance one from another, round about each skirt of euery alley: your Apple-trées & other greater fruit which are to be planted in the quarters, would be placed in such arteficiall rowes that which way soeuer a man shall cast his eyes yet hée shall sée the trées euery way stand in rowes, making squares, alleyes, and deuisions, according to a mans imagination, according to the figure before, which I would haue you suppose to be one quarter in an Orchard, and by it you may easily compound the rest: wherein you shall vnderstand that the lesser prickes doe figure your Plumbe-trées, & the greater prickes your Apple trées, and such other large fruit. Now you shall vnderstand that euery one of these great trées which furnish the maine quarter, shall stand in a direct line, iust twelue foote one from another, which is a space altogether sufficient inough for there spreading, without waterdropping or annoying one another; prouided that the Fruiterer, according to his duty, be carefull to preserue the trees vpright and to vnderprope them when by the violence of the winde they shall swarue any way. Vpon the ascent or rising from one leuell to another, you may plant the Barberry-trées, Feberries, and Raspberries, of all sorts, which being spreading, thorny and sharpe trées, take great delight to grow thicke and close together, by which meanes often times they make a kinde of wall, hedge, or fencing, where they stand. Hauing thus shewed you the ground-plot and proportion of your Orchard, with the seuerall deuisions, ascents, and squares, that should be contained therein, and the fruits which are to furnish euery such square and deuision, and their orderly placing, it now rests that you vnderstand that this Orchard-plot, so neare as you can bring it to passe, doe stand most open and plaine, vpon the South and West sunne, and most defended from the East and North windes and bitternesse, which being obserued your plot is then perfect and absolute. Now forasmuch as where nature, fruitfulnesse, and situation doe take from a man more then the halfe part of his industrie, and by a direct and easie way doth lead him to that perfection which others cannot attaine to without infinit labour and trauell: and whereas it is nothing so commendable to maintaine beautie, as to make deformitie beautifull, I will speake something of the framing of Orchard-plots there where both nature, the situation, and barrainnesse, doe vtterly deny the enioying of any such commoditie, as where the ground is vneuen, stonie, sandy, or in his lownesse subiect to the ouerflow of waters, all being apparant enemies to these places of pleasure and delight. First, for the vneuennesse of the ground, if that be his vttermost imperfection, you shall first not onely take a note with your eye, but also place a marke vpon the best ascent of the ground to which the leuell is fittest to be drawne, and then plowing the ground all ouer with a great common plough, by casting the furrowes downward, séeke to fill in and couer the lesser hollownesses of the ground, that their may not any thing appeare but the maine great hollowes, which with other earth which is frée from stones, grauell, or such like euils, you shall fill vp and make leuell with that part where your marke standeth, and being so leuelled, forthwith draw the plot of your Orchard: but if the ground be not onely vneuen but also barraine, you shall then to euery loade of earth you carry to the leuelling adde a loade of Manure, either Oxe Manure, or Horse Manure, the rubbish of houses, or the clensings of olde ditches, or standing pooles, and the earth will soone become fertill and perfect; but if the ground be stonie, that is, full of great stones, as it is in Darbishire about the Peake or East Mores, for small pibbles or small lime-stones are not very much hurtfull, then you shall cause such stones to be digd vp, and fill vp the places where they lay either with marle, or other rich earth, which after it hath béene setled for a yéere or two you shall then plough, and leuell it, and so frame forth the plot of your Orchard. If the ground be onely a barraine sand, so that it wanteth strength either to maintaine or bring forth, you shall then first digge that earth into great trenches, at least foure foote déepe, and filling them vp with Oxe Manure, mixe it with the sand, that it may change some part of the colour thereof and then leuelling it fashion out your Orchard. But lastly, and which is of all situations the worst, if you haue no ground to plant your Orchard vpon, but such as either through the neighbourhood of riuers, descent of Mountaines, or the earths owne naturall quallitie in casting and vomiting out water and moysture, is subiect to some small ouerflowes of water, by which you cannot attaine to the pleasure you séeke, because fruit-trées can neuer indure the corruption of waters, you shall then in the dryest season of the yéere, after you haue marked out that square or quantitie of ground which you intend for your Orchard, you shall then cast therein sundry ditches, at least sixtéene foote broad, and nine foote déepe, and not aboue twelue foote betwixt ditch and ditch, vpon which reserued earth casting the earth that you digged vp, you shall raise the banckes at least seauen foote high of firme earth, and kéepe in the top the full breadth of twelue foote, with in a foote or little more: and in the casting vp of these bankes you shall cause the earth to be beaten with maules and broad béetels that it may lye firme, fast, and leuell, and after these bankes haue rested a yéere or more, and are sufficiently setled, you may then at the neather end of the banke, neare to the verge of the water plant store of Osyers, which will be a good defence to the banke, and vpon the top and highest part of the banke you shall plant your Orchard and fruit-trées, so that when any inundation of water shall happen, the ditches shalbe able inough to receiue it; or else making a passage from your Orchard into some other sewer, the water excéeding his limits may haue a frée current or passage: besides these ditches being neatly kept, and comforted with fresh water, may make both pleasant and commodious fish-ponds. Also you must be carefull in casting these bankes that you doe not place them in such sort that when you are vpon one you cannot come to the other, but rather like a maze, so that you may at pleasure passe from the one to the other round about the ground, making of diuers bankes to the eye but one banke in substance, and of diuers ponds in appearance, but one in true iudgement. And thus much for the plot or situation of an Orchard. CHAP. II. _Of the Nurserie where you shall set all manner of Kernels, and Stones, for the furnishing of the Orchard._ Although great persons, out of their greatnesse and abilitie, doe buy their fruit trées ready grafted, and so in a moment may plant an Orchard of the greatest quantitie, yet sith the Husbandman must raise euery thing from his owne indeauours, and that I onely write for his profit, I therefore hould it most conuenient to beginne with the nursery or store-house of fruits, from whence the Orchard receiueth his beauty and riches. This Nursery must be a piece of principall ground, either through Art or Nature, strongly fenced, warme, and full of good shelter: for in it is onely the first infancy and tendernesse of fruit-trées, because there they are first kernells, or stones, after sprigs, and lastly trées. Now for the manner of chusing, sowing, and planting them in this nursery, I differ some thing from the french practise, who would chuse the kernells from the cider presse, sow them in large bedds of earth, and within a yeere after replant them in a wilde Orchard: now for mine owne part, though this course be not much faulty, yet I rather chuse this kinde of practise, first: to chuse your kernells either of Apples, Peares, or Wardens, from the best and most principallest fruit you can taste, for although the kernell doe bring forth no other trée but the plaine stocke vpon which the fruit was grafted, as thus, if the graft were put into a Crab-stocke the kernell brings forth onely a Crab-trée, yet when you taste a perfect and delicate Apple, be assured both the stocke and graft were of the best choise, and so such kernells of best reckoning. When you haue then a competent quantitie of such kernells, you shall take certaine large pots, in the fashion of milke-boules, all full of hoales in the bottome, through which the raine and superfluous moysture may auoyde, and either in the Months of March or Nouember (for those are the best seasons) fill the pots three parts full of the finest, blackest, and richest mould you can get, then lay your kernells vpon the earth, about foure fingars one from another, so many as the vessell can conueniently containe, and then with a siue sift vpon them other fine moulds almost thrée fingars thicke, and so let them rest, filling so many pots or vessells as shall serue to receiue your quantitie of kernells of all sorts. Now if any man desire to know my reason why I rather desire to set my kernells rather in vessells then in beds of earth, my answere is, that I haue often found it in mine experience, that the kernell of Apples, Peares, Quinces, and such like, are such a tender and dainty séede that it is great oddes but the wormes will deuoure and consume them before they sprout, who naturally delight in such séedes, which these vessels onely doe preuent: but to proceede. After your kernells are sprouted vp and growne to be at least seauen or eight inches high, you shall then within your nursery digge vp a border about two foote and an halfe broad, more then a foote déepe, and of such conuenient length as may receiue all your young plants, and hauing made the mould fine and rich with Manure, you shall then with your whole hand gripe as much of the earth that is about the plant as you can conueniently hould, and so take both the plant and the mould out of the vessell, and replant it in the new drest border: and you shall thus doe plant after plant, till you haue set euery one, and made them firme and fast in the new mould: wherein you are to obserue these two principles, first that you place them at least fiue foote one from another, and secondly, that such kernells as you set in your vessels in March, that you replant them in borders of earth in Nouember following, and such as you set in Nouember to replant in March following, and being so replanted to suffer them to grow till they be able to beare grafts, during which time you shall diligently obserue, that if any of them chance to put forth any superfluous branches or cyons, which may hinder the growth of the body of the plant, that you carefully cut them away, that thereby it may be the sooner inabled to beare a graft: for it is euer to be intended that whatsoeuer procéedeth from kernells are onely to be preserued for stockes to graft on, and for no other purpose. Now for the stones of Plumbes, & other stone fruit, you shall vnderstand that they be of two kindes, one simple and of themselues, as the Rye-plumbe, Wheate-plumbe, Damson, Prune-plumbe, Horse-clogge, Cherry, and such like, so that from the kernells of them issueth trées of like nature and goodnesse: the other compounded or grafted plumbes, as the Abricot, Pescod, Peach, Damaske, Verdochyo, Emperiall, and such like, from whose kernells issueth no other trées but such as the stockes were vpon which they were grafted. Now, for the manner of setting the first, which are simple and vncompounded, you shall digge vp a large bedde of rich and good earth a month or more before March or Nouember, and hauing made the mould as fine as is possible, you shall flat-wise thrust euery stone, a foote one from another, more then thrée fingars into the mould, and then with a little small rake, made for the purpose, rake the bedde ouer and close vp the holes, and so let them rest till they be of a yéeres groath, at which time you shall replant them into seuerall borders, as you did your Apple-trée plants and others. Now for the kernells of your compounded or grafted Plumbes, you shall both set them in beddes and replant them into seuerall borders, in the same manner as you did the other kernells of Plumbes, onely you shall for the space of eight and forty houres before you set them stéepe them in new milke, forasmuch as the stones of them are more hard, and with greater difficulty open and sprout in the earth, then any other stone whatsoeuer: and thus hauing furnished your Nursery of all sorts of fruits and stockes, you shall when they come to full age and bignesse graft them in such order as shalbe hereafter declared. CHAP. III. _Of the setting or planting of the Cyons or Branches of most sorts of Fruit-trees._ As you are to furnish your nursery with all sorts of kernells and stones, for the bréeding of stockes where on to graft the daintiest fruits you can compasse, so shall you also plant therein the cyons and branches of the best fruit trées: which cyons and branches doe bring forthe the same fruit which the trées doe from whence they are taken, and by that meanes your nursery shall euer afford you perfect trées, wherewith either to furnish your owne grounds, or to pleasure your neighbours. And herein by the way you shall vnderstand that some trées are more fit to be set then to be sowne, as namely, the Seruice-trée, the Medler, the Filbert and such like. Now for the Seruice-trée, hée is not at all to be grafted, but set in this wise: take of the bastard cyons such as be somewhat bigger then a mans thumbe, and cutting away the branches thereof, set it in a fine loose moulde, at least a foote déepe, and it will prosper exceedingly, yet the true nature of this trée is not to be remoued, and therefore it is conuenient that it be planted where it should euer continue: in like manner to the Seruice-tree, so you shall plant the bastard cyons of the Medlar-trée either in March or October, and at the waine of the moone. Now for the Filbert, or large Hassell-nut, you shall take the smallest cyons or wands, such as are not aboue two yéeres groath, being full of short heauie twigges, and grow from the roote of the maine trée, and set them in a loose mould, a foote déepe, without pruning or cutting away any of the branches, and they will prosper to your contentment. Now for all sorts of Plumbe-trées, Apple-trées or other fruit-trées which are not grafted, if you take the young cyons which grow from the rootes cleane from the rootes, and plant them either in the spring, or fall, in a fresh and fine mould, they will not onely prosper, but bring forth fruit of like nature and qualitie to the trées from whence they were taken. Now for your grafted fruit, as namely, Apples, Plumbes, Cherryes, Mulberries, Quinces, and such like, the cyons also and branches of them also will take roote and bring forth fruit of the same kinde that the trées did from whence they were taken: but those cyons or branches must euer be chosen from the vpper parts of the trées, betwixt the feast of all-Saints and Christmas, they must be bigger then a mans finger, smooth, straight, and without twigges: you shall with a sharpe chissell cut them from the body or armes of the trée with such care, that by no meanes you raise vp the barke, and then with a little yealow waxe couer the place from whence you cut the cyon: then hauing digged and dunged the earth well where you intend to plant them, and made the mould easie, you shall with an Iron, as bigge as your plant, make a hoale a foote déepe or better, and then put in your cyon and with it a few Oates, long stéept in water, and so fixe it firme in the mould, and if after it beginneth to put forth you perceiue any young cyons to put forth from the root thereof, you shall immediatly cut them off, & either cast them away or plant them in other places, for to suffer them to grow may bréede much hurt to the young trées. Now where as these cyons thus planted are for the most part small and weake, so that the smallest breath of winde doth shake and hurt their rootes, it shalbe good to pricke strong stakes by them, to which, fastning the young plant with a soft hay rope it may the better be defended from stormes and tempests. Next to these fruit-trées, you shall vnderstand that your bush-trées, as Barberryes, Gooseberryes, or Feberryes, Raspberryes, and such like, will also grow vpon cyons, without rootes, being cut from their maine rootes in Nouember, & so planted in a new fresh mould. And here by the way I am to giue you this note or caueat, that if at any time you finde any of these cyons which you haue planted not to grow and flourish according to your desire, but that you finde a certaine mislike or consumption in the plant, you shall then immediatly with a sharpe knife cut the plant off slope-wise vpward, about three fingars from the ground, and so let it rest till the next spring, at which time you shall beholde new cyons issue from the roote, which will be without sicknesse or imperfection; and from the vertue of this experiment I imagine the gardners of antient time found out the meanes to get young cyons from olde Mulberry-trées, which they doe in this manner: first, you must take some of the greatest armes of the Mulberry-trée about the midst of Nouember, and with a sharpe sawe to sawe them into bigge truncheons, about fiuetéene inches long, and then digging a trench in principall good earth, of such depth that you may couer the truncheons, being set vp on end, with Manure and fine mould, each truncheon being a foote one from another, and couerd more then foure fingars aboue the wood, not fayling to water them whensoeuer néede shall require, and to preserue them from wéeds and filthinesse, within lesse then a yéeres space you shall behold those truncheons to put forth young cyons, which as soone as they come to any groath and be twigged, then you may cut them from the stockes, and transplant them where you please, onely the truncheons you shall suffer to remaine still, and cherish them with fresh dunge, and they will put forth many moe cyons, both to furnish your selfe and your friends. And thus much for the planting and setting of cyons or branches. CHAP. IIII. _Of the ordinary and accustomed manner of Grafting all sorts of Fruit-trees._ {SN: The mixing of Stockes and Grafts.} As soone as your nursery is thus amply furnished of all sorts of stockes, procéeding from kernells and of all sorts of trées procéeding from cyons, branches or vndergrowings, and that through strength of yéeres they are growne to sufficient abilitie to receiue grafts, which is to be intended that they must be at the least sixe or eight inches in compasse, for although lesse many times both doth and may receiue grafts, yet they are full of debilitie and danger, and promise no assurance to the worke-mans labour, you shall then beginne to graft your stockes with such fruits as from art and experience are méete to be conioyned together, as thus: you shall graft Apples vpon Apples, as the Pippin vpon the great Costard, the Peare-maine vpon the Ienetting, and the Apple-Iohn or blacke annet vpon the Pomewater or Crab-trée: to conclude, any Apple-stocke, Crab-tree, or wilding, is good to graft Apples vpon, but the best is best worthy. So for Peares, you shall graft them vpon Peare stockes, Quinces vpon Quinces or Crab-trées, and not according to the opinion of the frenchman, vpon white thorne or willow, the Medlar vpon the Seruice-trée, and the Seruice vpon the Medlar, also Cherryes vpon Cherryes, & Plumbes vpon Plumbes, as the greater Abricots vpon the lesser Abricots, the Peach, the Figge, or the Damson-trée, and to speake generally without wasting more paper, or making a long circumstance to slender purpose, the Damson-trée is the onely principall best stocke whereupon to graft any kinde of Plumbe or stone fruit whatsoeuer. {SN: The choise of Grafts.} After you haue both your stockes ready, and know which grafts to ioyne with which stockes, you shall then learne to cut and chuse your grafts in this manner: looke from what trée you desire to take your grafts, you shall goe vnto the very principall branches thereof, and looke vp to the vpper ends, and those which you finde to be fairest, smoothest, and fullest of sappe, hauing the little knots, budds, or eyes, standing close and thicke together, are the best and most perfect, especially if they grow vpon the East side of the trée, whereon the Sunne first looketh; these you shall cut from the trée in such sort that they may haue at least thrée fingars of the olde woode ioyning to the young branch, which you shall know both by the colour of the barke, as also by a little round seame which maketh as it were a distinction betwixt the seuerall growths. Now you shall euer, as néere as you can, chuse your grafts from a young trée, and not from an olde, and from the tops of the principall branches, and not from the midst of the trée, or any other superfluous arme or cyon; now if after you haue got your grafts you haue many dayes Iourneys to carry them, you shall fould them in a few fresh mouldes, and binde them about with hay, and hay ropes, and so carry them all day, and in the night bury them all ouer in the ground and they will containe their goodnesse for a long season. {SN: How to graft in the Cleft.} Hauing thus prepared your grafts, you shall then beginne to graft, which worke you shall vnderstand may be done in euery month of the yéere, except Nouember and October, but the best is to beginne about Christmas for all earely and forward fruit, and for the other, to stay till March: now hauing all your implements and necessaryes about you, fit for the Grafting, you shall first take your grafts, of what sort soeuer they be, and hauing cut the neather ends of them round and smoth without raysing of the barke, you shall then with a sharp knife, made in the proportion of a great pen-knife slice downe each side of the grafts, from the seame or knot which parts the olde woode from the new, euen to the neather end, making it flat and thinne, cheifely in the lowest part, hauing onely a regardfull eye vnto the pith of the graft, which you may by no meanes cut or touch, and when you haue thus trimmed a couple of grafts, for moe I doe by no meanes alow vnto one stocke, although sundry other skilfull workmen in this Art alow to the least stocke two grafts, to the indifferent great thrée, and to the greatest of all foure, yet I affirme two are sufficiently inough for any stocke whatsoeuer, and albeit they are a little the longer in couering the head, yet after they haue couered it the trée prospereth more in one yéere then that which contayneth foure grafts shall doe in two, because they cannot haue sap inough to maintaine them, which is the reason that trées for want of prosperitie grow crooked and deformed: but to my purpose. When you haue made your grafts ready, you shall then take a fine thinne sawe, whose téeth shalbe filed sharpe and euen, and with it (if the stocke be excéeding small) cut the stocke round off within lesse then a foote of the ground, but if the stocke be as bigge as a mans arme, then you may cut it off two or thrée foote from the ground, and so consequently the bigger it is the higher you may cut it, and the lesser the nearer vnto the earth: as soone as you haue sawne off the vpper part of the stocke, you shall then take a fine sharpe chissell, somewhat broader then the stocke, and setting it euen vpon the midst of the head of the stocke somewhat wide of the pith, then with a mallet of woode you shall stricke it in and cleaue the stocke, at least foure inches déepe, then putting in a fine little wedge of Iron, which may kéepe open the cleft, you shall take one of your grafts and looke which side of it you intend to place inward, and that side you shall cut much thinner then the out side, with a most héedfull circumspection that by no meanes you loosen or rayse vp the barke of the graft, cheifly on the out side, then you shall take the graft, and wetting it in your mouth place it in one side of the cleft of the stocke, and regard that the very knot or seame which goes about the graft, parting the olde woode from the new, do rest directly vpon the head of the stocke, and that the out side of the graft doe agrée directly with the out side of the stocke, ioyning barke vnto barke, and sappe vnto sappe, so euen, so smooth, and so close, that no ioyners worke may be discerned to ioyne more arteficially: which done, vpon the other side of the stocke, in the other cleft, you shall place your other graft, with full as much care, diligence, and euery other obseruation: when both your grafts are thus orderly and arteficially placed, you shall then by setting the haft of your chissell against the stocke, with all lenitie and gentlenesse, draw forth your wedge, in such sort that you doe not displace or alter your grafts, and when your wedge is forth you shall then looke vpon your grafts, and if you perceiue that the stocke doe pinch or squize them, which you may discerne both by the straitnesse and bending of the outmost barke, you shall then make a little wedge of some gréene sappy woode, and driuing it into the cleft, ease your grafts, cutting that wedge close to the stocke. When you haue thus made both your grafts perfect, you shall then take the barke of either Apple-trée, Crab-trée or Willow-trée, and with that barke couer the head of the stocke so close that no wet or other annoyance may get betwixt it and the stocke, then you shall take a conuenient quantitie of clay, which indéede would be of a binding mingled earth, and tempering it well, either with mosse or hay, lay it vpon the barke, and daube all the head of the stocke, euen as low as the bottome of the grafts, more then an inch thicke, so firme, close, and smooth as may be, which done, couer all that clay ouer with soft mosse, and that mosse with some ragges of wollen cloath, which being gently bound about with the inward barkes of Willow, or Osyar, let the graft rest to the pleasure of the highest: and this is called grafting in the cleft. {SN: Notes.} Now there be certaine obseruations or caueats to be respected in grafting, which I may not neglect: as first, in trimming and preparing your grafts for the stocke: if the grafts be either of Cherry, or Plumbe, you shall not cut them so thinne as the grafts of Apples, Quinces, or Medlars, because they haue a much larger and rounder pith, which by no meanes must be toucht but fortefied and preserued, onely to the neather end you may cut them as thinne as is possible, the pith onely preserued. Secondly, you shall into your greatest stockes put your greatest grafts, and into your least, the least, that there may be an equall strength and conformitie in their coniunction. Thirdly, if at any time you be inforced to graft vpon an olde trée, that is great and large, then you shall not graft into the body of that trée, because it is impossible to kéepe it from putrifaction and rotting before the grafts can couer the head, but you shall chuse out some of the principall armes or branches, which are much more slender, and graft them, as is before shewed, omitting not dayly to cut away all cyons, armes, branches, or superfluous sprigs which shall grow vnder those branches which you haue newly grafted: but if there be no branch, small or tender inough to graft in, then you shall cut away all the maine branches from the stocke, and couering the head with clay and mosse, let it rest, and within thrée or foure yéeres it will put forth new cyons, which will be fit to graft vpon. Fourthly, if when you either sawe off the top of your stocke, or else cleaue the head, you either raise vp the barke or cleaue the stocke too déepe, you shall then sawe the stocke againe, with a little more carefulnesse, so much lower as your first errour had committed a fault. Fiftly, you shall from time to time looke to the binding of the heads of your stockes, in so much that if either the clay doe shrinke away or the other couerings doe losen, by which defects ayre, or wet, may get into the incission, you shall presently with all spéede amend and repaire it. Lastly, if you graft in any open place where cattell doe graze, you shall not then forget as soone as you haue finisht your worke to bush or hedge in your graft, that it may be defended from any such negligent annoyance. And thus much for this ordinary manner of grafting, which although it be generall and publike to most men that knoweth any thing in this art, yet is it not inferiour, but the principallest and surest of all other. CHAP. V. _Of diuers other wayes of grafting, their vses and purposes._ Although for certainty, vse, and commodity, the manner of grafting already prescribed is of sufficiency inough to satisfie any constant or reasonable vnderstanding, yet for nouelty sake, to which our nation is infinitly addicted, and to satisfie the curious, who thinke their iudgements disparaged if they heare any authorised traueller talke of the things which they haue not practised, I will procéede to some other more quaint manners of grafting, and the rather because they are not altogether vnnecessary, hauing both certainety in the worke, pleasure in the vse, and benefit in the serious imploying of those howers which else might challenge the title of idlenesse, besides they are very well agréeing with the soyles and fruits of this Empyre of great Brittaine and the vnderstandings of the people, for whose seruice or benefit, I onely vndergoe my trauell. You shall vnderstand therefore, that there is another way to graft, which is called grafting betwéene the barke and tree, and it is to be put in vse about the latter end of February, at such time as the sappe beginnes to enter into the trées: and the stockes most fit for this manner of grafting are those which are oldest and greatest, whose graine being rough and vneuen, either through shaking or twinding, it is a thing almost impossible to make it cleaue in any good fashion, so that in such a case it is meete that the grafter exercise this way of grafting betwixt the barke and the trée, the manner whereof is thus. {SN: Grafting betweene the barke.} First, you shall dresse your grafts in such sort as was before discribed when you grafted in the cleft, onely they shall not be so long from the knot or seame downeward by an inch or more, neither so thicke, but as thinne as may be, the pith onely preserued, and at the neather end of all you shall cut away the barke on both sides, making that end smaller and narrower then it is at the ioynt or seame, then sawing off the head of the stocke, you shall with a sharpe knife pare the head round about, smooth and plaine, making the barke so euen as may be, that the barke of your grafts and it may ioyne like one body, then take a fine narrow chissell, not excéeding sharpe, but somewhat rebated, and thrust it hard downe betwixt the barke and the trée, somewhat more then two inches, according to the iust length of your graft, and then gently thrust the graft downe into the same place, euen close vnto the ioynt, hauing great care that the ioynt rest firme and constant vpon the head of the stocke, and thus you shall put into one stocke not aboue thrée grafts at the most, how euer either other mens practise, or your owne reading doe perswade you to the contrary. After your grafts are fixt and placed, you shall then couer the head with barke, clay, and mosse, as hath béene formerly shewed: also you shall fasten about it some bushes of thorne, or sharpe whinnes, which may defend and kéepe it from the annoyance of Pye-annats, and such like great birds. There is another way of grafting, which is called grafting in the scutchion, which howsoeuer it is estéemed, yet is it troublesome, incertaine, and to small purpose: the season for it is in summer, from May till August, at what time trées are fullest of sappe and fullest of leaues, and the manner is thus: take the highest and the principallest branches of the toppe of the trée you would haue grafted, and without cutting it from the olde woode chuse the best eye and budding place of the cyon, then take another such like eye or budde, being great and full, and first cut off the leafe hard by the budde, then hollow it with your knife the length of a quarter of an inch beneath the budde, round about the barke, close to the sappe, both aboue and below, then slit it downe twice so much wide of the budde, and then with a small sharpe chissell raise vp the scutchion, with not onely the budde in the midst but euen all the sappe likewise, wherein you shall first raise that side which is next you, and then taking the scutchion betwéene your fingars, raise it gently vp without breaking or brusing, and in taking it off hould it hard vnto the woode, to the end the sappe of the budde may abide in the scutchion, for if it depart from the barke and cleaue to the woode, your labour is lost, this done you shall take another like cyon, and hauing taken off the barke from it, place it in the others place, and in taking off this barke you must be carfull that you cut not the woode, but the barke onely, and this done you shall couer it all ouer with redde waxe, or some such glutenous matter; as for the binding of it with hempe and such trumpery it is vtterly dissalowed of all good grafters: this manner of grafting may be put in practise vpon all manner of cyons, from the bignesse of a mans little fingar to the bignesse of a slender arme. {SN: Grafting with the Leafe.} Not much vnlike vnto this, is the grafting with the Leafe, and of like worth, the art whereof is thus: any time betwixt midst May, vntill the midst of September, you shall chuse, from the toppe of the sunne-side of the trée, the most principall young cyon you can sée, whose barke is smoothest, whose leaues are greatest, and whose sappe is fullest, then cutting it from the trée note the principall leafe thereof, and cut away from it all the woode more then about an inch of each side of the leafe, then cutting away the vndermost part of the barke with your knife, take péece meale from the barke all the woode and sappe, saue onely that little part of woode and sappe which féedeth the leafe, which in any wise must be left behind, so that the graft will carry this figure. {Illustration} Then goe to the body, arme, or branch of that trée which you intend to graft, which is to be presupposed must euer haue a smooth and tender barke, and with a very sharpe knife slit the barke, two slits at least, two inches long a péece, and about halfe an inch or more distance betwéene the two slits: then make another slit crosse-wise ouerthwart, from long slit to long slit, the figure whereof will be thus: {Illustration} Then with your knife raise the barke gently from the trée, without breaking, cracking, or brusing: then take your graft, and putting it vnder the barke lay it flat vnto the sappe of the trée, so as that little sappe which is left in the leafe, may without impediment cleaue to the sappe of the trée, then lay downe the barke close againe and couer the graft, and with a little vntwound hempe, or a soft wollen list, binde downe the barke close to the graft, and then couer all the incisions you haue made with greene waxe: by this manner of grafting you may haue vpon one trée sundry fruits, as from one Apple-tree, both Pippins, Peare-maines, Russettings and such like, nay, you may haue vpon one tree, ripe fruit all summer long, as Ienettings from one branch, Cislings from another, Wibourns from another, Costards and Quéene-Apples from others, and Pippens and Russettings, from others, which bringeth both delight to the eye, and admiration to the sence, and yet I would not haue you imagine that this kinde of grafting doth onely worke this effect, for as before I shewed you, if you graft in the cleft (which is the fastest way of all grafting) sundry fruits vpon sundry armes or bowes, you shall likewise haue procéeding from them sundry sorts of fruits, as either Apples, Plumbes, Peares or any other kind, according to your composition and industry; as at this day we may dayly sée in many great mens Orchards. {SN: Grafting on the toppes of trees.} There is yet another manner of grafting, and it is of all other especially vsed much in Italy, and yet not any thing disagréeable with our climate, and that is to graft on the small cyons which are on the toppes of fruit trées, surely an experience that carryeth in it both dificulty and wonder, yet being put to approbation is no lesse certaine then any of the other, the manner whereof is thus: you shall first after you haue chosen such and so many grafts as you doe intend to graft, and trimd them in the same manner as you haue béene taught formerly for grafting within the cleft, you shall then mount vp into the toppe of the trée, vpon which you meane to graft, and there make choise of the highest and most principallest cyons (being cleane barkt and round) that you can perceiue to grow from the trée, then laying the graft, and the cyon vpon which you are to graft, together, sée that they be both of one bignesse and roundnesse: then with your grafting knife cut the cyon off betwéene the olde woode and the new, and cleaue it downe an inch and an halfe, or two inches at the most: then put in your graft (which graft must not be cut thinner on one side, then on the other, but all of one thicknesse) and when it is in, sée that the barke of the graft both aboue and below, that is, vpon both sides, doe ioyne close, euen, and firme with the barke of the branch or cyon, and then by foulding a little soft towe about it, kéepe them close together, whilst with clay, mosse, and the in-most barke of Osyars you lappe them about to defend them from ayre, winde, and tempests. And herein you shall obserue to make your graft as short as may be, for the shortest are best, as the graft which hath not aboue two or thrée knots, or buddes, and no more. You may, if you please, with this manner of grafting graft vpon euery seuerall cyon, a seuerall fruit, and so haue from one trée many fruits, as in case of grafting with the leafe, and that with much more spéede, by as much as a well-growne graft is more forward and able then a weake tender leafe. And in these seuerall wayes already declared, consisteth the whole Art and substance of Grafting: from whence albeit many curious braines may, from preuaricating trickes, beget showes of other fashions, yet when true iudgement shall looke vpon their workes, he shall euer finde some one of these experiments the ground and substance of all their labours, without which they are able to doe nothing that shall turne to an assured commoditie. {SN: The effects of Grafting.} Now when you haue made your selfe perfect in the sowing, setting, planting and grafting of trées, you shall then learne to know the effects, wonders, and strange issues which doe procéede from many quaint motions and helpes in grafting, as thus: if you will haue Peaches, Cherryes, Apples, Quinces, Medlars, Damsons, or any Plumbe whatsoeuer, to ripen earely, as at the least two months before the ordinary time, and to continue at least a month longer then the accustomed course, you shall then graft them vpon a Mulberry stocke: and if you will haue the fruit to tast like spice, with a certaine delicate perfume, you shall boyle Honey, the powder of Cloues and Soaxe together, and being cold annoynt the grafts there-with before you put them into the cleft, if you graft Apples, Peares, or any fruit vpon a Figge-tree stocke, they will beare fruit without blooming: if you take an Apple graft, & a Peare graft, of like bignesse, and hauing clouen them, ioyne them as one body in grafting, the fruit they bring forth will be halfe Apple and halfe Peare, and so likewise of all other fruits which are of contrary tastes and natures: if you graft any fruit-tree, or other trée, vpon the Holly or vpon the Cypresse, they will be greene, and kéepe their leaues the whole yéere, albeit the winter be neuer so bitter. If you graft either Peach, Plumbe, or any stone-fruit vpon a Willow stocke, the fruit which commeth of them will be without stones. If you will change the colour of any fruit, you shall boare a hole slope-wise with a large auger into the body of the trée, euen vnto the pith, and then if you will haue the fruit yealow you shal fill the hole with Saferne dissolued in water: if you will haue it redde, then with Saunders, and of any other colour you please, and then stoppe the hole vp close, and couer it with red or yealow waxe: also if you mixe the coulour with any spice or perfume, the fruit will take a rellish or tast of the same: many other such like conceits and experiments are practised amongst men of this Art, but sith they more concerne the curious, then the wise, I am not so carefull to bestow my labour in giuing more substantiall satisfaction, knowing curiosity loues that best which procéedes from their most paine, and am content to referre their knowledge to the searching of those bookes which haue onely strangnesse for their subiect, resolued that this I haue written is fully sufficient for the plaine English husbandman. CHAP. VI. _Of the replanting of Trees, and furnishing the Orchard._ As soone as your séedes, or sets, haue brought forth plants, those plants, through time, made able, and haue receiued grafts, and those grafts haue couered the heads of the stockes and put forth goodly branches, you shall then take them vp, and replant them, (because the sooner it is done the better it is done) in those seuerall places of your Orchard which before is appointed, and is intended to be prepared, both by dungging, digging, and euery orderly labour, to receiue euery seuerall fruit. And herein you shall vnderstand, that as the best times for grafting are euery month (except October and Nouember) and at the change of the moone, so the best times for replanting, are Nouember and March onely, vnlesse the ground be cold and moist and then Ianuary, or February must be the soonest all wayes, excepted that you doe not replant in the time of frost, for that is most vnholsome. {SN: The taking vp of trees.} Now when you will take vp your trées which you intend to replant in your Orchard, you shall first with a spade bare all the maine branches of the roote, and so by degrées digge and loosen the earth from the roote, in such sort that you may with your owne strength raise the young trée from the ground, which done, you shall not, according to the fashion of Fraunce, dismember, or disroabe the trée of his beauties, that is to say, to cut off all his vpper branches and armes, but you shall diligently preserue them: for I haue séene a trée thus replanted after the fall of the leafe to bring forth fruit in the summer following: but if the trée you replant be olde then it is good to cut off the maine branches with in a foote of the stocke, least the sappe running vpward, and so forsaking the roote too sodainely doe kill the whole trée. When you haue taken your trée vp, you shall obserue how, and in what manner, it stoode, that is, which side was vpon the South and receiued most comfort from the sunne, and which side was from it and receiued most shadow and bleaknesse, and in the same sort as it then stoode, so shall you replant it againe: this done you shall with a sharpe cutting-knife, cut off all the maine rootes, within halfe a foote of the trée, onely the small thriddes or twist-rootes you shall not cut at all: then bringing the plant into your Orchard, you shall make a round hole in that place where you intend to set your trée (the rankes, manner, distance and forme whereof hath béene all ready declared, in the first Chapter:) and this hole shalbe at least foure foote ouerthwart euery way, and at least two foote déepe, then shall you fill vp the hole againe, fiftéene inches déepe, with the finest blacke mould, tempered with Oxe dunge that you can get, so that then the hole shalbe but nine inches déepe, then you shall take your trée and place it vpon that earth, hauing care to open euery seuerall branch and thrid of the roote, & so to place them that they may all looke downe into the earth, and not any of them to looke backe and turne vpward: then shall you take of the earth from whence your trée was taken, and tempering it with a fourth part of Oxe dunge and slekt sope-asshes (for the killing of wormes) couer all the roote of your trée firmely and strongly: then with gréene soddes, cut and ioyned arteficially together, so sodde the place that the hole may hardly be discerned. Lastly take a strong stake, and driuing it hard into the ground neare vnto the new planted trée, with either a soft hay rope, the broad barke of Willow, or some such like vnfretting band, tye the trée to the stake, and it will defend it from the rage of winde and tempests, which should they but shake or trouble the roote, being new planted, it were inough to confound and spoyle the trée for euer. Now, although I haue vnder the title and demonstration of replanting one trée giuen you a generall instruction for the replanting of all trées whatsoeuer, yet, for as much as some are not of that strength and hardnesse to indure so much as some others will, therefore you shal take these considerations by the way, to fortefie your knowledge with. First, you shall vnderstand that all your dainty and tender grafted Plumbes, and fruits, as Abricots, Peaches, Damaske-Plumbes, Verdochyos, Pescods, Emperialls, and diuers such like, together with Orrenges, Cytrons, Almonds, Oliues, and others, which indéede are not familiar with our soyles, as being nearer neighbours to the sunne, doe delight in a warme, fat, earth, being somewhat sandy, or such a clay whose coldnesse by Manure is corrected, and therefore here with vs in the replanting of them you cannot bestow too much cost vpon the mould: as for the Damson, and all our naturall english Plumbes, they loue a fat, cold, earth, so that in the replanting of them if you shall lay too much dunge vnto their roote, you shall through the aboundant heate, doe great hurt vnto the trée. The cherry delighteth in any clay, so that vpon such soyle you may vse lesse Manure, but vpon the contrary you cannot lay too much. The Medlar estéemeth all earths alike, and therefore whether it be Manured or no it skilles not, sunne and shadow, wet and drinesse, being all of one force or efficacy. The Peare and Apple-trée delights in a strong mixt soyle, and therfore indureth Manure kindly, so doth also the Quince and Warden: lastly the Filbert, the Hasell, and the Chesnut, loue cold, leane, moist, and sandy earths, in so much that there is no greater enimy vnto them then a rich soyle: so that in replanting of them you must euer séeke rather to correct then increase fertillity. You shall also vnderstand that all such fruit-trées as you doe plant against the walles of your Orchard (of which I haue spoken already & deciphered out their places) you shall not suffer to grow as of themselues, round, and from the wall, but at the times of pruning and dressing of them (which is euer at the beginning of the spring and immediately after the fall) you shall as it were plash them, and spread them against the wall, foulding the armes in loopes of leather, and nayling them vnto the wall: and to that end you shall place them of such a fit distance one from another, that they may at pleasure spread and mount, without interruption: the profit whereof is at this day seene almost in euery great mans Orchard: and although I haue but onely appointed vnto the wall the most quaint fruits of forraine nations; yet there is no fruit of our owne, but if it be so ordered it will prosper and bring forth his fruit better and in greater abundance. And thus much for the replanting of trées and furnishing of a well proportioned Orchard. CHAP. VII. _Of the Dressing, Dungging, Proyning, and Preseruing of Trees._ Sith after all the labour spent of ingendring by séede, of fortefying and inabling by planting, and of multiplying by grafting it is to little or no purpose if the trées be not maintained and preserued by dressing, dungging and proyning, I will therefore in this place shew you what belongs to that office or duty, and first, for the dressing of trees: you shall vnderstand that it containeth all whatsoeuer is méete for the good estate of the trée, as first, after your trée is planted, or replanted, if the season shall fall out hot, dry, and parching, insomuch that the moisture of the earth is sucked out by the atraction of the Sunne, and so the trée wanteth the nutriment of moisture, in this case you shall not omit euery morning before the rising of the sunne, and euery euening after the set of the sunne, with a great watring-pot filled with water, to water & bath the rootes of the trées, if they be young trées, and newly planted, or replanted, but not otherwise: for if the trées be olde, and of long growth, then you shall saue that labour, and onely to such olde trées you shall about the midst of Nouember, with a spade, digge away the earth from the vpper part of the rootes and lay them bare vntill it be midde-March, and then mingling such earth as is most agréeable with the fruit and Oxe-dunge and sope-ashes together, so couer them againe, and tread the earth close about them: as for the vncouering of your trées in summer I doe not hold it good, because the reflection of the sunne is somewhat too violent and dryeth the roote, from whence at that time the sappe naturally is gone: you shall also euery spring and fall of the leafe clense your fruit trées from mosse, which procéeding from a cold and cankerous moisture, bréedeth dislike, and barrainenesse in trées: this mosse you must take off with the backe of an olde knife and leaue the barke smooth, plaine, and vnraced: also if you shall dunge such trées with the dunge of Swine, it is a ready way to destroy the mosse. {SN: Proyning of Trees.} After you haue drest and trimmed your trées, you shall then proyne them, which is to cut away all those superfluous branches, armes, or cyons, which being either barraine, bruised or misplaced, doe like drones, steale-away that nutriment which should maintaine the better deseruing sinewes, and you shall vnderstand that the best time for proyning of trées, is in March and Aprill, at which time the sappe assending vpward, causeth the trées to budde: the branches you shall cut away are all such as shall grow out of the stocke vnderneath the place grafted, or all such as by the shaking of tempests shall grow in a disorderly and ill fashioned crookednesse, or any other, that out of a well tempered iudgement shall séeme superfluous and burdensome to the stocke from whence it springs, also such as haue by disorder béene brooken, or maimed, and all these you shall cut away with a hooke knife, close by the trée, vnlesse you haue occasion by some misfortune to cut away some of the maine and great armes of the trée, and then you shall not vse your knife for feare of tearing the barke, but taking your sawe you shall sawe off those great armes close by the trée, neither shall you sawe them off downeward but vpward, least the waight of the arme breake the barke from the body: And herein you shall also vnderstand that for as much as the mischances which beget these dismembrings doe happen at the latter end of Summer, in the gathering of the fruit, and that it is not fit such maymed and broken boughes hang vpon the trée till the Spring, therefore you shall cut them off in the Winter time, but not close to the trée by almost a foote, and so letting them rest vntill the spring, at that time cut them off close by the trée. Now if you finde the superfluitie of branches which annoy your trées to be onely small cyons, springing from the rootes of the trées, as it often hapneth with all sorts of Plumbe-trées, Cherry-trées, Nut-trées, and such like, then you shall in the winter, bare the rootes of those trées, and cut off those cyons close by the roote: but if your trées be broused or eaten by tame-Deare, Goates, Shéepe, Kine, Oxen, or such like, then there is no help for such a misfortune but onely to cut off the whole head and graft the stocke anew. {SN: Of Barke-bound.} Next to the proyning of trées, is the preseruing, phisicking, and curing of the diseases of trées: to which they are subiect as well as our naturall bodyes: and first of all, there is a disease called Barke-bound, which is when the barke, through a mislike and leperous drynesse, bindeth in the trée with such straitnesse that the sappe being denied passage the body growes into a consumption: it is in nature like vnto that disease which in beasts is called hide-bound, and the cure is thus: at the beginning of March take a sharpe knife, and from the toppe of the body of the trée, to the very roote, draw downe certaine slits, or incissions, cleane through the barke, vnto the very sappe of the trée, round about the trée, & then with the backe of your knife open those slits and annoint them all through with Tarre, and in short space it will giue libertie vnto the trée to encrease & grow: this disease commeth by the rubbing of cattell against the trée, especially Swine, who are very poyson vnto all plants. {SN: Of the Gall.} There is another disease in fruit-trées, called the Gall, and it eateth and consumeth the barke quit away, and so in time kills the trée: the cure is to cut and open the barke which you sée infected, and with a chissell to take away all that is foule and putrefied, and then to clappe Oxe dunge vpon the place, and it will helpe it, and this must be done euer in winter. {SN: Of the Canker.} The Canker in fruit trées is the consumption both of the barke and the body, & it commeth either by the dropping of trées one vpon another, or else when some hollow places of the trée retaineth raine water in them, which fretting through the barke, poysoneth the trée: the cure is to cut away all such boughes as by dropping bréede the euill, and if the hollow places cannot be smooth and made euen, then to stoppe them with clay, waxe, and sope-ashes mixt together. {SN: Of worme-eaten barkes.} If the barkes of your trées be eaten with wormes, which you shall perceiue by the swelling of the barke, you shall then open the barke and lay there-vpon swines dunge, sage, and lime beaten together, and bound with a cloath fast to the trée, and it will cure it: or wash the trée with cowes-pisse and vinegar and it will helpe it. {SN: Of Pismiers and Snailes.} If your young trées be troubled with Pismiers, or Snailes, which are very noysome vnto them, you shall take vnsleckt lime and sope-ashes and mingling them with wine-lées, spread it all about the roote of the trées so infected, and annoint the body of the trée likewise therewith, and it will not onely destroy them but giue comfort to the trée: the soote of a chimney or Oake sawe-dust spread about the roote will doe the same. {SN: Of Caterpillers, and Earewigges.} If Caterpillers doe annoy your young trées, who are great deuourers of the leaues and young buddes, and spoylers of the barke, you shall, if it be in the summer time, make a very strong brine of water and salt, and either with a garden pumpe, placed in a tubbe, or with squirts which haue many hoales you shall euery second day water and wash your trées, and it will destroy them, because the Caterpiller naturally cannot indure moisture, but if neuerthelesse you sée they doe continue still vpon your trees in Winter, then you shall when the leaues are falne away take dankish straw and setting it on fire smeare and burne them from the trée, and you shall hardly euer be troubled with them againe vpon the same trées: roules of hay layd on the trées will gather vp Earewigges and kill them. {SN: Of the barrainenesse of Trees.} If your trées be barraine, and albeit they flourish and spread there leaues brauely, yet bring forth no fruit at all, it is a great sicknesse, and the worst of all other: therefore you shall vnderstand it procéedeth of two causes: first, of two much fertillitie, and fatnesse of the ground, which causeth the leafe to put forth and flourish in such vnnaturall abundance, that all such sappe and nutriment as should knit and bring forth fruit, turnes onely vnto leafe, cyons, and vnprofitable branches, which you shall perceiue both by the abundance of the leaues and by the colour also, which will be of a more blacker and déeper gréene, and of much larger proportion then those which haue but their naturall and proper rights: and the cure thereof is to take away the earth from the roote of such trées and fill vp the place againe with other earth, which is of a much leaner substance: but if your trée haue no such infirmitie of fatnesse, but beareth his leaues and branches in good order and of right colour and yet notwithstanding is barraine and bringeth forth little or no fruit, then that disease springeth from some naturall defect in the trée, and the cure thereof is thus: first, you shall vnbare the roote of the trée, and then noting which is the greatest and principallest branch of all the roote, you shall with a great wimble boare a hole into that roote and then driue a pinne of olde dry Ashe into the same (for Oake is not altogether so good) and then cutting the pinne off close by the roote, couer all the head of the pinne with yealow waxe, and then lay the mould vpon the roote of the trée againe, and treade it hard and firmely downe, and there is no doubte but the trée will beare the yéere following: in Fraunce they vse for this infirmitie to boare a hoale in the body of the trée slope-wise, somewhat past the hart, and to fill vp the hoale with life honey and Rose-water mixt together, and incorporated for at least xxiiij. howers, and then to stoppe the hole with a pinne of the one woode: also if you wash the rootes of your trées in the drane water which runneth from your Barley when you stéepe it for Malt, it will cure this disease of barrainenesse. {SN: Of the bitternesse of Fruit.} If the fruit which is vpon your trées be of a bitter and sootie tast, to make it more pleasant and swéet you shall wash your trée all ouer with Swines dunge and water mixt together, & to the rootes of the trées you shall lay earth and Swines dunge mixt together, which must be done in the month of Ianuary and February onely, and it will make the fruit tast pleasantly. And thus much for the dressing and preseruing of trées. CHAP. VIII. _Of the Vine, and of his ordering._ For as much as the nature, temperature, and clymate, of our soyle is not so truely proper and agréeing with the Vine as that of Fraunce, Italy, Spaine, and such like, and sith wée haue it more for delight, pleasure, and prospect, then for any peculyar profit, I will not vndertake _Monsiuer Lybaults_ painefull labour, in discribing euery curious perfection or defect that belongs thereunto, as if it were the onely iewell and commoditie of our kingdome, but onely write so much as is fitting for our knowledge touching the maintaynance, increase, and preseruation thereof, in our Orchards, Gardens, and other places of recreation. {SN: Of planting or setting the Vine.} First then to speake of the planting or setting of the Vine, your greatest diligence must be to séeke out the best plants, and if that which is most strange, rare, great and pleasant be the best, then is that grape which is called the Muskadine, or Sacke grape, the best, and haue their beginning either from Spaine, the Canary Ilands, or such like places: next to them is the French grape, of which there be many kindes, the best whereof is the grape of Orleance, the next the grape of Gascoynie, the next of Burdeaux, and the worst of Rochell, and not any of these but by industry will prosper in our English gardens: when therefore you chuse your plants, you shall chuse such of the young cyons as springing from the olde woode, you may in the cutting cut at least a ioynt or two of olde woode with the young: for the olde will take soonest, and this olde woode must be at least seauen or eight inches long, and the young cyon almost a yard, and the thicker and closer the ioynts of the young cyon are, so much the better they are: and the fit time for cutting and gathering these sets are in midde-Ianuary, then hauing prepared, digged, and dunged your earth the winter before, you shall at the latter end of Ianuary take two of these sets, or plants, placing them according to this figure: {Illustration} And lay them in the earth slope-wise, at least a foote déepe, leauing out of the earth, vncouered, not aboue foure or fiue ioynts, at the most, and then couer them with good earth firmely, closely, and strongly, hauing regard to raise those cyons which are without the earth directly vpward, obseruing after they be set, once in a month to wéede them, and kéepe them as cleane as is possible: for nothing is more noysome vnto them then the suffocating of wéeds: also you shall not suffer the mould to grow hard or bind about the rootes, but with a small spade once in a fortnight to loosen and breake the earth, because there rootes are so tender that the least straytning doth strangle and confound them. If the season doe grow dry, you may vse to water them, but not in such sort as you water other plants, which is to sprinckle water round about the earth of the rootes, but you shall with a round Iron made for the purpose somewhat bigger then a mans fingar, make certaine holes into the earth, close vpon the roote of the Vine, and powre therein either water, the dregges of strong-Ale, or the lées of Wine, or if you will you may mixe with the lées of Wine either Goats-milke, or Cowes-milke, and power it into the holes and it will nourish the Vine excéedingly, and not the Vine onely, but all sorts of dainty grafted Plumbes, especially Peaches. {SN: Of proyning the Vine.} Now for proyning the Vine, you shall vnderstand that it is euer to be done after the fall of the leafe, when the sappe is desended downeward, for if you shall proyne, or cut him, either in the spring, or when the sappe is aloft, it will bléede so excéedingly, that with great difficulty you shall saue the body of the trée from dying: and, in proyning of the Vine you shall obserue two things, the first, that you cut away all superfluous cyons and branches, both aboue and below, which either grow disorderly aboue, or fruitlessely below, and in cutting them you shall obserue, neither to cut the olde woode with the young cyon, nor to leaue aboue one head or leader vpon one branch: secondly, you shall in proyning, plash and spread the VINE thinnely against the wall, giuing euery seuerall branch and cyon his place, and passage, and not suffer it to grow loosely, rudely, or like a wilde thorne, out of all decency and proportion: for you must vnderstand that your Grapes doe grow euer vpon the youngest cyons, and if of them you shall preserue too many, questionlesse for want of nourishment they will lose their vertue, and you your profit. Now if your Vine be a very olde Vine, and that his fruit doth decay, either in quantitie or proportion; if then you finde he haue any young cyons which spring from his roote, then when you proyne him you shall cut away all the olde stocke, within lesse then an handfull of the young cyons, and make them the leaders, who will prosper and continue in perfection a long time after, especially if you trimme the rootes with fresh earth, and fresh dunge. Againe, if you be carefull to looke vnto your Vine, you shall perceiue close by euery bunch of grapes certaine small thridde-like cyons, which resemble twound wyars, curling and turning in many rings, these also take from the grapes very much nutriment, so that it shall be a labour very well imployd to cut them away as you perceiue them. {SN: Experiments of the Vine.} Now from the Vine there is gathered sundry experiments, as to haue it tast more pleasant then the true nature of the grape, and to smell in the mouth odoriferously, or as if it were perfumed, which may be done in this sort: Take damaske-Rose-water and boyle therein the powder of Cloaues, Cynamon, thrée graines of Amber, and one of Muske, and when it is come to be somewhat thicke, take a round goudge and make a hole in the maine stocke of the Vine, full as déepe as the hart thereof, and then put therein this medicine, then stopping the hole with Cypresse, or Iuniper, lay gréene-waxe thereupon, and binde a linnen cloath about it, and the next grapes which shall spring from that Vine will tast as if they were preserued or perfumed. If you will haue grapes without stones, you shall take your plants and plant the small ends downeward and be assured your desire is attained. The Vine naturally of himselfe doth not bring forth fruit till it haue béene thrée yéeres planted: but if euening and morning for the first month you will bath his roote with Goats-milke or Cowes-milke, it will beare fruit the first yéere of his planting. Lastly, you may if you please graft one Vine vpon another, as the swéet vpon the sower, as the Muskadine grape, or gréeke, vpon the Rochell or Burdeaux, the Spanish, or Iland grape, on the Gascoyne, and the Orleance vpon any at all: and these compositions are the best, and bring forth both the greatest and pleasantest grapes: therefore whensoeuer you will graft one grape vpon another, you shall doe it in the beginning of Ianuary, in this sort: first, after you haue chosen and trimmed your grafts, which in all sorts must be like the grafts of other fruits, then with a sharpe knife, you shall cleaue the head of the Vine, as you doe other stockes and then put in your graft, or cyon, being made as thinne as may be and sée that the barkes and sappes ioyne euen and close together, then clay it, mosse it, and couer it, as hath béene before declared. {SN: The medicining of the Vine.} If your Vine grow too ranke and thicke of leaues, so that the sappe doth wast it selfe in them, and you thereby lose the profit of the fruit, you shall then bare all the rootes of the Vine, and cast away the earth, filling vp the place againe with sand & ashes mingled together: but if the Vine be naturally of it selfe barraine, then with a goudge you shall make a hole halfe way through the maine body of the Vine, and driue into the hole a round pible stone, which although it goe straitly in, yet it may not fill vp the hole, but that the sicke humour of the Vine may passe thorrow thereat: then couer the roote with rich earth, and Oxe dunge mixt together, and once a day for a month water it with olde pisse, or vrine of a man, and it will make the trée fruitfull: if the Vine be troubled with Wormes, Snailes, Ants, Earewigges, or such like, you shall morning and euening sprinckle it ouer with cowes-pisse and vinegar mixt together & it will helpe it: & thus much for ordering the Vine. CHAP. IX. _The office of the Fruiterrer, or the Gatherer, and keeper, of Fruit._ After you haue planted euery seuerall quarter, allye, and border within your Orchard, with euery seuerall fruit proper vnto his place, and that you haue placed them in that orderly and comely equipage which may giue most delight to the eye, profit to the trée, and commendations to the workeman, (according to the forme and order prescribed in the first Chapter) and that now the blessing of the highest, time, and your indeuours hath brought forth the haruest and recompence of your trauell, so that you behould the long-expected fruit hang vpon the trées, as it were in their ripenesse, wooing you to plucke, tast, and to deliuer them from the wombes of their parents, it is necessary then that you learne the true office of the Fruiterer, who is in due season and time to gather those fruits which God hath sent him: for as in the husbanding of our grayne if the Husbandman be neuer so carefull, or skilfull, in ploughing, dungging, sowing, wéeding and preseruing his crop, yet in the time of haruest be negligent, neither regarding the strength or ripnesse thereof, or in the leading and mowing respects not whether it be wet or dry, doth in that moments space loose the wages of his whole yéeres trauell, getting but durt from durt, and losse from his negligence: so in like case houlds it with all other fruits, if a man with neuer so great care and cost procure, yet if he be inrespectiue in the gathering, all his former businesse is vaine and to no purpose; and therefore I hould nothing more necessary then the relation of this office of the Fruiterer, which is the consummation and onely hope of our cost, and diligence, teaching vs to gather wisely what wée haue planted wearily, and to eate with contentment what we haue preserued with care. {SN: Of gathering and preseruing Cherries.} Know then, that of all fruits (for the most part) the Cherry is the soonest ripe, as being one of the oldest children of the summer, and therefore first of all to be spoken of in this place, yet are not all Cherries ripe at one instant, but some sooner then other some, according to the benefit of the Sunne, the warmth of the ayre, and the strength of sappe in the branch on which the Cherry hangeth: they are a fruit tender and pleasant, and therefore much subiect to be deuoured and consumed with Byrds of the smallest kindes, as Sparrowes, Robins, Starlings, and such like, especially the Iay, and the Bull-finch, who deuoure them stones and all, euen so fast as they rypen: for preuention whereof; if you haue great abundance of Cherry trées, as maine holts that be either one or many akers in compasse, you shall then in diuers places of your holts, as well in the midst, as out-corners, cause to be errected vp certaine long poales of Fyrre, or other woode, which may mount somewhat aboue the toppes of the trées, and one the toppes of those poales you shall place certaine clappe-milles made of broken trenchers ioyned together like sayles, which being moued and carryed about with the smallest ayre, may haue vnderneath the sayles a certaine loose little board, against which euery sayle may clap and make a great noyse, which will afright and scare the Byrds from your trées: these milles you shall commonly sée in Husbandmens yards placed on their stackes or houells of Corne, which doth preserue them from fowle and vermine: but for want of these clap-milles you must haue some boy or young fellow that must euery morning from the dawning of the day till the Sunne be more then an houre high, and euery euening from fiue of the clocke till nine, runne vp and downe your ground, whooping, showtying, and making of a great noyse, or now and then shooting of some Harquebush, or other Péece: but by no meanes to vse slings or throwing of stones, least by the miscarriage of his hand hée either beate downe the fruit or bruise the trees. In this sort hauing preserued your Cherries from destruction, you shall then know there ripenesse by their colours, for euer those which are most red, are most ripe, and when you sée any that are ripe, you shall take a light ladder, made either of fyrre or sallow, and setting it carefully against the branches, so as you neither bruise them nor the fruit, you shall gather those you finde ripe, not taking the fruit from the stalke, but nipping the stalke and fruit both together from the trée: also you shall be carefull in gathering to handle or touch the Cherry so little as may be, but the stalke onely, especially if your hands be hot, or sweaty, for that will change the colour of your Cherries, and make them looke blacke: if there be any ripe Cherries which hang out of the reach of your hands, then you shall haue a fine small gathering hooke of woode, whose bout shall be made round, and smooth, for nipping the barke of the branches, and with it you shall gently pull vnto you those branches you cannot reach: you shall also haue a little round basket of almost a foote déepe, made with a siue bottome, hauing a handle thwarte the toppe, to which a small hooke being fastned, you shall with that hooke hang the basket by you on some conuenient cyon, and as you gather the Cherries, gently lay them downe into the same, and when you haue filled your basket you shall descend and empty it into larger great baskets made of the same fashion, with siue bottomes, and hauing vnderneath two broad lathes or splinters, at least thrée fingers broad a péece, within foure inches one of the other, and going both one way crosse ouerthwart the basket, that if either man or woman shall carry them vpon their heads, which is the best manner of cariage, then the splinters may defend the bottome of the basket from the head of the party, and kéepe the Cherries from hurt or bruising, and if you haue occasion to carry your Cherries farre, and that the quantitie grow beyond the support of a man, then you shall packe them in hampers or panniers made with false bottoms like siues, and finely lyned on the out side with white straw, and so being closely trust on each side a Horses-backe, to carry them whether you please. You shall by no meanes suffer your Cherries to lye in any great or thicke heapes one vpon another, but vntill you sell them, or vse them, lay them as thinne as may be, because they are apt of themselues to sweat and catch heate, and that heate doth soone depriue them of the glory of their colour. When you gather any Cherries to preserue, you shall gather those which are the greatest, the ripest, you shall pull them from their stalkes one by one, and vse them at furthest within xxiiij. howers after the time they are gotten. {SN: The gathering of stone Fruit.} {SN: Of gathering hard Plumbes.} {SN: Of keeping of Plumbes.} For the gathering of Plumbes in generall, it is in the same manner as you did gather your Cherries, both with such a like ladder, such a like hooke, and such like vessels, onely some more speciall obseruations are to be obserued in gathering your dainty grafted Plumbes, then of the others, which are of a more hard and induring nature. You shall know then that for gathering of Abricots, Peaches, Date-Plumbes, and such like grafted Plumbes, you shall duely consider when they are perfectly ripe, which you shall not iudge by their dropping from the trée, which is a signe of ouer-much ripnesse, tending to rottennesse, but by the true mixture of their colour, and perfect change from their first complexion: for when you shall perceiue that there is no gréenenesse nor hardnesse in their out-sides, no, not so much as at the setting on of the stalke, you may then iudge that they are ready to be gathered, and for a perfecter tryall thereof you may if you please, take one which you thinke ripest from the trée, and opening it if you sée the stone comes cleane and dry away and not any of the in-part of the fruit cleauing vnto it, then you may assure your selfe that the fruit is ready to be gathered, which you shall with great deligence and care gather, not by any meanes laying one Plumbe vpon another, but each seuerally by another, for these dainty Plumbes are naturally so tender that the least touch, though of themselues, doth bruise them, and occasion rottennesse. Now when you haue gathered them, if either you haue desire to send them any iourney, as in gratulation to your friends, or for other priuate commoditie, you shall take some close, smooth, boxe, answerable to the store of fruit you are to send, and first line it within all ouer with white paper, then lay your Plumbes one by one all ouer the bottome of the boxe, then couering them all ouer with white paper, lay as many moe vpon the toppe of them, and couer them likewise with paper, as before, and so lay row vpon row with papers betwéene them, vntill the boxe be sufficiently filled, and then closing it vp sende it whether you please, and they will take the least hurt, whereas if you should line the boxe either with hay or straw, the very skinnes are so tender that the straw would print into them and bruise them excéedingly, and to lay any other soft thing about them, as either wooll or bumbast, is excéeding euill, because it heateth the Plumbes, and maketh them sweat, through which they both loose their colour and rot spéedily. As touching the gathering of Plumbes when they are hard, and to ripen them afterward by laying them vpon nettles, to which consenteth the most of our London-Fruiterrers, I am vtterly against the opinion, because I both know Nature to be the perfectest worke-Mistris, and where she is abridged of her power there euer to follow disorders and imperfections, as also that when such things are done, as it were through an ouer-hasty constraint, there cannot procéede any thing but abortiuenesse, and a distastfull rellish: from whence I thinke it comes to passe that in London a man shall very seldome tast a delicate or well rellisht Plumbe, vnlesse it be from such as hauing fruit of their owne, make no commoditie thereof more then their owne pleasures: yet thus much I would perswade euery one, that if they haue moe Plumbes ripe at once then they can vse, or spend, that then after they are gathered, to spread them thinnely vpon Nettles or Vine-trée leaues, and it will preserue them sound and well coloured a long time together, but if your store be so superabundant that in no reasonable time you can spend them, then what you doe not preserue, or make Godiniake, or Maruulade of, the rest you shall take and sprinkling them ouer with swéet-worte, or growt, and then laying them one by one (yet so as they may not touch one another) vpon hurdles or fleakes made of wands, or twigges, and put them into an Ouen after bread or Pyes haue béene taine thereout, and so leasurely dry them, and they will not onely last, but tast pleasantly all the yéere after: and in this sort you may vse all kindes of Plumbes, or Peares, whatsoeuer. Now for the gathering of the other ordinary sorts of vngrafted Plumbes, which haue both much stronger rindes, and are lesse subiect to rotting, you shall gather them, carry, or transport them, in the same manner that you did your Cherries, onely in these, as in all other sorts of fruit whatsoeuer, you shall not omit neuer to gather, or pull them from the trée, till the dewe be dryed cleane both from the grasse and from the trées, and that the day be dry, faire, and full of sunne-shine: for the least wet or moisture doth canker and rot the fruit. {SN: Of the gathering of Peares.} As touching the gathering of Peares, though sundry Fruiterrers obserue sundry wayes in gathering them, as some making more hast then good-spéed, as either to haue the first tast, or the first profit, some vsing more negligence, thincking their store so great it will neuer be consumed, and some so curious that they will not gather till the Peares fall into their bosomes, all which are dispraiseable fashions, yet I for my part would euer aduise all diligent husbands to obserue a mediocritie, and take the fittest season for the gathering of his fruit: as thus for example. If because you are vnexperienced or vnacquainted with the fruit you doe not know the due time of his ripening, you shall obserue the colour of the Peare, and if you sée it doe alter, either in part, or in all, you shall be assured the fruit is neare ripening, for Peares doe neuer change their colours, but when they doe desire to be taken from the trée: and of all fruit the Peare may be gathered the hardest, because both his owne naturall heate and peculiar quallittie will ripen him best with lying: yet to be more strongly fortefied in the knowledge of the ripenesse of your fruit, and because it is better to get a day too late, then an hower to earely, you shall before you gather your Peares, whether they be Summer fruit or Winter fruit, or whether you meane to spend them soone or preserue them long, take one of them from the trée, which is neither the ripest nor the gréenest, but betwixt both, and cut it through the midst with your knife, not longwise, but ouerthwart, and then looke into the coare where the kirnells lye, and if it be hollow so as the kirnells lye as it were hollow therein, the neather ends thereof being turned either blacke, or blackish, albeit the complexion of the Peare be little, or not at all altered, yet the Peares haue their full growth, and may very well be gathered: then laying them either vpon a bedde of ferne, or straw, one vpon another, in great thicknesse, their owne naturall heate will in short space ripen them, which you shall perceiue both by the spéedy changing of their colour, & the strength of their smell, which will be excéeding suffocating, which as soone as you perceiue, you shall then spread them thinner and thinner, vntill they be all ripe, and then lay them one by one, in such sort as they may not touch one another, and then they will last much the longer, you shall also after they be ripe, neither suffer them to haue straw nor ferne vnder them, but lay them either vpon some smooth table, boards or fleakes of wands, and they will last the longer. {SN: Of transporting, or carrying of Peares farre.} If you be to carry or transport Peares farre, you shall then gather them so much the sooner, and not suffer any ripe one to be amongst them, and then lyning great wicker baskets (such as will hould at least quarters a péece) finely within with white-straw, fill them vp with Peares, and then couer them with straw, and corde them aboue, and you may either transport them by land or Sea, whether you please, for they will ripen in their cariage: but when you come to your place of residence, then you must néeds vnpacke them and spread them thinner, or else they will rot and consume in a sodaine. {SN: Of gathering diuersly.} There be sundry wayes of gathering Peares, or other fruit, as namely, to climbe into the trée and to haue a basket with a line fastned thereto, and so when it is filled to let it downe, and cause it to be emptied, which labour though some of our southerne Fruiterers doe not much commend, yet for mine owne part I doe not sée much errour therein, but that it is both allowable and conuenient, both because it neither bruiseth the fruit, nor putteth the gatherer to any extraordinary labour, onely the imaginary euill is, that by climbing vp into the trée, hée that gathereth the fruit may indanger the breaking, slipping, and disbranching of many of the young cyons, which bréedeth much hurt and damage to the trée, but iudgement, and care, which ought to be apropriate to men of this quallitie, is a certaine preuenter of all such mischeifes. Now for such as in gathering of their fruit doe euery time that the basket is full bring it downe themselues from the trée, and empty it by powring the fruit rudely, and boystrously forth, or for beating of fruit downe with long poales, loggets, or such like, they are both most vilde and preposterous courses, the first being full of too much foolish and carelesse trouble, the latter of too much disorder, & cruelty, ruyning in a moment what hath béene many yéeres in building: as for the climbing the trée with a ladder, albeit it be a very good way for the gathering of fruit, yet if it be neuer so little indiscréetly handled, it as much hazardeth the breaking and bruising both of the fruit and the small cyons, as either climbing the trée, or any other way whatsoeuer. {SN: The gathering of Apples.} Now for the gathering of your Apples: you shall vnderstand that your summer fruit, as your Ieniting, Wibourne, and such like, are first to be gathered, whose ripenesse, you may partly know by the change of colour, partly by the pecking of Birds, but cheifely by the course formerly discribed for your knowledge of the ripenesse of the Peare, which is the hollownesse of coare, and liberty of the kirnell onely, and when you doe perceiue they are ripe, you shall gather them in such wise as hath béene declared for the gathering of your Peares, without respecting the state of the Moone, or any such like obseruation, but when you come to gather your Winter-fruit, which is the Pippin, Peare-maine, Russetting, Blacke-annat, and such like, you shall in any wise gather them in the wane of the Moone, and, as before I said, in the dryest season that may be, and if it be so that your store be so great that you cannot gather all in that season, yet you shall get so much of your principall fruit, the youngest and fairest, as is possible to be gotten, and preserue it for the last which you intend either to spend, or vtter. Now for the manner of gathering your Apples I doe not thinke you can amend or approue a better way then that which hath béene discribed for the gathering of Peares, yet some of our late practitioners (who thinke themselues not cunning if they be not curious) dislike that way, and will onely haue a gathering apron, into which hauing gathered their fruit, they doe empty it into larger vessells: this gathering apron is a strong péece of Canuas at least an ell euery way, which hauing the vpper end made fast about a mans necke, & the neather end with thrée loopes, that is, one at each corner, & one in the midst, through which you shall put a string, and binde it about your waste, in so much that both the sides of your apron being open you may put your fruit therein with which hand you please: this manner of gathering Apples is not amisse, yet in my conceit the apron is so small a defence for the Apples, that if it doe but knocke against the boughes as you doe moue your selfe, it cannot chuse but bruise the fruit very much, which ought euer to be auoyded: therefore still I am of this opinion, there is no better way, safer, nor more easie, then gathering them into a small basket, with a long line thereat, as hath béene before declared in the gathering of Peares. Now you shall carefully obserue in empting one basket into another, that you doe it so gently as may be, least in powring them out too rudely the stalkes of the fruit doe pricke one another, which although it doe appeare little or nothing at the first, yet it is the first ground, cause, and beginning of rottennesse, and therefore you shall to your vttermost power gather your Apples with as small stalkes as may be, so they haue any at all, which they must néedes haue, because that as too bigge stalkes doth pricke and bruise the fruit, so to haue none at all makes the fruit rot first in the place where the stalke should be: you shall also kéepe your fruit cleane from leaues, for they being gréene and full of moisture, when by reason of their lying close together they beginne to wither they strike such an heate into the Apples, that they mil-dew and rot instantly. {SN: Of Fallings.} {SN: Of carriage and keeping Fruit.} As touching your Fallings, which are those Apples which fall from your trées, either through too much ripenesse, or else through the violence of winde, or tempests, you shall by no meanes match them, or mixe them, with your gathered fruit, for they can by no meanes last or indure so long, for the latter which falleth by force of winde, wanting the true nourishment of the earth and the kindly ripening vpon the trée, must necessarily shrinke wither, and grow riuelled, so that your best course is to spend them presently, with all spéede possible: for the other which hath too much ripenesse from the earth, and the trée, though it be much better then the other, yet it cannot be long lasting, both because it is in the falling bruised, and also hath too much ripenesse, which is the first steppe to rottennesse, so that they must likewise be spent with all expedition. For the carriage of your Apples, if the place be not farre whether you should carry them, you shall then in those large baskets into which you last emptied them, carry them vpon cole-staues, or stangs, betwixt two men, and hauing brought them carefully into your Apple-loft, power them downe gently vpon bedds of ferne or straw, and lay them in reasonable large heapes, euery sort of Apples seuerall by themselues, without mixture, or any confusion: and for such Apples as you would haue to ripen soone, you shall couer them all ouer with ferne also, but for such as you would haue take all possible leasure in ripening, those you shall lay neither vpon ferne, nor straw, but vpon the bare boards, nay, if you lay them vpon a plaster floare (which is of all floares the coldest) till Saint Andrewes tide, it is not amisse, but very profitable, and the thinner you lay them so much the better. Now if you haue any farre iourney to carry your Apples, either by land, or by water, then trimming and lyning the insides of your baskets with ferne, or wheat-straw wouen as it were cleane through the basket, you shall packe, couer, and cord vp your Apples, in such sort as you did your Peares, and there is no danger in the transportation of them, be it by shippe, cart, waggon, or horse-backe. If you be inforced to packe sundry sorts of Apples in one basket, sée that betwixt euery sort you lay a diuision of straw, or ferne, that when they are vnpackt, you may lay them againe seuerally: but if when they are vnpackt, for want of roome you are compeld to lay some sorts together, in any wise obserue to mixe those sorts together which are nearest of taste, likest of colour, and all of one continuance in lasting: as for the packing vp of fruit in hogsheads, or shooting them vnder hatches when you transport them by Sea, I like neither of the courses, for the first is too close, and nothing more then the want of ayre doth rot fruit, the other is subiect to much wet, when the breach of euery Sea indangereth the washing of the Apples, and nothing doth more certainely spoyle them. The times most vnseasonable for the transporting of fruit, is either in the month of March, or generally in any frosty weather, for if the sharpe coldenesse of those ayres doe touch the fruit, it presently makes them looke blacke, and riuelled, so that there is no hope of their continuance. The place where you shall lay your fruit must neither be too open, nor too close, yet rather close then open, it must by no meanes be low vpon the ground, nor in any place of moistnesse: for moisture bréedes fustinesse, and such naughty smells easily enter into the fruit, and taint the rellish thereof, yet if you haue no other place but some low cellar to lay your fruit in, then you shall raise shelues round about, the nearest not within two foote of the ground, and lay your Apples thereupon, hauing them first lyned, either with swéet Rye-straw, Wheate-straw, or dry ferne: as these vndermost roomes are not the best, so are the vppermost, if they be vnséeld, the worst of all other, because both the sunne, winde, and weather, peircing through the tiles, doth annoy and hurt the fruit: the best roome then is a well séeld chamber, whose windowes may be shut and made close at pleasure, euer obseruing with straw to defend the fruit from any moist stone wall, or dusty mudde wall, both which are dangerous annoyances. {SN: The seperating of Fruit.} Now for the seperating of your fruit, you shall lay those nearest hand, which are first to be spent, as those which will last but till Alhallontide, as the Cisling, Wibourne, and such like, by themselues: those which will last till Christmas, as the Costard, Pome-water, Quéene-Apple, and such like: those which will last till Candlemas, as the Pome-de-roy, Goose-Apple, and such like, and those which will last all the yéere, as the Pippin, Duzin, Russetting, Peare-maine, and such like, euery one in his seuerall place, & in such order that you may passe from bed to bed to clense or cast forth those which be rotten or putrefied at your pleasure, which with all diligence you must doe, because those which are tainted will soone poyson the other, and therefore it is necessary as soone as you sée any of them tainted, not onely to cull them out, but also to looke vpon all the rest, and deuide them into thrée parts, laying the soundest by themselues, those which are least tainted by themselues, and those which are most tainted by themselues, and so to vse them all to your best benefit. Now for the turning of your longest lasting fruit, you shall know that about the latter end of December is the best time to beginne, if you haue both got and kept them in such sort as is before sayd, and not mixt fruit of more earely ripening amongst them: the second time you shall turne them, shall be about the end of February, and so consequently once euery month, till Penticost, for as the yéere time increaseth in heate so fruit growes more apt to rot: after Whitsontide you shall turne them once euery fortnight, alwayes in your turning making your heapes thinner and thinner; but if the weather be frosty then stirre not your fruit at all, neither when the thaw is, for then the fruit being moist may by no meanes be touched: also in wet weather fruit will be a little dankish, so that then it must be forborne also, and therefore when any such moistnesse hapneth, it is good to open your windowes and let the ayre dry your fruit before it be turned: you may open your windowe any time of the yéere in open weather, as long as the sunne is vpon the skye, but not after, except in March onely, at what time the ayre and winde is so sharpe that it tainteth and riuelleth all sorts of fruits whatsoeuer. {SN: To keepe Fruit in frost.} If the frost be very extreame, and you feare the indangering your fruit, it is good to couer them somewhat thicke with fine hay, or else to lay them couered all ouer either in Barley-chaffe, or dry Salte: as for the laying them in chests of Iuniper, or Cipresse, it is but a toy, and not worth the practise: if you hang Apples in nettes within the ayre of the fire it will kéepe them long, but they will be dry and withered, and will loose their best rellish. {SN: Of Wardens.} Now for the gathering, kéeping, ordering, and preseruing of Wardens, they are in all sorts and in all respects to be vsed as you doe vse your Peares, onely you are to consider that they are a fruit of a much stronger constitution, haue a much thicker skinne, and will endure much harder season: neither ought you to séeke to ripen them in hast, or before the ordinary time of their owne nature, and therefore to them you shall vse neither straw, ferne, nor hay, but onely dry boards to lay them vpon, and no otherwise. {SN: Of Medlars and Seruices.} For your Medlars, you shall gather them about the midst of October, after such time as the frost hath nipt and bitten them, for before they will not be ready, or loosen from the stalke, and then they will be nothing ripe, but as hard as stones, for they neuer ripen vpon the trée, therefore as soone as you haue gathered them, you shall packe them into some close vessell, and couer them all ouer, and round about, with thicke woollen cloathes, and about the cloathes good store of hay, and some other waight of boards, or such like vpon them, all which must bring them into an extreame heate, without which they will neuer ripen kindely, because their ripenesse is indéed perfect rottennesse: and after they haue layne thus, at least a fornight, you shall then looke vpon them, and turning them ouer, such as you finde ripe you shall take away, the rest you shall let remaine still, for they will not ripen all at once, and those which are halfe ripe you shall also remoue into a third place, least if you should kéepe them together, they should beginne to grow mouldy before the other were ready; and in the selfe same manner as you vse your Medlars, so you shall vse your Seruices, and they will ripen most kindely: or if you please to sticke them betwixt large clouen stickes, and to sprinckle a little olde beare vpon them, and so set them in a close roome, they will ripen as kindely as any other way whatsoeuer. {SN: Of Quinces.} Now for Quinces, they are a fruit which by no meanes you may place neare any other kinde of fruit, because their sent is so strong and peircing, that it will enter into any fruit, and cleane take way his naturall rellish: the time of their gathering is euer in October, and the méetest place to lay them in is where they may haue most ayre, so they may lye dry (for wet they can by no meanes indure,) also they must not lye close, because the smell of them is both strong & vnwholsome: the beds whereon they must lye must be of swéet straw, and you must both turne them and shift them very often, or else they will rot spéedily: for the transporting or carying them any long iourney, you must vse them in all things as you vse your Peares, & the carriage will be safe. {SN: Of Nuts.} For Nuts, of what sort soeuer they be, you shall know they are ripe as soone as you perceiue them a little browne within the huske, or as it were ready to fall out of the same, the skill therefore in preseruing of them long from drynesse, is all that can be desired at the Fruiterers hands: for as touching the gathering of them, there is no scruple to be obserued, more then to gather them cleane from the trée, with the helpe of hookes and such like, for as touching the bruising of them, the shell is defence sufficient. After they be gathered, you shall shale them, and take them cleane out of their huskes, and then for preseruing them from either Wormes or drynesse, it shall be good to lay them in some low cellar, where you may couer them with sand, being first put into great bagges or bladders: some french-men are of opinion that if you put them into vessels made of Wal-nut-trée, and mixe Iuy-berries amongst them, it will preserue them moist a long time: others thinke, but I haue found it vncertaine, that to preserue Nuts in Honey will kéepe them all the yéere as gréene, moist, and pleasant, as when they hung vpon the trée: The Dutch-men vse (and it is an excellent practise) to take the crusht Crabbes (after your verdiuyce is strained out of them) and to mixe it with their Nuts, and so to lay them in heapes, and it will preserue them long: or otherwise if they be to be transported, to put them into barrells and to lay one layre of crusht Crabbes, and another of Nuts, vntill the barrell be filled, and then to close them vp, and set them where they may stand coole. But aboue all these foresayd experiments, the best way for the preseruing of Nuts is to put them into cleane earthen pots, and to mixe with them good store of salt and then closing the pots close, to set them in some coole cellar, and couer them all ouer with sand, and there is no doubt but they will kéepe coole, pleasant, and moist, vntill new come againe, which is a time fully conuenient. {SN: Of Grapes.} Now to conclude, for the kéeping of Grapes, you shall first vnderstand that the best time for their gathering is in the wane of the Moone, and about the midst of October, as for the knowledge of his ripenesse it is euer at such time as his first colour is cleane altered, for all Grapes before they be ripe are of a déepe, thicke, greene, colour, but after they be ripe, they are either of a blewish redde, or of a bright shining pale gréene. Now for the preseruing them for our english vse, which is but onely for a fruit-dish at our Tables, for neither our store, nor our soyle, affords vs any for the wine-presse, some thinke it good, after they are gotten, to lay them in fine dry sand, or to glasse them vp in close glasses, where the ayre cannot peirce, will kéepe them long, both full, plumpe, and swéet, but in my conceit the best course is after they are gotten to hang them vpon strings bunch by bunch, in such places of your house as they may take the ayre of the fire, and they will last longest, and kéepe the swéetest. CHAP. X. _Of the making of Cyder, or Perry._ Cyder is a certaine liquor or drinke made of the iuyce of Apples, and Perrye the like, made of Peares, they are of great vse in France, and very wholsome for mans body, especially at the Sea, and in hot Countries: for they are coole and purgatiue, and doe preuent burning agues: with vs here in England Cyder is most made in the West parts, as about Deuon-shire & Cornwaile, & Perry in Worcester-shire, Glocester-shire, & such like, where indéede the greatest store of those kindes of fruits are to be found: the manner of making them is, after your fruit is gotten, you shall take euery Apple, or Peare, by it selfe, and looking vpon them, picke them cleane from all manner of filthinesse, as bruisings, rottennesse, worme-eating, and such like, neither leaue vpon them any stalkes, or the blacke buddes which are and grow vpon the tops of the fruit, which done you shall put them in to some very cleane vessell, or trough, and with béetells, made for the purpose, bruise or crush the Apples or Peares in péeces, & so remoue them into other cleane vessells, till all the fruit be bruised: then take a bagge of hayre-cloath, made at least a yard, or thrée quarters, square, and filling it full of the crusht fruit, put it in a presse of woode, made for the purpose, and presse out all the iuyce and moisture out of the fruit, turning and tossing the bagge vp and downe, vntill there be no more moisture to runne forth, and so baggefull after baggefull cease not vntill you haue prest all: wherein you are especially to obserue, that your vessells into which you straine your fruit be excéeding neate, swéet, and cleane, and there be no place of ill fauour, or annoyance neare them, for the liquour is most apt, especially Cyder, to take any infection. As soone as your liquor is prest forth and hath stoode to settle, about twelue houres, you shall then turne it vp into swéet hogsheads, as those which haue had in them last, either White-wine or Clarret, as for the Sacke vessell it is tollerable, but not excellent: you may also if you please make a small long bagge of fine linnen cloath, and filling it full of the powder of Cloues, Mace, Cynamon, Ginger, and the dry pils of Lemons, and hang it with a string at the bung-hole into the vessell, and it will make either the Cyder, or Perry, to tast as pleasantly as if it were Renish-wine, and this being done you shall clay vp the bung-hole with clay and salt mixt together, so close as is possible. And thus much for the making of Perry or Cyder. CHAP. XI. _Of the Hoppe-garden, and first of the ground and situation thereof._ {SN: Fit ground for Hoppes.} That the Hoppe is of great vse and commoditie in this kingdome, both the Beare, which is the generall and perfect drinke of our Nation, and our dayly traffique, both with France, the low-Countries, and other nations, for this commoditie, is a continuall testimony, wherefore the first thing to be considered of in this worke, is the goodnesse and aptnesse of the ground for the bringing forth of the fruit thereof, wherein I thus farre consent with Maister _Scot_, that I doe not so much respect the writings, opinions, and demonstrations, of the Gréeke, Latine, or French authors, who neuer were acquainted with our soyles, as I doe the dayly practise and experience which I collect, both from my owne knowledge, and the labours of others my Countrymen, best séene and approued in this Art: therefore to come to my purpose, you shal vnderstand that the light sand, whether it be redde or white, being simple and vnmixed is most vnfit for the planting of Hoppes, because that through the barrainenesse, it neither hath comfort for the roote, nor through his seperate lightnesse, any strong hould to maintaine and kéepe vp the poales: likewise the most fertill rich, blacke clay, which of all soyles is the best and most fruitfull, is not to be allowed for a Hoppe garden, because his fatnesse and iuyce is so strong that the roote being as it were ouer-fedde, doth make the branches bring forth leaues in such infinite abundance that they leaue neither strength nor place for the fruit, either to knit, or put forth his treasure, as I haue séene by experience in many places: as for the earth which is of a morish, blacke, wet nature, and lyeth low, although I haue often times séene good Hoppes to grow thereupon, being well trencht, and the hils cast high to the best aduantage, yet it is not the principall ground of all others, because it is neuer long lasting, but apt to decay and grow past his strength of bearing. The grounds then which I haue generally séene to beare the best Hoppes, and whose natures doe the longest continue with such fruit, are those mixt earthes which are clayes with clayes, as blacke with white, or clayes and sands of any sorts, wherein the soyle is so corrected as neither too much fatnesse doth suffocate, nor too much leannesse doth pine: for I had euer rather haue my Hoppe-garden desire increase, then continually labour in abatement. And although some doe excéedingly condemne the chauke-ground for this vse, yet I haue not at any time séene better Hoppes, or in more plenty, then in such places, as at this day may be séene in many places about Hartford-shire. To conclude, though your best mixt earths bring forth the best Hoppes, yet there is no soyle, or earth, of what nature soeuer it be (if it lye frée from inundation) but will bring forth good Hoppes, if it be put into the hands of an experienced workman. {SN: Of the Situation.} Now, for the situation or site of your Hoppe-garden: you shall so neare as you can place it neare some couer or shelter, as either of hils, houses, high-walles, woodes or trées, so those woodes or trées be not so neare that they may drop vpon your Hoppe hils, for that will kill them: also the nearer it is planted to your dwelling house it is somuch the better, both because the vigilance of your owne eye is a good guarde thereunto, and also the labours of your work-Maister will be more carefull and diligent. A Hop-garden as it delighteth much in the pleasantnesse of the sunne, so it cannot endure by any meanes, the sharpenesse of the windes, frosts, or Winter weather, and therefore your onely care is your defence and shelter. For the bignesse of your ground, it must be ordered according to your abillitie or place of trade for that commoditie, for if you shall haue them but for your owne vse, then a roode or two roodes will be inough, albeit your house kéeping match with Nobillitie: but if you haue them for a more particuler profit, then you may take an Aker, two or thrée, according to your owne discretion; wherein you shall euer kéepe these obseruations: that one mans labour cannot attend aboue two thousand fiue hundred hils, that euery roode will beare two hundred and fiftie hils, euery hill beare at least two pounds and an halfe of Hoppes, (which is the iust quantitie that will serue to brew one quarter of Malt) and that euery hundred waight of Hoppes, is at the least, in a reasonable yéere, worth foure-nobles the hundred: so that euery roode of ground thus imployed, cannot be lesse worth, at the meanest reckoning, then sixe pounds by the yéere: for if the ground be principall good for the purpose, and well ordered, the profit will be much greater, in as much as the bells of the Hoppes will be much greater, full, and more waighty: And thus much for the ground and situation. CHAP. XII. _Of the ordering of the Garden, and placing of the Hils._ As soone as you haue chosen out your platforme of ground, you shal either by ploughing, or digging, or by both, make it as flat & leuell as is possible, vnlesse it be any thing subiect vnto water, and then you shall giue it some small desent, and with little trenches conuaye the water from annoying it: you shall also the yéere before you either make hill or plant it with Hoppe-rootes, sowe it all ouer with hempe, which will not onely kill, and stifle all sorts of wéeds, but also rot the gréene-swarth, and make the mould mellow, and apt to receiue the rootes when they come to be planted. Now, as soone as your ground is thus prepared, you shall then take a line, and with it measure your ground ouerthwart, and to euery hill allow at least thrée foote of ground euery way, and betwixt hill and hill, at the least sixe foote distance: and when you haue marked thus the number of thirty or forty places, where your hils shall be placed, intending euer that the time of yéere for this worke must be about the beginning of Aprill, you shall then in the center, or midde part of these places made for the site of your hils, digge small square holes of a foote square each way, and a full foote déepe, and in these holes you shall set your Hoppe-rootes, that is to say, in euery hole at least thrée rootes, and these thrée rootes you shall ioyne together in such wise that the toppes of them may be of one equall height, and agréeing with the face or vpper part of the earth, you shall set them straight and vpright, and not seperating them, as many doe, and setting at each corner of the hole a roote, neither shall you twist them, and set both ends vpward, nor lay them flat or crosse-wise in the earth, neither shall you make the hils first and set the rootes after, nor immediately vpon the setting cast great hils vpon them, all which are very vilde wayes for the setting of Hoppes, but, as before I sayd, hauing ioyned your rootes together, you shall place them straight and vpright, and so holding them in one hand, with the other put the moulds close, firme, and perfectly about them, especially to each corner of the hole, which done you shall likewise couer the sets themselues all ouer with fine moulds, at least two fingers thicke, and in this sort you shall plant all your garden quite ouer, making the sites for your hill to stand in rowes and rankes, in such order that you may haue euery way betwéene the hils small alleyes and passages, wherein you may goe at pleasure from hill to hill, without any trouble or annoyance, according to that forme which I haue before prescribed touching the placing of your Apple-trées in each seuerall quarter in your Orchard: and herein you are to vnderstand, that in this first yéere of planting your Hoppe-garden you shall by no meanes fashion or make any great hils, but onely raise that part of the earth where your plants are set, some two or thrée fingers higher then the ordinary ground. {SN: The choise of Rootes.} Now, before I procéede any further, I thinke it not amisse to speake some thing touching the choise, gathering and trimming of Hoppe-rootes: wherefore you shall vnderstand that about the latter end of March is the best gathering of Hoppe-rootes, which so neare as you can you shall select out of some garden of good reputation, which is both carefully kept, and by a man of good knowledge, for there euery thing being preserued in his best perfection, the rootes will be the greatest and most apt to take: and in the choise of your rootes you shall euer chuse those which are the greatest, as namely, such as are at the least thrée or foure inches about, & ten inches long, let euery roote containe about thrée ioynts, and no more, and in any case let them be the cyons of the last yéeres growth: if they be perfectly good they haue a great gréene stalke with redde streakes, and a hard, broad, long, gréene, bell; if they be otherwise, as namely, wilde-Hoppes, then they are small and slender, like thriddes, their colour is all redde, euen when it is at least thrée yards high, whereas the best Hoppe carieth his reddish colour not thrée foote from the earth. Now hauing gotten such rootes as are good and fit for your purpose, if the season of the weather, or other necessitie hinder you from presently setting them, you shall then either lay them in some puddle, neare to your garden, or else bury them in the ground, vntill fit time for their planting: and of the two it is better to bury them then lay them in puddle, because if you so let them lye aboue xxiiij. houres, the rootes will be spoyled. Now after you haue in manner aforeshewed, planted your garden with rootes, it shall not be amisse, if the place be apt to such annoyance, to pricke vpon the site of euery hill a few sharpe Thornes to defend them from the scratching of poultry, or such like, which euer are busie to doe mischeife: yet of all house-fowle Géese be the worst, but if your fence be as it ought, high, strong, and close, it will both preuent their harme and this labour. {SN: Of Poales.} Next vnto this worke is the placing of Poales, of which we will first speake of the choise thereof, wherein if I discent from the opinion of other men, yet imagine I set downe no Oracle, but referre you to the experience or the practise, and so make your owne discreation the arbiter betwéene our discentions. It is the opinion of some, that Alder-poales are most proper and fit for the Hoppe-garden, both that the Hoppe taketh, as they say, a certaine naturall loue to that woode, as also that the roughnesse of the rinde is a stay & benefit to the growth of the Hoppe: to all which I doe not disagrée, but that there should be found Alder-poales of that length, as namely, xvj. or xviij. foote long, nine, or ten, inches in compasse, and with all rush-growne, straight, and fit for this vse, séemeth to mée as much as a miracle, because in my life I haue not beheld the like, neither doe I thinke our kingdome can afford it, vnlesse in some such especiall place where they are purposely kept and maintained, more to shew the art of their maintenance, then the excellency of their natures: in this one benefit, and doutlesse where they are so preserued, the cost of their preseruation amounteth to more than the goodnesse of their extraordinary quallitie, which mine author defends to the contrary, giuing them a larger prerogatiue, in that they are cheaper to the purse, more profitable to the plant, and lesse consumption to the common-wealth: but I greatly doubt in the approbation, and therefore mine aduise is not to rely onely vpon the Alder, and for his preheminence imagine all other poales insufficient: but be assured that either, the Oake-poale, the Ashe, the Béeche, the Aspe, or Maple, are euery way as good, as profitable, and by many degrées much longer lasting. {SN: The proportion of the Poale.} {SN: Of cutting and erecting Poales.} Now, if it be so that you happen to liue in the champian Country, as for the most part Northampton shire, Oxford-shire, some parts of Leycester and Rutland are, or in the wet and low Countries, as Holland, and Kesten in Lincolne-shire, or the Ile of Elye in Cambridge-shire, all which places are very barraine of woode, and yet excellent soyles to beare Hoppes, rather then to loose the commoditie of the Hoppe-garden I wish you to plant great store of Willowes, which will afforde you poales as sufficient as any of the other whatsoeuer, onely they are not so long lasting, and yet with carefull and dry keeping, I haue séene them last full out seauen yéeres, a time reasonably sufficient for any young woode, for such a vse. Thus you sée the curiositie is not very great of what woode so euer your poale be, so it be of young and cleane growth, rush-growne, (that is to say, biggest at the neather end) eightéene foote in length, and ten inches in compasse. These poales you shall cut and prepare betwixt the feast of Al-Saints, and Christmas, and so pile them vp in some dry place, where they may take no wet, vntill it be midde-Aprill, at which time (your Hoppes being shot out of the ground at least thrée quarters of a yarde, so that you may discerne the principall cyons which issue from the principall rootes) you shall then bring your poales into the garden, and lay them along in the alleyes, by euery hill so many poales as shall be sufficient for the maine branches, which happely the first yéere will not be aboue two or thrée poales at the most to a hill, but in processe of time more, as foure or fiue, according to the prosperitie of the plants, and the largenesse of the hils. After you haue thus layd your poales, you shall then beginne to set them vp in this sort: first, you shall take a gaue-locke, or crow of iron, and strike it into the earth so neare vnto the roote of the Hoppe as is possible, prouided alwayes that you doe not bruise, or touch the roote, and so stroake after stroake, cease not striking till you haue made a hoale at least two foote déepe, and make them a little slantwise inward towards the hill, that the poales in their standing may shoote outwards and hould their greatest distance in the toppes: this done you shall place the poales in those hoales, thus made with the iron crow, and with another péece of woode, made rammer-wise, that is to say, as bigge at the neather end as the biggest part of the poale, or somewhat more, you shall ramme in the poales, and beate the earth firme and hard about them: alwayes prouided, that you touch not any branch, or as little as you may beate with your rammer within betwéene the poales, onely on the out-side make them so fast that the winde, or weather, may not disorder or blow them downe: then lay to the bottome of euery poale the branch which shall ascend it, and you shall sée in a short space, how out of their owne natures, they will imbrace and climbe about them. Now, if it happen after your Hoppes are growne vp, yet not come to their full perfection, that any of your poales chance to breake, you shall then take a new poale, and with some soft gréene rushes, or the inmost gréene barke of an Alder-trée, tye the toppe of the Hoppe to the toppe of the new poale, then draw the broken poale out of the Hoppe (I meane that part which being broken lyeth vpon the ground) and as you saw it did winde about the olde poale (which is euer the same way that the sunne runnes) so you shall winde it about the new poale: then loosening the earth a little from the neather part of the broken poale, you may with your owne strength pull it cleane out of the earth, and place the new poale in his roome. Now, there be some which are excéeding curious in pulling vp these olde poales, and rather then they will shake the earth, or loosen the mould, they will make a paire of large pincers, or tarriers of iron, at least fiue foote long with sharpe téeth, and a clasping hooke to hould the téeth together, when they haue taken fast hould vpon the poale so neare the earth as is possible, and then laying a peice of woode vnder the tarriers, and poysing downe the other ends to rest the poale out of the earth without any disturbance, the modell or fashion of which instrument is contained in this figure: {Illustration} This instrument is not to be discommended, but to be held of good vse, either in binding grounds where the earth hardneth and houldeth the poale more then fast, or in the strength and heate of summer, when the drynesse of the mould will by no meanes suffer the poale to part from it: but otherwise it is néedlesse and may without danger be omitted. As soone as you haue sufficiently set euery hill with poales, and that there is no disorder in your worke, you shall when the Hoppes beginne to climbe, note if their be any cyons or branches which doe forsake the poales, and rather shoote alongst the ground then looke vp to their supporters, and all such as you shall so finde, you shall as before I sayd, either with soft gréene rushes, or the gréene barke of Elder, tye them gently vnto the poales, and winde them about, in the same course that the sunne goes, as oft as conueniently you can: and this you shall doe euer after the dew is gone from the ground, and not before, and this must be done with all possible speede, for that cyon which is the longest before it take vnto the poale is euer the worst and brings forth his fruit in the worst season. {SN: Of the Hils.} Now, as touching the making of your hils, you shall vnderstand that although generally they are not made the first yéere, yet it is not amisse if you omit that scruple, and beginne to make your hils as soone as you haue placed your poales, for if your industry be answerable to the desert of the labour, you shall reape as good profit the first yéere, as either the second or the third. To beginne therefore to make your hils, you shall make you an instrument like a stubbing Hoe, which is a toole wherewith labourers stubbe rootes out of decayed woode-land grounds, onely this shall be somewhat broader and thinner, somewhat in fashion (though twice so bigge) vnto a Coopers Addes, with a shaft at least foure foote long: some onely for this purpose vse a fine paring spade, which is euery way as good, and as profitable, the fashion of which is in this figure. {Illustration} With this paring spade, or hoe, you shall pare vp the gréene-swarth and vppermost earth, which is in the alleyes betwéene the hils, and lay it vnto the rootes of the Hoppes, raising them vp like small Mole-hils, and so monthly increasing them all the yéere through, make them as large as the site of your ground will suffer, which is at least foure or fiue foote ouerthwart in the bottome, and so high as conueniently that height will carry: you shall not by any meanes this first yéere decay any cyons or branches which spring from the hils, but maintaine them in their growth, and suffer them to climbe vp the poales, but after the first yéere is expired you shall not suffer aboue two or thrée cyons, at the most, to rise vpon one poale. After your hils are made, which as before I sayd would be at least foure or fiue foote square in the bottome, and thrée foote high, you shall then diligently euery day attend your garden, and if you finde any branches that being risen more then halfe way vp the poales, doe then forsake them and spread outward, dangling downe, then you shall either with the helpe of a high stoole, on which standing you may reach the toppe of the poale, or else with a small forckt sticke, put vp the branch, and winde it about the poale: you shall also be carefull that no wéeds or other filthinesse grow about the rootes of your Hoppes to choake them, but vpon the first discouery to destroy them. CHAP. XIII. _Of the gathering of Hoppes, and the preseruing of the Poales._ Touching the gathering of Hoppes you shall vnderstand that after Saint _Margarets_ day they beginne to blossome, if it be in hot and rich soyles, but otherwise not till Lammas: likewise in the best soyles they bell at Lammas, in the worst at Michaelmas, and in the best earth they are full ripe at Michaelmas, in the worst at Martillmas; but to know when they are ripe indeede, you shall perceiue the séede to loose his gréene colour, and looke as browne as a Hares backe, wherefore then you shall with all dilligence gather them, and because they are a fruit that will endure little or no delay, as being ready to fall as soone as they be ripe, and because the exchange of weather may bréede change in your worke, you shall vpon the first aduantage of faire weather, euen so soone as you shall sée the dewe exhaled and drawne from the earth, get all the ayde of Men, Women, and children which haue any vnderstanding, to helpe you, and then hauing some conuenient empty barne, or shedde, made either of boards or canuas, neare to the garden, in which you shall pull your Hoppes, you shall then beginne at the nearest part of the garden, and with a sharpe garden knife cut the stalkes of the Hoppes asunder close by the toppes of the hils; and then with a straite forke of iron, made broad and sharpe, for the purpose, shere vp all the Hoppes, and leaue the poales naked. Then hauing labouring persons for the purpose, let them cary them vnto the place where they are to be puld; and in any case cut no more then presently is caryed away as fast as they are cut, least if a shower of raine should happen to fall, and those being cut and taking wet, are in danger of spoyling. You shall prouide that those which pull your Hoppes be persons of good discretion, who must not pull them one by one, but stripe them roundly through their hands into baskets, mixing the young budds and small leaues with them, which are as good as any part of the Hoppe whatsoeuer. After you haue pulled all your Hoppes and carried them into such conuenient dry roomes as you haue prepared for that purpose, you shall then spread them vpon cleane floares, so thinne as may be, that the ayre may passe thorrow them, least lying in heapes they sweat, and so mould, before you can haue leasure to dry them. After your Hoppes are thus ordered, you shall then cleanse your garden of all such Hoppe-straw, and other trash, as in the gathering was scattered therein: then shall you plucke vp all your Hoppe-poales, in manner before shewed, and hauing either some dry boarded house, or shed, made for the purpose, pile then one vpon another, safe from winde or weather, which howsoeuer some that would haue their experience, like a Collossus, séeme greater then it is, doe disalow, yet it is the best manner of kéeping of poales, and well worthy the charge: but for want of such a house, it shall not be amisse to take first your Hoppe-straw, and lay it a good thicknesse vpon the ground, and with sixe strong stakes, driuen slant-wise into the earth, so as the vppermost ends may be inward one to another, lay then your Hoppe-poales betwéene the stakes, and pile them one vpon another, drawing them narrower and narrower to the top, and then couer them all ouer with more Hoppe-straw, and so let them rest till the next March, at which time you shall haue new occasion to vse them. {SN: Winter businesse.} As soone as you haue piled vp your Hoppe-poales, dry and close, then you shall about mid-Nouember following throw downe your hils, and lay all your rootes bare, that the sharpenesse of the season may nip them, and kéepe them from springing too earely: you shall also then bring into the garden olde Cow-dunge, which is at least two yéeres olde, for no new dunge is good, and this you shall lay in some great heape in some conuenient place of the garden vntill Aprill, at which time, after you haue wound your Hoppes about your poales, you shall then bestow vpon euery hill two or thrée spade-full of the Manure mixt with earth, which will comfort the plant and make it spring pleasantly. After your hils are puld downe, you shall with your garden spade, or your hoe, vndermine all the earth round about the roote of the Hoppe, till you come to the principall rootes thereof, and then taking the youngest rootes in your hand, and shaking away the earth, you shall sée how the new rootes grow from the olde sets, then with a sharpe knife cut away all those rootes as did spring the yéere before, out of your sets, within an inch and an halfe of the same, but euery yéere after the first you shall cut them close by the olde rootes. Now, if you sée any rootes which doe grow straight downward, without ioynts, those you shall not cut at all, for they are great nourishers of the plant, but if they grow outward, or side-wayes, they are of contrary natures, and must necessarily be cut away. If any of your Hoppes turne wilde, as oft it happens, which you shall know by the perfect rednesse of the branch, then you shall cut it quite vp, and plant a new roote in his place. After you haue cut and trimmed all your rootes, then you shall couer them againe, in such sort as you were taught at the first planting them, and so let them abide till their due time for poaling. CHAP. XIIII. _Of drying, and not drying of Hoppes, and of packing them when they are dried._ Although there be much curiositie in the drying of Hoppes as well in the temperature of heate (which hauing any extremitie, as either of heate, or his contrary, bréedeth disorder in the worke) as also in the framing of the Ost or furnace after many new moulds and fashions, as variable as mens wits and experiences, yet because innouations and incertainty doth rather perplexe then profit, I will shunne, as much as in me lyeth, from loading the memory of the studious Husbandman with those stratagems which disable his vnderstanding from the attaining of better perfection, not disalowing any mans approued knowledge, or thinking that because such a man can mend smoking Chimnyes, therefore none but hée shall haue license to make Chimnyes, or that because some men can melt Mettall without winde, therefore it shall be vtterly vnlawfull to vse bellowes: these violent opinions I all together disacknowledge, and wish euery one the liberty of his owne thoughts, and for mine English Husband, I will shew him that way to dry his Hoppes which is most fit for his profit, safe, easie, and without extraordinary expences. First then to speake of the time which is fittest for the drying of your Hoppes, it is immediately as soone as they are gotten, if more vrgent occasions doe not delay the businesse, which if they happen, then you haue a forme before prescribed how to preserue them from mouldinesse and putrifaction till you can compasse fit time to effect the worke in. The manner of drying them is vpon a Kilne, of which there be two sorts, that is to say, an English Kilne, and a French Kilne: the English Kilne being composed of woode, lath, and clay, and therefore subiect to some danger of fire, the French, of bricke, lime, and sand, and therefore safe, close, and without all perill, and to be preferred much before the other: yet because I haue hereafter more occasion to speake of the nature, fashion, and edifice of Kilnes in that part of this Volumne where I intreate of Malting, I will cease further to mention them then to say that vpon a Kilne is the best drying your Hoppes, after this manner, hauing finely bedded your Kilne with Wheate-straw, you shall lay on your hayre cloath, although some disallow it, but giue no reason therefore, yet it cannot be hurtfull in any degrée, for it neither distasteth the Hoppes, nor defendeth them from the fire, making the worke longer then it would, but it preserueth both the Hoppes from filthynesse, and their séede from losse: when your hayre-cloath is spread, you shall cause one to deliuer you vp your Hoppes in baskets, which you shall spread vpon the cloath, all ouer the Kilne, at the least eight inches thicke, and then comming downe, and going to the hole of the Kilne, you shall with a little dry straw kindle the fire, and then maintaining it with more straw, you shall kéepe a fire a little more feruent then for the drying of a kilne-full of Malt, being assured that the same quantitie of fuell, heate, and time, which dryeth a kilne-full of Malt, will also dry a kilne-full of Hoppes, and if your Kilne will dry twenty strikes, or bushels of Malt at one drying, then it will dry forty of Hoppes, because being layd much thicker the quantitie can be no lesse then doubled, which is a spéede all together sufficient, and may very well serue to dry more Hoppes then any one man hath growing in this kingdome. Now, for as much as some men doe not alow to dry Hoppes with straw, but rather preferre woode, and of woode still to chuse the gréenest, yet I am of a contrary opinion, for I know by experience that the smoake which procéedeth from woode, (especially if it be greene woode) being a strong and sharpe vapour, doth so taint and infect the Hoppes that when those Hoppes come to be brewed with, they giue the drinke a smoakie taste, euen as if the Malt it selfe had beene woode-dryed: the vnpleasantnesse whereof I leaue to the iudgement of them that haue trauelled in York-shire, where, for the most part, is nothing but woode-dryed Malt onely. That you may know when your Hoppes are dry inough, you shall take a small long sticke, and stirring the Hoppes too and fro with it, if the Hoppes doe russell and make a light noyse, each as it were seperating one from another, then they are altogether dry inough, but if in any part you finde them heauy or glewing one to another, then they haue not inough of the fire: also when they are sufficiently and moderately dryed they are of a bright-browne colour, little or nothing altered from that they held when they were vpon the stalke, but if they be ouer dryed, then their colour will be redde: and if they were not well ordered before they were dryed, but suffered either to take wet or mould, then they will looke blacke when they are dry. {SN: Of the drying Hoppes.} There be some which are of opinion that if you doe not dry your Hoppes at all, it shall be no losse, but it is an errour most grose, for if they be not dryed, there is neither profit in their vse, nor safty in preseruing them. As soone as your Hoppes are sufficiently dryed, you shall by the plucking vp of the foure corners of your hayre-cloath thrust all your Hoppes together, and then putting them into baskets, carry them into such dry places as you haue prepared of purpose to lay them in, as namely, either in dry-fats, or in garners, made either of plaster, or boards: and herein you shall obserue to packe them close and hard together, which will be a meanes that if any of them be not dry, yet the heate they shall get by such lying will dry them fully and make them fit for seruice. {SN: Of packing Hoppes.} Now to conclude, if your store of Hoppes be so great that you shall trade or make Marchandize of them, then either to conuay them by land or Sea, it is best that you packe them into great bagges of canuas, made in fashion of those bagges which woole-men vse, and call them pockets, but not being altogether so large: these bagges you shall open, and either hang vp betwéene some crosse-beames, or else let downe into some lower floare, and then putting in your Hoppes cause a man to goe into the bagge and tread downe the Hoppes, so hard as is possible, pressing downe basket-full after basket-full, till the bagge be filled, euen vnto the toppe, and then with an extraordinary packe-thriede, sowing the open end of the bagge close together, let euery hollow place be crammed with Hoppes, whilst you can get one hand-full to goe in, and so hauing made euery corner strong and fast, let them lye dry till you haue occasion either to shippe or cart them. And thus much for the ordering of Hoppes, and their vses. CHAP. XV. _The office of the Gardiner, and first of the Earth, Situation, and fencing of a Garden for pleasure._ There is to be required at the hands of euery perfect Gardiner thrée especiall vertues, that is to say, _Diligence_, _Industry_, and _Art_: the two first, as namely, _Diligence_ (vnder which word I comprehend his loue, care, and delight in the vertue hee professeth) and _Industry_ (vnder which word I conclude his labour, paine, and study, which are the onely testimonies of his perfection) hée must reape from Nature: for, if hée be not inclined, euen from the strength of his blood to this loue and labour, it is impossible he should euer proue an absolute gardiner: the latter, which containeth his skill, habit, and vnderstanding in what hée professeth, I doubt not but hée shall gather from the abstracts or rules which shall follow hereafter in this Treatise, so that where nature, and this worke shall concurre in one subiect, there is no doubt to be made, but the professor shall in all points, be able to discharge a sufficient dutie. Now, for as much as all our antient and forraine writers (for wée are very sleightly beholding to our selues for these indeauours) are excéeding curious in the choise of earth, and situation of the plot of ground which is méete for the garden: yet I, that am all English Husbandman, and know our soyles out of the worthinesse of their owne natures doe as it were rebell against forraine imitation, thinking their owne vertues are able to propound their owne rules: and the rather when I call into my remembrance, that in all the forraine places I haue séene, there is none more worthy then our owne, and yet none ordered like our owne, I cannot be induced to follow the rules of Italie, vnlesse I were in Italie, neither those of France, vnlesse I dwelt in France, nor those of Germany except in Germany I had my habitation, knowing that the too much heate of the one, or the too much coldnesse of the other, must rather confound then help in our temperate climate: whence it comes, that our english booke-knowledge in these cases is both disgraced and condemned, euery one fayling in his experiments, because he is guided by no home-bredde, but a stranger; as if to reade the english tongue there were none better then an Italian Pedant. This to auoide, I will neither begge ayde nor authoritie from strangers, but reuerence them as worthies and fathers of their owne Countries. {SN: Of the ground.} To speake therefore first of the ground which is fit for the garden, albeit the best is best worthy, the labour least, and the profit most certaine, yet it is not méete that you refuse any earth whatsoeuer, both because a garden is so profitable, necessary, and such an ornament and grace to euery house and house-kéeper, that the dwelling place is lame and maymed if it want that goodly limbe, and beauty. Besides, if no gardens should be planted but in the best and richest soyles, it were infinite the losse we should sustaine in our priuate profit, and in the due commendations, fit for many worthy workmen, who haue reduced the worst and barrainest earths to as rare perfection and profit as if they had béene the onely soyles of this kingdome: and for mine owne part, I doe not wonder either at the worke of Art or Nature, when I behould in a goodly, rich, and fertill soyle, a garden adorned with all the delights and delicacies which are within mans vnderstanding, because the naturall goodnesse of the earth (which not induring to be idle) will bring forth whatsoeuer is cast into her: but when I behould vpon a barraine, dry, and deiected earth, such as the Peake-hils, where a man may behould Snow all summer, or on the East-mores, whose best hearbage is nothing but mosse, and iron stone, in such a place, I say, to behould a delicate, rich, and fruitfull garden, it shewes great worthinesse in the owner, and infinite Art and industry in the workeman, and makes me both admire and loue the begetters of such excellencies. But to returne to my purpose touching the choise of your earth for a garden, sith no house can conueniently be without one, and that our English Nation is of that great popularitie, that not the worst place thereof but is abundantly inhabited, I thinke it méete that you refuse no earth whatsoeuer to plant your garden vpon, euer obseruing this rule, that the more barraine it is, the more cost must be bestowed vpon it, both in Manuring, digging, and in trenching, as shall be shewed hereafter, and the more rich it is, lesse cost of such labour, and more curiositie in wéeding, proyning, and trimming the earth: for, as the first is too slow, so the latter is too swift, both in her increase and multiplication. Now, for the knowledge of soyles, which is good, and which is badde, I haue spoken sufficiently already in that part which intreateth of Tillage, onely this one caueat I will giue you, as soone as you haue markt out your garden-plot, you shall turne vp a sodde, and taking some part of the fresh mould, champe it betwéene your téeth in your mouth, and if it taste swéetish then is the mould excellent good and fit to receiue either seedes or plants, without much Manuring, but if it taste salt or bitter, then it is a great signe of barrainenesse, and must of necessitie be corrected with Manure: for saltnesse sheweth much windinesse, which choaketh and stifleth the séede, and bitternesse that vnnaturall heate which blasteth it before it sprout. {SN: Of the situation.} Now, for the situation of the garden-plot for pleasure, you shall vnderstand that it must euer be placed so neare vnto the dwelling house as is possible, both because the eye of the owner may be a guard and support from inconueniences, as also that the especiall roomes and prospects of the house may be adorned, perfumed, and inriched, with the delicate proportions, odorifferous smells, and wholsome ayres which shall ascend and vaporate from the same, as may more amply be séene in that former Chapter, where modelling forth the Husbandmans house, I shew you the site and place for his Garden, onely you must diligently obserue, that neare vnto this garden doe not stand any houells, stackes of hay, or Corne, which ouer-pearing the walls, or fence, of the same, may by reason of winde, or other occasion, annoy the same with straw, chaffe, séedes, or such like filthinesse, which doth not onely blemish the beauty thereof, but is also naturally very hurtfull and cankerous to all plants whatsoeuer. Within this garden plot would be also either some Well, Pumpe, Conduit, Pond, or Cesterne for water, sith a garden, at many times of the yéere, requireth much watering: & this place for water you shall order and dispose according to your abillitie, and the nature of the soyle, as thus: if both your reputation, and your wealth be of the lowest account, if then your garden aford you a plaine Well, comely couered, or a plaine Pump, it shall be sufficient, or if for want of such springs you digge a fayre Pond in some conuenient part thereof, or else (which is much better) erect a Cesterne of leade, into which by pippes may discend all the raine-water which falls about any part of the house, it will serue for your purpose: but if God haue bestowed vpon you a greater measure of his blessings, both in wealth & account, if then insteade of either Well, Pumpe, Pond, or Cesterne, you erect Conduits, or continuall running Fountaines, composed of Antique workes, according to the curiositie of mans inuention, it shall be more gallant and worthy: and these Conduits or water-courses, you may bring in pippes of leade from other remote or more necessary places of water springs, standing aboue the leuell of your garden, as euery Artist in the profession of such workes can more amply declare vnto you, onely for mée let it be sufficient to let you vnderstand that euery garden would be accompanied with water. Also you shall haue great care that there adioyne not vnto your garden-plot any common-shewers, stinking or muddy dikes, dung-hils, or such like, the annoyance of whose smells and euill vapors doth not onely corrupt and bréede infection in man, but also cankereth, killeth and consumeth all manner of plants, especially those which are most pleasant, fragrant, and odorifferous, as being of tenderest nature and qualitie: and for this cause diuers will not alow the moating of garden-plots about, imagining that the ouer great moistnesse thereof, and the strong smells which doe arise from the mudde in the Summer season, doe corrupt and putrifie the hearbes and plants within the compasse of the same, but I am not altogether of that opinion, for if the water be swéet, or the channell thereof sandy or grauelly, then there is no such scruple to be taken: but if it be contrary, then it is with all care to be auoyded, because it is euer a Maxime in this case, that your garden-plot must euer be compassed with the pleasantest and swéetest ayre that may be. The windes which you shall generally defend from your garden, are the Easterne windes and the Northerne, because they are sharpest, coldest, and bring with them tempers of most vnseasonablenesse, & albeit in Italie, Spaine, and such like hot Countries, they rather defend away the Westerne and Southerne winde, giuing frée passage to the East and North, yet with England it may not be so, because the naturall coldenes of our Climate is sufficient without any assistance to further bitternesse, our best industry being to be imployed rather to get warmth, which may nourish and bring forth our labours, then any way to diminish or weaken the same. This plot of ground also would lye, as neare as you can, at the foote or bottome of an hill, both that the hill may defend the windes and sharpe weather from the same, as also that you may haue certaine ascents or risings of state, from leuell to leuell, as was in some sort before shewed in the plot for the Orchard, and shall be better declared in the next Chapter. {SN: Of fencing the garden.} Now lastly for the fencing or making priuate the garden-plot, it is to be done according to your abillitie, and the nature of the climate wherein you liue: as thus, if your reuenewes will reach thereunto, and matter be to be got, for that purpose, where you liue, then you shall vnderstand that your best fence is a strong wall, either of Bricke, Ashler, rough-Stone, or Earth, of which you are the best-owner, or can with least dammage compasse: but for want either of earth to make bricke, or quarries out of which to get stone, it shall not then be amisse to fence your garden with a tall strong pale of seasoned Oake, fixt to a double parris raile, being lined on the inside with a thicke quicke-set of white-Thorne, the planting whereof shall be more largely spoken of where I intreate of fencing onely. But if the place where you liue in, be so barraine of timber that you cannot get sufficient for the purpose, then you shall make a studde wall, which shall be splinted and lomed both with earth and lime, and hayre, and copt vpon the toppe (to defend away wet) either with tile, slate, or straw, and this wall is both beautifull, and of long continuance, as may be séene in the most parts of the South of this kingdome: but if either your pouerty or climate doe deny you timber for this purpose, you shall then first make a small trench round about your garden-plot, and set at least foure rowes of quicke-set of white-Thorne, one aboue another, and then round about the outside, to defend the quick-set, make a tall fence of dead woode, being either long, small, brushy poales prickt into the earth, and standing vpright, and so bound together in the wast betwéene two other poales, according to the figure set downe, {Illustration} being so high that not any kinde of Pullen may flie ouer the same, or else an ordinary hedge of common woode, being beyrded vpon the toppe with sharpe Thornes, in such wise that not any thing may dare to aduenture ouer it: and this dead fence you shall repaire and maintaine as occasion shall require from time to time, till your quicke-set be growne vp, and, by continuall plashing and interfouldings, be made able and sufficient to fence and defend your garden, which will be within fiue or seauen yeeres at the most, and so continue with good order for euer. And thus much for the situation of gardens. CHAP. XVI. _Of the fashion of the garden-plot for pleasure, the Alleyes, Quarters, Digging and Dungging of the same._ {SN: The fashion.} After you haue chosen out and fenced your garden-plot, according as is before sayd, you shall then beginne to fashion and proportion out the same, sith in the conuayance remaineth a great part of the gardiners art. And herein you shall vnderstand that there be two formes of proportions belonging to the garden, the first, onely beautifull, as the plaine, and single square, contayning onely foure quarters, with his large Alleyes euery way, as was discribed before in the Orchard: the other both beautifull and stately, as when there is one, two or thrée leuelled squares, each mounting seauen or eight steppes one aboue another, and euery square contayning foure seuerall Quarters with their distinct and seuerall Alleyes of equall breadth and proportion; placing in the center of euery square, that is to say, where the foure corners of the foure Quarters doe as it were neighbour and méete one another, either a Conduit of antique fashion, a Standard of some vnusuall deuise, or else some Dyall, or other Piramed, that may grace and beautifie the garden. And herein I would haue you vnderstand that I would not haue you to cast euery square into one forme or fashion of Quarters or Alleyes, for that would shew little varytie or inuention in Art, but rather to cast one in plaine Squares, another in Tryangulars, another in roundalls, & so a fourth according to the worthinesse of conceite, as in some sort you may behould by these figures, which questionlesse when they are adorned with their ornaments, will breed infinite delight to the beholders. {Illustration: The Plaine Square.} {Illustration: The Square Triangular or circular.} {Illustration: The Square of eight Diamonds.} From the modell of these Squares, Tryangles, and Rounds, any industrious braine may with little difficulty deriue and fashion to himselfe diuers other shapes and proportions, according to the nature and site of the earth, which may appeare more quaint and strange then these which are in our common vse, albeit these are in the truth of workmanship the perfect father and mother of all proportions whatsoeuer. {SN: The ordering of Alleyes.} Now, you shall vnderstand that concerning the Alleyes and walkes in this garden of pleasure, it is very méete that your ground, being spacious and large, (which is the best beauty) that you cut through the midst of euery Alley an ample and large path or walke, the full depth of the roote of the gréene-swarth, and at least the breadth of seauen or eight foote: and in this path you shall strow either some fine redde-sand, of a good binding nature, or else some fine small grauell, or for want of both them you may take the finest of your pit-coale-dust, which will both kéepe your Alleyes dry and smooth, and also not suffer any grasse or gréene thing to grow within them, which is disgracefull, if it be suffered: the French-men doe vse, to couer their Alleyes, either with the powder of marble, or the powder of slate-stone, or else paue them either with Pit-stone, Frée-stone, or Tiles, the first of which is too hard to get, the other great cost to small purpose, the rather sith our owne grauell is in euery respect as beautifull, as dry, as strong, and as long lasting: Onely this héedfulnesse you must diligently obserue, that if the situation of your garden-plot be low and much subiect to moisture, that then these middle-cut paths or walkes must be heightned vp in the midst, and made in a proportionall bent or compasse: wherein you shall obserue that the out most verdges of the walke must be leuell with the gréene-swarth which holded in each side, and the midst so truly raised vp in compasse, that the raine which falles may haue a passage to each side of the gréene-swarth. Now, the lesse this compasse is made (so it auoyde the water, and remaine hard) the better it is, because by that meanes both the eye shall be deceiued (which shewes art in the workman) and the more leuell they are, the more ease vnto them which shall continually walke vpon them. {SN: Obiection.} Now, if any shall obiect, why I doe not rather couet to haue these Alleyes or walkes rather all gréene, then thus cut and deuided, sith it is a most beautifull thing to see a pleasant gréene walke, my answere is this, that first the mixture of colours, is the onely delight of the eye aboue all other: for beauty being the onely obiect in which it ioyeth, that beautie is nothing but an excellent mixture, or consent of colours, as in the composition of a delicate woman the grace of her chéeke is the mixture of redde and white, the wonder of her eye blacke and white, and the beauty of her hand blewe and white, any of which is not sayd to be beautifull if it consist of single or simple colours: and so in these walkes, or Alleyes, the all gréene, nor the all yealow cannot be sayd to be most beautifull, but the gréene and yealow, (that is to say, the vntroade grasse, and the well knit grauell) being equally mixt, giue the eye both luster and delight beyonde all comparison. Againe, to kéepe your walkes all gréene, or grassy, you must of force either forbeare to tread vpon them, (which is the vse for which they were onely fashioned,) or treading vpon them you shall make so many pathes and ilfauored wayes as will be most vglie to the eye: besides the dewe and wet hanging vpon the grasse will so annoy you, that if you doe not select especiall howers to walke in, you must prouide shooes or bootes of extraordinary goodnesse: which is halfe a depriuement of your liberty, whereas these things of recreation were created for a contrary purpose. Now, you shall also vnderstand that as you make this sandy and smooth walke through the midst of your Alleyes, so you shall not omit but leaue as much gréene-swarth, or grasse ground of eache side the plaine path as may fully counteruaile the breadth of the walke, as thus for example: if your sandy walke be sixe foote broad, the grasse ground of each side it, shall be at least sixe foote also, so that the whole Alley shall be at least eightéene foote in breadth, which will be both comely and stately. {SN: Of the Quarters.} Your Alleyes being thus proportioned and set forth, your next worke shall be the ordering of your Quarters, which as I sayd before, you may frame into what proportions you please, as into Squares, Tryangles and Rounds, according to the ground, or your owne inuention: and hauing marked them out with lines, and the garden compasse, you shall then beginne to digge them in this manner: first, with a paring spade, the fashion whereof is formerly shewed, you shall pare away all the gréene-swarth, fully so déepe as the roote of the grasse shall goe, and cast it away, then with other digging spades you shall digge vp the earth, at least two foote and a halfe, or thrée foote déepe, in turning vp of which earth, you shall note that as any rootes of wéedes, or other quickes shall be raised or stirred vp, so presently with your hands to gather them vp, and cast them away, that your mould may (as neare as your dilligence can performe it) be cleane from either wilde rootes, stones, or such like offences: & in this digging of your Quarters you shall not forget but raise vp the ground of your Quarters at least two foote higher then your Alleyes, and where by meanes of such reasure, you shall want mould, there you shall supply that lacke by bringing mould and cleane earth from some other place, where most conueniently you may spare it, that your whole Quarter being digged all ouer, it may rise in all parts alike, and carry an orderly and well proportioned leuell through the whole worke. {SN: Of Dunging.} The best season for this first digging of your garden mould is in September: and after it is so digged and roughly cast vp, you shall let it rest till the latter end of Nouember, at what time you shall digge it vp againe, in manner as afore sayd, onely with these additions, that you shall enter into the fresh mould, halfe a spade-graft déeper then before, and at euery two foote breadth of ground, enlarging the trench both wide and déepe, fill it vp with the oldest and best Oxe or Cow-Manure that you can possibly get, till such time that increasing from two foote to two foote, you haue gone ouer and Manured all your quarters, hauing a principall care that your dunge or Manure lye both déepe and thicke, in so much that euery part of your mould may indifferently pertake and be inriched with the same Manure. {SN: Diuersitie of Manures.} Now, you shall vnderstand that although I doe particularly speake but of Oxe or Cow-Manure, because it is of all the fattest and strongest, especially being olde, yet their are diuers respects to be had in the Manuring of gardens: as first, if your ground be naturally of a good, fat, blacke, and well tempered earth, or if it be of a barraine, sandy, hot, yet firme mould, that in either of these cases your Oxe, Cow, or beast Manure is the best & most sufficient, but if it be of a colde, barraine, or spewing mould then it shall be good to mixe your Oxe-dunge with Horse-dunge, which shall be at least two yéeres olde, if you can get it, otherwise such as you can compasse: if your ground be good and fertill yet out of his drynesse in the summer-time it be giuen to riue and chappe as is séene in many earths; you shall then mixe your Oxe-dunge well with Ashes, orts of Lime, and such like: lastly, if your earth be too much binding and colde therewithall, then mixe your Oxe-dunge with chalke or marle and it is the best Manure. And thus much for the generall vse of earths. Now, for perticular vses you shall vnderstand that for Hearbs or Flowers the Oxe and Horse-dunge is the best, for rootes or Cabbages, mans ordure is the best, for Harty-chockes, or any such like thisly-fruit, Swines-dunge is most sufficient, and thus according to your setled determination you shall seuerally prouide for euery seuerall purpose, and so, God assisting, seldome faile in your profit. And this dunge you shall bring into your garden in little drumblars or whéele-barrowes, made for the purpose, such as being in common vse in euery Husbandmans yarde it shall be néedlesse here either to shew the figure or proportion thereof. And thus much for the fashion, digging, and dunging of gardens. CHAP. XVII. _Of the adornation and beautifying of the Garden for pleasure._ The adornation and beautifying of gardens is not onely diuers but almost infinite, the industry of mens braines hourely begetting and bringing forth such new garments and imbroadery for the earth, that it is impossible to say this shall be singular, neither can any man say that this or that is the best, sith as mens tastes so their fancies are carried away with the varietie of their affections, some being pleased with one forme, some with another: I will not therefore giue preheminence to any one beauty, but discribing the faces and glories of all the best ornaments generaly or particularly vsed in our English gardens, referre euery man to the ellection of that which shall best agrée with his fancy. {SN: Of Knots and Mazes.} To beginne therefore with that which is most antient and at this day of most vse amongst the vulgar though least respected with great ones, who for the most part are wholy giuen ouer to nouelties: you shall vnderstand that Knots and Mazes were the first that were receiued into admiration, which Knots or Mazes were placed vpon the faces of each seuerall quarter, in this sort: first, about the verdge or square of the quarter was set a border of Primpe, Boxe, Lauandar, Rose-mary, or such like, but Primpe or Boxe is the best, and it was set thicke, at least eightéene inches broad at the bottome & being kept with cliping both smooth and leuell on the toppe and on each side, those borders as they were ornaments so were they also very profitable to the huswife for the drying of linnen cloaths, yarne, and such like: for the nature of Boxe and Primpe being to grow like a hedge, strong and thicke, together, the Gardiner, with his sheares may kéepe it as broad & plaine as himselfe listeth. Within this border shall your knot or maze be drawne, it being euer intended that before the setting of your border your quarter shall be the third time digged, made exceeding leuell, and smooth, without clot or stone, and the mould, with your garden rake of iron, so broken that it may lye like the finest ashes, and then with your garden mauls, which are broad-boards of more then two foote square set at the ends of strong staues, the earth shall be beaten so hard and firme together that it may beare the burthen of a man without shrinking. And in the beating of the mould you shall haue all diligent care that you preserue and kéepe your leuell to a hayre, for if you faile in it, you faile in your whole worke. {Illustration} Now for the time of this labour, it is euer best about the beginning of February, and indifferent, about the midst of October, but for the setting of your Primpe, or Boxe-border, let the beginning of Nouember be your latest time, for so shall you be sure that it will haue taken roote, and the leafe will flourish in the spring following: at which time your ground being thus artificially prepared, you shall begin to draw forth your knot in this manner: first, with lines you shall draw the forme of the figure next before set downe, and with a small instrument of iron make it vpon the earth. {Illustration} Which done, from the order and proportion of these lines you shall draw your single knots or plaine knots of the least curiositie, as may appeare by this figure, being one quarter of the whole Knot: euer proportioning your Trayles and windings according to the lines there discribed, which will kéepe your worke in iust proportion. But if you desire to haue knots of much more curiositie being more double and intricate, then you shall draw your first lines after this proportion here figured, pinning downe euery line firme to the earth with a little pinne made of woode. {Illustration} Which done you shall draw your double and curious knots after the manner of the figure following, which is also but one quarter of the whole knot, for looke in what manner you doe one knot in like sort will the other thrée quarters succéede, your lines kéeping you in a continuall euen proportion. {Illustration} And in this manner as you draw these knots, with the like helps and lines also you shall draw out your Mazes, and laborinths, of what sort or kind soeuer you please, whether they be round or square. But for as much, as not onely the _Country-farme_, but also diuers other translated bookes, doe at large describe the manner of casting and proportioning these knots, I will not persist to write more curiously vpon them, but wish euery painefull gardiner which coueteth to be more satisfied therein, to repaire to those authors, where hée shall finde more large amplifications, and greater diuersities of knots, yet all tending to no more purpose then this which I haue all ready written. Now, as soone as you haue drawne forth and figured your knot vpon the face of your quarter, you shall then set it either with Germander, Issoppe, Time or Pinke-gilly-flowers, but of all hearbes Germander is the most principall best for this purpose: diuers doe vse in knots to set Thrift, and in time of néed it may serue, but it is not so good as any of the other, because it is much subiect to be slaine with frost, and will also spread vpon the earth in such sort that, without very painefull cutting, it will put your knot out of fashion. {SN: Yeallow.} {SN: White.} {SN: Blacke.} {SN: Red.} {SN: Blew.} {SN: Greene.} Now there is another beautifying or adorning of Gardens, and it is most generally to be séene in the gardens of Noblemen and Gentlemen, which may beare coate-armor, and that is, instead of the knots and mazes formerly spoken of, to draw vpon the faces of your quarters such Armes, or Ensines, as you may either beare your selfe, or will preserue for the memory of any friend: and these armes being drawne forth in plaine lines, you shall set those plaine shadowing lines either with Germander, Issop, or such like hearbes: and then for the more ample beautie thereof, if you desire to haue them in their proper and liuely colours (without which they haue but one quarter of their luster) you shall vnderstand that your colours in Armory are thus to be made. First, for your mettalls: you shall make your Yeallow, either of a yeallow clay, vsually to be had almost in euery place, or the yeallowest sand, or for want of both, of your Flanders Tile, which is to be bought of euery Iron-monger or Chandelor; and any of these you must beate to dust: for your White you shall make it of the coursest chalke beaten to dust, or of well burnt plaister, or, for necessity, of lime, but that will soone decay: your Blacke is to be made of your best and purest coale-dust, well clensed and sifted: your Red is to be made of broken vselesse brickes beaten to dust, and well clensed from spots: your Blew is to be made of white-chalke, and blacke coale dust mixed together, till the blacke haue brought the white to a perfect blewnes: lastly your Gréene, both for the naturall property belonging to your Garden, as also for better continuance and long lasting, you shall make of Camomill, well planted where any such colour is to be vsed, as for the rest of the colours, you shall sift them, and strow them into their proper places, and then with a flat beating-Béetell you shall beate it, and incorporate it with the earth, and as any of the colours shall decay, you shall diligently repaire them, and the luster will be most beautifull. There is also another beautifying of gardens, which although it last not the whole yéere, yet it is most quaint, rare, and best eye-pleasing, and thus it is: you shall vpon the face of your quarter draw a plaine double knot, in manner of billet-wise: for you shall vnderstand that in this case the plainest knot is the best, and you shall let it be more then a foote betwixt line and line (for in the largenesse consists much beauty) this knot being scored out, you shall take Tiles, or tileshreds and fixe them within the lines of your knot strongly within the earth, yet so as they may stand a good distance aboue the earth and this doe till you haue set out all your knot with Tile: then precisely note the seuerall passages of your knot, and the seuerall thrids of which it consisteth, and then betwixt your tiles, (which are but as the shadowing lines of your knot) plant in euery seuerall third, flowers of one kinde and colour, as thus for example: in one thrid plant your carnation Gilly-flower, in another your great white Geli flower, in another your mingle-coloured Gilly-flower, and in another your blood-red Gilly-flower, and so likewise if you can compasse them you may in this sort plant your seueral coloured Hyacinths, as the red, the blew, and the yealow, or your seuerall coloured _Dulippos_, and many other Italian and french flowers: or you may, if you please, take of euery seuerall plant one, and place them as afforesaid; the grace of all which is, that so soone as these flowers shall put forth their beauties, if you stand a little remote from the knot, and any thing aboue it, you shall sée it appeare like a knot made of diuers coloured ribans, most pleasing and most rare. Many other adornations and beautifyings there are which belong to the setting forth of a curious garden, but for as much as none are more rare or more estéemed then these I haue set downe, being the best ornaments of the best gardens of this kingdome, I thinke them tastes sufficient for euery husbandman, or other of better quality which delighteth in the beauty and well trimming of his ground. CHAP. XVIII. _How for the entertainment of any great Person, in any Parke, or other place of pleasure, where Sommer-bowers are made, to make a compleat Garden in two or three dayes._ If the honest English husbandman, or any other, of what quallity soeuer, shall entertaine any Noble personage, to whom hee would giue the delight of all strange contentment, either in his Parke, or other remote place of pleasure, néere vnto Ponds, Riuer, or other waters of cléerenesse, after hée hath made his arbors and Summer-bowers to feast in, the fashion whereof is so common that euery labourer can make them, hée shall then marke out his garden-plot, bestowing such sleight fence thereon as hée shall thinke fit: then hée shall cast forth his alleys, and deuide them from his quarters, by paring away the gréene-swarth with a paring spade, finely, and euen, by a direct line (for a line must euer be vsed in this worke) then hauing store of labourers (after the vpper-most swarth is taken away) you shall cast vp the quarters, and then breaking the mould and leuelling it, you shall make sad the earth againe, then vpon your quarters you shall draw forth either Knots, Armes, or any other deuise which shall be best pleasing to your fancie, as either knots with single or double trayles, or other emblemicall deuise, as Birds, Beasts, and such like: and in your knots where you should plant hearbes, you shall take gréene-sods of the richest grasse, and cutting it proportionably to the knot, making a fine trench, you shall lay in your sod, and so ioyning sod to sod close and arteficially, you shall set forth your whole knot, or the portrayture of your armes, or other deuise, and then taking a cleane broome that hath not formerly béene swept withall, you shall brush all vncleanenesse from the grasse, and then you shall behold your knot as compleat, and as comely as if it had béene set with hearbes many yéeres before. Now for the portrayture of any liuing thing, you shall cut it forth, ioyning sod vnto sod, and then afterward place it into the earth. Now if within this plot of ground which you make your garden piece there be either naturall or arteficiall mounts or bankes vpon them, you may in this selfe-same manner with gréene sods set forth a flight, either at field or riuer, or the manner of hunting of any chase, or any story, or other deuise that you please, to the infinit admiration of all them which shall behold it: onely in working against mounts or bankes you must obserue to haue many small pinnes, to stay your worke and kéepe your sods from slipping one from another, till such time as you haue made euery thing fast with earth, which you must rame very close and hard: as for Flowers, or such like adorments, you may the morning before, remoue them with their earth from some other garden, and plant them at your best pleasure. And thus much for a garden to be made in the time of hasty necessity. CHAP. XIX. _How to preserue Abricots, or any kinde of curious outlandish-stone-fruit, and make them beare plentifully be the Spring or beginning of Summer neuer so bitter._ I haue knowne diuers Noblemen, Gentlemen & men of vnder quallitie, that haue béene most laborious how to preserue these tender stone-fruits from the violence of stormes, frost and windes, and to that end haue béene at great cost and charges yet many times haue found much losse in their labours, wherefore in the end, through the practise of many experiments, this hath béene found (which I will here set downe) the most approuedst way to make them beare without all kinde of danger. After you haue planted your Abricot, or other delicate fruit, and plasht him vp against a wall in manner as hath béene before declared, you shall ouer the tops of the trées all along the wall, build a large pentisse, of at least sixe or seauen foote in length: which pentisse ouer-shaddowing the trées, will, as experience hath found out, so defend them, that they will euer beare in as plentifull manner as they haue done any particular yéere before. There be many that will scoffe, or at least, giue no credit to this experiment, because it carrieth with it no more curiositie, but I can assure thée that art the honest English Husbandman, that there is nothing more certaine and vnfallible, for I haue séene in one of the greatest Noblemens gardens in the kingdome, where such a pentisse was made, that so farre as the pentisse went, so farre the trées did prosper with all fruitfulnesse, and where the pentisse ended, not one trée bare, the spring-time being most bitter and wonderfull vnseasonable. Now I haue séene some great Personages (whose pursses may buy their pleasures at any rate) which haue in those pentisses fixed diuers strong hookes of Iron, and then made a canuasse of the best Poldauie, with most strong loopes, of small corde, which being hung vpon the Iron hookes, hath reacht from the pentisse to the ground, and so laced with corde and small pulleys, that like the saile of a ship it might be trust vp, and let downe at pleasure: this canuasse thus prepared is all the Spring and latter end of Winter to be let downe at the setting of the Sunne, and to be drawne vp at the rising of the Sunne againe. The practise of this I referre to such as haue abillitie to buy their delight, without losse, assuring them that all reason and experience doth finde it most probable to be most excellent, yet to the plaine English Husbandman I giue certaine assurance that the pentisse onely is sufficient enough and will defend all stormes whatsoeuer. And thus much for the preseruation and increase of all tender Stone-fruit, of what nature, or climbe bred, soeuer. CHAP. XX. _How to make Grapes grow as bigge, full, and as naturally, and to ripen in as due season, and be as long lasting as either in Fraunce or Spaine._ Diuers of our English Gardiners, and those of the best and most approued'st iudgements, haue béene very industrious to bring Grapes, in our kingdome, to their true nature and perfection: and some great persons I know, that with infinit cost, and I hope prosperous successe, hath planted a Vineyard of many Acres, in which the hands of the best experienced french-men hath béene imploied: but for those great workes they are onely for great men, and not for the plaine English Husbandman, neither will such workes by any meanes prosper in many parts of our kingdome, especially in the North parts: and I that write for the generall vse, must treate of vniuersall Maximes: therefore if you desire to haue Grapes in their true and best kinde, most earely and longest lasting, you shall in the most conuenient part of your garden, which is euer the center or middle point thereof, build a round house, in the fashion of a round Doue-coate, but many degrées lower, the ground worke whereof shalbe aboue the ground two or thrée brickes thickenesse, vpon this ground-plot you shall place a groundsell, and thereon, fine, yet strong studs, which may reach to the roofe: these studs shalbe placed better then foure foote one from another, with little square bars of woode, such as you vse in glasse windowes, two betwixt euery two studs, the roofe you may make in what proportion you will, for this house may serue for a delicate banqueting house, and you may either couer it with Leade, Slate or Tile, which you please. Now, from the ground to the top, betwéene the studs, you shall glase it, with very strong glasse, made in an excéeding large square pane, well leaded and cimented. This house thus made, you shall obserue that through the bricke worke there be made, betwéene euery two studs, square holes, cleane through into the house; then on the out-side, opposite against those holes, you shall plant the roote of your Vine, hauing béene very carefull in the election and choise thereof: which done, as your Vine groweth you shall draw it through those holes, and as you vse to plash a Vine against a wall, so you shall plash this against the glasse window, on the in-side, and so soone as it shall beginne to beare Grapes you shall be sure to turne euery bunch, so that it may lye close to the glasse, that the reflection of the Sunne heating the glasse, that heate may hasten on the ripening, & increase the groath of your Grapes: as also the house defending off all manner of euill weather, these Grapes will hang ripe, vnrotted or withered, euen till Christmas. Thus haue I giuen you a tast of some of the first parts of English Husbandry, which if I shall finde thankefully accepted, if it please God to grant mée life, I will in my next Volumne, shew you the choise of all manner of Garden Hearbes and Flowers, both of this and other kingdomes, the seasons of their plantings, their florishings and orderings: I will also shew you the true ordering of Woodes, both high and low, as also the bréeding and féeding of all manner of Cattell, with the cure of all diseases incident vnto them, together with other parts of Husbandry, neuer before published by any Author: this I promise, if God be pleased: to whom be onely ascribed the glory of all our actions, and whose name be praised for euer. Amen. * * * * * FINIS. [Transcriber's notes The following changes have been made and anomalies noted. A Former Part Chap. II. 'adicted to nouelty and curiouity' changed to 'adicted to nouelty and curiousity' Chap. III. 'Plough houlder when hée cometh to' scan is unclear 'two much earth' probable misprint for 'too much earth' Chap. IIII. 'the of point your share' changed to 'the point of your share' Chap. V. 'of that which you soil'd:' changed to 'of that which you foil'd:' Chap. VI. 'the ridge of you land againe.' probable misprint for 'the ridge of your land againe.' 'Tare-Cockle, or such like,' scan is unclear 'After your land is soild,' changed to 'After your land is foild,' Chap. VII. 'and if you ffnde' changed to 'and if you finde' 'Manure of beasts which can be-gotten' probable misprint for 'Manure of beasts which can be gotten' 'your fould of Séepe' changed to 'your fould of Shéepe' 'frost, winde, and weathe,rmakes' changed to 'frost, winde, and weather, makes' 'no wing accoridng' changed to 'no wing according' Chap. IX. 'much barrainnesse, espcially' changed to 'much barrainnesse, especially' 'it shall be needlesse to write' scan is unclear The First Part Chap. I. 'you most turne euery furrow' probable misprint for 'you must turne euery furrow' 'hée must sooner stirer' changed to 'hée must sooner stirre'. Scan is unclear. Chap. II. 'euery thing with is most apt' changed to 'euery thing which is most apt' Chap. III. 'their naturall lighnesse' changed to 'their naturall lightnesse' 'as hath, béene showed before' changed to 'as hath béene showed before' Chap. IIII. 'it is most, certaine' changed to 'it is most certaine' 'Cornes in their gardens thus, set seeing' changed to 'Cornes in their gardens thus set, seeing' Chap. V. 'vpon the or fourth field' changed to 'vpon the third or fourth field' 'is ninam Barly,' probable misprint for 'is niam Barly,' Chap. VI. 'as we sée in dayly experience,' changed to 'as we sée in dayly experience.' The Second Part of the First Booke Chap. I. 'perfect ground-plot, you' scan is unclear 'twelue or fourtéene foote on of another,' probable misprint for 'twelue or fourtéene foote one of another,' 'thorny and sharpe, trées,' changed to 'thorny and sharpe trées,' Chap. IIII. 'you shall tak one of your grafts' changed to 'you shall take one of your grafts' Chap. V. 'Grafting betweene the barke.' scan is unclear in sidenote 'not aboue trée grafts at the most' changed to 'not aboue thrée grafts at the most' 'Grafting on the toppes of trees.' scan is unclear in sidenote 'and to contincu' changed to 'and to continue' Chap. VI. 'Of the replanting of Trees, and furnishing the Orchard,' changed to 'Of the replanting of Trees, and furnishing the Orchard.' Chap. VII. 'it is a ready away' changed to 'it is a ready way' 'two much fertillitie' probable misprint for 'too much fertillitie' 'stéepe it Mfor alt' changed to 'stéepe it for Malt' Chap. VIII. 'for any peculyar pofit' changed to 'for any peculyar profit' Chap. IX. 'and growriuelled' changed to 'and grow riuelled' 'they can by meanes indure,' changed to 'they can by no meanes indure,' Chap. XI. 'then contiunally labour' changed to 'then continually labour' Chap. XII 'Of Poales.' scan is unclear in sidenote Chap. XIIII 'dry more Hoppes then any one man' scan is unclear Chap. XVII. 'then betwxit your tiles' changed to 'then betwixt your tiles' Chap. XVIII. 'CHAP: XVIII.' changed to 'CHAP. XVIII.' 'single or double trayles,' scan unclear Chap. XIX. 'to the pliane English Husbandman' changed to 'to the plaine English Husbandman' ] 
35364	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 35364-h.htm or 35364-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/35364/35364-h/35364-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/35364/35364-h.zip) ETHEL MORTON AT SWEETBRIER LODGE by MABELL S. C. SMITH The World Syndicate Publishing Company Cleveland, Ohio New York, N. Y. Printed in the United States of America CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I A New Craft 9 II Playing with Concrete 25 III The Club Selects the Benches 37 IV Christopher Finds a New Lodging 52 V The Law of Laughter 67 VI Spring All the Year Round 80 VII Closets and Stepmothers 94 VIII "Off to Philadelphia in the Morning" 104 IX Helen Distinguishes Herself 122 X The Land of "Cat-fish and Waffles" 136 XI Lights and a Fall 150 XII In the Family Hospital 162 XIII A Golden Color Scheme 173 XIV At the Metropolitan 184 XV Preparations for the Housewarming 203 XVI Columbus Day 219 XVII The Parting Breakfast 234 CHAPTER I A NEW CRAFT "Carefully! O, do be careful, Ethel Brown! I'm so afraid I'll drop one of them!" It was Ethel Blue Morton speaking to her cousin, who was helping her and their other cousin, Dorothy Smith, take Dicky Morton's newly hatched chickens out of the incubator and put them into the brooder. "I _have_ dropped one," exclaimed Dorothy. "Poor little dinky thing! It didn't hurt it a bit, though. See, it's running about as chipper as ever." "Are you counting 'em?" demanded Dicky, whose small hands were better suited than those of the girls for making the transfer that was to establish the chicks in their new habitation. "Yes," answered all three in chorus. "Here's one with a twisted leg. He must have fallen off the tray when he was first hatched." cried Ethel Brown. "He lookth pretty well. I gueth he'll live if I feed him by himthelf tho the throng ones won't crowd him away from the feed panth," said Dicky, examining the cripple, for in spite of his small supply of seven years he had learned from his big brother Roger and from his grandfather Emerson a great deal about the use of an incubator and the care of young chickens. "That's a good hatch for this time of year," Ethel Brown announced when she added together the numbers which each handler reported to her. "A hundred and thirty-seven." "Hear their little beaks tapping the wooden floor," Ethel Blue said, calling their attention to the behavior of the just-installed little fowls who were making themselves entirely at home with extraordinary promptness. "They take naturally to oatmeal flakes, don't they?" commented Dorothy. "I always thought the old hen taught the chicks to scratch, and there's a little chap scratching as vigorously as if he had been taking lessons ever since he was born." "They don't need lessons. Scratching is as natural as eating to them. Hear them hum?" They all listened, smiling at the note of contentment that buzzed gently from the greedy groups of crowding chicks. As the oatmeal disappeared the chickens looked about them for shelter and discovered the strips of cloth that did duty for the maternal wings. Rushing beneath them they cuddled side by side in the covered part of the brooder. "Look at that one tucking his head under his wing like a grown-up hen!" exclaimed Ethel Blue. "I'll have to turn the lamp up a little higher tho they won't crowd and hurt each other," Dicky decided. "I'd wait a minute until they begin to warm the whole of their house by the warmth from their bodies," urged Ethel Brown, and her brother agreed that there was no need of haste, but he watched them closely until he saw that they were not trampling on each other's backs or sitting down hard on each other's heads. "When will they come out again?" asked Dorothy, who had never seen an incubator and brooder in operation before and who was immensely interested. "When they are hungry." "How soon will that be?" "In about two hours. They're a good deal like babies." "And is this brooder a really good step-mother?" "It's a foster-mother," corrected Ethel Blue. "It isn't anything so horrid as a step-mother." "O, I don't think step-mothers are horrid," objected Dorothy. "Yeth, they are," insisted Dicky. "All the fairy stories say they're cruel." "O, fairy stories," sniffed Dorothy. "I imagine fairy stories are right about step-mothers," insisted Ethel Blue. "Did you ever know one?" asked Dorothy. "No, I never did; but I have a feeling that they couldn't love a child that wasn't their own." "Why not?" demanded Ethel Brown. "Mother loves you just as well as she does her own children and you're only her niece." "Not her own niece, either--Uncle Roger's niece," corrected Ethel Blue; "but then, Aunt Marion is a darling." "I don't see why a step-mother shouldn't be a darling." "I don't see why she shouldn't be but I don't believe she ever is," and Ethel Blue stuck to her opinion. "Well, there aren't any 'steps' around this family, so we can't tell by our own experience," cried Dorothy, "and we've got this chicken family moved into its new house, so let's go and see what the workmen are doing at our new house." Dorothy's mother had been planning for several months to build a house on a lot of land on the same street that they were living on now, but farther away from the Mortons' and nearer the farm where lived the Mortons' grandfather and grandmother, Mr. and Mrs. Emerson. The contractor had been at work only a few days. "He had just finished staking off the ground when I was there the other afternoon," said Ethel Brown. "He's way ahead of that now," Dorothy reported as they walked on, three abreast across the sidewalk, their blue serge suits all alike, their Tipperary hats set at the same angle on their heads, and only the different colors of their eyes and hair distinguishing them to a careless observer. "He told me yesterday that the whole cellar would be dug by this afternoon and they would be beginning to put in the concrete wall." "Where?" "The cellar wall." "I thought cellar walls were made of stone." "Sometimes they are, but when there isn't stone all cut, concrete is more convenient and cheaper, too." "And it lasts forever, I was reading the other day." "I should say it did. Those old Pyramids in Egypt are partly made of concrete, they think, and they are three or four thousand years old." "Does Aunt Louise expect her house to last three or four thousand years?" "She wants it durable; and fireproof, any way, because we're some distance from the engine house." "If we watch this house grow it will be almost like building it with our own hands, won't it?" exclaimed Ethel Brown, for, although the house was her aunt's, Mrs. Smith had made all the cousins feel that she wanted them to have a share in the pleasure that she and Dorothy were having in making a shelter for themselves after their many years of wandering. She and her daughter consulted over every part of the plans and they had often asked the opinion of the Mortons, so that they all had come to say "our house" quite as if it were to belong to them. As they approached the knoll which they had been calling "our house lot" for several months, they saw that the gravel for the concrete was being hauled to the top of the hill where the bags of sand and cement had already been unloaded and a small concrete mixer set up. "They do things fast, don't they!" exclaimed Dorothy. "There's Mr. Anderson, the contractor." A tall, substantial Scotsman bowed to them as they reached the top of the hill. "Have you come to superintend us, Miss Dorothy?" he asked pleasantly. "We're going to make all our preparations for mixing the concrete to-day, and then we'll start up the machine to-morrow." "You won't have the cellar wall all built by to-morrow after school, will you?" asked Dorothy anxiously. "We want to see how you do it." "It won't take long to do this small cellar so you'd better hurry right here from your luncheon," Mr. Anderson returned as he walked away to attend to the placing of the pile of gravel, and to lay a friendly hand on the sides of the panting horses. "If your driveway doesn't wind around more than this road that the hauling men have made all your friends' horses will be puffing like mills when they reach the top," Ethel Blue warned her cousin. "Mother and the architect and a landscape gardener have it all drawn on paper," Dorothy responded. "It's going to sweep around the foot of the knoll and come gently up the side and lie quite flat on top of the ridge for a little way before it reaches the front door." "That will be a long walk for people on foot." "Ethel Blue is speaking for herself," laughed Ethel Brown. "And for Dorothy, too. She'll walk most of the time even if Aunt Louise is going to set up a car." "There's to be a footpath over there," Dorothy indicated a side of the hill away from the proposed driveway. "It will be a short cut and it's going to be walled in with shrubs so it won't be seen from the driveway." "What would be the harm if you could see it from the driveway?" "O, the lines would interfere, the landscape artist said. You mustn't have things confused, you know," and she shook her head as if she knew a great deal about the subject. "I suppose it would look all mixy and queer if you should see the grounds from an airship," guessed Ethel Brown, "but I don't see what difference it would make from the ground." "I guess it would be ugly or he wouldn't be so particular about it," insisted Dorothy. "That's his business--to make grounds look lovely." "I think I can see what he means," ventured Ethel Blue, who knew something about drawing and design. "I watched Aunt Marion's dressmaker draping an evening gown for her one day. She made certain lines straight and other lines curved, but the two kinds of lines didn't cross each other any old way; she put them in certain places so that they would each make the other kind of line look better and not make the general effect confusing." "Don't you remember how it was when we were planning Dorothy's garden on top of this ridge, back of the house and the garage?" Ethel Brown reminded them. "We had to draw several positions for the different beds because some of our plans looked perfectly crazy--just a mess of square beds and oblong beds and round beds." "They made you dizzy--I remember. We found we had to follow Roger's advice and make them balance." "Helen says there's a lot of geometry in laying out a garden. I guess she's right." Helen and Roger were Ethel Brown's older sister and brother. They were in the high school. They had come now to the excavation for the cellar and watched the Italian laborers throwing out the last shovelfuls of earth. "They're very particular about making the earth wall smooth," commented Ethel Brown. "I imagine they have to if the wall is to be concrete," returned Dorothy. "They've cut it under queerly at the foot on both sides; what's that for?" "I haven't the dimmest," answered Dorothy briefly. "Let's ask Mr. Anderson." "You'd find it hard to stand up straight if you had only a leg to stand on and not a foot," that gentleman answered to the question. "That concrete foot gives a good solid foundation, and it helps to repel the frost if that should get into the ground so deep. Do you see the planks the men are setting up twelve inches in from the bank?" The girls nodded. "They are making a fence all around the cellar you see; that is to keep the concrete in place when it is poured in, and to give it shape." "Is it soft like mud?" "It is made of one part of cement and two and one-half parts of sand and five parts of gravel. Do you cook?" They all nodded again. "When you come to-morrow you'll see the mixing machine making a stiff batter of those three things--cement and sand and gravel." "It must be like putting raisins in a plum pudding," suggested Ethel Brown. "You have to be careful the stones--the raisins--don't all sink to the bottom or get bunched together in one place." "That's the idea," smiled Mr. Anderson. "All those things and water go into one end of the mixer and they come out at the other end concrete in a soft state. Then the men shovel the stuff into the space between the fence and the earth bank, making sure that that widening trench at the foot is chock full and they thump it down and let it 'set.'" "I think the cellar will look very ugly with that old plank wall," decided Dorothy seriously. "The planks will be taken away." "Won't the concrete show lines where the cracks between the boards were?" "Do you see those rolls of heavy paper over there? The planks will be lined with that so that the concrete will come against a perfectly smooth surface. When the wood is taken away the men will go over it with a smoothing tool and when they have finished even your particular eye will see nothing to take exception to." "O, I knew it would be right somehow," murmured Dorothy, who was afraid she had hurt Mr. Anderson's feelings. "I just didn't know how you managed it." "Here's the way the end of the wall would look if you could slice down right through it," and the contractor took out his notebook and drew a cross section of the concrete wall showing its widened foot. "What's the floor to be made of?" asked Ethel Blue. "Concrete--four inches of it," answered Mr. Anderson promptly. "It will slope a trifle toward this end, and there a drainage pipe will be laid to carry off any water used in washing the floor. Then a layer of cement will go on top of the concrete." "What's that for?" "To make it all smooth. It will be rounded up at the corners and sides where it joins the walls, so there won't be any chance for the dust to collect." "The cellar in our house is awfully damp," remarked Ethel Brown. "Sometimes you can see the water dripping down the stones." "The walls and the floor of this cellar will be waterproofed with a mixture of rich cement and sand mortar, and I think you'll find, young ladies, that you'll have a cellar that'll be hard to beat." The contractor slapped his notebook emphatically and beamed at them so amiably that they felt the greatest confidence in what he proposed. "Any way, I haven't anything better to suggest," said Dorothy dryly. Mr. Anderson walked off, giving a roar of amusement as he left them. "Where does the sun rise from here?" asked Ethel Blue as she stood at the spot where was to be the front of the house, and gazed about her. "Does the house face directly south?" "No, it faces just half way between south and west. The corners of the house point to north, south, east and west. Mother said that if the front was due south the back would be due north and she didn't want a whole side of her house facing north." "It does have a chilly sound," shivered Ethel Brown. "With a point stretching toward the north the rooms that have a northern exposure will also have the morning sun and the afternoon sun." "I know Aunt Louise will have her dining room where the morning sun will shine in." "Yes, _ma'am_," returned Dorothy emphatically. "It makes you feel better all day if you eat your breakfast in the sunshine. By this plan of Mother's every room in the house will have direct sunshine at some part of the day." "It's great," approved Ethel Blue. "Can't we ask Mr. Anderson about making a bird's bath out of cement?" she inquired. "Ethel Brown and I saw a beauty at Mrs. Schermerhorn's and perhaps he'd let us have some of the concrete to-morrow when the men are mixing it, and we can try to make one." The girls raced over to the spot where the contractor was just about to get into his Ford, and stopped him. "Would you mind letting us have a little concrete to-morrow to make a bird's bath with?" begged Dorothy breathlessly. "A bird's bath?" repeated Mr. Anderson. "How are you going to make it?" "Couldn't we put some concrete in a pan and squeeze another pan down on to it and let it harden?" "Why, yes, something like that," returned Mr. Anderson slowly. "Do you want to make it yourselves?" "Yes, indeed," all three girls cried in chorus. He smiled at their enthusiasm and offered a suggestion. "I suppose you want the bird's bath for your garden, Miss Dorothy;--why don't you make a little pool for the garden?" "Oh, could we?" "If you could get a tub and lay down a flooring of concrete and then put in another tub enough smaller so that there would be a space between the walls, then you could fill the space with concrete. When it set, you could take out the inner tub after two or three days and turn the concrete out of the outer tub and there you'd have a concrete tub that you could move about." "That sounds great," beamed Dorothy, "but wouldn't it be awfully heavy?" "Here's a better way, then. If you can make up your mind exactly where you want to have it in your garden you can have a hole dug, lay down your floor of concrete and put your small tub on it." "I see--then you fill the space between the tub and the earth with concrete." "Precisely; thump it down hard and let it stand untouched for a while. Then take away your tub, and there you are again." "You can't make the concrete floor and leave it, can you?" "No, indeed. You must have everything ready to do the whole thing at once. Put in your tub which is to be your mold, while the floor is still plastic--" "Eh?" inquired Ethel Brown. "Soft enough to mold; and then pour in the walls right off quick. You can't fool round when you're working with concrete." "How can we keep the water fresh in the tub?" asked Ethel Blue of Dorothy. Dorothy paused, not knowing what to say. "It would be fun to keep gold fish in it," she said, "but they would have to have fresh water, wouldn't they?" She turned appealingly to Mr. Anderson. "That's not hard to manage," he said. "You can put a bit of broomstick between the earth wall and the outer wall of your tub-mold and pour the concrete around it. When the concrete has hardened you pull out the stick and there is a hole. Then you can have a drain dug that will tap that hole on the outside and carry off the water through a few lengths of drain pipe." "What's to prevent the water running off all the time?" Ethel Blue wanted to know. "Keep a plug in it," answered the contractor briefly. "And there should be waterproofing stuff mixed with the materials. You have your gardener dig a hole in the garden," he said, adding, "don't forget to have plenty of grease." "What's that for?" "Why do you grease your cake pans?" "So the cake won't stick." "Same here. On the cellar wall we lined the inside of the wooden forms with paper. That isn't so easy with round forms, so you grease them." "I never thought there was any likeness between concrete and cooking," laughed Ethel Brown as the girls watched Mr. Anderson's skill in taking his little car over the rough ground around the cellar excavation, "but there seems to be plenty." "Let's chase off and see if we can collect the things we shall need to-morrow," urged Dorothy. "I'll have to find Patrick and bring him here and show him just where to dig the hole." "Where are you going to dig the hole?" "I think just in the open place on top of the ridge." "I wouldn't," objected Ethel Brown. "Why not?" "Won't it be too warm in summer? If you're going to have gold fish you don't want to boil them." "The water would get pretty hot in the sun, wouldn't it?" considered her cousin. "What do you think of a place under that tree?" "It ought not to be too near the tree because the roots will grow out a long way from the trunk of the tree and they might get under the pool and break up the concrete." "Oh, could a tender little thing like a root break concrete that's as hard as stone?" "It certainly can. Grandfather showed me a crack in a concrete wall of his on the farm that was made by the root of a big tree not far off." "Well, then we can't have our pool anywhere near a tree. A shrub wouldn't hurt it, though; why can't it go near those shrubs that are going to separate the flower garden from the vegetable garden?" "That place would be all right because there's a tall spruce there that throws a shadow over the shrubs for a part of the day. That's all you need; you don't want to take away all the sunshine from the pool." So the exact spot was decided on and marked so that Patrick should make no mistake, and then the girls rushed off on a search for shallow basins and a tub. CHAPTER II PLAYING WITH CONCRETE It was not the Ethels and Dorothy alone who appeared at the "new place" the next afternoon to make the experiments with concrete. Helen, Ethel Brown's elder sister, and her friend, Margaret Hancock, of Glen Point, were so interested in the younger girls' account of what they were going to do with Mr. Anderson's help that they came too. As they puffed up the steep knoll on which the new house was to stand they stopped beside the cellar hole to see what progress had been made since the day before. "They have just frisked along!" Dorothy exclaimed when she saw that not only was the inside fence-mold all built but that the concrete floor was laid and that the men were pouring the mixture in between the planks and the earth wall and pounding it down as they poured. "Mr. Anderson said 'you can't fool round when you're working with concrete,'" Ethel Brown repeated. "They aren't, are they?" The men were all working as fast as they could move, some of them shovelling the materials into the mixer, others running the machine, others wheeling the wet concrete in iron barrows to the men at the edge of the cellar who tamped it down as fast as it was poured into the narrow space that defined the growing wall. "When it is full, way up to the top, what happens next?" Dorothy inquired of Mr. Anderson who came over to where they were standing. "Then we're going to build on it a three foot wall of concrete blocks to support the upper part of the house." "That's the wall that has the cellar windows in it?" "Yes." "Then do make good big ones; Mother likes a bright cellar," urged Dorothy. "We're going to make her a beauty," promised the contractor. "Come up into your garden now and let's get this concrete work up there done. Here, Luigi," he called to an Italian, "bring us a load of concrete over there," and he waved his hand in the direction of the spot where Patrick had dug the hole for the tub. They all examined the hole with care and the Ethels fitted in the tub and found that their digger had done his work skilfully, since there were just about three inches between the earth and the tub all around. They pulled the tub out again and under Mr. Anderson's direction they greased it thoroughly. "We want to do every bit we can ourselves," they insisted when he suggested that Luigi might do that part for them. "Don't forget the hole for the drainage," he reminded them. "Have you got your stick? And on which side are you going to have that?" They surveyed the ground about the hole and decided that a drainage pipe might run a few inches underground for a short distance and discharge itself at the edge of a bank below which a vegetable garden was to lie. "If you're careful what you plant there it will be an advantage to the ground to have this dampening once in a while," said Mr. Anderson, who was something of a gardener. "There won't be enough water to drown out any of your plants." Luigi emptied a load of concrete into the hole and while he was gone to get a new supply the girls thumped it down hard, fitted in the greased tub and wedged a bit of broomstick which Roger, Ethel Brown's brother, had cut for Dorothy into the space between the tub and the earth just at the top of the concrete flooring. When Luigi came back they were ready to thump as he poured and three loads filled up the space entirely. "Now, then, Luigi will bring you one of the smoothing tools that the men over there are using and you can make the top look even," and Mr. Anderson gave more instructions to the Italian. "It will be pretty to have some plants at the edge so they'll bend over and see themselves in the water," suggested Margaret. "I should think there must be some water plants that would grow inside without much trouble," Ethel Blue said. "We must look that up; they'd probably need a little soil of some sort," Helen reminded them. "They'd be awfully pretty," said Dorothy complacently. "Don't you seem to see it--with gold fish swimming around among the stems?" "Dicky might lend us his old turtle," laughed Ethel Brown. "He's tired of taking care of it. You could put a stick in here partly above the water, for him to sun himself on. I don't see why he wouldn't be quite happy here." Dicky's turtle was a family joke. Dicky had found him two years before and had taken him home thinking he was a piece of stone. His excitement and terror when the stone lying on the library table stuck out first a head and then one leg after another to the number of four, had never been forgotten by the people who saw him at this thrilling moment. "Now for your bird's bath," Mr. Anderson reminded his pupils. "You have to work fast, you know." Dorothy brought out her two shallow basins, one smaller than the other. The larger had its inside well greased and the smaller was thoroughly rubbed over on its under side. Into the larger they poured about an inch of concrete and then squeezed the smaller dish into it, but not so sharply that it cut through. They filled in the crack between the two, pushing and patting the mixture into place, and they smoothed the edge so that it turned over the rim of the larger bowl before they cut it off evenly all around with a wire. "There," said Mr. Anderson as he watched them. "We'll see what will come from that. It might be better done--" at which the girls all pulled long faces--"but also, it might be worse, or I'm very much mistaken." "I wish we could make some garden furniture," sighed Dorothy, holding up her dripping hands helplessly, but at the same time gazing with joy at their new manufacture. "You could if you would make the forms," said Mr. Anderson. "All you need to do is to make a bench inside of another bench and fill the space between with concrete." "That sounds easy, but if you were a girl, Mr. Anderson, you might find it a little hard to make the forms." "We can all drive nails," insisted Ethel Brown stoutly. "I believe I'll try." But the others laughed at her and reminded her that she would have to drive the nails through rather heavy planking, so she gave up the notion. "What are the walls going to be made of?" Margaret asked Dorothy. "Something fireproof, Mother said, but I don't know what she finally decided on. I'll ask Mr. Anderson." "Plaster on hollow tile," the contractor answered absent-mindedly over his shoulder, as he walked briskly before them back to the cellar. The girls saw that he was too full of business now to pay any more attention to them, so they thanked him for giving them so much time and made some investigations on their own account among the piles of material lying about on the grounds. "I wonder if this could be 'hollow-tile,'" Ethel Blue said to the rest as she came across a stack of strange-looking pieces of brown earthenware. "It's certainly hollow," returned Ethel Brown, "but I always supposed tiles were flat things. That's a tile Mother sets the teapot on to keep the heat from harming the polish of the table." They stood about the pile of brown, square-edged pipes, roughly glazed inside and out, through whose length ran three square holes. They asked two workmen as they passed what they were. One said "Hollow tile," and the other, "Terra-cotta." "I suspect they're both right," Helen decided. "Probably they're hollow tile made of terra-cotta." "But I thought terra-cotta was lighter brown and smooth. They make little images out of terra-cotta," insisted Dorothy. "I've seen those," agreed Margaret, "but I suppose there can be different qualities of terra-cotta just as there are different qualities of china." "This stuff is fireproof, any way," explained Dorothy. "I remember now hearing Mother and the architect talking about it. And they said something about a 'dead air space.' That must mean the holes." "What's dead air space for?" inquired Ethel Blue. "I think it dries up the dampness, or keeps it out so that it doesn't get into the house." "These are useful old blocks, then, even if they aren't pretty," decided Helen, patting the ugly pile. Mr. Anderson strolled toward them again after giving various directions to his men. "Just how is this tile used?" inquired Dorothy, as he seemed to be more at leisure now. "We build a wall of this hollow tile," he answered; "then we put the plaster right on to it. Do you see that the outside is rather rough? That is so the plaster will have something to take hold of. We mix it up of cement and lime and sand and put on three coats. The first one is mixed with hair, and mashed on hard so that it will stick and it is roughened so that the next coat will stick to it." "Is the next coat made of the same stuff?" "Without the hair; and the third coat is as thin as cream and is flowed on to make a smooth-looking outside finish." "That's a lot of work," commented Dorothy. "That's not all we're going to do to your walls; Mrs. Smith wants them to be a trifle yellowish in tone--a little warmer than the natural color of the plaster--so we're going to wash on some mineral matter that will give them color and waterproof them at the same time." "Killing two birds," murmured Helen. "Then the whole house will look plastery except the roof and chimneys," said Ethel Brown. "Including the roof and chimneys," returned Mr. Anderson. "We're going to use concrete shingles--" "Concrete shingles! Doesn't that sound funny!" "They are colored, so they look like green or red shingles." "What color is Mother going to have?" "Dark green. The chimney is to be made of reinforced concrete." "'Reinforced' must mean 'strengthened,' but how do you strengthen it?" inquired Margaret. "You've seen how we build a mold to pour the concrete in; inside of the mold we build a sort of cage of steel rods. Don't you see that when the concrete hardens it would be almost impossible for such a reinforced piece of work to break through?" "Couldn't an earthquake break it?" "An earthquake might give a piece of solid concrete such a twist that it would crack through, but suppose the crack found itself up against a steel rod? Don't you think it would complicate matters?" The girls thought it would. "I'm awfully glad our chimney is going to be reinforced," Dorothy exclaimed, "because up on this knoll we're going to feel the wind a lot and it would be horrid if the chimney should fall down!" "It certainly would," agreed the Ethels, but Mr. Anderson assured them that they need not be afraid of any accident of the sort with a reinforced concrete chimney. "I've seen skyscrapers going up in New York," said Margaret "and all the beams were of steel. Are you going to use steel beams here?" "No, we don't often use steel construction for small houses, but this house is going to be more fireproof than most small houses even if it does have wooden beams. You watch it as it goes on and notice all the points that make for fireproofness. It will interest you," Mr. Anderson promised as he walked away. The girls all washed their hands as well as they could with the hose with which the workmen watered the concrete mixture, but they had nothing to dry them on and they walked down the road holding them before them and waving them in the breeze. "Mother will think we are crazy if she happens to be looking out of the window," said Dorothy. "My aunt sent you a message, Dorothy," said Margaret. "What aunt? I didn't know you had an aunt," replied Dorothy. "She seems like a new aunt to us; James and I haven't seen her since we were little bits of things." "Where does she live?" asked Ethel Blue. "In Washington. She's an interior decorator and she's awfully busy, so when she has had to come on to New York to buy materials or to see people she has never had a chance to stay with us." "Is she going to make a visit this time?" inquired Ethel Brown. "She has come for a long visit now. She has a commission to decorate a house in Englewood. It's going to take her several weeks, and then she wants to rest and do some studying and to make the rounds of the decorators in the city, so it will be several months before she goes back again." "That's nice," said Ethel Blue politely, and she was glad she had thought so because Margaret said at once, "We think it's splendid. She's a young aunt, lots and lots younger than Mother, and James and I think she's loads of fun." "What was her message to me?" asked Dorothy. "O, we were telling her about the United Service Club and the things we did--sending gifts to the war orphans and celebrating holidays and our plans for helping some poor women and children in the summer and for taking care of the Belgian baby. She was awfully interested and said she felt as if she knew all of you people and the Watkinses quite well, we talked about you so much. Then we told her about Dorothy's house, and how Mrs. Smith had said we might all give our opinions about the decorating, and she asked us to tell you that she'd be very glad indeed to act as consulting decorator when you come to the inside work." "Why, that's awfully sweet of her!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Mother isn't going to have a regular decorator, and I know she'll be immensely pleased to have Miss--what is your aunt's name?" "Graham; she's our Aunt Daisy!" "--to have Miss Graham give us advice and 'check up' on our suggestions." "By the time your house is ready for that part she will have finished her Englewood house; but she said she'd be glad to come over and see the house and the plans any time when she was free for the afternoon, and she hoped you'd consult her about everything you wanted to." "Daisy is a pretty name, isn't it?" Ethel Blue murmured to herself. "I wish one of us was named Daisy." "Her name is really Margaret; I'm named after her. Daisy is the nickname for Margaret, you know." "It's a lovely name," said Ethel Blue again. "And please tell Miss Daisy that I think she's the finest ever, and Mother will think so, too, when I tell her about this," added Dorothy. "And do ask her to come over to one of the U. S. C. meetings when we happen to be doing something that will interest her," concluded Helen, who was the president of the club. CHAPTER III THE CLUB SELECTS THE BENCHES It seemed to Dorothy and the Ethels that the outside of Sweetbrier Lodge, as Mrs. Smith had determined to call her house, went up with remarkable speed, but that the inside would never be done--never! Every day the girls walked down the road after school, and stood and surveyed the general appearance from the sidewalk and from across the street and sometimes they went on to Mrs. Emerson's and discussed vigorously as to whether the view of the corner of the house that was to be seen now would still be seen after the leaves came out or whether the house would be entirely concealed by the foliage. "That's 'one of the things no feller knows,'" Mr. Emerson quoted. "We shall have to wait and see." "We can get an idea how it is to look from the road," said Ethel Brown. "Only there'll be a lot of planting," Dorothy explained. "There'll be a hedge along the street and a lot of shrubs on the knoll and the house will be covered with vines in the course of time." "That's another good point about concrete," declared Mr. Emerson; "vines don't injure it as they do brick." "We'll have it entirely covered, then," laughed Dorothy. "I thought it was to be a bungalow," said Mrs. Emerson. "Your mother has always spoken of it as a bungalow, but the plans I saw the men following the other day when I went up the hill to take a look at things, seemed to me like a two story house." "Mother changed her mind," said Dorothy. "She thought a bungalow would be too crowded now that we have little Belgian Elisabeth with us, so the house is going to have two stories and an attic." "The U. S. C. couldn't get on without Dorothy's attic," smiled Ethel Brown, for almost all of the presents for the Christmas Ship had been made in the attic of Dorothy's present abiding place, and the Club had had many meetings there. "There's nothing like having a well-thought-out plan before you attempt building," said Mr. Emerson, "and that your mother had." "She tried to think of every possible need, Ayleesabet's as well as our own," continued Dorothy, using the pronunciation that the Belgian baby had given her own name. "She has a good contractor in Anderson." "He didn't make the very lowest bid," said Dorothy. "There was one man who was lower, but he was such a lot lower that Mother thought there must be something the matter with the quality of the material he used, or that he employed workmen so poor that they might not do their work well, so she didn't consider that offer at all." "She was very wise," commended Mr. Emerson. "He might have spoiled the whole thing and have cost her more money in the end by turning out a poor job." While the building was going on and before the inside work was done the girls spent a good deal of time in planning for the furnishing of the garden. The flower and vegetable beds had all been arranged some weeks before and many of them had been planted, but the artistic part of the garden had been left until there should be time to devote to it. Mrs. Smith had promised Dorothy that she should have the choice of the garden furniture, reserving for herself a veto power if her daughter chose anything that seemed to her entirely unsuitable. "Not that I expect to use it," she said, smiling at the girls who were listening to her. The selection of the benches and tables and trellises was made a subject of attention by the whole United Service Club. A meeting was called in the partly begun garden so that they might have the "lie of the land" before them as they talked. Dorothy took with her a number of catalogues from which to select or to gather ideas. "We've got a good shelter of large trees already provided for us," she said as they all seated themselves in such shade as the young leaves made. "There ought to be a fine large settee under it where we can have Club meetings all summer, no matter how warm it is," urged Tom Watkins with wise foresight. Tom and his sister, Della, came out from New York for the club gatherings, and the prospect of meeting out of doors instead of in the attic, which was delightful in winter but not so attractive in warm weather, made him offer this shrewd suggestion. "In the first place," said Dorothy again, opening the various catalogues and spreading them on the grass where they could all see them, "don't you think it would be pretty to have all the chairs and benches of one pattern? Or don't you?" "I think it would," answered Ethel Brown, examining the pages carefully before she made her decision. "Would what?" "I should like them all alike. It would be messy to have a lot of different patterns." Ethel Blue, who had a good deal of artistic sense and ability, nodded her agreement with this belief. They all came to the same conclusion. "Then, let's pick out the pattern," said Dorothy, who had an orderly mind. "Something plain, so the visitor's eye won't be drawn to the benches instead of the flowers," recommended Helen. "Suppose we were sitting here, for instance, and looking toward the flower beds--there will be some tables and chairs between us and the flowers, probably--" "If the seeds will only grow," Dorothy sighed comically. "--and we want to forget them and not have them intrude on our attention." "Correct!" James Hancock thumped the ground by way of applause. "What's the plainest pattern there is?" asked Della, extending her hand for a book. "That one--but that's too plain," remonstrated Ethel Blue. "That's so plain that it draws your attention as much as if it were all fussed up." They laughed at her disgust and urged her to choose the next plainest. "I rather think this one with cross bars is pretty," she decided seriously. "You wouldn't get tired of that--especially if they're all painted dark green so you won't see them much." "You girls seem to want to have invisible furniture," grinned Roger. "Me for something more substantial." "These will be substantial enough--they're made of cypress," retorted Helen, "but you don't want to see a lot of chairs and benches when you come out to observe the beauties of nature, my child." "I can bay the moon on a white bench with an elaborate pattern just as musically as on a plain, dark green one," insisted Roger. "Don't pay any attention to him," urged Ethel Brown, which crushing remark from a younger sister was rewarded by a hair-pull effectively delivered by Roger. "Yow!" squealed Ethel. "Now who's baying the moon?" inquired her brother. "Let's decide on the cross-barred kind," decreed Dorothy. "The Lady of the Garden has made her decision," announced James, tooting through his hands as if he were a herald making an announcement. "Now for the shapes. How many are you going to have, Lady?" "I think there ought to be a very large bench that would hold almost all the Club, and then one or two smaller benches and two or three chairs and two small tables for lemonade and cocoa." "And to hold the Secretary's book when she's writing," urged Ethel Blue who held the office of scribe and had not always found herself conveniently situated to do her work. "Here's a bully bench for the whole U. S. C.," cried Tom. "It's curved so it will fit right under this semi-circle of trees as if it were made for this very spot." He held up the picture of a wide bench with two wings. It was greeted with applause. "When that is made in the pattern we chose it will be as pretty as any one could ask for," Dorothy decided. "And painted green," added Ethel Blue, at which they all laughed. "I'm serious about the green," she insisted. "Don't you see what I mean, Dorothy?" she continued, appealing to the person who was to have the final decision on the question. "I think you're right," replied Dorothy. "Don't mind what they say. Write down one of those, Miss Secretary, and one of these right-angled ones--don't you all of you think that's a comfy one?" They did, and they also approved of the single bench and the chairs and the small tables. "They won't be all jammed up in this corner, of course," Dorothy explained gravely, "but when we have a Club meeting we can bring them together if we want to and room enough for everybody." "I thought we were all to sit on the big bench," objected Tom with an air of deep disappointment. "So we shall if you boys are too lazy to pull the other benches and chairs over here," answered Dorothy. "If we have plenty we can arrange them any way we want to." "What about trellises?" inquired Ethel Blue who had been continuing her researches in the catalogues. "Here are some beauties. Don't you think you'll need some?" "She certainly will if that Dorothy Perkins rambler rose gets busy as it ought to," decided Roger. "There'll be a lot of vines and tall things if they'll only grow," said Dorothy hopefully. "I think there ought to be one or two flat ones and an arbor that will be a trellis." "Here's an arbor that you can walk through or sit down in while you admire your plants, and you will be protected from the sun," Tom pointed out. "And that same one with a lattice back and a bench inside makes a pretty good imitation of a summer house," suggested Ethel Brown. "We'll have one apiece of those, then." "Count up and see how much stuff you're planning to order," Roger suggested. "You've got a huge big place to set them in here but you don't want too much wood work, nevertheless." They came to the conclusion that there were not too many for the size of the grounds and were well satisfied with their choice. "Do you see how well we're going to see the house from here?" Dorothy asked. They all agreed that it would be very pretty from that point. "My idea is that the garden must look well from the house," said Dorothy. "Mother wants a pergola somewhere. Don't you think the right place for it would be covering a walk leading from the house to here?" "That's a great notion," approved Tom. "As you came toward the garden you'd have a--what do you call the effect--where you see a view framed in somehow?" "Do you mean a vista?" asked Margaret. "That's it. There would be a vista of the garden." "It will be lovely!" Helen said decisively. "And I don't see why there shouldn't be a trellis framing a view of the woods toward Grandfather Emerson's; that would be pretty, too." Dorothy went over to look at the drawing that Helen held up to her and decided straightway that it was worth trying. They all went toward the upper side of the garden where young peach trees were planted on the northern slope of the ridge and chose a spot which gave a charming picture of the adjoining field with its brook and the woods beyond. "The birds are coming along pretty well now," announced James who had been lying on his back gazing up into the branches swaying in the upper breeze. "Are you going to build any bird houses, Dorothy?" asked Ethel Brown. "I suppose we'll have to if we want them to stay late in the season or all winter," replied her cousin. "But bird houses are so ugly." "Not the modern ones," interposed James eagerly. "You make them out of pieces of the trunks of trees with the bark on, and you fix up a platform with a stick on it that has spikes to hang suet on and they aren't a bit conspicuous and lots of birds will stay all winter that otherwise would go south before the regular Palm Beach rush." "We must have some then," Dorothy made up her mind. "Say 'Robert of Lincoln'?" she begged Ethel Brown, who was the Club's reciter, "and then we'll go home and have some cocoa and cookies." "Do, Ethel Brown;" "Come on," were the cries from all the U. S. C. members as they settled themselves to listen to Bryant's charming verses. Merrily swinging on brier and weed, Near to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain side and mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name, Bob-o'link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Snug and safe is that nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers, Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln is gaily dressed, Wearing a bright black wedding coat; White are his shoulders and white his crest, Hear him call in his cheery note: Bob-o'link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Look, what a nice new coat is mine, Sure there was never a bird so fine. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life, Broods in the grass while her husband sings: Bob-o'link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Brood, kind creature; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee, chee. Modest and shy as a nun is she, One weak chirp is her only note, Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat: Bob-o'link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Never was I afraid of man; Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can. Chee, chee, chee. Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight! There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might: Bob-o'link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Nice good wife that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee. Soon as the little ones chip the shell Six wide mouths are open for food; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seed for the hungry brood. Bob-o'link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work and silent with care; Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air, Bob-o'link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Nobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee. Summer wanes, the children are grown; Fun and frolic no more he knows; Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone; Off he flies and we sing as he goes: Bob-o'link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again. Chee, chee, chee. CHAPTER IV CHRISTOPHER FINDS A NEW LODGING There was trouble in chicken circles. The young chicks that the Ethels and Dorothy had helped Dicky move from the incubator to the brooder were making rapid progress toward broiler size, and had been transferred to a run of their own where they scratched and dozed happily through the long spring days. Dicky and Ayleesabet, the Belgian baby, were examining them on a late June afternoon. Dicky had brought with him his old friend, the turtle, which had not yet been moved to Dorothy's pool, since his present owner wanted to wait until his aunt's house was occupied before he let so cherished a possession go where he might slip away and his loss, perhaps, be unnoticed. "When you're living right there tho you can watch Chrithtopher Columbuth all the time I'll let you have him," Dicky had promised Dorothy. "I see myself in my mind's eye sitting side of the tank all day and night holding the turtle's paw!" Dorothy exclaimed when she told the Ethels of Dicky's decision. Perhaps because he felt that he was soon to be parted from his old comrade Dicky's affection for Christopher seemed to increase and he developed a habit of carrying him about, sometimes in his hand and sometimes in a little basket which Dorothy had made for Christopher's Christmas gift. To-day he had brought him to the chicken yard in his hand and had laid him down on the ground while he examined his flock and called Ayleesabet's attention to the beauties of this or the other miniature hen. Elisabeth's words were few, but she managed to make her wants and opinions known with surprising ease, and she never had the least trouble about expressing her emotions. Her little playmate had learned this and therefore when he heard loud howls behind his back he knew that it was not anger that was disturbing the usually placid baby, but terror. Shriek after shriek arose although it seemed to him that he turned about almost instantly. He was not in time, however, to prevent her from being thrown down in some mysterious way, or to see the cause of the commotion among the chickens. They fluttered and squawked and ran to and fro, tumbling over each other and running with perfect indifference over the baby as she lay yelling on the ground. Her blue romper legs came up every now and then out of the mass of chicken feathers, and their kicking only added to the disturbance and confusion of the chicks. The hubbub did not go unnoticed. Roger ran from his vegetable garden to see what was the matter; Helen appeared from her garden of wild flowers; Miss Merriam, the baby's caretaker, ran from the porch where she was talking with the Ethels who were waiting for the out-of-town members of the U. S. C. to arrive. At the moment when all these people were rushing to the rescue, Margaret and James Hancock, just off the Glen Point street car, hurried from the corner, and Della and Tom Watkins, arrived by the latest train from New York, burst open the gate in their excitement. To meet all these inquiries came Dicky, tugging after him by the leg, the baby, howling pitifully by this time as she was dragged over the grass. Miss Merriam seized her and hugged her tight. "What's the matter with the little darling precious?" she crooned. Ayleesabet gathered herself together courageously and her sobbing died away. "What was it all about?" Miss Merriam inquired of Dicky. "I don't know," replied Dicky, his own lip trembling as he tried to understand the rapid, thrilling experience. "Tell Gertrude what happened," Miss Merriam urged the baby, wiping away her tears and setting her down on her feet on the grass just as Christopher Columbus bumped his way over the sod to join them. Ayleesabet's conversational powers were not equal to the explanation, but her little hands could tell a great deal, and her caretaker was skilled in interpreting them. She pointed to the turtle and called him by the nickname that Dicky had given him, "Chriththy"; then she spread out her fat little fingers and waved a forward motion with her hand. "Chrissy stuck out his head and legs and walked ahead," interpreted Miss Merriam. "Where was he, Dicky?" "In the chicken yard." Elisabeth was kneeling beside the turtle now, tapping his shell with a chubby forefinger; after which she rolled over on her back and screamed. Miss Merriam shook her head at this demonstration, but Dicky translated it out of his previous experience. "The chickenth hit hith thhell with their beakth, and, when he moved they were frightened and knocked her over," he guessed. "That's just what happened, I believe," said Roger, setting Elisabeth on her feet once more. "I've seen the chickens run like anything from Christopher, and probably they ran between the baby's legs and upset her and then scampered all over her. I don't wonder she was scared." Christopher gave no testimony in the case. He may have been overcome by the confusion; at any rate he withdrew into his shell and preserved a studied calm from which he could not be roused. "I think you can have him," said Dicky suddenly to Dorothy, who had come through the fence at the corner where her yard joined her cousins'. "He botherth me." "Very well," said Dorothy. "Let's take him over to Sweetbrier Lodge this afternoon. We're all going over there anyway--bring him along, Dicky." So the procession set forth, Dicky and his shell-covered friend at the fore, escorted by all the rest of the United Service Club, while Miss Merriam and her charge, whose walking ability had not yet developed much speed, brought up the rear. As they all toiled up the hill to Sweetbrier Lodge Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Morton came out on the veranda of the new house to watch them. "Has anything happened?" called Mrs. Smith as soon as they were within earshot. "We're just bringing Christopher over to his new home," Dorothy explained to her mother. "'The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land,'" quoted Mrs. Morton. "I used to think that that meant a turtle like Dicky's and not a turtle-dove," and the two mothers laughed and disappeared within the house while the younger people kept on to the garden and the concrete pool. When they reached there Dicky gazed at the pool in dismay. "There ithn't any water in it," he objected, shaking his head doubtfully. "We can reach it with the hose and fill it up in no time," his cousin explained. "It'll run out of the hole," pointing to the hole made by the broomstick when the concrete was soft. "We'll put a plug in the hole." "He hasn't any log to sit on." "Roger will find him a stick." "I don't want to leave him here all alone," screamed Dicky, overcome by a renewal of his former misgivings. Casting himself on the ground he hugged his treasure to his breast and waved his legs in the air. "You can take him back again if you want to," Ethel Brown reminded him, "but you know he's always getting into trouble with the chickens now. He seems to run away every day." As the memory of the latest encounter between Christopher and the chicks with Elisabeth's overthrow, flashed before him, Dicky howled again. There seemed to be no haven on earth for his favorite. "I'll tell you what we'll do," suggested Dorothy soothingly. "Let's go down to the house. The laundry is finished, and we can put him in one of the tubs there until this pool is fixed to suit you." "It'th dark in the laundry," objected Dicky again. "Not in this laundry. You see," explained Dorothy, sitting down beside the sufferer and patting him gently, "the house is built on the side of a hill, so the laundry has full sized windows and is bright and cheerful though it's on a level with the cellar. I think Christopher will like it." Dicky stood up, his face smeared with tears, but a new interest gleaming in his reddened eyes. "Come on," urged Ethel Blue, tactfully; "let's all go and see if we can't make him comfortable." "I'll pick up a piece of log for him as we go along," promised Roger, and he and Tom and James went off towards the woods to look for just the right thing. "What a perfectly dandy cellar. Why, it's as bright as the upper part of the house!" exclaimed Margaret as the procession invaded the lower regions of the Lodge. "Isn't it fine!" agreed Dorothy. "The workmen have cleared it all up, and, if this part were all, it might be lived in right off." "The whitewashed walls make it look bright." "And the large windows! I never saw such windows in a cellar." "Mother says I may put little cheesecloth curtains in them." "Curtains will look sweet the day after you take in the winter supply of coal," grinned Roger, who appeared with the other boys, carrying Christopher's bit of log. "They won't look dirty, if that's what you mean by 'sweet,'" Dorothy retorted. "Look--" and she opened the door of a coal bin--"the coal is put in through a concrete chute that leads directly into the bin and the bin is entirely shut off from the cellar. No dust floats out of that, young man." "How do you get the coal out?" "Here's a little door that slides up and catches. You notice that the floor of the bin isn't level with the cellar floor; it's raised to make it a comfortable height for shoveling. Under it is the place for the logs for the open fires. There are two bins, one for furnace coal and the other for the coal for the stoves, and the kindling wood goes in this third one. They are all together and large enough but not too large, and the furnace coal is near the boiler and the small coal is near the laundry and the wood is close to the dumb waiter that will take that and the clean clothes upstairs." "All as compact as a cut-out puzzle," approved Roger. "I take off my hat to this arrangement." "Thank you," courtesied Dorothy. "Mother and I worked that out together, and we're rather pleased with it ourselves." "What do you do with the ashes?" asked Roger, who took care of several furnaces in the winter time, and therefore made his examination as a specialist. "Put them down that chute with a swinging door and into a covered can. It will be hard for the ashes to fly there." "This is the concrete floor we superintended," said Helen, looking at it closely. "All smooth and well drained with rounded edges. It's going to be as clean as a whistle down here. See the metal ceiling? That's for fire prevention, and so is the sprinkler system and there's a metal covered door at the head of the cellar stairs." "There seems to be a lot of machinery for a small house," observed James as he carried his examination around the space. "Mother said she couldn't afford luxuries but she could afford comforts and these are some of the comforts," smiled Dorothy. "Not very pretty comforts," remarked Ethel Blue dryly. "'Handsome is as handsome does,'" quoted her cousin. "When these things get to working you won't care whether they're beautiful to look at or not." "What's the heating system--steam or hot water?" asked Tom, standing before the boiler. "Hot water. They say it's more convenient for a small house because you don't have to keep up such a big fire all the time." "That's so; in steam heating there has to be fire enough to make steam, anyway, doesn't there?" "And when the steam in the pipes cools it turns to water and dribbles away, but in the hot water system there will be some heat in the outside of your radiator as long as the water inside has any warmth at all." "How does the expense compare?" inquired James who was always interested in the financial side of all questions. "The hot water system is said to be cheaper," replied Dorothy. "Why are there so many pipes?" asked Ethel Brown, looking with a puzzled air at the collection before her. "Hear me lecture on heating!" laughed Dorothy; "but I did study it all out with Mother, so I think I'm telling you the truth about it. There have to be two sets of pipes, one to take the hot water to the radiators and the other to bring it back after it has cooled." "There seem to be big pipes and small ones." "Mains and branch pipes they call them. The man who put these in said this house was especially well arranged for piping because it wouldn't take any more pressure to force the water into one radiator than another. He says there's going to be a good even heat all over everywhere." "There isn't a lot of difference between radiators for steam and those for hot water, is there?" asked Ethel Blue. "No, you have to put something with water in it on top of both kinds to make the air of the room moist. Here you have to open the air valve yourself and let out the air that accumulates in the radiator. In the steam ones they are automatically worked by steam." "There can't be much air in the hot water radiator, I should think," said Margaret thoughtfully. "There isn't. You only have to open the valve two or three times in the course of the winter. The biggest difference is that the hot water system has to have an expansion tank." "What's that?" "Why, when steam is shut up it just presses harder than ever, but when water is heated it swells and it's likely to burst open whatever it's in, so there has to be an open tank up at the top of the house where it can go and swell around all it wants to," laughed Dorothy. "What are these affairs?" inquired Margaret who had been looking at two other arrangements near by. "That one is a gas thing for heating water in summer when there isn't any other fire. There's a tiny flame burning all the time, and when the water is drawn out of the tank the flame becomes larger automatically and heats up a new supply." "That's a fine scheme; you don't have to heat the house up and yet the water is always ready. What's the other?" "That's to burn up the garbage. In the kitchen there's a tiny closet for the garbage pail. It's ventilated from the outside. There is a thing that burns the garbage and makes it heat the water, but Mother decided that we had so small a family that there might be days when there wouldn't be fuel enough to make a decent fire, so we'd better have the gas heater." "The other would be economical for a hotel," observed prudent James. "Here's the refrigerating plant," Dorothy said, motioning toward a tank and a set of pipes and a small motor. "Going to cut out the iceman?" grinned Tom. "We're going to be independent of him. Mother doesn't like natural ice, any way; she went over to the Rosemont pond last winter when the men were cutting and the ice was so dirty she made up her mind right off that she didn't want any more of it. This thing will chill the refrigerator up in the kitchen and pipes from it are going under the flooring of the drawing room and the dining room so they can be made comfy in summer." "Hope you can cut them off in winter!" and Roger gave a tremendous shiver. "We can," Dorothy reassured him. "Good work!" "It makes small cakes of ice too, so we can always have plenty for the Club lemonades." "I don't know but I think that's more useful than the heating arrangements," approved plump little Della. "That's because you're fat," responded Tom with brotherly frankness. "You think you suffer most in summer, but if you didn't have any heat in winter you'd change your cry." "I suppose I should, but I do nearly _melt_ in warm weather," sighed Della. "We don't mean to if we can help it," laughed Dorothy. "This is the air-washing arrangement over here," went on Dorothy, as she continued her round of the cellar. "Air-washing!" was the general chorus. "As long as we have a little motor we're going to make it useful. There's a small fan here that brings in the fresh air. It goes into a 'spray chamber' and is washed free of dust with water that is cold in summer and warm in winter." "I see clearly that the temperature of this castle is going to be just right," exclaimed Roger. "After the air leaves the spray chamber it goes over some plates that take all the moisture out of it, and then the fan forces it through the pipes that go into every room." "Are those the little gratings I noticed in all the rooms the other day?" asked Ethel Blue. "Those are the ventilators. Don't you think we've made everything very compact here? All these pipes take up very little room." "Mighty little!" commended Roger. "And they're all open so you can get at them without any trouble." "Here's a scheme Patrick suggested," laughed Dorothy, pointing upward to what looked like a concrete shelf with an upturned border almost at the top of the cellar wall. "What's it for?" asked Ethel Brown. "That shelf is directly underneath the seat beside the fireplace in the drawing room. Patrick plans to save himself the trouble of carrying up the logs by piling them on this shelf down here. Then he lifts the cover of the seat upstairs and all he has to do is to take out his wood and make his fire!" "That certainly is a cracker-jack labor saving device! Good for Patrick!" "He's especially tickled with the vacuum cleaner run by this same little motor. You ought to hear him talk about it." "What are these cupboards for?" asked Helen who had been exploring. "That one with the glass doors is for preserves, and the place in the other corner that has a fence for its two inside walls is a place for cleaning silver and shoes and lamps and brasses. See--there are cupboards along the inside of the fence. They hold all the cleaning materials, and the cleaner can sit in a swing chair in the middle and use a different part of the concrete shelf against the two cellar walls for boots or fire-irons or knives and forks or lamps. At one end is a sink so he can have what water he needs for his work and he can wash his hands when he turns from one kind of cleaning to another." "And he isn't all smothered up in a small room. Who thought of that?" "Patrick and I worked that out together. Patrick has lots of ingenuity." "I should say you had, too!" exclaimed Della, admiringly. "Here's where Dorothy does her carpentering," cried James. "I may move that bench up in the attic later," explained Dorothy, "but I thought I'd leave it here until the house was done, because there are apt to be little things to be hammered and nailed for some time, I suppose." "How long are you going to be before you fikth a plathe for Chrithopher Columbuth?" demanded Dicky, whose patience was entirely exhausted. "We'll make him happy right here and now," answered Dorothy briskly, throwing open the door of the laundry. The sun shone gayly on the concrete floor and the room was a cheerful spot. An electric washing machine stood ready although covered tubs were built against the wall for use in emergencies, and at one side was a drying closet. There were numerous plugs against the wall for the attachment of pressing irons. "What's this?" asked Ethel Brown, lifting a cover of a hopper at the base of a chute. "That's the chute for soiled clothes. The other end is on the bedroom floor, and it saves carrying." "That's as good as Patrick's log device!" smiled Helen. "Shall I put Christopher's log in here?" asked Roger, lifting the top of one of the stationary tubs. "Yes, fix it so he can crawl up and sit in the sunshine where it strikes the tub. We'll have to draw some water from the hydrant outside; the water isn't turned on in the house yet." Roger picked up a pail that was standing near by and went up the cellar stairs two at a time. "Now, sir," he said to Dicky when he came back, "I'll lift you up and you can put Christopher into his new abode." Dicky deposited his charge gently on the log and he lay there poking out his head to enjoy the sunshine. "Did you bring some bits of meat for him?" Roger asked. For answer Dicky turned out of the pocket of his rompers a handful of chopped beef. "Certainly unappetizing in appearance," said Tom, wrinkling his nose, "but I dare say Christopher is not particular." CHAPTER V THE LAW OF LAUGHTER The Mortons were sitting on their porch on a warm evening waving fans and trying to think that the coming night promised comfortable sleep. The Ethels sat on the upper step, Roger was stretched on the floor at one side, Helen sat beside her mother's hammock which she kept in gentle motion by an occasional movement of her hand, and Dicky was dozing in a large chair. In a near-by tree an insect insisted that "Katy did," and in the grass a cricket chirruped its shrill call. "I do feel that Aunt Louise's being able to build this pretty house after all her years of wandering is about the nicest thing that ever happened out of a fairy story," murmured Helen softly to her mother, but loudly enough for the others to hear. "There are people who talk about the law of compensation," smiled Mrs. Morton in the darkness. "They think that if one good is lacking in our lives other goods take its place." "Do you believe that?" "I believe that everything that happens to us comes because we have obeyed or disobeyed God's laws. Sometimes we are quite unconscious of disobeying them, but the law has to work out just as if we knew all about it." "For instance?" came a deep voice from the floor, indicating that Roger had awakened. "Do you remember the time you walked off the end of the porch one day?" "I should say I did! My nose aches at the mere thought of it." "You didn't know anything about the law of gravitation, but the law worked in your case just as if you had known all about it." "I'm bound to state that it did," confirmed Roger, still gently rubbing his nose as he lay in the shadow. "It seems as if it might have held up for a little boy who didn't know what he was going to get by disobeying it," said Ethel Blue sympathetically. "But it didn't and it never does," returned Mrs. Morton. "That's one reason why we ought to try to learn what God's laws are just as fast and as thoroughly as we can; not only the laws of nature like the law of gravitation, but laws of morality and justice and right thinking and unselfishness and kindness toward others." "Sometimes mighty mean people seem to prosper," said Ethel Brown, with a hint of rebellion in her voice. "That's because those people obey to the letter the law that controls prosperity of a material kind. A man may be cruel to his wife and unkind to his children, but he may have a genius for making money. Some people call it the law of compensation. I call it merely an understanding of the financial law and a lack of understanding of the law of kindness." "I don't see what law dear Aunt Louise could have broken to have made her have such a hard time," wondered Ethel Blue. "Her husband being killed and her having to wander about without a home for so many years--that seems like a hard punishment." "Men have decided that 'ignorance of the law is no excuse'!" said her aunt, "and the same thing is true of laws that are not man-made." "That seems awfully hard," objected Helen; "it doesn't seem fair to punish a person for what he doesn't know." "If a cannibal should come to Rosemont and should kill some one and have a barbecue, we should think that he ought to be deprived of his liberty because he was a dangerous person to have about, even if we felt sure that he did not know that he was doing an act forbidden by New Jersey law. The position is that although a person may be ignorant of the law it is his business to know it. That seems to be the way with the higher laws; we may break them in our ignorance--but we ought not to be ignorant. We ought to try just as hard as we know how all the time to do everything as well as we can and to be as good as we can. If we never let ourselves do a mean act or think a mean thought we're bound to come to an understanding of the great laws sooner than if we just jog along not thinking anything about them. I believe one reason why your Aunt Louise was so slow in reaching the end of her troubles after Uncle Leonard died was because she was unable to control her sorrow. She has told me that she was completely crushed by his death and the condition of poverty in which she found herself with a little child--Dorothy--to take care of." "I don't blame her," murmured Ethel Blue. "She blames herself, because she has learned that giving way to grief paralyzes all the powers that God has given us to carry on the work of life with. If our minds are filled with gloom our bodies don't behave as they ought to--I dare say even you children know that." "I know," agreed Ethel Blue, who was sensitive and imaginative and suffered unnecessarily over many things. "Your mind doesn't go, either," Roger added. "I know when I got in the dumps last spring about graduating I couldn't do a thing. My work went worse than ever. It was only when Mr. Wheeler"--referring to the principal of the high school--"jollied me up and told me I was getting on as well as the rest of the fellows that I took a brace; and you know I did come out all right." "I should say you did, dear," acknowledged his mother proudly. "Instances like that make you understand how necessary it is to be brave and to be filled with joy because life is going on as well as it is. It is our duty to make the most of everything that is given us--our bodies, our minds, our spirits--and if courage will help or joy will help then we must cultivate courage and joy." "Did Aunt Louise see that after a while?" "Not for a long time, she says. After the shock of Uncle Leonard's sudden death had worn away somewhat she began naturally to have a little more courage--not to be so completely crushed as she was at first. Then she saw that when she was feeling brave she could accomplish more, and succeed better in new undertakings. If she went to ask for work somewhere and had no hope that she would receive it she usually did not receive it; but if she went feeling that this day was to be one of success for her it usually was." "I suppose she went in with a sort 'Of course you'll give it to me' air that made the men she was asking think of 'of course' they would," smiled Roger. "I don't doubt it. Then she says that she found out that there was real value in laughter." "In laughter!" repeated Ethel Brown. "Why laughter is just foolishness." "No, indeed; laughter is the outward expression of delight." "Lord Chesterfield told his son he hoped he'd never hear him laugh in all his life," offered Roger. "Lord Chesterfield hated noisy laughter as much as I do. There's nothing more annoying than empty, silly giggling and laughter; but the laughter that means real delight over something worth being delighted at--that's quite another matter. Lord Chesterfield and I are agreed in being opposed to a vulgar _manner_ of laughing, but we are also agreed in believing that delight needs expression. Isn't it in that same letter that he says he hopes he will often see his son smile?" "Same place," responded Roger briefly. "Aunt Louise says she found that even if she wasn't feeling really gay she could raise her spirits by doing her best to laugh at something. If you hunt hard enough there is almost always something funny enough to laugh at within reach of you." "Like Dicky here snoozing away as soundly as if he were in bed." "Poor little man. You needn't carry him up yet, though. He's not uncomfortable there." "There's one thing I think is perfectly wonderful about Aunt Louise," said Ethel Blue; "she takes so much pleasure out of little things. She's interested in everything the U. S. C. does, and she wants to help on anything the town undertakes--you know how nice she was about the school gardens--and sometimes when a day comes that seems just stupid with nothing to do at all, if you go over to Aunt Louise's she'll tell you something she's seen or heard that day that you never would have noticed for yourself and that really is interesting." "She gets their full value out of everything that passes before her eyes. It's the wisest thing to do. The big things of life are more absorbing but very few of us encounter the big things of life. Most of us meet the small matters, the everyday happenings, and nothing else." "Isn't life full of a mess of 'em!" ejaculated Roger. "Getting up and dressing and brushing your hair and eating three meals a day have to be done three hundred sixty-five times a year; whereas you hear some splendid music or come across a fine new poem or find yourself in a position where you can do a real kindness about once in a cat's age. Queer, isn't it?" "That's just why it's a good plan to see the opportunities in the little things. If we see with clear eyes we may be able to do some small kindnesses oftener than 'once in a cat's age.' It's certainly true that the everyday troubles, the trifling annoyances, are really harder to bear than the big troubles." "O-o-o!" disclaimed Helen. "The big troubles give you a bigger shock, but then you pull yourself together and summon your strength, and strength to endure them comes. But the small matters--they come so often and they seem such pin pricks that it seems not worth while to call upon your powers of endurance." "Yet if you don't you're as cross as two sticks all the time," finished Helen. "I know how it is. It's like having a serious wound or a mosquito bite." They all laughed, for Roger, as if to illustrate her remarks, gave a slap at a buzzing enemy at just the appropriate moment. "Another thing that helps to make Aunt Louise a happy woman now is that she is at peace not only with everybody on earth but also with herself. If she makes a mistake she doesn't fret about it; she does her best to remedy it, and she does her best not to repeat it. 'Once may be excusable ignorance,' she says, 'but twice is stupidity,' and then she tells the tale of the boy who was walking across a field and fell into a dry well which he knew nothing about. He roared loudly and after a time a farmer heard him and pulled him out. The next day he was walking across the same field and he fell again into the same well." "He set up the same roar, I suppose." "A perfect imitation of the previous one. The same farmer came. When he looked down the well and saw the same boy he said disgustedly, 'Yesterday I thought ye were a poor, unknowin' lad; to-day I know ye're a sad fool.'" Again they all laughed. "She's always cheerful and always affectionate and she's as dear as she can be and I'm glad she's going to have this lovely house and I wish we had one just like it," cried Helen in a burst. "We have a good house." "But it doesn't belong to us." "We Army and Navy people can't expect to own houses, my child. You don't need to have that told you at this late day." "I know that. If Father weren't so keen on having us all together while we're being educated we wouldn't have been in Rosemont as long as we have; but I sometimes envy the people who have a home of their own that they are sure to stay in for ever so many years." "When you feel that way you must think of the many advantages of the Army and Navy children. If your father had not been on the Pacific station when you were the Ethels' age you wouldn't have had a chance to see California when you were old enough to enjoy it and remember it." "I know, Mother. I didn't mean to growl. I just thought that Father had as much money as Aunt Louise from his father, and he had his salary besides, and yet we haven't a house of our own." "We've had a good many of Uncle Sam's houses, which is more than your Aunt Louise has had. But you must remember that her inheritance from your Grandfather Morton was accumulating for many years while her family didn't know where she was, while your father and Ethel Blue's father have been spending the income of theirs all along." "Uncle Roger has had a lot of children to spend his on, but Father hasn't had any one but me," said Ethel Blue, whose life had been entirely spent with her cousins because her mother had died when she was a tiny baby. Never before had she thought whether her father, who was a captain in the Army, had any money or not. Now she saw that he must be better provided with it than his brother, her Uncle Roger, the father of Ethel Brown and Helen and Roger and Dicky, who was a Lieutenant in the Navy. "Your father is always generous with his money, but I dare say he is saving it for some time when he will want it," suggested Mrs. Morton. "I don't know when he'll want it any more than he does now," said Ethel Blue. "Perhaps he'll want to have a house of his own at whatever post he is when he has a grown-up daughter," smiled Helen. "You'd better learn to keep house right off." The idea thrilled Ethel. Never before had she happened to think of the possibility of joining her father after her school days were over. Never having known any home except with Ethel Brown and her other cousins she had always seen the future as shared with them. The notion of leaving them was painful, but the chance of being always with her father, of being his housekeeper, of seeing him every day, of making him comfortable, was one that filled her with delight. Her blue eyes filled with tenderness as she dreamed over the possibility. "I have lots to learn yet before I should know enough," she murmured, staring almost unseeingly at her cousin, "but it's wonderful to think I could do it." The new idea would not leave her mind, though, indeed, she made no effort to drive it out. That the future might hold for her a change so complete was something she wanted to let her thoughts linger on. She hardly noticed that Roger was gathering Dicky up into his arms to carry him upstairs to bed, or that there was a general stir on the veranda, betokening a move indoors. "Miss Graham was at Dorothy's this afternoon," Ethel Brown said as she rose and picked up the straw cushion on which she had been sitting. "Was she?" inquired Helen interestedly. "I wish I had seen her. I never have yet, you know." "Neither has Ethel Blue. She and Aunt Louise and Dorothy and I went over to the new house and looked at the attic. She says she'll come over next week and help us about the bedroom floor. That will be ready then for us to talk about the decorating." "Be sure and let me know when she is coming. What did she say about the attic?" "She liked it especially because it had been sheathed, following all the ins and outs. She thought the irregularity was pretty. She suggested a closet for furs over the kitchen. It won't cost much to bring the refrigerating pipes up there, she says." "That's bully. Aunt Louise may take care of my fur gloves for me next summer if the moths don't eat them up this year," promised Roger who had stopped in the doorway to hear Ethel Brown's report, and stood with the still sleeping Dicky over his shoulder. "She suggested a raised ledge about fourteen inches high to stand trunks on." "Then you don't break your back bending over them when you're hunting for something," exclaimed Helen. "That's splendid. She seems to have practical ideas as well as ornamental ones." "She thought there ought to be a fire bucket closet up there, too. You know Aunt Louise has had them put in on all the other floors, but she didn't think of it there." "What is it?" asked Mrs. Morton. "Just a narrow closet with four shelves. On each of the lower three are fire buckets to be kept full of water all the time and on the top shelf are some of those hand grenade things and chemical squirt guns. They don't look very well when they're right out in sight. This way covers them up but makes them just as convenient. There is to be no lock on the door of the closet and FIRE is to be painted outside so every one will know where it is even if he gets rattled when the fire really happens." "Are the maids' rooms to be on the attic floor?" asked Mrs. Morton. "Two little beauties, and a bath-room between them. One room is to be pink and the other blue and they're going to have ivory paint and fluffy curtains just like Dorothy's." "Did you think to say anything to Miss Graham about the Club's using the attic in winter for weekly meetings?" "Dorothy did. She thought a movable platform would be a great scheme; one wide enough for us to use for a little stage when we wanted to have singing or recitations up there. She picked out a good place for the phonograph, where the shape of the ceiling wouldn't make the sound queer, and she thought rattan furniture stained brown would be pretty, and scrim curtains--not dead white ones, but a sort of goldeny cream that would harmonize with the wood. There are lovely big cotton rugs in dull blues, that aren't expensive, she says; and if we don't want to see the row of trunks and chests against the wall we can arrange screens that will shut them out of sight and will also take the place of the pictures that you can't hang on a wall that slopes the wrong way." "I don't see, then, but Aunt Louise will have an attic and we'll have a club room and both parties to the transaction will be pleased," beamed Helen, who, as president of the Club was always careful that the members should be comfortable when they gathered for their weekly talking and planning and working. "Doesn't Miss Graham come from Washington?" asked Ethel Blue dreamily, half awakening to the conversation. "Yes, you know she does." "Fort Myer is just across the river; I wonder if she knows Father." "Ask her when you see her," recommended Ethel Brown, and they all went in to bed as a clap of thunder gave promise of a cooling shower. CHAPTER VI SPRING ALL THE YEAR ROUND It proved to be quite a week later before the workmen were far enough along to make it worth while for Miss Graham to be summoned to a conference on the decoration of the bedroom floor, and when Ethel Blue met her at last she forgot altogether to ask if she knew her dearly beloved father. There were several reasons why she did not ask. In the first place she had forgotten that she meant to; in the next, Miss Daisy was so absorbed in what she was hearing from all the Club members about their ideas for the bed-rooms, and so interested in comparing them with her own practical knowledge of how they could be carried out, that no one who listened to her or saw her at work wanted to interrupt her with any questions that had no bearing on the matter in hand. Not that she was not interested in the young people. She was thoroughly interested in them. She knew all of their names and sorted out one from the other immediately just from Margaret's and James's descriptions of them. She listened attentively to their suggestions and they all felt that she was treating their ideas with respect and that if she did not always agree with them she had a good reason for it. "I think she's the most competent woman almost that I ever saw," said Helen admiringly to Margaret as they stood at one side of the upper hall and watched her as she rapidly sketched for Mrs. Smith what she meant by a certain plan of window hanging. Helen was greatly interested in new occupations for women and the fact that this woman had studied to be an interior decorator and had succeeded so well that she had orders from the suburbs of New York itself had impressed the young girl as making her well worth trying to know well. Helen was not drawn toward interior decorating--she had already made up her mind, that she was to be one of the scientific home-makers educated at the School of Mothercraft--but she admired women with the courage to start new things, and this work seemed to her to be perfectly suited to a woman and at the same time of enough importance to be really worth while putting a lot of preparation into it. The dressing of shop windows seemed to her another peculiarly feminine occupation, hardly entered at all, as yet, by women, and capable of being developed into an art. "The decoration of a room or a building ought to seem a sort of growth from the room or the building," Miss Graham was explaining to the Ethels. "It ought to seem perfectly natural that it should be there, just as a blossom seems perfectly natural to find on a plant. I never like the phrase 'applied design,'" she continued, smiling as she turned to Mrs. Smith. "It sounds as if you made a design and then clapped it on to the afflicted spot as if it were a plaster of some kind." "Too often it looks that way," Mrs. Smith smiled in return. "Come and see how we've arranged our sleeping porches." As Miss Graham stood in the doorway that opened on to the porch of Dorothy's room, one hand resting on Ethel Brown's shoulder, Helen felt more than ever the power--for friendliness and good will as well as for the execution of her art--that this dark-eyed, dark-haired, ruddy-cheeked young woman possessed. Her nose was a trifle too short for beauty and her mouth a bit too wide, but her coloring denoted health, her hair curled crisply over a broad forehead, her teeth were brilliantly white, and the straight folds of her gown showed the lines of her strong figure as the strange dull blue-green of her linen frock, dashed with a bit of orange, brought into relief all the good points of her tinting. "She makes you want to stop and look at her," Helen decided, "and you want to know her, too." Mrs. Smith had arranged for three sleeping porches, one for her own room, one for Dorothy's, and a larger one outside of the nursery where the Belgian baby enjoyed herself in the daytime. This porch was also shared by Elisabeth's care-taker. Each porch was on a different side of the house, so that they did not encroach upon each other, and each was somewhat different in arrangement. "Did you originate this idea?" asked Miss Graham, as she examined the sliding windows by which the bed was to be shut off from the room at night and enclosed in the room in the morning. "You never need step out of bed on to the cold floor of the porch," she commented approvingly. "I saw that in a sanitarium," returned Mrs. Smith. "It was desirable that the patients should never be chilled and the doctor and architect invented this way of preventing it." "It's capital," smiled Miss Graham, "and so simple. When the inside sash is closed, the outside is up, and vice versa. Are they all like this?" "Yes," answered her hostess. "Dorothy is to have a couch in that corner, and a table and chairs. There is to be a screw eye attached to the foot of the couch. A weight on the end of a cord will go through a pulley fastened to the wall, high up over the head of the couch. There will be a hook at the other end of the cord. When this hook goes into the screw eye and the weight is pulled, the couch will stand on its head and will be out of the way at any time when floor space is more to be desired than lying down comfort." "Of course there will be some sort of drapery to cover the under side when it is hauled up against the wall," said Miss Graham with a question in her voice. "Dorothy has something in mind that is going to meet that difficulty, she thinks," answered Mrs. Smith. "Are you going to have your room of any decided color," asked Miss Graham. "I've been perfectly crazy for a rose-colored room, ever since I was a tiny child," answered Dorothy. "I've set my heart on this room's looking like a pink rose--" "Or a bunch of apple blossoms?" asked Miss Graham. Ethel Blue looked quickly at the decorator when she made this suggestion which at once stirred the young girl's imagination to a mental sight of a springtime tree laden with clusters of blossoms, whose delicate white was flushed with the delicate pink of the dawn. The suggestion appealed to her immediately as possible of a development far more exquisite than that which Dorothy had planned. Both would be pink, yet the fineness of the new color scheme seemed to her suited to Dorothy's slender grace. She could not have put it into words but she felt that Miss Graham had a feeling for color that enabled her to adapt the room in which the color was to be used to the personality of the young girl who was chiefly to use it. Instinctively she moved closer to Miss Graham and met her smiling glance with a nod and smile of understanding. Dorothy liked the new idea. "I think an apple-blossom room would be perfectly lovely," she exclaimed. "If Mother would only let me use wall-paper--I saw such a beauty pattern the other day. There were clusters of apple-blossoms all over it." "Are you going to use wall-paper," Miss Graham asked Mrs. Smith. "Dorothy and I decided that we would not use wall-paper in the bed-rooms at any rate," answered Dorothy's mother. "I wish we hadn't," pouted Dorothy, but she was cheered when Miss Graham nodded her approval of their decision. "You're quite right," she said. "Apart from the sanitary side it isn't a good plan to paper walls until the plaster is thoroughly dry. This is especially true of a house built on the side of a hill." "This house has such a wonderful concrete foundation," said Margaret, "that I should think it would be always perfectly solid." "So should I," answered Miss Graham, "but there's always a chance that some part of the soil beneath may give a little when the full weight of a house rests upon it. The settling of a house for only a half inch or an inch would play havoc with the plaster on these walls." "You think we'd better hold back the paper for a final resort?" asked Mrs. Smith. "I never advise paper in bed-rooms unless there's good reason to do so," answered the decorator. "Here is what I should suggest for an apple-blossom room--though perhaps you have some ideas that you would like to have carried out?" she interrupted herself to ask Dorothy. "No," said Dorothy, "as long as it's pink and pretty I don't care how it is decorated." Miss Graham stood in the centre of the room now, noticing how the sunshine fell on the floor, the shadow at the end where the sleeping porch was, and the possible positions for the various articles of furniture. "I seem to see these walls washed with a white which is tinted with a faint flush of pink," said Miss Graham slowly, as she thought it out. "That means a pink so delicate that it will not irritate the weariest nerves and will soothe to sleep by its beauty. The wood-work should be similar in tone but a trifle more like ivory. Do you know that chintz that has blurry, indefinite flowers on it?" Dorothy said that she did. "I saw a lovely piece of it the other day with a design of apple-blossoms. I should use that as a covering for your bed, your couch, your chairs, and for hangings for the windows. Then across one end of the wall--on that shadiest side,--I should throw a branch of apple-blossoms, painted in the same blurry, indefinite way in which the flowers appear on the chintz. I knew a man who was enough of the artist in his soul to do the thing as if the wall had suddenly grown thin and through it you could see an apple tree in blossom out in the orchard." "I think that would be perfectly lovely," said Dorothy, and all the others expressed the greatest pleasure at the proposed scheme of decoration. "Here is what I would suggest for the windows," said Miss Daisy, taking out her note book, and sketching with a few rapid lines the folds of apple-blossom chintz, falling straight at the sides, with a valance at the top showing a very slight fullness. "Between these and the windows," said Miss Graham, "I should put Swiss muslin, either perfectly plain or dotted or with a fine cross-bar, whichever you like best. I should have those muslin curtains next to the glass all alike all over the house and the shades, too, so that the effect from the outside will be uniform and not messy." "That neatness will suit Ethel Brown's ideas of what is harmonious," laughed Helen, and Miss Graham flashed her brilliant smile on Ethel Brown, who was nodding her approval of the idea as she listened. "Now, how had you planned to finish the other sleeping porches?" inquired Miss Graham. "We thought we'd better have a radiator on the one leading off the nursery," said Mrs. Smith. "You'll have to be awfully careful about its freezing," warned Miss Graham. "I suppose we shall, but it seemed as if it might be advisable with a child who has been so delicate as Elisabeth. You will see that the outer ledge of her porch is somewhat higher than either Dorothy's or mine and there are pieces of lattice work to fill in the openings on very cold nights. We thought we'd have out there a low play-table for the baby, and one or two little chairs and a work-table and easy-chair for Miss Merriam." "There are cotton Chinese rugs that are extremely pretty for upstairs porches," said Miss Graham. "One that is largely white but has a dash of green and pink, would be charming for Dorothy's porch. What color is the baby's room to be?" "Ethel Blue wants us to have it pale blue." Again a vivid look of appreciation came into Miss Graham's eyes as she turned them on Ethel Blue, but she merely said, "There are charming Chinese rugs in white with dull blue designs like old Chinese pottery. Tell me what you had planned in your mind for Elisabeth," she continued, turning toward the young girl and extending her hand so winningly that Ethel found herself not only standing beside her with a feeling that she had been her friend for a long time, but filled with confidence that her suggestions would not be laughed at, and might indeed be really good. "I thought of walls and paint of white faintly colored with blue. It was just about what you suggested for Dorothy's room, only blue instead of pink; and it seemed to me that there might be blue birds--for happiness, you know--skimming along the walls, up near the top." "One of those big Chinese rugs that is almost all white, but has a little blue, would be lovely, wouldn't it?" cried Helen, seizing the idea. "Several small ones would be better," returned Miss Graham, "because a baby's room has to be kept so spick and span that you want to have light rugs that are easy to take up and clean." "You know those little round seats that you sometimes see in railway waiting rooms?" asked Ethel Blue. Miss Graham said she had noticed them. "Don't you think one would be cunning for Elisabeth? The seat part ought to be awfully low and there could be light blue cushions on it. And then I think it would be fun if there was a low bench running around two sides of the room, with cushions of the same color on it. It would do for a table and a seat both." Miss Graham thought the idea was capital. "How would you paint them?" she asked. "Wouldn't a sort of bluish-white like the wood-work be pretty," asked Ethel Blue. "You know that shiny paint that is so highly polished that the baby's finger marks won't show on it." "Enamel paint," translated Miss Graham. "I think it would be very pretty, and I should have all the little chairs and tables painted the same way. There are a lot of little things that would be charming in the nursery," she continued. "You can have a solid table, whose top lifts off, disclosing a sand-pile inside. And some parts of that seat around the room ought to lift up so that the baby can put away her own toys in the box underneath the cushions." "I thought a great big doll's house might fit into one corner so that it would be two-sided," said Ethel Blue. "If the lower floor was all one room the baby could walk right in and sit down with the dolls." "Do you think she could keep still long enough to make a real visit?" laughed Helen. "You'll want to interest her in plants and animals as she grows up," suggested Miss Graham. "You might begin even now by having an aquarium with a few water plants and some gold fish and you must arrange to have it on a good solid stand so that it won't tip over if Elisabeth should happen to throw her fat little self against it. I suppose she's too small to have had any regular training as yet?" she continued, turning to Mrs. Smith. "Miss Merriam, who is taking care of her, is trying some of the Montessori ideas." "I thought perhaps she was. Madame Montessori tries to make all her training a natural outcome of the children's lives and to develop them to use what they know in their daily occupations. If Elisabeth had a clothes-closet small enough for her to hang up and take down her own dresses and coats and rompers, I think Miss Merriam would find that she would be trying to put them on and fasten them herself very soon." "Wouldn't a clothes pole about three feet high be too cunning for words," exclaimed Ethel Blue, and Dorothy cried, "Do let us have all these things, Mother. Elisabeth will look like a little white Persian kitten, trotting around in this blue and white room!" "Had you made any plans for your own room, Mrs. Smith?" asked Miss Graham. "Oh, Aunt Louise, I do wish you'd have one of those gray rooms, with scarlet lacquer furniture," cried Helen eagerly. Before Mrs. Smith could answer, Miss Graham had interposed a soft objection. "I wouldn't," she said. "A room like that has several reasons for non-existence. They are very handsome because the real scarlet lacquer is beautiful in itself, and it's valuable too, but a room whose chief appeal to the eye is scarlet is not restful." "You think scarlet is not a proper color for a bed-room," responded Helen. "Not at all suitable to my way of thinking. It's exciting, rather than soothing. Another objection to it here is that a room containing such a vivid color should be a dark room, and all of your bed-rooms are splendidly light. But the most serious objection to my mind, is this. Just step out here in the entry with me for a minute." They all followed Miss Graham on to the landing at the head of the stairs. "In a house as small as this," she said, "you can see from the hall into all the bed-rooms. That means that from the decorator's point of view, the entire floor ought to be harmonious. Behind us, for instance, is the baby's delicate blue nursery. Just ahead is Dorothy's apple-blossom room. Do you think that a room of gray and scarlet and black is going to be harmonious with those delicate tints?" They saw her meaning at once and agreed with her that it would not be suitable. "I decorated a small apartment last winter," she said, "that turned out very happily. The sitting room was one of these scarlet lacquer rooms and the bed-room was done in tones of pale green and dull orange. You felt as if you were sitting in an orange grove in Florida on an evening when a frost was expected and they were burning smudges to warm the trees." "I know," cried Dorothy, "I've seen them do that. You see the oranges gleaming through the misty smoke, and it's all hazy and beautiful." "It turned out well in this room that I did," said Miss Graham, modestly, "but if you accept the blue and pink colorings for the other rooms here," she said, turning to Mrs. Smith with a smile, "I'm afraid your own room will have to be of some delicate tone to harmonize with them." "There are certain shades of yellow, that would be suitable," returned Mrs. Smith. "A primrose yellow," answered Miss Graham, "would be charming, and it would not be hard to find a lovely chintz, that would give you just the spring-like atmosphere that you'd enjoy having about you all the time." "I think we're going to have this floor a little piece of spring all the year around," said Ethel Blue; and again Miss Graham flashed at her a look of understanding. CHAPTER VII CLOSETS AND STEPMOTHERS After they had shown all the rest of the house to Miss Daisy the family party gathered on the brick terrace outside of the drawing room to investigate lemonade and little cakes. The Ethels had brought the lemonade from home in a thermos bottle which kept it cool and refreshing, and that morning Dorothy had made some "hearts and rounds" which proved most appetizing with the cool drink. A few canvas chairs which Mrs. Smith had sent over from home, so that she might have something to sit down on when she visited the new house, were all the furniture of the veranda, but the girls found several boxes which the workmen had left, and they laid planks on them and made benches that were entirely comfortable. A similar arrangement with the boxes turned on their ends provided a little table on which they placed the refreshments. Paper cups answered every necessary purpose, although they were not beautiful, and paper plates held the hearts and rounds just as well as if they had been china. They were all a little tired after walking about the house for so long a time, and those of them who had chairs leaned back with satisfaction and looked over the low parapet to the adjoining meadow with its brook and its cluster of woods at the upper end. Beyond the fields the Emersons' house could be seen dimly through the trees. "We wondered in the springtime whether we should be able to see this house from Grandfather's house," said Ethel Brown. "I haven't looked lately, but I guess we can, or else we shouldn't be able to see Grandfather's house from here." "The line of those far-away mountains is very beautiful against the sky," Miss Graham noticed, with her keen observation of everything that added to the loveliness of the landscape. "They are far enough away to have a blue haze hanging over them," said Mrs. Smith, "and they give you a feeling that our quiet country scene here has a great deal of variety after all." "Your house is admirably placed to make the most of every beauty around you," said Miss Daisy, "and I hope you'll allow me to compliment you on the way it is turning out. You know they say that you have to build two or three houses in order to build one exactly to your satisfaction, but I should think that you were almost accomplishing that with your first attempt." "I am glad you like so many things about it," said Mrs. Smith. "Dorothy and I would be pleased with almost any house that really belonged to us, for we've had nothing of our own for many years, but of course it is a tremendous satisfaction to have this develop into something that is beautiful and livable too." "You've added so many happy touches," said Miss Graham. "Take for instance this terrace. A brick terrace always makes me think of some old country house in England, with its dark red walls buried among the brilliant green foliage. So many of those houses have terraces like this, partly roofed like yours, and wide enough to be really an extra room." "Aunt Louise's terrace is really two extra rooms," said Ethel Blue, "because it opens from the drawing room and also from the dining room." "We're going to have all our meals out here in pleasant weather, whenever it's warm enough," said Dorothy. "I can see you're sufficiently afraid of New Jersey mosquitoes to have a part screened." "It's the only prudent thing to do," returned Mrs. Smith. "Jersey mosquitoes are really more than a joke, but if you have this wire cage to get into you can defy them. You can see that at the end of the terrace opposite the dining room our cage covers the whole of the floor, while up at this end only a part is wired in. In the evening when the buzzers are buzzing we can take shelter behind the screen, but in the daytime we can sit outside as we're doing now." "Are you going to glass it in winter? I see you have a radiator." "There are to be long glass sashes that fit into the same grooves that hold the screens now. The open fire will take off the chill on autumn mornings and the radiator ought to keep us warm even when the snow is banked against the glass." "With palms and rubber plants and rugs and wicker chairs and tables--I suppose you'll have wicker?" Mrs. Morton interrupted herself to inquire of her sister-in-law. "Yes, wicker, but we haven't decided between brown or green," and Mrs. Smith turned appealingly to Miss Graham. "Neither, I should say. Don't you think a dull dark red, a mahogany red--would be pretty with this brick floor?" "And against the concrete wall. I do; and it ought not to be hard to find rugs with dull reds and greens that will draw all those earthy, autumnal shades together." "You might have one of those swinging settees hanging by chains from the ceiling." "Dorothy would enjoy that." "So would we," interposed Ethel Brown. "I seem to see myself perching on it, waving my lemonade cup." "Don't illustrate all over me," remonstrated Ethel Blue, dodging the flowing bowl. "I like very much the seclusion you've gained by building up the wall at the end of the terrace on the side toward the road," said Miss Graham. "We found that people could see from the road any one sitting on the terrace, although we're so high here," said Mrs. Smith, "but with the parapet built up at that end, they can't see anything, even though there is an opening in the wall." "And the window frames a lovely picture of the meadows across the road from you." "I don't see," said Ethel Brown, "why you always call your living room a drawing room, Aunt Louise." "It isn't a living room," returned Mrs. Smith. "A living room is really a room which is used both as a sitting room and a dining room. No room which is used for only one of those purposes should be called a living room." "Lots of people do," insisted Ethel Brown. "But they are not right," returned her aunt. "Drawing room seems a very formal name for it," Helen said. "Of course we're used to it, because Grandmother Emerson always calls her parlor a drawing room, but she has a huge, big room, so my idea of a drawing room is always something immense." "Perhaps it is rather old-fashioned and stately," admitted Mrs. Smith; "but the drawing room is simply a place where the family _withdraws_ to sit together and talk together, and it need not be any more formal than the people who use it. But I protest that my drawing room or sitting room, or whatever it may be, shall not be called a living room, because it is not devoted to eating as well as sitting." "I am glad you make that distinction," said Miss Graham. "So many people are careless about using the word and nowadays you seldom find a real living room except in a bungalow in the country where people are living very informally during the summer, and where space is limited. There's another thing about your house that I like exceedingly," she continued, "and that is your closets." Mrs. Morton, who had joined the party on the terrace, laughed heartily at this praise. "That ought to please you, Louise," she said, and added, turning to Miss Graham, "Louise has spent more time inventing all sorts of cupboards and closets than in drawing the original plan of the house, I really believe." "I know it wasn't wasted time," returned Miss Graham. "I have every sympathy with a craze for closets. You can't have too many to suit me. Do you remember that room at Mt. Vernon entirely surrounded by cupboards and closets? I always thought Washington must have had an extraordinarily orderly mind to want to have all his dining room belongings carefully placed on shelves behind closed doors!" "I wonder how many different kinds of closets we have," murmured Dorothy, beginning to count them up on her fingers. Everybody tossed in a contribution, naming the closet which she happened to remember. "A coat closet near the front door," said Ethel Brown. "Clothes closets in every bed-room and two extra ones in the attic," added Mrs. Smith. "A dress closet with mirrors on the doors, that turn back to make a three-fold dressing glass. I envy you that comfort, Louise," said Mrs. Morton. "You'll notice that the coat closets and the clothes closets all have long poles with countless hangers on them," said Mrs. Smith. "They'll hold a tremendous number of garments; many more than Dorothy and I have." "The closet I'm craziest about is the one that is filled with glass cubes to put hats in," said Helen. "You open the door and there are half a dozen, and you can see the hats right through, so you don't have to keep pulling out one box after another, always getting the wrong one first." "That's a perfectly splendid idea," approved Miss Graham. "I suppose along the lower part of the closet side of your room, you have small closets and cupboards for shoes and for blouses." "I have my blouse closet above my shoe closet," returned Mrs. Smith. "Did you notice the tall, thin closet for one-piece dresses?" asked Ethel Blue. "I should think that would be splendid because it doesn't jam up your evening dresses," said Helen, who was beginning to think longingly of real, grown-up evening dresses. "That's the closet Ethel Blue always calls the 'stepmother closet,'" laughed Ethel Brown. "Why 'stepmother closet'?" inquired Miss Graham quickly. "Because it would pinch a stepmother so hard if she got into it," said Ethel Blue. Miss Graham looked puzzled and Dorothy explained. "Ethel Blue hates stepmothers. She doesn't know why, except that they are always horrid in fairy stories, but she thinks this long narrow closet would be just the place to put a horrid one into to punish her." "Stepmothers are often very nice," said Mrs. Morton. "I had a stepmother," said Miss Graham, "and I couldn't have loved my own mother more tenderly, and I'm sure she loved Margaret's mother and me quite as well as if we had been her own children. In fact, I think she was more careful of us than she was of her own children. She used to say we were a legacy to her and that she felt it her duty as well as her delight to be extra good to us, for our mother's sake." Ethel Blue listened and smiled at the kind brown eyes that were smiling at her, but she shook her head as if she were unconvinced. "At any rate you might select your closet to fit your stepmother," Miss Daisy laughed, "and if you wanted to be very bad to a thin one, you could make her squeeze up small in one of the glass hat boxes, and a fat one would suffer most in this narrow closet of yours." They all laughed again and went on with the list of closets in the house. "You noticed, I hope," said Mrs. Smith, "that almost every closet in the house has an electric bulb inside that lights when you open the door and goes out again when the door is closed." "Splendid," approved Miss Graham. "Is there one in your linen closet?" "Yes, indeed. Did you notice that the linen closet is on the bedroom floor? There need be no carrying up and down stairs of heavy bed linen. The linen for the maid's room, in the attic, is kept in a small linen closet up there, and the table linen belongs in a closet made especially for it in the dining room. It has many glass shelves quite close together, so that each table cloth may have a spot to itself and the centrepieces and doilies may be kept flat with nothing to rumple them." "I suppose the medicine closets will go into the bath-rooms when the other fittings are installed," said Mrs. Morton. "Yes," returned her sister-in-law. "Did you notice the pretty cedar shavings that the carpenters left on the floor of the cedar closet?" asked Dorothy. "They say they always leave the cedar shavings they made, because people like to put them among their clothes to make them fragrant." "I'm glad you are having a cedar closet," said Margaret. "Mother got along with a cedar chest for a great many years, but she has always longed for a cedar closet. She had one built this summer." "We have both," said Dorothy. "The chest is going up in the attic and the closet is on the bedroom floor." "The thing that pleases me most in the closet line," said Ethel Brown, who is a good cook, "is the pastry closet just off the kitchen. The carpenter told me there was a refrigerating pipe running around it so that it would always be cool, and there was to be a plate glass shelf on which the pastry could be rolled out." "You certainly have the latest wrinkles," exclaimed Mrs. Morton admiringly. "I have never seen that arrangement in real life. I thought it only existed in large hotels or the women's magazines!" "There are lots of other little comforts in our house," laughed Dorothy, "and there are two or three more kinds of closets if we count bookcases that have doors and cupboards to keep games in." "They're every one modern and useful except that stepmother squeezer," said Miss Graham, rising to take leave. "That sounds like some invention of the Middle Ages when people used to torture each other to death so cheerfully." "O, I wouldn't _torture_ her," protested Ethel Blue. "Unless she were a really truly fairy story bad one," Miss Daisy insisted. "Could you resist that?" She held Ethel Blue's eyes for just a second with her smiling gaze that was graven down in the depths of her warm brown ones. "I wouldn't _really_ hurt her," Ethel Blue repeated, and wondered why she felt as if she had been taken seriously. CHAPTER VIII "OFF TO PHILADELPHIA IN THE MORNING" "Helen," called Mrs. Morton a few days later just after the morning visit of the letter carrier, "I have a note here from Uncle Richard asking me if I can run over to Philadelphia and attend to a little matter of business for him. He is so tied up at Fort Myer that he can't possibly get away. Do you think it would be pleasant if you and I went over for a few days and took Roger and the children with us?" The "children" of the Morton family meant those younger than Roger and Helen. Helen received the suggestion with a cry of delight. "It would be just too lovely for anything," she said, waving in the air the little linen dress she was making for Elisabeth. "The younger girls had the Massachusetts trip this summer that you and Roger didn't share," her mother said. "I think this time we might all of us go, and I'm not sure that it would not be pleasant to ask the Watkinses and the Hancocks." "The whole U. S. C.!" cried Helen. "Mother, you certainly were born a darling. How did you ever think of anything so perfectly galoptious?" "It's natural for me to be 'galoptious,'" her mother returned, laughing. "Now, we shall have to work fast, if we are going to accomplish Uncle Richard's errand, because the people whom he wants me to see will be in Philadelphia only to-morrow. He has telegraphed them, asking them to keep an hour for me, so I must go over to-day or very early to-morrow morning." "Would you like to have me call up Margaret and Della on the telephone and see if they can go to-day? If they can, I don't see why we can't fly around tremendously and get our bags packed this morning and take an afternoon train," said Helen, who was beginning to grow energetic as the full prospect of the pleasure before her appeared before the eyes of her mind. Mrs. Morton agreeing, Helen flew to the telephone, and was lucky enough to catch Margaret at Glen Point and Della in New York without any difficulty. They both said that they would consult their mothers and would call Helen again within an hour. She then telephoned to Dorothy, but found that she was at Sweetbrier Lodge and as the telephone had not been put in yet, she was, for a moment, at a loss what to do. She remembered, however, that Ethel Brown and Ethel Blue had spoken of spending the morning at Grandmother Emerson's, and she therefore called up her house in the hope that they might be there. They had just left there to go and do a little house-cleaning in the cave in Fitzjames' woods, where they frequently enjoyed an afternoon lemonade. Mrs. Emerson said, however, that she could easily send a messenger after them, and that it would not be many minutes before she would ring Helen in her turn. "I haven't anything to report," Helen said to her mother after she had made these various calls, "but I had better be getting out our handbags and trying to find Roger, I suppose." Mrs. Morton was already packing her valise with her own and Dicky's requirements and she nodded an assent to Helen's suggestion. It was not many minutes before the telephone bell began ringing. The first summons was from Margaret Hancock who said that her mother and father were delighted with the opportunity to have her and James go to Philadelphia in Mrs. Morton's care. "It will be a real Club expedition," she said gleefully, "and I'm just as sure as if I saw it with my own eyes, that you're packing a 'History of Philadelphia' in your hand-bag." Helen laughed because she was well accustomed to being joked about her love of history. "I notice all of you are willing enough to listen when I tell about places," she said, "and this time you'll have to take it from me because Grandfather won't be there to tell you." The next ring meant that the Ethels had returned to Mrs. Emerson's. "What do you want of us?" Ethel Blue asked in a tone that sounded as if she were not particularly pleased at being called back. "How would you like to go to Philadelphia?" Helen answered triumphantly. "Do you really mean it?" asked Ethel, who was not quite sure that her ears were hearing correctly. "I do mean it, and if you and Ethel Blue want to go with Mother and me this afternoon, you must rush home just as fast as you can and get your bags packed. Aunt Louise says Dorothy may go, but I can't find her, so please stop at the new house and see if she's there and tell her about it." "Well I should say we would," returned a voice that was now filled with delight. "Ethel Blue wants to know why Mother is going?" she asked. "On some business for her father--for Uncle Richard. But do stop chattering and come home as fast as you can rush. If we don't get off this afternoon, we can't go until to-morrow morning and we shan't be able to stay so long in Philadelphia." It was not until they reached home that the Ethels learned that the Watkinses and the Hancocks were to join the party, and they were so excited over the prospect of this Club pilgrimage, that they were hardly able to get together their belongings. The most difficult person to find was Roger who did not seem to be within reach of the telephone anywhere. They called up all the places where they thought it possible that he might be, but he could not be found, and he walked in just before luncheon quite unprepared for the surprise that awaited him. "Helen has packed your bag for you," his mother told him, "so rush and change your clothes and go to the train to meet Della and Tom." Rosemont being already part way on the road from New York and Philadelphia, it was necessary for the party to take a local train to the nearest stopping place of the Express. The Watkinses came out from New York on a local and the Hancocks arrived on the trolley, so that the entire group met at the Mortons' about half an hour before the time to start. They were all chattering briskly, all filled with enthusiasm for this new adventure. "Don't you think I'd better go too?" Mr. Emerson asked his daughter, as he counted up the throng and noticed their eagerness. "I don't think it's necessary, Father," Mrs. Morton replied. "Roger and Tom and James are surely big enough to escort us, and I know Philadelphia so well that I have no fear of our being lost in the city with three such competent young men to take care of us." Mr. Emerson smiled somewhat doubtfully and murmured something about his daughter's having a hopeful disposition. "You don't realize how serious Roger can be when he feels that he has actual responsibility," said Mrs. Morton, "and as for James Hancock, he is sometimes so grave that he almost alarms me." "He may be grave, but has he any sense?" asked Mr. Emerson tartly. "The children seem to think he has a great deal. At any rate I feel sure that no difficulty is going to come to us with these three big boys on hand and I wouldn't think of taking you on this fatiguing trip, on such a hot day," insisted his daughter. Mr. Emerson looked somewhat relieved although he again assured Mrs. Morton that he would be entirely willing to escort her and her flock. "No farther than the Rosemont station, thank you," she said, smiling. It was at the station and just as the train was drawing in that Mr. Emerson handed Helen a notebook. "You've taken me by surprise this morning," he said, "and I haven't had much time to get up my usual collection of historical poetry, but I couldn't let you go off without having something of the kind to remember me by." Helen and the Ethels laughed at this confession, for Mr. Emerson was so fond of American history that he was in the habit, whenever they all went on trips together, of supplying himself with ballads concerning any historical happenings in the district through which they were to travel. "Philadelphia ought to be a fertile field for you, sir," said James Hancock. "It is," returned the old gentleman, "but you'll escape the full force of my efforts this time, thanks to your quick start." The run to the junction and then to Philadelphia was made in a short time. It was fairly familiar to all of them and the country presented no beauties to make it remarkable, although Roger pretended to be a guide showing wonderful sights to the New Yorkers, Della and Tom. "Do you think, Mother, we shall have time to look up some of the historical places in the city?" asked Helen. "I thought that would be the most interesting thing to do," Mrs. Morton replied. "I shan't have to meet my business people until midday to-morrow, so this afternoon and to-morrow morning we can see many points of interest if we don't delay too long at each one." "Being related to the Navy through my paternal ancestor," said Roger in large language, "Philadelphia has always interested me because the father of old William Penn, its founder, was an Admiral in the English Navy." "I didn't know that," said Helen. "Watch me run for base!" exclaimed Roger. "I got one off of Helen on the first ball. It isn't often that Helen admits there's something she doesn't know about American history." "You miserable boy! You sound as if I were pretending to be a 'know-it-all'! There are plenty of things I don't know about American history. For instance I know very little about William Penn, except that he was a Quaker." "Well then," said Roger, "allow me to inform you, beloved sister, that William Penn was an Oxford man and a preacher in the Society of Friends. He seems to have had some pull because the powers gave him a grant of Pennsylvania (that means Penn's Woods), in 1680. He went to America two years later and founded this minute little town which we are approaching." "Those old Englishmen on the other side certainly had a calm way of giving out grants of land without saying anything about it to the Indians, didn't they?" said Margaret. "Penn got along much better with the Indians than many of the heads of the colonies. He made a treaty with them, which is said to have been very remarkable in two ways; in the first place he wouldn't swear to keep it because he was a Quaker, and Quakers won't take an oath; and in the next place, he _did_ keep it, which was quite an event in colonial circles!" "He must have been a good chap," commented Tom. "You're going to see a statue of him as soon as you get off the train," interposed Mrs. Morton. "Where is it?" asked Ethel Brown. "On top of the City Hall. It's the first thing you see when you come out of the railroad station. In fact you're so close to the Public Buildings, as they're called, that I doubt if you can see the top at all until you get farther away from them." "The statue must be enormous if it's up so high," said Ethel Blue. "I've been told it was thirty-seven feet high," returned Mrs. Morton, "and that the rim of the old gentleman's hat was so wide that a person could walk on it comfortably." "Wouldn't it be fun to do our back step on the edge of his hat!" exclaimed Ethel Blue to Ethel Brown, as they looked out the cab which was taking them to the hotel, and saw the figure of the benevolent Quaker black against the sky some five hundred feet above the ground. The hotel wherein Mrs. Morton established her flock was "in the heart of conservative Philadelphia." Immediately after luncheon they packed themselves into a large touring car and began their historical explorations. "If we do things according to time, we ought to go first to all of the places that have to do with William Penn," said Helen. "I'm afraid that might make us jump around the city a little," said Mrs. Morton, "because if I am not mistaken, the house that William Penn gave to his daughter Letitia, is out in Fairmount Park, and the one belonging to his grandson is in the Zoo. We'll see them before we go home, but now we had better give our attention to the things that are here in the city. To begin with we can go to the little park on whose site William Penn made his famous treaty with the Indians. It takes us somewhat out of our way, but I know Helen's orderly mind will like to begin there." Helen smiled at her mother's understanding of her, and the car sped northwards along the river front, now given over to business and tenements. At the Treaty Park they looked about them with their imaginations rather than with their eyes, for there was little of interest before them, while the Past held a vision of the elm tree under which the group of broad-hatted Friends discussed terms with the copper-colored natives. Lieutenant Morton's children were interested in seeing not far away the ship building yards where many an American battleship had slipped from the ways to pursue her peaceful course upon the ocean. Returning as they had come, they passed on Second Street the site of a house in which the Great Settler had lived, and promised themselves to remember that in Independence Hall they were to look for a piece of the Treaty Tree. "Everything that isn't called 'Penn' in this town seems to be called 'Franklin,'" said Ethel Blue, after reading many of the signs on the buildings. "That's because the great Benjamin lived here for most of his life," said James, by way of explanation. "He was born in Boston, but he soon deserted those cold regions for a warmer clime, and made a name for himself here." "I should say he left it behind him," commented Ethel Blue again as she read another sign, this time of a "Penn Laundry." "Penn and Franklin are the two great men of old Philadelphia, without any doubt," said Mrs. Morton, as the machine stopped before Carpenters' Hall. "Help! Help!" cried Tom. "I blush to state that I don't know Carpenters' Hall from a ham sandwich." Helen looked at him with horror on her face. "Stand right here before we set foot inside and let me tell you that I am perfectly shocked that any American boy, old enough to have graduated from high school and to be going to Yale in a few weeks, should make such a statement as that!" She was genuinely troubled about it and Tom flushed as he saw that she really was scornful of his ignorance. "Now, next," she said, "do you know what the Boston Tea Party was?" Tom meekly said that he remembered that in December, 1773, a number of Boston men disguised as Indians had thrown overboard from a ship in the harbor, boxes of tea on which they refused to pay the British duty. Helen nodded approvingly. "I'm glad you remember that much," she said tartly. "After that Tea Party there was a continual and rapid growth of dislike for the Old Country, which was trying to tax the colonists, without allowing them any representation in the Parliament which was governing them. The feeling grew so strong that a Continental Congress, made up of delegates from the thirteen original Colonies, was called to meet here in Philadelphia, in September, 1774. It met here at Carpenters' Hall," she concluded triumphantly. Tom glanced up at the Hall with an entirely new interest. "In this same old building?" he asked. "In this very identical place," said Helen, and then she allowed the procession to enter the building. "September 17, 1774," repeated Ethel Brown thoughtfully. "Why, that was the autumn before the battles of Concord and Lexington." "Yes, the Revolution had not yet begun. The Continental Congress met to talk over the situation, and here are the very chairs the members used." Ethel Blue touched one of them with the tips of her fingers. "I'm glad I've touched anything as interesting as this," she said. "Look at the inscription," said James, calling their attention to the lettering. "WITHIN THESE WALLS HENRY, HANCOCK AND ADAMS INSPIRED THE DELEGATES OF THE COLONIES WITH NERVE AND SINEW FOR THE TOILS OF WAR!" "John Hancock was my great-great-grandfather's brother," said James proudly. "Good for you, old chap," exclaimed Roger, thumping him on the back, while Helen beamed at Margaret. "How long did these Congressmen chat here?" meekly asked Tom of Helen. "After about a month they agreed on what they called a Declaration of Rights, and they sent it over to Franklin, who was in England, and asked him to present it to the House of Commons." "In the light of after events I suppose the House of Commons didn't take a look at it," said Roger. "They certainly did not," replied Helen, "and the battles of Lexington and Concord were the result. You remember they were fought in April of 1775. Ticonderoga was captured in May of the same year and the battle of Bunker Hill was fought in June." "And Congress kept on sitting while all this fighting was going on?" "Yes; the men discussed each new move as it was made. Early in June one of the members made a motion before the Congress that 'these Colonies ought to be Independent.'" "That idea seems simple enough to us now," said Tom, "but I dare say it was startling when a mere colonist proposed to break off with the mother country." "It seems to me it's about time for Grandfather Emerson to have some poetry on this period of history," said Ethel Brown. "If he were here, I'm sure he would never have let this Congress sit for eight or nine months without discovering something in poetry about it." Helen laughed. "You certainly understand Grandfather," she said. "In just about a minute, while we're going over to Independence Hall, I'm going to read you some verses that belong right in here. On the first of July they began to debate about this proposal that the colonists should be independent. It was a mighty important matter, of course, because if they adopted it, it certainly meant war, and if they did not beat in the war, it might mean a worse state of affairs than they were in at the present moment. So there was much to be said on both sides and it looked as if the vote was going to be very close. Here's where Rodney the delegate did some hard riding," and Helen took out one of the type-written sheets, which her grandfather had given her. "What Colony did he represent?" asked Ethel Blue. "Rodney was from Delaware," she returned, "Now listen, while I read you this poem." "RODNEY'S RIDE "In that soft mid-land where the breezes bear The North and South on the genial air, Through the county of Kent, on affairs of state, Rode Cæsar Rodney, the delegate. "Burly and big and bold and bluff, In his three-cornered hat and coat of snuff, A foe to King George and the English State, Was Cæsar Rodney, the delegate. "Into Dover village he rode apace, And his kinsfolk knew, from his anxious face, It was matter grave that brought him there, To the counties three on the Delaware. "'Money and men we must have'm,' he said, 'Or the Congress fails and the cause is dead: Give us both and the King shall not work his will. We are men, since the blood of Bunker Hill!' "Comes a rider swift on a panting bay: 'Ho, Rodney, ho, you must save the day, For the Congress halts at a deed so great, And your vote alone may decide its fate.' "Answered Rodney then: 'I will ride with speed; It is Liberty's stress; it is Freedom's need. When stands it?' 'To-night. Not a moment to spare, But ride like the wind from the Delaware.' "'Ho, saddle the black! I've but half a day, And the Congress sits eighty miles away-- But I'll be in time, if God grants me grace, To shake my fist in King George's face.' "He is up: he is off! and the black horse flies On the northward road ere the 'God-speed' dies; It is a gallop and spur as the leagues they clear, And the clustering mile-stones move a-rear. "It is two of the clock! and the fleet hoofs fling The Fieldboro's dust with a clang and a cling; It is three; and he gallops with slack rein where The road winds down to the Delaware. "Four; and he spurs into New Castle town, From his panting steed he gets trim down-- 'A fresh one, quick! not a moment's wait!' And off speeds Rodney the delegate. "It is five; and the beams of the western sun Tinge the spires of Wilmington gold and dun; Six; and the dust of Chester Street Flies back in a cloud from the courser's feet. "It is seven; the horse-boat, broad of beam, At the Schuylkill ferry crawls over the stream-- And at seven-fifteen by the Rittenhouse clock, He flings his reins to the tavern jock. "The Congress is met; the debate's begun, And Liberty lags for the vote of one-- When into the hall, not a moment late, Walks Cæsar Rodney, the delegate. "Not a moment late! and that half day's ride Forwards the world with a mighty stride; For the act was passed ere the midnight stroke O'er the Quaker City its echoes woke. "At Tyranny's feet was the gauntlet flung; 'We are free!' all the bells through the colonies rung, And the sons of the free may recall with pride The day of Delegate Rodney's ride." "Pretty stirring, isn't it! I take it that the Continental Congress had moved over to Independence Hall by this time," said Tom, when the reading was done. "Yes, they were over here, sitting in the East Room, when they passed the Declaration of Independence." An attendant seeing the interested faces of the young people, took them about the room and explained the relics to them. "This," he said, "is the very furniture that was in the room at the time of the signing of the Declaration. Right on this very table the Document received the signature of the President of the Congress--" "John Hancock," murmured Helen to James in an undertone. "--and the rest of them," continued the guide. "Is the original document here?" asked James, who was thrilling with interest, but who preserved the calmness which he inherited from his Scottish ancestors. "No," answered the caretaker. "That is kept at Washington in the Library of the State Department, but there is an exact copy of it over there on the wall." Going upstairs, the party remembered to look up the piece of the elm tree, under which Penn had signed his Treaty with the Indians, and they saw in addition the original Charter of Philadelphia, bearing the date 1701. In another room they found some furniture belonging to Washington and Penn and various portraits of more historic than artistic interest. They enjoyed more seeing some of the boards of the original floor. These were carefully kept under glass, as if they were great treasures. "Now we're going to see the most sacred relic in America, next to the Declaration itself," said Helen, leading the way down the staircase at whose foot was the famous Liberty Bell, which had rung out its message of joy on July 4, 1775, when the delegates passed the Declaration and the people of Philadelphia knew that war was before them, and yet were glad to meet whatever might be the outcome of the defiance. They gathered in silence around the bell and read its description:--"PROCLAIM LIBERTY TO ALL THE LAND AND TO ALL THE INHABITANTS THEREOF." They noticed the crack which ran through it, and felt that they were looking upon a real veteran of that far-away time. "Grandfather told me not to forget to tell you about the little boy who gave the signal to the bell-ringer," Helen said. "He was stationed where he could see the door-keeper of the room in which the delegates were sitting. When the final vote was taken, the door-keeper gave the signal to the boy and he ran out, shouting the cry that resounded through the colonies, 'Ring! Ring! Ring!'" CHAPTER IX HELEN DISTINGUISHES HERSELF "Come out into the Park for a few minutes," said Mrs. Morton. "I'm perfectly sure Helen has some poetry to read to us before very long, and if we can sit down for a minute or two on the benches, we can hear it at our convenience." "The fire of discontent had been smouldering for a long time," said Helen, beginning her lecture promptly when they were seated, "and just as soon as the Declaration was passed the flames burst out. There was fighting all over the colonies from South Carolina to New York City. Washington was made Commander-in-Chief of the little Army there, but he was quite unable to defeat the large force which the British sent. He retreated across New Jersey, and in December of 1776--" "About a year and a half later," interposed Ethel Brown. Helen nodded and continued: "he reached the Delaware River. The British followed him on the other bank of the river, with the centre of the army at Trenton, New Jersey. On Christmas Night of 1776, the future of the Colonies looked about as dark as the night itself, but here is what happened, told in some of the rhymes that Grandfather found for us." And Helen read Virginia Woodward Cloud's poem, called the "Ballad of Sweet P." "She was a spirited girl," said James gravely. "She was too nice a girl to be a deceiving girl," said Ethel Blue, and a vigorous discussion as to how much deception was fair in war time would have broken out if Helen had not continued her account of the Revolution around Philadelphia. "At day-break on the 26th of December, Washington entered Trenton and surprised the enemy," Helen ended. "It was in the battle of Trenton and in the battle of Princeton about a week later, that our Emerson great-great-great-grandfather fought, wasn't it?" said Roger, recalling the account which his grandfather had read to the Mortons several times from the old family Bible. "Yes, don't you remember how he fought against his daughter's English lover?" "We must ask the chauffeur where the Betsy Ross house is," said Mrs. Morton, rising and leading the way to the car. The man knew and set off at once through the few narrow streets, and before long they were standing in front of the old-fashioned dwelling. "Who is the lady?" murmured Tom in an undertone to Ethel Brown, pretending to be afraid that Helen would hear him but really speaking loudly enough to draw her attention. "Tom Watkins, you're perfectly dreadful," Helen exclaimed promptly. "Do you really mean that you don't know who Betsy Ross was?" This direct question was too much for Tom's truthfulness and he broke into a laugh. "I don't know that I should have known if I hadn't read the other day a tale about a play that some urchins wrote for the stage at Hull House in Chicago." "Did Jane Addams tell the story?" "She did, so it must be true. It was entirely original with some immigrant boys who had been studying American history. It went something like this:--in the first act some American Revolutionary soldiers are talking together and one of them says, 'Gee, ain't it fierce! We ain't got no flag.' The others agreed that it was fierce. In the next act a delegation of soldiers approached General Washington. They saluted, and then said to him, 'General, we ain't got no flag. Gee, ain't it fierce?'" Tom's story was received with many giggles. "What did Washington say?" asked Ethel Blue. "Washington agreed that it was fierce, and said that he'd do something about it, so the next act shows him at the house of Betsy Ross. He said to her, 'Mrs. Ross, we ain't got no flag. Ain't it fierce? What shall we do about it?'" "They didn't have a very large vocabulary," laughed Margaret. "But the American spirit was there," insisted Mrs. Morton. "What did Betsy say," inquired Ethel Brown. "Mrs. Ross said, 'It _is_ fierce. You hold the baby, George, and I'll make you something right off.'" "Isn't that perfectly delicious!" gurgled Dorothy. "And that last realistic scene took place in this little house!" said Mrs. Morton, shaking with mirth. "It belongs to the city now, so Betsy's patriotism and industry are remembered by many visitors." "Here's Grandfather's contribution to this moment," smiled Helen as she brought out still another of her type-written sheets, and read some lines by Minna Irving. "BETSY'S BATTLE FLAG "From dusk till dawn the livelong night She kept the tallow dips alight, And fast her nimble fingers flew To sew the stars upon the blue. With weary eyes and aching head She stitched the stripes of white and red, And when the day came up the stair Complete across a carven chair Hung Betsy's battle flag. "Like the shadows in the evening gray The Continentals filed away, With broken boots and ragged coats, But hoarse defiance in their throats; They bore the marks of want and cold, And some were lame and some were old, And some with wounds untended bled, But floating bravely overhead Was Betsy's battle flag. "When fell the battle's leaden rain, The soldier hushed his moan of pain And raised his dying head to see King George's troopers turn and flee. Their charging column reeled and broke, And vanished in the rolling smoke, Before the glory of the stars, The snowy stripes, and scarlet bars Of Betsy's battle flag. "The simple stone of Betsy Ross Is covered now with mold and moss, But still her deathless banner flies, And keeps the color of the skies, A nation thrills, a nation bleeds, A nation follows where it leads, And every man is proud to yield His life upon a crimson field For Betsy's battle flag." "When was it that Washington made his historic visit to Betsy?" asked Roger of Helen. "That was in June of 1776. A year later, on the fourteenth of June, 1777, Congress adopted the Stars and Stripes as our flag." "That's why June 14th is celebrated as Flag Day, I suppose," said Ethel Blue. "I think our flag has more meaning to it than any other flag in the world," declared Roger. "The thirteen stripes mean the thirteen original colonies, don't they?" "There were thirteen stars at the beginning. They've added a star for every new state that has joined the Union." "It certainly does make your heart beat to look at it, especially when you happen to come on it suddenly as Miss Bates said in those verses of hers that we had in our Peace Day Program on Lincoln's Birthday." "A Russian sea-captain once told me it looked to him like a mosaic," Mrs. Morton said. "But every piece of the mosaic is full of meaning," said Ethel Blue, "and mosaics make beautiful pictures any way." "There was a sad time ahead for Philadelphia in spite of Washington's successes at Trenton and Princeton," said Helen, taking up her story once more. "The Americans were successful in Vermont and northern New York, but in September, 1777, they were defeated at Brandywine Creek, and the British marched into Philadelphia a fortnight later and took possession of the town." "Wasn't it about that time that the American army spent the winter at Valley Forge?" asked Margaret. "I seem to remember something about their living in a great deal of distress, such as the soldiers in Europe are enduring now." "This was the time," confirmed Helen. "Grandfather has a few lines of Reed's here telling about it." "Such was the winter's awful sight, For many a dreary day and night, What time our country's hope forlorn, Of every needed comfort shorn, Lay housed within a buried tent, Where every keen blast found a rent, And oft the snow was seen to sift Along the floor its piling drift, Or, mocking the scant blanket's fold, Across the night-couch frequent rolled; Where every path by a soldier beat, Or every track where a sentinel stood, Still held the print of naked feet, And oft the crimson stains of blood; Where Famine held her spectral court, And joined by all her fierce allies; She ever loved a camp or fort Beleaguered by the wintry skies,-- But chiefly when Disease is by, To sink frame and dim the eye, Until, with seeking forehead bent, In martial garments cold and damp, Pale Death patrols from tent to tent, To count the charnels of the camp. Such was the winter that prevailed Within the crowded, frozen gorge; Such were the horrors that assailed The patriot band at Valley Forge." "How long did the British hold the city?" asked Tom, after he had shaken his head over the Americans' troubles. "Six or eight months," said Helen, "and you can imagine what a thrilling time it was for American girls like Sweet P. I can fancy them walking daintily along the street turning their heads aside when a British officer passed them, as if he were too far beneath their notice for them even to glance at." They all laughed at the picture that Helen's words drew. "When Sir Henry Clinton evacuated Philadelphia in the middle of June, he started for New York. Washington followed him but did not win in the skirmish which they fought at Monmouth, New Jersey. The Indians on the western frontier had joined the British, and there was some terrible fighting there. Our fleet, as a general thing, was successful on the ocean. Clinton stayed for more than a year in New York City. Washington established himself just above the city where he could keep an eye on him." "Wasn't that the time when my old friend, Anthony Wayne, stirred up a little excitement up the Hudson?" asked Roger. "Yes, it was then he took Stony Point, which we saw when we went up the river to West Point. There was fighting in New Jersey and in the South, and the British seemed to be getting tired out." "It was at the end of several sharply fought fields that Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown in Virginia, wasn't it?" inquired Roger. Tom looked at him with exaggerated respect. "It certainly is a great thing to be related to the Army and Navy. Here's Helen, a walking 'History of the Revolution,' and old Roger actually remembering something about Cornwallis's surrender!" "Bah!" acknowledged Roger. "They tell a story about the way that Philadelphia heard the news of the surrender," interposed the caretaker of the Betsy Ross house, who had been listening to the conversation. "There was an old German watchman walking the streets, and calling the hours through the night, as was the custom then. He cried out; 'Bast dree o'clock and Cornvallis ist daken.' People who had turned over in bed growling when they had been awakened by him before, were only too thankful to hear his hoarse voice croaking out the good news." "That was in October, 1781," went on Helen, after nodding her thanks to the caretaker for his addition to the story. "It took a good many months for the British to leave the country, for transportation was a difficult matter at that time." "I'll bet you the Americans were thankful to have peace," exclaimed James. "It sounds to me very much as if the British were, too," said Roger. "Any country must be grateful for a rest from such long distress." "Grandfather's poetry is by Freneau this time," said Helen. "I'm going to read you only two stanzas of it." "The great unequal conflict past, The Britons banished from our shore, Peace, heaven-descended, comes at last, And hostile nations rage no more; From fields of death the weary swain Returning, seeks his native plain. In every vale she smiles serene, Freedom's bright stars more radiant rise, New charms she adds to every scene, Her brighter sun illumes our skies. Remotest realms admiring stand, And hail the HERO of our Land." "Who is the Hero?" inquired Tom. "Washington, I suppose." "Yes, indeed," said Helen. "These verses were written when he was traveling through Philadelphia on his way to Mt. Vernon." "I know enough American history to tell you that he didn't stay there long," said Tom, proud of being able to bring forward one sure piece of information. "He was made President on his war record. That I do know." They all applauded this contribution. The care-taker of the house again could not resist joining the conversation. "The five years after the signing of the Treaty of Peace in 1783 were very critical years," he said. "The new country had almost no money and no definite policy, now that they had cut themselves free from England. Somebody proposed a Federal Convention and it met here in Philadelphia in 1787." "What did they want to do this time?" asked Margaret. "Now they had to draw up some sort of Constitution for the new country. Washington was chosen President of the Convention and they worked from May until September in planning the Constitution, which they nick-named the 'New Roof.'" "Yes, I know about that," cried Helen. "Grandfather gave me a poem about that. He thought we'd be especially interested in it on account of Dorothy knowing so much about the building of a house,"--and she read them the old poem called 'The New Roof,' by Francis Hopkinson, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence. Come muster, my lads, your mechanical tools, Your saws and your axes, your hammers and rules; Bring your mallets and planes, your level and line, And plenty of pins of American pine: _For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be,_ _Our government firm, and our citizens free._ Come, up with _the plates_, lay them firm on the wall, Like the people at large, they're the ground-work of all; Examine them well, and see that they're sound, Let no rotten part in our building be found: _For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be_ _A government firm, and our citizens free._ Now hand up the _girders_, lay each in its place, Between them the _joists_, must divide all the space; Like assemblymen _these_ should lie level along, Like _girders_, our senate prove loyal and strong: _For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be_ _A government firm over citizens free._ The rafters now frame; your _king-posts_ and _braces_, And drive your pins home, to keep all in their places; Let wisdom and strength in the fabric combine, And your pins be all made of American pine: _For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be_ _A government firm over citizens free._ Our _king-posts_ are _judges_: how upright they stand, Supporting the _braces_; the laws of the land: The laws of the land, which divide right from wrong, And strengthen the weak, by weak'ning the strong: _For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be_ _Laws equal and just, for a people that's free._ Up! up with the _rafters_; each frame is a _state_: How nobly they rise! their span, too, how great! From the north to the south, o'er the whole they extend, And rest on the walls, whilst the walls they defend: _For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be_ _Combine in strength, yet as citizens free._ Now enter the _purlins_, and drive your pins through; And see that your joints are drawn home and all true. The _purlins_ will bind all the rafters together: The strength of the whole shall defy wind and weather: _For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be_ _United as states, but as citizens free._ Come, raise up the _turret_; our glory and pride; In the center it stands, o'er the whole to _preside_: The sons of Columbia shall view with delight Its pillars, and arches, and towering height: _Our roof is now rais'd, and our song still shall be,_ _A federal head o'er a people that's free._ Huzza! my brave boys, our work is complete; The world shall admire Columbia's fair seat; Its strength against tempest and time shall be proof, And thousands shall come to dwell under our roof: _Whilst we drain the deep bowl, our toast still shall be,_ _Our government firm, and our citizens free._ "Now that we have put the United States on a good running foundation, I think we might finish up our Revolutionary history by whirling out to Valley Forge," said Mrs. Morton. "It's a delightful ride, and I think we could do it comfortably in what is left of the afternoon." "I shall be glad," said Helen, pretending extreme fatigue, "for these ignorant people have made me work so hard remembering dates and things, that I'm quite exhausted, and I'd like to sit still and view the scenery for a while." The chauffeur said that he could manage the ride and even give them time for a walk when they reached their destination, if they were not in a hurry to return. "I think it would be fun to come back in the evening," said Margaret, and they started off with great satisfaction. As they passed Fairmount Park they promised themselves to see it in detail in the morning, but now there was only time to notice that much of it had been left in a natural condition, which was far more beautiful than any results that Art could have brought about. The road lay through a rolling country with pleasant suburban towns and comfortable-looking farm houses. At Valley Forge they felt like real pilgrims at a shrine, for they remembered the bitter suffering of the American soldiers and the even greater mental anguish of their leader, who sometimes felt that he had led his brave men into this distress, and might not be able to lead them to the victory which he must have, if the colonies were to become independent of the land they had sprung from. Across the surrounding hills they walked, reading with utmost interest the monuments and markers which commemorate events and places and people connected with this fateful winter. Below swept the Schuylkill River, between peaceful banks, far different from those that hem it in farther down, as it runs through the great city. CHAPTER X THE LAND OF "CAT-FISH AND WAFFLES" It was a tired party that tumbled into bed that night but the long ride in the fresh air made them sleep like tops and they awoke the next morning entirely refreshed, and ready to start out again on their investigations of the City of Brotherly Love. "To-day I am not going to open my mouth," said Helen. "I talked altogether too much yesterday." "You were a wonder," said Tom, admiringly. "I wish I could remember dates the way you do." "Hush," said Helen, with a finger on her lip. "My energetic grandfather blocked out the whole history of Philadelphia in the revolutionary days for me, so it was not my unaided memory that reeled off all that information. Any way, I'm going to sit back and have the rest of you inform me to-day about the places we shall see." "What are we going to see?" inquired Roger. "Mother, you know this village; can't you make out a list for us?" Mrs. Morton said that she had some suggestions to make and Roger jotted them down in a book. "There are one or two churches," she said, "which have an interest because they are old, or have connection with some important person or because there is some strangeness about the way they are built." "I shall like those," said Ethel Blue. "I'm going to try to draw some of the doorways for Miss Graham. She asked me to draw any little thing about buildings that I thought would interest her." "You'll see some old-timey doorways in Rittenhouse Square," said Mrs. Morton. "That is like Washington Square in New York, only here the whole square has been preserved in its former beauty. You'll find more than one doorway, and which will be worth putting into your sketch book." "Would it take too much time to see the Mint?" asked James. "I shouldn't want to suggest it if it will take too long, but it would be awfully interesting." "I had the Mint on my list," said Mrs. Morton, tapping her forehead. "I'll transfer it from that spot to paper," laughed Roger. "I hope we can get the same chauffeur we had yesterday," said Ethel Brown; "he knew a lot about things." "I suppose he's accustomed to driving tourists," replied her mother. As good fortune would have it they were able to secure the same car, and the good-natured driver beamed at them, as they stowed themselves away as they had the day before. Mrs. Morton told him the chief "sights" which they wanted to see, and directed him to point out anything that they passed which would have some interest for the young people. First they went over to the old part of the town along the Delaware, to find one of the churches of which Mrs. Morton had spoken. On the way they stopped at Christ Church. Its high box pews seemed to them full of dignity, and they imagined the elaborately arranged head-dresses of the ladies and powdered wigs of the gentlemen, rising above the old-fashioned seats. The pulpit was high up on one side of the chancel. "This is the church that was presided over by Bishop White, the first Episcopal bishop of Pennsylvania," said Mrs. Morton. "He was influential in organizing the Episcopal Church in this country." Out in the graveyard, whose quiet seemed strangely out of place amid the hurry of the city, they found many stones bearing well-known names, among them that of Benjamin Franklin. "He died in 1790," read Delia, from the stone. "Wasn't that just about the time Washington was elected President?" "One year after," said Helen, who could not resist giving historical information. "The first real American Congress after the separation of the country from England met here in Philadelphia in 1789, and elected Washington as President." "You can't escape a little history as long as Sister Helen is around," murmured Roger. "It wasn't I who started it," retorted Helen. "Now, children, be quiet. You may thank your stars that your sister knows so much about history," said Mrs. Morton; "it would be an excellent thing, Roger, if you stowed away some of it in your brain, too." "Yes'm," answered Roger meekly. It was while the car was on its way to the second old church of their search that the chauffeur asked James, who was sitting beside him, if he knew that "Hail Columbia" was written in Philadelphia. "I certainly didn't," said James. "Helen, did you know that 'Hail Columbia' was written in Philadelphia?" "No, I didn't know that," said Helen. "Tell me about it." With his eyes on the road and his hands on the wheel the chauffeur told James, who repeated the story over his shoulder to those in the back of the car, that while John Adams was president, there was a war scare, because French vessels were supposed to be off the coast ready to attack American merchant vessels. A man named John Hopkinson wrote the poem, which was sung one night at the Chestnut Street Theatre. "You mean our 'Hail Columbia'--the regular 'Hail Columbia'?" asked Ethel Brown. The chauffeur nodded at Ethel Brown. Her memory for verses was always good and she repeated the first stanza of the stirring song. "Hail Columbia, happy land! Hail! Ye Heroes, heaven-born band, Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, Who fought and bled in freedom's cause, And when the storm of war was gone, Enjoyed the peace your valor won; Let independence be your boast, Ever mindful what it cost, Ever grateful for the prize, Let its altar reach the skies." They all joined in the chorus. "Firm united let us be, Rallying round our liberty, As a band of brothers joined, Peace and safety we shall find." Almost on the river, toward the southern end of the town, was the church which the chauffeur called "Old Swedes Church," and whose correct name, Mrs. Morton said, was "Gloria Dei." "How old is it?" asked Dicky who was beginning to understand that they were on a historical pilgrimage. They all laughed at his seriousness, and his mother answered. "This building is only a little over two centuries old--but it's on the site of an old wooden church that was built in 1646. It was a Swedish church, originally, and then the whole congregation turned Episcopal." "It doesn't look as if they lived around the church in any great numbers," said Tom, gazing about him. "Most of the parishioners live now a long way from here," said the chauffeur, "but they love the church because they are the descendants of the original founders, and they come from great distances to the morning services and stay to Sunday School, old people and young ones, too, and cook their dinner in the Parish House." "That sounds like a New England village church to which all the farmers from around about come for the day," said Margaret Hancock. "I used to see them when I was a little girl and we went to New Hampshire for the summer. They bring their lunch and eat it under the trees between services." "Since we seem to be doing churches, we ought to go to a Quaker Meeting House," suggested Mrs. Morton, turning to the chauffeur for information. "There is one up on 12th Street, madam," he responded. "There's a boys' school connected with it that is very well known--the Penn Charter School. Lots of the old Quaker families send their boys there still." "I don't suppose there would be a meeting to-day," inquired Helen. The chauffeur shook his head. "You wouldn't like it, any way," he said. "I'm a Quaker myself, and I know when I was your age it was awfully hard work to keep still so long." "Is it worse than any other kind of church?" asked Dicky. The driver nodded again, dexterously avoiding a big truck as he answered. "The congregation just sits there until the Spirit moves someone to speak. I've been there many a time when they sat for two hours and nothing happened at all." "Dear me," exclaimed Ethel Blue, shaking her head gravely; "I don't believe I could keep still as long as that." "I dare say it's just as well that there is no meeting to-day," said Mrs. Morton. "Any way, I don't know that I should approve of your going to a religious service out of curiosity." Tom nodded in agreement with Mrs. Morton. "I'm sure Father wouldn't like it," he said. Tom's father was a clergyman in New York. "He doesn't object to our going to other churches," he went on, "but he has seen so much of tourists who come to New York and go around the city, taking in three or four churches on Sunday morning merely to hear the music or some celebrated speaker, that he has always warned us children against being 'religious rubber-necks.'" They all laughed and contented themselves with looking at the outside of the severely plain meeting-house. The tour over the Mint was filled with interest for all of them. "This is the oldest Mint in the United States," the guide explained to them. "What's the date?" Helen could not resist asking, although Roger shook his head at her and Tom visibly smothered a smile. "1792" the man replied. "We turn out gold and silver and copper here and we've done a great deal of minting for South America, and, of late years, for the Philippines." The boys were most interested in the processes by which the discs were cut out of plain sheets of metal and were then fed into tubes of just the right size to hold them, until they reached the stamping machine which gave them the impress they were to wear through life. "Those new gold pieces are certainly beauties," said Roger, looking at the eagle flying through the air on one coin and then at the same majestic bird standing with dignity on another. "I don't think this Indian has a very handsome nose," said Ethel Blue, critically, as she examined a five-cent piece. "But think how appropriate it is,--the noble red-man on one side of the nickel, and the buffalo of the plains on the other," returned James. The girls were more interested in the coin collection in the Mint's museum. Here they saw not only American coins, from the earliest to the most recent, but coins of other countries. One of them was the tiny bit of metal known as the "Widow's Mite." "The Widow didn't have to be very muscular to carry that around," commented Roger. "But she must have had a separate bag to put it in or it would have been lost," returned practical Ethel Brown. "There's nothing doing in the Academy of Fine Arts now, ma'am," the chauffeur told Mrs. Morton, when she got into the car again. "It has a grand exhibition every winter but it's closed for the summer. Would you like to see the collections?" The question was put to the party and they agreed that they would prefer to stay out of doors in this brilliant summer weather. "We'll make an expedition to the Metropolitan Museum some day before long," promised Mrs. Morton. "I wish we might do it soon," said Dorothy. "Miss Graham said she'd go with us, and I think we should learn a lot from her because she's half an artist." "Let's ask her to take us as soon as we get back," said Ethel Blue. "I'm crazy about her, and this would be a good chance for us to be with her for almost all day." "I'll see that you have your opportunity soon," her Aunt Marion promised her. "We have time to run out to Mt. Airy this morning," suggested the chauffeur. "Then after luncheon, you could go to the Park and the Zoo in the afternoon." "What is Mt. Airy?" asked Della. "One of the finest deaf and dumb asylums in America," replied the young man proudly. Della shook her head and the rest of them pulled such long faces Mrs. Morton could not resist smiling. "I rather think these young people care more for human beings who can talk and hear," she said to the chauffeur. "At any rate," she went on, looking at her watch, "I must meet my business appointment now, so I suggest, Roger, that you take our party to Wanamaker's. You can see a lot of interesting things there, and can have your luncheon, and I'll meet you there when I am through with my business." So it was arranged, and the chauffeur was ordered for three o'clock to take them to Fairmount Park. At the appointed hour his cheerful face greeted them once again. Because of the Mortons' interest in the Navy, they first ran south to the League Island Navy Yard. Even their familiarity with many Navy Yards did not lessen their interest in this one, with its rows of officers' houses and its barracks and mess-room. Just because they were so familiar with similar places, however, they did not stay long, and the car was soon whirling northwards to the opposite end of the city. They went through miles and miles of streets lined with small houses. "These are the houses which have given Philadelphia the nick-name of the 'City of Homes,'" exclaimed Mrs. Morton. "You see, in New York people are crowded on to a small tongue of land, between two rivers. Here there are two rivers also, but the space between them is wider. There's nothing to prevent the city's crossing the Schuylkill and running westward, as it began to do many long years ago." "These houses aren't very beautiful," commented Ethel Blue. "They are very neat," said Ethel Brown. "But don't you get tired of these red bricks and white shutters, and the little flights of white marble steps, all alike? I don't see how anybody knows when he has come home. I should think people would all the time be getting into their neighbors' houses by mistake." "It is much more wholesome for a family to have a house to itself, than for many families to be crowded into one building," said Mrs. Morton. "I don't see why," objected Tom, who had been born and reared in New York. "The large buildings are wonderfully constructed now-a-days for ventilation and sanitation. They couldn't be better in that respect." "That's true," said Mrs. Morton, "but a family loses something of its privacy when it lives in a building with other people. The householder is responsible for his own heating, his own side-walk, and so on, for all matters whose good care makes for the happiness of his family. The apartment dweller loses that work for the well-being of his family, when he lets go its responsibility." "I dare say you are right, Mrs. Morton," said Tom, "but in these days of co-operation, it seems to me you gain something by uniting, as apartment house people practically do, to hire some one to take the responsibility of the heating arrangements, the side-walks, the ashes, and so on." "It all depends on the conditions," returned Mrs. Morton. "In New York, especially on Manhattan Island, where land is so valuable that buildings must go up in the air, such co-operation has become desirable, but where there is plenty of space, it seems better for every household to be separate as far as possible." The chauffeur called their attention, as they passed through Logan Square, to the fact that this was the fourth city square they had seen since they had been in his care. "On our way south from the Penn Treaty Park, we went through Franklin Square, and then you saw Washington Square when you were down by Independence Hall. This morning you saw Rittenhouse Square. Logan is the fourth. These four squares were laid out by William Penn as a part of the original design of the city." Not far from Logan Square they were enabled to reach the bank of the Schuylkill, and the rest of the afternoon they spent in the lovely Park through which flows this river and the picturesque little Wissahickon. Their first visit was to the Zoo, which the chauffeur told them was one of the finest in the United States. They invested in peanuts and small cakes and made themselves popular with the animals whose cages they passed. Then they drove on, gliding swiftly in and out among the stately trees which the engineers of the Park had had the good sense to leave as they found them. Along the Wissahickon they noticed many small inns, all of which showed signs, inviting passers-by to come in and partake of "Cat-fish and Waffles." "I can understand the waffle supply being limited only by the energy of the cooks," exclaimed Roger, as he read one of the numerous summonses, "but if they catch the cat-fish in the Wissahickon they must keep an army of fishermen out in the boats all day long!" "I wish we could go out on the river," murmured Helen, as they whirled along the banks of the Schuylkill. "It looks so refreshing there." "I think we can get a barge at one of these boat houses and go up the river a little way," suggested Mrs. Morton, turning inquiringly to the chauffeur. "It's a pretty bit from about here up to a place called 'The Lilacs,'" he answered. "It's a pretty little club house." "Oh, do lets do it," cried Ethel Blue excitedly. "It would be lovely." So they went to a near-by boat house and made the arrangements. The boats were large, with seats for four rowers besides the seats in the stern and bow. The Ethels had learned to row at Chautauqua the summer before, so they occupied one seat. The three boys each took one of the other seats, each rowing a single oar. Helen sat on the seat with Tom, Margaret with Roger, and Dorothy with James. Mrs. Morton and Dicky sat in the stern, and Della played look-out in the bow. It was a charming pull between shores beautiful by nature and gay with boat houses from which merry parties were establishing themselves in boats and barges and canoes. The rowers found the trip not too hard upon the muscles, even the Ethels saying that they were not at all tired, when The Lilacs came in sight. The car met them at the Club House because they had to go back to the hotel and pack their bags in order to catch the train for home. The chauffeur had brought up with him a man from the boat house, to take the barge back where it belonged. They returned over different streets to the city so that they felt that they had a good idea of the geography of the town. "I've had a perfectly stunning time, Mrs. Morton," said Tom, as he bade her "Good-bye" on the train and thanked her for her care. "It has been splendid fun, and my only grief is that I am afraid Helen may have fatigued her brain, remembering all that history!" Helen wrinkled her nose at him, but she laughed good-naturedly and agreed with him that the trip had been great fun. CHAPTER XI LIGHTS AND A FALL It was not often that Ethel Blue took a violent fancy to any one. Although she had something of the temperament that artists claim to have, she also had great reserve, and she found the companionship of her cousins, Ethel Brown and Dorothy, quite sufficient for her. Now, however, she was filled with admiration for Margaret's aunt, Miss Graham. Miss Graham suited her in so many ways. She was good to look at, and Ethel found herself gazing at her wholesome, amiable face, filled with life and earnestness and fun, and enjoyed it quite as much as if she had great beauty. Then, Miss Graham, because of her occupation as an interior decorator, knew something about art, and Ethel Blue wanted to know how to draw and paint, and how to appreciate pictures. She found that she never met Miss Graham without realizing afterwards that she had learned something from her. Perhaps it was only the meaning of a new phrase, or perhaps Miss Daisy called her attention to the light on the group of figures in some picture, or to the harmonies of color in the landscape. Whatever it was, it was not brought out in any preachy way and yet Ethel Blue found herself with quite a store of information that had come from her new friend. Miss Graham did not seem to single out Ethel Blue for particular attention. They naturally drifted together when there was a large party, because their tastes were similar. "I think your aunt Daisy is nicer than any aunt in the world except my aunt Marion," Ethel Blue confided to Margaret one day. "That's just about what James and I think," said Margaret. "Has she finished her Englewood house?" inquired Ethel. "Yes, that was done some time ago. That's why she has been able to go to see Mrs. Smith so many times recently. She has spent several afternoons at Sweetbrier Lodge, you know." Remembering this, Ethel Blue went to the new house one afternoon especially to see if Miss Graham was there. She had no definite reason for doing so--she merely thought she would like to see her. By good luck Miss Graham was there, as she had brought out some samples of hangings to show to Mrs. Smith, and she was waiting on the terrace for her to come, and resting as she waited. "I'm glad to see you, child," she called to Ethel Blue, and Ethel did not resent being called a child, for she realized that it was merely an endearing word coming from Miss Daisy's lips. "Bring one of those canvas chairs over here beside me," she urged, "and we'll look at the view and talk a while." "Isn't it going to be lovely when the real furniture is on the terrace here?" said Ethel Blue eagerly. "The view is lovely, no matter what the chairs are," returned Miss Graham, smiling at her affectionately. "When do you think your aunt is coming?" "I don't know. Did she expect you? Shall I run back to the house and tell her you are here?" "No, probably I'm a little early and I shall enjoy sitting here and talking with you until she comes." Ethel felt much complimented by this desire on Miss Graham's part and placed her chair beside her. Their eyes looked out across the field with its brook and the trees that sheltered Mr. Emerson's house. Across the street the meadows, rich with the field flowers of late summer, stretched away towards the distant river, and beyond that were more trees rearing their heights across the sky. As they looked a shadow fell on the meadow and moved swiftly across it. "It looks as if some huge birds were flying between the earth and the sun," smiled Miss Daisy. "Doesn't it go fast!" returned Ethel Blue. "Notice the change in the color of the meadow, when the sunlight is hidden for a minute and then falls again on the vegetation." Ethel Blue nodded, for she saw that the change was almost as if a sheet of colored glass had been held over a strong electric light. "Sometimes during a thunder shower," she said, "I've seen awfully queer colors over in that meadow." "The air is charged with electric particles sometimes," explained Miss Daisy, "and you are looking through them. You get different color effects during an ordinary rain storm, too." "I think rain over that meadow is going to be one of the prettiest things Dorothy will see from this terrace," said Ethel Blue. "She will have a long sweep to watch and a shower moves sometimes fast and sometimes slowly, so there will be opportunity to notice many changes," suggested Miss Graham. "I wonder if Aunt Louise is going to have electric lights out here on the porch," said Ethel Blue. "They will draw the mosquitoes like everything." "But she won't mind that because she can stay inside of her wire cage," answered Miss Daisy. "Surely she's going to have electric lights. Don't you see the wires already put in?" "Of course," answered Ethel Blue. "How stupid of me! Those black ends are poking out all over the house and somehow I never thought what they were for." "Then you haven't noticed the lighting scheme that your Aunt and Dorothy have worked out. Let's walk through the house now, and see just how she has arranged it." They went through the door of the screen into the enclosed portion and then into the dining room. "Most people have one of those hang-down lights over the dining table," said Ethel Blue. "I don't see any wire for one here. I'm glad Aunt Louise isn't going to have one. They never are the right height. You always have to be dodging under them to see the person across from you and the light shines on the table so brilliantly that you're almost afraid to eat anything it falls on." Miss Graham laughed at Ethel's vigorous protest, but she said that she, too, did not like a central light over the dining table. "There is no need of a very brilliant light in a dining room," she said. "You can see the people about the table without any difficulty in a subdued light and the general effect is far more beautiful than when people are sitting in a glare." "I think candle light is prettiest for the dining room," said Ethel Blue. "It is prettiest for the table," replied Miss Graham. "The place where you really want a strong light is over the serving table behind the screen. You don't want the maid to make any mistakes just because she can't see clearly the dishes she is handling. There you need a strong light, but it can be placed so low that the screen shields it for the room and it will not interfere with the dimmer light of the rest of the room." "I suppose there ought to be other lights in the room," said Ethel Blue. "You might find that there weren't any candles in the house some evening and then it would be awful to have only this light over the serving table and none of them in other parts of the room." Miss Graham laughed at the possibility of such a disaster. "There can be side-lights over the mantel-place," she said, "electric lights that look like candles, with pretty candle shades, and one or two similar arrangements on the other side of the room." "Don't you ever put a central light in the dining rooms you decorate?" asked Ethel Blue. "Sometimes I let the light flow out from a dull, golden globe set into the ceiling over the table. The glass of the bowl is so thick that only a gentle radiance comes from it and yet it ekes out the light from the candles." "Ethel Brown is particularly pleased with the switch out in the vestibule," said Ethel Blue. "You see you can come home when the house is all dark, and light the electricity in the hall by turning on the switch outside of the front door. Wouldn't it be a good joke on a burglar, if he did it by accident some night when he was trying to get in," laughed the young girl. "It's a capital invention," said Miss Graham. "You notice your aunt has side lights here in the hall. Have you ever happened to be in a house where they were moving the furniture about and every piece that passed the hall chandelier gave it a rap?" "That's the way it is in the house we're in now," said Ethel. "Every time any one goes away and the express man brings down a trunk, he hits the light in the hall. I don't know how many globes Aunt Marion has had broken that way." Upstairs they found the same side-lighting in all the bed rooms. "The theory of it is," said Miss Graham, "that when you want to see anything very clearly, you put in a light close to the place where you need to work. If you are going to arrange your hair before your dressing table, you want a light directly over your dressing glass. If you are going to read you turn on a light beside your reading stand. An upper light is usually for general illumination and a side light for real service." "A combination of the two lights makes a room ready for anything," said Ethel Blue. "I want you to notice particularly the fixtures that your Aunt Louise has selected for indirect lighting," said Miss Graham. "She has chosen beautiful bowls that look like alabaster. They turn upwards and the bulbs are hidden in them. The strong glare is against the ceiling so that the people get only the reflected light. There is to be one of those bowls on a high standard in the front hall, and one at the turn of the stair-case. They look like ancient Roman urns, giving forth a marvelous radiance." "I think that will be prettier than some clear, engraved glass covers, that I saw the other day," said Ethel Blue. "They showed the bulbs right through." "Far prettier," agreed Miss Graham. "The whole object of this indirect light is to make your room seem to be lighted by a glow whose real origin you hardly know. Of course your intelligence tells you that there are electric bulbs up there, but you don't want really to see them." "It seems to me that people must be thinking more about how to make things pretty than they used to," said Ethel Blue. "When Ethel Brown's grandfather built his house, Aunt Marion says it was thought very handsome by everybody in Rosemont. It has lots of convenient things in it, and plenty of brilliant lights, but the fixtures aren't pretty and the idea seems to be to make just as big a shine as possible." "Nowadays," said Miss Graham, "people try to make the useful things beautiful also whenever they can." "I'm glad to learn all about a house," said Ethel Blue, "because some time I may have to keep house for my father and I want to know everything there is to know. Of course army people have to live in Uncle Sam's houses, but still there are always different arrangements you can introduce, even in a government house." "I'm sure you'll be able to make useful everything you learn," said Miss Graham, "and your father will be pleased with whatever makes the house lovelier and more comfortable." "I've always meant to ask whether you didn't know my father," said Ethel Blue. "He is at Fort Myer, near Washington." "Captain Richard Morton," said Miss Daisy. "Yes, indeed. I know a great many of the officers and their families at Fort Myer. I've met your father and I know him well." "Isn't he the dearest old darling that ever walked?" said Ethel Blue, bouncing with enthusiasm. "He certainly is a very nice person," agreed Miss Graham, smiling, "and he thinks he has one of the finest daughters who ever walked." "Does he really?" cried Ethel Blue. "I'm so glad he does! You see, I so seldom see him that sometimes I'm afraid he'll forget all about me. Once when he came to Rosemont, I passed him in the street when he was walking up from the station, and he didn't know me and I didn't know him. Wasn't that perfectly frightful?" "That was too bad," agreed Miss Graham. "Somehow I've never thought of being able to live with him," said Ethel Blue. "You know I've always lived with Aunt Marion, because my mother died when I was a little bit of a baby, but the other day somebody said something about my going to Father later on, and I haven't been able to think of anything else since." "I know he wants you," said Miss Graham. "Has he spoken to you about it?" "Yes, often." "I suppose I'll have to be a million times older than I am now, before he thinks I'm able to take care of him," said Ethel Blue. "I don't believe it will be a whole million years," smiled Miss Graham. "I shall feel dreadfully to leave Aunt Marion and Ethel Brown. I've never been away from Ethel Brown more than three or four days in my whole life," said Ethel Brown's twin cousin, "but if my father needs me, why of course, I must go." "Indeed you must," returned Miss Graham, "and I'm sure he wants you just as soon as he can send for you." Ethel Blue was so overjoyed at this opinion, that she jumped up on the ledge on the top of the parapet running around the terrace, and danced with delight the fancy step--"One, two, three, back; one, two, three, back"--with which she and Ethel Brown were accustomed to express great satisfaction with the way in which life was treating them. To Miss Graham's horror, Ethel Blue's enthusiasm blinded her eyes and her third back step took her off the parapet. She fell to the ground and rolled down the hill, her slender little body bouncing from rock to rock with cruel force and increasing speed. Miss Graham gave a cry of distress and vaulted over the parapet with the ease which she had acquired in the gymnasium in her college days. Running the risk of rolling down hill herself, she bounded down the steep slope, and reached the foot almost as soon as did the body of the young girl, which lay very still, its head against the stone which had brought unconsciousness. Miss Graham turned over the limp little form, shuddering as she saw the bruise on the forehead. She tried to lift it but found she could make no progress up the steep knoll. Again and again she called to the workmen in the house, and finally two of them appeared at an upper window and made gestures of understanding when she beckoned to them. They leaped down the hill with long strides, and soon were carrying Ethel Blue up to the terrace. They laid her gently on the floor and ran to get water from the hydrant, while Miss Graham slipped off the young girl's shoes, raised her feet upon a block of wood that happened to be near by, so that the blood might flow towards her heart, and gently chafed her wrists. When the water came, she dashed a shower of it from the tips of her fingers on the pale little face lying so quietly against the bricks. "Will I run to de nex' house an' telephone for de doctor?" asked one of the men, and Miss Graham nodded an assent and added a direction to summon Mrs. Morton. Before either her aunt or the doctor came, however, Ethel Blue returned to consciousness. Before she opened her eyes, she heard a soft, affectionate voice crooning over her, "My dear little girl, my poor little girl." She kept her eyes closed for a minute or two, so pleasant was this sound from the lips of Miss Graham whom she had grown to love so fondly. When at last she opened her eyes and saw Miss Daisy's anxious face change its expression to one of delight, she almost felt that it was worth while to fall off a precipice to bring about such a result. CHAPTER XII IN THE FAMILY HOSPITAL Mrs. Morton was acting as head nurse in the home hospital. Ethel Blue's injuries from her fall were not serious, but besides the bruises on her forehead, she had numerous large black and blue spots all over her body and she had been so shaken that the doctor thought it was well for her to stay in bed for a day or two. In addition to Ethel Blue, Dicky was laid low for the time being. He had gone over to his grandfather's and as he was accustomed to run about the farm by himself, and as he usually stayed near some of the workmen, nobody paid any attention to him. This time, however, he went up into the pasture, where he found most of the cows lying down in the shade of the trees and meditatively chewing their cuds after their morning meal. Dicky was not in the least afraid of cows, having been familiar with them from his babyhood. He therefore walked up to one of the prostrate creatures and sat down comfortably upon her neck, steadying himself by her nearest horn. Nothing happened for a minute of two, for either his weight was so slight that the cow hardly noticed it, or else his position did not interfere with her comfort. After a time, however, he began to pull at her horns in time with the motion of her jaws, and this measured movement seemed to annoy her. Shaking her head, she rose, first behind, throwing her rider even farther forward than he was, and then in front, tossing him off altogether. The distance to the ground was not great, but it was far enough for Dicky to be peppered with bumps and pretty well shaken. The cow paid no farther attention to him but walked off to a spot where she might be free from annoyance, and the little boy lay for some time on the ground before he could pull himself together and go to his grandfather's. By the time he reached there, his bruises were already turning black and he was interesting both to himself and to his relatives, although he was manfully keeping back his tears. The doctor ordered him to bed for a day or two, and now he lay on a cot at one side of the large room which served as the family hospital, and Ethel Blue at the other, comparing their wounds, and receiving the attention of Mrs. Morton. She had finished reading one of the Br'er Rabbit stories to them when Ethel Blue introduced the subject that was so constantly in her mind. "Did I tell you how I happened to fall off the terrace wall?" she asked her aunt. "I wondered how you did it; you are usually so sure-footed." "I was talking with Miss Daisy about my going to live with Father by-and-by. You know I never thought of it until the other night when we were all together on the porch and Helen,--wasn't it?--said something about it. I wish I didn't have to wait to finish school before I can go to him." "Are you in such a hurry to leave us?" said Mrs. Morton, with a little sigh for the many years of loving care she had spent over this child, who was to her like one of her own. Ethel Blue was conscience-stricken. "You know, Aunt Marion, I love all of you just like my own people. Only it seems so wonderful to think about being with Father all the time that I can't get it out of my mind--now it's in my mind." "There are a good many things to be considered," answered Mrs. Morton. "You know that an officer often has to be away from home and your father wouldn't like to leave you alone." Ethel Blue's face fell. "If I only had somebody like Dicky's Mary to stay with me," she said, referring to the nurse who had always taken care of Dicky, and who had lived on with the family after he was too old to need a nurse. "Perhaps your father might marry again and then there would be no difficulty about your being with him all the time." Mrs. Morton made the suggestion gently but Ethel Blue flushed angrily at once. "I think that's a perfectly horrible idea, Aunt Marion. That means a stepmother for me, and I think a stepmother is detestable." "Have you ever known one," inquired Mrs. Morton coolly. "No, I never have, but I've read a great deal about them and they're always cross and mean and their stepchildren hate them." "Don't you suppose that a great many stepchildren work up a dislike beforehand just because they read the same kind of stories that you seem to have been reading?" asked Mrs. Morton. Ethel Blue was a reasonable girl, and she thought this over before she answered. "Perhaps they do," she said, although slowly, as if she disliked to admit it. "I have happened to know several stepmothers," said Mrs. Morton, "and I never have known one who was not quite as kind or even kinder to her stepchildren, than to her own children. A mother feels that she can do as her judgment dictates with her own children, but with her stepchildren she weighs everything with even greater care, because she feels an added responsibility toward them." "But she can't love them as she does her own children," said Ethel Blue. "I think there is very little difference," said her Aunt Marion. "I am not your stepmother but at the same time I am not your own mother, and I am not conscious of loving you any less than I love Ethel Brown. You are both my dear girls." "I love Father but I do think Father would be mean if he gave me a stepmother," said Ethel Blue. "But, wouldn't _you_ be mean if you objected to his having the happiness of a household of his own, after all these years when he has not had one?" returned Mrs. Morton promptly. "Your father has lived a lonely life for many years, and if such a thing should happen as his deciding to marry again, I can't think that my little Ethel Blue would be so selfish as to make him unhappy--or even uncomfortable--about it." This was a new idea for Ethel Blue and she snuggled down under her covers and turned her head away to think about it. Her aunt left her alone and the room was quiet except for the noise made by Dicky's little hands, as he turned the pages of a picture book. It was almost dark when Mrs. Morton came back with Mary, each of them bearing a tray with the supper for one of the invalids. "I must say," laughed Mrs. Morton, as she entered the hospital, "these are pretty hearty meals for people who call themselves ill." "My mind isn't ill," said Ethel Blue; "it's just these bruises that hurt me," and Dicky understood what she meant, for he told Mary, who was arranging his pillows, that his "black and blue thspotth were awful thore," but that he was going to get up in the morning. As Mrs. Morton leaned over Ethel Blue's bed, the young girl put an arm around her aunt's neck and drew her down to her. "I've made up my mind not to be piggy if anything like that does happen," she said, hesitatingly. "Do you know that it is going to happen?" "No, I do not," answered Mrs. Morton, "but I saw that you were in a frame of mind to make your father very unhappy if it should come to pass. You ought not to allow yourself to have such thoughts, even about an indefinite stepmother. They might easily turn into thoughts of real hatred for an actual stepmother." "But do you think there _might_ be a stepmother some time or other?" asked Ethel Blue. "Yes, dear, I do. Your father probably seems old to you, but he really is not very old and, as I said before, he has lived a lonely life for many years. You know it was fourteen years ago that your mother died, and since then he has had no home of his own and no loving companionship. He has not even had the delight of helping to bring up his little daughter. If he can make happiness for himself now, after all these years, don't you think that his little daughter ought to help him?" Ethel Blue nodded silently and ate her supper thoughtfully. "While you two were taking your nap, I went to Sweetbrier Lodge," said Mrs. Morton, by way of entertaining the invalids. "I am so much interested in the way that Aunt Louise has arranged for the maids. You know so many people have only a servant's workroom, the kitchen; and the maids have no room to sit in after their work is done. Aunt Louise has been very thoughtful in all her plans. The laundry and the kitchen and the pantry between the kitchen and the dining room, all have the most convenient arrangements possible. Every shelf and cupboard is placed so that the number of footsteps that the kitchen worker must take will be reduced as greatly as possible. Then there are all sorts of labor saving arrangements. You saw those in the kitchen and the cellar. The electrician has been there daily fitting up an electric range and dish-washing machine. The wires in the kitchen are placed just where they will be most serviceable, and there are plenty of windows so that the room is bright in the day-time. Then just off the kitchen, there is a delightful little sitting room, with a porch opening from it. It has a view toward the garden and FitzJames's woods, and it is to be prettily furnished." "There are two bed-rooms and a bath for the maids in the attic story," said Ethel Blue. "They are going to be prettily furnished too." "Will they have a garden?" asked Dicky from his corner. "Do you know?" Mrs. Morton turned to Ethel for an answer. "I do understand now," she replied, "why Dorothy insisted on having the herb garden down by the house. I thought it was just because it would be convenient to have the herbs near the kitchen, but she planted flowers there too, and now I see that it will be a pretty flower garden for the maids to enjoy and to cut for their own rooms." "There are two things about Aunt Louise that are interesting," said Ethel Blue. "One is the way she always tries to make other people happy and comfortable." "She is naturally thoughtful and considerate," said Mrs. Morton, "and she has had much unhappiness in her life and has happened to meet many people who are unhappy, so it has taught her to do all she can to brighten other people's lives and to make them easier." "I don't believe many people who are building a house would let a lot of children say what they thought would be nice about it," said Ethel Blue. "She wants Dorothy and all of you to learn about the new ways of building and fitting up a house," returned Mrs. Morton, "and she knows how much fun it is to talk over such matters in a general pow-wow. Haven't all of you had a good deal of fun out of it?" "We certainly have," replied Ethel Blue. "I liked fixing up Ayleesabet's room particularly, because I suggested the idea, but we have all made suggestions for every room in the house. Aunt Louise has not agreed with all of them, but she always told us why she didn't agree or why she didn't like our ideas. She never was snippy about it, just because we were children. The other thing that is interesting in Aunt Louise, is the way she wants to have all sorts of new arrangements in a house." "Almost everybody does that," answered Mrs. Morton. "I don't know anybody in Rosemont who has all the things that Aunt Louise has put in. People have vacuum cleaners now-a-days, that they move around from one room to another, but she has hers built in, so the dirt is drawn right down into the cellar. She has every kind of electric thing she has ever heard of, I do believe." "The electrician was there to-day as I told you, arranging wires in the kitchen." "I was trying to count up as I was lying here, all the things in the house that go by electricity. Of course there's the door bell to begin with. Then there are all the lighting switches--the one in the vestibule and all the regular ones in the halls and rooms and a lot of them in the different closets, so that she never will have to struggle around in the dark for anything she is hunting for." "I saw a man putting in a little pilot light for the oven, to-day," said Mrs. Morton. "What's that for?" "So the cook can investigate the state of affairs in the oven. Sometimes it's hard to say how far along a dish at the back of the oven is. This light enables you to make out whether it is browning properly or not." "The man who put in the summer water-heater called the little light that burns all the time in that, a 'pilot,'" said Ethel Blue. "The dumb-waiter that runs from the cellar up through the house to take up kindling or whatever needs to be taken up stairs, runs at the touch of an electric button," said Mrs. Morton. "I wish there had been an elevator for people," said Ethel Blue. "The house isn't large enough to call for that," said her aunt, laughing. "Dorothy and her mother are able to go up one or two flights of stairs without much suffering!" Ethel laughed at the suggestion, and went on with her enumeration of the uses of electricity. "The city water runs into the house, but do you know that Aunt Louise has had an extra pump fitted into a deep well at the back of the house, and that is to work by electricity? She was afraid the house was so high up that the power of the town water might be weak sometimes." "She's prepared for anything, isn't she? She'll be quite independent if any accident should happen to the Rosemont reservoir." "You know the fittings of the laundry are electric." "And the electrician to-day was going to put in an electric hair dryer in the bath-room, so that a shampoo will require only a few minutes' time." "I see where all of us girls visit Dorothy on shampoo day," giggled Ethel Blue. "She'll be as popular as I used to be when our cherries were ripe," her Aunt Marion smiled in return. "I never seemed to have so many friends as during the June days when I always entertained my guests by inviting them up into the cherry tree." "Was that the cherry tree on the right thide of Chrandfather'th houthe?" asked Dicky suddenly from the corner where he had been supposed to be dozing. "The very same cherry tree, young man. I dare say you know it." "It'th too fat for me to thin up," he said, "but nektht year I'm going up on a ladder the minute I see a robin flying off with the first ripe cherry." CHAPTER XIII A GOLDEN COLOR SCHEME When the time came for having the interior decorating done in Sweetbrier Lodge and for getting the furniture, the U. S. C. felt that they were really in the very midst of a delightful experience. The attic was furnished with brown wicker, as Miss Graham had suggested. A small upright piano was brought up through a window, and this pleasant, quiet room at the top of the house, served to give Dorothy a spot for practising where she would disturb no one. Up here, too, she could keep any work that she was doing and merely put it into a chest that she had prepared for the purpose, whenever she wanted to leave it, or, if it was something that could not easily be moved, it might even be kept out upon the table and there would be no one to be annoyed by an appearance of untidiness. The piano was to be a pleasure at the club meetings, for all the U. S. C. members liked to sing, and Helen was planning that they should wind up every meeting during the coming winter with a good stirring chorus before they separated for the afternoon. On the bedroom floor, the furnishings were carried out as they had been planned, Elisabeth's room in blue, Dorothy's in pink, and Mrs. Smith's in primrose yellow, and the two guest chambers in violet and a delicate, misty grey. The wood-work was painted ivory white and the floors were all of hard wood. Rugs in harmonious tints gave the desirable depths of tone to the color plan. On this floor Mrs. Smith had a sewing room and also a small sitting room, where she could write business letters and be quite undisturbed. With the floor below came the really serious work of furnishing, the girls thought. The drawing room was the important feature of this floor. "Here is the family hearth," said Mrs. Smith to Dorothy, "and we want to make this room beautiful--one that people will like to come into and to stay in." "It must not be cold in color, then," said Dorothy. "Nobody likes to stay in a chilly looking room." "And it ought not to be too warm in color," said plump little Della, who suffered terribly from the heat in summer. "It just makes me perspire to _think_ of some of the thick, heavy-looking rooms I've been in. They are only suitable for zero weather and we don't seem to have any more zero weather nowadays." Mrs. Smith had allowed Dorothy to ask the club members to have cocoa with her on the afternoon when the final decisions were to be made. They had brought down from up-stairs some of the chairs and a table which had already been put into the bed-rooms. Dorothy and the Ethels had made cocoa and had baked some cocoanut cakes on the new electric oven, and they were all gathered in the drawing room, sipping their cocoa and looking about them at the possibilities of the room. "Before we begin, tell me how you made these cakes," said Margaret, who was always adding a new receipt to her cook book. "We took half a pound of dried cocoanut and two ounces of sugar and three ounces of ground rice, and mixed them all up together. Then we beat the whites of three eggs perfectly stiff and stirred the froth thoroughly into the other things," said Ethel Brown. "Then we dipped out a tablespoonful at a time and put it on to a buttered baking tin, and baked it all in a quick oven for five minutes," said Ethel Blue, "but we didn't take the tin out, right off. We let the oven cool and the little cakes cook slowly for half an hour longer." "They do be marvellous good," murmured James, and all the others agreed with him. Miss Graham had come over with Margaret and James, but she said that she was not going to give her professional advice until it was asked for. "I may as well tell you first of all," said Mrs. Smith, "what my color scheme is for this room, and then you can help me with the details. I want the whole thing to be in tones of brown, lightened by yellow, and contrasted with that dull blue you see in Oriental rugs. Now, keep that scheme of color in your mind and work it out for me." "I think you must have told the painter about it before he did the wood-work," guessed Margaret. "This wood-work is white, but a yellowish white that will be quite in harmony with your brown and gold scheme." "You've caught me," smiled Mrs. Smith. "It had to be done, so I told him what I wanted. It's successful, don't you think so?" she asked, looking toward Miss Graham. "Entirely," approved Miss Daisy. "The floors are hard wood, but I suppose you're going to have a big brown and gold and blue rug," said Helen. "Certainly those colors, if I can find just the right thing," said her aunt. "I was with Mother the other day in a rug shop," said Della, "and I saw beautiful Chinese rugs, with dull blue backgrounds and figures of brown and tan." "I've noticed," said Helen, "that Oriental rugs have a great deal of red and green in them. I should think it might be hard to find rugs with just brown and blue." "I have discovered that it is," said Mrs. Smith, "for I've already been on one or two searching trips. Still, those Chinese rugs that Della mentioned are always available, and if you hunt far enough you can get others with the brown note uppermost. What do you think about size?" she asked. "Oh," said Helen. "I seem to see in my mind's eye a huge, great, splendid one in the middle of the room." "It would be a beautiful rug probably," said Ethel Brown, "but I don't know that I should like one big fellow as much as two smaller ones." "Why not?" asked Miss Graham. "I don't know that I can tell you," answered Ethel Brown, blushing. "Perhaps it's because it makes the room seem too big and grand, and the arrangement of smaller ones would break it up into smaller sections, and make it seem more home-like." Miss Daisy nodded as if she were satisfied, but made no comment. "How do all of you feel about the size of the rugs?" inquired Mrs. Smith, and Helen put the question to vote. They decided that they liked the idea of two or more rugs of medium size with little ones where they were needed instead of a very large one in the centre of the room. "I think you're right," said Mrs. Smith, "and I think that it will be easier to find the smaller ones than the very large ones--and less expensive into the bargain," she said, laughing. "What is the furniture to be?" inquired Tom. "Dorothy and I had a few antiques that have been kept for us all these years from my father's house, and they have given us the note for the rest. They are mahogany, colonial in style, so we think that we must make the rest of the furniture harmonize with them." "Aunt Marion told me she saw some lovely reproductions of truly old chairs and tables and things," said Ethel Blue. "I suppose you can make the room look as if every piece in it was a truly old one." "If I had money enough, I could undoubtedly find truly old pieces," said Mrs. Smith, "but I think I shall content myself with the modern pieces in the old style." "At any rate, they will be stronger," said Margaret. "We have some very old furniture, and since we put steam heat in our house, they've been falling to pieces as fast as they could fall." "How are the walls of this room to be treated?" asked James. "There I want your help," said Mrs. Smith. "I saw a dark brown paper dashed with gold the other day, on the library wall at Mrs. Schermerhorn's," said Roger. "Too dark," cried the Ethels in chorus. "Mrs. Schermerhorn's wood-work is dark and Aunt Louise's is almost white." "There's a kind of Japanese paper that looks like metal burlap," said Margaret. "It has a little glint of gold in it." "That's too dark, too, I think," said Dorothy. "It ought to be something that will connect the yellow-white of the wood-work with the gold, which is the lightest tone in Mother's color scheme." Again Miss Graham nodded her approval, although she said nothing. "I saw a very wide pongee silk the other day that would be just about the right shade, if it could be put on like wall-paper," said Ethel Blue. "It would be a little darker than this paint, and it would tie on to the gold in the rug or in any piece of furniture covering." Again Miss Graham nodded. "And I don't see why it couldn't be stenciled," said Ethel Brown. "Something like the walls upstairs in the apple-blossom room, only of course something that would be appropriate for this room. But even if you didn't like that idea," she went on, "I think the pongee silk alone would be beautiful." Mrs. Smith liked that idea, too, but she hesitated to give her final decision until she had examined a certain homespun linen which she had had recommended to her as a possible success from the point of view of color. "Now that you have finished your cocoa, I want you to move your chairs over here, where you can look into the dining room," she said. "You see, I've had the dining room separated from this room by folding doors; there will be door curtains also, but I want to be able to shut off the room entirely from this room if I choose. Now, while we talk about the furniture here, look into the dining room and get the shape of it into your minds, so that you can regard it as a sort of outgrowth of this room. Are you comfortable now?" They said they were and went on to discuss the furniture. "Will all of the pieces be upholstered with the same material?" asked Ethel Blue. "Oh, no," cried Ethel Brown. "Let's have two or three different shades of brown, and one in the right shade of yellow and one or two in the same dull blue of the rug." Again Miss Graham nodded. "You want to repeat in the furniture the colors of the rug," she said. "They give you a wide range of tones because these Oriental rugs may have as many as twenty-five shades of blue, so finely graduated that you can hardly tell them apart, except with a reading glass. The brown and gold of the furniture will bring out the brown and gold of the floor covering and you must be careful that the yellow of the furniture is not so brilliant as to overpower the more delicate yellow of your walls. There should be a sort of scale from the yellowish white wood-work which is your highest note, down to the darkest shade of brown." "Now, that we've decided about the furniture, tell me what general idea you have for the dining room," said Mrs. Smith. "I'm all excitement to hear what you have to say about the dining room, because it isn't quite clear in my own mind, and I want to work it out with you." "You want it to be an outgrowth of this room," said Helen, "and you don't want it treated like an entirely separate room." "Since it is connected with this room by so wide an opening, when the doors are drawn back," said her aunt, "it seems to me as if it ought to be in harmony with the coloring here." They all agreed with this idea. "I suggest," said Margaret, "that the whole room might be a little darker than this room, although decorated with the same colors." Miss Graham again approved this. "It has the morning sun," said Dorothy, "and at night through most of the year the gas is lighted at dinner time so it isn't necessary to have it so bright as the other room." "Then why not have everything the same, except just a little deeper in tone," said Ethel Blue. "Have the wood-work a trifle darker and find some material for the walls or have them color-washed a few shades darker than the pongee. The floor is a little darker than this anyway and one of the darker blue Chinese rugs will be lovely on it." "Mother's china is blue Canton," said Dorothy. "That will give blue touch that will harmonize with the rugs." They were all pleased with their decisions and were greatly pleased when Miss Graham approved their wisdom. The electricians had put in the electric fixtures and they noticed that the dining room side lights of both the dining room and drawing room looked like sconces; that there was a glowing bowl of light in the ceiling above the dinner table; and that the half concealed lights were to give a pleasant radiance in the larger room, while plugs around the wall permitted the use of electric lamps for reading or sewing at many different points. "How is this little reception room to be done, Mrs. Smith?" asked James as he roamed into a small room just beside the front door. "This whole floor, all in all, is to have the same color scheme," said Mrs. Smith. "I think this and the hall will be done like the dining room." "Come out now, and see the maid's sitting room," cried Dorothy. "It is the cunningest thing and so pretty." The wicker furniture had already come for this room and the attic, and they all exclaimed at the delicate shade of gray rattan which made a charming back-ground for cushions of flowered chintz. "I think it's a dear duck of a room!" said Ethel Brown. "And see the roses on the walls!" exclaimed Dorothy. "And it opens on to a little porch that is going to be covered with rambler roses all summer, if I can possibly make them grow and blossom." "How many of you people can go to the Metropolitan Museum with me on Saturday?" asked Miss Graham. "I know you younger ones are all busy in school now, and the boys are getting ready to go to college, so that is your only day, for we want plenty of time." There was not one of them who could not go, so they arranged about trains and where they should pick up the Watkinses in New York, and separated with pleasant expectations of the very good time ahead of them. CHAPTER XIV AT THE METROPOLITAN Dicky, the Honorary Member of the United Service Club, had been considered too young to become a member of the party to visit the Metropolitan Museum. He had, however, begged so hard not to be left behind, that Helen and Roger had relented, and had promised to take him if he, in his turn, would agree not to bother Miss Graham by asking more than a million questions every ten minutes. He was also under bond not to stray away from the party. As it turned out, however, the Honorary Member did not go to New York on the appointed day. He had planned an expedition of his own for purposes of investigation, and the results were such that he was not able to meet his other engagement later on. Underneath his bobbed hair Dicky kept a sharp pair of ears and there was very little of the talk about his aunt's new house that had escaped his attention. Among other things he had listened while his sisters and cousins had commented upon the manner in which the kitchen was equipped. The floor was concrete, the walls were of white tile, the shelves were of glass, and the cupboard doors of enameled metal. He had heard his mother say to his Aunt Louise: "Why, you could turn the hose on it to clean it, couldn't you?" The idea had inflamed his imagination and he determined to see how it would work. Detaching the hose and spray from the bath-room he trotted off immediately after breakfast, intent on putting into effect his mother's idea. It seemed to him that it would be a delight to live in a house where one might enter into the kitchen at any moment and find the cook spraying the walls with a hose. If the reality proved to be as charming as the anticipation, he was going to beg his mother to have their own kitchen made over promptly. The workmen were all upstairs at Sweetbrier Lodge but the lower doors were open so that there was no difficulty in achieving an entrance. He knew how to attach the spray to the faucet and a twist of the fingers turned on the water. It seemed to him as the first dash struck him full in the face, he having been a little careless about the nozzle, that his Aunt Louise need not have worried about the pressure of the town water. He shook his head like a pussy cat in the rain, but manfully restrained the ejaculation that leaped to his lips. He was glad that he did, because nobody interrupted and the succeeding moments were filled with ecstasy. He sprayed the floor, the electric range, the shiny white table, the glistening cupboards, and, best of all, the gleaming tiles of the walls down which the drops chased each other in a joyous race for the floor. The moments sped in this entrancing pursuit. At home a cry for Dicky had arisen as the time came to dress him for his trip to New York. Nobody knew where he had gone. It was not until Ethel Brown telephoned to Dorothy that they learned that he had been seen passing her house. "He must have gone to Sweetbrier Lodge for some reason or other," said Ethel Brown. "What on earth possessed him on this morning of all mornings!" She called to Roger, and he dashed off on the run to see if he could find his wandering brother. None of the workmen at the new house had any knowledge of his whereabouts, and it was not until Roger opened one of the carefully closed doors and was greeted by a dash of water, straight in his waistcoat, that he found the wanderer. Roger was a boy of even temper but he confessed to his mother afterwards that his fingers ached as never before to impress on Dicky his disapproval of his occupation. "What on earth are you doing here?" he demanded, snatching the hose from Dicky's reluctant fingers, and turning off the water. "Washing down the walls," replied Dicky truthfully. "Incidentally you've given yourself a good soaking," said Roger, looking at the thoroughly drenched little figure before him. "Here, slip into this coat, and I hope I haven't got to carry you home the whole way, you big, heavy creature." "I think I'd be warmer if I trotted myself," suggested Dicky, a little apprehensive of what might happen to him in the way of a bear hug, in his brother's strong arms. "I guess you're right," said Roger. "We'll have to run like deer, for it's almost time for the car to come for us. This puts an end to your going into town, I suppose you understand, young man." Dicky had not thought of losing his other joy while he was realizing his first delight, and he puckered his face for a howl, but before the sound could come out, Roger said: "You brought it on to yourself, so don't yell. This is the natural result of what you've been doing. You can't expect ten people to wait for you to be thoroughly dried and got ready to go into town, can you?" Dicky was an uncommonly reasonable child and he swallowed his sobs as he shook his head. There was no farther conversation, for both boys were running as fast as Roger's legs could set the pace. Dicky's strides were assisted by his brother, who seized his arm and helped him over the ground with giant steps. Mrs. Morton's view of the situation seemed to be painfully like Roger's, and Dicky found himself put into the care of Mary and an unnaturally rough bath towel, his only part in the expedition that had promised such happiness to him, being the sight of his relatives climbing into his grandfather's automobile and dashing off toward Glen Point, where they were to pick up Miss Graham and the Hancocks. When the party reached New York they made up their minds that they might as well approach the Museum containing many beautiful objects by the prettiest way possible, so at 59th Street the car swept into Central Park. As they entered, Miss Graham called their attention to the golden statue of General Sherman, made by the famous sculptor, Saint-Gaudens. As they neared the Museum, she pointed out Cleopatra's needle, an Egyptian shaft covered with hieroglyphics. "The poor old stone has had a hard time in this climate," said Roger. "It has scaled off terribly, hasn't it?" "They are trying to preserve it by a preparation of parafine," said Miss Graham. "I should think it would have to be repeated every winter," said Helen. "It doesn't seem as if parafine was much of a protection against heavy frost." Just inside the entrance of the building they found Della and Tom awaiting them. Miss Graham called their attention first to the tapestries hanging in the entrance hall, and told them something of the patient work that went into the production of one of these great sheets of painstaking embroidery. "Are they making them anywhere, nowadays?" asked Ethel Blue. "When the war is over and you go to Paris, you can see the tapestry workers in the Gobelins factory," said Miss Daisy. "Every machine has hung upon it the picture which the worker is copying. It may take a man six or seven years to complete one piece." "Shouldn't you think he would be sick to death of it!" exclaimed Dorothy. "I suppose the first year he tells himself he must be pleasant, so that he will see the picture get started. In the second year perhaps he'll be ready to put in the feet of his figures. Then all the middle years must be comparatively exciting because he's doing the central part of the picture; and the last year he has a sort of a thrill because it's almost done, even though the work may be all in the clouds." "I judge that they make landscapes with figures, chiefly," guessed James. "Many of them are landscapes with figures," replied Miss Daisy. "They have a wide variety of objects. The factory belongs to the government and the pieces are used as decorations for government buildings, and as gifts to people of other countries. The French Government gave Miss Alice Roosevelt a piece of Gobelin when she was married. I've seen it on exhibition in the Art Museum at Cincinnati." "I suppose all the workmen now have gone to the war, and the factory is closed," said Tom. "Probably. The men who work there now are descendants, sometimes in the third or fourth generation, of the early workers. They hold their positions for life and although their pay is not large they also have each a cottage and piece of land on the grounds of the factory." As the U. S. C. ascended the great stair-way they passed numerous impressive busts and stopped to look at all of them. Most of the men were famous Americans, whose names were already familiar to the young people. "Now," said Miss Graham, as they reached the head of the stairs, "later on we can choose the kind of thing we would like especially to see, but first I want to show you two or three pictures and we can talk a little about them. Then perhaps we will enjoy better the pictures we see afterwards." "I am sure we shall," answered Roger, politely, although his heart was yearning for the Riggs collection of armor. Miss Daisy read his mind. "I know you want to see the Riggs armor most of all," she said, "and Margaret and James have been talking a lot about the Morgan collection and the Ethels told me on the way in that they had seen in the Sunday papers reproductions of some of the pictures in the Altman collections and they want to see the originals. We can see all those later on, but first we will look for a minute at a very famous picture by a Frenchwoman, Rosa Bonheur." "Oh, I remember about her," said Helen. "She used to wear men's clothes when she was working in her studio. She said skirts bothered her." "I should think they would," said James. "I remember about her, too. She made a specialty of animals and sometimes she had lions and other wild animals from some Zoo, and let them wander about. She needed to be dressed so she could skip lively if they made any demonstration!" "Those are huge horses, aren't they," said Ethel Blue, as they stood before the "Horse Fair." "They look as if they were 'feeling gayly,' as the North Carolina mountaineers say," quoted Dorothy. "What is it all about?" asked Miss Graham. "Why, I don't know," answered Ethel Blue slowly. "Is it about anything in particular? Isn't it just a lot of horses being taken to a Horse Fair for exhibition?" Miss Graham nodded and said that that was probably all there was to it. Then she led them to a picture by a French artist, Meissonier. "I spot Napoleon," said Tom promptly, as they took up their position. "This is called 'Friedland, 1807,'" said Miss Graham. Before she could ask any question or make any suggestion about the picture, Helen had explained "Friedland." "That was one of Napoleon's famous battles. Here he defeated the Russians and Prussians." "Eighteen hundred and seven?" repeated James. "Why, Napoleon was at the very height of his power then, wasn't he?" "He looks it," said Margaret. "Doesn't he look as if he were the lord of the world? And how those men around him gaze at him with adoration! He certainly had a wonderful ability for making himself beloved by his soldiers!" Miss Graham had been listening to these comments with the greatest interest. "What difference do you see between this picture and the 'Horse Fair'?" she asked. They looked carefully at the picture before them and Ethel Blue scampered back to refresh her memory on the "Horse Fair." "There isn't any more action in one than the other," said James, "though, of course, it's different." "But this one makes me think a lot about a great man," added his sister. "And you want to know what it's all about," exclaimed Ethel Brown. "You feel as if there must be some story about this one," said Ethel Blue, returning from her expedition to the "Horse Fair." "That's just the point," said Miss Graham, patting her shoulder, "There's no especial appeal to the imagination in the 'Horse Fair.' You just see horses going to any horse fair in northern France, and there's nothing to tell you that one horse has won a ploughing match and that another is a candidate for a blue ribbon because of his great weight. But here you realize at once that Napoleon was a man to command attention. You want to know what he has been doing. You feel that there is some good reason for the evident admiration of his soldiers. Those two pictures are examples of two different classes of pictures. The 'Horse Fair' you might call a sketch in a traveller's note book. The Napoleon picture is an illustration in a story." The young people thought over all this and nodded their agreement. "Now come with me and see this picture of a pretty girl." Miss Graham led the way to the Morgan collection and they looked into the winning face of "Miss Farren." She seemed to be moving swiftly across the canvas, her dress and cloak streaming behind her from the speed of her motion. "She's a pretty girl," said Roger, with his hand on his heart. Tom nodded in agreement, but James shook his head. "She looks silly," he said sternly. "There isn't any story to her picture, I'm sure," said Helen. "That's just a portrait." "But may not a portrait indicate something of the character of the sitter?" asked Miss Graham. "It ought to," returned Margaret, "and I should think there was something of this girl's character in the portrait, but there's nothing to show that this might be the illustration of a story." "Unless it were the frontispiece, showing the picture of the heroine," said Roger. "But the heroine doing nothing that is told about in the story," insisted Helen. Miss Graham made no comment on these criticisms but led the way to another picture, also of a girl, but this time of a girl in the dress of a peasant and not handsomely arrayed as was Miss Farren. "There is a bigger difference than clothes between these two," said Della, "but I don't know just what it is. This girl isn't pretty like Miss Farren." "Do you know who this is?" asked Miss Daisy. "Somebody who is thinking a lot," said Ethel Brown. "She is seeing things in her mind," said Ethel Blue. "Who is the most famous girl in history, who did that?" asked Miss Graham. "Jeanne d'Arc," said Helen. "She saw visions that inspired her to be a leader of men in the army and she brought about the coronation of her king when he was kept from his throne by the English who held Paris and a large part of France." "She is seeing visions now," whispered Ethel Blue, clinging to Miss Graham's arm. Miss Graham gently smoothed the fingers that were tensely closed over the sleeve of her jacket. "Why do you suppose Helen told us about Jeanne d'Arc just now?" she asked. "Because Helen just naturally knows all the history there is to be known," said Roger, joking his sister in brotherly fashion. Helen flushed and murmured something that sounded like, "I thought you'd like to know why she looked like that." "There is something more than just her character and her disposition in that picture," said Margaret. "If a single picture can be a story picture, I should think this was a story picture as much as the Napoleon one," said Tom. Again Miss Daisy nodded her approval. "I call it a story picture," she said. "Helen felt that it was, immediately, and that is why she told us something of the story of Jeanne d'Arc." "Most landscapes must be just note book pictures, then," guessed Ethel Brown. "Unless the landscape should be a background for some story," said Della. "There might be gypsies kidnapping a child, for instance." "Of course there are other divisions," said Miss Graham, "but roughly speaking, almost every picture is either a record of fact or of imagination, or else it tells a story." "It's going to be interesting to think about that, when we look at the other pictures we shall see later on," said Tom, and even Roger nodded assent, although his heart was still set upon the armor. "Now, let's go back for a moment to look at the 'Horse Fair,'" said Miss Graham. "What do you think a picture ought to have in it to be a real picture?" she asked as they went along the gallery. "It seems to me that a picture that is nothing but a record, as you said a few minutes ago, can't be much of a picture," said Roger. "I should want something more in a picture, something that would stir me up. Why, even Miss Farren's there isn't exactly a record, because you have something more than just eyes and nose and hair. She looks as if she would be fun to talk to, and as for the 'Horse Fair,' which was the other picture that we decided was a record, why that has in it more than just a lot of horses." "If Rosa Bonheur had wanted merely to draw some horses, she might have strung them along in a row so that we could get an idea of their size and color and could make a guess at their weight, but here we see them in action and we know that they are in good spirits and we feel some sympathy with the men who have a hard time to hold them." "Yes, that picture stirs me a little, too." "That is because both 'Miss Farren' and the 'Horse Fair' are real pictures. Any picture that tries to be more than merely a photographic reproduction must stir your emotions in one way or another," said Miss Daisy. "Now as we look at this picture, do you think the artist put into it everything that she saw on the road that morning when she passed this group of men and horses?" "I dare say not," said Della, "because there would be likely to be dogs and boys with the men, and perhaps some ugly houses in the background." "Why do you suppose she didn't put everything in?" "Why, a picture ought to try to be beautiful, oughtn't it, and some of those things might be ugly, or there might be so many of them that it would be confusing." "Those are both good reasons," said Miss Daisy. "They both show that the artist has to _select_ the things that he thinks will be of the greatest interest to the people who look at his pictures." "Now when he has picked them out, what should you say the next step was?" They were all rather blank at this question but after a while Roger said slowly, "Evidently she picked out just so many as being the best looking ones to put in the picture; and she didn't like them all facing the audience, ready to bob their heads at you as you look at them; she made them trot along the road in a natural way." "Certainly," approved Miss Graham. "She _arranged_ what she had selected so that they would be natural and--" "And so that the colors would show well?" asked Ethel Brown. "Yes, so that there would be contrasts of color that would be pleasing to the eye. Then there should be _balance_. Have you any idea what that means?" Nobody had. "I wonder if you haven't all noticed a Japanese print that Margaret has?" "You mean the one with big green leaves up in one corner and the grasshopper clinging to a tendril?" asked Helen. "That's the one," returned Miss Daisy. "Did it ever occur to you that those leaves were all crowded off into one corner of the picture?" "I never thought of it," said Margaret, "and I have looked at it every day for a year. They are, aren't they?" "But it didn't affect you unpleasantly, did it?" "Why, no. I think it's a pretty picture," said Ethel Brown. "It is," agreed Miss Graham; "but what device did the artist use to make you feel comfortable about it, and to make you forget that he had put a bunch of foliage up in one corner and had left more than one-half of his sheet blank?" Nobody could answer this question and Miss Graham had to give the explanation herself. "It's all a question of balance," she said. "The great mass of white paper in the lower right hand part of the picture balances the mass of green leaves in the upper left hand corner. The green is a heavier looking color than the white, and it therefore takes a larger amount of white to balance the green. The Japanese who made this painting understood that, and he has so arranged his leaves and his grasshopper, that the eye is entirely pleased by the balance that results. If Rosa Bonheur has managed wisely there should be masses of light and dark, balancing each other, and there should be spaces and solids, balancing each other." "Has she done it? It doesn't worry me any," said Roger. "I think she must have succeeded." Keeping Miss Graham's explanation in mind they took another look at the Napoleon picture and concluded that Meissonier also knew what he was about. "'Composition' means the putting together of a picture, doesn't it?" asked Helen. "I should think that the composition of a picture that has so many figures, must be extremely difficult." "Far more difficult, of course, than one for which the artist has selected fewer objects." "And of two artists producing complicated pictures like these, he is the better who gives an effect of simplicity." "Suppose that Rosa Bonheur had noticed that one of the men struggling with the horses had his face bound up with a cloth; does that have anything to do with the picture?" They all agreed that it had not. "Then she was perfectly right to leave out any object that would distract the observer's mind. She put into this picture of horses going to the horse fair only such things as would make the onlooker think of the beauty and spirit of the horses as shown by their handsome coats and by the difficulty which the men had in controlling them, and his imagination would be stirred to wonder as to which of these fine animals was to win a prize. Everything which might compete with these simple ideas the artist left out of the picture." "It must have been awfully hard to do such a lot of legs," said Ethel Blue, who knew a little about drawing. "An artist has to know a good deal about anatomy," returned Miss Graham. "He must know how the human body is made, and the horse's body, too, if he is to do a picture like this, and he even must know something about the under-structure of the earth. He must make the lines of those legs all move harmoniously. Look at this Napoleon picture once more." Once again they stood before "Friedland." "If you were to prolong the up-standing lines of weapons and helmets you would find that they were parallel or tended toward some point possibly outside of the picture. Unless an appearance of confusion is desired it would not do to have lines leading in every direction." "It would make a picture look every which way, wouldn't it?" said Ethel Blue. "Attention to such points as this helps to give expression to the whole picture," went on Miss Daisy. "Not only do the figures in the pictures have their own expression, but the picture as a whole may wear an expression of peace, like that quiet landscape over there; or of confusion, like this picture of the attempted assassination of a pope, or of orderly excitement, like that cavalry charge yonder." As they turned from one canvas to another the Club realized the truth of what Miss Graham was saying. "That is a fact, isn't it?" agreed Tom. "You don't have to see the look on the fellows' faces to get the general effect of the picture even from a distance." "We've been talking so much about color schemes in connection with Dorothy's new house, that I am sure the phrase is familiar to you," said Miss Graham. "Look at the color schemes of these pictures around us. Do you see that there are no discords because a color note is struck and all of the other shades and colors harmonize with it? That battle rush, for instance, is a study in red. Compare that with the dull misty blues, greens, and greys in LePage's 'Jeanne d'Arc.'" They went from one picture to another and proved the truth of this statement to their satisfaction. "Now we'll call our lesson done," said Miss Graham. "We'll have some luncheon downstairs and when we come up we can let Roger have his heart's desire, and we'll give the afternoon to looking at the Morgan and Altman and Riggs collections of wonders. I doubt if there was ever gathered together anywhere three such groups. The Altman pictures are choice, the Riggs armor is unequalled anywhere in the world, and the Morgan collection is the finest general collection ever owned by a private individual." It was a weary but a happy party that returned to Rosemont in the late afternoon. "One of these days is awfully hard on your head," confessed Roger, as he was talking to his mother about the Club's experience, "but it certainly is good for your gray matter." "We're going to remember whenever we look at pictures again," said Ethel Brown. "And there are lots of things in it that we shall think about when we look over the decorating in our house," insisted Dorothy. "What I thought was the nicest of all was the way Miss Graham taught us. It was just like talking. I think she is awfully nice," was Ethel Blue's decision. CHAPTER XV PREPARATIONS FOR THE HOUSEWARMING The trip to the Metropolitan Museum gave every member of the party a new set of words for her vocabulary. They looked at pictures with opened eyes and talked of their "composition" and "balance." They were all of them more or less interested in photography and now they tried to take photographs that would be real pictures. "It isn't so easy to make a picture by selecting what you want to have and leaving out the things you don't want," said Roger to Helen one morning as they walked toward Sweetbrier Lodge, "when the things are right there in the landscape and won't get out of the camera's way. A painter would leave out that stupid old wooden house in the field there, but he'd leave in the splendid elm bending over it. Now if I 'shoot' the elm I've got to 'shoot' the house, too." "The only way out is to take the house at some angle that will show off any good points it may have," declared Helen, wrinkling a puzzled brow. "Then as likely as not you'll have to take the tree on the side where the lightning hit it and peeled off all its bark," growled her brother gloomily. "That just shows that a photographer has to be more skilful than a painter," she said. "The painter can do what he likes, but the photographer has to get good results out of what is set before him." "And as for balance--if nature happens to have placed things in balance, well and good; but if she didn't what can you do about it?" "Nothing, my child, unless you introduce some object that you have some power over. Put in a girl or a dog or a horse somewhere where their weight will bring about the result you want." "You can't carry girls and dogs and horses round with you," objected Roger, who was in a depressed mood this morning and found difficulties in every suggestion. "You've got enough sisters and cousins for the girls, and you can take Christopher Columbus around with you in your pocket to play the four-footed friend," laughed Helen. "Speaking of Columbus--are we going to celebrate Columbus Day this year?" asked Roger, as he deftly inserted a new spool of film. "It's just luck James and I being here at all, you know. We'd like to do something to celebrate being exposed to scarlet fever as soon as we got to Boston, and being sent home for it to incubate, and then having nothing hatch!" "Haven't you heard? Aunt Louise is going to have her housewarming on October 12, Columbus Day? She has asked the Club to do something appropriate." "I thought the Watkinses had asked us to go into New York to see the parade." "They have. That won't interfere with us. They'll come out here later and then we'll do something in the evening in the new attic to amuse Aunt Louise's guests." "Any idea what?" "I've got an idea in the back of my head. I'll have to talk it over first with the girls to see if we can manage the costumes. If we can I think it will be mighty pretty." Roger nodded absent-mindedly. He had perfect confidence in his sister's good judgment and he was willing to do his part for his aunt's sake as well as for the good name of the Club. "What are you taking?" Helen asked him after they had roamed about the new place for a time. "You seem to be using a lot of film." "I am. I thought I'd take the new house and garden from every point of view I could, inside and out, and make two or three portfolios of them and send them to Father and Uncle Richard, as they'd probably like to have them." "What a perfectly darling idea! Isn't Aunt Louise delighted?" "She seems to be," returned Roger. "You knew she had asked Uncle Richard to come up for her house-warming?" "Father, too; but it's dollars to doughnuts they won't be able to come, so I thought I'd do these any way." "Father won't be able to, but Uncle Richard may." "He'll be glad to have the prints even if he has seen the original places." "Perhaps he'll like them better on that account." "I think I should. It would be like having your memory illustrated." "Are you going to do the rockery in the garden?" "If the frost has left anything." "It must be placed in just the right spot for there's a lot of it left. I passed it early to-day and it looked almost as pretty as if it were summer." "Dorothy certainly made a success of that." "It was an afterthought, too." "I believe the chief reason it has been so lovely is that it was placed in a natural position. The rocks look as if they ought to be just where they are." "Mrs. Schermerhorn's rockery looks as if she had said, 'Lo, I'll have a rockery,' and then she stuck it right in the middle of her lawn where no collection of rocks has been for twenty years." "And she has hot-house ferns in it!" The brother and sister laughed delightedly at their neighbor's ideas of natural beauty. "Perhaps it was fortunate that Dorothy didn't have a hot-house to draw on," said Roger, moving from one side to another of his cousin's rockery in order to get the best view of its remaining loveliness. "Dorothy has too much sense. In the first place she snuggled hers in here under the trees, just the way the rocks are naturally over in FitzJames's Woods. Then she brought over here exactly the plants she found there." "It had to look as if it were a bit of the woods, didn't it?" "Do you want me to be in this picture?" "You look too dressed up." "Thank you! This is a middy I've worn all summer, and I'm just wearing out the rags of it on Saturdays." "Nevertheless, you dazzle me." "That's a polite way of saying you don't want me in the foreground. You'd better put in what Miss Daisy calls 'contemporaneous human interest.' I'm a great addition to any picture in which I appear." "You are, ma'am, of course," replied Roger with exaggerated politeness, "but I think I'd like you under an arbor in a graceful attitude and not hobnobbing with these wild flowers." "You forget that wild flowers have been my special care this summer," returned Helen, withdrawing to a point where she would not interfere with Roger's plans. "Dorothy's wild garden is only a copy of mine." "Not in arrangement. Hers is prettier with everything piled up on the stones this way--columbines, ferns, wild ginger, hepaticas." "You're right about that. Mine had to be in a regular bed. Are you going to take a picture of the vegetable garden?" "Certainly I am. And of tomatoes that were started with and without dirt bands." Roger's chief attention during the summer garden campaign had been devoted to the raising of vegetables, while the girls had done wonders with flowers. "What are dirt bands?" inquired Helen. "I know," cried the voice of Ethel Brown who came in sight through the pergola. "They're brown paper cuffs to put around young plants. It keeps the earth all close and cozy and warm and they grow faster than the ones that don't wear such fine clothes." "Listen to that," Roger said approvingly to Helen. "Those Ethels haven't let anything slip that happened in any of our gardens all summer. They know all about everything!" "Roger is in a very complimentary mood this morning," laughed Helen. "If I could only think of something to say I'd be polite in return." "I'm sorry it doesn't come to you spontaneously," replied her brother, "but what care I?" and he broke into song: "I'm a careless potato, and care not a pin How into existence I came; If they planted me drill-wise or dibbled me in, To me 'tis exactly the same. The bean and the pea may more loftily tower, But I care not a button for them. Defiance I nod with my beautiful flower When the earth is hoed up to my stem." "Oo-hoo!" came a voice from the Lodge. "Come in and help." "There's Dorothy calling," cried Ethel Brown, and they all moved toward the house where they found their cousin on the back porch with an array of plates, bowls, stones, small plants, tiny trees and small china figures before her. "May I inquire, madam, what on earth--" began Roger, but Ethel Brown's exclamation enlightened him. "You're making Japanese gardens!" "I'm going to try to. I think they're awfully pretty and cunning. Let's each make one." Mrs. Smith had bought a professionally made garden at an Oriental shop in New York, and the girls were seized with a desire to copy it. "Here's the real thing," and Dorothy indicated a flat bowl of gray and dull green pottery. In it were some stones outlining the bed of a stream over which stretched the span of a tiny porcelain bridge. A twisted tree that looked aged in spite of its height of only three inches reared its evergreen head at one end of the bridge; a patch of grass the size of three fingers grew greenly at the other end, and a goldfish swam happily in a pool at the side. "Margaret told me that horse-radish would grow if you kept it damp and let it sprout, so I've got several pieces started for our gardens." Sure enough, the horse-radish had sent forth shoots and a head of small leaves quite tall enough for the size of the garden, and its body looked brownish and gnarled like some bit of queer Oriental wood. Dorothy had taken up little plants of running growth like partridge berry and she had collected many wee ferns. "We can sprinkle a pinch or two of grass seed and bird seed over them all when they're done," she said. "That ought to bring up something fresh every little while." "These will be all started for your housewarming," suggested Helen. "That's why I'm doing them. We can leave them here, and I'll come over every day so they'll be watered. I think they'll be awfully pretty and they'll be different from the usual decorations." "I read somewhere the other day that the Japs arrange their flowers with a meaning." "O, they do," cried Dorothy. "They have very little in one holder, perhaps only three flowers. One--the highest one--means Heaven, the next lower is Man, and the lowest is Earth." "I should have to have a diagram with every vase," insisted Roger. "The water in the bowl that holds the flowers represents the surface of the earth and the edge of the bowl is the horizon. Then they have ways of suggesting the different seasons--spring by flowers, summer by a lot of green leaves, autumn by bright colored leaves and winter by tall stems without much on them." "We've got flowers left in the gardens--lots of them," insisted Ethel Brown proudly. "Plenty," answered Dorothy; "and by this time next year I hope we'll have a little hot-house of our own so that we can have flowering plants all winter, but I like other things, too." "Miss Daisy was telling me the other day that we Americans didn't pay enough attention to using through the winter branches of trees and seedling trees from the woods and boughs of pine and fir and cedar," said Ethel Blue, who came through the house and had been listening to the conversation. "I don't see why you couldn't have a small maple-tree growing all winter in the dining-room if you put your mind on it," answered Helen. "A great jar of Norway spruce with cones hanging from the fingers would be stunning," decided Roger, as he set his horse-radish in place and planted a tree at one end of it. "The covers for the radiators are all on now," said Dorothy, changing the subject. "Did you notice them when you came through the house?" The Ethels had not and Helen and Roger had gone directly to the garden, so they all went in on a tour of examination. "Mother said that there was one thing about heating that she couldn't stand, and that was the ugly radiators; so the heating man has tried to hide them as much as he could. There isn't one in the house that stands out like a monument of pipes," declared Dorothy. "Even in the attic?" "Not even in the attic. See, he's covered most of them with grilles bronzed or painted like the wood-work of the room, so they aren't at all conspicuous." "It's these little points that make this house so attractive," declared Helen. "Aunt Louise has thought of everything." "What are you going to wear at the party?" asked Ethel Blue of Dorothy. "If we do that Columbus thing--" began Dorothy, looking at Helen. "Go on," the president of the U. S. C. replied to the inquiring gaze; "we might as well tell Roger now as later." "If we have the tableaux and pantomimes we can stay in our court dresses." "Court dresses?" inquired Roger, sitting up interestedly. "Why so scrumptious?" "Columbus at the court of Ferdinand and Isabella," answered Helen. "You as Columbus." "Me? Me? Why this honor?" asked Roger meekly. "Need you ask?" returned Helen. "That's in reply to your remarks about me as an addition to the foreground of your photographs." "Even. I don't care what I do as long as I have time to get it up." "You shall have plenty of time," promised Dorothy. "What I'm more interested in just now is what we're to have to eat on the festive night." "Is Aunt Louise going to let us decide?" "Subject to her veto, I suspect," smiled Helen. Dorothy nodded. "She says she wants something different from ice-cream and cake and chicken salad." They all laughed, for Rosemont was noted for invariably having these three excellent but monotonous viands at all her teas and receptions and church entertainments. "I move we have cold turkey," said Roger. "It's rather early for turks, but we can have capon if we can't find a good turkey," replied Ethel Brown, who kept the run of the Rosemont market. "Let's have little birds in aspic jelly," suggested Dorothy. They all gurgled with pleasure at this idea. "Squabs," went on Dorothy as her imagination began to work. "Um," commented Roger, his eyes shut. "Split them down the back, dip them into beaten egg and melted butter, sprinkle them with the finest bread crumbs and broil them." "O," came a gentle murmur from Roger, who was deeply affected by the recital of this appetizing dish. "Where's the aspic?" "You cut each squab in halves and put one-half in a mold and then you pour on the aspic." "Dorothy, you talk as if you'd been doing birds in aspic all your life. Did you ever cook them?" "Once," dimpled Dorothy. "At cooking school." "I know how to make aspic," declared Ethel Brown proudly. "Let's have it." "Soak a quarter of an ounce of vegetable gelatine in a pint of water for two hours; then add the strained juice of a lemon, pepper and salt and cayenne, two tablespoonfuls of Tarragon vinegar and another pint of water. Let it cook for a few minutes over a slow fire and then boil it for two or three minutes and strain it through a jelly bag over your birdies." "O, you can't do that that way," cried Ethel Blue. "Their elbows will show through when they're turned out of their molds. You have to put in a layer of jelly and when it is stiffened a little put in your bird, and then pour the rest of the jelly over it." "Correct," approved Dorothy. "We must be sure to have enough for each person to have a half bird in a mold. They are turned out at the last minute and a sprig of parsley is laid on top of each one." "Help! Help!" came a faint cry from Roger. "I am swooning with joy at the sound of this delicious food. I'm so glad Aunt Louise is giving this party and not one of the chicken salad ladies of Rosemont." "Aspic is good to know about for hot weather use," said Ethel Blue. "I've been meaning all summer to tell Della how to make it--she feels the heat so awfully." "You can put all sorts of meats in it, I suppose." "And vegetables; peas and beets and carrots very tender and cut very fine. Tomato jelly makes a good salad, too." "You could make pretty little individual molds of that." "What are we going to have for salad after these birds?" inquired Roger. "Let's have alligator pear salad. It's as easy as fiddle. You just have to pare the alligators and take out their cores--" "With a butcher's knife?" inquired Roger. "--and cut them in halves lengthwise. Then you put the pieces on a pale yellow-green lettuce leaf, and pour French dressing over it, and there you are!" "I like it all except the name," objected Roger. "Christen it something else, and be happy," urged Helen. "What for sweeties?" Roger demanded. "I'm going through this feast systematically." "Don't go on to the sweeties until we've settled on the bread, then," insisted Ethel Brown, "I say Parker House rolls." "Or pocket book rolls--the same thing, only smaller," said Ethel Blue. "I haven't made any since we were at Chautauqua; I shall have to look them up again," confessed Dorothy. "I remember," said Ethel Brown. "You scald two cups of milk and then put into it three tablespoonfuls of butter, two teaspoonfuls of sugar and a teaspoonful and a half of salt. When it has cooled off a little add a dissolved yeast cake and three cups of flour and beat it like everything." "Command me on the day of the party," offered Roger politely. "We will," giggled the girls, and they said it so earnestly that Roger gazed at them suspiciously. "Cover it up and let it rise; then cut it through and through and knead in two and a half cups more flour. Let it rise again. Put it on a floured board, knead it, and roll it out to half an inch in thickness. Then cut out the rolls with a floured biscuit cutter. Brush one-half of each roll with melted butter and fold the round in halves." "Won't they slide open?" "Not if you pinch the edges together. Arrange them in your pan and cover them over so they can rise in comfort. Then bake them in a hot oven for from twelve to fifteen minutes," ended Ethel Brown. "They aren't as easy as Della's lightning biscuits, but they're so good when they're done that you don't mind having taken the trouble about them." "Now for the sweeties," insisted Roger. "I'm afraid you'll forget them and my tooth is as sweet as ever it was." "Are frozen things absolutely forbidden?" inquired Dorothy. "O, no, let's have one frozen thing. We're going to have some of the Rosemont people who aren't relatives, you know, and I hate to think of what they'd say about Aunt Louise if she didn't give them something frozen!" laughed Helen. "Let's have frozen peaches, then. Make them in the proportion of two quarts of peaches to two cups of sugar, a quart of water, and the juice of a lemon and a half. You peel the peaches and take out the stones and rub the fruit through a colander. Put the peach pulp and the lemon juice into a syrup made by boiling the sugar and water together for five minutes and letting it cool. Pour it all into the freezer and grind it until it is firm." "Command me," murmured Roger again. "Poor old Roger! You shan't be worked to death! Patrick will do the grinding." "For small mercies I'm thankful," returned Roger, a beaming smile breaking over his face. "I speak for chopped preserved ginger with whipped cream, served in those lovely ramequins of Aunt Louise's," cried Ethel Blue. "Why can't we have maple marguerites to go with everything?" "New to me, but let's have 'em," urged Roger. "Boil together a cup and a half of brown sugar and a half a cup of water until it makes a soft ball when it's dropped into cold water. Let it cool for a few minutes and then put in half a teaspoonful of maple flavoring and beat it all together. Have ready a quarter of a cup of finely chopped nut meats. Add half of this amount and drop this perfectly _dee_-licious stuff on to crackers. While it's still warm enough to be sticky sprinkle over the crackers the remainder of the nut meats." "I'll grind the nut meats," offered Roger. "And ask for heavy pay in marguerites!" laughed Ethel Brown. "I scorn your aspersions of my character," returned her brother solemnly. "What are you going to have to drink?" "Coffee--grape-juice--lemonade--the usual things." "I think that's a pretty good list. Write it down and let's see what Aunt Louise thinks of it," recommended Helen. CHAPTER XVI COLUMBUS DAY Ethel Blue, as Columbus Day approached, was filled with many strange feelings, some of them far from pleasant. When she read a letter from her father a few days before the twelfth she felt as if dread had brought upon her exactly what she had dreaded. The letter was filled with loving expressions but it told her that her father was to be married very soon. "I know that you will love the dear lady who has honored me by saying that she will relieve my loneliness," he wrote. "_I_ would have relieved his loneliness if he had given me a chance," Ethel sobbed to herself as she lay on her bed and read the tear-blotted lines for the tenth time. "It will be a sorrow to you to leave Aunt Marion and your cousins, but perhaps the thought that now you will belong in a home of your own will make up for it, in part, at any rate. I don't see how we can all help being happy together, and we must all try to make each other happy." Ethel Blue thought of a great many things to say in reply to her father. They sounded very smart and very convincing as she said them over to herself in a whisper, but just as she was wiping her eyes and getting up to sit at her desk and put them on paper her Aunt Marion's suggestion that she would be selfish if she did anything that would hurt her father or prevent him from making a belated happiness for himself cut her to the heart. "He doesn't love me or he wouldn't do it," she repeated, and then she remembered that all her life she had had a home and a loving family of cousins who were as good as brothers and sisters, while her father had spent the same time without the thought, even, of home-making. "I suppose it's some old Fort Myer woman who's as cross as two sticks," she murmured again and again; and then an inner voice seemed to speak in her ear and tell her that there was no reason why she should not imagine that it was some really lovely person who was as sweet as she was pretty. "Everybody says my mother was pretty," thought poor Ethel Blue, who had been making herself very miserable by her old habit of "pretending" without any basis of fact, and who now was trying to get a scrap of comfort from the thought that her father had had good taste once and might be trusted to exercise it again. Whether or not to show the letter to her Aunt Marion she did not know. Her father had not said whether he had informed her or not. Usually Ethel told her aunt everything promptly, but now she did not feel as if she could speak of the thing that had appeared dreadful when it was only a possibility. The reality was so much worse that it did not seem as if she could trust herself to mention it. "Aunt Louise has asked him to come on to the housewarming," she said. "I'll wait and see if he comes. Then he can tell her and Aunt Marion himself; and if he doesn't come it won't be any worse for me to tell them a few days from now than right off this minute." It was so forlorn an Ethel Blue who dragged herself through the preparations for the Columbus Day entertainment, that Ethel Brown could not help noticing the melancholy air that hung over her usually smiling face. Ethel Blue would make no explanation to her cousin, nor would she tell her aunt anything more than the reassuring words that she was perfectly well. They gave up trying to make her talk about herself, trusting to time to bring its own healing. No letter came from her father announcing his acceptance of his sister Louise's invitation, nor did another letter reach Ethel Blue. She was inclined to make a grievance of this until it occurred to her that she was not likely to hear until she replied to her father's announcement of his proposed marriage. "It's a serious thing and I ought to answer his letter right off," her conscience told her, "but I can't say I'm glad and I don't want to say I'm not glad. I'll wait until after the twelfth, any way." Her feelings of selfishness and uncertainty made her a miserable girl during the interval. On the morning of Columbus Day the Mortons and Hancocks went into New York to the Watkinses. Della's and Tom's father was a clergyman who worked among the foreigners of the East Side. This was an advantage to the Club members when they watched the procession that wound its way from the lower part of the city northward to Columbus Circle at 59th Street. "These people must come from all over Europe," exclaimed Ethel Brown as bits of conversation in languages that she never had heard drifted to her ears. "New York is called one of the largest foreign cities in the world," laughed Roger, whose spirits had risen although he was having difficulties again with his camera and its persistent desire to take everything that came within its range, "whether the girls are pretty or not!" he complained. "They say that New York is the second largest German city in the world, and that there are more Hebrews of different nationalities gathered here than anywhere else," said Tom. "Here are a lot of people wearing peasant costumes that I never saw in any geography," cried Dorothy. "When otherwise not accounted for you can generally put them among the Balkan states," laughed Della. "Look at that girl over there in peasant costume and right side of her is a girl in the latest New York style! That's a tremendous contrast." "I suppose the American-dressed girl thinks she is very fashionable, but the other looks much more sensibly dressed and more attractive, too," said James gravely. "She's a great deal prettier girl for one reason," smiled his sister. "She would look better whatever she wore." They all laughed at James who insisted that he preferred peasant dress, but they all exclaimed with delight at the gorgeous costumes worn by a group of Hungarian men. Some of them were riding in carriages and they seemed very self-conscious but greatly pleased at the attention they attracted. "This is a great day for the Italians," said Helen as band after band, and society after society, bearing the Italian red, white and green passed them. "Well, Columbus was an Italian. They ought to feel comfortable about it. He discovered us." They all shouted at James's way of putting his defense of Columbus's countrymen. "If we're going to hear any of the speeches at Columbus Circle we'd better hop into the subway and speed to 59th Street," urged Tom. They were in plenty of time, and watched the placing around the Columbus monument of numberless wreaths and emblems which the societies brought with them, chiefly at the ends of tall poles and deposited at the feet of the statue of the great explorer. As soon as they reached home the Mortons all went over to Sweetbrier Lodge to help with the final decorations. The attic they had set in order the day before. This was necessary for they had to have a curtain and they wanted to put it through a rehearsal as well as themselves. Extra chairs had been brought in for the occasion and they were now unfolded so that the little audience room was ready for its opening performance. Below stairs all was ready in the kitchen department, the Ethels learned when they offered their services there. What was not completed was the arrangement of flowers and branches throughout the rooms. At the end of an hour during which the Ethels and Dorothy and Helen arranged and Roger carried, the house looked really lovely. The color scheme of the lower floor was so autumnal that it was not hard to follow it out in leaves and blossoms. Chrysanthemums were ready to emphasize the yellow tones, and bronze leaves from oaks and chestnuts carried on the darker hues. Here and there one of Dorothy's Japanese gardens gave an air of quaintness to a corner, or stood in relief against a screen. Upstairs the nursery was a bower of white cosmos; Dorothy's room was feathery with pink blossoms of the same delicate flower; against Mrs. Smith's primrose walls trailed the yellow leaves of a grapevine; purple asters nodded in the violet chamber, and the gray guest room wore fluffs of clematis. It was not a large party that gathered at Mrs. Smith's for the housewarming. The family connection was not small, however, and the newcomers had made some warm friends during the year that they had lived in Rosemont. The older Watkinses and Hancocks had come, and about fifty people filled the drawing room comfortably, admiring its beauty as they waited for the signal to go upstairs to the attic to see one of the entertainments which Rosemonters had learned to expect from the United Service Club. "It's very charming," murmured Mrs. Hancock to her sister. "I see your hand here." "Not very much," demurred Miss Graham. "I merely made an occasional suggestion or told them how to work out some good idea of their own. The color scheme is Mrs. Smith's." "It is charming," repeated Mrs. Hancock, her eyes moving from the yellow-white wood-work to the natural pongee walls and then on to the next shade of yellow, found in the draperies of the windows, made of a heavy linen dyed to strike the next note in the color scale. The furniture was upholstered in three or four shades of brown; a bit of gold flashed sombrely from the shadows, and an occasional touch of dull blue brought out the blue tones of the handsome rugs. Every one took a peek into the upper rooms as they passed upstairs to the attic. Ayleesabet's nursery received much praise, and the delicate tones of the bed-rooms won immediate approval. In the attic they found comfortable wicker chairs arranged about the room facing a small stage before which hung a tan linen curtain. "What are the children going to do?" asked Mr. Emerson of his hostess. "I really don't know," returned Mrs. Smith. "Dorothy said it would be appropriate for Columbus Day, so I entrusted it all to the young people." When the curtain was drawn the Club was disclosed grouped on the stage. They sang Miss Bates's "America the Beautiful," Mrs. Smith accompanying them on the piano. "That's all I have to do with the program," she said to Mr. Emerson when it was over and she had again taken her seat beside him. Then Tom told the story of Columbus--how he was born at Genoa and became a sailor and when he was about thirty-four years old went with a brother to live in Lisbon. Tom was seated on the stage at a table and two or three of the others sat about as if they were in a library listening to the talk. They entered quite naturally into the conversation. "Four years later," continued Tom, "somebody gave Columbus a map that put the Orient directly west of Spain, and Columbus became filled with a desire to search out the East by sailing west." "I've read that he died thinking he had discovered the East," responded Helen. "He laid his plans before the Portuguese king, but he found he couldn't trust him, so he went to King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella in Spain. They summoned their wisest men to pass on the subject at a council held at Salamanca. For three years they kept him waiting about in uncertainty before they reported to the king that his idea was absurd. Columbus was furious--" "I should think he might have been." "--and he started at once for Paris to try to get the king of France, Charles VIII, to help him. He took his little son with him and one night they slept at a monastery. The prior became interested in Columbus's story and believed in him and didn't want the glory of his achievement to go to another country. So he managed to secure for him another interview with Ferdinand and Isabella, and we're going to see now," said Tom, turning to the audience, "what happened at the convent." With that the curtain fell. When it parted once more a dark curtain across the stage represented the outside of the convent. Ethel Brown recited Trowbridge's "Columbus at the Convent," while James acted the part of the Prior; Roger, Columbus; and Dicky, little Diego. "Those children have a real feeling for costume," whispered Miss Graham to her neighbor, and then started as she found that it was not her brother-in-law, Dr. Hancock, as she supposed, but Ethel Blue's father, Captain Morton, who had come in in the darkness. "How do you do?" he said, smiling at her startled air. "I suppose they made these things themselves." "The boys are wearing their sisters' long stockings and the girls made the short, puffy trunks and short, full coats." Ethel Brown's voice sounded clearly through the darkness though her hearers could not see her. "Dreary and brown the night comes down, Gloomy without a star. On Palos town the night comes down; The day departs with a stormy frown; The sad sea moans afar. "A convent-gate is near; 'tis late; Ting-ling! the bell they ring. They ring the bell, they ask for bread-- 'Just for my child,' the father said. Kind hands the bread will bring. "White was his hair, his mien was fair, His look was calm and great. The porter ran and called a friar; The friar made haste and told the prior; The prior came to the gate." Here the dark curtain was drawn and a room was disclosed with a table at which the men sat and a small bed in which Dicky was put to sleep. "He took them in, he gave them food; The traveller's dreams he heard; And fast the midnight moments flew, And fast the good man's wonder grew, And all his heart was stirred. "The child the while, with soft, sweet smile, Forgetful of all sorrow, Lay soundly sleeping in his bed. The good man kissed him then and said: 'You leave us not to-morrow!' "'I pray you rest the convent's guest; The child shall be our own-- A precious care, while you prepare Your business with the court, and bear Your message to the throne.' "And so his guest he comforted. O, wise, good prior, to you, Who cheered the stranger's darkest days, And helped him on his way, what praise And gratitude are due!" The pantomime followed the lines closely. "Wasn't Dicky cunning!" exclaimed Dicky's adoring grandmother. "Dicky was a duck!" exclaimed Helen, who had slipped out to see the pantomime. "We told him what he was supposed to be--a little boy travelling with his father, and that they had to stop and ask for food and that a kind man took them in and gave him a comfy bed. He seemed to understand it all, and he took hold of James's hand and looked up in his face as seriously as if he were the real thing. He was splendid." "All the same I'm always relieved when Dicky's part is over and he hasn't done anything awful!" confessed Dorothy, who had come out also. "It would be just like him to say to James, 'You needn't give me any bread; I want cookieth!'" "We tried to impress on him that he wasn't to say anything--that nobody but Ethel Brown was to say anything; that was the game. I dare say if James had spoken Dicky would have ordered his meal to suit his fancy." Tom went on with Columbus's story at this point, but he spoke from the floor because tableaux were being arranged behind the curtains. He told how the interview with the king and queen that the prior had arranged, all went wrong and how Columbus started again for France but was called back by the queen whose imagination had been excited by what he told her, and who promised to pledge her jewels to raise money for his expedition. Here the curtains swung open and showed a brilliant scene, Della representing the queen, James the king, and all the other Club members, courtiers. Columbus was arguing his case before the court and he was shown in the act of knocking off the end of an egg to convince the men who had said that they would believe the world was round when they saw the impossible happen--when an egg should stand upright. "I hope Roger's hand won't slip," murmured Roger's mother; "that's a real egg!" It was while she was standing beside the queen as one of her ladies in waiting that Ethel Blue's eyes happened to fall on her father out in the audience. The light from the stage illuminated his face and she thought that she never had seen him so happy as he looked at that moment. "He's so dear and he's going away from me," she groaned inwardly. "Now if it were only dear Miss Daisy he's going to marry," she wished with all her heart as she noticed that Miss Graham sat in the next chair; "but it isn't; it's some old Fort Myer woman." The curtain fell on her misery and Tom again took up his tale. He told about the three tiny ships that Columbus managed to secure, and their setting sail and how frightened the sailors became when day after day passed and they saw no chance of ever reaching new land or ever returning home, and how they threatened to mutiny if he did not turn back. Then came another pantomime with Roger as Columbus and James as the mate of the _Santa Maria_, while Ethel Brown recited Joaquin Miller's poem: COLUMBUS "Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the Gates of Hercules; Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said: 'Now must we pray, For lo, the very stars are gone. Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say?' 'Why, say, "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"' "'My men grow mutinous day by day; My men grow ghastly wan and weak.' The stout mate thought of home; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. 'What shall I say, brave Admiral, say, If we sight naught but seas at dawn?' 'Why, you shall say at break of day, "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"' "They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said: 'Why, now not even God would know Should I and all my men fall dead. These very winds forget their way, For God from these dread seas is gone. Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say'-- He said: 'Sail on! sail on! and on!' "They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: 'This mad sea shows his teeth to-night. He lifts his lip, he lies in wait, With lifted teeth as if to bite; Brave Admiral, say but one good word: What shall we do when hope is gone?' The words leapt like a leaping sword: 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!' "Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck, And peered through darkness. Ah, that night Of all dark nights! And then a speck-- A light! a light! a light! a light! It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. He gained a world; he gave that world Its grandest lesson: 'On! sail on!'" The last picture was Columbus gazing joyfully at the land he had discovered through his perseverance. It was supposed to be the early morning of October 12, 1492, and Roger, surrounded by his sailors, stood with a foot on the rail of his boat, shielding his eyes from the rising sun, while the others crowded behind him, whispering with delight. When the curtains fell together for the last time the lights flashed out upon the audience and disclosed Captain Morton greeting his sister and sister-in-law and his nieces and nephews. "Where's my girl?" he inquired in his cordial, hearty voice. "Where's Ethel Blue?" Some one gave her a friendly push forward so her father did not notice the reluctance with which she had been almost creeping toward him. He threw his arm around her shoulders regardless of possible damage to the elegancies of her court costume, and kissed her heartily. The tears shone in her eyes as she forced herself to meet his searching gaze. "Not crying!" he whispered in her ear, and she felt her heart give a real pang as the happiness left his face and was replaced by his old look of sorrow and endurance. "Not crying!" he repeated in her ear. "Why, I thought you loved her! You've done nothing but write to me about Miss Daisy all summer!" "About Miss Daisy? Do you mean--? Is it Miss Daisy?" "It certainly is Miss Daisy. Here, come behind the curtain," and he swept his daughter and his _fiancée_ out of sight of the retiring audience. "It is Daisy Graham who is to be your dear mother, my little Ethel Blue. Are you satisfied now?" "O, Father! O, Miss Daisy!" cried Ethel Blue, sobbing now from relief and joy and clinging to both of them; "I never guessed it! It's too wonderful to be true!" CHAPTER XVII THE PARTING BREAKFAST Ethel Blue's change of mind about stepmothers was so complete that her cousins would have joked her about it except that her Aunt Marion advised them to say nothing to her on a subject that had once been so sore a theme. "Don't recall those painful thoughts," she advised. "Ethel Blue will be happier and certainly Miss Daisy will be if the present mood continues." "I thought you couldn't help loving her when you knew her," Captain Morton had said to Ethel Blue. "That's why I was willing to postpone the wedding all summer so that you and she might have a chance to become really well acquainted." "It was a good way," answered Ethel frankly. "If I had known about it I should have thought everything Miss Daisy did was done for its effect on me. I should have been suspicious of her all the time." "You have come to know a very dear woman in a natural way and it crowns my happiness that you should care so much for each other." Since he had waited so patiently for so many months Captain Morton begged that the wedding should take place at once. Mrs. Hancock urged her sister to have it in Glen Point. "If you go to Washington you'll have many acquaintances there but not any more loving friends than you've made here and in Rosemont," she said cordially. "It will give the Doctor and me the greatest happiness to have you married from our house, and it will be such a delight to all the U. S. C. if they know that they can all be at the wedding of their dear 'Miss Daisy.'" "It will be easier for all the Rosemont people--and it would be very sweet to go to Richard from your house," murmured Daisy thoughtfully. "I believe I'll do it." "It will be easier to bring Aunt Mary on here than for all the New Jersey clans to go to Washington," insisted Mrs. Hancock, referring to the aunt with whom her sister had lived in Washington. "I'll do it," decided Daisy. "Richard's furlough is almost over so it will have to be very soon," she continued. "I'll have to begin my preparations at once." So all the plans were made for a quiet wedding for just the two families and their intimate friends. It was to be ten days after the housewarming. The ceremony was to be in the church at Glen Point, with Ethel Blue as maid of honor, and Margaret and Helen, Ethel Brown and Della as the bridesmaids. Even this very first decision gave the Ethels a twinge of pain, because it prophesied their coming separation. Never before had they been separated at any such function, yet now Ethel Blue was to be in one position and her twin cousin in another. They both sighed when it was talked over, and they glanced at each other a trifle sadly. They did not need to put the meaning of their glances into words. Dr. Hancock was to give the bride away. To everybody's regret Lieutenant Morton could not be present to act as his brother's best man. "I'm more sorry than I can tell you, old fellow," he wrote. "Roger will have to take my place and give you all my good wishes with his own. You may congratulate me, too, for I've just got word that my step has come. I can now sign myself, "Your affectionate brother, "Roger Morton, "Capt. U.S.N." There was great rejoicing in the Morton family when they learned this news, and telegrams poured in on them all day long after the announcement was publicly made. "It gives one more touch of happiness," smiled Richard Morton, who went about beaming. He had to content himself with the companionship of his daughter, for his betrothed was too busy to give him much time. Probably this was a good thing, for it made her father's visit much as it always had been to Ethel Blue, and did not impress on her too abruptly the idea of their new relation. It was at the meeting of the U. S. C. held very soon after the housewarming that the members decided to give a breakfast in celebration of the wedding and of Ethel Blue's departure from Rosemont. "We'll call it a breakfast, but we'll have it rather late," said Helen. "Why?" growled Roger hungrily. "I like my morning nourishment early." "It's going to be out on our terrace, and it's getting to be late in the season and if it's too cold we can't have it there," said Dorothy. "Put in your glass windows and have it at a civilized hour," implored Roger. Dorothy looked at Helen. "I'll ask Mother if she won't do that," she said. "Then we can have a fire in the open fireplace out there if it should be really frosty. I forgot we had all those comforts!" "We must give the Glen Point people time to get over, if Roger can restrain his appetite a trifle," urged Ethel Brown. "We'd better have Della and Tom stay all night so they'll be here on time," urged Ethel Blue. "I can't get over New Haven being near enough for Tom to go back and forth so easily. I always thought it was as far off as Boston." "I declare I almost weep every time I think of Ethel Blue's leaving the club," sobbed Tom with loud groans. Ethel Blue tossed a pillow at him. "Stop making fun of me," she said with her pretended severity. "Ethel Blue was the founder of this club. Don't forget that," said James gravely. "Don't be so solemn, people; you'll make me bawl," and Ethel Blue looked around her wildly, as Ethel Brown made a dive into her pocket for her handkerchief, and Della sniffed. "Stop your nonsense, children," urged Helen. "Let's make a list of what we are going to do at our breakfast. First, what shall we eat?" The discussion waxed absorbing, but when it came to the arrangement of a program it was found that there seemed to be fewer ideas than was customary among them. "What's the matter?" asked Helen. "Usually we're tumbling over ourselves suggesting things." "I've got an idea, but it's sort of a joke and I don't want to take the edge off it by telling it now," admitted James. It proved that all of them were in the same predicament. "I'll tell you--let's have Helen and Roger the committee to arrange this program," suggested Tom. "Then we can each one tell the committee what our particular idea is, and they'll be the only ones who will know all the jokes." They decided that this would be the best way, and the committee withdrew to a corner where it was visited by one after the other of the rest of the members, while the unoccupied people drew around the piano on which Ethel Blue was playing popular songs. "When do you go?" Tom asked her as she stopped for a few minutes to hunt up a new piece of music. "The wedding is the day after our breakfast; then they go off on a week's trip and when they come back they'll pick me up here and take me on to Fort Myer with them." "That means that you'll only be here about ten days longer?" Ethel Blue nodded, her eyes filling. "I wish you'd give us your idea now, Tom," called Helen, seeing from across the room that her little cousin was not far from tears, and Tom went away, leaving her to let her fingers slip softly through a simple tune that her Aunt Marion had taught her to play in the dusk without her notes. She wondered if she would ever do it again; if her new mother and her father would want her to play it to them; if she should be happy, the only young person in the household when she had been accustomed to a large family; if she could ever get along without Dicky to tease her and to be teased. "Aunt Marion says that every change in life has its good points and its bad ones," she thought. "I must make the most out of the good points and try not to notice the bad ones or to change them into good ones." The tune rang out with a gayer lilt. "Any way, there are so many good points now that I ought not to think about the others. I've all my life wanted to live with Father. Here's my chance, and I must see only that my wish has come true." "You sound very gay over here by yourself," said James's voice behind her. "You don't sound as if you were sorry at all about leaving us." "I'm trying to balance things," Ethel Blue answered. "I lose Ethel Brown and all of you, but I gain Father." "You'll be coming north for your holidays next summer, I suppose. That will be a great old time for the U. S. C.," he said hopefully. "It would be simply too fine for words if the U. S. C. could go to Washington for Washington's Birthday next winter the way it did this winter," returned Ethel Blue, beaming at him. "There certainly is every inducement to get up an excursion there now," said James. "You know we've decided on a round robin, don't you?" "A round robin? How does it work?" "Helen and Ethel Brown and the Honorary Member and Dorothy will be here in Rosemont, Margaret will be in Glen Point, Della in New York, you at Fort Myer and we boys at Harvard and Yale and the Boston Tech. Helen is going to start a letter on the first day of each month. She'll tell us what she's been doing. Ethel Brown will add on a bit; so will Dicky and Dorothy. It will go to Margaret. She'll put in a big batch of Glen Point news and send it in town to Della. When she has finished she'll send it on to Tom at New Haven, and in course of time it will reach Roger and me in Boston and Cambridge and we'll send it on to you in Washington." "That will be perfectly great!" exclaimed Ethel. "You can illustrate it with kodaks, and we'll all know what every one of us is doing all the time." "That was Aunt Daisy's idea. She thought we'd all like to keep together in some way even if we couldn't have our Saturday meetings." "Isn't she splendid!" ejaculated Ethel Blue, and at that instant she felt that she was far richer than ever before in her life. The morning of the breakfast proved to be clear and not too frost-filled for comfort. "We really hardly need the glass," Mrs. Smith said as she and Dorothy examined the terrace at an early hour. "It was safer to have it, though," answered Dorothy. "It might have rained and it never would have done to have the bride take cold. Now we can have the sashes open and the fire will take off the chill. It's a great combination." Mrs. Smith agreed that it was, and went on with her scrutiny of the table. When the guests arrived at nine o'clock, which was the very latest moment permitted them by Roger, they found the sun shining merrily on silver and glass and china, twinkling as if it were in the secret of the jokes that Helen and Roger had up their sleeves. Mr. Emerson had sent over his car for the Hancocks, for the Doctor's car was too small to convey the entire family. "It does my heart good to see Richard so radiant," said Mrs. Morton to her sister-in-law as Captain Morton ran down the steps to help his _fiancée_. "I believe the best part of his life is before him," Mrs. Smith answered softly, a smile on her lips. The hostess sat at one end of the table and Dorothy at the other. In the middle of one side was Helen, the president of the United Service Club, and in the middle of the other, Ethel Blue, the secretary and departing member. Mingled with the other club members were Mr. and Mrs. Emerson, who had contributed so greatly to the Club's pleasure during the preceding year, and Dr. and Mrs. Hancock, relatives of to-morrow's bride. The hour was too early for Mr. and Mrs. Watkins to come out from New York, but they telephoned their good wishes and congratulations while the meal was in progress. It was a simple breakfast but everything was good both to eat and to look at. It began with fruit, of which there were several kinds, and continued with a well-cooked cereal. "None of your five minute cereals for me," smiled Mrs. Smith. "I always have even the short-time ones cooked at least twice as long as they are reputed to need. It brings out their flavor better." After the cereal with its rich cream came chops for the meat eaters and individual _omelettes soufflés_, as light as a feather, for the egg eaters. The coffee was clear and turned to a warm gold when the cream worked its magic upon it. Broiled fresh mushrooms with bacon brought it all to an end. "Just the kind of muffins I like best," Ethel Brown said in a undertone to Dorothy. "Potatoes from our own farm," announced the hostess. "All praise to Dorothy, the farmer," hailed Mr. Emerson. "Mostly to Roger," protested Dorothy. "He managed the vegetable end of our planting." Helen tapped on her glass. "This will be the last meeting of all the members of the U. S. C.," she said, "because Ethel Blue and the boys are going away." A shade fell over the faces of all those around the table. "We who are left at home here are going to keep it up, so that there'll always be a Club for the wanderers to come back to. And we're going to have a round robin fly about every month." "Perhaps we'll all get together next summer in the holidays," suggested Tom. "We'll try to," the president continued. "Now I want to ask you to drink in Aunt Louise's nice brown coffee to the health of the founder of the United Service Club. She is its secretary and to-day she is distinguished as being about to leave us for good." They rapped the table and shouted Ethel Blue's name joyously. She sat with her head bowed, smiling. "Speech, speech," cried Mr. Emerson. "Thank you, thank you," replied Ethel Blue breathlessly. "I'm glad we've had the Club. It has been fun, although we've had to work pretty hard at it." "You've made fun for others," said Mrs. Emerson. "You've lived up to your name:--the United Service." "I'd like to propose the health of the Club as a whole," said Mrs. Morton. "As a citizen of Rosemont I can repeat what has been said to me by other citizens, even if, as the mother of some of the members, I might be somewhat embarrassed to utter such praise. Rosemont thinks that the United Service Club has done more to stir up the town than any other organization it has ever had." There was general applause from the grown-ups. "I'd like to hear some of these undertakings," said Captain Morton. "Won't some one recite them?" "O, Father, I wrote you all about them when each one came off," objected Ethel Blue. "Uncle Richard will hear what some of them are when we give out our prizes," said Helen. "We've decided to give prizes for certain especial successes. Ethel Brown, for instance, will be so good as to rise and receive a reward for reciting more poems than we ever knew could be learned by one small brain." Ethel Brown rose and received, while the rest applauded, a small sieve. "Why a sieve?" inquired Margaret. "The sieve is symbolic. Ethel takes in verse through her eyes and lets it out through her lips just like a sieve." After the laughter subsided, Helen continued: "Our next prize is for Grandfather Emerson, who supplied Ethel Brown with much of the material with which she has favored us." Mr. Emerson was decorated with a miniature well and pump. "I suppose this is the fount of English undefiled on which I drew," he commented. The president went on with her distribution. The jokes were all mild but for the Club members each had its meaning. James received a small pair of crutches, because he was the only one who had broken a leg. "I'm glad it wasn't scissors," said his father. "He might be led into cutting corners again." Dorothy received a pink tin containing a cake with pink icing--all by way of recognition of her love of cooking and of pink. Roger's gift was a set of collar and cuffs made from paper "dirt bands" and adorned with cuff buttons and a cravat of dazzling beauty. "A man of fashion and a farmer combined," Helen announced. Dicky received a watering can, by way of indicating his fondness for getting into trouble with water. A fan went to Della "for next summer's use." Tom had a little Roman soldier as a reminder of his representation of one of the Great Twin Brethren. Margaret's offering was a tiny Christmas Ship containing needles and a spool of thread. Helen gave herself a doll's coat like the one which she and Margaret had copied in great numbers for the war orphans. Ethel Blue's gift was a real present--a travelling case fitted with the necessaries of a journey. This came from all the members of the Club. "You're just too dear," whispered Ethel Blue, too overcome to speak. They drowned her voice in a burst of chatter, so that she might not burst into tears. "I have a few gifts left," said Helen, "and I'd like to give them out by acclamation. Whose tires have we worn until they were almost worn out and yet _she_ has never tired?" "Grandmother Emerson," came the ringing answer, and Helen ran around to her grandmother's chair and gave her a toy automobile. "Who made the most box furniture for Rose House?" "Roger," shouted James at the top of his lungs, while at the same moment Roger cried "James." The others, having been instructed to keep silent, concluded that the question was settled for them. "Roger _and_ James," decreed Helen, presenting each of them with a knife. "Who are our high-flyers?" "The Ethels," every one said promptly, for the Ethels were the only ones present who had been up in an aeroplane. A tiny flyer was given to each of them. So it went on until the supply of parcels in Helen's basket was exhausted. "Now, to wind up with," Helen said, "I want to thank Uncle Richard for giving us the very finest kind of present," and she waved her hand across the table to Miss Daisy, whose shining eyes and glowing cheeks told of her delight in all she had seen. "Uncle Richard is taking away Ethel Blue, but he's giving us an aunt. We love her already and we think we've all won a prize in her." "Ah, no," exclaimed Miss Daisy, slipping one hand into Ethel Blue's and laying the other on Captain Morton's shoulder. "It is I who have won a prize--a double prize!" * * * * * Transcriber's note: --Silently corrected some obvious typographical errors and misspellings. --Used hyphens more consistently, when the original showed a clear preference. 
39673	----	Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). A YEAR IN A LANCASHIRE GARDEN. [Decoration] A YEAR IN A LANCASHIRE GARDEN. by HENRY A. BRIGHT. SECOND EDITION. London: Macmillan And Co. 1879. The Right of Translation is Reserved. London: R. Clay, Sons, and Taylor, Bread Street Hill. PREFACE. This volume is but a collection of Notes, which, at the request of the editor, I wrote, month by month, in 1874, for the columns of the _Gardeners' Chronicle_. They pretend to little technical knowledge, and are, I fear, of but little horticultural value. They contain only some slight record of a year's work in a garden, and of those associations which a garden is so certain to call up. As, however, I found that this monthly record gave pleasure to readers, to whom both the garden and its owner were quite unknown, I printed off some fifty copies to give to those, whom I have the happiness to number among my friends, and for whom a garden has the same interest that it has for me. Four years have passed since then, and I am still asked for copies which I cannot give. I have at last, rather reluctantly, for there seems to me something private and personal about the whole affair, resolved to reprint these notes, and see if this little book can win for itself new friends on its own account. One difficulty, I feel, is that I am describing what happened five years ago. But this I cannot help. To touch or alter would be to spoil the truthfulness of all. The notes must stand absolutely as they were written. But after all, I believe, the difficulty is only an apparent one. The seasons, indeed, may vary--a spring may be later, a summer may be warmer, an autumn may be more fruitful,--but the seasons themselves remain. The same flowers come up each year, the same associations link themselves on to the returning flowers, and the verses of the great poets are unchanged. The details of a garden will alter, but its general effect and aspect are the same. Nevertheless, something has been learnt, and something remembered, since these notes were written, and this, also communicated from time to time to the _Gardeners' Chronicle_, I have condensed into a supplementary chapter. If, as I have heard from a friendly critic, there is too much _couleur de rose_ in my descriptions, I am tempted to retort that this is a colour not perhaps altogether inappropriate to my subject; but, be this as it may, I have described nothing but as it really appeared to me, and I have only wished that others should receive the same impressions as myself. For my very open egotism I make no apology; it was a necessity of the plan on which I wrote. I have added notes on the Roman Viola, and on the Sunflower of the Classics, and have given some extracts respecting the Solanum and the fly-catching Azalea. I have also reprinted, by the editor's kind permission, part of an article of mine that appeared in the _Athenæum_ on "Flowers and the Poets." CONTENTS. I. PAGE Introductory--The House--The Latest Flowers--The Arbutus --Chrysanthemums--Fallen Leaves--Planting--The Apple-room--The Log-house--Christmas 1 II. Gardening Blunders--The Walled Garden and the Fruit Walls-- Spring Gardening--Christmas Roses--Snowdrops--Pot Plants 10 III. Frost--The Vineries and Vines--Early Forcing--Orange Trees--Spring Work--Aconites--The Crocus 18 IV. The Rookery--Daffodils--Peach Blossoms--Spring Flowers-- Primroses--Violets--The Shrubs of Spring 26 V. The Herbaceous Beds--Pulmonaria--Wallflowers--Polyanthus --Starch Hyacinths--Sweet Brier--Primula Japonica-- Early Annuals and Bulbs--The Old Yellow China Rose 34 VI. Ants and Aphis--Fruit Trees--The Grass Walk--"Lilac-tide" --Narcissus--Snowflakes--Columbines--Kalmias-- Hawthorn Bushes 42 VII. The Summer Garden--The Buddleia--Ghent Azaleas--The Mixed Borders--Roses--The Green Rose 51 VIII. The Fruit Crop--Hautbois Strawberries--Lilium Auratum --Sweet Williams--Carnations--The Bedding-out 59 IX. Weeds--Tomatos--Tritomas--Night-scented Flowers-- Tuberoses--Magnolia--Asters--Indian Corn 67 X. St. Luke's Summer--The Orchard--The Barberry--White Haricot Beans--Transplanting--The Rockery 75 XI. The Wood and the Withered Leaves--Statues--Sun-dials--The Snow--Plans for the Spring--Conclusion 82 SUPPLEMENTARY CHAPTER. Flowering Shrubs--Yuccas--Memorial Trees--Ranunculus-- Pansies--Canna Indica--Summer Flowers--Bluets--Fruit blossoms and Bees--Strawberry Leaves--Garden Sounds-- Mowing--Birds--The Swallow--Pleasures of a Garden 89 NOTES. I.--On the Viola of the Romans 107 II.--On the Azalea Viscosa 110 III.--On the Solanum Tribe 112 IV.--On the Sunflower of the Classics 115 V.--On Flowers and the Poets 118 A YEAR IN A LANCASHIRE GARDEN. I. Introductory--The House--The Latest Flowers--The Arbutus-- Chrysanthemums--Fallen Leaves--Planting--The Apple-room-- The Log-house--Christmas. _December 3._--These notes are written for those who love gardens as I do, but not for those who have a professional knowledge of the subject; and they are written in the hope that it may not be quite impossible to convey to others some little of the delight, which grows (more certainly than any bud or flower) from the possession and management of a garden. I cannot, of course, by any words of mine, give the hot glow of colour from a bed of scarlet Ranunculus with the sun full upon it, or bring out the delicious scent of those double Tuberoses, which did so well with me this autumn; but I can at least speak of my plans and projects, tell what I am doing, and how each month I succeed or fail,--and thus share with others the uncertainty, the risks and chances, which are in reality the great charm of gardening. And then, again, gardening joins itself, in a thousand ways, with a thousand associations, to books and literature, and here, too, I shall have much to say. * * * * * Lancashire is not the best possible place for a garden, and to be within five miles of a large town is certainly no advantage. We get smoke on one side, and salt breezes on another, and, worst of all, there comes down upon us every now and then a blast, laden with heavy chemical odours, which is more deadly than either smoke or salt. Still we are tolerably open, and in the country. As I sit writing at my library window, I see, beyond the lawn, field after field, until at last the eye rests on the spire of a church three miles away. A long red-gabled house, with stone facings, and various creepers trained round it,--a small wood (in which there is a rookery) screening us from a country road, and from the west,--lawns with some large trees and several groups of evergreens,--and the walled garden, the outer garden, and the orchard;--it is to these that I invite you. Exclusive of meadow-land there are only some four acres, but four acres are enough for many gardening purposes, and for very great enjoyment. These are certainly what the American poet Bryant calls "the melancholy days, the saddest in the year." The late autumn flowers are over;--the early spring ones are still buried under the soil. I could only find this morning a single blighted monthly Rose, a Wallflower or two, an uneasy-looking Polyanthus, and some yellow Jasmine against the house--and that was all. Two days of early frost had killed the rest. Oddly enough, however, a small purple flower caught my eye on the mixed border; it was a Virginian Stock,--but what it was doing at this unwonted season who can say? Then, of course, the Arbutus is still in bloom, as it has been for the last two months, and very beautiful it is. There is a large bush of it just as you enter the walled garden, and, though the pink clusters of blossom are now past their best, they are more welcome than ever in the present dearth of flowers. Can any one tell me why my Arbutus does not fruit? It has only borne one single berry in the last four years; and yet the Arbutus fruits abundantly in other places in Lancashire, and at Lytham, close to the sea, I saw clusters of berries only the other day. Sometimes I fancy there is a better chance of the fruit setting if the pollen is from another tree, and I have lately planted a second Arbutus for the experiment. I am very fond of the Arbutus; it carries me back to the days of Horace, for we remember how his goats, wandering along the lower slopes of Lucretilis, would browse upon the thickets of Arbutus that fringed its side. Lastly, the Chrysanthemums are in flower, though not in the inner garden. Some I have tended and trained, and they are now looking handsome enough in the porch and vestibule of the house. Some I have planted, and allowed to grow as they like, in front of the shrubbery borders; these have failed very generally with me this year--they look brown and withered, and the blooms are small, and the stems long and ragged, while many have entirely disappeared. The best of them all is Bob, with his bright, red, merry face, only surpassed by a trained Julia Lagravière in the porch. Another favourite Chrysanthemum of mine is the Fleur de Marie, with its large white discs, all quilled inside and feathered round the edge. Fastened up against a wall, I have seen it, year after year, a mass of splendid snowy blossom. The Chrysanthemum has three merits above almost every flower. It comes in the shortest and darkest days; it blooms abundantly in the smoke of the largest cities; it lasts longer than any flower when cut and put into water. If flowers have their virtues, the virtue of the Chrysanthemum is its unselfish kindliness. In the outer garden, we have been busy with the fallen leaves, brushing them away from the walks and lawn, leaving them to rot in the wood, digging them into the shrubbery borders. This work is finished now, and we have swept up a great stack for future use at the end of two years. The Beech and the Oak leaves we (in opposition to some authorities) hold to be the most valuable, but of course we cannot keep them distinct from the rest. These fallen leaves--of which we make our loam for potting purposes--what endless moralities they have occasioned! The oldest and the youngest poets speak of them. It is Homer, who compares the generations of men to the generations of the leaves, as they come and go, flourish and decay, one succeeding the other, unresting and unceasingly. It is Swinburne, who says in his poems-- "Let the wind take the green and the grey leaf, Cast forth without fruit upon air; Take Rose-leaf, and Vine-leaf, and Bay-leaf Blown loose from the hair." During this open weather we have been getting on with our planting. Those beds of Rhododendrons just under the drawing-room windows have become too thick. They are all good sorts--John Waterer, Lady Emily Cathcart, and the rest--and must have sufficient room. We move a number of them to the other side of the house, opposite the front door, where till now there has been a bed of the common Rhododendrons, and this in turn we plant as a fresh bed elsewhere. There will be now some space to spare in the hybrid beds, and I shall plant in them a number of roots of the Lilium candidum--the dear old white Lily of cottage gardens. They will come up each year from between the Rhododendrons, and will send their sweet subtle odour through the open windows into the house. And as I write I am told of a recipe showing how, in the Wortlore of old, the firm white petals were esteemed of use. You must gather them while still fresh, place them unbroken in a wide-necked bottle, packed closely and firmly together, and then pour in what brandy there is room for. In case of cut or bruise no remedy, I am told, is more efficacious, and certainly none more simple. _December 23._--The weather is still mild and open. We have had three days' sharp frost, but it soon passed, and, while it lasted, it spared even the Chrysanthemums. "Bob" looks better than ever. During the frost was the time to look over the Apple-room, the Mushroom-bed, and the Log-house. The Pears we are now using are the Winter Nelis, which I believe is known also as the Bonne de Malines. It is a capital Pear at this season of the year, and in these parts, and trained on my south-west walls, bears well, though the trees are young. I only planted them some four years ago, and, as all the world knows,-- "You plant Pears For your heirs." The Mushrooms are late this year; the spawn appeared less good than usual, and I expected a total failure, but, after all, there is promise of a dish for Christmas Day. I do not care to grow Mushrooms when the green vegetables are in full glory but now they are very welcome. As for the Log-house, it is full. We have cut down several trees, and huge Yule logs lie in heaps, ready for the hall fire. We shall want them before the winter is over. If Horace had to say to Thaliarchus in Italy (this is Lord Denman's version)-- "Dissolve the cold, while on the dogs With lavish hand you fling the logs,"-- surely in these northern latitudes, and in this dearth of coal, the advice is doubly seasonable. And then a log fire is so charming. It does more than warm and blaze--it glows and sparkles. But Mr. Warner, the American, has just given us in his _Backlog Studies_ long pages about wood-fires, and I need only refer to that very pleasant little book. One quotation, however, I will give:-- "We burn in it Hickory wood, cut long. We like the smell of this aromatic forest timber and its clear flame. The Birch is also a sweet wood for the hearth, with a sort of spiritual flame, and an even temper--no snappishness. Some prefer the Elm, which holds fire so well; and I have a neighbour who uses nothing but Apple-tree wood--a solid, family sort of wood, fragrant also, and full of delightful associations. But few people can afford to burn up their fruit-trees." But besides the dead wood, we have just cut our fresh Christmas boughs. Up against an outhouse I have an immense Ivy, almost as large as one you see growing up some old castle: it spreads along the wall, covering it all over on both sides; then it climbs up a second wall at right angles to the first, and throws its trailing branches down to the very ground: and now they are one mass of blossom. It is from this ivy that we gather our best Christmas greenery; but there are also cuttings from the Box, Yew, and Holly;--and one variegated Holly has been beautiful, for its mottled leaves have in some sprays become of a perfectly clear and creamy white--the colour of fine old ivory. Mistletoe does not grow with us, and we have to buy it in the market of our town. By the way, how strangely the idea of an English Mistletoe bough now associates itself with that very uncomfortable Italian story of the bride and the oaken chest. How curious, too, that, in this country at least, the memory of poor Ginevra is due not to Rogers's poem, but to Haynes Bayly's ballad. To-morrow will be Christmas Eve, and to-morrow (so the legend says), in the vale of Avalon,--at the old abbey, where King Arthur was buried and St. Dunstan lived--"outbuds the Glastonbury Thorn"--the sacred Thorn, which sprang from the staff St. Joseph planted there. Unhappily no such Thorns grow in my Lancashire garden. II. Gardening Blunders--The Walled Garden and the Fruit Walls-- Spring Gardening--Christmas Roses--Snowdrops--Pot Plants. _January 5._--What wonderful notions some people have about gardens! In a clever novel I have just been reading, there occurs this description:--"The gardens at Wrexmore Hall were in a blaze of beauty, with Geraniums and Chrysanthemums of every hue." In the published letters of Mr. Dallas, who was formerly United States' Minister here, there is something still more marvellous. He had been staying with Lord Palmerston at Broadlands in the end of September, and he speaks of "the glowing beds of Roses, Geraniums, Rhododendrons, Heliotropes, Pinks, Chrysanthemums." I shall have to make a pilgrimage to Broadlands. Meanwhile, why should we not more often bed out Chrysanthemums in masses, as in the Temple Gardens? A "winter garden" is generally nothing more than a garden of small evergreens, which, of course, is an improvement on bare soil, but which is in itself not singularly interesting. Since last I wrote, we have had storms of wind and rain, and some little snow and frost, but the weather has, on the whole, been very genial for the time of year. I have finished my planting, and am now busy re-sodding the grass terrace which runs along the south and east of the house; the grass had become full of weeds, and in places was bare and brown. But my most important work has been within the walled garden. This garden is entered by a door in the south-east wall, and two walls, facing south-west and north-east, run at right angles to it. A thick hedge, guarded by wire netting to keep out the rabbits, is at the further or north-west side, and divides us from the home-croft. Along the south-east wall we have two vineries, and between them a small range of frames and hotbeds. Against the sheltered wall between the vineries we have a Magnolia grandiflora, which flowered with me last year; a Banksian Rose, which has done no good as yet; and a Général Jacqueminot, which is always beautiful. A Camellia (Woodsii), which flowered abundantly last spring, I have moved elsewhere, and have planted a Maréchal Niel in its place. Beyond the vineries on both sides are my best Peaches and Nectarines. On the south-west wall are Peaches and Nectarines, Apricots, Plums and Pears, and on the north-east Cherries and Currants. In front of the Vine border is a broad gravel walk, which reaches along the whole breadth of the garden, and on the other side of it are the flower-beds. There are about forty of them in all, of different shapes and sizes, and divided from each other by little winding walks of red Jersey gravel. As you come upon them all at once, but cannot see the whole at a glance, I have no temptation to sacrifice everything to monotonous regularity and a mere effect of colour. I take bed by bed, and make each as beautiful as I can, so that I have a constant variety, and so that at no season of the year am I entirely bare of flowers. Box hedges three feet high and some two and a half feet thick, and a screen of Rhododendrons, separate the flower garden from the kitchen garden, which is beyond; and right through both flower garden and kitchen garden, from the front of the Vine border to the far hedge by the croft, we have just been extending a grass walk, and planting, along the part that skirts the kitchen garden, Pears, Plums, and (for sake of a very uncertain experiment) a Walnut and a Medlar. My spring gardening is on no great scale. A bed of mixed Hyacinths, another of single Van Thol Tulips, and another of Golden Prince Tulips, two beds of Wallflowers, one of red Daisies edged with white, and one of Polyanthus, are all I have at present planted. There will be more by and by. Meanwhile the spring flowers I really care about are those that come up every year on the mixed borders,--the outside borders of the flower garden. They are old friends that never fail us; they ask only to be left alone, and are the most welcome "harbingers of spring," bringing with them the pleasant memories of former years, and the fresh promise of the year that is to come. I never saw such Christmas Roses as I have just now. Clustering beneath their dark serrated leaves rise masses of bloom,--bud and blossom,--the bud often tinged with a faint pink colour, the blossom a snowy white guarding a centre of yellow stamens. I have counted from thirty to forty blooms upon a single root, and I sometimes think the Eucharis itself is not a finer flower. The Christmas Rose, the Helleborus niger, has been celebrated by Pliny, by Spenser, and by Cowley; but I confess my own favourite association with it is of a later date. I never see it without recalling the description poor Anne Brontë gives in her strange wild story of _The Tenant of Wildfell Hall_. Just at the end, when Helen, after her sad unhappy life, is free at last, and wishes to tell Gilbert that what remains of her life may now be his, she turns to "pluck that beautiful half-blown Christmas Rose that grew upon the little shrub without, just peeping from the snow that had hitherto, no doubt, defended it from the frost, and was now melting away in the sun." And then, "having gently dashed the glittering powder from its leaves," she says, "This Rose is not so fragrant as a summer flower, but it has stood through hardships none of them could bear: the cold rain of winter has sufficed to nourish it, and its faint sun to warm it; the bleak winds have not blanched it, or broken its stem, and the keen frost has not blighted it. Look, Gilbert, it is still fresh and blooming as a flower can be, with the cold snow even now on its petals. Will you have it?" Nowhere in the whole of the Brontë novels (so far as I remember) is a flower described as this one is. It is suggestive enough of dark and drowsy winter, that the two flowers which most enliven it should bear the deadly names of black Hellebore and winter Aconite (though, indeed, the Eranthis is itself allied rather to the Hellebores than to the Aconites); as yet, however, my Aconites are still below the sod. _January 20._--It is St. Agnes's Eve, and never was there a St. Agnes's Eve so unlike that one which witnessed the happy adventure of young Porphyro. _Then_ "St. Agnes' Eve; ah! bitter chill it was; The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold; The hare limped trembling through the frozen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold." _Now_ the weather is soft, and almost warm. I always seem to connect the idea of a Snowdrop with St. Agnes; and Tennyson speaks of "the first Snowdrop of the year" lying upon her bosom. This year our first Snowdrop appeared on the 18th, and now each day brings out fresh tufts on the herbaceous borders, where the sun strikes most warmly. Another week will pass, and, under the Lime trees which shade the orchard, I shall find other tufts of the double variety, planted in bygone years I know not by whom, and now springing up half wild and quite uncared for. And these Snowdrops gave me a hint a year or two ago. I found that my gardener was in the habit of throwing away his old bulbs--Hyacinths and Tulips--which had served their turn and lived their season. There was, of course, no good in keeping them for garden purposes; but this throwing them away seemed sadly wasteful. We now, therefore, plant them in the orchard grass, and each year they come up half wild like the Snowdrops, and each year they will be more numerous and more effective. But the best way of growing Snowdrops is, I believe, on a lawn itself. I have planted several hundreds of them in groups and patches, in a corner, where I can see them from the library window. The green spears are now piercing the grass, and in a few days there will be a broken sheet of snowy white, which will last for at least a fortnight, and which, from a distance, will seem like the lingering relic of some snowdrift still unmelted by the sun.[1] By the way, was it not Mrs. Barbauld who spoke of the Snowdrop as "an icicle changed into a flower?" The conceit is not a particularly happy one, for the soft white petals have nothing in common with the hard sparkle of the icicle. [1] As matter of fact, the Snowdrops were less abundant this year than they usually are.--Has it ever been noticed that the colour of the winter flowers, as that of the Arctic animals, is almost always white? We have not been fortunate this winter with the pot-plants which we require for the house. The Primulas have been singularly shabby. We had got some white sand from an excavation in the road near us, and it seems to have checked the growth of several of our plants. The Roman Hyacinths, too, have done less well than usual with us. There was a gummy look about many of the bulbs, which made us fear at the time that they were not properly ripened, and the result has proved that we were right. For dinner-table decoration can anything be prettier at this season than small Orange-trees--Japanese Oranges, I think they are--laden with their wealth of green and golden fruit? I have only just taken to them, and certainly I have seen nothing of the kind I like so well. III. Frost--The Vineries and Vines--Early Forcing--Orange-trees-- Spring Work--Aconites--The Crocus. _February 6._--We have had no morning so beautiful this winter. A clear, bright frost is in the air, and on the grass, and among the trees. Not a spray but is coated with crystals, white as snow and thick as moss; not a leaf of Holly or of Ivy but is fringed with frosted fretwork. There is not a breath of wind, and the birds, that were singing yesterday, have all vanished out of sight. It is wonderfully beautiful while it lasts, but it will be over before night. Meanwhile, I am thankful for any touch of frost, if it will only come now instead of later. It will help to kill some few of the eggs and larvæ, which, in the different form of noxious insects, will plague us through the summer. It will keep back the fruit-tree buds, which are sadly too forward, and which will run a poor chance unless they are checked betimes. The Apricots especially look almost ready to open, and I can see colour even on the Nectarines. We are beginning to force our first vinery. The year before last we had renewed the Vine border, and last year we did not venture any forcing; this year I hope we may be repaid. Our Black Hamburghs are old Vines of rather a good sort, with fine large berries and very few stones. The Muscats--Canon Hall, Alexandria, and Troveren--are Vines which I planted some three years ago. In the same house there is also an old Syrian Vine, bearing big bunches, but otherwise worth but little. In the second vinery are Black Hamburghs again, Black Princes, Grizzly Frontignan, and a Sweetwater,--all old Vines; and to these I have added a Mrs. Pince's Muscat, a Foster's Seedling, and a Madresfield Court. Both vineries are of old construction, with clumsy flues, and require a thorough re-arranging, which I must give them some day. Quite the best grape, so far as flavour goes, is, I contend, the Grizzly Frontignan, which has now comparatively gone out of fashion. The bunches, it is true, are not handsome, the berries are not large, and the colour is not good; but has any Muscat a finer or more aromatic flavour? It was Sir William Temple who first introduced it, and he speaks of it with pride as "the noblest of all Grapes I ever ate in England." The Sweetwater is of value in another way; it is of all Grapes the most grateful and refreshing to an invalid. Only the autumn before last I was asked by an old friend whether anywhere in our neighbourhood the Sweetwater was still grown. He had been very ill, and was longing for Grapes,--but the rich luscious Muscats, with their highly-flavoured and thickly-sugared juice, had been forbidden. He had searched in vain among the vineries of many great houses, where the Sweetwater has been long discarded, and it was a pleasant surprise to find that in my small vineries this once favourite old Grape could still be found. We are now bringing on our Strawberries; the Duc de Malakoff and Sir Charles Napier are the two we are forcing this year. Last year we had Oscar as well, but we found it a bad hanger, the first fruit damping away if it were not at once gathered. We are forcing also French Beans, Fulmer's Forcing,--and Tomatos, the Orangefield Dwarf. The prettiest thing in our vinery is a large Orange-tree, laden with last year's fruit, and soon to be covered with this spring's flowers. The fruit itself is only good for preserving, but it is wonderfully handsome, and no Orange-tree could be more prolific. Surely the old plan of having a separate Orangery is dying out in England, except of course in the very stately places. Thirty or forty years ago I think these Orangeries were more common in gardens of less pretension. I recall one, half green-house, half summer-house, with its large sashed windows opening to a lawn--windows round which a dozen creepers twined and blossomed;--inside stood the great Orange-trees in their huge tubs, waiting till the full summer, when they would be arranged along the broad terrace walk--in themselves beautiful, and calling up a thousand fragrant memories of Southern France and Italy. Now, I generally see trimmed Bays or Laurels arranged in porcelain pots, looking at once shabby and artificial. Of course I do not suppose Oranges worth growing except (a rather large exception) for their beauty; with Lemons it is different--they are certainly worth growing,--but then they do best trained up against the back of a moderately heated house, and not moved out in summer. _February 22._--Since I wrote we have had the sharpest and keenest frost--sharper than we have had all the winter; and an east wind which at once dried and froze up everything. Now spring has come again, and (as Horace says) has "shivered" through the trees. The Elders are already unfolding their leaves, and a Lonicera is in freshest bud. I remember when, a few years ago, Mr. Longfellow, the American poet, was in England, he told me that he was often reminded by the tender foliage of an English spring of that well-known line of Watts, where the fields of Paradise "Stand dressed in _living green_;" and I thought of this to-day when I looked, as I remember he was looking, at the fresh verdure of this very Lonicera. But all things are now telling of spring. We have finished our pruning of the wall-fruit; we have collected our pea-sticks, and sown our earliest Peas. We have planted our Ranunculus bed and gone through the herbaceous borders, dividing and clearing away where the growth was too thick, and sending off hamperfuls of Pæony, Iris, Oenothera, Snowflake, Japanese Anemone, Day Lily, and many others. On the other hand we have been looking over old volumes of Curtis's _Botanical Magazine_, and have been trying to get, not always successfully, a number of old forgotten plants of beauty, and now of rarity. We have found enough, however, to add a fresh charm to our borders for June, July, and August. On the lawn we have some Aconites in flower. They are planted at the foot of two great Beech trees, and last year they lay there--a soft yellow light upon the grass. This year they are doing badly. I suspect they must have been mown away last spring before their tubers were thoroughly ripe, and they are punishing us now by flowering only here and there. I know no flower so quaint as this--the little yellow head emerging from its deeply-cut Elizabethan ruff of green. Then, too, the Crocuses are bursting up from the soil, like Byron's Assyrian cohorts, "all gleaming in purple and gold." Nothing is more stupid than the ordinary way of planting Crocuses--in a narrow line or border. Of course you get a line of colour, but that is all, and, for all the good it does, you might as well have a line of coloured pottery or variegated gravel. They should be grown in thick masses, and in a place where the sun can shine upon them, and then they open out into wonderful depths of beauty. I am afraid Dr. Forbes Watson's most charming book on _Flowers and Gardens_ is too little known. No modern author, not even excepting Ruskin, has studied the form and the beauty of flowers so closely and lovingly as he has done, and he entirely bears out my view. He says-- "This is one of the many plants which are spoilt by too much meddling. If the gardener too frequently separates the offsets the individual blooms may possibly be finer, but the lover of flowers will miss the most striking charms of the humbler and more neglected plant. The reason is this: the bloom, when first opening, is of a deeper orange than afterwards, and this depth of hue is seemingly increased where the blossoms are small from crowded growth. In these little clusters, therefore, where the flowers are of various sizes, the colour gains in varieties and depth, as well as in extent of surface, and vividness of colour is the most important point in the expression of the yellow Crocus." Besides the clusters along the shrubberies and the mixed borders, I have a number on the lawn beneath a large weeping Ash; the grass was bare there, and, though this is hidden in summer by the heavy curtains of pendent boughs and crowding leaves, it was well to do something to veil its desolation in the spring. Nothing can be more successful than a mass of Crocus, yellow, white, and purple. I sometimes think that the Crocus is less cared for than it deserves. Our modern poets rarely mention it; but in Homer, when he would make a carpet for the gods, it is of Lotus, Hyacinth, and Crocus; and Virgil's bees find their honey among Cassia and Lime blossoms, and "iron-grey Hyacinths and glowing Crocus." Virgil speaks, too, of the scent of the Crocus (whatever that may be), and all Latin authors, when they wish to express a bright deep orange colour, call it the colour of the Crocus. Our cool vinery is now gay with stages of Narcissus, Tulips, and Hyacinths, which have been brought on in heat, and are well rewarding us for what care we have given to them. IV. The Rookery--Daffodils--Peach Blossoms--Spring Flowers-- Primroses--Violets--The Shrubs of Spring. _March 6._--We have a tradition, or, if you will, a superstition, in this part of the world, that rooks always begin to build on the first Sunday in March. Last year my rooks were punctual to a day. This year, although they began a day or two earlier, it was not till the morning of Sunday the 1st that they showed real activity. Then the belt of trees which they frequent, and which for want of any better name we call "our wood," was all alive and clamorous. These rooks are only with us from March to the end of May, and then they are off again for the rest of the year to the woods which cluster thickly round the stately hall of the great nobleman of our county. But they never quite forget their nests among our Elms; and it is pleasant to see them in summer, and oftener still in late autumn, winging their way across the fields, and then wheeling down upon the trees. Who was it, who so happily applied to rooks the lines from the sixth Æneid, where Virgil, speaking of the descent of Æneas and his guide upon the Elysian plains, says "Devenere locos lætos, et amoena vireta Fortunatorum nemorum, sedesque beatas"? "And down they came upon the happy haunts, The pleasant greenery of the favoured groves-- Their blissful resting-place." There are many secrets about the rooks which I can never solve. Why do they build in the Elm rather than the Beech? My best trees are Beeches, but there are only two nests in them, whereas in a single Elm there are no less than ten. Why, again, do the old birds prevent the young ones from building in some particular tree? Sometimes, no doubt, there may be an unhappy association of the past, as in a case mentioned in Hawthorne's _English Note Book_, where in a garden, which I took him to see, not very far from this, some nests were once destroyed in a clump of trees, and never since has nest been built there. Sometimes, I think, because the rooks like to reserve certain trees as storehouses, from whence to gather their sticks. Again, how far is rook-shooting good for a rookery? It is commonly believed that, if a certain number are not shot, the rooks will desert. Is this so, and, if so, what should be the proportion? I have some sixty nests, and I wish to keep about this number. I have planted many wild Daffodils in the wood; they are now coming into flower, but they do not seem to flourish as they should. I am told that Daffodils do not do well under a rookery, but I hardly think this likely. If, as I said last month, the Crocus has been neglected by English poets, the Daffodil has no right to complain. Some of the most charming lyrics in the language are connected with this flower. Who does not remember Herrick's "Fair Daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon;" or Wordsworth's "Host of golden Daffodils Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze"? Jean Ingelow, too, in her _Persephone_, makes the Daffodil the flower which tempts the unhappy maiden from her companions as they ramble along the fields of Enna-- "The Daffodils were fair to see, They nodded lightly on the lea, Persephone, Persephone! Lo! one she marked of rarer growth Than Orchis or Anemone; For it the maiden left them both And parted from her company. Drawn nigh she deemed it fairer still, And stooped to gather by the rill The Daffodil, the Daffodil." The end of the story we all know right well, for "Perdita" told us long ago how Persephone let her Daffodils all fall "from Dis's waggon." _March 25._--Again we have had frost and snow, and this time it has done us harm. The early bloom of the Apricot has turned black, and our chance of a crop rests with the later buds. However, there are plenty still; and now, in words familiar to half the children of England, "the crimson blossoms of the Peach and the Nectarine are seen, and the green leaves sprout." Here our promise is not so good, and we have nothing like the bloom of last year; in fact, a crop of Peaches and Nectarines in the open air is very uncertain in this Lancashire climate, and many of my neighbours have given in entirely, and have taken to glass-houses. I still go on; but certainly last year, in spite of the show of blossom, was not encouraging. Whether it is the increase of smoke or of chemical works I cannot say, but formerly wall fruit answered far better in these parts than it does at present. It is remarkable, however, that Sir William Temple, writing just 200 years ago, objects to growing Peaches farther north than Northampton, and praises a Staffordshire friend for not attempting them, and "pretending no higher, though his soil be good enough, than to the perfection of Plums." We have been busy renewing the Box edgings to our flower-beds where it was required. Last year we had carelessly laid down salt on the narrow walks to destroy some weeds, and it has injured a good deal of the Box; some injury, too, has been caused by the growth of several strong plants, which got out of bounds and smothered it. Our garden is not a good spring garden. The soil is cold and heavy, and the delicate spring flowers do not thrive; but, on the other hand, no garden about is a better summer garden. It is a regular sun-trap, and yet even in the hottest weather the plants keep fresh and unburnt. Meanwhile the white Scilla, the double Daffodil, the Arabis, and some others, are doing well enough. A bed of Daisies and another of Polyanthus are far from satisfactory. Hepaticas I have tried over and over again, and they always fail. In front of one of the beds of evergreens on the lawn I planted some double Primroses--yellow, white, red, and lilac; some of them are showing their blossoms, but they are not vigorous. By the way, I found it very difficult to get these Primroses, and had to pay what seemed an excessive price for them. They are, I fear, among the old neglected flowers, which we run a good chance of losing altogether, if gardeners will confine themselves entirely to bedding plants. There is a charmingly fantastic conceit in one of Herrick's poems, "To Primroses filled with Morning Dew." He thinks they may be weeping, because "Ye have not seen as yet The Violet." My Primroses at least have not this excuse, for we have Violets in abundance, and they scent all the air as we pass through the garden door. Even in winter a faint fragrance lingers among their leaves--a shadowy memory of a perfume, which haunts them even when no single flower can be found. Bacon says that "the flower which above all others yields the sweetest smell in the air is the Violet; specially the double white Violet which comes twice a-year: about the middle of April and about Bartholomew-tide." Where is the double white Violet grown now? One of the greatest floral heresies of modern days is as regards the Violet. Both Ruskin and Lord Stanhope have asserted that the Violet of the Greek and Latin poets was an Iris! If so, we are to believe that Athens was crowned with Iris; that the revellers at banquets decked themselves with wreaths of Iris; that wine was flavoured with Iris juice; and that a Violet is nowhere mentioned! Fortunately, however, Pliny makes it clear that there were Violets and Irises both, in old classic times; and the city of the Violet-crown is fragrant as of yore.[2] [2] See note I. on the Viola of the Romans. Some of the flowering shrubs are now coming out and looking gay. There is the Mezereon with its upright shoots, all purpled over with their blossom; there is the Rhododendron dauricum with its beautiful lilac bloom; there, the oldest favourite of all, is the Pyrus japonica, with its bunches of cherry-coloured flowers, breaking out all along the hard-twisted branches. This Pyrus is no doubt most effective when trained up against a wall, and then, of course, it flowers earlier; but one bush of it is quite worth growing in any garden. The last bit of planting we have done this year is an addition to our flowering-trees. We have got two of the best Robinias--the glutinosa and the hispida--and I shall be much disappointed if they do not prove a great success. V. The Herbaceous Beds--Pulmonaria--Wallflowers--Polyanthus-- Starch Hyacinths--Sweet Brier--Primula Japonica--Early Annuals and Bulbs--The Old Yellow China Rose. _April 4._--Is any moment of the year more delightful than the present? What there is wanting in glow of colour is more than made up for in fulness of interest. Each day some well-known, long-remembered plant bursts into blossom on the herbaceous borders, and brings with it pleasant associations of days that are no more, or of books that cannot die. It is, I think, Alphonse Karr who says we should watch closely and rejoice greatly over the slow procession of the flowers, as one by one they appear, bloom, and fade; if we are past middle life, it is a sight which, at best, we can only see some twenty or thirty times again. The common double Daffodils are already past, but we have still the variety which, from its blended hues of dark orange and pale citron, the children call--as they call the wild Linaria--"the butter-and-egg flower." Here is the Saxifraga crassifolia, with its huge broad leaves and its thick spikes of pink bell-blossom. It is almost too coarse growing, however, for the border, and does better on a rude rockery, or rather "loggery," which I have elsewhere. Here is the Pulmonaria or Lungwort, with its varied bloom of red and blue, and with the white markings on its leaves, which were supposed to look like lungs, and from which it takes its name. This Pulmonaria is one of the large class of plants, which, it was believed, had a healing power, and indicated that healing power by the form of leaf, or root, or blossom. These herbs of grace--and it is doubtful whether any plant would be entirely excepted--bore about with them, plain for all to see, outward and visible signs of their secret and subtle virtue. Thus the Liverwort (Hepatica) had the shape of a liver in its leaves, the Eyebright (Euphrasia) looked up to you with an eye like your own--and each had potency of healing for that part of the human body, of which the image was expressed in its own frail form. Farther on are close green tufts of the Corydalis, with its delicate lilac flowers. Then come bushes of Wallflower of the richest red-brown colour--a colour like nothing else, and indeed without a name, that would convey the depth and beauty of the dark tawny hue. What a contrast to the little wild yellow flower, which draws its scanty life from the wall of some grey old castle like that of Conway! Few scents are more delicious than that of Wallflowers. Bacon says of them that they "are very delightful, to be set under a parlour or lower chamber window." It is an old controversy whether the Wallflower and the Gillyflower are the same; but it seems tolerably clear that the latter name was rather loosely used, and meant sometimes the Wallflower, but sometimes also the Stock or the Clove Carnation. The Polyanthus on the borders has done better than those on the separate bed; the pretty _tortoise-shell_ blossoms (to use a good expression of Forbes Watson) are just now in full perfection, and I have also a perfectly white Hose-in-hose Polyanthus, which is really charming. There is a droll passage in one of Sterne's love-letters to his future wife, in which he says--and he means to be sentimental and pathetic-- "The kindest affections will have room to shoot and expand in our retirement.--Let the human tempest and hurricane rage at a distance, the desolation is beyond the horizon of peace. My L. [the lady's name was Lydia] has seen a Polyanthus blow in December! Some friendly wall has sheltered it from the biting wind.--No planetary influence shall reach us but that which presides over and cherishes the sweetest flowers." There is still one other flower of which I must speak. It grows so abundantly, it flowers so luxuriantly with me;--it comes up like a weed on almost every border, and I have given it one entire bed to itself. It is the Starch or Grape Hyacinth, known also, I believe, as the Plum or Cluster Hyacinth. Its lower bells are of the darkest indigo, but towards the top it melts into the softest sky-blue tints, and when in masses it is beautiful. Ruskin says it is "as if a cluster of Grapes and a hive of honey had been distilled and compressed together into one small boss of celled and beaded blue." Upon the wall by the vinery a Corchorus (Kerria) japonica is laden with wreaths of golden blossom. An Almond-tree near the front door is just shedding its pink petals. The double Gorse will be in flower in a week. But after all there is no flowering shrub, which we care for more just now than the still unflowering Sweet Brier. Towards the end of the walled garden I have laid out a miniature herb garden, with its separate little beds for Thyme and Marjoram, and Sage and Borage, and the rest, and inclosed it within a hedge of Sweet Brier. This Sweet Brier is now in leaf, and, after rain especially, it fills all that corner of the garden with whiffs and snatches of sweetest perfume. The Sweet Brier is the true Eglantine of the poets, for though Milton seems to confound "twisted Eglantine" with the Honeysuckle, Shakspeare has it right, and Titania's bower is, as we all know, "Quite over-canopied with luscious Woodbine, With sweet Musk Roses, and with Eglantine." By the way, is the Musk Rose still found in English gardens, and what is it? Two years ago I got, with infinite trouble, a root or two, but they have died down again, and I begin to doubt whether I shall ever know its scent--a scent which Bacon says comes next to the Violet in perfuming the garden's air. _April 25._--The stages in the cool vinery are now gay with Spiræas and Cinerarias. The Lilies of the Valley are over, but they have done exceedingly well this year. I wonder whether the Trillium grandiflorum or Canadian Wood-Lily is generally known. I believe it to be hardy, but it was new to me, and I had grown it in a pot in the vinery, and a very pretty little flower it is, with its three green leaves, its three green sepals, and its three white petals. I have grown in the same way, for the first time, the Primula japonica, and surely nothing can be more beautiful than its five circles of crimson blossoms, one whorl above another. I have been so pleased with it, that I have just given orders for an entire bed of it to be made, which shall remain permanently, and between the plants I am dropping in Gladiolus bulbs, so that the bed will be in beauty for many weeks. As I have before explained, you can hardly see the various beds of my flower-garden at a glance, so that I can go to work independently of the effects of the colour produced by elaborate bedding out. To tell the truth, too, I am heartily weary of the monotony of modern gardens, with their endless Pelargoniums, Calceolarias, and Verbenas. Some few such beds I cannot of course dispense with, but I am always glad when I can _reclaim_ a bed for permanent herbaceous plants, as in this case of the Primula japonica. Another bed, I trust, may be successful in another way--it is a bed of the blue Nemophila insignis. Two years ago I saw in the People's Garden at Dublin, in the beginning of May, two beds, which struck me as being almost the most effective in their colouring of any I had ever seen. One was of Nemophila, the other of Virginian stock; one was a mass of the most brilliant blue, the other a blending of shades of tenderest lilac. The blooms were thick and close as possible, and the size of the flowers much finer than that of the ordinary spring-sown annuals. The manager of these gardens kindly explained to me his secret: the seeds were sown in autumn, pricked out in spring, protected during the early months, and then finally bedded out. Last year we tried with the Nemophila, but we were too soon, and the frost caught us and destroyed our plants. This year we are later, and, by giving some protection against cold and sun for a few days longer, I hope to reproduce what I saw in Dublin. Another year I may make trial of the Virginian Stock as well. The Hyacinth bed has done fairly well, but there were too many pinks among the spikes for it to be quite successful. The Van Thol Tulips are a terrible failure. Some mice got to the bed, and, though we have killed thirteen of them, they had already eaten away so many of the crowns that some dozen Tulips, appearing here and there, are all I have. The bed of Golden Prince Tulips is, however, doing better; this always seems to me a very handsome Tulip, and I sometimes fancy has a sweetness of scent beyond all other kinds--a something, which at times half reminds one of the odour of some Tea Rose. By the bye, I have had a Tea Rose in blossom in the vinery--of a sort I rarely see, and of which I really do not know the proper name. It used to grow over a cottage in Herefordshire, which I knew many years ago, and the Herefordshire nurseryman, from whom I got my standard, calls it "the old yellow China." Is this the right name, and is the Rose more common than I imagine? Its petals are loose and thin, and of a pale primrose colour, and before it is fully out it is at its best. Its leaves are large and handsome, and of glossy green. Its blossom has a certain half-bitter scent of Tea about it, to which the scent of no other Tea Rose can at all compare--it is so strong and aromatic. We gathered our first forced Strawberries on the 16th; our first forced French Beans on the 17th, and our first Asparagus on April 18. This is early for us, but we are having the finest weather. VI. Ants and Aphis--Fruit Trees--The Grass Walk--"Lilac-tide"-- Narcissus--Snowflakes--Columbines--Kalmias--Hawthorn Bushes. _May 4._--May set in this year with (as Horace Walpole somewhere says) "its usual severity." We felt it all the more after the soft warm summer weather we had experienced in April. The Lilac, which is only due with us on the 1st of May, was this year in flower on the 28th of April. Green Gooseberry tarts, which farther south are considered a May-day dish, we hardly hope to see in this colder latitude for ten days later, and now these cold east winds will throw back everything. I have been going over the fruit walls. The Apricots have, after all, done fairly well, and, if they do not fall off at the "stoning," we shall have nothing to complain of. Peaches and Nectarines are even worse than I had feared. There was not much bloom to begin with; then what bloom there was has set but badly; and now my most promising trees are overrun with aphis and with ants. We are doing everything that can be done to check the plague, but with only a partial success. I am told that ants do no harm, and, indeed, are useful as against the aphis. I do not know how this is. They seem to be most excellent friends, and the more ants there are the more the leaves curl up, and the more the aphis seems to thrive.[3] Last year one Peach-tree was completely killed, and this year two of them are looking very miserable. There has been no want of care or attention, but the enemy increases faster than we can destroy it. Is it a disease (so to speak) in a particular tree, which spreads to other trees? Or is it a blight in the air, against which we cannot guard? And what remedy is there when we have used tobacco-powder and Gishurst Compound, and all in vain? [3] I have since learned that the fact of the ant and the aphis being constantly together is well known; and further, that a sweet juice exudes from the aphis, on which the ant feeds. Pierre Huber declares that the aphis is the _milch-cow_ of the ant; and adds, "Who would have supposed that the ants were a _pastoral people_?" Two Fig-trees against the wall, in the sunniest corners, are promising a full crop for this district; another Fig-tree of a smaller variety close by bears nothing. The old Arabic proverb, which Emerson quotes, that "A Fig-tree looking upon a Fig-tree becometh fruitful," has not held good in this case. Lancashire, of course, is not the climate for Figs, but I should doubt whether Fig-trees are anywhere so common in England as they were 150 years ago, when Batty Langley of Twickenham wrote. He recommends them to be grown as dwarfs or standards as well as against a wall, and says they "are either white, black, yellow, grey, green, brown, purple, or violet-coloured, consisting of sixteen different kinds,"--but he adds that the white and the long purple do the best. The Pears against the wall have but little fruit, but the standards are setting well, and the Apples will not, I hope, have suffered from this spell of cold. The new grass walk, of which I wrote on January 5 as passing right through the garden, is shaded by some Apple-trees, and it is pleasant to see their flakes of rosy snow falling softly on the fresh green beneath. Between these old Apple-trees and the young standards I have planted, there was room, which I am making ornamental with cones of Scarlet Runners. We have some five circles on each side of the walk, and shall train up the bean tendrils by strings fastened to a centre pole, so that in summer we shall have a succession of tents of scarlet and green. I tried this method of training Scarlet Runners on a smaller scale last year. The effect was excellent. Then, too, close along the grass on either side I am planting a broad belt of Violets, so that this new walk will one day be the sweetest part of the garden. Lastly, to give colour to the end of the walk, where it is bounded by the hedge of the croft, I am sowing the large Everlasting Pea, and the strongest growing Nasturtium, that they may climb and trail among the Hawthorn and the clipped Beech. The outside borders and the lawn clumps are beautiful with flowering shrubs. No season is like "Lilac-tide," as it has been quaintly called, in this respect. Besides the Lilac itself, there are the long plumes of the white Broom, the brilliant scarlet of the hybrid Rhododendrons, the delicious blossoms, both pink and yellow, of the Azaleas, the golden showers of the Laburnum, and others too numerous to mention. A Judas-tree at an angle of the house is in bud. The Général Jacqueminot between the vineries has given us a Rose already. The cuckoo has been calling for days past among the trees beyond the orchard, and the song birds seem to be awake half through the night. The foliage of the large forest-trees is particularly fine this year. The Horse Chestnuts were the first in leaf, and each branch is now holding up its light of waxen blossom. The Elms came next, the Limes, the Beeches, and then the Oaks. Yet still "the tender Ash delays To clothe herself when all the woods are green," and is all bare as in mid-winter. This, however, if the adage about the Oak and the Ash be true, should be prophetic of a fine hot summer. _May 21._--I wonder if any effect of bedding out is finer than that which my mixed borders have now to show. They are at their very best, for it is the reign of the Pæony and the Iris. Great clumps of each, the one bowed down with the weight of its huge crimson globes, the other springing up erect with its purple-headed shafts, appear at intervals along the borders, and each lends a fresh grace to the form and colour of the other. Among other flowers in rare beauty just now are (as once in the garden of "the Sensitive Plant,") "Narcissi, the fairest among them all, Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's recess Till they die of their own dear loveliness." Was it, I wonder, owing to this story of Narcissus, and as an emblem of self-seeking, that the Greeks twined the white stars of this flower among the tangled locks of the Eumenides? The Snowflakes have been flowering abundantly, but they are now passing. The Greek name for the Snowflake is the Leucoion--literally the white Violet--and I think it possible that in a passage of Ovid, where he speaks of the Violet, the Poppy, and the Lily being broken by a storm, he is really thinking of the Snowflake. I am satisfied, as I have already said, that the _Iris_ is never (as Lord Stanhope asserted) called the Violet. My Auriculas are not as good as they should be in a Lancashire garden, for of all flowers it is the old Lancashire favourite. It is still known as the Basier (a corruption, no doubt, of Bear's Ear), and a pretty Lancashire ballad ends every verse with the refrain, "For the Basiers are sweet in the morning of May." The old-fashioned Columbine is in full bloom, as is also the Aquilegia glandulosa. I have planted the Aquilegia coerulea, but both the plant and some seeds which I have sown have failed me, and I half fear I may never be successful with this finest of the Columbines. Before I leave the Columbine, let me mention a mistake in one of Jean Ingelow's very prettiest poems, which her _literary_ critics seem never to have detected. She says-- "O Columbine, open your folded wrapper, Where two twin turtle-doves dwell." But she is confusing the Columbine with the Monk's Hood. The doves of the Columbine cluster round the centre like the doves of Pliny's vase. The doves of the Monk's Hood are only seen as you remove the "wrapper," and then the old idea was that they are drawing a "Venus' chariot." The accidental grouping of plants on a mixed border is often very happy. A week or two back I found growing out of a tuft of Forget-me-not a plant of the Black Fritillary. The blue eyes of the Forget-me-not seemed to be looking up into the hanging bells of the Fritillary, and were a pleasant contrast to the red-brown of its petals. Gerarde's name for the Fritillary was the "Turkie or Ginnie-hen Flower," and the name of the Fritillary was itself derived from the _fritillus_ or dice-box, which the common Fritillary was supposed to resemble in its markings. In the middle of each group of beds, which the grass walk divides, is a circular bed full of American shrubs. Among these shrubs are several rather fine Kalmias. Very often they do not flower at all, or at best bear a bloom only here and there. This year they are laden with blossom, which is now just ready to burst, and I shall have a show of Kalmia flowers such as I have not seen, since two-and-twenty years ago, I wandered among the Kalmia brakes in the forests of Virginia; and the flower is so beautiful--pink outside, and, as Ruskin says, inside "like the beating out of bosses in hollow silver, beaten out apparently in each petal by the stamens instead of a hammer." Another bed, which will be very effective in a day or two, is a bed of the double Persian Brier, pegged and trained. The festoons of yellow buds are all but out, and will be one mass of sweet and lovely little Roses. The Nemophila bed has done very well, but we did not plant it as thickly as we should have done, and there are bare places here and there. I have still to mention the great bushes, or rather trees, of Hawthorn, of which some stand in front of the dining-room windows, while others fling their perfume across the hedge that divides the garden and the croft. There is another Lancashire May song, from which I cannot but quote a few lines, as it is but little known. The Mayers come to the door and sing (or sang, rather, for the custom no longer holds with us):-- "We have been rambling all this night, And almost all this day; And now, returned back again, We've brought you a branch of May. A branch of May we have brought you, And at your door it stands; It is but a sprout, but it's well budded out, By the work of our Lord's hands." VII. The Summer Garden--The Buddleia--Ghent Azaleas--The Mixed Borders--Roses--The Green Rose. _July 13._--There is a longer interval than usual since my last notes; but I have been away among the Soldanellas and the Gentians of Switzerland, and I have had to leave my garden to the gardener's care. Now that I have returned, I find how much has gone on, and how much I must have missed. The Nemophila bed, I hear, gradually filled up and became a perfect sheet of brilliant blue. The Anemone bed was very good, and that of Ranunculus very fair; but best of all, as I knew it would be, was the bed of Brier Roses, with their trained branches laden with sweet little yellow blossoms. The Kalmias too are over, and the alpine Rhododendrons (Roses des Alpes) are also nearly at an end; but I have just found them wild upon the Wengern Alp, and that must be my consolation. There is nothing I am more sorry to have missed than the great shrub--almost tree--of Buddleia globosa, which grows in the centre of one of the herbaceous borders. It has been, as it always is, covered with its golden balls, smelling of honey, and recalling an old garden in Somersetshire which I knew years ago. It is certainly true that nothing calls up associations of the past as does the sense of smell. A whiff of perfume stealing through the air, or entering into an open window, and one is reminded of some far-off place on some long-past day when the same perfume floated along, and for one single moment the past will seem more real than the present. The Buddleia, the Magnolia, and one or two other flowers always have this power over me. I have still one Azalea, and only one, in blossom; it has a small and very fragrant white flower. I have been lately reading several articles about the fly-catching flowers. Is it generally known that no fly-catcher is more cruel and more greedy than the common Ghent Azalea, especially, I think, the large sweet yellow one? On one single blossom, which I gathered just before leaving home, at the end of May, I found no less than six flies; four of them were quite dead, and of one or two nothing remained but a shred of wing. Two others were still alive, but the Azalea had already nearly drained their life away, and held them so tightly with its viscid hairs that I could hardly release them from its grasp. On the other blossoms in the truss were other flies, three, four, or five; so that the entire Azalea shrub had probably caught some hundreds.[4] [4] See note II. on the Azalea viscosa. The mixed borders are almost past their best,--at least the hairy red Poppy, the day Lily, and the early purple Gladiolus are over, and, of course, the Irises and Pæonies. At present various Canterbury Bells, Valerian (which I saw bedded out the other day at Liége), and the white and orange Lily, are the gayest things we have. There is a Mullein, too, which is well worth a corner in any garden. Not long since I saw, in some book of rambles through our southern counties, the spire of a cathedral with its pinnacles and crockets compared to a spike of Mullein flower. It is certainly the Mullein (the distinctive name of which I do not know) which is now in bloom with me; and, indeed, the resemblance had occurred to me before I had read the book. But I hardly care to linger over other flowers, when the Rose-beds are in their fullest splendour. The summer Roses must have been better a fortnight back, but the perpetuals are as good as can be, and many of the summer Roses yet remain. I sometimes fear that the passion for large, well-formed blossoms, and the desire of novelty, will make some of the dear old Roses of our childhood pass into entire neglect; yet, when we think of a Rose, of which any poet has written, it will not be La France, or Sénateur Vaisse, or Alfred Colomb--beautiful as they are. When Herrick warns us-- "Gather ye Rosebuds while ye may," or when Hood tells us-- "It was the month of Roses, We plucked them as we passed," --their Roses were other than the favourite Roses of to-day. Perhaps they were the old Cabbage Rose, a great bush of which grows next to a bed of Lavender, and pleasantly scents the garden as you enter it. Perhaps they were the Portland Rose, of which I have some three beds, and than which no Rose is better for the making of Pot Pourri, as the young ladies in Mr. Leslie's picture may learn to their advantage. Perhaps they were the Moss Rose, with its mossed buds and fragrant blossoms, of which I have another bed entirely for itself. Perhaps they were the Maiden Blush, or the York and Lancaster, or the sweet old China, with its pink shell petals, which comes so soon and lingers on so late--the last Rose, not of summer but of autumn.[5] Then there are other old Roses which should not be neglected. The Rose Unique, which is a white Cabbage Rose, is one; the Rose Celeste, the thin delicate buds of which are so beautiful, is another. Then there is the little Rose de Meaux, and the old Damask, which indeed seems to have nearly disappeared. [5] It is mentioned in the _Baroness Bunsen's Life_ how Mrs. Delany loved to fill her china bowls with the pink buds of the Monthly Rose, surrounded by sea-green shoots of the young Lavender. It must have been one of these Roses, be sure, and not a Tea or a perpetual, which Lady Corisande finds in her garden for Lothair. Not of course that we are not grateful for the new Roses, with their brilliant colouring and their perfect form, but we are unwilling that the old should be forgotten. The Gloire de Dijon and Général Jaqueminot seem to me the most vigorous and most useful, if not the finest; but I have two old standards which are at the moment more effective than anything I have. One is Boule de Nantes, the other an old summer Rose, the name of which I do not know, but which, when fully out, much resembles the Comtesse de Jaucourt. They are not trained in any way, and I find, measuring round their heads, that one has a circumference of 12 feet, and the other of 12-1/2 feet. In the South of England it is no doubt different, but for us these are large dimensions; and certainly nothing I now get from the nursery gardens seems inclined to attain to half the size. There is one Rose in my garden which flourishes abundantly, but which is the only Rose, of which I should decline to give a cutting. It is so ugly that it is worth nothing, except as a curiosity; and if it ceased to be a curiosity it would be quite valueless. It is a _green_ Rose. I got a small plant from Baltimore, in America, some years ago, and I find it perfectly hardy. It flowers very freely, and all through the summer; the bud is a perfect Rose bud in appearance, but the open flower shows that the Rose is of monstrous and not natural growth; the petals are, it seems to me, no real petals at all, but an expansion of the green heart, which often appears in Roses, and which has here been so cultivated as to take the place of the natural Rose. These petals are coarse and irregular, and have serrated edges, with a very faint scent.[6] [6] Mr. Buist, of the Rosedale Nurseries, Philadelphia, has since written to the _Gardeners' Chronicle_ on the origin of the Green Rose:--"There appears to be some uncertainty in regard to the origin of this Rose. It is a sport from Rosa Indica (the China Rose of England and Daily Rose of America). It was caught in Charleston, S.C., about 1833, and came to Baltimore through Mr. R. Halliday, from whom I obtained it, and presented two plants to my old friend, Thomas Rivers, in 1837." How the Rose twines itself around all history and all literature! There are the Rose gardens of Persia, and the loves of the Rose and nightingale; there are those famous Roses once plucked in the Temple Garden, of which "the pale and bloody petals" (to use a fine expression of Hawthorne's) were strewed over many an English battle-field; there is the golden Rose which the Pope gives as the best of gifts to the foremost among Catholic monarchs--emblem at once of a fading earthly life, and of the unfading life in heaven. Of English poets is there one, who does not celebrate the Rose, and of all is there one, who draws from it a more tender morality than Waller in "Go, lovely Rose"? But no nation ever loved the Rose as did the Greeks, and it was _their_ legend that told us how the Rose sprang to birth. Bion's "Lament for Adonis" has been translated by Mrs. Browning, and I know no translation equal to it in general fidelity and vigour of expression. It appears to me, on the whole, perhaps the very best translation in the language. Here are the lines which tell this part of the story:-- "Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead; She wept tear after tear with the blood which was shed, And both turned into flowers for the earth's garden close,-- Her tears to the Windflower, his blood to the Rose." Another still more famous Greek poem about the Rose is one by Sappho, which Mrs. Browning has also most beautifully translated--a fit task, which unites the names of the two great poetesses of Greece and England. The poem begins:-- "If Zeus chose us a king of the flowers in his mirth, He would call to the Rose and would royally crown it: For the Rose, ho! the Rose, is the grace of the earth; Is the light of the plants that are growing upon it." No wonder the Greeks wove their wreaths of the Rose, or that "under the Rose" they passed many a gay and happy hour, to be kept in memory, if untold in words. My bedding-out is of course finished, but of this I must speak on the next occasion. The weather has been hot, and rain will now be welcome. VIII. The Fruit Crop--Hautbois Strawberries--Lilium Auratum--Sweet Williams--Carnations--The Bedding-out. _August 15._--It is, I find, a dangerous thing to leave a garden masterless for even a month. The best of gardens will probably fall short in some respect, and I certainly discover several matters which would have been otherwise had I remained at home. My readers will hardly be interested by the details of my grievances; it is pleasanter to tell where we have been successful. The wall fruit, however, I must mention. The ants and the aphis, and possibly some frost, have destroyed the Peach crop utterly. There is not a single Peach, and the Nectarines, which are certainly a hardier fruit with us, only number thirty in all! The Apricots have done fairly, and were so early that we gathered three or four in the last days of July--a full month before their usual time. The Moorpark Apricot, which we owe to Sir William Temple, is still the best. By the way, he tells us that the Roman name for Apricots is Mala epirotica. Is this the root of the word Apricot, or may we still look upon it as from "apricus," the "sunny fruit,"--the fruit that loves the sun and has caught its own bright colour?[7] [7] I believe, as a matter of fact, that the more received derivation of Apricot is "præcox." Of the smaller fruit Cherries have been a failure, with the exception indeed of the Morellos. Gooseberries have done well, though I fear I cannot compete with the giant Gooseberries of a Lancashire Gooseberry show. The Currants, whether against the wall or on bushes, have been capital, and the black Currants would take a prize at any show. We now net up some Currant bushes for the later autumn. The Raspberries, which we train in arches, have done tolerably, and we should have a second crop of the white ones in October. The Strawberries have been an average crop, and the little Alpines have been capital--so large, so highly flavoured, and so redolent of Switzerland! I am trying, too, for the first time, to grow Hautbois Strawberries, which are almost unknown with us. We are as yet not very successful, and I well know how capricious a fruit it is as regards setting. A year or two ago I was breakfasting with a well-known and most courtly physician in London, who is since dead. A dish of beautiful Hautbois was on the table. We were all admiring. "Yes," said our host, "they are now getting very rare. Sometimes a patient says to me, 'May I not have a little fruit?' 'Certainly not!' is my answer. 'Surely a few Strawberries?' Then, that I may not seem a great curmudgeon, I say, 'Well, a few Strawberries, but be sure they are Hautbois;' _and I know they can't get them!_" To ordinary Strawberries a Hautbois is what a Tea Rose is to ordinary Roses; it has an aroma all its own, and unlike all others. In the flower garden the finest bed is one which I have now had for the last three years. It is a bed of Lilium auratum, with the dark Heliotrope growing in between. I take up the Lily bulbs for the winter, bring them on in heat, and then plant them out. They are really beautiful, and each year they seem more vigorous. Some have four blossoms, some have six or eight, and one has as many as ten. The strong perfume lies heavy on that end of the garden, and I think this Lily should never be brought inside the house. It is curious how the blossoms vary; in some the golden stripes are so much deeper, in some the dark claret spots are so much more numerous. Another bed is of Lilium speciosum, planted to take the place of a bed of Sweet William, which was quite a glow of colour in the earlier part of the summer. This dear old Sweet William, which was the favourite in the old cottage gardens, and which, with the Lad's-love and the Pink, was the chosen flower for the buttonhole of the country boy, is now far too much neglected. Its rich velvet clusters of twenty different shades make a bed of exquisite beauty. It is over too soon, but it can be _supplanted_ (may I say?) by something else. In a second bed of Sweet Williams I placed Gladiolus bulbs, and now they are coming into flower from out the green cushion, from which we have cut the withered blossoms. A bed of the sweet little pink Pinks has of course been over some time, and though the bed is now quite bare of bloom--for I cannot disturb the roots--it is well worth sacrificing some colour in autumn for the three summer weeks of delicious perfume. Clusters of white Pinks have been no less sweet on the herbaceous borders, and now the Clove Carnations take their place. It is curious that so familiar a flower as the Pink should be scarcely mentioned by the great poets. Shakspeare only just names it, and I do not think Marvell does. Milton, in his _Lycidas_, barely alludes to "the white Pink," and Cowley has no separate poem in its praise. Indeed, one may say generally that, with the exception of the Rose, the flowers in which the poets have rejoiced, and which they have immortalised, are the flowers of spring. Cowley, who wrote as a horticulturist, is the almost solitary exception. There is, however, a rather pretty and fanciful little song of Herrick's "To Carnations:"-- "Stay while ye will, or goe; And leave no scent behind ye: Yet trust me, I shall know The place where I may find ye: Within my Lucia's cheek, Whose livery ye weare, Play ye at hide or seek, I'm sure to find ye there." For the ordinary bedding-out of ordinary gardens I have a real contempt. It is at once gaudy and monotonous. A garden is left bare for eight months in the year, that for the four hottest months there shall be a blaze of the hottest colour. The same combinations of the same flowers appear wherever you go. Calceolarias, Verbenas, and Zonal Pelargoniums, with a border of Pyrethrum or Cerastium--and that is about all. There is no thought and no imagination. The "bedding-stuff" is got together and planted out, and each year of planting is a repetition of the year before; and thus, as Forbes Watson says so truly, "Gardeners are teaching us to think too little about the plants individually, and to look at them chiefly as an assemblage of beautiful colours. It is difficult in those blooming masses to separate one from another; all produce so much the same sort of impression. The consequence is, people see the flowers on our beds without caring to know anything about them, or even to ask their names." Any interest in the separate plants is impossible, and then they are, almost without exception, scentless plants, to which no association attaches, and which are cared for merely because they give a line or patch of red or yellow to the garden. "The lust of the eye and the pride of life,"--there is little purer pleasure to be drawn from "bedding stuff" than those words convey. However, there is already a reaction setting in, and the use of Echeverias and the like gives evidence at least of a more refined taste in colour, though in themselves nothing can be less interesting. Meanwhile, as some bedded-out beds will always be necessary, we may try to diversify them as much as possible. The following are among my most successful:--A bed of Agapanthus, with its beautiful foliage and sky-blue umbels, is surrounded with bright yellow Peacock Gazania; a bed of scarlet Lobelia cardinalis (is this the "Cardinal Flower" that American writers speak of?) is edged with the white Ribbon-grass, and that again with the blue Lobelia speciosa; and a second bed of the same Lobelia cardinalis, the bronze foliage of which harmonises so well with the spikes of glowing red, has the Lobelia speciosa next to it, and the Golden Pyrethrum as a border. Another bed is of Humea elegans, edged with the white variegated-leaved Miss Kingsbury Pelargonium, and that again with the blue Lobelia. Into other beds I have introduced the variegated Aloe and the Aralia, as centres for the more dwarf and brightly-coloured Verbenas. Of the variegated Pelargoniums I find the Beauty of Calderdale the most effective and most vigorous, and though I am told "Mrs. Pollock has a most excellent constitution," she does less well with me. One other bed, which is now over, has been too pretty for me not to mention; it was a bed of Antirrhinums of all colours, and I shall certainly repeat it another year. Lastly, I have a large bed of Clematis Jackmanii in full glory. Last year it did fairly well, but the plants were comparatively weak, and the flowers trailed upon the ground. This year the plants have grown vigorously, and I have trained Withies all across the bed, so that the purple blossoms twine and cling around them, and are now a perfect mass of blossom. On the house a Clematis lanuginosa, with its large discs of lilac-grey, is also very handsome, and seems to be doing as well as possible. In the outer garden a great cluster of yellow Broom has made the border near the front door aglow with golden light; and in the vinery a beautiful Clethra arborea--The Lily of the Valley Tree--has been laden with bunches of its delicate and delicately-scented flowers. The weather has broken completely during the last fortnight, and it is now too much, and not too little rain, of which we are complaining. IX. Weeds--Tomatos--Tritomas--Night-scented Flowers--Tuberoses --Magnolia--Asters--Indian Corn. _September 4._--"The rain it raineth every day." It finds its way through the old timbers of my first vinery, and the Grapes have to be cut out by dozens. It drenches the Pelargoniums and Verbenas, till their blossoms are half washed away. It soaks the petals of the great Lilies, and turns them into a sickly brown. The slugs, I suppose, like it, for they crawl out from the thick Box hedges and do all the harm they can. Weeds, too, of every kind flourish luxuriantly, and we find it no easy work to keep ahead of them. The author of _My Summer in a Garden_--the most humorous little book about gardening ever written--never had such trouble with "pusley" (what is "pusley"?) as I have with Groundsel. I have enough to feed all the canary birds in the parish. Then, besides the more ordinary and vulgar weeds, I have two varieties of Willow-herb, which have seeded themselves all over the borders, and are for ever appearing where I had fondly imagined they had been utterly uprooted. A yellow Oxalis, too, has turned into a nuisance, and spreads where it was never wanted. Meanwhile the summer fruits are over. The few Nectarines we had have been gathered, and most of the Figs. The Apple-room begins to fill with Keswick Codlings for cooking purposes, and Franklin's Golden Pippin for dessert. As yet none of our Pears are ripe. The Mulberry tree in the orchard drops its fruit before it is mature, but it is rather too much shaded with the orchard trees, and, were it otherwise, there has been but little sun to get to it. We use the Mulberries, however, for tarts and for Mulberry ice, which I can thoroughly recommend. The Tomatos are reddening in numbers along the garden walls. We grow two sorts, Keye's Prolific and the Orangefield Dwarf, and I hardly know which is best. Formerly the Tomato was known as the Pomum amoris, or Love-apple, and was apparently grown only as a garden ornament, and not for use.[8] Cowley mentions it in his "Flora," with the Foxglove and the Canna. Gerarde says of it, "In Spaine and those hot regions they use to eate the Apples prepared and boiled with pepper, salt, and oil; but they yeelde very little nourishment to the bodie, and the same naught and corrupt." Nor does Batty Langley, writing in 1728, mention Tomatos, though he gives long lists of "raw sallets," which include Nasturtium blossoms, Tarragon, Borage flowers, and Sorrel. [8] See Note III. on the "Solanum" tribe. The handsomest of our beds at present (except always the beds of Jackman's Clematis and scarlet Lobelia) is a permanent bed of Tritomas, which hold up their orange and crimson maces thickly as possible. These Tritomas would, however, show to most advantage if planted with the Arundo conspicua, the white plumes of which form the happiest contrast to their glowing spikes. The Pampas-grass would be better still, but I have not been able to make them blossom together. A patch of Tritomas on the corner of the lawn has been a failure, owing to the carelessness of a gardener, who cut them down with the grass in mowing. One other bed, also a permanent one, I have still to mention. It is a mass of Anemone japonica[9] alba with Statice latifolia round it. This Anemone, with its white blossoms surrounding a yellow centre, and looking just like some very perfect white wild Rose, is a beautiful flower, and the grey branched sprays of the Statice harmonise wonderfully with it. [9] Why is this Anemone called _japonica_? It was first brought from _Simla_ by Lady Amherst (the wife of the Governor-General of India), as her granddaughter assures me. All along the vinery border has been a long row of Stocks, Asters, and Mignonette, and the scent has been delicious, especially towards evening, or after a warm shower of rain. In hot weather the garden is almost too hot when the sun is full upon it, and I have always taken care to grow the night-scented Stock and other flowers of the kind, so that the garden, as evening comes on, may be as sweet as can be; but this year these annuals, with several others, have done no good. On the other hand, the large tall Oenothera opens hundreds of yellow stars each night; and, better still, the beautiful Oenothera taraxacifolia, on the herbaceous borders, unfolds a number of its large white blossoms, which gleam out among the rich green foliage close upon the ground. Next year I think I will have an entire bed of this white Oenothera; it will be worth the space. The Dahlias have been good with me this year, but I have done badly in Hollyhocks. The Tobacco-plants, which I generally grow, and which were last year so handsome, have also failed me; and so have the Ice-Plants, the Egg-plants, and the Amaranthus salicifolius, nor do I see any sufficient reason for it. The Tuberose, the flower which, even in the perfect garden of the "Sensitive Plant," was said to be "The sweetest flower for scent that grows," has been very sweet with us. But we dare not leave it in our garden; we bring the pots, with their tall green wands tipped with delicious tufts of bloom, into the centre hall, and the warm perfume rises up the staircase, and floats along the open gallery above. _September 19._--I have just gathered from the wall between the vineries the finest blossom I ever happen to have seen of what I maintain is the finest flower in the world--the Magnolia grandiflora--so large and round is it, of such a rich cream colour, and with such a rich strong scent. The Tuberose even seems a plebeian flower by the side of the Magnolia. Once only have I seen this Magnolia growing upon a lawn as a standard, and I never saw any flowering tree so grand, as its dark green leaves lifted up the large white chalices to catch the freshest dews from heaven. But what must it be where this beautiful tree grows wild, as on the "Hills with high Magnolia overgrown," where Gertrude of Wyoming was used to wander? And, as I gather this Magnolia, the feeling comes across me that now the year is over as regards the garden. We may have another month of flowers, but they are the flowers that linger on, not the flowers that open out new pleasures for us; the Michaelmas Daisy alone remains,--for "the Michaelmas Daisy blows lonely and late,"--before we reach the Chrysanthemums and winter. We have now had all that summer and autumn had to give us, and it seems as though Nature had exhausted all her energies, and were ready for a long rest. The Fuchsias, that come up year by year, are still in great beauty. The Jasmine, with variegated leaves, that clings round an old brick pedestal in the middle of a Kalmia bed, still opens its white blossoms. The Escallonia, that grows up the house, will hang its red flowers in front of the library windows for a fortnight still to come. But the year is virtually at an end, and we talk only of the bulbs for the spring, or of the moving of shrubs in the early winter. Yet I find two things, of which I have still to speak. The Asters have been good. I had planted them in among the standard Rose beds, and very gay they are. Many years have passed since I found the wild Aster of America growing on the hill-side at Concord behind Hawthorne's house, and was reminded of Emerson's lines-- "Chide me not, laborious band, For the idle flowers I brought; Every Aster in my hand Goes home loaded with a thought." Then, by the side of the vinery, is growing a little row of Indian Corn. The plants stand each from 9 to 11 feet high, and each bears its flowering plume above, and its tasselled ears below. There are two varieties, one yellow and one red. I brought them on in heat, and planted them out when they were about a foot in height. This year, as for three years past, they have ripened with me, and on one plant, strangely enough, a piece of the flower has itself fructified! I am not botanist enough to understand how this has happened.[10] [10] The editor of the _Gardeners' Chronicle_ explains--"It is simply an admixture of the seed-bearing flowers with the pollen-forming flowers--a not very uncommon event, though ordinarily the male and female blossoms are borne in distinct spikes or panicles." The effect is certainly very curious. X. St. Luke's Summer--The Orchard--The Barberry--White Haricot Beans--Transplanting--The Rockery. _October 15._--This is St. Luke's summer, or the "Indian summer" as it is called in America. The air is soft and warm and still. The yellow leaves fall from the Beeches in countless numbers, but slowly and noiselessly, and as if reluctant to let go their hold. The rooks come back to us again across the fields, and clamour among the empty nests, which were their homes in spring. The "remontant" Roses are putting out their latest blooms, and the Antirrhinums, Mulleins, and some few other flowers, show themselves "remontant" also. There is an aromatic fragrance everywhere from the withering leaves and from the lingering flowers. But there is sadness with it all. We cannot deceive ourselves, but we know that all is now over, and that at any moment the frost may come, and leave us nothing but decay and death. There are some lines in Morris's _Earthly Paradise_--the very best lines, I think, in the whole poem--which speak of some old men's last peaceful days, as "--like those days of later autumn-tide, When he who in some town may chance to bide Opens the window for the balmy air, And, seeing the golden hazy sky so fair, And from some city garden hearing still The wheeling rooks the air with music fill-- Sweet, hopeful music--thinketh, Is this spring? Surely the year can scarce be perishing. But then he leaves the clamour of the town, And sees the withered scanty leaves fall down; The half-ploughed field, the flowerless garden plot; The full dark stream, by summer long forgot; The tangled hedges where, relaxed and dead, The twining plants their withered berries shed, And feels therewith the treachery of the sun, And knows the pleasant time is well-nigh done." Was picture ever more truly painted?--and any day it may be true for us. Our Apple harvest has been over for nearly a fortnight; but how pleasant the orchard was while it lasted, and how pleasant the seat in the corner by the Limes, whence we see the distant spire on the green wooded slopes. The grey, gnarled old Apple-trees have, for the most part, done well. The Ribston Pippins are especially fine, and so is an apple, which we believe to be the King of the Pippins. On the other hand, we have some poor and worthless sorts--probably local varieties,--which no pomologist, however able and obliging, would undertake to name. One of the prettiest of Apples--and one of the best, too--is the Delaware. It has an orange-red colour, and reminds one almost of an Orange as it hangs upon the tree. It has a crisp, delicious flavour, but requires to be eaten as soon as it is ripe, for otherwise it soon gets mealy. Indeed all eating apples, with but few exceptions, are best when freshly gathered, or, better still, when, on some clear soft day, they have just fallen on the grass, and lie there, warmed by the rays of the autumn sun. Of my Pears I have not much to say: the new trees I have planted have hardly come into bearing, and the old ones are of inferior quality. In another year or two, however, I shall hope to be supplied through all the winter months up to the middle of the spring. Plums have done but little, and Damsons, which are supposed to succeed so well in Lancashire, are an absolute failure. I must not forget the Red Siberian Crab, which has been laden with fruit, and one tree of which should find its corner in every garden. Last of all, I have to speak of the Barberry. There is a great bush which stands by the grass walk in the walled garden. In the summer it was a mass of scented yellow blossoms, round which bees were always buzzing. Then, as the year grew older, bunches of bright coral hung over it from top to bottom. We consider our Barberries as not the least important of our fruit crop. We preserve them, some in bunches, some picked like Currants. We crystallize them in sugar, and they become delicious _bonbons_. We steep them in salt and water, and they keep as a gay garnish for cold meat or game. Our Barberry-tree is not looking its best at present; a big branch has withered, and I must cut it in. _October 24._--Since I wrote we have had a great gale, which has swept over us, and torn down an Elm in the wood and a fine Chestnut in the croft. I could ill spare either of them, and it is but poor comfort to think that our piled-up logs will outlast the winter. It was the "wild west wind," of which Shelley sings, which has done the mischief; and smaller branches, lying scattered all over the lawn and walks, show us where it passed. We are now preparing our Mushroom bed, for we shall need it as the green vegetables fail us. I have said but little about the kitchen garden, for I do not suppose it differs much from that of other people. Our Peas have, however, served us particularly well, and we had our last dish on October 1--later than I ever before have known them here. One excellent vegetable I have generally grown, and I would thoroughly recommend it to any one who has space to spare: it is the French White Haricot. It is not often seen with us though it is so very common in France. It is a species of French Bean, of which you eat the white bean itself instead of slicing up the pod. I suspect that, taking England through, there are very few gardens where the White Haricot is found. We are now busy with our planting. Some Rhododendrons and Aucubas in the borders near the front gate have been pining away--starved by the Elm-tree roots around them. We are trenching up the ground, cutting away what smaller roots we can, and putting in manure and some new shrubs. We are planting a row of Hollies to screen a wall towards the lane. We are moving a Salisburia adiantifolia, with its strange foliage like a gigantic Maidenhair Fern, from a corner into a more prominent place. We shall then set to work to re-arrange the rockery. This, I think, I have never mentioned. In the middle of the little wood was once a pond, but I found the stagnant water and the soaking leaves, which fell and rotted there, no advantage to the place; I therefore drained away the water and planted beds of Azaleas and Rhododendrons along the slopes, with Primroses, Violets, and Blue Bells, and in the middle of all I have lately placed a tuft of Pampas-grass. On one slope I have managed a rockery with a stone tank in the centre, where for three summers past has flowered an Aponogeton distachyon. I have means of turning on fresh water into the tank, and I am well repaid for any trouble, as the little white boat-blossoms, laden with delicious spicy scent, rise up to the surface of their tiny lake. The rockery is, however, too much under the shade and drip of trees, and I cannot hope that delicate alpine flowers should grow there. Sedums and Saxifragas, Aquilegias, Aubrietias, the white Arabis, and the yellow Moneywort, besides Ferns of various kinds, all do well. In another part of the wood is a loggery, which I have entirely covered with the large white Bindweed, which rambles about at its own will, and opens its blossoms, sometimes a dozen at a time, all through the summer months. Past that, there is a little patch of Bluebells, then more beds of Rhododendrons, and then a short walk, which takes us by a private path to the village church, and then by another branch returns again towards the house. In this part of the grounds there is still room for planting, and I shall probably try some Tree Rhododendrons. A standard Honeysuckle, which I have endeavoured to grow, has done no good as yet; its shoots get nipped by the north-east winds, but I do not yet despair. The most useful undergrowth I find is the Elder; it thrives wonderfully, and is covered with blossom and with berry. One variety, the Parsley-leaved Elder, is here equally hardy with the common Elder, and much more graceful in its growth. We have now to take in our tender and half-hardy plants, for fear of a sudden frost. The large Myrtles, which have stood out in their boxes, must be placed in safety, and the Lobelia cardinalis and other bedding-plants, which we may need next year, must be removed. XI. The Wood and the Withered Leaves--Statues--Sun-dials--The Snow--Plans for the Spring--Conclusion. _November 7._--The soft autumn weather still spares what flowers the rains have left us, and here and there are signs as if of another spring. Violets along the grass walks, Strawberries in flower, and to-day a little yellow Brier Rose blossoming on an almost leafless spray, remind us of the early months of the year that is no more. But here, too, are some of the flowers of November. The Arbutus has again opened its bunches of waxen pink, and the Chrysanthemums are again blooming on the shrubbery beds. The year has all but completed its circle since first I wrote these notes, and I speak to-day of the flowers, the same, yet not the same, as those of which I wrote eleven months ago. The trees have lost nearly every leaf, and our little wood is bare as the wood wherein poor Millevoye, so soon to die, once strolled when "De la dépouille de nos bois L'automne avait jonché la terre; Le bocage était sans mystère Le rossignol était sans voix." "The autumn's leafy spoil lay strewn The forest paths along; The wood had lost its haunted shade, The nightingale his song." Had there been in happier days a "mystère" beyond the charm of waving branches and whispering leaves? Another French poem on a withered leaf is better known, for it was Macaulay who translated Arnault's verses, and rendered the last three lines so perfectly:-- "Je vais où va toute chose, Où va la feuille de Rose, Et la feuille de Laurier." "Thither go I, whither goes Glory's laurel, Beauty's rose." Among my ideas--I cannot call it plan, for my mind is not quite made up about it--I half fancy putting up a statue of some sort in a nook in the little wood, where the Beeches grow the tallest and the Elders are the thickest. Such things were once common, and then they got so common, and often so out of place, that they became absurd. Every villa garden had its statue and its rockery. Batty Langley has an amusing chapter about statues. He says--"Nothing adds so much to the beauty and grandeur of gardens as fine statues, and nothing is more disagreeable than when they are wrongly placed; as Neptune on a terrace walk, mound, &c.; or Pan, the god of sheep, in a large basin, canal, or fountain;" and then, "to prevent such absurdities," he gives the most elaborate directions. Mars and Jupiter, Fame and Venus, Muses and Fates, Atlas, Hercules, and many more, are for open centres or lawns. Sylvanus, Actæon, and Echo, are among those recommended for woods. Neptune, Oceanus, and the Naiades, will do for canals and fish-ponds. Pomona and the Hesperides for orchards, Flora and Runcina ("the goddess of weeding") for flower-gardens, Bacchus for vineyards, Æolus for high terrace walks, and "the goddess Vallonta" for valleys. He gives the right deities for paddocks, for wheat-fields, for "ambuscados," and for beehives. In short there is no place for which he does not think a statue ornamental and appropriate. I hope he would approve of my own very humble idea, which is a statue of Hyacinthus,--for, where I thought of placing it, the wild Hyacinths or Bluebells will come clustering up, and make the grass all blue. The poetry of gardens is so entirely neglected in these days of "bedding stuff," that it is well to do anything that can properly be done, without extravagance of taste or method, to revive it. In the inner garden I think also of placing a sun-dial, which would be in good keeping with the rather formal character of the beds. Mrs. Gatty's beautiful book on sun-dials should help me to a motto. They are of two sorts--the mottoes that warn, and the mottoes that console. "The night cometh,"[11] or "Pereunt et imputantur," are good examples of the one; "Horas non numero nisi serenas," or "Post tenebras lucem spero," are the best instances of the other. But there is a verse by Mrs. Browning, which (if I may so adapt it by a slight alteration in the second line) would make a finer inscription still-- "See, the shadow on the dial, In the lot of every one, Marks the passing of the trial, Proves the presence of the sun." [11] Many years ago Miss Martineau told me of this motto, and I see that in her "Autobiography" she speaks of it as "perfect in its way." She however finally adopted for her own sun-dial the happier "Come, light! visit me!" _Nov. 28._--We wake to find snow all thick upon the ground, over lawn and flower-bed, and the children are out betimes rolling up huge snowballs on the grass. This snow is the best thing possible for the garden, for we have already had a night or two of sharp frost, which killed all it could reach of our herbaceous plants. "Autumn's last delights were nipped by early cold," as in the garden of Lord Houghton's "Old Manorial Hall," and the Dahlias and the Fuchsias were all shrivelled into brown unsightly tufts. We have covered up the Fig-trees on the wall. We have trenched up the shrubbery borders. We have done our last planting--a Catalpa in one place, a Paulownia in another--and some more fruit-trees in the orchard. We have planted our bulbs and sowed our autumn annuals for spring gardening. I was so pleased with the Nemophila bed of last May that I am repeating the experiment on a larger scale. I shall have one bed of Nemophila, and another of Virginian Stock. I shall have a bed of pink Saponaria edged with white. Along the Vine border I shall stretch a ribbon of white Saponaria, blue Myosotis, pink Silene, and many-coloured Sweet Peas. Then again, at the end of the grass walk, where it runs up against the hedge of the croft, I am fixing an arched trelliswork of wire, with a wire seat inside, and over it I shall train and trail the broad leaves of the Aristolochia and the scarlet blossoms of the Tropæolum speciosum. The vineries are of course at rest; but in them are Roman Hyacinths, now ready for the house, and pots of Polyanthus Narcissus will be also ready within a week. The porch of the house is filled on either side with stages of Chrysanthemums, and the fine glossy foliage of an Aralia looks well in the inside vestibule. And now I bring these notes to an end. My aim has been to show how much interest and pleasure may be gathered out of a garden of moderate pretensions, and with no great appliances in the way of glass, nor any advantage in the way of climate. I have endeavoured, too, to reclaim for our English gardens those old flowers, which Shakespeare and Milton and Marvell and Cowley loved. They have been far too long neglected for flowers, whose only charm is charm of colour and a certain evenness of growth. The ordinary bedded garden of to-day is as inferior to the Elizabethan gardens of old, as all gardens anywhere must be to the delights, which fancy conjures up in the enchanted gardens of Armida, or the bowered pleasance of Boccaccio. Meanwhile we can only do what best we can, and when all else fails we can say, like Candide, "Il faut cultiver _notre_ jardin." And so I bid a hearty farewell to those readers, who for months past have followed the fortunes, and shared with me the hopes, of a year in a Lancashire garden. SUPPLEMENTARY CHAPTER. Flowering Shrubs--Yuccas--Memorial Trees--Ranunculus-- Pansies--Canna Indica--Summer Flowers--Bluets-- Fruit-blossoms and Bees--Strawberry Leaves--Garden Sounds-- Mowing--Birds--The Swallow--Pleasures of a Garden. Almost more interesting than herbaceous plants are the flowering shrubs. Most beautiful of all, if, indeed, it may be called a shrub, is the Buddleia Globosa, in the inner garden, which I have already mentioned. When June draws to its close, it is laden with thousands of blossoms like little golden oranges, and fills the air with honied scent. It is the largest Buddleia I ever happen to have seen, for it stands sixteen feet high, and stretches its branches over a round bed of blue Iris to a circumference of seventy feet. And just about the time when the Buddleia is in bloom, masses of the sweet homely English Elder, screening off the little wood, will perfume all the approach to the house. Common enough it is, but delightful in its dark foliage, its rich creamy blossoms, its clusters of purple berries. We do not make the use of it we should, and Elderberry water and Elderberry Wine are known to me by name alone, but the berries are excellent for tarts and puddings. One shrub which I planted a year or two ago has answered far better than I had any right to hope. It is the Desfontainea Spinosa. It is so like a holly that it puzzles everybody who sees, for the first time, the scarlet and yellow tubes of blossom which stand out among the prickly leaves. The year before last it flowered twice with me, but the cruel winter we have just had has cut it sadly, and it will be long before it will recover. I have spoken of trying whether by the planting of a second Arbutus I could make my beautiful old shrub fruit. The result has been quite successful, and I have had for two years past bright red berries hanging down among the pale waxen blossoms and the dark-green leaves. The Magnolia between the vineries has become prodigal of flowers as it has grown older, and last year I had no less than ten blossoms from it, and it is still young. The Magnolia (also a Grandiflora) on the house has also begun to flower, but I had nearly lost it altogether, and the story is rather a curious one. I had noticed that both it and other creepers were looking unhappy, and I could not guess the reason. The Escallonia showed bare branches in many places, the Ceanothus seemed shrunken and brown, and a Gloire de Dijon Rose did no good. At last it occurred to my gardener that the galvanised wire, which I had put up to avoid driving nails into the stone work of the windows, was to blame. I pulled it all down, coated it thickly over with paint, and, when it was again put up, all the creepers seemed to start into fresh life, and grew strong and vigorous. On a patch of green grass near the house stands a Yucca Gloriosa, which I am always hoping will flower, but it has never done so yet. Not long ago I was at a stately place in Shropshire, and at the end of a broad walk, where a circle of Yuccas had been planted, there were no less than five in full flower, throwing up pale jets of blossom, like fountains, towards the sky. I never saw anything more perfect in its way. But it is said that the right time to see a Yucca is by moonlight. There is a very striking passage in one of the letters of the most remarkable of American women, Margaret Fuller (afterwards Countess D'Ossoli), in which she says:-- "This flower" (it was the Yucca Filamentosa) "was made for the moon as the Heliotrope is for the sun, and refuses other influences, or to display her beauty in any other light. Many white flowers are far more beautiful by day. The lily, for instance, with its firm thick leaf, needs the broadest light to manifest its purity, but these transparent leaves of greenish white, which look dull in the day, are melted by the moon to glistening silver...." The second evening I went out into the garden again. In clearest moonlight stood my flower, more beautiful than ever. The stalk pierced the air like a spear; all the little bells had erected themselves around it in most graceful array, with petals more transparent than silver, and of softer light than the diamond. Their edges were clearly but not sharply defined--they seemed to have been made by the moon's rays. The leaves, which had looked ragged by day, now seemed fringed by most delicate gossamer, and the plant might claim, with pride, its distinctive epithet of _filamentosa_. On another grass-plot near I have one of the beautiful Retinosporas of Japan, which was one day planted for me by a friend. He is the poet, who says that-- "Eastward roll the orbs of heaven, Westward tend the thoughts of men: Let the Poet, nature-driven, Wander Eastward now and then:--" and this tree, while it lives, will remind me of the East, and of him who wrote these lines. But there are other pleasant ways of recalling one's friends to memory. I never stay anywhere, where there is a garden, without bringing back with me some one or more shrubs, as a remembrance of a beautiful place or happy hours; and, when I plant them, I fasten to them a label, mentioning their old home, and thus I am reminded--now of a quaint low house covered with creepers and nestling among the hills of Wales--now of a magnificent castle with its pleasance in the north of Ireland,--now of a great hall in Scotland, where a wild glen runs down past the garden to the woods,--now of an old English abbey, where the flowers of to-day spring up among the ruins of a thousand years ago. Among the flowers in the inner garden, which have well repaid me during the last year or two, have been the Anemones--delightful old flowers--"pied wind-flowers," Shelley calls them,--which first sprang to birth when Venus wept Adonis. Then I have had two successful beds of Ranunculus; one was prettily and fancifully mottled; the other was of the finest scarlet,--a scarlet so intense that it seemed to be almost black in the inner shadows of the petals. A gifted American lady once said to me--"Does not black seem to underlie all bright scarlet?" and I have thought of this as I have looked at this bed of Ranunculus, and I think of it often as I see the red coats of our soldiers passing by. I have often noticed, too, that, in an evening, when there is still light enough to see flowers, that are yellow, or blue, or pink, the blossoms of a scarlet Pelargonium give forth no colour, but look as if cut out of some soft black velvet. Another spring bed, from which I had hoped much, has disappointed me. It was a bed of Crown Imperials, but for some reason they flowered irregularly and produced no effect. But the individual flowers of some were magnificent. I had never examined a Crown Imperial properly before, and never knew that its great beauty lay in the little circlet of pearls--nectaries, I suppose they are--which lie at the bottom of each orange bell. They are quite exquisite in their grey and white glittering movement, as the light plays upon them, and are more like pearls than anything else in nature. Among my humbler flowers, of which I have somehow made no mention, is the Pansy, yet few flowers have more associations connected with them. The Pansy--the _Heartsease_ we still sometimes call it--is Shakespeare's "Love in Idleness," and Milton's "Pansy freak'd with jet." The American poet, Edgar Poe, speaks of the "beautiful Puritan Pansies;" and I remember a fine wild passage in one of this same poet's little-known essays, where two angels are talking, and one of them says--"We will swoop outward into the starry meadows beyond Orion, where for Pansies, and Violets, and Heartsease, are the beds of the triplicate and triple-tinted suns." Last year my finest bed was one of the Canna Indica, in which every plant threw up grand broad leaves and spikes of crimson or yellow blossom. Why is not the Canna far more common in all our gardens? At present one sees it in public parks, or where gardening on a great scale is carried on, but in smaller gardens it is very rare, and yet it is easy enough to grow; and once I think it must have been more known than it is at present. Gerarde speaks of it as "the flowering reed," and gives a very fair illustration of it. He adds, however, "Myself have planted it in my garden divers times, but it never came to flowering or seeding, for that it is very impatient to endure the injury of our cold climate." Cowley, too, speaks of the "lustre of the Indian flowering reed;" and Dr. Darwin, in his _Loves of the Plants_, gives it (with its single pistil and stamen), as the best type of the conjugal fidelity of flowers, and tells how-- "The tall Canna lifts his curlèd brow, Erect to heaven;" adding, in prose, that "the seeds are used as shot by the Indians, and are strung for prayer-beads in some Catholic countries." Indeed, the plant is often called the "Indian Shot," and as the seeds, shining, hard and black, ripened with me last year, I can understand how appropriate is the name. A bed of double Potentillas, some red, some yellow, and some with the two colours mingled, has been very fine; and so has a bed of hybrid Bulbous Begonias, which seem quite hardy. I plant the blue Lobelia between them, and it contrasts pleasantly with their crimson and orange bells. A long row of Sweet Peas of every variety of colour extends along the border in front of the vinery, and fills the garden with its scent; and not far off is a wire screen, which I cover with the large Convolvulus, and through the summer months the "Morning Glories," as the blossoms were once called, display all their short-lived beauty. On either side of the grass-walk, which runs down the garden, at a right angle to the vineries, I am making rustic trellises of logs of wood, round which I shall plant Vegetable Marrows and Gourds, and at intervals clumps of the great Sunflower.[12] In another corner I am sowing a bed of the Bluet, or Corn-flower, the favourite flower of the Emperor of Germany. For some reason the Violets of Napoleon, of which I once had abundance, have not been so successful with me during the last few years,--will the Corn-flower do better?--What a glorious blue it is! and how much we have neglected it! because, I suppose, it is too common, and grows wild amid the ripening Corn and the scarlet Poppy. [12] See Note IV. on the Sunflower of the Classics. Turning to the fruit-garden, my great discovery has been that I _must_ have bees--not at all for the honey, but for the proper setting of the fruit. A large May Duke Cherry is always covered with blossom, but scarcely anything has ever come from it. Last year I examined its blossom closely, and found that the pistil is so much longer than the stamens that it cannot fertilise itself, and must be dependent on insects. This is not the case with other varieties of Cherries, so far as I can see, and I am curious to find out whether my remedy of a bee-hive will this year have the desired effect. I believe it will be of service to the other wall-fruit too, and I have already seen the affection the bees have for the blossoms of the Apricot. How beautiful a garden is when all the fruit-trees are in bloom! and how various that bloom is! Each Pear-tree bears a different blossom from its neighbour, and the handsomest of all, in size and shape of flower and form of cluster, is the Jargonelle. But no Pear-blossom can compare with the beauty of blossom on the Apple-trees;--and of all Apple-trees the Pomeroy is most beautiful, when every bough is laden with clusters of deep-red buds, which shade off into the softest rosy white, as, one by one, the blossoms open out. Of other fruit I have nothing new to notice, unless it be to ask whether any one now living can smell the scent of dying Strawberry leaves? We all remember how Mrs. Gaskell in her delightful story gives Lady Ludlow the power, but now we all seem to have lost it. Certainly my dying Strawberry leaves give me no sense of sweetness. Was it a mere fond and foolish fancy? or were the Strawberries of Elizabethan gardens different from those we are now growing? Bacon tells us that, next to the white double Violet and the Musk Rose, the sweetest perfume in the open air is "Strawberry leaves dying, which yield a most excellent cordiale smell;" and I find in an old play by Sir John Suckling-- "Wholesome As dying leaves of Strawberries." But there are sounds that haunt a garden hardly less delightful than its sights and scents. What sound has more poetry in it than when in the early morning one hears the strong sharp sweep of the scythe, as it whistles through the falling grass, or the shrill murmur of the blade upon the whetstone; and, in spite of mowing machines, at times one hears the old sound still. How fond Andrew Marvell was of mowing and the mowers! He has given us "Damon the Mower," "The Mower to the Glow-worm," "The Mower's Song," "The Mower against Gardens," and "Ametas and Thestylis making Hay-ropes;" and again, in his fine poem, on "Appleton House," he describes the "tawny mowers" dividing the "grassy deeps," "With whistling scythe and elbow strong." One of our latest poets too, Mr. Allingham, has a delicious little mower's song, with a quite perfect refrain of-- "A scythe-sweep and a scythe-sweep, We mow the grass together." And again, what does not the garden owe to the voice of birds; the deep cawing of the rook in its "curious flight" around the elm-trees; the clear note of the cuckoo from the limes that bound the orchard; and, best of all, the rich, full melody of the thrush! The nightingale's song may be sweeter and stronger, but the nightingale only sings in certain places (certainly not with us), and the thrush is everywhere. The nightingale sings later in the night, but the thrush will go on till nine, and begin again at four, and surely that is all we need. Can anything be truer, or better said, than these lines of Browning's about a thrush?-- "Hark! where my blossomed Pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field, and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops, at the bent spray's edge-- That's the wise thrush--he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture." But there is one bird dearer to us than the thrush, and that is the swallow, which for some years past has built its nest in our porch. It has been pretty to mark her skimming round and round with anxious watching, till we have left the place. Prettier still, when we have kept ourselves concealed, to see her darting upwards to the nest, which was fringed by four little heads all in a row, and, going from one to the other, give each its share. We could hear the sharp little cry of satisfaction as each nestling was attended to. How much the poets have written about swallows! There is the charming passage in Longfellow's "Golden Legend," where the old monk is speaking; he is the librarian, whose duty it is to illuminate the missals for the convent's use and pride:-- "How the swallows twitter under the eaves! There, now there is one in her nest; I can just catch a glimpse of her head and breast, And will sketch her thus in her quiet nook, For the margin of my gospel-book." Then how delightful is the boast, which Mr. Courthope, in his _Paradise of Birds_, puts into the nightingale's mouth, that a bird is better than a man, for-- "He never will mount as the swallows, Who dashed round his steeples to pair, Or hawked the bright flies in the hollows Of delicate air." And, long before this, Banquo had marked their "pendent beds" on Macbeth's castle, and noticed that-- "Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed The air is delicate." And who does not recall Tennyson's-- "Swallow, swallow, flying, flying south," and bearing on swift wing the message that-- "Dark and true and tender is the north"? Or who, that has once read it, can forget _Les Hirondelles_ of Béranger, and how the French captive among the Moors questions the swallows about his country, his home, his friends, which they perhaps have seen? Lastly, what a felicitous line is this of the American poet Lowell, when he describes "The thin-winged swallow _skating_ on the air." I must bring these Notes, such as they are, to a close, and yet I feel I have scarcely even yet described the pleasures of a garden. But my memory at least can do it justice. It recalls summer afternoons, when the lawn tennis went merrily on on the lawn, by the weeping ash-tree, and summer evenings, when the house was too hot, and we sat out after dinner upon the terrace with the claret and the fruit. The air was all perfume, and the light lingered long in the east over the church steeple three miles away, and no sound but of our own voices broke the silence and the peace. Again, there were fine bright autumn days--days when the garden was full of warm scent and warmer colour--days when the children could swing for hours in the hammock, which hangs between two large Sycamores, and have their tea-table beneath the trees,--days when the still air was only stirred by the patter of a falling chestnut, or the note of some solitary bird, or the sound of church bells far away. Beyond the grass-field, which comes nearly up to the house, was a field of wheat, and we could watch the harvesting, and follow with our eyes the loaded waggons as they passed along by the hedge-row trees. But such recollections grow thicker as I write, and words, such as I at least can command, do them little justice. I cannot really share with my readers these pleasures of the past, though I like to fancy that they may feel some kindly sympathy, as they remember happy days in gardens dear to them as mine to me. NOTES. NOTE I. ON THE VIOLA OF THE ROMANS. I contributed the following note on "The Viola of the Romans," to the _Gardeners' Chronicle_ of September 26, 1874, as I found a correspondent had been adopting Lord Stanhope's views. * * * * * Mr. Ruskin in his _Queen of the Air_ wrote, "I suspect that the flower whose name we translate 'Violet' was in truth an Iris" (he is speaking of the Greek _ion_, but the Viola no doubt is whatever the _ion_ was). In Lord Stanhope's _Miscellanies_, second series, which was published in 1872, a paper, which had been previously (in 1830) read before the Society of Antiquaries, treats of the "Viola of the Ancients." Lord Stanhope identifies it with the Iris, and on the following grounds:-- 1. Because when riding through Sicily in the winter of 1825, he saw many Irises and no Violets, and heard that the country people called the Iris Viola. 2. Because Pliny speaks of Violæ luteæ, whereas there are no Violets of that colour. 3. Because Pliny also describes the Violet as growing in sunny and barren places ("apricis et macris locis"), whereas really Violets always grow in the shade. 4. Because he speaks of the Violet as springing from a fleshy root-stock ("ab radice carnoso"), whereas the Violet root is fibrous. 5. Because Ovid couples the Violet with the Poppy and the Lily as flowers which, when broken off, hang their heads to the ground. I need not say much as to Lord Stanhope's not finding Violets in Sicily in winter, for the question is, whether he would not find them in Italy in spring. Nor does the fact of the Sicilian peasants speaking of the Iris as a Violet disturb me any more than when I hear a Scotch peasant speak of the "Harebell" as a "Bluebell." The real authority is Pliny, and Pliny settles the question completely. He says (I quote for convenience from Bohn's translated edition):--"Next after the Roses and the Lilies, the Violet is held in the highest esteem. Of this there are several varieties, the purple, the yellow, and the white, all of them reproduced from plants, like the Cabbage. The Purple Violet, which springs up spontaneously in sunny spots with a thin meagre soil, has larger petals than the others, springing immediately from the root, which is of a fleshy substance. This Violet has a name, too, distinct from the other wild kinds, being called 'ion,' and from it the ianthine cloth takes its name." He goes on to say that of cultivated kinds the Yellow Violet is held in most esteem. He speaks then of the Tusculan and Marine Violet as having broader petals than the others, but being less sweet, while the Calathian Violet is also without scent. A little farther on he describes the Iris itself, and says "the stem of this plant is a cubit in length and erect, the flower being of various colours like the rainbow, to which circumstance it is indebted for its name." It is, he adds, a plant of a caustic nature, and the root is used in perfumery and medicine, but the flower is _never employed for garlands_. After this, perhaps, it is needless to add that of course Lord Stanhope is mistaken in supposing that there are no Yellow Violets (he may find any number half-way up the Rigi), or that Violets do not often grow in sunny and sterile places, or that the Purple Violet has not a fleshy root-stock. That the Sweet Violet, which Pliny says was used for wreath-making, was generally cultivated is certain from Horace's "Tum _violaria_ et Myrtus, et omnis copia narium Spargent olivetis odorem." _Odes_, ii. 15. Then, again, the Sweet Violet was used for the flavouring of wine--the "vinum violatum." There are other passages in which Pliny speaks of the sweetness of the Violet. He says it is sweetest at a distance, and that it has no scent except in the flower itself. There can be no doubt then whatever (I conceive) that the Greeks, when they spoke of the "ion," or the Romans of the "Viola," generally meant our Violet, and that the Violet-wreaths were made from this familiar flower. Still the name was perhaps loosely used, and it is highly probable that the flower to which Ovid refers, in the passage which Lord Stanhope quotes, was the Snowflake or Leucoion (literally, "White Violet"). NOTE II. ON THE AZALEA VISCOSA. I was much pleased to see my observations on the Azalea as a fly-catcher confirmed by a subsequent paragraph (October 3, 1874,) in the _Gardeners' Chronicle_. It is interesting, and I now reprint it. * * * * * AZALEA VISCOSA A FLY-CATCHER. Under this heading Mr. W. W. Bailey gives the following observations in the current number of the _American Naturalist_:-- "The many curious observations published of late in regard to vegetable fly-catchers have opened my eyes to such phenomena as are presented in my forest walks. As is well known to all botanists, our sweet swamp Azalea (Azalea viscosa) has its corolla covered on the outside with innumerable clammy and glandular hairs. Each hair is a prolongation of the cuticle, and is surmounted by a purple and globular band. In the bud these hairs appear to cover the whole surface of the flower, but when the corolla expands they are seen to occupy the midrib of the petals as well as the tube of the corolla. These glandular hairs are efficacious fly-catchers, but what the object is in thus securing insect prey I will not pretend to state. I have been amusing myself, if any such apparently cruel occupation can be considered entertaining, in watching the capture of flies by the Azaleas. When I first brought the flowers home, many small insects, as winged ants, were entrapped amidst the hairs. These have remained alive several days, still vainly struggling for freedom. As the house-flies are abundant in my room, it occurred to me that I might extirpate the pests, and at the same time learn something of the process of insect-catching. I have not noticed that the powerful fragrance of the blossoms attracts the house-fly, although I have no doubt that it does the smaller insects. It seemed to be accidental when the house-flies were captured. I exposed a number of buds and fully-opened blossoms on a sunny window-sill thronged with flies. It was not many minutes before I had several captives. A mere touch of a fly's leg to the glutinous hairs was sufficient for his detention. A struggle only made matters worse, as other legs were by this means brought in contact with the glands. These emit long glairy threads, which fasten to the hairs of the flies' legs. They may be drawn out to a great length and tenuity, still retaining their strength. If two buds are pressed together, and then drawn apart, innumerable threads may be seen to bind them. There is a complete network of them between the various glands. They will confine the strongest fly; he is at once held like Gulliver among the Lilliputians. Under the microscope the legs of the fly are seen to be covered with the secretion, which is perfectly white and transparent. In one attempt to escape, a house-fly lifted a flower bodily from the window-sill, perhaps a quarter of an inch, but at once sank back exhausted amidst the hairs. One, after long efforts, escaped, but seemed incapable of using its legs; it flew away readily. In one instance I have found the dried remains of a small insect embedded amidst the hairs, but cannot say whether its juices were in any way absorbed by the plant. If such assimilation takes place, what is its purpose? Can this phenomenon of fly-catching be accidental, or is some nice purpose concealed in it? I merely state the facts as I have observed them; perhaps others can supply further information." NOTE III. ON THE SOLANUM TRIBE. It is very curious to compare the two following passages of two great masters of style--Ruskin and Michelet--both writing of the tribe to which belongs the Tomato. Ruskin, in _The Queen of the Air_, p. 91, says:-- "Next, in the Potato, we have the scarcely innocent underground stem of one of a tribe set aside for evil, having the deadly nightshade for its queen, and including the henbane, the witch's mandrake, and the worst natural curse of modern civilisation--tobacco. And the strange thing about this tribe is, that though thus set aside for evil, they are not a group distinctly separate from those that are happier in function. There is nothing in other tribes of plants like the form of the bean blossom; but there is another family with forms and structure closely connected with this venomous one. Examine the purple and yellow bloom of the common hedge Nightshade;--you will find it constructed exactly like some of the forms of the Cyclamen; and getting this clue, you will find at last the whole poisonous and terrible group to be--sisters of the Primulas. "The nightshades are, in fact, primroses with a curse upon them, and a sign set in their petals by which the deadly and condemned flower may always be known from the innocent one,--that the stamens of the nightshades are between the lobes, and of the primulas opposite the lobes of the corolla." Now for M. Michelet. In _La Sorcière_, p. 119, he writes of the herbs used by the witches:-- "Ce que nous savons le mieux de leur médecine, c'est qu'elles employaient beaucoup, pour les usages les plus divers, pour calmer, pour stimuler, une grande famille de plantes, équivoques, fort dangereuses, qui rendirent les plus grands services. On les nomme avec raison, les _Consolantes_ (Solanées). "Famille immense et populaire, dont la plupart des espèces sont surabondantes, sous nos pieds, aux haies, partout. Famille, tellement nombreuse, qu'un seul de ses genres a huit cents espèces. Rien de plus facile à trouver, rien de plus vulgaire. Mais ces plantes sont la plupart d'un emploi fort hasardeux. Il a fallu de l'audace pour en préciser les doses, l'audace peut-être du génie. "Prenons par en bas l'échelle ascendante de leurs énergies. Les premières sont tout simplement potagères et bonnes à manger (les aubergines, les tomates, mal appelées pommes d'amour). D'autres de ces innocentes sont le calme et la douceur même, les molènes (bouillon blanc), si utiles aux fomentations. "Vous rencontrez au dessus une plante déjà suspecte, que plusieurs croyaient un poison, la plante miellée d'abord, amère ensuite, qui semble dire le mot de Jonathas: 'J'ai mangé un peu de miel, et voilà pourquoi je meurs.' Mais cette mort est utile, c'est l'amortissement de la douleur. La douce-amère, c'est son nom, dut être le premier essai de l'homoeopathie hardie, qui, peu à peu, s'éleva aux plus dangereux poisons. La légère irritation, les picotements qu'elle donne purent la désigner pour remède des maladies dominantes de ces temps, celles de la peau." Speaking of magical herbs reminds one of the "moly," which Mercury gives to Ulysses, and which enabled him to withstand the enchantments of Circe. This "moly" with its white blossom is particularly well known to me, for, when I first came to my present house, the wood near the lodge was so full of it that it seemed as if a dinner of onions was for ever being cooked: I found it exceedingly hard to eradicate. "Moly" is none other than the Garlic, and Circe had apparently the same objection to it as had the wife of the Merchant of Bagdad in the _Arabian Nights_. By the way, what could Mr. Tennyson have been thinking of when he describes his lotus-eaters as "Propt on beds of amaranth and _moly_"? Another poet too, now a well-known divine, once spoke of "--souls that pure and holy Live and love and prosper well, Leaning aye on myrrh and _moly_, Melilote and asphodel." NOTE IV. ON THE SUNFLOWER OF THE CLASSICS. I have been much puzzled to know what was the Sunflower of classical story,--in other words, what was the flower into which, according to the legend, Clytie was so sadly changed. I had always supposed, as nearly every one supposes, that it was what _we_ call the Sunflower (the Helianthus), with its upright stem and large radiated disc. But, first of all, I found, as a matter of fact, that the Helianthus does _not_ follow the course of the Sun, and that various blossoms of the same plant may at the same time be facing in different directions. And then I found, what of course was fatal, that the Helianthus is not a European plant at all, and first came to us from North America. Having consulted _Notes and Queries_ in vain, I determined to look into the matter more closely, as it seemed to me a rather curious question. If the Sunflower of the Classics was not the Helianthus, and if this, as I imagine, only obtained its name from its flowers, which in some way resemble the old pictures of the Sun, could it be the plant we know as _Heliotrope_? The name of course means "turning Sunward," but again the name is no guide to us; the scented flowers of the Heliotrope do not, so far as I know, turn to the Sun, and in any case the plant is of Peruvian and not of European origin. I then fell back upon the classical authors themselves. I got nothing very distinct from Theophrastus, and moreover it is Ovid, to whom we chiefly owe our knowledge of the story. He tells us that when her lover Phoebus left her, poor Clytie "still gazed on the face of the departing god, and bent her looks on him. It is said that she remained rooted to the ground; of her fresh bloom ('color'), part is turned by livid pallor into bloodless leaves, on part a blush remains, and a flower most like a Violet has covered all her face. Held firmly by the root, she still turns to the Sun she loves, and, changed herself, she keeps her love unchanged." Pliny says the Heliotropium "turns with the Sun, in cloudy weather even, so great is its sympathy with that luminary. At night, as though in regret, it closes its blue flowers." What then can this flower be, a blue flower, which turns towards the Sun? I next examined the magnificent volumes of Sibthorp's _Flora Græca_. There is there indeed a European "Heliotropium," "Heliotropium supinum," but this surely cannot be the flower of Clytie; the blossom is quite insignificant ("flore minimo") and _white_. Then there are two Crotons (Tinctorium and Villosum) which are also locally called Heliotropium, and which grow in Crete and Lemnos ("ex quâ paratur Tournesol"), but their flowers again are hardly more noticeable and are _yellow_. Foiled at every point, I thought I would at least see what in _England_ was the traditionary Sunflower, but I am hardly any wiser. Gerarde says that Valerius Cordius calls the dwarf Cistus Helianthemum, and Solis flos or Sunne-flower. He quotes Pliny as calling it also "Heliocalliden, or the Beautie of the Sunne;" and adds, "which if it be the Sunneflower, yet there is another of the same name, but which may be taken for the right it is hard to tell (but that experience teacheth us), seeing Plinie is so breefe." Gerarde has also a chapter on the "Tornesole," and says, "there be five sorts of Tornesole, differing one from another in many notable points, as in greatnesse and smallnesse, in colour of flowers, in forme and shape," and then he describes the varieties of "Tornesoles" or "Heliotropium." He says, "the Græcians call it Heliotropium;"--"it is named Heliotropium, not because it is turned about at the daily motion of the sunne, but by reason it flowreth in the summer solstice, at which time the sunne being farthest gone from the equinoctiale circle, returneth to the same;" but he adds that the French and Italians call it "Turnesol," and says, "it is also called Herba Clitiæ, whereof the poet hath these verses, "'Herba velut Clitiæ semper petit obvia solem, Sic pia mens Christum, quo prece spectet, habet.'" Cowley's Sunflower is called in a foot-note Chrysanthemum Peruvianum, but is probably a form of Helianthus. The flower is supposed to speak, and claims to be a _child_ of the Sun, for, "My orb-like aspect bound with rays The very picture of his face displays; and again, "I still adore my sire with prostrate face, Turn where he turns, and all his motions trace." So after all I am as much in the dark as ever. Was the mysterious flower, as some suggest, a Calendula (Marygold), or an Aster? I cannot tell, and only know that neither answers the description. On the whole then I am disposed to wonder whether either Ovid or Pliny knew much more about the matter than ourselves, and I may some day come to doubt whether Clytie was ever turned into a Sunflower at all.[13] [13] One of our very best living authorities on such a subject has sent me the suggestion that the common Salsafy, or possibly the Anagallis, may be the flower, but he adds (agreeing with Gerarde), "the word Heliotropium does not mean a flower which turns to the sun, but which flowers at the solstice." NOTE V. FLOWERS AND THE POETS. Both the flowers of the garden and what Campbell calls "wildings of nature" have had their bards, and in the case of certain flowers the association with a poet is so strong that the sight of the flower will recall the verse. Of course this is chiefly so as regards the less familiar flowers. No one, not even Sappho, has an exclusive possession in the Rose; but who would care to dispute Shelley's right to the Sensitive Plant, or Wordsworth's to the lesser Celandine? The poets, however, have sometimes more of a love than a knowledge of plants, and Milton talks of the "twisted Eglantine" in confusion between the Sweetbrier and the Honeysuckle. It is interesting to see the different ways in which flowers are treated by the poets. Shakspeare, no doubt, loved them in his way, but after all, there are but few passages in which flowers are used otherwise than as an illustration or an emblem. There are, indeed, Titania's flowered bank, and Perdita's garden,--redolent of herbs and gay with Violets, Primroses, and Daffodils, but where no Gillyflower was allowed to grow,--and poor Ophelia's melancholy blossoms, and the song in _Love's Labour's Lost_, and that is nearly all. Shakspeare often speaks of Roses, but almost always, excepting in the scene at the Temple Gardens, by way of compliment or comparison. The _musk_-rose, indeed, appears in the _Midsummer Night's Dream_, and this Rose, which is now quite unknown to most of us, was evidently a favourite in Elizabethan gardens, for Bacon says of it that, next the white double Violet (which is also almost lost), the musk-rose "yeelds the sweetest smell in the aire." But Shakspeare's favourite flowers seem to have been the Primrose, the Violet, the Pansy, and, above all, the Cowslip. He must often have recalled his boyish walks in spring along the Avon, and remembered how the low-lying fields of Stratford were all sweet and yellow with the Cowslip. And so it is within a Cowslip's bell that Ariel hides, and Cowslips are Titania's pensioners on whose ears the fairies must hang pearls, and when the fields of France are desolated the "freckled Cowslip" does not grow there any more, and the mole on Imogen's breast is "like the crimson drops i' the bottom of a Cowslip." Before passing from Shakspeare, I should like to call the attention of the directors or managers of New Place to the absurdity of the garden, which they are supposed to keep up in remembrance of Shakspeare. I chanced to visit it a summer or two ago, and, instead of finding an Elizabethan garden with flowers associated with Shakspeare and his times, I saw little but a wretched ribbon border of starveling Calceolarias, scrubby Pelargoniums, and miserable Perillas. Such a garden is a mockery, and would be more suggestive and more pathetic if left wild to the growths of nature. If Milton enjoyed more completely the luxury of gardens, it is safe to say that he knew less of separate flowers than Shakspeare. He not only speaks of the Eglantine as "twisted," but he calls the Cowslip "wan," the Violet "glowing," and the Reed "balmy." He makes Roses and Crocuses bloom together in Paradise, and Hyacinths and Roses in the gardens of Hesperus, while Lycid's "laureate hearse" is to be strewn with Primrose and Woodbine, Daffodil and Jessamine. Paradise and the gardens of Hesperus are, of course, ideal gardens, which may be superior to our times and seasons, but the same excuse cannot hold good for the flowers of the "Lycidas," and it is tolerably clear that Milton's special knowledge was somewhat vague. But, on the other hand, what a sensuous pleasure he has in gardens! He is not thinking of Elizabethan gardens, but such gardens as he may have seen in Italy, or read of in Tasso or Boccaccio. The west winds fling around the cedared alleys sweet smells of Nard and Cassia, or the covert is of inwoven shade of Laurel and Myrtle fenced by Acanthus and odorous shrubs. The rich rhythm of his lines seems to breathe perfume and delight. And the reason why, in later years at least, the scent rather than the sight of flowers was dear to Milton, is known to all of us, for has he not himself told us how, "Not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn, Or _sight of vernal bloom or summer's rose_?" He could still drink in the perfumed air of gardens, though only memory could recall the form and colour of those flowers, which he would never see again.[14] [14] I remember how years ago I was struck with a beautiful little poem about a blind man, written by Mr. James Payn, the well-known novelist. The lines are quite worth repeating, and will be new to many:-- "There an old man, far in his wintry time, Sits under his porch, while the roses climb; But the breath of its sweetness is all he knows Of the glory about the fair round rose; The lilies that sway in the brook beneath, So cold and white in the beauty of death, Are to him far less than the rushes tall When the wind is bowing them one and all, Like the voice of nature so soft and kind, That whispers how fair she is to _the blind_." Only one English poet has surpassed Milton in his love of gardens. Like Milton he probably knew little of particular flowers, but he revelled in the scent and colour of Roses and of Lilies. It is Andrew Marvell; who, it is to be feared, is far less remembered than he deserves to be. Marvell's gardens are all of the true English character, and his description of Lord Fairfax's, though somewhat quaint and fanciful, has many touches as natural as they are graceful. That the flowers should stand on parade, like soldiers, through the day, and fold up at night in tents, in which bees remain as sentinels, is a far-fetched conceit enough; but nothing can be better than many of his lines. Was it his own garden at Highgate of which he thought, when he spoke of the garden in which Sylvio's fawn was wont to hide? "I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness." Cowley's love of a garden was of quite another kind. He cared about it as a horticulturist, and knew the various plants and their qualities; but he never luxuriated in it like Milton or like Marvell. His elaborate poem is interesting, if only to show the flowers that were cultivated in his day, and it is curious to find the Tomato (or love-apple) grown for beauty and not for use, and the _Canna Indica_, which is hardly common with us even now, mentioned as among the ordinary flowers of his time. On the whole, however, there are very few lines of Cowley about flowers (we are not speaking of anything else) which are worth quoting or remembering. Herrick's use of flowers is very different. He loved them, no doubt, and is always talking about them, and making them useful. "He twists his coronals of fancy Out of all blossoms," if I may so misapply a line from Lord Houghton's _Letters of Youth_. He makes moralities out of Daffodils, and compliments from Carnations, and warnings from Rosebuds. Charming as many of his poems about flowers are, it is impossible not to feel that the motive of the poem is not the flower itself, but the Anthea or Sappho or Julia, to whom the flower is to teach a lesson of the power of love or the uncertainty of life. It is, of course, impossible to speak of all the poets who have written about flowers, for probably the list would include them all; but the five I have mentioned are perhaps the most characteristic, though there are memorable lines in Chaucer, Spenser, Burns, and Keats, and more especially in Wordsworth. From Byron there is singularly little to quote; but no English poet has given so perfect a description of a garden as has Shelley in "The Sensitive Plant." How delicately he paints each flower, and how he makes us see them all, as we tread with him "The sinuous paths of lawn and of moss Which led through the garden along and across; Some open at once to the sun and the breeze, Some lost among bowers of blossoming trees." Of living English poets perhaps Mr. Tennyson alone shows any real love for flowers. And this love is scarcely shown so much in the well-known song in "Maud" as by little touches here and there--the "long green box of mignonette" which the miller's daughter has set on her casement edge,--the "wild marsh-marygold" which "shines like fire in swamps" for the happy May Queen,--or the water-lilies which blossom round the island of Shalott. And who can forget the stanza in "In Memoriam"?-- "Bring orchis, bring the foxglove spire, The little speedwell's darling blue, Deep tulips dasht with fiery dew, Laburnums, dropping-wells of fire." Of American poets, Mr. Longfellow has, rather strangely, written nothing very memorable about flowers; but there are some pretty verses of Mr. Bryant's, and an occasional good line of Mr. Emerson's, as where he speaks of the Gentian as "blue-eyed pet of blue-eyed lover." As we once again look round upon the poets that have sung, it is clear that their favourite flowers have been the Rose and the Daisy,--the one recalling all the delights of the summer garden, the other all the freshness of the open field,--the one loved for its beauty, the other cherished for its constancy. "The rose has but a summer reign, The daisy never dies;" says Montgomery, in one of the best known of his poems. Cowslips, Violets, Daffodils, and Pansies are probably the next favourites. Painters have done more for Lilies than the poets have; and Carnations and the later flowers of the year have never made much place for themselves in the poetry of England. The English garden of to-day still awaits its laureate, and, except where, in Mr. Allingham's "Therania," "Vase and plot burn scarlet, gold and azure," I scarcely know of a description of modern "bedding-out," and sincerely hope that the present fashion may disappear before the thankless task is undertaken. LONDON: R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS. * * * * * Transcriber's note: In general every effort has been made to replicate the original text as faithfully as possible, including possible instances of no longer standard spelling and punctuation, and variable spelling (notably, Shakspeare/Shakespeare). Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. The following changes were made to correct apparently typographical errors: p. x "Mowing--Brds--The Swallow" Brds changed to Birds p. 50 "There is another Lancahire" Lancahire changed to Lancashire p. 66 "bed of Clematis Jackmanni" Jackmanni changed to Jackmanii p. 92 "epithet of _filamentosa_."" quotation mark removed p. 96 "can undertand how appropriate" undertand changed to understand 
45946	----	HARPER'S A-B-C SERIES A-B-C OF HOUSEKEEPING. By CHRISTINE TERHUNE HERRICK A-B-C OF ELECTRICITY. By WILLIAM M. MEADOWCROFT A-B-C OF GARDENING. By EBEN E. REXFORD A-B-C OF MANNERS. By ANNE SEYMOUR 16mo, Cloth HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK A-B-C OF GARDENING BY EBEN E. REXFORD HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS NEW YORK & LONDON COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY HARPER & BROTHERS PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA PUBLISHED MARCH, 1915 CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. MAKING THE GARDEN 1 II. MAKING A LAWN 5 III. THE BORDER 8 IV. ANNUALS 12 V. VINES 15 VI. SPRING WORK IN THE GARDEN 21 VII. MIDSUMMER IN THE GARDEN 26 VIII. WINDOW-BOXES 30 IX. THE USE OF GROWING PLANTS FOR TABLE DECORATION 33 X. DECORATIVE PLANTS 39 XI. THE BULB-BED 44 XII. GETTING READY FOR WINTER 48 XIII. BULBS FOR WINTER FLOWERING 54 XIV. THE WINTER WINDOW-GARDEN 61 XV. THE INSECT ENEMIES OF PLANTS 67 XVI. GARDENING FOR CHILDREN 72 XVII. HOME AND GARDEN CONVENIENCES 75 XVIII. GARDEN DON'TS 81 XIX. A CHAPTER OF HELPFUL HINTS 99 A-B-C OF GARDENING A-B-C OF GARDENING I MAKING THE GARDEN The first thing to do in making a garden is to spade up the soil to the depth of a foot. The second thing to do is to work this spaded-up soil over and over until it is thoroughly pulverized. The third thing to do is to add to it whatever fertilizer you decide on using. This may be old, well-rotted manure from the cow-yard, if you can get it, for it is the ideal fertilizer for nearly all kinds of plants. But if you live in city or village the probabilities are that you will be obliged to make use of a substitute. Bone meal--the finely ground article--is about as good as anything I know of for amateur use. The amount to use will depend on the condition of the soil to which you apply it. If of simply ordinary richness, I would advise a teacupful of the meal to a yard square of ground. If the soil happens to be poor, a large quantity should be used. It is not possible to say just how much or how little, because no two soils are exactly alike. One can decide about this when he sees the effect of what has been used on the plants whose cultivation he has undertaken. I speak of using it by measure rather than by weight because the gardener will find it easier to use a cup than a set of scales. When the soil has been thoroughly pulverized and the fertilizer has been well worked into it you are ready for sowing seed--that is, if the weather conditions are favorable. It is always advisable to wait until all danger from frost is over and the ground is warm enough to facilitate prompt germination. At the North the seed of our hardier plants can safely be put into the ground about the middle of May, but the tenderer kinds can well afford to wait until the first of June. In sowing seed don't follow the old way of making a furrow an inch deep in the soil, by drawing the hoe-handle along it, and then covering the seed deeply. Fine seed often fail to germinate when given this treatment. Simply scatter the seed _on the surface_, and then sift a little fine soil over it, or press the ground down firmly with a smooth board, thus imbedding the seed in the ground to a depth that is sufficient to insure enough moisture to facilitate the process of germination. Large seed, like that of the sweet-pea, nasturtium, mirabilis, and morning-glory can be covered with half an inch of soil. Weeding should begin as soon as you can tell the weeds and the flowering plants apart. It is absolutely necessary to keep the beds clean if you would have good flowers. Allow weeds to remain, and in an incredibly short time they will get such a start of the other plants in the bed that these will have received a check from which it will take them a long time to recover, when given an opportunity to do so by the removal of the enemy. There can be no compromise between weeds and flowering plants. One must give way to the other, and weeds will have it all their own way if given the ghost of a chance. Every gardener should be the owner of a wheelbarrow, a hoe, a spade, an iron rake, a watering-pot, and a weeding-hook. The last, which will cost ten or fifteen cents, will enable you to destroy as many weeds in half an hour as you could pull in half a day by hand, and it will leave the soil in as light and porous a condition as would result from going over it with rake or hoe. II MAKING A LAWN Most home-makers labor under the impression that it would be useless for them to undertake the making of a lawn, thinking it requires the knowledge and experience of the professional gardener to make such an undertaking successful. This is where they make a mistake. Anybody can make a lawn that will afford a great deal of pleasure if he sets about it, provided he is willing to do some hard work. The first thing to do is to make the surface of the ground level. This can be done by the use of spade and hoe. Take off the tops of the hillocks, if there happens to be any, and fill the hollows with the soil thus obtained. When you have a fairly even surface, go over it with an iron-toothed rake and make it fine and mellow. It is very important that all stones and rubbish of every kind should be removed if you want a good sward. After reducing the soil to the necessary degree of fineness, add whatever fertilizer to it you propose to make use of, and then go over the ground again with the rake and work this fertilizer in thoroughly. It is necessary to have it evenly distributed. If it is not, there will be patches where the grass will be thick and luxuriant, and others where it will be scanty and poor. Such a result should be guarded against by working the fertilizer into the soil so evenly that no part of it will be without its proper share. Then you are ready for sowing the seed. The seed to sow is the very best kind in the market. This will cost you a little more than the inferior kind that is offered each season, but it is worth a good deal more, and it is what you must have if you would make your lawn a thing of beauty. Procure it from some reliable dealer who makes a specialty of "lawn-grass mixtures." If you tell the dealer the size of your lawn and ask how much seed you will need, he will give you what he considers a fair estimate. I would advise you to double the amount, for this reason: a thickly seeded lawn will have the appearance, by the middle of the first season, of a lawn a year or two old. And because of the thickness of the grass it will be better able to stand the effect of drought and heat. You will find that the extra money invested in seed was a wise investment, and you will never have cause to regret making it. Sowing seems, to the amateur gardener, a matter of so little importance that it requires no special attention. All there is to do is to scatter the seed over the ground. But nine out of ten amateurs who do the work with this idea in mind will speedily discover their mistake. When the grass comes up thickly here and there, with vacant places between, they will come to the conclusion that sowing grass seed evenly isn't the easiest thing in the world, for the seed is so light that the slightest puff of air will blow it away, and some will settle where you want it to, and some will lodge where other seed has already lodged, and the result will be very unsatisfactory. In order to prevent such a condition of things as far as possible, I would advise sowing from north to south, and then from east to west. Do this on a still, damp day, if possible, and hold your hand close to the ground as you scatter the seed. Don't attempt to broadcast it, as you may have seen some gardener do, but be content to scatter it over a small portion of soil each time you sow a handful of it. By doing this you will prevent most of it from being blown away. III THE BORDER The owner of a small lot is often puzzled to know what to do with it. Of course there must be flowers, but where shall they be put? As a general thing, they are set out here and there, indiscriminately, and the result of such haphazard planting is far from pleasing. There ought always to be at least a suggestion of system in all garden arrangements. To scatter shrubs all over the lawn breaks up the sense of breadth and dignity which should characterize it, however small it may be. This being the case, the best place for shrubs and perennials is at the sides of the lot, leaving the rear for the vegetable garden. A border extending along the sides of the lot will serve as a frame for the home picture, and will be found the most satisfactory arrangement possible for small places. It ought to be at least four feet wide--six or eight will be found much better if ground can be spared for it--and a pleasing effect can be secured by letting it increase in width as it approaches the rear of the lot. It will be far more attractive if its inner edge curves a little here and there than if it is confined to straight lines. I would advise a "mixed border." By that is meant one in which shrubs and perennials are grown together and where annuals and spring-flowering bulbs can be used effectively to "fill in." The soil for such a border must be made and kept quite rich, for almost always we put so many plants into it that great demands are made upon the nutriment contained in it, and in order to have fine plants they must get all the food they can make good use of. You can't grow plants to perfection unless you feed them well. Every season--preferably in spring--manure should be applied liberally. In setting out shrubs one should take a look ahead and endeavor to see, with the mind's eye, what they will be likely to be when fully developed. If this is not done we are pretty sure to plant them so close that by and by we have a thicket of them, in which none of them can properly display their charms. Between the shrubs plant perennials and such summer-flowering plants as dahlias and gladioli. Plant the taller perennials at the rear, and those of medium height in the center, of the row, with low-growing kinds in front. By doing this we secure a sort of banklike effect which will be very pleasing. In order to plant intelligently, study the catalogues of the florists, for most of them give the height of each plant listed in them. If I were asked to name the best shrubs for amateur use, I would choose these: spiræa (especially the _Van Houttei_ variety), weigelia deutzia, lilacs in variety, flowering currant, and golden elder--the last a shrub with rich yellow foliage, capable of producing a most delightful effect when planted among richly colored flowering plants like the hollyhock and delphinium. From the perennial list I would select peonies, phlox, delphinium, iris, and hollyhocks. My selection would include the kinds named above because of their hardiness and ease of culture as well as their beauty. There are many other kinds which richly deserve a place in all gardens that are large enough to allow of free selection, but the owner of the average home lot will be obliged to draw a line somewhere, and he will be safe in confining his choice to the kinds I have mentioned. They are among the very best plants we have in their respective classes. IV ANNUALS The owner of a garden that is so small that but few plants can be grown in it naturally desires to confine her selection to such kinds as will be likely to give the greatest amount of bloom and require the least amount of care. At the head of the list it is quite safe to place the sweet-pea. This old and universal favorite blooms profusely and throughout the entire season if prevented from ripening seed. It is beautiful, wonderfully varied as to coloring, and so fragrant that it is almost a rival of the rose in this respect. It requires a treatment so unlike that of ordinary plants that it is really in a class by itself, if one would secure the best results from it. It likes to get a start early in the season and to have its roots deep in the soil, where they will be cool and moist when the hot, dry, midsummer season comes. To gratify this desire on the part of the plant we sow its seed in trenches four or five inches deep, about the middle of April, at the North, or as soon as the ground is free from frost. These trenches are V-shaped, and can easily be made by drawing the corner of a hoe through the soil. Sow the seed quite thickly, and cover with an inch of soil, trampling it down firmly. When the young plants are about three inches tall draw in about them some of the soil thrown out from the trench, and continue to do this from time to time as the plants reach up, until the trench is full. In this way we succeed in getting the roots of the plant deep enough to prevent them from drying out if the season happens to be one of drought. The best support for the sweet-pea is brush. The next best is woven-wire netting with a large mesh. Another plant that the amateur gardener cannot afford to overlook is the nasturtium. It is a most profuse and constant bloomer. Its colors run through all shades of yellow, orange, and red. It has a delicious spicy fragrance quite unlike that of any other flower I have any knowledge of. Fine for cutting. The aster must also be given a place in all gardens, large or small, because of its beauty, its wide range of color, and its ease of culture. There are several quite distinct varieties, all good, but none better than the long-stalked "branching" kind. This is the ideal sort for cutting. Its flowers rival those of the chrysanthemum in general effect and lasting quality. _Phlox Drummondii_ is an old favorite that holds its own against any of the new-comers. So is the verbena, and the calliopsis, and the good old "bachelor's-button," which you will find masquerading in the florists' catalogues as centaurea. It must not be blamed for this, as it has no reason to be ashamed of its old-fashioned name. The seedsmen alone are responsible for the change in nomenclature. Other stand-bys among the annuals are poppies, larkspur, petunias, ten-week stock, marigolds, scabiosa, mignonette, eschscholtzia (better known as California poppy). Of course the list of really desirable kinds could be extended almost indefinitely, but I do not think it advisable to make mention of other kinds here, because it is not the part of wisdom for the amateur gardener to attempt growing "a little of everything." It is better to confine one's attention to a few of the kinds with which success is reasonably sure until experience justifies one in undertaking the culture of those which are not so self-reliant and unexacting as the kinds mentioned. V VINES If any one were to ask me to tell him what vine I considered best adapted to amateur culture _in all respects_, I would decide in favor of the ampelopsis--better known in many localities as Virginia creeper. My decision would be based on the beauty of the vine, its rapid growth, its hardiness, and its ability to furnish its own support on walls of wood, brick, or stone. Its foliage is very pleasing in summer, but it is doubly so in autumn, when its green gives place to a brilliant crimson and a rich maroon. At that season of the year all our flowering vines are eclipsed by its magnificent coloring. It grows well in all kinds of soil--better, of course, in a good one than a poor one--and it will go to the eaves of a three-story house if given an opportunity to do so, and cover every inch of the wall unless special efforts are made to prevent it from doing this. If you do not want your windows hidden under its luxuriance it will be necessary for you to cut away a good many of its branches during the summer. The Dorothy Perkins rose--one of the rambler class--is a most charming vine when in full bloom, and it has the merit of being quite attractive at other periods, as its foliage is a rich, dark, shining green--something that cannot truthfully be said of some of the other members of this class of roses. It is the only rambler I would advise for use about porches and verandas. It blooms in wonderful profusion. Its flowers are a soft pink, borne in large, loose clusters or sprays. The general habit of the plant is all that could be desired. It is the only member of the rambler class that is really vinelike. There are two varieties of clematis that I am always glad to speak a good word for. One is the native variety, catalogued as _C. flammula_. This is a very rampant grower, and well adapted for use wherever a dense shade is desired. It blooms in August. Its flowers are white. They are succeeded by seed with a feathery tail which makes the plant look as if covered with gray smoke. This variety is always greatly admired because of this peculiarity. The other variety that I have a special fondness for is _C. paniculata_. This is a late bloomer, being in the prime of its flowering period long after the plants in the garden have completed the work of the season. Its flowers are of the purest white. They are small, individually, but they are borne in such profusion that the upper portion of the vine will be completely covered with them. It will look as if a fall of snow had tried to hide it. I consider this one of our very best flowering vines. Unlike the hybrid members of the clematis family, with their enormous flowers of rich colors and scanty foliage, it is perfectly healthy, and it has ample foliage to make a charming background for its blossoms. The trumpet honeysuckle is a favorite wherever grown. It is one of our best vines for porch use, as it does not climb to a great height. It bears its scarlet-and-orange flowers throughout the entire season. It is an especial favorite because its foliage is always clean and seldom attacked by insects. The good old morning-glory is, all things considered, our best annual flowering vine. It grows rapidly, reaching to the windows of the second story by midsummer. It is a free and constant bloomer. It is excelled by no other vine in richness and variety of color--white, pink, purple, blue, violet, and crimson flowers will make a veritable "morning glory" of it. Care should be taken to provide it with stout cord to climb by. A light twine is not strong enough to support the weight of its heavy vines. Another good flowering vine is the hyacinth bean. Why it should be given this name I do not know, as there is nothing about it suggestive in the remotest degree of the hyacinth. Its flowers are a brilliant scarlet. It seldom grows to a greater height than seven or eight feet, and is therefore well adapted to use about porches where a rampant grower is not wanted. The wild cucumber, catalogued as echynocystis, is a good vine for covering tall buildings and screens. It will make a growth of twenty-five or thirty feet in a season. Its foliage is pretty, as are its white flowers, which make the vines look as if covered with foam. These give place to prickly fruit, somewhat resembling some varieties of cucumber, hence its popular name. The wild grape that is found growing along creeks and rivers in almost all parts of the country is a most excellent vine for covering summer-houses and for planting where it can have trees to clamber over. Its flowers are so small and so pale in color as to be scarcely distinguishable, but they are so delightfully fragrant that every one knows when the vine is in bloom without looking at it. Its fragrance has much of the pervading quality that characterizes mignonette, and is quite unlike that of any other plants I can call to mind. It seems to have the very spirit of the spring in it--vague, elusive, and sweet beyond description. I would not class the crimson-rambler rose among the vines, though the majority of our florists have done so. I treat it as a shrub, and find it most satisfactory when grown in that manner. I allow the young canes to reach a length of seven or eight feet. Then I nip off the tops of them. This causes side branches to develop. A central support is provided for these branches. In this way I succeed in getting flowers all over the plant--in other words, of making it a shrub instead of a vine. If it is used to cover summer-houses, the canes can be allowed to grow to suit themselves. Celastrus _scandens_, more commonly known as bittersweet, is a native vine that can easily be domesticated. It is well worth a place about every home. Its foliage is bright and clean, its flowers inconspicuous, but its fruit makes the vine a favorite wherever grown. This is a bright crimson, each berry being inclosed in an orange shell which splits apart in three pieces, revealing the fruit inside. As this fruit remains on the plant until late in the season, it makes the vine quite as attractive as if it were covered with flowers at a time of the year when bits of brightness are greatly appreciated in the garden. VI SPRING WORK IN THE GARDEN There will be a good deal of work to do in the garden, no matter how small it is. A good deal of this work will consist in cleaning up and removing rubbish, unless attention was given to this in the fall. The tops of last year's perennials should be cut away close to the ground, and dead annuals should be pulled up and added to the refuse-heap. If a covering was provided for your plants, it should be removed altogether or dug into the soil about the roots of the plants it protected. Never allow it to remain upon the ground about the plants unless it is of a kind that is not particularly noticeable. This should not be done, however, until the season is so far advanced that all danger of severe freezing is over. A plant that has had winter protection will not be in as good condition to resist the effect of severe cold as it would have been if that protection had not been given it. Therefore do not be in that haste which may result in waste. Rome wasn't built in a day, and spring isn't confined to a week. There will be plenty of time for uncovering plants when the weather will justify it. The bulb-bed should not have its covering taken off until you are quite sure that the weather will not be severe enough to injure the tender plants just peeping through the soil. Of course one cannot be quite sure when it is safe to do this, as our Northern seasons are subject to frequent and sometimes severe relapses. But if we keep an eye on the weather we can generally tell when uncovering is advisable. If, after the beds have been uncovered, a cold spell happens along and there seems to be danger in the air, spread blankets, old carpeting, or something of a similar nature over them. But before doing this drive pegs into the ground for the covering to rest on. Its weight should not be allowed to fall upon the young shoots, which will be so tender at this period as to be easily broken. Go through the garden with a view to finding what changes can be made advantageously. We often make sad mistakes in the location of our plants, and do not discover them until it is too late to unmake them that season. Sometimes a plant that has got into the wrong place so disappoints us that we think of throwing it out, but if we give it a place where its merits have an opportunity to assert themselves properly it turns out to be extremely satisfactory. The aim should be to get every plant into the place just suited to its peculiarities. It may take several seasons to bring about so desirable a result, but something along this line should be part of every season's work. Old clumps of perennials will be greatly benefited by a division of their roots about once in three years. Take them up, cut their roots apart, discard all but the youngest and strongest ones, and reset in a soil that has been made rich and mellow. Shrubs should be looked over with a view to doing whatever pruning may seem necessary. I do not advise much pruning, however. A shrub knows better than I do what shape to grow in to be most effective, and I prefer to let it train itself. About all the pruning I do is to cut away weak wood and to thin out the branches if there seems too many of them. Early-flowering shrubs should never be pruned until after their flowering period is over. Manure should be applied to all plants each spring. The older it is the better if you procure it from the barn-yard. On no account should fresh manure be used. Spread your fertilizer out about the plants, and then work it into the soil with spade or hoe. You will doubtless find many seedling plants in the beds where they germinated last fall. These should be transplanted to places where they are to bloom as early in the spring as possible. All perennials that got a start last year will bloom this season, but those grown from seed sown this spring will not bloom until next year. Therefore make liberal use of self-sown plants. We are generally in such a hurry to do garden work in spring that we begin it before the ground is in proper condition to make good work possible. If it is spaded up before the surplus water from early rains and melting snows has had a chance to drain out of it, no attempt should be made to pulverize it then. It simply will not pulverize, but the result of your attempt to make it do so will be a lot of lumps and chunks. But if left exposed to the disintegrating action of wind and sunshine and possible showers for a few days, it will be in a condition that will make it an easy matter to reduce it to fineness under the application of hoe or rake. Plan your garden. Never trust to "the inspiration of the moment" in making it. Go over the ground and decide where you think this or that plant would be most effective. Make a diagram of it, locating each plant that you propose to make use of, and when seeding-time comes you will have something definite to work to. Haphazard gardening is never satisfactory. VII MIDSUMMER IN THE GARDEN We somehow get the impression that when our garden is made in spring that's about all there will be for us to do. Our share of the work has been done, and if Nature does _her_ share, well and good. But in our endeavor to shirk further responsibility on to Nature we lose sight of the fact that gardening isn't a thing of periods. It is, on the contrary, a thing of one period, and that period covers the entire season. We soon discover that weeds will need attention every day. It really seems, sometimes, as if the pulling of one weed gave a score of others an opportunity to take its place, and that these were waiting impatiently to step into the shoes of their predecessors, if such a figure of speech is allowable in this connection. Neglect weeding for a week and you will be pretty sure to find that your seedlings of flowering plants are "out of sight" in more senses of the term than one. But weeding is not all that needs to be done. There will be more or less transplanting to do in the early part of the season. This should be done on a cloudy day, if possible. If no such day happens along at the time when it is absolutely necessary that this phase of gardening should be attended to, do it after sundown. Before lifting the young plants, water them well to make the soil adhere to their roots. As little exposure to the air as possible is desirable. Also have the ground in which they are to be set ready to receive them, that the work of transplanting may be completed with the least possible delay. Every gardener ought to provide herself with a little trowel that will enable her to lift a plant without breaking apart the soil about its roots. Drop the seedling into the place prepared for it, and press the soil about it firmly but gently. Then water well. If the next day is a warm and sunshiny one, some shade should be given the newly set plants. By tacking pieces of pasteboard six inches wide and eight or ten inches long to sticks a foot in length a very practical shade can easily be made. The stick to which the pasteboard is fastened by carpet-tacks is to be inserted in the ground by each plant. The pasteboard is to be bent over in such a manner as to prevent the sun's rays from striking the plant. By this method the plant gets all the protection it needs and the air is allowed free circulation about it. The hoe ought to be used daily in all gardens. If the season happens to be a dry one, don't forego its use under the impression that stirring the soil will result in its drying out. If you want to keep moisture _out_ of the soil, there is no way of doing it more effectually than by allowing it to become crusted over. But if you want to get all possible moisture _into_ it, keep it light and porous. Such a condition will make it possible for it to absorb whatever moisture there may be in the air. Make it a rule to go over your plants when they come into bloom and cut off every faded flower, to prevent the formation of seed. Most plants will give but one general flowering period if left to manage their own affairs. All their energies will be expended in the production of seed. As a natural consequence they will give you few or no flowers after the early part of summer. But, thwart them in their seed-producing intent and they will at once set about getting the start of you by making another effort to carry forward to completion their original plan. The result will be satisfactory to you, if it isn't to them. See that all plants needing support are provided with it. Never allow plants of slender habit to sprawl all over the ground. They give the garden an untidy, "mussy" look, and constantly accuse you of neglect. A bit of brush inserted by the side of such plants will furnish all the support required by them. In watering the garden in a dry season make the application after sundown. This will allow the plants to get the benefit of the water before the sun has a chance to draw the moisture out of the soil, as it will rapidly do if watering is done in the morning. What every gardener needs is a watering-pot with a long spout. This will make it an easy matter to apply the water close to the plant, where none will be wasted. Never use a nozzle on your pot when watering plants in the garden. That will scatter the water over a wide surface, and so thinly that but little good will result from the application. VIII WINDOW-BOXES Blessed be window boxes! They are excellent substitutes, on a small scale, for a garden, and almost any woman can have them, while a _real_ garden is out of the question for a majority of the women who love flowers. A garden on the ground is one of the impossibilities for most women in the city who could well afford one, so far as financial ability is concerned, but she can make her windows so attractive with flowers and "green things growing" that she will not greatly miss the garden in a crowded city whose every foot of land is worth thousands of dollars and therefore cannot be given up to anything as unprofitable, from a pecuniary standpoint, as flower-growing. The culture of plants in a window-box seems an easy thing to the person who sees plants growing luxuriantly in it. But it is not as easy as it looks, because the beginner in this phase of gardening seldom studies conditions before undertaking it. It generally takes one or two seasons of mistakes and consequent failures to make one a successful grower of plants in window-boxes. But after repeated failures the amateur generally discovers what was wrong in her treatment, and after that the probabilities of failure are slight. The cause of failure nine times out of ten is lack of sufficient moisture in the soil. A box exposed to air on all sides, as most window-boxes are, parts rapidly with the water that has been applied to it, and before one suspects the actual condition of things the soil in the box becomes so dry that the plants wilt. Then a little more water is applied, and the plants revive temporarily, but next day they wilt again, and shortly this alternation of a good deal of drought and a small amount of moisture results in the death of the plants. A box a foot wide and a foot deep and four or five feet long will require a large pailful of water daily. If you want to grow good plants in boxes don't form the habit which prevails to a great extent among amateur gardeners--that of applying a small quantity of water whenever you happen to think of it. A small amount makes the soil look wet on its surface and deceives one into thinking that because it looks wet there it must be in proper condition below. Examination will convince you of this mistake. Always apply enough water each time to saturate all the soil in the box, and make it a rule to do this every morning or evening. If you go on the "every-time-you-think-of-it" plan the chances are that you will not think of it at the right time or as frequently as you ought to. Be regular in caring for your plants. If those who complain of failure with window-boxes will use more water and use it frequently, they will have no trouble in growing plants in them, and growing them as well as they can be grown in pots. And they can grow almost any kind of plant. The soil used should be rich, to begin with, and later on in the season fertilizers should be applied to keep the plants well supplied with nutriment. IX THE USE OF GROWING PLANTS FOR TABLE DECORATION The woman who takes pride in making the family table attractive at all times finds nothing quite so effective for this purpose as flowers, and these she cannot always afford. But she need not be without material for beautifying the home table if she has windows in which plants can be grown, for there are many plants that are quite as attractive as flowers. But a good many persons have not yet learned that they can be made satisfactory substitutes for cut flowers, because they have not taken the trouble to study the thing out. They have heretofore depended on cut flowers for table decoration, as have their friends, and it has not occurred to them to get out of the rut they are in and think out new ways and means for making home pleasant. A well-shaped, medium-sized plant with fine foliage will add quite as much to the appearance of any table as a vaseful of flowers that would cost several times as much. True, it may lack the brilliant coloring of the flowers whose place it takes, but that does not prevent it from being beautiful, and beauty is what we aim at when we supplement the attractions of fine table-linen, sparkling cut glass, silver, and dainty china of the well-arranged table with the added attraction of plants and flowers. One of the best plants for this purpose is the variety of asparagus catalogued as _plumosus nanus_. It is more commonly known as asparagus fern, though it is not even a most distant relative of the fern family. It has foliage so fine that it has all the delicacy of lace, and is more like a mist of green than like ordinary foliage. It sends up frondlike growth that spreads out symmetrically on all sides of the pot. Pruning is seldom required to bring it into or keep it in proper shape. A plant of it, with its pot hidden by a pretty jardinière or wrapped in tissue-paper will be in perfect harmony with any table fittings. If a bit of bright color is desired, three or four roses or half a dozen carnations with their stems thrust into the soil in the pot will furnish it. If the housewife provides herself with three or four plants of this asparagus, she will at all times have something at hand with which to make her table attractive. In this way she will become independent of the florist and his fancy prices. These plants are of the easiest culture, and succeed wherever geraniums can be grown. At holiday-time several plants that make excellent table decorations are on the market. One is ardisia, with rich, dark-green foliage, and scarlet berries that are quite as brilliant as flowers. Another is the Jerusalem cherry, with pretty foliage and a profusion of crimson fruit. These plants remain in attractive condition for weeks, and the woman who invests in them has something with which to make her table as attractive as it would be if two or three dollars had been expended in flowers that would last for only a few days. It will be seen that it is economy to buy plants of this kind. Where there are several there is opportunity for variety, thus ruling monotony out of the question. _Cocos Weddelliana_ is a small-growing palm with delicate, feathery foliage. One might call it a "baby" palm because of its small size. A plant of it always adds distinction to the table on which it is used. This, like the asparagus, the ardisia, and the Jerusalem cherry, readily adapts itself to ordinary window culture. _Begonia Gloire de Lorraine_ is a most beautiful flowering plant. It bears its dainty pink blossoms so profusely and in such wide-spreading panicles that the pot in which it grows is often entirely hidden by it. Its color is charming by daylight, and under artificial light it is lovely beyond description. I know of no other pink flower that is as satisfactory by lamplight. When an especially dainty and out-of-the-common decoration is wanted for the table, nothing superior to it can be found. This begonia can be obtained from most florists in fall. If care is taken to remove it from the table to the window after it has done decorative duty, it will remain in bloom during the greater part of winter. But it must not be left on the table long at a time. Neither should any of the other plants named, for they will suffer if kept away from good light very long. _Primula obconica_ is a most satisfactory plant for table use when in full bloom. Its trusses of pale lilac, soft pink, or pure white have such a wild-woodsy air about them that they are always sure of such attention as American Beauties seldom get. The baby primrose is a miniature edition of _P. obconica_, and it is one of the most lovable flowers imaginable. Like its larger relative, it is a free and constant bloomer, and on this account will be found very useful as a table ornament. Small specimens of auricaria, with heavy, dark-green foliage much like that of our native hemlocks and balsam, make a novel decoration. This is the plant that the children delight in calling the Christmas-tree plant, because of its shape and its evergreen foliage. During fall and winter, when fruit and vegetables are plentiful, very pleasing table decorations can be made from them. On Thanksgiving Day such an arrangement will be found very appropriate. A friend of mine who has no windows at which flowers can be grown well, but who, in spite of that, is determined to make her table attractive, lays in a supply of bittersweet berries during the fall, and "everlasting flowers," like gomphrena, helichrysum, cockscomb, and others whose petals are strawlike in texture, and from these she contrives some really charming decorations for her table. Where there is a will there is always a way, you know. It will be seen from what I have said above that many plants can be grown in the windows of the living-room that can be used with fine effect in table decoration. I would advise making a collection of such varieties as I have named for this especial purpose. With such a collection to draw from no woman need be at loss for decorative material, and while her plants are not doing duty on the table they will be making her windows attractive, thus serving a double purpose. X DECORATIVE PLANTS There are few homes nowadays in which at least one plant of ornamental foliage cannot be found. I know of many in which some have had place so long that they have come to be considered as members of the family. Especially is this true among German people, who have an especial fondness for bride's myrtle and English ivy. In many of these homes I have found finer plants than I have seen in any greenhouse. I am not sure that they do not get more care than the children of the family. The myrtle to which I refer has small, fine foliage, evergreen in character, of a rich, glossy green. It branches freely, and in two or three years becomes a good-sized shrub. It does not bloom very freely, but this does not detract much from the value of the plant, as its flowers are small and not at all showy, though really quite pretty in their snow-white purity. The real value of the plant is in its foliage. It can be kept growing the year round, or it can be wintered in the cellar. In summer a plant of this kind will be found very effective for porch decoration. The English ivy is our best evergreen vine. It is one of the few plants that can be grown successfully in rooms where there is not much direct light. Indeed, I have seen it trained across the ceiling, in German homes, where the light seemed insufficient to meet the requirements of any plant, and there its leaves were as dark in color as those of most other plants are when standing close to the glass, and seemed to be quite as healthy. Two or three times a year, the owners told me, the vine was taken down, coiled up for convenience in transit, and taken out of doors. There it was spread out upon the grass and left until the rain had washed it clean. Because of the thick, firm, leathery texture of its foliage it seemed immune from the bad effects of dust, hot, dry air, and the absence of direct light. When well grown it is a plant that any one might well be proud of. For training up about the ceiling of the bay-window it stands at the head of the list of vines adapted to house culture. Sometimes scale attacks both myrtle and ivy. When this happens heroic measures must be resorted to in order to head off permanent injury. In the chapter on "The Insect Enemies of Plants" a remedy is suggested that seldom fails to produce most satisfactory results. Palms are universal favorites. There are but three varieties that I feel justified in recommending for amateur culture. These are the arecas, especially _A. lutescens_, _Latania borbonica_, better known as the "fan palm," and the kentias, _belmoreana_ and _fosteriana_. Of these three varieties I would advise the kentias for beginners in palm-culture, as they are more robust than any of the others and quite as ornamental. They are of somewhat coarser habit than _Areca lutescens_, which is an almost ideal sort for general use. _Latania borbonica_ has large, almost circular leaves borne on short, stout stalks, thrown out from the center of the plants. It does not grow tall like the kentias or the arecas. It is the variety from which our palm-leaf fans are made. One who has never seen this plant can get a fairly good idea of the shape of its foliage by looking at one of these fans. The three varieties mentioned are all of comparatively easy culture. Give them a loamy soil, well drained, and enough water to keep the soil always moist. Keep them out of strong sunshine. Don't experiment with them, hoping to hasten development. As long as they keep on producing three or four new leaves during the year, let them alone. If they lift the crown of the plant out of or above the soil, and the roots give them the appearance of a plant on stilts, don't be frightened, and repot them, setting them low in the soil to cover the roots. It's natural for them to grow in that way. Wash the foliage at least once a week. Add a little sweet milk to the water. This will give a gloss to the foliage that will add much to its attractiveness. Next to the palm in popularity is the Boston fern. This is a favorite with every one who succeeds in growing it well, because of its great profusion of fronds, three or four feet long, which droop over the pot gracefully and make the plant a veritable fountain of foliage. Another reason for its great popularity is its ease of culture. Give it a light, spongy soil and a moderate amount of water and it will make quite a rapid growth. It is not an exacting plant in any respect, and will do well in almost any kind of soil except those which contain a large amount of clay. But it does best in a soil that is light and porous. Never give enough water to make the soil muddy. The third place on the list ought to be given to the ficus, more commonly known as rubber-plant. This is also of easy culture. It never fails to attract attention by its large, thick, glossy, dark-green foliage. The aspidistra ought not to be overlooked. Because it does not grow to a considerable height, like the ficus, it has not attained the popularity of that plant, as yet, but it will be a universal favorite as soon as its merits become fully known. Its great masses of dark-green foliage are extremely ornamental, and the fact that it is the one plant in the list of decorative plants suitable for amateur use that can be said to almost take care of itself will appeal to those who want something that can always be depended on to look well. Give it enough water to keep the soil in its pot moist at all times, and that is about all it will ask of you. It is not at all particular as to the soil given it, and it seems to care very little for direct light. It will stand more abuse and neglect, and flourish under it, than any other plant I have any knowledge of. XI THE BULB-BED The bulb-bed should be located in some part of the yard where there is good, natural drainage or where it will be an easy matter to secure an artificial one by excavating the soil to the depth of a foot and a half and filling the bottom of it with material that will not readily decay, such as broken brick, crockery, or crushed stone. The object is to provide escape for surplus water from the soil above in spring. No bulb can be grown successfully in a soil that is unduly retentive of water about its roots. In arranging for artificial drainage, after filling the bottom of the excavation with five or six inches of drainage material, the soil that was thrown out should be returned to it, working into it, as this is done, a liberal amount of good manure. The best of all fertilizers for all bulbs is old, well-rotted barn-yard soil. If this cannot be obtained make use of some good commercial fertilizer. As soils differ greatly, and not all commercial fertilizers are adapted to all soils, I would suggest that some person in the community who understands the nature of its soil and the kind of fertilizer which suits it best should be consulted, and that the maker of a bulb-bed should be governed by his advice as to what kind to make use of. It is not well to let guesswork govern in the matter. If possible, choose a location that slopes toward the south. This will give the bed the benefit of sun warmth early in the season, and the plants in it will be greatly helped by it. It is quite important that the soil for bulbs should be made fine and mellow and that whatever fertilizer is used should be thoroughly incorporated with it. While it is true that most bulbs will do fairly well in soils of only moderate richness, it is impossible for them to do themselves anything like justice in it. Keep this fact in mind, and be generous in your supply of plant food. The proper time to plant bulbs is in late September and early October. This enables them to make a strong root-growth before winter sets in. Such a growth puts them in proper condition for flowering in spring. Late planting does not admit of the completion of root-growth in fall, consequently some of it has to be made in spring. This obliges the plants to divide their work at that season between root-growth and flower production, and as these processes ought not to go on at the same time the result is an inferior crop of flowers and unsatisfactory bulb-development. I cannot urge too strongly the advantages of early planting. The best bulbs for the amateur gardener are Holland hyacinths, tulips, and the narcissus. These are very hardy and floriferous, and succeed in almost all soils. And they are so beautiful that they deserve a place in all collections. They should be set about four inches below the surface, and about that distance apart. Before winter sets in the bed should be covered with leaves, straw, or coarse litter from the barn-yard. Let the covering be about six inches deep. It will not prevent the ground from freezing, but it will prevent it from freezing and thawing alternately. If this takes place the bulbs are pretty sure to be torn from their places, and their tender, recently formed roots broken off. Of course there are other bulbs than those of which I have made mention that are well worth growing, but they are not as well adapted to amateur culture as those are, therefore I would advise the beginner in bulb-growing to confine her attention to the hardiest and least particular kinds until she feels that her success with them justifies her in "branching out" and making an attempt to grow those which require greater care and a good deal more of it. XII GETTING READY FOR WINTER A supply of good potting-soil should be put into the cellar for use during the winter if needed. Often a plant will have outgrown its pot, thus making immediate repotting necessary in order to continue the healthy condition of it, but if there is no good soil at hand it will be obliged to do the best it can until spring comes, and by that time it will have received a check from which it will be a long time in recovering, and quite often it will die as the result of failure to give it proper attention when it was in most need of it. If you have a supply of potting-soil in stock there will be no excuse for not caring for your plants promptly when the advisability of repotting is indicated. A very satisfactory potting-soil is composed of garden loam, two parts; leaf-mold or its substitute, one part; and clean, coarse sand, one part. To this should be added some well-rotted cow manure, if obtainable. Work the compost over until all its ingredients are thoroughly mixed. The quantity of manure required to make the compost sufficiently rich to suit all kinds of plants will depend on the quality of the loam used. If that is quite rich, do not add much manure to it. If only of moderate richness, more can be used. This is a matter which will have to be decided largely by results. If the plants you put into the compost make a strong, healthy growth, the soil is rich enough. If the growth does not seem strong, more plant food is required. A good substitute for cow manure is fine bone-meal in the proportion of a pound to a bushel of soil. A good substitute for leaf-mold will be found in that portion of old sward from pasture or roadside which contains fine grass roots. Turn the sward over and cut away this part of it, to mix with the loam and sand. These roots will be found almost as rich in vegetable matter as pure leaf-mold. Some persons may wonder why I advise the liberal use of sand, which is not supposed to contain much nutriment. I do it because I have found from long experience in growing plants that sand not only facilitates good drainage, but enables air to get to the roots of the plants as it never can do when the soil is not light and porous. And sand is a sweetener of soil, as is charcoal. Of course not all plants are alike in their requirements. Roses, for instance, like a rather heavy, compact soil. In growing them use the loam without sand. If I had to choose between sand and manure in making potting-soil for nearly all plants adapted to window culture, I would take the sand. It is not too late to set out seedling plants of such perennials as phlox and hollyhock if care is taken to lift enough soil with them to insure against disturbance of their roots. Work of this kind can be done to better advantage now than in spring. Now is a good time to go over the shrubs and give such pruning as may seem necessary. As a general thing, the less pruning given a shrub the better, for if left to itself it will do a much better job of training than we are capable of doing for it. But it is advisable that all shrubs should have the old, weak wood cut away each season. This is pruning for health--not for symmetry. Nature has a keener eye for the symmetrical than we have, therefore we are justified in leaving the training of our shrubs to her, or to the shrubs, acting under her advice. Oleanders, fuchsias, hydrangeas, chrysanthemums--in fact, all hard-wooded plants that are summer and autumn bloomers--should be wintered in the cellar. Here, if the temperature is kept low, they will be practically dormant for several months, thus getting the same kind of a resting-spell that comes to deciduous plants out of doors during winter. Give just enough water to prevent the soil from becoming dust-dry. Do not be frightened if some of them shed their foliage while in cold storage; outdoor plants do that. If the place in which they are kept can be made dark, all the better. Dahlia roots should be spread out on swinging-shelves of wire netting when stored away. Never heap them together, and never put them on the cellar-bottom, for it is likely to be too damp there. Mold, which is largely the result of dampness, must be guarded against, hence the advantage of hanging-shelves which will allow a free circulation of air about the roots spread out on them. Look them over at least every week. If you find any that show signs of mold or decay, separate them immediately from the healthy ones. If allowed to remain, the diseased condition will surely be communicated to the entire mass of roots. All plants that seem to need repotting should be attended to before winter sets in. This will give them plenty of time to become thoroughly re-established before the winter campaign is on, and it will not be necessary to disturb them in the middle of the busy season. All the windows at which plants are kept should be looked over before cold weather comes, and made proof against cracks and crevices that will let in cold air. It is a good plan to provide these windows with storm-sash. If this is done, the plants can be allowed to stand with their leaves against the glass, as the air space between window and storm-sash will prevent frost from forming on the inner panes. Gladiolus roots should be stored in boxes of perfectly dry sawdust or buckwheat hulls and kept in a dry and rather cool place. Never put them in the cellar. Be careful to see that no frost gets to them. Or they can be wrapped in paper and put into paper bags and hung in a closet. If kept in a very warm place over winter they frequently become so dry that there is little vitality left in them by spring. Tuberous begonias and gloxinias will most likely have ended their flowering season by this time. Allow the soil in their pots to become dry. Then set them away in a dark closet without in any way disturbing the tubers. Treated in this manner, they winter much more satisfactorily than when the roots are taken out of the soil. In spring, when the plants are brought to the light and water is given, they will soon send up new sprouts. Then the roots should be shaken out of the old soil and supplied with fresh earth. In covering roses do not make use of leaves if there happens to be anything else at hand that will afford the necessary protection. Leaves would make an ideal covering were it not for the fact that it is almost impossible to keep mice from working in them. Last season I lost every rose-bush that was covered with leaves. The mice had gnawed all the bark from them. Covering the bushes with dry earth is preferable. XIII BULBS FOR WINTER FLOWERING Whenever any one writes me that she is fond of flowers, and would be delighted if she could have some in winter, but that she fails to get satisfaction from the ordinary house-plant, I always advise her to try bulbs. For I know that one is reasonably sure of getting fine flowers from this class of plants, provided we are willing to give them the right kind of treatment. One will get more flowers from them than she can expect from the ordinary collection found in the average window garden--we can have them through the entire winter if we plan for a succession--and we have few flowers that equal those of the bulbs in beauty. And, last but not least, they require really less care than is demanded by the majority of house-plants. Three things are essential to success in the culture of bulbs in the house: _First_--Good stock. _Second_--Good soil. _Third_--Root development before top growth takes place. The first essential is readily met if you order your bulbs from reliable dealers--dealers who have established a reputation for honesty and the handling of bulbs of the best quality only. Each season we see advertisements in which large collections of bulbs are offered at very low prices. Beware of them. As a general thing the wonderfully cheap ones are as cheap in quality as they are in price, and from such a grade of bulbs you cannot expect fine flowers. The best bulbs are imported ones, grown largely in Holland, where both soil and climate are admirably adapted to the production of first-class stock, and where the matter of bulb-growing has been reduced to almost a science. These will cost a little more than American-grown ones, but they are well worth the difference in price. Inferior stock will give inferior flowers every time, and what one wants in forcing bulbs in winter is the best flowers possible. The item of good soil is a most important one. Bulbs can be grown, after a fashion, in almost any kind of soil, but they can only be grown to perfection in a soil whose basis is a sandy loam made quite rich with some good fertilizer. Heavy soils can be made lighter by mixing sharp, coarse sand with them until the mixture, after being squeezed tightly in the hand, will readily fall apart after pressure is relaxed. The ideal fertilizer for all bulbs is old, thoroughly rotted cow manure. On no account should fresh manure of any kind be used. But it is not always possible to procure manure from the cow-yard, and those who are unable to do so will find fine bone meal a good substitute. Use this in the proportion of a pound to a half-bushel of soil. Whatever fertilizer is used should be thoroughly mixed with the soil. Be very sure that the latter is free from lumps. In potting bulbs for winter use I would advise putting several in the same pot. Fill the pot loosely with soil, then press such bulbs as those of the hyacinth, tulip, and narcissus down into it just their depth. As many can be used in a pot as can be set on the surface of the soil in it so that they just touch one another. Do not attempt to make the soil firm about them or beneath them. If this is done their tender roots will often fail to penetrate it, and the consequence will be that the bulbs are hoisted upward as the roots develop. This should be guarded against by having the soil so light that the young roots will find no difficulty in making their way into it. I advise the use of several bulbs in the same pot because it gives a greater amount of bloom in a limited space, and greatly economizes in soil, pots, and labor. When you have put your bulbs into the soil, water them well, and then set the pots away in a place that is _cool_ and _dark_. Some persons consider this unnecessary, and put their plants in the window as soon as potted. This is all wrong. Storage in a cool, dark room until roots have formed is absolutely necessary to success. The reason for it is plain if we stop to think that the bulbs must have roots before they can make a satisfactory growth of top. Roots first, flowers afterward. As a general thing bulbs will have to remain in cold storage at least six weeks before it will be safe to bring them to the windows in which they are to bloom. But no definite time can be assigned. One must examine the plants from time to time, and on no account should they be taken to the light until the pot is filled with roots and indications of top growth are seen. It may sometimes be necessary to water them while in the dark room, but as a general thing one watering--the one given at potting-time--will be sufficient. Too much water while in the dark may cause serious trouble. But this, like the length of time allowed for root formation, is a matter that must be left largely to the good judgment of the grower. When plants have been brought from the cellar, or wherever they have been placed while roots were forming, they should not be put into very warm rooms. Too much heat, combined with the effects of light and water, will result in rapid growth, which is not a healthy one. In warm rooms the flowers will be short-lived. I have spoken of planting for a succession of bloom. This is important if you want flowers throughout the winter. Pot a few at intervals of ten days or two weeks, beginning the middle of September or first of October. If this is done it is an easy matter to keep the window supplied with flowers from the holidays to the advent of spring. A little calculation will enable one to plant enough to meet the demand and to regulate the planting intervals in such a manner as to bring about the succession necessary to cover the season. What has been said above may seem so elaborate to the person who has never grown bulbs for winter flowering that it may give the impression that what is really a simple matter is too difficult for the amateur. But if what I have written is read over carefully and given a little thought you will readily see, I think, that most of what I have said has been devoted to giving reasons for the treatment outlined, so that the "whys and wherefores" may be understood. And it will be seen that it all resolves itself into a very simple proposition--_viz._, good stock, good soil, and cold storage until roots have formed--the three essentials spoken of at the beginning of this chapter. Nothing is required that the beginner in floriculture is not equal to. Potting the bulbs is a much simpler matter than potting a plant, and the preparation of soil for them involves no more labor or skill than the preparation of a soil for a geranium to grow in. Now as to kinds to grow. I advise the Holland hyacinth, preferably the single varieties; the Roman hyacinth, the white variety only; early tulips; and five varieties of the narcissus--Van Sion, Horsfeildii, empress, trumpet-major, and paper-white--and the Bermuda, or, as it is more commonly called, Easter lily. The double Holland hyacinths are too double to be pleasing to a person who likes individuality in a flower. The Roman hyacinth is more graceful than any other member of the family. The early tulip is much surer to bloom well than any of the others described in the florist's catalogue. The Easter lily requires a treatment somewhat different from that advised for the other bulbs. It sends forth two sets of roots, one from the base of the bulb and one from the stalk sent up from the bulb. In order to give each set of roots a chance we have to set the bulb deep down in the soil. Let the pot be only half filled with earth when the lily is put into it, press it down as directed for the other bulbs, and add no more soil until growth begins. Then, as the stalk reaches up, put more soil into the pot, and continue to do this until it is full. In this way give the two sets of roots the support they need. If bone meal is used as a fertilizer, be sure to get the finely ground article. Coarse bone meal is not what you need, as it does not give an immediate effect. XIV THE WINTER WINDOW-GARDEN In fall, when we bring in the plants that have been growing out of doors during the summer, they usually look healthy, and we congratulate ourselves that we are likely to have a fine crop of flowers from them later on. But soon we see some of their leaves turning yellow and falling off, and though they may make considerable growth, it is unsatisfactory because it is spindling and weak. If buds form, they are pretty sure to blight before reaching maturity, and, instead of having the fine, floriferous plants we had counted on, we have a window-garden that is more noticeable for its discouraged look than for anything else. The owner of such a garden too often aims to remedy the unfavorable conditions which exist in it by applying some kind of fertilizer to her plants. By doing this she simply makes a bad matter worse, for the application of any kind of plant food to weak and debilitated plants is on a par with giving rich food to a person whose stomach is not in a condition to make proper use of it. No fertilizer should ever be given to a plant that is not in healthy condition; neither should it be given to dormant plants. When active growth begins, then, and then only, should they be stimulated to stronger growth by feeding them well. But care must be taken to not overfeed them. Give only enough to bring about a vigorous growth, but not a rapid one, for that is pretty sure to be a weak one from which there will be a reaction by and by, from which your over-stimulated plants will suffer severely. Most growers of house plants are too kind to them. In this respect they are like a good many mothers who injure their children by over-indulgence through mistaken ideas of kindness. In applying fertilizers, begin by giving them in small quantities. Watch their effect upon the plants. If their leaves increase in size and take on a rich color, be satisfied that you are feeding your plants quite enough for their good. The impression prevails to a considerable extent that by fertilizing plants we secure more flowers from them than we would be likely to do if no fertilizer was used. Such is not the case. Feed a plant rich food and it will be likely to make a vigorous growth of branches and foliage at the expense of flowers. The aim should be to simply keep the plants growing well. If this is done, whatever flowers they produce will share in the general benefit of the application, but they will not be increased in quantity by it. One reason why the plants in the winter window-garden fail at the time when we think they ought to be doing their best is lack of fresh air. If one stops to think about it one will not wonder that her plants have a sickly look. We keep our windows closed tightly, thus keeping out the air that the plants need, and we put storm-doors on every entrance. In fact, we do everything in our power, seemingly, to prevent fresh air from getting to them, and then we wonder why our plants do not flourish. We lose sight of the fact that plants breathe, the same as human beings do. A little intelligent consideration of the conditions under which we undertake to grow them ought to convince us of the mistake we make in expecting them to do well without a regular supply of fresh air. While it is well to make the windows at which plants are kept tight enough to prevent draughts of cold air from coming in upon them, it is not only advisable but absolutely necessary, if we would grow healthy plants, to give them a liberal supply of fresh air every day, and preferably several times a day. This can be done by opening a door or a window at some distance from them, and letting fresh, pure air rush into and fill the room. If possible, let down a window a few inches from the top on the side of the room opposite from where the air comes in, to allow the vitiated air of the room to readily escape before the onrush of outdoor air. In this way it is an easy matter to completely change the character of the air in a room in a few minutes, and in doing it we benefit the human occupants of the room quite as much as we do the plants in it. If the owner of every window-garden would make it a daily practice to give her plants an air-bath she would be surprised at the speedy improvement that would be noticeable in them. We weaken our plants, as we do ourselves, by keeping the temperature of our rooms too high. We are not satisfied with a comfortable warmth. We want heat enough to keep us constantly conscious of it by its intensity. This is all wrong from the health point of view. What ought to be done is to install a thermometer in every room, and so regulate the amount of heat that all are kept at summer warmth by arranging for a system of ventilation that will act automatically when the thermometer goes above a certain point. This system is speedily coming into general use, and gives most excellent satisfaction. Where it is not in use, the temperature can be kept somewhere near where it ought to be by opening doors or windows from time to time, as already spoken of. Keep in mind that too much heat and too little fresh air will kill almost any plant in time, and the two, working together, will, nine times out of ten, make any window-garden a comparative failure. Care must be taken in watering plants in winter. Those which are dormant, or are making but little growth, will require very little water. Those in active growth will need more. The only way to tell how much to give is to watch your plants closely, and observe the effect of the applications given. When the surface of the soil takes on a dry look it is safe to conclude that the roots of the plant in the pot have made use of most of the moisture in it, and that more water should be given. Then give enough to make the soil moist all through, and withhold further applications until the dry look appears again. Never form the habit of watering your plants every time you happen to think about it, and then apply just enough to make the soil look wet on its surface. If this is done you will never grow good plants, for only the surface roots will get the moisture they need. Have a stated time for watering, and let the appearance of the soil govern the amount used. XV THE INSECT ENEMIES OF PLANTS Every woman who attempts to grow flowers in the house will sooner or later have to wage warfare against insects. Perhaps the first battle will have to be fought with the aphis, or plant-louse. This insect sucks the sap--the life-blood of the plant--from stalk and leaf, and soon, if let alone, it will exhaust the vitality of the plant to a degree that is wholly incompatible with health. In fact, if allowed to have its way, it will kill your plants, for it propagates its species with such rapidity that a plant will soon be literally covered with them. We used to kill off these insects by fumigating the plants infested with them with tobacco smoke, and in doing it we made ourselves about as sick as the insects were, and the nauseating fumes of it clung to everything in and about the house for days. Nowadays we make use of the nicotine principle of tobacco in our warfare against the aphis, but in a manner that leaves out the objectionable features of fumigation. Tobacco manufacturers have prepared an extract of the nicotine in the plant, and put it on the market under the name of nicoticide. All we have to do when we want to make use of it is to put a small quantity in water, and spray our plants with the mixture. Every aphis that it touches will die, and those that it fails to reach will take the hint that they are not wanted and that their presence will not long be tolerated, and the first you know they will have disappeared. Instead of waiting for the attack of the enemy I consider it good policy to anticipate it by frequent applications of the tobacco-bath. It will be found easier to keep the enemy away than to rout it after it has established itself on your plants. The red spider is another insect that does deadly work in the window-garden, especially in rooms where the temperature is high and there is little moisture in the air--a condition that generally prevails in the ordinary living-room. This pest is so small that its presence is seldom suspected until considerable injury has been done to the plants it works on. If you notice that leaves are turning yellow and dropping off, and that more and more of them fall each day, you had better look into the matter. Examine some of the fallen leaves. If you find tiny webs on the under side of them you may be quite sure that the spider is responsible for the condition your plants are in. Look at some of the leaves that are yellowing, but have not yet let go their hold, and you will be quite likely to find little red specks on them. These specks resemble grains of fine Cayenne pepper more than anything else. Watch them for a while and you will find that they are living organisms. It seems hardly possible that such tiny creatures can do much harm to a strong plant, but the fact is that there is no more voracious enemy of plant life in existence. Here the tobacco-bath does not come in play. Cold water is all the insecticide we need. Spray it over every portion of the infested plants daily, until they again take on a healthy look and begin to grow. The spider will not stay long in a moist atmosphere. Make it moist and keep it so by the liberal use of water sprayed upon your plants, and you will have very little trouble with this dangerous pest. But if you neglect to use water regularly and freely the probabilities are that your window-garden will look rather sickly by spring. Scale is an insect that often attacks plants having thick, firm-textured foliage, like the oleander, lemon, ivy, ficus, and palm. It is a flat creature, looking more like a fish-scale than anything else, hence its name. It attaches itself to the leaf and sucks the life out of it. The best weapon to fight this enemy with is an emulsion made as follows: shave thinly half a pound of white soap; pour a little water over it and set it on the stove to liquefy. When the soap is melted, add to it a pint of water and bring to a boil. When boiling, add a teacupful of kerosene and three tablespoonfuls of the tobacco extract. These ingredients, under the effect of heat, will form an emulsion that will unite readily with water. Use in the proportion of one part emulsion to fifteen parts water. Apply to the infested plants with a soft cloth or a camel's-hair brush. Be sure that some of it gets to all parts of the plant. Two or three applications may be necessary. Prepare a quantity of it and keep it on hand for use when needed. The emulsion spoken of above is an excellent remedy for the ills the rose is heir to during the early part of the season. If Paris green is sprayed onto the plants the foliage is frequently burned by it. If kerosene is mixed with water and applied, the oil will seldom emulsify perfectly with the water, and wherever a drop of it falls on leaf or bud it will do quite as much damage as would the bug or worm you are fighting. Hellebore is never to be depended on. The kerosene-tobacco-soap emulsion will be found safe and effective. Worms in the soil of pot plants can be got rid of by the use of lime-water. Put a piece of _perfectly fresh_ lime as large as the ordinary coffee-cup in ten quarts of water. If fresh, as it must be to be of any benefit, the water will seem to boil for a little while. By and by a white sediment will settle to the bottom of the vessel, and the water above will be clear. Pour this off and apply enough of it to each plant to saturate all the soil in the pot. Plug up the drainage hole in the bottom of the pot before the application is made, that the water may be retained long enough to do its work. Repeat the application if necessary. XVI GARDENING FOR CHILDREN If you want to keep children out of mischief give them a little garden. One that they can call their own will afford them far more pleasure than they get out of working in _your_ garden. Of course they will not be expected to go ahead with garden work at first and make much success at it without assistance from some one, and by object-lessons, but they will soon master the fundamental points of it, and when they have done that they will surprise you by the facility with which they pick up the information that grows out of their early experience and the amount of work that they will accomplish all by themselves. And you will be pleased to see how interested they are in the new undertaking. It will not seem like work to them. It will be play, and play of such a healthy character that you can well afford to ignore soiled clothes, and hands that have caught the grime of the soil, and faces on which sweat and soil have met on common ground and formed an intimate partnership. The healthy color of the faces of the children who work out of doors, and the excellent appetites that they bring to the table, will convince you that gardening is the best of all tonics for them. And you will be gratified to know that they are learning more from the great book of Nature than they would ever learn in the schools. They are learning things at first hand, for Nature will take charge of the little pupils and not trust her kindergarten work to an assistant. Nine children out of ten who have a garden to work in will become more interested in it than in all the fairy-books that were ever written. For are not the processes of germination and growth going on before their eyes akin to magic? The miracle of life is being performed before them every day, and they are taking part in it. That is what will make it so delightful to them. They have formed a partnership with Nature in miracle-making. Parents who have only a hazy notion of garden-work may think themselves incompetent to teach their children. But if they set out to do so they will soon find that they are daily learning enough to make them safe teachers for the little folks. And the best of it will be that they themselves are getting quite as much good and pleasure out of it as the children are. Give the boys and girls good tools to work with. Never ask them to make use of those you have worn out or found worthless. Something quite as good as you would provide for yourself is what should be provided for them. They will appreciate a good thing, be very sure, and the fact that they have it will be one of the best possible incentives to work. Supply them with good seed. And do not fail to encourage them by giving all the credit justly due them for what they accomplish. Children like to know that their efforts are properly appreciated. We grownups and the children are very much alike in that respect. XVII HOME AND GARDEN CONVENIENCES There are many ways in which work in the garden and about the home can be varied in such a manner as to give a variety of comparatively new and pleasing effects with so little trouble and expense that the amateur gardener and home-maker who would like "something new" will, I feel sure, be delighted to undertake some of them. One is a floral awning for the windows which are exposed to strong sunshine. A frame is made of lath, the width of the window and half its depth, by nailing four of the strips together in a square and then fastening other strips across it in a diamond or lattice fashion. Attach this frame to the top of the window-casing by door-butts. Then push the lower part of it away from the window until you have it at the angle at which a cloth awning would hang when dropped, and support it in that position by running strips of wood from each corner to the sides of the window-frame. If such vines as morning-glory, flowering bean, and cypress are trained up each side of the window until they reach these supports, it will be an easy matter to coax them up them and from them to the awning's framework, which they will soon cover with foliage and flowers. Such an awning will be found quite as satisfactory as one of cloth, so far as shade is concerned, and, as for beauty, there is no comparison between them, for the ordinary awning of striped cloth is never ornamental. A floral awning is to the upper part of the window what the window-box of plants is to the lower portion of it, and the two can be used in combination with most delightful results. Indeed, they belong together, and one without the other only half carries out the scheme of window decoration. Such awnings will be found as satisfactory for exposed doors as for windows. The boys of the family--or the women of it--can make them and put them in place, and the cost of them will be so small, compared with their ornamental and practical value, that one season's trial of them will make them permanent features of home-beautifying thereafter. I would advise planing the strips of lath and giving the frames a coat of green or white paint before putting them in place. Green paint will make them unobtrusive, and white will give a pleasing color contrast. If they are taken down in fall and stored in a dry place over winter they will last for a good many seasons. * * * * * As a general thing the front gate, if there is one, is not particularly ornamental. But it can easily be made so by setting posts ten or twelve feet tall at either side, and attaching to the top of them a double awning-frame similar to that advised for windows. Let these frames meet at the top and slope outward and downward, roof fashion, and have supports running to each outer corner from the posts. When vines are trained up the posts and over the frames, and are allowed to droop in graceful festoons of foliage and flower from them, the effect will be charming. Here is where the wild cucumber--the most rapid climber of all our annuals--will be able to do most effective work. I would advise the use of hardy vines for positions of this kind, as they will be attractive from the beginning of the season, while an annual has to be given considerable time to grow before it becomes equal to the task assigned it. Garden-seats ought to be a feature of all home grounds large enough to admit of them. And these seats can be made as ornamental as the gateway just described by providing them with awnings large enough to afford complete shade. Of course, where there are trees to furnish shade such awnings will not be needed--and the logical place for a garden-seat is under a tree, if there is one--but on grounds where there are no trees to furnish shade, such protection from the heat of summer sunshine as these awnings will afford becomes more a necessity than a luxury. As it is, they are both ornamental and useful, and the ease and cheapness with which they are made commends them to all who believe in the value of "little things" in making home attractive and pleasant. * * * * * Often it is desirable to furnish certain portions of the home grounds with screens large enough to shut off the public view. These should have frames of a size that guarantees strength. Lath put on in lattice fashion will make a good covering for them, but it will not be strong enough to insure durability in itself, hence the necessity of a more substantial framework. It is always advisable to paint them before covering them with vines. As screens of this kind are generally built with a view to permanence, I would advise covering them with hardy vines, like ampelopsis, _Clematis flammula_ and _C. paniculata_, aristolochia, or trumpet honeysuckle. * * * * * If low screens are wanted anywhere about the place, as a dividing factor between the flower and vegetable gardens, for instance, sweet-peas will make a charming covering for them. Large screens that are intended to separate the ornamental portions of the home grounds from the not generally attractive yards at the rear can be made extremely effective by training rambler roses over them. * * * * * One of the most attractive features about the home of the author of this book is the fence which divides it from the property of his next-door neighbor. When the lawn was made, cedar posts were set along one side of it, and on these woven-wire netting was stretched. This netting was about four feet wide and of a rather heavy grade of wire. Small plants of ampelopsis were set out along it, about twenty feet apart. As fast as branches were thrown out they were trained out and in through the meshes of the netting. In one season the plants made enough growth to meet one another, and the second season the netting was completely covered. The result has been extremely satisfactory. Throughout the summer this fence has the appearance of a closely clipped hedge of luxuriant green. In fall it is a mass of scarlet and crimson, quite as brilliant as the bed of geraniums near by. It is vastly more ornamental than a fence of wood or iron, and makes an entirely satisfactory substitute for a hedge that it would take years to grow. In some respects it is more satisfactory than such a hedge would be, as it requires no annual shearing to keep it in proper shape and condition. XVIII GARDEN DON'TS Don't let your springtime enthusiasm lead you to undertake more than you _feel quite sure_ of being able to carry out. Keep in mind the fact that there will be work to do all through the season in order to make your garden a success, and think over what the result will be if you fail to give your plants all the care they need after you have got them well under way. Don't give them a chance to say that you haven't given them fair treatment because your enthusiasm waned with the season. * * * * * Don't attempt to grow all the plants that the florists describe so attractively in their catalogues. Concentrate your efforts on the best ones--that is, the ones best adapted to amateur gardening. Give these the best possible care. This advice applies with equal pertinence to all phases of gardening, outdoors or indoors. * * * * * Don't pattern your garden after your neighbor's. Think out original features for the garden you propose to make, if you choose to do so, but don't aim to be so extremely original that the originality of it will attract more attention than the flowers in it. These should receive first consideration always. * * * * * Don't waste your time on "carpet-bedding" unless you make use of plants with colored foliage in carrying out your designs. Flowering plants are practically worthless for this purpose, as they have such a tendency to reach out beyond the limits assigned them that all distinctness in the outline of your pattern will soon be lost sight of. About all that seems worth while for the amateur gardener to do in the arrangement of her plant is to so use them that strong masses of color can be produced. If care is taken to choose those of harmonious colors, these can be so arranged as to heighten the general effect by contrast. * * * * * Don't set out to have a garden or to grow house plants unless you have the true gardening instinct. By that I mean a love for plants and flowers that would make you _attempt_ to grow them under circumstances which your own judgment tells you make success impossible. The woman who tries to grow a geranium in a tin can in a window four or five stories up in the air because of her love for flowers would be almost sure to make a splendid success of a garden on the ground if she had one. But the woman who attempts to grow a plant because her neighbors do so, and who is honest enough to say to herself that "it's more bother than it's worth," will fail because she lacks the true incentive. Such persons ought not to undertake the cultivation of flowers. They cannot grow them with any degree of success, for flowers know who loves them, and will absolutely refuse to flourish under the care of those who do not want them for their own sweet sakes. * * * * * Don't fill your windows to overflowing. Give each plant enough elbow-room to admit of its displaying its charms effectively. A crowded plant is never a symmetrical one, and one really symmetrical is worth a score of poorly shaped ones. The fact is, a window of ordinary size cannot satisfactorily accommodate more than eight or ten plants of ordinary size without crowding. There should be space enough between them to allow the sunshine to get to all portions of them. A free circulation of air among them is quite important. * * * * * Don't be a plant-beggar. By that I do not mean that you are not to "swap" plants with your neighbors if it is mutually agreeable to do so. When I speak of a "plant-beggar" I have in mind the person who depends upon her plant-growing friends for enough plants to keep her window well stocked, and her garden also. As soon as she discovers that you have a plant that she would like she does not hesitate to ask for a root or a cutting of it. She never stops to think that you are trying to grow the plant for your own pleasure. It doesn't matter to her how much it interferes with its satisfactory development in complying with her request. If she gets what she wants she is satisfied. The probabilities are that when her plant gets to be as large as yours was when she asked you to divide it with her she'll not hesitate to refuse the woman who suggests that she'd "like one just like it--won't you let me have a slip?" That there are persons quite as selfish as this cannot be denied. But they ought not to be encouraged. Don't gratify them in their unreasonable demands simply because you are afraid of being considered "small" and "stingy." * * * * * Don't fail to have a corner in your garden devoted expressly to plants from which to cut for friends and the sick and shut-ins. Perhaps it is more a fancy of mine than anything else, but it has always seemed to me that plants grown for this purpose know what use they are to be put to and do their best in order to help carry out the plan of the person who grows them. If we who have all the flowers of our own that we care for could only know what a vast amount of pleasure we can give our less fortunate neighbors by dividing our supply with them, we would be more liberal than we are. * * * * * Don't keep fuchsias in the window in winter, for they are not winter-flowering plants, and the space they will occupy might better be given up to plants from which we can reasonably expect blossoms. They should go into the cellar in November, along with oleanders, hydrangeas, chrysanthemums, and plants of similar habit, there to remain until March. Then they can be brought to the light, watered, and again started into growth. It is well to cut most plants that have been wintered in the cellar back at least half, and allow them to renew most of their branches. While in cold storage they should be given just enough water to prevent the soil from becoming really dry, and no more. Keep them in the dark, if possible, and in a cool place. Do not allow the temperature to go below the frost-point, however. * * * * * Don't think because you have only a little bit of ground that it isn't worth while to attempt having a garden. Some of the most delightful gardens I have ever seen were small ones. You will be surprised to find how many plants can be grown in a very small space. Utilize all the nooks and corners about the place for plants. * * * * * Don't depend on home-grown seed if you want the best in flowers. The seedsman knows just what to do to secure the best results in seed, and just how to do it. He also knows what _not_ to do in raising seed for the market, and this the amateur gardener really knows nothing about. While we often grow fine flowers from seed of our saving, the fact remains that home-grown seed seldom gives entire satisfaction to the person who wants the best. * * * * * Don't invest your money in new plants until you are satisfied that they have all the merit claimed for them. As a general thing, the "novelties" sent out every spring at a high price are greatly inferior to the good old stand-bys. We seldom hear anything about them after the second season. Put your money into plants that you know can be depended on. * * * * * Don't attempt the culture of hanging-plants unless you are willing to give them the care they must have in order to be satisfactory. Plants suspended in the window, where the temperature is considerably higher than at the sill, speedily dry out, and after this has happened a few times they become diseased and finally die. It will be necessary to apply water daily and in sufficient quantity to saturate all the soil in the pot or basket. Because it requires special effort on the part of the owner to get to suspended plants, they are generally neglected. It is a most excellent plan to have them arranged in such a manner that they can be let down into a tub of water and left there until the soil has absorbed all the water it can retain. This can be done by cords running over pulleys in the ceiling. Try it. Hanging-plants are always pleasing when healthily grown, and the window-garden that is without them is not living up to its privileges. * * * * * Don't "fuss" with your plants too much. See that they get all the water they need, as much sunshine as possible, plenty of fresh air, an occasional application of some good fertilizer, and shower them frequently to keep them clean, and be satisfied with this treatment. They object to being treated as some mothers treat their children, who would be much better off if they were let alone after actual wants were provided for. Don't coddle your plants. * * * * * Don't start dahlias into growth in the house early in the season, thinking that you are going to "get the start of the season" by so doing. We used to think that, because the dahlia came from a country where the summer was long, we must get it to growing in March or April, and we set the tubers out in pots and boxes and forced them to make a rapid and weak growth so early in the season that long before it was safe to put them out in the garden they were poor, spindling things, with just enough vitality in them to make it possible to say that they were alive. When they were planted out the change from indoors to outdoors had such a debilitating effect on them that for weeks they were undecided whether to live or die. If they lived we considered ourselves fortunate if we got a dozen flowers from each plant. Nowadays we understand the plant better. We don't attempt to start it in the house. We wait until the weather and the ground are warm and then we plant the tubers in the garden where they are to grow and bloom. We make the soil very rich. The plants begin to grow shortly after being planted, and in late August they come into bloom, and all through September they yield such a profusion of flowers as we never thought of getting from the plants when grown after the old method. The dahlia is one of our very best late-summer flowering plants when well grown. It must have a rich soil--it must not be allowed to get dry at the roots at any time--and it must be given substantial support, as its stalks are extremely brittle and easily broken down by hard winds and heavy rains. Dahlias are very effective when planted in the border among shrubs and perennials. There are few plants with a wider range of rich and brilliant color. By all means give them a place in your garden. * * * * * Don't sow hollyhock seed in the spring expecting to get flowers from your plants the same season. They will not bloom the first year from seed. * * * * * Don't allow your pansies to bloom--or _try_ to bloom--during the hot, dry, midsummer season. They may produce _some_ flowers, but they will be so inferior in quality that you will get no pleasure from them. I would advise cutting away all the old branches the latter part of July and encouraging the plants to renew themselves preparatory to fall flowering. If this is done, and strong, healthy growth results from the liberal application of a good fertilizer during August, you may expect a generous crop of large, fine flowers all through the autumn. If it is _not_ done, and the plants are allowed to keep on trying to grow through the trying period of late summer, you will get few flowers and no really good ones. * * * * * Don't allow any plant to develop seed if you want it to keep on blooming after its first flowering period. The aim of all plants is to reproduce themselves, and this can only be done by seed development. If we interfere with the ordinary process of seed production by cutting away all flowers as soon as they begin to fade, the plants will at once make another effort to perpetuate their kind, and, as the first step in this direction is the production of flowers, it will be readily seen that it is possible to make many of them bloom all through the season. * * * * * Don't expect good flowers of any kind unless you are willing to give them the care and attention they require. If you are not willing to do this, or if, for any reason, you _cannot_ do it, don't attempt gardening. Have enough regard for the flowers to not undertake their culture unless you can do them justice. * * * * * Don't throw away plants of any kind. Somebody will always be glad to get those you have no use for. * * * * * Don't neglect a plant to-day and think you can make up for that neglect by being very good to it to-morrow. Plants must receive care _when it is needed_, and this care should be given regularly, instead of spasmodically, to be effective. * * * * * Don't begin to water your plants in your garden in a dry season unless you can keep on doing so as long as the dry spell lasts. * * * * * Don't fail to keep close watch of your asters. Of late years many failures have resulted from the attack of a black beetle, which comes from no one knows where--comes so suddenly and does such deadly work in so short a time that the plants are often ruined before the presence of the pest is suspected. There is but one way of getting rid of this pest, and that is to make use of nicoticide, the standard remedy for all plant troubles of this kind. A small quantity of this extract of tobacco, diluted with water and sprayed over all portions of each plant, will effectually rout the enemy if applied promptly and thoroughly. Unless something is done as soon as the beetle is discovered, it will destroy every plant. Be on the lookout for it constantly, acting on the supposition that it will be sure to put in an appearance some time during the summer. Get ready in advance for prompt action against it by laying in a supply of the insecticide at the beginning of the summer. * * * * * Don't think that your house plants need repotting two or three times a year if they are growing in good-sized pots. Once a year is quite often enough if you apply fertilizers at intervals of four or five months. Plants in small pots may outgrow their quarters, and these should be shifted to those of larger size when they have filled the old ones with roots. * * * * * Don't make the mistake of putting small plants in large pots, thinking that they will be benefited by it. Wait for them to signify a desire for more room by filling all the soil of a small pot with roots. A plant with a small, weak root-system is often seriously injured by giving it a large pot to grow in, as it is not in a condition to make use of all the nutriment in a large amount of soil. A plant treated in this manner will often develop a sort of vegetable dyspepsia as a result of giving it more food than it can digest properly. * * * * * Don't be in too great a hurry to obtain results. Some persons think to accomplish this by frequent applications of strong fertilizers in large quantities. This will force plants to a rapid and always unhealthy growth, from which, later on, there is sure to be a most discouraging reaction. Be content with a healthy growth, and give your plants a chance to make that naturally. More plants are injured by overfeeding than from any other cause. * * * * * Don't think that you can learn all there is to know about gardening from books. Books will furnish the theory. You must contribute experience in order to attain success. * * * * * Don't neglect your plants while they are growing. Then is just the time to give them the training that is necessary to make them shapely. The fact is, plants are very much like children in the family. Let them have their own way about everything while they are growing up and you will find that when they have grown up they are not at all like what you would like to have them, in many respects, and you don't see how you are going to make them conform to your ideas of what they ought to be, since it is impossible to make children of them again and give you another chance at their development. Begin with the training of your plants while they are small, and train them as they grow. * * * * * Don't treat all your plants alike. Study their peculiarities and give them such treatment as will fit those peculiarities. To illustrate this idea: a calla likes a good deal of water; a geranium is satisfied with a moderately moist soil; a cactus does best when allowed to get really dry at certain seasons. If we were to treat these three plants alike, what do you suppose the result would be? Don't ignore the peculiarities of your plants if you want them to do well. * * * * * Don't neglect to prepare for an annual invasion of your roses by bugs, worms, and insects. You can safely count on their coming, but if you are prepared for it you can speedily put the enemy to rout. The best plan is to act on the offensive. Head off the pests by making applications of nicoticide before they make their appearance. You can do this, for, if their advance-agent arrives and finds the tang of tobacco all over the plants, he will go back and advise the others to seek more agreeable quarters. Begin to spray your bushes early in the season, and keep on doing so until after the flowering period is over. There will be no likelihood of an invasion after that, as the enemies of the rose do their deadly work early in the season. * * * * * Don't get the idea for a moment, as so many do, that all you need to do to have a fine lot of plants is to put some soil--any kind that happens to be handiest--in a pot, set out a plant in it, and, presto! you will have just as fine a lot of plants as your neighbor who searches here and there and everywhere until she finds just the kind of soil that experience tells her the plants must have if she would have good ones. She gives some of her time daily to caring for them, while you expect your plants to take care of themselves. That will never answer. If you do your share of the work the plants will do theirs, but you must not expect them to do all, any more than you must expect them to make a strong, healthy growth in a soil that is unsuited to their requirements or sadly lacking in nutriment. * * * * * Don't build up a great fire in stove or furnace if you discover that your plants have been nipped by frost, thinking to save them by "thawing them out." Heat at such a time is the very thing needed to complete the misfortune. Put them at once in a room where the temperature can be kept just a little above the frost-point, and shower them thoroughly with cold water. This will extract the frost from them so gradually that it will be possible to save many of them unless they are badly frozen. Keep them in a cool room for three or four days. It may be necessary to cut away most, or all, of the branches of some of them. Unless the degree of cold to which they were subjected was sufficient to freeze the soil in the pot, many of them will throw up new shoots from their roots after a little; therefore don't throw out a plant that has been obliged to part with all its top until it has been given a chance to make a new start in life. * * * * * Don't put your house plants out of doors for the summer until the weather has become warm and can be depended on to remain so. The first of June will be quite early enough. * * * * * Don't plant them out in the garden-beds, thinking thereby to save yourself the work of taking care of them during the summer and of benefiting them at the same time. Of course they will take care of themselves there, and very likely make a much more luxuriant growth than they would in pots, but when fall comes and you have to lift and repot them you will find that more hard work is required of you than you would have expended on them throughout the summer if you had kept them in pots. As for the benefit to the plants--where will it come in? They will have made such a rampant growth of roots that most of them will have to be sacrificed in reducing the earth containing them to the size of the pots you put them into, and this at the very time when the poor plants ought to be at their best in order to successfully withstand the unfavorable conditions resulting from the change from outdoors to indoors. Plants treated in this manner receive a check that they seldom fully recover from during the entire winter. Instead of saving yourself work and doing a kindness to your plants, you have done just the contrary. XIX A CHAPTER OF HELPFUL HINTS In some of the foregoing chapters I have had something to say about the advisability of using seed in which each color is kept by itself in order to secure the greatest possible degree of color-harmony in the garden. Many persons tell us that they cannot afford to pay the extra prices which the seedsmen put on unmixed seed. It is true that it costs more than the seed in which all colors are jumbled together, and it is also true that plants grown from it are really no better than those grown from mixed seed, but the fact remains that it gives so much more satisfactory results, from an artistic standpoint, that it is not throwing money away, as some claim, to make use of it. Of course if one gets as much pleasure from a mass of color without regard to harmony as from fewer colors all in perfect harmony with one another, it would hardly be worth while to invest more money in such seed. But where the finest possible effects are desired I contend that unmixed seed is cheapest, in that sense of the term that means the greatest satisfaction. There is a way by which unmixed seed can be obtained without its really costing each person more than mixed seed. Every amateur gardener knows that more plants of a kind can be grown from one package of seed than a person cares for in the average-sized garden. Nine times out of ten only part of the seed in the package is sown and the rest is either discarded or given away to friends. Now if those who would like to secure the best results in gardening will get up a seed club among their flower-loving friends, and confine their selection to packages in which each color is by itself, the seed in those packages can be divided among the various members of the club, and each person will have enough to meet her requirements, and this at a less price than she would have to pay for ordinary mixed seed if she were to order alone, because none of the seed would be wasted. Try the seed-club plan for a season and see if it doesn't work out to your satisfaction. If you are likely to have more plants of a kind than you care for, don't throw any of the seedlings away when you thin them out. There are poor children in every neighborhood that would be delighted to get them. Never waste any plants that are worth growing. If a plant is wanted for low beds under the windows of the dwelling or near the paths, portulacca is about as satisfactory as anything I know of. It blooms with great profusion throughout the entire season. Its colors range from pure white through pink, yellow, and violet to dark crimson. It is a plant that seems to delight in locations exposed to the hottest sunshine, and in soils so lacking in moisture that ordinary plants would live but a short time in it. It is enabled to do this because of the succulent nature of its foliage. Indeed, the portulacca is a vegetable salamander so far as its ability to stand heat and drought is concerned. Those who have had experience with purslane in the vegetable garden will understand something about the nature of this plant, for the two are closely related. In furnishing support for vines that clamber over the walls of the house, do not use strips of cloth, as so many do. The cloth is good for a season only. After the vines have become large and heavy their weight will be sufficient to tear the cloth loose from the tacks that held it in place, especially after a heavy rain or in strong winds, and down will come the plant. It will be found impossible to put it back in place in anything like a satisfactory manner. For supporting large, stiff vines I make use of screw-hooks, which are easily inserted in wooden walls. Turn the hooks in until there is just enough room between their points and the wall to admit of slipping the vine in. Not one vine in fifty will work loose from the grip of the hooks. Some vines are not adapted to this treatment. These I support by using strips of leather instead of cloth. The leather should be soaked in oil for twenty-four hours before using, to make it pliable and water-resisting. Do not use small tacks, as these do not have sufficient hold on the wood to make them dependable. Use nails at least an inch long, with good-sized heads. Some persons object to the use of vines about the house, especially if it is of wood, claiming that they retain moisture to such an extent as to soon injure the walls. I have convinced myself that facts are directly contrary to this theory. The overlapping leaves act as shingles--shedding rain and preventing it from getting to the walls against which the vines are trained. Try to interest the children in the making of a fern-garden and a collection of native plants. A little encouragement at the beginning will do this, and after the project is well under way it will not need encouraging, for the little folks will be so fascinated by it that there will be little likelihood of their abandoning the undertaking. Take half a dozen or more children to the woods with you, with baskets in which to bring home their specimens. Show them how to take up the plants in such a manner that a considerable amount of soil will adhere to their roots. Help them pack them snugly into the baskets to prevent their being shaken about in transit, thereby losing the soil taken up with them. If the day happens to be a warm and sunny one, have them sprinkle the plants and pack some wet moss about them to keep them as fresh as possible until they can be planted in the home garden. Discourage them from taking large plants in preference to small ones, as they will most likely be eager to do. Explain that the small ones stand the best chance of living, and that nothing is gained by choosing large ones, because these will be sure to lose their foliage, and that, even if they live, which nine out of ten will not, they will receive such a check by removal that the small plants will soon get the start of them. It will greatly add to the pleasure of plant-collecting if you make a kind of picnic excursion of it. Take along something good to eat, and spend half a day in the woods, if possible. You will enjoy it as much as the children will. Don't dig your plants, however, until you are about ready to start for home, for it is quite important that they should be planted as soon as possible after being taken up. When they are set out, water them well and shade them for several days. Give all plants taken from shady places a location as nearly like that from which they were taken as possible. A fern that grew in shade will be pretty sure to die if planted in a place fully exposed to the sun. It helps matters very much if you can have a load of woods earth drawn to the home garden to plant these children of the forest in. They do not take kindly to loam, after having been grown in loose, porous soil, though many of them are strong enough to adapt themselves to ordinary garden conditions. I know of many neighborhoods in which clubs for collecting native plants have been formed, and the children who are in these clubs have become intensely interested in their gardens of native plants. This is as it should be, for we have many beautiful wild flowers that are better worth growing than foreign kinds for which large prices are asked. Pride in our home plants ought to be encouraged, and there is no better way of doing this than by interesting the boys and girls in the making of a wild garden. The tuberose is a plant which everybody admires, but which is seldom seen in amateur gardeners' collections. I think the general impression is that it is not an easy plant to grow. Such is not the case, however. It can be grown successfully by any one who is willing to give it a little attention. Tubers should be obtained in March or April. They should be planted in pots containing sandy garden loam into which a liberal amount of good fertilizer has been thoroughly worked. If the tubers are small, two or three can be put into each seven-inch pot used. Before planting them the mass of dried roots which will generally be found adhering to the base of the tuber should be cut away with a thin, sharp-bladed knife. If this is not done, these roots often decay and the diseased condition will be communicated to the tuber and cause it to die, or, if death does not result, to become so unhealthy that it will fail to bloom. The plants can be turned out of their pots when the weather becomes warm, and grown on in the garden through the summer, but I would not advise this, for it will be necessary to lift and pot them before frosty nights come, as they are very tender, and a little disturbance of their roots at this time may cause their buds to blast. I would urge keeping them in pots throughout the season, as, if this is done, you always have them under control. The flowers of the tuberose are ivory-white in color. They are of thick, waxen texture, and have that heavy, rich fragrance that characterizes the magnolia and the cape jasmine of the South. They are borne in a spike at the extremity of tall stalks, thus being very effective for cutting. Because of their thick texture they last for a long time after cutting. Plants in pots remain in bloom for a month or six weeks. Every lover of deliciously fragrant flowers will do well to grow at least half a dozen of them to do duty in the window-garden in fall. A second crop of flowers need not be expected from a tuber that has borne one crop. In order to make sure of bloom it will be necessary to purchase fresh tubers each spring. The abutilon is an old favorite among house plants, and its popularity is well deserved. It is of as easy culture as a geranium. Give it a good soil--preferably loam--drain its pot well, keep the soil evenly moist but never wet, and that is about all the care it will require. It may be necessary to prune it now and then during its early stages of growth in order to secure symmetrical shape, but this is easily done by pinching off the ends of such branches as seem inclined to get the start of others, and keeping them from making more growth until the others have caught up with them. Pinching back branches that do not develop side shoots will generally result in their branching freely. In this way you secure a bushy, compact plant. In order to make a little tree of the abutilon--and it is most satisfactory when grown in that manner--train it to one straight stalk until it reaches the height where you want the head to form. Allow no side branches to grow during this period of the plant's development. When three or four feet tall, nip off the top and keep it nipped off until as many branches as you think necessary have started at the top of the stalk. Allow none to grow below. By persevering in this treatment you will succeed in getting a number of branches with which to form a treelike head. There are several varieties of abutilon. Some have orange flowers, some red, some yellow, some pink, and some pure white. These flowers are bell-shaped and pendent. One name for the plant is the Chinese bell-flower because of its bell-like blossoms. Another is flowering maple, because of the resemblance in shape of its foliage to our native maple. There are two or three varieties with beautifully variegated foliage in which green and white and yellow are about equally distributed. I am always glad to speak a good word for this plant because of its beauty, its ease of culture, its constancy of bloom, and the fact that it is seldom attacked by insects. Another most deserving old plant is the rose geranium. This used to be found in nearly all collections of house plants. It is as easily grown as the flowering geranium. Its foliage is very pleasing, being as finely cut as some varieties of fern. It is delightfully fragrant. A leaf or two will be found a most desirable addition to a buttonhole or corsage bouquet. It can be grown in tree form by giving it the pinching-back treatment advised for the abutilon, or it can be grown as a bush by beginning the pinching process when it is only three or four inches high, thus obliging it to throw out several stalks near the base of the plant. Old plants of oleander may easily be renewed when they have become so large as to be unwieldy, or have outgrown the space that can be given up to them. Cut away _all_ the branches to within four or five inches of the main stalk, leaving nothing but a mass of stubs. In a very short time new branches will be sent out. There will be so many of them that it will be necessary to remove the larger share of them. If this pruning is done in early spring, when the plant is brought from cold storage, the new growth ought to bear a crop of flowers in late summer. The following season the plant should be literally covered with bloom during the greater part of summer, these blossoms being as large and fine in all respects as those borne by the plant when young. I know of no plant that is more tractable than this one, and certainly we have few that are more beautiful. Large specimens are magnificent for porch and veranda decoration in summer. In December they should go into the cellar, to remain there until March. Plants with variegated foliage are becoming more in demand yearly. Japanese maize, with long leaves striped with white and cream, is very effective when grown in a mass in the center of a bed. The Japanese hop, with foliage heavily marbled with creamy white, is quite as attractive without flowers as many of our flowering vines are. Ricinus, with enormous foliage of a lustrous coppery bronze, will be found far more "tropical" in effect then the cannas and caladiums we see so much of nowadays. The leaves of this plant often measure a yard across. If you want it to be most effective, plant it in some exposed place where it will have plenty of room to spread its branches. From what I have said in a preceding chapter it will be readily understood that I am not an admirer of "carpet-bedding" except where plants with small, richly colored foliage are made use of. These can be pruned in such a manner as to keep each color inside its proper limit, but flowering plants will straggle across the lines assigned them, and all clearness of outline in the "pattern" will soon be lost. But when plants are located with a view to securing color contrast, very fine effects can be obtained from them. A circular bed filled with pink, white, and pale-yellow _phlox drummondii_ in rows of each color will be found pleasing, and it has the merit of being easily made. If a round bed has scarlet salvia for its center, surrounded with yellow calliopsis, or California poppy, it will afford a mass of most intense color that will produce a most brilliant effect. A bed of pink flowering geraniums--pink, mind you, not scarlet or any shade of red--bordered with lavender ageratum, will be found extremely attractive if care is taken to cut away all trusses of bloom from the geraniums as soon as they have begun to fade. If this is not done the bed will have a draggled, slovenly effect. Scarlet salvia combined with euphorbia, better known as "snow-on-the-mountain," will be found very effective, the white and green of the euphorbia bringing out the scarlet of the salvia most vividly, and affording such a strong contrast that a bed of these two plants will always challenge admiration. The euphorbia will be found a very useful plant for almost any place in beds or borders where something seems needed to relieve the prevailing color. It deserves more attention than it gets. The impression seems to prevail that many plants ought to retain their old leaves indefinitely. They will not do this, however. Leaves ripen after a time, and the plant will shed them, as all deciduous plants shed theirs in fall. Therefore if you find the lower leaves on your ficus turning, yellow and dropping, don't be frightened. The plant is simply going through one of the processes of nature. But if a good many of the leaves fall all at once it will be well to look for some other explanation of the plant's action. The loss of foliage may come from lack of moisture in the soil, or the roots of the plant may be pot-bound. Examination will show if either is the case. If the soil is found to be dry, more water should be given. If the pot is filled with roots, repot the plant, giving it more root room. The owners of plants should take all these things into consideration before coming to any conclusion as to what the cause of trouble is. Unless they do so there will have to be "guesswork" relative to it, and that is never safe or satisfactory. Trouble may come from overwatering, or from lack of good drainage, or a soil deficient in nutrition. You see, it is necessary to study these matters from several angles, so to speak, as the trouble complained of may have its origin in any one of the conditions mentioned, and not much can be done to remedy matters until one has made an examination that brings to light the facts in the case. These known, it will be a comparatively easy matter to determine the treatment required, for the conditions that are found to exist will, to a great extent, indicate in almost every instance the remedy needed. * * * * * Some good vines for window-box culture are: Madeira vine.--Heart-shaped foliage of a rich, glossy green. Very rapid grower. Tradescantia.--Green, green striped with white, and olive striped with Indian red. Quick grower. Vinca Harrisonii.--Dark-green foliage, edged with yellow. Senecio.--More commonly known as German ivy. Pretty, ivy-shaped foliage of a clear, bright green. Very rapid grower. Needs frequent pinching back to make it branch freely. Glechoma.--Green, variegated with bright yellow. Othonna.--Better known as "pickle-plant" because of its cylindrical foliage, which resembles a miniature cucumber. Has pretty yellow flowers. Saxifraga.--Leaves of graying olive sprinkled with white. Ivy-leaved geraniums.--There are many varieties, some with pink, some with white, and others with red flowers. These are excellent where flowering plants of drooping habit are desired. A box edged with these plants, especially the pink variety, with white Marguerites--better known as Paris daisies--in the center, will be found especially pleasing. In window-boxes having a northern exposure such plants as Boston and Whitman fern, _asparagus plumosus_, _asparagus Sprengerii_, and any of the fibrous-rooted begonias will be found very effective. These plants can be turned out of their pots and planted in the earth in the box, or the pots in which they grow can be sunk in the soil. This is in several respects the best way, as in fall, when the window-box has to be discontinued, the plants will not have to be repotted. Petunias are excellent plants for window-box culture. They can be made to grow in upright form by giving them a little support, or they can be allowed to droop over the sides of the box. A combination of purple and white varieties will be found pleasing. This plant comes into bloom early in the season, when grown from seed, and it continues to bloom until cold weather comes. THE END TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE -Plain print and punctuation errors fixed. 
48063	----	A LITTLE GARDEN CALENDAR [Illustration] A LITTLE GARDEN CALENDAR _For Boys and Girls_ by ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE _Author of "The Little Lady, Her Book," "The Arkansaw Bear," Etc._ WITH FORTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS PHILADELPHIA HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY _Copyright, 1905, by Henry Altemus Published March, 1905_ BY THE SAME AUTHOR The Little Lady, Her Book, $1.00 The Arkansaw Bear, 1.00 The Wanderings of Joe and Little Em, .50 A WORD TO TEACHERS AND PARENTS WHEN Dr. S. P. Langley, Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, established the Children's Room in that great museum, he took for his motto, "Knowledge begins in wonder," and he put into this room a selection of specimens especially intended to excite interest in the young mind. The biggest bird and the littlest were placed side by side; curious eggs, nests, and insects--not many in number, but temptingly displayed--were ranged about to attract attention and to awake the desire to know more. It was the same Dr. Langley who had once declared that his chief interests in life were children and fairy stories, and it is in the little Washington room that we seem to find the thought embodied, for the children are there, and the fairy stories of nature are suggested on every hand. It is with Dr. Langley's motto in mind that the "Little Garden Calendar" is offered to parents and teachers, and to children themselves who are old enough to read. The author has tried to tell in simple language a few of the wonders of plant life, and to set down certain easy methods of observation, including planting, tending, and gathering the harvests, from month to month, throughout the year. Along with this it has been his aim to call attention to the more curious characteristics of certain plants--the really human instincts and habits of some, the family relations of others, the dependence of many upon mankind, animals, and insects, and the struggle for existence of all. Simple botany plays a part in the little narrative, which forms a continuous story from chapter to chapter, interwoven with a number of briefer stories--traditions, fairy tales, and the like, all relating to plant life and origin. These are presented by way of entertainment--to illuminate fact with fancy--to follow, as it were, the path of knowledge through the garden of imagination. The illustrations in this book are from excellent photographs--especially made for the various chapters--that the student of plant life may compare and identify with some degree of assurance as to varieties and particular specimens, especially in the matter of plant organisms. The volume is divided according to the calendar, for the reason that in the plant world there is interest for every month in the year if only someone is by to point the way, and it is for this purpose that the little story of Prue and Davy and their garden is offered to instructors in the schoolroom and at home, and to the young people themselves, with the greetings and good wishes of THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS PAGE JANUARY, 13 I You may begin your garden right away II Your garden may not look as I have it here III Many seeds are given wings IV I think seeds know the months FEBRUARY, 43 I Little plants won't stand much handling II Hey for the merry little sweet pease III Even clover belongs to the pulse family IV Beans and morning-glories twine to the right V The honeysuckle twines always to the left MARCH, 73 I Still it was really a radish II The sun swings like a great pendulum III Long before there were any railroads and cities IV Did you ever see the little man in the pansy? APRIL, 103 I The yellow dust is a food for the seed II The coming of the corn III Cross by name and cross by nature IV A peppery family V For in that dish was Davy's corn MAY, 131 I Sweet pease have to be put down pretty deep II Different families of ants have different droves of cows III There are many ways of producing species JUNE, 159 I Then they went down into the strawberry patch II How the rose became queen III The sun is the greatest of all JULY, 187 I A plant is divided into three principal parts II There are exogens and endogens III I don't see what weeds are for, anyway AUGUST, 211 I There are just two kinds of leaves II Sometimes I think plants can see and hear III There are plants which do not bloom IV The princess by the sea SEPTEMBER, 241 I A flower really has clothes II A flower has many servants III A flower may really reason IV Some flowers live off other flowers and plants V The prince and the thread of gold OCTOBER, 267 I Seeds are made to be planted II There are bitter nuts and sweet ones III There are many things called fruits NOVEMBER, 291 I There are annuals, biennials, and perennials II Plants know how to spread III All thanks for the plants DECEMBER, 313 I New gardens in the windows II To the garden of sleep III In the gardens of Christmas IV Some verses, and then good-by ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE _Frontispiece_ Davy's window--Prue's window 19 The beans at the end of two weeks 23 The morning-glories two weeks old 27 The pot of radishes 35 The pease two weeks old 37 The corn at the end of two weeks 47 The pease run up straight ladders 53 A member of the pulse family 59 The morning-glory twines to the right 65 The nasturtiums began to hide the little pot 75 The very small lettuce leaves 81 Davy's pot of radishes 93 "Davy's corn sent out a plume at the top" 97 "The morning-glories had bloomed and already had seed pods" 113 "Cabbage" was the fat fellow's name 115 "They called it nasturtium" 121 Alyssum--the sweetest of the "Cross" family 123 "Don't you think the blackberry looks a little like a wild rose?" 135 "And the apple blossom, too?" 139 Budding 149 The Chief Gardener's strawberries 161 Big, big berries that looked so good 165 The rose stamens and pistil which produce the seed 175 "Gardeners often take a rose of one kind and shake it gently over a rose of another kind" 178 "Sometimes the gardener takes up the pollen on a soft brush and lays it gently on the stigma of another rose" 179 The pistil and stamens of the lily 192 A pistil and calyx and a complete flower 193 A group of endogens--the lily, hyacinth, and daffodil 195 Some simple leaves 217 Pine-needles are leaves 218 There is a lot of kinds and shapes 221 "Beware of the vine with the three-part leaf" 253 The dandelion is bound to spread its seed 256 "So it blooms below the lawn-mower's cutting-wheel" 257 "They cling to everything that passes" 269 Three members of the acorn family 277 The apple is a calyx. The pistil is the core inside of it 283 A raspberry is a cluster of pistils without the core 285 The seed and sets of the onion 295 A black raspberry vine preparing to spread 299 "What are stuck-ins?--oh, slips!" 301 The wool that grows on the sheep's back is there because the sheep feeds on the green grass in summer 307 A Japanese fern-ball 316 The kind of a tree that nobody but Santa Claus ever raises 323 JANUARY A LITTLE GARDEN CALENDAR JANUARY I YOU MAY BEGIN YOUR GARDEN RIGHT AWAY THIS is the story of a year, and begins on New Year's day. It is the story of a garden--a little garden--and of a little boy and girl who owned the garden, and of the Chief Gardener, who helped them. And the name of the little boy was David, after his grandfather. So they called him Davy, because when grandfather was a little boy, he had been called Davy, and this little boy wanted to be just as his grandfather had been--just the same kind of a little boy, with the same name and all. And the name of the little girl was Prudence, and she was called Prue. For when her mother was a little girl, _she_ had been called Prue, and the Chief Gardener still called her that, sometimes, when he did not call her just Mamma. And the little girl was five years old, and the little boy was 'most seven--"going-on seven" the little boy always said, when you asked him. The garden was in a window, at first--in two windows, side by side--called a double window. It had to be in a window, because outside it was very cold, and the snow was white and deep on the beds where the Chief Gardener had flowers and vegetables in summer-time. Prue and Davy were looking out on this white, snow-covered garden on New Year's afternoon. Christmas was over, and spring seemed far away. And there had been _so_ much snow that they were tired of their sleds. "I wish it would be warm again," said Davy, "so there would be strawberries and nice things to eat in the garden; don't you, Prue?" "And nice green grass, and dandelions and pinks and morning-glories," said Prue, who loved flowers. Then the little girl went over to where the Chief Gardener was reading. She leaned over his knee and rocked it back and forth. "Will it _ever_ be warm again?" she asked. "Will we _ever_ have another garden?" The Chief Gardener turned another page of his paper. Prue rocked his knee harder. "I want it to be warm," she said. "I want it to be so we can plant flowers." "And things," put in Davy, "_nice_ things, to eat; pease and berries and radishes." "Oh, Davy, you always want things to eat!" said the little girl. "We've just had our New Year's dinner!" "But I'd be hungry again before the things grew, wouldn't I? And you like strawberries, too, and short-cake." The Chief Gardener laid down his paper. "What's all this about strawberry short-cake and morning-glories?" he asked. "We want it to be warm," said Prue, "so we can have a garden, with pinks and pansies--" "And pease--" began Davy. "And a short-cake tree," put in the Chief Gardener, "with nice short-cakes covered with whipped cream, hanging on all the branches. That would suit you, wouldn't it, Davy boy?" The very thought of a tree like that made Davy silent with joy; but Prue still rocked the knee and talked. "When _will_ it be warm? When _can_ we have a garden?" she kept asking. "It is warm, _now_, in this room," said the Chief Gardener, "and you may begin your garden right away, if you like." The children looked at him, not knowing just what he meant. "In the window," he went on. "There are two, side by side. They are a part of the garden, you know, for we always see the garden through them, in summer. You remember, we said last year they were like frames for it. Now, suppose we really put a little piece of garden in the windows." Prue was already dancing. "Oh, yes! And I'll have pansies, and roses, and hollyhocks, and pinks, and morning-glories, and--" "And I'll have peaches, and apples, and strawberries, and pease--" "And a field of corn and wheat," laughed the Chief Gardener, "and a grove of cocoanut trees! What magic windows we must have to hold all the things you have named. They will be like the pack of Santa Claus--never too full to hold more." "But can't we have all the things we like?" asked Davy, anxiously. "Not _quite_ all, I'm afraid. The hollyhocks and roses that Prue wants do not bloom the first year from seed. It would hardly pay to plant them in a window-garden, and as for peach and apple trees, I am afraid you would get very tired waiting for them to bear. It takes at least five years for apple-trees to give us fruit, often much longer. Peach-trees bear about the third year. I think we would better try a few things that bloom and bear a little more quickly." II YOUR GARDEN MAY NOT LOOK AS I HAVE IT HERE THE Chief Gardener took his pencil and a piece of paper, and drew a little plan. He was not much of an artist, and sometimes when he drew things he had to write their names below, so that Prue and Davy could tell which was the rabbit and which was the donkey, and so they wouldn't think the kitten was a lion. But a window was not so hard, and then he could put names under the plants, too. On the next page is the picture that the Chief Gardener drew. While he was making the picture, the children had been asking questions. "Which is my side? Oh, what's that in the center--that tall plant? What are those vines? What will we have in those littlest pots? Oh, I know what those are! Those are morning-glories! Oh, goody!" [Illustration: DAVY'S WINDOW PRUE'S WINDOW] The last was from Prue, when she saw the artist putting the flowers along the vines that he had made climbing up the sides of her window. "Yes," said the Chief Gardener, "those are morning-glories. You can have two vines in each pot, if you wish, and in that way get four colors--blue, white, purple, and pink. On Davy's side I have made climbing beans--scarlet and white runners--because they are very pretty, and also very good to eat. Davy's is a vegetable, and yours a flower, garden. Then, if Davy wants some flowers, and you get hungry, you can give him flowers for vegetables." "Oh, that will be playing 'market,' won't it? I just love to play 'store' and 'going to market.'" "My beans look a good deal like Prue's morning-glories, all but the flowers," said Davy. "So they do, Davy; and they really look something the same in the garden. The leaves are nearly the same shape, only that the morning-glory's is more heart-shaped, and then beans have three leaves to the stem instead of one. Sometimes I have taken a morning-glory for a bean, just at first." "What else have we?" asked Prue. "What are the little flowers, and the big one in the center?" If the Chief Gardener felt hurt because his pictures did not show just what all the flowers were, without telling, he did not say so. He said: "Well, in the center of your window, Prue, the big flower is made for a sunflower. Not the big kind, but the small western sunflower, such as we had along the back fence last summer. I think we can raise those in the house." "I just love those," nodded Prue. "Then those two slender plants are sweet-pease on your side, and garden-pease on Davy's. I put two in each window, because I know that you love sweet-pease, while Davy is very fond of the vegetable kind." "I'd like a whole bushel of sweet-pease!" said Prue. "And I wish I had a bushel of eating pease!" said Davy, "and I know that's sweet corn in the middle of my window. I just love it!" "Yes," said the Chief Gardener, "and a little pot of radishes on one side, and a pot of lettuce salad on the other. Do you think you like that, Davy?" "Can't I have strawberries, instead of the salad?" asked Davy. "Strawberries don't bear from seed the first season, and I can't remember any fruit that does, unless you call tomatoes fruit, and I don't think a tomato vine would be quite pleasant in the house. It doesn't always have a sweet odor." "Oh, well, I can eat lettuce," said Davy. "I can eat anything that's good." "What are in my other little pots?" asked Prue for the third or fourth time. "Well, one is meant for a pot of pansies--" "Oh, pansies! pansies! Can't I have two pots of pansies?" "You can have three or four plants in one pot--perhaps that will do. Then you can put nasturtiums in the other little pot. They are easy to grow, and very beautiful." "Yes," said Prue, "I never saw anything so _lovely_ as your nasturtiums by the house, last year." The Chief Gardener looked at the sketch and tapped it with his pencil. [Illustration: THE BEANS AT THE END OF TWO WEEKS] "Of course," he said, "your garden may not look just as I have it here. I don't draw very well, but I can make things about the right sizes to fit the windows, and that isn't so hard to do with a pencil as it is with the plants themselves. Plants, like children, don't always grow just as their friends want them to, and they are not always well behaved. You see--" "But won't my bean vines and corn grow up like that?" asked Davy. "And won't my morning-glories have flowers on them?" asked Prue. "I hope they will, and we will try to coax them. But you see things may happen. Sometimes it comes a very cold night when the fires get low, and then plants are likely to chill, or perhaps freeze and die. We can only try to be very careful." "How long will it take them to grow?" asked Davy. "That is not easy to say. When everything is just right, some seeds start very soon. I have known radishes to pop up within three days, when the weather was warm and damp. Corn will sprout in about a week, in warm weather. Sweet-pease take a good deal longer, though we can hurry them a little by soaking them in warm water before we plant them. But we will talk about all that later. First, let's see about the pots and earth, and the seeds." III MANY SEEDS ARE GIVEN WINGS THE Chief Gardener took Davy and Prue down in the basement, where in one corner he kept his flower-pots and garden-tools. "I'm going to use the hoe," said Davy, reaching for the long handle. "I'll have the rake for my garden," said Prue. The Chief Gardener smiled. "I don't think we'll need either for this gardening. A small weeder or an old kitchen-knife will be about the largest tool you can use." Then he picked out some pots, set them side by side on a table, and measured them to see how long a row they made. Then he changed them and measured again. "There," he said, "those will just fit one window. Now, another set for the other window and we are ready for the soil." "Where will you get dirt? Everything is frozen hard," said Davy. The Chief Gardener took up a spading-fork from among the tools. "We'll get our hats and coats, first," he said, "then we'll see what we can find." Outside it was really very cold, but the children, with their thick wraps, did not mind. They raced in the snow across the empty little garden, and followed the Chief Gardener to a small mound in one corner. Here he pushed away the snow, and with the fork lifted up a layer of frozen-looking weeds; then another layer, not quite so frozen and not quite so weedy; then still another layer that did not seem at all frozen, but was just a mass of damp leaves and bits of grass. And under this layer it must have been quite warm, for steam began to rise white in the cold air. "Oh, see!" said Prue. "What makes the smoke?" "That's steam," said Davy, wisely; "but what makes it warm?" [Illustration: THE MORNING-GLORIES TWO WEEKS OLD] "Fever," said the Chief Gardener, "just as you had, Davy, that night you ate too much layer-cake. You said you were burning up, but it was only nature trying to burn up the extra food. That is what nature is doing here--trying to burn up and turn to earth the pile of weeds and grass I threw here last summer for compost. Next spring the fire will be out, and leave only a heap of rich soil for the garden." Beneath the last layer there was warm, dark earth. The Chief Gardener filled the basket he had brought, and they hurried back to the basement to fill the pots. "Not too full--we must leave room at the top for digging and watering, without spilling dirt and water on the floor. Then the plants will help fill up by and by, too, and I think we would better put in a little of this compost at the bottom. When the roots run down they will be glad to find some fresh, rich food. Don't pack the earth too tightly, Davy; just jar the pot a little to settle it, and it should be fine and quite dry. Perhaps we'd better dry it a little," the Chief Gardener added, as he saw by the children's hands that some of the earth was rather damp and sticky. So he brought out a flat box, emptied all the pots into it, and set the box on top of the furnace. "While it's drying, we'll go upstairs and pick out the seeds," he said. "Oh, see my beans! How pretty they are!" cried Davy, as the Chief Gardener pointed out the purple-mottled seeds of the scarlet runners. Prue looked a little envious. She was fond of pretty things. "But my pease are better-looking than those crinkly things of yours," she said; "mine are most like little beads; and see my nasturtium seed! They look good to eat, like little peanuts." It was Davy's turn now to be envious. Anything that looked like peanuts must be very good to eat. "People often pickle nasturtium pods," said the Chief Gardener. "They are fine and peppery. So Prue will really have something to eat in her garden, while Davy will have beautiful flowers on his scarlet runners." "See my morning-glory seed, like quarters of a little black apple, and how tiny my pansy seeds are!" cried Prue, holding out the papers. Davy was looking at the little round, brown kernels that the Chief Gardener had said were radish seeds, and the light little flakes that were to grow into lettuce. "What makes seeds so different?" he asked soberly. "Ah, Davy, that is a hard question," answered the Chief Gardener. "A great many very great people have tried to answer it." He opened a little paper and held it out for them to see. "What funny little feather-tops!" said Prue. "Like little darts," said Davy. "What are they?" "Marigold seeds. They are very light, and the little tufts or wings are to carry them through the air, so they will be scattered and sown by the wind. Many seeds are given wings of different kinds. Maple seeds have a real pair of wings. Others have a tuft of down on them, so light that they are carried for miles. But many seeds are hard to explain. Plants very nearly alike grow from seeds that are not at all alike, while plants as different as can be grow from seeds that can hardly be told apart, even under the magnifying-glass." The pots filled with the warm earth were brought up and ranged in the windows. "How deep, and how many seeds in a pot?" asked Davy. "That depends," the Chief Gardener answered. "I believe there is a rule that says to plant twice as deep as the seed is long, though sweet-pease and some other things are planted deeper; and you may plant more seeds than you want plants, so that enough are pretty sure to grow; four beans in each pot, Davy--two white and two colored, and three grains of corn in the large center pot." The children planted the seeds--the Chief Gardener helping, showing how to cover them with fine earth--the corn and beans quite deeply, the sweet-pease still deeper, fully an inch or more, the smaller seeds thinly and evenly: then how to pat them down so that the earth might be lightly but snugly packed about the sleeping seeds. "Now we will dampen them a little," he said, "and when they feel their covering getting moist, perhaps they will think of waking." So he brought a cup of warm water, and the children dipped in their fingers and sprinkled the earth in each pot until it was quite damp. Then they drew up chairs and sat down to look at their garden, as if expecting the things to grow while they waited. IV I THINK SEEDS KNOW THE MONTHS BUT the seeds did not sprout that day, nor the next, nor for many days after they were planted. Prue and Davy watered them a little every morning, and were quite sure the room had been warm, but it takes sunshine, too, to make seeds think of waking from their long nap, and the sun does not always shine in January. Even when it does, it is so low in the sky, and stays such a little time each day, that it does not find its way down into the soil as it does in spring and summer time. "You said that corn sprouts in a week," said Davy to the Chief Gardener, one morning, "and it's a week to-day since we planted it, and even the radishes are not up yet." Prue also looked into her little row of pots, and said sadly that there was not even a little teeny-weeny speck of anything coming up that she could see. "I'm sorry," said the Chief Gardener, "but you know I really can't make the sun shine, and even if I could, perhaps they would be slow about coming, at this season. Sometimes I think seeds know the months as well as we do, for I have known seeds to sprout in June in a place where there was very little warmth or moisture and no sunshine at all. Yes, I think the seeds know." "And won't my pansies come at all?" whimpered little Prue. "Oh, I think so. They only need a little more coaxing. Suppose we see just what is going on. You planted a few extra radish seeds, Davy. We will do as little folks often do--dig up one and see what has happened." So the Chief Gardener dug down with his pocket-knife and lifted a bit of the dirt, which he looked at carefully. Then he held it to the light and let the children look. Sticking to the earth there was a seed, but it was no longer the tiny brown thing which Davy had planted. It was so large that Davy at first thought it was one of his pease, and on one side of it there was an edge of green. "It's all right, Davy boy. They'll be up in a day or two," laughed the Chief Gardener. "Now, we'll try a pansy." "Oh, yes, try a pansy! try a pansy!" danced little Prue, who was as happy as Davy over the sprouting of the radish. [Illustration: THE POT OF RADISHES] So the Chief Gardener dug down into the pansy-pot, but just at first could not find a pansy seed, they were so small. Then he did find one, and coming out of it were two tiny pale-green leaves, and a thread of white rootlet that had started downward. Prue clapped her hands and wanted the Chief Gardener to dig in all the pots, but he told them that it would not be good gardening to do that, and that they must be patient now, and wait. So then another anxious week went by. And all at once, one morning very early, Prue and Davy came shouting up the stairs to where the Chief Gardener was shaving. "They're up! They're up!" "My pansies!" "And my radishes! They've lifted up a piece of dirt over every seed, and there's one little green point in the corn-pot, too!" The Chief Gardener had to leave his shaving to see. Sure enough! Davy's radishes and Prue's pansies were beginning to show, and one tender shoot of Davy's corn. And in less than another week Davy's lettuce and pease and beans were breaking the ground above each seed, while Prue's garden was coming too, all but the sweet-pease, which, because of their hard shell, sprouted more slowly, even though they had been soaked in warm water before planting. But in another week they began to show, too, and everything else was quite above ground. [Illustration: THE PEASE TWO WEEKS OLD] Then the Chief Gardener dug up one each of the extra seeds, root and all, and showed them just how they had sprouted and started to grow. He showed them how the shell or husk of the seed still clung to the two first leaves of some of the morning-glory and radish plants, how when the little plant had awakened from its long nap, it had stretched, just as a little boy would stretch, getting up out of bed, and how, being hungry, it had made its breakfast on a part of the tender kernel packed about it in the seed, and then pushed its leaves up for light and air. He also showed them how the grain of corn and the pea stayed below the ground to feed the little shoots that pushed up and the sprangled roots that were starting down to hunt for richness. But they all laughed at the beans, for the beans left only the husk below and pushed the rich kernel up into the air--coming up topsy-turvy, Davy said, while Prue thought the leaves must be very greedy to take the kernel all away from the roots, instead of leaving it where both could have a share. And now another week passed, and other tiny leaves began to show on most of the plants. These were different shaped from the first oval or heart-shaped seed-leaves--real, natural leaves, Prue said, such as they would have when they were grown. Only the corn did not change, but just unfolded and grew larger. And so in every pot there were tender green promises of fruit and flower. The little garden was really a garden at last. FEBRUARY FEBRUARY I LITTLE PLANTS WON'T STAND MUCH HANDLING YET the little garden seemed to grow slowly. The sun in February was getting farther to the north, and came earlier and stayed later than it had in January, and was brighter, too. But for all that, to Davy and Prue, each new leaf came quite slowly--just a tiny point or bud at first, then a little green heart or oval or crinkly oblong with a wee stem of its own. It was very hard to see each morning, just what had grown since the morning before. Of course they did grow--little by little, and inch by inch--just as children grow, and a good deal faster, for when they measured their bean and morning-glory vines, they found one morning that they had grown at least a half an inch since the day before, and that would be a good deal for a little boy or girl to grow in one day. But Davy perhaps remembered the story of "Jack and the Beanstalk" and how Jack's bean had grown to the sky in a very short time; and, of course, remembering a story like that is apt to make anybody impatient with a bean that grows only half an inch a day. "I think it would be a good plan," he said one morning, "to tie a rubber band to the top of each of my bean vines, and then fasten the other end higher up the window to help pull the vines along." And little Prue said: "I pulled my morning-glories along yesterday a little, with my fingers. I know they grew a tiny speck then, but they don't look quite so nice this morning." The Chief Gardener came over to see what was going on. "I don't think we'd better try any new plans," he said. "I'm afraid if we pull our plants to make them grow, we will have to pull them up altogether, pretty soon, and plant new ones. Tender little plants won't stand much handling." The Chief Gardener was not cross, but his voice was quite solemn. Little Prue looked frightened and her lip quivered the least bit. "Oh, will my morning-glories die now?" she asked; "and I pulled the pansies just a tiny speck, too. Will they die?" "Not this time, I think; but I wouldn't do it again. Just give them a little water now and then, and dig in the pots a little, and turn them around sometimes so that each side of the plant gets the light, and nature will do the rest. Of course you can't turn the bean and morning-glory pots after they get to climbing the strings, but they will twine round and round and so turn themselves. Your garden looks very well for the time of year. Perhaps if you did not watch it so much it would grow faster. They say that a watched pot never boils, so perhaps a watched plant does not grow well. I am sure they do not like to be stretched up to a measuring-stick every morning at eight o'clock. Suppose now we put up the strings for the morning-glories and beans to climb on, and some nice branchy twigs for the pease, then water them well and leave them for a few days and see what happens." So then the Chief Gardener and the two little gardeners went down in the basement, where they found some tiny screw-hooks and some string, and where they cut some nice sprangly little limbs from the Christmas tree that still stood in one corner, and was getting very dry. Then they all came up again and put up strings for the scarlet runners and morning-glories, by tying one end of each string to a stout little stick which the Chief Gardener pushed carefully into the soil between the plants, and then carried the string to the small screw-hooks, which were put about half-way up, and at the top of the window-casings. The branchy twigs were stuck carefully into the pots where the pease grew, and stood up straight and fine--like little ladders, Prue said--for the pease to climb. [Illustration: THE CORN AT THE END OF TWO WEEKS] "It's just like a circus," said Davy. "The beans and morning-glories will be climbing ropes, and the pease will be running up straight ladders." "And while we are waiting for the performance to begin," added the Chief Gardener, "suppose you let me tell you something about the performers--where they came from, and some stories that are told of them." II HEY FOR THE MERRY LITTLE SWEET-PEA THE Chief Gardener went into the next room, which was the library, and drew a cozy little settee up before the bright hickory fire. It was just wide enough for three, and when he sat down, Davy and Little Prue promptly hopped up, one on each side. In a low rocker near the window Big Prue was doing something with silks and needles and a very bright pair of scissors. The Chief Gardener stirred the fire and looked into it. Then he said: "Speaking of pease, I wonder if you ever heard this little song about 'THE TWO PEAS 'Oh, a little sweet-pea in the garden grew-- Hey, for the merry little sweet-pea! And a garden-pea, it grew there, too-- Hi, for the happy little eat-pea! In all kinds of weather They grew there together-- Ho, for the pease in the garden! Hey, for the sweet-pea! Hi, for the eat-pea! Hey, he, hi, ho, hum! 'Oh, the sweet-pea bloomed and the eat-pea bore-- Hey, for the merry little sweet-pea! And they both were sent to a poor man's door-- Hi, for the happy little eat-pea! In all kinds of weather They came there together! Ho, for the pease from the garden! Hey, for the sweet-pea! Hi, for the eat-pea! Hey, he, hi, ho, hum! 'Now, the poor man's poor little girl lay ill-- What a chance for a merry little sweet-pea! And there wasn't a cent in the poor man's till-- Good-by to the jolly little eat-pea! In all kinds of weather They brought joy together When they came from the happy little garden! Hey, for the sweet-pea! Hi, for the eat-pea! Hey, he, hi, ho, hum!'" "Was there really ever a poor man and a little sick girl who had pease sent to them?" asked little Prue, as the Chief Gardener finished. "Oh, I am sure there must have been! A great many of them." "But the ones you sung about. Those really same ones--did they ever really live, or did you make it up about them?" "I don't think my pease would be quite enough for a poor man who didn't have a cent of money," said Davy, after thinking about it. "But my sweet-pease will be enough, only I want to know if there is really such a little girl, so I can send them. Is there, Papa?" "Well, I am sure we can find such a little girl, if we try. And I know she'd be glad for some sweet-pease. And now here's a little story that I really didn't make up, but read a long time ago. "Once upon a time there were two friars--" "What are friars?" asked Prue. "Do they fry things?" "Well, not exactly, though one of these did do some stewing, and the other, too, perhaps, though in a different way. A friar is a kind of priest, and these two had done something which the abbot, who is the head priest, did not like, so he punished them." "What did they do?" asked Prue, who liked to know just what people could be punished for. "I don't remember now. It's so long--" "What do you _s'pose_ it was?" "Well, I really can't s'pose, but it may have been because they forgot their prayers. Abbots don't like friars to forget their prayers--" "If I should forget my prayers, I'd say 'em twice to make up." "Oh, Prue!" said Davy, "_do_ let Papa go on with the story!" "But I would. I'd say 'em sixty times!" "Yes," said the Chief Gardener, "friars have to do that, too, I believe; but these had to do something different. They had to wear pease in their shoes." "Had to wear pease! In their shoes!" "Yes, pease, like those we planted, and they had to walk quite a long ways, and, of course, it wouldn't be pleasant to walk with those little hard things under your feet. "Well, they started, and one of them went limping and stewing along, and making an awful fuss, because his feet hurt him so, but when he looked at the other he saw that instead of hobbling and groaning as he was, he was walking along, as lively as could be, and seemed to be enjoying the fine morning, and was actually whistling. "'Oh, dear!' said the one who was limping, 'how is it you can walk along so spry, and feel so happy, with those dreadful pease in your shoes?' "'Why,' said the other, 'before I started, I took the liberty to _boil my_ pease!'" "But, Papa," began little Prue, "I don't see--" "I do," said Davy, "it made them soft, so they didn't hurt." "What kind of pease were they?" asked Prue. "Like Davy's or mine?" [Illustration: THE PEASE RUN UP STRAIGHT LADDERS] "Well, I've never heard just what kind they were. There are a good many kinds of pease, and they seem to have come from a good many places. Besides the sweet-pease and garden-pease, there are field-pease, used dry for cattle, and in England there is what is called a sea-pea, because it was first found growing on the shore of a place called Sussex, more than three hundred and fifty years ago, in a year of famine. There were many, many of them and they were in a place where even grass had not grown before that time. The people thought they must have been cast up by some shipwrecked vessel, and they gathered them for food, and so kept from going hungry and starving to death. The garden-pea is almost the finest of vegetables, and there are many kinds--some large, some small, some very sweet, some that grow on tall vines and have to have stakes, and some that grow very short without stakes, and are called dwarfs. There are a good many kinds of sweet-pease, too, different sizes and colors, but I think all the different kinds of garden-pease and sweet-pease might have come from one kind of each, a very, very long time ago, and that takes me to another story which I will have to put off until next time. I have some books now to look over, and you and Davy, Prue, can go for a run in the fresh air." III EVEN CLOVER BELONGS TO THE PULSE FAMILY IT was on the same evening that Prue and Davy asked for the other story. And of course the Chief Gardener had to tell it, for he had promised, and little Prue, especially, didn't like to put off anything that had been promised. So this is the story that the Chief Gardener told: "The Pulse family is a very large one. I don't know just where the first old great-grandfather Pulse ever did come from, but it is thought to be some place in Asia, a great country of the far East. It may be that the first Pulse lived in the Garden of Eden, though whether as a tree or a vine or a shrub, or only as a little plant, we can't tell now." "I think it's going to be a fairy story," said Prue, settling down to listen. "Is it, Papa? A real, true fairy story?" "Well, perhaps it is a sort of a fairy story, and I'll try to tell it just as truly as I can. Anyway, the story goes, that a long time after the Garden of Eden was ruined and the Pulse family started west, there were two cousins, and these two cousins were vines, though whether they were always vines, or only got to be vines so they could travel faster, I do not know. Some of their relations were trees then, and are now; the locust tree out in the corner of the yard is one of them." Davy looked up, and was about to ask a question. The Chief Gardener went on. "The cousins I am talking about, being vines, traveled quite fast in the summer-time, but when it came winter, they lay down for a long nap, and only when spring came they roused up and traveled on. One of them was a very fine fellow, with gay flowers that had a sweet smell, and people loved him for his beauty and fragrance. The other brought only greenish-white flowers, not very showy, but some thought him far more useful than his pretty cousin, for he gave the people food as he passed along. "So they journeyed on, down by the way of the Black Sea, which you will know about when you are a little older, and still farther west until at last the pretty Pulse cousin and the plain but useful Pulse cousin had spread their families all over Europe, and were called P's, perhaps because the first letter of their family name began with P. Then by and by it was spelled p-e-a, and they were called garden-pease and sweet-pease, and were planted everywhere, one for the lovely flowers, and the other for food. Now we have them side by side in your windows, just as they were when they first started on their travels, so very, very long ago." "Did they really travel as you have told?" asked Davy, looking into the fire. "Well, I have never been able to find any printed history of their travels, so it may have been something like that." "They did, didn't they, Papa?" insisted little Prue, who always wanted to believe every word of every fairy story. "They went hand in hand, just as Davy and I do when we go walking, didn't they?" "And Davy is the garden-pea and you the sweet-pea, is that it? Well, they did come a long way--that is true--and they do belong to a very large family. Why, even the clover belongs to the Pulse family, and the peanut, and the locust, and the laburnum, and there is one distant branch of the family that is so modest and sensitive that at the least touch its members shrink and hide, and these are called sensitive plants." "Aren't beans of the Pulse family, too?" asked Davy. "Why do you think so?" asked the Chief Gardener. "Well, I remember that the flowers are something alike, and then they both have pods." [Illustration: A MEMBER OF THE PULSE FAMILY] "And you are right, Davy. Both the flowers are what is called butterfly-shaped, and pods of that kind are called legumes. Whenever you see a flower of that shape, or a pod of that kind, no matter how small or how large, or whether they grow on a plant or a tree or a shrub, you will know you have found one of the Pulse family and a relative of the pea. Your scarlet runners are about second cousins, I should think, and I have something to tell about them, too, but it is too late this evening." IV BEANS AND MORNING-GLORIES TWINE TO THE RIGHT "MY morning-glories are climbing! My morning-glories are climbing up the strings!" "And so are my scarlet runners! Two of them have gone twice around already, and one of them three times! But oh, Papa, something has broken one of my stalks of corn, right off close to the ground!" It was two days after the strings had been put up, and Prue and Davy had tried very hard not to look at their garden during all that time. Then they just had to look, and found that the beans and morning-glories were really starting up the strings. But what could have happened to Davy's corn! The Chief Gardener hurried down to see. Then with an old knife he dug down into the pot a little, and up came, what do you suppose? Why, a white, fat ugly worm--a cut-worm, the Chief Gardener called him. "They are a great enemy to young corn," he said, "especially in cool weather. Sometimes almost whole fields have to be replanted. Blackbirds will kill them, but many times the farmer thinks the blackbird is pulling up his corn, and drives him away with a gun, when the blackbird is only trying to help the farmer." "Do you suppose there are any more?" asked Davy anxiously. The Chief Gardener dug carefully around the other stalk, until the white roots began to show. "No, I think your other stalk is safe," he said, "at least from cut-worms." Grown-up Prue came to see the gardens. Yes, the vines were really making a nice start, as well as the other things. One of Davy's pease had sent out some tiny tendrils that were reaching toward the slender twig-branches, but thoughtful Davy was looking first at his beans, then at Prue's morning-glories. "They all go around the strings just alike," he said at last; "all the same way. Why don't some go the other way?" "You ask such hard questions, Davy," the Chief Gardener answered. "I have never known anybody to tell why all the beans and morning-glories twine to the right, any more than why all the honeysuckles twine to the left." The Chief Gardener turned to the little woman beside him. "There must be some reason, of course; some law of harmony and attraction. I suppose it would be quite simple to us if we knew. Why, where did Davy go?" Davy came in, just then, with his hat and coat on. "I'm going to look at the honeysuckles," he said, "those out on the porch." The others put on wraps, too, and went with him. It was crisp and bright out there, and dry leaves still clinging to the vines whispered and gossiped together in the wintry breeze. "They do!" said Davy, "they every one turn the other way--every single one! How do you suppose they can tell which way to start--which is right, and which is left?" The Chief Gardener shook his head. "Perhaps a story might explain it," he said. "Stories have to explain a good many things until we find better ways." So then they went inside to see if a story would really tell why the morning-glory and scarlet runner always twined to the right, and why the honeysuckle always twined to the left. And this was the Chief Gardener's story: V THE HONEYSUCKLE TWINES ALWAYS TO THE LEFT "AWAY back in the days that came after Eden, the time I told you of, when the garden was given up to weeds and the plants went wandering out through the world, a certain morning-glory and climbing-bean were good friends, and were often found together--twining up the same little tree or trellis, and very happy. Of course they were not called morning-glory and bean then, and the honeysuckle that grew near was not called honeysuckle either, though it had just the same sweet flowers, and the humming-birds came to suckle honey from them, just as they do now, in summer-time. I don't know what the old names were. It has been so long since then, I suppose they are all forgotten. "Now the honeysuckle was very proud of its sweet flowers, that scented all the air around and drew the beautiful humming-birds, while the morning-glory and bean had only very pale little flowers that the humming-birds did not care for at all. "And the honeysuckle used to laugh at them, and tell them how plain and useless they were. How they lived only a little while in summer, and withered when the frost came, while it only shed its leaves, and stood strong and sturdy against the wind and cold of winter, ready to grow larger and more useful each spring. And this, of course, made the two friends feel very sorry, and wish they could be beautiful and useful, too. [Illustration: THE MORNING-GLORY TWINES TO THE RIGHT] "Now, one day in early spring, the sun, who makes the plants grow and gives the colors to the flowers, heard the honeysuckle, which was putting out green leaves on its strong vines, laughing at the bean and morning-glory, that were just peeping from the earth. "And the sun said, 'This is too bad. It is not fair for one who has so much to make fun of those who have so little. I must give them more.' "So, lo and behold, when the morning-glory vine began to bloom, instead of having pale little flowers, they were a beautiful white and blue and purple and rose color, and when the bean blossomed, it had a fine scarlet flower, and both were more beautiful than the honeysuckle, though the honeysuckle still had its sweet perfume, and its honey for the humming-birds." "But what about the twining?" asked Davy. "That is what you started to tell." "Why, yes, of course. I forgot that. Well, when the sun came to look at them he said, first to the honeysuckle, 'Because you have been so proud, you must follow me,' and to the bean and morning-glory, 'Because you have been meek, you shall turn always to meet me,' and since that day, the honeysuckle has turned always to the left, following the sun, while the bean and the morning-glory have twined always to the right, to meet it on every turn." The Chief Gardener paused, seeing that Davy was making circles in the air with his finger--first circles to the right, then more circles to the left. Then the circles got slower and slower, showing that he was thinking very hard. "That's right," he said at last. "If they turned to the right, they would meet the sun every time around, and if they turned to the left they would be following it." The Chief Gardener was glad he had told his story right. "And then, by and by," he said, "I suppose people must have given them their names--the honeysuckle's because of the humming-birds that came to suckle the flowers, and the morning-glory's because it made each morning bright with its beautiful flowers, while the bean they called the scarlet runner, and when they found that its pods held good food, they planted it both for its flowers and its usefulness, and valued it very highly, indeed. Just where all this happened I do not know. The honeysuckle and morning-glory now grow wild, both in Europe and the United States, and the scarlet runner is said to have been found wild in these countries, too, though I have never seen it except in gardens." "Papa," asked little Prue, "haven't my morning-glories any useful relations, like my sweet-pease?" "Why, yes, of course, let me see. The sweet potato belongs to that family. It is really about a first cousin, and useful drugs are made from the juice and root of a wild morning-glory. There are hardly any families that do not have both useful and ornamental members, and most of them, I am sorry to say, have troublesome ones, too, which we call weeds. But I must run away now, and all that will have to wait until another time." MARCH MARCH I STILL, IT WAS REALLY A RADISH AND so the month of February passed. Once the vines had started up the strings, they seemed to grow faster--almost as if they were running races, while the pease reached out and clung to the little twigs, and stood up straight and trim, like soldiers. The pansies and nasturtiums, too, and the lettuce and radishes all sent out more and more leaves, and began to hide the little pods. Davy was wild to pull up just one radish to see if it wasn't big enough to eat, but on the first day of March, when the Chief Gardener told him that he might do so, he was grieved to find only a pale little root, just a bit larger and a trifle pinker at the top, instead of the fat, round vegetable he had expected. Still, it was really a radish, Davy said, and he cut the thickest part in two and gave half to little Prue, who brought out her little dishes and set her table that Santa Claus left under the Christmas Tree. Then she put her piece on one little plate, and Davy's piece on another, and picked one tiny pansy leaf and one from the nasturtiums to make bouquets. And Davy picked a lettuce leaf--a very small lettuce leaf--for a salad, so that when their little table was all spread and ready, with some very small slices of bread, and some cookies--some quite large cookies--and some animal crackers, with milk for tea, it really looked quite fresh and pretty and made you hungry just to look at it. [Illustration: THE NASTURTIUMS BEGAN TO HIDE THE LITTLE POT] And, oh, yes, I forgot to say that there was some salt, the least little bit, in two of the tiniest salt dishes, and when they sat down at last to the very first meal out of their garden, all on the first day of March, when no other gardens around about had been planted yet, they dipped the tiny bits of radish into the tiny salt dishes, and nibbled it, just a wee bit at a time to make it last, and last, ever so long. And they said it tasted real radishy, and that the lettuce leaf, with one drop of vinegar and a speck of salt, was just fine. And little Prue held her doll and made her taste, too, and then the Chief Gardener and grown-up Prue must each have a tiny, tiny bite. And so, of course, Davy got to be really quite proud of his first radish, and said that after all it wasn't so bad for the first one, and that it was almost as big as a slate-pencil, in the thickest part. Pretty soon they might have a radish that would be big enough for each one to have quite a piece, and they would serve it on a whole leaf of salad. He felt sure that on his birthday, which would be on the tenth, they might really have something very nice. Then Prue was very quiet for a minute, thinking. By and by she asked: "And do you think I will have flowers for Davy's birthday? Davy can just pick his lettuce and radishes any time. My 'sturtiums and pansies are as big as his things, but I have to wait for them to bloom." "Why, that's so, Prue." The Chief Gardener went over to her pansies and looked at them very closely, but if he saw anything he did not speak of it. "Oh, well," he said, "if you don't have flowers for Davy's birthday, maybe you will for mine. It comes in March, too, you know. And then it's ten days yet till Davy's, and you never can tell what will happen in ten days." Alas, this was too true. It got quite warm during the second week of March, and the fire in the furnace was allowed to get low. Then one night it suddenly turned cold--as cold as January. "Oh, what makes some of my pea leaves look so dark?" asked Davy, as they stopped in the icy sitting-room for a moment, before hurrying through to the warm dining-room, where a big open fire was blazing. The Chief Gardener shook his head, rather solemnly. "I'm afraid they are bitten a little by Jack Frost," he said. "Oh, mine are all dark, too," whispered Prue, sorrowfully. "I am going to take them right out to the dining-room fire, and warm them." "And that would be the very worst thing you could do," said the Chief Gardener. "Let them stay right where they are, and we will heat the room slowly by opening the register just the least bit at a time, and draw the shades to keep out the sun. Perhaps if we do that the frost will come out so gently that the plants will not be killed. If you should warm them quickly they would be very apt to die, or at least to be badly injured." So they did as the Chief Gardener said, and kept the sitting-room quite cool all day. Then by another day the pease and all the others looked about as well as ever, only a few of the tenderest leaves withered up and dropped off because Jack Frost had breathed harder on these than on the others. As for the radishes and lettuce and pansies, they hadn't minded it the least bit, for they can stand a good deal of cold, and the corn and sunflower and nasturtiums didn't lose any leaves, so, perhaps, they didn't care for a touch of frost either. II THE SUN SWINGS LIKE A GREAT PENDULUM AND now with each day there was brighter sunshine that came earlier and stayed longer. From a high east window they saw the sun rise each morning, when it was bright weather, and when they happened to be awake in time, and they saw how the big red ball crept farther and farther to the north, along the far fringe of trees, beyond all the houses which they could see. "It rose away down beyond that little white house on Christmas morning," said Davy, who was always up early. "I remember very well. Now it's got past the tall pine by the red barn. How much farther will it go?" The Chief Gardener pointed to a dim pencil-mark on the window-sill. "That was the angle of the shadow," he said, "on the twenty-first of June, and points to just where the sun will rise on the longest day of the year. You will have to be up very early to see it on that day." He pointed to another faint line. "That," he said, "was the angle on the twenty-first of December, the shortest day. The sun swings like a great pendulum from one point to the other and gives us winter and summer, and all the seasons between. Half-way between these marks is due east, and there the sun will rise on the twenty-first of March, which is the first day of spring." "Do you think our garden things are looking at it, and wishing it would hurry and get farther toward the June mark," said little Prue. "I think they are," the Chief Gardener answered. "They don't have eyes, as we have, but they have a way of seeing the sun, and of knowing just where it is, for most of them turn toward it as they grow, and some of them follow it all the way across the sky, from morning until night, and then turn back and wait for it to rise again. Your sunflower would do that, Prue, if it were out under the open sky." [Illustration: THE VERY SMALL LETTUCE LEAVES] "Oh, it does now. I mean it looks toward the sun in the morning, with its top leaves, and keeps them turned toward it as far as it can." "So you have noticed that, have you? Well, I'm glad, for I have read in books--books written by very wise men--that the sunflower did not really do this, but that it was just an old fable. I think those wise men, perhaps, never saw the wild western sunflowers, but only the big tame ones that have heavy, coarse stems and are so big and clumsy and fat that they couldn't well turn, even if they wanted to. I have seen whole fields of wild sunflowers--little ones like yours, and long before they were in bloom--with every stem bent toward the sunrise, when there was not a breath of wind blowing; and I have seen the same flowers straighten their little stems as the sun rose higher, and then bend them again to the west in the evening; and the little bend would be so tight and firm that you could hardly straighten the stalk without breaking it. Very wise men make mistakes sometimes, mistakes that even a little girl would not make, just because they have not happened to see something which a little girl with sharp eyes has seen and thought about. It is a wonderful and beautiful sight on the prairies of the West to see miles of wild sunflowers in full bloom. They are like a great sea of gold, and in the early morning, when the air is still, every bloom is faced toward the sunrise, as bright and fresh and faithful as the sun itself." "I should think there would be a story about the sunflower," said Davy, half speaking to himself. "Oh, there have been many stories about it, Davy. After breakfast I will try and remember the one I like best." So then they hurried down to the dining-room, pausing just long enough to see that the garden was all safe, and to notice that the upper leaves of Prue's sunflower were really faced so far to the sun that there was a sharp little crook in the stem, then out to the big dining-room fire, for the fragrant breakfast that was waiting, and back to the library fire for the story that was to be told. III LONG BEFORE THERE WERE ANY RAILROADS AND CITIES "ONCE upon a time--" "Oh," said Prue, "once upon a time--I just love 'once upon a time.'" "Yes," nodded Davy, solemnly, "and once upon a time there was a little girl who couldn't keep still so that her Papa could tell a story." Prue snuggled down, and the Chief Gardener began all over. "Once upon a time, long before there were any railroads, and cities such as ours, long before Columbus ever sailed over the ocean to a new world--when all this great wide country, as you know, was held by Indians, who hunted and fished, and made war sometimes, when they had disputes--there lived away in the far West two very friendly tribes. Their lands joined and they hunted together, and when one tribe was at war the other joined in and helped to fight the enemy. So they became almost as one tribe and their children grew up together. "Now, in one tribe there was a little Indian boy, a chief's son, who was very fond of a little Indian girl of the other tribe. Their mothers had always been great friends, and often for a whole day at a time the little Indian boy and girl played together, and as they grew up they cared for each other more and more, and the Indian boy, Ahlogah, said that when he was older and a chief he would make the little Indian girl, Laida, his wife. "But it happened that in Laida's tribe there was also a chief's son, a jealous-hearted and cruel boy that Laida did not like. But this boy cared for Laida, and like Ahlogah made up his mind that some day she should be his wife. "So they all grew up, and Ahlogah and Laida loved each other more dearly every day, and Kapoka, the other youth, grew more jealous and more cruel-hearted. And when one day his father died, and he became chief of his tribe, he said that if she did not give up Ahlogah, he would make war on Ahlogah's tribe. "So then Ahlogah and Laida met one evening just before sunset to say good-by for the last time. Their tribes had never been at war, and they were willing to part forever to keep Kapoka from making a war now. Laida had not promised to marry Kapoka, she had only promised not to see Ahlogah again. And now they parted, just as the sun was going down, and they both turned to see it for the last time side by side. And then Ahlogah said: "'To-morrow just at sunrise go to the high rocks above the river and look to the east. And where the river passes through our lands, I will go also to see some high rocks, and I will look to the east, too, when the sun rises, and I will know that though we are apart, we are watching the sun rise together, and it will be always our message of love to each other as it travels across the sky.' "So Laida went back to her tribe and Ahlogah to his, and every morning they watched from their high rocks above the river, and held out their arms to the rising sun, as a message it should bear between them. "And Kapoka found out that Laida went every morning to the high rocks, and held out her arms to the sun. And he found that Ahlogah also went every morning to the high rocks farther up the river. Then Kapoka knew that Laida would never be his wife as long as Ahlogah was alive. And one morning very early Kapoka left his wigwam and crept across to the lands of the other tribes, and to the high rocks where Ahlogah stood waiting for the sunrise. And just as the sun rose, and Kapoka knew that Ahlogah would not hear him, he slipped up behind Ahlogah, and gave him a great push that sent him over into the swift river, hundreds of feet below. "And the swift river caught him and tossed him and whirled him about, and finally carried him down past the high rocks where Laida was sending her message to the sun. And Laida looked down and saw him coming. She saw his chieftain's dress and plumes tossed and whirled by the water. She knew it was Ahlogah, and she waited for him. Then, when he just was below the high rocks where she stood, she gave a great cry, 'Ahlogah!' and she was in the whirling, tossing water beside him. "Then the tribes searched together, and they found Ahlogah and Laida far below, cast up on a place of white pebbles, side by side. And they buried them, side by side, and both the tribes mourned. But when the spring came there grew upon their graves two strange flowers with bright, beautiful faces that turned each morning to the sunrise. And these they named Ahlogah and Laida, but in another year there were more of them, so they called them sunflowers, and after that the land in September, the month when they had died, was like gold with the beautiful flowers of the sun." "But what became of the wicked Kapoka? What did they do with him?" asked Prue, anxiously. "They never saw him again. I suppose he was ashamed to come back, and by and by his brother, who was good and noble, ruled the tribe, and they dwelt in peace for many generations." "Do sunflowers belong to a family now?" asked Davy. "Oh, yes, to the very largest of all families--a family that spreads all over the world, and the sunflower has been found to be so perfect in form that the family is sometimes called the Sunflower Family. Its true name is the Composite Family, which means flowers with thick, bunchy centers, formed of a lot of very tiny little flowers, with a rim of petals around the whole--rays they are called--making it into one big flower." "The black-eyed Susans must belong to that family, too," said Davy. "They do, and the daisy, and the marigold, and the zinnia, and the aster, and your lettuce, too, Davy, and many, many more. Whenever you see a flower with a round bunchy center and a rim of petals, like a sunflower--no matter what color or how small it is--you will know it belongs to the Composite Family. I suppose there are more of this family in America than in any other country, but the sunflower is the finest of them all, and the most generally useful. Its seeds are full of fine oil, and are excellent food for cattle and poultry. The Indians sometimes use them for bread. The flowers themselves are full of honey, the leaves, too, are good for cattle, and the stalks make fine fuel. In many places and many countries the sunflowers are cultivated and valued highly. Of course, there are other useful members, and your lettuce is one of the finest salads in the world." IV DID YOU EVER SEE THE LITTLE MAN IN THE PANSY? MARCH was really an exciting month in the little window gardens. With longer and brighter suns, everything grew faster, until the windows began to look full and green, and the children often went outside to look in, and were very proud, indeed, of the pretty show of vines and leaves beyond the glass. The race of vines became very close. Davy had one bean and Prue one morning-glory which kept ahead of the others, and grew about the same each day. They grew so fast that Davy thought if he would only watch very closely he would be able to see them grow a little, but watch as he would, he never could catch the little vine turning or sending out a new leaf. It was like the short hand of the clock. It went twice around each day, but nobody could see it move. The corn and the sunflower were having a race, too, and the sunflower was a little ahead, though Davy's corn was a good deal taller when he lifted the points of the leaves. "I don't think that is fair," said Prue, and the Chief Gardener was called to decide. "No," he said, "the corn must be measured from where the leaves turn over, until it sends up its tassel, or bloom. Then it may be measured to the top of that. And that may be sooner than you think, too," he added, as he looked down into the healthy-looking green stalk that was fully two feet high. "And just see those vines; why they are more than half-way up the casings already!" It was the day before Davy's birthday, and Prue was looking anxiously at her pansies. All at once she gave a joyous cry. "Oh, Papa, a bud! Oh, it truly is, a real sure enough bud!" The Chief Gardener looked with care. "Yes," he said, "it is really a bud, and quite a large one, too. It begins to show the color. It's going to be a purple one, I believe." Prue was fairly wild with excitement. [Illustration: DAVY'S POT OF RADISHES] "Oh, may I pick it to-morrow for Davy's birthday?" she asked. "I don't believe I would, Prue. It won't be open for a week or more, perhaps. I would wait until it opens." So Davy's birthday came and passed without flowers from their garden, but they did have radishes, two of them, and these were cut in two and divided around so that each had quite a nice taste, and a leaf of salad, too. The radishes were nearly as big as marbles, little marbles, of course, and very red and beautiful, and Prue put her pansy-pot on the table, and showed the bud, with its purple tip, every time Davy made any mention of his radishes or his lettuce, and with a big cake and other good things they had a very happy time indeed. But now things began to happen in real earnest. The pansy bloomed--a big velvety, purple bloom, and then there was a yellow bud and a yellow bloom with a purple spot in the center. Little Prue was simply too happy to keep still, and danced in front of her garden almost from morning until night. Then suddenly they found a bud on the bean vines, and then on the morning-glories, and then there were blooms--pink and purple blooms on the morning-glories, and scarlet and white ones on the beans. Then Davy's corn sent out a plume at the top, a wonderful tassel, and when Davy measured to the top of it he found that it was over three feet high. "My birthday will be a regular feast of flowers," said the Chief Gardener, and really there was good reason for saying so, for the window casings were white, scarlet, pink, and purple, and the tasseling corn and the broad green leaves of the sunflower were fair and lovely. And Prue's pansy-pot was again on the table, and when the dinner was over, the Chief Gardener drew it toward him, and picking one of the purple blooms that was nearly ready to fall, said: "Did you ever see the little man in the pansy?" "No, oh, no," said Prue and Davy together. "Show him to us, Papa." So then the Chief Gardener pulled off carefully all the petals of the flower, and there, sure enough, sat a little round-bodied man, in a wonderful green chair, made of the outer part, or calyx, of the flower. His head was light green, his coat pale yellow, and he wore a rich, brown collar. Just below him was a round green sack or tube, filled with water, and when the Chief Gardener slitted it down, why there, truly, were two little legs and feet that had been in the little vessel. The children were delighted. "Oh, tell us about him!" they said. "Who is he?" "He was a king," said the Chief Gardener, "a poor, feeble king, who always sat on a green throne, with his feet in a tub of water. And his wife and daughters, all very splendidly dressed, used to perch themselves around him on the throne and ask for more money to spend on their fine clothes, and they were often cruel to him because he wouldn't give it to them, crowding him and almost smothering him with their velvet dresses. [Illustration: "DAVY'S CORN SENT OUT A PLUME AT THE TOP"] "So one day the fairies heard of it, and came to see. And they took pity on the poor king, and the next time the wife and daughters were crowding him on his throne they changed the king and his throne and all the others, with their fine dresses, into a flower. And the flower was the pansy. The velvet petals are the wife and daughters. The calyx is the green throne, and this little man is the poor, sick king with his feet and legs still in the little tub of water, though he can never be worried and scolded again." "I know that story is true," said little Prue, "for there is the very little man, himself, and oh, see, you can take his coat off, and there is a little green body inside." Sure enough, it was as Prue had said, and the Chief Gardener explained. "That little body becomes a pod to hold the seeds by and by. The little coat helps to make the seed, too. I won't tell you all the names of these things now, for you could not remember so much. Only try to remember that the green throne is called the calyx, and each little piece of it is a sepal, while the beautiful wife and daughters are called petals, and when taken together are called a corolla, and that this is true of every complete flower." And so March, too, slipped away. And on one day near the very end of the month, when it had been warm and bright for nearly a week, the Chief Gardener went out into his garden and turned over some of the earth which was getting dry. Davy said that it smelled all new and springy, and reminded him of kite-time. And then the Chief Gardener made two little beds of his own, and in one he sowed some lettuce, and in the other some radish seed, because these were the things most likely to grow from an early planting. Davy and Prue watched and helped, and were very anxious to have little beds of their own, but the Chief Gardener told them that they would better wait at least another month before they did any outside gardening. Their window gardens were just coming to their best time, he said, and planting outside so early was always risky. And that night when the wind went to the northeast, and a cold rain set in, that turned to snow before morning, and made the ground all white and glassy like December, they were very glad they had not made any beds, and were sorry for the Chief Gardener's little beds of vegetables, outside beneath the cold, cold snow. APRIL APRIL I THE YELLOW DUST IS A FOOD FOR THE SEED APRIL showers began early. The sun shone out brightly on the morning of the first day, but by breakfast time the rain was pattering down, and all the rest of the day there were showers, one after another, that streamed down the garden windows and made a little river of the path outside. Davy said he had never seen it rain so much in one day, and Prue said it was too bad. The Chief Gardener said it was an April fool. But there was reason to be happy, after all. Whether it was the shower outside; or the sun that was trying to shine; or just because it was April, Prue and Davy did not know, but Prue all at once found a bud on her sunflowers and Davy about the same time discovered a tiny brown silky bunch on his corn, the beginning of the ear. Then they forgot all about the rain, or at least they did not care so much, and got their books and their little table and sat down by their garden, which was now a real garden, of real flowers and vegetables, and read some stories about other little people, and looked at the pictures and talked about what they would do when warm weather came and they had a still bigger garden outside. And that night, when the Chief Gardener came home, he had to look at the corn and the sunflower the first thing, and say, "Well, well," every time Prue told him how she had first seen the bud, which was a good many times, and he had to explain to Davy all about the corn silk, and the little ear that was still behind the rough green leaf, and how the dust, or pollen, dropping down from the tassel above helped to make the corn swell and grow on the ear. "It is so in every flower, the yellow dust is a food for the seed. In most plants the seed-pod and the food-dust or pollen are all in one flower, but with the corn they are separate, as you see. Did you ever notice, Davy, how much a cornstalk looks like an Indian, with plumes, and its ear, like a quiver for holding arrows?" "Oh, is that why people sometimes call it Indian corn?" asked Davy. "No, that is not the reason. At least, there is a better one which I will tell you when we have had our dinner." So by and by, when dinner was over, and Prue had two servings of pudding because she didn't care for chocolate cake--one very little serving, of course, the Chief Gardener and Davy, and big Prue and little Prue all went into the library, and the Chief Gardener told the story of II THE COMING OF THE CORN "YOU remember," said the Chief Gardener, "how I told you about the first sunflowers--" "Yes," put in Prue, "about that wicked Kapoka, who pushed poor Ahlogah from the high rocks. Oh, I hope he is not in the corn story, too." "No, he isn't in the corn story, but it was, perhaps, about that time that the corn came to the American Indian tribes, for the corn was first found in America, and it is a true Indian plant like the sunflower. Like the sunflower, too, it came once upon a time. "Well, then, once upon a time, there was a year of famine. The winter had been very cold, and almost all the wild game, upon which the Indians then lived, had either died or gone out of the country. The fish, too, seemed scarce and hard to catch, and the wild fruit had been winter-killed. There was little to eat during the winter, and even when spring came it was not much better, though by and by some of the game came back and there were more fish in the streams. "Still it was very hard to get enough food, and every bird and animal was killed wherever found, and brought to the camps to be eaten. "But one day there flew down very close to one of the very large camps a big bird, such as no one of the tribe had ever seen before. It was not a hawk, nor an eagle, for it was a golden yellow, and it seemed to have come a very long way. It sat quite still, and its wings drooped, and it did not seem frightened when the wondering and hungry Indians came nearer to look at it. "Then one or two Indians began stringing their bows to shoot the great bird for food. But others said, 'No, let us not harm the stranger. He has come from a far country. And see, the color is golden, like the sun. Perhaps, the sun has sent a messenger, as a good omen.' "So they did not kill the bird, but even brought it food, little as they had, and the bird ate and rested through the day. Then just at evening he lifted his great wings and flew away into the sunset, and was seen no more. "But when a week had gone by, there came up where the bird had rested a strange new plant which grew very fast in the warm sun and shower and sent out long graceful leaves, and at last a plume at the top like that of an Indian chief, and from behind the graceful drooping leaves, tufts of silk that became ears, and were like Indian quivers. And when the summer was past, the tribe gathered these ears, and pulled away the husk, and lo, there were the rows of ripened corn, golden like the great bird. "Then the tribes from far and near were called together, and there was great rejoicing and thanks for this new gift, brought to them by the wonderful bird of the sun. And to each chief was given a few of the grains for planting, so that the next year all the tribes around about were watching and tending the tall green stalks that were to give them abundance of seed against another famine. "And that is the legend of the corn. After the third year there was seed for all, and corn became the best and surest food for all the Indian tribes. When the white men came, they ate it, too, and by cultivation made new kinds and colors. Now we have the sweet or sugar corn, the Davy's, and we have popcorn, too, which is only a dwarf corn with a hard, flinty shell which pops open with heat." "Do they raise corn in any other country except America?" asked Davy. "Oh, yes, there is a great deal raised in other countries now, and I believe they claim to have found some grains of it in a very old tomb in Greece, and a picture of it in a very old book in China, so, perhaps, it was from some place in the far East that the great bird of the Indians came with the seed." "And does it belong to a family, too?" asked little Prue. "It is claimed by the grass family, and, of course, it is something like big grass. Wheat and oats and, indeed, all the grains, belong to that wonderful family, too. Then there is broom-corn, useful for making brooms, while sugar-cane, which is also a grass, gives us our best sugar and molasses, but corn not only gives us the ears for food, but the leaves are used for cattle, and the husks for making cushions and mattresses, and for packing fruits. Syrup also is made from the young stalks, and the dry stalks are used for thatching, stable-bedding and fuel. In fact, every part of the corn is valuable, and I think we might call it the king, or, perhaps, being an Indian, the chief of the tribe of Grasses." "I know the best of all the things that comes from it," said little Prue. "What?" asked Davy. "Pop-corn balls," said Prue. III CROSS BY NAME AND CROSS BY NATURE WHAT wonderful things happened to the little window-garden in April! The nasturtium bloomed early in the month--first a red one then a yellow one, then a lot of red and yellow ones. They were so beautiful that almost every meal the little pot stood on the table, and sometimes the pansy-pot, too. And then the sweet-pease bloomed, beautiful pink and white and purple blooms that were so sweet you could smell them as soon as you came into the room. Davy's garden-pease had bloomed even sooner, and had little pods on them by April. Before many days the tiny pease inside began to swell, and you could see every one quite plainly when you turned the pod flat side to the light. As for the beans and morning-glories, they had bloomed and bloomed, and already had seed-pods hanging all the way up the vines that now reached to the top of the casings and looped down and joined in a long festoon which hung between. And how proud the children were of their two beautiful windows. And how happy they were when passers-by stopped to look in, and perhaps wondered about the gardens, and maybe thought that the rosy-cheeked boy and girl looking out between the blossoms and leaves and vines were the brightest and best flowers that bloomed there. And Davy's corn sent out another ear, a little one, and both ears grew and the pollen from above sifted down, and Davy knew that inside the green husks the sweet kernels were forming. "When can we eat it?" he asked almost every day. "Don't you think it's about big enough now?" "When the silk turns brown," said the Chief Gardener. "That is about the best rule. I think you'll have pease and beans, too, pretty soon, so you can have quite a feast." [Illustration: "THE MORNING-GLORIES HAD BLOOMED AND ALREADY HAD SEED-PODS"] "Just in time for my birthday," said big Prue, who had been an April baby a long time ago. "It's ever so long till my birthday," said little Prue, rather sadly. "I don't think we'll have anything left by August." "Oh, but I'll have a fine garden outside by then," said the Chief Gardener, "and you will, too. I'll have radishes and lettuce now before you know it;" for in spite of the cold snow and freeze, the Chief Gardener's first planting had sprouted fairly well, and was rapidly filling his first two little beds. "Papa, you haven't told us a word about my nasturtiums yet, and they're so lovely. Not a single story or anything, nor about their family relations, or where they came from--not a thing." "Well, that's so," said the Chief Gardener, "perhaps because I wanted to make a family affair of it. You see, Davy's radish is a sort of a name-cousin of your nasturtium, and I've been thinking that when I told about one I'd tell of the other, too, and that I'd call the story IV A PEPPERY FAMILY [Illustration: "CABBAGE" WAS THE FAT FELLOW'S NAME] "NOBODY seems to know just where the Cross family came from. You can find them in every part of the world now, some of them growing as weeds, some as flowers, and some as very fine vegetables. But wherever they came from, in the beginning, they were certainly of very sharp, biting natures, and never could agree. Why, they were so cross that even their flowers were shaped like little crosses, and people called them cruciferous, which means cross-shaped, and used to say of them, "'Cross by name and cross by nature, Cross of fibre, face, and feature,' and did not want them in their gardens, because they disturbed the other vegetables and flowers, and might make them cross, too. "Well, the Cross family became tired of this, at last, and made up their minds to be either useful or ornamental: at least, most of them did. So they got together, and after a great deal of quarrelling among themselves to begin with, for, of course, they couldn't help that when they had been unpleasant so long, they at last began to work together and decide what each wanted to be, and how it could be brought about. "'I think,' said a fat one who was always better-natured than any of the others, 'I should like to be a nice sweet vegetable that people were very fond of and gave a good place to, in their gardens, where I should be well taken care of.' "So the Clerk of Plants, who was alive then, like the Weather Clerk, you know, put down 'Cabbage,' which was the fat fellow's name, and wrote after it, 'Sweet vegetable--needs care.' "'I,' said another, 'would like to be a sweet vegetable, too, but I want to grow mostly under the ground, so that I will need less care to keep off insects and worms.' "So then the Clerk of Plants wrote 'Turnip,' and put after it, 'Vegetable with sweet, wholesome root; needs little care.' "So they went on with those who wanted to be vegetables. But most of the others did not want to be quite so sweet in their nature as the turnip and the cabbage. They said they liked people with a little temper of their own, so the radish, who was a fat, red little chap, was put down as a vegetable rather sweet, but with sharp flavor, and 'Horseradish' was put down, 'Very sharp and biting, to be used only for seasoning.' The Clerk was about to turn to those who wanted to be flowers, when a little green plant, who had been named 'Nose Torment,' because he made people's noses itch and burn, spoke up and said, 'I should like to be beautiful and useful, too--a pretty green dressing that people like, and I will grow in the water, which may wash away some of my ill manners.' "So then the Clerk of Plants dropped the name of 'Nose Torment' and wrote down, 'Water Cross, a fine table-salad--grows in clear streams.' "'But I don't like the name "Cross,"' said the little plant. "'Oh, well,' said the clerk, 'spell it with an "e" then--make it Cress.' So Water-cress it became, and all the others spelled their family name with an 'e,' too, and became the Cress family instead of the Cross family, just as people often change the spelling of their names to-day. "But the Clerk of Plants wasn't through, for there were a good many who wanted to be flowers. Some of them wanted to be very sweet flowers, and some, like mustard, wanted to be flowers and useful, too. So the Clerk wrote down 'Wallflower,' and 'Stock' and Candy tuft,' and a good many others, but there was one gentle little blossom which said, 'Oh, I want to be white and pure, and have a sweet and delicate perfume that all people will love.' And this was 'Alyssum,' and when the Clerk wrote it down, he wrote it 'Sweet Alyssum,' and so it has been called ever since. "And then, when the Clerk was all through, he said, 'There are some who have not come to the meeting. Where is your brother, Mustard? And yours, Alyssum, the one we call Pepper-grass, because he is so fiery?' "Mustard and Alyssum shook their heads sadly. "'Well,' said the Clerk, 'they have had their chance. They are wild and will always be,' so he wrote down. 'Wild Mustard' and Pepper-grass,' and after these names he put the word 'Weeds.'" "But my nasturtium, Papa, what about that?" "Why, that's so, I forgot all about your nasturtium. Well, you see, it doesn't really belong to the Cress family, but is only a name-relative. The word nasturtium comes from two Latin words, _nasi tormentum_, which means Nose Torment, and it was Nasturtium that little Water-cress had sometimes been called." "But," said Prue, "my nasturtium isn't water-cress." [Illustration: "THEY CALLED IT NASTURTIUM"] "No, but when it was discovered, and the people tasted the leaves and the flowers, and sometimes used them for salad, and especially when they found it had a sharp-tasting seed, they called it Cress, Indian Cress, and then they took the name that little Water-cress had dropped and called it Nasturtium. So you see it isn't really a Cress or a Nasturtium. It is only called that. It's true name is Acriviola, or Sharp Violet, because of its taste, and the flower, which is shaped something like a violet. All the true Cress family have a corolla of but four petals, shaped like a cross, and nearly all the flowers, and especially the seed-pods, have a sharp flavor. Even the Sweet Alyssum has the least touch of the old flavor, and mustard is very sharp. On the whole, the Cress family has become a most useful and ornamental family, and the Acriviola or Nasturtium, which is neither a violet nor a nasturtium, but a geranium--of the geranium family, I mean--need not be at all ashamed of its adopted names." V FOR IN THAT DISH WAS DAVY'S CORN WHEN big Prue's birthday came, there was much excitement. Of course, there were the presents which must be hidden until the very morning, but even the presents were not of the very greatest importance this year. Oh, no, this year it was the garden. Big Prue's birthday was to be a regular garden feast. [Illustration: ALYSSUM--THE SWEETEST OF THE "CROSS" FAMILY] For now the days had become warm and bright. Already the children had been to the woods for hepaticas and violets, and everywhere the trees were tinged with green. The little garden had fairly filled the window so that now you had to look between the vines to see. Even in the garden outside, the Chief Gardener had made some more beds, and the first ones--the radishes and lettuce--were so well along, that early on the morning of big Prue's birthday he brought in some tiny radishes and some tender green salad leaves, almost as good, Davy said, as the first ones from his garden. "These are for breakfast," he said. "You and Prue will have to supply the birthday dinner." And that is just what they did. First of all there was a lovely bunch of sweet-pease on big Prue's plate--these, of course, being from Prue's garden. There was a little bunch of pansies for Prue, while for the Chief Gardener and Davy there were round, bright sunflowers, one each for their buttonholes. In the center of the table there was a wonderful little glass bowl of nasturtium flowers, that were so fresh and pretty that one must be hungry just to look at them. Then it was Davy's turn. In a pretty salad-dish on a little side table, there was a lettuce salad that looked like a great green bloom, and lying upon another smaller dish at the side, were four of the roundest, reddest radishes imaginable, the very last of the little garden crop. But now something came in in two small covered dishes, something that steamed, and behold, when they were opened, in one were Davy's beans, ever so many, white and mottled, all cooked and hot and ready to be eaten, and in the other Davy's pease! But that was not all. Still another steaming dish came in, and when that was opened, everybody fairly shouted, "Oh, my!" for in that dish was Davy's corn! Think of it! Two whole ears of corn, one large one to be divided between little Prue and Davy. Never was there such a birthday dinner as that. The flowers were beautiful, the beans and the pease splendid, while the corn, why the corn was just the sweetest and best corn that was ever raised. They all said so, and Davy got excited and said he was going to plant a thousand acres of corn just as soon as the Chief Gardener would let him. And then they began to plan for the new garden of summer-time, which was to be made outside. Most of their things they thought they would take out of the windows, and reset in the open garden, but, of course, there were no radishes or lettuce to take now, and the corn and pease were no longer of value, while the vines would be hard to move. So they decided to take out all but the vines. Prue could reset her pansies and nasturtiums and sunflower, and the sweet-pease, which would bloom all summer, perhaps, leaving the morning-glories and scarlet runner in the windows, to bloom as long as they would. "My windows would look very bare without even the vines left of the little gardens," said big Prue, "but it is getting so green outside, that we won't miss them so much now, and, of course, everything must go, sometime." "And we are going to have them next year," said Davy. "We will begin then earlier, and have other things, too, but first we are going to have ever and ever so much outside, in the real garden. Prue is going to have flowers, and I am going to have, oh, ever and ever so many good things to eat!" And so with big Prue's birthday dinner, the little garden in the windows saw its greatest glory, and the month of April, which had been its happiest season, came to a happy end. MAY MAY I SWEET-PEASE HAVE TO BE PUT DOWN PRETTY DEEP IT was May and the apple-trees were in bloom. In the garden outside was the Chief Gardener, with Prue and Davy--one on each side--hoeing and digging and raking. The early plantings, like radishes and lettuce and pease, were already well along, but it was just time, now, for a second planting of these things, and for the first planting of such things as corn and beans, and most of the kinds of flowers. Some sweet-pease, it is true, little Prue had planted earlier, one warm day in April, when the Chief Gardener had dug for her a trench along the fence, and she had put in the pease, one at a time, and just so far apart, so that they wouldn't crowd, she said, or get in each other's way. The trench was quite deep--most too deep, Prue thought, but then sweet-pease have to be put down pretty deep, and the soil dragged up to the vines as they grow, to give them strength. Now, she planted some sweet-williams, and pansies, and mignonettes, and alyssum, and had brought most of her pots from the house, and set the things in a little row by themselves, so that they might still be company as they had been through the long winter and late spring. Davy, too, had made a fine garden, with six hills of sweet-corn, one hill of cantaloupes, a row of pease, a little row of onions, lettuce, and radishes, besides a very small row of sweet herbs, such as marjoram, fennel, and thyme. Each garden was fully eight feet square, which is really quite a good-sized garden, when you remember that it must be kept nicely tilled and _perfectly clean_ of weeds. "I think I will have a hill of cucumbers, too," said Davy. "I like cucumbers." "But they won't do, near your cantaloupes," said the Chief Gardener. "You see, cucumbers and cantaloupes belong to the same family, and one of the most twining, friendly families I know of. Each member left to itself is very good in its way, and often ornamental, but let them run together ever so little and before you know it they begin to mix up and look like one another, and even have tastes alike. A cucumber-hill there, Davy, would spoil the taste of your cantaloupes, and the cucumbers would not be good either. It's the same way with watermelons, and citrons, and pumpkins, and all the rest of the gourds." "Gourds!" "Why, yes, they all belong to the Gourd family, and they will all look and taste like gourds if you give them a chance. It's really, of course, because the pollen of one blows into the bloom of the other, and the members of the Gourd family are so closely related that pollens blend and mix. Different kinds of corn will do the same thing. That is why we have our popcorn as far from our sweet corn as we can get it. There are other families that do not mix at all. We grow apples and plums and peaches and roses, side by side--even different kinds of each--and they never mix." "But apples and plums and peaches are not roses, are they?" asked little Prue. "Just as much as strawberries, and pears and quinces are," said the Chief Gardener. The children looked at him rather puzzled. "How about blackberries and raspberries?" asked the Chief Gardener. "Don't you think they look a little, a very little, like wild roses, only the flowers are smaller and white, instead of pink?" "Why, yes, so they do!" nodded Davy. "And doesn't the bloom of a blackberry look like the bloom of a plum, and a cherry, and a pear, and an apple, and all those things?" "A good deal," said Prue, "and wild crab blossoms look just like little wild roses, and they smell so sweet, too." "And the wild crab has thorns like a rose, only not so sharp," said Davy. [Illustration: "DON'T YOU THINK THE BLACKBERRY LOOKS A LITTLE LIKE A WILD ROSE?"] "And a rose has little apples after the bloom falls," said the Chief Gardener. "I have known children to eat rose apples, though I don't think they could be very good." Davy had run down to the corner of the garden and came back now with something in his hand. It was a wild rose that grew by the hedge there; a pretty, single pink blossom. Then he stopped and picked a strawberry bloom, and one from the apple-tree that hung over the fence. These he brought over to the little bench where Prue and the Chief Gardener had sat down to rest. The Chief Gardener took them and held them side by side. "There, you will see they are all very much alike," he said. The children looked at them. Then Prue ran across the lawn and came back with a little yellow bloom. "Isn't this flower one of them, too?" she asked. "Some people call it wild strawberry, and some sink-field." "That," said the Chief Gardener, "is cinque-foil. I suppose the name sink-field comes from that. It is French, and means five-leaved, but sink-field is not so bad a name either, for it often grows in moist places. Yes, that is a rose, too." "Then buttercups must be roses," said Davy. "They look just like that." "No, Davy, that is one place where our eyes must look sharp. Can you find a buttercup?" "Oh, plenty," said Prue, and ran to bring them. Then the Chief Gardener took a buttercup and an apple-bloom, and held them side by side. There was a difference, but not very great. Then he took his knife, and divided the blossoms in half. "Now look again," he said, and he took a small magnifying-glass from his pocket and held it so that they could see. "The petals and the sepals (that make the corolla and the calyx, you know) are a good deal the same," he said, "but, you see, there are many more stamens in the buttercup, and then the seed pod or pods, which we call the pistils, are not at all alike. The buttercup has a lot of tiny pods or pistils inside the flower, while the apple-bloom has one round pod below the flower, and this forms the fruit. The buttercup does not make fruit. It belongs to the Crowfoot family, and is a cousin of the hepatica and of the larkspur, which you would not think from the shape of the larkspur's bloom. The Crowfoot family is not so beautiful nor so useful as the Rose family, which is, perhaps, the most useful family next to the Grass family, and certainly one of the most beautiful families in the world." "I think the Rose family is nicer than the Grass family," said Prue. "Oh, no," said Davy. "We couldn't do without wheat and corn, and we could do without fruit and flowers--that is, of course, if we had to," he added with a sigh. "I couldn't," said little Prue. "I like flowers best, and jelly and jam to eat on my biscuits, and you like all those things, too, Davy, and shortcake, and berry pie." "Of course! but how would you have biscuits and shortcake without wheat to make the flour of?" The Chief Gardener smiled. [Illustration: "AND THE APPLE-BLOSSOM, TOO"] "We can't decide it," he said. "They go together. It is said that we shall not live on bread alone, and I don't think we could live altogether on fruit and flowers, though I believe some people try to do so. Jam and bread go together, and a shortcake must have both crust and fruit to be a real shortcake. Wheat fields and orchards march side by side, and taking these together we have peach pudding and apple tart." Prue was looking out over her little garden where the smoothly patted rows of beds made her quite happy, just to see them. "I've got four things that begin with sweet," she said. "Sweet-pease, sweet-williams, sweet-mignonette, and sweet-alyssum." "And my little Sweetheart is the sweetest flower of all," said the Chief Gardener. II DIFFERENT FAMILIES OF ANTS HAVE DIFFERENT DROVES OF COWS IT seemed wonderful to the Chief Gardener how much the children had learned just from the little pots of their window-garden. He had let them begin these gardens merely as an amusement, at first, but during those long winter weeks while the plants were growing and being cared for daily, little by little, Prue and Davy had been learning the how and why. When the seeds began to come now, he had to tell them very little about the care of the plants. It is true that Davy was a little too anxious to hoe his rows of pease and salad almost before they were out of the ground, and hoed up a few plants, while Prue wanted to water her garden when the bright sun was shining, which would have baked the ground and done more harm than good. But they both knew so much more than they had known a year ago, that the Chief Gardener was glad of those little window-gardens which were now gone. "You see, I was remembering the worm that cut off one of my cornstalks," said Davy one morning when the Chief Gardener found him digging carefully around the tender shoots. "I found one, too, but he hadn't done any harm yet." "I'm crumbling the hard dirt around my little plants," said Prue, "it's so sharp and cakey, and I pull out every little weed I see, so they won't have a chance to get big." The Chief Gardener looked on approvingly. Then he walked over to his own rows and looked carefully at his pease, which were just now beginning to bloom. Then he got down and looked more closely. Then he called Davy and Prue. They left their work and came quickly. "Look here," said the Chief Gardener, "I have a whole drove of cattle in my garden." "Cattle!" said Davy. "Oh, Papa's just fooling," said Prue. "Why, no," said the Chief Gardener, "don't you see them. There is a whole drove of cows," and he pointed to some little green bug-like things that clustered on the tips of his pea-vines. The children looked closely and then turned to him to explain. "There are some ants there, too," said Davy. "They are crawling up and down." "Yes," said the Chief Gardener. "They own the cows. The cows are those green things--aphides, they are called, and the ants milk them. Look very carefully now." Prue and Davy watched and saw an ant go to one of the green insects and touch with its bill first one, and then the other, of two little horns that grew from the aphid's back. And then the ant went to another aphid, and did the same thing. Then they saw that tiny drops of fluid came from the ends of these tiny green horns. "That," said the Chief Gardener, "is honeydew, or ant's milk. The ants are very fond of it, and wherever you find these aphides, you will find ants, milking them. In fact, I believe the ants keep these aphides during the winter in some of their houses, and drive them in the spring to tender green feeding-places like these pea-vines, so that the milk will be sweet and plentiful. I have heard that different families of ants have different droves of cows, and fight over them, too." The children were very much interested in all this, and watched the ants run up and down the vines and milk their cows. Then the Chief Gardener said, "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid we'll have to get rid of these. They are very bad for young plants, and ants are, too. They suck the juice, and ruin them. I must give them a mixture." He went into the basement and cut up a few ounces of whale-oil soap, and dissolved it in hot water. Then when it was cool and weakened, he sprinkled the pease with it. The next day all the cows were gone, and most of the ants. But about a week later, just after a shower, there they were again, and the Chief Gardener said that the ants must have driven up a new herd. So he had to sprinkle them again, and even once more before the end of the month; and while he was sprinkling, he sprinkled the little gardens, too, for whale-oil soap when it isn't used strong enough to hurt the young plants is a fine thing for little gardens, and big ones, too. III THERE ARE MANY WAYS OF PRODUCING SPECIES THERE were a good many rains in May. The weeds grew and grew, and it was hard to keep them down when it was wet and warm, and the plants were still so small. Prue and Davy had to get down close and pull them out carefully with their fingers, and this left the little green rows so straight and trim, and the earth smelled so nice when the sun came out warm, after a shower, that the children grew happy in the work, and wanted to plant new things almost every day. Around the house Prue had planted a border of nasturtiums on one side, and a border of marigolds on the other, and they were all coming up and looked as if they would grow into strong, fine plants. Davy had planted some hills of castor beans in the garden, because the Chief Gardener had said that they were good for the three Ms--moles, malaria, and mosquitoes. He was also attending very faithfully to a row of strawberries which the Chief Gardener had told him he might have for his own. The little boy was quite skillful with a hoe, and could take care of his vegetables almost as well as the Chief Gardener, so the Chief Gardener thought. "You must not hoe your beans when the dew is on them, Davy," he said one morning. "The vines are tender and it causes them to rust or blight, but you may hoe most of the other things, and you may hoe around most of your vegetables as often as you want to. Loosening up the soil about young plants makes them grow. It gives the roots a chance to spread, and lets sun and air into the soil. You must be a little more careful with flowers, Prue, for they are usually more tender, and it is better to dig with an old knife or a small, weeding rake. You must thin out your plants, too. Keep pulling from between, as they grow larger, so that they stand farther and farther apart. Where plants grow too thickly they are small, and the flowers and vegetables poor. People sometimes try to raise more on a small piece of ground by having more plants on it, but it does not pay, for the plants do not produce as much as if there were only half as many on the same soil. Give everything plenty of room and air, and they will grow and thrive like children who have a good playground and plenty of wholesome food." "Papa," said Prue, "you were talking the other day of the different kinds of one thing: what makes them?--the different kinds of roses, I mean, and pansies, and--" "And peaches and apples," interrupted Davy, "I want to know that, too." The Chief Gardener did not answer just at first. Then he said, "I am afraid that is a pretty big subject for little people. There are a good many ways of producing species of flowers, and some of them are not easy to understand. But I can tell you, perhaps, about the fruits now, and we will try to understand about some of the flowers another time. "To begin with, the upper part and the lower parts of our fruit-trees are different. The root and a little of the lower stalk is from a seed, and upon this has been grafted or spliced with soft bands and wax, a bud from some choice kind of peach or apple or plum, or whatever the tree is to be, and this new bud grows and forms the tree. Sometimes a bud of the choice kind is merely inserted beneath the bark of another tree and grows and forms a new limb. By and by, when it bears fruit, the fruit will be of the kind that was on the choice tree, but the seed, though it looks just the same, may be altogether different. If a seed like that is planted, it may make a tree like the root part of the one from which it came, or it may make a tree like the upper part, or it may make something different from either one. No one can tell what that seed will bring. So fruit growers plant a great many such seeds each year, and once in a great while some new peach, or apple, or plum, or cherry, finer than anything ever grown before, comes from one of those seeds. Then every little limb of that tree is saved and grafted or spliced to a lot of sturdy little roots that have come from other seeds, and this new kind of fruit goes out all over the world and is grafted, and re-grafted, until there are trees everywhere of the new kind." [Illustration: The bark is slit to receive the bud The bud is inserted in the opening The limb is then closely bound BUDDING] "And wouldn't I get those same fine peaches we had last year if I planted the seeds?" asked Davy. "You might, Davy, but there are a hundred chances to one that you would get a very poor, small peach, which you would not care to eat." Davy looked disappointed. "Well," he said, "I might as well pull it up, then." "Why, did you plant one, Davy?" asked the Chief Gardener. "Yes, last summer. I didn't know then, and after I ate my peach I planted the seed over there in the corner, and now it's just coming up, and I was going to keep it for a surprise for you." "That's too bad, Davy, but let it grow, anyway. Perhaps it will make some new and wonderful kind. Even if it doesn't, we can have the limbs grafted when it is larger." "Oh, and can you have more than one kind on a tree?" "Why, yes, I have seen as many as three or four kinds of apples on one tree." "And peaches, and apples, and plums, and pears, all on one tree, too?" said Prue. "Why that would be a regular fairy tree!" "We could hardly have that," laughed the Chief Gardener, "though I have heard of peaches, and nectarines, and plums being all on one tree, though I have never seen it. I don't think such things do very well." They went over to look at Davy's little peach-tree, which was fresh and green and tender, and seemed to be growing nicely. "It should have fruit on it in three years," said the Chief Gardener. Davy and Prue did not look very happy at this. It seemed such a long time to wait. "It will pass before you know it," the Chief Gardener smiled. "I shall be as old as Nellie Taber," said little Prue, who had been counting on her fingers, "but Nellie will be older, too," she added with a sigh. "So I'm afraid I can't catch up with her." The Chief Gardener led them over to another part of the garden, where there was a bunch of green leaves, like the leaves of a violet, but when they got down to look, they found that the flowers, instead of being all blue, were speckled and spotted with white. "Oh, Papa, where did you get those funny violets?" asked Prue. "What makes them all speckly?" "I think," said the Chief Gardener, "that this is one of Nature's mixtures. I found it in the Crescent Lake woods last spring, and brought it home. There may be others like it, but I have never seen them. So you see, Nature makes new kinds herself, sometimes. You know, don't you, that the pansies you love so much, Prue, are one kind of violet, cultivated until they are large and fine?" "Why, no, are they violets? Are my pansies violets?" "Yes, they are what is called the heartsease violets. They were a very small flower at first, and not so brightly colored. They will become small again if you let them run wild a year or two." Prue was looking at the variegated violet in her hand. "I should think there's a story about this," she said, nodding her busy, imaginative little head. "Suppose you tell it to us, Prue," said the Chief Gardener. "Well, I think it's this way," said Prue. "Once upon a time there was a little girl named Bessie. And she lived way off--way over by Crescent Lake--with an old witch-woman who was poor. And Bessie had to carry milk to sell, every day, because they had a cow, and Bessie couldn't drink the milk, because they had to sell it. "And one day when Bessie was going with the milk through the woods, she stopped to pick some flowers, because she liked flowers, all kinds, and specially violets. And when she stooped over to pick the violets, a little of her milk spilled out of her pail, and it went on the violets, right on the blue flowers. And when Bessie saw them all spattered with the milk she says, 'Oh, how funny you look! I wish you'd stay that way all the time.' And there was a fairy heard her say that, and she liked Bessie because she was so good, so she made the violets stay just that way with the white spots on them, and Bessie went home, and one day when the old witch-woman died the fairy brought a prince on a white horse, and Bessie went away with him to be a princess, in a palace covered with gold and silver, and lived happy ever after." The Chief Gardener looked down at the little girl beside him. "Why, what an exciting story! Did you make it all just now?" "Yes, just now. It just came of itself," said little Prue. "And didn't Bessie want her violets?" asked Davy. "She took some of them along with her in a basket, and planted them around her new palace." "And the rest she left for us," said the Chief Gardener. "I know now what to call them. We shall call them Bessie's Violets." JUNE JUNE I THEN THEY WENT DOWN INTO THE STRAWBERRY PATCH JUNE, the month of roses, and strawberries. The beautiful month when spring is just turning to summer, and summer is giving us her first rare gifts. In Davy's garden the corn was up, and had grown more in two weeks than the corn planted in the house had grown in four. It was the long sunny days that did this, and the showers that seemed to come almost too often, but perhaps the gardens didn't think so, for they grew, and the weeds grew, too, and kept Prue and Davy busy pulling and hoeing and cultivating. Davy's radishes were big enough to eat just a month from the day they were planted--think of it!--when those planted in the house had taken ever and ever so long. Prue's pansies and sweet-pease, and her other three "sweets" were all up, too, and so green and flourishing. But perhaps the thing that made them both happiest, at this season, was the Chief Gardener's strawberry-patch. Either that or big Prue's roses--they were not sure which. "When I grow up, I am going to have acres and acres of strawberries," said Davy. "And miles and miles of roses," said Prue. "And herds and herds of little Jersey cows that only give the richest cream," said the Chief Gardener. "And we'll put wreaths of roses about the cows' necks," said big Prue, "and drive them home at evening, and milk the rich creamy milk and put it on the fresh strawberry shortcake, just out of the oven--" [Illustration: THE CHIEF GARDENER'S STRAWBERRIES (Members of the Rose Family)] "And eat and eat forever," interrupted Davy. "And be happy ever after," finished little Prue. After that nobody said anything for quite a long time--thinking how fine all that would be, when it came. Then they went down into the strawberry-patch where the big red berries were ripening on the broad, green leaves. And little Prue and her mamma went into the house and came out with two bowls--one quite large bowl--white, with blue vines and flowers on it, and one quite small bowl--white, with blue kittens on it, chasing one another around and around on the outside. And the Chief Gardener and big Prue picked the ripe red berries and put them in the big bowl. And Davy and little Prue picked the ripe red berries and put them into the little bowl. And sometimes the Chief Gardener would eat a berry--a real, real ripe one--just to see if they were good, he said. And sometimes big Prue would eat a berry--a real, real little one--just to see if little berries would do for a shortcake, she said. And sometimes little Prue would eat a berry, and sometimes Davy would eat a berry--big, big berries--just because they looked so good, and tasted so good, that a little boy and a little girl could not help eating them, even if it took some of the berries out of the shortcake they were going to have for tea. But they didn't eat all of the berries they picked. Oh, no. They put some of the berries into the little white bowl with the blue kittens chasing one another around and around on the outside. And the Chief Gardener and big Prue put most of their berries into the big bowl with the blue flowers and vines on it. And by and by both of the bowls were full--full clear to the top and heaping--so that no more berries, not even the very little ones, would lay on. And then big Prue took the big bowl, and little Prue the little bowl, and they went up the little garden step into the house, carrying the bowls very carefully, so as not to spill any of the red berries that were heaped up so high that no more, not even very little ones, would lay on. And the Chief Gardener and Davy followed along behind, talking of the fine June evening, and saying how long the days were now and how far to the north the sun was setting. Then they looked around at the garden, and wondered if they would have green corn by the middle of July, and when they looked under the bean vines they found that some pods were quite large, and the Chief Gardener said that by Sunday they could have beans, and pease, with lettuce and several other green things--a regular garden dinner. And then little Prue came out and called them to come--right off. And they saw that she was dressed in a fresh white dress, and that her hair was tied with a bright blue ribbon, and her face was as rosy as a strawberry. "We have got the deliciousest shortcake that ever was!" she called, as they came closer, "and I helped, and rolled the dough and picked over some of the berries!" "You didn't put all the berries in," said the Chief Gardener. "Oh, I did--I did, Papa--all but two." [Illustration: BIG, BIG BERRIES THAT LOOKED SO GOOD] "And I will have those," said the Chief Gardener, and he lifted the little girl in his arms and gave her a big, big kiss, on each rosy cheek. "I think June is the best month that ever was!" said Davy a little later, as he finished his second large piece. "It always seems the queen month to me," said big Prue, "perhaps because it is the month of the rose--the queen of the flowers." "Is the rose really the queen of the flowers?" asked little Prue. "I have always heard so." "How did she get to be queen? Did she just happen to be queen, or did the other flowers choose her?" Little Prue's mamma looked thoughtfully out the garden window, where a great climbing rambler was a mass of red blossoms. "Do you think any other flower could be queen over that?" she asked. "Why, no, but--but don't folks have to choose queens, or something?" "They do presidents," said Davy. "I think you'll have to tell us about it," laughed the Chief Gardener. "It's your turn for a story, anyway." So then big Prue took them all out on the wide veranda, where they could watch the sunset, that came very late now, and there she told them II HOW THE ROSE BECAME QUEEN "ONCE upon a time there was a very great garden that lay between two ranges of blue, blue hills. And the sky above was blue, as blue as the hills, so that you could hardly tell where the sky ended and the hills began, and underneath was the great, beautiful garden which covered all the lands between. "And in this rare garden there were all the choicest flowers and fruit that the world knew, and when the flowers were all in bloom, under that blue, blue sky--in all the wonderful colors of gold and crimson, and royal purple, and with all the banks of white daisies, and all the sweet orchards of apple-bloom, there was nothing like it in the whole world, and the sweet perfume went out so far that sailors on the ships coming in from sea, a hundred miles away, could smell the sweet odors, and would say, 'The wind blows from the garden of the Princess Beautiful.' For I must tell you that the garden was owned by a great Princess, and she was called Beautiful by all who knew of her, and every traveler to that distant country made his way to her white marble palace to seek permission to look upon the most wonderful garden in all the world. "And many who came there were of high rank, like herself, and some of them tried to win her love, for the Princess was like her name and as beautiful as the rarest flower in all that marvelous garden. But to princes and even kings she would not listen, for her heart and pride were only in her flowers, and she wished to remain with them forever and be happy in their beauty. She was only sad when she saw that some of those who came went away with heavy hearts because she would not leave her palace for theirs. "Now once there came to the palace of the Princess Beautiful a great queen. She had traveled far to see the splendid garden, and when she came, the Princess led her with all her court among the flowers. And all that sunlit day, under the blue, blue sky, the great queen and her court lingered in the garden--up and down the paths of white shells, where hyacinths and lilies and daffodils and azaleas grew on every side--and rested in the shade of the blossoming orchard trees. And when it was evening, and they had gone, and the flowers were left alone, they whispered and murmured together, for never before had they seen a queen and her court. "And by and by as the days passed, the flowers decided that they, too, must have a queen--some rare flower, fine and stately, whom they would honor, even as they had seen their beautiful Princess honor her royal guest. And night after night they talked of these things, but never could decide which of their number should be chosen for the high place. "And then one day a great sadness came upon the fair garden between the hills. A young traveler from an unknown country had come to the white palace, and one sunny afternoon the Princess Beautiful had led him among the beds of primroses and lilies and daffodils. And when the sun was going down and she turned and looked into his face, and saw how fair he was, and how the sun made his hair like gold, how it shimmered on his beautiful garments of velvet and fine lace, she felt for the first time a great love arise within her heart. Then, all at once, she forgot her garden, her palace and her pride--forgot everything in all the world except the fair youth who stood there with her in the sunset--and she told him her great new love. "And as she spoke, softly and tenderly, the words she had never spoken to any one before, the breeze died, and the sun slipped down behind the far-off hills. And then, as the light faded, it seemed to the Princess Beautiful that the fair youth before her was fading, too. His face grew dim and misty--his hair became a blur of gold--his rare garments melted back into the beds of bloom. And behold, instead of the fair youth there stood before her in the twilight only a wonderful golden lily with a crimson heart. "Then the Princess Beautiful knew that because she had cared only for her garden, and had sent from her those who had offered a great love like her own, that this wonderful lily had come to her as a youth with a face of radiant beauty, and with hair of gold, to awaken a human love in her heart. And each day she mourned there by the splendid lily, and called upon it to return to her as the fair youth she had loved; and at last when its flowers faded and the stem drooped, the white palace of the Princess Beautiful was empty, for the Princess lay dead beside the withered lily in the rare garden between the hills. "And there they made her grave, and above it they built a trellis where a white climbing rose might grow. But when the rose bloomed, instead of being white, it was a wonderful crimson, such as no one had ever seen before. And when the other flowers saw those beautiful crimson blossoms, they no longer mourned, for they said, 'This is our Princess Beautiful who has returned to be our queen.' "And so it was the red rose became the queen of flowers, and a symbol of great human love. The poet Burns sings, 'My love is like a red, red rose That's newly blown in June,' and it was always in June that the great crimson rose bloomed on the grave in the garden of the Princess Beautiful." "And did the lily ever bloom again?" asked little Prue. "I'm sure it must have done so. We always speak of roses and lilies as belonging together, and there is a great golden lily called the Superbus, which I think might have been the beautiful youth that came to the white palace." "Does the story mean that we shouldn't care too much for our gardens?" asked Davy. "More than for folks, I mean?" "Do you know, Davy," said the Chief Gardener, "I was just wondering about that, too." III THE SUN IS THE GREATEST OF ALL CHEMISTS IT was about a week later, that one afternoon little Prue and Davy and the Chief Gardener were helping big Prue with her roses, and admiring all the different kinds. Little Prue had been thinking a good deal about roses since the story of the Princess Beautiful, and wondering just which of the climbing red ones had grown about her grave. Then she began to wonder about all the kinds, and how they came. She spoke about this now, as her mamma pointed out one which she said was a new rose--just offered for sale that year. "Where did it come from?" asked the little girl, "where do new roses come from?" "From seed," answered the Chief Gardener, "like the new peaches and apples I told you of. Roses belong to the same family, you know, and they are grafted much in the same way. Then the seeds are planted, and from these, fine new kinds are likely to come. Rose-growers are always trying hard to make new kinds by mixing the pollen. The pollen, you remember, is the yellow powder on the little tips of the stamens. These tips, as I believe I told you, are called anthers, and the slender part of the stamen is the filament. It is the pollen falling from the anthers upon the single green stem or pistil in the center of the flower that produces the seed. The pistil is divided in parts, too. The little top piece is called the stigma, and the slender green stem is called the style. The pollen falls on the stigma and is drawn down through the style to give life to the seed-pod below." [Illustration: THE ROSE STAMENS AND PISTIL WHICH PRODUCE THE SEED] The Chief Gardener picked the bloom of a single bramble rose and pulled it apart to show the children all these things. "Now," he went on, "gardeners often take a rose of one kind and color and shake it gently over a rose of another kind and color, so that the pollen will fall from the anthers of one upon the stigma of the other. In this way the seeds are mixed and it may happen that wonderful new roses come from those seeds. Sometimes, instead of shaking the rose, the gardener carefully takes up the pollen on a tiny soft brush and lays it gently on the stigma of the other rose, all of which has to be done as soon as the bloom is open. Of course, such roses are kept to themselves, and labeled, and the seeds are carefully labeled also." Davy and Prue were both interested. "Oh, can I make some new kinds of roses," asked little Prue, greatly excited. "Can I, Mamma?" "You may try, but I am afraid you will not be very successful where all the roses are out here in the open air. Still, it will do no harm to see what will happen, and you might get something very wonderful." "I am already trying for a new kind of peach," said Davy. "And if you get a good one we will call it the 'Early David,'" laughed the Chief Gardener. "And what will you call my rose?" "Why, 'the Princess Prue,' of course." "Do seeds from the same bush make the different roses?" asked Davy. "Yes, and from the same pod." "But are the seeds just alike?" "They are so far as anybody can see, but when they come to grow and bloom, one may be a white rose, another pink, and another red. Some may be dwarfs in size, and others giants. All may have the same sun, the same water, the same air, and the same soil. It is only the tiny little difference which we cannot see that makes the great difference in the plant, by and by." Davy was thinking very hard. Soon he said: "And where do sweet and sour and all the pepper and mustard and horseradish tastes come from? The air and the water don't taste. I never tasted much dirt, but I don't believe any of it would bite like a red pepper." [Illustration: "GARDENERS OFTEN TAKE A ROSE OF ONE KIND AND SHAKE IT GENTLY OVER A ROSE OF ANOTHER KIND"] The Chief Gardener laughed. "No, Davy, I don't believe it would," he said. "And I think the sun is the only one who could answer your question. It is a chemistry which no one of this world has been able to explain. Chemistry is a magic which you will understand by and by, and you will know then that the sun is the greatest of all chemists. Suppose we go down into your gardens and see what he is doing there." [Illustration: "SOMETIMES THE GARDENER TAKES UP THE POLLEN ON A SOFT BRUSH AND LAYS IT GENTLY ON THE STIGMA OF ANOTHER ROSE"] They all went down the little steps that led to the Chief Gardener's enclosure, where Prue and Davy had their gardens, side by side with his. There just as they entered was a great mass of morning-glory vines that every morning were covered with a splendor of purple, and pink, and white, and blue, and just beyond these was a mass of dianthus pinks of every hue and shade. Bachelor-buttons, petunias, and verbenas were all there, too, besides Prue's sweet-pease by the fence, and her alyssum and mignonette. Then came Davy's things, all fresh and growing, and beyond these the Chief Gardener had ever so many things, from beets to beans, from parsley to parsnips, from carrots to corn. In one small corner by the strawberry-bed there grew a little bed of pepper plants, and near-by a row of tomatoes. The Chief Gardener stopped in the midst of all these things. "Here is the sun's chemistry," he said. "We put some tiny bits of life in the ground. The same earth holds them, the same rain wets them, the same air is above them. Then the sun shines, and with that earth and water and air and that tiny seed, it makes something different of its own. Of one it makes a flower, of another a fruit, and of another a vegetable. Of the flowers it makes many kinds and colors--of the fruits and vegetables it makes many shapes and flavors. The sweet red strawberry and the fiery red pepper grow side by side. It makes food of the roots of the beet, and the parsnip, and carrot, and of the seed of the bean, and of the corn. It fills the mustard, and the horseradish, and the pepper, with a flavor so that we may season our meats and soups, and it gives to thyme, and marjoram, and fennel, a sweet savor that is like an odor of by-gone days. Into the flowers it pours the color and perfume that make them delicious and beautiful, and into the fruit and vegetables the starch and phosphates that make them pleasant to the taste and nourishing to our bodies. Where do all these things come from? We do not see the colors, or smell the perfumes, or taste the sweet and the sour and the bitter in the air and water, and we could not see, or smell, or taste, them in the earth. Yet they must be there, and only the sun knows just how and where to find them, and how to make the best use of them for the world's good, and comfort, and happiness. Without the sun the earth would be bare and cold, and there would be no life--at least, not such life as we know. Every breath we draw, every bite we eat, every step we take, every article of clothing we wear, comes to us through the sun." "Papa, we _can_ see the sun's colors," said Davy. "When it shines through the cut-glass berry-dish it makes all its colors on the table-cloth." "So it does, Davy, I didn't remember that. A glass prism shows us all the colors in the sunlight, and these are the colors that it puts into the flowers and fruit--just how, I am afraid we shall never know, though like all great wonders, I suppose, it is really a very simple thing. When plants grow without sunlight, they grow without color, and it is the same with little boys and girls. Open air, sunlight, fresh water, and good food--these are what make plants and people strong and happy and beautiful." And so June passed and half the year was gone. Prue and Davy were brown from working and playing out of doors, and were growing so fast that Davy said it was hard for his corn to keep up with him. They took great pride in the flowers and vegetables that came to the table from their gardens and always wanted them in separate dishes from those that came from the larger garden. When any of their friends came to dine with them, it was Prue's flowers that were to be worn and Davy's vegetables that were first to be served. By the end of June some of the early things were gone, and had been replanted. Other things had grown so big that they were beginning to crowd in their rows and beds, so that by the first of July, the little gardens that grew side by side, and could be seen like a picture through the windows where the winter gardens had been, reminding little Prue of Alice's garden in Wonderland, had become almost a wonderland jungle. JULY JULY I A PLANT IS DIVIDED INTO THREE PRINCIPAL PARTS "CLASS in botany will please rise." Davy and Prue looked up quickly from their little corner by the peach-tree. It was a warm day, and they were resting in what they called their "house," because it was a shut-in nook behind the corn, and with tall sunflowers on the other side. Just now when the Chief Gardener came upon them they were pulling some flowers to pieces and talking about them very earnestly. "Class in botany please rise," he said again, taking a seat himself on a bench close by. "But I can't--it's too warm," said little Prue, "and besides I've got my lap full of flowers." "Can't the class in botany sit by the teacher?" asked Davy. The teacher moved over. Prue gathered her dress into an apron, and presently the children were perched one on each side of the Chief Gardener, who fanned himself with his straw hat, for it was a real July day. "We've been seeing how many of the parts of a plant we knew," said Davy. "We know all the parts, I guess, but of some plants we can't tell which are which." "Suppose you name the parts for me," said the Chief Gardener. "Oh, let me! Let me!" began Prue. "I asked first!" Davy looked a little disappointed, but waited. "Very well, suppose you try, Prue." The little maid was excited. "Why--why, there's the c'roller and the calyx and the pistil and the panthers, and--" The Chief Gardener laughed in spite of himself, and Davy looked rather shocked. "She always calls the anthers 'panthers,'" he said, sorrowfully, "and she never will say 'corolla' right." "And those are not the parts of a plant either," added the Chief Gardener, "but the parts of a flower. A plant is divided into three principal parts. Now, Davy, it's your turn. See if you can tell me what they are." "Well," began Davy, "the root is one." "The root is one, Davy; quite right. Now for the others." "The leaves are another." "The leaves, yes, the leaves are another." "And the flower makes three, doesn't it? But then there's the stalk, too. That makes four. There must be four parts." "There are a great many parts," nodded the Chief Gardener, "but there are only three principal parts--the root, the stem, and the leaf. To a botanist--one who studies plants and how they grow--the flower is only a branch of the stem, and its parts are leaves." "I suppose that is why rose-petals are called leaves," said little Prue. "I think it is." "But--but don't you think a flower _ought_ to be a principal part?" asked Davy. "Well, it is in a way. It is a particular kind of a principal part, made for a special purpose. But after all, it is really a branch, for it comes from a bud, just as other branches do, and it comes just where any branch would come. Many times you cannot tell whether a bud is going to make a flower or just leaves until it opens. And there are a few queer flowers in the world that can hardly be told from leaves even after they do open." II THERE ARE EXOGENS AND ENDOGENS "NOW let us tell the parts of a flower. That was what we were doing when you came up," said Davy. "And let me tell again," said little Prue. "I know I can get them right, this time." So little Prue told again, and got it almost right, though she did call anthers "panthers" again, just as the first time. "Now, Davy, it's your turn," said the Chief Gardener. Davy picked up a little pink flower which he had found in the grass. It was oxalis, or sorrel, and sometimes the children nibbled the sour leaves, calling it sour-grass. Of course, you must not forget that Davy was older than Prue, and perhaps a little more thoughtful. "This," he began, picking off the little green flower-casing, "is the calyx, and each little piece is called a sepal. This flower has five sepals in its calyx, and five petals in its corolla. These are the petals," and he pulled out the little pink flower-leaves, and laid them by the green sepals. Then he held it up for the Chief Gardener and little Prue to see. "Look at the stamens," he said. "They all grow together at the bottom." "That's because your sorrel is a Monadelphian," said the Chief Gardener. Davy looked puzzled. [Illustration: THE PISTIL AND STAMENS OF THE LILY] "I know what a Philadelphian is," said Prue. Davy laughed. "The words are very much alike," smiled the Chief Gardener. "They both mean brotherhood, and come from some old Greek words. Philadelphia means brotherly love, and Monadelphia means brotherly union. You see those stamens are all brothers and are joined together as one. All plants with such stamens are called Monadelphians." "A stamen has three parts," Davy went on, "its filament, its anther, and its pollen. The filament is the stem, the anther is its cap, and the pollen is the dust which falls on the pistil and helps to make the seed." [Illustration: A PISTIL AND CALYX AND A COMPLETE FLOWER] Very carefully Davy took away the ring of stamens, and left only the little yellowish-green center of the sorrel flower. "This is where we get the seed," he said, as gravely as an old college professor lecturing to a class. "This is the pistil, and it has three parts, too: the pod, the style, and the stigma. The stigma is the little piece at the top which catches the pollen from the anthers. The style is the stem, and the pod is the big part below which holds the seeds." He held up the little stripped flower again. "This pistil has five styles and five stigmas," he went on. "A good many flowers have more than one. It has ten stamens, too--two stamens for each style, and five petals and five sepals. You can divide it by five all the way through." "Even to the seed-pod," added the Chief Gardener. "It has five divisions," and he cut the tiny green pulp and showed them with his magnifying-glass. "The little sorrel flower is one of the most perfect of flowers--one of the most perfect in a great class of flowers called Ex-o-gens. There is one other class called End-o-gens. Those words are from the Greek, too. Exogen means outward-growing. Endogen means inward-growing. The stem of an Exogen grows by layers, as most trees grow." "Oh, yes," said Prue, "I know. We counted the rings on that big oak that was cut down over by the lake last year. It had one ring for each year." [Illustration: A GROUP OF ENDOGENS--THE LILY, HYACINTH, AND DAFFODIL] "That's right, Prue, and the stem of the Endogen grows inside a shell, and is often just a soft pith, like the inside of a cornstalk. These are the two great classes of all flowering plants and trees. You can always tell the difference by their stems; nearly always from their leaves; always from their seeds, if you have a strong magnifying-glass, for the little germ of the Exogen has two leaves like the morning-glory, and the germ of the Endogen has but one like the lily, or corn. But the easiest way for you to tell is by the flowers. An Exogen flower nearly always goes by fives, like the little sorrel bloom, sometimes by fours, but hardly ever by threes. The Endogen flower is nearly always divided in threes, like the lily, which has six petals. It very seldom has four parts, and never five. So, you see, we know right away that the sorrel and the rose and buttercup are Exogens, and that the lily and the hyacinth and the daffodil are Endogens. Of course, there are many flowers not so easy to place as these, and I am afraid I am giving you too hard a lesson for one time, especially for such a hot day." "But I'm not hot now," said Davy. "There's a fine breeze, and I like to sit here and talk." So they talked on about the different kinds and classes of plants, and by and by when big Prue found them, little Prue had much to tell her about all the new things she had learned. And she was careful not to pronounce anything wrong, and to explain that an Exogen was a plant that grew on the outside, and that an Endogen was another plant that grew on the inside, and big Prue said that Davy must be an Exogen, because he was getting so fat, and that little Prue must be an Endogen, because she was growing so smart. Then everything had to be told over, and then it was tea-time, with a dainty table all spread under the arbor, and delicious raspberries, and very, very delicious ice-cream. III I DON'T SEE WHAT WEEDS ARE FOR, ANYWAY AND the very next day was Fourth of July, with all the fire-crackers and torpedoes and sky-rockets that always come on that day. But there was something else. For when big Prue and the Chief Gardener come to the breakfast-table, they found that Davy and little Prue had arranged what Prue called a "susprise." The room was all red, white, and blue--not with flags or bunting, but with flowers. There were bowls of red and white and blue morning-glories on the sideboard, and in the center of the table there was a very large bowl of red, white, and blue sweet-pease, so nicely arranged that each color was separate, and the whole looked like a cake of flowers cut in three equal parts. And there were other red and white and blue flowers, too, but the sweet-pea bowl in the center was the finest of all. There was not much gardening that day, of course, for there were parades to see and music to hear, and fireworks in the evening. The Chief Gardener had brought home the fireworks, and when all the rockets had been fired and the Roman candles, he brought out something larger than the rest, and when it was lighted, it all at once turned into a great flower-pot and sent out hundreds of the most beautiful fiery flowers, such as no garden would grow, no matter how hot it was. "That is to pay for the sus-prise you gave us this morning," said the Chief Gardener, when little Prue was through dancing and squealing and jumping up and down with delight. "They grew in that hot sun yesterday." But little Prue didn't believe it, though she did ask if some of the stars which came out of the rockets didn't stay in the sky with the other stars. She was quite certain she had never seen so many in the sky before. July was a great month in the little gardens. Almost everything bloomed and bore. The pinks, the pansies, the alyssum, the sweet-williams and the morning-glories--they grew and then bloomed and crowded each other in their beds until some of them had to be moved into new places, while as for Davy's things, his corn grew taller and taller, until it shaded his tomato vines, and he was afraid they would not do well for want of sun. But the sun was up so high, and was so hot in July, that perhaps they got enough anyway, for they grew so big they had to be tied up, and the tomatoes on them were so large that Davy thought one was almost enough for a whole family. As for his beans--well, Davy will plant fewer beans next year. They began to bear just a little at first, and then, all at once, there were beans enough on his few hills, not only for himself and Prue, but for the rest of the family, and then for the neighbors, too. Davy picked nearly all one hot afternoon to keep up with his bean crop, and then nearly trotted his fat legs off carrying little baskets to the different people that he knew, explaining to each that these were really from his own garden--his own beans that he had planted and tended himself. Then he and Prue carried some vegetables and flowers to a little hospital not far away, where there were some sick children, and some who were just getting well. And it was a happy, happy time for the little boy and girl when they took the things they had planted and cared for to the other little boys and girls who seemed so glad to have them come. But as the weather grew warmer and summer showers came the weeds got worse and worse. Sometimes when Davy and Prue had tried very hard to get them all out and found that new ones had come almost over night, while some of the old ones they had cut down had taken root again, they were almost discouraged. "I don't see what weeds are for anyway," Davy said one warm morning, almost crying, and little Prue, whose face was very red and hot, flung herself down in the shady peach-tree house, too tired to talk. "Now, there's that old pursley, I pull and pull and cut, and unless I carry every bit of it away, it all takes root again and grows right along as if I hadn't touched it." "Yes," said the Chief Gardener, "it is a nuisance. I suppose its pretty sister is very much ashamed of it." "Its sister! Why, who is its sister?" asked Davy, while little Prue sat up and forgot she was tired. "Miss Portulaca Purslane, of course, sometimes called Rose-moss, because her flower is something like a wild rose and her stem and leaves a little like overgrown moss." "Oh, is my sweet rose-moss just old pursley weed?" whimpered little Prue, who was very proud of a little bunch of portulaca that was just in full bloom. She had chosen the pretty flower from a catalogue, and it had been one of her best growers. "Why, no, Prue, your rose-moss is not a weed at all, but she belongs to the Purslane family, and like a good many other families it has a member who has run wild and become a disgrace to its relatives and a trouble to everybody. There is another wild purslane, but it is not a weed. It is just a little wild-wood cousin of Portulaca. Her name is Claytonia, and she lives in pleasant places in the woods, and hides under the leaves in winter-time. Most people call her Spring-beauty." "Oh, Spring-beauty! Oh, I know! Just bushels of them--Davy and I found over by the lake last spring! Little white flowers with pink lines in them, and smell--just a little tiny smell--so--so springy and wild. Oh, I just love Spring-beauties! But I'm sorry my nice rose-moss is pursley. Is it, Papa? Is it really a sister to that ugly weed?" "Suppose you bring a branch of each over to the bench here--one with flowers on it." Prue brought a sprig of her precious rose-moss, and Davy a large piece of the pursley from the pile he had just cut down. The Chief Gardener took them and put them together. "You see, they are a good deal alike," he said, "though the leaves are different--Miss Portulaca's being the finer." Then he took one of the tiny pursley flowers and put it under the magnifying-glass, and let the children look. Yes, it was almost exactly like the beautiful flower of the rose-moss, only smaller. Each flower had two green sepals and five colored petals, also five stamens, so they knew it was an exogen, though it would have been harder to tell this from the thick, pulpy leaves and stem. The little seed-pod of each had a tiny cap which lifted off when the seeds were ripe, leaving a perfect cup, heaping full. "You see, children," said the Chief Gardener, "weeds do not care to be either useful or ornamental. So they become rank and common, and lose their beautiful flowers. But somehow they never have any less seed. They want to grow just as thickly as they can, and however small their flowers are, the seed-pods are always full to the brim." "Well," said Prue, "I'm sure there can't be any of my flowers relation to chickweed. I never can get that out of my beds." The Chief Gardener thought a minute. "Why, yes, Prue," he said, "that's Cousin Stella; I suppose she came to see the beautiful Dian and to make her all the trouble she can." "Oh, Papa! what do you mean by Stella and Dian?" "Well, Stellaria is chickweed, and she's a cousin to Dianthus, your lovely pinks. I suppose you might call them Stella and Dian, for short. They are not very nearly related, but they do belong to the same family, and perhaps they were once more alike. I don't suppose beautiful Dian would own Stella, but Stella (or perhaps her weed friends call her Chick), is a great nuisance and makes Dian and _her_ friends all the trouble she can." "Papa," said Davy, who had been silent all this time, "are there really any plant families that don't have wild members who behave badly and become just weeds?" "I don't remember any real weeds in the Lily family, Davy, though almost any plant will become a weed if allowed to run wild and live in fence corners, like a tramp. They become prodigals then, like the man's son in the Bible. And sometimes they come back to the garden, as the prodigal son did, to become well-behaved and useful flowers again. Of course, there are many others that have always lived wild in the woods and fields, and are not called weeds, because they do not spread and destroy other plants. These are our wild flowers, and the world would be poor, indeed, without them. Sometimes we bring them into the garden, and make them grow larger and call them by a new name. And sometimes, I am sorry to say, a sweet wild flower will suddenly spread and overrun the fields and become almost a weed. I am afraid our beautiful daisies are becoming a weed to a good many farmers. Those fields that are like banks of snow, and so beautiful to us, must worry the man who owns them and cannot get rid of the millions of 'rare Marguerites!'" Little Prue sighed. "Oh, dear," she said, "it's just too bad that there isn't some flower, or somebody, or something that can be just every bit good, all the time, to everybody." The Chief Gardener smiled. "We can only do our very best," he said. AUGUST AUGUST I THERE ARE JUST TWO KINDS OF LEAVES A GOOD many things were ripe in August, and some of the things were through blooming. Prue did not plant a great deal. It was too hot to dig long in the sun, and then there did not seem to be much in the way of flowers that could be planted so late. Davy planted a few turnips and some late beans and salad, because there was time for these, but even Davy found it pleasanter to sit in the shade, where there was a breeze, and pull plants to pieces and talk about Exogens and Endogens and the different parts of things, than to hoe and dig and rake on an August day. The Chief Gardener heard quite loud voices under the peach-trees, one warm afternoon. Prue and Davy were not really quarreling, but they seemed to be a good deal in earnest about something. The Chief Gardener went over there. "What is all the excitement?" he asked. Davy held up and waved a large stem of very coarse grass. "It's an Endogen," he said, very decidedly, "isn't it, Papa?" "It isn't at all, is it, Papa?" eagerly asked little Prue. The Chief Gardener took the plumey stem and sat down. "Why do you think it is an Endogen, Davy?" he asked. "Because it's a grass, and belongs to the grass family. And corn belongs to the grass family, too, and corn is an Endogen, for it has a big pith instead of rings. So if corn is an Endogen, grass is, too." The Chief Gardener smiled. "Well, that's pretty good, Davy, and is true enough, but it isn't just the best way to reason. Now, Prue, why did you think it was an Exogen?" "Because the stem is hollow, and makes a ring when you cut off a little slice of it, and because the bloom part is in five pieces." "Sharp eyes," nodded the Chief Gardener, "but Davy is right. There is not always a pith in the endogens. Pipe-stems and fish-poles are hollow, but the cane we make them of is an Endogen, too. And as for the bloom part of this grass, it is a sort of a tassel, like that of the corn. The real blooms are very tiny--too small for us to examine. And then, perhaps, some insect or bird has nipped some of it away. I think I must tell you a little more about leaves, so Davy won't have to know that grass is an Endogen because corn is, and so you won't be mistaken. Suppose, Davy, you try to tell me how many kinds of leaves there are." Davy looked quite helpless. "It would take a hundred years," he said. "Why, no," said Prue. "There are just two kinds. Exogens and Endogens." Davy laughed, and the Chief Gardener laughed with him. "But you are right, Prue, in one way," he said. "There are just two kinds of leaves--simple and compound. A simple leaf is a leaf of just one blade, like a grass leaf, or the leaf of a morning-glory. A compound leaf is a leaf made up of several blades, like a bean leaf, which you know is divided into three parts. Of course, there are hundreds of shapes and thousands of species of leaves, but there are just two great kinds, simple and compound. Suppose, Davy, you look about and bring me three compound leaves, and you, Prue, try to find three simple leaves, and let's see what they are." The children jumped up quickly, and wandered out into the sunny garden, looking as they went. The Chief Gardener heard them chatting, as they looked this way and that. Presently they returned with what they had found. Little Prue climbed up in his lap. "Look at mine first!" she said, holding them out, and fanning herself with her little hat. Davy sat down by them, and looked his collection over to be sure they were right. "Well, Prue, let's see what you have," began the Chief Gardener. "One peach leaf--that's simple enough. Then here's a lily leaf--that's simple, too. But what's this? It looks as if it came from a Virginia creeper. But where's the rest of it? That's only part of a leaf." "I told Prue that," said Davy, "and I brought a whole one for one of my compound leaves." Davy held up what he had brought. The Chief Gardener took the stem of the Virginia creeper. Branching from it were five little stems with a small leaf on each. Prue had taken one of these to be a complete leaf, when it was really only a part of one compound leaf divided into five parts. "You see, Prue, there is only one stem that joins the main stalk," explained the Chief Gardener. "Whatever branches out from that stem is a part of that leaf. What else have you brought, Davy?" Davy held up a blackberry leaf, and the leaf of a tomato. "Those are both right," said the Chief Gardener. "The blackberry has three parts like the bean, and the tomato has a good many parts. There are some leaves that are compounded as many as four times--each little stem being compounded over and over until there are hundreds of little parts, and yet all are connected with the main leaf-stem which joins the stalk or branch, making really only one leaf. Of course, it is not always easy to tell about leaves, any more than about flowers. Sometimes shapes are so peculiar that it is almost impossible to tell just what they are. Pine-needles are leaves, but it is hard to tell whether they are simple or compound, and it would be hard to tell whether the pine was an Exogen or an Endogen if we had only the needles to go by." "But you haven't told us how to tell that by the leaves at all," said Davy. "That is what we started to find out." [Illustration: SOME SIMPLE LEAVES] "That's so, Davy. It's hard to keep to the subject in botany. There are so many things, and all so interesting." The Chief Gardener took up the lily leaf and that of the blackberry, and held them up to the light. "Do you see the difference?" he asked. "Why, yes," said Prue, "the blackberry is all criss-crossy, and the lily leaf runs straight and smooth." "Those are the veins," said Davy; "I heard Mamma say so." [Illustration: PINE-NEEDLES ARE LEAVES] "Yes, they are the veins," nodded the Chief Gardener, "and when they form a network, or run criss-crossy, as Prue says, it means that the plant is an Exogen. When they run side by side smoothly, as they do in corn and grass, it means that the plant is an Endogen. There are a few of both kinds which do not quite follow this rule, like the pine-tree, which is an Exogen, but has its little straight-grained needles, or like smilax, which has netted leaves, but is an Endogen." II SOMETIMES I THINK PLANTS CAN SEE AND HEAR IT was about a week after this that Davy and Prue came to the Chief Gardener with their hands filled with leaves. "We want you to tell us about them," they said. "There is a lot of kinds and shapes, and some we can't tell whether they are simple or compound, or anything." The Chief Gardener looked over their collection. "Well," he said, "I am afraid you are getting ahead too fast. It would take a real sure-enough botanist to tell all about these leaves." Davy picked up a daisy leaf. "Is that simple or compound?" he asked. "It's mostly ribs," laughed the Chief Gardener. "There really isn't much leaf about a daisy leaf, but what there is of it is simple, only it is so cut and sprangly that it might almost be called a compound leaf." They looked at many others in the collection, and the Chief Gardener explained as far as he could. "You will learn all the names of the different shapes some day," he said, "but it is too much for little folks. I suppose, though, you might remember the parts of a leaf. They are the blade, the stem, and the stipules." "This is the blade, and this is the stem," said Davy, "but what are stipules?" The Chief Gardener picked up a red clover leaf, and pointed to a little thin pale-green husk where the stem joined the main stalk. "Those are stipules," he said. "In the clover they grow together, as one. The stipules are a part of the outside of the leaf-bud. When the bud opens, and the leaf goes out into the world, the stipules stay behind. Sometimes they are like little leaves, and take up air for the plant, just as the leaves do. Sometimes they almost take the place of leaves, and are quite large. Sometimes they are very tiny, and some plants have no stipules at all." [Illustration: "THERE IS A LOT OF KINDS AND SHAPES"] "But leaves have veins, too," said Davy. "Those are parts of the blade. The blade has ribs--they make a framework which holds it together; also veins--the fine threads which help to carry the sap. You see, plants are a good deal like ourselves, and live much in the same way. Some leaves have only one strong rib through the center--a sort of a backbone. Some have as many as six or seven." They talked about these things, and looked at the different leaves and stems. Then they spoke of the stalks of different plants, and the Chief Gardener explained how the tender stalk of the lowliest plant, that of the tall twining vine, and the trunk of the giant oak, were all one one and the same, only different in kind. Each came at some time from a tiny seed. Each put forth buds and leaves and branches. Each was made to withstand the storm--the oak by its strength, the vine by its fast hold on the wall or lattice, the tender plant through its lowliness. "Oh," said Davy suddenly, "that makes me think of something. Our Virginia creeper on the front lattice has three ways to climb." "What are they, Davy?" "Why, it twists, for one way." "Twines, you mean." "Yes, twines, and then it has little curlers, like a grape-vine." "Tendrils, they are called, Davy." "And little clingers, like an ivy." "Feet, you should say. Yes, I have noticed that. A lattice is not very well suited to a Virginia creeper, and ours has to try every way known to vines, to hold on. I have never known all three ways on one vine before. But vines are very curious things. Sometimes I think they can see and hear. I know they can feel, for a honeysuckle shoot will grow perfectly straight until it touches something that can be climbed. Then it will begin to twist so fast you can almost see it." "But why do you think they can see and hear?" asked little Prue. "I don't know that I do really think so, but I have tried every way I can think of to keep those morning-glories of yours from running up my little pear-tree. I have pushed them away, and tied them away, and I have even cut some of them away. But if I turn my back for a day, or even a half a day, there is one of them starting up the stalk, or, at least, reaching out for it as hard as ever it can." Little Prue laughed, and ran over to see. Yes, there it was--a fuzzy green shoot half-way up the little pear-tree, and three more reaching out in the same direction. "A vine will grow in the direction of a tree or shrub, if it is half way across the garden from it. Whether it hears or sees, or, perhaps, smells it, I do not know. Some vines will turn out of their way for a drink." "For a drink! Oh, Papa!" "Yes, certain melon vines. In dry weather they will turn to find a pan of water set several feet away. I suppose they can sense the moisture from it." The children talked the rest of the afternoon about these curious things. They found where a scarlet runner had traveled several feet through the grass to reach a peach-tree, and had climbed far up into its branches. Then Davy happened to remember the story about the vines which the Chief Gardener had told them during the winter, and told it all over to little Prue--how the honeysuckle had laughed at the scarlet runner and the morning-glory, and had been punished by being made to twine to the left, away from the sun, instead of to the right, toward it, like the morning-glory and the bean. So the happy summer day passed, and in the cool of the evening big Prue came out to watch the sun go down, and in the pleasant arbor they all had tea together. III THERE ARE PLANTS WHICH DO NOT BLOOM BUT during the last two weeks of August the Chief Gardener and big Prue and little Prue and Davy all went to the seashore, which was not far away. They lived in a pretty cottage near the beach, and there were meadows behind that stretched away to the blue hills. Davy and Prue loved the sea, with all its curious shells and star-fishes and other wonderful creatures. They loved the white sand, where they found these things, and where the great waves billowed and broke over them when they bathed on hot afternoons. They loved the meadows, too, for here there were birds building in the grass, and flowers unlike any in their gardens, and little streams of clear water that went singing to the sea. It was when they came from the meadow one afternoon, that they hurried to the Chief Gardener with the little basket which they always carried. "We have found some things," said Davy, "and want you to look at them." The Chief Gardener took the basket. On top were some mushrooms--two kinds. One had whity-brown tops, and was pink or brown or almost black underneath, while the other had yellow tops with white spots on them, and was very pale underneath. The Chief Gardener looked sharply at the children when he saw these yellow mushrooms. "Go and wash your hands, quickly," he said, "and I hope neither of you have put your hands to your mouth since you touched these." "I haven't," said Davy, "and I picked the yellow ones." "They are deadly poison," said the Chief Gardener, "they are called the Amanita, and even to touch the tongue with your fingers after handling them might make you very ill. The others are meadow mushrooms and harmless. But even they could not be eaten after being in the basket with the Amanitas." The children ran to wash their hands, and were presently back to ask questions. Meantime the Chief Gardener had found a lot of beautiful moss and ferns in the bottom of the basket, and some lichens, which the children had gathered from a rocky cliff not far away. "Papa, _aren't_ mushrooms toad-stools, and _don't_ they build them to sit on, in pleasant weather, and to get under, when it rains?" This was little Prue, and she was quite excited. "I think they are some kind of plants," said Davy, "but I don't see where the flowers are, or how they make seeds." "How about the ferns?" asked the Chief Gardener. "Did you find any flowers on the ferns?" "No, but we found seeds." Davy turned one of the fern leaves over, and, sure enough, there were a lot of little brown seeds under the ends of some of the leaflets. Then the Chief Gardener turned over one of the meadow mushrooms, and divided the little layers beneath with the tip of his pencil. "That is where the mushroom keeps its seeds, too," he said. "We do not call them seeds, though, but spores. Fern seeds are called spores, also." "But toads do sit under mushrooms, don't they?" insisted little Prue. "Why, yes, I suppose a great many toads have done that, but they are really plants, as Davy says." Davy had become thoughtful. "Are they Exogens?" he asked, "or Endogens? I should think the mushrooms might be Endogens from their stems, and the fern Exogens from their leaves." "Well, Davy, that is very well said, but they are really neither one. They belong to a great class of their own. Exogens and Endogens are only the two kinds of flowering plants. These mushrooms and ferns and mosses and lichens all belong to the flowerless plants, and are called Crip-tog-a-mous--a very long word, which I do not expect you to remember. The divisions of flowerless plants are too hard a study for little folks, but the plants are all very interesting, and we can gather them, and see how they grow. In fact, I think we will have to call our meadow and our beach your August garden." "But there isn't anything on the beach," said Prue. "How about all that seaweed you were gathering yesterday?" "But does that really grow like our plants on the shore?" asked Davy. "Very much the same, and it belongs to the flowerless class, too, along with the mosses and lichens and ferns and mushrooms. It has spores instead of seeds, and is really a sort of a moss of the sea." "Oh, call us not weeds, we are flowers of the sea, For lovely and bright and fresh-tinted are we," sang little Prue, with a memory of her kindergarten. "Yes, they are flowers of the sea, though they do not bloom," said the Chief Gardener, "and are very beautiful in color and form. I will give you some white cards and you can gather specimens to dry. You spread out the little branches with a tooth-pick, and the cards make pretty little books afterwards." "But do seaweeds and mosses and lichens and ferns and mushrooms all belong to one family?" asked Davy. "Oh, by no means. Not even all to the same division of flowerless plants. But it is too hard a study for a little boy, and it is enough to learn now that they do all belong to the big flowerless or Crip-tog-a-mous class." "Papa, is it true that if you put fern seeds in your shoes, nobody can see you?" asked little Prue. "Why, I don't very well see how '_nobody_' could see you, but I think somebody might." "It says in my fairy book that the princess put fern seed in her shoe, and then there wasn't any one who could see her. I wish it was like that. I'm going to try it," and the little girl pulled off some of the brown spores and tucked them in her dusty ties. "Can you see me? Can you see me, now?" she asked, dancing about. "Why, no," said the Chief Gardener, who pretended to be looking for her in another direction. "Can you, Davy? Can you see me?" "Not very well, when _you_ go so fast," laughed Davy. "Stand still, and let me try." Just then big Prue came out on the porch, and little Prue danced up to her. "Can _you_ see me? Can you _see_ me, Mamma? You mustn't, you know, because I've got fern seed in my shoe." Big Prue shut her eyes, and put out her arms. "No, I can't see you," she said, "but you feel like the same little girl," and she kissed the little round tanned face on her shoulder. IV THE PRINCESS BY THE SEA "I HEARD you talking about flowerless plants," big Prue went on, "as I sat there by the window. I wonder if you would like to hear a little story of how they came to be without flowers." "Please, yes!" and little Prue forgot her fern seed and hugged closer. "Well, once upon a time there was a princess with a beautiful garden--" "Is this the same princess that turned into a red rose?" "Oh, no, this is another princess. There have been a great many princesses with gardens. This princess lived by the sea, where there was a meadow, and a cliff not far away, much like it is here. She loved her flowers more than anything in the world, and her garden was so beautiful that even the fairies loved it better than their own gardens of fairyland and came at midnight to dance in the moonlight, after the princess was asleep. "And the princess knew that they danced there, for once a gentle fairy had come to her and told her of it, and warned her never to try to see them, for whoever sees the fairies dance by the midnight moon may meet with some dreadful misfortune, which even the fairies themselves cannot help. "But when the princess heard about the fairy dance, she wanted to see it very much. Instead of trying to forget it and going to bed before it began, she thought of it all the time, and the more she thought, the more she made up her mind to see it, no matter what might happen afterwards. "So one night, just before twelve o'clock, she crept into a large cluster of blooming ferns--" "But ferns do not bloom--" "They did then, and their sweet odor filled the still night air; the moon was white and round in the sky, and the level sea had a path of glory that led close to where she lay. "The princess thought how beautiful was all the world, and especially her garden, and she grew sad to think that perhaps some time she would not be there to see it all. And then all at once she forgot everything else, for there in the moonlight were the fairies, dancing in a great glittering ring. "The princess looked, hardly daring to breathe. Then it seemed to her that she could not see so well. She rubbed her eyes, but the world about her only grew dimmer still. She thought the moon had gone under a cloud, but it was sailing high in the sky. And then everything faded out, the world became dark and the princess gave a great cry of grief, for she knew that her punishment had come, and she was _blind_! "The fairies heard the cry, too, and vanished, but the gentle little fairy who was her friend came and guided her in sorrow to her palace, and said, 'I can grant you one wish, but it must not be to see again--that I cannot grant.' "'Then,' said the princess, 'if I cannot see my flowers, I wish that they may never bloom again until some one, who cares more for them than I, shall wish to see them.' "And the wish came true. Never a flower in the garden of the princess bloomed from that day. Their buds dropped, their leaves shrank, and many of them hid away where they would not be seen by passers-by. Some slipped away into the water and became seaweeds. Some hid in the deep woods, and crept into dark places, and became ferns. Others, growing smaller each year, became moss. Some hid among the rocks of the cliff and became lichens. And some, who wanted to be useful if they could not bloom, scattered themselves over the woods and fields and became mushrooms. But some of these were of bitter or sharp nature, and these we cannot eat. And some grew wicked and vicious, and these are poison. One of them, the Amanita, which had bloomed as a great golden white-spotted flower in the garden of the princess, became the most vicious of all. It kept much of its color, which now makes people shun it because it is a sign of deadly poison." "And will the flowers that grew in the garden of the princess never bloom again?" "Never, unless some one who cares more for them than she did shall wish to see them." "But how can I care so much unless I can see them?" asked little Prue. "Perhaps that is why they will never bloom again," said Davy. SEPTEMBER SEPTEMBER I A FLOWER REALLY HAS CLOTHES THE little gardens were in quite a bad way when Davy and Prue came back from the seashore. Everything had done well, even to the weeds, and that was just the trouble. It took two whole days, working when the sun was not so very hot, to get the beds in shape, and the Chief Gardener had to work, too, very hard. But by and by everything was clean and beautiful again, and the seat under the peach-tree was a finer place than ever, because there were more things in bloom, and everything had become more beautiful. One day Davy came to the seat, where little Prue and the Chief Gardener were resting, with a double carnation in his hand. "I wish you would look at this," he said. "I can't tell petals from stamens." The Chief Gardener took the flower, and slowly pulled it to pieces. "Well, no," he said; "it isn't the easiest thing to do, though, of course, those anther-looking things must belong to stamens." "But the filaments are like petals," objected Davy. "Yes, and here are others like them, though they have no anthers. Those are supposed to be stamens, too, or, at least, they were stamens, once." Davy looked puzzled. "You remember I told you once, Davy, that a flower was only one form of a leaf--a leaf intended to make the plant beautiful, and to make it bear seed. Well, in some plants, especially cultivated ones, the flower-leaves seem to get rather mixed in their parts." The Chief Gardener picked a scarlet canna that grew near. "Here is a flower which has three little petals and four large flower-leaves which you would think were petals, wouldn't you? But the stamens and petals and sepals are so mixed that even botanists can hardly decide which is which. In a water-lily, too, the petals gradually become stamens, so, perhaps, the leaf came first, ages and ages ago, and little by little it has changed, first to sepals, then petals, then to stamens and pistils, so that it could make seeds and scatter them to the wind. Gardeners make double flowers out of single ones by a process of turning stamens and even pistils into petals. The double flower is sometimes very beautiful, but it is not the most perfect flower. The wild rose is more perfect than the finest double American Beauty. Perhaps double flowers came before single ones, a long time ago, when the leaves were turning to blossoms, so that the gardeners who make the wonderful double blooms now are really going backward instead of forward. But that is all too hard. I'm afraid--especially for a little girl who likes very double carnations." "I know everything you're talking about, just as well as Davy does," said the little girl, sitting up quite straight. "And I like single flowers, 'specially lilies, and wild roses; but I think double flowers are nice, too, because they seem dressed up, like folks--queens and princesses, all with nice dresses--velvet and chiffon and lacey stuff." "Why, that is just what they are, Prue. They are dressed up, and, of course, the more anything, or anybody, is dressed up the less they are really like themselves. The petals and sepals of a flower are really fine clothes, you know, just as you sometimes play they are, when you make hollyhock dolls, and it wears them for just about the same reason that we wear ours. It might grow and be useful without them, but it would not be very attractive, and some of its friends and servants might pass by without seeing it." "Servants! But flowers don't really have servants. That must be just a story." "No--at least, it is all very true. Flowers are like people in very many ways. They really have servants and friends, and some of them live off other flowers and plants, and some of them eat and sleep, very much as we do. I will tell you something about that another time." II THE FLOWER HAS MANY SERVANTS IT was about a week after this that little Prue was picking some sweet-pease for the table when Davy came along with the Chief Gardener. "The servants are busy this morning," said the Chief Gardener. "Do you mean me?" asked little Prue. "I am trying to pick some flowers, but there are so many bees around that I'm afraid." "Those are the servants I mean. I do not think they will hurt you if you are careful. They are only collecting their wages, and working at the same time." Davy and Prue looked close. "What do you mean by their working?" asked Davy. "Do you mean for the flower, or for themselves?" "For both. Watch this bee. You see, he pushes open the flower for honey, but to get it he has to cover his legs with the pollen from the anthers, which are placed down in this little lower part called a keel, just where his legs and body will be covered. Then he comes out and goes to another flower and carries this pollen, and really rubs it on the stigma there as he crawls in and out, and takes more pollen, and so goes on from one to another--a real servant, doing a real duty and getting his pay as he goes." "But he doesn't have to do it. The pollen would fall on the stigma anyway, wouldn't it?" "It might with the sweet-pea, but even if it did, the pollen from the same flower is not as good as the pollen from another flower from a different plant, and the seed would be poor and the plants would grow weaker every year. There are many insects that act as servants to the flowers, and the wind is one of the servants, too. It shakes the corn-tassel so that the pollen falls on the silk and makes the ear, and it carries the pollen of one stalk to the silk of another--sometimes from one field to another." "But, of course, the bee doesn't know that he does it," said Prue, who was still very intently watching the little servants of the sweet-pease. "I am not so certain of that," the Chief Gardener said musingly. "The flower must know, for it dresses in bright colors so that the bee may see it, and offers honey as pay for his work. And if the flower knows, why shouldn't the bee?" "But don't you think it might all just happen so?" asked Davy. "I don't think anything in nature just 'happens so,' Davy, and I am sure that the bee's work for the flower doesn't, for there are too many flowers that would have no seed and would die out if it were not for the bees that carry the pollen, and most of these flowers have grown just to fit in every way the especial little bee, or big bee, or insect, that comes to work for them. There are some flowers, like the sweet-pea, that the bee cannot get into without getting pollen on his legs, and there are others that drop it upon his back. Some flowers have stamens that wither before the pistil is ready for the pollen. In such flowers the little servants go from one to the other--from a new flower to an old one--carrying the pollen which would not be of any use in the flower where it grew." "And is that really all that the flower's pretty color and sweet smell and delicious honey are for?" asked little Prue, "just to get bees to work for it?" "No, Prue, I don't think so. I think all the world of nature is harmony, like sweet music, and the flowers with their beauty and sweetness are part of it, but I think that just as we may attract friends and good servants by kindness and offering something in return, so the flowers attract the bees and butterflies, and even a little girl and boy to keep the weeds away. The more a flower depends on an insect to carry its pollen, the gayer or sweeter that flower always is. The orchids, which are almost the finest flowers in the world, seem to be made especially for the insects, and they could not do without them, any more than the insects could do without the flowers." "And is that what makes some flowers such funny shapes, too?" "I think it is. The foxglove, and the horse mint, and many others, have curious shapes and forms, just to fit their little helpers, and the milkweed has a funny little saddle-bag which it hangs to the bee's feet, so that he can carry it to another plant. There is another kind of a milkweed which is very cruel, for it attracts small insects by its odor, and when they come they are caught by a sticky substance and held until the weed sucks them down and really eats them, much as we eat our food. So, you see, plants are a good deal like people, just as I told you the other day." "You said they could sleep, too." "Yes, your rose-moss closes up every night, shuts its eyes just as you do, and rests. Many flowers close at night, and some even droop their heads quite low, like the bird, which sleeps with its head beneath its wing." III A FLOWER MAY REALLY REASON HOW beautiful was the September garden! The wild sunflowers were all in bloom like a wall of gold. A bunch of black-eyed Susans at the corner of the house seemed trying to imitate its large cousins, and was just as bright and yellow, too, in a small way. The little Susans had not been planted, but had strayed in out of the field somewhere, perhaps longing to be with people. A row of bright red cockscombs made a crimson line of plumes down one side of a garden-path, and just beyond them Davy's third planting of beans was in full bearing. Prue's pinks and sweet-pease bloomed on and on, and her alyssums and the other sweets became sweeter every day. "Do you think all these things like to be together?" Prue asked, one afternoon, as they sat looking at them from the shade of the peach-tree. "I think those that grow well do," said Davy. "They seem to, anyway." "And they do, Davy," said the Chief Gardener. "A plant that doesn't like a place will not grow in it, and in the woods and fields we only find those plants together which like that particular spot. Down below the hillside yonder you will find golden-rod and several kinds of tall blue and white daisies and grasses that all belong there, and seem very happy together. They would not grow well in the wet woods, and would soon die out, but there are other plants that grow and tangle and are happiest where the ground is damp and the shade overhead. So, you see, there we have another way that plants are like people--they have their proper company, and, perhaps, their societies and friendships. I am sure they have their friendships, for there are certain little plants, and big ones, too, that you will nearly always find together. Violets and spring-beauties and adder-tongues must love each other, I am sure, for you seldom see one without the others, and there are certain vines, like the Virginia creeper and the poison-ivy, that are nearly always together, though why the Virginia creeper should care for the poison-ivy I don't see. Perhaps it doesn't seem poison to the creeper, but only to us." "It seemed poison enough to me," said Davy, "when I got a dose of it last year. It nearly itched me to death." [Illustration: "BEWARE OF THE VINE WITH THE THREE-PART LEAF"] "Yes, it is terrible stuff, and little folks, and big ones, too, have to be very careful, for it looks very much like its friend, the creeper, only that its compound leaf is divided into three parts instead of five. You can always tell by that, and you must always _beware of the vine with the three-part leaf_." "Do poison-ivy and Virginia creeper belong to the same family?" asked Davy. "No, though they look so much alike. The poison-ivy belongs to the Sumach family, while the creeper belongs to the Grape family. The families are quite close together, but are separate. Often members of different families are better friends than members of the same family, and that is still another way that plants are like people." "Do you suppose the poison-ivy knows that it is poison?" asked Prue, who liked to believe that plants were really _just_ like people. "Perhaps it does. We can never be quite sure how much a plant knows. I told you once how I believed they could feel and hear, and even see. I am almost sure that the dandelion can reason." Davy looked interested, and the Chief Gardener went on. "You will remember, Davy, how when the dandelions first bloomed they had quite tall stems. Then we mowed the lawn, and when they tried to bloom again the stems were shorter. We mowed again, and the stems grew still shorter, and so they became shorter and shorter each time, until they bloomed flat against the ground, so low that we could not mow them. They were bound to bloom, and they did bloom, and then all at once almost in a day they shot up long pale stems with balls of white-winged seeds that were ready when we mowed again to float away at a touch or a puff, to be ready to sprout and grow another year. The dandelion is bound to spread its seed. By and by it learns that the lawn-mower cannot cut below a certain level. So it blooms below the lawn-mower's cutting-wheel, and then when it is ready to seed, it pops up as high as ever it can, and stands waiting for the mower to come around and help scatter its seed. Perhaps it doesn't really reason, but it does something exactly like it, and there are people in the world who would be happier if they could do the same thing." [Illustration: THE DANDELION IS BOUND TO SPREAD ITS SEED] And just then big Prue came out into the garden, and they all sat on the bench under the peach-tree, and watched the sun going down, away off over the purple hills. And they thought how the summer was nearly over, and how soon the glory of the little garden would be fading, and how the snow would be sifting down among the withered leaves. [Illustration: "SO IT BLOOMS BELOW THE LAWN-MOWER'S CUTTING-WHEEL"] IV SOME FLOWERS LIVE OFF OTHER FLOWERS AND PLANTS SO summer with its song and its blossom came to an end. Autumn clad in gold and purple came across the land, and the gentle haze of Indian summer lay upon the fields. From the banks of golden-rod below the hill, Prue and Davy filled jars and vases, and one day they brought in great bunches all linked and bound together with something like a tangle of golden thread. The Chief Gardener was not at home that day, so they brought their discovery to big Prue to explain. "Why," she said, "that is dodder, or love-vine. It is what is called a parasite, for it has no root in the ground, but lives from the plant it grows on." Then she showed them where the small, tough little rootlets were really embedded in the stalk of the golden-rod from which it drew its strength and life. "Oh," said Prue, "that is what Papa meant when he told us once that some flowers lived off other flowers and plants, just as some people live off other people." Big Prue nodded. "There are a good many such plants," she said. "The mistletoe we get for Christmas grows on several sorts of trees. Its seed lodges under the bark and sprouts there, just as it would in the ground. Then the wood grows up around the root, and the mistletoe becomes almost a part of the tree. Then there are many kinds of mosses, and the Indian pipe--that white, waxy flower which you found in the woods not long ago, and thought you had found a flowering mushroom. It is a sort of a relation of the mushroom, for it springs from damp, decaying leaves, and has no real root, but it is more of a parasite, for it feeds mainly on roots of living trees and plants. This dodder blooms and drops its seeds to the ground, where they sprout, but as soon as it finds a weed to cling to, the root dies and it lives only on the weed." "Why do they call it love-vine?" asked little Prue. Her mother took the long golden tendril and twined it about her slender white finger. Then she told them the story of V THE PRINCE AND THE THREAD OF GOLD "THERE was once a prince," she began, "who lived in a far country between blue seas. And all the land the prince owned, and a great palace, but he was not happy, because there was a little fisher girl more beautiful than the sunrise, who would not come and dwell in his palace and be his princess. "When this fisher girl saw the prince coming toward her, she would dance away laughing, like a ripple of sunlight on the water, and there were some who said she was not a real child, but a sea-fairy, for she had been found as a babe by the fisher's wife, cast up on the sand, after a great storm. "But the prince did not care whether she was a human being or not. He thought only of her, as each day she grew taller and always more beautiful. He went every morning to the fisher's hut to beg that they would give her to him, and this they would have been glad to do had Dodora been willing, but always she laughed and danced away when they spoke of it, and sometimes they did not see her again until evening. "But one morning, when she was eighteen years old, and they spoke to her, she said, laughing: "'Tell the prince to tie a knot in the thread of love. If he will tie a knot in the thread of love it will hold me fast,' and again she danced away, while her laugh came as the tinkle of the tide among the pebbles on a still evening. "So when the prince came that day they told him, and he went away sadly, for he thought she was only playing with him for her amusement. "But that night, as he walked alone in the moonlight by the shore, he suddenly saw on the sand in front of him a radiant fairy, spinning on a silver spinning-wheel a wonderful thread of gold. Without daring to breathe he stood and looked at her, and then he saw that it was from the rays of moonlight that she was spinning the thread. All at once she rose and came to where he was standing. "'Here is the thread of love,' she said to him, and then she showed him how to tie the true lover's knot in it. 'With this you may win our Dodora,' the fairy added, and then suddenly like a breath of perfume she was gone, leaving the thread of gold in the prince's hands. "And all that night the prince tied and retied the true lover's knot, as the fairy had showed him, and next morning he hurried with it to the fisherman's cottage where Dodora lived. And when Dodora saw him coming, she did not dance away as she had always done before, but went forward to meet him, and took his hand. Then suddenly she snatched the golden thread from him and ran, with the prince after her. She ran fast, but he was about to overtake her, when Dodora dropped the knot into the weeds, and then all at once she stopped, for the wonderful thread had suddenly become a great tangle of gold that held Dodora fast, and she could not get away. So the prince overtook her, and led her to his palace, where they lived happily for a long time. And the thread of love grew as a wonderful vine that had no root in the earth, but twined about the weeds and spread over the country in many places. Some called it Dodora, after the princess, and this was changed at last to 'dodder' by those who did not know. Others called it golden thread, and still others called it love-vine, and tied true lover's knots in it which they threw over their shoulders on moonlight nights. If these knots grew they won their sweethearts. They did not always grow, but about the palace of the prince the vine flourished in a golden mass, and the prince, never forgetting the wonderful night when it had been spun for him out of moonbeams, let it grow through all the world, to become the golden thread of love." OCTOBER OCTOBER I SEEDS ARE MADE TO BE PLANTED OCTOBER brought seedtime in the little garden. Many seeds had ripened during the summer, and Prue had already gathered some of the tiny black flakes from the opened pods of her precious pinks, and Davy had saved some seed pease. But October was the real harvest-time. The children took a lot of white envelopes, and upon them Davy printed the names of all the seeds they expected to gather. Into these envelopes they put carefully the different little black and brown and white seeds after they had picked and blown the husks all away, so, as Davy said, they would look just like seeds bought at the store. And some of the seeds were big flat beans, or little long round beans; and some, like the sweet-pease, were very round, like shot; and some, like the cockscomb seeds, were tiny and shiny and black and so slippery that Prue lost more than she got in her envelope, though she got enough, for there is _such a lot of seed_ on a cockscomb. Some seeds were in funny little pods that snapped when you touched them, and sent the little black or brown shot flying in every direction, like a charge out of a bomb, and these had to be gathered very carefully. Then there were seeds with little wings, made to help them to fly, and there were seeds with little claws made to catch and hold on, so they would be carried and planted in many places. But these were mostly weed seeds, and were only gathered because they clung to the children's clothes, and stuck so fast that it was hard to pick them off. [Illustration: "THEY CLING TO EVERYTHING THAT PASSES"] "You see," said the Chief Gardener, who was watching them, "everything has a way of taking care of itself. Just as I told you about the dandelion, the plants have something which is very much like reason, or instinct, to guide them. These zinnia seeds do not have the little prongs, because the zinnia does not need them. It is a garden flower, and the seed will be taken care of. But those brown two-pronged little things you are picking off your coat-sleeve came from its very near relation, the Spanish needle, which is a weed, and must look out for its own planting. Those wild sunflowers turn top-side down, and the little yellow birds that peck and chirp about them all day are scattering the seed so thickly that next spring the garden will be covered with the young plants. The big tame sunflower doesn't take care of itself nearly so well. Of course, you remember how the dandelion seeds go drifting on the wind, while the thistle-down that goes floating by is carrying seed to some farmer's field, or fence corner. Then there are the maple seeds, which have two wings, or keys, as they are called, and there are many of these key seeds that are tossed here and there when the wind blows. The wind and the birds are the servants that sow the wild seeds, just as the bees and butterflies helped to make them." "But there are some thistles," said little Prue, "that are not blown by the wind. They have stickery balls, and I make baskets out of them." "Those are burs, and they are carried by sheep and cows, and by people. They cling to everything that passes. I have seen a horse's mane so full of them that it had to be cut off. The burdock is a very bad weed, and there ought to be a story about it, but I suppose if there was one, it must have been so unpleasant that it has been forgotten. There are many other weeds almost as bad. There are seeds with all kinds of hooks and claws to grab and stick, and there are many that are carried in the dirt which clings to the feet of animals and men and even birds." "I should think some weeds would make their seeds look like flower seeds, to fool people." "Well, that is just about what they do. There are cockle seeds in the wheat, and so nearly the same size that the threshing-machine will not take them out, and there are many little plants in the grass that have seeds so nearly like those of the grass itself that we are obliged to sow them with the grass seed. So, you see, men, too, become servants of the wise, persevering weeds. Certain beans and grains have been carried by water, and have been known to be brought across stretches of the sea to be scattered and planted upon a new shore." "How many kinds of seeds are there?" asked Davy. "About as many as plants, Davy." "I don't mean that. I mean how many principal kinds--like flowers, you know--they are Exogens and Endogens." "Oh, I see. You mean classes. Well, I suppose we might say two, fleshy and dry. Then we might divide the dry into seeds and nuts, and the fleshy into fruits and vegetables." Davy and Prue were both thinking. "I suppose my beans are dry," Davy said at last. "Yes, of course." "But we ate them green, and they were not dry then." "That was before they were ripe. There are a number of things that are fleshy when eaten green, that become pods or hulls when the fruit is really ready to gather. Of course, there are fruits and nuts and vegetables that, like flowers, are hard to put in any class. Take the almond--you would call that a nut, of course." "I just love almonds," said little Prue. "And aren't they nuts?" asked Davy. "Yes, the almond is a nut, but you would hardly call the peach a nut; yet they grow exactly alike, except that the outside of the almond is tough and not fit to eat. The walnut is a nut, too, of course, but the hull is quite fleshy, even after the nut is ripe; and there are certain sorts of foreign plums that have a sweet kernel, so they are really fruit and nut in one. But I think we shall have to go nutting next week, and then we can tell more what we think about them." "Nutting! Oh, yes, we'll go nutting!" cried little Prue. "And we'll take baskets, and Mamma, and stay all day and bring home just bushels." "We must take plenty of dinner in the baskets," said Davy, who remembered one time when the dinner had been less than he thought it should be. So then they ran into the house to put away their envelopes of seeds, and to tell the news. II THERE ARE BITTER NUTS AND SWEET ONES HOW splendid it was in the October woods. Some of the trees were almost bare, some of them were a fine russet brown, and some were all crimson and gold; and the gold was so beautiful against the blue sky that it seemed to Davy and Prue that October, after all, might be the very best month of the year. There was a brook that wound through the woods. On both sides of it were bottom lands, and here the hickory and walnut and butternut trees grew. Near the hillsides there were groves of hazel with their brown clusters, half opened by the frost, ripe for gathering. Camp was made near the brook, and then all hurried to the nut-trees; the children kicking their feet through the rustling leaves that covered the ground. The Chief Gardener found quite a large section of a young tree which he put on his shoulder for a battering-ram. Then he walked several steps, and butted one end of it against a tall hickory-tree, and down showered the nuts, clattering in the leaves--the hulls bursting and flying in all directions. Then how the children scrambled and gathered. "Let's clear the leaves away first, next time," said Davy, "so they will be easier to find." And this they did, and so they went from tree to tree, gathering hickory-nuts, large and small, and walnuts, butternuts, and chestnuts, and these they emptied into sacks they had brought in the little wagon that was not hitched far away. By and by, Davy spied a patch of hazel, and each with a basket, Prue and he gathered until they were tired, and it was lunch-time. How very hungry they were! Is there really anything like nutting to make a little boy and girl hungry? And there was plenty of luncheon, this time. Davy ate until he did not care to get up right away, but was glad to lean back against a tree, and talk, while the Chief Gardener smoked and little Prue and big Prue put away the things, and hulled some of the hazelnuts, which little Prue said seemed to be more hulls than nuts, for there was only about enough to cover the bottom of one basket when they were all hulled. "What makes all the nuts have such big, thick hulls, anyway?" she asked, as she tried to pound open a thorny chestnut-bur. "I think the hulls must be to protect the young nuts from birds and squirrels," answered her mother. "The trees do not like to have them carried off until they are quite ripe, so they hold them very tight and enclose them in a very tough shell, and the shell is very bad-tasting, too. But when the nuts are ripe and sweet they let go of them very easily, just as other seeds are dropped, and the hulls open and the harvest is ready for whoever may come to gather it." The Chief Gardener picked up a hickory-nut from one of the baskets. "You see, we are eating flower-pistils all the time," he said. "Are we? I don't believe I ever thought about that," said Davy. [Illustration: THREE MEMBERS OF THE ACORN FAMILY] The Chief Gardener pointed to the little black tip on the top of the nut. "That was once the stigma," he said. "You see, it is quite like one, even now. Of course, it was soft then, and the pistil below was soft, too. Then as it grew it became harder and harder until the shell formed, and it was really a nut. The calyx hardened, and made the hull. The pistil and the calyx of a flower are the parts that last longest, but the stamens and the corolla are just as useful in their way. They form a separate flower on the nut-trees. We will have to come to the woods next spring when they are in bloom." "Papa, don't hazelnuts and chestnuts belong to the same family?" asked little Prue, who had some of each in her chubby hands. "Why, yes, but why did you think so, Prue?" "Well, you see, they both have those white spots on them, and I thought mebbe it was a kind of family mark." "Wise little head, Prue. And now what else is there that has the family mark--we might call it the family seal?" The children were silent a moment, thinking. They were sitting under a big oak tree, and all at once Davy's eye caught something in the leaves, just by his hand. "This!" he shouted, and held up an acorn. "Right you are, Davy boy! The nut that stands at the head of the family. Few acorns are fit to be eaten, except by animals, but you see how round and perfect the family seal is, and though the acorn-cup is nothing like the chestnut-bur, or the husk of the hazel, it perhaps would be, if the green acorn itself was not so bitter that it does not need any other protection. The oak is one of the finest and most useful of all trees, and the hazel and chestnut and beech are probably very proud of belonging to the Oak family." "And how about hickory and walnuts?" asked Davy. "They are in a family together--the Walnut family. There are three kinds of walnuts--the English walnuts, the butternuts, and these. There are as many as half a dozen kinds of hickory nuts, and some of them are as bitter as the bitterest acorns." "Pignuts--I know those," said Davy. "They're awful. I tried to eat some last year." "You gave me one, too," said Prue. "I don't think that was very nice of you." Davy blushed and grinned, as he recollected the round, puckered face of little Prue, after she had tasted the bitter nut. "Never mind, Prue; we'll give him a mock-orange some day," said her mother. "The pecan is a hickory-nut, too," said the Chief Gardener, "a nut that has left all its bitterness in the shell." "Davy is a pecan-nut," said little Prue. "He's just bad outside." Then the little party made ready to go home. They had a good way to drive, and it grows chilly on October evenings. How still it seemed to have grown in the woods when they were ready to go. A squirrel scrambled up a hickory-tree, and sat chattering at them as they drove away. "He is scolding us for carrying off his winter food," said big Prue. "Oh, let's leave him some!" said little Prue, the tender-hearted. "Pshaw!" said Davy. "There are enough nuts in these woods to feed all the squirrels in the world." III THERE ARE MANY THINGS CALLED FRUITS TRULY October was harvest-time in the little garden. The winter apple-tree yielded several bushels of bright red fruit, and Davy's pumpkin-vine had great yellow pumpkins scattered all about. Some of them Davy could hardly lift, and when they were carried into the cellar, on the very last day of the month, they made a real pyramid of gold. Then there were some late tomatoes, too, and peppers, which big Prue made into pickles; also, a last gathering of green corn, besides several ears of ripe corn, for seed, and all the pop-corn--fifty-five ears of it from Davy's little patch. There were some things to be taken up, too, and put into little pots for the window-gardens, which Davy and Prue were going to have all through the winter, this time. There was a good open fire in the dining-room when Davy came in, after picking his pumpkins, for the nights were getting colder, and the bright blaze seemed so friendly and cheerful. "I am going to try some of my pop-corn," he said suddenly, and started for the popper. "I'll get some apples," said little Prue. "I'll bring some nuts," added the Chief Gardener. "And I'm afraid if you have all those things now, you won't care for tea afterwards," objected big Prue. "Never mind tea," said Davy. "These are the very best things for a fire like this, and then if we don't want tea afterwards it'll save trouble." So the pop-corn and apples and nuts were brought, and the little family gathered about the bright blaze. [Illustration: THE APPLE IS A CALYX. THE PISTIL IS THE CORE INSIDE OF IT] "Just think," said Davy, "it's only a few months ago that I planted this corn, and saw it come up, just little green sprouts, and now it's ripe and in the popper." "And just think," said his mother, "it's a little while ago that the apple-trees were all in bloom so sweet, and now the apples are ripe, and we have them here on a plate." "I like to think about the summer," said little Prue. "It all seems so nice and shiny. It was hot, though, too, sometimes, in the garden." The Chief Gardener picked up one of the apples. "That is a pretty good calyx, Davy," he said. Davy stopped popping corn a minute. His face was rather hot, anyway, from the glowing coals. "Why, I thought that was the pistil," he said. "The pistil is the core inside of it. It is the calyx of the apple-bloom that grows fleshy and makes the best part of the apple." The Chief Gardener cut the apple in half, and showed the faint line that marked the core. "That was the pistil," he said, "and at the end you see there are still the tips of the sepals and little traces of the stamens. The apple is one of our very finest fruits, and we ought to be glad that at least one of the Rose family has such a fine calyx. The rose itself gives us sweet flowers, but its apples would be pretty poor eating. They are called hips." "But is the peach a calyx, too?" asked Davy. "It belongs to the same family." [Illustration: A RASPBERRY IS A CLUSTER OF PISTILS WITHOUT THE CORE. A BLACKBERRY IS THE END OF A FLOWER-STEM WITH A CLUSTER OF PISTILS AROUND IT.] "No, the peach is just the pistil, and it is the same with the plum and apricot and cherry. In the pear and quince it is the calyx, like the apple; in the raspberry each little part is a separate pistil with one seed, as I believe I showed you once, last summer." "How about the strawberries?" asked Prue. "I like those best." "I think I showed you that, too, but perhaps you have forgotten. The strawberry is still different. It is neither a calyx nor a pistil, but just the pulpy top of the stem that the flowers rest upon. It is covered with tiny pistils, though, of one seed each." "That is why strawberry seeds are on the outside," said Davy. "Yes, and the little pistils are called akenes, though you need not try to remember that now." "It is strange," said big Prue, "how many things become fruits." "Yes," said the Chief Gardener. "A fig, for instance, is simply a hollow stalk which grows thick and pulpy, and has a lot of little flowers inside that turn to seed when the fig ripens. A pineapple is a cluster of flower-leaves. A strawberry is the end of a flower-stem. A blackberry is the same, with a little cluster of pulpy pistils on the outside. A raspberry is the little cluster of pistils without the core; so that the blackberry is really the connecting-link between the strawberry and the raspberry. In gooseberries, grapes, cranberries, and huckleberries we eat the entire pistil, seeds and all. In peaches, plums, and cherries we eat only the outer part, and in apples, pears, and quinces we eat only the calyx, unless we eat the core." "Well," interrupted Davy, "I am going to eat a nice big red calyx, now, core and all, and I'm going to eat some hickory-nut and pop-corn pistils, all but the shells and cob, and I feel hungry enough to eat those, too." So then they drew closer around the bright blaze as evening gathered on the little faded garden outside. NOVEMBER NOVEMBER I THERE ARE ANNUALS, BIENNIALS, AND PERENNIALS BUT November was not all brown and dry. The warm days lingered. The lawn kept green, and suddenly about the house there was the most wonderful glory of yellow and rose and white and crimson, for the radiant flower of autumn, the chrysanthemum, was in full bloom. How beautiful the flowers were when the sun was bright, and when it was cloudy they seemed to have kept some of the sunlight and cheer to make the dooryard glad. "I don't remember when you planted the chrysanthemums," said Prue, one bright morning to the Chief Gardener. "No, it was when you were a very little girl--about four years ago." "I remember," said Davy. "I helped you." "Why don't you have to plant them every year?" asked Prue. "Because they are perennials--they live on, year after year." Prue did not seem to understand very well, so the Chief Gardener explained. "There are three kinds of plants," he said: "Annuals, biennials, and perennials. The annuals live but one season. They come from the seed each spring, and when they have grown and bloomed and made seed for another year they die. Sweet-pease and sunflowers and Davy's corn are annuals." "And radishes and beets," said Davy. "No, Davy. That is where you are mistaken." "But we have to plant them every spring," said Davy. "We do so to get good vegetables for our table. But if we were planting only for seed we would leave the roots in the ground, or take them up and reset them in the spring. Then they would send up long stalks to bloom and bear seed. Beets and radishes and turnips and most such things are biennials, which means that they bloom the second year and then die. They spend all the first year in laying up strength in the roots, to use in making seed the second summer. Some biennials, like the cabbage, lay up this strength in the thick stalk. The strength which they take up from the earth and from the air, through their leaves, they do not spend in flowers and show, but turn it into food for themselves, and the food is so good that men gather it for their own use." "I don't think that is quite right," said Prue, "after the poor thing has worked so hard all summer to be ready to bloom next year, for us to take it and eat it." The Chief Gardener smiled and shook his head. "I'm afraid we do not think much about the plant's rights," he said, "unless they happen to be the same as our own. And after all there are plenty of seeds saved every year--more than are ever planted." "And are potatoes biennials, too?" asked Davy. "No, potatoes are perennials. In the right climate they would live on year after year, laying up new strength each year for the next season's growth. Dahlias are perennials, too, and most of the grasses, and, of course, all trees, and shrubs. Your pinks, Prue, and sweet-williams, and the hollyhocks, are perennial, and live through the winter, though they bear a great deal of seed, which shows how determined they are to live on. These chrysanthemums also bear seed, and most plants have at least two ways, and some as many as four ways of producing others like them. Your onions, Davy, can be produced in four different ways. They can be grown from seed, from sets--which are little seed-onions taken out of the ground and kept through the winter--from bulblets--which are the little onions you saw growing on the top of the stalk last summer--and from multipliers--which are large bulbs broken into several small parts." [Illustration: THE SEED AND SETS OF THE ONION] "I should think an onion was surely perennial enough," said Davy, "with four ways of keeping alive." "Can you name the three kinds of plants now?" asked the Chief Gardener, turning to little Prue. "Yes," said Prue, putting out three fingers. "Annuals that have to die every fall, like my sweet-pease. Bi-yennials, that have to die every other fall, like Davy's turnips. Only we don't let 'em die--we kill 'em and eat 'em just when they are ready for their best time. Perennials, that have a lot of ways to live and never die at all." The Chief Gardener laughed. "Well, that's pretty good for a little girl. I think we might almost make a poem out of it. "The annuals we plant each spring-- They perish in the fall; Biennials die the second year, Perennials not at all." "I've made a rhyme, too," said Prue. "It's about the kinds of plants in a different way. This is it: "The kinds of plants are these-- Herbs, shrubs, and trees." "Why, I think we shall have to make up some more," said the Chief Gardener. "It will help us to remember." II PLANTS KNOW HOW TO SPREAD IT was not many days after this that the Chief Gardener was digging among his vines, and he called to the children, who came running. "We were talking the other day," he said, "about the many ways that old plants have of making new ones. See how this black raspberry vine is spreading." The Chief Gardener pointed to a long branch that had bent over until the end touched the earth. This end had taken root, and now a new little plant was there all formed and ready to grow the coming year. "There is another just like it," said Davy, "and another--why, there are lots of them!" "Yes, the vine sends out many of those long slender branches with a heavy little bud at the end of each to weigh it down. Such branches are called stolons, and when the bud touches the earth it sends out roots. Strawberries have runners which do the same thing. You will find plenty of them if you look in the patch." Davy and Prue went over to the strawberries and found that the vines, now red and brown from frost, had sent out runners, and made little new plants, like the black raspberries. "You see," said the Chief Gardener, "we pick the berries, which are the seeds, so all berry vines must have some other way of spreading. The red raspberries do it in a different way. They send out runners, too, but they are from the roots, and when the sprouts come up, we call them suckers. Many kinds of plants have suckers, and there are some kinds of trees sprout so badly that they cannot be used for shade." "What a lot of ways there are for plants to start!" said Davy. "Suppose we try to think of as many as we can," said the Chief Gardener. "You begin, Prue." "Seeds and roots and bend-overs and stuck-ins," said Prue. "That's four." [Illustration: A BLACK RASPBERRY VINE PREPARING TO SPREAD] Davy and the Chief Gardener laughed. "Well, that is a good start, but there are a good many kinds of roots and 'bend-overs,' and what are 'stuck-ins?'" "Why, pieces stuck in the ground to grow. Mamma does it with her geraniums." "Oh, slips! I see. Why, Prue, your answer covers about everything, after all. Now, Davy, suppose we hear from you." "Well, seeds--that's one. Bulbs, all the kinds, like the three onion kinds, and maybe other kinds, roots like the red raspberries, that make suckers and other kinds of roots, like potatoes, and then all the runners and suckers that Prue calls 'bend-overs,' and slips and grafts and buds." "Stuck-ins," nodded the Chief Gardener. "Prue was about right after all, for there are so many kinds of each different thing, and so many ways, that I am afraid we should never remember all the kinds and ways. 'Seeds and roots and bend-overs and stuck-ins' take in about all of them, and we are not apt to forget it. If you'll come now, we'll look at some of the kinds of roots." They went down into the garden, and the Chief Gardener opened a hill of potatoes which had not been dug. Then he picked up one of the potatoes and showed it to Davy and Prue. [Illustration: "WHAT ARE STUCK-INS?--OH, SLIPS!"] "That kind of a root is called a tuber," he said. "Those little spots on it are eyes, and make the sprouts. You remember we cut the potatoes we planted into little pieces, with one eye on each." "I remember," said Prue, "and I asked if they had eyes so they could see which way to grow." "The pieces we planted sprouted, and kept the sprout growing until it could send out roots. Besides the roots, there were little underground branches, and a potato formed on the end of each branch. When the soil and the season are both good there will be a great many of these branches and new tubers, but when the soil is poor and the season bad there will be very little besides roots." The children followed the Chief Gardener, and dug up a bunch of thick dahlia roots, and he told them how these were really roots, and not tubers, like the potatoes. Then he dug up some sweet-flag, and they saw how the rough root-pieces were joined one to the other, in a sort of chain of roots, and these he told them were root-stalks, and that they kept a store of nourishment for the new plants, in the spring. "There is a grass," he said, "which has such a root, and every time it is cut it sends up a new plant, so that every time the farmer tries to get it out of his grain-field he only makes more plants, unless he pulls up every piece and destroys it. You see, that grass has to fight to live, and it makes one of the very best fights of any plant I know, except the Canada thistle, which does very much the same thing. And that is what all plant life is. It is the struggle to live and grow and spread. The struggle with men and animals and heat and cold and with other plants. And in the struggle the plants, and especially the weeds, which have to fight hardest, have grown strong and persevering, and have learned a thousand ways to multiply their roots and to scatter their seed." III ALL THANKS FOR THE PLANTS THANKSGIVING brought the usual good dinner, and upon the table and the sideboard there were many things to remind the little family of their garden and their summer-time. There was a large plate of red apples and a dish of nuts, and there was a pot of pinks, which Prue had saved for her window-garden. Then there was a fine little jar of pickles, made from Davy's tomatoes, besides dishes of tomatoes and turnips, all from the little garden that had come and gone, leaving these good things and many pleasant memories behind. And after the dinner was over, and the pudding eaten and the nuts passed, the little family sat around the table to talk, as they often did. "I am sure we have a great deal to be thankful for this year," said big Prue. "Two such nice healthy children, with plenty to eat and wear, and a fire to keep us warm, and a good roof over our heads." "And all from the plants," said the Chief Gardener. "If we are thankful for the plants, we are thankful for almost everything we have." Davy sat thinking silently about this, but little Prue did not quite understand. "I suppose you mean that the plants made us healthy to work in them," she said. "I mean that, and I mean a great many other things. In the first place, plants furnish all the food in the world. Not only the vegetables, but the animal-food. Our turkey would not have been here to-day if he had not been fed on grain, and even the oysters must live from a sort of plant-food in the sea. Every creature that walks or flies or swims lives either on plants themselves or from some creature that does live on them." "Do sharks live on plants, too?" asked Prue. "Of course!" said Davy. "Sharks eat men, and men eat plants." "I don't suppose sharks live altogether on men," laughed big Prue, "and the little fish they eat may live on other little fish, but if you go far enough you will find that somewhere the beginning is plant-life." "Plants also warm and light us," went on the Chief Gardener. "Every stick of wood, or bit of coal, or drop of oil we burn, comes from plant-life. The coal was vegetation long ago--very long ago--and the heat and light that come from it were stored there in that far-away time by the green leaves that drew in life and light from the sunbeams." "Do the leaves really take up light?" asked Davy. "They really do. With every particle of vegetable matter that is made, a portion of the sun's heat and light is laid up in it. The light is still in the coal, though it looks so black. We have only to burn it, to get back the sunlight." That was a very wonderful thought to the children, and they had to talk about it a great deal before the Chief Gardener went on. "Every bit of clothing we wear comes from the plants," he said at last. "The cotton grows like the down about the thistle seed, and the wool that grows on the sheep's back is there because the sheep feeds on the green grass in summer and upon hay and grain in the winter-time. Silk is made by worms from mulberry leaves, linen is from the flax plant, and leather from the cattle that grow in the same way that the sheep grows. [Illustration: THE WOOL THAT GROWS ON THE SHEEP'S BACK IS THERE BECAUSE THE SHEEP FEEDS ON THE GREEN GRASS IN SUMMER] "Then there is our house. A great deal of it is made from wood, and even the bricks have vegetable matter in them, while the stones are shaped by tools that have wooden handles, and the bricks and stones are hauled in wooden carts." "But the iron doesn't grow, Papa," said little Prue. "No, but without heat to forge it--heat that comes from wood and coal--it would be of no use." "But there is one other thing that is more to us than all the rest. Plants purify the air we breathe. Air that we have breathed once is not fit for us again. We have used the oxygen from it, and turned it into carbonic acid gas. But carbonic acid gas is just what the plants need, so they take our breathed air and turn it into oxygen again and give it back to us fresh and pure, so that we can keep our life and health." "Don't forget the flowers, Papa," said little Prue. "I haven't forgotten them. If it were not for the flowers many of the plants would die out, and besides being so useful, the flowers feed the bees and make the world beautiful, and our lives happier and sweeter, by filling them with color and perfume and loveliness. No, I could hardly forget the flowers, Prue. They are the crowning glory of the plants that feed and clothe and warm and shelter us. So let us be thankful for the plants, every part of them, and especially for the flowers." "We ought to be thankful for the sun that makes them grow, too," said Davy. "And we must not forget the One to whom all thanks are due," added his mother. And as the November day closed in they gathered around the big open fire, and were happy and cheerful in the blaze of the same sunbeams that had shone on the great forests which had perished so many ages ago. DECEMBER DECEMBER I NEW GARDENS IN THE WINDOWS DECEMBER was a month for putting things away. The envelopes of seeds which Davy and Prue and the Chief Gardener had gathered were all put into separate tin boxes, and these boxes were put in a dry place on the top cupboard shelf, where they would not be disturbed. The bulbs and roots were also put into dry boxes in the basement, and the different kinds labelled in large plain letters by Davy, who could print very nicely indeed. The bulbs were quite interesting. Some, like those of the Easter lily, had small bulbs formed inside of them. Others, like the crocus, had tiny bulbs formed on the outside, and then there were bulblets which had formed above the ground, just where the leaf joins the stalk. These were little lily bulbs. So all the seeds and bulbs and roots were put away for the winter, except a few that Davy and Prue planted in some pots for their window-gardens. They decided to have different things this year. Instead of scarlet runners to climb on the sides of his window, Davy had decided to have melon vines. His cantaloupes had not done very well in the garden, for the reason that the pumpkin had sent its long tendrils across the cantaloupe bed, and the pollen had been carried from the flowers of one to the other by the busy bees, and this caused all his cantaloupes to have a flavor of pumpkin. Davy had eaten them, though, and even little Prue had said they were not so _very_ bad, and had really eaten nearly all of one piece. Now, Davy was going to have two cantaloupe vines, and let them climb on each side of his window, and see if he couldn't raise some melons that folks would be glad to get a piece of. In the middle of his window he was going to have an eggplant, which he very much wanted to try, and in the little pots at the sides, there were to be a peanut, which he wanted to try, too, and a special little red pepper which had looked very nice in the seed-catalogue. Then there were two little pots, one holding a small turnip and the other a radish, which Davy wanted to see bloom and go to seed. So, you see, Davy's garden was going to be quite different this year, and Prue's was different, too. For Prue did not have morning-glories to climb, this winter. Not because she did not like them, but because she wanted her window, like Davy's, to be different from the window of the winter before. She had a cypress vine planted this year, on one side, and a moon vine on the other. And in the center of her window, she was to have a cosmos flower, with a fuchsia and a hyacinth and a tulip at the sides, and one of her precious pinks brought in from the summer garden. Of course, the tulip and the hyacinth were to grow from little bulbs, while the fuchsia was a small plant which she had bought at the greenhouse. And in this way both the windows were to be very different from the winter before, and many new things were to be learned in seeing the seeds and the bulbs and the roots sprout and grow and bloom. [Illustration: A JAPANESE FERN-BALL] And there was one thing more which was to be different, for Prue and Davy had put their money together and bought a Japanese fern-ball to hang between the windows, and a hook to hang it on. The ball they soaked in warm water, as the directions had said, and then hung it on the hook. As often as it seemed dry they soaked it again, and one day it was sending out little green points, and soon, even before the rest of their window-garden was fairly started, there were feathery little fern leaves all over the ball, and before Christmas it was very beautiful indeed. II TO THE GARDEN OF SLEEP _December_ was not a very bright month for Davy and Prue. Very little snow fell, so they could not use their sleds. If it had not been for their gardens and their lessons, which took several hours each day, they would have been rather lonely, looking out on brown woods and meadows. But there was the joy of Christmas coming, and this thought made them happier, as each day brought it nearer. They counted the weeks first, then the days, and at last the hours. And then they had secrets. Secrets from big Prue and the Chief Gardener, and secrets from each other. Sometimes little Prue whispered to big Prue, and did not want Davy to hear. Sometimes Davy whispered to the Chief Gardener, and stopped very quick and began to whistle, if Prue came into the room. Packages began to be brought in after dark, or when everybody else was upstairs, and then, one afternoon--the afternoon of that wonderful eve when stillness and mystery seem to gather on the fields--there was a row of stockings along the mantel, hanging ready for somebody to fill. Santa Claus, of course, must do that, but there were packages hidden here and there for the good old Saint to find and put where they belonged. And Prue and Davy were in bed almost before dark, because you see the time passes quicker if you are asleep, and the sooner to bed the sooner to sleep. But when big Prue came in to kiss them good-night she told them a story--the old sweet story of the Little Child who was born so long ago, and to whom the first gifts were brought by the wise men. And then she told how that little baby boy in the manger had become a sweet child, with games and playmates like other children, with toys and, perhaps, a little garden of his own, something as they had made during the summer-time. And she told also a little story which, perhaps, is only a story, but it is what it would seem might have happened to the Little Child of Bethlehem. "Once," she said, "when he was playing he grew very tired and thirsty, and his playmate was very thirsty, too. So Jesus ran to the well for a cup of water, and hurried back with it without stopping to drink. But his playmate was greedy, for he seized the cup and drank it all, except a few drops at the bottom. Then he gave the empty cup to Jesus, who took it and let the last few drops fall on the grass, when suddenly from where they fell there flowed a little clear stream of water, with lilies-of-the-valley blooming along its banks." "Please sing the verse about the story of old," said Davy, when she had finished. So his mother sang: "I think, when I read that sweet story of old, How Jesus was here among men, How he called little children as lambs to his fold, I should like to have been with them then." And it was only a moment longer that the Christmas Saint had to wait on the sand-man, for presently the door closed softly on the singer. Davy and Prue had entered the fair garden of sleep. III IN THE GARDENS OF CHRISTMAS _I cannot_ tell you all the wonders of that Christmas. I can only tell you that the presents which the little family had bought for one another were all in their proper places next morning, and that there were ever so many things that nobody but Santa Claus could possibly have brought. There was a Christmas tree, for one thing, the kind of a tree that nobody but Santa Claus ever raises, or brings, and there was everything upon it and about it that a little boy and girl could want, unless they wanted a great deal more than a little boy and girl ought to have, at one time. But the very finest Christmas gift of all was a splendid great big snow-storm, which had begun in the night and was still going on, as fast and as thick as the big, soft, fleecy flakes could fall. Every few minutes the children left the beautiful tree to look at the beautiful snow. They could hardly wait until breakfast was over, and the Chief Gardener had made a photograph of the tree with them in it, before they wanted to rush out with their sleds. All at once Davy called Prue to the window. "Look," he said, "some of these flakes on the window-sash are like little white flowers!" Then every one came to see, and, sure enough, some of the snowflakes that had fallen next to the glass were wonderfully shaped, and did look like tiny blossoms. The Chief Gardener got a magnifying-glass and they looked at them through it, when they saw how really beautiful they were. "I have heard them called 'the flowers of winter,'" said big Prue. "There is a little story about how the flowers complained that they must all die when cold weather came, and never see the winter. So then their spirits were allowed to come back as snowflakes." [Illustration: THE KIND OF A TREE THAT NOBODY BUT SANTA CLAUS EVER RAISES] That was a glorious Christmas. All day the snow came down outside, and all day the big fire blazed and the Christmas tree gleamed and shimmered and sparkled inside. And then, in the afternoon, there was a Christmas dinner which was quite as good as any of the rest of the things, even to the snow. And after the dinner was over, and they sat around the fire, the Chief Gardener said: "We have had a happy year. I know it has been happy, for the time has gone so fast. It seems not more than a few weeks ago that we were keeping last Christmas, and almost no time at all since Prue and Davy started their first little gardens in the window. Yet, a week from to-day, and that will be a year ago, too. Now, I have a plan. It was Prue who made me think of it. She said something not long ago that I made into a little verse, about annuals, biennials, and perennials. Then Prue made one, too, about herbs and shrubs and trees. Now I propose that we each make some rhymes for New Year's day to celebrate the starting of the window-garden, and also the little garden which Prue and Davy had outside. The rhymes must tell something that has been learned during the year, and they must be short, and easy to remember. Of course, we won't expect very much, but Prue has done so well, that I am sure the rest of us can do something, too." "I never made any rhymes," said Davy. "I'll help you," said Prue. "It's just as easy." So they all agreed, and during the holidays, when the children were not busy with their sleds or books or gardens, they were making rhymes. IV SOME VERSES AND THEN GOOD-BY AND these are the rhymes that were read and recited after dinner on New Year's day, just a year after the first little window-garden was started. I shall not tell you whose they were. Of course, you will all remember little Prue's: "The kinds of plants are these, Herbs and shrubs, and trees," and the Chief Gardener's: "The annuals we plant each spring-- They perish in the fall; Biennials die the second year, Perennials not at all," but the writers of the others you will have to guess. THE PLANT The parts of every plant are three-- The root, and stem, and leaf they be. The flowers are only leaves more fair, Which nature makes, to bloom and bear. THE ROOT Most roots are hidden in the ground, As they should _always_ be, by rights, But some in other plants are found, And these belong to parasites. THE STEM The stem may be a stalk or vine To stand erect, or creep, or twine-- For frailest plant, or firmest oak That's ne'er by storm of winter broke. THE LEAF A leaf has a stem, and of stipules a pair, Though the stipules are often quite small, or not there. A leaf has a blade, and of ribs one or more; While of veins and of veinlets it has many score. A leaf may be simple, or it may be compound, And a million small pores for its breathing are found. THE FLOWER The blossom has a calyx That is very often green, And just above the sepals The corolla bright is seen. And above the pretty petals May be stamens eight or nine-- Slender filaments, and anthers, To hold the pollen fine. While in the blossom's center Doth the sturdy pistil grow, With stigma and with style that lead To seed-cups just below. HOW PLANTS INCREASE From seed and from runner, from stolon bent low-- From sucker and slip and from layer they grow-- From bulb and from bulblet--from tuber and root, They give us the flower and the grain and the fruit. All thanks to the plants for the clothes that we wear-- The food that we eat and the home that we share-- For the air that we breathe and the fuel we burn-- All thanks to the plants, 'tis our only return. Davy rather objected to the last line of these verses. He said that it was some return to take good care of plants, especially in the hot summer-time, when it was ever so much nicer to sit in the shade. So another little rhyme was made, like this: A plant should have the sun and air And water, and the proper care. If it has these, and doesn't die, We'll reap the harvest, by and by. Then to end the day they all sang a little song about the snowflakes, that Jack Frost sends out of his gardens of winter-time: THE SNOWFLAKES Jack Frost, he makes the snowflakes, He paints the snowflakes white. He sent them Christmas morning To make our landscape bright. For in the deepest winter The world is bleak and bare-- Jack Frost, he sends the snowflakes To make our winter fair. And so ends the story of a year, and of its little gardens. Also of Prue and Davy, who owned the little gardens, and of her who was called big Prue and of him who was called the Chief Gardener. Other years will bring other gardens, and other summers. Prue and Davy will grow older, and learn more and more with each year that passes. But no year will ever be happier and no gardens ever brighter than those to which we are now saying good-by. * * * * * Transcriber's Notes Minor punctuation errors corrected on pages 16, 68, 104, 105, 214, 219, 276, 285, 294, 297, 328. Slight discrepancies in some of the titles given in the Table of Contents and those given at the beginning of each section have been retained here. Original spellings and hyphenation have been retained except in the cases of these apparent typographical errors: Page 23, "lovelly" changed to "lovely." (I never saw anything so lovely...) Page 60, "no" changed to "not." (...not to look at their garden...) 
5418	----	THE HOME ACRE E. P. ROE CONTENTS CHAPTER I TREE-PLANTING CHAPTER II FRUIT-TREES AND GRASS CHAPTER III THE GARDEN CHAPTER IV THE VINEYARD AND ORCHARD CHAPTER V THE RASPBERRY CHAPTER VI THE CURRANT CHAPTER VII STRAWBERRIES CHAPTER VIII THE KITCHEN-GARDEN CHAPTER IX THE KITCHEN-GARDEN (Concluded) CHAPTER I TREE-PLANTING Land hunger is so general that it may be regarded as a natural craving. Artificial modes of life, it is true, can destroy it, but it is apt to reassert itself in later generations. To tens of thousands of bread-winners in cities a country home is the dream of the future, the crown and reward of their life-toil. Increasing numbers are taking what would seem to be the wiser course, and are combining rural pleasures and advantages with their business. As the questions of rapid transit are solved, the welfare of children will turn the scale more and more often against the conventional city house or flat. A home CAN be created in rented dwellings and apartments; but a home for which we have the deed, a cottage surrounded by trees, flowers, lawn, and garden, is the refuge which best satisfies the heart. By means of such a suburban nook we can keep up our relations with Nature and all her varied and health-giving life. The tired man returning from business finds that his excited brain will not cease to act. He can enjoy restoring rest in the complete diversion of his thoughts; he can think of this tree or that plant, and how he can fill to advantage unoccupied spaces with other trees, flowers, and vegetables. If there is a Jersey cow to welcome him with her placid trust, a good roadster to whinny for an airing, and a flock of chickens to clamor about his feet for their supper, his jangling nerves will be quieted, in spite of all the bulls and bears of Wall Street. Best of all, he will see that his children have air and space in which to grow naturally, healthfully. His fruit-trees will testify to his wisdom in providing a country home. For instance, he will observe that if sound plums are left in contact with stung and decaying specimens, they too will be infected; he will see that too close crowding renders the prospect for good fruit doubtful; and, by natural transition of thought, will be glad that his boys and girls are not shut in to the fortuitous associations of hall-way and street. The area of land purchased will depend largely on the desires and purse of the buyer; but about one acre appears to satisfy the majority of people. This amount is not so great that the business man is burdened with care, nor is its limit so small that he is cramped and thwarted by line fences. If he can give to his bit of Eden but little thought and money, he will find that an acre can be so laid out as to entail comparatively small expense in either the one or the other; if he has the time and taste to make the land his play-ground as well as that of his children, scope is afforded for an almost infinite variety of pleasing labors and interesting experiments. When we come to co-work with Nature, all we do has some of the characteristics of an experiment. The labor of the year is a game of skill, into which also enter the fascinating elements of apparent chance. What a tree, a flower, or vegetable bed will give, depends chiefly upon us; yet all the vicissitudes of dew, rain, frost, and sun, have their part in the result. We play the game with Nature, and she will usually let us win if we are not careless, ignorant, or stupid. She keeps up our zest by never permitting the game to be played twice under the same conditions. We can no more carry on our garden this season precisely as we did last year than a captain can sail his ship exactly as he did on the preceding voyage. A country home makes even the weather interesting; and the rise and fall of the mercury is watched with scarcely less solicitude than the mutations of the market. In this chapter and in those which may ensue I merely hope to make some useful suggestions and give practical advice--the result of experience, my own and others'--which the reader may carry out and modify according to his judgment. We will suppose that an acre has been bought; that it is comparatively level, with nothing of especial value upon it--in brief, that the home and its surroundings are still to be created. It is not within my design to treat of the dwelling, its architecture, etc., but we shall have something to say further on in regard to its location. Before purchasing, the most careful investigations should be made as to the healthfulness of the region and the opportunities for thorough drainage. Having bought the acre, the question of removing all undue accumulations of water on or beneath the surface should be attended to at first. The dry appearance of the soil during much of the year may be misleading. It should be remembered that there are equinoctial storms and melting snows. Superabundant moisture at every period should have channels of immediate escape, for moisture in excess is an injury to plant as well as to family life; while thoroughly and quickly drained land endures drought far better than that which is rendered heavy and sour by water stagnating beneath the surface. Tile-drains are usually the cheapest and most effective; but if there are stones and rocks upon the place, they can be utilized and disposed of at the same time by their burial in ditches--and they should be covered so deeply that a plow, although sunk to the beam, can pass over them. Tiles or the top of a stone drain should be at least two feet below the surface. If the ground of the acre is underlaid with a porous subsoil, there is usually an adequate natural drainage. Making haste slowly is often the quickest way to desired results. It is the usual method to erect the dwelling first, and afterward to subdue and enrich the ground gradually. This in many instances may prove the best course; but when it is practicable, I should advise that building be deferred until the land (with the exception of the spaces to be occupied with the house and barn) can be covered with a heavy dressing of barnyard manure, and that this be plowed under in the autumn. Such general enriching of the soil may seem a waste in view of the carriage-drive and walks yet to be laid out; but this will not prove true. It should be remembered that while certain parts of the place are to be kept bare of surface-vegetation, they nevertheless will form a portion of the root-pasturage of the shade and fruit trees. The land, also, can be more evenly and deeply plowed before obstructions are placed upon it, and roots, pestiferous weeds, and stones removed with greatest economy. Moreover, the good initial enriching is capital, hoarded in the soil, to start with. On many new places I have seen trees and plants beginning a feeble and uncertain life, barely existing rather than growing, because their roots found the soil like a table with dishes but without food. If the fertilizer is plowed under in the autumn, again mixed with the soil by a second plowing in the spring, it will be decomposed and ready for immediate use by every rootlet in contact with it. Now, as farmers say, the "land is in good heart," and it will cheer its owner's heart to see the growth promptly made by whatever is properly planted. Instead of losing time, he has gained years. Suppose the acre to have been bought in September, and treated as I have indicated, it is ready for a generous reception of plants and trees the following spring. Possibly at the time of purchase the acre may be covered with coarse grass, weeds, or undergrowth of some kind. In this case, after the initial plowing, the cultivation for a season of some such crop as corn or potatoes may be of great advantage in clearing the land, and the proceeds of the crop would partially meet expenses. If the aim is merely to subdue and clean the land as quickly as possible, nothing is better than buckwheat, sown thickly and plowed under just as it comes into blossom. It is the nature of this rampart-growing grain to kill out everything else and leave the soil light and mellow. If the ground is encumbered with many stones and rocks, the question of clearing it is more complicated. They can be used, and often sold to advantage, for building purposes. In some instances I have seen laboring-men clear the most unpromising plots of ground by burying all rocks and stones deeply beneath the surface--men, too, who had no other time for the task except the brief hours before and after their daily toil. I shall give no distinct plan for laying out the ground. The taste of the owner, or more probably that of his wife, will now come into play. Their ideas also will be modified by many local circumstances--as, for instance, the undulations of the land, if there are any; proximity to neighbors, etc. If little besides shade and lawn is desired, this fact will have a controlling influence; if, on the other hand, the proprietor wishes to make his acre as productive as possible, the house will be built nearer the street, wider open space will be left for the garden, and fruit-trees will predominate over those grown merely for shade and beauty. There are few who would care to follow a plan which many others had adopted. Indeed, it would be the natural wish of persons of taste to impart something of their own individuality to their rural home; and the effort to do this would afford much agreeable occupation. Plates giving the elevation and arrangement of country homes can be studied by the evening lamp; visits to places noted for their beauty, simplicity, and good taste will afford motives for many a breezy drive; while useful suggestions from what had been accomplished by others may repay for an extended journey. Such observations and study will cost little more than an agreeable expenditure of time; and surely a home is worth careful thought. It then truly becomes YOUR home--something that you have evolved with loving effort. Dear thoughts of wife and children enter into its very materiality; walks are planned with a loving consciousness of the feet which are to tread them, and trees planted with prophetic vision of the groups that will gather beneath the shade. This could scarcely be true if the acre were turned over to architect, builders, and landscape-gardeners, with an agreement that you should have possession at a specified time. We will suppose that it is early spring, that the ground has received its second plowing, and that the carriage-drive and the main walks have been marked out on paper, or, better still, on a carefully considered map. There is now so much to do that one is almost bewildered; and the old saying, "Rome was not built in a day," is a good thing to remember. An orderly succession of labor will bring beauty and comfort in good time, especially if essential or foundation labors are first well performed. Few things will prove more satisfactory than dry, hard, smooth carriage-roads and walks. These, with their curves, can be carefully staked out, the surface-earth between the stakes to the depth of four or five inches carted to the rear of the place near the stable, or the place where the stable is to be. Of the value of this surface-soil we shall speak presently, and will merely remark in passing that it is amply worth the trouble of saving. Its removal leaves the beds of the driveway and walks depressed several inches below the surrounding surface. Fill these shallow excavations with little stones, the larger in the bottom, the smaller on top, and cover all with gravel. You now have roads and walks that will be dry and hard even in oozy March, and you can stroll about your place the moment the heaviest shower is over. The greater first cost will be more than made good by the fact that scarcely a weed can start or grow on pathways thus treated. All they will need is an occasional rounding up and smoothing with a rake. While this labor is going on you can begin the planting of trees. To this task I would earnestly ask careful attention. Your house can be built in a summer; but it requires a good part of a century to build the best trees into anything like perfection. The usual tendency is to plant much too closely. Observe well-developed trees, and see how wide a space they require. There is naturally an eager wish for shade as soon as possible, and a desire to banish from surroundings an aspect of bareness. These purposes can, it is true, often be accomplished by setting out more trees at first than could mature, and by taking out one and another from time to time when they begin to interfere with each other's growth. One symmetrical, noble tree, however, is certainly worth more than a dozen distorted, misshapen specimens. If given space, every kind of tree and shrub will develop its own individuality; and herein lies one of their greatest charms. If the oak typifies manhood, the drooping elm is equally suggestive of feminine grace, while the sugar-maple, prodigal of its rich juices, tasselled bloom, and winged seeds, reminds us of wholesome, cheerful natures. Even when dying, its foliage takes on the earliest and richest hues of autumn. The trees about our door become in a sense our companions. They appeal to the eye, fancy, and feelings of different people differently. Therefore I shall leave the choice of arboreal associates to those who are to plant them--a choice best guided by observation of trees. Why should you not plant those you like the best, those which are the most congenial? A few suggestions, however, may be useful. I would advise the reader not to be in too great haste to fill up his grounds. While there are trees to which his choice reverts almost instantly, there are probably many other beautiful varieties with which he is not acquainted. If he has kept space for the planting of something new every spring and fall, he has done much to preserve his zest in his rural surroundings, and to give a pleasing direction to his summer observation. He is ever on the alert to discover trees and shrubs that satisfy his taste. During the preparation of this book I visited the grounds of Mr. A. S. Fuller, at Kidgewood, N. J., and for an hour or two I broke the tenth commandment in spite of myself. I was surrounded by trees from almost every portion of the northern temperate zone, from Oregon to Japan; and in Mr. Fuller I had a guide whose sympathy with his arboreal pets was only equalled by his knowledge of their characteristics. All who love trees should possess his book entitled "Practical Forestry." If it could only be put into the hands of law-makers, and they compelled to learn much of its contents by heart, they would cease to be more or less conscious traitors to their country in allowing the destruction of forests. They might avert the verdict of the future, and prevent posterity from denouncing the irreparable wrong which is now permitted with impunity. The Arnolds of to-day are those who have the power to save the trees, yet fail to do so. Japan appears to be doing as much to adorn our lawns and gardens as our drawing-rooms; and from this and other foreign lands much that is beautiful or curious is coming annually to our shores. At the same time I was convinced of the wisdom of Mr. Fuller's appreciation of our native trees. In few instances should we have to go far from home to find nearly all that we wanted in beautiful variety--maples, dogwoods, scarlet and chestnut oaks, the liquid-amber, the whitewood or tulip-tree, white birch, and horn-beam, or the hop-tree; not to speak of the evergreens and shrubs indigenous to our forests. Perhaps it is not generally known that the persimmon, so well remembered by old campaigners in Virginia, will grow readily in this latitude. There are forests of this tree around Paterson, N. J., and it has been known to endure twenty-seven degrees below zero. It is a handsome tree at any season, and its fruit in November caused much straggling from our line of march in the South. Then there is our clean-boled, graceful beech, whose smooth white bark has received so many tender confidences. In the neighborhood of a village you will rarely find one of these trees whereon is not linked the names of lovers that have sat beneath the shade. Indeed I have found mementoes of trysts or rambles deep in the forest of which the faithful beech has kept the record until the lovers were old or dead. On an immense old beech in Tennessee there is an inscription which, while it suggests a hug, presents to the fancy an experience remote from a lover's embrace. It reads, "D. Boone cilled bar on tree." There is one objection to the beech which also lies against the white oak--it does not drop its leaves within the space of a few autumn days. The bleached foliage is falling all winter long, thus giving the ground near an untidy aspect. With some, the question of absolute neatness is paramount; with others, leaves are clean dirt, and their rustle in the wind does not cease to be music even after they have fallen. Speaking of native trees and shrubs, we shall do well to use our eyes carefully during our summer walks and drives; for if we do, we can scarcely fail to fall in love with types and varieties growing wild. They will thrive just as well on the acre if properly removed. In a sense they bring the forest with them, and open vistas at our door deep into the heart of Nature. The tree is not only a thing of beauty in itself, but it represents to the fancy all its wild haunts the world over. In gratifying our taste for native trees we need not confine ourselves to those indigenous to our own locality. From the nurseries we can obtain specimens that beautify other regions of our broad land; as, for instance, the Kentucky yellow-wood, the papaw, the Judas-tree, and, in the latitude of New Jersey and southward, the holly. In many instances the purchaser of the acre may find a lasting pleasure in developing a specialty. He may desire to gather about him all the drooping or weeping trees that will grow in his latitude, or he may choose to turn his acre largely into a nut-orchard, and delight his children with a harvest which they will gather with all the zest of the frisky red squirrel. If one could succeed in obtaining a bearing tree of Hale's paper-shell hickory-nut, he would have a prize indeed. Increasing attention is given to the growing of nut-trees in our large nurseries, and there would be no difficulty in obtaining a supply. In passing from this subject of choice in deciduous trees and shrubs, I would suggest, in addition to visits to woods and copse, to the well-ornamented places of men who have long gratified a fine taste in this respect, that the reader also make time to see occasionally a nursery like that of S.B. Parsons & Co., at Flushing, N.Y. There is no teaching like that of the eyes; and the amateur who would do a bit of landscape-gardening about his own home learns what he would like and what he can do by seeing shrubs and trees in their various stages of growth and beauty. I shall treat the subject of evergreens at the close of this chapter. As a rule, I have not much sympathy with the effort to set out large trees in the hope of obtaining shade more quickly. The trees have to be trimmed up and cut back so greatly that their symmetry is often destroyed. They are also apt to be checked in their growth so seriously by such removal that a slender sapling, planted at the same time, overtakes and passes them. I prefer a young tree, straight-stemmed, healthy, and typical of its species or variety. Then we may watch its rapid natural development as we would that of a child. Still, when large trees can be removed in winter with a great ball of frozen earth that insures the preservation of the fibrous roots, much time can be saved. It should ever be remembered that prompt, rapid growth of the transplanted tree depends on two things--plenty of small fibrous roots, and a fertile soil to receive them. It usually happens that the purchaser employs a local citizen to aid in putting his ground in order. In every rural neighborhood there are smart men--"smart" is the proper adjective; for they are neither sagacious nor trustworthy, and there is ever a dismal hiatus between their promises and performance. Such men lie in wait for newcomers, to take advantage of their inexperience and necessary absence. They will assure their confiding employers that they are beyond learning anything new in the planting of trees--which is true, in a sinister sense. They will leave roots exposed to sun and wind--in brief, pay no more attention to them than a baby-farmer would bestow on an infant's appetite; and then, when convenient, thrust them into a hole scarcely large enough for a post. They expect to receive their money long before the dishonest character of their work can be discovered. The number of trees which this class of men have dwarfed or killed outright would make a forest. The result of a well-meaning yet ignorant man's work might be equally unsatisfactory. Therefore, the purchaser of the acre should know how a tree should be planted, and see to it himself; or he should by careful inquiry select a man for the task who could bring testimonials from those to whom he had rendered like services in the past. The hole destined to receive a shade or fruit tree should be at least three feet in diameter and two feet deep. It then should be partially filled with good surface soil, upon which the tree should stand, so that its roots could extend naturally according to their original growth. Good fine loam should be sifted through and over them, and they should not be permitted to come in contact with decaying matter or coarse, unfermented manure. The tree should be set as deeply in the soil as it stood when first taken up. As the earth is thrown gently through and over the roots it should be packed lightly against them with the foot, and water, should the season be rather dry and warm, poured in from time to time to settle the fine soil about them. The surface should be levelled at last with a slight dip toward the tree, so that spring and summer rains may be retained directly about the roots. Then a mulch of coarse manure is helpful, for it keeps the surface moist, and its richness will reach the roots gradually in a diluted form. A mulch of straw, leaves, or coarse hay is better than none at all. After being planted, three stout stakes should be inserted firmly in the earth at the three points of a triangle, the tree being its centre. Then by a rope of straw or some soft material the tree should be braced firmly between the protecting stakes, and thus it is kept from being whipped around by the wind. Should periods of drought ensue during the growing season, it would be well to rake the mulch one side, and saturate the ground around the young tree with an abundance of water, and the mulch afterward spread as before. Such watering is often essential, and it should be thorough. Unskilled persons usually do more harm than good by their half-way measures in this respect. Speaking of trees, it may so happen that the acre is already in forest. Then, indeed, there should be careful discrimination in the use of the axe. It may be said that a fine tree is in the way of the dwelling. Perhaps the proposed dwelling is in the way of the tree. In England the work of "groving," or thinning out trees, is carried to the perfection of a fine art. One shudders at the havoc which might be made by a stolid laborer. Indeed, to nearly all who could be employed in preparing a wooded acre for habitation, a tree would be looked upon as little more than so much cord-wood or lumber. If I had a wooded acre I should study the trees most carefully before coming to any decision as to the situation of the dwelling and out-buildings. Having removed those obviously unworthy to remain, I should put in the axe very thoughtfully among the finer specimens, remembering that I should be under the soil before Nature could build others like them. In the fitting up of this planet as the home of mankind it would appear that the Creator regarded the coniferae, or evergreen family, as well worthy of attention; for almost from the first, according to geologists, this family records on the rocky tablets of the earth its appearance, large and varied development, and its adaptation to each change in climate and condition of the globe's surface during the countless ages of preparation. Surely, therefore, he who is evolving a home on one acre of the earth's area cannot neglect a genus of trees that has been so signally honored. Evergreens will speedily banish the sense of newness from his grounds; for by putting them about his door he has added the link which connects his acre with the earliest geological record of tree-planting. Then, like Diedrich Knickerbocker, who felt that he must trace the province of New York back to the origin of the universe, he can look upon his coniferae and feel that his latest work is in accord with one of the earliest laws of creation. I imagine, however, that my readers' choice of evergreens will be determined chiefly by the fact that they are always beautiful, are easily managed, and that by means of them beautiful effects can be created within comparatively small space. On Mr. Fuller's grounds I saw what might be fittingly termed a small parterre of dwarf evergreens, some of which were twenty-five years old. Numbers of this family might be described as evergreen and gold; for part of the perennial foliage shades off from the deepest green to bright golden hues. Among the group of this variety, Japanese in origin, Mr. Fuller showed me a "sporting" specimen, which, from some obscure and remarkable impulse, appeared bent on producing a new and distinct type. One of the branches was quite different from all the others on the tree. It was pressed down and layered in the soil beneath; when lo! a new tree was produced, set out beside its parent, whom it soon surpassed in size, beauty, and general vigor. Although still maintaining its green and golden hues, it was so distinct that no one would dream that it was but a "sport" from the adjacent dwarf and modest tree. Indeed, it reminded one of Beatrix Esmond beside her gentle and retiring mother. If it should not in the future emulate in caprice the fair subject of comparison, it may eventually become one of the best-known ornaments of our lawns. At present it appears nowise inclined to hide its golden light under a bushel. What I have said about forming the acquaintance of deciduous trees and shrubs before planting to any great extent, applies with even greater force to the evergreen, family. There is a large and beautiful variety from which to choose, and I would suggest that the choice be made chiefly from the dwarf-growing kinds, since the space of one acre is too limited for much indulgence in. Norway spruces, the firs, or pines. An hour with a note-book spent in grounds like those of Mr. Fuller would do more in aiding a satisfactory selection than years of reading. Moreover, it should be remembered that many beautiful evergreens, especially those of foreign origin, are but half hardy. The amateur may find that after an exceptionally severe winter some lovely specimen, which has grown to fill a large space in his heart, as well as on his acre, has been killed. There is an ample choice from entirely hardy varieties for every locality, and these, by careful inquiry of trustworthy nurserymen, should be obtained. Moreover, it should be remembered that few evergreens will thrive in a wet, heavy soil. If Nature has not provided thorough drainage by means of a porous subsoil, the work must be done artificially. As a rule, light but not poor soils, and warm exposures, are best adapted to this genus of trees. I think that all authorities agree substantially that spring in our climate is the best time for the transplanting of evergreens; but they differ between early and advanced spring. The late Mr. A. J. Downing preferred early spring; that is, as soon as the frost is out, and the ground dry enough to crumble freely. Mr. A. S. Fuller indorses this opinion. Mr. Josiah Hoopes, author of a valuable work entitled "The Book of Evergreens," advises that transplanting be deferred to later spring, when the young trees are just beginning their season's growth; and this view has the approval of the Hon. Marshall P. Wilder and Mr. S. B. Parsons, Jr., Superintendent of City Parks. Abundant success is undoubtedly achieved at both seasons; but should a hot, dry period ensue after the later planting--early May, for instance--only abundant watering and diligent mulching will save the trees. It should be carefully remembered that the evergreen families do not possess the vitality of deciduous trees, and are more easily injured or killed by removal. The roots of the former are more sensitive to exposure to dry air and to sunlight; and much more certainty of life and growth is secured if the transfer can be accomplished in cloudy or rainy weather. The roots should never be permitted to become dry, and it is well also to sprinkle the foliage at the time of planting. Moreover, do not permit careless workmen to save a few minutes in the digging of the trees. Every fibrous root that can be preserved intact is a promise of life and vigor. If a nurseryman should send me an assortment of evergreens with only the large woody roots left, I should refuse to receive the trees. What I have said in opposition to the transplanting of large trees applies with greater force to evergreens. Mr. Hoopes writes: "An error into which many unpracticed planters frequently fall is that of planting large trees; and it is one which we consider opposed to sound common-sense. We are aware that the owner of every new place is anxious to produce what is usually known as an immediate effect, and therefore he proceeds to plant large evergreens, covering his grounds with great unsightly trees. In almost every case of this kind the lower limbs are apt to die, and thus greatly disfigure the symmetry of the trees. Young, healthy plants, when carefully taken up and as properly replanted, are never subject to this disfigurement, and are almost certain to form handsome specimens." Any one who has seen the beautiful pyramids, cones, and mounds of green into which so many varieties develop, if permitted to grow according to the laws of their being, should not be induced to purchase old and large trees which nurserymen are often anxious to part with before they become utterly unsalable. When the evergreens reach the acre, plant them with the same care and on the same general principles indicated for other trees. Let the soil be mellow and good. Mulch at once, and water abundantly the first summer during dry periods. Be sure that the trees are not set any deeper in the ground than they stood before removal. If the soil of the acre is heavy or poor, go to the roadside or some old pasture and find rich light soil with which to fill in around the roots. If no soil can be found without a large proportion of clay, the addition of a little sand, thoroughly mixed through it, is beneficial. The hole should be ample in size, so that the roots can be spread out according to their natural bent. If the ground after planting needs enriching, spread the fertilizer around the trees, not against them, and on the surface only. Never put manure on or very near the roots. Fine young seedling evergreens can often be found in the woods or fields, and may be had for the asking, or for a trifling sum. Dig them so as to save all the roots possible. Never permit these to become dry till they are safe in your own grounds. Aim to start the little trees under the same conditions in which you found them in Nature. If taken from a shady spot, they should be shaded for a season or two, until they become accustomed to sunlight. This can easily be accomplished by four crotched stakes supporting a light scaffolding, on which is placed during the hot months a few evergreen boughs. Very pretty and useful purposes can often be served by the employment of certain kinds of evergreens as hedges. I do not like the arbitrary and stiff divisions of a small place which I have often seen. They take away the sense of roominess, and destroy the possibility of pretty little vistas; but when used judiciously as screens they combine much beauty with utility. As part of line fences they are often eminently satisfactory, shutting out prying eyes and inclosing the home within walls of living green. The strong-growing pines and Norway spruce are better adapted to large estates than to the area of an acre. Therefore we would advise the employment of the American arbor vitae and of hemlock. The hedge of the latter evergreen on Mr. Fuller's place formed one of the most beautiful and symmetrical walls I have ever seen. It was so smooth, even, and impervious that in the distance it appeared like solid emerald. The ground should be thoroughly prepared for a hedge by deep plowing or by digging; the trees should be small, young, of even height and size, and they should be planted carefully in line, according to the directions already given for a single specimen; the ground on each side mulched and kept moist during the first summer. In the autumn, rake the mulch away and top-dress the soil on both sides for the space of two or three feet outward from the stems with well-decayed manure. This protects the roots and ensures a vigorous growth the coming season. Allow no weeds or even grass to encroach on the young hedge until it is strong and established. For the first year no trimming will be necessary beyond cutting back an occasional branch or top that is growing stronger than the others; and this should be done in early October. During the second season the plants should grow much more strongly; and now the shears are needed in summer. Some branches and top shoots will push far beyond the others. They should be cut back evenly, and in accordance with the shape the hedge is to take. The pyramidal form appears to me to be the one most in harmony with Nature. In October, the hedge should receive its final shearing for the year; and if there is an apparent deficiency of vigor, the ground on both sides should receive another top-dressing, after removing the summer mulch. As the hedge grows older and stronger, the principal shearing will be done in early summer, as this checks growth and causes the close, dense interlacing of branches and formation of foliage wherein the beauty and usefulness of the hedge consist. CHAPTER II FRUIT-TREES AND GRASS It is a happy proof of our civilization that a dwelling-place, a shelter from sun and storm, does not constitute a home. Even the modest rooms of our mechanics are not furnished with useful articles merely; ornaments and pictures appear quite as indispensable. Out-of-doors the impulse to beautify is even stronger; and usually the purchaser's first effort is to make his place attractive by means of trees and shrubs that are more than useful--they are essential; because the refined tastes of men and women to-day demand them. In the first chapter I endeavored to satisfy this demand in some degree, and now will ask the reader's attention to a few practical suggestions in regard to several of the fruits which best supply the family need. We shall find, however, that while Nature is prodigal in supplying what appeals to the palate and satisfies hunger, she is also like a graceful hostess who decks her banquet with all the beauty that she can possibly bestow upon it. We can imagine that the luscious fruits of the year might have been produced in a much more prosaic way. Indeed, we are at a loss to decide which we value the more, the apple-blossoms or the apples which follow. Nature is not content with bulk, flavor, and nutriment, but in the fruit itself so deftly pleases the eye with every trick of color and form that the hues and beauty of the flower are often surpassed. We look at a red-cheeked apple or purple cluster of grapes hesitatingly, and are loth to mar the exquisite shadings and perfect outlines of the vessel in which the rich juices are served. Therefore, in stocking the acre with fruit, the proprietor has not ceased to embellish it; and should he decide that fruit-trees must predominate over those grown for shade and ornament only, he can combine almost as much beauty as utility with his plan. All the fruits may be set out both in the spring and the fall seasons; but in our latitude and northward, I should prefer early spring for strawberries and peaches. By this time we may suppose that the owner of the acre has matured his plans, and marked out the spaces designed for the lawn, garden, fruit trees, vines, etc. Fruit trees, like shade trees, are not the growth of a summer. Therefore there is natural eagerness to have them in the ground as soon as possible, and they can usually be ordered from the same nursery, and at the same time with the ornamental stock. I shall speak first of apples, pears, and cherries, and I have been at some pains to secure the opinions of eminent horticulturists as to the best selections of these fruits for the home table, not for market. When there is a surplus, however, there will be no difficulty in disposing of the fine varieties named. The Hon. Marshall P. Wilder, the veteran President of the American Pomological Society, writes as follows: "Herewith is the selection I have made for family use; but I could put in as many more in some of the classes which are just as desirable, or nearly so. These have been made with reference to covering the seasons. Apples--Red Astrakhan, Porter, Gravenstein, Rhode Island Greening, Baldwin, Roxbury Russet, and Sweet Bough for baking. Pears--Clapp's Favorite (to be gathered August 20), Bartlett, Seckel, Sheldon, Beurre Bosc, Buerre d'Anjou, and Vicar of Winkfield for baking, etc. Cherries--Black Eagle, Black Tartarian, Downer, Windsor, Cumberland, and Red Jacket." Mr. Wilder's honored name, like that of the late Charles Downing, is inseparably linked with American fruits, and the country owes these two men a debt of gratitude which never can be paid for their lifelong and intelligent efforts to guide the people wisely in the choice and culture of the very best varieties. A moment's thought will convince the reader that I am not giving too much space to this matter of selection. We are now dealing with questions which wide and varied experience can best answer. Men who give their lives to the cultivation and observation of fruits in all their myriad varieties acquire a knowledge which is almost invaluable. We cannot afford to put out trees, to give them good culture, and wait for years, only to learn that all our care has been bestowed on inferior or second-rate varieties. Life is too brief. We all feel that the best is good enough for us; and the best usually costs no more in money or time than do less desirable varieties. Therefore I seek to give on this important question of choice the opinions of some of the highest authorities in the land. Mr. A. S. Fuller is not only a well-known horticultural author, but has also had the widest experience in the culture and observation of fruit. He prefaces his opinion with the following words: "How much and how often we horticulturists have been puzzled with questions like yours! If we made no progress, were always of the same mind, and if seasons never changed, then perhaps there would be little difficulty in deciding which of the varieties of the different kinds of fruit were really the best. But seasons, our tastes, and even the varieties sometimes change; and our preferences and opinions must vary accordingly. Apples--Early Harvest, Fall Pippins, Spitzenburgh, Rhode Island Greening, Autumn Sweet Bough, and Talman's Sweet. Cherries--Early Purple Guigne, Bigarreau of Mezel, Black Eagle, Coe's Transparent, Governor Wood, and Belle Magnifique." The choice of Mr. E. S. Carmen, editor of the "Rural New Yorker:" "Apples--Early Harvest, Gravenstein, Jefferis, Baldwin, Mother, Spitzenburgh. Pears--Seckel, Tyson, Clapp's Favorite, Bartlett, Beurre d'Anjou, and Dana's Hovey. Cherries--Black Tartarian, Coe's Transparent, Governor Wood, Mezel, Napoleon Bigarreau." The authorities appear to differ. And so they would in regard to any locality; but it should be remembered that President Wilder advises for the latitude of Massachusetts, Messrs. Fuller and Carmen for that of New Jersey. I will give now the selection of the eminent horticulturist Mr. P. O. Berckmans for the latitude of Georgia: "Cherries (this is not a good cherry-producing region, but I name the following as the best in order of merit)--Buttners, Governor Wood, Belle de Choisy, Early Richmond, and May Duke. Pears (in order of maturity)--Clapp's Favorite, Seckel, Duchesse, Beurre Superfine, Leconte, Winter Nellis, or Glout. Morceau. Apples--Early Harvest, Red June, Carter's Blue, Stevenson's Winter, Shockley, Buncombe, Carolina Greening." He who makes his choice from these selections will not meet with much disappointment. I am aware, however, that the enjoyment of fruit depends much upon the taste of the individual; and who has a better right to gratify his taste than the man who buys, sets out, and cares for the trees? Some familiar kind not in favor with the fruit critics, an old variety that has become a dear memory of boyhood, may be the best one of all for him--perhaps for the reason that it recalls the loved faces that gathered about the wide, quaint fireplace of his childhood's home. It is also a well-recognized fact that certain varieties of fruit appear to be peculiarly adapted to certain localities. Because a man has made a good selection on general principles, he need not be restricted to this choice. He will soon find his trees growing lustily and making large branching heads. Each branch can be made to produce a different kind of apple or pear, and the kindred varieties of cherries will succeed on the same tree. For instance, one may be visiting a neighbor who gives him some fruit that is unusually delicious, or that manifest great adaptation to the locality. As a rule the neighbor will gladly give scions which, grafted upon the trees of the Home Acre, will soon begin to yield the coveted variety. This opportunity to grow different kinds of fruit on one tree imparts a new and delightful interest to the orchard. The proprietor can always be on the lookout for something new and fine, and the few moments required in grafting or budding make it his. The operation is so simple and easy that he can learn to perform it himself, and there are always plenty of adepts in the rural vicinage to give him his initial lesson. While he will keep the standard kinds for his main supply, he can gratify his taste and eye with some pretty innovations. I know of an apple-tree which bears over a hundred varieties. A branch, for instance, is producing Yellow Bell-flowers. At a certain point in its growth where it has the diameter of a man's thumb it may be grafted with the Red Baldwin. When the scion has grown for two or three years, its leading shoots can be grafted with the Roxbury Russet, and eventually the terminal bough of this growth with the Early Harvest. Thus may be presented the interesting spectacle of one limb of a tree yielding four very distinct kinds of apples. In the limited area of an acre there is usually not very much range in soil and locality. The owner must make the best of what he has bought, and remedy unfavorable conditions, if they exist, by skill. It should be remembered that peaty, cold, damp, spongy soils are unfit for fruit-trees of any kind. We can scarcely imagine, however, that one would buy land for a home containing much soil of this nature. A sandy loam, with a subsoil that dries out so quickly that it can be worked after a heavy rain, is the best for nearly all the fruit-trees, especially for cherries and peaches. Therefore in selecting the ground, be sure it is well drained. If the acre has been enriched and plowed twice deeply, as I have already suggested, little more is necessary in planting than to excavate a hole large enough to receive the roots spread out in their natural positions. Should no such thorough and general preparation have been made, or if the ground is hard, poor, and stony, the owner will find it to his advantage to dig a good-sized hole three or four feet across and two deep, filling in and around the tree with fine rich surface soil. If he can obtain some thoroughly decomposed compost or manure, for instance, as the scrapings of a barnyard, or rich black soil from an old pasture, to mix with the earth beneath and around the roots, the good effects will be seen speedily; but in no instance should raw manure from the stable, or anything that must decay before becoming plant food, be brought in contact with the roots. Again I repeat my caution against planting too deeply--one of the commonest and most fatal errors. Let the tree be set about as deeply as it stood before removal. If the tree be planted early in spring, as it should be, there will be moisture enough in the soil; but when planting is delayed until the ground has become rather dry and warm, a pail of water poured about its roots when the hole has been nearly filled will be beneficial. Now that the tree is planted, any kind of coarse manure spread to the depth of two or three inches on the surface as a mulch is very useful. Stake at once to protect against the winds. Do not make the common mistake of planting too closely. Observe the area shaded by fully grown trees, and you will learn the folly of crowding. Moreover, dense shade about the house is not desirable. There should be space for plenty of air and sunshine. The fruit from one well-developed tree will often more than supply a family; for ten or fifteen barrels of apples is not an unusual yield. The standard apples should be thirty feet apart. Pears, the dwarfer-growing cherries, plums, etc., can be grown in the intervening spaces. In ordering from the nurseries insist on straight, shapely, and young trees, say three years from the bud. Many trees that are sent out are small enough, but they are old and stunted. Also require that there should be an abundance of fibrous and unmutilated roots. Because the young trees come from the nursery unpruned, do not leave them in that condition. Before planting, or immediately after, cut back all the branches at least one-half; and where they are too thick, cut out some altogether. In removal the tree has lost much of its root power, and it is absurd to expect it to provide for just as much top as before. In many books on fruit-culture much space has been given to dwarf pears, apples, and cherries, and trees of this character were planted much more largely some years ago than they are at present. The pear is dwarfed by grafting it on the quince; the apple can be limited to a mere garden fruit-tree in size by being grown on a Doucin stock, or even reduced to the size of a bush if compelled to draw its life through the roots of the Paradise. These two named stocks, much employed by European nurserymen, are distinct species of apples, and reproduce themselves without variation from the seed. The cherry is dwarfed by being worked on the Mahaleb--a small, handsome tree, with glossy, deep-green foliage, much cultivated abroad as an ornament of lawns. Except in the hands of practiced gardeners, trees thus dwarfed are seldom satisfactory, for much skill and care are required in their cultivation. Their chief advantages consist in the fact that they bear early and take but little space. Therefore they may be considered worthy of attention by the purchasers of small places. Those who are disposed to make pets of their trees and to indulge in horticultural experiments may derive much pleasure from these dwarfs, for they can be developed into symmetrical pyramids or graceful, fruitful shrubs within the limits of a garden border. When the seeds of ordinary apples and pears are sown they produce seedlings, or free stocks, and upon these are budded or grafted the fine varieties which compose our orchards. They are known as standard trees; they come into bearing more slowly, and eventually attain the normal size familiar to us all. Standard cherries are worked on seedlings of the Mazzard, which Barry describes as a "lofty, rapid-growing, pyramidal-headed tree." I should advise the reader to indulge in the dwarfs very charily, and chiefly as a source of fairly profitable amusement. It is to the standards that he will look for shade, beauty, and abundance of fruit. Since we have been dwelling on the apple, pear, and cherry, there are certain advantages of continuing the subject in the same connection, giving the principles of cultivation and care until the trees reach maturity. During the first summer an occasional watering may be required in long periods of drought. In many instances buds will form and start along the stem of the tree, or near the roots. These should be rubbed off the moment they are detected. One of our chief aims is to form an evenly balanced, open, symmetrical head; and this can often be accomplished better by a little watchfulness during the season of growth than at any other time. If, for instance, two branches start so closely together that one or the other must be removed in the spring pruning, why let the superfluous one grow at all? It is just so much wasted effort. By rubbing off the pushing bud or tender shoot the strength of the tree is thrown into the branches that we wish to remain. Thus the eye and hand of the master become to the young tree what instruction, counsel, and admonition are to a growing boy, with the difference that the tree is easily and certainly managed when taken in time. The study of the principles of growth in the young trees can be made as pleasing as it is profitable, for the readiness with which they respond to a guiding hand will soon invest them with almost a human interest. A child will not show neglect more certainly than they; and if humored and allowed to grow after their own fashion, they will soon prove how essential are restraint and training. A fruit tree is not like one in a forest--a simple, unperverted product of Nature. It is a result of human interference and development; and we might just as reasonably expect our domestic animals to take care of themselves as our grafted and budded trees. Moreover, they do not comply with their raison d'etre by merely existing, growing, and propagating their kind. A Bartlett pear-tree, like a Jersey cow, is given place for the sake of its delicious product. It is also like the cow in requiring judicious feeding and care. Trees left to themselves tend to form too much wood, like the grape-vine. Of course fine fruit is impossible when the head of a tree is like a thicket. The growth of unchecked branches follows the terminal bud, thus producing long naked reaches of wood devoid of fruit spurs. Therefore the need of shortening in, so that side branches may be developed. When the reader remembers that every dormant bud in early spring is a possible branch, and that even the immature buds at the axil of the leaves in early summer can be forced into immediate growth by pinching back the leading shoot, he will see how entirely the young tree is under his control. These simple facts and principles are worth far more to the intelligent man than any number of arbitrary rules as to pruning. Reason and observation soon guide his hand in summer or his knife in March--the season when trees are usually trimmed. Beyond shortening in leading branches and cutting out crossing and interfering boughs, so as to keep the head symmetrical and open to light and air, the cherry does not need very much pruning. If with the lapse of years it becomes necessary to take off large limbs from any fruit-tree, the authorities recommend early June as the best season for the operation. It will soon be discovered--quite likely during the first summer--that fruit-trees have enemies, that they need not only cultivation and feeding, but also protection. The pear, apple, and quince are liable to one mysterious disease which it is almost impossible to guard against or cure--the fireblight. Of course there have been innumerable preventives and cures recommended, just as we see a dozen certain remedies for consumption advertised in any popular journal; but the disease still remains a disheartening mystery, and is more fatal to the pear than to its kindred fruits. I have had thrifty young trees, just coming into bearing, suddenly turn black in both wood and foliage, appearing in the distance as if scorched by a blast from a furnace. In another instance a large mature tree was attacked, losing in a summer half its boughs. These were cut out, and the remainder of the tree appeared healthy during the following summer, and bore a good crop of fruit. The disease often attacks but a single branch or a small portion of a tree. The authorities advise that everything should be cut away at once below all evidence of infection and burned. Some of my trees have been attacked and have recovered; others were apparently recovering, but died a year or two later. One could theorize to the end of a volume about the trouble. I frankly confess that I know neither the cause nor the remedy. It seems to me that our best resource is to comply with the general conditions of good and healthy growth. The usual experience is that trees which are fertilized with wood-ashes and a moderate amount of lime and salt, rather than with stimulating manures, escape the disease. If the ground is poor, however, and the growth feeble, barnyard manure or its equivalent is needed as a mulch. The apple-blight is another kindred and equally obscure disease. No better remedy is known than to cut out the infected part at once. In coping with insects we can act more intelligently, and therefore successfully. We can study the characters of our enemies, and learn their vulnerable points. The black and green aphides, or plant-lice, are often very troublesome. They appear in immense numbers on the young and tender shoots of trees, and by sucking their juices check or enfeeble the growth. They are the milch-cows of ants, which are usually found very busy among them. Nature apparently has made ample provision for this pest, for it has been estimated that "one individual in five generations might be the progenitor of six thousand millions." They are easily destroyed, however. Mr. Barry, of the firm of Ellwanger & Barry, in his excellent work "The Fruit Garden," writes as follows: "Our plan is to prepare a barrel of tobacco juice by steeping stems for several days, until the juice is of a dark brown color; we then mix this with soap-suds. A pail is filled, and the ends of the shoots, where the insects are assembled, are bent down and dipped in the liquid. One dip is enough. Such parts as cannot be dipped are sprinkled liberally with a garden-syringe, and the application repeated from time to time, as long as any of the aphides remain. The liquid may be so strong as to injure the foliage; therefore it is well to test it on one or two subjects before using it extensively. Apply it in the evening." The scaly aphis or bark-louse attacks weak, feeble-growing trees, and can usually be removed by scrubbing the bark with the preparation given above. In our region and in many localities the apple-tree borer is a very formidable pest, often destroying a young tree before its presence is known. I once found a young tree in a distant part of my place that I could push over with my finger. In June a brown and white striped beetle deposits its eggs in the bark of the apple-tree near the ground. The larvae when hatched bore their way into the wood, and will soon destroy a small tree. They cannot do their mischief, however, without giving evidence of their presence. Sawdust exudes from the holes by which they entered, and there should be sufficient watchfulness to discover them before they have done much harm. I prefer to cut them out with a sharp, pointed knife, and make sure that they are dead; but a wire thrust into the hole will usually pierce and kill them. Wood-ashes mounded up against the base of the tree are said to be a preventive. In the fall they can be spread, and they at least make one of the best of fertilizers. The codling-moth, or apple-worm, is another enemy that should be fought resolutely, for it destroys millions of bushels of fruit. In the latitude of New York State this moth begins its depredations about the middle of June. Whatever may be thought of the relation of the apple to the fall of man, this creature certainly leads to the speedy fall of the apple. Who has not seen the ground covered with premature and decaying fruit in July, August, and September? Bach specimen will be found perforated by a worm-hole. The egg has been laid in the calyx of the young apple, where it soon hatches into a small white grub, which burrows into the core, throwing out behind it a brownish powder. After about three weeks of apple diet it eats its way out, shelters itself under the scaly bark of the tree--if allowed to be scaly--or in some other hiding-place, spins a cocoon, and in about three weeks comes out a moth, and is ready to help destroy other apples. This insect probably constitutes one of Nature's methods of preventing trees from overbearing; but like some people we know, it so exaggerates its mission as to become an insufferable nuisance. The remedies recommended are that trees should be scraped free of all scales in the spring, and washed with a solution of soft soap. About the 1st of July, wrap bandages of old cloth, carpet, or rags of any kind around the trunk and larger limbs. The worms will appreciate such excellent cover, and will swarm into these hiding-places to undergo transformation into moths. Therefore the wraps of rags should often be taken down, thrown into scalding water, dried, and replaced. The fruit as it falls should be picked up at once and carried to the pigs, and, when practicable, worm-infested specimens should be taken from the trees before the worm escapes. The canker-worm in those localities where it is destructive can be guarded against by bands of tar-covered canvas around the trees. The moth cannot fly, but crawls up the tree in the late autumn and during mild spells in winter, but especially throughout the spring until May. When, the evil-disposed moth meets the 'tarry band he finds no thoroughfare, and is either caught or compelled to seek some other arena of mischief. We have all seen the flaunting, unsightly abodes of the tent caterpillar and the foliage-denuded branches about them. Fortunately these are not stealthy enemies, and the owner can scarcely see his acre at all without being aware of their presence. He has only to look very early in the morning or late in the evening to find them all bunched up in their nests. These should be taken down and destroyed. Cherry and pear slugs, "small, slimy, dark brown worms," can be destroyed by dusting the trees with dry wood ashes or air-slacked lime. Field-mice often girdle young trees, especially during the winter, working beneath the snow. Unless heaps of rubbish are left here and there as shelter for these little pests, one or two good cats will keep the acre free of them. Treading the snow compactly around the tree is also practiced. Do not let the reader be discouraged by this list of the most common enemies, or by hearing of others. After reading some medical works we are led to wonder that the human race does not speedily die out. As a rule, however, with moderate care, most of us are able to say, "I'm pretty well, I thank you," and when ailing we do not straightway despair. In spite of all enemies and drawbacks, fruit is becoming more plentiful every year. If one man can raise it, so can another. Be hospitable to birds, the best of all insect destroyers. Put up plenty of houses for bluebirds and wrens, and treat the little brown song-sparrow as one of your stanchest friends. A brief word in regard to the quince, and our present list of fruits is complete. If the quince is cultivated after the common neglectful method, it would better be relegated to an obscure part of the garden, for, left to itself, it makes a great sprawling bush; properly trained, it becomes a beautiful ornament to the lawn, like the other fruits that I have described. Only a little care, with the judicious use of the pruning-shears, is required to develop it into a miniature and fruitful tree, which can be grown with a natural rounded head or in the form of a pyramid, as the cultivator chooses. It will thrive well on the same soil and under similar treatment accorded to the pear or the apple. Procure from a nursery straight-stemmed plants; set them out about eight feet apart; begin to form the head three feet from the ground, and keep the stem and roots free from all sprouts and suckers. Develop the head just as you would that of an apple-tree, shortening in the branches, and cutting out those that interfere with each other. Half a dozen trees will soon give an ample supply. The orange and the pear shaped are the varieties usually recommended. Rea's Mammoth is also highly spoken of. Remember that the quince equally with the apple is subject to injury from the borer, and the evil should be met as I have already described. There is a natural wish to have as much grass about the dwelling as possible, for nothing is more beautiful. If there are children, they will assuredly petition for lawn-tennis and croquet grounds. I trust that their wishes may be gratified, for children are worth infinitely more than anything else that can be grown upon the acre. With a little extra care, all the trees of which I have spoken can be grown in the spaces allotted to grass. It is only necessary to keep a circle of space six feet in diameter--the trunk forming the centre--around the tree mellow and free from any vegetable growth whatever. This gives a chance to fertilize and work the ground immediately over the roots. Of course vigorous fruit-trees cannot be grown in a thick sod, while peaches and grapes require the free culture of the garden, as will be shown hereafter. In view, however, of the general wish for grass, I have advised on the supposition that all the ornamental trees, most of the shrubs, and the four fruits named would be grown on the portions of the acre to be kept in lawn. It may be added here that plums also will do well under the same conditions, if given good care. Grass is a product that can be cultivated as truly as the most delicate and fastidious of fruits, and I had the lawn is mind when I urged the generous initial deep plowing and enriching. Nothing that grows responds more promptly to good treatment than grass; but a fine lawn cannot be created in a season, any more than a fine tree. We will suppose that the spring plantings of trees have been made with open spaces reserved for the favorite games. Now the ground can be prepared for grass-seed, for it need not be trampled over any more. If certain parts have become packed and hard, they should be dug or plowed deeply again, then harrowed and raked perfectly smooth, and all stones, big or little, taken from the surface. The seed may now be sown, and it should be of thick, fine-growing varieties, such as are employed in Central Park and other pleasure-grounds. Mr. Samuel Parsons, Jr., Superintendent of Central Park, writes me: "The best grass-seeds for ordinary lawns are a mixture of red-top and Kentucky blue-grass in equal parts, with perhaps a small amount of white clover. On very sandy ground I prefer the Kentucky blue-grass, as it is very hardy and vigorous under adverse circumstances." Having sown and raked in the seed very lightly a great advantage will be gained in passing a lawn-roller over the ground. I have succeeded well in getting a good "catch" of grass by sowing the seed with oats, which were cut and cured as hay as soon as the grain was what is termed "in the milk." The strong and quickly growing oats make the ground green in a few days, and shelter the slower maturing grass-roots. Mr. Parsons says, "I prefer to sow the grass-seed alone." As soon as the grass begins to grow with some vigor, cut it often, for this tends to thicken it and produce the velvety effect that is so beautiful. From the very first the lawn will need weeding. The ground contains seeds of strong growing plants, such as dock, plantain, etc., which should be taken out as fast as they appear. To some the dandelion is a weed; but not to me, unless it takes more than its share of space, for I always miss these little earth stars when they are absent. They intensify the sunshine shimmering on the lawn, making one smile involuntarily when seeing them. Moreover, they awaken pleasant memories, for a childhood in which dandelions had no part is a defective experience. In late autumn the fallen leaves should be raked carefully away, as they tend to smother the grass if permitted to lie until spring. Now comes the chief opportunity of the year, in the form of a liberal top-dressing of manure from the stable. If this is spread evenly and not too thickly in November, and the coarser remains of it are raked off early in April, the results will be astonishing. A deep emerald hue will be imparted to the grass, and the frequent cuttings required will soon produce a turf that yields to the foot like a Persian rug. Any one who has walked over the plain at West Point can understand the value of these regular autumnal top-dressings. If the stable-manure can be composted and left till thoroughly decayed, fine and friable, all the better. If stable-manure can not be obtained, Mr. Parsons recommends Mapes's fertilizer for lawns. CHAPTER III THE GARDEN We now approach that part of the acre to which its possessor will probably give his warmest and most frequent thoughts--the garden. If properly made and conducted, it will yield a revenue which the wealth of the Indies could not purchase; for whoever bought in market the flavor of fruit and vegetables raised by one's own hands or under our own eyes? Sentiment does count. A boy is a boy; but it makes a vast difference whether he is our boy or not. A garden may soon become a part of the man himself, and he be a better man for its care. Wholesome are the thoughts and schemes it suggests; healthful are the blood and muscle resulting from its products and labor therein. Even with the purse of a millionaire, the best of the city's markets is no substitute for a garden; for Nature and life are here, and these are not bought and sold. From stalls and pedlers' wagons we can buy but dead and dying things. The indolent epicure's enjoyment of game is not the relish of the sportsman who has taken his dinner direct from the woods and waters. I am often told, "It is cheaper to buy fruit and vegetables than to raise them." I have nothing to say in reply. There are many cheap things that we can have; experience has proved that one of the BEST things to have is a garden, either to work in or to visit daily when the season permits. We have but one life to live here, and to get the cheapest things out of it is a rather poor ambition. There are multitudes who can never possess an acre, more or less, and who must obtain Nature's products at second hand. This is not so great a misfortune as to have no desire for her companionship, or wish to work under her direction in dewy mornings and shadowy evenings. We may therefore reasonably suppose that the man who has exchanged his city shelter for a rural home looks forward to the garden with the natural, primal instinct, and is eager to make the most of it in all its aspects. Then let us plunge in medias res at once. The ideal soil for a garden is a mellow, sandy loam, underlaid with a subsoil that is not too open or porous. Such ground is termed "grateful," and it is not the kind of gratitude which has been defined as "a lively appreciation of favors to come," which is true of some other soils. This ideal land remembers past favors; it retains the fertilizers with which it has been enriched, and returns them in the form of good crops until the gift is exhausted; therefore it is a thrifty as well as a grateful soil. The owner can bring it up to the highest degree of fertility, and keep it there by judicious management. This sandy loam--Nature's blending of sand and clay--is a safe bank. The manure incorporated with it is a deposit which can be drawn against in fruit and vegetables, for it does not leach away and disappear with one season's rains. Light, thin, sandy soil, with a porous or gravelly subsoil, is of a very different type, and requires different treatment. It is a spendthrift. No matter how much you give it one year, it very soon requires just so much more. You can enrich it, but you can't keep it rich. Therefore you must manage it as one would take care of a spendthrift, giving what is essential at the time, and in a way that permits as little waste as possible. I shall explain this treatment more fully further on. In the choice of a garden plot you may be restricted to a stiff, tenacious, heavy clay. Now you have a miser to deal with--a soil that retains, but in many cases makes no proper use of, what it receives. Skill and good management, however, can improve any soil, and coax luxuriant crops from the most unpropitious. We will speak first of the ideal soil already mentioned, and hope that the acre contains an area of it of suitable dimensions for a garden. What should be the first step in this case? Why, to get more of it. A quarter of an acre can be made equal to half an acre. You can about double the garden, without adding to it an inch of surface, by increasing the depth of good soil. For instance, ground has been cultivated to the depth of six or seven inches. Try the experiment of stirring the soil and enriching it one foot downward, or eighteen inches, or even two feet, and see what vast differences will result. With every inch you go down, making all friable and fertile, you add just so much more to root pasturage. When you wish to raise a great deal, increase your leverage. Roots are your levers; and when they rest against a deep fertile soil they lift into the air and sunshine products that may well delight the eyes and palate of the most fastidious. We suggest that this thorough deepening, pulverization, and enriching of the soil be done at the start, when the plow can be used without any obstructions. If there are stones, rocks, roots, anything which prevents the treatment which a garden plot should receive, there is a decided advantage in clearing them all out at the beginning. Last fall I saw a half-acre that was swampy, and so encumbered with stones that one could walk all over it without stepping off the rocks. The land was sloping, and therefore capable of drainage. The proprietor put three men to work on the lower side with picks, shovels, and blasting-tools. They turned the soil over to the depth of eighteen inches, taking out every stone larger than a walnut. Eight or ten feet apart deep ditches were cut, and the stones, as far as possible, placed in these. The rest were carted away for a heavy wall. You may say it was expensive work. So it was; yet so complete a garden spot was made that I believe it would yield a fair interest in potatoes alone. I relate this instance to show what can be done. A more forbidding area for a garden in its original state could scarcely be found. Enough vegetables and fruit can be raised from it hereafter, with annual fertilizing, to supply a large family, and it will improve every year under the refining effects of frost, sun, and cultivation. It should be remembered that culture does for soil what it does for men and women. It mellows, brings it up, and renders it capable of finer products. Much, indeed, can be done with a crude piece of land in a single year when treated with the thoroughness that has been suggested, and some strong-growing vegetables may be seen at their best during the first season; but the more delicate vegetables thrive better with successive years of cultivation. No matter how abundantly the ground may be enriched at first, time and chemical action are required to transmute the fertilizers into the best forms of plant-food, and make them a part of the very soil itself. Plowing or spading, especially if done in late autumn, exposes the mould to the beneficial action of the air and frost, and the garden gradually takes on the refined, mellow, fertile character which distinguishes it from the ordinary field. In dealing with a thin, sandy soil, one has almost to reverse the principles just given. Yet there is no cause for discouragement. Fine results, if not the best, can be secured. In this case there is scarcely any possibility for a thorough preparation of the soil from the start. It can gradually be improved, however, by making good its deficiencies, the chief of which is the lack of vegetable mould. If I had such soil I would rake up all the leaves I could find, employ them as bedding for my cow and pigs (if I kept any), and spread the compost-heap resulting on the sandy garden. The soil is already too light and warm, and it should be our aim to apply fertilizers tending to counteract this defect. A nervous, excitable person should let stimulants alone, and take good, solid, blood-making food. This illustration suggests the proper course to be taken. Many a time I have seen action the reverse of this resulting disastrously. For instance, a man carts on his light thin soil hot fermenting manure from the horse-stable, and plows it under. Seeds are planted. In the moist, cool, early spring they make a great start, feeling the impulse of the powerful stimulant. There is a hasty and unhealthful growth; but long before maturity the days grow long and hot, drought comes, and the garden dries up. Therefore every effort should be made to supply cool manures with staying qualities, such as are furnished by decayed vegetable matter composted with the cleanings of the cow-stable. We thus learn the value of fallen leaves, muck from the swamp, etc.; and they also bring with them but few seeds of noxious vegetation. On the other hand, stolid, phlegmatic clay requires the stimulus of manure from the horse-stable. It can be plowed under at once, and left to ferment and decay in the soil. The process of decomposition will tend to banish its cold, inert qualities, and make the ground loose, open, and amenable to the influences of frost, sun, and rain. Does the owner of light, warm soils ask, "What, then, shall I do with my stable-manure, since you have said that it will be an injury to my garden?" I have not said this--only that it will do harm if applied in its raw, hot, fermenting state. Compost it with leaves, sod, earth, muck, anything that will keep it from burning up with its own heat. If you can obtain no such ingredients, have it turned over and exposed to the air so often that it will decay without passing through a process approaching combustion. When it has become so thoroughly decomposed as to resemble a fine black powder, you have a fertilizer superior to any high-priced patent compound that can be bought. Further on I will show how it can be used both in this state and also in its crude condition on light soils with the best results. It is scarcely possible to lay too much stress on this subject of fertilizers. The soil of the garden-plot looks inert: so does heavy machinery; but apply to it the proper motive power, and you have activity at once. Manure is the motive power to soil, and it should be applied in a way and degree to secure the best results. To produce some vegetables and fruits much is required; in other growths, very little. In laying out a garden there are several points to be considered. The proprietor may be more desirous of securing some degree of beauty in the arrangement than of obtaining the highest condition of productiveness. If this be true, he may plan to make down its centre a wide, gravelled walk, with a grape-arbor here and there, and fruit-trees and flowers in borders on each side of the path. So far from having any objection to this arrangement, I should be inclined to adopt it myself. It would be conducive to frequent visits to the garden and to lounging in it, especially if there be rustic seats under the arbors. I am inclined to favor anything which accords with my theory that the best products of a garden are neither eaten nor sold. From such a walk down the middle of the garden the proprietor can glance at the rows of vegetables and small fruits on either side, and daily note their progress. What he loses in space and crops he gains in pleasure. Nor does he lose much; for if the borders on each side of the path are planted with grape-vines, peach and plum trees, flowers and shrubs, the very ground he walks on becomes part of their root pasturage. At the same time it must be admitted that the roots will also extend with depleting appetites into the land devoted to vegetables. The trees and vines above will, to some extent, cast an unwholesome shade. He who has set his heart on the biggest cabbages and best potatoes in town must cultivate them in ground open to the sky, and unpervaded by any roots except their own. If the general fruitfulness of the garden rather than perfection in a few vegetables is desired, the borders, with their trees, vines, and flowers, will prove no objection. Moreover, when it comes to competing in cabbages, potatoes, etc., the proprietor of the Home Acre will find that some Irishman, by the aid of his redolent pig-pen, will surpass him. The roots and shade extending from his borders will not prevent him from growing good vegetables, if not the largest. We will therefore suppose that, as the simplest and most economical arrangement, he has adopted the plan of a walk six feet wide extending through the centre of his garden. As was the case with the other paths, it will be greatly to his advantage to stake it out and remove about four inches of the surface-soil, piling it near the stable to be used for composting purposes or in the earth-closet. The excavation thus made should be filled with small stones or cinders, and then covered with fine gravel. A walk that shall be dry at all times is thus secured, and it will be almost wholly free from weeds. In these advantages alone one is repaid for the extra first cost, and in addition the rich surface soil obtained will double the bulk and value of the fertilizers with which it is mixed. Having made the walk, borders five feet wide can be laid out on each side of it, and the soil in these should be as rich and deep as any other parts of the garden. What shall be planted in these borders will depend largely on the tastes of the gardener; but, as has been suggested, there will assuredly be one or more shadowy grape-arbors under which the proprietor can retire to provide horticultural strategy. This brings us to that chef-d'oeuvre of Nature-- The vine. It climbs by its tendrils, and they appear to have clasped the heart of humanity. Among the best of Heaven's gifts, it has sustained the worst perversions. But we will refrain from a temperance lecture; also from sacred and classical reminiscences. The world is not composed of monks who thought to escape temptation--and vainly too--in stony cells. To some the purple cluster suggests Bacchanal revelry; to others, sitting under one's own vine and fig-tree--in brief, a home. The vine is like woman, the inspiration of the best and the worst. It may well become one of the dreams of our life to own land, if for no other reason than that of obtaining the privilege of planting vines. As they take root, so will we, and after we have eaten their delicious fruit, the very thought of leaving our acre will be repugnant. The literature of the vine would fill a library; the literature of love would crowd many libraries. It is not essential to read everything before we start a little vineyard or go a-courting. It is said that about two thousand known and named varieties of grapes have been and are being grown in Europe; and all these are supposed to have been developed from one species (Vitis vinifera), which originally was the wild product of Nature, like those growing in our thickets and forests. One can scarcely suppose this possible when contemplating a cluster of Tokay or some other highly developed variety of the hot-house. Yet the native vine, which began to "yield fruit after his kind, the third day" (whatever may have been the length of that day), may have been, after all, a good starting-point in the process of development. One can hardly believe that the "one cluster of grapes" which the burdened spies, returning from Palestine, bore "between two of them upon a staff," was the result of high scientific culture. In that clime, and when the world was young, Nature must have been more beneficent than now. It is certain that no such cluster ever hung from the native vines of this land; yet it is from our wild species, whose fruit the Indians shared with the birds and foxes (when not hanging so high as to be sour), that we have developed the delicious varieties of our out-door vineyards. For about two centuries our forefathers kept on planting vines imported from Europe, only to meet with failure. Nature, that had so abundantly rewarded their efforts abroad, quietly checkmated them here. At last American fruit-growers took the hint, and began developing our native species. Then Nature smiled; and as a lure along this correct path of progress, gave such incentives as the Isabella, the Catawba, and Concord. We are now bewildered by almost as great a choice of varieties from native species as they have abroad; and as an aid to selection I will again give the verdict of some of the authorities. The choice of the Hon. Norman J. Colman, Commissioner of Agriculture: "Early Victor, Worden, Martha, Elvira, Cynthiana." This is for the region of Missouri. For the latitude of New Jersey, A.S. Fuller's selection: "Delaware, Concord, Moore's Early, Antoinette (white), Augusta (white), Goethe (amber)." E.S. Carmen: "Moore's Early [you cannot praise this too much. The quality is merely that of the Concord; but the vines are marvels of perfect health, the bunches large, the berries of the largest size. They ripen all at once, and are fully ripe when the Concord begins to color], Worden, Brighton, Victoria (white), Niagara (white), El Dorado. [This does not thrive everywhere, but the grapes ripen early--September 1, or before--and the quality is perfection--white.]" Choice of P.J. Berckman, for the latitude of Georgia: "White grapes--Peter Wylie, Triumph, Maxatawny, Scuppernong. Bed grapes--Delaware, Berckman's, Brighton. Black--Concord, Ives." As I have over a hundred varieties in bearing, I may venture to express an opinion also. I confess that I am very fond of those old favorites of our fathers, the Isabella and Catawba. They will not ripen everywhere in our latitude, yet I seldom fail to secure a good crop. In the fall of 1885 we voted the Isabella almost unsurpassed. If one has warm, well-drained soil, or can train a vine near the south side of a building, I should advise the trial of this fine old grape. The Iona, Brighton, and Agawam also are great favorites with me. We regard the Diana, Wyoming Red, Perkins, and Rogers' hybrids, Lindley, Wilder, and Amenia, as among the best. The Rebecca, Duchess, Lady Washington, and Purity are fine white grapes. I have not yet tested the Niagara. Years ago I obtained of Mr. James Ricketts, the prize-taker for seedling grapes, two vines of a small wine grape called the Bacchus. To my taste it is very pleasant after two or three slight frosts. Our list of varieties is long enough, and one must be fastidious indeed who does not find some to suit his taste. In many localities the chief question is, What kind CAN I grow? In our favored region on the Hudson almost all the out-door grapes will thrive; but as we go north the seasons become too cool and short for some kinds, and proceeding south the summers are too long and hot for others. The salt air of the sea-coast is not conducive to vine-culture, and only the most vigorous, like the Concord and Moore's Early, will resist the mildew blight. We must therefore do the best we can, and that will be very well indeed in most localities. Because our list of good grapes is already so long, it does not follow that we have reached the limit of development by any means. When we remember that almost within a lifetime our fine varieties have been developed from the wild northern Fox grape (Vitis labrusca), the Summer grape (oestivalis), Frost (cordifolia), we are led to think that perhaps we have scarcely more than crossed the stile which leads into the path of progress. If I should live to keep up my little specimen vineyard ten years longer, perhaps the greater part of the varieties now cultivated will have given place to others. The delicious Brighton requires no more space than a sour, defective variety; while the proprietor starts with the best kinds he can obtain, he will find no restraint beyond his own ignorance or carelessness that will prevent his replacing the Brighton with a variety twice as good when it is developed. Thus vine-planting and grape-tasting stretch away into an alluring and endless vista. When such exchanges are made, we do not recommend the grafting of a new favorite on an old vine. This is a pretty operation when one has the taste and leisure for it, and a new, high-priced variety can sometimes be obtained speedily and cheaply in this way. Usually, however, new kinds soon drop down within the means of almost any purchaser, and there are advantages in having each variety growing upon its own root. Nature yields to the skill of the careful gardener, and permits the insertion of one distinct variety of fruit upon another; but with the vine she does not favor this method of propagation and change, as in the case of pears and apples, where the graft forms a close, tenacious union with the stock in which it is placed. Mr. Fuller writes: "On account of the peculiar structure of the wood of the vine, a lasting union is seldom obtained when grafted above-ground, and is far from being certain even when grafted below the surface, by the ordinary method." The vine is increased so readily by easy and natural methods, to be explained hereafter, that he who desires nothing more than to secure a good supply of grapes for the table can dismiss the subject. On the other hand, those who wish to amuse themselves by experimenting with Nature can find abundant enjoyment in not only grafting old vines, but also in raising new seedlings, among which he may obtain a prize which will "astonish the natives." Those, however, whose tastes carry them to such lengths in vine-culture will be sure to purchase exhaustive treatises on the subject, and will therefore give no heed to these simple practical chapters. It is my aim to enable the business man returning from his city office, or the farmer engrossed with the care of many acres, to learn in a few moments, from time to time, just what he must do to supply his family abundantly with fruits and vegetables. If one is about to adopt a grape-culture as a calling, common-sense requires that he should locate in some region peculiarly adapted to the vine. If the possessor of a large farm purposes to put several acres in vineyard, he should also aim to select a soil and exposure best suited to his purpose. Two thousand years ago Virgil wrote, "Nor let thy vineyard bend toward the sun when setting." The inference is that the vines should face the east, if possible; and from that day to this, eastern and southern exposures have been found the best. Yet climate modifies even this principle. In the South, I should plant my vineyard on a north-western slope, or on the north side of a belt of woods, for the reason that the long, hot days there would cause too rapid an evaporation from the foliage of the vines, and enfeeble, if not kill them. In the limited space of the Home Acre one can use only such land as he has, and plant where he must; but if the favorable exposures indicated exist, it would be well to make the most of them. I can mention, however, as encouragement to many, that I saw, last fall, splendid grapes growing on perfectly level and sandy soil in New Jersey. A low-lying, heavy, tenacious clay is undoubtedly the worst ground in which to plant a vine; and yet by thorough drainage, a liberal admixture of sand, and light fertilizers, it can be made to produce good grapes of some varieties. A light sandy soil, if enriched abundantly with well-decayed vegetable and barnyard manures, gives wider scope in choice of kinds; while on the ideal well-drained sandy loam that we have described, any outdoor grape can be planted hopefully if the garden is sufficiently removed from the seaboard. As a general truth it may be stated that any land in a condition to produce a fine crop of corn and potatoes is ready for the vine. This would be true of the entire garden if the suggestions heretofore made have been carried out. Therefore the borders which have been named are ready to receive the vines, which may be planted in either spring or fall. I prefer the fall season for several reasons. The ground is usually drier then, and crumbles more finely; the young vine becomes well established and settled in its place by spring, and even forms new roots before the growing season begins, and in eight cases out of ten makes a stronger growth than follows spring planting; it is work accomplished when there is usually the greatest leisure. If the ground is ready in EARLY spring, I should advise no delay. A year's growth is gained by setting out the vines at once. As a rule I do not advise late spring planting--that is, after the buds have started on the young vines. They may live, but usually they scarcely do more, the first year. In ordering from a nursery I should ask for vigorous, well-rooted two-year-old vines, and I should be almost as well contented with first-class one-year-olds. If any one should advertise "extra large, strong vines, ready to bear at once," I should have nothing to do with him. That's a nursery trick to get rid of old stock. The first year after the shock of removal a vine should not be permitted to bear at all; and a young vigorous vine is worth a dozen old stunted ones. Having procured the vines, keep them in a cool, moist place until ready to plant. Never permit the roots to become dry; and if some of them are long and naked, shorten them to two feet, so as to cause them to throw out side fibrous roots, which are the true feeders. Excavate holes of ample size, so that all the roots may be spread out naturally. If you have reason to think the ground is not very good, two or three quarts of fine bone-dust thoroughly mixed with the soil that is placed on and about the roots will give a fine send-off. Usually a good mulch of any kind of barnyard manure placed on the SURFACE after planting will answer all purposes. Before filling in the hole over the roots, place beside the vine a stout stake six or seven feet high. This will be all the support required the first year. Cut back the young vine to three buds, and after they get well started, let but one grow. If the planting is done in the fall, mound the earth up over the little vine at the approach of winter, so as to cover it at least six inches below the surface. In spring uncover again as soon as hard frosts are over--say early April in our latitude. Slow-growing varieties, like the Delaware, may be set out six feet apart; strong growers, like the Concord, eight feet. Vines can not be expected to thrive under the shade of trees, or to fight an unequal battle in ground filled with the roots of other plants. Vines may be set out not only in the garden borders, but also in almost any place where their roots will not be interfered with, and where their foliage will receive plenty of light and air. How well I remember the old Isabella vines that clambered on a trellis over the kitchen door at my childhood's home! In this sunny exposure, and in the reflected heat of the building, the clusters were always the sweetest and earliest ripe. A ton of grapes may be secured annually by erecting trellises against the sides of buildings, walls, and poultry yard, while at the same time the screening vines furnish grateful shade and no small degree of beauty. With a little petting, such scattered vines are often enormously productive. An occasional pail of soapsuds gives them a drink which eventually flushes the thickly hanging clusters with exquisite color. People should dismiss from their minds the usual method of European cultivation, wherein the vines are tied to short stakes, and made to produce their fruit near the ground. This method can be employed if we find pleasure in the experiment. At Mr. Fuller's place I saw fine examples of it. Stubby vines with stems thick as one's wrist rose about three feet from the ground, then branched off on every side, like an umbrella, with loads of fruit. Only one supporting stake was required. This method evidently is not adapted to our climate and species of grape, since in that case plenty of keen, practical fruit-growers would have adopted it. I am glad this is true, for the vine-clad hills of France do not present half so pleasing a spectacle as an American cornfield. The vine is beautiful when grown as a vine, and not as a stub; and well-trained, well-fed vines on the Home Acre can be developed to almost any length required, shading and hiding with greenery every unsightly object, and hanging their finest clusters far beyond the reach of the predatory small boy. We may now consider the vines planted and growing vigorously, as they will in most instances if they have been prepared for and planted according to the suggestions already given. Now begins the process of guiding and assisting Nature. Left to herself, she will give a superabundance of vine, with sufficient fruit for purposes of propagation and feeding the birds. Our object is to obtain the maximum of fruit from a minimum of vine. The little plant, even though grown from a single bud, will sprawl all over everything near it in three or four years, if unchecked. Pruning may begin even before midsummer of the first year. The single green shoot will by this time begin to produce what are termed "laterals." The careful cultivator who wishes to throw all the strength and growth into the main shoot will pinch these laterals back as soon as they form one leaf. Each lateral will start again from the axil of the leaf that has been left, and having formed another leaf, should again be cut off. By repeating this process during the growing season you have a strong single cane by fall, reaching probably beyond the top of the supporting stake. In our latitude I advise that this single cane--that is, the vine--be cut back to within fifteen inches of the surface when the leaves have fallen and the wood has well-ripened--say about the middle of November--and that the part left be bent over and covered with earth. When I say "bent over," I do not mean at right angles, so as to admit of the possibility of its being broken, but gently and judiciously. I cover with earth all my vines, except the Concords and Isabellas, just before hard freezing weather; and even these two hardy kinds I weight down close to the ground. I have never failed to secure a crop from vines so treated. Two men will protect over a hundred vines in a day. In early April the young vine is uncovered again; and now the two uppermost buds are allowed to grow and form two strong canes, instead of one, and on this new growth four or five clusters of grapes may be permitted to mature if the vine is vigorous. If it is feeble, take off all the fruit, And stimulate the vine into greater vigor. Our aim is not to obtain half a dozen inferior clusters as soon as possible, but to produce a vine that will eventually almost supply a family by itself. If several varieties have been planted, some will be found going ahead rampantly; others will exhibit a feebler growth, which can be hastened and greatly increased by enriching the surface of the soil around them and by a pail of soap-suds now and then in May or June--but not later, unless there should be a severe drought. There should be no effort to produce much growth during the latter part of the summer and early autumn, for then both the wood and roots will be immature and unripened when frost begins, and thus the vine receive injury. For this reason it is usually best to apply fertilizers to vines in the fall; for if given in the spring, a late, unhealthful growth is often produced. Throughout all subsequent years manure must be applied judiciously. You may tell the hired man to top-dress the ground about the vines, and he will probably treat all alike; a vine that is already growing so strongly that it can scarcely be kept within bounds will receive as much as one that is slow and feeble in its development. This is worse than waste. Each vine should be treated in accordance with its condition and habit of growth. What would be thought of a physician who ordered a tonic for an entire family, giving as much to one who might need depleting, as to another who, as country people say, was "puny and ailin'?" With even an assortment of half a dozen varieties we shall find after the first good start that some need a curb, and others a spur. Stakes will answer as supports to the vines during the first and second seasons; but thereafter trellises or arbors are needed. The latter will probably be employed over the central walk of the garden, and may be constructed after several simple and pretty designs, which I leave to the taste of the reader. If vines are planted about buildings, fences, etc., trellises may be made of anything preferred--of galvanized wire, slats, or rustic poles fastened to strong, durable supports. If vines are to be trained scientifically in the open garden, I should recommend the trellises figured on pages 120 and 142 of Mr. Fuller's work, "The Grape Culturist." These, beyond anything I have seen, appear the best adapted for the following out of a careful system of pruning and training. Such a system Mr. Fuller has thoroughly and lucidly explained in the above-named book. Unless the reader has had experience, or is willing to give time for the mastery of this subject, I should advise that he employ an experienced gardener to prune his vines after the second year. It is a brief task, but a great deal depends upon it. In selecting a man for the work I should require something more than exaggerated and personal assurances. In every village there are terrible butchers of vines and fruit-trees, who have some crude system of their own. They are as ignorant of the true science of the subject as a quack doctor of medicine, and, like the dispenser of nostrums, they claim to be infallible. Skilful pruning and training is really a fine art, which cannot be learned in a day or a year. It is like a surgical operation, requiring but little time, yet representing much acquired skill and experience. In almost every locality there are trustworthy, intelligent gardeners, who will do this work for a small sum until the proprietor has learned the art himself, if so inclined. I should also employ the same man in spring to tie up the vines and train them. If one is not ambitious to secure the best results attainable, he can soon learn to perform both the tasks well enough to obtain fairly good fruit in abundance. It should be our constant aim not to permit long, naked reaches of wood, in one part of the vine, and great smothering bunches of fruit and foliage in another part. Of course the roots, stem, and leading arms should be kept free from useless shoots and sprouts; but having reached the trellis, the vine should be made to distribute bearing fruit-spurs evenly over it. Much can be learned about pruning from books and by watching an expert gardener while giving the annual pruning; but the true science of trimming a vine is best acquired by watching buds develop, by noting what they will do, where they go, and how much space they will take up in a single summer. In this way one will eventually realize how much is wrapped up in the insignificant little buds, and now great the folly of leaving too many on the vine. In my next chapter I shall treat briefly of the propagation of the grape, its insect enemies, diseases, etc.; and also of some other fruits. CHAPTER IV THE VINEYARD AND ORCHARD He who proposes to plant grape-vines will scarcely fail to take the sensible course of inspecting the varieties already producing fruit in his locality. From causes often too obscure to be learned with certainty, excellent kinds will prove to be well adapted to one locality, and fail in others. If, therefore, when calling on a neighbor during August, September, or October, we are shown a vine producing fruit abundantly that is suited to our taste, a vine also which manifests unmistakable vigor, we may be reasonably sure that it belongs to a variety which we should have, especially if it be growing in a soil and exposure somewhat similar to our garden plot. A neighbor worthy of the name will be glad to give us a few cuttings from his vine at the time of its annual pruning; and with, very little trouble we also may soon possess the desired variety. When the vine is trimmed, either make yourself or have your friend make a few cuttings of sound wood from that season's growth. About eight inches is a good length for these vine-slips, and they should contain at least two buds. Let each slip be cut off smoothly just under the lowest bud, and extend an inch or two above the uppermost bud. If these cuttings are obtained in November or December, they may be put into a little box with some of the moist soil of the garden, and buried in the ground below the usual frost-line--say a foot or eighteen inches in our latitude. The simple object is to keep them in a cool, even temperature, but not a frosty one. Early in April dig up the box, open a trench in a moist but not wet part of the garden, and insert the cuttings perpendicularly in the soil, so that the upper bud is covered barely one inch. In filling up the trench, press the soil carefully yet firmly about the cuttings, and spread over the surface just about them a little fine manure. The cuttings should be a foot apart from each other in the row. Do not let the ground become dry about them at any time during the summer. By fall these cuttings will probably have thrown out an abundance of roots, and have made from two to three feet of vine. In this case they can be taken up and set out where they are to fruit. Possibly but one or two of them have started vigorously. The backward ones had better be left to grow another year in the cutting bed. Probably we shall not wish to cultivate more than one or two vines of the variety; but it is just as easy to start several cuttings as one, and by this course we guard against failure, and are able to select the most vigorous plant for our garden. By taking good care of the others we soon derive one of the best pleasures which our acre can afford--that of giving to a friend something which will enhance the productiveness of his acre, and add to his enjoyment for years to come. Not only on our neighbor's grounds, but also on our own we shall discover that some varieties are unusually vigorous, productive, and well-adapted to our locality; and we may very naturally wish to have more vines of the same sort, especially if the fruit is to our taste. We can either increase this kind by cuttings, as has been described, or we can layer part of the vine that has won our approval by well-doing. I shall take the latter course with several delicious varieties in my vineyard. Some kinds of grapes do not root readily as cuttings, but there is little chance of failure in layering. This process is simply the laying down of a branch of a vine in early spring, and covering it lightly with soil, so that some buds will be beneath the surface, and others just at or a little above it. Those beneath will form roots, the others shoots which by fall should be good vines for planting. Every bud that can reach the air and light will start upward, and thus there may be a thick growth of incipient vines that will crowd and enfeeble each other. The probabilities are that only two or three new vines are wanted; therefore all the others should be rubbed off at the start, so that the strength of the parent plant and of the new roots that are forming may go into those few shoots designed to become eventually a part of our vineyard. If we wish only one vine, then but one bud should grow from the layer; if two vines, then two buds. The fewer buds that are permitted to grow, the stronger vines they make. It must be remembered that this layer, for the greater part of the growing season, is drawing its sustenance from the parent plant, to which it is still attached. Therefore the other branches of this vine thus called upon for unusual effort should be permitted to fruit but sparingly. We should not injure and enfeeble the original vine in order to get others like it. For this reason we advise that no more buds be permitted to grow from the layer than we actually need ourselves. To injure a good vine and deprive ourselves of fruit that we may have plants to give away, is to love one's neighbor better than one's self--a thing permitted, but not required. When our vines are pruned, we can make as many cuttings as we choose, either to sell or give away. The ground in which a layer is placed should be very rich, and its surface round the young growing vines always kept moist and free from weeds. In the autumn, after the leaves have fallen and the wood is ripe and hard, cut off the layered branch close to the vine, and with a garden-fork gently and carefully lift it, with all its roots and young vines attached, out of the soil. First cut the young vines back to three or four buds, then separate them from the branch from which they grew, being sure to give each plant plenty of roots, and the roots BACK of the point from which it grew; that is, those roots nearest the parent plant from which the branch was layered. All the old wood of the branch that is naked, free of roots, should be cut off. The young shoots thus separated are now independent vines, and may be set out at once where they are to fruit. If you have a variety that does not do well, or that you do not like, dig it out, enrich the soil, and put one of your favorites in its place. We will now consider briefly the diseases and insect enemies of the grape. A vine way be doomed to ill-health from its very situation. Mr. Hussman, a grape-culturist of great experience and wide observation, writes: "Those localities may generally be considered safe for the grape in which there are no miasmatic influences. Where malaria and fevers prevail, there is no safety for the crop, as the vine seems to be as susceptible to such influences as human beings." Taking this statement literally, we may well ask, Where, then, can grapes be grown? According to physicians, malaria has become one of the most generally diffused products of the country. When a man asserts that it is not in his locality, we feel sure that if pressed he will admit that it is "round the corner." Country populations still survive, however, and so does grape-culture. Yet there are low-lying regions which from defective drainage are distinctively and, it would almost seem, hopelessly malarial. In such localities but few varieties of the vine will thrive, The people who are compelled to live there, or who choose to do so, should experiment until they obtain varieties so hardy and vigorous that they will triumph over everything. The best course with grape-diseases is not to have them; in other words, to recognize the fact at once that certain varieties of the grape will not thrive and be productive of good fruit unless the soil and climate suit them. The proprietor of the Home Acre can usually learn by a little inquiry or observation whether grapes thrive in his locality. If there is much complaint of mildew, grape-rot, and general feebleness of growth, he should seek to plant only the most hardy and vigorous kinds. As I have said before, our cultivated grapes are derived from several native species found growing wild, and some now valued highly for wine-making are nothing but wild grapes domesticated; as, for instance, Norton's Virginia, belonging to the oestivalis class. The original plant of this variety was found growing upon an island in the Potomac by Dr. Norton, of Virginia. The species from which the greatest number of well-known grapes is obtained is the Vitis labrusca, the common wild or fox grape, found growing in woods and thickets, usually where the ground is moist, from Canada to the Gulf. The dark purple berries, averaging about three-quarters of an inch in diameter, ripen in September, and they contain a tough, musky pulp. Yet this "slip of wilderness" is the parent of the refined Catawba, the delicious Brighton, and the magnificent white grape Lady Washington--indeed, of all the black, red, and white grapes with which most people are familiar. Our earliest grapes, which ripen in August, as well as some of the latest, like the Isabella, come from the labrusca species. It is said that the labrusca class will not thrive in the extreme South; and with the exception of the high mountain slopes, this appears reasonable to the student of the vine. It is said that but few of this class will endure the long hot summers of France. But there are great differences among the varieties derived from this native species. For example, the Concord thrives almost anywhere, while even here upon the Hudson we can scarcely grow the Catawba with certainty. It is so good a grape, however, that I persist in making the effort, with varying success; but I should not recommend it, or many of its class, for those localities not specially suited to the grape. I will now name a few varieties which have proved to be, or promise to be, the most thrifty and productive whereever grapes can be grown at all the labrusca class: Black--Concord, Wilder, Worden, Amenia, Early Canada, Telegraph or Christine, Moore's Early. Red-Wyoming, Goethe, Lindley, Beauty, Brighton, Perkins (pale red), and Agawam. White--Rebecca, Martha, Alien's Hybrid, Lady Pocklington, Prentiss, Lady Washington. These are all fine grapes, and they have succeeded throughout wide areas of country. Any and all are well worth a trial; but if the grower finds that some of them are weak and diseased in his grounds, I should advise that he root them out and replace them with those which thrive. The Niagara is highly praised, and may make good all that is claimed for it. Of the aestivalis class I can recommend the Cynthiana and the Herbemont, or Warren, for the extreme South. Both of them are black. There are new varieties of this vigorous species which promise well. The cordifolia species promises to furnish some fine, hardy, and productive grapes, of which the Amber is an example. The Elvira, a pale yellow grape, is highly praised by Mr. Hussman. Although the Bacchus is distinctively a wine grape, I have already said that its flavor, when fully ripe, was agreeable to me. The only difficulty in growing it is to keep the ground poor, and use the pruning-knife freely. I have enlarged on this point, for I wish to direct the mind of the reader to the fact that there are many very hardy grapes. I congratulate those who, with the taste of a connoisseur, have merely to sample until they find just the varieties that suit them, and then to plant these kinds in their genial soil and favored locality. At the same time I should like to prevent others from worrying along with unsatisfactory varieties, or from reaching the conclusion that they can not grow grapes in their region or garden. Let them rather admit that they can not raise some kinds, but may others. If a variety were persistently diseased, feeble, and unproductive under good treatment, I should root it out rather than continue to nurse and coddle it. When mildew and grape-rot first appear, the evil can often be remedied in part by dusting the vines with sulphur, and continuing the process until the disease is cured, if it ever is. I have never had occasion to do this, and will not do it. A variety that often requires such nursing in this favored locality should be discarded. There is one kind of disease, or feebleness rather, to which we are subject everywhere, and from which few varieties are exempt. It is the same kind of weakness which would be developed in a fine sound horse if we drove him until he dropped down every time we took him out. Cultivated vines are so far removed from their natural conditions that they will often bear themselves to death, like a peach-tree. To permit this is a true instance of avarice overreaching itself; or the evil may result from ignorance or neglect. Close pruning in autumn and thinning out the crowding clusters soon after they have formed is the remedy. If a vine had been so enfeebled, I should cut it back rigorously, feed it well, and permit it to bear very little fruit, if any, for a year. Of insect enemies we have the phylloxera of bad eminence, which has so dismayed Europe. The man who could discover and patent an adequate remedy in France might soon rival a Rothschild in his wealth. The remedy abroad is also ours--to plant varieties which are phylloxera-proof, or nearly so. Fortunately we have many which defy this pestiferous little root-louse, and European vine-growers have been importing them by the million. They are still used chiefly as stocks on which to graft varieties of the vinifera species. In California, grapes of the vinifera or European species are generally cultivated; but the phylloxera is at its destructive work among them. The wine-grapes of the future throughout the world may be developed from the hardy cestivalis and cordifolia classes. In many localities, even in this new land, varieties like the Delaware succumb to this scourge of foreign vineyards. The aphis, or plant-louse, sometimes attacks the young, tender shoots of the vine. The moment they appear, take off the shoot, and crush it on a board with the foot. Leaf-rollers, the grape-vine sphinx, and caterpillars in general must be caught by hand and killed. Usually they are not very numerous. The horrid little rose-chafers or rose-bugs are sometimes very destructive. Our best course is to take a basin of water and jar them off into it--they fall readily--and then scald them to death. We may discover lady-bugs--small red or yellow and black beetles--among our vines, and many persons, I fear, will destroy them with the rest. We should take off our hats to them and wish them godspeed. In their destruction of aphides and thrips they are among our best friends. The camel-cricket is another active destroyer of injurious insects. Why do not our schools teach a little practical natural history? Once, when walking in the Catskills, I saw the burly driver of a stage-load of ladies bound out of his vehicle to kill a garter-snake, the pallid women looking on, meanwhile, as if the earth were being rid of some terrible and venomous thing. They ought to have known that the poor little reptile was as harmless as one of their own garters, and quite as useful in its way. Every country boy and girl should be taught to recognize all our helpers in our incessant fight with insect enemies--a fight which must be maintained with more organized vigor and intelligence than at present, if horticulture is ever to reach its best development. Wasps and hornets often swarm about the sweet and early ripe varieties. A wide-mouthed bottle partially filled with molasses and water will entrap and drown great numbers of these ugly customers. Some of our favorite birds try our patience not a little. During the early summer I never wearied of watching the musical orioles flashing with their bright hues in and out of the foliage about the house; but when the early grapes were ripe, they took pay for their music with the sang-froid of a favorite prima donna. On one occasion I saw three or four alight on a Diana vine, and in five minutes they had spoiled a dozen clusters. If they would only take a bunch and eat it up clean, one would readily share with them, for there would be enough for all; but the dainty little epicures puncture an indefinite number of berries, merely taking a sip from each. Then the wasps and bees come along and finish the clusters. The cardinal, cat-bird, and our unrivalled songster the wood-thrush, all help themselves in the same wasteful fashion. One can't shoot wood-thrushes. We should almost as soon think of killing off our Nilssons, Nevadas, and Carys. The only thing to do is to protect the clusters; and this can be accomplished in several ways. The most expeditious and satisfactory method is to cover the vines of early grapes with cheap mosquito netting. Another method is to make little bags of this netting and inclose each cluster. Last fall, two of my children tied up many hundreds of clusters in little paper bags, which can be procured at wholesale for a trifling sum. The two lower corners of the paper bags should be clipped off to permit the rain to pass freely through them. Clusters ripen better, last longer on the vine, and acquire a more exquisite bloom and flavor in this retirement than if exposed to light as well as to birds and wasps. Not the fruit but the foliage of the grape-vine needs the sun. Few of the early grapes will keep long after being taken from the vine; but some of the later ones can be preserved well into the winter by putting them in small boxes and storing them where the temperature is cool, even, and dry. Some of the wine-grapes, like Norton's Virginia, will keep under these conditions almost like winter apples. One October day I took a stone pot of the largest size and put in first a layer of Isabella grapes, then a double thickness of straw paper, then alternate layers of grapes and paper, until the pot was full. A cloth was next pasted over the stone cover, so as to make the pot water-tight. The pot was then buried on a dry knoll below the reach of frost, and dug up again on New Year's Day. The grapes looked and tasted as if they had just been picked from the vine. For the mysteries of hybridizing and raising new seedlings, grafting, hot-house and cold grapery culture, the reader must look in more extended works than this, and to writers who have had experience in these matters. We shall next consider three fruits which upon the Home Acre may be regarded as forming a natural group-peaches, plums, and raspberries, if any one expresses surprise that the last-named fruit should be given this relationship, I have merely to reply that the raspberry thrives in the partial shade produced by such small trees as the peach and plum. Where there is need of economy of space it is well to take advantage of this fact, for but few products of the garden give any satisfaction when contending with roots below and shade above. We have taken it for granted that some grape-vines would be planted in the two borders extending through the centre of the garden, also that there would be spaces left which might be filled with peach and plum trees and small flowering shrubs. If there is to be a good-sized poultry-yard upon the acre, we should advise that plums be planted in that; but we will speak of this fruit later, and now give our attention to that fruit which to the taste of many is unrivalled--the peach. With the exception of the strawberry, it is perhaps the only fruit for which I prefer spring planting. At the same time, I should not hesitate to set out the trees in autumn. The ground should be good, but not too highly fertilized. I prefer young trees but one year old from the bud. If set out in the fall, I should mound up the earth eighteen inches about them, to protect the roots and stem, and to keep the tree firmly in the soil. With this precaution, I am not sure but that fall planting has the greater advantage, except when the climate is very severe and subject to great alternations. Plant with the same care and on the same principles which have been already described. If a careful system of pruning is to be adopted, the trees may be set out twelve feet apart; but if they are to be left to grow at will, which I regret to say is the usual practice, they should be planted fifteen feet from each other. There are many good reasons why the common orchard culture of the peach should not be adopted in the garden. There is no fruit more neglected and ill-treated than the beautiful and delicious peach. The trees are very cheap, usually costing but a few cents each; they are bought by the thousand from careless dealers, planted with scarcely the attention given to a cabbage-plant, and too often allowed to bear themselves to death. The land, trees, and cultivation cost so little that one good crop is expected to remunerate for all outlay. If more crops are obtained, there is so much clear gain. Under this slovenly treatment there is, of course, rapid deterioration in the stamina of the peach. Pits and buds are taken from enfeebled trees for the purpose of propagation, and so tendencies to disease are perpetuated and enhanced. Little wonder that, the fatal malady, the "yellows," has blighted so many hopes! I honestly believe that millions of trees have been sold in which this disease existed from the bud. If fine peaches were bred and propagated with something of the same care that is bestowed on blooded stock, the results would soon be proportionate. Gardeners abroad often give more care to one tree than hundreds receive here. Because the peach has grown so easily in our climate, we have imposed on its good-nature beyond the limits of endurance, and consequently it is not easy to get sound, healthful trees that will bear year after year under the best of treatment, as they did with our fathers with no care at all. I should look to men who had made a reputation for sending out sound, healthful stock grown under their own eyes from pits and wood which they know to be free from disease. Do not try to save a few pennies on the first cost of trees, for the probabilities are that such economy will result in little more than the "yellows." In large orchards, cultivated by horse-power, the stems of the trees are usually from four to six feet high; but in the garden this length of stem is not necessary, and the trees can be grown as dwarf standards, with stems beginning to branch two feet from the ground. A little study of the habit of growth in the peach will show that, to obtain the best results, the pruning-shears are almost as essential as in the case of the grape-vine. More than in any other fruit-tree, the sap tends strongly toward the ends of the shoots. Left to Nature, only the terminal buds of these will grow from year to year; the other buds lower down on the shoots fail and drop off. Thus we soon have long naked reaches of unproductive wood, or sucker-like sprouts starting from the bark, which are worse than useless. Our first aim should be to form a round, open, symmetrical head, shortening in the shoots at least one-half each year, and cutting out crossing and interlacing branches. For instance, if we decide to grow our trees as dwarf standards, we shall cut back the stems at a point two feet from the ground the first spring after planting, and let but three buds grow, to make the first three or leading branches. The following spring we shall cut back the shoots that have formed, so as to make six leading branches. Thereafter we shall continue to cut out and back so as to maintain an open head for the free circulation of air and light. To learn the importance of rigorous and careful pruning, observe the shoots of a vigorous peach-tree, say three or four years old. These shoots or sprays are long and slender, lined with fruit-buds. You will often find two fruit-buds together, with a leaf-bud between them. If the fruit-buds have been uninjured by the winter, they will nearly all form peaches, far more than the slender spray can support or mature. The sap will tend to give the most support to all growth at the end of the spray or branch. The probable result will be that you will have a score, more or less, of peaches that are little beyond skin and stones. By midsummer the brittle sprays will break, or the limbs split down at the crotches. You may have myriads of peaches, but none fit for market or table. Thousands of baskets are sent to New York annually that do not pay the expenses of freight, commission, etc.; while the orchards from which they come are practically ruined. I had two small trees from which, one autumn, I sold ten dollars' worth of fruit. They yielded more profit than is often obtained from a hundred trees. Now, in the light of these facts, realize the advantages secured by cutting back the shoots or sprays so as to leave but three or four fruit-buds on each. The tree can probably mature these buds into large, beautiful peaches, and still maintain its vigor. By this shortening-in process you have less tree, but more fruit. The growth is directed and kept within proper limits, and the tree preserved for future usefulness. Thus the peach-trees of the garden will not only furnish some of the most delicious morsels of the year, but also a very agreeable and light phase of labor. They can be made pets which will amply repay all kindness; and the attentions they most appreciate, strange to say, are cutting and pinching. The pruning-shears in March and early April can cut away forming burdens which could not be borne, and pinching back during the summer can maintain beauty and symmetry in growth. When the proprietor of the Home Acre has learned from experience to do this work judiciously, his trees, like the grape-vines, will afford many hours of agreeable and healthful recreation. If he regards it as labor, one great, melting, luscious peach will repay him. A small apple, pear, or strawberry usually has the flavor of a large one; but a peach to be had in perfection must be fully matured to its limit of growth on a healthful tree. Let no one imagine that the shortening in of shoots recommended consists of cutting the young sprays evenly all round the trees as one would shear a hedge. It more nearly resembles the pruning of the vine; for the peach, like the vine, bears its fruit only on the young wood of the previous summer's growth. The aim should be to have this young bearing wood distributed evenly over the tree, as should be true of a grape-vine. When the trees are kept low, as dwarf standards, the fruit is more within reach, and less liable to be blown off by high winds. Gradually, however, if the trees prove healthful, they will get high enough up in the world. Notwithstanding the rigorous pruning recommended, the trees will often overload themselves; and thinning out the young peaches when as large as hickory nuts is almost imperative if we would secure good fruit. Men of experience say that when a tree has set too much fruit, if two-thirds of it are taken off while little, the remaining third will measure and weigh more than would the entire crop, and bring three times as much money. In flavor and beauty the gain will certainly be more than double. Throughout its entire growth and fruiting life the peach-tree needs good cultivation, and also a good but not overstimulated soil. Well-decayed compost from the cow-stable is probably the best barnyard fertilizer. Wood-ashes are peculiarly agreeable to the constitution of this tree, and tend to maintain it in health and bearing long after others not so treated are dead. I should advise that half a peck be worked in lightly every spring around each tree as far as the branches extend. When enriching the ground about a tree, never heap the fertilizer round the trunk, but spread it evenly from the stem outward as far as the branches reach, remembering that the head above is the measure of the root extension below. Air-slacked lime is also useful to the peach in small quantities; and so, no doubt, would be a little salt from time to time. Bone-meal is highly recommended. Like other fruit-trees, the peach does not thrive on low, wet ground, and the fruit-buds are much more apt to be winter-killed in such localities. A light, warm soil is regarded as the most favorable. Of course we can grow this fruit on espaliers, as they do abroad; but there are few localities where any advantage is to be derived from this course. In our latitude I much prefer cool northern exposures, for the reason that the fruitbuds are kept dormant during warm spells in winter, and so late in spring that they escape injury from frost. Alternate freezing and thawing is more harmful than steady cold. The buds are seldom safe, however, at any time when the mercury sinks ten or fifteen degrees below zero. As we have intimated, abuse of the peach-tree has developed a fatal disease, known as the "yellows." It manifests itself in yellow, sickly foliage, numerous and feeble sprouts along the larger limbs and trunk, and small miserable fruit, ripening prematurely. I can almost taste the yellows in much of the fruit bought in market. Some regard the disease as very contagious; others do not. It is best to be on the safe side. If a tree is affected generally, dig it out by the roots and burn it at once; if only a branch shows evidence of the malady, cut it off well back, and commit it to the flames. The only remedy is to propagate from trees in sound health and vigor. Like the apple, the peach-tree is everywhere subject to injury from a borer, named "exitiosa, or the destructive." The eggs from which these little pests are hatched are laid by the moth during the summer upon the stem of the tree very near the root; the grubs bore through the outer bark, and devour the inner bark and sap-wood. Fortunately they soon reveal their evil work by the castings, and by the gum which exudes from the hole by which they entered. They can not do much harm, unless a tree is neglected; in this case, however, they will soon enfeeble, and probably destroy it. When once within a tree, borers must be cut out with a sharp-pointed knife, carefully yet thoroughly. The wounds from the knife may be severe, but the ceaseless gnawing of the grub is fatal. If the tree has been lacerated to some extent, a plaster of moistened clay or cow-manure makes a good salve. Keeping the borers out of the tree is far better than taking them out; and this can be effected by wrapping the stem at the ground--two inches below the surface, and five above--with strong hardware or sheathing paper. If this is tied tightly about the tree, the moth cannot lay its eggs upon the stem. A neighbor of mine has used this protection not only on the peach, but also on the apple, with almost complete success. Of course the pests will try to find their way under it, and it would be well to take off the wrapper occasionally and examine the trees. The paper must also be renewed before it is so far decayed as to be valueless. It should be remembered also that the borer will attack the trees from the first year of life to the end. In order to insure an unfailing supply of this delicious fruit, I should advise that a few trees be set out every spring. The labor and expense are scarcely greater than that bestowed upon a cabbage patch, and the reward is more satisfactory. For this latitude the following choice of varieties will prove, I think, a good one: Early Alexander, Early Elvers, Princess of Wales, Brandywine, Old Mixon Free, Stump the World, Picquet's Late, Crawford's Late, Mary's Choice, White Free Heath, Salway, and Lord Palmerston. If the soil of one's garden is stiff, cold, adhesive clay, the peach would succeed much better budded or grafted on plum-stocks. Some of the finest fruit I have ever seen was from seedlings, the trees having been grown from pits of unusually good peaches. While the autumn planting of pits lightly in the soil and permitting them to develop into bearing trees is a pleasing and often profitable amusement, there is no great probability that the result will be desirable. We hear of the occasional prizes won in this way, but not of the many failures. By easy transition we pass to the kindred fruit the plum, which does not generally receive the attention it deserves. If one has a soil suited to it--a heavy clay or loam--it can usually be grown very easily. The fruit is so grateful to the taste and useful to the housekeeper that it should be given a fair trial, either in the garden borders or wherever a tree can be planted so as to secure plenty of light and air. The young trees may be one or two years old from the bud; I should prefer the former, if vigorous. Never be induced to purchase old trees by promises of speedy fruit. It is quite possible you may never get any fruit at all from them worth mentioning. I should allow a space of from ten to fifteen feet between the trees when they are planted together, and I should cut them back so that they would begin to branch at two feet from the ground. Long, naked stems are subject to the gum-disease. In the place of general advice in regard to this fruit I shall give the experience of Mr. T. S. Force, of Newburgh, who exhibited seventy varieties at the last annual Orange County fair. His plum-orchard is a large poultry-yard, containing half an acre, of which the ground is a good loam, resting on a heavy clay subsoil. He bought trees but one year from the bud, set them out in autumn, and cut them back so that they began to form their heads at two feet from the ground. He prefers starting with strong young plants of this age, and he did not permit them to bear for the first three years, his primal aim being to develop a healthy, vigorous tree with a round, symmetrical head. During this period the ground about them was kept mellow by good cultivation, and, being rich enough to start with, received no fertilizers. It is his belief that over-fertilization tends to cause the disease so well known as the "black knot," which has destroyed many orchards in this vicinity. If the garden has been enriched as I have directed, the soil will probably need little, if anything, from the stables, and certainly will not if the trees are grown in a poultry-yard. During this growing and forming period Mr. Force gave careful attention to pruning. Budded trees are not even symmetrical growers, but tend to send up a few very strong shoots that rob the rest of the tree of sustenance. Of course these must be cut well back in early spring, or we have long, naked reaches of wood and a deformed tree. It is far better, however, not to let these rampant shoots grow to maturity, but to pinch them back in early summer, thus causing them to throw out side-branches. By summer pinching and rubbing off of tender shoots a tree can be made to grow in any shape we desire. When the trees receive no summer pruning, Mr. Force advises that the branches be shortened in at least one half in the spring, while some shoots are cut back even more rigorously. At the age of four or five years, according to the vigor of the trees, he permits them to bear. Now cultivation ceases, and the ground is left to grow hard, but not weedy or grassy, beneath the boughs. Every spring, just as the blossoms are falling, he spreads evenly under the branches four quarts of salt. While the trees thrive and grow fruitful with this fertilizer, the curculio, or plum-weevil, does not appear to find it at all to its taste. As a result of his methods, Mr. Force has grown large and profitable crops, and his trees in the main are kept healthy and vigorous. His remedy for the black knot is to cut off and burn the small boughs and twigs affected. If the disease appears in the side of a limb or in the stem, he cuts out all trace of it, and paints the wound with a wash of gum shellac and alcohol. Trees load so heavily that the plums rest against one another. You will often find in moist warm weather decaying specimens. These should be removed at once, that the infection may not spread. In cutting out the interfering boughs, do not take off the sharp-pointed spurs which are forming along the branches, for on these are slowly maturing the fruit-buds. In this case, as in others, the careful observer, after he has acquired a few sound principles of action to start with, is taught more by the tree itself than from any other source. Mr. Force recommends the following ten varieties, named in the order of ripening: Canada; Orleans, a red-cheeked plum; McLaughlin, greenish, with pink cheek; Bradshaw, large red, with lilac bloom; Smith's Orleans, purple; Green Gage; Bleeker's Gage, golden yellow; Prune d'Agen, purple; Coe's Golden Drop; and Shropshire Damson for preserves. If we are restricted to very light soils, we shall probably have to grow some of the native varieties, of the Canada and Wild-Goose type. In regard to both this fruit and peaches we should be guided in our selection by information respecting varieties peculiarly suited to the region. The next chapter will treat of small fruits, beginning with the raspberry. CHAPTER V THE RASPBERRY The wide and favorable consideration given to small fruits clearly marks one of the changes in the world's history. This change may seem trifling indeed to the dignified chroniclers of kings and queens and others of high descent--great descent, it may be added, remembering the moral depths attained; but to those who care for the welfare of the people, it is a mutation of no slight interest. I am glad to think, as has been shown in a recent novel, that Lucrezia Borgia was not so black as she has been painted; yet in the early days of June and July, when strawberries and raspberries are ripening, I fancy that most of us can dismiss her and her kin from mind as we observe Nature's alchemy in our gardens. When we think of the luscious, health-imparting fruits which will grace millions of tables, and remember that until recent years they were conspicuous only by their absence, we may not slightingly estimate a great change for the better. Once these fruits were wildings which the vast majority of our forefathers shared sparingly with the birds. Often still, unless we are careful, our share will be small indeed; for the unperverted taste of the birds discovered from the first what men have been so slow to learn--that the ruby-like berries are the gems best worth seeking. The world is certainly progressing toward physical redemption when even the Irish laborer abridges his cabbage-patch for the sake of small fruits--food which a dainty Ariel could not despise. We have said that raspberries thrive in partial shade; and therefore some advice in regard to them naturally follows our consideration of trees. Because the raspberry is not so exacting as are many other products of the garden, it does not follow that it should be marked out for neglect. As it is treated on many places, the only wonder is that even the bushes survive. Like many who try to do their best in adversity, it makes the most of what people term "a chance to get ahead." Moreover, the raspberry is perhaps as often injured by mistaken kindness as by neglect. If we can imagine it speaking for itself, it would say: "It is not much that I want, but in the name of common-sense and nature give me just what I do want; then you may pick at me to your heart's content." The first need of the raspberry is a well-drained but not a very dry, light soil. Yet such is its adaptability that certain varieties can be grown on any land which will produce a burdock or a mullien-stalk. In fact, this question of variety chiefly determines our chances of success and the nature of our treatment of the fruit. The reader, at the start, should be enabled to distinguish the three classes of raspberries grown in this country. As was true of grapes, our fathers first endeavored to supply their gardens from foreign nurseries, neglecting the wild species with which our woods and roadsides abounded. The raspberry of Europe (Rubus idaeus) has been developed, and in many instances enfeebled, by ages of cultivation. Nevertheless, few other fruits have shown equal power to adapt themselves to our soil and climate, and we have obtained from foreign sources many valuable kinds--as, for instance, the Antwerp, which for weeks together annually taxed the carrying power of Hudson River steamers. In quality these foreign kinds have never been surpassed; but almost invariably they have proved tender and fastidious, thriving well in some localities, and failing utterly (except under the most skilful care) in others. The frosts of the North killed them in winter, and Southern suns shrivelled their foliage in summer. Therefore they were not raspberries for the million, but for those who resided in favored regions, and were willing to bestow upon them much care and high culture. Eventually another process began, taking place either by chance or under the skilful manipulation of the gardener--that of hybridizing, or crossing these foreign varieties with our hardier native species. The best results have been attained more frequently, I think, by chance; that is, the bees, which get more honey from the raspberry than from most other plants, carried the pollen from a native flower to the blossom of the garden exotic. The seeds of the fruit eventually produced were endowed with characteristics of both the foreign and native strains. Occasionally these seeds fell where they had a chance to grow, and so produced a fortuitous seedling plant which soon matured into a bearing bush, differing from, both of its parents, and not infrequently surpassing both in good qualities. Some one horticulturally inclined having observed the unusually fine fruit on the chance plant, and believing that it is a good plan to help the fittest to survive, marked the bush, and in the autumn transferred it to his garden. It speedily propagated itself by suckers, or young sprouts from the roots, and he had plants to sell or give away. Such, I believe, was the history of the Cuthbert--named after the gentleman who found it, and now probably the favorite raspberry of America. Thus fortuitously, or by the skill of the gardener, the foreign and our native species were crossed, and a new and hardier class of varieties obtained. The large size and richness in flavor of the European berry has been bred into and combined with our smaller and more insipid indigenous fruit. By this process the area of successful raspberry culture has been extended almost indefinitely. Within recent years a third step forward has been taken. Some localities and soils were so unsuited to the raspberry that no variety containing even a small percentage of the foreign element could thrive. This fact led fruit-growers to give still closer attention to our native species. Wild bushes were found here and there which gave fruit of such good quality and in such large quantities that they were deemed well worthy of cultivation. Many of these wild specimens accepted cultivation gratefully, and showed such marked improvement that they were heralded over the land as of wonderful and surpassing value. Some of these pure, unmixed varieties of our native species (Rubus strigosus) have obtained a wide celebrity; as, for instance, the Brandywine, Highland Hardy, and, best of all, the Turner. It should be distinctly understood, however, that, with the exception of the last-named kind, these native varieties are decidedly inferior to most of the foreign berries and their hybrids or crosses, like the Cuthbert and Marlboro. Thousands have been misled by their praise, and have planted them when they might just as easily have grown far better kinds. I suppose that many wealthy persons in the latitudes of New York and Boston have told their gardeners (or more probably were told by them): "We do not wish any of those wild kinds. Brinckle's Orange, Franconia, and the Antwerp are good enough for us." So they should be, for they are the best; but they are all foreign varieties, and scarcely will live at all, much less be productive, in wide areas of the country. I trust that this preliminary discussion in regard to red raspberries will prepare the way for the advice to follow, and enable the proprietor of the Home Acre to act intelligently. Sensible men do not like to be told, "You cannot do this, and must not do that"--in other words, to be met the moment they step into their gardens by the arbitrary dictum of A, B, or C. They wish to unite with Nature in producing certain results. Understanding her simple laws, they work hopefully, confidently; and they cannot be imposed upon by those who either wittingly or unwittingly give bad advice. Having explained the natural principles on which I base my directions, I can expect the reader to follow each step with the prospect of success and enjoyment much enhanced. The question first arising is, What shall we plant? As before, I shall give the selection of eminent authorities, then suggest to the reader the restrictions under which he should make a choice for his own peculiar soil and climate. Dr. F. M. Hexamer, the well-known editor of a leading horticultural journal, is recognized throughout the land as having few, if any, superiors in recent and practical acquaintance with small fruits. The following is his selection: "Cuthbert, Turner, and Marlboro." The Hon. Marshall P. Wilder's choice: "Brinckle's Orange, Franconia, Cuthbert, Herstine, Shaffer." The Hon. Norman J. Colman, Commissioner of Agriculture: "Turner, Marlboro, Cuthbert." P. J. Berckmans, of Georgia: "Cuthbert, Hansel, Lost Rubies, Imperial Red." A. S. Fuller: "Turner, Cuthbert, Hansel." In analyzing this list we find three distinctly foreign kinds named: the Orange, Franconia, and Herstine. If the last is not wholly of foreign origin, the element of our native species enters into it so slightly that it will not endure winters in our latitude, or the summer sun of the South. For excellence, however, it is unsurpassed. In the Cuthbert, Marlboro, and Lost Rubies we have hybrids of the foreign and our native species, forming the second class referred to; in the Turner and Hansel, examples of our native species unmixed. To each of these classes might be added a score of other varieties which have been more or less popular, but they would serve only to distract the reader's attention. I have tested forty or fifty kinds side by side at one time, only to be shown that four or five varieties would answer all practical purposes. I can assure the reader, however, that it will be scarcely possible to find a soil or climate where some of these approved sorts will not thrive abundantly and at slight outlay. Throughout southern New England, along the bank of the Hudson, and westward, almost any raspberry can be grown with proper treatment. There are exceptions, which are somewhat curious. For instance, the famous Hudson River Antwerp, which until within a very few years has been one of the great crops of the State, has never been grown successfully to any extent except on the west bank of the river, and within the limited area of Kingston on the north and Cornwall on the south. The Franconia, another foreign sort, has proved itself adapted to more extended conditions of soil and climate. I have grown successfully nearly every well-known raspberry, and perhaps I can best give the instruction I desire to convey by describing the methods finally adopted after many years of observation, reading, and experience. I will speak of the class first named, belonging to the foreign species, of which I have tested many varieties. I expect to set out this year rows of Brinckle's Orange, Franconia, Hudson River Antwerp, and others. For this class I should make the ground very rich, deep, and mellow. I should prefer to set out the plants in the autumn--from the middle of October to the tenth of November; if not then, in early spring--the earlier the better--while the buds are dormant. I should have the rows four feet apart; and if the plants were to be grown among the smaller fruit-trees, I should maintain a distance from them of at least seven feet. I should use only young plants, those of the previous summer's growth, and set them in the ground about as deeply as they stood when taken up--say three or four inches of earth above the point from which the roots branched. I should put two well-rooted plants in each hill, and this would make the hills four feet apart each way. By "hills" I do not mean elevations of ground. This should be kept level throughout all future cultivation. I should cut back the canes or stems of the plants to six inches. Thousands of plants are lost or put back in their growth by leaving two or three feet of the canes to grow the first year. Never do this. The little fruit gained thus prematurely always entails a hundred-fold of loss. Having set out the plants, I should next scatter over and about them one or two shovelfuls of old compost or decayed manure of some kind. If the plants had been set out in the fall, I should mound the earth over them before freezing weather, so that there should be at least four inches of soil over the tops of the stems. This little mound of earth over the plants or hill would protect against all injury from frost. In the spring I should remove these mounds of earth so as to leave the ground perfectly level on all sides, and the shortened canes projecting, as at first, six inches above the surface. During the remainder of the spring and summer the soil between the plants chiefly requires to be kept open, mellow, and free from weeds. In using the hoe, be careful not to cut off the young raspberry sprouts, on which the future crop depends. Do not be disappointed if the growth seems feeble the first year, for these foreign kinds are often slow in starting. In November, before there is any danger of the ground freezing, I should cut back the young canes at least one-third of their length, bend them gently down, and cover them with earth to the depth of four or five inches. It must be distinctly remembered that very few of the foreign kinds would endure our winter unprotected. Every autumn they must be covered as I have directed. Is any one aghast at this labor? Nonsense! Antwerps are covered by the acre along the Hudson. A man and a boy would cover in an hour all that are needed for a garden. After the first year the foreign varieties, like all others, will send up too many sprouts, or suckers. Unless new plants are wanted, these should be treated as weeds, and only from three to five young canes be left to grow in each hill. This is a very important point, for too often the raspberry-patch is neglected until it is a mass of tangled bushes. Keep this simple principle in mind: there is a given amount of root-power; if this cannot be expended in making young sprouts all over the ground, it goes to produce a few strong fruit-bearing canes in the hill. In other words, you restrict the whole force of the plant to the precise work required--the giving of berries. As the original plants grow older, they will show a constantly decreasing tendency to throw up new shoots, but as long as they continue to grow, let only those survive which are designed to bear the following season. The canes of cultivated raspberries are biennial. A young and in most varieties a fruitless cane is produced in one season; it bears in July the second year, and then its usefulness is over. It will continue to live in a half-dying way until fall, but it is a useless and unsightly life. I know that it is contended by some that the foliage on the old canes aids in nourishing the plants; but I think that, under all ordinary circumstances, the leaves on the young growth are abundantly sufficient. By removing the old canes after they have borne their fruit, an aspect of neatness is imparted, which would be conspicuously absent were they left. Every autumn, before laying the canes down, I should shorten them in one-third. The remaining two-thirds will give more fruit by actual measurement, and the berries will be finer and larger, than if the canes were left intact. From first to last the soil about the foreign varieties should be maintained in a high degree of fertility and mellowness. Of manures from the barnyard, that from the cow-stable is the best; wood-ashes, bone-dust, and decayed leaves also are excellent fertilizers. During all this period the partial shade of small trees will be beneficial rather than otherwise, for it should be remembered that sheltered localities are the natural habitat of the raspberry. By a little inquiry the reader can learn whether varieties of the foreign class are grown successfully in his vicinity. If they are, he can raise them also by following the directions which have been given. Brinckle's Orange--a buff-colored berry--is certainly one of the most beautiful, delicate, and delicious fruits in existence, and is well worth all the care it requires in the regions where it will grow; while the Franconia and others should never be permitted to die out by fruit connoisseurs. If the soil of your garden is light and sandy, or if you live much south of New York, I should not advise their trial. They may be grown far to the north, however. I am told that tender varieties of fruits that can be covered thrive even better in Canada than with us. There deep snow protects the land, and in spring and autumn they do not have long periods when the bare earth is alternately freezing and thawing. In the second class of raspberries, the crosses between the foreign and native species, we now have such fine varieties that no one has much cause for regret if he can raise them; and I scarcely see how he can help raising them if he has sufficient energy to set out a few plants and keep them free from weeds and superabundant suckers. Take the Cuthbert, for instance; you may set it out almost anywhere, and in almost any latitude except that of the extreme Southern States. But you must reverse the conditions required for the foreign kinds. If the ground is very rich, the canes will threaten to grow out of sight. I advise that this strong-growing sort be planted in rows five feet apart. Any ordinary soil is good enough for the Cuthbert to start in, and the plants will need only a moderate degree of fertilizing as they begin to lose a little of their first vigor. Of course, if the ground is unusually light and poor, it should be enriched and maintained in a fair degree of fertility. The point I wish to make is that this variety will thrive where most others would starve; but there is plenty of land on which anything will starve. The Cuthbert is a large, late berry, which continues long in bearing, and is deserving of a place in every garden. I have grown it for many years, and have never given it any protection whatever. Occasionally there comes a winter which kills the canes to the ground. I should perhaps explain to the reader here that even in the case of the tender foreign kinds it is only the canes that are killed by the frost; the roots below the surface are uninjured, and throw up vigorous sprouts the following spring. The Cuthbert is so nearly hardy that we let it take its chances, and probably in eight winters out of ten it would stand unharmed. Its hardiness is greatly enhanced when grown on well-drained soils. It now has a companion berry in the Marlboro--a variety but recently introduced, and therefore not thoroughly tested as yet. Its promise, however, is very fine, and it has secured the strong yet qualified approval of the best fruit critics. It requires richer soil and better treatment than the Cuthbert, and it remains to be seen whether it is equally hardy. It is well worth winter protection if it is not. It is not a suitable berry for the home garden if no other is grown, for the reason that it matures its entire crop within a brief time, and thus would give a family but a short season of raspberries. Cultivated in connection with the Cuthbert, it would be admirable, for it is very early, and would produce its fruit before the Cuthberts were ripe. Unitedly the two varieties would give a family six weeks of raspberries. There are scores of other kinds in this class, and some are very good indeed, well worth a place in an amateur's collection; but the two already named are sufficient to supply a family with excellent fruit. Of the third class of red raspberries, representing our pure native species, I should recommend only one variety--the Turner; and that is so good that it deserves a place in every collection. It certainly is a remarkable raspberry, and has an unusual history, which I have given in my work "Success with Small Fruits." I doubt whether there is a hardier raspberry in America--one that can be grown so far to the north, and, what is still more in its favor, so far to the south. In the latter region it is known as the Southern Thornless. The fact that it is almost wholly without spines is a good quality; but it is only one among many others. The Turner requires no winter protection whatever, will grow on almost any soil in existence, and in almost any climate. It yields abundantly medium-sized berries of good flavor. The fruit begins to ripen early, and lasts throughout a somewhat extended season. It will probably give more berries, with more certainty and less trouble, than any other variety. Even its fault leans to virtue's side. Set out a single plant, leave it to Nature, and in time it will cover the place with Turner raspberries; and yet it will do this in a quiet, unobtrusive way, for it is not a rampant, ugly grower. While it will persist in living under almost any circumstances, I have found no variety that responded more gratefully to good treatment. This consists simply in three things: (1) rigorous restriction of the suckers to four or five canes in the hill; (2) keeping the soil clean and mellow about the bearing plants; (3) making this soil rich. Its dwarf habit of growth, unlike that of the Cuthbert, enables one to stimulate it with any kind of manure. By this course the size of the bushes is greatly increased, and enormous crops can be obtained. I prefer to set out all raspberries in the fall, although as a matter of convenience I often perform the task in the early spring. I do not believe in late spring planting, except as one takes up a young sprout, two or three inches high, and sets it out as one would a tomato-plant. By this course time is often saved. When it is our wish to increase the quality and quantity of the fruit, I should advise that the canes of all varieties be cut back one-third of their length. A little observation will teach us the reason for this. Permit a long cane to bear throughout its natural length, and you will note that many buds near the ground remain dormant or make a feeble growth. The sap, following a general law of nature, pushes to the extremities, and is, moreover, too much diffused. Cut away one-third, and all the buds start with redoubled vigor, while more and larger fruit is the result. If, however, earliness in ripening is the chief consideration, as it often is, especially with the market-gardener, leave the canes unpruned, and the fruit ripens a few days sooner. In purveying for the home table, white raspberries offer the attractions of variety and beauty. In the case of Brinckle's Orange, its exquisite flavor is the chief consideration; but this fastidious foreign berry is practically beyond the reach, of the majority. There is, however, an excellent variety, the Caroline, which is almost as hardy as the Turner, and more easily grown. It would seem that Nature designed every one to have it (if we may say IT of Caroline), for not only does it sucker freely like the red raspberries, but the tips of the canes also bend over, take root, and form new plants. The one thing that Caroline needs is repression, the curb; she is too intense. I am inclined to think, however, that she has had her day, even as an attendant on royalty, for a new variety, claiming the high-sounding title of Golden Queen, has mysteriously appeared. I say mysteriously, for it is difficult to account for her origin. Mr. Ezra Stokes, a fruit-grower of New Jersey, had a field of twelve acres planted with Cuthbert raspberries. In this field he found a bush producing white berries. In brief, he found an Albino of the Cuthbert. Of the causes of her existence he knows nothing. All we can say, I suppose, is that the variation was produced by some unknown impulse of Nature. Deriving her claims from such a source, she certainly has a better title to royalty than most of her sister queens, who, according to history, have been commonplace women, suggesting anything but nature. With the exception of the Philadelphians, perhaps, we as a people will not stand on the question of ancestry, and shall be more inclined to see how she "queens it." Of course the enthusiastic discoverer and disseminators of this variety claim that it is not only like the Cuthbert, but far better. Let us try it and see; if it is as good, we may well be content, and can grace our tables with beautiful fruit. There is another American species of raspberry (Rubus occidentalis) that is almost as dear to memory as the wild strawberry--the thimble-berry, or black-cap. I confess that the wild flavor of this fruit is more to my taste than that of any other raspberry. Apparently its seeds have been sown broadcast over the continent, for it is found almost everywhere, and there have been few children in America whose lips have not been stained by the dark purple juice of its fruit. Seeds dropped in neglected pastures, by fence and roadsides, and along the edges of the forest, produce new varieties which do not propagate themselves by suckers like red raspberries, but in a manner quite distinct. The young purple canes bend over and take root in the soil during August, September, and October. At the extreme end of the tip from which the roots descend a bud is formed, which remains dormant until the following spring. Therefore the young plant we set out is a more or less thick mass of roots, a green bud, and usually a bit of the old parent cane, which is of no further service except as a handle and a mark indicating the location of the plant. After the ground has been prepared as one would for corn or potatoes, it should be levelled, a line stretched for the row, and the plants set four feet apart in the row. Sink the roots as straight down as possible, and let the bud point upward, covering it lightly with merely one or two inches of soil. Press the ground firmly against the roots, but not on the bud. The soil just over this should be fine and mellow, so that the young shoot can push through easily, which it will soon do if the plants are in good condition. Except in the extreme South, spring is by far the best time for planting, and it should be done early, while the buds are dormant. After these begin to grow, keep the ground mellow and free from weeds. The first effort of the young plant will be to propagate itself. It will sprawl over the ground if left to its wild impulses, and will not make an upright bearing bush. On this account put a stake down by the young sprout, and as it grows keep it tied up and away from the ground. When the side-branches are eight or ten inches long, pinch them back, thus throwing the chief strength into the central cane. By keeping all the branches pinched back you form the plant into an erect, sturdy bush that will load itself with berries the following year. No fruit will be borne the first season. The young canes of the second year will incline to be more sturdy and erect in their growth; but this tendency can be greatly enhanced by clipping the long slender branches which are thrown out on every side. As soon as the old canes are through bearing, they should be cut out and burned or composted with other refuse from the garden. Black-caps may be planted on any soil that is not too dry. When the plant suffers from drought, the fruit consists of little else than seeds. To escape this defect I prefer to put the black-caps in a moist location; and it is one of the few fruits that will thrive in a cold, wet soil. One can set out plants here and there in out-of-the-way corners, and they often do better than those in the garden. Indeed, unless a place is kept up very neatly, many such bushes will be found growing wild, and producing excellent fruit. The question may arise in some minds, Why buy plants? Why not get them from the woods and fields, or let Nature provide bushes for us where she will? When Nature produces a bush on my place where it is not in the way, I let it grow, and pick the fruit in my rambles; but the supply would be precarious indeed for a family. By all means get plants from the woods if you have marked a bush that produces unusually fine fruit. It is by just this course that the finest varieties have been obtained. If you go a-berrying, you may light on something finer than has yet been discovered; but it is not very probable. Meanwhile, for a dollar you can get all the plants you want of the two or three best varieties that have yet been discovered, from Maine to California. After testing a great many kinds, I should recommend the Souhegan for early, and the Mammoth Cluster and Gregg for late. A clean, mellow soil in good condition, frequent pinchings back of the canes in summer, or a rigorous use of the pruning-shears in spring, are all that is required to secure an abundant crop from year to year. This species may also be grown among trees. I advise that every kind and description of raspberries be kept tied to stakes or a wire trellis. The wood ripens better, the fruit is cleaner and richer from exposure to air and sunshine, and the garden is far neater than if the canes are sprawling at will. I know that all horticulturists advise that the plants be pinched back so thoroughly as to form self-supporting bushes; but I have yet to see the careful fruit-grower who did this, or the bushes that some thunder-gusts would not prostrate into the mud with all their precious burden, were they not well supported. Why take the risk to save a two-penny stake? If, just before the fruit begins to ripen, a mulch of leaves, cut grass, or any litter that will cover the ground slightly, is placed under and around the bushes, it may save a great deal of fruit from being spoiled. The raspberry season is also the hour and opportunity for thunder-showers, whose great slanting drops often splash the soil to surprising distances. Sugar-and-cream-coated, not mud-coated, berries, if you please. In my remarks on raspberries I have not named many varieties, and have rather laid stress on the principles which may guide the reader in his present and future selections of kinds. Sufficient in number and variety to meet the NEEDS of every family have been mentioned. The amateur may gratify his taste by testing other sorts described in nurserymen's catalogues. Moreover, every year or two some new variety will be heralded throughout the land. The reader has merely to keep in mind the three classes of raspberries described and their characteristics, in order to make an intelligent choice from old and new candidates for favor. It should also be remembered that the raspberry is a Northern fruit. I am often asked in effect, What raspberries do you recommend for the Gulf States? I suppose my best reply would be, What oranges do you think best adapted to New York? Most of the foreign kinds falter and fail in New Jersey and Southern Pennsylvania; the Cuthbert and its class can be grown much further south, while the Turner and the black-caps thrive almost to Florida. Raspberries, especially those of our native species, are comparatively free from disease. Foreign varieties and their hybrids are sometimes afflicted with the curl-leaf. The foliage crimps up, the canes are dwarfed, and the whole plant has a sickly and often yellow appearance. The only remedy is to dig up the plant, root and branch, and burn it. A disease termed the "rust" not infrequently attacks old and poorly nourished black-cap bushes. The leaves take on an ochreous color, and the plant is seen to be failing. Extirpate it as directed above. If many bushes are affected, I advise that the whole patch be rooted up, and healthy plants set out elsewhere. It is a well-known law of Nature that plants of nearly all kinds appear to exhaust from the soil in time the ingredients peculiarly acceptable to them. Skill can do much toward maintaining the needful supply; but the best and easiest plan is not to grow any of the small fruits too long in any one locality. By setting out new plants on different ground, far better results are attained with much less trouble. CHAPTER VI THE CURRANT Who that has ever lived in the country does not remember the old straggling currant-bushes that disputed their existence with grass, docks, and other coarse-growing weeds along some ancient fence? Many also can recall the weary task of gathering a quart or two of the diminutive fruit for pies, and the endless picking required to obtain enough for the annual jelly-making. Nor is this condition of affairs a thing of the past. Drive through the land where you will in early July, and you will see farmers mowing round the venerable Red Dutch currants "to give the women-folks a chance at 'em." The average farmer still bestows upon this fruit about as much attention as the aborigines gave to their patches of maize. This seems very absurd when we remember the important place held in the domestic economy by the currant, and how greatly it improves under decent treatment. If it demanded the attention which a cabbage-plant requires, it would be given; but the currant belongs to that small class of creatures which permit themselves to be used when wanted, and snubbed, neglected, and imposed upon at other times. It is known that the bushes will manage to exist, and do the Very best they can, no matter how badly treated; and average human nature has ever taken advantage of such traits, to its continuous loss. The patience of the currant is due perhaps to its origin, for it grows wild round the northern hemisphere, its chief haunts being the dim, cold, damp woods of the high latitudes. You may tame, modify, and vastly change anything possessing life; but original traits are scarcely ever wholly eradicated. Therefore the natural habitat and primal qualities of the currant indicate the true lines of development, its capabilities and limitations. It is essentially a northern fruit, requiring coolness, moisture, and alluvial soils. It begins to falter and look homesick even in New Jersey; and one has not to go far down the Atlantic coast to pass beyond the range of its successful culture. I do not see why it should not thrive much further south on the northern slopes of the mountains. From Philadelphia northward, however, except on light dry soils and in sunny exposures, there is no reason why it should not give ample returns for the attention it requires. I shall not lay stress on the old, well-known uses to which this fruit is put, but I do think its value is but half appreciated. People rush round in July in search of health: let me recommend the currant cure. If any one is languid, depressed in spirits, inclined to headaches, and generally "out of sorts," let him finish his breakfast daily for a month with a dish of freshly picked currants. He will soon, almost doubt his own identity, and may even begin to think that he is becoming a good man. He will be more gallant to his wife, kinder to his children, friendlier to his neighbors, and more open-handed to every good cause. Work will soon seem play, and play fun. In brief, the truth of the ancient pun will be verified, that "the power to live a good life depends largely upon the LIVER." Out upon the nonsense of taking medicine and nostrums during the currant-season! Let it be taught at theological seminaries that the currant is a "means of grace." It is a corrective; and that is what average humanity most needs. The currant, like the raspberry, is willing to keep shady; but only because it is modest. It is one of the fruits that thrive better among trees than in too dry and sunny exposures. Therefore, in economizing space on the Home Acre it may be grown among smaller trees, or, better still, on the northern or eastern side of a wall or hedge. But shade is not essential, except as we go south; then the requisites of moisture and shelter from the burning rays of the sun should be complied with as far as possible. In giving this and kindred fruits partial shade, they should not be compelled to contend to any extent with the roots of trees. This will ever prove an unequal contest. No fruit can thrive in dense shade, or find sustenance among the voracious roots of a tree. Select, therefore, if possible, heavy, deep, moist, yet well-drained soil, and do not fear to make and keep it very rich. If you are restricted to sandy or gravelly soils, correct their defects with compost, decayed leaves and sods, muck, manure from the cow-stable, and other fertilizers with staying rather than stimulating qualities. Either by plowing or forking, deepen as well as enrich the soil. It is then ready for the plants, which may be set out either in the fall or in early spring. I prefer the autumn--any time after the leaves have fallen; but spring answers almost as well, while buds are dormant, or partially so. It should be remembered that the currant starts very early, and is in full foliage before some persons are fairly wakened to garden interests. It would, in this case, be better to wait until October, unless the plants can be obtained from a neighbor on a cloudy day; then they should be cut back two-thirds of their length before being removed, and the transfer made as quickly as possible. Under any circumstances, take off half of the wood from the plants bought. This need not be thrown away. Every cutting of young wood six inches long will make a new plant in a single season. All that is needful is to keep the wood moist until ready to put it in the ground, or, better still, a cool, damp place in the garden can be selected at once, and the cuttings sunk two-thirds of their length into the ground, and the soil pressed firm around them. By fall they will have a good supply of roots, and by the following autumn be ready to be set out wherever you wish them to fruit. Currant-bushes may be planted five feet apart each way, and at the same distance, if they are to line a fence. They should be sunk a few inches deeper in the soil than they stood before, and the locality be such as to admit of good culture. The soil should never be permitted to become hard, weedy, or grass-grown. As a rule, I prefer two-year-old plants, while those of one year's growth answer nearly as well, if vigorous. If in haste for fruit, it may be well to get three-year-old plants, unless they have been dwarfed and enfeebled by neglect. Subsequent culture consists chiefly in keeping the soil clean, mellow, rich, and therefore moist. I have named the best fertilizers for the currant; but if the product of the horse-stable is employed, use it first as a mulch. It will thus gradually reach the roots. Otherwise it is too stimulating, and produces a rampant growth of wood rather than fruit. Under any circumstances this tendency to produce an undue amount of wood must be repressed almost as rigorously as in the grape-vine. The secret of successful currant-culture is richness beneath, and restriction above. English gardeners are said to have as complete and minute systems of pruning and training currants as the grape; but we do not seem to have patience for such detail. Nor do I regard it as necessary. Our object is an abundant supply of excellent fruit; and this result can be obtained at a surprisingly small outlay of time and money, if they are expended judiciously. The art of trimming a currant-bush, like that of pruning a grape-vine, is best learned by observation and experience. One can give principles rather than lay down rules. Like the vine, the currant tends to choke itself with a superabundance of wood, which soon becomes more or less barren. This is truer of some varieties than of others; but in all instances the judicious use of the pruning-knife doubles the yield. In view of the supposition that the leading shoot and all the branches were shortened in one-half when the plant was set out, I will suggest that early in June it will be observed that much more wood is forming than can be permitted to remain. There are weak, crowding shoots which never can be of any use. If these are cut out at this time, the sap which would go to mature them will be directed into the valuable parts of the forming bush. Summer pruning prevents misspent force, and it may be kept up with great advantage from year to year. This is rarely done, however; therefore early in spring the bushes must receive a good annual pruning, and the long shoots and branches be cut well back, so as to prevent naked reaches of wood. Observe a very productive bush, and you will see that there are many points abounding in little side-branches. It is upon these that the fruit is chiefly borne. A bush left to itself is soon a mass of long, slender, almost naked stalks, with a little fruit at the ends. The ideal bush is stocky, open, well branched, admitting light, air, and sun in every part. There is no crowding and smothering of the fruit by the foliage. But few clusters are borne on very young wood, and when this grows old and black, the clusters are small. Therefore new wood should always be coming on and kept well cut back, so as to form joints and side-branches; and as other parts grow old and feeble they should be cut out. Observation and experience will teach the gardener more than all the rules that could be written, for he will perceive that he must prune each bush according to its own individuality. For practical purposes the bush form is the best in which to grow currants; but they can easily be made to form pretty little trees with tops shaped like an umbrella, or any other form we desire. For instance, I found, one autumn, a shoot about three feet long. I rubbed off all the buds except the terminal one and three or four just beneath it, then sunk the lower end of the shoot six inches into the soil, and tied the part above the ground to a short stake. The following spring the lower end took root, and the few buds at the top developed into a small bushy head. Clumps of miniature currant-trees would make as pretty an ornament for the garden border as one would wish to see. It should be remembered that there is a currant as well as an apple borer; but the pests are not very numerous or destructive, and such little trees may easily be grown by the hundred. Clean culture has one disadvantage which must be guarded against. If the ground under bushes is loose, heavy rains will sometimes so splash up the soil as to muddy the greater part of the fruit. I once suffered serious loss in this way, and deserved it; for a little grass mown from the lawn, or any other litter spread under and around the bushes just before the fruit ripened, would have prevented it. It will require but a very few minutes to insure a clean crop. I imagine that if these pages are ever read, and such advice as I can give is followed, it will be more often by the mistress than the master of the Home Acre. I address him, but quite as often I mean her; and just at this point I am able to give "the power behind the throne" a useful hint. Miss Alcott, in her immortal "Little Women," has given an instance of what dire results may follow if the "jelly won't jell." Let me hasten to insure domestic peace by telling my fair reader (who will also be, if the jelly turns out of the tumblers tremulous yet firm, a gentle reader) that if she will have the currants picked just as soon as they are fully ripe, and before they have been drenched by a heavy rain, she will find that the jelly will "jell." It is overripe, water-soaked currants that break up families and demolish household gods. Let me also add another fact, as true as it is strange, that white currants make red jelly; therefore give the pearly fruit ample space in the garden. In passing to the consideration of varieties, it is quite natural in this connection to mention the white sorts first. I know that people are not yet sufficiently educated to demand white currants of their grocers; but the home garden is as much beyond the grocer's stall as the home is better than a boarding-house. There is no reason why free people in the country should be slaves to conventionalities, prejudices, and traditions. If white currants ARE sweeter, more delicious and beautiful than the red, why, so they are. Therefore let us plant them abundantly. If there is to be a queen among the currants, the White Grape is entitled to the crown. When placed upon the table, the dish appears heaped with translucent pearls. The sharp acid of the red varieties is absent, and you feel that if you could live upon them for a time, your blood would grow pure, if not "blue." The bush producing this exquisite fruit is like an uncouth-looking poet who gives beauty from an inner life, but disappoints in externals. It is low-branching and unshapely, and must be forced into good form--the bush, not the poet--by the pruning-knife. If this is done judiciously, no other variety will bear more profusely or present a fairer object on a July day. The White Dutch has the well-known characteristics in growth of the common Red Dutch currant, and is inferior only to the White Grape in size. The fruit is equally transparent, beautiful, mild, and agreeable in flavor, while the bush is enormously productive, and shapely in form, if properly trained and fertilized. While the white currants are such favorites, I do not undervalue the red. Indeed, were I restricted to one variety, it should be the old Dutch Red of our fathers, or, more properly, of our grandmothers. For general house uses I do not think it has yet been surpassed. It is not so mild in flavor as the white varieties, but there is a richness and sprightliness in its acid that are grateful indeed on a sultry day. Mingled with the white berries, it makes a beautiful dish, while it has all the culinary qualities which the housekeeper can desire. If the bush is rigorously pruned and generously enriched, it is unsurpassed in productiveness, and the fruit approaches very nearly to the Cherry currant in size. I do not recommend the last-named kind for the home garden, unless large, showy fruit counts for more than flavor. The acid of the Cherry currant, unless very ripe, is harsh and watery. At best it never acquires an agreeable mildness, to my taste. The bushes also are not so certainly productive, and usually require skilful pruning and constant fertilizing to be profitable. For the market, which demands size above all things, the Cherry is the kind to grow; but in the home garden flavor and productiveness are the more important qualities. Fay's Prolific is a new sort that has been very highly praised. The Victoria is an excellent late variety, which, if planted in a sheltered place, prolongs the currant-season well into the autumn. Spurious kinds are sold under this name. The true Victoria produces a pale-red fruit with tapering clusters or racemes of berries. This variety, with the three others recommended, gives the family two red and two white kinds--all that are needed. Those who are fond of black currants can, at almost any nursery, procure the Black Naples and Lee's Prolific. Either variety will answer all practical purposes. I confess they are not at all to my taste. From the currant we pass on naturally to the gooseberry, for in origin and requirements it is very similar. Both belong to the Ribes family of plants, and they are to be cultivated on the same general principles. What I have written in regard to partial shade, cool, sheltered localities, rich, heavy soils, good culture, and especially rigorous pruning, applies with even greater force to this fruit, especially if we endeavor to raise the foreign varieties, in cultivating this fruit it is even more important than was true of raspberries that the reader should distinguish between the native and foreign species. The latter are so inclined to mildew in almost every locality that there is rarely any certainty of satisfactory fruit. The same evil pursues the seedling children of the foreign sorts, and I have never seen a hybrid or cross between the English and native species that was with any certainty free from a brown disfiguring rust wholly or partially enveloping the berries. Here and there the fruit in some gardens will escape year after year; again, on places not far away, the blighting mildew is sure to appear before the berries are fully grown. Nevertheless, the foreign varieties are so fine that it is well to give them a fair trial. The three kinds which appear best adapted to our climate are Crown Bob, Roaring Lion, and Whitesmith. A new large variety, named Industry, is now being introduced, and if half of what is claimed for it is true, it is worth a place in all gardens. In order to be certain of clean, fair gooseberries every year, we must turn to our native species, which has already given us several good varieties. The Downing is the largest and best, and the Houghton the hardiest, most productive and easily raised. When we remember the superb fruit which English gardeners have developed from wild kinds inferior to ours, we can well understand that the true American gooseberries are yet to be developed. In my work "Success with Small Fruits" those who are interested in this fruit will find much fuller treatment than is warranted in the present essay. Not only do currants and gooseberries require similar treatment and cultivation, but they also have a common enemy that must be vigilantly guarded against, or the bushes will be defoliated in many localities almost before its existence is known. After an absence of a few days I have found some of my bushes stripped of every leaf. When this happens, the fruit is comparatively worthless. Foliage is as necessary to a plant as are lungs to a man. It is not essential that I should go into the natural history of the currant worm and moth. Having once seen the yellowish-green caterpillars at their destructive work, the reader's thoughts will not revert to the science of entomology, but will at once become bloody and implacable. I hasten to suggest the means of rescue and vengeance. The moment these worms appear, be on your guard, for they usually spread like fire in stubble. Procure of your druggist white hellebore, scald and mix a tablespoonful in a bowl of hot water, and then pour it in a full watering-can. This gives you an infusion of about a tablespoonful to an ordinary pail of water at its ordinary summer temperature. Sprinkle the infected bushes with this as often as there is a worm to be seen. I have never failed in destroying the pests by this course. It should be remembered, however, that new eggs are often hatched out daily. You may kill every worm to-day, yet find plenty on the morrow. Vigilance, however, will soon so check the evil that your currants are safe; and if every one would fight the pests, they would eventually be almost exterminated. The trouble is that, while you do your duty, your next-door neighbor may grow nothing on his bushes but currant-worms. Thus the evil is continued, and even increased, in spite of all that you can do; but by a little vigilance and the use of hellebore you can always save YOUR currants. I have kept my bushes green, luxuriant, and loaded with fruit when, at a short distance, the patches of careless neighbors were rendered utterly worthless. Our laws but half protect the birds, the best insecticides, and there is no law to prevent a man from allowing his acres to be the breeding-place of every pest prevailing. There are three species of the currant-borer, and their presence is indicated by yellow foliage and shrivelling fruit. The only remedy is to cut out and burn the affected stems. These pests are not often sufficiently numerous to do much harm. I earnestly urge that virulent poisons like Paris green, London purple, etc., never be used on fruit or edible vegetables. There cannot be safety in this course. I never heard of any one that was injured by white hellebore, used as I have directed; and I have found that if the worms were kept off until the fruit began to ripen, the danger was practically over. If I had to use hellebore after the fruit was fit to use, I should first kill the worms, and then cleanse the bushes thoroughly by spraying them with clean water. In treating the two remaining small fruits, blackberries and strawberries, we pass wholly out of the shade and away from trees. Sunshine and open ground are now required. Another important difference can also be mentioned, reversing former experience. America is the home of these fruits. The wild species of the blackberry abroad has never, as far as I can learn, been developed into varieties worthy of cultivation; and before importations from North and South America began, the only strawberry of Europe was the Alpine, with its slight variations, and the musky Hautbois. I do not know whether any of our fine varieties of blackberries are cultivated abroad, but I am perfectly certain that they are worthy of the slight attention required to raise them in perfection here. Like the blackcaps, all our best varieties are the spontaneous products of Nature, first discovered growing wild, and transferred to the garden. The blackberry is a fruit that takes kindly to cultivation, and improves under it. The proper treatment is management rather than cultivation and stimulation. It requires a sunny exposure and a light, warm soil, yet not so dry as to prevent the fruit from maturing into juicy berries. If possible, set the blackberries off by themselves, for it is hard to prevent the strong roots from travelling all over the garden. The blackberry likes a rich, moist, mellow soil, and, finding it, some varieties will give you canes sixteen feet high. You do not want rank, thorny brambles, however, but berries. Therefore the blackberry should be put where it can do no harm, and, by a little judicious repression, a great deal of good. A gravelly or sandy knoll, with a chance to mow all round the patch, is the best place. The blackberry needs a deep, loose soil rather than a rich one. Then the roots will luxuriate to unknown depths, the wood ripen thoroughly, and the fruit be correspondingly abundant. Let the rows be six feet apart; set out the plants in the fall, if possible, or EARLY spring; put two plants in the hills, which may be four feet apart. If the ground is very poor, give the young plants a shovelful of old compost, decayed leaves, etc. Any fertilizer will answer, so that it is spread just over the roots to give the plants a good send-off. As a rule, complete success in blackberry culture consists in a little judicious work performed in May, June, and July. The plants, having been set out as I have advised in the case of raspberries, throw up the first season strong green shoots. When these shoots are three feet high, pinch off the top, so as to stop upward growth. The result of this is that branches start on every side, and the plant forms a low, stocky, self-supporting bush, which will be loaded with fruit the following season. The second year the plants in the hill will send up stronger canes, and there will be plenty of sprouts or suckers in the intervening spaces. When very young, these useless sprouts can be pulled out with the least possible trouble. Left to mature, they make a thorny wilderness which will cause bleeding hands and faces when attacked, and add largely to the family mending. That which a child could do as play when the suckers were just coming through the ground, is now a formidable task for any man. In early summer you can with the utmost ease keep every useless blackberry sprout from growing. More canes, also, will usually start from the hill than are needed. Leave but three strong shoots, and this year pinch them back as soon as they are four feet high, thus producing three stocky, well-branched bushes, which in sheltered places will be self-supporting. Should there be the slightest danger of their breaking down with their load of fruit, tie them to stakes by all means. I do not believe in that kind of economy which tries to save a penny at the risk of a dollar. I believe that better and larger fruit is always secured by shortening in the side branches one-third of their length in spring. Fine varieties like the Kittatinny are not entirely hardy in all localities. The snow will protect the lower branches, and the upper ones can usually be kept uninjured by throwing over them some very light litter, like old pea or bean vines, etc.--nothing heavy enough to break them down. As soon as the old canes are through bearing, they should be cut out. If the blackberry patch has been left to its own wild will, there is nothing left for us but to attack it, well-gloved, in April, with the pruning-shears, and cut out everything except three or four young canes in the hill. These will probably be tall, slender, and branchless, therefore comparatively unproductive. In order to have any fruit at all, we must shorten them one-third, and tie them to stakes. It thus may be clearly seen that with blackberries "a stitch in time" saves almost ninety-nine. Keep out coarse weeds and grass, and give fertilizers only when the plants show signs of feebleness and lack of nutrition. A rust similar to that which attacks the black-cap is almost the only disease we have to contend with. The remedy is the same--extirpation of the plant, root and branch. After testing a great many kinds, I recommend the three following varieties, ripening in succession for the family--the Early Harvest, Snyder, and Kittatinny. These all produce rich, high-flavored berries, and, under the treatment suggested, will prove hardy in nearly all localities. This fruit is not ripe as soon as it is black, and it is rarely left on the bushes until the hard core in the centre is mellowed by complete maturity. I have found that berries picked in the evening and stood in a cool place were in excellent condition for breakfast. To have them in perfection, however, they must be so ripe as to drop into the basket at the slightest touch; then, as Donald Mitchell says, they are "bloated bubbles of forest honey." I fancy the reader is as impatient to reach the strawberry as I am myself. "Doubtless God could have made a better berry"--but I forbear. This saying has been quoted by the greater part of the human race, and attributed to nearly every prominent man, from Adam to Mr. Beecher. There are said to be unfortunates whom the strawberry poisons. The majority of us feel as if we could attain Methuselah's age if we had nothing worse to contend with. Praising the strawberry is like "painting the lily;" therefore let us give our attention at once to the essential details of its successful culture. As we have intimated before, this fruit as we find it in our gardens, even though we raise foreign kinds, came originally from America. The two great species, Fragaria chilensis, found on the Pacific slope from Oregon to Chili, and Fragaria virginiana, growing wild in all parts of North America east of the Rocky Mountains, are the sources of all the fine varieties that have been named and cultivated. The Alpine strawberry (Fragaria vesca), which grows wild throughout the northern hemisphere, does not appear capable of much variation and development under cultivation. Its seeds, sown under all possible conditions, reproduce the parent plant. Foreign gardeners eventually learned, however, that seeds of the Chili and Virginia strawberry produced new varieties which were often much better than their parents. As time passed, and more attention was drawn to this subject, superb varieties were originated abroad, many of them acquiring a wide celebrity. In this case, as has been true of nearly all other fruits, our nursery-men and fruit-growers first looked to Europe for improved varieties. Horticulturists were slow to learn that in our own native species were the possibilities of the best success. The Chili strawberry, brought directly from the Pacific coast to the East, is not at home in our climate, and is still more unfitted to contend with it after generations of culture in Europe. Even our hardier Virginia strawberry, coming back to us from England after many years of high stimulation in a moist, mild climate, is unequal to the harsher conditions of life here. They are like native Americans who have lived and been pampered abroad so long that they find this country "quite too rude, you know--beastly climate." Therefore, in the choice varieties, and in developing new ones, the nearer we can keep to vigorous strains of our own hardy Virginia species the better. From it have proceeded and will continue to come the finest kinds that can be grown east of the Rockies. Nevertheless, what was said of foreign raspberries is almost equally true of European strawberries like the Triomphe de Gand and Jucunda, and hybrids like the Wilder. In localities where they can be grown, their beauty and fine flavor repay for the high culture and careful winter protection required. But they can scarcely be made to thrive on light soils or very far to the south. So many varieties are offered for sale that the question of choice is a bewildering one. I have therefore sought to meet it, as before, by giving the advice of those whose opinions are well entitled to respect. Dr. Hexamer, who has had great and varied experience, writes as follows: "A neighbor of mine who has for years bought nearly every new strawberry when first introduced, has settled on the Duchess and Cumberland as the only varieties he will grow in the future, and thinks it not worth while to seek for something better. Confined to two varieties, a more satisfactory selection could scarcely be made. But you want six or seven, either being, I think, about the right number for the home garden. I will give them in the order of desirability according to my judgment--Cumberland, Charles Downing, Duchess, Mount Vernon, Warren, Sharpless, Jewell." The selection which places the Cumberland Triumph at the head of the list is but another proof how kinds differ under varied conditions. On my place this highly praised sort is but moderately productive and not high-flavored, although the fruit is very large and handsome. I regard the list, however, as a most excellent one for most localities. The Hon. Marshall P. Wilder's choice for the latitude of Massachusetts: "Charles Downing, Wilder, Hervey Davis, Sharpless, Cumberland, Kentucky. Jewell is very promising." A. S. Fuller, for latitude of New York: "Charles Downing, Sharpless, Miner's Prolific, Wilson's Albany, Champion." P. C. Berckmans, for the latitude of Georgia: "Wilson, Sharpless, Charles Downing, Triomphe de Gand, Glendale." The Hon. Norman J. Colman's choice for Missouri and the West: "Crescent, Captain Jack, Cumberland, Champion, Hart's Minnesota, Cornelia." If I gave a hundred other lists, no two of them probably would agree in all respects. Mr. Downing often said to me, "Soil, climate, and locality make greater differences with the strawberry than with any other fruit." This is far more true of some varieties than others. I believe that the excellent kind named after Mr. Downing, if given proper treatment, will do well almost anywhere on the continent. It will be noted that it is on all the lists except one. I should place it at the head of garden strawberries. It is a kind that will endure much neglect, and it responds splendidly to generous, sensible treatment. Its delicious flavor is its chief recommendation, as it should be that of every berry for the home garden. I have tested many hundreds of kinds, and have grown scores and scores that were so praised when first sent out that the novice might be tempted to dig up and throw away everything except the wonderful novelty pressed upon his attention. There is one quiet, effective way of meeting all this heralding and laudation, and that is to make trial beds. For instance, I have put out as many as seventy kinds at nearly the same time, and grown them under precisely the same conditions. Some of the much-vaunted new-comers were found to be old varieties re-named; others, although sold at high prices and asserted to be prodigies, were seen to be comparatively worthless when growing by the side of good old standard sorts; the majority never rose above mediocrity under ordinary treatment; but now and then one, like the Sharpless, fulfilled the promises made for it. In my next chapter I shall venture to recommend those varieties which my own experience and observation have shown to be best adapted to various soils and localities, and shall also seek to prove that proper cultivation has more to do with success than even the selection of favored kinds. Nor would I seek to dissuade the proprietor of the Home Acre from testing the many novelties offered. He will be sure to get a fair return in strawberries, and to his interest in his garden will add the pleasure and anticipation which accompany uncertain experiment. In brief, he has found an innocent form of gambling, which will injure neither pocket nor morals. In slow-maturing fruits we cannot afford to make mistakes; in strawberries, one prize out of a dozen blanks repays for everything. CHAPTER VII STRAWBERRIES There is a very general impression that light, dry, sandy soils are the best for the strawberry. Just the reverse of this is true. In its desire for moisture it is almost an aquatic plant. Experienced horticulturists have learned to recognize this truth, which the Hon. Marshall P. Wilder has suggested in the following piquant manner: "In the first place, the strawberry's chief need is a great deal of water. In the second place, it needs more water. In the third place, I think I should give it a great deal more water." While emphasizing this truth the reader should at the same time be warned against land whereon water stands above the surface in winter and spring, or stagnates beneath the surface at any time. Moisture is essential to the best results; good drainage is equally so. The marvellous crops of strawberries raised in California under well-directed systems of irrigation should teach us useful lessons. The plants, instead of producing a partially developed crop within a few brief days, continue in bearing through weeks and months. It may often be possible to supply abundantly on the Home Acre this vital requirement of moisture, and I shall refer to this point further on. My first advice in regard to strawberries is to set them out immediately almost anywhere except upon land so recently in grass that the sod is still undecayed. This course is better than not to have the fruit at all, or to wait for it A year without strawberries is a lost year in one serious respect. While there is a wide difference between what plants can do under unfavorable conditions and what they can be made to do when their needs are fully met, they will probably in any event yield a fair supply of delicious fruit. Secure this as soon as possible. At the same time remember that a plant of a good variety is a genius capable of wonderful development. In ordinary circumstances it is like the "mute, inglorious" poets whose enforced limitations were lamented by the poet Gray; but when its innate powers and gifts are fully nourished it expands into surprising proportions, sends up hundreds of flowers, which are followed by ruby gems of fruit whose exquisite flavor is only surpassed by its beauty. No such concentrated ambrosia ever graced the feasts of the Olympian gods, for they were restricted to the humble Fragaria vesca, or Alpine species. In discovering the New World, Columbus also discovered the true strawberry, and died without the knowledge of this result of his achievement. I can imagine the expression on the faces of those who buy the "sour, crude, half-ripe Wilsons," against which the poet Bryant inveighed so justly. The market is flooded with this fruit because it bears transportation about as well as would marbles. Yes, they are strawberries; choke-pears and Seckels belong to the same species. There is truth enough in my exaggeration to warrant the assertion that if we would enjoy the possible strawberry, we must raise it ourselves, and pick it when fully matured--ready for the table, and not for market. Then any man's garden can furnish something better than was found in Eden. Having started a strawberry-patch without loss of time wherever it is handiest, we can now give our attention to the formation of an ideal bed. In this instance we must shun the shade of trees above, and their roots beneath. The land should be open to the sky, and the sun free to practice his alchemy on the fruit the greater part of the day. The most favorable soil is a sandy loam, verging toward clay; and it should have been under cultivation sufficiently long to destroy all roots of grass and perennial weeds. Put on the fertilizer with a free hand. If it is barnyard manure, the rate of sixty tons to the acre is not in excess. A strawberry plant has a large appetite and excellent digestion. It prefers decidedly manure from the cow-stable, though that from the horse-stable answers very well; but it is not advisable to incorporate it with the soil in its raw, unfermented state, and then to plant immediately. The ground can scarcely be too rich for strawberries, but it may easily be overheated and stimulated. In fertilizing, ever keep in mind the two great requisites--moisture and coolness. Manure from the horse-stable, therefore, is almost doubled in value as well as bulk if composted with leaves, muck, or sods, and allowed to decay before being used. Next to enriching the soil, the most important step is to deepen it. If a plow is used, sink it to the beam, and run it twice in a furrow. If a lifting subsoil-plow can follow, all the better. Strawberry roots have been traced two feet below the surface. If the situation of the plot does not admit the use of a plow, let the gardener begin at one side and trench the area to at least the depth of eighteen inches, taking pains to mix the surface, subsoil, and fertilizer evenly and thoroughly. A small plot thus treated will yield as much as one three or four times as large. One of the chief advantages of thus deepening the soil is that the plants are insured against their worst enemy--drought. How often I have seen beds in early June languishing for moisture, the fruit trusses lying on the ground, fainting under their burden, and the berries ripening prematurely into little more than diminutive collections of seeds! When ground has been deepened as I have said, the drought must be almost unparalleled to arrest the development of the fruit. Even in the most favorable seasons, hard, shallow soils give but a brief period of strawberries, the fruit ripens all at once, and although the first berries may be of good size, the later ones dwindle until they are scarcely larger than peas. Be sure to have a deep, mellow soil beneath the plants. Such a bed can be made in either spring or fall--indeed, at any time when the soil is free from frost, and neither too wet nor dry. I do not believe in preparing and fertilizing ground during a period of drought. We will suppose the work has been done in the spring, as early as the earth was dry enough to crumble freely, and that the surface of the bed is smooth, mellow, and ready for the plants. Stretch a garden line down the length of the plot two feet from the outer edge, and set the plants along the line one foot apart from each other. Let the roots be spread out, not buried in a mat, the earth pressed FIRMLY against them, and the crown of the plant be exactly even with the surface of the soil, which should also be pressed closely around it with the fingers. This may seem minute detail, yet much dismal experience proves it to be essential. I have employed scores of men, and the great majority at first would either bury the crowns out of sight, or else leave part of the roots exposed, and the remainder so loose in the soil that a sharp gale would blow the plants away. There is no one so economical of time as the hired man whose time is paid for. He is ever bent on saving a minute or half-minute in this kind of work. On one occasion I had to reset a good part of an acre on which my men had saved time in planting. If I had asked them to save the plants in the year of '86, they might have "struck." The first row having been set out, I advise that the line be moved forward three feet. This would make the rows three feet apart--not too far in ground prepared as described, and in view of the subsequent method of cultivation. The bed may therefore be filled up in this ratio, the plants one foot apart in the row, and the rows three feet apart. The next point in my system, for the kind of soil named (for light, sandy soils another plan will be indicated), is to regard each plant as an individual that is to be developed to the utmost. Of course only young plants of the previous season's growth should be used. If a plant has old, woody, black roots, throw it away. Plants set out in April will begin to blossom in May. These buds and blossoms should be picked off ruthlessly as soon as they appear. Never does avarice overreach itself more completely than when plants are permitted to bear the same season in which they are set out. The young, half-established plant is drained of its vitality in producing a little imperfect fruit; yet this is permitted even by farmers who would hold up their hands at the idea of harnessing a colt to a plow. The plants do not know anything about our purpose in regard to them. They merely seek to follow the law of Nature to propagate themselves, first by seeds which, strictly speaking, are the fruit, and then by runners. These slender, tendril-like growths begin to appear early in summer, and if left unchecked will mat the ground about the parent with young plants by late autumn. If we wish plants, let them grow by all means; but if fruit is our object, why should we let them grow? "Because nearly every one seems to do it," would be, perhaps, the most rational answer. This is a mistake, for many are beginning to take just the opposite course even when growing strawberries by the acre. Let us fix our attention on a single plant. It has a certain amount of root pasturage and space in which to grow. Since it is not permitted to produce an indefinite number of young plants, it begins to develop itself. The soil is rich, the roots are busy, and there must be an outlet. The original plant cannot form others, and therefore begins to produce fruit-crowns for the coming year. All the sap, all the increasing power of root and foliage, are directed to preparation for fruit. In brief, we have got the plant in traces; it is pulling in the direction we wish, it will eventually deliver a load of berries which would surprise those who trust simply to Nature unguided. Some one may object that this is a troublesome and expensive way of growing strawberries. Do not the facts in the case prove the reverse? A plant restricted to a single root can be hoed and worked around like a hill of corn or a currant-bush. With comparatively little trouble the ground between the rows can be kept clean and mellow. Under the common system, which allows the runners to interlace and mat the ground, you soon have an almost endless amount of hand-weeding to do, and even this fails if white clover, sorrel, and certain grasses once get a start. The system I advocate forbids neglect; the runners must be clipped off as fast as they appear, and they continue to grow from June till frost; but the actual labor of the year is reduced to a minimum. A little boy or girl could keep a large bed clipped by the occasional use of a shears or knife before breakfast; and if the ground between the plants is free of runners, it can be hoed over in an hour. Considering, therefore, merely the trouble and expense, the single-plant system has the facts in its favor. But our object is not to grow strawberry plants with the least trouble, but to have strawberries of the largest and finest quality. In addition to ease and thoroughness of cultivation, there are other important advantages. The single narrow row of plants is more easily protected against winter's frosts. Light, strawy manure from the horse-stable serves well for this purpose; but it should be light and free from heat. I have seen beds destroyed by too heavy a covering of chunky, rank manure. It is not our purpose to keep the beds and plants from freezing, but from alternately freezing and thawing. If snow fell on the bed in December and lasted till April, no other protection would be needed. Nature in this latitude has no sympathy for the careless man. During the winter of 1885, in January, and again in February and March, the ground was bare, unprotected plants were badly frozen, and in many instances lifted partly out of the ground by midday thawing and night freezing. The only safe course is to cover the rows thoroughly, but not heavily, early in December. If then light stable-manure is not at hand, leaves, old bean-vines, or any dry refuse from the garden not containing injurious seeds will answer. Do not employ asparagus-tops, which contain seed. Of course we want this vegetable, but not in the strawberry bed. Like some persons out of their proper sphere, asparagus may easily become a nuisance; and it will dispossess other growths of their rights and places as serenely as a Knight of Labor. The proper balance must be kept in the garden as well as in society; and therefore it is important to cover our plants with something that will not speedily become a usurper. Let it be a settled point, then, that the narrow rows must be covered thoroughly out of sight with some light material which will not rest with smothering weight on the plants or leave among them injurious seeds. Light stable-manure is often objected to for the reason that employing it is like sowing the ground with grass-seed. If the plants had been allowed to grow in matted beds, I would not use this material for a winter covering, unless it had been allowed to heat sufficiently to destroy the grass and clover seed contained in it. I have seen matted beds protected with stable-manure that were fit to mow by June, the plants and fruit having been over run with grass. No such result need follow if the plants are cultivated in a single line, for then the manure can be raked off in early spring--first of April in our latitude--and the ground cultivated. There is a great advantage in employing light manure if the system I advocate is followed, for the melting snows and rains carry the richness of the fertilizer to the roots, and winter protection serves a double purpose. We will now consider the proper management for the second year, when a full crop should be yielded. I know that many authorities frown upon cultivation during the second spring, before plants bear their fruit. I can not agree with this view, except in regard to very light soils, and look upon it as a relic of the old theory that sandy land was the best for strawberries. Take the soil under consideration, a sandy loam, for instance. After the frost is out, the earth settled, and the winter covering raked off, the soil under the spring sun grows hard, and by June is almost as solid as a roadbed. Every one knows that land in such condition suffers tenfold more severely from drought than if it were light and mellow from cultivation. Perennial weeds that sprouted late in the fall or early spring get a start, and by fruiting-time are rampant. I do advocate EARLY spring cultivation, and by it I almost double my crop, while at the same time maintaining a mastery over the weeds. As soon as the severe frosts are over, in April, I rake the coarsest of the stable-manure from the plants, leaving the finer and decayed portions as a fertilizer. Then, when the ground is dry enough to work, I have a man weed out the rows, and if there are vacant spaces, fill in the rows with young plants. The man then forks the ground lightly between the rows, and stirs the surface merely among the plants. Thus all the hard, sodden surface is loosened or scarified, and opened to the reception of air and light, dew and rain. The man is charged emphatically that in this cultivation he must not lift the plants or disturb the roots to any extent. If I find a plant with its hold upon the ground loosened, I know there has been careless work. Before digging along the row the fork is sunk beside the plants to prevent the soil from lifting in cakes, and the plants with them. In brief, pains are taken that the plants should be just as firm in the soil after cultivation as before. Let the reader carefully observe that this work is done EARLY in April, while the plants are comparatively DORMANT. Most emphatically it should not be done in May, after the blossoms begin to appear. If the bed has been neglected till that time, the SURFACE MERELY can be cultivated with a hoe. When the plants have approached so near to the fruiting, the roots must not be disturbed at all. EARLY cultivation gives time for new roots to grow, and stimulates such growth. Where the rows are sufficiently long, and the ground permits it, this early loosening of the soil is accomplished with a horse-cultivator better than with a fork, the hoe following and levelling the soil and taking out all weeds. My next step during the second season is to mulch the plants, in order to keep the fruit clean. Without this mulch the fruit is usually unfit for the table. A dashing shower splashes the berries with mud and grit, and the fruit must be washed before it is eaten; and strawberries with their sun-bestowed beauty and flavor washed away are as ridiculous as is mere noise from musical instruments. To be content with such fruit is like valuing pictures by the number of square inches of canvas! In perfecting a strawberry, Nature gives some of her finest touches, and it is not well to obliterate them with either mud or water. Any light clean material will keep the fruit clean. I have found spring rakings of the lawn--mingled dead grass and leaves--one of the best. Leaves from a grove would answer, were it not for their blowing about in an untidy way. Of course there is nothing better than straw for the strawberry; but this often costs as much as hay. Any clean litter that will lie close to the ground and can be pushed up under the plants will answer. Nor should it be merely under the plants. A man once mulched my rows in such a way that the fruit hung over the litter on the soil beyond. A little common-sense will meet the requirement of keeping the berries well away from the loose soil, while at the same time preserving a neat aspect to the bed. Pine-needles and salt-hay are used where these materials are abundant. Make it a rule to mulch as soon as possible after the plants begin to blossom, and also after a good soaking rain. In this case the litter keeps the ground moist. If the soil immediately about the plants is covered when dry, the mulch may keep it dry--to the great detriment of the forming berries. It is usually best to put on the mulch as soon as the early cultivation is over in April, and then the bed may be left till the fruit is picked. Of course it may be necessary to pull out some rank-growing weeds from time to time. If the hired man is left to do the mulching very late in the season, he will probably cover much of the green fruit and blossoms as well as the ground. After the berries have been picked, the remaining treatment of the year is very simple. Rake out the mulch, cultivate the soil, and keep the plants free of weeds and runners as during the previous year. Before hard freezing weather, protect again as before, and give the plants similar treatment the following spring and summer. Under this system the same plants may be kept in bearing three, four, and five years, according to the variety. Some kinds maintain their vigor longer than others. After the first year the disposition to run declines, and with the third year, in most instances, deterioration in the plant itself begins. I would therefore advise that under this system a new bed be made, as described, every third year; for, it should be remembered, the new bed is unproductive the first year. This should never be forgotten if one would maintain a continuous supply of berries, otherwise he will be like those born on the 29th of February, and have only occasional birthdays. If the old bed is just where you wish, and has been prepared in the thorough manner described, it can be renewed in the following manner: When the old plants begin to decline in vigor--say the third or fourth spring--a line of well-decayed compost and manure from the cow-stable a foot wide may be spread thickly down between the rows, dug under deeply, and young plants set out just over the fertilizer. The old plants can be treated as has already been described, and as soon as they are through bearing, dug under. This would leave the young plants in full possession of the ground, and the cultivation and management for three or more years would go on as already directed. This course involves no loss of time or change of ground for a long periods. If, however, a new bed can be made somewhere else, the plants will thrive better upon it. Unless there are serious objections, a change of ground is always advantageous; for no matter how lavishly the plot is enriched, the strawberry appears to exhaust certain required constituents in the soil. Continued vigor is better maintained by wood-ashes perhaps than by any other fertilizer, after the soil is once deepened and enriched, and it may be regarded as one of the very best tonics for the strawberry plant. Bone-meal is almost equally good. Guano and kindred fertilizers are too stimulating, and have not the staying qualities required. As has been intimated before, the strawberry bed may often be so located on the Home Acre as to permit of irrigation. This does not mean sprinkling and splattering with water, but the continuous maintenance of abundant moisture during the critical period from the time the fruit begins to form until it ripens. Partial watering during a drought is very injurious; so also would be too frequent watering. If the ground could be soaked twice a week in the evening, and then left to the hardening and maturing influence of the sun and wind, the finest results would be secured. I am satisfied that in most localities the size of the berries and the number of quarts produced might be doubled by judicious irrigation. The system given above applies not only to sandy loam, but also to all varieties of clay, even the most stubborn. In the latter instance it would be well to employ stable-manure in the initial enriching, for this would tend to lighten and warm the soil. Care must also be exercised in not working clay when it is too wet or too dry. Mulch also plays an important part on heavy clay, for it prevents the soil from baking and cracking. One of the best methods of preventing this is to top-dress the ground with stable-manure, and hoe it in from time to time when fighting the weeds. This keeps the surface open and mellow--a vital necessity for vigorous growth. Few plants will thrive when the surface is hard and baked. Nevertheless, if I had to choose between heavy clay and light sand for strawberries, I should much prefer the clay. On the last-named soil an abundant winter protection is absolutely necessary, or else the plants will freeze entirely out of the ground. The native strain of cultivated strawberries has so much vigor and power of adaptation that plenty of excellent varieties can be grown on the lightest soil. In this instance, however, we would suggest important modifications in preparation and culture. The soil, as has been already shown, must be treated like a spendthrift. Deep plowing or spading should be avoided, as the subsoil is too loose and leachy already. The initial enriching of the bed should be generous, but not lavish. You cannot deposit fertilizers for long-continued use. I should prefer to harrow or rake in the manure, leaving it near the surface. The rains will carry it down fast enough. One of the very best methods is to open furrows, three feet apart, with a light corn-plow, half fill them with decayed compost, again run the plow through to mix the fertilizer with the soil, then level the ground, and set out the plants immediately over the manure. They thus get the benefit of it before it can leach away. The accomplished horticulturist Mr. P. T. Quinn, of Newark, N. J., has achieved remarkable success by this plan. It is a well-known fact that on light land strawberry plants are not so long-lived and do not develop, or "stool out," as it is termed, as on heavier land. In order to secure the largest and best possible crop, therefore, I should not advise a single line of plants, but rather a narrow bed of plants, say eighteen inches wide, leaving eighteen inches for a walk. I would not allow this bed to be matted with an indefinite number of little plants crowding each other into feeble life, but would leave only those runners which had taken root early, and destroy the rest. A plant which forms in June and the first weeks in July has time to mature good-sized fruit-buds before winter, especially if given space in which to develop. This, however, would be impossible if the runners were allowed to sod the ground thickly. In principle I would carry out the first system, and give each plant space in which to grow upon its own root as large as it naturally would in a light soil, and I would have a sufficient number of plants to supply the deficiency in growth. On good, loamy soil, the foliage of single lines of plants, three feet apart, will grow so large as to touch across the spaces; but this could scarcely be expected on light soil unless irrigation were combined with great fertility. Nevertheless, a bed with plants standing not too thickly upon it will give an abundance of superb fruit. Strawberries grown in beds may not require so much spring mulching to keep the fruit clean, but should carefully receive all that is needed. Winter protection also is not so indispensable as on heavier soils, but it always well repays. A thick bed of plants should never be protected by any kind of litter which would leave seeds of various kinds, for under this system of culture weeds must be taken out by hand; and this is always slow, back-aching work. When plants are grown in beds it does not pay to continue them after fruiting the third year. For instance, they are set out in spring, and during the first season they are permitted to make a limited number of runners, and prepare to fruit the following year. After the berries are picked the third year, dig the plants under, and occupy the ground with something else. On light soils, and where the plants are grown in beds instead of narrow rows, new beds should be set out every alternate year. In order to have an abundant supply of young plants it is only necessary to let one end of a row or a small portion of a bed run at will. Then new plants can be set out as desired. While more strawberries are planted in spring than at any other time, certain advantages are secured by summer and fall setting. This is especially true of gardens wherein early crops are maturing, leaving the ground vacant. For instance, there are areas from which early peas, beans, or potatoes have been gathered. Suppose such a plot is ready for something else in July or August, the earlier the better. Unless the ground is very dry, a bed can be prepared as has been described. If the soil is in good condition, rich and deep, it can be dug thoroughly, and the plants set out at once in the cool of the evening, or just before a shower. During the hot season a great advantage is secured if the plants are set immediately after the ground is prepared, and while the surface is still moist. It is unfortunate if ground is made ready and then permitted to dry out before planting takes place, for watering, no matter how thorough, has not so good an influence in starting new growth as the natural moisture of the soil. It would be better, therefore, to dig the ground late in the afternoon, and set out the plants the same evening. Watering, however, should never be dispensed with during warm weather, unless there is a certainty of rain; and even then it does no harm. Suppose one wishes to set a new bed in July. If he has strawberries growing on his place, his course would be to let some of his favorite varieties make new runners as early as possible. These should be well-rooted young plants by the middle of the month. After the new ground is prepared, these can be taken up, with a ball of earth attached to their roots, and carried carefully to their new starting-place. If they are removed so gently as not to shake off the earth from the roots, they will not know that they have been moved, but continue to thrive without wilting a leaf. If such transplanting is done immediately after a soaking rain, the soil will cling to the roots so tenaciously as to ensure a transfer that will not cause any check of growth. But it is not necessary to wait for rain. At five in the afternoon soak with water the ground in which the young plants are standing, and by six o'clock you can take up the plants with their roots incased in clinging earth, just as successfully as after a rain. Plants thus transferred, and watered after being set out, will not wilt, although the thermometer is in the nineties the following day. If young plants are scarce, take up the strongest and best-rooted ones, and leave the runner attached; set out such plants with their balls of earth four feet apart in the row, and with a lump of earth fasten down the runners along the line. Within a month these runners will fill up the new rows as closely as desirable. Then all propagation in the new bed should be checked, and the plants compelled to develop for fruiting in the coming season. In this latitude a plant thus transferred in July or August will bear a very good crop the following June, and the berries will probably be larger than in the following years. This tendency to produce very large fruit is characteristic of young plants set out in summer. It thus may be seen that plants set in spring can not produce a good crop of fruit under about fourteen months, while others, set in summer, will yield in nine or ten months. I have set out many acres in summer and early autumn with the most satisfactory results. Thereafter the plants were treated in precisely the same manner as those set in spring. If the plants must be bought and transported from a distance during hot weather, I should not advise the purchase of any except those grown in pots. Nurserymen have made us familiar with pot-grown plants, for we fill our flowerbeds with them. In like manner strawberry plants are grown and sold. Little pots, three inches across at the top, are sunk in the earth along a strawberry row, and the runners so fastened down that they take root in these pots. In about two weeks the young plant will fill a pot with roots. It may then be severed from the parent, and transported almost any distance, like a verbena. Usually the ball of earth and roots is separated from the pot, and is then wrapped in paper before being packed in the shallow box employed for shipping purposes. A nurseryman once distributed in a summer throughout the country a hundred thousand plants of one variety grown in this manner. The earth encasing the roots sustained the plants during transportation and after setting sufficiently to prevent any loss worth mentioning. This method of the plant-grower can easily be employed on the Home Acre. Pots filled with earth may be sunk along the strawberry rows in the garden, the runners made to root in them, and from them transferred to any part of the garden wherein we propose to make a new bed. It is only a neater and more certain way of removing young plants with a ball of earth from the open bed. Some have adopted this system in raising strawberries for market. They prepare very rich beds, fill them with pot-grown plants in June or July, take from these plants one crop the following June, then plow them under. As a rule, however, such plants cannot be bought in quantities before August or September. As we go south, September, October, or November, according to lowness of latitude, are the favorite months for planting. I have had excellent success on the Hudson in late autumn planting. My method has been to cover the young plants, just before the ground froze, with two or three inches of clean earth, and then to rake it off again early in April. The roots of such plants become thoroughly established during the winter, and start with double vigor. Plants set out in LATE autumn do best on light, dry soils. On heavy soils they will be frozen out unless well covered. They should not be allowed to bear the following season. A late-set plant cannot before winter in our climate become strong and sturdy enough to produce much fruit the following season. I make it a rule not to permit plants set out after the first of October to bear fruit until a year from the following June. In setting out plants, the principle of sex should be remembered. The majority of our favorite varieties are bisexual; that is, the blossoms are furnished with both stamens and pistils. A variety with this organization, as the Sharpless, for instance, will bear alone with no other kind near it. But if one set out a bed of Champions--another fine variety--well apart from any staminate kind, it would blossom profusely, but produce no fruit. When I was a boy, Hovey's Seedling was the great strawberry of the day, and marvellous stories were told of the productiveness of the plants and the size of the berries. How well I remember the disappointment and wrath of people who bought the plants at a high price, and set them out with no staminate varieties near to fertilize the pistillate blossoms. Expectations were raised to the highest pitch by profuse blossoming in May, but not a berry could be found the ensuing June. The vigorous plants were only a mockery, and the people who sold them were berated as humbugs. To-day the most highly praised strawberry is the Jewell. The originator, Mr. P. M. Augur, writes me that "plants set two feet by eighteen inches apart, August 1, 1884, in June, 1885, completely covered the ground, touching both ways, and averaged little over a quart to the plant for the centre patch." All runners were kept off, in accordance with the system advocated in this paper. "At Boston a silver medal was awarded to this variety as the best new strawberry introduced within five years." People reading such laudation--well deserved, I believe--might conclude the best is good enough for us, and send for enough Jewell plants to set out a bed. If they set no others near it, their experience would be similar to that which I witnessed in the case of Hovey's Seedling thirty odd years ago. The blossom of the Jewell contains pistils only, and will produce no fruit unless a staminate variety is planted near. I have never considered this an objection against a variety; for why should any one wish to raise only one variety of strawberry? All danger of barrenness in pistillate kinds is removed absolutely by planting staminate sorts in the same bed. In nurserymen's catalogues pistillate varieties are marked "P.," and the purchaser has merely to set out the plants within a few feet of some perfect flowering kind to secure abundant fruit. As a result of much experience, I will now make some suggestions as to varieties. In a former paper I have given, the opinions of others upon this important subject, and one can follow the advice of such eminent authorities without misgiving. The earliest strawberry that I have ever raised, and one of the best flavored, is the Crystal City. It is evidently a wild variety domesticated, and it has the exquisite flavor and perfume of the field-berry. It rarely fails to give us fruit in May, and my children, with the unerring taste of connoisseurs, follow it up until the last berry is picked. It would run all over the garden unchecked; and this propensity must be severely curbed to render a bed productive. Keeping earliness and high flavor in view, I would next recommend the Black Defiance. It is not remarkably productive on many soils, but the fruit is so delicious that it well deserves a place. The Duchess and Bidwell follow in the order of ripening. On my grounds they have always made enormous plants, and yielded an abundance of good-flavored berries. The Downing is early to medium in the season of ripening, and should be in every collection. The Indiana is said to resemble this kind, and to be an improvement upon it. Miner's Prolific is another kindred berry, and a most excellent one. Among the latest berries I recommend the Sharpless Champion, or Windsor Chief, and Parry. If one wishes to raise a very large, late, showy berry, let him try the Longfellow. The Cornelia is said to grow very large and ripen late, but I have not yet fruited it. As I said fifteen or twenty years ago, if I were restricted to but one variety, I should choose the Triomphe de Gand, a foreign kind, but well adapted to rich, heavy soils. The berries begin to ripen early, and last very late. The Memphis Late has always been the last to mature on my grounds, and, like the Crystal City, is either a wild variety, or else but slightly removed. The Wilson is the great berry of commerce. It is not ripe when it is red, and therefore is rarely eaten in perfection. Let it get almost black in its ripeness, and it is one of the richest berries in existence. With a liberal allowance of sugar and cream, it makes a dish much too good for an average king. It is also the best variety for preserving. It should be remembered that all strawberries, unlike pears, should be allowed to mature fully before being picked. Many a variety is condemned because the fruit is eaten prematurely. There is no richer berry in existence than the Windsor Chief, yet the fruit, when merely red, is decidedly disagreeable. The reader can now make a selection of kinds which should give him six weeks of strawberries. At the same time he must be warned that plants growing in a hard, dry, poor soil, and in matted beds, yield their fruit almost together, no matter how many varieties may have been set out. Under such conditions the strawberry season is brief indeed. While I was writing this paper the chief enemy of the strawberry came blundering and bumping about my lamp--the May beetle. The larva of this insect, the well-known white grub, has an insatiable appetite for strawberry roots, and in some localities and seasons is very destructive. One year I lost at least one hundred thousand plants by this pest. This beetle does not often lay its egg in well-cultivated ground, and we may reasonably hope to escape its ravages in a garden. If, when preparing for a bed, many white grubs are found in the soil, I should certainly advise that another locality be chosen. The only remedy is to dig out the larvae and kill them. If you find a plant wilting without apparent cause, you may be sure that a grub is feeding on the roots. The strawberry plant is comparatively free from insect enemies and disease, and rarely disappoints any one who gives it a tithe of the attention it deserves. There are many points in connection with this fruit which, in a small treatise like this, must be merely touched upon or omitted altogether. I may refer those who wish to study the subject more thoroughly to my work, "Success with Small Fruits." CHAPTER VIII THE KITCHEN-GARDEN The garden should be open to the sky, and as far as possible unshaded by adjacent trees from the morning and afternoon sun. It is even more essential that the trees be not so near that their voracious roots can make their way to the rich loam of the garden. Now for the soil. We should naturally suppose that that of Eden was a deep sandy loam, with not too porous a subsoil. As we have already seen again and again, such a soil appears to be the laboratory in which we can assist Nature to develop her best products. But Nature has a profound respect for skill, and when she recognizes it, "lends a hand" in securing excellent crops from almost drifting sand or stubborn clay. She has even assisted the Hollander in wresting from the ocean one of the gardens of the world. We must again dwell on the principles already emphasized, that soils must be treated according to their nature. If too damp, they must be drained; if of the fortunate quality of a sandy loam resting on a clay subsoil, they can be abundantly deepened and enriched from the start, if of a heavy clay, inclined to be cold and wet in spring, and to bake and crack in summer, skill should aim to lighten it and remove its inertia; finally, as we have shown, a light, porous soil should be treated like a spendthrift. All soils, except the last-named, are much the better for being enriched and deeply plowed or forked in October or November. This exposes the mould to the sweetening and mechanical action of frost, and the fertilizers incorporated with it are gradually transformed into just that condition of plant food which the rootlets take up with the greatest ease and rapidity. A light soil, on the contrary, should not be worked in autumn, but be left intact after the crops are taken from it. In one respect a light soil and a stiff, heavy one should be treated in the same way, but for different reasons. In the first instance, fertilizers should be applied in moderation to the surface, and rains and the cultivation of the growing crops depended upon to carry the richness downward to the roots. The porous nature of the earth must ever be borne in mind; fertilizers pass through it and disappear, and therefore are applied to the surface, to delay this process and enable the roots to obtain as much nutriment as possible during the passage. Equal and even greater advantages are secured by a top-dressing of barnyard manures and composts to the heaviest of clay. The surface of such soils, left to Nature, becomes in hot, dry weather like pottery, baking and cracking, shielding from dew and shower, and preventing all circulation of air about the roots. A top-dressing prevents all this, keeps the surface open and mellow, and supplies not only fertility, but the mechanical conditions that are essential. If we are now ready to begin, let us begin right. I have not much sympathy with finical, fussy gardening. One of the chief fascinations of gardening is the endless field it affords for skilful sleight of hand, short-cuts, unconventional methods, and experiments. The true gardener soon ceases to be a man of rules, and becomes one of strategy, of expedients. He is prompt to act at the right moment. Like the artist, he is ever seeking and acting upon hints from Nature. The man of rules says the first of July is the time to set out winter cabbage; and out the plants go, though the sky be brazen, and the mercury in the nineties. The gardener has his plants ready, and for a few days watches the sky. At last he perceives that rain is coming; then he sets out his plants, and Nature's watering starts them, unwilted, on their new growth. At the same time I protest against careless, slovenly gardening--ground imperfectly prepared, crooked rows, seed half covered, or covered so deeply that the germs are discouraged long before they reach light. One of the best aids to success is a small compost-heap composed equally of manure from the horse-stable, the cow-stable, and of leaves. This should be allowed to stand so long, and be cut down and turned so often, that it becomes like a fine black powder, and is much the better for being kept under shelter from sun and rain. All who hope to have a permanent garden will naturally think first of asparagus--one of the vegetables that have bee a longest in cultivation, and one which is justly among the most valued. It was cultivated hundreds of years before the Christian era, and is to-day growing in popular esteem among civilized peoples. In the matter of preparation I shall take issue with many of the authorities. I have read and known of instances wherein extraordinary expense and pains have been bestowed upon the asparagus-bed. The soil has been dug out to the depth of two or more feet, the bottom paved, and the homely, hardy roots, accustomed to roughing it the world over, set out and tended with a care which, if given to a potato, would make it open its eyes. There are few more hardy or widely distributed species of vegetables than asparagus. It is "a native of the sea-coasts of various countries of Europe and Asia." According to Loudon, it is abundant on the sandy steppes in the interior of Russia. In Southern Russia and Poland the horses and cows feed upon it. It grows freely in the fens of Lincolnshire, and is indigenous to Cornwall. On the borders of the Euphrates the shoots are so extraordinarily large and vigorous that Thompson thinks it would be to the advantage of gardeners to import roots from that region. These facts may indicate that too much stress may have been laid on its character as a marine plant. Yet it is true that it grows naturally on the coast of Holland, in the sandy valleys and on the downs, while off Lizard Point it flourishes naturally on an island where, in gales, the sea breaks over the roots. In this country also it has escaped cultivation, and is establishing itself along our coasts, The truth is that it is a plant endowed with a remarkable power of adaptation to all soils and climates, and does not need the extravagant petting often given it. On different portions of my place chance seeds have fallen, and annually produce almost as fine heads as are cut from the garden. Nature therefore teaches what experience verifies--that asparagus is one of the most easily grown and inexpensive vegetables of the garden. From two small beds we have raised during the past eight years twice as much as we could use, and at the cost of very little trouble either in planting or cultivation. In my effort to show, from the hardy nature of the asparagus plant, that extravagant preparation is unnecessary, let no one conclude that I am opposed to a good, thorough preparation that accords with common-sense. It is not for one year's crop that you are preparing, but for a vegetable that should be productive on the same ground thirty or forty years. What I said of strawberries applies here. A fair yield of fruit may be expected from plants set out on ordinary corn-ground, but more than double the crop would be secured from ground generously prepared. When I first came to Cornwall, about twelve years ago, I determined to have an asparagus bed as soon as possible. I selected a plot eighty feet long by thirty wide, of sandy loam, sloping to the southwest. It had been used as a garden before, but was greatly impoverished. I gave it a good top-dressing of barnyard manure in the autumn, and plowed it deeply; another top-dressing of fine yard manure and a deep forking in the early spring. Then, raking the surface smooth, I set a line along its length on one side. A man took a spade, sunk its length in the soil, and pushed it forward strongly. This action made an almost perpendicular wedge-shaped aperture just back of the spade. The asparagus plant, with its roots spread out fan-shape, was sunk in this opening to a depth that left the crown of the plant between three and four inches below the surface. Then the spade was drawn out, and the soil left to fall over the crown of the plant. Rapidly repeating this simple process, the whole plot was soon set out. The entire bed was then raked smooth. The rows were three feet apart, and plants one foot apart in the row. A similar plot could scarcely have been planted with potatoes more quickly or at less expense, and a good crop of potatoes could not have been raised on that poor land with less preparation. A few years later I made another and smaller bed in the same way. The results have been entirely satisfactory. I secured my object, and had plenty of asparagus at slight cost, and have also sold and given away large quantities. A bit of experience is often worth much more than theory. At the same time it is proper that some suggestions should follow this brief record. The asparagus bed should be in well-drained soil; for while the plant will grow on wet land, it will start late, and our aim is to have it early. Again, with asparagus as with nearly everything else, the deeper and richer the soil, the larger and more luxuriant the crop. Listen to Thompson, the great English gardener: "If the ground has been drained, trenched, or made good to the depth of THREE feet, as directed for the kitchen-garden generally [!], that depth will suffice for the growth of asparagus." We should think so; yet I am fast reaching the conclusion that under most circumstances it would in the end repay us to secure that depth of rich soil throughout our gardens, not only for asparagus, but for everything else. Few of the hasty, slipshod gardeners of America have any idea of the results secured by extending root pasturage to the depth of three feet instead of six or seven inches; soil thus prepared would defy flood and drought, and everything planted therein would attain almost perfection, asparagus included. But who has not seen little gardens by the roadside in which all the esculents seemed growing together much as they would be blended in the pot thereafter? Yet from such patches, half snatched from barrenness, many a hearty, wholesome dinner results. Let us have a garden at once, then improve it indefinitely. I will give in brief just what is essential to secure a good and lasting asparagus bed. We can if we choose grow our own plants, and thus be sure of good ones. The seed can be sown in late October or EARLY spring on light, rich soil in rows eighteen inches apart. An ounce of seed will sow fifty feet of drill. If the soil is light, cover the seed one inch deep; if heavy, half an inch; pack the ground lightly, and cover the drill with a good dusting of that fine compost we spoke of, or any fine manure. This gives the young plants a good send-off. By the use of the hoe and hand-weeding keep them scrupulously clean during the growing season, and when the tops are killed by frost mow them off. I should advise sowing two or three seeds to the inch, and then when the plants are three inches high, thinning them out so that they stand four inches apart. You thus insure almost the certainty of good strong plants by autumn; for plants raised as directed are ready to be set out after one season's growth, and by most gardeners are preferred. In most instances good plants can be bought for a small sum from nurserymen, who usually offer for sale those that are two years old. Strong one-year-olds are just as good, but under ordinary culture are rarely large enough until two years of age. I would not set out three-year-old plants, for they are apt to be stunted and enfeebled. You can easily calculate how many plants you require by remembering that the rows are to be three feet apart, and the plants one foot apart in the row. Now, whether you have raised the plants yourself, or have bought them, you are ready to put them where they will grow, and yield to the end of your life probably. Again I substantiate my position by quoting from the well-known gardener and writer, Mr. Joseph Harris: "The old directions for planting an asparagus bed were well calculated to deter any one from making the attempt. I can recollect the first I made. The labor and manure must have cost at the rate of a thousand dollars an acre, and, after all was done, no better results were obtained than we now secure at one-tenth of the expense." If the ground selected for the bed is a well-drained sandy loam, is clean, free from sod, roots, stones, etc., I would give it a top-dressing of six inches of good barnyard manure, which by trenching or plowing I would thoroughly mix with the soil to the depth of at least two feet. If the ground is not free from stones, roots, and sod, I should put on the manure, as directed, in the autumn, and begin on one side of the prospective bed and trench it all over, mingling the fertilizer through the soil. The trencher can throw out on the surface back of him every stone, root, and weed, so that by the time he is through there is a sufficient space of ground amply prepared. On all soils except a wet, heavy clay I prefer autumn planting. During the latter part of October or early November put in the plants as explained above, or else make a straight trench that will give room for the spreading of the roots, and leave the crowns between three and four inches below the surface. Then level the ground, and cover the row with a light mulch of stable-manure as you would strawberries. If more convenient to set out the plants in spring, do so as soon as the ground is dry enough to crumble freely when worked. In the spring rake off the mulch, and as early as possible fork the ground over lightly, taking pains not to touch or wound the crowns of the plants. The young, slender shoots will soon appear, and slender enough they will be at first. Keep them free of weeds and let them grow uncut all through the first year; mow off the tops in late October, and cover the entire bed with three or four inches of coarse barnyard manure. In spring rake off the coarsest of this mulch, from which the rains and melting snows have been carrying down richness, dig the bed over lightly once (never wounding the roots or crowns of the plants), and then sow salt over the bed till it is barely white. Let the tops grow naturally and uncut the second year, and merely keep clean. Take precisely the same action again in the autumn and the following spring. During the latter part of April and May a few of the strongest shoots may be cut for the table. This should be done with a sharp knife a little below the surface, so that the soil may heal the wound, and carefully, lest other heads just beneath the surface be clipped prematurely. Cut from the bed very sparingly, however, the third year, and let vigorous foliage form corresponding root-power. In the autumn of the third and the spring of the fourth year the treatment is precisely the same. In the fourth season, however, the shoots may be used freely to, say, about June 20, after which the plants should be permitted to grow unchecked till fall, in order to maintain and increase the root-power. Every year thereafter there should be an abundant top-dressing of manure in the fall, and a careful digging of the ground in the early spring. Light, sandy soil, clear of stones, is well adapted to asparagus, but should be treated on the principles already indicated in this work. There should be no attempt, by trenching, to render a porous subsoil more leaky. It is useless to give the bed a thorough initial enriching. Put on a generous top-dressing every autumn and leave the rains to do their work, and good crops will result. If, on the contrary, a cold, heavy clay must be dealt with, every effort should be made to ameliorate it. Work in a large quantity of sand at first, if possible; employ manures from the horse-stable, or other light and exciting fertilizers, and there will be no failure. In regard to the use of salt, Mr. Harris writes: "It is a popular notion that common salt is exceedingly beneficial to asparagus. I do not know that there is any positive proof of this, but, at any rate, salt will do no harm, even if applied thick enough to kill many of our common weeds. Salt is usually sown broadcast, at the rate of ten bushels to the acre." Until recently I have grown asparagus without salt. Hereafter I shall employ it in sufficient degree to kill all weeds except the strongest. I shall sow it every spring after the bed is dug until the ground is as white as if a flurry of snow had passed over it. I think salt is a good manure for asparagus, and many other things. At any rate, we secure a great advantage in keeping our beds free of weeds. I have written thus fully of asparagus because when a man makes a bed as directed he makes it for a lifetime. He can scarcely find another investment that will yield a larger return. We have asparagus on our table every day, from the middle of April to July 1; and the annual care of the crop is far less than that of a cabbage-patch. I do not advise severe cutting, however, after the middle of June, for this reason: it is well known that the most pestiferous perennial weed can be killed utterly if never allowed to make foliage. As foliage depends upon the root, so the root depends on foliage. The roots of asparagus may therefore be greatly enfeebled by too severe and long-continued cutting. Avarice always overreaches itself. In some localities the asparagus beetle destroys whole plantations. Thompson, the English authority, says: "The larvae, beetles, and eggs are found from June to the end of September. Picking off the larvae and beetles, or shaking them into receptacles, appears to be the only remedy." Peter Henderson, in his valuable book, "Gardening for Profit," figures this insect and its larvae accurately, and says: "Whenever the eggs or larvae appear, cut and burn the plants as long as any traces of the insect are seen. This must be done if it destroys every vestige of vegetation." He and other authorities speak of the advantage of cooping a hen and chickens in the bed. Most emphatically would I recommend this latter course, for I have tried it with various vegetables. Active broods of little chickens here and there in the garden are the best of insecticides, and pay for themselves twice over in this service alone. We will next speak of the ONION, because it is so hardy that the earlier it is planted in spring the better. Indeed, I have often, with great advantage, sown the seed on light soils the first of September, and wintered over the young plants in the open ground. Nature evidently intended the onion for humanity in general, for she has endowed the plant with the power to flourish from the tropics to the coldest limit of the temperate zone. While onions are grown in all sorts of careless ways, like other vegetables, it is by far the best plan to select a space for an annual and permanent bed, just as we do for asparagus. Unlike most other crops, the onion does not require change of ground, but usually does better on the same soil for an indefinite number of years. Therefore I would advise that upon the Home Acre the onion, like the asparagus bed, should be made with a view to permanence. Not much success can be hoped for on rough, poor land. The onion, like the asparagus bed, should be made and maintained with some care. If possible, select a light, well-drained, but not dry plot. Make the soil rich, deep, mellow, to the depth of twenty inches, taking out all stones, roots, etc.; cover the land with at least six inches of good strong barnyard manure. This should be done in the autumn. Sow the ground white with salt, as in the case of asparagus, and then mingle these fertilizers thoroughly with the soil, by forking or plowing it at once, leaving the surface as rough as possible, so that the frost can penetrate deeply. Just as soon as the ground is dry enough to work in the spring, fork or plow again, breaking every lump and raking all smooth, so that the surface is as fine as the soil in a hot-bed. You cannot hope for much in heavy, lumpy ground. Sow at least three seeds to the inch in a shallow drill one inch deep, and spat the earth firmly over the seed with the back of a spade or with your hand. In subsequent culture little more is required than keeping the MERE SURFACE stirred with a hoe, and the rows clean of weeds. Onions are not benefited by deep stirring of the soil, but the surface, from the start, should be kept clean and scarified an inch or two deep between the rows during the growing season. I prefer to have my onions growing at the rate of one or two to every inch of row, for I do not like large bulbs. I think that moderate-sized onions are better for the table. Those who value largeness should thin out the plants to three or four inches apart; but even in the market there is less demand for large, coarse onions. When the tops begin to fall over from their own weight, in August or September, leave them to mature and ripen naturally. When the tops begin to dry up, pull them from the soil, let them dry thoroughly in the sun, and then spread them thinly in a dry loft till there is danger of their freezing. Even there they will keep better, if covered deeply with straw, hay, etc., than in a damp cellar. Wherever the air is damp and a little too warm, onions will speedily start to grow again, and soon become worthless. After the crop has been taken, the ground should be treated as at first--thoroughly enriched and pulverized late in autumn, and left to lie in a rough state during the winter, then prepared for planting as early as possible. I prefer March sowing of the seed to April, and April, by far, to May. In England they try to plant in February. Indeed, as I have said, I have had excellent success by sowing the seed early in September on light soils, and letting the plants grow during all the mild days of fall, winter, and early spring. By this course we have onions fit for the table and market the following May. In this latitude they need the protection of a little coarse litter from December 1 to about the middle of March. Only the very severest frost injures them. Most of us have seen onions, overlooked in the fall gathering, growing vigorously as soon as the thaws began in spring. This fact contains all the hint we need in wintering over the vegetable in the open ground. If the seed is sown late in September, the plants do not usually acquire sufficient strength in this latitude to resist the frost. It is necessary, therefore, to secure our main crop by very early spring sowings, and it may be said here that after the second thorough pulverization of the soil in spring, the ground will be in such good condition that, if well enriched and stirred late in autumn, it will only need levelling down and smoothing off before the spring sowing. Onions appear to do best on a compact soil, if rich, deep, and clean. It is the SURFACE merely that needs to be stirred lightly and frequently. If young green onions with thin, succulent tops are desired very early in spring, it will be an interesting experiment to sow the seed the latter part of August or early in September. Another method is to leave a row of onions in the garden where they ripened. When the autumn rains begin, they will start to grow again. The winter will not harm them, and even in April there will be a strong growth of green tops. The seed stalk should be picked off as soon as it appears in spring, or else the whole strength will speedily go to the formation of seed. It should be remembered that good onions can not be produced very far to the south by sowing the small gunpowder-like seed. In our own and especially in warmer climates a great advantage is secured by employing what are known as "onion sets." These are produced by sowing the ordinary black seed very thickly on light poor land. Being much crowded, and not having much nutriment, the seed develop into little onions from the size of a pea to that of a walnut, the smaller the better, if they are solid and plump. These, pressed or sunk, about three inches apart, into rich garden soil about an inch deep, just as soon as the frost is out, make fine bulbs by the middle of June. For instance, we had in our garden plenty of onions three inches in diameter from these little sets, while the seed, sown at the same time, will not yield good bulbs before August. There is but little need of raising these sets, for it is rather difficult to keep them in good condition over the winter. Any seedsman will furnish them, and they are usually on sale at country stores. Three or four quarts, if in good condition, will supply a family abundantly, and leave many to be used dry during the autumn. Insist on plump little bulbs. If you plant them early, as you should, you will be more apt to get good sets. Many neglect the planting till the sets are half dried up, or so badly sprouted as to be wellnigh worthless. They usually come in the form of white and yellow sets, and I plant an equal number of each. The chief insect enemies are onion maggots, the larvae of the onion fly. These bore through the outer leaf and down into the bulb, which they soon destroy. I know of no remedy but to pull up the yellow and sickly plants, and burn them and the pests together. The free use of salt in the fall, and a light top-dressing of wood-ashes at the time of planting, tend to subdue these insects; but the best course is prevention by deeply cultivating and thoroughly enriching in the fall, leaving the ground rough and uneven for the deep action of frost, and by sowing the seed VERY early in spring. I have found that the insect usually attacks late-sown and feeble plants. If the maggot were in my garden, I should use the little sets only. Some special manures have been employed in attaining the greatest success with this vegetable. In England, pigeon-dung and the cleanings of the pigsty are extensively employed. In this country the sweepings of the hen-roost are generally recommended. It should be remembered that all these are strong agents, and if brought in contact with the roots of any vegetable while in a crude, undiluted state, burn like fire, especially in our climate. What can be done in safety in England will not answer under our vivid sun and in our frequent droughts. These strong fertilizers could be doubled in value as well as bulk by being composted with sods, leaves, etc., and then, after having been mixed, allowed to decay thoroughly. Then the compost can be used with great advantage as a top-dressing directly over the drills when either sets or seeds are planted. The spring rains will carry the richness from the surface to the roots, and insure a very vigorous growth. When the compost named in the early part of this paper is used, I sow it thickly IN the drill, draw a pointed hoe through once more, to mingle the fertilizer with the soil, and then forthwith sow the seeds or put in the sets one inch deep; and the result is immediate and vigorous growth. Wood-ashes and bone-dust are excellent fertilizers, and should be sown on the surface on the row as soon as planted, and gradually worked in by weeding and cultivation during the growing season. Manure from the pigsty, wherein weeds, litter, sods, muck, etc., have been thrown freely during the summer, may be spread broadcast over the onion bed in the autumn, and worked in deeply, like the product of the barnyard. The onion bed can scarcely be made too rich as long as the manure is not applied in its crude, unfermented state at the time of planting. Then, if the seed is put in very early, it grows too strongly and quickly for insects to do much damage. Varieties.--Thompson in his English work names nineteen varieties with many synonyms; Henderson offers the seed of thirteen varieties; Gregory, of seventeen kinds. There is no need of our being confused by this latitude of choice. We find it in the great majority of fruits and vegetables offered by nurserymen and seedsmen. Each of the old varieties that have survived the test of years has certain good qualities which make it valuable, especially in certain localities. Many of the novelties in vegetables, as among fruits, will soon disappear; a few will take their place among the standard sorts. In the case of the kitchen, as well as in the fruit, garden, I shall give the opinion of men who have a celebrity as wide as the continent for actual experience, and modestly add occasionally some views of my own which are the result of observation. As a choice for the home-garden, Mr. Henderson recommends the following varieties of onions: Extra Early Red, Yellow Globe Danvers, White Portugal or Silver Skin, and Southport Yellow Globe. Mr. Joseph Harris, the well-known and practical author: Yellow Danvers, Extra Early Large Bed, and White Globe. Mr. J. J. H. Gregory: New Queen, Early Yellow Acker, Yellow Danvers, Early Red Globe Danvers, Large Red Wethersfield. They all recommend onion sets. The Queen onion is quite distinct. For the home table, where earliness, as well as quality, size and quantity is desired, I think the Queen deserves a place. It is admirably fitted for pickling. I have tried all the varieties named, with good success, and grown some of the largest kinds to six inches in diameter. CHAPTER IX THE KITCHEN-GARDEN (concluded) In the last chapter I dwelt somewhat at length on two vegetables for which thorough and enduring preparation is profitable. There is one other very early garden product which requires our attention during the first warm days of spring--rhubarb; sold in some instances under the name of "wine-plant." Wine is made from the juicy stalks, but it is an unwholesome beverage. The people call rhubarb "pie-plant;" and this term suggests its best and most common use, although when cooked as if it were a fruit, it is very grateful at a season when we begin to crave the subacid in our food. Its cultivation is very simple. Those who propose to produce it largely for market will find it to their advantage to raise this plant from the seed; but for the Home Acre enough plants can be procured, at a moderate cost, from almost any nurseryman. In this instance, also, thorough preparation of the soil is essential, for the rhubarb bed, under good care, will last eight or ten years. A rich, deep, clean, warm soil is the chief essential. It belongs to that class of vegetables known as "gross feeders." During the first year, however, I would apply the fertiliser directly to the hills or plants. These are obtained by dividing the old roots, which may be cut to pieces downward so as to leave a single bud or "eye" surmounting a long tapering portion of root. Each division will make a new, vigorous plant, which should be set out so that the bud or crown is three inches below the surface in light soils, and two inches in heavy soils. The plants should be four feet apart each way, and two or three shovelfuls of rich compost worked into the soil where the plant is to stand. You cannot make the ground too rich; only remember that in this, as in all other instances, light, fermenting manures should not be brought into immediate contact with the roots. Plant in either autumn or spring. In this latitude and southward I should prefer autumn; northward, perhaps spring is the best season. Keep the intervening ground clean and mellow, and pull no stalks the first year, unless it be in the autumn if the plants have become very strong. In the fall, when the foliage has died down, cover the crowns with two or three shovelfuls of rich manure--any kind will do in this instance--and work in a heavy top-dressing all over the ground early in spring. Unless seed is required, always cut down the seed-stalks as soon as they appear. The best early variety is the Linnaeus. The Victoria is a little later, but much larger, and is the kind that I have usually grown. Radish-seed may be sown one inch deep as soon as the ground is dry enough in spring, and if the vegetable is a favorite, the sowing may be repeated every two weeks. A common error is to sow the seed too thickly. A warm, RICH soil is all that is necessary to secure a crop. What has been said about radishes applies equally to early turnips, with the exception that the plants when three inches high should be thinned so as to stand four inches apart. The ground for these vegetables should be very rich, so as to secure a very rapid growth; for otherwise they are attacked by a little white worm which soon renders them unfit for use. Mr. Harris recommends the following varieties of early radishes, and his selection coincides with my own experience: Bound Scarlet Turnip, French Breakfast, Rose (olive-shaped), Long Scarlet Short-top. Winter radishes: California Mammoth White, and Chinese Rose. For spring sowing of turnips, Mr. Henderson recommends Red-top Strap-leaf, and Early Flat Dutch. The earlier they are sown the better. Beets--a much more valuable vegetable--require similar treatment. The ground should be clean, well pulverized, and very rich. I prefer to sow the seed the first week in April, unless the soil is frozen, or very cold and wet. The seed may be sown, however, at any time to the first of July; but earliness is usually our chief aim. I sow two inches deep and thickly, pressing the soil firmly over the seed. Let the rows be about fifteen inches apart. Referring to the manure which had been left to decay in a sheltered place until it became like fine dry powder, let me say here that I have always found it of greater advantage to sow it with the beet-seed and kindred vegetables. My method is to open the drill along the garden-line with a sharp-pointed hoe, and scatter the fertilizer in the drill until the soil is quite blackened by it; then draw the pointed hoe through once more, to mingle the powdery manure with the soil and to make the drill of an even depth; then sow the seed at once. This thoroughly decayed stable-manure has become the best of plant-food; it warms the ground, and carries the germinating seed and young plants with vigor through the first cold, wet weeks. In the home garden there are several reasons for sowing beet-seed thickly. Unfavorable weather and insects will be less apt to cause a thin, broken stand of plants. In order to produce good roots, however, the plants should be thinned out so as to stand eventually three or four inches apart I do not advise very large, coarse roots for the table. For home use I think only three varieties are essential. The Egyptian Turnip Beet is the best very early variety, and can be planted closely, as it has a small top; the Bassano is next in earliness, and requires more room; the Early Blood Turnip is the best for a general crop and winter use. The beet is a root which deteriorates rapidly from age; I therefore advise that the seed of the winter supply be sown the last of June or first of July in our latitude. Parsnips should be sown at the same time with early beets and in the same way, with the exception that the seed should be covered only an inch deep. I doubt whether there are any marked distinctions in variety, and would advise that only the Long Smooth or Hollow-crowned be sown. The carrot is not quite so hardy as the parsnip, and the seed may be sown a week or two later, or indeed at any time up to the middle of June. Its culture and treatment are precisely like those of the parsnip; but the roots should be gathered and stored before a severe frost occurs. For home use a short row of the Early Horn will answer; for the general crop, sow the Long Orange. Vegetable-oyster, or salsify, is another root-crop which may be treated precisely like the parsnip, and the seed sown at the same time. The seed should be sown in a deep, rich, mellow soil, which is all the better for being prepared in autumn. Plant, as early in April as possible, in the same manner as described for beets, thin out to four inches apart, and keep the soil clean and mellow throughout the entire season; for this vegetable grows until the ground freezes. There is only one variety. The pea is another crop which may be put into the ground as soon as the frost is out--the earlier the better, if the smooth, hardy varieties are sown. There are so many varieties that the novice to-day may well be excused for perplexity in choice. Thompson, the English authority, gives forty kinds, and one hundred and forty-eight synonyms. Mr. Gregory recommends the American Wonder, Bliss's Abundance, Bliss's Ever-bearing, McLean's Advancer, Yorkshire Hero, Stratagem, and Champion of England. Mr. Henderson's list includes Henderson's First of All, American Wonder, Bliss's Abundance, Champion of England, and Pride of the Market. Mr. Harris in his catalogue marks first and best, American Wonder, and also says, "For the main crop there is nothing better than the Champion of England." My own experience would lead me to plant the Tom Thumb either just before the ground froze in the fall, or as early in March as possible. It is almost perfectly hardy, and gives me the earliest picking. I should also plant Henderson's First of All as soon as the frost was out, on a warm, well-drained soil. For second crops, American Wonder and Premium Gem; and for the main and most satisfactory crop of all, Champion of England. The Champion requires brush as a support, for it grows from four to six feet high; but it is well worth the trouble. I plant the other kinds named because they are much earlier, and so dwarf as to need no brush; they are also productive, and excellent in quality if not left to grow too old. For the dwarf kinds the soil cannot be too rich, and the warmer the ground and exposure, the earlier the crop. For the tall late sorts the soil may easily be made too fertile; they should also be planted in cooler, moister, and heavier ground. In the case of the dwarfs I put a fertilizer in with the seed as I have already explained. Cover the dwarfs about two and a half inches deep, and the tall late sorts from three to four inches according to the nature of the soil. Plant the Champion of England every ten days until the middle of June, and thus secure a succession of the best of all. We all know how numerous have been the varieties of potato introduced into this country of late years--many kinds sent out at first at the rate of one or more dollars per pound. I amuse myself by trying several of these novelties (after they become cheap) every year, and one season raised very early crops of excellent potatoes from the Vanguard and Pearl of Savoy. The Early Rose and Early Vermont have long been favorites. They resemble each other very closely. I have had excellent success with the Beauty of Hebron. It is a good plan to learn what varieties succeed well in our own neighborhood, and then to plant chiefly of such kinds; we may then add to our zest by trying a few novelties. Not only much reading on the subject, but also my own observation, and the general law that "like produces like," lead me to indorse the practice of planting large tubers cut into sets containing one or more eyes, or buds. The eye of a potato is a bud from which the plant grows; and the stronger backing it has, the stronger and more able is the plant to evolve new fine tubers through the action of its roots and foliage. A small potato has many immature buds, which as a rule produce feeble plants. The potato will grow on almost any soil; but a dry, rich, sandy loam gives the best, if not the largest, yield. I do not think the potato can be planted too early after the ground is fit to work. One spring I was able to get in several rows the 15th of March, and I never had a finer yield. I observe that Mr. Harris strongly indorses this plan. Nearly every one has his system of planting. There is no necessity for explaining these methods. I will briefly give mine, for what it is worth. I prefer warm, well-drained soils. Plow deeply in autumn, also in spring; harrow and pulverize the ground as completely as possible; then open the furrows with the same heavy plow, sinking it to the beam, and going twice in the furrow. This, of course, would make too deep a trench in which to place the sets, but the soil has been deepened and pulverized at least fourteen inches. A man next goes along with a cart or barrow of well-decayed compost (not very raw manure), which is scattered freely in the deep furrows; then through these a corn-plow is run, to mingle the fertilizer with the soil. By this course the furrows are partially filled with loose, friable soil and manure, and they average four or five inches in depth. The sets are planted at once eight inches apart, the eye turned upward, and the cut part down. The sets are then covered with three or four inches of fine soil, not with sods and stones. When the plants are two or three inches high, they receive their first hoeing, which merely levels the ground evenly. The next cultivation is performed by both corn-plow and hoe. In the final working I do not permit a sharp-slanting slope from the plants downward, so that the rain is kept from reaching the roots. There is a broad hilling up, so as to have a slope inward toward the plants, as well as away from them. This method, with the deep, loosened soil beneath the plants, secures against drought, while the decayed fertilizers give a strong and immediate growth. Of course we have to fight the potato, or Colorado, beetle during the growing season. This we do with Paris green applied in liquid form, a heaping teaspoonful to a pail of water. In taking up and storing potatoes a very common error is fallen into. Sometimes even growing tubers are so exposed to sun and light that they become green. In this condition they are not only worthless, but poisonous. If long exposed to light after being dug, the solanine principle, which exists chiefly in the stems and leaves, is developed in the tubers. The more they are in the light, the less value they possess, until they become worse than worthless. They should be dug, if possible, on a dry day, picked up promptly and carried to a dry, cool, DARK cellar. If stored on floors of outbuldings, the light should be excluded. Potatoes that are long exposed to light before the shops of dealers are injured. Barrels, etc., containing them should be covered; if spread on the barn-floor, or in places which can not be darkened, throw straw or some other litter over them. There is no occasion to say much about lettuce. It is a vegetable which any one can raise who will sow the seed a quarter of an inch deep. I have sowed the seed in September, wintered the plants over in cold-frames, and by giving a little heat, I had an abundance of heads to sell in February and March. For ordinary home uses it is necessary only to sow the seed on a warm, rich spot as soon as the frost is out, and you will quickly have plenty of tender foliage. This we may begin to thin out as soon as the plants are three or four inches high, until a foot of space is left between the plants, which, if of a cabbage variety, will speedily make a large, crisp head. To maintain a supply, sowings can be made every two weeks till the middle of August. Hardy plants, which may be set out like cabbages, are to be obtained in March and April from nurserymen. Henderson recommends the following varieties: Henderson's New York, Black-seeded Simpson, Salamander, and All the Year Round. I would also add the Black-seeded Butter Lettuce. We have now, as far as our space permits, treated of those vegetables which should be planted in the home garden as early in spring as possible. It is true the reader will think of other sorts, as cabbage, cauliflower, spinach, etc. To the professional gardener these are all-the-year-round vegetables. If the amateur becomes so interested in his garden as to have cold-frames and hot-beds, he will learn from more extended works how to manage these. He will winter over the cabbage and kindred vegetables for his earliest supply, having first sown the seed in September. I do not take the trouble to do this, and others need not, unless it is a source of enjoyment to them. As soon as the ground is fit to work in spring, I merely write to some trust-worthy dealer in plants and obtain twenty-five very early cabbage, and twenty-five second early, also a hundred early cauliflower. They cost little, and are set out in half an hour as soon as the ground is fit to work in spring. I usually purchase my tomato, late cabbage, and cauliflower, celery and egg-plants, from the same sources. Cabbages and cauliflowers should be set out in RICH warm soils, free from shade, as soon as the frost is out. After that they need only frequent and clean culture and vigilant watchfulness, or else many will fall victims to a dirty brown worm which usually cuts the stem, and leaves the plant lying on the ground. The worm can easily be found near the surface the moment it begins its ravages, and the only remedy I know is to catch and kill it at once. In this latitude winter cabbage is set out about the fourth of July. I pinch off half the leaves before setting. Good seed, deep plowing or spading, rich soil, and clean culture are usually the only requisites for success. Experience and consultation of the books and catalogues enable me to recommend the Jersey Wakefield for first early, and Henderson's Summer Cabbage and Winningstadt as second early. As a late root I ask for nothing better than Premium Flat Dutch. The Savoy is the best flavored of the cabbage tribe. Henderson recommends the Netted Savoy, which may be treated like other late cabbage. The cauliflower is ranked among the chief delicacies of the garden, and requires and repays far more attention than cabbage. Even the early sorts should have a richer, moister soil than is required for very early cabbage. I advise two plantings in spring, of first and second early; I also advise that late varieties be set out on RICH ground the last of June. As with cabbage, set out the plants from two and a half to three feet apart, according to the size of the variety, from trial I recommend Early Snowball, Half-early Paris, and Large Late Algiers. Spinach thrives in a very rich, well-drained, fine, mellow soil. I prefer a sunny slope; but this is not necessary. Sow the seed from the first to the fifteenth of September, so as to give the plants time to become half grown by winter. Cover the seeds--three to an inch--two inches deep, and pack the ground well over them; let the rows be three inches apart. When the plants are three inches high, thin out to three inches apart, and keep the soil clean and mellow about them. Just before hard freezing weather, scatter about three inches of straw, old pea-vines, or some light litter over the whole bed. As soon as the days begin to grow warm in spring, and hard frost ceases, rake this off. The hardy vegetable begins to grow at once, and should be cut for use so as to leave the plants finally six inches apart, for as fast as space is given, the plants fill it up. By those who are fond of spinach it may be sown in spring as soon as the frost is out. It quickly runs to seed in hot weather, and thinnings of young beets may take its place where space is limited. The Round or Summer is good for fall or spring planting. Those who need much instruction in regard to bush-beans should remain in the city and raise cats in their paved back yards. We shall only warn against planting too early--not before the last of April in our region. It does not take much frost to destroy the plants, and if the soil is cold and wet, the beans decay instead of coming up. If one has a warm, sheltered slope, he may begin planting the middle of April. As a rule, however, bush-beans may be planted from the first of May till the middle of July, in order to keep up a succession. Cover the first seed planted one inch deep; later plantings two inches deep. I think that earliest Red Valentine, Black Wax or Butter, Golden Wax, and the late Refugee are all the varieties needed for the garden. The delicious pale Lima bean requires and deserves more attention. I have always succeeded with it, and this has been my method: I take a warm, rich, but not dry piece of ground, work it deeply early in spring, again the first of May, so that the sun's rays may penetrate and sweeten the ground. About the tenth of May I set the poles firmly in the ground. Rough cedar-poles, with the stubs of the branches extending a little, are the best. If smooth poles are used, I take a hatchet, and beginning at the butt, I make shallow, slanting cuts downward, so as to raise the bark a little. These slight raisings of the bark or wood serve as supports to the clambering vines. After the poles are in the ground I make a broad, flat hill of loose soil and a little of the black powdery fertilizer. I then allow the sun to warm and dry the hill a few days, and if the weather is fine and warm, I plant the seed about the fifteenth, merely pressing the eye of the bean downward one inch. If planted lower than this depth, they usually decay. If it is warm and early, the seed may be planted by the fifth of May. After planting, examine the seed often. If the beans are decaying instead of coming up, plant over again, and repeat this process until there are three or four strong plants within three or four inches of each pole. Let the hills be five feet apart each way, hoe often, and do not tolerate a weed. The Long White Lima and Dreer's Improved Lima are the only sorts needed. The Indians in their succotash taught us long ago to associate corn with beans, and they hit upon a dish not surpassed by modern invention. This delicious vegetable is as easily raised as its "hail-fellow well met," the bean. We have only to plant it at the same time in hills from three to four feet apart, and cover the seed two inches deep. I have used the powdery fertilizers and wood-ashes in the hill to great advantage, first mingling these ingredients well with the soil. We make it a point to have sweet-corn for the table from July 1 until the stalks are killed by frost in October. This is easily managed by planting different varieties, and continuing to plant till well into June. Mr. Gregory writes: "For a succession of corn for family use, to be planted at the same time, I would recommend Marblehead Early, Pratt's, Crosley's, Moore's, Stowell's Evergreen, and Egyptian Sweet." Mr. Harris names with praise the Minnesota as the best earliest, and Hickox Improved as an exceedingly large and late variety. Mr. Henderson's list is Henderson Sugar, Hickox Improved, Egyptian, and Stowell's Evergreen. Let me add Burr's Mammoth and Squantum Sugar--a variety in great favor with the Squantum Club, and used by them in their famous clam-bakes. The cucumber, if grown in the home garden and used fresh, is not in league with the undertaker. The seed may be planted early in May, and there are many ways of forcing and hastening the yield. I have had cucumbers very early in an ordinary hotbed. Outdoors, I make hills in warm soil the first of May, mixing a little of my favorite fertilizer with the soil. After leaving the hill for a day or two to become warm in the sun, I sow the seed in a straight line for fifteen inches, so that the hoe can approach them closely. The seed is covered an inch deep, and the soil patted down firmly. It is possible that a cold storm or that insects may make partial planting over necessary; if so, this is done promptly. I put twenty seeds in the hill, to insure against loss. For a succession or long-continued crop, plant a few hills in rich moist land about the last of May. The young plants always run a gauntlet of insects, and a little striped bug is usually their most deadly enemy. These bugs often appear to come suddenly in swarms, and devour everything before you are aware of their presence. With great vigilance they may be kept off by hand, for their stay is brief. I would advise one trial of a solution of white hellebore, a tablespoonful to a pail of water. Paris green--in solution, of course--kills them; but unless it is very weak, it will kill or stunt the plants also. My musk and watermelons were watered by too strong a solution of Paris green this year, and they never recovered from it. Perhaps the best preventive is to plant so much seed, and to plant over so often, that although the insects do their worst, plenty of good plants survive. This has usually been my method. When the striped bug disappears, and the plants are four or five inches high, I thin out to four plants in the hill. When they come into bearing, pick off all the fruit fit for use, whether you want it or not. If many are allowed to become yellow and go to seed, the growth and productiveness of the vines are checked. The Early White Spine and Extra Long White Spine are all the varieties needed for the table. For pickling purposes plant the Green Prolific on moist rich land. The other varieties answer quite as well, if picked before they are too large. The cultivation of the squash is substantially the same as that of the cucumber, and it has nearly the same enemies to contend with. Let the hills of the bush sorts be four feet apart each way, and eight feet for the running varieties. The seed is cheap, so use plenty, and plant over from the first to the twenty-fifth of May, until you have three good strong plants to the hill. Three are plenty, so thin out the plants, when six or seven inches high, to this number, and keep the ground clean and mellow. I usually raise my running squashes among the corn, giving up one hill to them completely every seven or eight feet each way. Early bush sorts: White Bush Scalloped, Yellow Bush Scalloped. The Perfect Gem is good for both summer and winter, and should be planted on rich soil, six feet apart each way. The Boston Marrow is one of the best fall sorts; the Hubbard and Marblehead are the best winter varieties. When we come to plant musk-melons we must keep them well away from the two above-named vegetables, or else their pollen will mix, producing very disagreeable hybrids. A squash is very good in its way, and a melon is much better; but if you grow them so near each other that they become "'alf and 'alf," you may perhaps find pigs that will eat them. The more completely the melon-patch is by itself, the better, and the nearer the house the better; for while it is liable to all the insects and diseases which attack the cucumber, it encounters, when the fruit is mature, a more fatal enemy in the predatory small boy. Choose rich, warm, but not dry ground for musk-melons, make the hills six feet apart each way, and treat them like cucumbers, employing an abundance of seed. As soon as the plants are ready to run, thin out so as to leave only four to fruit. Henderson recommends Montreal Market, Hackensack, and Netted Gem. Gregory: Netted Gem, Boston Pet, Bay View, Sill's Hybrid, Casaba, and Ward's Nectar. He also advocates a remarkable novelty known as the "Banana." Harris: Early Christiana and Montreal Market. Water-melons should be planted eight feet apart; but if one has not a warm, sandy soil, I do not advise their culture. The time of planting and management do not vary materially from those of the musk variety. The following kinds will scarcely fail to give satisfaction where they can be grown: Phinney's Early, Black Spanish, Mammoth Ironclad, Mountain Sprout, Scaly Bark, and Cuban Queen. The tomato has a curious history. Native of South America like the potato, it is said to have been introduced into England as early as 1596. Many years elapsed before it was used as food, and the botanical name given to it was significant of the estimation in which it was held by our forefathers. It was called Lycopersicum--a compound term meaning wolf and peach; indicating that, notwithstanding its beauty, it was regarded as a sort of "Dead Sea fruit." The Italians first dared to use it freely; the French followed; and after eying it askance as a novelty for unknown years, John Bull ventured to taste, and having survived, began to eat with increasing gusto. To our grandmothers in this land the ruby fruit was given as "love-apples," which, adorning quaint old bureaus, were devoured by dreamy eyes long before canning factories were within the ken of even a Yankee's vision. Now, tomatoes vie with the potato as a general article of food, and one can scarcely visit a quarter of the globe so remote but he will find that the tomato-can has been there before him. Culture of the tomato is so easy that one year I had bushels of the finest fruit from plants that grew here and there by chance. Skill is required only in producing an early crop; and to secure this end the earlier the plants are started in spring, the better. Those who have glass will experience no difficulty whatever. The seed may be sown in a greenhouse as early as January, and the plants potted when three inches high, transferred to larger pots from time to time as they grow, and by the middle of May put into the open ground full of blossoms and immature fruit. Indeed, plants started early in the fall will give in a greenhouse a good supply all winter. Tomatoes also grow readily in hot-beds, cold-frames, or sunny windows. We can usually buy well-forwarded plants from those who raise them for sale. If these are set out early in May on a sunny slope, they mature rapidly, and give an early yield. The tomato is very sensitive to frost, and should not be in the open ground before danger from it is over. Throughout May we may find plants for sale everywhere. If we desire to try distinct kinds with the least trouble, we can sow the seed about May 1, and in our climate enjoy an abundant yield in September, or before. In the cool, humid climate of England the tomato is usually grown en espalier, like the peach, along sunny walls and fences, receiving as careful a summer pruning as the grape-vine. With us it is usually left to sprawl over the ground at will. By training the vines over various kinds of supports, however, they may be made as ornamental as they are useful. The ground on which they grow should be only moderately fertile, or else there is too great a growth of vine at the expense of fruit. This is especially true if we desire an early yield, and in this case the warmest, driest soil is necessary. But comparatively a few years ago the tomato consisted of little more than a rind, with seeds in the hollow centre. Now, the only varieties worth raising cut as solid as a mellow pear. The following is Gregory's list of varieties: Livingston's Beauty, Alpha, Acme, Canada Victor, Arlington, General Grant. I will add Trophy and Mikado. If a yellow variety is desired, try Golden Trophy. If the tomato needs warm weather in which to thrive, the egg-plant requires that both days and nights should be hot. It is an East Indiaman, and demands curry in the way of temperature before it loses its feeble yellow aspect and takes on the dark green of vigorous health. My method is simply this: I purchase strong potted plants between the twentieth of May and the first of June, and set them out in a rich, warm soil. A dozen well-grown plants will supply a large family with egg-fruit. Of course one can start the young plants themselves, as in the case of tomatoes; but it should be remembered that they are much more tender and difficult to raise than is the tomato. Plants from seed sown in the open ground would not mature in our latitude, as a rule. The best plan is to have the number you need grown for you by those who make it their business. Eggplants are choice morsels for the potato-beetle, and they must be watched vigilantly if we would save them. There is no better variety than the New York Improved. The pepper is another hot-blooded vegetable that shivers at the suggestion of frost. It is fitting that it should be a native of India. Its treatment is usually the same as that of the egg-plant. It matures more rapidly, however, and the seed can be sown about the middle of May, half an inch deep, in rows fifteen inches apart. The soil should be rich and warm. When the plants are well up, they should be thinned so that they will stand a foot apart in the row. The usual course, however, is to set out plants which have been started under glass, after all danger from frost is over. Henderson recommends New Sweet Spanish and Golden Dawn, The Large Bell is a popular sort, and Cherry Red very ornamental. From the okra is made the famous gumbo soup, which ever calls to vision a colored aunty presiding over the mysteries of a Southern dinner. If Aunt Dinah, so well known to us from the pages of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," could have left her receipt for this compound, her fame might have lasted as long as that of Mrs. Stowe. The vegetable furnishing this glutinous, nutritious, and wholesome ingredient is as easily raised as any product of the garden. We have only to sow the seed, from the first to the tenth of May, two inches deep, and let the plants stand from two to three feet apart each way, in order to have an abundant supply. The new Dwarf Prolific is about the best variety. Fall turnips are so easily grown that they require but few words. They are valuable vegetables for utilizing space in the garden after early crops, as peas, beans, potatoes, etc., are removed. The seed of ruta-baga, or Swedish turnips, should be planted earliest--from the twentieth of June to the tenth of July in our latitude. This turnip should be sown in drills two feet apart, and the plants thinned to eight inches from one another. It is very hardy, and the roots are close-grained, solid, and equally good for the table and the family cow. The Yellow Aberdeen is another excellent variety, which may be sown EARLY in July, and treated much the same as the foregoing. The Yellow Stone can be sown on good ground until the fifteenth of July in any good garden soil, and the plants thinned to six inches apart. It is perhaps the most satisfactory of all the turnip tribe both for table use and stock. The Bed-top Strap-leaf may be sown anywhere until the tenth of August. It is a general custom, in the middle of July, to scatter some seed of this hardy variety among the corn: hoe it in lightly, and there is usually a good crop. Every vacant spot may be utilized by incurring only the slight cost of the seed and the sowing. It may be well, perhaps, to remember the advice of the old farmer to his son. He said, "Stub your toe and spill half the seed before sowing it; for scattered broadcast it is usually much too thick." If this proves true, thin out the plants rigorously. This turnip is good for table and stock as long as it is solid and crisp; but it grows pithy toward spring. There are other kinds well worth a trial. Perhaps no vegetable is more generally appreciated than celery. Like asparagus, it was once, and is still by some, regarded as a luxury requiring too much skill and labor for the ordinary gardener. This is a mistake. Few vegetables in my garden repay so amply the cost of production. One can raise turnips as a fall crop much easier, it is true; but turnips are not celery, any more than brass is gold. Think of enjoying this delicious vegetable daily from October till April! When cooked, and served on toast with drawn butter sauce, it is quite ambrosial. In every garden evolved beyond the cabbage and potato phase a goodly space of the best soil should be reserved for celery, since it can be set out from the first to the twentieth of July in our latitude; it can be grown as the most valuable of the second crops, reoccupying space made vacant by early crops. I find it much easier to buy my plants, when ready for them, than to raise them. In every town there are those who grow them in very large quantities, and, if properly packed, quickly transported, and promptly set out in the evening following their reception, and watered abundantly, they rarely fail. There are decided advantages, however, in raising our own plants, especially if midsummer should prove dry and hot, or the plants must be long in transit. When they are growing in our own garden, they can be moved with very slight check to their growth. In starting the seed there is no necessity for hot-bed or cold-frame. It may be put in the ground the first week of April, and the best plants are thus secured. Much is gained by preparing a warm but not dry plot of ground in autumn, making it very rich with short, half-decayed stable-manure. This preparation should be begun as soon as possible after the soaking September rains. Having thoroughly incorporated and mixed evenly in the soil an abundance of the manure described, leave the ground untouched for three weeks. The warm fertilizer will cause great numbers of weed-seeds to germinate. When these thrifty pests are a few inches high, dig them under and bring up the bottom soil. The warmth and light will immediately start a new and vigorous growth of weeds, which in turn should be dug under. If the celery seed bed be made early enough, this process can be repeated several times before winter--the oftener the better; for by it the great majority of weed-seeds will be made to germinate, and thus are destroyed. The ground also becomes exceedingly rich, mellow, and fine--an essential condition for celery seed, which is very small, and germinates slowly. This thorough preparation does not involve much labor, for the seed-bed is small, and nothing more is required in spring but to rake the ground smooth and fine as soon as the frost is out. The soil has already been made mellow, and certainly nothing is gained by turning up the cold earth in the bottom of the bed. Sow the seed at once on the sunwarmed surface. The rows should be nine inches apart, and about twelve seeds sown to every inch of row. The drills should be scarcely an eighth of an inch deep. Indeed, a firm patting with the back of a spade would give covering enough. Since celery germinates so slowly, it is well to drop a lettuce-seed every few inches, to indicate clearly just where the rows are. Then the ground between the rows can be hoed lightly as soon as the weeds start, also after heavy rains, so as to admit the vivifying sun-rays and air. Of course when the celery plants are clearly outlined, the lettuce should be pulled out. If the bed is made in spring, perform the work as early as possible, making the bed very rich, mellow, and fine. Coarse manures, cold, poor, lumpy soil, leave scarcely a ghost of a chance for success. The plants should be thinned to two inches from one another, and when five inches high, shear them back to three inches. When they have made another good growth, shear them back again. The plants are thus made stocky. In our latitude I try to set out celery, whether raised or bought, between the twenty-fifth of June and the fifteenth of July. This latitude enables us to avoid a spell of hot, dry weather. There are two distinct classes of celery--the tall-growing sorts, and the dwarf varieties. A few years ago the former class was grown generally; trenches were dug, and their bottoms well enriched to receive the plants. Now the dwarf kinds are proving their superiority, by yielding a larger amount of crisp, tender heart than is found between long coarse stalks of the tall sorts. Dwarf celery requires less labor also, for it can be set on the surface and much closer together, the rows three feet apart, and the plants six inches in the row. Dig all the ground thoroughly, then, beginning on one side of the plot, stretch a line along it, and fork under a foot-wide strip of three or four inches of compost, not raw manure. By this course the soil where the row is to be is made very rich and mellow. Set out the plants at once while the ground is fresh and moist. If the row is ten feet long, you will want twenty plants; if fifteen, thirty plants; or two plants to every foot of row. Having set out one row, move the line forward three feet, and prepare and set out another row in precisely the same manner. Continue this process until the plot selected is occupied. If the plants have been grown in your own garden, much is gained by SOAKING the ground round them in the evening, and removing them to the rows in the cool of the morning. This abundant moisture will cause the soil to cling to the roots if handled gently, and the plants will scarcely know that they have been moved. When setting I usually trim off the greater part of the foliage. When all the leaves are left, the roots, not established, cannot keep pace with the evaporation. Always keep the roots moist and unshrivelled, and the heart intact, and the plants are safe. If no rain follows setting immediately, water the plants thoroughly--don't be satisfied with a mere sprinkling of the surface--and shade from the hot sun until the plants start to grow. One of the chief requisites in putting out a celery plant, and indeed almost any plant, is to press the soil FIRMLY ROUND, AGAINST, AND OVER THE ROOTS. This excludes the air, and the new rootlets form rapidly. Neither bury the heart nor leave any part of the root exposed. Do not be discouraged at the rather slow growth during the hot days of July and early August. You have only to keep the ground clean and mellow by frequent hoeings until the nights grow cooler and longer, and rains thoroughly moisten the soil. About the middle of August the plants should be thrifty and spreading, and now require the first operation, which will make them crisp and white or golden for the table. Gather up the stalks and foliage of each plant closely in the left hand, and with the right draw up the earth round it. Let no soil tumble in on the heart to soil or cause decay. Press the soil firmly, so as to keep all the leaves in an upright position. Then with a hoe draw up more soil, until the banking process is begun. During September and October the plants will grow rapidly, and in order to blanch them they must be earthed up from time to time, always keeping the stalks close and compact, with no soil falling in on the developing part. By the end of October the growth is practically made, and only the deep green leaves rest on the high embankments. The celery now should be fit for use, and time for winter storing is near. In our region it is not safe to leave celery unprotected after the tenth of November, for although it is a very hardy plant, it will not endure a frost which produces a strong crust of frozen soil. I once lost a fine crop early in November. The frost in one night penetrated the soil deeply, and when it thawed out, the celery never revived. NEVER HANDLE CELERY WHEN IT IS FROZEN. My method of preserving this vegetable for winter use is simply this. During some mild, clear day in early November I have a trench ten inches wide dug nearly as deep as the celery is tall. This trench is dug on a warm dry slope, so that by no possibility can water gather in it. Then the plants are taken up carefully and stored in the trench, the roots on the bottom, the plants upright as they grew, and pressed closely together so as to occupy all the space in the excavation. The foliage rises a little above the surface, which is earthed up about four inches, so that water will be shed on either side. Still enough of the leaves are left in the light to permit all the breathing necessary; for plants breathe as truly as we do. As long as the weather keeps mild, this is all that is needed; but there is no certainty now. A hard black frost may come any night. I advise that an abundance of leaves or straw be gathered near. When a bleak November day promises a black frost at night, scatter the leaves, etc., thickly over the trenched celery, and do not take them off until the mercury rises above freezing-point. If a warm spell sets in, expose the foliage to the air again. But watch your treasure vigilantly. Winter is near, and soon you must have enough covering over your trench to keep out the frost--a foot or more of leaves, straw, or some clean litter. There is nothing better than leaves, which cost only the gathering. From now till April, when you want a head or more of celery, open the trench at the lower end, and take out the crisp white or golden heads, and thank the kindly Providence that planted a garden as the best place in which to put man, and woman also. GARNISHING AND POT HERBS "There's fennel for you; there's rue for you." Strange and involuntary is the law of association! I can never see the garnishing and seasoning herbs of the garden without thinking of the mad words of distraught Ophelia. I fancy, however, that we are all practical enough to remember the savory soups and dishes rendered far more appetizing than they could otherwise have been by these aromatic and pungent flavors. I will mention only a few of the popular sorts. The seeds of fennel may be sown in April about three-quarters of an inch deep, and the plants thinned to fifteen inches apart. Cut off the seed-stalks to increase the growth of foliage. Parsley, like celery seed, germinates slowly, and is sometimes about a month in making its appearance. The soil should therefore be made very rich and fine, and the seed sown half an inch deep, as early in spring as possible. When the plants are three inches high, thin them to eight inches apart. Sweet-basil may be sown in early May, and the plants thinned to one foot apart. The seeds of sweet-marjoram are very minute, and must be covered very thinly with soil finely pulverized; sow in April or May, when the ground is in the best condition. Sage is easily raised from seeds gown an inch deep the latter part of April; let the soil be warm and rich; let the plants stand about one foot apart in the row. Thyme and summer-savory require about the same treatment as sage. I find that some of the mountain mints growing wild are quite as aromatic and appetizing as many of these garden herbs. THE END 
56526	----	Literature (Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.) HOW THE GARDEN GREW BY MAUD MARYON "Mary, Mary, quite contrairy, How does your garden grow?" _With Four Illustrations by Gordon Browne_ LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON NEW YORK AND BOMBAY 1900 To HIS REVERENCE CONTENTS PAGE SEASON I.--WINTER 3 SEASON II.--SPRING 71 SEASON III.--SUMMER 127 SEASON IV.--AUTUMN 191 INDEX 253 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE WINTER 2 SPRING 70 SUMMER 126 AUTUMN 190 [Illustration: WINTER] HOW THE GARDEN GREW SEASON I Winter "Now is the winter of my discontent." I have not had charge of my garden very long; and I am not sure that I should have undertaken such a charge had there been anyone else to do it. But there was no one else, and it so obviously needed doing. Of course there was the gardener--I shall have to allude to him occasionally--but just now I will only mention the fact that his greatest admirer could not have accused him of _taking care_ of the garden. Then there was his Reverence; he was by way of being in charge of everything, me included, I suppose, and of course nominally it was so. He had the parish and the church, and the rectory and his family, and the men-servants and the maid-servants, a horse and a pony _and_ the garden! He managed most things well, I will say, and the kitchen garden gave some account of itself, but in the flower garden desolation cried aloud. I was moved one day to say I thought it disgraceful. "There are no flowers anywhere; nothing but some semi-red geraniums and some poverty-stricken calceolarias and scraggy lobelias. We have none of those nice high blue things, what do you call them? or those yellow round things with red fringes, like daisies, which are not daisies; we have no sweet-Williams even, though they are the sort of flowers that grow in every _cottage_ garden!" There was a twinkle in his Reverence's eye. "You seem to know a good deal about flowers, Mary; I can't even follow your descriptions. I try my best with the carrots and onions. You must acknowledge you have vegetables." "Oh, vegetables!" I cried with a tone of contempt. "Yes, vegetables! You don't seem to despise them at dinner." "No, but vegetables! Anyone can buy vegetables." "Anyone can buy flowers, I suppose, if they have the money to spend." "They can't buy the look of flowers in the garden," I argued; "that is what one wants; not a few cut things on the table." "Well, I spend," began his Reverence, and then paused, and looked through a little drawer of his table that contained account-books. An idea struck me. I waited eagerly for his next words. "Let me see," continued his Reverence, running his eye down long rows of figures. "Ah! here is one of last year's bills for seeds, etc. Just on ten pounds, you see, and half of that certainly was for the flower garden. There were new rose trees." "They are mostly dead. Griggs said it was the frost," I interpolated. "And some azaleas, I remember." "They don't flower." "And bulbs." "Oh! Griggs buried _them_ with a vengeance." "Well, anyway, five pounds at least was--" "Was wasted, sir; that is what happened to that five pounds. Now, look here." His Reverence looked. "Give me that five pounds." "That particular one?" "Of course not. Five pounds, and I will see if I can't get some flowers into the garden. Five pounds! Why, my goodness, what a lot of things one ought to get with five pounds. Seeds are so cheap, sixpence a packet I have heard; and then one takes one's own seeds after the first year. Come, sir, five pounds down and every penny shall go on the garden." "Dear me! but according to you five pounds is a great deal too much. I can't say that it has produced very fine results under Griggs's management; but at sixpence a packet!" "No, sir, it is not too much really," I said gravely. "I shall have to buy a heap of things besides seeds, I expect. But you shall see what I will do with it. I want that garden to be full of flowers." His Reverence looked out of the study window. It was a bleak, windy day towards the end of November. A few brown, unhappy-looking leaves still hung on the trees; but most of them, released at last, danced riotously across the small grass plot in front of the old red brick house, until they found a damp resting-place beneath the shrubbery. The border in front looked unutterably dreary with one or two clumps of frost-bitten dahlias and some scrubby little chrysanthemums. "Full of flowers!" The eye of faith was needed indeed. "I don't mean before Christmas," I added, following his Reverence's eye. "But there are things that come out in the spring, you know, and perhaps they ought to be put in now. Is it a bargain?" "Yes, Mary, it shall be a bargain. Here is the fiver. Don't waste it, but make the best of that garden. You had better consult old Griggs about bulbs and such-like. There ought to be some. I don't think the few snowdrops I saw can represent all I bought." "They never came up. I know they didn't. I believe he planted them topsy-turvy. I suppose there is a right side up to bulbs, and if so, Griggs would certainly choose the wrong. It's his nature. Can't we get rid of him, sir? Isn't there any post besides that of gardener which he might fill?" His Reverence will not always take my words of wisdom seriously. "What, more posts! Why, he is clerk and grave-digger and bell-ringer! Would you like me to retire in his favour?" "_I_ am speaking seriously, Father. If anything is to be made of this garden it can't be done whilst that old idiot remains here." "I fear he must remain here. I have inherited him. His position is as firm as mine." "Not as gardener!" "No; but he can't live on his other earnings. No, Mary, put your best foot foremost and make something of old Griggs and the garden and the five pounds. And now take this bulb catalogue. I have not had time to look it through, and perhaps it may not be too late to get some things in for the spring. But don't spend all the five pounds on bulbs," he shouted after me as I left the study. And so I plunged into gardening, a very Ignoramus of the Ignorami, and what is herein set down will be written for the edification, instruction, warning and encouragement of others belonging to that somewhat large species. * * * * * I opened the bright-coloured catalogue. Oh! what fascination lurks in the pages of a bulb catalogue. The thick, highly-glazed leaves turn with a rich revelation on both sides. It scarcely needs the brilliant illustrations to lift the imagination into visions of gorgeous beauty. Parterres of amazing tulips, sheets of golden daffodils, groups of graceful, nodding narcissus, the heavy, sweet scent of hyacinths comes from that glorious bloom "excellent for pot culture"; and here in more quiet letters grow the early crocus--yellow, white, blue and mixed--and snowdrops. Ah! snowdrops, coming so early, bringing the promise of all the rich glory that is to follow. And scillas, aconites, chionodoxa or "Glory of the Snow"! What were all those lovely, to me half unheard-of names that could be had for two shillings and sixpence, three shillings or four shillings and sixpence a hundred? They bloomed in February and March, they were hardy and throve in any soil. Oh! how they throve in the pages of that catalogue. And anemones! My mind rushed to the joys of the Riviera, revealed in occasional wooden boxes, mostly smashed, sent by friends from that land of sunshine, and whose contents, when revived, spoke of a wealth of colour forever to be associated with the name of anemone. To grow them myself, rapture! "Plant in October or November." It was still November; they must be ordered at once, "double," "mixed," "single," "fulgens"; they were "dazzling," "effective," "brilliant," and began to flower in March. I was plunged into a happy dream of month succeeding month, bringing each with it its own glory of radiant bloom, very much after the manner of Walter Crane's picture-books. Life was going to be well worth living. So now to make my first list and secure all this treasure for the coming beautiful flower-laden year. I made a list; and then, mindful of the limited nature of even five pounds and all that would be required of it, I made up a long row of figures. This gave me an ugly jar. Flowers should be given freely and graciously, not bought and sold, to everyone by everyone for the promotion of beauty and happiness upon earth. Any good Government should see to this. But present arrangements being so defective, I had to remodel my list considerably. I cheered up with the thought, however, that bulbs were not annuals, but on their own account, so I had heard, grew and multiplied quietly in the earth. What could have become of those planted by Griggs last year? Did worms eat bulbs? * * * * * I wandered round the garden, seeing possibilities and refusing to be depressed by the sadness of sodden grass, straggling rose branches bare of beauty, heavy earth that closed in dejected plants, weeds or what not; I saw them all with new eyes and scanned them closely. Did they mean flowers? Down in their hearts could those poor draggled, tangled specimens dream of radiant blooms turned to the sun? I had not studied my garden before; there were prisoners in it. Care and attention, the right food and freedom, should bring new beauties to light. I had grumbled and growled for over two years at the hopelessness of it, and at the dearth of flowers for house decoration. Now all was to be changed; the garden was to be beautiful! I thought of that catalogue. Griggs was digging in the kitchen garden; not hard, not deep, still, no one could say he was unemployed. He was himself very muddy, and gave one the idea of working with all parts of his person except his brains. My former interviews with him had been short if not sweet; but there was no open quarrel. He paused as I stood near him, wiping his spade with his hands, kicking at the clods of earth round him as though they were troublesome. "Is that for potatoes?" I asked, wishing to show not only interest but knowledge. He tilted his cap to one side and viewed the bare expanse of upturned earth. "Oi 'ad taters in 'ere last; thought oi'd dig it a bit. Diggin' allays comes in 'andy." "Oh, yes;" and then I made a fresh start. "I wanted to know about those bulbs you planted last autumn. Did they come up?" This was evidently an awkward question. "Bulbs! Oh, there wur a few wot the Rector give me some toime back lars year. They didn't come to much. Never knows with bulbs, you don't!" "Oh! but bulbs ought to come up." "Some on 'em do, some times. Don't 'old myself with them furrin koinds." "What, not with Dutch bulbs? Why, they grow the best kind in Holland." "Maybe they do; over there. P'haps this soil didn't soute 'em. Wot I found diggin' the beds I put in them two round beds on the lawn. They wasn't no great quantity. Most on 'em perished loike, it 'pears to me." "Perhaps you did not put them in right," I ventured. "How deep should you plant them?" Oh! how ignorant I was. I did not feel even sure that I knew the right side up of a bulb. Griggs gave a hoarse chuckle. "They don't need to go fur in; 'bout so fur," and he made a movement that might indicate an inch or a yard; "but there's lots o' contrairy things that may 'appen to bulbs same as to most things. En'mies is wot there is in gardins, all along o' the curse." Griggs was clerk; he never forgot that post of vantage. He looked at me as he said the word "curse." I wondered if his mind had made the connection between Eve and her daughter. But to return to the bulbs. Were worms the enemies in this particular case? I knew they buried cities and raised rocks, and were our best diggers and fertilisers, because I had once read Darwin on the subject; but were they the enemies of bulbs? "I am going to take the garden in hand a bit," I said after a pause. "I think it needs it." "Well, I could do wi' a bit o' elp," and he wiped more mud from his spade to his hands, and from his hands to his trousers, and then back again, until I wondered what his wife did with him when she got him home. "But I reckon a boy 'ud be more 'andy loike. There's a lot o' talk," he added, half to himself. I remembered with a feeling of pain how our old cook and factotum had received the news that I was taking cooking lessons in much the same spirit; but my newly-found energy was not going to be suppressed by Griggs. "I am going to order some more bulbs," I began. "Ah! you might do _that_. The gardin needs things puttin' into it, that's what it needs." I looked at him sternly. "And things taken out of it too. I never knew such a place for weeds." "No more didn't I. It's fearful bad soil for weeds; but maybe if there warn't so much room for 'em they'd get sort of crowded out." "You have been here a good many years," I said, not without an afterthought. "Yes; that's wot I 'ave been. I come first in ole Mr Wood's time; 'e was a 'and at roses, 'e was; somethin' loike we 'ad the place then, me an' 'im. Then Mr 'Erbert took it, that's when ole Woods, 'is father as 'twere, doied. But 'e didn't stay long; went fur a missunairy 'e did to them furrin parts and never come back, 'e didn't neither. Then come Mr Cooper, ten years, no, 'levin, he was 'ere and never did a bit to the gardin; took no interes', no cuttin's, no seeds, no manure, no nothink. That's 'ow the weeds overmastered us." "But at least you might have dug up the weeds." "Allays callin' me away for some'ot, they was. The Bath chair for 'is sister as lived with 'im, allays some'ot. Talk o' gardinin'! The weeds just come." Then his tone brightened a bit; the Bath chair had been an unpleasing retrospect. "But if the Rector looks to spend a bit, we might get some good stuff in." A pause, and a searching look at the setting sun. "I must be going. Got a bit to see to up at my place. Can't never git round with these short days." Griggs collected his implements and with fine independence walked off, giving me a backward nod and a "Good evenin', miss. We could do wi' a few bulbs and such loike." I was to divide Griggs's time with his Reverence, but Griggs seemed quite able to dispose of it himself. * * * * * I opened a strong wooden box with much interest and examined the result of my first venture in bulbs. Brown paper bags full of little seeds in which were carefully packed the firm dry brown roots, big and little, round and oblong. How wonderful that these "dead bones" should be capable of springing up into the glories of sight and smell foretold by my catalogue. This withered brown ball a hyacinth! unfolding, unfolding, until green tips, broadening leaves, and at last a massive crown of flowers appear. And the magician's wand to work this transformation? Just the good old brown earth, the common rain, and the wonderful work-a-day sun. I was soon busy in the garden depositing my various bulbs in heaps where I intended them to be buried. I called Griggs and requested suitable tools for the work. "I am going to plant daffodils under these trees," I said; "and I want you to take that bag of crocuses and put them in all over the grass in front. Put them anywhere and everywhere, like the daisies grow." "What! front of the Rector's winder?" "Yes; all over." "'Ow many 'ave you got 'ere?" "Three hundred; but they don't take long planting." "'Ope not! I've got a good bit else to to do; can't fiddle faddle over them." "Put them in the right side up. I want them to grow," I called after his retreating figure. Then I eyed my pile of bulbs. Of course I did know the right side up of a bulb; of course everybody did; and if anyone was likely to make a mistake it was surely Griggs, so it was clearly no use asking him. Nice brown thing, why had you not given just one little green sprout as the crocuses and snowdrops had done, so that there _could_ be no mistake? And what would happen if they were planted topsy-turvy? Could they send up shoots from anywhere they chose? or would the perversity of such a position be too much for their budding vitality? I did not wish to try the experiment; my daffodils _must_ make their appearance next March. I ranged them out in broad circles under one or two trees, in patches at the corner of projecting borders, and walked away to see the effect from different points; the effect, not of brown specks, but of sheets of gold that were to be. His Reverence found me with my head on one side taking in the future from the drawing-room windows. "You seem very busy, Mary." "I am. You see, it is a great thing to place them where they can stay. I like permanent things. It will be lovely, won't it, to see that golden patch under the mulberry tree and another at the corner there; and then under the chestnut just a sheet of white?" "Oh, lovely! And what kind of sheet or wet blanket is old Griggs preparing for my eyes in front?" "Oh, the old owl! I must run and see he is doing as I told him. You might be useful, sir, for a bit, mightn't you? and begin popping in those daffodils under that tree exactly as I have arranged them. I will be back directly." His Reverence loved walking round with a tall spud prodding up weeds, but it was a new idea to set him to work in other ways. I left him for some time and came back with a heated face. "Just imagine! Oh, really, sir, we can't go on with that--that--unutterable idiot! He won't do as he is told. What do you think he was doing? I told him to plant all that front piece of grass with crocuses, you know--told him as plainly as I could speak--and there he was burying my crocuses, by handfuls I think, in the border." "Oh, well, he doesn't understand your ideas, you see, Mary; he has not seen them carried out yet." "Oh, but he did understand, only he said it would take longer to plant them in the grass and they would come up better in the border. 'I want that for tulips,' I said, and stood over him while he unburied all he had done. Then he said, 'Can't stand cuttin' up the grass like this; better put 'em straight 'long that shady border there, give a bit o' colour to it.' 'I want them here, in the grass,' I said. 'And how 'bout my mowing? I shall cut 'em to pieces.' That was a bright idea, he thought. 'You don't begin mowing until after the crocuses are well over; that won't hurt.' And now I have spread them all over the lawn myself and left him to put them in. He can't make any further mistake I hope." His Reverence was laughing. Old Griggs amused him much more than he did me. "How many have you done?" I asked, and I looked at the still unburied bulbs. "Why, sir--" "I have done two, Mary, really; but look at this pile of plantains! Oh, these horrid things! you must clear the garden of them." "I can't," I said sternly. "There is too much else to do. What we want is colour, flowers everywhere. The plantains are green so they don't disturb the harmony. But you may take them up if you like." "Colour! harmony! If you talk to old Griggs like that he will think you are mad. And, Mary, you bought _all_ these bulbs? Remember there is the spring and summer to be reckoned with. How much has gone?" "Two pounds. It ought to have been twenty. Seeds are cheaper, you know. I must do a lot with seeds, I find. But bulbs go on, that is the comfort of them. They will be there for always!" "Well, I won't interfere. Don't bully my old Griggs." And his Reverence walked off. I proceeded, yes, I will confess it, carefully to open up one of the bulbs he had planted. Yes, there it was, it had its point upward. Oh! I hoped he really knew. And so all the others were placed snugly in their narrow beds, and patted down with a kind of blessing. "Wake up soon and be glorious, brilliant, effective." * * * * * There were hours of deep dejection after all my planting was done. It was December, and so much ought to have been done in November, October, and even September. In fact, I ought to have begun nine months ago. And those nine months could not be caught up for another year, depressing thought! Wallflowers, polyanthus, forget-me-nots, sweet-Williams, all the dear, simple things of which I wanted masses, instead of the one or two stalky bushes that grew down a long herbaceous border, all these should have begun their career, it appeared, last February or March if I wanted them to flower next spring. I must wait. I had not set out on my gardening experience to learn patience, it is always being rubbed into one; but I warn you, O brother or sister Ignoramus! that of all stocks you will need patience the most. My garden was now a white world. Snow buried everything: hopes and depressions were equally hidden. A fine time for castle-building, for hurrying through the seasons and imagining how many treasures ought to be, might be, should be hidden beneath that cold, pure coverlid and warmly, snugly nestling in Mother Earth's brown bosom. What energy must be at work, what pushing, struggling, expanding of little points of life downwards, upwards, until they burst into resurrection with little green hands folded as in thanksgiving. In the meantime I turned to books, on gardening, of course. My new "fad," as the Others called it, having announced itself in plenty of time for Christmas, my pile of gifts presented a most learned appearance. This was my first taste of that fascinating literature. His Reverence had handed over to me a brown-clad work on gardening--somewhat ancient I must say--at the beginning of my enterprise. I had scanned it critically and compared it to an ordinary cookery-book in which recipes are given, and unless you are already familiar with the art you are continually faced with difficulties. The cookery-books tell one to "make a white sauce of flour, butter and milk," but how? Wherein lies the mystery of that delicately-flavoured, creamy substance or that lumpy kind of paste? Just so my regular handbook to gardening. For example:-- "They vary very much in habit, but should be of easy cultivation. The compost required is rich, deep and moist. Any sourness in the soil will be fatal to flowering. When planting supply liberally with manure, and occasionally mulch in dry weather." But what did it all mean? How test the soil and the sourness which would be fatal to flourishing? The proof of the pudding would be in the eating, but how prevent any tragic consequences? But these other books, this literature on gardening! They are generally better than the garden itself. Practical they are not, but why ask it of them? They are the seductive catalogue turned into finest art. One wanders with some sweet, madonna-like lady of smooth fair hair, mild eyes and broad-brimmed hat, or with a courtly parson of the old school, in a garden where the sun always shines. Green stretches of lawn (no plantains), trees grouped from their infancy to adorn and shade and be the necessary background to masses of flowering shrubs. Through rockeries, ferneries, nut-groves, copses we wander as in a fairy dream. Borders laid out to catch the sun, sheltered by old red brick walls where fruit ripens in luscious clusters. Rose gardens, sunk gardens, water gardens lead on to copses where all wild things of beauty are met together to entrance the eye. Broad walks between herbaceous borders, containing every flower loved from the time of Eve; sheltered patches where seedlings thrive, a nursery of carefully-reared young. And in this heaven of gardening land gardeners galore flit to and fro, ever doing their master's behest, and manure and water, and time and money may be considerations but are not anxieties. I ought to have begun years ago; seven, nine, fifteen, and even twenty-five years are talked of but as yesterday. I felt out of it in every sense. My garden lay out there in the cold, grey mist; it had been neglected, it held no rippling stream, no nut-grove, it ran upward into no copse or land of pine and bracken and heather. It had a hedge one side and a sloping field the other. The straight kitchen garden was bounded by no red brick wall, and the birds from the convenient hedges ate all the fruit, unless gooseberries and currants were so plentiful that we also were allowed a share. Griggs talked of an 'urbrageous' border. But what a border! Evening primroses, the common yellow marigold, a few clusters of golden-rod, and other weed-like flowers that persist in growing of themselves, with Griggs, five pounds a year and an Ignoramus to work it! Oh! why had I so cheerfully undertaken such an apparently hopeless task? But my honour was now at stake. I had said I would have flowers on five pounds a year, and I could not draw back. Let me clear away the mists that had arisen. After all, that tree down there was a pink chestnut, and beneath it lay my sheet of snowdrops and blue scillas. Before it burst into beauty they would have done their share of rejoicing the eye. At that corner, where the field sloped so prettily downwards, daffodils were hidden, and under the clump just over the fence more and more daffodils. A row of stately limes, dismally bare now, carried the eye down to the next field. There, where it was always shady, I pictured future ferns and early wild-flowers, and maybe groups of foxgloves. I turned again to my gardening books. I too would have a garden "to love," to "work in"; if not a "Gloucestershire garden," or a "German garden," or a "Surrey" one, still a garden. Months with me, also, should be a successive revelation of flowers; though I knew not a Latin name I would become learned in the sweet, simple, old-fashioned flowers that cottagers loved, and though I could not fit poetry on to every plant, I would have a posy for the study table right through the year. That was my dream! * * * * * The first, the very first produce of the opening year in my garden was a winter aconite. The little dead-looking roots had been planted in a sunny shrubbery border and had quickly thrust up their golden crowns, circled with the tender green collar. Have you ever noticed how a winter aconite springs from its bed? Its ways are most original. The sturdy little stem comes up like a hoop; at one end is the root, at the other the blossom, with its green collar drooped carefully over the yellow centre. Gradually it raises itself, shakes off the loosened mould--you may help it here if you like--lays back its collar and opens its golden eye. I picked every one I could find. It seemed sinful, but occasionally pride overcomes the most modest of us. "There," I cried, "my garden is beginning already. Just look at them! Are they not lovely?" "What, buttercups?" asked one of the Others. "No, oh, ignorant one! they are not buttercups. They are winter aconite; note the difference." "Let's look!" and the brown little fist of one of the youngest of the Others was thrust forth. "All that fuss about those! You wait a minute!" He ran off, returning shortly with quite a big bunch of my yellow treasures in his hand. "Where did you get them? Jim, you bad boy! you must not pick my flowers," I exclaimed. "_Your_ flowers! and you hadn't an idea that they grew there. These are from _my_ garden, and no one has given _me_ a fiver to raise them with. Come, Mary, I shall cry halves. You had better square me!" "Oh, Jim, where did you find them?" was all I could gasp. I did square Jim, but it was in "kind," and then he showed me much winter aconite hidden away in an unfrequented shrubbery, where his quick little eyes had spied it. I thought of moving it to where it would show. Everything with me was for show in those early days; but these surprises hold their own delight, and I learnt to encourage them. I suffered many things at the hands of the Others for spending five pounds on winter aconite when already the garden held "such heaps "--that was their way of putting it. I began to hope that more surprises of such sort might be in store for me. It is wonderful how one may avoid seeing what is really just under one's nose. The Others might laugh, but I doubt if they even knew winter aconite as the yellow buttercup-looking thing before that morning. Another yellow flower tried to relieve the monotony of that dead season of the year. Struggling up the front of the house, through the virginian creeper and old Gloire de Dijon rose, were the bare branches of a yellow jasmine. From the end of December on through January and February it did its poor best to strike a note of colour in the gloom. But why was it not more successful? Judging from its performance, I had formed the meanest opinion of its capabilities, until one bright day in January my eye had been caught by a mass of yellow--I say advisedly a mass--thrown over the rickety porch of old Master Lovell's abode. Yellow jasmine! yes, there was no mistake about it, but the bare greenish stems were covered with the brilliant little star-flowers, shining and rejoicing as in the full tide of summer. I thought of my bare straggling specimen and stopped to ask for the recipe for such blossoming. Old Lovell and old Griggs had both lived in Fairleigh all their lives, and there was an old-timed and well-ripened feud between the pair. "A purty sight I calls that," said old Lovell, surveying his porch, "an' yourn ain't loike it, ain't it? Ah! and that's not much of a surprise to me. Ever see that old Griggs up at th' Rectory working away wi' his shears? Lor' bless you, he's a 'edging and ditching variety of gardener, that's wot I calls 'im. Clip it all, that's 'is motive, autumn and spring, one with another, an' all alike, and then you 'spects winter blooming things to pay your trouble! But they don't see it, they don't." "Oh! it's the clipping, is it? Well, then, how do you manage yours? It is quite beautiful." I always dealt out my praise largely in return for information. "Leaves it to Natur', I do. You wants a show? 'Ave it then and leave interfering with Natur'. She knows 'er biz'ness." I did not feel quite convinced of this axiom; gardening seemed to be a continual assistance or interference with Nature in her most natural moods. So I said dubiously, "Yellow jasmine should never be cut at all, then?" "Look you 'ere, miss, at them buds all up the stem. If I cuts the stem wot becomes of them buds, eh?" Unanswerable old Lovell! But as I looked at the thick matted trailings that covered his porch, it dawned on me that perhaps a judicious pruning out of old wood at the right season would help and not hinder the yellow show. "Does it bloom on the new wood?" I asked with a thought most laudable in an Ignoramus. "Blooms! why, it blooms all over. Look at it!" And having sounded the depth of old Lovell's knowledge, I left him with more words of praise. So that was it! And my yellow jasmine might be blooming like that if left alone, or better, if rightly handled; and doubtless the poverty-stricken appearance of the white jasmine, the small and occasional flowers of the clematis, were due to the same cause. Here was a new and important department of my work suddenly opened up. I determined Nature should have a free hand until I could assist her properly. Until I knew the how, when and why of the clipping process, the edict should go forth to old Griggs, "Don't _touch_ the shears." On examining my own decapitated climbers I found that Griggs had indeed been hedging and ditching in the brutal way in which the keepers of our country lanes perform their task. It had often grieved my spirit to see the beautiful tangle late autumn produces in the hedges ruthlessly snipped and snapped by the old men, told off by some of the mysterious workings of the many councils under which we now groan, to do their deed of evil. That it ever recovers, that spring again clothes the hedges brilliantly, that the wild rose riots, the wild clematis flings itself, the honeysuckle twines, all again within the space of six or eight months, is an ever-recurring miracle. But my creepers and climbers did not so recover; their hardy brethren in the hedges outstripped them. Griggs impartially clipped the face of the house in the autumn when ivy is trimmed, and, now that I noticed it, the results overpowered me with wrath. How extraordinary that people should let such things go on, should live apathetically one side of the wall when flowers were being massacred on the other; should have streamers of yellow glory within their reach in December and January, and should sit placidly by the fire when the iron jaws were at work and never shout to the destroyer, "Hold!" Well, it was no use carrying every tale of woe to his Reverence or the Others. Jim was fully informed, and being, as I have often noticed, a person of immense resource, he very shortly afterwards whispered to me that the "old guffoon" would have great difficulty in finding his shears again. If I would obtain proper advice on the point it was a department, he thought, peculiarly suited to his abilities. I might grow giddy on a ladder, but as the navy was to be his profession he thought the opportunity one to be taken. There was nothing to cut of the yellow jasmine; it must grow first, and then the older stems might be judiciously trimmed after its flowering time is over. A year to wait for that, to Jim's disgust, but toward the end of February we cautiously trimmed the Japanese variety of "old man's beard," called by the learned "clematis flamulata." It grew on the verandah, and one of the Others had driven Griggs off when he approached with his shears. She said he looked like murder, and whether it was right or not it should not be done. I had to give her chapter and verse for it that this variety of clematis ought to have a very mild treatment, a sort of disentanglement, and thus help it to long streamers before she would allow Jim and me and a modest pair of scissors to do ever so little work. Jim sighed for the shears, and I had to warn him against the first evidence of the murderous spirit of old Griggs. * * * * * In one garden book of the most precious description I read of "hellebore." Now I am writing for Ignoramuses. Do you know what "hellebore" is? No! of course not, nor did I, but it was spoken of as forming "a complete garden full of flowers in the months of February and March," so of course I wanted it. Out-door flowers are scarce in February, but I learned as time went on that most flowers announced for an early appearance generally arrive a month late, at least it is so with me. None of the Others, not even his Reverence, had heard of hellebore. It continued to haunt me for some time. February was near and I sighed for that "complete garden." * * * * * I was encouraging my snowdrops with welcoming smiles as they pierced through the damp grass, and dreaming of hellebore, for the name attracted me strongly, when his Reverence's Young Man joined me. He has not much to do with the garden, though he often strayed into it--very often, in fact--so he ought to be mentioned. As my book is about my garden, only the people who either help or hinder there need be introduced. His Reverence's Young Man was really his curate. Our parish was not a large one, but very scattered, and a little distant hamlet with a tiny chapel necessitated a Young Man. He was a great favourite with his Reverence, who would often walk about with him, leaning on his arm, and this had caused old Master Lovell, the village wit, to call him his Young Man. Of course he had to see his Reverence occasionally, and if he did not find him in the study he generally looked for him in the garden. "What is growing here?" he asked. "Look!" I answered. "Grass? It is grass, isn't it?" "It is a comfort to find some people, and clever people withal, even more ignorant than I am. Snowdrops and scillas." "Oh! I see, you are making progress, at least, I beg pardon, _they_ are. I positively see some white." "Now can _you_ tell me what are hellebores?" "Ask another!" "That is worthy of Jim. You don't know?" "But wait a bit, I have heard of them, I really have. Isn't it deadly nightshade, or something like that?" I shook my head. "It is worse to know wrong than not at all." "But if you don't know, how do you know I am wrong?" "Because they form a complete garden in February and March--there!" "A complete garden! How wonderful. Doesn't anyone know? Doesn't Griggs?" "I haven't asked him, of course he wouldn't know. Here he is, we will see what he says. Griggs, do you know what flower is called hellebore?" Griggs had no spade and no mud handy; he was very much nonplussed. "El-bore!--did you say? Whoi, el-bore? Don't seem to have 'eeurd of 'em before; not by that name leastways. You never can tell in these days; lot o' noo-fangled words they call 'em. Oi might know it right 'nuff if you could show me. Dessay it's a furriner. I must be goin'." He wandered down the garden. There was not much I could give him to do, but I knew from my gardening books that he should be trimming trees, or marking those to come down, or cutting stakes, and lots of other useful things. I possessed no woods, or groves, or copses, however, so I gave Griggs over unreservedly to his Reverence, and he dug and banked up celery. "Shall I write and ask my mother?" said the Young Man. "She is quite a gardener, you know; and when they divide up roots--as they do, don't they?--she would send you some, I am sure. Geraniums and fuchsias and--and lilies. They always divide them up, don't they? and throw away half." "I don't think they throw away half, not always. But would she really? It would be awfully kind; and I might send her things when I had anything to send. Only I don't want geraniums; I can't bear them, and old Griggs has filled our one and only frame with nothing else. They seem to me a most unnecessary flower." I spoke in my ignorance, and I learnt the use of geraniums later on. His Reverence's Young Man never smiled when I spoke of sending things back to his mother; perhaps he did inside him, for she had a lovely garden and half a dozen gardeners, but still was chief there. I was overcome when I paid her a visit and remembered my offer; but again I spoke in my ignorance and thought it showed the right gardener's spirit, and perhaps it did. His Reverence's Young Man grew to take the greatest interest in gardening. He was one of my first converts; but I learnt about hellebore from someone else. * * * * * And now the Master must be introduced. I cannot tell what particular month he came into my garden, but I remember when I first went into his. He had a genius for flowers. I do not know if he looked at children and animals with that light of fatherly love in his eyes, but I think it must have been there for all things that needed his care and protection. Flowers, however, were his "dream children." His was no ideal garden, and he had never written about it. It was scarcely larger or more blessed by fate than mine, but was as perfect as could be. He knew each flower intimately; he had planted each shrub, and I never met a weed or a stone on his borders. He had but little glass, and no groves and copses and woods, or heather, or pine, or any unfair advantages in that way; but when I looked at his herbaceous border in the autumn I could not help thinking of harvest decorations. Such a wealth of colour was piled up, it hardly seemed possible it could all be growing on the spot. From early spring to late autumn a succession of brilliant blooms reigned one after another in that border; to look upon it was indeed "seeing of the labour of one's hands and being satisfied." And he had said, "There is no reason why you should not have it too." I think that border sowed the first seeds of gardening love in my heart. "But when you came here was it like this?" I asked. "It was a pretty bad wilderness," he said with a look round. "Oh! things take _such_ a time," I groaned. "I have been here twenty-five years. I have planted nearly everything you see, except the big trees." "Twenty-five years! But I!--I can't begin planting things for twenty-five years hence. It is too bad of one's predecessors to leave one nothing but weeds and stones and Griggs!" "Yes. Well, you have got to make things better for your successors. Not but what you can get results of some sort under twenty-five years. All this"--and he waved his hand to that wonderful border--"comes, at least comes in part, with but eighteen months' careful tending." Even eighteen months seemed to my impatient spirit too long; I wished for a fairy wand. But fairy effects have a way of vanishing like the frost pictures on the window pane. "Well, if ever I try to make our wilderness blossom like the rose I will just grow perennial things and pop them in and have done with it." At which the Master laughed. "Oh, will you? I don't think I shall come to admire your garden then. Why are you so afraid of time? You are young. But I suppose that is the reason." After I had made the plunge we talked again on this matter. "Most of these people who write of their gardens own them. They have lived there and will live there always. But in a Rectory garden one is but a stranger and a pilgrim. Don't you feel this?" "No. We are growing old together, and perhaps it will be given me to stay here; anyway, my garden is better than I found it. Is not that something?" "Oh, yes," I said discontentedly. He laughed. "Ah! the spirit will grow; you are cultivating it just as surely as you are the seeds." "There are plenty of weeds and stones to choke all the seeds everywhere," I answered. "Old Griggs's way of weeding is to chop off the heads, dig everything in again, and for a fortnight smile blandly over his work. Then he says that it is no use weeding, 'Just look at 'em again.'" "Old Griggs seems to afford you plenty of parables from Nature, anyhow. He is instructive in his way. But can't he be retired?" "Alas, no! he is a fixture." "And you the pilgrim! Well, go ahead. And now come and see what the nurseries contain; there is always to spare in the nurseries." Many of his spare children found their way to my garden, and it grew quite a matter of course to turn to him in any dilemma. But Ignoramuses must learn, in gardens as in everything else, to work out their own salvation. So in fear and trembling, and a good deal of hope, too, I made my own experiments; for hill and dale divided the Master's garden from mine, and I doubt if even he could grasp the utter ignorance of the absolutely ignorant. * * * * * Ice and snow and thaw, and again thaw and ice and snow had held their sway through January and early February, and my garden slept. Another year I would have violets growing in the narrow border under the verandah, and tubs--big green tubs--of Christmas roses under its shelter. Were they expensive, I wondered? And thus I found out, by the simple process of asking at a florist, that for one shilling and sixpence or two shillings a root I could buy--why, hellebores! But for me they will always be "Christmas roses." At present the verandah was bare, oh, so bare! It needed more roses to climb up the trellis and the newness of its two years' existence to be hidden. It held attraction for the birds, however, this cold winter time; crumbs and scraps were expected by them as regularly as breakfast and dinner by us. The pert sparrow came by dozens, of course, but out of our four robins one knew himself to be master of the ceremony. He came first, at a whistle, the signal for crumbs, and he allowed the sparrows to follow, really because he could not help himself. But should another robin come--his wife or their thin-legged son--he made for them and spent the precious moments pecking them away while the sparrows gobbled. His is not a beautiful disposition, I fear, but oh! how gladly one forgives him for the sake of his bold black eye, cheering red breast and persistent joyfulness of song. The colder weather brought other pensioners, chaffinch, bullfinch, even hawfinch, and, of course, the thrush and blackbird; a magpie eyed the feast from afar, but the starlings waddled boldly up, not hopping as birds, but right-left, right-left like wobbling geese; and the tom-tits and blue and black-tits, came and continued to come as long as they found a cocoa-nut swinging for their benefit. None of the other birds would touch it. Next winter they shall have hellebore for their table decoration. * * * * * Oh! how lucky men are, they have so many things we women seem forever to miss. Very thick, sensible boots that won't get wet through; no skirts to get muddy when gardening; the morning paper first, of course, because they are men and politics are for them; voting powers, too, which on occasions give them a certain very much appreciated weight; and money, even if poor, always more money than their wives and daughters. These reflections, and I notice you may reflect on most irrelevant matter in a garden, were called forth by a boy-man who kindly took me in to dinner one evening. I soon discovered he had a little "diggings" and was going in for gardening "like anything." Yet was my soul not drawn to him. "Bulbs, oh, rather! Had a box over from Holland the other day, just a small quantity, you know. Mine isn't a large place, but five thousand or so ought to fill it up a bit; make a mass of colour, that's what I go in for. Told my man to plant 'em in all over, thick as bees. Then I had great luck. Dropped in at an auction in the City just in the nick of time, got a box-load of splendid bulbs for half-a-crown--worth a guinea at the very least--shoved them all in too. I shall have a perfect blaze, I tell you. Like you to come and look me up in April if you go in for that kind of thing." But I hated the boy-man. Five thousand bulbs! without a second thought. And then--according to the rule that works so invariably among material goods, "to him that hath shall be given"--this aggressive youth also buys a guinea's worth of bulbs for half-a-crown. Think what I would have given to be at that auction. But women can't "drop in" in the City. * * * * * Towards the end of February my snowdrops made their appearance. The scillas followed a little later and with less regularity. They were not quite the perfect sheet I had dreamt of, but each little bulb did its duty manfully and raised one slender stem with its bell-like head. One at every few inches over a space of some yards was not wealth; and I almost wept when some of them were sacrificed for the drawing-room. The Others said, "A garden should grow flowers for the house. Who wanted them out there in the cold, where no one would see them!" But I did, for out there in the cold they lived for weeks and in the warm room a few days faded them. I must have more and more so that we may all be satisfied. In the Master's garden I found sixteen varieties of snowdrops, not very many of each, but he has no Others. What I longed for was quantity; and as for quality, each snowdrop holds its own, I think. Up through the softened grass came the strong, pointed leaves of the daffodils. My mass of gold promised to be very regular, but the small crocus leaves were harder to find, and they had no sign of yellow points as yet. And the anemones! What had happened to them? I nearly dug them up to see. Were the buds on the trees swelling? The birds were twittering busily on the branches, as though they knew their covering would not be long delayed, but the little brown knobs, so shiny and sticky on the chestnuts, appeared hardly to have gained in size since they pushed off the old leaf in the autumn. For in the time of scattering wind and falling leaf it is well to remember that it is the coming bud which loosens the hold of the old leaf. Life, and not death, which makes the seasons and the world go round. * * * * * I was busy again with catalogues. "Begin things in time," preached the Master; but ah! I seem to have been born a month too late, for I never catch up time in my garden, except when there is nothing to do, and then you _can_ do nothing. Nature has cried a "halt," and all the fidgeting in the world will not start the race before "time" is said. So I studied my catalogue and made my list in February. Stocks. I need them in plenty, but I must walk warily amongst such luxuries with only three pounds to spend and so many other things to buy. Wallflowers, red and gold; but, alas! the Master has warned me these are for next year, as also many other things. The polyanthuses, that I long to see in masses like a fine Persian carpet, the pansies and violas, the forget-me-nots, even the Canterbury bells and campanulas and sweet-Williams must be thought of now, and will need the year round before coming to flowering time. Still, down they go on my list. And gaillardias, too, they look so handsome in the picture and promise so much: "showy, beautiful, brilliant, useful for cutting" (there were those Others to think of), and they were perennials. Blessed perennials! Then larkspur or delphinium, I should say, for I did not want the annual variety. I could not wait, however, to grow those tall, beautiful spikes of bright blue, Oxford and Cambridge in colour, from seed, I must indulge in plants. Hollyhocks must also be bought ready-made, and phlox. Oh! the poverty-stricken little specimens that grew in my garden, flowers capable of such beauty. I had seen them growing in the Lake country and marvelled at their upstanding mass of brilliant heads. They were a revelation as to what the phlox family could do. And there were all the magnificent possibility of lilies, of gladiolas and montbresias, and ixias. These must be bought. I must have them, but oh! the years before I could make a home for all. I turned to the annuals; they sounded as easy to grow as Jack's bean-stalk. What a list! Antirrhinum--that is, snapdragon, but one gets used even to spelling the other name--red, white and yellow; the taller kind call themselves half-hardy perennials, but I don't believe they would stand my winter, and the dwarf variety do their duty nobly for one summer. Mignonette, that was a necessity; marguerites, annual chrysanthemums sounded inviting; "continuous blooming" would suit the Others. Convolvulus and heaps of nasturtium, canariensis and other little tropoeoleum. Balsam and asters; no, though I liked the sound of balsam, still I could do without it, and I must do without something! But of sweet-peas I could not have too many, even though most of the "dukes" and "duchesses" cost a shilling a packet. I pictured hedges and hedges of sweet-peas in the garden, and bowls and bowls of blossom in the house. Sunflowers again--"golden-nigger," "æsthetic gem," "Prussian giant"--how could one help sampling such seductive names? And tagetes, the Master had said, "Get tagetes, it is a useful border." Marigolds, too, they were not a favourite of mine, but they lasted well into the autumn, and I had to think of the failing months. Zinnias I could not resist because they are so "high art" in their colouring; and salpiglosis, the Master had a lovely group of these daintily-pencilled belles. Then I made up my list, threepence, and sixpence, and one shilling, and one shilling and sixpence. How they mounted up. Thirty shillings in seeds! and I had to buy plants and bulbs too. But I could cut out nothing, though it had been very easy to make additions. But now to get all these thousands of seeds sown. They could not all be sown in the open; I knew so much. Those for coming on quickly would need little wooden boxes and a place in the one frame full of bothering geraniums; and when they were bigger they would need pricking out in more wooden boxes, and could only be planted out permanently the beginning of June. Well, what for the open? Sweet-peas--thank goodness for that!--and the wallflowers, Canterbury bells--cup and saucer variety had taken my fancy--sweet-Williams, sunflowers, nasturtium, mignonette and forget-me-nots, they could all be trusted straight to Mother Earth; and I had enough of the dear brown bosom, bare of all children, down in that long desolate border. And for the boxes and pricking out and glass frame I would begin with antirrhinum, stocks, violas, tagetes, zinnia, salpiglosis, lobelias, polyanthus and columbine. That must suffice for the first year. But oh! what a lot of flowers there were to be had, and how lovely a garden might be if only--well, if only one had a real gardener, money, the sunny border, good soil, and--if they all came up! And what flowers had I omitted? Of simple things that even an Ignoramus may have heard. There were all the poppy tribe, Iceland, Shirley, the big Orientals, Californian, though these are not poppies proper at all; verbena, the very name smelt sweet; gypsophila, a big word, but I knew the dainty, grass-like flower from London shops; penstemons, carnation, scabious, or lady's pincushions. The only way was to shut that book resolutely and go and write to Veitch. The book said, and so did each little neat packet of seeds, "sow in pots or pans," or "sow in heat," and talked of a cool frame and compost, so, armed with this amount of knowledge, I took my seeds out to old Griggs. "Griggs, have you any wooden boxes or pans or things in which we can sow these seeds?" Griggs looked at me suspiciously; he did not like my energy, there was no doubt of that, but since he was a gardener he recognised that flower seeds, or such-like, ought to be in his line. He took the packets. "P'haps I can knock up a box or two. That frame's mostly full of janiums, though. I've a nice quantity of them saved." "But we can't fill the garden with nothing but geraniums, you know. I want to have a great show this year; don't you? Wouldn't it be more satisfactory to you to see the garden looking nice than like a howling wilderness?" Griggs laughed, positively. "You've got to spend money if you wants flowers, and the old rector as was 'e never put 'is 'and in 'is pocket for no sich thing as flowers. I dunno 'bout a 'owling wilderness. My fancy is them janiums brightens up a place wonderful." I pushed open the lights of the long frame by which we were standing and looked at the stalky, unpromising appearance of old Griggs's favourites. There were other lean and hungry-looking plantlets there, a bit yellow about the tips. "What are those?" I asked, pointing. "Oh, them's marguerites, white and yellow. I got Mr Wright up at the 'All to give me them cuttings. They wanted a bit of water this morning so I give it em." I pressed my finger on the sodden soil of the box that held the drooping cuttings. "They have had too little, and now you have given them too much," I said sternly. How could I trust my precious seeds to this old murderer? "Griggs, if you would only _love_ the flowers a bit, they would grow with you." "Bless you! they'll grow, they 'aven't took no hurt. Let's look at your seeds. Anti--rrh--well, what's this name?" "Snapdragon." "Oh, and violas and polyan--thus. Well, we can get 'em in. I've a box or two." But I grabbed all my packets quickly. "All right, get the boxes ready and I will come and sow them myself." The boxes were filled with a light soil, mixed with sand and leaf mould. I turned it over myself to look for worms or other beasts, and very, very thinly, as I thought, I scattered the tiny seeds over the surface and gave them a good watering. Then out with some of the scraggiest of Griggs's plants and in with my precious boxes. I felt Griggs's hands must not touch them. He had something wrong about him, for a gardener, that is to say. He always broke the trailing branch he was supposed to be nailing up; he always trod on a plant in stepping across a border; if he picked a flower he did it with about an inch of stalk and broke some other stem; no blessing flowed from his hand when he planted out the flowers. I sowed the end of February, and in March little tiny green heads were peeping up in most of the boxes. The violas still remained hidden. If Griggs had sown I should have said he had done it very irregularly, for the green heads came in thick patches and then again very sparingly; but I knew, of course, it must have been the seeds' own fault, since I had done it myself! * * * * * I was standing with his Reverence at the study window watching a squirrel swing himself from bough to bough, and I think we were both envying him, when my eye caught some specks of colour on the grass plot in front, that grass plot which ought to have a sun-dial in the centre and a stately bed of flowering shrubs as a background instead of laurels! What was it growing in the grass? White, yellow, purple, a touch here and there, all across, straight across, in one horrid straight line! Could it be? "Look, Mary, there he goes! See him spring up that tree?" "Look," I said in a tragic voice, "look at them! Do you think--can it be--are they my crocuses?" "Where? Oh, there! Yes, I thought they looked like a rather straggly regiment this morning, marching single file. Was that your idea?" "My idea! a straight line! Oh, how can you! That old fiend of a Griggs!" And then I rushed out to see the full extent of the horror. It was too true. In spite of my careful scattering the old ruffian had drawn my crocus bulbs into line. I can see how he did it, striding across the grass, clutching bulbs to right and left, sticking them in under his nose, and probably sweeping up those outside his reach with the dead leaves. What a show! Many had not come up, and many had no flower, so the regiment was ragged. I could have cried. Jim had joined me. "Don't think much of this idea anyhow Mary." "Don't you know how I meant it to be? Haven't you seen the Park?" "Can't say I've given it my undivided attention lately. Shall I go and pitch into old Griggs?" "It would be no good. I must do that." "That isn't fair, Mary. If I'm to help you I must have some of the fun." "Jim! It is no fun to me. You can't _murder_ him, and nothing else would be any good. What shall I do with them?" I looked at my poor little first-fruits. They did look so forlorn and battered. A crocus all alone, separated from its kind by a foot or so, has a most orphaned and cheerless appearance. "Let's have 'em up," said Jim, the man of action. "No, they mustn't be moved in flower, not even till their leaves die, and by that time the grass will be mowed and I shan't know where they are, and then it will look like this next year too." "Oh rot!" said Jim, "something has got to be done. Can't have these stragglers roaming across the lawn and never getting home. I know," and off he was and returned with a lot of little sticks which he proceeded to plant by the side of each crocus. "Now we will locate the gentlemen and have 'em up when their poverty-stricken show is over." Afterwards, when Jim saw in my account that crocuses were two shillings a hundred, he said I did not value his time very highly. He thought by my face we were dealing with things of value. But anyway we moved that ragged regiment on and stationed them in clumps at the foot of trees, where they will look more comfortable. * * * * * March should be a very busy month, and old Griggs found employment in the kitchen garden. I should have moved plants now, and arranged the neglected herbaceous border of the autumn, but, alas! all the new green things coming up were strangers to me, and I saw quickly that in their present state Griggs was as likely to make mistakes as I. He hazarded names with a scratch of the head and a pull at the tender green shoots that made me angry. "Them's a phlox, and them's--oi can't quite mind, it's purple like; and them's flags, but they ain't never much to look at; too old, I reckon. That's a kind of purple flower, grows it do, and that 'ere's a wallflower." This was said with decision, and I too could recognise the poor specimen of a spring joy. So I left well, or ill, alone until the nature of the plant should be declared, and then, if useless, out it could come later. We prepared a long narrow bed alongside a row of cabbages, made a neat little trench some three inches deep, put in a layer of manure and mould on top, and there my first sowing of sweet-peas was placed, and carefully covered and watered and patted down. I felt like a mother who tucks her child in bed. Surely the pat did good! February, March and April were all to have their sowing, and then the summer months should have a succession of these many-coloured fragrant joys. In March also the other annuals found resting-places; some in square patches down the long border, some in rows that looked inviting down the side and cross paths of the kitchen domain. It was encroaching, of course, but no one used the spare edges, and it seemed kind to brighten up the cabbages and onions, all now coming up in long thread-like lines of green. I had added a few more seeds to my list, so a long row of tiny seeds that were to be blue cornflowers, with another row in front of godetia, would provide, I hoped, a very bright sight and be so useful for cutting. On Shirley poppies, too, I ventured. It seemed so easy just to sow a few seeds and trust to Nature to do the rest. I did not then appreciate the backache caused by the process "thinning out." People may talk of sowing in February, but one cannot sow in either frozen ground or deep snow. Some Februarys may be possible, but it was the beginning of March that year before I committed my seeds to Mother Earth, and even then it seemed a very unsafe proceeding. However, a lot of tiny green pin points soon appeared, and the only havoc wrought by birds, mice and rabbits--Griggs suggested every imaginable animal--was amongst the sweet-peas. These had to be protected with a network of cotton. * * * * * So the winter slipped away very gradually, for even after the first breath of spring, which comes to us from afar and thrills us as no other fragrance of air, frost, snow, rain and biting winds triumph again, and bud and sprouting green seem to shrink up and cower away. Yet we know the winter is surely passing and the first trumpet-blast of spring's procession has blown. [Illustration: SPRING] SEASON II Spring "And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils." Daffodils always make me glad. From the moment their strong, blue-green blades pierce the grass, they give one a feeling of strength, vigour, activity and determination to be up and doing, unmindful of wind or weather; in fact, using all for their own purpose, bending circumstances to their own development. And when the big golden bell bursts its sheath of pale green it does it with fine independence, and then swings on its strong stem, ringing out lustily that the spring is here, the sun is shining, for the sun always seems to shine on the daffodils, they reflect his glory under all clouds, and depression flies before their sturdy assumption of "All's well with the world." And so I felt very hopeful as I saw my circles, my clusters, my rows of daffodils, one by one, flashing up from the delicious blue-green blades. They none of them failed me, none, bless them! So plant daffodils, O friend Ignoramus! the single, the double, and any other of that dear family, the narcissus. The birds were singing, and oh, so busy making late love, building and even nesting! The trees were bursting, the lilacs had a shimmer of green. The larches had colour almost too dim to be called green, they streaked the woods that still looked brown without looking bare; little catkins hung and danced, the blackthorn looked like forgotten snow, the grass was greener, and here and there a sweet primrose bud peeped up, whispering, "We are coming." Down under the row of limes bordering the sloping field I found many pretty crumpled primrose leaves, and they gave me the idea to plant more and more, and to have my wild garden here, with snowdrops and cowslips, unseen things in our woods and fields. Ferns, too, of the common kind must be collected, and foxgloves, the seeds of which must be bought and sown. For the present there were the little wild things that grow on their own account, and are so sparklingly green and spring-like that one hardly likes to rebuke them with the name of weed. Hope was in the air. Everything is young again once a year. * * * * * I felt obliged to begin the second division of my year in a hopeful voice, so I opened with my daffodils; but if March be taken as the first month of spring, then indeed I should not have written of that chime of golden bells. March holds February very tightly by the hand, and cannot make up her mind to hurry on with her work of opening the buds and encouraging the flowers. She blows cold winds in their faces, nips them with frosty nights, occasionally wraps them up in snow, then suddenly, repenting her of the evil, she opens up a blue sky and pours a hot sun down on them. A most untrustworthy month. There is plenty of work to do, particularly if February has not been an open month, and for gardening purposes I really think it ought never to be so considered, and still more particularly if much has been neglected in the foregoing November. If you are an Ignoramus, and have a Griggs as gardener, the chances are much will have been neglected. My attention was called to the subject of roses by the arrival of a rose-grower's catalogue. Roses! I could only touch the very outer fringe of this magnificent garment, but I felt I must, positively must, have one or two of the cheaper sort of these dazzling beauties; and though they are better moved in the autumn, in early spring it is not impossible. A crimson rambler, the modest price one shilling and sixpence, tempted me to indulge in three. The deep yellow William Allen Richardson, delightful for buttonholes, which Jim assured me no garden should be without; the thought of a red Gloire de Dijon or Reine Marie Hortense was also quite overcoming. Our old yellow Gloire de Dijon was the only rose in my neglected garden that did herself proud, and she flourished up the front of the house and festooned one of the Others' windows, from which Griggs and his shears had been summarily banished. "Cut where you like, but never dare to come here," had been uttered in a voice that made even Griggs "heed." If her red sister only equalled this "glory" that half-crown would be well expended. Then two standards needed replacing, for one could not have dead sticks down so conspicuous a row; though standards were not my idea of roses, still there they were and I must make the best of them. So off went my modest order. I had indicated the whereabouts of each rose to Griggs, but was unfortunately not present on their arrival. I think even an Ignoramus might have helped Griggs on that occasion--but more of that anon. The Others could see but little improvement in the garden, this they let me know; they were full of ideas, and I found them as trying as some Greek heroine must have found an unsympathetic chorus. "The verandah was so bare! Was it really any use putting in that silly little twig? Would it ever come to anything?" This of my new and very bare-looking crimson rambler. And then, "Why had we no violets? Surely _violets_ were not an impossibility? They grew of themselves. Just look at the baskets full in the London streets. Such a bunch for a penny! But it would be nice not to have to go to London for one's bunch of violets!" I took up the cudgels. They should see how that crimson rambler ramped, yes, I prophesied, positively ramped up the archway. They should be buried in a fragrant bower of ruby-coloured clusters, and they might cut and come again. As to violets, I was giving them my best consideration; the bed down the garden produced but a few--certainly not a pennyworth--of inferior quality, because neither violets nor anything else, save weeds, grew and flourished by the light of Nature alone. The violet roots were choked with weeds, and I must have new suckers and begin all over again; and that was not possible until the violet season was over; then I intended to beg, borrow or steal some good suckers, and buy others if I had any money. "Mary, you speak like a book with pictures; but I hope there will be _some_ result, and that the violets will be ready before they are needed for our funeral wreaths." I entreated them to find the patience I had thoroughly lost, and hurried out to rage over the thickly weed-wedged violet plants, with here and there a feeble bloom, and to imagine myself in years to come bending over this same bed, picking one long strong stalk after another, and scarcely lessening the store by the big bunch I should carry away. Oh! a lifetime was not enough for all I should or could do in a garden. * * * * * There is a row of standard roses skirting the lawn on one side, and also a round bed of rose bushes. I had not much idea if they were any good, for roses had been to a great extent spoilt the last two years by very wet weather, still I had noticed the shoots they were sending forth with great pleasure. Anyhow _they_ were growing right enough. One day, the middle of March, I found Griggs busy down the row with a large knife. What was he doing? Horror! All the long shoots were being ruthlessly sacrificed. "Griggs, what _are_ you doing?" I gasped, and afterwards I felt very glad I said nothing stronger. Griggs paid no attention to my tone; he took the words as showing a desire for enlightenment. "You 'as to cut 'em a bit in spring-time, you know; or p'haps you don't know, missy." This mode of address was one of Griggs's most unpardonable sins, but I never had the strength of character to tell him not to do it. "But do you cut off _all_ the new growth?" I said, with an inner conviction that if Griggs were doing it it needs must be wrong. "Well, you trims 'em round a bit, starts 'em growin' more ways than one, d'ye see." "But those aren't suckers?" I said, still feebly fighting with my ignorance and incredulity. Then Griggs laughed. He did not like me, and I suppose I ought not to wonder, but he enjoyed laughing at me when he got the chance. "No-a, they ain't suckers; suckers come from the root, leastways, they start down there, and, bless yer! they be the ol' stock trying to have a look in as you may say. I cuts them off soon as I sees 'em, as they wastes the tree; but you _can_ see suckers as 'as got the upper 'and. That rose front of the 'ouse is all sucker now. 'Twas a beautiful pink rose I mind in old Rector Wood's time." "That is very instructive," I remarked, feeling no gratitude to Griggs for his information, as he felt no shame for the metamorphosis of the once beautiful pink rose, which was now a wild one. We had wondered how it came to be growing up with the clematis. "And can't one cut back the suckers and let the pink rose grow again?" I added. "'Tain't likely," was all I could get out of Griggs. I bicycled over that very day to the Master's garden, a hot and tiring way of getting information, but a sure one, I knew, and one to which I often had recourse in desperate moments. The Master was out, but his garden was there, and all his rose trees were clipped. So I breathed again. I had a little good luck with violets a few weeks later. A friend who had heard of my gardening efforts sent me several dozen runners of the "Czar," and the Master spared me some others from his frame. I was full of joy, and choosing a shady spot, saw it dug, raked, helped out with a mixture of manure and leaf-mould, planted the violets at six inches apart and liberally watered them. Shade, of course, for the modest violet, I thought, carefully selecting for their home the shelter of an overhanging chestnut. Well, well! one lives to learn, or for some such purpose, I suppose. The thick branches of that shadowing tree kept out sun as well as rain; and, doubt it not, brother Ignoramus, violets, be they ever so modest, like the sunshine and will only pine without it. So in the autumn another move took place, and again I waited, whilst the Others bought penny bunches and talked of funeral wreaths in the far future. * * * * * The long herbaceous border grew more and more interesting. A broad-leafed plant had been sending up tall stems, now it opened out and a big daisy-like blossom of yellow shone in the sun. "Leopard's bane," said old Griggs with decision, and "doronicum," said the Master, both being right, but I know not why it was considered a bane or healing, for the banes among the flowers are surely blessings. But there it was, and very grateful and comforting at this early time of year. As though conscious that a friendly eye had begun to watch over them, the scattered old plants of polyanthus, wallflower, a group or so of tulips and some clumps of London pride brushed up this spring and cheered the eye. I was studying the shooting green clumps, lilies here and there, golden rod, autumn daisy, maybe a stray phlox, many, very much too many, evening primroses, seedlings of self-sown foxgloves, and wondering how to rearrange them and make room for the better company I intended introducing, when his Reverence's Young Man came down the path laden with a big brown hamper. He looked quite excited. "Oh, Mistress Mary, do come and examine the contents. I hope you may find welcome strangers here. I told my mother you needed anything and everything except geraniums. Was that right? So she has sent this hamper with instructions to get them in at once." The Young Man was cutting away at string and fastenings, and rapidly strewing the path with big clumps of roots in which a careful hand had stuck a label. I was divided between joy and reproof. "How kind of her! But you should not have bothered her. How nice to have such big, ready-grown plants! But why did you do it?" "Mayn't I help the garden to grow? My mother promises more in the autumn; it appears flowers like to move just before winter." "It is kind of you. This border is such a weight on my mind. It needs so much, I think. And what a lot the hamper holds!" "Let me do the dirty work," cried the Young Man, as I hauled out a big root. "You shall tell me where to plant them." "The earth isn't dirty, it is beautifully, healthily clean; and don't you love its 'most excellent cordial smell'? Shall I get Griggs and a spade?" "Oh, why bother Griggs? Won't I do as well? I know nearly as much and am twice as willing." "Yes, but think of--" "Don't say parish. There is only old Mrs Gunnet and she will keep. These plants demand immediate attention. My mother was most emphatic about that." It is very difficult to have a conscience as well as a garden and to keep both in good working order. I could not think Mrs Gunnet and her rheumatism as important as my garden; moreover, I felt I was carrying out the teaching of Tolstoy in bringing man and his Mother Earth into direct contact. "Griggs could not come anyhow, he is digging a grave," I said conclusively. "Let us do it." So the Young Man fetched a selection of gardening implements and we both set to work, he to dig and I to instruct. "This is delphinium," I cried joyfully, handing him a big clump, "dark blue, I want it badly." And in answer to an inquiring look, for the Young Man knew less, much less, than I did, "That is larkspur and it is a perennial, and this jolly big root means plenty of spikes." "Spikes!" he echoed, patting the roots vigorously. "Those tall spikes of flowers, you know, very blue. One looks so lonely all by itself." "Ah! that is a way we all have, we poor solitary ones." "These are penstemons. They are, well, I forget, but I know I want them. Suppose we put them further forward; they don't look like growing so tall. Gaillardias, ah! I know, they are brilliant and effective. I bought some seeds to suit the others. These will save time. Now, a big hole; this is Tritoma. What on earth is that? I have heard. Grandis means big but Tritoma?" We both studied the label. "Must it have another name? Is that the rule? I told my mother the gardener was an Ignoramus. She might have written in the vulgar tongue." "Did you mean me or Griggs?" "Griggs, of course." "Then you were wrong. But I remember now, I was studying its picture this morning in the catalogue. Tritoma stands for red-hot poker. It will look fine at the back." "Well, you are getting on," said the Young Man, in tones of admiration. "But why won't they say 'poker' and have done with it?" "I wish they would. It is very trying of them. See what a lot you are learning. This is much more improving for a son of Adam than visiting old women and babies." "_Much!_ And I like it much better, which shows it is good for me." "Ah, I don't know about that. Still, it does strike me as absurd to send a young man fresh from college to visit old women and babies. I can't think what you say to them." "I say 'Did ums was ums' to the babies. But I am not quite fresh from college, you know. I talk some kind of sense to the mothers; at least, I hope so." He was making a big hole and I was holding out a big root to fill it. "This is galega. It is rather tall and so must go at the back. I don't mean you never talk sense, though I consider it insulting to address a baby like that. They look so preternaturally grave that Greek would suit them better. But I mean it isn't a man's work, it is a woman's." "Galega! that means pok--no, larkspur! You see I am getting quite learned. There, it fits in beautifully." "Press the roots firmly or they don't take hold," I observed. "So. I always find your conversation very improving. My mother says the same things to me, I mean about old women." I had walked down the path for another root. He went on when I came back, "But you know the old women, and young ones too, like a visit from their clergy. The clergyman and doctor are great boons in their lives." "Poor souls, I know they are very hard up. Even I am considered a boon, especially when I go round with puddings and things." "Or without!" and he looked up quickly, "_I_ should think so if--but"--and his voice changed--"I do understand what you mean. _This_ is Adam's work, eh? Only the other is the vineyard too, and we, I--I mean, need the experience it gives me. They live at the root of things, touch life so nearly. It is something like coming in touch, actual touch, with the brown earth. Do you see what I am trying to say?" I looked up at him from my plants, at this tall young man in a bicycling suit of semi-clerical cut, with his keen face and earnest eyes, whom we had fallen into the way of treating in almost brotherly fashion since his Reverence had adopted him as his Young Man as well as curate. He had broken down in some Midland town from overwork and come to Fairleigh to recruit and study and fill in a convalescent time. As a rule we did not like the curates. "I think you are right," I said, "but somehow I feel I am right too in a way. One can't be saving souls all the time--one's own or other people's--and here, as you say, is Adam's work, the brown earth." He laughed. "And here is Eve naming the flowers! I am sure Eve kept Adam to the digging while she picked the fruit." "How men do love that old allegory! Personally I don't think they come out of it so well that they need quote it so often. However, as it gives them all the backbone, I feel quite absolved when I ask them to use it!" The Young Man rose up. "Ah! if Eve had had the spirit of her daughters!" "Here is a very large phlox, please dig that hole bigger," I interrupted, and as we carefully placed it in position, down the path came his Reverence and the Master. "Oh!" I shouted, "come and see all my new arrivals; I am going to cut you out!" The Master examined our work over his spectacles, and looked up and down the border critically, ending his survey with an unpromising "Humph." Something was very wrong, evidently. My hopeful spirits sank. "Have we been doing anything very ignorant? Don't you put plants straight into the earth? Will they all die?" The Master laughed. "Let us hope things are not as desperate as all that. I was looking at your border. Oh, what pauper fare! and what a lot of rubbish in it. Licence has reigned here for many a long year." "For over twenty," I exclaimed savagely. "Griggs has been here quite that time." "It used to look very well in Mr Wood's time, but that is many years ago, and he devoted himself chiefly to his roses. It is a pity you did not do it in the autumn." "Oh, don't, Master!" I cried dolefully. "Nothing is more trying to my temper than to be told of all the things that ought to have been done months and years ago. I can't go back and do them!" "No more you can. There is a great deal of sound sense in that remark, only--" "And don't tell me to wait until the autumn again. I can't always be waiting for the other end of the year to do the things I want done now." "Oh! then let us go forward at once," said the Master. "What shall I do?" asked the Young Man, with as much energy as though the afternoon were just beginning. "Shall I take out the roots we have put in to begin with?" The Master again looked up and down, and I could see he was again regretting the autumn. "If you won't wait it must be done," he said at last. "Have this border thoroughly well turned over, two feet deep at the least, and work in some of that savoury heap I saw in your little yard. You will find a good deal of root to cut away from those trees; they take the food from this border, but that can't be helped now. Then clear out the weeds and those terrible marigolds I see springing up everywhere, and those poppy seedlings. I think your new friends will have a better chance when that is done." "And the plants that are to stay, may they be touched?" "You _must_ touch them, but do a piece at a time, and lift them in and out with a good ball of earth round the roots so as to disturb them as little as possible. Press them well in afterwards and water." "Should Griggs put some of the savoury heap just round their roots?" "No, no, let the whole border have a dressing. Later on any special plant may be mulched if it is needed." "Mulched!" said the Young Man, turning to me. "Do you know what that is?" I shook an ignorant head. "Something to do with manure, I believe, but I don't know what." "Griggs will show you," laughed the Master. "No, he has his own vocabulary. I try the garden book words on him occasionally and he looks quite blank." "It is giving the plants a little extra food from the surface. So it sinks gradually in or the rain carries it down with it. A gentle process and the roots are not disturbed. The other process may produce indigestion, you see." Adam and Eve carefully replaced the unplanted roots in the hamper and gave a sigh. "Oh, dear! All our work. You might as well have gone to see Mrs Gunnet." "Oh, no," said Adam, "because I have learnt a great deal and can help you another time." It was a good thing for me and the border that the Master had looked so grave over it, for his Reverence was duly impressed with the necessity of the case, and Griggs and a helpful stranger were hard at work next day and the next, and by the end of that week the border lay smooth and brown and neat with hopeful green patches at intervals. Jim and I and the Young Man had been very busy arranging those patches, and I hoped the front plants would not grow taller than the back, but a good deal had been left to luck. The evening primroses and marigolds and weeds had disappeared, I hoped for good. Time proved that this was too hopeful a view to take of weeds. And I will never forget the Master's parting injunction. "Mind," with raised finger, "you ought never to take a spade near your herbaceous border, only turn it over with a little fork, for the well-established roots should not be disturbed. And good soil and sufficient water ought to be enough as a rule. To-day we have been dealing with an exceptional case, remember that!" Oh! Master, yes. Mine is an exceptional case; but I guess there are many would-be gardeners as ignorant, and, maybe, many gardens as exceptional. * * * * * But to return to my hopefully-growing seeds. I fear they were being left anyway rather longer than was judicious, for one day about the beginning of April it struck me my wooden boxes were very full and the plantlets growing very leggy. "Why is that?" I asked Griggs. I hated asking Griggs, but there was no one else to ask. After all it seemed _impossible_ but that Griggs, during the forty odd years he had pretended to be a gardener, should not have gathered together some scraps of information concerning plants and their ways. "They wants pricking out, that's why they're so spindle-shankey. 'Tain't no good asking me for more boxes, I ain't got no more; and you can't put 'em out in the open neither--leastways, they'll die if you do." "Of course not," I said with all the knowledge I possessed in my tone. "But we must have boxes. They can be knocked up, can't they?" "Not without wood, they can't. And just look at all them seeds wot you've sowed. Why, they wants a sight o' boxes now." It was a dilemma, but Jim revived my faint spirits. There were boxes--old winecases--in the cellar, he said. Jim knew every nook and cranny of the house; he would just ferret them out; no one would miss them. Jim never asked leave, for experience had taught him that a demand occasions a curious rise in the value of an article absolutely unknown to the possessor before it was required by someone else. And Griggs knocked them together, for Jim explained we had to let the fellow try his hand occasionally. We filled the new boxes with a little heavier diet than the baby seeds had enjoyed, good mould from under some shrubbery, and then carefully separated each stem; and carrying out Nature's law of the survival of the fittest, I placed the most promising in the new environment. I had done one whole box, it looked so neat, the little upright shoots all about three inches apart, when Jim and the Young Man came round. He had been away for a few days and was quite anxious to know how my garden grew. He had altered the old rhyme with which, of course, his Reverence and the Others were always pestering me; but I don't think his version was very original either-- "How does the garden so contrairy Get on with its new Mistress Mary?" I was seated on the corner of the one frame and the boxes were precariously placed on the edge. The Young Man's face beamed. "I have been learning to prick out; now, let me see." And to my horror he began to pull up my neat little plants. "There, that's wrong, and that and that. No, that stands; but see, all these are wrong." I gasped, "What are you doing? Do you call that pricking out? I don't." "By Jove! you'll catch it now, my dear fellow," said Jim. "Oh! don't you see it's all right to do that, because it shows you you have done them all wrong." "I think you have misunderstood the idea of 'pricking out,'" I said coldly. The Young Man was so full of information he paid no attention to my offended dignity or Jim's mirth. "I learnt it on purpose to show you. I planted a box full at home and the gardener came round and did that to my plants. I nearly whacked him on the head." "You're a parson," interrupted Jim, "you've got to think of that." "I know, Jim. I managed to bottle my feelings nearly as well as Mistress Mary did just now. I know what she is feeling." But I was still dignified. "Now will you tell me," I began. "Oh, it's a first-rate dodge! You see, if they are firmly put in they will stand that little pull, and if not it shows you ought to have wedged them in better." "Why," said Jim, "I bet I could tug out any you could wedge in." "That's the art; you must wedge right and tug just enough." "And why," I asked again, "why this tugging and this wedging?" "Oh, because otherwise they don't catch hold properly and make themselves at home. I didn't mean to spoil your neat box," he continued penitently. "May I help you?" "Why, of course you must," I said, brightening up. "Look at all that has to be done. Jim, dear, fill those boxes nicely with mould, a judicious mixture of looseness and compression." "I've other fish to fry this afternoon. If his Reverence's Young Man will do some beastly algebra for me I will stay and mess about with you; if not, he has got to do the messing." And so Jim deserted us, and we planted and pulled at each other's boxes, and I certainly tried to get some of his out. And then the fresh difficulty faced us where to put all these new boxes, for they had to be protected from the still frosty nights, and also from any too heavy rains which might, perchance, drown them. I wanted much more room than the one frame afforded, even could I turn out all the scraggy geraniums. "They must be protected somehow," I said despondingly, "and we can't carry them in and out of doors, and oh! how heavy even these little boxes are. There's the verandah, but the Others will never let me crowd them out with these boxes. It is just getting sunny out there. What can we do?" The Young Man looked round and thought, and thought, and then it came, an idea worth patenting. "You don't want heat for them?" "Oh, no, they ought to be hardened, you see." "And it's only at night, or against heavy rains, that they want protecting?" "That's all." "Well, then, I have it!" And he had it, the germ of the brilliant idea that, with Jim's assistance and mine, and Griggs's for actual manual labour, gradually evolved into an impromptu frame and saved us even the making of new boxes. This was the plan of action. We cleared a space in the little yard where the frame lived, and the manure heap in one corner, and one sunny border which held lettuce and I intended should hold my plantlets later on. We made first a bed of cinders (this for drainage), then a layer of manure (this for heat), then good mould, and all were enclosed with four strong planks, and in this protected spot we pricked out our nurslings. At night they were covered with a plank or two and some sacking, and this also protected them during any very heavy rains, until they grew strong enough to weather them. The boxes already pricked out we protected in like manner, only making no special bed for them. It became truly a delight to see how day by day those tiny sprigs of green grew and prospered, and to watch the development of the various leaves. The pretty crinkly little round leaves of the polyanthus, the neat spiky twig of the marigold and tagetes, the sturdy, even-growing antirrhinum with pale green stalks for white, and yellow and rich brown for the red variety, and the trim, three-cornered leaves of the nasturtium, each after its kind, very wonderful when we realise all that potentiality enclosed in a pin's point of a seed, and needing no difference of treatment to produce either zinnia or lobelia. I made all the Others, and everyone else too, walk round my nursery and dilated on the promising appearance of my children. "Wonderfully neat! but how tiny they all are. Do you mean to say you expect those little things to flower this year? Why, it is like asking a baby of six months old to ride a bicycle!" said one of the Others. "But they are annuals! In comparison they are now twenty years old! Of course they will flower this year, and be old and done for by October." "Well, you are _very_ hopeful, but _I_ don't expect much result _this_ year." "You will see!" "Well, we have not seen much yet, have we?" * * * * * The packets containing my biennial seeds, which, of course, means such seeds as sown one year furnish plants for the next year's flowering and then go the way of all "grass," instructed me to sow in the open from March or April to June. From what I have so far learned I would certainly advise sowing as early as possible and not taking June into consideration at all. The little plants get forward before the really hot weather begins, and usually the clouds supply sufficient water at that time; but if not, on no account must they go thirsty. I found watering a great necessity, for my ground is as porous as a sieve; a substratum of nice cool tenacious clay must be a great boon to those who happily have it. I suppose it may have some drawbacks, but my imagination is not lively enough to suggest any. Being light and poor, I usually doctored the soil before sowing the seeds. I believe it ought not to be really necessary; but a little manure mixed with leaf mould and some earth from a convenient shrubbery or background place, and all dug well in, was approved of by the plantlets. If by any chance you can lay aside, from hedgerows, corners of field or other prigable parts, some rolls of turf and let it stand aside until it rots, it makes most helpful dressing, particularly for rose roots. After the ground is ready make little straight trenches about one inch deep, and thinly, because they are certain anyway to be too close, scatter in your seeds. There for the present your work ends, and Mother Earth commences her never-ending miracle of death and resurrection. "Thou sowest not that body which shall be, but bare grain, it may chance of wheat or some other grain," and "that which thou sowest is not quickened except it die," when, "God giveth it a body, to every seed his own body." Those little brown pin points, of which you hold hundreds in a pinch on your palm, each one has its "celestial" body ready to spring into life through the dark gateway of death. Surely St Paul must have had his garden as a little boy, and sown his seeds, and marvelled, even as Jim and I did, with eyes opening to the wonder of it all. A wonder that is passed over in the matter-of-course way of the daily round, but that startles one, almost as a revelation, when one's own hand holds the seed, sows it, and then watches for the result. To say it is just "life" or the "force of nature" or "the energy that is behind all things," these are but words, the marvel remains. Irresistibly the thought arises, "With what body shall _we_ come?" Not with the old earth body for sure, if my seeds are to teach me anything. So I sowed first the forget-me-nots, as this year they must come from seed. Another year I will take the little shoots that are round the old plant and, separating them, will prick them out in a nursery spot, and so shall my plants for the following year be more mature, stronger, and therefore better flowering; a first year's forget-me-nots are apt to be straggling. Then the sweet-Williams, the wallflowers, red and gold, Canterbury bells, silene, the little bright pink edging that with forget-me-nots makes a border so gay in spring time, these were my first year's venture in biennials; for though some of them may be considered perennials, the best results may be hoped for from a continuously fresh store. The big sunflower seeds I placed just where I wanted them to come up, sometimes a single one, so that the plant should have all its own way, and wear as big a head as it knew how, and others in groups of four or five. Nasturtiums also I placed as a border to a lonely shrubbery. Some of the seeds had been got forward in the impromptu frame, but those were for my tree stumps and for creeping up the verandah. Canariensis the same; the convolvulus also were planted freely to cover up deficiencies wherever a creeping thing could grow. It is wise to sow your perennial seeds early; they get settled in life before they are called upon to face their first winter. So in another spot, judiciously cribbed from cabbage-room--crib I had to for my nursery ground--I sowed in like fashion the perennials, those which had not already begun their career in wooden boxes and frame. There were the big Oriental poppies, red and orange, for my impatience had so far succumbed to the gardening spirit that I could bear to contemplate sowing seeds with the hope of no immediate return, Brompton stocks, penstemons, foxgloves and gaillardias; campanulas, too, short and tall, white and blue; and those already started in boxes, the polyanthus and columbines, nice sturdy little plants by now, were moved to this division a little later, when frosty nights were a thing of the past. These for my first batch of perennials; others would surely follow with succeeding years. The thought of their permanence delighted me. Dear, nice things! they would not need sowing year by year, but would yearly grow more and more "in favour with God and man." So I hoped, even as a mother hopes it for her children. That long herbaceous border should one day be full of good stuff, one day blooming with a succession of flowers; but face the fact, one day is not to-morrow. The plants must grow; so, patience, patience, though mine was threadbare. * * * * * My other nursery of annuals sown in early March were growing apace and the sweet peas needed sticking. It certainly spoils their appearance for a time but is very necessary. I noticed all my seedlings growing in bits of kitchen garden filched from his Reverence's province grew with greater vigour than those down my own borders. I suspected that amongst much neglect the vegetable ground had suffered least, and so, in spite of his Reverence's outcry that I was robbing him of at least a sack of potatoes, I continued to make little inroads on his property. And thus I was brought in contact with the fruit-trees bordering the pathways. They had been renewed, many of them, when first his Reverence came to Fairleigh. They looked healthy enough, but very few blossoms and no fruit ever accounted for their existence. I pointed this out to his Reverence, and, full of newly-acquired knowledge, asked him if he had heard of tap-roots. "Griggs planted them, so you may depend that is what is the matter with them, and in the autumn we will have them up." "You are poaching," said his Reverence. "You ought to be full of gratitude, but I can't take them in hand myself, I only give you some of my overflowing knowledge. And we should all like to eat our own apples and pears!" Jim was much interested in tap-roots; he promised himself quite a good time hacking away at them in the autumn. He wondered if the barren fig-tree had a tap-root, but I could not enlighten him. Everything was growing, we had had some good rain. I can feel for the farmers now; I know what it is to _want_ rain. One of the Others said she wished we would keep quiet, all we gardeners and farmers who hankered after rain. She thought perhaps if we ceased the weather might get a little settled and the sun shine week in week out. To her mind that was far better than fields of corn or beds of even luxuriant flowers. There were sure to be _some_ corn and _some_ flowers anyhow, "so do let other people enjoy the sunshine in peace." Certainly if the English climate is the result of conflicting desires, it would be a good thing to have a national creed on the subject and make it obligatory. After the rain, however, in that particular month of April, came the sun, and things grew apace. Though not only my seeds and flowers. The enemy, who for many a long year had sown, or allowed to be sown, weeds in my garden, had his crop likewise. "They're overmastering us agin," said Griggs, who had his friendly moments; and sometimes, if we were working hard, quite enjoyed standing near and pretending to help us. "It's your fault that, you know," said Jim, who minced matters with nobody. He was doubled up over the border surrounded with all kinds of implements, for Jim liked everything handy. There was a big clasp knife and a spade and rake, a trowel and little fork, and then he generally used his hands. He was now "tracking home," as he said, that evil-minded weed called, I believe, the ground-elder, and pointed out with some heat, quite excusable under the circumstances, that Griggs, who had just calmly and coolly cut off the head of the plant, had done not a "blooming bit of good." If you should ever want a really good back-aching job, take a trowel or a little hand fork and begin a fight with those innocent-looking, many-fingered leaves growing in and out in so friendly a fashion with your flowers. You turn up the root, but its hold is still on the earth; you pull a bit and find it belongs to that other cluster of leaves some little distance off. You attack that, very careful not to lose your underground connection, it also has sent long stringy branches in all directions. Then you pull and tear and say "Oh, bother!" and "What a brute of a weed!" Jim and I are careful not to say anything stronger, though he has been known to indulge in "hang," but I feel sure Griggs gives us the character of using "most horful languidge you never heard." Still it goes on, and quite a heap of potato-like roots will be out and yet its hold is not slackened. Finally it lands you in an iris or lily root; it is not particular, but I find it prefers a solid root, and there you get sadly mixed as to what is root and what is weed. But if the job is to be done finally, these roots must be all taken up and carefully disentangled, for all are twined together. This radical measure is best, or rather least injurious to lilies and irises, when their flowering time is over--July and August--and moving or dividing does not disturb them. Never in all old Griggs's reign of twenty years had he tracked a ground-elder weed home; but I now know the look of those potato-like roots better than any other in my garden. I cannot say I like doing it. Boys are more invertebrate and do not get so red in the face; and this I pointed out to Jim, suggesting a division of labour. "You do get jolly red," said Jim, "but really, you know, I expect it's your stays." "Jim!" "Well, you needn't get up the steam. I only know when I was dressed up for those theatricals as a beastly, I mean, as a girl, the fellows got hold of some stays, I suppose they bagged their sister's, a precious tight pair, too! and I just tell you, in confidence, they made me absolutely sick. I had to retire looking like an unripe lemon. My! never again!" "You squeezed too much, Jim." "That girl must have squeezed more; and you all do, that's my private opinion." In consideration, therefore, of the infirmities to which a rigorous convention condemns my sex, Jim said he would do the thinning out for me. My promising annuals, designed for grand duty in the cutting line, godetias and larkspurs and chrysanthemums and Shirley poppies, were all most flourishing, but coming much too thick. They ought to have been thinned out sooner, of course, but we had been too busy, so Jim devoted his early morning hours to them, before the five minutes' rush on his bicycle which took him to the station for Gatley, where he and some other fellows were being crammed to pass the examination for the Royal Navy. Jim's days were always filled. He never neglected cricket, nor, in its good time, football and hockey; but he was going to see me through with my garden for the first year, he said, and his help and ideas were never-failing. On the thinning-out mornings Jim got up early; very early it seemed to me when he bounced into my room and sent a flood of light full on my face, or placed a damp sponge there. "Now I am going to thin, and I can't do it with any satisfaction if you are asleep. What you have to do is to think out any blooming thoughts for this blooming essay on courage. Why the blooming idiot gives us such rotten subjects I can't think. But you must jot down some headings and be ready with them when I come back." "Jim, what a worn-out old subject. I shall go to sleep over it." "This won't do," and Jim strode to the washing stand and plunged the sponge in water. "Oh, don't, Jim, I am awake! There was 'the boy who stood on the burning deck,'" I shouted hurriedly. Jim came back and stood over me. "Open your eyes then wide, so. You see you are wasting precious time with your sluggishness." I thought of those thickly-sown seedlings growing up so leggy, and I roused myself. "Well, 'the boy' will do, then; he is a good old stager." "Yes, so he mustn't be left out. All the other fellows will have him in for sure, and if I don't, 'old Joe' will think I don't know about him. They don't want any originality, these chaps; they want you just to stick on and learn what they learnt, then you see you can't put them in a corner. So just rout out good old standing dishes." Jim turned to go. "All right; but, Jim, remember to leave the strongest plant." "'Survival of the fittest,' yes, I've heard that before." "And don't forget about eight inches apart." "I prefer six; you turn your thoughts to courage." "Primitive instinct, difference between man and woman, one has more of the physical variety and the other of the moral," I shouted after him. "No twaddle," said Jim, striding back. "Think of what _I_ should be likely to say. Of course we all may pick up ideas outside as we have to write the blooming thing in form, but it must sound like me, not you." "It will, Jim, after it has been through your mill, never fear. And I think eight inches produces strongest plants." And then Jim slid down the bannisters and I heard him whistling in the garden; but that soon ceased, for you can't whistle when you are bent double. I must say the row looked very nice when I reviewed it after breakfast. Jim had selected with great care! but the heaps of rejected plantlets lying on the gravel path caused my motherly heart a pang. What a shocking waste! Every tiny seed had come up and ten were growing where but one could find sufficient support for full development, so out must come the nine. Nature is wasteful, and so is human nature, but we can't weed out the overcrowded families; and do the fittest there always survive? Truly it would need courage to tackle that problem. * * * * * A little later, in May, I found an employment in which I tried to interest the Others, but it was no good. The only one I brought up to the scratch, or rather the rose tree, fled with horror when I showed her what was needed, and vowed she would rather never smell a rose again than do such disgusting work. But his Reverence took quite kindly to the job, I am glad to say, and it was a good sight in my eyes when I saw his wideawake carefully bent over the standard roses, and then a certain look of victory rose over his spectacles as he spotted the enemy. This new enemy is a very vile-looking little green grub; one variety is brown and fat, and then indeed I have felt inclined to flee myself. I suppose his mamma lands him in an invisible stage on the tender young rose leaves and he curls them round him for a cradle. Then in some mysterious way, which I heartily wish Dame Nature had never taught him, he rocks his cradle to the side of a juicy young bud, glues himself to it and enjoys it. Not much bud is left. So his Reverence unfolds the green cradle and carefully ejects the baby. I simply cannot do that, I pick off the leaf; but in either case the end is rapid and final. And how prolific is that abominable butterfly! You may, in fact, you _must_, visit your rose trees daily if you would hope to see a goodly show. At least, so it is in my garden. I can but speak from a limited experience. I have often thought others may be more blessed than I am, but you may not be one of them, friend Ignoramus. Then there is the green fly, thickly swarming all over banksia or cluster roses, at least, more especially favouring them. Jim would have little to say to the green grub, though occasionally even he and the Young Man had their steps gently led in that direction; and seeing his Reverence's absorption, they too began and then somehow went on. A kind of fatal fascination, I suppose, "Just one more!" The Others would never give the spell a chance, but Jim grew to take the greatest interest in green fly. The Young Man suggested smoke for their destruction, but his cigarettes did not seem to effect much, though he blew round a bush for quite a long time while I picked the cradle leaves off another, and of course my work was the most effectual. Jim was very keen on trying this remedy too. I said the effect would be worse than his experience with the stays, at which he asked me with dignity if I supposed he was as green as all that! However, Griggs came out with an old syringe, and Jim said that was the work for him. Soapy water and a good shove, and the Young Man was simply deluged. All Jim said was, "What a mercy it was only you. Think if it had been his Reverence! Winkie! what a shine there would have been." I thought the young man behaved beautifully, for a man, though he did catch Jim and hold him upside down until he was gurgling. But when the green fly got the douche very strongly given they too objected, and vacated their position. Afterwards I obtained a recipe for a douche which had even more effectual results. Take two ounces of quassia chips (you get them from a chemist for a very small sum) and one ounce of soft soap, and pour on them about a pint of boiling water. Leave it till cold and then add water to the amount of two gallons. With this concoction syringe your green fly, and its extreme bitterness will make them lose all fancy for your rosebuds. * * * * * The lilacs were out, and the white guelder rose and the ash tree; may and syringa and laburnum were soon to follow. Truly even a poor neglected little garden has its happy moments! I would rest some days looking around and enjoying the green so new and fresh everywhere, and trying to shut the reformer's eye. But it was growing too strong for me; the only way to shut it was to reform. The shrubberies were terrible. Laurel was rampant everywhere. A nasty greedy thing, it cannot live and let live, for it takes the nourishment needed by its better brethren. I would have no laurel in my garden, none, but that is a dream for the future. The elder tree too has no manners, it shares this failing with its namesake weed; it shoves and pushes all more gentle growth to the wall. It must be cut back hard. And the syringas also, they need the judicious knife to prune out the old wood and so give strength to the young shoots. And so does the yellow Japanese rose, more learnedly called Kerria Japonica, which in late March and April had given but a poor little show of bloom. I guessed that its treatment had been that of the yellow jasmine. It had been clipped in the autumn on the hedging and ditching principle, and the young shoots with the promise of buds had disappeared beneath Griggs's shears. Better for the plant to have razed it to the ground after flowering, said the Master, for the vigorous young shoots would soon have appeared; so following his instruction I this spring cut the old stems right away, leaving only the new green ones springing from the ground. I am hoping here, too, for next year. It seems a gardener must always be living in the future, "possessing their souls in patience," and "hoping all things." Truly it is a liberal education, and I hope may prove very valuable to Jim and the Young Man--and other persons. It has done no good to Griggs. * * * * * Spring slipped into summer. The sun shone longer and melted the iciness in the wind's breath; the tender green of the trees gave place to "leafy June" and the shade was grateful. Jim found a waistcoat superfluous, and the head gardener donned a shady hat and tried to wear gloves. Yes, the spring was gone, and even with summer's glories to come one turns a regretful glance back to the months when "Behold, He maketh all things new." [Illustration: SUMMER] SEASON III Summer "Knee-deep in June." And knee-deep in work, too, for June will not give you anything for nothing if you are running a garden. I had my hands full, not only with the legitimate work of June, which is great, but May is sure to have left you in the lurch; this "getting forward" process so much preached by the Master is not seconded by May with at all a whole heart. "March ain't never nothin' new! Apriles altogether too Brash fer me, and May--I jes' 'Bominate its promises. Little hints o' sunshine and Green around the timber-land, A few blossoms and a few Chip birds, and a sprout or two-- Drap asleep, and it turns in 'Fore daylight and snows agen!"[1] [1] James Whitcomb Riley. My poet is an American, but the complaint may be raised also in the old country; only I do not "'bominate" promises. I love them, and as I am perforce a gardener it is a good thing, for I often get nothing else. But be the garden forward or not, how lovely a garden can be, even a neglected garden, these last weeks of May and first of June. The chestnuts are scarcely over, the laburnum is raining gold, the may trees are like snow, a delicious reminder when the sun is doing its duty brilliantly; the roses are just breaking from the bud, and now we can congratulate ourselves on the wholesale slaughter of green grub and green fly, without, however, giving up the pursuit. But what was the matter with those newly-planted rose trees? The crimson rambler, for one, that was to ramp up the verandah, had not ramped an inch; it had only put forth some miserable, half-starved leaves and not one bud. The Others derided it freely. William Allen Richardson looked unhappy too; the new standards seemed more contented, and the Reine Marie Hortense, who also was destined to cover the verandah as rapidly as might be with pink Gloire de Dijon roses, had really begun her work with a will. Why then had my much-vaunted crimson rambler failed me? I had been told they disliked a wall, but not a verandah. "A worm i' the root," suggested One; but I held to certain laws of the Medes and Persians, and one was to leave the roots alone until the right time; so if my rambler wished to flourish elsewhere it must bide until the autumn; though in the front, over an old stump, and down in the kitchen garden it was the same tale, the ramblers refused to ramble. * * * * * But the business of the month must not be kept waiting a day, in fact, we began the last week in May, and that was promoting the nurslings from their shelter to the open borders. The two large round beds that were generally devoted to Griggs's semi-red geraniums and scraggy calceolarias, and which were the only regular planting-out beds the garden possessed, were now a subject of much disquieting thought to me. They were so terribly important. By them I felt my reputation must stand or fall. They were plainly visible from everywhere. They needed to be a brilliant mass of colour from June to October; no easy problem for one lot of flowers to solve. I had set my face against Griggs's geraniums bordered with calceolarias and lobelias, the refuge of the destitute; any other refuge was to be mine, I resolved. And since it had been no silent resolve, it had perforce to be kept. At present those beds were an eyesore, but one for which I did not feel responsible. Before I took in hand the reins of garden government, Griggs had buried there a mixture of tulips and edged them with alternate polyanthuses--the poorest of specimens--and forget-me--nots that had weathered the winter in what Griggs termed a "spotty" way. It was certainly a suggestive phrase for those particular plants. But I had been able to join the Others in their chorus of condemnation. Now the time had arrived for a change, and the responsibility appalled me. I had had visions of those two beds with many various inhabitants. At first the dream had been of violas, pale mauve deepening into the dark purple, but to complete that idea some tall things with a strong colour--red salvias or good red geraniums--were needed; these, planted some eighteen inches apart, would bring out the delicate background. But the dream vanished perforce. Apart from the lack of good red anything, my violas had failed me, and some few dozen little plants were all I could reckon upon. Why, I do not know; it was just this, the seeds had not come up. So then I dreamed of all my straight little antirrhinums; they would surely make a fine glaring effect. I had red, yellow, white and a good quantity. Jim liked the idea; red was to be the centre, and yellow and white alternate, a broad border. Griggs took his arrangement away. The dilapidated tulips were saved, of course, and kept in a dry place stored for the autumn planting out. On the polyanthus roots too I laid rescuing hands. They were not very good colours, but needing so much I dared not waste. The best of the lot I had noted, and now placed them down the shaded lime walk. They could grow where the primroses grew, and in spring I should welcome even their uncertain shades down amongst the bright green of the wild things. The beds were turned over well, and a little fresh soil and manure dug in; then, when neat, smooth and ready, I brought up the first detachment of small antirrhinums from the nursery for their adornment. These had grown to the height of from five to six inches, but had still a slender air. I think it would have helped their more rapid development had they been moved sooner from their first box. With seedlings, friend Ignoramus, you cannot be _too_ particular. Never let them have the slightest check; keep them watered, cared for, and as they need it give them room. They will then reward you. All one cool afternoon Jim and I planted out. We began in the centre and made rings round with an impromptu compass formed by a stick and string. In the rounds thus made the plantlets were steadily and firmly placed, eight inches apart, though eight inches seemed a great deal of spare room. "They will grow," I persisted; "they are small for their age, but will soon need elbow room." "I feel I am playing with little tin soldiers, don't you?" suggested Jim; "but they are strong little beggars and will grow bigger, won't they?" "Oh, rather! over a foot, though they are the dwarf kind, you know; but they branch out like the wicked bay tree." "Well, there's room for it," said Jim, and then we worked on steadily until tea-time. "What are you sprinkling that bed with those tiny green twigs for?" asked one of the Others. "We want something a trifle cheering there, you must remember, Mary. We have to look at it all the summer." "We don't _want_ to have to regret Griggs's semi-red 'janiums," said another of the Others. "They will be a blazing mass of colour," I answered confidently as I hurried over my tea. "Come, Jim, they must be got in." "Remember it is for _this_ summer," shouted the Other. "And not to adorn our graves, my dear," came after us. What had happened in my short absence? I saw with new eyes, the eyes not of the fond mother but of the critic. "Jim!" and my whisper was awful. "What's up? Have we done anything wrong?" "Look at them!" They looked absurd. They looked impossible. The bed so big and they so small, so like tiny tin soldiers, that my faith failed me. The Others would be confronted by little green twigs all the summer and regret Griggs's _régime_. It was hopeless! they could never rise to the occasion. "They must come up, Jim." "Oh, rot! Let's put 'em a bit thicker; they will flower all right, you said so half-an-hour ago." "I don't know what I said half-an-hour ago; I feel sure now that they will take months to do anything! And what shall I do meanwhile? It's the pricking out; we were behind with that, you see. They must come up and go somewhere, where it won't matter so awfully. These beds _must_ be a success, even if I spend every farthing I possess on buying ready-made plants." We took them up. Jim was impressed with my sorrow. We planted those we had disturbed in the border in front as an edging. "It won't matter so much here, they don't strike the eye, because other things are coming here in clumps, but for those two beds!" I had nightmares of tiny tin soldiers dressed in green who marched round and round and disappeared, and then two bare brown beds loomed up like giant's eyes, and the Others all shouted, "Isn't it hideous? What did you do it for? Oh, Mary, what a mess you have made of it!" * * * * * Next afternoon Jim and I, his Reverence and the Young Man--who also joined the Council--calculated exactly how many plants would be required to really fill those beds with a desirable effect. I could hardly believe it, the calculation ended in two hundred for each bed. I sat down on the grass and looked and looked as though looking would make the necessary quantity appear. "It can't be done," I moaned in the bluest despair. "I don't possess four hundred of anything; so there!" "You might make a kind of pattern," began the Young Man. "I hate a kaleidoscopic effect," I growled. "You've jolly well got to have one," said Jim. "There might be a border," suggested his Reverence. "Really, you _may_ mix some flowers," ventured the Young Man, rather fearful of having his head snapped off again. "I have seen uncommonly pretty beds done that way. Why, in the Park this year I noticed a background of small close blue flowers, and out of them rose tall pink geraniums. The effect was excellent," said his Reverence. "'You may see as good sights many times in tarts,'" I remarked, and they none of them knew, not even Jim, that I was quoting the learned Bacon, but thought my temper was affecting my reason. "Get up off the damp grass," said Jim, offering violent assistance, "and come and contemplate the nursery. Great Scott! after all your bragging to collapse like this. Aren't the babies there still?" "I have hundreds of nothing, and they are all such tiny things it would take _thousands_ of them to fill these _hideous_ big beds." So rather a downcast procession wended their way round the shrubbery to the little yard with its frame and manure heap and enclosures of plantlets. His Reverence drew out pencil and paper, and after making several very shaky rounds to represent the two beds, he began to fill in with names as suggested to him by Jim and the Young Man. "Let us start with the biggest geraniums in the centre, a group of six we will say, as they are not very big any of them. Now then, a row next of those yellow daisies, that will fill up a good bit and look bright, too. Then we might have those stocks, all colours are they? Do famously. And then the little snapdragons, what do you call them?--anti--anti--what? snapdragon will do for me. You say they are too small! Oh, but they will grow. Red, then yellow, then white. Why, see, Mary, the round is nearly full. Then a row of the smallest geraniums, don't you think, and end up with an edging of blue lobelia. That would be fine, eh?" Jim saw my face and burst into laughter. I was in no laughing mood. "Good heavens, sir! Imagine such a higgledy-piggledy assembly as that--all sizes--all colours--all blooming anyhow!" "Not at all, not at all. Now, Young Man, what do you say? Look here--" And with the warmth of an inventor his Reverence read over his list and grew more in love with his colour scheme than ever. "Yes," said the Young Man, at intervals, "yes, that fills in grandly;" and then he caught my eye, a flash of indignation, so he began to hesitate and hedge. "Only, you see, your Reverence, that for flowers, that is, for bedding out, it seems you need--you have to think--" and he looked at me but got no assistance. "Perhaps there might be too many colours, mightn't there?" he wound up feebly. "Too many colours! Why, my dear fellow, it isn't for a funeral! Do you want all the flowers to wear black coats like you and me?" "No, no, sir, only, you see in one bed--" "Bless the man, of course they are in one bed! Why, where is the harm in variety? Just look here--" and we went through the scheme again. "Now, come; if you don't like this, what can you suggest better, eh?" The Young Man looked so nonplussed and uncomfortable, and his Reverence was falling deeper and deeper in love with his arrangement, I saw that I must at once take the matter in hand or it would be too late. "I know," I said suddenly. I did not know, at least, not what I would do, only what I would not, which is sometimes a great help in the other direction. "Well, let us hear your idea," said his Reverence, with enforced patience, looking fondly at his scheme. "The antirrhinums are too small and the violas too few," I began. "Well, that is not much of an idea!" "No, but I am thinking--" and so I was, for a thought had come. Then his Reverence laughed. "Ah, well, you _think_. In the meantime I will leave you my list and go and see after old Griggs." He linked his arm in the Young Man's and walked him off. He, looking penitently back, found no forgiveness; I had no use for the penitence of cowards. Then I began to expound to Jim the idea that had come like a flash! like a revelation! until Jim said, "Get on, let's have the idea. I don't personally think his Reverence's scheme at all bad, you know. I just laid low because I saw what a stew you were in, but _personally_ I like a bit of colour." Then I explained to Jim what a delirium those beds would be, and Jim would have left me too had I not said he should do all the measurements for the beds as I wanted somebody with an eye! How queer men are, even in embryo. They always hang together, and it is only flattery that can overcome their prejudices. Jim grew interested. The idea was to be all yellow. I had those marguerites of Griggs's cuttings developed now into fair-sized plants in spite of their neglected childhood, for I had seen to them since. They should grow in the centre; then should come my marigolds, which were very thriving, two kinds of them, the big, rather clumsy African, but with handsome colouring, and the smaller, neater, darker French variety, and we would finish with a good border of tagetes. They were all bushy plants, all hardy, and would bloom steadily through the summer and autumn. A basket of scabious--lady's pincushions--arriving from the Master while I was planting out were also worked into my scheme, and worked in well. The dark round balls of reds, browns, blues, with tiny white pin-points, did not disturb the yellow harmony. Eventually I was proud of those beds. When first planted they did look slightly new and stalky, but they filled out daily. His Reverence only remarked, "Well, well, have it your own way; I suppose it is æsthetic! But my idea was more cheerful." Griggs frankly said "yeller" was never his fancy. "Now, them 'janiums, that gives a bit o' colour." And I quite forgave the Young Man his past for his present admiration was unbounded. He had been quite unable to think, he explained. So that great difficulty was settled. * * * * * Griggs's geraniums turned out one or two good dark reds among the magenta hues, and these were put in the two old stumps that hitherto had been given over to mere ramping nasturtiums, and my superior seedlings of those useful flowers were encouraged to fall over the edge and ramp downwards. An old oil cask, cut in two, burnt out and painted green--Jim and I and the Young Man enjoyed that artistic work very much--formed two capacious tubs and were filled with more geraniums, the best and pinkest, and they brightened up the shrubbery corner where the daffodils had shone. Stocks and other geraniums--even the mauvy-tinted ones looked quite well away from all touch of red--with a border of lobelia, were placed under the study window in a narrow bed running along the front of the house, thus helping his Reverence to realise _his_ ideal. Then by degrees we arranged all the contents of my nursery, some in clumps, some in rows, down the herbaceous border, and others in the front border, the border which had looked so dismal and unpromising on that November day when I first took my garden in hand. There had been a brushing up of old inhabitants--Michaelmas daisies and chrysanthemums--but much was still left to be desired. You cannot do everything in the first year. It is no use thinking you can. * * * * * One day, at the very beginning of June, I visited the potting-shed, our one and only shed, which held a collection such as may be imagined after the reign of Griggs for twenty years. In a dark corner I came across some queer-looking roots sprouting away in a most astoundingly lively fashion. "Griggs, what on earth are these?" I called to that worthy. "Them? Oh! them's daylers. Just stuck 'em there to keep dry for the winter. They oughter be out by now, they oughter." "Oh! I should think so," and then I marvelled on the nature of dahlias. "Is this a good place for them during the winter? Don't they want anything to eat or drink?" "Bless yer! no, they takes their fill in the summer, but they oughter be out by now; some'ow I've come to overlook them." That these dahlias forgave the overlooking has always been a wonder to me; perhaps they did not do so entirely. I believe more firmly than ever in the thoroughness of the edict which rules "that what a man soweth that shall he reap." A child or a flower starved in infancy does not recover for some time, if ever, and though my dahlias kindly bloomed and did their best, once started in as good a bed as we could give them, they ought to have been "potted up" in the beginning of May and kept from frosty nights; then at the end of May or beginning of June they should have been placed in their flowering position. So soon as frost touches them they droop, as we all well know, in their own peculiar, utterly dejected and forlorn manner. Then cut them down, dig them up, let them dry, and place them for the winter in a dry and protected cellar or outhouse, there to sleep until the spring calls them to fresh life. * * * * * I watched the long herbaceous border with an anxious eye. The poppies--those dazzling papaver--opened their large green pods and shook out blazing red and rather crinkly leaves in the sunshine. They made one hot, but happy, to look at them. For that first year in my garden I think they did their duty well, but bigger clumps will look better. Some little spiky leaves that I had not recognised--how should I when no label accompanied them?--turned out to be the Iceland variety. They had one or two dainty blooms made of yellow butterflies' wings, but oh, dear! one or two! I needed a mass. The delphiniums looked healthy and promised a spiky bloom or two; the lupins were already in flower, nice, quite nice, when one has not much else, but the blue is too near purple. I must get some other varieties; the white would be prettier. The big thick leaves of the hollyhocks grew well at first, and then some beast of sorts began to fancy them and they developed a moth-eaten appearance. All Griggs could say was, "You never could do nothing with 'olly'ocks in this gardin, you couldn't." My other wiseacre, old Lovell, said, "They liked a bit o' wind through 'em." His own seemed to flourish, so mine must be moved from the sheltering hedge where I had thought they would show up. Everywhere still grew and flourished the ever-present weeds. They needed no watering, nothing to promote their vitality, they grew apace; and I could mention other varieties beside that champion grower, the ground-elder. There is a sticky, burry kind of rapid, straggling growth with tenacious hot-feeling leaves. Its hold on the earth is not strong, but it is brittle, and eludes its death-warrant that way; also a kind of elongated dandelion, that looks straight at you as though it had a right to be there. Then the common poppy, last year's nasturtium seeds, and the offspring of last year's sunflowers are as bad as weeds, and indeed the latter gave me as much trouble. The strong tuberous roots required a vigorous pull, and were growing everywhere, through the centre of every flower; I took at least a dozen out of one clump of golden rod, and vowed I would have every sunflower up before it had a chance of seeding. Of course all such things must come up or they exhaust the feeding capacity of the border. It is all very fine to say "_must_," but I believe a poor soil is composed of weed seeds. I walked down the garden with one of the Others, one who loved flowers, only in her own way. She arranged them beautifully when everything was put ready to her hand; she loved picking one here and there and sticking it in her waist-band, or playing with its soft petals against her cheek, then, its brief duty done, it was forgotten. I have seen people--even mothers--love children in the same way; but flowers and children need a broader love than that. We walked down armed with scissors and with an empty basket; I had said that there _were_ flowers. "My dear girl, what on earth _have_ you? when all is said and done. You show me a green bush thing and give it a name"--I had mentioned delphinium--"and it does sound aggressively knowledgeable, of course! And then another isolated and flowerless specimen and give _it_ a name. But wherewithal am I to do the dinner-table to-night? Will you tell me that?" "You have a most lovely bunch of poppies in the drawing-room, and I cut the copper-beech, which was wicked of me. Very soon you shall have roses and sweet-peas and all these seedlings; and next year you shall have sweet-Williams and cup and saucer Canterbury bells and foxgloves and--" "_Next_ year! my dear. I am wanting some flowers for _to-night_." "To-night! Oh, dear, let me think. Why won't the things make haste? You must have _something_, of course." What was there? A good many things in bud, but had they been out I could not have cut them. Just the one first specimen! To cut from a plant you need such a big show, and all the tall perennials were no good anyway for the table decoration. The blue cornflowers were coming; the godetias held promising buds of pinkiness; the Shirley poppies, too, and the sweet-peas; but for to-night! Everything was for to-morrow. Down the garden we walked, hope always deferred, and beyond the garden shone a field of brilliantly deep red. I caught my breath. "Isn't it lovely? It is old Mason's saint-foin; let us take some. And see, there are white daisies in the hay there, mine aren't out yet. And with grasses, those lovely, wavy grasses! don't you think that will do?" The table did look lovely, but small thanks to my garden, I felt; though the Other One cared not for that, and comforted me by saying that gardening had certainly developed my resources if not the flowers. Nature's garden is at its best in June. The wild rose and honeysuckle scent the hedges, the tall white daisies shine in the grass, the ruddy chickweed, with the setting sun behind, glows like the evening clouds; and the tall, dainty, white meadow-sweet offers itself to one's hand. Were it a garden flower we should prize it almost as we do gypsophila. But Nature does not mean her favourites to be promoted to the drawing-room. Their rustic beauty fades at once, and it seems truly unkind to cut so short their joyous sunny day. * * * * * The dinner-table that had caused me so much anxiety was specially needed for an American friend of one of the Others. She greeted the pretty effect with, "My! how cunning! Do all these pretty things grow in your garden, Mistress Mary?" "In mine and Nature's," I added. "You have a little rhyme about Mary and her garden, haven't you? And her lamb, too. Have you a lamb?" "Oh, yes," said one of the Others, "she has a lamb, the new version of that rhyme, too, 'with coat as black as soot.'" But what she meant, or why I grew hot, it passes my wisdom to say. "Say now, do you grow nightingales in your garden, Mistress Mary? I assure you, sir," turning to his Reverence, "I have never yet compassed an introduction to that much-vaunted British institooshon, the nightingale. I am just crazy till I hear those liquid tones, the jug jug and jar jar: such vurry ugly equivalents they sound to me for thrilling notes, but the best, I conclude, our poor speech can do in imitation of that divine melody." When our friend had quite finished--I noticed she landed herself without fear in the longest of sentences, and brought them always with much aplomb to the neatest of conclusions, an accomplishment in which she must find the majority of her English cousins sadly deficient--his Reverence promised her the wished-for concert; and he further dilated on the beauties represented by jug jug and jar jar, until she assured him that with him for her guide she would face that dark and lonely walk of Mistress Mary's--she meant my lime trees--where doubtless she would find a blue or white lady flitting past, with a sigh, wasn't it? for some recalcitrant lover. However, I noticed she walked off later with the Young Man, who dropped in after dinner, and she asked him all about the jug jug and jar jar with ever-increasing animation. It certainly was very cool that night, as it can be in June even after a hot day. We looked round to send Jim for shawls, but Jim had vanished, to his work, no doubt. We strolled down the lime walk to see if the nightingales would oblige us, which I doubted, as nightingales are as careful of their throats in a cool wind as are prima donnas. "You really mustn't talk," I heard the Young Man say. "Land's sake! but do they want it all their own way? Though who could talk when the whole night is throbbing with beauty? Just look at that intense blue vault above us, and the calm stars shimmering down on us. Say! doesn't it make you feel just too awfully small for anything? You don't feel inclined to get up and preach now, do you? Just shut your eyes and listen; that's about all one can do." The figures wandered up and down under the overhanging lime boughs, two and two, and presently the black and white ones ahead of us stopped. When we wandered off again somehow we had changed partners, and Mamie was arm-in-arm with her special Other One and the Young Man was walking with me. "I had such a lot I wanted to talk to you about," he began. This sounded interesting, but he seemed unable to get further. "About the Sunday school?" I asked gently, for we were still listening for the nightingale. It was almost a cross "No" that he muttered as we passed Mamie and her friend. "Oh, I know," I suggested; "it is about the garden. You haven't been helping me in my garden for weeks and weeks. What can one talk of better than a garden? I think it is the most interesting subject, and you must want to know how the nurslings are turning out, now they are started in real life." I suppose Mamie had caught the word garden, for she began to sing in a very high thread-of-silver voice, "If love's gardener sweet were I, I would cull the stars for thy pleasure." "Say, tall and reverend sir, can you reach a star? Look how they twinkle!" The Young Man is so very English I half feared he would not understand how to take her, but Mamie's freedom was infectious. "All the stars are not up there," he said, "fortunately for my arms. They are twinkling under these trees to-night." "Why, you _are_ poetical! But these lively stars of white and blue are not the kind to cull, are they, Mistress Mary? Land's sake! but they might prove as big an undertaking as one of those fiery worlds twinkling up there. 'How I wonder what you are!' Why, _we_ don't wonder, we _know_. I learnt all about them at school. But who knows what _I_ am composed of?" "'Ribbons and laces and sweet pretty faces!' is what they taught me at _my_ school," said the Young Man, calmly. "Really, the nightingale _can't_ sing if we all talk so much. Do let us try and be quiet for two minutes," I said. But Mamie was walking away laughing, and saying the nightingale would soon get used to her dulcet tones, and the Young Man stayed listening with me. "And yet it's true," he said, "what she says; how is one ever to know about another person, particularly when that other person always turns the conversation when one begins to talk about--" "You are getting mixed," I interrupted. "Don't you like talking about my garden?" "Not always." "Well, then, there's the parish." "You only do that to annoy." "I don't! But to please you I will talk of your last sermon." The Young Man was very hard to please; he said he preferred to know the exact ingredients of the stars, so I stopped Mamie to ask her, but she said we were becoming prosaic; the stars were really little holes in heaven's floor that the angels made to peep through. "That's what they taught at your school, didn't they, Reverend Young Man?" "They did. My education has greatly helped me to retain my fond delusions and pet prejudices." "Why, what an ideal education for a clergyman!" "Since young ladies are taught to weigh the stars and won't listen for nightingales, it does seem good to me." "Now, don't you get rattled. Mistress Mary, you have been rubbing him up the wrong way, and, mercy me! however can a poor Yank hear your nightingale? That is a delusion I must part with unless he condescends to commence soon." "Well, wait, do wait quietly for one minute." So for a brief pause there was silence; and the stir of the leaves and little rustle of unseen creeping things could be heard, and then, yes, there it was! We all raised a warning finger, but the throbbing note broke through the stillness; a little gurgle, a break, and then a longer effort. "Oh, my! Is that it? It makes me creep all over. Oh, don't let us talk. Will it go on?" Yes, it went on. After some tentative "jugs" and "jars" it broke into a full-throated throb, and even our fair visitor's exclamation did not scare it. "It _is_ singing to-night," said One; "really, it must be in honour of you, Mamie. It seldom sings with such vigour!" In the centre of the sloping field grew a fine clump of trees, birch, chestnut and one or two straight pines; the nightingale had chosen this for his stage, and now again quite distinctly rose the gurgling note, and continued, too, right through Miss Mamie's piercing whisper. "Why! it's purfectly lovely! I guess I must take one or two back to Amurica. This grove of trees, the dense blue sky, the silence of all you dear people, and just that one divine voice throbbing with love! It makes me feel like melting. If anyone proposed to me now I should just have no strength to refuse. Don't feel nervous, most Reverend Young Man. I am really thinking of that fascinating Mr Jim. Say! has he gone to bed?" Jim! Where was he? I saw the Young Man give a start, and a quick glance showed me we had both solved the mystery of that persistently gurgling bird. "He ought to be doing his preparation," I said in firm tones. "Don't, Mary! how you shouted. Now he has stopped. Oh, what a pity!" The Young Man whistled softly, and after a pause a little answering whistle came from another spot. "What is that?" asked Mamie. "Night-jar," suggested the Young Man. We listened in vain for more warblings from the nightingale. He had flown for good, and they all said it was my fault. "Did you have a good concert?" asked his Reverence, as we returned to the drawing-room. And at the chorus of approval he laughed, and assured us the nightingale had given him a dress rehearsal, and that was why we waited so long. Mamie declared his Reverence was the biggest dear she had met "this side," for you never could believe a word he said. He and the Young Man had both been to the same school, she reckoned. Next morning she had a tale to tell of her own special nightingale throbbing with love just below her window, and again in the early morning hours at her door. When she laid great stress on the "throbbing with love," Jim got bashfully red. Then she maintained she heard him flutter downstairs just as she was going to pipe her love tale too, and that always, always, she will love her English nightingale the best of all British institooshons. "You don't think she really knows," whispered Jim to me, "because if she does, she is going rather far, isn't she?" * * * * * How lovely a garden can be by moonlight, even a poor little garden. The moon is merciful, she touches all things, even the weeds, with a soft mystery; hallows the lily and every white bloom; in her light the red and blue flowers are not faded or extinguished, but softened; distances, shadows are intenser, more suggestive than in the garish glory of the sun; soft voices, soft footsteps are needed for the moonlit garden, and one may not think of work or gardeners. The flowers are asleep, wake them not; all but those of strong sweet scent and small blossom, like the jessamine and nicotina, which fittingly star the night garden, and these are sweeter now than ever, and thus woo to them the little moths, those flitting, dusky, silent lovers. The lime-tree avenue became a favourite night walk. The path that was once gravel, and by long neglect had become green in patches, was encouraged in its overgrowth, and Griggs and a scythe will turn it in time to quite a respectable grass walk, I hope. In the subdued light the feathery tall weeds gave it quite a fairy glade appearance. I can dream in my garden by moonlight, and perhaps not always of my garden. * * * * * The little perennial and biennial seeds sown in the open in April were, at the end of June, ready for thinning. They had each developed the "body" prepared for them, and nice, sturdy little "bodies" they were, but growing too close together and needing more elbow room. I do not think one ever sows seeds thinly enough, and this is not so much to be regretted for economy's sake as for the sake of the tiny plants' nourishment. Here again was a great waste of plant life, though, had all been wanted, all could have been used, for they are none the worse for this shifting. Still, half a row instead of two would have been sufficient for my needs. I selected the sturdiest, left some growing where they were, at about six inches apart, and moved the others to a new bed, also allowing them six inches; the rest were wasted, except a few, which found their way to a corner of some cottage gardens. But this is not the time when people are grateful for them; they like the well-grown plants in the autumn, which can then be placed in their spring bed. If the weather has been very dry it is a good plan to water the plants well before beginning to divide them, which, of course, is done by loosening the ground with a little fork and carefully selecting the young root you want from the many. Water well, too, when your work is finished, and continue to watch over them unless the rain comes to bless them. For these plantlets I chose a nursery that was not exposed all day to the sun. One has to think for them; they repay it with quicker and sturdier growth, which means better flowering capacity in the spring. So all my wallflowers, forget-me-nots, Canterbury-bells, sweet-Williams, silene, were thus attended to, and, added to my nursery division of perennial seeds, which I now divided up in like fashion, made a grand show, or promise rather. His Reverence was brought to admire, but he looked at the patch I had chosen and said, "Do you know I had cauliflowers in here last year, and it is just the very spot that suits them." "I know," I said. "I hope it will suit my children too." But his Reverence took quite another view of the matter, and talked of "landmarks," so I fled, for I did not want to be told I must move them all again. That was impossible. * * * * * And now, as the sun shone day by day both lustily and long, the great difficulty of watering arose. This was the time in the ideal gardens told of in my precious books when the busy garden boy rolls his clanking watering-tank, unfurls the sinuous hose, and from morning to night supplies the thirsting flowers. In the Master's garden there was no lack, and his long tubes were even emptying themselves, reckless extravagance! on the velvety lawn. But for me, oh, lack-a-day! The ground felt like hot dust, the seedlings drooped, and the Others told me not to pray for rain as they were doing the opposite, lawn tennis being in full swing. We had a rain-water tank, and in the stables water was laid on, but it was a far cry from the stables to the garden, especially the kitchen garden, and old Griggs was a slow mover. The watering-tank groaned its way, but only the two most important beds got their daily draught. They were beginning to turn yellow in an encouraging fashion, but it takes some time for the eight inches apart to fill up and become the mass of colour dreamt of. Then I disorganised the domestic economy by insisting on the contents of the household baths finding their way down to my rose bushes. At first the housemaids liked the little jaunt, but soon there were complaints of "'indering me getting on with my work, miss," and I began to inspect possibilities of converging drain-pipes and establishing receptive barrels; also I gave his Reverence small peace in those days in my desire for a further laying on of water to the kitchen garden and some yards of hose, but he said that these were big undertakings, he must think, etc., and for that hot, dry summer we got no further than thoughts. Griggs hated me worse than ever, an unavoidable evil. We had one pitched battle, and though it did some little good, the spirit of a defeated foe is not one easy to work with. In the dark winter evenings Griggs seeks his fireside as the light fails, or even before if it suits him. Against this I have nothing to say, but when the long days come with their need for more gardening care, I object to the early tea-time departure. I found my precious seedlings drooping and Griggs ready to depart for his tea. I love my own tea, so a fellow-feeling made me kind. "But come back, Griggs, for some watering must be done." "I can't come no more to-night, oi 'ave to see to things a bit up at 'ome." "Griggs "--and my voice held dignified rebuke--"you are gardener _here_, and these flowers are your first duty." "There ain't no gettin' round with all them little plants wot you've started. I did give 'em a watering two days ago!" "Two days ago! Don't _you_ want your tea every day?" "Maybe it'll rain soon, and that'll pull 'em round. They ain't human critturs. Don't you fuss over them, miss. Oi knows their ways. Bless you, I've been a gardener these forty years." At this I rose. And what had been the result? Would he care to have his gardening capacity judged by the dearth that reigned at the Rectory? Did the heavy weed crops speak well for his industry? Did the underground interlacement of that pernicious ground-elder do him credit? Did the roses, the jasmine, etc., etc. My pent-up indignation overflowed and Griggs had the full benefit. The only impression I conveyed was that "Miss Mary was takin' on in a terrible unchristian spirit." Clerk Griggs never had a doubt of his own uttermost fulfilment of the law. In his opinion, "young ladies should play the pianny and leave gardening to them as knows." Griggs meant to go home. I felt this was a decisive moment. "You will come back and do the necessary watering," I said, "and I shall be here to see it is done; you quite understand?" With this I walked away, and Griggs came back. I got his Reverence to support me, and we decided to give an extra hour's rest in the middle of the day and insist on the watering, without which all previous efforts are rendered, null and void. * * * * * A useful little book, procured for the modest sum of ninepence, gave me a more intimate knowledge of the dwellers in my garden. It is a plain little book, though it reads like a fairy tale, with its stories of marriage-customs and the wind and bees and flying insects as lovers. Straightforward and interesting reading, and to those who begin to desire more knowledge of their plant life, highly to be recommended is this _Story of the Plants_, by Grant Allen. For surely if you love your flowers it will not be from your own more or less selfish point of view that you will regard them. Their aims and objects will interest you; their growth and evolution be of importance; and, to come round again to one's own advantage, what is best for them must also be best for the garden, since flowers in their full beauty is the gardener's object, and the plants' too. But the plants go further; they wish to end in seed. All their fine show, their sweetness and light, is with this object in view; and here I for one must come in, in heartless fashion, and thwart them. My scissors in those summer days were as much employed in cutting off dying bloom as in selecting fresh ones. Not a sweet-pea, not an antirrhinum, not a rose must hang fading on its stem. For I must lure my plants on to further flowering and prevent the feeling of "duty done" and a fine set of seeds with which they would fain wind up their summer's career. And it is a business, this chopping off of old heads. "No strength to go that way, if you please," I said to my flowers; "keep it all for blossoms and growing purposes, and I promise that your seed shall not cease from the earth, in spite of your particular thwarted efforts." When I happen to want a seed pod preserved, I mean to label it with brilliant worsted, but my garden must have grown indeed before that good time comes. The seedlings which, sown in the open, were now rewarding Jim's matutinal thinnings-out, were a comfort and encouragement. The intensely blue cornflowers furnished many a dinner-table, and though they did not face the wind with all the backbone desirable, I had not staked them, they formed a very good background to the less tall pinky-white godetias, and these, too, in July were a boon to those Others. They last very well in water, and, if diligently cut and not allowed to seed, they continue a fine show of bloom into the early autumn. The Shirley poppies were pure joy. Sunlight or moonlight they were a feast for the eyes; but, _N.B._, only those which had been properly thinned out and cared for. Some had escaped this process, and the result was invariably miserable little starved plantlets, who would have been cut as poor relations could they have been seen by their fine, stately, well-developed, gorgeously-attired sisters in a patch of ground that they beautified with every shade of pink, and salmon, and white, and rose. So dainty, too, were the bright petals, like crumpled satin, delicately gauffered at the edges; and what matter that their day was brief, as befits such delicate beauties. There were more and more to follow; green bud on bud hanging their small heads among the sage-green leaves, until the time came for them too to "come out" and reign as beauties for a space as long as a butterfly's life. There was a chorus of praise from the Others. "Now, why don't you grow more of those?" "Why did you not fill the two round beds with these? They make a much finer show!" "Are they very difficult to grow, or very expensive? Why not more?" "Don't they last? Won't they come again? Oh, but I would make them!" "You shall do the thinning out and watering," said Jim, grimly, while I tried, but quite in vain, to explain that permanence was the chief thing needed by the two round beds, and that my yellow design would go on. "They aren't half so effective," the Others murmured, "but of course you will have it your own way!" * * * * * The mignonette failed me; a few straggling plants and no bloom was all that packet did for me. I thought it grew as a weed everywhere, and my soil suits weeds! But I cannot master the mystery of what happens to some things below ground. The anemones never gave a sign of life. "They've rotted, that's what they've done," said Griggs, sagaciously, as he dug the spot where they had been buried and found no trace of anything. I intend to try again. Someone said damp had that effect on their roots, so next time for a more open, more sunny spot; but maybe that will prove too dry. Those hot days of July and August! Alas and alas! how I and my flowers suffered from the "too-dry." With the exception of my blazing yellow beds and my nurslings for next year, which, after my interview with Griggs, did receive a daily draught, my other flowers lifted withered faces to a piteously sunny sky and dwindled away into little dried-up sticks, all for the lack of water. A drop now and then is worse than useless; it only brings their eager roots hastily to the watered surface, and there the strong sun catches them and they are withered up for good and all. The sweet-pea hedge that had been a source of delight and use, and that I had kept most diligently picked, during three days' absence converted its blossoms into seed-pods and then gave up the ghost. I tried to pick it back to life with the destruction of pods and a good watering, but it was no good, and I had to turn my attention to the other less advanced sweet-peas and try and keep them going; the heat seemed to scorch the bloom and hurry on the pod. The established perennials may survive the drought; later rains may revive them, but to the poor little annuals it is good-bye for ever; and many a zinnia, stock, lobelia, and even marigold, though it is more hardy, had but a poor little starved life, and passed away with a tiny drooping head. It was heart-breaking. Another year I must not have so large a family of these tender children. The hardy annuals which can be given straight away to Mother Earth's care fare better, and coming quicker to the flowering time are not so wasted. But those grown in boxes and transplanted claim more attention, and they could not have it; though to all water is a necessity, and they fade the sooner for its lack. The poor salpiglosis needs other soil; heavier, damper, I suppose, and some shade. I fear I must admire them in other people's gardens. Griggs and the clanging tank on wheels was a poor substitute for the "blessed rain from heaven" that falls on all alike, while his unwilling steps could scarcely be induced to water those that lay nearest to his hand; and I could not expect him--even I could not--to water everywhere every day. If I had water laid on! if I had a hose! how I would use it! "Yes, and think of my bill," said his Reverence. I suppose this is the way they talk of the revenue in India when the poor people are starving. Well, well, poor folk should not have more children than they can feed, so I must give my attention more especially to the deeper-rooted perennials, though even they hang limp-leaved and will reward me in the future only according to my treatment of them. It is the Law of the Universe. Some patches of seedlings in a neighbouring garden made all my resolves to curtail expenditure in that direction fly in an instant. These were Mother Earth's hardy babies; no boxes or transplanting were needed. It was a mass of the bright-coloured heads of the annual phlox which excited my admiration. They are more brilliant, though smaller, than their perennial sisters, and for cutting they are quite invaluable. They last, too, through three or four months. My garden must have them. Another yellow patch caught my fancy. (I have a theory yellow flowers are hardiest; it is the primitive colour.) This was eschscholtzia, Californian poppy in other words. These seem to me indispensable; their grey-green leaves make the prettiest decoration. * * * * * In the Master's garden peace and plenty reigned. The hose played all day long; the grass was a joy, green as perennial youth; the flowers nodded at him in full satisfaction, and he sat and smiled at them, "feeling good," as the Americans say. I went home and noted the brown lawn, in which even the plantains were beginning to turn colour, and thought of my border, and "felt bad." Even the brilliant yellow of my two round beds, staring like sunflowers, full among the starving, failed to comfort me. It is always the one lamb crying in the wilderness that pulls the true shepherd's heart away from the ninety and nine trim little sheep safe in the fold. * * * * * Jim was very busy those days and more or less deserted me. One of the Others, a mankind from Sandhurst, divided his allegiance, and holidays and cricket absorbed him. "One has to slack off a bit," he said, "and old Griggs can water. I'll come on again in the autumn; there will be some work with those tap-roots, you know." But when a question arose of how much to the good my reign had proved, then Jim was with me at once. Even "Sandhurst" and the grand ideas that are a necessity of that period of development, were not allowed to be too snubbing. "You look at those two yellow beds," said Jim. "That's one year's work, good. Next year we will have a bit more, up to that style. You try and get up some weeds yourself and then you can talk." And indeed those two yellow beds were a satisfaction; they grew and grew until not a spare inch was left between root and root, and they flared away gorgeously in the face of the hottest sun. I kept all dead heads cut down, for they were to go on right to the end of October. The antirrhinums came on bravely, too; my little straight soldiers, now no longer so thin and leggy, but beginning to branch out, and carrying their stiff red, white or yellow spear of flowers bolt upright in the centre. But they were still small, and I was glad that I had secured a quicker effect with my yellow design. They performed a gay march past in that forlorn old border in the front, but more toward the end of the summer, owing really to the delay in pricking them out. His Reverence said they consoled him for the disaster of the crocuses in spring. I bought some little plants of creeping jenny, six at threepence each, and put them in round one of the stumps holding a group of rather mauvy-coloured creeping geraniums. They took kindly to the position, and yellow and mauve go excellently well together. Also I added three plants of gypsophila to my long border. I felt the Others would appreciate them. I often wanted to buy ready-made flowers, and a flower shop or nursery garden became a real danger to me; but there was the five pounds to be thought of, or rather the few shillings which remained, and oh! the many things that were really necessities of the first order. In August Griggs and I, friends for the moment, took cuttings of those geraniums whose colours, for some reason Griggs failed to fathom, pleased me. Of course those that I least liked offered the better cuttings, but I was inexorable and told Griggs I had other uses for that solitary frame. We "struck" the cuttings in some big pots, six in each. They grew easily, and for next year I shall only have the colours I like. Then, rather in astonishment at myself for patronising geraniums, I bought a hundred cuttings of Henry Jacoby, a good dark red, for six shillings. I can't help coming round to the opinion that geraniums are an excellent stand-by. A dozen pink climbing geraniums were given me. My eye of faith already sees them growing up the verandah and causing even the Others to say pretty things to me. During the autumn and winter, as little cuttings they will pass their time making root in my frame. Yellow daisies and white, in wooden boxes, were to join them there; and, in order to be really forward with some things, a good supply of antirrhinum and lobelia cuttings. Naturally they will be more forward and stronger than the seedlings of February, but I have to face the question of room. * * * * * There comes a time of lull in the life of a garden when, if only the watering be seen to, it is possible for even the head gardener to take a holiday. In August what has been done is done and cannot be altered; and what left undone must remain so. It is too late now, and the hope of "next year" is turned to eagerly, for "next year" is the only remedy left. I had been driven to "next year" quite early in the day, for all my plants would be more established, and therefore I trusted more lavish with bloom in their second year with me. They had done their best, I doubted not, and to my eye the promise of growth at the roots began to give as much satisfaction as the few blooms sent, almost tentatively, up into their new surroundings. Ah! for the time when the blue delphinium should be a massive background for the white lilies, and these shine against a thick clump of red valerian; and then the eye should catch the brilliant yellow of the tiger-lily and feel cool in the clear purple of the Indian-pea. And then this scheme should repeat itself, diversified with the stately hollyhock and flaring sunflower, or the feathers of the spiræa, which should rival it in height. More forward in the border should glow the warm-scented sweet-Williams and the bright-headed phlox; the pure white campanula should nod its bells, and the quaint Turk's head hold its own stiffly. Gaillardias and gladiolas, ixias and montbresias should strike a strong-coloured note, and clumps of Canterbury-bells, stocks, zinnias, penstemons, marigolds and scabious should each in turn--and some take a good long turn--bring their share of brightness; and the flowers of the past, the irises, the bleeding heart, the columbines, the bright scarlet geum, the yellow doronicum, should be marked by a patch of green that by diligent growing gave hope of more beauty for the future. In this bright future I was apt to wander and to lose sight of the rather meagre present. But that needs must be one of the consolations of a garden. And so, hoping all things for my garden, I went to pay visits to other people's gardens. One grand garden filled me with anything but envy. It was so terribly trim, such rows of variegated geraniums, big calceolarias, featherfew and lobelia. I determined never to treat any bed or border to edgings; to mass even lobelia together and only break it with taller plants, such as geraniums, of the pure good colours quite possible I found, or salvias or fuchsias. Here was line after line, pattern after pattern; surely they were the "goodly sights" Bacon had seen in tarts! Grand beds of coleus and begonias there were, but these were beyond me, savouring too much of the greenhouse, and all the flowers in the rooms spoke of gardeners and hot-houses. "I don't think my gardener cares much for herbaceous things," said my hostess. "What flowers _do_ live out of doors? in this climate, I mean." And I found out that a greenhouse gardener very seldom does care for herbaceous things. But another smaller garden made me envious. How the plants grew in that blessed soil, with a little river meandering through. No difficulty about water, and that was half the difficulty of flower cultivation overcome. I knew at once that all I wanted for perfect contentment was one small stream and one small conservatory, then things should march; but I suppose even that highly-blessed woman had a "but" in her lot. Gardeners are so good to one another. I long for the day when I too shall say, "Oh, I will send you some of that, wait until the autumn," and "You care for this? I can spare some." They must feel they are really doing so much good in the world. It was a proud moment when one said, "If you have Canterbury-bells to spare, send me some; mine have failed me, they are wretched specimens, and will never do any good." And mine were sturdy; I knew that. Old Lovell was another of my customers. He was to have some sweet-Williams and some foxgloves, and I was to have two clumps of Turk's head in exchange, and some of the many young plants surrounding his big clump of that June joy, rosy red valerian. From my other friends I had promises of many good things; the small perennial sunflower, soleil d'or, some nice Michaelmas daisies, the useful pink and white Japanese anemone, a yellow lupin and some of the white variety. More delphiniums, too, I accepted with thankfulness, and I felt my garden growing and growing as the kind promises flowed in. * * * * * So back to my own garden with eyes terribly open to its deficiencies, "a poor thing, but mine own," at least, "mine own" for a time, and certainly "mine own" to improve; therefore the deficiencies were not to appal me, though they were still the most striking feature of my garden. The yellow beds still flared, the antirrhinums still marched, and, perhaps most consoling of all, the little plants for next year, and those for always, were well and thriving. The summer had not passed in vain as far as they were concerned. No, nor passed in vain even where it only chronicled failures, for Ignoramuses must take their share of these too, as a necessary part of their education; and how the spring and summer had opened my eyes! The red ash berries strewed the ground; the birds saw to that, finding pleasure in breaking them off with a knowing jerk of the head and not a bit from hunger; the convolvulus, nasturtium and canariensis were flinging themselves in wild confusion; there was a kind of riot even among the flowers and weeds in the long border. A few roses, especially the good old "Gloire," were giving a little after-show, but a touch of finality had come to my garden, and when a hush passed over it, broken only by an early falling leaf, I knew autumn had come, and I scarcely paused to say good-bye to my first summer's gardening, so eager was I for all that autumn meant in the way of work for the future. * * * * * [Illustration: AUTUMN] SEASON IV Autumn "Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness." "Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns." So said George Eliot, and with all due reverence for her opinion, my soul would fly in the opposite direction, seeking the spring. If the autumn led straight on to spring I could love it more, but through its stillness I hear the winter blast; its gorgeous colouring scarce hides the baring boughs; day by day death lays a withering hand on flower and tree; day by day the sun runs quicker to its golden resting-place. Have you ever noticed how great a difference there is between the sun's summer and winter march across the heavens? Note the tree behind which he sinks in June and then again in November. A whole third of the heavens separates the two; and what does that not mean to us of lack in light and warmth? "Ah! would that the year were always May." And yet there are days, such days of perfect beauty that the year could never spare them. They come in early autumn, and it is as though a recording angel passed, so sweet, so solemn is the hush, the pause, with which Nature holds her breath and listens as she lays open her store of harvest to the "Well done" of the voiceless blessing. And then, the blessed rest-day over, she turns about. "To work!" seems to be the order. "Away with these old flowers! No more need for pod-making; wither up the annuals, cut down the perennials, stop those busy youngsters and their growing process for a bit, shake off the leaves, they will come in useful later on, but pile them up now and let the children scuttle through them with happy feet, and have a good clear-out before you go to sleep and wake up again in the springtime--'the merry, merry springtime.' Away, you birds, and look out for yourselves those of you who stay; get your nests ready and your stores safely housed, my small friends of fur and feather, for my work is now to purge and to winnow, to try and to test, and woe betide the weaklings!" So the wind, Dame Nature's mighty broom-maiden, prepares her best besom, and there is soon a thorough good house-cleaning, to the great discomfort of the inhabitants. Well, we have to put up with it; and the best plan is to do a little of the same work on one's own account, that so, being in harmony with Nature, one's temper is less sorely tried. * * * * * There is enough to be done. I hardly consider September an autumn month, but the calendar does, so I will mention first one bit of work well worth doing. Sow a good long row of sweet-peas. Make a shallow trench and prepare it as was done in the spring, and before Nature stops all growth above ground you will have a lusty row of little plants five to six inches high. These I should stake before the winter, as a means of protection from frost and snow; and next year, a month earlier than most of your friends, you will have sweet-peas of a height, a size and profusion to make them all envious. And that is, of course, a consummation most devoutly to be wished. Some people's autumn borders are things of great joy and beauty. Looking on the Master's profusion, I felt like the Queen of Sheba, for I expect she thought her own house and grounds a very poor show when she got back to Sheba. But I did not, like that celebrated queen, turn and bless him unreservedly. I felt more like--much more like--abusing Griggs. Let me tell you what an autumn border can be like; not in my own poor words, but as a master-hand painted a Master's garden, and, though not _my_ Master's garden, the description fits. "Against the deep green of the laurels, the rhododendron and box are sunflowers six feet high, lit up each of them with a score of blooms, and hollyhocks, taller still, are rosetted with deep claret flowers and mulberry and strange old pink. Between them bushes of cactus dahlias literally ablaze with scarlet. In front are standard roses, only crimson and damask, and now in October bright with their second bloom. Hiding their barren stems, compact and solid, an exquisite combination of green and purple, are perennial asters--a single spike of them, with its hundreds of little stars, makes a noble decoration in a room--and humbler, if more vivid, companies of tritonia. Here and again are old clumps of phlox, of fervent carmine or white starred with pink, and, to my mind, of singular beauty, the rudbeckias in brilliant clusters of chrome yellow. "Three times in the long border Japanese anemones, mixed white and terra cotta, mark noble periods in the great curve of colour; and at corresponding intervals, as you walk round, your eye catches the beautiful response, set further forward, of clumps of chrysanthemums, lemon yellow and Indian red, tiny flowers, no doubt, 'for chrysanthemums', but sweetly pretty in their profusion and artless growth. Is that enough? Well, then, for more. There are the snapdragons in every shade of snapdragon colour, and geums now making second displays of flower, and penstemons; and salvias shaded in butterfly-blue, and Iceland poppies, and the round lavender balls--like the spiked horrors which genial Crusaders wore at the end of chains for the thumping of Saracens and similar heathens--which the Blessed Thistle bears. "Can you see this October garden at all?"[2] [2] _In Garden, Orchard and Spinney,_ by Phil Robinson. Indeed, that must look something like a garden border; and after all, friend Ignoramus, it is not totally out of your reach. Even with my disadvantages some of those glories can be mine. The sunflowers, of course, I had, and though rather roughly staked by my old enemy, yet their golden heads were there, and by diligent decapitation they continued until I "did up" the border. The dahlias did fairly, and some of the poor little water-starved annuals picked up a little and gave patches of colour, notably the marigolds. The Michaelmas daisy--which is here called "perennial aster"--gave but little bloom; all my bushy perennial plants will be better next year. The golden rod, that old inhabitant, was fine and useful even this first September. It kept the big jar in the drawing-room going with dahlias and sunflowers, but the day came all too soon when even these gave out, and then I fell back on Dame Nature and plundered her hedgerows. Such leaves, such yellows and reds, and berries, black, red and green, never was a bunch more beautiful than that provided by the country lanes; and if only a garden would go wild in such a fashion I should leave it to itself. But that is the trouble. When once civilisation has laid her hand on flower or savage there is no going back; one must progress, the primitive conditions are lost for ever. Unless the new ideal be lived up to, the latter state is worse than the first. * * * * * I had been collecting ideas as well as had experience during the summer months, and some of the ideas were greatly augmented by a Visitor who came into the garden during the month of October. He had had varied experiences during the years, not so many either, of his pilgrimage, and after having claimed America, Australia, India as his fields of action, and ranching, mining, pearl-fishing, architecture and the stock exchange as some of his employments, I was not surprised to find he had also made a thorough study of the art of Gardening; in fact, had thought of landscape gardening as a profession. His Reverence had said, "Get him to give you some advice; he knows all about it." So I sought this fount of knowledge. My garden looked indeed a poor thing seen through his eyes. He stood taking in the general effect. "Hump!--ha!--yes!--you ought to have all that cleared away," waving a hand towards a shrubbery which indeed looked as though it needed judicious pruning; "it is in the wrong place, and it would add considerably to the size of the lawn if it were done away with. And that path, you notice the fatal curve. Why in the name of Reason make a curve when a straight line leads quicker between two places? Curves and circles are an abomination in a garden. Don't you see it?" "Oh, quite, but I didn't make that path." "No, but why tolerate it? I can assure you I could not live with that silly crooked line waving itself aside like a fanciful damsel. Pah! Get that altered for one thing, and then, _don't_ have it gravelled. Between grass, what can look so staring and hideous as that patch of yellow? Not that yours is very yellow, been down some time, eh? Buy some old slabs of slate, quite easy to get. Go round to the old churches; you are sure to find some Philistine parson removing the old slate leading through the churchyard and putting down hideous, gritty gravel! You can benefit by his crass stupidity. And then--ah, yes--don't have wire fencing between the garden and that field. Prettily-laid-out field that is, too. I congratulate you on that clump of trees. Very nice! yes, very nice But that aggressive railing paling thing! Away with it! and have a sunk fence if you need anything." "Sheep are sometimes put in that field," I said timidly, for I felt, in spite of that clump of trees, that I was responsible for a great deal of fearful ignorance. "Oh, well, a sunk fence will keep them out. Now let us walk on a bit. Dear, dear, how those two round beds hurt one! Remind one of bulls'-eyes, don't they? You must not have round beds, have them in squares; two oblongs would fit in better there. But let me see, ah, yes, that would be better. Now look here. Take away that hedge"--he pointed to the holly hedge dividing the lawn from the kitchen garden--"right away; make there a good border, that will give you the colour, and you can do away with those beds." "But the kitchen garden!" "Don't you like the look of a kitchen garden? Nothing more beautiful. Border everything with flowers, and think what a vista you have from your window." "Oh, I know. I want an opening somewhere." "An opening! You want it _open_, not boxed in like this. The intention of hedges was to shut out the roads or one's prying neighbours. You have neither. For goodness' sake give yourself room. What is there so attractive in that prickly hedge? But if you want a division, if you must keep the vulgar vegetables in their place, why, put up a pergola!" "Oh!" I exclaimed. Pergola somehow suggested fairy-land, or Italian lakes at the least. "Yes, pergola. Now just see it. Beautiful green lawn. By the way, you must have this re-turfed, it is quite hopeless; good grass leading straight down to that hedge, no pathway between," and he shuddered. "Do away with the prickly hedge, have a border of bright flowers taking its place; behind that a pergola of roses, through which you get vistas of all the good sprouting green things, and clumps of flowers, hedges of sweet-peas, banks of poppies, and everything bright and beautiful, with suggestions of gooseberry bushes and strawberry beds, and feathery carrots and waving asparagus. Now, how does that sound?" "Delightful," I replied, sinking on a garden seat with a most doleful sigh, and looking from that picture to the one that lay before me. "Ah, yes," following my eye, "and don't forget that path; straight, mind you, and slates. There is something about a wet slate bordered with grass that gives you sensations of coolness and repose that really consoles you for the rain. You try it! Now, I daresay I could suggest a good many more things that need doing, but I suppose you won't manage more this autumn." "It is very kind of you," I began. "Oh, not at all, not at all. I assure you it is a great pleasure to suggest improvements. Now here you have a little garden, nothing much about it, you may say, but at once I see what can be made of it. My mind is full of the higher vision, until really sometimes it is a shock to me to come back to real earth, as it were, and find how far it is from the ideal." "Yes, I should think so," I murmured. "Of course that is what is needed for landscape gardening, to which I gave special attention at one time. Flowers I have not yet taken up; but shrubs! ah, well, I think I won't begin on shrubs, for I have to catch that train." Then we walked back to the house, and I wished I too had a train to catch that I might never, never look at my garden again. The Others said I was very depressed for some days, but at last I resolutely faced my garden. "You are all wrong," I said, "made wrong from the beginning, and I can't alter you, but as you are the only one we have I must just make the best of you. One thing I can do, and that is to have down the old holly hedge and make a pergola." So I approached the Others. They agreed at once that we wanted vistas, and jumped at the pergola, but Jim shook his head. "No go," said he, and said no more. "But I am not sure about a vista of cabbages and onions," remarked a cautious One. "I don't like them in any form." "But I should have borders of flowers everywhere," and the Visitor's picture rose in my mind. "You don't mind asparagus." "No, if you can keep your vistas to that." "But a pergola! Mary, that sounds a large order." "Yes. But this is a thing that affects us all, so we must all make an effort." "Does your effort mean £ s. d.?" "Something very like it." And there was a chorus of "Oh's" and "That's all very fine! _but_--" "Well, you are all _for_ it, anyhow?" I said. "Oh, yes, we are all _for_ it." "Then I am going to tackle his Reverence." "There he is, then, at the bottom of the lawn, with a slaughtered bunny in his hand, so the moment should be auspicious." But it wasn't. I approached my subject delicately, mindful of the overwhelming sense of impossibility with which the Visitor's suggestions had filled my soul; but when it dawned on his Reverence that I wanted not only to erect a pergola but to cut down the holly hedge, it then transpired that the holly hedge was the joy of his heart and the pride of his eyes; when other things failed, and snails ate the onions, _that_ hedge was always there, always green, always solid, and always a consolation. I explained my views and he explained his, and then we both explained them together; he said I was very obstinate, and I said he was not allowing me a free hand. He said he did, and I said, "Then may I do it?" He said, "Certainly not," and I said, "Very good, then, I resign the garden." I heard his laugh--a hearty one--as I marched with dignity back to the drawing-room. "Well!" the Others cried, "you look as though you had had a lively time." "I could have told you exactly what his Reverence would say and saved you the trouble of a row." I tried to squash Jim with a look, but nothing under many hundredweights could do that. So I said coldly, "We had no row; and little boys don't always know what their elders will say." "Bet you I know what _he_ said to you. And on the whole I agree with him. It's no use taking a bigger bite than you can chew." "It isn't a bigger bite than--Jim, you are very vulgar! But I don't care now, I have given up the garden." "Resigned your stewardship!" said Jim, tragically. "Anything over of the five pounds? I wouldn't retire yet, you can't have saved enough." "Don't talk nonsense, Mary. At least, it doesn't matter _what_ you talk, you can't do it," said one of the Others. "Can't I? we shall see," hardening my heart. "What did his Reverence say to your resignation?" "He--he didn't say anything." "He laughed! I heard him," said Jim, "and he is splitting his sides telling the Young Man all about it." "He isn't! Jim, go quick, interrupt them. I won't let them talk of m--my garden." Jim is really a nice boy; he swaggered off with his hands in his pockets, whistling, and joined the two men. I knew he would give the conversation the turn I wished. I began to cool down. It was easy to say I would "resign" the garden, but could I? Putting pride aside, was not my interest in all those young promising plants for the spring too deep for me now to desert them? Had I not rooted, amongst other things, too much of myself in my garden for me now lightly to withdraw? While I pondered I strolled down the garden, and coming up the other side ran into the group of three viewing the holly hedge from the back. "It is one of the best holly hedges I have ever seen," his Reverence was saying. "Cut it down! Why, it would be sheer madness." Then the Young Man, without noticing me, began, "All the same, you do want an opening somewhere. It is quite true that fine hedge shuts you in very much." "I like being shut in," said his Reverence; "but I might consider your idea of an opening here, an archway in the middle, particularly as the hedge is already rather thin in one place, only 'Mary, Mary, quite contrairy.'" "You had better not abuse me, because I am listening," I put in. "Oh, here you are. I was going to say you had resigned." "If you had heard all _your_ Visitor suggested you would have thrown up the living." "Bumptious fellow! I should not have listened to him." "But you told me to." "Because I had had enough of him." "But what he said was true. It is absolutely immoral to have that curveting path, that hideous paling, and this bisecting hedge." "Well, Mary, I did give you credit for _some_ common sense." "It's un-common sense I am blessed with, and I am trying to educate you up to higher ideals for the garden." But I had taken his arm. "Then do it by degrees. The Young Man suggests a peep-hole through the hedge. Will that satisfy you?" "Well, may I have this gravel path up and make a border here?" "What! more borders? However will you and Griggs manage those you have already?" "Perhaps if I have this I won't poach any more on the kitchen garden." His Reverence looked at the gravel path critically. "I don't see that we need this path very much, but it means a lot of work to take away this gravel and bring in good mould. It is no use having a bad border while you are about it. Who is to do it?" "Griggs and--and help," I answered boldly, "and you shall direct." "And you won't resign?" "I will think better of my decision." "And I may keep my holly hedge?" "For the present, until I have educated you up to the pergola." "Oh! thank you." Then I explained fully to the Young Man the glories and delights of a pergola and vistas; and he is quite ready to help fix the iron arches, fasten overhead the wire netting, train the clambering roses, vines and clematis, and--cut down the holly hedge. His Reverence's education will take a little time, I expect. In the meanwhile the archway made in the broad gap cut in his holly hedge will help to train his eye to the beauty of vistas. But how the Visitor would despise my compromising soul! It was judicious of me to give his Reverence the direction of the new border. I heard nothing of expense, and, once started, he went ahead in thorough fashion. The gravel was carted away, and some feet of stony earth. Then we came to a layer of good though light soil. The backs of shrubberies, a small wood at the bottom of a field, a bank in the kitchen garden were all taxed for their share of the best soil we could get, and this, finally mixed in with some old turf and manure, made a border that looked promising. There was no need to begin with a layer of broken china and sardine tins, for the drainage in my soil was more than sufficient, and this disappointed Jim, who said he was ready with a fine collection, had that substratum been necessary. And then, my new border ready, I launched out. It was to be partly herbaceous, partly for bulbs and annuals. The promised plants, which began to come in, supplied me with some delphiniums and small perennial sunflowers. I moved there some of my young plants of oriental poppies, planting them near together until they should have expanded. Then I selected my lilies. The auratum and other delightful varieties I had to leave out, but the white Madonna lily would thrive, and croceum, an orange-coloured bloom, and the soft apricot shade of an elegans promised to be hardy. These were placed in front of the delphiniums and room left for big sunflowers in the spring. Half forward the Canterbury bells, sweet-Williams and tall campanulas were placed in clumps, and in front of them, well buried, were groups of the Spanish and English irises, meant, as they succeed each other, to keep bright patches of yellow, purple and white flowering there for some time. They are not very dear--five shillings a hundred--and I now began to reckon on a new five pounds. Montbresias, too, I launched into, and left spaces for groups of gladiolas to join them in the spring. Then for early flowering I introduced my thriving young wallflowers, always in groups, not rows, and some of the dear narcissi and gorgeous tulips would, I thought, be admired before other things had a chance. To end up with, and be gay to the verge of gaudy, I had forget-me-nots and pink silene. Even the thought of the Visitor could not disturb my satisfaction over my new border. He had not given me his views on flowers. * * * * * The archway where the holly hedge was sacrificed for my vista was formed of two iron staves bent into arches and joined with wire netting of eighteen inches wide. The village blacksmith supplied the staves; they measured some fourteen feet when they arrived, but were cut and buried until the archway was at its highest point seven feet; and the wire netting was fastened on by my usual assistants. The Young Man was very neat-handed. Then we consulted as to its covering, and, had all suggestions been taken, it would have had to bear a vine on account of its foliage; a virginian creeper for the red leaves in autumn; a Gloire de Dijon since it seemed to prosper in my soil; clematis, both montana and flamulata, and any number of the coloured varieties; a wisteria, as we had none; a pink and a white banksia; a W. A. Richardson and a crimson rambler. My arch having but two sides I was obliged to offend a good many voters, and, despite jeers as to my former failures, I decided on giving the crimson rambler another try. I chose also a white banksia and a clematis montana, with free promises of introducing other clematis and annual creepers later on, and carrying out all ideas when once I had my pergola. * * * * * Even after this supreme effort my autumn's work was only just beginning. There was the verandah with its failures to tackle. The beginning of November I unearthed the ramblers that even still refused to ramble, and soon the cause of their stunted condition was laid bare. "Pot bound! Whoi," said Griggs, "so they are! Curious! I don't moind 'avin' see'd 'em look like that. Maybe I was drefful 'urried at the toime and never paid no 'eed." As he spoke he tore at the poor roots, confined with a web-like substance just the shape of the pot they had come in. Anyone, absolutely _any_ Ignoramus, must have seen the hopelessness of planting a rose-tree with its roots cramped like that. It was impossible for the poor plant to strike out, make itself at home, and get enough nourishment to grow on. How it had managed to live was the marvel. And they were all the same, W. A. Richardson and the other ramblers yellow and red; the standards had not come in pots, so their fate had been better. It was soon done, and I felt that prisoners had been released. We gave them turf mould and manure mixture to strengthen them. But it was not only the roses; all the creepers, excepting one clematis, had made but poor growth. At last the mystery was solved. A spreading beech threw its grateful shade over half the house and grew within three yards of one end of the verandah. How far-reaching were its roots I now discovered, and their greedy feelers taking every bit of nourishment, both deep and near the surface, my creepers fought an unequal fight for their daily bread. The condition of the roots of a poor honeysuckle reminded one of prisoners of the Bastille. But how to circumvent the tree? how to teach it manners? For there it must stay, and so must the creepers and plants. We could cut the roots, but they would come again. Griggs scratched his head. "It's Natur', that's wot it is, an' that ere tree 'ave been 'ere longer than any of us. So you can't do nothink." "We must do something. Young Man, are you thinking?" "Hard," was the answer. "Let's build an underground wall," suggested Jim. But we all shook our heads and thought again. "Let's sink something," said the Young Man. "Oh! a tub, an oil tub!" I almost shouted. "Why, yes," said the Young Man. "I was thinking of zinc, but that sounds so airtight and stuffy." "Wouldn't a wooden tub rot away, though? A coffin goes to pieces pretty quick," said Jim. "Well, it will give them a better chance, and perhaps the roots will get accustomed to going round. Anyway they can be renewed," said the Young Man, cheerfully. "If no other idea is forthcoming, let us go and find some tubs." Now, how long wooden tubs will last under ground I cannot say, but we did then and there sink four tubs beneath the gravel, and filled them with good mixture, making holes and placing stones at the bottom for drainage, and there the roots of the poor starvelings had, at least for a time, a good meal, and when growing time comes I expect the honeysuckle, the roses and the clematis to do justice to their fare. The further end of the verandah was almost out of reach of the greedy roots, as the long white streamers of the flamulata proved. It is a satisfaction when things grow and flower and flourish as books and catalogues have led you to expect. * * * * * Two of my green tubs were now emptied of the still rampant leaves of the nasturtium and the strong-growing geraniums. It seemed a pity to cut short any vigorous life at the dying season of the year, but Jack Frost would feel no compunction, and I might as well try and live up to the Master's maxim of "getting forward"; so after refilling my tubs with as wholesome a mixture as I could, I planted in each four good roots of my old friend hellebore, and had them placed just under the verandah. The Others at first looked askance. "Will they flower?" I bade them examine the already formed buds. For I bought my hellebore in promising condition at one shilling and sixpence each, and by moving them with a good solid lump of earth round the roots I hoped not to check their development. I bought the common kind of white Christmas rose, niger, and also a pinky-purple kind, with tall graceful heads called atrorubens. And when the robins, the snow, the sunshine and my Christmas roses all came together, my verandah realised a very pretty Christmas-card effect, and the Others said, "That is not at all bad." Then the jasmine growing under the verandah burst also into golden stars, its growth of one year having been carefully left alone, and I received as much praise as though I had done something wonderful, which is often the way of the world. "Luck was with glory wed." This, however, is very previous, and I must go back to the end of October. * * * * * I determined the Others should not complain next spring of lack of colour. The sturdy little forget-me-not plants were placed all round the narrow verandah border, and bright red tulips, I allowed myself fifty for that purpose, were buried between their roots a foot apart. That effect ought to be gay. In the small inner border between the windows that open on to the verandah I placed the violets from their too shady bed. By taking them up with good balls of earth I hoped not to check any flowering aspirations they might have, and as this was done in October they did recover, and in November and December they kept the verandah sweet, and ought to do even better in March. Under the study windows I planted a good mass of my red and yellow wallflowers, not only to delight the eye but to send up the fragrance that fills one with the joy of life and spring, and that his Reverence might open his windows in April and say, "Well, the garden _is_ growing;" I also gave him a touching border of forget-me-nots. Then, too, the desolate front border needed attention. It was always a trial, for it was the poorest of my poor soil, and much robbed by laurels, laburnum and may in the background. I knew I ought to re-make the whole border, and treat it as I had treated the new one; but prudence bade me lie low and leave it for another year. I removed the old things, the clumps of seedlings, marigolds, zinnias and the gallant little antirrhinums, who had now marched their last march, also geraniums and dahlias; the latter being carefully dried and stored in an open wooden box in the potting-shed. Griggs kindly gave it "a bit of a dig," and removed the stones that struck even him as being rather heavy for a border. I wish the worms could be taught to carry their useful work a little further and not only dig up the stones but place them in piles by the wayside. We supplemented the poverty of the border with a little of our manure heap diet, and here I may remark that our savoury heap was composed of all kinds of material besides that derived from the stable. The grass mowings, border trimmings, leaf sweepings, also all refuse of roots and vegetables, after having formed a bonfire, were carefully added to this store. The bonfire reduces the bulk but makes valuable diet without the danger of sowing unwelcome seeds. Though to the owners of big gardens worth writing about, and limitless gardeners and purse, my one poor means of improving the soil may seem very inadequate, still it was much better than nothing at all, and about suited to my other equipment of Griggs and ignorance and five pounds. Griggs, who regarded me more and more as an interloper, gave grudgingly of this store. "And wot 'ull I do for _my_ wegetables?" It was always "_my_ wegetables" and "_your_ flowers." "The Rector 'ull be at me if I let you finish hoff that 'ere 'eap. 'E thinks a lot more of 'es wegetables than you do. An 'e's right. You can _eat_ wegetables. So I ain't a-going to let you have no more." I felt reference to his Reverence just then might be injudicious, so I soothed Griggs and put up, or the border did, with pauper fare. The hardiest things were placed here. Foxgloves in clumps, and white and purple Canterbury-bells. Further forward I tried sweet-Williams and lupins. I bought some of these, both white and so-called blue, at five shillings a dozen, rather small plants, but though my friends fulfilled their promises and sent me hampers, I had so much room, and all the long border to think of. Some of my tulip bulbs from last year came in handy, and I edged off with pink silene. To get a border bright in May and June did not seem an impossibility to me now, but to continue the array through the summer was brain-splitting. But though looking forward and calculating is the very essence of gardening, one must also remember that one cannot get two seasons' work into one, and I tried resolutely to put the summer from my mind and reckon only with the spring, leaving February and March to tackle the further future. I turned then to my two round beds. They had been a consolation even after our Visitor had insulted them. "_Si on n'a pas ce qu'on aime, il faut aimer ce qu'on a."_ Theoretically I hate compromises, practically I live by them. And so I prepared two beautiful Persian carpets, nothing to do with carpet bedding, for March, April and May. My polyanthuses just filled in those two round beds, and Jim and I took up the yellow harmony with feelings of regret. "It was a jolly good idea," said Jim, "and you and I concocted it together, you know, Mary. But, would you believe it, his Reverence was talking the other day as though _he_ had evolved the whole blooming show. I said, 'You had better let Mary hear you.'" "Why, that is the biggest compliment the beds could have had, Jim. He would not have claimed them unless they had been a success. I hope my Persian carpets will come off as well; I am only going to give the plants six inches to expand in. They are very neat and trim, and some are forming buds already, which is foolish of them. Nip them off. But things don't grow rampantly in this soil, it is no use deceiving oneself." "I never did," said Jim; "'excepting weeds' you should add." Those beds had to be refreshed, and as Griggs was busy down the kitchen garden, Jim enlisted the Young Man as he left the study and made him help to wheel a barrowful of the "heap" on to the scene of action. "I tell him it's a healthy smell," said Jim; "fancy, he didn't want to come." "Didn't he? Then, Jim, it is very forward of you to make him. His Reverence's Young Man ought not to be worried. He has _much_ more important things to do than plant polyanthuses." "Oh, I dare say! but I wasn't going to lug all this smelly stuff about alone, and you know _you_ won't do it, and Griggs wouldn't let you have it if I had told him to do it, so who was there?" "I am very pleased to be of any service to you, Mistress Mary, but I didn't want to intrude," said the Young Man, and there was an east wind in his voice. "When a fellow was caught by the press-gang he didn't apologise for intruding," said Jim, scornfully. So the Young Man chased Jim round, and after the latter had screamed _"Peccavi!_" they both came back heated and consequently thawed, and I wondered over the boyishness of men. I don't think I am a very good hand at digging; I let Jim feel the superiority of his sex to the full when it comes to hard manual labour, and I have to retract a great deal that I have said in less guarded moments about the masculine hands and feminine head. Jim tried to lure the Young Man into the discussion, but when the opponent lies down flat there is nothing to be done. Jim said it was sneaky, and the Young Man said, "No, feminine diplomacy," with a look that meant "that will cause a rise"; but I was giving all the little brain I had to the work in hand, and my only answer was, "Oh, do dig that in quickly; if Griggs comes he will cart it all away for those rapacious cabbages of his." Jim is sometimes the Young Man's mouthpiece. "Ha, ha! you funk having it out with him." "Perhaps Mistress Mary is merciful because she is strong," said the Young Man. "You don't know her as I do, that's all. She is 'Mary, Mary, quite contrairy.'" I ignored Jim and turned to the Young Man. "And why did you need the press-gang to make you come and help this nice hard-working kind of an afternoon?" Then the reason for the east wind became clear. "I could hardly flatter myself you really wanted me. I have not seen you, not been in the garden, I mean, for five days." "Oh! but whose fault is that?" I asked mildly, for the heinousness of the omission did not startle me. The Young Man straightened up all his six foot and looked tragic. "I offered to come last Thursday, you may remember, and I was told, most politely, that I need not trouble myself." "Now really that is scarcely fair! I only said, I know I said how kind you were, but that you ought not to work too hard, and that, I remember I said quite a number of nice and considerate things." "I heard through all only the 'No,'" said the Young Man, giving a free translation of a favourite German quotation. "You know I value your help. The garden is much indebted to you, but of course I don't like to bother people." "That is quite a new idea," interrupted Jim, scraping his muddy little hands and then plunging them in among the roots again. "I can't say I have seen much result from it myself!" "Don't you know it is no bother to me," continued the Young Man with fresh earnestness. "Don't you know--" "Oh, no, really I don't. I have been working so hard these last few days, and I seem able to think of nothing but roots and bulbs and--practical things like that." "I am sure I wish to be practical. I wish for nothing better," he exclaimed energetically. "Then do finish that row of polyanthuses," I said, looking up with a forgiving smile. "The first sensible word either of you have spoken for the last five minutes," remarked Jim, with decision. "The way you two palaver while _I_ go steady ahead!" But the Young Man interpreted my smile in his own way and went on cheerfully, "That's all right, then. Now, Jim, look to your laurels; these plantlets are going in with a rush!" Weeks after, when contemplating the neat, regular little roots, my thoughts went back, as thoughts will, to the conversation attached to them, and I wondered what he meant by its being "all right." I had never felt anything was wrong. Words are such clumsy mediums, and sometimes even thoughts are too definite. There is a kind of inner consciousness, vague and mystical, full of colour and sensation, but without form or sound, and I think women develop it more strongly than men. The Young Man has a very definite character. His energy next took the form of a large hamper of plants from his mother's garden, a godsend for that half-empty, long border. And my conscience, growing with my garden, I suppose, found a safety-valve in ornamenting the window boxes of the Young Man's sitting-room, lately filled with Mrs Jones's screen of geraniums, with some spare bulbs. I do think they will look rather nice, but his gratitude was quite absurd, for really Jim did most of the work. * * * * * I am aware that to form a proper herbaceous border you should have a colour scheme, or rather several colour schemes, in your mind's eye from the very beginning. This is a counsel of perfection to which I humbly hope I may some day attain. I confess to being still at the stage where all flowers, all colours, and plenty of everything holds great attraction for me. But, Ignoramus as I am, I do not want disorder to reign; one must at least grasp the height and the flowering time of each plant, and strive after a succession of bloom fairly well represented over all the border and all the months. I thought therefore of my background, the tall varieties; my middle distance of less exalted growth, and my foreground of humble height. And then I took a large sheet of paper and drew on it a long border with three divisions, and proceeded to fill in these divisions with what flowers I already had planted, and others yet to come. Then I tried to imagine the plants in bloom, and what colours would look well next each other, and how to repeat them as the eye follows the length of the border. In early spring, as in late autumn, yellow is the most prevalent colour; but in spring the yellow mixed with all the budding green has a most bright and young appearance. It is the sunrise, the promise of the day that is to be; whereas in autumn, with the rich tints of departing glory surrounding it, the suggestion is of "mellow fruitfulness." The yellow doronicum in the middle distance will probably be the first to break the greenness of the herbaceous border, unless there are clumps of daffodils hidden, but I think the border may be full enough without them, and they can be massed in so many places unfit for border plants. Patches of polyanthus and even snowy London pride are useful at that early season, and can be placed near the edge. I saw one lovely effect, but cannot myself undertake to repeat it; it would answer better in a more favoured garden. Instead of the usual box edging the whole length of the border was given to violets, and a delightful purple line as well as delicious scent was the result. It needs more care than the trim box, but the close green leaves form a very effective edging after the flowers have departed. The "bleeding heart" should follow the doronicum very quickly, it also belongs to the middle division; but the colour scheme is still mostly green, with just these occasional breaks. Then the paper border was quickly filled with a bright procession for June and July. At the back delphiniums in numerous successive clumps and all degrees of blue; valerian, several of the strong little roots placed together to form a good show of delightful rosy red blossoms. Foxgloves should rear their effective spotted heads between, and later on lilies--Madonna's white and tiger's yellow--would take their place. Lupins were also in this division, but a little more forward, each division naturally sub-dividing itself into tall and taller. Galega, both white and mauve, were to grow here, but hollyhocks well at the back. The sunflower also, soleil d'or, with the thought of the annual variety to follow in spring, and therefore a space to be left. The smaller kind I kept for the middle division; it is a useful, neat little bush, rigidus by name, and cost me sixpence a plant. Spiræa, a strong, herbaceous variety, should come as a kind of break to the regularity; it should grow so bushy and tall that it must be given two divisions in which to expand. The phlox must be placed at the back, also the hardy white daisy, several old plants of which had weathered Griggs's reign; also the bright and useful golden rod, and some welcome clumps of Japanese anemones. My friends dealt in larger clumps than the mercenary florist, I found. We left a good space here and there for the dahlias, and thus my background seemed fairly full. I considered the iris roots for some time, and then determined to give the German variety a place all to themselves. Strained political relations had nothing to do with my decision, but when not on show the knife-like leaves and twisting roots are not particularly pleasing; so, before his Reverence could forbid, I had my iris row down a side border. The kitchen garden is cut by a most convenient number of paths, and Griggs has no objection to my taking from his space. Then for the middle division I had some of my nurslings ready. More oriental poppies, in groups of three for the present; campanulas, also in threes, but with room for each one to expand; penstemons, but these were cuttings that had been given me, and though promised a place here they were kept for their first winter in the frame and only figured on my paper border. Gaillardias, most promising plants, which even in this their first year had given me one or two of their "effective" blooms, were placed singly; my small and not very satisfactory chrysanthemums were moved forward from the background, where they had been hidden. Michaelmas daisies also were in this division, and my Canterbury-bells and sweet-Williams, though they were not to be permanent plants, and might come out year by year when their duty was done. The doronicums were there and the bleeding heart, and old Lovell's two Turks' heads in sturdy independence, and I added a few clumps of crown imperials. Coreopsis, at five shillings a dozen, joined the show, and montbresias, those that were over from my new border, and in time gladiolas also I hoped, but I had to remember my limitations. In front came groups of columbines and Iceland poppy, the small roots of campanula, the geum already there; and I collected from its scattered hiding-places all the Solomon's seal I could find, and grouped it behind the geums, for I noticed how well those two bore each other company. A few patches of Japanese irises I allowed myself, and again I tried the anemones. Neat labels marked the burying-places of those things that prefer to pass the winter with their heads underground. I think that border, in spite of its many disadvantages, ought to make something of a show, not only on paper. There are other things I hope to have in time for this my old-fashioned border. There is honesty, almost nicer in sound than in reality; and lavender must come here, or where will be the old fashion? Also the "Saracen-head thumping balls" of the purple thistle, and the blue-green sea-holly. Tritoma, called in the vulgar tongue "red poker," ought to have a place in the background. Then rocket, purple and white, is a neat, spikey little plant that should be represented, and I have no doubt that I shall be introduced to many more. If I love them at all, and if they can become at all reconciled to my soil, they shall find a home here. Of course, with so many alterations to be made, and so many new-comers to be welcomed, I had again to break all rules and regulations belonging to a herbaceous border. Griggs and a spade, fatal things both of them, had to be tolerated, and roots disturbed, for in the spring my arrangements had been very happy-go-lucky. Now, armed with a certain amount of information, I hoped to settle things more permanently. But when the length and depth of that border had been worked I felt that my life's task was finished, and I never went near it for three whole days. * * * * * My one and only frame presented a more cheering appearance than it had done the year before. It was a capacious frame, and possessed means for heating. This was often Griggs's one duty in the winter, and a grand excuse for not chopping wood. In the summer and autumn time an ignorant gardener can always account for himself with unnecessary lawn-mowing and diligent sweeping up of leaves that are instantly replaced by others; in the winter, unless snow provides a little gentle exercise, he is sore put to it to fill up his hours with a show of use. Thus the frame with its stoke-hole was a boon to Griggs, and I felt that I too should be much interested in its welfare this winter. For in their winter quarters were my hundred deep red "Henry Jacobys" and sundry other geranium cuttings far removed from Griggs's former favourites. Square wooden boxes held my young penstemons, a nice lot of tiny sprigs from the bluest of the lobelias, and three varieties of antirrhinum, also cuttings of yellow daisies and white. I was trying if cuttings from the not-successful violas would make better plants than those grown from seed, so there was one box devoted to these. A few pots held hyacinth bulbs and tulips, some choice arrangements that were to astonish the Others, coming in a time of dire scarcity. Griggs looked in with something like pride gleaming in his old eyes. He always talked of "moi frame" and what he would allow me to put there. But we had no ructions, and I must only guard against his pride overflowing in too much water. * * * * * One day I took his Reverence's arm and led him round the garden. I steered him past the plantains, for he loves prodding at their stubborn roots, and I wanted his whole attention. I pointed out the present, I referred gracefully to the past, and I dilated on the future. "Now, sir, the year is nearly up, say, 'how has the garden grown?'" "Grown! Why, you wicked girl! I believe you have prigged yet another border!" "Oh! for those irises! Yes. I wasn't talking about that little path and that little border: they will look very nice there by-and-by. I was talking of the flowers." And I led him away from that unlucky path and fixed him opposite my legitimate and much-developed border. "It looks much neater, certainly. I wonder, now, have you let Griggs have any time for the vegetables lately?" "Do you know, sir, the uninitiated might mistake you for a most cold-hearted and callous parent. If you lived up to the ideal, you would be saying beautiful things about my industry, and the conversion of wilderness into rose, and Griggs's, well, not _his_ conversion, but he has done more work this last year than for the twenty before. And you would be saying that the five pounds--" "Ah! I thought we were coming to that. It's quite gone, I suppose?" "Gone! Goodness me! and so has a good deal of its successor. But it is all right. I practically went the year round with that first fiver. All I am doing now is for next year, you see. I have drawn you up a statement of accounts and you will see that I even kept a little money for summer bulbs, though they can only come on next year. Which was generous of the first year to the second, you will perceive. But I wanted so many things that it was too late to buy last autumn or I did not know of them. And I have begged and borrowed as well as bought. Don't you think the garden has grown?" "Yes, Mary, I really do; and I conclude from your having entered upon the second five pounds that you want it, and are not going to resign the situation." "I don't think you can do without me." And his Reverence said, after a moment, "I don't want to try." The little statement of accounts that I formally laid upon the study table was as follows: Bulbs £2 0 0 Seeds £1 10 0 Odd Plants 0 3 6 Roses 0 13 6 Geranium Cuttings 0 6 0 Summer Bulbs 0 7 0 £5 0 0 His Reverence eyed it critically. "How neatly it fits in. You have not been driven to arrange matters with the usual feminine etcetera." "Because I have paid those etceteras myself." "Really, but what were the etceteras? I thought they were always unknown quantities in ladies' accounts." "That is one of the delusions of menkind. My etceteras were all the pennies paid for hampers coming and going, for labels, for scissors, three shillings those, without whose aid I could never have cut my way through the summer; they hold the flowers as you cut and save much backache. Then for sulphur, for quassia chips, for bast, for--" "Hold! I will never ask what a woman's etcetera means again. I see it is much the most important part of the whole account. I wish they always paid it themselves. But why did you?" "Oh, because, because five pounds is _so_ little, you can have no idea how little, to buy everything with." "Yes, but you started away with the idea it was a great deal." "I said I could put _some_ flowers in the garden with it anyway, and so I have. Even the Others allow that." "Well, shall we say six pounds for this next year?" "Will you really, sir? Oh, that is good! Now I shall go at once and order a pound's worth of peonies. There was such an enticing advertisement in this morning's _Standard_, and I have been resisting temptation, because I really had to buy herbaceous plants and a good many bulbs. They have made such a hole. But in time, you see, in time the garden will get quite full." Yes, peonies with the delicious description of "blush rose," "deep carmine," "snowy queen" had held my thoughts for some time. That front border ought to be devoted to all varieties of flowering shrubs, and in time it should be. There was plenty of room for my peonies; so they were quickly ordered and the border made as good for them as I could manage. They like being well-treated. But when I thought of the watering next year my heart failed me. Something must be done. That advertisement and the extra pound lured me on to further bulbs. Two hundred narcissi, mixed, and so cheap! only five shillings, were buried in the grass down the shrubbery side of the lawn. How cheering they would be in spring! A sweep of sweet nodding white and yellow. "There is one thing you have utterly forgotten, Mary, and really no garden should be without them," said one of the Others. "I know you are going to suggest some greenhouse nursling. Remember the frame is not a conservatory." And I hoped my bulbs were still a surprise. "Oh, you old Solomon! And since when do lilies of the valley refuse to grow out of doors?" "Lilies of the valley! Now, why didn't you speak sooner?" "Is it too late? Why? You are still grubbing in things, aren't you?" "I have shut the purse for the autumn. Honestly, I must keep the rest for the spring." "Well, look here, don't be alarmed, we won't do it often, but I looked at your catalogue and saw they were six shillings a hundred, so 'we' give them on the condition we may pick them." "I like you! Where don't you pick? All right, I will gratefully take the six shillings." "A shady spot," I should have said a year ago, but no, not a bit of it, after my experiences with the violets. A narrow border near a little wall, but on which the sun did not flare continuously, and there we prepared the ground, though it seemed pretty good on its own account for a wonder; and the hundred fibrous roots were carefully spread out and covered over. I thought of young "Sandhurst." If I give him lilies of the valley for a button-hole he will think the garden is indeed growing. Though if the lilies should fail! But why should they? Griggs did not touch them. * * * * * Jim said, "You are a fraud, Mary, that's what you are." My thoughts flew to suggestions given for an essay on "The Heroic Qualities" which Jim and I had discussed with much energy. But it was not that. "No, it was pretty footling, that essay, anyway; but the other fellows did just as badly. You promised me a go at tap-roots, and even old Griggs says we can't tackle them now. He says he thinks there are probably jolly long ones, and I do think you might have thought of it in time." "I have been so busy, Jim, and it isn't my department proper. Let us bike over and ask the Master if it is too late. Griggs doesn't really know; he generally repeats what I tell him." "He knows enough not to do things, does Griggs. I have found that out. He is a champion skulker." Jim was very despondent, but a good spin along the hard road, with the bright sun that late autumn sometimes sees, raised his spirits. The Master was in his garden, and oh! how neat and brushed up and ready for its sleeping-time looked his garden. Not empty or dead, but intentionally tucked up and ready for the snowy counterpane, and protected from the biting blast. It was late, he said, but the weather still held up; we might try taking up one at a time and replacing it so that it should not take cold. Jim took the directions with great attention. "I am going to boss this, Mary; you said it wasn't your department." The way he worked and ordered about Griggs and the coachman, summoned to give his unwilling help, promised well for his future as an admiral. The whole roots of the young pear tree were dug up with the greatest care; the tap-root, there it was sure enough, and all the vitality of the tree going gaily to swell its dimensions, was cut away, and then it was raised into a well-doctored hole, with a broad slab-like stone under it to cut short any further aspirations after such a root again, and all other branch roots carefully spread out to encourage growth and general productiveness. Jim worked himself and his men, and also the Young Man, hard; I was an admiring onlooker until the operation was finished and the tree standing up quite firm again. Then, as Jim was bent on yet another, and refused to think it too late, I wandered down my lime-tree walk, where snowdrops were now hidden. I had collected ferns there and more primroses, and clumps of foxgloves on the sunniest side, just where they would catch the eye from the garden. A feeling of peace was in the air; one bird dropped a note and another caught it up; not a ringing challenge of song, but a pleasant exchange of compliments. "Going strong?" "Oh, rather!" "Berries look well." "Prime!" "Good old world!" A squirrel frisked past up a tree with a look down at me, saying, "Ah! don't you wish you could do it!" and then off he went, terribly busy with his nut store. He and Griggs had had a race over the small walnuts which adorned one tree, and I think the squirrel could account for the better part. It was all right, all in order, this going to sleep time, this baring of boughs, decaying of vegetation, this "season of mists." A little while, only a little while and the change would begin; after sleep would come the great awakening. I picked a brown bud from the chestnut tree and cut it in half with my knife. There was the promise, the great life spirit already at work. Cushioned in the centre the embryo of the spiral-shaped bloom for May was to be plainly seen. The spring was preparing right through the winter. I heard Jim's voice, cheery and ringing, "Now then, you fellows, heave away! Oh, I say, Young Man, don't scoot just yet." Steps rustled behind me, and as he joined me we walked on under the lime trees and I tried to talk of my garden, but he did not appear responsive; and finally, when I could walk no further, for I was wedged in the swing gate that opened on to the field he blocked the opening and said, "I don't the least want to talk of the garden." "Well, talk of this," I said, and gave him the chestnut twig I had broken off; "it is full of meaning." "It is very bare and dead-looking." "No. It is really full of life and hope. See its wonderful centre. There, I will open one to give you a parable from Nature. We need hope at this time of the year." "I have been hoping so long," he would not be put off, "perhaps I am tired of mere hoping. I want to progress." "Try faith then," I suggested. His eyes held mine. "There is one thing better than faith, you know." I suppose the wind was cold. I gave a little shiver and he placed his hand over mine. Then I said, "I think faith ought to have its turn." "What is faith in this instance?" "Waiting, I should think," I answered slowly. "But waiting with a knowledge of--" "Ah! I must teach you another parable, I see. When the seed is sown in the ground we have to wait for it to spring up; it has to grow, to grow underground quite a long while before it comes to the light. It is not good to uncover it before it naturally springs up." "Can I be sure the seed is there?" he asked eagerly. "Some seeds take longer than others too, don't they?" I answered evasively. "The annuals come up quite quickly, but perennials are much slower. I prefer perennials, don't you?" "I will wait." "The winter is such a good time for waiting," I remarked cheerfully. "If faith be added to hope is the next step sure?" he questioned. "Don't you know we cannot hurry the seasons. It is no good. If you are in winter, in the faith time, why, be content." "Yes, spring will come, I will wait," he said again, and I too knew that spring would come. I loosened my hand gently and we walked back under the bared boughs of the lime trees, a tangle of grass, weeds and ferns, and a rustling of brown fallen leaves at our feet. A hush as of going to sleep was in the air, and a robin from a full throat seemed to assure us that each season in its turn is good, and that spring never quite leaves the earth. INDEX ACONITE, Winter, 29 Anemones, 10, 173, 235; --Japanese, 186, 195, 233 Annuals, 54, 66, 113 Antirrhinums, 54, 57, 101, 131, 132, 179, 181, 238 Asters, perennial, 195, 197 BEGONIAS, 184 Biennials, 102 Bleeding Heart, 183, 232, 235 CALCEOLARIAS, 4, 183 Campanulas, 53, 106, 183, 212, 234 Canariensis, 55, 105, 187 Canterbury-Bells, 53, 56, 105, 164, 183, 185, 212, 222, 235 Christmas Roses, 47, 218, 219 Chrysanthemums, annual, 55, 113; --perennial, 7, 144, 196, 234 Clematis, 35; --Flamulata, 37, 217; --Montana, 214 Coleus, 184 Columbines, 57, 106, 183, 235 Convolvulus, 55, 105, 187 Coreopsis, 235 Cornflowers, 66, 150, 171 Creeping Jenny, 179 Crocuses, 19, 62 Crown Imperials, 235 DAFFODILS, 20, 28, 52, 71 Dahlias, 7, 145, 233; --Cactus, 195, 221 Daisies, autumn, 81, 233; --white, 55, 150, 181; --yellow, 181 Delphiniums, 54, 84, 147, 182, 211, 232 Doronicum, 81, 183, 231, 235 Dressing for rose roots, 103 ESCHSCHOLTZIA, 57, 177 Elder-tree, 121 FEATHERFEW, 184 Ferns, 72, 248 Forget-me-nots, 104, 130, 164, 213, 219, 220 Foxgloves, 72, 106, 222, 232 Fruit-trees, 108, 247 Fuchsias, 184 GAILLARDIAS, 53, 84, 106, 183, 234 Galega, 86, 182, 233 Geraniums, 4, 143, 180, 221; --Henry Jacoby, 181, 238 Geums, 183, 196, 235 Gladiolas, 54, 183, 212, 235 Godetias, 66, 113, 150, 171 Golden Rod, 81, 197, 233 Green fly, 118, 120 Ground-elder, 110, 148 Gypsophila, 57, 180 HARDY ANNUALS, 175 Hellebore, 38, 47, 218 Hollyhocks, 54, 147, 182, 195, 233 Honeysuckle, 151, 216 Hyacinths, 18, 238 INDIAN-PEA, _see_ Galega Irises; English, 212; --German, 111, 183, 233; --Spanish, 212, 235 Ixias, 183 JAPANESE ROSE, 121 Jasmine, white, 35; --yellow, 32, 34, 37, 219 _KERRIA JAPONICA_, 121 LARKSPUR, 54, 84 Laurel, 120 Lavender, 236 Leopard's Bane, 81 Lilies, 81, 111, 182; --Auratum, 212; --Croceum,212; --Madonna, 212, 232; --Tiger, 182, 232 Lily-of-the-Valley, 244 Lobelia, 57, 101, 181, 238 London Pride, 81, 231 Lupins, 147, 186, 222, 232 MARGUERITES, 55, 59, 141, 181, 238 Marigolds, 55, 101, 141, 183, 197 Mignonette, 55, 56, 173 Montbresias, 54, 183, 212, 235 NARCISSI, 72, 212, 243 Nasturtium, 55, 56, 101, 105, 187 Nicotina, 161 'OLD MAN'S BEARD,' 37 PANSIES, 53 Papaver, _see_ Poppy Penstemons, 57, 84, 106, 183, 196, 234, 238 Peonies, 243 Perennials, 106 Pergola, 204, 210 Phlox, 54, 82, 88, 183, 195, 233; --annual, 176 Plantains, 22, 239 Polyanthus, 53, 57, 100, 106, 132, 224, 231 Poppies, Californian, 57, 177; --Iceland, 57, 147, 196, 235; --Oriental, 106, 211, 234; --Shirley, 57, 66, 113, 150, 171 Primroses, 72, 248 ROCKET, 236 Roses, 74; --Crimson Rambler, 74, 128, 214; --Gloire de Dijon, 74, 129, 187, 213; --Reine Marie Hortense, 74, 128; --William Allen Richardson, 74, 128, 214; --cutting, 77; --Suckers, 79 Rudbeckias, 195 SAINT-FOIN, 151 Salpiglosis, 57, 175 Salvias, 184 Scabious, 57, 142, 183 Scillas, 28, 40, 51 Sea-holly, 236 Silene, 105, 164, 213 Snapdragons, _see_ Antirrhinums Snowdrops, 28, 40, 51 Solomon's Seal, 235 Spiræa, 82, 233 Stocks, 53, 57, 106, 143, 183 Sunflowers, 56, 105, 182, 194, 196, 211, 233; --Rigidus, 233; --Soleil d'Or, 233 Sweet Peas, 56, 65, 107, 150, 174, 193 Sweet-William, 53, 56, 105, 164, 183, 185, 212, 222, 235 Syringa, 121 TAGETES, 55, 57, 101, 142 Thinning plants, 113, 163 Thistle, purple, 196, 236 Tritoma, 85, 236 Tritonia, 165 Tropoeolum, 55 Tulips, 81, 130, 132, 212, 220, 238 Turk's Head, 183, 185, 235 VALERIAN, 182, 185, 232 Verbena, 57 Viola, 53, 57, 60, 131, 238 Violets, 76, 80, 220 Virginian Creeper, 213 WALL-FLOWER, 53, 105, 164, 212, 220 Wisteria, 214 ZINNIA, 56, 57, 183, 221 THE END 
5991	----	The Solitary Summer by Elizabeth von Arnim To the man of wrath With some apologies and much love May May 2nd.--Last night after dinner, when we were in the garden, I said, "I want to be alone for a whole summer, and get to the very dregs of life. I want to be as idle as I can, so that my soul may have time to grow. Nobody shall be invited to stay with me, and if any one calls they will be told that I am out, or away, or sick. I shall spend the months in the garden, and on the plain, and in the forests. I shall watch the things that happen in my garden, and see where I have made mistakes. On wet days I will go into the thickest parts of the forests, where the pine needles are everlastingly dry, and when the sun shines I'll lie on the heath and see how the broom flares against the clouds. I shall be perpetually happy, because there will be no one to worry me. Out there on the plain there is silence, and where there is silence I have discovered there is peace." "Mind you do not get your feet damp," said the Man of Wrath, removing his cigar. It was the evening of May Day, and the spring had taken hold of me body and soul. The sky was full of stars, and the garden of scents, and the borders of wallflowers and sweet, sly pansies. All day there had been a breeze, and all day slow masses of white clouds had been sailing across the blue. Now it was so still, so motionless, so breathless, that it seemed as though a quiet hand had been laid on the garden, soothing and hushing it into silence. The Man of Wrath sat at the foot of the verandah steps in that placid after-dinner mood which suffers fools, if not gladly, at least indulgently, and I stood in front of him, leaning against the sun-dial. "Shall you take a book with you?" he asked. "Yes, I shall," I replied, slightly nettled by his tone. "I am quite ready to admit that though the fields and flowers are always ready to teach, I am not always in the mood to learn, and sometimes my eyes are incapable of seeing things that at other times are quite plain." "And then you read?" "And then I read. Well, dear Sage, what of that?" But he smoked in silence, and seemed suddenly absorbed by the stars. "See," he said, after a pause, during which I stood looking at him and wishing he would use longer sentences, and he looked at the sky and did not think about me at all, "see how bright the stars are to-night. Almost as though it might freeze." "It isn't going to freeze, and I won't look at anything until you have told me what you think of my idea. Wouldn't a whole lovely summer, quite alone, be delightful? Wouldn't it be perfect to get up every morning for weeks and feel that you belong to yourself and to nobody else?" And I went over to him and put a hand on each shoulder and gave him a little shake, for he persisted in gazing at the stars just as though I had not been there. "Please, Man of Wrath, say something long for once," I entreated; "you haven't said a good long sentence for a week." He slowly brought his gaze from the stars down to me and smiled. Then he drew me on to his knee. "Don't get affectionate," I urged; "it is words, not deeds, that I want. But I'll stay here if you'll talk." "Well then, I will talk. What am I to say? You know you do as you please, and I never interfere with you. If you do not want to have any one here this summer you will not have any one, but you will find it a very long summer." "No, I won't." "And if you lie on the heath all day, people will think you are mad." "What do I care what people think?" "No, that is true. But you will catch cold, and your little nose will swell." "Let it swell." "And when it is hot you will be sunburnt and your skin spoilt." "I don't mind my skin." "And you will be dull." "Dull?" It often amuses me to reflect how very little the Man of Wrath really knows me. Here we have been three years buried in the country, and I as happy as a bird the whole time. I say as a bird, because other people have used the simile to describe absolute cheerfulness, although I do not believe birds are any happier than any one else, and they quarrel disgracefully. I have been as happy then, we will say, as the best of birds, and have had seasons of solitude at intervals before now during which dull is the last word to describe my state of mind. Everybody, it is true, would not like it, and I had some visitors here a fortnight ago who left after staying about a week and clearly not enjoying themselves. They found it dull, I know, but that of course was their own fault; how can you make a person happy against his will? You can knock a great deal into him in the way of learning and what the schools call extras, but if you try for ever you will not knock any happiness into a being who has not got it in him to be happy. The only result probably would be that you knock your own out of yourself. Obviously happiness must come from within, and not from without; and judging from my past experience and my present sensations, I should say that I have a store just now within me more than sufficient to fill five quiet months. "I wonder," I remarked after a pause, during which I began to suspect that I too must belong to the serried ranks of the femmes incomprises, "why you think I shall be dull. The garden is always beautiful, and I am nearly always in the mood to enjoy it. Not quite always, I must confess, for when those Schmidts were here" (their name was not Schmidt, but what does that matter?) "I grew almost to hate it. Whenever I went into it there they were, dragging themselves about with faces full of indignant resignation. Do you suppose they saw one of those blue hepaticas overflowing the shrubberies? And when I drove with them into the woods, where the fairies were so busy just then hanging the branches with little green jewels, they talked about Berlin the whole time, and the good savouries their new chef makes." "Well, my dear, no doubt they missed their savouries. Your garden, I acknowledge, is growing very pretty, but your cook is bad. Poor Schmidt sometimes looked quite ill at dinner, and the beauty of your floral arrangements in no way made up for the inferior quality of the food. Send her away." "Send her away? Be thankful you have her. A bad cook is more effectual a great deal than Kissingen and Carlsbad and Homburg rolled into one, and very much cheaper. As long as I have her, my dear man, you will be comparatively thin and amiable. Poor Schmidt, as you call him, eats too much of those delectable savouries, and then looks at his wife and wonders why he married her. Don't let me catch you doing that." "I do not think it is very likely," said the Man of Wrath; but whether he meant it prettily, or whether he was merely thinking of the improbability of his ever eating too much of the local savouries, I cannot tell. I object, however, to discussing cooks in the garden on a starlight night, so I got off his knee and proposed that we should stroll round a little. It was such a sweet evening, such a fitting close to a beautiful May Day, and the flowers shone in the twilight like pale stars, and the air was full of fragrance, and I envied the bats fluttering through such a bath of scent, with the real stars above and the pansy stars beneath, and themselves so fashioned that even if they wanted to they could not make a noise and disturb the prevailing peace. A great deal that is poetical has been written by English people about May Day, and the impression left on the foreign mind is an impression of posies, and garlands, and village greens, and youths and maidens much be-ribboned, and lambs, and general friskiness. I was in England once on a May Day, and we sat over the fire shivering and listening blankly to the north- east wind tearing down the street and the rattling of the hail against the windows, and the friends with whom I was staying said it was very often so, and that they had never seen any lambs and ribbons. We Germans attach no poetical significance to it at all, and yet we well might, for it is almost invariably beautiful; and as for garlands, I wonder how many villages full of young people could have been provided with them out of my garden, and nothing be missed. It is to-day a garden of wallflowers, and I think I have every colour and sort in cultivation. The borders under the south windows of the house, so empty and melancholy this time last year, are crammed with them, and are finished off in front by a broad strip from end to end of yellow and white pansies. The tea rose beds round the sun-dial facing these borders are sheets of white, and golden, and purple, and wine-red pansies, with the dainty red shoots of the tea roses presiding delicately in their midst. The verandah steps leading down into this pansy paradise have boxes of white, and pink, and yellow tulips all the way up on each side, and on the lawn, behind the roses, are two big beds of every coloured tulip rising above a carpet of forget-me-nots. How very much more charming different-coloured tulips are together than tulips in one colour by itself! Last year, on the recommendation of sundry writers about gardens, I tried beds of scarlet tulips and forget-me-nots. They were pretty enough; but I wish those writers could see my beds of mixed tulips. I never saw anything so sweetly, delicately gay. The only ones I exclude are the rose-coloured ones; but scarlet, gold, delicate pink, and white are all there, and the effect is infinitely enchanting. The forget-me-nots grow taller as the tulips go off, and will presently tenderly engulf them altogether, and so hide the shame of their decay in their kindly little arms. They will be left there, clouds of gentle blue, until the tulips are well withered, and then they will be taken away to make room for the scarlet geraniums that are to occupy these two beds in the summer and flare in the sun as much as they like. I love an occasional mass of fiery colour, and these two will make the lilies look even whiter and more breathless that are to stand sentinel round the semicircle containing the precious tea roses. The first two years I had this garden, I was determined to do exactly as I chose in it, and to have no arrangements of plants that I had not planned, and no plants but those I knew and loved; so, fearing that an experienced gardener would profit by my ignorance, then about as absolute as it could be, and thrust all his bedding nightmares upon me, and fill the place with those dreadful salad arrangements so often seen in the gardens of the indifferent rich, I would only have a meek man of small pretensions, who would be easily persuaded that I knew as much as, or more than, he did himself. I had three of these meek men one after the other, and learned what I might long ago have discovered, that the less a person knows, the more certain he is that he is right, and that no weapons yet invented are of any use in a struggle with stupidity. The first of these three went melancholy mad at the end of a year; the second was love-sick, and threw down his tools and gave up his situation to wander after the departed siren who had turned his head; the third, when I inquired how it was that the things he had sown never by any chance came up, scratched his head, and as this is a sure sign of ineptitude, I sent him away. Then I sat down and thought. I had been here two years and worked hard, through these men, at the garden; I had done my best to learn all I could and make it beautiful; I had refused to have more than an inferior gardener because of his supposed more perfect obedience, and one assistant, because of my desire to enjoy the garden undisturbed; I had studied diligently all the gardening books I could lay hands on; I was under the impression that I am an ordinarily intelligent person, and that if an ordinarily intelligent person devotes his whole time to studying a subject he loves, success is very probable; and yet at the end of two years what was my garden like? The failures of the first two summers had been regarded with philosophy; but that third summer I used to go into it sometimes and cry. As far as I was concerned I had really learned a little, and knew what to buy, and had fairly correct notions as to when and in what soil to sow and plant what I had bought; but of what use is it to buy good seeds and plants and bulbs if you are forced to hand them over to a gardener who listens with ill-concealed impatience to the careful directions you give him, says Jawohl a great many times, and then goes off and puts them in in the way he has always done, which is invariably the wrong way? My hands were tied because of the unfortunate circumstance of sex, or I would gladly have changed places with him and requested him to do the talking while I did the planting, and as he probably would not have talked much there would have been a distinct gain in the peace of the world, which would surely be very materially increased if women's tongues were tied instead of their hands, and those that want to could work with them without collecting a crowd. And is it not certain that the more one's body works the fainter grow the waggings of one's tongue? I sometimes literally ache with envy as I watch the men going about their pleasant work in the sunshine, turning up the luscious damp earth, raking, weeding, watering, planting, cutting the grass, pruning the trees--not a thing that they do from the first uncovering of the roses in the spring to the November bonfires but fills my soul with longing to be up and doing it too. A great many things will have to happen, however, before such a state of popular large-mindedness as will allow of my digging without creating a sensation is reached, so I have plenty of time for further grumblings; only I do very much wish that the tongues inhabiting this apparently lonely and deserted countryside would restrict their comments to the sins, if any, committed by the indigenous females (since sins are fair game for comment) and leave their harmless eccentricities alone. After having driven through vast tracts of forest and heath for hours, and never meeting a soul or seeing a house, it is surprising to be told that on such a day you took such a drive and were at such a spot; yet this has happened to me more than once. And if even this is watched and noted, with what lightning rapidity would the news spread that I had been seen stalking down the garden path with a hoe over my shoulder and a basket in my hand, and weeding written large on every feature! Yet I should love to weed. I think it was the way the weeds flourished that put an end at last to my hesitations about taking an experienced gardener and giving him a reasonable number of helpers, for I found that much as I enjoyed privacy, I yet detested nettles more, and the nettles appeared really to pick out those places to grow in where my sweetest things were planted, and utterly defied the three meek men when they made periodical and feeble efforts to get rid of them. I have a large heart in regard to things that grow, and many a weed that would not be tolerated anywhere else is allowed to live and multiply undisturbed in my garden. They are such pretty things, some of them, such charmingly audacious things, and it is so particularly nice of them to do all their growing, and flowering, and seed-bearing without any help or any encouragement. I admit I feel vexed if they are so officious as to push up among my tea roses and pansies, and I also prefer my paths without them; but on the grass, for instance, why not let the poor little creatures enjoy themselves quietly, instead of going out with a dreadful instrument and viciously digging them up one by one? Once I went into the garden just as the last of the three inept ones had taken up his stand, armed with this implement, in the middle of the sheet of gold and silver that is known for convenience' sake as the lawn, and was scratching his head, as he looked round, in a futile effort to decide where he should begin. I saved the dandelions and daisies on that occasion, and I like to believe they know it. They certainly look very jolly when I come out, and I rather fancy the dandelions dig each other in their little ribs when they see me, and whisper, "Here comes Elizabeth; she's a good sort, ain't she?"--for of course dandelions do not express themselves very elegantly. But nettles are not to be tolerated. They settled the question on which I had been turning my back for so long, and one fine August morning, when there seemed to be nothing in the garden but nettles, and it was hard to believe that we had ever been doing anything but carefully cultivating them in all their varieties, I walked into the Man of Wrath's den. "My dear man," I began, in the small caressing voice of one who has long been obstinate and is in the act of giving in, "will you kindly advertise for a head gardener and a proper number of assistants? Nearly all the bulbs and seeds and plants I have squandered my money and my hopes on have turned out to be nettles, and I don't like them. I have had a wretched summer, and never want to see a meek gardener again." "My dear Elizabeth," he replied, "I regret that you did not take my advice sooner. How often have I pointed out the folly of engaging one incapable person after the other? The vegetables, when we get any, are uneatable, and there is never any fruit. I do not in the least doubt your good intentions, but you are wanting in judgment. When will you learn to rely on my experience?" I hung my head; for was he not in the pleasant position of being able to say, "I told you so"?--which indeed he has been saying for the last two years. "I don't like relying," I murmured, "and have rather a prejudice against somebody else's experience. Please will you send the advertisement to-day?" They came in such shoals that half the population must have been head gardeners out of situations. I took all the likely ones round the garden, and I do not think I ever spent a more chastening week than that week of selection. Their remarks were, naturally, of the frankest nature, as I had told them I had had practically only gardeners' assistants since I lived here, and they had no idea, when they were politely scoffing at some arrangement, that it happened to be one of my own. The hot-beds in the kitchen garden with which I had taken such pains were objects of special derision. It appeared that they were all wrong--measurements, preparation, soil, manure, everything that could be wrong, was. Certainly the only crop we had from them was weeds. But I began about half way through the week to grow sceptical, because on comparing their criticisms I found they seldom agreed, and so took courage again. Finally I chose a nice, trim young man, with strikingly intelligent eyes and quick movements, who had shown himself less concerned with the state of chaos existing than with considerations of what might eventually be made of the place. He is very deaf, so he wastes no time in words, and is exceedingly keen on gardening, and knows, as I very soon discovered, a vast amount more than I do, in spite of my three years' application. Moreover, he is filled with that humility and eagerness to learn which is only found in those who have already learned more than their neighbours. He enters into my plans with enthusiasm, and makes suggestions of his own, which, if not always quite in accordance with what are perhaps my peculiar tastes, at least plainly show that he understands his business. We had a very busy winter together altering all the beds, for they none of them had been given a soil in which plants could grow, and next autumn I intend to have all the so-called lawns dug up and levelled, and shall see whether I cannot have decent turf here. I told him he must save the daisy and dandelion roots, and he looked rather crestfallen at that, but he is young, and can learn to like what I like, and get rid of his only fault, a nursery- gardener attitude towards all flowers that are not the fashion. "I shall want a great many daffodils next spring," I shouted one day at the beginning of our acquaintance. His eyes gleamed. "Ah yes," he said with immediate approval, "they are _sehr modern." I was divided between amusement at the notion of Spenser's daffadowndillies being _modern_, and indignation at hearing exactly the same adjective applied to them that the woman who sells me my hats bestows on the most appalling examples of her stock. "They are to be in troops on the grass," I said; whereupon his face grew doubtful. "That is indeed _sehr modern_," I shouted. But he had grown suddenly deafer--a phenomenon I have observed to occur every time my orders are such as he has never been given before. After a time he will, I think, become imbued with my unorthodoxy in these matters; and meanwhile he has the true gardening spirit and loves his work, and love, after all, is the chief thing. I know of no compost so good. In the poorest soil, love alone, by itself, will work wonders. Down the garden path, past the copse of lilacs with their swelling dark buds, and the great three-cornered bed of tea roses and pansies in front of it, between the rows of china roses and past the lily and foxglove groups, we came last night to the spring garden in the open glade round the old oak; and there, the first to flower of the flowering trees, and standing out like a lovely white naked thing against the dusk of the evening, was a double cherry in full bloom, while close beside it, but not so visible so late, with all their graceful growth outlined by rosy buds, were two Japanese crab apples. The grass just there is filled with narcissus, and at the foot of the oak a colony of tulips consoles me for the loss of the purple crocus patches, so lovely a little while since. "I must be by myself for once a whole summer through," I repeated, looking round at these things with a feeling of hardly being able to bear their beauty, and the beauty of the starry sky, and the beauty of the silence and the scent--"I must be alone, so that I shall not miss one of these wonders, and have leisure really to _live_." "Very well, my dear," replied the Man of Wrath, "only do not grumble afterwards when you find it dull. You shall be solitary if you choose, and, as far as I am concerned, I will invite no one. It is always best to allow a woman to do as she likes if you can, and it saves a good deal of bother. To have what she desired is generally an effective punishment." "Dear Sage," I cried, slipping my hand through his arm, "don't be so wise! I promise you that I won't be dull, and I won't be punished, and I will be happy." And we sauntered slowly back to the house in great contentment, discussing the firmament and such high things, as though we knew all about them. May 15th.--There is a dip in the rye-fields about half a mile from my garden gate, a little round hollow like a dimple, with water and reeds at the bottom, and a few water-loving trees and bushes on the shelving ground around. Here I have been nearly every morning lately, for it suits the mood I am in, and I like the narrow footpath to it through the rye, and I like its solitary dampness in a place where everything is parched, and when I am lying on the grass and look down I can see the reeds glistening greenly in the water, and when I look up I can see the rye-fringe brushing the sky. All sorts of beasts come and stare at me, and larks sing above me, and creeping things crawl over me, and stir in the long grass beside me; and here I bring my book, and read and dream away the profitable morning hours, to the accompaniment of the amorous croakings of innumerable frogs. Thoreau has been my companion for some days past, it having struck me as more appropriate to bring him out to a pond than to read him, as was hitherto my habit, on Sunday mornings in the garden. He is a person who loves the open air, and will refuse to give you much pleasure if you try to read him amid the pomp and circumstance of upholstery; but out in the sun, and especially by this pond, he is delightful, and we spend the happiest hours together, he making statements, and I either agreeing heartily, or just laughing and reserving my opinion till I shall have more ripely considered the thing. He, of course, does not like me as much as I like him, because I live in a cloud of dust and germs produced by wilful superfluity of furniture, and have not the courage to get a match and set light to it: and every day he sees the door-mat on which I wipe my shoes on going into the house, in defiance of his having told me that he had once refused the offer of one on the ground that it is best to avoid even the beginnings of evil. But my philosophy has not yet reached the acute stage that will enable me to see a door-mat in its true character as a hinderer of the development of souls, and I like to wipe my shoes. Perhaps if I had to live with few servants, or if it were possible, short of existence in a cave, to do without them altogether, I should also do without door-mats, and probably in summer without shoes too, and wipe my feet on the grass nature no doubt provides for this purpose; and meanwhile we know that though he went to the woods, Thoreau came back again, and lived for the rest of his days like other people. During his life, I imagine he would have refused to notice anything so fatiguing as an ordinary German woman, and never would have deigned discourse to me on the themes he loved best; but now his spirit belongs to me, and all he thought, and believed, and felt, and he talks as much and as intimately to me here in my solitude as ever he did to his dearest friends years ago in Concord. In the garden he was a pleasant companion, but in the lonely dimple he is fascinating, and the morning hours hurry past at a quite surprising rate when he is with me, and it grieves me to be obliged to interrupt him in the middle of some quaint sentence or beautiful thought just because the sun is touching a certain bush down by the water's edge, which is a sign that it is lunch-time and that I must be off. Back we go together through the rye, he carefully tucked under one arm, while with the other I brandish a bunch of grass to keep off the flies that appear directly we emerge into the sunshine. "Oh, my dear Thoreau," I murmur sometimes, overcome by the fierce heat of the little path at noonday and the persistence of the flies, "did you have flies at Walden to exasperate you? And what became of your philosophy then?" But he never notices my plaints, and I know that inside his covers he is discoursing away like anything on the folly of allowing oneself to be overwhelmed in that terrible rapid and whirlpool called a dinner, which is situated in the meridian shallows, and of the necessity, if one would keep happy, of sailing by it looking another way, tied to the mast like Ulysses. But he gets grimly carried back for all that, and is taken into the house and put on his shelf and left there, because I still happen to have a body attached to my spirit, which, if not fed at the ordinary time, becomes a nuisance. Yet he is right; luncheon is a snare of the tempter, and I would perhaps try to sail by it like Ulysses if I had a biscuit in my pocket to comfort me, but there are the babies to be fed, and the Man of Wrath, and how can a respectable wife and mother sail past any meridian shallows in which those dearest to her have stuck? So I stand by them, and am punished every day by that two-o'clock-in-the-afternoon feeling to which I so much object, and yet cannot avoid. It is mortifying, after the sunshiny morning hours at my pond, when I feel as though I were almost a poet, and very nearly a philosopher, and wholly a joyous animal in an ecstasy of love with life, to come back and live through those dreary luncheon- ridden hours, when the soul is crushed out of sight and sense by cutlets and asparagus and revengeful sweet things. My morning friend turns his back on me when I reenter the library; nor do I ever touch him in the afternoon. Books have their idiosyncrasies as well as people, and will not show me their full beauties unless the place and time in which they are read suits them. If, for instance, I cannot read Thoreau in a drawing-room, how much less would I ever dream of reading Boswell in the grass by a pond! Imagine carrying him off in company with his great friend to a lonely dell in a rye-field, and expecting them to be entertaining. "Nay, my dear lady," the great man would say in mighty tones of rebuke, "this will never do. Lie in a rye-field? What folly is that? And who would converse in a damp hollow that can help it?" So I read and laugh over my Boswell in the library when the lamps are lit, buried in cushions and surrounded by every sign of civilisation, with the drawn curtains shutting out the garden and the country solitude so much disliked by both sage and disciple. Indeed, it is Bozzy who asserts that in the country the only things that make one happy are meals. "I was happy," he says, when stranded at a place called Corrichatachin in the Island of Skye, and unable to get out of it because of the rain,--"I was happy when tea came. Such I take it is the state of those who live in the country. Meals are wished for from the cravings of vacuity of mind, as well as from the desire of eating." And such is the perverseness of human nature that Boswell's wisdom delights me even more than Johnson's, though I love them both very heartily. In the afternoon I potter in the garden with Goethe. He did not, I am sure, care much really about flowers and gardens, yet he said many lovely things about them that remain in one's memory just as persistently as though they had been inspired expressions of actual feelings; and the intellect must indeed have been gigantic that could so beautifully pretend. Ordinary blunderers have to feel a vast amount before they can painfully stammer out a sentence that will describe it; and when they have got it out, how it seems to have just missed the core of the sensation that gave it birth, and what a poor, weak child it is of what was perhaps a mighty feeling! I read Goethe on a special seat, never departed from when he accompanies me, a seat on the south side of an ice-house, and thus sheltered from the north winds sometimes prevalent in May, and shaded by the low-hanging branches of a great beech-tree from more than flickering sunshine. Through these branches I can see a group of giant poppies just coming into flower, flaming out beyond the trees on the grass, and farther down a huge silver birch, its first spring green not yet deepened out of delicacy, and looking almost golden backed by a solemn cluster of firs. Here I read Goethe-- everything I have of his, both what is well known and what is not; here I shed invariable tears over Werther, however often I read it; here I wade through Wilhelm Meister, and sit in amazement before the complications of the Wahlverwandschaften; here I am plunged in wonder and wretchedness by Faust; and here I sometimes walk up and down in the shade and apostrophise the tall firs at the bottom of the glade in the opening soliloquy of Iphigenia. Every now and then I leave the book on the seat and go and have a refreshing potter among my flower beds, from which I return greatly benefited, and with a more just conception of what, in this world, is worth bothering about, and what is not. In the evening, when everything is tired and quiet, I sit with Walt Whitman by the rose beds and listen to what that lonely and beautiful spirit has to tell me of night, sleep, death, and the stars. This dusky, silent hour is his; and this is the time when I can best hear the beatings of that most tender and generous heart. Such great love, such rapture of jubilant love for nature, and the good green grass, and trees, and clouds, and sunlight; such aching anguish of love for all that breathes and is sick and sorry; such passionate longing to help and mend and comfort that which never can be helped and mended and comforted; such eager looking to death, delicate death, as the one complete and final consolation--before this revelation of yearning, universal pity, every-day selfishness stands awe-struck and ashamed. When I drive in the forests, Keats goes with me; and if I extend my drive to the Baltic shores, and spend the afternoon on the moss beneath the pines whose pink stems form the framework of the sea, I take Spenser; and presently the blue waves are the ripples of the Idle Lake, and a tiny white sail in the distance is Phaedria's shallow ship, bearing Cymochles swiftly away to her drowsy little nest of delights. How can I tell why Keats has never been brought here, and why Spenser is brought again and again? Who shall follow the dark intricacies of the elementary female mind? It is safer not to attempt to do so, but by simply cataloguing them collectively under the heading Instinct, have done with them once and for all. What a blessing it is to love books. Everybody must love something, and I know of no objects of love that give such substantial and unfailing returns as books and a garden. And how easy it would have been to come into the world without this, and possessed instead of an all-consuming passion, say, for hats, perpetually raging round my empty soul! I feel I owe my forefathers a debt of gratitude, for I suppose the explanation is that they too did not care for hats. In the centre of my library there is a wooden pillar propping up the ceiling, and preventing it, so I am told, from tumbling about our ears; and round this pillar, from floor to ceiling, I have had shelves fixed, and on these shelves are all the books that I have read again and again, and hope to read many times more--all the books, that is, that I love quite the best. In the bookcases round the walls are many that I love, but here in the centre of the room, and easiest to get at, are those I love the _best_--the very elect among my favourites. They change from time to time as I get older, and with years some that are in the bookcases come here, and some that are here go into the bookcases, and some again are removed altogether, and are placed on certain shelves in the drawing-room which are reserved for those that have been weighed in the balance and found wanting, and from whence they seldom, if ever, return. Carlyle used to be among the elect. That was years ago, when my hair was very long, and my skirts very short, and I sat in the paternal groves with _Sartor Resartus_, and felt full of wisdom and _Weltschmerz_; and even after I was married, when we lived in town, and the noise of his thunderings was almost drowned by the rattle of droschkies over the stones in the street below, he still shone forth a bright, particular star. Now, whether it is age creeping upon me, or whether it is that the country is very still and sound carries, or whether my ears have grown sensitive, I know not; but the moment I open him there rushes out such a clatter of denunciation, and vehemence, and wrath, that I am completely deafened; and as I easily get bewildered, and love peace, and my chief aim is to follow the apostle's advice and study to be quiet, he has been degraded from his high position round the pillar and has gone into retirement against the wall, where the accident of alphabet causes him to rest in the soothing society of one Carina, a harmless gentleman, whose book on the _Bagni di Lucca_ is on his left, and a Frenchman of the name of Charlemagne, whose soporific comedy written at the beginning of the century and called _Le Testament de l'Oncle_, _ou Les Lunettes Cassees_, is next to him on his right. Two works of his still remain, however, among the elect, though differing in glory--his _Frederick the Great_, fascinating for obvious reasons to the patriotic German mind, and his _Life of Sterling_, a quiet book on the whole, a record of an uneventful life, in which the natural positions of subject and biographer are reversed, the man of genius writing the life of the unimportant friend, and the fact that the friend was exceedingly lovable in no way lessening one's discomfort in the face of such an anomaly. Carlyle stands on an eminence altogether removed from Sterling, who stands, indeed, on no eminence at all, unless it be an eminence, that (happily) crowded bit of ground, where the bright and courageous and lovable stand together. We Germans have all heard of Carlyle, and many of us have read him with due amazement, our admiration often interrupted by groans at the difficulties his style places in the candid foreigner's path; but without Carlyle which of us would ever have heard of Sterling? And even in this comparatively placid book mines of the accustomed vehemence are sprung on the shrinking reader. To the prosaic German, nourished on a literature free from thunderings and any marked acuteness of enthusiasm, Carlyle is an altogether astonishing phenomenon. And here I feel constrained to inquire sternly who I am that I should talk in this unbecoming manner of Carlyle? To which I reply that I am only a humble German seeking after peace, devoid of the least real desire to criticise anybody, and merely anxious to get out of the way of geniuses when they make too much noise. All I want is to read quietly the books that I at present prefer. Carlyle is shut up now and therefore silent on his comfortable shelf; yet who knows but what in my old age, when I begin to feel really young, I may not once again find comfort in him? What a medley of books there is round my pillar! Here is Jane Austen leaning against Heine--what would she have said to that, I wonder?--with Miss Mitford and _Cranford_ to keep her in countenance on her other side. Here is my Goethe, one of many editions I have of him, the one that has made the acquaintance of the ice-house and the poppies. Here are Ruskin, Lubbock, White's _Selborne_, Izaak Walton, Drummond, Herbert Spencer (only as much of him as I hope I understand and am afraid I do not), Walter Pater, Matthew Arnold, Thoreau, Lewis Carroll, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Hawthorne, _Wuthering Heights_, Lamb's _Essays_, Johnson's _Lives_, Marcus Aurelius, Montaigne, Gibbon, the immortal Pepys, the egregious Boswell, various American children's books that I loved as a child and read and love to this day; various French children's books, loved for the same reason; whole rows of German children's books, on which I was brought up, with their charming woodcuts of quaint little children in laced bodices, and good housemothers cutting bread and butter, and descriptions of the atmosphere of fearful innocence and pure religion and swift judgments and rewards in which they lived, and how the _Finger Gottes_ was impressed on everything that happened to them; all the poets; most of the dramatists; and, I verily believe, every gardening book and book about gardens that has been published of late years. These gardening books are an unfailing delight, especially in winter, when to sit by my blazing peat fire with the snow driving past the windows and read the luscious descriptions of roses and all the other summer glories is one of my greatest pleasures. And then how well I get to know and love those gardens whose gradual development has been described by their owners, and how happily I wander in fancy down the paths of certain specially charming ones in Lancashire, Berkshire, Surrey, and Kent, and admire the beautiful arrangement of bed and border, and the charming bits in unexpected corners, and all the evidences of untiring love! Any book I see advertised that treats of gardens I immediately buy, and thus possess quite a collection of fascinating and instructive garden literature. A few are feeble, and get shunted off into the drawing-room; but the others stay with me winter and summer, and soon lose the gloss of their new coats, and put on the comfortable look of old friends in every-day clothes, under the frequent touch of affection. They are such special friends that I can hardly pass them without a nod and a smile at the well-known covers, each of which has some pleasant association of time and place to make it still more dear. My spirit too has wandered in one or two French gardens, but has not yet heard of a German one loved beyond everything by its owner. It is, of course, possible that my countrymen do love them and keep quiet about them, but many things are possible that are not probable, and experience compels me to the opinion that this is one of them. We have the usual rich man who has fine gardens laid out regardless of expense, but those are not gardens in the sense I mean; and we have the poor man with his bit of ground, hardly ever treated otherwise than as a fowl-run or a place dedicated to potatoes; and as for the middle class, it is too busy hurrying through life to have time or inclination to stop and plant a rose. How glad I am I need not hurry. What a waste of life, just getting and spending. Sitting by my pansy beds, with the slow clouds floating leisurely past, and all the clear day before me, I look on at the hot scramble for the pennies of existence and am lost in wonder at the vulgarity that pushes, and cringes, and tramples, untiring and unabashed. And when you have got your pennies, what then? They are only pennies, after all--unpleasant, battered copper things, without a gold piece among them, and never worth the degradation of self, and the hatred of those below you who have fewer, and the derision of those above you who have more. And as I perceive I am growing wise, and what is even worse, allegorical, and as these are tendencies to be fought against as long as possible, I'll go into the garden and play with the babies, who at this moment are sitting in a row on the buttercups, singing what appear to be selections from popular airs. June June 3rd.--The Man of Wrath, I observe, is laying traps for me and being deep. He has prophesied that I will find solitude intolerable, and he is naturally desirous that his prophecy should be fulfilled. He knows that continuous rain depresses me, and he is awaiting a spell of it to bring me to a confession that I was wrong after all, whereupon he will make that remark so precious to the married heart, "My dear, I told you so." He begins the day by tapping the barometer, looking at the sky, and shaking his head. If there are any clouds he remarks that they are coming up, and if there are none he says it is too fine to last. He has even gone the length once or twice of starting off to the farm on hot, sunny mornings in his mackintosh, in order to impress on me beyond all doubt that the weather is breaking up. He studiously keeps out of my way all day, so that I may have every opportunity of being bored as quickly as possible, and in the evenings he retires to his den directly after dinner, muttering something about letters. When he has finally disappeared, I go out to the stars and laugh at his transparent wiles. But how would it be if we did have a spell of wet weather? I do not quite know. As long as it is fine, rainy days in the future do not seem so very terrible, and one, or even two really wet ones are quite enjoyable when they do come--pleasant times that remind one of the snug winter now so far off, times of reading, and writing, and paying one's bills. I never pay bills or write letters on fine summer days. Not for any one will I forego all that such a day rightly spent out of doors might give me; so that a wet day at intervals is almost as necessary for me as for my garden. But how would it be if there were many wet days? I believe a week of steady drizzle in summer is enough to make the stoutest heart depressed. It is to be borne in winter by the simple expedient of turning your face to the fire; but when you have no fire, and very long days, your cheerfulness slowly slips away, and the dreariness prevailing out of doors comes in and broods in the blank corners of your heart. I rather fancy, however, that it is a waste of energy to ponder over what I should do if we had a wet summer on such a radiant day as this. I prefer sitting here on the verandah and looking down through a frame of leaves at all the rosebuds June has put in the beds round the sun-dial, to ponder over nothing, and just be glad that I am alive. The verandah at two o'clock on a summer's afternoon is a place in which to be happy and not decide anything, as my friend Thoreau told me of some other tranquil spot this morning. The chairs are comfortable, there is a table to write on, and the shadows of young leaves flicker across the paper. On one side a Crimson Rambler is thrusting inquisitive shoots through the wooden bars, being able this year for the first time since it was planted to see what I am doing up here, and next to it a Jackmanni clematis clings with soft young fingers to anything it thinks likely to help it up to the goal of its ambition, the roof. I wonder which of the two will get there first. Down there in the rose beds, among the hundreds of buds there is only one full-blown rose as yet, a Marie van Houtte, one of the loveliest of the tea roses, perfect in shape and scent and colour, and in my garden always the first rose to flower; and the first flowers it bears are the loveliest of its own lovely flowers, as though it felt that the first of its children to see the sky and the sun and the familiar garden after the winter sleep ought to put on the very daintiest clothes they can muster for such a festal occasion. Through the open schoolroom windows I can hear the two eldest babies at their lessons. The village schoolmaster comes over every afternoon and teaches them for two hours, so that we are free from governesses in the house, and once those two hours are over they are free for twenty-four from anything in the shape of learning. The schoolroom is next to the verandah, and as two o'clock approaches their excitement becomes more and more intense, and they flutter up and down the steps, looking in their white dresses like angels on a Jacob's ladder, or watch eagerly among the bushes for a first glimpse of him, like miniature and perfectly proper Isoldes. He is a kind giant with that endless supply of patience so often found in giants, especially when they happen to be village schoolmasters, and judging from the amount of laughter I hear, the babies seem to enjoy their lessons in a way they never did before. Every day they prepare bouquets for him, and he gets more of them than a _prima donna_, or at any rate a more regular supply. The first day he came I was afraid they would be very shy of such a big strange man, and that he would extract nothing from them but tears; but the moment I left them alone together and as I shut the door, I heard them eagerly informing him, by way of opening the friendship, that their heads were washed every Saturday night, and that their hair-ribbons did not match because there had not been enough of the one sort to go round. I went away hoping that they would not think it necessary to tell him how often my head is washed, or any other news of a personal nature about me; but I believe by this time that man knows everything there is to know about the details of my morning toilet, which is daily watched with the greatest interest by the Three. I hope he will be more successful than I was in teaching them Bible stories. I never got farther than Noah, at which stage their questions became so searching as to completely confound me; and as no one likes being confounded, and it is especially regrettable when a parent is placed in such a position, I brought the course to an abrupt end by assuming that owl-like air of wisdom peculiar to infallibility in a corner, and telling them that they were too young to understand these things for the present; and they, having a touching faith in the truth of every word I say, gave three contented little purrs of assent, and proposed that we should play instead at rolling down the grass bank under the south windows--which I did not do, I am glad to remember. But the schoolmaster, after four weeks' teaching, has got them as far as Moses, and safely past the Noah's ark on which I came to grief, and if glibness is a sign of knowledge then they have learned the story very thoroughly. Yesterday, after he had gone, they emerged into the verandah fresh from Moses and bursting with eagerness to tell me all about it. "Herr Schenk told us to-day about Moses," began the April baby, making a rush at me. "Oh?" "Yes, and a _boser_, _boser Konig_ who said every boy must be deaded, and Moses was the _allerliebster_." "Talk English, my _dear_ baby, and not such a dreadful mixture," I besought. "He wasn't a cat." "A cat?" "Yes, he wasn't a cat, that Moses--a boy was he." "But of course he wasn't a cat," I said with some severity; "no one ever supposed he was." "Yes, but mummy," she explained eagerly, with much appropriate hand- action, "the cook's Moses _is_ a cat." "Oh, I see. Well?" "And he was put in a basket in the water, and that did swim. And then one time they comed, and she said--" "Who came? And who said?" "Why, the ladies; and the _Konigstochter_ said, _'Ach hormal_, _da_ _schreit so etwas_.'" "In German?" "Yes, and then they went near, and one must take off her shoes and stockings and go in the water and fetch that tiny basket, and then they made it open, and that _Kind_ did cry and cry and _strampel_ so"--here both the babies gave such a vivid illustration of the _strampeln_ that the verandah shook--"and see! it is a tiny baby. And they fetched somebody to give it to eat, and the _Konigstochter_ can keep that boy, and further it doesn't go." "Do you love Moses, mummy?" asked the May baby, jumping into my lap, and taking my face in both her hands--one of the many pretty, caressing little ways of a very pretty, caressing little creature. "Yes," I replied bravely, "I love him." "Then I too!" they cried with simultaneous gladness, the seal having thus been affixed to the legitimacy of their regard for him. To be of such authority that your verdict on every subject under heaven is absolute and final is without doubt to be in a proud position, but, like all proud positions, it bristles with pitfalls and drawbacks to the weak-kneed; and most of my conversations with the babies end in a sudden change of subject made necessary by the tendency of their remarks and the unanswerableness of their arguments. Happily, yesterday the Moses talk was brought to an end by the April baby herself, who suddenly remembered that I had not yet seen and sympathised with her dearest possession, a Dutch doll called Mary Jane, since a lamentable accident had bereft it of both its legs; and she had dived into the schoolroom and fished it out of the dark corner reserved for the mangled and thrust it in my face before I had well done musing on the nature and extent of my love for Moses--for I try to be conscientious--and bracing myself to meet the next question. "See this poor Mary Jane," she said, her voice and hand quivering with tenderness as she lifted its petticoats to show me the full extent of the calamity, "see, mummy, no legs--only twowsers and nothing further." I wish they would speak English a little better. The pains I take to correct them and weed out the German words that crop up in every sentence are really untiring, and the results discouraging. Indeed, as they get older the German asserts itself more and more, and is threatening to swallow up the little English they have left entirely. I talk English steadily with them, but everybody else, including a small French nurse lately imported, nothing but German. Somebody told me the thing to do was to let children pick up languages when they were babies, at which period they absorb them as easily as food and drink, and are quite unaware that they are learning anything at all; whereupon I immediately introduced this French girl into the family, forgetting how little English they have absorbed, and the result has been that they pass their days delightfully in teaching her German. They were astonished at first on discovering that she could not understand a word they said, and soon set about altering such an uncomfortable state of things; and as they are three to one and very zealous, and she is a meek little person with a profile like a teapot with a twisted black handle of hair, their success was practically certain from the beginning, and she is getting on quite nicely with her German, and has at least already thoroughly learned all the mistakes. She wanders in the garden with a surprised look on her face as of one who is moving about in worlds not realised; and the three cling to her skirts and give her enthusiastic lessons all day long. Poor Seraphine! What courage to weigh anchor at eighteen and go into a foreign country, to a place where you are among utter strangers, without a friend, unable to speak a word of the language, and not even sure before you start whether you will be given enough to eat. Either it is that saddest of courage forced on the timid by necessity, or, as Doctor Johnson would probably have said, it is stark insensibility; and I am afraid when I look at her I silently agree with the apostle of common sense, and take it for granted that she is incapable of deep feeling, for the altogether inadequate reason that she has a certain resemblance to a teapot. Now is it not hard that a person may have a soul as beautiful as an angel's, a dwelling-place for all sweet sounds and harmonies, and if nature has not thought fit to endow his body with a chin the world will have none of him? The vulgar prejudice is in favour of chins, and who shall escape its influence? I, for one, cannot, though theoretically I utterly reject the belief that the body is the likeness of the soul; for has not each of us friends who, we know, love beyond everything that which is noble and good, and who by no means themselves look noble and good? And what about all the beautiful persons who love nothing on earth except themselves? Yet who in the world cares how perfect the nature may be, how humble, how sweet, how gracious, that dwells in a chinless body? Nobody has time to inquire into natures, and the chinless must be content to be treated in something of the same good-natured, tolerant fashion in which we treat our poor relations until such time as they shall have grown a beard; and those who by their sex are for ever shut out from this glorious possibility will have to take care, should they be of a bright intelligence, how they speak with the tongues of men and of angels, nothing being more droll than the effect of high words and poetic ideas issuing from a face that does not match them. I wish we were not so easily affected by each other's looks. Sometimes, during the course of a long correspondence with a friend, he grows to be inexpressibly dear to me; I see how beautiful his soul is, how fine his intellect, how generous his heart, and how he already possesses in great perfection those qualities of kindness, and patience, and simplicity, after which I have been so long and so vainly striving. It is not I clothing him with the attributes I love and wandering away insensibly into that sweet land of illusions to which our footsteps turn whenever they are left to themselves, it is his very self unconsciously writing itself into his letters, the very man as he is without his body. Then I meet him again, and all illusions go. He is what I had always found him when we were together, good and amiable; but some trick of manner, some feature or attitude that I do not quite like, makes me forget, and be totally unable to remember, what I know from his letters to be true of him. He, no doubt, feels the same thing about me, and so between us there is a thick veil of something fixed, which, dodge as we may, we never can get round. "Well, and what do you conclude from all that?" said the Man of Wrath, who had been going out by the verandah door with his gun and his dogs to shoot the squirrels before they had eaten up too many birds, and of whose coat-sleeve I had laid hold as he passed, keeping him by me like a second Wedding Guest, and almost as restless, while I gave expression to the above sentiments. "I don't know," I replied, "unless it is that the world is very evil and the times are waxing late, but that doesn't explain anything either, because it isn't true." And he went down the steps laughing and shaking his head and muttering something that I could not quite catch, and I am glad I could not, for the two words I did hear were women and nonsense. He has developed an unexpected passion for farming, much to my relief, and though we came down here at first only tentatively for a year, three have passed, and nothing has been said about going back to town. Nor will anything be said so long as he is not the one to say it, for no three years of my life can come up to these in happiness, and not even those splendid years of childhood that grow brighter as they recede were more full of delights. The delights are simple, it is true, and of the sort that easily provoke a turning up of the worldling's nose; but who cares for noses that turn up? I am simple myself, and never tire of the blessed liberty from all restraints. Even such apparently indifferent details as being able to walk straight out of doors without first getting into a hat and gloves and veil are full of a subtle charm that is ever fresh, and of which I can never have too much. It is clear that I was born for a placid country life, and placid it certainly is; so much so that the days are sometimes far more like a dream than anything real, the quiet days of reading, and thinking, and watching the changing lights, and the growth and fading of the flowers, the fresh quiet days when life is so full of zest that you cannot stop yourself from singing because you are so happy, the warm quiet days lying on the grass in a secluded corner observing the procession of clouds--this being, I admit, a particularly undignified attitude, but think of the edification! Each morning the simple act of opening my bedroom windows is the means of giving me an ever-recurring pleasure. Just underneath them is a border of rockets in full flower, at that hour in the shadow of the house, whose gables lie sharply defined on the grass beyond, and they send up their good morning of scent the moment they see me leaning out, careful not to omit the pretty German custom of morning greeting. I call back mine, embellished with many endearing words, and then their fragrance comes up close, and covers my face with gentlest little kisses. Behind them, on the other side of the lawn on this west side of the house, is a thick hedge of lilac just now at its best, and what that best is I wish all who love lilac could see. A century ago a man lived here who loved his garden. He loved, however, in his younger years, travelling as well, but in his travels did not forget this little corner of the earth belonging to him, and brought back the seeds of many strange trees such as had never been seen in these parts before, and tried experiments with them in the uncongenial soil, and though many perished, a few took hold, and grew, and flourished, and shade me now at tea-time. What flowers he had, and how he arranged his beds, no one knows, except that the eleven beds round the sun-dial were put there by him; and of one thing he seems to have been inordinately fond, and that was lilac. We have to thank him for the surprising beauty of the garden in May and early June, for he it was who planted the great groups of it, and the banks of it, and massed it between the pines and firs. Wherever a lilac bush could go a lilac bush went; and not common sorts, but a variety of good sorts, white, and purple, and pink, and mauve, and he must have planted it with special care and discrimination, for it grows here as nothing else will, and keeps his memory, in my heart at least, for ever gratefully green. On the wall behind our pew in church there is his monument, he having died here full of years, in the peace that attends the last hours of a good man who has loved his garden; and to the long Latin praises of his virtues and eminence I add, as I pass beneath it on Sundays, a heartiest Amen. Who would not join in the praises of a man to whom you owe your lilacs, and your Spanish chestnuts, and your tulip trees, and your pyramid oaks? "He was a good man, for he loved his garden"--that is the epitaph I would have put on his monument, because it gives one a far clearer sense of his goodness and explains it better than any amount of sonorous Latinities. How could he be anything _but_ good since he loved a garden--that divine filter that filters all the grossness out of us, and leaves us, each time we have been in it, clearer, and purer, and more harmless? June 16th.--Yesterday morning I got up at three o'clock and stole through the echoing passages and strange dark rooms, undid with trembling hands the bolts of the door to the verandah, and passed out into a wonderful, unknown world. I stood for a few minutes motionless on the steps, almost frightened by the awful purity of nature when all the sin and ugliness is shut up and asleep, and there is nothing but the beauty left. It was quite light, yet a bright moon hung in the cloudless grey-blue sky; the flowers were all awake, saturating the air with scent; and a nightingale sat on a hornbeam quite close to me, in loud raptures at the coming of the sun. There in front of me was the sun- dial, there were the rose bushes, there was the bunch of pansies I had dropped the night before still lying on the path, but how strange and unfamiliar it all looked, and how holy--as though God must be walking there in the cool of the day. I went down the path leading to the stream on the east side of the garden, brushing aside the rockets that were bending across it drowsy with dew, the larkspurs on either side of me rearing their spikes of heavenly blue against the steely blue of the sky, and the huge poppies like splashes of blood amongst the greys and blues and faint pearly whites of the innocent, new-born day. On the garden side of the stream there is a long row of silver birches, and on the other side a rye-field reaching across in powdery grey waves to the part of the sky where a solemn glow was already burning. I sat down on the twisted, half-fallen trunk of a birch and waited, my feet in the long grass and my slippers soaking in dew. Through the trees I could see the house with its closed shutters and drawn blinds, the people in it all missing, as I have missed day after day, the beauty of life at that hour. Just behind me the border of rockets and larkspurs came to an end, and, turning my head to watch a stealthy cat, my face brushed against a wet truss of blossom and got its first morning washing. It was wonderfully quiet, and the nightingale on the hornbeam had everything to itself as I sat motionless watching that glow in the east burning redder; wonderfully quiet, and so wonderfully beautiful because one associates daylight with people, and voices, and bustle, and hurryings to and fro, and the dreariness of working to feed our bodies, and feeding our bodies that we may be able to work to feed them again; but here was the world wide awake and yet only for me, all the fresh pure air only for me, all the fragrance breathed only by me, not a living soul hearing the nightingale but me, the sun in a few moments coming up to warm only me, and nowhere a single hard word being spoken, or a single selfish act being done, nowhere anything that could tarnish the blessed purity of the world as God has given it us. If one believed in angels one would feel that they must love us best when we are asleep and cannot hurt each other; and what a mercy it is that once in every twenty-four hours we are too utterly weary to go on being unkind. The doors shut, and the lights go out, and the sharpest tongue is silent, and all of us, scolder and scolded, happy and unhappy, master and slave, judge and culprit, are children again, tired, and hushed, and helpless, and forgiven. And see the blessedness of sleep, that sends us back for a space to our early innocence. Are not our first impulses on waking always good? Do we not all know how in times of wretchedness our first thoughts after the night's sleep are happy? We have been dreaming we are happy, and we wake with a smile, and stare still smiling for a moment at our stony griefs before with a stab we recognise them. There were no clouds, and presently, while I watched, the sun came up quickly out of the rye, a great, bare, red ball, and the grey of the field turned yellow, and long shadows lay upon the grass, and the wet flowers flashed out diamonds. And then as I sat there watching, and intensely happy as I imagined, suddenly the certainty of grief, and suffering, and death dropped like a black curtain between me and the beauty of the morning, and then that other thought, to face which needs all our courage--the realisation of the awful solitariness in which each of us lives and dies. Often I could cry for pity of our forlornness, and of the pathos of our endeavours to comfort ourselves. With what an agony of patience we build up the theories of consolation that are to protect, in times of trouble, our quivering and naked souls! And how fatally often the elaborate machinery refuses to work at the moment the blow is struck. I got up and turned my face away from the unbearable, indifferent brightness. Myriads of small suns danced before my eyes as I went along the edge of the stream to the seat round the oak in my spring garden, where I sat a little, looking at the morning from there, drinking it in in long breaths, and determining to think of nothing but just be happy. What a smell of freshly mown grass there was, and how the little heaps into which it had been raked the evening before sparkled with dewdrops as the sun caught them. And over there, how hot the poppies were already beginning to look--blazing back boldly in the face of the sun, flashing back fire for fire. I crossed the wet grass to the hammock under the beech on the lawn, and lay in it awhile trying to swing in time to the nightingale's tune; and then I walked round the ice-house to see how Goethe's corner looked at such an hour; and then I went down to the fir wood at the bottom of the garden where the light was slanting through green stems; and everywhere there was the same mystery, and emptiness, and wonder. When four o'clock drew near I set off home again, not desiring to meet gardeners and have my little hour of quiet talked about, still less my dressing-gown and slippers; so I picked a bunch of roses and hurried in, and just as I softly bolted the door, dreadfully afraid of being taken for a burglar, I heard the first water-cart of the day creaking round the corner. Fearfully I crept up to my room, and when I awoke at eight o'clock and saw the roses in a glass by my side, I remembered what had happened as though it had been years ago. Now here I have had an experience that I shall not soon forget, something very precious, and private, and close to my soul; a feeling as though I had taken the world by surprise, and seen it as it really is when off its guard--as though I had been quite near to the very core of things. The quiet holiness of that hour seems all the more mysterious now, because soon after breakfast yesterday the wind began to blow from the northwest, and has not left off since, and looking out of the window I cannot believe that it is the same garden, with the clouds driving over it in black layers, and angry little showers every now and then bespattering its harassed and helpless inhabitants, who cannot pull their roots up out of the ground and run for their lives, as I am sure they must long to do. How discouraging for a plant to have just proudly opened its loveliest flowers, the flowers it was dreaming about all the winter and working at so busily underground during the cold weeks of spring, and then for a spiteful shower of five minutes' duration to come and pelt them down, and batter them about, and cover the tender, delicate things with irremediable splashes of mud! Every bed is already filled with victims of the gale, and those that escape one shower go down before the next; so I must make up my mind, I suppose, to the wholesale destruction of the flowers that had reached perfection--that head of white rockets among them that washed my face a hundred years ago--and look forward cheerfully to the development of the younger generation of buds which cannot yet be harmed. I know these gales. We get them quite suddenly, always from the north- west, and always cold. They ruin my garden for a day or two, and in the summer try my temper, and at all seasons try my skin; yet they are precious because of the beautiful clear light they bring, the intensity of cold blue in the sky and the terrific purple blackness of the clouds one hour and their divine whiteness the next. They fly screaming over the plain as though ten thousand devils with whips were after them, and in the sunny intervals there is nothing in any of nature's moods to equal the clear sharpness of the atmosphere, all the mellowness and indistinctness beaten out of it, and every leaf and twig glistening coldly bright. It is not becoming, a north-westerly gale; it treats us as it treats the garden, but with opposite results, roughly rubbing the softness out of our faces, as I can see when I look at the babies, and avoid the further proof of my own reflection in the glass. But there is life in it, glowing, intense, robust life, and when in October after weeks of serene weather this gale suddenly pounces on us in all its savageness, and the cold comes in a gust, and the trees are stripped in an hour, what a bracing feeling it is, the feeling that here is the first breath of winter, that it is time to pull ourselves together, that the season of work, and discipline, and severity is upon us, the stern season that forces us to look facts in the face, to put aside our dreams and languors, and show what stuff we are made of. No one can possibly love the summer, the dear time of dreams, more passionately than I do; yet I have no desire to prolong it by running off south when the winter approaches and so cheat the year of half its lessons. It is delightful and instructive to potter among one's plants, but it is imperative for body and soul that the pottering should cease for a few months, and that we should be made to realise that grim other side of life. A long hard winter lived through from beginning to end without shirking is one of the most salutary experiences in the world. There is no nonsense about it; you could not indulge in vapours and the finer sentiments in the midst of its deadly earnest if you tried. The thermometer goes down to twenty degrees of frost Reaumur, and down you go with it to the realities, to that elementary state where everything is big--health and sickness, delight and misery, ecstasy and despair. It makes you remember your poorer neighbours, and sends you into their homes to see that they too are fitted out with the armour of warmth and food necessary in the long fight; and in your own home it draws you nearer than ever to each other. Out of doors it is too cold to walk, so you run, and are rewarded by the conviction that you cannot be more than fifteen; or you get into your furs, and dart away in a sleigh over the snow, and are sure there never was music so charming as that of its bells; or you put on your skates, and are off to the lake to which you drove so often on June nights, when it lay rosy in the reflection of the northern glow, and all alive with myriads of wild duck and plovers, and which is now, but for the swish of your skates, so silent, and but for your warmth and jollity, so forlorn. Nor would I willingly miss the early darkness and the pleasant firelight tea and the long evenings among my books. It is then that I am glad I do not live in a cave, as I confess I have in my more godlike moments wished to do; it is then that I feel most capable of attending to the Man of Wrath's exhortations with an open mind; it is then that I actually like to hear the shrieks of the wind, and then that I give my heartiest assent, as I warm my feet at the fire, to the poet's proposition that all which we behold is full of blessings. But what dreariness can equal the dreariness of a cold gale at midsummer? I have been chilly and dejected all day, shut up behind the streaming window-panes, and not liking to have a fire because of its dissipated appearance in the scorching intervals of sunshine. Once or twice my hand was on the bell and I was going to order one, when out came the sun and it was June again, and I ran joyfully into the dripping, gleaming garden, only to be driven in five minutes later by a yet fiercer squall. I wandered disconsolately round my pillar of books, looking for the one that would lend itself best to the task of entertaining me under the prevailing conditions, but they all looked gloomy, and reserved, and forbidding. So I sat down in a very big chair, and reflected that if there were to be many days like this it might be as well to ask somebody cheerful to come and sit opposite me in all those other big chairs that were looking so unusually gigantic and empty. When the Man of Wrath came in to tea there were such heavy clouds that the room was quite dark, and he peered about for a moment before he saw me. I suppose in the gloom of the big room I must have looked rather lonely, and smaller than usual buried in the capacious chair, for when he finally discovered me his face widened into an inappropriately cheerful smile. "Well, my dear," he said genially, "how very cold it is." "Did you come in to say that?" I asked. "This tempest is very unusual in the summer," he proceeded; to which I made no reply of any sort. "I did not see you at first amongst all these chairs and cushions. At least, I saw you, but it is so dark I thought you were a cushion." Now no woman likes to be taken for a cushion, so I rose and began to make tea with an icy dignity of demeanour. "I am afraid I shall be forced to break my promise not to invite any one here," he said, watching my face as he spoke. My heart gave a distinct leap--so small is the constancy and fortitude of woman. "But it will only be for one night." My heart sank down as though it were lead. "And I have just received a telegram that it will be to-night." Up went my heart with a cheerful bound. "Who is it?" I inquired. And then he told me that it was the least objectionable of the candidates for the living here, made vacant by our own parson having been appointed superintendent, the highest position in the Lutheran Church; and the gale must have brought me low indeed for the coming of a solitary parson to give me pleasure. The entire race of Lutheran parsons is unpleasing to me,--whether owing to their fault or to mine, it would ill become me to say,--and the one we are losing is the only one I have met that I can heartily respect, and admire, and like. But he is quite one by himself in his extreme godliness, perfect simplicity, and real humility, and though I knew it was unlikely we should find another as good, and I despised myself for the eagerness with which I felt I was looking forward to seeing a new face, I could not stop myself from suddenly feeling cheerful. Such is the weakness of the female mind, and such the unexpected consequences of two months' complete solitude with forty-eight hours' gale at the end of them. We have had countless applications during the last few weeks for the living, as it is a specially fat one for this part of the country, with a yearly income of six thousand marks, and a good house, and several acres of land. The Man of Wrath has been distracted by the difficulties of choice. According to the letters of recommendation, they were all wonderful men with unrivalled powers of preaching, but on closer inquiry there was sure to be some drawback. One was too old, another not old enough; another had twelve children, and the parsonage only allows for eight; one had a shrewish wife, and another was of Liberal tendencies in politics--a fatal objection; one was in money difficulties because he would spend more than he had, which was not surprising when one heard what he did have; and another was disliked in his parish because he and his wife were too close-fisted and would not spend at all; and at last, the Man of Wrath explained, the moment having arrived when if he did not himself appoint somebody his right to do so would lapse, he had written to the one who was coming, and invited him down that he might look at him, and ask him searching questions as to the faith which is in him. I forgot my gloom, and my half-formed desperate resolve to break my vow of solitude and fill the house with the frivolous, as I sat listening to the cheerful talk of the little parson this evening. He was so cheerful, yet it was hard to see any cause for it in the life he was leading, a life led by the great majority of the German clergy, fat livings being as rare here as anywhere else. He told us with pleasant frankness all about himself, how he lived on an income of two thousand marks with a wife and six children, and how he was often sorely put to it to keep decent shoes on their feet. "I am continually drawing up plans of expenditure," he said, "but the shoemaker's bill is always so much more than I had expected that it throws my calculations completely out." His wife, of course, was ailing, but already his eldest child, a girl of ten, took a great deal of the work off her mother's shoulders, poor baby. He was perfectly natural, and said in the simplest way that if the choice were to fall on him it would relieve him of many grinding anxieties; whereupon I privately determined that if the choice did not fall on him the Man of Wrath and I would be strangers from that hour. "Have you been worrying him with questions about his principles?" I asked, buttonholing the Man of Wrath as he came out from a private conference with him. "Principles? My dear Elizabeth, how can he have any on that income?" "If he is not a Conservative will you let that stand in his way, and doom that little child to go on taking work off other people's shoulders?" "My dear Elizabeth," he protested, "what has my decision for or against him to do with dooming little children to go on doing anything? I really cannot be governed by sentiment." "If you don't give it to him--" and I held up an awful finger of warning as he retreated, at which he only laughed. When the parson came to say good-night and good-bye, as he was leaving very early in the morning, I saw at once by his face that all was right. He bent over my hand, stammering out words of thanks and promises of devotion and invocations of blessings in such quantities that I began to feel quite pleased with myself, and as though I had been doing a virtuous deed. This feeling I saw reflected on the Man of Wrath's face, which made me consider that all we had done was to fill the living in the way that suited us best, and that we had no cause whatever to look and feel so benevolent. Still, even now, while the victorious candidate is dreaming of his trebled income and of the raptures of his home-coming to-morrow, the glow has not quite departed, and I am dwelling with satisfaction on the fact that we have been able to raise eight people above those hideous cares that crush all the colour out of the lives of the genteel poor. I am glad he has so many children, because there will be more to be made happy. They will be rich on the little income, and will no doubt dismiss the wise and willing eldest baby to appropriate dolls and pinafores; and everybody will have what they never yet have had, a certain amount of that priceless boon, leisure--leisure to sit down and look at themselves, and inquire what it is they really mean, and really want, and really intend to do with their lives. And this, I may observe, is a beneficial process wholly impossible on 100 pounds a year divided by eight. But I wonder whether they will be thin-skinned enough ever to discover that other and less delightful side of life only seen by those who have plenty of leisure. Sordid cares may be very terrible to the sensitive, and make them miss the best of everything, but as long as they have them and are busy from morning till night keeping up appearances, they miss also the burden of those fears, and dreads, and realisations that beset him who has time to think. When in the morning I go into my sausage-room and give out sausages, I never think of anything but sausages. My horizon is bounded by them, every faculty is absorbed by them, and they engross me, while I am with them, to the exclusion of the whole world. Not that I love them; as far as that goes, unlike the effect they produce on most of my country-men, they leave me singularly cold; but it is one of my duties to begin the day with sausages, and every morning for the short time I am in the midst of their shining rows, watching my _Mamsell_ dexterously hooking down the sleekest with an instrument like a boat-hook, I am practically dead to every other consideration in heaven or on earth. What are they to me, Love, Life, Death, all the mysteries? The one thing that concerns me is the due distribution to the servants of sausages; and until that is done, all obstinate questionings and blank misgivings must wait. If I were to spend my days in their entirety doing such work I should never have time to think, and if I never thought I should never feel, and if I never felt I should never suffer or rapturously enjoy, and so I should grow to be something very like a sausage myself, and not on that account, I do believe, any the less precious to the Man of Wrath. I know what I would do if I were both poor and genteel--the gentility should go to the place of all good ilities, including utility, respectability, and imbecility, and I would sit, quite frankly poor, with a piece of bread, and a pot of geraniums, and a book. I conclude that if I did without the things erroneously supposed necessary to decency I might be able to afford a geranium, because I see them so often in the windows of cottages where there is little else; and if I preferred such inexpensive indulgences as thinking and reading and wandering in the fields to the doubtful gratification arising from kept- up appearances (always for the bedazzlement of the people opposite, and therefore always vulgar), I believe I should have enough left over to buy a radish to eat with my bread; and if the weather were fine, and I could eat it under a tree, and give a robin some crumbs in return for his cheeriness, would there be another creature in the world so happy? I know there would not. JULY July 1st.--I think that after roses sweet-peas are my favourite flowers. Nobody, except the ultra-original, denies the absolute supremacy of the rose. She is safe on her throne, and the only question to decide is which are the flowers that one loves next best. This I have been a long while deciding, though I believe I knew all the time somewhere deep down in my heart that they were sweet-peas; and every summer when they first come out, and every time, going round the garden, that I come across them, I murmur involuntarily, "Oh yes, _you_ are the sweetest, you dear, dear little things." And what a victory this is, to be ranked next the rose even by one person who loves her garden. Think of the wonderful beauty triumphed over--the lilies, the irises, the carnations, the violets, the frail and delicate poppies, the magnificent larkspurs, the burning nasturtiums, the fierce marigolds, the smooth, cool pansies. I have a bed at this moment in the full glory of all these things, a little chosen plot of fertile land, about fifteen yards long and of irregular breadth, shutting in at its broadest the east end of the walk along the south front of the house, and sloping away at the back down to a moist, low bit by the side of a very tiny stream, or rather thread of trickling water, where, in the dampest corner, shining in the sun, but with their feet kept cool and wet, is a colony of Japanese irises, and next to them higher on the slope Madonna lilies, so chaste in looks and so voluptuous in smell, and then a group of hollyhocks in tenderest shades of pink, and lemon, and white, and right and left of these white marguerites and evening primroses and that most exquisite of poppies called Shirley, and a little on one side a group of metallic blue delphiniums beside a towering white lupin, and in and out and everywhere mignonette, and stocks, and pinks, and a dozen other smaller but not less lovely plants. I wish I were a poet, that I might properly describe the beauty of this bit as it sparkles this afternoon in the sunshine after rain; but of all the charming, delicate, scented groups it contains, none to my mind is so lovely as the group of sweet-peas in its north-west corner. There is something so utterly gentle and tender about sweet-peas, something so endearing in their clinging, winding, yielding growth; and then the long straight stalk, and the perfect little winged flower at the top, with its soft, pearly texture and wonderful range and combination of colours--all of them pure, all of them satisfying, not an ugly one, or even a less beautiful one among them. And in the house, next to a china bowl of roses, there is no arrangement of flowers so lovely as a bowl of sweet-peas, or a Delf jar filled with them. What a mass of glowing, yet delicate colour it is! How prettily, the moment you open the door, it seems to send its fragrance to meet you! And how you hang over it, and bury your face in it, and love it, and cannot get away from it. I really am sorry for all the people in the world who miss such keen pleasure. It is one that each person who opens his eyes and his heart may have; and indeed, most of the things that are really worth having are within everybody's reach. Any one who chooses to take a country walk, or even the small amount of trouble necessary to get him on to his doorstep and make him open his eyes, may have them, and there are thousands of them thrust upon us by nature, who is for ever giving and blessing, at every turn as we walk. The sight of the first pale flowers starring the copses; an anemone held up against the blue sky with the sun shining through it towards you; the first fall of snow in the autumn; the first thaw of snow in the spring; the blustering, busy winds blowing the winter away and scurrying the dead, untidy leaves into the corners; the hot smell of pines--just like blackberries--when the sun is on them; the first February evening that is fine enough to show how the days are lengthening, with its pale yellow strip of sky behind the black trees whose branches are pearled with raindrops; the swift pang of realisation that the winter is gone and the spring is coming; the smell of the young larches a few weeks later; the bunch of cowslips that you kiss and kiss again because it is so perfect, because it is so divinely sweet, because of all the kisses in the world there is none other so exquisite--who that has felt the joy of these things would exchange them, even if in return he were to gain the whole world, with all its chimney-pots, and bricks, and dust, and dreariness? And we know that the gain of a world never yet made up for the loss of a soul. One day, in going round the head inspector's garden with his wife, whose care it is, I remarked with surprise that she had no sweet-peas. I called them _Lathyrus odoratus_, and she, having little Latin, did not understand. Then I called them _wohlriechende Wicken_, the German rendering of that which sounds so pretty in English, and she said she had never heard of them. The idea of an existence in a garden yet without sweet-peas, so willing, so modest, and so easily grown, had never presented itself as possible to my imagination. Ever since I can remember, my summers have been filled with them; and in the days when I sat in my own perambulator and they were three times as tall as I was, I well recollect a certain waving hedge of them in the garden of my childhood, and how I stared up longingly at the flowers so far beyond my reach, inaccessibly tossing against the sky. When I grew bigger and had a small garden of my own, I bought their seeds to the extent of twenty pfennings, and trained the plants over the rabbit-hutch that was the chief feature in the landscape. There were other seeds in that garden seeds on which I had laid out all my savings and round which played my fondest hopes, but the sweet-peas were the only ones that came up. The same thing happened here in my first summer, my gardening knowledge not having meanwhile kept pace with my years, and of the seeds sown that first season sweet-peas again were the only ones that came up. I should say they were just the things for people with very little time and experience at their disposal to grow. A garden might be made beautiful with sweet-peas alone, and, with hardly any labour, except the sweet labour of picking to prolong the bloom, be turned into a fairy bower of delicacy and refinement. Yet the Frau Inspector not only had never heard of them, but, on my showing her a bunch, was not in the least impressed, and led me in her garden to a number of those exceedingly vulgar red herbaceous peonies growing among her currant bushes, and announced with conviction that they were her favourite flower. It was on the tip of my tongue to point out that in these days of tree-peonies, and peonies so lovely in their silvery faint tints that they resemble gigantic roses, it is absolutely wicked to suffer those odious red ones to pervert one's taste; that a person who sees nothing but those every time he looks out of his window very quickly has his nice perception for true beauty blunted; that such a person would do well to visit my garden every day during the month of May, and so get himself cured by the sight of my peony bushes covered with huge scented white and blush flowers; and that he would, I was convinced, at the end of the cure, go home and pitch his own on to the dust-heap. But of what earthly use would it have been? Pointing out the difference between what is beautiful and what misses beauty to a Frau Inspector of forty, whose chief business it is to make butter, is likely to be singularly unprolific of good results; and, further, experience has taught me that whenever anything is on the tip of my tongue the best thing to do is to keep it there. I wonder why a woman always wants to interfere. It is a pity, nevertheless, that this lady should be so wanting in the aesthetic instinct, for her garden is full of possibilities. It lies due south, sheltered on the north, east, and west by farm buildings, and is rich in those old fruit-trees and well-seasoned gooseberry bushes that make such a good basis for the formation of that most delightful type of little garden, the flower-and-fruit-and-vegetable-mixed sort. She has, besides, an inestimable slimy, froggy pond, a perpetual treasure of malodorous water, much pined after by thirsty flowers; and then does she not live in the middle of a farmyard flowing with fertilising properties that only require a bucket and a shovel to transform them into roses? The way in which people miss their opportunities is melancholy. This pond of hers, by the way, is an object of the liveliest interest to the babies. They do not seem to mind the smell, and they love the slime, and they had played there for several days in great peace before the unfortunate accident of the June baby's falling in and being brought back looking like a green and speckled frog herself, revealed where it was they had persuaded Seraphine to let them spend their mornings. Then there was woe and lamentation, for I was sure they would all have typhoid fever, and I put them mercilessly to bed, and dosed them, as a preliminary, with castor oil--that oil of sorrow, as Carlyle calls it. It was no use sending for the doctor because there is no doctor within reach; a fact which simplifies life amazingly when you have children. During the time we lived in town the doctor was never out of the house. Hardly a day passed but one or other of the Three had a spot, or, as the expressive German has it, a _Pickel_, and what parent could resist sending for a doctor when one lived round the corner? But doctors are like bad habits--once you have shaken them off you discover how much better you are without them; and as for the babies, since they inhabit a garden, prompt bed and the above-mentioned simple remedy have been all that is necessary to keep them robust. I admit I was frightened when I heard where they had been playing, for when the wind comes from that quarter even sitting by my rose beds I have been reminded of the existence of the pond; and I kept them in bed for three days, anxiously awaiting symptoms, and my head full of a dreadful story I had heard of a little boy who had drunk seltzer water and thereupon been seized with typhoid fever and had died, and if, I asked myself with a power of reasoning unusual in a woman, you die after seltzer water, what will you not do after frog-pond? But they did nothing, except be uproarious, and sing at the top of their voices, and clamour for more dinner than I felt would be appropriate for babies who were going to be dangerously ill in a few hours; and so, after due waiting, they were got up and dressed and turned loose again, and from that day to this no symptoms have appeared. The pond was at first strictly forbidden as a playground, but afterwards I made concessions, and now they are allowed to go to a deserted little burying-ground on the west side of it when the wind is in the west; and there at least they can hear the frogs, and sometimes, if they are patient, catch a delightful glimpse of them. The graveyard is in the middle of a group of pines that bounds the Frau Inspector's garden on that side, and has not been used within the memory of living man. The people here love to make their little burying-grounds in the heart of a wood if they can, and they are often a long way away from the church to which they belong because, while every hamlet has its burying-ground, three or four hamlets have to share a church; and indeed the need for churches is not so urgent as that for graves, seeing that, though we may not all go to church, we all of us die and must be buried. Some of these little cemeteries are not even anywhere near a village, and you come upon them unexpectedly in your drives through the woods-- bits of fenced-in forest, the old gates dropping off their hinges, the paths green from long disuse, the unchecked trees casting black, impenetrable shadows across the poor, meek, pathetic graves. I try sometimes, pushing aside the weeds, to decipher the legend on the almost speechless headstones; but the voice has been choked out of them by years of wind, and frost, and snow, and a few stray letters are all that they can utter--a last stammering protest against oblivion. The Man of Wrath says all women love churchyards. He is fond of sweeping assertions, and is sometimes curiously feminine in his tendency to infer a general principle from a particular instance. The deserted little forest burying-grounds interest and touch me because they are so solitary, and humble, and neglected, and forgotten, and because so many long years have passed since tears were shed over the newly made graves. Nobody cries now for the husband, or father, or brother buried there; years and years ago the last tear that would ever be shed for them was dried--dried probably before the gate was reached on the way home--and they were not missed. Love and sorrow appear to be flowers of civilisation, and most to flourish where life has the broadest margin of leisure and abundance. The primary instincts are always there, and must first be satisfied; and if to obtain the means of satisfying them you have to work from morning till night without rest, who shall find time and energy to sit down and lament? I often go with the babies to the enclosure near the Frau Inspector's pond, and it seems just as natural that they should play there as that the white butterflies should chase each other undisturbed across the shadows. And then the place has a soothing influence on them, and they sober down as we approach it, and on hot afternoons sit quietly enough as close to the pond as they may, content to watch for the chance appearance of a frog while talking to me about angels. This is their favourite topic of conversation in this particular place. Just as I have special times and places for certain books, so do they seem to have special times and places for certain talk. The first time I took them there they asked me what the mounds were, and by a series of adroit questions extracted the information that the people who had been buried there were now angels (I am not a specialist, and must take refuge in telling them what I was told in my youth), and ever since then they refuse to call it a graveyard, and have christened it the angel- yard, and so have got into the way of discussing angels in all their bearings, sometimes to my confusion, whenever we go there. "But what _are_> angels, mummy?" said the June baby inconsequently this afternoon, after having assisted at the discussions for several days and apparently listening with attention. "_Such_ a silly baby!" cried April, turning upon her with contempt, "don't you know they are _lieber Gott's_ little girls?" Now I protest I had never told those babies anything of the sort. I answer their questions to the best of my ability and as conscientiously as I can, and then, when I hear them talking together afterwards, I am staggered by the impression they appear to have received. They live in a whole world of independent ideas in regard to heaven and the angels, ideas quite distinct from other people's, and, as far as I can make out, believe that the Being they call _lieber Gott_ pervades the garden, and is identical with, among other things, the sunshine and the air on a fine day. I never told them so, nor, I am sure, did Seraphine, and still less Seraphine's predecessor Miss Jones, whose views were wholly material; yet if, on bright mornings, I forget to immediately open all the library windows on coming down, the April baby runs in, and with quite a worried look on her face cries, "Mummy, won't you open the windows and let the _lieber Gott_ come in?" If they were less rosy and hungry, or if I were less prosaic, I might have gloomy forebodings that such keen interest in things and beings celestial was prophetic of a short life; and in books, we know, the children who talk much on these topics invariably die, after having given their reverential parents a quantity of advice. Fortunately such children are confined to books, and there is nothing of the ministering child--surely a very uncomfortable form of infant--about my babies. Indeed, I notice that in their conversations together on such matters a healthy spirit of contradiction prevails, and this afternoon, after having accepted April's definition of angels with apparent reverence, the June baby electrified the other two (always more orthodox and yielding) by remarking that she hoped she would never go to heaven. I pretended to be deep in my book and not listening; April and May were sitting on the grass sewing ("needling" they call it) fearful-looking woolwork things for Seraphine's birthday, and June was leaning idly against a pine trunk, swinging a headless doll round and round by its one remaining leg, her heels well dug into the ground, her sun-bonnet off, and all the yellow tangles of her hair falling across her sunburnt, grimy little face. "No," she repeated firmly, with her eyes fixed on her sisters' startled faces, "I don't want to. There's nothing there for babies to play with." "Nothing to play with?" exclaimed the other two in a breath--and throwing down their needle-work they made a simultaneous rush for me. "Mummy, did you hear? June says she doesn't want to go into the _Himmel_!" cried April, horror-stricken. "Because there's nothing to play with there, she says," cried May, breathlessly; and then they added with one voice, as though the subject had long ago been threshed out and settled between them, "Why, she can play at ball there with all the _Sternleins_ if she likes!" The idea of the June baby striding across the firmament and hurling the stars about as carelessly as though they were tennis-balls was so magnificent that it sent shivers of awe through me as I read. "But if you break all your dolls," added April, turning severely to June, and eyeing the distorted remains in her hand, "I don't think _lieber Gott_ will let you in at all. When you're big and have tiny Junes--real live Junes--I think you'll break them too, and _lieber_ _Gott_ doesn't love mummies what breaks their babies." "But I _must_ break my dolls," cried June, stung into indignation by what she evidently regarded as celestial injustice; "_lieber Gott_ made me that way, so I can't help doing it, can I, mummy?" On these occasions I keep my eyes fixed on my book, and put on an air of deep abstraction; and indeed, it is the only way of keeping out of theological disputes in which I am invariably worsted. July 15th.--Yesterday, as it was a cool and windy afternoon and not as pleasant in my garden as it has lately been, I thought I would go into the village and see how my friends the farm hands were getting on. Philanthropy is intermittent with me as with most people, only they do not say so, and seize me like a cold in the head whenever the weather is chilly. On warm days my bump of benevolence melts away entirely, and grows bigger in proportion as the thermometer descends. When the wind is in the east it is quite a decent size, and about January, in a north- easterly snowstorm, it is plainly visible to the most casual observer. For a few weeks from then to the end of February I can hold up my head and look our parson in the face, but during the summer, if I see him coming my mode of progression in getting out of the way is described with perfect accuracy by the verb "to slink." The village consists of one street running parallel to the outer buildings of the farm, and the cottages are one-storied, each with rooms for four families--two in front, looking on to the wall of the farmyard, which is the fashionable side, and two at the back, looking on to nothing more exhilarating than their own pigstyes. Each family has one room and a larder sort of place, and shares the kitchen with the family on the opposite side of the entrance; but the women prefer doing their cooking at the grate in their own room rather than expose the contents of their pots to the ill-natured comments of a neighbour. On the fashionable side there is a little fenced-in garden for every family, where fowls walk about pensively and meditate beneath the scarlet- runners (for all the world like me in my garden), and hollyhocks tower above the drying linen, and fuel, stolen from our woods, is stacked for winter use; but on the other side you walk straight out of the door on to manure heaps and pigs. The street did not look very inviting yesterday, with a lowering sky above, and the wind blowing dust and bits of straw and paper into my face and preventing me from seeing what I knew to be there, a consoling glimpse of green fields and fir woods down at the other end; but I had not been for a long while--we have had such a lovely summer--and something inside me had kept on saying aggressively all the morning, "Elizabeth, don't you know you are due in the village? Why don't you go then? When are you going? Don't you know you _ought_ to go? Don't you feel you _must_? Elizabeth, pull yourself together and _go_" Strange effect of a grey sky and a cool wind! For I protest that if it had been warm and sunny my conscience would not have bothered about me at all. We had a short fight over it, in which I got all the knocks, as was evident by the immediate swelling of the bump alluded to above, and then I gave in, and by two o'clock in the afternoon was lifting the latch of the first door and asking the woman who lived behind it what she had given the family for dinner. This, I was instructed on my first round by the Frau Inspector, is the proper thing to ask; and if you can follow it up by an examination of the contents of the saucepan, and a gentle sniff indicative of your appreciation of their savouriness, so much the better. I was diffident at first about this, but the gratification on their faces at the interest displayed is so unmistakable that I never now omit going through the whole business. This woman, the wife of one of the men who clean and feed the cows, has arrived at that enviable stage of existence when her children have all been confirmed and can go out to work, leaving her to spend her days in her clean and empty room in comparative dignity and peace. The children go to school till they are fourteen, then they are confirmed, are considered grown up, and begin to work for wages; and her three strapping daughters were out in the fields yesterday reaping. The mother has a keen, shrewd face, and everything about her was neat and comfortable. Her floor was freshly strewn with sand, her cups and saucers and spoons shone bright and clean from behind the glass door of the cupboard, and the two beds, one for herself and her husband and the other for her three daughters, were more mountainous than any I afterwards saw. The size and plumpness of her feather beds, the Frau Inspector tells me, is a woman's chief claim to consideration from the neighbours. She who can pile them up nearest to the ceiling becomes the principal personage in the community, and a flat bed is a social disgrace. It is a mystery to me, when I see the narrowness of the bedsteads, how so many people can sleep in them. They are rather narrower than what are known as single beds, yet father and mother and often a baby manage to sleep very well in one, and three or four children in the opposite corner of the room in another. The explanation no doubt is that they do not know what nerves are, and what it is to be wakened by the slightest sound or movement in the room and lie for hours afterwards, often the whole night, totally unable to fall asleep again, staring out into the darkness with eyes that refuse to shut. No nerves, and a thick skin--what inestimable blessings to these poor people! And they never heard of either. I stood a little while talking, not asked to sit down, for that would be thought a liberty, and hearing how they had had potatoes and bacon for dinner, and how the eldest girl Bertha was going to be married at Michaelmas, and how well her baby was getting through its teething. "Her baby?" I echoed, "I have not heard of a baby?" The woman went to one of the beds and lifted up a corner of the great bag of feathers, and there, sure enough, lay a round and placid baby, sleeping as sweetly and looking as cherubic as the most legitimate of its contemporaries. "And he is going to marry her at Michaelmas?" I asked, looking as sternly as I could at the grandmother. "Oh yes," she replied, "he is a good young man, and earns eighteen marks a week. They will be very comfortable." "It is a pity," I said, "that the baby did not make its appearance after Michaelmas instead of before. Don't you see yourself what a pity it is, and how everything has been spoilt?" She stared at me for a moment with a puzzled look, and then turned away and carefully covered the cherub again. "They will be very comfortable," she repeated, seeing that I expected an answer; "he earns eighteen marks a week." What was there to be said? If I had told her her daughter was a grievous sinner she might perhaps have felt transiently uncomfortable, but as soon as I had gone would have seen for herself, with those shrewd eyes of hers, that nothing had been changed by my denunciations, that there lay the baby, dimpled and healthy, that her daughter was making a good match, that none of her set saw anything amiss, and that all the young couples in the district had prefaced their marriages in this way. Our parson is troubled to the depths of his sensitive soul by this custom. He preaches, he expostulates, he denounces, he implores, and they listen with square stolid faces and open mouths, and go back to their daily work among their friends and acquaintances, with no feeling of shame, because everybody does it, and public opinion, the only force that could stop it, is on their side. The parson looks on with unutterable sadness at the futility of his efforts; but the material is altogether too raw for successful manipulation by delicate fingers. "Poor things," I said one day, in answer to an outburst of indignation from him, after he had been marrying one of our servants at the eleventh hour, "I am so sorry for them. It is so pitiful that they should always have to be scolded on their wedding day. Such children--so ignorant, so uncontrolled, so frankly animal--what do they know about social laws? They only know and follow nature, and I would from my heart forgive them all." "It is _sin_" he said shortly. "Then the forgiveness is sure." "Not if they do not seek it." I was silent, for I wished to reply that I believed they would be forgiven in spite of themselves, that probably they were forgiven whether they sought it or not, and that you cannot limit things divine; but who can argue with a parson? These people do not seek forgiveness because it never enters their heads that they need it. The parson tells them so, it is true, but they regard him as a person bound by his profession to say that sort of thing, and are sharp enough to see that the consequences of their sin, foretold by him with such awful eloquence, never by any chance come off. No girl is left to languish and die forsaken by her betrayer, for the betrayer is a worthy young man who marries her as soon as he possibly can; no finger of scorn is pointed at the fallen one, for all the fingers in the street are attached to women who began life in precisely the same fashion; and as for that problematical Day of Judgment of which they hear so much on Sundays, perhaps they feel that that also may be one of the things which after all do not happen. The servant who had been married and scolded that morning was a groom, aged twenty, and he had met his little wife, she being then seventeen, in the place he was in before he came to us. She was a housemaid there, and must have been a pretty thing, though there were few enough traces of it, except the beautiful eyes, in the little anxious face that I saw for the first time immediately after the wedding, and just before the weary and harassed parson came in to talk things over. I had never heard of her existence until, about ten days previously, the groom had appeared, bathed in tears, speechlessly holding out a letter from her in which she said she could not bear things any longer and was going to kill herself. The wretched young man was at his wit's end, for he had not yet saved enough to buy any furniture and set up housekeeping, and she was penniless after so many months out of a situation. He did not know any way out of it, he had no suggestions to offer, no excuses to make, and just stood there helplessly and sobbed. I went to the Man of Wrath, and we laid our heads together. "We do not want another married servant," he said. "No, of course we don't," said I. "And there is not a room empty in the village." "No, not one." "And how can we give him furniture? It is not fair to the other servants who remain virtuous, and wait till they can buy their own." "No, certainly it isn't fair." There was a pause. "He is a good boy," I murmured presently. "A very good boy." "And she will be quite ruined unless somebody--" "I'll tell you what we can do, Elizabeth," he interrupted; "we can buy what is needful and let him have it on condition that he buys it back gradually by some small monthly payment." "So we can." "And I think there is a room over the stables that is empty." "So there is." "And he can go to town and get what furniture he needs and bring the girl back with him and marry her at once. The sooner the better, poor girl." And so within a fortnight they were married, and came hand in hand to me, he proud and happy, holding himself very straight, she in no wise yet recovered from the shock and misery of the last few hopeless months, looking up at me with eyes grown much too big for her face, eyes in which there still lurked the frightened look caught in the town where she had hidden herself, and where fingers of scorn could not have been wanting, and loud derision, and utter shame, besides the burden of sickness, and hunger, and miserable pitiful youth. They stood hand in hand, she in a decent black dress, and both wearing very tight white kid gloves that refused to hide entirely the whole of the rough red hands, and they looked so ridiculously young, and the whole thing was so wildly improvident, that no words of exhortation would come to my lips as I gazed at them in silence, between laughter and tears. I ought to have told them they were sinners; I ought to have told them they were reckless; I ought to have told them by what a narrow chance they had escaped the just punishment of their iniquity, and instead of that I found myself stretching out hands that were at once seized and kissed, and merely saying with a cheerful smile, "_Nun_ _Kinder_, _liebt Euch_, _und seid brav_." And so they were dismissed, and then the parson came, in a fever at this latest example of deadly sin, while I, with the want of moral sense so often observable in woman, could only think with pity of their childishness. The baby was born three days later, and the mother very nearly slipped through our fingers; but she was a country girl, and she fought round, and by and by grew young again in the warmth of married respectability; and I met her the other day airing her baby in the sun, and holding her head as high as though she were conscious of a whole row of feather beds at home, every one of which touched the ceiling. In the next room I went into an old woman lay in bed with her head tied up in bandages. The room had not much in it, or it would have been untidier; it looked neglected and gloomy, and some dirty plates, suggestive of long-past dinners, were piled on the table. "Oh, such headaches!" groaned the old woman when she saw me, and moved her head from side to side on the pillow. I could see she was not undressed, and had crept under her feather bag as she was. I went to the bedside and felt her pulse--a steady pulse, with nothing of feverishness in it. "Oh, such draughts!" moaned the old woman, when she saw I had left the door open. "A little air will make you feel better," I said; the atmosphere in the shut-up room was so indescribable that my own head had begun to throb. "Oh, oh!" she moaned, in visible indignation at being forced for a moment to breathe the pure summer air. "I have something at home that will cure your headache," I said, "but there is nobody I can send with it to-day. If you feel better later on, come round and fetch it. I always take it when I have a headache"-- ("Why, Elizabeth, you know you never have such things!" whispered my conscience, appalled. "You just keep quiet," I whispered back, "I have had enough of you for one day.")--"and I have some grapes I will give you when you come, so that if you possibly can, do." "Oh, I can't move," groaned the old woman, "oh, oh, oh!" But I went away laughing, for I knew she would appear punctually to fetch the grapes, and a walk in the air was all she needed to cure her. How the whole village hates and dreads fresh air! A baby died a few days ago, killed, I honestly believe, by the exceeding love of its mother, which took the form of cherishing it so tenderly that never once during its little life was a breath of air allowed to come anywhere near it. She is the watchman's wife, a gentle, flabby woman, with two rooms at her disposal, but preferring to live and sleep with her four children in one, never going into the other except for the christenings and funerals which take place in her family with what I cannot but regard as unnecessary frequency. This baby was born last September in a time of golden days and quiet skies, and when it was about three weeks old I suggested that she should take it out every day while the fine weather lasted. She pointed out that it had not yet been christened, and remembering that it is the custom in their class for both mother and child to remain shut up and invisible till after the christening, I said no more. Three weeks later I was its godmother, and it was safely got into the fold of the Church. As I was leaving, I remarked that now she would be able to take it out as much as she liked. The following March, on a day that smelt of violets, I met her near the house. I asked after the baby, and she began to cry. "It does not thrive," she wept, "and its arms are no thicker than my finger." "Keep it out in the sun as much as you can," I said; "this is the very weather to turn weak babies into strong ones." "Oh, I am so afraid it will catch cold if I take it out," she cried, her face buried in what was once a pocket-handkerchief. "When was it out last?" "Oh--" she stopped to blow her nose, very violently, and, as it seemed to me, with superfluous thoroughness. I waited till she had done, and then repeated my question. "Oh--" a fresh burst of tears, and renewed exhaustive nose-blowing. I began to suspect that my question, put casually, was of more importance than I had thought, and repeated it once more. "I--can't t-take it out," she sobbed, "I know it--it would die." "But has it not been out at all, then?" She shook her head. "Not once since it was born? Six months ago?" She shook her head. "_Poor_ baby!" I exclaimed; and indeed from my heart I pitied the little thing, perishing in a heap of feathers, in one close room, with four people absorbing what air there was. "I am afraid," I said, "that if it does not soon get some fresh air it will not live. I wonder what would happen to my children if I kept them in one hot room day and night for six months. You see how they are out all day, and how well they are." "They are so strong," she said, with a doleful sniff, "that they can stand it." I was confounded by this way of looking at it, and turned away, after once more begging her to take the child out. She plainly regarded the advice as brutal, and I heard her blowing her nose all down the drive. In June the father told me he would like the doctor; the child grew thinner every day in spite of all the food it took. A doctor was got from the nearest town, and I went across to hear what he ordered. He ordered bottles at regular intervals instead of the unbroken series it had been having, and fresh air. He could find nothing the matter with it, except unusual weakness. He asked if it always perspired as it was doing then, and himself took off the topmost bag of feathers. Early in July it died, and its first outing was to the cemetery in the pine woods three miles off. "I took such care of it," moaned the mother, when I went to try and comfort her after the funeral; "it would never have lived so long but for the care I took of it." "And what the doctor ordered did no good?" I ventured to ask, as gently as I could. "Oh, I did not take it out--how could I--it would have killed it at once--at least I have kept it alive till now." And she flung her arms across the table, and burying her head in them wept bitterly. There is a great wall of ignorance and prejudice dividing us from the people on our place, and in every effort to help them we knock against it and cannot move it any more than if it were actual stone. Like the parson on the subject of morals, I can talk till I am hoarse on the subject of health, without at any time producing the faintest impression. When things are very bad the doctor is brought, directions are given, medicines made up, and his orders, unless they happen to be approved of, are simply not carried out. Orders to wash a patient and open windows are never obeyed, because the whole village would rise up if, later on, the illness ended in death, and accuse the relatives of murder. I suppose they regard us and our like who live on the other side of the dividing wall as persons of fantastic notions which, when carried into effect among our own children, do no harm because of the vast strength of the children accumulated during years of eating in the quantities only possible to the rich. Their idea of happiness is eating, and they naturally suppose that everybody eats as much as he can possibly afford to buy. Some of them have known hunger, and food and strength are coupled together in their experience--the more food the greater the strength; and people who eat roast meat (oh, bliss ineffable!) every day of their lives can bear an amount of washing and airing that would surely kill such as themselves. But how useless to try and discover what their views really are. I can imagine what I like about them, and am fairly certain to imagine wrong. I have no real conception of their attitude towards life, and all I can do is to talk to them kindly when they are in trouble, and as often as I can give them nice things to eat. Shocked at the horrors that must surround the poor women at the birth of their babies, I asked the Man of Wrath to try and make some arrangement that would ensure their quiet at those times. He put aside a little cottage at the end of the street as a home for them in their confinements, and I furnished it, and made it clean and bright and pretty. A nurse was permanently engaged, and I thought with delight of the unspeakable blessing and comfort it was going to be. Not a baby has been born in that cottage, for not a woman has allowed herself to be taken there. At the end of a year it had to be let out again to families, and the nurse dismissed. "_Why_ wouldn't they go?" I asked the Frau Inspector, completely puzzled. She shrugged her shoulders. "They like their husband and children round them," she said, "and are afraid something will be done to them away from home--that they will be washed too often, perhaps. The gracious lady will never get them to leave their homes." "The gracious lady gives it up," I muttered. When I opened the next door I was bewildered by the crowd in the room. A woman stood in the middle at a wash-tub which took up most of the space. Every now and then she put out a dripping hand and jerked a perambulator up and down for a moment, to calm the shrieks of the baby inside. On a wooden bench at the foot of one of the three beds a very old man sat and blinked at nothing. Crouching in a corner were two small boys of pasty complexion, playing with a guinea-pig and coughing violently. The loveliest little girl I have seen for a very long while lay in the bed nearest the door, quite silent, with her eyes closed and her mouth shut tight, as though she were trying hard to bear something. As I pulled the door open the first thing I saw, right up against it, was this set young face framed in tossed chestnut hair. "Why, _Frauchen_," I said to the woman at the tub, "so many of you at home to-day? Are you all ill?" There was hardly standing room for an extra person, and the room was full of steam. "They have all got the cough I had," she answered, without looking up, "and Lotte there is very bad." I took Lotte's rough little hand--so different from the delicate face-- and found she was in a fever. "We must get the doctor," I said. "Oh, the doctor--" said the mother with a shrug, "he's no use." "You must do what he tells you, or he cannot help you." "That last medicine he sent me all but killed me," she said, washing vigorously. "I'll never take any more of his, nor shall any child of mine." "What medicine was it?" She wiped her hand on her apron, and reaching across to the cupboard took out a little bottle. "I was in bed two days after it," she said, handing it to me--"as though I were dead, not knowing what was going on round me." The bottle had contained opium, and there were explicit directions written on it as to the number of drops to be taken and the length of the intervals between the taking. "Did you do exactly what is written here?" I asked. "I took it all at once. There wasn't much of it, and I was feeling bad." "But then of course it nearly killed you. I wonder it didn't quite. What good is it our taking all the trouble we do to send that long distance for the doctor if you don't do as he orders?" "I'll take no more of his medicine. If it had been any good and able to cure me, the more I took the quicker I ought to have been cured." And she scrubbed and thumped with astounding energy, while Lotte lay with her little ashen face a shade more set and suffering. The wash-tub, though in the middle of the room, was quite close to Lotte's bed, because the middle of the room was quite close to every other part of it, and each extra hard maternal thump must have hit the child's head like a blow from a hammer. She was, you see, only thirteen, and her skin had not had time to turn into leather. "Has this child eaten anything to-day?" "She won't." "Is she not thirsty?" "She won't drink coffee or milk." "I'll send her something she may like, and I shall send, too, for the doctor." "I'll not give her his stuff." "Let me beg you to do as he tells you." "I'll not give her his stuff." "Was it absolutely necessary to wash to-day?" "It's the day." "My good woman," said I to myself, gazing at her with outward blandness, "I'd like exceedingly to tip you up into your wash-tub and thump you as thoroughly as you are thumping those unfortunate clothes." Aloud I said in flute-like tones of conciliation, "Good afternoon." "Good afternoon," said she without looking up. Washing days always mean tempers, and I ought to have fled at the first sight of that tub, but then there was Lotte in her little yellow flannel night-gown, suffering as only children can suffer, helpless, forced to patience, forced to silent endurance of any banging and vehemence in which her mother might choose to indulge. No wonder her mouth was shut like a clasp and she would not open her eyes. Her eyebrows were reddish like her hair, and very straight, and her eyelashes lay dusky and long on her white face. At least I had discovered Lotte and could help her a little, I thought, as I departed down the garden path between the rows of scarlet-runners; but the help that takes the form of jelly and iced drinks is not of a lasting nature, and I have but little sympathy with a benevolence that finds its highest expression in gifts of the kind. There have been women within my experience who went down into the grave accompanied by special pastoral encomiums, and whose claims to lady- bountifulness, on closer inquiry, rested solely on a foundation of jelly. Yet nothing in the world is easier than ordering jelly to be sent to the sick, except refraining from ordering it. What more, however, could I do for Lotte than this? I could not take her up in my arms and run away with her and nurse her back to health, for she would probably object to such a course as strongly as her mother; and later on, when she gets well again, she will go back to school, and grow coarse and bouncing and leathery like the others, affording the parson, in three or four years' time, a fresh occasion for grief over deadly sin. "If one could only get hold of the children!" I sighed, as I went up the steps into the schoolhouse; "catch them young, and put them in a garden, with no older people of their own class for ever teaching them by example what is ugly, and unworthy, and gross." Afternoon school was going on, and the assistant teacher was making the children read aloud in turns. In winter, when they would be glad of a warm, roomy place in which to spend their afternoons, school is only in the morning; and in summer, when the thirstiest after knowledge are apt to be less keen, it is both morning and afternoon. The arrangement is so mysterious that it must be providential. Herr Schenk, the head master, was away giving my babies their daily lessons, and his assistant, a youth in spectacles but yet of pugnacious aspect, was sitting in the master's desk, exercising a pretty turn for sarcasm in his running comments on the reading. A more complete waste of breath and brilliancy can hardly be imagined. He is not yet, however, married, and marriage is a great chastener. The children all stood up when I came in, and the teacher ceased sharpening his wits on a dulness that could not feel, and with many bows put a chair for me and begged me to sit on it. I did sit on it, and asked that they might go on with the lesson, as I had only come in for a minute on my way down the street. The reading was accordingly resumed, but unaccompanied this time by sarcasms. What faces! What dull, apathetic, low, coarse faces! On one side sat those from ten to fourteen, with not a hopeful face among them, and on the other those from six to ten, with one single little boy who looked as though he could have no business among the rest, so bright was he, so attentive, so curiously dignified. Poor children--what could the parson hope to make of beings whose expressions told so plainly of the sort of nature within? Those that did not look dull looked cunning, and all the girls on the older side had the faces of women. I began to feel dreadfully depressed. "See what you have done," I whispered angrily to my conscience--"made me wretched without doing anybody else any good." "The old woman with the headache is happy in the hopes of grapes," it replied, seeking to justify itself, "and Lotte is to have some jelly." "Grapes! Jelly! Futility unutterable. I can't bear this, and am going home." The teacher inquired whether the children should sing something to my graciousness; perhaps he was ashamed of their reading, and indeed I never heard anything like it. "Oh yes," I said, resigned, but outwardly smiling kindly with the self-control natural to woman. They sang, or rather screamed, a hymn, and so frightfully loud and piercingly that the very windows shook. "My dear," explained the Man of Wrath, when I complained one Sunday on our way home from church of the terrible quality and volume of the music, "it frightens Satan away." Our numerous godchildren were not in school because, as we have only lived here three years, they are not yet old enough to share in the blessings of education. I stand godmother to the girls, and the Man of Wrath to the boys, and as all the babies are accordingly named after us the village swarms with tiny Elizabeths and Boys of Wrath. A hunchbacked woman, unfit for harder work, looks after the babies during the day in a room set apart for that purpose, so that the mothers may not be hampered in their duties at the farm; they have only to carry the babies there in the morning, and fetch them away again in the evening, and can feel that they are safe and well looked after. But many of them, for some reason too cryptic to fathom, prefer to lock them up in their room, exposed to all the perils that surround an inquiring child just able to walk, and last winter one little creature was burnt to death, sacrificed to her mother's stupidity. This mother, a fair type of the intelligence prevailing in the village, made a great fire in her room before going out, so that when she came back at noon there would still be some with which to cook the dinner, left a baby in a perambulator, and a little Elizabeth of three loose in the room, locked the door, put the key in her pocket, and went off to work. When she came back to get the dinner ready, the baby was still crowing placidly in its perambulator, and the little Elizabeth, with all the clothes burnt off her body, was lying near the grate dead. Of course the mother was wild with grief, distracted, raving, desperate, and of course all the other women were shocked and horrified; but point the moral as we might, we could not bring them to see that it was an avoidable misfortune with nothing whatever to do with the _Finger Gottes_, and the mothers who preferred locking their babies up alone to sending them to be looked after, went on doing so as undisturbed as though what had occurred could in no wise be a lesson to themselves. "Pray, _Herr Lehrer_, why are those two little boys sitting over there on that seat all by themselves and not singing?" I asked at the conclusion of the hymn. "That, gracious lady, is the vermin bench. It is necessary to keep--" "Oh yes, yes--I quite understand--good afternoon. Good-bye, children, you have sung very nicely indeed." "Now," said I to myself, when I was safely out in the street again, "I am going home." "Oh, not yet," at once protested my unmanageable conscience; "your favourite old woman lives in the next cottage, and surely you are not going to leave her out?" "I see plainly," I replied, "that I shall never be quite comfortable till I have got rid of _you_" and in I went to the next house. The entrance was full of three women--the entrances here are narrow, and the women wide--and they all looked more cheerful than seemed reasonable. They stood aside to let me pass, and when I opened the door I found the room equally full of women, looking equally happy, and talking eagerly. "Why, what is happening?" I asked the nearest one. "Is there a party?" She turned round, grinning broadly in obvious delight. "The old lady died in her sleep," she said, "and was found this morning dead in her bed. I was in here only yesterday, and she said--" I turned abruptly and went out again. All those gloating women, hovering round the poor body that was clothed on a sudden by death with a wonderful dignity and nobleness, made me ashamed of being a woman. Not a man was there,-- clearly a superior race of beings. In the entrance I met the Frau Inspector coming in to arrange matters, and she turned and walked with me a little way. "The old lady was better off than we thought," she remarked, "and has left a very good black silk dress to be buried in." "A black silk dress?" I repeated. "And everything to match in goodness--nice leather shoes, good stockings, under-things all trimmed with crochet, real whalebone corsets, and a quite new pair of white kid gloves. She must have saved for a long time to have it all so nice." "But," I said, "I don't understand. I have never had anything to do yet with death, and have not thought of these things. Are not people, then, just buried in a shroud?" "A shroud?" It was her turn not to understand. "A sheet sort of thing." She smiled in a highly superior manner. "Oh dear, no," she said, "we are none of us quite so poor as that." I glanced down at her as she walked beside me. She is a short woman, and carries weight. She was smiling almost pityingly at my ignorance of what is due, even after death, to ourselves and public opinion. "The very poorest," she said, "manage to scrape a whole set of clothes together for their funerals. A very poor couple came here a few months ago, and before the man had time to earn anything he died. The wife came to me (the gracious lady was absent), and on her knees implored me to give her a suit for him--she had only been able to afford the _Sterbehemd_, and was frantic at the thought of what the neighbours would say if he had nothing on but that, and said she would be haunted by shame and remorse all the rest of her life. We bought a nice black suit, and tie, and gloves, and he really looked very well. She will be dressed to-night," she went on, as I said nothing; "the dressers come with the coffin, and it will be a nice funeral. I used to wonder what she did with her pension money, and never could persuade her to buy herself a bit of meat. But of course she was saving for this. They are beautiful corsets." "What utter waste!" I ejaculated. "Waste?" "Yes--utter waste and foolishness. Foolishness, not to have bought a few little comforts, waste of the money, and waste of the clothes. Is there any meaning, sense, or use whatever in burying a good black silk dress?" "It would be a scandal not to be buried decently," she replied, manifestly surprised at my warmth, "and the neighbours respect her much more now that they know what nice clothes she had bought for her funeral. Nothing is wanting. I even found a box with a gold brooch in it, and a bracelet." "I suppose, then, as many of her belongings as will go into the coffin will be buried too, in order to still further impress the neighbours?" I asked--"her feather bed, for instance, and anything else of use and value?" "No, only what she has on, and the brushes and combs and towels that were used in dressing her." "How ugly and how useless!" I said with a shiver of disgust. "It is the custom," was her tranquil reply. Suddenly an unpleasant thought struck me, and I burst out emphatically, "Nothing but a shroud is to be put on me." "Oh no," she said, looking up at me with a face meant to be full of the most reassuring promises of devotion, "the gracious lady may be quite certain that if I am still here she will have on her most beautiful ball dress and finest linen, and that the whole neighbourhood shall see for themselves how well _Herrschaften_ know what is due to them." "I shall give directions," I repeated with increased energy, "that there is only to be a shroud." "Oh no, no," she protested, smiling as though she were humouring a spoilt and eccentric child, "such a thing could never be permitted. What would our feelings be when we remembered that the gracious lady had not received her dues, and what would the neighbours say?" "I'll have nothing but a shroud!" I cried in great wrath--and then stopped short, and burst out laughing. "What an absurd and gruesome conversation," I said, holding out my hand. "Good-bye, Frau Inspector, I am sure you are wanted in that cottage." She made me a curtsey and turned back. I walked out of the village and through the fir wood and the meadow as quickly as I could, opened the gate into my garden, went down the most sheltered path, flung myself on the grass in a quiet nook, and said aloud "Ugh!" It is a well-known exclamation of disgust, and is thus inadequately expressed in writing. August August 5th.--August has come, and has clothed the hills with golden lupins, and filled the grassy banks with harebells. The yellow fields of lupins are so gorgeous on cloudless days that I have neglected the forests lately and drive in the open, so that I may revel in their scent while feasting my eyes on their beauty. The slope of a hill clothed with this orange wonder and seen against the sky is one of those sights which make me so happy that it verges on pain. The straight, vigorous flower- spikes are something like hyacinths, but all aglow with a divine intensity of brightness that a yellow hyacinth never yet possessed and never will; and then they are not waxy, but velvety, and their leaves are not futile drooping things, but delicate, strong sprays of an exquisite grey-green, with a bloom on them that throws a mist over the whole field; and as for the perfume, it surely is the perfume of Paradise. The plant is altogether lovely--shape, growth, flower, and leaf, and the horses have to wait very patiently once we get among them, for I can never have enough of sitting quite still in those fair fields of glory. Not far from here there is a low series of hills running north and south, absolutely without trees, and at the foot of them, on the east side, is a sort of road, chiefly stones, but yet with patience to be driven over, and on the other side of this road a plain stretches away towards the east and south; and hills and plain are now one sheet of gold. I have driven there at all hours of the day--I cannot keep away--and I have seen them early in the morning, and at mid-day, and in the afternoon, and I have seen them in the evening by moonlight, when all the intensity was washed out of the colour and into the scent; but just as the sun drops behind the little hills is the supreme moment, when the splendour is so dazzling that you feel as though you must have reached the very gates of heaven. So strong was this feeling the other day that I actually got out of the carriage, being impulsive, and began almost involuntarily to climb the hill, half expecting to see the glories of the New Jerusalem all spread out before me when I should reach the top; and it came with quite a shock of disappointment to find there was nothing there but the prose of potato-fields, and a sandy road with home-going calves kicking up its dust, and in the distance our neighbour's _Schloss_, and the New Jerusalem just as far off as ever. It is a relief to me to write about these things that I so much love, for I do not talk of them lest I should be regarded as a person who rhapsodizes, and there is no nuisance more intolerable than having somebody's rhapsodies thrust upon you when you have no enthusiasm of your own that at all corresponds. I know this so well that I generally succeed in keeping quiet; but sometimes even now, after years of study in the art of holding my tongue, some stray fragment of what I feel does occasionally come out, and then I am at once pulled up and brought to my senses by the well-known cold stare of utter incomprehension, or the look of indulgent superiority that awaits any exposure of a feeling not in the least understood. How is it that you should feel so vastly superior whenever you do not happen to enter into or understand your neighbour's thoughts when, as a matter of fact, your not being able to do so is less a sign of folly in your neighbour than of incompleteness in yourself? I am quite sure that if I were to take most or any of my friends to those pleasant yellow fields they would notice nothing except the exceeding joltiness of the road; and if I were so ill-advised as to lift up a corner of my heart, and let them see how full it was of wonder and delight, they would first look blank, and then decide mentally that they were in the unpleasant situation of driving over a stony road with that worst form of idiot, a bore, and so fall into the mood of self- commiseration which is such a solace to us in our troubles. Yet it is painful being suppressed for ever and ever, and I believe the torments of such a state, when unduly prolonged, are more keenly felt by a woman than a man, she having, in spite of her protestations, a good deal of the ivy nature still left in her, and an unhealthy craving for sympathy and support. When I drive to the lupins and see them all spread out as far as eye can reach in perfect beauty of colour and scent and bathed in the mild August sunshine, I feel I must send for somebody to come and look at them with me, and talk about them to me, and share in the pleasure; and when I run over the list of my friends and try to find one who would enjoy them, I am frightened once more at the solitariness in which we each of us live. I have, it is true, a great many friends-- people with whom it is pleasant to spend an afternoon if such afternoons are not repeated often, and if you are careful not to stir more than the surface of things, but among them all there is only one who has, roughly, the same tastes that I have; and even her sympathies have limitations, and she declares for instance with emphasis that she would not at all like to be a goose-girl. I wonder why. Our friendship nearly came to an end over the goose-girl, so unexpectedly inflaming did the subject turn out to be. Of all professions, if I had liberty of choice, I would choose to be a gardener, and if nobody would have me in that capacity I would like to be a goose-girl, and sit in the greenest of fields minding those delightfully plump, placid geese, whiter and more leisurely than the clouds on a calm summer morning, their very waddle in its lazy deliberation soothing and salutary to a fretted spirit that has been too long on the stretch. The fields geese feed in are so specially charming, so green and low-lying, with little clumps of trees and bushes, and a pond or boggy bit of ground somewhere near, and a profusion of those delicate field flowers that look so lovely growing and are so unsatisfactory and fade so quickly if you try to arrange them in your rooms. For six months of the year I would be happier than any queen I ever heard of, minding the fat white things. I would begin in April with the king-cups, and leave off in September with the blackberries, and I would keep one eye on the geese, and one on the volume of Wordsworth I should have with me, and I would be present in this way at the procession of the months, the first three all white and yellow, and the last three gorgeous with the lupin fields and the blues and purples and crimsons that clothe the hedges and ditches in a wonderful variety of shades, and dye the grass near the water in great patches. Then in October I would shut up my Wordsworth, go back to civilised life, and probably assist at the eating of the geese one after the other, with a proper thankfulness for the amount of edification I had from first to last extracted from them. I believe in England goose eating is held to be of doubtful refinement, and is left to one's servants. Here roast goose stuffed with apples is a dish loved quite openly and simply by people who would consider that the number of their quarterings raises them above any suspicion as to the refinement of their tastes, however many geese they may eat, and however much they may enjoy them; and I remember one lady, whose ancestors, probably all having loved goose, reached back up to a quite giddy antiquity, casting a gloom over a dinner table by removing as much of the skin or crackling of the goose as she could when it came to her, remarking, amidst a mournful silence, that it was her favourite part. No doubt it was. The misfortune was that it happened also to be the favourite part of the line of guests who came after her, and who saw themselves forced by the hard laws of propriety to affect an indifferent dignity of bearing at the very moment when their one feeling was a fierce desire to rise up and defend at all costs their right to a share of skin. She had, I remember, very pretty little white hands like tiny claws, and wore beautiful rings, and sitting opposite her, and free myself from any undue passion for goose, I had leisure to watch the rapid way in which she disposed of the skin, her rings and the whiteness of her hands flashing up and down as she used her knife and fork with the awful dexterity only seen in perfection in the Fatherland. I am afraid that as a nation we think rather more of our eating and drinking than is reasonable, and this no doubt explains why so many of us, by the time we are thirty, have lost the original classicality of our contour. Walking in the streets of a town you are almost sure to catch the word _essen_ in the talk of the passers-by; and _das Essen_, combined, of course, with the drinking made necessary by its exaggerated indulgence, constitutes the chief happiness of the middle and lower classes. Any story-book or novel you take up is full of feeling descriptions of what everybody ate and drank, and there are a great many more meals than kisses; so that the novel-reader who expects a love-tale, finds with disgust that he is put off with _menus_. The upper classes have so many other amusements that _das Essen_ ceases to be one, and they are as thin as all the rest of the world; but if the curious wish to see how very largely it fills the lives, or that part of their lives that they reserve for pleasure, of the middle classes, it is a good plan to go to seaside places during the months of July and August, when the schools close, and the _bourgeoisie_ realises the dream in which it has been indulging the whole year, of hotel life with a tremendous dinner every day at one o'clock. The April baby was a weak little creature in her first years, and the doctor ordered as specially bracing a seaside resort frequented solely by the middle classes, and there for three succeeding years I took her; and while she rolled on the sands and grew brown and lusty, I was dull, and fell to watching the other tourists. Their time, it appeared, was spent in ruminating over the delights of the meal that was eaten, and in preparing their bodies by gentlest exercise for the delights of the meal that was to come. They passed their mornings on the sands, the women doing fancy work in order that they might look busy, and the men strolling aimlessly about near them with field-glasses, and nautical caps, and long cloaks of a very dreadful pattern reaching to their heels and making them look like large women, called Havelocks,--all of them waiting with more or less open eagerness for one o'clock, the great moment to which they had been looking forward ever since the day before, to arrive. They used to file in when the bell rang with a sort of silent solemnity, a contemplative collectedness, which is best described by the word _recueillement_, and ate all the courses, however many there were, in a hot room full of flies and sunlight. The dinner lasted a good hour and a half, and at the end of that time they would begin to straggle out again, flushed and using toothpicks as they strolled to the tables under the trees, where the exhausted waiters would presently bring them breakfast-cups of coffee and cakes. They lingered about an hour over this, and then gradually disappeared to their rooms, where they slept, I suppose, for from then till about six a death-like stillness reigned in the place and April and I had it all to ourselves. Towards six, slow couples would be seen crawling along the path by the shore and panting up into the woods, this being the only exercise of the day, and necessary if they would eat their suppers with appreciation; and April and I, peering through the bracken out of the nests of moss we used to make in the afternoons, could see them coming up through the trees after the climb up the cliff, the husband with his Havelock over his arm, a little in front, wiping his face and gasping, the wife in her tight silk dress, her bonnet strings undone, a cloak and an umbrella, and very often a small mysterious basket as well to carry, besides holding up her dress, very stout and very uncomfortable and very breathless, panting along behind; and however much she had to carry, and however fat and helpless she was, and however steep the hill, and however much dinner she had eaten, the idea that her husband might have taken her cloak and her umbrella and her basket and carried them for her would never have struck either of them. If it had by some strange chance entered his head, he would have reasoned that he was as stout as she was, that he had eaten as much dinner, that he was several years older, and that it was her cloak. Logic is so irresistible. To go on eating long after you have ceased to be hungry has fascinations, apparently, that are difficult to withstand, and if it gives you so much pleasure that the resulting inability to move without gasping is accepted with the meekness of martyrs, who shall say that you are wrong? My not myself liking a large dinner at one o'clock is not a reason for my thinking I am superior to those who do. Their excesses, it is true, are not my excesses, but then neither are mine theirs; and what about the days of idleness I spend, doing nothing from early till late but lie on the grass watching clouds? If I were to murmur gluttons, could not they, from their point of view, retort with conviction fool? All those maxims about judging others by yourself, and putting yourself in another person's place, are not, I am afraid, reliable. I had them dinned into me constantly as a child, and I was constantly trying to obey them, and constantly was astonished at the unexpected results I arrived at; and now I know that it is a proof of artlessness to suppose that other people will think and feel and hope and enjoy what you do and in the same way that you do. If an officious friend had stood in that breathless couple's path and told them in glowing terms how much happier they would be if they lived their life a little more fully and from its other sides, how much more delightful to stride along gaily together in their walks, with wind enough for talk and laughter, how pleasant if the man were muscular and in good condition and the woman brisk and wiry, and that they only had to do as he did and live on cold meat and toast, and drink nothing, to be as blithe as birds, do you think they would have so much as understood him? Cold meat and toast? Instead of what they had just been enjoying so intensely? Miss that soup made of the inner mysteries of geese, those eels stewed in beer, the roast pig with red cabbage, the venison basted with sour cream and served with beans in vinegar and cranberry jam, the piled-up masses of vanilla ice, the pumpernickel and cheese, the apples and pears on the top of that, and the big cups of coffee and cakes on the top of the apples and pears? Really a quick walk over the heather with a wiry wife would hardly make up for the loss of such a dinner; and besides, might not a wiry wife turn out to be a questionable blessing? And so they would pity the nimble friend who wasted his life in taking exercise and missed all its pleasures, and the man of toast and early rising would regard them with profound disgust if simple enough to think himself better than they, and, if he possessed an open mind, would merely return their pity with more of his own; so that, I suppose, everybody would be pleased, for the charm of pitying one's neighbour, though subtle, is undeniable. I remember when I was at the age when people began to call me _Backfisch_, and my mother dressed me in a little scarlet coat with big pearl buttons, and my eyes turned down because I was shy, and my nose turned up because I was impudent, one summer at the seaside with my governess we noticed in our walks a solitary lady of dignified appearance, who spoke to no one, and seemed for ever wrapped in distant and lofty philosophic speculations. "She's thinking about Kant and the nebular hypothesis," I decided to myself, having once heard some men with long beards talking of both those things, and they all had had that same far-away look in their eyes. "_Qu'est-ce que c'est une_ _hypothese nebuleuse_, _Mademoiselle_?" I said aloud. "_Tenez-vous bien_, _et marchez d'une facon convenable_," she replied sharply. "_Qu'est-ce que c'est une hypothese_--" "_Vous etes trap jeune pour comprendre ces choses_." "_Oh alors vous ne savez pas vous-meme_!" I cried triumphantly, "_Sans cela vous me diriez_." "_Elisabeth_, _vous ecrirez_, _des que nous rentrons_, _leverbe_ _Prier le bon Dieu de m'Aider a ne plus Etre si_ _Impertinente_." She was an ingenious young woman, and the verbs I had to write as punishments were of the most elaborate and complicated nature-- _Demander pardon pour Avoir Siffle comme un Gamin_ _quelconque_, _Vouloir ne plus Oublier de Nettoyer mes_ _Ongles_, _Essayer de ne pas tant Aimer les Poudings_, are but a few examples of her achievements in this particular branch of discipline. That very day at the _table d'hote_ the abstracted lady sat next to me. A _ragout_ of some sort was handed round, and after I had taken some she asked me, before helping herself, what it was. "Snails," I replied promptly, wholly unchastened by the prayers I had just been writing out in every tense. "Snails! _Ekelig_." And she waved the waiter loftily away, and looked on with much superciliousness at the rest of us enjoying ourselves. "What! You do not eat this excellent _ragout_?" asked her other neighbour, a hot man, as he finished clearing his plate and had time to observe the emptiness of hers. "You do not like calves' tongues and mushrooms? _Sonderbar._" I still can see the poor lady's face as she turned on me more like a tigress than the impassive person she had been a moment before. "_Sie_ _unverschamter Backfisch_!" she hissed. "My favourite dish--I have you to thank for spoiling my repast--my day!" And in a frenzy of rage she gripped my arm as though she would have shaken me then and there in the face of the multitude, while I sat appalled at the consequences of indulging a playful fancy at the wrong time. Which story, now I come to think of it, illustrates less the tremendous importance of food in our country than the exceeding odiousness of _Backfisch_ in scarlet coats. August 10th.--My idea of a garden is that it should be beautiful from end to end, and not start off in front of the house with fireworks, going off at its farthest limit into sheer sticks. The standard reached beneath the windows should at least be kept up, if it cannot be surpassed, right away through, and the German popular plan in this matter quite discarded of concentrating all the available splendour of the establishment into the supreme effort of carpet-bedding and glass balls on pedestals in front of the house, in the hope that the stranger, carefully kept in that part, and on no account allowed to wander, will infer an equal magnificence throughout the entire domain; whereas he knows very well all the time that the landscape round the corner consists of fowls and dust-bins. Disliking this method, I have tried to make my garden increase in loveliness, if not in tidiness, the farther you get into it; and the visitor who thinks in his innocence as he emerges from the shade of the verandah that he sees the best before him, is artfully conducted from beauty to beauty till he beholds what I think is the most charming bit, the silver birch and azalea plantation down at the very end. This is the boundary of my kingdom on the south side, a blaze of colour in May and June, across which you see the placid meadows stretching away to a distant wood; and from its contemplation the ideal visitor returns to the house a refreshed and better man. That is the sort of person one enjoys taking round--the man (or woman) who, loving gardens, would go any distance to see one; who comes to appreciate, and compare, and admire; who has a garden of his own that he lives in and loves; and whose talk and criticisms are as dew to the thirsty gardening soul, all too accustomed in this respect to droughts. He knows as well as I do what work, what patience, what study and watching, what laughter at failures, what fresh starts with undiminished zeal, and what bright, unalterable faith are represented by the flowers in my garden. He knows what I have done for it, and he knows what it has done for me, and how it has been and will be more and more a place of joys, a place of lessons, a place of health, a place of miracles, and a place of sure and never-changing peace. Living face to face with nature makes it difficult for one to be discouraged. Moles and late frosts, both of which are here in abundance, have often grieved and disappointed me, but even these, my worst enemies, have not succeeded in making me feel discouraged. Not once till now have I got farther in that direction than the purely negative state of not being encouraged; and whenever I reach that state I go for a brisk walk in the sunshine and come back cured. It makes one so healthy to live in a garden, so healthy in mind as well as body, and when I say moles and late frosts are my worst enemies, it only shows how I could not now if I tried sit down and brood over my own or my neighbour's sins, and how the breezes in my garden have blown away all those worries and vexations and bitternesses that are the lot of those who live in a crowd. The most severe frost that ever nipped the hopes of a year is better to my thinking than having to listen to one malignant truth or lie, and I would rather have a mole busy burrowing tunnels under each of my rose trees and letting the air get at their roots than face a single greeting where no kindness is. How can you help being happy if you are healthy and in the place you want to be? A man once made it a reproach that I should be so happy, and told me everybody has crosses, and that we live in a vale of woe. I mentioned moles as my principal cross, and pointed to the huge black mounds with which they had decorated the tennis-court, but I could not agree to the vale of woe, and could not be shaken in my belief that the world is a dear and lovely place, with everything in it to make us happy so long as we walk humbly and diet ourselves. He pointed out that sorrow and sickness were sure to come, and seemed quite angry with me when I suggested that they too could be borne perhaps with cheerfulness. "And have not even such things their sunny side?" I exclaimed. "When I am steeped to the lips in diseases and doctors, I shall at least have something to talk about that interests my women friends, and need not sit as I do now wondering what I shall say next and wishing they would go." He replied that all around me lay misery, sin, and suffering, and that every person not absolutely blinded by selfishness must be aware of it and must realise the seriousness and tragedy of existence. I asked him whether my being miserable and discontented would help any one or make him less wretched; and he said that we all had to take up our burdens. I assured him I would not shrink from mine, though I felt secretly ashamed of it when I remembered that it was only moles, and he went away with a grave face and a shaking head, back to his wife and his eleven children. I heard soon afterwards that a twelfth baby had been born and his wife had died, and in dying had turned her face with a quite unaccountable impatience away from him and to the wall; and the rumour of his piety reached even into my garden, and how he had said, as he closed her eyes, "It is the Will of God." He was a missionary. But of what use is it telling a woman with a garden that she ought really to be ashamed of herself for being happy? The fresh air is so buoyant that it lifts all remarks of that sort away off you and leaves you laughing. They get wafted away on the scent of the stocks, and you stand in the sun looking round at your cheerful flowers, and more than ever persuaded that it is a good and blessed thing to be thankful. Oh a garden is a sweet, sane refuge to have! Whether I am tired because I have enjoyed myself too much, or tired because I have lectured the servants too much, or tired because I have talked to missionaries too much, I have only to come down the verandah steps into the garden to be at once restored to quiet, and serenity, and my real and natural self. I could almost fancy sometimes that as I come down the steps, gentle hands of blessing have been laid on my head. I suppose I feel so because of the hush that descends on my soul when I get out of the close, restless house into that silent purity. Sometimes I sit for hours in the south walk by the verandah just listening and watching. It is so private there, though directly beneath the windows, that it is one of my favourite places. There are no bedrooms on that side of the house, only the Man of Wrath's and my day-rooms, so that servants cannot see me as I stand there enjoying myself. If they did or could, I should simply never go there, for nothing is so utterly destructive to meditation as to know that probably somebody inquisitive is eyeing you from behind a curtain. The loveliest garden I know is spoilt to my thinking by the impossibility of getting out of sight of the house, which stares down at you, Argus-eyed and unblinking, into whatever corner you may shuffle. Perfect house and perfect garden, lying in that land of lovely gardens, England, the garden just the right size for perfection, not a weed ever admitted, every dandelion and daisy--those friends of the unaspiring-- routed out years ago, the borders exquisite examples of taste, the turf so faultless that you hardly like to walk on it for fear of making it dusty, and the whole quite uninhabitable for people of my solitary tendencies because, go where you will, you are overlooked. Since I have lived in this big straggling place, full of paths and copses where I am sure of being left alone, with wide fields and heath and forests beyond, and so much room to move and breathe in, I feel choked, oppressed, suffocated, in anything small and perfect. I spent a very happy afternoon in that little English paradise, but I came away quite joyfully, and with many a loving thought of my own dear ragged garden, and all the corners in it where the anemones twinkle in the spring like stars, and where there is so much nature and so little art. It will grow I know sweeter every year, but it is too big ever to be perfect and to get to look so immaculate that the diseased imagination conjures up visions of housemaids issuing forth each morning in troops and dusting every separate flower with feather brushes. Nature herself is untidy, and in a garden she ought to come first, and Art with her brooms and clipping-shears follow humbly behind. Art has such a good time in the house, where she spreads herself over the walls, and hangs herself up gorgeously at the windows, and lurks in the sofa cushions, and breaks out in an eruption of pots wherever pots are possible, that really she should be content to take the second place out of doors. And how dreadful to meet a gardener and a wheelbarrow at every turn--which is precisely what happens to one in the perfect garden. My gardener, whose deafness is more than compensated for by the keenness of his eyesight, very soon remarked the scowl that distorted my features whenever I met one of his assistants in my favourite walks, and I never meet them now. I think he must keep them chained up to the cucumber-frames, so completely have they disappeared, and he only lets them loose when he knows I am driving, or at meals, or in bed. But is it not irritating to be sitting under your favourite tree, pencil in hand, and eyes turned skywards expectant of the spark from heaven that never falls, and then to have a man appear suddenly round the corner who immediately begins quite close to you to tear up the earth with his fangs? No one will ever know the number of what I believe are technically known as winged words that I have missed bringing down through interruptions of this kind. Indeed, as I look through these pages I see I must have missed them all, for I can find nothing anywhere with even a rudimentary approach to wings. Sometimes when I am in a critical mood and need all my faith to keep me patient, I shake my head at the unshornness of the garden as gravely as the missionary shook his head at me. The bushes stretch across the paths, and, catching at me as I go by, remind me that they have not been pruned; the teeming plant life rejoices on the lawns free from all interference from men and hoes; the pinks are closely nibbled off at the beginning of each summer by selfish hares intent on their own gratification; most of the beds bear the marks of nocturnal foxes; and the squirrels spend their days wantonly biting off and flinging down the tender young shoots of the firs. Then there is the boy who drives the donkey and water-cart round the garden, and who has an altogether reprehensible habit of whisking round corners and slicing off bits of the lawn as he whisks. "But you can't alter these things, my good soul," I say to myself. "If you want to get rid of the hares and foxes, you must consent to have wire-netting, which is odious, right round your garden. And you are always saying you like weeds, so why grumble at your lawns? And it doesn't hurt you much if the squirrels do break bits off your firs--the firs must have had that happening to them years and years before you were born, yet they still flourish. As for boys, they certainly are revolting creatures. Can't you catch this one when he isn't looking and pop him in his own water-barrel and put the lid on?" I asked the June baby, who had several times noticed with indignation the culpable indifference of this boy in regard to corners, whether she did not think that would be a good way of disposing of him. She is a great disciplinarian, and was loud in her praise of the plan; but the other two demurred. "He might go dead in there," said the May baby, apprehensively. "And he is such a naughty boy," said April, who had watched his reckless conduct with special disgust, "that if he once went dead he'd go straight to the _Holle_ and stay all the time with the _diable_." That was the first French word I have heard them say: strange and sulphureous first-fruits of Seraphine's teaching! We were going round the garden in a procession, I with a big pair of scissors, and the Three with baskets, into one of which I put fresh flowers, and into the others flowers that were beginning to seed, dead flowers, and seed-pods. The garden was quivering in heat and light; rain in the morning had brought out all the snails and all the sweetness, and we were very happy, as we always are, I when I am knee-deep in flowers, and the babies when they can find new sorts of snails to add to their collections. These collections are carried about in cardboard boxes all day, and at night each baby has hers on the chair beside her bed. Sometimes the snails get out and crawl over the beds, but the babies do not mind. Once when April woke in the morning she was overjoyed by finding a friendly little one on her cheek. Clearly babies of iron nerves and pellucid consciences. "So you do know some French," I said as I snipped off poppy-heads; "you have always pretended you don't." "Oh, keep the poppies, mummy," cried April, as she saw them tumbling into her basket; "if you picks them and just leaves them, then they ripes and is good for such a many things." "Tell me about the _diable_" I said, "and you shall keep the poppies." "He isn't nice, that _diable_," she said, starting off at once with breathless eloquence. "Seraphine says there was one time a girl and a boy who went for a walk, and there were two ways, and one way goes where stones is, but it goes to the _lieber Gott_; and the girl went that way till she came to a door, and the _lieber Gott_ made the door opened and she went in, and that's the _Himmel_." "And the boy?" "Oh, he was a naughty boy and went the other way where there is a tree, and on the tree is written, 'Don't go this way or you'll be dead,' and he said, 'That is one _betise_,' and did go in the way and got to the _Holle_, and there he gets whippings when he doesn't make what the _diable_ says." "That's because he was so naughty," explained the May baby, holding up an impressive finger, "and didn't want to go to the _Himmel_ and didn't love glory." "All boys are naughty," said June, "and I don't love them." "_Nous allons parler Francais_" I announced, desirous of finding out whether their whole stock was represented by _diable_ and _betise_; "I believe you can all speak it quite well." There was no answer. I snipped off sweet-pea pods and began to talk French at a great rate, asking questions as I snipped, and trying to extract answers, and getting none. The silence behind me grew ominous. Presently I heard a faint sniff, and the basket being held up to me began to shake. I bent down quickly and looked under April's sun-bonnet. She was crying great dreadful tears, and rubbing her eyes hard with her one free hand. "Why, you most blessed of babies," I exclaimed, kneeling down and putting my arms round her, "what in the world is the matter?" She looked at me with grieved and doubting eyes. "Such a mother to talk French to her child!" she sobbed. I threw down the scissors, picked her up, and carried her up and down the path, comforting her with all the soft words I knew and suppressing my desire to smile. "That's not French, is it?" I whispered at the end of a long string of endearments, beginning, I believe, with such flights of rhetoric as priceless blessing and angel baby, and ending with a great many kisses. "No, no," she answered, patting my face and looking infinitely relieved, "that is pretty, and how mummies always talks. Proper mummies never speak French--only Seraphines." And she gave me a very tight hug, and a kiss that transferred all her tears to my face; and I set her down and, taking out my handkerchief, tried to wipe off the traces of my attempt at governessing from her cheeks. I wonder how it is that whenever babies cry, streaks of mud immediately appear on their faces. I believe I could cry for a week, and yet produce no mud. "I'll tell you what I'll do, babies," I said, anxious to restore complete serenity on such a lovely day, and feeling slightly ashamed of my uncalled-for zeal--indeed, April was right, and proper mothers leave lessons and torments to somebody else, and devote all their energies to petting--"I'll give a ball after tea." "_Yes_!" shouted three exultant voices, "and invite all the babies!" "So now you must arrange what you are going to wear. I suppose you'd like the same supper as usual? Run away to Seraphine and tell her to get you ready." They seized their baskets and their boxes of snails and rushed off into the bushes, calling for Seraphine with nothing but rapture in their voices, and French and the _diable_ quite forgotten. These balls are given with great ceremony two or three times a year. They last about an hour, during which I sit at the piano in the library playing cheerful tunes, and the babies dance passionately round the pillar. They refuse to waltz together, which is perhaps a good thing, for if they did there would always be one left over to be a wallflower and gnash her teeth; and when they want to dance squares they are forced by the stubbornness of numbers to dance triangles. At the appointed hour they knock at the door, and come in attired in the garments they have selected as appropriate (at this last ball the April baby wore my shooting coat, the May baby had a muff, and the June baby carried Seraphine's umbrella), and, curtseying to me, each one makes some remark she thinks suitable to the occasion. "How's your husband?" June asked me last time, in the defiant tones she seems to think proper at a ball. "Very well, thank you." "Oh, that is nice." "Mine isn't vely well," remarked April, cheerfully. "Indeed?" "No, he has got some tummy-aches." "Dear me!" "He was coming else, and had such fine twowsers to wear--pink ones with wibbons." After a little more graceful conversation of this kind the ball begins, and at the end of an hour's dancing, supper, consisting of radishes and lemonade, is served on footstools; and when they have cleared it up even to the leaves and stalks of the radishes, they rise with much dignity, express in proper terms their sense of gratitude for the entertainment, curtsey, and depart to bed, where they spend a night of horror, the prey of the awful dreams naturally resulting from so unusual a combination as radishes and babies. That is why my balls are rare festivals--the babies will insist on having radishes for the supper, and I, as a decent parent with a proper sense of my responsibilities, am forced accordingly to restrict my invitations to two, at the most three, in a year. When this last one was over I felt considerably exhausted, and had hardly sufficient strength to receive their thanks with civility. An hour's jig-playing with the thermometer at 90 leaves its marks on the most robust; and when they were in bed, and the supper beginning to do its work, I ordered the carriage and the kettle with a view to seeking repose in the forest, taking the opportunity of escaping before the Man of Wrath should come in to dinner. The weather has been very hot for a long time, but the rain in the morning had had a wonderful effect on my flowers, and as I drove away I could not help noticing how charming the borders in front of the house were looking, with their white hollyhocks, and white snapdragons, and fringe of feathery marigolds. This gardener has already changed the whole aspect of the place, and I believe I have found the right man at last. He is very young for a head gardener, but on that account all the more anxious to please me and keep his situation; and it is a great comfort to have to do with somebody who watches and interprets rightly every expression of one's face and does not need much talking to. He makes mistakes sometimes in the men he engages, just as I used to when I did the engaging, and he had one poor young man as apprentice who very soon, like the first of my three meek gardeners, went mad. His madness was of a harmless nature and took a literary form; indeed, that was all they had against him, that he would write books. He used to sit in the early morning on my special seats in the garden, and strictly meditate the thankless muse when he ought to have been carting manure; and he made his fellow-apprentices unspeakably wretched by shouting extracts from Schiller at them across the intervening gooseberry bushes. Let me hasten to say that I had never spoken to him, and should not even have known what he was like if he had not worn eyeglasses, so that the Man of Wrath's insinuation that I affect the sanity of my gardeners is entirely without justification. The eyeglasses struck me as so odd on a gardener that I asked who he was, and was told that he had been studying for the Bar, but could not pass the examinations, and had taken up gardening in the hope of getting back his health and spirits. I thought this a very sensible plan, and was beginning to feel interested in him when one day the post brought me a registered packet containing a manuscript play he had written called "The Lawyer as Gardener," dedicated to me. The Man of Wrath and I were both in it, the Man of Wrath, however, only in the list of characters, so that he should not feel hurt, I suppose, for he never appeared on the scenes at all. As for me, I was represented as going about quoting Tolstoi in season and out of season to the gardeners--a thing I protest I never did. The young man was sent home to his people, and I have been asking myself ever since what there is about this place that it should so persistently produce books and lunacy? On the outskirts of the forest, where shafts of dusty sunlight slanted through the trees, children were picking wortleberries for market as I passed last night, with hands and faces and aprons smudged into one blue stain. I had decided to go to a water-mill belonging to the Man of Wrath which lies far away in a clearing, so far away and so lonely and so quiet that the very spirit of peace seems to brood over it for ever; and all the way the wortleberry carpet was thick and unbroken. Never were the pines more pungent than after the long heat, and their rosy stems flushed pinker as I passed. Presently I got beyond the region of wortleberry-pickers, the children not caring to wander too far into the forest so late, and I jolted over the roots into the gathering shadows more and more pervaded by that feeling that so refreshes me, the feeling of being absolutely alone. A very ancient man lives in the mill and takes care of it, for it has long been unused, a deaf old man with a clean, toothless face, and no wife to worry him. He informed me once that all women are mistakes, especially that aggravated form called wives, and that he was thankful he had never married. I felt a certain delicacy after that about intruding on his solitude with the burden of my sex and wifehood heavy upon me, but he always seems very glad to see me, and runs at once to his fowlhouse to look for fresh eggs for my tea; so perhaps he regards me as a pleasing exception to the rule. On this last occasion he brought a table out to the elm-tree by the mill stream, that I might get what air there was while I ate my supper; and I sat in great peace waiting for the kettle to boil and watching the sun dropping behind the sharp forest me, and all the little pools and currents into which the stream just there breaks as it flows over mud banks, ablaze with the red reflection of the sky. The pools are clothed with water-lilies and inhabited by eels, and I generally take a netful of writhing eels back with me to the Man of Wrath to pacify him after my prolonged absence. In the lily time I get into the miller's punt and make them an excuse for paddling about among the mud islands, and even adventurously exploring the river as it winds into the forest, and the old man watches me anxiously from under the elm. He regards my feminine desire to pick water-lilies with indulgence, but is clearly uneasy at my affection for mud banks, and once, after I had stuck on one, and he had run up and down in great agitation for half an hour shouting instructions as to getting off again, he said when I was safely back on shore that people with petticoats (his way of expressing woman) were never intended for punts, and their only chance of safety lay in dry land and keeping quiet. I did not this time attempt the punt, for I was tired, and it was half full of water, probably poured into it by a miller weary of the ways of women; and I drank my tea quietly, going on at the same time with my interrupted afternoon reading of the _Sorrows of Werther_, in which I had reached a part that has a special fascination for me every time I read it--that part where Werther first meets Lotte, and where, after a thunderstorm; they both go to the window, and she is so touched by the beauties of nature that she lays her hand on his and murmurs "Klopstock,"--to the complete dismay of the reader, though not of Werther, for he, we find, was so carried away by the magic word that he flung himself on to her hand and kissed it with tears of rapture. I looked up from the book at the quiet pools and the black line of trees, above which stars were beginning to twinkle, my ears soothed by the splashing of the mill stream and the hooting somewhere near of a solitary owl, and I wondered whether, if the Man of Wrath were by my side, it would be a relief to my pleasurable feelings to murmur "Klopstock," and whether if I did he would immediately shed tears of joy over my hand. The name is an unfortunate one as far as music goes, and Goethe's putting it into his heroine's mouth just when she was most enraptured, seems to support the view I sometimes adopt in discoursing to the Man of Wrath that he had no sense of humour. But here I am talking about Goethe, our great genius and idol, in a way that no woman should. What do German women know of such things? Quite untrained and uneducated, how are we to judge rightly about anybody or anything? All we can do is to jump at conclusions, and, when we have jumped, receive with meekness the information that we have jumped wrong. Sitting there long after it was too dark to read, I thought of the old miller's words, and agreed with him that the best thing a woman can do in this world is to keep quiet. He came out once and asked whether he should bring a lamp, and seemed uneasy at my choosing to sit there in the dark. I could see the stars in the black pools, and a line of faint light far away above the pines where the sun had set. Every now and then the hot air from the ground struck up in my face, and afterwards would come a cooler breath from the water. Of what use is it to fight for things and make a noise? Nature is so clear in her teaching that he who has lived with her for any time can be in little doubt as to the "better way." Keep quiet and say one's prayers--certainly not merely the best, but the only things to do if one would be truly happy; but, ashamed of asking when I have received so much, the only form of prayer I would use would be a form of thanksgiving. September September 9th--I have been looking in the dictionary for the English word for _Einquartierung_, because that is what is happening to us just now, but I can find nothing satisfactory. My dictionary merely says (1) the quartering, (2) soldiers quartered, and then relapses into irrelevancy; so that it is obvious English people do without the word for the delightful reason that they have not got the thing. We have it here very badly; an epidemic raging at the end of nearly every summer, when cottages and farms swarm with soldiers and horses, when all the female part of the population gets engaged to be married and will not work, when all the male part is jealous and wants to fight, and when my house is crowded with individuals so brilliant and decorative in their dazzling uniforms that I wish sometimes I might keep a bunch of the tallest and slenderest for ever in a big china vase in a corner of the drawing-room. This year the manoeuvres are up our way, so that we are blest with more than our usual share of attention, and wherever you go you see soldiers, and the holy calm that has brooded over us all the summer has given place to a perpetual running to and fro of officers' servants, to meals being got ready at all hours, to the clanking of spurs and all those other mysterious things on an officer that do clank whenever he moves, and to the grievous wailings of my unfortunate menials, who are quite beside themselves, and know not whither to turn for succour. We have had one week of it already, and we have yet another before us. There are five hundred men with their horses quartered at the farm, and thirty officers with their servants in our house, besides all those billeted on the surrounding villages who have to be invited to dinner and cannot be allowed to perish in peasant houses; so that my summer has for a time entirely ceased to be solitary, and whenever I flee distracted to the farthest recesses of my garden and begin to muse, according to my habit, on Man, on Nature, and on Human Life, lieutenants got up in the most exquisite flannels pursue me and want to play tennis with me, a game I have always particularly disliked. There is no room of course for all those extra men and horses at the farm, and when a few days before their arrival (sometimes it is only one, and sometimes only a few hours) an official appears and informs us of the number to be billeted on us, the Man of Wrath has to have temporary sheds run up, some as stables, some as sleeping-places, and some as dining-rooms. Nor is it easy to cook for five hundred people more than usual, and all the ordinary business of the farm comes to a stand-still while the hands prepare barrowfuls of bacon and potatoes, and stir up the coffee and milk and sugar together with a pole in a tub. Part of the regimental band is here, the upper part. The base instruments are in the next village; but that did not deter an enthusiastic young officer from marching his men past our windows on their arrival at six in the morning, with colours flying, and what he had of his band playing their tunes as unconcernedly as though all those big things that make such a noise were giving the fabric its accustomed and necessary base. We are paid six pfennings a day for lodging a common soldier, and six pfennings for his horse--rather more than a penny in English money for the pair of them; only unfortunately sheds and carpentry are not quite so cheap. Eighty pfennings a day is added for the soldier's food, and for this he has to receive two pounds of bread, half a pound of meat, a quarter of a pound of bacon, and either a quarter of a pound of rice or barley or three pounds of potatoes. Officers are paid for at the rate of two marks fifty a day without wine; we are not obliged to give them wine, and if we do they are regarded as guests, and behave accordingly. The thirty we have now do not, as I could have wished, all go out together in the morning and stay out till the evening, but some go out as others come in, and breakfast is not finished till lunch begins, and lunch drags on till dinner, and all day long the dining-room is full of meals and officers, and we ceased a week ago to have the least feeling that the place, after all, belongs to us. Now really it seems to me that I am a much-tried woman, and any peace I have enjoyed up to now is amply compensated for by my present torments. I believe even my stern friend the missionary would be satisfied if he could know how swiftly his prediction that sorrow and suffering would be sure to come, has been fulfilled. All day long I am giving out table linen, ordering meals, supporting the feeble knees of servants, making appropriate and amiable remarks to officers, presiding as gracefully as nature permits at meals, and trying to look as though I were happy; while out in the garden--oh, I know how it is looking out in the garden this golden weather, how the placid hours are slipping by in unchanged peace, how strong the scent of roses and ripe fruit is, how the sleepy bees drone round the flowers, how warmly the sun shines in that corner where the little Spanish chestnut is turning yellow--the first to turn, and never afterwards surpassed in autumn beauty; I know how still it is down there in my fir wood, where the insects hum undisturbed in the warm, quiet air; I know what the plain looks like from the seat under the oak, how beautiful, with its rolling green waves burning to gold under the afternoon sky; I know how the hawks circle over it, and how the larks sing above it, and I edge as near to the open window as I can, straining my ears to hear them, and forgetting the young men who are telling me of all the races their horses win as completely as though they did not exist. I want to be out there on that golden grass, and look up into that endless blue, and feel the ecstasy of that song through all my being, and there is a tearing at my heart when I remember that I cannot. Yet they are beautiful young men; all are touchingly amiable, and many of the older ones even charming--how is it, then, that I so passionately prefer larks? We have every grade of greatness here, from that innocent being the ensign, a creature of apparent modesty and blushes, who is obliged to stand up and drain his glass each time a superior chooses to drink to him, and who sits on the hardest chairs and looks for the balls while we play tennis, to the general, invariably delightful, whose brains have carried him triumphantly through the annual perils of weeding out, who is as distinguished in looks and manners as he is in abilities, and has the crowning merit of being manifestly happy in the society of women. Nothing lower than a colonel is to me an object of interest. The lower you get the more officers there are, and the harder it is to see the promising ones in the crowd; but once past the rank of major the air gets very much cleared by the merciless way they have been weeded out, and the higher officers are the very flower of middle-aged German males. As for those below, a lieutenant is a bright and beautiful being who admires no one so much as himself; a captain is generally newly married, having reached the stage of increased pay which makes a wife possible, and, being often still in love with her, is ineffective for social purposes; and a major is a man with a yearly increasing family, for whose wants his pay is inadequate, a person continually haunted by the fear of approaching weeding, after which his career is ended, he is poorer than ever, and being no longer young and only used to a soldier's life, is almost always quite incapable of starting afresh. Even the children of light find it difficult to start afresh with any success after forty, and the retired officer is never a child of light; if he were, he would not have been weeded out. You meet him everywhere, shorn of the glories of his uniform, easily recognisable by the bad fit of his civilian clothes, wandering about like a ship without a rudder; and as time goes on he settles down to the inevitable, and passes his days in a fourth-floor flat in the suburbs, eats, drinks, sleeps, reads the _Kreuzzeitung_ and nothing else, plays at cards in the day-time, grows gouty, and worries his wife. It would be difficult to count the number of them that have answered the Man of Wrath's advertisements for book- keepers and secretaries--always vainly, for even if they were fit for the work, no single person possesses enough tact to cope successfully with the peculiarities of such a situation. I hear that some English people of a hopeful disposition indulge in ladies as servants; the cases are parallel, and the tact required to meet both superhuman. Of all the officers here the only ones with whom I can find plenty to talk about are the generals. On what subject under heaven could one talk to a lieutenant? I cannot discuss the agility of ballet-dancers or the merits of jockeys with him, because these things are as dust and ashes to me; and when forced for a few moments by my duties as hostess to come within range of his conversation I feel chilly and grown old. In the early spring of this year, in those wonderful days of hope when nature is in a state of suppressed excitement, and when any day the yearly recurring miracle may happen of a few hours' warm rain changing the whole world, we got news that a lieutenant and two men with their horses were imminent, and would be quartered here for three nights while some occult military evolutions were going on a few miles off. It was specially inopportune, because the Man of Wrath would not be here, but he comforted me as I bade him good-bye, my face no doubt very blank, by the assurance that the lieutenant would be away all day, and so worn out when he got back in the evening that he probably would not appear at all. But I never met a more wide-awake young man. Not once during those three days did he respond to my pressing entreaties to go and lie down, and not all the desperate eloquence of a woman at her wit's end could persuade him that he was very tired and ought to try and get some sleep. I had intended to be out when he arrived, and to remain out till dinner time, but he came unexpectedly early, while the babies and I were still at lunch, the door opening to admit the most beautiful specimen of his class that I have ever seen, so beautiful indeed in his white uniform that the babies took him for an angel--visitant of the type that visited Abraham and Sarah, and began in whispers to argue about wings. He was not in the least tired after his long ride he told me, in reply to my anxious inquiries, and, rising to the occasion, at once plunged into conversation, evidently realising how peculiarly awful prolonged pauses under the circumstances would be. I took him for a drive in the afternoon, after having vainly urged him to rest, and while he told me about his horses, and his regiment, and his brother officers, in what at last grew to be a decidedly intermittent prattle, I amused myself by wondering what he would say if I suddenly began to hold forth on the themes I love best, and insist that he should note the beauty of the trees as they stood that afternoon expectant, with all their little buds only waiting for the one warm shower to burst into the glory of young summer. Perhaps he would regard me as the German variety of a hyena in petticoats--the imagination recoils before the probable fearfulness of such an animal--or, if not quite so bad as that, at any rate a creature hysterically inclined; and he would begin to feel lonely, and think of his comrades, and his pleasant mess, and perhaps even of his mother, for he was very young and newly fledged. Therefore I held my peace, and restricted my conversation to things military, of which I know probably less than any other woman in Germany, so that my remarks must have been to an unusual degree impressive. He talked down to me, and I talked down to him, and we reached home in a state of profoundest exhaustion--at least I know I did, but when I looked at him he had not visibly turned a hair. I went upstairs trying to hope that he had felt it more than he showed, and that during the remainder of his stay he would adopt the suggestion so eagerly offered of spending his spare time in his room resting. At dinner, he and I, quite by ourselves, were both manifestly convinced of the necessity, for the sake of the servants, of not letting the conversation drop. I felt desperate, and would have said anything sooner than sit opposite him in silence, and with united efforts we got through that fairly well. After dinner I tried gossip, and encouraged him to tell me some, but he had such an unnatural number of relations that whoever I began to talk about happened to be his cousin, or his brother- in-law, or his aunt, as he hastily informed me, so that what I had intended to say had to be turned immediately into loud and unqualified praise; and praising people is frightfully hard work--you give yourself the greatest pains over it, and are aware all the time that it is not in the very least carrying conviction. Does not everybody know that one's natural impulse is to tear the absent limb from limb? At half-past nine I got up, worn out in mind and body, and told him very firmly that it had been a custom in my family from time immemorial to be in bed by ten, and that I was accordingly going there. He looked surprised and wider awake than ever, but nothing shook me, and I walked away, leaving him standing on the hearthrug after the manner of my countrymen, who never dream of opening a door for a woman. The next day he went off at five in the morning, and was to be away, as he had told me, till the evening. I felt as though I had been let out of prison as I breakfasted joyfully on the verandah, the sun streaming through the creeperless trellis on to the little meal, and the first cuckoo of the year calling to me from the fir wood. Of the dinner and evening before me I would not think; indeed I had a half-formed plan in my head of going to the forest after lunch with the babies, taking wraps and provisions, and getting lost till well on towards bedtime; so that when the angel-visitant should return full of renewed strength and conversation, he would find the casket empty and be told the gem had gone out for a walk. After I had finished breakfast I ran down the steps into the garden, intent on making the most of every minute and hardly able to keep my feet from dancing. Oh, the blessedness of a bright spring morning without a lieutenant! And was there ever such a hopeful beginning to a day, and so full of promise for the subsequent right passing of its hours, as breakfast in the garden, alone with your teapot and your book! Any cobwebs that have clung to your soul from the day before are brushed off with a neatness and expedition altogether surprising; never do tea and toast taste so nice as out there in the sun; never was a book so wise and full of pith as the one lying open before you; never was woman so clean outside and in, so refreshed, so morally and physically well-tubbed, as she who can start her day in this fashion. As I danced down the garden path I began to think cheerfully even of lieutenants. It was not so bad; he would be away till dark, and probably on the morrow as well; I would start off in the afternoon, and by coming back very late would not see him at all that day--might not, if Providence were kind, see him again ever; and this last thought was so exhilarating that I began to sing. But he came back just as we had finished lunch. "The _Herr Lieutenant_ is here," announced the servant, "and has gone to wash his hands. The _Herr Lieutenant_ has not yet lunched, and will be down in a moment." "I want the carriage at once," I ordered--I could not and would not spend another afternoon _tete-a-tete_ with that young man,--"and you are to tell the _Herr Lieutenant_ that I am sorry I was obliged to go out, but I had promised the pastor to take the children there this afternoon. See that he has everything he wants." I gathered the babies together and fled. I could hear the lieutenant throwing things about overhead, and felt there was not a moment to lose. The servant's face showed plainly that he did not believe about the pastor, and the babies looked up at me wonderingly. What is a woman to do when driven into a corner? The father of lies inhabits corners--no doubt the proper place for such a naughty person. We ran upstairs to get ready. There was only one short flight on which we could meet the lieutenant, and once past that we were safe; but we met him on that one short flight. He was coming down in a hurry, giving his moustache a final hasty twist, and looking fresher, brighter, lovelier, than ever. "Oh, good morning. You have got back much sooner than you expected, have you not?" I said lamely. "Yes, I managed to get through my part quickly," he said with a briskness I did not like. "But you started so early--you must be very tired?" "Oh, not in the least, thank you." Then I repeated the story about the expectant parson, adding to my guilt by laying stress on the inevitability of the expedition owing to its having been planned weeks before. April and May stood on the landing above, listening with surprised faces, and June, her mind evidently dwelling on feathers, intently examined his shoulders from the step immediately behind. And we did get away, leaving him to think what he liked, and to smoke, or sleep, or wander as he chose, and I could not but believe he must feel relieved to be rid of me; but the afternoon clouded over, and a sharp wind sprang up, and we were very cold in the forest, and the babies began to sneeze and ask where the parson was, and at last, after driving many miles, I said it was too late to go to the parson's and we would turn back. It struck me as hard that we should be forced to wander in cold forests and leave our comfortable home because of a lieutenant, and I went back with my heart hardened against him. That second evening was worse a great deal than the first. We had said all we ever meant to say to each other, and had lauded all our relations with such hearty goodwill that there was nothing whatever to add. I sat listening to the slow ticking of the clock and asking questions about things I did not in the least want to know, such as the daily work and rations and pay of the soldiers in his regiment, and presently--we having dined at the early hour usual in the country--the clock struck eight. Could I go to bed at eight? No, I had not the courage, and no excuse ready. More slow ticking, and more questions and answers about rations and pipeclay. What a clock! For utter laziness and dull deliberation there surely never was its equal--it took longer to get to the half-hour than any clock I ever met, but it did get there at last and struck it. Could I go? Could I? No, still no excuse ready. We drifted from pipeclay to a discussion on bicycling for women--a dreary subject. Was it becoming? Was it good for them? Was it ladylike? Ought they to wear skirts or--? In Paris they all wore--. Our bringing-up here is so excellent that if we tried we could not induce ourselves to speak of any forked garments to a young man, so we make ourselves understood, when we desire to insinuate such things, by an expressive pause and a modest downward flicker of the eyelids. The clock struck nine. Nothing should keep me longer. I sprang to my feet and said I was exhausted beyond measure by the sharp air driving, and that whenever I had spent an afternoon out, it was my habit to go to bed half an hour earlier than other evenings. Again he looked surprised, but rather less so than the night before, and he was, I think, beginning to get used to me. I retired, firmly determined not to face another such day and to be very ill in the morning and quite unable to rise, he having casually remarked that the next one was an off day; and I would remain in bed, that last refuge of the wretched, as long as he remained here. I sat by the window in my room till late, looking out at the moonlight in the quiet garden, with a feeling as though I were stuffed with sawdust--a very awful feeling--and thinking ruefully of the day that had begun so brightly and ended so dismally. What a miserable thing not to be able to be frank and say simply, "My good young man, you and I never saw each other before, probably won't see each other again, and have no interests in common. I mean you to be comfortable in my house, but I want to be comfortable too. Let us, therefore, keep out of each other's way while you are obliged to be here. Do as you like, go where you like, and order what you like, but don't expect me to waste my time sitting by your side and making small-talk. I too have to get to heaven, and have no time to lose. You won't see me again. Good-bye." I believe many a harassed _Hausfrau_ would give much to be able to make some such speech when these young men appear, and surely the young men themselves would be grateful; but simplicity is apparently quite beyond people's strength. It is, of all the virtues, the one I prize the most; it is undoubtedly the most lovable of any, and unspeakably precious for its power of removing those mountains that confine our lives and prevent our seeing the sky. Certain it is that until we have it, the simple spirit of the little child, we shall in no wise discover our kingdom of heaven. These were my reflections, and many others besides, as I sat weary at the window that cold spring night, long after the lieutenant who had occasioned them was slumbering peacefully on the other side of the house. Thoughts of the next day, and enforced bed, and the bowls of gruel to be disposed of if the servants were to believe in my illness, made my head ache. Eating gruel _pour la galerie_ is a pitiable state to be reduced to--surely no lower depths of humiliation are conceivable. And then, just as I was drearily remembering how little I loved gruel, there was a sudden sound of wheels rolling swiftly round the corner of the house, a great rattling and trampling in the still night over the stones, and tearing open the window and leaning out, there, sitting in a station fly, and apparelled to my glad vision in celestial light, I beheld the Man of Wrath, come home unexpectedly to save me. "Oh, dear Man of Wrath," I cried, hanging out into the moonlight with outstretched arms, "how much nicer thou art than lieutenants! I never missed thee more--I never longed for thee more--I never loved thee more --come up here quickly that I may kiss thee!--" October 1st.--Last night after dinner, when we were in the library, I said, "Now listen to me, Man of Wrath." "Well?" he inquired, looking up at me from the depths of his chair as I stood before him. "Do you know that as a prophet you are a failure? Five months ago to-day you sat among the wallflowers and scoffed at the idea of my being able to enjoy myself alone a whole summer through. Is the summer over?" "It is," he assented, as he heard the rain beating against the windows. "And have I invited any one here?" "No, but there were all those officers." "They have nothing whatever to do with it." "They helped you through one fortnight." "They didn't. It was a fortnight of horror." "Well. Go on." "You said I would be punished by being dull. Have I been dull?" "My dear, as though if you had been you would ever confess it." "That's true. But as a matter of fact let me tell you that I never spent a happier summer." He merely looked at me out of the corners of his eyes. "If I remember rightly," he said, after a pause, "your chief reason for wishing to be solitary was that your soul might have time to grow. May I ask if it did?" "Not a bit." He laughed, and, getting up, came and stood by my side before the fire. "At least you are honest," he said, drawing my hand through his arm. "It is an estimable virtue." "And strangely rare in woman." "Now leave woman alone. I have discovered you know nothing really of her at all. But _I_ know all about her." "You do? My dear, one woman can never judge the others." "An exploded tradition, dear Sage." "Her opinions are necessarily biassed." "Venerable nonsense, dear Sage." "Because women are each other's natural enemies." "Obsolete jargon, dear Sage." "Well, what do you make of her?" "Why, that she's a DEAR, and that you ought to be very happy and thankful to have got one of her always with you." "But am I not?" he asked, putting his arm round me and looking affectionate; and when people begin to look affectionate I, for one, cease to take any further interest in them. And so the Man of Wrath and I fade away into dimness and muteness, my head resting on his shoulder, and his arm encircling my waist; and what could possibly be more proper, more praiseworthy, or more picturesque? 
18183	----	Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 18183-h.htm or 18183-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/8/1/8/18183/18183-h/18183-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/1/8/1/8/18183/18183-h.zip) TREES, FRUITS AND FLOWERS OF MINNESOTA 1916 [Illustration: MONUMENT ERECTED IN LOBBY OF WEST HOTEL, MINNEAPOLIS, Place of annual meeting of the society, December 7 to 10. Height of monument, 10 feet. Number of bushels of apples used, twenty-five. Enlarged seal of the society on its front.] Embracing the Transactions of the Minnesota State Horticultural Society from December 1, 1915, to December 1, 1916, Including the Twelve Numbers of "The Minnesota Horticulturist" for 1916. Edited By The Secretary, A. W. LATHAM, Office and Library, 207 Kasota Block, Minneapolis, Minn. Vol. XLIV. [Illustration: MINNESOTA STATE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY "PERSEVERANTIA VINCIMUS" ORGANIZED 1866.] Minneapolis Harrison & Smith Co., Printers 1916 While it is not the intention to publish anything in this magazine that is misleading or unreliable, yet it must be remembered that the articles published herein recite the experience and opinions of their writers, and this fact must always be noted in estimating their practical value. THE MINNESOTA HORTICULTURIST Vol. 44 JANUARY, 1916 No. 1 President's Greeting, Annual Meeting, 1915. THOS. E. CASHMAN, PRESIDENT. This is the forty-ninth annual meeting of the Minnesota State Horticultural Society. Nearly half a century has elapsed since that little band of pioneers met in Rochester and organized that they might work out a problem that had proven too difficult for any of them to handle single handed and alone. Those men were all anxious to raise at least sufficient fruit for themselves and families. They had tried and failed. They were not willing to give up. They knew they could accomplish more by interchanging ideas, and, furthermore, if they were able to learn anything by experience they wanted to pass it on to their neighbors. Those men built better than they knew. The foundation was properly laid, and the structure, while not finished, is an imposing one. A great many people believe that this structure has been completed, that we have reached our possibilities in fruit raising. This is only half true. We are still building on this splendid foundation erected by those few enthusiasts. None of those men are left to enjoy the benefits of their labor. The present generation and the generations to come are and will be the beneficiaries, and I believe as a tribute to their memory and the good that they have done that we should fittingly celebrate our fiftieth anniversary. At this time I can not suggest how this should be done; I simply make this suggestion in hopes that it may be worked out. I was in hopes that a home for this society might have been erected this year or at least made ready for the 1916 meeting. This would surely have been an occasion worthy of the anniversary which we hope to celebrate. The building committee appointed by the last meeting went before the legislature and tried with all the eloquence at their command to make the members of the legislature see the necessity of appropriating sufficient money to build a permanent home for this organization. The members saw the force of our argument, but we could not convince a majority of the appropriation committee that they should deviate from their plan of retrenchment which seemed to permeate their every act. We were disappointed but not disheartened. We were promised better success in the 1917 session. So we are living in hopes, and I firmly believe that if our efforts are renewed at that time that this and the auxiliary societies may have an opportunity of meeting and transacting business in a home that, while it will belong to the state, will be for the use of these organizations, and that we may be able to take up our abode in it not later than the winter meeting of 1917. Secretary Latham has prepared an excellent program for you. Many friends of this society are with us again, full of enthusiasm and vigor, and I know that we will have one of the most successful meetings ever enjoyed by this organization. Owing to the fullness of the program, I should consider it an imposition on my part if I should attempt to make an extended address at this time and will hasten to call on the gentlemen who are to contribute to the success of this meeting. [Illustration: New varieties of strawberries originated at the Minnesota State Fruit-Breeding Farm.] Annual Meeting, 1915, Minnesota State Horticultural Society. A. W. LATHAM, SECRETARY. Did you attend the 1915 meeting of this association, held in the West Hotel, Minneapolis, four days, December 7-10 inclusive? Of course as a member of the society you will get in cold print the substance of the papers and discussions that were presented at this meeting, but you will fail altogether in getting the wonderful inspiration that comes from contact with hundreds of persons deeply interested in the various phases of horticultural problems that are constantly passing in review during the succeeding sessions of the meeting. With such a varied program there is hardly any problem connected with horticulture that is not directly or indirectly touched upon at our annual gathering, and the present meeting was no exception to this. In all there were sixty-nine persons on the program, and with the exception of Prof. Whitten, whom we expected with us from the Missouri State University, and whom sickness kept at home, and one other number, every person on the program was on hand to perform the part assigned to him. Isn't this really a wonderful thing where so many are concerned, emphasizing as it does the large interest felt in the work of the society? The meeting was held in the same room in the West Hotel which was used for the banquet two years ago. It seats comfortably 250, and was approximately filled at all of the sessions of the meeting. At the first session there were in attendance about 200 when the meeting opened at ten o'clock Tuesday morning. Later in the morning the seats were practically all filled. Making allowance for the change in the personnel of those in attendance at the various meetings, it is easily within the limit to say that between 400 and 500 were in attendance at these meetings. Immediately adjoining the audience room on the same floor, and opening out of the spacious balcony, were the various rooms occupied by the fruit exhibit and the vegetable exhibit. The plant exhibit was in two alcoves on this balcony, and the cut flowers were displayed along either side of the balcony, making altogether a wonderful showing of nature's floral products. The accommodations for this meeting were almost ideal, and judging from the expressions of the members we have never been more happily situated than on this occasion. I have endeavored to draw a plan of the arrangements at this meeting and submit it to you, not for criticism, but to assist you in understanding the situation. We were greatly disappointed that Prof. Whitten was detained at home by illness, but others from abroad took up the time so that there was really no interim as a result of his absence. We were fortunate in having with us the last day and a part of Thursday afternoon Sen. H.M. Dunlap and Mrs. Dunlap, and their parts on the program were listened to with intense interest, and I am sure much good was gained for our membership from the service they rendered the society, which it must be understood is a gratuitious one--indeed that applies to all of those whose names appear upon the program. That is one good thing about the horticulturist, he is willing to tell what he knows for the benefit of others. To hold any other view than this would be too narrow and selfish certainly for the true lover of horticulture. The exhibits were in every case in excess of what we anticipated. Notwithstanding the light crop of apples in the larger portion of the state, there was really a fine showing, and quality was very high. Of boxes of apples there were shown eleven, and of barrels of apples six, for each one of which exhibits some premium was paid, as besides the first, second and third premiums in each case there was also a sum to be divided pro rata. There were twenty-nine pecks of apples exhibited, for which premiums were also paid in the same way. Four collections of top-worked apples were on the list. Premiums were awarded to forty seedling apples, an exceedingly good showing for the season. As to the number of single plates shown the record is not easily available, but the accompanying list of awards will give information as far as they are concerned, there being of course many plates to which no awards were made. The vegetable exhibit was an extraordinarily fine one and filled comfortably the convenient room assigned for its use. It was excellently managed by Mr. N.H. Reeves, President of the Minneapolis Market Gardeners' Association. As to the flower exhibit under the fine management of W.H. Bofferding, it was so much better than we anticipated that it is hard to find words suitably to express our thought in regard to it. Besides the splendid collections of plants and the large display of cut flowers from the state, there was shown from several eastern parties rare flowers, many of them new productions, which had a great deal to do with the beautiful appearance of the balcony, where all of these flowers were shown. [Illustration: Sketch showing arrangement of hall and adjacent rooms, &c., used at 1915 Annual Meeting, in West Hotel, Minneapolis.] Mention ought to be made of the monument erected in the center of the lobby on the ground floor of the West Hotel, a structure ten feet high, containing at its base some dozen or fifteen single layer boxes of choice apples and on its sides something like twenty bushels of apples put on in varying shades of red and green with a handsome ornamental plant crowning the whole. The seal of the society decorated with national colors appears upon the front. The picture taken of this monument is shown as a frontispiece of this number. It is incomplete in that the photographer cut off both ends of it, which is unfortunate in results obtained. Nevertheless it helped materially to advertise the meeting and was a distinct ornament in the lobby. As to subjects in which there was a special interest on our program, the only one to which I will here refer is that of "marketing," which received particular attention from a considerable number of those on the program or taking impromptu parts at the meeting. The Ladies' Federation assisted us splendidly on the Woman's Auxiliary program, one number, that by Mrs. Jennison, being beautifully illustrated by lantern slides. Delegates from abroad as usual and visitors were with us in considerable number. Prof. F. W. Brodrick came from Winnipeg, representing the Manitoba Society; Prof. N. E. Hansen, as usual, represented the South Dakota Society; Mr. Earl Ferris, of Hampton, Ia., the Northeastern Iowa Society; and Mr. A. N. Greaves, from Sturgeon Bay, Wis., the Wisconsin Society. We were especially favored in having with us also on this occasion Mr. N. A. Rasmusson, president of the Wisconsin Horticultural Society, and Secretary Frederick Cranefield of the same society. If all the members of that society are as wide awake as these three the Minnesota Society will have to look to its laurels. I must not fail to mention Mr. B. G. Street, from Hebron, Ill., who was present throughout the meeting, an earnest brother, and gave us a practical talk on "marketing." Our friend, Chas. F. Gardner, of Osage, Iowa, managed to get here Friday morning after the close of the meeting of the Iowa Horticultural Society, which he had been attending, and so spent the last day of the meeting with us. Welcome, Brother Gardner! The meeting would certainly have been incomplete without the presence of those old veterans and long time attendants at our annual gatherings, Geo. J. Kellogg and A. J. Philips, both from the Wisconsin Society. We need you, dear brothers, and hope you may long foregather with us. As to that war horse of horticulture, C. S. Harrison, of York, Nebr., what would our meeting be without the fireworks in language which he has provided now for many of these annual occasions. The wonderful life and sparkle of his message survives with us from year to year, and we look forward eagerly to his annual coming. There were three contestants who spoke from the platform in competition for the prizes offered from the Gideon Memorial Fund as follows: First Prize--G. A. Nelson, University Farm School, St. Paul. Second--A. W. Aamodt, University Farm School, St. Paul. Third--P. L. Keene, University Farm School, St. Paul. Their addresses were all of a practical character and will appear in our monthly. Prof. Richard Wellington conducted a fruit judging contest, in connection with which there was a large interest, and prizes were awarded as follows: D. C. Webster, La Crescent, First $5.00 P. L. Keene, University Farm, St. Paul, Second 3.00 Marshall Hurtig, St. Paul, Third 2.00 At the annual election the old officers whose terms had expired were all re-elected without opposition, and later the secretary was re-elected by the executive board for the coming year, so that no change whatever was made in the management of the society. J. M. Underwood, being absent in the south, was nevertheless re-elected by the board as its chairman for the coming year. A pleasant event of this gathering was the presentation of a handsome gold watch and chain to the secretary, a memento in connection with the termination of his twenty-fifth year as secretary of the society, which expression of appreciation on the part of the members it may well be believed was fully appreciated by the recipient. The hall was brilliantly decorated with the national colors, which had never been used before at any of our annual gatherings. What can be more beautiful than the stars and stripes entwined with the colors of foliage and flower. Never has our place of meeting shown so brightly or been more enjoyed than in this favorable environment. During the meeting upon the recommendation of the executive board there were five names by the unanimous vote of the society placed upon the honorary life membership roll of the society, as follows: John Bisbee, Madelia; J. R. Cummins, Minneapolis; Chas. Haralson, Excelsior; F. W. Kimball, Waltham, and S. H. Drum, Owatonna. The meeting closed with seventy-five members in the hall by actual count at 4:30, and we certainly hated to say the parting word to those whom we earnestly hope to gather with again a year hence. What can we say about the crowning event of our meeting, the annual banquet? Two hundred and two members sat down together and fraternized in a most congenial way. Gov. W. S. Hammond was the speaker of the evening and greatly enjoyed. All the other numbers on the program were on hand to perform their parts. Here follows the program and you can judge for yourself. Why don't you come and enjoy this most entertaining event of the meeting? PROGRAM. Prof. N.E. Hansen, Toastmaster. Grace Rev. J. Kimball, Duluth Opening Song Trafford N. Jayne, Minneapolis Why Wake Up the Dreamers--Aren't They Getting Their Share? Prof. E. G. Cheyney, University Farm, St. Paul Reading Miss Marie Bon, Minneapolis What Joy in the Garden, Provided E. E. Park, Minneapolis Every True Horticulturist Has a Private Rainbow with a Pot of Gold at the End Mrs. T. A. Hoverstad, Minneapolis Song s. Grace Updegraff Bergen, Minneapolis The Joy of Service Gov. W. S. Hammond What Care I While I Live in a Garden A. G. Long, Minneapolis Song Trafford N. Jayne, Minneapolis Never Too Late to Mend--Unless You Are "80," A. J. Philips, West Salem, Wis. Reading Miss Marie Bon Right Living and Happiness--You Can't Have One Without the Other, T. E. Archer, St. Paul Closing Song Trafford N. Jayne, Minneapolis * * * * * "DON'TS" ISSUED TO PREVENT FOREST FIRES.--1. Don't throw your match away until you are sure it is out. 2. Don't drop cigarette or cigar butts until the glow is extinguished. 3. Don't knock out your pipe ashes while hot or where they will fall into dry leaves or other inflammable material. 4. Don't build a camp fire any larger than is absolutely necessary. 5. Don't build a fire against a tree, a log, or a stump, or anywhere but on bare soil. 6. Don't leave a fire until you are sure it is out; if necessary smother it with earth or water. 7. Don't burn brush or refuse in or near the woods if there is any chance that the fire may spread beyond your control, or that the wind may carry sparks where they would start a new fire. 8. Don't be any more careless with fire in the woods than you are with fire in your own home. 9. Don't be idle when you discover a fire in the woods; if you can't put it out yourself, get help. Where a forest guard, ranger or state fire warden can be reached, call him up on the nearest telephone you can find. 10. Don't forget that human thoughtlessness and negligence are the causes of more than half of the forest fires in this country, and that the smallest spark may start a conflagration that will result in loss of life and destruction of timber and young growth valuable not only for lumber but for their influence in helping to prevent flood, erosion, and drought.--U.S. Dept. Agri., Forest Service. Award of Premiums, Annual Meeting, 1915, Minnesota State Horticultural Society. The list of awards following will give in full detail the awards made in connection with the fruit exhibit: VEGETABLES. Carrots Chas. Krause, Merriam Park Second 2.00 Celeriac " " Third 1.00 Cabbage J. T. Olinger, Hopkins Second 2.00 Carrots " " Third 1.00 Onions (red) " " Second 2.00 Onions (yellow) " " Fourth .50 Celeriac Daniel Gantzer, Merriam Park First 3.50 Lettuce " " Third 1.00 Onions (red) " " Third 1.00 Onions (white) " " Fourth .50 Onions (yellow) " " Second 2.00 Onions (pklg) " " Second 2.00 Beets Karl Kochendorfer, So. Park Third 1.00 Carrots C. E. Warner, Osseo First 3.50 Onions (white) " " First 3.50 Beets Mrs. John Gantzer. St. Paul First 3.50 Cabbages " " Fourth .50 Onions (red) " " First 3.50 Onions (yellow) " " First 3.50 Beets Mrs. Edw. Haeg, Minneapolis Second 2.00 Cabbages " " Third 1.00 Celeriac " " Second 2.00 Carrots Alfred Perkins, St. Paul Fourth .50 Lettuce " " First 3.50 Onions (red) " " Fourth .50 Onions (white) " " First 3.50 Onions (yellow) " " Third 1.00 Onions (white) H. G. Groat, Anoka Second 2.00 Onions (pickling) " " Fourth .50 Beets Chas. Krause, Merriam Park Fourth .50 Cabbages " " First 3.50 Lettuce Mrs. Edw. Haeg, Minneapolis Second 2.00 Onions (white pklg) " " Third 1.00 Onions (white) Aug. Sauter, Excelsior Third 1.00 Globe Onions (red) P. H. Peterson, Atwater First 3.50 Salsify Mrs. John Gantzer, St. Paul First 3.50 Turnips (white) " " First 3.50 Rutabagas " " Fourth .50 Parsley Mrs. Edw. Haeg, Minneapolis Fourth .50 Hubbard Squash " " Third 1.00 Potatoes C. W. Pudham, Osseo Fourth .50 Hubbard Squash " " Fourth .50 Potatoes Frank Dunning, Anoka Second 2.00 Pie Pumpkins " " First 3.50 Hubbard Squash " " Second 2.00 Turnips (white) Alfred Perkins, St. Paul Fourth .50 Potatoes Fred Scherf, Osseo First 3.50 Rutabagas " " First 3.50 Pie Pumpkins " " Fourth .50 Parsley Chas. Krause. Merriam Park Third 1.00 Parsnips " " First 3.50 Salsify Chas. Krause, Merriam Park Second 2.00 Turnips (white) " " Second 2.00 Parsnips J. T. Olinger, Hopkins Third 1.00 Turnips " " Third 1.00 Rutabagas " " Second 2.00 Parsley Daniel Gantzer Second 2.00 Parsnips " " Second 2.00 Pie Pumpkins " " Second 2.00 Parsnips Karl K. Kochendorfer, So. Park Fourth .50 Potatoes Aug. Bueholz, Osseo Third 1.00 Hubbard Squash " " First 3.50 Rutabagas " " Third 1.00 Parsley Frank L. Gerten, So. St. Paul First 3.50 Pie Pumpkins " " Third 1.00 Radishes " " First 3.50 E. O. BALLARD, Judge. COLLECTION OF APPLES. Collection of Apples P. Clausen, Albert Lea $3.30 Collection of Apples Henry Husser, Minneiska 3.78 Collection of Apples D. C. Webster, La Crescent 3.96 Collection of Apples P. H. Perry, Excelsior 2.36 Collection of Apples F. I. Harris. La Crescent 3.48 Collection of Apples W. S. Widmoyer, La Crescent 3.12 SINGLE PLATES OF APPLES. Yahnke F. I. Harris, La Crescent First $.75 Utter W. S. Widmoyer, La Crescent First .75 N.W. Greening " " First .75 Malinda " " Second .50 Plumb's Cider " " First .75 Patten's Greening F. W. Powers, Minneapolis First .75 Duchess " " First .75 Malinda F. I. Harris, La Crescent Third .25 Peerless " " First .75 Wolf River " " Second .50 Wealthy " " Second .50 Antonovka " " Second .50 Fameuse " " Second .50 Gilbert " " First .75 Duchess P. H. Perry, Excelsior Third .25 Yellow Transparent " " First .75 Tetofsky " " First .75 Charlamoff " " Third .25 Yahnke " " Second .50 Evelyn " " First .75 Lowland Raspberry P. Clausen, Albert Lea Second .50 Hibernal " " First .75 Okabena Francis Willis, Excelsior First .75 Milwaukee " " First .75 Patten's Greening " " Second .50 Longfield " " Second .50 University " " First .75 Longfield P. H. Perry, Excelsior First .75 Fameuse " " Third .25 Hibernal E. W. Mayman, Sauk Rapids Second .50 Wealthy Sil Matzke, So. St. Paul First .75 Peerless " " Second .50 N.W. Greening " " Second .50 McMahon " " First .75 Yellow Transparent Henry Husser Second .50 Fameuse " " First .75 Walbridge " " First .75 McMahon D. C. Webster, La Crescent Third .25 N.W. Greening " " Third .25 Brett " " First .75 Gideon " " First .75 Superb " " First .75 Okabena M. Oleson, Montevideo Second .50 Peerless " " Third .25 Hibernal " " Third .25 Longfield " " Third .25 University " " Second .50 Charlamoff Henry Husser, Minneiska Second .50 McMahon " " Second .50 Wolf River " " First .75 Jewell's Winter " " First .75 Anisim P. Clausen, Albert Lea First .75 Jewell's Winter " " Second .50 Antonovka " " First .75 Iowa Beauty " " First .75 Yahnke " " Third .25 Borovinca " " First .75 Patten's Greening P. H. Peterson, Atwater Third .25 Malinda " " First .75 Okabena " " Third .25 Lord's L. " " First .75 Lowland Raspberry " " First .75 Charlamoff " " First .75 Duchess " " Second .50 Tetofsky W. J. Tingley, Forest Lake Second .50 Wealthy H. B. Hawkes, Excelsior Third .25 Grimes' Golden P. H. Peterson, Atwater First .75 JNO. P. ANDREWS, Judge. SEEDLING APPLES. Early Winter--Arnt Johnson, Viroqua, Wis. $1.45 " " --W.S. Widmoyer, La Crescent 2.45 " " --J. Flagstad & Sons, Sacred Heart 2.15 " " --No. 96--Henry Rodenberg, Mindora, Wis. 1.55 " " --No. 32-- " " 1.85 " " --No. 50-- " " 1.55 " " --No. 82-- " " 2.00 " " --No. 52-- " " 2.40 " " --No. 64-- " " 2.20 " " --Dr. O. M. Huestis, Minneapolis 1.55 " " --Jacob Halvorson, Delavan 1.55 " " --No. 102--Henry Rodenberg, Mindora, Wis. 1.15 " " --No. 138-- " " 1.40 " " --No. 137-- " " 2.00 " " --No. 131-- " " 1.70 " " --H. H. Pond, Minneapolis 1.15 " " " 1.30 " " " 1.15 " " " 1.55 " " --Henry Husser, Minneiska 2.10 " " --O. O.--M. Oleson, Montevideo 1.85 " " --O. K.-- " 2.05 " " --G. N.-- " 1.30 " " --G. S.-- " 2.20 " " --E. T.--M. Oleson 1.70 " " --E. A. Gross, La Moille 1.15 " " -- " 1.90 " " -- " 2.25 " " --No. 1--Arnt Johnson, Viroqua, Wis. 1.40 Late Winter--No. 133--Henry Rodenberg, Mindora, Wis. 3.90 " " --No. 134-- " " 2.75 " " --No. 135-- " " 2.55 " " --No. 104-- " " 3.70 " " --No. 49-- " " 3.25 " " --No. 16-- " " 3.80 " " --No. 12-- " " 3.25 " " W. S. Widmoyer, La Crescent 2.30 " " --Chas. Ziseh, Dresbach 2.30 " " --J. A. Howard, Hammond 4.20 " " " 4.15 " " --F. W. Powers, Excelsior 4.00 " " --J. Flagstad & Sons, Sacred Heart 3.25 " " Henry Husser, Minneiska 3.25 " " --No. 23--Henry Rodenberg, Mindora, Wis. 3.35 CLARENCE WEDGE, N. E. HANSEN, Judges. COLLECTION OF TOP-WORKED APPLES. Collection of Top-Worked P. H. Peterson, Atwater 4.16 Collection of Top-Worked P. Clausen, Albert Lea 11.45 Collection of Top-Worked Henry Husser, Minneiska 5.23 Collection of Top-Worked W. S. Widmoyer, Dresbach 4.16 DEWAIN COOK, Judge. PECKS OF APPLES. N.W. Greenings Aug. Sauter, Excelsior .95 Wealthy H .B. Hawkes, Excelsior 1.10 Wealthy P. H. Peterson, Atwater .90 Fameuse Henry Husser, Minneiska .80 Wolf River " " 1.00 Peerless " " .75 N.W. Greening " " .75 N.W. Greening D. C. Webster, La Crescent 1.10 Wealthy " " .90 Bethel " " 1.00 Scotts' Winter " " 1.00 Wealthy W. P. Burow, La Crescent .85 N.W. Greening " " 1.10 Wealthy E. W. Mayman, Sauk Rapids .80 Hibernal E. W. Mayman, Sauk Rapids .85 Wealthy Francis Willis, Excelsior .90 Duchess " " .55 Okabena " " .55 Milwaukee " " .80 Wealthy P. H. Perry, Excelsior .85 Fameuse " " .80 Seedlings " " .80 Peter " " .85 Wealthy F. I. Harris, La Crescent .85 N.W. Greening " " .95 Seedlings T. E. Perkins, Red Wing .80 N.W. Greenings F. W. Powers, Minneapolis 1.00 Wealthy " " .90 Duchess R. E. Olmstead, Excelsior .55 GEO. W. STRAND, Judge. BUSHEL BOXES OF APPLES. Wealthy--H. B. Hawkes, Excelsior 2.31 Wealthy--P. H. Peterson, Atwater 2.17 Wealthy--Henry Husser, Minneiska 2.43 Wealthy--D. C. Webster, La Crescent First 17.72 N.W. Greening--W. P. Burow, La Crescent 2.48 Wealthy--P. H. Perry, Excelsior 1.86 Wealthy--J. F. Bartlett, Excelsior Third 7.57 Wealthy--F. I. Harris, La Crescent Second 12.63 N.W. Greenings--F. W. Powers, Excelsior 1.98 Wealthy--F. W. Powers, Excelsior 2.08 Wealthy--S. H. Drum, Owatonna 1.77 W. G. BRIERLEY, Judge. BARRELS OF APPLES. H. B. Hawkes, Excelsior 8.98 Henry Husser, Minneiska 3.52 D. C. Webster, La Crescent First 25.23 W. P. Burow, La Crescent 3.05 Wealthy--P. H. Perry, Excelsior Third 14.37 F. I. Harris, La Crescent Second 19.85 W. G. BRIERLEY, Judge. COLLECTION GRAPES. Collection Grapes--Sil Matzke, So. St. Paul First 8.00 GEORGE W. STRAND, Judge. NUTS. Walnuts Henry Husser, Minneiska First 1.00 Butternuts " " First 1.00 Hickory Nuts " " Second .75 Hickory Nuts D. C. Webster, La Crescent First 1.00 H. J. LUDLOW, Judge. PLANTS. 12 Palms Minneapolis Floral Co. First $10.00 12 Ferns " " Third 4.00 12 Blooming Plants " " Third 6.00 12 Ferns Merriam Park Floral Co. First 10.00 12 Blooming Plants " " First 12.00 12 Palms L. S. Donaldson Co., Mpls. Second 7.00 12 Ferns " " Second 7.00 12 Blooming Plants " " Second 9.00 CUT FLOWERS. 25 Carnations (pink) L. S. Donaldson Co., Mpls. Third 1.00 25 Carnations (white) " " Second 2.00 12 Roses (red) Minneapolis Floral Co. Third 1.00 12 Roses (white) " " Third 1.00 12 Roses (yellow) " " First 3.00 12 Roses (red) N. Neilson, Mankato First 3.00 12 Roses (pink) " " First 3.00 12 Roses (white) " " First 3.00 12 Roses (yellow) " " Second 2.00 12 Roses (pink) Hans Rosacker, Minneapolis Second 2.00 12 Roses (red) " " Second 2.00 12 Roses (white) " " Second 2.00 12 Carnations (white) " " First 3.00 12 Carnations (pink) " " Second 2.00 12 Carnations (red) " " First 3.00 25 Carnations (red) Minneapolis Floral Co. Second 2.00 25 Carnations (pink) " " First 3.00 25 Carnations (white) " " Third 1.00 12 Chrysanthemums (yellow) John E. Sten, Red Wing First 4.00 12 Chrysanthemums (any color) " " First 4.00 12 Chrysanthemums (any color) Minneapolis Floral Co. Second 3.00 12 Chrysanthemums (yellow) L. S. Donaldson Co., Mpls. Second 3.00 12 Chrysanthemums (any color) " " Third 2.00 FLOWERS. Basket for Effect Minneapolis Floral Co. First $10.00 Bridesmaid Bouquet Minneapolis Floral Co. First Diploma Corsage Bouquet Minneapolis Floral Co. First Diploma Bridal Bouquet Minneapolis Floral Co. First Diploma O. J. OLSON, Judge. Judging Contest of Hennepin County High Schools. (Held at Annual Meeting, December 9, 1915.) The contest consisted of the judging of three crops, apples, potatoes and corn. Two varieties of each crop were used. Each school was represented by a team of three men. Each man was allowed 100 as perfect score on each crop or a total perfect team score of 900 points. Two high schools entered the contest, namely Central High, Minneapolis, and Wayzata High. Central High, of Minneapolis, won first with a total score of 697.8. Wayzata ranked second with a score of 672. Minneapolis won on apples and potatoes, Wayzata winning on the corn judging. Chester Groves, of Wayzata, was high man of the contest. County Adviser K. A. Kirkpatrick, gives a banner to the winning school. Judges of the contest were: Apples, Prof. T. M. McCall, Crookston; potatoes, Prof. R. Wellington, A. W. Aamodt; corn, Prof. R. L. Mackintosh. Fruit Judging Contest. (At Annual Meeting, December, 1915.) One of the important features of the Wednesday afternoon program of the State Horticultural Society was the apple judging contest. This contest was open to all members of the society and students of the Agricultural College. The contest consisted of the judging of four plates each of ten standard varieties. The total score of each contestant was considered by allowing 10 per cent for identification of varieties, 40 per cent for oral reasons and 50 per cent for correct placings. The prizes offered were: First, $5.00; second, $3.00; third, $2.00. D.C. Webster of La Crescent, ranked first; P.L. Keene, University Farm, second; and Marshall Hertig, third. Score First--D. C. Webster 87-1/2 Second--P. L. Keene 81-1/2 Third--Marshall Hertig 77-1/2 Fourth--Timber Lake 76-1/2 There were twelve men in the contest. Judges: Prof. T. M. McCall, Crookston; Frederick Cranefield, Wisconsin; Prof. E. C. Magill, Wayzata. Annual Report, 1915, Collegeville Trial Station. REV. JOHN B. KATZNER, SUPT. It is with pleasure and satisfaction that we are able to make a material correction of our estimate of this year's apple crop as noted in our midsummer report. We stated that apples would be about 15 per cent of a normal crop, and now we are happy to say it was fully 30 per cent. We picked twice as many apples as we anticipated. Considering that, as Prof. Le Roy Cady informed us, the apple crop would be rather small farther south and that they would practically get no apples at the State Farm, we may well be satisfied with our crop. In general, the apple crop was not so bad farther north as it was farther south in the state. This may have been due to the blossoms not being so far advanced here when the frost touched them as farther south. The best bearing varieties this year were the Wealthy, Charlamoff and Duchess, in the order named. These three kinds gave us the bulk of the crop. The Wealthy trees were not overloaded, and the apples were mostly fine, clean and large. The Charlamoffs were bearing a heavy crop of beautiful, large-sized apples and were ahead of the Duchess this year. The Hibernals, too, were fairly good bearers. Most other varieties had some fruit, but it was not perfect; it showed only too well the effect of frost. More than half of the blossoms were destroyed. Many flowers were badly injured and though they were setting fruit the result of frost showed off plainly on the apples. While some had normal size and form, many of them were below size, gnarled, cracked or undeveloped and abnormal. Most all of them had rough blotches or rings about the calix or around the body. Malformed apples were picked not larger than a crab, with rough, cracked, leather-like skin, which looked more like a black walnut than an apple. Of plums only some young trees gave us a good crop of nice, perfect fruit. The old trees have seen their best days and will have to give place to the new kinds as soon as they are tested. We have quite a variety of the new kinds on trial from the Minnesota State Fruit-Breeding Farm and wish to say that they are very vigorous growers. Many of them made a growth of four feet and more. We expect that some will bear next year and we are only waiting to see what the fruit will be before making a selection for a new plum orchard. We have already selected No. 8 for that purpose, as one tree was bearing most beautiful and excellent plums, of large size and superior quality, this year. They were one and three-fourths inches long by five and one-half inches in circumference and weighed two ounces each. They kept more than week before they got too soft for handling and are better than many a California plum. It seems to us if a man had ten acres of these plum trees, he could make a fortune out of them. We will propagate only the very best kinds for our own use and may have more to say about them another year. [Illustration: Cluster of Alpha grapes from Collegeville.] Two or three of the imported pears bloomed again last spring, but the frost was too severe and they set no fruit. We have lost all interest in them and so, too, in our German seedling pears. The latter are now used as stocks and are being grafted with Chinese and hybrid pears. Of those already grafted this way some have made a growth of four and five feet. We have been successful in grafting the six varieties of hybrid pears obtained last spring from Prof. N.E. Hansen, of Brookings, S. Dak., and have trees of every variety growing. These, too, are very good growers, have fine large leaves and are promising. From the manner of growth in stem and leaf we would judge that at least two distinct Asiatic varieties have been used in breeding. We have gathered a little grafting wood and next spring some more German seedlings will lose their tops. It is only from continued efforts that success may be obtained in growing pears in Minnesota. Who would have thought it possible that in spite of all the frost and cold rains we would get a pretty good crop of cherries? And yet this is a fact. We have four varieties, and among them is one originated by the late Clem. Schmidt, of Springfield, Minn., which was bearing a good crop of very fine cherries while the three other sorts did not do a thing. To get ahead of the many birds we picked the cherries a few days before they were ripe and put them up in thirty-two half-gallon jars. As the cherries become very soft when dead-ripe, it was of advantage to can them when they were still hard. These canned cherries are meaty and most delicious. We never tasted any better. It is only a pity that this seedling cherry is not quite hardy. As most everywhere in the state, our grapes were a complete failure. The early growth with its good showing of fruit having been frozen in May, it was well toward the end of June when the vines had recovered from the shock and were able to grow vigorously again. There were a few grapes on some of the vines, but they never got ripe. The Alpha showed the most fruit, and a few bunches were just about getting ripe when the frost spoiled them. This May freeze was more severe than we thought it was. The wood of the old vines was not injured, but the one year old wood of young plants was killed to the ground. The lesson we learned from this is very important. It may be stated that vines full of sap and in growing condition can endure very little cold, but when the wood is ripe and dormant the vines will seldom be injured by sub-zero weather. This injury to vines from frost might have been averted at least in part by precautionary measures. In other countries people start smoldering fires, making much smoke in the vineyard so that the whole is covered with a cloud of smoke. This raises the temperature a few degrees and keeps the frost out. Such preventive means might have been used here very well to save the grapes, but it was not done. Our currants were not very good; they ripened unevenly and showed that they, too, were touched by frost. A few bushes were also attacked by the currant worm. We never cultivated any raspberries before. But last year we planted Raspberry No. 8, sent to us from the Fruit-Breeding Farm. This sort is a very vigorous grower; some canes grew over six feet high. It fruited this year; it is very prolific; the fruit is very large and of good quality. It would be quite satisfactory if it were a little hardier. Not being protected more than half of the plants were lost last winter. But the everbearing strawberry No. 1017 received from the Fruit-Breeding Farm is a complete success. They were properly planted and well taken care of. All flowers were removed up to July 10th and then left alone. In early August the first berries were picked, and we kept right on picking till the frost killed the fruit stalks. The growing of this strawberry will be continued. A new bed will be planted next spring with young plants that were not allowed to bear last season. The fruit was all that could be desired, fine, large and of very good quality. It seems to be of greater advantage to grow the everbearing than the June-bearing sorts. The everbearing planted in spring will grow a large crop in fall and bear again in June next year. From the first we get two crops in fifteen months, from the second two crops in three years. And to fruit any sort oftener than two seasons is not considered very profitable. Most all trees of apples, pears, plums, evergreens and grafts which were planted last spring, have done very well, and we don't know of any that failed to grow. The hybrid plums received last spring are all alive. The same may be said of the 50 Norway pine obtained from the Minnesota State Forester, W. F. Cox, not one failing to grow. If evergreens are handled right in transplanting they are just as sure to grow as any other trees. This year was especially favorable for transplanting on account of the many rains and cool weather. This, too, was the kind of weather which pleased our vegetable gardener. He found it scarcely ever necessary throughout the season to apply water to the growing plants for their best development. All grew fine and large. Cabbage heads were grown that weighed thirty-five pounds; carrots, onions, beets, lettuce and in fact all the different varieties were first-class. Yet there was something that did not please the gardener nor ourselves, namely, the tomatoes did not get ripe. We had a few early kinds all right, but the bulk, the large, fine varieties, were hanging on the vines still green when the first heavy frost touched them. It was too cool for them to ripen. The same may be said of the melons. Not once did we have melons at table this year. They were too poor to be served. Our floral plantings were a great success. The many artistic foliage designs developed wonderfully and were the admiration of all visitors. Our peonies were a mass of exceedingly beautiful flowers, filling the air with fragrance as of roses. We are not surprised that these flowers have gained so much popularity of late, for their great beauty and ease of culture recommend them to all lovers of flowers. The dahlias, too, were very excellent; in fact, we never saw them better. They are quite ornamental in flower and plant. The newer varieties have exceptionally large flowers, but the plants do not show off so well and bend down from the weight of the flowers. For symmetry and uniformity of growth the old varieties are hard to be excelled. Some of the roses were not so good as desired, the buds got too much rain at times and rotted away. The mock oranges, syringas and others were all very good, but the spireas suffered much when in flower from rains. As a whole, however, our lawns and grounds were beautiful and satisfactory and the new greenhouse has done good work. The growing of fruit this year has been a disappointment to many horticulturists. Indeed, some got quite a showing of fruit in favored localities, but the majority got not much of a crop to be proud of. Well, we cannot regulate the weather conditions, but we are pleased with the thought that such abnormal conditions are not of frequent occurrence in Minnesota. Yet there is one redeeming feature of the season and that is, the wonderful growth of plants and trees which gives promise that with the usual normal conditions our expectations for a better fruit crop will be realized. * * * * * STORING CABBAGE IN THE FIELD.--In choosing a site for a storage pit, select a ridge, well drained and as gravelly a soil as possible. The pit should be 6 to 10 inches deep, the length and width depending upon the amount to be stored. It is well to have it wide enough to accommodate 3 to 5 heads on the bottom row. In harvesting the heads, pull up by the roots. Break off only the dead or diseased leaves, and fold the remaining leaves over the head as much as possible to protect them. Overripe or cracked heads should not be stored. The heads are placed in the pit with their heads down and roots up. The second layer is also placed heads down between the roots of the first layer. It is well not to have more than two layers, on account of the weight having a tendency to crush the lower layer. When the cabbages are put in place they are covered with a layer of earth. When cold weather comes, straw or manure can be added. Cabbages can often be kept better in pits than in common cellars.--E. F. McKune, Colorado Agricultural College, Fort Collins, Colorado. Wintering of Bees. FRANCIS JAGER, APIARIST, UNIVERSITY FARM, ST. PAUL. The winter losses of bees in Minnesota are great every year. Bee keepers can reduce these losses by preparing bees for their winter-quarters. The chief known cause for winter losses are: Queenlessness, smallness of number of bees in colonies, insufficient food, improper food, dampness, bad air, the breaking of the clusters, and low temperature. More colonies die from lack of food and from cold than from all other causes. In fact, most of the other causes can be traced to lack of food and cold. Queenless colonies will certainly die in a few months. If the number of bees in a colony is small the clusters cannot generate enough heat or keep it generated and the bees will perish. To avoid this, small colonies should be united in the fall into one big colony. Bees must have food in the winter in order to generate heat. About forty pounds of honey to the colony should be provided when the bees are put into winter-quarters. Should the colony be short of honey of its own, finished frames may be supplied early in the fall or sugar syrup may be fed. Bee keepers should keep about one well filled extracting frame out of every seven for feeding purposes. Dark (not amber) honey is poor food for bees in winter. All black honey should be removed and combs of white honey should be substituted. Experiments made by Dr. Phillips, in Washington, D. C., have shown that bees consume least honey and winter best when the temperature inside the hive is 57 degrees Fahrenheit. Dampness in a cellar causes the comb and frames of the hive walls and cover to get damp and mouldy, and the bees perish from wet and cold after exhausting their vitality in generating heat. Bees need fresh air. Foul air will cause excitement, causing an overheated condition; and the bees will scatter and die. Any excitement among bees in winter is fatal. Cellars on high ground, covered with straw over timbers, are best for wintering bees. If the bee cluster divides or splits up during the winter, the smaller clusters will perish from cold. The present style of Hoffman frames divides the bee cluster into eleven divisions separated from each other by a sheet of wax comb, with no direct communication between different divisions except over, below or around the frames. If the bee cluster contracts during the winter on account of cold the divisions of the outside frames are sometimes left behind and die. Some bee keepers perforate their frames to keep an easy passage for bees from one compartment to another. If kept warm, even weak colonies may pass over or around the frames without much difficulty. When cold, only the strongest will be able to accomplish this difficult task. Wintering bees in division hives or in two story hives, which give them a horizontal bee space through the middle between the two divisions, is highly recommended for successful wintering. [Illustration: Francis Jager, Professor of Apiculture, University Farm, St. Paul.] In long-continued severe cold the bee clusters will contract into a very small, compact mass. The tendency of this cluster is to move upward where the air is warmer. If enough honey is stored above them they will keep in contact with it. If the honey is stored at the side, the bees sometimes lose their contact with it and die of starvation and cold. This is another argument in favor of wintering in two story hives. Often they will move towards one corner and die there, leaving the other corners filled with honey. If you must winter in one story hives give bees plenty of honey in the fall and place the cluster at one side of the hive so that they move necessarily toward the honey supply. Bees should be kept in a cellar at a temperature of about 45 degrees. The difference in the temperature between the outside and the inside of the hive will be between 10 and 15 degrees. Very strong colonies, no matter where kept, will keep themselves warm and will survive any degree of cold, but there is no doubt that their vitality and ability to stand wintering will suffer a great deal thereby, causing dwindling in the spring. Cellar wintering is at present general in Minnesota. The bee cellar should be warm, dry, dark and ventilated. The bees should not be disturbed during their winter sleep by pounding, jarring, shaking and feeding. Mice also may cause the bees to get excited and perish. A four to one inch wire screen in front of the entrance will prevent mice from getting inside. The fundamental principles to guide the bee keeper in wintering his bees are: First, strong colonies, at least six frames covered with bees when clustered; second, ample store, not less than forty pounds of honey; and third, a hive with not less than 57 degrees inside temperature. This temperature may be maintained outside in a double walled hive or in a hive lined with flax or felt, now manufactured for that purpose, or by packing the hives in leaves, straw or shavings--or by putting them into a warm cellar. Bees in our climate should be put into winter quarters about November 15 and should not be put on their summer stands in the spring until soft maples are in bloom. By following these suggestions winter losses may be reduced to an insignificant percentage, and these mostly from accidents and causes unforseen, for bees respond wonderfully to proper treatment. The Currant as a Market Garden Product. B. WALLNER, JR., WEST ST. PAUL. The currant is essentially a northern fruit, therefore does well in Minnesota. I plant my currants on a clay loam as it retains moisture and coolness, which the currant prefers. Their roots run somewhat shallow, and hence sandy or friable soils are not desirable. Soils such as will prevent a stagnant condition during heavy rainfalls are essential. I plant my currants early in spring as soon as the frost leaves the ground and a proper preparation can be secured. I plant them five by five feet apart, as they require a thorough cultivation the first two years from planting. I plant mangels between the rows the first year; second year continued cultivation is practiced; third year I apply a mulch consisting of mushroom manure to a depth of from four to six inches, which answers a double purpose, to keep out weeds and to act as mulch at the same time. During a prolonged dry spell the soil is moist under this covering, and it makes it more pleasant for the picking, as it prevents the berries getting soiled after a rain during the picking season. You cannot fertilize the currant too abundantly, as it is a gross feeder and requires plenty of manure to get best results, as such fruit commands the best price on the market. I planted my currants on ground previously well fertilized with well decayed barnyard manure. I prefer strong well rooted two-year-old plants. The long straggling roots are shortened, and bruised portions cut off with a sharp knife. The tops are somewhat reduced, depending on the size of plants. I set them in a furrow, sufficiently deep to admit the roots to spread out in a natural position, fill in with surface soil and pack around the roots, so that when the earth is firmly settled the roots will not protrude out any place. In regard to pruning I find the best and largest fruit is produced on canes not over four years old, and if judicious cutting out of the old canes is followed nice, large, full clusters of fruit of excellent character will be obtained. This is a fact that I want to emphasize: if the market is glutted with currants, you can readily dispose of your product, providing they are qualified as extra large, which results can be attained by following these rules. Pertaining to insects and diseases, I spray my currants twice for the currant worm with arsenate of lead at the rate of two pounds to fifty gallons of water. I also use hellebore (dry powdered form), especially valuable in destroying the worms when berries are almost ready for market, and on which it is dangerous to use arsenical poisons. I never was troubled with the currant worm cane borer. I attribute the absence of this dreaded insect to my keeping all old wood cut out, which is generally infested with it. As to varieties I planted the following: Wilder, Victoria, Prince Albert, Red Cross, Diploma and White Grape. The Wilder is the best commercial berry, very productive and large, while the Diploma is one of the largest fruited varieties in existence, its main drawback consisting of a straggling habit of growth which requires either tying up the branches or pruning back somewhat short. The Prince Albert is late and can be recommended for commercial use. Victoria is a prolific bearer, fair size fruit and requires little pruning. Red Cross is large fruited, but shy bearer. The White Grape meets with little demand as a market berry, fine to eat out of hand and an excellent table berry. I also planted a few Black Champion; have not grown it long enough to know definite results. The demand for black currants is limited, but the prices are fair. As to picking would say we pick them when not quite ripe, as the average housewife claims they jell better than when over-ripe. They must be picked by the stem and not stripped off--all defective, over-ripe and bruised berries should be eliminated at the picking. When the box is being filled a few gentle raps should be given to settle the clusters into place, as they shake down considerably. All the conveniences and same character of boxes and crates used in handling of other small fruits are equally adapted to the currant. * * * * * WELCOME THE THRUSHES--THESE BIRDS DO THE FARMER LITTLE HARM AND MUCH GOOD.--That thrushes--the group of birds in which are included robins and bluebirds--do a great deal of good and very little harm to agriculture is the conclusion reached by investigators of the United States Department of Agriculture who have carefully studied the food habits of these birds. Altogether there are within the limits of the United States eleven species of thrushes, five of which are commonly known as robins and bluebirds. The other six include the Townsend solitaire, the wood, the veery, the gray-cheek, the olive-back, and the hermit thrushes.--U.S. Dept. of Agri. Report of Committee on Examination of Minnesota State Fruit-Breeding Farm for the Year 1915. DR. O. M. HUESTIS, MINNEAPOLIS; FRANK H. GIBBS, ST. ANTHONY PARK. On the morning of October 12, 1915, your committee visited the State Fruit-Breeding Farm, was met at the Zumbra Heights Station, on the M. & St. Louis R.R., by Superintendent Haralson and were very soon in the midst of a plat of over 3,000 everbearing strawberry plants all different--some plants with scores of ripe and green berries as well as blossoms, others with few berries and many runners. The superintendent had already made selections and marked some 250 plants for propagation. In another plat of 1,000 varieties it was very apparent that No. 1017, a cross between Pan-American and Dunlap, was the superior, although others were choice, both as plant makers and fruit-bearers. No doubt many excellent kinds will come from those selected. It certainly was encouraging to be able, even after the heavy frost of a week before, to pick three quarts of large, well ripened berries, a photo of which we obtained on reaching the city and will appear in the Horticulturist. [Illustration: Field of No. 3 June-bearing strawberries at State Fruit-Breeding Farm.] Of the June-bearing varieties No. 3, a cross between Senator Dunlap and Pocomoke, would seem to surpass anything else we saw as to strength of plant and health of foliage. As to its fruiting ability, will refer to the display made at the last summer meeting of the society, which was so much admired. We have no doubt there is a great future for No. 3, as has been for its illustrious parent, the Dunlap. Next we went over to the raspberry field containing, it seemed, thousands of strong, straight, healthy plants, which would have to be seen to be appreciated and only then when in fruiting. No. 4 took our special attention. The canes were especially clean, well branched and healthy--a cross between Loudon and King. Many others seem to be very promising. [Illustration: Everbearing strawberries, No. 1017. Minnesota State Fruit-Breeding Farm. Gathered October 12, 1915.] Next we were shown a variety of everbearing raspberry from which we indulged in ripe fruit of good size and flavor and which it is hoped will be as valuable as the everbearing strawberry. Of the thousands of everbearing seedlings selections had been made of about 100 which were fine looking plants, well cultivated and free from disease. We were then shown some hundreds of wild peach seedlings, seedlings of Burbank plums, thousands of hybrid plums of all ages, and a plat of thousands of plum seedlings which will be disposed of to nurserymen this fall and bring a nice income to the state; also wild pears from Manchuria with good prospects of being hardy and free from blight. We saw a number of nice plum trees, of which the superintendent told us the fruit would color before ripening and would stand long shipments, which so far promise well. Several hundred Beta grape seedlings probably even more hardy than the parent, many crosses in roses which if judged by the foliage must be seen in bloom to be appreciated, seedlings of Compass cherry crossed with apricot; Compass cherry crossed with nectarines; seedling currants, over 2,000 from which to select the best. Over a hundred commercial varieties of apples from East and West, and over 200 varieties of peaches from China and Manchuria, walnuts, butternuts and many dwarf apple trees on Paradise stocks, which fruit early. A good field of corn in shock, for feed for the horses. The old orchard on the place when bought, which had been top-worked to some extent, looked healthy everywhere. The farm seemed to be free from noxious woods, free from pocket gophers or moles and well cultivated, we thought, for the small number of men employed. Machinery and tools were well housed. We were also pleased to be shown through the new home of the superintendent, not yet occupied, which seemed to be complete in all its appointments. We think the state has a great asset in the farm and recommend that as far as possible members of this society visit it during the coming summer and that the society use its influence with the Board of Regents that more land be procured as soon as possible in order that trial plants may remain longer to more definitely prove their worth and that a greater work may be done for the state. We notice in a report made just six years before, viz., October 12, 1909, by Brothers Wedge, Underwood and the then president of the society, Prof. Green, that even runnerless everbearing strawberries were represented and that they had the usual pleasure of picking strawberry blossoms in October. Had they been with us they would have had a large dish of No. 1017 covered with rich cream and served at the hand of Mrs. Haralson. Mr. C. S. Harrison: Mr. Chairman, I think the slogan of this society should be "Urbanize the country and ruralize the town." I see tremendous changes going on all the while. Can you think of the possibilities of Minnesota? About 40 per cent of the land under cultivation and that half worked. By and by there is going to be a crop of boys who will raise seventy-five to 100 bushels of corn to the acre where their dads raised twenty-five. You got to keep out of their way, you got to help them along. Marketing Fruit by Association. A. N. GRAY, MGR. BAY LAKE FRUIT GROWERS' ASSN., DEERWOOD. Marketing fruit or any farm product by association is the modern farmer's insurance of results. A great deal might be said on this subject, but I shall tell you briefly what the Bay Lake Fruit Growers' Association have accomplished. The first raspberry growing for market at Bay Lake was back in 1886. Nick Newgard, one of our first settlers, sold quite a few berries that year. Bay Lake is seven miles from Deerwood, the nearest railroad point, and at that time there was only a trail between these places, and it was necessary for Mr. Newgard to pack his berries in on his back. This same method was used in transporting supplies. [Illustration: Strawberry field on place of A. N. Gray, at Bay Lake.] Mr. Newgard told me recently that he received a very good profit on his berries the first ten years, but each year the acreage increased and each year the growers' troubles increased in disposing of the crop. In 1909 there was an unusually large crop and, shipping individually, as we did at that time, it was a case of all shipments going to Duluth one day, flooding the market, then the next day every one shipping to Fargo and flooding that market, and at the end of the season when the growers received their final returns they found that they had received very small pay for their berries. In the fall of that year the growers around Bay Lake called a meeting to see if some organization could not be formed to handle their berries and look after the collections. The result of this meeting was the incorporation of the Bay Lake Fruit Growers' Association. When the berry season opened in 1910 we had a manager, hired for the season, on a salary, who worked under a board of five managing directors. It was the manager's business to receive the berries at the station, find a market for them, make the collections and settlements with the growers. The result of this first year was so satisfactory to the members that the total membership increased that fall to almost 100. This new system had eliminated all the worry, and we received a good price for our berries after the expense of our manager had been deducted. We have just closed our sixth season, which by the way has been a very successful one, as the prices received have been above the average. We now have about 150 members, and we have two shipping stations, Deerwood and Aitkin. We market strawberries, raspberries, blackberries, currants, gooseberries, plums, Compass cherries, apples, sweet corn and celery. We have a nice trade worked up and have little trouble in finding a ready market for any of our products. It is our aim, as growers, to give our customers all A No. 1 quality. During the berry season we have an inspector whose duty it is to inspect the berries as they arrive at the station and any found to be of poor quality we dispose of locally for canning. The grower of these berries receives a credit for the amount we realize. In this way we keep the standard of our berries up, and we have very few complaints from our customers on soft berries. As for losses on bad debts, we have thus far had very few. We usually get a credit rating from the prospective customer's bank and ship to him accordingly. Our old customers file standing orders with us to ship them so many crates each day, and each year brings us new customers who have heard of the fine Bay Lake berries. In 1912 the association built a potato warehouse at a cost of about $2,500, and we store the members' potatoes for them at a nominal cost. In 1914 the association decided to put in a stock of flour and feed and keep the manager the year around. Our business in this line has been increasing all the time. It is very interesting to note that over 60 per cent of our flour and feed customers are not members of the association. We are growing all the time and branching out. A few months ago we added a small stock of hardware and some groceries, and these have taken so well that we would not be at all surprised if eventually we find ourselves in the retail store business. Evergreens for Both Utility and Ornament. EARL FERRIS, NURSERYMAN, HAMPTON, IOWA. As far as horticulture is concerned, the only touch of color on the Northwestern landscape during the coming winter will be furnished by the greens and blues of evergreens. Did you ever pass a farm home in the winter that was protected by a good evergreen grove and notice how beautiful it looked? Did you ever stop to think of the difference in temperature that an evergreen grove makes, to say nothing of the contrast in the appearance of the place to that of a home with no grove? [Illustration: A shelter of old Scotch pine at Mr. Earl Ferris'.] When I was a small boy I was fortunate enough to be raised on a farm in Butler County, Iowa, that was well protected by a good Norway spruce, white pine and Scotch pine windbreak. The Norway spruce and white pine are still there and if anything better than they were thirty years ago. At that time my father fed from one to five carloads of stock every winter back of this grove, and I honestly believe that he fed his steers at a cost of from $5 to $15 per steer less than a neighboring feeder who fed out on the open prairie with a few sheds to furnish the only winter protection. I shall never forget the remark a German made who was hauling corn to us one cold winter day. As he drove onto the scales back of this grove, he straightened up and said: "Well, the evergreen grove feels like putting on a fur coat," and I never heard the difference in temperature described any better. Our evergreen grove moved our feeding pens at least 300 miles further south every winter, as far as the cold was concerned. [Illustration: Thrifty windbreak of Norway spruce at Mr. Earl Ferris' place, in Hampton, Ia.] Near Hampton, Iowa, we have three or four of the best stock raisers in the United States. Every one of them is feeding cattle back of a large evergreen grove. In recent years they have divided up some of their large farms into smaller places and made new feeding sheds, and the first improvement that they made on each and every one of these places was an evergreen grove. They buy the best trees that can be obtained that have been transplanted and root pruned, and most of them prefer the Norway spruce in the two to three foot size. After planting, they take as good care of them as they do of any crop on the farm, for they fully realize that cultivation is an all important thing in getting a good evergreen grove started. Several days ago, I talked with one of these feeders who has time and again topped the Chicago market. He made the remark that the buildings on his farm cost thousands of dollars while his evergreen grove had only cost from $100 to $200, but that he would rather have every building on the place destroyed than to lose that windbreak. As the price of land and feed increases, the farmers of the Northwest are waking up to the fact that an evergreen grove is an absolute necessity, and that they cannot afford to plant any other. The maple, willow, box elder and other similar trees take so much land that they cannot afford them. They are a windbreak in the summer, but a joke in the winter. The time is not far distant when every up-to-date farmer in Minnesota, Iowa, Nebraska and other Northwest states will have a good evergreen grove which will be considered as much of a necessity as his barn, house or other outbuildings. [Illustration: Evergreens adorn old home of Otto Kankel, at Fertile, Minn., in Red River Valley.] Late this fall, my wife and I left Hampton for an automobile trip through Minnesota, North Dakota and into Canada. It seemed to me on this trip that the most beautiful thing we saw about the farm buildings were the evergreen groves that many of the farmers now have all through Minnesota and Dakota. I was certainly very much surprised at some of these windbreaks and at some of the varieties of evergreens that were being grown successfully as far north as Fargo. Near Fargo we found some extra good specimens of Norway spruce, which I consider the best of all windbreak makers. We also found the Scotch pine doing well 100 miles northwest of Fargo, and other varieties which were naturally to be expected being planted to a considerable extent. As far as usefulness is concerned, the farmer of the prairie states is bound to get more real value from an evergreen than any other person, but I am very glad to say that the homes of the wealthy in the cities each season are being improved more and more by the planting of the more ornamental evergreens. Cities like Detroit, Cleveland, Buffalo, Boston, St. Paul, Minneapolis, and other large cities of the United States are using thousands of evergreens every season to beautify the homes, of not only the wealthy but of the laboring man also. The price of evergreens at the present time is within the reach of everyone owning a home, and there is no other improvement that can be placed upon a piece of ground at so little expense and so little labor that will add so many dollars in real value to that property as will the evergreen, either as a windbreak or in landscape work. Annual Report, 1915, Executive Board. J. M. UNDERWOOD, CHAIRMAN The report of the executive board is necessarily brief from the fact that the machinery of our society is kept in such excellent condition by our secretary, that there is little left for our board to do. His monthly issues of the "Horticulturist" keep the membership posted on all important items of interest and are a splendid examplification to the public of the value of our publications and of the meetings of our society. Your executive board meets twice a year to verify the accounts of the secretary and treasurer and at other times when there is something of importance to attend to. We wish to call your attention to the fact that your board is practically self supporting. The members work for nothing and board themselves, which is a mighty good way to do. There is a work of very great importance for the _members_ of our society to do the coming year. That is to help in every legitimate way to _secure an appropriation_ by the next legislature with which to build for our society a _home_. We should have had it provided so that we could celebrate our semi-centennial a year from now in our own home. If we were a private society, we would have had a home years ago. We should be closely affiliated with the horticulture of the State University. Our home should be located on the grounds of the Agricultural College, where the building could be used for other purposes when not needed by our society. Let every member of our society interview the senator and member of the house from his or her district next fall and secure their promise to support a bill to appropriate $50,000 for building us a home. Annual Report of Treasurer, 1915. GEO. W. STRAND, TAYLORS FALLS, TREASURER. RECEIPTS. 1914. Dec. 1. Balance on hand $4,948.35 Interest on certificate of deposit, six months, to November 1, 1914 126.15 1915. Mar. 1. Semi-annual allowance 1,500.00 Apr. 5. Interest on deposit, six months, to April 1 85.96 A. W. Latham, receipts secretary's office, November 25, 1914 to June 21, 1915 3,290.74 Sept. 4. State Treasurer, semi-annual allowance 1,500.00 Dec. 1. A. W. Latham, receipts secretary's office June 21, 1915, to December 1, 1915 1,064.30 ---------- $12,515.50 DISBURSEMENTS. 1914. Dec. 12. Order 229, A .W. Latham, Revolving Fund $600.00 Dec. 12. Order 235, Premiums Annual Meeting 596.50 1915. Mar. 1. Order 230, A. W. Latham, first quarter salary 450.00 Apr. 5. A. W. Latham, interest on deposit 85.96 June 1. Order 231, A. W. Latham, second quarter salary 450.00 June 21. Order 232, A. W. Latham, expenses secretary's office November 25 to June 21, 1915 3,290.74 June 25. Order 236, Premiums Summer Meeting 1915 172.00 Sept. 3. Order 233, A. W. Latham, third quarter salary 450.00 Dec. 1. Order 234, A. W. Latham, fourth quarter salary 450.00 Dec. 1. Order 237, A. W. Latham, expenses secretary's office June 21, 1915 to December 1, 1915 1,064.30 ---------- $7,609.50 Dec. 1. Balance on hand 4,906.00 ---------- $12,515.50 Deposits, Farmers & Mechanics Bank $4,276.15 Deposits, First & Security National Bank 629.85 ---------- $4,906.00 Annual Meeting, 1915, N.E. Iowa Horticultural Society. C. E. SNYDER, PRESTON, DELEGATE Your delegate arrived at Decorah at nine-thirty, Wednesday, November seventeenth. Full accommodations offered by the Winneshiek Hotel made the trip complete and homelike to delegates and members. The convention was held in the old Marsh Hall, a very suitable place, offering ample room with all necessary accommodations for such a gathering. Decorations showed much time and skill, resulting in a beautiful display of shrubbery-boughs, evergreen, etc. The area of a table about one hundred feet long and six feet wide, running through the center of the hall, contained a great variety of apples surprising for this season. Many, including C.H. True, of Clayton county, proved themselves successful orchardists. [Illustration: Mr. C. E. Snyder, Preston.] On various other tables large displays of agriculture, apiary, greenhouse and garden products completed the harmonizing of horticulture, floriculture and agriculture, including mentioned decorations appearing as a striking feature and an encouragement to the cause. The meeting was called to order shortly after ten o'clock by President Geo. S. Woodruff. The mingling of many instructive papers with humorous selections and music proved the program well arranged. Same carried out very successfully held the interest of a not large but fair attendance throughout. A paper and address by Wesley Greene, of Des Moines, should have reached the ears of every Iowa and Minnesota citizen. A striking selection on "The Tree," by J. A. Nelson, was descriptive, instructive, humorous and poetic. A topic of great interest was the everbearing strawberry, which persistently bobbed up every now and then in interesting discussion. Brother Gardner, with his practical experience, was right at hand, a leader and authority on this fruit. Clarence Wedge, who always contended that the Progressive was away ahead of all others, was endorsed by every man that grew them in this convention, by a vote on merit of varieties. Reports from the different districts showed a heavy rainfall throughout the season, resulting in rust and scab. Sprayed orchards showed better results than others. Small fruits were abundant and good. Shortly after four o'clock Wednesday afternoon automobiles drew up and took delegates and members over beautiful Decorah, stopping at Symond's greenhouses, and on through the most beautiful park in this section, then to the palatial residence of John Harter, where a very bountiful banquet was enjoyed. During convention Secretary Black's and Treasurer True's reports showed the society in flourishing condition. All officers were re-elected, place of next meeting to be chosen later by the executive committee. * * * * * HANDLING RASPBERRIES.--In 1911 the Government investigators made comparative tests of the keeping qualities of carefully handled raspberries and commercially handled raspberries. Several lots of each kind were held in an ice car for varying periods and then examined for the percentage of decay. Other lots were held a day after being withdrawn from the refrigerator car and then examined. The results are most significant. After 4 days in the ice car it was found that the carefully handled berries showed only 0.4 per cent. decay, while the commercially handled fruit had 4.6 per cent. After 8 days in the car the difference was vastly greater. The carefully handled fruit showed only 2.2 per cent. decay, but with the commercially handled this percentage had risen to 26.7, or more than one-quarter of the entire shipment. When the fruit was examined a day after it had been taken out of the ice car, the evidence was equally strong in favor of careful handling. Carefully handled fruit that had remained 4 days in the car was found a day after its withdrawal to show only 1 per cent. of decay against 17.5 per cent. in commercially handled berries. Carefully handled fruit left in the car 8 days, and then held one day, showed only 8.1 per cent. of decay as against 47.6 per cent. in commercially handled fruit. The following year experiments were made with actual shipments instead of with the stationary refrigerator car, and the results confirmed previous conclusions. It was found, for example, that there was less decay in the carefully handled berries at the end of 8 days than in the commercially handled berries at the end of 4. Carefully handled fruit that was 4 days in transit, and had then been held one day after withdrawal from the refrigerator car showed less than 1 per cent of decay, whereas commercially handled berries subjected to the same test showed nearly 10 per cent. Orcharding in Minnesota. RICHARD WELLINGTON, ASST. HORTICULTURIST, UNIVERSITY FARM, ST. PAUL. This paper is purposely given a broad title so that it may cover any questions which come under the head of orcharding. Many of you who have been pestered with an "Orchard Survey Blank" can easily guess what subjects are to be taken up. Thanks to many of the members of this society and other fruit growers for their hearty co-operation, a large amount of data has been collected from fifty-three counties, representing most of the districts within the state. As would be expected certain counties have contributed much more information than others, probably owing to their greater interest in orcharding. For example: Thirty-one replies have already been received from Hennepin County, seven from Goodhue, six from Renville, five each from Houston, Meeker and Rice, four each from Chippewa, Dakota, Mower, Polk and Wabasha, three each from Blue Earth, Nicollet, Ottertail, Pine, Ramsey, Steele, Washington and Watonwan and one or two each from the remaining counties. Perhaps if the right parties had been reached the low-standing counties would have a higher ranking. The best way to present the data is an enigma. If all the information was given at one time we would need a whole day instead of fifteen minutes. Of course much of the material is a repetition, and a general summary will cover the main facts in most cases. Nevertheless it is not feasible to take up all of the subject matter in this short period, and therefore the first two topics on the survey blank have been selected, namely, orchard sites and protective agencies. At a later date, if you are sufficiently interested in dry facts other subjects, as soils, dynamiting, orchard management, stock of fruit trees, methods of planting and pruning, varieties for various localities, etc., will be taken up. Some of the subjects, like sites and soils, will be treated as state problems, while others must be considered as sectional. Minnesota, as you all know, contains many different climatic conditions, and consequently its orchard practices and recommendations must vary accordingly. To meet this problem the writer, in consultation with Prof. Cady, divided the state into six sections, namely, the southeastern, east central, northeastern, northwestern, west central and southwestern. Many counties are, of course, in an intermediate position and might be thrown into either of the adjoining sections, but an arbitrary line must be drawn somewhere. Freeborn, Waseca, Rice, Goodhue and all the counties east of them are placed in the southeastern section. Nicollet, LeSueur, Sibley, McLeod, Wright, Isanti and the counties to the east are included in the central east, and Pine, Mille Lacs, Morrison and the counties to the north and east are placed in the northeastern section. Beltrami, Hubbard, Ottertail and the counties to the west are placed in northwestern section; Traverse, Douglas, Todd, Stearns, Meeker, Renville, Yellow Medicine and the enclosed counties in the west central, and the remainder to the south and west are in the southwestern section. Thus, when the various sections are mentioned, you will know what part of the state is being referred to. _Site of Orchard._ By site of orchard we refer to its location, that is, whether it is on rolling, level or hilly ground, and the direction of its slope, provided it has one. From past experience it is believed that an orchard situated on a north slope is ideally located for Minnesota conditions, as its blossoming period is retarded and consequently the liability of injury from late frosts decreased. But all people who want orchards do not possess such a slope, so they set out their orchards on the most convenient location. A few growers have orchards sloping in all directions, and their opinion on the influence of slope on hardiness and retardation of the blooming period should be valuable. It is of interest to note that, out of 108 reporting on the levelness of the orchard ground, only twelve had level ground, two level to nearly level, one level to decidedly rolling, twenty-nine nearly level, seven nearly level to slightly rolling, three nearly level to medium rolling, twenty-nine slightly rolling, four slightly rolling to medium rolling, eighteen rolling and three decidedly rolling. A glance at the figures shows that the majority of orchards are on nearly level to slightly rolling land. In addition to the numbers given thirteen reported a slight slope, one a slight slope to a medium slope, two a slight to a steep slope, sixteen a medium slope, one a medium to a steep slope, and five a steep slope--the emphasis being laid on the moderate rising ground. No grower reported an orchard location entirely at the base of a slope, but six reported orchards extending from the base to the top of the slope, two from the base to midway of the slope, twenty-five at midway of the slope, seven from midway to the top and twenty-two at the top of a slope--the high ground evidently being preferred for orchard sites. As a general rule, as would naturally be expected, those who reported their orchards on the top of the slope usually reported their ground as either high or medium. Of ninety-six reports on the elevation of the orchards only four reported low land, and two of these were on top of a slope, two low and medium, one low and high, forty-six medium, fourteen medium and high, and twenty-seven high--the medium taking the lead. These figures have been given of the state as a whole, but when the sections are considered the southeastern and the west central take the lead in the highest percentage of high ground in comparison with the lower ground; the southeastern and east central, for the greatest amount of rolling land; and the southwestern, for the most level or nearly level land. [Illustration: Down the long row. View in well cared for orchard of J. M. Barclay, Madison Lake.] As for the effect of direction of slope on hardiness, there were many varied opinions. Thirty stated without question that the direction had an effect, thirty-one stated that it had no effect, and seventy-two admitted that they did not know. Of those answering in the affirmative only seven had two or more distinctly different slopes, while fifteen of the negatives had two or more slopes for comparison. Nine of those who stated they didn't know had two or more slopes upon which to base their judgment. In summing up the direction of sites preferred, seventy-seven recommended a northerly slope, nine had no preference, one preferred southeast, one west, one west and east, two east, one north and east, one northeast or east, and sixty-four expressed no opinion. Two growers stated that the north slope prevented early bloom and thereby lessened liability to injury from late frosts, two growers stated that northern slopes decreased the loss of moisture, and one stated that the northeast slope gives the largest fruit and the west the best colored. As a brief summary of the reports on orchard sites, it may be stated that high ground, rolling or sloping to the north, is preferred by the majority of growers who filled out these orchard survey blanks. _Protective Agencies._ Under this heading comes windbreaks of all kinds, whether hills, natural timber or planted trees, and bodies of water which ameliorate the climate. Out of fifty-four replies from the central east section, sixteen reported that their orchards were favorably affected by lakes, the benefit coming in most cases from the prevention of early and late frosts. One grower attributed the cooling of the air during the summer as a benefit and two stated that the bodies of water furnished moisture. Two growers in the southeast section received favorable influences from the Mississippi River, and one in the southwestern and two in the west central sections thought they received beneficial effects from lakes. According to this data, orchards in the east central section, owing largely to the influence of Lake Minnetonka, are greatly benefited by the presence of water. Windbreaks are a very important factor in successful orcharding in Minnesota, even though one party in the southeast section and three parties in the central east noted no beneficial effects. According to reports from the central west and southwest sections they are of great benefit and in some cases indispensable to apple growing. As would be expected by any one who is acquainted with Minnesota, the planted windbreaks are a more important factor in the prairie country than in the natural wooded and hilly regions. In the southeast section, five orchards were reported as protected by bluffs and hills, three by both hills and natural woods, two by natural woods, two by both natural and planted woods, and twenty-one by planted woods; in the central east section, one by a hill and a planted windbreak, one by a town, fifteen by natural timber, two by natural and planted timber, and nineteen by planted windbreaks; in the northeast section, two by natural and four by planted windbreaks; in the northwest section, three by natural and two by planted windbreaks; in the west central section, one by a hill and natural timber, five by natural timber, two by natural timber and planted windbreaks, and eighteen by planted windbreaks; and in the southwest section, one by a hill and natural woods, one by a hill and planted windbreak, two by natural timber, and fifteen by planted windbreaks. If Meeker County, which has natural timber, was not included in the central west--and perhaps it should have been included in central east--this section would have only one orchard protected alone by natural timber; and if Blue Earth County was eliminated from the southwest, this section would have no orchard protected alone by natural timber. The beneficial effects from windbreaks may be summed up as follows: Twenty-five reported that they prevented fruit from being blown off trees, nine that they prevented trees and limbs being broken by winds and storms, ten that they protected trees from injury by winds without specifying the kind of injury, four that they reduced injury from frosts, ten that they either prevented or reduced winter injury, four that they helped to retain moisture, five that they helped to hold snow, eight that they prevented snow drifting, five that they protected orchards from hot and dry winds, three that they permitted the growing of apples, and one that they supplied all advantages. The kinds of trees recommended for windbreaks and the methods of planting are numerous and variable and to discuss them at length would take too much time. However, the principal facts may be briefly enumerated. In eighty-five reports that listed set out windbreaks, it was found that fifty-seven growers had used evergreens, thirty-seven willows, twenty-nine box elders, twenty-five maples, seventeen cottonwoods, thirteen ashes, eleven elms, eight poplars, four oaks, four plums, three nuts and one apple. The evergreens consisted of thirteen Scotch pine, eleven evergreens (not named), eight Norway spruce, five spruce (not named), three balsam, three Austrian pine, two white pine, one yellow pine, two cedar, two white spruce, two pine (variety not named), two fir, two jack pine, one Black Hills spruce, and one tamarack. In the willows were given twenty willows (variety not named), two laurel-leaved, seven white and eight golden; in the maples, sixteen soft maples, two hard maples, one silver-maple and six maples (kind not named); in the poplars, five Norway, one Carolina, two poplar (kind not named); and in the nuts, one black walnut, one butternut and one walnut. The major part of the box elders, cottonwoods, willows and ashes were noted in the central west and southwest sections. Thirty-seven experienced growers of windbreaks, the most of them living in the southwest, west central and southeast sections, recommended the following trees for windbreaks in the given proportions, twenty-four evergreens, fifteen willows, seven maples, six poplars, five elms, five box elders, three elms, two plum, two cottonwood, three hedges, one oak, one hackberry and one black walnut. The evergreens are decidedly the most popular, and among the varieties mentioned Norway spruce takes the lead for those recommended, and the Scotch pine for those planted. There are about as many different systems of planting used as growers. The main point in all cases was to have a planting that would stop the wind and storms. A few growers advocated the use of a hedge or plum trees to fill in under the windbreak, while one grower desires a circulation of air under the branches of his trees. Cultivation and intercropping of windbreaks are also recommended in a few cases. The distance of planting varies, of course, with the trees or shrubs used. For example: one grower recommends 8 ft. x 8 ft. for large deciduous trees, and another grower, 6 ft. x 12 ft. apart in rows and two rows, 12 ft. apart. For Scotch pine one grower advocates eight feet. In some cases a mixture of many kinds of trees is recommended, and then again only one kind. One very solid windbreak is made up of a lilac hedge, four rows of jack pine, four rows of Norway poplar and one row of willow. Another is one row willow, one of evergreen, one of willow and one of evergreen. Various distances between windbreak and orchard were used and recommended. A large number of orchards were started at about twenty feet from the windbreak and a few as close as one rod, but these distances proved to be too close. One grower, however, recommended close planting and later the removal of a row of trees in the windbreak when more space was needed. The recommended distances for planting varied from thirty to 500 feet, although seventy-five to 100 was satisfactory in most cases. More details have been given in regard to orchard sites and windbreaks than many of you are probably interested in, but for one who is planning to set out an orchard they should prove of value and profit, as they are based upon the experiences of many of Minnesota's best orchardists. My Experience with a Young Orchard. ROY VIALL, SPRING VALLEY. About ten years ago we acquired some land three and one-half miles north of Spring Valley. This land is very rough and was originally covered with heavy timber, in fact, about one-third of our large orchard was cleared and grubbed out the fall before planting. When I became interested in fruit growing one of the first things I did was to join the Horticultural Society and to the knowledge obtained through this membership we owe in large measure what success has come to us. The eighteen acres selected for our main orchard slopes quite abruptly to the north and northeast. In fact, the slope is so steep that the ground, if kept under cultivation, would wash badly, and this was the real reason for seeding down our orchard at the time of planting. The orchard is now seven years old, and the trees have never had a particle of cultivation. Part of this ground was in grain and seeded to alsike and timothy the year before; the balance was the new land referred to, which we had broken and immediately seeded down to alsike and timothy, with oats as a nurse crop. Our first problem was what varieties to plant, in what proportion and where to buy them. In this we adopted the recommendation of this society at that time, choosing Wealthy, Duchess, Patten Greening and Northwestern Greening, with fifty Malinda and fifty Iowa Beauty. We now have in addition two small orchards with nearly forty varieties altogether. The varieties, for the large orchard were divided as follows: 250 Duchess, 250 Patten Greening, 300 Northwestern Greening, 1,000 Wealthy. Were I to set another commercial orchard of the same size it would contain 500 Duchess and the balance Wealthy. While the Patten Greening is an ideal tree and an early and prolific bearer, there is with us a much larger per cent of imperfect and diseased fruit than of any other variety. Tree for tree, I believe the Duchess will produce _more_ saleable _fruit_. Where to buy our trees was decided for us in one of our first numbers of the Horticulturist, viz., at the nearest reliable nursery. That this was good advice is evidenced by the fact that out of the 1,900 trees we have found but two that were not as ordered. Our next problem was, at what distance to plant the trees. The more information we sought the less sure were we of the best plan. We were advised to plant all distances from 12 feet by 16 feet to 24 feet by 32 feet. We finally concluded to take about an average of them all and decided on 20 feet by 20 feet, and so far have had no reason to regret it. We have put up the alsike and timothy every year for hay with the usual machinery, and there has not been over a half dozen trees seriously damaged. Our trees were nearly all three years old, 5 to 6 feet, and we find they do much better in sod than a smaller tree. Having the orchard set out the next thing was to protect the trees from mice and rabbits. This we did by making protectors out of wire cloth, using different widths, from 18 to 24 inches, cutting it in strips 10 inches wide and holding it about the trees by three pieces of stove pipe wire at the top, middle and bottom. Not counting the time of making and putting them on these cost us from 1-1/2 cents to 2-1/2 cents each, and lasted from three to four years. We used a few made of galvanized wire cloth, which lasted much longer. Three years ago we commenced replacing these protectors with a wash of white lead and raw linseed oil mixed to the consistency of separator cream. The first year we painted only fifty trees, the next year 100, the next 300, and this last year we painted every tree on the place. We can see no bad effects, and it certainly protects against mice and rabbits and, what is equally as important, against borers also, and the cost per tree, including labor, is much less. We have also used the lead and oil with splendid results in treating trees affected with canker. We had quite a number of Wealthy so affected, and we cut out the affected bark and wood and then covered the wound with lead, and in almost every case it has proved a cure, that is, stopped the spread of the canker. The second year our orchard was set out we began to mulch the trees with grass cut in the orchard, clover straw, pea straw--anything we could get. We were unable to mulch the entire orchard that year, and before we got the balance mulched you could tell as far as you could see the orchard which trees were mulched and which were not. The former not only made a better growth, but had a healthier look. Now I do not want you to get the idea that I am advocating the sod system except in locations similar to ours. Were our orchard on more level ground I not only should have cultivated the first three years, as advocated by most authorities, but would have continued the cultivation in some degree at least. Nevertheless, on account probably of the very favorable location, I think our orchard will compare favorably with any cultivated orchard of the same age. Having the orchard set out, protected against mice and rabbits and mulched, we found that the real work of raising an orchard had just begun. First came the gray beetles the following June, and they ate the new growth off several hundred trees before we discovered them. At that time, not knowing what else to do, we hand picked every one we could find and destroyed them. These beetles we found came from oak groves on the south and west, and the next year we sprayed with arsenate of lead six or eight rows of trees on that side of the orchard, and as we have since then sprayed the entire orchard each year we have had no further trouble. Next came pocket gophers, and before we learned how to stop them we had lost a number of trees by their chewing off the roots just beneath the surface of the ground. By opening their runways and placing well down in them a piece of carrot or potato in which has been placed a little strychnine we succeeded in getting rid of them entirely. Next came the woodchucks. They were very destructive with us, chewing the bark above the protectors as well as the roots. Trapping is the most successful method we have found, and by keeping a half dozen traps out all the time we held them in check. Eternal vigilance must be the motto of the successful orchardist. In the year 1913 we picked our first crop of apples, that is, in sufficient quantity to be considered in a commercial way. Our Duchess we sold in barrels at $2.00 net. Wealthy we packed in bushel boxes, making two sizes, the larger, three inches and over, we called No. 1, and they sold for $1.25 per box net. The balance or smaller ones were also sold in boxes and brought us $1.00 per box net. Patten Greenings brought us 80 cents and Northwestern Greenings, 90 cents per box. Our neighbors, who sold to the local and transient buyers in bulk and in barrels, received 75 cents to 90 cents per hundred pounds, or $2.00 per barrel. The past year we had only about 75 bushels of all kinds. With the exception of Duchess and possibly Patten's Greening we shall certainly sell our next crop in bushel boxes. We are top-working about 50 Patten's Greening to Jonathan, Delicious, McIntosh Red and King David. As the work was only started a year ago last spring I cannot tell you of its success or failure. So far the best results seem to be with the Jonathan. We also have about thirty varieties of plums, including many of Prof. Hansen's new hybrids. Of these the Opata seems to be the most hardy and prolific, but it is subject to brown rot, which, this past year was so bad that we lost more than half the fruit. We have it top-worked on several varieties of native plums, and it was similarly affected there also. This was the only variety in our orchard of 150 trees that was so affected. We have fifteen Surprise plums, set seven years, that have not yielded altogether a peck of plums. Only lack of time kept me from grubbing them out last spring. This past season they were so heavily loaded that we had to prop the limbs and then thin out the fruit. We endeavor to spray all our trees twice with commercial lime-sulphur and arsenate of lead--the first time immediately after the blossoms fall, the second two weeks later. Our spraying outfit consists of a Morrill & Morley hand pump, fitted in a 100-gallon tank, which we mounted on a small, one-horse truck. We operate it with three men, one to drive and pump and one for each line of hose, spraying two rows of trees at once. With this outfit we can spray 400 to 500 trees (of the size of ours) a day. * * * * * THE NATIONAL FORESTS--besides being the American farmer's most valuable source of wood, which is the chief building material for rural purposes, are also his most valuable source of water, both for irrigation and domestic use. In the West, they afford him a protected grazing range for his stock; they are the best insurance against flood damage to his fields, his buildings, his bridges, his roads, and the fertility of his soil. The national forests cover the higher portions of the Rocky Mountain ranges, the Cascades, the Pacific Coast ranges, and a large part of the forested coast and islands of Alaska; some of the hilly regions in Montana and in the Dakotas, Oklahoma, and Arkansas, and limited areas in Minnesota, Michigan, Florida, and Porto Rico. In addition, land is now being purchased for national forests in the White Mountains of New England and in the southern Appalachians. In regions so widely scattered, agricultural and forest conditions necessarily differ to a great degree, bringing about corresponding differences in the effect of the national forests on the agricultural interests of the various localities. Wherever agriculture can be practiced, however, the farmer is directly benefited by the existence of national forests and by their proper management.--U.S. Dept. of Agri. GARDEN HELPS Conducted by Minnesota Garden Flower Society Edited by MRS. E. W. GOULD, 2644 Humboldt Avenue So. Minneapolis. SOME SUGGESTIONS FOR THE USE OF COAL ASHES-- This is the time of the year when the unsightly heaps of coal ashes are likely to appear in one's back yard--eyesores and apparently useless. Yet there are several ways in which they can be used to advantage about the garden. They should first be sifted, using a quarter-inch wire mesh. The rough or coarser parts are well adapted for use on paths and driveways, forming a clean, firm surface with use. These paths are especially good in the garden, for weeds do not grow readily in them, and they dry off quickly after a rain. Such parts of the ashes as will pass through an inch mesh will make a very good summer mulch about fruit trees and bushes that require such care. This mulch will conserve the moisture at the roots of the tree or plant at a time when it is very necessary to have it. About a pyramid of these coarse ashes one may plant anything that requires much water. The roots of the plants will run under the ashes and keep moist and cool. Through a drought a little water poured upon the ashes will be distributed to the roots without loss. The fine sifted ashes will render the tougher hard soils more friable, their chief virtue being lightening it. In a very mild degree they are a fertilizer, though in no degree comparable in this respect to hardwood ashes. Yet it has been proved that soil to which sifted coal ashes had been added grew plants of richer, darker foliage. They must be very well mixed with the soil by a thorough spading and forking. The following experiment was noted in the Garden Magazine: A soil was prepared as follows: One-eighth stable manure, one-eighth leaf mold, one-quarter garden soil (heavy), one-half sifted coal ashes. Plants grown in this soil surpassed those grown in the garden soil next to them. Coal ashes would not be advised for a light soil. * * * * * Watch this page for announcement of Garden Flower Society meetings. January 20th, Public Library, Minneapolis, Tenth and Hennepin, Directors' Room, 2:30 p.m. SUBJECTS: Hotbeds, coldframes, management and care of the young plants, Mr. Frank H. Gibbs. The Minnesota Cypripediums. Can they be successfully cultivated? Miss Clara Leavitt. Five-minute talks on "The Best Things of 1915." Members are urged to bring their friends to this meeting. No one who contemplates having a garden this year can afford to miss it. Let us be generous and share our good programs with as many as possible. Each member is host or hostess for that day. SECRETARY'S CORNER ANNUAL MEETING WISCONSIN STATE HORTICULTURAL SOCY.--This meeting is to be held at Madison, Wis., on January 5-7. Mr. Chas. Haralson, superintendent of our State Fruit-Breeding Farm, is to represent this society at that meeting. We may look for an interesting report from him in the February issue of our monthly. IS YOUR ANNUAL FEE PAID?--If not, won't you please send it in promptly, remitting by a $1.00 bill, which is a safe medium of payment, instead of using check unless you draw on a bank in one of the larger cities of the state. Checks on country banks, as a rule, can only be collected here by a payment of ten cents, which the society can ill afford to pay for so many members. ANNUAL MEETING S.D. HORT. SOCY.--The annual gathering of this sister association will be held in Huron, S.D., January 18-20. Quite a good many of our members live so near the state line that they may find it convenient to attend this meeting, which will certainly be a profitable one. Prof. N. E. Hansen is secretary. Mr. Wm. Pfaender, Jr., of New Ulm, is to be the representative of this society at the South Dakota meeting. ANNUAL MEETING SOUTHERN MINNESOTA HORT. SOCY.--This very wide-awake auxiliary of the state society will hold its annual meeting in Austin, January 19th and 20th next. The program of the meeting is not yet at hand, but you may be sure that it will be an interesting and practical one. If the reader is living anywhere within convenient range of Austin by all means attend this meeting and get inspiration and help for the work of another season. YOU ARE NOT FORGOTTEN.--This refers to members of the society who have paid their annual fee for 1916 and are wondering why they have not yet received the membership ticket. There is always a little unavoidable delay in sending out these tickets after the annual meeting. First the tickets must be printed, and then the society folder that goes out with them must be prepared, and the material making up this folder comes from quite a number of sources, and it takes more or less time to get all of these matters together and in shape. You need not be solicitous in regard to membership fees remitted, as the chance of loss in transmission is approximately nothing; hardly half a dozen instances of the kind have come up in the twenty-five years of service of the secretary. PASSING OF MICHAEL BENDEL, SR.--This old member of our society and resident of Madison has just been called away, December 23rd, at the age of seventy-nine years. While not an attendant at our meetings he was a most loyal member of the society, and especially conspicuous in the western part of the state, where he lived, as a successful experimenter in orcharding, in which work he had a large experience. His portrait and a brief sketch of his life appear in the 1914 volume of our report, on page 150. Mr. Bendel was for many years president of the Lac qui Parle County Agricultural Society, was always greatly interested in everything to improve the interests of his community, and especially those pertaining to farm life. He has left an enviable record. FARMERS AND HOME MAKERS WEEK.--University Farm, midway between Minneapolis and St. Paul, have prepared a royal program for all interested in agricultural work and life, including the needs of the household, filling all of next week, from January 3rd to 8th, inclusive. Seventy-nine professors and instructors by count are on the program for the week, and it is so arranged that those attending pass from one lecture room to another, from hour to hour, selecting the subjects that they have a special interest in. Horticulture, or subjects closely akin, have a place on this program Monday afternoon, Tuesday forenoon and afternoon, Wednesday forenoon and Thursday forenoon; Thursday afternoon the horticultural program is devoted entirely to vegetables; Friday forenoon and afternoon; and Saturday forenoon altogether spraying. When this magazine is received it will be too late to send for a program, but not too late to attend the meetings, which we hope many of our members may have the opportunity to do. ATTENDANCE AT ANNUAL MEETING.--The badge book, which is issued at every annual meeting, containing the list of those who notify the secretary of a purpose to attend the meeting, is a pretty good index of the attendance. This year the badge book contained 442 names. Of course not all of these were present at the meeting, but a great many who were there had not sent notice of attendance and whose names were not in the badge book, so that the figures given elsewhere in this magazine as to attendance, estimated at from 400 to 500, are certainly not any too high. Of this number not to exceed fifteen members, including vice presidents and superintendents of trial stations living at a distance, receive their railroad fare to and from the annual meeting, which is the only compensation they receive for their work in operating the trial stations and preparing the annual or semi-annual reports connected with their positions. This is not in fact any compensation for service but rather a recognition of the large obligation under which the society rests towards them for such gratuitous service. PLANT PREMIUMS FOR 1916.--On the inside front cover page of this monthly will be found a list of the plant premiums offered to our membership the coming spring. This list is also published in the society folder, of which copies will be sent to each member and which can be supplied in any number desired by application to the secretary. The list of plant premiums includes a considerable variety of plants both ornamental and otherwise useful. Those of special interest this year are the new fruits being sent out from the State Fruit-Breeding Farm, including No. 3 June-bearing strawberry, which gives promise of being a very valuable fruit for Minnesota planters; No. 1017 everbearing strawberry, the kind which has been selected from thousands of varieties fruiting at the station, a good plant maker and also a prolific fruiter of high quality berries; No. 4 raspberry, a variety of extraordinary vigor and hardiness, large fruited, and a prolific bearer; and several varieties of large fruited plums. Every member of the society with facilities for growing fruits should be interested in trying these new varieties, which of course are still being sent out on trial, and we desire to hear from our membership as to their measure of success with them. [Illustration: A. W. LATHAM O. C. GREGG CHAS. G. PATTEN From photograph taken in front of Administration Building, at University Farm, on the morning of January 8, just before presentation of certificates referred to on opposite page.] While it is not the intention to publish anything in this magazine that is misleading or unreliable, yet it must be remembered that the articles published herein recite the experience and opinions of their writers, and this fact must always be noted in estimating their practical value. THE MINNESOTA HORTICULTURIST Vol. 44 FEBRUARY, 1916 No. 2 OPEN LETTER TO MEMBERS OF THE Minnesota State Horticultural Society FROM ITS SECRETARY. Probably members of the society very generally noticed a few weeks since in the daily papers of the Twin Cities and elsewhere an announcement that "certificates of award for special meritorious services in the advancement of agriculture" would be made by the Minnesota State University to Mr. O. C. Gregg, Hon. W. G. LeDuc, Mr. Chas. G. Patten and Mr. A. W. Latham. These certificates were awarded Saturday, January 8th, 1916, at the closing exercises of the Farmers Week at the University Farm before an audience of twelve hundred people, gathered in the chapel in the Administration Building. Appropriate exercises were conducted by the President, Geo. E. Vincent, and the Dean of the University Farm, A.F. Woods, in the presence of Hon. Fred B. Snyder, President of the Board of Regents of the State University, and other members of the Board and a large representation of the professorship of University Farm School, also occupying the platform. Dean Woods read a sketch of the life of each one of the recipients, and the certificates were formally presented to each in turn by the President of the State University. All the persons who were to receive this honor were in attendance except Gen. LeDuc, who was probably unable to be present on account of his extreme age. When this matter was first called to my attention I felt that it would be entirely out of place, being its editor, that I should make reference to it in the society monthly, but as the fact has been widely published throughout the state, and whatever honor is connected with this presentation is to be shared with the members of the Horticultural Society, I have changed my view point in regard to this, and it seems to me now that the members of the society should be fully informed as to what has taken place. Mr. O. C. Gregg received this distinction on account of his connection with the farmers' institutes of the state, of which he was the pioneer, and in connection with which he remained as superintendent for some twenty-two years. Gen. LeDuc was for a number of years Commissioner of Agriculture at Washington and introduced many important reforms in the management of that department. Mr. Chas. G. Patten is well known to our members of course as the originator of the Patten's Greening apple, although this is quite an infinitesimal part of the work that he has done in connection with the breeding of fruits, the results from which the public are to profit by largely, we believe, in the early future. At his advanced age of eighty-four we feel that this honor has been wisely placed. "Mr. A. W. Latham has been secretary of the Minnesota State Horticultural Society for twenty-five years, during which period its membership has advanced from one or two hundred to thirty-four hundred, making it the largest horticultural society in the country, and probably," as stated by the Dean in his address, "the largest in the world." While this distinction has been conferred upon the secretary of your society it is not to be considered as so much a personal tribute to him as a recognition of the splendid work done by the society as a whole, in which every member has had some share. To express fully my thought in this I will refer briefly to the organization of the society, just half a century ago, when a handful of earnest men united their efforts under the name of the Minnesota State Horticultural Society in an endeavor to solve the difficult problems connected with fruit growing in this region. None of the men who at that time organized this society are now living, but others have taken their places, and the important service that was so well cared for by the earlier membership is being equally as well prosecuted by those who have succeeded them. My personal connection with the society began the third year of its existence, so that I had the high privilege of enjoying personal acquaintance with practically all those earlier workers in the society, and indeed most of them were still alive when I came into the secretaryship twenty-five years ago. It will not be out of place to speak here particularly of a few of those who are no longer with us: John S. Harris, that staunch friend, one of the original twelve, whose medallion hangs on the wall of the horticultural classroom at University Farm; Peter M. Gideon, whose self-sacrifice gave us the Wealthy apple, now of worldwide planting--he in whose memory the Gideon Memorial Fund was created; Col. John H. Stevens, that large hearted man of unquenchable public spirit; P.A. Jewell, searcher for new fruits and founder of the Jewell Nursery Company; Truman M. Smith, seven years president during many dark days; Wyman Elliot, one of the original twelve, well called by one "King of the Horticultural Society"--so recently taken from us. The institution of learning conferring this distinction upon us has contributed a full share of workers now no longer with us; W. W. Pendergast, first principal of the University Farm School, and for many years president of the society until stricken with a fatal illness; and Prof. Saml. B. Green of blessed memory, whose loss we shall never cease to mourn. There are many others who did great service to the society that I should be glad to speak of here if space would permit. In the list of those who are still with us and have served with such self devotion and courage in advancing the interests of the society, and that for which it stands, are to be found the names of many men prominent in various walks of life in our state. It would be out of place for me to select from this list a few and give them special prominence where hundreds have contributed to the life and growth of the association all these many years until the present enviable place now occupied by the association has been attained. To the executive board of the society, most of whom have been members of the board for a long period of years, of course the success of the association is especially due. Men of initiative in an ambitious and unselfish way working for the success of the association, they have had very much indeed to do with its progress. As I endeavor to recall the personality of those who have been of special service to us I find the list almost without limit. With what pleasure and satisfaction have I been permitted to serve with the members of this society! What willingness to perform the duties suggested has ever characterized the assistance that has been rendered by the membership of this society! It has been an exceedingly rare thing for any member to offer an objection to undertaking any service asked of him, and with such support as this so readily and heartily given, and often at large expense to the member, what can be expected other than such success as has come to our society. I wish I had the ability to express at this time the thought that is in my heart as I recall all of these helpful brothers and sisters to whom indeed belongs as much as to the writer any distinction that comes to the society as a result of these years of labor. Notwithstanding the State University have seen fit to refer to this in a way to indicate that our society has reached some certain vantage ground, it must not be lost sight of that the real work of the society is still before it. Whether to be carried on under the present management or under a changed management we have a right to look ahead and anticipate the definite and widely expanding results that are still to come from the services of the members of the society, which we are sure in the future, as in the past, will be heartily rendered. A. W. LATHAM, Secy. June-Bearing Strawberries. GEO. J. KELLOGG, RETIRED NURSERYMAN, JANESVILLE, WIS. Any fool that knows enough can grow strawberries, which reminds me of the preacher in York State who both preached and farmed it. He was trying to bore a beetle head and could not hold it; a foolish boy came along and said, "Why don't you put it in the hog trough?" "Well! Well!" the preacher said. "You can learn something from most any fool." The boy said, "That is just what father says when he hears you preach." I don't expect to tell you much that is new, but I want to emphasize the good things that others have said: _Soils._ I once had twenty-one acres of heavy oak, hickory, crab apple and hazel brush, with one old Indian corn field. I measured hazel brush twelve feet high, and some of the ground was a perfect network of hazel roots; the leaf mould had accumulated for ages. The first half acre I planted to turnips, the next spring I started in to make my fortune. I set out nineteen varieties of the best strawberries away back in the time of the Wilson, than which we have never had its equal. The plants grew well and wintered well, but they did not bear worth a cent, while just over the fence I had a field on ground that had been worked twenty years without manure that gave me two hundred and sixty bushels to the acre. It took three years with other crops to reduce that loose soil before I could make strawberries pay. My fortune all vanished. Last June while judging your strawberry show, I found a large collection of twenty-five kinds of the poorest strawberries I ever saw, grown on the college grounds. I visited the field, found over a hundred varieties, well tallied, well cultivated, on new oak opening soil. First crop, the soil seemed ideal, every thing good except the plants and the fruit. The foliage was defective and the fruit very poor. Was it the new soil? I have always found good garden soil would produce good strawberries; the best beds were those that followed potatoes. Cut worms and white grubs seldom follow two years of hoed crops. [Illustration: Mr. Geo. J. Kellogg ten years ago] _Preparation._ Preparation for the best strawberries should be started three years before planting. Using soil from sand to clay, well drained, well manured, sowed to clover, take off the first cutting of clover, then more manure plowed under deep with the second crop of clover, as late as can before freezing up, to kill insects and make the soil friable and ready for a crop of potatoes the next spring. After harvesting 300 bushels of potatoes to the acre use a heavy coat of well rotted manure without weed seed, plowed under late in fall. The following spring, as soon as the ground will work, thoroughly disk and harrow, and harrow twice more. Then roll or plank it, mark both ways two by four feet, set by hand either with dibble or spade, no machine work. Crown even with the surface, with best of plants from new beds, leaving on but two leaves, and if the roots are not fresh dug, trim them a little. Firm them good. Now start the weeder and go over the field every week till the runners start, then use the nine-tooth cultivator with the two outside teeth two inches shorter than the others. Cultivate every week till the middle of October. Use the hoe to keep out all weeds and hoe very lightly about the plants. Weeds are a blessing to the lazy man, but I don't like to have it overdone. Don't let the soil bake after a rain. Keep the cultivator running. In garden work a steel tooth rake is a splendid garden tool. Volume 1905, page 230 (An. Report Minn. State Hort. Society). Mr. Schwab gets an ideal strawberry bed, then kills it with twelve inches of mulch. If the ice and snow had not come perhaps the plants would have pulled through. Volume 41, page 390. Mr. Wildhagen gives an ideal paper on strawberries, it will pay you to read it again and again. Instead of one year's preparation, I would have three. _Winter Protection._ Unless in an exposed place, marsh hay is the best and cleanest mulch, but high winds may roll it off. Clean straw away from the tailings of the machine is next best. For small acreage if one inch can be put on as soon as the ground is frozen a half inch, it will save the many freezings and thawings before winter sets in. For large acreage it is not practical to cover till frost will hold up a loaded wagon. Two inches of mulch, that covers the plants and paths from sight is enough, but I see you cover deeper, from four to twelve inches in Minnesota, and often smother the plants. If we could have a snow blanket come early and stay on late in spring, that would protect the plants, but we want the mulch also to protect from drouth and keep the berries clean. A January thaw is liable to kill out any field that is not properly mulched. A two inch mulch will not hinder the plants coming through in spring; four inches will require part of the mulch raked into the paths; if plants don't get through readily loosen the mulch. I have known some successful growers to take off all the mulch from the paths in spring and cultivate lightly but thoroughly, then replace the mulch to protect from drouth and to keep the berries clean, but I don't think it pays. _Weeds._ In the best fields and beds I ever saw there will come up an occasional weed in spring, and it pays to go over the ground with a spade or butcher knife and take out such weeds. We almost always get a drouth at picking time, better a drought than too much rain. A good straw mulch will usually carry us through. _Irrigation._ If irrigation is attempted the fields must be prepared before planting to run water through between the rows. Sprinkling will not do except at sundown. Rain always comes in cloudy weather; you cannot wet foliage in sun in hot weather without damage. A good rainfall is one inch, which is a thousand barrels to the acre, so what can you do with a sprinkling cart? Showers followed by bright sunshine damage the patch. If your plants are set too deep they rot, if too high they dry, if not well firmed they fail. When I have used a tobacco planter I have had to put my heel on every plant. Of course you know that newly planted June varieties must have the blossom buds cut out, and everbears bearing must also till July. _Picking._ The man who has acres to pick must secure his boxes the winter before and have at least part of them made up if they are to be tacked. I have found a boy can make up boxes as fast as thirty pickers can fill. If you use the folding box no tacks are needed. Too many boxes made up ahead are liable to be damaged by the mice. _Pickers._ Engage your pickers ahead; agree on the price and that a part of the pay is to be kept back till the close of the season, which is forfeited if quitting before time. If pickers are too far away, transportation must be furnished--free boxes of berries are appreciated by the pickers. _Marketing._ Sometimes the marketing of the fruit is harder than the growing of it. If enough is grown form an association to sell it, get advice from a successful association how to form and how to run it. Sometimes a well made wagon, a good team and a good man can sell from house to house in the country and city and make good returns. In this way you get back your crates and part of the boxes. I know a successful grower in Iowa, who sold his crop of ten acres to the farmers and city people, they doing their own picking and furnishing their own boxes, at a given price. All the proprietor had to do was sit at the gate and take in the cash. It is worth a good deal to know how to grow the best of strawberries and often it is worth more to know how to turn them into cash. _What Varieties?_ Dunlap and Warfield have a general reputation for profit, can be picked together and sell well; dark color, good canners and good shippers. If you want a third variety take Lovett. Some of your growers want nothing but Bederwood, but it is too light and too soft to ship, though it is a good family berry. I expect Minnesota No. 3 will soon be the only variety you will want of the June kinds. _Insects._ Winter drouth often injures the roots and some lay it to insects. The winter of 1899 was the worst winter drouth I ever knew; it killed every thing. If you are troubled with the crown borer, root lice, leaf roller or rust, grow one crop and plow under, or move your fields a good distance from the old bed. What shall be done with the old bed? If you have insects or rust plow under and get the best place to start a new bed, and don't set any of your own plants if you have insects or rust--and be sure you buy of a reliable grower. _Old Beds._ If the first crop is big, plow under, if light and you have a good stand of plants, no insects or rust, you can mow and teddy up the mulch and in a high wind burn it over--a quick fire will do no harm. Then you can plow two furrows between rows and drag it every way till not a plant is seen. Soon, if the rows are left a foot wide, the plants will come through. Then manure (better be manured before plowing), and you may get a good second crop. Some mow and rake off and burn outside the bed, then with a two horse cultivator dig up the paths and cultivate and get the ground in condition. Put on the manure and hoe out part of the old plants. I like the plan of Wildhagen; mow, burn and then cover three inches deep with one hundred big loads of manure to the acre and don't go near the patch till picking time next year. He gets a nice early crop, and if berries are a little small it pays better than any other way. Try it! I have known some fields carried to fourth crop, and amateur beds kept up for ten years. It takes lots of work to keep an old bed in good condition. J.M. Smith, of Green Bay, Wis., almost always took one crop and plowed under. If the first crop was injured by frost, he took a second crop. He raised four hundred bushels to the acre. Wm. Von Baumbach, of Wauwatosa, Wis., raised from five acres less ten square rods seventeen hundred bushels big measure beside quantities given the pickers. I have had beds and fields where I have timed my boys picking a quart a minute. I had one small boy that picked 230 quarts a day. But in all my sixty years growing strawberries I never properly prepared an acre of ground before planting. I could take a five acre patch now, as young as I am, and beat anything I have ever done. _Mulch._--For mulch for small beds, if straw or marsh hay is not handy, use an inch of leaves, then cut your sweet corn and lay the stalks on three inches apart and your plants will come up between in spring and give you clean fruit. Cut cornstalks are good for field covering, also shredded cornstalks. I have used the begass from the cane mill, but it is too heavy. Evergreen boughs are very good if well put on for small beds. In my paper, Vol. 1911, page 180 (Minn. Report), it should read five bushels to the square _rod, not acre_. Who ever heard of five bushels an acre! _Big Yields._--You all know of Friend Wedge's 74-3/4 quarts from one square rod of Everbearers the season of planting. I believe that can be beaten. Let our society put a few hundred dollars in premiums for best yield of square rod of everbearers and of June varieties, and of a quarter of an acre; also the best product of one hill, and the best product of one plant, and its runners fourteen months from planting. I believe one plant of everbearers can produce a quart the season of setting. I know of the five bushels to the square rod, and the other fellow had four and a half bushel of Wilson. Surprise Plum a Success. C. A. PFEIFFER, WINONA. I realize at the outset that I am treading on delicate ground in undertaking to defend the Surprise plum, on account of it having been discarded by our fruit list committee, but after seeing our young trees producing this year their third consecutive heavy crop I feel justified in taking exception to the action of the committee. My first experience with the Surprise plum dates back to 1897, when Mr. O. M. Lord, of Minnesota City, probably the best authority on the plum in the state in his time, presented me with one tree, which at that time were being sold at $1.00 each, and I was cautioned against giving it too much care or I would kill the tree, and that is just what happened to it. [Illustration: C. A. Pfeiffer, Winona.] The following year, 1898, I bought twenty-five trees from Mr. Lord and planted them late in March, on very sandy land on a southerly slope, pruning the trees back almost to a stump. These trees were very slow in getting started but made a satisfactory growth before the season was over. They commenced to bear the third year after planting, and are still producing good crops, but it is my more recent experience with this variety that finally induced me to prepare this article. In the spring of 1909, we set out 160 plum trees, on rich, black, loamy soil on low land, nineteen of them being Surprise, the other varieties being, according to numbers, Terry, Ocheeda, Stoddard, Hawkeye, Bursota, Wolf, Omaha also a few Jewell, DeSoto, Forest Garden, American and Stella. The Surprise trees bore a crop in 1913, again in 1914, and 1915, making it to the present time not only the most productive but the most profitable variety on our place. While we did not keep an accurate record of the exact yield in 1913 and 1914, some of the trees produced fully five 16 quart cases in 1913. A fair average would perhaps be about four cases per tree. In 1914 the crop was somewhat lighter, yielding an average of three cases per tree. This year we picked and sold eighty-five cases, which brought us a gross revenue of $79.60. We lost part of the crop on account of continual rain in the picking season, or we would have had fully 100 cases. Nine of the trees being in a more sheltered location than the other ten held their fruit better during the growing season, and produced a relatively heavier crop than the ten that were exposed to our fierce winds all summer. We have never been able to supply the demand for them, at good prices, while other varieties went begging at any kind of a price. Among their good qualities with us are productiveness, good size, extra fine quality and attractive color. They are delicious to eat out of hand just as they are ripe enough to drop from the tree. They are fine for canning, preserving or jelly. They are practically curculio proof, and have never been affected with brown rot as have some other varieties. Aphis never bothers them, while Terry and some other varieties nearly had the whole crop ruined by this pest in 1914. The branches form good, strong shoulders at the trunk and do not split or break down in heavy storms or under their heavy loads of fruit, as the Terry and Forest Garden do. The flower buds and fruit form as freely on the new growth as on the old spurs. The crop is therefore about evenly distributed all over the tree, and while we picked almost eight cases from one tree this year it did not appear to be overloaded, as some varieties frequently are, the Surprise tree always being capable of maturing all the fruit that sets. We have shipped them 300 miles by freight with perfect success, but we pick them from the tree before fully ripe. If allowed to ripen on the tree they drop badly, which bruises and damages them. The trees are thrifty, vigorous growers with beautiful glossy foliage that can be distinguished from all other varieties. You would note on examination of the buds that we have promise of another crop next year, but this will depend somewhat on the weather during the blooming season. We attribute one of the reasons for our success with the Surprise plum to the fact that they are planted among and alongside of varieties that have the same season of blooming, and which undoubtedly are good pollenizers, namely the Bursota, Wolf, Ocheeda and Omaha. The bloom of Surprise being almost sterile, they will not be a success planted alone. [Illustration: A Surprise plum tree growing on the place of Prof. A.G. Ruggles. It bore in 1914 four bushels, having been well sprayed with arsenate of lead and bordeaux mixture.] You will perhaps ask if there are no faults or diseases they are subject to, and we will state, for one thing, the fruit drops too easily when ripe, and you will either have to pick them before fully matured or find a good many of them on the ground. They are also occasionally subject to blossom blight, which was rather a benefit, as it thinned the crop out to about the proper proportion. We also had considerable plum pocket and fungous growth one season about ten years ago. Such has been our experience with the Surprise plum--and will again repeat that until the society finds a plum equally as good or better, instead of discarding it on account of unproductiveness and recommending such poor quality varieties as Wolf, DeSoto and some others, our learned horticulturists should make a special study of this variety and ascertain the cause of its unproductiveness, and also to what localities in the state it may be adapted. Mr. Pfeiffer: Right here I will say to those gentlemen who are looking for a cure for brown rot or curculio, they had better plant Surprise plums. (Applause.) Pres. Cashman: I am glad the Surprise plum has at least one good friend in this audience. I think it has several. Mr. Ludlow: What has been your experience with the Ocheeda? I see you mention it. Mr. Pfeiffer: The Ocheeda at the present time, I am sorry to say, I am disappointed with. I planted some fifteen years ago, and they were nice large plums, as you have described, and they were on sandy soil. I have twenty Ocheeda trees now, and they are quite badly subject to brown rot. Their quality is very nice to eat from the tree out of hand, nice and sweet. Mr. Street: I want to second everything Mr. Pfeiffer has said. I joined this society about twelve years ago, and it was through studying the reports of this society that I got interested in the native plum. The Surprise plum does very well with us in Illinois. Professor Hansen is one of those that are responsible for my starting in with the Surprise. It was years ago at our state meeting that he mentioned that as one of the good plums for Northern Illinois. Well, I put it alongside of the Wyant and the native plums that are of the same sort. I may state the conditions under which we grow them. We always cultivate before bloom, cultivate thoroughly. Before the growth starts we give them a very thorough spraying with lime-sulphur spray; then just before the bloom, just before the blossoms open, as late as we can wait, we use about 1 to 40 or 50 of the lime-sulphur solution, also put in three pounds of arsenate of lead. Then after the blossoms fall we use the same spray again, perhaps two weeks after that again, and we keep that up for about four times. We have had abundant crops, and they have been very profitable. Pres. Cashman: I am very glad to know that the Surprise plum has friends in Illinois, and we are also pleased to know that Mr. Street is with us and we hope to hear from him later. The president of the Wisconsin Horticultural Society, Mr. Rasmussen. Mr. Rasmussen: I will say the Surprise plum has given just about the same results with us--it is the most profitable we have. Mr. Sauter: I was over to the Anoka county fair; it was the first part of September, and all the other plums weren't ripe, all the stuff they had in was green. But all the Surprise were ripe, so that certainly must be an early ripener. Mr. Pfeiffer: Not especially early. Mr. Hall: I was certainly glad to hear Mr. Pfeiffer so ably defend the Surprise plum. The Surprise plum was the only one I got any good from. The DeSoto, Wolf and Stoddard and all those, the brown rot got them, but the Surprise plum had perfect fruit. I am surprised that it has a black eye from the society. Mr. Pfeiffer: Your location is where? Mr. Hall: Sibley County. Mr. Kellogg: Thirteen years ago I set out a root graft that made about five feet of growth and just as quick as it got big enough to bear it was loaded with Surprise plums, but since then it hasn't been worth a cent. Mr. Miller: If Mr. Pfeiffer had been in my orchard he could not have given us a better description of it than he did, of the Surprise plum. I set it out about fifteen years ago. I think I paid sixty cents for those seedlings, they stood about three and one-half feet. I never had brown rot in them. When I set them out I put them with other varieties and set them so the inside ones would fertilize the outside ones. Afterwards I set these on the east side of the orchard, where they got protection from the west wind. They have borne almost every year, and this year they are the only ones we had a crop on. Pres. Cashman: I think we get as near to agreeing on this question as on most others. It is suggested that we find out how many have had success and how many have had failures with the Surprise plum. All those who have been successful in raising Surprise plums will please raise their hands. (Certain hands raised.) Now, hands down. Those who have been unsuccessful will please raise their right hands. (Other hands raised.) It seems there were more successes than failures. A Member: It has been mentioned that the frost this year killed the plum crop. I noticed in my orchard previous to that frost when we had a snow storm, I noticed that the blossoms dried up and fell from the trees before that hard frost. I think the question of success or failure with the Surprise, as with other plums, is sort of comparative. I don't know of any plum of the Americana type that we have a success with every year any more than any other. So it is relative. I would like to ask if anyone had the same experience with the blossoms drying and falling off the trees before that frost. Mr. Crawford: Perhaps the gentleman will recall the fact we had two nights in succession of quite severe frost. The first night it was almost a freeze, and the second we had the snow storm which is given credit for the plum failure. Mr. Anderson: The gentleman who read the paper, he is from Winona, where he has a very much better location for any kind of fruit than the general run of the state. The other gentleman is from Illinois. Now, this good location near Winona and the temperature down in Illinois, does that favor the Surprise plum, and has it anything to do with their success and our failure? Pres. Cashman: We will have to leave that to the audience. Mr. S.D. Richardson: Down in Winnebago I got three trees from the originator of the Surprise plum, and while I was at the nursery I never saw any plums, but I propagated some from there and a man in our town has some Surprise plums from it, and since I left the nursery I think the man has had some plums from them. I got them from Mr. Penning when they were first originated, but they never bore plums for me. I had no other plums around there. Perhaps if they need pollen from other plums they didn't get it, and this man that has had the first success with them he had other plums near them. Perhaps that is the secret. The tree is hardy and good, and if you can get a crop of plums by having something else to fertilize them, the Surprise plum is all right. Pres. Cashman: I think Mr. Richardson has struck the keynote to a certain extent, we must put them near another variety to pollenize them. Northeast Demonstration Farm and Station. W. J. THOMPSON, SUPT., DULUTH. Last May the Station orchard was set out, the same consisting of about 516 apple trees with a fringe of cherries and plums. The apples consisted of year old stock (purchased the year preceding and set in nursery rows) and included these six varieties: Duchess, Patten's Greening, Okabena, Wealthy, Hibernal, Anisim. Good growth was made the past season and the stock went into winter quarters in good shape. However, 20 per cent died, the loss being in this order: Wealthy, Anisim, Hibernal, Pattens' Greening--Okabena and Duchess were tied for smallest loss. In addition to the above, we made a considerable planting of small fruits, principally currants and gooseberries, together with a limited quantity of blackberries and raspberries. Twelve varieties of strawberries were set out, each including 100 plants. All made a splendid growth this season. An interesting test is under way in the dynamiting work. Alternate trees have been set in blasted holes, a stick about one and one-half inches long being sufficient to make a hole three feet in diameter and perhaps twenty inches in depth. It is yet too early to measure the results of this work, but owing to the nature of the subsoil in this region, we are looking for splendid results. With regard to the stock secured from the Fruit Farm, we have not been uniformly successful. Much of the stock seems to be weak and dies readily from some cause unknown to us. Next season we should be able to render a more complete report, as our work will then be fairly started. Annual Report, 1915, West Concord Trial Station. FRED COWLES, SUPT., WEST CONCORD. [Illustration: Fred Cowles at home.] Of the new varieties of plums that I received from the Fruit-Breeding Farm most all have done well. The only one that has borne is No. 21. This one had two plums on last season, and several this. They were a medium size red plum, very good flavor, and seem to come into bearing very young. No. 17 is a very thrifty grower, but when it bears that will tell what it is worth. Hansen's plums are doing well, but we believe they are more adapted to a better drained soil than we have here, as we are on a heavy prairie soil. But these varieties are very thrifty and bear so young. The grapes have all stood the winter with no protection and have not killed back any. We expect some fruit next season. The raspberries that we received have all done well. No. 4 seems to take the lead for flavor and is a good grower. Notwithstanding the cold season our strawberry crop was very good, and we are much impressed with No. 3, it is so strong and healthy; it is just the plant for the farmer, as it will thrive under most any condition. I believe it will fight its way with the weeds and come out ahead. We reported very favorably on the Heritage when it was in bloom, but it does not set enough fruit to pay for its space. The berries are large but very few on my grounds. I will discard it. Our apple crop was very good, especially Duchess, Wealthy and Northwestern Greening. We have been trying some of the tender varieties top-worked. Northern Spy gave us five nice apples on a two year graft. We also have Jonathan, Talman Sweet and King David doing well. Delicious grafted three years ago has not fruited yet. This has been a splendid summer for flowers, and they seemed to enjoy the damp, cool season, especially the dahlia. If you have not tried the Countess of Lonsdale you should; it is a cactus dahlia and a very free bloomer. Everblooming roses did well--we had them in October. * * * * * PLANT LICE ON BLOSSOMS.--Aphids infesting the apple buds appeared in serious numbers during the present season in the Illinois University orchards when the buds began to swell. They were also observed in neighboring orchards. In 1914, apple aphids caused serious damage in certain counties in Illinois, and some damage was reported from many sections of the state. The aphids attack the opening buds, the young fruits, the growing shoots, and the leaves, sucking the plant juices from the succulent parts by means of long, very slender, tube-like beaks, which they thrust through the skins of the affected organs into the soft tissues beneath. They weaken the blossom buds by removing the sap; they dwarf and deform the apples so that varieties of ordinary size frequently fail to grow larger than small crab apples, and the fruits have a puckered appearance about the calyx end; they suck the juice from the growing shoots, dwarfing them; and they cause the leaves to curl, and if the insects are present in large numbers, to dry up and fall off. They are more injurious to the growth of young trees than of old trees. In old trees their chief injuries are on the fruit. This species of aphids are easily killed in the adult stage by certain contact sprays. Winter applications of lime sulphur cannot be depended on to destroy eggs. Poison sprays such as arsenate of lead are not eaten by this type of insect, and consequently are ineffective remedies for aphids. Kerosene emulsion is effective but is uncertain in its effect on the foliage of the trees. The best available sprays are the tobacco decoctions, of which the one most widely in use is "Black Leaf 40," a proprietary tobacco extract, made by the Kentucky Tobacco Products Company, Louisville, Kentucky. This material is used at the rate of one gallon in one thousand gallons of spray. It may be combined with lime sulphur, lime sulphur arsenate of lead, Bordeaux, or Bordeaux arsenate of lead, not with arsenate of lead alone. The ideal time to spray for these aphids is just as soon as all or nearly all the eggs appear to have hatched. Observations made in the University orchards this season indicate that all the eggs hatched before the blossom buds began to separate. After the leaves expand somewhat and the blossom buds separate, the aphids are provided with more hiding places and are more difficult to hit with the spray. Unfortunately, spraying at this time would require an extra application in addition to the cluster bud (first summer) spray (made for scab, curculio, bud moth, spring canker worms, etc.), and would thus add seriously to the cost of the season's operations. Spraying for aphids at the time of the cluster bud spray is, however, highly effective, and in general it is advised that this method be followed. If, however, previous experience has shown serious losses from aphids, or if they are present in extremely large numbers, the extra application may be well worth while.--Ill. Agri. Exp. Station. Annual Report, 1915, Duluth Trial Station. C. E. ROWE, SUPT., DULUTH. [Illustration: A rosa rugosa hybrid rose grown by C. E. Rowe, Duluth.] Although this was an off year for apples, results were probably as good here as in other sections of the state. The spring gave promise of an unusual crop, but the constant dropping of fruit during the summer months left us with about two-thirds as many apples as were harvested in 1914. The quality was much poorer, owing to extremely cool weather and the presence of scab in many localities. The plum crop failed almost completely, and many trees were injured from aphis attacks. I have never known the aphis so hard to control as they were last summer. Nearly all fruit trees made an excellent growth this season, and the new wood was well ripened when the freeze-up came. The fall rains provided plenty of moisture, and our trees should come through the winter in excellent shape. Raspberries and currants produced about one-half the usual crop this year, probably owing to our May freeze. Strawberries were almost a failure, largely due to winter-killing. Last winter did more damage to perennial plants than any other winter within the recollection of the writer. The fall was rather dry, and our snow covering did not come until January. We received from Supt. Haralson for trial four plum trees, variety No. 1; and fifty everbearing strawberry plants, variety No. 1017. Both plum trees and strawberry plants made a good growth. Although the strawberries were set heavily with fruit, but little of it ripened before the heavy frosts came. The plant is very vigorous, and the berry is large and of excellent quality. Annual Report, 1915, Vice-President, Tenth Congressional District. M. H. HEGERLE, SUPT., ST. BONIFACIUS. On May 18th we had several inches of snow accompanied by a fierce northwest wind, and orchards without any shelter suffered seriously, and both apples and plums in such orchards were scarce and of a rather inferior quality. A few orchards had a fair crop, while a couple of others with a natural windbreak had a fairly good crop, but on an average it was the lightest apple and plum crop we have had for some time. Mr. Beiersdorf and Mr. Swichtenberg report a good crop of Wealthy and Peter. Their orchards are close to a lake and are well protected on the north and west by a natural grove. Of the twenty-four report blanks sent out, eleven were returned properly filled in, and they all report conditions about as above outlined. Cherries and grapes suffered even more from the cold than the apples, and that crop was very light. My Homer cherry trees look healthy and are growing fine, but the past two years had not enough fruit to supply the birds. Raspberries and strawberries were a good crop and of exceptional fine quality, but the currants and gooseberries were a total failure in my garden as well as elsewhere, according to all reports received. There were not many fruit trees planted in this district the past year. For instance, at this station the deliveries last spring consisted principally of bundles containing one-half dozen or a dozen trees each, and the total number delivered in that way did not exceed 200 trees and, according to all information, the planting throughout this district was very light. I know of only one new orchard started with 700 four and five year old trees. About 500 are Wealthys and the balance Patten Greenings. The trees made a good start but were somewhat neglected during the summer, the field being planted to corn and some to barley, and all was handled rather rough. There was very little blight in this district the past year. I noticed just a little on two or three Transcendents, and Mr. Jos. Boll, who has about 1,500 bearing trees, reports no blight at all. I did no spraying this year, did not consider it worth while, as there was no fruit, and most others felt the same way. Other years though a lot of spraying is done, and the more progressive ones spray two and three times. There is plenty of moisture in the soil, and the trees are going into winter quarters in good shape, therefore prospects for apple and plum crop the coming season are excellent. [Illustration: Residence of M. H. Hegerle, St. Bonifacius.] Probably a hundred or more different kinds of apple and plum trees and berries of all kinds are grown here. Farmers in the past usually bought what the salesman recommended, just to get rid of him; lately though they are taking more interest in the selection, and the Wealthy, Patten's or Northwestern Greenings, Okabena, Peter and perhaps a few Duchess are about the only apple trees planted now. Surprise plums, Dunlap and everbearing strawberries are the leaders. Ornamental shrubs are found here of all names and descriptions and colors, and they all seem to do well. * * * * * HONEY VINEGAR.--Vinegar made from honey has an exceptionally fine flavor and is not expensive. A small amount of honey furnishes a large amount of vinegar. Follow these directions: Dissolve thoroughly in two gallons of warm, soft water one quart jar of extracted honey. Give it air and keep it in a warm place, where it will ferment and make excellent vinegar.--Missouri College of Agriculture. Thirty Years in Raspberries. GUST JOHNSON, RETIRED FRUIT GROWER, MINNEAPOLIS. Of the growing of fruit, it may well be said, "Experience is a good teacher, but a dear school." When I began fruit growing, some thirty years ago, I did not begin it merely as an experiment. I was interested in every branch of the work and, being very much in earnest about it, I felt confident of success. Thinking that the failures and drawbacks sometimes experienced could be easily overcome by a thorough understanding of the work at hand, I began by getting all the information possible. I found that great books such as by Downing, Thomas, etc., were more suitable for the advanced fruit grower, but I studied all the pamphlets and books obtainable during the winter months and put this knowledge into practice during the summer. Of course I could not put into practice all I had obtained from this reading, but I remembered distinctly the advice to all amateur fruit growers to start out slowly. This was particularly suited to my case, for the land was covered with timber, some of which I grubbed each summer, gradually adding acres as I cleared the land. My first venture was in planting raspberries, planting potatoes between the rows the first year. One delusion I had was in planting as many different and untested varieties as I could afford to buy and not confining myself to those that had been tried and had proven satisfactory. Fortunately for me, the high cost of plants at this time did not warrant my buying as many different varieties as I desired, and I had to be contented with fewer plants. From the most promising of these, I saved all the plants possible. I had an idea that I could do better by sending to some of the Eastern states for my plants, but here again I was mistaken, for the plants often did not arrive until late in May, and by the time they had reached their destination were practically all dried out. The warm weather then coming on, I lost the greater part of them, although I had carefully hoed and tended them in the hope that they would finally revive. Here I might also mention that the express charges added considerably to the cost of these already expensive plants. As a beginner I put much unnecessary labor on these plants. While I do not wish to leave the impression that hoeing and caring for them is not all right, still there should be a happy medium which I later learned as I became more experienced along this line. I must admit, however, that this rich, new land thus cultivated certainly yielded some wonderful fruit. As time went by, I kept adding to my plantation, and owing to the large yield and the good demand for the black caps I took a fancy to raising them. When the Palmer variety was first introduced, I planted quite a field of them. I shall never forget the way these berries ripened, and such a lot of them as there were. Practically every one by this time having planted black caps, their great yield soon overstocked the market, and berries finally dropped as low as 65c or 70c a crate. Having decided to dig up these black caps, I began paying closer attention to the red raspberry. I noticed that the raspberries growing wild on my place grew mostly in places where big trees had been cut down and young trees had grown up, thus partly shading the plants. Having this fact in mind, I planted the raspberries as follows: I planted an orchard, having the trees in parallel rows, and between the trees in these same rows I planted the raspberries. By planting in this manner, the cultivation would benefit the trees as well as the smaller plants. Of course after the trees began bearing heavily, the plants nearest the trees had to be removed, and later the other plants likewise were removed. As a beginner it was a puzzle to me which varieties I should plant. All varieties listed in the numerous catalogs were so highly recommended as being hardy, large yielders, good shippers, etc., that the selection of plants was not an easy matter. The speed with which a new variety of raspberry is sent out over the country and discarded is surprising. The most popular sort at this time was the "Turner" variety. I did not, however, fancy this variety, for it suckered so immensely that it required continual hoeing to keep the new plants cut down. The berries were unusually soft and settled down in the boxes, which greatly detracted from their appearance in the crates. There were also at this time a few of the "Philadelphia" variety being planted. They are a dark, soft variety and somewhat similar to the Turner. Just at this time there was being sent out a new variety, known as the Cuthbert, or Queen of the Market, and queen it was indeed. This was a large, firm berry, and after ripening it would remain on the plant a long time without falling off. These plants grew up in remarkably long canes, but not knowing how to head them back they would often topple over during a heavy storm. This added another valuable lesson to my increasing experience, which resulted in my pinching of the new canes as soon as they had attained a height of from three to four feet. This made the plants more stocky and more able to support their load of berries without the aid of wire or stakes. Next came the Marlboro, plants of which sold at as much as a dollar apiece in the east. I then set out a bed of Marlboro, which proved to be even better than the Cuthbert, previously mentioned. They could be picked while still quite light in color, thus reaching the market while still firm and not over-ripe. There was only one possible drawback, and that was the fact that I had planted them on a southern exposure, while they were more adapted to a colder or northern exposure. This variety on a new field, as it was, practically bore itself to death. About this time, there originated in Wisconsin a berry known as the Loudon. A committee of nurserymen having gone to see this variety returned with the report that the half had not been told concerning this great berry. Wanting to keep up with the times, I decided to plant some of this variety in the spring. The yield from these plants was immense, and the berries large, but unlike the Marlboro already mentioned they could not be picked until very dark and real ripe. This variety was more subject to anthracnose than any I had seen, and served to give me a thorough understanding of the various raspberry diseases, which I had heretofore blamed to the drouth. The leaves would dry up and the berries become small and crumbly when affected by anthracnose. It might be said of this variety as regards public favor, that it went up like a rocket and came down equally fast. I next tried the Thompson Early as an experiment, but this variety proved a failure, or at least a disappointment. These berries ripened very slowly, just a few at a time, and did not compare favorably with either the Marlboro or the Loudon. A party close by had at this time planted out a large field of a variety of raspberry which I had not seen before. These plants produced a large berry, more like a blackberry in appearance. Having by this time had experience with so many kinds of raspberries, I examined this new variety carefully, and all in all decided that this was the coming berry. Here, too, I also noticed the first signs of disease. The plants had only begun to bear fruit, however, and judging from the strong, tall canes, they looked good for at least fifteen years. This disease, however, practically destroyed the entire field within two years. Before too badly diseased, I had obtained and planted out a couple of acres of these plants and immediately began spraying them. The following spring I sprayed them again, and although the plants became perfectly healthy, I sprayed them once or twice during the summer, and it is needless to say the result was a berry which, considering all its good points, was certainly deserving of the name it bore, which was "King." In fact, I do not hope to see anything better in the raspberry line during the next thirty years, that is, any seedling having all its merits: a strong growth, hardiness of cane, an immense bearer and a good shipper. It's only fault is that the berries will drop from the plants when real ripe, but if you are on the job this can easily be averted. As far as anthracnose is concerned, I have found that there is not a variety of raspberry standing out in an open field, unsprayed or partly shaded, that will stand up under a heavy crop without being affected by this disease. After increasing my plantation, as I had by this time, I found I required more help. Ability in managing my helpers was a necessity. My experience with them in the field was that when I set them to hoeing a newly set raspberry field if not watched they would destroy half the roots, loosening the little hold the struggling plants had, by cutting close and hoeing the soil away from the roots. I have seen supposedly intelligent men plowing alongside of the plants, thinking they were doing their work so much more thoroughly, but if they would dig up one plant before plowing and another after, they would readily see the results of their plowing. A born farmer assumes that everybody knows how to handle a hoe or a plow, but why should they, not having had practical experience? When put to work such as hoeing, they would make the most outlandish motions with the hoe, often destroying valuable plants, not being able to distinguish them from the weeds. Though they may labor just as hard, they cannot possibly accomplish as much as the expert who can skillfully whirl a hoe around a plant in such a manner as to remove every weed and yet not injure the plant in the least. In other words, the best efforts of the novice cannot possibly bring the results so easily accomplished by the more skillful laborer. Except in a few cases, I have found inexperienced help a discouragement. In hiring pickers who had to come quite far each morning, I found that if the morning had been wet and rainy, but had later turned out to be a nice day, they would not come at all. The sun coming out after these showers would cause the berries to become over-ripe and to drop from the bushes, or if still on the bush would be too ripe for shipping. These same pickers, when berries were scarce, would rush through the rows, merely picking the biggest and those most easily acquired. Having tried pickers as mentioned, I decided that to get pickers from the city and board them would be the better plan. While they seemed to work more for the pleasure connected with life on the farm than with the idea of making money, yet after a little training and a few rules, most of them would make splendid pickers, and my berries being carefully picked and in first class condition, would readily sell to the best trade. Leaving the subject of berries and berry picking, I will dwell briefly on my experience with the winter covering of the plants. At first I would cover the canes in an arch-like manner, which would require more than 18 inches of soil to cover them, and it was necessary to shovel much by hand. In the spring I found it quite a task to remove all this soil and get it back in place between the rows. After I learned to cover them properly, that is flat on the ground, I found it required but a small amount of soil to cover them, and in the spring it was only necessary to use a fork to remove the covering, and with a little lift they were ready to start growth again. After getting more and more fruit, I found I could not dispose of it in the home market, and tending to the picking and packing of the fruit did not leave enough time to warrant my peddling it. I had been advised to ship my berries to two or three different commission houses in order to see where I could obtain the best results. I frequently divided my shipments into three parts: consequently some of my fruit would meet in competition with another lot of my fruit, and not only would one concern ask a higher or lower price than the other, but they would not know when to expect my shipments, which they would receive on alternate days. I finally came to the conclusion that I would send all my fruit to one party, and I found that it was not only more of an object to them, but people would come every day to buy some, knowing they were getting the same quality each time. Although it has been my experience that the raspberry is never a failure, still I have found that it is a good policy not to depend entirely on the raspberry, but to extend the plantation in such a way as to have a continuous supply of fruits and vegetables in season, from the asparagus and pie plant of the early spring to the very latest variety of the grape and apple ripening just before the heavy frost of fall, when it is again time to tuck them all away for the winter. Mr. Ludlow: Do I understand that you have to lay down and cover up those red raspberries? Mr. Johnson: Yes, sir; otherwise you only get a few berries right at the top of the cane, and if you cover them the berries will be all along down the cane. The President: Do you break off many canes by covering them? Mr. Johnson: No, it is the way you bend them. When you bend them down, make a kind of a twist and hold your hand right near them. You can bend them down as quick as a couple of men can shovel them down. Mr. Anderson: Do you bend them north or south or any way? Mr. Johnson: I generally bend one row one way and the other the other way. Where you want to cultivate, it is easier for cultivation; you don't have to go against the bend of those plants. That bend will never be straight again, and when you come to cultivate you are liable to rub them. Mr. Anderson: How far have you got yours planted apart? Mr. Johnson: About five feet. Mr. Sauter: What is your best raspberry? Mr. Johnson: I haven't seen anything better than the King. Mr. Sauter: Do you cover the King? Mr. Johnson: Yes. Mr. Sauter: We don't do it on the experimental station. I never covered mine, and I think I had the best all around berry last summer. Mr. Johnson: That might be all right when they are young, but I find it pays me. A Member: Don't they form new branches on the sides when you pinch off the ends? Mr. Johnson: Yes, sir; then you pinch them off. A Member: Don't they break right off from the main stalk in laying down? Mr. Johnson: No, no. A Member: We have a great deal of trouble with that. How do you get these bushy bushes to lie down? Mr. Johnson: I take three or four canes, and kind of twist them, give them a little twist, and lay them flat on the ground. Mr. Anderson: Don't you take out any dirt on the sides? Mr. Johnson: No, sir; sometimes I might put a shovel of ground against them to bend the canes over. Mr. Rogers: Do you plant in the hedge row or in the hill system? Mr. Johnson: In the hedge row. I think it is better because they protect one another. Mr. Ludlow: How far do you put them apart in the hedge row? Mr. Johnson: Four feet. That is the trouble with the King, if you don't keep them down, your rows will get too wide. A Member: I heard you say a while ago you covered these. Do you plow them after you get them down or do you cover them with a shovel? Mr. Johnson: I cover mostly with a shovel. Sometimes I take a small plow through. A Member: Don't you think in covering them with a plow you might disturb the roots? Mr. Johnson: That is the danger. A Member: I saw a fellow covering up twelve acres of black caps and he plowed them shut. After I heard what you said I thought maybe that he was injuring his roots. Mr. Johnson: You know the black cap has a different root system from the reds. The roots of the reds will run out all over the road. Mr. Willard: How thick do you leave those canes set apart in the row, how many in a foot? Mr. Johnson: I generally try to leave them in hills four feet apart, not let them come in any between. About three or four in a hill. I generally try to cut out the weak ones. Mr. Willard: You pinch the end of the tops, I think? Mr. Johnson: Yes, sir. A Member: When do you cut those sucker canes? Mr. Johnson: I generally hoe them just before picking time and loosen the ground in the row. That is very important, to give them a hoeing, not hoe down deep, but just loosen that hard crust there and cut all the plants that you don't want, and then generally, after the berries commence to ripen, your suckers don't come so fast, and you keep on cultivating once in a while. Mr. Brackett: I have some King raspberries, and I never covered them up in ten years. I will change that. The first year I did cover a part of my patch, at least one-half of them, and that left the other half standing, and I couldn't see any difference. Around Excelsior there are very few people that cover up the King raspberry. But the King raspberry has run out; all of the old varieties have run out. We have at our experiment station the No. 4--you can get double the amount of fruit from the No. 4 than from the King. The best way to grow the King raspberry or any other raspberry is to set them four feet apart and cultivate them. If you grow a matted row you are bound to get weeds and grass in there, you are bound to get them ridged up, but by planting in hills and cultivating each way you can keep your ground perfectly level. As far as clipping them back my experience has been it is very hard to handle them--they will spread out. It is a big job to cover the plants and then to uncover them again. I know it is not necessary with the No. 4; that is hardy. That is what we want. Hardiness is what we want in a berry, and you have it in the No. 4. Mr. Hall: I would like to ask you what you spray with and when you spray? Mr. Johnson: The bordeaux mixture. I spray them early in the spring and just before they start to ripen. Mr. Wick: With us the Loudon raspberry seems to be the coming raspberry. Mr. Johnson: Is it doing well now? Mr. Wick: Yes, it is doing well. Mr. Ludlow: How many years is the planting of the King raspberry good for? Mr. Johnson: I think it would be good for fifteen years or more if they are handled as I do it. Keep at the plant, hoeing and spraying them twice a year; trim out the old wood and keep them healthy. The President: You take out all the old wood every year? Mr. Johnson: Yes, sir. Mr. Ludlow: When do you do that? Mr. Johnson: In the fall. I figure this way, every extra cane that you grow on the plant is a waste. If I see a cane a little higher than the others I just stop it, and it throws the sap back. Mr. Berry: Do you fertilize and how and when? Mr. Johnson: I found I didn't need much fertilizer. I put on wood ashes and such things when I burn the trimming of the berries and such things. A Member: When do you spray? Mr. Johnson: I generally spray in the spring after they get started and just before they are starting to ripen. I spray them sometimes when they are starting to ripen, and the berries would pick up in one day. A Member: You mean to say you could grow them for fifteen years without fertilizing? Mr. Johnson: Yes, sir. * * * * * KNOWLEDGE of the temperature of the pantry and cellar is important, in order that one may make improvements in conditions. Putrefaction will start at 50°, so that a pantry or closet where food is kept should have a temperature at least as low as that. Cellars where canned goods are stored should have a temperature of 32° or over. Apples are frequently stored in outside cellars, where the temperature should be kept at 31° or 32°; but apples may be kept satisfactorily at 34° or 36°. When stored at the higher temperatures, the fruit should be placed there soon after being picked. Annual Report, 1915, Nevis Trial Station. JAS. ARROWOOD, SUPT., NEVIS. We would say that the station is in good condition; all trees and shrubbery have done well; no complaint as far as growth is concerned. This being an off year for fruit in this section, the fruit crop in general was light, the late frost and heavy rains destroying most all, both wild and tame fruits. The strawberries, raspberries and currants were fairly good; plums and apples were very light, except some seedlings, both apples and plums, which seemed to hold their fruit. Most all the large apples were destroyed by the freeze, such as Duchess, Wealthy, Greening and Hibernal. There were some of the Duchess seedlings that seemed to stand all kinds of freezing. [Illustration: Jas. Arrowood in his trial orchard, at Nevis, in Northern Minnesota.] Now in regard to the fruits that were sent here from Central station. The majority are doing fairly well, especially in regard to strawberry No. 3, which is doing splendidly and points to be the coming strawberry of northern Minnesota. It is a good runner and has a large, dark foliage. Plants that we left out last winter without covering came through in splendid condition and made a heavy crop. In regard to the fruit, it is of the best quality, large and firm and a good keeper. In regard to raspberries, Nos. 1, 4 and 7 did very well, and stood the winter without laying down, and bore a good crop. In regard to the eighteen plum trees I received three years ago, Nos. 1, 4, 5, 6, 7, and 12 have done very well and have made a good growth, but have had no fruit so far. The sand cherry that was received the same year, No. 2, has done very well and bore some fruit this last year of a fair quality. Hansen cherries are doing fairly well and bore some fruit this year. Now in regard to plums that were received in 1914 Nos. 2, 3, 8, 10, 13, 20, have all made a good growth. What was received in 1915 have all grown. The grapes that we received two years ago have made but little growth. There were no grapes in this section this year; they all froze off about twice. I received at the county fair about sixteen first prizes on apples and plums this year. We did considerable top-working, mostly on Hibernals and native seedlings, which are doing very well. Some of our seedling cherries are commencing to bear and show to be perfectly hardy. They are of the Oregon strain of sweet cherry. In regard to gardens, they were fairly good throughout the section. Corn crop a failure. In regard to the condition of the trees and shrubbery, this are going into their winter quarters with lots of moisture and with a large amount of fruit buds, with a good prospect for fruit next year. * * * * * DESTROYING PLANT LICE.--According to the results of experiments a 10 per cent kerosene emulsion should prove effective against the green apple aphis. The kerosene emulsion made either with 66 per cent stock, 10 per cent, or with naphtha soap and cold water, seemed to kill all the green apple aphides. The 40 per cent nicotine solution, with a dilution up to 1 to 2,000 combined with soap, were likewise effective aphidicides. The kerosene emulsions under 10 per cent were not satisfactory, neither were the soaps at the strengths tested, except that fish-oil soap, 5 to 50, killed 90 per cent of the aphides. Laundry soap, 3 to 50, was effective against the young aphides only. Arsenate of lead alone, as was to be expected, had little or no effect upon the aphides. The combination of arsenate of calcium with kerosene emulsions is not a desirable one, since an insoluble calcium soap is formed, thereby releasing some free kerosene.--U.S. Dpt. of Agri. New Fruits Originated at Minnesota Fruit-Breeding Farm. CHAS. HARALSON, SUPT., EXCELSIOR. The subject on which I am to talk is rather difficult to present at this time, but I will mention a few of the most promising new varieties. [Illustration: The new and valuable hardy raspberry No. 4, growing at State Fruit-Breeding Farm.] We have developed several hundred new varieties of fruit since we started fruit-breeding at the State Fruit Farm. Many of them are very promising, but it probably will take several years before we really know what we have that will be of value to the public. We have been growing thousands of seedlings of apples, plums, grapes, raspberries, strawberries, gooseberries and currants, from which valuable varieties have been selected. All of them have been put under propagation in a small way for testing at the Fruit Farm, trial stations and many other places. Some very favorable reports from several places have been received during the last year from parties who have fruited these new creations. We also have some hybrid peach and apricot seedlings which have stood the test of the last two winters. Some of them blossomed very freely last spring, but on account of the hard freeze in May they did not set any fruit. I hope to be able to report on these another year. [Illustration: Hybrid plum No. 21--at Minnesota State Fruit-Breeding Farm.] The results of breeding strawberries have given us one everbearing and one June-bearing variety, which have been tested in many places throughout the state. The June-bearing variety has been introduced as Minnesota No. 3. The berries are almost identical with Senator Dunlap in color and shape, but somewhat larger and, I think, more productive. The plants are equal to Dunlap in hardiness, or more so, a stronger plant, and a good plant-maker. The fruiting season is about a week earlier than Dunlap. It is a firm berry and stands shipping a long distance. My belief is that this variety will make one of the best commercial berries for the Northwest. The everbearing variety is known as No. 1017. It is a large, round berry, dark red color, and is of the best quality. This variety is strong and vigorous and a good plant-maker when blossoms are picked off early in the season. It is also very productive. The blossoms and berries on a number of plants were counted in October, and we found all the way from 200 to 345 berries and blossoms on single plants. This is, of course, a little more than the average, but it shows what it will do under ordinary conditions. This variety has been growing next to Progressive, on the same soil, with the same cultivation, and I think that persons who have seen it this summer will agree with me that it is far ahead of Progressive in size and productiveness. I will say right here, if you expect to have a good crop of fruit in the fall, keep the most of the runners off. If you encourage them to make runners, or plants, you will have less fruit. The raspberries sent out as Nos. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 and 7, are all worthy of trial. The No. 4 has fruited several years and gave the best showing so far. The fruit resembles the Marlboro somewhat, but the color is darker. It is not one of very high quality, but the size of the berry and its appearance will more then make up for this. The canes and foliage are generally healthy and very hardy. This variety will be planted very extensively just as soon as enough stock can be supplied to fruit growers. The Burbank crossed with Wolf, hybrid plums. There have been several of these sent out to trial stations, and as premiums to members of the Horticultural Society. I will mention them in order as to size of fruit. No. 5, 12, 4, and 6 will measure 1-3/4 inch in diameter. Nos. 21, 10, 17, 9, and No. 1 are nearly as large. The kinds which have given best all around satisfaction up to the present time, are Nos. 1, 6, 9, 10, 12, 17, 21 and 25. One or two years more trial should give us an idea which ones will be worthy of general propagation. There are also several varieties of Abundance and Wolf crosses which have fruited for several years. The quality of the fruit of these hybrids is probably somewhat better than the Burbank and Wolf hybrids, but the fruit in most cases runs smaller. No. 35 is probably one of the best; its fruit is about 1-1/2 inch in diameter, colors up all over before it is ripe, and will stand shipping a long distance, as they can be picked quite green and still are colored up all over. There are several numbers equally, or nearly, as promising as No. 35. Sand cherry X Satsuma plum No. 145 is in the same class as Sapa. The color of the fruit is bluish black when ripe, the flesh purple, pit small and nearly freestone; fruit ripens first part of August. This tree is a strong grower and makes a large tree. We also have another plum, Compass cherry X Climax, about the only variety which fruited this year. The color of the skin is almost blue when fully ripe; the meat is green and of a very pleasant flavor. The pit is small and clingstone; size of fruit is about 1-1/2 inches in diameter. The tree is a strong, upright grower. This variety has been propagated this summer. I will not try to describe any more as there are some 2,000 hybrid plums on the place and only a small per cent have fruited. [Illustration: Ornamental Purple Leaf Plum, originated at State Fruit-Breeding Farm.] In grapes we have several varieties worthy of propagation, but I will just mention two varieties. One is a red grape about the size of Wyoming Red. The bunches are large and very compact; the season for ripening is about with Moore's Early; the quality is good enough to make it a table grape. The vine is just as hardy as Beta grape, of which it is a seedling. It has good foliage and the vine is a rank grower. The other variety is black when ripe, nearly as large as Moore's Early. The fruit is ripe first part of August; the vine is vigorous and hardy. Strawberries and raspberries were a good crop this year, but all other fruit was a total failure on account of the killing frost and snowstorm on May 18th. Apples were in full bloom at the time, and a good crop of plums had set on the trees, but all fell off a few days later. There were no currants or gooseberries and only a few grapes. Mr. Waldron: What do you think the male parent was of the red grape? Mr. Haralson: I couldn't say. We don't know what the cross is. Mr. Waldron: Did you have any red grapes growing there? Mr. Haralson: I presume there were quite a number of varieties growing near by. In the Beta seedlings we find a number of grapes that ripen green and also some black and a number red, but not a great many, I would say from five to seven per cent of the seedlings. Mr. Wellington: Have you been able to cross the European plum with the Japanese? Mr. Haralson: We have one or two varieties, but the fruit is very small, the fruit isn't very much larger than the Compass cherry. The tree is a very strong grower and makes a large tree, but the fruit is not up to what it should be. Mr. Cook: What number do you hold that red grape under? Mr. Haralson: The red grape is No. 1. Mr. Sauter: Which is the next best raspberry besides the No. 4? Mr. Haralson: I couldn't tell you at present. I thought the No. 2, but from reports I have had from several places some think No. 1 is better. No. 4 is the best of them all so far. A Member: I would like to ask which of those raspberries is the best quality. Mr. Haralson: They run very much the same, very little difference in the quality. The quality I should say compares very favorably with the King. The President: Those of you who know of the wonderful work done by Mr. Haralson can not help but say, "Well done, good and faithful servant." He has surely accomplished wonderful results out there, and the people of this state and adjoining states will all in time enjoy the fruits of his labor. (Applause.) * * * * * KILL WILD ONIONS IN NOVEMBER.--The secret of the vitality of the wild onion lies in the two sorts of underground bulbs. Each plant produces one large bulb, which germinates in the fall, and four or five small ones, which start growth in the spring. Late fall plowing, followed by early spring plowing and planting the infested land to some clean cultivated crop destroys the wild onion pest by killing both sorts of bulbs as the growth from them appears and before they have a chance to multiply. The fall plowing should be deep, and care should be taken to completely bury all green tops of the onion. If very much top growth has been made, a harrow run before the plow will facilitate the thorough covering of the tops. Another interesting and valuable point about the wild onion is that the spring bulbs rarely produce heads; consequently, if the infested land is plowed in the fall, a spring oat crop practically free of onions can always be secured. But for complete eradication of the onion, both fall and spring plowing is necessary, and November is the best time to do the fall work. Annual Meeting, 1915, Wisconsin Horticultural Society. CHAS. HARALSON, EXCELSIOR, MINN., DELEGATE. The meeting was held January 5, 6 and 7, 1915, in the Assembly Room of the State Capitol in Madison, Wis. Your delegate was present in time for the opening session and given a chance with other delegates to deliver the greetings of their societies. The opening address by Governor Phillip was very interesting. He told of the possibilities the State of Wisconsin offered fruit growers in a commercial way with markets all around them. He advocated honest grading and packing to obtain the top prices for the fruit. He also urged every farmer to have a small orchard and fruit garden for home consumption. Spraying and spray mixtures, illustrated, was ably presented by Professor Geo. F. Potter, University of Wisconsin. A speaking contest by ten students from University of Wisconsin competed for prizes of $25.00, $15.00 and $10.00. This brought out almost every phase of horticulture and was one of the most interesting sessions. Commercial orcharding in the middle west was shown with moving pictures and explanations by Sen. Dunlap, Savoy, Ill. These pictures illustrated spraying, cultivating, harvesting, grading, packing, caring for the fruit and marketing the same, and several other operations in connection with uptodate commercial orcharding. He also gave a talk on spraying and spraying materials. He said lime-sulphur is preferred in his locality. A half hour question and answer session was led by Professor J.G. Moore, University of Wisconsin, on pruning. This brought out a very lively discussion about how to prune young orchards and what age of trees to plant for commercial orchards. This question was not settled, as some preferred one year old trees, while others would plant nothing but two year old trees. M. S. Kellogg, Janesville, Wis., spoke of nurserymen's troubles. His paper was very interesting from a nurseryman's standpoint with all their troubles and what they have to go up against. C. O. Ruste, Blue Mounds, Wis., spoke about the farmer's orchard, what to plant and how to care for the same. The writer gave a paper, telling what is being done in the line of fruit-breeding at the Minnesota Fruit-Breeding Farm. The program was very full and interesting. The attendance, however, was not very large. A very good exhibit of apples was on display in the fruit room. The fruit was clean, well colored and up to size. Many varieties, such as Jonathan, Fameuse, Baldwin, Windsor, Talman Sweet and Wine Sap were on display in great quantities. GARDEN HELPS Conducted by Minnesota Garden Flower Society Edited by MRS. E. W. GOULD, 2644 Humboldt Avenue So. Minneapolis. At the annual meeting the following officers and members of the Executive Committee were elected. Officers--Mrs. E. W. Gould, President, 2644 Humboldt Ave. S., Minneapolis; Mrs. Phelps Wyman, Vice-President, 5017 Third Ave. S., Minneapolis; Mrs. M.L. Countryman, Secretary-Treasurer, 213 S. Avon St., St. Paul. Directors--Mrs. F. H. Gibbs, St. Anthony Park; Mr. G. C. Hawkins, Minneapolis; Miss Elizabeth Starr, Minneapolis; Mrs. H. A. Boardman, St. Paul; Mr. F. W. Bell, Wayzata; Mr. F. F. Farrar, White Bear; Mrs. R. P. Boyington, Nemadji; Mrs. J. F. Fairfax, Minneapolis; Mrs. H. B. Tillotson, Minneapolis. After a thorough discussion, it was unanimously agreed that more frequent meetings would be advisable. Our program committee has, therefore, planned for a meeting each month, alternating between St. Paul and Minneapolis. It was, of course, impossible to set the dates for the three flower shows so early in the year, or to announce all of the speakers. The program in full for each month will appear on this page, and we hope to save our secretary a great deal of routine work as well as considerable postage to the society. So watch this page for announcements. We hope the following program will prove both interesting and profitable, and that our members will bring friends to each meeting, all of which will begin at 2:30 o'clock _promptly_. PROGRAM FOR 1916. February 24. Wilder Auditorium, 2:30 p.m., Fifth and Washington St., St. Paul. Soil Fertility, Prof. F. J. Alway. Birds As Garden Helpers. March 23. Public Library, Minneapolis, 2:30 p.m. Work of the State Art Commission, Mr. Maurice Flagg. How Can the Garden Flower Society Co-operate with It? Our Garden Enemies. Cultural Directions for Trial Seeds. Distribution of Trial Seeds. April 27. Wilder Auditorium, St. Paul, 2:30 p.m. Native Plants in the Garden. Roadside Planting. Use and Misuse of Wild Flowers. May. Date to be announced. Mazey Floral Co., 128 S. 8th, Minneapolis. Informal Spring Flower Show. What Our Spring Gardens Lack. Good Ground Cover Plants. June. Date to be announced. University Farm, St. Paul, Joint Session with Horticultural Society. Flower Show. July. Date to be announced. Minneapolis Rose Gardens, Lake Harriet. Picnic Luncheon, 1:00 p.m. Roses for the Home Garden. Our Insect Helpers in the Garden. August. Date to be announced. Holm and Olson, 2:30, 20 W. Fifth St., St. Paul. Informal Flower Show. How to Grow Dahlias. The Gladiolus. September 21. Public Library, Minneapolis, 2:30 p.m. Fall Work in the Garden. Vines. Planting for Fall and Winter Effect. October 19. Wilder Auditorium, St. Paul, 2:30 p.m. What Other Garden Clubs Are Doing. How My Garden Paid. Reports on Trial Seeds. November. Date to be announced. Park Board Greenhouses, Bryant Ave. S. and 38th St., 2:30 p.m. Chrysanthemum Show. Hardy Chrysanthemums. December. Annual Meeting. {MRS. PHELPS WYMAN, Program Committee. {MRS. N. S. SAWYER, {MISS ELIZABETH STARR, {MRS. E. W. GOULD, BEE-KEEPER'S COLUMN. Conducted by FRANCIS JAGER, Professor of Apiculture, University Farm, St. Paul. QUEEN BEES FOR BREEDING.--Queen bees for breeding purposes will be sent to beekeepers of the State from University Farm during the coming summer with instructions how to introduce them and how to re-queen the apiary. Mostly all bees in the state at present are hybrids, which are hard to manage. In many localities bees have been inbred for years, making the introduction of new blood a necessity. All queens sent out are bred from the leather colored Italian breeding queens of choicest stock obtainable. The price of queens will be fifty cents for one, and not more than three will be furnished to each beekeeper. Orders with cash must be sent directed to the "Cashier," University Farm, St. Paul, Minnesota. The queens will be sent out in rotation as soon as they are ready and conditions are right. SECRETARY'S CORNER MEMBERSHIP NUMBERS CHANGE.--A good many members when sending in annual membership fee give the number of their membership for the previous year. Members will please note that membership numbers change each year, as all members are numbered in the order of their coming upon the membership roll. The only number that we care about in the office, if for any reason it is necessary to give it, is the number for the current year. A WORD FROM PROF. WHITTEN.--Prof. J. C. Whitten, of the University of Missouri, who was on the program at our annual meeting for three numbers, and at the last moment was taken ill and unable to be with us, has written describing the condition of his illness and expressing his deep regret at his enforced absence from our meeting, and a hope that at some other time he may have an opportunity to be with us. We shall look forward to having him on our program another year with eager anticipation. Prof. Whitten ranks as one of the most prominent of professional horticulturists of the country, and we are certainly fortunate in being able to secure his attendance, as we hope to do another year. MEMBERS IN FLORIDA.--Quite a number of members of the Horticultural Society are spending the winter in Florida. Some of these the secretary knows about, but addresses of only two are at hand. J. M. Underwood, chairman of the executive board of the society, and family are at Miami, Fla., for the winter. Mr. Oliver Gibbs, at one time secretary of the society for a number of years, is at Melbourne Beach, on the east coast of Florida, where he has been now for some ten winters--and some summers also. His health makes it necessary for him to live in so mild a climate. We have the pleasure of meeting him here often during the summer. Now in his eighties he is nearly blind but otherwise in good health and always in cheerful spirits. NEW LIFE MEMBERS.--Since the report of 1915 was printed, in which there will be found on page 520 a list of life members of the society, there have been added to the life membership roll fifteen names; five of these were made honorary members by the unanimous vote of the association for valuable service rendered to the society, and were well deserving of this honor, as follows: Chas. Haralson, Excelsior; S. H. Drum, Owatonna; F. W. Kimball, Waltham; J. R. Cummins, Minneapolis; John Bisbee, Madelia. To the paid life membership roll there have been added ten names as follows: E. G. Zabel, LaMoure, N.D.; Roy E. McConnell, St. Cloud; O. F. Krueger, Minneapolis; L.A. Gunderson, Duluth; Mr. and Mrs. F. H. Gibbs, St. Anthony Park; Herman Goebel, Wildrose, N.D.; T. Torgerson, Estevan, Sask.; Law Swanson, St. Paul; Rev. Saml. Johnson, Princeton. Don't you want your name added to this life roll? If you have already paid an annual membership fee for this year a further payment of $4.00 made any time during the year will be received as first payment for a life membership fee. That is, the amount of the annual fee already paid may be deducted from a life membership fee paid any time during the current year. SEND IN A NEW MEMBER.--Have you noticed the advertisement on the inside of the back cover page of this and also the January issues of our monthly? There never was such an opportunity to secure valuable new fruits as this presents to you and to your neighbor, many of whom we feel sure would gladly take advantage of the opportunity if it were presented to them. Take an evening off and do yourself and your neighbors this good service--and the society as well. NUMBER THREE STRAWBERRY.--Very few of those who have so far selected plant premiums for next spring's delivery have chosen Minnesota No. 3 June-bearing strawberry. Our members will surely make a mistake if they do not secure for next spring's planting a quantity of this splendid new berry, which seems likely to supplant the Senator Dunlap as the June-bearing variety in the near future. It is a very vigorous grower, equally attractive, of good quality, holds up well and is a healthy, hardy plant. Do not leave this out of your list of selection for plant premiums. APPLE SEED OF LARGE VALUE.--A considerable quantity of apple seed has been secured of Mr. John Bisbee, of Madelia, Minn., from his orchard, top-worked, as it is, with many varieties of long keeping apples, so that this seed is almost certainly crossed with something that will keep well as well as of high quality. It will be found especially valuable to plant for growing seedlings. It would be well to secure this seed soon, mix it with damp sand and leave out of doors where it will freeze, keeping the package which holds it covered from the air so that it may not dry out. Every member should have a little corner in his garden for growing apple seedlings. It is an enticing experiment, and such seed as this is likely to give good results. We are still looking for the $1,000 apple. You may grow it from some of this seed. Package of twenty-five seed at ten cents, to be secured of Secy. Latham. A FAVORABLE WINTER FOR FRUITS.--The ground was in good condition last fall, with a reasonable amount of moisture, fruits, both trees and plants, well ripened up, and now with a fairly good blanket of snow and no long continued severe weather, we have to this point in the winter a very certain assurance of a good yield of fruit the coming spring. To be sure the thermometer was down in the neighborhood of thirty degrees one night, but it was there so short a time that it scarcely seems possible that any harm could have been done by it. The horticulturist should be a natural optimist and always anticipate something good ahead, which is one pretty sure way of getting it. MINNESOTA NURSERYMEN GIVE MEMBERSHIPS.--A considerable number of the nurserymen of Minnesota are again giving memberships this year as premiums to purchasers of nursery stock in quantity of $20.00 or upwards. This is a commendable enterprise, not only on account of its material assistance in building up the membership roll of the society but more especially because it brings in the kind of members who have, or should have, a large practical interest in the workings of the association, and we believe also that it is like "casting bread upon the waters;" those receiving these memberships will have a warm feeling for the nurserymen which present them. If you who read this are Minnesota nurserymen and are not in the list of those who are doing this service for the society, don't you want to take advantage of an immediate opportunity to align yourself with those who are showing so large an interest in the welfare of the association? [Illustration: GATHERING THE APPLE CROP IN HAROLD SIMMONS' ORCHARD--AT HOWARD LAKE.] While it is not the intention to publish anything in this magazine that is misleading or unreliable, yet it must be remembered that the articles published herein recite the experience and opinions of their writers, and this fact must always be noted in estimating their practical value. THE MINNESOTA HORTICULTURIST Vol. 44 MARCH, 1916 No. 3 My Orchard Crop of 1915 from Start to Finish. HAROLD SIMMONS, ORCHARDIST, HOWARD LAKE. In anticipation of a crop of apples for 1915 we commenced the season with the regular annual pruning in March. We begin pruning as soon after the 25th day of February as the weather is mild enough for us to work comfortably, as the pruning of fifteen hundred trees requires considerable time when one is obsessed with the idea that nothing short of a first class job will do, and that to be accomplished mainly by the efforts of one individual. We have endeavored to grow our trees so that they should all have from three to five or six main limbs, and any tendency of a limb to assume the leadership is suppressed. A tree grown upon this principle has the faculty of growing a great many laterals, necessitating an annual pruning. As far as possible we prune to prevent laterals from becoming too numerous, from growing so as to overtop or shade lower limbs, to let in light and sunshine, so as to get the maximum amount of color on the fruit and in a measure to help in thinning the fruit. Having in view the idea of an annual crop instead of a biennial one, one essential point always in mind is that we want an open headed tree, and we also wish to insure our trees against blight, and so we eliminate all water sprouts. Apparently, no Minnesota orchard is immune against blight. Some objections are raised to this type of tree, one criticism being that the tree is structurally weak from the fact that if one limb breaks off at the trunk the tree is about ruined. We offset the possibility of such a break by careful training and by wiring the trees, a plan I gathered some years ago from a Mr. Mason, at that time president of the Flood River Apple Growers Association. [Illustration: Young trees in full bloom in Mr. Simmons' orchard.] We use No. 14 galvanized wire, a half inch galvanized harness ring, and screw-eyes with stout shanks and small eyes. Locating up the main limbs what might be called the center of effort, or where the main pull would be when loaded with fruit, put in a good stout screw-eye in every main limb, eyes all pointing to the center of the tree, and then wire them all to the harness ring in the middle of the tree. When finished the ring and the wires are like the hub in a wheel with the spokes all around. We tried this first on our N.W. Greening trees, and results were so satisfactory that we have applied it to a great number of other varieties with equal satisfaction. Once put in a tree, it is good for the life of the tree. Our objection to a tree with a central leader is that it is very difficult to create an open head, and if the blight strikes the leader it generally means the loss of the tree. Low headed trees we have found by experience, are easiest cared for; they are the most economical for thinning, harvesting, spraying and pruning; they also shade the trunk and main limbs. After pruning all brush is removed from the orchard and burned. The next operation is spraying, and our first spraying was done when most of the petals were down, using a Cushman power sprayer, running at two hundred pounds pressure, with two leads of hose and extension rods with two nozzles on each. Spraying solution, six gallons of lime and sulphur, twelve pounds of arsenate of lead paste to each tank of water containing two hundred gallons. We aim to cover the tree thoroughly from top to bottom and spray twice each season. However, the past season half the orchard only was sprayed twice, the other half only once, the second spraying being applied about two weeks after the first, when we use lime and sulphur only, and then five gallons instead of six, in each tank of water. We use angle nozzles, the better to direct the spray into the calyxes. The orchard was mowed twice during the summer, early in June and the middle of July. A heavy growth of clover covers most of the orchard, and none is ever removed, all is left to decay just as it is left by the mowers. The next thing in line to take our attention is thinning the fruit. The past season we thinned the Wealthy and top-worked varieties only; another season, we expect to carry this work to every tree in the orchard. The trees were gone over twice in the season, although the bulk of the work is done at the first operation. We use thinning shears made expressly for the purpose. By the end of July the trees in many instances were carrying maximum loads, and unless rendered assistance by propping in some way, the limbs, great numbers of them, must soon break. To get props to prop hundreds of trees, needing from five to six up to a dozen per tree, and apply them, looked like a big job. To purchase lumber for props the price was prohibitive; to get them from the woods was impossible. We finally solved the problem by purchasing bamboo fish poles, sixteen and twenty feet long, and by using No. 12 wire, making one turn around the pole at the required height, turning up the end of the wire to hold it and making a hook out of the other end of the wire, using about seven or eight inches of wire for each. These made excellent props at small expense, the ringlike excresences on the pole preventing the wire from slipping. We propped as many as four and five limbs at different heights on one pole. This method carried the heavily loaded trees through the season in good shape. Anyone afflicted with too many apples on their trees should try it. Next in line came the harvesting of the crop. We use the "Ideal Bottomless Bag" for a picking utensil, and almost all the fruit is picked from six foot step-ladders. We pack the apples in the orchard. Fortunately we have had the same people pick our apples year after year, from the first crop until the last one of the past season. [Illustration: Apples by the carload at Howard Lake.] In packing we aim to use the kind of package the market demands. The crop this season was all barreled. The pickers have been on the job long enough so that they are as able to discriminate as to what should go into a barrel and what should not as I am myself. However, our system is to always have about twice as many barrels open ready for the apples as there are pickers. The barrels are all faced one layer at least, and two layers if we have the time, and as the pickers come in with approximately half a bushel of apples in the picking sack, they swing the sack over the barrel, lower it, release the catch and the apples are deposited without bruising in any way. The next picker puts his in the next barrel, and so on, so that each succeeding picker deposits his apples in the next succeeding barrel. In that way I personally have the opportunity to inspect every half bushel of apples, or, I might say, every apple, as a half bushel of apples in a barrel is shallow, making inspection a very simple matter. When the barrels are filled they are headed up, put in the packing shed until sufficient have accumulated, and when that point is reached they are loaded out, billed to Minneapolis, where practically all our apples have been sold for years. All fruit up to date has been sold on a commission basis, the crop for the past season aggregating five carloads, or approximately 800 barrels. We feel that we have worked out a fairly good method to handle both our trees and our apples, but we have not reached the conclusion that our methods in any way guarantee us a crop of apples, although in ten years, or since the orchard came into bearing, we have never had a season that we did not have a fair crop of apples. In 1913 we sold seven carloads, in 1914 four carloads, in 1915 five carloads, and the trees as far as they are concerned promise us a fair crop for 1916. We are working as though this is assured, but in the final analysis it is up to the weather man. A Member: I would like to ask Mr. Simmons in regard to his wiring. We are raising our trees in the same manner, the open-headed trees, and I wanted to ask him where the central ring is placed, in the crotch of the tree or where? Mr. Simmons: The ring is suspended by the wires in the center of the tree. It makes an excellent arrangement. You can stand on that wire and gather the apples from the topmost limbs of the trees. The screw-eyes should be put in at what might be termed the center of effort or pull, when the limb is heavily loaded. If not put in high enough, it causes a rather too acute angle where the screw-eye is inserted and the limb is likely to break. A Member: We had considerable difficulty with broken branches. Mr. Ludlow: Are the rings put on the outside or the inside of the trees? Mr. Simmons: On the inside, so that the screw eyes all point towards the center of the tree. After three or four years you can't see the screw eye, it grows right into the tree. Mr. Ludlow: I want to ask if you recommend the bamboo poles for general propping of trees? Mr. Simmons: Yes, sir; most emphatically I would. It is the best and most economical prop you can use. Of course, it is the general opinion among expert fruit growers that the crop should never be too heavy for the tree. The bamboo prop is the best we found. With reasonable care, bamboo poles will outlast common lumber. It is the general opinion among expert fruit growers that the tree should carry all fruit possible, but should not be permitted to be loaded so heavy as to need propping. Mr. Dyer: I have an orchard of 70 acres and it would take a great many bamboo poles to prop that orchard. I use pieces of board, various lengths, 4 inches wide and 1 inch thick, of various lengths. I get them 14 to 16 feet long and sometimes I cut them in two. My trees are large, twenty-five and thirty and thirty-five years old, and that has been my most successful material to prop with. Mr. Simmons: What is the cost? Mr. Dyer: Well, you know what the lumber is, I paid about $24.00 a thousand. Mr. Simmons: When I tried to buy the props from the lumber yard they would have cost me twenty cents each. I bought the twenty foot bamboo poles for $7.00 a hundred and the sixteen foot poles for $4.50 a hundred. A Member: I didn't get where his orchard is located, and I would like to ask about the variety of apples he had the best success with. Mr. Simmons: The orchard is located at Howard Lake, forty-three miles west of Minneapolis. We grow Duchess, Patten's Greenings, Hibernals and Wealthys. Mr. Ludlow: What is your average cost per tree for thinning? Mr. Simmons: We have for years thinned the Wealthy trees and our top-worked varieties, but I never kept any accurate account of the cost of thinning. Mr. Ludlow: How old are your Wealthys? Mr. Simmons: Fourteen years old. Mr. Huestis: Mr. Simmons stated that he used the wire and the ring and the screw-eyes. If he used that, why does he need props? I used the same thing this summer on some Wealthys and thinned them besides, and I didn't need any props because I used the wire from the center ring to the branches. Mr. Simmons: Well, the wire supports support the main limbs but there are a great many laterals. For instance, you have the main limb going up here at an angle of 90 degrees and the limbs that come out of that are not supported. The props I use are supporting the laterals. Mr. Anderson: Are your returns satisfactory shipping to the Minneapolis market? Mr. Simmons: Always have been very satisfactory; that has been my only market. * * * * * FIGHTING MOTHS WITH PARASITES.--Over 12,000,000 specimens of two parasites which prey on the gipsy moth and brown-tail moth were released in 201 towns in Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts and Rhode Island during the fall of 1914 and spring of 1915, according to the annual report of the Bureau of Entomology, United States Department of Agriculture. As a result of the successful establishment of colonies of these and other parasites which feed on the gipsy and brown-tail moths, marked progress is being made in reducing these pests. Effective co-operation is being afforded by the States, which carry on as much work as possible within the infested areas, thus allowing the Federal authorities to carry on field work along the outer border of infestation, so as to retard the gipsy moth's spread.--U.S. Dept. of Agri. Annual Meeting. 1915, S.D. State Horticultural Society. WM. PFAENDER, JR., NEW ULM, MINN., DELEGATE. Arrived at Huron, S.D., Monday night, January 17, 1916. The officers as well as the members gave me a very fine reception and, although I am a life member, I was made an honorary member of the society, and during my stay was entertained very agreeably. I attended all meetings. The society had three meetings each day, except Thursday, the 20th, when there was no meeting held in the evening. On account of the very cold weather the attendance from outside was not as large as it should have been. Some very interesting papers were read. Mr. E. D. Cowles, of Vermillion, in his paper on "What to do when your grape vines freeze back," advocated to break off the shoots (do not cut them off) near the old wood, so that new shoots would start from the same bud or eye and would produce a crop. The papers by the president, Rev. F. A. Hassold, "Relation of Horticulture to Home-Making" at the meeting, and "Community Effort in Rural Life" at the banquet, were very fine and much appreciated by the audience. Professor N. E. Hansen in his paper, "New Fruits," stated, among other things, that he had made a large number of crosses with Chinese sand pears and other pears, and that he expects to get from the crosses varieties that will be blight proof, and that he intends to continue experiments along this line. Two very able and much appreciated papers at the banquet were: "Landscape Gardening," by Miss Hazel J. Kent, and "Transforming a Place Into a Home," by Mrs. Geo. H. Whiting, both of Yankton, S.D. Governor Byrney was present at the banquet and in his address congratulated the horticulturists of South Dakota on what they have attained and encouraged them in their difficult undertakings. Your delegate was asked to give notes on "Minnesota Fruit Culture," which he did to the best of his ability. The discussions after each paper were interesting and instructive. The meeting was a very successful one and all present appreciated the fact that these gatherings assist in developing this great Northwest in horticulture, forestry and many other ways. Annual Report, 1915, Sauk Rapids Trial Station. MRS. JENNIE STAGER, SUPT. Warm weather this last spring came quite early, and with bated breath we waited for the usual frost, but still it came not. The plum orchard became a wilderness of bloom; the buds of the apple trees began coyly to unfold their dainty loveliness; pussy willows flaunted their sweetness on the air--while the birds sang their love notes from trees and bushes. Then frost came--not once, but night after night. Thus our hopes, which had risen with every promise of a bountiful harvest, fell with the thermometer far below zero. When fall came both plum and apple orchards made so poor a showing, not only here but all around this part of the country, that we had hardly enough fruit for our own uses. [Illustration: Mrs. Stager's grandchildren among the roses of one year's growth.] We had a great deal of rain, all through the spring and into the summer. Strawberries, that generally do well in wet weather, did not bless us with their usual abundance. Currants and gooseberries also left us in the lurch--but the Snyder blackberries were loaded with luscious fruit, while raspberries--why the berries of the Golden Queen bent the stalks down with their weight. Prof. Hansen's Sunbeams were covered with berries, as were all of the seedling raspberries sent from the Breeding Farm three years ago, Nos. six and seven, of the red ones, bore the largest and firmest berries. I had quite a time keeping the blossoms off the everbearing strawberries sent here in the spring from the State Breeding Farm. Although I had bought and planted three named--and very much extolled--other kinds of everbearers, none of them were as prolific in plants, and extra large berries, as those unnamed ones from the State Breeding Farm. We had our first berries from them in August. When we had our fair here, the last of September, I made quite a showing of them, from the size of a bean (green) to a crab apple (ripe), surrounded by leaves and blossoms. They were still covered with bloom when the hard frosts came. The two small hybrid plums sent did not make much growth. Most vegetables that have always grown so well in other summers did very poorly this year. Out of four hundred and seventy-five tomato plants, taken the best of care of by Inez, my granddaughter, for the state tomato contest, we did not get one bushel of good ripe ones. Lima and other table beans were planted three times (on account of rotting in the ground) and then did not ripen. No ripe corn. In fact, about all the vegetables that came to fruition were peas, cauliflower and cabbage. Of flowers, sweet peas, pansies and early lilies were fine, although growing things were late. Paeonies had very few flowers. However, roses were masses of bloom. Moss roses did the best ever, also large bushes of Rosa Rugosa (you see this year, we had neither the ubiquitous potato bug, rose bug, caterpillar or any other varmint to war against); quite a number gave us blooms all summer. Then most of them threw out strong new plants, as do the raspberries, from the roots. On the whole, with our bounteous harvest of grain and so forth in this blessed country, we can be thankful we are alive. * * * * * KEEP YOUTH ON THE FARM.--"What can we do to keep our young people free from the deceiving lure of the city and contented to remain on the farm?". The following was prepared by C. W. Kneale, of Niwot, Colo., a student in civics in the Colorado School of Agriculture, as a part of his regular class work. Young Kneale, although a student, has some excellent ideas which "Father" and "Mother" might do well to ponder carefully: "Get good books, magazines and farm papers for them to read. "Have some kind of lodges for them to go to, such as the Grange. "Arrange it so they can have a party or entertainment once in a while. "Go with them to church every Sunday. "Arrange it so they can have one or more picnics every year. "Teach them how to do all kinds of farm work, by giving them a small tract of land to farm for themselves and showing them how to raise their crops, and have them help you with your work. "Give them a horse which they can ride or drive when they haven't anything to do, or when they want to go anywhere. "Teach them to love and be kind to animals." Ravages of the Buffalo Tree Hopper. "Mr. Latham recently sent me some twigs of apple tree very badly injured with what we call the buffalo tree hopper. These scars are made entirely by the female in the act of egg-laying. This process of egg-laying takes place from the last part of July until the leaves drop in the fall. The eggs hatch the following spring. The young forms do not feed at all upon the apple but get their nourishment by sucking the juices from the weeds and grasses in the immediate neighborhood of the orchard. [Illustration: The Buffalo Tree Hopper and its work] "The injury of this particular tree hopper is bad because the insect in egg-laying makes two slits, side by side, afterwards poking the eggs beneath the bark. As the tree continues to grow, the area between the slits dies, making a very rough appearance of the bark and an area into which spores of disease and bacteria may enter. The twig that is badly scarred very often dies, and sometimes young trees just set out are marked so badly that they succumb. "The only practical remedy against such a pest is clean cultivation of the orchard, as one can readily work out from knowing the life history. It is possible that some of the sprays like Bordeaux mixture, or self-boiled lime-sulphur, sprayed and kept active on the trees during the month of August would deter these hoppers from laying eggs. However, we have had no practical experience along this line, although we do know that trees under clean cultivation are not affected."--A. G. Ruggles, Head of Section of Spraying and Tree Insects, University Farm, St. Paul. * * * * * MINNESOTA NO. 3 STRAWBERRY.--A communication from Peter Jackson, Cloquet, says: "I had my first trial of the Minnesota No. 3 strawberry last year and they did finely. I had one hundred twenty-five quarts from sixty plants." Who can do better than that? Growing Tomatoes in Northern Minnesota. REV. GEO. MICHAEL, WALKER, MINN. Sow seed in hotbed about April first, in rows five inches apart and five inches apart in each row. Transplant in garden one week after danger of frost is past. The day before transplanting soak the hotbed thoroughly with warm water. In taking them up to transplant use a sharp butcher knife; the ground thus cut out will form a cube five inches in diameter. This block, should be set in a hole ten to twelve inches deep. The ground around the block must be made very firm. This block will be four to six inches below the surface. _Fill the hole with warm rainwater_ and three or four hours later rake in loose dirt to fill the hole, being careful not to pack it in the least. _How to prepare the ground._ Manure heavily; plow very deep; harrow thoroughly. Then in forming the hills place two shovelfuls of fine manure and one-half shovelful of hen manure for each hill. Spade this in from twelve to eighteen inches deep and eighteen to twenty inches wide. Cultivate often. The plants should be staked at first to keep the wind storms from injuring them. When one and one-half feet high they should be trained over poles placed on each side of the row one and one-half feet from the ground. Plant hills four feet apart, and _train each plant to four or five vines_, cutting off all side shoots and a few of the leaves. _Never cut off_ the top of a vine to hasten the ripening. Make the ground _as rich as possible, plough deep, plant deep, set deep and prune carefully_. If you do not use poles or a trellis the vines thus managed should spread over the ground as pumpkin vines grow, and instead of "going all to vines" the tendency will be to go all to tomatoes. _A big story._ Over $3,000 per acre. In 1910 I had three rows each forty feet long and four feet apart, i.e., a row 120 feet long, or 480 square feet. More than $35.00 worth of ripe tomatoes were taken from these vines, the price never more nor less than five cents per pound. If 480 square feet will produce $35.00, 43,560 square feet would produce $3,175. During the tomato season I was away from home when a neighbor gathered bushels which are not counted in the above figures, and our family used and gave away several bushels more. Annual Report, 1915, Vice-President, Fourth Congressional District. J. K. DIXON, NORTH ST. PAUL, MINN. The fourth district fruit crops--with the exception of strawberries and raspberries--were conspicuous by their absence this season of 1915. A festive blizzard that came prancing our way the 17th of May effectually destroyed what promised to be a bumper crop of apples and plums. The trees were for the most part past the blossoming stage, and the fruit had started to develop. Currants and grapes met the same disastrous fate. Only in favored situations, adjacent to large bodies of water, were there any apples, plums, grapes or currants to speak of. [Illustration: Mr. J. K. Dixon, North St. Paul.] In my orchard, at North St. Paul, we burned wet straw smudges every second row on the outside of the orchard, allowing the wind to drift the smoke through trees. This was done by adding the wet straw at intervals to the burning piles in order to create a continuous dense smoke. When daylight appeared we noticed the ground covered with a beautiful blanket of frost, and decided two men smoking pipes would have been as effective treatment as the smudge. In this, however, I have since concluded we were mistaken. As the season advanced we noticed the first three or four rows in from the smudges gave us our only apples, whereas the further one went in the fewer were found, until they finally disappeared entirely. Question: If the above treatment had been given every second or third row throughout orchard, what would the results have been? Strawberries and raspberries proved their superior ability to withstand the assaults of King Boreas and Jack Frost. Strawberries were in blossom and were saved from total loss by a two or three inch blanket of wet snow that fortunately preceded the frost. Consequently they are reported as fair to good crop. Raspberries, owing to the abundant and regular rainfall, are reported from all over the district as a fair crop. One grower having one-half acre of the St. Regis everbearing red raspberry reports having ripe berries from the last week in June to the 8th day of October, when a big freeze-up put them out of commission. This one-half acre produced 2,000 pints, that sold for fancy prices. Also the everbearing strawberries are reported as making good and proving their claim to recognition as an established institution in the fruit world. A few of the largest growers report spraying with lime-sulphur and arsenate of lead. However, the rainfall was too abundant at the right time (or wrong time) to get best results. Very little blight is reported as present the past summer, and what little there was yielded readily to the pruning knife applied five or six inches below infected wood, being careful to sterilize tool in solution of corrosive sublimate. The most serious injury from blight is caused by its attacking tender sprout growths on trunks or large branches. The blight runs very rapidly down the tender wood, penetrating to the cambium layer, where it causes cankers, often girdling entire trunk and killing tree outright. This is especially true of the Virginia crab and Wealthy apple. Trees and plants came through last winter in A1 condition as a consequence of a mild winter, and this fall they go into winter quarters with abundance of moisture and well ripened wood. Considerable nursery stock was planted last spring with excellent results, due to plentiful supply of moisture from spring to fall. While fruit growing in Minnesota is not so extensively engaged in as in some reputed fruit growers' paradises we read about, I wish to state that the South and East (to speak in the vernacular) "has nothing on us." I have reliable information that the same freeze that cleaned us out up here in the North did the same trick for growers at Mobile, Alabama. Therefore, I advise members not to yield to discouragement. Plant and care for varieties recommended in the society planting list and emulate the society motto, "Perseverantia Vincimus." From replies to letters sent out the following list of varieties appears to be in favor as the most desirable to plant in this district: Apples: Wealthy, Okabena, Duchess, Patten's Greening. Crabs: Florence, Whitney, Lyman's Prolific. Plums: DeSoto, Hawkeye, Wyant, Wolf. Raspberries: King, Sunbeam, Minnetonka Ironclad. Currants: Perfection, Prince Albert, Long Bunch Holland, Wilder. Gooseberries: Carrie, Houghton, Downing. Grapes: Beta, Concord, Delaware. Hardy Shrubs: Spirea Van Houtii, Hydrangea P.G., Snowball, Syringa, Tartarian Honeysuckle, Lilac, High-bush Cranberry, Barberry, Sumac, Elderberry, Golden Leaf Elder, Buckthorn for hedges. Hardy Perennials--Flowers: Delphinium, Campanula, Phlox, Paeonies, Iris, Hermerocallis, Tiger Lilies. Tender Plants: Dahlias, Gladiolus. Annual Report, 1915, Mandan, N.D., Trial Station. W. A. PETERSON, SUPT., MANDAN, N.D. In the spring of 1914 a number of plums, grapes and raspberries were received from the Minnesota Fruit-Breeding Farm. The larger part of the plums were winter killed in 1914-15. Those that survive after a few more winters may be considered as practically hardy. Those remaining made a good growth in 1915, but did not bear. The grapes lived through the winter in good shape, although they had been covered. These are all Beta seedlings. The raspberries Nos. 3, 7, and 8, were partly covered and partly left exposed--all three numbers died to the ground when not protected. No. 4 was received in the spring of 1915 and made a good growth. Strawberry No. 1017 was received in spring 1915 and bore heavily this fall but made only a very few runners. Extensive experiments are being carried on in plant-breeding, pomology, vegetable gardening, arboriculture and ornamental horticulture, and in the course of time a lot of valuable information will be gathered. On the whole the season was backward in spring and the summer was abnormally cool. There was sufficient rainfall for all crops. Fruit Growing a Successful Industry in Minnesota. A. W. RICHARDSON, FRUIT GROWER, HOWARD LAKE, MINN. It is now about eighteen years since I conceived the idea of fruit culture as a competency for old age, being then, as now, employed as representative for some concern and required to travel over this state, earning a livelihood for myself and family. The nature of my first work on the road necessitated my attendance (a large portion of the time) at Minnesota farmers' institute meetings, where I came in contact with those gentlemen employed in that work, and among the number our friend Clarence Wedge, of Albert Lea, and other personal friends, such as O. C. Gregg, the founder of the institute work, Mr. Greely, Mr. Trow and others. It was among these gentlemen I got my first desire for a piece of land, and was advised by them several times to get a piece of land, and if I could not afford to buy a large piece, to buy a small piece, which latter course I was compelled to adopt. I became imbued with a desire to grow fruit and was particularly interested in the subject of horticulture, and eagerly devoured all the literature obtainable on the subject, and listened very attentively to all discussions on the subject at these meetings. In 1897 I moved to Howard Lake and succeeded Mr. E. J. Cutts in the nursery and fruit growing business. Mr. Cutts was well known to a great many. He died just prior to my residence in Howard Lake, where I got in my first practical experience in the fruit-growing business. After conducting this business for about twelve months, I disposed of it and bought a home in another part of town and at once set out about 200 apple trees and other small fruit. Gradually I acquired more land and set out more trees, until today I have about 1,600 apple trees, about 1,000 of which are at bearing age. I made one grand mistake however, as a great many other growers have done and are still doing, I planted too many varieties. I used the list of tried and recommended sorts issued by the State Horticultural Society (long before I became a member) and planted accordingly and, like many other growers, have my quota of Hibernals, Minnesotas, Marthas and other sorts which experience has demonstrated are not nearly as desirable as other varieties. I have demonstrated to my entire satisfaction that it is profitable and perfectly proper to grow also small fruits in a young orchard. In my second orchard, containing about 600 trees, I planted the trees 15x30 feet and later the same season set out raspberries 3x6 feet, occupying all the space in the rows and between the rows, and for two successive seasons I grew a third crop between the raspberries, which plan works admirably. One mistake I made, however, was in planting a little too close to the apple trees, requiring more hoeing around the apple trees to keep the raspberries in subjection, which could have been obviated to a large extent by not planting so closely. I grew raspberries about seven years in this orchard. My returns after the second year brought me $500.00 to $700.00 annually, and I sold enough plants to more than pay me for all the labor expended on the orchard, to say nothing of corn, beans, cabbage, etc., raised the first two years between the raspberries. Now the trees are about ten years old and all bearing. I have discontinued the cultivation and have seeded to clover, which we usually mow and allow to lie and rot. [Illustration: Residence of A. W. Richardson, at Howard Lake.] I figure that outside the investment I have brought my orchard into bearing with practically no expense, having had a revenue every year since planting the trees, which are composed of Patten Greening, Hibernal, Duchess, Wealthy, Peerless, Minnesota, Virginia, Okabena and Whitney. My last orchard of 625 trees consists principally of Wealthy, and trees are set 20x20, and I am following the same plan of growing a crop between. The year 1915 makes four crops taken from this young orchard, now four years old. About two more seasons will follow this year, and then about the time for bearing I will discontinue the planting of any crop and sow it to clover. I plant one or two year old trees trimmed to a whip, digging a much larger and deeper hole than is really necessary to accommodate the roots, but I am sure this plan gives the roots a much better start than if they are crowded into a small hole, and particularly if the ground is hardpan or similar soil. Pinching off the buds the following year or two, when you commence shaping your trees to your liking, is good, thus eliminating severe pruning. I have endeavored to follow up this annual pruning when possible, often being compelled to hire additional help for this purpose, as the nature of my regular business keeps me from home when I should be pruning. I am sure you will agree with me so far that "fruit growing in Minnesota is successful." Four years ago or more I decided that in order to receive the top price for the products off my place I must produce a first class article, and so to that end I have worked. I bought a gasoline power sprayer, costing me about $300--by the way, the first one in Howard Lake, although two of us there each bought one the same spring, and now there are three power sprayers in our village. I have demonstrated that it is possible to get the top price of the market in more ways than one by furnishing a first class article. You will ask me how it is possible for me to do this and be away from home so much. I have been ably assisted by my wife, who sees that my general directions are carried out as I have outlined. This year we have marketed something over 300 barrels and have received the top market price, netting me about $500.00. I tried out a new plan this year, selling through a reliable commission firm. I have heretofore sold direct to the retailer with splendid results. 1913 was a bumper year and the market flooded everywhere with poor unsprayed stuff. I sold about 250 barrels and received an average of $3.25 per barrel, F.O.B. Howard Lake, and in 1914 about the same amount was realized. There is always a good demand for a good article, carefully picked and honestly packed, discarding all bruised and scabby or wormy apples, or those undersized or less than 2-1/2 inches in diameter. This season I sprayed my trees three times, the first time early in April, using what is known as a dormant spray, using commercial lime-sulphur solution 32 degrees Baume, 20 gallons to a tank of 200 gallons of water, or four times as strong as the two subsequent sprayings, after the blossoms fall, at which later time I use in addition arsenate of lead, 10 pounds to a 200 gallon tank of water, and work under 200 pound pressure--and by doing thorough work can produce apples almost entirely free from any disease or worms. My last shipment of apples this year was October 2nd and consisted of 196 barrels, one-third each of Hibernals, Patten Greenings and Wealthys, which brought top prices. [Illustration: Mr. A. W. Richardson, Howard Lake.] I am a firm believer in co-operative marketing and think it is the only logical way to market any crop, but to conduct a successful marketing organization there should be stringent rules compelling all who join an association for marketing to spray thoroughly if nothing else, as I am firmly convinced that you cannot grow apples and compete with other localities without doing so, and doing so every year, whether a prospect for a good crop exists or not. I can prove this, as I only partly covered my entire orchard in 1913 with spraying. You could easily see which had been sprayed and which not. Excessive rain at the vital time prevented my completion of the work. I am convinced by experience, too, that the dormant spray, usually neglected by most growers, is very necessary and am sure better and healthier foliage is obtained by this practice, and by it the scale can be controlled in a large degree. I had eight to ten Patten's Greening trees that had been attacked by a disease called by some "oyster scale." The trees abnormally lost their foliage early in the season, and I had about decided they were dead when, after a dormant spray the following spring, they entirely revived and are now as healthy as any trees on my place. I have practiced top-working to some extent and for the past three or four years have been able to put down in my cellar, several bushels of Jonathan, Grimes Golden, Delicious and other varieties. Have now about 125 Jonathan trees top-worked on Hibernals, and except for some blight they have done splendidly. There is no room for discussion, no room for argument in any way, why fruit-growing in Minnesota is not a very successful business to be engaged in. I have demonstrated, I am sure, that if I can bring an orchard into bearing and hold down a good, fairly lucrative position at the same time and do so with very little expense, and others can do the some thing. Now I am going to criticise some one and let the criticism fall where it belongs. There has been a great injustice done the commercial fruit grower, or those trying to grow fruit commercially, by advising, urging, or anything else you choose to call it, the farmer or small homekeeper to buy more fruit trees and plants than this class of individual needs for his own use. In order to receive some returns for this surplus, he rushes it into town and sells it to the best advantage, delivered in sacks, soap boxes, etc., carelessly handled and bumped into town in a lumber wagon. The merchant is loaded up with a lot of unsalable stuff and often finds himself overloaded and barrels up some and sends it to the commission row and expects some returns, which vary from nothing to a very small amount. Why, last season I knew a large general merchandise concern in a town a little west of Howard Lake that thought they had struck a gold mine. They employed a packer or two, bought barrels, rented a building and bought this class of stuff right and left, offered at any old price, $1.50 per barrel to anything they could get, and sold clear up to the Canadian line. I saw the stuff a great many times after it reached its destination, and it was hardly fit for sale at any price. This indiscriminate selling of nursery stock by eager salesmen and nurserymen is doing more to hurt the commercial fruit growing industry than any one thing. The only salvation for the grower making his living out of the business is to produce a better article, better picked, better packed and marketed through the proper channels. This matter just referred to I have often discussed by the hour, and during the past winter my views were thoroughly endorsed by prominent men in the extension work of our state. In conclusion will say, comparing the fruit industry in Minnesota with that greatest of all industry, raising grain, it is so much easier (if ordinary care be exercised) to produce a finer article, more attractive in appearance, better packed and marketed properly, than the other fellow does, while in growing grain this is not the case, as all the grain is dumped into the hopper and bin, and the individuality of the grower is forever lost. The demand for the apple has increased wonderfully the last few years, and it is quite likely to be further increased owing to the European demand for American apples, which for the next fifteen or twenty years will increase by leaps and bounds, owing to the devastating of so many of the great orchard sections in parts of Austria and northern France. This authentic information came through Mr. H. W. Collingwood, many years editor of the Rural New Yorker, and according to Mr. Collingwood's idea there has been no time in the history of the United States when the outlook for commercial orchards was so bright. He advises the widespread planting of commercial orchards to meet this new demand which has shown itself already in Europe and will greatly increase after the war is over. [Illustration: A two-acre field of Dunlap strawberries on place of A. W. Richardson, at Howard Lake.] Mr. Ludlow: I would like to know what you advise for that commercial orchard, what varieties? Mr. Richardson: Wealthys, all the time. (Applause.) Mr. Ludlow: I would like to ask for the comparative prices you received for the three apples you mentioned, Wealthy, Greening and Hibernal. Mr. Richardson: The Hibernal sold for around $3.00 a barrel and the Wealthy sold for three something. Mind you, I never sold apples at all until this year to Minneapolis markets. I can sell all the apples I can grow myself without any trouble if I have the proper men to pick them and pack them at home. I had a son that was doing that until a few years ago, and he followed my instructions and would place nothing but first class stuff in the barrels and would sell my samples without any trouble and get the top market price. I run across down in my cellar some of last year's crop of Northwest Greenings, just two of them left, one of them partially decayed. Something I never had known to happen before. They lay in the cellar just wrapped up. Mr. Ludlow: It wasn't embalmed? Mr. Richardson: No, sir. Gentlemen, you need not be afraid of growing fruit in Minnesota. Mr. Ludlow: What peculiar method have you for keeping those apples? Mr. Richardson: Just wrapped in paper only. The President: What temperature do you keep in your cellar? Mr. Richardson: 40 degrees about this time. The President: You have a heater in your cellar? Mr. Richardson: Yes, sir, but this is shut off from that, though the pipes run through. A Member: Are your trees still as far apart as they were at first? Mr. Richardson: No, sir. I neglected to say that I sent East and got some roots, and I was advised to set them out between. I have part of my orchard set 15x16, but that is too close together. A Member: If you were going to do it again would you put them 30x30? Mr. Richardson: 20x20, that is, Wealthys, particularly. Of course, for the Hibernals, you got to put them farther apart. A Member: You mentioned the Delicious. What is your opinion of the Delicious? Mr. Richardson: My experience has been so little with them. I have about 150 Jonathan trees coming on that will be all right. * * * * * MARBLE PILLAR TO FAMOUS MCINTOSH TREE.--Perhaps one of the most curious monuments in existence has recently been built in Ontario by Canadians. The farmers have just erected a marble pillar to mark the site on which grew a famous apple tree. More than a century ago a settler in Canada named McIntosh, when clearing a space in which to make a home in the wilderness, discovered among a number of wild apple trees one which bore fruit so well that he cultivated it and named it McIntosh Red. The apple became famous, and seeds and cuttings were distributed to all parts of Canada, so that now the McIntosh Red flourishes wherever apples grow in the great dominion. In 1896 the original tree from which this enormous family sprang was injured by fire, but it continued to bear fruit until five years ago. Then, after 15 years, it died, and the grateful farmers have raised a marble pillar in honor of the tree which has done so much for the fruit growing industry of their land. The story of this apple tree illustrates the African proverb that though you can count the apples on one tree, you can never count the trees in one apple.--January Popular Science Monthly. Report of Committee on Horticultural Building. S. P. CROSBY, CHAIRMAN, ST. PAUL. As you know, at the last legislature there was a bill prepared and introduced asking for an appropriation of $40,000 to build a new home for this society. It was provided, that that home should be located on the grounds of University Farm or upon the grounds of the State Agricultural Society, and that was to be left to the discretion of the executive board of this society. The bill is a very well drawn bill, and the committee appeared before the legislature some four or five times. We went before the committee of the senate and before the committee of the house and senate, and as a matter of fact the result was that the bill never came out of the committee. The cry last year, as it is every year, was that of retrenchment and low taxes. Now, that is all right as a general proposition, but Minnesota is not a poor state. In the cities of course we think we have all the taxes we ought to have, and we think they are pretty high; perhaps you gentlemen living in the country think you have as high taxes as you ought to have, but that the state, for instance, has over $30,000,000 in the school fund, probably reaching up to fifty or sixty millions some day, with other figures which can be given here, shows that Minnesota is not a poor state. On the other hand, it shows that Minnesota is a rich state. Certainly there is no good reason why it should not provide a good home for this society, which has earned it and is nearly fifty years old. Now, ladies and gentlemen, I simply want to say one thing. Don't depend upon the committee to do all this work. While we didn't get our bill through last year we came away full of courage, and just as sure as night follows the day we are going to have a new home for this society one of these days. (Applause.) But I want it distinctly understood that every member of this society, men and women--and I certainly include the women because oftentimes they are the best politicians, and they know how to talk to people and get things--when the next legislature is elected must use his or her influence with the senators and representatives of the various districts of the state and make an impression upon them and get a promise out of them to vote for and support the bill. A bill will be introduced into the next legislature, and it will probably be this same bill, and if you don't forget this, but simply do your duty in seeing these representatives and taking the matter up, why there isn't very much doubt in my judgment but what we will be successful and have our bill passed. We have members, I think, in every county of the state, haven't we, President Cashman? The President: Yes. [Illustration: Mr. S. P. Crosby, St. Paul.] Mr. Crosby: If we only have two or three in some counties, if they would make an effort to see every representative and senator and talk the matter over, that is what is going to count. It is a year or something like that before the legislature meets again, but it don't want to be forgotten, and if every live member of this society will put his shoulder to the wheel, I don't think there is any possible doubt but what we will succeed and have the bill pass. We broke the ice last winter and got acquainted with some of the people. And another thing I want to say, and that is if that bill the next time is not reported favorably out of the committee I would be in favor for one of having it reported to the house or senate without any recommendation of the committee. I talked with probably fifteen or twenty, I should say, of the different members of the senate and house about that bill, and it had a great many friends both in the house and senate. Some of them came to me and said: "Crosby, why don't you put it in the house, and we will show you how we will vote." There was a whole lot of feeling that way, because if men investigate and find out what the society is standing for and what it has done they will know it is a perfectly meritorious bill. I think with a reasonable amount of work we will accomplish a great deal, and we shall succeed eventually in having the bill passed. Another matter that is proper to speak of now is to see where the members of this organization stand. I am going to tell you something. I didn't hear it personally myself, but I did hear it from Mr. Yanish. He is a man of veracity and he told me. He said in the last legislature the Hennepin delegation used all the strength they could against this bill. If it is a rivalry between the two cities, St. Paul and Minneapolis when we propose to put the building in neither Minneapolis or St. Paul, but practically midway between the two cities, if that rivalry can go to that extent, it seems to me mighty small business. We were very careful not to conflict in any way with the state university in getting any of those appropriations they were asking for. They wanted big sums of money. We didn't conflict with them, we didn't do anything against them. We made a gentlemanly campaign and put our case before the committee. There were a number of members who were favorable, but of course there were thousands of bills in there, and it didn't get out of the committees, as I said. We see more and more every year what great necessities there are for a home for this organization. We ought to have a building like as the plans given in Mr. Latham's last report, a building that would have a fine auditorium, a fine exhibit room, a place where we are at home instead of going from place to place and meeting at different places and not having the adequate facilities we ought to have. * * * * * STORE VEGETABLES FOR THE WINTER.--The basement is often the best place on the farm for storing vegetables, says R. S. Gardner, of the University of Missouri, College of Agriculture. It must be properly built, and the temperature, moisture, and ventilation conditions kept right if the best results are to be obtained. If it is too warm the vegetables will dry and shrivel, and if the ventilation is poor, drops of water will form and the vegetables will be more likely to decay. If there is a furnace in the cellar, the storage room should be far enough away so that it can be kept cool, and during very cold weather the door may be opened to prevent freezing.--Mo. Exp. Sta. Tomatoes for the Kitchen Garden. C. W. PURDHAM, MARKET GARDENER, BROOKLYN CENTER. The first and most important thing in raising tomatoes is good seed. To raise good tomatoes does not depend so much on the variety you have as it does on the seed. In the fall select your best tomatoes and save the seed. Then about the first of April sow your seed. You can sow them in a box behind the stove, and as soon as they are up give them all the sunlight you can. When they are about two inches high, have some four-inch flower pots and transplant, giving them a good thorough wetting before removing them from the seed box to the flower pots. By this time it will be warm enough to have a cold frame, which may be prepared by nailing four boards together any size desired. One three by six feet will hold about 150 plants. Shelter it well from the north and slope it a little to the south with enough dirt in the frame to hold your pots. You can cover them with storm windows or cloth tacked onto frames. Keep well covered nights and give all the sunlight possible through the day. After danger of frost is past, set them out. Sandy loam is best, which must be well pulverized and fertilized. After you have removed the plant from the pot and set it in the ground, place the pot about two inches from the plant, also about two inches deep in the ground. Then throw a small handful of dirt in each pot and fill with water as often as necessary. This is the best way of watering that I know. Mr. Sauter: What kind do you think is the best for an early variety? Mr. Purdham: Well, the Earliana is extensively raised and the Dwarf Champion. Mr. Sauter: What do you think of the Red Pear? Mr. Purdham: I don't know anything about that, but for a late variety of tomato the Ponderosa is quite a tomato; it is a very large tomato. Mr. Sauter: How about the Globe? Mr. Purdham: That is a good tomato. Mr. Sauter: What do you know of the paper cartons instead of flower pots? Mr. Purdham: I have never tried the cartons; I should think they would be all right. Mr. Miller: In saving your seed from year to year, is there any danger of the seed running out in time? Mr. Purdham: I don't think so. If you take your best tomatoes I think you will improve them. Mr. Miller: I should think the germination of that seed would run out? Mr. Purdham: That may be, I can't say as to that. There are people that make a specialty of studying that. Annual Report, 1915, Vice-President, First Congressional District. F. I. HARRIS, LA CRESCENT, MINN. In making a report for the First Congressional District, I will say at the beginning, that all my observations and interviews were taken in Houston and Winona counties, an especially favored locality this year, and I am well aware that the conditions and results are exceptional and do not form a just estimate for the district and are certainly very much above the average. The apple crop in the section named was a record breaker, and where trees were at all cared for and properly sprayed the quality and size of the fruit was very superior and remarkably free from insect pests and disease. [Illustration: Bridge on Lakeside Drive, at Albert Lea, in First Congressional District.] The yield of several orchards in this vicinity was from 1,000 to 15,000 barrels of marketable fruit, an increase of nearly 100 per cent above the largest previous crop. From this station twenty-one carload lots of apples, averaging 200 barrels per car, were shipped, besides nearly as many more sold in the local markets of La Crosse and Winona and shipped in small lots by freight and express. The prices obtained were in all cases good, considering that the varieties grown are mostly summer and fall and had to be sold in competition with Iowa and Illinois fruit. While all markets were over-supplied, the demand for the quality of fruit grown here in the commercial orchards was greatly in excess of the supply and attracted buyers from Chicago and the Twin Cities and has built a permanent market so long as the quality keeps up to this year's standard. At the same time, I am more than ever impressed with the necessity for some manner of utilizing the surplus and low grade fruit with which the local markets are flooded. It seems a great waste to have thousands of bushels of apples fed to hogs and left to rot on the ground which would be a large asset if converted into vinegar or canned. More than one-half the fruit brought from farms is only fit for such use and by being forced on the market serves to lower prices and demand for good fruit. I visited one farm orchard within twenty miles of here and saw at a low estimate 400 bushels of apples lying on the ground, all of which could have been utilized in a factory, but not having been sprayed were not fit for barreling, and the owner had turned the hogs in to get rid of them. This is a condition that is sure to become worse in view of the many small orchards recently set, besides the commercial orchards that are just coming into bearing. From the reports received, in reply to circulars sent out, I gather that the crop varied from nothing to 100 per cent and the quality in corresponding ratio, depending in most cases upon whether orchards were properly sprayed or neglected. Scab and other diseases caused a large proportion of the fruit set to drop, and the remainder was unsalable in unsprayed orchards. Considerable blight is reported in a number of orchards, especially where cultivated. Trees growing in sod were noticeably free from it. Practically nothing is being done to prevent its spreading. While cutting out the affected wood may in some cases check it, I am satisfied a better remedy will have to be found before it is wiped out. In my own orchard just a few trees located on low land and under cultivation were affected, and not a single case in sod. There is from all reports an abundance of moisture in the ground, and trees are in good condition to stand a hard winter, except that in some cases the buds started during the warm days of November. The crop of strawberries was generally a very light one on account of blossoms being injured by late frosts and winter killing, but a few correspondents report a full crop. Other small fruits, including currants, raspberries and blackberries, were a practical failure and light crop. The crop of grapes was very light and in only a few favored localities ripened before killing frosts. Plums, except in a few instances, were a failure, the exceptions being in case of the Hansen hybrids. [Illustration: Residence of S.H. Drum, Owatonna, in First Congressional District--a veteran member of the society] While more varieties of apples are successfully grown in this vicinity than elsewhere in the state, and some correspondents recommend a long list, my experience and advice is to set only a few varieties of known commercial value, and while far too many early apples are being grown, this condition is better than planting winter apples of unknown hardiness and quality. The Northwestern Greening is the most profitable winter apple here, but I understand it is not hardy in some localities in the state. * * * * * ALASKAN BERRY HYBRIDS.--At the Sitka Experiment Station in Alaska a strain of hardy strawberries is in the making, the result of crosses between the native of the Alaskan coast region and cultivated varieties. Several thousand seedlings have been grown, all very vigorous and most of them productive and of high quality. The native variety of the interior of Alaska is now to be used in similar crosses. The Cuthbert raspberry has been crossed with its relatives, the native Salmonberry (_Rubus spectabilis_ Pursh.) and the Thimbleberry (_R. parviflorus_ Nutt.). The only interesting fact so far developed is that the hybrids of the two species first named are almost entirely sterile. Annual Report, 1915, Vice-President, Seventh Congressional District. P. H. PETERSON, ATWATER, MINN. From the answers received on blanks sent out I find there was a fair crop of apples raised throughout this district, with the trees in good condition for winter. Wood is well ripened up, leaves all shed and plenty of moisture in the soil. [Illustration: A productive strawberry field at P. H. Peterson's Atwater fruit farm.] All report none or very little blight this year. Spraying is not done generally, but those few who do it are getting results. In our own orchard, which was sprayed twice last spring, we have not found one wormy apple. Plums, none or a very few. Mr. Bjornberg, of Willmar, reports the Surprise plum a full crop, others a total failure. Compass cherry bore a fair crop, but with me it rotted badly, as also did Prof. Hansen's plums, Sapa and Opata. Grapes: Not many are grown except the Beta, which bore a heavy crop in spite of the late spring frosts. Blackberries: Nothing doing. Raspberries and strawberries were a light crop. Strawberries especially were badly damaged by late spring frosts--with me they were nearly a total failure except the everbearing, which gave us a good crop. And I want to add that they are here to stay for home use, and possibly as a market berry. Plants are fully as hardy as the June-bearing sorts. No matter how many times the blossoms are frozen off in the spring they will come right out again and give us berries until it freezes up in the fall. Currants and gooseberries were a fair crop. From the reports I gather that less nursery stock has been planted here than usual, but with good results, as the season has been favorable for plantings. The fruit list recommended by the State Horticultural Society can be relied on in this locality. There is a good deal of interest shown here in top-working the better quality winter apples onto hardy trees with good results, and the Hibernal seems to be the best stock to use--it certainly ought not to be planted for any other purpose. The apple is a drug on the market, and those who planted largely of this variety find it difficult to dispose of the crop at any price. * * * * * STUDYING FRUITS IN ILLINOIS.--Many seedling apples are being grown at the Illinois Experiment Station. Reciprocal hybridizations between standard orchard varieties and various species of the genus Malus have been made, fifty-seven species and varieties which are not of commercial importance having been obtained from the Arnold Arboretum at Boston. Direct improvement through these violent crosses is not anticipated, but it is hoped to acquire valuable information regarding the affinities of the various species used, and also to produce material for use in back crossing. Reciprocal crosses between standard orchard varieties are also being made in large numbers, while a difficult piece of work has been attempted in the reciprocal crossing of different strains of the same variety, and different individuals of the same strain. C.S. Crandall writes: "This project has aimed at the selfing of particular individuals, and the use on trees here of pollen from trees of the same variety in orchards 100 miles away and grown under quite different conditions. Considerable effort has been expended in the prosecution of this project, but up to the present time we have recorded no successful pollinations. We have not as yet a very wide range of varieties, but as far as we have gone we have encountered complete sterility in the selfing within the individuals and in the attempt to use pollen of the same variety brought from a distance. The unfortunate feature about all the hybridizing work with apples is the mongrel character of the plants on which we work. We know nothing of the parentage of any of our varieties, and it seems quite useless to speculate on what the segregation of characters may be in crosses between different varieties. A further discouraging feature in apple breeding is the long period required to get results from any particular cross. Effort is being made to shorten this period by grafting scions of hybrid seedlings on dwarf stocks and growing the plants in pots. This will help some, but at best the attainment of results is some distance in the future. We are endeavoring to maintain a reasonably complete record of every step that is taken so that a complete history may be available for those who may later continue the work. "In pursuing the projects as outlined above there are a number of minor problems that are receiving some attention: such as the retention of the vitality of pollen, the period of receptivity, the seed production in hybrid fruits, and the time for and percentage of the germination of seeds. On all of these points we are accumulating considerable information that it is hoped may be of some practical value."--Journal of Heredity. Spraying the Orchard. HON. H. M. DUNLAP, SAVOY, ILLS. I don't know whether I am out of place with this topic of mine or not with a Minnesota audience, but I came through the exhibit rooms as I came up to the hall, and whether you spray or not you certainly need to, for I saw all sorts of fungous diseases upon your fruit. I presume that these are not the poorest specimens you have--very few people, you know, bring the poorest specimens they have to an exhibition place, Mr. President, and I presume that if these are the best you have the poorest must be pretty bad in the way of fungous diseases. Of course, people don't like to have their faults told them, but if we have anything the matter with us it is best for us to find out what the matter is and then get rid of it. It is better than to do as many did in the commercial fruit-growing states a number of years ago about the San Jose scale, those that were interested in having that fact suppressed, or at least thought they were interested in having the fact suppressed that they had San Jose scale within the confines of their state. They didn't want that information to get out, so they didn't discuss the matter of San Jose scale in their societies. In Illinois we took a different view of that proposition, and it was, that we had the San Jose scale and we thought the thing to do was to stamp it out, to get after it. So we agitated that subject in our society and talked about it. We had the state entomologist canvass the entire state to find out where the San Jose scale was doing its work and gave him authority to go in and spray those places or cut down the trees and get them out of the way. The effect of that work is very evident. The people of other states would point to us saying that they did not have the scale but that we had because we reported the fact, but I know they now have it a great deal worse than we do because of this neglect. In this matter of spraying and spraying materials, if we go back in history--we have to look for truth wherever we find it, whether it comes from low or high sources. As a matter of fact thieves and sheep ticks and ignorance are largely responsible for our spraying and the spraying materials of today. It doesn't sound very well in a scientific body to talk that way, but truth is truth wherever you find it, whether it comes from the university professor or from the farmer. If we recognize truth, from whatever source it comes, then we are open-minded and can take advantage of things that will be greatly to our benefit. In the matter of spraying materials: They were discovered through accident, in an effort to prevent thieving in the vineyards of Bordeaux, France. It seems that workmen on the way to their places of employment were in the habit of foraging on the vineyards of the farmers along the way. To prevent that some of the fruit growers conceived the idea it would be a good thing in order to scare them to get blue vitriol and mix it with water and spray it on the fruit along the roadside. Later in the season, very much to their surprise, they found that the grapes that were treated in that way were not affected with the brown rot. So they tried it again to see whether they were right about that being the cause, and it wasn't long before they used it for that purpose. They stopped the thieving, but they also discovered a scientific truth, that the Bordeaux mixture was a fungicide and that fact has been of immense value to the world since then. When the San Jose scale came into this country from the west, some man who had used sheep dip for sheep ticks, said: "If it is a good thing against sheep ticks, why isn't it good against this little vermin they call the San Jose scale?" He tried it on the trees, and he found that it was an effective remedy for the San Jose scale. So we have lime-sulphur today as one of the spray materials in very common use. Among other things the scientists told us we couldn't use lime-sulphur and arsenate of lead together, that they would have to be sprayed over the orchard in separate sprays, that is, we would have to go over the orchard with lime-sulphur and then again with arsenate of lead, that when you combined the two the chemical combination was such that it deteriorated the lime-sulphur. Some farmer who didn't know about that scientific proposition determined to put them both on together, and he found that it not only worked all right but that the two were really more effective when combined than if put on separately. So you see it was thieves, sheep ticks and ignorance that are responsible for three of our most successful ways of spraying at the present time. Now, scientific men have come in and given us a great deal of information along various lines in regard to spraying, and I don't decry science in any sense at all. These men, while they were not scientifically educated, discovered scientific truths, and it is truths we want after all. Just what your position on this spraying proposition is here in Minnesota, whether you have commercial orchards up here or not, I have not been able to discover. I presume that your plantings here are very largely that of the farmer and amateur rather than the commercial orchardist. In Illinois we have our large commercial orchards, and we have gotten beyond the question of whether it pays us to spray or not. For a man to be in the commercial apple business in Illinois and not spray means that he doesn't accomplish very much and his product doesn't bring him any profit. Now, whether you spray commercially or whether you spray for your family orchard in an amateur way, it doesn't matter so far as the spraying is concerned--you should spray in either case. If you have a community where you have few orchards and they are small, it behooves you to get together and buy a spraying outfit, combine with your neighbors and buy a good spraying outfit, and then have some man take that matter up who will do it thoroughly in that neighborhood and pay him for doing it. In that way, if you hire it done, it doesn't interfere with your farming operations and gets your spraying done on time. I have noticed this with stockmen and with grain farmers, men who are not directly interested in fruit but combine it with their regular business, that they consider fruit growing a side line and such a small part of their business that they usually neglect it altogether. In the matter of the spraying they keep putting it off until tomorrow. When the time arrives for spraying you must do it _today_ and not put it off until tomorrow. Time is a very essential element in spraying. To give you an illustration: A few years ago, in spraying a Willow Twig orchard, consisting of eighteen rows of trees, I sprayed nine rows of those trees, or about half of the orchard, we will say, the first part of the week, the first two days. And then there came on a two or three days' rain, and the balance of those eighteen rows was sprayed the very last of the week or the first of the following week. The two following sprayings went on just at the right time for them, but when it came to the harvesting of that crop the trees that were sprayed first, that were sprayed immediately after the bloom fell, produced 175 bushels of very fine No. 1 fruit, free from scab, while the other nine rows, equal in every respect so far as the trees are concerned and the amount of bloom there was, produced seventeen bushels of No. 2 fruit, no No. 1 fruit at all. The Willow Twig is one of those varieties that is very susceptible to scab, and of course this is a marked illustration of what happens if you don't spray at the right time. Notwithstanding the fact that the nine rows, the last ones, I speak of, were sprayed with the two following sprays at the same time that the other part of the orchard was sprayed, the results were entirely different because the first spraying, which was really the important one so far as the scab is concerned, was not put upon the tree at the right time. The scab fungus, which seems to appear on your apples out here, is one of the most insidious diseases we have in the whole fruit industry. I think that scab fungous disease is probably the one that affects you the most. Now, scab fungus will not be noticed particularly in the spring of the year. The time that those spores are most prevalent, the period of their movement as spores in the atmosphere and the lodging upon the fruit, is right at the beginning, right about the time of the blossoming or immediately following. For a period of about two weeks at blooming time and after is the time that you have that condition. And the trouble is--it is just like typhoid fever. You let typhoid fever get into a family, and they do not think anything of it except to take care of the patient properly if he has it, but it doesn't scare the neighbors, it does not interest them. But let the smallpox break out in a community, and everybody is interested and scared to death for fear they are going to get the smallpox. Well now, as compared with things of a fungous nature, the scab is a good deal like typhoid fever. The latter is insidious and it will destroy more--I take it there are more people die in the United States of typhoid fever every year than die of smallpox, ten to one. I haven't the statistics but I have that in mind, that it is a fact that they do, and yet there isn't half the fuss made about typhoid fever that there is about smallpox. Now, that is so about the scab fungous disease. In Illinois, to illustrate, we have what is called the bitter rot fungus in the southern part of the state. If any one has the bitter rot they are scared to death, they think they are suffering untold misfortune. The bitter rot attacks the apples when nearly grown. The ground is covered with the rotted apples, and you can see them in the trees, but this little bit of scab fungus, they do not seem to notice that. The reason is this, that scab comes from very minute spores that appear upon the apples in May or June, and as the summer advances they spread more and more. It depends, of course, upon the amount of moisture there is present, but it begins its work when the apples are very small. If it gets upon the stem of the apple it works around the stem and the apple drops off, and you have apples dropping from the time they are the size of peas until the very last of the fall, and while it looks in the month of June as if you are going to have a good crop of apples when it comes harvest time your crop has diminished greatly or to nothing, and you wonder where it has gone. With this scab fungus they just keep dropping, dropping, all through the season; whenever you have a little rain or wind these apples that are affected will drop off. You don't notice them very much because they go so gradually, one at a time or so, and you don't notice you are having any particular loss until it comes fall, and you find that your crop is very small. That is why I say, you should wake up to the fact that it is necessary for you to spray if you are going to have perfect fruit and plenty of it--and I doubt not you could increase the amount of fruit you have in the State of Minnesota by ten times in one year by simply spraying your orchards thoroughly at the proper time with fungicide. To do this, as I said, you must have a spraying outfit, individually or collectively, in your neighborhood, and if you get one individually you can take the contract to spray your neighbor's trees, if you wish, and get back enough to pay you for the outlay. If you have only a few trees and you have some one who understands it, you could just as well spray a few other orchards in the neighborhood and get your spraying done for nothing in that way, charging them enough to cover the cost and enough for some profit. That is done in some sections and is a very satisfactory way. The only way, however, that I would do this, if I were you, would be to enter into a joint arrangement of not less than five years, because if you do it from year to year, if a man has good fruit one year, he may say, "I guess I don't want to go to that expense this year; I will drop that." You know how it is. If you make a contract for five years then you can make your plans accordingly and get your material and your spraying outfit and everything. I wouldn't trust to a one-year plan because they get "cold feet," as the saying is, after the first year, and perhaps they have not noticed any great advantage and they back out, but if they keep it up five years they wouldn't be without it. In a small way it isn't necessary to have a high power, high pressure engine to do this spraying with. A _good_ hand pump, as they make them now, has a very efficient force in applying this spray. It is not the force with which the spray material is applied that makes it effective, so much as it is the thoroughness with which it is done. You have to do a thorough job. In spraying you are providing insurance for your apple crop. That is just what it means, and not to spray is like doing without fire insurance on your buildings. You do that, not because you want fire, but you are doing it for protection, you are going to be on the safe side. You are doing like the darkey woman when she was about to be married. She had been working as cook, and the day came for her to be married. That morning she brought a roll of bills down to the boss. She said: "Mr. Johnson, I wish you would keep this money for me. I's gwine to be married." He said: "Is that so? But why do you come to me with this? I should think having a husband you would have him take care of it for you." She said: "Lord a' massy. Do you think I was gwine to have that money around the house wid dat strange nigger there? No, sir." (Laughter.) That lady was taking the precaution of being on the safe side, and that is what we do when we spray our orchards, we are going to be safe. There are a great many kinds of spraying materials. There is the bordeaux, one of our best fungicides, but we find in Illinois that it also, while it is a good fungicide, has the effect sometimes of burning the fruit if the weather conditions are just right. If you have pretty fair weather conditions up here and don't have too much rain, you probably would not get your fruit affected too much, and if you are not growing it for market it doesn't matter so much because all it does is to russet the fruit. It doesn't do any particular harm except when the scab fungus is especially bad, for then it does injure the foliage more or less. On the whole, in Illinois, we are using the lime-sulphur in preference to the bordeaux, and our commercial orchard growers there have completely abandoned the bordeaux except for bitter rot fungus or blotch fungus, which comes late in the season. The spray just before the bloom is a very important one for the scab fungus. After you can see the pink of the bloom on the trees as they begin to look pink, before the blossoms open, put on your lime-sulphur, or you can use bordeaux mixture at that time if you prefer it, without injury to your fruit. (To be continued in April No.) Everbearing Strawberries. GEO. J. KELLOGG, JANESVILLE, WIS. A few words about this new breed. Progressive, Superb and Americus are the best three I have found in the last ten years--don't confound American with Americus. Pan-American was the mother of the whole tribe. This variety was found in a field of Bismark, by S. Cooper, New York, and exhibited all through the Buffalo World's Fair. There is where my first acquaintance with it was formed. From this one plant and its seedlings all the ten thousand everbearers have been grown. But Pan-American don't make many plants. There are a great many good kinds in the ten thousand, and a great many of them worthless. So look out when and where you buy. I have great hopes of your No. 1017, but kinds do not adapt themselves to all soils or climates. I have not found any success with the everbearers south of the Ohio. I have tried them three years in Texas. I sent plants to Bro. Loring, in California, and they failed to produce satisfactorily. Missouri grows almost all Aroma; California but two kinds commercially; Texas only Excelsior and Klondike for shipment. I hope our No. 3 Minnesota June-bearing and our No. 1017 Everbearing, will have as great a range as Dunlap. Friend Gardener, of Iowa, has a lot of "thousand dollar kinds." I hope some of them will do wonders. He sold 5,000 quarts of fruit after August 15. A firm at Three Rivers, Mich., this season advertised 30,000 cases in September, but perhaps it was only 3,000; I have known printers to make mistakes. My boy's beds of Superb, Progressive and Americus were loaded with ripe and green fruit and blossoms October 1st this year. Most, if not all, know the fruit must be kept off the everbearers the season of planting till the plants get established, usually two or three months, then let them bear. If you want all fruit, keep off the runners; if all plants, keep off the fruit. Beds kept over that have exhausted themselves will need rest till July to give big crops. Beds kept over will fruit a week earlier than the June varieties, rest a few weeks, then give a fall crop, but don't expect too much unless you feed them. There are ten thousand kinds of new everbearers, so don't buy any that have not been tried and proven worthy. There are thousands that are worthless. Friend Haralson only got No. 1017 out of 1,500 sorts. He has now 3,000 new kinds, set out four feet apart each way, he is testing. From what many growers are doing this breed will pay commercially, but it will be by experts. I have not time to advocate cultivation in hills or hedge rows; if you want big berries this is the way to get them. Be sure your straw mulch and manure mulch are free from noxious weed or clover and grass seeds. Everbearers need the same winter care as June varieties and a good deal more manure. Don't cover with asparagus tops unless free of seed. Put manure either fresh or rotted on the old bed with a manure spreader or evenly by hand. There is a possibility of manuring too heavily. [Illustration: A typical everbearing strawberry plant as it appears in September.] Mr. Durand: What is the best spray for leaf-spot and rust in strawberries? Mr. Kellogg: Cut it out and burn it, but then there are some sprays with bordeaux mixture that will help you, but you have got to put it on before the rust shows itself. Mr. Miller: I would like to ask Mr. Kellogg if he advises covering the strawberries in the winter after snow has fallen and with what success? Mr. Kellogg: If the snow isn't too heavy you can do it just as well after the snow comes as before, but if your snow comes early and is a foot deep you have got to wait until the January thaw before you can successfully mulch them. That snow will protect them until it thaws off, until the ground commences to freeze. If the snow comes early and stays late it is all the mulch you need. Mr. Franklin: Are oak leaves as they blow off from the trees on the strawberry beds, are they just as good to protect them as straw would be--when there are lots of oak leaves? Mr. Kellogg: If you don't put them on too thick. You don't want more than two inches of leaves. If you do they will mat down and smother your plants. Mr. Ludlow: Have you had any experience with using cornstalks that have been fed off, just the stalk without the leaves. Is that sufficient for a winter protection without the straw or leaves? I put on mine just to cover them. They are four inches apart one way and then across it the other way so as to hold it up and not get them smothered. Mr. Kellogg: That is all right. I have covered with cornstalks. Mr. Ludlow: Would it be policy to leave that on and let the strawberries come up through, to keep them clean? Mr. Kellogg: If you get the stalks on one way and haven't them covered too thick the other way, leave them on; the strawberries will come through. Mr. Gowdy: I would like to ask Mr. Kellogg what he thinks of planting different varieties together. Mr. Kellogg: It is a good plan. I spoke of Dunlap and Warfield. The Warfield is a pistillate. If you plant all Warfields you get no fruit. If you plant all Dunlap it will bear well but it will do better alongside of a pistillate, or it will do better alongside of some other perfect. It will do better to plant two or four kinds. They used to ask me what kinds of strawberries I wanted, and what was the best one kind. I told them I wanted six or eight in order to get the best kind. I want an early, and a medium, and a late, two of a kind. Mr. Gowdy: I planted one year three varieties with great success. Mr. McClelland: What time do you uncover your strawberries? Mr. Kellogg: I don't uncover them at all. If you got on four inches of mulch you want to take off enough so the plants can get through, but keep on enough mulch in the spring to keep your plants clean and protect from the drouth. Mr. McClelland: Will they come through the mulch all right? M. Kellogg: They will come through all right if it isn't more than two inches. If they shove up and raise the mulch open it up a little over the plants. Mr. Willard: I would like to ask the speaker, the way I understood him, why he couldn't raise as good strawberries on new ground as on old ground? Mr. Kellogg: The soil seems to be too loose. Now, that twenty-one acres I had, it was full of leaf-mold. It was six inches deep and had been accumulating for ages. I couldn't account for it only that it was too loose, and I had to work it down with other crops before I could grow strawberries. Mr. Willard: So it would be better to plant on old ground or old breaking than new? Mr. Kellogg: Yes, old ground that has been well manured, or old ground that has never been manured, will grow better strawberries than new soil, as far as I have tried it. New clover soil is a good soil. Mr. Wedge: It might add to the value of this discussion to state that Mr. Kellogg's soil at Janesville is rather light soil anyhow. I am under the impression that if his soil at Janesville which produced so poorly on new soil had been a heavy clay soil that the result would have been different. Mr. Kellogg: That twenty-one acres was clay after you got down to it and was in the woods; my other fields were out on the prairie. I don't think the light soil had anything to do with it, with my failure in the woods, I think it was the new soil. Mr. Sauter: Can the everbearing and the common varieties be planted together? Mr. Kellogg: Yes, if you are growing plants you want everything. Mr. Sauter: How far apart must they be planted? Mr. Kellogg: So their runners won't run together, and they won't mix. If the runners mix maybe you would get some crosses that are valuable. Mr. Clausen: I was just thinking it might interfere, that some one might not plant strawberries at all on account of new soil. I would say I have a neighbor, and he had entirely new soil. It was black oak and hickory--I have some of that myself. I never saw a better patch of strawberries than he had. I don't think I ever saw a better strawberry patch than he had of the everbearing kind, so I don't think it is just exactly the old soil. Mr. Willis: I have my strawberries on new ground, and they did very fine, couldn't be better. From a space of five feet square I got twenty-eight boxes, that is, of No. 3. Mr. Wedge: Forest soil or prairie? Mr. Willis: It was light clay. I have got about an acre and a half on new soil now, and they look very fine. Mr. Glenzke: What would be the consequence of the berries being planted after tomatoes had been planted there the year before? What would be the consequence as to the white grub that follows the tomatoes, and other insects? Mr. Kellogg: That white grub don't follow tomatoes, if the ground was clear of white grubs before. It is a three year old grub, and it don't come excepting where the ground is a marsh or meadow, and doesn't follow in garden soil, hardly ever. If the ground has been cultivated two years, you don't have any white grub. Mr. Glenzke: Part of this ground had been in red raspberries, and I found them there. This year I am going to put in tomatoes and prepare it for strawberries. Will that be all right? Mr. Kellogg: You may get some white grubs after the raspberry bushes if your raspberries have been two or three years growing. Potato ground is the best you can follow strawberries with. Mr. Rasmussen (Wisconsin): What trouble have you experienced with overhead irrigation with the strawberries in the bright sunshine? Mr. Kellogg: Everything is against it. You wet the foliage, and it is a damage to the plants. You can't sprinkle in the hot sun without damage. Mr. Rasmussen: I didn't mean in putting it on in that way, but where you use the regular spray system. We watered that way about seven years in the hottest sunshine without any difficulty, and I wondered if you ever put in a system and sprayed that way, as I think that is the only way to put water on. Mr. Kellogg: If you wait to spray after sundown it will be all right; the sun mustn't shine on the plants. Mr. Richardson: Mr. Yankee once said in this society if one man said anything another man would contradict it. So pay your money and take your choice. I sprinkle my strawberries in the hot sun, and I never had any damage done to the plants. His experience is different. Ours is a heavy clay loam. Mr. Kellogg: Tell the gentlemen about the peat soil, you had some experience with peat soil. Mr. Richardson: No, I never did. It wasn't peat, it was a heavy black clay and I had the best kind of strawberries, they came right through a tremendous drouth without any water at all. Mr. Kellogg: What did you use? Mr. Richardson: I used a common garden hoe. Mr. Willis: I heard some one talking about the grub worm. I read of somebody using fifty pounds of lime to the acre, slaked lime, and 100 pounds of sulphur to the acre in a strawberry bed, and he killed the insects. Mr. Kellogg: I think that wouldn't kill the grub; he has a stomach that will stand most anything. The only thing I know is to cut his head off. (Laughter.) Mr. Willis: Would it improve the plants, fertilize the plants, this lime? Mr. Kellogg: Lime and sulphur is all right, and the more lime you put on the better--if you don't get too much. (Laughter.) Mr. Sauter: I am growing the Minnesota No. 3, and also the No. 1017 as an everbearer. Is there any kind better than those two? Mr. Kellogg: I don't believe there is anything yet that has been offered or brought out that I have examined thoroughly that is any better than June variety No. 3, as grown by Haralson, and the No. 1017 of the everbearers. He had a number of everbearers that bore too much. There was No. 107 and No. 108, I think, that I tried at Lake Mills, which bore themselves to death in spite of everything I could do. Mr. Simmons: The question has come up two or three times in regard to peat soil for growing strawberries. Peat soil will grow strawberry plants first class, but the fruit is generally lacking. That is my experience. I grew some on peat soil for two or three seasons, and the plants grew prolific, but I didn't get any fruit. Mr. Ebler: I would like to ask Mr. Kellogg what treatment he would advise for a strawberry bed that through neglect has matted completely over, in which the rows have disappeared. Mr. Kellogg: Plow out paths and rake out the plants and throw them away and work the bed over to rows about two feet wide. President Cashman: I see you all appreciate expert advice. We have Mr. Kellogg well nigh tired. Mr. Kellogg: Oh, no; I can stand it all day. Mr. Cashman: I am sure you all agree that it is a great privilege to listen to Mr. Kellogg on this subject. If you will follow his advice very closely it will save you a great many dollars, even to those who don't grow more than an ordinary family strawberry bed. He has had forty or fifty years of experience, and he has paid large sums of money for that experience and now turns it over to you free of charge, and I hope you will all profit by it. Mr. Kellogg: I have grown probably 300 different varieties of strawberries, and the more kinds I grow the less money I make. (Laughter.) Mr. Wedge: I would like to ask Mr. Kellogg and I think we would all be interested in knowing when he began growing strawberries? Mr. Kellogg: Well, I don't hardly know. I didn't go into the business until 1852, but I commenced picking strawberries in 1835, and that was where the Indians had planted them. My father commenced growing strawberries when I was a boy, but when I got to be a man I went at it myself in 1852. (Applause.) _IN MEMORIAM--Mrs. Melissa J. Harris_ Passed January 29, 1916. Mrs. Melissa J. Harris, widow of the late John S. Harris, one of the charter members of our society and rightly called the godfather of the society, passed to her reward on January 29 last, at the age of eighty-five years. Since the death of her husband, which occurred in March, 1901, Mrs. Harris has made her home with some one of her four surviving children, all of whom live in the southeastern part of the state, not far from La Crescent, where Mr. and Mrs. Harris resided from 1856 up to the time of Mr. Harris' death, some forty-five years. [Illustration: Mrs. Melissa J. Harris.] Many of the older members of this society have enjoyed the hospitality of this kindly home, among them the writer, who passed a very pleasant day there, looking over the experimental orchards of Mr. Harris, some twenty years ago. No member of our society surpassed Mr. Harris in his zeal for its welfare, and he was ready to sacrifice anything apparently to advance its interests. If the card index of the reports of this society was examined it would be found that no member has begun to do the service for the society in the way of contributions to its program, reports on seedling fruits, experimental work, etc., that was done by him. His passing left a real void in the life of the association which has never really been filled. A splendid life size photo of Mr. Harris adorns the walls of this office; a reproduction from this in reduced size is opposite page 161, Vol. 1901 of our annual reports. The funeral services of Mrs. Harris were conducted in the Presbyterian church at La Crescent, the same building in which services were held for her husband, at which there were present from our society as representatives Mr. J.M. Underwood, the late Wyman Elliot, and the writer. Her body was laid to rest beside that of her husband in Prospect Hill Cemetery at La Crescent. Mrs. Harris is survived by four children, ten grandchildren, and nine great-grandchildren. Frank I. Harris, one of the two sons, is well known to our membership who attend the annual meetings or the state fair; another son, Eugene E., who is also a life member (Mr. Harris saw to it that both of his sons were made life members during his life time) has occasionally been with us. Mr. D.C. Webster, of La Crescent, at present in charge of one of the society trial stations, is a grandson of Mrs. Harris. Exhibitors at our meetings and at the state fair are all well acquainted with this valuable member of our organization.--Secy. EAT MINNESOTA APPLES. Contributed monthly by R. S. MACKINTOSH, Horticulturist, Extension Division, University Farm, St. Paul. FRUIT NOTES. Early spring is the best time to prune apple trees. More and more attention is being given to the pruning of young and old trees in order that they may be able to support large loads of fruit. Yet too many trees have been neglected and now look like brush heaps instead of fruit trees. Neglected trees should have all dead and interlocking branches removed this year. Next year a few more needless branches should be taken out and some of the others shortened. After this a little attention each year will keep the tree in good form. Each year the Agricultural Extension Division of the University of Minnesota arranges for pruning and spraying demonstrations in different orchards of the state. Communities wishing this kind of help, should at once send in petitions signed by fifteen or more persons interested in fruit growing. Send applications to Director, Agricultural Extension Division, University Farm, St. Paul. Pruning is a good subject for farmers' clubs to take up in March and April. Look out for rabbit injury this spring. Apple trees cost too much GARDEN HELPS Conducted by Minnesota Garden Flower Society Edited by MRS. E. W. GOULD, 2644 Humboldt Avenue So. Minneapolis. _Cypripedia_, by Miss Clara Leavitt. The showy lady's slipper (C. hirsutum) is found in swamps and rich meadows. Old settlers tell of gathering the pink and white "moccasin flower" by the bushel, to decorate for some special occasion. Today we are trying to shield a few in their last hiding places. The draining of swamps and cutting of meadows has had much to do with their disappearance. The picking of the leafy stem by the ruthless "flower lover" cripples the plant for a season or more and frequently kills it outright. Attempts to transfer it to the home garden have succeeded for a year or so but rarely longer, perhaps because its native habitat is very difficult to duplicate. The small yellow lady's slipper (C. parviflorum), found in bogs, and the large yellow (C. parviflorum var. pubescens), growing on hillsides and in rich woods, as well as in swamps, are the most widely distributed and best known of this genus. They have often been transferred from the wild to the home garden. Where they have been given their native soil and environment the stock has increased and seedlings have developed. They have even been brought into conservatory or window garden and forced to flower in February. The crimson stemless lady's slipper (C. acaule) is found in drier woods and on the stump knolls of swamps in certain locations. It has with difficulty been established in a few gardens. The small white lady's slipper (C. candidum) occurs locally in boggy meadows. It is a very dainty plant. It grows in at least one wild garden. The ram's head lady slipper (C. arietinum) is very rare and local. It is a very delicate and pretty thing, purple and white in color. All of these species are to be seen in season in the Wild Garden of the Minneapolis Park System. * * * * * Committee on the protection of Cypripedia: Mrs. Phelps Wyman, chairman; Miss Clara Leavitt, Miss M. G. Fanning, Mrs. C. E. C. Hall, Mrs. E. C. Chatfield, Mr. Guy Hawkins. * * * * * Our plant exchange should be of great benefit to our members, such a fine beginning having been made last spring. Send a list of the plants you have for exchange and those you would like to receive to our secretary. These will be posted upon the bulletin board at our meetings, where exchanges can be arranged between the members. * * * * * March 23. Public Library, Minneapolis, 2:30 p.m. Meeting of Garden Flower Society. Program: Our Garden Enemies. Cultural Directions for Trial Seeds. Distribution of Trial Seeds. Minnesota Cypripedia. Have they responded to Cultivation? BEE-KEEPER'S COLUMN Conducted by FRANCES JAGER, Professor of Apiculture, University Farm, St. Paul. IMPORTANCE OF GOOD QUEENS. The government census of 1910 gives the average of honey production per colony for the State of Minnesota at five pounds per colony. Allowing for mistakes which were made in making up this census, there is no doubt that the average amount of honey produced by a colony is not nearly as high as efficient beekeeping would make it. When some well known beekeepers will average year after year fifty, seventy and even a hundred pounds per colony, there must be something wrong with those who fall far below this amount. There are many causes responsible for this failure of honey crops. Bad management, no management at all, antiquated or impossible equipment, locality, etc., are all factors contributing towards a shortage in the honey crop, but poor queens are the most universal cause of disappointment. The queen being the mother of the whole colony of bees, the hive will be what she is. If she is of a pure, industrious, gentle, hardy and prolific strain, the colony over which she presides will be uniform, hard working, easy to handle, easy to brave the inclemency of the weather and the severity of our winters, and populous in bees. The bees partake of the characteristics of the queen. The fact of the matter is, that more than 90% of our Minnesota queens are either black Germans or hybrids, neither of which lend themselves to pleasant and profitable beekeeping. Having been inbred for years will make them still less valuable, and most of them have been inbred for generations. Among many things in which the beekeepers of Minnesota should begin to improve their beekeeping possibilities, the necessity of good queens comes first. With a new strain of pure, gentle, industrious, leather colored Italian bees, their love for beekeeping should receive a new impetus, leading them to better equipment and better management. It was with this point in view that the University of Minnesota has secured the best breeding queens obtainable from which to raise several thousands of queens for the use of beekeepers of the state. These queens will be sold each year during the months of June, July and August at a nominal price of fifty cents each, and not more than three to each beekeeper. The University is ready to book orders now. There is such a demand for these queens that last year only one-quarter of the orders could be filled. Given three pure Italian queens to start with, a beekeeper may easily re-queen his whole bee-yard in the course of a year. Detailed printed instructions how to proceed will be sent out to all buyers of queens free of charge. Time has come to start bee-keeping on a more profitable basis, and the first step towards better success should be a new strain of queens. ENTOMOLOGICAL NOTES By F.L. WASHBURN, Professor of Entomology, University of Minnesota. RABBITS; RABBIT-PROOF FENCES; FIELD MICE. Probably the thoughtful orchardist has before this date visited his orchard and trampled the deep snow down around his young fruit trees for a distance of two feet on all sides of each trunk, thus preventing rabbits from reaching the trunk above the protected part, or from eating the branches in the case of low-headed trees. Even at this date, this should be done where the snow lies deep. Frequent tramplings about the young trees also protects the trees from possible injury by field mice working beneath the snow. This leads us to speak of our experiences with so-called "rabbit-proof" fencing. In the summer time, when an abundance of food is everywhere offered, these small mesh fences are generally effective barriers, but, in the case of the low fences, drifting snow in winter permits an easy crossing, and in the case of the higher fences which have the narrow mesh at the bottom, gradually widening toward the top, it is possible for a rabbit to get his head and body through a surprisingly small space between the wires. The writer was astonished, late last autumn, previous to any snowfall, to see one of these pests, which had jumped from its "nest" in his (the writer's) covered strawberry-bed, run to the inclosing fence, which was provided with the long, narrow mesh above alluded to, raise himself on his hind feet and push his way through a space not more than three inches wide. It would seem, therefore, that one should accept with some reservation the assertion that these fences are actually "rabbit-proof." PREPAREDNESS FOR (INSECT) WAR. However one may regard the agitation for or against preparing this country for (or against) war, we are doubtless of all one mind as to the desirability of being prepared to successfully cope with the various insect-pests which are sure to arrive during the coming spring and summer to attack shrubs, fruit trees, berry bushes, melons, cucumbers and practically all of our vegetables. The Entomologist has every reason to be thankful that, early last spring, he laid in a supply of arsenate of lead, Black Leaf No. 40, commercial lime-sulphur, tree tanglefoot, tobacco dust, also providing himself with an abundance of air-slaked lime and a spraying outfit suitable for use in a small experiment garden and orchard at Lake Minnetonka. All gardeners, particularly those who cannot quickly purchase such things on account of distance from a supply, should take time by the forelock and obtain materials now, that they may be ready at hand when very much needed. AN IMPORTANT DISCOVERY IN ENTOMOLOGY. An item of importance, and quite far-reaching in its significance is the fact (as reported at the recent meeting of entomologists at Columbus) that the odor in stable manure which attracts house flies, has been "artificially" produced, if that expression may be used, by a combination of ammonia and a little butyric acid. A pan of this, covered by cotton, attracted hundreds of flies which deposited their eggs thereon. The possibilities of making use of this new-found fact are most promising, and the discovery is especially significant in that it opens an immense and practically an untried field in entomological work; that is, the making use of different odors to attract different species of insects. A series of experiments in this direction with the Mediteranean fruit fly, also recently reported, have been most surprising but too extensive to permit of discussion here. * * * * * Nurserymen intending to import currants or gooseberries from Europe will be interested in learning that there is a possibility of a federal quarantine on shrubs of this genus grown abroad. State Entomologist Circular No. 36, issued in January, 1916, and entitled the "Red Rose Beetle," by S. Marcovitch (illustrated), is available for distribution. Application should be accompanied by one cent stamp. SECRETARY'S CORNER PLANT COMMERCIAL ORCHARDS.--It is well established that in certain localities at least in the state commercial orcharding is on a safe basis, offering reasonable financial profits if managed by those who take pains to inform themselves on the subject, and are then thorough going enough to practice what they know. This spring will be a good time to plant such an orchard. Orchard trees of suitable size were never more plentiful in the nurseries, and undoubtedly the sorts which you wish to plant can be readily purchased. Ask some of your nearest nurseries for prices as to 500 trees, either two or three years old, whichever you prefer. GIVE YOUR NEIGHBOR A CHANCE TOO.--This means that you should not be satisfied simply in having secured something of value to yourself, but pass on to others the valuable opportunity which you yourself are enjoying. It is a well established principle of life that the greatest happiness consists in giving happiness to others. As any member can do his neighbor a favor, without any expense to himself, and indeed with profit, by putting his neighbor in touch with the valuable facilities offered by the Horticultural Society, there is evidently a double reason why he should do so. For the small membership fee charged you can put into his hands all the material referred to on the next page. Read it over and lend your neighbor a helping hand. TIMELY NOTES IN OUR MONTHLY.--There will be in our monthly magazine during most of the rest of the months of the year five pages devoted to timely topics. The experience of the past year or two in this direction encourages us to believe that this will prove to be the most valuable portion of our monthly. One page, as heretofore, will be operated in the interest of garden flowers, edited by Mrs. E. W. Gould; another page, prepared by Prof. R.S. Mackintosh, under the head of "fruit notes," which subject indicates clearly its purpose. Prof. Francis Jager, the Apiarist at University Farm, will prepare another page, pertaining to the keeping of bees. Prof. F.L. Washburn, the State Entomologist, will have a page devoted to insect life as interesting the horticulturist. The fifth page will be handled by Profs. A.G. Ruggles and E.C. Stakman jointly devoted entirely to the subject of "spraying." Each issue of the magazine will contain these notes as applying to the month just following. They will be found well worth studying. ARE YOU A LIFE MEMBER?--Of course if you are interested in the work of the Horticultural Society and likely to live ten years you ought to be a life member. Experience with this roll for twenty-five years now as secretary of the society indicates that a life membership in the society is almost an assurance that you will prolong your days. A list of deaths in the life membership roll published year by year would indicate that our life members are going to be with us far beyond the average span of human life. Since publishing a list of new life members in the February Horticulturist, there have been added to this life list five names: Tosten E. Dybdal, Elbow Lake, Minn.; Gust Carlson, Excelsior; A.N. Gray, Deerwood; A.M. Christianson, Bismarck, N.D.; Chas. H. Lien, St. Cloud. If you have already paid your annual fee for this year, send us $4.00 more and your name will be placed on the life roll with the balance of $5.00 to be paid one year from how--or send $9.00, and that makes a full payment. [Illustration: HORTICULTURAL BUILDING (SHOWING NEW GREENHOUSES ATTACHED) AT UNIVERSITY FARM, ST. ANTHONY PARK, MINN.] While it is not the intention to publish anything in this magazine that is misleading or unreliable, yet it must be remembered that the articles published herein recite the experience and opinions of their writers, and this fact must always be noted in estimating their practical value. THE MINNESOTA HORTICULTURIST Vol. 44 APRIL, 1916 No. 4 Dwarf Apple Trees. DR. O.M. HUESTIS, MINNEAPOLIS. I have here a sample of McIntosh Red grown on a standard tree--a beautiful apple and well colored. Here I have the same variety grown on one of my dwarf trees, not quite as well colored. Now, the dwarf tree that bore these apples has been planted two years; this is the second year of its growth in my own ground at Mound, on Lake Minnetonka. I have sixty dwarf trees, five of which have been in eight years, and they have borne six crops of apples. The last ones I got two years ago, and they were two years old when I got them. I planted five of these dwarf trees at the same time that I planted forty standards. The dwarfs have borne more fruit than the standards up to date. Of course, they have only been in eight years. The standards are Wealthy, Duchess, Northwestern Greening and one or two Hibernal and some crabs; the dwarf stock is the Doucin. It is not the Paradise stock, which is grown in England largely and some in France and Germany. My trees are a little higher than my head, and I keep them pruned in a certain way. One of my older trees the second year had ninety-six apples on it. It was a Yellow Transparent, and they came to maturity very well. Several of my trees are about four feet high. I had from twenty-five to fifty apples on them, and they all ripened nicely. The Red Astrachan and the Gravenstein and one Alexander had a few apples on them, and I notice that they are well loaded with fruit buds for another year, which will be the third year planted. The care of these trees is probably a little more difficult than that of the standard tree, or, at least, I give them special care. I have attempted to bud into some of these, but in my experience they do not take the bud very well. I can take a bud from one of the dwarfs and put it on a standard, and it will grow all right, but I can't take a bud from a standard and put it on a dwarf as successfully. I judge it is because it isn't as rapid growing as the Hibernal, for instance, would be. I notice the Hibernal is the best to take a bud because it is a rapid growing tree and an excellent one on which to graft. If I wanted to plant an orchard of forty or fifty acres I would plant standard trees and would put the dwarf between the rows, probably twelve feet apart. Mine are about ten feet apart, some of them a little more, but I have two rows eight feet apart each way, nine in each row, which forms a double hedge. I expect them to grow four feet high. I will prune them just as I wish to make a beautiful double hedge between two cottages. [Illustration: Residence of Dr. Huestis, at Mound, Lake Minnetonka.] In pruning those that have been in eight years I have tried to use the renewal system as we use it on grapes sometimes. I take out some of the older branches and fruit spurs that have borne two or three years. They must be thinned out. I counted twenty apples on a branch a foot long. I let them grow until they are large enough to stew and then take some off and use them, when apple sauce is appreciated. I thin them every year and get a nice lot of good fruit each year. I have noticed for two years that I have about ninety-eight per cent. of perfect apples, not a blotch nor a worm. I spray them all, first the dormant spray and then just as the blossoms are falling, and then one other spraying in two weeks and another spray three weeks later. Mr. Ludlow: Do you mulch the ground? Dr. Huestis: Well, I dig up the ground a little in the spring. The roots are very near the surface, not very penetrating, and I cultivate around the roots, but I am careful not to cut them. Every fall I put a good mulch of leaves and hay around them. I have been a little fearful they would winter-kill. I wouldn't lose one of them for ten dollars, and I think it well to mulch them, leaving a little space at the base. Mr. Andrews: Are the roots exposed in some cases? Dr. Huestis: Yes, I noticed on two of the older trees, those that have been in eight years and have borne six crops, you can see the roots on one side, the top is exposed a little, and I think it would be well to put a little dirt on those another year. The stock of these dwarf trees is slow growing with a rapid growing top, and that is what dwarfs them. I have transplanted one tree three times, which would make four plantings in eight years, and that tree bore almost as much fruit last year as any of them. In another case once transplanted I think the tree is better than the others that were left. [Illustration: Dwarf Yellow Transparent, bearing 96 apples, third year from planting at Dr. Huestis'.] As I said before, if I was planting an orchard I would put dwarf trees between, and by the time they had borne three or four crops, and you were expecting a crop of fruit from the standard trees--about seven years from the time you put them in--I would put the dwarf trees as fillers, costing about forty cents apiece, and by the time they are bearing nicely your friends would have seen those, and I believe would want them at the time you want to take them out. I believe I could sell any of mine for three or four dollars apiece. I think that would be one way of disposing of them after you wanted to take them out of the standard orchard on account of room. That is just a thought of mine. When I got my first ones eight years ago I gave one to a man who lives in North Minneapolis, at 1824 Bryant Avenue North. Any one can see it who lives up in that section. The first year he had twenty-nine apples, and it has borne each year since. The one which I have transplanted and which bore last year is a Bismarck. It is a little better apple, in my mind, than the Duchess. It is a good deal like the Duchess but is a better keeper and has a better flavor than the Duchess. [Illustration: Dwarf Bismarck, fourth year, at Dr. Huestis'] I would like to read a quotation to show that the dwarf tree is not a late thing. Recommending dwarf trees for gardens, "Corbett's English Garden," published in 1829, says: "I do hope if any gentleman makes a garden he will never suffer it to be disfigured by the folly of a standard tree, which the more vigorous its growth the more mischievous its growth to the garden." Marshall says, "The fewer standard trees in the garden the better." Also that the dwarfs are less trouble to keep in order and are generally more productive, and that "placed eight or nine feet distant, pruned and kept in easy manner, they make a fine appearance and produce good fruit." W.C. Drury, highly regarded as a modern English authority, writing in 1900 says: "For the private garden or for market purposes the dwarf, or bush, apple tree is one of the best and most profitable forms that can be planted." He also says: "The bush is one of the best forms of all, as it is of a pleasing shape and as a rule bears good and regular crops." Mr. Clausen: Don't you have trouble with the mice? Dr. Huestis: No, sir, have never seen any. Mr. Clausen: I had an experience a few years ago. My neighbor made a mistake; he was hauling straw around his apple trees, and he happened to take one row of mine. We had no fence between us--and he laid the straw around the trees. I found when I came to examine these trees in the spring they were all girdled around the bottom. I am afraid to mulch. Dr. Huestis: I never have taken any chances. Ever troubled with the mice at your place, Mr. Weld? Mr. Weld: A little. Dr. Huestis: I have never had any trouble with the mice. I always put on a lot of old screen that I take from the cottages that is worn out and put a wire around it so the mice can't get through it. We must protect from mice and rabbits. Mr. Kellogg: How soon do your dwarf trees pay for themselves? Dr. Huestis: I don't know. I reckon these four have paid about twelve per cent. on fifteen or twenty dollars this year, and they have right along. They have paid me better so far during the eight years than the standards. That might not apply in eight more years, but for a city lot, a man who has fifty square feet, how many apple trees could he put in that seventeen feet apart? Nine standard trees. In that same plot of fifty feet square he could put in sixty-four dwarfs, and it would be a nice little orchard. I think it is more adapted to the city man. The ordinary farmer would neglect them, and I should hate to see a farmer get them, but I would like to do anything for the man living in the city with only a small plat of land--my vocation being in the city, my avocation being in the country. Mr. Kellogg: Are those honest representations of the different apples from the dwarf and the standard? Dr. Heustis: I don't know. Those are a fair sample of those I found in a box on exhibit and are Red McIntosh. They are better colored than mine, most of them are like this (indicating). I find the Yellow Transparent that I have budded on the standard better on the dwarf than on the standard. Mr. Kellogg: Does it blight any? Dr. Huestis: No blight; there hasn't ever been a blight. I think that is one reason why I feel I could recommend them quite conscientiously. Other trees have blighted when the conditions were favorable. * * * * * TWENTY-FIVE BY SEVENTY FOOT PLOT WILL PRODUCE ENOUGH VEGETABLES FOR A SMALL FAMILY.--Even the smallest back yard may be made to yield a supply of fresh vegetables for the family table at but slight expense if two or three crops are successively grown to keep the area occupied all the time, according to the garden specialists of the department. People who would discharge a clerk if he did not work the year round will often cultivate a garden at no little trouble and expense and then allow the soil to lie idle from the time the first crop matures until the end of the season. Where a two or three crop system is used in connection with vegetables adapted to small areas, a space no larger than twenty-five by seventy feet will produce enough fresh vegetables for a small family. Corn, melons, cucumbers, and potatoes and other crops which require a large area should not be grown in a garden of this size. Half an acre properly cultivated with a careful crop rotation may easily produce $100 worth of various garden crops in a year. Plums That We Already Have and Plums That Are on the Way. _The Brown Rot (Monilia) a Controlling Factor._ DEWAIN COOK, FRUIT GROWER, JEFFERS. By the term "plums we already have" for the purpose of this paper we shall include only those varieties that have given general satisfaction over a large territory and for long term of years, and in the writer's opinion every one of such varieties are of full blooded, pure Americana origin. The DeSoto takes the lead of them all. It undoubtedly has more good points to its credit than any other plum we have ever grown. The Wyant and the freestone Wolf are considered as being the next two most popular varieties. These were all wild varieties, found growing in the woods of Wisconsin and Iowa many years ago. There are a few other Americana varieties that are nearly as good as are some of those enumerated, but at present we shall not attempt to name them. There are many otherwise fine varieties that are not included in this list of plums we already have, but because of a certain weakness of the blossom they require to be intermingled with other varieties, or the blossoms do not fertilize properly. They only bear well when conditions are very favorable. We class such varieties as being not productive enough. Many attempts, with more or less--generally less--success have been made to improve our native plums through the growing of seedlings. Mr. H.A. Terry, of Crescent, Iowa, has done more of such work in his day than any other one man. His method was to plant the Americana kinds, like the DeSoto, alongside of varieties of the Hortulana type, like the Miner, then growing seedlings from the best plums thus grown. From such cross bred seedlings Mr. Terry originated and introduced a great many very fine varieties. But where are they today? The Hawkeye and the Terry are about the only ones the general public knows very much about. I will venture this statement, that as far as I know there is no variety of native plum in which there is an intermingling of Hortulana or Chickasaw type that has proven productive enough to be generally profitable. The Surprise plum belongs to this type, as also does the Terry plum. The Terry plum we want to keep a while longer, not because it is a mortgage lifter for the growers but because of the extraordinarily large size of its fruit, as well as for its fine quality. There are many injurious insects and fungous diseases that tend to make life a burden to the man who tries to grow plums in a commercial way. Among the insects are the plum curculio and the plum tree borer, better known as the peach tree borer. The curculio sometimes destroys all of the fruit on the tree, and the borer very often will destroy the whole tree of any variety. Among the fungous diseases are the shot hole fungus and the plum pocket fungus, but the worst of all is that terribly destructive disease of the plum known as the brown rot. This brown rot fungus sometimes destroys the whole crop of certain varieties, besides injuring the trees sometimes as well. This one disease has done more to make plum growing unpopular than all other causes combined. Give us a cheap and efficient remedy, one that will destroy the rot fungus and not do injury to the foliage, buds or tree, and a long stride will have been made towards making plum growing popular as well as profitable. _Japanese hybrid plums._--Just now the Japanese hybrid varieties are attracting considerable attention. One prominent Minnetonka fruit grower said this to me about them: "Mr. Cook, what is the use of making all of this fuss about these new plums? Plums are only used for the purposes of making jelly anyway, and we can usually get a dollar a bushel for our plums, and they would not pay any more than that, no matter how large and fine they are." This brought me up with a jerk, and I have concluded that no matter how advanced a place in horticulture these new hybrid plums may eventually take, that there will always be a place for our native varieties, even if only for the purpose of making jelly. It seems to the writer that in view of the fact that after many years' attempt to improve our native plum through the process of seed selection--and we have made no material advancement in that line--that the varieties of plums that are on the way must almost of necessity be the product of the Americana and some of the foreign varieties of plums. Mr. Theo. Williams, of Nebraska, a few years ago originated a great many varieties of these hybrid plums. He claimed to have upward of 5,000 of them growing at one time. Only a few of them, however, were ever sent out. Of these the writer has been growing for quite a number of years the Eureka, Emerald, Stella, Omaha, B.A.Q. and some others. As a class they are all reasonably hardy for my section. They grow rapidly, bear early, usually the season after they are planted or the top grafts set. They set fruit more freely and with greater regularity, as the seasons come, than do the best of our native varieties. The fruit is of larger size and of firmer flesh, while the quality of some of them, like the B.A.Q., ranks rather low. The quality of others of them, like the Emerald, is almost beyond comparison. One year ago in answer to a question by the writer as to why the people of Iowa did not take more interest in the planting of these hybrid plums of Mr. Williams, Mr. C.G. Patten stated that it was because the plums rotted so badly on the trees. Now, Mr. Patten stated the situation exactly--most of these fine varieties are notoriously bad rotters. The brown rot seems to be a disease of moist climate. Nature's remedy is an abundance of sunshine and a dry atmosphere, but we cannot regulate the climate. Prof. Hansen has sent out a few varieties of these Japanese Americana hybrid plums, and our Supt. Haralson is doing a great work along this line. We can only hope--but cannot expect--that Mr. Hansen's hybrids or Mr. Haralson's hybrids as a class will prove more resistant to the brown rot than do those of Mr. Williams of the same class. We have hopes that from some of Mr. C.G. Patten's hybrids of the Americana and Domestica plum will come some varieties worthy of general planting, and also of Prof. Hansen's crosses of the Americana plum and the Chinese apricots. There is another class of hybrid plums that are something wonderful in their way, beginning to bear nearly as soon as they are planted, the very earliest of all plums to ripen its fruit, immensely productive and of finest quality. I refer to Prof. Hansen's sand cherry hybrid plums. My opinion is that Prof. Hansen has done all that man can do in the way of producing elegant varieties of this class of fruit. But there is the uncertainty, however, or perhaps I had better say the certainty, that the brown rot will take a good portion of the crop nearly every season--sometimes only a part of the crop, and other seasons it may take the entire crop of these fine sand cherry hybrid plums. Bordeaux mixture has been the one remedy advertised for years for the control of this disease, and however well it may work in the hands of experts of the various university farms, it has not proved uniformly successful in the hands of the ordinary fruit grower. Now, if some medicine should be invented, or some magic made, whereby the brown rot would be banished from our orchards then a great many of the fine varieties of hybrid plums would be transferred from the "plums that are on the way" to the list of "plums that we already have." The brown rot is a controlling factor. Mr. Kellogg: What do you know about the Surprise? Mr. Cook: Oh, I know a little more than I want to know about it. I have had the Surprise a good many years. Mr. Kellogg: You have been surprised with it? Mr. Cook: Yes, sir, I have been surprised quite a bit, but in the last two years since the plum crop failed there have been a few plums on the Surprise trees, but for a great many years when other plums bore heavily we got nothing. Mr. Hansen: Do you know of any plum that has never had brown rot? Mr. Cook: In my paper--as they only allowed me fifteen minutes I had to cut it short, and I didn't say very much about the brown rot. All the Americana plums, and all varieties of plums I have ever grown, have in some way been susceptible to the brown rot, but some have been more resistant than others. Now, that is one reason, I believe, why the DeSoto takes the lead. It is less subject to the brown rot. We have here a moist climate, and sunshine and dry atmosphere is the remedy, but some of these varieties have such a peculiar skin it is resistant to brown rot, and it seems certain, I don't know, if it is not on account of the thick skin. The Wolf has a thick skin and is subject to brown rot, but the DeSoto is not subject to that so much but more subject to the curculio. The Japanese hybrid plums, Mr. Williams said at one time--I saw in one of the reports--that he had Japanese plums enough to grow fifty bushels of plums, but he generally only got a grape basket full. He didn't think very much of them. In these sand cherry hybrids, I think Mr. Hansen has done all that man could do. Mr. Ludlow: What is the difference between the brown rot and the plum pocket fungus? Mr. Cook: Professor Stakman will tell you that in a later paper, but it is an entirely different disease. The brown rot will work the season through. It will commence on some varieties and work on the small plums and work on the plums half-grown and on the full-grown. The plum pocket fungus, it works on the plums in the spring of the year and sometimes takes the whole crop. The Terry plum, I think, a year ago, it took the whole crop. Mr. Kellogg: What is the best spray you know of, how often do you apply it and when? Mr. Cook: Which is that for, for the brown rot? Mr. Kellogg: Yes, for the plum generally. Mr. Cook: Oh, I don't know of any. Let me tell you something, the plum as a class is very susceptible to injury from sprays. I know when Professor Luger was entomologist there was some talk of spraying plums for curculio, and some tried it, and while it generally got the curculio it killed the trees, and Professor Luger said that the foliage of the plum was the more susceptible to injury from arsenical poisoning than that of any other fruit in Minnesota. The Japanese hybrid plums, I think, will take injury a little bit quicker than the native, and when you come to the sand cherry plums it is extremely dangerous to spray with anything stronger than rain water. Prof. Hansen: I want to talk about the lime-sulphur. We will probably have that in the next paper, only I want to say that seems to have taken the place of the Bordeaux mixture. Brown rot, that is something that affects the peach men too. In the state of Ohio in one year the peach men lost a quarter of a million dollars from the brown rot, the same rot that takes our plums. We are not the only ones that suffer from the brown rot. Well, they kept on raising peaches because they learned to control it, and if you are not going to spray I think you better give up. As to trying to get something that won't take the rot, it is something like getting a dog that won't take the fleas. (Laughter.) Mr. Older: I had considerable experience in putting out seedling plums. When large enough to get to bearing there wasn't a good one in the whole lot. I got some plums, the finest I could pick out, and three years ago they first came into bearing, and one of my neighbors went over there when they were ripe and said they were the best plums he had seen, but since then I have had none. I got some Emerald plums from Mr. Cook. They were nice plums, and when he came to see them he said, "I came to see plums, I didn't come to see apples," but the brown rot gets a good many of them. I had some last year, and just before they ripened the brown rot struck them, and it not only took all the fruit but got the small branches as well. I don't know what to do about the brown rot. Mr. Drum: I would say that my experience was something like Mr. Older's with the sand cherry crosses. They grew until they were large and I sprayed them with lime-sulphur. I couldn't see any injury from that until they were grown, nearly ripe, and then in spite of me in a single day they would turn and would mummy on the trees. I had a Hanska and Opata and the other crosses, and they bore well. They were right close to them, and the brown rot didn't affect them particularly. Mr. Ludlow: I would like to ask these experts what is the life of a plum tree. Now, an apple tree, we have them that have been bearing for forty years, but my plum trees that were put out less than twenty years ago, they got to be a thicket and they don't bear any large plums at all. I introduced years ago, if you remember, the Ocheeda plum, that come from seedlings that we found in the wild plum at Ocheeda Lake. It is a very fine plum. I had about twelve bushels this year, and I have never seen a bit of brown rot in that variety of plums, although the other varieties, if they bore at all, they were brown rotted all over. The Ocheeda plum has a very thin skin, and when the rain comes at the right time and the sun comes out they all split open. That is its fault. But my orchard is getting old; it is twenty years old. I had a young man work for me, and he left me and bought a new place. I told him he could take up all the sprouts he wanted of those Ocheeda plums. He did so and put out an orchard of them. I think that was about ten years ago. This year while my plums didn't average me, my Ocheedas didn't average, over an inch or an inch and an eighth in diameter from that old orchard--he had sold out and gone to California--but from that orchard a man that never thinks of cultivating sold three wagon loads of the finest plums I ever saw. Mr. Kellogg: How large were the wagons? (Laughter.) Mr. Ludlow: Well, the ordinary wagon box. He hauled them and sold them in town. That was from an orchard that had been left without any cultivation. Mr. Philips: I have heard George Kellogg say you could prove anything in the world in a horticultural meeting. I was glad to have Mr. Cook say a word in favor of the DeSoto. The first plum I ever bought was a DeSoto thirty-five years ago. I planted it and never saw any brown rot on it and had five bushels on it this year. George Kellogg saw it; I can prove anything by him. (Laughter.) Talking about Prof. Hansen's sand cherry crosses, I have a number of his trees. I have two in particular that are nice trees. My wife the last three years has selected her plums from these trees for preserving and canning. I never saw any brown rot on them. They are nice trees, and I propose to stick by Hansen as long as he furnishes as good stuff as that. The locality makes a great difference in this brown rot. Some of the smaller varieties of Prof. Hansen the brown rot takes. As some one has said, it will take the plums and the twigs after the plums are gone. It may be that the locality has something to do with it. Mr. Cook: A year ago I was talking with some gentlemen in the lobby of this hotel here and among them was a gentleman from the Iowa society, and I was trying to urge and tell them about the great value of some of those hybrid plums. Mr. Reeves said to me: "Mr. Cook, if you were going out into the woods to live and could only take one variety of plum with you, what variety would you take?" If he said five or six different varieties I would have made a different answer but he said only one variety, and I said it would be the DeSoto, and his answer was, "So would any other man that has right senses about him." Mr. Anderson: It was my pleasure some time ago, I think it was in 1896, to set out a few plum trees, DeSotos, and those trees grew and grew until they bore plums, and I was very much pleased with them. It was also my fortune about that time to sell plums that another man had grown, such varieties as the Ocheeda, the Wolf and the Wyant. They were such beautiful plums, and I obtained such beautiful prices for them, I was very much enthused over growing plums. I purchased a number of trees of that variety, but up to the present time I have never marketed a bushel of plums from any tree of that kind. The DeSotos bore plums until they died a natural death, which was last year. Mr. Goudy: I have one DeSoto in my orchard which is seven years old, never had a plum on it, never had a blossom on it. What shall I do? (Laughter.) Mr. Ludlow: Cut it out. Spraying Plums for Brown Rot. PROF. E. C. STAKMAN, MINN. EXP. STATION, UNIVERSITY FARM, ST. PAUL. The brown rot of plum is without doubt one of the important limiting factors in plum-growing in Minnesota. In seasons favorable to its development, losses of from twenty to fifty per cent. of the crop in individual orchards are not uncommon. Experiments on the control of the disease have been carried on by the sections of "Plant Pathology and Tree Insects and Spraying," of the Minnesota Experiment Station, since 1911. No accurate results could be obtained in 1912 and 1915 on account of crop failure in the orchards selected for experiment. Results are available for the years 1911, 1913 and 1914. Brown rot is caused by a fungus (_Sclerotinia cinerea (Bon.) Wor._). Every plum grower knows the signs of the disease on the fruit. Blossoms, leaves and twigs may also be affected. The diseased blossoms become brown and dry, and fall from the tree; the diseased leaves become brown and may die. Young twigs may also be killed. Infection may occur at blossoming-time. The amount of blossom blight depends very largely on weather conditions; in fairly warm, moist weather there is usually more than in drier weather. The same is true of the rot on the fruit; during periods of muggy weather it may spread with amazing rapidity. The rot does not usually attack the fruit until it is nearly or quite ripe, although green plums may rot, especially if they have been injured. It is important to know that a large percentage of rotted plums have been injured by curculio. Counts have shown that in many cases as much as eighty-five per cent. of the rot followed such injury. Rotted plums should be destroyed for two reasons: (1) The spores produced on them may live during the winter and cause infection in the spring; (2) if the mummies fall to the ground, late in April or early in May of the second spring the cup fungus stage may develop on them. This cup fungus produces a crop of spores capable of causing infection. Spraying experiments, the summarized results of which are given here, show that the disease can be fairly well controlled even in badly affected orchards. Some of the experiments were carried on in the orchards at University Farm and some in commercial orchards. There were from twelve to forty-five trees in each plot, and the trees on which counts were to be made were selected before the rot appeared. The percentages given below refer to fruit rot and do not include blossom or twig blight. The object was to determine the times for spraying and the most effective spray mixtures. Details are for the most part omitted, and the results of various experiments are averaged. For convenience the times of spraying are designated as follows: 1. When buds are still dormant. 2. When blossom buds begin to show pink. 3. When fruit is size of a pea. 4. Two weeks after third spraying. 5. When fruit begins to color. It did not pay to apply Spray 1. In the plots on which applications 1, 2, 3 and 4 were made there was an average of 6.3 per cent. of rot, while in those from which Spray 1 was omitted there was an average of 6.7 per cent. rot, a difference so slight as to be negligible. Neither did Spray 4 seem to pay, there being an average of 10.9 per cent. brown rot when it was applied and 11.4 per cent. when it was omitted. The schedule finally adopted was therefore the application of Sprays 2, 3, and 5. Spray 2 is necessary to prevent blossom blight, although it has not always reduced the amount of rot on the fruit. Spray 5 is the most important in reducing the amount of rot. In all of the experiments during three years the average amount of rot in the sprayed plots which did not receive Spray 5, was 10.7 per cent. On the plots which received Spray 5, with or without the other sprays, the average amount of rot was 4.6 per cent., and the average on unsprayed plots was 34.8 per cent. Excellent results were sometimes obtained by applying only Spray 5, although this did not, of course, have any effect on blossom blight. In 1913 the amount of brown rot in one plot which received only Spray 5 was 3.3 per cent., while in the unsprayed plots it was 33.9 per cent. In 1914 the amount of rot was reduced from 38.8 per cent. in unsprayed plots to 6.5 per cent. in the plots to which Spray 5 was applied. Possibly Spray 3 could be omitted without seriously interfering with results; success in controlling the rot with Spray 5 alone seems to indicate this. It was hoped to settle the matter during the past summer, but spring frosts spoiled the experiment. For the present it seems advisable to recommend the application of Sprays 2, 3, and 5. In the first two, two and a half pounds of arsenate of lead paste, or one and one-fourth pounds of the powder should be added to each fifty gallons of spray mixture in order to kill the curculio. In the plots sprayed in this way in 1911 ninety-six per cent. of the fruit was perfect, while in the unsprayed plots only 81.6 per cent. was perfect, and in 1913 and 1914 the amount of brown rot was reduced from 34.8 per cent. to 4.6 per cent. Several growers have reported excellent results from these three applications, and there is no reason why other growers should not duplicate them. [Illustration: Brown rot of plums showing the small, grayish brown tufts of spores. Can be controlled by destroying mummies and thorough spraying.] The efficiency of various fungicides was tried. Self-boiled lime-sulphur, 8-8-50; commercial lime-sulphur, 1 to 40; 2-4-50 and 3-4-50 Bordeaux; iron sulphide made up with 1 to 40 commercial lime-sulphur, and iron sulphide made up with 10-10-50 self-boiled lime-sulphur were tried and all gave good results. Commercial lime-sulphur, 1 to 40, has been used in commercial orchards with excellent results, and it will probably be used more than the other spray mixtures because it is so easy to use. Possibly weaker solutions of lime-sulphur would do just as well as 1 to 40. This will be determined, if possible, during the summer of 1916. Good results were obtained only when a high pressure was maintained in spraying. There was a clearly observable difference between plots sprayed with low pressure and those sprayed with a pressure of more than 175 pounds. For large orchards a power sprayer is desirable; for small orchards a barrel sprayer with an air-pressure tank attached is large enough. Such an outfit can be bought for $35 or $40 and can do good work. The cost of spraying three times should not exceed fifteen cents a tree. The results from spraying orchards which contain a great deal of brown rot and have never before been sprayed will probably not be so good the first year as in better kept orchards, but by spraying regularly each season the disease can be well controlled. Mr. Cashman: Please state what you mean by 3-4-50 there. Mr. Stakman: 3-4-50 Bordeaux mixture means three pounds of bluestone or copper sulphate, four pounds of lime, and fifty gallons of water. The copper sulphate should be dissolved in twenty-five gallons of water, the best way being to put it into a sack and hang the sack in the water. The lime should be slaked and then enough water added to make twenty-five gallons of milk of lime. Here is where the important part of making up the spray comes in. Two people should work together and pour the milk of lime and the bluestone solution together so that the streams mix in pouring. It is very important that the mixing be thorough and the mixture should be used fresh. The President: Do you add any Paris green at any time or arsenate of lead? Mr. Stakman: Always add arsenate of lead two times, when the buds are swelling and when the plums are the size of green peas. The President: How much? Mr. Stakman: I would rather leave that to Professor Ruggles. We used from 2-1/2 to 3 pounds and Mr. Ruggles, I think, found 2-1/2 pounds was enough. The President: That is, 2-1/2 pounds to 50 gallons of water with the other ingredients? Mr. Stakman: Yes. Mr. Dyer: I would like to ask if you have ever used arsenate of lead for spraying plums? Mr. Stakman: In the experiments which we conducted in co-operation with Mr. Ruggles, of the Division of Entomology, we always used arsenate of lead in the first two sprayings to kill the curculio. Mr. Dyer: I had quite an experience, so I want to know what your experience was. Mr. Stakman: We never had any trouble with it. Mr. Dyer: I have had an experience of thirty years, and I have never seen or had on my place any brown rot, and I never was troubled with any curculio, and I practically always used arsenate of lead. Mr. Cashman: Isn't it a fact if you begin spraying your plum trees when they are young and spray them early, at the right time, you have very little trouble with the brown rot? And spray them every year? Mr. Stakman: Yes, that is it. You might be disappointed the first year if the orchard had never been sprayed, but by spraying year after year you finally cut it down. Mr. Cashman: You said a pressure of 200 pounds ought to be used? Mr. Stakman: Yes, but it isn't necessary to get an expensive power sprayer to keep up that pressure. There are sprayers on the market that cost from $30 to $40 which have a pressure tank by which the pressure can be maintained at from 175 to 250 pounds without any great amount of trouble, that is, for a small orchard. If you have a big enough orchard for a power sprayer, of course get it. Mr. M'Clelland: This summer my plum trees, the leaves all turned brown and came off. What is the reason? Mr. Stakman: When did it happen? Mr. M'Clelland: Along in August, I think; July or August. Mr. Stakman: What kind of soil were they on? Mr. M'Clelland: Clay. Mr. Stakman: Did you spray? Mr. M'Clelland: Yes, sir, I sprayed. Mr. Stakman: What did you use? Mr. M'Clelland: Lime-sulphur, I think. Mr. Stakman: Did the whole leaf turn brown? Mr. M'Clelland: Yes, sir, the whole leaf turned brown and came off. Mr. Stakman: How strong did you use the lime-sulphur? Mr. M'Clelland: Not very strong. Mr. Stakman: If you use very strong lime-sulphur you sometimes get such an effect on both plums and apples. Sometimes the leaves fall, and almost immediately you get a new crop of leaves. Mr. M'Clelland: This was in August. Mr. Stakman: There was a perfect crop of new leaves? Mr. M'Clelland: Yes, sir. Mr. Stakman: My only suggestion would be that you used the lime-sulphur too strong. That might account for it. Mr. Sauter: I never sprayed until this year. I tried it this year and with good results. I sprayed my apple trees at the same time, and I sprayed the plums with the same thing I sprayed the apple trees with. I had nice plums and nice apples; last year I had hardly any. Mr. Stakman: What did you use? Mr. Sauter: Lime-sulphur and some black leaf mixture. I used it on the plum trees and the apple trees, and afterwards I used arsenate of lead. Mr. Stakman: You didn't get any injury to the plum trees? Mr. Sauter: No, sir, we had nice plums. A Member: I have seventeen plum trees, and I have only sprayed with kerosene emulsion and the second time put in some Paris green, and I have never seen any of the brown rot, but there have been a good many of the black aphids on the plum trees, on the end of the branches. I cut them off and burned them. I didn't know whether that would be the end of it or not. Mr. Ruggles: Why don't you use "black leaf 40," 1/2 pint in 50 gallons of the spray liquid. It can be used in combination with arsenate of lead and lime-sulphur or arsenate of lead and Bordeaux mixture. If you wash them with black leaf 40 it will kill all the aphids. I did that myself this summer. A Member: Please give us a little better explanation of what black leaf 40 is. Mr. Ruggles: It is an extract of tobacco that is for sale by wholesale drug companies and stores, or you can get it from Kentucky, from the Tobacco Products Company, at Louisville, Ky., or Grasseli Chemical Co., St. Paul. I am not advertising, Mr. President, but they will send you a small package for seventy-five cents, about half a pint. Of course, that looks kind of expensive, but it will go a long way. I think possibly it is the best thing we have to combat lice. Mr. Stakman: Plum pocket is caused by a fungus which is supposed to infect mostly when the flower buds are just beginning to swell, especially in cold, wet weather. Plum pocket causes the fruit to overgrow and destroys the pit, and big bladder or sack-like fruits are produced instead of the normal fruit. The fungus that causes it gets into the twig and is supposed to live there year after year. Therefore pathologists usually recommend cutting out and burning affected branches and even trees that bear pocketed plums several seasons in succession. Our experiments with plum pocket have not extended far enough to enable me to say anything definite about it. Mr. Hall: With us in western Minnesota this year this plum pocket got all the plums that the frost didn't get. If we were to cut off the twigs we would have to chop off the trees. Mr. Stakman: When a tree becomes so badly infected that practically all of the branches produce pocketed plums year after year you can't expect very much normal fruit. Sometimes you might get some, but usually not very many. Mr. Graves (Wisconsin): Do you use your black leaf 40 in conjunction with your Bordeaux or lime-sulphur? Mr. Ruggles: Yes, you can. Mr. Graves: Doesn't it counteract the result? Mr. Ruggles: No, it does not. Mr. Stakman: I used this year lime-sulphur and black leaf 40 together. Mr. Graves: You say you got the same results from black leaf 40 in that mixture? Mr. Stakman: It killed the plant lice; that is all I wanted. Mr. Graves: We had some experiences that indicated that black leaf counteracted the other results. Mr. Stakman: Yes, sir, I think that has been the impression, but I think there have been some experiments more recently to show that the black leaf 40 can be used in conjunction with other sprays without counteracting their results. Mr. Richardson: Did you ever know the plum pocket to come unless we had cold weather about the time of blossoming and lots of east wind? Mr. Stakman: Yes, a little; I have seen it mostly when there was cold weather, however, and as I said before it usually isn't so serious unless there is cold, wet weather. Mr. Richardson: I settled out in Martin County, Minnesota, in 1866, and in all my experience I never saw plum pocket unless we had the right kind of cold weather at the time of the blossoming. I had my plums all killed and destroyed one year and never did anything for it, and when we had the right kind of weather I never had any trouble. Mr. Stakman: When you have cold, wet weather, as I mentioned before, infection takes place much more rapidly than it does at other times. There is some evidence to show that the fungus lives in the twigs and that affected ones should be cut out. Mr. Richardson: Yes, but these didn't bear any for four or five years, and when we got the right kind of weather I got good plums. Mr. Norwood: My experience is something like this man's. I have had my plums killed off as many as five years with the plum pocket and then had a good crop of plums. I sprayed with lime-sulphur. Mr. Stakman: When did you spray? Mr. Norwood: I spray just before the buds open. Mr. Stakman: The flower or leaf? Mr. Norwood: Flower, and then I spray when the plums are well started, just before they begin to ripen. Mr. Stakman: Were you spraying for the pocket or brown rot? Mr. Norwood: I used lime-sulphur and arsenate of lime. Mr. Stakman: Of course, spraying after buds open wouldn't do any good for the plum pockets at all. Mr. Norwood: I spray mainly for the brown rot, and I have pretty good luck. Mr. Cashman: Have you had any experience in using orchard heaters to save plums in cold nights? Mr. Stakman: I will ask Mr. Cady to answer that. Mr. Cady: No, I haven't tried to use them. Mr. Cashman: We tried it this year, and we saved our plum crop. We have tried it the last four years and saved our plum crop each year. We also sprayed each year and had a very good crop of plums when neighbors who had not sprayed had very few, and I am satisfied if we use the proper ingredients and spray properly at the right time, and occasionally use an orchard heater when there is any danger of freezing, that we will raise a good crop of most any plum that is hardy enough for this climate. A Member: What kind of heaters do you use? Mr. Cashman: We use oil heaters. We use crude oil, the same oil we use in our tractor engine. A Member: Where do you buy your heaters? Mr. Cashman: We have them made at the hardware store, of sheet iron, with a cover. We put about two gallons of oil in this heater. There is a small piece of waste that is used as a wick, which we light from a torch. It will heat quite a large space sufficiently for two or three hours and prevent frost. Mrs. Glenzke: Do you put a canvas over the tree or leave it uncovered? Mr. Cashman: We do not put anything over the tree. Mr. Stakman: What does your oil cost? Mr. Cashman: About eight or nine cents a gallon. Prof. Hansen: Just a thought occurred to me that out west on the Pacific coast where men have to get down to business in order to raise fruit they have these horticultural commissioners that have absolute police power to make orchard men clean up. They will come into your old orchard and pull it up and burn it and add it to your taxes, charge it up to you, if you don't clean up. The same sort of police power should prevail here. If a man has an old plum orchard that is diseased through and through, it won't do for him to tell his tale of woe year after year and not do anything. A county agent will come along and clean it up for him. After it is cleaned up it will be an easier proposition. If you are not going to keep up with the times and spray, then the county agent ought to have police power to burn the orchard. Either spray or go out of the plum business. * * * * * TO MAKE CONCENTRATED APPLE CIDER ON A COMMERCIAL SCALE.--The specialists of the fruit and vegetable utilization laboratory of the department have completed arrangements for a commercial test of the recently discovered method of concentrating apple cider by freezing and centrifugal methods. As a result, a cider mill in the Hood River Valley, Ore., will this fall undertake to manufacture and put on the retail market 1,000 gallons of concentrated cider, which will represent 5,000 gallons of ordinary apple cider with only the water removed. The new method, it is believed, makes possible the concentrating of cider in such a way that it will keep better than raw cider, and also be so reduced in bulk that it can be shipped profitably long distances from the apple growing regions. The old attempts to concentrate cider by boiling have been failures because heat destroys the delicate flavor of cider. Under the new method nothing is taken from the cider but the water, and the resultant product is a thick liquid which contains all the apple-juice products and which can be restored to excellent sweet cider by the simple addition of four parts of water. The shippers and consumers, therefore, avoid paying freight on the water in ordinary cider. In addition, the product, when properly barreled, because of its higher amount of sugar, keeps better than raw cider, which quickly turns to vinegar. The process, as described by the department's specialists, consists of freezing ordinary cider solid. The cider ice is then crushed and put into centrifugal machines such as are used in making cane sugar. When the cider ice is whirled rapidly the concentrated juice is thrown off and collected. The water remains in the machine as ice. At ordinary household refrigerator temperatures this syrup-like cider will keep perfectly for a month or six weeks, and if kept at low temperatures in cold storage will keep for prolonged periods. At ordinary house temperatures it, of course, will keep a shorter time. To make the concentrated syrup, the cider mill must add to its equipment an ice-making machine and centrifugal machinery, so that the process is not practicable on a small scale. The specialists are hopeful, however, that the commercial test soon to be inaugurated in Oregon will show that it will be possible for apple growers to concentrate their excess cider and ship it profitably to the far South or to other non-producing regions. The specialists also believe that it will enable apple producers to prolong the market for cider.--U.S. Dept. of Agri., Oct., 1914. How Mr. Mansfield Grows Tomatoes. MRS. JENNIE STAGER, SAUK RAPIDS. Somewhere around 1870 Mr. Wm. Mansfield, of Johnsons Creek, Wis., commenced to apply what Gov. Hoard, of Wisconsin, told him was "persevering intelligence," to the propagating and improving of the tomato, and he soon found out that the tomato was capable of almost unlimited improvement. He has made a specialty of the tree tomato, of which he says he has demonstrated to the world that in the Mansfield tree tomato he has produced one of the greatest wonders of the age. All who have seen them, tasted or grown them, with even a small degree of good sense, are loud in their praise for their good qualities: wonderful growth of tree, beauty of fruit, smoothness, solidity, flavor, earliness, etc. In giving directions how to grow them he says you should remember that if your brightest child is raised among Indians he is not likely to become president. Neither will the tree tomato if thrown on a brush pile, or just stuck in a poor, dry place and left to care for itself, be ready to jump on your table, on the Fourth of July, or any other month, a ripe, delicious, two-pound tomato. He says first get your seed of some reliable person, who can warrant it pure and all right. Then at the proper time, which in this climate would be some time in March, get some rich old earth for boxes in your house, hotbeds or greenhouse. Sow the seed, cover lightly, wet down every day and keep warm, with all the sun possible. When up ten days transplant to other boxes, six inches apart, and not less than four inches deep. Keep wet and give all the light and sun you can, and by the time it is safe to set them outside they should stand from twelve to twenty-four inches in height, with bodies half an inch thick. _To prepare the ground._--First select a place as near water as possible, and also, if you can, let your rows run east and west. Throw out dirt two spades deep, then put in three or four inches of night soil if you can get it, if not use hen manure and wood ashes, equal parts, or some other strong manure, in the bottom of trench. Then fill up the trench with the best dirt you can get, mixed with well rotted stable manure, as no fresh manure must come near the roots or bark to rot them. Now set out your plants without disturbing the dirt about the roots. Set eighteen inches apart in the row and have the dirt in the trenches a little lower than at the sides. Place a strong stake at each plant or a trellis and tie them to it as fast as set. Then if it does not rain use hard, soft, cold or warm water and give plenty each day. As your plants commence to grow, just above each leaf will start a shoot. Let only the top of the plant, and only one or two of the best branches grow, so as to have not over one or two of the best stems to run up. Now the buds for blossoms show themselves on the tops of the vines, and a few inches below. Just above each leaf, a shoot starts; nip off every one of these just as soon as they appear. As the lower leaves get brown and old pick them off. Train the fruit as it grows to the sun. Tie often and well. Let no useless wood grow. Give all the sun possible and water, water and then water. Then you can take the cake on tomatoes. [Illustration: Wm. Mansfield and his big tomatoes, Casselton, N.D.] Mr. Mansfield's record twenty-six years ago, at Johnsons Creek, Wis., was: Height of tomato tree, eleven feet. Weight of single tomato, two pounds six ounces. He says, since he has moved to North Dakota, his tomato has in no wise deteriorated. Annual Report, 1915, Central Trial Station. PROFS. LE ROY CADY AND R. WELLINGTON, UNIVERSITY FARM. Since the coming of Prof. Wellington to the Station to take up the pomological and vegetable divisions the work of this Station, has been divided, Prof. Wellington taking the fruit and vegetable experimental work, while Prof. Cady continues the work in ornamentals, and on that basis the reports will be made this year. _Ornamentals._--The campus of University Farm has been very much enlarged this year by the building of the Gymnasium, and consequent parking about it, and the grading of an athletic field. This will call for considerable planting work next spring. The season has been exceptionally good for the growth of all ornamental stock. All came through last winter in good shape. A late frost killed many of the early flowering plants, and this prevented the forming of fruit on such plants as barberry and wahoo. About 400 seedling paeonies flowered again this year. Some of these are promising. An excellent block of aquilegia was flowered. A trial ground of some hundred or more annuals was maintained and proved very interesting. It is hoped that many more annual novelties may be tried out this year. The perennial garden established last year was added to and furnished something of interest the whole season. It will be the aim of the Division to have in this garden all the annuals and perennials of value in this section. Some new shrubs were added by purchase and through the Bureau of Plant Industry. The hedges have proved an interesting exhibit again this year, and it is planned to add a number of new ones to the group next season. About seventy-five varieties of chrysanthemums were flowered this autumn and were much enjoyed by our visitors. _Fruit._--This year has been a very poor fruit year owing to the freeze on May 18, when the thermometer dropped to 26 degrees Fahrenheit. At that time a very promising crop of apples was frozen on the trees. Currants and gooseberries were also frozen on the bushes, and the young shoots were frozen on the grape vines. Later the grape vines sent out secondary shoots which bore a small crop of late maturing fruit. Regardless of the heavy freeze an apple was found here and there throughout the orchard, although no one variety seemed to be particularly favored. On one-year-old Compass and Dyehouse cherry trees a few fruits were borne, and a similar amount of fruit was produced on one-year-old Sapa and Skuya plums. The old plum seedling orchard, which is located to the south of the college buildings and is partially protected by a wooded hill to the north, gave about five per cent of a crop. The one-year-old raspberries and blackberries bore a small crop, and the new strawberry bed, containing over 150 varieties, yielded a good crop. Records were made on the blossoming dates of practically all the varieties grown at the Station, and complete descriptions were made of all the strawberry flowers, fruits and plants. [Illustration: Class in propagation at work at Minnesota State Agricultural College.] Plants were taken from the strawberry bed and used for setting out a new bed, which is located on level and uniform ground. By another year sufficient data should be at hand to report on the performance of the varieties tested. The aphids were very numerous and unfortunately caused the defoliation of all the currants with the exception of the blacks. A new sidewalk through the currant patch necessitated the transplanting of about one-half of the varieties, and so the prospect for a good currant crop next season is poor. The mildew attacked the Poorman gooseberry very severely but did practically no damage to the native varieties, as the Carrie and Houghton. Blight was a negligible factor, and what little appeared was removed as soon as noted. This year's rest, especially as it has been coupled with a good growing season, should be very favorable for an abundant crop in 1916. In summing up the varieties at the Trial Station, it is of interest to note that the following number are under observation: 235 apple, 1 apricot, 15 cherry, 3 peach, 6 pear, 70 plum, 23 blackberry, 3 dewberry, 14 red currant, 3 black currant, 2 white currant, 13 gooseberry, 26 grape, 4 black raspberry, 22 red raspberry, 1 purple raspberry and 157 strawberry. _Vegetables._--The vegetable work has been concentrated on the bean, cucumber, lettuce, pea, onion, potato and tomato. The chief work with the bean and pea has been to isolate desirable canning types from the present varieties. Selection has also been carried on with the lettuce, with the object of securing a head type which matures uniformly. Onion bulbs of various types have self-fertilized, and desirable fixed strains will be separated if possible. Incidentally, the inheritance of various types and colors of the onion is under observation. In the tomato the influence of crossing on yield and earliness has been studied. Increases nearly as high as five tons have been obtained, and the prospects are very bright for securing valuable combinations for gardeners who use greenhouses and high-priced land. Results of this work will probably soon be published in a station bulletin. [Illustration: Chrysanthemums in flower in University Farm greenhouses.] A better type of greenhouse cucumber is being sought by combining the European and White Spine varieties. From past experience the author knows that a uniform type that is well adapted to market purposes can be obtained, and the only question will be its productiveness. Unfortunately hybridizing was not performed early enough in the season, and disease prevented the making of crosses. This coming season the work will be repeated. The main work of the year has been on the potato, and the chief problem has been on the determination of the cause of degeneracy. Incidentally, many varieties have been tested, and the exchange of seed with the Grand Rapids, Crookston and Duluth stations has been started. If possible, the effect of varying climatic and soil conditions on the potato will be noted. A few vegetable varieties have been tested and among them the Reading Giant, a rust-proof asparagus, has proved promising. Malcolm, the earliest Canadian sweet corn, ripened very early and will be tested further. Washington, a late sweet corn ripening between Crosby and Evergreen, made an exceptionally good showing and may prove of much value for market purposes. The Alacrity tomato was found to be similar to the Earliana and superior in no way. Bonny Best and John Baer tomatoes produced smooth, desirable fruit and are deserving of a wide test. The much advertised "seed tape" was given a trial, and it proved satisfactory in most cases. For kitchen gardeners who are ignorant of planting distances, methods of planting and varieties, and who can afford to pay a higher price for their seed, the tape may prove of value, that is, if a high grade of seed is maintained. * * * * * A CORRECTION.--In O. W. Moore's interesting article on "Sexuality in Plants," which appeared in the November (1915) number of The Horticulturist, two errors were present. The first is merely typographical, as Kaelreuter's name, page 411, should be spelled Kolreuter. The second, however, is misleading, as it states that the process of fertilization is called "Mendel's Law." It is true that Mendel's Law is based upon fertilization, but it concerns simply the splitting up of certain characters into definite mathematical proportions. For example, Mendel found that when he crossed a yellow and green pea the first generation produced only yellow peas. These peas when self-fertilized split up into practically three yellows to one green. By self-fertilizing the progeny of the second generation it was found that one-third of the yellows bred true for yellow, and two-thirds of the yellows broke up into yellow and green, showing that they were in a heterozygous condition, and that all the greens bred true for green. At the present time this method of segregation has been proved to hold for many easily differentiated characters in both the animal and plant kingdom, but much more experimental work will have to be done before it can be said to hold for all inheritable characters.--Prof. Richard Wellington, University Farm. Rose Culture. MARTIN FRYDHOLM, ALBERT LEA, MINN. (Annual Meeting, 1916, So. Minn. Hort. Society.) Rose culture is one of the most fascinating occupations in the line of horticulture. But when you come to talking or writing about it you scarcely know where to begin or what to say, there passes before your eye an exhibition of such an amazing fragrance and beauty of varying colors. Even now as I am writing these lines I can see with my mind's eye every rose in my garden, some in their full glory, filling the air with the sweet fragrance; others just opening; others in bud; and so on in an ever pleasing variety. I have taken special interest in roses for some ten or twelve years and have grown a good many different varieties of them with success, good, bad and indifferent. I have succeeded well with some of the hybrid perpetual roses. At the present time I have in my garden Paul Neyron, General Jacquiminot, Ulric Brunner, Black Prince, Etoile De France, Frau Karl Droschky and Marshall P. Wilder, also others of which I have lost the names. Of climbing roses I have Crimson Rambler, Thousand Beauties, Prairie Queen and Dorothy Perkins. All the above named are everbloomers, except the climbers, and all need careful winter protection. _How to grow them._--Get two year old No. 1 plants and prepare your soil just like you would for your vegetable garden. If your soil is not particularly rich, spade in a liberal quantity of well rotted manure and mix well with soil. Set your plants and keep up clean cultivation all summer and give them plenty of water, and you will have an abundance of roses the first year. In the fall get some clean straw, bend your rose bushes over, put a fence post across on top of them to hold them down and then cover with straw to a depth of one foot. Or if you have a number of them planted in one row, make a long box about two feet wide and about twenty inches deep, fill about half full of straw, then place along side of the row of plants, bend your plants down lengthwise the row, then tip the box over them, put some straw around sides of box and on the outside put some posts or boards on to hold it down, when you will have the best protection possible. Right here I want to put in a word of warning, and that is, if you do not like to do extra work don't attempt to grow roses; in other words, if you are lazy they don't like you well enough to stay with you, for it means work and lots of it. We have, however, one class of roses which can be grown by every one who wants them, the hybrid Rosa Rugosa roses. Of them we have such as Blanche D. Caubet, pure white of large size, a perpetual bloomer; Sir Thomas Lipton, also white, a little smaller in blossom but perfectly double; Conrad Meyer, clear silvery pink, of large size, very double and of choicest fragrance, a continuous bloomer (needs some winter protection); New Century, rosy pink, shading to almost red in the center, good size and double. One of the hardiest is Hansa, deep violet red, very large, double and an exceedingly profuse and continuous bloomer, absolutely hardy. These five varieties can be considered as everybody's roses, because of the easiness and sureness with which they can be grown, taking into consideration the elimination of winter protection. Planting, preparation of ground and cultivation are the same as for all other roses. Do not imagine for a minute that they will do well in sod or grass. [Illustration: Martin Frydholm in his rose garden, at Albert Lea.] Another class of roses is the Baby Ramblers. For borders and bedding roses these I think surpass all others on account of the easiness by which they may be grown. And they are a perfect mass of blossoms from June till freezing. They need winter protection, but that is not difficult on account of the low growth and small size of plant. Above all do not forget that all roses need rich soil and lots of water. When your rose bushes are three years old you must begin to give some attention to trimming. Cut out some of the oldest wood before you lay them down in the fall, and if some of the shoots have grown very tall cut back about half, although these rank canes may give you the best roses the following season if you can protect them well enough so that they do not winter-kill. In this photograph which is shown here is one Ulric Brunner with one shoot extending two feet above my head and covered all along with the most magnificent roses I have ever had in my garden. The same thing I have done with the General Jacquiminot. Asparagus by the Acre. E. W. RECORD, MARKET GARDENER, BROOKLYN CENTER. First I am careful about selecting seed of a good variety. My choice is Palmetto, because it is hardy and the best seller on our market. In starting a bed I sow my seed as early as possible in the spring in rows about eighteen inches apart, and when the plants are well up I thin out to about an inch, so the roots will not be so hard to separate when ready to transplant. My experience has been that plants two years old are more easily handled than those one or three, because the one year plants are not matured enough, while the roots of the three year old have become too matured, and when separated too many of the roots are broken off. In preparing the ground for asparagus I plow and then harrow it and mark it off so the rows will be five feet apart. I plow a furrow from fourteen to sixteen inches deep, throwing the dirt both ways. Then with my cultivator I loosen up the bottom of the furrow. I place the plants in the furrow about eighteen inches apart, being careful to spread the roots evenly over the bottom of the furrow, putting a little dirt over them to hold them in place. With my cultivator I keep filling in the furrow, at the same time plowing out the middle to keep down the weeds. In fertilizing a bed of asparagus my experience has been that the best way is to plow a furrow between the rows, filling it with barnyard manure, then covering this with earth. Spreading the manure broadcast makes too many of the stalks grow crooked. I never cut my asparagus for market until the third year, and then only for a short time. By the fifth year the bed is strong enough to cut the whole season. When the season is over I cultivate often enough to keep down the weeds. I never cut the old stalks off until spring, because after the first freeze the stalks are hollow, and this would allow the frost to run down into the roots. Annual Report, 1915, Vice-President, Second Congressional District. JOHN BISBEE, MADELIA. A summer remarkable in many respects has passed. Many of our people have labored hard, and the rewards of that labor have been meager and unsatisfactory. Horticulture with all the other labors on the land has been rewarded like the other cultivators of the soil in our section of the state. I sent out twenty-five of the circulars and twenty were filled out and returned. Apple raisers report, four a good crop, the balance poor or none. Plums: One fair, others poor or none. Cherries: One good, all others poor. Grapes: One good, balance poor to none. Blackberries: One good, balance poor to none. Other fruits all poor. Nursery stock: One place reports one car load planted, the balance a few, all making good growth. Strawberries: Five report good crop, balance few to poor. Blight: Some reported but little efforts made to eradicate. Fruit trees did not suffer much last winter (1914-5). All report plenty of moisture in ground. Varieties of apples doing best: Wealthy, Duchess, Longfield, Salome, Spitzenberg, Northwestern Greening, Anisim, Malinda, Hibernal, Jonathan. Spraying neglected very largely. I am doing all of the top-working I can get done every spring. Am setting largely the Salome. I find the tree hardy here; a moderate bearer; apples fine and handsome; a good keeper; tree does not blight and grows very thriftily. It grows on a great share of the stocks in which I have placed it. My next best apple is the Spitzenberg. I am not placing many Wealthy scions, as I have about all I want of them. I tried thinning the fruit on some of my heavy bearers last summer and like it much. I think the best way to do it is to cut out the fruit spurs, as that can be done in the winter. Annual Report, 1915, Vice-President, Fifth Congressional District. CHAS. H. RAMSDELL, MINNEAPOLIS. The horticultural interests of the Fifth Congressional District (of which Minneapolis is the largest part) comprise three lines of activity, the raising of fruit, vegetables and flowers for home supply and profit, ornamental horticulture for pleasure and the city marketing of the produce of this and every other region, furnishing whatever is demanded by a large metropolitan market. Therefore, I will report along these lines. [Illustration: Chas. H. Ramsdell.] Judging from the reports of my correspondents throughout the country, the "freeze" in May was responsible for a rather complete absence of local fruit the past season. Sheltered orchards and those on the south side of any lake bore a small crop. Of apples, the Wealthy and Malinda are mentioned as bearing fairly well. Plums were entirely a failure, cherries are not raised to any extent, grapes and small fruits were not enough to supply the market as a whole. Raspberry and strawberry growing seems to be on the decline, owing to the prevalence of insect pests which do _not_ receive attention to keep them in check. The importance of this is all the more apparent, because with the shorter distances of this district being the rule, the danger from rapid spread is more pronounced. The growing conditions of the season have been of the best, and all stock goes into the winter in excellent shape with a good amount of soil moisture and a promise for better conditions next season. Several market reports have been received which give valuable information. Prices of fruit, vegetables and floral stock have been low in almost all cases. The public demand has been rather below normal, although it has been steady and fair in volume. There seems to be a good deal of complaint about the care of the railroads, etc., with fruit and perishable products, but, on the other hand, a good deal of local produce is not put up in good shape. The uniformly good packing of western fruit reveals the cause of its popularity on the local markets. Certain kinds of fruit almost glutted the market this season, notably Florida grape fruit, western box apples and peaches. I quote one market statement as very pertinent: If Minnesota apple growers would gather their apples before they are too ripe, carefully grade and pack uniformly through the barrel, thus making it possible for the wholesaler to ship out on orders, they would undoubtedly realize more for their product than to market them themselves in the usual manner in which apples are marketed. Ornamental horticulture in my district is making rapid progress. Large lots of nursery stock are yearly put in with excellent results. The influence and interest of the "Garden Flower Society" and of these horticultural meetings is nowhere more felt than in Hennepin County. The gardens of the Minneapolis park board, in Loring Park, at Lyndale Farmstead, and near the Parade and Armory, give the horticultural public much valuable information. Even the wild flower garden in Glenwood Park is yearly receiving an increasing number of visitors. The increasing use of perennials is creating a new gardening enthusiasm. The perennial exhibit at the summer meeting of the Horticultural Society was worthy of much study. Careful use of hardy evergreens is increasing also, adding value especially to our winter landscapes. This season has been very favorable to gardening work and steady has been the progress made. Greater care with insect pests, and better methods of preparing fruit for market seem to be the two greatest needs of the horticulturists of the Fifth District. * * * * * APPLE PRODUCTION AND PRICES.--According to the best authority available, the apple crop in the United States for 1915 promises to be about 22,500,000 barrels, says The Niagara County, New York, Farm Bureau News. This will be the lightest crop in several years, the 1910 crop being the next lightest, when about 24,000,000 barrels were produced. In comparison, the 1914 crop was about 45,000,000 barrels and the 1913 crop about 30,000,000 barrels. The above refers to the commercial crop that is marketed in closed packages, and should not be confounded with the recent estimate of the United States Department of Agriculture, which is understood to refer to the total production of apples, including those used for cider and shipped to the market in bulk. Annual Report, 1915, Vice-President, Sixth Congressional District. E. W. MAYMAN, SAUK RAPIDS. [Illustration: Residence of E. W. Mayman, at Sauk Rapids, Minn.] This district comprises quite a large area, and a large amount of fruit of various kinds is raised. Besides the reports received, I visited a good many places where fruit is being raised and intended visiting more except for unfavorable weather. From all sources the reports were that all fruit trees, vines and other plants came through the previous winter in good condition, and that all fruit trees budded and blossomed earlier than usual. April being such a warm month caused this condition--and indications were for a record-breaking crop. But this was all changed after the severe freeze of May 17th, which destroyed nearly all blossoms of apple and plum and what promise there was of cherry and grape. The frost again on June the 8th did great damage to raspberries and strawberries, currants and gooseberries. From all reports received and from my own observation at my place I can sum up briefly as follows: Apples not more than five per cent. of crop; crab apples, no crop; plums, from ten to fifteen per cent. of a crop; cherries, very few planted except the Compass and crop very light; grapes, not very extensively raised, Collegeville having the largest collection so far as I know, and at that place while the new growth had been frozen off still a second growth of new wood was formed and gave a light crop of fruit. Blackberries: No crop reported. Raspberries: There is in this immediate vicinity upwards of twenty acres or more planted of several varieties, but the crop was very light, and from other places the reports received were the same. Strawberries: There is also quite a large acreage planted in this vicinity, but the crop the past season was very poor, except for the everbearing variety planted for experimental purposes. This variety did well and continued to fruit to November 1st. Currants and gooseberries: Reports gave no crop to speak of, and at my place and in this vicinity while there is quite a large planting there was no fruit. This, of course, was owing to the frost as before stated. Very little nursery stock has been planted except in small quantities here and there, yet there is great interest taken in fruit raising. In regard to blight, none to speak of according to reports, and everything indicates a good healthy growth. As to spraying there seems to be little done along that line, although some orchards have been sprayed. All trees and shrubs and perennial plants planted the past season, as well as those previously planted, made an exceptionally good growth, owing, I think, to the cool, moist spring and continued cool summer. And, all wood maturing early, everything, I think, has gone into winter quarters in very good condition, and other things being favorable we may expect a good crop of everything next season. * * * * * The following poisoned wash has proved highly satisfactory in the West and promises to be one of the most popular methods of protecting trees from rabbits: _Poisoned Tree Wash._--Dissolve one ounce of strychnine sulphate in three quarts of boiling water and add one-half pint of laundry starch, previously dissolved in one pint of cold water. Boil this mixture until it becomes a clear paste. Add one ounce of glycerin and stir thoroughly. When sufficiently cool, apply to the trunks of trees with a paint brush. Rabbits that gnaw the bark will be killed before the tree is injured. Annual Report, 1915, Vice-President, Ninth Congressional District. MRS. H. E. WELD, MOORHEAD. The fruit crop in general throughout this district was not very good. The spring was late and cold with a heavy frost in June. Where the fruit trees were protected by a natural windbreak, we find the best conditions. Wilkin, Becker, Ottertail counties' reports indicate that the apple crop was small, but the fruit was of good quality. [Illustration: Residence of Louie Wentzel, Crookston, life member and vice-president in 1914] The varieties that are grown in this district in order of their importance and hardiness are the following: Hibernal, Duchess, Okabena, Patten's Greening and Wealthy. The hardier varieties of crabs are growing here. The Transcendent is the most popular crab. The Hyslop, Florence and Whitney are also grown. But very little blight is reported in this district. In localities where the trees have the protection of a windbreak there was a small crop of plums. The DeSoto, Forest Garden and Hansen hybrids are giving very good results. Even the wild plums were few, as the blossoms were hurt by frost. Where there was windbreak protection the Compass cherry tree looks healthy and has given a fair crop. Grapes have not been very generally planted. The Beta is the hardiest variety. The Concord does well where properly planted and cared for. Raspberry bushes made a good growth and look healthy; although damaged by frost there was a fair crop. Strawberries yielded fairly well where they were given attention. The Senator Dunlap, Warfield and everbearing plants should be more generally grown. Gooseberries and currants were just fair in some localities, in others the late frost destroyed all prospects of small fruits. The Houghton and Downing gooseberries, Red Dutch and White Grape currants are some of the varieties planted. In Ottertail, Wilkin and Beltrami counties a good deal of nursery stock has been planted and with very good success. Very little has been done in the way of spraying orchards, as trees are young. All fruits are going into winter in good condition, with fair amount of moisture in the ground and trees full of fruit buds. The hardy ornamental shrubs, honeysuckle, lilac, mock-orange and spirea Van Houttii can be grown here. Hardy perennial flowers that do well are peony, phlox, golden glow and bleeding heart. This northern section of the state is the land for the hardy perennials. Nowhere else do we get such beautiful colorings and bloom. Annual Report, 1915, Madison Trial Station. M. SOHOLT, SUPT. This season has been very good. We have had plenty of rain, so that all nursery stock set out this last spring has made a good growth. The first part of May a hard frost did quite a good deal of damage to small stock just planted or lined out in the nursery. This frost also damaged the blossoms on the fruit trees. The plum trees happened to be in full bloom when this frost came, so that froze them entirely, and so we did not get any plums to speak of. We also had a light crop of apples, especially of the early varieties. The Northwestern and Patten's Greening bore a good crop. The grapes also froze. I expected to get some fruit off those grape seedlings I received from the State Fruit-Breeding Farm three years ago, but they went with the rest of it. The plum trees I received this and two years ago are all doing well. They did not freeze back any when we had that hard frost; so far they seem to be hardy for this location. Had a medium crop of raspberries, also a light crop of currants and gooseberries. We had a good crop of strawberries. Seedling strawberry No. 3 is doing very well. Everbearing strawberries are doing nicely. We had a nice fall and plenty of rain, so that trees and shrubbery went into winter quarters in good condition. Growing Beans and Sweet Corn. P. B. MARIEN, ST. PAUL. Since it is one thing to grow beans and sweet corn and another to make money on them, I think from a market gardener's point of view my heading should have been "growing beans and sweet corn at a profit." I will talk of beans first, because while the two are planted at about the same time, beans make their appearance on the market long before sweet corn. Beans have a nitrogen gathering power and are therefore a soil-improving crop. They are to the gardener what clover is to the farmer. For early beans we have found that sandy soil well fertilized is by far the best. If possible it should be sloping toward the south, although we have had good success on level land well drained. One should have the best seed possible, and if you get hold of a good strain of seed that produces nice, velvety beans earlier than your neighbor, save as much of that seed as you can. Of course now that the price of seed is $10.00 to $14.00 a bushel one cannot be too particular. [Illustration: P. B. Marien, St. Paul.] Too much stress cannot be laid on the fact that to make money on beans one must have them on the market within a week after the first ones make their appearance. To do this one must plant them at the right time. The practical gardener knows that as he sits near the stove with the ground still frozen and a cold March wind blowing he cannot say "I will plant my beans on April 15 or on April 20." It is impossible to set a date for planting. After the ground has been plowed and well tilled he must wait until it is well warmed. Sometimes it pays to take a chance, but we always wait until the buds appear on the white oak trees. However there is nothing infallible about this rule, but it is the one we generally follow. As to kinds we have two wax beans which we have planted for many years: the Davis, which does well in wet weather, and the Wardwell Kidney, which does well in dry weather. Every variety of green beans we have ever grown has done well. Rows three feet apart, with the hills about six inches apart, three or four seed in a hill, might take up too much room on a small scale, but where one uses horses to cultivate, I think it is about right. Beans should be cultivated at least two or three times a week, and they should be hoed three times during the season. Never cultivate your beans while the dew is on, as it has a tendency to rust them. While St. Paul has not offered a very good market for medium and late string beans in the last few years, it is a good plan to have a patch come in about every ten days. Because you happen to get from $2.50 to $3.50 a bushel for your first beans this year, do not resolve to put the whole farm into beans next year, for they might come three or four days later than your neighbor's, and your profits might be like ours were one day last summer. I came to market with forty-eight bushels of beans. They cost twenty cents for picking. I sold thirty-two bushels at thirty cents and offered the remaining sixteen bushels at twenty cents, but found no sale for them. I brought them back home and to my surprise found two extra bushels, making eighteen instead of sixteen bushels. I concluded that someone had despaired of selling them and perhaps had poor success in trying to give them away and so forced them on me. However we consider we did well on our beans, as the first two pickings brought from $2.00 to $3.50 per bushel. Now a few words about sweet corn. Along about the 6th to the 12th of July the truck gardener should load his first sweet corn. Sweet corn is of American origin, having been developed from field corn, or maize. No large vegetable is so generally grown throughout the country, the markets of the cities taking large quantities, and immense areas being grown for canning purposes. Seed that fails entirely is not often found, but when one has a good strain that produces early corn it is best to save some. We generally have sweet corn to sell every day from about the middle of July until the first frost. To do this we plant every ten days from about the 20th of April to the 20th of June. Our early variety is the Peep-O'Day, which is planted about the same time as the early beans. We also plant the Golden Bantam at this time. This is followed by Red Cob Cory, Pocahontas and some more Bantam. Then about May 15th to 20th we plant early and late Evergreen, Bantam and Country Gentleman. [Illustration: A load of vegetables at Marien's ready for market.] Soil well adapted to common field corn will produce good sweet corn, thriving best on well fertilized land. Sandy soil is best for the early varieties. Sweet corn is often grown in drills, but we prefer the hills three feet apart, as it is easier to get an even stand, and cultivating both ways will push the crop. It should be cultivated shallow and never deep enough to hurt the roots. It is well to hoe it once. Sweet corn is one of the few vegetables which is quite free from serious injury from either insects or diseases. Sweet corn may be divided into three classes: early, medium and late. It is very important that the various kinds come in as early as possible, as a few days make a lot of difference in price. So you see that to make a profit on beans and sweet corn, four things are needed: good seed, planting at the right time, in the right kind of soil, and plenty of elbow grease--or hard work. A member: How far apart do you plant your beans in the row? Mr. Marien: The rows three feet apart and the hills six inches, putting three or four seeds in a hill. A Member: Don't you recommend testing your seeds before you plant them? Mr. Marien: Hardly the bean seeds. I don't remember of ever having found any poor bean seeds. A Member: I mean seeds generally, corn, etc.? Mr. Marien: Yes, sir, we do; we always test our seed. Mr. Goudy: What is your method of harvesting your beans? Mr. Marien: Well, we generally employ pickers, boys and girls, and we pay them about twenty-five cents a bushel when they are above a dollar and a quarter, and then we keep going down; as the price goes down we go down too; but we have paid as much as thirty cents when the price of beans was high and it is important to get many on the market the next day. [Illustration: Harvesting the hay crop at Marien's.] Mr. Anderson: What are your gross receipts per acre for beans? Mr. Marien: That is a hard question to answer, as sometimes it is very poor for the medium and late beans, and sometimes there aren't any receipts at all. (Laughter.) But the early beans sometimes go as high as $250.00 an acre. Mr. Anderson: How late can you plant them and be sure of a crop? Mr. Marien: We have planted them as late as the 15th of June. A Member: You mentioned Davis as your first variety. What is the second one? Mr. Marien: The Wardwell Kidney. We always plant the two varieties at the same time because if we strike a wet season then the Davis does well, and the Wardwell won't do as well in wet weather but will do better in dry weather. Mrs. Glenzke: Will you tell me the color of your beans? Are they golden wax? Mr. Marien: Yes, some golden wax and some green string beans. We haven't as good a market for the green ones. Mrs. Glenzke: Have they a string on the back? Mr. Marien: Some have and some have not. There is the Bountiful, or the Thousand to One; that is a small green string bean that hasn't any string. But they are very hard to pick; so we don't raise many of them. Mrs. Glenzke: Have you ever tried Golden Pod? Mr. Marien: I think that is a wax bean? Mrs. Glenzke: Yes. Mr. Marien: Oh, we don't like them, at least not on the St. Paul market, because they are hard to pick. I don't know how it is in the Minneapolis market. A Member: What is the best of the green kind? Mr. Marien: We find that the Bountiful is a very good bean; and then there is also the Red Valentine. A Member: Did you ever grow any Crusset Wax? Mr. Marien: No, sir, I have not. Of course, there are some kinds that are just the same, but they go under different names in different places. Different catalogs will catalog the same seeds in a different way. * * * * * BEWARE BLIGHT CURES.--Almost every year orchardists are persuaded to try some new, so-called "blight cure" or preventative, only to find later that they have wasted time and money in the experiment. Government regulations regarding fake remedies of this character are more strict than formerly, but there are still some agents trying to dupe the public into buying their wares. Blight, which is often referred to as apple blight, fire blight, or pear blight, is caused by bacteria which live in the sap of the tree, and the principle followed by the blight-doctor is to introduce something into the sap which will prevent the working of the bacteria. The remedies are applied in various ways. Sometimes the trunk is painted with a mixture of some kind, or holes are bored into the trunk and these filled with a powder. The orchardist is sometimes furnished with a box of nails as the first "course" and instructed to drive these into the roots of the trees. It is evident that anything introduced into the sap that is strong enough to kill the bacteria living there will likewise damage the cell tissue of the tree, and result in more harm than benefit. One powder that has been brought to the attention of the Experiment Station, sells for $3.00 per pound, and is administered in teaspoonful "doses." Such a preparation as this is probably harmless, but is a waste of time and money. It would have no effect on the tree or the blight. Some of the agents not only claim that their remedies will cure blight, but, due to ignorance or other causes, they also claim that trees treated will be immune from attacks of certain insects. Orchardists may rest assured that up to the present time, no real preventative or cure has been found for blight, and that the only way it can be controlled is by cutting it out.--Colorado Agricultural College. IN MEMORIAM--MRS. E. CROSS. Mrs. Erasmus Cross, of Sauk Rapids, and a member of the Minnesota State Horticultural Society since 1888 (27 years), passed away at that place on Tuesday, December 28th. On December 16th Mrs. Cross sustained a painful injury by falling on the floor and breaking her hip. Owing to her advanced age, eighty-two years, the limb could not be set without the use of chloroform, which could not be given on account of weakness of the heart. Death finally released her from her suffering. [Illustration: The late Mrs. E. Cross, daughter and grandaughters.] Mrs. Jane Cross was always very enthusiastic about the Horticultural Society and the good it was doing, not only for this but other states. The ills of her age had prevented her from attending the meetings these late years, though she often did so in earlier years, but she always sent her fee through the writer, and eagerly awaited her return from the meeting to hear of its stimulating success. Mr. Cross died about six years ago. Two sons, James, of St. Paul, and Robert, of Sauk Rapids, and two daughters, Mrs. Annie Nicholson, of Hamline, and Mrs. Emma Sovereign, of Sauk Rapids, mourn her loss. Our society has lost a most loyal friend.--Mrs. Jennie Stager, Sauk Rapids. GARDEN HELPS Conducted by Minnesota Garden Flower Society Edited by MRS. E. W. GOULD, 2644 Humboldt Avenue So. Minneapolis. Notes from Prof. Alway's interesting and instructive talk on "Maintaining the fertility of our gardens." Requisites for proper plant growth are warmth, ventilation, root room, the absence of harmful alkalies or animals that destroy the beneficial bacteria in the soil, water and plant food. By far the most important requisite for growth is water. More plants and crops fail because of the lack of a proper amount of it than from any other cause. Plenty of fresh air is needed by the plants, as they derive a portion of their food from it. They adapt themselves largely to conditions as to root-room, a plant thriving in a pot, but spreading to much greater root space when grown in the open with plenty of room. The more restricted the root space, the more food and water it will require. The fourth requisite for growth does not concern us as there are no alkali lands in the counties near the Twin Cities, and the harmful minute animals that destroy the beneficial bacteria in the soil are as a rule found only in greenhouses. The best fertilizer for the garden is the thorough use of the hose. Each year stable manures become harder to obtain, but the fertility of the garden can be maintained by the use of commercial fertilizers, which are more concentrated foods and are much easier to work with. The perfect plant food consists of nitrogen, phosphorus and potash. We can obtain these in separate form and use as we need them. Nitrogen comes in the form of a salt, called nitrate of soda, and in dried blood. The nitrate of soda is very soluble in water and is taken up at once by the plant. It can be scattered upon the ground near but not touching the plant, as in the latter case it would burn it. It can also be dissolved in water--a tablespoonful to a pail--and the ground, but not the plant, watered. Dried blood is slower in action and requires warmth, so should not be used early in the season. Nitrogen promotes quick and luxuriant growth of leaves and stems and is good to use when a green growth of any kind is wished. In bone meal we find the phosphorus necessary to aid in the development of fine and many flowers, to expand root growth and to hasten maturity. It works slowly, so can be applied to the ground about a plant early in the season, and will be available in the ground the following year if enough is used. Equal parts of nitrate and bone meal can be used at the rate of one to two pounds to every one hundred square feet. Potash is almost off the market, as a result of the war, the main supply being imported from Germany. It can be obtained from hardwood ashes, and every bit of these should be saved for the garden and stored in a dry place where they will not become leached out by the action of water. _April Spraying._--Snowball bushes and others that have been troubled with aphides, or plant lice, the previous year should receive a thorough spraying of Black Leaf No. 40 (an extract of forty per cent. nicotine) before the leaf buds expand. For this early spraying, two tablespoonsful of the extract can be used to every gallon of water. It will stick to the branches better if some soap is dissolved in it. This spray will kill most of the eggs of these pests, which will be found near the leaf buds. When the leaves open another spraying should be given to kill all those that escaped the first treatment. For spraying after the leaves open use one tablespoonful to each gallon of water. * * * * * Meeting of the Minnesota Garden Flower Society, April 27th, St. Paul, Wilder Auditorium, Fifth and Washington Streets, 2:30 p.m. Native Plants in the Garden Shall We Collect or Grow Our Native Plants? Roadside Planting. BEE-KEEPER'S COLUMN. Conducted by FRANCIS JAGER, Professor of Apiculture, University Farm, St. Paul. Bees are kept both for profit and for pleasure. The old fashioned beekeeper with his hybrid bees, kept in immovable hives, logs or boxes, did not derive much profit from his bees. He kept them mostly for pastime. During the last fifteen years men with new methods of management and modern equipment have been rapidly superseding the picturesque old beekeepers. Modern beekeeping courses are now taught in connection with our institutions of learning, and young men full of energy and ambition are beginning to realize that beekeeping is offering one of the few opportunities to make a comfortable living with a comparatively small expense. Older beekeepers, both on the farm and professional men, also are beginning to study beekeeping. They attend short courses, subscribe to scientific bee papers and study bee literature. With increased study and knowledge the whole status of the beekeeping industry is just now undergoing a rapid change. Professional beekeepers, men who devote their whole time to beekeeping, are increasing, and more amateurs are turning to professional beekeeping every year. Organizations of beekeepers now exist in nearly every state. Their object is to spread knowledge among their members and to secure better prices for their product by co-operative marketing. Contrary to fears of more conservative beekeepers the demand for a first class article of honey is increasing more rapidly than the supply. A national organization of beekeepers and bee societies is taking up just now national problems in connection with their industry and has succeeded in making the government interested in this "infant industry." An appropriation of $200,000 has just been allowed by the agricultural committee of the Congress to develop beekeeping in localities where help is needed. The state of Minnesota allows an annual appropriation for beekeeping interests of $10,000, divided among the following branches: Bee inspection department, which takes charge of bee diseases, $2,000; state fair exhibits for premiums and maintenance of a bee and honey building in connection with our State Fair, $1,500. The Division of Bee Culture at the University Farm, which has charge of teaching, demonstration, extension work, research, queen rearing, correspondence, statistics and model apiaries, $6,500. Minnesota beekeepers should be grateful to those men who have helped them to raise their industry from a mere nothing, until we have become the acknowledged leaders in beekeeping among all the states of the Union. They, however, are rapidly following, nearly all states now have efficient bee inspection laws, and twelve universities have followed our lead and have included beekeeping in their curriculum. But we must not be satisfied with what we have accomplished. Out of $14,000,000 worth of honey which this state produces (by figuring) only $1,000,000 worth are gathered every year, and beekeeping in the state must grow to fourteen times its present proportions before it will be anywhere near its possibilities. ORCHARD NOTES. Conducted monthly by R. S. MACKINTOSH, Horticulturist, Extension Division, University Farm, St. Paul. Minnesota orchardists are preparing for a full crop of apples this year. From the experiences of last year with apple scab and codling moth, more thorough spraying is to be done. Senator Dunlap stated an experience he had in spraying that should be carefully considered by all apple men. Nine rows of trees were sprayed on Monday or Tuesday. Owing to bad weather the other rows could not be sprayed until Friday or Saturday. What was the result? He had 175 barrels of No. 1 fruit from first part and only seventeen barrels of No. 2 in rows sprayed later. Some are planning their orchard work for the season along the following lines: _First: Pruning._ To be done during the mild weather in March and April. Thin out all dead wood, interlocking branches, water-sprouts and shorten others. Pruning is to get the tree into better form to sustain a large load of fruit, to open the center to permit sunlight to get in to color fruit, and to permit of better spraying. There are too many trees in Minnesota that have never been touched by knife or saw. Such trees need attention, but the pruning should not be too severe at any one time. Begin this year to do a little pruning; next year do more; the year after a little more; and after that very little attention will be needed to keep the tree in good condition. While pruning look out for rabbit and mouse injury. If good trees have been injured do some bridge grafting as soon as you can. This means connecting the healthy bark above the wound with the healthy bark below. Small twigs cut from the same tree, that are long enough to span the wound, are cut wedge shaped on both ends, and these ends put under the healthy bark. If possible cover the wounded area with earth. If too high up tie the scions in place and cover all cut surfaces with grafting wax and cloth. Several scions should be put in if the tree is large. _Second: Spraying._ Three sprayings are needed on every bearing apple tree in Minnesota. First spray: When the center of buds show pink. Don't wait too long. Second spray: When the petals have fallen. Third spray: Ten to fifteen days after the second. Use lime-sulphur and arsenate of lead each time. It is important to do this at the right time, in the right way, and with the right materials. Right is the word and not left-undone. Further particulars will be found on the page devoted to spraying topics. _Third: Cultivation._ Follow the plan that is best suited to location. This may mean sod, part sod and cultivation, cultivation and mulch, mulch only, or cultivation and cover crop. Doubtless the last is the best in most instances. _Fourth: Thinning._ The thinning of apples in Minnesota has not been received with as much consideration as its importance demands. More attention will be given to this topic in subsequent issues. HOME GARDEN. What about the farm and home garden for 1916? Is the garden to receive the undivided attention of one or more members of each family, so that all members and guests may share its fruits? Let's make the home garden the best spot on every Minnesota farm in 1916. A conservative estimate of the actual value of the products from a half-acre garden is fifty dollars. In Minnesota there are over 150,000 farms. This would mean a total value of over $7,000,000. This does not include the value of the products of the village and city gardens. Careful estimates made in this state show that it costs about fifteen dollars for man and horse labor to take care of a garden of about three-fourths of an acre. Now for a BIG GARDEN MOVEMENT this year--for all the year. Not a big beginning kept up until the little weeds become big weeds. Is anyone going to allow weeds to outdo him? NOTES ON PLANT PESTS. Prepared by Section of Insect Pests, A. G. RUGGLES, and by Section of Plant Diseases, E. C. STAKMAN, University Farm. Buy spray materials as soon as possible. The orchardist will probably notice very little difference in the price of his spraying materials, like arsenate of lead and lime-sulphur, as compared with last year; but those who still think that Paris green is the only good stomach insecticide, will be astounded by this year's price. At the present time, in one pound lots, the retailer cannot sell Paris green for less than 50c per pound--over twice what it was last year. In large quantities, it is doubtful if it can be purchased for less than 45c per pound. Fortunately arsenate of lead, a better stomach insecticide than Paris green, has not advanced materially in price, the powdered form being obtained for about 25c per pound. One and one-half pounds of this powder is used in fifty gallons of spray mixture. In our experiments, we have found arsenate of lead superior to Paris green as a remedy for potato bugs and all orchard insects. It is not necessary, therefore, to allow any injurious biting insect to live simply because Paris green is high in price. Arsenate of lead, if properly applied at the right time, will keep any of these insects in check. A dormant wash does little good in controlling scab. Hence, on account of the high price of spraying compounds, do not spray when unnecessary. Many diseases of nursery stock are controlled by spraying. Begin spraying as soon as leaf buds unfold, with lime-sulphur 1-40 or Bordeaux mixture 4-4-50. Copper-sulphate has also advanced 15c or 16c per pound. Lime-sulphur has not advanced materially; therefore, plan to use lime-sulphur or some of the made-up (paste) Bordeaux instead of Bordeaux mixture, whenever possible. _Potatoes can not be sprayed with lime-sulphur._ The aphis problem is usually a very serious one, because they are such persistent little breeders. The trees or shrubs most affected are roses, snowball, currant, apple, plum and elm. The eggs of the plant lice pass the winter on the bark or buds of these plants and hatch as the buds begin to swell. Spray with the lime-sulphur (1-9) at this time. As soon as the leaves appear, spray with nicotine-sulphate as per directions on the container. If plum pocket was bad last year, the trees should be thoroughly pruned. Then spray with copper-sulphate, one pound to nine gallons of water, or lime-sulphur, one gallon with nine gallons of water, before the buds open. Follow with one to forty lime-sulphur or other spray as for brown rot. Control methods for plum pocket are not well worked out, so these methods cannot be depended upon entirely. Be sure and look over the apple trees carefully; cut out and burn all cankers. Black rot has been increasing in the state, and since a great deal of early infection may come from cankered limbs, it is important that cutting out and burning be resorted to. Last year the spring canker worm was just as active in the state as the fall canker worm; therefore, just as soon as possible, trees affected last year should be banded with the tree tanglefoot. The moths come out of the soil the first two weeks in April and at that time attempt to crawl up the trunks of the trees to lay their eggs on the limbs. When raspberries are uncovered, be sure to cut out and burn all dead canes missed last fall. The gray bark disease and anthracnose, also snowy tree cricket and red-necked cane borer, are controlled in this way. Plan to keep the young canes covered with a protective spray of resin-Bordeaux mixture. Try it on at least part of the patch. The benefit will not be apparent for a year. Spray currants and gooseberries as soon as leaf buds begin to unfold, with either Bordeaux mixture 4-4-50 or lime-sulphur 1-40, to prevent powdery mildew and leaf spots. For further information write to the section concerned. Inquiries will receive prompt attention. SECRETARY'S CORNER ANNUAL MEETING OF AMERICAN ASSOCIATION OF NURSERYMEN.--Information has reached this office to the effect that this national association will hold its annual meeting in Milwaukee June 28th to 30th. This is so near by that it ought to bring a goodly number of Minnesota nurserymen in attendance. For particulars in regard to the matter address John Hill, 204 Granite Bldg., Rochester, N.Y. PASSING OF HANS KNUDSON.--Mr. Knudson, late of Springfield, Minn., was the originator of the Compass cherry, which has been generally planted throughout the Northwest these recent years. He grew this variety from a seed as a result of a handmade cross between the Miner plum and the sand cherry. Mr. Knudson had other seedlings of similar origin which we thought might be of value, but nothing has been since heard from them. News of his passing early in January has just come to this office. THE MCINTOSH RED.--I think the McIntosh is quite hardy as a top-worked tree; there are two in my old orchard set in 1894, and they have shown no signs of injury. They were grafted on crab whips, but they were planted on a knoll, that while clay was within twelve to fifteen inches of a deep bed of sand. They have been shy bearers, but I think on a clay subsoil, such as I now have, they might prove good bearers. I would not be afraid to risk them as to hardiness.--F. W. Kimball, Waltham, Minn. REPORTS FOR MINNEAPOLIS MEMBERS.--Every member of the society is entitled to a copy of the annual report if desired. As there are not as many copies printed, however, as there are members, if every one asked for a copy we should be in trouble at once. Copies are mailed as promptly as possible after receiving membership fee to all members except those living in Minneapolis and those who come in as members of some auxiliary society. Minneapolis members are requested to call at the society office and secure the copy to which they are entitled, which will then get into their hands in a good deal better shape than though it passed through the postoffice. Members of auxiliary societies are entitled to a copy of the report, but only upon the prepayment of postage, which would be seven cents to points within 150 miles of Minneapolis and ten cents outside that limit. SCIONS FOR TOP-WORKING.--Stark Bros. Nurseries, of Louisiana, Mo., have sent to us for use in testing on top-worked trees a quantity of scions of the following varieties: King David, Jonathan, Delicious, Stayman Winesap, York Imperial and Liveland Raspberry. These scions are to be used primarily to fill orders for top-working from members who have selected them as one of the plant premiums, No. 8. There will, however, be a considerable surplus, we believe, and as far as they hold out we shall be glad to send them out to members of the society who have trees for top-working, and know how to graft properly, upon receipt of postage stamps to the amount of postage and packing, which would be approximately ten cents. We are not sure that we can supply all who may ask for them, but to a limited extent we can do so. I would suggest promptness in making application for these scions. Address Secy. Latham. WHO IS GROWING MCINTOSH RED APPLE?--Information from an interested member of the society is called for as to what success, if any, has been had in growing the McIntosh Red top-worked on hardy trees here in Minnesota. Scions of this variety have been sent out several years by the society and probably some have already come into fruitage, or perhaps they have been secured from other sources. Replies will be published. Address Secy. Latham. NO PLANT PREMIUMS AFTER APRIL 1ST.--All members ordering plant premiums have undoubtedly noted this important condition that "all applications for plant premiums must be made prior to April 1st." This condition will be strictly adhered to, and those sending in selections for plant premiums after that date need not feel disappointed if they do not receive them. It is absolutely necessary to make a definite date beyond which no applications will be received in order to work out successfully the problem of distribution which faces us at that time. TO MEMBERS OF AUXILIARY SOCIETIES.--Occasionally a member of an auxiliary society writes to this office asking for a copy of the annual volume of the society. Members of auxiliary societies are entitled to this volume, but the State Society does not pay postage on it, the amount received from auxiliary societies for memberships not permitting this expense. Any member of any auxiliary society who wishes to have a copy of the annual volume mailed from this office should send with the application postage at the rate of seven cents if within one hundred fifty miles of Minneapolis, and ten cents to points in the state more than one hundred fifty miles from Minneapolis. BUY NURSERY STOCK AT HOME.--There are always more or less agents of foreign nurseries, that is nurseries located outside the state, canvassing for orders of nursery stock in our state, and many citizens are also tempted to reply to advertisements of outside nurseries who are trying to secure business in Minnesota. It is not my purpose to condemn these outside nurseries nor their methods of doing business, which in most cases undoubtedly are honorable and straight forward. But there is a real advantage in buying nursery stock at home, that is, from nurserymen located in our own state, and especially from nurserymen who are in the immediate vicinity. There is no class of goods that one can buy in connection with which there is such opportunity for mistake and fraud as in nursery stock. It is impossible for any but an expert to tell by the appearance of a tree or plant of any kind what the variety is, and either through mistake or purposely it is no uncommon thing for those purchasing trees to be disappointed as to the names of varieties when they come into fruitage or flower. If the nurseries are in our own state, or in our vicinity, it is a very easy matter to get at them, and they will almost uniformly be found willing to make good such blunders, or if they don't and the matter is worth while they can be made to do so. Don't place your orders outside of the state if the things you want can be purchased at home. You will find it a real advantage to act on this counsel. Especially in the case of strawberry plants the element of distance is a very important one as on account of their leafy character they heat and spoil readily. A few plants near home are often worth more to the recipient than a large shipment from abroad. NURSERYMEN OF MINNESOTA.--The secretary endeavors to keep a correct list of all those engaged in the nursery business in this state. As far as his personal acquaintance goes of course the list is known to be a correct one, but there are doubtless a number engaged in the nursery business in a small way of whom he does not know personally, and he would be glad to hear from any engaged in the nursery business who are not personally acquainted with him so that their names may be added to this list. The address of the secretary is always to be found on the front cover page of this magazine. THE SOCIAL ELEMENT AT OUR ANNUAL MEETING.--Those of our members who attended the last annual meeting could not have failed to note the large proportion of ladies in attendance at these meetings, not only at the one managed by the Woman's Auxiliary, but also at every other meeting during the four days session. You may be surprised to learn that approximately one-third of those who registered as purposing to attend the meeting belonged to the gentler sex, and the proportion in attendance was somewhere in that neighborhood. This is one of the delightful features of our annual gathering which is steadily increasing. More and more are the ladies attending our meetings, and in larger number are they becoming members of the association aside from any relation they may sustain as wives or daughters to those who are already members. This movement should be in every way encouraged, and we hope another year to be able to offer still more attractive accommodations in this direction. In planning for a new building for the society, this feature of our work should not by any means be lost sight of. I believe that very few organizations of this kind can boast so large an interest on the part of the ladies in the various branches of its work. DID YOU SELECT EVERBEARING STRAWBERRIES AS YOUR PREMIUM?--An altogether unexpected demand has been made upon us for the Everbearing Strawberries the society is offering as plant premiums to its members this spring. Probably twice as many plants have been called for as can be furnished in the amount asked for. Under the "right of substitution" which the society reserves in the matter of its plant premiums, probably plant premium No. 16 will be substituted for Nos. 17 and 18 if matters turn out as now appears, though the number of plants sent will be more than is offered under No. 16. As this everbearing strawberry, originated at the fruit-breeding farm, No. 1017, is a very prolific plant maker, a dozen plants, if the runners are allowed to grow, will make plants enough to set out a bed of them next year, large enough in all probability for family use. In the matter of June-bearing strawberry No. 3, offered as premium, there is undoubtedly stock enough to fill all orders including those asked for for which money has been sent, and we are in hopes that orders for raspberry No. 4 can be filled in their entirety, though it may be necessary to return money which has been sent for additional plants. In this distribution all members will be treated exactly alike and altogether in accordance with the conditions noted in connection with the list of premiums as found on page six of the society folder and on the inside front cover page of the magazine. [Illustration: VIEW IN FRUIT-BREEDING GREENHOUSE, STATE COLLEGE, BROOKINGS, S.D. This is Prof. N. E. Hansen's laboratory, where he works out his problems in cross-breeding. (See opposite page.)] While it is not the intention to publish anything in this magazine that is misleading or unreliable, yet it must be remembered that the articles published herein recite the experience and opinions of their writers, and this fact must always be noted in estimating their practical value. THE MINNESOTA HORTICULTURIST Vol. 44 MAY, 1916 No. 5 What is Hardiness? PROF. N. E. HANSEN, HORTICULTURIST, BROOKINGS, S.D. By the term hardiness is understood the capacity to resist against any special condition of environment. So in speaking of hardiness of the plant it may mean hardiness as to either cold, heat, drouth, fungus or insect trouble. In the present discussion hardiness against cold will be considered mainly, since that is the most difficult problem we have to meet in this horticultural field. It would be of great advantage could we determine by examination of the plant its power to resist cold. If we could determine by the looks of a new apple tree its power of resistance to our test winters, it would save us many thousands of dollars and much vexation of spirit. Some years ago the Iowa State Horticultural Society made a determined and praiseworthy effort to determine hardiness by some characteristic of the plant, especially in apple trees. A chemical test of the sap of hardy and tender varieties was made. The palisade cells of the leaf, and the cellular structure of the wood, were examined under high powers of the microscope to determine some means by which a tender variety could be distinguished from a hardy one, but no general rule or conclusion could be formulated. In a general way nurserymen and orchardists say that a variety that ripens its wood well in the fall shows it by the twigs being sturdy and not easily bent, while twigs that are not well ripened indicate lack of hardiness. The winter of 1884-85 was preceded by a late, wet autumn that kept trees of all varieties growing very late, so that winter came before the wood was ripened. In all the literature on this subject, I have been unable to find any method by which a hardy variety could be distinguished from a tender one of the same species, or, in other words, there is no correlation between morphology and hardiness. Although we do not know what determines hardiness, we may still go ahead with our experimental work. We do not really know what electricity is, but inventors in that line have enough of a theory on this subject so that they are able to work very successfully with this gigantic force of nature. We know there is a difference in hardiness between the red cedar of Tennessee and the red cedar of Minnesota, and that it is safest for us to plant the tree as it is found at the north. The same applies to many other trees that are found native over a wide area. At Moscow, Russia, the box elder as first imported was from St. Louis, and it winter-killed. Afterwards they got the box elder from Manitoba, and it proved perfectly hardy. Although botanically both are the same, yet there is a difference in hardiness. My way of securing hardiness is to work with plants that are already hardy. I like to work with native plums in my plant breeding experiments because there need be no concern about their hardiness. We know they are hardy, or they would not be here after thousands of years of natural selection in this climate. The other way of obtaining hardiness is by crossing a tender variety with a hardy one. When we cross the native plum with the Japanese plum, we obtain seedlings that combine in a fair measure the hardiness of the native plum with the size and quality of the Japanese plum. In many states of the Union the question of varieties for commercial orchards has been to a large degree settled. There is always room for a new apple, but for commercial purposes the varieties already in cultivation are sufficiently satisfactory as to size, color and quality as well as in keeping and shipping capacity. So the main effort in their horticultural societies is along other lines, such questions as marketing, packing, spraying, insects, fungi and orchard management. But in this region the winter apple question is still a vital one. Some promising winter apples have appeared recently, and it remains to be seen whether they will stand up under the next test winter. They are certainly satisfactory in size, color, quality and keeping capacity. The greatest question now presents itself in planting apple seed. What variety shall I choose? Some pedigrees may be like a blind alley, they will lead us nowhere. The commercial apples of the East and of the Pacific Coast are the survivors of millions of apple seedlings raised by immigrants from Western Europe during the past three centuries. They survived because they were the best. From time to time very good varieties are super-ceded by new ones that appear. From the ashes of millions of seedlings will arise, Phoenix-like, the creations that will dominate our future prairie pomology. Here in the Northwest thousands of farmers have already determined to a considerable extent what we may expect from planting the seed of certain standard varieties. [Illustration: The Waneta plum. A promising variety originated and introduced by Prof. N. E. Hansen.] Wisconsin, Minnesota and Iowa are full of seedlings of the Duchess. Some of the best are Okabena, Peerless, Patten's Greening, Milwaukee, Dudley, Pewaukee. A very large amount of Wealthy seed has been planted, especially in Minnesota. Many of these give promise, but in none do we appear to have obtained the true winter-keeping capacity. The Wealthy has given us the Lord's L, Evelyn, Lyman Sweet, Perfect and many more, observed at Minnesota state fairs from time to time. The Malinda has given us in the Perkins' seedlings a number of promising new varieties that evidently are true winter keepers. The fact that they appear hardy may come from the fact that the original orchard had hardy varieties, like the Duchess, standing near the Malinda. From the experience with these three varieties I would like to draw the conclusion that in order to get winter apples we should save the seed of winter apples, but it would not be safe to draw this conclusion without further experiments. There is an immense number of Ben Davis seedlings in Missouri and adjoining states, but none appear to have come into extensive commercial notice except the Black Ben Davis and Gano. But as near as I can learn we cannot obtain real hardiness from this line of descent, unless the Ben Davis in the mother orchard is standing near varieties like the Duchess. The seed of standard winter apples top-grafted on hardy stocks like Hibernal should be carefully saved as nature may have smiled with indulgence upon your efforts and created the desired variety. I am watching with great interest a tree of very vigorous, smooth growth, from seed of Talman Sweet top-grafted on Duchess. You would not expect to get anything hardy from seed of the Talman Sweet, but the entire hardiness so far of the young trees propagated from the original seedling, makes me impatient to see the fruit. A blend of Talman Sweet and Duchess ought certainly to bring something good, but they will not all be hardy or all good. The fact that there are so many different lines of pedigree available to us in our apple work, makes it all the more necessary for us to divide the work. Let us gather inspiration from the story of Johnny Apple-Seed--one of the patron saints of American horticulture--who about one hundred and twenty-five years ago forced his way through the wilderness of Indiana and Ohio and planted many bushels of apple seed as he went along, so that when settlers came they found their orchards ready for them. The story of John Chapman and his unselfish efforts in planting the seed of apples and other fruits in the American wilderness should give us courage and patience to give a little of our time to this work. Make a record of what seeds you plant, and when the seedlings are one year of age plant them out in a row where they can be cultivated. Select the best ones as they fruit and bring to the state fair or horticultural meeting. You may not win the grand prize, but you will have the satisfaction of having made some contribution to the common welfare. * * * * * In localities where cottontails are sufficiently abundant to be a continual menace, the safest and most nearly permanent method of securing immunity from their ravages is to fence against them. It has been found that woven wire netting of one and one-half inch mesh and thirty inches high will exclude rabbits, provided, that the lower border of the fence is buried five or six inches below the surface of the ground. In cases where a small number of trees are concerned, a cylinder of similar wire netting around each tree, if so fastened that it cannot be pushed up close against the tree, serves the purpose more economically. Standardizing Minnesota Potatoes. A. W. AAMODT, UNIVERSITY FARM, ST. PAUL. (Gideon Memorial Contest.) The potato is one of the large farm crops of the country, rating next to the cereals in importance. According to the census report of 1909, United States produced 389,194,965 bushels, and three-fourths of these were consumed in the states in which they were produced. The report also shows that the most extensive production was along the northern tier of states, from Maine to Minnesota. In 1909 the states ranked in production as follows: New York, Michigan, Wisconsin, Maine, Minnesota, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Iowa, Illinois and Colorado. In the same year Minnesota ranked fourth in surplus production, producing sixteen per cent. of the potatoes which entered into interstate commerce. Wisconsin produced twenty per cent., Michigan twenty-four per cent. and Maine twenty-five per cent. [Illustration: Figure I. Rural New Yorker.] In Minnesota the largest part of these potatoes are grown in certain districts of the state, and according to the 1909 census the counties rank in respective order, namely: Hennepin, Isanti, Chisago, Clay, Anoka, Sherburne, Washington, Ottertail, Dakota, and Mille Lacs. This shows that the largest production is in the vicinity of St. Paul and Minneapolis, and the Red River Valley, especially in Clay County. The following statement shows the per cent. of increase in acreage from 1900 to 1910 and that the older districts are being rapidly outdone by the counties towards the northern part of the state: Clay, 455 per cent.; Sherburne, 254 per cent.; Polk, 136 per cent.; Todd, 109 per cent.; Hennepin, 83 per cent.; Anoka, 58 per cent.; Isanti, 26 per cent.; Chisago, 17 per cent. From these reports it is also evident that the distribution of the surplus is entirely towards the southern states, either as table stock or as seed potatoes, which in turn varies with the different years because of differences in crop yields. But as a general rule Maine, New York and Michigan supply the states in the east, east central and southeastern part of the country, Wisconsin the Chicago market and Minnesota the Mississippi Valley, especially Nebraska and Kansas. In addition Minnesota ships seed potatoes to many of the Southern states. [Illustration: Figure II. Burbank.] Because of these markets, potato shippers maintain that competition is extremely keen between the potato growing sections of this country. There can be no doubt that the only way Minnesota can meet her increase in yield and increase in demand is to determine whether or not she will expand her markets to the territory which is now being held by the other states. But before Minnesota can get these markets and obtain the better prices, she must standardize her potatoes. That is, Minnesota can obtain great improvement by adopting certain standards for the grading and sorting of potatoes. At a conference held in Chicago, last February, of representatives from the growing, shipping and marketing interests, the following recommendations for greater uniformity in potato shipments were made: _Size._--Market stock of round white varieties shall be graded over a screen which measures 1-7/8 inches in the clear. For long white varieties a screen of 1-3/4 inches, in the clear, is recommended. _Weight._--Stock running over twelve ounces is undesirable and not over five per cent. of this maximum weight should be allowed in first class shipments. [Illustration: Figure III. Burbank Russet.] _Quality._--Stock should be practically free from serious external imperfections, including late blight rot, common scab, sunburn, frost injury, bruises, knobbiness, second growth, etc. Stock should be mature and clean. _Varietal purity._--Commercial potato shipments should be graded to one variety. All indications show that Minnesota must grade and sort for commercial shipments of potatoes, and that a definite brand or grade designating a definite standard must be adopted in order to secure the highest prices. All inferior stock must be thrown out, and the best potatoes given a chance to make an attractive showing. The standing which Minnesota potatoes will have in the market will be determined a great deal by the grading, which is usually the work of the dealer, although some farmers do their own grading by hand. Ungraded potatoes injure the Minnesota potato trade and reduce the profits, as the freight is the same on dirt, small and unsound potatoes as it is on the fine stock. As much as a ton of dirt and culls is sometimes found in a car on the Chicago "team tracks" after the wholesale merchant has sacked all he is willing to accept. This freight, sorting charges and cost of disposing of refuse must be paid by some one. Co-operating to improve the sorting done at loading stations is a means of establishing a grade to meet competition and to reach new markets. [Illustration: Figure IV. Early Ohio.] Standardization also means grading to eliminate potatoes infected with disease, such as common scab and late blight, sunken discolorations or dry hard blisters, green, spongy and coarse stock. All of these defects tend to lower prices. In order to increase the value of the Minnesota potato we must also supply the market with the variety which it demands, and, furthermore, this variety must be free from mixture. Minnesota has already taken a step in this direction. The Minnesota Agricultural Experiment Station, Minnesota Crop Improvement Association and the Minnesota Potato Growers' Association have recommended the following varieties and types to be selected and grown. The Rural New Yorker, as shown in Figure 1, is the leading round, white, late potato for Minnesota. It is a good yielding and keeping variety, fine in quality, an excellent market sort and suitable for almost any soil. Similar to the Rural New Yorker are the Carman No. 3 and Sir Walter Raleigh. The Green Mountain is a desirable white late potato, similar to the Rural New Yorker, but more oblong and with squarer ends. It is better suited to rich heavy soils than the Rural New Yorker, as they are not so likely to grow hollow. [Illustration: Figure V. Triumph.] Other similar varieties are the Carman No. 1, Green Mountain, Jr., and State of Maine. The Burbank (Fig. II) is a long, white, late potato of excellent quality and suitable only for rich, loose, loam soils. Thrives well upon new rich soils that are well supplied with humus. Other inferior varieties confused with the Burbank are the White Chief, White Star and Pingree. The Burbank Russet (Fig. III) is a long, russet, late potato differing mainly from the Burbank in its heavily russeted skin. Very fine for baking. Suitable for low, moist, friable and peaty soils. The Early Ohio (Fig. IV) is the leading early potato in Minnesota. The type is oval with a pinkish or flesh colored skin. It is particularly suited to the black, rich, friable soils. The Triumph (Fig. V) is a round, red, very early potato, valuable for southern seed trade. It suffers severely from drought, and, therefore, soils subject to this condition should be avoided. Similar or identical varieties are Red Bliss, Bliss, Triumph and Stray Beauty. The Irish Cobbler is a promising white, early, roundish potato of good quality, although inferior to the Early Ohio. It has not been sufficiently tested out, but is promising for southern seed trade. Similar variety is the Extra Early Eureka. The King is a broad, oblong, reddish potato. Very suitable for worn-out and sandy soils. Similar or identical variety is the Maggie Murphy. In conclusion I would have you to remember the main points of this paper which may be summarized as follows: First. That Minnesota is one of the leading potato producing states of the Union. Second. That Minnesota must establish a reputation for a continuous supply of well graded stock practically free from diseases and blemishes. Third. That Minnesota must create a general interest in better seed, true to name and type. Finally. Minnesota must secure the co-operation of all agencies interested in the production, distribution and utilization of potatoes to get better production, better grading and better marketing. * * * * * INSECTS HELP RAISE CROP.--It is well known that most of our crop plants will not form fruit and seed unless the flowers are properly pollinated. The principal carriers of pollen are wind and insects. In some plants, such as the beet, both wind and insects play an important part in the spread of pollen. In all cereals and grasses, and in the potato, the pollen is carried mainly by wind. In most of our common plants of garden, field, and orchard, insects are the chief and most effective carriers of pollen. The following is a list of insect-pollinated plants: Onions, asparagus, buckwheat, gooseberry, currant, cabbage, radish, turnip, raspberry, blackberry, strawberry, apple, pear, plum, cherry, peach, alfalfa, clover, melons, cucumbers and squashes. We are very dependent upon the bees and other insects for a good crop yield.--W. W. Robbins, Colorado Agri. College. Annual Report, 1915, Vice-President, Eighth Congressional District. FRANK H. CUTTING, DULUTH. This district embraces within its limits a very large area having different characteristics from a horticultural standpoint. Much of the land has a high elevation and is rolling or hilly, and much is low and comparatively level. A considerable portion is close to Lake Superior and other large bodies of water and, therefore, governed by conditions with respect to frost different from those controlling land not so situated. The quality or character of the soil is also varying. The foregoing considerations probably furnish the reason for the widely differing reports secured on the blanks distributed, and which were quite generally answered. This prompts the suggestion that before planting commercially or on a large scale one should personally conduct a series of experiments on land designed for use to test its adaptability for the fruits intended. We suffered a frost and hard freeze on the 18th day of May which greatly damaged the fruit buds; the temperature registered on that day at the United States Weather Office being 27°. The month of June was the coolest in forty-five years. The low temperature of the summer months and lack of sunshine resulted in a tardy development of fall fruits and a failure to mature them. Even the Beta grape and the Compass cherry did not ripen their fruit. The Opata plum, however, bore a large crop of ripe plums early in September. Very little blight has been reported. The weather report shows a deficiency of precipitation up to December 1 of 3.81 inches. However, the heavy rains in November immediately before the ground froze supplied sufficient moisture to enable trees and shrubs to stand the winter. The following list is suggested by the reports: Apples: Duchess, Okabena, Wealthy, Patten's Greening. Crab Apples: Florence, Early Strawberry, Virginia. Plums: Cheney, Aitkin, Compass, Opata. Grape: Beta. Cherries: Reports generally unfavorable. Blackberries: No kinds reported favorably. Raspberry: Minnetonka Ironclad, King, Cuthbert, Older. Strawberries: Dunlap; Everbearing--Progressive and Superb. Currants: Red Dutch, Perfection, Wilder, White Grape. Gooseberries: Carrie, Houghton, Downing. Hardy Perennial Flowers: Peonies, Phlox, Sweet William, Delphinium, Canterbury Bells, Foxglove, Oriental Poppies, Iceland Poppies. Hardy Shrubs: Snowball, Hydrangea, Lilac, Honeysuckle, High Bush Cranberry. Annual Report, 1915, Paynesville Trial Station. FRANK BROWN, SUPT. The summer of 1915 will long be remembered as the summer with no warm weather. There was a heavy frost the morning of June 10th. The season's rainfall was very heavy, but trees at the best made only a normal growth, and with many varieties, especially of forest trees, the growth was much less than the usual growth of even a dry season. Some fruit trees blossomed quite early, and the young fruit formed during a warm spell, and these trees were heavily loaded with fruit. This was especially noticeable with Wealthy, Duchess, Okabena and Whitney No. 20 apples, and with some of the Hansen hybrid plums. Other trees, fully as good bearers, blossomed a few days later and set no fruit at all, the frost killing the blossoms while not severe enough to harm the fruit already set. The cool weather of this past season has probably helped fruit growers more than it has hindered them, for had it been as hot as it usually is when we have such a tremendous rainfall, blight would most certainly have caused much trouble, but as it was we have had practically no blight at all. This season has again demonstrated very plainly the advantages of top-working, such trees making a better growth, and the fruit being more even, and less troubled with spots, scab, etc. The plums sent to this station the spring of 1913 bore no fruit at all this season, but the trees made a fair growth and all appear healthy except a few that froze back the winter of 1913-14. The plum trees sent from the central station the spring of 1914 made a very poor growth that season, owing undoubtedly to the fact that the roots were dry when reaching here, but this last season all but one made a splendid growth, and one No. 10, to my surprise, produced five plums that for beauty and eating qualities would place this variety in the front rank with the best in the state. We shall watch these trees with great interest and will report on their actions as they develop. The four trees of No. 1 plum, sent here the spring of 1915 from the central station, made a splendid growth, each tree developing fruit buds in abundance. Of the seven varieties of raspberries sent here the spring of 1913, three made good this last season. No. 2 bore a tremendous crop of very large fruit, in quality the best; No. 4 bore heavily, an all around good berry and apparently a good shipper; No. 7 produced a good crop, not quite as large as No. 2, but continued in bearing for a long period. Further testing will be necessary for these berries, but so far they look good. There is little to say about grapes, except the growth has been good, and the amount of fruit buds started immense, but the frost and unsuitable weather told the tale--we won't repeat it. Of strawberries we will say this: If the central station did nothing in five years except to produce the strawberry known as Minnesota No. 3, they have still done well. It is hardy, a good shipper, it is delicious with cream and sugar, a good canner, in fact a great big Senator Dunlap with no green core, but ripens to the tip. It is also a good plant producer. The strawberry known as No. 1017, planted last spring, did well. It is a wonderful plant producer, having a very heavy, dark green foliage, it seems to be a good bearer of large, dark red berries. With the wood on the fruit trees thoroughly ripened, and fruit buds in good condition, we may look ahead to the future with courage, believing that all things come to him that waits in Minnesota, providing he hustles while he waits. * * * * * RED ROSE BEETLE IS EASILY KILLED.--Did you ever wait patiently in the spring for your favorite Japanese rose to bloom and find when the buds were ready to burst that it was scaly and spotted around punctures made by the red rose beetle? Then did you vow once more to destroy the beetles when you saw the roses begin to wither from punctures made by the beetle in the stem? The destruction of the red rose beetle is simple, according to a circular recently issued by the Minnesota state entomologist, University Farm, St. Paul. The method is to cultivate the ground around the rose bush early this spring and cultivate it again in the late fall. This will destroy many of the beetles, for they live in the soil in the winter. Then a few of the pests can be hand-picked and destroyed. If they are still too thick, they may be removed next fall for safety to next year's blooms. The beetle lays its eggs in the hip of the rose. These can be seen after the rose is in full bloom as a black spot, covered over with no noticeable depression. The growing pests leave the old blossom by the middle of September and go into the soil until next spring. The bush should be examined in the latter part of August for any flower hips containing insect larvae and all found should be plucked and burned. A few hours' work will insure a beautifully blooming bush next year. Annual Report, 1915, Jeffers Trial Station. DEWAIN COOK, SUPT. The 1915 apple crop at this station was a complete failure, owing to the freezes of late May and early June. This apple failure, so far as I have been able to ascertain, was prevalent over the entire county of Cottonwood, although we could hear of plenty of apples being grown only a short distance over the county line in all directions excepting to the west of us. [Illustration: A windbreak at Dewain Cook's, mostly white willow.] The season has been one of cool weather and much rainfall, so much so that although we had no killing frosts this fall until October 5th, yet no corn or melons ripened in this vicinity. We quit spraying our fruit trees when the freeze came last spring and destroyed the apple crop, and the result has been that there was much scab on the foliage of many varieties of our apple trees. The Antonovka and the Hibernal seem to be about the healthiest in this respect. As to the fire blight there has been absolutely none at this station the season just passed. As for plums we got a few bushels in the final roundup, De Sotos, Wolfs and Wyants mostly. Of the Japanese hybrids, we got a few specimens of the B.A.Q. The Emerald bore freely, but the fruit mostly either was destroyed by the brown rot or cracked badly just as they were getting ripe. The Tokata, one of Hansen's hybrids, gave us specimens of very fine fruit. Of the apricot hybrids only the Hanska made any pretense of trying to bear anything, but the curculio got away with about all of them. When I made the midsummer report most of Hansen's sand cherry hybrids were promising a good crop, but with the exception of the Enopa and Kakeppa, from which we gathered a few quarts of fruits, we got nothing. The brown rot, assisted by the curculio, took them all. It sure looks as if we ever expect to make a general success with these sand cherry hybrids and with the Japanese hybrids, we will have to be better educated along the line of controlling this disease that is so very destructive to the fruit of some varieties of plums, especially of those varieties that have sand cherry or Japanese blood in them. [Illustration: A veteran white spruce at Mr. Cook's place.] [Illustration: Specimen Colorado blue spruce at Dewain Cook's.] We have to report a grand success with everbearing strawberry No. 1017, sent to this station from our State Fruit-Breeding Farm last spring. The season all through was favorable for that class of fruit. We kept all blossoms picked off till about the first of August, when we let everything grow, and there is a great number of new plants. These new plants, with a few exceptions, did not bear, but the old plants, the ones set last spring, we gathered from them, from about September 15 till the first hard frost, October 5th, a liberal crop of surprisingly fine fruit. The Americus, also an everbearing variety, treated exactly as we did Minnesota 1017, bore a great number of plants and some fruit in the fall. The berries were not so large as the 1017 nor so many of them. While it is a perfect flowering variety, most of the late blossoms blighted, which seems to be a weakness of this variety. On November 5th our strawberry beds were all given a mulching with loose oat straw for a winter protection. The several varieties of grape vines originating at the Minnesota State Farm on trial here have all made a vigorous growth. We have them all pruned and laid on the ground, and we intend to give them no other winter protection. They are in a sheltered location. In spite of the various freezes early in the season we got samples of fruit from most of the varieties. Minnesota No. 8 seems to be the earliest to ripen its fruit. The wild grape flavor is noticeable in all these varieties. The various varieties of plum trees sent here from the State Farm made vigorous growth the past season and are looking healthy with the exception of Minnesota No. 21. Of the five trees of this variety each one has a great many galls on the body of the tree. It is probably what is termed black knot, only the galls have not turned black yet. They are apparently of too recent growth for that. It is probable that we will plant other trees in their places next spring. * * * * * PAINTING OF SMALL TREE WOUNDS USELESS.--It has long been the custom for horticulturists to recommend, and fruit growers to use, dressings of various kinds on the wounds of trees when branches are removed in pruning. A few years ago the New York Experiment Station decided to conduct some experiments to determine whether such practice was really of any value or not. From results of this work, which have recently been published in bulletin form, it is concluded that the use of white lead, white zinc, yellow ochre, coal tar, shellac and avenarious carbolineum as coverings for wounds under five inches in diameter is not only useless, but usually detrimental to the tree. This is particularly true of peaches, and perhaps of some other stone fruits, which, according to recommendations, should never be treated at all. The substances mentioned often injure the cambium layer to such an extent that the healing of wounds is greatly retarded. Of the substances experimented with, white lead proved to be the best and is recommended wherever anything is used. But it is not thought worth while to use even white lead for wounds two or three inches or less in diameter, though it may be advisable to use it on wounds where very large branches have been removed. On the larger wounds, where much surface is exposed to decay, the white lead will help to keep out moisture and the organisms which cause decay. The smaller wounds, however, heal so quickly that the evil effects of the covering may more than offset the benefits derived from its use.--R.A. McGinty, Colorado Agricultural College, Fort Collins, Colorado. Annual Report, 1915, Montevideo Trial Station. LYCURGUS R. MOYER, SUPT. About twenty-six years ago a plantation of white spruce was made at this station. The trees flourished for several years and bade fair to become a permanent success, but some six or eight years ago they began to fail and many of them have since died. The survivors are all in poor condition. It seems that this tree is not well adapted to prairie conditions, at least not to the prairies of Southwestern Minnesota. Its native range is much further north. Here it evidently suffers from heat and dryness. The Black Hills spruce is commonly regarded as belonging to the same species. It has not been tested nearly so long, but so far it seems to be entirely hardy. Something like thirty years ago a few trees of black spruce, a few trees of European larch and a few trees of balsam fir were planted here. They have long since disappeared. White pine planted at about the same time disappeared with them. A single tree of Scotch pine planted at about the same time, standing in the open, is gnarled and crooked and shows a great many dead branches. A forest plantation of several thousand Scotch pine, made something like twenty-two years ago, is still in good condition. Many of the trees are from twenty-five to thirty feet high. Some of the smaller trees have been over-topped and smothered out, but generally the trees seem healthy. A few hundred of the black, or Austrian, pine were set at the same time. They are about two-thirds of the height of the Scotch pine, but they are as healthy and vigorous trees as one would care to see. Some trees of rock, or bull, pine (Pinus scopulorum) were set at the same time. They have grown at about the same rate as the black pine and are healthy, vigorous trees. Norway spruce has done better here than white spruce, some old trees fruiting freely. The Colorado blue spruce (Picea pungens) seems to be our best spruce, and so far as tested the Black Hills spruce is a good second. Douglas fir has been planted in a small way in the parks, but it is young yet. It seems probable that the Scotch pines in the forestry plantation owe their comparatively good condition to the shelter they get from the hot winds from being planted close together, and from the fact that they are partly protected by the black pines planted to the west of them. The single tree of Scotch pine above referred to has had garden cultivation for thirty years, but it seems likely that it was injured by the same hot winds that killed the white pine and the larch. The Scotch pine is a native of Northern Europe, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Scotland, Normandy (near the ocean) and Germany and Russia around the Baltic, and all these countries have a moist, cool climate. The black pine is a native of Southern Europe, growing all the way from Southern Spain to the Taurus Mountains in Asia Minor. In its native habitat it has become accustomed to the hot winds that often sweep across the Mediteranean, the burning sirocco of the Great Sahara. The dwarf mountain pine, Pinus Montana, grows in the Pyrenees, in the Alps, in the Carpathians and in the Balkan Mountains, so that it, too, often encounters the hot winds that come across from the African deserts. It is probable that the ability of the black pine, the dwarf mountain pine, the Black Hills spruce, and the rock pine to flourish on the prairies of Southwestern Minnesota is due to the fact that all these trees have become accustomed to resisting the hot, dry winds that often reach them in their native habitats. The Norway spruce (Picea excelsa) in its many varieties is native to almost the whole of Europe, extending from north of the Arctic Circle to the Pyrenees and Balkan Mountains in Southern Europe. We could then expect that trees from the Pyrenees or from the Balkans might be so well accustomed to the hot winds from Africa as to make them resist, at least for some time, the hot winds of the prairies. And they do seem to stand better than the white spruce or the balsam fir or the white pine. Some report should be made on the material sent out for trial from the State Fruit-Breeding Farm. The strawberry, No. 1017, made a fine growth, and promised a large crop of fruit in September, but a few days of quite dry weather, following a very wet spell, ruined the crop at ripening time. The raspberry, No. 4, is a great producer of sprouts and multiplies enormously, but it seems to be a rather shy fruiter, and the fruit is not of the highest quality. It is intermediate in season. No. 5 is a much larger and better berry, although not quite so hardy. Both came through the winter, without covering, in good condition. No. 8 seems to resemble the old Columbian. It does not sucker much. It is a large, late berry of good quality. It was covered, so its hardiness is untested. Prof. Hansen's Oheta is a berry of much promise. It is of fine quality and fruits abundantly. The hybrid plums were sprayed with a commercial dust spray but not effectively enough, for the fruit all rotted. We shall try more thorough spraying next season. Patten's Greening, Oldenburg, Okabena and Simbrish No. 1 produced a good crop of apples. With us Okabena is undersized, of poor flavor and an extremely poor keeper. The Growing of Vegetables for Canning. M. H. HEGERLE, PRES. CANNING FACTORY, ST. BONIFACIUS. The state authorities, through the Agricultural Farm and other sources, are doing good work promoting and encouraging the growing of vegetables, but it seems more could be done towards the marketing and conservation of these vegetables after they are grown. The growing season for vegetables in this state is comparatively short, and although during that short period everybody eats vegetables, every grocer's show windows, and even the sidewalks, are used to display them, and a tremendous business is done, yet there are tons and tons of nice fresh vegetables go to waste, not only for the market or truck farmer but in every family garden--be the same ever so small, there is a steady waste going on, all of which could easily be conserved _by canning_. Canning is simply putting the fresh vegetables in tin cans or glass jars (the latter are much more expensive, but no better), steaming and sealing them and setting aside until wanted. By doing this every truck farmer, and any one having ever so small a garden, could conserve enough which otherwise would go to waste to keep them in real fresh vegetables all winter. Of course the thousands living in the cities having no garden can not do this and are therefore dependent on the canning factory for their fresh vegetables, and here is where my topic comes in, _the growing of vegetables for canning_. It is no trick to grow vegetables for home canning, any variety will do. You need not select a big lot of one kind, and you need not sort for size or color. Just take the surplus as you find it in your garden from day to day. All it needs is, it must be fresh and it must be thoroughly clean--but growing for the canning factory is different. To line up fifty to 200 growers to sow the same seed, to plant, harvest and bring to the factory just when in right condition, requires time and hard work. This really is the hardest problem the canning factory has to solve, and that is the reason why all successful canners grow at least part of their product. You must remember vegetables put in cans will come out just as you put them in. If you put in stale, tough, stringy beans you will be sure to find them there when you open the can, but if you put in fresh, tender beans, peas, corn or whatever else, you will find these exactly as you put them in, and it's immaterial whether you open this can the first, second or tenth year. We must not forget that vegetables properly sterilized and sealed will keep indefinitely, and they require no preservative of any kind. No canning factory uses any preservative, and no home cannery should use them. [Illustration: Upland Farm, St. Bonifacius, Minn.] There was a time when canning was considered an art or a secret. I remember receiving circulars offering for sale the secrets of canning, and while in the grocery business some twelve years ago I sold thousands of packages of canning compound. These canning compounds, after a thorough examination by our State Food Department, were found not only worthless but harmful if put in canned foods. _Remember_, to can vegetables successfully, it requires no canning compound or preservative of any kind, simply fresh and thoroughly clean vegetables. Fresh vegetables are a good, healthy food, we all know this; and besides they are cheaper than meat; therefore should be on our tables two or three times a day. But mind you, they must be fresh, and while for some of us during the growing season it is comparatively easy to get them fresh, yet during the rest of the year, say eight to ten months, real fresh vegetables in bulk are hard to find and high in price. A lot of so-called fresh vegetables shipped in from a distance at best require several days to make the rounds through the grower, the shipper, the jobber, the retailer--to our tables and are really not fresh. They have become stale, and by coming in contact with different kinds of material have lost their delicate flavor. Therefore to insure real fresh vegetables for our tables, at least during the winter months, we must take the canned article. All of us remember how most everything in the grocery line was handled in bulk, dried fruits, cereals of all kinds, coffee, tea, etc., was displayed on the counters, along the aisles and even outside along the sidewalk, handled and examined by any one and exposed to dust and flies. Just about the same way are vegetables in bulk handled today. Where is the grocer who would go back to those days, and where is the public that would patronize him? Mrs. Glenzke: What vegetables do you can? Mr. Hegerle: We can corn; beans, string and wax; apples, tomatoes, etc. Mrs. Glenzke: How do you manage to get the farmers to bring them in? In Wisconsin it was a failure. As you say, they came when they got their work done, and the whole bunch came there at one time. Mr. Hegerle: That is the hardest work, to get the growers to bring the vegetables when they are in the right condition and when they should be canned. Mrs. Glenzke: There are five canning factories in that neighborhood now, and there isn't a one of them that allows the farmers to bring their stuff. They rent the farmers' land for themselves. For miles and miles you can't find a farmer that hasn't rented his farm. Mr. Hegerle: You have to have the vegetables at the right time. Mrs. Glenzke: They use the farmer's team and give him all the assistance they can. It does away with having them all at one time. I have seen twenty-five farmers come at one time. I don't see how you manage it. Mr. Hegerle: We have had a lot of trouble, and we are growing some of our vegetables. Mrs. Glenzke: You can raise four successive crops of peas on the same ground, and you can make that work all right. They used to can squash, corn, tomatoes, and they have got down to peas entirely. A Member: Doesn't most of that trouble arise from the low prices? Mr. Hegerle: No, not entirely. The price when contracted is satisfactory, and we find in our experience in growing our own vegetables we can grow them cheaper than what we pay to the growers. But we wouldn't grow any if we could get the growers to bring them in when they are in the right shape. When corn is at a certain stage to make a good canned article it has got to be brought in that day, and if the farmer don't bring it, if he has a state fair on or a wedding or a funeral or something and delays it a day or two, then it is all off; that corn is lost. Mr. Sauter: I would like to know which is the best beans for canning, the yellow or the green? Mr. Hegerle: Well, we prefer the Refugee, both in wax and green. We prefer them because they are the best in flavor we have. Mr. Sauter: Which is the best, the flat or the round of the wax? Mr. Hegerle: Round is preferred by the trade, by the grocers or jobbers. I have kept the flat wax beans for my own use of those that we can. Mr. Sauter: Don't the flat ones bring a little more than the round ones? Mr. Hegerle: Well, probably the first or second picking, but you can't pick them as often as the other variety. The Refugee you can pick four or five or six times, and the flat beans can only be picked two times. Mr. Anderson: I would like to ask what you pay for beans for canning purposes? Mr. Hegerle: We pay from 3/4 of a cent up to 4 cents a pound. Sometimes a man brings in some that are almost too good to throw away, they are big and stringy, and rather than send them home we think we have got to take them and pay him something for them. We would rather not have them, and we usually dump them. Starting from that we pay up to three and four cents. Four cents for well sorted and mostly small beans. They have got to be graded, 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5. Number 1 is the smallest, and they bring the best price. We pay in proportion to the number 1's and 2's in the load. Mr. Sauter: What tomato do you find the best for canning? Mr. Hegerle: Well, the Earliana. Mr. Sauter: Do you have any trouble with those bursting the cans? Mr. Hegerle: No, sir. Mr. Sauter: We had that trouble in canning for our own use. They burst the can, they expanded. Mr. Hegerle: That is the fault of the man, not of the tomato. Mr. Sauter: They were picked and canned the same day. Mr. Hegerle: Probably not sterilized enough. Sterilizing fruit is the main thing. A tomato is really one of the easiest things to can. Mr. Sauter: In other tomatoes we don't have that trouble. It seems to hurt the sale of them to the women folks. Mr. Hegerle: Sterilize them a little more. Mr. Sauter: About how long would you cook them? Mr. Hegerle: I am not the man at the wheel on that part. I don't know. We have a superintendent that handles that part of it. Top-Grafting. AN EXERCISE LED BY A. J. PHILIPS, WEST SALEM, WIS., AT 1915 ANNUAL MEETING OF THE SOCIETY. Mr. Philips: When I first talked top-working in Minnesota, Professor Green and some of the knowing ones felt a little leary about it, but I kept right on just the same. The most I have got out of top-working is the pleasure I have had, doing the work and seeing the fruit grow. I inherited a love for top-working from my father. He used to top-work some, and after I began planting trees my old friend Wilcox used to come and visit me, and he was strong on top-working on hardy roots. I used to make a little sport of the old man, but no more I guess than people have made of me for doing the same thing. He made me a proposition about forty years ago. He says, "You plant ten trees of a good variety to top-work on--I will pick them out for you--and then you top-work them with Wealthy, and then plant ten Wealthy trees right beside them on the same land and in the same rows, right together, and see which will do the best." At the end of ten years the Wealthy on their own roots had borne good crops but they began to fail, while the top-worked ones (on Virginia crab) were just at their best bearing at that time. Professor Green came and looked them over at the end of fifteen years. The first ten on their own roots were dead, and the others grafted on Virginia bore apples until they were twenty-five years old. That convinced me that top-working in certain cases would pay if done on a hardy stock. I have seen a Northwestern Greening tree that was crotched, split apart and lay down when it was loaded with apples, in Waupacca County, but when grafted onto a stock whose limbs grew out horizontal it will carry a load of fruit until it ripens without injury. I won a first prize at the Omaha exposition. My apples were not much better, but they were top-worked and were a little larger. I have some specimens here that show the practical difference. These grew on my own land. I found in showing apples in Milwaukee at their fairs that I could always get the best specimens from the top-worked trees. That convinced me that you could grow better fruit that way. Mr. Brackett: What age do you commence the grafting? Mr. Philips: I like to commence at two years old. I like to set a Virginia crab and let it grow one year and then commence top-working, and top-work about half the first year and the balance the second. Mr. Brackett: Is that in the nursery row? Mr. Philips: No, where I am going to have it grow. I have found the Virginia--and the Hibernal, too, either of them, very vigorous trees. The Virginia is very vigorous. You dig up a Virginia tree, and you find a great mass of roots; it has strength, and it grows fast. I have top-worked about forty varieties on the Virginia and some on Hibernal. Mr. Cady was there and looked it over, Prof. Green was there and Mr. Kellogg has been there a number of times--and I always ask them this question: If they found any trees where the top had outgrown the stock? I have never seen an instance where the top of the tree put onto a Virginia crab outgrew the Virginia. I have some in my garden now where the union is so perfect it takes a man with good eyesight to see where it is. [Illustration: A.J. Philips, West Salem, Wis. Photo taken in his eighty-second year.] Mr. Brackett: If you had Virginia trees twelve years old would you top-work them? Mr. Philips: Yes, sir, out towards the end of the limbs. Mr. Brackett: Suppose the limbs were too big on the stock you are going to top-work, how would you do then? Mr. Philips: I practice cutting off those larger limbs and letting young shoots grow. Mr. Dartt did a good deal of top-working, and he top-worked large limbs. I told him he was making an old fool of himself, but he wouldn't believe it. He would cut off limbs as large as three inches and put in four scions and at the end of two years they had only grown eight inches each. I have put in one scion in a Virginia limb that was about 3/4-inch in diameter, and had it that season grow eight feet and one inch. That is the best growth I ever had. The reason that my attention was called to the Virginia as being vigorous was, when I attended the meeting of this society about thirty years ago--I think it was at Rochester--Mr. A. W. Sias, who was an active nurseryman and one of the pioneers of this society, offered a premium of $5.00 for the best growth of a crab apple tree, and then, in order to win the money himself (which he did), he brought in some limbs of a Virginia that were six feet long that grew in one season; and I figured then that a tree that could make that growth in one season was a vigorous tree, which it is. Nothing can outgrow it, and that was one reason why I commenced using it. Mr. Brackett: I have one trouble in grafting the Wealthy to the Hibernal on account of its making that heavy growth. I lost some of them by blight on that account. Mr. Philips: Which was blighted, the Hibernal? Mr. Brackett: No, the Wealthy made such a big growth that it blighted. I cut the top back and put grafts in, and they made a good growth, but they blighted. Did you have any trouble like that? Mr. Philips: No, sir, I think my soil is different from yours. My soil is of a poor order, a heavy clay, and it don't make the growth. Mr. Brackett: How many of those large limbs could you cut off in one year and graft? Mr. Philips: Cut about half of the growth of the tree if not too large, don't cut enough to weaken the tree too much. Next year cut the balance off. Mr. Crosby: In grafting, suppose you get scions from an Eastern state, what time would you get those scions, say, from Maine; Maine is on a parallel with Minnesota? Mr. Philips: I prefer cutting scions in the fall before they freeze. Mr. Crosby: How would you keep those scions? Mr. Philips: I have tried a great many ways, in dirt and burying them in the ground, but the best way to keep them is to put them in boxes and put some leaves among them. Leaves will preserve them all winter if you keep them moist enough, wet them a little once in ten days just to keep them damp. Leaves are a more natural protection than anything else. Don't you think so, Mr. Brackett? Mr. Brackett: Yes, sir. Mr. Crosby: What kind of a graft do you usually make? Mr. Philips: I have put in some few whip-grafts but use the cleft-graft with the larger limbs. Mr. Wallace: Is the Patten Greening a good tree to graft onto? Mr. Philips: It is better for that than most anything else where I live. It is hardy and makes a good growth. If I had Patten Greenings, many of them, I would top-work them. The apple is not a good seller where I live. Mr. Kellogg: What was the condition of that tree where Dartt put in four scions? Mr. Philips: They grew eight inches each in two years, then died. Those scions were too weak to take possession of the big limb. It is like putting an ox yoke onto a calf. They can't adapt themselves. They hadn't strength to take hold of that limb and grow. That was a good illustration. Put a graft on a small limb, and it will assimilate and grow better than if you take a large one. Mr. Brackett: Where you put in more than one scion in a limb, is it feasible to leave more than one to grow? Mr. Philips: No, not if they grow crotchy. I let them grow one year to get firmly established and then I take off the lower one. I have trees in my garden I have done that with, and you couldn't see the crotch. It grows right over. Mr. Brackett: I have seen a great many of them where both of them were growing. Mr. Philips: It makes a bad tree, as bad as a crotchy tree. Mr. Kellogg: Isn't it better to dehorn it and get some new shoots to graft? Mr. Philips: Yes, sir, and if they are _very old_ the best way is to set out new trees. Mr. Crosby: In getting scions are there any distinguishing marks between a vigorous scion and one not vigorous? Mr. Philips: Nothing, only the general appearance. If I see a scion that looks deficient I pass it by. Mr. Erkel: Would it be practical to use water shoots for scions? Mr. Philips: I should rather not. I have always had scions enough to avoid using water shoots. They are an unnatural growth; I wouldn't use them. Take a good healthy scion. Mr. Kellogg: Would scions from bearing trees with the blossom buds on do you any good? Mr. Philips: Well, not with a blossom bud on; I wouldn't use such a scion. Some people say if you cut your scions from a bearing tree they will bear quicker, but I never saw any difference. Inasmuch as this question has been asked a great many times by people, what age to plant a tree, whether it is best to plant young trees or trees four or five years old, I will say I am in favor of young trees, and I am in favor of grafting a tree when it is young. Mr. Brackett: Isn't that a general opinion in the West where they make a business of planting large orchards? Mr. Philips: I think so. I think that is the case. Mrs. Cadoo: Can you graft onto a Martha crab and have success with that? Mr. Philips: I never had very good success with the Martha crab; it isn't vigorous enough. Mrs. Cadoo: We had a tree twelve years and got seven apples. Mr. Philips: Well, I think I got eight. (Laughter.) I believe with the Martha crab if you will plant it where there are other crab trees around it you get a pretty good crop, but not if you isolate it. I have an idea it is not self-fertilizing. I think that is the trouble with the Martha. It is a nice crab. Mr. Brackett: You showed the difference in size there, those top-worked and those not--don't you think that is because of cutting the top back? You throw a heavy growth in there, which makes the fruit that much larger? Mr. Philips: Well, it might be. Mr. Street: Have you had any experience in budding in August or first of September on those trees? Mr. Philips: Yes, sir, I do a little budding every year. Budding is a hard thing to do, that is, it is a particular thing to get the bud matured enough and still have sufficient sap to slip. Mr. Street: Would you put it on the top or bottom side of the limb? Mr. Philips: I would put it on the upper side of the limb every time, but I would put it a little further from the trunk of the tree than I would to graft for the reason, if the bud fails you have two chances, and you have that same limb to cut off and graft next year. [Illustration: Winesap apples top-worked on Peerless, grown at Northfield, Minn.] Mr. Johnson: I want to ask if it has a tendency to make the apple any earlier? Virginia crab is an early bloomer, and would grafting it with Wealthy make it bloom earlier? Mr. Philips: I hardly think so. I think it is a great deal as it was with the man that had the boots. Some told him his boots would wear longer if he greased them, and some one else told him they would wear longer if he did not. So he greased one and not the other, and the one that he greased wore fifteen minutes longer than the other. (Laughter.) I don't think it makes much difference. I tell you what it does do. You graft a McMahon onto a Virginia and instead of having the McMahon its usual color, you will get a very nice blush on it. Mr. Erkel: Is the Duchess a good stock to graft onto? Mr. Philips: I haven't found it very good. It is hardly vigorous enough for a stock. Mr. Erkel: You mentioned Patten's Greening a few minutes ago. Isn't that considered a rather short-lived tree? Mr. Philips: Not with me it hasn't been. I set some thirty years ago. I never had a Patten's Greening injured with the cold. It is very hardy. Mr. Street: How about the Brier's Sweet crab? I grafted some last year and had a larger percentage of the scions live on those than on the Hibernal. Mr. Philips: You wouldn't get as good a growth afterwards. The scions on the Virginia would grow better and have a better top. I don't think the Brier's Sweet is as vigorous as Virginia. Mr. M'Clelland: I grafted on 120 Hibernals this spring and got hardly one failure. Mr. Philips: You did good work. Mr. M'Clelland: Made a growth of three to four feet, some of them. Mr. Philips: That is good. Mr. M'Clelland: Have you anything as good? Mr. Philips: If I had Hibernals I would graft them, but if I had to set something on purpose for grafting I would set Virginias. I have had better success with that variety for stocks. Mr. Kellogg: Too big a growth on the graft is liable to be injured in the winter, is it not? Mr. Philips: Too vigorous a growth on the tree is liable to get injured in the winter anyway. I like to see a good growth. I like to see it grow and then pinch it back in the fall. You can pinch it back a good deal easier when it has made a good growth than to make it grow big enough. Mr. Street: I would like to know whether we should force all of the growth into the scion the first year where we graft on trees that have been set two years. Mr. Philips: One of the pleasures of doing top-working is to watch the growth of the grafts. I did a good deal of that on Sunday. You might do worse than communing with nature. You watch them same as you watch the growth of anything else, and if you think the graft is growing too fast let some of the shoots on the stock grow to take part of the sap, but if you think it is growing too slow and these shoots are robbing it, cut them off. I like a good growth on grafts; it looks more like doing business. Mr. Street: But the second year would you keep all of the growth in the graft? Mr. Philips: Yes, sir, the second year I would, and if it makes too large a growth pinch off the end. I put in some for a neighbor this season, and I go down and see to them every two weeks. If I thought they made too much growth in August I pinched them back so as to make them ripen up quicker. I don't like to have them grow too late; as Mr. Kellogg said, frost will get them. (Applause.) Spraying the Orchard. HON. H. M. DUNLAP, SAVOY, ILLS. (Continued from March No.) Then just as soon as your bloom falls, just as soon as the blossom petals fall, then you want to spray again. You should use arsenate of lead along with your lime-sulphur in both sprayings, because your arsenate of lead will take care of a great many insects that injure the fruit. The first spraying, immediately before the bloom, with arsenate of lead is for the curculio, what is called the Palmer worm, for canker worm--if you have any of them--the tent caterpillar, the leaf roller and various other insects that injure the fruit and the foliage. The spray just immediately after the bloom in addition to fungous is a codling moth spray. To get rid of the codling moth worm you use the arsenate of lead. The codling moth egg hatches shortly after the bloom falls, and the little worm instinctively goes into the blossom end of the apple, because that is the only place it can enter the apple at that particular time. Just why it does not enter on the side of the apple I can not say, but there is a little fuzz on the outer side of the apple at that stage of growth that perhaps prevents their getting in, and that fuzz as the apple grows larger disappears, so a little later they can enter on the side or at any other part of the apple that they choose. [Illustration: Hon. H. M. Dunlap, Savoy, Ills.] When the blossoms fall the apples stand upright on the tree, and the little pointed leaves that are on the blossom end of the apples, that we call the calyx, are all open, and at that time you can spray so as to get the arsenate of lead on the inside. Within a week or ten days after the bloom falls these sepals, or little leaf points, gradually close together until they are all closed up tight, and after that you can't get your spray in there. After the worm hatches he gets between the little leaves of the calyx and goes on the inside of the apple and into its center. You want to have your poison ready for Mr. Worm when he enters the blossom end of the apple, and the more thoroughly and more effectively you spray the better are the results. It has been said that if you spray thoroughly at that time, that that is the only spray you really need for the codling moth worm. I don't agree with that, as there is always a second brood of worms. I use the arsenate of lead along with the lime-sulphur for all these sprays, before the bloom and after the bloom, and if you don't spray more than three times you will be doing yourself a good service, and it will well pay you. In some parts of the country they spray as high as seven or eight times in the commercial orchards, but I would say in a farmer's orchard three times would be enough, once before the bloom and twice later, and you will notice the good results. There are other sprays besides these, but none perhaps of any importance to you up here except the winter spray for the San Jose scale, if you have that, and I noticed one or two specimens out there that seemed to have the scale upon them. That spray should be done either in the fall or early winter or late winter while the trees are dormant. That has to be put on of winter spray strength, using lime-sulphur or some of the other San Jose scale sprays without the arsenate of lead, as you don't need to use the lead with this spray. Now, as I stated to start with, these remarks ought to be appropriate to your needs and to make them so it would be a good deal better for me to give you the opportunity of asking questions or of discussing this question of spraying yourselves rather than for me to go into this subject any further and not know just exactly what you would like to listen to. If you have any questions to ask I would be glad to answer them if I can. Mr. Horton: What proportion of the lime-sulphur and arsenate of lead do you use? Mr. Dunlap: If we get the commercial brand of lime-sulphur we use it in the proportion of three gallons of that commercial mixture to 100 gallons of water and for the arsenate of lead in the same spray tank at same time we use four pounds of arsenate of lead to the 100 gallons. Mr. Horton: Have you ever carried over lime-sulphur from one year to another? Mr. Dunlap: Yes, sir, we often do that, carry it over until the next year. It wants to be kept where it will not freeze. Mr. Horton: Is there much danger of evaporation so it would be too strong to use next year? Mr. Dunlap: Your barrel should be kept bunged tight. Mr. Richardson: Mr. Dunlap fails to say anything about dormant sprays. Don't you use dormant sprays? Mr. Dunlap: I was just speaking about the dormant or winter spray. When you spray in the winter time use lime-sulphur or scalicide. Mr. Richardson: Another thing: I take a little exception to what Mr. Dunlap says in advocating buying a spraying machine collectively in the neighborhood, for the simple reason that it is necessary to spray at one particular time, at the vital time just before the blossoms fall and at the time they have fallen. We have found it almost impossible to do any spraying for anybody except ourselves at that time. We talked that matter over before we bought spraying machines. You said you wondered whether there were any apples grown here commercially. Out of our town we shipped this year eight car-loads of apples. We have three power sprays in our orchard, and we talked that matter over before we bought them, about buying collectively, and we decided it was absolutely impossible to do it. I don't think it is feasible for a small grower to depend on that kind of thing because he may be disappointed. My theory is for each one to have his own sprayer, large or small. Another thing, we find a pressure of 200 pounds is better than spraying without that pressure; we get better results. Mr. Dunlap: The gentleman misunderstood me. I said where you have just small orchards you could do it collectively. Of course, I do not advocate where a man has enough to have use for a spray machine for his own orchard that he get one collectively. That would be a great mistake, but where a man has only fifty trees in a neighborhood where there are no big orchards, it would be better for a dozen or more to combine. If you can get around with it in a week you will be all right but not longer than that. Mr. Richardson: I beg to differ with you just the same. I think if you want to spray you must spray at the time; it might rain the next day, and you might miss the whole season. Mr. Dunlap: There are a good many people who don't like to go to the expense of a spray machine just for fifty trees or 100 trees. If they would combine with a few neighbors they would do some spraying work, otherwise they wouldn't do any at all. If a man will buy a machine and do his own spraying, why, that is certainly the best thing to do, but if he won't do that it is better to combine with his neighbors and do it than for none of them to do it. Community spraying is the best thing to do if you have only small orchards. Mr. Dyer: What pressure would you recommend in spraying for codling moth where arsenate of lead is used? Mr. Dunlap: You can do effective spraying all the way from sixty pounds to 200 pressure. My preference is about 150 pounds. I have known instances where considerable injury was done by using too high pressure. We have sprayed at 225 pounds, but we have given that up. It is not as good as from 150 to 175 pounds. Mr. Dyer: I would like to know about what quantity of arsenate of lead and lime-sulphur combined would you recommend? How much of each? Mr. Dunlap: In 100 gallons of water we put three gallons of the concentrated solution of lime-sulphur, as we buy it commercially, three gallons to 100 gallons of water, that is, for the summer spray, and for the arsenate of lead we use four pounds of arsenate of lead to the 100 gallons. Mr. Dyer: In connection with that I would like to ask if you have used or would recommend pulverized lime-sulphur? Mr. Dunlap: I haven't used any. Mr. Dyer: Do you know anything about it? Mr. Dunlap: I think it is a more expensive proposition. Mr. Dyer: I never used any myself. I thought perhaps that might work better in connection with the arsenate of lead than the liquid. Mr. Dunlap: I couldn't say, I have always followed the policy of never departing from well-established lines of work until I am satisfied that the new one is absolutely all right. I have seen in our state men destroy the fruit from a forty or eighty acre orchard by taking up some new thing that was highly advertised and looked very attractive. It is not the same proposition, of course, but they tell us the devil comes in very attractive form. He comes with a swallow-tail coat and a red necktie and a buttonhole bouquet, and he looks very attractive. So it is with a lot of these things advertised; they look attractive but for our own good we ought to stick to the things we know and let the state experiment station try them and report upon them. Mr. Huestis: Does Mr. Dunlap attribute the general dropping of apples to the scab fungus? Mr. Dunlap: Not entirely. Mr. Huestis: Do you think that it weakens the stem of the apples? Mr. Dunlap: Yes, sir, the droppings of the apple is largely due to the scab fungus. Of course, some of the dropping occurs as the result of too much rain or too much dry weather, something of that kind, that is not attributable to scab fungus. Mr. Kellogg: Does spraying injure the bees? Mr. Dunlap: I have never had anybody prove to me that the bees were especially injured by spraying in the bloom. We do not practise spraying in the bloom, that is, we spray when we have about one-third of the bloom left on the trees. I have never had any injury, and we have orchardists who have bees in their orchards, and they go on spraying the same way. I do not believe bees are poisoned by the spray. Maybe I am mistaken about it, but I have never seen any conclusive proof of the bees being poisoned by the spray. It is possible they might collect it and carry it into the hives and might poison the brood in the hive. I don't know. I thank you. (Applause.) The Value of Horticulture to the Farm. MRS. CLARENCE WEDGE, ALBERT LEA. It is pleasant to have a good roomy subject. E. S. Martin said in Harper's Weekly as Christmas time approached, "There are just two places in the world, and one of these is home." I will paraphrase it by saying, "There are only two places in the world, and one of these is the farm." So the value of horticulture to the farm is a large subject. I passed a farm last summer that I shall never forget. It was quite unattractive, I believe, so far as variety of contour was concerned--quite level and commonplace. Right across the road from the house was a half-grown windbreak of golden willow. Against that as a background blazed out row upon row of the most brilliant flowers, graduated down to the edge of the road, and extending as far as half a city block or more. Think what a beautiful surprise for every one that turned that corner. I think the occupants of the house must have enjoyed sitting on their porch watching the people in the cars start with pleasure and turn to look as they flew past. That farmer (or his wife) knew something of the value of horticulture to the farm. Perhaps it was a device of the farmer's wife to divert the gaze of the passer-by from the porch, for you know we do stare shamelessly when we are on a joy ride. At any rate, that farm would not be forgotten by any one that passed it. The advertising that beauty spot gave his place would exceed in value a column a week in the county paper, and not cost a tenth as much. Lowell remarks, "Nature with cheap means still works her wonders rare." And there she stands with arms extended, offering the farmer all the wealth and beauty he will put forth his hand to take. Last fall I passed another farm down in Iowa, whose owner had tried to make his place conspicuous by putting a concrete wall and gateway in front of his house, and making lavish use of white paint in decorating his buildings and grounds. He succeeded, but I cannot help thinking that if he had put the money that useless concrete work cost into shrubbery and vines, it would have made his place twice as attractive. I dislike pretentious adornments to the farm, especially where the rest of the place doesn't measure up to them. Like Senator Blaine, who, at the time the Queen Anne style of architecture became popular, on being asked why he did not have his old fashioned house Queen Anned, replied that he did not like to see a Queen Anne front and a Mary Anne back. A farm home can be something better than a city park. One of the beautiful things that I shall always remember about Berlin was a way they had of bordering their parks and the enclosures of public buildings. They take tree-roses trimmed up to the height of a fence with a hemispherical head. Then they plant them around the edge of their grounds a rod or two apart, festoon chains from the top of one rose stalk to the top of the next, and where the chain touches the ground midway between them, they plant a little ivy which climbs up and conceals the chain and gives the appearance of festoons of vines between the rose trees. I thought them so lovely that when I married a nurseryman I thought I would persuade him to do something of that kind on our grounds, but he has convinced me that while that is all right for a city park, it would not be in good taste in a country place. It would look too artificial. The charm of a country place is its natural beauty. For the same reason we do not have any trimmed evergreens or hedges on our place. Moreover, the man who makes his living from the soil finds the upkeep of those decorations too pottering, and if he had money to hire it done he would rather put it into his automobile or into other improvements. The natural beauty that can be set about the farm home will become it better. Wild grape vines or woodbine draping the wire fences tempt the eye of the passer-by to linger, and they cost nothing. Once planted, they are there for a life-time. A walnut tree in a fence corner will grow to a fair size in ten years, in twenty it becomes a land-mark. A catalpa of a hardy strain will do the same thing in about half the time in our part of the state. Take an elder from your woods and plant it in an angle of your house, and it makes a luxurious growth that rivals the castor bean of the city park and does not need to be replaced the next spring. It certainly pays to go in for some kind of horticultural adornments for the farm. They are so easy and inexpensive to obtain and make such a happy difference to the farmer's family and to all who pass his way. When you have a specially prosperous year on the farm, save a little of the surplus for new trees or shrubs. But I remember passing another farm, all of twenty-five years ago, where horticulture may once have been of value to the farmer but had become a burden to him. There was a dense grove of willow down at one side, through which the drive leading to the barn was kept wet and muddy by the shade. On the other side rose a high grove of trees casting a gloomy shade on the house and poultry buildings, and a few odd shrubs straggled along the roadside and gave the place an unkempt look. Of all things, have sunshine! City people often have to sacrifice it, but no farmer is too poor to have it in plenty. Don't let your trees tyrannize over you. It is, perhaps, unnecessary to mention the value of a windbreak to a farm. If it has not been provided by nature it is an absolute necessity to plant one as a matter of economy. It saves fuel inside and gives comfort outside. The cows give more milk, and all the animals put on more fat, if they have a sheltered place to take their airing. It is also a good thing to set some bushes or small spruces along the foundation wall of the house on the windy side. They are ornamental in summer, and in winter they catch the snow and tuck the house in against the wind. When it comes to the garden, the "Value of Horticulture to the Farm" depends largely upon the farmer's wife, for a garden needs mothering as well as fathering. Few farmers have time to do more for a garden than the actual labor of plowing, planting, and cultivating, and digging the root vegetables in the fall. Somebody must watch the garden, go through it nearly every day, poison the cabbage worms and potato bugs, keep the asparagus and cucumbers picked, watch for the maturing of peas and beans, and dispose of any surplus either by canning or sending to market. To visit the garden only when you wish to gather some particular vegetable is like milking the cow only when you happen to want some milk. A garden well tended puts the farm far ahead of the city home for luxuries of the table and cuts the cost of living in two. Fresh vegetables and cream are expensive articles in the city, inaccessible to any but the well-to-do, but it does not take a very thrifty farmer to have them, providing he has a thrifty wife. But to be a real helpmeet she must have an overall skirt and a pair of rubber boots. Then the dewy mornings will be as much of a pleasure to her as to her husband, and she can do her garden work in the cool of the day. A garden is especially valuable to a farm, because the farm is usually somewhat isolated and must depend more or less upon its own resources for freshness and variety of food. A good garden on the farm will almost abolish the tin can, and strike off a large part of the grocer's bill, to say nothing of making the farmer live like a king. The Strawberry Weevil. As strawberries are about to blossom, it would be well to keep a look-out for a shortage in the number of blossoms, for this is the first indication of the work of the strawberry weevil. Because of the diminutive size of the insect, few are acquainted with it, so that the shortage of blossoms or failure of the crop is often attributed to frost, hail, climatic conditions or some other agency. Upon close examination, the buds will be found to be severed from the stem, some lying beneath on the ground, others being still attached by a few shreds in a drooping manner. Further examination around the buds may reveal a small snout beetle, which is the cause of the injury, it being about one-tenth inch long and marked with two dark spots on each wing cover. The females oviposit in the buds, and then cut them off when oviposition is completed, in order to protect the larva within, which later develops to the adult beetle. [Illustration: Showing beetle of strawberry weevil and the damage it inflicts.] The strawberry weevil has been especially injurious around the vicinity of Hopkins the past summer. It was not uncommon to find fields with from forty to ninety per cent. of the buds cut, and as the earliest and most mature buds, which would be the first to ripen, are among those cut, the losses inflicted may be quite serious. The weevil not only injures the cultivated strawberry, but is found to attack the buds of the red raspberry, dewberry and wild strawberry. It is a singular fact that only the staminate varieties are injured, especially those which furnish considerable pollen, since this constitutes the chief food supply of both larvae and adults. _Life History._--The weevil appears as soon as the buds begin to form and soon after deposits an egg within the bud. She then immediately crawls down the stem and proceeds to sever the bud. The eggs hatch within five or six days, and in about three or four weeks the footless grubs become full-grown, coming out as adults about five days later. This new brood, upon emerging, will attack the leaves, making numerous small holes on the under surface, soon after picking time. As early as August 25 the beetles were found to go into hibernation last summer, within the strawberry fields, being found especially among the dead leaves. The older beds were found to be more seriously infested because of the fact that they wintered over in the small fields. _Control._--Since the weevils do not disperse readily, and since they hibernate within the fields, the one crop system and the plowing up of the beds immediately after picking would probably do away with the injury entirely. This one crop system could be followed for about two years, when it might be advisable to return to the two crop system if the weevils have disappeared. On April 18, 1916, the weevils were located by the writer underneath the straw, and beginning to move about. From observations last year, it would be advisable to remove the straw from one or two rows in order to hasten the maturity of the buds, and keep the straw on the remainder of the patch in order to force the weevils to the uncovered row. They could then be destroyed either by plowing under or burning. Some recent experiments by Prof. Headlee, State Entomologist of New Jersey, appear to have been successful against the strawberry weevil. A dust spray of a mixture of arsenate of lead one pound, and sulphur one pound, was used as a repellent, giving almost perfect protection. The material was applied twice, April 30th and May 6th. The writer will be glad to co-operate with the growers, if they find the presence of the weevil in their strawberry beds.--S. Marcovitch, Section of Economic Entomology, Division of Economic Zoology, University Farm. Secretary's Annual Report, 1915. A. W. LATHAM, SECRETARY. Twenty-five years is a long time to look forward to, but it does not seem so long when you look back, and yet when I review the changes that have taken place in the Horticultural Society since I assumed the position of secretary twenty-five years ago the way seems long indeed. In the year 1890 very nearly all of the old members of the society, those who had contributed their time and money to bring it into existence and keep it alive for its first twenty-four years were still on the membership roll and doing loyal work for the association. As year by year passed these veterans of the association one by one dropped away until at the present time the number of those in that class who are still with us here are so few in number that it becomes almost a vanishing point. In the year 1897 a photograph was taken of "ten veterans of horticulture," a copy of which is hanging in the secretary's office, and of these ten the only one now with us is that loyal friend and supporter of the society, Seth H. Kenney, of Waterville, now eighty years of age and too feeble to attend this meeting. Going back to a date still earlier, covering the first few years of the association, the only working members of the society as far as the secretary recalls are J. M. Underwood, C. M. Loring and himself. This is the order of nature, and we should remember only with gratitude and affection those who have served before us and with us and passed on. At the close of this, the forty-ninth year of the society, we find the membership roll somewhat larger in number than at any previous period in its history, there being on the annual roll 3,079 members, and on the life roll 311 members, of whom 30 are honorary. There have been added to this roll the past year one honorary life member, Mr. Lycurgus R. Moyer, of Montevideo, and 20 paid life members. The number of deaths appearing on this life roll during the past year is fortunately only two, Mr. E. A. Webb, editor and manager of "The Farmer," who had been a member since 1906, and V. A. Neil, of Minneapolis, whose death occurred prior to the 1914 annual meeting but had not been spoken of heretofore. As usual a considerable number of sources have contributed towards this large membership roll. The auxiliary societies, of which there are 10 have brought upon this roll in all 878 members. One new auxiliary society has been added to the number this year, organized in St. Paul under the name of "Horticultural, Poultry and Improvement Association of West St. Paul." An auxiliary society maintained at Crookston for a number of years seems to be no longer in existence and should probably be taken from the list of auxiliaries. The farmers' institutes have not contributed as largely to the membership roll as some previous years, on account in part of the fact that the work heretofore done by farmers' institutes is being done in farmers' clubs and schoolhouse meetings of farmers, which does not offer as good an opportunity for securing memberships, though the service to the cause of horticulture is probably even better. Through this source the society has received this year 146 memberships. Many of the nurserymen have contributed liberally to the membership this year, memberships that were given by them to their customers in accordance with an arrangement made with this office. In all from this source have come upon our roll 172 memberships. The State Fruit-Breeding Farm continues to be the object of permanent central interest in our association. Unfortunately the frosts of last spring interfered with the fruiting of the thousands of trees which under other circumstances would have borne fruit, many of them for the first time, so that practically few advances have been made the past year in breeding new tree fruits except in preparation for the future. In small fruits it was different, and the list of these worthy of trial which are standing the climate well is a growing one. Our membership are exceedingly interested in these new fruits as manifested by the large number called for through the distribution of plant premiums. In all there were sent out this year 2,594 lots of these plant premiums. There is a growing interest in top-grafting late-keeping varieties of apples as indicated by the large number of calls made on this office for scions for this purpose the past season. The seedling contests continue and the interest in growing seedlings continues as well, there having been a call during the past year from this office for a considerable number of packages of apple seeds by our membership. So far no apple seedling has appeared to which we could award the $1,000 prize offered by the society for a winter apple. Referring to the seedling contest inaugurated some years ago, the first $100 premium in connection with which should have been awarded three years ago, it appears that the time limit for the fruitage of these seedlings was made too short. The fourth premium comes due at this meeting, but no claimants have as yet come forward for any of these premiums. Probably it will be thought a wise thing to do to continue these awards during later years when these seedling trees will come into bearing. The "acre orchard" contest entered into a year ago last spring in which there 35 entries finally materialized into a smaller number than anticipated, reports having come into the office last year from 23 contestants. The reports for the current year are now being received but not all at hand. The executive board provided conditions under which these orchards should be conducted and the prizes awarded, which conditions will be found published in the 1914 report of the society on page 45. Trial stations are continuing their work and are being used principally now as far as new material is concerned in testing of fruits from the State Fruit-Breeding Farm. To this list has been added the government station at Mandan under the management of A. W. Peterson, reports from which point will also be made to our association from time to time, as well as from the trial stations connected with University Farm, all of which stations have been added also to our society list. Arrangements are being perfected for the purpose of extending to our membership opportunity to use the books from the society library, which is now increased to about 3,300 volumes. This list has been published in the 1915 report of the society, and we shall be prepared early in the year to send out books to all who desire them according to the regulations, which will be published in an early number of our monthly. The society is maintaining its card indexes and adding year by year to the amount of material which they represent. One of these cards indexes contains the names and titles of all the articles published in the society's annual reports and is indexed also with the names of the writers, the index being prepared in this double manner. Another card index contains the list of books in our library, and the third one, indexed by subjects, the bulletins on horticulture coming from the various state experiment stations and the U.S. Department of Agriculture. These indexes are invaluable for their various purposes and may be used by the membership at their volition. The society maintained an office at the late state fair, at which a considerable number of memberships were received and a large number of members met by the secretary and other officers of the society. We believe this was an excellent move and should be continued in the future. As to the horticultural exhibit at the state fair, while the secretary has no official connection with it, it should be spoken of as a very satisfactory exhibition indeed and well handled. The building as a whole, covering all branches of horticultural work, was a real credit to the various interests represented and well deserves all the time and expense lavished upon it. Probably the most important event of the year with which the secretary was officially connected was the effort made to secure an appropriation from the state legislature in session last winter for the construction of a building for the uses of the Horticultural Society. The building committee, with which the secretary served, held a number of meetings with members of the Board of Regents and various committees at the state legislature, at which a considerable number of our membership besides those regularly on the committee were in attendance and took part in appeals in the interest of the building. The secretary's service in this connection was largely the effort made to enlist the co-operation of the membership in the way of getting them to write letters or talk personally with the members of the legislature upon the subject, and an appeal was sent out through the mails to all of our membership with this object in view. The response was a most liberal one, far beyond our expectations. Some of the members of the legislature received over thirty letters from their constituents asking their support to this measure. There was not a single member of the legislature who did not receive some communications about this matter. In all there were sent in this manner to members of the legislature 1,594 letters. While our efforts to secure this building failed, it was, as we believe, largely on account of the prevailing and unusual sentiment for economy which permeated the legislature to an extraordinary degree, and we have reasonable assurance that a similar effort with the next legislature will bring us success. In regard to this matter the chairman of the building committee speaks more fully. The financial report follows and to this your attention is respectfully requested. Secretary's Financial Report, 1915. A. W. LATHAM, SECRETARY. RECEIPTS. Balance $91.62 G. W. Strand, Treasurer 685.96 Life membership fees 190.00 Books sold 14.10 Cuts sold 7.50 Banquet tickets sold at 75c each 138.00 Garden Flower Society, account premiums 65.00 Annual fees, 1914 8.00 Annual fees, 1915 3,004.00 Annual fees, 1916 263.00 --------- $4,467.18 DISBURSEMENTS. Postage $717.33 Office rent 420.00 Telephone 55.45 Premium books 113.61 Office supplies 28.36 Plant premiums 105.14 Assistance in office 719.21 Printing 247.16 Expenses annual meeting, 1914 90.73 Expenses annual meeting, 1915 76.84 Expenses summer meeting, 1915 14.64 Banquet 152.75 Reporting annual meeting 174.99 Expenses vice-presidents 29.17 Expenses superintendents, trial stations 50.59 Assistance annual meeting 1914 100.50 Expenses delegates, etc., meeting, 1914 224.07 Expenses delegates to other societies 30.29 Discounts, membership fees, auxiliary societies, etc. 825.54 Examining officers' books 10.00 Treasurers salary, 1914 25.00 Collecting checks 10.00 Plans of horticultural building 40.00 Officers' bonds, 1915 15.00 Forestry Association 50.00 Insurance on library sundries 8.00 Sundries 20.68 Balance 112.13 --------- $4,467.18 GENERAL STATEMENT, DECEMBER 1, 1915. Balance in Hennepin County Bank December 1, 1914 $177.38 Interest in 1915 $11.24 --------- Total $188.62 Loring Fund, including interest 140.60 Balance with secretary 112.13 Balance with treasurer 4,906.00 --------- Total $5,347.35 SUMMER MEETING, 1916. Premium List, Summer Meeting, 1916. No Duplicating of Varieties Permitted. OUT-DOOR ROSES. 1st 2d 3d 4th prem. prem. prem. prem. Collection--three blooms of each named variety, to be shown in separate vases $6.00 $4.00 $2.00 $1.00 Collection of named varieties--three blooms of each, in separate vases, amateurs only 6.00 4.00 2.00 1.00 Three named varieties, white--each variety in a separate vase, three blooms of each, each bloom on a separate stem 2.00 1.00 .50 Three named varieties, pink--each variety in a separate vase, three blooms of each, each bloom on a separate stem 2.00 1.00 .50 Three named varieties, red--each variety in a separate vase, three blooms of each, each bloom on a separate stem 2.00 1.00 .50 Collection of Rugosa and Rugosa Hybrids--each variety (consisting of one cluster of blooms on a single stem) in a separate vase 2.00 1.00 .50 Most beautiful rose in vase 1.00 Largest rose in vase 1.00 Seedling rose to be shown by the originator. (Not previously exhibited in competition.) Bronze medal donated by the American Rose Society. Basket of out-door roses and foliage, arranged for effect without ribbon, not to exceed twelve inches in diameter 3.00 2.00 1.00 The following named varieties of roses to be entered separately and shown in separate vases, three to five blooms in each vase. Prince Camile deRohan, General Jacqueminot, Margaret Dickson, M. P. Wilder, Jules Margottin, Magna Charta, Paul Neyron, Madam Gabriel Luizet, Baroness Rothschild, Anna de Diesbach, Ulrich Brunner, John Hopper, Rosa Rugosa (pink and white), Baron deBonstetten, Karl Druski, Madam Plantier, Grus an Teplitz. Each, 1st prem., 75 cents; 2nd prem., 50 cents; 3rd prem., 25 cents. PEONIES. 1st 2d 3d 4th prem. prem. prem. prem. Vase of Festiva Maxima, 6 blooms $2.00 $1.00 $0.50 " " flesh or light pink " " " " " " " medium or dark pink " " " " " " " white " " " " " " " red " " " " " Collection--three blooms of each named variety in separate vases $6.00 $4.00 $2.00 $1.00 Collection--three blooms of each named variety in separate vases, amateurs only 6.00 4.00 2.00 1.00 Seedling peony, three blooms 3.00 2.00 1.00 .50 Collection--one bloom of each variety, shown each in a separate vase; for amateurs owning no more than ten varieties 2.00 1.00 .50 ANNUALS AND PERENNIALS. 1st prem. 2d prem. 3d prem. 4th prem. Vase of Arabis $1.50 $1.00 $0.50 " " Canterbury Bells " " " " " Dielytra " " " " " Delphinium " " " " " Evening primrose (Oenothera) " " " " " Forget-me-not " " " " " Foxglove " " " " " Gailardias " " " " " Grass pinks " " " " " Iceland poppies " " " " " Iris " " " " " Lilies " " " " " Lupine " " " " " Nasturtiums " " " " " Oriental poppies " " " " " Pansies " " " " " Perennial coreopsis " " " " " Pyrethrum " " " " " Shasta daisies " " " " " Sweet peas " " " " " Sweet William " " " Collection--named perennials, in separate vases $6.00 $4.00 $2.00 $1.00 Collection of annuals and perennials in separate vases (not to exceed 12) by amateurs who have never taken premiums on flowers 4.00 3.00 2.00 1.00 Vase of flowers grown and exhibited by child 2.00 1.00 .50 Vase of any kind of flowers not named in this list. (An exhibitor may make any number of entries desired under this head) 2.00 1.00 .50 Vase of flowers arranged for artistic effect 1.50 1.00 .50 Basket of outdoor-grown flowers, arranged by exhibitor 3.00 2.00 1.00 STRAWBERRIES. One quart of each variety, to be shown on plate, not in box. 1st prem. 2d prem. 3d prem. 4th prem. Collection (not less than six varieties) $5.00 $4.00 $3.00 $2.00 Collection of three named varieties 3.00 2.00 1.00 .50 The following varieties of strawberries to be entered separately: 1st prem. 2d prem. 3d prem. 4th prem. Bederwood, Dunlap, Crescent, Splendid, Clyde, Warfield, Lovett, Enhance, Glen Mary, Haverland, Progressive, Superb, Americus, each $1.00 $0.75 $0.50 $0.25 Best named variety not included in the above list 2.00 1.00 .50 Seedling, originated by exhibitor 3.00 2.00 1.00 GARDEN HELPS Conducted by Minnesota Garden Flower Society Edited by MRS. E. W. GOULD, 2644 Humboldt Avenue So. Minneapolis. *Notices of our May, June, July and August meetings will be mailed to members. Being exhibition meetings, the dates will depend upon weather conditions. It is suggested that in cases where plants have not already been exchanged, the informal exhibition of spring flowers, our May meeting, be also "Exchange Day," and that plants for exchange be brought to that meeting. A SHAKESPEARE GARDEN. So wide an interest in the commemoration of the tercentennial celebration of Shakespeare's death has been awakened by the "Drama League of America" that there will be many old English gardens planted in 1916,--gardens containing as many as possible of those flowers mentioned in his plays. Not all of these many flowers and shrubs could be grown in our climate, some mentioned, such as nettles, burdocks, plantains and other weeds, would be entirely out of place in a garden, soon overrunning it. It must be remembered, too, that in Shakespeare's time herbs and wild flowers were cultivated in most gardens, that many considered beautiful then are now almost forgotten, and that some have been so far surpassed by their improved hybrids, the originals would not now be cultivated. We have not attempted, therefore, to include all of the flowers so lovingly mentioned by the poet, but have used only those that will prove beautiful and hardy in Minnesota, making a planting that will prove, with proper care, permanent. Were each plant labeled with its proper quotation the garden would prove much more interesting, e.g., "There's rosemary, that's for remembrance--" Hamlet, marking the plant of that name. _Annuals._--Gillyflowers (Ten weeks' stocks); Love in Idleness (Pansy, Viola tricolor); Mallow (Lavatera splendens); Marigold (Calendula officinalis); Poppy (Somniferum, Opium poppy). _Trees._--Hemlock, Hawthorne. _Vines._--Honeysuckle, Scarlet Trumpet. _Bulbs._--Scilla Nutans (Hyacinthus nonscriptus); Daffodils; Saffron (Crocus santious); Crown Imperial (Frittilaria Imperialis); Lily, Candidum, Turk's Cap (Scarlet Martagon), Orange Lily (Croseum), Spectabile, Tigrinum. _Herbs._--Balm (Lemon Balm); Camomile (Anthemis); Caraway; Dian's Bud (Wormwood, Artemisia Absinthium); Fennel (Foeniculum officinalis); Hyssop (Hyssopus officinalis); Lavender (Lavendula vera); Marjoram (Origanum vulgare); Mint; Milfoil (Yarrow); Parsley; Rosemary (Rosmarinus officinalis); Rue (Ruta graveoleons); Savory; Thyme (1, Thymus vulgaris, 2, Thymus Serpyllum). _Perennials._--Aconite (Napellus); Balm (Bee-balm); Brake; Carnation (Bizarre Dianthus caryophyllus); Clover (Crimson Trifolium incarnatus); Columbine (Aquilegia vulgaris); Cowslip (Primula veris); Crowflower (Ragged Robin, Lychnis floscuculi); Cuckoo Buds (Butter cups, Ranunculus acris); Daisies (Bellis perennis); Eryngium M. (Sea Holly); Flax; Flower de luce (Iris Germanica, blue); Fumitory (Dicentra spectabilis; Bleeding Heart); Harebell (Campanula rotundifolia); Larksheel (Delphinium elatum, Bee Larkspur); Peony; Pinks (Dianthus Plumarius); Violet (Viola Odorata). _Roses._--Brier (Eglantine Rose), Provencal (Cabbage Rose), Musk, Damask, White Provence, York and Lancaster. For appropriate quotations to mark each flower the little book, "Shakespeare's Garden," by J.H. Bloom, will be found very helpful. Our other authorities have been Biesley and L. Grindon, all of which are in the Public Library. MRS. N. S. SAWYER. MRS. E. W. GOULD. ENTOMOLOGICAL NOTES By F. L. WASHBURN, Professor of Entomology, University of Minnesota. SUGGESTIONS TO PARTIES PLANNING TO PURCHASE NURSERY STOCK. It may be quite out of place to offer any suggestions along this line to readers of this magazine, and yet some buyers may find help in the following: For evident reasons it pays to buy Minnesota stock where possible, stock which has been tried out and found to be hardy, rather than purchase new varieties, glowingly described in catalogues. Always buy from an inspected nursery. For evident reasons it pays to buy from nurseries near at hand, so that the time elapsing from the shipping of the trees or shrubs and the planting is small. Further, it is always desirable, if possible, to buy from the nurseryman himself, a responsible party, rather than from an agent. It is further very desirable to personally pick out your own stock in a visit to the nursery. When the goods are received, see that they bear an inspection certificate for the current year. The plants should be in good condition and show that the roots are protected from air and wrapped in moist packing material. The condition of the received goods indicates the carefulness of the nurseryman or the contrary. Do not allow trees or shrubs to lie neglected after being received, where the roots will dry out. If you are not ready to plant they should be at once heeled in, first divesting them of their wrappings. If any injurious insects, like scales or fungus-looking growths, are found on the trees, the same should be reported to the Experiment Station. After planting the trees and shrubs, they should receive the best of care in regard to cultivation. Finally, refuse to accept any raspberry or blackberry plants showing crown gall on roots or crowns. * * * * * CROWN GALL ON RASPBERRIES BLACKBERRIES. All the nurserymen are able to recognize crown gall, and whatever we may think regarding its effect or lack of effect upon apple, we know by personal observation that it may and does cause the death of raspberries. This disease of course is, unfortunately, very common--almost universally present in our nurseries. The public, generally, are so well aware of its injurious effect upon canes that they are indignant when any such stock is received from nurseries. It behooves all nurserymen, therefore, for the sake of their own business interests if nothing else, to be extremely careful that no diseased stock of any kind is sent to patrons. * * * * * THE DESTRUCTION OF A CARLOAD OF DISEASED POTATOES. The State Entomologist, by virtue of being a collaborator with and agent for the United States Horticultural Board, supervised the destruction by burning of 403 sacks of potatoes, seven per cent. of which, according to the testimony of our Plant Pathology Division, were infested with powdery scab. The Great Northern Railroad, which had brought the potatoes from Canada, were given the choice by Federal authorities, either to return the potatoes to Canada or destroy them by burning, under our supervision. They chose the latter procedure and the use of the Minneapolis crematory was secured for this purpose. Ninety sacks of this same shipment which were illegally unloaded at Casselton, N. Dak., were buried by North Dakota authorities. It is to be hoped that this disease does not find its way into the potato belt in the Red River Valley. NOTES ON PLANT PESTS. Prepared by Section of Insect Pests, A. G. RUGGLES, and by Section of Plant Diseases, E. C. STAKMAN, University Farm. The first real spraying of the apple orchard should be given just as the center bud of the flower cluster begins to show pink. The material to use in the spraying compound is lime-sulphur (1 to 40) plus arsenate of lead, 1-1/2 pounds of the powder, or three pounds of the arsenate of paste to fifty gallons of the made-up lime-sulphur. If done properly this will get the scab of the apple, blossom blight or the brown rot in the plum, and is the most important spray for plum pocket. The arsenate of lead in the mixture will control the young of leaf eating insects and precocious plum curculios. The second most important spraying of the year is given within a week after the blossoms fall, the same spraying compound being used. This spraying kills many of the germinating spores of such things as apple scab and also is the important spray for codling worm as well as for the plum curculio and for leaf eating insects. Watch carefully for the hatching of plant lice eggs. The ideal time to spray for these is just after hatching, and before the young lice become hidden in the bud scales or in the curl of the leaves. The spraying material to use at this time is a sulphate of nicotine. Plow the plum orchard as soon as possible in order to turn under mummied plums, which are responsible for much of the primary infection of brown rot. Plowing the apple orchard early to turn under the old leaves is also essential in preventing scab spreading to the flower stalks. Cultivate the vineyard in order to turn under the mummies. Practice clean cultivation from the very beginning in order to help control black rot and downy mildew. If the rot or mildew was very bad in the previous years, early spraying with the Bordeaux mixture 4-4-50 is very important. Keep the radishes, cauliflowers, and cabbages covered with a poison spray from April 30 to May 20 to prevent the ravages of the cabbage maggot. This should be applied once a week in fair weather, and twice a week in rainy weather. The spray is made as follows: Lead arsenate, three-fourths ounce; New Orleans molasses, one-half pint; water, one gallon. Look over the seedling cabbages carefully and destroy all which show any sign of wilting or rotting. Cut out apple twigs badly injured by the buffalo tree hopper and burn them immediately. Watch for plant lice on lettuce in cold frames. To combat the insects the plants should be sprayed with nicofume liquid, one teaspoonful to a gallon of water. BEE-KEEPER'S COLUMN Conducted by FRANCIS JAGER, Professor of Apiculture, University Farm, St. Paul. COMB HONEY, EXTRACTED HONEY, AND INCREASE. The practical beekeeper must decide at the beginning of the honey season whether he wishes to produce extracted honey, comb honey or merely to increase the number of his colonies. The manner of management of his apiary will depend upon such decision. At any rate a modern outfit, pure bred colonies in modern ten or eight frame hives, is required for successful beekeeping no matter in what line of bee industry he may feel inclined to engage. For production of extracted honey the ten frame hive is to be preferred. Bees are less inclined to swarm in a ten frame hive, and two ten frame supers as a rule will be required where three eight frame supers would otherwise be necessary. In successful extracted honey production swarming may be reduced to a minimum if during the dandelion and fruit trees honey flow, and in the beginning of white clover flow, once a week an empty drawn comb be inserted into the middle of the brood nest. As soon as the brood chamber has eight frames of brood the queen excluder is added and an extracting super added filled with white extracting combs. If the beekeeper does not care to raise his extracted honey in snow white combs only, the excluder may be omitted, but the result will be that the queen will lay eggs throughout the whole hive, thus rendering extracting difficult on account of brood present. When raising extracted honey on a large scale two extracting supers may suffice for each colony. When the one next to the brood chamber is filled it is extracted at once, the top one taking its place next to the brood. The extracted super when empty is then given back to the bees and placed on top. When the second super is filled the process is repeated. This process of extracting honey requires a period of four or five weeks. All supers are removed at the end of the honey flow. The last full super, however, should not be extracted but saved for the feeding of light colonies in the fall and spring. The easier way to produce extracted honey is to have enough supers, say three or four for each colony. The first is added during the dandelion or fruit blossom flow as soon as the colony is strong enough to readily enter into it. When this super is nearly full and the combs can be seen through the top bars to whiten, another super is added next to the brood chamber, and the partly filled super is raised. When this second super begins to get well filled, a third and a fourth super is added on top. In the latitude of Minneapolis it is not advisable to insert a super next to brood chambers after July 4th, or two weeks before the end of the honey flow, because such procedure would result in a large amount of uncapped honey. Comb honey should not be produced where the honey flow is slow and intermittent. Weak colonies will not produce comb honey profitably. In making up supers only A 1 sections should be used, with full sheets of extra thin foundation and three-eighths inch bottom starters of thin foundation. Care should be taken to fasten the foundation very solidly, else heat and weight of bees will cause it to drop. One or more bait sections should be used in the first comb honey super to induce the bees to enter into it more readily. Bait sections are the half finished, unmarketable sections of the previous season. One to four are used near the center of each super. (To be continued in June No.) [Illustration: THE HOME OF THE LADY SLIPPER--MOCCASIN FLOWER. THE MINNESOTA STATE FLOWER.] While it is not the intention to publish anything in this magazine that is misleading or unreliable, yet it must be remembered that the articles published herein recite the experience and opinions of their writers, and this fact must always be noted in estimating their practical value. THE MINNESOTA HORTICULTURIST Vol. 44 JUNE, 1916 No. 6 The State Flower and State Flag of Minnesota. E. A. SMITH, VICE PRES. JEWELL NURS. CO., LAKE CITY. The material in this paper has been gathered from several sources, part of which has never before been published. It is presented not so much in the spirit of criticism as it is in the spirit of making the best of a mistake which the writer believes occurred when the moccasin flower was designated as the state flower of Minnesota. Last spring an acquaintance of mine was rambling through the woods and came across the Cypripedium, or the Moccasin flower, or the Lady slipper, the state flower of Minnesota. He sent me a few specimens. Although I had lived in the state of Minnesota for a number of years, this was the first time that I had ever seen the state flower or known anything about it. The incident set me to thinking, and I went to work to find out what I could about this flower. I herewith present that information as briefly as possible. There are forty-one states in the Union that have a state flower. Other states have the matter under consideration. This fact alone would indicate that a state flower is of some importance as an emblem, or it would not be so generally considered by the various states. In most instances the flower was selected by a vote of the public school scholars of the respective states. The vote was then submitted to the state legislature and a resolution adopted making the state flower legal. I submit to you the question: Are school children qualified to choose a flower as an emblem of the state? Do they understand the conditions required in the state and the purpose of the selection sufficiently well to enable them to select intelligently? Do the children in your school know what flower is common in the northern part of the state as well as in the southern part of the state? In Minnesota, however, the state flower was not chosen by the school children of the state, but upon petition of the Woman's Auxiliary Board of World's Fair Managers a resolution was introduced into the senate February 4th, 1893, by the late Senator W.B. Dean, providing that the wild Lady Slipper, or the Moccasin flower, Cypripedium calceolus, be accepted and the same designated and adopted as the state flower, or the floral emblem of the state of Minnesota. This resolution was also adopted in the house the same day. A few years later upon petition of the Nature Club of Minneapolis the variety was changed to the Reginae or Spectabile, variety. [Illustration: The Lady Slipper--Minnesota State Flower. Somewhat under size.] The mystery of the selection in this state is, why was a flower chosen which is not common to any part of the state? We therefore have a state flower, beautiful in itself, but without special appeal to the people because it is comparatively unknown. There are about forty species of the Cypripedium belonging to the north temperate zone. Several of these species occur in the northern United States and Canada, east of the Rocky Mountains, which are found in the state of Minnesota. It is called the Moccasin flower because it resembles the Indian shoe. This plant grows preferably in cool and moist woods or in bogs. It flowers principally during the months of May and June. The varieties differ in color, being deep red, pink, yellow, white and variegated. All of the species, however, are very beautiful. The varieties more commonly found in Minnesota are, Acaule, rose purple; Candidum, small white; Arietinum, red and white; Parviflorum, small yellow; Pubescens, large yellow; and Spectabile, description of which is as follows: Plants stout, leaves oval, acute; sepals, roundish, white; petals, oblong, white; labellum, white or pale pink purple. Very showy. It is unfortunate that the Minnesota State Flower does not take kindly to civilization and cultivation, as it is very difficult to transplant. About ten years ago at Lake City, Minnesota, we tried to propagate the moccasin flower. We dug the roots and transplanted them in ground especially prepared in a nearby grove where we could watch their development, but the plants were a failure. A state flower should be one of the common flowers of the state, so familiar to all, that its name would suggest a picture of the flower itself. Probably not 10 per cent of the people of the state have ever seen it. On this account it is to be regretted that this variety was chosen as the flower emblem of the state. A state flower, like the state flag, should be accessible and familiar to everyone, and yet, probably, the state flag of Minnesota is a stranger to many residents of the state, for Minnesota did not have a state flag until 1893. An emblem should mean something to the individual. The family coat of arms and the iron cross are distinctive emblems. The shamrock in sentiment is as dear to an Irishman as his native land. If an emblem means something to the individual, how much more it ought to mean to the state and nation. The flag is an emblem of loyalty and patriotism. Men fight for it. They lay down their lives for it because it stands for home and country. I fancy if men did not know what the flag looked like, the fight would not be a very fierce one. Do you know what the state flag of Minnesota looks like? A description of it can be found in the Legislative Manual for 1915. This flag bears a wreath of white moccasin flowers (Spectabile) upon a blue background, in the center of which is the state seal. The design was chosen by a committee of six ladies. It is appropriate and beautiful, and was designed by Mrs. Edward H. Center, of Minneapolis. The state should furnish an attractive picture of the state flower and the state flag to every high school in the state, free of charge. The influence would be good, creating a deeper loyalty to the state. Wisconsin State Horticultural Society. REMARKS AT ANNUAL MEETING BY SECY. F. CRANEFIELD, MADISON, WIS. President Cashman: We have with us today, Prof. Cranefield, secretary of the Wisconsin Society. I am sure everybody will be pleased to hear from him. Mr. Cranefield: Mr. President, Ladies and Gentlemen: I thank you, Mr. President, for your very kind introduction. I know you meant well when you introduced me as professor, but I really must plead "not guilty" to the charge. There was a time, long ago, when I was connected with our Agricultural College, in a minor relation, that I was not in a position to resent it, but I have reformed since, and as secretary of the Wisconsin Horticultural Society I am trying to live down the past. It goes without saying that I am glad to be here. I want to come as long as you will let me come. We of the Wisconsin society are watching you closely to see if we can by any means learn the secret of your success, and to that end we are here in considerable force. Our president is here, and the managers of two of our largest co-operative fruit shippers associations also. Frankly, we want to beat you if we can. You have the biggest and the best society in the country, and we have the second biggest and next best, and we are striving for first place. Having now disposed of the usual compliments befitting the occasion I will aim to tell you of a few things we are trying to do in the Wisconsin society. The efforts of our society during the past ten years have been directed quite largely to the development of commercial fruit-growing in the state. While we have not overlooked nor forgotten the home owner we have been working to take commercial orcharding out of the hands of the farmer and put it in the hands of specialists, and we are succeeding. We have today about thirty thousand acres of purely commercial orchards in Wisconsin and more coming. We discourage by every means at command the planting of fruit trees by the man who is engaged in general farming except sufficient for his own use. Further, in this campaign we aim to concentrate our efforts on certain districts so as to build up fruit centers. For instance we have in Door County, that narrow little neck of land between Green Bay and Lake Michigan, over seven thousand five hundred acres of orchards, apple and cherry. Along the Bayfield shore line we have another splendid fruit district almost, if not quite, as well known as Hood River and worth vastly more. In the southwestern corner of the state along the valley of the Kickapoo River, on the high bluffs on either side of the river, have been planted a thousand acres of apples and cherries in the past five years. While not all of this development is directly due to the Horticultural Society, ours has been the moving spirit. The Kickapoo development is due wholly to the work of the society. In this way we are establishing an industry that will be a tremendous asset to the state. There was a time when dairying was but a feeble industry in Wisconsin, and now we lead. Our society also aids in the development of marketing associations. In doing these things we also aid the farmer and home owner, for whatever is best in the commercial orchard is best in the home orchard. Spraying, pruning and cultivation as practiced by the expert serve as models for the farmer who has but two dozen trees. The other activities of our society are similar to yours. We publish a magazine, as you do; we hold two conventions, as you do; in fact our work, and no less our interests, are the same as yours, and I most sincerely hope that the very pleasant relations that have existed between the societies may continue for all time. Marketing Fruit Direct. H. G. STREET, HEBRON, ILL. In studying this subject, the direct marketing of fruit, let us first see how much it includes. Does it include simply marketing alone? Or does the success of it depend principally upon the varieties of fruit set out together with the after cultivation, pruning and spraying? First of all you must interest people in your work by producing something that they really want, and half of your problem will then be solved. There are any number of places in the northwest where the demand far exceeds the supply. I do not mean for the common run of fruit full of worms and covered with scab, but, instead, strictly No. 1 fruit of the very best varieties. About 1901, through the advice of my uncle, Dr. A. H. Street, of Albert Lea, I joined your society, and through the experience of your members I learned many valuable lessons. Perhaps the one that impressed me the most was that of grafting our choicest varieties upon hardy crab stocks so as to make them hardy enough to withstand our hardest winters, and by so doing it nearly insures us against total failures in the fruit crop and especially against losing the trees outright. [Illustration: Mr. H. G. Street, of Hebron, Ills.] This top-working of course will not do all; we still have to assist Nature by proper spraying, pruning, cultivating, etc. Doing all in your power to secure a crop each year to supply the trade you have already worked up is a big item in holding it. While studying your conditions, together with those of Wisconsin and Illinois, I became very much interested in the native plums as well as in the apple industry. Therefore I also set out some three acres of the following varieties: Surprise, Terry, Wyant, Hammer and Hawkeye, also some of the Emerald and Lombard. As this was then new business to me, I had fallen into no deep ruts, and of course I took it for granted that all horticulturists practiced what they preached. Therefore I pruned, sprayed, etc., according to directions, and in due time the fruits of my labor commenced to show up, and they certainly were attractive to the eye as well as to the taste. [Illustration: Wolf River apple tree twelve years old, bearing eighteen bushels, in H. G. Street's orchard.] As our supply increased our demand increased also, so that for the past five years our average plum crop has been around 2,000 baskets (the 8-lb. grape basket) and all sold readily at 25 to 35 cents retail. We are located at Hebron, Illinois, eight miles south of Lake Geneva, Wis., on the Chicago & Lake Geneva Railway, which makes an ideal location for a fancy trade. During plum harvest it is nothing uncommon to have fifty to 100 visitors a day. These customers include all classes, from the Chicago millionaires to the common laborers, and all receive the same cordial reception. We make it a point never to allow them to think that we are close with our fruit--not even the neighborhood boys, as they are our best friends. What they buy we charge them a good fair price for and never fail to give all new customers a few choice samples of best varieties. By the latter part of the plum season our big red Wolf River apples commence to show up and cook well; also Wealthy and McIntosh commence to get ripe enough to eat, and the demand each year has far exceeded the supply. So far we have had very few poor apples, but we always sort them into three grades, the third grade being made up into cider to sell while sweet. The second grade we sell as such for immediate use. The firsts of the McIntosh we have sold at $2.00 to $2.50 per bushel, Wealthy, Jonathan and Grimes at $1.50 to $2.00, while Wolf, N. W. Greening, Salome, Winesap, Milwaukee, etc., have averaged us $1.25 per bushel. We are always very careful not to have any bruised, diseased or ill shaped specimens in our first grade. The President: Can you tell us something more about your experience in marketing direct? Do you sell all the fruit you raise on the place? Mr. Street: We sell about all the fruit that we raise direct to the consumer. When we first started we started with strawberries, and about half of our crop went to the merchants, and he would retail it for 20 per cent, but to any one that came there for it we would charge the full retail price, same as he had to charge, and we never had any trouble with any of the stores that we dealt with. If we have any seconds or anything we don't like to put out to the stores we sell them to our customers and charge them whatever we think would be right for them. As to plums, about two-thirds of those would sell right direct to customers coming there, the rest we supplied to the stores at 20 per cent discount so that they could retail them at the same price that we retail them for. Since the apples have begun to bear it seems that two-thirds of the people want the McIntosh, and almost everyone is satisfied with its flavor. They average a little larger with us than the Wealthy, and some of them you can hardly tell from the Wealthy unless you know just about what the fruit is. Last year we kept them until about February or possibly later, but an apple with as good a flavor as that you cannot keep from being eaten up. The President: I suppose that is automobile trade? Mr. Street: A great deal of it is. The President: How did you get it? By advertising? Mr. Street: No, by doing something so much different from what anybody else is doing you get people to talking. I think the Wolf River apple together with the Terry and Surprise plums have been the cause of getting started. Of course, the McIntosh now is helping out, too. You give a person a few Wolf River, not for eating but for cooking, and then give him a Wealthy or something like that to eat--they will be looking at the big Wolf River and eating the other and seem to be well satisfied and always come back. Whenever we sell to the stores we always gauge our prices so that the majority of their customers will take our fruit before taking the shipped in fruit from Chicago. We find with grapes we can charge about five cents a basket more than they retail the Michigan grapes for. [Illustration: View in eleven year old orchard of H. G. Street.] For native plums we get more than they do for the Michigan fruit. We have had quite a good many of the Burbank plums, but we cannot sell over one-third as many as we do of the natives. A Member: You don't ship them, so don't consider the packing? Mr. Street: The only ones we ship are those ordered by people coming there or by letter. If they want a bushel we pack them in a bushel box. If they want three or six bushels then we pack them in barrels. Mr. Anderson: Where are you located? Mr. Street: Just south of the Wisconsin state line. Mr. Anderson: I am located 100 miles west of here, and I shipped out 400 bushels of apples to the Dakotas last year direct. Mr. Richardson: How many growers are there in your neighborhood growing fruit commercially? Mr. Street: I do not know of any who spray, cultivate and prune according to the best methods within about 100 miles. We always make it a point to give our customers good fruit, so that we are not afraid to recommend it. Then there is another advantage. If they come right there, and we have any seconds we can tell them just what they are, and if they want them we can sell them for what they are worth, but if we are putting them into a store, I prefer not to put in seconds. Mr. Kochendorfer: I think that is the advantage of disposing on a public market. You have a chance to sell the inferior goods without any coming back. Mr. Street: The main thing is to use improved methods and try to outdo the other fellow. Cultivate a little more thoroughly, put in your cover crop, not over-fertilize but all you possibly can; give the dormant spray; spray before bloom very thoroughly and again after bloom; two weeks after that again, about July 15th. Mr. Richardson: How many apple trees have you? Mr. Street: We now have ten acres in apples, but most of them are young, about three acres in bearing. Mr. Richardson: I would like to ask the gentleman if in a small place that way he hasn't a better local market than we have here in the larger cities. Around Lake Minnetonka they raise grapes, but we get most of our grapes from Ohio and Indiana. I have wondered why it is that these grapes go to another market when they can just as well go to the Minneapolis market. You know as well as I do anyone buying fruit in the Twin Cities always buy fruit grown in Ohio or Indiana. Mr. Street: I do not know why it is, but so far we haven't realized that we have any competition. We charge for our best eating apples fully as much as the stores have to charge for the Western fancy packed fruit. There is not a worm hole or speck of disease on the No. 1, and really I can't see how they can compete after raising the fruit in the West and packing and shipping it to Chicago and then out there. The price they would have to charge there would make us a good fair price; in fact, a good big price. A Satisfactory Marketing System. G. A. ANDERSON, RENVILLE. I have marketed this fall some over 400 barrels of apples, mostly Wealthy, Duchess and Northwestern Greening. Three hundred barrels of these were shipped direct to local merchants in Dakota and western Minnesota towns in small shipments of a few barrels at a time or as fast as they could sell them. I started this way of marketing during the big crop of 1913 and this year again, getting nearly all of my old customers back and many new ones. I secured satisfactory prices, and for my location I believe I have solved the marketing problem. One does not pay much attention to the marketing as long as enough only for local demand is produced, but when one has a surplus to dispose of the marketing problem looms rather large. I have tried several times shipping to commission firms, but have never received satisfactory returns. A Successful Cold Storage for Apples. H. F. HANSEN, ORCHARDIST, ALBERT LEA. Mr. Clarence Wedge: I want to preface this short paper with the statement that Mr. Hansen is a man who has worked himself up from the very bottom of the horticultural ladder. He came to Albert Lea a very poor man, and I think supported himself for some time by trapping and fishing and such work as he was able to do. He is a man with a great tendency to investigate and to work out problems for himself. By his thrift and persevering investigations he has brought himself into a fine property and great success. He is the market gardener in our part of the country and a credit to his kind. (Mr. Wedge reads the paper.) When my orchard, near the city of Albert Lea, began to bear heavy crops of fruit, I found it very desirable to hold the Wealthy and other kinds that ripen at the same time until after the farmers had marketed their fruit. We have a very good cold storage in Albert Lea that is open to the public, but the price they charge is sixty cents per barrel for two months' storage, which is more than the fruit will bear, and so I began to think of putting up a cold storage of my own. My first one was built underground with pipes for ice and salt to cool it, something like the system that I am now using. But I found out in the first season that it takes a great deal of ice to offset the heat that is coming in from the ground at the sides and bottom of the cellar. And so I built the storage which I am now using entirely above ground, using the basement under it for storing cabbage and vegetables. I built this in 1913, the size 28x56 feet, using cement blocks for the basement, where the cabbages are stored. The cold storage above this is built as follows: First, an ordinary frame building with 2x4 inch studdings sheathed on the outside with drop siding with No. 3 flooring. Inside of this sheathing 2x4 inch studs placed flatwise, sheathed on the inside with No. 3 flooring, and the six-inch space back of the studs filled with sawdust. On the outside of this firing strips one-half foot are nailed, which are covered with linofelt. One-half foot firing strips are nailed inside of this, and these also covered with linofelt. To this again one-half foot firing strips are added, to which are nailed metal lath, and the whole is plastered with cement. The floor both above and below is made of 2�12 joists, with No. 3 flooring nailed below the joints, the space between which is then filled with ten inches of saw dust, leaving an air space of two inches at the upper edge of the joists. The joists are then covered with linofelt and then the linofelt covered with No. 3 flooring. On the north and west sides I found it necessary to add one more waterproof coat of linofelt in order to make sure of keeping out the frost. I have so far only finished up for cold storage one-half of the room, using the other half for a packing room, so that my present facilities are only 28�28 feet. This room is cooled by eight inch pipes of galvanized iron, extending from the attic above to troughs near the floor, that are sloping so as to carry off the melted ice. These pipes are on both sides about two feet apart. The ice is pulled up into the attic by horsepower and broken up small enough into pieces to feed the pipes. The amount of salt used with the ice depends upon how fast we want the ice to melt. A large quantity of salt cools the storage down quicker. In practice I find that it takes one hour for a man to elevate a ton of ice, chop it up and fill the pipes. They hold something over a ton and must be filled every other day in ordinary September weather. It will not do to let the pipes remain less than one-half full. When the ice gets down that far, we have to fill again. The total cost of my storage when it is entirely furnished up and the present capacity doubled will be about $3,000.00. At present it holds 2,000 standard size apple boxes. I find that it only pays to put in good fruit that in ordinary seasons will keep until the first of March and hold its flavor well and give good satisfaction on the market. Icing stops about the middle of November. The cost per box for storage is as follows: Ice and salt, ten cents. Interest on investment, six cents. I have figured out carefully the entire cost of growing and storing apples, and find out that leaving out the interest on the value of the land, it will approximate forty-eight cents per bushel. This includes cultivation, spraying, packing, and picking. The question which now interests me is whether we can grow fruit good enough and stand the expense and compete with apples grown in the other good fruit sections of the country. Mr. Older: I had the pleasure of visiting this plant with Mr. Wedge, and this man had quite a good many boxes of as fine apples as you would wish to see. This was along the latter part of February, and they were in fine condition. He had a lot of Jonathans and Yankees and some other varieties I don't remember, grown on top-worked trees there. The Plum Curculio. EDWARD A. NELSON, UNIVERSITY FARM, ST. PAUL. (Prize Winner at Gideon Memorial Contest.) The small crescent-shaped punctures, so common on apples, plums, peaches and other fruits, are made by a small snout-beetle known as the plum curculio. The beetles issue from their winter quarters at about the time the trees are in full bloom and feed on the tender foliage, buds and blossoms. Later they attack the newly set fruit, cutting small circular holes through the skin in feeding, while the females, in the operation of egg-laying, make the crescentic cuts so characteristic of this species. The egg, deposited under the skin of the fruit, soon hatches into a very small whitish larva or grub, which makes its way into the flesh of the fruit. Here it feeds greedily and grows rapidly, becoming, in the course of two weeks, the fat, dirty white "worm" so well known among fruit growers. The curculio is a native of North America and for more than 150 years has been known as an enemy of fruits. Our early horticultural literature abounds with reference to its depredations. In more recent times the great increase in planting of fruits, brought about to supply the increased demand, has permitted it to become much more abundant than formerly, and the plum curculio constitutes at the present time one of the most serious insect enemies of orchard fruits. Statistics gathered of its depredations show that it is distributed over much of the area of the United States. Its western limit is, roughly, a line drawn through the centers of North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma and Texas. East of this line the entire United States is infested except the southern third of Florida and the northern half of Maine. Is the plum curculio causing much damage to the fruit growing industry of this country? That it is is shown by the National Conservation Committee in its report in Volume III, page 309, where it states that the average annual loss in late years to only three fruits is as follows: Apples $3,257,806 Peaches 4,088,814 Plums 1,244,149 ---------- Grand Total $8,590,769 Just think of it! A total loss each year to only three fruits of over $8,500,000. This amount is a heavy drain upon the fruit growing industry of this country. During the past twenty-five or thirty years the total damage caused by this insect, to the various fruits which it attacks, would, on a conservative estimate, probably be not less than $100,000,000. These figures show the absolute need of the adoption of effective remedial measures against this insect so as to lessen this loss. But before we can hope to combat this insect systematically and successfully it is necessary to know its life history and habits. [Illustration: The curculio in its stages of growth, and its fruit injury.] There are four distinct stages in its life cycle: (1) The egg, (2) the larva, or "worm," (3) the pupa, and (4) the adult, or beetle. The curculio passes the winter in the adult stage under accumulations of partly decayed leaves, among the closely-packed dried grass of sod-covered orchards, and probably wherever suitable protection from the winter may be found. Its depredations are usually worse near woods, so it probably finds here very suitable places for wintering. In the spring, when the fruit buds are unfolding, the beetles begin to emerge from their winter quarters and feed to some extent on the blossoms and tender leaves of the fruit trees. Mating soon begins, and by the time the fruit is well set the beetles make this fruit the chief object of their attention. The circular punctures in the skin are feeding punctures, while the crescent-shaped ones are egg-laying punctures. A single egg is deposited in a puncture, although several may be placed in a single fruit. From one to eight eggs may be deposited daily by an individual female, which may be continued for several months. The great majority of the eggs, however, are deposited by the end of eight weeks. These eggs hatch in from three to seven days, being influenced greatly by the weather. The egg hatches into a larva, or "worm," which bores into the fruit. It becomes full-grown in from twelve to twenty days and bores out of the fruit. It enters the soil, burrows to a depth of one-half to two inches, and forms an earthern cell in which to pupate. In three or four weeks it emerges as a full grown beetle and attacks the ungathered fruit and the foliage. On the approach of cold weather the beetle seeks a protected place in which to pass the winter. The character of the injury is very nearly alike in all fruits. In the plum the fruit often falls to the ground before mature. In seasons of short crops very little fruit may remain to ripen. The punctures cause the fruit to become mis-shaped and to exude masses of gum. The ripe fruit becomes "wormy." The late varieties may be seriously injured by the new generation of adults. In the apple the injury to the fruit is about the same as in the plum, except that the infested fruit is not so likely to fall to the ground and that the egg rarely hatches into the grub there. The fruit becomes knotted and pitted. The late varieties may also be injured by the new generation of adults. In the peach, cherry and other stone fruits, the injury closely resembles that of the plum. Although the plum curculio has some natural enemies that tend to reduce its numbers somewhat, yet they are not important enough to be considered as effective means of control. Some of these natural enemies are parasites of various kinds, birds, chickens and the like. There are several remedial measures practiced, varying in their degree of effectiveness. Away back in the early days of horticulture in this country, when the curculio became very abundant rewards were offered for an effective method of combating it. Several were proposed, but only a few were at all effective. The best of these methods is what is called "jarring." The curculio has the habit of falling to the ground and "playing 'possum" when disturbed. This led to the practice of holding or spreading sheets beneath the tree and then striking the tree a sudden, forcible blow with a padded pole or mallet in order to dislodge the beetles. The trees were jarred daily from the time the calyx or "shuck" began to slip from the newly set fruit until the beetles had disappeared, or for at least four or five weeks. This was practiced to quite an extent, but it takes too much time and is too expensive. A still better remedy is clean cultivation. Experiments have shown that as high as 76.75 per cent. of the pupae may be destroyed by means of thorough cultivation. The mere breaking of the pupal cell, leaving the earth in contact with the body of the pupa, is fatal to many. Others are killed by the crushing action of the earth as it is stirred. Others are exposed to the elements and subject to the attacks of their enemies, such as ants and birds. Sunlight is quickly fatal to them, and exposure to the air on a warm day in the shade is also fatal to them. Observations show that the insect is in the pupal condition in the ground in from fifty to sixty-five days after the falling of the blossoms of such fruit as apples and plums. Data have been presented to show that the minimum time spent in the ground is about twenty days. Shallow cultivation should begin, therefore, in about eight or nine weeks after blossoming. It is best to cultivate every week or oftener for six or seven weeks. It is very necessary that this cultivation should reach immediately beneath the spread of the limbs, as most of the curculios are found here, having dropped from the fruit above and burrowed into the soil where they fell. The third method of combating the curculio, the method most commonly used and most generally recommended, is spraying with arsenical poisons. The spray most generally used is arsenate of lead. The most economical and effective way is to add arsenate of lead to Bordeaux mixture. The Bordeaux is mixed in the following proportions: three pounds of copper sulphate (blue vitriol), four pounds of lime, and fifty gallons of water. To this amount of Bordeaux mixture three pounds of arsenate of lead are added. In place of Bordeaux mixture lime-sulphur may be used. If the insecticide is used alone, three pounds of arsenate of lead in fifty gallons of water make an effective spray. It is best to spray three times, the first spraying coming just before the blossoms open, the second coming ten days later, and the third another ten days later. The cost is from ten to fifteen cents per tree for the three sprayings. This cost is lessened when combined with other sprays. While spraying greatly reduces the injuries inflicted, yet it is apparent that account must be taken of other factors, such as the relative abundance of insects as compared with the amount of fruit present on the trees. With a small fruit crop and an abundance of curculios, the most thorough spraying in the world will not serve to bring through a satisfactory amount of sound fruit. While spraying is undoubtedly the most important aid and, if persisted in from year to year, may answer for its control, as its effects are cumulative, yet it is clear that other control measures should also be employed. In all cases which have come under observation the insects have always been found most abundant in orchards which are in sod or are poorly cared for and allowed to grow up more or less in weeds and trash. Also, orchards near woods always suffer severely, especially along the border. As opposed to this condition is the notably less injury in orchards kept free from weeds and trash. In such cases spraying usually given for other insects, as the codling moth, serves to keep the curculio well under control. In fact, it may be said as a general statement that the curculio will never become seriously troublesome in orchards given the usual routine attention in cultivation, spraying and pruning now considered essential in successful fruit growing. Serious losses from the curculio are almost conclusive evidence of neglect, which is best and most quickly corrected by the adoption of proper orchard practice. * * * * * AN ANTIDOTE FOR WASP STINGS.--It not infrequently happens that persons biting unguardedly into fruit in which a wasp is concealed receive stings in the mouth or throat. Such stings may be exceedingly dangerous and even fatal since the affected tissues swell rapidly and this is liable to cause difficulty in swallowing and breathing. An effective antidote is employed in Switzerland. The sting is rubbed vigorously with garlic, or, if it is too deep in the throat for this treatment, a few drops of the juice from bruised garlic are swallowed. If garlic is not to be obtained onion may take its place, but is a less active agent. The efficacy of this simple remedy was verified by a Swiss specialist, who found it important enough to be presented at a session of the Vaudois Society of Medicine. Increasing the Fertility of the Land. PROF. F. J. ALWAY, DIVISION OF SOILS, UNIVERSITY FARM, ST. PAUL. I have been asked to speak on "Increasing the Fertility of the Land." To speak on such a subject is sometimes a rather delicate matter because some people consider they have a soil so good that you can't increase its fertility. With some of the prairie soils, when they were first plowed up that wouldn't have been so very far amiss. Take those black prairie soils with the grayish yellow clay subsoil, with an abundance of lime in it, which you find in a large part of the state, including a large part of Hennepin County, and you have as good a soil as you may expect to find anywhere on the earth's surface. But you can't keep a soil up to its full limit of fertility, no matter how good it is, unless you frequently treat it with something. [Illustration: Prof. F. J. Alway.] When a soil is well supplied with lime there are three things that are liable to be deficient. If it is not well supplied with lime there may be four, but the bulk of your soils are good enough so far as lime is concerned. Those three are potash, which is abundant and will be abundant 100 years from now, phosphoric acid, or phosphorus, with which our soils are fairly well supplied, and nitrogen, which comes from the vegetable matter. In nitrogen our prairie soils are remarkably rich when first plowed up. The phosphoric acid and the potash you can not lose unless they are taken away in the form of crops, but the nitrogen may be lost without even taking off crops. All you have to do is to cultivate your soil, when part of the nitrogen becomes soluble in water and is carried down by the rain into the water-table unless you have plants growing with roots to take it up; a large part escapes into the air. So when your black prairie soil has been under cultivation for twenty years, as an orchard, usually from one-half to one-third of the original nitrogen has escaped, most of it into the air, only the smaller part being carried off in the crops. That is the one thing that orchardists and horticulturists have to concern themselves about first of all, so far as soil fertility is concerned. I see that the first of the questions for me to answer deals with that. "What crop do you consider the best green manure?" There are two kinds of green manures. One is represented by rye. Rye takes up the nitrogen that is in the soil, and when it dies leaves behind what it took out of the soil; the next crop can get this. By plowing under the rye crop you do not increase the amount of nitrogen, the most important element of fertility in the soil. We have a better green manure than that, better than rye or oats or barley or any of those plants that properly belong to the grass family; namely, the members of the clover, bean or pea family--all of these plants which are called legumes, which have pods and which have flowers shaped like butterflies. As these grow they take up nitrogen from the air; the bacteria which make their home on the roots of those plants take the nitrogen from the air and give it to their host plants. The plants receive this nitrogen, store it in themselves, and when the crop is plowed under you have a great amount of nitrogen added to the soil. Now, a clover crop of an acre growing from spring until the freeze-up in the fall may take out of the air as much as 120 pounds of nitrogen. One hundred and twenty pounds of nitrogen, bought in the form of commercial fertilizer from Swift & Company, or Northrup, King & Company, would cost you $24.00. The clover has taken that much out of the air. If the crop were pastured off, the greater part of this nitrogen would be returned to the soil; when you plow the clover under still more nitrogen is taken from the air by bacteria that live upon the decaying plant material, and you may have $48.00 worth of nitrogen per acre added to the soil by simply growing clover for one year. Any kind of green manure crop that bears pods is good. Vetches are good, and soy beans are among the best for orchards. Clover, if you give it time to make a good growth, is as good as anything. The next question is--"Should apple raisers use commercial fertilizers?" Now, the apple tree, when it is growing on good soil, makes such a vigorous root development that it is hard to get any commercial fertilizer to help it. On poor soils it, like any other kind of plant, will respond to fertilizers. Some of the eastern experimental stations have been carrying on investigations with commercial fertilizers for a great many years to see whether in apple orchards these will cause an increase in the yield or an improvement in the quality of the fruit. On good soils, even after ten or twelve years' fertilization they have been found to have no effect except in the case of nitrogen, and this can be better supplied in the form of a green manure plowed under than in any other way. That is to say, keep your orchard clean until the last of July or first of August, sow your green manure crop, let it grow until freeze-up and stay there during the winter time. It holds the snow and so affords some winter protection. In the spring plow it under, and you plow under all the nitrogen that the plants had collected the previous year. Then keep your orchard clean during the summer time, until in July or August you again sow the green manure crop. [Illustration: Applying ground limestone to an acid soil to determine whether liming will be profitable. Half of the field is left unlimed.] The fertilizers that I get more inquiries about than any others are the phosphates--bone meal, acid phosphate and rock phosphate. Horticulturists have read that striking results are being obtained with these on certain crops in the eastern and central states, and they want to know whether the same fertilizers will pay here. Some inquire about potash fertilizers. With the latter there is no doubt but that the results we would obtain would, even under ordinary circumstances, not pay. At the present time potash costs about ten times what it does in times of peace. Sulphate of potash, which ordinarily brings $45.00 per ton, is now quoted at $450. This puts its use out of the question. The phosphoric acid fertilizers are no higher now than usual. They cost, according to the kind, from $9.50 to $25.00 per ton. Some of them are produced near here--in South St. Paul. With tree crops, apple, plum and pear, we need expect no increased yield from the use of phosphates, unless it be on our very poorest soils. On certain crops, like the bush fruits--the currants and the raspberries, we might get a distinct benefit. I cannot give a definite answer to that. I can tell you what results they have obtained in New York state, what they have obtained in Pennsylvania or Illinois or Maine, but what results we would get in Minnesota we do not know. We can't apply their results to our conditions. The only thing we can do is to carry on such experiments here, and they have not yet been started. That brings me to a third question I have here. "What experiments are being conducted by the University of Minnesota with orchard and other horticultural crops?" We realized the importance of this matter and plans were prepared. Then, as you know the last legislature was economical. It decided that one of the best places to make a cut would be in the funds for experimental work; when these funds were reduced we not only could start no new experiments but even had to cut off some of the old ones. For that reason these fertilizer experiments have to wait until the next legislature or the one after. I hope the next legislature will make such an appropriation that they may be begun. Now, for the next question. A man states that he can secure at a very low rate limestone from one of the Minneapolis companies producing crushed limestone for road-making purposes and wants to know whether it will pay him to haul it to his farm. Well, if you do not have any other work for your teams it may pay you. However, if your time is valuable, you had better take some samples of the soil and send them in to the experiment station. Just address them to the Soils Department or Soils Division. Then we can decide whether it is worth while trying some of the limestone. We cannot tell you whether it will pay; we can tell you whether it is likely to pay, or whether it is likely to be a waste of energy, or whether it is so doubtful that you ought to give it a fair trial. On perhaps two-thirds of the fields in Hennepin County it would be a waste of money and energy; on about half of the others, we may say, it is almost certain to be a good investment at a dollar a ton. On the remaining portion we simply can't say. On these, chances are even whether it would pay. No crops are injured by limestone, so you are safe in putting it on. Practically all crops are benefited by it on sour soils and especially the vegetable crops. The next question is--"Are the black peat or muck soils first class? Do they need anything besides drainage?" Some of them, a very few, produce really good crops when they are drained, plowed and brought under ordinary cultivation without fertilization, but only a few. Nearly all of them need commercial fertilizer, and until a bog covered with peat soil has been carefully examined to ascertain the depth of the peat, the difficulty of drainage, and the character of the peat (because peats differ greatly within a few miles of each other) it is unwise to attempt to reclaim it. Within three miles of the experiment station we have three bogs very different in character. One, about half a mile from the buildings, is heavily charged with lime. Another has an exceedingly small quantity of lime so that profitable crop production of any kind would be out of the question without a heavy application of ground limestone or quicklime. Still another one stands between these two. One of them can be reclaimed without any great expense, but with the one it would be a very expensive matter to fertilize and treat with lime after it had been drained. Those are the questions that have been given me. Are there any other questions? Mr. McCall: What is peat lacking in? Mr. Alway: Practically all peats are lacking in potash. If the peat layer be very shallow, six inches, twelve inches, sometimes even twenty-four inches, the plants are able to get their roots down through the peat and get their potash from the underlying clay or loam. In that case no fertilizer is needed. Some of the peats lack lime, some of them lack lime, potash and phosphoric acid, and some these three and nitrogen also, so that you either have to apply some commercial form of nitrogen or grow legumes as green manures. Mr. Kellogg: What was the trouble where I couldn't raise strawberries on new wood soil? Mr. Alway: I couldn't answer that. Mr. Kellogg: The leaf mold was six or eight inches deep. Mr. Alway: Was it any deeper than that? Mr. Kellogg: I don't know, it may have been down a foot, and the leaf mold had been accumulating there for ages. Mr. Alway: In some cases the peat is so thoroughly decayed that it looks like leaf mold and it may be a foot or two feet deep. Mr. Kellogg: This was no peat, it was just wood soil. I could not raise anything-- Mr. Alway: Did the plants grow? Mr. Kellogg: Yes, the plants grew and wintered well but didn't bear worth a cent. Mr. Alway: Did they make lots of runners? Mr. Kellogg: Oh, fairly good, but right over the fence in the next field that had been worked for twenty-five years I got 260 bushels of strawberries to the acre; never had any manure on it. Mr. Alway: The more leaf mold the more nitrogen; if you have too much nitrogen it may develop the vine and fail to form fruit or seed. Mr. Ludlow: On heavy black prairie soil, three feet deep, where I am growing eighty bushels of corn to the acre, I want to put in strawberries, and I have a lot of wood ashes, dry wood ashes, not leached ashes, but dry wood ashes. Would it be worth while to put that on or would that overdo the thing? Would it be policy to put that on? Mr. Alway: It is not likely to do any harm, and it is likely to do some good. Wood ashes contain chiefly lime and potash. The potash will be a distinct benefit. The lime isn't of any particular benefit to this crop on most soils. For strawberries it is slightly harmful on our ordinary soils that are originally well supplied with lime. Mr. Ludlow: On another piece a ways from that I put out a young orchard, and in order to start the trees well I had covered the ground half an inch deep with wood ashes around those trees. I noticed that the weeds grew there twice as quick as they did when I got away from the wood ashes. Mr. Alway: There you have the benefit of the potash and the lime. If you put lime in the orchards it will make the clover and most of the other green manure crops grow better, and thus you gain in nitrogen from the lime; you gain in potash as it comes from the wood ashes. Mr. Brackett: Have you ever found any ground with too much leaf mold on it to grow good strawberries? Mr. Alway: I have not. Mr. Brackett: I remember when I broke out my place where I am living now I had a place where the leaves had collected and rotted until I would say there was eight or ten inches of leaf mold. When you went across it you would sink in almost to your shoe tops. On that piece of ground I grew 11,000 quarts of strawberries to the acre in a year, the largest yield I had ever grown on that leaf mold. You can never get too much leaf mold. There must have been something else besides the leaf mold. Mr. Alway: In case a crop does not give a satisfactory yield it may be due to other things than the soil, and until we eliminate the other possible causes we can't safely blame it to the soil. Mr. Moyer: What do those black soils in the western part of the state need? They have a whitish deposit on top. Mr. Alway: Drainage. That is alkali. Mr. Kochendorfer: I have a ten-year apple orchard that I disked last year and kept it tolerably clean this spring. There were a lot of dandelions sprung up that I mowed down the middle of July, and since then they have grown up again. Will they take nitrogen the same as clover? Mr. Alway: They won't take any from the air. They will act like so much rye, but when they die and decay nitrogen will be gathered from the air and added to the soil by bacteria that live upon the decaying vegetable matter. Mr. Kellogg: Did you ever hear of them dying? Mr. Alway: Dandelions? If they are plowed under. A Member: Is it practicable to grow soy beans in this soil? Can they be gotten at a reasonable price, and can we mature them here? Mr. Alway: They mature here without any serious difficulty. There are a great many different varieties. If you order them from a distant seed house you may get a variety that will mature in Louisiana but not in Minnesota. A Member: How about cowpeas? Mr. Alway: Cowpeas are disappointing thus far north. In Minnesota they are not nearly as satisfactory as the soy bean. In an unusually warm summer they are satisfactory. A Member: With the soy bean do you have to plow in the whole of it? Mr. Alway: Yes. The whole plant ought to be plowed under. A Member: Would it be practicable to feed soy beans in an orchard? Mr. Alway: Yes. You don't get quite the same benefit from the green manure when you pasture as when you plow under. A Member: How about the hairy vetch? Does it grow here? Mr. Alway: Yes. It grows here. It is not a bad crop at all. * * * * * POISONING TREE SCALE.--We take the following from _Scientific American_ as worth consideration by the owners of orchards and lawns: A correspondent in _Science_ relates the following rather startling experiment in killing tree scale by poisoning the sap of the tree. He says: "I have in my ground a plant of Spanish broom about a dozen years old and with a trunk about four inches in diameter which has for several years been seriously infested by cottony cushion scale (_Icerya purchasi_). I have tried various sprays, have put scale-eating beetles on the tree, and at one time cut all the branches off and sprayed the trunk several times in the attempt to get permanently rid of this scale, but up to last winter it seemed that all attempts were in vain. In February of this year, when the broom was very thickly covered with the scale, I bored a three-eighths inch hole in the trunk to a depth of about three inches, filled the hole nearly full of crystals of potassic cyanide, and plugged it up. In two days the scale began to fall from the tree and in a few days all appeared dead. Others hatched and attacked the tree, but lasted only a short time, and the tree has since been free from scale and very vigorous." NOTICE OF SUMMER MEETING, 1916 A JOINT SESSION OF THE MINNESOTA STATE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY AND ITS AUXILIARIES, THE MINNESOTA STATE GARDEN FLOWER SOCIETY, THE MINNESOTA STATE BEE KEEPERS SOCIETY AND THE MINNESOTA STATE FLORISTS SOCIETY. Will be held FRIDAY, JUNE 23rd, 1916, in the Gymnasium, at University Farm, St. Paul. THE GYMNASIUM BUILDING in which this meeting is to be held has recently been constructed and only finished suitable for the uses of this gathering within the past year. The grounds about it are still in part in an unfinished condition. Directly south of this building are the football grounds, originally a marshy tract, now filled in and leveled off, with hillsides sloping upwards some thirty to forty feet on either side, well shaded. These slopes would be excellent places for the picnic dinner and the afternoon session except for the fact that they have recently been seeded and are not yet in condition for use. The main room in the gymnasium building, which is a very large room--at least three times as large as the one occupied by our exhibit last year--will be used for the fruit and flower display, and exhibitors can have access to this hall early in the forenoon, though visitors will be barred from the exhibition hall until 12:00 m. to give ample opportunity for placing and judging the display. The exhibition will remain in place undisturbed until 9:00 o'clock p.m. The flowers will be distributed to the various hospitals in the Twin Cities. THE PREMIUM LIST accompanying this notice is practically the same as last year, there being only a few minor changes, to which it will not be necessary to refer here. The season, up to the time of writing this notice at least, having been a favorable one we are anticipating a large display of flowers, probably the finest ever shown at any of our summer gatherings, and as the weather is always pleasant on the occasion of our summer meeting a large gathering of members and visitors is also assured. DEMONSTRATIONS.--There will be a number of demonstrations at the farm, one by Prof. Francis Jager, the apiculturist, at 11:30 o'clock, at the Apiary Building. No special subject has been announced for this, but it is certain to be a profitable occasion for those interested in bee culture. Professors connected with the entomological and pathological departments will conduct experiments in spraying at some point near the Main Building. Undoubtedly there will be other demonstrations, which may be announced before the meeting or in regard to which announcements will be found posted at the gymnasium. GUIDES TO THE GROUNDS.--Guides will be in attendance to escort visitors about the grounds to various points of interest. These guides will be prepared to answer questions pertaining to the various branches of educational work at the farm. Those who wish to take advantage of this service will meet the guides at the gymnasium at 10:30 a.m. and 3:30 p.m. The guides will wear suitable badges. PICNIC DINNER.--In regard to the picnic dinner, which will occupy the time between noon and 2:00 o'clock, we are not quite sure as to where it will be held, but probably near the dining hall. Should the weather be unfavorable of course there is plenty of room inside the gymnasium building. Lemonade, ice cold, will be provided in quantity at the gymnasium building to meet the needs of the picnickers. AFTERNOON MEETING.--At 2:00 p.m. the afternoon session of the meeting will be held at some point in or around the gymnasium building, depending on the weather at that time and somewhat also on the weather between now and then as to the condition the grounds may be in. REACHING THE GROUNDS.--Take the Como-Harriet or Como-Hopkins car in either St. Paul or Minneapolis, get off at Doswell Avenue, and a walk of approximately one-half mile will bring you to University Farm grounds. To reach the gymnasium go north on Cleveland Avenue, which is the avenue running along the west side of University Farm, past the University Farm buildings until you come to the last building, which you will recognize as the gymnasium by its size. The grounds between Cleveland Avenue and the gymnasium are in an unfinished condition, but visitors will readily find their way across. If you prefer to ride all the way to the grounds get off at Eustis Avenue, which the conductor will point out to you. From that place cars run every fifteen minutes into the Farm grounds, an extra fare of five cents being charged. Ask the conductor to let you off at the gymnasium building, which you will reach from the street car after a short walk over ground still ungraded and where no special path has been provided. Getting off at that point, however, saves a long walk from the terminal station. If in doubt as to the way, follow the sign of the arrow. VISIT TO STATE FRUIT-BREEDING FARM.--This farm is located at Zumbra Heights, twenty-two miles west of Minneapolis on the Minneapolis and St. Louis railroad. The train leaves depot at 8:35 a.m. Return can be made by way of Zumbra Heights landing on Lake Minnetonka and the lake steamers via trolley line to Minneapolis, or by waiting until mid-afternoon a train can be secured returning to the city on the railroad. One or more of the professors will go out Saturday morning, June 24th, to accompany any who may desire to take advantage of this opportunity to visit the Fruit Breeding Farm in a body. There are many things of interest there, the special timely feature at this season being the fruiting of a large field of No. 3 strawberries, which variety gives promise of being the coming commercial berry of the Northwest. ENTRIES.--All entries must be received by the secretary not later than Monday, June 19th. No entries whatever will be received at the meeting. The exhibitors are urged to send in their entries at as early a date as possible, under no circumstances later than the date noted above. Entry blanks will be furnished by the secretary on application. EXHIBITS.--All exhibits must be in place and properly labeled by 11:30 a.m. to compete for premiums. The exhibitors must be members of the society and growers of the articles exhibited. Any one may become a member upon payment of the annual fee of $1.00. Fruits and flowers shown become the property of the association. Premium List, Summer Meeting, 1916. No Duplicating of Varieties Permitted. OUT-DOOR ROSES. 1st prem. 2d prem. 3d prem. 4th prem. Collection--three blooms of each named variety, to be shown in separate vases $6.00 $4.00 $2.00 $1.00 Collection of named varieties--three blooms of each, in separate vases, amateurs only 6.00 4.00 2.00 1.00 Three named varieties, white--each variety in a separate vase, three blooms of each, each bloom on a separate stem 2.00 1.00 .50 Three named varieties, pink--each variety in a separate vase, three blooms of each, each bloom on a separate stem 2.00 1.00 .50 Three named varieties, red--each variety in a separate vase, three blooms of each, each bloom on a separate stem 2.00 1.00 .50 Collection of Rugosa and Rugosa Hybrids--each variety (consisting of one cluster of blooms on a single stem) in a separate vase 2.00 1.00 .50 Most beautiful rose in vase 1.00 Largest rose in vase 1.00 Seedling rose to be shown by the originator. (Not previously exhibited in competition.) Bronze medal donated by the American Rose Society. Basket of out-door roses and foliage, arranged for effect without ribbon, not to exceed twelve inches in diameter 3.00 2.00 1.00 The following named varieties of roses to be entered separately and shown in separate vases, three to five blooms in each vase. Prince Camile deRohan, General Jacqueminot, Margaret Dickson, M.P. Wilder, Jules Margottin, Magna Charta, Paul Neyron, Madam Gabriel Luizet, Baroness Rothschild, Anna de Diesbach, Ulrich Brunner, John Hopper, Rosa Rugosa (pink and white), Baron deBonstetten, Karl Druski, Madam Plantier, Grus an Teplitz. Each, 1st prem., 75 cents; 2nd prem., 50 cents; 3rd prem., 25 cents. PEONIES. 1st prem. 2d prem. 3d prem. 4th prem. Vase of Festiva Maxima. 6 blooms $2.00 $1.00 $0.50 " " flesh or light pink " " " " " " " medium or dark pink " " " " " " " white " " " " " " " red " " " " " Collection--three blooms of each named variety in separate vases $6.00 $4.00 $2.00 $1.00 Collection--three blooms of each named variety in separate vases, amateurs only 6.00 4.00 2.00 1.00 Seedling peony, three blooms 3.00 2.00 1.00 .50 Collection--one bloom of each variety, shown each in a separate vase; for amateurs owning no more than ten varieties 2.00 1.00 .50 ANNUALS AND PERENNIALS. Vase of Arabis $1.50 $1.00 $0.50 " " Canterbury Bells " " " " " Dielytra " " " " " Delphinium " " " " " Evening primrose (Oenothera) " " " " " Forget-me-not " " " " " Foxglove " " " " " Gailardias " " " " " Grass pinks " " " " " Iceland poppies " " " " " Iris " " " " " Lillies " " " " " Lupine " " " " " Nasturtiums " " " " " Oriental poppies " " " " " Pansies " " " " " Perennial coreopsis " " " " " Pyrethrum " " " " " Shasta daisies " " " " " Sweet peas " " " " " Sweet william " " " Collection--named perennials, in separate vases $6.00 $4.00 $2.00 $1.00 Collection of annuals and perennials in separate vases (not to exceed 12) by amateurs who have never taken premiums on flowers 4.00 3.00 2.00 1.00 Vase of flowers grown and exhibited by child 2.00 1.00 .50 Vase of any kind of flowers not named in this list. (An exhibitor may make any number of entries desired under this head) 2.00 1.00 .50 Vase of flowers arranged for artistic effect 1.50 1.00 .50 Basket of outdoor-grown flowers, arranged by exhibitor 3.00 2.00 1.00 STRAWBERRIES. One quart of each variety to be shown on plate, not in box. 1st prem. 2d prem. 3d prem. 4th prem. Collection (not less than six varieties) $5.00 $4.00 $3.00 $2.00 Collection of three named varieties 3.00 2.00 1.00 .50 The following varieties of strawberries to be entered separately: 1st prem. 2d prem. 3d prem. 4th prem. Bederwood, Dunlap, Cresent, Splendid, Clyde, Warfield, Lovett, Enhance, Glen Mary, Haverland, Progressive, Superb, Americus, each 1.00 $0.75 $0.50 $0.25 Best named variety not included in the above list 2.00 1.00 .50 Seedling's, originated by exhibitor 3.00 2.00 1.00 GARDEN HELPS Conducted by Minnesota Garden Flower Society Edited by MRS. E. W. GOULD, 2644 Humboldt Avenue So. Minneapolis. _Photographic contest_--Open to all members of the Garden Flower Society. Class I. Photograph showing best garden arrangement or planting effect. List of flowers and shrubs to accompany picture. First prize--Twenty-five perennial plants. Second prize--Twelve iris. Class II. Photograph showing individual plant in bloom. A growing plant in bloom will be preferred to one in a vase. First prize--Twenty-five perennial plants. Second prize--Twelve iris. Class III. Photograph showing wild flower in bloom. Directions governing Class II to be followed. First prize--Twenty-five perennial plants. Second prize--Twelve dahlia tubers. Any number of pictures may be entered in each class, but only one prize in each class will be given an exhibitor. When possible have photographs 5x7 inches or 4x5 inches, although size will not bar an otherwise meritorious picture. Photographs in Classes I and II should be confined to the garden of the exhibitor. All pictures are to be in the hands of our secretary by November first, and are to become the property of the society. The prizes will be delivered the following spring. The pictures will be on exhibition at our annual meeting in December. * * * * * These directions in The Garden Magazine are so good they are quoted verbatim: NEXT TO SEED PLANTING the most important part of the gardener's work is skill in the technique of transplanting. How often do you hear concerning some gardener, that if he "only touches a thing, it is bound to live?" There is no "king's touch" in the garden game. People who "love" plants are more successful with them, merely because such persons take greater care in handling them. The first essential in transplanting is to have good plants. They should be well hardened off (see March Reminder, covering cold-frames); this applies to plants in flats and in pots even more than to those growing in frames. In buying plants, select stocky, compact, dark colored ones in preference to very large ones. PREPARE THE SOIL as carefully as though you intended to sow seeds. Mark out the rows, and if fertilizer is to be used, mix it thoroughly with the soil before beginning transplanting. Then prepare the plants carefully. Unless they are very small, cut back the largest leaves about one-half with an old pair of scissors. With a small trowel or an old knife, cut them out of the frame or flat in which they are growing, keeping as much soil as possible with each. (If not in flats, cut them out as you use them in the garden.) If they are in pots, knock them out carefully and pack into flat for convenience in handling. Paper pots, which produce the best plants, are not removed before planting. Water thoroughly the day before planting, so that the soil will be in the best condition for handling; but for several days before planting, it is well to keep the plants "on the dry side," as they will then re-establish themselves more quickly when set out. (To be continued) ENTOMOLOGICAL NOTES By F. L. WASHBURN, Professor of Entomology. University of Minnesota. A SILVER PRUNE IN BLOOM AT MINNETONKA. May 19, 1916.--The writer has a small silver prune grafted on hardy root, which he obtained from Mr. Arrowood, Nevis, Minn., now in bloom at his experimental garden at Minnetonka--not many flowers, it is true, but in bloom just the same. This tree is not more than two feet high, and was somewhat protected by a rabbit protector and high snow. Other plums in the Entomologist's orchard, (one acre) are now nearly full of bloom: Hanska, Skuya, Opata and other Hansen hybrids, as well as trial plums from the University fruit breeding farm. We have top worked this spring Hibernals, and Patten's Greenings with Stark's Delicious, Grimes Golden, King David and Johnathan. One-half of this land slopes sharply to the north and the other half more gently to the south, clay, loam with clay subsoil, offering favorable conditions for orchard work as well as work with grapes, small fruits and vegetables. Of grapes we have started Concord, Worden, Moore's Early, Agawam, Brighton, Iona, Lindley, Salem, Barry, Herbert, Isabella, Green Mountain, and others. We have even had the temerity to try Loganberries from the Pacific coast, and have some in fruit at present. A heavy covering of soil next winter will possibly protect these plants during the cold weather. THE WHITE PINE BLISTER RUST IN MINNESOTA. This disease has just been found on a few White Pines in two Minnesota nurseries. The trees in one of these nurseries came from Wisconsin, shipped into that state from the east. Absolute identification has been furnished by the Plant Pathology Division of the Agricultural College. The state entomologist has already in the field a force of men who will inspect every nursery in the state where white pines are grown. THE ENGLISH SPARROW PEST. We have experienced some success in the use of a sparrow trap, catching from 11 to 25 in half a day. It must be noted, however, that this does not occur every day, and further, that the young birds are most easily caught. Both old and young evidently learn to avoid the trap. Another party who has used this trap also reports success even greater than ours. Other parties report an average catch of ten birds a day for nearly four months. One can also, if on a farm, resort to shooting them singly, or, better, when gathered together feeding. In fact, they may be baited with grain for a few days (preferably in the fall or winter) and previous to the use of the shotgun. This accustoms them to gathering in a close flock. Eggs and nests may be repeatedly destroyed, if placed within reach. A well-directed stream of water from a hose is helpful in making them desert their roosts, at least for a while. Dearborn (Farmers' Bulletin No. 493, U.S. Dept. of Agr.) describes a nest-box trap. Sparrows may also be poisoned, but this calls for extreme care. In this case it is interesting to learn that one experimenter fed a large number of sparrows killed by poisoning to a pet cat with no ill effects to the latter. We have picked them from cornices upon our house at dusk with the aid of a small collecting gun or pistol, firing a very light charge of shot, but found that the shot marred the house, and were therefore obliged to discontinue the practice. In addition to trapping sparrows with approved sparrow traps the following recipe has recently come to our notice: "Feed good cracked corn a few days; then substitute poisoned cracked corn made as follows: Soak one quart of cracked corn in water; take it out and let it get about half dry. Dissolve one ounce of strychnia in hot water. Soak corn in this until it swells and then dry completely." BEE-KEEPER'S COLUMN. Conducted by FRANCIS JAGER, Professor of Apiculture, University Farm, St. Paul. COMB HONEY, EXTRACTED HONEY, AND INCREASE. (Continued from May No.) Colonies run for comb honey are very much inclined to swarm. Swarming with the resulting division of forces is incompatible with profitable comb honey production. The colony must be kept together for best results. The following methods are used by well known beekeepers. 1. At the beginning of the honey flow let the colony cast a natural swarm. After hiving the bees on starters or full sheets of foundation and giving them a little brood to prevent them from swarming out again, the swarm is put in the place of the parent colony, which is removed to one side two or three feet. The seventh day the old colony is moved over to the opposite side of the swarm two or three feet. Two weeks after, all the bees are shaken in front of the swarm, and the hive with wax and honey removed. Thus the desire of bees for swarming has been satisfied, and the colony is still working together. 2. Make a shaken swarm. During the dandelion honey flow add an extracting super to your comb raising colony to give bees room to store. At the beginning of the honey flow set the whole hive a little aside and put a new bottom board on the place thus vacated. On this bottom board place the extracting super from your colony. Find the frame with the queen and put it in the middle of this new brood chamber, bees and all. Then shake all the bees from the old brood chamber into the new. The brood in the old hive thus left orphans may be piled up on top of some weaker colony in your yard who will take care of it. Five such supers with brood may be piled on top of one such colony, and they will be the strongest in the yard for storing extracted honey during the basswood or other late honey flow. This honey will be very handy for feeding your bees in the fall and spring. Now add a comb honey super to your shaken swarm. Add more supers when necessary, below before July 4th, on top after that date. Remove all comb honey supers at once at the end of the honey flow to have them white and clean. 3. When your colony is very strong at the beginning of the honey flow--about June 10th--remove the queen, either by killing her or by starting a new colony with her with two frames of brood. The seventh day cut out all queen cells but one--be sure not to leave two. This will re-queen your apiary, will prevent swarming for that season, will put a large number of bees into the field--there being no larvae to feed, will prevent thousands of bees from being hatched after they are of no use as gatherers of honey, and the honey needed for raising those bees will go into the supers. (Continued in July No.) SECRETARY'S CORNER NOTICE OF SUMMER MEETING will be found on pages 257-259 of this magazine. Don't overlook it--and be sure to come. Great show of flowers and a fine day is assured--that is our record to date. THE SECRETARY'S OFFICE during the summer month, will be open as usual except Saturday afternoon, but the secretary will be in regularly only on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. THE STATE ENTOMOLOGISTS REPORT ON NURSERY INSPECTION in 1915 has been issued as circular No. 37. It contains a list of all inspected nurseries in the state; and also six full page photographs illustrating the nursery industry in Minnesota. Copies can be obtained by writing F.L. Washburn, St. Anthony Park, Minn. A GOOD YIELD OF EVERBEARING STRAWBERRY PLANTS.--Mr. J. J. Kunkel, of Kimball, Minn., writes under date of May 13th: "The three everbearing strawberry plants I received of you in 1915 made about 250 young plants, of which I replanted this spring about 200. We had a few berries, but did not expect berries as we let all runners grow." Who has done better than that in growing No. 1017 everbearing strawberry plants? A FARMER ON THE BOARD OF REGENTS.--We are much pleased to note the appointment of a real farmer in the person of C. W. Glotfelter, of Waterville, as a member of the Board of Regents of the Minnesota State University. Mr. Glotfelter is well known throughout the state as late president of the Minnesota State Agricultural Society, and is at present occupying the same position with the Minnesota Crop Breeders' Association. He is a farmer in every sense, as he lives upon a farm which he has himself worked personally a great many years. We feel that the horticultural and agricultural interests of the state are especially well cared for by this board in having Mr. Glotfelter in its membership. WYMAN ELLIOT'S CONTRIBUTION TO THE LIBRARY.--A short time since Mrs. Elliot, widow of the late Wyman Elliot, sent to this office as a contribution to our library all of the horticultural and agricultural books which belonged to Mr. Elliot. There were in all 397 volumes, nearly all of them bound in cloth. The larger portion of these were reports of other horticultural and agricultural societies, most of which the Horticultural Society already had in the library. There were, however, some forty or fifty very valuable reference books, or books on specific subjects of a horticultural character, and a considerable number of reports of other societies which we did not have, in all amounting to seventy-seven volumes. These have been placed mostly in two cases by themselves which will be marked with Mr. Elliot's name, and, of course, each one of these volumes has an inscription of similar character on the fly leaf. The remainder of these books, 320 in number, are being sent to University Farm library for use there as far as they need them, and they will be likely to know where to place to advantage any that they have no personal use for. There are plenty of libraries in the state that would be glad indeed to receive some of these volumes, and we hope that in this way Mr. Elliot's name will appear in the catalog of many of our public libraries. NEW LIFE MEMBERS.--There have been quite a number of names added to the life membership roll of the society during the year 1916 and since the last public record was made of this sort. The names of the following persons have now been added to the permanent roll of the society: Ludvig Lima, Montevideo; Mrs. Florence Burlingame, Grand Rapids; A.L. Negstad, Arlington, S.D.; C. P. Bratnober, 1419 Harmon Place, Minneapolis; Miss Anna M. Johnson, Lafayette; H. J. Appleby, Minneiska; Hans M. Johnson, Pipestone; Christ Effertz, Norwood; O.J. Oyen, Watson; F.E. Older, California State Normal School, Los Angeles, Cal.; Erick Sparre, Elk River; E. H. Mazey, 3029 Ewing So., Minneapolis. There is still room in this list for others, and why not instead of paying annual membership year after year make one payment and have done with it? RESOLUTION ABOUT STATE FLOWER.--The following resolution was unanimously adopted at a meeting of the Minnesota Garden Flower Society, held during the annual session of the State Horticultural Society, in December last. Resolved, That whereas, The State of Minnesota has adopted a state flower, which, on account of its being a native of the woods and bogs, is not generally known or recognized, and Whereas, The State of Minnesota in 1893 adopted by legislative vote a state flag, which emblem is not generally known to the residents of the state, and believing that familiarity with the state flower and the state flag will do good and create loyalty to the state and union; Be It Resolved, That we, the Minnesota State Horticultural Society, do hereby petition and pray the state legislature of Minnesota, to have printed an attractive picture of the state flower and the state flag, properly framed, and present it to the high schools of the state, with the request that it be placed upon the wall of their assembly room. Also, that it be furnished free of cost, to such other public buildings as may be deemed advisable. PROGRAM, "FARMERS' WEEK."--During "Farmers' Week" at University Farm, January 1-7, 1917, there will be scheduled several conferences which fruit and vegetable growers should find of value to them in their work. These conferences deal with all of the problems of the grower, but special afternoons are given to the small fruits, the tree fruits, and vegetables. Next January will be the third conference of the fruit growers, the second for the vegetable growers, and the first for the small fruit growers as a separate branch of the fruit work. Mr. W. G. Brierly, Chairman of the Division of Horticulture, University Farm, is working on programs for these conferences for next January. He will be very glad to have any one interested write to him for information or to suggest topics for discussion. The program for the vegetable growers' conference will be drawn up by a joint committee from the St. Paul and Minneapolis vegetable growers, working with Mr. Brierly. The committee is planning to meet at the time of the summer meeting of the Horticultural Society and will, of course, welcome any suggestions as to topics and speakers. These conferences are for all growers interested and are free to all. There has been some difficulty heretofore in that very few suggestions as to program have been offered by the growers themselves. If you have any problems or matters which you would like to have discussed at these conferences, now is the time to make your suggestions. [Illustration: SOUTH END OF EXHIBITION HALL AT LATE SUMMER MEETING. The flower exhibit is mostly in north end of hall, and not showing in this picture.] While it is not the intention to publish anything in this magazine that is misleading or unreliable, yet it must be remembered that the articles published herein recite the experience and opinions of their writers, and this fact must always be noted in estimating their practical value. THE MINNESOTA HORTICULTURIST Vol. 44 JULY, 1916 No. 5 My Neighbor's Roses The roses red upon my neighbor's vine Are owned by him, but they are also mine, His was the cost, and his the labor, too, But mine, as well as his, the joy their loveliness to view. They bloom for me, and are to me as fair As for the man who gives them all his care. Thus I am rich, because a good man grew A rose-clad vine for all his neighbors' view. I know from this that others plant for me, And what they own, my joy may also be. So why be selfish, when so much that's fine Is grown for you, upon your neighbor s vine! --_Anon_ SUMMER MEETING, 1916. Minnesota State Horticultural Society A Joint Session with its Auxiliaries, the Minnesota State Garden Flower Society, the Minnesota State Bee-Keepers Society and the Minnesota State Florists Society. A. W. LATHAM, SECY. There seems to be something almost uncanny in the unbroken sequence of pleasant days that have greeted the annual summer meeting of the Horticultural Society in the last quarter of a century. For days before this meeting it seemed assured that we should this year at least have an unpleasant day for our gathering, and even the day before and night before were most unfavorable. Friday morning, June 23rd, however, opened up bright and beautiful, warm and pleasant, as nature can smile, and continued so throughout the day. The meeting was in accord with these favorable circumstances, and I believe brought out more and better flowers and more, though no better, people, both as exhibitors and in attendance, than any previous similar gathering the association has held. The exhibition was installed in the new gymnasium at University Farm, a room sufficiently large so that it not only accommodated the exhibition with wide aisle space, but also found plenty of room for the placing of chairs for the afternoon meeting. Tables were arranged around three sides of the hall, which were used for the displays of perennials and roses. The peonies were shown on several tables in the north center of the hall and besides these there were exhibits of some of the choicest of the peonies made upon the floor, so arranged that visitors could walk amongst them and look down upon them and see them at their best. One table was occupied with the strawberry exhibit, which, however, was a small one on account of the lateness of the season, though the Fruit-Breeding Farm showed some forty or fifty plates of No. 3, the new June-bearing berry of such large popularity, and a few everbearers. The number of entries was, I believe, in excess of any previous meeting, amounting altogether to 521. Most of the old exhibitors at our summer meeting were present and some few of the newer ones. The effort which was made this year to secure a completed exhibit at 11:30 proved to be a success, and by the lunch hour the judges had gotten well along with their work and the hall was opened to the public to inspect the display. At 12:00 o'clock or thereabouts the members and their friends gathered upon the lawn near the station dining hall, where there were plenty of trees and green grass, and partook of the noon repast, for which purpose the station provided coffee and also lemonade, the latter a new feature in our bill of fare. The regular afternoon meeting was held at 2:00 o'clock in the same hall in which the exhibit was placed. This was largely attended, some two or three hundred taking advantage of the opportunity to listen to those who found place on this extempore program. Our society reporter took some notes of what transpired at the meeting, but they were only partial notes, and what here follows in regard to what took place is only in the nature of extracts. President Cashman was in the chair as usual and in a few words extended greeting to the society saying, amongst other things: "This occasion is always looked forward to with a great deal of pleasure. We meet those engaged in similar lines of work, we discuss the problems with which we have to contend, our joys and our sorrows. We come here to meet our friends--and my experience has been that there are no truer or more loyal friends than those found amongst the horticulturists. The true horticulturist is a lover of nature, a lover of the beautiful and all that goes with it. He looks for nothing except the best that can be found in human kind. Such are the men and women that belong to the Horticultural Society." As representing the University Farm, whose hospitality in a large sense the society was enjoying, Dean Woods gave us a hearty welcome in his happy way, and what follows is typical of the kindly things he said: "We always have pleasant days and pleasant memories because those who study flowers and fruits and the beauties of nature are the ones from whom one can get inspiration to understand and to know what nature means. Any one who can listen to the sounds of nature, any one who can see in flowers the spirit of life struggling upwards has the true spirit of the horticulturist and is always welcome here." Mr. A. Brackett, of Excelsior, being called upon, had something to say about strawberry culture, and in the course of his remarks showed several plates of different varieties of strawberries. What follows is the substance of his talk on this subject. "We have here what we call the No. 3 strawberry produced at the Experimental Farm. I believe from my experience that it is going to take the place of all of our common June-bearing strawberries. It is a deep rooter, fine large plant and a nice, solid berry, and I have never seen any blight or rust on the plants. I think that it will pay for all the expense that has ever been paid out for the farm, that one berry will pay for it, it will be of that much value to the people of Minnesota. The everbearing strawberry has come to stay, and for private use you do not need to plant any other variety. The everbearing strawberry will ripen its fruit at least a week ahead of almost any other berry we have, and then it will continue bearing until the frost kills it. I had at least twenty bushels of fruit from my plants last year, and I secured from one-quarter acre fifty-three cases and sold them at $4.80 a case. They talk about what they can raise in California, but we can do better here, and I believe if you will stick to these three varieties, the Americus, Superb and Progressive, you will not need to plant any other variety. The Americus has the best flavor but it isn't as large. Of the Superb nearly all of the berries are large, very few small ones, but they haven't got the flavor. "There is one thing about this new strawberry, it can not bear the year around, that is, during the summer, unless the ground is very rich. I think I put on one-half acre of the everbearing strawberries twenty-five loads of fertilizer. You have got to make the ground rich to carry these plants through and produce the berries. I use a narrow row on the hill system. I cut my rows down in the spring, dig up the plants and leave the row four inches wide and plants six inches apart. This brings more berries and better plants." Prof. C. B. Waldron, of Fargo, N.D., horticulturist at the Fargo Agricultural College for a quarter century, who has rarely missed being with us at any summer gathering, being called upon, among other things said: "There are a good many things that affiliate people together in groups of one kind or another. It used to be that if people had the same belief about eternal punishment, etc., that they would group themselves together, but nowadays we find people grouping themselves according to more natural methods. I think people grouping themselves together for a common love of trees, fruits and flowers makes a more natural bond of affiliation, and when I find a man that knows the names of many of our beautiful flowers I feel drawn to him at once. I can't seem to tire of that person's company, no matter what political party he belongs to. These things that I speak of seem to be a more natural and harmonious relationship to build our friendship upon than almost anything else. I know that I always look forward days and weeks ahead to meetings like this, where I can meet with people who love and admire and cherish the things that I find my greatest delight in." The superintendent of the Fruit-Breeding Farm, Mr. Chas. Haralson, spoke briefly of the work at the Fruit-Breeding Farm, which he is conducting with such distinguished success. His statement was altogether too brief when one knows the vast amount of detail work that is being done there in development of new fruits: "The work at the Fruit-Breeding Farm is carried on just the same as usual. We are working on strawberries, plums, apples, grapes somewhat and several other fruits like gooseberries and currants. The best success we have had so far in the new varieties is with strawberries, raspberries and plums. It takes only a few years to run through a generation of these, and we can get them selected quicker than apples. The plum crop is very light this year, especially on the hybrid plums, on account of winter-killing, that is, the buds killed during the winter. They never did that before, but this year they have done it to a great extent. The strawberry crop is very good and so are the raspberries now coming on. Probably as many as 2,000 apple seedling trees are bearing this year, so we will have a little chance for selection in the line of apples. In grapes we are working with most of the seedlings from the Beta and some hybrids, and we have a few of the Beta seedlings that are very good. One red variety compares favorably with any of the cultivated varieties. It is perfectly hardy so far. And we have two or three varieties of black nearly as large as Moore's Early or Concord. "We also have a number of seedlings of pears, but we are not very far advanced with them yet. Pears stand the winter fairly well, although they winter-kill to a certain extent. When they are weakened through the winter and growth starts in the spring they blight. Blight is the worst part of our work with pears." Prof. R. S. Mackintosh, of University Farm, was caught on the floor, and as usual took opportunity to tell people they ought to eat more apples and something about how to get them. This seems to be a subject that is ever in his mind and which he is persistently working to good advantage. "You folks that are hungry and want apples or apple pie want to get busy about the middle of August and eat up your surplus apples in Minnesota. It is a shame that farmers, fruit growers, etc., have spent years trying to grow apples in Minnesota and then we cannot get enough people to eat the apples. We are going to carry on the clearing house as we did last year, and if you want apples let us know. We can grow apples the same as we can grow peonies and strawberries, but it is a little hard to get them distributed properly." Mr. A. M. Brand, of Faribault, who had an extraordinary exhibit of seedling peonies at the meeting, pronounced by our peony expert, Mr. C.S. Harrison, "second to none in the world," was introduced and talked briefly along the line of seedling peony production, as follows: "There is a great deal of encouragement in what we have been able to accomplish down there at Faribault along the line of producing something fine in peonies. Sixteen years ago we started out with the idea of improving upon the stock that we already have. We had a little red peony, a very nice peony, originated by Mr. Terry down in Iowa, called Rachel, and starting out with that as a mother plant we have produced some of the finest roots that there are in cultivation. By using lots of the seed of Rachel we have been able to produce this Mary Brand, considered by many of the peony growers as one of the finest red peonies in the world. A great many people that raise nice peonies think they have to go to the trouble of hand fertilization. That isn't necessary. We started out with such varieties as Rachel, and by letting the bees and the elements do the fertilizing for us we were able to produce varieties like this. Here is the new seedling that we brought out this year and named Ruth--a pink peony. As a rule we plant about a peck of seed every year, and out of that peck of seed it probably brings us 10,000 seedlings, and out of this 10,000 we get one good seedling, and this is the only good seedling that we have produced this year. This is a seedling that comes from Rosa Fragrans. When we picked this seedling from the bed of seedlings we considered this the finest seedling that we had, and it has never come good from that time to this, and it is ten years since we have been trying this seedling, which will show you when you are growing seedlings that the first time a seedling blossoms and comes splendid you mustn't be too enthusiastic about it. The next year it may be worth nothing. You have got to try a seedling in every way to find out whether it is worth sending out. As a rule it takes us ten years from the time that a seedling first blossoms until we send it out. Ninety per cent of all the peony seedlings that you grow will be singles, one out of 10,000 seedlings will be fair and one out of 100,000 seedlings will be extra good--so you see that those which we have produced give us some encouragement. I wouldn't advise many of you to go into the seedling business, although you might produce one good seedling out of a handful of seed. "If you plant a peony on the lawn you have to fertilize it heavily. You can't have your lawn right up to the stalks of the peony. If you want a peony on the lawn you must give it two feet of ground. Most of the peonies that are brought here are taken out of fields that are cultivated with a horse cultivator. If you want your flowers on the lawn and don't want to cultivate them you have to use lots of fertilizer. You must not use too much. Fertilize heavy about once in three years. Don't fertilize every fall. Fertilize in the fall, and the next spring spade the manure in and then don't use any manure for three or four years. Plant peonies any time from the first of September until the time it freezes up and plant any time in the spring until the growth starts on the plants. If you plant in the spring you are just six months ahead of planting in the following September, though September is really the best time to plant. If a peony clump becomes old, as large around as a tub, and you still want it to stand in the same place I would cut out half of the stalks as they come up, and then to get still larger blossoms after the stalks have come up I would pinch the side buds also." [Illustration: A fringe of peonies at the summer exhibit.] Mrs. Crawford, of Indiana, a peony grower of much experience there, who came to Minneapolis for the purpose of attending our flower meeting, we understand, told us something about how peonies are grown in her section, an interesting and practical talk, part of which follows: "In Indiana we have a sour, black clay soil. We fertilize with crushed limestone and leaves. I fertilize with the leaves that fall in the autumn after the leaves have begun to rot. I cover them without cutting the tops. Then in the spring when they begin to bud we go over them on our knees and work the leaves all in with a trowel. I have 3,000 plants, but with the assistance of the men we have we get it done, and grow fine peonies. In regard to manure, I never feel that I can put any fertilizer within two feet. The rows are from three to four feet apart. We never use any fertilizer that will come in contact with the stems, as when the flowers are cut off it leaves the stem hollow, and if the manure gets in the stem it works down the stem into the roots and leaves a hollow root in time. We never use in our part of the state any fertilizer that will come in contact with the stems except leaves. When the streets are cleaned in the fall I pile the leaves on the back lot. I have fourteen or fifteen loads hauled in. This is scattered over the peonies. I want to compliment you on having very fine peonies, some of them finer than I have ever seen, and I hope you will all be as enthusiastic about raising peonies as I am. Is it necessary to burn the tops when they are cut off? I consider that the ashes from the tops aid in fertilizing. I pile them up in little piles and burn them and sprinkle the ashes over the peonies. Frequently when I dig around a peony and I feel that the soil has become exhausted I throw in a handful of garden peas, and when they get about a foot high I spade them under for fertilizer." Mr. D. W. C. Ruff, of St. Paul, had a wonderful showing of peonies of named varieties, most of them very expensive from a money standpoint, they having cost him prices varying from $5.00 to $40.00 a root, and judging by the character of the flowers which he held up for the audience while he talked about them they were well worth the money. I regret that we are unable to give a verbatim report of his talk, with the names of the varieties, but this information must be secured from him at some later time. In part he said: "I have spent the last fifteen years in making a good collection of peonies. I have gone all over the world for peonies and have brought together some of the finest peonies from all the noted growers and horticulturists. In my collection I have over 400 hundred varieties, that is, what I am growing at my home. I have brought here today of course a great many peonies of the later varieties. I have brought these here from an educational standpoint so that the people might see some of the rare ones that they might have heard about or read about and see them and know of these varieties. Last year I made an exhibit and showed hundreds of them. This year I have brought just a few choice things." Rev. C. S. Harrison spoke in his usual inspiring way, but with such force and speed that our stenographer was unable to pick him up, which we sincerely regret. We all know Mr. Harrison as an enthusiast in flowers. He has met with us year after year at both annual gatherings. While he is eighty-three years old yet what he has to say and the way he says it still have the ring and inspiration of youth. He proposed the organization of a peony society for the Northwest, and a show of hands indicating there was material present to perfect such an organization the plans were laid therefor. Our reporter got this far: "I have attended the national peony shows of Boston and New York, and they cannot hold a candle to your peonies, mark that! There is something in your soil and in your climate which brings them to the front." Prof. F. L. Washburn was to tell us something about the white pine blister rust, but he failed to inflict upon us a long technical talk, and from what he said all the reporter got was this, from which however one could well judge what was in his thought. "We have found in Minnesota a disease on the white pine called the 'white pine blister rust.' One stage of this disease is on the gooseberry or currant, that is, we find it now on the white pine and going to the gooseberry or currant. We went to the governor, state treasurer and state auditor and obtained $1,000 for use in fighting this besides our regular appropriation." Mr. J. M. Underwood, of Lake City, without whom the program would be incomplete, spoke a few closing words as follows: "We have had such a splendid program, and I know you are anxious to look at these beautiful flowers, and all I have time to say, and a disposition to say, is that I think we owe a great obligation to the Garden Flower Society, a splendid organization auxiliary to the State Horticultural Society. I think you ought to all be members of that Garden Flower Society. It is a wonderful working organization, and I think the ladies that are in charge of it deserve a great deal of credit and should be complimented as being foremost on the program. There is a great deal that I could say, but I know there isn't time for it, and I thank you." In the meantime many more visitors had come into the hall to view the display, which continued on exhibition until 9:00 o'clock in the evening. Prof. Cady, who had general charge of the arrangements at the meeting, reports that at least one thousand people saw the display, and we think that it was well worth while to have kept it open until that hour. Representatives from a number of the hospitals were present after the meeting and took the flowers away to be used to cheer the sick in both Minneapolis and St. Paul. The total amount of awards at this meeting were $178.75. A list of these awards with the names of the judges follows in a separate article. No one person took any large amount of premiums, they were well distributed amongst a dozen and a number of others who received smaller amounts. Mrs. H.B. Tillotson, who has a wonderful flower garden near Eureka, Lake Minnetonka, received premiums of $17.00, which is the largest amount paid to any one person, although there were a number of others who received slightly smaller amounts. Award of Premiums, Summer Meeting, 1916. ROSES. Collection, B. T. Hoyt, St. Paul, fourth premium, $1.00. Collection named varieties, amateurs, Thos. Redpath, Wayzata, second premium, $4.00. Collection named varieties, amateurs, Mrs. H. B. Tillotson, Excelsior, First premium, $6.00. Collection named varieties, amateurs, Mrs. D. W. C. Ruff, St. Paul, third premium, $2.00. Three named varieties, white, Thos. Redpath, Wayzata, first premium, $2.00. Three named varieties, pink, Thos. Redpath, Wayzata, first premium, $2.00. Collection Rugosa and R. Hy., B. T. Hoyt, St. Paul, first premium, $2.00. Most beautiful rose, Mrs. H. B. Tillotson, Excelsior, first premium, $1.00. Largest rose, Mrs. D. W. C. Ruff, St. Paul, first premium, $1.00. Seedling, B. T. Hoyt, St. Paul, first premium, Bronze medal donated by American Rose Society. Basket outdoor roses arranged for effect, Mrs. H. B. Tillotson, Excelsior, first premium, $3.00. Basket outdoor roses arranged for effect, Mrs. D. W. C. Ruff, St. Paul, second premium, $2.00. Basket outdoor roses arranged for effect, Mrs. John Gantzer, St. Paul, third premium, $1.00. Mdm. Plantier, Thos. Redpath, Wayzata, first premium, $0.75. Gen. Jack, B. T. Hoyt, St. Paul, first premium, $0.75. Gen. Jack, Mrs. G. T. Brown, St. Paul, second premium, $0.50. Magna Charta, Mrs. G. T. Brown, St. Paul, first premium, $0.75. Ulrich Brunner, Mrs. G. T. Brown, St. Paul, first premium, $0.75. Baroness Rothschild, Mrs. G. T. Brown, St. Paul, first premium. $0.75. Mdm. Plantier, Mrs. G. T. Brown, St. Paul, second premium, $0.50. AUG. S. SWANSON, Judge. PEONIES. Flesh or light pink, Mrs. Frank Moris, Lake Elmo, third premium, $0.50. Medium or dark pink, Mrs. Frank Moris, Lake Elmo, third premium, $0.50. White, Mrs. Frank Moris, Lake Elmo, second premium, $1.00. Festiva Maxima, B. T. Hoyt, St. Paul, second premium, $1.00. Medium or dark pink, B. T. Hoyt, St. Paul, second premium, $1.00. Festiva Maxima, John E. Stryker, St. Paul, first premium, $2.00. Light pink, John E. Stryker, St. Paul, second premium, $1.00. Dark pink, John E. Stryker, St. Paul, first premium, $2.00. Red, John E. Stryker, St. Paul, second premium, $1.00. Flesh or light pink, D. W. C. Ruff, St. Paul, first premium, $2.00. White, D. W. C. Ruff, St. Paul, first premium, $2.00. Red, D. W. C. Ruff, St. Paul, first premium, $2.00. Collection, 3 blooms, professional, B. T. Hoyt, St. Paul, first premium, $6.00. A. M. BRAND, C. J. TRAXLER, Judges. Collection, three blooms, amateur, Mrs. Frank Moris, Lake Elmo, fourth premium, $1.00. Collection, three blooms, amateur, Mrs. H. B. Tillotson, Excelsior, third premium, $2.00. Collection, three blooms, amateur, John E. Stryker, St. Paul, first premium, $6.00. Collection, three blooms, amateur, Mrs. E. W. D. Holway, Excelsior, second premium, $4.00. OLAF J. OLSON, Judge. Seedling, B. T. Hoyt, St. Paul, fourth premium, $0.50. Seedling, Crimson No. 1, 1916, A. M. Brand, Faribault, third premium, $1.00. Seedling, Ruth, A. M. Brand, Faribault, first premium, $3.00. Seedling, No. 245, A. M. Brand, Faribault, second premium, $2.00. D. W. C. RUFF, Judge. ANNUALS AND PERENNIALS. Dielytra, F. H. Ellison, Minneapolis, third premium, $0.50. Forget-me-nots, F. H. Ellison, Minneapolis, first premium, $1.50. Gailardias, F. H. Ellison, Minneapolis, third premium, $0.50. Grass Pinks, F. H. Ellison, Minneapolis, second premium, $1.00. Iceland Poppies, F. H. Ellison, Minneapolis, second premium, $1.00. Dielytra, Mrs. Frank Moris, Lake Elmo, first premium, $1.50. Delphinium, Mrs. Frank Moris, Lake Elmo, third premium, $0.50. Foxgloves, Mrs. Frank Moris, Lake Elmo, second premium, $1.00. Grass Pinks, Mrs. Frank Moris, Lake Elmo, first premium, $1.50. Delphinium, Mrs. H. B. Tillotson, Excelsior, second premium, $1.00. Foxgloves, Mrs. H. B. Tillotson, Excelsior, third premium, $0.50. Iris, Mrs. H. B. Tillotson, Excelsior, third premium, $0.50. Gailardias, Guy C. Hawkins, Minneapolis, second premium, $1.00. Dielytra, Anna E. Rittle, St. Paul, second premium, $1.00. Iceland Poppies, Mrs. E. W. Gould, Minneapolis, third premium, $0.50. Gailardia, E. A. Farmer, Minneapolis, first premium, $1.50. Foxgloves, Mrs. J. F. Fairfax, Minneapolis, first premium, $1.50. Iceland Poppies, Mrs. J. F. Fairfax, Minneapolis, first premium, $1.50. Iris, Mrs. E. W. D. Holway, Excelsior, first premium, $1.50. Delphinium, Mrs. H. A. Boardman, St. Paul, first premium, $1.50. Forget-me-nots, Mrs. H. A. Boardman, St. Paul, third premium, $0.50. Iris, John S. Crooks, St. Paul, second premium, $1.00. Canterbury Bells, Mrs. Chas. Krause, Merriam Park, second premium, $1.00. Grass Pinks, Mrs. Chas. Krause, Merriam Park, third premium, $0.50. Canterbury Bells, J. A. Weber, Excelsior, first premium, $1.50. Forget-me-nots, Vera P. L. Stebbins, second premium, $1.00. Oriental Poppies, F. H. Ellison, Minneapolis, first premium, $1.50. Pansies, F. H. Ellison, Minneapolis, first premium, $1.50. Pyrethrum, F. H. Ellison, Minneapolis, second premium, $1.00. Sweet Peas, F. H. Ellison, Minneapolis, first premium, $1.50. Sweet William, F. H. Ellison, Minneapolis, second premium, $1.00. Shasta Daisies, Elizabeth Starr, Excelsior, third premium, $0.50. Lilies, Mrs. Frank Moris, Lake Elmo, third premium, $0.50. Oriental Poppies, Mrs. Frank Moris, Lake Elmo, second premium, $1.00. Pansies, Mrs. Frank Moris, Lake Elmo, second premium, $1.00. Lilies, Guy C. Hawkins, Minneapolis, first premium, $1.50. Perennial Coreopsis, Guy C. Hawkins, Minneapolis, first premium, $1.50. Pyrethrum, Guy C. Hawkins, Minneapolis, first premium, $1.50. Lupine, Mrs. E. W. Gould, Minneapolis, first premium, $1.50. Shasta Daisies, Mrs. G. T. Brown, St. Paul, second premium, $1.00. Sweet William, Mrs. J. F. Fairfax, Minneapolis, third premium, $0.50. Lupine, Mrs. H. A. Boardman, St. Paul, third premium, $0.50. Oriental Poppies, Mrs. H. A. Boardman, St. Paul, third premium, $0.50. Pyrethrum, Mrs. H. A. Boardman, St. Paul, third premium, $0.50. Shasta Daisies, Miss Flora Moeser, St. Louis Park, first premium, $1.50. Lilies, Mrs. Chas. Krause, Merriam Park, second premium, $1.00. Pansies, Mrs. Chas. Krause, Merriam Park, third premium, $0.50. Lupine, Miss Marion Prest, St. Paul, second premium, $1.00. Sweet William, J. A. Weber, Excelsior, first premium, $1.50. JOHN HAWKINS, JOHN A. JANSEN, Judges. Collection named perennials, J. A. Weber, Excelsior, first premium, $6.00. Collection named perennials, F. H. Ellison, Minneapolis, second premium, $4.00. Collection named perennials, Mrs. Frank Moris, Lake Elmo, third premium, $2.00. MRS. H. A. BOARDMAN, MRS. WM. CRAWFORD, Judges. Vase of flowers by child, Mrs. F. E. Kidd, Minneapolis, first premium, $2.00. Vase of flowers by child, Matilda Gantzer, St. Paul, second premium, $1.00. MARTHA A. WYMAN, Judge. Vase of any kind flowers, Mrs. Frank Moris, Lake Elmo, second premium, $1.00. Vase any kind flowers, Miss Marjorie Knowles, St. Paul, first premium, $2.00. Vase any kind flowers, Miss Flora Moeser, St. Louis Park, third premium, $0.50. J. A. Boies, Judge. Vase of flowers arranged for artistic effect, Mrs. F. E. Kidd, Minneapolis, second premium, $1.00. Vase of flowers arranged for artistic effect, Mrs. S. A. Gile, Minneapolis, first premium, $1.50. Vase of flowers arranged for artistic effect, F. H. Ellison, Minneapolis, third premium, $0.50. Basket outdoor grown, Elizabeth Starr, Excelsior, third premium, $1.00. Basket outdoor grown, Mrs. S. A. Gile, Minneapolis, second premium, $2.00. Basket outdoor grown, Mrs. H. A. Boardman, St. Paul, first premium, $3.00. M. EMMA ROBERTS, CARRIE L. WILKERSON, Judges. STRAWBERRIES. Collection, six varieties, H. G. Groat, Anoka, first premium, $5.00. Collection, three named varieties, H. G. Groat, Anoka, first premium, $3.00. Collection, three named varieties, E. A. Farmer, Minneapolis, second premium, $2.00. Progressive, Mrs. H. B. Tillotson, Excelsior, first premium, $1.00. Bederwood, H. G. Groat, Anoka, first premium, $1.00. Dunlap, H. G. Groat, Anoka, second premium, $0.75. Crescent, H. G. Groat, Anoka, first premium, $1.00. Warfield, H. G. Groat, Anoka, first premium, $1.00. Warfield, Mrs. M. A. Rohan, Minneapolis, second premium, $0.75. Senator Dunlap, J. F. Bartlett, Excelsior, first premium, $1.00. Minnesota No. 3, J. F. Bartlett, Excelsior, first premium, $1.00. Minnesota No. 3, A. Brackett, Excelsior, second premium, $0.75. Americus, A. Brackett, Excelsior, first premium, $1.00. Progressive, A. Brackett, Excelsior, second premium, $0.75. Superb, A. Brackett, Excelsior, first premium, $1.00. Best named variety, Mrs. H. B. Tillotson, Excelsior, first premium, $2.00. Best named variety, H. G. Groat, Anoka, second premium, $1.00. Best named variety, Mrs. John Gantzer, St. Paul, third premium, $0.50. Seedling, A. Brackett, Excelsior, first premium, $3.00. THOMAS REDPATH, Judge. Experiment Work of Chas. G. Patten, Charles City, Ia. GEO. J. KELLOGG, LAKE MILLS, WIS. June 6.--I have just spent four days with our friend Patten. He has 7,000 surprises on seventeen acres of experiment orchard dating back to 1868--every tree of the 7,000 has a history. For twenty-eight years he has been working on the Chinese sand pear and has brought out a race that is blight-proof, perfectly hardy and of good size and quality. He is not yet satisfied, but has 5,000 cross-bred seedlings of many crosses that are about three feet high, ready for transplanting in orchard rows next spring--and he has not room to set them. The state of Iowa does not appreciate his labor or value the work he has done and is doing; they are not giving him the money or men to carry on this work. Beside the pear experiments he has hundreds of crosses of apples that are very promising and just coming into bearing. These are scattered all through that orchard of 7,000 trees, with the pears, and nearly as many plum crosses. Some plums are heavily loaded this year that are of wonderful value, and one of the great points is that they have escaped the bad weather in blooming time, while all our standard varieties failed--and I believe the hardiness of bloom will insure fruit on his best kinds when others fail in bad weather. He is breeding form of tree in all these fruits--see his paper in the last volume of Iowa Hort. Report. His crop of apples is light, but many crosses show some fruit. Some pears and plums are loaded. Eugene Secor says, "Patten is greater than Burbank." * * * * * WINDBREAKS ON FARM PAY DIVIDENDS.--Windbreaks are usually more or less ornamental on a farm, and add to the contentment of the owner. But it is not generally known that windbreaks actually pay dividends. At least studies made a few years ago in Nebraska and Kansas indicate that windbreaks are profitable. The state forester will soon study their influence in this state. It must be admitted that windbreaks occupy space that could be profitably devoted to agricultural crops, and that the roots of the trees and their shade render a strip of ground on either side of the windbreak relatively unproductive. Yet in spite of these drawbacks, efficient windbreaks undoubtedly do more good than evil. The windbreak reduces the velocity of the wind, and, consequently, the loss of soil water from evaporation from the soil surface and from the field crops. This is equivalent to additional rainfall, just as "a dollar saved is a dollar made." It seems from investigations made by the United States Forest Service that the greater yield of field crops and apples behind the protection of a good windbreak is enough to warrant every farmer in the prairie states in planting windbreaks.--W.J. Morrill, Colo. Agri. College. MIDSUMMER REPORTS, 1916. Collegeville Trial Station. REV. JOHN B. KATZNER, SUPT. The weather conditions of last winter were not any too favorable for plants and fruit trees. In fact the cold was at times severe and long continued, reaching its maximum with 38 degrees below for one day. The total subzero weather for the winter amounts to 489 degrees, of which January figures with 285 and February with 168 degrees below. This is some cold, no doubt, and yet our hardy fruit trees did not suffer. But other trees not quite hardy suffered more than usual. This is particularly noticeable on my German pear seedlings. The wood of the branches as well as of the stem had turned black down to the ground. All the imported European varieties of pears are dead and ready for the brush pile. Prof. N.E. Hanson's hybrid pears have suffered just a little. This, however, may be due to the unripe condition of the wood rather than to cold. They had been grafted on strong German pear stock, made a vigorous growth and were still growing when the frost touched them. Another season they may be all right. All our cherry trees, too, are almost dead and will be removed and their place used for a trial orchard. It was of great advantage to plants and trees that we had much snow, giving them good protection in root and stem two feet up. But this deep snow helped the rabbits also in reaching the lower branches of the apple trees. They were very active during the winter months and did much damage by biting off the buds and smaller twigs from those branches, but did no injury to the bark of trees otherwise. Spring was rather cold and late. Up to the middle of May there was not much growth of any kind. But we started work at the station as soon as the ground could be worked. Apple and plum grafts made last winter were set out. The orchard was gone over and trees pruned where needed. The grape vines were uncovered and tied up on the trellis. A liberal dressing of manure was worked in around vines growing on poor soil. More than a hundred Alpha grape vines were planted along a students' walk for their future benefit. The everbearing strawberries were looked after and a new bed was started. Some apple trees were planted in the orchard to replace others. Quite a number of German pear seedlings were grafted with hardy varieties an inch below ground. We expect this will give us healthy and hardy trees and fruit in due time. [Illustration: Patten's No. 108 in blossom at Collegeville Station.] A friend of mine sent me from Los Angeles, Cal., four fine large cherry trees: the Tartarian, Napoleon Bigarreau and Early Richmond. These are one year old budded trees; they have made in the congenial climate of California a growth of about eight feet and are an inch through the stem. They arrived the first week in March. It was cold yet and the ground covered with a foot of snow. As we could not plant them, we applied water to the roots and kept the trees unpacked in the cool root cellar till planting time. They are growing now, but next spring we expect to see their finish. Another variety of sweet cherries was sent to the trial station from the mountains of Pennsylvania and planted in the nursery, but we expect that will meet the same fate. From the U.S. Dept. of Agriculture we have obtained scions of a pear, No. 26485, which were used in budding some German pear seedlings, as also ten plants of Prunus Tomentosa No. 38856. This is a Chinese bush cherry, and though the fruit is of little value, yet the plant is said to be quite ornamental. In forestry work 200 arbor vitae were set out, more for ornamental effect, and in open places of the woods several thousand Scotch pine were planted. This planting was also extended partly around the opposite lake shore to improve the landscape during the winter months, when everything looks bleak and dreary. This station has received quite a liberal supply of new stock for trial from the Minn. State Fruit-Breeding Farm, viz.: June bearing strawberry No. 3, everbearing kind No. 1017, raspberry No. 4 and everbearing sorts Nos. 30 and 31; of plums, Nos. 35, 9, 21, 1, and sand cherry crossed with Climax; of apples, six Malindas, Nos. 38, 32, 29, 25, 12 and 12. They are fine large trees and were planted in the trial orchard. Ten smaller apple trees which we received were set out in the nursery and after a year or two will find their place in the orchard. These trees are labeled: Gilbert, Winesap, Russet Seedling, then Nos. 90, 271, 269, 16, 7045 and A1. All of this stock has been carefully planted and is now doing well. The only variety of fruit trees which bloomed before the 20th of May was the Akin plum. Most all other trees were getting ready to bloom, but it was really too cold for them to open their flowers. From that time on the blooming became more general among the plums and later among the apples. The trees which did not bear last year were full of flowers. Some of the new plums, too, had quite a number of blossoms, and we are watching with great interest what the fruit will be, as we intend to propagate the best ones in a small way for home use. Of small fruits we have now on trial five varieties of raspberries and also three sorts of strawberries, Nos. 3, 4 and Progressive. This will give us a good chance to judge of their relative value as to hardiness, quality and quantity of fruit. The truck garden is taken care of as usual, but is far behind other years in growth and development of vegetables on account of the cold spring. If it were not for our greenhouse and hotbeds, I think we would yet be without radishes and lettuce. The same may be said in regard to the planting of our lawns. The plants were all ready in the greenhouse, but the planting had to be deferred as long as there was danger of frost. The flower beds on the lawns were finally planted, the designs are very good, but it will take some time yet till their beauty can be seen and enjoyed. Judging from present conditions, we may get a pretty good crop of fruits. The time for the late spring frosts passed by without doing any harm. The weather during blooming was favorable for setting a good crop of apples and plums. The grapes, too, show up well and promise a good crop, and the strawberries and currants are doing splendidly. Jeffers Trial Station. DEWAIN COOK, SUPT. June 13.--_Plums_--Much rainy weather during the blooming period was undoubtedly the main reason why the plum crop of 1916 will not amount to very much. Only a few of the Americana have set any fruit whatever. However, the Terry and the Wyants carry considerable fruit. Of the Japanese hybrids the B.A.Q. and Emerald have set some fruit--also the Stella. Of the hybrid plums originating at the Minnesota State Fruit-Breeding Farm there are only a few scattering specimens on any of them. Most of them have set no fruit whatever. Minn. No. 6, one tree, is in a dying condition from winter-killing. Hansen's hybrids have mostly set some fruit, but not freely. The Hanska, Toka, Opata and Wohanka are among those varieties making the best showing of fruit. While in a general way we consider the rains during the blooming period responsible for the almost failure of the 1916 plum crop, but, to be a little more specific, the blight of the plum bloom, or rather the brown rot fungus, was more generally prevalent and more generally destructive than at any previous season. As for the fungous disease known as plum pocket, we have not seen one this season. It has been entirely absent. As for spraying to control the brown rot fungus, we have and are doing the best we know. With the exception of about twenty-five large plum trees that we have made into a hog pasture and could not get at very well with our gasoline spraying outfit, we sprayed about all our plum trees (and other fruit trees as well) twice before blooming, once just as the fruit buds began to swell and again just before they bloomed, with lime-sulphur solution. We are now spraying the third time, adding arsenate of lead to the lime-sulphur. Of grapes sent me from our State Fruit-Breeding Farm all varieties are looking fine. The Beta we gave no winter protection, but all of the others we covered with strawy manure. We did this as all the other varieties winter-killed the first winter after planting, and we did not like to take any chances with them. Minn. No. 3 strawberry is doing itself proud. We consider it the best all round variety we have ever grown and are planting almost exclusively on our own farm. The everbearing Minn. 1017 continues to hold place as first best. We set out some 400 plants of this variety this spring, and they are making runners freely. Judging from last season, we expect a large crop of fine fruit from them next September, as well as a great quantity of new plants. Apples are in a very satisfactory condition. I need to say but little about varieties. All kinds of bearing size bloomed full, and most kinds have set full of fruit. Of such kinds as Okabena, Duchess and Wealthy, it looks as though practically every blossom turned into an apple. We received several seedling apple trees from Mr. Chas. Haralson, of the State Fruit-Breeding Farm. They were all set out, and all are growing. La Crescent Trial Station. D. C. WEBSTER, SUPT. June 17, 1916.--We received this spring, from the Fruit-Breeding Farm, plants for trial as follows: Malinda Nos. 12, 25, 29, 32, 38, 269, Russett Seedling, Gilbert Winesap, Nos. 7045, No. 90, No. ----, No. A 1, everbearing raspberry Nos. 30, 31, and strawberry No. 3. We also received from other sources Waneta and Lokota plum. Everything received for trial this year lived and is growing well. Of the plums received in 1914, No. 6 died last winter. Those remaining about all bloomed, but only a very little fruit set on the following: Nos. 3, 5, 8, 10, 14, 20. Native plums have set no fruit this year. Apple trees top-worked last year did poorly. The trees worked two years ago did finely and already have quite the appearance of real apple trees. Some are setting fruit this year, and we anticipate a few fine specimens of Jonathan and Delicious this fall from them. In the orchard which blighted so badly two years ago, several trees died from that cause. A great many are in a ragged condition from the pruning necessary, and we note with considerable anxiety the occasional appearance of that dreaded enemy a few days ago. Last year we had what might be called a full crop of apples, and consequently did not expect them to do much this year. However, they had a fairly good bloom, and about one-half of the trees have set a fair crop. We sprayed twice with so far satisfactory results. Strawberries in this vicinity were badly injured by ice in winter where not covered. Ours were covered and now promise a good yield. Began picking the 14th inst. We set quite a patch of everbearers No. 1017 this spring. They bore last fall but chickens picked most of the berries. Superb were unsatisfactory and winter-killed where not covered. Carrie gooseberry has set full of berries and plants look fine. All other trees and shrubbery in general at this station are in good condition. Mandan, N.D., Trial Station. (Northern Great Plains Field Station.) W.A. PETERSON, SUPT. All plants at this station went into the winter with favorable soil moisture conditions. Many plants, however, made a late growth and were still in growing condition late in September. The winter was a long and severe one, although there was more snow than usual. The early spring was severe, being both windy, cold and dry. Up to date (June 9th) there have been very few calm days. Three or four very severe dust storms did considerable damage by blowing out seeds and blighting the tender new growth of many plants. The winter of 1915-16 in this section can be called a test winter, as much winter-killing both in root and top has resulted. A large proportion of the apple and plum orchard (60% to 75%) killed out. There was no mulch or protection in these orchards. Practically all grapes killed out, even though protected. A few Beta are alive at the crown. Asparagus (unprotected) suffered severely. All raspberries had been covered with dirt. They came through perfectly and promise a good crop. Strawberries wintered successfully. The South Dakota variety came through perfectly, even when not mulched. All are in full bloom now. Practically all of Prof. Hansen's plum hybrids killed out entirely, or are dead to trunk or crown. A large number of seedlings of Chinese apricot, Chinese peach, native grapes, Juneberries and bullberries passed through the winter with little or no injury. About 1,000 Beta seedlings, lined out as one year seedlings in the spring of 1915, winter-killed, with the exception of about seven or eight plants. Paradise apple stocks wintered safely. Soft maples that winter-killed to the ground in the preceding year are good to the tips this spring, even though they had made four to six feet of new growth last summer. Many new plantings have been made this spring, especially along plant-breeding lines. Extensive experiments have also been started with fruit trees, shelter-belt trees, ornamental shrubs and perennial flowering plants to determine the factors that influence the hardiness of plants. Strawberry No. 1017, from the Minnesota Fruit-Breeding Farm, made an excellent showing in 1915, and all plants bore some fruit. Only a few runners were made, however. All plants were potted in fall, so no data has been secured on their hardiness. Several hundred more plants of this variety were set out this spring and they made an excellent stand. Montevideo Trial Station. LYCURGUS R. MOYER, SUPT. _Syringa Japonica._--The Japanese tree lilac has often been recommended by this station, but last winter was unusually severe, and an old tree obtained from Prof. Budd, nearly thirty years ago, now shows several damaged branches. Younger trees on our grounds and in the city parks show no injury. Perhaps this tree cannot be expected to live to be much more than thirty years of age nor attain a much greater height than thirty feet. The old tree is throwing up new stems from its roots and may rejuvenate itself. _Caragana._--The small shrubby caragana (Caragana pygmaea) was unusually fine this spring when in full bloom. We received it from Prof. Budd many years ago. It does finely in the clay banks of Lincoln Parkway in this city, but it is seldom offered by nurserymen. Caragana frutex, formerly called Caragana frutescens, is a somewhat taller shrub and not quite so floriferous. It makes a fine screen. Both of these shrubs are addicted to root sprouting, and might not please those who care for a stiff, formal garden. Both may be readily propagated from root cuttings. _Roses._--Hansen's Tetonkeha rose at this writing is in full bloom and is a very striking object. It grows to the height of about four feet and needs no protection. The flowers are large and of a deep pink color. It seems to be as hardy as the old yellow rose of our gardens, that rose being now, too, at its best. Among other garden roses Paul Neyron is in a rather weak condition, Ulrich Brunner is doing a little better, while Mme. Georges Bruant is doing still better. Rosa pratincola grows on our grounds naturally, and we have brought in from the edges of the timber Rosa Engelmanni and Rosa Maximilliani. A friend in Duluth has sent us Rosa Sayi, and we obtained Rosa Macounii from the Bad Lands of North Dakota. These roses, as well as the more common Rosa blanda, make an interesting addition to the hardy border. _Delphinium Formosum._--We obtained a plant or two of the old tall larkspur almost thirty years ago. The old plants persisted several years, and seedlings have grown up from self-sown seed, and the plantation is now as attractive as ever. _Chrysanthemum Uliginosum._--The giant daisy has been here for a long time and needs but little attention. The clumps should be taken up and divided occasionally. It is one of our best late fall flowers. _Philadelphus._--Philadelphus pubescens came through the winter without injury. Philadelphus zeyheri suffered a little. Philadelphus coronarius came through in fair condition in a rather protected border, but Philadelphus Lemoinei was frozen back nearly to the ground. [Illustration: Giant daisy, or chrysanthemum uliginosum.] _Physocarpus._--Physocarpus opulifolius came through the winter with no more than its ordinary injury. _Lonicera._--The old climbing honeysuckle (Lonicera sempervirens) came through the winter very much damaged, but our native honeysuckle is in fine condition. The bush honeysuckles are all hardy. The one known as Lonicera bella alba does not differ very much from the common white form of the Tartarian honeysuckle. _Prunus Triloba._--The double flowering plum has always been hardy with us, and usually has been a splendid bloomer in the latter part of April, but last winter was so severe that it did not bloom at all this spring. _Catalpa._--Another strange feature of the winter was that Catalpa speciosa came through entirely uninjured. _Viburnum._--Viburnum pekinensis came through in fine condition as well as its close relative, the high bush cranberry. The common snowball did not suffer so much from aphis this year as usual. Viburnum lentago, which grows in the river valleys here naturally, is doing finely. _Syringa._--Among the bushy lilacs Syringa ligustrina, Syringa Chinensis, Syringa josikea and Syringa villosa all bloomed fully. The varieties of the common lilac, known as Ludwig Spaeth, Charles X, Senator Vollard and the one that Prof. Budd brought from Russia and called by him Russian lilac, were all very satisfactory. This last variety has pink flowers and is a very choice variety of Syringa vulgaria. _Amelanchier._--The large Juneberry, probably Amelanchier Canadensis, was a very attractive object in April, when its purple-colored young leaves contrasted with its white bloom. The dwarf Juneberry, with their villous young leaves and white flowers, are very attractive in April and should receive more attention from our planters. _Dictamnus._--The gas plant (Dictamnus fraxinilla) becomes more attractive from year to year. It is one of the hardy plants which needs scarcely any attention to keep the weeds away. The pink form is very showy when in flower, and the plant is very attractive after the flower is gone. _Iris._--A rather large collection of Siberian iris is very attractive just now. The city has found it a very desirable, hardy plant to set in the park. _Apples._--A very good tree for park planting seems to be the crabapple, known as Malus seboldii. It is very attractive when in bloom, and the fruit as it ripens takes on a rich warm color that is very interesting. Okabena is promising a light crop, which may be advantageous, as when this variety bears freely the apples are apt to be undersized. A Thompson seedling is promising a full crop as well as most of the other common varieties. The Wealthy on Malus baccata is bearing a full crop. _Hybrid Plums._--The common varieties of plums are promising a very good crop, except Surprise, which is not bearing at all this year. Minnesota No. 10 is the only one of the new seedlings bearing a full crop. No. 18 has a light crop. No. 8 is thrifty and promising and so is No. 10. No. 20 suffered from the winter. Plums No. 1 and 2 are both promising. Plum No. 11 was injured by the rabbits. Hansen's No. 3769, Sansota, is bearing a light crop. _Raspberries._--Raspberry No. 8 is promising a full crop. It is a very late variety. Hansen's Oheta is one of our best berries. _Gooseberries._--Western Minnesota is not well adapted to the cultivation of gooseberries, nor do currants do very well. The Carrie gooseberry is promising a full crop, and some of the older varieties are doing better than usual, perhaps on account of the unusually cool season. Nevis Trial Station. JAS. ARROWOOD, SUPT. June 16, 1916.--Apples came through the past winter in fairly good shape, especially the stock we have grown at this place. There has been some loss with stock that has been brought from outside nurseries from top killing, and there have been some sun scalds where trees have been exposed to the southwest sun, mostly among the limbs and crotches. There will be a fair crop of apples, as they seem to be setting fairly good. There has been considerable top-working done this spring with fair success. [Illustration: Mr. James Arrowood alongside a seedling of the Transcendent in early bloom.] Our native plums have all come through the winter in good shape, with only a small setting of plums, on account of so much rain. In regard to the plums we received from the Breeding Station in 1913: the number of plums was eighteen; all grew except two, and those killed back each year. They were No. 2. All the rest have grown, but no fruit up to date except on No. 7. That fruited last year and also is loaded with fruit at this date. The trees received in 1914 all grew except two. They all made a fair growth but haven't yet set any fruit. The dozen trees that were sent me in 1915 have all made a good growth this last year. Two dozen grapes that were sent to me three years ago have not set fruit but have made a slow growth. Now in regard to small fruit, such as strawberries, we wish to say that No. 3 heads everything in the strawberry line for growth and berries. Its equal is not found in this section of the country. In regard to the everbearing we cannot say that they have done as well as we expected them to. The raspberries that we received three years ago have all done very well. No. 1 and No. 5 have done the best. Those berries have all stood out without covering through the winter. We have one acre of them now. They have not killed back at all and promise a big crop. We received this spring about one dozen apple trees which we will report on later. Currants and gooseberries promise a good crop. In regard to the shade trees and the evergreens they have all done remarkably well. We have more faith in the seedling fruits, such as apples and plums, for this section of the country. We believe our only hope will be through the seedlings. This was the late Prof. Green's prediction to me just before his death. Every year brings to mind his saying, that we must plant our own apple and plum seed if we ever expect any good results in Northern Minnesota. In regard to the Hansen plums--all seem to be doing well and are set full of fruit. We would also mention the Hansen sweet alfalfa, which is a wonder. It grows and spreads equal to quack-grass. Four years ago we received fifty plants, which were planted according to directions of the professor to set two feet apart and cultivate the first year. During these four years it does not appear that there has been a single plant killed out. It has spread from the seed and roots over two rods wide and six rods long and as thick as it can stand. Owatonna Trial Station. THOS. E. CASHMAN, SUPT. There is but little to report from the Owatonna Station at this time. Trees and plants came through the winter in good condition. The apple trees, Haralson's plum seedlings, No. 1017 everbearing strawberry, No. 4 raspberry and Beta grape seedlings came through the winter without injury. Trees that are old enough have blossomed well and are carrying a fair crop of fruit. A new lot of seedlings originated by Mr. Haralson at the Fruit-Breeding Station have been planted this year, and the station this year put in the following: Malinda Nos. 12, 17, 13, 58, 32, 29, 7, 18, 25, 3, 35, 38, W. 82; Malinda seedling, W. 132; Hilbut, Winesap, W. 79, No. 16, No. 269, W. 81, W. 100, W. 184, No. 90, W. 20 G., No. 243; No. 31 everbearing raspberries, Russet Selly, W. 36, W. 135, No. 272. They are starting off in good shape and will all make a good showing for the first year. We have done the usual spraying, first with lime-sulphur and a small portion of arsenate of lead while the trees were dormant, and just lately a good dose of arsenate of lead. The foliage of the trees is perfect, and bugs of all kinds are conspicuous by their absence. People who have not sprayed find their trees badly stripped of foliage. I am afraid of severe losses unless they get busy very soon. Spraying costs but little and must be done if we are to raise fruit. Paynesville Trial Station. FRANK BROWN, SUPT. The plums sent to this station the spring of 1914 wintered very nicely, blossomed very full and have set considerable fruit. The new growth on these trees is very satisfactory, and they seem to be healthy in all ways. No. 1 plum trees sent here last spring froze back quite badly, but as many other supposedly hardy trees did the same we are still in hopes that this was only an incident in a hard winter. [Illustration: A corner of the home orchard at the Paynesville Station.] No. 4 raspberry is still a favorite here; it winters perfectly, is a strong grower, and a good all around berry, both as a home berry, and as a shipper. Raspberries Nos. 2 and 7 are both good, but No. 2 lacks a little in hardiness, and we wish to test No. 7 more fully before reporting. The other raspberries, Nos. 1, 3, 5 and 6, are no good here. If I knew how to say more in favor of that grand strawberry Minn. No. 3 I should say it; with us it is the best of all the June-bearing berries, hardy, productive, a good canner and a good shipper. The spring of 1915 we received from the Central Station fifty plants labeled Minn. No. 1017. We considered it our duty to test these in all ways, so kept all berries picked off until July 1st, then allowed fruit and plants to form as they would, and the result was an immense crop of dark red fruit, of the finest quality, and over 600 strong, sturdy plants. These were transplanted this spring without the loss of a single plant, and at this date are certainly a fine looking bunch. The apple trees received this spring from the Central Station are all doing well. The trees and plants from that Station certainly speak volumes for the work being done by Supt. Haralson. Some trees and shrubs killed back quite badly the past winter, especially spirea Van Houtti was badly hurt. Fruit prospects are good, the cold backward spring held the fruit buds back until all danger of frost was over. Strawberries are especially fine this season, and bid fair to be a record crop. In fact, the horticulturists in this part of our state have much to be thankful for. Sauk Rapids Trial Station. MRS. JENNIE STAGER, SUPT. June 13--Starting with a late spring, which saved all sorts of blossoms from the frost, now in June we have promise of an unlimited amount of fruit. But with heavy rains almost every night, we cannot effect much with spraying. One spraying eliminated all worms so far from not only the currants and gooseberries, but the roses also, and once going through the orchards has done away with the few tent caterpillars that had started in their work. So on the whole we have hopes of a full harvest of not only tree but small fruits. Most vegetables are backward, as also flowers from seeds, but with so much to be thankful for how can any of us complain. * * * * * ALLEGED PEAR BLIGHT CURES ARE WORTHLESS--ORGANISM OF DISEASE LIVES UNDERNEATH BARK OUT OF REACH OF "CURE."--Fruit growers should not allow themselves to be induced to purchase and use worthless pear blight cures. Every year we hear of cures for pear blight being sold to fruit growers, but to the present time the experiment stations of the country have hunted in vain for any practical remedy that may be sprayed upon trees or used in any way for the cure of this typo for disease. The organism lives underneath the bark entirely out of reach of remedies that may be applied to the surface of the tree. I would strongly recommend to fruit growers that they do not spend any money for pear blight until they are able to learn through experiment stations, or the Department of Agriculture at Washington, D.C., that there is a remedy that can be used for the control of this disease.--C. P. Gillette, Colorado Agricultural Experiment Station. West Concord Trial Station. FRED COWLES, SUPT. June 14.--The past winter was long and severe. Besides the severe cold, a heavy coat of ice remained a long time on trees of all kinds, causing much anxiety, but when the time came trees of all kinds were full of bloom and beauty. Most varieties of apples have set a full crop of fruit. Some trees which bore a heavy crop last year have little or none this year, but the general crop of apples will be heavy if it matures. Our trees top-worked to Jonathan and Northern Spy are bearing good this year; they show no signs of winter-killing. [Illustration: Side view of Mr. Cowles' home grounds.] Plums were full of bloom as usual, but have set little fruit. Some varieties--Sansota and Wyant--have a few scattering plums. Seedling No. 17 also has a few. The new seedlings from the Station are all growing good. The native plums in a thicket have more fruit than the named varieties. Strawberries have wintered well and give promise of a full crop. Some garden patches in the vicinity winter-killed badly. Minnesota Seedling No. 3 promises to be a good berry; the strong fruit stems keep the berries from the ground. The Progressive and Superb, of the everbearing type, are no longer an experiment, but are a success, and many farmers are planting them. Raspberries winter-killed some. The Herbert seems as hardy as any. Seedling No. 4 is also hardy. Gooseberries and currants are bearing as usual. Grapes have started rather late and will have a short season to mature. The early flowering shrubs bloomed very full this spring. Lilacs did extra well. The Persian lilac was very full and lasted a long time. Chas. X, Madam Chereau and Alphonse la Valle were fine. Villosa is just coming out; this is a beautiful variety. The tree lilac received from China a few years ago is going to bloom for the first time. The iris is just in full bloom, and the delicate colorings always please. Peonies are late this year, none being out at this time. A few Rugosas are the only roses out at this time, but they look promising for a little later. Orcharding in Minnesota. DISCUSSION LED BY PROF. RICHARD WELLINGTON, UNIVERSITY FARM. Mr. Sauter: I want to set out 500 trees; what kind shall I set out? I live at Zumbra Heights. Mr. Wellington: I would prefer some of the more experienced growers to speak on that question, but going over the recommendations of over 160 growers the Wealthy is recommended in practically all cases in preference to the other varieties. We know, however, that the Wealthy needs pollen from other varieties for fertilization of the blossom, so it would be foolish to put out 500 Wealthys. It is better to mix in some of the other varieties. If I was planting an orchard, probably seventy-five per cent. of the apples would be Wealthys. Mr. Sauter: And what next? Mr. Wellington: Well, that depends altogether on your market. If you can handle the Duchess apple, work the Duchess in; or if you wanted a few late apples, work in some of the other varieties. Mr. Sauter: Isn't the Okabena better than the Duchess? Mr. Wellington: It is a little later. Mr. Richardson: Four days later. Mr. Wellington: That would be my recommendation. I would put in the majority of the trees Wealthys and then work in some other varieties according to your market. Mr. Sauter: Isn't the Malinda and the Northwest Greening all right? Mr. Wellington: The Northwest Greening seems to be especially valuable in certain parts of the state. In some parts they winter injure, but it is a good late variety. Mr. Sauter: How is the Malinda? Mr. Wellington: Malinda is all right excepting in quality. It is lacking in quality. Mr. Sauter: Is it a good seller? Mr. Wellington: I couldn't tell you about that. Some of these other gentlemen could give you information on that point. It tastes more like cork than anything else, but after the other apples are gone we are not so particular about it. Mr. Dunlap: The speaker brought out one point that we tested out a great many years ago in Illinois, and I suppose it is really an important one here, and that is the protection against the winds with shelter-belts. Now, at the University of Illinois they planted out some forty acres to test that with all the varieties they could get together, and they planted spruce trees not only on the outside of the orchard but they planted them in through the orchard, dividing the orchards up into ten acre plots. Quite a number of the early planters of apples in Illinois also put windbreaks around their orchards with considerable detriment to their orchards. We find that we need air drainage there just as much as we need protection against the wind. If I were in Minnesota I might change my mind after studying the conditions, but if I was going to plant in Minnesota and I should plant evergreens I certainly would trim them up from the bottom so as to get air drainage. I have known of instances where orchards were protected and where there was air drainage they were all right, but where they were closely protected by the trees they were injured by the frosts by their starting too early in the spring. If you get a warm atmosphere around the trees you start your buds pretty early, several days earlier than they would if they had the right kind of air drainage, and it does seem to me that the experience we have had would be against close planting around an orchard for protection from frost, though you do want to protect them against winds, but air drainage, it seems, is not a detriment to orchards. (Applause.) Mr. Richardson: I wish to say that in my observation and my experience if I was putting in a windbreak I would put it on the south and west sides; I wouldn't have any on the north and east. Mr. Brackett: Our prevailing winds are from the south and west during the summer, and the Wealthy is an apple that is bad for falling off when it gets to a certain stage, and I think it is very necessary for us to have a windbreak on the south and west if we are going to protect our orchards here. Mr. Ludlow: The wind comes from the northwest generally in the winter, when we have storms, and if snow falls and it comes from the northwest, and the orchard is protected on that side by a windbreak, the windbreak will catch the snow and it will pile on top of the orchard, and I have known at least a dozen trees to be broken down by the storms of winter getting in that way. A Member: I think crab apple trees make a good windbreak, if they are set twice as close together as trees in the orchard. A Member: I think location has more to do with it than anything else. I have two or three orchards in mind where five years ago, when we had that hard frost, they had an abundance of apples, and it was protected from the northwest. I have another orchard in mind that was protected from the north and northwest, and this year they had over 1,400 bushels of Wealthy apples. Mine wasn't protected particularly from the north, and I had no apples, but back of the buildings, there is where I had my apples. I tell you location has more to do with it than a windbreak in such a case. Mr. Drum: You all remember some ten or more years ago when the apple trees were in blossom, and we had a terrible snow storm and blizzard and freeze. My orchard was protected both from the southwest and the northwest and the north, and following that freeze my trees had the only apples that were left in that country. I think that protection from the north and northwest is just as essential, especially in a position where the winds have a wide sweep. My house and my orchard slope off to the northwest, and I have a full sweep of the northwest wind there for miles. The house was set as it were on a pinnacle. I think the protection from the northwest is fully as essential in such a position as any other. Mr. Whiting: This windbreak proposition is a question of locality. In the western part of the state, as well as in South Dakota--especially in South Dakota--we say that the south windbreak is decidedly the most important of any we can put in. We have more hot winds than you do here in the eastern part of Minnesota. You don't have that trouble, but in western Minnesota you are very much like we are in South Dakota. Mr. Ludlow knows the conditions, and I say you must take that into consideration. If you are in that locality the south windbreak is decidedly the most important of any. Then I would say the windbreak on the south, west and north are all of considerable importance. Of course, you can overdo it, you can smother your orchard. You must guard against that, but we have too much air drainage. In regard to the variety proposition, isn't it true that you are growing too many perishable apples in Minnesota? I know it is so in South Dakota. We are growing too many of these early varieties; we ought to grow more winter varieties. If you want to build up a large commercial apple business you have got to raise more keepers. You are planting too many early varieties. Mr. Dowds: I have been setting out apple trees more or less in different states for sixty years. If I was going to set out another orchard I would put windbreaks all around it, north, south, east and west, and the windbreak that I would use would be the yellow willow. It grows quick, it gives you a circulation of air, and it protects your trees. My experience in the last fifteen years has been that the yellow willow was the best windbreak that you can have around the house. Mr. Brackett: Mr. Whiting says, grow winter apples. I want to know what winter apples will bring the money that Wealthy bring. Mr. Whiting: That is a hard question, but isn't it a fact that you grow too many Wealthys? Don't you glut the market unless you have cold storage? You ought to work to that end just as much as possible; you ought to have more good keepers, better winter varieties. The Society Library. Books may be taken from the Library of the Minnesota State Horticultural Society by any member of the society on the following terms: 1. Only one book can be taken at a time. 2. Books with a star (*) before the title, as found in the published library list, are reference books and not to be taken from the library. 3. In ordering books give besides the name also the case and book numbers, to be found in the same line as the title. 4. Books will be sent by parcel post when requested. 5. When taking out, or sending for a book, a charge of ten cents is made to cover expense of recording, transmission, etc. 6. Books are mailed to members only in Minnesota and states immediately adjoining. When sent to points outside the state a charge of fifteen cents is made. 7. A book can be kept two weeks: If kept longer a charge of two cents per day will be made. 8. The library list, to December 1, 1915, is published in the 1915 annual volume of the society. Additions to this list will be published year by year in the succeeding annual volumes. GARDEN HELPS Conducted by Minnesota Garden Flower Society Edited by MRS. E. W. GOULD, 2644 Humboldt Avenue So. Minneapolis. Mr. H. H. Whetzel, of the plant disease survey, U.S. Department of Agriculture, stationed at Cornell University, where the American Peony Society has its test grounds, has made a study of the stem-rot disease of the peony and has set forth the results in an address before the Massachusetts Horticultural Society, from which the following has been culled: "The botrytis blight is by far the most common and destructive disease of the peony so far as known at present. This disease is frequently epidemic, especially during wet springs. It occurs wherever peonies are grown, apparently the world over. "This disease usually makes its appearance early in the spring when the stalks are coming up. Shoots will suddenly wilt and fall. Examination will show they have rotted at the base or just below the surface of the ground. The rotted portion will soon become covered with a brown coat of spores--much like felt. Generally it is the young stalks that are affected, though sometimes stalks with buds just opening will suddenly wilt and fall. It is thought the spores are carried through the winter on the old stubble, after the tops have been cut off. They are in the best position to give rise to a new crop of spores in the spring, and the new shoots become infected as they appear. "To eradicate this disease the old stubble should be carefully removed in the fall or early spring by removing first the soil from the crown so as not to injure the buds, and cutting off the old stalks. These should be burned and the soil replaced with clean soil or preferably sand. Whenever a shoot shows sign of the disease it should be cut off and burned. The buds must also be watched and any that begin to turn brown or black and die must also be cut off and burned, as spores will be found upon them, and these will be spread by the wind and insects. Spotted leaves should also be picked off. In wet seasons the peonies should be closely watched. For the small garden, with comparatively few clumps of peonies, this treatment will be entirely practical and effective." Bulbs should be ordered this month if you wish the pick of the new crop. There are two fall blooming bulbs that would add to our September and October gardens. One is the Sternbergia, or autumn daffodil, and the other is the autumn crocus. The bulbs should be planted in August and will blossom the same season. The daffodil is a clear yellow and is good for cutting. These bulbs must be ordered as early as possible. Lady bugs are our garden friends, destroying multitudes of aphides. They should never be killed. Have you the following all ready for use? For insects, bugs or worms that chew--or eat portions of plants--arsenate of lead, paris green or hellebore. For sucking insects, nicotine or kerosene emulsion. For diseases, bordeaux mixture or ammoniacal copper carbonate solution. A good sprayer. * * * * * _Remember_ our photographic contest. BEE-KEEPER'S COLUMN Conducted by FRANCIS JAGER, Professor of Apiculture, University Farm, St. Paul. INCREASING COLONIES (CONTINUED FROM JUNE NO.) [Illustration: Prof. Francis Jager's apiary at St. Bonifacius.] To increase you must first make your colonies strong. One or more of your best colonies must be selected to raise queens for your increase unless you wish to buy your queen. Stimulate your queen raising colonies by feeding and not giving them any supers. The crowded condition will bring on an early swarming impulse, under which they will raise from twelve to twenty large, well developed queen cells each. The queens of your queen raising colonies should be clipped. When in due time a queen raising colony swarms, catch the queen and remove her and let the swarm return. Immediately after this swarm you may proceed to divide your other colonies from which you wish to increase. Put down on a permanent location as many empty hives as you have available queen cells in your colony that swarmed. Into one of these you put your removed breeding queen with two frames of brood and bees. Into each of the rest of the empty hives put two frames of brood with all adhering bees from your colonies you wish to increase. Be sure to leave the queens in the old hive after brood for increase with adhering bees has been removed. Thus you have now a number of new colonies with bees and two frames of brood but no queen. The rest of the hive may be filled with drawn comb or sheets of foundation. To prevent the bees from returning to the old home, stuff the entrance of the hive solidly with grass. In two days the grass will wilt and dry and the bees will come out automatically and stay in the new location--at least most of them. In the meantime being queenless they will be busy with raising queen cells on the two frames of brood. This occupation will make them contented, then on the seventh day cut out every one of their queen cells and give them a cell from your breeder colony. Your queen breeding colony on the seventh day after swarming will have ripe queen cells ready to hatch, with one queen probably out. If by listening in the evening you hear her "sing" and "peep" go next morning and remove all queen cells and give one to each of your newly formed colonies. They will be readily accepted, will hatch immediately, sometimes whilst you are removing them, but certainly the same or next day and begin laying in due time. From such colonies you may not expect any surplus honey, but they will build up rapidly and will be strong colonies to put away next fall. [Illustration: ADMINISTRATION BUILDING (MAIN BUILDING), UNIVERSITY FARM, ST. ANTHONY PARK, MINN.] While it is not the intention to publish anything in this magazine that is misleading or unreliable, yet it must be remembered that the articles published herein recite the experience and opinions of their writers, and this fact must always be noted in estimating their practical value. THE MINNESOTA HORTICULTURIST Vol. 44 AUGUST, 1916 No. 8 How May University Farm and the Minnesota State Horticultural Society be Mutually Helpful in Developing the Farms and Homes of the Northwest? A. F. WOODS, DEAN AND DIRECTOR, DEPT. OF AGRI., UNIVERSITY OF MINN., ST. PAUL. The farm without its windbreaks, shade trees, fruits, flowers and garden, if it can be called a home at all is certainly one that needs developing and improving. There are many abiding places in the Northwest, as in every other part of the United States, that lack some essential part of them. The first and most important step with a view to correcting these conditions is to bring together those interested in home improvement to talk over problems and difficulties and to plan how to correct them and to interest others in the movement. This is what this great society with its auxiliary societies has been and is now doing most successfully. It is true that your work has been more particularly from the horticultural view point, but, as I said in the beginning, fruits and flowers are civilizing and home making influences. There should be more horticulturally interested people from the farms affiliated with this society. Each farmers' club should have a horticultural committee. There are now about nine hundred farmers' clubs in the state, and the number is increasing constantly. These clubs represent the communities in which the members live. They include men, women and children, farmers, preachers, teachers, every member of the community willing to cooperate. They start things in the community interest and follow them up. The Agricultural Extension Service of the University is in close touch with these clubs. The horticulturists of the service especially might help to arouse the interest of the clubs in this movement. This society might offer some prizes especially designed to interest the boys and girls of the farmers' clubs. Each club horticultural committee should have representation in this society. Some of the prizes might be memberships or trips to the annual meeting. Many members of this society are members of such clubs. They could take the lead in the movement. In this way the society would keep in touch with the homes and communities of the state, and all would grow together in horticultural grace--and the other graces that go with it. [Illustration: A Minnesota farm home with handsome grounds and modern conveniences.] The gospel of better homes is like every other gospel. It must be taken to those who need it and who know it not or are not interested. The extension service of the University is organized to carry the message of better homes, better farms, better social and business relations to the people who need it. Farmers' institutes, short courses, lectures, demonstration, farm supervision, judging at county fairs, boys' and girls' club work, institute trains, county agent service, indicate some of the kinds of work in progress. The press is also a powerful factor in this work. The Minnesota Farmers' Library, which is made up of timely publications on all matters of rural interest, has a mailing list of fifty-five thousand farmers. From six to twelve of these publications are issued each year. "University Farm Press News" reaches regularly six hundred papers in the state. "Rural School Agriculture," containing material especially adapted to the needs of the consolidated and rural schools, reaches practically every rural and consolidated school in the state each month. "The Visitor" is a special publication prepared for the use of the teachers of agriculture in the high schools of the state. The "Farmers' Institute Annual" is a manual of three hundred pages published each year in editions of fifty thousand and contains material of interest to every farmer. Many special articles are prepared for farm papers. Every department of the extension service and college and station is in touch with the farm homes of the state through correspondence, and much valuable work is accomplished in this way. The aim is always to work from the home as the center, and from that to the group of homes constituting the community, the township, the county and the state, in an ever-enlarging circle. [Illustration: A typical Minnesota consolidated school building.] The greatest opportunity for better homes and better farms and a better country life is in enlisting the children of the country in the movement. When I say the children of the country, I do not mean to exclude the children of the villages and towns whose tastes may lead them countryward. We should never stop or attempt to stop the free movement between the country and the city. It is good for both. The children of today will be the farmers and farm home makers and the business men and women of tomorrow. Are the children of the farmers looking forward with interest to farming as a business, and life in the country as attractive? The movement to the city in ever-increasing numbers is the answer, but it is the answer to what has been and now is, rather than to what is to be. A new day is dawning, in which the brightest minds and the choicest spirits will again choose to live in the open country and make there the ideal homes from which shall continue to come the life and vigor of the nation. But if it is to be so, the schools of the country must furnish real intelligent leadership and the country church must come again to spiritual leadership. We must all help to bring this about. Minnesota has a plan to accomplish this, and it is working out even better than we dared hope. Experience has shown that by consolidation or the cooperation of several districts, good results may be secured at no greater cost than the same type of school costs in town. The small school of today is expensive because it is inefficient. The consolidated school is giving the children of the country the education that they need and is doing it better than it can be done anywhere else. The consolidated school is becoming the rural community center. An important feature which has been adopted by many of the consolidated districts is the building of a home for the teachers in connection with the school. This home may be made typical of what the modern home should be, not expensive but substantial, artistic, convenient and sanitary. The grounds should be suitably planted with trees, shrubs and flowers, and there should be a garden. The school building is also made to fit the needs of the community. The larger rooms may be used for entertainments, farmers' club meetings, lectures, etc. There should be facilities for testing milk and other agricultural products, examining soils, etc. There should be a shop for wood and iron work, or at least a work bench and an anvil. There should be a library of good reading and a place to cook and bake and sew. There should be a typewriter, a piano or an organ, and such other conveniences for teaching and social center work as the community may wish and be able to secure, and, best of all, teachers living at the school who know how to operate the plant in every detail and to make it useful to the community. [Illustration: An ideal plan for consolidated school grounds.] There were nine of these schools five years ago in Minnesota. According to the last report of the Department of Public Instruction, there are 142 now, and the number is increasing constantly. The state as a state is behind the movement and is giving substantial aid, direction and supervision to these schools. When the forward movement was planned, plans were also made to train teachers and to give the teachers already in the service special work that would fit them to adjust themselves to the new needs. The normal schools and the high schools teaching agriculture, manual training and home economics have adjusted their courses to meet this new demand. Six years ago the work had hardly begun. Today there are 214 high and graded schools teaching home economics, 177 teaching agriculture, 125 teaching manual training, and of these 121 are preparing teachers especially for the rural schools. The College of Agriculture and Home Economics of the University of Minnesota is training the teachers in these subjects for the high schools and normal schools, and, in cooperation with the State Superintendent of Public Instruction, the Department of Agriculture has been conducting a summer school for rural teachers, where those already teaching and those planning to teach can get the training required to meet the new conditions and demands. Similar summer schools have been conducted in cooperation with the agricultural schools at Crookston and Morris. All together each year there are between 1,800 and 2,000 teachers taking these special courses. Every effort is made to bring to these teachers the view point of the new country life movement. This society and the members individually in their home communities should stand squarely behind this movement. They should become thoroughly informed regarding it. It is the cornerstone of the new country life. Finally I wish to call your attention again to the great educational opportunity which you are missing. If you could come into vital contact each year with more than 4,000 young men and women who are seeking for everything that will help them to be more useful citizens, would you do it? You could exert in that way an exceedingly great influence on the homes and future welfare of this state and nation. You can do it if you will come out and live with us the year round at University Farm. We should have a building there suited to your needs that we could all use as a great horticultural center, open the year round. You have already taken steps in this direction. I hope that conditions will be such that we can join hands to get it very soon. * * * * * SAN JOSE SCALE REQUIRES PROMPT ACTION--ORCHARD SHOULD EITHER BE DESTROYED OR SPRAYED BEFORE BUDS OPEN.--There are a few orchards in Colorado that are found to be infested with the San Jose scale. Owners of these orchards should determine upon one of two courses to pursue. The orchard should either be promptly cut down and destroyed, or the trees should be thoroughly treated with lime-sulphur solution or a good quality of miscible oil for the destruction of the scale before the buds open in the spring. If lime-sulphur is determined upon, the home-made article may be used, or the commercial lime-sulphur solutions may be used, in which case they should be diluted with water, in the proportion of one gallon of the commercial lime-sulphur to not more than ten gallons of water. The application should be made thoroughly, so that every bit of the bark of trunk and limbs is covered with the spray. If miscible oil is used, I would recommend using one gallon of the oil to each nineteen gallons of water. Hard or alkaline waters should be avoided, as sometimes the oil will not make a good emulsion with them. Use soft water, if possible.--C.P. Gillette, Colorado Agricultural Experiment Station. The Horticulturist as King. C. S. HARRISON, NURSERYMAN, YORK, NEB. Some of the promises regarding our future stagger us with their vastness. "To him that overcometh will I grant to sit with me on my throne." But how is it down here? Thou "crownest him with riches and honor." Thou hast "put all things under his feet." Unto fields where feet of angels come not we are chosen as partners of the Heavenly Father to make this a more fruitful and beautiful world. In our life work much depends on our attitude regarding our calling. We can plod like an ox, or like Markham's semi-brute man with the hoe, and make that the badge of servitude to toil, or we can make it a wand in a magician's hand to call forth radiant forms of beauty from the somber earth to smile upon us and load the air with fragrance. We can live down in the basement of horticulture or in the upper story. Man is coming to his own. The savage trembled at the lightning stroke which shivered the mighty oak. Little knew he that here was a giant at play waiting to be tamed and harnessed so he could be the most obedient servant--ready at the master's beck to leap a continent, dive under the ocean, draw heavy trains, and run acres of machinery. Man reaches out his wand, and steam, gas, and oil rise up to do his will. If, with the advance of civilization, he wants beautiful things to adorn person or home, he finds subterranean gardens of precious gems almost priceless in value--gems that are immortals, flowers that never fade, prophets all of the "glory to be revealed." You have heard of the marvelous Persian garden of gems--four hundred feet in length and ninety feet wide--made to imitate the most beautiful blooms of earth. It cost millions upon millions. Do you know that it is in your power, with the advance of floriculture, to create gardens far more resplendent in beauty--great gardens of delight fit for the touch of angel's feet, while the whole is flooded with billows of sweetest perfume? Three years ago that was a patch of barren earth; now you have pulled down a section of paradise upon it and condensed there the tints of the morning, the splendors of the evening, the beauty of the rainbow, and the effulgence which flames in the mantles of the suns. I love to think of Nature as a person--first born daughter of God--her head white with the snows of the centuries, her cheeks radiant with the flush of recurrent springtime, emblems of eternal youth. She takes you by the hand, leads you into the forests, talks to you of the soul of the tree, tells you how intelligent it is. There is one standing in the open. It has performed a feat no civil engineer can emulate. Think of those roots so busily scurrying around in the earth, gathering food to send up the cambium highway to nourish the trees. See the taut cords thrown out to anchor it against the storms. Look at those trees on the outskirts. Among wild animals the strongest are on guard on the outside to protect the herd. So these sentinel trees guard their wards against the storms. Fool man cuts down the guards and the wards fall before the sweep of the storm. Mother Nature--dear, friendly soul--takes you into her holy of holies and reveals her mysteries. She makes a confident of you. She throws open her doors and shows you the wide vistas of a new land you may enter and glorify. Follow her direction, and what a friend you have! Cross her, thinking you know more than she does, and she laughs at you. She takes you into the garden and the nursery and discloses her wonders and helps you to work miracles. You plant seeds and bulbs, and beauty rises to greet you. Did you ever think of the royal position of the florist and horticulturist? The sacred poet speaks of the "labor of the olive." What a flood of light that opens upon us. "All things are yours." Let us go out into the grove you have planted. I once took off my hat to myself. While living in the Republican Valley, near the 100th meridian, I planted some bull pine seed. When the little trees were large enough, I transplanted them in rows six feet apart and started a miniature forest. Twenty-five years after I went to see them. The rows were straight. The trees had fine bodies six inches through. They were miniature columns in a temple, holding up a canopy of green. The ground was covered with a thick carpet of needles. It was one of the most pleasing sights I ever saw. Then I thought, "What if I had planted forty acres?" I would have had a Mecca to which horticultural pilgrims would have flocked from hundreds of miles. I planted the trees, and the faithful servants kept on working day and night, and that beautiful grove was the result. Every tree you plant is your servant, and how faithful it is--no shirking, always at it whether you are looking or not. Look at that cherry tree. How the tiny rootlets scurry through the soil--faithful children gathering food to send up to their mother. Look at that flood of bloom. Then the fruit grows till a mass of red gleams from the leafy coverts. There is a great difference between a patch of brown earth and your faithful Jonathan. What a marvel that little patch of soil, absolutely milked by those busy foragers, and the extracts of it glowing in red beauty on the tree. Talk of chemists! Those quiet rootlets surpass them all. [Illustration: Albert Victor iris, from Mr. Harrison's garden--about one-third size.] If you want to be in the realm of miracles, lay down your hoe awhile and sit among your flowers. Your brain devised the plan, your hand planted the seeds and bulbs. "Behold the lilies, how they grow." Now sit there and think it out. At your feet are artists no human skill may imitate. Two peonies grow side by side. Golden Harvest opens with yellow petals fading to purest white. In the center is a miniature Festiva Maxima--blood drops and all. How can those roots send up the golden tints, the snowy white and the red, and never have the colors mixed? Close by is a Plutarch, deep brilliant red. The roots intermingle. How is it possible to pick out of the dull soil, Nature's eternal drab, that brilliant color for your peony? There are your iris, the new sorts absolutely undescribable. There are a dozen different shades in a single bloom. But those blind artists at work in their subterranean studios never make a mistake. The standards must have just such colors, the falls just such tints, and where did they get that dazzling radiant reflex such as you see on Perfection, Monsignor and Black Knight? But it is always there shimmering in the sunlight. There is a fairy--a pure snowy queen. How was that sweetness and purity ever extracted from the scentless soil? Every bloom uncorks a vial of perfume which has the odor of the peach blossom. Did you ever sit down in your kingdom and see what a royal throne you occupied? What a reception your flowers give you! The ambrosia and nectar of the feasts of the deities of fable are overshadowed by the fragrance and sweetness of your worshippers. It would seem that every flower, like a royal subject, was bent on rendering the most exalted honor to her king. No company of maidens preparing for nuptials were ever arrayed like these. Each one is striving to do her best. The highest art ever displayed in the palaces of kings is no comparison to the beauty and splendor of your reception. By divine right you are supreme. The fertile soil puts her tributes at your feet; for you all the viewless influences of nature are at work; for you the sun shines and the showers fall. So brothers, don't creep but mount up as on eagle's wings. Invoice yourself and see how great you are! Don't live all the while in the basement--spend some time in the upper story of your calling! You are not making the earth weep blood. You are not spreading on the fields a carpet of mangled forms. You are not dropping ruin and death from the skies or polluting God's pure waters with submarines. You are not turning all your energies into the work of destruction, despoiling the treasures of art and the pride of the ages and turning the fairest portions of the earth into desolations. You are not changing yourselves into demons to gloat over starvation and ruin. You are soldiers of peace. Behind you was the somber earth. You touched it with the wand of your power, and beauty, health and pleasure sprang up to bless you. See what you have done! You have clothed the barrenness of the dreary plain with gardens, orchards and forests. You have been at work with God and glorified a vast empire, and now he has blessed the work of your hands. Instead of the air sodden with tears and tremulous with the wail of widows and orphans, you are welcomed with the joy of children and the delight of mothers. All along the lines of progress you receive the most cordial ovations, and when you pass on to the land where "everlasting spring abides", may you receive the royal welcome, "Well done, good and faithful servant." The Newer Fruits in 1915 and How Secured. PROF. N. E. HANSEN, STATE COLLEGE, BROOKINGS, SOUTH DAKOTA. Mr. Hansen: Mr. President and Fellow Members: This subject is not an entirely satisfactory one this year owing to the fact that we lost about three sets of tomato plants from frost, the last frost coming the ninth of June. These conditions, of course, are unusual, but it prevented the fruiting of a lot of new fruit seedlings which appeared promising. However, I decided to propagate two new plums because they had borne several excellent crops. One of these is a very late plum of good quality, with flesh of peculiar crisp texture, which ripens after all the other plums, about a week before frost. It is a combination of the Wolf plum with the Kansas sand plum (_Prunus Watsoni_). The tree is of late dwarf habit but very productive, and its late season may give it a place. Another plum which I decided to place in propagation is a hybrid of the wild plum of Manitoba with the Japanese plum. The mother tree was raised from wild plum pits received from Manitoba a few years ago. These bear very freely and are the earliest of the native plums. The tree is of low, dwarf habit. The fruit is not as large as my Waneta, which is a hybrid of the largest native plum, the Terry, (_Prunus Americana_), with the Apple, one of the best of Burbank's Japanese plums. But since the range of the plum Manitoba is so far north, it may give greater hardiness where that is needed. At any rate, it is of interest to know that the Manitoba native plum can be mated with the Japanese plum. Pears constitute my favorite line at present. "What can I do for hardy pears?" is a question I have been asked many times. The prairie northwest cannot raise pears owing to the cold or the blight. In my travels in Asia, including four tours of exploration in Siberia, I made a business of buying up basketfuls of pears in Manchuria, Mongolia, Western China and Eastern Siberia and saving the seed, giving the flesh away to the coolies, who were glad always to get the fruit. These have raised me many seedlings. In addition I have imported a lot of pears from Russia. [Illustration: Pyrus Simoni The hardy, blight-proof sand pear used by Prof. N.E. Hansen in breeding pears for the Northwest. A careful study of our eastern Arctic pears has been made recently by Mr. Alfred Rehder, botanist at Arnold Arboretum, and this form of sand pear is now called Pyrus Ovoidea instead of Pyrus Sinensis, or Pyrus Simoni.] The pears of northern China and eastern Siberia are usually called the Chinese sand pear and have been given various names, _Pyrus Sinensis_, _Pyrus Ussuriensis_, _Pyrus Simoni_. The form I am working with mainly was received in the spring of 1899 at the South Dakota Station under the name of _Pyrus Simoni_, from Dr. C.S. Sargent, Director of the Arnold Arboretum, Boston, Massachusetts. Since the publication of Bulletin 159, of the South Dakota Experiment Station, April, 1915, in which I give a brief outline of this work, the pears of this region have been studied by Dr. Alfred Rehder of the Arnold Arboretum, and it now appears that the true name of _Pyrus Simonii_ should be _Pyrus Ovoidea_. These trees have proved perfectly hardy at Brookings and have never suffered from blight. Varieties of other pears have been top-grafted on this tree, and they have blighted, but the blight did not affect the rest of the tree. Mr. Charles G. Patten, Charles City, Iowa, also has a form of the Chinese sand pear which has proven immune to blight. In other places sand pears have been under trial which have suffered from winter-killing. However, I understand that the pear Mr. Patten has tapers toward the stem, while the pear received by me as _Pyrus Simonii_ tapers toward the blossom end. The actual source of seed is really of greater importance than the botanical name, as it is possible to get the seed from too far south, whereas we should plant only the northern form of the species. The fruits of _Pyrus Ovoidea_ correspond in size to the ordinary pear much like the Whitney crab-apple does to the apple. It is a real pear, juicy and sweet, but not high flavored. Other varieties of pears have been top-grafted on this tree and have blighted, but the blight did not affect the rest of the tree. During the many seasons I have had this pear the tip of one twig only showed a very slight trace the past season, but I did not determine it was really blight. It is practically immune. I have also worked the Birch-Leaved pear, _Pyrus betulifolia_, Bunge, a native of northern China, and a choice ornamental tree. Trees of this species were received from a nursery in Germany in the fall of 1896 and have proven perfectly hardy and quite resistant to blight. The fruit is quite small, usually less than one-half inch in diameter, covered with thick russet. _Betulifolia_ means birch-leaved, alluding to the shape of the leaf. Now, the pear is a difficult thing to work with on account of blight. What is blight? It is an American bacterial disease, not found in the home of the pear, Asia or Europe, so that during the 6,000 years of its cultivation of recorded history the pear has never had to meet the bacterial enemy known as blight. That is one of the reasons, I presume, why they have such strict quarantine in Europe against American trees. The question with pears is, will they stand blight or not? They are spending hundreds of thousands of dollars in California to keep out blight. Blight is a native of the northeast United States, and they are keeping it down on the Pacific slope, but they are always on the edge of the precipice. The whole pear culture of America is in an unsatisfactory state, owing to this danger. With these two northern pears as a foundation, I have endeavored to secure seedlings with fruit of large size and choice quality by hybridizing them with many of the best cultivated pears from Germany, France, England, Central Russia and Finland, as well as with some of the best varieties from the eastern pear-growing regions of the United States. The work has been done mostly under glass in our fruit-breeding greenhouse. Some of these fruits weighed one and one-fourth pounds. Some of the resulting seedlings are subject to blight, while many have thus far shown immunity. Since it is impossible to determine their relative immunity to blight except by distributing them for trial elsewhere, I sent out scions in the spring of 1915 of thirty-nine of these new seedlings to twenty-four men in several states. These varieties are under restrictions until fruited and deemed worthy of further propagation. [Illustration: Crossing work in pears--view in Prof. N. E. Hansen's Fruit-Breeding Greenhouse, State College, Brookings, S.D.] I did not know whether immunity to blight is a possibility or only an iridescent dream, so I made no charge for these scions. The only test of a pear seedling, the same as with the apple, is that of propagation. Furthermore, if you have but the one seedling tree you may lose it by accident; whereas, if you send it out to a number of good men, you cannot lose it. It should be distinctly understood that none of these new seedlings have borne fruit, but by what may be termed the projective efficiency of the pedigree I am satisfied that some of them will be valuable. In like manner, a horse-breeder depends so much on the pedigree in his colts that he is willing to enter them in a race. I believe something of value will come from this line of work. I do know that my _Pyrus Ovoidea_ is a pretty good, juicy little pear, a whole lot better than no pear at all. I hope these seedlings will keep up their immunity to blight. The original seedling trees certainly have had every chance to become affected by blight, as they were surrounded by blighting apple trees, crab-apple trees and pear trees, and no blight was cut out. I thought this was the best way, since that is the test they will have in the farmers' orchards when they go out from the nursery. _Hardy Pear Stocks._--Now we are up against the problem of stocks for these hardy pears. The quince is a standard dwarf stock, but it is not hardy enough for us. Last spring I planted 12,000 seedlings of the various commercial pear stocks, including imported French pear seedlings, American grown French pear seedlings, Kieffer pear seedlings and Japan pear seedlings. From one season's experience I like the Japan pear the best. The French pear seedlings, especially, did not do well. The Japan pear stock is coming into high favor in recent years on our Pacific slope, where it is sometimes called the Chinese blight-proof stock. The French pear stock is not in favor on our Pacific slope owing to their liability to blight. We may also expect from the French pear stock a decided lack of hardiness. The Japan pear stock is probably some form of the Chinese sand pear. The seed may come from too far south, whereas we should plant only the northern form of the species. This varying degree of hardiness in the Japan pear seedling of commerce I find discussed in a German horticultural paper. I have tried to establish a regular source of supply by importing the seed, but it is difficult indeed to do this. To avoid root-killing at the north we should mulch these Japan pear seedlings heavily until we get enough orchards of this truly hardy form, _Pyrus Ovoidea_, planted so we can raise our own stocks. I firmly believe we will extend pear culture on the North American continent clear to the Arctic Circle if we wish. For pear stocks I am going to try everything I can think of. Some years ago I worked pears on Juneberry stock from a hint given me many years ago by Professor J.L. Budd. These grew well and were in full bloom when five feet high, but were lost in clearing off a block of trees. I hope to try this again on a larger scale. The mountain ash and hawthorn are sometimes used, but both will be expensive and perhaps short-lived. The quince is the dwarf stock of commerce but would need to be very heavily mulched to prevent root-killing. Such dwarf pears are splendid in the back yard, or for training up against the side of the house; the fruit is fine and large, and the trees fruit the second year. The pear will root in nursery by grafting with a long scion on apple seedlings. I hope there will be much work done along this line. To sum up the question, I think there is a hardy pear in sight. We have the requisite pedigree back of it, and it seems that the quality we call immunity to blight is in some of these Chinese or Siberian pears. If we can combine the hardiness and blight-resistance of this Siberian pear with the large size and high quality of fruit of the European pear, with thousands of years of cultivation back of it, then we have the solution of the pear question in sight. Millions and millions of people are watching for a good hardy pear. (Applause.) * * * * * WARNING TO MUSHROOM GROWERS.--As the result of a serious case of mushroom poisoning in a mushroom grower's family recently, the mushroom specialists of the U.S. Department of Agriculture have issued a warning to commercial and other growers of mushrooms to regard with suspicion any abnormal mushrooms which appear in their beds. It seems that occasionally sporadic forms appear in mushroom beds, persist for a day or two, and then disappear. These are generally manure-inhabiting species and may be observed shortly after the beds have been cased. In the instance cited, however, these fungi appeared in considerable numbers at the time the edible _Agaricus campestris_ should have been ready for the market, and the dealer supposed it was probably a new brown variety and tried it in his own family. As a result, five persons were rendered absolutely helpless and were saved after several hours only through the assistance of a second physician who had had experience with this type of poisoning. In the opinion of the Department, this case is peculiarly significant and demonstrates that the grower must be able to distinguish _Agaricus campestris_ from any of the wild forms of mushrooms that may appear in the beds. Under the circumstances, the Department strongly urges every grower to make himself thoroughly familiar with the cultivated species. Complete descriptions, with pictures of poisonous and cultivated species, are contained in Department Bulletin 175, "Mushrooms and Other Common Fungi," which can be purchased for 30 cents from the Superintendent of Documents, Government Printing Office, Washington, D.C. Manufacture of Cider Vinegar from Minnesota Apples. PROF. W. G. BRIERLY, HORT. DEPT., UNIVERSITY FARM, ST. PAUL. Cider making is an old process, carried on in a small way on the farm or more extensively in the commercial "quick process." From apple cider many different products are obtained, chief of these being vinegar and others being bottled cider, boiled cider, apple butter and, more recently, concentrated cider and cider syrup. This discussion will consider only the manufacture of vinegar. As a farm process, the making of cider vinegar utilizes an otherwise waste product, the culls or unmarketable varieties. It can be done on rainy days or when other work is slack. For the best results, however, as in any form of marketing, some vinegar should be made each year so that the market may be supplied regularly, and, further, to give the necessary experience which will mean a better quality of vinegar. As a commercial process we find the making of cider is a regularly conducted manufacturing enterprise in which a considerable amount of capital is needed. Expert knowledge of vinegar making, especially of the "quick process," is essential. On this basis it is not open to the apple grower and is a doubtful venture on a co-operative plan without the help of experts. Where a vinegar factory is established, however, it gives to the orchardist a means to dispose of his cull apples. Considering the process as it can be carried on on the farm, there are a number of distinct steps, all of which are important. The first step is to prepare for the work. Get a good machine, as it will pay for itself in the added extract of juice. A good machine need not cost more than $25 and may be had for less. Casks must be obtained and sterilized with live steam or sulphur fumes, washed thoroughly, and kept in a convenient place where they will not dry. It is best as well to have the convenience of running water to wash the apples if dirty and to clean up the machine occasionally. Cleanliness should be provided for and insisted upon, as dirty and decaying apples not only give undesirable flavors, but the bacteria and molds feed upon the sugar in the cider and greatly reduce the strength of the vinegar. This is one reason why a rainy day is a good time for cider making, as dust and flies are less and molds are not so abundantly "planted" in the cider. The next step is the grinding and pressing and is very simple. With an efficient machine the cider is quickly ready for the casks. Then follows the first fermentation, which very frequently is not properly managed, and poor vinegar results. The casks should be filled only two-thirds full, the bung left open but screened with cheesecloth or lightly fitted with a plug of cotton to admit air. Compressed yeast generally should be added, at the rate of one cake to each five gallons, first mixing the yeast in lukewarm water. If the cask is then placed in a warm place, at least sixty degrees--seventy degrees or more being better--we have the three requirements of proper fermentation, namely, air, warmth and yeast. This will give rapid fermentation, which will reduce the loss of sugars to a minimum. This fermentation should be allowed to go on until completed. If vinegar starts to form it will usually leave a residue of sugar and give a weaker vinegar. It will require from two weeks to a year to change all the sugars into alcohol, depending upon the management of the work. When finished the clear juice is "racked" or siphoned into a clean cask, through a straining cloth to insure the removal of all pomace or sediment. [Illustration: Prof. W. G. Brierly, Horticultural Dept., University Farm, St. Paul, Minn.] Then follows the fermentation to produce the acetic acid and finish the vinegar. A "starter" of "mother" can be used, but it is best to take out a gallon or more of the cider when "racking" and add a pint to a quart of a good grade cider vinegar. Let it stand in a warm place, well covered with cheesecloth, and in from four to ten days a granular, brownish cake should begin to form. This starter can then be put directly into the casks, a pint or more to each cask. If the starter develops a white, slimy coat, throw it out and start again. For all of this second stage of fermentation follow the same plan as at first. Fill the barrels not over two-thirds full, use a cotton plug or cheesecloth screen at the bung and keep at a warm temperature. The essentials again are air and warmth, with a good vinegar starter. Under these conditions the vinegar may be ready in from two to ten months. If the usual plan of "natural" fermentation is followed, and the cask is kept at a low temperature, it may be three years before the vinegar is ready. When the vinegar seems to be completed, send a sample to the State Dairy and Food Commission at the Capitol for analysis. If they say it is completed, "rack" off and strain again into clean barrels, this time filling full and driving in the bung. This will prevent loss from evaporation, and the vinegar can be sold at any time. The state law requires that cider vinegars sold in the state measure up to a certain standard--namely, four per cent. of acetic acid, 1.6 grams per 100 cc. of solids, and .25 grams per 100 cc. of ash. So much for vinegar making in general. For Minnesota conditions little is known about the definite behavior of any apple varieties. This has led to the study of vinegar making as a problem for the Experiment Station. The Division of Horticulture is carrying on variety tests to determine the yields of juice at different stages of maturity, the efficiency of types of presses, labor costs per gallon, and the production of vinegar from each variety to determine its value. The Division of Agricultural Chemistry makes analyses of the sweet cider to determine the composition and vinegar prospects, and also analyzes the vinegars at various stages. The work has been carried on for two seasons and is showing some interesting facts. These must, however, be checked with further work before definite statements can be published. As to machines, our results show that the press with press cloths will outyield nearly two to one the press with the barrel or drum. However, a strong grain sack used to catch the pomace and used to confine it in the drum will give a very satisfactory yield, but it requires a considerable amount of labor to do this. As to labor costs per gallon, we have as yet no definite figures except that one man can grind and press a minimum of eight to nine gallons an hour. Two men can raise the output to at least thirteen gallons. At 25 cents per hour the cost per gallon on this basis varies between two and four cents. As the apples are of little value, and the labor generally "rainy day" labor, this seems to give an inexpensive product. Our vinegars are as yet incomplete. The run of 1914 was very limited and of necessity stored in a cold cellar. It now tests two per cent. acetic acid, so is only half finished. As to variety yields, the results of the work of two seasons compare very closely and show generally that there is a variation from a minimum of a scant two gallons up to more than a pint over three gallons from forty pounds of each variety. The forty-pound quantity is taken as representative of the bushel by measure. The varieties leading cider production are--the Hibernal and Wealthy, which generally have given us about three gallons per forty pounds, the Duchess and Patten running slightly lower in cider yield. The Longfield, Lowland Raspberry, Charlamoff and Whitney rank in a third group, according to our trials. This does not mean, however, that those in the latter group are not usable, as the Charlamoff and Whitney are among the highest in sugar content. These figures are greatly modified if the apples have been in storage or are over-ripe. The chemical analyses of the ciders show that, in general, Minnesota apples do not contain relatively high percentages of sugars. This varies with the season and increases with maturity. The highest total sugar content in ripe apples has been found in the Charlamoff at 9.25 per cent., followed in order by Whitney, 9.08 per cent., Wealthy 8.81 per cent., Duchess 8.60 per cent., Patten 8.21 per cent., Hibernal 7.85 per cent., and Longfield at 7.17 per cent. The significance of these figures is seen when the statement is made that it usually takes two per cent. sugars to make one per cent. of acetic acid. With the majority of our apples we must work carefully, or the vinegar will not meet the state standard of four per cent. acetic acid. This is further substantiated by the report of the State Dairy and Food Commission that the vinegar samples sent to them rarely come up to the standard. From the data as we now have it we cannot draw definite conclusions, but in general it is safe to say that the making of vinegar from Minnesota apples is done on a close margin. This will mean careful work to get the most out of the fermentation, the use of yeast, warm cellars or store rooms and proper management of the casks as to filling and the entrance of air. The work is not expensive. There is a good demand for really good vinegar, and a market is provided for fruit which could not readily be sold in any other form. A Summer in Our Garden. MRS. GERTRUDE ELLIS SKINNER, AUSTIN. Summer in our garden begins with the arrival of the first seed catalogue in January, and closes the day before its arrival the next January. We may be short on flowers in our garden, but we are long on seed catalogues in our library. We do not believe in catalogue houses excepting seed catalogues. We find them more marvelous than the Arabian Nights, more imaginative than Baron Manchausen, and more alluring than a circus poster. We care not who steals the Mona Lisa so long as Salzer sends us pictures of his cabbages. The art gallery of the Louvre may be robbed of its masterpiece without awakening a pang in our breasts, if Dreer will only send us the pictures of those roses that bloom in the paint-shops of Philadelphia. Morgan may purchase the choicest collections of paintings in Europe and hide them from the public in his New York mansion, if May will send us pictures of watermelons, such as were never imagined by Raphael, Michael Angelo or Correggio. While the world watches the struggle for the ownership of some great railway system, the control of some big trust, the development of some enormous enterprise, we watch for the arrival of the seed catalogue to see which artist can get the most cabbages in a field, the most melons on a cart, or make the corn look most like the big trees of Yosemite. Don't talk to us of the pleasures of bridge whist, it is not to be compared with the seed catalogue habit. In the seed catalogue we mark all the things we are going to buy, we mark all the new things. There is the wonderberry, sweeter than the blueberry, with the fragrance of the pineapple and the lusciousness of the strawberry! We mark the Himalaya-berry--which grows thirty feet, sometimes sixty feet in a single season. Why, one catalogue told of a man who picked 3,833-1/2 pounds of berries from a single vine, beside what his children ate. Our Himalaya vine grew four inches the first season and died the first winter. We were glad it did. We did not want such a monster running over our garden. We wanted to raise other things. But we did not lose faith in our catalogues. We believe what they say just as the small boy believes he will see a lion eat a man at the circus, because the billboard pictures him doing it. If we ordered all the seeds we mark in the catalogue in January, we would require a township for a garden, a Rockefeller to finance it and an army to hoe it. We did not understand the purpose of a catalogue for a long time. A catalogue is a stimulus. It's like an oyster cocktail before a dinner, a Scotch high-ball before the banquet and the singing before the sermon. Salzer knows no one ever raised such a crop of cabbages as he pictures or the world would be drowned in sauer kraut. If the Himalaya-berry bore as the catalogues say it does we should all be buried in jam. You horticulturists never expect to raise such an apple as Lindsay describes; if you did, they would be more valuable than the golden apples of Hesperides. But when we get a catalogue we just naturally dream that what we shall raise will not only be as good but will excel the pictures. Alas, of such stuff are dreams made! We could not do our gardening without catalogues, but they are not true to life as we find it in our garden. We never got a catalogue that showed the striped bug on the cucumber, the slug on the rose bush, the louse on the aster, the cut worm on the phlox, the black bug on the syringa, the thousand and one pests, including the great American hen, the queen of the barnyard, but the Goth and vandal of the garden. But the best part of summer in our garden is the work we do in winter. Then it is that our garden is most beautiful, for we work in the garden of imagination, where drouth does not blight, nor storms devastate, where the worm never cuts nor the bugs destroy. No dog ever uproots in the garden of imagination, nor doth the hen scratch. This is the perfect garden. Our golden glow blossoms in all of its auriferous splendor, the Oriental poppy is a barbaric blaze of glory, our roses are as fair as the tints of Aurora, the larkspur vies with the azure of heaven, the gladioli are like a galaxy of butterflies and our lilies like those which put Solomon in the shade. Every flower is in its proper place to make harmony complete. There is not a jarring note of color in our garden in the winter time. Then comes the spring in our garden, a time of faith, vigilance and hard work. Faith that the seed will grow, vigilance that it is planted deep enough and has the right conditions in which to grow. Vigilance against frost, weeds and insects. Planting, sowing, hoeing, transplanting, coaxing, hoping, expecting, working--we never do half that we planned to do in the springtime--there are not enough days, and the days we have are too short. Then comes summer, real summer in our garden. Then flowers begin to bloom, and our friends tell us they are lovely. But we see the flaws and errors. We feel almost guilty to have our garden praised, so many glaring faults and shortcomings has it. The color scheme is wrong, there are false notes here and there. There are tall plants where short plants should be. There are spaces and breaks and again spots over-crowded. We water and hoe, train vines, prop plants, and kill the bugs, but we know the weak spots in our garden and vow that next summer we shall remedy every mistake. [Illustration: Mrs. Gertrude Ellis Skinner among her gladoli.] Then "summer in our garden" has an autumn. The garden is never so beautiful as when the first frost strikes it. Pillow-cases, sheets, shawls, aprons, coats and newspapers may for a brief time hold at bay the frost king, but he soon laughs at our efforts, crawls under the edges of the unsightly garments with which we protect our flowers, nips their petals, wilts their stems and blackens their leaves. We find them some morning hopelessly frozen. But the earth has ceased to give forth its aroma, the birds are winging southward, the waters of the brook run clear and cold, and the voice of the last cricket sounds lonesome in the land. We say to nature, "Work your will with our garden; the summer is over, and we are ready to plan for another season." And what have we learned from the "summer in our garden?" That no one can be happy in his garden unless he works for the joy of the working. He who loves his work loves nature. To him his garden is a great cathedral, boundless as his wonder, a place of worship. Above him the dome ever changing in color and design, beautiful in sunshine or storm and thrice beautiful when studded with the eternal lamps of night. The walls are the trees, the vines and the shrubs, waving in the distant horizon and flinging their branches on the sky line, or close at hand where we hear the voice of the wind among the leaves. A wondrous floor is the garden's cathedral of emerald green in the summer, sprinkled with flowers, of ermine whiteness in the winter, sparkling with the diamonds of frost. Its choir is the winds, the singing birds and the hum of insects. Its builder and maker is God. Man goeth to his garden in the springtime, and, behold, all is mystery. There is the mystery of life about him, in the flowing sap in the trees, the springing of the green grass, the awakening of the insect world, the hatching of the worm from the egg, the changing of the worm into the butterfly. The seed the gardener holds in his hand is a mystery. He knows what it will produce, but why one phlox seed will produce a red blossom and another a white is to him a miracle. He wonders at the prodigality of nature. In her economy, what is one or ten thousand seeds! She scatters them with lavish hand from ragweed, thistle or oak. If man could make but the single seed of the ragweed, he could make a world. The distance between a pansy and a planet is no greater than between man and a pansy. The gardener sees the same infinite care bestowed upon the lowest as upon the highest form of life, and he wonders at it. He looks into the face of a flower, scans the butterfly and notes the toadstool and sees that each is wonderful. From the time he enters his garden in the springtime until he leaves it in the autumn, he will find a place and a time to worship in his cathedral. He enters it with the seed in his hand in the spring, and as he rakes away the ripened plants in the autumn he finds something still of the mystery of life. A puff-ball is before him, and he muses on its forming. The little puff-ball stands at one end of the scale of life and he, man, at the other, "close to the realm where angels have their birth, just on the boundary of the spirit land." From the things visible in our garden we learn of the things invisible, and strong the faith of him who kneeling in adoration of the growing plant looks from nature to nature's God and finds the peace which passeth understanding. Bringing the Producer and Consumer Together. R. S. MACKINTOSH, HORTICULTURAL SPECIALIST, AGRICULTURAL EXTENSION DIVISION, UNIVERSITY FARM, ST. PAUL. The introduction of Mr. Producer to Mr. Consumer directly, and not by proxy, is the chief desire of the present time. The fact remains, however, that in the vast majority of cases Messrs. Proxy & Co. is brought in and breaks up the direct personal contact. The development of complex marketing means specialization and in a large degree sets it apart from production. When specialization becomes dominant, then standardization becomes necessary. Each producer is unable to keep in touch with all such movements and consequently finds it hard to keep abreast of the times. In this age of rapid transit, specialization, scientific discoveries, and the improvements resulting therefrom, seem somewhat out of place when compared with our present marketing systems. This does not mean that our marketing is entirely out of joint, but it does mean that there is something the matter or so many would not be discussing it. The consumer hears what the producer received, the producer hears what the consumer paid, and then somebody gets to thinking and talking. Discussions lead to investigations, and investigations lead to conferences. Just lately a large conference was held in Chicago, and certain plans were formulated to attempt to unravel some of the evils that exist in marketing. So much has been said that the U.S. Department of Agriculture has begun certain investigations, and we hope that the workers will find ways to solve some of the troubles in a logical and, we hope, sane way. A year ago your committee on marketing reported that there were certain things needed, and an ideal system was suggested to correct these faults. One of the basic factors emphasized was standardization. Another committee reported on changes needed in the statutes regarding the weight of a bushel of apples. Congress has enacted a law which specifies the size of a barrel for apples. New York, Massachusetts and other states have enacted grading laws. Some states require that the fruit be free of certain insect and disease injuries. Several states have laws regulating commission men. Most states have laws which do not allow the sale of food products that are decayed. These are all steps toward the standardization that is so necessary. In other words, the several laws have been passed to correct some of the troubles which have come up when so many hands handle the products. These laws were not needed in olden times when the consumer went directly to the producer's door and there bargained for his wares. Minnesota is a state noted for co-operative enterprises. There are over two thousand such organizations doing more than $60,000,000.00 worth of business yearly. We know full well the value of the co-operative creameries and how butter has been brought up to a high standard. As citizens, we rejoice; as horticulturists, and citizens as well, we want our products to stand high in the estimation of others. I was much pained this summer while discussing the marketing of apples with several commission men to hear them say that they did not like to take local shipments. The reason was that the goods were usually below grade, and the returns did not always please the growers. It is evident that we must improve our methods in ways which will remove this stigma. Many of the commission men try to induce good grading and packing. They like to handle "top notch" goods, for it is cheaper to handle goods that move quickly than those that are a drag and require too much handling. The Agricultural Extension Division of the College of Agriculture is organized to give help, where help is needed, along a large number of agricultural lines. Realizing these facts, we have been trying to get the ear of the producer and consumer in an effort to get them to do certain things. On the one hand, we want to have good varieties, and to help this lectures and demonstrations are given in the care of the orchard, pruning, spraying, thinning, picking, grading, packing and marketing. On the other hand we want more people to eat Minnesota apples. It is a campaign of education and publicity. If one wishes to sell anything, he finds that he must advertise. He must advertise so much and in so many ways that people cannot help buying his wares. There are certain widely advertised articles that you must know, whether you are interested or not. One of these runs along the highways so often that you are shaken, even against your will, into consciousness of its existence, so that you cannot get along without having one, or at least seeing one. The latest edition seems to have put on feathers in the form of a white dove of peace. May it succeed. Advertising Minnesota apples has been attempted this past year. It was found necessary to provide a standard by which the buyer and seller could agree on apple grades. After consulting several persons, it was decided to adopt the following grades: "A" Grade.--Hand picked, normal shape, good color (at least one-third colored), free from dirt, disease and insect injuries, and well packed. Limit of defects allowed: Not more than 10% of all kinds nor 5% of any one kind. [Illustration: Prof. R. S. Mackintosh--Horticulturist connected with Extension Division, University Farm, St. Paul.] "B" Grade.--Hand picked, practically normal shape, practically free from dirt, disease and insect injuries, and properly packed. Limit of defects allowed: Not more than 15% of all nor 5% of any one kind. Only one variety and grade should be put in a package. In the grade specifications given, normal shape refers to the general form of well-grown specimens of the variety in question. For instance: The Wealthy is regular in outline and nearly round, while the Hibernal is somewhat flat and often irregular. In like manner the color must be typical of the variety, whether green, yellow or red. Red apples usually sell better than green or yellow varieties, although the quality may be even poorer. Fruit showing insect or disease injuries cannot be classed as well grown. Grading to size is very important. This is not specified because it depends upon the variety and season. Only apples above a selected minimum size, as 2-1/2 inches, the diameter at right angles to stem, should be placed in the same package. Defects refer to apples not up to grade in size, color or shape and having bruises, punctures, disease or insect injuries. _Fancy._--For persons having extra choice fruit, a fancy grade can be used. Well-grown specimens, hand picked, of normal shape, at least two-thirds colored, free from dirt, diseases and insect injuries and properly packed. Not more than 5% of combined defects allowed, of which only 2% can be of the same kind. Hundreds of letters were sent to persons in the state, telling them that we would maintain an information bureau or clearing house to help them in finding markets for their apples. Several growers replied, and the names of persons who were anxious to buy apples were given them. Nine farmers' clubs asked for information as to where Minnesota apples could be bought. This is a beginning, and it shows that there is need for some sort of an organization that can find out where apples are and who wants them. The intention has not been to interfere with the regular trade routes, but to give the growers information as to who wants apples. As you will notice, this does not bring the producer directly to the door of the consumer. There must be some one to act as a go-between in most cases. It was just stated that Minnesota is a state having a very large number of co-operative business organizations. Among these are about two hundred live stock shipping associations having a very simple form of organization. A number of persons in a community, having considerable stock to ship, come together, adopt a simple set of by-laws which provide for the selection of a manager, his compensation--usually a certain percentage on the gross receipts--and a small amount for losses which may occur. No capital stock is required--only the actual living stock. The manager ships the stock at certain times, and when the returns come in deducts the amounts provided for expenses and then returns to each shipper his proportionate amount. In this way the stock is sold at the terminal yards the same day and with other stock from many sections. It is a very simple, satisfactory way of marketing. The more I study and think of our apple situation, the more I am of the opinion that a very large part of our fruit could be marketed in a similar way. Some of our La Crescent friends ship together in carlots successfully. Why not others? This is the very best way to begin co-operation in a successful way. As Mr. Collingwood says: "Co-operation, like charity, should begin at home and be well nurtured." In other words, begin to co-operate at home in a small way and let the future large organizations take care of themselves. To be specific, let the growers in a community meet and form a fruit-shipping association with by-laws patterned after the successful stock-shipping associations. Then the fruit should be well grown, picked in time, graded thoroughly and honestly packed and marked. Haul at once to car. The manager will take charge and ship as he thinks best. Each package must have the customary identification marks, so the manager can keep an accurate record of all transactions. If, by chance, trouble comes up, the shippers can pool their interests, and send a representative to find out the trouble. Thus they can do together what each cannot do alone. Even this does not bring the consumers directly in contact with the producers. It is, however, a step nearer. The public auctions started in New York this season seem to have been successful, and it may mean an innovation which will improve marketing conditions in general. These auctions are held under the recently formed Department of Foods and Markets. The Department has contracted with a large auction company which advances the freight, conducts the sales, guarantees the accounts, and advances the net returns for the goods daily. The producer is able to get returns within two days. The total cost is 5% on the gross sales; 3% for the auction company and 2% for the Department of Markets for the advertising and for other overhead expenses. Posters have been issued to advertise New York State apples. As this Department has been working only for a short time, it is too early to tell whether it is a success in every way. We earnestly ask your co-operation in trying to solve the question of marketing Minnesota apples. All interested must assist in this important subject. * * * * * WORLD'S TALLEST TREES.--The tallest trees are the Australian eucalyptus, which attain a height of 480 feet. GARDEN HELPS Conducted by Minnesota Garden Flower Society Edited by MRS. E. W. GOULD, 2644 Humboldt Avenue So. Minneapolis. HARDY CHRYSANTHEMUMS. The new type of hardy chrysanthemums called "early-flowering" has been largely developed by a Frenchman named August Nonin, of Paris, who has devoted much of his life to perfecting this strain from seedlings of the old-fashioned "mums" of our grandmothers' gardens. It is considered by far the most satisfactory kind to grow out of doors, blossoming earlier than the pompons. A few of the best of these early-flowering types are: White--Crawford White, Dorothy, Milka and Normandie; yellow--E'toile d'Or, Carrie, October Gold; pink--Beaurepaire, Eden, Le Danube; red and bronze shades--Harvest Home, Firelight, A. Barham and Billancourt. These are the earliest bloomers of this type. Hardy pompons are still most largely grown for outdoor flowering, but of these there is also a choice, as the earliest bloomers are the most desirable to use. Lilian Doty, a large-flowered, clear, bright pink, is considered the very best of these. Donald and Minta are other good pinks. The earliest whites are Queen of the Whites, Waco, Grace and Myer's Perfection. Jeanette, Wm. Sabey, Golden Climax and Zenobia are the best yellows, and Julia Lagravere, Urith and Tiber the best crimson and bronze shades. There are many other beautiful pompons, but they bloom too late for practical out-of-door use. The single mums have of late been used successfully out-of-doors when early blooming varieties have been chosen. Of these Elsa, Gladys Duckham and Mensa are the earliest whites: Ivor Grant, Mrs. Southbridge and Mrs. Buckingham the earliest pinks; Josephine, Golden Mensa and Marion Sutherland the earliest yellows; and Silvia Slade, Ceddie Mason and Brightness the earliest crimson and bronze shades. As soon as it is warm enough in the spring the plants should be set out about twelve inches apart in rich garden soil, and kept pinched back during May and June to insure a stocky growth. If one has old clumps in the garden, they should be taken up and divided and set in new earth just as any old perennial plant would be treated. During the hot summer weather they should be well watered once a week and sprayed in the cool of the evening. This will keep down the black and green aphis, the worst enemies of mums. In case these pests become a menace a spray of tobacco water will end the trouble. A little bone meal or well rotted manure dug about the plants in August will help to produce fine blooms. A gardener who has never yet lost a plant through winter-killing treats them as follows: After they have finished blooming he cuts them down to about eight inches above the ground and lets the leaves blow in on the bed, covering to a depth of six or eight inches. Then he lays pine branches over the beds to prevent the leaves from blowing away. So treated, the plants will remain frozen all winter. They should in all cases be set in a well drained position, as they will not stand "wet feet." Uncover with the other perennials in the spring.--Mrs. E. W. Gould. BEE-KEEPER'S COLUMN. Conducted by FRANCIS JAGER, Professor of Apiculture, University Farm, St. Paul. The Minnesota honey crop of 1916 will probably be a record breaker. This brings up the question of how to market this crop to the best advantage. Let me state at once that the greatest obstacle to free and easy selling of honey is the careless, untidy, sometimes unsanitary way some bee-keepers put up their honey for the market--spoiling the appetite of the public for this most delicious of nature's foods not only for themselves but also for progressive and up-to-date bee-keepers. The result of this big honey crop will be to eliminate the No. 2 and No. 3 bee-keeper and his honey from the market until No. 1 has sold out his product. A short article like this cannot make a good bee-keeper out of a poor one, it can only serve as a reminder to those who know how "lest they forget." Moreover, the most careless and backward bee-keepers imagine that they are crackerjacks at their trade, thus putting themselves beyond the possibility of becoming anything. It takes a thousand hammer-blows to drive home a truth or a useful idea. If comb honey is your specialty observe the national grading and packing rules. They are printed in all bee papers and magazines, and have been given all possible publication to reach you. To obtain fancy comb honey your sections must have been made over strong colonies in No. 1 white, new sections with extra thin top and bottom starters. After the honey flow is over in your locality (which you can detect by the tendency of bees to rob and be cross) remove your comb honey at once. By leaving it on, travel stained and propolis spotted sections will result. The snow white finish of the comb will be discolored, the wood will assume that "used and handled" appearance which is not attractive to the buyer. The sections must be graded fancy, No. 1 and No. 2. Every section must be scraped around the edges and all propolis removed. Some bee-keepers even polish the wood of the section until it looks as clean as if it just came from the factory. After cleaning and grading put up your honey into standard shipping cases. Do not ship it in the super where it was raised nor in a soap box. If shipped to a distant market by freight or express, eight shipping cases must be packed together into one honey crate provided with handles. The tendency of late is to put up each comb in a separate paper box with transparent front to keep the honey free from flies and finger-marks. This practice deserves universal adoption. If you produce extracted honey you may leave your honey with bees for a week or two after the honey flow is over. Extracting should be done in hot weather, during August or early part of September. A modern hand or power extractor is an absolute necessity. There are still a few old timers who "butcher" their bees late in the fall, and render the honey by the "hand mash and sheet strain" method, but they are only relics of a poetical past and going fast. Honey to be extracted must be well capped over. If extracted too thin it will ferment and get sour. If left with bees too long it will be too thick and hard to extract. Extracting ought to be done in a bee-tight room to keep out robber bees. Extracted supers may be returned to the bees in the evening or piled up at a distance in a safe place for bees to clean out. Extracted honey must be left to stand in a settling tank for about a week, or until all air bubbles and wax particles have risen to the top. It should be put up into five gallon cans or barrels for wholesale trade. For retail trade it should be bottled when needed, else it will candy in the glass. Bottling it hot or heating it after bottling will delay crystallization for a considerable period. The bottles ought to be white, clean and labeled with your name. Each kind of container should be well packed in a wooden shipping case. Do not make it a practice to sell a large amount to a customer at once, sell rather smaller amounts at frequent intervals. ORCHARD NOTES. Conducted monthly by R. S. MACKINTOSH, Horticulturist, Extension Division, University Farm, St. Paul. Once in a while it is well to pause for a few moments to consider some of the results of past efforts. We have been growing apples in Minnesota in large quantities. Insects and diseases are causing more damage each year, and this has lead us to pay more attention to the prevention of these pests. A regular spraying program has been outlined, and many persons have adopted it. What are the results? It seems to us that the results of spraying at West Concord, Minn., should be made known to the readers of the MINNESOTA HORTICULTURIST. It indicates very clearly the value of spraying and how someone in a community can take charge and diligently push for better methods. In this case the instructor in agriculture, with the aid of his superintendent and board of education, secured a power sprayer and began to spray the orchards in the vicinity. At first it was necessary to ask the owners if they might spray their trees. After three years, however, the owners appealed to Prof. Updegraff to have their trees sprayed. This year he had more work than he could manage. Demonstrations of this kind show the value of the work so vividly that the most skeptical gradually becomes convinced of its value. Several schools have purchased spraying outfits. We hope that we shall hear from more of them in the future. In many cases the spraying outfit is used for whitewashing the interior of barns and other buildings. Reports that come to the Agricultural Extension Division indicate that there will be a surplus of apples in some sections this year. We want to assist in the distribution of the surplus and shall continue the Apple Clearing House again this year. If you have more apples than you can sell locally please let the division know what you have to sell. Address the Agricultural Extension Division, University Farm, St. Paul. Apples for market must be graded and packed properly if they are to be sold through the regular trade routes. The barrel is the standard package in most parts of the country. The bushel basket is being used for early fruit in some markets. All fruit for sale should be _hand picked from the tree_ (not from the ground) and allowed to cool. Grade according to size and freedom from insect and other injuries. Pack carefully so as to avoid bruising. When cover is put on press firmly in place. Do not allow fruit to shake about while in transit. Pick early maturing fruit while more or less green. Ripe fruit will not keep well during hot weather. (See page 321 of this number.) Late August and September is the time when practically all our county fairs are held. It is hoped that the exhibits of fruits, vegetables and flowers will be large and of good quality. Follow the premium list very carefully. Put on the plate the right number of specimens. Pick apples so as to leave stems attached. Quality means specimens of perfect shape for the variety, free of insect or disease injuries, without bruises and well colored. Vegetables should be well selected in every particular. Select the specimens that you would like to use. The overgrown specimens are not always the best. [Illustration: A VALLEY LAWN WITH SHRUBBERY ON BORDER OF WOODS. FORMERLY OCCUPIED BY HENHOUSE AND YARDS. View on same grounds with garden pergola shown on page 331.] While it is not the intention to publish anything in this magazine that is misleading or unreliable, yet it must be remembered that the articles published herein recite the experience and opinions of their writers, and this fact must always be noted In estimating their practical value. THE MINNESOTA HORTICULTURIST Vol. 44 SEPTEMBER, 1916 No. 9 The Pergola--Its Use and Misuse, Convenience and Expense. CHAS. H. RAMSDELL, LANDSCAPE ARCHITECT, MINNEAPOLIS. Let me take you by a brief word picture to Italy, the first home of the pergola as we see it hereabouts today. On the hills and vineyards above the sea, in that sunny land, I can see a beautiful home or villa, seemingly about to tumble off the rocky point on which it rests. Indeed, so scant is the space about the building that none is left for trees to shade the white house from the heat of the tropic sun. But shade must be had to break the glare of the noonday. The vine and the grape thrive amazingly near the sea, and this necessity evolved the pergola. It was compact, could be made straight or curving, short or long, usually narrow but still supporting to some height the delicate leaves and fruit of the grape. Thus, the Italian secured his shade and made an interesting walk or approach. Because of its open work and light proportions the views of the beautiful Italian sea and sunset were not blocked but thereby improved, each view framed in by the pergola pillars, with the picturesque tracery of the vine clinging to them. Here was its home, and here it was perfect in its setting. We Americans, in our zeal to secure all that's good, have brought it bodily to our homes. But like much else that's transplanted, we do not always look well to the new conditions as comparable to the old. The pergola is, however, too valuable a garden feature to do without. Our greater care should be to study our need, use the pergola when advisable for some other feature, like one of those illustrated on this sheet, when more appropriate. In construction the pergola is usually made of materials to match the house, sometimes masonry or stone pillars as well as those of wood. The rafters and lighter beams should be made of the most durable wood, preferably cypress, and carefully painted. The pillars may be of classic design or of more modern lines, but if they are of a thickness greater than one-seventh of their height, they are not proportionate to the light load they carry. Preferably, the columns rest on and are anchored to concrete or stone footings in the ground. The supporting rafters from pillar to pillar are the heavier construction, the cross beams, etc., the lighter. [Illustration: Pergola over garden gate, with planting to screen kitchen garden, in Minneapolis.] The surface of the ground beneath the pergola should be made of weather proof brick or tile floors. They shed the surface water and make it useable in damp weather, not possible with the turf. The cost of these structures is largely optional with the builder. One clever with carpenter's tools can build one at the cost of his time and lumber. The other limit cannot be set. Masonry pillars, cypress lumber, pavement of the floor, the size, cost of design, etc., will, upon occasion, bring up this cost to that of a small house. I have found a firm in Chicago who will ship one complete, ready to set up, following one's own design, or, after submitting standard designs and photographs of their work. They sell one 8 feet long, 7 feet 6 inches wide and 7 feet 6 inches high with 10-inch columns for $45.00, each additional 8-foot section $25.00, f.o.b., Chicago. The pictures shown of such a pergola are highly attractive. From this figure the cost runs up to $500.00 and even $1,000.00 for circular construction eight-four long and correspondingly heavy. Of course, one can secure low figures from any local millwork company if a good detailed design is available. In this way good distinctive work is possible. Its uses are infinite. It may serve to connect the architectural lines of the house with garage or other smaller building. It may lead from house to garden, or along an overlook walk along the river or lake. It may encircle a garden pool or an important statue. It can be made an approach to a band stand, or other park building. It will make part of the garden background, but should not be depended upon without the higher foliage so eminently desirable. [Illustration: A garden pergola erected last summer on clients' grounds south of Lake Harriet, Minneapolis--covering walk from house to garden, sixty five feet long.] Do not make the mistake of expecting a pergola to serve as a porch or outdoor place to sit or sleep. One needs the roof of a tea house to keep off the evening dews or occasional shower. It cannot be made a large feature of the grounds like a garden. It is not important enough. It will not, without trees and high shrubs behind it, make any background as will a garden wall or lattice. It is no barrier along a street or of any use as a fence or division line. And sometimes the lines of a house or building may be better carried by a rose arch or vine arch without the expense of a pergola. Thus you see it has its limited place, and its use must be decided upon with good taste and judgment. The pergola is almost incomplete without the growing vines on it. A four years' growth of Beta or Janesville grapes (which we don't have to lay down for winter), will give one a beautiful showing of the hanging fall fruit. The bittersweet is also good with yellow fall fruit. The several varieties of clematis are desirable if combined with the heavier growing grape or woodbine. The woodbine is good for its fall color, although weedy in growth. The Minnesota honeysuckle should be mentioned, also the Dutchman's Pipe and the Solanum, all good in a limited way. The climbing roses are all right to use, although they lack foliage background and have to be laid down every winter. However, I like to believe the man who designed the first pergola had the grape vine in his mind in so doing, for the two fit conditions like hand and glove. It is a structure of charming possibilities. Its lines curve as well as any other feature. Its proportions should be always light and graceful. It adds much to almost any garden or home grounds when carefully used. Its open work overhead typifies the freedom of the outdoors. It also recalls the vine and its growth to the light. And if we temper our enthusiasm with good sense, its use will be fortunate and the result a happy one. Packing and Marketing Apples. H. M. DUNLAP, PRES. ILL. ORCHARD CO., SAVOY, ILLS. The growing of apples is one problem, the marketing is another. The two are intimately related but entirely different. It is essential in obtaining the best results to first grow good apples for the market. This, like the darkey's receipt for rabbit soup, comes first. The darkey says, "first kotch your rabbit." Many a grower who understands fairly well how to produce good fruit is lost when it comes to selling it to an advantage to himself. You notice that I said "to himself." It is often done to the advantage of the buyer. Like most inventors the apple grower usually needs assistance in selling what he has produced. The grower who connects up with the best methods in this particular gets best results. No one can long be successful whose methods are not careful and honest in the packing of apples. _Equipment for Harvesting the Apple Crop._--There are some who insist that the only way to pick apples is to use a basket lined with cloth. These insist that the use of the basket in picking is the most careful method and that the bruising of the apples is reduced to a minimum. I have, however, seen apples handled very roughly in baskets. The picker hangs the basket on the tree, on the ladder rung, or sets it on the ground and then proceeds to shoot the apples into the basket from distances of one foot or six or eight feet away. The bottomless picking sack, with broad straps across the shoulders, has come into use within the past few years in many commercial orchards. My experience is that either the basket or sack is good if rightly handled, and either may be objectionable if care is not exercised. My own experience after using both is in favor of the sack. If care is used no more bruising will be done than with the basket, and it is far more expeditious. Both hands are at liberty for use in the picking. The sack should not be shifted about, and the picker should not be allowed to lean against the rungs of the ladder with the filled sack between. The sack should be lowered into the picking crate so that the apples have no drop in emptying the sack. Pointed ladders are the best for tall trees and less liable to injure the tree or turn turtle and upset the picker. A packing house is essential if best results are to be obtained, but many growers use the canvas-covered table in the orchard, picking and packing the product from sixteen to thirty-six trees at a sitting, and then moving the table to the next center, and in this way the entire orchard. In good weather this is not so bad as might seem, but at times the sun is very hot, or sudden showers saturate everything, and in the late fall the weather is too cold and frosty for comfort. On the whole, therefore, a good sized packing house or shed built at a convenient place in or near the orchard is the more desirable method of handling the crop. This building must be large enough to give room for a sorting table three feet wide by sixteen or more feet in length, or, better still, room for an apple grading machine of best pattern, which will occupy about three feet by twenty feet. There should be a space on one side or end of the building for unloading the bushel crates with which all well regulated orchards should be equipped, when they come from the orchard. These crates can be stacked up four or five deep, and there should be adequate room for these based on necessities. There should be room for at least a day's supply of apple barrels and a place to cooper them up by driving the hoops and nailing same. There should be enough room to face and fill barrels and head them up and to stack up enough for half a day's hauling ahead. The size of this building will depend upon whether you are barreling 100 barrels per day or 1,000 barrels. For the former a building 28x20 feet will answer very well. For the latter amount 60x100 feet would be none too large. This building should have skylights in the roof. I build these of ordinary greenhouse sash about 3x6 feet, usually putting in two of these in each building on the north or east side of the roof, according to the slope, and directly over the sorting end of the table. This will give you light an average of thirty minutes more each day and prolong the day's work that much, or at least make it possible to do better work on cloudy days and in the evenings. The building should be approachable on all four sides with the wagon, and doors either sliding or hinged should open at least ten feet wide for taking apples in and out. For example, I have my sheds arranged to take the fruit as it comes from the orchard on one side of the building. The number one apples go out one door, and in case I use a grader the number two go out another side. The cider apples also take their route. The fourth side is used for supplying empty barrels as needed. Thus you see the necessity for getting to all four sides. On the side where the filled barrels are loaded onto the wagon there should be a raised platform so that the loading can be carefully and easily done. A bin for the cider or vinegar apples should be built with a roof on same. Low-wheeled, platform wagons are needed to haul fruit from the orchard to the packing house. _The standard barrel of three bushels_ capacity is used generally by the commercial orchardist in preference to the box. Good hoops are growing scarcer every year, and some, including myself, are using two or four of the six hoops required of the twisted splice steel wire variety as being both safer and more economical. In transit or in storage they hold better and do not break and scatter the contents of the barrel over the car floor or storage warehouse. The best floor for the apple house is concrete. The next best is to cover the ground with coal cinders and lay 2x4 flat on the cinders, filling between them with cinders to a level and nailing the floor boards to these 2x4. This gives a good solid floor at little expense. The walls are of 4x4 uprights, about eight feet apart, resting on 8�8�12 concrete blocks with a half inch iron rod imbedded in the concrete and countersunk in lower end of upright 4�4 to keep the latter in place. Nail ties of 2�4 are used, and to these are nailed common lumber surfaced. The roof consists of 2�4 or 2�6 rafters, usually three feet apart, with 1�6 boards spaced about three feet apart as sheeting. The covering in this case is of galvanized corrugated iron, suitable length, of No. 26 gauge. The doors of this building should be on rollers, and with two or more double doors on each of the four sides to give plenty of light and easy access to and from the building. The roof and dry floor are the important parts of such a building, and you only need the walls as a support and occasionally to break off the wind when weather becomes chilly. What you should avoid in a packing house is narrow doors, dark interior and access from only one or two sides. _Picking._--I have found it most satisfactory to pick by the bushel, keeping a foreman in the orchard to see that crates are filled full, ladders and apples carefully handled. Each picker is provided with tickets of a certain number which corresponds to the one opposite his name on the sheet tacked to a small board or clip carried by the foreman. Each picker is assigned a tree, and his empty boxes are distributed to him from the wagon. When filled the number is tabulated by the foreman and loaded onto the wagon and hauled to the packing shed. Here they are stacked up and afterwards emptied onto the sorting tables or machine grader, and from thence into the barrels. _Hauling to Market._--The barrels when filled are not allowed to lie around, but are hauled immediately to the car or storage. Failure of winter apples to keep in storage may often be traced to the packing shed, where the apples stand in the crates or lie in the barrels for a number of days, perhaps a week or two in warm weather, before they are forwarded to storage. Sometimes delays occur at the storage owing to rush, and apples remain sometimes for a week or ten days in cars before they are unloaded. It behooves the grower not only to watch his own packing house for delays, but the storage company also. In one instance I lost $1,000 on five cars of apples that were without refrigeration five weeks owing to the storage warehouse not being completed. I knew nothing about this until two years afterwards. Hauling to the station is done on wagons or motor trucks equipped with a rack that permits the barrels being carried lying down, but supported at each end of the barrel so that the weight of the barrel does not come upon the bilge. They can be so racked up that one wagon will carry fifty-five barrels. A three-ton truck will carry forty barrels of apples and haul forty more on trailer. Such an outfit in one of my orchards makes five trips in one day a distance of four miles, traversing forty miles and carrying 400 barrels of apples. One and one-half miles of this is over a well-graded dirt road, and two and one-half over brick and concrete pavement. In our Clay County, Illinois, orchards we have two 12-25 gasoline tractors that are used for cultivating during the summer and for hauling apples in the fall. These machines easily haul 110 barrels of apples on two wagons and make two trips a distance of five miles from orchard to town. _Loading Cars._--I am surprised at the lack of knowledge of how to properly load barreled apples into cars. Over half the cars going to market are improperly loaded. The best way is to place all the barrels crosswise of the cars with lower tier to the right side of the car, and the second tier the left of the car with the bilge lying in the hollows of the lower tier. The third tier should be at the right side again directly over the lower tier. If a fourth tier is added they should be at the left and directly over the second tier. In this way your apples are loaded to carry with the least injury to the apples. Being uniformly loaded they are easily counted from the top after they are in the car, and your loader can verify his wagon load count after the apples are all in and thus prevent mistakes. _Packing Apples._--The packing season is a busy one. Often the grower finds himself short of help, and when this is hard to get he is sure up against it if he wants to do a good job of packing. First make your estimate of the crop you have to harvest. If inexperienced, get an experienced man to help you. You need this estimate for two reasons. You must determine the number of packages you need, which must be contracted for in advance, and you need to know how much labor you need to get the crop in within the time limit. You should not begin harvesting too early, for immature fruit, poorly colored, brings a lower price, and you do not want to be so late that the fruit mellows up or drops from the trees before it is gathered or is caught by a freeze. I will relate a little experience of mine in the latter connection. In the autumn of 1911 I had a heavy crop on a hundred and twenty acre orchard. The season was rainy, and we lost six days during October, which put us across the line into November with our picking. The last days of October or first of November brought a severe freeze when the mercury went to twenty, or twelve below freezing. This lasted two nights and one day. The apples were frozen absolutely solid through and through on the trees. As I had over 12,000 bushels, all Willow Twigs, unharvested, it was an anxious time for me. The second day was cloudy with the temperature at thirty-four degrees, just freezing, and the following night it remained at the same point, for we were enough interested to note the temperature. This continued up until noon of the third day, when the frost was out of the apples and we proceeded with our picking. These apples kept perfectly and were sold the next May at $4.50 per barrel. There was no perceptible difference between the apples picked before or after the freeze. Two years later my experience was different. We were caught with 1,000 bushels on the trees by an equally severe freeze. The sun came out bright the following morning, and by noon the temperature was up to fifty degrees. The apples turned brown and looked like they had been baked. They were good only for vinegar. The variety in both cases was Willow. In packing apples it is a good plan to use a corrugated paper cap on both ends of the barrel, in addition to a waxed paper next to the apples on the face end, stenciled with the name of the grower and his postoffice address. Use uniform sized apples for the face as much as possible, and of good color. The face is permitted to be 20 per cent. better than the contents. Drop facing I consider best for the second layer rather than double facing, as it holds the face apple in position better and presents a more solid face to the buyer when opened. The barrels should be filled uniformly from bottom to top with an even grade of fruit. No reputable packer will attempt any fraud upon the purchaser in this respect. In tailing off the barrel preparatory to putting in the head, the better way is to face the apples on their side in concentric rings with the color side of the apple up. I would not select these apples as to size or color, but let them correctly represent both as they run through the barrel. There can be no objection, however, to your putting the colored side of the apple up. We should always look as well as we can, and first impressions if good, while not always lasting, are desirable in the apple business of inspecting packages. In filling the barrel care must be taken to gently settle the apples into place by shaking the barrel from time to time as it is filled. After the bottom is faced off the corrugated cap is placed on the apples, with the smooth side next to the apples, and the head pressed into place. It is well to use headliners to secure the heads and not trust to the use of nails alone. Have some regard for the man who has to open these heads in storage or the salesroom. Try a few yourself if you never have, and you will use headliners for him who comes after if for no other reason. Mr. Kellogg: How do you get rid of the waste apples that would rot in the orchard? Mr. Dunlap: We have a large vinegar plant, and we convert the cider into vinegar and sell it as cider vinegar. We have sometimes shipped the fresh product of the cider mill to factories, where it is made into vinegar. Then there are evaporators for evaporating them. Take a certain grade of apples not good to grind up into cider, and they evaporate this grade of apples. Then there are canning factories that also take them. The cider mill is a very good way to work up your culls and then sell as vinegar. A Member: What do these apple graders cost? Mr. Dunlap: From $75.00 to $125.00. The price usually depends upon the equipment. A Member: Do you use clear cider for vinegar? Mr. Dunlap: I use clear cider for making vinegar, and if it is too strong to meet the requirements of the law we dilute it when we sell it. A Member: I would like to ask if you have any difficulty in getting your cider vinegar up to the requirements of the law? Mr. Dunlap: We do not have any trouble about that, except that made from summer apples. Any cider that will grade 18 or 24 with the saccharimeter in the fall of the year, when it is made, will make good vinegar. A Member: Do you pack all one-size of apples in a barrel? Mr. Dunlap: No. A Member: Do you use very nearly the same size apples in a barrel, or do you put large ones at the top and bottom? Mr. Dunlap: I have heard of growers doing that, but the only way to pack a barrel honestly is to select your facers--the law permits that they may have 20 per cent. advantage of the rest of the barrel. The rest of the barrel ought to be graded uniformly throughout. I don't mean by that they should all be apples of three or four inches diameter, but that they run above a certain figure with a minimum of 2-1/4 or 2-1/2, depending upon the variety you are packing. In running them over graders, which sizes them, all over that size go over the apron and into the barrel. A Member: Do you face both ends of the barrel? Mr. Dunlap: Yes, sir, we do. We do not undertake to select for the bottom or tail of the barrel apples as to size or color, but we do this--we lay those apples around in concentric rings and turn the color side or best looking side of the apple up and as nearly level as may be across the top and just the right height, so that when they are pressed into the barrel the barrel will be tight enough so as not to have the apples loose, and yet not have them bruised in the heading. It takes practice to do that just at the right height. The barrel should be shaken as it is being filled. If you do not shake often when being filled and settle the apples down so they reach the place where they belong, no matter how tight you make your barrel, when it gets into the car and on the train and in motion that constant shaking and jar will loosen the apples, and you will have a slack barrel. A Member: What sort of apples go to the canneries? Mr. Dunlap: That, of course, depends upon the season. If the season is such that the No. 2 apples are not worth any great amount of money, they will buy everything except cull stock below the strictly No. 1 apple and use them in the canning factory. If the price is high they will probably take the drops, those dropped in picking, or good sound drops. We usually make a practice of cleaning up our drops once a week off the ground in picking time. Before we begin picking we clean the ground entirely and run that through the vinegar factory, into the cider mill, and after that is done any apples that drop in picking they are disposed of in various ways, sometimes to the evaporator, sometimes to the canning factory and sometimes they are shipped in bulk if they are good sound apples and not injured in any way except perhaps for a few bruises. A Member: In debating the question of the grower and the cannery we are anxious to know just how far it is practical to use apples--what apples we can use after grading them, say, for instance, into Nos. 1 and 2? Can we use a deformed apple? For instance, do the canners in your country buy deformed apples--I mean lacking in roundness? Mr. Dunlap: They can use them; they are a little more expensive to handle when you put them on the fork to peel them. Of course, they have to use the knife on them afterwards in those places where they are not perfect, cutting out any imperfect spots on them. But as a rule they require pretty fair quality of apple for cannery and above a certain size. They wouldn't want to use anything less than two inches in diameter, and from that on, and they get as good apples as they possibly can. They have to limit themselves as to prices according to how much they can get for their product. A Member: What grader do you recommend? Mr. Dunlap: Well, I don't think that I care to advertise any grader. I am not interested in any. A Member: You are a long way from home, and it might enlighten the rest of us. Mr. Dunlap: There are several graders on the market, and for all I know, giving good service. I am using the Trescott, made in New York. A Member: What is the matter with the Hardy? Mr. Dunlap: I never used the Hardy--I don't know about that. Some of them will bruise the apples more than others. Mr. Sauter: What form of packing for apples will bring the best prices? Mr. Dunlap: I investigated that. I have packed as high as a couple of thousand boxes of apples, and I have taken the very best I had and barreled. I picked out the extra selects and boxed them. Then I took a No. 1 grade from those that that were left and the No. 2 grade, and my No. 1 grade in barrels were disposed of before I could sell my boxes at all in the market. The boxes were the last thing I could dispose of. Considering the extra cost of boxing I was out of pocket in selling them in boxes. Bushel baskets are all right, you can pack the basket with no more expense than packing a barrel. Mr. Brackett: What can a cannery afford to pay for apples? Mr. Dunlap: I have never been in the cannery business, I could not tell. Mr. Brackett: They are talking of starting a cannery where I live and I wondered what they can afford to pay. Mr. Dunlap: Some five or six years ago I sold a number of hundred bushels to canneries at 60 cents per hundred pounds. Whether they can afford to pay that or not I don't know. I haven't sold any to them for several years now. In fact, I should judge they couldn't afford to pay that for them because they went out of business. Mr. Brackett: In other words, they can't pay over 35 or 30 cents a bushel? Mr. Dunlap: I don't know what they can afford to pay. A Member: We had a canning factory that paid 40 cents a bushel of 50 pounds, that would be 80 cents a hundred. Mr. Brackett: Are they still in business? A Member: Yes, sir. Mr. Sauter: We had one that paid 52 cents a bushel. Mr. Dunlap: If they were to can these apples in Illinois and ship them up here they have got to pay freight to come in competition with your apples. Mr. Sauter: I sprayed last spring first with lime-sulphur, and my sprayer worked fine. I had a hand sprayer, but when I mixed the lime-sulphur and the arsenate of lead it almost stopped up. What was the matter, was it the mixture or the sprayer? Mr. Dunlap: Most all of these mixtures when you put them together ought to be more or less diluted. Mr. Sauter: How long must they stand dissolved? Mr. Dunlap: The lime-sulphur is in solution, and if you have that in your water tank the best way is to put your arsenate of lead in in the form of a paste and dilute it until you get it so that there is about two pounds of arsenate of lead to a gallon of water, and with that you can pour it into your tank and if you have an agitator in there you won't have any difficulty with it. In the early days of spraying when we used blue vitriol with lime, we tried a concentrated solution of the blue vitriol and lime and found we couldn't get it through the strainer, but by diluting it, putting our blue vitriol in one tank, and putting half of our water that we intended putting in the sprayer in that, and taking another tank and putting half the water and the lime in that and then putting the two together in this diluted solution, we didn't have any trouble, but in putting in the concentrated solutions together we had a sticky mess and all sorts of trouble. It would not go through the strainer. Mr. Sauter: How does the powdered arsenate compare with the paste? Mr. Dunlap: I haven't had any personal experience with the powder and I would have to refer you to the experiment station. Mr. Sauter: Powder mixes a great deal easier. Mr. Dunlap: Yes, sir. I had this experience with hydrated lime. The hydrated lime, as you know, comes in sacks and in the form of flour, and all you have to do is just to pour that into the water, and there is no trouble about mixing it at all. With lime from barrels that we used for making bordeaux, we would slake it and run it off into barrels, and there we diluted it so that we got two pounds to every gallon of water, our stock solution. But with the hydrated lime we can take so much out, so much by weight, and put it into the tank, and it dissolves right in the water. But we found this difficulty as between slaked lime and the hydrated lime. While the hydrated is very nice to use it did not possess the adhesive quality that the regular slaked lime did, and it would wash off the trees and take the vitriol solution with it, and we discontinued its use. Mr. Sauter: You think it best for anybody with a small orchard to make his own lime-sulphur solution? Mr. Dunlap: That depends on how he is equipped. It costs a great deal less to make your own solution than it does to buy it. Whether you could afford to do it or not depends upon the amount you spray and your equipment. You really ought to have, in making your own lime-sulphur, a steam boiler, although you can make it in an ordinary farm feed boiler. You can boil it right in that and turn it out after it is made, stirring it with a wooden paddle while cooking. I find that if we are equipped for it we will make a product that is equal to the imported product, but we ought to have a little more equipment. We ought to have steam and run this steam into our cooking vat to keep it boiling at the right temperature right along, and boil it for an hour, and then have a mechanical agitator in the bottom of the tub that keeps it stirred up, and keep the cover closed down as nearly tight as possible so as to exclude the air as much as possible, letting the surplus steam escape, and in that way we get a product as good as anything we are able to buy, at less than half the price. If one is using a great quantity that is the way to do it, but in small quantities I don't think it would pay to bother with it. (Applause.) Marketing Fruit at Mankato. P. L. KEENE, UNIVERSITY FARM, ST. PAUL. (Gideon Memorial Contest.) Mankato has a population of about twelve thousand and is just about within the car-lot market. In seasons of low production it can easily use all the fruit grown in the vicinity, but in seasons of good production some must be shipped out. This irregular supply makes it difficult to obtain a satisfactory method of marketing the fruit. Nearly all kinds of fruit are grown here. Apples, strawberries and raspberries are grown to the greatest extent. There are several orchards having from five hundred to a thousand trees, while many small fruit growers have several acres of strawberries and raspberries. Plums, blackberries, currants and gooseberries are grown on a smaller scale, so that there is seldom enough produced to make it necessary to ship them. The number of varieties grown is very great, as it is in almost every locality where the industry is relatively young. There are over forty varieties of apples grown on a more or less large scale. This makes the marketing problem still more difficult. Many of the growers are beginning to specialize in two or three varieties, such as Wealthy, Patten, Northwestern and Malinda. Last year some of the growers produced as many as five carloads. Small fruits are brought in by the wagon load during the heaviest part of the season, making it possible for the fruit houses to load a car in a day. The commercial growers use good, practical methods of culture, keeping the land well cultivated and using cover crops and mulch; but many of the small growers of half-way fruit men--those who do not specialize in fruit growing--neglect their orchards. Most growers properly prune and thin their trees and bushes, while many are beginning to spray. In the picking, grading and packing of the fruit is where the great majority fail. After they have grown the fruit carefully and successfully, they fail to properly harvest and dispose of it. This fault lies in the fact that they have specialized in the production of their product and have given little time or attention to the marketing of it. They realize, though, that success in fruit growing depends as largely upon proper marketing as upon proper growing. The first step in marketing is the picking of the fruit. Fruit, as any other product, should be picked at a certain time; and the grower who allows his fruit to remain on the tree or bush too long, as is often done with the apple, until his work is caught up, is the grower who receives unsatisfactory prices for his product. Many farmers bring windfalls and bruised apples mixed with the hand picked ones and expect as much as the grower who carefully picks his apples. The picking utensils are also often a cause of injury. Tin pails, wooden buckets and boxes are used to too great an extent. These naturally bruise more or less of the apples as they are put into the pails, especially if extreme care is not used. The pouring of the fruit from one receptacle into another is still another source of injury. The small fruit grower usually handles his fruit with greater care than the apple grower does, for the simple reason that improper handling of these fruits soon shows itself, and the grower may find that he is unable to dispose of his fruit. The most common cause of injury to small fruit is over-ripeness. [Illustration: P. L. Keene.] The improper sorting and grading of fruit is another cause of unprofitable returns. All bruised, wormy or injured apples should be discarded at picking time. The presence of only a few inferior fruits in a lot will bring the price down considerably. The same holds true with berries, and is even more important, for if one berry rots it soon spreads disease to the other berries. For this reason the sorting out of all inferior fruit is essential, even more so than grading. The grading aids in getting better prices but is not necessary for profitable results. If small fruit is well sorted, the growers claim that it is not necessary to grade it, for the fruit will then be fairly uniform. With apples, grading is distinctly beneficial. Many marketable apples may be blemished so that their appearance is hurt, while their keeping and shipping qualities are but slightly injured. The best grade must contain apples uniform in size, shape and color, and free from all blemishes. Hence it is readily seen why at least two grades are essential. The growers at Mankato do not grade their apples to more than one grade and this amounts only to sorting. The best of the commercial apple growers carefully sort out the small and injured fruits, but a large portion of the growers even neglect this to some extent. The method of packing the fruit is very variable, and in fact a large part of it is not packed at all. Most of the small fruit growers use the sixteen quart crate, while the apple, if it is packed at all, is packed in barrels. One requirement of a package is that it be clean, and if it must be clean a secondhand package cannot be used. Many fall down here by using secondhand, odd sized and dirty crates or barrels. The shipping crate should be kept out of the field and off of the ground. The place for it is in the packing house. The apple growers often take their barrels into the field to fill them and thus more or less soil them. This is not done to any great extent at Mankato, for most of the barrel packing is done at the fruit houses, the growers bringing in the apples loose in a wagonbox. This is a good system as the apples are only handled three times: from the tree to the picking basket, from the picking basket to the wagonbox, and from here into barrels. By this method the apples are sorted both at the picking and barreling time. If the apples are to be graded or packed at the farm, a packing house should be provided at or near the orchard. It is needless to speak of the slack and inefficient method of marketing apples in sacks, salt barrels and odd boxes; but this is still done by some half-way growers. They often have to either take the fruit back and feed it to the pigs or give it away. Even when they are able to sell it, they barely cover expense of picking and marketing. Several methods of selling their fruit are available to the growers around Mankato. The different methods used are (1) selling direct to consumer, (2) selling to stores, (3) selling to wholesale houses, (4) selling to commission men. The amount handled in the "direct to the consumer" way is rather large in the case of small fruit, but there is very little so-called "apple peddling" done. Some growers have regular customers whom they supply yearly with a barrel or more of apples, but this is usually some friend or relative. Some growers peddle out their summer apples by driving through the residence sections of the city and selling to anyone who wants to buy and in such quantities as they desire, but not all growers care to follow this plan. Sales are always made for cash, except perhaps where a person is a regular customer. This method is too unsatisfactory to be used for winter apples but is often advantageous in disposing of a large crop of summer apples. The fruit is not usually in very good shape, and is often that which the fruit dealers have rejected. The fruit is marketed in any package that happens to be handy, or loose, in the box, and is measured out usually in small quantities to the buyer. [Illustration: A load of apples from P.L. Keene's orchard, near Mankato] The handling of berries direct to consumer is much more systematized and therefore proves more satisfactory to both parties concerned. The majority of growers sell a considerable quantity in this way. They pack in sixteen quart crates, and usually will not divide a crate. The berries are for the most part delivered on order of the customer, for cash. Each grower has his regular customers, and some advertise to a limited extent. This method is usually satisfactory to the grower for he sells at a fixed price, and over that which he could get at the stores. He finds that it pays him to furnish good berries, for if he delivers a poor crate the lady receiving that crate is sure to make it known to her neighbors, while a good crate will add to his reputation. Therefore, the grower will take particular pains to have the boxes well filled with good berries and delivered promptly, in order to hold this trade. In compensation he receives a good price, regular customers and a sure market for his product. The amount handled through the stores is about equal to that handled direct to the consumer, but in some seasons it is not as great. The grower demands cash, for he can get it at the other places, while most of the stores prefer cash rather than a trade basis, on account of the bother of handling the trade checks. Some stores, by offering a higher trade price, try to draw trade, but this does not attract the commercial grower. It may, however, attract the half-way grower. Most stores do not try to handle more than they can dispose of themselves. It is the small grower who sells to the stores. The large grower cannot get the prices that will pay him to bother with the store trade, while the fruit houses do not want to handle the small fruit grower's product, for it is usually of inferior quality. Hence, the store trade is a necessity under present conditions, even though it is not a very satisfactory method. The apples are brought to the stores in the same packages as to the consumer direct. The berries are handled in the same packages, but the condition and quality are more apt to be inferior than with those sold to the consumer. The stores usually re-sort the fruit before they sell it. They very seldom ship fruit. In case they get more on their hands than they can sell, they either store it for a few days, or sell to the wholesale fruit houses. There is more fruit handled by either one of the two wholesale fruit houses than by any other single way in Mankato. They handle the bulk of the apple crop grown commercially but will not take inferior fruit. The small fruit growers market a considerable portion of their crops through them, especially in years when they have more than they can dispose of to consumers. The wholesale houses offer no fixed price, except it be in a contract with some individual grower whom they know will bring in good fruit. When a load comes in they look it over and bid on it. If the grower is satisfied with the price, he sells, and if not he tries the other house or the stores. The commercial growers usually bring in their apples loose in the wagon-box, and the apples are packed into barrels here. This insures a clean barrel, properly packed. It enables the buyer to look over the load as it is being unloaded. One or two growers have a reputation good enough that the houses will buy their fruit barreled. All small fruits are handled in the sixteen quart crates and are not repacked. The grower delivers them as up to grade on his reputation, which will not last long if he does not furnish good berries. The grower usually tells the wholesaler when they were picked and the condition they are in. They do a cash business only. Very little has been handled through the commission men of other cities. A few carloads have been shipped to Minneapolis, but returns were not as satisfactory as when sold to the wholesale houses. In shipping the grower has to take more risk and do more work, such as packing and loading the car, than when he sells to the wholesaler. Most growers prefer to sell to the houses than to do this extra work, which they are neither used to, nor capable of handling. Besides this, most growers do not have enough fruit at any one time to load a car. There is no co-operative association at the present time, but the growers were trying to organize one last winter. In a certain way there is an agreement among the small fruit growers, in that nearly all of them agree to market their fruit in the sixteen quart crate and stick to certain prices as far as possible, and not to cut prices under other growers. This applies especially to the "direct to the consumer" trade. There are no street venders to whom the growers can sell nor with whom they would have to compete, and there is no city market at Mankato. Storage conditions have not been developed. The wholesale houses have small storage rooms of their own, but do little storing of home grown products, as they ship them out as soon as they get a carload. The stores store a few days in case they get an over-supply on hand. The growers store apples in their own cellars, often keeping them until the following spring. A few city people buy apples in the fall and store for winter use, but it is not very satisfactory for the storage houses do not regulate the temperature accurately enough. * * * * * PRUNING OF CURRANTS AND GOOSEBERRIES.--The main reason that currant and gooseberry bushes do not yield satisfactory crops from year to year is due to the lack of proper pruning. Both currants and gooseberries produce their fruit on canes that are at least two years old, the first season being generally utilized for the growing of the canes, the second for the formation of fruit buds or spurs, and the third a full crop may be expected. These canes will bear for two and even three years, but each year after the third they begin to show a decided decline--the fruit becomes smaller and less valuable. In order to keep the production up to the standard, the bush should be placed on the rotation basis, that is, each year a few new, strong shoots should be permitted to grow. All the rest should be cut out, and also each spring a like number of the oldest canes should be removed. In other words, we should grow the same number of new canes that we take out in old canes. In this way, we eliminate the old and exhausted canes and keep the bushes in strong, vigorous growth. Further, as the season progresses, all shoots beyond those that we wish to use for fruiting later on should be removed and not permitted to utilize the food supply that should go to the fruiting canes.--E.P. Sandsten, Col. Agri. College. Support for an Overloaded Fruit Tree. MISS NELLIE B. PENDERGAST, DULUTH. Some years ago the writer wearied of the many objectionable features connected with propping overloaded apple trees, and found relief in a new application of the maxim of modern charity--"help people to help themselves." The average apple tree is quite capable of supporting its load of fruit, with a little assistance in applying its strength. This is satisfactorily given by overhead supports. My method is as follows: Take a piece of gas pipe, the diameter depending on the size of the tree and consequent weight of the load, and long enough to extend some two or three feet above the tree. The required height would be governed by the spread of the branches and the distance between the trunk of the tree and the proper point for support of the limbs. The pipe is placed against the trunk of the tree, pushed a few inches into the ground, and tied in several places tightly to the tree. On the top (which must be screw-threaded) is screwed an ordinary gas pipe end. Heavy cords are then run through holes in the top piece and tied to the branches wherever needed--the same cord often being made to tie several branches which are in line perpendicularly. [Illustration: View of apple tree with fruit laden branches supported by pipe or wire.] The branches should be wrapped with a bit of burlap or other suitable padding under the cord, as otherwise the friction resulting from the inevitable swaying of the heavy limbs on windy days would result in rubbing the bark off and possibly entirely girdling the branch. Pads should also be placed between the gas pipe and the tree trunk wherever there is contact, and under the rope where tied. What Frisky is Telling the Veteran Horticulturist. CHAS. F. GARDNER, OSAGE, IOWA. I am your cunning little squirrel, and as you have named me Frisky and have adopted me as a regular member of your family, I will tell you some little things I know about horticulture, or more properly, forest tree planting. [Illustration: Our squirrel.] My ancestors from way back through geological ages have all been lovers of nut trees and especially conifers. If you knew of the great districts covered with valuable timber that have come into existence by reason of our planting of nuts and conifer seed, you would be very much surprised. While we gather large quantities of seed for use as food during the long, cold winter months, each one of us secretes several thousand seed annually, widely scattered, in good places for trees to grow. The most of these scattered seeds remain in the ground and germinate where they were planted. My grandfather on my mother's side has told me that some of his relatives in Scotland were once accused of doing considerable injury to plantations of firs and pines by gnawing off the top shoots, which you know make pretty good eating for a hungry little squirrel. Wasn't that a great thing to make a fuss about? I believe my grandpa knew as much as you do about the real existence and natural history of the mastodon, the megatherium, the paleotherium and the pterodactyl. In the planting of forest trees we were assisted by birds. I will name a few who helped us the most in this northern latitude, or, as you call it, "the blizzard belt." You showed me the other day two beautiful oak trees, on your grounds that were planted by crows. Bluejays are great seed planters, also mourning doves; and the wild pigeons, now extinct, were great planters of many nut trees. Almost every variety of birds has assisted us in the planting of the seeds of trees, bushes and, in fact, all plants that bear valuable fruits or nutritious seeds. [Illustration: Chas. F. Gardner at his best.] While I think of it, I will tell you that I was born in a beautiful nest, made of moss, twigs and dry leaves curiously interwoven in the fork of a tree at a considerable height from the ground. I had four little brothers and sisters. We loved each other dearly and had a good time all cuddled up in our sweet little home. I wish you would let me go and visit them sometime this summer. Now if you have no objection I will take a little nap.--Frisky. Top-Working. O. W. MOORE, VETERAN HORTICULTURIST, SPRING VALLEY. From my experience in fruit growing I have come to the conclusion that the best method to apply in starting a commercial orchard in this section of country would be to gather apple seed from Duchess and Hibernal apples and plant them, in order that we might grow hardy seedling roots to be used in making root-grafts. After growing these apple seedlings one year I would graft short pieces of their roots to long Hibernal scions, plant them out in the nursery row and grow them the first year as a whip or single shoot. The second year before growth starts in the spring I would cut those whips back to the height where I wanted to start the head of the tree. After growth starts rub off all the buds except from four to six at the top, these being left to form the head of the tree. The trunk of the tree below these buds should be kept clear of all growth at all times. By this method we get uniform trees, as the heads, or tops, are all of an equal distance from the ground and all run very nearly the same size. Now we have those trees two years old in the nursery row, and as a foundation for hardiness we have done our best. We have taken seed from our hardiest apples to grow our seedling roots; we have grafted Hibernal scions onto those roots, which is supposed to be the hardiest apple wood that we have. Still there is one point that has not been touched upon, and that is, that it is not to be supposed that all of those seedling roots from the seed of our hardiest apples will be hardy. You may ask why? Well, because mother nature does not do business that way. We hear now and then the remark, "He is a good mixer." Well, if any man or set of men can beat mother nature at mixing they will have to do better in the future than they have done in the past. But remember that we have the Hibernal as a scion above those roots, and that is the best apple wood to root from the scion that I know of. Some may ask, why not use the Virginia crab? I answer, for the reasons above stated, as I have tried both. Our trees are two years old now and are ready to be planted in the orchard where they are to remain. Grow them in orchards one year. But if from drouth or some other cause they do not make a satisfactory growth, grow them two years. Then top-work their four or six limbs about six inches from their forks to any kind of apple that you wish to produce in a commercial way--but leave all small growth below those unions the first year. The second year cut everything away but the scions. If the planter will follow the above methods I am willing to stake my reputation as a fruit grower that he will have an orchard that will stay with him and give satisfaction. Very many apple trees, especially seedlings, when they come to bearing age are found to be worthless or nearly so. If those trees are taken in hand at any time under ten years old they can be readily top-worked to some good apple and completely changed in two years' time. The first year work center limbs or leaders, leaving the lower growth to be worked the second year. The third year by cutting everything away but the growth of the scions we have the tree changed over to a better variety of fruit. As to the size of limbs to graft I have always made it a point to never work limbs over one inch in diameter. But from one inch down to whip-grafting size, limbs from three-quarters to one inch, we set two scions. The wound heals sooner with two scions than with one. If there is too much growth in a year or two, cut a part of it away just above the union. Evergreens. JENS A. JENSEN, ROSE CREEK. Why not grow evergreens in the place of willows? When I came to Mower County if there were any trees planted they were willows, a few Lombardy poplars and Balm of Gilead. Since 1890 there has been a great deal of planting of evergreens, especially around Austin and Rose Creek. Some people think it hard to grow evergreens. One mistake they make is in planting too large trees. Another is in planting them in June grass sod, a sod that will not wet down one inch in a rain that lasts twenty-four hours. Evergreens should be planted in cultivated land, and then they will grow surprisingly fast. Plant trees from one to two feet. If wanted for a windbreak, plant eight feet apart; if two rows are wanted, plant trees sixteen feet apart, in rows four feet apart, the trees planted alternately. Norway, White and Black Hills spruce, also White, Scotch and Jack pine are doing well here. IN MEMORIAM--EZRA F. PABODY EZRA F. PABODY was born in Vernon, Indiana, July 26th, 1838. His father's name was Ezra F. Pabody, and his mother's maiden name was Mabel Butler. Comrade Pabody was married in Oxford, Ohio, October 10th, 1866, to Emma A. Brown. [Illustration: Portrait of the late Ezra F. Pabody, from a photograph taken ten years ago.] His education was acquired by attending, first, the common schools at Vernon, Indiana, until he was sixteen years of age; and in September, 1854, he entered Hanover College, where he spent five years. In 1859, he entered Miami University, Oxford, Ohio, and graduated from that University in June, 1860. In September of that same year he entered Princeton Theological Seminary, where he studied for one year with a view to entering the ministry, but the condition of his health interfered with his carrying out this purpose. In 1861, having come to Minnesota, and as volunteers were being enlisted to crush the rebellion, which threatened our country with destruction, his spirit of patriotism impelled him to offer his services to aid in maintaining the government. Accordingly he enlisted at Fort Snelling, September 25th, 1861, and was enrolled in Company "A," Third Minnesota Volunteers. In November of that year he was appointed Hospital Steward of the Regiment, but he was unable long to endure the activities of the service, and on July 9th, 1862, was discharged on account of disability. However, his loyal spirit would not allow him to rest if there was a place where he might serve effectively, and accordingly, on August 24th, 1862, he enlisted again,--this time in the 79th Indiana Volunteer Infantry, and was assigned to duty as Hospital Steward, in which office he continued until discharged for disability December 18th, 1862. After his army service, he engaged in the drug business at Vernon, Indiana. In 1875 he removed to Minneapolis and here followed the same line of business until 1888. In August, 1890, he was prevailed upon to take up City Mission work in connection with Westminster Church, and was ordained to the Gospel ministry in 1900. Retiring from the active work of the ministry in 1903, he passed the remaining years of his life in his quiet home at Zumbra Heights, Lake Minnetonka, where the death angel found him September 21st, 1915, after a long period of illness. His memory will be lastingly perpetuated by the development of his city mission work, known as "Riverside Mission," a neglected portion of Minneapolis, embracing what is known as "The River Flats," where the inhabitants, mostly foreigners, and in need of religious instruction, were taught by this faithful missionary and his estimable and consecrated wife to speak and sing the language of Heaven. The faithful wife and co-laborer, one son, E. Fitch Pabody, and one daughter, Eleanor (Mrs. Ward H. Benton), all of Minneapolis, survive him. Mr. Pabody is, of course, best known to the members of this society on account of his service with it in the past thirteen years. While not one of the oldest members of the society from a point of years in his connection with the society, in point of service he ranks very high, for during all the period of his service he was always finding something to do for the association. Several times he was on the program, in a number of official capacities he served the society, and especially as a member of the reception committee during a number of our annual meetings was he of largest use to the association, and his courteous and kindly ways we especially remember. Mr. Pabody was very near to the writer personally, and his taking away is largely in the nature of a personal loss. Mr. Pabody had a great love for horticultural pursuits. His garden and orchard occupied very much of his thoughts during the later years of his life, when he lived on the shores of Lake Minnetonka. It is hard to part with these old members who have so much endeared themselves to us in these many thoughtful ways.--Secy. Bread Cast upon the Waters. C. S. HARRISON, YORK, NEB. The instance recited below has nothing particularly to do with horticulture but a good deal to do with a "horticulturist," C. S. Harrison, of York, Neb., that picturesque veteran in horticulture, who has been an attendant at our meetings now for so many years, adding such a strong interest to our annual gatherings. Mr. Harrison recited at our late meeting the incident referred to here--without the denouement, which came to him in California this winter, where he met Mr. Lindbergh, one of Minnesota congressmen. As a result of this incident we had Mr. Harrison with again at our late summer meeting.--Secy. In 1861 I was living in Sauk Center, Minn., where I preached the first sermon. I had a tract of country under my care 100 miles in extent and had all sorts of work to do. Ten miles from Sauk Center there was a sturdy Swede who was at one time speaker in one branch of the Swedish parliament and for a while secretary to the king. He moved to Minnesota about the year '60. It seems he had not learned the art of graft, and he was poor. He took up a preemption and built him a little log house 12�16. One day he took a load of logs to the mill and, stumbling, fell on the saw. This caught him in the back and split it open, and also took a stab at his right arm. It was hot weather and no surgeon within fifty miles. I followed him to his home; we did not think he could live. I picked out the sawdust and rags from his back and kept the wounded arm wrapped in cold water, and now for a surgeon I got a horse from a neighbor and a man to ride him. I said, "Don't hurt the horse but go as fast as it is safe." Twenty miles ahead I knew another man with whom he could exchange horses, and then another relay brought him to the doctor. Dr. Hunter proved to be a good surgeon. We had kept the patient with such care that with his clean habits and robust constitution he underwent the operation all right. I helped the doctor, and we took off the arm near the shoulder. I had a busy time until the surgeon came. I stayed with the man all day, then drove home ten miles and was by his side early. It took the doctor about three days to get there. The horses were poor, and the auto did not exist even in a dream. By the next December the old hero was out chopping rails with his left hand. How poor the people were! Every dollar had a big task before it. The good doctor only charged $20. I rode quite a distance--got a little here and there and paid the bill. A son of the old man, C. A. Lindbergh, is now representative in congress from the 6th district of Minnesota. We discovered each other this winter. I have kept up a pleasant correspondence. His daughter, Eva, who helps her father, has just written me that she is going to be married in Minneapolis in June, and she wants me to perform the ceremony. All the friends and relatives will be there, and she wants the man who saved her grandpa. Thus, after fifty-five years, stirring memories of the past are awakened and happy anticipations of the future.--C. S. Harrison. SECRETARY'S CORNER MORE EVERBEARING STRAWBERRIES.--Mr. Walter Ferguson, of Mankato, has pretty near the record number of strawberry plants raised last year. From four plants of No. 1017 everbearing strawberries he reports having raised several over six hundred. He says he reset twelve new plants in July and they produced over three hundred. ADVANCE PREMIUM LIST, ANNUAL MEETING, 1916.--Elsewhere in this number will be found an advance list of premiums to be offered on vegetables and apples at the coming annual meeting of the society. There will be practically no change from this list, though there may be slight additions to it. Possible exhibitors may feel safe to save material for exhibition in accordance with the premiums therein offered. PASSING OF J.F. BENJAMIN.--Members of the society who have attended our annual meetings for the last ten or more years will readily recall the face and figure of this very loyal member of the society, who was always at hand to serve in any capacity as opportunity came to him. Mr. Benjamin was a successful fruit grower, not only from a financial standpoint but from his love of the art. We hope to publish a suitable sketch of his life at some later date. MUNICIPAL CAMPS IN NATIONAL FORESTS.--The City of Fresno, California, has established a fifteen-acre camp in an adjoining national forest, providing low cost outings for the school children of that city and their parents. Los Angeles is doing something similar on even a larger scale, and other municipalities are following suit. Minnesota has splendid national forests, and the time may come when the state or some of the municipalities of the state may be able to make similar use of these forests for the benefit of our people who are not able to go to larger expense to secure needed summer outing. THE APPLE CROP.--The Department of Agriculture in its August 1st report forecasts an apple crop of seventy-one million barrels against seventy-six million last year and a yearly average for the past five years of sixty-six million. The favored regions in apple growing this year are in the New England states and the Pacific states, the Central states showing a very large falling off in the apple crop, anywhere from four-fifths to one-fourth of previous years. NATIONAL VEGETABLE GROWERS' ASSOCIATION.--It seems there is an association of this character, called "Vegetable Growers' Association of America," and it will hold its next annual meeting in LaSalle Hotel, Chicago, September 26-29. Representatives of local vegetable growers' associations' will probably do well to get in touch with this national gathering. If any go from this state the secretary will be glad to receive from them a report of the meeting. Marketing, soil fertility, heating, packing, spraying and other subjects will be covered on the program. For further information address James B. Foley, Secretary, 3100 South Spaulding Avenue, Chicago. APPLE TREES AS A WINDBREAK.--John W. Maher, of Devils Lake, N.D., in correspondence has spoken at two different times of the use of apple trees as one feature of windbreaks in his vicinity, using such varieties as Duchess, Patten's Greening, Hibernal, etc. In this connection he says "probably it is only the amateur horticulturist who sets a row of young apple trees in the stubble fields as a windbreak for apple grafts, but this has been done here and the windbreak is satisfactory. I believe that the apple is more hardy in this kind of soil than it is generally considered to be. If the apple tree is properly limbed so as to shade its trunk and larger limbs it is a real success." HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY PERIODICALS.--February, 1894, the first number of the monthly issued by this society was published and sent out to its members. Publishing the report in this way as a monthly was an experiment, which has proved to be a very successful one indeed, and this method of publication has now for a long time been a permanent feature of the work of this society. In 1894 the society had about six hundred members. The increase in the membership of the association since that period has brought the roll to high water mark this year at 3,700. At that time as far as we know no other horticultural society was publishing its report as a monthly. Quite a number of state societies are now doing something of this sort, though not exactly following the same plan as the Minnesota society, our report appearing as a monthly magazine and being bound up later with list of members, index, etc., making altogether the annual report. The only association that has exactly followed our plan is the Manitoba Society. Wisconsin, Kansas, Nebraska, Virginia and other associations not now recalled are sending out a monthly to their membership. Illinois and perhaps some others are publishing a quarterly. Some of the state boards of horticulture are publishing a monthly, notably the California board, and in some cases the state boards of agriculture are doing this also. The plan inaugurated by this society is being slowly popularized and will undoubtedly continue to be made use of more and more as the study and practice of horticulture develops in our country. GARDEN HELPS Conducted by Minnesota Garden Flower Society Edited by MRS. E. W. GOULD, 2644 Humboldt Avenue So. Minneapolis. GARDEN HELPS FOR SEPTEMBER. _September Meeting of the Garden Flower Society_ will be held on the twenty-first, at 2:30 p.m., at the Minneapolis Public Library. _Topics_, "Fall Work in the Garden." "Planting for Fall and Winter Effects." "Vines and Their Uses." Have you taken any photographs of your garden, its individual flowers, or wild flowers for our photographic contest? It is not too late yet to get good pictures. Every member is urged to enter this competition. _Plant peonies this month._ Old clumps of hardy perennials may be divided and reset early this month. Flowering bulbs intended to be in bloom at Christmas should be potted now. Grass seed for new lawns or bad places in old ones can be sown this month. The daffodil makes an early growth and should be planted this month. After the first killing frosts the tender roots, like cannas, gladioli, elephant's ears, and dahlias, can be lifted with a fork and spread out under cover to dry, then stored in a cool cellar, free from frost. Do not cultivate the soil after September first. All newly set plants should be mulched lightly. All litter about the garden can be cleared away. Any plants that have been infested with insects or diseased should be burned. Leave no harbors for the eggs of insects, such as old weeds, grasses or litter of any kind. Seeds of native plants which you wish to naturalize should be gathered and sowed immediately in a shaded, well drained location, where the soil has some humus. Lily-of-the-valley should be planted this month. Try planting a few sweet peas late in September or early October. Important September blooming flowers are phlox, Japanese anemones; perennial asters, or Michaelmas daisy, so-called because they are supposed to be at their best on Michaelmas Day, September 29th; helleniums, helianthus, hardy chrysanthemum, pyrethrum uliginosum, boltonia. If you have not these flowers, try and visit some garden where they are blooming in order to know what kinds to grow. Poppies for next June's blooming can be sown this month. Be prepared for the first early frosts, having ready to use some light covering, such as cheesecloth. The garden can be prolonged from two to six weeks by this slight protection. ORCHARD NOTES. Conducted monthly by R. S. MACKINTOSH, Horticulturalist, Extension Division, University Farm, St. Paul. A CONFERENCE OF HORTICULTURAL EXTENSION WORKERS. A conference of the Horticultural Extension leaders of Wisconsin, Kansas, Nebraska, South Dakota, Iowa and Minnesota was held early in August at the Iowa State College, at Ames. The subject of apple and potato clearing houses was the chief question discussed. The work of this kind was started by Professor Greene in Kansas when they had the big apple crop in 1913. Later Iowa and Minnesota undertook similar work. It is expected that a co-operative plan will be formulated which will be of greater value than when each state works alone. The visiting members were very glad to have President Pearson discuss co-operation as he saw it while visiting a dozen or more countries in Europe. One hour was spent in an automobile tour of the grounds and farms. Considerable land from one to three miles from the main campus is now used for experimental work. One of the latest additions to the horticultural equipment is a cold storage plant and range of greenhouses, costing over sixty thousand dollars. HORTICULTURAL TOUR IN WESTERN IOWA AND EASTERN NEBRASKA. The horticultural societies of Iowa and Nebraska joined in an automobile tour of the orchards, vineyards, nurseries, and truck farms August 2 to 4. The first day was spent in and around Council Bluffs. Interest centered around the large Co-operative Grape Growers' Association. A grand picnic dinner was served by the ladies. This association has been in active operation for fifteen years. Professor Beach emphasized the value of the work that is being done, and especially the value of having a contented lot of people in a community mutually interested in one kind of work. On the return trip a stop was made at the experimental apple orchard that is conducted by the Horticultural Department of the Iowa State College. This orchard of 900 trees was leased in 1910 for ten years to determine if an old orchard that has been unprofitable could be made profitable. Careful records have been kept of expenses and of the size and grade of all fruits produced under the several soil treatments. To date six crops have been harvested from the 475 trees under experiment. The lowest was 1,700 bushels in 1911 and the largest was 6,000 bushels in 1915. It is estimated that there is about thirty per cent. of a crop on the trees this year. Demonstrations were given in spraying, dynamiting trees, treating trees affected with blister canker, and grading apples with a large grading machine. The second day was spent in orchards near Omaha. Some excellent orchards that have been very profitable were visited. It had been very dry in that region, consequently the fruit was undersized. The third day was spent in southwestern Iowa, from Hamburg to Glenwood. It is impossible to tell about all the good things seen on this trip. We saw all kinds of pruning, cultivated and "sod cultivated" orchards and, above all, corn, corn and more corn. At Shenandoah the nurserymen and seedsmen took charge of the party and entertained all in a very hospitable manner. There were ninety at the noon banquet. In the afternoon they showed us the large nurseries and seed warehouse. Toward the end of the trip we stopped at a 40-acre orchard, mostly Grimes Golden. A hailstorm had injured the fruit very much. One of the great lessons gained from the 150-mile automobile tour was the fact that _spraying_ is _one_ of the _most important orchard operations_. It was interesting to hear what some of the older orchardists would say when they saw fruit injured by scab. It is an important matter with them, because it means dollars to have disease-free fruit to market. [Illustration: VETERAN DOUGLAS FIR, STANDING MILES OUT FROM THE PROTECTING MOUNTAIN, EXPOSED TO ALL THE FIERCE WINDS OF THE PLAINS.] While it is not the intention to publish anything in this magazine that is misleading or unreliable, yet it must be remembered that the articles published herein recite the experience and opinions of their writers, and this fact must always be noted in estimating their practical value. THE MINNESOTA HORTICULTURIST Vol. 44 OCTOBER, 1916 No. 10 Camping on the Yellowstone Trail. CLARENCE WEDGE, NURSERYMAN, ALBERT LEA, MINN. I suppose that civilization is the correct thing for mortals to aspire to. As a boy, while I hated it with a bitter hatred, I accepted it as inevitable because my elders approved it and because it seemed indissolubly linked to the school, the church and the things of good repute. As I grow older the yoke sits easier on my shoulders, but doubts have increased as to its necessary connection with the good, the true and the beautiful. It surely kills the sweet virtue of hospitality. In my home church lately there was a call for volunteers to entertain a visiting delegation, and I was interested in observing how perfectly the number that might be accommodated in any home was in inverse ratio to the size and furnishings of the house. High heeled shoes and hobble skirts, two-story starched collars and tile hats are fashion signs of civilization, but I cannot see why a ring in the nose and a tattooed arm might not have answered just as well. I am getting harder to convince that a broad foot, shaped on the lines laid down by the Creator, is less beautiful or desirable than the one-toe pointed shoe, decreed just now by our particular brand of culture, and today I would as lief defend the cult of the simple red man as the savagery that disgraces the lands across the water. Whatever the merits of the matter, for one month of the year we and our tent and automobile abandon ourselves to barbarism, and live as we please. This year we chose to spend our month on the Yellowstone Trail, the road that leads from the Twin Cities to the Yellowstone National Park, and which is different from other roads leading in the same direction mainly by its yellow mark, faithfully directing the traveler on his way and preventing the loss of time in getting directions at doubtful cross roads. Our party consisted of a young botanist, and his wife, my wife, myself and our small boy Alan. Our equipment consisted of a tent, 7x7 ft., weighing, stakes, poles, partition and all, 16-1/2 lbs.; a trunk on the running board made to hold bedding and grub box, and an oil cloth to use as a tent floor. Like the Indians we go light, and live the simple life while on the trail. We get off at six o'clock in the morning, eating our breakfast on the move as we get hungry; lunch at noon by the roadside, and camp early, seeking the most interesting spot, from the top of a butte to a pleasant river valley--and cooking the one square meal of the day by such a brushwood fire as we are able to gather. [Illustration: "Us" and some others at a mountain cabin.] For the first few days we try to provide some straw to temper the hard earth, but as the days go by, and we get used to roughing it, we sleep soundly with nothing but a blanket and oil cloth between us and mother earth. We pin back the tent door, and with the night wind fanning our faces, close our eyes to the stars and flickering campfire. Some who have never camped are afraid of bugs, snakes and wild animals. We have spent our vacation month this way for twenty-five years, have camped in most of the counties of Minnesota, and in Iowa, the Dakotas and Montana, and have never had but one unpleasant experience of the kind. That was one night when we pitched our tent after dark on the bottoms below Fort Snelling, and did not know till we had laid ourselves down that a colony of ants had pre-empted the spot before us. We did not get much sleep, but we had the comfort of feeling that they were nice, clean, self-respecting, self-defending ants. Would that our experience in hotels had been equally fortunate! [Illustration: A young Douglas fir.] Leaving the western boundary of the forests of Minnesota near Glencoe and going across the prairie and plains to the mountain forests of Montana is an interesting experience. The only trees in Western Minnesota and the Dakotas are those found along the lakes and water courses, and west of the Missouri the trees and shrubby growth, even in such places, becomes very scanty or entirely disappears, giving a weird appearance to one who has always associated water and trees together in his mind. As we draw near the Montana line, trees begin to appear on the tops of the buttes and high bluffs on the distant horizon. Traveling on the railroad I have wondered what they were. With our own private car we satisfied our curiosity by zig-zagging our way up to a camping place among them, the first night they came in sight. Of course they were our old friends, the Ponderosa pine, whose name will always be associated with our grand old man from Nebraska. They ought to be renamed the Harrison pine. How they endure the drouth and cold in a soil so poor that grass withers and dies out, and how they stand erect where every other living thing bows to the bleak winds and blizzards of the prairies, is one of the mysteries of plant life. What a splendid bonfire we made of their boughs that night, flaring as a beacon out over the ocean of prairie about us! The day before we had passed by hundreds of clumps of a beautiful blue lupine with finely cut foliage and profusion of color that rivaled any flower of its shade I have seen in cultivation. On the way home we gathered a handful of seed from which we shall hope to grow some plants at home. We tried to dig a few to transplant, but their roots seemed to go down, down, till with my short handled shovel, I got discouraged. The herbage of the plains has learned to dig deep for water. [Illustration: A camp by the Red River of the North, Mrs. Wedge sitting by a giant cottonwood. Our 16 lb. tent at the right.] Leaving the Yellowstone at Big Timber and striking across the plains to the Snowy Mountains, we found the Ponderosa pine, and soon the Flexilis pine, wherever a rocky ridge is lifted above the level of the plains, so that these trees were in sight a large share of the time, even far away from large rivers and groups of mountains. If a homestead anywhere in that state is not cozily protected by bright colored evergreens it is not because there is any difficulty in getting trees that will thrive in that soil. [Illustration: A young Ponderosa pine.] The Snowy Mountains are in the center of Montana, quite unsheltered from the other ranges of the Rockies. It is the meeting place of the flora of the mountains and the plains. I think it is the eastern limit of that peerless tree of the Rockies, the Douglas fir. I gave my impressions of this tree to the society a year or two ago. I am still more in love with it from what I again saw last August in its native Snowy Mountains, and from the bright, sturdy little trees that have been growing at my home in Minnesota for two years past, giving assurance of their willingness to be transplanted to our moister air. It is the coming evergreen for the prairies, and it will be a happy day for all who plant an evergreen west of the natural timber when the Douglas fir has displaced the trees that come from the cool, moist forests of Europe and the sheltered woods of our own lake regions. I think the Snowys are also about the eastern limit of the little broad-leaved evergreen called the Oregon grape, that I believe every one in Minnesota can grow for Christmas greens. From my first acquaintance with it I got the impression that it required shade, but this time I noted that it was growing all over the bare ridges that radiate from the mountains, wherever it was possible for a little snow to lodge. We can substitute a light sprinkling of straw when snow is lacking. It certainly does not require shade. The Mariposa lily is a unique flower that springs up in open places and produces a white blossom about the size and shape of the wild morning glory. It grows about a foot high and produces one or two flowers on each stalk. It must have a long period of bloom for ripe seed pods, and blooming plants were common at the same time in August. The Canadian buffalo berry and a dwarfish birch are two mountain plants of no small ornamental value for the plains. They may not endure the moister air near the Mississippi, but there we have already many useful natives, like the black haw and thorn apple, that are as yet almost unnoticed. [Illustration: Group of Douglas fir on the mountainside. Thirteen trees in a space of only two square rods. None less than two feet in diameter.] One of the principal charms about the great country traversed by the Yellowstone Trail is its newness and freshness. Millions of acres just as the Indian, the buffalo and the coyote left them--broad stretches as far as eye can reach without a sign of human habitation. But this is fast passing away. Out among the sage brush in land as poor and desert-like as could well be imagined, homes are being mapped out by the thousand, and crops of grain were grown this year that rival the best yield in any of the older states. The time is close at hand when the main highways will be built up and made so hard and smooth that two hundred and fifty miles will be made as easily as our average runs of one hundred and fifty. The way will be safer and speedier, but it will lack some of the spice of adventure, and it will be harder to realize the simple life about the camp fire that now seems to harmonize so well with the wildness of the plains. The Minnesota Orchard. A QUESTION AND ANSWER EXERCISE LED BY J. P. ANDREWS, NURSERYMAN, FARIBAULT. Mr. Andrews: This is a very important subject. We have been talking about it a long, long time, and we have advanced a little, ought to have advanced quite a little more, and this exercise is along the road of improvement in that line. Anything that is bothering us, anything that is in the way of our success with the apple orchard, ask what questions you can, not that I can answer them all, but there are some good orchardists around here that I know I can call on, in case I can not. In this exercise the questions come first, and it is for you fellows to start the ball rolling. There is one thing we are lacking, that is winter apples. We have enough of fall apples, seems to me, so we can get along very well, but we are looking for something a little better quality than Malinda and that will keep somewhere near as long. All these new seedlings that have been introduced in the past and big premiums offered, they seem to have stopped right there and we are not getting the benefit of but one or two. If they had been adapted to the north, as they should have been, we undoubtedly could have had several good varieties of apples that we could recommend for planting a considerable ways north of here that are good. As it is now we are really looking in this southern part of the country for keeping apples. I should think if we could get these new varieties of seedlings that are keeping well introduced into the Fruit-Breeding Farm and let Supt. Haralson handle them under number and send them off to the north of us a good ways, we could have them tested. Those that have exhibited these new seedlings and got premiums for them, they ought to be a little more free to get them in some shape so that they will be tested and we will learn their worth. They have their premiums, they got those simply because they are good keepers. Well, now, that isn't anything in their favor for Minnesota planting, not very much. Of course, good keepers, that is a good thing, good quality is another thing, but the first thing is hardiness, and the people who have been drawing these premiums have been seemingly backward in getting them in shape to test. They are afraid to put them out for fear somebody might steal them, but if Mr. Haralson had the handling of them under number nobody could steal them. You have got title to them and control them just as well as when you keep them right on your place where they haven't a chance to show whether they are hardy or not. There is the weak point in this seedling business for Minnesota, I think. But the apple orchards of Minnesota, if you are not all getting the good results that you want from your orchards, if you are not all getting a full crop, what is the reason? The last year and this year we have failed of getting a good crop of apples or almost any crop, whereas before, ever since the old orchard was planted in 1878, why, we have regarded the apple crop as really a very much surer crop than almost any of the farm crops, but the last two years we have failed to get a crop. I attribute the poor crop a year ago to such an excessive crop as we had the year before that. Two years ago everything was loaded, breaking down, because we didn't thin them as we ought to, and we could hardly expect very much the next year. This last year, you know we had frosts quite frequent up to about the 10th of June, I think that was the reason we had such a failure this year. Our own orchard is on ground that is about 225 feet above Faribault, so we have got air drainage, and we would expect to escape frosts on that account and have as good a crop as anybody else would in that neighborhood. But that wasn't the case. We didn't get any apples, and yet during county fair why there was quite a nice show of nice fruit that they had picked up a few here and a few there, where really their location seems to me could not have been any better than ours. I don't know what the reason was, but it was very patchy, and I didn't dream we would have such a good show of fruit as we did, and I couldn't tell where it came from. Mr. Philips: I think when the trees are loaded so heavily, if you would pick off a third of them you would get more out of the balance of the crop. Mr. Andrews: Yes, I think that. The question is, if we pick off a third of a heavy crop, if we have a heavy crop, if that wouldn't help the next crop. It surely would. Mr. Philips: Help that crop, too, in the price. Mr. Andrews: Yes, sir, it will pay that year besides paying the next year, too; it will pay double. Mr. Philips: It is a good plan any year. Mr. Andrews: Yes, we ought to do that, we are lacking in that work of thinning the fruit. We sometimes have a late frost that will take off part of them, thin them that way, or wind, or something of that kind, and we rather depend on that feature of it. Then in that time of the year we are very busy and liable to have some things neglected, and that seems to be the one that is almost always neglected. Mr. Brackett: Would you advocate the extensive planting of apples in this climate? Mr. Andrews: I would not. At the same time you take it in the southern part of the state I presume they can grow them there. They can grow there many things we can't think of growing in this part of the state unless it be along Lake Minnetonka. Mr. Older: Where you have an orchard ten years old, is it best to seed it down or still continue to cultivate it? In the west they have to cultivate. What is the best in this country? I know one man says it is best to keep on cultivating while it is growing, and another man says that that will kill the trees. I want to know which is the best. Mr. Andrews: I think cultivation is the thing that ought to be done until the trees get well to bearing, anyway, and then it furnishes nitrogen to the soil to seed it down to clover. If we don't do that we are very liable to neglect that element in the soil. The better way to my mind is to cultivate for eight or ten years, and then I do think it is all right perhaps, for farmers, I mean, who will neglect the cultivation if they depend on it. That is, if they make up their minds it is better to cultivate than it is to seed down, their trees are more apt to be neglected. During the busy part of the season they won't cultivate as constantly as they ought to. If they would do that I have not much doubt but what cultivation would be all right right along, if you will furnish that nitrogen that ought to be in the soil for the protection of the crop. Clover is the easiest way to get that, and the trees will be more sure to have the benefit of that if you sow to clover and grow a crop of hay and turn it under, possibly let it be into clover two years, but turn that under and cultivate for two or three years and then put into clover again. I think that would be preferable for the farmer, for the farmer especially, than it would to undertake to either cultivate all the time or seed down all the time. I don't believe it is a good thing to seed down where there are young trees growing and while the orchard is young. If you will plant your potatoes in that orchard between the rows and cultivate it, you will do the cultivating. I haven't got very much faith in the average farmer--I don't mean you horticulturists--but the average farmer. If he will plant trees and you advise him to cultivate them while they are young, they will be neglected after the first year or so. He may while the fever is on, he may cultivate them one year and the next year about half cultivate them, and the following years they will grow up to grass and weeds. Whereas, if he plants potatoes he gets just the right cultivation for the trees if he cultivates the ground enough to get a good crop of potatoes. Then in the fall when he digs the potatoes he loosens up the ground, and it takes up the moisture, and after the fall rains they go into winter quarters in good shape. It seems to me that is as near right as I could recommend. Mr. Hansen: What distance apart ought those apple trees to be? Mr. Older: Another question along that line. Suppose we concede that a young orchard ought to be cultivated until it gets eight or ten years old, then which is the best when you seed it to clover to cut the clover and throw the hay around the trees for a mulch or just take the hay away, or what? Mr. Andrews: I think it would be better to put the hay around the trees for mulching. If the hay is used and the barnyard manure is taken to the orchard that would fill the bill pretty well. Now, the distance apart? Grown trees really need about thirty feet apart each way. If you run the rows north and south and put them thirty feet apart, and sixteen feet or a rod apart in the row, with a view to taking out every other tree, you might have to go under bonds to take them out when they are needed to come out (laughter), or else you would leave them there until you hurt your other trees. If you would take out every other tree when they get to interfering after several years, eight or ten years, you can grow a double crop of apples in your orchard, but if you do the way you probably will do, leave them right there until they get too close, you will-- Mr. Hansen: Spoil all of them? Mr. Andrews: Yes. Then you better put them out a little farther apart, and, as I said, two rods apart each way I don't believe is too far. Our old orchard that we put out in 1877 is just on its last legs now. At that time, you know, we didn't know anything about what varieties to plant, we didn't have as many as we have now. The old orchard only had the Duchess and Wealthy for standards, and half of the orchard was into crabs, because I thought at that time crabs was the only thing that would be any ways sure of staying by us. Well, those trees are about through their usefulness now, the standards. They have borne well until the last two years, generally loaded, and they were put out at that time fourteen feet apart each way, breaking joints so that they didn't come directly opposite. And when they got to be twelve or fifteen years old, it was difficult to get through there with a team or with any satisfaction, it was rubbing the limbs too much. Then the next orchard we put out on the farm was twenty-four feet by fifteen or sixteen feet in the row, the rows twenty-four feet apart. I wish they were a little farther apart, although that hasn't bothered very much about getting through between the rows, but it shows that a tree that is any ways spreading in its habit really needs about two rods each way. Are there any other questions? Mr. Brackett: Do you think a Wealthy orchard under thorough cultivation, making a rank growth, do you think it is as hardy as an orchard seeded down, and do you think that a Wealthy orchard would blight more than other kinds? Mr. Andrews: If the ground is rich and under thorough cultivation it does tend to cause fire blight. I haven't followed it on anything but young orchards. When they have commenced to bear then we have generally seeded down and turned in the hogs, and we have rather neglected the cultivation after that. I do think that if we had cultivated a little more often it would have been better. Mr. Older: What do you consider the best to seed down with, clover or alfalfa? Mr. Andrews: I have never tried alfalfa. I don't see why it wouldn't be all right, if you don't try to keep it too long. It would furnish the nitrogen all right. Mr. Older: Which kind of seeding down would you prefer, what kind of clover? Would you want the Alsike clover or sweet clover for an apple orchard? Mr. Andrews: I haven't tried anything but the medium clover. The sweet clover I think would be rather a rank grower. Mr. Older: If you are going to mow it, why not mow the sweet clover same as the other? Mr. Andrews: That would be all right. If you were going to use it for mulching, I think it would be the thing, because it would be better for mulching than for feeding. Mr. Ludlow: I would like to give a little experience in putting in alfalfa in an orchard. We got the seed, the Grimm alfalfa, I think, is the name of it, and I got a good stand. We got seed from it the first year, and I sowed more, but there seemed to be something about the alfalfa that would draw the pocket-gophers from two miles around. The second year I think I had nineteen of my thriftiest apple tree roots all eaten off. I didn't know there was one in the field because there were no mounds at all. In the spring I found where they were at work, and I catch on an average of twenty pocket-gophers out of that mound every year. Talk about cultivating, the pocket-gophers will cultivate it, and the alfalfa is pretty much all eaten out and it has come into bluegrass. Mr. Harrison: That question as to alfalfa; the experience is always that the roots go too deep so it hurts the apple trees. Red clover seems to be the clover that is favored by most people. Mr. Andrews: Mr. Ludlow spoke of the pocket-gopher favoring alfalfa. We have a patch of alfalfa right near the apple trees. I don't remember that I have noticed any pocket-gophers work in that piece at all. On the opposite side of the road, where it is clover and timothy, why, they work there tremendously. I know Brother Ludlow was telling us a little while ago at dinner about pocket-gophers working on his place, and I wouldn't wonder if he is blessed with an extra colony of them there. Mr. Ludlow: I try to catch them all out every year. I catch out on an average about eighteen to twenty every fall, so as to catch them before they increase early in the spring. It seems as though they came from a distance. I know one came into my garden this year. I didn't know there was a gopher within a mile, and in one night he made four mounds in the middle of my strawberry bed. Mrs. Glenzke: Did you ever try poisoning them? Mr. Ludlow: No, I never did. I am most successful in catching them in a trap. Mr. Brackett: Have you got any pocket-gophers that do not make mounds? Do you understand that? Mr. Ludlow: No, sir, I don't understand that, but when they came in and killed the nineteen trees in the fall I hadn't seen a mound there. In the spring I found where they were at work, and then I went after them. City "Foresters" and Municipal Forests. PROF. E. G. CHENEY, UNIVERSITY FARM, ST. PAUL. Several cities in the state have appointed "city foresters." This is a step in the right direction, if it is a precursor to the establishment of municipal forests for these men to manage; otherwise it is a misnomer and can only be misleading to the people. The city governments, in an endeavor to create a complete park organization, have so far adopted this title from European practice without much regard to the duties of the officer. A forester handles trees in mass formations,--sometimes for timber production, sometimes for the protection of water-sheds, sometimes for aesthetic effect or park purposes,--but always in the mass. The handling of shade trees such as we have in our city streets is the work of an arborist. The planting of large ornamental trees, the pruning of the individual for formal effect, the filling of cavities and the bracing of weak parts, are no part of a forester's work; nor do they necessarily fall within his knowledge. An expert should undoubtedly be in charge of the work, but an expert arborist, not a forester. The title is, therefore, when combined with the present duties, unfortunate, because it gives the people--still struggling with a hazy conception of forestry--a wrong idea of the true character of the real forester's work. Two very obvious ways of avoiding the difficulty present themselves,--either to change the title or to change the duties. The former would probably be much easier of accomplishment, but the latter is without question the course which the city ought to pursue. Since the cities have adopted the title of "city forester," and so obtained a more complete park organization on paper, why not make the improvement real by adopting the rest of the European practice and creating city forests for these new officers to handle? That would indeed be a real improvement, and one without which any city park system is lamentably lame. Nearly every large city has some large park within in limits kept in a more or less natural condition as a recreation ground for its people, thus recognizing its influence for health and social betterment. How much it would increase this influence if there were a considerable tract of forest within easy reach of the city! How much better approach it would make to the city than the unsightly waste places so often encountered! How much better setting it would make for the suburban residence sections! Such a municipal forest is not a Utopian dream, but a practical thing well within the reach of almost any city. The law passed by the last legislature makes it possible for a city to purchase land for such a purpose either within or without the city limits. The activities of the present park boards show that money can be obtained to carry out such plans. The establishment of the forests would be less expensive than is generally imagined. The amount of money expended on the Gateway Park in Minneapolis would buy hundreds of acres of city land within fifteen miles of the city. With the aid of a municipal nursery, such as every park system should have, this land could be planted up at a total expense, for stock and labor, of six to eight dollars per acre. The cost of maintenance would be limited to the patrol of the tract to prevent fire and trespass. Of course, there might be no money revenue from the forest for many years, but in a comparatively short time it would begin to fulfill its purpose as a park, and once the timber is mature, there would be a continuous net annual income of from five to ten dollars per acre. Suppose that the city had 10,000 acres of such forest paying a net annual revenue--in addition to its full services as a park--of from $50,000 to $100,000 toward the maintenance of the other city parks, and it must be remembered that for every dollar of net revenue the forest would pay an additional dollar or more in wages to swell the coffers of the city;--certainly that would be something very much better than anything that the city has at present. St. Paul, with the bottom lands and cliffs on either side of the river between Hastings and Minneapolis, could make a beautiful and profitable park of what now threatens to develop into a monumental waste. Duluth could make a forest which would be unsurpassed in beauty and usefulness by any in the world out of the brushy, unoccupied, rock-bound hills as far west as Thompson. Mankato has a glorious chance for the same work along the Minnesota valley. Virginia and Hibbing could do nothing better than make such use of the rocky, mine-scarred hills in their vicinity. And so opportunity might be cited for almost any city in the state. For the municipal forest need not be confined to the big cities. In fact, in some respects the smaller city has an advantage over the larger place. Suitable land can usually be obtained near the city at a much more reasonable price and the revenue obtained bear a much larger ratio to the total expenses of the town. There are some small towns in Germany where the entire running expenses are paid by the revenues of the town forest, and one or two where the forest not only pays all of the taxes but also pays a cash pension to a number of the older inhabitants. Certainly our towns, looking forward to an endless and progressive existence, cannot afford to neglect this opportunity to develop a useful park, to provide a source of cheap wood and lumber for future generations and a substantial revenue for the city. Expert advice need not be employed until the size and revenue of the forest warrants it, for the State Forest Service stands ready to help--by the selection of land, the formulation of plans, and consultation--any city that is wise enough to take advantage of this law. The "city forester" can then be a forester indeed, and one of the good points of the European city government will have been adopted in fact as well as in name. The Salome Apple. H. W. HARRISON, ROCHESTER, MINN. SO. MINN. HORT. SOCIETY. The Salome apple is named after one of the faithful Bible characters, Salome, who was associated with Martha and Mary while our Savior was on earth and was also a witness of his crucifixion. Thus the name alone commands respect. It was originated in eastern Canada, and it was introduced here some twenty-five years ago by the Princeton Nursery Company of Illinois and has proven to be very hardy on different soils and locations. It is grown in the southern tier of counties of Minnesota and as far north as New Ulm. Like all good things it has had a hard fight to overcome its opponents. At the time it was introduced here there were Ben Davis and other tender varieties delivered in its place in certain localities. These not being hardy of course gave the Salome a black eye. Nevertheless it is an apple that should be grown extensively because of its hardiness, its clean appearance and upright growth, spreading just enough to admit air and light. Its fruit will keep in ordinary cellars until May or June. It is medium in size and color, red streaked with green and yellow. Flesh is yellow and sub acid. Like all winter varieties it is slow to come in bearing but yielding heavily when it does bear, whenever other varieties do. Let us not lose sight of this excellent fruit in our desire to produce something new and original. How May the State University and the Horticultural Society Best Co-Operate? GEO. E. VINCENT, PRESIDENT MINN. STATE UNIVERSITY, MINNEAPOLIS. Now, so far as I can understand, the only excuse for interpolating me in a program of this kind is that you are giving so much attention to technical subjects, you are working so hard, you need from time to time relief in order that you may not suffer from brain fever or any of the ailments of overstudy. I am confident from this point of view anything I may have to say will meet that need completely. The relationship between this society and the university strikes me as typically American. There are two ways of doing things--leaving public undertakings entirely to private initiative, to individuals, to voluntary groups; that is one plan. There is another plan which consists in putting everything into the hands of the state. Constituted authority takes charge of the whole life of the citizen's, all the activities and enterprise are made public, state affairs. Those are the two extremes. The dangers of those two methods are very obvious. Many enterprises left to private initiative will be done in haphazard fashion; there will be duplication and waste. When the state undertakes all these enterprises it changes the whole aspect. Public management may make for a certain efficiency, but it sooner or later undermines the initiative, the feeling of responsibility of the individual. We are a practical people, we compromise and combine the various methods of doing things. It is the typical American way to combine private initiative with a certain measure of state co-operation. The work for horticulture in the state of Minnesota has been developed under exactly these conditions. If I remember rightly, this society was organized in 1867. It has assumed a definite leadership in the development of horticulture in the state of Minnesota; the university has gradually been adapting itself, so to speak, to the work of this society. The society and the university have officially been in close relationship. I believe that in the early days the secretary was at the same time a university officer and for the last twenty-five years, I am told that at least one expert of the university staff has always been a member of the executive board of this society. This has made a personal bond. Then the society has done a great many important things. You have stood by at times when people were not perfectly certain about the importance of various kinds of scientific work. You have been steadfast. Sometimes it required courage to stand for the scientific ideals which the university was attempting to carry out in important work that had a bearing upon horticulture. And you have, of course, the chief responsibility and distinction of having seen to it that our fruit-breeding farm should be established. I believe you were also kind enough to pick out the site, although none of you were personally interested in the particular real estate ultimately purchased. So that we feel--we of the university feel--that the work of horticulture in this state is distinctly a co-operative undertaking, and that the leadership and enterprise and vision of this society have been the chief things that developed horticulture in Minnesota to the point it has reached. But we do believe that the co-operation of your university is an important and, we hope, from now on will be an increasingly important thing. Certain work is going on constantly at the University in the various departments, and that work is of distinct benefit because you recognize it. We had a good illustration a few minutes ago. The professor of soils was having his brains picked, as he had a perfect right to have, by you. You were asking him questions, and I noticed once or twice he said he didn't know. That must have inspired confidence in him; I have a good deal of faith in people who don't know it all. That shows two things--they have a sense of humor, and they expect to find out. There is something pathetic in a person who knows it all; it is a case of arrested development. So out of the department of soils you expect to get the result of careful and scientific study of the nature of soils. From the department of plant pathology you expect to learn about the various forms of plant diseases and the way in which these may be eliminated. From the department of entomology you expect to learn something about the troublesome insects, which are so universal an annoyance. I think they simply exist to test our character, to see whether we have courage to go on, bugs or no bugs. We do the best we can to become familiar with the habits of these nefarious creatures and let you know what we know. So I might call attention to one or two other departments--but you know how much is being accomplished. You get regular reports. You have a committee to visit and investigate our fruit-breeding farms. If I may judge from the reports which your committee makes--I don't know whether it is because it is one of your children and you are indulgent--your committee seems to think good things are being done and distinct progress recorded at the fruit-breeding farm. With your support and confidence we are enlarging the work there. It seems we should have more land in the early future, and we may ask for your co-operation in convincing the powers that be that such increase of territory is necessary. How many members have you? 3,407 members, I believe. Perhaps you have more since that number was given this morning. At any rate, there is a good number, and when you think of all the wisdom and all the experience that those 3,407 people have, it seems a great pity not to get it organized in better form. Come and pick some more brains while these brains are still available and organize this great mass of knowledge. Here is the next problem. Who are the people that are going to take your places? Who is to have a gold watch given him fifty years from now--or given to her fifty years from now? This thing is to go on, and how? It goes on by discovering in Minnesota the horticulturally-minded people in the state; you must always be on the lookout for people who are to do the big things. The great European governments are considering how they are going to keep their armies recruited, how the next generation is to be brought in and organized. That is the same problem in every nation. It is extremely necessary to put out dragnets for specialists. There are probably thousands of men in Minnesota who are horticulturists, they are dormant horticulturists, and your business and ours is to try to discover them. So the problem with us is how to get out the dragnet. You know there is a great biological principle that is illustrated in the lower types of animals. Millions of fish eggs are produced for every hundred that actually fertilize and amount to anything. So when you are looking for results in a great subject, when you are trying to discover people, when you are putting out a dragnet, you have to try a very large number with the hope of discovering the relatively few who really show the divine spark, who are really the men that you are looking for. It is a very interesting thing when you come to think about it, all the while we are looking for special ability in modern activities we do it by fashion. Fashion is something that victimizes the ladies. They do not care for fashion itself, it is thrust upon them from the outside. Most women conform to fashion on the principle of protective coloring; they do not care for it themselves, but they do not want to be conspicuous by not conforming; so they protect themselves that way. I consider fashion is a beneficial thing when you look at it the right way. By fashion all kinds of new things are started throughout the country, and you discover certain people who have a special aptitude. It becomes the fashion to do various things, and in many cases people become interested and develop their own special tastes and faculties. I am tremendously interested just now in rural education. We want a rural school that will be attractive. We are interested in getting houses for the teachers to be built right alongside the school house. Then there will be the garden in connection with the house, the flower garden and the tree planting. Some of us are looking forward to the time when the rural school will be the most charming spot in all the countryside, not a place from which the teacher escapes at the earliest possible moment on Friday to return reluctantly on Monday morning, but a place where she wants to remain, where the rural school will be the center of the community and community life. It will be an attractive place for the best kind of teacher. When we can get to that point we shall be able to establish in the rural regions an institution that will be a vital part of the whole community and a thing of joy and of beauty. That gospel might be extended to the tree planting on the farmstead. You know what the state art society had been doing. There is another dragnet. You have seen the Minnesota Art Journal, which is dealing with the problems in tree planting of the farm, planting around the farm house; That in connection with the modern farm house that has been suggested, these things have a very important bearing upon problems in which both you and the university are interested. And then we can look forward to the time when you will have your permanent home, if not on the farm grounds themselves at least near there, where we could co-operate and use the same building, so that while it would be yours you will feel that it is being utilized throughout the year in such a way that the expenditure of the money would be justified. There is a fine vista ahead of us, a vista of the things to be, accomplished by means of this American combination of private initiative and enterprise and idealism and the support of the state for certain details of work which can be best accomplished in that way. The Shelter Belt for Orchard and Home Grounds. A DISCUSSION LED BY JOHN W. MAHER, NURSERYMAN, DEVILS LAKE, N. DAK. Mr. Maher: The subject this morning is to be on "Shelter-Belt for Orchard and Home Grounds." I am satisfied, provided the "Home Grounds" include the whole farm. The entire farm needs shelter, particularly from the hot, drying winds and other destructive winds that uncover and cut down crops in springtime and carry away the fertile top soil; and the summer winds, hot winds, of course, that eat up the moisture; and those destructive winds that sometimes harvest our barley and other crops before they are cut. We need protection from all these winds, and in this latitude these winds blow uniformly from the southwest. So every farm should be protected from them by a substantial shelter-belt on the west and south sides, which can also be the farm wood-lot. [Illustration: Apple tree windbreak at Devil's Lake Nursery. Hibernal in the foreground. Patten's Greening in the distance.] There is another phase of protection that has been emphasized this year very much, and that is, protection against summer frosts and late spring frosts. A gentleman living at McIntosh, near Crookston, in this state, told me that corn matured up there wherever it was protected from the north wind. At the Devils Lake Nursery we had a 400-bushel per acre potato crop protected only by the blocks of nursery stock, whereas the yield in the vicinity was from nothing to fifty bushels per acre--and I believe if Mr. Andrews will inquire into the location of the good apple crops about Faribault he will probably find they were saved by similar shelter protection, or the natural lay of the land. Mr. Kellogg: What is your best windbreak? Mr. Maher: The evergreen is the best windbreak for the reason that it gives more shelter, retains its leaves in the winter and fewer rows of trees will make a good shelter-belt. The variety--that is, west of the timber line in Minnesota--I should say the best would be the Ponderosa pine, or bull pine, after that the jack pine may be, or else the Colorado blue spruce and the Black Hills spruce. Mr. Kellogg: Colorado spruce is too expensive to set out as a windbreak. Mr. Maher: Well, the green varieties. I don't see why they should be any more costly than the others. Of course, they are held at a higher price, but they make a good windbreak because they are easily grown and are perfectly hardy to stand the dry atmosphere and the hot winds. [Illustration: American Elm windbreak at Devil's Lake, N.D.] Mr. Kellogg: What is the reason there are so few of them really blue? Mr. Maher: I don't know. There is only a small percentage, probably 15 per cent., that are blue. I think the dryer atmosphere produces more blue than the more humid atmosphere. We have more blues in North Dakota than you will find even here. I believe it is the dry atmosphere and the intense sunlight that causes the blue, because the red cedar in North Dakota, the native red cedar, is really a silver cedar and has a blue sheen, or rather, a silver sheen. A Member: How large do the trees have to be to be of benefit? Mr. Maher: I have a friend out of Devils Lake who had 160 acres of flax destroyed by a spring wind that hits the earth at such an angle. It picked up the earth and cut the flax off, by reason of the clay hitting the little plant, except about a hundred foot strip along the west side, and that was protected by a growth of grass and weeds not to exceed a foot in height. So it depends on the kind of wind a great deal and the angle at which the wind strikes the grounds. Now, the distance that a windbreak will protect a field has been studied out and measured and demonstrated by a great number of men. Mr. McGee, at Indian Head, gave a great deal of thought and study to the windbreak proposition and measured the distances that the shelter-belt would shelter the crops, and he came to the conclusion that for every foot in height there would be an absolute protection for a rod in distance, and outside of that actual protection there would be a long distance that would be partially protected. The same study was made by a gentleman in Iowa--I can't call his name just now--and he came to practically the same conclusion as to the distance that the protection reached in proportion to the height of shelter-belt. [Illustration: Mountain Ash windbreak at Devil's Lake, N.D.] A Member: I want a shelter mostly for apple trees. Would it be five or six years before I receive any benefit, or seven or eight years? Mr. Maher: Plant your protection when you plant your apple trees, and you will have your protection sooner than you have your apples. If you are going to do that, don't put the shelter too close to the apple trees, which is a very common fault. A Member: How much distance would you allow for the roots? [Illustration: White Willow windbreak at Devil's Lake, N.D.] Mr. Maher: I should say not less than 100 feet, anyway. Mr. Moyer: I live in southwestern Minnesota, about thirty miles from the South Dakota line, and I think it is a mistake to recommend the white spruce for planting out there. The white spruce naturally grows towards the North Pole, it extends even up to the Arctic Circle. Twenty-four years ago I purchased a dozen white spruce from Robert Douglas, who was then alive, and planted them northwest of my house. About five years ago they began to fail, and now only two or three are alive, and they are covered with dead branches. I feel sure that the white spruce have been injured by the hot winds that come across the prairies from the southwest. I don't think they can stand it. There is a variety of white spruce that grows in the Black Hills, which I think will be decided to be a different species when botanists come to study it, that will stand our prairies. Another tree that we like is the Colorado blue spruce; it is hardy and grows excellently. About twenty-three years ago, when Professor Verner was at the head of the Forestry Department at Washington he sent me 8,000 evergreens, and I set them out. They were bull pine and the Scotch pine and Austrian pine. I was over to look at them the other day. The Scotch pine, which have been set now twenty-three years, are over thirty feet high, the Austrian pine about two-thirds as high, and the bull pine, Ponderosa, is about as high as the Austrian pine. He told me to set these trees about two feet apart each way. I thought that too thick, so I set them in rows six feet apart and about two or three feet apart in the rows. He wished me to alternate the planting with deciduous trees. He recommended that I add a few deciduous trees, green ash and box elder and a few elm, and I set them as far as they would go, but they didn't go very far in setting the 8,000 evergreens. Then I thought it would be a good idea to use the wolfberry that grows wild on the prairies. I set them alternately with some of the evergreens, but as they have a very liberal root system it was hard to get them out. The finest tree in the plantation is the Austrian pine, and if it continues to do as well as it has the last three or four years I think the Austrian pine is going to be a very valuable pine for shelter-belt. Mr. Kellogg: Have you tested the Douglas spruce? Mr. Moyer: Not to a great extent. It does well in some localities. [Illustration: Soft, or Silver, Maple windbreak--to be succeeded by permanent windbreak of Bur Oak--shown growing between man and boy.] Mr. Maher: I think the real test is to get them as near native to your place as you can. The area over which the white spruce grows is greater than that of any other spruce, possibly greater than any other evergreen, especially through the northern latitudes. I don't think there is any question about the Black Hills spruce being the white spruce that was left there growing when the other timber was destroyed, if we can adopt that theory. The white spruce from seed from the Northwest, from the British Columbia countries especially, is perfectly hardy with you. It is perfectly hardy with us at Devils Lake, which is a very much more severe test, whereas the white spruce from its southern limits may not be hardy even here. I think the Black Hills spruce is perfectly hardy. The distance north and south relatively is not so important with reference to growing trees as to get them from too far in the humid district. The white spruce that I would be afraid of would be the seed from New England and from the farther east limits of its growth, where the conditions are so much more humid. Mr. Kellogg: Do you find any trouble with too much protection for orchards? Mr. Maher: Where the protection is too close to the orchards I think it is very bad. It destroys the air drainage-- Mr. Kellogg: That is why they are liable to blight. Mr. Maher: And they blight also. The air drainage is interfered with, and you get blight, and you also smother the orchard. I don't know but what the apple and the Americana plum are about as hardy trees as we have anywhere. I don't make any attempt to protect them specially except from the south and west. I don't put any northern windbreak around any orchards I set out. Of course, we may lose a crop with a spring frost all right when northern protection might save it, but with us up in our country if we have a good spring frost it is usually heavy enough to catch them anyway. [Illustration: Norway Poplar windbreak at Devil's Lake, N.D.] I have a question here: How long should a shelter-belt be cultivated? Now, that is a point on which I think too much emphasis is placed. If you set out your trees as Judge Moyer did his, close together, inside of a few years they will take care of themselves, they will form forest conditions very quickly, and cultivation is not necessary any more. Of course, if you set your trees a great distance apart where there is nothing to protect them from the burning sun, and the ground bakes and dries, then you must cultivate or mulch, but I think cultivation much better than mulching. Another question: How many rows of trees make a good windbreak? My idea is that it takes twenty rows to make a good one--of deciduous trees, of course. Two or three rows of evergreens, planted not further than eight feet apart and with joints broken, probably makes as good a windbreak as the twenty rows of deciduous trees and take less ground. Mr. Horton: Wouldn't you have an open space in those trees? You wouldn't put them all together? Mr. Maher: If I had twenty rows of trees I would put them together. Mr. Horton: Would you have an open space outside of those twenty trees for the snow to lodge in? [Illustration: Ponderosa Pine windbreak--at Devil's Lake (N.D.) Nursery.] Mr. Maher: I have never known the snow to do any hurt in a twenty row windbreak. It distributes itself in there, and the more comes the better. Mr. Horton: I have seen them broken badly with the snow. Mr. Maher: That would be probably the poplars and trees that break easily. Mr. Horton: On my farm I put out a row of twenty trees. Outside of that I left a space on the north and west six rods wide, and I put out some golden willows outside of that, and that made an open space for the snow to fall in. Mr. Maher: That is a very good plan, to have a row of willows back of your shelter-belt, especially around the home and orchard and barn ground, to hold the snow back. Mr. Moyer: I found that the snow drifted into my evergreens but didn't break them. I used lilac bushes; I planted a long row. Lilacs are very common, and I got enough to plant a long row. They are now ten feet high, and it is a magnificent sight in summer. Mr. Maher: I know the lilac is a splendid thing, better than the golden willow, because they last longer. They are more hardy, and they make a better protection, and as far as wood goes from the golden willows you get nothing except branches unless it is the white willow. I have another question here: What would you plant around the garden? For a windbreak around the garden orchard, that should have an inside protection, and the shelter-belt itself should be too far away from the garden to be sufficient protection. Around the garden I would plant Juneberry or dogwood or any of those common native berry plants. They will afford the very best kind of protection, just as good as the lilacs and just as hardy, and at the same time will produce food for the birds and bring them about your garden and keep them with you and shelter them. Mr. Kellogg: The barberry-- Mr. Mahler: The barberry would be all right, but I prefer the Juneberry and the mulberry and the dogwood, because they come up a little higher. The barberry is all right. Mr. Kellogg: I had barberry, and I dug it all up. Mr. Maher: It spread too much? Mr. Richardson: I like the Russian mulberry. Mr. Maher: Yes, sir. Mr. Richardson: Is the mulberry hardy with you? Mr. Maher: No, sir. Mr. Moyer: The buckthorn makes a very good protection. Mr. Maher: Yes, sir. Mr. Huestis: How would the golden elder do as a hedge? Mr. Maher: It would be a protection, but it is liable to spread too much. Mr. Huestis: Do you know whether the mulberry is hardy in Minnesota or not? Mr. Maher: I think from here south it is hardy, especially southeast. Mr. Moyer: It occurs to me that the Tartarian honeysuckle is about as good as any thing you can plant for birds. It is perfectly hardy on the prairies and grows up ten or fifteen feet high. Mr. Maher: The Tartarian honeysuckle and several varieties of the bush honeysuckles are splendid, and they are hardy and will grow anywhere. A Member: Did I understand some one to say that the mulberry was not hardy? Mr. Maher: It was stated that it wasn't hardy in North Dakota. A Member: I put mulberry trees in my garden yard that have been bearing mulberries for years and years. Mr. Maher: I think the mulberry is hardy from here south and especially southeast. I don't think it would grow out on the prairie very far. Mr. Richardson: It grows on the prairies southwest of here. My Color Scheme. MRS. R. P. BOYINGTON, NEMADJI. "Oh, my garden lying whitely in The moonlight and the dew, With its soft caressing coloring, Breathing peace to all who view." Our garden color scheme this year was a number of red, white and blue pictures, these pictures being supported, on the different sides, by brilliant, oriental color effects. The first picture had for its north side the south side of the cottage, which was covered with climbing roses (American Pillars and Crimson Rambler). A bed of petunias, six feet wide and as long as the cottage, came next, and was separated from about four hundred delphiniums (belladonna) by a walk which was bordered on both sides by a row of candytuft and a row of forget-me-nots, blue as a baby's eye. To the south of the delphiniums was a great bank of bridal wreath chrysanthemums, white as the driven snow. A walk on the east had the same--candytuft and forget-me-not border. To the south and west of this picture were irises and Oriental poppies in all the gorgeous coloring of the Orient, with a small space on the west where hundreds of pansies nodded their lovely faces to the stately blue larkspurs. Are we sure, as has been said, that God forgot to put a soul in flowers? To the east, beyond the walk, is another picture--Shasta daisies and blue cornflowers. On the north side is a brilliant hedge of red sweet peas. On the east and south of this most exquisite picture are Iceland poppies, red pyrethrums, and here and there are clumps of dark red sweet william. In the early morn, just after the "morning stars have sung together," and the forces of day are slowly coming into action, this is a wonderous picture. On the north side of the cottage is a screened-in porch. Here cardinal climber gives its myriads of cheerful bloom, while blue lobelia and white anemones, with the porch boxes filled with vinca atmosphere of beauty and cheer to those who come and take the social cup that truly cheers. The broad lawn slopes north to the driveway. To the east, separating the lawn from the walk, which is west of the canna beds, is a border of dusty miller next the grass and one row each of blue anchusa and red snapdragon. The silver leaved poplars in the distance give a soft sheen to the whole picture. Away to the west is a spruce hedge and inside the hedge red hollyhocks and phlox with a great row of crimson poppies. A simple garden made of simple things, and yet as we go through it to our peony bed, that gorgeous flower, standing alone in its regal, queenly beauty, we do not wonder that when one of old walked with God it was in the cool of the evening and in a garden. "Where in all the dim resplendent spaces, The mazy stars drift through To my garden lying whitely in The moonlight and the dew." My Experience in Grape Culture. JOSEPH TUCKER, AUSTIN. SO. MINN. HORT. SOCIETY During fifteen years I have had in my garden several varieties of grapes, namely, the Concord, Worden, Moore's Early and a green grape (not certain of its name). All have done remarkably well whenever the season was reasonably favorable. I mean by that the absence of the late spring and the early fall frosts, which are the greatest drawbacks to grape culture. For that reason I would not advise anyone to undertake it as a business venture on a large scale. On the other hand, where it is desired to supply the family table with fresh fruit as long as it will keep, also to add a variety of jellies and preserves for the winter, a dozen of vines will supply an ordinary family with grapes whose flavor I have never seen surpassed. You who do not always expect money to grow on everything you touch, you who admire and love a plant or vine and feel well repaid for your labor to see it grow and bear fruit, you who have a vacant corner in your garden well adapted to that purpose, I urge you most earnestly to plant some grape vines, and I assure you that with some knowledge of their care and a determination not to fail you will succeed, and you will eventually be able to see a pretty sight--for, to my mind, nothing is handsomer than a well trimmed grape row with the ripening fruit. The soil that will grow corn will produce good grapes. My advice is to select early ripening varieties, for then you will only have the possible spring frost to contend with, and that is easy to guard against. Do not fail to adopt some system of pruning, for that is the most essential part of the secret to grow good grapes. Other necessary information will no doubt be furnished by any reliable nurseryman with whom you are dealing. I wish to say in conclusion that so far I have had no trouble from any insects attacking the vines or fruit, and I have always been able to produce fruit that commands the first premium wherever exhibited. Protect the Garden against Winter Weather. U.S. DEPT. OF AGRICULTURE. At this season many inquiries come to the United States Department of Agriculture regarding the protection of garden plants and shrubs during the winter. Such flowers as peonies and hollyhocks will come up again the following year if they are properly protected during the winter, while others, like cannas and dahlias, which are more accustomed to warm climes, must have their roots or bulbs dug up and stored in a cellar. The department's specialists give the following suggestions for "putting the garden to bed": _Hardy Perennials._--Cover hardy perennials, such as peonies, larkspur, hollyhocks, columbines, iris, platycodons and perennial poppies, with a good coating of manure or other litter to a depth of 3 or 4 inches. In more southern localities this will hold the frost in the ground and keep the plant from alternately freezing and thawing; in more northern regions the manure will protect the plant from freezing to a depth that will cut off its water supply. _Cannas and Dahlias._--As soon as the tops of cannas, dahlias, gladiolus, caladiums and similar plants are killed by frost, dig up the roots or bulbs and store them in a cellar where the temperature will remain at 55 degrees, and should never go below 50 or above 60 degrees. Do not shake any more earth from the clumps of cannas and dahlias than is necessary in removing them from the ground. Place the plants on racks or in slat boxes so the air may circulate freely through them. No frost must reach the roots nor must they become too warm or dry. _Shrubs._--As a rule shrubs should not be trimmed in the fall. This process is timely immediately after the blooming period, if this is in the spring, as in the case of the snowball. If the shrubs bloom in the fall, as do some hydrangeas, the rose of Sharon, and some lilacs, they should not be cut directly after blooming but in the spring of the following year. Lilacs, snowballs and mock orange should be let alone during the winter, being neither trimmed nor covered with straw and manure. _Roses._--Almost all kinds of roses are hardy in the vicinities of Washington, D.C., and St. Louis and to the south of a line drawn between these points. From Washington northward local conditions influence the successful cultivation of certain varieties. Some roses, as the brier and rugosa, need no protection, but other varieties, such as the hybrid perpetuals, teas and hybrid-teas, need special care, particularly north of the fortieth parallel. Teas and hybrid teas hardly succeed in Chicago, although the hybrid-perpetuals grow as far north as Canada. All these classes do well on Long Island and in Boston near the sea when proper care is given them. These varieties in the vicinity of Washington need merely a little manure on the ground to prevent alternate freezing and thawing. Farther north, however, they should be treated as follows: Cut the tops to within 30 inches of the ground. Cover the roots with coarse manure or leaves or similar litter. Hold this in place by evergreen boughs which also acts as a protection. Brush from deciduous trees or shrubs may be substituted for the evergreen boughs except in the most northern regions. Mounds of earth about six or eight inches in height should be drawn about the base of the rose bushes to keep them from mice. As an added protection against mice, permit the ground to freeze slightly before winter protection is supplied. In fact, roses should not be protected until after the first light freeze, which may be expected in Washington, D.C., about the first of December, but earlier farther north. (Tops must be protected in Minnesota.--Sec.) _Climbing Roses._--In the latitude of Philadelphia and farther south climbing roses usually need no protection during the winter unless they are a particularly tender variety. Farther north these roses need protection similar to that given to the tea and hybrid tea roses. Where it is possible to do so, remove climbing roses from their supports, and cover the branches with a little dirt. A little fall trimming might be desirable to lessen the space occupied by the branches on the ground. Such side branches as are not to be needed for next season's blooming may be cut off. Such cutting off and shortening of the ends as would otherwise be done in the spring may be done in the fall before covering, merely for convenience. Growing Asparagus. A DISCUSSION LED BY E. W. RECORD, MARKET GARDENER, BROOKLYN CENTER. A Member: I want to ask if many put salt on asparagus? Mr. Record: Salt is very good, but I think only for the reason that it makes the plant tender and keeps down insects. But if I was to use anything to keep insects down I should use Paris green. Shorts or bran, that is the best for cutworms. Everybody knows that with the least scratch or mar on the side of the asparagus it will grow crooked, and then it is a pretty hard proposition to get it into the bunch ready for market in any kind of shape. A Member: Some have the idea that salt helps the growth of the plant. Mr. Record: Well, I never found it did. Mr. Baldwin: I would like to know how to control rust on the stems in the summer time. Mr. Record: Well, I can't answer, but I find that the Palmetto has less rust on it than any other variety. I have never been bothered with asparagus rust yet. Mr. Baldwin: After the bed gets to be a few years old the grass and weeds commence to come up. After you get through cutting, it is pretty hard work to get in there and clean them out. Do you find it the best way to hoe them after you get through cutting? Mr. Record: I will tell you. I cultivate right over the tops of the rows and keep on cultivating until the asparagus comes up and begins to sprout. By the time the weeds come up the second time, it is time to quit cutting. Mr. Baldwin: How deep do you put the plant below the surface in transplanting? Mr. Record: From twelve to fourteen inches. In the east they are growing asparagus, and they set out their plants, and they fill in and wait until the asparagus comes up and then they fill with rotted manure and never fertilize any more, but here there are very few that do that. I never did, but I find in putting on manure broadcast a year afterwards the shoots were very crooked. I did that one year only. After I put it on I thought I would have something good, and I didn't have anything. As soon as it comes up it starts to get crooked. Mr. Baldwin: You mean to say that putting manure on top makes the asparagus crooked? Mr. Record: That was my experience. Mr. Baldwin: I have always practiced that. I think what makes it crooked is cultivating the top and cutting the crowns off. A Member: When the weeds come in we disk it. Mr. Record: I never like to disk it. If your bed is very old you are liable to cut some of your crowns rather than to keep the weeds out. A Member: Your manure would be all gone then? Mr. Record: I know there was a man right adjoining me who had an asparagus bed, and he used a lot of rotten manure the summer before, and he got very little asparagus that was marketable. I asked him what the trouble was, and he said he didn't know. This year he had a good crop. I can't say it was the manure that did that, only it looks that way. A Member: How would you start a new planting? Mr. Record: I would plow my ground thoroughly and get it in good shape. A Member: Wouldn't fertilize the first season? Mr. Record: I would. I would fertilize my asparagus ground two years. A Member: I mean in preparing your patch for the new planting? Mr. Record: I would first plow and harrow and then fertilize. Plow both ways from fourteen to sixteen inches deep and with a fine cultivator loosen up the bottom of furrow and put in the plants and cover with a little earth. Then with the horse keep filling in the furrow. I saw this summer several men with hoes working. That is all right, but it takes a long time, especially with the proposition we are up against about hired help. I can do it just as well with the horse and four times as fast. The second year you can harrow it any way you want to. A Member: Common corn land, is that fit for raising asparagus? Mr. Record: Yes, sir, asparagus will grow on poor ground better than many other vegetables will. A Member: Will it improve that land by fertilizing with top dressing? Mr. Record: I think so. A Member: The heavy land I suppose wouldn't be good for it? Mr. Record: They raise good asparagus on clay land, but I don't think it will grow as good as on sandy soil. It is not quite so warm; it packs harder and I think more liable to grow crooked. A Member: I was called out to see a man's asparagus bed. He asked me what kind of ground I thought it must be, and I said a light soil. This man had a heavy clay, and it rained on it, and then the sun came out very hot and the top cooked, and when the little shoots were to come up they turned back. That ground wasn't good for asparagus. Mr. Record: It should have been harrowed well after that rain. A Member: You see he couldn't get in there. A Member: What fertilizer is good? Is bone meal good? Mr. Record: Any commercial fertilizer is good, I think. Bone meal is good. Mr. Crawford: Can you raise asparagus successfully in the shade or a partial shade? Mr. Record: Well, I wouldn't want too much. I have shade on both sides of mine; it is a hedge. I notice it isn't near so good next to the hedge as it is out in the middle of the bed, although shade on both sides protects it from the wind and makes it hotter. The hotter it is, the faster it will grow. Mr. Crawford: I asked the question because I have a west line shade several years old, trees are willow and box elder. Considerable of the ground is a loss to me, practically so, from that shade. Mr. Record: I don't think it is a very good place for asparagus. A Member: I would like to ask if a person on clay soil could use sawdust to work in? Mr. Record: Horse manure with sawdust, we use a great deal of that, that is, planing mill shavings. That is all right. That will loosen up the ground some, but when it is turned over, of course, it will harden up again if there comes a good hard rain on it. A Member: How many years have you maintained a bed? Mr. Record: Why, it will go from twelve to fourteen years, although the place that I am on now, I know that was good for twenty-five or twenty-six. It is practically gone now, but for twenty years it was good. But of late years it won't run over twelve to fifteen. Mr. Willard: I would like to ask something about changing an old asparagus bed to a new position. Mr. Record: I wouldn't advise you to use the old roots. You get a bed quicker by using plants that are two years old, and of course there are some plants better than others. I bought my plants in the east. Now they have good plants here, a good many of them, too, but I have never seen anything as good as I got for my last bed. The best way if I was going into it, being a market gardener, would be to go to some neighbor that had a good straight bed and get my own seed. It is very easy to save, and most anyone would give a man all he wanted and charge him nothing. All he would do would be to gather it up. Mr. Miller: I would like to ask--I only grow for kitchen garden and I presume most of us are in the same boat--we were told to plow a furrow deeply and fill it with good manure and to plant the roots with the crowns about four inches below the surface of the bed. Mr Record: Well, I wouldn't fertilize it first. I would, as I say, plow my furrow and loosen up the bottom of it, so that the plants will get a chance to get started. You know if you are plowing it out or shoveling it out it will get down to hard ground. That isn't so good. You loosen up the bottom and put your plants evenly over the ground and put in a little dirt, and if you have it a little barnyard manure. Mr. Miller: I suppose the idea of putting that in the bottom is that it is so hard to cultivate the manure on the top without doing as you mentioned? The Running Out of Varieties. PROF. C. B. WALDRON, HORTICULTURIST, AGRI. COLLEGE, N.D. There is no fact more familiar to gardeners, orchardists and farmers than the "running out" of varieties, and no question that is more obscure as to its causes. The possibility of deterioration of varieties is noted to a greater or less extent in all field and garden crops, particularly with those that are most highly developed, or which represent the greatest departure from the original species. It is evident that the cause must lie either in the environment which surrounds the variety or in the selection which it has received, or in a combination of the two. It is held also by some that aside from the influence of soil and climate, and in spite of the most rigid selection, there is an inherent tendency in varieties to depart in a more or less marked degree from the type in which they first appeared. This is particularly true of new varieties that have not yet become established. Almost before the plant breeder can determine their type they have broken up into so many distinct forms that it is impossible to get any further than the first generation. This has been noted several times with new varieties of squashes and other cucurbits, and to a similar but less marked degree with tomatoes and some other garden crops. These might well be termed evanescent varieties, and since they never become fixed or find their way into cultivation they are of interest only to the plant breeder. The influence of environment, particularly soil and climate, upon the size, quality and productiveness of certain garden crops is well known, though just what effect this may have in determining the hereditary character of a variety has never been very well worked out and is still a matter of much doubt. We know, for instance, that there is a tendency for corn grown in the middle or southern latitude to attain to a larger size and require a longer period for maturity than the same corn grown in the north. This tendency is shown in the first generation, but whether it appears as a constant hereditary character or not is still open to discussion. There are those who maintain that it is just as practical to develop a dwarf, early variety of corn in the middle latitudes with careful selection as it is to develop a variety of equal earliness when the planting is done in the north. These maintain that the reason the dwarf, early varieties of corn are not normally developed in the middle latitudes is because the selection in those places is usually made from the large plants which yield well, instead of from the small, early plants, such as would be naturally selected at the north. By the same reasoning it is held that the constant growing of any species or variety in the northern latitudes does not increase hardiness but only enables us to determine which is hardy, thereby enabling us by selection to increase the hardiness of our varieties. [Illustration: Cat-leaf weeping birch and shrubbery on campus of Agricultural College at Fargo, N.D.] We must admit that this reasoning has a sound scientific basis, its principal weakness at the present time being that there has not been enough experimental work done to determine how general and constant its application is. However true it may be as a scientific principle, we have on the other hand the undoubted fact that varieties of certain plants, like the cauliflower, are so strongly modified by environment that the varieties disappear altogether as such unless the breeding plants are grown under very definite conditions. It is well known that cauliflower seed can be grown, for instance, only in certain parts of Europe around the North Sea and to a limited extent in the vicinity of Seattle, and that cauliflower seed from any other region produces plants which not only lose all varietal characteristics but which scarcely resemble cauliflower at all. As an illustration of this same principle millet affords an excellent example. Grown at the north for a number of years, without change of seed, it becomes short with stiff straw and very large heads, yielding a large quantity of seed. When grown as far south as Tennessee for a period of five years only, it assumes a very different character, being tall and leafy with small heads and not very productive of seed. It might be possible by very rigid selection to develop a variety of millet that would tend to be tall and leafy even in the north, but it is doubtful if it would remain so, and the difficulty of keeping it up to type would be too great to make it profitable. All this is equivalent to saying that there are certain unstable varieties that are so influenced by climate that it is not good practice to try and keep them up to any given standard except when they are grown in regions which naturally develop the type that we are seeking to maintain. The more striking examples coming under this class are cauliflower, millet, onions, tobacco and some of the flowering plants. A few years ago it was supposed that the running out of varieties of celery was due to a similar cause, that is, to unfavorable environment. To this was ascribed the pithy quality that characterized some of the varieties. Upon further investigations, however, it was found that this pithy condition came about through carelessness in seed selection. There is a more or less inherent tendency in all celery to become pithy, and unless these plants are carefully excluded, the varieties will run out from that cause. The different varieties of tomatoes, egg plant and the cucurbits do not seem to be especially affected by soil and climate, and in such instances the varieties can be kept up only by rigid selection, no matter how favorable that environment is under which they are grown. With these plants there is always the inherent tendency to go back more or less to the wild state, and lapse of care in seed selection for a period of only a few years will result in a variety very different from the one which we had in the beginning. It will be seen from this that in some instances the best plan is for each farmer or gardener to develop his own strains of crops that he grows, while in other cases it is best to leave the selection to those that are working in a more favored environment so far as those varieties are concerned. There still remains to be considered the plants that are propagated asexually, like potatoes and all our cultivated fruits. From the fact that a number of our standard varieties of apples and some other fruits date back one hundred years or more, and are still as productive as at the beginning, it is evident that some asexually propagated varieties may be considered almost fixed or permanent. [Illustration: Niobe willow (Salix vitellina, var. pendula nova), on campus N.D. Agri. College, Fargo.] The buds or scions from which new trees are started are taken indiscriminately from the bearing trees, and since there is no great variation in them the varieties do not tend to change. Whether they could be improved by taking scions from only the most productive trees is still a question. There are some who consider this possible, but we do not yet have enough experimental evidence to establish it as a fact. So far it would seem that about the only crop which is propagated asexually that is likely to deteriorate, or is capable of improvement, is one that is directly modified by soil and climate. The potato is the most striking example of this class of crops. It is well known that the potato responds very readily in the matter of size, yield and quality to certain types of soil and climatic conditions. It is also known that the qualities thus acquired seem to be more or less permanent; that is, that potatoes brought from the north, especially those which have been grown in heavy soil, will produce a crop some ten days earlier and thirty per cent larger than a crop grown from seed produced in a region six hundred miles farther south. Early Ohio potatoes grown in North Dakota, when used for seed in southern Iowa, give a much larger and somewhat earlier crop than the native grown seed. This would indicate that the potato is bound to run out in a measure if grown continually in southern latitudes, and in this instance a change of seed, using always the seed from the northern latitudes and the heavier soil, is necessary, in order to keep the variety up to standard. [Illustration: Carnege library and flower beds at N.D. Agricultural College, Fargo.] It will be seen that while there is no question as to the fact of varieties running out, that they differ a great deal in this respect, and it is only through a knowledge of the facts covering each variety, or at least the varieties of each species, that would enable a grower to know what to do in order to keep a variety up to the highest standard. Mr. Kellogg: What is the matter with the old Wilson strawberry? Mr. Waldron: I think people forgot about it and began growing better varieties. I know there is an impression among strawberry growers that the Wilson strawberry has run out. I don't know. I know it has been supplanted by other varieties, and the general impression of most men is that it is because other varieties, better varieties, came in and that variety was neglected. Mr. Kellogg: It can be found in eastern catalogs now. Mr. Waldron: Isn't it as good now as it was? Mr. Kellogg: That is what I want to know. Mr. Waldron: I understand that it is from the people that have grown them. I don't know of any strawberry in my career from the first time that I have been working in strawberries that seems to be any poorer now than it was twenty-five or thirty years ago. The Wilson might be an exception. I know that has been referred to as an instance of deterioration of variety. The strawberry might be so dependent on climatic and soil conditions that it might be classed with the potatoes and not be in a class with the apples, which don't seem to deteriorate. Mr. Kellogg: Is there such a thing as a pedigreed strawberry plant that is taken from runners? Mr. Waldron: We have experiments going on at the agricultural college now. We set out a number of plants from strawberry growers that advertise a pedigreed strawberry, and beside those we have strawberry plants from growers who don't advertise them as pedigreed. This year we ought to get some returns on that; last year the patch was flooded out--we had very heavy June rains. We have about ten varieties from a large number of different growers, some supposed to be perfect and some not. We are going to have some report of them at the next horticultural meeting. I don't believe there is anything much in pedigreed strawberries. The President: In the state of North Dakota our friend here who has just spoken occupies the same position in the hearts and minds of the people of his state as do our friends Haralson, Hansen and Patten in this section. His work is along a little different line, his being almost purely an agricultural section, but he is a very practical man and is doing splendid work up there. Mr. Doty: I wish to say a word on this strawberry question. Some years ago the postmaster at Monticello wanted to know of me what kind of strawberries to set out; I was handling nursery goods at that time. I told him I would recommend to him the Wilson, the Warfield and the Haverland. The Wilson I would set in the center. He had six square rods. He set them out. The second year he invited me up to his patch and asked me to guess on how many strawberries he had raised on that patch. I said: "Six bushels"--I thought I would put it high. But he said: "I have picked twelve bushels from that patch." I said: "It can't be possible," and he said: "Come right into my shop here. I have a paper here and I put down every single quart of strawberries that I have sold here." I figured it up and found that he had twelve bushels out of that patch. I told him to set the Wilson in the center, the Warfield on one side and the Haverland on the other. He did so and that was the result, the best result that I have ever known. The President: How many years ago? Mr. Doty: Well, it was about fifteen years ago. GARDEN HELPS Conducted by Minnesota Garden Flower Society Edited by MRS. E. W. GOULD, 2644 Humboldt Avenue So. Minneapolis. October is one of the best months in which to plant shrubs. After the leaves show them to be dormant they can be safely moved and will become established before very cold weather. Each year we are learning that _more_ planting can be done in the fall if done early enough, and by so doing one escapes a part of the rush that comes in the spring. "Anything that is hardy can be moved in the fall," an old nurseryman once said to me, and it has been a safe rule to follow. But note the word "hardy" in his advice. All stock, either shrubbery or perennials, that are planted in the fall should be well mulched. The bulbs for the spring garden, except those that require early planting, will also need to be put in this month in order to make a good root growth before frost overtakes them. Here we are able to achieve exact results as they very seldom disappoint us as to color or time of blooming as some other plants do. Have you tried planting your bulbs with any of the ground cover plants that will take away the bare look that most bulb beds have? The arabis with its snowy blossoms is beautiful beneath the early tulips. The violas--with such a wide range of color--make lovely backgrounds for the later tulips, as also do the creeping phlox and the native lavender blue divaricata phlox. A bed of this beneath pale pink Darwin tulips is one of the lovely memories of last spring's garden. Another snowy white flower is the perennial candytuft, Iberis. Blooming at the same time and remaining lovely for a long period it combines well with any of the tall tulips or narcissi or daffodils. Alyssum saxatile, with its sheet of gold, and the dear forget-me-nots, both grow well beneath the tulips. The fine lacey tufts of meadow rue are lovely among the pink and white and rose tulips. Surely the bulb beds need not be bare. The very early blossoms are always the most welcome. So plant some bulbs, at least twenty-five, of scillas, snowdrops, snowflakes (Leucojum vernum). These, if left undisturbed, will increase greatly. The chionodoxas, grape hyacinths and crocuses are all well worth planting, but do not put the latter in the grass as they will not do well there in our climate. FOR OUR ROSE GROWERS. Members of the American Rose Society have been raising money to employ a trained plant pathologist to study diseases of roses. The work has been begun under Dr. L. M. Massey, of the New York State College of Agriculture, Cornell University, Ithaca, N.Y. By co-operating with Dr. Massey all growers of roses will greatly increase the efficiency of the investigations. A rose disease survey will first be made. It is here that all rose growers can help by sending specimens of diseased plants, with a statement regarding varieties affected, nature and extent of the injury, time of appearance of the disease and any other things that have been noticed regarding it. Information for the control of the disease will be given by Dr. Massey. The following directions are given to those sending specimens: "The material sent should be freshly collected and should show various stages of the development of the disease. Where roots are sent it will usually be undesirable to enclose any soil. Where convenient specimens should be mailed so as to reach Ithaca the latter part of the week. Place leaves, buds, etc., between the leaves of an old newspaper, a few between each two sheets. Then roll into a tight bundle and wrap in stout paper. Attach one of the franked tags (which may be had upon request), on which you have written your name and address, and mail. It will go postage free--H.H. Whetzel, Head of the Department of Plant Pathology, New York State College of Agriculture, Cornell University, Ithaca." * * * * * Meeting of Garden Flower Society, St. Paul, Wilder building, 2:30 p.m., October 19. Topics: "How I Made My Garden Pay" and "Work of Garden Clubs." Reports of seed trials. [Illustration: DISTANT VIEW OF A FIELD OF THREE YEAR OLD SEEDLING PEONIES ON THE GROUNDS OF BRAND NURSERY CO., AT FARIBAULT, MINN.] While it is not the intention to publish anything in this magazine that is misleading or unreliable, yet it must be remembered that the articles published herein recite the experience and opinions of their writers, and this fact must always be noted in estimating their practical value. THE MINNESOTA HORTICULTURIST Vol. 44 NOVEMBER, 1916 No. 11 Peonies--Old and New. A.M. BRAND, NURSERYMAN, FARIBAULT. About the first thing I can remember, as I look back over the years that are past, is my father's field of peonies, and of a man standing at a table with a large peony clump before him cutting it up into divisions. I remember wondering how such beautiful flowers could come out of such an ugly, dirty root. The bright little eyes, some red, some white and others pink interested me, and boy fashion I put many questions to the man about them. And then my father came by and noticing my interest in the matter, though a busy man, stopped and explained to me the process of dividing the roots. That was forty years ago, but from that day to this I have watched with ever increasing interest the growth and handling of peonies. I was but a small boy then, but I remember my father gave me his big pruning knife, and under his guidance I divided my first peony. And I thought I had done fairly well, for he patted me on the head and said it was well done and that some day I would make a nurseryman. The peony industry as far as the West was concerned was in its infancy then. We had few varieties--peony buyers had not yet become critical. I can remember of but four sorts: the white variety, Whitleyii, now called Queen Victoria; the red Pottsii and the two pinks, Fragrans and Humeii. Peonies were then sold as red peonies, white peonies and pink peonies, and that was all there was to it, and the customer felt very lucky if he got the color he ordered. But a wonderful change came over the industry along in the nineties. Some of the better varieties had worked west in different ways, and people began to waken to the fact that there were more than simply red peonies, white peonies and pink peonies. Such varieties as Festiva Maxima, Edulis Superba, Marie Lemoine, Eugene Verdier and the like came to us. Flower lovers slowly began to realize that the old, despised "piny" of mother's garden was a thing of the past, and that here in its stead we had a glorious and beautiful flower. And as the better varieties have continued to come from year to year, the interest in the flower has continued to increase until now I think I am safe in saying that in the colder portion of our country at least, and in our own state in particular, the interest manifested in the peony is greater than that taken in any other flower. And it is of this modern peony that I am asked to tell you--of its cultivation and care, how it is multiplied and how the new sorts are produced. Right here at the start I wish to correct an erroneous impression about the peony that has been spread broadcast throughout the land by means of not too carefully edited catalogues and misinformed salesmen. We often hear an agent say or we read in some catalogue, "When you have the peony planted all is done." Now this is not true. It comes a long ways from being true. I think the very results which the following out of this belief have brought about are accountable for the production of more poor peonies than all other causes put together. The peony, it is true, will stand more abuse than any other flower you can name and still give fairly good results, but if you want good peonies you must take good care of them. The planting season opens about the first of September in Minnesota--probably the middle of the month is safer--and it continues right up to the freeze-up in the fall and up to the middle of May in the spring. We have lifted peonies that have grown a foot in the spring, packed them carefully, shipped them to middle Wisconsin, and in the fall had the shipment reported as having done splendidly. September planted roots will bloom the following season. After that there is little choice between fall and spring planting. The peony root will stand lots of abuse after being thoroughly ripe, but still it is best to handle it with care. Keep it fresh and plump until planted. If accidentally it becomes shriveled, immerse for twenty-four hours in a pail of water. This will revive it. Remove from the water and plant immediately. The roots should be planted with the tops of the buds from two to three inches below the surface--not more than three inches at the most. Many times you will notice that you have a nice, thrifty looking plant, but that it does not bloom. Nine times out of ten if you examine into the matter you will find that your plant was set from six to eight inches deep--and this is why it didn't bloom. Another cause of peonies not blooming is their being planted in lawns where the soil is impoverished by the roots of large trees. The common method of propagation of established varieties is by division. Grafting is resorted to by professionals in some instances, but that does not interest us here. The peony will do well in any well drained soil, though a rich sandy loam is the best. It will give splendid results in heavy clay if well cultivated and if at the blooming season in case of drouth the plants are well watered. Of all soils a sandy one is the poorest for the production of bloom, although, on the contrary, for the rapid production of roots the lighter soils are ideal. Such soils not only produce roots much more rapidly than the heavier soils, but produce a root that divides easier and to better advantage. But it is with the cultivation of the plant that we are most interested. As I have said before, no plant will stand more abuse than the peony and still give fairly good results, but if given a good soil and then good cultivation we have no flower that will give us more satisfaction for the care we give it. When grown in large numbers peonies should be planted, if possible, so that the plants can be cultivated with a horse. Deep cultivation seems to bring the best flowers. Where we can give horse cultivation we start the cultivator just as early in the spring as we can. As a rule we start by the middle of April and keep it going through the plants once a week at least, and oftener if necessary, right up to the time when the buds start to open. Cultivation here ceases until the blooming season is over and is then resumed often enough to destroy all weeds up to the first of August. We use one and two-horse cultivators and run the shovels to within three or four inches of the plants and two to three inches deep. But few of us can cultivate in this way. Field cultivating methods are hard to apply to the lawn and garden. But we may get the same results in other ways. Clumps of peonies on the lawn should be so planted that a cultivated space encircling the plant at least a foot wide is left. This space should be covered in the fall with a mulch of well rotted barnyard manure which should be forked or spaded into the soil in the spring. And the soil about the plant should be thoroughly forked over, to a depth of two to four inches, three or four times before the blooming season. Where the plants are planted in borders and beds in the garden, mulch and cultivate in the same way, stirring the soil all about and between the plants. Care should be taken in applying the manure mulch not to get it directly over the plant if the tops have been cut back. The stems are hollow as they die out in the fall, and thawing snow and occasional rains of winter leach the strength out of the manure, and this filters down through these hollow stems and comes in contact with the roots and rots them. For the sake of protection the peony needs no winter mulch. For this latitude it is perfectly hardy. After the blooming season cut all the blossom stems back to the leaves for looks. Do not cut the leaf stalk back until about the middle of September. By that time the plant is dormant, and all top growth can be removed with perfect safety. Most of us are willing to spend this time and labor if we get results and to get the best results with peonies we must have good varieties. Of named peonies there are somewhere in the neighborhood of 2,000 varieties. Large collections now catalogue all the way from 250 to 500 sorts. From such collections it is hard for those not thoroughly familiar with the merits of the varieties to make an intelligent selection of moderate priced peonies for a small planting. For people so situated I make the following suggestion of varieties: _White_: Candissima, Festiva Maxima, Duchess de Nemours, Duke of Wellington, Couronne d'Or, Queen Victoria, Avalanche, Madam de Verneville, Mons Dupont, Marie Lemoine. _Pink_: Edulis Superba, Model de Perfection, Monsieur Jules Elie, Livingston, Mathilde de Roseneck, Alexander Dumas. _Light Pink_: Eugene Verdier, Delicatissima, Marguerite Gerard, Dorchester Eugene Verdier. _Red_: Richard Carvel, Felix Crousse, Meissonier, Rachel, Delachii, Purpurea Superba and Rubra Superba. So much for the old peonies. Now to the new ones. And the question naturally comes, why any new ones? With over 2,000 varieties shouldn't we be satisfied? No! Many of the varieties catalogued might be eliminated, and we should be the gainer thereby. I believe I am safe in saying that if the present list were cut down to 300 sorts it would cover all the varieties worth while. And there is such a great chance for improvement! So many beautiful varieties coming to us of late years beckon us on. Crousse, Dessert and Lemoine have set the pace, and we of America will not be left behind. [Illustration: Looking up the rows of a bed of our seedlings three years after transplanting. The white variety in the centre of the picture is Frances Willard, considered by us one of the world's best whites. At the time this picture was taken, the flowers were just opening, so one gets no idea of the size of the blooms after they open.] Either eighteen or nineteen years ago my father definitely set about the bringing forth of a line of new peonies. For years he had been experimenting with seedling apples. His immense collection of peonies gave him the idea of producing something better along that line. A great bed was planted out from which to collect seed. Hundreds of the best varieties obtainable were planted in this bed, two of each variety, with a very liberal use of the three varieties, Edulis Superba, Fragrans and Triumph de l'Ex. de Lille. Some twelve varieties of the most vigorous singles of all colors were also used. Bees and the elements were allowed to do the cross-fertilizing. In the fall of 1899 the first seed, amounting in all to about a peck, was harvested and planted. This seed was allowed to dry and was planted just before it froze up, directly into the field where the plants were to remain and bloom. The seed was planted about two inches deep, in rows two feet apart, with the seeds six inches apart in the row. Immediately after the ground froze a two-inch mulch of coarse slough hay was spread all over the field. This was removed in the spring and the field kept perfectly clean that season by hand weeding, as cultivation could not be practiced. No seed germinated that year. That fall the ground was again mulched, and this mulch removed early the next, or second, spring. This second season just as soon as nature began to quicken the little peonies began to pierce the soil. Standing at one end of the field and looking down the rows one could fairly see the little fellows burst forth from their long confinement and thrust their little red heads in serried ranks through the brown earth. They reminded one of line upon line of miniature red-coated soldiers on parade. A fourteen-tooth Planet Jr. horse cultivator was immediately started amongst them, and intense cultivation given the bed that season. By the end of the growing season the little plants were from two to four inches high. The next spring, the third from the planting of the seed, the young plants burst through the ground strong and robust. Cultivation was started immediately, as during the season before, and the plants made rapid growth. By the middle of May, most of them were eight inches high with an abundance of foliage. We noticed a few buds appear this season. The strong, vigorous development of the buds, of one plant in particular, continued to claim our attention, and we watched it with intense interest. Day by day the buds grew larger, and then finally a day came when the first petal lifted, and the next morning the petals spread forth in all their glory. It was a gem, we realized we had something first class. My father said after he had studied it a while, "It pays me for all my time, and money, and work. If I never get another as good I shall be satisfied." It was a beautiful dark red, very early, as good a red as Terry's Rachel. We named it Richard Carvel. Six other plants bloomed that season. One was of the Japanese type. The others singles. By the next spring the small plants were well established, and we knew by their vigorous growth that we might expect the most of them to bloom that season. Thorough cultivation was given from the start, and by the middle of May the bed was covered with a mass of buds. June came. The blooming season was at hand. Slowly the buds began to show color. Here and there over the field a petal began to lift. A short space of anxious waiting, and then a day came when it seemed as if the bed had been touched by a hand of magic, for from one end to the other it was one solid blaze of color. Before us were thousands upon thousands of flowers and no two alike. As quick as the flowers began to open we started to grade and mark them. It took two men working steadily for a week to inspect and mark this bed. Everything that looked choice was marked No. 1. Everything that looked as though it stood a chance of coming choice, if given a better chance, was marked No. 2. All other doubles were marked double with their color. And all singles were marked single with their color. When the digging season came those marked Nos. 1 and 2 were lifted and divided and each planted in a bed specially prepared for them. Each sort was staked. These plants were set in rows three and one-half feet apart and three feet apart in the row. Intense cultivation was given them for three years. The performance of each sort was recorded for each year. At the end of the third year those sorts which had come good two years out of the three were again lifted and planted in another soil and watched closely for another period of three years. This gave us a pretty definite knowledge of their behavior, made us acquainted with them. It toned down, as I might say, the enthusiasm with which we first selected them, allowed of our making careful comparison with the best sorts, and finally enabled us to keep what were really choice. We did not have any need for the others. Of the ones first selected as No. 1 from the seed bed, about thirty-five in number, we finally kept eight; of those marked No. 2, about sixty. We afterwards selected two as first class. Those plants simply marked double in the seed bed were planted in a regular field bed by themselves. Each plant was divided and staked. This bed was allowed to stand three years and the plants were carefully noted each year as they bloomed for varieties that we might have accidentally overlooked in the seed bed. Among these thousands of plants we found two sorts which we called first class. One of these, though it is sixteen years since the seed was planted, we are just about to send out. I have given you the history of this single bed because it shows about how the seedling peony must be handled. We have since varied our method in handling in a single respect. We no longer plant our seed direct in the field. We find it much better to plant broadcast in seed beds. These are much more economical to keep clean the first year. After the little seedlings are one year old or, better, after they are two years old, we lift them in September and plant them in a permanent bed. [Illustration: Our seedling Harriet Farnsley, a very late all one color pink. This variety is in bloom at the same time as Richardson's Rubra Grandiflora, at a time when most good peonies are gone. The flower from which this photo was taken measured seven inches across.] Now if any of you are tempted to grow peonies from seed let me warn you not to get too enthusiastic in anticipating results. The chances are that 999 out of every 1,000 will have to be discarded. Test thoroughly before you decide to keep. The flower my father and I both decided our best when it first bloomed we no longer keep. Our best flower is one we took no particular notice of the first two years it blossomed. But do not let me discourage you. Though eight or ten choice varieties may seem small returns, still there is a pleasure in the work that you cannot fail but feel. And when you go forth into your fields after your stocks of better sorts have increased so that you can have each kind blooming about you in long rows, and as you see first this beautiful variety and then that come into bloom, you feel well repaid for the years of waiting and the labor you have bestowed upon them. Mr. Brand: A great many people ask the question whether just as soon as the peony has blossomed they cannot cut the top off. It would be a great mistake to do so. Your peony growth does not complete its development until about the middle of September, and if you cut the top off just as soon as the plant has blossomed you are going to have a great many of them rot. We had a very striking illustration of this two years ago. Just as our peony season was closing we had a severe hailstorm which cut our peony beds right off down to the ground. We couldn't save the tops if we had wanted to. That fall when we dug our roots it was almost impossible to fill our orders, because the roots were in such terrible shape. The tops were removed before they ought to have been. Talking about disappointments with peonies, I think the peony I was most impressed with of all the seedlings we have had came good but once. That was eleven or twelve years ago. As I look back upon it I think this was the most beautiful flower we ever grew, but it never came good but that once. I was so impressed with its beauty that I took it from where it bloomed in the seedbed and planted it at my house in the garden. When it came on to bloom, it was a disappointment and has been such ever since. I still keep it, hoping that some year it may bloom again as it did that first year. Mr. Harrison: Not a bit of it. They are the most lying vegetable on the face of the earth. May I ask if Mr. Peterson, of Chicago, is here? He is an expert peony man. I presume we will all like to hear from him. Mr. Peterson: I haven't anything to add; if you want to ask questions I will be glad to answer them. The President: Ladies and gentlemen, you probably know that Mr. Peterson is one of the expert peony men of the United States. In fact, as far as fifteen years back we were able to get some of the newer and better varieties from this gentleman. I never had the pleasure of meeting him, but we want to meet you, Mr. Peterson. You have all heard of Mr. Peterson, the peony man of Chicago and a life member of this society. (Applause.) Mr. Peterson: I have nothing to add. I have been in the game a good many years. We have systematically kept track of over three hundred varieties since 1888, so that it may be if you have any questions to ask I might be able to answer them, and I would be glad to. The proposition that Mr. Brand has stated is actually within the facts. We have raised thousands of seedlings, and not one of them do we now grow. You see some of the Peterson seedlings listed in other people's catalogues, but I don't have one myself. A Member: What kind of varieties would you suggest for the ordinary home garden, best dozen varieties? Mr. Peterson: I would name for the white peonies, the Madam de Verneville, Avalanche, Couronnes d'Or; of the pale pink, Delicatissima, Marie Crousse, Grandiflora; of the red, Monsieur Martin Cohuzac, Monsieur Krelage, Felix Crousse; of the deep pink, Modeste Guerin, M. Jules Elie and Claire Dubois. I do think that Mr. Brand has some of exceptional merit that will probably be put in the red class. I don't know his others, but Felix Crousse is undoubtedly the best of its type in the red. A Member: Have you tried out the Baroness Schroeder? Mr. Peterson: I surely have. It is very fine, but it is a little changeable, not only in its habits but in its shade. If you want a perfect white, it isn't that, it is a nearly flesh white. I would say that the Madame Emile Lemoine is finer. A Member: Do you advise spraying for them? Mr. Peterson: No, but I tell you what was asked of me today, which is the secret of having no disease in our plants. Any two-year-old plant in our field that doesn't bloom, we dig it up and throw it away, and that will nip any trouble in the bud, and then you will not get any strain that is not blooming. If we see any other defect, any that won't head good, we take it up and throw it away. That one point I think all of you can well follow, and that is, to dig up every two-year-old plant that doesn't bloom and throw it away, that is, during the blooming season. Mr. Harrison: Some varieties will bloom and some won't. You have got to punish the whole on account of the few? Mr. Peterson: I do that. If I have a two-year-old plant that is blooming in a section I keep it and follow it up. Mr. Harrison: Any special rule about multiplying or dividing? Mr. Peterson: No, except to divide in September, even possibly the last week of August, and the earlier they are divided at that time when the eyes are large, the better it is. * * * * * CAN FRUIT WITHOUT SUGAR.--_Canning Specialists Say Boiling Water May Be Used Instead of Sirup._ Fruit for use in pies or salads or as stewed fruit can be put up or canned without the use of any sugar at all, according to the canning specialists of the department. They, therefore, advise those who, because of the high price of sugar, have been thinking of reducing the amount of fruit they put up to can as much of their surplus as possible by the use of boiling water when sugar sirup is beyond their means. Any fruit, they say, may be successfully sterilized and retained in the pack by simply adding boiling water instead of the hot sirup. The use of sugar, of course, is desirable in the canning of all kinds of fruits and makes a better and ready sweetened product. Moreover, most of the fruits when canned in water alone do not retain their natural flavor, texture and color as well as fruit put up in sirup. Fruit canned without sugar to be used for sauces or desserts must be sweetened. Fruit Retail Methods and Costs. CLARENCE W. MOOMAW AND M.M. STEWART, FRUIT AND PRODUCE MARKETERS, PORTLAND, OREGON. On studying the various phases of city apple marketing, special attention was given to retail methods and costs. The purpose of this study was chiefly to learn whether the wholesale supply controls the price. The cost of operation as a factor in determining retail prices also was investigated as far as possible. Retail apple distributors may be classed as follows: (a) Fruit-stand vendors. (b) Fancy grocers, fruiterers, etc., catering almost exclusively to high-class or fashionable trade and doing a very extensive credit business. (c) Grocers catering to a cheaper class of trade, largely upon a cash basis. (d) Hucksters or street peddlers. Relatively high prices were charged for apples purchased at fruit stands. Extra fancy Northwestern and Colorado Jonathans were sold to the dealers during October and November at prices ranging from $1 to $1.25 per box. Apples which grade 150 to the box retailed at two for five cents, or $3.75 per box. This meant a gross profit of about 250 per cent. In the ninety-six size, extra fancy Jonathans sold at three for ten cents, or $3.20 per box, showing a gross profit of about 200 per cent. In the East Side tenement section of New York City it was learned that by reason of the cheap prices prevailing and the heavy supply of apples arriving the peddlers were operating to the detriment of fruit stands. The fruit-stand dealers were selling only about one-third to one-half the quantity of fruit handled in former seasons. The pushcart and wagon peddlers as a rule buy packed or loose fruit cheap and go direct to the homes of the residents, selling at prices considerably below the fruit-stand men. The peddlers handle a large quantity, make quick cash sales, and pay no rents. Other dealers incur heavy operating expenses and generally sell not for the purpose of moving a large quantity, but for the highest price obtainable. Consequently, the movement is restricted. The largest profits were found usually in barreled apples. For instance, New York B grade, two inches minimum, approximately 600 apples to the barrel, sold for a cent each or $6 per barrel. These apples cost the retail dealer not over $2 per barrel delivered to his store, allowance being made for jobber's profit and drayage. The investigator saw "A grade" fruit, 2-1/2 inches minimum, averaging about 400 apples per barrel, which cost the retailer not over $3, being displayed for sale at two for five cents, or $11.25 per barrel. Such prices prevailed at no less than twenty-five retail stores visited in one day. Apples were being offered for sale at retail all over New York City at prices ranging from one cent each at the cheap corner fruit stands, to fifty cents and eighty cents per dozen at the fanciest fruit stores. In general, it may be said that the gross profits of fruit-stand vendors range from 100 to 250 per cent. Operating expenses other than rent in most cities except New York are not relatively high and all sales are on a strictly cash basis; hence the net profits on good fruit are large. Grocers catering to high-class trade buy only the best apples. Extra fancy Jonathans, Grimes, etc., preferably 138's and 150's size, were purchased at $1 to $1.25 per box. These apples were taken from the box and repacked in small splint trays similar to the peach basket used in a six-basket carrier. Each box of apples filled approximately ten trays. Each tray sold for thirty cents; hence the box brought $3, representing a gross profit of about $1.75. Extra fancy Delicious and Winter Banana, 72's size, purchased at $2 per box, retailed at five cents each, or $3.60 per box. Other sizes and varieties brought corresponding prices. No attempt was made by this class of grocers to stimulate consumption by temporarily reducing prices. The retail prices quoted above were maintained consistently throughout the 1914 season, regardless of prevailing jobbing prices. The large margins charged by the retailers, for the most part, were due apparently to the small amount of business handled, the perishable nature of the commodity, and the cost of operation. An elaborate and efficient delivery service must be maintained by the grocers, and many small deliveries are made each day at an actual loss to the dealer. A large proportion of the grocery-store patrons buy on credit and pay when it becomes convenient. Many of these accounts are never paid. Hence it becomes apparent that the good customer who pays his bill regularly each week, or who pays cash, must suffer for the shortcomings of others. However, there can be little doubt that reducing prices would materially increase consumption and in the end result in equally good profits for the dealers. Reduced prices and better business practice should prove to be very beneficial to grower, dealer and consumer. The profits derived from the sale of cheaper grades of apples to the poorer class of consumers are not so large. It was learned that those catering to such trade operated on a margin of 75 to 100 per cent. of the purchase price. Raspberries. F. C. ERKEL, FRUIT GROWER, ROCKFORD. Raspberries are so easily grown it is surprising we do not find more farmers and back lot gardeners in the city giving them attention. I believe more people would raise raspberries if they could be made to realize what great returns they would receive for a little work and care. As a commercial proposition raspberries are the poor man's friend, yielding large returns with very small investment and requiring but little land. I will attempt to give a few essentials in raspberry culture without going into detail, with the hopes that at least a few more patches of raspberries may be planted as a result of my effort. With the main points of raspberry culture given, there is no reason why any one with ordinary intelligence can not solve the details and meet with success. Raspberries have a little advantage over strawberries with the man who is not greatly enthused over small fruit culture. When once established the plantings do not have to be renewed annually but with ordinary care will last several years, in fact they will stand more Junegrass sod and weeds and general neglect and still produce results than anything else I know of unless it is apple trees. Another point in favor of raspberries over strawberries is that it is not quite so hard on the back to pick them, and when large quantities are grown it is easier to get pickers. Red raspberries will succeed on most any kind of soil so long as it is kept reasonably well fertilized and supplied with humus. They prefer a moist loam, and a northern slope is preferable to a southern slope because not so quickly affected by drought. Good drainage is necessary, and if planted on low ground where water is liable to stand at any time the ground should be tiled or otherwise drained. Raspberries may be planted either in the fall or spring, or the plants may be dug in the fall, heeled in outside, covered with mulch, or they may be stored in the cellar and planted in spring. Plants bought from a nursery in the spring should be unpacked immediately on arrival, the roots dipped in thin mud, then heeled in until permanently planted, even if the delay is but a day or two. The tops of the plants should be cut, leaving but a few inches, and if any blossoms appear the first season it would be better to remove them to prevent fruiting. It would be expecting too much of a newly transplanted plant to make much of any growth and produce fruit the same season. If allowed to fruit the first season but little fruit could be expected at best, and it would leave the plant dwarfed if indeed it were not killed outright. The suckers that come up the first season will produce the next season's crop, after which they die down and should be removed, other suckers taking their places annually. Not over two or three suckers should be allowed to each plant the first year; after the first year leave five to eight in each hill, depending on the kind of soil, fertility, etc. When plants are cheap and plentiful it is customary to use two in each hill to insure a good stand the first year, but it is reasonable to expect, however, where there are two root systems in each hill instead of one that in after years there would be more troublesome suckers to remove than if there was but one root in each hill, and this is no small matter with some varieties. To obtain planting stock large clusters of roots may be divided to propagate from, but these usually have but few fibrous roots and are not as good as first year's growth suckers, springing from roots near the parent plant. Red raspberries may also be propagated from root cuttings or even from seeds, the latter not coming true to variety, however. Plantings should preferably be made on ground plowed the fall previous, but spring plowed ground will answer if thoroughly disced, harrowed and planked and then repeated, to make the ground firm. If the ground is poor add a liberal dressing of well decayed barnyard dressing before plowing, or if not well decayed wait until after planting to apply the manure. Future cultivations will mix the dressing with the surface soil where the roots will be able to reach it, since raspberry plants are close surface feeders, and for this reason all cultivations should be shallow after the root system has formed. When the matted row system of planting is adopted, the late Prof. Green advised using a heavy mulch for two feet on each side of the rows to preserve moisture and discourage weed growth close to the plants, cultivating only a strip through the middle. Raspberries may be planted in rows five or six feet apart to allow cultivation both ways, or in rows seven feet apart with plants two or three feet apart in the rows with the idea of allowing a matted row and cultivating but one way after the first season. The matted row is hardly to be recommended unless one is willing to use a hoe rather freely to keep the plants free from weeds where the cultivator can not reach them, or unless he can provide a good, deep mulch to discourage weed growth. Rows should preferably run north and south, so the fruit will be shaded during the middle of the day, but this is not absolutely necessary. In setting the plants place them just a little deeper than they grew originally, carry them to the field in pails of water or thin mud, avoiding exposure of the roots to the air unprotected, but do not use water in the holes unless the ground is extremely dry. Firm the ground well close to the plant, and cultivate between rows all summer to preserve moisture, whether weeds are troublesome or not, up to September 1st and be sure to cultivate shallow after the roots begin to occupy the ground. Hills that grow exceedingly tall and rank may be cut back to about two and a half feet in height in the spring, or if one is willing to take the trouble to pinch off the end of the plants at this height during the growing season they will get bushy plants better able to hold up a load of fruit--besides cutting back has a tendency to produce larger fruit. We only grow two varieties of red raspberries, both of which are perfectly hardy without winter covering, so we have no suggestions to make or experiences to relate regarding winter protection. I am afraid I would be tempted to quit the business if I had to cover our raspberry bushes for winter protection. I think it would be as big a task as all the rest of the work combined except picking, and I let some one else do that part. For a home garden it is even more desirable to select a variety that is hardy without winter covering than when grown in a commercial way, for this is one of the tasks that is liable to be neglected unless one makes a business of it. In choosing a variety the other qualities to look for besides hardiness without winter covering are size, color, flavor, prolificacy and good shipping qualities. We are located only twenty-five miles northwest of Minneapolis, and one would naturally suppose we would market our berries there, but we get better prices in towns along the Soo railroad in western Minnesota and the Dakotas. Although our berries are a variety that crumble unless left on the bushes until ripe they do not spoil readily, which is probably due to the fact they are quite acid, and we ship to points in North Dakota nearly as far west as Chicago is east of us with very little loss. Wherever our berries have been introduced they have made friends, and there is hardly ever a time that we do not have standing orders for two or three times as many berries as we can furnish. We usually ship in flat cases, two boxes deep, twenty-four pints to a crate, which brought us $2.00, $2.25 and $2.50 per crate net, f.o.b. shipping point. There is but one other berry grower near us, so we do not have much difficulty in getting pickers. The first year we built a couple of small cottages to accommodate people from the city who might care to combine berry picking with a few days' outing, and it was surprising what a good class this proposition appealed to, but we now have enough local pickers to care for our crop. The profits in raspberry culture vary all the way from little or nothing above cost of production up to several hundred dollars per acre, depending on the season and how well cared for. Whether raspberry culture is a money making proposition or not in a commercial way, there certainly is no good reason why every farm or city garden should not have at least a few hills of raspberries for home use. Even leaving the matter of cost out of the question, there is a difference between fruit just off the bushes and that which has stood around in hot, dusty places several hours or longer waiting for a purchaser. Try it and be convinced! * * * * * TO INOCULATE SEED.--Coating the seed of legumes with inoculated soil before planting is a simple method of insuring soil inoculation at slight cost. County agents in Illinois have found ordinary furniture glue effective in holding particles of inoculated soil to the seeds. This method gives each individual seed some of the particles of inoculated soil, which it carries with it when it is planted. The scheme requires but a small amount of inoculated soil and costs but a few cents an acre. The method is described in Farmers' Bulletin 704 of the U.S. Department of Agriculture. Dissolve two handfuls of furniture glue for every gallon of boiling water and allow the solution to cool. Put the seed in a washtub and then sprinkle enough of the solution on the seed to moisten but not to wet it (one quart per bushel is sufficient) and stir the mixture thoroughly until all the seed are moistened. Secure the inoculated soil from a place where the same kind of plants as the seed are growing, making sure that the roots have a vigorous development of nodules. Dry the soil in the shade, preferably in the barn or basement, and pulverize it thoroughly into a dust. Scatter this dust over the moistened seed, using from one half to one gallon of dirt for each bushel of seed, mixing thoroughly until the seed no longer stick together. The seed are then ready to sow. The Flower Garden. (AN EXERCISE LED BY G. C. HAWKINS, FLORIST, MINNEAPOLIS, AT THE 1915 ANNUAL MEETING.) Mr. Hawkins: We have a question box and I would be glad to have any one use it or rise and state their question. I will answer, giving my experience. The first question I will read is--"What would you advise about covering in the garden in a season like this?" There are now two questions to be answered. First, what kind of covering? Second, how much? The first question can be answered this way. Every garden is benefited by a good covering of well decayed manure. Second. Any light covering of straw or horse manure with plenty of straw in it is very good. Leaves make a good covering if they can be kept dry, but leaves when not covered get wet, pack down over a plant and too often do more damage than good. The advantage of covering, or mulching, is to prevent thawing and freezing. To keep plants frozen from fall until spring would be ideal. The ideal winter is one when the snow falls early and stays on during the winter. We should cover lightly the plants that need protection, and when the snow falls, as a warm blanket, the plants will come through the winter in perfect shape. Mr. Hawkins: We have a question box and would be glad to have any one use it, or rise and ask your question, and we will endeavor to answer it and give our experience along that line. Mr. Horton: What would you advise for plants that are infected with aphis? Mr. Hawkins: Spraying is one of the best things and for that we use a weak tobacco solution, so as to moisten the plants, a light mist will do the work. I want to tell a little experience in growing peonies. Last year I tried the experiment of using ground bone around them, which is one of the best fertilizers we have. It contains nearly all the elements of a perfect fertilizer. Just as soon as the little joints come out of the ground, dig a trench about three inches from the main bush, about two inches deep and fill with ground bone and watch the result. I carried this plan out with wonderful success, getting 350 perfect blossoms on twenty-five bushes. It takes bone about thirty days to commence to dissolve. The day of the automobile has brought need for a new fertilizer, and we must carefully select the best that can be had. We must turn back again to the green crops and the artificial fertilizers. This also works well with roses. Mr. Reckstrom: Would bone do that was bought for the chickens? Mr. Hawkins: Yes. You understand the finer the particles the quicker it commences to dissolve. A Member: Where can ground bone be obtained? Mr. Hawkins: All first class seedsmen have it from small packages of ten pounds to 100 pound sacks. Mr. Bell: I tried hardwood ashes, and that seemed to be the best thing I struck. There were some shrub lilacs that didn't blossom. One winter I just put the ashes right on, probably a bushel around the one large bush. After that I had plenty of blossoms. On peonies and roses the result seems to be very good. [Illustration: Residence of G. C. Hawkins, 2913 Fremont Avenue South, Minneapolis.] Mr. Hawkins: No question but what ashes are very fine, for the simple reason the potash in hardwood ashes is a very good fertilizer. I would like to ask some one to give his experience in regard to rust on the tiger lily and the phlox. The perennial phlox is one of the most beautiful flowers we have, and there has been considerable trouble this year with a rust which takes all the leaves off the stalk and is injurious to the blossoms. I did not find any successful remedy for it, and I would be very glad if some member would give his experience. Mrs. Sawyer: I think you will find bordeaux mixture is good as anything for the rust on phlox. There is another mixture given for use in the English gardens, but their conditions are not the same as ours. It seems that changing the location of the phlox may do it good. Phlox is a plant that wants free circulation of air. Sometimes they get crowded in the garden, and a combination of heat and moisture produces the rust. By changing them to some other ground sometimes it entirely disappears. Mr. Hawkins: Mrs. Sawyer thinks this would be a remedy, as they require a circulation of fresh air and keep down moisture. We know this, phlox should be divided every third year. If you lift some you will find in the middle a woody dry substance absolutely detrimental to a large, healthy growing phlox. If you take off the little plants that come at the outside of this and replant them you will find your flowers will be much larger the next year. If we leave bunches of phlox in the same place successive years they become small. If you separate them it will add vigor to your plant, and the flowers will do better. I would like to ask what success you have had with growing tritoma, the flame flower? Have you had any difficulty in raising them? Mrs. Tillotson: I have one blossom that seemed to take such a long time to get above the ground I wondered what was the matter with it. Mr. Hawkins: Mrs. Gould, can you give us any enlightenment? Mrs. Gould: I never raised them, I got some bulbs this year. I know you have to take them up in the winter and store them like gladiolus, and they do not require very heavy soil. Mrs. Countryman: Will yucca filamentosa ever blossom in a garden in St. Paul? Mrs. Sawyer: It will, but it doesn't always. It does blossom in Minnesota, but I know that people have a great deal of difficulty getting blossoms. Mrs. Countryman: I have five plants growing four years and have never seen a blossom yet. Mr. Hawkins: I have had two growing three years, and I never have seen the color of a blossom yet. A Member: What kind is that? Mr. Hawkins: It is the yucca filamentosa. It is an evergreen. It should throw up a tall stalk with large branches and plenty of white flowers, I think hundreds of flowers--that is the description. It is a beautiful thing in the garden anyway. Mrs. Countryman: I have seen them in blossom in California. Mr. Richardson: I have seen them blossom many times in Winnebago. Mrs. Countryman: Give us the culture instructions. Mr. Richardson: I grew in nursery rows some odd stuff, had the same culture that the nursery had. But when it blossomed one year I have been told on good authority it would be five years before that stalk would blossom again, only blossoms once in five years, but by having many stalks they don't all blossom at the same time. I have had them two or three years in succession but not on the same stalk. Mrs. Countryman: Do you cover them winters? Mr. Richardson: Never. Mr. Hawkins: I think the only reason why the yucca filamentosa doesn't do well is because it is a plant of the southwest and grows in a warmer climate. Mrs. Sawyer: I had a varied experience in growing those plants, and I took a great deal of pains to learn all I could from different sources and different people, and I believe our trouble is our late frosts, I think that is conceded by people who have really gone into the question thoroughly. Our late frosts injure them more than anything else. A little protection in the spring is what they need more than protection in winter, and we know that they don't want a wet place. Mr. Hawkins: I want to recommend a flower that should be very popular. It is perfectly hardy, blossoms for years, the hardy pyrethrum. It is a daisy-like flower, absolutely free from insects and a sure bloomer. We have plants in the garden that have bloomed six years. It comes in many shades, from white to deep crimson, blooms from the 15th of May to the 1st of July and makes a beautiful showing. In regard to iris, did any one have any trouble with their iris coming a little ahead of time last year and being frozen? Mrs. Sawyer: I guess they all froze off. I don't think it was because they were ahead of time; it was because of the frost. Mr. Hawkins: What would you recommend? Mrs. Sawyer: I don't think there is anything to do in weather like last spring, you can't cover anything away from a hard black frost like that was. [Illustration: G. C. Hawkins, of Minneapolis.] Mr. Hawkins: We have several hundred plants on a southern slope, and I thought perhaps the sun beating against the southern slope is what started them earlier. Mrs. Sawyer: Ours weren't on a southern slope, pretty near level, rather north than anything else, and they got frozen. A Member: What causes the rot in the iris? Mr. Hawkins: That depends upon the kind of iris. With the bulbous rooted iris, the bulb is filled full of water during the heavy rains, and if you add more water to it it simply decays. The Siberian and many of the fibrous rooted iris will stand a great deal of water. A Member: Does the German? Mr. Hawkins: The German is a bulbous root. As I said, it takes all the moisture it needs. That is one reason why iris never wilts down in a dry spell. It always looks fresh and green. A Member: I would like to say it is well not to plant the iris deep. The natural iris will lie almost on top of the ground, and they like to have the sun beat down on them. The iris likes to bask in the sun. Mr. Hawkins: This would prove to you that the bulb takes enough water to support it and doesn't need any more because it rests on the top and basks in the sun. Has any one tried anything new in the garden that will stand our climate? Mrs. Norton: I would suggest that hardy alum-root, or heuchera. It is a perfectly hardy perennial, can stand our worst winters without any covering, and it grows about so high from the ground (indicating two or three feet), with its geranium-like leaves, and the flower grows about three feet high, all covered with pink bells on the stems. It is a very decorative plant and perfectly hardy. I think it has been much neglected in the Northwest because it is so perfectly hardy and it increases very rapidly. I have over one hundred. Mr. Hawkins: I would like Mrs. Gibbs to say a word. Mrs. Gibbs: The only thing I can say is that I enjoy being around among other people's gardens. I think that is one of the best places to find out things that we want; so many times we buy something that sounds well, but when we have it planted it doesn't look as well. I think one of the best ways is to visit gardens and especially those that use labels. A Member: I would like to ask about the trollius. Mr. Hawkins: Has any one had experience in raising trollius? Mrs. Gould: I have had experience in not raising them. I planted three years, and after getting the seeds from all the seedsmen I discovered in a book on plants that the seed would have to be in the ground two years in order to germinate. I didn't know that and left them in only a few months. I think the only way is to buy the plants. It is a very beautiful plant, yellow and shaped like golden glow, belongs to the same family as the buttercup. A Member: I would like to ask about the hollyhocks. I saw such beautiful hollyhocks around Lake Minnetonka and I have never been able to make them winter. I would like to ask about that. Mr. Hawkins: We have three plants, hollyhocks, digitalis and canterbury bells, and nearly all have the same trouble with them. If we mulch them we are liable to have the center decay and the plants practically useless. It is a question of mulching them too much or not mulching them. I would like to have you speak up and tell us your experience. I have in mind a gentleman who raises splendid hollyhocks in the neighborhood of the lakes. Takes no care of them, and yet he had one this year seventeen feet high, which took care of itself and had any amount of blossoms. I tried that experiment several years myself of mulching them, and the crown rotted. These are three of the best flowers of the garden, and we ought to have some certain way of keeping them. A Member: Have you ever tried mulching them with corn stalks? Mr. Hawkins: Yes, I have tried it but lost them. A Member: I had very good luck with them that way. A Member: It is more a question of drainage than of mulching. Mr. Hawkins: That might be. Mrs. Gould: I wish simply to say that the trouble with winter grown hollyhocks and canterbury bells is that they will head so tall and must be kept dry. I always cover the hollyhocks and if I had the others I think I would cover them. I uncover mine early in the spring, and if it gets cold put on a little more straw. You are almost sure to uncover them the wrong time. With foxgloves I think it is almost unnecessary to cover them. Mr. Hawkins: In our gardens the hollyhocks form one of the best backgrounds we can have, beautiful, tall, stately stalks, and the canterbury bells, certainly nothing more beautiful than they. Then we come to the other, the digitalis, which is equally as beautiful. We must give our attention to the protection and growth of these in years to come because they are three of the beautiful things of the garden. It has been suggested that digitalis be potted and put inside the cold frame and leaves put over them. I think leaves are a splendid protection if you can keep them dry. If I were using them as a mulch I would keep out the water by covering with roofing paper to keep them dry. Mrs. Countryman: I am told on good authority that the hollyhock is a true perennial and not a biennial. Mrs. White: It is listed in the foreign catalogs as both a perennial and a biennial. Mrs. Countryman: Wouldn't the hollyhock come under the heading of being perennial but not a permanent perennial? Mr. Hawkins: It might be classed that way. There seems to be a difference of opinion as to just what it is. I have known them to come six or seven years in the same spot. * * * * * TIE TRAP FOR RABBITS.--An inexpensive and permanent sewer tile trap for cottontail rabbits has proved very effective in Kansas. To make the trap, proceed as follows: "Set a 12 by 6-inch 'T' sewer tile with the long end downward, and bury it so that the 6-inch opening at the side is below the surface of the ground. Connect two lengths of 6-inch sewer pipe horizontally with the side opening. Second grade or even broken tile will do. Cover the joints with soil so as to exclude light. Provide a tight removable cover, such as an old harrow disk, for the top of the large tile. The projecting end of the small tile is then surrounded with rocks, brush, or wood, so as to make the hole look inviting to rabbits and encourage them to frequent the den. Rabbits, of course, are free to go in or out of these dens, which should be constructed in promising spots on the farm and in the orchard. A trained dog will locate inhabited dens. The outlet is closed with a disk of wood on a stake, or the dog guards the opening. The cover is lifted and the rabbits captured by hand. "These traps are especially suitable for open lands and prairies, where rabbits cannot find natural hiding places. They are permanent and cost nothing for repairs from year to year. If it is desired to poison rabbits, the baits may be placed inside these traps, out of the way of domestic animals or birds. This trap also furnishes an excellent means of obtaining rabbits for the table, or even for market."--U.S. Dept. of Agri. Blueberry Culture. U.S. DEPT. OF AGRICULTURE. Blueberries thrive best on soils which are so acid that they are usually considered almost worthless for ordinary agricultural purposes. Blueberry culture, therefore, offers possibilities of profit to individual land-owners in districts in which the general conditions are especially hard and unpromising. Blueberries can not be grown in ordinary fertile soils. Although frequently confused, especially in the South and in the Middle West, blueberries and huckleberries are quite distinct. In New England the name "huckleberry" is restricted to berries which contain 10 large seeds with bony coverings like minute peach pits which crackle between the teeth, while the name "blueberry" is applied to various species of berries containing many but very small seeds. It is the latter, not the large-seeded huckleberry, which offers possibilities for profitable culture. At the present stage of the blueberry industry it is best to begin by transplanting the most promising wild bushes, selecting them for the size, flavor, color and earliness of the berry as well as for the vigor and productiveness of the bush. These plants can be propagated in various ways, which are described in detail in a professional paper of the department, Bulletin No. 334, by Frederick V. Coville. The aim of the cultivator should be to secure bushes which will produce large berries. These cost less to pick than small ones and bring a higher price on the market. A berry eleven-sixteenths of an inch in diameter has already been produced under field culture. The three fundamental requirements for successful blueberry culture are: (1) An acid soil, especially one composed of peat and sand; (2) good drainage and thorough aeration of the surface soil; and (3) permanent but moderate soil moisture. Next in importance to these essentials is a location such that the berries may reach the market without delay. The best prices are obtained about the beginning of the wild blueberry season. The main crop of wild blueberries comes from northern New England, Canada and northern Michigan. A location to the south of these areas where the berries will mature earlier is, therefore, to be desired for the commercial cultivator. One of the most promising districts now known is the cranberry region of New Jersey, where berries mature early and the shipping facilities to the market in Philadelphia, New York and Boston are good. Another important factor to be considered in selecting a location for a blueberry patch is the possibility of late spring freezes. For this reason the bottoms of valleys should be avoided. Freezing seldom injures the blueberry plant itself, but the fruit crop is often destroyed in this way. From past observations it appears that wild blueberries growing in or around bodies of water frequently escape the injurious effects of late spring freezes, and it seems, therefore, that a flooding equipment for blueberry plantations similar to those used for cranberry bogs may, under certain circumstances, prove commercially advantageous. At the present time, however, only a beginning has been made in blueberry culture. The yield and profits in field plantations from improved bushes have not as yet been ascertained. There is, however, one small planting in Indiana where complete records have been maintained for the past six years. This plantation was started in 1889 in a natural blueberry bog, which was first drained and then set with wild blueberry bushes transplanted without selection for individual productiveness or size of berries. On this plantation the yield per acre has averaged 1,741 quarts for the past six years. This average would have been somewhat higher except for the almost total failure of the crop in 1910, due to late spring freezes. An average of 14-1/2 cents a quart has been received for the berries and the net profit per acre is estimated at $116 a year. In this estimate allowance has been made for interest, taxes and depreciation. The expense for weeding, cultivation, and irrigation is placed at $20 an acre and the cost of picking at five cents a quart. * * * * * HOMEMADE FIRELESS COOKER.--A wooden or tin pail, lined with two thicknesses of paper and provided with a close-fitting cover, may be used for the outside container of the cooker. Allow for three inches of packing on all sides and at the bottom of the pail. A gallon oyster can will serve very well for the nest, which should be wrapped on the outside next to the packing with asbestos and a piece of asbestos placed under the bottom to prevent the scorching of the packing when hot soapstones are used. Shredded newspaper and excelsior make a good packing. Pack this very tightly around and to the top of the nest, the top of which should be about three inches below the lid of the outside container. A piece of cardboard cut to fit inside the lard can with a circle cut out of the center around the top of the oyster can or nest will hide the packing and make a neat finish. Place a three-inch cushion of unbleached muslin, stuffed tightly with excelsior, on top of the lid of the nest. When the top of the outside container is placed on and hooked down, it will be tight enough to cause a pressure. If a tin pail is used for the outside container, it may be enameled white, or a wooden pail stained brown, making a neat-looking appliance for any kitchen. Regular aluminum fireless-cooker utensils may be used for cooking the food in the nest, but any kind of a vessel with a close-fitting top and one that fits closely in the nest is suitable.--U.S. Dept. Agri. Hardy Perennials. MISS GRACE E. KIMBALL, WALTHAM. There has been very little in my work with hardy perennials that seems worth relating. For many years, in Austin, we had iris, peonies and phlox in our garden. While my love for flowers and outdoor work led me to spend all my time, outside of office hours, in the garden, the iris and peonies, especially, never gave any trouble but grew and blossomed in the most approved fashion. With the phlox we have had more trouble, sometimes in dry seasons not getting the bloom we should, and finally, the last year we were there, losing nearly all the roots we had. I am now inclined to think that had we divided and transplanted them some years before, we would not have lost them. It was only a few years ago that I began to realize that herbaceous perennials could, with success, be planted in the fall in our climate, and it was not until two years ago that I made any attempt at fall planting. That year I was quite successful, but last year, wishing to divide as close as possible, especially with the iris, I evidently overdid the matter, with the result that I lost many of my plants. However, I learned my lesson, and this year they were not divided so closely, and I am hoping that they will come through the winter all right. With the hardy perennials easily raised from seed my first experience was with the oriental poppy. I had greatly desired to have some in the garden and, not knowing that the fall was the time to plant them, ordered some one spring. They failed to grow, so the next year I attempted to raise them from seed, starting them in the house as I did my pansy seed. But I was far from successful in that way, and having read some articles on the difficulty of raising them from seed, also learning that they should be set out in the fall, I made up my mind they were not worth bothering with. However, father suggested I might succeed by planting the seed in the shade out of doors, and even though it was quite late in the summer I got more seed and sowed it broadcast in a hedge of lilacs, syringas and so forth, kept the ground moist, and in a short time had many plants coming up. I also had ordered a few to be shipped me in the fall. By fall my seedlings were large enough to be transplanted into boxes, to be moved as we were moving from Austin to Waltham. With those I had ordered for fall delivery, they were moved to our new place, the boxes sunk in the ground, and the next spring put into a hedge with other plants--for while they do not stand transportation very well in the spring, I have been successful in transplanting them from one part of our grounds to another at that season. Since coming to Waltham I have started the seeds of the poppy, larkspur, columbine and gaillardia in a grove near the house, where they are easily kept moist. If I get the seed in early in the spring, the plants are often large enough to transplant in the fall. However I like better to plant the seed later, about the time the first blossoms from each variety have ripened their seed. The seedlings will then be large enough to withstand the winter with a little protection and ready for spring transplanting. With a comparatively small amount of work, and very ordinary care, once the plants are set out anyone can have continuous bloom from early spring until frosts come, by setting iris, peonies, phlox, columbine, poppies, larkspur, gaillardia, giant daisy and painted daisy. Such a selection would make a big variety of color and form in the garden, and all but the first three kinds can be very easily raised from seed. Or not wishing so many kinds, one can have flowers all summer by a careful selection of several varieties of iris, peonies and phlox. Why Should We Grow Seedling Apples? ISAAC JOHNSON, WEST UNION, IA. There is no work in fruit growing that has more taken my attention and given me more pleasure than the growing of seedling apples. For many years I have been of the opinion that apples for this severe climate must be grown from seed. If we succeed in growing hardy, productive and good keeping varieties, they must be native, or raised at home. By experimental work along in this line of growing fruit we have come to this conclusion that fruit trees do best grow at home. In looking over the list of apples we grow this far north, we all know that the hardiest and the most productive kind are seedlings, either from Minnesota, Iowa or Wisconsin. Minnesota has the Wealthy, the banner apple; for early and late fall apple it has no equal. Wisconsin has the Northwestern Greening and the Wolf River, which are very large, showy and good market apples. We all know what Mr. Patten has done along in this line of growing seedlings. At the state horticultural meeting in Des Moines, December last, was exhibited one hundred varieties of seedlings and a large number of those, to my judgment, were good keepers and fine looking apples. Hundreds and hundreds of varieties of apples have been imported from Russia, and I for one have tested fifty or sixty of those Russian varieties, but at the state meeting, where I exhibited seventy-seven varieties, I was able to show only three Russian varieties, Longfield, Antinovka and Volga Cross. I think I have reason to ask what would we have for apples today if there had not been any seedlings raised? Why does the State of Minnesota offer one thousand dollars for a seedling apple tree that is as hardy as the Duchess with fruit as good as the Wealthy and that keeps as well as the Malinda? Because to get such a variety it must come from seed. Planting for Color Effects in the Garden. MRS. H. B. TILLOTSON, MINNEAPOLIS. The most attractive flower bed in my garden this year has been the one planted for a blue and white effect. From earliest spring, soon after the snow had gone, until now, October 4th, there has been something interesting and beautiful blooming there. In the middle of the summer it was one tangled mass of lilies, delphinium, phlox and gypsophila, their perfume filling the whole garden. As the lilies faded and the delphinium grew old and went to seed, the old stalks were cut away. The phlox and delphinium bloomed again in a little while, and in September the candidum lilies began to come through the ground, getting ready for next year. The bed is three feet wide by thirty long, and was covered last winter with loose straw and leaves, with a few cornstalks to hold them in place. Early in April this was raked off and the edges of the bed made straight, for the grass always grows in a little each year. The warm sunshine soon brought out the scilla and crocus, almost carpeting the whole bed. One would not think of the other things hiding under their leaves. The forget-me-nots began to look green along the edge, and up through the fading crocus and scilla came a few straggling grape hyacinths, blue and white, and one lonely plant of the Virginia cowslip (Mertensia)--more could have been used with good effect, for they too disappear after awhile. The Virginia cowslip staid in bloom until the forget-me-nots were a mass of blossoms, and the blue Darwin tulips (pink, really, with a blue spot in the bottom of the cup, just back of them) were in all their glory. In the middle of the bed the Madonna lilies, and belladona delphinium had covered the ground with green. In spots the wild violets were in blossom--they had crept in some way from the dirt--I think it had been taken from the woods near by. Watching each day, for the friends I knew would soon be coming, I found the first shoots of the hardy phlox, which I knew to be G. Von Losburg and Miss Lingard. Double blue bachelor buttons, self sown, were there, some transplanted to fill in the bare spots, and poppies; I didn't know what color they would be, for the wind and the birds had sown the seed; but the leaves were a beautiful grey-green, and I let them grow. I had almost given up the double baby breath (gypsophila paniculata, fl. pl.), but finally it came all the way down the bed, about every five or six feet, between the delphinium and the phlox. There were perhaps a dozen plants of phlox, a dozen of belladona delphinium and six baby breath through the middle of the bed, and on each side a row of the intense blue Chinese delphinium. Just outside these, and next to the forget-me-nots and tulips, are the bachelor buttons, and, coming through it all, a hundred candidum lilies, their waxy white blossoms glistening in the sunshine, and the perfume so heavy you knew they were there long before you could see them. The poppies, too, were there; they were double, like a peony, rose-pink with a white edge. I was glad I let them grow, for I don't think I ever saw a more beautiful sight. I let it all grow and bloom as long as it would, hating to touch it for fear of spoiling all. Finally I was obliged to clear away the old stalks, and it looked rather bare for a time. But I brought some white asters from the reserve garden. The Baron Hulot gladoli were soon in bloom. The phlox sent up tiny shoots for new bloom from the base of each leaf, and the second crop of bachelor buttons came along. White schizanthus along the edge, covered up the old forget-me-nots, and funkia lilies (subcordata) threw up their buds. The delphinium all began to bloom again, the grey-green leaves of the baby breath was still there, and soon my bed was all abloom again and staid so the rest of the summer. But never did it equal the glory of those first ten days of July. The Fall-Bearing Strawberries. CHARLES F. GARDNER, NURSERYMAN, OSAGE, IA. (SO. MINN. HORT. SOCIETY.) There are now such excellent varieties of fall bearing strawberries on the market that a person can have no good excuse for not planting some in his garden. Select the ground for the bed where you will get the whole benefit from the rays of the sun. I want no trees, bushes, or tall growing plants of any kind near the bed. The farther away, the better. The earth should be made quite rich with well rotted compost. I like the plan of preparing the bed a long time before you get ready to set your plants. You can then work the soil over, time after time, and every time kill a crop of weeds. More plants are set in the spring than any other time, but they will grow and do well if set in midsummer or any time after that up to the middle of October. Get through setting in September if you can. If you set later, in October, cover the plants with a slight covering of straw as soon as planted. Then afterwards, when you make a business of covering put on a little more, cover them nicely--but you are liable to kill them if you put on too much. Two inches deep I find to be about the right depth to go through our ordinary winters. I mean two inches after the straw has settled. I think many persons spoil their plants, or at least injure them severely, by putting on too heavy a coat of covering. I will also tell you to beware of using horse-manure as a covering for strawberries. Clean straw or hay is the best of covering. (Fall planting of strawberries not advisable in Minnesota.--Secy.) Most people do not trim the plants enough before they are set. All fruit stems should be cut off, if there are any, and the most of the old leaves removed, two or three of the youngest leaves on the plant is all that should be left. These will start right off into a vigorous growth, and you will soon have strong, healthy plants. I think it pays to put a small handful of tobacco dust on and around each hill. You can generally get it at your nearest greenhouse--or you can find out there where to send for it. Get enough to put it on two or three times during the early and latter part of summer. Do not select ground for your new bed that has been in strawberries; take ground that has never had strawberries on, or at least that two or three crops of some kind have been taken from it since it was covered with strawberry vines. After the plants are set, they should be well firmed; it is absolutely necessary that they should be very solid in the earth. They should not be too deep nor too shallow, one is as bad as the other. The crown buds should be in plain sight, after the ground is firmed and leveled, just in sight and no more. A little temporary hilling will do no harm, but the ground should be kept as level as possible. All cultivation should be shallow so as to not disturb the roots of the plants. This is also a very important item. Just remember that every plant loosened after it is set means death to the plant if it is not reset at once. Cultivate often when the ground is not too wet. Keep your bed entirely free of grass and weeds. This is easily done if all work is done when it should be. The time to kill weeds is when the seed first sprouts; don't wait until the weed plants are an inch or more high; if you do you will never keep them clean, and then you will never have success in your work. [Illustration: Chas. F. Gardner at work in his everbearing strawberry experiment grounds.] Cut all fruit stems off as fast as they appear, until your plants get well rooted, and then let them bear as much as they want to. But if some plants set an unusually large number it is well to cut out part of the fruit. If rightly thinned you will increase the yield in quarts. If fruit is the main object, after the plants are well located and begin to set fruit for your main crop, they can be mulched with clean straw or hay, carefully tucked up around each hill. This will keep the fruit clean and conserve the moisture in the soil, and you can stop cultivating. If plants are the main object, then you can not use the mulching, but must keep the cultivator going between the rows. Well informed growers of the strawberry plant generally have beds on purpose for fruit in one place, and in another place one to grow plants. No one will make a success in growing strawberries unless he can learn to detect the rogues that appear from time to time in strawberry patches or in the fields. These rogues are generally plants that have come up from the seed that has been scattered in one way and another over the bed. Berries are stepped on and mashed, other berries are overlooked and rot on the ground, but the seed remain and germinate when the time comes for it in the spring, and some of these plants are not destroyed by cultivation or by hoeing, and soon make trouble for the grower. No seedling will be like the original plants that were first set, and many of them will be strong growing plants, good runners but worthless for fruit. When you set a new lot of plants you get some of these seedlings, and that is how the mixture comes in. I have counted one hundred and fifty seedling plants around one old plant in the spring. Of course the most of these where good tillage is practised are destroyed, but some remain in spite of all you can do unless you pay the very closest attention and learn to distinguish rogues from the true named varieties. All rogues must be kept out if you keep the variety true to name. Of course once in a while a rogue will prove to be a valuable variety, as was the case when Mr. Cooper found the Pan American eighteen years ago, from which our fall varieties owe their parentage. If you want to be successful remember to keep in mind the value of constant selection and keeping your parent stock true to name. When you first set out your plants, go over them and examine them closely and see that everything is right. Then remember that the first sign of a good fall bearing variety is to see it throw out fruit stalks. You can cut these off, so that the stub of the fruit stem will show that it has sent up a flower stalk. You can see the stub. In this way in a small patch you can easily keep track of them. If some plants do not throw out fruit stems, mark them so you can tell them, and if they pass the season without trying to fruit, you must refrain from setting out any of the runners that appear, or there is liability of trouble. Let such plants alone for another year's trial. Then if they do no better, dig them up and destroy them. Once in a while they prove to be all right, but often they are worthless. Learn to tell a variety by a careful examination of the plant at different times during the season. Fix the general color of the leaf in your mind, its shape and size. Notice whether the fruit stems are long or short, whether the blossoms are above the leaves, in plain sight, or are hidden below. Are there many fruit buds to the stalk, or but few? Are the blossoms pistillate or staminate? Are the petals large or small? Are the stamens long or short? Are the anthers well or poorly formed? They should be plump and well filled before they are ready to open. Is the receptacle on which the pistils sit well formed and capable of being developed into a perfect berry, or do they look ungainly in shape? Are the petals pure white or slightly crimson? Are there many runners, or few, or none? Do the new runners bear blossoms and fruit? If so, when do they commence to bud and bloom? When do the berries begin to ripen? Notice the size and shape of the fruit, also the color. You can tell much from the taste of the berry. No two varieties taste exactly alike. Some are real sweet and some kinds real sour. Then there are all grades between. The perfume, or fragrance, of the fruit of the common strawberry when fully ripened under proper conditions of sunlight and moisture has long been esteemed and highly appreciated by mankind in general, and in this respect the fall-bearing strawberry varies greatly. The most of the varieties excel all common kinds as to perfume and that delicate strawberry flavor which nearly everybody loves so well. Once in a while a musk-scented variety is developed, like the Milo on our grounds, which as yet has never been sent out. By paying close attention to these things you can soon learn to distinguish many varieties at any time during the growing season. In 1898 Mr. Cooper found his seedling which he called the Pan American. From that small beginning there are now many varieties, perhaps thousands, that excel the parent plant, and perhaps a hundred varieties of great value. Some varieties have very superior merit. I will mention a few: Progressive, Peerless, Advance, Danville, Forward, Prince, Will, Milo, Nathaniel, 480, and there are others which might be mentioned. Good reports have reached me of kinds produced at your Horticultural Experiment farm by Prof. Haralson, but I have never tried them. My private opinion is that several kinds I have not mentioned will very soon take a back seat, as the saying is. The best varieties are bound to come to the front. The best advertisement one can have is the ability to ship thousands of quarts during the whole autumn. This season we shipped 22,565 quarts, mostly sold in pint boxes. They netted us from 12-1/2 to 18 cents per pint. At home we kept them on the market during the whole season at 15 cents per quart. We lost as many as 5,000 quarts by violent storms during the season. It was a fair season for growing plants, but there was too much water to grow the best of fruit. Heredity in Gladioli. G. D. BLACK, GLADIOLUS SPECIALIST, INDEPENDENCE, IA. (SO. MINN. HORT. SOCIETY.) As heredity is a comparatively new word, it may be well to define it at the beginning of this paper. Webster says "It is the transmission of mental or physical characteristics or qualities from parent to offspring, the tendency of an organism to reproduce the characteristics of the progenitor." Most of the species of gladioli are native in the temperate zone of Southern Africa, where they have grown for so long a time that they will reproduce themselves in a marked degree from seeds. Some have grown in the moist soils of the valleys for so many generations that they have become adapted to these conditions and will not thrive on the elevated plateaus and mountain slopes. Those which are native in the higher and cooler altitudes will not grow well in the lower lands. A species or variety becomes acclimated when it is grown in one locality for several successive generations, because it is one of nature's laws that it takes on new characteristics that improve it for existence there. These characters are changing more or less during each generation on account of environment. We can not aid nature in strengthening and improving the desirable qualities unless we follow nature's laws. By crossing two varieties that have certain desirable characters in common we may be able to make these characteristics more dominant. Much of the crossbreeding of the gladiolus has been done in such an unscientific manner that it is surprising that so much improvement has been made. This improvement is mostly the result of extra care and cultivation, and the selection of the best each generation. In order to retain the benefit of any extra care and cultivation it has to pass on as a heritage to the succeeding generation and is there incorporated among its characteristics. Each generation should be an advance toward the desired ideal. There is no doubt in my mind that the ruffling and doubling of the petals in flowers that have been under cultivation for several generations is caused by the extra feeding and care that they have received. Most species of gladioli in their wild state are small and lacking in beauty. Abnormal or freak varieties should not be selected as the best for breeding, because they are usually the result of a violent cross, and are nearly always weak as propagators and sometimes entirely sterile. Princeps has a very large flower, but the spike is short and only two or three blooms are open at one time. It was originated by Dr. Van Fleet by crossing Mrs. Beecher and Cruentus. Burbank crossed Princeps and America, and quite a number of the seedlings show the markings of Mrs. Beecher, one of their grandparents, but with shorter spikes. In this cross Princeps transmits the undesirable character of short spikes but leaves out the abnormal size of flower, and the best characters of America are lacking. The parentage of America is very much in doubt, as three prominent gladiolus breeders claim the honor of originating it. There are many characteristics to be considered when making selections for breeding besides the color and size of the flower. The bulbs of some varieties will stand considerable freezing while other varieties will not. This same characteristic is noticed in the foliage. The severe frost that killed our corn crop on August 30th so impaired Panama, Hiawatha and some others that very few blooms of these varieties opened afterwards. The foliage of some varieties remained green after a temperature of twelve degrees below freezing. A representative of a Holland bulb growing firm who called on me a few days ago says that Niagara is a very weak grower in Holland and Panama is a very vigorous grower. My experience with these varieties is just the reverse. This seems to show that sometimes the difference in climate may cause certain characters in the plant to act differently--if the Hollander is not mistaken. A few varieties are sometimes subject to blight and rust. Some are only slightly affected, and many others are entirely blight proof. There are so many characteristics to be considered by the scientific breeder that it is almost impossible to enumerate them all in this paper. There is yet a great work to be done in breeding out the undesirable traits and incorporating the improvements which we desire. Civic Improvement. MRS. ALBERTSON, PRES. CIVIC IMPROVEMENT LEAGUE, AUSTIN. This is a subject so broad and so closely connected with "The City Beautiful" one can hardly find a starting point, but we might begin with the one word--civic--which has drawn to itself many minds, much sober thought and from some much hard work. The fear was widespread that woman would work havoc if she attempted to spell the task, but how needless, for the word civic can be spelled with accuracy from whichever end approached. What was the beginning of the civic league and the city beautiful? It began at home, where most women's work begins. To have a beautiful home one must have the right kind of house. To have the beautiful house to make the beautiful home the setting must be made to correspond--so after the house, the lawn; after the lawn, the boulevard. Then the work spread. Streets needed cleaning, unsightly billboards had to be removed, perhaps an adjoining vacant lot had a careless owner whose pride needed pricking. So the need of a civic league grew, and now it has become a vital spark in many cities all over the Union. Minnesota has over thirty civic clubs doing specific work. Is it entirely the work for women? No. Is it entirely the work for men? No. It is a work for both. It is a work that is very contagious and a contagion that needs no quarantine. Civic league work envelopes many lines of improvement. Streets and alleys sometimes need to be reported to the proper committee of the city council; the disposal of rubbish and garbage has confronted many civic societies. There is nothing so conducive to unsanitary conditions and so disfiguring to a beautiful street as glimpses and often broad views of alleys and back yards that have become dump piles and garbage receivers. Besides the effect on one's love for cleanliness and beauty, it breeds disease--and so public sanitation was added to the civic league work. In some cities the societies are taking up the work of smoke abatement. I might say that we have a few offending chimneys in our own city beautiful. Every member of the city council should be a member of the civic league, for much more could be done by co-operation. There is great need of the civic improvement league and park board working together, for their aim is one--to make the city beautiful. The work that gives the most beauty to the city after the good foundation of cleanliness, public sanitation and removal of public nuisances is that done in the parks. I am glad cities are making larger appropriations for parks, and I hope our city will have more in the future, for there are great possibilities of making our city not only a city beautiful, but a most beautiful city. Parks should be well lighted, playgrounds for children are almost a necessity, the river banks should be kept clean--but most of all the natural beauties of a place must be preserved and trees should be planted. Shade is needed as a good background. There is nothing that will enhance a beautiful statue, fountain or other park ornament like a setting of good trees. If possible to have it there is no more attractive spot in a park than a lily pool. The old idea of laying out parks according to some geometrical pattern is giving way to the development of walk lines of practical use, recognizing both traffic requirements and the desirability of location for numerous park benches. What will lend more charm to a park than a beautiful drive bordered with noble trees leading up to some focal point or opening a way to some particular vista that would otherwise be lost! The park board should not limit its work to parks alone, but wherever there is a spot, triangle corner or any other kind of available place, there should be planted shrubs or flower beds. They soon become a public pride and cheer many passersby. We have a number of bright spots in our city, beginning in the spring with a beautiful bed of tulips. May another year bring us many more! One forgets the mud and the disagreeable days of spring in watching the bulbs thrust their little pointed noses through the cold earth and the development of the buds until they burst open into a blaze of color, flaunting their gorgeous heads in a farewell to old winter and giving a cheery welcome to the coming summer. BEE-KEEPER'S COLUMN. Conducted by FRANCIS JAGER, Professor of Apiculture, University Farm, St. Paul. If not already done the beekeeper should at once make his final preparations towards a successful wintering of bees. There are several conditions under which the bees winter well, all of which are more or less understood. The chief of these are a strong colony of young bees, sufficient amount of good stores, and the proper place to keep the bees. Bees that were queenless late in the fall or bees that had an old queen who stopped laying very early in the season, will have only few and old bees for wintering and will not have vitality enough to survive. Such colonies should be united with some other good colony or if too far gone they should be destroyed. Weak colonies should be united until they are strong enough to occupy and fill when clustered at least six frames. The best stores to winter bees on is pure honey capped over. Honey dew will kill the bees in winter. If you have any black honey in your hives you had better remove it and replace with white honey. A ten frame hive ready for winter ought to contain from 35 to 40 pounds of honey. A complete hive if put on a scale should weigh not less than from 50 to 60 pounds. The best way to supply food to the bees is to remove the dry combs and insert next to the cluster full combs of honey. Feeding sugar is a dangerous undertaking, and it should not be resorted to unless necessity compels one to do it, and then feeding should be done early in the season to allow the bees to invert the sugar, cap it over and consume such stores which are not capped over before winter. The hives that winter best are those which contain no uncapped honey in the frames. For the bulk of beekeepers cellar wintering in Minnesota is to be recommended. The things to be looked after in cellar wintering are: first, that the temperature of the cellar does not go much below 45 degrees, at least not for any length of time. Second, that the entrances are kept open and clear of dead bees and are guarded with four to the inch wire screen against mice. Third, that the moisture generated by the bees does not accumulate on the walls and covers of the hives. This is most essential. Moisture absorbing material should be used in place of a wooden cover, for instance flax board or gunnysacks, or a super filled with shavings over a queen excluder. The bees must have free passage over the top of the frames. We wintered the bees at University Farm without loss by using nothing else but the one inch flax board on top of the hive, which kept the hive positively dry all winter. Your cellar should be dark, should have some ventilation, and the bees should never be disturbed during their winter sleep. By following these recommendations, you will be delighted to find your bees in the spring in a most flourishing condition for next summer's work. GARDEN HELPS Conducted by Minnesota Garden Flower Society Edited by MRS. E. W. GOULD, 2644 Humboldt Avenue So. Minneapolis. After the frosts have killed the _dahlia_ foliage the tubers should be dug and stored before the cold becomes so great. They may be injured by it. The stems should be cut to about three or four inches of the roots, using a sharp knife, so as to make a clean cut. To the stems attach the label firmly. Loosen the earth about each clump before attempting to lift it, then run the spade or fork as far under it as possible and pry it gently out. In this way the tubes will not be broken or injured where they join the stem, which is the only place where they can make the next season's growth. Most of the soil will drop off as they dry. Lay the roots so that water will not have a chance to collect in the soft hollow stems, or crown rot may trouble you. A cool, dry shed is a good place in which to cure the roots. Lay them on boards and turn them occasionally so they will dry evenly. In a week's time they should be ready to store for winter, the best place being a frost-proof cellar. Unless this is very dry, it is best to have boards raised a few inches above the floor on which to lay them. This will allow a current of air to pass under them. If a damp cellar must be used, air slaked lime sprinkled under the boards will help to keep them dry. Cover them a little with dry sand. The best temperature is 40 degrees. _Cannas_ can be lifted and stored at once. Cut the stems off short, leaving enough to attach the labels to. They keep best if lifted with as much soil about them as possible. The clumps can be set close together, on boards arranged in the same way as for dahlias. They will stand a slightly warmer temperature than dahlias. _Tuberous begonias_, unlike dahlias and cannas, should be lifted without cutting the stems. They should be cured in the sun for at least two weeks and during that time turned to dry evenly and kept perfectly dry. A cold frame is a good place in which to do this. When the stems part readily from the bulbs, the latter can be packed in boxes and stored in any dry place where the temperature will not fall below 40 degrees. These are among the tenderest bulbs and should be the first to be lifted. _Gladioli_ should be lifted with their stems intact, tied in bundles and hung in a dry shed to dry. When thoroughly dry, the stems can be cut off and the bulbs packed in boxes and stored the same as the begonias. They are especially sensitive to heat, and if the air is too dry the bulbs will shrivel and lose much of their vitality. _Montbretias_ should be lifted out and stored in the same way as the gladioli. _Tuberoses_ should be lifted with the stems intact and spread out to dry or hung in a dry place. When thoroughly cured, cut off the stems close to the bulb and store in the same way as gladioli. _Caladium, or Elephant's Ears_, should be lifted without disturbing the stem or leaves. As the leaves dry they can be removed, but the stem should not be cut near the bulb, as this is the point of growth the following year. They can be stored with the dahlias and cannas and are not apt to shrivel, as the bulb is so large and fleshy. _Zephyrunthes, summer blooming hyacinths, tritomas, and tigridias_ should be lifted, cured, and stored in the same manner as gladioli. All of these are subject to rot, so it is well to examine them occasionally. If any rot is found, remove the affected bulbs, and if those remaining appear damp, dust lightly with air-slaked lime. Flowers of sulphur can also be used to dust them with to prevent this trouble. Should the bulbs be getting too dry, cover with sand. In our climate of extremes, it is necessary to examine them at intervals, and be prompt in the use of a remedy if any of these adverse conditions are discovered. * * * * * NOTICE. The November meeting of the Garden Flower Society will be held in the Minneapolis Park Board greenhouses, thirty-eighth street and Bryant avenue, November 16, 2:30 p.m. Take Monroe and Bryant car. St. Paul members will transfer from the Selby-Lake at Bryant avenue. This will be a chrysanthemum show, and a talk on hardy chrysanthemums will be given. SECRETARY'S CORNER MINNESOTA CROP IMPROVEMENT ASSOCIATION.--Will hold its annual meeting this year at Fairmont on Feb. 21-22-23. The seed growers of Minnesota would be especially interested in this meeting, at which there are to be a number of seed contests, particulars in regard to which are not at hand. They may be secured by addressing the secretary, Prof. C. P. Bull, University Farm, St. Paul, Minn. THE VEGETABLE GROWERS CONVENTION.--This convention, which is I understand an annual gathering of the vegetable growers of America, was largely attended in Chicago the last week in September. A report received of the meeting indicates an attendance of eight hundred vegetable growers, including two hundred fifty from the vicinity of Chicago. The city entertained them with an inspection trip, throughout Cook County and later a party of them went to Racine and visited the experimental gardens operated by Prof. R. L. Jones, of the Wisconsin University. Perhaps we may have a fuller report of this meeting from some of our Minnesota growers who were in attendance. THE SOCIAL ELEMENT AT OUR ANNUAL MEETING.--Making the West Hotel the headquarters of the society at the same time that the meeting is held in the building gives an especially good opportunity for renewing and cultivating acquaintance amongst the members in attendance. This was particularly noticeable last year, and without doubt one of the most enjoyable features of the gathering. Placing emphasis upon this, an additional room has been engaged for the coming meeting on the same floor and adjoining the rooms occupied last year, which will be fitted up especially for a reception room where members and their friends may gather and rest as they visit and talk of the many things of interest connected with our society and its work. A suitable sign will direct members to this reception room, and we anticipate that it will be made use of largely. THE PRIZE WINNER IN THE GARDEN AND CANNING CONTEST.--The Horticultural Society is offering $10.00 to pay railroad fare and traveling expenses to attend the annual meeting of our society by the boy or girl making the best record in the state in the "garden and canning contest" carried on by the Minnesota Extension Division. The successful contestant will tell in his or her way how it was that success was secured in the contest. Besides this prize of $10.00 each of the ten boys or girls scoring next highest in this contest will receive an annual membership for 1917 in the State Horticultural Society. The name of the successful contestant is not yet announced. DELEGATES FROM SISTER SOCIETIES.--Several delegates have been appointed from horticultural societies in adjoining states, notices of which have reached this office. Mr. D. E. Bingham, of Sturgeon Bay, Wis., is to represent the Wisconsin State Horticultural Society. Mr. Bingham has made fruit growing his life work, a man of large experience, whose services are in demand in that state also as an institute lecturer. We shall have an opportunity to profit by his experience at our meeting, as you will note by consulting the program. Mr. G. D. Black, of Independence, Ia., is to represent the Northeast Iowa Society. Mr. Black has been with us before and he will find many who recall his presence here in previous years. He is to give us on the program his later experience in connection with the growing of the gladioli, a work to which he has given large attention for many years. From South Dakota is coming the president of that society, Rev. S. A. Hassold, from Kimball, S.D. Other visitors from Iowa not officially sent to us who have signified an intention to be present are: Chas. F. Gardner, Osage, Ia.; E. M. Reeves, Waverly. Prof. S. A. Beach is also to spend the last two days of the annual meeting with us and his name will be found upon our program on several topics. No professional horticulturist in America is better or more favorably known than Prof. Beach, and our membership who are interested in orcharding should not fail to hear what he has to say on the subjects he presents. Mr. N. A. Rasmussen, of Oshkosh, Wis., is also to be with us and will be found several times on the program. Being an expert in market gardening we are going to work him to the limit while he is with us. We anticipate that Secretary Cranefield of the Wisconsin Society, will also spend the week with us. Prof. C.B. Waldron will be here as representative of the North Dakota Society, and also Prof. F.W. Broderick of Winnipeg as representing the Winnipeg Horticultural Society--and of course our Prof. N.E. Hansen, of South Dakota. All of these friends will be found on the program. There may be others, but this will do for a start. [Illustration: VIEW OVER VEGETABLE TABLE AND ACROSS FRUIT EXHIBIT AT 1916 MINNESOTA STATE FAIR. MR. THOS. REDPATH, SUPT. FRUIT EXHIBIT.] While it is not the intention to publish anything in this magazine that is misleading or unreliable, yet it must be remembered that the articles published herein recite the experience and opinions of their writers, and this fact must always be noted in estimating their practical value. THE MINNESOTA HORTICULTURIST Vol. 44 DECEMBER, 1916 No. 12 Perennial Garden at Carmarken, White Bear. J. W. TAYLOR, ST. PAUL. We have had so many inquiries about our garden as to how we make things grow, and as to the best plants to use, that we take pleasure in answering through the Horticulturist and giving the result of our experience in making an attractive perennial garden. Our soil is sandy loam, very quick and warm, except in one place where it is low and there is a heavy black soil over clay. It has been well enriched with well rotted manure and cultivated as much as possible every spring, where it could be done without disturbing plants and bulbs. The arrangement of flowers as regards the blending and careful selection so that one bloom does not kill another is the secret of a beautiful garden. Acres of flowers placed without any regard to color, no matter how expensive individual plants may be, is not pleasing to the eye. It is like a crowd of mixed people, and we know crowds are never beautiful. There is incompatibility among flowers as there is among people, and the compatible must be associated or there is no harmony. What do we raise and how do we do it? We will, in the space allowed, answer this as best we can. It is not necessary to spend a great lot of money if one uses good judgment and knows where to buy. Take that grand flower, the peony. One can spend as much money as one pleases on these. There is just now a fad regarding these flowers, and some rich people are paying as high as $30.00 a root for certain kinds, but it is not necessary. The most really lovely gardens I have seen in the East and West have not been filled with plants bought at fancy prices. We have some that originally cost us a good deal of money and which are now cheap, as for instance, the Henryii lily. We bought the first we heard of at one dollar and one-half each. Now they can be bought for thirty cents. In peonies, Baroness Schroeder, an ivory white, is selling for three dollars a root, while the most beautiful of all the whites according to my taste, Festiva Maxima, can be bought for fifty cents. The Kelways are all fine. The best cost about one dollar each. In our garden, among others, the Pallas, Edulis Superba, Golden Harvest, Madame Crousse and Queen Victoria, all fine, cost us fifty cents each. We have a row all around our garden of these splendid flowers, many varieties, some very rare, and nothing could be more gorgeous in color or more effective than this border. Hundreds of people came to see this peony show this year and were extravagant in their praise. The perfect harmony of arrangement was what pleased. We made many friends happy with armfuls of them to take home. That is the pleasure of your garden, the enjoyment one gets from making others happy. We especially notice how pleased the children were, the girls more so than the boys, perhaps, as they wandered along the paths fondling this or that bloom with loving fingers. With such an amount of bloom it is easy to send bouquets to the childrens' hospitals and to sick friends. We plant the peonies with the crown just under the earth, two feet apart. In the fall we cut off the old stalks and replace them over the plants after putting a good dressing of rotted manure on the beds. Another flower, which is very attractive, is the larkspur Belladonna, turquoise blue. It shows from a great distance as its heavenly blue meets the eye. When arranged in a vase with white flowers it makes the most beautiful, choice and refined bouquet we know of. The Formosum is a lovely dark blue and very striking. Give them plenty of water and some wood ashes to keep off the slugs. Cut off the stalks after blooming, about August first, and they will bloom again in autumn. We had this year a large clump of Madonna lilies and next to them a large bunch of larkspur. The effect was stunning. Just before the larkspur came the whole north end of the garden was aflame with Oriental poppies, hundreds of them. No other flower produces the effect upon one that this great proud, wonderful flower does. It is the queen of the show. We transplant this in September in ordinary soil. Or we sow the seeds in August and transplant the seedlings as soon as up. They need no protection, but we protect everything with straw and branches. The branches to keep the straw from packing too hard and keeping the air out. Protection of roses is necessary, of course. We had a great collection this season. Our plan is to cut them back to within a foot of the ground then fill a box with leaves and turn over them. We never lose a rose thus protected. Neither sun nor mice injure them. Another grand flower is Digitalis, or foxglove. These gladden your heart as the medicine made from them strengthens it. Get the mixed plants or seed, Gloxinia flora. When in bloom, look into their little gloves and note the wonder of nature's coloring. With us they grow six feet tall in black, heavy soil. They self-sow, and the plants of the present year bloom the next. A bed of these make a most gorgeous, dignified group in your garden. They are hardy with a very slight covering. Many with us self-sow and live through the winter without any protection. We made up a bed of these self-sowed in fall of 1915. They were a glory this summer. A few years ago every one said, don't waste your time on Japanese Iris. They thrive with us and bear blooms fully as large as a tea plate and of most exquisite beauty. We divide them every third year and in the spring cover them with old fertilizer and water them well. They grow in a heavy soil with some sand worked in. Our best varieties are Oriole, Distinction, Alice Kiernga, Beauty of Japan and Blue Flag. The Gladiolus is another bright and interesting addition to our floral family. The best we have are Marie de Ruyter, a pretty blue; Badenia, lavender; Golden King, a magnificent yellow; Florence, lilac blotched; Mazie, corn color; and Dawn, shell pink. Plant these bulbs in succession, three weeks apart, from April first, six inches deep, so they will stand up, and eighteen inches between rows. In this way you will have them until frost. For the house cut them when first bud comes out, and they will all blossom in water. A flower which attracts much attention with us is the Canterbury Bell, cup and saucer variety, in different colors. Very showy. This is not a perennial but a biennial. We plant our seeds in July and transplant in September or October. The Persicifolia in white and blue is a hardy perennial and grows on stalks two to three feet high, a great favorite among white flowers. In some soils they do not do well, but with us grow rampant. We prefer the white. We cut over two thousand stalks this summer from one hundred fifty plants. Of Tulips, which are so welcome in early spring, the Darwin leads all. We love them as we do the Stars of Bethlehem, the Hyacinths, Narcissi and the darling little blue flowers, Scilla Siberica, that come with the Snowdrops and Crocuses before the snow is gone. We thus have bloom from snow to snow. Always something bright, and that is another strong reason for a perennial garden. We have many calls from persons wishing to buy plants or seeds. We do not sell either, but gladly give away our surplus. We have furnished many gardens in this way all about us and thus added to the beauty of the surrounding country and made ourselves and others happy. Our collection of Lilies, Auratums, Speciosums, Tigers, Madonnas, are all planted six to eight inches deep and, after spreading manure are covered with straw, after frost. We cover all bulb beds with manure in the fall. Among lilies all but the Auratums last years, but these lose their vitality in two or three seasons. Plant all lilies in fall except Madonnas, which should be put in in August. Two fine flowers we would recommend to flower lovers: the Amaryllis Hallii, or, as we call it, the wonder flower, which grows a large bunch of leaves in spring and in June they all die down. In August there springs up a single stalk from the apparently dead plant, bearing a lily-like bunch of flowers of charming colors. It is as hardy as an oak. The other is the Dictamnus, or gas plant. Most beautiful and very hardy. Get one white and one pink and plant near each other. They are fine. Of course we have named but a small part of our collection, but will be glad to give any further information to our Horticulturist readers and will be glad to welcome them at our grounds any time. * * * * * CANNING FRUITS WITHOUT SIRUP.--Can the product the same day it is picked. Cull, stem, or seed, and clean the fruit by placing it in a strainer and pouring water over it until it is clean. Pack the product thoroughly in glass jars or tin cans until they are full; use the handle of a tablespoon, wooden ladle, or table knife for packing purposes. Pour over the fruit boiling water from a kettle, place rubbers and caps in position, partially seal if using glass jars, seal completely if using tin cans. Place the containers in a sterilizing vat, such as a wash boiler with false bottom, or other receptacle improvised for the purpose. If using a hot-water bath outfit, process for 30 minutes; count time after the water has reached the boiling point; the water must cover the highest jar in container. After sterilizing seal glass jars, wrap in paper to prevent bleaching, and store in a dry, cool place. If you are canning in tin cans it will improve the product to plunge the cans quickly into cold water immediately after sterilization. When using a steam pressure canner instead of the hot-water bath, sterilize for 10 minutes with 5 pounds of steam pressure. Never allow the pressure to go over 10 pounds. The Minnesota State Fruit-Breeding Farm. CHAS. HARALSON, SUPT., EXCELSIOR. The Minnesota State Fruit-Breeding Farm was established eight years ago, principally for breeding new varieties of fruit adapted to our climate and conditions. The aim of this work is to assist the people in getting better commercial varieties of the various fruits grown in the state, so that better returns could be secured for the people engaged in the various lines of fruit growing. Some of the plant-breeding work is beginning to show results, a few varieties of fruit are being distributed in a small way for trial in different localities. A great deal of work has been done with apples. Seedlings have been grown by the thousands every year with the idea of selecting some desirable varieties when the trees come into fruiting. Hardiness of tree, long keeping and good quality of fruit are the most desirable points we are looking for in our selections. A great deal of crossing under glass is being done with apples; a number of seedlings, the results of this crossing work, are planted every spring. Some of the six thousand Malinda apple seedlings planted seven years ago have fruited to some extent for the last three years. These show a great variation in fruit, both in color, quality and long keeping. Some of the fruit ripens with the Duchess, while others will keep until spring in good condition. There is a chance for some desirable varieties out of this lot, but it will take several years to determine whether we have anything better than the Wealthy. The Wealthy is by far our best commercial variety, but we are looking for something that will keep until spring. Gooseberries and currants are easily raised and are perfectly hardy with us, but we are working to get some improvement on these varieties. Many thousand seedlings are being grown for this purpose. Our native gooseberries are used in breeding work with the cultivated varieties to a great extent, as they are hardy, strong growers and resistant to mildew. As to cherries, we have none that are satisfactory. Some work has been carried on for several years, but we have not obtained anything of special value so far. The most promising combinations are Compass cherry crossed with the cultivated varieties. None of these have fruited, but we have some hope for a hardy cherry from these seedlings. Peaches and apricots are not hardy in Minnesota, and consequently nobody thinks of planting them. Some years ago we started crossing the sand cherry with peaches and apricots. The results were a number of seedlings, but all turned out to be worthless; the trees after several years growth were small, or grew mostly in bush form. They blossomed every spring but never set any fruit on account of some imperfection in the flowers. Four years ago we started to use the Compass cherry as the male parent, and this combination is more promising. The seedlings make a good growth and a fairly good sized tree, practically as hardy as the Compass cherry. The seedlings resemble the apricots and peaches in blossom, tree and foliage. This fruit will not be exactly an apricot or a peach, but may take the place of these fruits in a small way. [Illustration: No. 7 Hybrid Seedling Plum--from Minnesota State Fruit-Breeding Farm, at Zumbra Heights.] The Compass cherry crossed with Prunus Pissardi, or purple leaf plum, is a very interesting combination. We have about fifty seedlings growing. Most of them have the purple foliage and bark, are very ornamental and can be used with effect for lawns and landscape planting where large shrubs are wanted. The grapes. The Vitis Labrusca, such as Concord, Worden, Moore's Early and many other varieties, are not hardy unless protected during winter. There is a demand for hardy grapes that do not need any winter protection. At the Fruit-Breeding Farm this problem has been taken up on a large scale. The Beta grape is hardy but lacks in size and quality. This variety has been used to grow many thousands of seedlings from, and also used in cross-breeding with the better varieties. A large percent of Beta seedlings come true to seed or nearly so. This gives us several hundred varieties equal to Beta, and some of them are quite an improvement in size and quality over the parent and practically as hardy as the wild grape. Many of these are worthy of propagation where hardiness is the main object. Very few of the hybrid grape seedlings have fruited, but indications are that in a few years we will have grapes equal in size and quality to any of our commercial varieties. Experiments are being carried on in a small way with pears, roses and nuts. Our native hazelnuts can be improved by selection and crossing with the filberts. The same is true with the Rosa Rugosa and our native roses. In breeding strawberries we probably have had better success than with any other fruit we have attempted to improve. The breeding work was done in the greenhouse during winter and early spring and seed planted as soon as berries were ripe. The plants were transplanted to flats and later planted out in the field, where they remained until fruiting, when the selections were made. We have fruited approximately 60,000 seedlings. These have been weeded out so there are about 400 left, and these will be cut down to a few of the best varieties. At present we have one everbearing and one June-bearing variety which have proven to be very productive, of good size, good quality and good plantmakers. These plants have been sent out as premiums to members of the State Horticultural Society for the last two years and will be distributed the same way next spring. In raspberries we have several varieties which are promising. King x Loudan, No. 4, is a variety that has been sent out as premium the last three years. This variety is amongst the hardiest, the berries are dark red, very large and the most productive of all the varieties growing on the place. This has also been sent out as premium through the Horticultural Society. In plums we probably have had the best success. Some of the first breeding work was with Burbank x (crossed with) Wolf and Abundance x Wolf. We have twenty-eight seedlings of Burbank x Wolf and forty-five Abundance x Wolf which have fruited several years. We have varying degrees of hardiness in these seedlings. Most of them have withstood our winters at the fruit farm without injury, as well as in most of the southern half of the state. Among the Abundance x Wolf hybrids eight of the seedlings are only partly hardy, while of the Burbank x Wolf only one or two have shown themselves to be particularly weak in this respect. Type of fruit. In general the Burbank type of fruit is dominant. The flesh of these hybrids runs quite uniformly yellow, varying in degrees, however, from a deep yellow to a yellowish green. Some of them have a yellow skin with a blush or a streak of red, while others are a deep red even before ripe. The fruit in size varies from both smaller and larger than the parents. Firmness characterises most of the hybrids. We are also getting good shipping quality, and in Burbank x Wolf No. 12 we have a plum measuring one and three-quarters inches and more in diameter and a perfect freestone. This plum will be used extensively in further plant-breeding. In shape of tree the two hybrids differ materially. The Burbank x Wolf hybrids make spreading trees more or less, while the Abundance x Wolf grows more upright and does not need quite as much room. * * * * * TENT CATERPILLAR.--As soon as small nests are detected, they should be destroyed. When in convenient reach, the nests may be torn out with a brush, with gloved hand, or otherwise, and the larvae crushed on the ground, care being taken to destroy any caterpillars which have remained on the tree. The use of a torch to burn out the nests will be found convenient when they occur in the higher parts of the trees. In using the torch great care is necessary that no important injury be done to the tree; it should not be used in burning out nests except in the smaller branches and twigs, the killing of which would be of no special importance. Nests in the larger limbs should be destroyed by hand, as the use of the torch may kill the bark, resulting in permanent injury. Tent caterpillars are readily destroyed by arsenicals sprayed on the foliage of trees infested by them. Any of the arsenical insecticides may be used, as Paris green, Scheele's green, arsenate of lead, etc. The first two are used at the rate of one-half pound to 50 gallons of water. The milk of lime made from 2 to 3 pounds of stone lime should be added to neutralize any caustic effect of the arsenical on the foliage. Arsenate of lead is used at the rate of 2 pounds to each 50 gallons of water. On stone fruits, such as cherry, peach, and plum, arsenicals are likely to cause injury to foliage and must be used with caution if at all. On such trees the arsenate of lead is preferable, as it is less injurious to foliage, and on all trees sticks much better. In spraying for the tent caterpillar only, applications should be made while the caterpillars are yet small, as they then succumb more quickly to poisons than when more nearly full grown, and prompt treatment stops further defoliation of the trees.--U. S. Dept. Agri. Color Combinations in the Garden. MISS ELIZABETH STARR, 2224 FREMONT SO., MINNEAPOLIS. English books on gardening set forth two principal methods of making a garden: first, to have each part perfect for a short time each year and then let it melt into the background for the rest of the season; second, to have every part of the garden showing some flowers all through the summer. These two methods suggest the impressionistic and miniature schools of painting. With the first method it is possible to get great masses of color and brilliant effects to be viewed at a distance, but it requires a great deal of space, with a perennial garden at least, for unfortunately most of our perennials are in their greatest glory for only a few weeks at a time. The second method fills more nearly the needs of the small garden, where the vistas are short and the individual plant is under close inspection. The greatest difficulty is this, that the amateur cannot resist the lure of a great variety of plants, and unless a vigorous thinning out is faithfully practiced and the habit of growth, the period of blooming, the height and color of each individual is carefully studied, the effect of the whole is very apt to be mussy and distracting to the eye, whereas the ideal garden is soothing in effect. I have only been studying the problem for the last five or six years, so that I am still decidedly an amateur, but I have kept a faithful record of the time of flowering of each variety I have grown in my garden and have discovered that the time of blooming does not vary more than five days for each plant no matter whether the season be wet or dry. With this record at hand I can arrange each part of my garden with a view to the succession of bloom throughout the summer. I can place plants with clashing colors side by side with the calm assurance that they will not clash because their periods of blooming do not overlap. In this way I can completely change the color of certain parts of my garden during the summer if I so desire. In studying combinations for the garden we must take into consideration the harmony and contrast of color, texture, form, height and the succession of bloom. We must also see that plants requiring the same soil and the same care are put together. In my garden I use both annuals and perennials but am limited in choice to those plants that are perfectly hardy, that will stand infinite neglect, drought, much wind, a stiff soil, that do not require especial protection in the winter, that will be in bloom all summer long and be beautiful. This, as I have found, is a rather difficult task. [Illustration: Perennial border. Edging of pinks and Shasta daisies, pink canterbury bells and Festiva Maxima peony. Behind, pyrethrum, uliginosum and hollyhocks. Blue flowering flax adds depth to the pink and white.] There is a great diversity of opinion as to how to set out plants. Some say, "Give each plant plenty of room; let it expand as much as it will." Others say, "Each six inches of ground should have its plant; set them so closely that no dirt will show between; in this way each individual plant will be finer than when set out singly and the leaves will form a shade for the ground." I have used the latter method, for, since we have no means of watering, the conservation of moisture is an important item. The chief objection is that there is a constant danger of overcrowding, and it requires a frequent resetting of plants as they increase in size from year to year. [Illustration: Yellow iris against the blue of distant hills.] I have a border on the north side of my garden that is six feet wide and about seventy feet long. It is my aim to keep this in bloom all through the summer long. There is a background of purple and white lilacs and cut-leaf spirea. The first thing that comes in the spring is poet's narcissus, then groups of Darwin tulips; both of these are naturalized and remain in the ground from year to year. Next comes the perennial blue flax, a half dozen plants set at intervals down the border, that every morning from mid-April until August are a mass of blue. Clumps of May-flowering iris and then June-flowering iris and four large peony plants make the border bright until the latter part of June, when alternating groups of field daisies and pink and red sweet williams are in full bloom at one end of the border, and summer-flowering cosmos holds sway at the other end, while the flax, bachelor's buttons and daisies fill the center with blue and white. By the middle of July the calendulas, coreopsis and annual larkspur make a vivid display where the narcissus was before. These four make a very good combination, for if the bed is well made and the narcissus planted deep, the coreopsis and larkspur seed themselves, and with the exception of a deep raking in the late fall the bed needs no attention except thinning out for three years, and it is in bloom for at least four months of the season. [Illustration: Pink and white pinks, field and Shasta daisies, canterbury bells and hollyhocks.] In this border I have at last found a place for the magenta phlox that usually fights with the whole garden. I put it in front of a single row of pink and white cosmos, flank it on one side with pink and white verbenas, on the other with mixed scabiosas and in front of all a single row of Shasta daisies. This combination pleases the family as well as the phlox. On the south side of the garden, against a low buckthorn hedge is a narrower border of sky-blue belladonna, delphinium, buttercups and achillea, with an edging of Chinese pinks. I had thought the complementary colors of the delphinium and buttercups would set each other off, but it is a very poor combination, for the foliage is so much alike that there is no contrast there, and when the plants are not in bloom it is almost impossible to tell which is which so as to take out the buttercups, whose yellow is too bright. Shasta daisies set off the delphiniums to perfection with the wonderful purity of their white and yellow and pleasing contrast of form, foliage and height. With Emperor narcissus bulbs set between the plants, there are flowers in the border the whole season. Another very poor combination that is in my garden, much to my sorrow, is hemerocallis and siberica iris. They started out about three feet from each other, but the hemerocallis spreads so quickly that now they form a mass that is almost impossible to break apart. Another mistake I made was to put Shasta daisies and field daisies near together. It is unfair to the smaller daisies, for although they are fully two inches in diameter, yet they appear dwarfed beside the giants. There is one point in my garden that is vivid throughout the summer. First comes the orange lilium elegans, then scarlet lychnis and later, tiger lilies. Another bit is gorgeous from the first of August until frost; it is made up of blue and white campanula pyramidalis, that grow quite five feet high, and Mrs. Francis King gladioli. An important thing to think of is the line of vision from each point of vantage of the house--the endwise view of a multicolored bed of fairy columbines against a light green willow from the sewing room window, from the library the blue of a Juniata iris swaying four feet up in the air in front of a sweet briar, from the front porch pale yellow Flavescens iris through a mist of purple sweet rockets. The garden is in its glory during the iris season. At a conservative estimate we have about twenty-five hundred of them in our little garden, ranging through all the colors of the rainbow and blooming from April until late June. They may easily make such an increase that it is baffling to cope with, but they are so beautiful and so amenable to the experimenting of an amateur that we feel as though we couldn't get enough of them. Last summer a wonderful effect was achieved by putting dark blue and mahogany-colored pansies beside Jacquesiana and Othello iris, this repeating the color and texture in different plants. [Illustration: Rocky Mountain columbine against the willow hedge, with perennial candytuft as edging.] We leave the garden through a wooden arch. Climbing over one side of this is a Thousandschon rose, and on the other side a Dr. Van Fleet grows rank. A wild clematis is planted beside each rose and fills the top of the arch. I am rather dubious about the combination, for I fear the clematis may grow so heavy that it will choke out the roses, but this summer at least it was beautiful, and another summer will come to try other combinations. Truck Crop and Garden Insects. AN EXERCISE LED BY PROF. WM. MOORE, ENTOMOLOGICAL DEPARTMENT, UNIVERSITY FARM, ST. PAUL. There is one insect that probably all those who are in the market garden business are very much interested in, and that is the cabbage maggot. As you all know, in the spring of the year, after cabbages are put out, frequently you will find the cabbages slowly dying, one dying one day and two or three the next day, and so on until sometimes fifty per cent or more of the cabbages die. At first it is not exactly apparent what is killing the cabbages, but when one is pulled up it will be noticed that a little maggot is working in the root of the cabbage. This insect is commonly known as the cabbage maggot. For a number of years work has been carried on with the cabbage maggot, and all sorts of treatments have been tried, many without any great success. The unfortunate part is that usually the market gardener don't take much thought of this maggot until it is actually doing the injury, and at that time they are mighty difficult to handle. There have been several different treatments advised, one of which is fresh hellebore, about two ounces steeped in a quart of boiling water and then diluted to a gallon and poured upon the base of the plant. It will destroy the maggots, but hellebore is very expensive and, as probably most of you know, there isn't a great amount of profit in cabbage; so any treatment will have to be a cheap treatment, or you will use up your profit. During the last two years I have been working along a line which is entirely different from the treatment of the maggot, and that is based upon the fact that the fly which lays the egg which produces the maggot in the cabbage comes out early in the spring and flies about the field for probably a week or ten days or two weeks before it lays its eggs, and during that period it eats any sweet material which happens to be on hand. With this as a basis we thought we might be able to poison the flies and thus prevent injury from the maggots, and we have tried several different spray mixtures along that line. One mixture which we use is a mixture which is normally used against the fruit flies which are oftentimes injurious to fruit, particularly in the east and in tropical countries. This contains three ounces of arsenate of lead, two and half pounds of brown sugar and four gallons of water. The idea is to spray this in the field, spraying it on the plants as soon as the plants are put out in the field. We have more or less definite dates for the appearance of the flies in the field and for their disappearance again. But, as you know, the season varies, and the result is somewhat uncertain. So probably the best method is to base it upon the time you plant out your cabbage. In the early seasons you will plant your cabbages early, and in the late seasons later. So plant out your cabbage and then spray them every week until the 10th of May. You should spray them, not to cover the leaves with the poison, but merely sufficient so that there are a few drops of this poisoned material on the leaves so that the flies can eat it. Flies will come there and feed upon this mixture and die. It is rather peculiar that we started work here about the same time on the cabbage maggot that they started work on the onion maggot along similar lines in Wisconsin. I don't think that either knew that the other was working towards that end. They used a different mixture, one-fifth ounce of sodium arsenite, one-half pint of New Orleans molasses and one gallon of water. This was sprayed over the onions and was very successful in controlling the onion maggot. I tried their mixture this last year. They published some of their results last year, so it gave me an opportunity to watch their mixture in comparison with the lead arsenate. They claimed the lead arsenate did not act as quickly as the sodium arsenite. That is true, but when you have a ten-day period to kill the fly it don't make much difference whether it dies in ten hours or twenty-four. The flies are not doing any injury. If you take the lead arsenate and sugar and water and put it in a jar, the arsenate always sinks to the bottom, and if you were to test it that way, the fly would feed on the top and you might not get a quick result. But if you spray it on, the lead arsenate will kill as quickly as the sodium arsenite. There is an objection to the use of arsenite in that sodium arsenite is a soluble poison and will burn the leaves of the cabbage. Of course, that is not particularly serious as those are the first leaves the cabbages have and the cabbage soon gets over any slight injury, but many truck gardeners probably would object to that. In the onion you have a different shaped leaf, and the injury is not so apparent. Last summer I found that New Orleans molasses would give you a little bit better result than the sugar, and it is cheaper. The objection to the New Orleans molasses is the sticky nature of the material in handling. I might mention in regard to opening cans of New Orleans molasses. If you never opened one and try this treatment, be careful about opening the can. The lid is pushed down tight and under warm conditions, or if the molasses has been in a warm room there is a certain amount of fermentation and gas under pressure, and if you pry it open quickly you find the lid flies up in the air and you will probably be smeared over with molasses. I employed my spray, that is, one ounce of lead arsenate, one-half pint of New Orleans molasses and one gallon of water last season. The check plots had cabbages attacked by the maggots, probably 10 or 15 per cent of the plants dying from the attack. Last year was a very good season, that is, many of the plants seriously attacked put out roots again, and those were able to grow again in the sprayed plots. The infestation of the sprayed plots was probably about 30 to 40 per cent. of the plants, but they only contained probably one maggot each, which is very slight and not sufficient to do any damage. There is one market gardener whose cabbage patch we sprayed, I think, only a part of two rows, and we thought we would leave the rest of his patch as a control. Apparently the amount of material we put on there was sufficient to attract the flies from the whole field. Not a single cabbage died, and he was pleased with the result of the spray. Mr. Miller: What do you do for root aphis? Mr. Moore: Root aphis can very easily be controlled with tobacco extract. It is put upon the root of any plant that is affected, a tablespoonful to a gallon of water. There are a number of different tobacco extracts on the market. Some of them contain 15 per cent. of nicotine, some contain 20, some 25 and some 40, and I think there is one brand that contains 45 per cent. You will find that the brands that contain the most nicotine are the most expensive, but in proportion you use less material. Thus 20 per cent. tobacco extract would take two tablespoonfuls to the gallon, while 40 per cent. would take only one. It is the nicotine which is the working portion of it. Mr. Miller: Then you can use the black leaf forty? Mr. Moore: It is very good, it is 40 per cent. nicotine. There is another product put out by the same company, a black leaf, only 15 or 20 per cent. This is cheaper, but you have to use more of it. If anything probably the more expensive would be the cheaper in the long run. Mr. Wintersteen: The maggots that attack the radishes and turnips are the same as the cabbage maggot? Mr. Moore: Yes, sir. Mr. Wintersteen: Why is it I have no trouble with the cabbages, and yet I can raise no radishes or turnips in the same ground? Mr. Moore: The radishes and turnips are attacked and the cabbages are not? Mr. Wintersteen: Yes, sir. Mr. Moore: Which do you raise, early cabbages? Mr. Wintersteen: Yes, sir. Mr. Moore: What variety do you raise? Mr. Wintersteen: The Wakefield, generally. Mr. Moore: Some varieties of cabbages are not nearly so severely attacked as others. I think of the two that they would prefer radishes probably. Growing them side by side you find they infest the radishes. That was my experience last year. I grew the first generation of cabbages, and the second generation I took over into the radishes because I wanted to treat them there. Mr. Rasmussen: Did you say the same fly attacks the onion and the cabbage? Mr. Moore: The onion has two different flies, one which is black in color, with light colored bands across the wings, and that one passes the winter as a larva in the old onions left in the field. It is an injurious practice to leave old onions there to breed these maggots. If they were taken out and destroyed you could do away with that one. The cabbage fly is different. When you use the spray it would probably be all right to use the sodium arsenite for the onion and the lead arsenate for the cabbage. The type of leaf is entirely different, and on the cabbage you are apt to burn them with the sodium arsenite while the lead arsenate will give you practically the same result. Mr. Goudy: The cabbage butterfly, does that come from the same maggot? Mr. Moore: No; this maggot is on the root, the cabbage butterfly lays its eggs on the leaf. You get the cabbage worm from the cabbage butterfly. Mr. Goudy: What do you do for that? Mr. Moore: Paris green is used to a great extent, but many people have a horror of using Paris green. Last year, I think it was, I was called up on the phone by some one and I advised him to use Paris green. He said that he was afraid it might poison everybody. I explained to him there was no danger from it, as you know the cabbage leaves grow from the inside, not from the outside, and the spray would be on the outside leaves. Besides that, we usually spray early for the cabbage worm while the heads come on later. Mr. Goudy: Did you ever try capsicum, sprinkling that on the heads? Mr. Moore: No, sir. Mr. Goudy: I saved my cabbages one year by using that. Mr. Moore: Some people claim salt is good. One of the students mentioned it to me. One applied it by putting a spoonful around over the head, another dissolved a tablespoonful in about ten quarts of water and sprayed it on. Salt is rather injurious to vegetation as a rule. Of course, they only put it on the leaves, and the cabbage is a hardy plant. Air slaked lime is also good, but would have to be applied several times. With the arsenate you apply it once and kill all the brood. Mr. Ludlow: We took them all off of mine one year by using boiling hot water. Mr. Moore: Yes, sir; water is very good. The objection is, on a large scale it is not feasible. Mr. Miller: Slug shot is very good. Mr. Moore: Yes, sir; it doesn't contain very much poison, but it is sufficient to kill the cabbage worm. Mr. Cadoo: I used just simply wood ashes. Mr. Moore: The cabbage worm is one that is very easy to handle. A Member: I have always used salt. I think it makes a more firm and solid head, that is my theory, I don't know whether I am right or not. I have been doing that for years. Mr. Moore: I don't know. I never heard of the treatment with salt until two or three days ago when several students mentioned that they used salt. Some people won't use Paris green. There was one case a man said his wife wouldn't let him do it even if she knew it wasn't poison; she didn't like the idea of Paris green on cabbage. Mr. Ingersoll: Is there anything you can suggest to control the yellows in asters? Mr. Moore: The yellows in asters has been a problem which has been very amusing there at the farm. A man sends in an aster to the entomological department, we examine it and can't find anything that belongs to our department, and we send it to the plant pathological department, and they send it back to us. Last year we made a point in every case of yellows in asters to send some one to investigate and find out what was going on to produce it. In some cases it seemed to be a fungous disease. One case I know turned out to be a fungous disease, the very next one was due to plant lice on the roots of the asters. In that case I don't think you get quite the distinct yellows of the asters, but rather the plants wilt and become weak and finally die. That can very easily be controlled with tobacco extract, pouring it upon the buds of the plants. We do not know definitely about the yellows. We think it is more or less of a physiological disease of the plant, not due to an insect. This last year we have not found any what we would call the true yellows. There is an insect that produces similar trouble on other plants, a plant bug, which is hard to secure because it flies away. That is the reason we have been sending out to see exactly what is going on in the field, and we didn't see any evidence of their work this year. Another thing, it seems to be a year in which the asters did fairly well, and there was very little yellows. Mr. Ingersoll: You think that irregular watering might make any difference or very solid rooting? Mr. Moore: It might do something of the sort. The most we heard of the yellows was the year before last, and we were held up at the time with other work and could not investigate properly. Any one here that has yellows in asters next year, we would be very glad to hear from him and send some one out to find the cause. It wouldn't surprise me that it was something in the treatment of the aster. Mr. Cadoo: Do angleworms hurt house plants? Mr. Moore: Not as a rule. They do eat a small amount of vegetation, but ordinarily in a house plant, if you have, say, a worm in a pot, I think it is rather beneficial than injurious, because it keeps the soil stirred up. Mr. Rasmussen: What is the spray for the cabbage and onion maggot? Mr. Moore: Unfortunately I am a very poor person to remember figures, and I carry this around with me. One spray is three ounces of lead arsenate, two and a half pounds of brown sugar to four gallons of water, but we found that probably a little better spray was to use the New Orleans molasses instead of the sugar and the formula is: One ounce of lead arsenate, one-half pint of New Orleans molasses and one gallon of water. The spray that was used for the onion maggot and was devised over in Wisconsin is: One-fifth ounce of sodium arsenite, one-half pint of New Orleans molasses and one gallon of water. Mr. Rasmussen: The Wisconsin spray is what I used to spray my place several years, and I was wondering if it was the same. Mr. Moore: It was peculiar that they started to work on the onion maggot in Wisconsin at the same time we started on the cabbage maggot here. Mr. Rasmussen: We have controlled the onion maggots almost entirely, but the cabbage maggots are very difficult. Mr. Moore: In our control plots it controlled it very well. Our plants were infested only with a few maggots, but not sufficient to do any injury. The Wealthy Apple. F. H. BALLOU. (THE OPINION OF AN OHIO APPLE GROWER--FROM A BULLETIN ISSUED BY OHIO STATE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY.) The value of a variety of apple commercially usually decides its place in the estimation of growers. Naturally the later maturing, longer keeping or winter varieties are generally accorded this preference. Orchardists in the southern part of Ohio doubtless would elect Rome Beauty queen of money makers, were the question put to a vote. Apple producers of northern Ohio or western New York would as surely vote for Baldwin. But what variety would you--Mr. Lover-of-apples-and-apple products--vote for and plant if but a single variety and space for but a single tree were available? After twenty years observation and enjoyment of apple precocity, apple dependability and all-around apple excellence throughout a long season, the writer continues annually to cast his ballot for Wealthy. [Illustration: Mr. Rolla Sfubbs, of Bederwood, Lake Minnetonka, under his favorite tree, the Wealthy.] True the Wealthy has its faults--so have all the other varieties of apples of individual choice--and so have we--the growers; but for early fruitage, prolificacy, excellence for culinary use, extended period of usefulness, richness and delicacy of flavor when ripened in a cool cellar and good keeping qualities when under proper conditions it is placed in cold storage, there are few if any varieties other than this that combine so many splendid and desirable characteristics. From mid-July to mid-September of the present year we have been using Wealthy for culinary purposes with steadily increasing enjoyment as their quality has gradually become finer and finer. At this writing, September 18, we have in the cellar attractively colored, well ripened, pink-and-white-fleshed Wealthy delightful for dessert use; and there are yet Wealthy--firm and crisp--on the trees for later autumn use if kept in the cellar, or early winter and holiday use if placed in cold storage. If we could have but one apple tree that tree would be a Wealthy. This statement is made with full knowledge and appreciation of the many other excellent varieties of various seasons, including Grimes, Jonathan, Stayman and Delicious. Law Fixes Standards for Containers for Fruits, Berries and Vegetables in Interstate Commerce. (TAKEN FROM "WISCONSIN HORTICULTURE," THE ORGAN OF WIS. STATE HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY.) Standards for Climax baskets for grapes, other fruits and vegetables, and other types of baskets and containers used for small fruits, berries, and vegetables in interstate commerce, are fixed by an act approved by the President August 31, 1916. The law will become effective November 1, 1917. The effect of the act will be to require the use of the standards in manufacturing, sale, or shipment for all interstate commerce, whether the containers are filled or unfilled. A large part of the traffic in fruits and vegetables in this country enters interstate commerce. The law relates only to the containers and will not affect local regulations in regard to heaped measure or other method of filling. A special exemption from the operations of the law is made for all containers manufactured, sold, or shipped, when intended for export to foreign countries, and when such containers accord with the specifications of the foreign purchasers, or comply with the laws of the country to which the shipment is destined. Standards of three capacities are fixed for Climax baskets--2, 4 and 12 quarts, dry measure. These containers, often known as "grape baskets," have relatively narrow, flat bottoms, rounded at each end, and thin sides flaring slightly from the perpendicular. The handle is hooped over at the middle from side to side. In addition to fixing the capacities of these standard baskets of this type, the law also prescribes their dimensions. The other standards are for "baskets or other containers for small fruits, berries, and vegetables." They are to have capacities only of one-half pint, 1 pint, 1 quart, or multiples of 1 quart, dry measure. Such containers may be of any shape so long as their capacities accurately accord with the standard requirements. The examination and test of containers to determine whether they comply with the provisions of the act are made duties of the department, and the Secretary of Agriculture is empowered to establish and promulgate rules and regulations allowing such reasonable tolerances and variations as may be found necessary. Penalties are provided by the act for the manufacture for shipment, sale for shipment, or shipment in interstate commerce of Climax baskets, and containers for small fruits, berries, and vegetables, not in accord with the standards. It is provided, however: That no dealer shall be prosecuted under the provisions of this act when he can establish a guaranty signed by the manufacturer, wholesaler, jobber, or other party residing within the United States from whom such Climax baskets, baskets, or other containers, as defined in this act, were purchased, to the effect that said Climax baskets, baskets, or other containers are correct within the meaning of this act. Said guaranty, to afford protection, shall contain the name and address of the party or parties making the sale of Climax baskets, baskets, or other containers, to such dealer, and in such case said party or parties shall be amenable to the prosecutions, fines, and other penalties which would attach in due course to the dealer under the provisions of this act.--Department of Agriculture. [Illustration: A PLANT-CHIMERA: TWO VARIETIES OF APPLE IN ONE. Golden Russet and Boston Stripe combined in the same fruit, as the result of a graft. Trees producing these apples bear only a few fruits of this combination; the rest of the crop belongs entirely to one or other of the two varieties concerned. The explanation of these chimeras is that the original buds of the scion failed to grow, after the graft was made, but an adventitious bud arose exactly at the juncture of stock and scion, and included cells derived from both. These cells grow side by side but remain quite distinct in the same stem, each kind of cell reproducing its own sort. From "Journal of Heredity," May, 1914. Published by the "American Genetic Association," Washington, D. C.] The Rhubarb Plant. LUDVIG MOSBAEK, ASKOV. Rhubarb, or pieplant, as it is more commonly called, is one of the hardiest and at the same time a most delicious fruit. When the stalks are used at the right stage and given the proper care by the cook, they are almost equal to fresh peaches. Rhubarb can be transplanted every month in the year, but the best time is early spring or August. There are especially two things rhubarb will not stand, "wet feet and deep planting." Most beneficial is good natural or artificial drainage and rich soil, made so by a good coat of manure, plowed or spaded in, and a liberal top dressing every fall, cultivated or hoed in on the top soil the next spring. Fifty plants or divisions of a good tender variety planted 3 to 4 feet apart will supply an average household with more delicious fresh fruit and juice for six months of the year than five times the space of ground devoted to currants, gooseberries or any other fruit, and if you have from 50 to 100 plants you can afford to pick the first stalk that sprouts up in April and still figure on having an abundance to keep you well supplied all summer. Do you really know what a delicious beverage can be made from the juice of rhubarb mixed in cool water? Take it along in the hayfield a hot summer day. And even if you can not keep it cool the acid contained in the juice still makes it a delicious and stimulating drink where you would loathe the taste of a stale beer. There are about a hundred other ways to prepare rhubarb, not forgetting a well cooled rhubarb mush served with cool milk in the evening or for that matter three times a day; nothing cheaper, nor healthier. The fresh acid contained in the rhubarb purifies the blood and puts new vigor in your body and soul, is better and cheaper than any patent medicines, and from the growth of 50 to 100 plants you can eat every day for six months and preserve enough in fresh, cool water in airtight jars to last you all winter. But you can do still better with your rhubarb. You can add three months more and make it nine months of the year for fresh, crisp, delicious fruit. I will tell you how. When your rhubarb gets 3-4 years old and very big and strong clumps of roots, divide some of the best and make a new planting and dig some of the balance before frost in the fall. Leave them on top of the ground until they have had a good freeze--this is very essential to success--then place the roots as you dug them in a dark corner in your cellar or in a barrel in your cellar, exclude all light, keep the soil moderately wet and after Christmas and until spring you will have an abundance of brittle, fine flavored stalks that are fully equal to and perhaps more tender than the outdoor grown. Years ago in Chicago I grew rhubarb in a dark house 36�80 ft., built for that purpose, and the stalks generally commanded a price of 12 to 15c a pound in the right market in January, February and March. It is better not to pull any stalks the summer you transplant, at least not until September. Next year in May and June you can have stalks from 1/2 to 1 pound and over. When you pull stalks don't take the outer two or three leaves but only the tender ones, and strip them off in succession so you do not come back to the same plants to pull for four to six weeks or more. Just as quick as the plant shows flower stems cut them off close to the ground and keep them off, never allow them to show their heads. I have grown rhubarb for market and for domestic use for about forty years, having one time as much as five acres, and I will assure you if you will follow directions you will appreciate rhubarb more than before and get out of it all it is worth. * * * * * TREES PLANTED BY MACHINE.--A machine which plants from ten to fifteen thousand forest trees seedlings a day is now being used at the Letchworth Park Forest and Arboretum, in Wyoming County, N. Y., according to officials of the Forest Service who are acting as advisers in the work. Previously the planting had been done by hand at the rate of 1,200 to 1,500 trees each day per man. The machine was designed to set out cabbage and tomato plants, but works equally well with trees. It is about the size of an ordinary mowing machine and is operated by three men and two horses. One man drives the team while the other two handle the seedlings. The machine makes a furrow in which the trees are set at any desired distance, and an automatic device indicates where they should be dropped. Two metal-tired wheels push and roll the dirt firmly down around the roots. This is a very desirable feature, it is said, because the trees are apt to die if this is not well done. Two attachments make it possible to place water and fertilizer at the roots of each seedling. Another attachment marks the line on which the next row of trees is to be planted. No cost figures are available yet, but officials say that the cost will be much less than when the planting is done by hand. It is stated that the machine can be used on any land which has been cleared and is not too rough to plow and harrow.--U. S. Dept. Agri. The Greenhouse versus Hotbeds. FRANK H. GIBBS, MARKET GARDENER, ST. ANTHONY PARK. In discussing the subject assigned me, I will only speak of hotbeds and hothouses as used for the purpose of growing vegetables and early vegetable plants. The hotbed is still very desirable where it is wanted on a small scale to grow early vegetables for the home or market, as the small cost for an outfit is very small as compared to hothouses. Sash 4�5 ft., which is the favorite size with market gardeners, can be purchased for about $2.00 each glazed, and a box 5�16 ft. to hold four sash can be made for $1.50, making an outlay less than $10.00 for 80 sq. ft. of bed. With good care sash and boxes will last eight years. Where the beds are put down in early February two crops of lettuce and one crop of cucumbers can be grown, and when the spring is late three crops of lettuce before outdoor lettuce appears on the market, when the beds are given over entirely to the cucumber crop. Lettuce at that time generally sells for 25c per dozen, and cucumbers from 50c down to 15c per dozen, according to the season. From three to five hundred cabbage, cauliflower or lettuce plants can be grown under each sash, or from 150 to 300 tomatoes, peppers or egg plants can likewise be grown under each sash, or where lettuce is grown to maturity six dozen per sash. The cost of the horse manure for the beds varies greatly, as some are situated where it can be secured very reasonably, while with others the cost would be prohibitive. The amount required also varies according to the season they are put down. When the beds are put down early in February, three cords of manure are necessary for each box. When they are put down March 1st, one-half that amount is needed. Where there is no desire to get the early market, and the beds are put down March 15th, one cord is plenty for each box. I have never tried to figure out just what the cost of putting down each box is, or what is the cost of ventilating and watering; but if they are neglected and the plants get burned or frozen, the cost is much more than if they were given proper attention, and, besides, much time is lost in getting another start, as they are generally left several days to see if the plants will recover, which they seldom do. The cost of hothouses varies so greatly for the size of the house that it is hard to draw a comparison. A modern steel frame house containing 10,000 sq. ft. of glass can be built for about $4,000.00, or a house one-half that size can be built for $10,000.00 and is no better than its cheaper rival. A small house say 16�80 ft., heated with a brick furnace and flue and hot water coil can be built for from $350.00 to $400.00, where one does not have to hire skilled labor. A hothouse of any size is very satisfactory, as in cold, stormy weather, when we can't even look into a hotbed, plants can be kept growing and there is always something we can do and be comfortable while we are doing it. It is impossible to use a hotbed all winter, as no matter how much manure is put into it in the fall it will cool out and be worthless long before spring. [Illustration: Showing hotbeds and greenhouse at F. H. Gibbs' market gardens.] With a good hothouse four crops of lettuce can be raised during the fall and winter, and a crop of cucumbers in the spring and early summer. Each crop of lettuce sells for from 20c to 25c per dozen; the plants are set six inches apart each way, making about four per square foot of bench room. The cucumber crop generally pays as well as two crops of lettuce and is usually planted to come into bearing early in June and kept bearing through July, or until the outdoor cucumbers are on the market. In the so-called summer just passed (1915), there were no outdoor cucumbers, and they were kept bearing through August and September. Cucumbers grown in hotbeds cannot be kept in bearing more than six weeks before the vines go to pieces and will not sell for as high a price as hothouse grown. With favorable weather I have always thought I could grow a crop of lettuce in less time in a hotbed than in a hothouse, but with cold, cloudy weather the advantage is on the side of the hothouse. Much less time is required to do the ventilating and watering in a hothouse than with beds, and the soil must be in the highest state of fertility for either one. While hotbeds will always be desirable in many localities on account of the small first cost, the days of the large commercial hotbed yard is passed, and there are now around Minneapolis 5,000 hotbed sash that will not be put down next spring, or if put down, used only on cold frames, all owing to the scarcity of fresh horse manure. While it is a great satisfaction to have a hothouse or hotbeds and grow vegetables in winter, the life of the market gardener is not one continuous round of pleasure, as lice, white fly, red spider and thrip, mildew and fungous rot are always ready for a fight, and the gardener must always be on his guard and beat them to it at their first appearance, or the labor of weeks will be lost. An Ideal Flower Garden for a Country Home. M. H. WETHERBEE, FLORIST, CHARLES CITY, IOWA. In laying out grounds for country homes or remodeling them, space should be of the first importance, and where space permits there is no better arrangement than a fine border on one side of the lawn with a driveway between the lawn and the border, leading from the street to the house and barns. The border should be wide enough to have a nice variety of shrubs for a background, and there should be space for the hardy perennials and bulbs, which should not be planted solidly but placed in clumps and arranged according to height and blooming season and as to color effect. I will mention a few of the hardy shrubs and plants that we can all grow with success. While the catalogues are filled with a large list of so-called hardy stock, we must remember that we live in a good sized country and what would be hardy in Southern Iowa, Missouri and Illinois, would not stand the winters of Northern Iowa or of Minnesota or other localities of the same latitude. In shrubs we can be sure of a variety of lilacs, snowballs, and hydrangea paniculata. Some of the newer varieties are fine and bloom in August, when few other shrubs are flowering. Spirea Van Houttii, best known as Bridal Wreath, we might include and a few of the hardy vines if a trellis or other support was given for them, such as clematis paniculata, coccinea and jackmani, the large purple and white honeysuckle, Chinese matrimony vine, etc. Among hardy roses, which are called the queen of all flowers, are the Rugosa type, which will stand the winters with no protection and continue to flower all summer. While the flowers of that type are single or semi-double, the bushes would be handsome without any flowers. This type also produces hips, which adds to their attractiveness, and these may be made into jelly in the fall if so desired. I would advise to plant some of the most hardy of the hybrid perpetual roses, such as General Jacqueminot, Magna Charta, Mrs. Chas. Wood, Mrs. John Lang, Mad. Plantier, with some of the climbers, such as the Rambler in variety, Prairie Queen, Baltimore Belle and, perhaps, some others, with the understanding that the hybrids and climbers should have protection in some form for the winter months. Then in hardy perennials there is such a variety to select from that one hardly knows where to begin or when to stop. Of course everyone wants a few peonies, and some of the hardy phlox, in such a variety of color. Then the delphinium, or hardy larkspurs, are fine bloomers. The blue and white platycodon are sure to flower, while the German iris are good and the Japan iris are fine flowers, but have to have good protection to stand our winters. For fine white flowers we have the showy achilleas in variety and gypsophila paniculata, called baby breath as a common name. Then we must have plenty of space for a variety of annuals, such as sweet peas, cosmos, pansies, verbenas, etc. Also, we would grow geraniums in variety, a few summer carnations, and the selection can be large or small, but almost every one will want some dahlia and gladiolus bulbs. Those that like yellow, or lemon, lilies can plant them and have a mass of flowers during June. The Japan lilies, especially the rubrum variety, are good bloomers and quite hardy. The Planting and Care of Hardy Perennials. MISS GRACE E. KIMBALL, WALTHAM. (SO. MINN. HORT. SOCIETY.) The most important essential in the planting of hardy perennials is the preparation of the ground. It must be deeply spaded or plowed and thoroughly pulverized. While most kinds of plants will do well in any good garden soil, most gardens need more or less fertilizer to make the ground good garden soil. So it is well at the time of spading or plowing to see that enough fertilizer is applied to insure good growth and blossom. But care must be used that no fresh stable manure comes in contact with the roots. If it must be used see that it is put in the bottom of the hole or trench dug for the plants, and covered several inches with earth. When the ground is well prepared and properly fertilized comes the planting, and as many plants need somewhat different handling, it is well for one starting a garden to understand just how each kind should be set. The iris, for instance, likes to be very near the surface of the ground. In fact it seems to delight in pushing the earth off the fleshy part of the root and basking in the sun, while the small roots lie very close to the surface. The oriental poppy must be planted with the crown well above the ground, or else when any moisture settles on it the crown will rot, and the plant die. The gaillardia, larkspur and columbine should be planted about as the oriental poppy with the crowns perhaps not quite as much above the ground, while the peony should be set so that the bud is covered two or three inches. Since fall planting of herbaceous perennials has come into prominence one can choose either spring or fall for most of their planting, as most plants do well set at either time. But the oriental poppy does not ship nor transplant well in the spring. It dies down after blossoming--one may think they have lost their plants then--and starts up again in August or September. Just as it is starting then seems to be the safest time to plant. August and September are considered the best months to do fall planting, although some advocate setting peonies until it freezes. Still I think it safer to plant earlier than that. If I were beginning a hardy garden, one that I could add to from time to time, I would try to set out in the fall plants that bloom in the spring or early summer, and in the spring those that bloom in the fall. Nothing is gained by setting iris or peonies in the spring, for nine times out of ten they will not bloom the same season they are set, while if set in the fall nearly all varieties of either the iris or peony will bloom the next year. On the other hand, phlox set in the spring scarcely ever fails to bloom in the late summer or early fall, and keeps it up until freezing weather. The phlox, however, should be taken up and divided every two or three years to obtain the best results. After planting comes the cultivating, which should be kept up all summer. Especially after a rain should the ground be stirred to keep it from baking. In exceedingly dry seasons by keeping a dust mulch around the plants one can avoid having to do much watering--for unless you water thoroughly at such a time it is better not to water at all. However, if it finally becomes necessary to apply water, the dust mulch has kept the ground in condition to absorb all the water that is used. In the fall after the ground has frozen a light covering of some kind should be thrown over the plants. This is to protect them from the thawing and freezing that takes place from time to time during the winter and early spring. After the first year, when the foliage has increased so as to be some protection, it is not as necessary to cover, although no doubt a little more covering would be beneficial. Some growers of the peony, however, advocate cutting off the leaves in the fall, and in such a case a covering would be necessary. We found a very satisfactory way for both covering and fertilizing was to throw a fork full of dressing around each plant in the fall and work it into the ground in the spring. IN MEMORIAM--J. F. BENJAMIN. PASSED JULY 15, 1916. AGED 59 YEARS. "John Franklin Benjamin was born at Belvidere, Illinois, May 6, 1857. That same year his parents moved to Hutchinson and he, at the age of five years, was one of the two score of little children who spent hours of terror in the stockade when it was attacked by the Indians on September 4, 1862. As he grew up he attended the Hutchinson school, his boyhood being spent on the farm. He was married in October, 1889, to Minnie L. Walker. The following year they moved to Pierce county, Neb., where Mr. Benjamin purchased and for ten years managed a large ranch. In 1890 they returned to Hutchinson and proceeded to open and improve Highland Home Fruit Farm, which was thenceforth Mr. Benjamin's abiding place until the summons came that ended all his earthly hopes and plans. "He was an active factor in farmers' co-operative society affairs and supported all movements for the moral and educational uplift of the community. He had been for many years a member of the M. E. church and of the Woodmen's and Royal Neighbors' camps and a valued and active member of each of these societies. [Illustration: John Franklin Benjamin.] "Mr. Benjamin left no children, and the wife who has been his devoted helpmate for twenty-seven years survives to face the coming years of bereavement alone. "His had been a useful life, a life of ceaseless and honorable toil, and that beautiful and valuable property, Highland Home Fruit Farm, largely the product of the work of his own hands, is a monument to his memory which will long endure to be admired and enjoyed by others as one of the model rural places of Minnesota. Few men in the space of twenty-five years have accomplished more than did J. F. Benjamin in establishing the fine, modern home, the large orchard and small fruit and flower gardens and well stocked farm, all of which he had tended with loving hands." Mr. Benjamin was well known by the members of this society who have attended its annual meetings within the last ten or fifteen years. During this period he has been an active member of the society, often serving on the program or in some other way as opportunity came to him. He was one of the most loyal members of the association, practicing what he preached, and doing all within his power to extend the usefulness of the society. I had a close personal acquaintance with Mr. Benjamin and the highest respect for his character and attainments. As a comparatively young man we anticipated his presence with us for a long period of time, but in this we are sadly disappointed. His wife in a recent letter says, "One of his greatest pleasures was cultivating and taking care of the flowers which surrounded his home. After a hard day's work in the field, he would labor with his flowers and shrubbery until far into the night. He enjoyed taking or sending flowers to the sick, and many bouquets of his choicest blossoms he gave his friends as they drove past or called to admire his beautiful grounds." In this spirit Mr. Benjamin labored to reach others and widen the wholesome influence of his life.--Sec'y. PROGRAM 50th ANNUAL MEETING Our Semi-Centennial Anniversary Minnesota State Horticultural Society, To be held in the West Hotel, Minneapolis, December 5, 6, 7, 8, 1916. A Great Program. Study this program carefully and select such features as you especially desire to participate in--but you are more than welcome to all. Discussion follows each topic. Discussions are "free for all," whether members or not. Ask questions or express opinions freely. DEMONSTRATIONS. These demonstrations will be given between 1:00 and 1:45 each day of the meeting in rooms adjoining the hall in which the meeting is held. They will be conducted by those whose names are here given, both of whom are connected with the Horticultural Department at University Farm. Grafting, Fred Haralson, Hort. Foreman. Pruning, Frank Daniels, Instructor In Hort. IMPORTANT. All participants on this program are limited to fifteen minutes except where a longer period is specifically mentioned. Time for discussion is allowed after each number. NOTICE OF BEE-KEEPERS' MEETING. The Minnesota State Bee-Keepers' Society will hold its annual meeting in the "Moorish Room," West Hotel, Minneapolis, on Tuesday and Wednesday, Dec. 5 and 6, 1916. Program can be had of L. V. France, University Farm, St. Paul. NOTICE.--A bell will be rung five minutes before the exercises begin in the Audience Room. Persons entering the audience room when any one is addressing the meeting from the platform are requested to take seats in the rear of the room, going forward only after the speaker has concluded--and thus avoid much confusion. TUESDAY MORNING SESSION. 10:00 o'clock. Every member attending should not fail to be in his seat promptly when this session opens. Invocation Rev. C. S. Harrison, York, Neb. Song Mr. Trafford N. Jayne, Minneapolis President's Annual Greeting Thos. E. Cashman, Owatonna Top-Working Young Apple Trees. E. G. Lee, St. Paul. Evergreens. C. S. Harrison, York, Neb. Preparing and Handling the Apple Crop. E. A. Smith, Lake City. My Prize Orchard. 1. Henry Dunsmore, Olivia. 2. E. W. Mayman, Sauk Rapids. Appointment of committees on award of premiums. TUESDAY AFTERNOON SESSION. 1:30 o'clock. A half hour "Question and Answer Exercise" on "Bees in the Garden and Orchard," led by J. Kimball, of Duluth. 2 o'clock. President Cashman in the Chair. Reception of Delegates. FRUITS. Strawberry Culture with Irrigation. N. A. Rasmussen, Oskosh, Wis., President Wisconsin State Hort. Society. Raspberry Culture. A. O. Hawkins, Wayzata. Raspberry Diseases in Minnesota. G. R. Hoerner, Asst. in Plant Pathology, University Farm, St. Paul. Everbearing Strawberry Field. A. Brackett, Excelsior. Everbearing Strawberries at Osage, Ia., in 1916. Chas. F. Gardner, Osage, Ia. Opening Up the Fruit Farm. D. E. Bingham, Delegate Wisconsin State Hort. Society, Sturgeon Bay, Wis. The Native Plum, Its Hybrids and Their Improvement. Dewain Cook, Jeffers. Winter Injury to Plums in 1916-17. M. J. Dorsey, Section of Fruit Breeding, University Farm. Lantern Talks. 1. Snapshots on the Road. Nurseries; Top-working; Blister Rust. Prof. F. L. Washburn, State Entomologist, University Farm. 2. Nature of Plant Diseases. G. R. Bisby, Asst. Plant Pathologist, University Farm. TUESDAY EVENING SESSION. 8:00 o'clock. MINNESOTA STATE FLORISTS' SOCIETY. Prof. LeRoy Cady, President, in the Chair. Program: Storing and Handling Gladiolus Bulbs. G. D. Black, Delegate, N. E. Ia. State Horticultural Society, Independence, Ia. Resources of Present-Day Florists. W. E. Tricker, St. Paul. Greenhouse Management. Prof. Wm. Moore, University Farm. Some Native Shrubs and Their Uses. E. Meyer, Minneapolis. WEDNESDAY FORENOON SESSION. 9:00 o'clock. A half hour question and answer exercise on "The Vegetable Garden," led by Alfred Perkins, Market Gardener, St. Paul. 9:30 o'clock. N. H. Reeves, Pres. Minneapolis Market Gardeners' Society, presiding. The Vegetable Garden. A Successful Cabbage Field. E. C. Willard, Mankato. Hotbeds and Cold Frames Nine Months In the Year. (30 min.) N. A. Rasmussen. Pres. Wisconsin State Hort. Society, Sturgeon Bay, Wis. Improvement of Vegetable Varieties by Selection. Richard Wellington, Horticulturist, University Farm. Some Phases of Onion Growing. W. T. Tapley, Asst. in Horticulture, University Farm. Irrigation in the Market Garden. C. E. Warner, Osseo. The Cultivation of Cabbages. Nic Lebens, Minneapolis. Growing Radishes. Chas. Hoffman, White Bear. A Winter Garden In the Cellar. N. A. Rasmussen, Sturgeon Bay, Wis. Home Canning. Mrs. Louis M. Glenzke, Hopkins. WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON SESSION. 1:30 o'clock. The Question and Answer Exercise to occupy this half-hour will be on "The Flower Garden," and led by Mrs. H. A. Boardman, St. Paul. 2:00 o'clock. President Cashman In the Chair. My Spraying Experience--four five-minute paper. 1. Harold Simmons, Howard Lake. 2. E. Yanish, St. Paul. 3. A. H. Reed, Glencoe. 4. J. J. Dobbin, Excelsior. Orchard Pests In Minnesota During 1916. 1. Diseases. Prof. E. C. Stakman. Head of Section Plant Pathology, University Farm. 2. Insects. A. G. Ruggles, Asst. Entomologist, University Farm. 3:15 o'clock. MINN. GARDEN FLOWER SOCIETY. Mrs. E. W. Gould, Pres., Minneapolis. Some New Plants at Home and Abroad. Professor N. E. Hansen, Brookings, S. D. The Home Setting As the Architect Sees It. Mr. Harry W. Jones, Minneapolis. A Composite on Composites--Useful Plants for Fall Bloom. Mrs. Phelps Wyman, Minneapolis. Lantern Talk by E. G. Cheyney, Prof. of Forestry, State University. Illustrated with many views from the forest regions of Northern Minnesota. WEDNESDAY EVENING SESSION. 7:30 o'clock, Dec. 6, 1916. N. W. PEONY AND IRIS SOCIETY. Fifteen-minute musical program by orchestra. The Modern Iris. Mr. C. S. Harrison, York, Neb. Peonies, Their Care and Culture. Mr. John E. Stryker, St. Paul, Minn. Peonies for Pleasure. Mr. Lee Bonnewitz, Van Wert, Ohio. Peonies for Profit. Mrs. Wm. Crawford, La Porte, Ind. Peonies and Their Possibilities. Mr. D. W. C. Ruff, St. Paul, Minn. Music. Selection by Orchestra. General Discussion. THURSDAY FORENOON SESSION. 9:00 o'clock. A thirty-minute "Question and Answer" exercise on "Success in Orcharding," led by J. F. Harrison, a successful orchardist, Excelsior. 9:30 o'clock. President Cashman in the Chair. Evergreens for Prairie Homes. M. Soholt, Madison. Windbreaks by the Mile. T. A. Hoverstad, Minneapolis. Arrangement of Farm Buildings and Grounds for Convenience and Artistic Effect. E. M. Reeves, Waverly, Ia. Report of Committee on Fruit List. J. P. Andrews, G. W. Strand, T. E. Cashman. Adoption of Fruit List. Annual Reports. Report of Executive Board, J. M. Underwood, Chairman, Lake City. Report of Secretary, A. W. Latham. Report of Treasurer, Geo. W. Strand, Taylors Falls. On account of the very full program the annual reports of the vice-presidents, superintendents of Trial Stations and Auxiliary Societies, will be filed with the secretary for publication without reading. (See list on page 20.) The Successful Orchard. (30 min.) S. A. Beach, Prof. of Horticulture, Iowa State Agricultural College, Ames, Ia. Development of Horticulture in Western Canada. Prof. F. W. Brodrick, Horticulturist, Manitoba Agricultural College. Contestants, Gideon Memorial Fund--by Students at University Farm School. THURSDAY AFTERNOON SESSION. 1:30 o'clock. Discuss these subjects. "Ornamentation of Home Grounds" will be the subject of the half-hour "Question and Answer Exercise," led by C. H. Ramsdell, Landscape Architect, Minneapolis. 2:00 o'clock. President Cashman in the Chair. Horticultural Work with the Boys' and Girls' Clubs in Minnesota. T. A. Erickson, State Club Leader, University Farm. Boy or Girl prize winner in the state-wide garden and canning contest. Compulsory Spraying for Fruit Insects and Diseases. K. A. Kirkpatrick, Agricultural Agent, Hennepin County, Wayzata. Annual Election of Officers. 3:00 o'clock. Semi-Centennial Anniversary Session. J. M. Underwood, Lake City, Presiding. Song. Trafford N. Jayne. Some History. A. W. Latham, Secretary. The Heroes of Minnesota Horticulture. Clarence Wedge, Albert Lea. Personal Recollections. A. J. Philips, West Salem, Wis. The Ladies of the Society. Mrs. Jennie Stager, Sauk Rapids. Greeting from University Farm. A. F. Woods, Dean. The Minnesota Society and the Northwest. Prof. C. B. Waldron, Agri. College, N. D. Looking Ahead. C. S. Harrison, York, Neb. To conclude with a lantern slide talk, "Veterans of Minnesota Horticulture." Slides prepared by Prof. LeRoy Cady. FRIDAY FORENOON SESSION. 9:00 o'clock. A thirty-minute "Question and Answer Exercise" on the general subject of "Birds a Factor In Horticulture," led by R. E. Olmstead, Excelsior. 9:30 o'clock. President in the Chair. Potato Selection. P. E. Clement, Moorhead. Vinegar a By-Product of the Minnesota Orchard. W. G. Brierley, Horticulturist, University Farm. Our Horticultural Building. A consultation. Plant Breeders' Auxiliary. Clarence Wedge, President, in the Chair. Annual Report, 1916, Minn. Fruit Breeding Farm. Chas. Haralson, Supt., Excelsior. Report of Committee on Fruit Breeding Farm. S. A. Stockwell, Minneapolis. C. S. Harrison, Excelsior. Fruit Breeding. Prof. S. A. Beach, Horticulturist, Ames, Iowa. Pedigree in Plants. Prof. C. B. Waldron, Agricultural College, N. D. Origin and Development of Hardy, Blight Resisting Pears. Chas. G. Patten, Charles City, Ia. New Creations in Horticulture for 1916. Prof. N. E. Hansen, Brookings, S. D. FRIDAY AFTERNOON. 1:30 o'clock. The "Question and Answer" half hour will be occupied with this subject, "The Home Orchard," led by Henry Husser, Minneapolis. 2:00 o'clock. The Minnesota Orchard. J. F. Bartlett, Excelsior. The New Farmers Fruit. Freeman Thorp, Hubert. (30 min.) The Unfruitful Tree and How to Correct It. (30 min.) Prof. S. A. Beach, Ames, Ia. Orcharding In Minnesota. Richard Wellington, Horticulturist, University Farm. The Minnesota Apple Crop in 1916. R. S. Mackintosh, Horticulturist, Extension Division, University Farm. 4:00 o'clock. Two-minute speeches by members. 4:30 o'clock. Closing remarks by the President. PREMIUM LIST, ANNUAL MEETING, 1916. Thos. Redpath, General Supt. Geo. W. Strand, Clerk. FLORAL DISPLAY. W. H. Bofferding, 710 No. 2nd St., Minneapolis, Supt. PLANTS. To be staged Monday p.m., Dec. 4, 1916. 1st. 2nd. 3rd. Collection of 12 specimen Palms $10.00 $7.00 $4.00 Collection of 12 specimen Ferns 10.00 7.00 4.00 Collection of 12 specimen Blooming Plants 12.00 9.00 6.00 (Covering 25 square feet.) CUT FLOWERS. To be staged before 10:00 a.m., Tuesday, Dec. 5. 1st. 2nd. 3rd. 12 Roses, Red, any variety $3.00 $2.00 $1.00 12 Roses, Pink, any variety 3.00 2.00 1.00 12 Roses, White, any variety 3.00 2.00 1.00 12 Roses, Yellow, any var'ty 3.00 2.00 1.00 To be staged before 10:00 a.m., Wednesday, Dec. 6. 1st. 2nd. 3rd. 12 Chrysanthemums, Yellow $4.00 $3.00 $2.00 12 Chrysanthemums, any other color 4.00 3.00 2.00 25 Carnations, Red, any variety 3.00 2.00 1.00 25 Carnations, Pink, any variety 3.00 2.00 1.00 25 Carnations, white, any variety 3.00 2.00 1.00 To be staged before 10:00 a.m., Thursday, Dec. 7. 1st. 2nd. 3rd. Basket arranged for effect, diameter not to exceed 12 inches $10.00 $7.00 $4.00 Best Bridal Bouquet--Diploma. Best Corsage Bouquet--Diploma. Best Bridesmaid's Bouquet--Diploma. VEGETABLES. Entries to be made by Tuesday, Nov. 28. N. H. Reeves, Mpls., Supt. 1st. 2nd. 3rd. 4th. Beets, 1 peck $3.50 $2.00 $1.00 $0.50 Cabbages, 3 heads 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Carrots, 1 peck 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Celery, 1 doz. stalks 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Celeriac, 1 doz. roots 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Lettuce, 1 doz. heads 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Onions, 1 peck Red 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Onions, 1 peck White 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Onions, 1 pk. Yellow 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Onions, 1 peck White Pickling 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Parsley, 1 doz. bnhs. 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Parsnips, 1/2 bushel 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Potatoes, 1 bu. early variety 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Pie Pumpkins, three specimens 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Radish, fresh, 1 doz. bunches 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Salsify, 1 doz. bnchs. 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Hubbard Squash, 3 specimens 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 White Turnips, 1 pk 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 Rutabagas, 1/2 bu 3.50 2.00 1.00 .50 EARLY WINTER SEEDLING.--The fruit shown must not have been kept in cold storage. Premium $50.00, to be divided pro rata. LATE WINTER SEEDLING.--Same conditions as for early winter seedlings except that if found necessary the fruit shown may be retained and final decision reserved until later in the winter. Premium $50.00 to be divided pro rata. In each of the above two classes the varieties receiving the three highest awards will be designated as having received the first, second and third premium respectively. APPLES (not including crabs). No inferior fruit can be shown. 1st. 2nd. 3rd. Each variety (may or may not have been in cold storage) included in the 1916 fruit list of the society, or in the 1916 premium list of the Minnesota State Fair $0.75 $0.50 $0.25 Collection, not to exceed ten nor less than six varieties $20.00 to be divided pro rata Pecks of Apples. Peck of any variety of apples, the fruit exhibited to be at the disposal of the society. An exhibitor may enter a peck of each of as many different kinds as he pleases. $25.00 to be divided pro rata. Top-Worked Apples. Collection of named varieties grown on scions top-grafted on other trees. Accompanying the name of each variety, shown on the same label (to be furnished by the management), must be noted the name of the variety on which it is top-worked. $25.00, to be divided pro rata. BOXES AND BARRELS OF APPLES. Must have been packed by the exhibitor. Only one variety (not less than 2-3/4 in. in diameter) can be shown in a box. Bushel boxes of the standard size must be used. Awards will be based on the quality of the fruit, packing, etc. SINGLE BOX of any variety of apples, including seedlings, $25.00, to be divided pro rata. Also 1st $15.00, 2nd $10.00, 3rd $5.00. 1st. 2nd. 3rd. 4th. BARREL of apples, any variety, $25.00, to be divided pro rata. Also $20.00 $15.00 $10.00 $5.00 GRAPES. 1st. 2nd. 3rd. Collection, not more than 10 nor less than 6 varieties $8.00 $6.00 $4.00 $100 SEEDLING APPLE PRIZE. The fifth prize of $100.00 will be awarded this season "for the best late winter seedling apple keeping till March 1st under ordinary cellar conditions" under the offer made first in 1905, restricted, of course, to the contestants who have duly registered. NUTS. 1st. 2nd. 3rd. 4th. Each variety of edible nuts, one quart $1.00 $0.75 $0.50 $0.25 * * * * * Program Notes: You can become a life member of the State Horticultural Society by payment of $10.00, in two annual payments of $5.00 each if you prefer. This will entitle you to a file of our bound reports, a library in itself. The annual business meeting of the Minn. Garden Flower Society will be held Wednesday morning at 10:00 o'clock in an adjoining room. Are you a member of the Garden Flower Society? If you are growing flowers you should join it at once. Consult the secretary, Mrs. M. L. Countryman. Membership fees to be paid to the Assistant Secretary In the Hallway. GARDEN HELPS Conducted by Minnesota Garden Flower Society Edited by MRS. E. W. GOULD, 2644 Humboldt Avenue So. Minneapolis. The Garden Flower Society will have an all-day meeting at the Agricultural College the first Friday in January next. This meeting is to be held with the session of the Farmers' Short Course in Room 20, Horticultural Building. Arrangements will be made so that lunches may be had on the grounds, probably at the dining hall. The program covers a wide range of subjects, and as time will be given for discussion and answering of questions brought up, this will prove a most helpful meeting to all of our members. Our own annual meeting will be held on Wednesday, December sixth. The business meeting and election of officers being held in the morning, the program in the afternoon--at the West Hotel--in connection with the Horticultural Society. Will not each member make an especial effort to bring in a new member at that time or before? The only reason we have not a thousand members is because we and our work are so little known. If you will tell your friends who have gardens what we are doing, you will have no difficulty in helping us add to our membership. Since last January we have received sixty-six new members. Can't we make it an even hundred for this year? With _your help_, we _can_. The program for our annual meeting will be found in the official program, printed elsewhere in this number. Here is the program for the meeting at the Agricultural College, Friday, January 5th. Come and bring your garden problems with you. * * * * * (Program for Meeting, January 5, 1917, 10 a.m., Agricultural College.) 1. Perennials for Busy People Mrs. H. B. Tillotson 2. Perennials from Seed to Seed Mr. E. Meyer 3. Native Perennials for Garden Use Miss M. Fanning 4. Best Hardy Vines and Their Use Mrs. E. W. Gould 5. Best Annuals Mrs. H. A. Boardman 1:30 P.M. 1. Fruits for Ornamental Planting Mr. Phelps Wyman 2. Native Shrubs for the Home Grounds Mr. Paul Mueller 3. Proper Preparation of the Garden Soil Professor F. J. Alway 4. A Watering System for the Garden Mrs. C. E. Warner 5. Growing Bedding Plants for the Market Mrs. F. H. Gibbs 6. Growing Cut Flowers for the Market {Miss Sabra Ellison {Mr. F. H. Ellison 7. Special Purpose Plants-- Honey Plants Prof. Oswald Medicinal Plants Dr. Newcomb Question Box. SECRETARY'S CORNER THIS IS YOUR VACATION.--If you are a fruit grower or a flower grower or vegetable grower or interested in home life or in any of the varied matters directly or indirectly connected with horticulture, the annual meeting is just the place for you. _Make it a real winter vacation._ Bring your wife and others of the family if possible and stay with us at the West Hotel for the four days of the meeting. It will be one of the bright spots in your life, as you recall the pleasures of this great and fruitful gathering. ANNUAL SOCIETY BANQUET.--Special pains have been taken in preparing the program for this banquet on account of the fact that this is our anniversary session in part, and you will not be disappointed if you anticipate a rich treat, with two or three hundred of the most congenial people on earth, who will sit down to supper together at the West Hotel at 6:30 p. m., Thursday, December 7th,--a wholesome repast and an intellectual feast, don't miss it. You will feel that you really belong to the brotherhood after dining with us. DELEGATES TO THE ANNUAL MEETING.--Besides the delegates at our annual meeting from abroad referred to in the November number, there is to be with us also as representative of the Iowa State Horticultural Society, Mr. P. F. Kinne, of Storm Lake, Iowa. We have pretty good assurance also that Secy. Greene, of the Iowa Society, will visit with us at some time during the meeting, and we don't know how many more of the good Iowa people will find their way here. A late note from Chas. G. Patten assures us of his attendance at the meeting, when he will give us a full report of his experimental work in growing seedling pears at his station at Charles City, Iowa. We are looking forward confidently to something of large practical value from his work. PROGRAM OF ANNUAL MEETING.--The program of the coming annual meeting of the society will be found in an abbreviated form in this number of our magazine. It has been sent, however, in all its completeness, in a separate enclosure to all the members of the society, accompanied by a blank form to be filled out by members who purpose to attend and desire to have their names in the Badge Book, and also for those who renew their memberships. Quite a number of questions are asked on this blank form, and it is important that they should all be answered. It is especially important that the names of friends whom you would like to see members of the society should be given to the secretary on these blanks and at an early date so that copies of the program can be sent them in good season. The program, as you will note, is an exceedingly diversified one, special emphasis being laid on orcharding, vegetable growing and ornamental horticulture. An increasing interest in flower growing is emphasized by the programs of three auxiliary societies devoted to these branches of horticulture. _Aren't you coming to this splendid meeting?_ Study the program and consider the advantages of intercourse and companionship with those who have so much in common as the members of the Horticultural Society. Don't fail to _attend promptly the first session_, which is always a full one, right on the minute. JOURNAL OF ANNUAL MEETING, 1915 Minnesota State Horticultural Society Held on Second Floor of the West Hotel, Minneapolis, December 7, 8, 9 and 10, 1915. Tuesday Morning Session, 10 o'clock. Meeting was opened at 10 o'clock a.m., December 7, 1915, by President Thomas E. Cashman. Invocation was made by Rev. C. S. Harrison, of York, Nebraska, which was followed by a song by Mr. Trafford N. Jayne, of Minneapolis. The president then read his annual greeting. (See index.) President Cashman: How may University Farm and the Minnesota State Horticultural Society be mutually helpful in developing the farms and homes of the Northwest? by our good friend, the dean of agriculture of this state, Mr. A. F. Woods. (Applause.) (See index.) Discussion. President Cashman: Anything further before we pass to the next subject? If not, we will now call on one of our oldest members and one of our best friends, Mr. George J. Kellogg, of Wisconsin, who will tell us something about the strawberry business. (See index.) Discussion. President Cashman: I am sure we are all very much indebted to Mr. Kellogg. Now, we have another very good friend with us from Nebraska. He is going to tell us about "The Nurseryman as King." Mr. C. S. Harrison, of York, Nebraska. (See index.) President Cashman: This morning we heard from our good friend, Dean Woods, then we heard from Wisconsin and later from Nebraska. We have enjoyed all three, all very instructive and very entertaining, and we hope to hear from them again. We hope later to hear from another Wisconsin man, Mr. Philips. Those three men have always contributed a great deal to the success of our meetings. I understand that Wisconsin has sent another representative, Mr. A. C. Graves, of Sturgeon Bay. It has been announced that he is with us. If so, we will be pleased to have him come forward and have a word of greeting from him, representing the Wisconsin Horticultural Society. Mr. Graves: Mr. President and members of the Minnesota Horticultural Society: I am very pleased to be here this morning and listen to this program and these deliberations. I expect to spend some enjoyable days with you, and on behalf of the Wisconsin Horticultural Society I am pleased to bring to you their greetings on this occasion. Thank you. (Applause.) President Cashman: We hope to hear from you later, Mr. Graves, and would be pleased to have you take part in our deliberations. I presume that there are other delegates here, but if so they have not been announced. If there are others I hope they will hand their credentials to the secretary so we may call on them later. Meeting adjourned until 1:30 p.m. December 7, 1915, Afternoon Session. _The Minnesota Orchard._ Discussion led by J. P. Andrews, Faribault, Minn. (See index.) The President: Ladies and gentlemen, the time has now arrived to continue with the regular proceedings of the society. Mr. Rasmussen, president of the Wisconsin State Horticultural Society, is with us and will be on the program later, but we will have a few words from him now. (Applause.). Mr. Rasmussen (Wisconsin): Mr. President and members of the Minnesota Horticultural Society: I didn't expect to be caught this way. I was going to be real shrewd, I was not going to let you know I was coming. I told the secretary of our society not to let you know I was coming, but he notified your secretary that I was coming and that is the way they happened to get me on the program. I was going to sneak in and get all the good out of it and was not going to give anything back; I will admit that is not a fair game. I feel about like a fellow who had to make a talk at a banquet. He said he was not a speaker, but they insisted. They would not let him back out. So he got up and feeling kind of shaky, like I am now, he reached his hand down to get hold of his chair, as he thought, but touched his wife's shoulder, and she got up. She thought she had to. He started, "Ladies and gentlemen, this thing was forced on me. (Laughter.)" So this was kind of forced upon me. I know that your program is full so I will not detain you any longer. My time is tomorrow, and I will take you through my garden tomorrow. (Applause.) The President: We are all pleased to have Mr. Rasmussen with us, and we hope we will hear from him often during the deliberations of the meeting. I was pleased indeed to see so many present this forenoon. Secretary Latham thought he had plenty of room for all who might attend, but I don't think there was a vacant chair here this forenoon. I was pleased indeed to note so many new faces, so many young men present. You are the people we want to see. The older men have always contributed and done their part and have made these meetings a grand success, but it will soon devolve upon the younger men of this society to take their places. We want you to help them at these meetings, and I was glad that you did so this forenoon. We hope that the young men will feel at home and that they will continue to take part, that they will ask questions and tell us about their successes and their failures, and I hope the older members will help make it pleasant for these young men. We will take up the subject of fruits this afternoon, and I am now going to call on a plum specialist, a man that we look to to tell us about the plum troubles in this state, Mr. Dewain Cook, who will tell us about the "Plums We Already Have and Plums That Are on the Way--the Brown Rot a Controlling Factor," Mr. Dewain Cook, of Jeffers, Minnesota. (See index.) Discussion. The President: We have heard of some of the troubles of those that plant plum trees. The next speaker will probably tell us how to meet those troubles, how to combat the plum pocket fungus. We are fortunate to have with us a scientific man that makes a study of these subjects. I refer to Professor Stakman, of the University Farm, St. Paul. "The Control and Cure of Brown Rot, etc.," by Prof. E. C. Stakman. (See index.) Discussion. The President: I will now call on Mr. C. A. Pfeiffer, of Winona, to talk to us on "The Surprise Plum a Success." (See index.) Discussion. The President: "Thirty Years in Raspberries," by a gentleman that knows how to make money by the raising of raspberries, Mr. Gust. Johnson, of Minneapolis. (See index.) Discussion. The President: We will now call upon Mr. Simmons to tell us about "My Orchard Crop of 1915--from Start to Finish." (See index.) The President: As you know, Mr. Simmons is one of the most successful orchardists in Minnesota. Do you wish to ask him any questions? Discussion. Mr. Cashman: We are very much indebted to Mr. Simmons for this splendid paper and for his advice. We must hurry on to the next subject, which is "Fruit Growing a Successful Industry in Minnesota," by A. W. Richardson, Howard Lake, Minn. (See index.) The President: I am sure you will all agree this was a very instructive and interesting paper. We have about three minutes in which to discuss it. Discussion. Two lantern talks followed--one by Earl Ferris of Hampton, Ia., on "Evergreens," and one by A. G. Tolaas on "Diseases of the Potato." December 8, 1915, Morning Session. Discussion on "The Vegetable Garden," led by H. J. Baldwin, Northfield, Minn. (See index.) N. H. Reeves, president Minneapolis Market Gardeners' Association, in the chair. President Reeves: We will now have a paper on "Growing Beans and Sweet Corn," by P. B. Marien, of St. Paul. (See index.) Discussion. The President: We will now listen to a paper on "Growing Vegetables for Canning," by Mr. M. H. Hegerle, president of Canning Company, St. Bonifacius. Mr. Hegerle not being present, we will ask Mr. Rasmussen, president of the Wisconsin Horticultural Society, to tell us "How We Grow Vegetables in Oshkosh, Wisconsin." (Applause.) (See index.) President Reeves: Is Mr. Hegerle in the room? Mr. Hegerle: Yes. President Reeves: Then we will listen to Mr. Hegerle's talk on "Growing Vegetables for Canning." (See index.) Discussion. President Reeves: "Greenhouse vs. Hotbeds, Investment, Care and Result Compared," by Mr. F. H. Gibbs. (See index.) President Reeves: "Growing the Tomato," by C. W. Purdham, market gardener, Brooklyn Center. (See index.) Discussion. President Reeves: We will now listen to a paper by E. W. Record on "Asparagus by the Acre." (See index.) President Reeves: You will be entertained with a demonstration of the coldpack method of canning fruits and vegetables by Professor R. S. Mackintosh and Miss Mary L. Bull. After the demonstration the session adjourned until 1:30 o'clock p.m. December 8, 1915, Afternoon Session. Question and answer exercise on "The Flower Garden," led by Mr. G. C. Hawkins, of Minneapolis. The President: I regret to have to announce that one of the big guns who was to be with us on this afternoon's program, Professor J. C. Whitten, of Missouri, is unable to be with us on account of sickness. Secretary Latham received a letter from him just a short time ago, stating that he was sick abed and the doctor would not permit him to leave. We have another very able gentleman whom I will call upon at this time to take Mr. Whitten's place. His name is H. G. Street, of Hebron, Ill., who will tell us about "Marketing Fruit Direct." (Applause.) (See index.) Discussion. The President: We appreciate very much this fine paper by Mr. Street. We have another very important subject this afternoon. We will have a paper by Mr. W. G. Brierly, Assistant Horticulturist at the University Farm, on "The Manufacture of Cider Vinegar on the Farm." (Applause.) (See index.) Reading by Miss Mary Bonn. The President: We will now turn the meeting over to the Garden Flower Society and request the president, Mrs. Ruff, to take the chair. (In the absence of Mrs. Ruff, Mrs. E. W. Gould presided.) Mrs. Gould: Our first number will be a paper on the Minnesota State Flower, by Mr. E. A. Smith, of Lake City. (Applause.) Mr. Smith: I wish to add one word to the name of my paper and that is "Flag," so that it will read "Minnesota State Flower and State Flag." I have the two subjects so closely associated that I can not separate them. (See index.) Discussion. Mr. Smith: I now come to the point in my paper. I move you, Madam President, that the Minnesota State Horticultural Society and its auxiliary societies through its secretary present the following resolution to the next legislature of the state for adoption at that time: Resolved, that, whereas the State of Minnesota has adopted a state flower which, on account of its being a native of the woods and bogs, is not generally known or recognized and, whereas, the State of Minnesota in 1893 adopted by legislative vote a state flag, which emblem is not generally known to the residents of the state, and believing that familiarity with the state flower and the state flag will do good and create loyalty to the state and Union, be it resolved, that we, the Minnesota State Horticultural Society and auxiliary societies, do hereby petition and pray the state legislature of Minnesota to have printed an attractive picture of the state flower and the state flag, properly framed, and present a copy of it to each public school of the state with the request that it be placed upon the walls of the school room, also that it be furnished free of cost to such other public buildings as may be deemed advisable. I trust, Madam President, that this resolution will not only be seconded but it will meet with the unanimous approval of the society. Mr. Hawkins: I second the motion. Mrs. Gould: I do not know that we could vote with the Horticultural Society. This is not a meeting of that society but simply a meeting of the Flower Society. Will some one enlighten me? Miss White: Madam President, if we could not vote as a society, could we not vote to recommend this resolution to the Horticultural Society? A Member: Yes, or to the two societies to be taken up at their business meeting, perhaps. Miss White: Recommend it be passed by the parent society. A Member: Madam President, why should it not be the flag itself and not a picture of the flag? Mrs. Gould: Will you make that motion? Miss White: I move that the resolution as presented by Mr. Smith be endorsed by this Garden Flower Society and referred to the parent society for their adoption. I will offer that as a substitute. A Member: I second the motion. Motion was carried. Mrs. Gould: Our next subject is "The Pergola, Its Use and Misuse, Its Convenience and Expense," by Charles H. Ramsdell, of Minneapolis. (See index.) Mrs. Gould: Our next paper is "Hardy Perennials," by Miss Grace E. Kimball, of Waltham. (See index.) Mrs. Gould: This spring our president, Mrs. Ruff, offered prizes for the best papers on planting for color effect. The judges after reading these papers carefully selected three. Miss Starr is first, Mrs. Tillotson second and Mrs. Boyington third. These papers will now be read, Miss Starr giving the first one. (See index.) Mrs. Gould: Mrs. Tillotson will follow with her paper. (See index.) Mrs. Gould: Mrs. Wyman will read Mrs. Boyington's paper. Mrs. Boyington was unable to be with us today. (See index.) Mrs. Gould: Mrs. Countryman will read a paper written by Mr. Swanson on the judging of flowers. (See index.) Mrs. Gould: Our meeting will close with Professor Washburn's talk on "Bird Conservation," which will be given with slides and music. Professor Washburn gives lantern talk. December 9, 1915, Morning Session. Half hour question and answer exercise on "Truck Crop and Garden Insects," led by Professor Wm. Moore. (See index.) The President: The committee on fruit list has been working very hard trying to determine why we have particular varieties on the list and the changes, if any, that should be made. Mr. J. P. Andrews, the chairman of the committee, is the man who has been doing most of this work, and we will be glad to hear from him at this time. He is quite radical and in favor of many changes as you will note when he reads his report. Mr. Andrews: There are very few changes, and you know it has been the policy of this society rather to be conservative and not jump at anything until we know what it is. (Reads new fruit list.) Mr. Andrews: I move its adoption. Motion was seconded and carried unanimously. Mr. Andrews: I would like to call attention to the fact that a great many criticize that we do not change the list from time to time. I have thought that for a long time. Two or three years ago there was a little move towards making it so we could change it. We are putting up some nice, big premiums for late winter apples and early winter apples, and there are undoubtedly some seedlings that would be all right to put upon the list if we knew more about them. It seems to me it is foolish to pay those premiums and then drop it right there. We do not know any more about whether they are hardy or not than if they had been grown in Missouri. They may have grown well through some protection or favorable location, but when you commence grafting from a seedling it does not give satisfaction as a grafted tree and in different localities of the country. We want to know whether the new seedlings are hardy enough for this climate, not that they are simply of good quality to eat and perhaps will keep. We find that out here, but we do not find out anything about the hardiness. I think we ought to require a person who has produced a good seedling and gotten a good premium for it to send some of its scions to the superintendent of the Fruit-Breeding Farm for testing and let him send it out to points north of here, between here and the northern part of the state, to see how much hardiness it has. Hardiness is the quality we want more than anything else. We have gotten along so far with the Hibernal, and we ought not to be so particular about quality as about hardiness. They ought to be required to give Mr. Haralson a few of the scions or buds so that he could try them there at the fruit-breeding farm and send them out to more northern locations under number, so that the originator will be just as well protected, and it will add so much to the value of the new seedling that he ought to be anxious to do it instead of holding it back as is now done. I move you that we have some arrangement whereby those drawing the premiums for the first and second qualities, keeping qualities and eating qualities, etc., shall be obliged to give to Mr. Haralson something to work on, either scions or buds of those varieties, so that they can be tested in that way and we know what they are, otherwise it leaves it for any one to introduce a new variety just about on the same ground that some other varieties have been introduced in the state, made a nice, large thing for the man that introduced them to the public and sold them but afterwards proved a great disappointment to almost every man who ever planted them. I move that we make such an arrangement, and we recommend that the state fair do the same. Mr. Horton: I second the motion. The President: It is moved and seconded that some arrangement be made requiring people who enter seedling apples for prizes at the horticultural meeting and the state fair to furnish scions or buds of such varieties to the central station to Superintendent Charles Haralson that he may determine whether the trees are hardy and suitable for this climate or not. Mr. Andrews: We need this provision so that Superintendent Haralson could visit those trees and see what they looked like. Mr. Latham: I move that this matter be referred to the executive board to develop a workable plan to secure the purposes which Mr. Andrews has in view. The President: Do you accept that as a substitute? Mr. Andrews: I would if it wasn't for this one thing. It was left that way a year or two ago, and it hasn't amounted to a thing. I do not care if it is left to the executive committee if Mr. Latham will vouch for its being put through. Mr. Latham: Don't you remember as the result of that action we prepared forms to be used by those who examined the seedlings and decided what seedlings should be further tested and all that sort of thing. We have those forms for use if the committee wants to use them. Mr. Andrews: Those ought to be so as to hold the premium money back until we get some material to test. Mr. Latham: I will say a few words. It is not such a simple matter as it seems. Here come perhaps fifty people who have grown seedlings. We tell them we are very desirous that all the seedlings in the state that have promise of merit be shown. In the division of the premium money they do not get more than four or five dollars apiece, the best of them do not get more than eight or ten dollars. Then here comes a resolution which says, "Before you draw this money you have to furnish scions to the state fruit-breeding farm with the privilege of sending out to other stations in the state for testing." The average man who owns a seedling that is really a good thing begins to think about it, and we will not get what we want. If a man has a seedling that is better than the Duchess and Wealthy and has hardiness as well there are lots of buyers around here that have their eyes open. There has been a half a dozen I know of picked up in the last few years really first class, fine and hardy. Those trees are being tested out. It would be a splendid thing if we could get a really good seedling, as Mr. Andrews says, but a resolution of this kind will not result in doing what we want to do. I would like to have it referred to the executive board so they can work out a practical plan. Mr. Andrews is a member of the board. I renew my motion. Motion is seconded. The President: The original motion as given by Mr. Andrews is that those people offering seedlings for prizes, before they receive premiums-- Mr. Andrews: The first or second premiums, I said, because that would shut out all of the others. The President:--before receiving the first or second premiums, that they be required or that they will agree to furnish scions or buds for experimental purposes, these scions or buds to be sent to the central station to Mr. Haralson for the purpose of testing them out as to hardiness, under number. Now, the amendment made by Mr. Latham is to the effect that this matter be referred to the executive committee. We will first put the amendment that it be referred to the executive committee to work out a practical plan. Mr. Heustis: And report next year. The President: That they work out a practical plan and put it in operation. Was it your idea that we report next year or that the plan be put in operation? Mr. Latham: No objection to reporting next year. If they can work out a plan they can also put it in practical operation. Mr. Andrews: I do not think that I am after this now, gentlemen, any more than every one of you ought to be after it. We ought to know more about the hardiness of these trees. This list has stood almost identically the same list for eight or nine years, pretty nearly the same, and we are not getting ahead at all. We do not know any more about the hardiness of these trees we have been putting out than we did before. The amendment was carried. The President: This matter will therefore be referred to the executive board. The next in order is the annual report of the executive board, Mr. J. M. Underwood, of Lake City, chairman. Mr. Underwood is sojourning in the sunny south. He has sent a report, however, to Secretary Latham, and Mr. Latham has requested me to read it. This was written at St. Augustine, Florida. (See index.) The President: Any one wish to make any comments on this report? If not, we will pass to the report of the secretary, Mr. Latham. Mr. Latham: Do you wish to have the report read or have it published later? It will be published anyway. Mr. Miller: Let it be considered as read and approved and filed for publication. (See index.) Motion is seconded and carried. The President: We will now have the report of George W. Strand, treasurer. (See index.) The President: What will you do with the report of the treasurer? You have heard the reading of it. Upon motion the report was adopted and filed. The President: The next order of business would be the paper by Professor J. C. Whitten but Mr. Whitten is not present, I am sorry to say, and I am now going to call on Mr. O. M. Heustis as he is present to tell us about his "Dwarf Apple Trees." (See index.) The President: We are very much indebted to the doctor for his interesting talk. Is Professor Mackintosh in the room? I was going to ask him to read a paper on "Successful Cold Storage Plant for Apples," sent in by Mr. Hanson. I am sorry that Mr. Hanson is not able to be present, he is ill at home. Professor Mackintosh not being present, paper was read by Mr. Clarence Wedge. The President: Mr. Wedge will have a word for us at this time. He has a suggestion to make. Mr. Wedge: Ladies and gentlemen, fellow members: Once a year our society has been in the habit of bestowing the highest honor within its gift upon some of the members that have honored the society for so many years with their services and have made themselves in that way so valuable to the public that we feel that they deserve the highest recognition which we are able to give them as a society. It becomes my great pleasure at this time, standing in the place of my friend, Mr. Underwood, who is absent, to propose the following names to you which have been recommended by the executive board for this honor. There are five of them, the names are: John Bisbee, of Madelia; Charles Haralson, our superintendent at Excelsior; Mr. F. W. Kimball, of Waltham; Mr. John R. Cummins, of Minneapolis, and Mr. S. H. Drum, of Owatonna. Mr. Bisbee has undertaken and is carrying on one of the largest experiments in seedling apples in the Northwest. He seems to be a very quiet member among us, but he is one of the working members who are doing the things that the society most needs. I do not need to tell you anything about the work of Charles Haralson, the superintendent of our fruit-breeding farm at Zumbra Heights. His work has approved itself to us all so much that I think he really deserves the statement that was made by one of our older members that he has outdone Burbank. He certainly has for this part of the country. Mr. F. W. Kimball, a very dear personal friend of mine, has been carrying on experiments in orcharding for the past twenty-five years about, in the neighborhood of Austin, Minnesota, and has now removed to Waltham. His experiments there in top-working have been among the most useful and among the largest that have been undertaken in any part of the state. He perhaps deserve the same reputation in our state that our friend, Mr. Philips, has in Wisconsin. I do not want to say this to disparage anybody else, but he has certainly made a very large and very valuable addition to our knowledge of the value of top-working. Mr. John R. Cummins, of Minneapolis, whom we have with us this morning, is one who has been a very persistent experimenter in all lines. I remember particularly going to his place some ten or fifteen years ago and going over the remarkable collection of ornamental trees and plants that he was growing, many of which I did not think it was possible to grow at Albert Lea, and there he was succeeding with them and developing them at a point 100 miles north of us. We certainly owe him a deal of credit for his perseverance and his enterprise. We are glad that he is with us today. Mr. S. H. Drum, of Owatonna, is one who has also been one of our most faithful members, whose experiments have been in fruits, and he has brought great encouragement to us in the southern part of Minnesota. He has now moved to Owatonna and, not being content with the best, he has started out with a new plantation with two kinds of fruit, and I think he is topping the market with the very best. Mr. President, I move that these names be added to the list of honorary life members of the Minnesota Horticultural Society. There are several seconds to the motion. The President: A very fitting tribute, I am sure. Are there any remarks? The name of Mr. Cummins calls my attention to the fact that about twelve years ago he presented this society with the gavel that I hold in my hand. This gavel is made of black walnut grown by Mr. Cummins on his own place. I do not suppose that he made the gavel himself, but it is made of material raised on his own farm, and when this gavel comes down good and hard I want you to think of Mr. Cummins. Are you ready for the question, that those gentlemen suggested be made honorary life members? Motion is carried unanimously. The President: I am now going to call on the young men from the University Farm who are contestants for the Gideon Memorial Fund. (See index.) Contestants thereupon read their essays. The President: I will now ask the judges to retire and decide which of these young men is entitled to this prize money. For the benefit of some of the newer members who may not understand the situation I will say that some years ago a number of the members of this society believed that we should commemorate the good work done by Peter M. Gideon. A sum of money was raised to be known as the Gideon Memorial Fund. It was decided that that money be placed at interest and that the interest derived therefrom be offered as prizes to young men attending our agricultural school or college. They were to deliver addresses at the meetings of the Minnesota Horticultural Society, and the young men preparing the best papers and making the best talks would be awarded this prize money, the accrued interest from this fund. So we have annually three young men from the agricultural college that present papers or make addresses on subjects that are of importance to this society. This is a memorial for Peter M. Gideon, who has done such splendid work for the fruit raisers of the Northwest. While we are waiting for the report of the judges I will ask Mr. Ludlow to come forward and tell us about a letter that he received from Peter M. Gideon, November 2, 1885, and which was accompanied by Mr. Gideon's last catalog. Judges announce their decision. (Applause.) _Premiums Awarded to Gideon Memorial Contestants_: 1. The Plum Curculio--Edward A. Nelson. 2. Standardizing the Potato--A. W. Aamodt. 3. Marketing Fruit at Mankato--P. L. Keene. The President: I am now going to call on some of the delegates to this meeting. Mr. George H. Whiting, representing the South Dakota Horticultural Society, we will ask him to come forward and say a word. Mr. Whiting: Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen: I do not know why Mr. Cashman should ask me to come forward. I have not very much to say and could have said it back there just as well. Perhaps you will wish I had stayed back there. I will say it is a pleasure to me to be with the Minnesota horticulturists again. I have met with you quite a number of years but not in the capacity of delegate. I did not expect to be a delegate this time, thought I would leave the place for some younger man, but there seemed to be no other present, and so I had to accept. I rather felt as though I was not competent or did not care to take the responsibility of making a report. I am getting old and a little tired, and I do not like to do so much of that kind of work as I used to. However, I presume I will have to do the best I can and let it go at that. I will say you have a wonderful society here. It is a wonder to me sometimes how you keep up the interest, how to keep up so much interest in this work. There is no other state in the Union that has such a good, live society. I attended a great many of the state societies last year. I had the pleasure of attending the Missouri State Society. I can say that you discount them and then some. An old state like Missouri and a fruit state, you might say, it is supposed to be in the fruit belt, and still you fellows up north here have all the vim and the snap and determination to do things that those fellows do not do at all. It is more in the man, I think sometimes, than it is in the location. It used to be said that Minnesota was not a fruit state, you could not grow apples in Minnesota. Well, I believe Mr. Gideon said that if he could not grow apples in Minnesota he would not live there, something to that effect, and he did not intend to leave the state either. Now, you all know what success he made, and you that follow have a great deal to be thankful for the work he did, and you are hoping--and I presume you will be successful--to obtain an apple that is even better than the Wealthy. I am glad that you take so much interest in this matter of new seedlings. It will surely develop something some day, there is no question about it. Of course, you cannot tell when, and you cannot tell who will be the lucky man to get the thousand dollars, but undoubtedly there is more at stake than the thousand dollars; that is a very small item. I think I will not take up your time. It is getting on, and I have not thought of making any talk, have nothing prepared and nothing in my head. I thank you for your attention. (Applause.) The President: I am going to call on our good friend, Professor Hansen, secretary of the South Dakota Horticultural Society, who has done so much for us. Mr. Wedge: Mr. Hansen is not here. I just want to say a word that might interest some of the younger members of the society in regard to our friend who has just left the floor, Mr. Whiting, of Yankton. He is the original Dakota nurseryman, who went out in the days of the pioneers before I think there was any such thing as South Dakota, and he has stayed on the job ever since. That is not so wonderful, for others, lots of people, have stayed on the job, but he has made money out of the business and got rich. I think he deserves some very special praise. (Applause.) The President: Is Professor Waldron in the room? Here he comes. He is the leading light of North Dakota and a gentleman who has been with us before. (Applause.) Mr. Waldron: These people will think North Dakota is a dark place if this is a leading light. What is the occasion of this? The President: Tell us your troubles. Mr. Waldron: When we had a good wheat crop we did not have any troubles. We forget our other troubles whenever we can get something like 100 million bushels of wheat. Our horticultural troubles have been quite numerous. We had a frost every year, including July. We started in on the ninth day of June with a frost that killed everything in sight except a few cottonwood trees and things like that, but all of our tomatoes, which were in blossom by the way at that time because we had a favorable spring, and plums and apples went the same way. I think a few of the late blooming plums managed to survive. The frost in July did not hurt very much but the frost in August certainly finished us. Mr. Latham: The reporter is taking all that. Mr. Waldron: Our reputation is so good, we can own up to calamity once in a while. Of course, if our reputation was not better than others we would have to keep it dark, but inasmuch as nature favors us so continuously we can own up when we get bumped. The August frost put our corn out of business, so we are around with long fingers trying to steal seed corn. However, a great many of the people of the state are looking forward to the matter of planting trees as never before, and our farmers and citizens are taking more interest in general tree planting and beautifying the homes than in previous years. I had this term a large class of students in landscape gardening. They will go out to the places where they live and encourage the planting of trees and landscape gardening there. In this matter of general ornamentation the frosts or other calamities have not discouraged us. I think there were more trees grown and more ornamental work done this year than in any two previous years because the men have the money and are willing to spend it. I was out on a farm last week where a man insisted on buying a thousand evergreen trees. The nurseryman tried to sell him only five hundred, but he would not have it that way. He wanted a thousand. He said he had the money and was going to pay for them; so he planted the thousand trees. We do not recommend such rashness on the part of our farmers, but it shows when a farmer insists on having a thousand trees he is taking the beautifying of his grounds seriously. This is perhaps an extreme case, but we have others working along the same line. I certainly enjoy the privilege of being with you people here again as I have for the last quarter of a century, twenty-five years ago, when I was made an honorary member of this society, and I do not know of any prouder moment in my whole career than when you saw fit to honor me in that manner. I certainly would never forgive myself for the balance of the year if I failed to attend these meetings. (Applause.) Mr. Philips: Waldron is too modest. He has not told the best thing he ever did in North Dakota, so I shall. I visited him a good many years ago, and he had some interesting boys there, especially the oldest one, and I told him that if he was going to keep ahead of that boy he would have to hustle, and now that boy at nineteen has the ability to go to one of the southern states as a professor. So he didn't tell us the greatest thing he ever did. Maybe some of the credit is due to his wife; that is the way it is at my house. (Applause.) Mr. Waldron: I am so far behind that boy I am sort of jealous. I do not mention it. The President: The secretary of the Wisconsin Horticultural Society is with us, Professor Cranefield. Is he in the room? Mr. Cranefield: Mr. Graves, of Sturgeon Bay, is the duly accredited delegate to the society and probably you want to hear from him. The President: We heard from him two or three days ago, and we will hear from him again, but just now we want you to give us a few words. This is Professor Cranefield, who has contributed on previous occasions to the success of our meetings. (Applause.) (See index.) The President: I will now call on Professor Mackintosh, who is going to read a paper at this time. Mr. Mackintosh: Yesterday I had to start the ball rolling as a substitute for a man from Washington, and with the assistance of Miss Bull we kept most of you here until after 12 o'clock. Today I am put ahead of the program, so you won't hear me tomorrow afternoon. The subject is, "Bringing the Producer and Consumer Together." Mr. Mackintosh reads paper. (Applause.) The President: I regret very much that time will not permit us to discuss this very able paper. Secretary Latham has just called my attention to the fact that there has been but very few tickets bought for the banquet this evening. You understand it takes time to prepare food, and he has to announce just how many people would be present, and I sincerely hope that those of you who intend to attend the banquet (and I trust that will be every one present) will get your tickets immediately. It is the very best part of our program. Please get your tickets so that Secretary Latham may know how to prepare for you. At this time recess was taken until 1:30 o'clock p.m. December 9, 1915, Afternoon Session. Discussion on "The Topworked Orchard," led by A. J. Philips, Wisconsin. (See index.) The President: The next order of business will be the election of officers for the coming year. The secretary just handed me this slip which gives you an idea of the requirements in order to be eligible to vote for officers. (Reads extracts from constitution.) The first will be the selection of a president for the coming year. Nominations are in order. Mr. Bradley: Mr. President, it is said that republics are ungrateful, but it is not necessary for horticultural societies to be ungrateful. It has been, I think, in the past, and I hope it may continue to be in the future, the policy of this society to recognize the services of its officers and so we, I think, are justified in recognizing the distinguished and efficient services of our present presiding officer. I take great pleasure in placing in nomination for president of this society the Honorable Thomas E. Cashman. (Applause.) Nomination is duly seconded and there are no other nominations. Mr. Crosby: I move that the secretary be instructed to cast the unanimous ballot of this society for Thomas E. Cashman as president of this society. Motion is seconded and carried. Mr. Cashman: Friends, I deeply appreciate this honor that you have conferred upon me. I am always ready to contribute my mite towards the service of the people, but I am never happy unless I am convinced that I am able to give all that the position demands. Your selection of me as your presiding officer for the sixth time convinces me that you are at least satisfied with what I have been able to do for you and this, I assure you, makes me extremely happy. I will endeavor to show my appreciation by doing all that is within my power to further the interests of this society made up of men and women that cannot be excelled for intelligence, cleanliness of habits and honorable and right living. I know a great many horticulturists, not only of this state but of other states, and they, I assure you--and you know it yourselves--are far above the average. I therefore deem it a great honor to be known as the president of one of the best organizations, I do not care whether it is horticultural or otherwise, in this country today. I thank you. (Applause.) The President: I find there are two members of the executive board to be elected at this time, one to succeed Professor LeRoy Cady and another Mr. R. A. Wright, whose terms of office expire at this time. Mr. Cady and Mr. Wright are nominated to succeed themselves, nominations are seconded and upon motion the secretary cast the unanimous ballot of the society for Mr. Cady and Mr. Wright as members of the executive board for the coming three years. The President: The next will be the selection of a treasurer. Mr. George Strand is renominated, nomination is seconded and on motion the secretary cast the ballot of the society for Mr. George W. Strand for treasurer. The President: The secretary places in nomination the following men, as vice presidents of this organization. I will ask him to name the list. Vice-Presidents: C. E. Snyder, 1st Cong. Dist., Preston; S. D. Richardson, 2nd Cong. Dist., Winnebago; J. K. Andrews, 3rd Cong. Dist., Faribault; B. Wallner, Jr., 4th Cong. Dist., St. Paul; F. H. Nutter, 5th Cong. Dist., Minneapolis; Matt. Tschida, 6th Cong. Dist., St. Cloud; G. A. Anderson, 7th Cong. Dist., Renville; J. Kimball, 8th Cong. Dist., Duluth; A. L. Hanson, 9th Cong. Dist., Ada; A. W. Richardson, 10th Cong. Dist., Howard Lake. Secretary Latham reads names of nominees for vice presidents and places them in nomination. Nomination is seconded and upon motion the secretary is instructed to cast the ballot of the society for the persons named as vice-presidents. The President: The next number will be a speech by Mr. S. P. Crosby, chairman of the committee that was selected by this association to go before the legislature at the last session and try to secure an appropriation sufficient to build a home for this society. (See index.) The next gentleman on the program is our friend Clarence Wedge, who is going to tell us of his trip out to Yellowstone Park. (See index.) Mr. Wedge: Not exactly to Yellowstone Park. We came within a day's drive of the Yellowstone, but our interest and enthusiasm went in another direction this year. Mr. Wedge reads paper. The President: "Peonies New and Old," by Mr. A. M. Brand, of Faribault, one of the best peony specialists in the state. A Member: And of the world. (Applause.) (See index.) Discussion. The President: We have another noted horticulturist with us today from Illinois. You have all heard of the Senator Dunlap strawberry. The originator is with us today, Senator Dunlap, of Savoy, Illinois. He will be on the program tomorrow. I will be pleased to have the senator come forward and give us a word of greeting. Mr. Dunlap: I hardly think it is necessary for me to come forward. I will be on the program a couple of times, and you will hear all that you care to from me. I am very glad to be here with you. It has been some time since I met with your society, but I remember well the very pleasant time I had at that time. I came this week from the Michigan Horticultural Society, in session at Grand Rapids, and I was very loath to leave such an interesting meeting, but I knew when I came to Minneapolis I would be in just as interesting a meeting. I wish to disabuse your minds of the statements made by your honorable chairman through an error. I am not the originator of the Senator Dunlap strawberry. The Reverend Mr. Reisenour (?) is the originator of the strawberry, and he thought it was a thrifty, strong, healthy plant and would stand the name of Dunlap, so he gave it to the strawberry. (Laughter and Applause.) The President: I stand corrected. I have been misinformed, although I think you carry the honor. Our time is up. I have been requested to announce that the lantern talk given by Mrs. James Jennison will take place at the close of the Woman's Auxiliary meeting. Some very talented ladies are to speak this afternoon, and I hope you will all stay and listen to them. I will now turn the meeting over to the Women's Auxiliary and request Mrs. F. M. Powers, who will preside, to take the chair. Mrs. Powers: Just a continuation, I hope, of our good program that was begun this afternoon, and we will now listen to Mrs. Clarence Wedge, of Albert Lea, on the "Value of Horticulture to the Farm." Mrs. Wedge is not a stranger to horticulture nor to this society. (See index.) Mrs. Powers: Some one has said that the enemy of art is the enemy of nature, and art is nothing more than the highest sagacity and attainment of human nature. We have with us Mrs. Cyrus W. Wells, who has had considerable experience in this line and will give us the practical side. Mrs. Wells spoke on "Art Made Practical." Mrs. Powers: "The Day's Work," by Mrs. John B. Irwin. Mrs. Powers: According to our program we were to have one speaker tomorrow morning because we thought she could not be here at this time, but Mrs. Dunlap is here and will favor us now, if you please. Talk by Mrs. A. M. Dunlap on "Better Methods in the Home." Mrs. Powers: The last number on our program will be "The Highway Beautiful," by Mrs. Jennison. Mrs. Jennison gave a lantern talk. President Cashman: We have a very important question to be considered this afternoon, and, fortunately for us, it is going to be taken care of by one of our best men--"Breeding for Hardiness"--something this gentleman has been doing all his life. He has met with a great deal of success, and we are profiting by it. That gentleman is Professor N. E. Hansen, of Brookings, South Dakota. (Applause.) (See index.) The President: Mr. C. E. Older has some suggestions to make, and we will give him an opportunity to talk at this time. Mr. Older: Mr. President, and Ladies and Gentlemen: In a meeting of some of the leading exhibitors of the state fair yesterday they expressed quite a bit of dissatisfaction with the present manner of awarding premiums on commercial apples, that is, boxes of apples and one-layer boxes. The point was that it would be a good thing if the state could be divided so that the sections which are more favorable for the development of the apple would be in a section by themselves, and the balance of the state compete by itself. The following resolution was formulated to bring before this society, asking for their opinion oh the subject and discussion: Resolved, That we ask the state fair board that the state be divided into two sections for the purpose of exhibit at the State Fair, making two classes, one being the Wealthy apple and the other class comprising all other varieties of box and one layer apples, the state to be divided as follows: Beginning at the Mississippi river on the north line of Goodhue County and running west on the north line of Goodhue, Rice, Le Sueur and Nicollet Counties, thence running south on the west line of Nicollet, Blue Earth and Faribault. All those counties lying east and south of these lines are to constitute the first district, the balance of the state being known as the second district. We also ask the state fair board that first, second, third, fourth and fifth premiums be offered on all apples, and on all the next ten lower exhibits a certain premium be paid to all deserving exhibits. And we ask that premiums be offered on Everbearing Strawberries showing both bearing plants and fruit of the Progressive, Superb, and any other varieties. We also ask the state fair board that they make some practical arrangements to get the horticultural exhibits moved to the state fair from the depots in a more satisfactory and cheaper manner than the present arrangements. I move you that this resolution be adopted. Motion was seconded and carried unanimously. Meeting adjourned. December 10, 1915, Morning Session. The President: We are to have a talk on "Spraying the Orchard," by Senator Dunlap, of Illinois, this morning. (See index.) Discussion. Mr. Crosby: We thank Senator Dunlap for his able talk. I think that is the way to progress. If we do not do things right up-to-date we can learn how to do better from a competent man. The President: We all enjoyed the able talk of Senator Dunlap. He is president of the Orchard Association of Illinois. He is considered one of the most practical men down there, and we are very fortunate in having him with us and to listen to his valuable talk and experience. (Applause.) We will now listen to Professor Richard Wellington, who will tell us about "Orcharding in Minnesota." (Applause.) (See index.) Discussion. The President: I am going to suggest a little matter at this time which I am sure you will all approve of. It has been said by hundreds of men and women attending these meetings who have had an opportunity of enjoying the talks and papers and splendid program given here that we had the greatest horticultural society in the world. It is true that we have the largest membership of any horticultural society in the United States and, I presume, of the world. You will all agree with me that is due to the efforts of one man to a large extent. That man has been in our service and looked after our interests for twenty-five years. He is at his best all the time, cordial, kind, using good judgment, prevents friction among us, always working for the best interests of everybody belonging to the society and the interests of the state. As I said before, he has served us twenty-five years, and I think it only fitting at this time that we should show our appreciation in a way that will appeal better than words. It has been suggested that we purchase some little token and present it this afternoon. It is up to you as to how much you want to give or whether you want to give anything or not, but Mr. Crosby and Mr. Brackett will be at the door as you pass out this noon, and they will probably have a hat there and you can drop in what you want to, and we will buy something for him and present it this afternoon. (Great applause.) The President: Now we will turn the meeting over to the Plant Breeders' Auxiliary. I regret very much to have to announce that our good friend, Clarence Wedge, president of this auxiliary, is ill this afternoon and unable to occupy the chair. I understand there is no vice-president of the auxiliary, and I have been requested to continue as chairman during this meeting. We have a very important program, one of the very best we have had. Some of our best men are on this program and I hope you will all stay and attend the balance of this meeting. I am going to call on our good friend, Charles Haralson, superintendent of the Zumbra Heights farm, to tell us about "New Fruits Originated at the State Fruit-Breeding Farm." (Applause.) (See index.) The President: Professor C. B. Waldron, of North Dakota, finds it necessary to leave in a very short time, and he will therefore address you at this time instead of this afternoon. He will tell us about "Running Out of Varieties." (See index.) We will now listen to the report of the committee on examination of the Minnesota State Fruit-Breeding Farm, Dr. O. M. Huestis, Chairman. (See index.) The President: The next speaker needs no introduction to a Minnesota audience, as the word "Hansen" is a household word and particularly in every agricultural community within the state, and the Hansen hybrids are eagerly sought for by practically everybody who plants trees. Professor Hansen has done a good work and is still accomplishing things. He will tell us what he has done during 1915. I regret the time is so short, but we will get Mr. Hansen to tell us more about his work. "Newer Fruits," Prof. N. E. Hansen, Brookings, S. D. Afternoon Session, at 1:30. Half-hour exercise, questions and answers on "Increasing the Fertility of the Land," led by Dr. F. J. Alway. (See index.) The President: Mr. Crosby has a word for us, and before continuing with the regular program I will ask him to come forward at this time. Mr. Crosby: Gentlemen of the Horticultural Society: Mr. Latham, please come this way. I have the honor, in behalf of the society, to inform you, as you probably know, that this is your silver wedding, but we are going it one better and make it a golden wedding for you today. We have come to the conclusion, you have been with this society for twenty-five years, and we think it is best that you be watched and chained. I have the honor of presenting to you, in behalf of the society, a gold watch and chain. That is all I have to say. (Applause.) Mr. Philips: Now for a speech. Mr. Latham: Wait a moment, I will see if it is worth it. (Laughter.) I hate to part with this old turnip. I have carried it forty-five years now, never broke a crystal on it, even. It is a good faithful companion. I do not know what I will do with this now unless I put it away in a safety vault somewhere. I do not think the Horticultural Society expects me to make a speech; they know I am not a talker. I could say something if the room were smaller, but my voice does not seem to carry very well. I am a good deal in the fix of the steamboat that carried passengers on the river up and down to the camp meeting there. They had a whistle on that boat that made a tremendous noise but when they blew it the boat had to stop. (Laughter.) If I talk loud enough to be heard here, my thinking works do not operate. (Laughter.) I hardly know how to express my appreciation of this gift, as showing the sentiment of the society towards me. Of course, I have tried to do what I could for the society. Sometimes, perhaps, I have gone a little too far, something like the man who was appointed in charge of a flag station. He had never done any such service as that, but he understood the business of a flagman was to stop trains. The first train that came along was a heavy express train, eight or ten or a dozen coaches, and he rushed out and flagged the train. The conductor got off, all in a hurry, and looked around. He did not see anybody but the flagman. He said: "Where are your passengers?" "Well," he says, "there ain't any passengers to get on, but I didn't know but somebody would like to get off." (Laughter.) Sometimes, perhaps, I have overreached myself here. Twenty-five years is quite a while to look back, and as I look over the faces of those present I can scarcely see one that was a member of the society twenty-five years ago when I became secretary. Mr. Long in his address before you at the banquet last night spoke of the meeting that he first attended of the horticultural society, held in what is now the Metropolitan Life, on the ground floor, and he spoke of the surroundings there. No fruit on exhibition. If a man had two or three apples in his pocket, he showed them around on the sly as though it was a crime to let people know there was such a thing and that he had a few at home he could eat. Quite a remarkable thing! That was the meeting of the horticultural society in which I was first elected secretary, and I recall well all the circumstances connected with it. So many of our members that I thought so much of in those days are gone. Of those who were present at that meeting, the only person left that I recall is Mr. Underwood. I had forgotten Mr. Long was there; I think he reported the meeting; I guess the first of our meetings that he reported, too. I am not going to make any more of an address. President Vincent is here and will address you. I thank you very much indeed. (Applause.) Mr. Vincent: I am very glad that I got in in time to be a witness to this delightful and gratifying little ceremony which has just taken place. I can not imagine anything more satisfying to a man who, in spite of all his modesty, knows he has done for twenty-five years good, genuine, valuable work than to have other people intimate in so pleasant a way that they are not entirely oblivious to what he has done. It always does one good to see efficient work recognized, and, while I cannot own, I am sorry to say, to an intimate personal acquaintance with Mr. Latham, I have come into association with him often enough to be able to share a little what you feel toward him and toward what he has done. The President: I am sure you will all be delighted to hear from the very popular president of one of the greatest universities in the United States, President George E. Vincent of Minnesota State University, who will now address you. (See index.) The President: I am sure we are very much indebted to President Vincent for this most scholarly and delightful speech. We hope he can continue with us during the afternoon. Owing to the fullness of our program this forenoon we are unable to discuss one of our most important subjects, and that was "The Elements of Hardiness," by Prof. M. J. Dorsey, member of the Fruit Breeding Section, of the University Farm. He will discuss that question at this time. (Applause.) (See index.) The President: Senator Dunlap, who so delightfully entertained us this morning and instructed us on the subject of "Spraying" will now speak to us on the subject of "Packing and Marketing Apples." (See index.) Discussion. The President: I am now going to call on a gentleman that hasn't said a word during our discussions and that is Mr. Weld, and request him to recite his favorite poem. Mr. Weld recites "The Three Warnings." The President: We have had a very interesting session, had a good time, everything has gone very nicely, but somehow there has been one thing lacking. The old friends from Iowa have not been with us with one exception, Mr. Ferris, who gave us the lantern talk on Tuesday, but Friend Gardner, Patten, Sherman and several others (I believe Sherman has been in town, but we have not seen him here) have been absent. The reason for it is that the Iowa people have been holding their annual meeting. But I am very glad that Mr. Gardner is with us this afternoon, and I am now going to call upon Mr. Charles F. Gardner, of Osage, Iowa. (Applause.) Mr. Gardner: Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen: I have attended your meetings so long that when I appear here before you I feel as though I had got home. I have attended every meeting of this society except two since this society held its annual meeting at Lake City the last time. That is when I joined the society, and since that time a great many things have taken place. Think it is seventeen or eighteen years ago, in that neighborhood. I was absent two years. I went to New Mexico, I went there to die, but luckily I escaped and came back home. I want to say this, that when I got back to this part of the country, if there was anything I thanked God for it was that I was spared to get back. I think there is no necessity of emigrating either from Minnesota or Iowa, and people that have traveled over the west and made a tour extending along the Pacific coast and finally get back into this country, this latitude, are generally pretty well satisfied and stay here. That is, providing they didn't spend all their money and can not get back here. Some of our citizens are now stranded out there and will come home whenever they can. In regard to the progress of horticulture in this length of time, I know you are very much interested in the work of Mr. Patten and a good many of you have trees that he originated. I want to say that the people of our state of Iowa have not really gotten their eyes open yet in horticultural ways. They only appropriated for our use $4,000. We have five societies, the state society--and then the state is divided into four sections. In the last few years our state society has appropriated to carry on, to help Mr. Patten carry on his work, we have appropriated and used $4,600. Before that time our society allowed $50.00 a year for station fees for quite a little while, then before that $25.00 a year. Last year we appeared before the legislature and tried to get some help to keep up that work and informed them that our money was getting short and that unless it was done we could not carry on that work. The legislature hardly winked an eye at our request. No money was appropriated, and of all the things that I ever hated to help do last week was to discontinue the Charles City station. For fear that some one might think we had gone back on Mr. Patten and that the work he has done will be lost to the world, I will say there is nothing of that kind. There is not a member of our society but would do anything in the world for Mr. Patten, to help him. It is just simply a fact that the money of our society is so nearly exhausted we had hardly enough to pay for the expenses of our meeting last week. We had a splendid meeting and never had such an exhibit of apples before. Perhaps we may have had as many apples on exhibit but not so many perfect ones. On the first opportunity we have we are going to see that Mr. Patten does not suffer. I would say that they are in pretty good shape to take care of Mr. Patten down there for a year or two, and we will not lose the valuable work he has done. As the meeting is drawing to a close I want to say in closing that if there is anything that does me good it is to come up here and look into your faces once a year, and I wish that I could see more of you. There is a kind of bond of brotherhood and a feeling that when I am here I am among friends and I have found that to be the case for almost twenty years. Thank you. (Applause.) The President: I have just discovered a question here that should be answered, if there is anyone here that can do so. "In my locality the basswood and box elders are infested with a scale-like substance that looks like cotton. Most of the trees of the varieties named are infested. What is it and is there a remedy?" Mr. Kellogg: That is no doubt the cottonwood bug that infects the soft maple. They come and work for about three years and then some insect comes in and cleans them out. The President: What is the remedy, Mr. Kellogg? Mr. Kellogg: You can use any spray for this bug. On forest trees it is out of reach, but arsenical spray will get them if you can reach them. Mr. Warner: Cotton maple scale. Professor Waldron recommends to spray with crude oil when the trees are dormant. We find it best to cut it back. The cottony appearance does not show until the second year and then the scale has really done its injury. The time to cut it, you will find a lot of small scales on the young twigs, and if they are cut off and a new growth forced you get rid of it. The President: I understand Prof. Broderick of the College of Winnipeg has been here. If he is here I wish he would come forward and give us a word. I understand he is the delegate from Winnipeg. (Applause.) Mr. Broderick: Mr. President, ladies and gentlemen: Before going away, I would like, as a member of the Manitoba society to express to you my great pleasure at being here and taking part in your excellent meeting. I had planned for a number of years to come down but circumstances have been such that I have been unable to be here. I might say that we in Manitoba, about 400 miles north of here, are interested in horticulture as well as you people in Minnesota. We have a fraternal interest in the work you are doing. A number of our members, I might say, are members of your society, and we are getting your excellent publication and following the work you are doing. Our problems up there are very similar to yours, and we feel that you can give us greater information than we can obtain from any other source. We appreciate the excellent work you are doing, and it has been of great interest to me to see the wide range of subjects you are covering. I was particularly interested this morning in the session of the plant breeders, as that is a line of work that we feel up in Manitoba has some possibilities for us. In a horticultural line we are confined very largely to the hardy varieties. We are working on improving the hardiness of our varieties, and the fruit growing as it is carried on with us very largely in a small way by the farmers and others interested through our province. We feel, however, that there are possibilities, and we are only too glad to get any information from you as to the work and progress that is being made in the matter of hardy fruits. We have been endeavoring to improve our native plums. I have had the station there at Winnipeg, and in connection with one of our nurserymen, Mr. Buchanan, we have been selecting hardy plums for a number of years, and we hope from that stock in crossing with the Japanese plums, as Professor Hansen suggested this morning, to prove that there are possibilities even as far north as Manitoba. I have heard Mr. Buchanan say on several occasions that he thought the possibilities of plum growing were fairly good in Manitoba. In small fruits we have possibilities. The currants and raspberries grow very well. We have not done so much in strawberries, but I know there are a number of growers in parts of the province that are making some very successful experiments in strawberries, and we hope in a few years to produce strawberries of a fairly good quality. The President: How is your wild strawberry? Mr. Broderick: I find that the wild strawberry does very well. We have around Winnipeg, where the college is located, a wild strawberry that does very well, and it is possible that we can do some work on improving the wild strawberry. We are looking to our hardy native fruits and the hardy importations we are making to establish varieties which are hardy and suited to our conditions. We are interested also in the work done in tree planting, and I followed with interest the discussion this morning as to windbreak protection. That has been a problem with us. The government of the Dominion has taken it over, and we find it is working out all right. Our Forestry Station at Indian Head sends out lots of trees free each year. These are planted, and they have a system of inspection. Certain requirements are made in regard to the preparation of the soil, methods of planting and caring for the plantation afterwards. A Member: What are the majority of your forest trees? Mr. Broderick: Forest trees are largely deciduous, the Manitoba maple, the ash, the elm and the willows. I was pleased to hear some one this morning mention the golden willow. That is one of the best trees we have. The Manitoba maple, of course grows all over that northern country, but we find that during recent years it has been becoming seriously infected with various kinds of pests. This year the aphis were serious. We are discouraging to a certain extent the Manitoba maple and planting other trees and are getting better results. The ash, the elm and willow are doing well. With the conifer trees, the Scotch pine, the white spruce, the balsam fir and the ridgepole pine are those which are growing. The improving of home grounds is another question that is interesting us. I do not think there is anything in this western country that is going to do more to make homes than this. So we are interested in all the work you are carrying on, and we appreciate the opportunity of coming here and meeting with you and listening to the excellent discussions you have. I might say that our annual meeting is held in February and if any of you happen to stray up there we would be only too glad to have you join with us. I thank you very much for the many courtesies extended to me on behalf of the Manitoba society. (Applause.) (Time was now taken up by two minute speeches of different members, after which the meeting was declared closed.) Records of Executive Board for 1916. Record of meeting held in secretary's office 8:00 p.m. Tuesday, Dec. 6, 1915. There were present Thos. E. Cashman, LeRoy Cady, Clarence Wedge, J. P. Andrews, R. A. Wright and A. W. Latham. In the absence of the chairman of the board, Mr. J. M. Underwood, Clarence Wedge was elected chairman pro tem. The following accounts were examined and approved and orders drawn in payment therefor. Geo. W. Strand, treasurer, premiums annual meeting, 1914, $596.50. Geo. W. Strand, treasurer, premiums summer meeting, 1915, $172.00. A. W. Latham, expenses secretary's office from June 1, 1915, to Dec. 1, 1915, $1,064.30. It was decided to present to the annual meeting of the society for action the following named persons for honorary life membership: John Bisbee, Madelia; J. R. Cummins, Minneapolis; S. H. Drum, Owatonna; F. W. Kimball, Waltham; Chas. Haralson, Excelsior. An appropriation of fifty-three dollars and 25-100 ($53.25) was made for the benefit of the Minnesota Forestry Association. Adjourned sine die, CLARENCE WEDGE, Chairman, pro tem. A. W. LATHAM, Secretary. * * * * * Record of meeting of the board held in West Hotel 12:30 p.m. Friday, Dec. 10, 1915. There were present at this meeting Thos. E. Cashman, LeRoy Cady, Clarence Wedge, J. P. Andrews, R. A. Wright and A. W. Latham. Thos. E. Cashman was elected chairman pro tem. J. M. Underwood was elected chairman of the board for 1916, and A. W. Latham was elected secretary at a salary of eighteen hundred dollars ($1,800.00) per annum. The salary of the treasurer was fixed at twenty-five dollars ($25.00) per annum. The board having under consideration the recommendation of grades of apples for use in packing for market, a committee consisting of Clarence Wedge, J. P. Andrews and R. A. Wright was appointed to take the question under consideration with authority to act for the board. The sum of eight hundred dollars ($800.00) was appropriated as a revolving fund for the use of the secretary of the society during the year 1916. The following resolution was presented by Clarence Wedge and unanimously adopted by the board. "Resolved: That the board favors the exclusive distribution of new varieties of fruits of probable commercial value originating at the State Fruit-Breeding Farm to members of the society and the trial stations of the state as at present practiced. "Resolved further--That when a variety of fruits originating at the fruit breeding farm has been sufficiently tested to establish its commercial value in the state, it shall be given a name and the State Fruit-Breeding Farm shall cease to propagate it for distribution." Adjourned sine die, THOS. E. CASHMAN, Chairman, pro tem. A. W. LATHAM, Secretary. * * * * * Record of meeting held in the secretary's office June 22, 1916. All members of the board were present except R. A. Wright. Mr. John P. Andrews was elected by the board as its representative in connection with the assessment of damages on account of nursery stock to be destroyed in certain Minnesota nurseries to protect from injury threatened by a disease called "white pine blister rust." Having under consideration the trial stations connected with the society it was decided to discontinue the station located at Madison, Minn., and locate a station at New Auburn, Minn., R. F. Hall, Supt., and another at Deerwood, Minn., L. P. Hall, Supt. The following resolution pertaining to Farmers' Institutes was unanimously adopted. "Resolved: That in our judgment the carrying out of the spirit and purpose of the motion adopted by the Farmers' Institute Board, Sept. 4, 1913, pertaining to 'the horticultural work on each institute corps'--to quite literally--cannot be fully performed except by providing for each institute corps some one who should in whole or in part represent horticulture, and who should be interested and willing to serve the Horticultural Society as indicated in said motion; and further, that reasonable opportunity for such service should be allowed at each place where an institute corps may be working." It was decided to appropriate $65.00 to be applied to the uses of the Minnesota State Forestry Association. The accounts of the Secretary from Nov. 30, 1915, to June 15, 1916, amounting to $4,112.82, were examined and approved, and an order drawn for the payment of that amount from the treasury, an equal amount to be covered into the treasury from the hands of the secretary. Adjourned sine die, J. M. UNDERWOOD, Chairman Executive Board. A. W. LATHAM, Secretary. Additions to Society Library, 1916. (For preceding list see page 492, Report 1916). Case. No. Am. Pomological Socy., An. Rep., 1873 3 8 Am. Pomological Socy., An. Rep., 1871 3 9 Am. Pomological Socy., An. Rep., 1885 3 10 *Cyclopedia of American Agri., Bailey. Vol. 1 3 24 *Cyclopedia of American Agri., Bailey. Vol. 2 3 25 *Cyclopedia of American Agri., Bailey. Vol. 3 3 26 *Cyclopedia of American Agri., Bailey. Vol. 4 3 27 *Cyclopedia of Practical Hort., Lowther, 1916. Vol. 1 4 1 *Cyclopedia of Practical Hort., Lowther, 1916. Vol. 2 4 2 *Cyclopedia of Practical Hort., Lowther, 1916. Vol. 3 4 3 *Cyclopedia of Practical Hort., Lowther, 1916. Vol. 4 4 4 *Plums of New York, Hedrick, 1915 1 1 *Grapes of New York, Hedrick, 1915 1 2 FROM LIBRARY OF WYMAN ELLIOT: Bureau of Ethnology. J. W. Powell 1 3 Minn. State Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1915 44 13 *American Agriculturist. Vol. 10 4 8 Report of Secretary of Agriculture, 1889 4 10 Department of Agriculture. Report, 1877 4 11 Architecture of Country Houses. Downing 4 12 American Farmers Encyclopedia. Emerson 4 13 Michigan Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1886 4 13 Department of Agriculture, Report, 1856 5 14 Yearbook of Argiculture, 1855 4 15 American Forestry Association, Report, 1897 4 16 Department of Agriculture, Report, 1852-3 4 14 Food for Plants. Harris and Meyers 47 1 Western Farmer. Vol. 1 47 2 Western Farmer. Vol. 2 47 3 Western Farmer. Vol. 3 47 4 Minnesota State Horticultural Society, Report, 1869 47 5 State Entomologist, An. Rep., 1909-1910 47 6 American Pomological Society, An. Rep., 1903 47 7 American Pomological Society, An. Rep., 1869 47 8 Wisconsin State Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1876 47 9 Wisconsin State Hort. Society, An. Rep., 1877 47 10 Wisconsin State Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1891 47 11 State Experiment Station, Rep., Bulletins 47 12 Illinois Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1870 47 13 State Entomologist, Report, 1905 47 14 Indiana State Hort. Socy., Report, 1853 47 15 Minnesota Farmers Institute Annual, 1895 47 16 Minnesota Farmers Institute Annual, 1907 47 17 Minnesota Farmers Institute Annual, 1908 47 18 Western N. Y. Hort. Socy., Report, 1887 47 19 Making Horticulture Pay. M. G. Kains 47 34 Young Farmers Manual. S. E. Todd 47 33 Home for All. O. S. Fowler 47 32 American Weeds and Useful Plants. Wm. Darlington 47 31 How to Grow and Show Potatoes. Jas. Pink 47 30 How to Build Hot Houses. R. B. Leucars 47 29 Field Book of Manures. D. J. Browne 47 28 Woodwards Country Homes. G. E. & F. W. Woodward 47 27 Grape Growers Guide. Wm. Charlton 47 26 Botanical Ready Reference. J. M. Nickells 47 25 Landscape Gardening. Chas. H. J. Smith 47 24 Cranberry Culture. B. Eastwood 47 35 Book of Roses. Francis Parkman 47 23 Elements of Agriculture, Chemistry and Geology. J. F. W. Johnston 47 22 American Farm Book. R. L. Allan 47 21 Flower Garden. Jos. Beck 47 20 Handbook of Tree Planting. N. H. Egleston 47 38 Bulbs. E. S. Rand, Jr. 47 37 How to Cooperate. Herbert Myrick 47 36 Suburban Home Grounds. F. J. Scott 45 1 Trees of America. D. J. Browne 45 2 California Fruits. E. J. Wickson 45 3 Ill. State Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1885 45 4 Farmers Universal Handbook 45 5 *Johnsons Dictionary of Gardening. David Landreth 45 6 Flowers for the Parlor and Garden. E. S. Rand, Jr. 45 7 Hedges and Evergreens. John A. Warder 45 8 The Farmers Miscellany. Geo. W. Marshall 45 9 The Western Fruit Book. F. R. Elliott 45 10 The Strawberry Culture. R. G. Pardee 45 11 Use of the National Forests. Gifford Pinchot 45 12 Ladies Companion to Flower Gardening. Downing 45 13 Map of Minnesota, 1854 45 29 Vegetable Plants. I. F. Tillinghast 45 28 Mysteries of Bee-Keeping Explained. M. Quinby 45 27 Grape Culturist. A. S. Fuller 45 26 Rural Economy. Boursingault's, by Geo. Law 45 25 Barn Plans and Out Buildings 45 24 New Creations in Plant Life. W. S. Harwood 45 23 The Farmers Side. W. A. Peffer 45 22 Villes' Chemical Manures. A. A. Fesquet 45 18 Johnsons Agriculture Chemistry. Jas. F. W. Johnston 45 21 A. B. C. of Agriculture. M. C. Weld 45 20 Land Drainage. J. P. Clipper 45 19 Peat and Its Use. S. W. Johnson 45 17 Forestry Tree Culturist. A. S. Fuller 45 16 American Poultry Yard. D. J. Browne 45 15 How Crops Grow. S. W. Johnson 45 14 N. J. Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1915 4 23 Royal Hort. Socy., Journal of, December, 1915 4 19 Society of American Florists, 1915 27 13 Wyoming State Bd. of Hort., An. Rep., 1915 27 14 Man. Hortl. and Forestry Assn., An. Rep., 1915 27 15 Kentucky Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1915 27 16 Markets for Oregon Fruits, 1914 27 17 Vermont State Hort. Socy., Report, 1915 27 18 Fruit Growers Assn. of Nova Scotia, Report, 1916 27 19 Illinois State Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1915 27 20 Ontario Vegetable Growers Assn., An. Rep., 1915 4 21 The American Rose Manual. J. Harris McFarland, 1915 27 27 Horticultural Societies of Ontario, An. Rep., 1915 4 22 Georgia State Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1915 27 21 Peninsula Horticultural Socy., An. Rep., 1916 27 22 Mass. Hort. Socy., Part 2, 1915 27 23 Nebraska Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1915 27 24 Virginia State Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1915 27 25 Northern Nut Growers Assn., An. Rep., 1915 27 26 S. D. State Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1915 4 20 Western N. Y. Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1916 27 28 Yearbook, Dept. of Agri., 1915 4 18 Plant Propagation. M. G. Kains 12 9 Productive Vegetable Growing. J. W. Lloyd 11 29 Backyard Farmer. J. W. Bolte 11 27 The Well Considered Garden. Mrs. Francis King 11 28 Planning and Planting Home Grounds. Warren H. Manning 11 26 Birds of Town and Country, National Geographic Socy 4 17 *Fruit Industry in New York. Part 1 27 35 *Fruit Industry in New York. Part 2 27 36 Kansas State Hort. Socy. 1914 and 1915 27 37 Ont. Entomological Socy., An. Rep., 1915 27 38 Pomological & Fruit Growers Socy. of Quebec, An. Rep., 1915 27 39 Md. State Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1915 27 40 Oregon State Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1915 27 41 Royal Hort. Socy., Journal of, May, 1916 27 42 State Hort. Assn. of Pa., An. Rep., 1916 27 43 Iowa Hort. Socy., An. Report, 1915 27 44 Ala. State Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1915 27 45 Mass. Hort. Socy., An. Rep., Part 1, 1916 27 46 Mass. Fruit Growers Assn., An. Rep., 1916 27 47 N. Y. State Fruit Growers Assn., An. Rep., 1916 27 48 Washington State Hort. Assn., An. Rep., 1916 27 49 Ohio State Hort. Socy., An. Rep., 1916 27 50 * * * * * CONDITIONS UNDER WHICH BOOKS MAY BE TAKEN FROM THE SOCIETY LIBRARY. Books may be taken from the library of the Minnesota State Horticultural Society by any member of the society on the following terms: 1. Not more than two books can be taken at a time. 2. Books with a star (*) before the title, as found in the published library lists, are reference books and not to be taken from the library. 3. In ordering books give besides the name also the case and book numbers, to be found in the same line as the title. 4. Books will be sent by parcel post when requested. 5. When taking out, or sending for a book, a charge of ten cents (to be paid in advance) is made to cover expense of recording, transmission, etc. 6. Books are mailed to members only in Minnesota and states immediately adjoining. When sent to points outside the state a charge of fifteen cents is made. 7. A book can be kept two weeks: If kept longer a charge of two cents per day will be made. 8. The library list, to December 1, 1915, is published in the 1915 annual volume of the society. Additions to this list will be published year by year in the succeeding annual volumes. MEMBERSHIP, 1916 Annual Members. Aarrestad N. O Hanley Falls, R. I. Aase, Martin Kenyon Abel, Nick Evansville Abbott, Geo. Newport Abbott, T. A. 487 Ashland, St. Paul Abeler, Wm. J. 196 Griggs St., St. Paul Abeler, Geo. L. 264 Dayton Ave., St. Paul Aberg, C. 3310 Wenonah Place, Mpls. Abbott, Mrs. A. W. 221 Clifton Ave., Mpls. Abrahamson, E. O. Lafayette Academy of Our Lady of Good Counsel Mankato Ackerknecht, W. E. 680 White Bear Ave., St. Paul Ademmer, B., Jr. New Prague Adams, Chas. W. 3212 Minnehaha Ave., Mpls. Adams, D. Albert Hutchinson Adams, Robt. Morris Adams, W. S. 1620 Jefferson St., Duluth Aelzant, Louie Brevator Affleck, C. A. Willmar Ahlsten, Mrs. Mary Dent Aiton, Geo. B. Grand Rapids Akers, Mary D. 1541 W. Minnehaha, St. Paul Alexander, Alfred Dawson Almquist, C. A. Capas Alme, O. T. Ulen Allen, Edgar New Auburn Allison, Prof. J. H. Univ. Farm, St. Paul Albertson, A. R. Paynesville Alden, E. M. Deer River Albrecht, O. E. 6th & Minnesota Sts., St. Paul Allis, W. H., Sec Aitkin Allen, Wilber R. Wells Albinson, Oscar 1718 11th Ave. S., Mpls. Alm, Arthur 686 Ivy St., St. Paul Aldrich, Malcolm 3205 Henn. Ave., Mpls. Albert, Henry So. St. Paul Alford, E. F. 2390 Woodland Ave., Duluth Allen, John S. 3017 Grand Ave., Mpls. Allen, P. L. 1912 3rd Ave. S., Mpls. Amborn, Elmer Box 147, Bangor, Wis. Ames, Mrs. Frank Sta. F., Mpls. Ammand, Ernest 2819 Polk. St., Mpls. Amundson, C. E. 409 Henn. Ave., Mpls. Ambauen, Rev. Jos. Freeport Amundson, P. C. Amery, Wis. Anderson, Louis R. 1, Gladstone Anderson, J. C. B. 1285 Portland Ave., St. Paul Anderson, Alex. P. 558 Everett Ave., Chicago Andrew, Harry 5327 S. Lyndale, Mpls. Anderson, Richard R. 4, Northfield Anderson, J. E. R. 5, Box 35, Hector Anderson, A. M. Gran Marais Anderson, Andy 935 Cherokee Ave., St. Paul Anderson, J. W. Mitchell, S. D. Anderson, Henning 1108 S. 4th St., St. Peter Anderson, Mrs. Andrew, S. Elm St., Owatonna Andrews, Theo. S. Bemidji Anvid, Olof Blackduck Anderson, Axel Hotel Leamington, Mpls. Andrews, Gen. C. C. Capitol, St. Paul Anderson, Miss Deborah 627 E. 17th St., Mpls. Anderson, John W. R. 3, Cokato Anderson, A. J. 161 E. Cook St., St. Paul Anderson, David 4044 Aldrich S., Mpls. Andrews, Mrs. W. E. Lake Wood, White Bear Anderson, Carl Vesta Anstett, Jake Preston Anderson, Fred Rush City Anderson, Wm. R. 4, Isanti Andrews, J. P. Faribault Anderson, S. A. 3801 Dupont N., Mpls Anderson, C. G. 1514 W. Lake St., Mpls. Anderson, G. F. W. Side Sta., R. 2, St. Paul Anderson, J. F. Lake City Anderson, Frank H. 2905 Fremont S., Mpls. Anderson, John 4315 Girard N., Mpls. Anderson, Andrew 865 Bidwell St., St. Paul Anderson, Mrs. John R. 2, Box 99, Isanti Anderson, Ernest Cove Anderson, John A. 715 Normal Ave., Valley City, N.D. Andrews, W. A. Walhalla, N. D. Anderson, L.P. Bemidji Anderson, Axel Dunnell Anderson, Henry Lake Wilson Anderson,, Alfred O. 914 St. Olaf Ave., Northfield Anderson, Wm. 1540 Kirkwin Ave., St. Paul Andreas, Reuben W. 71 Melbourne Ave., Mpls. Anderson, J. L. Clarkfield Anitzberger, Phil. 1245 Livingston Ave., W. St. Paul Anderson, Peter Eastwood Anderson, Victor Hastings Hotel, Mpls. Anfield, E. N. Clinton Anderson, B. E. Elbow Lake Armitage, C. W. Canby Arrowood, Jas. Nevis Arness, A. G. Benson Arkens, Edw. J. Park Rapids Archer, T. E. 1399 Raymond Ave., St. Paul Archer, Mrs. Marian 1399 Raymond Ave., St. Paul Arneson, M. Shelly Arctander, Ludwig 324 N. Y. Life Bldg., Mpls. Aronson, Geo. Box 135, South Park Asp, Arthur E. R. 11, Milaca Asplund, Chas. R. 1, Hopkins Ash, H. C. 15 Carlyle Ave., Duluth Asperstrand, Aug. Amery, Wis. Atwood, H. J. Hunters Park, Duluth Atcheson, Jas. Mapleton Atherton, Mrs. Isabella Newport Aune, Olaf Underwood Austin, Miss Mary J. 503 Sellwood Bldg., Duluth Austin, O. A. McVille, N. D. Aune, Theo. Glenwood Avery, Carlos State Capitol, St. Paul Ayers, H. B. Kimberly Ayers, C. O. 1025 17th Ave. S., St. Cloud Ayers, Ellsworth D. Pine City Badrann, Peter Harvey, N. D. Bailey, J. Vincent Dayton Bluff Sta., St. Paul Baillif, R. L. Sta. F, R. 3, Mpls. Baalson, H. E. Brooten Baglien, Hans H. Rothsay Baillif, C. E. Sta. F, R. 1, Mpls. Backus, Mrs. C. H. 580 Holly Ave., St. Paul Bagley, Mrs. Horace Towner, N. D. Bailey, Victor River Falls, Wis. Bailey, Phoebe D. 1023 17th Ave. S. E., Mpls. Bahe, H. G. Hastings Babcock, Mrs. J. B. Belgrade Baker, H. P. N. Y. State Col. of For., Syracuse, N.Y. Beath, P. A. Drake, N. D. Belker, Jake Maple Plain Beise, Dr. H. C. Windom Becker, Ernest Northland Baldwin, H. J. Northfield Baker, H. F. 4629 Lake Harriet Blvd., Mpls. Baney, J. W. Blackduck Baldwin, Miss L. O. 707 Cham. of Com., Mpls. Ballou, Herb 3316 10th Ave. S., Mpls. Baker, John W. R. 3, Maynard Baker, W. H. Reading Bannister, I. C. Stillwater Balfour, Donald C. Rochester Banning, Mrs. J. F. Juamba Baker, Bert Hoosick Falls, N. Y. Bamford, Geo. J. 1703 Sheridan Ave., St. Paul Baker, Miss Ida A. 4629 Lake Harriet Blvd., Mpls. Balcarek, V. L. Hyannis, Neb. Baldus, Jos. L. Montrose Baldwin, E. B. Care of Western Electric Co., St. Paul Baker, M. J. Deer River Bartram, Mrs. C. S. R. 1, White Bear Barclay, J. M. Madison Lake Barnstad, Ole Willmar Barnes, J. U. 705 Oneida Blk., Mpls. Barnard, A. H. 206 Lbr. Exchange, Mpls. Barott, J. E. Tamarack Barker, Mrs. S. E. R. 3, Excelsior Bartlett, J. F. Excelsior, Minn. Barrows, Walter A. Brainerd Bartholomew, O. A., Jr. 120 So. 5th St., Mpls. Barnes, Fred Northfield Bartlett, Mrs. E. A. R. 2, Hopkins Bartsch, Chas. G. R. 2, Mankato Bartholomew, R. L. Sta. F, R. 1, Nic. Ave., Mpls. Barton, Bert Republic, Mich. Barrett, Miss Alice Humboldt Ave. and 28th St., Mpls. Bardwell, Fred L. Excelsior Barthelemy, Ed St. Cloud Barnes, David 2123 Dunedin Ave., St. Paul Barker, Geo. H. 414 Owen St., Stillwater Barrows, Walter A., Jr. Brainerd Bates, W. K. Stockton Batho, Geo. 406 Maryland St., Winnipeg, Man. Baxter, Hector 4200 Park Blvd., Mpls. Baumgartner, Joe Robbinsdale Bassett, Mrs. H. S. Preston Bazille, E. W. 606 Carroll, St. Paul Bawman, F. J. 802 Edmond Ave. S. St. Paul Bauer, Geo. Deerwood Bawman, Mrs. J. N. Bricelyn Bawman, Wm. Hayfield Bathke, Fred 496 Aurora Ave., St. Paul Bass, Mrs. G. Willis 1811 Bryant No., Mpls. Bayle, P. J. Grand Marais Bell, F. W. Hopkins Becker, E. W. Excelsior Becker, J. C. Adrian Bell, F. J. Winona Beatty, L. R. Orr Beaver, H. M. Lake Park Bemis, V. E. Inkster, N. D. Beise, Geo. W. Morris Beckman, J. F. 310 Webster Ave., St. Paul Behrems, W. F. New Richmond, Wis. Bena, Lincoln A. R. 2, Hopkins Bell, J. F. Wayzata Bechtel, Esler E. 125 Cedar St., Hibbing Beck, C. J. 462 High Forest St., Winona Belzer, F. L. Glasgow, Mont. Benjamin, J. F. Hutchinson Berger, Geo. Arlington Berry, Frank Stillwater Berthelsen, Christ Albert Lea Berglund, Robt. Kensington Berg, H. S. Clarkfield Benson, A. O. Forest Service, Mont. Benton, Henry W. Sec. Bk. Bldg., Mpls. Berghold, Rev. Alexander Mooskirchen Steiermarck, Austria Bennett, C. A. Granite Falls Bernhardt, Thos. J. 815 Fidelity Bldg., Duluth Bend, C. M. Commerce Bldg., St. Paul Benson, Harry 4410 33rd Ave. So., Mpls. Bergh, Otto I. Grand Rapids Benner, T. W. No. St. Paul Bergstrand, H. 915 E. Lawson St., St. Paul Bernardy, Peter Taunton Berg, Arthur, 953 German Ave., W. St. Paul Bergstrom, N. A. 114 So. 18th Ave., E. Duluth Benson, Andrew Jackson Benson, Frank Stephen Bennett, S. M. Drake, N. D. Bergreen, Leslie Clarkfield Bethke, H. Franklin Betchwars, Frank Jordan Bessette, F. W. Orr Betzold, R. A. R. 1, St. Paul Best, H. G. Faribault Bayard, P. C. 2366 Carter Ave., St. Paul Baumhofer, Earl F. R. 3, Box 40, Hopkins Bates, J. H. 710 Somerset Blk., Winnipeg, Man. Bawden, Mrs. J. 831 W. 7th St., Duluth Bauer, Edward Cove Bayly, Mrs. J. W. 2419 E. 2nd St., Duluth Benke, Albert Dent Berlin, A. N. Crystal Lake, Ill. Berkner, Alfred Sleepy Eye, Ill. Bender, Louis Wheaton Berstrand, Dr. J. G. Menahga Bergman, Mrs. Wm. Comfrey Berdahl, A. A. Gernmell Biermann, Henry Glencoe Bisanz, Rudolph 1505 E. 24th St., Mpls. Bickert, W. J. Washburn, N. D. Biggs, S. Elizabeth Fairmount, N. D. Bisbee, Clinton West Sumner, Me. Bierwirth, Paul 1021 Winslow Ave., W. St. Paul Billings, H. H. Pine Island Bixly, Henry N. Richville Bimebsero, W. A. Hinton, Ia. Bittner, Geo. J. R. 2, Winona Bill, Ambrose 984 Gorman Ave., W. St. Paul Bjornlie, Thorwald Madison Bjornberg, G. J. Willmar Bjeldanes, N. H. Madison Blaker, Rev. C. D. 4420 Grimes Ave., Mpls. Blakestad, L Lyle Blackmore, Hon. J. C. Christchurch, N. Z. Bluhm, A. G. Biscay Blessing, David S. 4 N. Court St., Harrisburg, Pa. Black, G. D. Independence, Ia. Blomberg, Fred Crosby Blair, D. L. Winnebago Blodgett, Mrs. H. A. 856 Fairmount Ave., St. Paul Bloomer, Ed Sherburn Blombeck, Alfred Eagle Bend Blodgett, Mrs. F. S. 330 W. 3rd St., St. Paul Blase, Fred So. St. Paul Blackstad, Rudolph St. James Blaker, M. H. Palmyra, N. Y. Blood, Oscar F. Worthington Bly, C. W. Osakis Blair, Frank D. 26 Court House, Mpls. Blodgett, P. L. 2913 Emerson So., Mpls. Blazing, G. M. Deer River Bjork, Fred Buffalo Bjorge, Henry O. Lake Park Bjordal, Einar Wild Rice, N. D. Bosshard, Herman Moorhead Boardman, Mrs. H. A 1336 River Blvd., St. Paul Bollmann, Paul Balaton Boline, J. A. Clarissa Boelk, Ferd Lansing Bock, John Wabasso Born, Otto G. So. St. Paul Bongie, Louis Bradley St. Sta., St. Paul Bofferding, W. H. 1423 N. Emerson, Mpls. Boeglin, Louis Park Greenhouses, 38th & Bryant, Mpls. Borland, Robt. Excelsior Boll, Jos. St. Bonifacius Bondeson, Wm. Walnut Grove Bodreen, Chas. J. Stillwater, R. 1, Box 6 Bottenmiller, L. H. Bertha Bondhus, Thos. Storden Bothun, B. E. Thief River Falls Borreseh, Rev. Father Caledonia Borning, B. J. Echo, R. 2 Borgendale, H. L. Madison Boman, A. 2018 W. Supr. St., Duluth Boone, C. L. Care of Chase Bros. Co., Rochester, N.Y. Borchardt, A. W. Bellingham Booth, Wm. Eagle Bend Bosin, Mrs. F. W. Rapidan Borgerding, John Freeport Boraas, Julius 1319 E. Franklin, Mpls. Boche, Herman H. Sunfish Rd. and Butler Ave., W. St. Paul Botsford, F. P. Gilbert Boerger, Wm. A. St. Cloud Bowman, Dr. F. C. 119 6th Ave. W., Duluth Boyington, Mrs. R. P. Nemadji Bove, Peter St. F, R. 4, Mpls. Boyd, J. B. Willmar Bowen, Walter S. 347 Wabasha St., St. Paul Boysen, P. B. Steen Bozja, Rev. Vincent Morgan Boyd, Montelle M. Stephen Boyum, Iver A. Northfield Bourduas, Frank 933 So. Robert St., W. St. Paul Bowman, Mary Rothsay Boxlang, Mrs. B. J. Kenyon Boysen, Dr. Pelican Rapids Boyd, Byron Long Prairie Bovay, Arthur G. Lakefield Boswell, L. R. Mpls. Paper Co., Mpls. Brandt, P. C. Morris Brandt, P. A. Erskine Brand, A. M. Faribault Bradrud, Albert Spring Valley Braden, Mrs. Chas. E. 450 McKnight Bldg., Mpls. Brakke, Albert Wild Rice, N.D. Bradley, Geo. J. Norwood Bradbury, W. W. 1724 E. 3rd St., Duluth Brander, Mrs. J. R. 3, Hopkins Brabetz, N. F. 915 3rd Ave. So., Mpls. Brawnell, T. G. Grand Meadow Bratan, F. M. Grand Meadow Bray, N. J. Hovland Bradford, F. H. Farmington Bradley, Wm. Montpelier, N. D. Brainard, Harold Turtle River Bradley, Wilson Deerwood Brevig, A. L. Starbuck Briggs, H. W. Sanborn Briggs, Geo. A. St. Peter Bremer, John Lake City Bringmeier, Fred J. Cass Lake Brevig, C. L. Starbuck Breyer, P. P. 3318 4th St. No., Mpls. Brierley, Prof. W. D. Univ. Farm, St. Paul Bren, Daniel Hopkins Bredvold, Martin Greenbush Bren, Rev. Jos. Hopkins Brinkmann, Henry W. Glencoe Breening, H. C. Balaton Bremer, Leslie Cannon Falls Brimeyer, H. Slayton Brewer, I. C. St. Charles Bren, Adolph Hopkins Brewer, W. W. Orisko, N. D. Bren, Geo. J. Hopkins Bren, Jos. S. Hopkins Bren, Frank E. Hopkins Brinkman, Wm. 407 Erie St., St. Paul Breide, Fred Deer River Brown, Frank Paynesville Brown, Mrs. G. T. 646 Hague Ave., St. Paul Broberg, Peter New London Broman, Aug. Atwater Brunkow, Chas. A. Delano Brown, Aug. Winthrop Broden, Gust A. Murdock Brown, H. A. Brownsdale Brown, John A. Windom Brummer, Henry W. Renville Bruns, Henry Excelsior Brooks, W. W. Long Prairie Brogren, Olof Willmar Brownlie, J. Roy Care of Flathead Natl. Bk., Kalispell, Mont. Brodalen, H. A. Pelican Rapids Brown, A. F. 2120 Como Ave., W. St. Paul Brown, Clarence Z. 610 N. Y. Life, Mpls. Brown, Mrs. G. W. St. Louis Park Brown, Chas. G. Paynesville Broman, Axel Milaca Broker, Mrs. H. A. Collegeville Brodalen, G. A. Ottosen, Iowa Brumpton, Wm. Shevlin Bugbie, A. E. Paynesville Buchanan, D. P. Shoshone, Cal. Buhler, E. O. Capitol, St. Paul Bue, Thos. 3138 22nd Ave. S., Mpls. Buehler, John G. 434 Main St. N. E., Mpls. Buchloz, Aug. Osseo Bull, M. Royal Crown Soap Co., Winnipeg, Man. Bull, Geo. N. 4116 8th St. W., Calgary, Alta. Bullard, W. H. 95 E. 6th St., St. Paul Buol, Peter Wabasha Buckeye, J. Lakefield Bunn, T. H. Pine Island Brombach, Jos. 3010 15th Ave. So., Mpls. Brown, R. A. Lakefield Brown, Rev. Geo. W. Wilson, Wis. Brown, Clarence J. 629 Sec. Bk. Bldg., Mpls. Brown, Mrs. J. F. 2412 Garfield, So., Mpls. Brooker, H. W. Sauk Center Burkee, John A. Roseau Burnette, W. J. 1405 Como Ave. S. E., Mpls. Burow, W. P. La Crescent Burns, Mark. Cass Lake Burfield, Geo. E. Shevlin Burns, Chris Cass Lake Burke, T. J. Bemidji Burrows, Mrs. A. L., Box 355, White Bear Burbeck, E. W. 106 E. Winona St., Duluth Burquist, A. E. Lindstrom Burnett, John Torrey Bldg., Duluth Burns, John J. Hopkins Burkhard, Miss L. S. White Bear Lake Burness, B. 328 Security Bk. Bldg., Mpls. Burch, Edward P. 1729 James So., Mpls. Burch, Frank E. 754 Linwood Place, St. Paul Busch, Fred Lyndale Ave. S. and 50th St., Mpls. Bussey, L. M. 1814 Hamline Ave. S. E., Mpls. Buttrud, Mrs. J. H. 51 Luverne Ave., Mpls. Busch, Bernh. Lyndale Ave. S. and 50th St., Mpls. Buth & Co., W. F. 298 Univ. Ave., St. Paul Butterfield, F. J. Long Lake Bussey, W. H. 511 Beacon St., Mpls. Bute, Chas M. R. 4, Jackson Bush, O. D. Barron, Wis. Byrnes, Dr. W. J. 207 Masonic Temple, Mpls. Bye, C. M. New Brighton Bye, J. T. R. 1, New Brighton Byrne, Mrs. M. E. 6544 Fafayette Ave., Chicago Cairns, Miss Gertrude M. Ellsworth, Wis. Cant, W. A. Duluth Campbell, E. R. Excelsior Carniff, Mrs. Laura J. 185 W. Brompton St., W. St. Paul Canning, Richard Orchard Gardens, Mpls. Cadoo, H.T. 988 Gorman Ave., W. St. Paul Campbell, Mrs. B. B. Sta. F., Mpls. Cadwell, B. D. Hastings, Box 295 Callahan, John St. Charles Campbell, H. E. H. Willmar Cameron, John A. 2503 Lyndale No., Mpls. Campbell, D. G. 959 26th Ave. N.E., Mpls. Cady, E. N. Lewiston Cannon, Mrs. Newton Superior, Wis., 1517 John Ave. Campbell, Mrs. H. A. 55 E. 4th St., St. Paul Carlson, C. H. Fertile Carmen, C. A. Hankinson, N. D. Carruthers, J. T. Willmar Carlson, And. Grandy Carey, Geo. W. Lidgerwood, N.D. Carlson, C. W. Mound Carpenter, F. H. 121 W. Franklin, Mpls. Carlson, John Care of Carlson & Hasslen, Ortonville Carnahan, E. J. Longville Carter, A. N. Howard Lake Carlson, Mrs. Wm. 6005 London R., Duluth Carpenter, M. B. Hotel Aberdeen, St. Paul Carlson, Peter Mohall, N. D. Carlson, J. A. 3410 18th Ave. S., Mpls. Carlson, Rev. C. W. 711 10th Ave. So., Mpls. Carlson, John Kimball Carlson, Oscar 2739 15th Ave. S., Mpls. Carlson, Axel Manhattan Bldg., Fergus Falls Carll, Norman Waltham Carlson, G. D. R. 2, Buffalo Carlson, Janas R. 2, Esmond, N. D. Cary, H. E. Jenkins Carey, Mrs. F. R. R. 2, Robbinsdale Carr, M. J. 682 Stryker Ave., St. Paul Carver, J. 2312 17th Ave. So., Mpls. Carlson, Mrs. Jno. R. 3, Hopkins Carribou, Farris Twig Carlson, G. C. Tower Carlson, J. 3402 Cedar Ave So., Mpls. Catlin, T. J., M.D. Palisade Cash, W. H. H. New Lisbon, Wis. Case, L. S. 1413 Merc. Natl. Bank Bldg., St. Paul Cedergren. E. A. Lindstrom Cecil, R. E. Gen. Del., McKeesport, Pa. Cecka, John Lonsdale Charlson, S. Dennison Chamberlain, V. M. Spring Valley Chalberg, Chas. Kandiyohi Chapman, C. P. Dent Chatfield, Mrs. E. C. Mound Chase, Jas. J. Farmington Chamberlain, W. D. Albert Lea Chapman, Ed. A. Redwood Falls Chamberlain, Louis M. 54th St. and Pillsbury, Mpls. Charlton, R. 2049 Robinson, Regina, Sask. Chapman, Sidney 158 E. Haskel St., W. St. Paul Charvat, Frank Brocket, N. D. Chapman, R. W. Plainview Chase, Mrs. A. G. Faribault Chaffee, H. L. Amenia, N. D. Chamber of Commerce Brainerd Cheney, W. H. Olivia Christopherson, K. O. Zumbrota Christopherson, Chris Camden Place, Mpls. Cherney, J. W. Winslow and Arion Sts., W. St. Paul Chrystoph, John 525 2d St., Hudson, Wis. Chrudinsky, Mrs. Robt. J. Lakewood Chinn, W. P. Care Ella Mine, Gilbert Chinlund, H. A. 13th & S. Park St., Red Wing Cheyney, Prof. E. G. Univ. Farm, St. Paul Chute, L. P. Chute Bldg., Mpls. Cheney, Mrs. W. B. 4237 Washburn Ave., Mpls. Christman, W. F. 3804 5th Ave. S., Mpls. Christiansen, Peder C. Dagoner, Mont. Christenson, Chris R. 3, Box 39, Albert Lea Chradle, Mrs. W. E. Cleveland Chermack, W. R. Hopkins Christie, R. G. Canby Cherveny, John J. Zimmerman Chelmen, B. E. Georgeville Christenson, Abraham Deerwood Christenson, C. G. Deerwood Christopherson, Chas. G. 4116 45th Ave. S., Mpls. Cherveny, Joe Zimmerman Christenson, Miss Nancy Mandan, N. D. Chemak, Otto R. 1, Hopkins Christian, Jas. Sherburn Christensen, M. 951 Goff Ave., W. St. Paul Christensen, Aug. Little Falls Cherry, M. M. N. St. Paul Cinkl, Albert Blooming Prairie Child, F. S. R. 1, Hopkins Christy Color Printing Eng., Inc. 179 St. Paul St., Rochester, N.Y. Clemons, L. A. Storm Lake, Ia. Clarkson, Stewart F. St. Charles Clausen, P. Albert Lea Cleator, Frederic W. Forest Service, Republic, Wash. Cleator, W. P. 1400 Wash. Ave. N., Mpls. Clark, Mrs. A. Y. Box 237, White Bear Clague, Frank Redwood Falls Clark, R. J. Eden Prairie Clementsen, Nels Fertile Clausen, T. A. Lakeshore Greenhouses, Albert Lea Clark, Geo. S. 27 5th Ave. S., St. Cloud Clement, C. C. Mosier, Oregon Clapp, Edw. S. 770 Hamline Ave., N. St. Paul Clark, Jas. Williams Clark, Newell E. 5030 Emerson S., Mpls. Clark, E. E. Eden Prairie Clark, H. B. Pine Island Clausen, Hans Sleepy Eye Clum, Miss K. M. R. 4, St. Paul Clark, D. F. 2110 Bryant S., Mpls. Cleveland, Henry 603 15th Ave. E., Duluth Colling, Jas. H. Inkster, N. D. Coffin, W. F. Homer Converse, T. R. Stillwater Constance, Wm. Hopkins Colburn, Otis L. Excelsior Congdon, John S. R. 5, Box 83 Fort Collins, Colo. Colb, John F. 3442 20th Ave. S., Mpls. Coffin, E. C. 2449 Garfield Ave., Mpls. Colban, Walter H. 307 4th Ave., Pittsburgh, Pa. Coffman, G. W. Wadena Conrad, Maud A. Montevideo Congdon, J. W. 2620 Blaisdell, Mpls. Colburn, G. B. R. 6, St. Cloud Conklin, Marion Jamestown, N. D. Coffron, Geo. Box 74, Biwabik Cole, Geo. Penturen Conners, J. B. Hibbing Collins, J. C. Mound Cocker, Walter Lanesboro Colby, F. L. Enfield, N. H. Conrad, Emil R.R., Collis Commandros, Tom Golden Rule Floral Dept., St. Paul Colman, I. W. 519 11th Ave. S.E., Mpls. Coleman, D. A. R. 2, Aitkin Constance, Geo. I. Cumberland, Wis. Coffey, Mrs. J. A. Jamestown, N. D. Cobb, E. R. 175 E. Winona St., Duluth Cook, A. D. 225 Kasota Blk., Mpls. Corser, Fred 615 James N., Mpls. Cornwell, E. C. Minnesota City Cornell, T. H. 815 Fidelity Bldg., Duluth Cornetinson, C. O. Watson Cook, Geo. Menahga Cooper, Mrs. D. H. Winnipeg, Man. Cook, Geo. H. Care Golden Rule, Red Wing Cook, E. W. Cleveland Corwin, Ellis Cove Cornwell, L. L. Pine Island Cornell Univ. Library Ithaca, N.Y. Crowe, W. H. Osakis Crowell, Dr. I. G. Shell Lake, Wis. Cramer, Dr. Geo. P. 686 Syndicate Bldg., Mpls. Cross, Mrs. Jane Sauk Rapids Crooks, Mrs. John S. 803 Commerce Bldg., St. Paul Crooks, John S. 803 Commerce Bldg., St. Paul Crocker, F. E. Morgan Crossett, C. N. Faribault Cuzner, E. A. Univ. Ave. & 13th St. S.E., Mpls. Cutting, S. Carnegie, Man. Cummings, Geo. W. R. 3, Box 118, Mpls. Currie, W. A. 816 Summit Ave., Mpls. Cutler, W. R. Claremont, S. D. Cutler, John Glencoe Custer, C. C. Howard Lake Custer, Orrin O. Cokato Curtis, J. W. G. 810 Globe Bldg., St. Paul Cummins, Miss Beatrice Barnum Cutting, M. C. Care "The Farmer," St. Paul Curran, Dr. F. 2612 13th Ave. S., Mpls. Cushing, Luther S. Osceola, Wis. Cowles, F. J. West Concord Coultas, R. W. Worthington Cote, L. Grasston Covington, Thos. E. 1793 Ashland Ave., St. Paul Countryman, A. D. Appleton Countryman, Mrs. M. L. 218 S. Avon St., St. Paul Coy, Sherman L. Cloquet Cox, Wm. T. Capitol, St. Paul Cowling, C. N. 184 W. Robie St., St. Paul Courtney, M. J. Glencoe Cowling, Mrs. Chas. N. 184 W. Robie St., St. Paul Cox, L. A. 436 Syndicate Blk., Mpls. Cox, Hanford Ely Court, Harry Warroad Crassweller, Arthur 4230 E. Superior St., Duluth Cramer, Fred Mapleton Crane, R. E. Grand Meadow Crafts, Robt. H. Mound Crane, W. I. 810 Buch St., New York Crabtree, Mack H. Mott, N. D. Crewe, Percy S. Mohall, N. D. Crandall, H. H. Morristown Crane, Benj. W. Spring Valley Dahl, Louis D. Atwater Dablen, O. E. Albert Lea Dahl, F. A. Chisago City Danielson, Solomon Rothsay Dale, O. G. Madison Dahlheimer, Frank Anoka Dahl, H. P. Isanti Dalzell, W. E. Hinckley Daily, D. 2508 17th Ave. S., Mpls. Daniel, T. W. Care M. Thorson, R. 1, Wayzata Dahl, H. M. 929 Central Ave., Red Wing Dahlquist, C. A. Popple Dalberg, Mrs. A. O. Amery, Wis. Dangers, Fred Sleepy Eye Dahl, Mrs. A. O. 490 W. 4th St., Superior, Wis. Daigle, A. A. Forest Lake Danzl, Jos. J. Melrose Day, Stephen Northfield Davison, A. H. State House, Des Moines, Ia. Darling, Dr. C. H. 697 Endicott Arcade, St. Paul Davis, L. G. Sleepy Eye Davis, H. H. Placeville, Cal. Davis & Ferree Waukee, Iowa Darrow, Geo. M. Bureau of Plant Industry, Washington, D.C. Davenport, W. R. Dennison Davis, T. A. Esmond, N. D. Dasher, C. A. Buffalo Lake Deline, W. F. Cannon Falls Decker, J. S. Austin DeLong, T. R. Halliday DeForest, Geo. Owatonna DeCamp, J. L. Eureka Deighton, C. H. 902 Wolvin Bldg., Duluth Denson, W. A. Hasty Deatharage, Mrs. Robt. 2428 Portland Ave., Mpls. Deebach, Herman 364 Maple St., St. Paul Deebach, E. A. Dayton Bluff Sta., St. Paul DeLameter, Mrs. J. 4920 Morgan Ave. N., Mpls. Dempsey, Thos. St. Peter Dean, Harold Care Thorpe Bros., Andrus Bldg., Mpls. DeSmidt, A. A. Battle Lake Desmond, W. 3501 Portland Ave., Mpls. Derickson, G. P. 238 W. Franklin Ave., Mpls. DePuy, A. C. Park Rapids DeWolf, Mrs. D. F. 654 Hague Ave., St. Paul Dexter, Mrs. W. K. Mound Devore, F. J. 972 S. Robert St., St. Paul Deplages, N. J. R. 2, York, N.D. Dept. of Agric. Ottawa, Out. Diethelm, M. Victoria Dittbenner, R. C. Sleepy Eye Dickenson, W. C. Anoka Dixon, Jas. K. Box 6, North St. Paul Dille, Peter O. Dassel Dike, Henry B. Hotel Berkeley, Mpls. Dill, Joe Victoria Distad, O. O. Hayfield Dickinson, Sherman 3127 4th Ave. S., Mpls. Dittmer, Gus Augusta, Wis. Dillman, A. C. Newell, S. D. Dispatch Prtg. Co., C. F. Blandin, Mgr., St. Paul Dickey, Mrs. Agnes T. Esmond, N. D. Dixon, Dr. Frank Mora District Insp. of Forest Reserve Winnipeg, Man. Dill, Albert St. Bonifacius Dobbin, J. J. Excelsior Doll, P. J. 2303 Bryant Ave. N., Mpls. Dockham, A. T. Eagle Bend Dodge, Clayton J. Moose Lake Dobbin, W. J. Excelsior Dodge, E. J. Hector Doerfler, Jos. 1919 Fillmore St. N.E., Mpls. Dodgson, Sam Clearwater Dobble, Mrs. Edwin 1385 Raymond Ave., St. Paul Dodge, Ben Mankato Dobbs, David E. Indus Donaldson, Mrs. W. N. 216 Palmett Ave., Duluth Dodson, T. R. Nashwauk Dominican Fathers 18th Ave. and 24th St., Mpls. Doring, Rev. F. M. Rogers Dowler, W. A. Fort Williams, Ont. Dorr, W. F. 1132 Lbr. Ex., Mpls. Doyle, W. J. Fern Ave. and Lake St., St. Louis Park Dorland, W. H. Dayton Bluff Sta., R. 4, St. Paul Downing, W. J. Ronneby, R. 2 Downing, Lloyd St. Charles Doories, Mrs. A. Fridley Down, J. J. 303 Medical Blk., Mpls. Douglas, W. B. 805 Commerce Bldg., St. Paul Drake, Mrs. H. T. 435 Portland Ave., St. Paul Drisko, Mrs. E. M. 3913 Garfield, Mpls. Dreuttel, Albert Cleveland Drebert, Alexander F. 1769 Iglehart Ave., St. Paul Dtessely, L. J. Gatzke Durand, Albert Waseca Dunn, John W. G. 1033 Lincoln Ave., St. Paul Dunn, W. W. 2143 Princeton Ave., St. Paul Dubbelis, Joe Lincoln Dunning, Dr. A. W. 803 Lowry Bldg., St. Paul Dunning, Frank Anoka Dunsmore, Dr. F. A. 100 Andrus Bldg, Mpls. Duel, Robt. Sauk Center Duesterhoeft, Adolph 1021 Hall Ave., W. St. Paul Dunn, A. C. Duluth Duncan, Alvin Redwood Falls Dvorak, John Hopkins Dubbels, Chas. W. Viola Dunbar, S. J. Elkhorn, Wis. Dunlop, W. B. 2013 Waverly Ave., Duluth Dvorak, Frank Montgomery Dunsmore, Thos. Danube Dvorak, Alley Hopkins, R. 3 Duerr, Dr. W. P. Lake City Durham, Sabin Grygla Dybig, Nursery Colton, N. D. Dysinger, S. D. 24 W. 5th St., St. Paul Dykema, Ben Raymond Dyer, C. H. 2824 10th Ave. S., Mpls. Eastgate, J. E. Larimore, N. D. Earle, C. E. Park Rapids Earney, Andrew 2617 Western Ave., Seattle, Wash. Eberhart, A. L. Austin Ebersperger, Mrs. 2008 Girard N., Mpls. Eckenbeck, S. C. Appleton Eckberg, Aug. Winthrop Edlund, E. Detroit Eddy, C. T. R. 4, Willmar Edson, W. D. Libby Eddy, Vernon Hyland Sta. N., Mpls. Edwards, Frank Gilbert Edden, G. St. Croix Falls, Wis. Edgerton, Mrs. E. A. 2720 Bryant So., Mpls. Edwards, O. T. Grand Meadow Edny, F. S. Goodthunder Effertz, Peter Norwood Egnell, A. Howard Lake Eisengraler, Dr. G. A. Granite Falls Eidem, P. C. Clarkfield Eisenach, W. L. Aitkin Eklund, P. A. Willmar Ekelund, C. A. Hopkins Ellison, F. H. Linden Falls, R. 2, Mpls. Elliott, W. J. Albertville Ellingson, S. Sta. F., R. 4, Mpls. Elstrom, F. O. Atwater Elliott, P. P. Grand Rapids Elwell, J. T. 945 14th S.E., Mpls. Elliott, Miss Martha R. Stillwater, R. No. 5 Ellison, Miss Sabra Sta. F, R. 2, Linden Falls, Mpls. Elliott, H. J. Hopkins, R. 3 Elofson, J. S. Hasty Elsenpeter, H. J. Buffalo Elgren, Mrs. Harry Red Top Ely, Dr. Jas. O. Winnetka, Ill. Eliason, Alfred J. Corrall, R. 2 Ellingson, G. T. 2315 W. 10th St., Duluth Ellis, G. C. West Salem, Wis. Ehler, Geo. 880 Euclid St., St. Paul Emmans, N. H. 1736 James Ave. S., Mpls. Emberland, John 1989 Selby Ave., St. Paul Empy, Clarence L. Eureka Emerson, Byron T. 4314 Grimes Ave., Mpls. Emerson, John H. 1114 Argyle St., St. Paul Endsley, P. M. Minneapolis Engel, Rev. Peter 1456 Leland Ave., Chicago, Ill. Engel, Rev. Peter Collegeville Engleson, I. J. Montevideo Engman, A. E. Hallock, R. 1, Box 47 Englestad, Louisa Thief River Falls, R. 3 English, Mrs. C. E. 2691 Lake of Isles Blvd., Mpls. Engen, Gilbert A. Finley, N. D., R. 1 Emerson, A. F. Grand Portage Engel, A. W. Esmond, N. D. Enroth, A. L. Orr Erwin, D. A. Waseca Erkel, F. C. Rockford Erickson, Oliver Atwater Erne, F. X. 887 Goff Ave., St. Paul Erikson, E. D. Wegdahl Erikson, John W. Aitkin Erikson, C. O. Watson, Box 182 Erb, E. C. Red Wing Erling, Frank, Jr. 37 W. Belvidere St., W. St. Paul Essig, Aug. Sanborn Essene, Mrs. Anna 3421 Longfellow Ave., Mpls. Eshelby, E. C. 400 Shubert Bldg., St. Paul Escher, Sam'l C. Slayton Erickson, A. B. 114 Mill St., N., Fergus Falls Erickson, Chas. Northland Erickson, Wm. M. Courthouse, Red Wing Erickson, Emil H. R. 2, Maynard Erickson, L. W. 4541 35th Ave. S., Mpls. Erickson, Oscar Dalton Erickson, K. A. Pequot Erickson, May 2522 10th Ave. S., Mpls. Evans, John L. 424 2nd Ave. E., Duluth Everett, Mrs. G. W. Waseca Ewing, A. L. River Falls, Wis. Ewald, Julius Cumberland, Wis. Ewing, Prof. Jas. Northfield Cecil, E. E. McKeesport, Pa., Gen. Del. Fairfax, Mrs. J. F. 4869 S. Aldrich, Mpls. Faehn, F. J. Wallace, S. D. Fagerlie, I. F. Clarkfield Fabian, Edwin 1914 Jefferson Ave., St. Paul Fabian, Norman J. St. Paul Park Fairchild, D. L. 500 Lonsdale Bldg., Duluth Fabel, P. H. Buffalo Lake Fairchild, Mrs. D. L. Tamarack Fairfield, Chas. R. 1313 4th Ave. S., Mpls. Fairchild. L. G. Shevlin Farrar, F. F. White Bear Farmer, C. R. Ada Fanning, Miss Mary 756 E. 6th St., St. Paul Farmer, E. A. Sta. F., R. 2, Mpls. Farrell, D. H. New London, R. 2 Farel, Chas. A. Buffalo Farcier, Peter Buffalo Lake Farcier, V. E. Stewart Faurat, F. S. 816 5th Ave. S.E., Mpls. Farnham, Jas. M. St. Cloud, 503 St. German St. Farrar, O. R. Albert Lea, R. 4, Box 14 Featherston, S. T. Red Wing Ferodowill, F. X. Wayzata Felland, Prof. O. G. Northfield Feleen, Nels N. Willmar Fergerson, W. C. Litchfield Feesl, Vinz. Cor. Winslow & Arion, St. Paul Fell, Henry Janesville, R. 6 Fesenbeck, J. A. Cloquet Featherstone, J. S. Hastings Fieske, C. A. Sleepy Eye Finch, Mrs. Mary Care Duluth-News Tribune, Duluth Fisher, Thos. A. Waverly Hotel, Mpls. Fitzer, Chas. Robbinsdale Fink, Christian Waconia Fisher, Geo. A. 221 1st St. N., Mpls. Finke, E. H. Spring Valley Finkle, Miss Kate 2760 W. River Blvd., Mpls. Finke, E. R. Waterville Fischer, W. C. Linden Hills Sta., R. 3, Mpls. Fitzer, H. Luverne Fish, L. L. Wayzata, R. 2 Finstad, Jos. 1014 Edgerston St., St. Paul Fiedler, Mike J. Dent Fisher, Walter I. 2432 Girard So., Mpls. Fisher, F. J. Buffalo Lake Finnegan, Pat Thorp, Wis. Fjelde, G. J. Madison Flint, H. R. Dubois, Wyo. Flagstad, J. Sacred Heart Flint, Henry W. R. 4, Box 125, Tacoma, Wash. Flood, E. J. Newman Grove, Neb. Floreen, Swan Constance Flygare, Hans H. Atwater Flynn, A. E. 978 Allen Ave., St. Paul Flath, Jos. A. R. 28, Plymouth, Wis. Fletcher, Mrs. F. S. 3148 Irving So., Mpls. Flyen, Henry Dawson Flint, P. P. Osakis Ford, F. H. Maple Plain, R. No. 3 Ford, A. J. New Rockford, N. D. Folden, P. Rollag, R. No. 2 Foss, Elizabeth H. 501 E. River Blvd., Mpls. Forest Supervisor Ely Forest Supervisor Cass Lake Foerster, Fred E. 766 Rondo St., St. Paul Foley, T. H. Manchester Folske, Otto H. 132 W. Lucy St., W. St. Paul Fordyce, G. W. Newport Foster, I. D. Sandsone Fox, O. A. 1914 Lincoln Ave., St. Paul Foster, Mrs. Mary D. Foley Forsam, Albert Madison Forbes, B. W. 231 W. Winona St., Duluth Fritcher, C. E. Hancock Frye, P. H. Willmar Freeman, Gust E. Red Wing Freeman, C. H. Zumbrota Frydholm, Martin Albert Lea Fredrickson, Wm. Perley Frank, Albert D. Wood Lake Frederickson, C. A. Elk River, R. 3, Box 65 Freese, F. M. Bemidji Froshaug, David Albee, S. D. Freeman, Mrs. H. G. St. Louis Park France, L. V. 2309 Priscello Sta., St. Paul Frazier, T. F. Cloquet, 1116 Cloquet Ave. Fryer, Willis E. Mantorville Franzel Bros. 850 Laurel Ave., St. Paul Franklin, Mrs. Anna J. R. 1, Box 47, Fridley Frey, Math. Taunton Frey, Frank Taunton Fratke, Julius Pemberton French, W. L. Austin Freeman, Nels Scanlon Fraling, Rev. J. Stephen Froslan, Peder H. Flaxville, Mont. Frederickson, P. B. Davenport, N. D. Fruske, K. A. Brooten Freeman, Edmund Park Rapids Frazer, P. C. Pelican Rapids Frazer, H. E. Pelican Rapids Frey, Mrs. Frank St. Peter Frink, Mrs. E. L. Faribault Frey, Aug. J. 1519 E. 2nd St., Duluth Fraund, Mrs. S. 73 Western Ave. N., St. Paul Fuller, E. D. 3421 Longfellow S., Mpls. Fuller, F. E. Deerwood Fuller, H. M. Deerwood Fulcrut, S. G. Goodhue, R. 5, St. Paul Fuhrman, John Albany Fuller, E. E. 204 W. Winona St., Duluth Fuller, Mrs. C. A. Hopkins, R. 1 Fyfe, H. L. Drake, N. D. Galloway, J. E. Austin Gammell, Dr. H. W. Madison Galle, A. C. Madison Galletin, John M. 887 Gorman Ave. W., St. Paul Gaida, N. A. Holdingford Gafke, R. J. Woodstock, Ill. Gallagher, John Amery, Wis. Gallion, Orville Opstead Gastfield, A. F. Victor, Mont., R. 1, Box 210 Garlick, Eva E. Janesville Gaspard, J. P. Caledonia Gates, L. D. Winnebago Garlough, A. L. White Bear, R. 1 Gaylord, L. E. 981 Pacific Ave., St. Paul Ganzer, Mrs. John Como Phelan, St. Paul Garvey, Chas. H. 4453 Lyndale So., Mpls. Gardner, Franc E. 1704 Humboldt Bldg., Chicago, Ill. Garrott, Jane Bald Eagle, White Bear, care D. Keefe Gates, Stephen Hopkins, R. No. 3 Gantzer, Daniel Merriam Park, R. 1 Garber, M. J. Dent Garand, Dr. J. H. Dayton Gates, J. M. Pickwick Gesner, Frank 397 Brimhall St., St. Paul Gerdsen, Henry Waconia Gearty, T. G. Robbinsdale Gessner, Oscar Forest Lake, R. 2 George, E. S. Graetlinger, Ia. Germond, Miss M. 413 Exchange Bldg., Duluth Gerten, Frank L. South St. Paul Gerlach, Mrs. A. F. 1262 Dayton, St. Paul Gerber, A. H. 1594 Portland Ave., St. Paul Gerrish, Harry E. 822 Plymouth Bldg., Mpls. Gerhard, Ray C. 2712 So. Bryant, Mpls. Gembo, Elmer J. Wayzata Gerdes, Chas. 1916 Dupont So., Mpls. Gerhard, Gergen Cannon Falls George, R. R. Hopkins Germond, W. H. 3009 Nic. Ave., Mpls. Gertsmann, Frank Morgan Getty, D. C. Mapleton Gibbs, Miss Ida W. Merriam Park, R. No. 1, Box 107 Gibbs, A. B. Tower Gibbs, M. L. Echo, R. No. 2 Gibson, Thos. 1907 Waverly Ave., Duluth Gimmestad, M. O. Belview Gippe, Miss Louise Watson Gile, Mrs. S. A. 3136 Irving S., Mpls. Ginter, E. W. Stewartville Gillespie, May E. R. 1, Linden Hills, Mpls. Gilby, Jas. 3204 16th Ave. S., Mpls. Gillespie, Miss Anna 2528 38th Ave. S., Mpls. Gillespie, I. H. R. 1, Box 55, Anoka Gipson, E. H. Faribault Gjerset, Oluf Montevideo Glyer, Alfred Forest Lake Glaspell, Bernard Jamestown, N. D. Glessner, Mrs. Frank 3840 Sheridan Ave. S., Mpls. Glenzke, Louis M. Glen Lake via Hopkins Glass, Walter River Falls, Wis. Goodman, D. E. Faribault Goldsmith, Mrs. H. Cleveland Goelz, Mike Brooten Goltz, John Havana, N. D. Goldberg, B. M. 2418 E. 3rd St., Duluth Gooch, H. I. 3808 Woodland Ave., Duluth Goetz, Edgar A. 2186 Doswell Ave., St. Paul Gould, Mrs. Edward 2644 Humboldt S., Mpls. Gormley, J. 2727 Taylor St. N.E., Mpls. Gordon, W. A. 627 2nd Ave. S., Mpls. Gowdy, Louis 3751 Aldrich S., Mpls. Gough, E. Estevan, Sask. Gordon, C. H. Owatonna Goltz, A. L. Balaton Gotts, Oscar Maple Plain Gowdy, Miss Chestine Faribault Goss, Sam Atlantic, Ia. Grant, L. R. Battle Lake Gray, Elmer W. 3443 Pleasant Ave., Mpls. Grandahl, R. L. Red Wing Graves, D. N. Faribault Grasselli Chemical Co. St. Paul Granger, A. H. Correll Graff, Fred 2501 23rd Ave. S., Mpls. Grant, Harry C. Faribault Graham, L. G. 2338 Doswell Ave., St. Paul Granquist, Chas. 915 W. Abbott St., Stillwater Gray, N. H. Fergus Falls Greaza, A. E. R. 4, St. Paul Gregory, H. Jordan Green, Wm. Morgan Greening. C. F. Grand Meadow Greene, Dr. Chas. L. 324 Summit Ave., St. Paul Greene, Michael E. 617 Warrent St., St. Paul Green, F. M. Menahga Greene, Alfred Grand Meadow Grettum, Wm. 1417 8th Ave. E., Duluth Green, John C. 4730 London Rd., Duluth Gregg, Kenneth 112 Lbr. Exch., Mpls. Groat, H. G. Anoka Grimm, Ben 2418 E. 4th St., Duluth Griswold, A. A. Long Lake Grosse, E. A. La Moille Grover, Gust. A. Glyndon Grunig, A. C. Cloquet Griesgraber, Jos. 86 W. Morton, W. St. Paul Groff, N. S. West Side Sta., R. 1, W. St. Paul Griese, E. T. Hibbing Griffith, Edith 1307 4th Ave. S., Mpls. Gruhlke, Wm. H. Jackson Grier, Hazelton 1938 Robbyn Ave., Merriam Park Gronna, A. T. Waterville, Ia. Gruber, John Lakefield Grindeland, A. Warren Gryte, E. K. Ruthton Grunig, W. R. 225 Av. C, Cloquet Gunderman, H. Wabasha Gustafson, Alfred Long Prairie Gundlach, Miss Carrie M. White Bear Gustafson, W. H. Montevideo Gunn, D. M. Grand Rapids Gustafson, Frank A. Warman Gustner, E. R. 3, Hopkins Guthnecht, B. 879 Oakdale Ave. W., St. Paul Gullette, Albert 2622 Fillmore St. N.E., Mpls. Gustafson, Chas. R. 3, Duluth Gunderson, G. Box 127, Webster, S. D. Gulbranson, R. Thief River Falls Guthunz, Mrs. W. M. 1637 Hague Ave., St. Paul Hakel, Adolph Silver Lake Hadley, Emerson 123 Farrington, St. Paul Hagen, L. E. Fountain Haack, Chas. E. Mound Haakenson, Hjalmer Boyd Hagen, F. A. Lake City Hage, Paul J. Hanska Haecker, Prof. F. L. Exp. Sta., St. Paul Haas, Rev. L. 5115 9th St., St. Paul Haines, M. T. 177 Woodland Ave., Fairmont Hager, John 613 Van Buren, St. Paul Haeg, Mrs. E. H. R. 1, Sta. F, Mpls. Hackett, J. E. 187 Malcolm Ave. S.E., Mpls. Hahn, M. D. Amiret Haglund, O. N. Eastwood Hagen, Severt Waseca Hagnie, Donald 707 Fairmount Ave., St. Paul Haining, John. A. Brookston Haering, J. J. Jordan Haglund, Mrs. Aug. Red Top Haglund, Gust. Red Top Halverson, Alfred Spring Grove Hall, R. F. New Auburn Hallstrom, C. O. Box 185, Red Wing Hall, L. P. Deerwood Hall, Mrs. C. E. C. 3036 Portland Ave., Mpls. Hall, T. W. 251 Cham. of Com., Mpls. Halden, F. E. Mound Halbert, C. W. 203 Dispatch Bldg., St. Paul Halverson, L. Shevlin Halverson, Jacob Delavan Halvorsen, A. S. Albert Lea Halvorson, H. S. Brooten Hall, S. O. 621 Erie St. S. E., Mpls. Halverson, M. J. Medina, N. D. Hale, W. H. 1042 McKnight Bldg., Mpls. Hall, Stanley Grygla Hammer, F. O. 2144 Princeton St., St. Paul Hanselman, Jos. 1677 Adrian St., St. Paul Hanger, Jacob Wyoming Hanson, N. P. Hutchinson Hansen, Geo. W. 1104 Doud Ave., Bemidji Hanson, Henry Graceville Hanson, Albert T. R. 10, Fergus Falls Hanson, M. C. Clarkfield Hanson, Frank W. Box 711, Litchfield Hanover, R. F. Winona Hammer, E. A. St. Charles Hansen, Peter R. 1, Box 35, S. St. Paul Hanus, Adolph R. 2, Hopkins Hanlos, Augusta Donaldson, Wis. Hanson, R. B. Ladysmith, Wis. Hanna, M. M. D. & I. R. Ry., Duluth Hamustrom, C. J. New Brighton Handy, A. M. Granada Hansen, H. F. Albert Lea Hansen, Chris Albert Lea Hanson, Simon J. Dawson Hanson, Jas. F. Fertile Hanson, C. L. Fertile Hammer, M. E. Heiberg Hanson, L. O. R. 1, Box 68, Red Wing Hanson, A. L. Ada Ham, Geo. S. R. 2, Aitkin Hanson, H. C. Barnum Hansen, Phil Capitol, St. Paul Hanson, O. W. New Richland Hanson, O. M. R. 1, Ulen Hanson, Ivan Clarissa Hanford, Arthur 2027 Woodland Ave., Duluth Harrison, F. M. Glenwood Harrison, H. W. R. 6, Rochester Hartman, Frank Iona Harold, Geo. E. Maiden Rock, Wis. Harper, J. L. Lock Box 1006, Mpls. Hartwick, Ole Granite Falls Harris, A. W. Sleepy Eye Harseim, Louis B. Aitkin Hartig, Wm. Hopkins Harris, W. S. 2449 Pillsbury Ave., Mpls. Harnden, C. H. Fairmont Hardwick, Mrs. B. G. 4419 Fremont S., Mpls. Hastings, C. C. Buffalo Habison, E. H. 227 Anoka St., Duluth Harris, Mrs. John 3000 E. 25th St., Mpls. Hart, Frank Cleveland Harder, Fred 1044 Winslow Ave., W. St. Paul Hart, Frank W. Laporte Harris, Earl Litchfield Haskins, Geo. Burtrum Haseltine, Mrs. E. R. Excelsior Harper, Stanley J. Box 1625, Mpls. Harris, L. E. Atwater Harris, Van V. 1723 E. 6th St., Duluth Hawkins, Mrs. Alice M. 1523 Fremont N., Mpls. Hathaway, C. E. Northfield Hawkins, J. S. 1523 Fremont N., Mpls. Hawkins, John Box 495, Mpls. Hawkins, Mrs. J. C. Austin Hawkes, A. S. Waseca Hatcher, Frank Wayzata Hatledal, Ole O. Benson Hawkes, Chas. B. 20 E. 3rd St., St. Paul Hawkins, G. C. 2913 Fremont S., Mpls. Hawkes, H. B. Excelsior Haupt, C. F. 106 Concord St., St. Paul Hattenberger, Tony Shakopee Hayden, Chas. Blackduck Hatcher, Amos Delano Hawkins, Mrs. G. C. 2913 S. Fremont, Mpls. Hatcher, Lloyd F. Wayzata Hauenstein, Mrs. Regina 4428 Aldrich S., Mpls. Hayes, Chas. H. Clarissa Hazelton, D. C. Cutler Haven, G. A. Chatfield Hayes, Dr. E. W. Browns Valley Heinemann, R. E. Montevideo Hegerle, M. H. St. Bonifacius Heltemez, John Sauk Rapids Helger, Wm. C. 1955 Portland Ave., St. Paul Hegland, A. 2018 W. Superior St., Duluth Helgeson, C. T. Albert Lea Hellyar, A. B. 1718 Chicago Ave., Mpls. Heckle, Jos. 976 Bellows St., W. St. Paul Heller Bros. Albee, S. D. Heinsohn, Aug. LeSueur Heck, Geo. J. 418 Rice St., St. Paul Heier, Herman R. 1, Bertha Headman, P. W. Henning Hellerman, Gerhard Melrose Hellerman, Herman Melrose Heinrum, Mrs. Hawkon Lake Park Hector, Chas. J. 1209 E. 2nd St., Duluth Heins, Geo. N. Box 295, Sleepy Eye Headline, Francis R. 2, West Concord Helland, B. J. Clearbrook Heagy, Ralph 1687 W. Minnehaha St., St. Paul Healy, Mrs. Reginald J. 2105 Irving S., Mpls. Heikkila, Oscar Ely Henze, Jake Lewiston Henjum, Nels Frost Henderson, H. G. Lime Springs, Ia. Hendrickson, M. P. Montevideo Henry, P. Albert Lea Henry, Henley & Son 175 Concord St., St. Paul Henke, Gust. Buffalo Lake Henkel, Peter Watkins Henderson, R. L. Brady, Mont. Hennemann, Dr. H. F. Sauk Center Henningsen, Walter C. 5208 Chicago Avs., Mpls. Henjum, Ole Saum Hener, Willie Leonard, N. D. Hemphill, Henry Pillager Hendrickson, Ernest Mahtomedi Hendrickson, Henry Kratka Henry, Mrs. M. J. 1895 Iglehart Ave., St. Paul Hesselgrave, R. V. Winnebago Hershaug, Ed. Kenyon Hewitt, Cameron Fond du Lac Herman, A. C. 1613 Van Buren St., St. Paul Herscher, Laurence Renville Hewitt, Adelaide R. 1, Hopkins Heritage, Wm. Ely Herman, Jos. R. 2, Box 81, W. St. Paul Herds, John W. Lonsdale Hetle, E. Northfield Heuring, Mat. Rogers Hilborn, E. C. Valley City, N. D. Hicks, Wm. C. Cedar Hidde, Fred Herman Hillger, Rev. Aug. Rich Valley Hill, W. W. 146 W. 48th St., Mpls. Hill, F. C. Albert Lea Higbie, W. S. Eden Prairie Highby, L. P. H. Albert Lea Hillman, Wm. O. 396 Dewey Ave., St. Paul Hiller, Aric Excelsior Hibbard, Mrs. C. J. 3806 Sheridan S., Mpls. Hill, G. E. R. 1, White Bear Hildebrand, E. W. 967 Galvin Ave., W. St. Paul Hicks, Fred C. 1022 Court Merrill, Mitchell, S. D. Hillig, John Morgan Hidershide, Dr. Geo. N. Arcadia, Wis. Hintermister, J. H. 202 Dispatch Bldg., St. Paul Hinckley, C. N. R. 3, Osseo Hines, Ed., Lbr. Co. Chicago, Ill. Hitchcock, F. E. 401 Com. Bldg., St. Paul Hinkle, B. J. Little Falls Hinckley, C. S. Elbow Lake Hinras, M. Sleepy Eye Hislop, Walter 243 Sunfish Rd., W. St. Paul Hirt, John H. 4430 34th Ave. S., Mpls. Hjermstad, C. F. Red Wing Hjermstad, H. L. Red Wing Hobart, W. P. 4400 Dupont S., Mpls. Hofmann, E. L. Janesville Hoffman, Rev. C. Bruno, Sask. Hoff, J. M. 324 Hennepin Ave., Mpls. Hofenmeister, Alfons New Ulm Hoffman, Herman Dent Hoffman, G. Henderson Hoffman, L. J. Buffalo Hoffman, H. R. 526 5th Ave. S., Wausau, Wis. Hoffman, Mrs. C. S. 2334 Langdon, St. Paul Hoaglund, Hildur 5th St. S., Willmar Hoffman, Geo. J. Long Lake Hobbs, Arnold 610 N. Y. Life Bldg., Mpls. Holmberg, J. E. Avoca Holt, John E. Carver Holmgren, P. O. Hoffman Holten, John Fertile Holmberg, J. A. 1241 Edgerton St., St. Paul Holm, E. P. 20 W. 5th St., St. Paul Holmes, Mrs. Jos. T. R. 2, Box 17, Northfield Holt, John Wolverton Hollingsworth, Ralph 1107 13th Ave. S.E., Mpls. Holland, Ozra S. R. 1, Winona Holl, Dr. P. M. 2011 Chicago Ave., Mpls. Holtimier, John Excelsior Homan, Frank R. 1, Sauk Rapids Holasek, Winslow Hopkins Holmberg, A. R. Renville Homola, Frank J. R. 2, Hopkins Holstad, Hans 920 St. Olaf Ave., Northfield Holm, H. E. Opstead How, H. Esmond, N. D. Holst, John R. 1, S. St. Paul Holbrook, Miss Eleanor B. 5250 Penn Ave. S., Mpls. Horton, W. H. Alexandria Hornly, H. C. Cloquet Hostetter, A. B. Duluth Hoverstad, A. T. Maynard Howland, Clinton J. Northfield Howland, Mrs. Eleanor R. 1, Sta. F, Care E. Landis, Mpls. Hoss, Mrs. Nick New Ulm Hoyt, B. T. Hamline & Hoyt Aves., St. Paul Hove, John I. Northwood, Ia. Houghtelin, J. M. Chatfield Howard, Geo. F. 1281 Raymond Ave., St. Paul Hoyt, Edward Scotch Grove, Ia. Howe, Peter Kellogg Houghton, Jas. G. 3129 Clinton Ave., Mpls. Howlett, Mrs. D. D. R. 5, Oshkosh, Wis. Horton, Mrs. F. W. R. 1, White Bear Hosmer, Ralph S. Cornell Univ., Ithaca, N.Y. Horton, G. L. Litchfield Hostager, N. A. Zumbrota Hoslicker, F. S. Tappen, N. D. Hough, J. S. 500 Northern Crown Bk. Bld., Winnipeg, M. Howe, T. J. Clark, S. D. Hoppert, Walter O. R. 1, Bx. 198, W. St. Paul Hromatka, Joseph Hopkins Hoover, J. L. R. 2, Kensal, N. D. Hoyard, W. E. Henderson Horn, Chas. 244 Lewis St., Duluth House, Susan M. 201 W. Faribault St., Duluth Houston, Geo. S. 3833 Thomas Ave., Mpls. Hoyt, L. H. Fridley Hoyt, Arthur Fridley Hoyt, R. A. Lake City Huestis, Dr. O. M. 400 Central Ave., Mpls. Huff, Theo. A. Fergus Falls Huber, Frank Shakopee Hull, F. H. Brookpark Hubbell, C. H. 917 Marquette Ave., Mpls. Hubacheck, Mrs. F. R. Long Lake Huffman, Mrs. E. J. Nemadji Huckfield, B. E. 4116 Queen Ave. S., Mpls. Huber, Rev. A. T. Elbow Lake Hughes, H. J. Care Farm, Stock & Home, Mpls. Hughart, H. F. Hamel Huff, N. L. 1219 7th St. S.E., Mpls. Hulbert, A. M. Elk River Huey, W. G. 717 10th Ave. N., Fargo, N. D. Huff, B. J. Yola Hultquist, Esther M. Care Gowan-Lenning-Brown, Duluth Hubbard, W. A. Lake City Huldal, H. T. R. 1, Wilton Husser, Henry Minneiska Hummel, Prof. J. A. 2143 Commonwealth, St. Paul Hurtt, Wm. Hoople, N. D. Hundt, G. Tintah Humphrey, D. A. 3624 Blaisdell, Mpls. Hushka, Joseph Felton Hurd, Burton 652 S. Smith Ave., St. Paul Huyck, E. J. 44th & Central Aves., Mpls. Huttner, Miss R. 2, Glen Lake, Hopkins Hybergh, S. Hamel, Minn. Hynes, John F. R. 1, Moose Lake Innes, J. C. Luverne Ingebrigtsen, Iver J. Fertile Ingmundson, C. P. 121 2nd Ave. S., Jamestown, N. D. Ikier, Wm. Vernon Center Ingram, Carrie E. Sandstone Isaacson, O. A. Madison Innis, Geo. S. 1671 Hewitt Ave., St. Paul Ihfe, Fred 301 W. Brompton St., W. St. Paul Isensee, A. R. 3, Annandale Isidore, Mother M. Mankato Imlach, H. E. Estevan, Sask. Ingleston, R. F. 703 E. Nebr. Ave., St. Paul Imdicke, Ben Brooten Irish, Mrs. Addie Detroit Irving, John N. S. Park, St. Paul Ireland, John Shell Lake, Wis. Ingalk, Boyd Newport Ingales, Boyd Newport Jackson, P. T. 1722 Summit Ave., St. Paul Janzen, Abr. Mt. Lake Jackson, Peter Cloquet Jacobson, P. G. Madison Jaquith, O. O. Box 114, Pillager Jacobson, J. F. Madison Jager, Rev. Francis. St. Bonifacius Jacobson, Nels Wayzata Jackson, Jas. Woodstock Jacobs, Dr. J. C. Willmar Jacobson, Fred Rushford Jasmer, Paul A. Winona James, Dr. A. C. Springfield, Ill. Jahren, Rev. H. C. M. Grand Meadow Jaycox, L. I. Woodstock Jacobson, J. L. Madison Jarshaw, Sam Madison Jacobson, J. M. Hills Jacobson, T. M. Hills Jaeger, Jos. R. 3, St. Cloud James, J. Willis 1863 Lincoln Ave., St. Paul Jackman, C. F. R. 2, Box 7, Esterville, Ia. Jackson, Geo. R. Manchester, N. H. Jamison, Robt. Excelsior Jansen, D. E. Rogers Jackson, J. F. 216 Lbr. Exch., Mpls. Jackson, Miss Emma A. 4005 Drexel Blvd., Chicago, Ill. Jensen, A. P. Box 84, Askov Jerabek, Mrs. Mary Excelsior Jensen, Jens A. Rose Creek Jensen, Adolph 3315 17th Ave. S., Mpls. Jensen, J. P. Morgan Jensen, C. M. Albert Lea Jedlicka, Henry R. 3, Eagle Bend Jensen, Anton McIntosh Jenson, Jens H. Box 314, Hudson, Wis. Jenswald, John Duluth Jennison, Mrs. Jas. 4224 Fremont S., Mpls. Jenson, J. A. New London Jenson, N. A. Willmar Jensen, J. L. Menomonie, Wis. Jernberg, J. C. 1724 10th Ave. S., Mpls. Jensen, L. Clearbrook Jenson, W. F. Mankato Jepson, Mrs. J. H. 1323 Fremont N., Mpls. Johnson, J. P. Miami, Fla. Johnson, Gust J. Clarissa Johnson, P. G. 3300 Elliot, Mpls. Johnson, Dr. A. E. Cloquet Johnson, E. A. Maple Plain Johnson, Fred Jarretts Johnson, L. T. Spring Grove Johnson, O. B. New Richland Johnson, P. E. North Branch Johnson, Arnt R. 2, Viroqua, Wis. Johnson, Henry V. 614 E. Lawson St., St. Paul Johnson, A. W. 4405 Pleasant, Mpls. Johnston, Fred L. 1006 Laurel Ave., St. Paul Johnson, Jos. T. 1196 Jessie St., St. Paul Johnson, J. H. Doon, Ia. Johnson, C. A. R. 1, Box 48, Ogilvie Johnson, Clyde Bergville Johnson, Carl G. Little Falls Johnson, Isaac West Union, Ia. Johnson, O. W. Hawley Johnson, Lewis Box 238, Albert Lea Johnson, A. N. 4512 Drew Ave., Mpls. Johnson, F. W. Breckenridge Johnson, L. F. 1014 Bemidji Ave., Bemidji Johnson, G. G. 1510 E. 6th St., Duluth Johnson, O. H. R. 5, Box 56, Willmar Johnson, Chas. Eugene U. of M., Mpls. Johnson, P. J. 3931 Van Buren St. N.E., Mpls. Johnson, J. C. 3343 Fillmore St., Mpls. Johnson, W. W. Detroit Johnson, C. J. Box 37, Cushing Johnston, Rodney Maple Plain Johnson, L. H. Maynard Johnston, Wm. Eden Prairie Johnson, Selmer 807 W. College St., Rochester Johnson, F. W. R. 2, Braham Johnson, A. W. 1081. Hague Ave., St. Paul Johnson, Miss Carolyn 760 Linwood Place, St. Paul Johnson, Andrew R. 3, Box 3, Arnold Johnson, Henry L. R. 7, Fergus Falls Johnson, Alphonse E. R. 2, Stephen Johnson, Mrs. Charley Amery, Wis. Johnson, John J. Box 17, Naples, S. D. Johnson, Peter Box 17, Naples, S. D. Johnson, L. O. E. Butler Ave., St. Paul Johnson, Roy R. 1, Box 46, Brandon Johnson, Jos. Fridley Johnson, S. L. R. 3, Hopkins Johnson, Geo. Millarton, N. D. Johnson, Geo. Grygla Johnson, N. C. South Side Farm, White Bear Lake Jones, A. C. Duluth Jorgensen, I. B. Hutchinson Jones, Thos. C. Russell Jordin, Aug. New London Jones, J. Frank Redwood Falls Jordan, J. J. Shakopee Jones, G. P. Bagley Jorgenson, Bros. Clarkfield Jones, J. S. Madison Jones, S. J. 3736 Oakland Ave., Mpls. Jordin, John A. R. 8, Litchfield Jordan, Wm. Merriam Pk. Sta., St. Paul Jungbauer, Frank 1000 Winslow Ave., St. Paul Justin, Edw. J. Excelsior Juen, Louis 1063 Gorman Ave., W. St. Paul Katzner, Rev. Jno. B. Collegeville Kalbakken, Theo. St. Joseph, Wis. Kapler, Geo. R. Perham Kasper, Hans Grand Marais Kangas, Henry Floodwood Kaiser, Max Merriam Park Floral Co., St. Paul Kates, Mrs. Rose Litchfield Kalmbach, W. A. 302 Wolvin Bldg., Duluth Kaminsky, Jos. Box 445, Hopkins Kansal, John 2016 Minnehaha Ave., Mpls. Kallock, H. H. Oslo Kallberg, Jens Red Top Karpisek, Jos. 41 Harrison St., Bellaire, Ohio Kallestad, C. A. Ruthton Karsten, Miss Ida C. 432 Adams N.E., Mpls. Keasling, F. J. Zimmerman Keith, John A. Cass Lake Kelley, Elmer Sta. F., R. 1, Mpls. Kelly, W. J. Claremont, S. D. Keene, P. L. Mankato Kelley, Clark W. Devils Lake, N. D. Kees, A. A. Sta. F, R. 4, Mpls. Kelley, C. E. 240 E. Belvidere St., St. Paul Keiper, Chas. 260 Haskell St., W. St. Paul Keller, Henry Newport Keist, M. J. 1178 Conway St., St. Paul Kelley, Frank W. R. 1, Menomonie, Wis. Ketchum, C. S. Middlefield, Ohio Keyes, E. A. Excelsior Kenyon, J. M. Lamberton Kempe, Peter Red Wing Kenney, Dr. D. J. 5108 Newton Ave. S., Mpls. Keyes, Dr. C. R. 705 N. 57th Ave. W., West Duluth Kenning, T. A. 1815 26th Ave. N., Mpls. Kenety, W. H. Cloquet Forest & Exp. Sta., Cloquet Kerker, Mrs. Thos. 730 Aurora Ave., St. Paul Kendrick, J. W. 1804 Iglehart Ave., St. Paul Kerns, John Olivia Kendall, R. S. Loraine, Wis. Kimball, Rev. J. R. 1, Duluth Kinkade, W. S. Sioux Falls, S. D. Kinney, S. G. Faribault Kirk, Loren O. 716 4th Ave. S., Mpls. Kirk, E. B. 445 Laurel Ave., St. Paul Kittson, Norman 1017 Dayton Ave., St. Paul Kingsley, A. W. Bricelyn Kinsman, A. N. Austin Killmer, R. E. Pine City Kimball, E. L. 604 1st Natl. Bank Bldg., Duluth Kidd, Mrs. F. E. 1800 2nd Ave. N., Mpls. Kirkpatrick, K. A. Wayzata Kirchner & Renich 17 S. 7th St., Mpls. Kittleson, A. J. Madison Kirk Sisters Clearwater King, J. C. 1040 Drexel Bldg., Philadelphia, Pa. Kinsman, C. D. Austin Kirby, Mrs. C. A. Heron Lake Kimball, Miss Grace E. Waltham Kidder, E. D. Marshall Kind, Wm. Melrose Kiger, H. E. Wheaton Kirkwood, W. P. 1376 Grantham St., St. Paul Klaksirk, Iver S. Underwood Klebs, J. C. Bertha Klebs, F. W. Eagle Bend Klabunde, Carl Spillville, Ia. Klodt, Frank R. 2, Staples Klunschmidt, Wm. F. Morgan Klucas, J. A. Buffalo Lake Klindt, Henry Litchfield Klein, M. H. Caledonia Klein, Albert R. 1, So. St. Paul Knight, E. W., 1202 N. 6th St. Estherville, Ia. Knowles, Mrs. M. A. Sawtelle, Cal. Knoblauch, W. Excelsior Knatvold, H. Albert Lea Knowles, Miss Marjorie 752 Lincoln Ave., St. Paul Knutson, Fred Albert Lea Knudson, Jacob Taopi Knapp, G. A. Deerwood Knapp, A. W. Mound Knutson, A. R. Pelican Rapids Knudtson, Andrew Brandon Kruggel, Miss Emma L. 2929 Fremont So., Mpls. Kraut, Emil Lester Prarie Krause, Chas. Merriam Park Krekelberg, Henry J. Dent Krogh, H. P. 1486 Hythe St., St. Paul Kremer, Geo. F. Grand Rapids Kroehler, T. J. Houston Kresta, Matt. Eden, S. D. Kraus, Geo. McGrath Korth, Albert Rothsay Kovar, Wansel Owatonna Kolisch, Aug. St. Louis Park Kotouc, Rev. A. St. Leo Koenig, G. A. Howard Lake Korth, Aug. Rothsay Koehler, D. Hector Kortsad, A. Newfolden Kochendorfer, K. K. South Park Kohler, Chas. Winona Krueger, John R. 6, Stillwater Krause, Mrs. Chas. R. 1, Merriam Park Kropp, Chas. O. Wadena Krueger, B. F. Niagara, N. D. Kroll, John Lake Benton Kreiziger, Frank 214 Cole St., Watertown, Wis. Krincke, Henry 46 W. Gessemini, St. Paul Kruger, Walter Paynesville Kunkel, Jos. J. Kimball Kullander, F. Q. Kensington Kuhns, A. M. Main & Plum, Red Wing Kuefler, Mrs. Anton Belgrade Kuyper, Mrs. John R. 5, Mondovie, Wis. Kueffner, Otto 63 No. Milton, St. Paul Kyrklund, C. H. Winthrop Koza, Jos. 917 Bellows St., W. St. Paul Koester, John V. 207 Iron Exchange, Mpls. Koelruck, Gustav Stewart Kozial, Miss Justine M. R. 3, Little Falls Koher, A. 133 W. Lucy, W. St. Paul Koutek, Jos. Butler & Stryker, W. St. Paul Kolbe, Ed Sleepy Eye Koerner, Olga 1377 Grantham, St. Paul Lamb, C. Sr. Baker Lumberson, L. Warren Lahn, Mrs. Geo. Rogers Lammers, Henry P., Jr. 639 Lafond, St. Paul Lagerquist, John F. Cushing Lagerquist, F. W. 701 Elmwood No., Mpls. Lamson, W. H. Hinckley Lake, A. F. Shenandoah, Ia. LaFrance, H. 225 Clifton, Mpls. Lahiff, Arthur 1412 14th Ave. So., Mpls Isadone, Rasmus Box 440, Cloquet Lake, Homer Homer Lambert, Edward V. Buffalo Lake Lamphere, Mrs. Chas. Frazee Laflin, J. C. Williams Lade, Halstein Fosston Lake, Shores Hubbard LaCroix, Wm. Deer River Langholz, J. A. Newport Landeen, A. F. Eagle Bend Larkin, T. H. 217 Ford Bldg., Great Falls, Mont. Larson, Emil V. Eagle Bend Laurin, John Renville Lange, Marie R. Willmar Larson, J. P. 4th St. E., Willmar Landscape Architect, Dept. Pub. Wks. Regina, Sask. Larsen, Raymond M. 214 Providence Bldg., Duluth Langlund, Nils Cedarbend Larson, C. F. Morgan Larson, L. U. Lowry Larson, Peter Box 208, Albert Lea Larson, L. R. 2, St. James Lane, J. W. Anoka Langseth, C. C. Worthington Larson, John Box 25, R. 1, Lafayette Langford, H. A. Blackduck Larson, W. E. Madison, Wis. Landahl, H. Little Falls Landeene, W. E. Elbow Lake Larson, Ole H. Hisega, S. D. Lanes, John O. Dawson Larson, L. B. St. Louis Park Lange, L. M. Cass Lake Lange, G. H. Lake City Langmaid, Abbie B. Granite Falls Larson, G. 1013 Winslow Ave., St. Paul Lauritson, A. Warrendale Greenhouse, Como Park, St. P. Law, K. B. 2237 Doswell, St. Paul Lawson, F. E. Goodhue Latsch, John A. Winona Lawson, M. H. Ellendale Lawson, F. L. Welch Lawrence, Alfred Box 115, Eldridge, N. D. Lawson, L. P. Isle Lawton, Chas. 2162 Dayton Ave., St. Paul Lawrence, Mrs. W. W. 2108 Woodland Ave., Duluth Latourelle, J. R. 1, Centuria. Wis. Lawrie, Jas. A. 401 Wolvin Bldg., Duluth Leiner, Dan'l Morris Lee, Geo. F. Hanska Leath, Fred Cleveland Leavitt, Miss Clara 2015 James So., Mpls. Leary, D. J. Brown's Valley Lee, E. G. 1787 Dayton Ave., St. Paul Lee, Ole N. Hayfield Lee, Iver A. Neilsville Leake, Mrs. C. W. No. St. Paul Lehnerts, Prof. E. H. "U. of M.," Mpls. LeDue, A. C. 10 No. 12th Ave., Duluth Leach, A. R. Faribault Lemieux, Mrs. M. A. Nebr. & Adams St., St. Paul Lee, Prof. Olav 1115 St. Olaf Ave., Northfield Leitch, Wm. Columbia Heights, Mpls. Leath, Mrs. Eleanor Okipee Farm, Linden Hills Leasman, Geo. W. Hector Lee, T. K. Benson Lee, J. A. Benson Ledvina, Joseph Pine City Lee, Eddie St. Cloud, Minn., R. 5 Le Fevre, A. 290 Emerson Ave., W. St. Paul Leonard, Dr. L. D. 515 Syndicate Blk., Mpls. Lenz, Rudolph Adrian Lerol, John A. Whalen Lewis, A. F. LeRoy Lewis, Chas. L., Jr. Shell Lake, Wis. Lewis, Meyer Box 6, Mpls. Leslie, A. W. 2124 Fremont So., Mpls. Lenander, Edwin Buffalo Lake Lewis, Bert Caledonia Leyde, H. G. Newport Leyde, G. F. Hewitt Leonard, Dr. W. E., 408 Donaldson Bldg., Mpls. Lerch, Bernard, Secy. Carpenters Farmers' Club, Togo Linden, Harry Belgrade Lippman, J. C. 1486 Hythe St., St. Paul Lietze, F. W. Mound Lieske, Robt. Pequot Lien, Ole L. Willmar Lindgren, A. W. 317 Kennilworth Ave., Duluth Lisler, Mrs. A. M. Grand Rapids Lippert, A. O. Bertha Lindsay, J. M. Austin Lightner, Mrs. W. H. 318 Summit Ave., St. Paul Lindstrom, John A. J. Lindstrom Linton, Robt. 1045 Everett Court, St. Anthony Park Lindsey, Geo. F. 1413 Mer. Natl. Bk. Bldg., St. Paul Linder, E. A. Warroad Lieberg, C. F. Clarkfield Limperich, Henry J. 503 6th Ave. No., St. Cloud Lindahl, J. A. Harris Lien, Andy Beaudette Lichtscheidl, John 627 Univ. Ave., St. Paul Lien, G. E. Maynard Lindholm, J. A. E. Glen Lake, Hopkins Linnell, Mr. J. E. Maple Plain Lindhe, H. E. Deer River Lindstam, S. F. St. Louis Park, R. No. 1. Libby, Merton R. Hopkins, R. No. 2 Lien, Thos. LeRoy Livingston, C. B. 267 Bryant No., Mpls. Linderholm, A. Belgrade Lindgren, Oscar Princeton, R. 4 Lippincott, Miss C. H. 3010 Hen. Ave., Mpls. Lindholm, C. J. 710 42nd Ave. N., Mpls. Light, C. W. 2339 St. John St., Regina, Sask. Lilleskov, Leonard Byron Lievere, B. A. 2910 Johnson St. NE., Mpls. Lowe, M. F. Buffalo Loegering, Aug. Long Prairie Lovold, E. J. 4125 31st Ave. S., Mpls. Loop, Leeman Dent Loftman, Oscar Fertile Lomis, C. P. St. Peter Logstrom, Reinhold Atwater Loegering, A. J. St. Peter Loye, C. C. 3537 19th Ave. S., Mpls. Lomen, O. O. Decorah, Ia., R. No. 1 Loss, Bj. Lake City Loudenback, F. M. Bagley Lowell, O. S. Buffalo Lott, K. F. 101 E. 8th St., St. Paul Lorenz, Otto 1187 Dale, St. Paul Lorentz, R. H. Howard Lake Long, Miss Avie 627 Penn Ave., Mpls. Lonsdale, Miss Persis G. Sauk Rapids Lobsinger, Anton 738 Cromwell Ave., St. Paul Lorenzen, Gust. Bagley, R. 2 Losleben, Rev. A. J. Norwood Long, Jesse L. 2107 5th Ave. N., Mpls. Lock, Frank Osseo, R. 1 Lofgren, Erick Red Top Lofgren, A. H. Tower Logan, Frank 701 Kenwood Pkway, Mpls. Lov, Chas. R. 3, Hopkins Lovering, Thos. Campbell Loucks, Chas. H. Mankato Luchan, H. J. Fertile Ludlow, H. J. Worthington Lundholm, Dr. E. M. 677 Univ. Ave., St. Paul Lundborg, Theo. A. Nisswa Lund, Geo. Excelsior Luitjens, A. Clara City Lucas, Dr. H. E. Champlin Lubich, Franz River Falls, Wis. Luitjens, D. G. Hopkins, R. No. 1, care of Chas. Asplund Lucas, Geo. A. 117 S. 6th St., Mpls. Lufi, O. C. La Crescent Lundberg, S. L. Red Wing, No. 1 Lund, Peter Stillwater, 512 Park Place Luhman, Henry Howard Lake Ludwig, Mrs. Frank 1894 Iglehart Ave., St. Paul Luedloff, Herman Cologne Luther, Otto Hills Lunden, H. O. Slayton Lund, C. F. Maple Plain Luhmann, J. C. 158 W. Wabasha St., Winona Lusk, W. F. 1453 Hythe St., St. Paul Lyness, Chas. E. New Richmond Lysen, Aug. O. Lowry Magnuson, J. E. 107 1st St. SE., St. Cloud Madison, Geo. C. Newport Mander, Frank C. 1535 Hastings Ave., St. Paul Manuel, Dr. K. Janie Masonic Temple, Mpls. Mace, Florence Duluth Mace, Clarissa E. Duluth Maass, Win. H. Waconia Mahlman, H. W. Plato MacLennan, R. Grand Rapids Manchester, Edwin V. Hopkins Mansfield, Miss C. Mankato Mace, R. E. 1631 E. 3rd St., Duluth Maney, Peter, Jr. Grygla Manz, F. W. Paynesville Magnuson, Swen Templeton, Cal. Malmsten, F. W. 2117 Western Ave., Mpls. Malmberg, E. W. Lafayette Mahler, Adolph Waseca Malmquist, G. Wayzata Malitor, Martin St. Cloud Malberg, P. B. Thief River Falls Mahler, C. Fairmont, N. D. Magnuson, I. E. Willmar Maddy, Mrs. Emma Annandale Macnab, J. C. Lombard St., Winnipeg, Can. Mann, R. T. Excelsior, R. 1 Malmberg, Chas. A. Lindstrom Manley, L. B. Torrey Bldg., Duluth Maher, Howard Devils Lake, N. D. Maine, M. F. 522 Met. Life Bldg., Mpls. Magie, Mrs. Frank 1710 London Rd., Duluth MacDonough, Mary Emerson, N. D. Mains, T. U. 3805 10th Ave. S., Mpls. Mailand, C. H. Newport Manthun, Reinhold Dent Manuel, R. W. 147 Orlin Ave. SE., Mpls. Majerns, Math. Brooten Magnuson, O. J. Isanti Mareck, Titus 420 Ridgewood Ave., Mpls. Marshall, Mrs. L. Emogene 3032 Irving So., Mpls. Martin, F. J. Excelsior Martens, John 2938 Bloomington Ave. S., Mpls. Martin, John H. 22 N. 4th St., Mpls. Marsh, V. P. Big Falls Mariem, P. B. Daytons Bluff, Sta. F, R. 4, St. Paul Marthaler, Henry South St. Paul Martenson, Alfred Maynard, R. 2 Maruska, John A. New Prague, R. 4, Box 78 Martin, Grant Redwood Falls Mathews, Mrs. Jas. H. Larimore, N. D. Mathisen, Geo. W. Windom Massee, A. W. Albert Lea Mayo, E. D. 2808 S. Fremont, Mpls. Maust, S. H. Canton Mayman, E. W. Sauk Rapids Matzke, Sil. So. St. Paul Mayland, A. W. Albert Lea Mathison, Thoger St. Paul Park Mattison, Dr. C. W. Swea City, Ia., Box 201 Mathes, E. H. Excelsior Mayman, Hattie A. Sauk Rapids Mattson, F. Terrace, B. C. Mayne, Prof. D. D. Univ. Farm, St. Paul Mason, Joe Long Lake Mather, O. L. 201 S. 21st Ave. E., Duluth May, Bernard Stewart Matzke, H. C. 1925 Jefferson St., Duluth May, Prof. J. H. River Falls, Wis. Masson, E. Deerwood Mathews, Oscar R. Newell, S. D. Mathews, Miss Harriet 807 W. College St., Rochester Mattocks, Brewer Jr. 911 Woodland Ave., Duluth Mawin, Geo. G. Warroad Mellinger, T. S. Pine Island Merrill, Geo. E. 4604 Washburn So., Mpls. Mense, F. G. 3941 Aldrich S. Mpls. Meeker, Mary K. 2548 Clinton Ave., Mpls. Meeds, A. D. 2424 Harriet Ave., Mpls. Meadow Lawn Farm St. Peter, R. No. 2 Meginess, Fred J. Winona Merritt, Mrs. John E. Aitkin Meisinger, Engelb. 1062 Stryker Ave., W. St. Paul Meelker, Ben Raymond Mendenhall, W. J. 1212 27th Ave. NE., Mpls. Mead, P. H. White Bear Lake Melson, John Deerwood Merritt, C. H. 519 Woodland Ave., Duluth Merritt, Neal R. Hinckley Meyer, Henry Blue Earth Meyer, J. H. Austin Meyer, C. H. 774 West Ave., Red Wing Meyer, Frank Excelsior, R. No. 1 Mesenbring, Otto Clayton, Wis., care Louis Schmidt Meyenburg, H. C. Montvideo Meyer, E. St. Louis Park, R. No. 1 Meyers, Rev. J. St. James Miller, W. L. 152 E. 5th St., St. Paul Metcalf, Dr. F. W. Winton Meyers, J. E. 515 N. 27th St., Mpls. Mills, D. L. Lake City Miks, Rev. A. St. Michael Mpls. Public Library Mpls. Miller E. B. Mpls., R. 1, Sta. F. Milne, H. A. Elmerado, N. D., R. No. 2 Mighton, S. R. Winnipeg, Man., Box 1393 Miller, H. J. Cologne Miner, H. P. 3022 Dupont So., Mpls. Mix, H. P. Lidgewood, N. D. Miller, Warren Verdi Mitchell, D.M. Owatonna Mitchell, W. B. 508 1st Ave. S., St. Cloud Minder, Emma Ortonville Michelson, Nels Austin Miller, Elbert W. R. 1, Anoka Mills, L. D. Garden City Miller, Hans F. P. 501 N. Greeley, Stillwater Middleton, E. C. Baudette Miller, T. E. Ely Mpls. Real Estate Bd. 633 Andrus Bldg., Mpls. Miller W. L. 152 E. 5th St., St. Paul Miller, O. A. Rainbow Hotel, Great Falls, Mont. Miller, S. J. Briarcombe Farm, Winona Mitchell, Mrs. Harry Halma Minn. Northern Nurs. Co. 1511 Raymond Ave., St. Paul Miller, Joseph Hopkins Miller, Chas. 4539 Morgan No., Mpls. Miller, Wm. J. Warroad, Box 442 Miller, Hjalmar S. Lindstrom Miller, E. Amery, Wis. Mielke, Geo. Sidney, Mont. Miller, Henry C. Sauk Center Mpls. Architectural Club 920 Nic. Ave., Mpls. Miller, Sarah A. Sauk Rapids Moehring, Otto Montevideo Moore, W. M. Forest Service, Santa Barbara, Cal. Moeser, Ed St. Louis Park Moore, Mrs. C. F. Worthington Moberg, Aron Lowry Moline, E. J. 2622 Henn. Ave., Mpls. Monson, N. L. Buffalo Lake Mondeng, Chas. 160 Newton Ave. N. Mpls. Moeser, Ernest St. Louis Park Montgomery, Katherine A. Bradley St. Sta., St. Paul, R. 4, Bx. 29 Montgomery, W. C. Excelsior, R. No. 3 Moore, John E. Louisville Moede, H. F. Buffalo Lake Moody, Geo. W. Amery, Wis. Moeser, Miss Flora St. Louis Park Molander, A. L. Bemidji Moline, Geo. Woodstock Molenar, John Raymond, R. 2 Monk, B. B. Minot, N. D. Moen, A. A. Bemidji, R. 2 Mojha, Joseph R. No. 1, Lonsdale Moore, E. V. Eagle Bend Moen, Albert O. Smithport Moberg, Oscar Lowry Moe, P. C. Mentor Morrison, Rev. J. D. 2131 E. Supr. St., Duluth Moran, C. B. Newport Morey, Geo. W. 3606 Van Buren St. NE., Mpls. Moris, Mrs. F. 180 Rondo St., St. Paul Morris, John R. Beaudette Morgan, Benj. H. 712 So. 5th St., Leavensworth, Kan. Morrill, E. W. Hopkins, R. 1 Morton, Mrs. E. H. St. Louis Park Mortz, Aug. Stewart Morlan, Ogden C. 4628 Colfax S., Mpls. Mortenson, J. P. New Richland Moritz, Isaac Hector Morrison, Mrs. Eugenia Excelsior Morley, Jas. Wahpeton, N. D. Morse, John H. 2511 Washburn Ave. S., Mpls. Morgan, R. M. Howard Lake Moen, Albert O. Terrace, R. 1, Box 42 Molsted, C. E. Valley City, N. D. Moffitt, Mrs. F. L. 508 Univ. Ave. SE., Mpls. Moses, Mrs. W. S. Wahkon Motter, J. P. Lamberton Mousel, Henry Canby Moss, W. F. Worthington Mosbjerg, Chr. 216 7th St. N., Mpls. Moulton, H. R. Windom Mott, F. R. Hibbing Moses, J. B. Jackson Munch, Mrs. E. W. Crookston Mullen, A. J. Custom House, Mpls. Mudd, Mrs. Neva Sandstone Munson, Nels Cokato Mulqueeneg, Mrs. Jas. Buffalo Munn, Mrs. M. D. Forest Lake Mundt, Fred Sunfish Rd., R. 2, W. St. Paul Mullen, John T. Litchfield Munsterteiger, Arthur Buffalo Mulroy, M. F. Brown's Valley Murray, J. W. Excelsior Murray, D. L. Blooming Prairie Murray, Chas. M. Princeton Musser, R. D. Little Falls Musser, C. R. 200 Mer. State Bk. Bldg., Muscatine, Ia. Murphy, Frederick P. Central Lake Murdock, H. E. 1961 Queen Ave. S, St. Paul Murray, Mrs. H. J. 812 Osceola Ave., St. Paul Mutny, John S. Gregory, S. D. Musil, F. J. Hector Musil, Rudolph Hector Murdock, E. C. 405 Scheffman Bldg., St. Paul Myrah, E. G. Spring Grove McBroom, J. K. Excelsior McBride, A. F. 1764 Marshall Ave., St. Paul McAllister, Geo. E. 2637 Emerson N., Mpls. McCullough, Francis Mound McCabe, Mrs. M. Sta. F., Mpls. McConachie, N. Perham McCallum, John Clinton, R. No. 1 McCoy, Dr. Mary 15 W. Supr. St., Duluth McCabe, W. J. 2125 Abbotsford Ave., Duluth McCullach, Jas. T. Washburn, N. D. McClintock, R. G. Willmar McCaleb, Seth Eyota McCathy, T. Caledonia McCabe, M. M. 2328 Roslyn Ave., Duluth McCall, Geo. W. Fort Williams, Ont. McCarthy, F. F. 2725 E. 6th St., Duluth McCormick, Miss Care Geo. H. Rogers, 2302 Blaisdell Ave., Mpls. McElroy White Bear, Bx 386 McDuffee, Herbert S. 2540 3d Ave. S., Mpls. McFadden, Dr. C. A. 6719 Tioga St., Duluth McGuire, A. J. Univ. Farm, St. Paul McGuire, S. H. Annandale McGonagle, Mrs. W. A. Hunter's Park, Duluth McGolerick, Bishop, Jas. Duluth McKusick, Miss Florence M. Stillwater McKee, Maude L. Hotel Waverly, Mpls. McMillan, F. G. No. 2, 5th St., SE., Mpls. McLeod, Neil A. 523 3d Ave. SE., Mpls. McMahon, J. A. Arago McLaughlin, Peter Hunter, N. D. McLarty, Jas. Neche, N. D., R. 2 McLean, Robt. C. 735 Palace Bldg., Mpls. McNair, C. I. Cloquet McNeil, Mrs. Alex Dayton McQuoid, Jas. Pipestone McQuire, Mrs. D. F. Hopkins McPherson, A. K. Walker McPhail, A. J. Hibbing Naslund, Adolph Tower, Bx 1448 Neils, Julius Cass Lake Neinabor, Chas. Round Lake Neal, J. A. P. 604 1st Nat. Bk. Bldg., Duluth Neilson, A. Mankato Nelson, C. N. Storden Nelson, Oscar W. Aitken, R. 2 Nelson, Chas. F. 1449 Hythe St., St. Anthony Park Nelson, C. G. Lindstrom Nelson, F. A. Atwater Nelson, Hans Fergus Falls Nelson, Jacob Beltrami Nelson, Hans Twin Valley Nelson, C. A. A. Park Rapids, Bx. 206 Nelson, Peter E. Montevideo Nelson, Anton Grasston Nelson, Mrs. Sim. Westbrook Nelson, Mrs. V. D. 2829 9th St. S., Mpls. Nelson, C. J. Willmar Nelson, Hugo C. Hibbing Nelson, Mrs. Wm. Box 143, Spooner Nelson, P. J. Clarissa Nelson, Chas. J. R. 1, Eagle Bend Nelson, S. R. Owatonna Nelson, A. N. R. 2, Box 116, Hopkins Nelson, E. 880 S. Robert St., W. St. Paul Nelson, Hon. E. M. Fairmount, N. D. Nelson, E. V. Box 111, Alta Dens, Cal. Nelson, M. O. 2530 Harriet Ave., Mpls. Nelson, Andrew Northland Nelson, Martin R. 1, Hopkins Nellermoe, F. G. Buffalo Lake Ness, H. H. 1900 Wash. N., Mpls. Newland, H. Custom House, Mpls. Newberg, A. Excelsior Newell, Wilfred Mayo Farm, Rochester Newmann, A. H. Sta. F., R. 3, Mpls. N.Y. State Col. of For. Syracuse, N. Y. Nesbitt, Mrs. Victoria K. 210 13th Ave. E., Duluth Neske, Mrs. Albert Waseca Neudecker, A. S. Clements Nesdahl, Ole Box 15, Shevlin Nettleton, C. H. Stockton Newhall, Mrs. H. F. 2702 Humboldt S., Mpls. Ness, Gabriel Hannaford, N. D. N.Y. State Ranger School Wanakena, N. Y. Nesbitt, Mrs. W. L. 4715 Fremont S., Mpls. Nelson, Henry Oslo Nelson, Alfred M. Hector Nelson, A. M. 5114 Elliot Ave. S., Mpls. Nelson, A. E. R. 1, Box 81, Felton Nelson, Geo. H. Hope, Minn., via Owatonna Nelson, Walter R. 2, Oslo Nelson, L. M. 2637 17th Ave. S., Mpls. Nelson, E. M. Fairmount, N. D. Nelson, Fred S. Maple Plain Nelson, S. C. Alexandria Nelsen, Leslie 953 Goff Ave., W. St. Paul Nelson, Carl A. Cokato Nelson, John Baudette Nieman, Chas. Hamburg, Wis. Niemeyer, C., 487 W. Calif. St., Pasadena, Calif. Nichols, S. S. 707 Cham. of Com., Mpls. Nichols, Mrs. C. H. 1920 Palace St., St. Paul Nielsen, N. Mankato Nickel, Geo. Reading Nicol, Henry C. Mail Carrier 30, St. Paul Nicholson, Mrs. Sam'l J. 5303 Nic. Ave., Mpls. Noble, A. S. Dent Norderhus, Paul S. Murdock Nolte, Henry Duluth Nordby, Ed. J. Renville Norval, Wm. Elk River Nordbye, O. W. Granite Falls Northern Pine Mfgrs. Assn., Lumber Ex. Minneapolis Norin, Dr. Frans L. Roseau Nousse, John 1346 Western No., W. St. Paul Nordine, John Lake City. Noble, Fred 287 E. Lucy St., St. Paul Nowlen, B. E. 2370 Chilcombe Ave., St. Paul Nordquist, E. D. Evansville Novak, Frank Lonsdale Nohava, Mathias Lonsdale Norton, John Lonsdale Norberg, Mrs. C. Eastwood Noehl, Nicholas R. 3, Dassel Norton, A. W. Cumberland, Wis. N.W. Nat. Bk. Information & Pub. Dept., Minneapolis Nutter, F. H. 710 Sykes Blk., Mpls. Nydahl, J. L. 715 21st Ave. So., Mpls. Nygaard, Thos. 953 40th Ave S.E., Mpls. Nyman, Col. M. R. 1401 1st Ave. So., Mpls. Nystrom, O. Eastwood Nysoeu, C. O. Pelican Rapids O'Brien Pat Renville O'Connor, Jas., Jr. Granite Falls Oberleiter, John Pequot Oberleiter, Mrs. Maria Pequot Oberg, Alma Mayer Olson, S. J. Grand Meadow Olson, Oscar A. Truman Olson, Wm. C. R. 2, Maynard Olson, Ova Boyd Olson, John A. Boyd Olson, Chas. R. 2, Lindstrom Olson, Miss Julia Aitkin Olson, Geo. W. Carver Olmstead, Mrs. E. W., 2727 Lake of Isles Blvd., Mpls. Olsen, Chesta Central Olsen, Peter Eastwood Olson, Paul 2538 Taylor St. N.E., Mpls. Olin, Miss Signe J., 328 No. 60th Ave. W. Duluth Olson, J. J. Central Lakes Odell, Mrs. R. R. 2836 Irwing So., Mpls. Oehring, C. C. Elkader, Ia. Oesch, Fred Winona O'Hara, Dr. P. Waverly Ohr, E. J. Sta. F, R. 3, Mpls. Ogren, G. C. Cambridge Oehler, Mrs. Ira C., 1766 St. Claire St. St. Paul Ogaard, Arthur J. Hettinger, N. D. Ogroskie, Paul Deer River Olson, Lewis R. 3, Kalispell, Mont. Oldenburg, Henry C. Carlton Olsen, H. P. R. 1, St. Louis Park Olson, Aug. R. Kennedy Olson, J. B. Willmar Oleson, Michael Montevideo Olson, Mrs. D. W. White Bear Olson, Peter M. R. 4, Zumbrota Olmstead, Rett E. Excelsior Olson, O. E. R. 2, Bx. 92, Braham Olney, Will Knox, N. D. Olson, O. J. 20 W. 5th St., St. Paul Olson, Edwin O. R. 2, Dent Olson, O. G. Porter Olson, C. H. Beltrami Olds, L. Pequot Ollinger, J. F. Hopkins Oldenberg, C. J. R. 1, Belle Plain Olson, Wm. G. Dunnel Olson, Oluf Burtrum Olson, Hjalmer C. Bx. 26, Ironwood, Mich. Olson, Mrs. Otto W. Eagle Bend Olson, Oscar Orr Old, Mrs. W. A., 5218 Washburn Ave. S. Minneapolis Olson, A. H. 912 W. Robert St., St. Paul Olson, Miss Margaret Wyoming Olson, Martin Lake City Olson, C. E. Underwood Oleson, Cris Cushing, Wis. Old, Mrs. M. E., 1399 W. Minnehaha St. St. Paul Oredalen, Ole Kenyon O'Neill, O. H. 608 Globe Bldg., St. Paul Opsata, C. Bemidji Omland, Erik McIntosh Orr, Grier M. 1040 Laurel Ave., St. Paul O'Neil, Wm. Cass Lake Orwell, C. S. Clarkfield O'Neill, Jas. M. Woodstock Oram, Martin 3240 16th Ave. S., Mpls. Orr, Mrs. G. M. 1040 Laurel Ave., St. Paul Ordway, Mrs. L. P. 523 Portland Ave., St. Paul O'Meara, Steve LeSueur Center Omann, M. E. Stewart Octhoudt, Geo. Eden Prairie Oppegaard, E. O. Sacred Heart Oregon Agri. Col. Library Corvallis, Ore. Orde, G. S. Riverdale Ave., Calgary, Can. Osborn, John Dassel Ostern, L. N. Montevideo Osborne, E. W. 323 B. P. Bldg., St. Paul Ottis, Frank J. 867 Forest, St. Paul Osborn, L. M. 3900 Sheridan S., Mpls. Orsborn, H. E. 2900 3rd Ave. S., Mpls. Osgood, H. E. St. Paul Otte, E. W. 821 S. Wabasha St. W. St. Paul Ostergren, E. A. N. St. Paul Ostrom, Mrs. C. J. Winthrop Otosa, A. L. R. 3, St. James Osborn, Frank H. R. 4, Albert Lea Otto, W. H. 958 S. Robert St., W. St. Paul Oswald, Wm. K. 122 10th St., Cloquet Ott, Adolph R. 2, Granite Falls Overgaard, P. H. Albert Lea Ouellette, C. A. 904 Arkwright St., St. Paul Owens, John 4452 Xerxes Ave. S., Mpls. Overn, A. V. Albert Lea Owens, John Cook Pabody, Mrs. E. F. 69 11th St. S., Mpls. Palzer, Casper Mazeppa Paine, F. W. 706 Sellwood Bldg., Duluth Palmer, Ezra Paynesville Palmer, S. E. Browerville Palke, Stephan Bryant, Wis. Parman, E. A. Hudson, Wis. Partridge, H. C. Owatonna Parker, C. W. Valley River, Man. Parsons, John B. Fergus Falls Parks, W. S. Thorp, Wis. Parsons, Frank Maple Plain Parker, Percy W. Dispatch Bldg., St. Paul Partridge, Van B. Owatonna Parks, Mrs. Walter Airlie Parker, Vern Pine Island Parks, Robt. Shell Lake, Wis. Parker, F. M. Garden City Parker, Ira J. Waverly Hotel, Mpls. Patten, J. W. Long Lake Patience, J. C. Little Falls Passmore, Miss C. W. R. 2, Box 14, Hopkins Paup, F. O. Sherburn Paterson, J. F. South Shore, White Bear Patterson, M. T. Ellendale Patterson, Mrs. J. O. 2814 James Ave. N., Mpls. Passehl, Fred R. 1, Montrose Peerless Rubber Mfg. Co. 555 Pierce Bldg., St. Louis, Mo. Peck, Mrs. E. W. Orchard Gardens, Savage Pentney, E. H. Manitou Peabody, Lloyd 645 Delavan Ave., St. Paul Peck, C. W. Redwood Falls Perl, H. J. 1029 Iglehart St., St. Paul Pearce, G. A. 3418 Allendale Ave., Duluth Peabody, F. C. Merrifield Peck, Harold J. Deer River Perry, Mrs. Gentz Amery, Wis. Perkins, T. L. R. 3, Red Wing Pervogal, H. J. 30 S. Clintworth St., St. Paul Pegenholf, Edward Maple Plain Pegenholf, John Maple Plain Peil, L. L. 121 N. P. Bldg., St. Paul Perkins, Paul H. 250 20th Ave. N., Mpls. Peck, Chas. Washburn, Wis. Peiffer, N. J. Al. Eden Valley Penney, John Cushing, Wis. Penning, Martin New Ulm Pederson, P. A. Beardsley Pengilly, Jas. R. 1, Osseo Perry, P. H. Excelsior Perkins, Thos. Race Track, Mont. Peek, C. M. Eureka Pedersen, A. W. Comfrey Pellet, F. A. Akeley Peachy, Mrs. Chas. Austin Pearson, Hjalmer R. 1, Welch Perkins, Alfred 1780 Wakefield Ave., St. Paul Penney, A. W. Stacyville, Ia. Peavey, L. J. R. 1, Osseo Pennington, E. 317 2nd Ave. S., Mpls. Peake, G. W. Univ. Farm, St. Paul Perkins, Mrs. W. F. 2426 Crystal Lake Ave., Mpls. Peck, C. C. Munsing, Mich. Pevy, E. P. Clearbrook Pederson, F. W. 1705 Lincoln Ave., St. Paul Peterson, Alvin Astoria, S. D. Peterson, Jos. Lake Crystal Peterson, P. H. Atwater Peterson, C. O. Willmar Peterson, Carl F. Storden Peterson, F. J. Waconia Peterson, O. M. Albert Lea Peterson, R. Waldo Canby Pew, Fremont C. R. 5, Mankato Peterson, Hans 3901 Van Buren St. N.E., Mpls. Peterson, Fred Albert Lea Peterson, L. E. R. 1, Stanchfield Peter, Justus Cor. Smith Ave. & Annapolis St., St. Paul Peterson, Jas. Blooming Prairie Peterson, Aug. 916 W. Maple St., Stillwater Peterson, John P. Aldrich Peterson, Chas. J. R. 2. Burtrum Peterson, Linder Box 103, Bessemer, Mich. Peterson, Mrs. C. A. 312 Everett Ave., Everett, Wash. Peterson, Axel Excelsior Peterson, F. W. 812 6th Ave. S. E., Mpls. Peterson, Peter Ruthton Peterriens, J. P. Echo Peterson, Oscar Buffalo Petry, Arthur C. 1102 Pacific St., St. Paul Peterson, Mrs. Martin R. 2, Kintyre, N. D. Peterson, J. 887 Gorman Ave., W. St. Paul Peterson, A. E. 3844 10th Ave. S., Mpls. Peterson, J. H. R. 1, Holdingford Pettengell, Ben Saum Peterson, Chas. J. Maynard Peterson, J. H. Fort Ripley Peterson, Hjalmar Box 561, Buffalo Peterson, Spurgeon Hayfield Peterson, Mrs. Victoria Eastwood Peterson, H. C. Sleepy Eye Peterson, Thos. 322 E. 3rd St., Duluth Pfister, J. M. Marietta Pfaender, Wm., J. New Ulm Pfeiffer, C. A. R. 1, Winona Pfeiffer, Fred Morton Pfaender, Walter C. New Ulm Pfeiffer, Mrs. C. E. Winona Phillips, H. Fort Williams, West Ont. Pineo, Dr. W. B. 507 Pillsbury Bldg., Mpls. Pimley, A. E. Park Rapids Pinkerton, S. W. 1430 Capitol Ave. St. Paul Pischner, August R. 8, Mankato Pickatta, Martin Stewart Pierce, E. B. 138 Seymour Ave. S.E., Mpls. Piringer, Frank 176 W. Bernard St., W. St. Paul Picha, John L. New Prague Pickle, Julia L. St. Croix Falls, Wis. Pierce, Mrs. Baxter Ashland, Mont. Pierce, P. P. 816 Delaware St., Mpls. Peterson, Peter Deer River Peters, H. P. Glenwood Platten, Will J. 218 Oakland Ave., Green Bay, Wis. Pladsen, Emil Milaca Plank, Mrs. Josephine Hopkins Plan, Chas. Enver Grove Plotner, Oscar Saum Platten, H. J. 419 Dousman St., Green Bay, Wis. Plainview Public Library Plainview Pond, E. R. R. 3, Mpls. Poppler, John Frazee Pond, D. S. Sta. F, R. 3, Mpls. Porter, J. N. 2947 Girard N., Mpls. Popelka, J. J. Ogilvie Porter, Amos Lake Benton Potts, Chas. W. Deerwood Poole, W. A. Forest River, N. D. Poore, Hamlin V. Bird Island Pommer, Mrs. Geo. 4311 Garfield Ave. S., Mpls. Poirier, L. S. 240 Lewis St., Duluth Pollack, Mrs. Robt. 5321 Avondale St., Duluth Pomije, Rev. H. D. Olivia Potter, A. H. 2847 Irving Ave. S., Mpls. Poussin, G. W. Onigum Powers, Frank W. 2816 Garfield Ave., Mpls. Powell, F. W. Willmar Posz, L. A. Winona Potter, N. C. Hector Powell, J. L. Pillager Poseley, H. E. Cove Powers, Prof. Wm. H. Agri. College, Brookings, S.D. Potter, B. F. S. 4400 Nokomis Ave., Mpls. Poucher, Thos. S. N. St. Paul Potter, W. L. Raymond Posivis, John Sherburne Prentice, Chas. D. R. 4, Highwood, St. Paul Prosser, L. W. LeRoy Prentice, S. L. Winona Pratt, Dr. C. C. Imanuel Hospital, Mankato Price, Mrs. W. L. Excelsior Preston, C. A. Hastings Pruett, Elmer W. Ely Premo, Alex 106 E. Annapolis, W. St. Paul Primus, John Melrose Pritchard, Robt. M. Box 186, Hibbing Prohl, John 3409 Traverse, Duluth Prinzing, D. S. Rushford Prime, F. G. R. 1, Wayzata Prest, Miss Marion 1713 Summit Ave., St. Paul Prodoehl, H. R. Olivia Probstfield, Mrs. Edmund Moorhead Prova, Mrs. Harry Kelliher Probett, Miss Ida 1917 Stevens Ave., Mpls. Prescott, Mrs. E. 337 E. Jessamine St., St. Paul Preisler, O. S. S. St. Paul Ptacek, C. J. Long Prairie Putnam, S. T. Battle Lake Public Library St. Paul Public Library Winnipeg, Man. Purdy, C. E. Lake St. W. & Excelsior Ave., Mpls. Purdham, C. W. R. 2, Osseo Puffer, H. M. 26th St. & 32nd Ave. S., Mpls. Putnam, R. W. Care Bank Pierce-Simmons, Red Wing Punderson, J. M. Northfield Pumper, Thos. A. Lonsdale Pudil, Jas. Hopkins Pugh, Mrs. Dana V. 109 Howell St., Duluth Putman, W. L. Pelican Rapids Quale, G. E. Willmar Quam, O. T. Nerstrand Quinn, Mrs. J. J. 4042 Wentworth Ave. S., Mpls. Quist, Wm. R. 6, Red Wing Quinn, J. H. Delano Quady. Wm. Blue Earth Quast, John Buffalo Lake Quigly, D. J. Litchfield Quandt, Wm. Buffalo Lake Quinlan, M. New Prague Quinn, J. A. Tower Rains, Dr. J. M. Willmar Rankin, Prof. A. W. 916 5th St. S.E., Mpls. Ramsdell, Chas. H. 812 N.Y. Life Bldg., Mpls. Rafelson, Anton Montevideo Ramey, E. W. Redwood Falls Ray, F. W. 959 40th Ave. N.E., Mpls. Ralston, Dr. J. F. Cavalier, N. D. Ramm, E. A. Winona Raths & Seavolt 447 Wabasha St., St. Paul Rand, B. R. Frazee Rauscher, John 673 Bidwell St., St. Paul Raub, Clark Winnebago Sahlfing, W. M. Cleveland Rarig, Prof. F. M. 63 Barton Ave. S.E., Mpls. Rauen, Mrs. P. J. White Bear Raddatz, Arthur Pine Island Rathlisberger, Chas. Slayton Ranney, H. F. Benson Raftery, W. H. Garrison, N. D. Reeder, G. S. Sauk Rapids Reed, John A. 707 Cham. of Com., Mpls. Rees, S. B., Jr. Linden Hills, R. 2, Mpls. Reeves, N. H. 3410 2nd St. N., Mpls. Reeves, Mrs. John Nemadji Reed, Calvin Care M. J. Johnson, Manning, N. D. Reese, L. A. Cumberland, Wis. Redpath, Geo. A. Big Sandy, Mont. Rector, S. M. Deer Creek Reeves, E. M. Waverly, Ia. Regnier, E. 1640 Montreal, St. Paul Ree, Selmer S. R. 1, Zumbrota Reeves, Mrs. H. G. Nemadji Reamer, J. L. 1921 Greysolon Rd., Duluth Reed, M. H. Hastings Rehbein, Ed R. 3, Duluth Reinking, Wm. Osseo Rekedal, S. E. Lucan Reichert, John 215 E. 7th St., Red Wing Reno, Nils Excelsior Revord, T. A. Austin Renner, Max St. Louis Park, Minn. Remel, Casper Menomonie, Wis. Reynolds, M. N. Turtle River Reif, Geo. H. White Bear Remsker, Rev. Peter Canby Reiland, Wm. R. 1, Box 10, W. St. Paul Rempel, Henry D. Mountain Lake Renney, S. E. 2636 Pillsbury, Mpls. Reinhardt, S. H. R. 3, Merriam Park Reynolds, J. W. Kelliher Reiten, Lars S. Hastings, N. D. Reynolds, Virginia A. 232 W. Franklin, Mpls. Rekkedal, Ole Minneota Reynolds, John Crystal Bay Reithner, C. W. Deer River Rhodes, Clarence H. The Pioneer Co., 3rd & Minn. St., St. Paul Richardson, Ira E. New Brighton Richardson, L. P. Comfrey Riehl, Frank Belle Plaine Richardson, A. W. Howard Lake Rieke, Adolph Fairfax Rice, F. C. Northfield Rice, L. H. Park Rapids Rice, C. F. 218 N. 5th St., Mpls. Rice, Millard Box No. 66, Berg, N. D. Richardson, Jerry Hastings Rice, Mrs. E. V. Dayton Riden, T. E. Shevlin Rieger, Rev. M. Hinckley Richardson, A. O. Menahga Riegel, J. M. Care Dispatch Ptg. Co., St. Paul Richards, J. W. 6029 London Rd., Duluth Richardson, H. C. 729 E. 6th St., Duluth Rice, H. J. Benson Richards, Mrs. Frank A. 1879 Dayton Ave., St. Paul Richardson, W. D. Care Swift & Co., Chicago Rink, Mrs. M. 894 Hastings Ave., St. Paul Risser, H. A. R. 2, Hopkins Rittle, Miss Anna E. 409 Marshall Ave., St. Paul Rittmaster, Harry 934 Allen St. W. St. Paul Ritchell, Wm. Sta. A., Minneapolis Ritchell, Mrs. Frank H. 3364 Hayes St. N.E., Mpls. Rising, Marion S. 787 Laurel Ave., St. Paul Risch, John Elkton, S. D. Ritchie, J. H. R. 2, White Bear Lake Rimstad, Ludvik Dawson Rindahl, C. L. Oklee Ritt, A. 401 Sinnen St., St. Paul Risk, Miss Mary M. R. 1, Adams, Wis. Risdale, P. S. Am. For. Assn., Washington, D. C. Robinson, Geo. W. 699 N. Snelling Ave., St. Paul Robinson, Chas. A. 4633 S. Xerxes Ave., Mpls. Robbins, H. M. Excelsior Robson, C. A. Red Wing Robertson, John Hot Springs, S. D. Roads & Forests 1406 Majestic Bldg., Detroit Roberts, C. M. 139 W. 40th St., Minneapolis Roberts, Miss Emma M. 14 E. 51st St., Mpls. Rogers, C. R. St. Anthony Falls Sta., Mpls. Rodgers, Dr. Emma White Bear Roe, C. E. 412 Providence Bldg., Duluth Rodecker, L. V. Gladstone Rohan, Mrs. M. A. 1004 Nicollet Ave., Mpls. Rockhill, Harlow Conrad, Ia. Rognlie, P. B. Esmond, N. D. Rogers, Mrs. Geo. N., 462 E. King St., Winona Roke, Rev. W. E. Verndale Roe, Fredrik Madison Rogers, T. C. 409 Hennepin Ave., Mpls. Rodenberg, Henry Mindora, Wis. Rogers, H. N. Farmington Rojina, Frank Univ. Farm, St. Paul Rockhill, Oscar Larchwood, Ia. Roche, Wm. Inkster, N. D. Rowell, H. H. S. Box 223 Lewiston, Idaho Ross, Norman M. Indian Head, Sask. Rosenwald, J. F. Madison Rosander, J. W. Wayzata Rosacker, Hans 19th Ave. and H. St. N. E. Mpls. Rolin, John Breckenridge Rowe, John Verndale Rosenquist, Mrs. J. O. 3216 Blaisdell Ave., Mpls. Rosenquist, Edwin Eagle Bend Ronnigen, Otto Madison Rossacker, Hans 1856 Stinson Blvd., Mpls. Rowley, J. A. Blooming Prairie Rokes, G. B. Woodstock Rosenberger, Peter 1003 Stryker Ave, St. Paul Rowe, Dr. A. T. Larimore, N. D. Rotty, Mrs. Clara R. 2, Hastings Rotty, John Sr. R. 2, Hastings Rowse, And. Simpson Rolvaag, Prof. O. E. Manitou Ave., Northfield Rosengren, Carl Sacred Heart Rovang, O. N. Dalton Rowe, W. H. St. James Rosholt, Mrs. Julius 1925 Penn Ave., Mpls. Rosenstein, David 118 Washington Ave., Mpls. Rowell, W. W. 3224 2nd Ave. S., Mpls. Rose, Logan Mankato Runals, Maj. D. E. Edgerton Ruff, Mrs. D. W. C. Bald Eagle Lake Rupley, Geo. 612 Lyceum Bldg., Duluth Russell, Dr. E. B. Excelsior Ruble, C. H. Albert Lea Russell, S. B. Rochester Reudlinger, C. N. 2924 Aldrich Ave., Mpls. Rucker, I. W. Aitkin Russell, Dr. Thos. Grand Rapids Running, Alvin Montevideo Rutherford, Geo. Clara City Rusten, Erland J. Box 25, R. 4, Beresford, S. D. Ruble, Harry E. Albert Lea Russell, Hans Warroad Rush, John H. Buffalo Lake Rue, E. B. Lakefield Rue, B. O. Lakefield Ruttger, Jos. Deerwood Rustin, J. O. Kelliher Ruenitz, Nis Sleepy Eye Rude, T. A. 320 3rd Ave. S., St. Paul Ruth, S. S. Deer River Rust, C. R. 1517 E. Superior St., Duluth Ryan, Timothy Hopkins Rysgaard, Jens Orchard Gardens, Savage Ryan, Geo. L. North St. Paul Ryden, P. Cambridge Salzer, Geo. 606 Plymouth Bldg., Minneapolis Salbach, F. C. 116 7th St. N., Great Falls, Mont. Sampson, L. F. Excelsior Saam, John 835 E. 6th St., St. Paul Salveson, Rev. Adolph Toronto, S. D. Salander, G. Donaldson's Greenhouse, Mpls. Saltnass, A. M. 3712 11th Ave. S., Mpls. Sabin, Bert Mission Samuelson, H. R. Box 28, R. 1, Lafayette Sahlin, Peter Red Top Samuelson, Fred Eastwood Sampson, Richard Excelsior Sand, Ole O. Elbow Lake Sawyer Mrs. N. S. Excelsior Sandrock, Wm. Houston Sayre, R. 108 E. 51st St. Sta., Chicago, Ill. Sartell, Mrs. Jos. St. Cloud Sandboe, I. A. Wegdahl Sane, Peter P. R. 1, Montevideo Salter, Lewis Morris Sandberg, C. M. Lake City Sauter, A. Excelsior Sands, Louis Agri. School, St. Paul Sawyer, C. W. 1400 Wash. Ave. N., Mpls. Sanford, Mort Faribault Sanborn, Louis 409 Lumber Exchange, Mpls. Sanderson, Oscar Albert Lea Satrang, I. I. Waterville, Ia. Sanders, J. H. Buffalo Lake Sanby, E. Elbow Lake Sanborn, Edward A. 1786 Marshall Ave., St. Paul Saunders, Mrs. Wm. Robbinsdale Sawyer, L. E. 2538 Fillmore St. N. E., Mpls. Saxson, C. R. Worthington Sandberg, John H. Pequot Saueressig, W. A. Drake, N. D. Sanford, M. W. Faribault Scott, Wm. G. R. 4, Winnipeg, Man. Schlemmer, A. Chisago City Schotzko, F. E. Springfield Schwerin, Henry Echo Scherber, J. D. Rogers Schreiner, Francis X. R. 2, W. St. Paul Schmidt, Edward R. 3, Mankato Schiffrer, Rev. Val. Madison Schmitz, Jacob Shakopee Schrooten, J. Fairmont Schumann, Carl Round Lake Scott, Z. D. Scott-Graff Lbr. Co., Duluth Schulcz, Peter Wells Schlemmer, C. H. 1602 Hague Ave., St. Paul Schnathorst, Wm. Frazee Schultz, L. S. Excelsior Schriber, Fred H. White Bear Lake Scott, Miss Zaidee A. 810 McKnight Bldg., Mpls. Scone, Mrs J. A. 2015 Girard Ave. N., Mpls. Schumaker, R. H. Bemidji Schroedel, John Sherburn Schumacher, Albert G. Fairfax Schultz, Wm. G. Elgin Schaffer, Arthur R. 5, Windom Scott, W. C. 2109 Doswell, St. Paul Schlegel, F. T. Chokio Schmickle, C. W. South Haven Schmitt, Adrian 629 2nd St. N. E., Mpls. Scobie, Frank Sleepy Eye Schmitt, Jos. E. Stryker and Butler St., W. St. Paul Schleusner, Ernest R. 5, Menomonie, Wis. Schulz, Joseph Lester Prairie Scobie, Bertha C., 4172 Eddy St., Chicago, Ill. Schultz, Mrs. O. W., 5019 1st Ave. S., Mpls. Scherf, Fred Osseo Schlomkey, Chas. Newport Scott, John T. 1486 Hythe St., St. Paul Score, John J. Wolf Butte, N. D. Schuneman, Wesley Schuneman & Evans, St. Paul Schulz, Carl Melrose Schroeder, C. A. Mankato Schaefer, Mrs. Henry Sta. F, R. 1, Mpls. Schuneman, Carl T. Schuneman & Evans, St. Paul Scott, E. B. Laporte Schweizer, Myron, 1185 Hague Ave., St. Paul Schechter, J. R. 6, Worthington Scott, C. G., Gowan Lenning Brown, Duluth Schnidt, Rev. Otto E. Decorah, Ia. Scanlan, John S. Long Prairie Schultz, Theo. R. 2, Monticello Scheffold, Rev. Geo. Wayzata Schoeneman, Wm. F. 1111 Goff Ave., W. St. Paul Schneider, J. J. Renville Schwarg, Mrs. P. J. Dodge Center Schneider, Rudolph C. 708 Osceola Ave., St. Paul Schmidt, Alois Hugo Sell, Chas. Delano Selvig, C. C. Willmar Seiler, J. M. Excelsior Secor, Eugene Forest City, Ia. Searles, Robt. Hammond, Wis. Seifert, Frank L. New Ulm Segrin, Frank Sauk Center Seines, O. E. Windom Seidl, John N. 1063 Goff Ave., W. St. Paul Selby, J. S. La Crescent Secor, A. J. Pipestone Sederstrom, Alfred R. 5, Montevideo Sebbe, Nels Box 21, Esmond, N. D. Seitz, W. A. Laurel, Mont. Severson, F. L. Stewartville Setterholm, L. W. Dale Severa, Emil 1677 Vincent Ave. N., Mpls. Senecal, J. W., 1307 Yale Place, Apt. 10, Mpls. Seymore, Mrs. M. T., 109 W. 3rd St., Duluth Seward, Fred Central Lake Shannon, R. Annandale Shepley, Mrs. E. L. 12 Summit Court, St. Paul Shave, Alfred S. Hawley Shattuck, G. W. Whalan Shaw, Robt. Finkley Shelley, T. E. Hanska Shenahan, F. C., Univ. of Minn., Minneapolis Sherwood, Geo. E. Kimball Shelland, Miss Ann Dept. Public Inst., Capitol, St. Paul Sherwood, W. C. Woodland Ave., Duluth Sherman Nursery Co. Charles City, Ia. Sharpless. Rev. S. F. Fergus Falls Shenk, Wm. J., 897 Oakland Ave., W. St. Paul Shenandoah Nurseries Shenandoah, Iowa Shepherd, A. K., 1963 Ashland Ave., St. Paul Shane, Danl. West Salem, Wis. Sharp, A. B. Lincoln Shaw, Dr. A. W. Buhl Sherman, E. D. Morgan Sherwood, M. W. Chatfield Shellum, Jacob Goodthunder Sharpsteen, Mr. 125 Cecil St. S.E., Mpls. Sheppard, F. J., 103 E. Lake St. Minneapolis Sheer, Otto Maple Plain Shaw Botanical Gardens St. Louis, Mo. Sheldrew, Geo. Grygla Shaw, Daniel Thief River Falls Shirley, H. L. Breckenridge Short, Mrs. John Wayzata Shoen, Mrs. Mary Comfrey Shivley, Lloyd R. Tower Shields, Miss Box 7, Shields, Pa. Shields, Martin M. Faribault Shoaff, T. H. Grand Rapids Shoquist, Isaac Clinton Simmons, W. A. 1620 So. Spring Ave., Sioux Falls, S. D. Simpson, Hon. David, N.Y. Life Bldg., Mpls. Sipher, Mrs. A. J. Aitkin Simmons, W. A. 1620 S. Spring Ave., Sioux Fals, S. D. Siehl, C. D. 4449 Beard Ave. S., Mpls. Simmons, Irwin Glenwood Sims, S. A. Excelsior Siegle, Simon Carver Sill, J. W. Belgrade Simison, Dr. C. W. Hawley Simon, Otto 1085 Goff Ave., W. St. Paul Sikes, S. R. 915 Wash. Ave. So., Mpls. Silliman, A. P. Hibbing Singer, Edw. Erie Signs, Mrs. C. E. 873 Ottawa St., St. Paul Sinclair, C. E. 225 Kasota Blk., Mpls. Silbernagel, Peter, Jr. Dent Simons, Orlando Glencoe Simek, Alois L. 306 State Ave., Owatonna Sigl, Cyrill M. Hopp, Mont. Sinclair, Mrs. E. L. 425 So. Prospect, Rochester Simmons, A. W. Forest Lake Sisler, A. M. Grand Rapids Sincock, W. J. 1025 Central Ave., Virginia Simmons, L. L. Grand Marais Sjoquist, John A. St. James Skytte, C. J. Fisher and Autumn St., St. Paul Skinner, J. W. Saum Skinnemoen, Ole Wendell Skoog, A. L. Carver Skorpen, Jens Valley City, N. D. Skrivseth, B. L. Buxton, N. D. Skogland, Clarence 1069 E. Ave., Red Wing Skinner, J. H. Austin Skretting, Rasmus Red Top Skaurud, H. O. R. 2, Twin Valley Sloan, F. G. Ellendale Slinner, L. Burtrum Sloan, Mrs. J. B. 1740 Laurel Ave., St. Paul Slack, H. W. 1736 Princeton Ave., St. Paul Smith, C. H. Faribault Smith, F. C. Plumb City, Wis. Smith, Mrs. W. S. 486 Portland Ave., St. Paul Smith, E. D. 213 Phoenix Bldg., Mpls. Smith, S. D. Stanton Smith, C. L. 2018 Hawthorn Ave., Mpls. Smith, T. C. Lakeville Smith, A. D. Redwood Falls Smith, L. Z. Mankato Smith, D. D. St. Paul Smith, Fred W. Bottineau, N. D. Smiley, R. W. 713 E. 2nd. St., Duluth Smith, B. W. 132 E. Lake St., Mpls. Smith, W. F. Sturgeon Lake Smith, Mrs. Geo. W. Dent Smith, Geo. D. Faribault Smith, Rev. F. J. St. Francis Smith, H. W. R. 2, Richville Smith, Wm. Richville Smith, Theo. Richville Smith, E. E. R. 2, South Haven Smith, C. W. Lakeville Smith, Joe J. Agri. College, N. D. Emith, A. C. 2095 Commonwealth Ave., St. Paul Smith, Mrs. Jessie E. Thief River Falls Smith, Geo. O. 2721 Minn. Ave., Duluth Simer, Jerome Spring Park Snyder, C. E. Preston Snell, H. D. 2354 Chilcomb Ave., St. Paul Snoke, Guy Wayzata Sorenson, S. Anoka Solem, O. A. Th. Halstad Solseth, Ed. A. Box 182, Watson Sorenson, Otto A. Albert Lea Soderlund, Nels Box 54, Alvarado Sommerfeld, F. W. Echo Solem, Peter Thief River Falls Soderholm, Ellis Atwater Sommers, Benj. 6th and Wacouta St., St. Paul Soderholm, C. Reading Soule, H. E. 417 Plymouth Bldg., Mpls. Southall, John Berlin, N. D. Solberg, A. J. Winger Sonnesyn, E. C. 1805 10th Ave. So., Mpls. Sorby, H. Montevideo Sovereign, Mrs. Emma Sauk Rapids Souther, Moses F. Hector Sorenson, Jens Alb. Armstrong Soesch, M. C. R. 1, Kimball Spates, S. R. Wayzata Sperr, Fred Donnelly Spadino, Fred St. Paul Park Spiten, O. G. Hayfield Sprague, Clifford Madelia Speelman, Mrs. S. A. Turtle River Spencer, G. H. 404 Hawthorn Rd., Duluth Sperl, John B. Box 71, R. 2, W. St. Paul Spicer, W. A. R. 2, Bagley Sprague, Mrs. Jas. W., 3120 Irving S., Mpls. Sperbeck, Frank R. 2, Winona Spielman, E. F. R. 5, Worthington Stai, Chas. R. 607 Torrey Bldg., Duluth Starr, Miss Elizabeth Minneapolis State Reformatory St. Cloud Stahl, H. H. Minot, N. D. Stakman, Prof. E. C. Univ. Farm, St. Paul Staar, John Grasston Stanley, T. W. Baudette Stassen, Win. A. Charlton Germs, St. Paul Stahl, Chas. Laporte Staley, G. M. Grand Rapids Stahl, F. J. Cottage Park, White Bear Steller, G. F. Excelsior Stevenson, A. P. Morden, Man. Steiner, John Iona Stewart, Prof. John St. Anthony Park Stelter, A. L. Rosemount Stemsrud, M. A. Madison Stebbins, Vera 320 Oak Grove St., Mpls. Stemple, Aug. St. Peter Stevens, H. G. Cloquet Steele, Wm. M. Mound Stewart, R. G. 1349 Reaney St., St. Paul Steere, W. S. R. 1, Savage Stevens, W. C. 3901 Thomas Ave. So., Mpls. Sten, John Red Wing Stennes, E. J. R. 6, Montevideo Steckel, Rev. L. W. Albert Lea Steene, Peter Lancaster Stephens, P. J. Estevan, Sask. Steenerson Van Hook, N. D. Stender, Mrs. Chas. Dent Stenlyem, Peter O. Esmond, N. D. Stevins, W. C. South Haven Stevens, S. Geo. Fond du Lac Stepanek, Fred Ogilvie Stepanek, Mrs. Joe Ogilvie Stevens, Mrs. J. W. 458 Holly Ave., St. Paul Stevenson, Miss Isabel Delhi Steele, W. R. Big Fork Stockwell, S. A. 304 Andrus Bldg., Mpls. Stork, W. E., 363 S. Cleveland Ave., St. Paul Street, H. G. Hebron, Ill. Strader, W. M. R. 6, Mankato Stowe, J. M. Hibbing Stryker, Mrs. J. E. Pioneer Press Bldg., St. Paul Stoa, Martin Albert Lea Stromsedt, O. N. Willmar Strand, A. K. Twin Valley Stryker, John D. Woodland Ave., Hunters Park, Duluth Stillwell, John A. Arago Stocker, Ben Sanborn Stull, L. B. Mazeppa Strate, E. B. 658 Plum St., St. Paul Storeim, Albert S. Ortonville Stone, A. L. Benson Stubbs, Milton Long Lake Strable, Karl 3038 Blaisdell Ave., Mpls. Stickney, L. A. Minnesota City Stranden, Ole G. Swift Stob, C. T. R. 2, Svea Stone, W. M. 16 So. 3rd St., Mpls. Stoleson, Theo. R. 1, Viroqua, Wis. Stromnar, J. A. Rollag Stob, G. Raymond Strachaners, Clarence 412 Syndicate Bldg., Mpls. Strissel, H. E. Fergus Falls Stowe, A. W. Laurel, Mont. Strauss, Mrs. Minnie 624 Ohio St., St. Paul Strong, Mrs. Saml. Hopkins Stromstad, Torval M. Shelly Strathern, John Rich Valley Stewart, Mrs. Nina Northfield Strey, A. C. Montrose Stocking, Wm. St. Peter Stockton, Mrs. C. M. Faribault Stromme, C. K. Hannaford, N. D. Strong, J. P. Excelsior Stone, E. E. Downing, Wis. Strandli, Erick Big Falls Stryker, John E. 816 Globe Bldg., St. Paul Sundberg, Chas. A. Worthington Sucker, Adolph Lewisville Sundheim, A. M. 3205 Park Ave., Mpls. Sundt, Ole M. Willmar Summerfield, Isaac 921 Goodrich Ave., St. Paul Summers, Mrs. L. Box 23-B, R. 1, Mansfield, Wash. Sullwold, H. A. 1773 Summit Ave., St. Paul Sullivan, John 361 Iglehart, St. Paul Svaboda, Frank Canby Svaboda, J. Browerville Swanson, Albert R. 1, St. Croix Falls, Wis. Swann, J. R. Madison Swanson, Chas. R. 2, No. St. Paul Swedberg, J. E. R. 2, Battle Lake Swanson, C. W. Box 29, R. 1, Lafayette Swanson, Alfred 584 Boxrud Ave., Red Wing Swan, Mrs. T. P. Mendota Swanson, Henry A. Cushing, Wis. Swanson, A. P. Box 268 Stevensville, Mont. Swedberg, P. W. Moose Lake Sweet, W. H. 1731 Chicago Ave., Mpls. Swensson, John Box 57, R. 2, Maynard Swart, J. W. 4051 Linden Hills Blvd., Mpls. Swenson, Gunder R. 3, New London Swenson, H. E. R. 1, Center City Swedberg, J. I. Madison Syrdal, R. R. Shelly St. John, A. M. Lakefield St. John, P. R. 3121 Humboldt So., Mpls. St. Clair, H. Estevan, Sask. Swanson, John W. Stephen Swanson, Wm. Dent Swedenberg, M. F. Lyndale Sta., Mpls. Swenson, Ed Spring Valley Swanson, Mrs. J. M. R. 1, Eagle Bend Swanson, F. M. Crete, N. D. Swedberg, Martin Tappan, N. D. Swenson, Emil Lafayette Swanson, Chas. S. W. Litchfield Swain, F. O. Lincoln Swanson, Mrs. Marie E. R. 1, St. Croix Falls, Wis. Swan, Frank Woodlake Sweet, Orla Alexandria Taylor, M. F. Anoka Talcott, Mrs. A. L. Westbrook Taylor, John W. 206 Globe Bldg., St. Paul Tallant, F. E. 711 Plymouth Bldg., Mpls. Tallafson, H. S. R. 5, Willmar Taylor, Thos. W. Eagle Bend Taylor, J. G. 932 Nicollet Ave., Mpls. Tavener, Mark Esmond, N.D. Taylor, J. B. Ipswich, S.D. Tavis, Fred Albert Lea Tappe, Chas. Box 6, R. 1, Sebeka Taylor, G. F. Excelsior Tauscheck, Jos. 966 Allen Ave., W. St. Paul Tanner, F. O. Brownsdale Tappan, W. M. Hibbing Taylor, Rev. Wm. Litchfield Taner, Geo. M. New Ulm Taylor, E. E. Merrifield Talland, G. M. 534 Woodland Ave., Duluth Taylor, Mrs. E. A. Box 26, Faribault Taylor, Wm. Faribault Terry, L. W. Howard Lake Teisberg, O. T. Zumbrota Tewes, Fred Mazeppa Teeple, David P. R. No. 3, Wells Tereau, Mrs. F. 430 Iglehart Ave., St. Paul Templeton, A. E. 602 Oneida Bldg., Mpls. Tenter, Henry Dent Tenter, Wm. Dent Temple, Lyle Morristown Tellin, Mattie Deer River Thompson, F. S. 234 Sec. Bldg., Mpls. Theilmann, Geo. Excelsior Thunstedt, John Willmar Thiebaut, Rev. C. Browns Valley Thompson, Torkel Louisburg Thorp, Col. Freeman Hubert Thomas, Chas. J. Frazee Thompson, Dr. C. S. W. 137-1/2 Main St., Helena, Mont. Throolin, P. J. 4018 Van Buren St., NE, Mpls. Thomas, E. L. Vergas Thornton, M. J. Deer River Thorpe, Ralph 2837 Central NE., Mpls. Thornton, F. C. Benson Thornton, M. P. Worthington Thompson, Robt. R. No. 5, Willmar Thompson, Fred. M Bricelyn Thompson, W. J. Pitt Thompson, R. C. Oneida Blk., Mpls. Thor, Herman Mound Thompson, M. J. Supt. Exp. Farm, Duluth Thompson, Harold Care of Lake Shore Greenhouses, Albert Lea Theilen, Chas. G. 3327 Morgan Ave. N., Mpls. Thompson, O. A. Murdock Thielman, P. R. St. Cloud Tharen, J. A. Hills Thener, John M. Adrian Thierschaefer, Jos. R. 6, Sauk Center Thomson, C. Jean 416 N. 18th Ave. E., Duluth Thompson, Thorwold Oslo Thomson, M. A. 426 Kennilworth Ave., Duluth Thompson, L. C. Ruthton Thomson, W. J. Shaunavon, Sask. Thorn, Geo. R. 2, Prescott, Wis. Tingley, W. J. Forest Lake Tillotson, Mrs. H. B. 1320 5th St. SE, Mpls. Tillisch, J. F. F. Renville Titus, S. L. 140 Endicott Arcade, St. Paul Tillisch, Mary A. Washburn Home, Mpls. Tiedt, Mrs. Fred Argyle Tilden, Miss M. B. Sta. F, Mpls. Tisdale, Mrs. G. E. 3144 Irving S., Mpls. Timmerman, Mrs. Wm. 381 E. Cook St., St. Paul Tjosvold, L. A. Willmar Torgerson, H. P. Astoria, S.D. Tomalin, W. H. Bx. 304, Regina, Sask. Totusek, Frank J. Silver Lake Towler, Robt. S. R. 1, Exceisior Torfin, Iver Wannaska Tollefson, Hogen R. No. 2, Clearbrook Tomlinson, W. H. LeSueur Tolberg, O. Edwin Winner Todd, J. E. Dept. of Prov. Secy., Toronto, Ont. Todji, Rev. Jos. Searles Tomlin, G. C. Edgeley, N.D. Tome, G. H. Pine Island Townsend, Mrs. Eddie Pine Island Tormanen, Peter R. 4, Cokato Torgrim, J. R. 621 W. 3rd Ave., Mitchell, S.D. Todd, J. A. 212 Victoria St., Duluth Tostenson, E. Jackson Torguson, G. C. Gleenwood Trumble, H. W. Sherburn Trabert, Chas. L., Secy. 2736 Elmwood Ave., Berkeley, Sal. Tripps, O. A. R. No. 3, St. Cloud Train, G. L. Chisholm Trafton, Gilbert H. Mankato Trask, Ebert Saum Trethewey, J. H. Virginia Trybe, Thos. Eagle Bend Trautz, Geo. 2108 Carroll Ave., St. Paul Trotler, A. 227 Spruce St., Virginia Tschieda, Matt St. Cloud Turner, H. H. Northfield Tuskind, C. O. Davenport, N.D. Turner, John Shakopee Tufte, Theo. T. Northwood, N.D. Tucker, Joe Austin Tull, W. H. Padus, Wis. Tyacke, Geo. Proctor Unze, Geo. Shakopee Unumb, P. O. Alexandria Ueland, M. K. Shelly Univ. of Wash. Seattle, Wash. Uptagraft, LeRoy West Concord Unkenholz, S. W. Mandan, N.D. Utsch, Herman Little Falls Univ. of Mo. Genl. Lib. Columbia, Mo. Unumb, E. O. Alexandria Umbstaetter, Mrs. Shields, Pa. Ulschmit, John Frazee Uelander, T. L. Crystal Bay Univ. of Ill. Library Chicago, Ill. Vangen, Peter O. Box 9, R. 1, Climax Vande Bogart, W. S. Zumbrota Van Vick, John Spiritwood, N.D. Vandermarck, Mrs. C. W. 818 Albert St., Crookston Vanstrum, John A. Clarkfield Vance, F. L. Popple Vander Veer, Geo. H. Center City Van Duzee, E. M. White Bear Lake Vanbeck, Henry 1843 Quincy St. NE., Mpls. Van Loon, John R. 2, La Crosse, Wis. Varden, Archie Care of Frank Bovey, Wayzata Van Doom, J. C. 836 Sec. Bldg., Mpls. Van Stone, I. M. 3322 Park Ave., Mpls. Vacinek, Vaclav R. 1, Pine City Veit, Fred Fergus Falls Verplank, E. E. R. 1, New Richland Velie, Chas. D. 225 Clifton Ave., Mpls. Vestre, Lars Boyd Velde, G. T. Granite Falls Vine, W. W. R. 1. Elgin Vinquist, Alfred B. Box 74, R. 3, Red Wing Vibert, F. D. The Pine Knot, Cloquet Viall, Roy Spring Valley Vierling, Ed. J. Shakopee Vine, P. O. Porter Va. & Rainy Lake Co. Virginia Viel, Raymond St. Laurent, Man. Vierling, M. A. 824 Hall Ave., St. Paul Vikse, Ole Ostrander Vibert, Percy Cloquet Vincent, G. E. Univ. of Minn., Mpls. Vincent, V. D. Commercial Club, Duluth Vikla, John P. Lonsdale Vikla, Wencel J. Lonsdale Vikla, Martin J. Lonsdale Vikla, Mathias R. Lonsdale Villaume, Eugene 123 W. Isabel, St. Paul Volkmer, Henry Holdingford Vollenweider, Henry La Crescent Vogt, C. F. St. Paul Von Herff, B. 1901 McCormick Bldg., Chicago, Ill. Voyler, Henry Vergas Vodden, John Argusville, N.D. Vorlicky, Jos. Thief River Palls, Wis. Vosejpka, John M. Lonsdale Voehl, H. W. Lakefield Vraspir, Frank R. 2, Hopkins Wade, R. H. Odin Wachlin, Wm. Faribault Wakefield, W., M. D. Lake Benton Wagner, Ed. R. 649 Charles St., St. Paul Waas, P. H. Dresbach Waite, Geo. Moorhead Wach, V. N. Lake Crystal Lake, Ill. Waite, Jas. F. Eureka Wagner, C. D. W. Winona St., Duluth Wang, Albert 926 Garfield Ave., Duluth Wands, Robt. W. Little Falls Walgren, Swan J. 3048 10th Ave. S., Mpls. Walden, J. M. Northfield Wallner, Berthold Jr. 200 Dodd Rd., St. Paul Waldholm, Mrs. Geo. Tintah Wallace, H. L. Grasston Walsh, W. P. Murdock Walz, Fred F. Egeland, N.D. Walters, J. J. Dupree, S.D. Walz, Theo. Watkins Walkup, J. E. 2416 Sheridan So., Mpls. Walton, Louis 351 Snively Rd., Duluth Waldal, Marius Plummer Waller, L. S. Waubun Wallin, O. Red Top Walters, Wm. Grand Portage Walker, Roy Sauk Rapids Wallace, John G. Solway Watt, John Leonard, N.D. Wampler, A. J. 134 E. 4th St., St. Paul Washburn, W. O. 63 So. Robert St., St. Paul Wattner, A. A. Canby Washburn, Prof. F. L. St. Anthony Park Wanous, Frank R. Glencoe Warren, Mrs. Geo. H. 3443 Irving S., Mpls. Wanlass, Jos. Jr. Bangor, Wis. Warner, Frank Snow Ball Watts, Arthur 2833 17th Ave. S., Mpls. Watt, Wm. Swift Warner, A. L. Duluth Washburn, C. O. Edgeley, N.D. Warren, A. A. R. 3, St. Cloud Warner, C. E. R. 1, Osseo Warner, Mrs. C. E. Box 85, R. 1, Osseo Wayne, Jens R. 4, Ellendale Wandrie, Otto Frazee Watson, Jas. T. 40th Ave. E. and Gilbert St., Duluth Warnock, R. W. Independence, Mo. Watson, Dwight H. Box 212, White Bear Lake Warner, Mrs. E. C. 3030 W. Calhoun Blvd., Mpls. Warren, Mrs. Clyde W. Sauk Rapids Warwick, Andrew 2525 13th Ave. S., Mpls. Watson, Mrs. J. L. 1173 Ashland Ave., St. Paul Wardian, Math. Holdingford Ward, Wesley Mapleton Wasserzieher, Edward Deerwood Watzke, Chas. Belgrade Ware, Mrs. Elizabeth 2885-1/2 Knox Ave., Mpls. Watson, Geo. P. International Falls Weld, J. O. 1601 Fremont N., Mpls. Welke, Sam Fall Creek, Wis. Wedge, Robt. C. Albert Lea Weld, Mrs. H. E. Moorhead Weinhagen, Chas. 361 Bates Ave., St. Paul Webster, J. K. St. James Wedge, A.G. Jr. Bemidji Wedge, L. P. Albert Lea Wenz, Chas. Hector Weflen, Chris Montevideo Weed, Ben B. Care of Weed, Parker & Co., St. Paul Wegmann, Theo. Lake Itasca Wendt, Chas. H. Blue Earth Webber, Mrs. C. C. Crystal Bay Webster, A. E. Dresbach Wellman, C. W. Dauphin, Man. Welke, Fritz R. 1, Eau Claire, Wis. Wentworth, R. J. R. 3, Robbinsdale Weber, J. A. Care of C. G. Goodrich, Excelsior Welp, Rev. Francis Alexandria Webber, C. C. Crystal Bay Weikert, Henry I. St. Paul Wenholz, Henry Buffalo Lake Wendelschafer, T. G. Cleveland Wenz, Ludwig B. Hector Weiler, Nick 871 Univ. Ave., St. Paul Westergaard, C. Buffalo, N.D. Westergaard, P. J. Belgrade Weyerhaeuser, F. E. 1413 Mer. Natl. Bank Bldg., St. Paul Westfield, Kasper Canby West Central School of Agri. Morris Wetzel, Aug. R. 1, St. Ignatius, Mont. Weyerhauser, C. A. Little Falls Wetherbee, M. H. Charles City, Ia. West, J. P. Rockford West, W. J. Hibbing West, Wm. L. 43 S. St. Albans St., St. Paul Werner, H. O. Agri. College, N.D. Wetzel, Mrs. Paul K. Deerwood Westcott, Geo. E. 1173 S. Robert St., St. Paul Westerfield, E. O. Fort Atkinson, Wis. Weum, C. O. Lincoln Wesiphall, C. D. R. 2, Romely Weston, Frank Clitheral Weum, Mrs. T. A. Kenyon Wessels, Percy Neche, N.D. Wetteland, T. Sunfish Rd. and Butler St., W. St. Paul Wermerskirchen, Rev. Father A. Hokah Wheeler, Miss Gerda Bruno Whetstone, Dr. Mary S. 738 E. 16th St., Mpls. Wheeler, Olin D.N.P.R.R. Office, St. Paul Wheeler, Jesse Excelsior Wein, Rev. H. J. Caledonia Week, F. D. Slayton Wenzel, Orrin J. 1718 Taylor Ave., St. Paul Whiting, Geo. H. Yankton, S.D. Whitney, Geo. G. 420 Germania Life, St. Paul White, Mrs. Emma V. 3010 S. Aldrich, Mpls. Whiting, D. J. Northfield Whyte, A. 662 Central Ave., St. Paul White, J. U. Brainerd Whitten, Thos. S. Winton Whipple, G. M. St. Louis Park White, H. H. Minnesota Transfer, Mpls. Whitney, Frank H. Truman Whittemore, Dr. M. K. Cloquet Whitney, N. J. Albert Lea Whiting, Mrs. Geo. H. Yankton, S.D. Whitchill, N. 1208 E. 26th St., Mpls. Whitney, E. H. Granada White, Mrs. Wm. G. 767 Goodrich Ave., St. Paul White, Mrs. Grace 347 W. Wabasha, Duluth Whorton, R. D. Huron, S. D. White, Henry R. Brainerd Whipple, Mrs. Estelle Grand Rapids Wickland, John Atwater Wiegel, H. A. Magnolia Widmoyer, W. S. La Crescent Wichman, Frank First Natl. Bank Bldg., St. Paul Wick, Oscar East Grand Forks Wickstrom, A. E. R. 1, Anoka Width, A. B. 2018 W. Superior St., Duluth Wicklund, Lawrence R. 6, Atwater Wiggins, Earl L. Baudette Wiffler, Fred Arcadia, Wis. Wier, John Campbell Wiggin, G. H. Cloquet Wieschmann, Albert Bertha Wilen, Chas. R. 3, Argyle Wilson, Oscar Underwood Willis, Rev. Francis Excelsior Wilbur, D. Floyd, Ia. Wille, F. W. 1046 Wakefield Ave., St. Paul Williams, M. Staples Will, O. H. Bismarck, N. D. Wilder, C. B. Floodwood Wilder, Mark L. R. 1, Kasota Wilwerding, Nick Box 25, R. 5, St. Cloud Willius, F 469 Laurel Ave., St. Paul Willard, D. E N. P. R. R., St. Paul Will, Wm. Beltrami Wilson, J. F. Cloquet Willard, E. C. Mankato Williams, Niles L. Dayton Bluff Sta., St. Paul Wildung, W. H. Howard Lake Will, Hugh Box 29, Mpls. Wilkelmi, F. W. Cloquet Willis, Robt. Marietta Willus, Chas. H. 4140 32nd Ave. S., Mpls. Wilson, John Rockford Wilcox, Mrs. Estelle 1122 Raymond, St. Paul Wild Floral Co., Frank Sarcoxie, Mo. Wilwerding, A. J. Freeport Williams, J. R. Elgin Willis, W. J. Y. M. C. A., Washington, D. C. Wilson, F. K. R. 1, Hopkins Wilson, Donald Mantorville Williams, Rev. E. M Northfield Wirth, Theo. 3956 Bryant So., Mpls. Witte, H. L. F. R. 3, Hopkins Wise, H. Appleton Wingate, Mrs. W. S. Excelsior Winkley, F. C. Minn. Loan & Trust, Mpls. Wintersteen, C. B. 3949 11th Ave. So., Mpls. Wise, H. R. Brainerd Winget & Keeler Chokio Winslow, H. H. Northome Winjum, G. K. Albert Lea Winter, E. F. Fergus Falls Winkler, Mrs. Mary Brooten Wister, John C Germantown, Phila., Pa. Windmiller, Miss Pauline Mankato Windhorst, Geo. W. Olivia Wolner, Rev. H. J. Virginia Wolfram, A. C. Belle Plain Wolner, Dr. O. H. Gilbert Wodny, Jas. 339 4th St., Cloquet Wolters, John 182 W. Bernard St., W. St. Paul Wolfinger, Jos. So. St. Paul Woestehoff, J. C. Blakeley Wolf, Chas. Cohasset Wilson, H. M. 1116 Harrison St., Superior, Wis. Willis, F. D. 75 E. Sycamore St., St. Paul Wilcox, J. P. R. 2, Excelsior Willis, R. J. 956 Grand Ave., St. Paul Wilkus, A. J. 909 Winslow Ave., W. St. Paul Williams, L. A. Pelican Rapids Wille, Otto L. 110 Bates Ave. St. Paul Wilson, E. B. 1815 Emerson No., Mpls. Williams, E. E. 1709. W. 2nd St., Duluth Williams, Dr. J. P. 3722 E. Lake St., Mpls. Wilkinson, F. L. White Bear Wilkinson, Mrs. R. J. Stillwater Wilhalm, Henry Jackson Wilwerding, J. M. Caledonia Wilson, John Homer Wilson, Mrs. Mary C. R. 1, Sta. F., Mpls. Woodruff, C. O. Excelsior Woodel, C. F. Austin Woodworth, W. D. Little Falls Wortman, H. J. Watkins Woods, Prof. Geo. B. Northfield Works, R. M. 2908 Fremont So., Mpls. Woodward, Philip M. R. 1, Onamia Woodman, M. H. Sutherland, Neb. Worden, Mrs. Lillian 256 Farrington, St. Paul Woods, W. A. Inverness, Mont. Woodland & Roadside 4 Joy St., Boston, Mass. Woods, Roy E. New Effington, S. D. Woods, J. H. Calgary, Can. Willis, Katon Deer River Wright, A. V. Mine Center, Ont. Wright, W. H. R. 3, Minneapolis Wright, Edward 2544 Woodland Ave., Duluth Wunderlich, Miss Susie Burns, Sask. Wulfsberg, Einar Elbow Lake Wyman, Mrs. A. Phelps 5017 3rd Ave. S., Mpls Wyse, Oliver Onamia Wygart, Wm. S. Newport Yahnke, W. A. Winona Yegge, C. M. Alpena, S. D. Yale Forest School New Haven, Conn. Young, Mrs. J. Onamia Youngstrom, O. J. Litchfield Young, J. C. 1523 Wash. St. N. E., Mpls. York, R. A. Sandwich, Ill. Yort, A. S. Box 35, Hopkins Young, A. F Lake City Young, Max M. 1777 Marshall Ave., St. Paul Zuercher, F. Excelsior Zrust, Anthony Silver Lake Zachritz, Geo. P. Excelsior Ziemer, Ernest St. Bonifacius Zisch, Chas. Dresbach Zimmerman, Eli 425 W. Superior St., Duluth Zumwinkle, Wm. Morton Zimbinski, Geo. 1243 Hewitt Ave., St. Paul Life Members. Adams, Mrs. Louisa J. 1827 Irving N., Mpls. Ahneman, Geo. F. Mazeppa Alin, Alex. Fullerton, N. D. Anderson, G. A. Renville Anderson, Rev. J. W. Minot, N. D. Andrews, C. H. Faribault Arneson, A. N. Wagdahl Arnold, L. B. 24 Butte Ave., Duluth Aspden, H. H. Excelsior Andrews, John K. Faribault Anderson, Mrs. E. Lake Park, R. 2 Andresen, A. S. 2607 E. Fifth St., Duluth Aamodt, A. W. Univ. Farm, St. Paul Appleby, H. J. Minneiska Bailey, E. G. R. 1, Excelsior Care W. C. Rockwood Baker, Geo. A. Janesville Barsness, J. A. Kenyon Bassett, A. K. Baraboo, Wis. Beebe, H. U. Lake City Benham, R. H. 215 Palace Bldg., Mpls. Benson, Edwin Jackson Berrisford, E. F. 386 Robert St., St. Paul Blain, H. J. Maple Plain Boler, Jno. Care Eli Larson, Sawyer, Wis. Boughen, W. J. Valley River, Man. Bouska, Frank Biscay Brady, T. D. Medford Briard, F. W. Gaylord Briggs, A. G. G. N. Ry., St. Paul Brink, C. C. West Union, Ia. Burton, Miss Hazel Deephaven Bacheller, T. T. Seney, Mich. Binger, Herman Renville Brush, Geo. H. R. Owatonna Bergstrom, A. G. Maple Plain Boucher, C. P. 201 E. 4th St., St. Paul Black, Robt H. Albert Lea Burlingame, Florence Grand Rapids Bratnober, C. P. 1419 Harmon Pl., Mpls. Cady, Prof. LeRoy Univ. Farm, St. Paul Carlisle, S. A. Wyoming Cashman, M. R. Owatonna Cashman, T. E. Owatonna Chambers, Rev. R. F. Jackson Cheney, John Morton Chrisman, Chas. E. Ortonville Christensen, P. C. Fairmount Clarke, Fred H. Avoca Cline, Wm. Bertha Cooper, Madison Calcium, N. Y. Crosby, S. P. 222 Miss. River Blvd., St. Paul Cutting, F. E. Byron Christianson, P. A. Hinckley Conard, Henry S. Grinnell, Ia. Cutting, Frank H. City Hall, Duluth Connor, E. M. Excelsior Carlson, John A Box 963, Thief River Falls Carlson, Gust. Box 339, R. 3, Excelsior Care John Washburn Christianson, A. M. Bismarck, N. D. Danforth, Wm. Randolph, Minn. Daniels, R. L. Davey, Dr. Flora M. 375 E. Grant St., Mpls. Dickerson, Wm. Elk Point, S. D. Doerfler, Rev. Bruno Muenster, Sask. Doughty, J. Cole Lake City Dressler, Otto 428 Russell N., Mpls. Drew, Prof. J. M. Univ. Farm, St. Paul Dunsmore, Henry Olivia Durbahn, A. Sleepy Eye Daniels, Frank P. 2112 Kenwood Pkwy., Mpls. DeGraff, Miss Marie I. Anoka Dybdal, Tosten E. Elbow Lake, Minn. Eddy, W. H. Howard Lake Ekloff, John Cokato Eliason, M. A. R. 2, Appleton Engman, Nels 4510 52d St. E. Mpls. Evans, Sheldon J. La Crescent Effertz, Christ Norwood Flannery, Geo. P. 2416 Blaisdell, Mpls. Fletcher, F. F. 2816 W. 44th St., Mpls. Fossum, G. Cottonwood Foster, Wesley S. 810 6th St. S. E., Mpls. Fournelle, Peter White Bear Lake Franklin, A. B. St. F, R. 1, Mpls. Fuller, F. C. Madison, S. D. Fulton, T. C. White Bear Lake Funke, J. L. Wabasha Fredine, J. O. Winthrop Fiebring, J. H. Milwaukee, Wis. Care Fiebring Chemical Co. Ferguson, Walker 1184 Woodland Ave., Mankato Gale, Ed. C. Security Bldg., Mpls. Gates, A. H. Rice Geiger, Wm. C. 520 W. Van Buren St., Chicago, Ill. Gjemse, L. J. Cannon Falls Gjestrum, M. L. Rhinelander, Wis. Glaeser, Mrs. Imelda Owatonna Gilbertson, G. G. Ruthton Galbraith, Raymond H. Care Butler Bros., Mpls. Guerney, D. B. Yankton, S. D. Gibbs, F. H. St. Anthony Park Gibbs, Mrs. F. H. St. Anthony Park Gunderson, Lawrence A. 6131 E. Superior St., Duluth Goebel, Herman Wildrose, N. D. Gray, A. N. Deerwood Graeve, Rev. Mathias Lismore Haatvedt, A. A. R. 1, Hoffman Hagen, O. W. Sleepy Eye Halbert, Geo. T. 648 Sec. Bldg., Mpls. Hall, D. S. Olivia Halvorson, Halvor Hills Hannah, Robt. Fergus Falls Harris, Geo. W. McHugh Harris, E. E. Onlaska, Wis. Harris, F. I. La Crescent Harrison, C. S. 829 York Ave., York, Neb. Harrison, J. F. Excelsior Hart, W. H. Owatonna Hartman, M. B. 661 Plum St., St. Paul Hawkinson, Chas. Wayzata Hawley, T. C. 504 E. Elm St., Lodi, Cal. Hermanson, Herman Hopkins Herrick, U. G. 731 Traffic Station, Mpls. Hilstad, O. C. Nicollet Hobart, A. W. 1412 W. 36th St., Mpls. Hoverstad, T. A. Care Soo Ry., Mpls. Howard, J. A. Hammond Hunter, C. C. 5700 Nicollet Ave., Mpls. Hendrickson, N. Audubon Holway, E. W. D. Excelsior Hjeltnes, K. Ulvik, Hardanger, Norway Heins, C. A. Olivia Haralson, Fred 1055 24th Ave. S. E., Mpls. Irish, Prof. H. C. 1227 Childress Ave. St. Louis, Mo. Jager, John 5241 Upton Ave. S., Mpls. Jerabek, J. S. Hutchinson Jewell, Mrs. B. Randall, Wis. Johannesson, L. Beltrami Johnson, A. A. Winnebago Johnson, Gust 2620 E. 22nd St., Mpls. Johnson, Rev. Saml. Princeton Johnson, Miss Anna M. R. 1, Lafayette Johnson, Hans M. Pipestone Kennedy, J. H. Sheyenne, N. D. Kerns, G. F. Fairmont Klingel, Rev. Clement St. Anthony, Ind. Knight, H. G. LeRoy Korista, J. S. Box 172, Hopkins Krier, T. N. Farmer, S. D. Kueker, Wm. Faribault Kurth, Wm. A. R. 9, Rochester Krog, Johan, Jr. Pleasant Grove Farm, Lake Benton Kugler, F. J. Grand Portage, Minn. King, E. C. Neshkors, Wis. Knutesen, Clarence R. 1, Box 200, Hopkins Krueger, O. F. 3017 Cedar Ave., Mpls. Larson, C. L. Winthrop Larson, Louis M. St. Louis Park Larson, Lars M. Faribault Lien, Thos. J. Delavan Lingen, Carl Starbuck Loftness, A. G. Thief River Falls Longyear, E. J. Excelsior Luce, E. C. Luverne Loring, A. C. 202 Clifton Ave., Mpls. Loring, Mrs. C. M. River Side, Cal. Lowe, J. W. Fairmont Ludescher, J. L. Frazee Lund, I. E. Hopkins Lundgren, Miss E. E. 591 Olive St. St. Paul Lyman, A. B. Excelsior Lyndgaard, Jorgen Lake Benton Lyon, Jay F. Elkhorn, Wis. Leding, Edward R. 1, Box 64, Gary Lawrence, Jas. G. Wabasha Lafot, Ed. W. Lakefield Lien, Chas. H. R. 3, St. Cloud Lima, Ludvig Montevideo Macauley, T. B. Montreal, Can. Mackintosh, Prof. R. S. 2153 Doswell, St. Paul Maher, John Devils Lake, N. D. Manda, W. A. Short Hills, N. J. Mann, W. P. Dodge Center Manner, C. J. Jerome, Idaho Manning, Warren H. N. Billerica, Mass. Marshall, F. F. R. 1, Grove City Marso, J. P. Canby Mayo, Dr. C. H. Rochester Melgaard, H. L. Argyle Melinat, Rev. Max. Odessa Miller, Albert R. 7, Box 24, Cannon Falls Mohr, C. J. Rapidan Mo, Hans Sleepy Eye Moorhead, W. W. Bethany, Mo. Mosbaek, Ludvig Askov Moyer, L. R. Montevideo Mueller, Paul L. 4845 Bryant S., Mpls. Mazey, E. H. 3029 Ewing Ave., Mpls. McComb, Richard Antler, Sask. McCulley, Preston Maple Plain McKibben, A. T. Ramey McKisson, G. D. Fairmont McKusick, John C. Marble McLeague, Rev. P. Stewart McVeety, J. A. Howard Lake McClelland, L. E. R. 3, Hopkins McKesson, J. H. 5106 S. Lyndale Ave., Mpls. McCall, Prof. Thos. M. Crookston McConnell, Roy E. St. Cloud Nehring, Edward Stillwater Nelson, A. A., Jr. 3222 16th Ave. S., Mpls. Nelson, B. F. 1125 5th St. S. E., Mpls. Nelson, John A. R. 2, Maynard Noren, Geo. Chisago City Norwood, F. F. Balaton Nussbaumer, Fred St. Paul Nelson, Iver Cottonwood Newman, G. A. 410 W. Olive St., Stillwater Norling, A. L. Elbow Lake Negstad, A. L. R. 5, Arlington, S. D. O'Connor, Patrick H. 1219 5th Ave. N., Mpls. Older, C. E. Luverne Onstine, Frank A. Harmony Ortmann, Rev. Anselm Richmond Orton, C. J. Marietta O'Callaghan, J. Eden Valley Oyen, O. J. Watson Older, F. E. 1127 N. Alexandria Ave., Los Angeles, Cal. Pattridge, C. A. Comfrey Paulson, Johannes Sta. F, Richfield, Mpls. Pederson, J. S. Walnut Grove Peet, Wm. Boston Blk., Mpls. Peterson, Geo. A. Canby Peterson, J. G. Kensington Peterson, K. K. Rothsay Peterson, R. M., Office of Markets Dept. of Agri., Washington, D. C. Peterson, W. A. Mandan, N. D. Peterson, Wm. A. 3400 Peterson Ave., Chicago, Ill. Pfaender, Max Mandan, N. D. Pond, H. H. Sta. F, R. 3, Mpls. Pond, I. W. Madelia Poore, Hamlin V. 817 10th Ave. S. E., Mpls. Pracna, Frank 236 Delmas Ave., San Jose, Cal. Prosser, E. M. Gully Perry, A. G. Care Butler Bros., Mpls. Quammen, Ole S. Lemmon, S. D. Randall, E. W. 315 Commerce Bldg., St. Paul Rennacker, C. J. Detroit Regeimbal, L. O. Roberts, Dr. T. S. 2303 Pleasant Ave. S., Mpls. Rood, A. J. Spring Grove Rowe, Chas. R. 3, Excelsior Ruff, D. W. C. 732 Globe Bldg., St. Paul Rydeen, Arthur R. Marietta Rice, J. A. Renville Rolf, Rev. W. F. R. 4, Sturgis, Mich. Reil, John H. Brownton Raymond, E. A. Wayzata Robinson, S. Roe 2217 Colfax Ave. S., Mpls. Saunders, Wm. Robbinsdale Savage, M. W. International Bldg., Mpls. Savs, Rev. Mathias Delano Sayre, A. M. Hills Schaupp, Chas. F. Rushford Schenck, A. A. 1203 Farnham St., Omaha, Neb. Schell, Otto New Ulm Schuster, Ed. W. Crookston Schmidt, Dr. G. Lake City Scott, Rev. W. T. Black River Falls, Wis. Scranton, Ellsworth Montrose Sebenius, John Uno Wolvin Bldg., Duluth Shellman, A. M. Hanska Sherman, E. M. Charles City, Ia. Siverts, Peter Canby Skaar, N. O. Zumbrota Slingerland, T. S. Kasson Slocum, A. M. Excelsior Smiley, Daniel Mohonk Lake, N. Y. Smith, E. A. Lake City Snyder, Harry 1800 Summit Ave., Mpls. Snyder, S. W. Center Point, Ia. Soholt, Martin Madison Speechly, Dr. H. M. Pilot Mound, Man. Spencer, N. V. Park Rapids Stacy, F. N. 3115 S. E. 4th, Mpls. Stager, Mrs. Jennie Sauk Rapids Stensrud, Hans Watson St. John, B. E. Bruce, Wis. Strand, G. W. Taylors Falls Swanson, Aug. S. Wayzata Swanson, J. H. R. 4, St. James Swennes, Knute Minneota Skotterud, E. O. Dawson Stevenson, M. J. Morris, Man. Sanders, T. A. Care Butler Bros., Mpls. Scherf, F. A. Court House, Red Wing Swanson, Law 205 Maria Ave., St. Paul Sparre, Erik Elk River Shogren, Fred M. Popple Tanner, Wm. Cannon Falls Teigen, Geo. Dooley, Mont. Teigland, J. L. Minneota Terry, Alfred Slayton Thomas, A. A. Sleepy Eye Thompson, Mrs. Ida 1305 Hewitt Ave., St. Paul Todd, Fred G. 10 Phillips Place, Montreal, P. Q. Trefethren, F. G. Stony Butte, Mont. Treinen, J. P. Miller, Mont. Trow, A. W. Glenville True, Fred O. R. 1, Good Thunder Turngren, L. E. Montrose Tonder, Sam R. 2, Wabasha Torgerson, T. Care Prairie Nurseries, Estevan, Sask. Underwood, Mrs. Anna B. Lake City Underwood, Roy D. Lake City Van Antwerp, Edward Dent Van Nest, R. A. Windom Voight, L. H. Hastings Volstad, Hon. A. J. Granite Falls Wagner, J. F. Box 13, California, Mo. Waldron, L. R. Agri. College, N. D. Warren, Geo. H. 3443 Irving S., Mpls. Warren, W. T. Slayton Webster, Mrs. W. F. 1025 S. E. 5th St., Mpls. Wendlandt, Wm. R. 5, Owatonna Wentzel, A. E. Crookston Wentzel, Louie Crookston Wentzel, Wm. F. Crookston Weston, W. S. Faribault Wheeler, C. F. Excelsior White, J. C. Mabel Williams, J. G. 931 Endicott St., Duluth Williams, M. M. Little Falls Wison, Harold S. Box 71, Monroe, N. Y. Wise, Geo. A. Minneapolis Wright, R. A. Excelsior Webster, D. C. La Crescent Wiehe, C. F. 1520 Jackson Blvd., Chicago Wyman, Willis L. Park Rapids Woods, A. F. U. Farm, St. Paul Wellington, R. U. Farm, St. Paul Wales, C. E. 601 N. W. Natl. Bank, Mpls. Ward, F. A. 1194th Ave. S., St. Cloud Wittig, W. W. Wyoming Weiss, Freeman 1602 N. Fremont, Mpls. Warren, O. B. Hibbing Yanish, Edward Box 262, St. Paul Yost, John L. Murdock Zeimetz, Thos. H. Wabasha Zabel, E. G. La Moure, N. D. Honorary Life Members. Bowen, Mrs. Jas. 327 Beacon St., Mpls. Brackett, A. Excelsior Brand, O. F. Pomona, Cal. Bush, A. K. 1014 SE., 7th St., Mpls. Cook, Dewain Jeffers Corp, Sidney Hammond Cummins, J. R. 3045 Second Ave., Mpls. Drum, S. H. Owatonna Gibbs, Oliver Melbourne Beach, Fla. Gardner, Chas. F. Osage, Ia. Hansen, Prof. N. E. Brookings, S. D. Haralson, Chas. Excelsior Henry, Forest Dover Kellogg, Geo. J. Janesville, Minn. Kenney, S. H. Waterville Kimball, F. W. Waltham Lacey, Chas. Y. 547 W. Ocean Ave., Long Beach, Cal. Latham, A. W. 3000 Dupont S., Mpls. Long, A. G. 4304 Scott Terrace, Morningside, Mpls. Loring, Chas. M. Riverside, Cal. Moore, O. W. Spring Valley Moyer, L. R. Montevideo Patten, Chas. G. Charles City, Ia. Perkins, T. E. Red Wing Philips, A. J. West Salem, Wis. Redpath, Thos. Wayzata Reed, A. H. Glencoe Richardson, S. D. Winnebago Schutz, R. A. LeRoy Smith, C. L. 1234 E. Lincoln, Portland, Ore. Tilson, Mrs. Ida E. West Salem, Wis. Underwood, J. M. Lake City Wedge, Clarence Albert Lea Wheaton, D. T. Morris Honorary Members for 1916. Rasmussen, N. A. Oshkosh, Wis. Bisbee, John Madelia Broderick, Prof. F. W. Agri. College, Man. Dunlap, H. M. Savoy, Ill. Ferris, Earl Hampton, Ia. Waldron, Prof. C. B. Agri. College, N. D. Street, H. G. Hebron, Ill. Lundberg, Gottfred Kennedy INDEX A Aamodt, A. W., Standardizing Minnesota Potatoes; 189 Albertson, Mrs., Civic Improvement; 435 Alway, Prof. F. J., Increasing the Fertility of the Land; 250 Anderson, G. A., A Satisfactory Marketing System; 242 Andrews, J. P., The Minnesota Orchard; 367 Annual Members, 1916; 512 Annual Meeting, 1915, A. W. Latham; 3 Arrowood, Jas., Supt., Annual Report, 1915, Nevis Trial Station; 77 Arrowood, Jas., Mid. Rep., Nevis Trial Station; 286 Asparagus by the Acre, E. W. Record; 164 Asparagus, Growing, a discussion; 390 Award of Premiums, Annual Meeting, 1915; 9 Award of Premiums, Summer Meeting, 1916; 274 B Ballou, F. H., Wealthy Apples; 461 Beans and Sweet Corn, Growing, Pierre B. Marien; 172 Bee-Keepers Column, Prof. Francis Jager; 86, 134, 179, 232, 262, 296, 327, 437 Bees, Wintering of, Prof. Francis Jager; 19 Benjamin, J. F., Biography of; 473 Bisbee, John, Annual Report, 1915, Vice-Pres. 2nd Cong. Dist.; 165 Black, G. D., Heredity in Gladioli; 433 Blueberry Culture, U. S. Department of Agriculture; 423 Boyington, Mrs. R. P., My Color Scheme; 387 Brand, A. M., Peonies Old and New; 401 Bread Cast upon the Waters, C. S. Harrison; 356 Brierley, Prof. W. G., Manufacture of Cider Vinegar from Minnesota Apples; 313 Brown, Frank, Annual Report, 1915, Paynesville Trial Station; 196 Brown, Frank, Midsummer Report, 1916, Paynesville Trial Station; 288 Brown Rot, Spraying Plums for, Prof. E. C. Stakman; 148 Buffalo Tree Hopper, Ravages of, Prof. A. G. Ruggles; 98 C Cady, Prof. LeRoy, Annual Report, 1915, Central Trial Station; 158 Camping on the Yellowstone Trail, Clarence Wedge; 361 Canning, The Growing of Vegetables for, M. H. Hegerle; 203 Cashman, Thos. E., Mid. Rep., Owatonna Trial Station; 287 Cashman, Thos. E., President's Greeting; 1 Central Trial Station, Annual Report, 1915, Profs. LeRoy Cady and R. Wellington; 158 Cheney, Prof. E. C., City "Foresters" and Municipal Forests; 372 Cider, Apple, Concentrated, Department of Agriculture; 155 City "Foresters" and Municipal Forests, Prof. E. G. Cheney; 372 Color Effects in the Garden, Planting for, Mrs. H. B. Tillotson; 427 Color Combinations in the Garden, Miss Elizabeth Starr; 449 Collegeville Trial Station, Mid. Rep., Rev. Jno. B. Katzner; 277 Collegeville Trial Station, Annual Report, 1915, Rev. J. B. Katzner; 14 Cold Storage for Apples, A Successful, H. F. Hansen; 243 Color Scheme, My, Mrs. R. P. Boyington; 387 Cook, Dewain, Plums We Already Have and Plums on the Way; 142 Cook, Dewain, Jeffers Trial Station, Annual Report, 1915; 198 Cook, Dewain, Mid. Report, Jeffers Trial Station; 280 Cowles, Fred, Supt., Annual Report, West Concord Trial Station; 64 Cowles, Fred, Mid. Report, West Concord Trial Station; 290 Cranefield, F., Secretary, Wisconsin State Horticultural Society; 236 Crosby, S. P. Report of Committee on Horticultural Building; 110 Cross, Mrs. E., In Memoriam; 177 Curculio, The Plum, Ed. A. Nelson; 245 Currants as a Market Garden Product, B. Wollner, Jr.; 22 Cutting, Frank H., Annual Report, 1915, Vice-Pres., 8th Cong. Dist.; 195 D Dixon, J. K., Vice-Pres., Report, 1915, 4th Cong. Dist.; 100 Duluth Trial Station, Annual Report, C. E. Roe, Supt.; 66 Dunlap, H. M., Packing and Marketing Apples; 333 Dunlap, Hon. H. M., Spraying the Orchard; 213 Dunlap, Hon. H. M., Spraying the Orchard, continued; 119 Dwarf Apple Trees, Dr. O. M. Huestis; 137 E Eat Minnesota Apples, Prof. R. S. Mackintosh; 132 Entomological Notes, Prof. F. L. Washburn; 135, 230, 261 Erkel, F. C., Raspberries; 413 Everbearing Strawberries, Geo. J. Kellogg; 125 Evergreens for Both Utility and Ornament, Earl Ferris; 29 Evergreens, Jens A. Jensen; 353 Executive Board, Annual Report, 1915, J. M. Underwood; 32 F Farm, The Value of Horticulture to the, Mrs. Clarence Wedge; 217 Ferris, Earl, Evergreens for Both Utility and Ornament; 29 Fertility of the Land, Increasing the, Prof. F. J. Alway; 250 Flower Garden for a Country Home, M. H. Wetherbee; 470 Flower Garden--a discussion, G. C. Hawkins; 417 Fruit-Breeding Farm, Report of Committee on State, Dr. O. M. Huestis and F. H. Gibbs; 24 Fruit-Breeding Farm, New Fruits Originated at Minnesota, Chas. Haralson, Supt.; 79 Fruit-Breeding Farm, Minnesota State, Chas. Haralson; 445 Fruit Judging Contest; 13 Fruit Growing a Successful Industry in Minnesota, A. W. Richardson; 103 Fruit Retail Methods and Costs, C. W. Moomaw; 411 Frydholm, Martin, Rose Culture; 162 G Garden, My Summer in a, Mrs. Gertrude Ellis Skinner; 317 Garden Helps, Mrs. E. W. Gould; 46, 85, 133, 178, 229, 260, 295, 326, 359, 400, 438, 479 Gardner, Chas. F., The Fall-Bearing Strawberries; 429 Gardner, Chas. F., What Frisky is Telling the Veteran Horticulturist; 350 Gibbs, F. H., Greenhouse versus Hotbeds; 467 Gibbs, F. H., Report of Committee on State Fruit-Breeding Farm; 24 Gladioli, Heredity in, G. D. Black; 433 Gould, Mrs. E. W., Garden Helps; 46, 85, 133, 178, 229, 260, 295, 326, 359, 400, 438, 479 Grape Culture, My Experience in, Jos. Tucker; 388 Gray, A. N., Marketing Fruit by Association; 27 H Hansen, Prof. N. E., What is Hardiness?; 185 Hansen, Prof. N. E., Newer Fruits in 1915, How Secured; 307 Hansen, H. F., A Successful Cold Storage for Apples; 243 Haralson, Chas., Supt., New Fruits Originated at Minnesota Fruit-Breeding Farm; 79 Haralson, Chas., Delegate, Annual Meeting, 1915, Wis. Hort. Society; 84 Haralson, Chas., Minnesota State Fruit-Breeding Farm; 445 Harris, F. I., Vice-President Report, 1915, 1st Cong. District; 114 Harris, Mrs. Melissa J., In Memoriam; 131 Harrison, C. S., Bread Cast Upon the Waters; 356 Harrison, C. S., Horticulturist as King; 303 Harrison, H. W., The Salome Apple; 374 Hawkins, G. C., Flower Garden--a discussion; 417 Hardiness, What is? Prof. N. E. Hansen; 185 Hegerle, M. H., Annual Report, 1915, Vice-Pres., 10th Cong. Dist.; 67 Hegerle, M. H., The Growing of Vegetables for Canning; 203 Horticultural Building, Report of Committee on, S. P. Crosby; 110 Horticulturist as King, C. S. Harrison; 303 How May State University and the Horticultural Society Best Co-Operate, Geo. E. Vincent; 375 Huestis, Dr. O. M., Dwarf Apple Trees; 137 Huestis, Dr. O. M., Report of Committee on State Fruit-Breeding Farm; 24 I Improvement, Civic, Mrs. Albertson; 435 In Memoriam, Mrs. E. Cross; 177 In Memoriam, Mrs. Melissa J. Harris; 131 Insects, Truck Crop and Garden, Prof. Wm. Moore; 455 J Jager, Prof. Francis, Bee-Keeper's Column; 86, 134, 179, 232, 262, 296, 327, 437 Jager, Prof. Francis, Wintering of Bees; 19 Jeffers Trial Station, Annual Report, 1915, Dewain Cook; 198 Jeffers Trial Station, Mid. Report, Dewain Cook; 280 Jensen, Jens A., Evergreens; 353 Johnson, Gust, Thirty Years in Raspberries; 69 Journal, Annual Meeting, 1915; 481 K Katzner, Rev. Jno. B., Mid. Report, Collegeville Trial Station; 277 Katzner, Rev. J. B., Annual Report, 1915, Collegeville Trial Station; 14 Keene, P. L., Marketing Fruit at Mankato; 343 Kellogg, Geo. J., Everbearing Strawberries; 125 Kellogg, Geo. J., Experiment Work of Chas. G. Patten; 276 Kellogg, Geo. J., June Bearing Strawberries; 53 Kimball, Miss Grace E., Planting and Care of Hardy Perennials; 471 Kimball, Miss Grace E., Hardy Perennials; 425 L La Crescent Trial Station, D. C. Webster; 281 Latham, A. W., Annual Meeting, 1915; 3 Latham, A. W., Letters to Members from Secretary; 49 Latham, A. W., Secretary's Annual Report, 1915; 222 Latham, A. W., Secretary's Financial Report, 1915; 226 Latham, A. W., Secretary's Corner; 47, 87, 136, 182, 263, 357, 439, 480 Latham, A. W., Summer Meeting, 1916; 266 Letter to Members from Secretary A. W. Latham; 49 Library, The Society; 294 Lice, Plant, on Blossoms; 65 Library, Additions to, 1916; 509 Library, Conditions about Taking Books from; 511 Life Members; 535 M Mackintosh, Prof. R. S., Bringing the Producer and Consumer Together; 321 Mackintosh, Prof. R. S., Eat Minnesota Apples; 132 Mackintosh, Prof. R. S., Orchard Notes; 180, 321, 360 Madison Trial Station, Annual Report, 1915, M. Soholt; 171 Mandan, N. D., Trial Station, Annual Report, 1915, W. A. Peterson, Supt.; 102 Mandan, N. D., Trial Station, W. A. Peterson; 282 Marcovitch, S., Strawberry Weevil; 220 Marketing Fruit Direct, H. G. Street; 238 Marketing Fruit by Association, A. N. Gray; 27 Marketing Fruit at Mankato, P. L. Keene; 343 Marketing System, A Satisfactory, G. A. Anderson; 242 Marien, Pierre B., Growing Beans and Sweet Corn; 172 Mayman, E. W., Annual Report, 1915, Vice-Pres., 6th Cong. Dist.; 168 Mid-Summer Reports, Trial Stations; 277 Michael, Rev. Geo., Growing Tomatoes in Northern Minnesota; 99 Minnesota Orchard, The, J. P. Andrews; 367 Montevideo Trial Station, Mid. Report, L. R. Moyer; 283 Montevideo Trial Station, Annual Report, 1915, L. R. Moyer; 201 Moomaw, C. W., Fruit Retail Methods and Costs; 411 Moore, Prof. Wm., Truck Crop and Garden Insects; 455 Moore, O. W., Top-Working; 352 Mosbaek, Ludvig, Rhubarb Plant; 465 Moyer, L. R., Annual Report, 1915, Montevideo Trial Station; 201 Moyer, L. R., Mid. Report, Montevideo Trial Station; 283 My Neighbor's Roses; 265 N Nelson, Ed. A., The Plum Curculio; 245 Nevis Trial Station, Annual Report, 1915, Jas. Arrowood, Supt.; 77 Nevis Trial Station, Mid. Report, Jas. Arrowood; 286 Newer Fruits in 1915, How Secured, Prof. N. E. Hansen; 207 N. E. Demonstration Farm, W. J. Thompson, Supt.; 63 N. E. Iowa Horticultural Society, Annual Meeting, 1915, C. E. Snyder; 34 Notes on Plant Pests, A. G. Ruggles and E. C. Stakman; 121, 231 O Orchard Crop of 1915, My, Harold Simmons; 89 Orchard, My Experience with a Young, Roy Vial; 42 Orchard Notes, Prof. R. S. Mackintosh; 180, 328, 360 Orcharding in Minnesota, a discussion, Prof. Richard Wellington; 291 Orcharding in Minnesota, Prof. Richard Wellington; 36 Owatonna Trial Station, Thos. E. Cashman; 287 P Pabody, Ezra F., In Memoriam; 354 Packing and Marketing Apples, H. M. Dunlap; 333 Paynesville Trial Station, Annual Report, 1915, Frank Brown; 196 Paynesville Trial Station, Mid. Rep., Frank Brown; 288 Pendergast, Miss Nellie B., Support for Overloaded Fruit Tree; 349 Pergola, Its Use and Misuse, Chas. H. Ramsdell; 329 Perennials, Hardy, Miss Grace E. Kimball; 425 Peterson, P. H., Vice-Pres. Rep., 1915, 7th Cong. Dist.; 117 Peterson, W. A., Mid. Rep., Mandan, N. D., Trial Station; 282 Peterson, W. A., Supt., An. Rep., 1915, Mandan, N. D., Trial Station; 102 Pfaender, Wm., Jr., An. Meeting, 1915, S. D. State Hort. Socy.; 95 Pfeiffer, C. A., Surprise Plum a Success; 58 Philips, A. J., Top-Grafting; 207 Plant Chimera; 464 Plums We Already Have and Plums on the Way, Dewain Cook; 142 Potatoes, Standardizing Minnesota, A. A. Aamodt; 189 Premium List, Summer Meeting, 1916; 227 President's Greeting, Thos. E. Cashman; 1 Program, Annual Meeting, 1916; 475 Protect the Garden against Winter Weather; 389 Purdham, C. W., Tomatoes for the Kitchen Garden; 113 Patten, Chas. G., Experiment Work of, Geo. J. Kellogg; 276 Peonies, Old and New, A. M. Brand; 401 Perennial Garden at Carmarken, White Bear, J. W. Taylor; 441 Perennials, Planting and Care of Hardy, Miss Grace E. Kimball; 471 Premium List, Summer Meeting, 1916; 258 Producer and Consumer Together, Bringing the, Prof. R. S. Mackintosh; 321 R Ramsdell, Chas. H., Pergola, Its Use and Misuse; 329 Ramsdell, Chas. H., An. Rep., 1915, Vice-Pres., 5th Cong. Dist.; 166 Raspberries, F. C. Erkel; 413 Raspberries, Thirty Years in, Gust Johnson; 69 Record, E. W., Asparagus by the Acre; 164 Records of Executive Board, 1916; 506 Rhubarb Plant, Ludvig Mosbaek; 465 Richardson, A. W., Fruit Growing a Successful Industry in Minn.; 103 Roe, C. E., Supt., Annual Report, Duluth Trial Station; 66 Rose Culture, Martin Frydholm; 162 Ruggles, Prof. A. G., Notes on Plant Pests; 181, 231 Ruggles, Prof. A. G., Ravages of Buffalo Tree Hopper; 98 Running Out of Varieties, The, Prof. C. B. Waldron; 394 S Salome Apple, The, H. W. Harrison; 374 Sauk Rapids Trial Station, Annual Report, 1915, Mrs. Jennie Stager; 96 Sauk Rapids Trial Station, Mid. Rep., Mrs. Jennie Stager; 289 Secretary's Annual Report, 1915, A. W. Latham; 222 Secretary's Corner; 47, 87, 136, 182, 263, 357, 439, 480 Secretary's Financial Report, 1915, A. W. Latham; 226 Shelter Belt for Orchard and Home Grounds, A discussion; 379 Simmons, Harold, My Orchard Crop of 1915; 89 Skinner, Mrs. Gertrude Ellis, My Summer in a Garden; 317 Smith, E. A. State Flower and State Flag of Minnesota; 233 Snyder, C. E., An. Meeting, 1915, N. E. Iowa Hort. Socy.; 34 Soholt, M., An. Rep., 1915, Madison Trial Station; 171 South Dakota State Horticultural Society, Annual Meeting, 1915, Wm. Pfaender, Jr.; 95 Spraying the Orchard, H. M. Dunlap; 213 Spraying the Orchard, Hon. H. M. Dunlap; 119 Stager, Mrs. Jennie, An. Rep., 1915, Sauk Rapids Trial Station; 96 Stager, Mrs. Jennie, How Mr. Mansfield Grows Tomatoes; 156 Stager, Mrs. Jennie, Mid. Rep., Sauk Rapids Trial Station; 289 Stakman, Prof. E. C., Notes on Plant Pests; 181, 231 Stakman, Prof. E. C., Spraying Plums for Brown Rot; 148 Standards for Containers for Fruits, etc., Dept. of Agri.; 462 Starr, Miss Elizabeth, Color Combinations in the Garden; 449 State Flower and State Flag of Minnesota, E. A. Smith; 233 Strand, Geo. W., Treasurer's Annual Report; 33 Strawberry, The Fall-Bearing, Chas. F. Gardner; 429 Strawberry Weevil, S. Marcovitch; 220 Strawberries, June Bearing, Geo. J. Kellogg; 53 Street, H. G., Marketing Fruit Direct; 238 Summer Meeting, 1916, Notice of; 257 Summer Meeting, 1916, A. W. Latham; 266 Support for Overloaded Fruit Tree, Miss Nellie B. Pendergast; 349 Surprise Plum a Success, C. A. Pfeiffer; 58 T Taylor, J. W., Perennial Garden at Carmarken, White Bear; 441 Thompson, W. J., Supt., N. E. Demonstration Farm; 63 Tillotson, Mrs. H. B., Planting for Color Effects in the Garden; 427 Tomatoes for the Kitchen Garden, C. W. Purdham; 113 Tomatoes, How Mr. Mansfield Grows, Mrs. Jennie Stager; 156 Tomatoes in Northern Minnesota, Growing, Rev. Geo. Michael; 99 Top-Grafting, A. J. Philips; 207 Top-Working, O. W. Moore; 352 Treasurer, Annual Report of, 1915, Geo. W. Strand; 33 Tucker, Jas., My Experience in Grape Culture; 388 U Underwood, J. M., Annual Report, 1915, Executive Board; 32 University Farm and Hort. Society, A. F. Woods; 297 V Vial, Roy, My Experience with a Young Orchard; 42 Vice-President's Report, 1915, 1st Congressional District, F. I. Harris; 114 Vice-President, 2nd Congressional District, Annual Report, 1915, John Bisbee; 165 Vice-President's Report, 1915, 4th Congressional District, J. K. Dixon; 100 Vice-President, 5th Congressional District, Annual Report, 1915, Chas. H. Ramsdell; 166 Vice-President, 6th Congressional District, Annual Report, 1915, E. W. Mayman; 168 Vice-President's Report, 1915, 7th Congressional District, P. H. Peterson; 117 Vice-President, 8th Congressional District, Annual Report, 1915, Frank H. Cutting; 195 Vice-President, 9th Congressional District, Annual Report, 1915, Mrs. H. E. Weld; 170 Vice-President, 10th Congressional District, Annual Report, 1915, M. H. Hegerle; 67 Vincent, Geo. E., How May State University and Horticultural Society Best Cooperate; 375 Vinegar from Minnesota Apples, Manufacture of Cider, Prof. W. G. Brierley; 313 W Waldron, Prof. C. B., The Running Out of Varieties; 394 Washburn, Prof. F. L., Entomologist Column; 135 Wealthy Apples, F. H. Ballou; 461 Webster, D. C., Mid. Rep., La Crescent Trial Station; 281 Wedge, Clarence, Camping on the Yellowstone Trail; 361 Wedge, Mrs. Clarence, The Value of Horticulture to the Farm; 217 Weld, Mrs. H. E., An. Rep., 1916, Vice-Pres., 9th Cong. Dist.; 170 Wellington, Prof. Richard, An. Rep., 1915, Central Trial Station; 158 Wellington, Prof. Richard, Orcharding in Minnesota, a discussion; 291 Wellington, Prof. Richard, Orcharding in Minnesota; 36 West Concord Trial Station, Annual Report, Fred Cowles, Supt.; 64 West Concord Trial Station, Fred Cowles; 290 Wetherbee, M. H., Flower Garden for a Country Home; 470 What Frisky is Telling the Veteran Horticulturist, Chas. F. Gardner; 350 Wisconsin Horticultural Society, Annual Meeting, 1915, Chas. Haralson, Delegate; 84 Wisconsin State Horticultural Society, F. Cranefield, Secretary; 236 Wollner, B., Jr., Currants as a Market Garden Product; 22 Woods, A. F., University Farm and Horticultural Society--Mutually Helpful in Developing Homes of the Northwest; 297 * * * * * Transcriber's note: Minor, obvious typos corrected. 
56162	----	+-------------------------------------------+ | Note: | | | | = around word indicates bold =CAPSULE.= | | _ around word indicated italics _Erebus_ | +-------------------------------------------+ [Illustration: ARISTOLOCHIA ELEGANS.] THE ILLUSTRATED DICTIONARY OF GARDENING, A PRACTICAL AND SCIENTIFIC _Encyclopædia + of + Horticulture_ FOR GARDENERS AND BOTANISTS. EDITED BY GEORGE NICHOLSON, _Of the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew_. ASSISTED BY PROFESSOR J. W. H. TRAIL, A.M., M.D., F.L.S., IN THE PARTS RELATING TO INSECTS AND FUNGI; AND J. GARRETT IN THE FRUIT, VEGETABLE, AND GENERAL GARDEN WORK PORTIONS. DIVISION I.--A TO CAR. PUBLISHED BY L. UPCOTT GILL, 170, STRAND, LONDON, W.C. SOLE AGENT FOR THE UNITED STATES AND CANADA, JAMES PENMAN, NEW YORK. 1887. LONDON: PRINTED BY A. BRADLEY, 170, STRAND. PREFACE. THE ILLUSTRATED DICTIONARY OF GARDENING aims at being the best and most complete Work on Gardening and Garden Plants hitherto published. The aim is, indeed, a high one; but the Publisher, whose taste for Flowers has rendered the production a labour of love, has, on his part, spared no expense that the Typography and Illustrations should be of a very high class. It is to be hoped that earnest efforts to attain accuracy, by consulting the best Authorities, combined with no small amount of original research, have contributed to render the _matter_ of the Work not unworthy of the _form_ in which it is presented to the reader. The large number of Illustrations is an important feature; and it is believed that the figures quoted, and the references given to various works--in which more detailed information is contained than is desirable, or, indeed, possible, in these pages, on account of space--will greatly add to the interest and value of the work. Considerable trouble has been taken in revising the tangled synonymy of many genera, and clearing up, as much as possible, the confusion that exists in garden literature in connection with so many plants, popular and otherwise. In the matter of generic names, Bentham and Hooker's recently-completed "Genera Plantarum" has, with few exceptions, been followed; that work being the one which will, for a long time to come, undoubtedly remain the standard authority on all that relates to generic limitation. With regard to the nomenclature of species, I have endeavoured to consult the latest and most trustworthy Monographs and Floras, and to adopt the names in accordance with them. Now and then, certain plants are described under their common garden names; but they will, in such cases, be also found mentioned under the genus to which they really belong. A case in point may be cited: _An�ctochilus Lowii_ is given under _An�ctochilus_, but the name it must now bear is _Dossinia_, and a reference to that genus will explain matters pretty fully, as far as the present state of knowledge goes. I am greatly indebted to Professor J. W. H. TRAIL, M.D., F.L.S., &c., for his valuable contributions on Insects, Fungi, and Diseases of Plants, branches of science in which he has long been specially interested, and in which he is an undoubted authority. Mr. J. GARRETT, of the Royal Gardens, Kew, late of the Royal Horticultural Society's Gardens, is responsible for Fruit and Vegetable Culture, for most of what appertains to Florists' Flowers, and for General Gardening Work. For information on many special subjects--Begonias may be cited as an example--I am obliged for much assistance to Mr. W. WATSON, also of the Royal Gardens, Kew; in fact, the article _Begonia_, in its entirety, was written by him. Mr. W. B. HEMSLEY, A.L.S., has, throughout, given me aid and advice; and I have to acknowledge constant help from several other colleagues. The Rev. PERCY W. MYLES, M.A., has taken no little trouble in working out the correct derivations of very many of the Generic Names; unfortunately, in a number of instances, lack of time prevented me from obtaining the benefit of his knowledge. I have to record my gratitude for help in so difficult a task, this special study being one to which Mr. MYLES has paid much attention. GEORGE NICHOLSON. ROYAL GARDENS, KEW. [Illustration] REFERENCE TO ILLUSTRATIONS OF PLANTS OTHER THAN THOSE FIGURED IN THIS WORK. It has been suggested, by an eminent Authority, that many readers would be glad to be informed where reliable Illustrations could be found of those Plants which are not figured in this Work. To meet this want, references to the figures in Standard Authorities have been given, the titles of the Works referred to being, for economy of space, abbreviated as follows: A. B. R. Andrews (H. C.). Botanist's Repository. London, 1799-1811. 10 vols. 4to. A. E. Andrews (H. C.). Coloured Engravings of Heaths. London, 1802-30. 4 vols. 4to. A. F. B. Loudon (J. C.). Arboretum et fruticetum britannicum.... London, 1838. 8 vols. 8vo. A. F. P. Allioni (C.). Flora pedemontana. Aug. Taur., 1785. 3 vols. Fol. A. G. Aublet (J. B. C. F.). Histoire des plantes de la Guiane Française. Londres, 1775. 4 vols. 4to. A. H. Andrews (H. C.). The Heathery. London, 1804-12. 4 vols. 4to. B. Maund (B.). The Botanist.... London, 1839. 8 vols. 4to. B. F. F. Brandis (D.). Forest Flora of ... India. London, 1876, 8vo. Atlas, 4to. B. F. S. Beddome (R. H.). Flora sylvatica. Madras [1869-73]. 2 vols. 4to. B. H. La Belgique Horticole.... Ghent, 1850, &c.* B. M. Botanical Magazine. London, 1787, &c. 8vo.* B. M. Pl. Bentley (R.) and Trimen (H.). Medicinal Plants. London, 1875-80. 8vo. B. O. Bateman (James). A Monograph of Odontoglossum. London, 1874. Fol. B. R. Botanical Register. London, 1815-47. 33 vols. 8vo. B. Z. Botanische Zeitung. Berlin, vols. i.-xiii. (1843-55). 8vo. Leipzig, vol. xiv. (1856).* C. H. P. Cathcart's Illustrations of Himalayan Plants. London, 1855. Fol. Enc. T. & S. Loudon (J. C.). Encyclopædia of Trees and Shrubs.... London, 1842. 8vo. E. T. S. M. _See_ T. S. M. F. A. O. Fitzgerald (R. D.). Australian Orchids. Sydney, 1876. Fol.* F. D. Flora Danica--usually quoted as the title of the work, Icones plantarum ... Daniæ et Norvegiæ.... Havniæ. 1761 to 1883. Fol. F. d. S. La Flore des Serres et des Jardins de l'Europe. 1845-82. 23 vols. 8vo. Fl. Ment. Moggridge (J. T.). Contributions to the Flora of Mentone.... London, 1864-8. Flora Flora oder allgemeine botanische Zeitung. 1818-42. 25 vols. 8vo. [New Series] 1843, &c.* F. M. Floral Magazine. London, 1861-71, 8vo. 1872-81, 4to. F. & P. Florist and Pomologist. London, 1868-84. 8vo. G. C. The Gardeners' Chronicle and Agricultural Gazette. London, 1841-65. Fol. G. C. n. s. The Gardeners' Chronicle. New Series, 1866, &c. Fol.* G. G. Gray (A.). Genera floræ Americæ.... Boston, 1848-9. 2 vols. 8vo. G. M. The Gardeners' Magazine. Conducted by Shirley Hibberd. London. G. M. B. The Gardeners' Magazine of Botany.... London, 1850-1. 3 vols. 8vo. Gn. The Garden. London, 1871, &c. 4to.* G. W. F. A. Goodale (G. L.). Wild Flowers of America. Boston, 1877. 4to. H. B. F. Hooker (W. J.). The British Ferns. H. E. F. Hooker (W. J.). Exotic Flora. Edinburgh, 1823-7. 3 vols. 8vo. H. F. B. A. Hooker (W. J.). Flora boreali-americana.... London, 1833-40. 2 vols. 4to. H. F. T. Hooker (J. D.). Flora Tasmaniæ. London, 1860. 2 vols. 4to. This is Part 3 of "The Botany of the Antarctic Voyage of H.M. Discovery Ships _Erebus_ and _Terror_, in the years 1839-43." H. G. F. Hooker (W. J.). Garden Ferns. London, 1862. 8vo. H. S. F. Hooker (W. J.). Species Filicum. I. H. L'Illustration horticole. Gand, 1850, &c. 8vo.* I. H. Pl. _See_ C. H. P. J. B. Journal of Botany.... London, 1863. 8vo.* J. F. A. Jacquin (N. J.). Floræ austriacæ.... icones.... Viennæ, 1773-8. 5 vols. Fol. J. H. Journal of Horticulture and Cottage Gardener. Conducted by Dr. Robert Hogg. London. J. H. S. Journal of the Horticultural Society. London, 1846. 8vo.* K. E. E. Kotschy. Die Eiche Europas und des Orients. L. B. C. Loddiges (C.). Botanical Cabinet. London, 1812-33. 20 vols. 4to. L. C. B. Lindley (J.). Collectanea botanica.... London, 1821. Fol. L. E. M. La Marck (J. B. P. A. de M. de). Encyclopédie methodique ... Botanique. Paris, 1783-1817. 13 vols. 4to. L. J. F. Lemaire (C.). Le Jardin fleuriste. Gand, 1851-4. 4 vols. 8vo. L. R. Lindley (J.). Rosarum Monographia. London, 1820. 8vo. L. S. O. Lindley (J.). Sertum Orchidaceum.... London, 1838. Fol. L. & P. F. G. Lindley (J.) and Paxton (J.). Flower Garden.... London.... 1851-3. 3 vols. 4to. M. A. S. Salm-Dyck. Monographia generum Aloes et Mesembryanthemi. Bonnæ, 1836-63. 4to. N. Burbidge (F. W.). The Narcissus: Its History and Culture. With a Scientific Review of the Genus by J. G. Baker, F.L.S. London, 1875. 8vo. N. S. Nuttall (T.). North American Sylva.... Philadelphia, 1865. 3 vols. 8vo. P. F. G. _See_ L. & P. F. G. P. M. B. Paxton (J). Magazine of Botany. London, 1834-49. 16 vols. 8vo. Ref. B. Saunders (W. W.) Refugium botanicum.... London, 1869-72. 8vo. R. G. Regel (E.). Gartenflora. 1852, &c.* R. H. Revue Horticole.... Paris, 1852.* R. S. H. Hooker (J. D.). The Rhododendrons of Sikkim-Himalaya. London, 1849-51. Fol. R. X. O. Reichenbach, _fil._ (H. G.). Xenia orchidacea. Leipzig, 1858. 4to.* S. B. F. G. Sweet (R.). British Flower Garden. London, 1823-9. 3 vols. 8vo. Second Series. London, 1831-8. 4 vols. 8vo. S. C. Sweet (R.). Cistineæ. London, 1825-30. 8vo. S. E. B. Smith (J. E.). Exotic Botany.... London, 1804-5. 2 vols. 8vo. S. F. A. Sweet (R.). Flora australasica.... London, 1827-8. 8vo. S. F. d. J. Siebold (P. F. de) and Vriese (W. H. de). Flore des Jardins du Royaume des Pays-Bas. Leide, 1858-62. 5 vols. 8vo. S. F. G. Sibthorp (J.). Flora græca.... London, 1806-40. 10 vols. Fol. S. H. Ivy Hibberd (Shirley). The Ivy: a Monograph. London, 1872. 8vo. Sw. Ger. Sweet (Robert). Geraniaceæ, the natural order of Gerania. 1828-1830. Sy. En. B. Syme (J. T. B.), _now_ Boswell. English Botany.... Ed. 3. London, 1863-85. 12 vols. 8vo. S. Z. F. J. Siebold (P. F. von) and Zuccarini (J. G.). Flora Japonica.... Lugd. Bat., 1835-44. Fol. T. H. S. Transactions of the Horticultural Society. London, 1805-29. 7 vols. 4to. T. L. S. Transactions of the Linnæan Society. London, 1791-1875. 30 vols. 4to.* T. S. M. Emerson (G. B.). Trees and Shrubs ... of Massachusetts. Boston, Ed. 2, 1875. 2 vols. 8vo. W. D. B. Watson (P. W.). Dendrologia Britannica. London. 1825. 2 vols. 8vo. W. F. A. _See_ G. W. F. A. W. O. A. Warner (R.) and Williams (B. S.). The Orchid Album. London, 1882. 4to.* W. S. O. Warner (R.). Select Orchidaceous Plants. London, Series i, 1862-65. Fol. Series ii, 1865-75. Fol. W. & F. Woods and Forests. 1883-4. 1 vol. 4to. * Is still in course of publication. THE DICTIONARY OF GARDENING, An Encyclopædia of Horticulture. The following are the Abbreviations used:--_fl._ flowers; _fr._ fruit; _l._ leaves; _h._ height; _deg._ degrees; _rhiz._ rhizomes; _cau._ caudex; _sti._ stipes. The Asterisks (*) indicate plants that are especially good or distinct. =A.= In compound words from the Greek the initial _a_ has usually a privative meaning; as _aphyllus_, without leaves; _acaulis_, without a stem, &c. =AARON'S BEARD.= _See_ =Hypericum calycinum= and =Saxifraga sarmentosa=. =AARON'S ROD.= _See_ =Verbascum Thapsus=. =ABELE TREE.= White Poplar. _See_ =Populus alba=. =ABELIA= (named after Dr. Clarke Abel, Physician to Lord Amherst's Embassy to China, in 1817, and author of a "Narrative of a Journey to China" (1818); died 1826). ORD. _Caprifoliaceæ_. Very ornamental shrubs. Corolla tubular, funnel-shaped, five-lobed. Leaves petiolate, dentately crenated. Well suited for the cold greenhouse, either as trellis or pot plants; free-flowering when well grown, and of easy culture. May be treated in sheltered and warm climates as hardy; and can be grown out of doors during summer in less favoured spots. They thrive in a compost of peat and loam in equal parts, to which a small quantity of silver sand may be added. Increased by cuttings in summer, and by layers in spring, under a frame. Only two species, _floribunda_ and _rupestris_, are much grown in England. =A. floribunda= (many-flowered).* _fl._ rosy-purple, about 2in. long, in axillary clusters. March. _l._ opposite, oblong. _h._ 3ft. Mexico, 1842. The best and freest flowering evergreen species. =A. rupestris= (rock).* _fl._ sweet-scented, small, pink, in pairs at the ends of the branches; sepals of leafy texture, with a reddish tinge. September. _l._ small, oblong. _h._ 5ft. China, 1844. A deciduous, branching, hairy shrub. =A. serrata= (serrate-leaved). _fl._ pretty pale red, sweet-scented, very large, in one-flowered terminal peduncles; sepals leafy. March. _h._ 3ft. China, 1844. A fine evergreen species. =A. triflora= (three-flowered).* _fl._ pale yellow, tinged with pink, small, arranged in threes at the ends of the branches; sepals long and linear, clothed with long hairs. September. _l._ small, lanceolate. _h._ 5ft. Hindostan, 1847. A small evergreen branching shrub. =ABERRANT.= Deviating from the natural or direct way; applied, in natural history, to species or genera that deviate from the usual characters of their allies. =ABIES= (from _abeo_, to rise; alluding to the aspiring habit of growth of the tree; or, according to some, from _apios_, a Pear-tree, in allusion to the form of the fruit). Spruce Fir. The synonymy of this genus is much confused, plants belonging to several genera being frequently referred to _Abies_ in nurserymen's catalogues and gardening periodicals. ORD. _Coniferæ_. A genus of about twenty-five species, widely distributed over the mountainous regions of the Northern hemisphere. Cones cylindrical, or but slightly tapering, erect; catkins generally solitary; the carpels not thickened at the tip; and the leaves solitary, partially scattered in insertion, and more or less two-ranked in direction. Scales deciduous, falling off as soon as the seed is ripe, leaving the axis on the tree. All the species bear seeds at a comparatively early age; most are hardy. For culture, _see_ =Pinus=. =A. amabilis= (lovely).* _shoots_ rather rigid, furrowed with elongated cushions, covered with numerous small dark hairs. _l._ scattered, crowded, 1-1/2in. to 2in. long; linear obtuse, dark green above, silvery beneath. The cones are described as cylindrical, and about 6in. long. _h._ 180ft. California, 1831. A magnificent conifer, very massive in appearance. =A. baborensis.=* _l._ linear, dark green, silvery on the under surface, very numerous, those of the larger branches shortly pointed, and those of the branchlets more obtuse and pointless, 1/2in. to 1in. long. _cones_ erect, cylindrical, usually in clusters of four or five, 5in. to 8in. long, and about 2in. in diameter; scales reniform, greyish-brown, inclosing a thin, dry, and shrivelled bract. _h._ 40ft. to 60ft. Algiers, 1864. This is a very beautiful medium-sized tree. SYN. _A. Numidica_. =A. balsamea= (Balm of Gilead or Balsam Fir).* _l._ silvery beneath, apex emarginate or entire, somewhat recurved and spreading, 3/4in. long. _cones_ cylindrical, violet-coloured, pointing upwards, 4in. to 5in. long, and 1/2in. broad; scales 3/4in. broad, and the same in length. _h._ 40ft. to 60ft. United States and Canada, &c., 1696. A medium-sized slender tree. =A. bifida= (bifid). Identical with _A. firma_. =A. brachyphylla= (short-leaved).* _l._ linear, spirally inserted round the branchlets, but pointing laterally in two directions, 3/4in. to 1-1/2in. in length; lower ones longest, obtusely pointed or emarginate, bright green above, with two silvery lines beneath. _cones_ 3in. to 4in. long, purple. _h._ 120ft. Japan, 1870. A recently introduced magnificent fir, with an erect stem, regularly whorled horizontal branches. =A. bracteata= (bracted).* _l._ rigid, linear, flat, distichous, 2in. to 3in. long, bright glossy green above, and glaucous beneath. _cones_ about 4in. long, with the bracts developed into long rigid leaf-like linear spines, 2in. long, and slightly curved inwards. _h._ 25ft. Southern California, 1853. A very handsome tall slender tree, but, owing to its very early growth of new shoots, it is much injured by the spring frosts. =A. Brunoniana= (Brown's). Synonymous with _Tsuga Brunoniana_. =A. canadensis= (Canadian). A synonym of _Tsuga canadensis_. =A. cephalonica= (Cephalonian).* _l._ subulate, flat, dark green above, and silvery beneath, acute. _cones_ erect, cylindrical, green when young, afterwards reddish, and brown when ripe, 5in. to 6in. in length, and about 1-1/2in. in diameter; scales broad, thin, and rounded, shorter than the bracts. _h._ 50ft. to 60ft. Mountains of Greece, 1824. A very desirable tree for growing in exposed situations. =A. cilicica= (Cilician). _l._ linear, slightly curved or straight, 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, dark green above, and glaucous beneath, crowded, in two ranks. _cones_ cylindrical, 6in. to 8in. long; scales broad, thin, entire, coriaceous. _h._ 40ft. to 60ft. Mount Taurus, in Asia Minor. This species seldom produces a good specimen tree in England, and cannot, therefore, be recommended for general cultivation. =A. concolor= (one-coloured).* _l._ linear, flat, obtuse, glaucous green, distichously arranged in double rows, those in the lower rows 2in. to 3in. long, upper ones shorter, channelled above. _cones_ cylindrical, obtuse both at base and top, 3in. to 5in. long, 2in. to 2-1/2in. in diameter; scales numerous, imbricated, larger than the bracts. _h._ 80ft. to 150ft. California, &c., 1851. A very beautiful species, with yellow bark on the young branches. SYNS. _A. lasiocarpa_ and _A. Parsonii_. =A. Douglasii= (Douglas'). A synonym of _Pseudotsuga Douglasii_. =A. dumosa= (short-leaved). Synonymous with _Tsuga Brunoniana_. =A. excelsa= (tall). A synonym of _Picea excelsa_. =A. firma= (solid).* _l._ rigid, coriaceous, spirally arranged around the branchlets, but point laterally in two directions, 1in. to 1-1/4in. long, very variable in young and old trees. _cones_ cylindrical, obtuse at both ends, 3in. to 6in. long; scales imbricated, bearing protruding keeled bracts. _h._ 100ft. Japan, 1861. An erect tree, of great beauty. =A. Fortunei= (Fortune's). It is said that in its native country, its aspect is peculiar rather than handsome, and that but one living representative is believed to be in existence in this country--at Veitch's Nursery. SYN. _Keteleeria Fortunei_. =A. Fraseri= (Fraser's). Double Balsam Spruce Fir. _l._ linear, emarginate, silvery beneath. _cones_ oblong, squarrose, somewhat leafy, obcordate, mucronate, half exserted, reflexed. _h._ 30ft. to 40ft. North Carolina, 1811. This species closely resembles _A. balsamea_, from which it differs in having shorter and more erect leaves, and smaller cones. =A. grandis= (splendid).* _l._ in double rows, on each side of the branchlets, flat, obtuse, emarginate, pectinate, silvery beneath, from 3/4in. to 1in. long. _cones_ lateral, solitary, cylindrical, obtuse at base and apex, 4in. to. 5in. long, 2in. wide; bracts ovate, acuminate, irregularly dentate, very short. _h._ 100ft. California, 1831. A handsome tree of symmetrical habit, and rapid growth. =A. lasiocarpa= (woolly-coned). Synonymous with _A. concolor_. =A. magnifica= (magnificent).* _l._ densely crowded, two-rowed, 1in. to nearly 2in. long, olive green, very glaucous on the upper surface when young, becoming duller with age, and marked with two silvery lines beneath. _cones_ 6in. to 7in. long, 2-1/2in. to 3in. in diameter; scales, outer edge incurved. _h._ 200ft. North California, 1851. A very tall and stately species, with, at successive intervals, whorls of horizontal branches. =A. Mariesii= (Maries'). _l._ erect, evenly disposed around the stem, linear-oblong, obtuse; apex notched, 1/3in. to not quite 1in. long; bracts ovate, oblong, retuse. _cones_ erect, cylindrical, 3-1/2in. to 5-1/2in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. wide, narrowed at the base and apex, blackish purple; scales entire, nearly 1in. wide, not quite so long as wide. Japan, 1879. A tall, pyramidal tree. =A. Mertensiana= (Merten's). Synonymous with _Tsuga Mertensiana_. =A. miniata= (vermilion). Synonymous with _Picea eremita_. =A. Morinda= (Morinda). Synonymous with _Picea Morinda_. =A. nobilis= (noble).* _l._ linear, mostly on one side of the branches, falcate, short, acute, silvery beneath, 1-3/4in. long. _cones_ cylindrical, erect, sessile, 6-1/2in. long, 2-3/4in. broad, brownish; scales triangular, without the bractea, 1-1/4in. long, and the same in breadth; bractea spathulate, imbricated backwards, 5/8in. long. _h._ 200ft. to 300ft. California, 1831. A majestic tree. =A. Nordmanniana= (Nordmann's).* _l._ linear, rigid, flat, and minutely bifid at the apex, on young trees spreading in two rows, with a half-twist at the base, 1in. long. _cones_ erect, slightly ovoid, pedunculate, 4in. to 6in. long, and 2-1/4in. to 2-3/4in. wide; bracts large, coriaceous, three-lobed, fringed, greatly exceeding the scales. _h._ 80ft. to 100ft. Crimea, &c., 1848. A magnificent and stately tree, of regular growth. =A. Numidica= (Numidian). Synonymous with _A. baborensis_. =A. obovata= (reversed-egg-coned). A synonym of _Picea obovata_. =A. orientalis= (eastern). Synonymous with _Picea orientalis_. =A. Parsonii= (Parson's). Synonymous with _A. concolor_. =A. pectinata= (comb-like).* _l._ linear, solitary, flat, obtuse, stiff, turned-up at the points, two-ranked, 1/2in. to 1in. long, shining green above, with two lines of silvery white on each side of the midrib beneath. _cones_ axillary, cylindrical, erect, 6in. to 8in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, when ripe, brown; scales with a long dorsal bractea, 1/6in. to 1-1/4in. long, and 1-1/4in. broad. _h._ 80ft. to 100ft. A very noble silver fir, of slow growth when young only. Central Europe, 1603. There are several unimportant varieties of this splendid species. =A. Pindrow= (Pindrow). In its native home, the Himalayas, this is a very beautiful tree, attaining the height of 150ft., but it has generally failed in England, in consequence of our late spring frosts destroying the young growth. It comes very near _A. Webbiana_, but is readily distinguished by its longer and more acutely bidented leaves, and smaller cones. =A. Pinsapo= (Pinsapo).* The Spanish Silver Fir. _l._ linear, disposed around the branches, nearly terete, and entire at the apex, not quite 1/2in. long, bright green, with faint silvery lines on the inner side. _cones_ sessile, oval, or oblong, 4in. to 5-1/2in. long, about 2in. wide; bracts short, concealed by the broad rounded scales. _h._ 60ft. to 80ft. South Spain, 1839. A very magnificent species, very regular and symmetrical in habit. The one or two varieties offered for sale are not desirable. =A. polita= (neat).* _l._ arranged spirally, short, erect, rigid, falcate, acute at the apex, tetragonal, but compressed. _cones_ ellipsoid, 3in. to 4in. long; scales light brown, coriaceous, minutely notched at the edge. Island of Nippon, 1861. This is a beautiful species, admirably adapted as a specimen tree for lawns. =A. religiosa= (sacred). _l._ linear, acute, quite entire, 1-1/2in. long. _cones_ roundish-oval, 2-3/4in. long, and 2-1/2in. broad; scales trapezoided-cordate; bracts the length of the scapes, spathulate-oblong. _h._ 100ft. to 150ft. Mexico, 1839. A very handsome species, but not hardy in this country. =A. sachalinensis= (Sachalin). _l._ in many rows, 1in. or very slightly more long, 1/12in. broad, twisted to one side, rigid, linear, obtuse. _cones_ sessile, erect, cylindrical, bluntly rounded at the apex, 3in. long, 1in. wide; scales transversely oblong, reniform; margin inflexed, denticulate; bracts 1/2in. wide, 1/4in. long, obovate, serrulate, terminating in a reflexed angular point, exceeding the scale. Japan, 1879. A tall pyramidal robust species. =A. Schrenkiana= (Schrenk's). Synonymous with _Picea Schrenkiana_. =A. sibirica= (Siberian). Like the last, this species is not recommended; its growth is very slow, even under the most favourable circumstances. Siberia. =A. Smithiana= (Smith's). A synonym of _Picea Morinda_. =A. subalpina= (sub-alpine).* On the high mountains of Colorado, &c., a tree 60ft. to 100ft. in height. Has not been long enough in English gardens for any decided opinion to be formed as to its merits as an ornamental tree. =A. Tsuga= (Tsugan). A synonym of _Tsuga Sieboldi_. =A. Veitchii= (Veitch's).* _l._ crowded, lateral ones spreading in a distichous manner, those on the upper side much shorter and pointing forwards, 1/2in. to 1in. long, linear, flat, glaucous above, silvery beneath; emarginate on the sterile branches, entire on the fertile ones. _cones_ erect, sub-cylindrical, purplish-brown, 2in. to 2-1/2in. long, 3/4in. to nearly 1in. wide; scales horizontal, reniform, densely packed, each enclosing a short, wedge-shaped bract as long as the scale. _h._ 120ft. to 140ft. Japan, 1860, and again in 1879. Described as a beautiful and interesting tree, as well as perfectly hardy; it should be planted on elevated spots open to the south or south-east. =A. Webbiana= (Webb's).* _l._ two-rowed, linear, flat, obtusely emarginate, silvery beneath, 1-1/2in. to 2-1/2in. long. _cones_ cylindrical, 6-1/2in. to 7in. long, 2in. or more broad, deep purple; scales kidney-shaped, roundish, closely compressed, imbricated, about 1in. long, and 1-1/4in. broad; bracts oblong, apiculate. _h._ 70ft. to 90ft. Himalayan Mountains, 1822. A large handsome pyramidal tree, with numerous branches spreading horizontally, much divided, and densely clothed. =A. Williamsoni= (Williamson's). A synonym of _Tsuga Pattoniana_. =ABOBRA= (its Brazilian name). ORD. _Cucurbitaceæ_. A genus of stove or greenhouse plants, having solitary axillary di�cious flowers, and finely divided leaves. The only species in cultivation is a very pretty half-hardy climbing perennial, having a fleshy root about 1ft. or more beneath the surface of the soil. It thrives well in warm sunny spots, and in a light soil; seeds may be sown in pots or pans of light soil early in April; the young plants can be planted out about the middle of June. The fleshy tuberous roots may be stored during winter in a greenhouse or frame. _See_ also =Gourds=. =A. viridiflora= (green-flowered). _fl._ pale green, fragrant; females succeeded by small oval scarlet fruits, which are about as large as a filbert. _l._ dark green, glossy, much divided into narrow segments. South America. A rapid growing plant, admirably adapted for training over arbours or trellis-work. It is a very pretty form of ornamental gourd. =ABORTION.= An imperfect formation, or the non-formation of an organ; any fruit or produce that does not come to maturity, or anything which fails in its progress before it is matured, frequently from a defect in the male or female flowers. =ABRAXAS GROSSULARIATA.= _See_ =Gooseberry or Magpie Moth=. =ABRICOCK.= A former mode of writing Apricot. =ABROMA= (from _a_, not, and _broma_, food; from its unwholesomeness). ORD. _Sterculiaceæ_. Handsome, free-flowering evergreen trees, with hairy lobed leaves, and extra axillary or terminal few-flowered peduncles. Of easy culture, in a stove temperature, in loam and peat soil. Propagated by seeds or cuttings, the former sown in March, the latter made in April from half-ripened wood, and placed under a bell glass. =A. augusta= (smooth-stalked).* _fl._ dingy purple, drooping. August. _l._ lower, cordate, three to five lobed; upper, ovate-lanceolate, undivided. _h._ 10ft. East India, 1770. =A. fastuosa= (prickly-stalked). _fl._ dark purple. June. _l._ lower, cordate, acutely five lobed; upper, ovate, entire. _h._ 10ft. New Holland, 1800. =ABRONIA= (from _abros_, delicate; referring to its involucrum). Sand Verbena. ORD. _Nyctaginaceæ_. A small genus of seven species, mostly natives of California, four of which only are known in general cultivation. They are of a dwarf trailing habit, producing showy blossoms in dense verbena-like clusters. Corolla funnel-shaped; limb spreading. They succeed best in light sandy soil, in a position fully exposed; if well drained, the rockery is perhaps the best place. Increased by seeds, the outer skin of which should be peeled off before sowing; sow during autumn in pots of sandy soil, and keep in a frame until the following spring, when they may be placed in their flowering quarters; or by young cuttings, set in spring, and also in sandy soil. [Illustration: FIG. 1. ABRONIA UMBELLATA, showing Flower and Habit.] =A. arenaria= (sand-loving).* _fl._ lemon-yellow, about 1/2in. long, in dense clusters, with a honey-like fragrance. July. _l._ broadly ovate, or reniform, on short, thick petioles. _h._ 9in. to 18in. 1865. Half-hardy perennial. SYN. _A. latifolia_. =A. fragrans= (fragrant).* _fl._ pure white, in terminal and axillary clusters, very delicately perfumed, expanding in the evening. May. 1865. A perennial, more or less erect in growth, forming large branching tufts from 1ft. to 2ft. high. Imported seeds only of this species will grow. =A. latifolia= (broad-leaved). A synonym of _A. arenaria_. =A. pulchella= (pretty). _fl._ pink. July. _h._ 6in. 1848. =A. rosea= (rose-coloured). _fl._ rose-coloured. June. _h._ 6in. 1847. An unimportant species. =A. umbellata= (umbel-flowered).* _fl._ rosy pink, in dense terminal clusters, slightly scented. April. _l._ oval or oblong. _h._ 6in. to 24in. 1823. An elegant prostrate half-hardy annual; but under greenhouse culture it is a perennial. SYN. _Tricratus admirabilis_. See Fig 1. =ABRUPT.= Suddenly terminating, as abruptly pinnate; when pinnate leaves are without a terminal or odd leaflet. =ABRUS= (from _abros_, soft, in reference to the extreme softness of the leaves). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A very ornamental and delicate much branched deciduous stove climber, whose roots have the virtues of the common liquorice. Leaves abruptly pinnate, bearing many pairs of leaflets. Requires a strong heat to keep it in a growing, healthy condition, and to flower it well; and thrives best in sandy loam. Increased by cuttings under a hand glass, in sand, or seeds raised in heat. =A. precatorius= (prayer). _fl._ pale purple, butterfly-shaped, disposed in axillary clusters. Seeds bright scarlet, with a black spot at the base, used by the Buddhists for making rosaries, whence the specific name. March to May. _l._ leaflets ligulate, oblong. _h._ 12ft. East Indies, 1680. Varieties are now and then met with having rose coloured or white flowers. =ABSORPTION.= The action by which liquids and gases become incorporated with various bodies, through molecular or other invisible means, to which function all parts of a growing plant contribute, the roots more especially. =ABUTA= (native name). ORD. _Menispermaceæ_. A strong growing ornamental stove evergreen climber. Used medicinally in Cayenne. Flowers di�cious, fascicled, males racemosely panicled; females loose and simply racemose. It grows freely in a mixture of loam and peat. Cuttings will root readily if planted in a pot of sand, with a hand glass placed over them, in heat. About half-a-dozen species are known. =A. rufescens= (rusty-coloured). _fl._ grey-velvety on the outside, dark purple on the inside. March. _l._ ovate; under surface brownish. _h._ 10ft. Cayenne, 1820. =ABUTILON= (Arabic name for a plant analogous to the Marsh Mallow). ORD. _Malvaceæ_. Very showy, decorative, and free-growing shrubs, both for the greenhouse and outside culture. Calyx naked, five-cleft, usually angular; style multifid at apex. The many beautiful hybrids (of which Fig. 2 represents a group) now in cultivation, far supersede the true species. Cultivation: Few plants are more easily grown and worthy of liberal treatment than these. The best soil for them is equal parts turfy loam, peat, and leaf mould, with some gritty sand. They may either be grown in pots, or planted out; but in all cases thorough drainage is indispensable, as they require an abundance of water, and stagnancy must be guarded against. At the end of May they may be planted outside, when they will flower profusely through the summer. In a free growing and flowering state they enjoy weak manure water. From the latter part of autumn till early spring they may be kept almost dry without injury, though in a warm conservatory some of the later struck plants will go on flowering throughout the greater part of the winter; or plants may be specially prepared for winter flowering. They are admirably adapted for forming standards of various heights, from 2ft. to 6ft. Some of the taller sorts are very useful for training under roof rafters. As pillar plants, too, very loosely trained, so as to allow the upper and side branches to droop to a considerable distance from the pillar, they are very effective. Propagation: They strike readily from cuttings made of the young wood, at almost any season; the best time, however, is early spring and September. Inserted in pots, in a compost of equal parts peat, leaf mould, loam, and sand, and placed in a temperature of from 65deg. to 70deg., they will then quickly root, and form good plants. Seeds may be sown in pans filled with soil as recommended for cuttings, and placed in a similar temperature. Those followed by a dagger (�) are the best for training to pillars, roofs, &c. =A. Bedfordianum= (Bedford's). _fl._ yellow and red. November. _l._ deeply-lobed. _h._ 15ft. Brazil, 1838. =A. Darwini= (Darwin's).�* _fl._ bright orange, with darker veinings, fine cupped form. April. _l._ large, broad. _h._ 4ft. Brazil, 1871. A handsome species, of good habit, equally suitable as a stove or greenhouse plant during winter, and for outdoor culture during summer months. There are a great number of garden hybrids from this. =A. globiflorum= (globe-flowered). _fl._ solitary, large, globose, cream-coloured. November. _l._ on long stalks, cordate, serrate. _h._ 4ft. to 5ft. Mauritius, 1825. =A. igneum= (bright). Synonymous with _A. insigne_. =A. insigne= (handsome-flowered).* _fl._ large, purplish crimson, with dark venation, in axillary pendulous racemes; petals short, broad, much reflexed. Winter. _l._ large, cordate, thick, rugose. Stem deep green, with short brown hairs. _h._ 6ft. New Grenada, 1851. SYN. _A. igneum_. See Fig. 3. =A. megapotamicum= (big river).�* _fl._ small, bell-shaped, singularly beautiful, the sepals being dark red, petals pale yellow, and stamens dark brown. Autumn and winter. _l._ small, pointed. _h._ 3ft. Rio Grande, 1864. A free-flowering species, with a graceful drooping habit; the shoots should be well pressed in during spring. SYN. _A. vexillarium_. =A. pæoniflorum= (pæony-flowered). _fl._ pink, smaller than those of _A. insigne_, but very distinct. January. _l._ large, ovate. _h._ 6ft. Brazil, 1845. =A. pulchellum= (pretty).�* _fl._ white, on few-flowered axillary racemes. July. _l._ cordate, unequally crenated, downy beneath. _h._ 8ft. Habit very branching. New Holland, 1824. =A. striatum= (striped).* _fl._ orange yellow, with a thick veining of blood-red, on long curving stalks. _l._ large, lobed, on long slender petioles. Brazil, 1837. A free grower, and makes an excellent greenhouse plant. In sheltered positions, in the south-west of England, this species proves to be almost hardy. It requires to be freely pinched. A very continuous bloomer. =A. Thompsoni= (Thompson's). _fl._ striated yellow, large. Summer. _l._ small, vine-like, richly mottled with yellow and dark green. _h._ 3ft. or 4ft. Habit very neat and erect. =A. venosum= (veined).�* _fl._ orange, with red veins, very large, bell shaped, 3in. long; pedicels nearly 12in. long. July. _l._ large, deeply palmate. _h._ 10ft. This splendid species is distinguished by its unusually large flowers. =A. vexillarium= (standard). Synonymous with _A. megapotamicum_. =A. vitifolium= (vine-leaved).* _fl._ porcelain blue, large, cupped. May. _l._ cordate, five to seven lobed, assuming, towards the autumn, a fine golden hue. _h._ 30ft. Chili, 1837. This fine shrub, or tree, is hardy in Ireland and the south of England, but should have a protection from frost. It is not a fast grower. The following are some of the best varieties, which, although they do not include all the newest sorts, yet afford a good selection of first-rate kinds, which will give general satisfaction. They are arranged according to their respective colours. Those marked with a dagger (�) are best for roofs and pillars. =Orange-flowered.= AUREUM GLOBOSUM,* flowers deep orange, heavily red shaded, of medium size, with good form and substance; DARWINI MAJUS,* bright orange, deeply veined, extremely free, and of good form and size; FLEUR D'OR,� light orange, veined pale red, very free and dwarf; GRANDIFLORUM,* deep orange, red shaded, deeply veined with red, a robust, large-flowered variety; LEO, flowers pale below, deeper above, red-veined, of medium size; PRINCE OF ORANGE,�* a strong grower, and very free. =Ornamental-foliaged.= DARWINI TESSELATUM,�* foliage mottled with yellow, invaluable for sub-tropical bedding; SELLOWIANUM MARMORATUM,* very large maple-like foliage, heavily mottled with bright yellow, a most effective variety; THOMPSONI, leaves very freely blotched with yellow; VEXILLARIUM IGNEUM,�* very free, of good habit, prettily blotched. All these ornamental-foliaged varieties are invaluable for bedding purposes. [Illustration: FIG. 2. GROUP OF ABUTILONS.] =Purple-coloured.= EMPEROR,* flowers large, rich purple magenta shaded, habit vigorous; LOUIS VAN HOUTTE, very free, rosy purple; PURPUREA,* deep purple shaded lake, very attractive; SOUVENIR DE ST. MAURICE, flowers medium size, very profuse; VIOLET QUEEN,* bright violet purple, very distinct and free. =Red and Crimson-flowered.= BRILLIANT,* flowers of good form and substance, brilliant red inside, rather paler outside, dwarf and free; CRIMSON BANNER,* rich crimson, dwarf, very floriferous; FIRE KING,* bright red, orange shaded, veined with crimson; LUSTROUS,* brilliant red crimson, large, most profusely produced, habit dwarf; NE PLUS ULTRA,* intense crimson, of excellent form; SCARLET GEM,* flowers medium sized, brilliant scarlet, habit dwarf and free. =Rose-coloured.= ADMIRATION, light pink, shaded salmon, of good form and shape; ANNA CROZY,* deep pink, lilac shade, veined white, very showy; CLOCHETTE,* deep rosy pink, with crimson veins, very dwarf and free; DELICATUM, pale salmon rose, with deeper vein, flowers very large; KING OF THE ROSES,* rich deep rose, of good size and substance, habit dwarf and very free; LADY OF THE LAKE,* flowers medium sized, rich pink; LOUIS MARIGNAC, pale pink, veined white, splendid habit, a charming variety; PRINCESS MARIE,�* flowers rich rosy lake, very profuse, of excellent form; ROS�FLORUM,�* pale salmon rose, veined with crimson. =White-flowered.= BOULE DE NIEGE,�* very fine pure white flowers, the best in its class; PURITY,* very free, of good habit, and pure white; SERAPH,* dwarf, and very floriferous. [Illustration: FIG. 3. FLOWER OF ABUTILON INSIGNE.] =Yellow-flowered.= CANARY BIRD,�* similar in habit to Boule de Niege, bright primrose, very lovely; COURONNE D'OR,* bright yellow, of the finest form and substance, very bold foliage; GOLDEN GEM, rich canary yellow, extremely free, of dwarf habit; LEMOINEI,� very fine, pale yellow, good size; QUEEN OF THE YELLOWS,* very large, lemon yellow, good substance; YELLOW PRINCE,* rich golden yellow, of medium size, very profuse. =ABYSSINIAN PRIMROSE.= A common name for =Primula Boveana= (which _see_). =ACACIA= (from _ac_, a point, in Celtic; or from _akazo_, to sharpen; many of the species are furnished with spines). _See_ also _Albizzia_. ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Shrubs or trees, very variable in habit and leaves. Flowers yellow, white, rarely red, disposed in globular heads or spikes, decandrous or polyandrous. Spines stipular, scattered, or wanting. This is a very polymorphous genus, and the majority of species described are known in this country only from herbarium specimens. It is very doubtful whether the entire genus is represented in our gardens by more than about fifty species, many of which are only to be found in botanic gardens; but this number is, without doubt, sufficiently characteristic. The number of species is close upon 400, and the genus one of the largest known. In our enumeration, we have strictly confined ourselves to describing such as are unquestionably in cultivation, and to this end we have adopted the only accurate method of deciding which are and which are not grown, viz., by consulting the trade lists of nurserymen, both in this country and on the Continent. Such lists, however, are not always correct, from a scientific point of view, in the matter of nomenclature. The species best deserving of cultivation are all natives of Australia, New South Wales, or other temperate regions, and are among the hardiest and most easily cultivated of all greenhouse plants. They are very floriferous. The greenhouse species are sufficiently hardy to withstand the winter in a temperature very little higher than freezing point. Cultivation: Some have a tendency to make long straight shoots; these should be selected for training upon rafters or pillars, on which they thrive well and form splendid ornaments in spring; whilst the more shrubby kinds will be equally at home in pots in the form of bushes. Roots and tops grow with great rapidity, and an abundance of water is required at all times. Immediately after flowering (usually about May) is the best time to prune Acacias; they may then be placed in the open air, and fully exposed to the sun, until October. They make a far healthier, cleaner growth, and ripen their wood much better outside than under glass; all they require is copious waterings, never allowing them to become dry, and keeping clear of weeds. In the first week in October house the plants, and winter in a temperature of 40deg. to 50deg. They delight in a light rich compost of equal parts turfy loam and leaf mould, freely intermixed with sand, or peat may be used instead of the leaf mould. Propagation: Cuttings of the half-ripened wood, put in with a heel, root readily during the summer. They do not bear heat well, nor do they require it. The soil should be equal parts peat and sand, covered with pure sand, thoroughly consolidated. Insert the cuttings as soon as made; water home, and leave them in the shade till dry. Then place the bell glasses over them, shade and water so as to prevent flagging. Pot off as soon as rooted, and keep in a close pit or house until the plants are thoroughly established. Seeds should be sown as soon as ripe, in sandy peat; about 1/4in. deep, or a little more, for large seeds. A temperature of 55deg. to 60deg. suits them well. Pot off when large enough to handle, and place in a cool close pit or house until quite established. The culture and propagation of the stove species are the same as for the greenhouse sorts, but the former require, of course, greater heat. Their flowers, however, are much less frequently produced than their more temperate congeners, consequently they are not so much grown. =A. affinis.=* _fl._ yellow. May. _h._ 5ft. New Holland, 1822. Greenhouse species. =A. albicans= (whitish).* _fl._ white; heads, two to five, aggregate, rising in racemes from the axils to the leaves. _l._ with eight to nine pairs of pinnæ, each pinna bearing nineteen to twenty-two pairs of oblong linear-leaflets. _h._ 5ft. Swan River. =A. am�na= (pleasing). This closely resembles _A. heterophylla_. =A. angustifolia= (narrow-leaved). _fl._ yellow, in heads two to four together, pedunculate. April. _l._ with fifteen to twenty pairs of pinnæ, each pinna bearing thirty to forty pairs of linear-acute, ciliated leaflets. _h._ 4ft. New South Wales, 1816. One of the numerous varieties of _A. longifolia_. =A. arabica= (Arabian).* Gum Arabic. _fl._ white; heads pedunculate, axillary, usually in threes. _l._ with four to six pairs of pinnæ, each pinna bearing ten to twenty pairs of oblong-linear leaflets. _h._ 20ft. Arabia, East Indies, &c., 1820. Greenhouse species. See Fig. 4. =A. argyrophylla= (silver-leaved). A synonym of _A. brachybotrya_. =A. armata= (armed, simple leaved).* _fl._ yellow, in solitary globular heads. April. _l._ phyllodia obliquely ovate-oblong, quite entire, one-nerved. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. Australia, 1803. =A. Benthami= (Bentham's). A synonym of _A. cochlearis_. =A. brachybotrya= (short-bunched).* _fl._ yellow, in axillary stalked globular heads. April. _l._ phyllodia silvery silky, obliquely obovate, or oblong. _h._ 8ft. Swan River. SYN. _A. argyrophylla_. =A. Catechu= (catechu). _fl._ yellow; spikes cylindrical, solitary, twin, or tern, axillary. March. _l._ with ten pairs of pinnæ, each of which bears forty to fifty pairs of linear pubescent leaflets. _h._ 20ft. to 40ft. East Indies, 1790. =A. cavenia= (Cavenia).* _fl._ yellow, disposed in globose heads, peduncles, axillary, aggregate. _l._ with usually about five pairs of pinnæ, each of which bears nine to ten pairs of linear-oblong leaflets, clothed with scabrous pubescence. _h._ 20ft. Chili. Greenhouse species. =A. cochlearis= (spoon-leaved). _fl._ yellow, in solitary globular heads. April. _l._ phyllodia linear lanceolate, many-nerved at the base, quite entire, mucronate. _h._ 4ft. West Australia, 1818. SYN. _A. Benthami_. =A. cultriformis= (knife-formed).* _fl._ yellow, in crowded heads, disposed in either axillary or terminal racemes. April. _l._ phyllodia eight to ten lines long, four lines broad, cultriform, ending in an acute hooked point, which bears to one side. _h._ 4ft. New South Wales, 1820. =A. cuneata= (wedge-shaped).* _fl._ yellow. April. Swan River, 1837. Greenhouse species. =A. cyanophylla= (blue-leaved). _fl._ yellow; racemes axillary; heads globose. March. _l._ phyllodia lanceolate, often 1ft. long, glaucous green, almost blue; branches drooping. _h._ 18ft. Swan River, 1838. Arboreous. =A. dealbata= (whitened).* The Silver Wattle. _fl._ yellow, in pedicellate heads, disposed in racemes along the axillary branches. July. _l._ from ten to twenty pairs of pinnæ, each of which bears thirty to thirty-five pairs of linear, much crowded pubescent leaflets. _h._ 10ft. to 20ft. Australia and Tasmania, 1820. =A. diffusa= (spreading). _fl._ yellow, in globular heads, which are usually twin. May. _l._ phyllodia linear, one-nerved, ending in an oblique acumen; branches diffusely procumbent, angular. _h._ 2ft. Victoria and Tasmania, 1814. =A. Drummondi= (Drummond's).* _fl._ pale lemon; spikes axillary, drooping, cylindrical, simple. April. _l._ with two pairs of pinnæ, each pinna bearing two to three pairs of linear obtuse leaflets. Plant unarmed, silky. _h._ 10ft. Swan River. Very handsome and one of the best grown, forming a somewhat dwarf shrub. [Illustration: FIG. 4. ACACIA ARABICA (_a_) Flowering Branch, (_b_) Seed-pod.] =A. Farnesiana= (Farnesian). _fl._ yellow, sweet-scented, disposed in axillary, usually twin, unequally pedunculate heads. July. _l._ with five to eight pairs of pinnæ, each pinna bearing from fifteen to twenty pairs of linear glabrous leaflets. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. St. Domingo, 1656. Greenhouse species. =A. glauca= (milky white).* _fl._ white; spikes globose, stalked, axillary, usually twin. July. _l._ with four to six pairs of pinnæ, each pinna bearing about twelve to fifteen pairs of linear, distant, acute leaflets, which are glaucous beneath. _h._ 5ft. to 10ft. South America, 1690. =A. glaucescens= (greyish). _fl._ yellow; spikes twin, but solitary on the peduncles, axillary. June. _l._ phyllodia linear-lanceolate, attenuated at both ends, falcate, three-nerved. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. Queensland, 1822. SYN. _A. homomalla_. =A. grandis= (great).* _fl._ yellow; heads globular; peduncles solitary or twin, axillary, one-headed. February to May. _l._ with one pair of pinnæ, each pinna bearing eight to ten pairs of linear-lanceolate leaflets; branches hairy. _h._ 6ft. West Australia, 1850. A variety of _A. pulchella_. =A. heterophylla= (variable-leaved).* _fl._ yellow, in heads, disposed in a kind of raceme. May. _l._ phyllodia linear, attenuated at both ends, many-nerved. _h._ 5ft. Isle of Bourbon, 1824. _A. am�na_ is very like this. =A. hispidissima= (hairiest). A variety of _A. pulchella_. =A. holosericea= (all silky). _fl_. yellow, in axillary spikes, usually twin. May. _l._ 6in. long, oblong-lanceolate, ending in a soft point at the apex, three-nerved. _h._ 10ft. to 20ft. Australia, 1818. The whole aspect of this tree is silky. SYN. _A. leucophylla_. =A. homomalla= (equal-woolled). A synonym of _A. glaucescens_. =A. Hugelii= (Baron Hugel's). _fl._ pale yellow. February. West Australia, 1846. Greenhouse species. =A. ixiophylla= (Ixia-leaved). _fl._ yellow; heads about twenty-flowered; peduncles downy, shortly racemose or solitary. March. _l._ narrow, oblong-lanceolate, sub-falcate, obtuse, obliquely mucronate, much branched. _h._ 2ft. New South Wales, 1844. =A. juniperina= (juniper-leaved). _fl._ yellow, in solitary heads. May. _l._ linear-subulate, ending in a pungent point; branches terete, pubescent. _h._ 6ft. Australia and Tasmania, 1790. Greenhouse. =A. Lebbek= (Lebbek).* _fl._ yellow, sweet-scented; heads many-flowered, pedunculate, three or four together, from the crowded upper nodes. May. _l._ with two to four pairs of pinnæ, each pinna bearing about six to eight pairs of oval, somewhat dimidiate leaflets, which are obtuse at both ends. _h._ 20ft. East and West Indies, 1823. Stove species. =A. leprosa= (leprous). _fl._ yellow, mostly five-parted, numerous in a globular head; peduncles mostly in pairs or clusters, 1/4in. long. May. _l._ narrow, linear-lanceolate, acute or obtuse with a small callous point, narrowed at base, 1-1/2in. to 3in. long, those of the barren shoots broader. Branchlets pendulous, more or less glutinous. Australia, 1817. (B. R. 1441.) =A. leucophylla= (white-leaved). A synonym of _A. holosericea_. =A. lineata= (lined). _fl._ yellow, mostly five-parted, ten to fifteen or rarely more in a small, globular head; peduncles slender, rarely exceeding the leaves. April. _l._ linear, with a small hooked point, about 1/2in., rarely 3/4in., long, one-nerved. Branches nearly terete, usually pubescent or villous. _h._ 6ft. Australia, 1824. (B. M. 3346.) =A. l. longissima= (longest). Synonymous with _A. longissima_. =A. longifolia= (long-leaved).* _fl._ yellow; spikes loose, axillary, cylindrical. March. _l._ phyllodia linear-lanceolate, narrowed at each end, three-nerved, striated. _h._ 10ft. Australia, 1792. A fine erect-growing greenhouse species. =A. longissima= (longest-leaved). _fl._ yellow; spikes several, axillary, generally branched. May. _l._ phyllodia very long, filiform, one-nerved, spreading. _h._ 4ft. New South Wales, 1819. Stove species. SYN. _A. linearis longissima_. =A. lunata= (half-moon).* _fl._ yellow; heads disposed in racemes, which are longer than the phyllodia. April. _l._ phyllodia obliquely oblong, rather falcate, narrowed at the base, terminating in an oblique callous mucrone. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Australia, 1810. Greenhouse species. SYN. _A. oleæfolia_. =A. melanoxylon= (black wooded). _fl._ yellow; heads few, disposed in a kind of raceme. April. _l._ phyllodia lanceolate-oblong, rather falcate, obtuse, quite entire, many-nerved. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. Australia, 1818. Greenhouse species. =A. mollissima= (softest-leaved).* _fl._ yellow; heads pedicellate, disposed in racemes along the axillary peduncles. July. _l._ with eight to eighteen pairs of pinnæ, each pinna bearing thirty to forty pairs of linear, much crowded, pubescent leaflets, which are clothed with yellowish velvety down when young; branches and petioles angular. _h._ 10ft. to 20ft. Van Diemens Land, 1810. =A. oleæfolia= (olive-leaved). A synonym of _A. lunata_. =A. oxycedrus= (sharp-cedrus).* _fl._ yellow; spikes axillary, solitary, elongated. April. _l._ phyllodia scattered, or somewhat verticillate, lanceolate-linear, ending in a pungent point, three-nerved. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. New South Wales, 1823. Greenhouse species. =A. paradoxa= (paradoxical). _fl._ yellow, disposed in solitary heads. March. _l._ phyllodia obliquely oblong-lanceolate, entire, wavy, one-nerved; branches clammy, glabrous. _h._ 6ft. New Holland. Greenhouse species. =A. penninervis= (feather-nerved). _fl._ yellow; heads about the size of a pea, racemose. April. _l._ phyllodia oblong, acuminated at both ends, straight, 2in. to 3in. long, 1/2in. broad, feather veined. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. New Holland, 1824. =A. platyptera= (broad-winged).* _fl._ yellow; heads solitary, on short peduncles. March. _l._ phyllodia short, bifarious, decurrent, obliquely truncate, mucronate; branches broadly winged. _h._ 3ft., Swan River, 1840. Greenhouse species. =A. pubescens= (downy).* _fl._ yellow; heads small, globose pedicellate, disposed in racemes along the axillary peduncles. March. _l._ with three to ten pairs of pinnæ, each pinna bearing six to eighteen pairs of linear glabrous leaflets. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. Branches terete, hairy. New Holland, 1790. =A. pulchella= (pretty).* _fl._ yellow; heads solitary. April. _l._, pinnæ bearing five to seven pairs of oblong-ovate, obtuse leaflets. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. New Holland, 1803. Greenhouse species. The variety _hispidissima_ has white flowers. =A. Riceana= (Rice's).* _fl._ pale yellow, in long, solitary, axillary spikes. May. _l._ linear, in clusters, dark green, scattered or whorled. _h._ 20ft. Tasmania. Habit graceful, like a weeping willow. Very handsome and distinct. SYN. _A. setigera_. See Fig. 5. =A. rotundifolia= (round-leaved). _fl._ yellow; heads globose, solitary, on long peduncles. March. _l._ phyllodia on short petioles, obliquely rounded, obtuse or retuse, mucronate. Branches angular, puberulous. _h._ 6ft. New Holland, 1842. =A. saligna= (willow-like). _fl._ yellow; heads solitary, on short peduncles. March. _l._ phyllodia linear, attenuated at both ends, quite entire, almost nerveless. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. New Holland, 1818. Greenhouse species. =A. Senegal= (Senegal). Gum Senegal. _fl._ white, small, glabrous, distant; spikes axillary, solitary, slender. _l._ with five to eight pairs of pinnæ, each pinna bearing fifteen to eighteen pairs of oblong-linear, obtuse, glabrous leaflets; branches white; prickles sometimes wanting. _h._ 20ft. Arabia, 1823. Stove species. =A. setigera= (bristly). Synonymous with _A. Riceana_. =A. sophoræ= (sophora-podded). _fl._ yellow; spikes usually twin, axillary. May. _l._ phyllodia obovate, oblong or lanceolate, quite entire, many nerved; sometimes there are bipinnate leaves at the tops of the branches. _h._ 20ft. New Holland, 1805. =A. sphærocephala= (round-headed).* _fl._ yellow; racemes axillary, usually twin, ovate-roundish. _l._ with numerous close-set linear falcate pinnules, which are usually tipped by a glandular yellow "food body;" spines twin, hollow. Mexico. A very remarkable stove species, inhabited by ants during certain seasons in its native country. =A. uncinifolia= (hook-leaved). _fl._ yellow; spikes usually twin, dense, on short peduncles, cylindrical. March. _l._ phyllodia long, linear-subulate, flat, recurved, mucronate, three-nerved; branches angular. _h._ 6ft. Swan River, 1846. =A. vera= (true). Egyptian Thorn; Gum Arabic. _fl._ white, usually in twin heads, pedunculate, axillary. July. _l._ with two pairs of pinnæ, each pinna bearing eight to ten pairs of oblong linear leaflets; branches and spines red. _h._ 20ft. Egypt, 1596. [Illustration: FIG. 5. A FLOWERING BRANCH OF ACACIA RICEANA.] =A. verticillata= (whorl-leaved).* _fl._ yellow; spikes axillary, solitary, oblong. March. _l._ phyllodia linear, ending in a pungent mucrone, disposed somewhat verticillately. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. A spreading, prickly, greenhouse species, of variable habit. New Holland, 1780. =A. vestita= (clothed).* _fl._ yellow, in loosely racemose heads, along the peduncles; upper ones solitary. June. _l._ phyllodia obliquely elliptic-lanceolate, one-nerved, ending in an awnlike mucrone, hispid. _h._ 4ft. New Holland, 1820. =A. viscidula= (clammy).* _fl._ yellow; heads globular, on short stalks, axillary, solitary or twin. February. _l._ linear, clammy; branches slender, clammy. _h._ 6ft., erect. New South Wales, 1844. =AC�NA= (from _akaina_, a thorn; in allusion to the slender spines on the calyx or fruit). ORD. _Rosaceæ_. A genus of dwarf sub-shrubby plants. Flowers capitate, or interruptedly spicate, uninteresting; petals absent. Leaves alternate, impari-pinnate. Excepting for rockwork, or as edgings to flower beds, they are not of much value; their habit is, however, very compact and neat. They require similar treatment to other hardy herbaceous plants, in ordinary soil. Increased by cuttings, creeping rootlets, divisions, and by seeds. =A. microphylla= (small-leaved).* _fl._ green, small, in close heads, furnished with showy, long crimson spines. Summer. _l._ small, pinnate. _h._ 1in. to 2in. New Zealand. A neat evergreen with a compact and cushion-like growth; it is a very effective subject for the rock garden, and grows freely in most situations. The crimson globular heads of spine-formed calyces form a conspicuous and ornamental feature of the plant. SYN. _A. Novæ Zealandiæ_. See Fig. 6. =A. millefolia= (myriad-leaved).* _fl._ inconspicuous. A very distinct species with finely-cut pale green leaves. The fruiting spikes of this are not collected in globular heads, as in the others, and their presence detract from its value as an ornamental plant. Otherwise, it is very graceful. [Illustration: FIG. 6. AC�NA MICROPHYLLA.] =A. myriophylla= (many-leaved).* _fl._ green, small, in rounded spikes. June. _l._ pinnate; leaflets deeply cut. _h._ 6in. to 1ft. Chili, 1828. Small, fern-like. =A. Novæ Zealandiæ= (New Zealand). A synonym of _A. microphylla_. =A. ovalifolia= (oval-leaved). _fl._ green. Summer. _h._ 9in. Chili, 1868. Good for rock gardens. =A. pulchella= (pretty).* _fl._ inconspicuous. A pretty bronzy-leaved species, admirably suited for rockwork crevices, where space is no object. It grows very rapidly, and forms handsome tufts. =ACALYPHA= (the name given by Hippocrates to the Nettle). ORD. _Euphorbiaceæ_. Stove ornamental and variegated nettle-like leaved shrubs. Flowers greenish or reddish, inconspicuous, in erect or drooping bracted axillary or terminal spikes; those of the upper portion sterile, of the lower, fertile. The undermentioned only are those most worthy of cultivation. They are very easily grown, with ordinary stove treatment, and in a peat and loam compost. When well cultivated, the leaves of the hybridised varieties are highly coloured, but rather coarse than otherwise. Increased by cuttings under a glass in sandy soil, in stove heat, during April. =A. Macafeeana= (Macafee's). _l._ red, blotched with bronzy crimson. 1877. =A. macrophylla= (large-leaved).* _l._ cordate ovate, russet brown, blotched with paler spots. The best and handsomest stove species. =A. marginata= (margined). _l._ large, very hairy, ovate-acuminate, centre brown, with a distinct margin of rosy carmine, about 1/4in. wide. Fiji Islands, 1875. =A. musaica= (mosaic).* _l._ bronzy green, variegated with orange and dull red. Polynesia, 1877. =A. torta= (twisted). _l._ dark olive, tinted green; margin cut into blunt, oblong segments. Samoan Islands. Remarkable for its curiously contorted foliage. It has erect stems, which are terete, and covered by the leaves in a very singular way. =A. tricolor= (three-coloured). A synonym of _A. Wilkesiana_. =A. Wilkesiana= (Wilkes').* _l._ ovate-acuminate, curiously blotched, mottled, and splashed with red and crimson; ground colour coppery green. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. New Hebrides, 1866. SYN. _A. tricolor_. =A. W. marginata= (Wilkes's margined).* _l._ large, olive brown, margined with rosy carmine. Fiji Islands, 1875. =ACANTHACE�.= A large order of soft-wooded, herbaceous plants, usually having gamopetalous axillary flowers; calyx composed of deeply imbricated scales; bracts large, leafy. =ACANTHEPHIPPIUM= (the derivation of this word is not apparent). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A peculiar class of terrestrial stove orchids. Flowers rather large, racemose, few; sepals combined in a broad oblique pitcher, including the petals, which are adnate to the base of the column; column short, produced into a long foot. Pseudo-bulbs oblong. Leaves few, large, longer than the scapes. The best species are the two first-mentioned. They will thrive well in sandy peat, with a quantity of small stones, broken pots, or gravel. A great deal of heat and moisture are absolutely essential during the growing period. Propagated, as soon as growth commences, by dividing the pseudo-bulbs. =A. bicolor= (two-coloured).* _fl._ purple and yellow, about 2in. long, campanulate, produced in clusters of three or four together; petals oblong-lanceolate, acutish; lateral lobes of lip rounded. June. _h._ 9in. Ceylon, 1833. =A. Curtisii= (Curtis's).* _fl._ same shape as above (except the lip), with numerous purple spots, light rose, and flush; column white, nail of lip yellow, keels yellowish, laciniæ white with purple. Malay Archipelago, 1881. The five keels between the side laciniæ distinguish it from the foregoing species and _A. sylhetense_. =A. javanicum= (Javanese).* _fl._ yellow and red, with distinct longitudinal stripes; petals triangular; lip three-lobed; lateral lobes truncate; intermediate lobe constricted in middle, ovate, and tuberculate at the apex, fleshy on both sides at base, with truncate emarginate inflexed teeth. September. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Java, 1843. =A. sylhetense= (Sylhet). _fl._ white, with many irregular spots and blotches towards the extremities of the outer portions. June. _h._ 9in. Sylhet, 1837. =ACANTHOLIMON= (from _akanthos_, a spine, and _limon_, sea lavender). ORD. _Plantagineæ_. Dwarf hardy tufted evergreen plants, distinguished from allied genera in having sharp-pointed rigid leaves. They are of rather slow growth, thriving best in a sandy soil, and sunny position, on rockwork more particularly. The flowers are similar to _Statice_ and _Armeria_. Increased by seeds (which germinate slowly), sown carefully on a warm but rather shaded border, and transplanted when large enough to handle; or by cuttings and very carefully made divisions. The cuttings should be made in late summer, and placed in a frame, to remain there during the winter. =A. glumaceum= (prickly).* _fl._ rose, spicate, about 1/2in. across, six to eight in a spikelet. Summer. _l._ densely packed and sharply pointed with spines. _h._ 6in. Armenia, 1851. Very compact and distinct. SYN. _Statice Ararati_. =A. Kotschyi= (Kotschy's). _fl._ white. A good species, but very rarely seen in British gardens. [Illustration: FIG. 7. ACANTHOLIMON VENUSTUM.] =A. venustum= (charming).* _fl._ rose, spicate, from twelve to twenty in each spike. Summer. _l._ broader than in the last, and glaucous. _h._ 6in. or 8in. Cilicia, 1873. A rare and handsome alpine. Larger than the preceding. See Fig. 7. =ACANTHOPH�NIX= (from _akantha_, a spine, and _phoinix_, the Date Palm). ORD. _Palmæ_. A very elegant stove palm, differing from _Areca_ principally in habit, and requiring a light sandy soil and a summer temperature of 65deg. to 80deg., winter 55deg. to 65deg. Increased by seeds only; these germinate best in a moist bottom heat, and a well decomposed compost of one part loam, one of peat, one of leaf mould, and the remainder of sand. They may remain in this soil for two or three years. =A. crinita= (hairy).* _fl._ spirally arranged, in threes, the central one being female. _l._ the fronds are arched, broadly ovate in outline, pectinately pinnate in division, with long linear acuminate segments, paler beneath. The stem is densely armed with black, needle-shaped spines, and much swollen towards the base. Seychelles, 1868. =ACANTHORHIZA= (from _akantha_, a spine, and _rhiza_, a root). ORD. _Palmæ_. A small genus of stove palms, differing from _Trithrinax_ by the aërial roots of the trunk hardening into spines (which are horizontal or pointed upwards), and by the blade of the leaf being divided down to the petiole. They delight in a rich loamy soil, and are propagated by seeds, in a moist, sweet hotbed, in spring. =A. aculeata= (spiny).* _l._ orbicular, palmately slit into numerous linear-lanceolate, glabrous segments, deep-green above, silvery beneath; petioles slender; the trunk is covered with a network of branching spines. Mexico, 1879. SYN. _Chamærops stauracantha_. =A. Wallisii= (Wallis's).* A recent introduction from tropical America, and not yet much cultivated; it is a tall palm with orbicular palmate leaves. =A. Warzcewiczii= (Warzcewicz's).* This differs from the preceding species by its more irregularly divided leaf blade, which is white below. Tropical America. =ACANTHOSTACHYUM= (from _akanthos_, a spine, and _stachys_, a spike). ORD. _Bromeliaceæ_. A monotypic genus of stove evergreen herbaceous plants; of easy culture in a compost of equal parts sand, decayed wood, and rotten leaves. Propagated by suckers, which strike readily in bottom heat. =A. strobilacea= (cone-fruited). _fl._ red and yellow; scape simple, long, scurfy; bracts coloured. June. _l._ radical, very long, incurved, narrow, thick, pungent, channelled, spiny-toothed, covered with white scurf. _h._ 4ft. Brazil, 1840. =ACANTHUS= (from _akanthos_, a spine; several species being spiny or prickly). Bear's Breech. ORD. _Acanthaceæ_. A group of stately, ornamental perennial plants, mostly hardy, remarkable for their vigorous growth and beautiful foliage. Flowers sessile, crowded, spicate; corolla tubular, one-lipped; lip three lobed. To attain perfection they require a deep soil, and a situation fully exposed to the sun. They will, however, thrive moderately well in common soil and partial shade. The habit being generally a bold one, they are most suited for isolated tufts, backgrounds of mixed borders, and the wild garden. Propagated by seeds, sown in gentle heat, or by division of the roots, in autumn or early spring. =A. carduifolius= (thistle-leaved). _fl._ blue. August. _h._ 3ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1816. Greenhouse species. =A. hispanicus= (Spanish). _fl._ white. August. _l._ large, shining, and deeply cut. _h._ 2ft. Spain, 1700. =A. longifolius= (long-leaved).* _fl._ purple, rose, in the axils of the bracts, which are oval, acuminate, spiny, of a reddish hue, forming a spike nearly 1ft. long. June. _l._ radical, 2ft. to 3ft. long; numerous. _h._ 3ft. to 4-1/2ft. Dalmatia, 1869. =A. lusitanicus= (Portugal). Synonymous with _A. mollis latifolius_. =A. mollis= (soft).* _fl._ white or rose, sessile in the axils of the deeply-toothed bracts; spikes about 1-1/2ft. Summer. _l._ sinuated, unarmed, heart-shaped in outline, 2ft. long by 1ft. broad. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Italy, 1548. =A. m. latifolius= (broad-leaved).* A variety of _A. mollis_, but larger and more robust in every part. This very handsome form is probably the best grown; it is one of the most suitable for sub-tropical gardening. A warm sunny spot is needful. SYN. _A. lusitanicus_. See Fig. 8. =A. montanus= (mountain).* _fl._ rose. August. _h._ 3ft. West Africa, 1865. A shrubby species. =A. niger= (black). _fl._ purplish white. July to September. _l._ sinuated, unarmed, glabrous, shining green. _h._ 3ft. Portugal, 1759. =A. spinosissimus= (most spiny).* _fl._ rosy, sessile, on a very handsome spike, with acute, recurved spines. Autumn. _l._ laciniate, pinnatifid, blistered, spiny; spines white. _h._ 3-1/2ft. South Europe, 1629. [Illustration: FIG. 8. ACANTHUS MOLLIS LATIFOLIUS.] =A. spinosus= (spiny).* _fl._ purplish, spicate; sepals spiny. Summer. _l._ deeply and regularly cut, each division terminated by a short spine. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. South Europe. See Fig. 9. =ACAULESCENT.= With apparently no stem. =ACCESSORY.= Something additional, not usually present. =ACCRETE.= Fastened with another body, and growing with it. =ACCUMBENT.= Lying against anything, in distinction to _incumbent_, or lying upon. =ACER=, (from _acer_, hard or sharp; wood is extremely hard, and was formerly much used for making pikes and lances). Maple. ORD. _Sapindaceæ_. A genus comprised, for the most part, of handsome hardy deciduous shrubs, or trees, adapted for forming shrubberies, plantations, &c. Flowers greenish, except where mentioned. _A. Pseudo-platanus_ is one of our most useful forest trees. Several of the species produce very useful timber; sugar is one of the constituent parts of the sap of all of them, and is obtained in large quantities from _A. saccharinum_, in North America. They all prefer a somewhat sheltered position. The most satisfactory soil is one free, deep, loamy, and well drained; the latter is especially desirable with some of the Japanese varieties. The varieties of _A. japonicum_, and _palmatum_ are well worth growing in pots for conservatory decoration. Propagation: By seeds, sown either in autumn or spring, covering them not more than a 1/4in. deep; the common varieties may be sown outside, while the rarer ones should be sown in a frame. By layers, and by grafting; the latter method is adopted with many of the rarer species and varieties, especially the variegated kinds; they are also readily increased by budding in summer. =A. austriacum= (Austrian). Synonymous with _A. campestre austriacum_. =A. campestre= (field).* Common Maple. _fl._ on erect racemes. May. _fr._ wings of fruit much divaricated. _l._ small, cordate, with five-toothed lobes. _h._ 20ft. Britain. A small tree with rough bark, full of deep fissures; wood often beautifully veined, when it is highly valued. =A. c. austriacum= (Austrian).* _fl._ much larger than those of the species. _fr._ smooth. Lobes of leaves somewhat acuminated. SYN. _A. austriacum_. =A. c. collinum= (hill-loving).* _fl._ smaller. _fr._ smooth. Lobes of leaves obtuse. France. =A. c. hebecarpum= (downy-fruited).* _fr._ clothed with velvety pubescence. [Illustration: FIG. 9. LEAF AND FLOWER SPIKE OF ACANTHUS SPINOSUS.] =A. c. lævigatum= (smooth-leaved). _l._ very smooth and shining. =A. c. nanum= (dwarf). Dwarf habit. =A. c. tauricum= (Taurian).* _l._ larger and less divided than in the species. =A. c. variegatum= (variegated).* _l._ beautifully variegated with blotches and stripes of white or whitish yellow; very distinct. =A. circinatum= (circinate).* _fl._ deep red, umbellate. April. _l._ seven to nine-lobed, serrulated. _h._ 5ft. to 6ft. North West America, 1827. A very beautiful species, having pendulous branches clothed with leaves, which change into a bright scarlet colour in the autumn. =A. creticum= (Cretan). _fl._ on few-flowered erect corymbs. May. _fr._ smooth, with the wings hardly diverging. _l._ cuneated at the base, acutely three-lobed at the top. _h._ 4ft. Levant, 1752. Nearly evergreen. =A. dasycarpum= (thick-fruited).* _fl._ conglomerate, on short pedicels, apetalous. April. _l._ truncate at the base, palmately five-lobed, with blunt recesses, and unequally and deeply-toothed lobes. _h._ 40ft. North America, 1725. SYNS. _A. eriocarpon_, _A. tomentosum_, _A. glaucum_, and _A. virginianum_. =A. Douglasii= (Douglas). Synonymous with _A. glabrum_. =A. eriocarpon= (hairy-fruited). Synonymous with _A. dasycarpum_. =A. Ginnala= (Ginnalian).* _fl._ on compound, crowded, erect racemes. Amur River. This is generally classed as a variety of _A. tartaricum_, but its habit is much more graceful, and in this form the leaves are prettily cut and lobed, whilst the leafstalks and midrib are more deeply coloured. =A. glabrum= (smooth).* _fl._ corymbose, on short two-leaved branchlets, greenish-yellow. June. _l._ roundish-cordate, deeply three to five-lobed, or partite; the lobes biserrate, of a light green. _h._ 15ft. to 30ft. North West America. SYNS. _A. Douglasii_, _A. tripartitum_. =A. glaucum= (glaucous). Synonymous with _A. dasycarpum_. =A. heterophyllum= (various-leaved).* _fl._ corymbose. May. _l._ small, ovate, entire, and three-lobed, slightly serrated, smooth. _h._ 4ft. Levant, 1759. An evergreen. SYN. _A. sempervirens_. =A. ibericum= (Iberian). _fl._ corymbose. May. _l._ bluntly three-lobed; lobes with one or two teeth, lateral ones marked with the middle nerve to the insertion of the petiole. _h._ 20ft. Iberia, 1826. =A. japonicum= (Japanese).* _fl._ deep purplish-red, large. April. _l._ many-lobed, in early spring very light green. _h._ 20ft. Japan, 1863. The varieties of this species, although not well fixed in many cases, rank amongst the most handsome of the deciduous small shrubs grown, but often change in character as they attain any considerable size. Plants from 1-1/2ft. to 3ft. high are very useful in cool conservatories, and in the highly kept grounds surrounding the house. =A. laurifolium= (laurel-leaved). Synonymous with _A. oblongum_. =A. Lobelii= (Lobel's). _l._ very slightly heart-shaped, irregularly toothed, five-lobed; lobes more or less abruptly pointed. =A. macrophyllum= (large-leaved).* _fl._ on erect, compound, racemes. May. _l._ digitately five-palmate, with roundish recesses; lobes somewhat three-lobed. _h._ 60ft. Northern California, 1812. =A. monspessulanum= (Montpelier).* _fl._ on few-flowered corymbs, erect. May. _l._ cordate, three-lobed; lobes almost or quite entire, equal. _h._ 10ft. to 20ft. South Europe, 1739. =A. montanum= (mountain). _fl._ on compound, erect racemes. May. _l._ cordate, three or slightly five-lobed, unequally and coarsely serrated. _h._ 18ft. Canada, 1750. SYN. _A. spicatum_. =A. Negundo.= _See_ =Negundo fraxinifolium=. =A. oblongum= (oblong). _fl._ on compound racemes, pale yellow. February. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, acuminated, quite entire. _h._ 20ft. Nepaul, 1824. SYN. _A. laurifolium_. =A. obtusifolium= (obtuse-leaved). _fl._ drooping, corymbose. May. _l._ rounded, bluntly three-lobed, crenately serrulate, about the length of the petioles. _h._ 15ft. Crete. =A. Opalus= (Opalus). A synonym of _A. opulifolium_. =A. opulifolium= (Guelder-rose-leaved).* _fl._ on nearly sessile corymbs. May. Ovaries and fruit smooth. _l._ cordate, five-lobed; lobes obtuse, bluntly and coarsely toothed. _h._ 8ft. France, 1823. SYN. _A. Opalus_. =A. o. obtusatum= (bluntish).* A larger, strong growing, round-headed tree, with dark green leaves, which are covered with a whitish or rusty tomentum on the under surface. =A. palmatum= (palmate-leaved).* _fl._ on five to seven-flowered umbels. May. _l._ palmately divided into five to seven lobes beyond the middle; lobes oblong, acuminated, serrated. _h._ 20ft. Japan, 1820. =A. p. atropurpureum= (dark purple).* A vigorous handsome plant, with bold dark purple foliage. Japan. =A. p. crispum= (crispy or waved).* _l._ green, with red stalked, convoluted edges. Japan, 1871. Very distinct, and like a miniature Lombardy poplar in habit of growth. =A. p. dissectum= (finely-divided).* _fl._ red, on terminal-stalked racemes, five to six-flowered. May. _l._ nine to ten parted; lobes oblong, acuminated, deeply serrated. _h._ 30ft. Japan, 1845. =A. p. ornatum= (beautiful).* Very ornamental, having finely cut deep red leaves, with lighter midribs. Japan, 1871. This variety is also known as _dissectum_. =A. p. palmatifidum= (palmatifid).* _l._ very finely palmately divided, the lobes cut down quite to the midrib, of a beautiful light green colour. 1875. =A. p. reticulatum= (netted).* _l._ palmately seven-lobed; lobes unequal, sharply serrate, emerald green, with dark green veins. Japan, 1875. A very elegant variety, with slender branches. =A. p. roseo-marginatum= (rose-margined).* _l._ freely divided, the lobes deeply cut, light green, margined with rose. Japan, 1874. A very distinct and charming variety. =A. p. sanguineum= (blood-red).* _l._ deeply five-lobed, the lobes serrated, of a deep reddish-crimson colour, much brighter than the variety _atropurpureum_. 1874. This presents a very striking contrast to the last. =A. p. septemlobum= (seven-lobed).* _fl._ purplish, on numerous flowered umbels. Spring. _l._ varying much, from palmately five-lobed, with toothed undivided lobes, to deeply seven to nine-lobed, with more or less finely cut divisions. Japan, 1864. There are numerous beautiful forms of this variety. There are many varieties of this much varying species, but we have only mentioned those best known; many are only known by their native names, and there is some doubt as to their distinctive characteristics. They are all extremely handsome. =A. pennsylvanicum= (Pennsylvanian).* _fl._ in long drooping, simple racemes. May. _l._ cordate, three-lobed, acuminated, finely and acutely serrated. _h._ 20ft. Trunk elegantly striped with white lines. North America, 1755. SYN. _A. striatum_. =A. pictum= (painted).* _fl._ corymbose, stalked. _l._ five to seven-lobed; lobes triangular or oblong, entire, acuminated. _h._ 15ft. to 20ft. Temperate Asia, 1840. _A. p. connivens_ (converging), _A. p. marmoratum_ (spotted), _A. p. rubrum_ (red), and _A. p. variegatum_ (variegated), are varieties differing principally in the colouring of the leaves. All are very desirable. =A. platanoides= (plane-like).* The Norway Maple. _fl._ on nearly erect stalked corymbs. May, June. _l._ cordate, smooth, five-lobed; lobes acuminated, with a few coarse acute teeth. _h._ 50ft. Europe, 1683. A very ornamental hardy tree, growing with great rapidity when young. It prefers a deep, well-drained soil. =A. p. aureo variegatum= (golden-variegated).* _l._ variegated with yellow. Europe, 1383. This, to retain the variegation, requires to be propagated by budding or grafting. The same remarks are equally applicable to the other varieties. =A. p. laciniatum= (cut-leaved).* _l._ deeply and variously cut, green and yellow. =A. p. Schwedleri= (Schwedler's).* _l._ very large, deep bronzy-red. A vigorous grower, and most effective. =A. p. variegatum= (variegated).* _l._ variegated with white. There are several other varieties, but of less importance than the foregoing. =A. Pseudo-platanus= (Mock-plane tree).* Sycamore. _fl._ on rather compound pendulous racemes. May. _l._ cordate, with five acuminated unequally-toothed lobes. _h._ 30ft. to 60ft. Europe. There are few deciduous trees so well adapted for standing singly in rough exposed situations. A deep, soft, dry soil is most suitable for it, but it will grow in soils of very opposite qualities. =A. P. albo variegata= (white-variegated).* A very beautiful form, in spring especially. _l._ white and green. =A. P. flavo variegata= (yellow-variegated). _l._ variegated with yellow. =A. P. longifolia= (long-leaved).* _l._ more deeply cut, and the petioles much longer than in the species. =A. P. purpureum= (purple).* _l._ purple underneath. The tree, when slightly ruffled by the wind, alternately appearing clothed in purple and pale green. Numerous other varieties of more or less excellence are grown. =A. rubrum= (red).* Scarlet Maple. _fl._ scarlet, handsome, conglomerate, corymbose. _l._ cordate at the base, deeply and unequally toothed, palmately five-lobed, with acute recesses. Branches and fruit also scarlet. _h._ 20ft. Canada, 1656. A variety with leaves splashed with yellow is rare. An excellent species, thriving well in damp, swampy situations, and is commonly increased by layers. =A. rufinerve= (red-nerved).* "The leaves vary both in size and outline, from 2-1/2in. to 4in. each way; three to five-lobed, with irregularly toothed margins, glabrous above, but with reddish hairs along the nerves beneath. The young branches are conspicuous on account of the bluish-grey glaucescence with which they are covered." =A. r. albo-limbatum= (white-margined).* differs only from the species in having a very distinct white margin--not always constant. Japan, 1869. =A. saccharinum= (Sugar Maple).* _fl._ yellow, on drooping corymbs, on short peduncles; pedicels pilose. April. _l._ cordate, smooth, palmately five-lobed; lobes accuminated, sinuately toothed. _h._ 40ft. N. America, 1735. =A. s. nigrum= (blackish).* _fl._ on sessile corymbs, nodding. April, May. _l._ cordate, with the recess closed; palmately five-lobed. _h._ 40ft. North America, 1812. =A. Semenovi= (Semenov's).* A slender and graceful species, with leaves closely resembling those of _A. Ginnala_, but smaller. Turkestan, 1879. =A. sempervirens= (evergreen). Synonymous with _A. heterophyllum_. =A. spicatum= (spiked). Synonymous with _A. montanum_. =A. striatum= (striated). Synonymous with _A. pennsylvanicum_. =A. tartaricum= (Tartarian).* _fl._ white, on crowded, erect, compound racemes. May. _l._ more or less cordate, acuminated, serrated, with obsolete lobes. _h._ 20ft. 1759. This species is one of the first to expand its leaves in spring. =A. tomentosum= (tomentose). Synonymous with _A. dasycarpum_. =A. tripartitum= (three-parted). Synonymous with _A. glabrum_. =A. Van Volxemii= (Van Volxem's). _fl._ not known in England. _l._ palmately three to five-lobed, very large, light green above, silvery and quite glabrous beneath. Caucasus, 1877. Distinct and fine. =A. villosum= (hairy). _fl._ fragrant, on lateral racemes. April. Buds, fruit, and young leaves, silky, villous. _l._ cordate, five-lobed, villous beneath as well as the petioles; lobes ovate acute. _h._ 50ft. Himalaya, at high elevations. Not hardy. =A. virginianum= (Virginian). Synonymous with _A. dasycarpum_. =ACERACE�.= An order of very ornamental hardy trees, of which the sycamore and maple are well-known representatives. =ACERAS= (from _a_, without, and _keras_, a horn; the lip having no spur). ORD. _Orchidaceæ_. An interesting genus of terrestrial orchids. Calyx of three ovate, equal, converging sepals; petals two, narrow, oblong; lip spurless, much longer than the calyx, narrow, oblong, with four linear lobes. The most interesting species is the native one. Indigenous to dry, chalky pastures in the south-east of England, and it will only thrive in similar soils when grown in gardens. Propagated by careful divisions of tubers only. [Illustration: FIG. 10. FLOWER OF ACERAS ANTHROPOPHORA.] =A. anthropophora= (The Green Man Orchis). _fl._ greenish, on a long spike, lip longer than the ovary; lip and petals often margined with red. June. _l._ lanceolate. _h._ 1ft. See Fig. 10. =ACERATIUM= (from _a_, not, and _keras_, a horn; the stamens being destitute of the terminal bristles so conspicuous in its near ally, _Elæocarpus_). ORD. _Tiliaceæ_. An interesting stove evergreen tree, very closely allied to _Tilia_. It thrives well in a mixture of loam and peat, and is increased by ripe cuttings, which root readily if placed in sand, under a hand glass, in heat. =A. oppositifolium= (opposite-leaved).* _fl._ white, on terminal three-flowered peduncles. June. _l._ opposite, elliptic-oblong, furnished with a few mucronated teeth. _h._ 20ft. Amboyna, 1818. =ACEROSE, ACEROSUS.= Needle-pointed, fine, and slender, with a sharp point. =ACETARIOUS.= An adjective applied to plants used in salads. =ACEUS.= A termination expressing a resemblance to the thing whose name it terminates--_foliaceus_, leaf-like, of the texture of a leaf or _folium_. =ACHANIA.= _See_ =Malvaviscus=. =ACHENE.= A hard, dry, one-seeded, superior seed-vessel. =ACHERONTIA ATROPOS.= _See_ =Sphinx Atropos=. =ACHILLEA= (named after Achilles, who is said to have first discovered the medicinal qualities of this plant). Including _Ptarmica_. Milfoil. ORD. _Compositæ_. A large genus (about fifty species), containing numerous hardy, border and alpine plants. Flower-heads small, corymbose; involucral scales oblong, often with a shrivelled appearance; receptacle with membranous scales, resembling chaff; ray florets few, sometimes rather large and showy; pappus none. Leaves ternate, simple or compound. All the species are easily cultivated in ordinary garden soil. _A. Eupatorium_ and other large-growing kinds are well suited for borders or groups, whilst the alpine section should be planted on the rockery. A great number of species, although excellent for naturalising in rough shrubberies, are totally unfitted for garden culture. Propagated, during spring, by root divisions, cuttings, and seeds. =A. ægyptiaca= (Egyptian).* _fl.-heads_ rich bright yellow, in closely packed terminal corymbs, which are from 2in. to 4in. across. Summer. _l._ pinnate; leaflets obtusely lanceolate, serrate, silvery white, 6in. to 8in. long. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2-1/2ft. Levant, 1640. Handsome perennial, thriving best in a warm position. =A. Ageratum= (ageratum-leaved).* _fl.-heads_ pure white, large, borne singly on stalks about 6in. or 8in. high. Summer. _l._ narrow, arranged in a dense silvery rosette, the margins prettily crimped. Greece. A pretty alpine, of compact habit. =A. asplenifolia= (asplenium-leaved).* _fl.-heads_ rose-coloured, small, in a compound corymb. June to September. _l._ lower ones stalked, pinnatifid, lobes pinnate; upper ones pinnate. _h._ 18in. North America, 1803. =A. atrata= (black-cupped).* _fl.-heads_ white. August. _l._ in a rosette, pinnatifid, deep shining green. Austria, 1596. A pretty alpine. =A. aurea= (golden-flowered).* _fl.-heads_ golden yellow, borne singly on stems 18in. high. Summer and autumn. _l._ larger than in _A. ageratifolia_, with which species it is sometimes confused. Levant, 1739. Habit tufted. Requires a warm position. [Illustration: FIG. 11. ACHILLEA CLAVENN�, showing Habit and detached Flower-heads.] =A. Clavennæ= (Clavenna's).* _fl.-heads_ white, in neat and compact heads. Spring and summer. _l._ bipinnatifid; segments linear, obtuse, slightly denticulated at the apex. _h._ 10in. Austria, 1656. A very neat and pretty species, having dwarf tufted habit and a hoary appearance. See Fig. 11. =A. decolorans= (staining). _fl.-heads_ whitish yellow. July. _l._ undivided. _h._ 1ft. Native country unknown. 1798. [Illustration: FIG. 12. ACHILLEA EUPATORIUM, showing Habit and detached Flower-head.] =A. Eupatorium= (fern-leaved).* _fl.-heads_ brilliant yellow, in dense convex, compound corymbs, which are often 5in. across, lasting two months in full beauty. June to September. _l._ numerous, linear, pinnate, lobed and serrated, hairy, rough. _h._ 4ft. to 5ft. Caucasus, 1803. This noble plant should be grown at the back of the border, and kept neatly staked. SYN. _A. filipendula_. See Fig. 12. =A. filipendula= (dropwort-leaved). Synonymous with _A. Eupatorium_. =A. Herba-rota= (Herba-rota).* _fl.-heads_ white, in lax corymbs, on slender stems. May. _l._ lanceolate, serrated. _h._ 6in. France, 1640. When touched, this pretty little plant gives off an agreeable aromatic perfume. To attain full beauty it requires sandy loam and a sunny position. _A. macrophylla_ (large-leaved). _fl.-heads_ white. July. _l._ long and broad pinnate; leaflets horizontal. _h._ 3ft. Italy, 1810. =A. Millefolium roseum= (rosy).* _fl.-heads_ rose-coloured, in small ovoid heads, which are produced continuously for several months. _l._ strap-shaped; segments very narrow. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. England. It is well worth growing, both as a border plant, and for cutting purposes. =A. mongolica= (Mongolian). _fl.-heads_ white. July. _l._ undivided. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Siberia, 1818. =A. moschata= (musky).* _fl.-heads_ white, in lax corymbs. June. _h._ 6in. _l._ bright green, about 2in. long, pinnatifid. Italy, 1775. A pretty tufted alpine. =A. nana= (dwarf). _fl.-heads_ white. June to August. _l._ pinnate; leaflets horizontal. _h._ 6in. Italy, 1759. A rockery species. =A. odorata= (sweet-scented). _fl.-heads_ white, fragrant. June to August. _l._ bipinnate. _h._ 6in. Spain, 1729. =A. pectinata= (comb-leaved).* _fl.-heads_ white. June. _l._ bright green, about 2in. long, pinnatifid. Italy, 1775. A pretty tufted alpine. =A. Ptarmica flore-pleno= (double sneezewort).* _fl.-heads_ pure white, freely produced in terminal corymbs. All through the summer and autumn. _l._ lanceolate, serrulate. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. England. This is one of the most useful white border perennials grown, increasing very readily. When out of flower the stems should be cut down to the surface. =A. santolinoides= (lavender-cotton-like). _fl.-heads_ white. July. _l._ pinnate; leaflets transverse. _h._ 1ft. Spain. =A. serrata= (serrated).* _fl.-heads_ clear white, large, in small corymbose clusters, forming a somewhat spreading panicle. Summer. _l._ white, with adpressed hairs, sessile, lanceolate, deeply serrated. _h._ 15in. Switzerland, 1686. [Illustration: FIG. 13. ACHILLEA TOMENTOSA, showing Habit and detached Portion of Inflorescence.] =A. tomentosa= (downy).* _fl.-heads_ bright yellow, in repeatedly compound corymbs. Summer. _l._ woolly, bipinnatifid; segments linear, acute. _h._ 8in. to 12in. Europe. One of the best yellow-flowered species for the rock garden, having a dense habit. See Fig. 13. =A. umbellata= (umbel-flowered).* _fl.-heads_ white, six to eight in a simple umbel. June. _l._ regularly lobed; lobes obovate, entire; clothed with a dense, silvery pubescence, on which account the plant is chiefly cultivated. _h._ 4in. to 5in. Greece. A very pretty, dwarf rock plant. =A. vallesiaca= (Vallesian). _fl.-heads_ white. June to August. _l._ pinnate; leaflets horizontal. _h._ 1ft. Switzerland, 1819. =ACHIMENES= (from _cheimaino_, to suffer from cold; alluding to the general tenderness of the species). Including _Scheeria_. ORD. _Gesneraceæ_. A large genus of handsome, stove or warm greenhouse, branched, generally hairy, herbaceous perennials, with scaly, catkin-like stolons underground (see Fig. 14), and sometimes from the axils of the leaves. Corolla funnel-shaped; tube rather oblique, gibbous behind at the base; pedicels one-flowered, axillary, solitary or fasciculated, bracteated. Leaves opposite, or three in a whorl, serrated. [Illustration: FIG. 14. ROOT OF THE ACHIMENE, showing Tubercles.] [Illustration: FIG. 15. BOUQUET OF VARIOUS ACHIMENES.] To be successfully cultivated, they must be started and grown in stove heat till they commence flowering, when they may be removed to the conservatory or greenhouse, there to remain till after flowering. Batches of tubercles should be started in heat from February till the end of April, so as to give a succession of blossom. Shake each variety out of the old compost and insert separately in light, sandy soil; water sparingly at first, but when active they may receive more frequent supplies. When the shoots are about 2in. high, the tubercles may be transplanted to the pots, pans, or baskets in which it is intended to grow them, using as potting compost fibrous peat and leaf-soil in equal proportions, with about a sixth part of sheep's or rotten cow manure, and sufficient silver sand to make the whole porous and of a whitish appearance. Thorough drainage is indispensable, and a layer of the rougher soil, or sphagnum, should be placed over the potsherds, to prevent the loose soil stopping the drainage. Place the pans as near the glass as possible, and shade from bright sunshine. Give liberal supplies of water, with occasional doses of liquid manure; and, as the shoots lengthen, they may be pinched, to induce sturdy growth and a larger number of flowering branches. Place neat stakes to each stem, and keep well tied, arranging the stakes as symmetrically as possible, so as to ensure an even outline, but do not allow them to be seen. Light syringing with clear water, morning and evening, is beneficial. After the plants have done flowering, they should gradually have less water as the foliage and stems decay; a light airy situation is needed to mature and ripen the tubers. When the tops are quite dead, they may be removed, and the pots stored on the sides in any warm dry corner where the temperature will not fall below 50deg., keeping the plants quite dry until the time of starting again. Achimenes are liable to attacks of thrips, red-spider, and green-fly, especially if the atmosphere is kept dry; these are easily destroyed by fumigation with tobacco. This must only be done when the foliage is quite dry, otherwise the plants will suffer. Achimenes are especially beautiful when well arranged, especially if two or three varieties are mixed together, as white, red, and purple (Fig. 15). There are several methods of increasing these:--(1) By cuttings; these need not be cut off at a joint, as they will root from any portion of the stem. Insert them thickly in well-drained pots of sandy soil--say a mixture of equal parts of peat and sand--and place in bottom heat. (2) By leaves, which should be severed from the stems, and pricked in pots of similar soil to the cuttings, placing all the petiole below the surface; stand the pots in bottom heat. (3) By scales from the corms, which should be carefully rubbed off and sown, like seeds, in pots or pans of the same compost, barely covered with sand, and placed in bottom heat. (4) By seeds, which are very small, and, consequently, require to be carefully sown. The pans must be thoroughly drained and filled nearly to the rim, levelled, and well watered with a fine rose, after which the seed should be thinly scattered, covered very lightly with sand, and placed in a shady position. Keep nicely moist, and apply water very lightly, or the tiny germs will be disturbed. Place a sheet of glass over the seed-pans. When the seedlings are large enough to handle, they may be pricked off and afterwards treated like rooted cuttings. The best time for all modes of propagating is early spring. [Illustration: FIG. 16. FLOWER OF ACHIMENES LONGIFLORA.] =A. atrosanguinea= (dark-crimson).* _fl._ crimson; tube of corolla 1-1/2.in. long, cylindrical, saccate at base, pilose; limb small, spreading; peduncle one-flowered. July, August. _l._ pilose, oblong, sub-cordate, serrated, unequal. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Guatemala, 1848. =A. candida= (white).* _fl._ white; tube of corolla gibbous at base; limb oblique, the front segment largest; peduncles axillary, pilose, three-flowered. June. _l._ unequal, oblique at base, serrated, pilose. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Guatemala, 1848. =A. coccinea= (scarlet).* _fl._ scarlet; peduncles solitary, axillary. August. _l._ three in a whorl, ovate, acuminated, serrated, with minute leaves in the axils. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Jamaica, 1778. =A. cupreata= (coppery). _fl._ scarlet; calyx spotted inside, with a fringed mouth; petals ciliately toothed; peduncles one-flowered. April. _l._ elliptic, serrated, wrinkled, coloured. _h._ 6in. Mexico, 1845. Plant creeping, downy. =A. gloxiniæflora= (gloxinia-flowered).* _fl._ whitish, large, axillary; tube of corolla 2in. long; limb broad, spreading; lobes finely serrated, dotted with purple inside. June. _l._ serrated from middle to top. Stem slender, flexuous. _h._ 1ft. Mexico, 1845. =A. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl._ violet purple, very large, solitary, axillary; limbs of corolla spreading. June. _l._ equal, ovate, oblique at base, sparingly serrated. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Mexico, 1842. =A. heterophylla= (various-leaved). _fl._ solitary or twin; corolla scarlet; lobes ciliated. July. _l._ opposite, one smaller than the other, cordate ovate, acuminated, coarsely serrated. _h._ 1ft. Mexico. Plant rather hairy. =A. hirsuta= (hairy). _fl._ reddish, with yellow eye; limb of corolla flat, with rounded serrulate segments; peduncles one-flowered. July. _l._ cordate, serrated. _h._ 2-1/2ft. Stem bulbiferous. Guatemala, 1842. Plant hairy. =A. Kleei= (Klee's).* _fl._ lilac; corolla dark near the mouth, with a dash of yellow in the throat; calyx downy; peduncles one-flowered. August. _l._ ovate, acuminate, serrated. _h._ 6in. Guatemala, 1848. Plant hairy. =A. longiflora= (long-flowered).* _fl._ violet; segments of calyx lanceolate, erect; corolla with a long tube, and an ample spreading limb; pedicels one-flowered. July and August. _l._ three to four in a whorl, ovate or oblong, coarsely serrated. _h._ 1ft. Guatemala, 1841. Plant hairy. See Fig. 16. =A. multiflora= (many-flowered).* _fl._ pale lilac; sepals linear; corolla funnel-shape; tube curved; lobes roundish, lower one fringed; peduncles axillary, three to five-flowered. August. _l._ opposite, or three in a whorl, ovate, deeply and doubly serrated. _h._ 1ft. Brazil, 1843. Plant hairy. =A. ocellata= (eye-spotted).* _fl._ reddish yellow, with dark spots, solitary, drooping; petals nearly equally spotted. Autumn. _l._ on longish petioles, ovate, acuminate, serrated, wrinkled, coloured beneath. _h._ 1-1/2ft. 1845. Plant hairy. =A. patens= (spreading). _fl._ violet, blue; calyx downy; tube of corolla shorter than limb, which is spreading. June. _l._ ovate, acuminate, hispid above, serrate. _h._ 1ft. Mexico, 1845. =A. pedunculata= (long-stalked).* _fl._ scarlet, with yellow eye; corolla drooping, gibbous at base; peduncles in the axils of the upper leaves. July. _l._ rather unequal, obliquely cordate, ovate, serrated. _h._ 2ft. Stem simple, downy. Guatemala, 1840. =A. picta= (painted).* _fl._ scarlet, with yellow eye; tube of calyx turbinate; lobes of corolla roundish, three lower ones smallest; peduncles solitary or two-flowered, axillary one-flowered. July. _l._ opposite, or three in a whorl, cordate-ovate, coarsely serrated, velvety, and elegantly painted. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Mexico, 1843. =A. rosea= (rosy). _fl._ rose, pilose; limb of corolla equal to tube; peduncles filiform, many-flowered. June. _l._ sometimes three in a whorl, pilose. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Guatemala, 1848. The foregoing are the most important species known. Hybrid varieties are innumerable, and even surpass the species in beauty, the best of which are enumerated below in their respective colours. =Blue and Purple Flowered.= ADVANCE,* flowers reddish-purple, lighter at the eye, dwarf, and free habit; ARGUS,* rich plum, with deep orange eye, large and free; DR. BUENZOD,* flowers rich crimson purple, spotted with orange in the centre, very free; EXCELSIOR, rich violet-purple, very large and free, with compact habit; GEM,* flowers small, of good form, rich carmine-purple; GIBSONI,* flowers very large, clear mauve, with the tube white outside; GRANDIS, rich violet purple, with large orange eye, carmine shaded, a charming variety; LADY SCARSDALE,* flowers of fair size, very free, rich plum purple, shaded carmine; LONGIFLORA MAJOR,* a stronger grower than the type, freely producing large rich blue flowers, one of the finest varieties grown; MADAME GEORGE, deep purple shaded crimson; MAUVE QUEEN,* flowers very large, of a distinct mauve, with a brownish eye-shade, very profuse, with a grand habit, one of the best; PURPUREA ELEGANS,* deep claret purple, orange throat with dark spots, a very attractive variety; ROLLISONII,* flowers large, deep lavender-blue, yellow throat, spotted with deep crimson, very effective; VIVICANS,* dark carmine-purple, with crimson eye, a few blue rays streaking from the eye, habit good, and very free. =Crimson and Scarlet Flowered.= AURORA,* rich rosy-scarlet, with yellow throat, very large, fully 2in. across; CARL WOOLFORTH,* deep crimson, shaded lighter at the eye, very free; DAZZLE, flowers small, brilliant scarlet, pale yellow eye, very pretty and free; DIADEM,* crimson lake, shaded carmine, with deep yellow eye; ECLIPSE,* rich orange-scarlet, spotted with carmine, extremely floriferous, with a good habit; FIREFLY,* deep carmine red, golden eye, spotted with crimson, one of the best; HARRY WILLIAMS,* bright cerise red, yellow, maroon spotted, the edge prettily fringed, a very charming variety; LOVELINESS, rich magenta crimson, golden eye, spotted with maroon; METEOR, flowers rather large, bright crimson-scarlet, yellow eye, spotted carmine, very dwarf and free; SCARLET PERFECTION,* rich carmine-scarlet, deep orange eye, very beautiful; SIR TREHERN THOMAS,* deep crimson-lake, very profuse, with a good habit; STELLA, deep magenta, with orange eye, the margins fringed, very large and free, 2in. or more across; WILLIAMSII,* flowers large, stout, brilliant scarlet, orange throat, habit dwarf and free-branching, one of the finest varieties grown. =Orange-Flowered.= GEORGIANA DISCOLOR, flowers large, bright orange, with a distinct yellow centre; HENDERSONI,* rich orange-salmon, with yellow eye; MAGNET,* deep orange, spotted with crimson, with a distinct carmine zone, a very free-flowering and beautiful variety; PARSONSI* is a decided improvement upon the last. =Rose-Flowered.= ADMIRATION, deep rose, white throat, spotted with carmine; CARMINIATA SPLENDENS,* bright rose yellow, spotted in the centre, a charming variety; LEOPARD, bright magenta rose, freely spotted at the throat; LONGIFLORA ROSA,* rich lilac rose, deeper in centre, of medium size, very free and dwarf; MASTERPIECE,* deep rose, violet shaded, with a distinct white throat; _Pink Perfection_,* rich rose, the eye rich carmine and violet rayed, one of the best; ROSEA MAGNIFICA,* bright rose, with a yellow eye, very finely spotted, a very lovely variety; ROSE QUEEN,* flowers very large, rich rosy-lake, shaded deep purple, with a well defined orange throat; UNIQUE,* rosy-pink, deep yellow eye, spotted crimson, a very charming variety. =White-Flowered.= AMBROSE VERSCHAFFELT,* flowers of good size, pure white, with a dark rayed centre; LONGIFLORA ALBA,* similar in form and habit to Longiflora, but with large white flowers, slightly marked in the centre; MADAME A. VERSCHAFFELT,* flowers large, pure white ground, heavily veined with purple, a very attractive variety; MARGARETTA,* flowers of medium size, pure white, and destitute of any markings whatever. =ACHLAMYDEOUS.= Without floral envelope. =ACHRAS.= _See_ =Sapota=. =ACHYRANTHES.= _See_ =Chamissoa= and =Iresine=. =ACHYRONIA.= Included under =Priestleya= (which _see_). =ACHYROPAPPUS.= Included under =Schkuhria= (which _see_). =ACICULAR.= Needle-shaped. =ACINETA= (from _akineta_, immovable; the lip being jointless). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A small genus of cool house, robust, sub-terrestrial orchids allied to _Peristeria_. Flowers sub-globose, fleshy, arranged on stout, pendulous racemes. Leaves lanceolate, membranous, ribbed. Pseudo-bulbs angular, about as large as hens' eggs. The compost should consist of equal parts of fibrous peat and living sphagnum. In planting, first place a somewhat thick layer of the moss all round the inside of the basket, and press the soil firmly round the plant. During the growing season, the baskets should be taken down twice or three times a week and dipped into a tub of water, so that the whole may become saturated. In addition, the plants should be sprinkled with the syringe morning and evening, for they delight in an abundant supply of water and plenty of shade. When the growth is finished, they must be kept very dry, an occasional syringing, to keep the leaves from shrivelling, being all that is necessary. =A. Arcei= (Arce's). _fl._ yellow. Central America, 1866. =A. Barkeri= (Barker's).* _fl._ yellow and dark crimson, on stout scapes, produced from the base of the bulbs, and bearing fifteen to thirty fragrant flowers. Midsummer. _l._ broadly lanceolate, 2ft. long. Pseudo-bulbs 5in. to 7in. long. Mexico, 1837. SYN. _Peristeria Barkeri_. =A. chrysantha= (yellow-flowered).* _fl._ yellow, white, and crimson, fragrant; lower part of the lip having a blunt, papillose horn; racemes erect. May. _h._ 2ft. Mexico, 1850. =A. densa= (dense-flowered).* _fl._ sub-globose, and of a waxy consistence, lemon-yellow, dotted brown, sweet-scented; racemes rather short. Costa Rica, 1849. A robust-growing species, very like _A. Barkeri_. SYN. _A. Warczewiczii_. =A. Humboldtii= (Humboldt's).* _fl._ straw-colour, dotted with brown; scapes 2ft. long. May. _l._ broadly lanceolate, generally four. Columbia, 1872. A handsome species, but the flowers speedily fade. SYNS. _Anguloa superba_, _Peristeria Humboldtii fulva_. =A. sulcata= (grooved). _fl._ bright yellow. Columbia, 1879. Very like the last species, from which it differs in mere botanical detail. =A. Warczewiczii= (Warczewicz's). A synonym of _A. densa_. =ACINOS.= _See_ =Calamintha=. =ACIOTIS= (from _akis_, a point, and _ous_, an ear; in allusion to the shape of the petals). ORD. _Melastomaceæ_. A small genus of pretty, stove, evergreen plants. Flowers small; panicles slender, loose, terminal; petals four, obliquely awned at the apex. Leaves thin, membranous. For culture, _see_ =Melastoma=.. =A. aquatica= (water-loving). _fl._ white, small, on loose, terminal, filiform panicles. June. _l._ cordate, ovate-oblong. _h._ 6in. to 12in. South America, 1793. The pots in which this species is grown should be kept in pans of water. =A. discolor= (various-coloured).* _fl._ small, red, in spicate racemes. _l._ petiolate, elliptic-oblong, purple beneath, deep shining green above. _h._ 1ft. Trinidad, 1816. =ACIPHYLLA= (from _ake_, a point, and _phyllon_, a leaf, referring to the sharply pointed segments of the leaf). ORD. _Umbelliferæ_. A genus of curious and remarkable erect hardy perennials, with densely fascicled, spicate, or panicled umbels of flowers; and pinnate or bi-tripinnate leaves. They are most suited for the rockwork, in a light sandy soil. Propagated by seeds or divisions in spring. =A. Colensoi= (Colenso's).* _fl._ white. This extraordinary evergreen forms a circular bush, 5ft. or 6ft. in. diameter, of bayonet-like spines, having flowering stems 6ft. to 9ft. high, covered with spreading spinous leaflets. New Zealand, 1875. =A. squarrosa= (rough-headed).* _fl._ white. _h._ 6ft. to 9ft. New Zealand. More frequently met with than the preceding, of very dense growth. Commonly known as the Bayonet Plant. =ACIS= (named after Acis, shepherd of Sicily, son of Faunus and the nymph Simæthis). ORD. _Amaryllidaceæ_. A genus of very pretty dwarf bulbous plants, suitable for the rockery, in sunny sheltered situations. This genus was formerly included with _Leucojum_, from which it is distinguished by its dwarf slender habit, filiform style, and membranous capsule. All are delicate little plants, with narrow linear leaves and bell-shaped flowers. They require a free, open, rich soil, and should remain and bloom undisturbed for years; divide the clumps every three or four years, and renew the soil. =A. autumnalis= (autumn-blooming).* _fl._, perianth white, delicate pink at the base, preceding the leaves; two to three on a stem. Autumn. _l._ few in number, very slender, sheathing the stems at the base. _h._ 4in. to 6in. Portugal, 1629. A charming species, and the only one at all common. =A. grandiflorus= (large-flowered).* _fl._, perianth white, larger than those of the last. August. _h._ 6in. Numidia, 1820. Somewhat rare in cultivation. =A. roseus= (rose-coloured).* _fl._, perianth rose red, not more than 1/4in. long; scape one to three-flowered. August. _l._ narrow, blunt, linear. _h._ 3in. Corsica, 1820. Very rare. =A. tingitanum= (Tangiers). Of recent introduction; has a many-flowered umbel, and very long leaves. =A. trichophyllus= (hair-leaved).* _fl._, perianth white, about 1/2in. long; segments loosely nerved, with a faint flush of red at the base. January. _h._ 6 in. Spain, 1820. =ACISANTHERA= (from _akis_, a point, and _anthera_, an anther; anthers jointed). ORD. _Melastomaceæ_. A monotypic stove genus allied to Rhexia, of semi-shrubby habit. It grows well in a mixture of loam, sand, and peat; and cuttings root freely in the same soil in stove temperature. =A. quadrata= (square-branched). _fl._ purple, ventricose, alternate, axillary, solitary. July. _l._ three-nerved, ovate, crenated; branches square. Habit erect, branched at the apex. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. Jamaica, 1804. More curious than ornamental. =ACMADENIA= (from _akme_, a point, and _aden_, a gland; in allusion to the anthers being terminated by pointed glands). ORD. _Rutaceæ_. A small genus of beautiful greenhouse shrubs. Flowers terminal, solitary, or few, furnished with imbricate sepal-like bracts; petals five, with long claws, which are bearded on the inside. Leaves imbricate, linear-oblong, or roundish. They thrive best in a mixture of peat and sand, with a little turfy loam; thorough drainage is also necessary. Young cuttings pricked in a pot of very sandy soil, covered with a bell glass, and shaded, will root freely in a cool house. =A. tetragona= (four-angled).* _fl._ white, large, sessile, solitary. June. _l._ roundish-rhomboidal, with scabrous margins. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1798. =ACMENA= (from _Acmenæ_, nymphs of Venus, who had an altar at Olympia). ORD. _Myrtaceæ_. A small genus of greenhouse evergreen shrubs. Flowers in dense trichotomous cymes, with five small distant petals, and very conspicuous and pretty berries. They grow well in an equal mixture of peat, loam, and sand. Propagated readily by placing half-ripened cuttings in sand, under a glass, without heat. =A. floribunda= (many-flowered).* _fl._ white, in threes, disposed in a terminal panicled thyrse. May to September. _l._ full of pellucid dots, oval-lanceolate, acuminated at both ends. Berries globose, bright purple. _h._ 4ft. New Holland, 1790. =A. ovata= (ovate-leaved).* A new species, having, according to Mr. W. Bull, ovate leaves, which, along with the stems and petioles, are dark purple, giving the plants, when making new growth, a striking appearance. It has a neat habit. =ACOKANTHERA.= _See_ =Toxicophl�a=. =ACONIOPTERIS.= _See_ =Acrostichum=. =ACONITE.= _See_ =Aconitum=. =ACONITE, WINTER.= _See_ =Eranthis=. =ACONITUM= (from _Aconæ_, or _Acone_, a harbour of Heraclea, in Bithynia, near where it is said to abound). Aconite; Monk's Hood; Wolf's Bane. ORD. _Ranunculaceæ_. An extensive genus of very ornamental hardy perennials. Flowers in terminal racemes; sepals five, the upper one helmet shaped, the two sides broader than the two back ones; petals five, small, the two upper with long claws hooded at the tip; the three inferior smaller or undeveloped. Leaves palmate. They thrive well in any ordinary garden soil. If left undisturbed for several years, they will attain a goodly size, and produce fine panicles of handsome flowers. They are invaluable for growing beneath the shade of trees, where they succeed better than almost any other class of plants. All are very easily propagated by divisions of the roots and seeds; the latter should be sown as soon as ripe in a cold frame. Care should be taken not to leave pieces of the roots about, for, with but one exception, those of all the species are very poisonous. Although very unlike horse-radish, they have frequently been mistaken for it, with fatal results; and none of the species should be cultivated in or near the kitchen garden. Sect. I. Roots Tuberous. =A. acuminatum= (taper-pointed). _fl._ bluish purple; spur capitate; helmet closed, conical, beaked. July. _l._ with cuneate, bipinnate lobes. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Switzerland, 1819. =A. album= (white-flowered).* _fl._ pure white, large, with erect helmet, very freely produced. _l._ dark green, with oblong-cuneate divisions. August. _h._ 4ft. to 5ft. Levant, 1752. This is a rare and very handsome species. =A. alpinum= (alpine). Synonymous with _A. rostratum_. =A. ampliflorum= (large-flowered). _fl._ bluish-purple, large; spur obtuse, straight. June. _l._ with blunt segments. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Austria, 1823. =A. angustifolium= (narrow-leaved).* _fl._ deep blue, in spiked panicles; spur capitate; helmet closed, hemispherical; lip bifid. June. _l._ palmately cut into linear lobes. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Siberia, 1824. =A. biflorum= (twin-flowered).* _fl._ pale blue, usually twin, sessile, the middle rather obscure and with yellowish edges, covered on the back with spreading down; spur truncate; helmet depressed; beak drawn out. June. _l._ lower ones on long stalks, with linear segments. _h._ 6in. Siberia, 1817. A very rare alpine species. =A. Cammarum= (Cammarum). _fl._ rich deep purple, on rather loose spikes; spur capitate; helmet closed, hemispherical. July to September. _l._ with short, bluntish lobes. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Austria, 1752. =A. cernuum= (drooping). _fl._ violet, large, on nodding, loose, hairy racemes; spur capitate, or a little hooked; helmet large, arched, beaked. July and August. _l._ with trapeziform, pinnate lobes. Branches axillary, spreading. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Europe, 1800. =A. delphinifolium= (Delphinium-leaved).* _fl._ pale bluish purple, large, on loose racemes; spur a little hooked; helmet hemispherical. June. _l._ smooth, deeply cut into five parts. Stems slender. _h._ 6in. to 2ft. North America, 1820. A rare alpine species. =A. elatum= (tall). _fl._ blue, very large, in loose panicled spikes; peduncles pubescent; spur capitate, inclining. June. _l._ with linear acute segments. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Europe, 1822. =A. eminens= (eminent).* _fl._ blue, on erectly spreading pubescent peduncles; spur capitate; helmet closed; lip very long, refracted. June. _l._ with cuneate bipinnate lobes. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Europe, 1800. =A. eriostemon= (woolly-stamened). _fl._ bluish-purple, disposed in long, beautiful, erect-spreading spikes; spur capitate; helmet closed, arched. June. _l._ with cuneate, bipinnate lobes. _h._ 4ft. Switzerland, 1821. =A. exaltatum= (exalted). _fl._ blue, on loose panicles, with ascending stiff branches; spur thick, somewhat hooked; helmet conical; beak elongated. July. _l._ with trapeziform, pinnate lobes. _h._ 6ft. Pyrenees, 1819. SYN. _A. hamatum_. =A. flaccidum= (flaccid). _fl._ pale violet, large, on erect spreading peduncles; racemes branched; spur hooked at the apex; helmet high, arched, inclining forwards, gaping. July and August. _l._ multifid, ciliated (as well as the petioles), when young. _h._ 6ft. Siberia, 1822. =A. gibbosum= (swollen). Synonymous with _A. nasutum_. =A. Gmelini= (Gmelin's). _fl._ cream-coloured, middle-sized, on very long loose racemes; spur straight, obtuse; bottom of the helmet rounded, cylindrical. July. _l._ on long stalks, villous beneath and shining above; lobes divided into narrow segments. _h._ 2ft. Siberia, 1817. SYN. _A. nitidum_. =A. gracile= (slender).* _fl._ pale blue or violet, large, on loose racemes; spur erect, clavated-hooked; helmet with a middle sized beak. June. _l._ smooth, with trapeziform, pinnate lobes. Stems slender. _h._ 2ft. Italy, &c. =A. Halleri= (Haller's).* _fl._ opaque violet, on elongated, loose racemes, with a few lateral ascending ones; spur capitate; helmet convex-hemispherical, gaping. June. _l._ lobes linear, dilated, very long. Stem straight, long, branched. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. Switzerland, 1821. =A. H. bicolor= (two-coloured).* _fl._ white, variegated with blue, disposed in spikes or panicles. June. [Illustration: FIG. 17. FLOWER OF ACONITUM NAPELLUS, nearly Full Size.] =A. hamatum= (hooked). Synonymous with _A. exaltatum_. =A. hebegynum= (blunt-styled). Synonymous with _A. paniculatum_. =A. heterophyllum= (various-leaved). _fl._ pale yellow, and deep blue in front, large, numerous, dense. August. _l._ petiolate below, sessile above, broadly cordate, coarsely toothed at the edge, and deep green. _h._ 2ft. Himalayas, 1874. A new introduction, said to be non-poisonous, and used as a tonic in India. =A. illinitum= (anointed). _fl._ pale or deep violet, on very loose and much branched panicles, large; spur thick, long, abruptly pointed; beak blunt; helmet sub-conical. July. _l._ with broad cuneiform lobes, and obtuse lobules. _h._ 4ft. 1821. =A. intermedium= (intermediate). _fl._ blue, on a loose panicle, with ascending stiff branches; spur supine, somewhat hooked; helmet arched. June. _l._ with trapeziform, pinnate lobes. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Alps of Europe, 1820. =A. japonicum= (Japanese).* _fl._ flesh-coloured, on loose panicles, with ascending branches; helmet exactly conical, abruptly mucronate; beak acute, straight. July to September. _l._ stalked, trifid; lateral lobes bifid, middle lobe trifid, all blunt and deeply toothed. Stem round, smooth. _h._ 6ft. Japan, 1790. One of the best species grown. =A. j. c�ruleum= (blue). _fl._ blue. Japan. =A. laciniosum= (jagged). _fl._ pale blue, or with a white base, large, on somewhat contracted racemes; spur clavated-hooked; helmet arched, conical. June. _l._ with jagged, trapeziform pinnate lobes. _h._ 3ft. Switzerland, 1820. =A. lycoctonum= (true Wolf's-bane).* _fl._ livid-violet, rather large; racemes more or less pubescent, branched at the base; bottom of helmet cylindrical; beak elongated. July. _l._ large, seven-parted. Stem slender, simple, upright. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. Europe, 1596. =A. maximum= (largest). _fl._ pale blue; panicle loose, furnished with a few long distant, few-flowered, pubescent branches; spur short, incurved; helmet hemispherico-conical, obtuse. July. _l._ multifid, large, smooth. _h._ 6ft. Kamtschatka, 1823. =A. meloctonum= (Badger's-bane). _fl._ cream-coloured, loose, pubescent; panicle large, with diverging branches; spur arched; bottom of helmet conico-cylindrical. July. _l._ five to seven-parted, deep green. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Piedmont, 1821. =A. Meyeri= (Meyer's). _fl._ bluish purple, on pubescent peduncles; spur capitate, inclining. June. _l._ with cuneate bipinnate lobes. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Bavaria, 1823. =A. molle= (soft). _fl._ violet, large, puberulous; racemes panicled, pubescent; helmet irregularly conical, obtuse; front erect; spur capitate, or a little hooked. June. _l._ smooth, with trapeziform, pinnate lobes. _h._ 2ft. to 6ft. 1820. [Illustration: FIG. 18. ACONITUM NAPELLUS, showing Root, Seed-pod, Flower-spike, Leaf, and Flower with Sepals removed.] =A. Napellus= (little turnip).* Common Monk's Hood. _fl._ blue, large, on a large terminal raceme; peduncles erect, pubescent; spur capitate; helmet convex-hemispherical, gaping, smoothish; lip revolute. Summer. _l._ pedately five-lobed. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. There are a great number of varieties of this species cultivated and introduced. The following are some of the names representing slightly varying forms which have, however, been regarded as species by Reichenbach and other authors: _acutum_, _am�num_, _Bernhardianum_, _Braunii_, _callibotryon_, _Clusianum_, _commutatum_, _firmum_, _formosum_, _Funkianum_, _hians_, _Hoppeanum_, _K�hleri_, _lætum_, _laxiflorum_, _laxum_, _Mielichhoferi_, _napelloides_, _neomontanum_, _neubergense_, _oligocarpus_, _rigidum_, _strictum_, _tenuifolium_, _venustum_, _virgatum_. One of the most virulent of poisonous plants, both to cattle as well as human beings; and, notwithstanding its eminently handsome appearance, it should only be planted in places where no danger is likely to arise from its presence. See Figs. 17 and 18. =A. nasutum= (great-nosed). _fl._ violet; panicle contracted, quite smooth; spur elongated, arched; helmet conical, bending forward; beak short. June. _l._ with broad, trapeziform, pinnate lobes. _h._ 3ft. Caucasus, &c., 1818. SYN. _A. gibbosum_. =A. nitidum= (shining). Synonymous with _A. Gmelini_. =A. Ottonianum= (Otto's).* _fl._ blue, variegated with white; young peduncles nodding; spur supine, somewhat hooked; helmet arched. July, August. _l._ with trapeziform, pinnate lobes. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Carpathian Mountains, 1824. =A. paniculatum= (paniculate).* _fl._ large, violet; panicle terminal, much branched, loose or contracted, more or less pubescent; helmet conical, beaked; front sinuate. June to September. _l._ smooth, with trapeziform, pinnate lobes. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. France and Switzerland, 1815. SYN. _A. hebegynum_. =A. plicatum= (folded). Synonymous with _A. tauricum_. =A. productum= (long-lipped). _fl._ violet, downy, on few-flowered, loose, pubescent racemes; helmet straight, irregularly convex-conical, with a drawn-out beak; spur capitate. June. _l._ on long stalks with three-parted lobes. _h._ 1ft. Siberia. =A. rostratum= (beaked).* _fl._ violet; panicle rather loose; spur thick, depressed, globose; helmet conical, elongated, abruptly pointed in front; beak stretched out. June. _l._ with trapeziform, pinnate lobes. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Switzerland, 1752. SYN. _A. alpinum_. =A. Schleicheri= (Schleicher's). _fl._ blue or violet, middle sized, on short racemes; spur capitate; helmet convex-hemispherical, gaping, smoothish. Summer. _l._ with finely jagged lobes. Stem straight (or infracted), simple, slender. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Europe. SYN. _A. vulgare_. =A. semigaleatum= (half-helmeted). _fl._ pale blue, pubescent when young, on very loose racemes; peduncles elongated; spur hooked; helmet convex, navicular. June. _l._ multifid, few, membranous, smooth; root about the size and form of a pea. _h._ 6in. to 2ft. Kamtschatka, 1818. =A. Sprengelii= (Sprengel's). _fl._ bluish purple; spur obtuse, straight. June. _l._ with blunt, bipinnate lobes. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Europe, 1820. =A. tauricum= (Taurian).* _fl._ deep blue, disposed in dense racemes; peduncles erect, smooth; lateral sepals smooth inside; spur blunt; helmet closed, hemispherical. June. _l._ segments almost pedately disposed and divided into linear acuminate lobes. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Germany, 1752. SYN. _A. plicatum_. =A. tortuosum= (twisting). _fl._ pale or deep violet, large; panicle loose, few flowered; spur thick, long, abruptly pointed (neither arched, nor convolute). July. _l._ smooth, with narrow wedge-shaped lobes, and acute lobules. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. North America, 1812. =A. toxicum= (very poisonous). _fl._ violet, large, pubescent, on loose, also pubescent, racemes; spur hooked; helmet large, arched, with a blunt beak. June. _l._ smooth, with trapeziform pinnate lobes. Stem flexuous, almost simple. _h._ 2ft. America, 1825. =A. uncinatum= (hooked).* _fl._ generally lilac, large, smooth; racemes loose, rather umbellate at the apex, very rarely panicled; spur somewhat spiral, inclined; helmet regularly conical, compressed. July. _l._ with trapeziform pinnate lobes. Stem with branches rising from the axils of the leaves. _h._ 4ft. to 8ft. North America, 1768. [Illustration: FIG. 19. ACONITUM VARIEGATUM, showing Habit and Flower.] =A. variegatum= (variegated).* _fl._ blue, large, smooth; racemes panicled, loose; spur erect, clavated-hooked; helmet bent forward, inflated; beak ascending. July. _l._ lower, on long stalks; upper, sessile, smooth, thickish. _h._ 1ft. to 6ft. Europe, 1597. See Fig. 19. =A. v. albiflorum= (white-flowered).* _fl._ white, small; helmet straight. =A. v. bicolor= (two-coloured).* _fl._ white, edged with blue or lilac; helmet straight. =A. vulgare= (common). A synonym of _A. Schleicheri_. =A. Willdenovii= (Willdenow's).* _fl._ bluish-purple; peduncles pubescent; spur obtuse, straight. June. _l._ with blunt segments. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Carniola, 1823. Sect. II. Roots Fibrous or Napiform. =A. Anthora= (Anthora).* _fl._ pale yellow; panicles generally pubescent; spur refracted; lip obcordate; helmet arched. July. _l._ palmately cut into linear lobes. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Pyrenees, 1596. The following varieties of _A. Anthora_ are erroneously classed as species by some authors: =A. a. Decandollii= (Decandolle's). _fl._ yellow; panicle and flowers pubescent; helmet rather conical, bent, with a short, abrupt, and acuminated beak. _l._ with rather large dark green lobes. Alps of Jura, 1873. =A. a. eulophum= (well-crested). _fl._ yellow; panicles and flowers puberulous; helmet conical. Caucasus, 1821. =A. a. grandiflorum= (large-flowered). _fl._ yellow, large; panicle, flowers, and fruit pubescent; helmet rather conical. Alps of Jura, 1821. =A. a. Jacquinii= (Jacquin's). _fl._ yellow, smooth; helmet somewhat conical, drawn out into an elongated beak. =A. a. nemorosum= (grove-loving).* _fl._ yellow; panicle and flowers pubescent; helmet somewhat conical, bent; beak short. _l._ with broad lobes. =A. autumnale= (autumn-flowering).* _fl._ bluish-purple, in loose panicles; peduncles rigidly spreading; spur capitate; helmet closed; lip very long, refracted. July. _l._ with cuneate, bipinnate lobes. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Europe. =A. barbatum= (bearded).* _fl._ cream coloured, middle sized; racemes dense, puberulous; spur straightish, obtuse; bottom of helmet conical; middle sepals densely bearded. July. _l._ opaque, with the lobes divided into many linear segments, on long stalks, which are villous as well as the nerves. _h._ 2ft. to 6ft. Siberia, 1807. SYN. _A. squarrosum_. =A. chinense= (Chinese).* _fl._ intense and very bright blue, in large compound racemes; pedicels slightly hairy above. Summer. _l._ lower ones large, deeply cut into three wedge-shaped segments, tapering at the base; upper ones sessile, gradually becoming more entire. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. China, 1833. =A. Lamarckii= (Lamarck's). _fl._ cream-coloured, pubescent; racemes long, cylindrical, crowded, branched at the base; spur spiral; helmet constricted, clavate. July. _l._ large, seven to nine-parted, with the lobes unequally cleft. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Pyrenees, 1800. =A. lupicidum= (Wolf's-bane). Synonymous with _A. Vulparia_. =A. macrophyllum= (large-leaved). _fl._ yellow, numerous, panicled; spur arched; helmet large, somewhat ventricose at the apex. July. _l._ large, more or less dissected. _h._ 4ft. to 8ft. Germany. =A. Nuttallii= (Nuttall's). Synonymous with _A. ochroleucum_. =A. ochroleucum= (yellowish-white).* _fl._ cream coloured, large; spur arched; bottom of helmet conico-cylindrical; middle sepals covered with short hairs; racemes puberulous, rather loose. July. _l._ five to seven-parted, deep green, the first ones are puberulous above. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Russia, 1794. SYNS. _A. Nuttallii_, _A. pallidum_. =A. Pallasii= (Pallas'). Probably a mere variety, with a continuous spur, of _A. anthora_. =A. pallidum= (pale). Synonymous with _A. ochroleucum_. =A. pyrenaicum= (Pyrenean).* _fl._ yellow, rather large; spur hooked; bottom of helmet cylindrical, rounded; racemes elongated, dense, puberulous. June. _l._ parted almost to the base, with pinnatifid lobes, rather hispid beneath, but smooth above, on long stalks. _h._ 2ft. Pyrenees, &c., 1739. =A. squarrosum= (rough). Synonymous with _A. barbatum_. =A. vulparia= (Fox-bane).* _fl._ pale yellow, smooth; spur spiral; helmet cylindrical, large; beak stretched out, acute; racemes crowded. July. _l._ three or five-lobed, ciliated. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. Europe, 1821. SYN. _A. lupicidum_. The principal varieties of this species are:-- =A. v. carpaticum= (Carpathian). _fl._ panicled, of a lurid colour, sometimes variegated with yellow; helmet conico-cylindrical, compressed; peduncles smooth. _l._ profoundly cut. Stems smooth. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Carpathian Mountains, 1810. =A. v. Cynoctonum= (tall Dog's-bane). _fl._ (and stem) yellow, smoothish, numerous, panicled. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. France, 1820. =A. v. moldavicum= (Moldavian). _fl._ violet, panicled; helmet cylindrical, compressed. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Moldavia. =A. v. rubicundum= (reddish). _fl._ livid violet, panicled, villous, variegated with yellow; helmet conico-cylindrical, compressed. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Siberia, 1819. =A. v. septentrionale= (northern).* _fl._ blue, panicled, villous; helmet conico-cylindrical, compressed. _h._ 4ft. North Europe, 1800. =ACONTIAS.= _See_ =Xanthosoma=. =ACORN.= The seed or fruit of the oak. _See_ =Quercus=. =ACORUS= (from _a_, without, and _kore_, the pupil of the eye; in allusion to its reputed medicinal qualities). ORD. _Aroideæ_. A small genus of hardy herbaceous plants. Flowers on a sessile spadix; perianth six-cleft, inferior, persistent. They thrive best in a moist soil, and are very suitable for the banks of water, or even as aquatics in shallow water. Propagated easily by divisions during spring. =A. Calamus= (sweet-flag).* _fl._ yellowish, small, borne on a cylindrical spadix 4in. to 6in. long. Summer. _l._ sword-shaped, erect, striated 3ft. long. The root is cylindrical, channelled, and very fragrant. Europe. The variety with gold-striped leaves is more useful as a decorative plant. See Fig. 20. [Illustration: FIG. 20. ACORUS CALAMUS.] =A. gramineus= (grass-leaved). China, 1796. This is much smaller in all its parts than the above, but very pretty. =A. g. variegatus.=* A pretty variety with white striped leaves, forming handsome little tufts. =ACOTYLEDONS.= Plants having no cotyledons, or seed leaves, as in _Cuscuta_, but usually applied to cryptogamic or flowerless plants, such as ferns, mosses, &c. =ACRADENIA= (from _akra_, top, and _aden_, a gland; referring to the five glands on the top of the ovary). ORD. _Rutaceæ_. An excellent neat and compact evergreen bush, suitable for the cool conservatory. It requires a rich loam and leaf mould. Propagated by seeds and cuttings under a bell glass. =A. Frankliniæ= (Lady Franklin's).* _fl._ white, produced in great profusion, in terminal clusters. August. _l._ fragrant, opposite, trifoliate, gland-dotted. _h._ 8ft. Tasmania, 1845. =ACRE= (from _agros_, an open field). The English Statute acre consists of 160 square rods (perches, poles, roods, or lugs); or 4840 square yards; or 43,560 square feet. The following list shows the differentiation in the number of square yards per acre in the various districts of Great Britain and Ireland: Cheshire, 10,240; Cornish, 5760; Cunningham, 6250; Derby (W.), 9000; Devonshire, 4000; Herefordshire, 3226-2/3; Irish, 7840; Leicestershire, 2308-3/4; Scotch, 6150; Wales, North (customary), 3240; ditto (erw), 4320; Westmoreland, 6760; Wiltshire, 3630. =ACRIDOCARPUS= (from _akris_, a locust; and _karpos_, fruit; meaning not obvious). ORD. _Malpighiaceæ_. A handsome sub-tropical or warm greenhouse climber, requiring plenty of water, and a very free drainage. Increased by imported seeds, and by cuttings in bottom heat. =A. natalitius= (Natal).* _fl._ pale yellow; petals five, rounded, wedge-shaped, crenately-toothed at the edge; racemes simple, elongated, terminal. July. _l._ oblong or obovate, obtuse, leathery. Natal, 1867. =ACRIOPSIS= (from _akros_, top, and _opsis_, eye). ORD. _Orchidaceæ_. A small genus of pretty stove epiphytal orchids, almost unknown to cultivation. Flowers small, arranged in loose panicles; lip adnate to the very curious column, from which it projects at right angles. =A. densiflora= (crowded-flowered).* _fl._ green and pink. May. _l._ linear-lanceolate. _h._ 6in. Borneo, 1845. =A. javanica= (Javanese). _fl._ yellow, green. May. _l._ linear-lanceolate. _h._ 3in. Java, 1840. =A. picta= (painted).* _fl._ white, green, and purple. May. _l._ solitary, linear. _h._ 6in. Bantam, 1843. =ACROCLINIUM= (from _akros_, top, and _kline_, a bed; referring to the open flowers). ORD. _Compositæ_. A small genus of elegant half hardy annuals with "everlasting" flower heads, which are solitary, terminal, and consist of tubular florets; involucrum many-leaved, imbricated. Leaves numerous, linear, smooth, acuminated. Stems numerous, erect. They thrive best in a loamy soil, and constitute very neat summer flowering annuals if sown out of doors in patches in June; they are also useful as winter decorative greenhouse plants if seed is sown in August in pots placed in a cold frame. The flower-heads should be gathered when young, if it is desired to preserve them. [Illustration: FIG. 21. ACROCLINIUM ROSEUM, showing Habit and Flower-head.] =A. roseum= (rosy).* _fl.-heads_ pretty rose, solitary, terminal, on erect, slender, and gracefully disposed branches. _l._ linear, acute. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. S. W. Australia, 1854. See Fig. 21. =A. r. album= (rosy white).* A very pretty white form of the preceding. =A. r. grandiflorum= (large-flowered).* _fl.-heads_ rose, larger than in the type. =ACROCOMIA= (from _akros_, top, and _kome_, tuft; referring to the position of the leaves). ORD. _Palmeæ_. A genus of South American palms, containing about eleven species, which are not easily distinguished, but having the following general characteristics: Trunk from 20ft. to 50ft. high, and clad with long prickles. The flowers, which appear in the axils of the lower leaves, are greenish or yellow, and their drupes are much the same colour. Leaves pinnate, with seventy to eighty leaflets on each side of the pinnæ. They require a warm greenhouse and rich sandy loam. Increased by suckers. Two species only are in general cultivation. =A. aculeata= (prickly). _h._ 40ft. West Indies, 1791. =A. fusiformis= (spindle-shaped). _h._ 40ft. Trinidad, 1731. =A. globosa= (globular). =h.= 20ft. St. Vincent, 1824. =A. horrida= (horrid). _h._ 30ft. Trinidad, 1820. =A. lasiospatha= (hairy spathed). _l._ drooping. Trunk about 40ft. high, smooth and ringed. Para, 1846. =A. sclerocarpa= (hard-fruited).* A very elegant species bearing a head of spreading pinnate leaves, with the rachises and petioles aculeate, and the leaflets linear, taper-pointed, glaucous underneath, about 1ft. long. _h._ 40ft. West Indies, 1731. SYN. _Cocos fusiformis_. =A. tenuifolia= (fine-leaved). _h._ 30ft. Brazil, 1824. =ACROGENS.= Plants increasing at the summit, as Ferns, &c. =ACRONYCHIA= (from _akron_, tuft, and _onux_, a claw; referring to the curved points of the petals). ORD. _Rutaceæ_. An ornamental rue-like greenhouse evergreen shrub. Petals and sepals four; stamens eight, inserted on a disk; fruit berry-like. It requires ordinary greenhouse treatment. Increased by cuttings in July in sand, under a bell glass. =A. Cunninghami= (Cunningham's).* _fl._ white, in clusters, resembling those of an orange, with an exquisite fragrance. July. _h._ 7ft. Moreton Bay, 1838. =ACROPERA.= _See_ =Gongora=. =ACROPHORUS.= _See_ =Davallia=. =ACROPHYLLUM= (from _akros_, top, and _phyllon_, a leaf; referring to the way in which the leaves are produced at the summit of the branches, above the flowers). ORD. _Cunoniaceæ_. Handsome greenhouse small, erect-growing, evergreen shrubs, flowering profusely during the spring months. They require a mixture of fibrous peat, a little loam, and sharp sand; thorough drainage, an airy situation, and as little artificial heat as possible, are important to its well-being. Re-pot in February. Propagated by cuttings of the half ripened shoots, which strike freely in a soil of sand and peat, if covered with a hand glass, and placed in a cool house. The roots should not be allowed to get dry, and light syringing during late spring and summer will be found beneficial in assisting to keep down thrips. =A. verticillatum= (whorled). A synonym of _A. venosum_. =A. venosum= (veined).* _fl._ pinkish white, in dense axillary spikes, which are borne on the upper part of the stems and branches. May and June. _l._ nearly sessile, oblong, cordate, acute, serrate, in whorls of threes. _h._ 6ft. New South Wales. SYN. _A. verticillatum_. =ACROPTERIS.= _See_ =Asplenium=. =ACROSTICHUM= (from _akros_, top, and _stichos_, order; meaning very obscure). ORD. _Filices_. This genus includes _Aconiopteris_, _Chrysodium_, _Egenolfia_, _Elaphoglossum_, _Gymnopteris_, _Olfersia_, _Photinopteris_, _P�cilipteris_, _Polybotrya_, _Rhipidopteris_, _Soromanes_, _Stenochlæna_, _Stenosemia_. A large and almost entirely tropical genus; it includes groups with a wide range in venation and cutting. Sori spread over the whole surface of the frond or upper pinnæ, or occasionally over both surfaces. The species having long fronds, are admirably suited for growing in suspended baskets, and the dwarfer sorts do well in Wardian cases. A compost of peat, chopped sphagnum, and sand, is most suitable. For general culture, _see_ =Ferns=. =A. acuminatum= (taper-pointed).* _rhiz._ thick, climbing. _sti._ 4in. to 6in. long, firm, erect, scaly throughout. _barren fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 1ft. or more broad, deltoid, bipinnate; upper pinnæ oblong-lanceolate, slightly lobed, truncate on the lower side at the base, 2in. to 3in. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad; lower pinnæ, 6in. to 8in. long, 4in. to 5in. broad, with several small pinnules on each side; light green, with a firm texture. _fertile fronds_ 1ft. long, deltoid, tripinnate. Brazil. Stove species. SYN. _Polybotrya acuminatum_. =A. alienum= (foreign). _rhiz._ woody. _sti._ 6in. to 18in. long, scaly downwards. _barren fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, often 1ft. broad, the upper part deeply pinnatifid, with lanceolate lobes, the lower part pinnate, with entire or deeply pinnatifid lower pinnæ. _fertile fronds_ much smaller, with distant narrow linear or pinnatifid leafy pinnæ. Tropical America. Stove species. SYN. _Gymnopteris aliena_. =A. apiifolium= (parsley-leaved).* _cau._ stout, woody, erect. _sti._ of barren fronds 2in. to 3in. long, erect, densely clothed with tomentum. _barren fronds_ 4in. to 6in. each way, deltoid, tripinnate; pinnæ close, only the lowest pair with pinnatifid pinnules, ultimate divisions oblong-rhomboidal, 1/4in. to 1/3in. long, the base cuneate, the outer edge slightly toothed. _fertile fronds_ on a slender naked stem 6in. to 8in. long, the fronds panicled with a few distant, slender, simple, or compound branches. Philippine Islands, 1862. Stove species. SYN. _Polybotrya apiifolia_. =A. apodum= (stemless).* _cau._ thick, woody, the scales dense, linear, brown, crisped. _sti._ tufted, very short, or obsolete. _barren fronds_ 1ft. or more long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, the apex acuminate, the lower part narrowed very gradually, the edge and midrib densely fringed with soft, short, brown hairs. _fertile fronds_ much smaller than the barren ones. West Indies to Peru, 1824. Stove species. SYN. _Elaphoglossum apodum_. =A. appendiculatum= (appendaged).* _rhiz._ firm, woody. _barren fronds_ 6in. to 18in. long, 4in. to 8in. broad, simply pinnate. _sti._ 3in. to 6in. long, erect, naked, or slightly scaly; pinnæ 2in. to 4in. long, 3/8in. to 3/4in. broad, the edge varying from sub-entire to cut half-way down to the midrib of the blunt lobes, the upper side often auricled, the lower one obliquely truncate, dark green. _fertile fronds_ narrower, on a longer spike, the pinnæ roundish or oblong, often distinctly stalked. India, &c., 1824. Stove species. SYN. _Egenolfia appendiculata_. =A. aureum= (golden).* _cau._ erect. _sti._ erect, 1ft. to 2ft. long, strong. _fronds_ 2ft. to 6ft. long, 1ft. to 2ft. broad, the upper pinnæ fertile, rather smaller than the barren ones, which are usually stalked, ligulate oblong, 3in. to 1ft. long, 1/2in. to 3in. broad, acute or blunt, sometimes retuse with a mucro; edge quite entire, base sub-cuneate. Widely distributed in the tropics of both hemispheres, 1815. An evergreen aquatic stove species, requiring abundance of heat and moisture. SYN. _Chrysodium aureum_. =A. auritum= (eared).* _cau._ erect, woody. _barren fronds_ with a stipe 6in. to 9in. long, deltoid, 8in. to 12in. each way, ternate, the central segments deeply pinnatifid, with lanceolate entire lobes; the lateral ones unequal sided, with lanceolate oblong-lobed lower pinnules. _fertile fronds_ with a stem 12in. to 18in. long, deltoid, with distant linear pinnæ half line broad; upper simple, lower pinnatifid. Philippine Islands. Stove species. SYN. _Stenosemia aurita_. =A. axillare= (axillary). _rhiz._ slender, wide scandent. _barren fronds_ 6in. to 18in. long, about 1in. broad, simple, the point bluntish, the edge entire, the lower half tapering very gradually to the base or short stem. _fertile fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, one to three lines broad, flexuose, on a stem 1in. to 6in. long. Himalayas. Greenhouse species. SYN. _Chrysodium axillare_. =A. barbatum= (bearded). Synonymous with _A. scolopendrifolium_. =A. bifurcatum= (twice-forked). _sti._ densely tufted, 2in. to 4in. long, slender, stramineous, naked. _fronds_ 3in. to 4in. long, about 1/2in. broad, pinnate; lower pinnæ of fertile fronds two or three cleft, with linear divisions; those of the barren pinnæ broader, and not so deep. St. Helena. Greenhouse species. SYN. _Polybotrya bifurcata_. =A. Blumeanum= (Blume's).* _rhiz._ woody, wide climbing. _sti._ of barren fronds 6in. long, scaly. _barren fronds_ 1ft. to 3ft. long, 1ft. or more broad, with numerous sessile pinnæ on each side, which are 4in. to 6in. long, 1in. broad; apex acuminate, the edge slightly toothed; base rounded. _fertile fronds_ with distant pinnæ 4in. to 8in. long, 1/8in. to 1/4in. broad. Assam. Greenhouse species. SYN. _Chrysodium Blumeanum_. =A. callæfolium= (calla-leaved). A form of _A. latifolium_. =A. canaliculatum= (channelled).* _rhiz._ woody, wide climbing, spinulose and scaly. _sti._ 1ft. or more long, scaly throughout. _fertile fronds_ 2ft. to 3ft. long, 12in. to 18in. broad, tripinnate; lower barren pinnæ, 6in. to 9in. long, 4in. to 5in. broad; pinnules lanceolate, stalked, with oblong segments, both surfaces naked; fertile pinnules close, the segments 1/4in. long, bearing three to four sessile balls of sori. Venezuela. Stove or greenhouse species. SYN. _Polybotrya canaliculata_. =A. caudatum= (tailed). A synonym of _A. petiolosum_. =A. cervinum= (stag-horned).* _rhiz._ woody, creeping, scaly. _sti._ 1ft. or more long, scaly. _barren fronds_ 2ft. to 4ft. long, pinnate; pinnæ 4in. to 9in. long, 1in. to 2in. broad, entire or nearly so, unequal at the base; fertile pinnæ distant, linear, lanceolate, bipinnate, with short spreading sub-cylindrical pinnules. Brazil, 1840. Stove species. SYN. _Olfersia cervina_. =A. conforme= (conformed). _rhiz._ wide creeping, scaly. _sti._ 1in. to 12in. long, firm, erect, stramineous, naked or slightly scaly. _fronds_ 2in. to 9in. long, 1/2in. to 2in. broad, acute or bluntish, the base cuneate or spathulate, the edge entire. _barren fronds_ narrower than the fertile one. _A. laurifolium_, _A. obtusilobum_, and several others, are identical with the foregoing. Tropical America, also in the Old World. Stove species. SYN. _Elaphoglossum conforme_. =A. crinitum= (hairy).* _cau._ woody, erect. _sti._ of barren fronds 4in. to 8in. long, densely clothed with long scales. _barren fronds_ 9in. to 18in. long, 4in. to 9in. wide, broadly oblong; apex blunt, base rounded, edge entire and ciliated, texture subcoriaceous, both sides scattered over with scales like those of the stipes. _fertile fronds_ like the others, but much smaller, the stipes longer. West Indies, &c., 1793. Stove species. SYNS. _Chrysodium_ and _Hymenodium crinitum_. =A. cylindricum= (cylindrical). Synonymous with _A. osmundaceum_. =A. Dombeyanum= (Dombey's). A form of _A. lepidotum_. =A. flagelliferum= (rod-shaped). _rhiz._ woody, creeping. _sti._ of barren fronds 6in. to 12in. long, nearly naked. _barren fronds_ simple or with one to three pairs of pinnæ, the terminal one ovate lanceolate, entire or repand, often elongated and rooting at the point, the lateral ones 3in. to 6in. long, 1in. to 2in. broad; fertile pinnæ 2in. to 3in. long, about 1/2in. broad. India, &c., 1828. Stove species. SYN. _Gymnopteris flagellifera_. =A. f�niculaceum= (fennel-leaved).* _rhiz._ slender, creeping. _sti._ distant, slender, 2in. to 8in. long, scaly. _barren fronds_ 1in. to 2in. broad, usually dichotomously forked, with filiform divisions. _fertile fronds_ 3/8in. broad, two-lobed. Andes of Ecuador. Stove species. (For culture, see _A. peltatum_). SYN. _Rhipidopteris f�niculaceum_. =A. Herminieri= (Herminier's).* _rhiz._ stout, creeping. _sti._ very short, or none. _barren fronds_ 1-1/2ft. to 3ft. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, simple, acuminate, the lower part narrowed very gradually. _fertile fronds_ short-stalked, 3in. to 4in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad. Tropical America, 1871. Stove species. SYN. _Elaphoglossum Herminieri_. =A. heteromorphum= (various-formed). _rhiz._ slender, wide creeping, scaly. _sti._ 1in. to 3in. long, slender, slightly scaly. _barren fronds_ 1-1/2in. to 2in. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad, simple, bluntish, the base rounded, both surfaces scattered over with linear dark castaneous scales. _fertile fronds_ much smaller, and the stipes much longer. Columbia and Ecuador. Stove species. SYN. _Elaphoglossum heteromorphum_. =A. Langsdorffii= (Langsdorff's). Synonymous with _A. muscosum_. =A. latifolium= (broad-leaved).* _rhiz._ thick, woody, creeping, scaly. _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, firm, erect, naked, or scaly. _barren fronds_ 9in. to 18in. long, 2in. to 4in. broad, simple, acute, gradually narrowed below, entire; texture leathery. _fertile fronds_ considerably narrower than the barren ones. _A. longifolium_, _A. callæfolium_, &c., are only varieties of this species. Mexico, Brazil, &c. Stove species. SYN. _Elaphoglossum latifolium_. =A. lepidotum= (scaly).* _rhiz._ thick, woody, very scaly. _sti._ 1in. to 3in. long, firm, scaly throughout. _barren fronds_ 3in. to 6in. long, about 1/2in. broad, simple, usually blunt, the base cuneate or rather rounded, both surfaces and midrib very scaly. _A. Dombeyanum_, of garden origin, is a varietal form of this, of which there are several others. Tropical America. Stove species. SYN. _Elaphoglossum lepidotum_. =A. longifolium= (long-leaved). A form of _A. latifolium_. =A. Meyerianum= (Meyer's). Synonymous with _A. tenuifolium_. =A. muscosum= (mossy).* _rhiz._ woody, densely scaly. _sti._ 4in. to 6in. long, firm, clothed with large pale brown scales. _barren fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, simple, narrowed at both ends; upper surface slightly scaly; lower quite hidden by imbricated brownish scales. _barren fronds_ much smaller than the others, the stipes longer. Madeira. Greenhouse species. SYN. _A. Langsdorffii_. =A. Neitnerii.= Synonymous with _A. quercifolium_. =A. nicotianæfolium= (tobacco-leaved).* _rhiz._ woody, wide creeping, scaly. _sti._ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft., scaly below. _barren fronds_ 1ft. to 3ft. long, 1ft. or more broad, with a large terminal pinna, and one to three lateral pairs, which are 6in. to 9in. long, 1in. to 3in. broad, acuminate, entire, or nearly so, the base slightly rounded, fertile pinnæ distant, 3in. to 4in. long, 3/4in. broad. Cuba, &c. Stove species. SYN. _Gymnopteris nicotianæfolium_. =A. osmundaceum= (osmunda-like).* _rhiz._ woody, wide scandent, scaly. _sti._ 12in. to 18in. long, firm, erect, scaly at the base. _barren fronds_ ample, bi- or tripinnate; the lower pinnæ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 4in. to 8in. broad; pinnules stalked, lanceolate, with closely set sub-entire segments, of a light green colour; both surfaces naked. _fertile fronds_ nearly or quite as large as the barren ones; segments linear cylindrical, 1/4in. to 1/2in. long. Tropical America. Stove species. SYNS. _A. cylindricum_, and _Polybotrya osmundaceum_. =A. paleaceum= (chaffy). Synonymous with _A. squamosum_. [Illustration: FIG. 22. ACROSTICHUM PELTATUM.] =A. peltatum= (peltate-leaved).* _rhiz._ slender, wide creeping. _sti._ distant, slender, 1in. to 4in. long, scaly throughout. _barren fronds_ 1in. to 2in. each way, repeatedly dichotomously forked, with narrow linear ultimate divisions, quarter to half line broad. _fertile fronds_ 1/2in. broad, often two-lobed. West Indies. Stove or greenhouse species. This elegant little fern requires a liberal supply of water all the year round, and is best grown in a well drained pan of good fibrous peat, leaf soil, and sand, with some nodules of sandstone raised above the rim of the pan; do not disturb it more than is necessary. SYN. _Rhipidopteris peltata_. See Fig. 22. =A. petiolosum= (petioled). _rhiz._ woody, wide scandent. _sti._ woody, erect, scaly at the base. _fronds_ bipinnate, or tripinnatifid, 2ft. to 4ft. long, 1ft. to 3ft. broad, deltoid; the upper barren pinnæ lanceolate, pinnatifid, the longest sometimes 18in. long, and 6in. to 10in. broad; pinnules with long falcate lobes reaching half-way down to the midrib, both surfaces naked; fertile pinnules very narrow, and dangling, continuous or beaded. West Indies, Mexico, &c. Stove species. SYNS. _Polybotrya_ and _A. caudatum_. =A. piloselloides= (mouse ear-leaved). Synonymous with _A. spathulatum_. =A. platyrhynchos= (broad-beaked). _sti._ tufted, scarcely any. _fronds_ 12in. to 16in. long, 1in. broad, simple. _sori_ in a patch at the apex, 1in. to 2in. long, 3/8in. broad, which does not reach to the entire edge; the lower part narrowed gradually, with naked surfaces, and a coriaceous texture. Philippines. Stove species. SYN. _Hymenolepis platyrhynchos_. =A. quercifolium= (oak-leaved).* _rhiz._ stout, wide creeping. _sti._ of barren fronds 1in. to 2in. long, clothed with brownish hairs. _barren fronds_ 3in. to 4in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, the terminal pinnæ with blunt rounded lobes. _fertile fronds_ with a terminal pinna, 1in. to 2in. long, one line broad, and a pair of smaller lateral ones, with slender stipes 6in. to 9in. long, hairy at the base. Ceylon. Stove species. SYNS. _A. Neitnerii_ (of gardens), _Gymnopteris quercifolia_. =A. scandens= (climbing).* _rhiz._ woody, wide climbing. _sti._ 3in. to 4in. long, firm, erect, naked. _fronds_ 1ft. to 3ft. long, 1ft. or more broad, simply pinnate; barren pinnæ, 4in. to 8in. long, 3/4in. to 1-1/2in. broad, acuminate, the edge thickened and serrulate, the base cuneate, sessile, or slightly stalked, articulated; fertile pinnæ, 6in. to 12in. long, one and a half to two lines broad, the lower ones distant. Himalayas, &c., 1841. Stove or greenhouse species. SYN. _Stenochlæna scandens_. =A. scolopendrifolium= (scolopendrium-leaved).* _rhiz._ woody, creeping, scaly. _sti._ 4in. to 12in. long, firm, erect, densely clothed with blackish scales. _barren fronds_ often 1ft. long, 1-1/2in. to 3in. broad, simple, acute, the base narrowed gradually; edge and midrib scaly. _fertile fronds_ much smaller than the barren ones. Guatemala, &c. Stove species. SYN. _A. barbatum_. =A. serratifolium= (serrate-leaved). _rhiz._ woody, short creeping. _sti._ of barren fronds 12in. to 18in. long, slightly scaly. _barren fronds_ 2ft. long, 6in. to 12in. broad, with numerous sessile pinnæ on each side, 3in. to 6in. long, 3/4in. to 1-1/2in. broad, inciso-crenate, the base cuneate; fertile pinnæ distant, 2in. to 3in. long, 1/4in. to 1/2in. broad, blunt, entire. Venezuela, &c. Stove species. SYN. _Chrysodium serratifolium_. =A. simplex= (simple-leaved). _rhiz._ woody, creeping, scaly. _sti._ 1in. to 4in. long, firm, erect, naked. _barren fronds_ 4in. to 12in. long, about 1-1/2in. broad, very acute, the lower part narrowed very gradually. _fertile fronds_ narrower than the barren ones, with longer stipes. Cuba to Brazil, 1798. Stove species. SYN. _Elaphoglossum simplex_. =A. sorbifolium= (service-leaved).* _rhiz._ thick, woody, often 30ft. to 40ft. long, clasping trees like a cable, sometimes prickly. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 6in. to 12in. broad, simply pinnate; barren pinnæ 4in. to 6in. long, about 1/2in. broad, three to twenty on each side, articulated at the base, entire or toothed; fertile pinnæ 1in. to 2in. apart, 2in. to 4in. long, about 1/4in. broad. West Indies, 1793. There are several varieties of this species, chiefly differing in the number of pinnæ. Stove species. SYN. _Stenochlæna sorbifolia_. =A. s. cuspidatum= (cuspidate).* This is only a variety of the above species with long-stalked, ligulate-cuspidate pinnæ; but it is usually regarded as a distinct species in gardens. =A. spathulatum= (spoon-shaped). _sti._ tufted, 1in. to 2in. long, firm, erect, scaly. _barren fronds_ 1/2in. to 4in. long, 1/4in. to 1/2in. broad, obovate-spathulate, blunt, tapering narrowly or gradually at the base, with a coriaceous texture; both surfaces and the margins copiously scaly. _fertile fronds_ smaller than the barren, with longer stipes. Tropical America, South Africa, &c. Stove species. SYN. _A. piloselloides_. =A. spicatum= (spiked). _rhiz._ woody, short creeping. _sti._ 1in. to 2in. long, firm. _fronds_ 6in. to 18in. long, 1/2in. to 1in. broad, the upper part contracted and fertile, entire, the lower part narrowed very gradually. Himalayas, &c. Greenhouse species. SYN. _Hymenolepis brachystachys_. =A. squamosum= (scaly).* _rhiz._ woody, densely scaly. _sti._ 2in. to 4in. long, densely clothed with pale or dark-coloured scales. _barren fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, about 1in. broad, simple, acute, the base narrowed gradually; both sides matted, and the edge densely ciliated with reddish scales. _fertile fronds_ as long as the barren ones, but much narrower, the stipes much longer. Widely distributed in both hemispheres. Stove or greenhouse species. SYN. _A. paleaceum_. =A. subdiaphanum= (semi-transparent).* _cau._ woody, erect. _sti._ tufted, 2in. to 6in. long, firm, erect, scaly. _barren fronds_ 4in. to 8in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, simple, both ends narrowed, the edge entire. _fertile fronds_ much narrower, on longer stipes. St. Helena. Greenhouse species. SYN. _Aconiopteris subdiaphana_. =A. subrepandum= (slighty-waved).* _rhiz._ woody, wide-creeping. _sti._ of barren fronds stout, erect, nearly naked. _barren fronds_ from 1ft. to 2ft. long, 2in. to 12in. broad, copiously pinnate, with linear-oblong entire or subrepand pinnæ on each side, which are sometimes 6in. to 8in. long, and 2in. broad. _fertile fronds_ like the others, but smaller. Isle of Luzon, &c. Stove species. SYN. _Gymnopteris subrepanda_. =A. taccæfolium= (yew-leaved).* _cau._ woody, densely scaly. _sti._ of barren fronds 1in. to 4in. long, scaly. _barren fronds_ from 1ft. to 2ft. long, 3in. to 12in. broad, simple, oblong-lanceolate, entire, copiously pinnate, with oblong-lanceolate pinnæ, 1in. to 6in. long, 1/2in. to 1-1/2in. broad, the upper ones narrowly decurrent, the lower ones forked at the base on the under side. _fertile fronds_ simple, 6in. to 12in. long, 1/8in. broad, or pinnate, with forked linear pinnæ. The three-lobed form of this species is sometimes known as _A. trilobum_. Philippines. Stove species. SYN. _Gymnopteris taccæfolia_. =A. tenuifolium= (narrow-leaved).* _rhiz._ wide scandent, woody, slightly scaly. _barren fronds_ simply pinnate, the stipes 4in. to 6in. long, naked, firm, erect, the fronds 3ft. to 5ft. long, 12in. to 18in. broad; pinnæ 6in. to 9in. long, 3/4in. to 1-1/2in. broad, acuminate, the edge thickened and serrulate, short-stalked. _fertile fronds_ bipinnate, with longer stipes; pinnæ long-stalked, with numerous distant pinnules. South Africa. Stove or greenhouse species. SYNS. _A. Meyerianum_ and _Stenochlæna tenuifolia_. =A. trilobum= (three-lobed). A form of _A. taccæfolium_. =A. villosum= (hairy).* _rhiz._ woody, densely scaly. _sti._ 2in. to 4in. long, slender, densely clothed with scales. _barren fronds_ 6in. to 9in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, acute, the lower part narrowed gradually; both surfaces scaly, and the edge more or less ciliated. _fertile fronds_ much smaller than the others. Mexico, &c. Stove species. =A. viscosum= (clammy).* _rhiz._ woody, creeping, densely scaly. _sti._ 3in. to 6in. long, firm, erect, scaly, often viscous. _barren fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 1/2in. to 1in. broad, simple, acute, the lower part narrowed gradually; both surfaces more or less viscid, and minutely scaly. _fertile fronds_ smaller, with longer stipes. Tropical America and the tropics of the Old World, 1826. Very variable in form. Stove species. =ACROTRICHE= (from _akros_, top, _i.e._, outermost--and _thrix_, a hair; the tips of the petals are bearded). ORD. _Epacridaceæ_. A genus of eight or nine species of dwarf, much branched, ornamental greenhouse evergreen shrubs. Flowers white or red; spikes axillary, short; corolla funnel-shaped; petals with deflexed hairs at apex. Cultivated in an equal mixture of sandy loam and peat, and propagated by cuttings made of the young shoots, pricked in sand, covered with a bell glass, and placed in a cool house; afterwards treated like _Epacris_. =A. cordata= (heart-leaved).* _fl._ white, small, axillary, twin, or solitary. April. _l._ cordate, flat, striated below. _h._ 1ft. New Holland, 1823. =A. divaricata= (straggling).* _fl._ white, small, in axillary spikes. May. _l._ lanceolate, mucronate, divaricate, flat, both surfaces green. _h._ 6in. to 1ft. New South Wales, 1824. =A. ovalifolia= (oval-leaved). _fl._ white, small, in axillary spikes. March. _l._ ovate and oval, obtuse, flat, with smooth margins. _h._ 6in. to 1ft. New Holland, 1824. =ACT�A= (from _aktaia_, an Elder; in allusion to the resemblance of the foliage to that of the Elder). Baneberry. ORD. _Ranunculaceæ_. A small genus of perennial herbaceous plants, with bi- or triternate leaves, and long, erect racemes of whitish flowers, which are succeeded by poisonous berries. They are excellent subjects for shady places, beneath trees, or in the wild garden. Easily increased by division of the roots, and seed during spring. =A. alba= (white).* _fl._ white; racemes simple. May, June. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, serrate or cut. Berries white, ovate-oblong, _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. N. America. [Illustration: FIG. 23. ACT�A SPICATA, showing Habit and Raceme of Flowers.] =A. spicata= (spiked).* _fl._ white, or bluish; racemes ovate. Summer. _l._ bi- or triternate, serrated. Berries oblong, black, poisonous. _h._ 1ft. England. See Fig. 23. =A. s. rubra= (red).* This differs from the type in having bright red berries, which are disposed in dense clusters on spikes overtopping the foliage. North America. A very handsome hardy perennial. =ACTINELLA= (from _aktin_, a ray; small rayed). SYN. _Picradenia_. ORD. _Compositæ_. A small genus of hardy herbaceous plants, having radiate capitules. The only species worth cultivating is _A. grandiflora_. It thrives in an open border with a light soil. Increased by divisions of the root in spring. =A. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl.-heads_ yellow, large, and handsome, 3in. in diameter. Summer. _h._ 6in. to 9in. Colorado. A very pretty branched perennial, suitable for the alpine garden. =A. lanata= (woolly). _See_ =Eriophyllum cæspitosum=. =ACTINIDIA= (from _aktin_, a ray; the styles radiate like the spokes of a wheel). ORD. _Ternstr�miaceæ_. A genus of ornamental hardy deciduous climbing shrubs, with axillary corymbs of flowers; sepals and petals imbricate. Leaves entire. Excellent for trellis-work or walls, and thriving best in a light rich soil. Increased by seeds, layers, or cuttings; the latter should be put in under a hand light in autumn, in sandy soil. [Illustration: FIG. 24. ACTINIDIA VOLUBILIS.] =A. Kolomikta= (Kolomikta).* _fl._ white, solitary, axillary, or cymose, 1/2in. in diameter; peduncles about 1/2in. long. Summer. _l._ ovate-oblong, petiolate, rounded or sub-cordate at the base, and tapering into a long point, serrate; the autumnal tints are very handsome, changing to white and red. N. E. Asia, 1880. Rarely met with. =A. polygama= (polygamous). _fl._ white, fragrant. Summer. _l._ cordate, serrate, petiolate. Japan, 1870. The berries of this species are edible. =A. volubilis= (twining).* _fl._ white, small. June. _l._ oval on flowering branches, elliptic on climbing stems. Japan, 1874. A very free growing species. See Fig. 24. =ACTINIOPTERIS= (from _aktin_, a ray, and _pteris_, a fern; the fronds are radiately cut into narrow segments). ORD. _Filices_. Sori linear-elongated, sub-marginal; involucres (= indusia) the same shape as the sorus, folded over it, placed one on each side of the narrow segments of the frond, opening towards the midrib. A small genus of beautiful and distinct stove ferns. They thrive in a compost of equal parts crocks and charcoal, about the size of peas, which must be mixed with silver sand and a very small portion of loam and peat. About half the pot should be filled with crocks, perfect drainage being necessary. A moist atmosphere is also essential, and the plants may be syringed two or three times a day. A mean summer temperature of 78deg. to 80deg., with a night one of not less than 65deg., is desirable. In winter, a mean temperature of about 73deg., and a night one of not less than 60deg., should be maintained. =A. radiata= (rayed).* _sti._ densely tufted, 2in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ fan shaped, 1in. to 1-1/2in. each way, composed of numerous dichotomous segments, half line broad, those of the fertile frond longer than those of the barren one. India, &c. (very widely distributed), 1869. In form this elegant little species is a perfect miniature of the Fan Palm, _Latania borbonica_. =A. r. australis= (southern).* _fronds_, segments fewer, larger, and subulate at the point. Plant much larger and more vigorous. =ACTINOCARPUS= (from _aktin_, a ray, and _karpos_, fruit; referring to the curiously radiated fruit, resembling a star fish). ORD. _Alismaceæ_. Pretty little aquatic perennials, with habit and inflorescence of _Alisma_. Carpels six to eight, connate at base, spreading horizontally. Excellent for naturalising in bogs and pools. Increased by seeds and divisions during spring. =A. Damasonium= (Damasonium). Ray Pod. _fl._ white, very delicate; each petal has a yellow spot at the base; scapes with a terminal umbel. June. _l._ radical, on long petioles, sometimes floating, elliptical, five-nerved. A native aquatic. The proper name of this plant is _Damasonium stellatum_. =A. minor= (smaller).* This greenhouse species, also with white flowers, from New South Wales, is smaller. =ACTINOMERIS= (from _aktin_, a ray, and _meris_, a part; referring to the radiated aspect of the plants). SYN. _Pterophyton_. ORD. _Compositæ_. A small genus of herbaceous perennials allied to _Helianthus_, but with compressed and winged achenes. Flower-heads corymbose, Coreopsis-like. Leaves ovate or lanceolate, serrate. They are hardy, ornamental plants, and of easy cultivation, in a loamy soil. Increased in spring, by seeds and division of the roots, on a warm border, with or without hand lights, or in cold frames. With the exception of _A. helianthoides_, they are but little known in this country. =A. alata= (wing-stalked). _fl.-heads_ yellow. July. _h._ 3ft. America. 1803. =A. helianthoides= (sunflower-like).* _fl.-heads_ yellow, 2in. across, July to September. _h._ 3ft. S. America, 1825. =A. procera= (tall).* _fl.-heads_ yellow. September. _h._ 8ft. N. America, 1766. =A. squarrosa= (rough-headed).* _fl.-heads_ yellow, in loose terminal panicles. July and August. _l._ decurrent, broadly lanceolate, coarsely toothed. Stem square, winged. _h._ 3ft. North America, 1640. SYN. _Verbesina Coreopsis_. =ACTINOPHYLLUM.= _See_ =Sciadophyllum=. =ACTINOSTACHYS.= Included under =Schizæa= (which _see_). =ACTINOTUS= (from _actinotos_, furnished with rays; referring to the involucre). ORD. _Umbelliferæ_. An Australian genus of greenhouse herbaceous perennials. Flowers shortly pedicellate, numerously disposed in simple umbels; petals none. Leaves alternate, petiolate. They thrive best in loam and peat, and are increased by root division and seeds. The latter should be sown on a hotbed, in spring, and in May the seedlings may be transplanted out in the open border in a warm situation, where they will flower and seed freely. =A. helianthus= (sunflower).* _fl._ white, in many-flowered capitate umbels; involucre many leaved, radiating, longer than the flowers. June. _l._ alternate, bipinnatifid; lobules bluntish. _h._ 2ft. 1821. SYN. _Eriocalia major_. =A. leucocephalus= (white-headed). _fl._ white. June. _h._ 2ft. 1837. [Illustration: FIG. 25. ADA AURANTIACA.] =ACULEATUS.= Armed with prickles. =ACULEOLATUS.= Armed with small prickles. =ACULEUS.= A prickle; a conical elevation of the skin of a plant, becoming hard and sharp-pointed. =ACUMEN.= An acute terminal angle. =ACUMINATE.= Extended into an acute terminal angle; this word is confined to considerable extension. =ACUNNA OBLONGA.= _See_ =Bejaria æstuans=. =ACUTE.= Sharp-pointed. =ACYNTHA.= A synonym of =Sanseviera= (which _see_). =ADA= (a complimentary name). ORD. _Orchideæ_. An evergreen orchid, very closely allied to _Brassia_, from which it differs chiefly in having the lip parallel with, and solidly united to, the base of the column. Some authorities now refer the plant to the genus _Mesospinidium_. It requires to be potted in peat and sphagnum, in equal parts. The drainage must be perfect, and, during summer, the water supply profuse. Although in winter far less will suffice, the plant should not be allowed to become dry. Propagated by divisions as soon as the plant commences growth. =A. aurantiaca= (orange).* _fl._ orange-scarlet, in long terminal nodding racemes, each bearing from six to ten blossoms; petals elongated, streaked with black inside. Winter and spring. _l._ two or three to each plant, linear, dark green, about 6in. in length. Habit erect, with somewhat cylindrical pseudo-bulbs, which taper upwards. See Fig. 25. =ADAMIA= (named after John Adam, some time Governor-General of India, and a promoter of natural history). ORD. _Saxifrageæ_. A small genus of Hydrangea-like greenhouse evergreen shrubs, having many flowered terminal corymbs of flowers, and opposite, petiolate, oblong-lanceolate, serrated leaves. They thrive well in a mixture of loam, peat, and sand; and cuttings will root readily in a similar compost, under a hand glass. =A. cyanea= (blue-berried). _fl._ whitish, or pink. June. _h._ 6ft. Nepaul, in rocky places, 1829. =A. sylvatica= (wood). _fl._ blue; cymes nearly undivided, on short peduncles, disposed in a close panicle. June. _h._ 6ft. Java, 1846. =A. versicolor= (many-coloured). _fl._ blue. August. China, 1844. =ADAM'S APPLE.= _See_ =Citrus Limetta= and =Musa paradisiaca=. =ADAMSIA.= _See_ =Geum=, =Puschkinia=, =Sieversia=. =ADAM'S NEEDLE.= _See_ =Yucca=. =ADANSONIA= (named after Michael Adanson, an eminent French botanist). Baobab Tree. ORD. _Sterculiaceæ_. This is reputed to be one of the largest trees in the world, as far as the girth of the trunk is concerned; but it is seldom seen in cultivation in this country. =A. digitata= (finger-leaved). _fl._ white, about 6in. across, with purplish anthers, on long, axillary, solitary pedicels. _l._ palmate, with three leaflets in the young plants, and five to seven in adult ones. _h._ 40ft. Africa. =ADDER'S FERN.= _See_ =Polypodium vulgare=. =ADDER-SPIT.= _See_ =Pteris aquilina=. =ADDER'S TONGUE.= _See_ =Ophioglossum=. =ADELOBOTRYS= (from _adelos_, obscure, and _botrys_, a cluster). ORD. _Melastomaceæ_. Stove climbing shrubs with terete branches. Flowers white, crowded in cymose heads at the tops of the branches. Leaves clothed with rufous hairs on both surfaces when young, but in the adult state glabrous, except the nerves, petiolate, ovate, cordate, acuminated, ciliately serrated, five-nerved. For general culture, _see_ =Pleroma=. =A. Lindeni= (Linden's).* _fl._ white, changing to purple. Brazil, 1866. =A. scandens= (climbing).* This, the original species, possibly not now in cultivation, is a native of French Guiana. =ADENANDRA= (from _aden_, a gland, and _aner_, a male; the anthers terminate in a globose gland). ORD. _Rutaceæ_. Very beautiful little greenhouse shrubs from the Cape of Good Hope. Flowers large, usually solitary at the tops of the branches; stamens ten, the five opposite the petals sterile, five fertile ones similar in form, but shorter. Leaves usually alternate, flat, glandularly dotted. They thrive in a mixture of sand and peat, with a little turfy loam. The young tops, before they begin to throw out their buds, made into cuttings, and planted in a pot of sand, with a bell glass placed over them, will root without bottom heat. =A. acuminata= (acuminate). Synonymous with _A. am�na_. =A. am�na= (pleasing).* _fl._ large, whitish above, and reddish beneath, solitary, sessile, terminal. June. _l._ scattered, oblong or oval, bluntish, smooth, dotted beneath. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1798. SYN. _A. acuminata_. =A. coriacea= (leathery-leaved). _fl._ large, pink, usually solitary on the tops of the branches. June. _l._ scattered, oblong, obtuse, revolute, quite smooth. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1720. =A. fragrans= (fragrant).* _fl._ rose colour, on long peduncles, fragrant; pedicels clammy, aggregate, umbellate. May. _l._ scattered, smooth, spreading very much, ovate-oblong, glandular, a little crenulated. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1812. =A. linearis= (linear-leaved). _fl._ white, terminal, on long, usually solitary, pedicels. June. _l._ opposite, linear, obtuse, spreading; branches and pedicels smooth. _h._ 1ft. 1800. =A. marginata= (margined).* _fl._ pale flesh-colour, on long peduncles; umbels terminal. June. _l._ scattered, smooth, transparent, cordate, lower ones ovate, upper ones lanceolate. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1806. =A. umbellata= (umbel-flowered).* _fl._ pink, almost sessile, terminal, umbellate, petals fringed. June. _l._ oblong or obovate, dotted beneath, fringed on the edges. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1790. =A. u. speciosa= (showy).* _fl._ large, pink, nearly sessile, terminal, umbellate. June. _l._ scattered, oblong or obovate, revolute, dotted beneath, smooth, but a little fringed on the edges. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1790. =A. uniflora= (one-flowered).* _fl._ large, whitish inside, and pinkish outside, nearly sessile, solitary, terminal. June. _l._ scattered, oblong-lanceolate, somewhat pointed, revolute, smooth, dotted beneath. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1775. =A. villosa= (shaggy).* _fl._ pink, nearly sessile, terminal, umbellate; sepals, petals, and stamens fringed. June. _l._ crowded, ovate-oblong, fringed, pubescent and glandular beneath. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1786. =ADENANTHERA= (from _aden_, a gland, and _anthera_, an anther; in reference to the anthers, which are each terminated by a deciduous, pedicellate gland). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A small genus of stove evergreen trees, with racemose spikes of small flowers and bipinnate or decompound leaves. They thrive well in a mixture of peat and loam. Increased by cuttings, which should be taken off at a joint and planted in heat in a pot of sand, placing a bell glass over them. =A. chrysostachys= (golden-spiked). _fl._ golden. _h._ 15ft. Mauritius, 1824. =A. falcata= (sickle-shaped). _fl._ yellowish. _h._ 6ft. India, 1812. =A. pavonina= (peacock-like).* Peacock Flower Fence. _fl._ white and yellow mixed. May. _l._ leaflets oval, obtuse, glabrous on both surfaces. _h._ 5ft. India, 1759. =ADENANTHOS= (from _aden_, a gland, and _anthos_, a flower; referring to the glands on the flowers). ORD. _Proteaceæ_. Ornamental greenhouse evergreen pilose shrubs, thriving in sandy peat. Propagated in spring by cuttings, which should be placed in sandy soil under a bell glass, with a gentle bottom heat. =A. barbigera= (bearded).* _fl._ red, axillary, solitary, pedunculate; perianth pilose, bearded at top; involucre spreading, villous. June. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, obtuse, triple-nerved. _h._ 7ft. Swan River, 1845. =A. cuneata= (wedge-leaved). _fl._ red. July. _h._ 5ft. New Holland, 1824. =A. obovata= (obovate-leaved).* _fl._ red. July. _h._ 5ft. New Holland, 1826. =ADENIUM= (from Aden, where it is found). ORD. _Apocynaceæ_. Greenhouse evergreen succulent shrubs. The species mentioned below is remarkable in having a globose thick caudex or stem; branches dichotomous; corolla salver-shaped. They require a well-drained compost of sand and loam. Half-ripened cuttings strike root readily in sand, under a hand glass. But little water is required when the plants are not in a growing state. =A. obesum= (fat). _fl._ pinky-crimson, downy; corymbs terminal, many-flowered; pedicels short. June. _l._ close together at the tops of the branches, 3in. long, oblong, narrowed at the base, abruptly terminated by a hard, short point. _h._ 3ft. or 4ft. Aden, 1845. =ADENOCALYMNA= (from _aden_, a gland, and _calymna_, a covering; referring to the conspicuous glands on the leaves and floral coverings). ORD. _Bignoniaceæ_. An elegant genus of stove evergreen climbers. Flowers racemose, trumpet-shaped, bracteate. Leaves ternate or binate. Stems slender. They require a hot and moist temperature to grow them successfully, and thrive best in a compost of loam and peat. Cuttings will root in sand, if placed under a bell glass, with bottom heat. =A. comosum= (hairy).* _fl._ yellow; racemes spicate, axillary, and terminal; bracts comose. September. _l._ trifoliate and conjugate, tendrilled; leaflets ovate, leathery, glandular. _h._ 10ft. Brazil, 1841. =A. longeracemosum= (long-racemed). _fl._ yellow. October. Brazil. =A. nitidum= (shining).* _fl._ yellow; racemes axillary, nearly terminal, velvety; corolla velvety; bracts narrow, glandular. February. _l._ trifoliate or conjugate, tendrilled; leaflets elliptic, oblong. _h._ 10ft. Brazil, 1848. =ADENOCARPUS= (from _aden_, a gland, and _karpos_, a fruit; in reference to the legumes being beset with pedicellate glands). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Shrubs, with numerous racemes of yellow flowers; divaricate branches, trifoliate usually aggregate leaves, having petiolar stipulas, and complicated leaflets. All the species are elegant when in flower, and well suited for ornamenting the fronts of shrubberies. Except where otherwise mentioned, all are hardy. They thrive best in a mixture of loam, peat, and sand; and may be readily increased by seeds or layers, or by grafting the rarer on the commoner kinds. Young cuttings will root freely in sand, covered by a hand glass, which should be taken off and wiped occasionally. Seeds may be sown in March, the hardy species out of doors, and the others in a cold house. =A. foliolosus= (slightly-leaved).* _fl._ yellow; racemes terminal; calyx covered with glandless hairs, with the lower lip elongated and trifid at the apex; the segments equal. May. _l._ (and branches) much crowded, hairy, trifoliate. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. Canary Islands, 1629. A half-hardy evergreen species. =A. frankenioides= (frankenia-like).* _fl._ yellow, crowded; racemes terminal; calyx beset with glandular pubescence, with the lower lip having the middle segment longer than the lateral ones, and exceeding the lower lip. April. _l._ trifoliate, much crowded, hairy; branches velvety. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. Teneriffe, 1815. Requires protection in winter; an evergreen. =A. hispanicus= (Spanish).* _fl._ yellow, crowded; racemes terminal; calyx beset with glands and hairs; lower lip of calyx with three equal segments, hardly longer than the upper lip. June. _l._ trifoliate, grouped; branchlets hairy. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Spain, 1816. Deciduous. =A. intermedius= (intermediate).* _fl._ yellow, not crowded; racemes terminal; calyx beset with glandular pubescence, with the lower lip trifid, the lateral segments shorter than the middle ones, and much exceeding the upper lip. May. _l._ trifoliate, grouped; branches rather shaggy. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Sicily and Naples, on mountains, 1816. Deciduous. =A. parvifolius= (small-leaved).* _fl._ yellow, not crowded; racemes terminal; calyx clothed with glandular pubescence, with the middle segment of the lower lip longer than the lateral ones, much exceeding the upper lip. May. _l._ trifoliate, grouped, small; branches glabrous. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. France, on exposed heaths, 1800. Deciduous. =A. telonensis= (Toulon).* _fl._ yellow, not crowded; racemes terminal; calyx clothed with glandless pubescence, the segments of the lower lip about equal in length, a little longer than the upper lip. June. _l._ trifoliate, grouped; branchlets smoothish. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. South France, 1800. Deciduous. =ADENOPHORA= (from _aden_, a gland, and _phoreo_, to bear; in reference to the cylindrical nectary which girds the base of the style). ORD. _Campanulaceæ_. A genus of elegant hardy border perennials, very similar in habit, shape of flower, &c., to _Campanula_, from which genus _Adenophora_ differs in having the style surrounded by a cylindrical gland. Flowers stalked, drooping, spicate. Leaves broad, stalked, somewhat whorled. They grow best in light rich garden soil, with a warm sunny position, and should be increased by seeds, as dividing the roots is the sure way to lose them. They are easily raised from seeds, which may be sown as soon as ripe, or in spring, in pots placed in a cold frame. =A. coronopifolia= (buckhorn-leaved).* _fl._ blue, large, three to ten, racemose, at the top of the stem, on short pedicels. July. _l._ radical ones petiolate, ovate-roundish, cordate, crenately toothed; upper ones sessile, linear-lanceolate, nearly entire, quite glabrous. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Dahuria, 1822. =A. denticulata= (toothed-leaved).* _fl._ blue, small, numerous, on short pedicels, disposed in a more or less loose elongated raceme. July. _l._ serrated, smoothish; radical ones petiolate, rounded; upper ones sessile, ovate-lanceolate. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Dahuria, 1817. SYN. _A. tricuspidata_. =A. Fischeri= (Fischer's).* _fl._ blue, or whitish blue, numerous, sweet-scented, disposed in a more or less compound, elongated, and loose pyramidal panicle. August. _l._ radical ones petiolate, ovate-roundish, cordate, crenately toothed; upper ones sessile, ovate-lanceolate, coarsely serrated. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Siberia, 1784. SYN. _A. liliiflora_. =A. Gmelini= (Gmelin's). _fl._ blue, secund, three to ten, on the top of each stem, rising from the axils of the upper leaves, disposed in a long raceme. July. _l._ upper ones erect, linear, very narrow, entire, glabrous. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Dahuria, in dry stony places, 1820. =A. intermedia= (intermediate). _fl._ pale blue, small, racemose. May. _l._ radical ones petiolate, cordate, toothed; upper ones lanceolate, tapering to a point at the base, serrated, crowded. _h._ 3ft. Siberia, 1820. =A. Lamarckii= (Lamarck's).* _fl._ blue; corolla funnel-shaped, disposed in an elongated, many-flowered, raceme, which is compound at the base. June. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, acutely serrated, ciliated, glabrous, except on the margins. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Eastern Europe, 1824. =A. latifolia= (broad-leaved). Synonymous with _A. pereskiæfolia_. =A. liliiflora= (lily-flowered).* _fl._ numerous, sweet-scented, in a loose pyramidal panicle. Central and Eastern Europe. =A. pereskiæfolia= (pereskia-leaved).* _fl._ blue, rather numerous, scattered over the upper part of the stems, rarely subverticillate; peduncles one to two, or three-flowered. July. _l._ three to five in a whorl, ovate-oblong, acuminated, coarsely serrated, roughly ciliated. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Dahuria, 1821. SYN. _A. latifolia_. =A. periplocæfolia= (periploca-leaved). _fl._ pale blue, at the top of the stem, sometimes only one. June. _l._ petiolate, ovate, acute, somewhat cordate, crenately serrated. Stem ascending. _h._ 3in. Siberia, 1824. Rockery species. =A. stylosa= (long-styled).* _fl._ pale blue, small, few, disposed in a loose, naked, raceme. May. _l._ petiolate; lower ones obovate, sinuate; upper ones ovate, acuminated, glabrous. Stem ascending. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. Eastern Europe, 1820. =A. tricuspidata= (three-cusped). Synonymous with _A. denticulata_. =A. verticillata= (whorl-leaved).* _fl._ pale blue, small, irregularly disposed at the tops of the stems; lower whorls many flowered, distant; peduncles one to three-flowered. June. _l._ in whorls, serrately toothed; radical ones petiolate, roundish; upper ones ovate-lanceolate; stems simple. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Dahuria, 1783. =ADENOSTOMA= (from _aden_, a gland, and _stoma_, a mouth). ORD. _Rosaceæ_. Hardy shrubs, having small racemose, five-petalled flowers. They grow freely in rich loam and peat in equal proportions. Propagated in spring or autumn, by cuttings made of the young shoots, placed in sand, under glass. =A. fasciculata= (fascicled).* _fl._ white, small, produced in terminal panicles. _h._ 2ft. California, 1848. A hardy, heath-like evergreen bushy plant, allied to _Alchemilla_. =ADESMIA= (from _a_, without, _desmos_, a bond; in reference to the stamens being free). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Chiefly greenhouse evergreen shrubs, or trailers, from South America, with lanceolate stipulas, abruptly pinnate leaves, ending in a bristle; axillary one-flowered pedicels, or the flowers racemosely disposed at the tops of the branches, in consequence of the upper leaves being abortive. They will grow well in a mixture of loam, peat, and sand. Propagated by cuttings placed in sand, covered by a hand glass, in a gentle heat; or by seeds, which are generally more satisfactory. The annual species--_A. muricata_, _A. papposa_, and _A. pendula_--are not worth growing. The following are fairly representative of the most ornamental species. =A. glutinosa= (sticky).* _fl._ yellow; racemes elongated, terminal, simple, spinescent, and are (as well as the linear bracteas) clothed with white hairs. May. _l._ with about three pairs of elliptic, hairy leaflets; branches spreading, beset with glandular, glutinous hairs. Stem shrubby; legumes three-jointed, very long. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1831. =A. Loudonii= (Loudon's). _fl._ yellow. May, _h._ 2ft. Valparaiso, 1830. =A. microphylla= (small-leaved).* _fl._ yellow; racemes somewhat capitate, terminal, simple, spinescent. June. _l._ with six pairs of small orbicular leaflets, on short petioles, pubescent; branches spinose. Stem shrubby. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1830. =A. Uspallatensis= (Uspallatan). _fl._ yellow. July. _h._ 1ft. China, 1832. =A. viscosa= (clammy). _fl._ yellow. August. _h._ 12ft. Chili, 1831. =ADHATODA= (its native name). ORD. _Acanthaceæ_. Allied to _Justicia_. Very ornamental stove shrubs, requiring a good fibrous peat and loam, with a moderate addition of silver sand. To grow them well, they require liberal treatment and plenty of heat, when the flowers will be produced in great profusion. Increased by young cuttings in spring, placed in sandy soil, in bottom heat. _See_ =Justicia=. =A. cydoniæfolia= (quince-leaved).* _fl._ produced in rather dense clusters at the point of every branch; tube of corolla white, the upper lip white tipped with purple; the lower lip large, rich deep purple, with a white stripe down the centre. October. _l._ opposite, ovate, dark green, and are, as well as the branches, slightly downy. Brazil, 1855. This species is an excellent subject for training up pillars or rafters; and, when in bloom, makes a pretty basket plant. It has a somewhat straggling habit, but a little care only is needed in pruning and training to grow it into an elegant shape. =A. vasica= (Vasica). _fl._ purple. July. _h._ 10ft. India, 1699. =ADHERENT.= Strictly signifies sticking to anything, but is more commonly employed in the sense of adnate. =ADHESION.= The union of parts usually distinct. =ADIANTOPSIS.= _See_ =Cheilanthes=. =ADIANTUM= (from _adiantos_, dry, as if plunged in water it yet remains dry). Maidenhair. ORD. _Filices_. A large genus of handsome tropical and temperate ferns. _Sori_ marginal, varying in shape from globose to linear, usually numerous and distinct, sometimes confluent and continuous. Involucre the same shape as the sorus, formed of the reflexed margin of the fronds, bearing the capsules on its upper side. None of the Adiantums are truly hardy except the American _A. pedatum_; even our own native species requires protection. The chief requirements of this handsome genus of ferns are good drainage, and a compost of fibrous peat, loam and sand. In most cases, plenty of pot room is essential, and a larger quantity of loam will be needed for strong-growing sorts. For general culture, _see_ =Ferns=. =A. æmulum= (rival).* _sti._ slender, about 6in. long. _fronds_ slender, pyramidate, tri-subquadripinnate; pinnæ distinct, obliquely pyramidate, unequally-sided; pinnules rhomboid or oblong, tapering to the base, the terminal one distinctly cuneate, all sparingly lobate. _sori_, 2in. to 4in., circular, or nearly so. Brazil, 1877. Stove or greenhouse species. =A. æthiopicum= (�thiopian).* _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long, rather slender, erect. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 6in. to 9in. broad, deltoid, tri- or quadripinnate; lower pinnæ 3in. to 4in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad, deltoid; ultimate segments 1/4in. to 1/2in. across, 1/4in. deep, suborbicular, the upper part broadly lobed; rachis and surfaces naked. _sori_ in several roundish patches. _A. Chilense_ (Chilian), _A. scabrum_ (scurfy), _A. sulphureum_ (sulphured) are mere forms of this species. Spain, and almost cosmopolitan. A very pretty greenhouse fern. SYNS. _A. assimile_, _A. emarginatum_. =A. affine= (related).* _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long, erect. _fronds_ with a terminal central pinna 4in. to 6in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, and several smaller erecto-patent lateral ones, the lowest of which are again branched; pinnules, 1/2in. to 3/4in. long, 1/4in. deep, dimidiate, the lower edge straight, the upper nearly parallel with it, crenate, like the oblique or bluntly rounded outer edge. _sori_ numerous, roundish. New Zealand. Greenhouse species. SYN. _A. Cunninghami_. =A. amabile= (lovely). Synonymous with _A. glaucophyllum_. Also a garden name for _A. Moorei_. =A. am�num= (pleasing). Synonymous with _A. flabellulatum_. =A. andicolum.= A synonym of _A. glaucophyllum_. =A. aneitense= (Aneiteum).* _sti._ and _rachises_ castaneous, the latter glabrous beneath, ferrugino-pilose above; _fronds_ deltoid, three to four pinnate, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long, and broad; segments, about 1/2in. long, rhomboidal, ascending, nearly sessile, inner side close to rachis, lower erecto-patent, shallowly lobed. _sori_ round, reniform, in centre of lobes, four to six to a segment. Aneiteum Isles, 1880. Stove or greenhouse species. =A. assimile= (assimilated). An Australian form of the widely-distributed _A. æthiopicum_. =A. Bausei= (Bause's).* _fronds_ 1-1/2ft. to 2-1/2ft. long, spreading, triangular, tri-quadripinnate; pinnæ stalked, the lower ones obliquely triangular; pinnules broad, laterally deflexed, the basal ones obliquely ovate with a truncate base, the intermediate somewhat trapeziform, the terminal cuneate--all shallowly lobed and pedicellate. _sori_ oblong reniform, set across the apices of the lobes, 1879. A beautiful stove or greenhouse hybrid, between _A. trapeziforme_ and _A. decorum_. =A. bellum= (handsome).* _fronds_ tufted, 3in. to 6in. high, bipinnate. ovate-lanceolate; pinnæ of three to six pinnules, 1/2in. to 1-1/2in. long, stalked; pinnules cuneate or irregular transverse-oblong, the somewhat larger terminal ones cuneate, lobed, the margin erose, all shortly stalked. _sori_ two to three on the smaller pinnules, roundish, or sublunate. Bermuda, 1879. Greenhouse or Wardian case species. =A. Capillus-Veneris= (Venus's hair).* Common Maidenhair. _sti._ sub-erect, rather slender, 4in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ very variable in size, with short terminal and numerous erecto-patent lateral branches on each side, the lowest slightly branched again; segments 1/2in. to 1in. broad, deeply lobed, and the lobes again bluntly crenated. _sori_ placed in roundish sinuses of the crenation. Great Britain, and world-wide in its distribution. Greenhouse, case, or frame species. =A. C.-V. cornubiense= (Cornish).* _fronds_ very numerous, and dwarf, more or less oblong in general outline, with large, broad pinnules of a deep green, with finely-waved margins, and an almost pellucid, but firm texture. One of the best forms, but somewhat delicate in constitution. =A. C.-V. crispulum= (crisped).* _fronds_, with the stipes, from 6in. to 12in. long, more attenuated than those of the type, and narrower at the base; pinnules less numerous, but broad and thin, crisp, of a light green colour, more or less cut at the broadest part. A handsome variety, of vigorous growth. [Illustration: FIG. 26. ADIANTUM CAPILLUS-VENERIS DAPHNITES.] =A. C.-V. daphnites= (glistening).* _sti._ and _rachises_ dark brown, reaching a height of from 9in. to 14in. pinnæ and ultimate pinnules more or less confluent, the latter being broad, and of a dull green colour, usually forming a tufted crest at the extremities of the fronds. A charming subject for the Wardian case. Very distinct. See Fig. 26. =A. C.-V. fissum= (divided). Very dwarf in habit, with pinnules rather broader than those of the type, which are deeply and variously cut, so as to give the plant a distinctive appearance from most of the forms. =A. C.-V. Footi= (Foot's). Closely allied to the variety _fissum_, having fronds a foot or more long, with very ample pinnules deeply incised, light green. Vigorous. =A. C.-V. incisum= (deeply cut). Very closely allied to _A. C.-V. fissum_, but rather more vigorous in growth; pinnules broad, and deeply slit into segments near the base. =A. C.-V. magnificum= (magnificent).* _fronds_ from 9in. to 16in. long, more or less elongated in outline, 3in. to 4in. across; pinnules ample, rich green, with the margins finely cut and imbricated. The arching character gives this form a most distinct appearance. A very fine variety. =A. C.-V. rotundum= (rounded). Pinnules usually round, without the cuneiform base of the normal form; neither are the fronds so broad. Isle of Man. Variable in its habit. =A. C.-V. undulatum= (wavy).* _fronds_ dense, compact, having broad, roundish dark green pinnules, which are undulated at the edges. An elegant dwarf-growing form. =A. cardiochlæna= (heart-form indusium). A synonym of _A. polyphyllum_. =A. caudatum= (tailed).* _sti._ 2in. to 4in. long, tufted, wiry. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, simply pinnate, often elongated, and rooting at the extremity; pinnæ about 1/2in. long, 1/4in. deep, dimidiate, nearly sessile, the lower line straight and horizontal, the upper rounded, more or less cut, the point usually blunt, the lower ones slightly stalked. _sori_ roundish or transversely oblong on the edge of the lobes; _rachis_ and both sides of the frond villose. _A. ciliatum_ (of gardens) is probably a mere form, if not a synonym, of this species. Throughout the Tropics everywhere. Greenhouse or stove species; very fine for hanging baskets. =A. colpodes= (deep hollow).* _sti._ 4in. to 6in. long, slender, slightly fibrillose. _fronds_ 9in. to 18in. long, 4in. to 8in. broad, deltoid, tripinnate, light green; lower pinnæ spreading at right angles from the rachis, 2in. to 4in. long, 1-1/2in. broad, slightly branched below; ultimate segments about 1/2in. long, 1/4in. broad, the lower line often straight, the upper rounded, lobed, and toothed, all nearly or quite sessile. _sori_ placed in distinct teeth of the outer edge. Ecuador and Peru, 1875. Greenhouse species. =A. concinnum= (neat).* _sti._ 4in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 6in. to 9in. broad, ovate-deltoid, tripinnate; pinnæ numerous, spreading, flexuous, the lowest 4in. to 6in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad; segments 1/4in. to 3/8in. across, broadly cuneate at the base, the upper edge irregularly rounded, deeply lobed, the lobes crenate, the lowest segment of each pinna and pinnule large, sessile. _sori_ numerous, ob-reniform. Tropical America. A most elegant species for baskets and the rockery. =A. c. Flemingi= (Fleming's). This variety, of garden origin, is also very handsome. =A. c. latum= (broad).* Differs from the type in being more erect and robust in habit, and broader in all its parts. It constitutes an excellent stove plant. =A. crenatum= (crenated).* _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ with a terminal central pinna 6in. to 9in. long and several large erecto-patent lateral ones on each side, the lowest of which are branched again; segments about 1/2in. long, 1/4in. deep, dimidiate, the lower line upcurved, the upper nearly straight, slightly crenate. _sori_ numerous, round, placed on the upper and sometimes outer edge. This is closely allied to _A. tetraphyllum_. Mexico. Stove species. SYN. _A. Wilesianum_. [Illustration: FIG. 27. ADIANTUM DECORUM.] =A. cristatum= (crested). _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, strong, erect, tomentose. _fronds_ 1-1/2ft. to 3ft. long, 9in. to 12in. broad, with a terminal central pinna 6in. to 9in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, and numerous rather distant lateral ones on each side, the lowest of which are sometimes again branched; segments 1/2in. to 3/4in. long, 1/4in. to 3/8in. broad, dimidiate, the lower line nearly straight, the upper nearly parallel or rounded, the point blunt. _sori_ in several oblong or linear patches. West Indies and Venezuela, 1844. Stove species. SYN. _A. Kunzeanum_. =A. cubense= (Cuba).* _sti._ 4in. to 8in. long, nearly black, erect. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 2in. to 4in. broad, simply pinnate, or with a single pair of short branches; pinnæ 1in. to 2in. long, and about 3/4in. to 1in. broad, unilateral, the lower line slightly recurved, the upper rounded and broadly lobed, of a deep green colour, with a soft herbaceous texture. _sori_ in hollows of the lobes. Cuba and Jamaica. A very distinct stove species. =A. cuneatum= (wedge-shaped).* _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long, slender, erect. _fronds_ 9in. to 18in. long, 6in. to 9in. broad, deltoid, tri- or quadripinnate; lower pinnæ 4in. to 6in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad; segments numerous, 1/4in. to 3/8in. broad, cuneate at the base, the upper edge deeply lobed. _sori_ four to six, obversely reniform. Brazil, 1820. This fine greenhouse species is more generally grown than any other; and a number of garden forms have received distinctive names. =A. c. dissectum= (dissected).* A pretty variety, with the pinnules more deeply lobed than in the type. =A. c. Lawsonianum= (Lawson's). This is a very abnormal form, curiously and finely cut, with the ultimate segments narrowly cuneate at the base, stalked, and distant. Of garden origin. Greenhouse variety. =A. c. mundulum= (neat).* _sti._ 3in. to 4in. high. _fronds_ dwarf, tufted, erect, hardly 3in. broad, deltoid, tripinnate; pinnæ and pinnules crowded; pinnules narrowly cuneate, rarely three-parted, with narrow wedge-shaped lobes; apex slightly crenate, and bears a roundish sorus set in a notch of the lobe or crenature. Of garden origin, 1879. Greenhouse variety. =A. Cunninghami= (Cunningham's). Synonymous with _A. affine_. =A. curvatum= (curved).* _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long. _fronds_ dichotomous, with main divisions again once or twice forked; pinnæ 8in. to 12in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad; pinnules 1-1/4in. to 1-1/2in. long, about 1/2in. deep, not truly dimidiate, but only the lower two-thirds of the under half cut away, the upper margin rounded and broadly lobed, with the lobes finely toothed and point often lengthened out. _sori_ linear, or transversely oblong. Tropical America, 1841. Stove species. =A. decorum= (decorous).* _sti._ 4in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ sub-deltoid, 9in. to 15in. long, three to four pinnate; lower pinnæ and pinnules stalked, deltoid; side segments rhomboid, 1/4in. to 3/8in. long; outer edge distinctly lobed; lower segments equilateral, imbricated over main rachis. _sori_ round, in final lobes, four to six to a segment. This greenhouse species ranks midway between _A. concinnum_ and _A. cuneatum_. Peru. SYN. _A. Wagneri_. See Fig. 27. =A. deltoideum= (deltoid).* _sti._ densely tufted, 3in. to 4in. long, wiry, erect. _fronds_ 4in. to 6in. long, 3/4in. broad, with a terminal lobe and numerous sub-opposite pinnæ, the lower ones distant, distinctly stalked, 1/2in. long, 1/4in. to 3/8in. broad, hastate-deltoid, cordate or cuneate at the base. _sori_ in interrupted lines along the sides of the pinnæ. West Indian Islands. Stove species. [Illustration: FIG. 28. ADIANTUM DIAPHANUM.] =A. diaphanum= (transparent).* _sti._ 4in. to 8in. long, slender, erect. _fronds_ 6in. to 7in. long, simply pinnate, or with one to three branches at the base; pinnules 1/2in. long, 1/4in. broad, the lower line rather decurved, the upper nearly parallel with it, crenate like the blunt outer edge. _sori_ obversely reniform, numerous. S.E. China, New Zealand, &c. Greenhouse species. SYN. _A. setulosum_. See Fig. 28. =A. digitatum= (finger-leaved).* _sti._ 12in. to 18in. long, erect. _fronds_ 1ft. to 3ft. long, 6in. to 1ft. 6in. broad, furnished with numerous distant spreading or erecto-patent branches, gradually shortened upwards, the lowest of which are branched again; lower pinnæ 6in. to 9in. long, 3in. to 4in. broad; segments 3/4in. to 1in. each way, varying from deflexed to cuneate at the base, the upper edge rounded, deeply cut, and the lobes again less deeply cut, the lower ones distinctly stalked. _sori_ in lines along the edge of the lobes. Peru. It is generally cultivated under the name of _A. speciosum_. Stove or greenhouse species. =A. dolabriforme= (axe-shaped). Synonymous with _A. lunulatum_. =A. dolosum= (deceiving). Synonymous with _A. Wilsoni_. =A. Edgworthii= (Edgeworth's).* This differs from _caudatum_ by having more membranous texture, glabrous surfaces, and sub-entire pinnæ. Himalaya and China. =A. emarginatum= (notched at the end). Synonymous with _A. æthiopicum_. =A. excisum= (bluntly cut).* _sti._ 2in. to 3in. long, wiry, densely tufted. _fronds_ 6in. to 18in. long, 3in. to 6in. broad, with numerous flexuose short pinnæ on each side, the lowest of which are slightly branched again; segments two to three lines broad, cuneate at the base, the upper edge rounded and bluntly lobed. _sori_ two to four, large, obversely reniform, placed in distinct hollows on the lobes. Chili. =A. e. Leyi= (Ley's).* This is a very dwarf, copiously crested form, of garden origin, most suitable for case culture. Greenhouse variety. =A. e. multifidum= (much-cut).* A handsome garden variety; the apex of every frond is frequently divided into several branches, which oftentimes are again divided and crested, thus forming a beautiful tassel 2in. to 3in. long. Greenhouse species. =A. Feei= (Fee's).* _sti._ 12in. to 18in. long, strong, scandent. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 1ft. or more broad, tripinnate, the main and secondary rachises zigzag, all the branches firm and spreading at a right angle; lower pinnæ 6in. to 9in. long, 3in. to 4in. broad; pinnules 1in. to 2in. long, 1/2in. broad, consisting of a terminal segment and several distant suborbicular-cuneate lateral ones. _sori_ marginal, roundish, more than half line deep. Tropical America. Stove species. SYN. _A. flexuosum_. =A. flabellulatum= (small fan-leaved).* _sti._ erect, strong. _fronds_ dichotomously branched, and the divisions once or twice branched again; central pinnæ 4in. to 8in. long, 3/4in. broad; pinnules about 1/4in. broad and deep, dimidiate, the lower edge nearly straight, the upper rounded, the outer blunt, both entire or slightly toothed. _sori_ in several transversely oblong notches. Tropical Asia. Stove species. SYN. _A. am�num_. =A. flexuosum= (zigzagly-bent). Synonymous with _A. Feei_. =A. formosum= (beautiful).* _sti._ 12in. to 18in. long, strong, erect. _fronds_ 18in. to 24in. long, 12in. to 18in. broad, bi-, tri-, or quadripinnate; lower pinnæ 12in. to 15in. long, 6in. to 9in. broad, deltoid; pinnules deltoid; ultimate segments 1/4in. to 3/8in. broad, one and a half to two lines deep, dimidiate, the lower edge straight, the upper and outer rather rounded and deeply lobed, the lower ones distinctly stalked. _sori_ numerous, between obreniform and transversely oblong. Australia, 1820. Greenhouse species. =A. fovearum.= Synonymous with _A. intermedium_. =A. fulvum= (tawny).* _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long, strong, erect. _fronds_ 9in. to 12in. long, 6in. to 8in. broad, deltoid in general outline, with a terminal pinna 4in. to 6in. long, about 1-1/2in. broad, and several erecto-patent branches, the lower of which are branched again; pinnules about 3/4in. long, 1/4in. deep, dimidiate, the lower edge nearly straight, the upper almost parallel, sharply toothed like the oblique outer edge. _sori_ large, numerous. New Zealand. Greenhouse species. =A. Ghiesbreghti= (Ghiesbreght's).* _fronds_ 18in. to 30in. long, ovate, deltoid, tripinnate; pinnules large, slightly crenate on the margins. A very fine stove fern, with the habit of _A. tenerum Farleyense_, but less dense. It is undoubtedly a variety of _tenerum_, having originated in Mr. Williams's nursery some years since. SYN. _A. scutum_. =A. glaucophyllum= (grey-leaved).* _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long, erect. _fronds_ 12in. to 24in. long, 9in. to 15in. broad, deltoid, quadripinnate; lower pinnæ 6in. to 9in. long, 3in. to 6in. broad, deltoid, erecto-patent; segments 1/4in. broad, cuneate at the base, the upper edge irregularly rounded, more or less lobed. _sori_ four to six, obversely reniform, placed in distinct hollows in the apex of the lobes of the upper edge, deep green above, glaucous beneath. Closely allied to _A. cuneatum_. Mexico. Greenhouse. SYNS. _A. amabile_, _A. andicolum_, _A. mexicanum_. =A. gracillimum= (most graceful).* _fronds_ deltoidly ovate, 9in. to 24in. long, and 6in. to 10in. across, decompound, rich green; ultimate pinnules distant, minute, distinctly stalked, obovate, emarginate, or two to three lobed, the sterile lobes blunt. _sori_ solitary on the entire pinnules, two to three on the larger lobed ones. One of the most graceful and beautiful of greenhouse ferns; the very numerous minute segments and the ramifications of the rachis impart to a well grown plant a very charming appearance. Of garden origin. A form of _A. cuneatum_. =A. Henslovianum= (Henslow's).* _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, erect. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 6in. to 9in. broad, ovate, tripinnate, furnished with numerous distant pinnæ on each side, the upper of which are simple, but the lowest slightly branched; segments 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, 1/4in. to 3/8in. deep, dimidiate, the lower line nearly straight, the upper rather rounded and lobed, the point bluntly rounded. _sori_ obversely reniform, placed in the hollows of the lobes. Columbia, Peru, &c., 1833. A most distinct and beautiful stove species. SYNS. _A. lætum_, _A. Reichenbachii_, _A. sessilifolium_. =A. Hewardia= (Heward's). _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long, erect. _fronds_ simply pinnate or bipinnate, with a terminal pinna and two to four lateral ones on each side, the lowest pair of which sometimes with two to four pinnules each; pinnules 3in. to 4in. long, about 1in. broad, nearly equal sided, ovate lanceolate, nearly entire. _sori_ in continuous lines along both edges. Jamaica, &c., occurring over a wide area. Stove species. SYN. _Hewardia adiantoides_. =A. hispidulum= (hairyish).* _sti._ 6in. to 15in. long, strong, erect. _fronds_ dichotomous, with the main divisions flabellately branched; central pinnæ 6in. to 9in. long, 1/2in. to 1in. broad; pinnules 3/8in. to 3/4in. long, two to four lines broad, dimidiate, subrhomboidal, the outer edge bluntly rounded, upper and outer margin finely toothed, slightly stalked. _sori_ roundish, numerous, contiguous. Tropics of Old World, 1822. Greenhouse. SYN. _A. pubescens_. =A. intermedium= (intermediate). _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, erect, strong. _fronds_ with a terminal pinna 6in. to 9in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad, and one to three small spreading lateral ones on each side; pinnules 1in. to 1-1/2in. long; 1/4in. to 1/2in. broad, unequal sided, but not dimidiate, the point bluntish or acute, the inner edge nearly parallel with the stem, the upper nearly straight, scarcely toothed. _sori_ in interrupted marginal patches, one to two lines across, placed round the upper and lower edges. Stove. Tropical America, from the Antilles southwards to Peru and Rio Janeiro, 1824. SYNS. _A. fovearum_, _A. triangulatum_. =A. Kunzeanum= (Kunze's). Synonymous with _A. cristatum_. =A. lætum= (joyful). Synonymous with _A. Henslovianum_. =A. Lathomi= (Lathom's).* A garden variety, said to be a sport from _A. Ghiesbreghti_, which it closely resembles, being between it and _A. Farleyense_. It is a magnificent plant, producing _fronds_ from 18in. to 24in. long, with imbricated deeply-cut pinnules. Stove variety. =A. Legrandi= (Legrand's). Very closely allied to, if not identical with, _A. Pecottei_. Greenhouse variety, of garden origin. =A. Lindeni= (Linden's).* _sti._ black, naked. _fronds_ erect, large, pentagonal, tripinnate; rachises pubescent above, naked beneath; segments sub-distant, 1-1/2in. long, oblong-rhomboidal, falcate, acuminate, outer margins closely but bluntly lobed, of a deep green colour, the lobes toothed. _sori_ oblong or reniform. Amazons, 1866. A magnificent stove species. =A. lucidum= (shiny).* _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long, strong, erect. _fronds_ 9in. to 15in. long, 4in. to 8in. broad, simply pinnate, with a large terminal pinna and six to ten lateral ones on each side, or the lowest very slightly branched, 3in. to 4in. long, 1/2in. to 1in. broad, nearly equal sided, lanceolate acuminate, slightly serrated towards the point. _sori_ in a continuous row along each side. West Indian Islands and Tropical America. Stove species. [Illustration: FIG. 29. ADIANTUM LUDDEMANNIANUM.] =A. Luddemannianum= (Luddemann's).* A very striking variety of the common Maidenhair, _A. Capillus-Veneris_, of garden origin, with smooth, dark, almost black stipes, branching about a third of the way up, while the pinnules are crested, usually clustered, at the extremities of the branches, of a deep green, sub-glaucous character. It is a very elegant little greenhouse variety. See Fig. 29. =A. lunulatum= (crescent-leaved).* _sti._ 4in. to 6in. long, tufted, wiry. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 1in. to 2in. broad, simply pinnate; pinnæ 3/4in. to 1in. broad, 1/2in. to 1in. deep, sub-dimidiate, the lower edge nearly in a line with the petiole, the upper edge rounded and, like the sides, usually more or less lobed. _sori_ in continuous lines along the edge. Hongkong, &c., widely distributed in both hemispheres. Stove species. SYN. _A. dolabriforme_. =A. macrocladum= (long-branched). Synonymous with _A. polyphyllum_. =A. macrophyllum= (long-leaved).* _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, strong, erect, nearly black. _fronds_ 9in. to 15in. long, 4in. to 8in. broad, simply pinnate; the lower pinnæ of the barren frond 3in. to 4in. long, 2in. broad, ovate, so broad at the base that the opposite ones frequently overlap, the margin rather deeply lobed; fertile ones narrower. _sori_ in long continuous, or slightly interrupted, marginal lines. Tropical America, 1793. One of the finest stove species in cultivation. =A. macropterum= (long-winged). Synonymous with _A. Wilsoni_. =A. mexicanum= (Mexican). Synonymous with _A. glaucophyllum_. =A. microphyllum= (short-leaved). A synonym of _A. venustum_. =A. monochlamys= (one-covered).* _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long, wiry, erect, dark, chestnut brown; _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad, ovate-deltoid, tripinnate, the pinnæ rather distantly placed; segments 1/4in. broad, cuneate at the base, the upper edge rounded, slightly toothed, of a light green colour, with a firm texture. _sori_ single, or very rarely two, in a hollow of the upper edge. Japan. A very distinct and pretty greenhouse species. =A. monosorum= (uni-soriate). A pretty species, from Solomon Islands, not yet in cultivation. =A. Moorei= (Moore's).* _sti._ 6in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ deltoid, 6in. to 15in. long, two to three pinnate; side segments about 1/2in. long, rhomboid, lower edge deflexed from tip of pedicel, outer lobed half way down. _sori_ round, placed in tip of lobes. Andes of Peru. Stove or greenhouse species. SYN. _A. amabile_, under which name it is frequently grown. =A. Moritzianum= (Moritz's). This appears to be a stronger, more robust grower (fronds from 12in. to 18in. high), with thicker stipes and larger pinnules than the typical _A. Capillus-Veneris_. South America. Greenhouse species. =A. neoguineense= (New Guinea).* _sti._ 6in. to 8in. long, chestnut brown, erect. _fronds_ spreading, deltoid, tri-quadripinnate, dark olive green with a glaucous tinge on both surfaces; pinnæ ovate; terminal pinnules cuneate, lateral ones trapezoid, about 1/2in. long, crenately lobed, the lobes rather large, entire. _sori_ small, 6in. to 8in., orbicular, entirely sunk in closed sinuses of the marginal lobes. New Guinea, 1877. A very charming stove species. =A. obliquum= (oblique). _sti._ 3in. to 6in. long, erect, wiry, pubescent. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 2in. to 4in. broad, with a terminal lobe and three to twelve pairs of alternate pinnæ, the lowest 1in. to 2in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, costate nearly to the apex, the upper half the largest, rounded at the base, the lower half obliquely truncate at the base, those of the barren frond slightly toothed. _sori_ in numerous interrupted marginal patches, one to two lines broad. West Indies, &c., 1826. Stove species. =A. palmatum= (palmate).* _fronds_ with elongated zigzag rachises, elongate-oblong, narrowed to the apex, tripinnate, often reaching 3-1/2ft. long, 10in. broad; pinnules distinct; ultimate segments large, smooth, distant, distinctly stipitate, varying from obovate wedge-shaped to semi-orbicular in outline, but all deeply, palmately cut, 1in. to 1-3/4in. broad. _sori_ oblong, variable in length, situate at the tips of the segments, usually one to each. This is a very beautiful and graceful stove or greenhouse species. Peru, 1877. =A. patens= (spreading). _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long, erect. _fronds_ dichotomously divided and the branches once or twice divided again; central pinnæ 6in. to 9in. long, 1-1/2in. broad; pinnules 1/2in. to 3/4in. long, 1/4in. deep, dimidiate, the two sides nearly parallel, the upper and outer ones broadly and bluntly lobed. _sori_ placed round the upper and outer edge, obversely reniform. Brazil, &c., 1824. Stove species. =A. Pecottei= (Pecot's).* This is a charming little variety, of garden origin, with short decompound fronds, imbricated segments, comparatively large, of a deep green colour, and likely to prove one of the most useful maidenhair ferns grown. =A. pedatum= (pedate).* _sti._ 9in. to 24in. long, erect, polished. _fronds_ dichotomous, with the main divisions flabellately branched; central pinnæ 6in. to 12in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad; pinnules 1/2in. to 3/4in. long, 1/4in. deep, dimidiate, broadest on the side nearest the stem, the upper and outer margin lobed, shortly stalked. _sori_ roundish, one to two lines broad. North Hindostan, the United States, &c. Hardy species. See Fig. 30. =A. peruvianum= (Peruvian).* _sti._ 9in. to 18in. long, strong, erect. _fronds_ simply pinnate, or with one to three branches at the base, some of the latter sometimes again slightly divided; pinnules 2in. or more broad, 1-1/2in. deep, unequally ovate, cuneate at base, finely toothed and lobed round the upper and outer edge. _sori_ in interrupted patches round the sides of the pinnules. Peru. This is one of the finest of the large growing, evergreen stove kinds. =A. polyphyllum= (many-leaved).* _sti._ 12in. to 18in. long, strong, erect. _fronds_ 2ft. to 3ft. long, 12in. to 18in. broad, the upper part simply pinnate; lower pinnæ sometimes 1ft. long; 6in. broad, with a long terminal and numerous lateral pinnules; segments 3/4in. to 1in. long, 1/4in. deep, dimidiate, with nearly parallel edges, the point obtuse, the upper edge sharply toothed. _sori_ in numerous sub-orbicular patches, placed in hollows in lobes along the upper edge. Columbia. A magnificent stove species. SYNS. _A. cardiochlæna_ and _A. macrocladum_. =A. populifolium= (poplar-leaved). A synonym of _A. Seemanni_. =A. princeps= (princely).* _sti._ 9in. to 12in. long, stout, nearly erect. _fronds_ large, 12in. to 24in. long, 9in. to 18in. across the base, deltoid, pendent, quadripinnate, pale greyish; lower pinnæ obliquely elongate, triangular, the posterior side tripinnate, the anterior bipinnate; upper ones pinnate, with a large cuneately flabellate terminal pinnule, apex of fronds pinnate; pinnules 1in. long, 3/4in. broad, roundish rhomboidal or shortly trapeziform, shortly stalked; basal margin entire, slightly concave, the anterior margins and apex lobate, the lobes serrulate in the sterile parts, and, where fertile, bearing each a concave sorus, so that the lobes appear two-horned. New Grenada, 1875. A magnificent stove species. =A. prionophyllum= (saw-leaved). Synonymous with _A. tetraphyllum_. =A. pubescens= (downy). Synonymous with _A. hispidulum_. =A. pulverulentum= (covered with powder).* _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, strong, erect; _fronds_ with a terminal pinna and several spreading lateral ones on each side, which are 4in. to 8in. long, 1in. broad; pinnules 1/2in. long, one and a half to two lines deep, dimidiate, the lower line nearly straight, the upper one nearly parallel, both it and the outer edge finely toothed. _sori_ in a continuous line along the lower and upper edges. West Indies, &c. Stove species. [Illustration: FIG. 30. ADIANTUM PEDATUM.] =A. Reichenbachii= (Reichenbach's). Synonymous with _A. Henslovianum_. =A. reniforme= (kidney-shaped).* _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ simple, orbicular, reniform, of a deep green colour, 1-1/2in. to 2-1/2in. across, with usually a broad, open sinus. _sori_ all around the edge, one and a half to three lines broad. Madeira, &c., 1699. Greenhouse species. =A. r. asarifolium= (asarum-leaved). A rather larger growing variety of above species. =A. rhomboideum= (rhomboid). S. America, 1820. Probably identical with _A. villosum_. =A. rubellum= (reddish).* _sti._ 4in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ 4in. to 6in. long, deltoid, bipinnate; uppermost side of the pinnules cuneate, flabellate, nearly sessile, entire; lower rhomboid 1/2in. long, with lower border in a line with petiole, or rather decurved, inner produced over rachis, outer deeply lobed and finely toothed; end and lowest pinnules deltoid, 1/2in. broad. _sori_ round, placed in the tips of the lobes. This pretty species is purplish crimson when in a young state, changing to light green with age, but even then tinged with pink. Allied to _A. tinctum_ and _A. decorum_. Bolivia, 1868. Greenhouse species. =A. scutum= (shield). Synonymous with _A. Ghiesbreghti_. =A. Seemanni= (Seemann's).* _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, erect. _fronds_ 9in. to 20in. long, simply pinnate or the lower pinnæ compound; pinnæ 3in. to 4in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, ovate, acuminate; but rather unequally sided, the barren ones finely serrated, one side usually cordate at the base, the other obliquely truncate, petioles of the lowest, nearly an inch long. _sori_ in long continuous marginal lines. This is a very fine and distinct stove species. Central America, 1868. SYNS. _A. populifolium_, _A. Zahnii_ (of gardens). =A. sessilifolium= (sessile-leaved). Synonymous with _A. Henslovianum_. =A. setulosum= (bristly). Synonymous with _A. diaphanum_. =A. speciosum= (showy). Synonymous with _A. digitatum_. =A. subvolubile= (somewhat twining). _fronds_ subscandent, 2ft. to 4ft. long, oblong, tripinnate, 6in. to 8in. broad, with naked glossy castaneous stipes and zigzag rachises; central pinnæ lanceolate, with a few short spreading pinnules; side pinnules rhomboidal, about 1/4in. long, lower edge in a line with petiole, or deflexed, inner end touching or wrapped over rachis, outer shallowly lobed; lowest pinnules equilateral, much wrapped over rachis. _sori_ minute, round, six to twelve to a segment. E. Peru. Stove species. =A. tenerum= (tender).* _sti._ 1ft. or more high, erect. _fronds_ 1ft. to 3ft. long, 9in. to 18in. broad, deltoid, tri- or quadripinnate; segments 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, cuneate or tending towards rhomboidal, dimidiate in shape, the upper edge rounder or somewhat angular, broadly and deeply lobed, all stalked. _sori_ placed in numerous roundish patches in the lobes of the upper half. Mexico, &c., widely distributed. Stove species. =A. t. Farleyense= (Farley's).* A subfertile, subcristate variety of the foregoing; but, is, nevertheless, one of the most magnificent of Adiantums. It is nearly always known under the name of _A. Farleyense_. Barbados, 1865. Stove variety. =A. tetraphyllum= (four-leaved).* _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, strong, erect. _fronds_ nearly as broad as long, with a terminal pinna 6in. to 9in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, and numerous spreading lateral ones; segments 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, 1/4in. deep, subdimidiate, the lower line straight or somewhat decurved, the upper nearly parallel, finely toothed, the outer oblique. _sori_ interrupted, marginal. Tropical America. Stove species. SYN. _A. prionophyllum_. =A. t. Hendersoni= (Henderson's). A stove variety with small blunt pinnules. =A. tinctum= (tinted).* _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, deltoid, bipinnate; side pinnules rhomboid, three to four lines long, lower edge straight, inner parallel with rachis, or just wrapped over it, outer shallowly, bluntly lobed; lower pinnules equilateral, imbricated over main rachis; surfaces glabrous, when young of a delicate rose red colour, changing to a bright green. _sori_ round, placed in final lobes. Tropical America. Stove or greenhouse species. =A. trapeziforme= (rhomb-leaved).* _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, firm, erect. _fronds_ 12in. to 24in. long, with a central pinna 4in. to 8in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad, and two to four large spreading ones on each side, the lowest of which are often branched again; segments 1-1/2in. to 2in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, dimidiate, the sides nearly parallel, the outer edge oblique, both it and the upper one bluntly lobed, the lowest on stalks 1/4in. to 1/2in. long. _sori_ numerous, contiguous, placed round the upper and outer edge. West Indies, 1793. Stove species. =A. t. cultratum= (sharpened).* Outer edge of the segment bluntly rounded. =A. t. pentadactylon= (five-fingered). Lower margin of the segments somewhat decurved obliquely from the petiole. =A. t. Sanctæ Catherinæ= (of gardens).* This is a deeply cut, rather copiously divided variety of _A. trapeziforme_. =A. t. S. C. Funcki= (Funck's).* A deeply lobed, drooping variety, of garden origin. =A. triangulatum= (triangle-leaved). Synonymous with _A. intermedium_. =A. varium= (various). Probably identical with _A. villosum_. =A. Veitchianum= (Veitch's).* _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 9in. to 18in. long, deltoid, bipinnate in lower half, reddish when young; side pinnules rhomboid, about 1/2in. long, lower border straight, more or less deflexed from tip of pedicel, inner distant from rachis, upper and outer shallowly lobed; end segments 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, equilateral, rounded in upper, deltoid in lower half. _sori_ eight to ten to a segment, round, minute. Peruvian Andes, 1868. A very elegant and distinct stove species. =A. velutinum= (velvety).* _sti._ as long as fronds, slightly velvety. _fronds_ deltoid, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long, three to four pinnate; rachises densely pubescent on both sides; pinnæ 6in. to 9in. long; segments twenty to thirty-jugate, sub-sessile, sub-rhomboidal, 1in. long, 1/2in. broad, lower border decurved, outer blunt or sub-acute, upper straight, shallowly, bluntly lobed. _sori_ straight, one to one and a half lines long at tips of lobes of upper edge, four to six to a segment. Columbia, 1866. A magnificent stove species. =A. venustum= (charming).* _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long, wiry, erect, glossy. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 4in. to 8in. broad, deltoid, tri-quadripinnate; ultimate segments about 1/4in. across, cuneate at the base, the upper edge rounded, and usually finely toothed, of a light green colour, with a firm texture. _sori_ one to three, roundish; in hollows of the upper edge. Himalayas, up to 8000ft. Greenhouse or frame, nearly hardy in sheltered places. SYN. _A. microphyllum_. =A. villosum= (hairy stalked).* _sti._ 9in. to 12in. long, strong, erect. _fronds_ with a terminal central and several spreading pinnæ on each side, 6in. to 12in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad; pinnules dimidiate, about 1in. long, 1/2in. broad, the lower line nearly straight, the upper edge nearly parallel with it, but considerably larger, slightly toothed, and the outer edge auriculed at the base. _sori_ in a continuous line round the upper and outer edge. West Indies, &c., 1775. Stove species. =A. Wagneri= (Wagner's). Synonymous with _A. decorum_. =A. Wilesianum= (Wiles's). Synonymous with _A. crenatum_. =A. Williamsii= (Williams's).* _sti._ 6in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ 9in. to 18in. long, tripinnate, triangular; pinnæ ovate, distant, pinnules sub-rotund, slightly trapeziform, the basal line rather concave, the margin entire or slightly undulated, or divided into three to four lobes, crenately notched between the _sori_, the sterile portions with an erose diaphanous margin. _sori_ eight to ten, elongate reniform or lunate, occupying the whole of the semicircular outer edge. Mountains of Peru, 1877. In a young state, the stipes and fronds are dusted with a yellow powder. This is one of the most beautiful of the Maidenhair ferns. Greenhouse species. =A. Wilsoni= (Wilson's).* _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, erect. _fronds_ 9in. to 12in. long, 6in. to 12in. broad, simply pinnate, with a large terminal pinna and two to six sub-sessile lateral ones on each side, which are 4in. to 6in. long, 1in. to 2in. broad, ovate or ovate-lanceolate, acuminate, nearly entire. _sori_ in continuous lines along both edges. Jamaica. Stove species. SYNS. _A. dolosum_, _A. macropterum_. =A. Zahnii= (Zahn's). Synonymous with _A. Seemanni_. =ADIKE.= A synonym of =Pilea= (which _see_). =ADINA= (from _adinos_, crowded; in reference to the flowers being disposed in heads). ORD. _Rubiaceæ_. A very pretty evergreen cool stove shrub, with opposite terete branches, and solitary, axillary peduncles. It thrives in a mixture of loam, sand, and peat. Propagated by cuttings, inserted in a rich, loamy soil, under a hand glass, in heat. =A. globifera= (globe-bearing).* _fl._ yellowish, sessile, crowded, collected into globose heads; corolla funnel-shaped; peduncles axillary, rarely terminal, solitary. July. _l._ lanceolate, glabrous, longer than the peduncles. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. China, 1804. =ADLUMIA= (from _adlumino_, to fringe with purple; flowers bordered with purple). ORD. _Fumariaceæ_. An interesting, delicate, and nearly hardy climber from North America. Flowers with four spongy, cohering petals. A warm, good soil is most suitable; sow seeds about May in a shady spot. It is a biennial, but in favourable spots is self-sowing, and thus may be treated as a perennial. If placed either against a wall or in the open it is a pretty subject for trailing over a shrub or twiggy branch. From its fragile character, it can only be seen to the best advantage under glass. =A. cirrhosa= (tendrilled).* _fl._ pale rose-coloured, about 1/2in. long; peduncles axillary, generally four-flowered. June. _l._ triply pinnate, pale green. _h._ 15ft. 1788. The Maidenhair fern-like leaves are borne in profusion on the slender twining stems. SYN. _Corydalis fungosa_. =ADNATE.= Grown to anything by the whole surface; anthers are said to be Adnate when they are attached to the filaments by their whole length. =ADONIS= (name of classical derivation). ORD. _Ranunculaceæ_. Handsome hardy herbaceous plants. Flowers solitary, terminal; petals five to fifteen. Leaves divided into numerous linear segments. Some of the annuals are much inferior to the perennial species. The latter section constitute very ornamental subjects for rockwork, borders, margins of shrubberies, &c. All the species will grow freely in common soil, and are propagated by seeds. The perennials may be divided at the root. =A. æstivalis= (summer).* Pheasant's Eye. _fl._ deep crimson; petals flat, oblong, obtuse, one-half longer than the calyx. June. Stem almost simple, elongated. _h._ 1ft. South Europe, 1629. Annual. See Figs. 31 and 32. =A. autumnalis= (autumnal).* Pheasant's Eye; Red Morocco. _fl._ of an intense blood-red, with a black centre, rarely pale, globose from the six to eight concave conniving petals, which are scarcely larger than the calyx. May. Stems branched. _h._ 1ft. Britain. Annual. =A. pyrenaica= (Pyrenean).* _fl._ almost sessile, yellow; petals eight to ten, smaller and more obtuse than in _A. vernalis_. July. _l._, lower ones on long stalks, with trifid petioles and many-parted segments; upper ones sessile, multifid, with linear very entire lobules. Stem 1ft. or more high, and usually much branched. Pyrenees, 1817. Perennial. [Illustration: FIG. 31. FLOWER OF ADONIS �STIVALIS.] =A. vernalis= (spring).* _fl._ yellow, large; petals, ten to twelve, oblong, rather denticulated. March. _l._ lower ones abortive, or reduced to somewhat sheathing scales, the middle and upper ones sessile and multifid, with very entire lobes. _h._ 9in. to 1ft. Europe, 1629. Charming rock plant. This handsome species requires a rich moist sandy loam, and should not be disturbed for years. Perennial. [Illustration: FIG. 32. ADONIS �STIVALIS, showing Habit and Flowers.] =A. v. sibirica= (Siberian) differs only in having larger flowers. =A. volgensis= (Volga). An intermediate species between _A. vernalis_ and _A. pyrenaica_, differing from the first in the stems being branched, leaves more distant; from the last by the lower leaves being abortive, and formed like scales; and from both in the sepals being pubescent on the outside, not smooth. _fl._ yellow. _h._ 1ft. Russia, 1818. =ADPRESSED.= Brought into close contact with anything without adhering. =ADULT.= The full grown of anything. Full grown leaves are termed adult. =ADVENTITIOUS.= Developed in an unusual position. Applied to buds, roots, &c. =ADVENTURE BAY PINE.= _See_ _Phyllocladus rhomboidalis_. =ADVERSE.= Opposite. =�CHMEA= (from _aichme_, a point; in reference to the rigid points on the calyces, or flower-envelopes). Including _Pironneaua_. ORD. _Bromeliaceæ_. Very handsome stove plants. Flowers scapose, panicled; perianth six-cleft, three outer segments sepaloid, longer than the three inner or petaloid ones. Leaves ligulate or sword-shaped, sometimes with marginal spines. The species thrive best in a well-drained compost of rich fibrous loam and leaf mould. They like plenty of light, which may be afforded by standing them on inverted pots, so as to raise their heads well up above the surrounding plants. Propagation: When the flower-spikes, which are sent up from the heart or crown of the plant, die away, suckers or offsets are produced near the base, and from these other flowers appear the year after. If large plants are desired, these suckers should be left to grow and spread around; but to produce single plants, the suckers must be taken off and potted singly, in sharp soil, and then stood where they can get a moist heat till rooted. To enable them to do this it is necessary to strip off a few of the lower leaves, and trim the bottom with a sharp knife, in order that it may heal over and callus more readily than it otherwise would. When rooted, the plants may be shifted into larger-sized pots; but for single crowns 32-sized pots are large enough, as the plants, being epiphytal in their nature, do not require much soil or any great supply of water, except when growing freely or sending up their flower-spikes. In winter, they should be kept rather on the dry side, to induce partial rest; and an important point is to see that water is not allowed to lie for any length of time in the crown of the plant, as when that is the case it is likely to cause them to rot. [Illustration: FIG. 33. �CHMEA FULGENS.] =�. calyculata= (calycled).* _fl._ bright yellow, tubular, with red bracts, borne in close roundish heads at the top of an erect scape. _l._ strap-shaped, with the ends having the appearance of being cut off, but armed with a sharp spine. _h._ 9in. Brazil, 1862. SYN. _Hoplophytum calyculatum_. =�. c�lestis= (heavenly blue).* _fl._ sky-blue, in close pyramidal panicles, on erect snipes. Winter. _l._ ligulate, concave, spiny-edged, scaly beneath. Brazil, 1874. SYN. _Hoplophytum c�leste_. =�. c�rulescens= (bluish). _fl._ bluish. _h._ 1ft. South America, 1870. This pretty species is very attractive on account of the large dense head of deep blue and pure white berries which are produced in October. SYN. _Lamprococcus c�rulescens_. =�. discolor= (two-coloured-leaved).* _fl._ scarlet, borne on a loose, branched panicle. June. _l._ broad, minutely toothed on the margin, deep green above, and rather purplish beneath. _h._ 2ft. Brazil, 1844. =�. distichantha= (two-ranked-flowered).* _fl._ sepals rose-coloured; petals bright purple; spikes densely clothed with bright red bracts. _l._ long, glaucous, linear-oblong, tapering to a sharp point, and distinctly armed with reddish brown spines. _h._ 1ft. South Brazil, 1852. SYN. _Billbergia polystachya_. =�. exudans= (exuding). _fl._ orange-coloured (exuding a white greasy substance, whence the specific name) interspersed with green bracts; scape erect, with scattered crimson lanceolate bracts, terminating in a dense head. _l._ oblong, spine-margined, grey-coated. _h._ 2ft. West Indies, 1824. SYN. _Hohenbergia capitata_. =�. fasciata= (banded).* _fl._ scape upright, clothed with leafy bracts of a rosy-pink colour; each of the pink blossoms in the dense conical head is subtended by a narrow, spiny-edged, similarly-coloured bract, longer than its own. _l._ broad, recurved, banded with white. Rio Janeiro, 1826. SYN. _Billbergia fasciata_. Lasts in perfection for a considerable length of time. =�. fulgens= (glowing).* _fl._ deep rich red, with a bluish tip, fifty or more in a large branching panicle; scape stout, erect, scarlet. August, September. _l._ somewhat sword-shaped, terminating rather abruptly. Cayenne, 1842. See Fig. 33. =�. Furstenbergi= (Furstenberg's). _fl._ rose; flower spike dense, with overlapping showy pink bracts. _l._ tufted, linear, spinous at the edge, recurved. _h._ 1ft. Bahia, 1879. =�. glomerata= (glomerate).* _fl._ violet; scape erect, stout, 8in. to 10in. high, with glomerate branches of crowded blood-red bracts. _l._ oblong-ligulate, cuspidate, about 18in. long, dull green; margin with short wide-set spines. Bahia, 1868. SYN. _Hohenbergia erythrostachys_. =�. hystrix= (bristly).* _fl._ in very dense, oblong spikes; floral leaves and bracts scarlet. February. _l._ densely crowded, ascending, linear lanceolate, saw-toothed. _h._ 2-1/2ft. Cayenne, 1880. =�. Legrelliana= (Legrell's). A synonym of _Portea Legrelliana_. =�. Lindeni= (Linden's). _fl._ yellow, in dense terminal heads, with lanceolate red bracts, shorter than the flowers. _l._ linear-oblong, rounded, apiculate; margins saw-toothed; habit tufted. _h._ 1ft. South Brazil, 1864. =�. Mariæ Reginæ= (Queen Maria's).* _fl._ tipped with blue, changing to salmon colour with age, arranged compactly upon the upper portion of the spike; scape erect, about 2ft. high; half the length is clothed with large boat-shaped bracts, some 4in. long, intensely rich rose-pink. June, July. _l._ 18in. long, with a tufted habit. Costa Rica, 1873. This is perhaps the best species. =�. Melinoni= (Melinon's). _fl._ bright scarlet, tipped with pink, cylindric; panicle dense, terminal. _l._ oblong, leathery, about 18in. in length, dark green; margin spiny. South America. =�. Ortgiesii= (Ortgies'). _fl._ red, on short spikes. _l._ numerous, channelled, recurved, spongy, broad at the base, and tapering to a point; stem short, gouty. Tropical America, 1860. SYN. _Ortgiesia tillandsioides_. =�. paniculigera= (panicled). _fl._ rose-coloured; petals projecting beyond the sepals, deep bright purple; panicle large, compound, 1ft. to 2ft. long; scape reddish, downy; rachides and bracts rose-coloured. _l._ ligulate, shortly acuminate. West Indies, 1881. =�. spectabilis= (showy).* _fl._ rosy; calyx fleshy, ovate; corolla 1in. long, rosy crimson. _l._ spreading, channelled, ligulate, 2-1/2ft. long, 3in. to 4in. broad. Guatemala, 1875. =�. Veitchii= (Veitch's).* _fl._ scarlet; spike densely clothed with scarlet toothed bracts, closely investing flowers. _l._ tufted, leathery in texture, broadly strap-shaped, spotted, and minutely serrulate. _h._ 1ft. Columbia, 1877. SYN. _Chevalliera Veitchii_. =�GICERAS= (from _aix_, a goat, and _keras_, a horn; alluding to the shape of its fruit). ORD. _Myrsineæ_. Small trees, with obovate entire leaves. Flowers white, fragrant, in terminal or axillary umbels. For culture, _see_ =Jacquinia=. =�. fragrans= (fragrant). _fl._ white, fragrant; umbels pedunculate, axillary, terminal. April. _l._ obovate, margin undulated, and unequally dilated, veiny; upper surface covered with saline excrescence. _h._ 6ft. New Holland, 1824. =�GILOPS.= _See_ =Quercus �gilops=. =�GIPHILA= (from _aix_, a goat, and _philos_, dear; a favourite with goats). ORD. _Verbenaceæ_. Stove ornamental evergreen shrubs, generally with ovate-lanceolate, acuminate, smooth leaves; and flowers in axillary and terminal panicles. They require a rich sandy loam. Propagated from cuttings, which will root in sand, under a glass, with bottom heat. =�. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl._ yellow, terminal, corymbose; corolla downy. November. Berry compressed, blue. _l._ verticillate oblong, entire, sub-cordate at base. _h._ 3ft. Havannah, 1843. The other species are probably not now in cultivation, and this one is not generally so. =�GLE= (from �gle, one of the Hesperides). Bengal Quince. ORD. _Rutaceæ_. A stove evergreen tree, producing very large fruit, which much resembles an orange in general appearance, very delicious to the taste, and exquisitely fragrant. This genus differs principally from _Citrus_ by its numerous disunited stamens. The pulp of the fruit is an aperient, and a valuable remedy in dysentery, the thick rind and the dried unripe fruit are astringent. It thrives best in a rich loamy soil. Propagated by ripe cuttings, which, if not deprived of any of their leaves, will root in sand under a hand glass, in heat. =�. Marmelos= (Marmelos). _fl._ white, very fragrant; panicles axillary, terminal. April. _fr._ fifteen-celled. _l._ trifoliate; leaflets toothletted. _h._ 10ft. India, 1759. =�OLANTHUS= (from _aiollo_, to vary, and _anthos_, a flower; referring to the variableness of the flowers). ORD. _Labiatæ_. A genus of few herbs, with thickish leaves. Flowers loosely panicled. They thrive in sandy loam, and increase freely from seeds sown in a similar compost. =�. Livingstonii= (Livingstone's). _fl._ brown. East Africa, 1859. =�. suaveolens= (sweet-scented). _fl._ lilac, secund; cymes axillary and terminal, erect, usually trifid, with floral leaves under the divisions. July. _l._ nearly sessile, obovate, obsoletely denticulated, thickish, pale green. _h._ 1ft. Brazil, 1859. A pretty stove annual, with a sweet odour. =AERANTHUS= (from _aer_, air, and _anthos_, a flower; referring to the habit). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A genus of a couple of species of remarkable stove orchids, requiring treatment similar to =Anguloa=, to which they are allied. =�. arachnitis= (spider-like). _fl._ green. _l._ linear. _h._ 4in. Madagascar, 1850. =�. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl._ yellowish-green, large, solitary, terminal. _h._ 8in. Madagascar, 1823. =AERATION.= The exposure of the soil to the free action of the air, as essential to the growth of plants. =AERIDES= (from _aer_, the air; in reference to the power the species have of deriving their sustenance from the atmosphere). ORD. _Orchideæ_. An extensive genus of epiphytal orchids, confined to the tropics of the Old World, including many large and showy-flowered species. The majority of them are extremely handsome. The thick fleshy leaves are noteworthy for their characteristically distichous arrangement--that is to say, they are arranged in two opposite rows. They are usually truncate at the apex, and for the most part deeply channelled down the centre, but in some species terete or nearly cylindrical. All of them throw out large fleshy roots from various parts of their stems, by which they absorb the moisture from the atmosphere; and, in order to grow them successfully, they must be fixed upon blocks of wood. But this method should be adopted only whilst the plants are young, as it is almost an impossibility for the cultivator to maintain a sufficient amount of atmospheric moisture to meet their requirements; and, unless this is managed, the leaves will shrivel and fall off, leaving only a few at the extremity. Therefore, as soon as the plants are established upon the blocks of wood, let them be removed and potted. Fill the pot three parts full of broken potsherds and lumps of charcoal, and then use nothing, but clean, living sphagnum, placing a few roots in the moss and leaving the others free. By this means a greater amount of moisture can be supplied to them, and thus beautiful and symmetrical specimens obtained. The Aerides are easily grown into handsome plants, which usually bloom profusely, and thus recommend themselves to all who cultivate orchids. From early spring until the end of September they should be treated liberally with water, at the same time taking care never to wet the flowers. After the above-named time, a gradual diminution in the water supply to the roots should take place; and the atmosphere, too, should be less densely charged with moisture. But drought should never be carried far enough to cause the leaves to shrivel, for, if this is done, the uniformity of the specimen is marred; and, although we are quite willing to admit the possibility of the plants producing a greater quantity of flower spikes after a thorough shrivelling, we prefer to advocate the system that gives a fair amount of flower coupled with good leafage. As before remarked, the Aerides are peculiarly eastern, and therefore are usually classed amongst the orchids which require the hottest houses. This is, in one sense, correct; yet they do not require the great amount of heat which many imagine, and which has, until recently, been given them. They must not, therefore, be excluded from the amateur's collection of orchids. During the winter season many of the species may be kept in a temperature of 58deg. to 60deg.; whilst during the growing season the temperature may run up by sun heat without limit, so long as a free circulation of air and a sufficiency of moisture are secured. The following status of temperature may be observed: In spring, from 65deg. in the night, to 70deg. or 80deg. by day; in summer, from 70deg. in the night, to 80deg. or 85deg. through the day; in winter, about 60deg. night, and 65deg. day. =A. affine= (related).* _fl._ delicate rose, produced, in great profusion, on branching spikes, which are sometimes 2ft. in length, and continue in bloom two or three weeks; the sepals and petals equal, rounded at the apex; the lip is sharply rhomboid and three-lobed, with a short spur. _l._ light green, about 1ft. long. _h._ 3ft. A very handsome species from India, forming an excellent exhibition plant. =A. a. superbum= (superb).* An improved variety, with larger and richer coloured flowers, and more compact habit. =A. Brookii= (Sir A. Brooke's).* _fl._ purple and white; labellum bright purple; sepals and petals white, very fragrant. _l._ very ornamental, of a glaucous (milky green) hue. Bombay. This species, although one of the handsomest, is very rare. =A. crassifolium= (thick-leaved).* This is a dwarf, densely-habited plant, with broad, thick, purple-dotted obliquely-bilobed leaves. The flowers, which are borne on long and drooping spikes, are bare--larger than those of _A. falcatum_, which they resemble in form, and have the segments tipped with rich purple or amethyst, the centre or throat of the flower being ivory-white. Compared with _A. falcatum_, the spur is here bent under at an angle, while in that plant it is straight; the side laciniæ of the lip are much broader and shorter in the present plant, and the two keels on the lip here stand close together at the base, and become divergent, whilst in _falcatum_ they are distant at the base, and become convergent near the middle of the lip. This species is described as being the best in the genus. It may be grown near the glass, suspended in a basket. Burmah, 1877. [Illustration: FIG. 34. FLOWER OF AERIDES CRISPUM.] =A. crispum= (curled).* _fl._ white, suffused with purplish rose, nearly 2in. in diameter; sepals and petals ovate, acute; lip three-lobed, the middle lobe being very large, toothed at the base, and fringed at the margin; the horn-like spur is slightly incurved; racemes ascending, more than double the length of the leaves, many-flowered. _l._ deep green, flat and broad, blunt at the ends, and two-lobed, about 4in. or 5in. long. Bombay, 1840. Lasts a long time in beauty. See Fig. 34. =A. c. Lindleyanum= (Lindley's). A robust-growing variety, producing a large, much-branched panicle of flowers; sepals and petals white; lip large, bright rich rose-coloured. =A. c. Warneri= (Warner's).* The leaves are smaller, and more slender than in the species; the sepals and petals are white, with a soft, rich, rose-coloured lip. =A. cylindricum= (cylindric).* _fl._ white and pink, as large as those of _A. crispum_; sepals and petals crispy. _l._ elongate, subulate, terete, 4in. to 6in. long. East Indies. A very rare and distinct species. SYN. _A. vandarum_. =A. dasycarpum= (thick-fruited). _fl._ brownish, rosy. India, 1865. =A. dasypogon.= _See_ =Sarcanthus erinaceus=. =A. difforme= (deformed). _fl._ green and brown. India, 1865. =A. Dominiana= (Dominy's).* This is a garden hybrid between _A. Fieldingii_ and _A. affine_, with the colour of the former, but markings and shape of the latter. Very rare. =A. falcatum= (sickle-leaved).* _fl._ sepals and petals white, dotted with reddish crimson, and tipped with soft rose; lip white at the sides, with a rosy-crimson centre; spur short, parallel with the lip; racemes pendulous, many flowered. _l._ closely set upon the stem, peculiar blue-green, coriaceous, obtuse and mucronate. This species is very closely allied to _A. crassifolium_. SYN. _A. Larpentæ_. [Illustration: FIG. 35. AERIDES ODORATUM.] =A. Fieldingii= (Fielding's).* The Fox-brush �rides. _fl._ white, numerous, large, beautifully mottled with bright rose colour; the much branched racemes are 2ft. to 3ft. long, and continue blooming three or four weeks. _l._ 8in. to 10in. long, in some plants light green, and in others dark green; long, broad, thick, and fleshy, obliquely two-lobed at the apex. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Assam. =A. Houlletianum= (Houllet's).* _fl._ sepals and petals buff, shading off into cream white at the base, with a purplish eye-spot at their tips; lip white; front part dark purplish, with some lines of the same colour on the sides; on densely crowded spikes. _l._ and growth similar to _A. virens_. Cochin China. SYN. _A. Mendelii_. =A. japonicum= (Japanese).* _fl._ white, with the lateral sepals slightly barred with brown purple; several on the pendent racemes; lip purple, spotted, marked with a dark violet central ridge. _l._ short, linear-oblong, obtusely bilobed. Stems short, about 4in. high. A pretty cool house species from Japan, 1862. =A. Larpentæ= (Lady Larpent's). Synonymous with _A. falcatum_. =A. Lobbii= (Lobb's).* _fl._ white in the centre, slightly tinted with blush-rose towards the outside, somewhat spotted with violet; lip marked with a whitish central bar, and stained with a deep violet on either side; on long, dense, cylindrical, pendent spikes. _l._ ligulate, obliquely two-lobed at the apex, thick and fleshy in texture, about 18in. long, and of a light green hue. Moulmein, 1868. This elegant plant, of which many distinct varieties are in cultivation, is one of the most delicate of the genus. =A. maculosum= (spotted). _fl._ large, with obtuse pale rose-coloured sepals and petals, which are spotted with purple; lip flat and undivided, bluntly ovate, and of a deep rosy-purple; racemes pendulous, proceeding from among the upper leaves, somewhat lax and branching. _l._ ligulate, thick, and fleshy, obtuse at the apex, 8in. or 9in. long, dark green. A somewhat slow growing species, with a rather stiff, dwarf habit. Bombay, 1840. =A. m. Schr�deri= (Schr�der's).* _fl._ very delicate white, tinged with lilac and spotted with rose; labellum beautiful rose coloured. _l._ dark green, 10in. long. _h._ 18in. East Indies. A very free growing and handsome variety, superior to the species, but rare in cultivation. =A. Mendelii= (Mendel's). Synonymous with _A. Houlletianum_. =A. mitratum= (mitred).* _fl._ waxy-white; lip violet coloured, on numerous dense erect racemes. April. _l._ cylindrical, attenuated, about 2ft. long, dark green. Moulmein, 1864. A rare but elegant species. =A. nobile= (noble).* _fl._ sepals and petals white tipped, and spotted with bright rose; lip three-lobed, the side lobes creamy yellow, and the middle lobe slightly bifid at the apex, white, dotted with rose-purple, very fragrant; racemes 2ft. to 3ft. long, pendulous, much branched, many flowered. _l._ strap-shaped, obliquely emarginate at the apex, light green, slightly spotted with brown. Not unlike _A. suavissimum_, but with larger and better coloured flowers, and more robust growth. East Indies. =A. odontochilum= (tooth-lipped). _h._ 2ft. Sylhet, 1837. =A. odoratum= (fragrant).* _fl._ sepals and petals creamy and white, tipped with pink; lip cucullate, with even side lobes, the middle lobe being ovate and inflexed, the spur conical and incurved, of the same colour as the sepals, very fragrant; racemes longer than the leaves, many-flowered, pendulous. _l._ oblique, obtuse, mucronate at the apex, and dark green. East Indies, 1800. See Fig. 35. =A. o. cornutum= (horned). _fl._ pink and white. Distinct. =A. o. majus= (greater).* Like _A. odoratum_ in growth, but with larger and longer spike of flowers. =A. o. purpurascens= (purplish).* A very robust variety, with broad dark green leaves and massive spike of large flowers, which are white, tipped with bright pink. =A. pachyphyllum= (thick-leaved). _fl._ light crimson lake; spur and column white, the small laciniæ of the blade of the lip on front part of spur painted with more or less warm purple (these laciniæ are just as insignificant as the spur is preponderant); raceme short, few-flowered. _l._ fleshy, short; apex obtuse, and unequally two-lobed. Burmah, 1880. =A. quinquevulnerum= (five-wounded).* _fl._ fragrant; sepals and petals obtuse, white, marked with five reddish crimson blotches, and tipped with purple; lip cucullate and funnel-shaped, the side lobes being erect and the centre lobe oblong, incurved and serrated, of the same colour as the sepals; spur conical, green, large; racemes longer than the leaves, pendulous, and many-flowered. Late summer and early autumn. _l._ ligulate, about 12in. long, tightly clasping the stem at the base, obliquely mucronate at the apex, bright shining green. Philippines, 1838. =A. q. Farmeri= (Farmer's).* A very rare variety of the above, with similar habit, but the flowers are pure white throughout, and fragrant. =A. Reichenbachii= (Reichenbach's).* _fl._, sepals neatly striped (not blotched); lip deep orange colour; racemes densely crowded. Borneo, 1858. A very rare species. =A. roseum= (rose-coloured).* _fl._, sepals and petals narrow, acute, pale rose colour, with darker spots; lip flat, entire, and acute, of a bright rose, freckled--like the sepals and petals--with spots of a darker hue; raceme pendulous, dense, and many-flowered, upwards of 1ft. in length. _l._ coriaceous, recurved, and channelled above with a blunt two-lobed apex. Moulmein, 1840. As this does not root freely, it requires less moisture than any other species. =A. r. superbum= (superb).* A fine variety, with stronger growth and larger and richer-coloured flowers. The spikes of this, as well as the typical species, are apt to die off if much water is given. =A. rubrum= (red). A synonym of _Sarcanthus erinaceus_. =A. suavissimum= (sweetest). _fl._ sepals and petals obtusely ovate, white, tipped or tinged throughout with deep lilac; lip three-lobed, pressed to the column, the side lobes being oblong and denticulate, the middle lobe linear and bifid, the whole lip being of a pale lemon colour, and the spur rosy-eyed; the numerous racemes are half pendulous and branched, bearing a profusion of deliciously fragrant flowers. _l._ flaccid, about 10in. long, light green, profusely freckled with brown dots. Malacca, 1848. There are one or two varieties. =A. tesselatum= (chequered). _fl._ lined and streaked with green, white, and purple. East Indies, 1838. A scarce species. =A. testaceum= (testaceous). A synonym of _Vanda testacea_. =A. Thibautianum= (Thibaut's). A synonym of _Saccolabium Huttoni_. =A. vandarum= (Vanda). A synonym of _A. cylindricum_. =A. virens= (vigorous). _fl._ deliciously fragrant; sepals and petals ovate, obtuse, soft white, tipped with rosy-purple; lip large; side lobes toothed at the apex, white, dotted with crimson; middle lobe bearing a red inflated tongue; racemes long, drooping, many-flowered, commencing to bloom early in April, and lasting until July. _l._ broad, oblique, rounded at the apex, with a depression in the centre, and very bright green, about 8in. long. =A. v. Ellisii= (Ellis's).* _fl._ sepals and petals large, white, suffused with rose, and tipped with amethyst; the lower sepals very round and broad; lip large; side lobes white, beautifully freckled towards the base, with short lines of amethyst; middle lobe broad, and deep rich amethyst in colour; spur stout, curved upwards, and tipped with brown; racemes about 18in. long, bearing generally from thirty to forty, or more, large flowers. _l._ pale green. A splendid variety. =A. Wightianum.= _See_ =Vanda testacea=. =A. Williamsii= (Williams's).* _fl._ delicate pinkish white, produced in great abundance; spikes 2ft. to 3ft. long, and branched, _l._ broad, dark green, drooping. A very scarce and pretty species. =AEROBION.= _See_ =Angræcum=. =AEROPHYTES.= Plants that are grown entirely in the air. =�SCHYNANTHUS= (from _aischuno_, to be ashamed, and _anthos_, a flower). ORD. _Gesneraceæ_. A genus of very beautiful twining, radicant or parasitical stove shrubs, with opposite, simple, entire leaves, and axillary, terminal, few flowered, umbellate peduncles. They possess all the qualifications worthy of extensive cultivation--handsome flowers, fine deep green leaves, an agreeable fragrance, and are easily grown on blocks, which must be covered with green moss, fastened on with small copper wire. Preparatory to fastening them on, the roots should be covered with moss, and the plants secured to the block also by wire. After this, but little attention is requisite, except duly syringing and occasionally dipping in tepid water. As pot plants they are very beautiful, and in this method perfection is only obtained by growing them on fast and strong by generous treatment, which consists in frequently repotting in light rich compost till they are large enough to be trained up a trellis, formed of slender rods of willow or hazel. Propagated by seeds and cuttings. The former are very unsatisfactory; the latter root readily during spring in a well-drained pot, filled with a light compost, and having a surface of pure white sand, about 1in. deep. The best are obtained from half-ripened wood, cut into 2in. or 3in. lengths, and all leaves, with the exception of one or two at the top, removed. The cuttings should then be covered over with a bell glass, and placed in moderate bottom heat. So soon as rooted, transfer them singly to small pots, and again place under hand glasses, until they are thoroughly established, then gradually harden off. When about twelve months old, place the plants in their permanent quarters. Baskets are commonly and very effectively employed. Line these with moss, and fill with a light rich compost; place the plant as near the centre as possible, and, to promote a uniform growth, fasten down the branches with small neat pegs, at equal distances. During the summer, give copious supplies of water, to produce a liberal growth, which is of the utmost importance the first season, when they should not be permitted to flower. The following winter they should be kept cool and rather dry, thus giving them a rest. The year following, if properly managed, they will bloom profusely. =�. atrosanguinea= (dark-red).* _fl._ dark red; corolla 1-1/2in. long, cylindrical, saccate at base, pilose; peduncle one-flowered. July. _l._ pilose, oblong, sub-cordate, serrated, unequal. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Guatemala, 1848. =�. Aucklandi.= (Lord Auckland's). Synonymous with _�. speciosus_. =�. Boschianus= (Bosch's).* _fl._ scarlet, axillary, clustered; corolla tubular, with wide throat; calyx tubular, smooth, purplish-brown. July. _l._ ovate, obtuse, entire. _h._ 1ft. Java, 1844. See Fig. 36. =�. cordifolius= (heart-leaved).* _fl._ deep red, striped with black, inside of the tube orange, axillary, clustered. Summer. _l._ cordate, quite smooth, dark green on the upper side, paler below. _h._ 1ft. Borneo, 1858. =�. fulgens= (shining).* _fl._ bright crimson, very long; throat and the under side of the tube orange; lobes striped with black, disposed in terminal umbels. October. _l._ large, oblong-lanceolate, acuminate, thick and fleshy, bright dark green. _h._ 1ft. East Indies, 1855. =�. grandiflorus= (large-flowered).* _fl._ deep crimson and orange, large; corolla clavate; segments obtuse, with a dark mark at top, equal; umbels many-flowered. August. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, acuminated, serrated, obscurely-nerved, fleshy, dark green, _h._ 5ft. East Indies, 1838. =�. javanicus= (Java). _fl._ bright red, stained with yellow in the throat; corolla downy, tubular; corymbs terminal, bracteate. June. _l._ small, ovate, slightly toothed, with sunk veins. Java, 1848. Plant scandent. =�. Lobbianus= (Lobb's).* _fl._ rich scarlet; calyx large, campanulate; corolla downy; corymbs terminal, bracteate. June. _l._ elliptic, entire or slightly serrated, glaucous. Java, 1845. Plant subscandent. [Illustration: FIG. 36. �SCHYNANTHUS BOSCHIANUS.] =�. longiflorus= (long-flowered).* _fl._ scarlet, erect, fascicled; corolla with a long clavate curved tube, and oblique constructed bilobed mouth; upper lobe bifid. Summer. _l._ broad-lanceolate, acuminate, entire. Java, 1845. Plant pendulous. =�. miniatus= (vermilion).* _fl._ rich vermilion; corolla tomentose; upper lip bilobed, lower one tripartite; peduncles axillary, three-flowered. June. _l._ oval acute, entire. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Java, 1845. SYN. _�. radicans_. =�. pulcher= (fair).* _fl._ bright scarlet; corolla three times larger than the calyx; corymbs terminal, bracteate. June. _l._ ovate, obscurely toothed. Java, 1845. Scandent. =�. radicans= (stem-fibred). Synonymous with _�. miniatus_. =�. speciosus= (showy).* _fl._ rich orange-coloured; corolla with long clavate curved tube, and obliquely four-lobed limb; upper lobe bifid, terminal, numerous, downy. Summer. _l._ upper ones always verticillate, ovate-lanceolate, acuminate, slightly serrate. _h._ 2ft. Java, 1845. SYN. _�. Aucklandi_. =�. splendidus= (splendid).* _fl._ bright scarlet, spotted with black on the margins; corolla clavate, 3in. long, in terminal fascicles. Summer, lasting in perfection for a considerable time. _l._ elliptic lanceolate, acuminated, entire, rather undulated. _h._ 1ft. Hybrid. =�. tricolor= (three-coloured).* _fl._ deep blood red, usually twin; throat and base of the lobes bright orange, the three upper lobes being striped with black. July. _l._ cordate, dark green above, paler on the under side; edges, under surface, and stem, slightly hairy. _h._ 1ft. Borneo, 1857. =�. zebrinus= (zebra-marked). _fl._ green, brown. Autumn. Java, 1846. =�SCHYNOMENE= (from _aischuno_, to be ashamed; in reference to the leaves of some of the species falling on the slightest touch, like those of the Sensitive plant). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Stove herbs and shrubs, with impari-pinnate leaves, having many pairs of leaflets, and axillary racemes of usually yellow flowers. They thrive well in a good rich loam. Propagated by cuttings, placed in sand under a bell glass, in a brisk heat. Seeds of the herbaceous species require a good heat to start them into growth. The annuals are not worth growing. There are about forty other species known besides those mentioned, some of which may prove worthy of cultivation when introduced. =�. aristata= (awned). A synonym of _Pictatia aristata_. =�. aspera= (rough-stemmed). _fl._ yellow; racemes compound; peduncles, bracteas, calyces, and corollas, hispid. June. _l._ with thirty to forty pairs of linear leaflets, which (as well as the legumes) are smooth. Stem herbaceous, erect. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. East Indies, 1759. Perennial. =�. sensitiva= (sensitive).* _fl._ white; legumes and racemes glabrous; peduncles branched, few-flowered. June. _l._ with sixteen to twenty pairs of linear leaflets. Stem smooth. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. Jamaica, 1733. This shrub requires a sandy soil. =�SCULUS= (a name given by Pliny to a kind of oak having an edible fruit; derived from _esca_, nourishment). The Horse Chestnut. ORD. _Sapindaceæ_. A genus of hardy showy trees, well adapted for lawns or parks, having a beautiful appearance when in flower. They will do well in any soil, but the more loamy the better. Increased by layers, put down in the spring, or by grafting or budding on the common horse chestnut. Seeds, where procurable, should be sown singly in rows in spring, where they may remain until they are of sufficient size to be permanently planted out. This genus is distinguished from _Pavia_, in having its capsules echinated, _i.e._, covered with prickles, like a hedgehog; but this character is not always consistent. =�. carnea= (flesh-coloured). Synonymous with _�. rubicunda_. =�. glabra= (smooth-leaved).* _fl._ greenish yellow; corolla of four spreading petals, with their claws about the length of the calyx; stamens longer than the corolla. June. _l._ with five leaflets, very smooth; foliage larger than the common species. _h._ 20ft. North America, 1821. SYNS. _A. ohioensis_, _A. pallida_. =�. Hippocastanum= (Common Horse-Chestnut). _fl._ white, tinged with red, on very handsome terminal racemes, which are produced in great profusion; petals five. April and May. _l._ with seven obovately-cuneated, acute, toothed leaflets. Asia, 1629. This, the common horse chestnut, is well known by the beautiful parabolic form in which it grows, and during the period of its flowering no tree possesses greater beauty. It has two or three unimportant varieties, differing in the variation of their leaves, and one also with double flowers. These are increased by grafting only. =�. ohioensis= (Ohio). A synonym of _A. glabra_. =�. pallida= (pale-flowered). A synonym of _A. glabra_. =�. rubicunda= (red-flowered).* _fl._ scarlet, in very fine terminal racemes; petals four, having the claws shorter than the calyx; stamens eight. June. _l._ with five to seven obovately-cuneated, acute, unequally serrated leaflets. _h._ 20ft. North America, 1820. This is a very distinct and beautiful tree when in flower, and does not attain so large a size as _�. Hippocastanum_. SYN. _�. carnea_. =�STIVATION.= The manner of the folding of the calyx and corolla in the flower bud. =�THIONEMA= (from _aitho_, to scorch, and _nema_, a filament; apparently in allusion to some tawny or burnt appearance in the stamens). ORD. _Cruciferæ_. A genus of elegant little plants, distinguished from allied genera in having the four larger stamens winged, and with a tooth. Herbs or sub-shrubs, perennial or annual, branched from the base, diffuse or erect. Flowers in crowded terminal racemes. Leaves fleshy, sessile. They are well worth cultivating in sunny situations, where they form a freer flowering habit than when growing in a wild state. Some of the more hardy species may be planted on rock work, which, by their dwarf growth, they are well adapted for. The annual and biennial species may either be sown on rockwork or in the front of the flower-border. A light dry soil suits them best. The shrubby kinds of this genus should be kept in pots, which should be well drained with potsherds, and treated like other alpine plants. Propagated by seeds, sown in May; or by cuttings, planted in summer. =�. Buxbaumii= (Bauxbaum's). _fl._ pale red; racemes crowded, aggregate. June. _l._ oblong-spathulate, glaucous. _h._ 6in. Thrace, 1823. A pretty annual, with erect branched stems. SYN. _Thlaspi arabicum_. [Illustration: FIG. 37. �THIONEMA CORIDIFOLIUM, showing Habit and Flowers.] =�. coridifolium= (Coris-leaved).* _fl._ rosy lilac, small, in terminal dense rounded racemes. June. _l._ linear, glaucous, crowded. Asia Minor, 1871. A pretty perennial, shrubby below, with erect stems 6in. to 8in. high. See Fig. 37. =�. gracile= (slender). _fl._ purplish; racemes crowded, terminal; when in fruit, loose. June. _l._ lanceolate, pointed. _h._ 8in. Branches and branchlets slender, elongated. Sandy hills in Carniola, 1820. Shrubby perennial. [Illustration: FIG. 38. �THIONEMA GRANDIFLORUM, showing Habit and Flowers.] =�. grandiflorum= (large-flowered).* _fl._ of a warm shaded rose; racemes crowded, terminal, numerous. May to August. _l._ ovate-oblong, glaucous. Mount Lebanon, 1879. This perennial species forms a spreading bush about 1-1/2ft. high, and is perhaps the handsomest of the genus. It succeeds well in the ordinary border, but is far better suited for the rockery. See Fig. 38. =�. membranaceum= (membranous-podded). _fl._ purplish, in terminal racemes. June. _l._ linear, distant, somewhat fleshy, strictly appressed. _h._ 3in. to 6in. Persia, 1828. A small shrub, with filiform branches. =�. monospermum= (one-seeded). _fl._ purple, largish, in terminal racemes. July. _l._ oval or obovate, blunt, coriaceous; pods one-celled, one-seeded. _h._ 3in. to 6in. Spain, 1778. A pretty little biennial, with hardish branches. =�. pulchellum= (pretty).* This is said to be a new species, but it much resembles _�. coridifolium_. It is scarcely in full cultivation yet, but it proves one of the hardiest as well as one of the most handsome kinds. =�. saxatilis= (rock).* _fl._ purplish; racemes loose, terminal. May and June. _l._ lanceolate, acutish. _h._ 8in. Spain, 1820. A pretty annual. =AFRICAN ALMOND.= _See_ =Brabejum=. =AFRICAN BLADDER NUT.= _See_ =Royena lucida=. =AFRICAN FLEABANE.= _See_ =Tarchonanthus=. =AFRICAN HAREBELL.= _See_ =Roella ciliata=. =AFRICAN LILY.= _See_ =Agapanthus=. =AFRICAN LOTUS.= _See_ =Zizyphus=. =AFRICAN MARIGOLD.= _See_ =Tagetes erecta=. =AFRICAN OAK OR TEAK.= _See_ =Vitex Doniana=. =AFRICAN SATIN-BUSH.= _See_ =Podalyria sericea=. =AFZELIA= (named after Adam Afzelius, M.D., Professor of Botany in the University of Upsal, and for many years resident at Sierra Leone). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A pretty stove evergreen tree. For culture, _see_ =�giphila=. =A. africana= (African).* _fl._ crimson, disposed in racemes; petals four (furnished with claws), upper one largest. June. Legume ligneus, many-celled; seeds black, with scarlet aril. _l._ abruptly pinnate. _h._ 30ft. Sierra Leone, 1821. =AGALMYLA= (from _agalma_, an ornament; and _hule_, a wood; the species are great ornaments to the woods in which they grow wild). ORD. _Gesneraceæ_. A small but very handsome genus of climbing or radicant herbs, with simple alternate leaves and axillary fascicles of flowers, something like the blooms of a Gesnera. Corolla limb oblique, five-lobed, scarcely two-lipped. _A. staminea_, the most generally cultivated species, is best grown in a basket, planted in a compost of rough peat, a little leaf soil, fresh sphagnum moss, and nodules of charcoal. Give an abundance of moisture when growing, which should be lessened after flowering, and allow the plant to rest during winter. It may be planted out on rockwork in the stove. Half-ripened cuttings will root freely in heat under a glass. The temperature in summer should not be less than 75deg. by day, and 65deg. by night. =A. longistyla= (long-styled). _fl._ crimson. Java, 1873. =A. staminea= (long-stamened).* _fl._ scarlet, disposed in axillary fascicles; corolla tubular, incurved, with a dilated throat. Summer. _l._ alternate, oblong, acuminated, denticulated, nearly equal at the base, downy beneath, and on the edges. Stem and petioles hairy. _h._ 2ft. Java, 1846. Stove species. =AGANISIA= (from _aganos_, desirable; in reference to the beauty of these neat little plants). ORD. _Orchidaceæ_. A small genus of epiphytal orchids, requiring to be grown upon a block of wood suspended from the rafters of the stove. A damp atmosphere, syringing the roots and leaves freely when in a growing state, and shade during very bright sunshine, are primary points to be observed in their cultivation. Increased by dividing the pseudo-bulbs just previous to starting into new growth. =A. c�rulea= (dark blue).* _fl._ peduncles axillary, few flowered. "The colour is the well known one of _Vanda c�rulea_. There are, however, darker blue blotches quasi-tesselated over the flower. The lip is veiled, and has two very small basilar teeth, and then a veiled middle lacinia, that is sacciform, bordered with most remarkable long bristles, and with a deep violet blotch on its middle part beneath. The white column has two cartilaginous quadrate arms close to the stigmatic hollow." _l._ cuneate, oblong, acuminate. Pseudo-bulbs distichous, depresso-ovoid. Brazil, 1876. =A. fimbriata= (fringed).* _fl._ white; lip blue. Demerara, 1874. This species has also a sacciform, fimbriate lip, but, when compared with the foregoing, its flowers, leaves, and bulbs are much smaller, and the lip is not slit up to the apex, but the sac is round. =A. graminea= (grass-leaved). A weedy looking species, of no garden value. Guiana, 1836. =A. ionoptera= (violet-winged). The flowers, not very much larger than those of the lily of the valley, are white, with violet petals, and violet tips and streaks on the sepals. Peru, 1871. =A. pulchella= (pretty).* _fl._ white, with a blotch of yellow in the centre of the lip; the spike is produced from the bottom of the bulb. _h._ 8in. Demerara, 1838. It blossoms at different times of the year, and lasts two or three weeks in perfection. This species is very rare and pretty, and is best grown in a pot, with peat, and good drainage; requires a liberal supply of water at the roots, and the hottest house. =AGANOSMA= (from _aganos_, mild, and _osme_, a smell; scent of flowers). ORD. _Apocynaceæ_. A genus of showy stove or warm greenhouse shrubs, with opposite leaves and terminal corymbs of large funnel-shaped flowers, the coronet of which is cup-shaped or cylindrical, "having its parts so united that they appear only as lobes around the mouth of the cup." All the species mentioned are well worth cultivating. They thrive best in a mixture of loam, sand, and peat, in equal proportions. Propagated by cuttings in sand, under glass, and with bottom heat. =A. acuminata= (pointed-leaved).* _fl._ large, white, fragrant; petals linear, falcate, curled; panicles axillary, longer than the leaves, scattered. _l._ from oblong to broad-lanceolate, acuminated, glabrous. Sylhet. Shrubby climber. =A. caryophyllata= (clove scented).* _fl._ pale yellow, tinged with red, deliciously clove scented; corymbs terminal. October. _l._ oval, acutish at both ends, tomentose beneath as well as the branches. India, 1812. Shrubby twiner. =A. cymosa= (cymose-flowered).* _fl._ small, whitish, fragrant; calyx and corolla hoary outside; cymes terminal, shorter than the leaves. _l._ elliptic, acuminated. Sylhet. Shrub. =A. elegans= (elegant).* _fl._ small, purple; corolla downy outside, as well as the calyces, bracteas, and pedicels; sepals longer than the tube of the corolla; corymbs terminal, crowded. _l._ elliptic, short-acuminated, glabrous. India. Shrubby twiner. =A. marginata= (bordered).* _fl._ numerous, large, white, fragrant; petals linear, falcate; panicles terminal, loose, corymbose, glabrous. _l._ lanceolate, smooth. Sylhet. Shrubby climber. =A. Roxburghii= (Roxburgh's).* _fl._ pure white, large, fragrant; calyx and corolla hoary outside; petals triangular; corymbs terminal. October. _l._ ovate-cordate, acuminated; petioles and veins red, glabrous, pale beneath, and shining above. India, 1812. Shrubby twiner. =A. Wallichii= (Wallich's).* _fl._ white, fragrant; calyx and corolla downy outside; corymbs terminal. _l._ elliptic-acuminated, shining above and pale beneath, glabrous. India. This species differs from the last in the veins of the leaves being parallel, not longitudinal, from the base to the apex. Shrubby twiner. =AGAPANTHUS= (from _agape_, love, and _anthos_, a flower). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. African Lily. A genus, with numerous varieties, of very handsome greenhouse or conservatory herbaceous plants. Flowers large, scapose; perianth tubular, tube short; stamens six, having the filaments somewhat declinate. Leaves linear or lorate, arching, radical. They are of easy culture, and thrive best in strong turfy loam, leaf mould, decomposed manure, and river sand. They may be grown in large pots or tubs outside, to be removed in autumn, and placed under the stage in the greenhouse, or where they will be protected from frost, and kept moderately dry. If planted and left outside, the crowns should be well covered with cocoa-nut fibre in winter. During the summer, and especially in dry weather, the plants can hardly be over watered. They thrive admirably on the margins of lakes or running streams, and few plants, alike in flower and foliage, are more effective. Clear manure water may be given previous to or when the plants are in flower, and, after flowering, gradually lessen the quantity of water, until they are stowed away for the winter. They increase very rapidly, by offsets, and, if necessary, the old plants may be divided in early spring, to any extent required. In the more southern parts of this country they are quite hardy. [Illustration: FIG. 39. AGAPANTHUS UMBELLATUS.] =A. umbellatus= (umbelled).* _fl._ bright blue; perianth funnel-shaped, regular, deeply six-parted; tube short; scape tall, naked, bearing a many-flowered umbel. Summer and autumn. _l._ numerous, radical, linear, somewhat fleshy. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1692. See Fig. 39. =A. u. albidus= (whitish).* _fl._ pure white, on large full-sized umbels, smaller than those of the species, but very showy. Cape of Good Hope. This requires carefully drying off during the winter. =A. u. aureus= (golden). A variety in which the leaves are marked longitudinally with yellow. 1882. =A. u. flore-pleno= (double-flowered).* Identical in all respects with the species, except that it has double flowers, which are therefore, much more lasting than the single ones. A very handsome variety. =A. u. Leichtlinii= (Leichtlin's).* _fl._, perianth deep bright hyacinthine blue, 1-1/4in. long; scape about 1-1/2ft. long, with a more compact umbel than any other known form. June. _l._ similar in size to the species. Cape of Good Hope, 1878. =A. u. maximus= (larger).* _fl._ bright blue, in immense umbels. This is larger in all its parts than the type, and when well grown is truly a noble plant. There is also a white-flowered form of this variety, which is most desirable, being equally as large. =A. u. minor= (smaller).* This is smaller in all its parts, with narrow leaves, and slender scapes of deep blue flowers. A very elegant variety. =A. u. Mooreanus= (Moore's).* _fl._ dark blue. _h._ 1-1/2ft. 1879. A new variety, with shorter, narrower, and more upright leaves than the species; it has a dwarf habit. Perfectly hardy. =A. u. variegatus= (variegated).* Where variegated-leaved plants are desired, few could be more useful than this; its leaves are almost entirely white, with a few green bands, but they are neither so broad nor so long as in the type. It is an excellent subject for the domestic garden. =AGAPETES= (from _agapetos_, beloved; in reference to the showy character of the plants). ORD. _Vacciniaceæ_. A genus containing about eighteen species of warm greenhouse or stove evergreen shrubs. Flowers corymbose and racemose; corolla tubular. Leaves alternate, coriaceous. They are all worthy of cultivation, but only two or three species are grown in England. Peat, turfy loam, and sand, in equal parts, is the best compost for them; and young hardened cuttings will strike in sandy soil, under a hand glass, in stove temperature. =A. buxifolia= (box-leaved).* _fl._ bright red, about 1in. long, tubular, wax-like, disposed in corymbs. April. _l._ small, oval oblong, bright green, leathery; branches spreading, twiggy. _h._ 5ft. Bootan. =A. setigera= (bristly). _fl._ red, about 1in. long, tubular, numerous, in lateral and corymbose racemes, furnished with bristly hairs. _l._ scattered, lanceolate, acuminated, on very short robust petioles. Pundua Mountains, 1837. =A. variegata= (variegated). _fl._ scarlet, about 1in. long, tubular, lateral, corymbose. _l._ on short petioles, lanceolate, acuminated, denticulated, attenuated at the base, veiny. Khasia, 1837. =AGARICUS= (derived from _Agaria_, the name of a town in Sarmentosa). Mushroom. ORD. _Fungi_. The most extensive genus known. It, however, contains but one or two species of cultural value. The most important ones are the common field mushroom, _A. campestris_ (Fig. 44), the Fairy Ring mushroom, _A. pratensis_, and _A. vaginatus_. Familiar species are the Parasol mushroom, _A. procerus_ (Fig. 43); St. George's mushroom, _A. gambosus_ (Fig. 42); and the deadly Fly Agaric, _A. muscarius_ (Fig. 41). For practical purposes the majority of this genus are poisonous, and many virulently so. Great care must be exercised in experimenting with unknown species, even by experienced fungologists. _See_ =Mushroom=. =AGASTACHYS= (from _agastos_, admirable, and _stachys_, a spike). ORD. _Proteaceæ_. A greenhouse evergreen shrub, with four sepalled apetalous flowers, which are disposed in numerous spikes. It thrives in a compost of equal parts loam, sand, and peat. Cuttings of ripened wood will strike in sandy soil under a glass, in a cool house. =A. odorata= (fragrant).* _fl._ pale yellow, sweet scented, crowded; spikes 4in. to 5in. long. April. _l._ bluntly lanceolate, sub-sessile, thickish, about 2in. long. _h._ about 3ft. New Holland, 1826. =AGATH�A= (from _agathos_, excellent; in reference to the beauty of the flowers). ORD. _Compositæ_. Allied to _Cineraria_, and requiring the same greenhouse treatment. It makes a very pretty object for summer decoration in the flower garden. Young cuttings root freely, in a gentle heat, at all times; and the plant may be had in bloom all the year round. =A. c�lestis= (sky-blue).* _fl.-heads_ blue; peduncle one-headed. June. _l._ opposite, ovate, naked. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1753. Herbaceous perennial. See Fig. 40. [Illustration: FIG. 40. AGATH�A C�LESTIS.] =AGATHA ROSE.= _See_ =Rosa gallica Agatha=. =AGATHIS.= _See_ =Dammara=. =AGATHOPHYLLUM= (from _agathos_, pleasant, and _phyllon_, a leaf; referring to the pleasant clove-like smell of the leaf). Madagascar Nutmeg. ORD. _Lauraceæ_. A stove evergreen tree, of economic value only, having the fruit enclosed by the persistent calyx; thriving in peat and light rich loam. Of easy propagation by cuttings in sand, with a moderate bottom heat. =A. aromaticum= (aromatic). _fl._ white. _l._ stalked, alternate, obovate, obtuse, leathery, entire, smooth. _h._ 30ft. Madagascar, 1823. =AGATHOSMA= (from _agathos_, pleasant, and _osme_, smell; the plants contained in this genus have a pleasant smell). SYNS. _Bucco_, _Dichosma_. ORD. _Rutaceæ_. Beautiful small heath-like greenhouse shrubs, from the Cape of Good Hope. Flowers in terminal heads, or umbels; petals five, divided, with long claws, and scattered, short, narrow leaves, usually with revolute edges. They are of easy culture, thriving best in a mixture of sand and peat, with the addition of a little turfy loam. Young cuttings will strike root freely in a pot of sand, under a bell glass, in a cool house. They require to be shaded somewhat in the summer. Winter temperature, 40deg. to 45deg. About forty-six species are known. =A. acuminata= (taper-pointed leaved).* _fl._ violet; calyces smooth, glandular, on terminal subcapitate heads. April. _l._ ovate, somewhat cordate, long acuminated, fringed, at length spreading. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1812. =A. bruniades= (Brunia-like).* _fl._ lilac or white, on terminal sub-umbellate heads; peduncles fastigiate, elongated. April. _l._ scattered, linear-trigonal, awl-shaped, dotted, and a little fringed; branches hairy. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1820. =A. cerefolia= (chervil-leaved). _fl._ white, small; pedicels and calyces beset with glandular hairs; heads terminal sub-umbellate. April. _l._ crowded, lanceolate, acute, spreading, keeled, fringed. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1794. =A. ciliata= (ciliated).* _fl._ white; pedicels smoothish; heads terminal sub-umbellate. April. _l._ scattered, lanceolate, acute, with toothletted-fringed, revolute edges, dotted beneath, and bearing hairs on the middle nerve, becoming at length reflexed. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1774. =A. erecta= (upright).* _fl._ pale violet, terminal, sub-umbellate; peduncles short, villous. April. _l._ imbricate, trigonal, blunt, dotted beneath, a little fringed. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1818. =A. hirta= (hairy). _fl._ purple, densely capitate; petals bearded at the claws. April. _l._ somewhat imbricate, linear, awl-shaped, channelled, hairy on the back, decurrent. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1794. [Illustration: FIG. 41. AGARICUS MUSCARIUS (FLY AGARIC).] [Illustration: FIG. 42. AGARICUS GAMBOSUS (ST. GEORGE'S MUSHROOM).] [Illustration: FIG. 43. AGARICUS PROCERUS (PARASOL MUSHROOM).] [Illustration: FIG. 44. AGARICUS CAMPESTRIS (COMMON MUSHROOM).] =A. hispida= (rough-haired). _fl._ violet, on terminal sub-umbellate heads; pedicels and sepals pubescent; petals quite smooth. May. _l._ crowded, linear, trigonal, blunt, spreading, hispid, keeled, and two-furrowed beneath. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1786. =A. imbricata= (imbricated). _fl._ pale purple, in terminal sub-capitate heads; petals with a roundish limb; sepals smoothish; pedicels pubescent. April. _l._ imbricate, crowded, ovate, acuminated, dotted, fringed. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1774. =A. orbicularis= (round-leaved). _fl._ white, on terminal sub-umbellate heads; stamens twice as long as the corolla; pedicels pubescent. April. _l._ scattered, spreading, orbicular, ovate, or reniform, smooth, reflexed, small, thickish, without any dots beneath; branches villous. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1790. =A. prolifera= (proliferous). _fl._ white, on terminal sub-umbellate heads; sepals smooth; pedicels somewhat fastigiate, pubescent. April. _l._ spreading, lanceolate, cuspidate; keel and edges fringed, dotted; branches whorled, proliferous. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. 1790. =A. pubescens= (downy). _fl._ white; umbels terminal; peduncles and sepals villous. April. _l._ lanceolate, trigonal, pointless, with margins and rib ciliated. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1798. =A. rugosa= (coarsely-wrinkled). _fl._ white, on terminal sub-umbellate heads; sepals pubescent; pedicels capillary, clothed with glandular hairs. April. _l._ spreading, oblong or ovate, blunt, keeled, wrinkled, villous beneath, reflexed. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1790. =A. vestita= (clothed). _fl._ lilac, on terminal sub-capitate heads; pedicels quite smooth. May. _l._ closely imbricated, ovate, acuminated, keeled, fringed. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1824. =AGATHYRSUS.= _See_ =Mulgedium=. =AGATI= (its Sanscrit name). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Ornamental stove trees from India, with lanceolate stipulas, abruptly-pinnate leaves, having many pairs of leaflets. Flowers large, few, racemose. Legumes 1-1/2ft. long. A mixture of loam, peat, and sand is most suitable. Young cuttings will root in a pot of sand, with a hand glass over them, placed in heat. =A. coccinea= (scarlet).* _fl._ red, rather smaller than the next species. Legumes rather terete. _l._ leaflets powdery. July. _h._ 20ft. to 30ft. 1768. =A. grandiflora= (large-flowered). _fl._ rosy red. July. Legumes evidently compressed. _l._ leaflets glabrous. _h._ 14ft. to 26ft. 1768. =A. g. flore-albo= (white flowered). _fl._ white, double. N. Australia, 1869. =AGAVE= (from _agauos_, admirable; referring to the stately form in which some of them flower). ORD. _Amaryllidaceæ_. Flower-scape tall, proceeding from the centre of the rosette of leaves; perianth funnel-shaped, six-parted. Leaves large, fleshy, tufted. Mr. B. S. Williams describes them as follows: "They are noble, massive-growing plants, and form magnificent ornaments in the greenhouse or conservatory; whilst, from their slow growth, they do not rapidly get too large, even for a small greenhouse. Indeed, some of the real gems of this genus are neat, compact-growing plants, seldom exceeding 2ft. in height. Besides being fine ornamental plants for indoor decoration, the larger growing kinds are unquestionably the finest objects for the embellishment of terrace-walks, or surmounting flights of steps in the open air during the summer season, and also for plunging in rockwork, or about any rustic nooks in the pleasure-grounds, as, in such situations, they are quite in keeping, and thrive admirably. As is well known, they attain maturity very slowly; but when this condition is reached, the plant sends up a flower spike, and, after perfecting this, dies." _A. Sartorii_, and a few others are, however, exceptional, and go on flowering year after year. It is certainly fallacious to suppose it takes them a hundred years to flower. Agaves succeed well potted in good loam and river sand, to which may be added a little peat and leaf mould for some of the smaller-growing kinds. The drainage should be good, as they enjoy a liberal supply of water during the summer season, but during winter considerably less will be required. They can be increased by suckers when these are to be obtained, and also by seeds, to secure the production of which, in the species that do not yield suckers, the flowers should be carefully impregnated. In the following descriptive list of species, only those of horticultural value are mentioned, some of which are still rare; and in describing them we have availed ourselves of Mr. J. G. Baker's excellent monograph, which appeared in the columns of the _Gardener's Chronicle_. Many are omitted, not from any deficiency in horticultural beauty, but because, in several instances, only one plant of a species is known to exist in cultivation, and such cannot, therefore, hope to become in general cultivation for many years hence. =A. albicans= (whitened). Probably a variety of _A. micrantha_. [Illustration: FIG. 45. AGAVE AMERICANA.] =A. americana= (American).* _fl._ yellowish green, 2in. to 3-1/2in. long; in very dense globose clusters, on pedicels 1/4in. to 1/2in. long; scape, including the thyrsoid panicle, 24ft. to 36ft. August. _l._ usually thirty to forty, sometimes more, in a rosette, oblanceolate-spathulate, 3ft. to 6ft. long, 6in. to 9in. broad above the middle, glaucous green, more or less concave all down the face, the outer leaves recurved, the dark brown pungent point 1in. to 2in. long; prickles brown tipped, 1/6in. to 1/4in. long. S. America, 1640. See Fig. 45. =A. a. mexicana= (Mexican). A variety much shorter in the leaves than the species, of which it may be regarded as one of the many small forms. =A. a. picta= (painted).* _l._ 2ft. to 3ft. long, about 4in. wide, lower ones recurved, upper ones erect, moderately thick, rich golden yellow on both sides, bordered with dark green. A very splendid variety. SYN. _A. ornata_. =A. a. variegata= (variegated). _l._ 6ft. or more in length, 6in. or 8in. wide, dark green in the centre, broadly margined with rich yellow. A very desirable variety. =A. am�na= (pleasing). Referred to _A. Scolymus_. =A. amurensis= (Amur River). Synonymous with _A. xylacantha_. =A. applanata= (plano-convex-leaved). _fl._ unknown. _l._ twenty to forty in a dense sessile rosette, reaching a couple of feet in diameter, oblong-spathulate, 8in. to 12in. long, 2in. to 3-1/2in. broad, the lower half of the face flat, the upper half concave, suddenly terminating in a pungent brown spine above 1in. long, blue-green bordered with brown; prickles 1/4in. to 1/3in. long, bright brown. Mexico, 1869. =A. atrovirens= (dark-green). Synonymous with _A. Salmiana_. =A. attenuata= (attenuated).* _fl._ greenish-yellow, 2in. long; pedicels about 1/4in. long, on a dense spike, 6ft. to 8ft. long, and 6in. in diameter; bracts overtopping the perianth. _l._ ten to twenty, in a dense rosette at the top of the stem, oblong-spathulate, 2ft. to 2-1/2ft. long, 8in. to 9in. broad two-thirds of the way up, narrowed to 2-1/2in. to 3in. above the base, persistently glaucous, one of the most fleshy of all in texture; face rather concave when young; tip not pungent, edge quite entire. Stem 4ft. to 7ft. high, 3in. to 4in. thick. Mexico, 1834. A most distinct species. =A. Beaucarnei= (Beaucarne's). Synonymous with _A. Kerchovei_. =A. Botterii= (Botteri's).* _fl._ greenish-yellow, about 1in. long, on a dense spike, longer than the leaves; primary bracts lanceolate, with a long point, the lower ones as long as the flowers; scape covered with adpressed lanceolate bracts. _l._ about fifty in a rosette, oblong-spathulate, about 2ft. long, 6in. broad above the middle, narrowed to 4-1/2in. above the base; pale green, concave in the centre; spine hard, pungent, about 1/2in. long; marginal teeth crowded, 1/8in., upcurved at the tip. Stemless. Mexico, about 1865. =A. bulbifera= (bulb-bearing). Synonymous with _A. vivipara_. =A. cæspitosa= (tufted). Synonymous with _A. Sartorii_. =A. cantula.= Synonymous with _A. vivipara_. [Illustration: FIG. 46. AGAVE CELSIANA.] =A. Celsiana= (Cels's).* _fl._ tinged purplish-brown, 2in. long, in a dense spike, 1ft. or more long, and 6in. to 8in. in diameter when expanded; scape 4ft. long, the lower bract leaves lanceolate, the upper ones subulate. _l._ twenty to thirty in a rosette, oblong-spathulate, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long, 4in. to 5in. broad at the middle, narrowed to 2-1/2in. to 3in. above the base, persistently glaucous, the point hardly at all pungent; spines very unequal in size and shape, green, largest brown and horny at the top. Mexico, 1839. This is a beautiful species, the stem of which scarcely rises off the surface of the ground. See Fig. 46. =A. coccinea= (scarlet). _fl._ unknown. _l._ twenty to thirty in a dense rosette, oblanceolate-spathulate, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long, 4in. to 6in. broad two-thirds of the way up, narrowed to 3in. above the dilated base, where it is 1in. to 1-1/4in. thick, deep heavy green; terminal spine 1-1/2in. or more in length, red; side prickles irregular, deltoid, unequal, nearly straight, 1/6in. to 1/4in. long, red. Mexico, 1859. =A. cochlearis= (cochleate). _fl._ yellowish green, above 4in. long, in dense clusters. _l._ forming a sessile rosette 10ft. broad, oblong-spathulate, 5ft. to 6ft. long, above 1ft. broad, 5in. thick at the base, opaque green, with a deeply excavated face; terminal spine very stout, pungent; side prickles curved variously, middle sized, deltoid. Stems 26ft. high. Mexico, previous to 1867. =A. Consideranti= (Considerant's). Synonymous with _A. Victoriæ Regina_. =A. Corderoyi= (Corderoy's).* _fl._ unknown. _l._ forty to fifty in a dense rosette, rigidly erecto-patent, ensiform, 1-1/2ft. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad, bright green; terminal spine hard, brown, 1in. long; side prickles moderately close, erecto-patent, dark brown, 1/6in. long. Mexico, 1868. A very distinct and pretty species. =A. crenata= (crenated). Referred to _A. Scolymus_. =A. cucullata= (hooded). Referred to _A. Scolymus_. =A. dasylirioides= (Dasylirion-like).* _fl._ yellow, about 1-1/2in. long; spike as long as the scape, often decurved; lower bracts much longer than the flowers; pedicels obsolete; scape 6ft. long, densely clothed with spreading subulate bract leaves, the lower ones 1ft. long. _l._ eighty to a hundred in a dense rosette, linear-ensiform, 1-1/2ft. to 3ft. long, about 1in. broad, narrowing gradually from the middle to a short brown pungent point, pale glaucous green, rigidly leathery; edge minutely denticulate. Mexico, 1846. =A. d. dealbata= (whitened). A variety of preceding, but with more glaucous foliage. [Illustration: FIG. 47. AGAVE DENSIFLORA.] =A. densiflora= (close-flowered).* _fl._ yellowish-red, 1-1/2in. to 2in. long, on a dense spike, 2ft. long; pedicels very short; scape, including the spike, 6ft. long, the lower bracts ascending, the upper ones spreading. _l._ thirty to forty in a stemless rosette, oblanceolate-spathulate, 2ft. to 3ft. long, and 2-1/2in. to 5in. broad, bright green when mature; terminal spine 1/2in. long, thick, pungent, slightly decurrent; side spines crowded, short, bright chestnut brown. Mexico (previous to) 1857. See Fig. 47. =A. Deserti= (Desert's).* _fl._ yellow, under 2in. long, on a thyrsoid panicle, the branches very short, the lower horizontal, the upper ascending; pedicels short; scape 4ft. to 10ft. high, 1in. to 2in. thick at the base, furnished with distant lanceolate acuminate toothed bracts. _l._ few, in a rosette, oblanceolate, 6in. to 12in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad above the middle, thick, fleshy, very glaucous; face deeply concave; terminal spine 1in. to 2in. long, slender; prickles crowded, strong, hooked, horny, nearly 1/4in. long. California, 1877. =A. Desmetiana= (De Smet's). Probably synonymous with _A. miradorensis_. =A. Elemeetiana= (Elemeet's).* _fl._ yellowish-green, 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, in a dense spike 8ft. to 9ft. long, 7in. to 8in. in diameter when expanded; pedicels 1/4in. long; scape, including the spike, 12ft. to 13ft. high, stiffly erect, lower 3ft. to 4ft., barren, with squarrose lanceolate bracts. _l._ twenty to twenty-five in a rosette, lanceolate-oblong, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long, 3in. to 6in. wide, slightly glaucous; face flat above the middle terminal spine, not pungent, the margin pale and quite entire. Stemless. A very distinct species. Mexico, 1864. =A. Fenzliana= (Fenzl's). Synonymous with _A. Hookeri_. =A. ferox= (fierce). _fl._ unknown. _l._ about twenty in a rosette, oblong-spathulate, 4in. to 8in. broad; face nearly flat, except at the top, slightly glaucous green; terminal spine above 1in. long, hard, pungent; margin slightly wavy between the large dark brown teeth, which are about 1/4in. long, and curved at the top. Mexico, 1861. =A. filifera= (thread-bearing).* _fl._ greenish, about 2in. long; pedicels very short and stout, in a dense spike 2ft. to 3ft. long; scape 3ft. to 4ft. long, its bract-leaves subulate, the lower ones ascending, the upper squarrose. _l._ sixty to a hundred in a dense rosette, stiff, straight, ensiform, 6in. to 9in. long, 1in. broad at the middle, gradually narrowing to a grey pungent tip; face flat, the continuous grey edge splitting off copiously into irregular spreading grey wiry threads; outer leaves of the rosette not all recurved, but spreading stiffly. Mexico. =A. f. filamentosa= (thready).* A form with larger leaves and scape; including the spike, 10ft. to 12ft. high. A well-known, handsome variety. =A. Galeotti= (Galeotti's). _fl._ unknown. _l._ thirty to forty in a dense rosette, 2ft. to 3ft. broad, oblong-spathulate, 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. long, 2in. to 6in. broad; face rather flat or convex, green; terminal spine hard, pungent; prickles close, straight, or slightly hooked, purplish-black. Mexico, 1877. =A. Ghiesbreghtii= (Ghiesbreght's). _fl._ unknown. _l._ thirty to forty in a dense rosette, rigid, lanceolate, 9in. to 12in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad, bright glossy green; terminal spine 1/2in. long, pungent; border narrow, red-brown till a late stage; side prickles numerous, irregular, two to three lines long. Mexico, 1862. Very handsome dwarf species. _A. Rohanii_ and _A. Leguayana_ are mere varieties. =A. heteracantha= (various-spined).* _fl._ greenish, 1-1/2in. long, on a dense spike 3ft. long; scape 3ft. to 4ft. long. _l._ fifty to eighty in a rosette, rigid, ensiform, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long, 2in. to 2-1/2in. broad in the middle, dull green, with numerous darker green lines on the back; terminal point 1in. long; side spines numerous, strongly hooked, lanceolate. Stemless. Mexico. =A. Hookeri= (Hooker's).* _fl._ large, yellow, very numerous, in stalked panicled cymes. _l._ thirty to forty in a sessile rosette, 8ft. or 9ft. in diameter, oblanceolate-spathulate, bright green on the face, rather glaucous on the back, 4ft. to 5ft. long, 5in. to 9in. broad, 2in. to 3in. thick; terminal spine 2in. long, and decurrent for nearly half a foot; face flattish or slightly concave; side prickles irregular, brown and horny, about 1/4in. long, and curved in different directions. Mexico. SYN. _A. Fenzliana_. A rare and noble species, very massive. =A. horrida= (horrid).* _fl._ unknown. _l._ thirty to forty in a dense rosette, rigid, lanceolate-spathulate, 8in. to 12in. long, 1in. to 2in. broad, bright green; terminal spine pungent, nearly 1in. long; margin furnished with a continuous broad grey border, with copious prickles 3/8in. to 1/2in. long. =A. h. Gilbeyi= (Gilbey's).* _l._ about thirty, 3in. to 4in. long, 2in. broad, dark green with a pale stripe down the middle, three to four large spines on each side. Mexico, 1873. =A. h. lævior= (smoother). _l._ somewhat narrower, longer, with marginal spines less strongly developed, and of a paler colour. Mexico, 1870. =A. h. macrodonta= (long-toothed). _l._ fifty to sixty, 2-1/2in. broad; spines larger than in the typical form. Mexico, 1876. =A. h. micrantha= (small-toothed). Border of leaf narrower, and spines smaller, than in the typical form. =A. Jacobiana= (Jacob's). Synonymous with _A. Salmiana_. =A. Kerchovei= (Kerchove's).* _fl._ unknown. _l._ thirty to forty in a stemless rosette, stiff, rigid, typically ensiform, 6in. to 12in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, narrowing gradually to a pungent spine 1in. long, dull green, with a distinct pale central band, rounded on the back, without any stripes of dark green, the margin with a continuous moderately broad grey border; side prickles irregular, grey, lanceolate, curved, 1/6in. to 1/4in. long. SYN. _A. Beaucarnei_. There are several varieties of _A. Kerchovei_, of which the following are the most important:-- =A. K. diplacantha= (double-spined).* With very few distant, small teeth, often collected or united in pairs. =A. K. inermis= (unarmed). Dwarf, with spines entirely obsolete. =A. K. macrodonta= (long-toothed). _l._ 1-1/2ft. long, without any distinct central band, and with copious irregular grey lanceolate prickles, about 1/3in. long. =A. K. pectinata= (comb-like). _l._ 1ft. long, 2-1/4in. broad, without any central band. =A. lophantha= (crest-flowered).* _fl._ greenish, arranged in a dense spike 4ft. to 5ft. long; scape 7ft. to 8ft. long, its leaves brown, the lower ones 6in. long. _l._ thirty to forty in a rosette, rigid, ensiform, 2ft. to 3ft. long, 1-1/2in. broad at the middle, rather concave down the face, rounded on the back, not marked with any lines, dull green; terminal spine 1in. long; margins bordered by a very narrow continuous grey hoary line, furnished with distant linear falcate teeth, about 1/12in. long, sessile. Mexico. =A. l. c�rulescens= (bluish).* _l._ with a decided glaucous bloom. =A. l. longifolia= (long-leaved). A mere variety of above species. =A. macracantha= (long-spined).* _fl._ greenish, 2in. long, ten to twelve in a loose raceme 6in. long, all solitary on ascending pedicels 1/4in. to 1/2in. long; scape 2ft. to 3ft. long; bracts erect. _l._ thirty to fifty in a stiff rosette 1ft. to 2ft. broad, oblanceolate, 6in. to 12in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, very stiff and rigid, very glaucous; face rather thicker in the lower half; terminal spine nearly black, very pungent, 1/2in. long; side prickles purplish-black, sub-distant, 1/8in. long, with a large point straight or slightly hooked. With a short stem, or stemless. Mexico, 1830. It has many varieties, among which are _A. Bessereriana_ and _A. flavescens_. =A. Maximiliana= (Maximilian's).* _fl._ unknown. _l._ about twenty in a sessile rosette, oblanceolate-spathulate, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long, 1-3/4in. to 3in. broad; face slightly glaucous green; terminal spine pungent, brown, 1in. broad; side prickles bright chestnut brown, larger and more irregular than in _A. americana_, more hooked, and furnished with longer and sharper points, reaching 1/4in. long. Mexico. A very distinct species. =A. micracantha= (small-spined). _fl._ yellowish, 1-1/2in. long, in a dense spike 3ft. to 4ft. long, 6in. to 7in. broad when expanded. _l._ twenty to thirty in a shortly stalked rosette, oblanceolate oblong, 15in. to 18in. long, 3in. to 5in. broad above the middle, narrowed to 2in. to 3in. above the base, bright green; face flattish above the centre; terminal spine red brown, moderately firm; the copious close reddish-brown horny teeth about 1/12in. long, the upper ones ascending, the lower deflexed. Mexico, 1860. =A. miradorensis= (Mirador).* _fl._ unknown. _l._ about thirty in a sessile rosette, oblanceolate-spathulate, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long, 2in. to 2-1/2in. broad above the middle, thin but firm in texture, very glaucous, with a firm red-brown terminal spine 1in. long; side prickles very minute, crowded, colourless, five or six to an inch in the centre of the leaf. Mexico, 1869. SYN. (probably) _A. Desmetiana_. =A. Noackii= (Noack's). A synonym of _A. Sartorii_. =A. ornata= (adorned). A synonym of _A. americana picta_. =A. Ortgiesiana= (Ortgies'). A dwarf form of _A. schidigera_ with a pale central band to the leaf. Mexico, 1861. A widely-distributed and desirable species. =A. pendula= (pendulous). Synonymous with _A. Sartorii_. =A. polyacantha= (many-spined).* _fl._ greenish-yellow, 1-1/2in. to 2in. long; flowering-stem 8ft. to 12ft. high, including the dense spike, which is 3ft. to 4ft. long. _l._ about thirty in a sessile rosette, oblanceolate-spathulate, rigid, 1ft. to 2ft. long, 2-1/2in. to 5in. broad above the middle, bright green, slightly glaucous when young; terminal spine dark brown, pungent, 1/2in. to 3/4in. long; side prickles crowded, deltoid, dark chestnut brown, irregular, 1/12in. or 1/8in. long, all sub-patent. Mexico, 1800. SYNS. _A. uncinata_, _A. xalapensis_. =A. Poselgerii= (Poselger's). _fl._ purplish, rather more than 1in. long; scape, including the spike, 6ft. to 10ft. _l._ twenty to thirty in a dense rosette, rigid, ensiform, 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. long; 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad at the middle, dull green, with a broad pale band down to the face, rounded and marked with numerous distinct green lines down the back; margin furnished with a continuous straight, moderately broad edge; terminal spine 1in. long, brown, pungent; side prickles moderately close, lanceolate, hooked, 1/6in. long. Trunk, 4in. to 6in. long. Texas. =A. potatorum= (drinkers'). _fl._ greenish yellow, 3in. long; scape 12ft. high, including the thyrsoid panicle, which is 4ft. to 5ft. long. _l._ about twenty in a dense sessile rosette, 4ft. to 5ft. broad, oblong-spathulate, 2ft. to 2-1/2ft. long, 7in. to 9in. broad above the middle, a dull glaucous green; face slightly concave; terminal spines hard, pungent, 1-1/2in. to 2in. long; side prickles deltoid-cuspidate, about 1/4in. long, with the edge slightly wavy between them. Mexico, 1830. =A. pruinosa= (frosty).* _fl._ unknown. _l._ ten to twenty in a dense rosette, spreading, oblanceolate-oblong, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long, 4in. to 5in. broad above the middle, soft and fleshy in texture, pale glaucous green; terminal spine very weak; edge furnished with minute irregular spreading deltoid serrations, not more than quarter line long. Mexico, 1863. A very distinct species. =A. Roezliana= (Roezl's). _fl._ unknown. _l._ twenty to thirty in a sessile rosette, stiff, ensiform, 6in. to 7in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad at the middle, bright glossy green, with a distinct pale band down the centre, broadly rounded on the back, without any darker green lines, margined with a continuous moderately broad border, red brown at first, fading into grey when old; terminal spines bright reddish brown, pungent, 1/2in. to 3/4in. long; side prickles copious, spreading, lanceolate, curved, 1/4in. long. Mexico, 1869. [Illustration: ACACIA LEPROSA (LEMON). A. LINEATA (ORANGE).] =A. Salmiana= (Prince Salm-Dyck's).* _fl._ greenish yellow, 4in. long; panicle thyrsoid, 6ft. to 8ft. long, with erecto-patent branches and flowers in dense clusters; scape, exclusive of the panicle, 20ft. high. _l._ twelve to thirty in a dense rosette, which is often 5ft. to 6ft. broad, oblanceolate-spathulate, 2ft. to 4ft. long, 4in. to 6in. broad above the middle, a dull, slightly glaucous green; face more or less concave; terminal spine 1-1/2in. to 2in. long, hard and pungent; side prickles 1/4in. long, chestnut brown, hooked up or down. Mexico, 1860. SYNS. _A. atrovirens_, _A. Jacobiana_, _A. tehuacensis_. =A. S. latissima= (very broad). _l._ 2ft. to 3ft. long, by 8in. to 9in. broad above the middle. =A. Sartorii= (Sartor's). _fl._ greenish, 1-1/2in. long; pedicels very short, in a dense spike about 3ft. long, 5in. to 6in. broad when expanded; scape 3ft. to 4ft. long, the green linear ascending bracts 2in. to 4in. long. _l._ thirty to forty spaced out in a loose rosette, ensiform, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long, 3in. broad at the middle, bright green, with a pale band down the middle; face flat; terminal spine small, not pungent; side prickles minute, crowded, spreading, tipped with red-brown. Caudex 1ft. to 2ft. long, sometimes forked. SYNS. _A. cæspitosa_, _A. Noackii_, _A. pendula_. =A. schidigera= (spine-bearing).* _fl._ almost identical with _A. filifera_. _l._ fifty to eighty in a dense sessile rosette, stiff, ensiform, 12in. to 15in. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad at the middle, similar in colour and texture to those of _A. filifera_, but the grey marginal border, and splitting off into flat shavings, not mere threads. =A. Schnittspahni= (Schnittspahn's). Referred to _A. Scolymus_. =A. Scolymus= (Scolymus). _fl._ greenish yellow, 2-1/2in. to 3in. long; branches few, with the flowers at the end in very dense clusters; scape 14ft. to 16ft. high, including the thyrsoid panicle, which is 4ft. long and 2ft. broad, furnished with green bracts. _l._ twenty to thirty in a dense rosette 1-1/2ft. to 3ft. broad, oblong-spathulate, 9in. to 18in. long, 3in. to 6in. broad above the middle, very glaucous, abruptly terminating in a pungent spine, 1in. or more long; side prickles chestnut brown, about 1/4in. long; edge wavy between them; those on the lower half smaller and directed downwards. Mexico, 1830. Other so-called species referred to this are _A. am�na_, _A. crenata_, _A. cucullata_, _A. Schnittspahni_, and _A. Verschaffeltii_. =A. S. Saundersii= (Saunders'). _fl._ about 1ft. long; teeth very large. =A. Seemanni= (Seemann's).* _fl._ unknown. _l._ twenty in a sessile rosette, 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. broad, oblong-spathulate, 6in. to 9in. long, 3in. to 3-1/2in. broad at the middle, narrowed to 2in. above the dilated base, slightly glaucous; face flat, except close to the top; terminal spine pungent, dark brown, 1/2in. long; side prickles large, moderately close, slightly curved upwards or downwards. Guatemala, 1868. There are two or three garden forms of this species. =A. Shawii= (Shaw's).* _fl._ greenish yellow, 3in. to 3-1/2in. long; panicle thyrsoid, about 2ft. long and broad; clusters dense, composed of thirty to forty flowers, surrounded by large foliaceous fleshy bracts. _l._ fifty to sixty, or more, forming a dense globose sessile rosette 2ft. in diameter, oblong-spathulate, 8in. to 10in. long, 3-1/2in. to 4-1/2in. broad at the middle, deep green; terminal spine brown, 1in. long, the upper third or quarter entire, the rest furnished with crowded upcurved lanceolate prickles, 1/4in. to 1/2in. long. California, 1877. This species is very rare at present, but is a most distinct and handsome plant. =A. sobolifera= (soboliferous). _fl._ greenish yellow, 2in. to 2-1/2in. long, in a deltoid panicle, of which the lower panicles are 9in. to 12in. long, and bear a hundred flowers each; pedicels 1/4in. to 1in. long; scape 8ft. to 10ft. high, 2-1/2in. thick at the base. _l._ twenty to forty in a shortly caulescent rosette, oblanceolate-oblong-spathulate, 2ft. to 3ft. long, 3in. to 5in. broad at the middle, very bright green; face deeply channelled, the border much raised and tip often recurved; terminal spine sub-pungent, chestnut brown, 1/2in. long; side prickles distant, brown, hooked, 1/12in. to 1/8in. long. West Indies, 1678. =A. striata= (striated-leaved).* _fl._ brownish green outside, yellow inside, 1in. to 1-1/2in. long; pedicels very short; spike dense, 2ft. to 3ft. long; bracts linear, shorter than the flowers; scape 6ft. to 8ft. high, including the spike, furnished with numerous spreading subulate bracts, which are 2in. to 3in. long. _l._ 150 to 200 in a dense rosette, linear-ensiform, 2ft. to 2-1/2ft. long, 1/4in. to 3/8in. broad above the deltoid dilated base, where they are 1/4in. thick and 1in. broad, narrowed gradually from the top of the base to the point, rigid in texture, glaucous green; face rather keeled, and the back more so; point brown, pungent, 1/2in. long; edges minutely serrulate. Mexico, 1856. =A. s. echinoides= (Echinus-like). _l._ about 6in. long, 1/3in. broad at the middle; face flat. Mexico, 1869. Dwarfer and stiffer in habit than the variety _stricta_. =A. s. recurva= (recurved-leaved). _l._ longer than in the type, 3ft. to 4ft., more or less falcate, narrower, and decidedly convex on both surfaces. =A. s. stricta= (upright). _l._ about 1ft. long, very stiff, 1/4in. broad at the middle, both faces convex. _A. Richardsii_ comes near to this variety. =A. tehuacensis= (Tehuan). Synonymous with _A. Salmiana_. =A. uncinata= (hooked). Synonymous with _A. polyacantha_. =A. univittata= (one-striped).* _fl._ green, 1-1/2in. long (or less); spike 10ft. to 12ft. long, 6in. to 7in. thick; pedicels 1/4in. long; scape 4ft. long, exclusive of the spike, its bracts dense and squarrose. _l._ fifty to eighty in a stemless rosette, rigid, ensiform, 2ft. to 2-1/2ft. long, 2in. to 3in. broad at the middle, narrowed slightly downwards, and very gradually upwards, dull green, with a broad pale band down the face, faintly lineate on the back; margin bordered by a narrow, continuous grey horny line, furnished with hooked lanceolate prickles, 1/8in. long, from 1/2in. to 1in. apart; terminal spine brown, pungent, 1in. long. Mexico, 1830. =A. utahensis= (Utahan).* _fl._ yellowish, about 1in. long; peduncles ultimately 1/4in. long; scapes, 5ft. to 7ft. high, including the 1ft. to 2ft. spike. _l._ stemless, ensiform, 6in. to 12in. long, 1in. to nearly 2in. broad, thick, glaucous; terminal spine channelled, pungent, about 1in. long; marginal prickles, 1/8in. to 1/2in. long, white, with a darker base. Southern Utah, 1881. This is a true alpine species, perfectly hardy, and of very easy culture. =A. Vanderdonckii= (Vanderdonck's). Synonymous with _A. xylacantha_. =A. variegata= (variegated).* _fl._ greenish, about 1-1/2in. long; spike about 1ft. long, fifteen to twenty flowered; bracts minute, deltoid; scape 2ft. long, exclusive of the spike, bearing about twelve lanceolate bract leaves. _l._ fifteen to eighteen in a sessile rosette, spreading, ligulate-lanceolate, finally 12in. to 15in. long, 1in. to 2in. broad below the middle, narrowed slightly downwards, and gradually to the point, deeply channelled down the face, and copiously spotted with brown on a green ground; edge hard and tough, very obscurely serrulate. Texas, 1865. This very desirable variegated species is extremely rare in cultivation. =A. Verschaffeltii= (Verschaffelt's). Referred to _A. Scolymus_. =A. Victoriæ Regina= (Queen Victoria).* _l._ forty to fifty in a sessile rosette, stiff, rigid, lanceolate, 6in. long, 1-1/2in. to nearly 2in. broad above the dilated base, narrowed gradually to a rather obtuse point, dead green, margined with a continuous white border, like that of _A. filifera_, not splitting up into threads, but leaving distinct white vertical bands where it is pressed against the neighbouring leaves; terminal spine 1/2in. long, black, pungent, with usually one or two small spines on each side of it. Mexico, 1875. This is also much too rare a plant. SYN. _A. Consideranti_. =A. virginica= (Virginian).* _fl._ greenish yellow, 1in. to 1-1/4in. long; spike very loose, 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. long; lower flowers with very short pedicels and lanceolate bracts, about 1/4in. long; scape 2ft. to 3ft. high, exclusive of the spike, with only a few distant small bract leaves. _l._ ten to fifteen in a sessile rosette, spreading, lanceolate, 6in. to 12in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad below the middle, narrowed gradually to the point and a little downwards; face channelled, undulated, pale green, or mottled with brown spots, the narrow hard and tough margin very obscurely serrulate. North America, 1765. _A. conduplicata_ is said to be allied to this species. =A. vivipara= (viviparous).* _fl._ greenish yellow, 1-1/2in. to 2in. long, often changed into bulbillæ, which bear lanceolate leaves 6in. long before they fall and take root; inflorescence reaching a height of 20ft. or more, the deltoid panicle about a quarter of the length of the scape; corymbs on stout peduncles, pedicels short. _l._ twenty to fifty in a dense, shortly caulescent rosette, ensiform, 2ft. to 3ft. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad at the middle, whence it gradually narrows to the point, dull green when mature, thin but firm in texture, flat or channelled down the face; terminal spine firm, brown, 1/2in. long; side teeth brown, hooked, 1/12in. or less long. A very widely spread species throughout tropics of the Old World, 1731. SYNS. _A. cantula_, _A. bulbifera_. =A. Warelliana= (Warell's).* _l._ about thirty in a rosette, oblong-spathulate, 9in. to. 10in. long, 3in. broad above the middle, narrowed to 2in. above the dilated base; face nearly flat, green, scarcely at all glaucous, tipped with a strong brown channelled spine 1in. long; border margined with close, very short teeth, dark purple when mature. Mexico. A rare but very handsome species. =A. Wislizeni= (Wislizenius's). _fl._ 2-1/2in. long; panicle thyrsoid, its branches 3in. to 6in. long; pedicels very short; scape 12ft. high. _l._ about thirty in a dense, rigid, sessile rosette, which is under 2ft. broad, oblong-spathulate, 3in. to 3-1/2in. broad above the middle, very glaucous, concave in the upper part; terminal spine hard, pungent, dark brown, 1in. long, and decurrent down the border a little; side prickles 1/8in. long, dark purple, moderately close, those below the middle of the leaf smaller and curved downward. Mexico, 1847. =A. xalapensis.= Synonymous with _A. polyacantha_. =A. xylacantha= (woody-spined).* _fl._ green, 1-1/2in. long; spike dense, rather shorter than the scape, its bracts linear-subulate; scape 5ft. to 6ft. long, its bracts subulate, all ascending, the lower ones 6in. to 8in. long. _l._ not more than twenty in a stemless rosette, ensiform, diverging irregularly and often curving, 1-1/2ft. to 3ft. long, 2in. to 3in. (rarely 4in.) broad at the middle, narrowed gradually upwards, a slightly glaucous dead green, marked with a few darker green lines on the back, furnished with a broad continuous horny border and a few very large irregular hooked teeth, often united or collected in pairs, 1/2in. to 3/4in. long, and 3/8in. to 1/2in. broad; terminal spine brown, pungent, 1in. long. Mexico. A long-known, widely-spread, and distinct species. SYNS. _A. amurensis_ and _A. Vanderdonckii_. =A. x. hybrida= is a striking dwarf variety with vittate leaves, and smaller, more crowded deltoid-cuspidate prickles than in the type. It is also commonly known as _A. x. vittata_ and _A. perbella_. [Illustration: FIG. 48. AGAVE YUCC�FOLIA.] =A. yuccæfolia= (Yucca-leaved).* _fl._ greenish yellow, 1-1/4in. to 1-1/2in. long, in a dense spike 6in. to 15in. long, about 14in. in diameter, sessile, solitary, or in pairs; scape 12ft. to 20ft. high. _l._ twenty to forty in a dense, shortly-stemmed rosette, linear, much recurved, 1-1/2ft. to 2-1/2ft. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad at the middle; face deeply channelled, dull, rather glaucous green, with a pale band down the centre, the tip not at all pungent, the back broadly rounded, edge entire, or obscurely serrulate. Mexico, 1816. A most distinct species. See Fig. 48. =AGERATUM= (from _a_, not, and _geras_, old; in reference to the flowers being always clear). SYN. _C�lestina_. ORD. _Compositæ_. This genus includes several American species, for the most part half-hardy annuals and biennials; or, if the seed is not allowed to ripen, they become perennials. Involucre cup-shaped, of many imbricated linear bracts; receptacle naked. Leaves opposite. A light rich soil is most suitable. Very easily increased by cuttings or seeds; if required true, the former is the only sure method of propagation. To grow large plants for greenhouse decoration, sow the seeds in January, in heat, in sandy soil, barely covering them. As soon as the young plants are large enough, prick them off into thumb pots, and keep in heat till they grow freely, then place them into a cooler house. Transfer into larger pots as soon as the others are full of roots, until they are finally shifted into 10in. or 12in. pots. When these are full of roots, the plants should be watered with liquid manure twice a week, and they soon flower well, making fine specimens. During hot weather especially, they should be well syringed with clear water daily, to keep down red spider. The plants required for bedding (for which purpose the dwarf garden varieties are mostly used) should be raised about the same time, kept in small pots, gradually hardened off, and planted out in the middle or end of June. Cuttings of all the varieties strike readily in heat, treated like most soft-wooded plants, and, when rooted, may be managed as recommended for the seedlings. =A. Lasseauxii= (Lasseaux's). _fl.-heads_ rose-coloured, small, disposed in corymbose heads. Summer. _l._ lanceolate-elliptic. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. Monte Video, 1870. A much-branched plant, requiring greenhouse protection in winter, and suitable for planting out in summer. =A. latifolium= (broad-leaved). A synonym of _Piqueria latifolia_. =A. mexicanum= (Mexican).* The commonest and most useful species, with a profusion of lilac-blue flowers. _h._ 2ft. Mexico, 1822. When used for bedding purposes it may be pegged down like the Verbena, or be allowed to grow its full height. Several very dwarf varieties of it have originated under cultivation, which supersede the species for bedding, the best of which are:--CUPID,* rich blue, very dwarf and floriferous; IMPERIAL DWARF, about 9in. high, with porcelain blue flowers; LADY JANE, of the same colour, very free; QUEEN,* silvery grey, about 9in. high; SNOWFLAKE,* white, very free and showy; SWANLEY BLUE,* very deep blue, 6in. to 8in. high. There is also a white-flowered variety of _Mexicanum_, which is very showy; and a variegated form, sometimes grown for the sake of its pretty foliage. =AGGLOMERATE, AGGLOMERATED.= Collected into a heap or head. =AGGLUTINATED.= Glued together. =AGGREGATE, AGGREGATED.= Gathered together; usually applied to the inflorescence. =AGLAIA.= (mythological: from Aglaia, the name of one of the Graces, and given to this genus on account of its beauty and the sweet scent of the flowers). ORD. _Meliaceæ_. Stove evergreen trees or shrubs having very small flowers, disposed in branched axillary panicles. Leaves alternate, trifoliate, or impari-pinnate. There are several species, but the undermentioned is the only one worth growing yet introduced. It thrives well in a mixture of turfy loam and peat. Young cuttings ripened at the base, and taken off at a joint, will root in sand under a hand glass, in heat. =A. odorata= (sweet-scented). _fl._ yellow, small, in axillary racemes, very sweet-scented, said to be used by the Chinese to scent their teas. February to May. _l._ pinnate, with five or seven glossy leaflets. _h._ 8ft. to 10ft. China, 1810. =AGLAOMORPHA.= _See_ =Polypodium=. =AGLAONEMA= (from _aglaos_, bright, and _nema_, a thread; supposed to refer to the shining stamens). ORD. _Aroideæ_. Stove perennials, allied to _Arum_, and requiring similar treatment to the stove species of that genus. =A. commutatum= (changed).* _fl._ white. _l._ greyish-blotched. _h._ 1ft. Philippines, 1863. SYN. _A. marantæfolium maculatum_. =A. Mannii= (Mann's).* _fl._, spathe 2in. long, whitish, with a spadix one-third shorter, bearing white anthers and scarlet ovaries. _l._ elliptic-oblong, dark green. Stems thickish, erect. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Victoria Mountains, 1868. =A. marantæfolium maculatum= (Maranta-leaved, spotted). A synonym of _A. commutatum_. =A. pictum= (painted).* _fl._, spathe pale creamy yellow, folded round so as to appear globular-oblong, opening at top; spadix projecting, white. August. _l._ elliptic-acuminate, light green, blotched irregularly with broadish angulate patches of grey. Stems slender, erect. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Borneo. =AGNOSTUS.= _See_ =Stenocarpus=. =AGRAPHIS.= Included under =Scilla= (which _see_). =AGRIMONIA= (from _argos_, white; the cataract of the eye being white. Once reputed to contain medicinal qualities). Agrimony. ORD. _Rosaceæ_. A genus of hardy herbaceous perennials, with interruptedly pinnate leaves, each accompanied by a pair of stipules united to the petioles. Flowers small, numerous, spiked; calyx turbinate, involucrated by bristles; petals five. They are all of the easiest culture, growing in ordinary soil. Readily increased by root-division. The most showy species in cultivation are described below. =A. Eupatoria= (Eupatoria). _fl._ yellow, on an elongated spike. _l._ with elliptic-oblong, coarsely serrated leaflets, odd one stalked. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Britain. =A. nepalensis= (Nepaul). _fl._ yellow, on erect, slender racemes. _l._ with ovate, serrated leaflets, odd one stalked, villous. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Nepaul, 1820. =A. odorata= (sweet-scented).* _fl._ yellow; spikes several. _l._ with oblong lanceolate, deeply crenate-toothed leaflets, hairy. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Italy, 1640. =AGRIMONY.= _See_ =Agrimonia=. =AGRIOTES.= _See_ =Wireworm=. =AGROSTEMMA= (from _agros_, a field, and _stemma_, a crown; alluding to the beauty of the flowers, which were formerly made into crowns or garlands). Rose Campion. ORD. _Caryophyllaceæ_. Hardy evergreen perennials and annuals, with broadish leaves, and one-flowered peduncles. Of easy culture, and well adapted for borders. They will all grow freely in common garden soil. Increased by division of the roots, and seed. _A. c�li-rosa_, and _A. flos-Jovis_ are, perhaps, species of _Lychnis_, but the generic name which we have adopted is the most common one. All the species of this genus are exceedingly pretty free-flowering plants, and both annuals and perennials are well worth growing. =A. c�li-rosa= (rose of Heaven).* _fl._ delicate rose, white, or bright purple, solitary, terminal. Summer. Levant, &c., 1713. An annual species about 1ft. high, not tomentose; should be grown in patches. Sow the seed in April. [Illustration: FIG. 49. AGROSTEMMA C�LI-ROSA FIMBRIATA.] =A. c.-r. fimbriata= (fimbriate). A form having fimbriated petals. Known also as _nana_. _h._ 9in. See Fig. 49. =A. c.-r. purpurea= (purple).* A very pretty form, having dark purple flowers, and compact habit. See Fig. 50. =A. coronaria= (crowned).* _fl._ white, with the middle red; petals emarginate, crowned, serrated; peduncles elongated, one-flowered. July. _l._ lanceolate, very broad, leathery; plant woolly throughout. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. South Europe, 1596. This species is admirably adapted for naturalising on dry hill sides, and in the wild garden. There are several varieties seen in gardens with a great diversity of colour, including dark crimson, white, and sometimes double flowers. See Fig. 51. [Illustration: FIG. 50. AGROSTEMMA C�LI-ROSA PURPUREA.] [Illustration: FIG. 51. AGROSTEMMA CORONARIA, showing Habit and Flower.] =A. flos-Jovis.=* Flower of Jove. _fl._ purple or scarlet, in umbellate heads; peduncles short, rather branched. July. _l._ lanceolate, stem-clasping, silky, tomentose. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Switzerland, 1726. Plant white from tomentum. See Fig. 52. [Illustration: FIG. 52. AGROSTEMMA FLOS-JOVIS, showing Habit and Flower.] =AGROSTIS= (from _agros_, a field; the Greek name for a kind of grass). Bent Grass. ORD. _Gramineæ_. Annual or perennial grasses. Panicle loose; spikelets compressed. Several of the species are very effective, and well worth growing; and the spikes are pretty objects, when dried, for window vases, &c. They are of easy culture, in ordinary garden soil. Sow seeds during spring in the open border, in tufts, among ferns, &c., or in pots for decorative purposes. =A. elegans= (elegant). _h._ 1ft. Russia, 1834. [Illustration: FIG. 53. AGROSTIS NEBULOSA.] =A. nebulosa= (cloud).* Cloud Grass. _fl._ panicles resemble, when developed, a cloud resting over the ground. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Very light and elegant. Annual. See Fig. 53. =A. pulchella= (pretty).* Dwarfer, and with a more rigid habit than _A. nebulosa_. It is, nevertheless, a most graceful plant, and valuable for bouquet making, and for winter decorative purposes. _h._ 6in. to 12in. Russia. Annual. =A. spica-venti= (windward-spiked). _fl._ panicle large, silky looking, loosely spreading. England. Annual. =AGROTIS.= _See_ =Pot-herb Moths= and =Turnip Moth=. =AILANTUS= (from _ailanto_, referring to its lofty growth). Tree of Heaven. ORD. _Xanthoxylaceæ_. Tall deciduous trees. The stove species will grow freely in a mixture of loam and peat; and the best way to increase these is by pieces of the roots, planted in a pot with their points above the ground, and placed in a hotbed, where they will soon make fine plants. =A. excelsa= (tall). _fl._ whitish green, disposed similar to the following. _l._ abruptly pinnate, 3ft. long, with ten to fourteen pairs of leaflets coarsely toothed at the base, without glands. _h._ 66ft. India, 1800. A stove tree. =A. glandulosa= (glandulous).* _fl._ whitish green, disposed in large branched, terminal, fascicled panicles, exhaling a disagreeable smell. August. _l._ impari-pinnate; leaflets coarsely toothed at the base with glands. (The leaves on vigorous young trees are sometimes 6ft. in length.) _h._ 60ft. China, 1751. This tree grows with great rapidity for the first ten or twelve years, in favourable situations, afterwards its growth is much slower. It is quite hardy, and thrives in almost any soil, though one that is light and somewhat humid, and a sheltered situation, suits it best. It is a very desirable tree for plantations, or to stand singly on lawns, and is easily increased by slips of the roots. =AINSL�A= (in honour of Dr. Whitelaw Ainslie, author of a work on Indian drugs). ORD. _Compositæ_. Herbaceous perennials, of recent introduction. Although, no doubt, both species will prove tolerably hardy, they should have slight protection during winter. They thrive in light rich soil. Propagated by divisions of the root. =A. aptera= (wingless). _fl.-head_ purple, disposed in an elongated spike-like panicle. _l._ deeply cordate, sinuately toothed; petioles wingless, whence the name. Sikkim Himalayas, 1882. =A. Walkeræ= (Mrs. Walker's).* _fl.-heads_ slender, distant, shortly stalked, borne in erect or somewhat nodding racemes; the white corolla-lobes and the red purple anthers make a pretty contrast. _h._ about 1ft. Hong Kong, 1875. A very rare and graceful species. =AIR.= Pure atmospheric air is composed of nitrogen, oxygen, and a very small quantity of carbonic acid gas, all of which are essential to the growth of plants. Air-giving is a term used by gardeners to lessen the temperature of a greenhouse, or to equalise it with that outside. _See_ =Ventilation=. =AIRA= (from _aira_, applied by the Greeks to _Lolium temulentum_). Hair Grass. ORD. _Gramineæ_. Chiefly hardy grasses, of agricultural value. Panicle loose; spikelet compressed, with two perfect flowers, and sometimes a neuter. Of easy culture, in ordinary garden soil. Sow seeds in spring. =A. flexuosa= (waved).* The Waved Hair Grass. _fl._ shining brown; panicle erect, spreading, with waved angular branches and flower-stalks. _l._ short. Stem upwards of 1ft. high, erect, smooth. England. A very pretty and graceful perennial. [Illustration: FIG. 54. AIRA PULCHELLA.] =A. pulchella= (pretty).* _fl._ panicles loose, very delicate and graceful. _l._ very short. _h._ 6in. to 8in. South Europe. An elegant plant, with tufted filiform stems. One of the best of dwarf-growing ornamental grasses. See Fig. 54. =AIR-PLANT.= _See_ =Aerides=, also =Epiphytes=. =AITONIA= (in honour of W. Aiton, once Head Gardener at Kew). ORD. _Meliaceæ_. A small and rather interesting greenhouse evergreen shrub from the Cape of Good Hope, and thriving well in an equal mixture of sandy loam and peat. Young cuttings will root in sand, under a bell glass, with bottom heat. The cuttings must not be put in very close together, and the glass should be wiped frequently, as they are apt to damp off. =A. capensis= (Cape). _fl._ pink; petals four, shorter than the projecting stamens. July. _h._ 2ft. 1777. =AIZOON= (from _aei_, always, and _zoos_, alive; tenacious of life). ORD. _Portulacaceæ_. Greenhouse annuals, biennials, or evergreen shrubs. Flowers apetalous; calyx five-cleft, coloured on the inner surface. The undermentioned species is the only one worth growing. It requires no shade, a dry atmosphere, and light sandy soil. Propagated by seeds and cuttings. =A. sarmentosum= (sarmentose). _fl._ greenish, sessile. Summer. _l._ opposite, linear-filiform, rather connate, glabrous; branches rather villous, three-flowered at the apex, the two lateral flowers are bracteated, and spring from the sides of the middle one. Sub-shrub, erect, diffuse, glabrous, branched. South Africa, 1862. =AJAVA SEED.= _See_ =Ptychotis=. =AJAX MAXIMUS.= _See_ =Narcissus=. =AJOWAN.= _See_ =Ptychotis=. =AJUGA= (from _a_, not, and _zugon_, a yoke; in reference to the calyx being equal, not bilabiate). Bugle. ORD. _Labiatæ_. Hardy annual or perennial herbaceous plants, usually procumbent or ascending, sometimes stoloniferous. Whorls two or many flowered, dense, sometimes all axillary, when the floral leaves conform to those of the stem; sometimes the superior whorls are approximate into spikes, then the floral leaves are small, and of a different form from the stem ones. All the species are of easy cultivation in ordinary garden soil. Perennials increased by divisions, or by seeds sown in the open border, during spring or autumn. The seeds of annual kinds may be sown in the open border in spring, where they are intended to remain. =A. alpina= (alpine). Synonymous with _A. genevensis_. =A. australis= (southern). _fl._ blue; whorls six or more flowered; lower whorls remote, upper ones sub-spicate, floral leaves similar to the stem ones, exceeding the flowers. May to July. _l._ narrow-oblong, narrowed at the base, quite entire or sinuated, thickish, rather villous. Stem ascending, or erect. _h._ 6in. New Holland, 1822. Perennial. =A. Chamæpitys= (ground-pine). _fl._ yellow, dotted with red, pubescent outside; whorls two-flowered; floral leaves similar to the others, exceeding the flowers. April. _l._ deeply trifid, with linear, quite entire, or trifid lobes. Stem procumbent at the base, much branched, beset with long hairs, like the leaves. _h._ about 6in. England (rare). Annual. =A. genevensis= (Geneva).* _fl._ varying from blue to rose colour and white; upper whorls spicate, lower ones distant, six or more flowered. May. _l._ stem ones oblong-elliptic or obovate, narrowed at the base; lower ones petiolate; floral ones ovate or cuneated; superior ones scarcely equalling the flowers or shorter, all usually coarsely toothed, membranaceous, green on both surfaces, and beset with scattered hairs. Stem erect, pilose. _h._ 6in. to 1ft. Europe. A very variable species, admirably adapted as an alpine plant, and succeeds best in bog soil, where its roots will have plenty of room; it increases rapidly. Perennial. SYNS. _A. alpina_, _A. rugosa_. =A. orientalis= (oriental).* _fl._ blue; whorls six or more flowered, distant, or the upper ones are approximate. May. _l._ lower ones large, petiolate; ovate, coarsely and sinuately toothed, narrowed at the base; floral ones sessile, broad ovate, deeply lobed or toothed, exceeding the flowers. Stem ascending, pilosely woolly. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. Eastern Europe, 1732. This species should be grown in a dry, sunny spot. =A. pyramidalis= (pyramidal).* _fl._ blue or purple; whorls many-flowered, upper ones or all spicate. May and June. _l._ stem ones approximate, scarcely petiolate, obovate; floral ones broad-ovate, clasping the flowers, tetragonally pyramidate; the upper ones often coloured, all quite entire or obscurely sinuated. Stem erect. _h._ 6in. Scotland. Perennial. Of this there are several handsome garden varieties. [Illustration: FIG. 55. FLOWER OF AJUGA REPTANS.] =A. reptans= (creeping).* _fl._ varying from blue to rose-colour; lower whorls remote; upper ones spicate, six to twenty flowered. May. _l._ ovate or obovate, quite entire or sinuated, and are, as well as the stem, nearly glabrous; radical one petiolate, stem ones nearly sessile. Stem creeping. The variegated and darkest leaved forms of this are superior to the type for horticultural purposes. Britain. Perennial. See Fig. 55. =A. rugosa= (wrinkled). Synonymous with _A. genevensis_. =AKEBIA= (its Japanese name). SYN. _Rajania_. ORD. _Lardizabalaceæ_. A pretty twining shrub, succeeding well in the south-western counties of England, or in Scotland, trained to a trellis, or rambling over other shrubs in the open; but, when so grown, it requires the protection of a mat in winter. It makes an excellent twiner for the cool greenhouse. Sandy loam, leaf soil, and peat are most suitable for its culture. Increased by root divisions and cuttings. =A. quinata= (five-leafletted).* _fl._ purplish brown, small, in axillary racemes, very fragrant. March. _l._ on very slender petioles, and palmately divided into usually five distinct petiolulate oval or oblong emarginate leaflets, the bottom pair smallest. _h._ 10ft. Chusan, 1845. =AKEE-TREE.= _See_ =Blighia sapida=. =ALA.= A lateral petal of a papilionaceous flower. =ALANGIACE�.= A very small order of trees or shrubs, usually with inconspicuous flowers, in axillary fascicles. Fruit succulent, eatable. The two genera best known in this country are _Alangium_ and _Nyssa_. =ALANGIUM= (from _Alangi_, the Malabar name of the first species). ORD. _Alangiaceæ_. Very showy stove evergreen trees, with alternate, exstipulate, entire leaves. Flowers few, sessile, in axillary fascicles; calyx campanulate; petals linear, spreadingly reflexed. They thrive well in a mixture of loam and peat, or any light rich soil. Cuttings root readily if planted in a pot of sand, with a hand glass placed over them, in heat. =A. decapetalum= (ten-petaled).* _fl._ pale purple, with a grateful scent, solitary, or two to three together in the axils of the leaves; petals ten or twelve. June. _l._ alternate, oblong-lanceolate, quite entire; branches glabrous, spinescent. _h._ 30ft. Malabar, 1779. =A. hexapetalum= (six-petaled). _fl._ purple, six-petaled. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, acuminated, velvety beneath. _h._ 30ft. Malabar, 1823. =ALATUS.= Furnished with a membranous or thin wing or expansion. =ALBESCENT.= Growing white. =ALBICANT.= Growing whitish. =ALBINISM.= A pale condition due to the absence of chlorophyl. =ALBIZZIA= (named after an Italian). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Ornamental greenhouse or hardy trees or shrubs. For culture, _see_ =Acacia=, to which they are often referred. =A. Julibrissin= (Julibrissin). _fl._ white; heads pedunculate, forming a terminal somewhat corymbose panicle. August. _l._ with eight to twelve pairs of pinnæ, each pinna bearing about thirty pairs of dimidiate-oblong, acute, rather ciliated leaflets. _h._ 30ft. to 40ft. Hardy. Levant, 1745. SYN. _A. Nemu_. =A. lophantha= (crest-flowered).* _fl._ yellow; racemes ovate-oblong, axillary, twin. May. _l._ with eight to ten pairs of pinnæ, each pinna bearing twenty-five to thirty pairs of linear, bluntish leaflets; petioles and calyces clothed with velvety down. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. New Holland, 1803. A very distinct unarmed greenhouse species, and one of the best for window gardening. =A. Nemu.= A synonym of _A. Julibrissin_. =ALBUCA= (from _albicans_, or _albus_, white; the colour of the earlier species). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. A rather extensive genus of Cape of Good Hope bulbs, requiring ordinary greenhouse culture. Closely allied to _Ornithogalum_. Perianth six-cleft, three outer segments spreading; three inner ones closed over the stamens. They, however, succeed admirably when grown in a warm sunny position out of doors, if covered with a hand glass, or litter, during winter. A light loamy soil, with leaf mould and sand, suits them well. Propagated by offsets from the old bulb, or seeds. There are but few species worthy of cultivation. =A. angolensis= (Angolan). _fl._ yellowish, large, in cylindrical racemes 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. long. _l._ linear-lorate, sub-erect, fleshy, pale green, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long. _h._ 3ft. Angola. =A. aurea= (yellow).* _fl._ pale yellow, upright; peduncle very long, erect, spreading. June. _l._ linear-lanceolate, flat. _h._ 2ft. 1818. =A. fastigiata= (peaked).* _fl._ white; peduncle very long, spreading. May. _l._ linear, flattish, longer than the scape. _h._ 1-1/2ft. 1774. =A. flaccida= (weak). _fl._ pale yellow, with a green keel, drooping, six to eight in a loose raceme; peduncles spreading at right angles. July. _l._ lanceolate-linear, obliquely bent. _h._ 2ft. 1791. =A. Nelsoni= (Nelson's).* _fl._, perianth, 1-1/2in. long, ascending, white, with a dull red stripe down the back of each segment; scape stout, 4ft. to 5ft. high. Summer. _l._ bright green, very concave at the basal part, nearly flat in the upper part, 3ft. to 3-1/2ft. long, l-1/4in. to 2-1/4in. broad, at about one-third the way up, whence they are gradually narrowed to an acute point. Natal, 1880. This very handsome species is the best of the genus. =ALBUMEN.= The substance under the inner coat of the testa of seeds, surrounding the embryo. It is sometimes absent. =ALBUMINOUS.= Furnished with albumen. =ALBURNUM.= The white wood of a tree; the younger wood, not choked up by sedimentary deposit, and therefore permeable to fluids. =ALCHEMILLA= (from _Alkemelyeh_, the Arabic name of one of the species). Lady's Mantle. ORD. _Rosaceæ_. Hardy herbaceous perennials, with corymbose, apetalous flowers; calyx tubular, with the tube rather contracted at the apex. Leaves palmate or lobed. Of very easy culture, in common, but well drained soil. They are well adapted for rockwork and planting near the front of borders. Easily increased by divisions of the roots, and seeds. All here described are hardy, except _A. sibbaldiæfolia_. =A. alpina= (alpine).* _fl._ greenish, small; corymbose. June. _l._ digitate; leaflets five to seven, lanceolate-cuneated, obtuse, serrated, clothed with white satiny down beneath. _h._ 6in. Britain. =A. pubescens= (pubescent). _fl._ greenish; corymbs terminal, crowded, clothed with a coating of long weak hairs. June. _l._ roundish-reniform, seven-lobed, toothed, silky beneath. _h._ 6in. to 8in. Caucasus (Higher), 1813. =A. sericea= (silky).* _fl._ greenish, corymbose. June. _l._ digitate; leaflets seven, lanceolate-obovate, obtuse, connected at the base, serrated at the apex, clothed with satiny down beneath. _h._ about 6in. Caucasus, 1813. Much larger in every part than _A. alpina_, to which it is closely allied. =A. Sibbaldiæfolia= (Sibbaldia-leaved). _fl._ white, conglomerate; stem corymbosely many-flowered at the apex. July. _l._ deeply three-parted, clothed with adpressed pubescence beneath; segments deeply serrated, lateral ones bifid. _h._ 6in. Mexico, 1823. A greenhouse species, which should be grown in small well-drained pots, with a mixture of leaf soil and sandy loam. =ALDEA.= A synonym of =Phacelia= (which _see_). =ALDER.= _See_ =Alnus=. =ALETRIS= (from _aletron_, meal; referring to the powdery appearance of the whole plant). The American Star Grass. SYN. _Tritonia_. ORD. _Hæmodoraceæ_. Interesting hardy herbaceous perennials, closely allied to the _Amaryllids_. Perianth half-inferior, tubular; limb spreading or funnel-shaped; stamens inserted at base of perianth segments, filaments flat. They delight in a sunny but damp situation, with peat, leaf mould, and sand, and are slowly increased by division of the roots. =A. aurea= (golden).* _fl._ yellow, bell-shaped. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. North America, 1811. Similar in habit to _A. farinosa_. =A. capensis= (Cape). _See_ =Veltheimia viridifolia=. =A. farinosa= (mealy).* _fl._ white, bell-shaped, in a terminal spiked raceme, upon stems 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. high. _l._ lanceolate, ribbed. North America, 1768. A pretty species, forming a spreading tuft, and possessing intensely bitter properties. =ALEURITES= (from the Greek word signifying floury; all the parts of the plant seeming to be dusted with a farinaceous substance). ORD. _Euphorbiaceæ_. A handsome stove evergreen tree, with small, white, clustered flowers. Leaves alternate, stalked, exstipulate. Of easy culture in a loamy soil. Ripe cuttings, with their leaves untouched, root readily in sand, under a hand-glass. =A. triloba= (three-lobed).* Candleberry Tree. _l._ three-lobed, 4in. to 8in. long. _h._ 30ft. to 40ft. Moluccas and South Pacific Islands, 1793. =ALEXANDERS.= _See_ =Smyrnium=. =ALEXANDRIAN LAUREL.= _See_ =Ruscus racemosus=. =ALGAROBA BEAN, or CAROB.= _See_ =Ceratonia=. =ALGAROBIA.= Included under =Prosopis= (which _see_). =ALHAGI= (its Arabian name). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Manna Tree. Greenhouse shrubs or sub-shrubs, with simple leaves, and minute stipulas. Flowers few, in clusters. They thrive in pots filled with a mixture of sand, loam, and peat. Young cuttings will root in sand, with a bell glass placed over them, in heat; but by seeds, if they can be procured, sown in a hotbed, is a preferable mode of increasing the plants. They may be placed out of doors during the summer months. =A. camelorum= (camels). _fl._ red, few, disposed in racemes along the peduncles. July. _l._ lanceolate, obtuse, simple; stipulas minute. Stem herbaceous. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Caucasus, 1816. =A. maurorum= (Moors'). _fl._ purple in the middle, and reddish about the edges, disposed in racemes along the axillary, spinose peduncles. July. _l._ obovate-oblong, simple; spines strong, and longer than those of the above species. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Egypt, &c. The Manna is a natural exudation from the branches and leaves of this shrub, which takes place only in very hot weather. =ALIBERTIA= (in honour of M. Alibert, a celebrated French chemist, author of "Traite des Fievres Attaxiques," wherein he mentions the effects of Peruvian bark). ORD. _Cinchonaceæ_. A small stove evergreen tree, very ornamental when in flower. Flowers solitary or fascicled, di�cious; corolla leathery, tubular. A mixture of loam and peat is the best soil. Cuttings strike root freely, in a similar kind of soil, under a hand glass, in a moist heat. =A. edulis= (edible). _fl._ cream-coloured, solitary or in fascicles, terminating the branches, almost sessile. June. _fr._ edible. _l._ opposite, leathery, oblong, acuminated, shining above, and bearded in the axils of the veins beneath. _h._ 12ft. Guiana, 1823. =ALICANT SODA.= _See_ =Salsola=. =ALISMA.= (from _alis_, the Celtic word for water). Water Plantain. SYN. _Actinocarpus_. ORD. _Alismaceæ_. A genus entirely composed of hardy aquatic species. Flowers three-petalled. Leaves parallel-veined. Increased by division or seeds. The latter should be sown in a pot immersed in water, filled with loam, peat, and sand, and the former root freely in a moist loamy soil. The British species are most easily grown. [Illustration: FIG. 56. ALISMA NATANS.] =A. natans= (floating).* _fl._ white; peduncles simple. July. _l._ elliptical-obtuse; stem ones floating, on long stalks, scarcely nerved; those at the base of the plant are long, linear-lanceolate, membranous scales, or abortive root leaves. North Wales and Cumberland, but very rare; abundant in other parts of Europe. See Fig. 56. =A. Plantago= (plantain).* _fl._ delicate pale rose coloured; scape branched upwards. July. _l._ ovate, acute, all radical, on long stalks; branches all whorled, bracteated, compound. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Britain. A very handsome aquatic for naturalising. See Fig. 57. [Illustration: FIG. 57. PORTION OF INFLORESCENCE OF ALISMA PLANTAGO.] =A. P. lanceolata= (lance-shaped leaves). _fl._ pure white. July. _l._ lanceolate. Britain. =A. ranunculoides= (ranunculus-like). In general appearance very like the last named species, but smaller. Britain. =ALISMACE�.= A small order of aquatic or marsh plants, with three-petaled flowers, on leafless scapes, and simple radical leaves. The genera best known are _Alisma_ and _Sagittaria_. =ALKANET.= _See_ =Anchusa tinctoria=. =ALLAMANDA= (named in memory of Dr. Allamand, of Leyden, who first communicated seeds of this genus to Linnæus). ORD. _Apocynaceæ_. Elegant climbing evergreen stove plants. Peduncles terminal and many-flowered; corolla funnel-shaped, with a narrow tube, gamopetalous, large, inflated, five-cleft at the apex. Leaves verticillate. This genus differs from all others of the same order, in the figure of the corolla. Of comparatively easy culture. To obtain their beauty of foliage and flowers, the shoots should be tied to wires placed within 8in. or 9in. of the glass that forms the roof of the structure in which the plants are growing. Trained in this way, and the shoots allowed to ramble in a somewhat natural manner, the effect, when the plants are in flower, is grander and more pleasing in every respect than when the shoots are tied to a formal trellis, of whatever shape. When thoroughly established, they succeed admirably in a compost of three parts good fibry loam, and one part wood charcoal or coarse river sand, with some rotten cow manure added. When potting the plants, make the fresh compost firm round the old balls of soil, and do not fill the pots too full; leave room for plenty of water, as, when in active growth, they require a liberal daily supply. They must be pruned annually in January or February, cutting the previous year's shoots back to within a joint or two of the old wood. Allamandas should be exposed to the light as much as possible at all seasons of the year. In winter months they require but little water, but the drainage must always be perfect. They are remarkably free from insect attacks of any kind. It may be also observed that the temperature should never fall below 55deg. This genus is easily propagated by cuttings, which will root at any time of the year in a bottom heat of from 70deg. to 80deg. The usual time is, however, in spring, when the old plants are pruned back. Choose the tops of the shoots, retaining two or three joints to each cutting; place these in a compost of sand and peat or leaf mould in equal proportions, singly, in small pots. Press the soil firmly around each cutting, and, when all are inserted, give a good watering, and plunge the pots in the propagating bed. Attend to shading and watering, and in about three weeks' time they will have emitted roots, and started to grow at the tops. The pots should now be raised out of the plunging material, and placed upon the surface thereof, and there allowed to remain two or three weeks longer; when the young roots will have, by this time, filled the little pots, and a shift into the larger ones will be necessary. Return the plants to the propagating bed, but do not plunge them therein. As soon as it is certain that the roots have commenced growth in the fresh soil, pinch the point of each plant that is intended to be grown on a trellis. This will cause the remaining buds to push out fresh shoots; and these, as soon as they have made two joints or whorls of leaves each, should have their points pinched out also. By repotting the plants as often as they fill their pots with roots during the first season of their growth, and pinching the points out of the shoots twice or thrice in the same time, a good foundation will be formed, from which the future specimens will spring. In the case of plants intended to be trained up rafters or pillars, they should not have their points pinched out until they attain to the height where it is desirable they should have more than one shoot, and be repotted as recommended above, for the first year; but, after that, they will require to be repotted only once a year, and this should be done soon after the buds have started to grow afresh in the spring. =A. Aubletii= (Aublet's).* _fl._ yellow, large. June. _l._ four to five in a whorl, broad-oblong, acuminated, rather hairy beneath. Guiana, 1848. =A. cathartica= (purging).* _fl._ yellow, large. June. _l._ four in a whorl, obovate, obtuse, acutish, with sub-undulated edges, glabrous. Guiana, 1785. SYN. _A. Linnæi_. =A. chelsoni= (Chelsea).* _fl._ yellow, large. Summer. This splendid plant is least suited of any for trellis training, from its wood being stiffer and harder, and is therefore best for the roof of a house; it is one of the best kinds for cutting. Garden hybrid. =A. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl._ distinct pale yellow, rather large, very free bloomer. June. Brazil, 1844. =A. Linnæi= (Linnæus's). Synonymous with _A. cathartica_. =A. neriifolia= (oleander-leaved).* _fl._ deep golden yellow, elegantly streaked with orange, between funnel and bell shaped, the tube being wide, 1in. long; panicle many-flowered. June. _l._ oblong, on short petioles, acuminate. _h._ 3ft. South America, 1847. Shrub erect, glabrous. =A. nobilis= (noble).* _fl._ bright yellow, rather deeper tinted in the throat, large, full circular form, but without streaks or any other markings. July. _l._ in whorls of four or of three, tapered to the base, sessile, oblong, abruptly acuminate, membranaceous, hairy on both surfaces, especially beneath and on the midrib. Brazil, 1867. One of the best species. =A. Schottii= (Schott's).* _fl._ yellow, large, throat beautifully striped with rich brown. September. _l._ oblong, acuminated, four in a whorl, quite glabrous, on both surfaces. _h._ 10ft. Brazil, 1847. This species is a very strong grower, and suits the roof system best; it is also a very free bloomer. =A. verticillata= (whorl-leaved). _fl._ yellow, large. June. _l._ usually six in a whorl, ovate-oblong, obtuse, quite glabrous. South America, 1812. =A. violacea= (violet). _fl._ purple. Brazil, 1859. =ALLANTODIA= (from _allantos_, a sausage; in reference to the cylindrical form of the indusium). ORD. _Filices_. A greenhouse monotypic genus, differing from _Asplenium_ in the dehiscence of the involucre, and it may receive similar treatment to the Spleenworts. Sori dorsal, linear-oblong, attached to the primary veins. Involucre the same shape as the sorus and quite inclosing it, bursting in an irregular line down to the centre. =A. Brunoniana= (Brown's).* _fronds_ often 1ft. to 2ft. long, 1/2ft. to 1ft. broad; pinnæ 3in. to 6in. long, 1in. broad, entire. _sori_ confined to the anterior vein of the first fork. Himalayas, up to 6000ft., &c. SYN. _Asplenium javanicum_. =ALLARDTIA.= _See_ =Tillandsia=. =ALLEYS.= Small walks of various widths, but generally 1-1/2ft. or 2ft. wide, and formed in right lines, parallel to the main walks, or borders, sometimes covered with a thin coat of sand, gravel, or shells, or paved with flints, pebbles, &c. Spaces left between beds of seedling plants are generally meant when alleys are referred to. =ALL-HEAL.= _See_ =Prunella vulgaris=. =ALLIACEOUS.= Pertaining to the _Garlic_ family. =ALLIARIA.= _See_ =Sisymbrium=. =ALLIGATOR APPLE.= _See_ =Anona palustris=. =ALLIGATOR PEAR.= _See_ =Persea gratissima=. =ALLIUM= (from _all_, meaning hot or burning; in allusion to the well-known properties of the Onion tribe). Including _Porrum_, _Sch�noprasum_. ORD. _Liliaceæ_. Hardy bulbous plants, with flat or terete radical leaves, and capitate or umbellate flowers, enclosed in a membranous spathe at the summit of a slender, naked, or leafy scape; perianth spreading or campanulate. They are of very easy culture, increasing rapidly by offsets. The little bulbs, which are produced in clusters, may be separated and replanted, in autumn or early spring, about 4in. deep. Seeds are also easily obtainable. These may be sown thinly in light soil, in February or March, where they should remain until the autumn or following spring, when they may be transplanted to their flowering situations. During the growing season, all the attention required will be to keep the plants free of weeds, and place stakes to the tall-growing kinds. =A. acuminatum= (taper-pointed).* _fl._ deep rose, 1/2in. to 1in. across, in many-flowered umbels. July and August. _l._ rather shorter than the stems, very narrow, only about a line wide. _h._ 6in. to 10in. North-West America, 1840. =A. a. rubrum= (red). _fl._ deep red-purple; in other respects like the type. California. =A. ascalonicum= (Eschallot). _fl._ purple; umbels globose; scape rounded. Summer. _l._ subulate. _h._ 9in. Palestine, 1546. For culture, _see_ =Eschallot=. =A. azureum= (sky-blue).* _fl._ deep sky-blue, with a dark line through the middle of each division; umbels dense, globular, longer than the spathes which envelop them before expanding. Summer. _l._ triangular, from 6in. to 12in. long. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Siberia, 1830. One of the handsomest species grown. =A. Bidwelliæ= (Mrs. Bidwell's).* _fl._ bright rose, about 1/2in. across, in few-flowered umbels. July. _l._ narrow, rather longer than the stem. _h._ 2in. to 3in. Sierra Nevada, 1880. A very charming little species for the rockery. =A. Breweri= (Brewer's).* _fl._ deep rose, nearly or quite 1in. across, in few-flowered umbels. July. _l._ much longer than the flower-stem, 1/4in. or more broad. _h._ 1in. to 3in. California, 1882. =A. Cepa= (common Onion). _fl._ white; scape ventricose, longer than the leaves. June, July. _l._ fistular, rounded. _h._ 3ft. For culture, _see_ =Onion=. =A. C. aggregatum.= Aggregated, Tree, or Potato Onion. _See_ =Onion=. =A. c�ruleum= (blue-flowered).* _fl._ blue, in large compact globular heads. June. _h._ 8in. Russia, 1840. Very distinct. =A. Douglasii= (Douglas'). Synonymous with _A. unifolium_. =A. Erdelii= (Erdel's). _fl._ white, keeled with green, in compact umbels. _h._ 6in. Palestine, 1879. A rare but pretty species, and should be planted in a warm position on the rockery. =A. falcifolium= (sickle-leaved).* _fl._ pale rose, 1/2in. to 3/4in. across, in few-flowered umbels. August. _l._ two in number, thick, broadly linear, falcate. _h._ 2in. to 3in. North-West America, 1880. =A. falciforme= (sickle-formed). Probably a variety of _A. unifolium_, with pure white flowers, in several-flowered umbels. _h._ 6in. California, 1882. =A. flavum= (golden). _fl._ yellow, bell-shaped, and somewhat drooping, in pretty umbels; scape leafy at the base. _l._ round, not hollow, flattish above the base. _h._ about 1ft. Italy, 1759. A slender species. =A. fragrans.= _See_ =Nothoscordum=. =A. karataviense= (Karatavian). _fl._ white, in dense globose heads. May. _l._ very broad, flat, glaucous, sometimes variegated. _h._ 6in. Turkestan, 1878. =A. Macnabianum= (MacNab's).* _fl._ deep magenta, a colour quite unique in this family, in large umbels. _l._ nearly as long as the stem, channelled, about 1/4in. broad. _h._ 1ft. North America. =A. magicum= (enchanting). Synonymous with _A. nigrum_. [Illustration: FIG. 58. ALLIUM MOLY.] =A. Moly= (Moly).* _fl._ bright yellow, numerous, in compact umbels. Spring. _l._ few, broadly lanceolate. Stem sub-cylindrical. _h._ 10in. to 15in. South Europe, 1604. A very old favourite; bright-flowered and very fine in masses. See Fig. 58. =A. Murrayanum= (Murray's).* _fl._ rosy purple, in large heads. _l._ narrow, longer than the stem. _h._ 1ft. North America. A good variety of _A. acuminatum_. =A. mutabile= (changeable). _fl._ white, changing to rose, in many-flowered umbels. July. _l._ shorter than the stem, narrow, channelled. _h._ 12in. to 24in. North America, 1824. =A. neapolitanum= (Neapolitan).* _fl._ white, with green stamens, numerous, in a loose umbel, on stems exceeding the leaves in length; pedicels much longer than the flowers. Early summer. _l._ two or three, sheathing the flower stem, strap-shaped, about 1in. across. _h._ 15in. to 18in. South Europe, 1823. Probably the most ornamental white-flowered species. =A. nevadense= (Sierra Nevada). _fl._ white, or pale rose, about 1/2in. across, in several-flowered umbels. July. _l._ flat, rather longer than the stem, about 1/4in. wide. _h._ 3in. to 6in. Sierra Nevada and Utah, 1882. =A. nigrum= (blackish).* _fl._ dull violet, or whitish, with a green vein, very numerous, in a large umbel. Summer. _l._ thick, broadly lanceolate, acute, ciliated, toothed at the edges, at first erect and glaucescent, afterwards green and spreading, much shorter than the stem. _h._ 2-1/2ft. to 3-1/4ft. South of Europe. Very vigorous and free flowering. SYN. _A. magicum_. =A. paradoxum= (wonderful). _fl._ white, gracefully pendulous, borne on long footstalks springing from little nests of yellow bulbils. Spring. _l._ one or two, as long as the scape, linear-lanceolate, acute, keeled, striated, smooth, 1/4in. broad, drooping and recurved. _h._ 9in. to 14in. Siberia, 1823. =A. pedemontanum= (Piedmont).* _fl._ rosy-purple, large, bell-shaped, in large, graceful drooping clusters. July. _l._ lanceolate, shorter than the stem. Piedmont, 1817. A neat little plant for rockwork, or warm border. One of the handsomest species grown. =A. reticulatum= (netted). _fl._ varying from pink to white. Summer. _l._ narrow, or almost filiform, shorter than the stem. _h._ 9in. to 15in. North-West America, 1882. A rare species. =A. r. attenuifolium= (attenuate-leaved).* This may be regarded as an extremely handsome white-flowered variety. North-West America. =A. roseum= (rose-coloured).* _fl._ pale lilac-rose, large, in umbels of ten or twelve; stems round, rather longer than the leaves. Summer. _l._ strap-shaped, channelled, rolled inwards at the top, not hairy. _h._ 12in. to 16in. South Europe, 1752. =A. sativum= (cultivated). Garlic. _fl._ white; umbel bulbiferous. Summer. _l._ flat. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Sicily, 1548. For culture, _see_ =Garlic=. =A. sch�noprasum= (rush-leaved onion). Chives. _fl._ purple; umbel many-flowered, globose, without bulbils. June and July. _l._ cylindrical, somewhat tapering towards the point; stem with one leaf, or naked. _h._ 1ft. England. For cultivation, _see_ =Chives=. =A. Scorodoprasum.= Rocambole; Sand Leek. _fl._, perianth 1/3in. long, the segments red-purple, with white margins; head loose-flowered, with purple bulbils; scape slender. May to August. _l._ 6in. to 8in. long, flat, keeled, the edges scabrid. _h._ 3ft. Europe (Britain), 1596. _See also_ =Rocambole=. =A. sphærocephalum= (globe-headed).* _fl._ densely packed in a subspherical head; in a bud state the upper ones are reddish-purple, the lower green. June. _l._ narrow, shorter than the long terete stems. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2-1/2ft. South Europe, 1759. =A. stramineum= (straw-coloured). _fl._ yellow, in dense globular umbels. July. _l._ narrow, shorter than the stems. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. Siberia. =A. striatum= (striated). _See_ =Nothoscordum=. =A. triquetrum= (three-cornered). _fl._ white, somewhat bell-shaped, with a narrow streak of pure green down each petal, in a loose, slightly drooping umbel, on erect triangular stems shorter than the leaves. Summer. _l._ green, broadly strap-shaped, keeled in a triangular manner, sometimes very long. _h._ 12in. to 18in. South Europe, 1789. =A. unifolium= (one-leaved). _fl._ bright rose. July. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. California, 1873. A handsome species, from California, resembling _A. roseum_, but differing from all known species by the circumstance that its bulbs are developed at a distance from each other, and are connected by a thread-like rhizome, 1/2in. to 1in. long. SYN. _A. Douglasii_. [Illustration: FIG. 59. ALLIUM URSINUM.] =A. ursinum= (bear). Broad-leaved Garlic; Ramsons. _fl._ pure white, with acute perianth segments; umbel level at top; scape triangular. Summer. _l._ one or two, radical, ovate-lanceolate, stalked, large, bright green. _h._ 1ft. Britain. See Fig. 59. =A. validum= (strong). _fl._ pure white or rose-coloured, in large, rather drooping umbels. Summer. _l._ 1/4in. to 1/2in. broad, nearly as long as the stem. _h._ 12in. to 30in. Oregon and California, 1881. A pretty species. =A. Victorialis= (Victoria's). _fl._ greenish-white, in many-flowered, spicate umbels. May. _l._ broadly ovate-oblong, channelled, shorter than the stem. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. Southern and Eastern Europe, 1739. Conspicuous from its broad leaves. Rare. =ALLOBROGIA.= A synonym of =Paradisia= (which _see_). =ALLOCHLAMYS.= A synonym of =Pleuropetalum= (which _see_). =ALLOPHYLLUS.= A synonym of =Schmidelia= (which _see_). =ALLOPLECTUS= (from _allos_, diverse, and _pleco_, to plait; the calyx appears as if it was plaited in diverse directions). ORD. _Gesneraceæ_. Very handsome stove evergreen shrubs. Corolla tubular or club-shaped, straightish; calyx coloured. Leaves opposite, one in each pair smaller than the other, petiolate, fleshy, scattered or decumbent, or erect, the under surface generally reddish; branches opposite. For cultivation, _see_ =Gesnera=. =A. bicolor= (two-coloured). _fl._ yellow, purple; corolla pilose; pedicels axillary, one-flowered. June. _l._ ovate, oblong, acuminate, denticulate, pilose above, downy beneath; branches tetragonal. _h._ 1ft. New Grenada, 1840. Plant erect, rather woody. =A. capitatus= (headed). _fl._ capitate; sepals red, leafy; corolla silky, ventricose above the middle; peduncles axillary. March. _l._ large, ovate, serrated, downy, reddish beneath. Stem bluntly tetragonal, red. _h._ 2ft. South America, 1847. =A. dichrous= (two-coloured). _fl._ purple, yellow, axillary, crowded, nearly sessile. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, quite entire, pubescent. Brazil, 1845. A climber. =A. peltatus= (peltate-leaved).* _fl._ whitish, about 2in. long, in axillary tufts. August. _l._ opposite, one is 1in. to 2in. long, and the other 6in. to 9in. long, and 2in. wide, oblong, shortly acuminate, rounded, peltate at the base, and raised on stout footstalks, 1in. to 2in. long. _h._ 1ft. Costa Rica, 1877. =A. repens= (creeping). _fl._ yellow; corolla with curved tube, four lobed; sepals ovate, spotted; peduncles axillary, solitary. February. _l._ ovate, rather fleshy, serrate, on short petioles. St. Martha, 1845. Plant downy; an evergreen trailer. =A. vittatus= (striped). _fl._, calyx crimson; corolla pale yellow; terminal and fasciculate, surrounded by vivid red foliaceous bracts. _l._ large, shortly-stalked, broadly-ovate, of a deep velvety green, having a broad greyish-green band down the centre, branching off along the course of the principal veins. Stems erect, fleshy. Peru, 1870. =A. zamorensis= (Zamora).* _fl._ yellow; sepals orange-red. _h._ 1ft. Columbia, 1875. =ALLOSORUS.= _See_ =Cryptogramme= and =Pellæa=. =ALLOTMENT GARDENS.= A system of assigning small portions of land to be cultivated by labourers after their ordinary day's work. The following are the most important rules to be carried out; but, should occasion arise, other rules must be made to meet particular cases:-- 1. Each Allotment should consist of a rood of land (=1/4 acre) to be let yearly at a rent of not more than 10s. 2. The Allotment to be let for one year only, to be re-let to the same occupier, provided his character has been satisfactory during the preceding year. 3. The rent shall be considered due at Michaelmas. If it remains unpaid for one month after that date, the Allotment shall be forfeited. 4. The Allotment to be cultivated solely by spade husbandry, and the same crop shall not be planted on the same part two years in succession. 5. Separate Allotments shall be divided by a space not less than 18in. 6. Any occupier trespassing on his neighbour's Allotment, or in any way interfering or damaging the same, shall not be allowed to hold his Allotment after the expiration of the year. =ALLSPICE.= _See_ =Calycanthus=. =ALLSPICE TREE.= _See_ =Pimenta=. =ALMEIDEA= (in honour of J. R. P. de Almeida, a Brazilian, who was of great assistance to St. Hilaire while travelling in Brazil). ORD. _Rutaceæ_. Stove trees or shrubs with alternate, simple, entire, stalked leaves. Racemes terminal, divided at the apex into compound thyrse-like panicles. The undermentioned species will grow freely in a mixture of loam, sand, and peat. Partly ripened cuttings will root in sand under a hand glass, in heat. =A. rubra= (red). _fl._ pink; petals very blunt; racemes compound. September. _l._ lanceolate, acute at base. _h._ 12ft. Brazil, 1849. Evergreen shrub. =ALMOND.= _See_ =Amygdalus=. =ALMOND-LEAVED WILLOW.= _See_ =Salix triandra=. =ALNUS= (from _al_, near, and _lan_, the bank of a river; general habitat of the genus). The Alder Tree. ORD. _Betulaceæ_. A genus of deciduous trees and shrubs. Flowers mon�cious; barren ones in long drooping autumnal catkins, lasting through the winter; fertile ones, produced in spring, in oval catkins, resembling a fir-cone in shape, the fleshy scales of which become indurated and ligneous as they approach maturity. Leaves stalked, roundish, blunt. Propagated usually by seeds, which are gathered towards the end of October; they require to be well dried, in order that the cones do not become mouldy. The seeds are sprinkled lightly on the ground with the slightest possible covering. Towards the end of the year, the seedlings will be about 10in. high. They are then planted in rows 1-1/2ft. apart, and 6in. from each other, where they may remain for two years, after which they can be placed out in the situations where they are intended to stand. Planting is best done in November or March; and, if it is designed to make a plantation of Alder, the young trees should be put in holes, made with an ordinary garden spade, about 9in. deep, and about 4ft. apart. They are also increased, but rarely, by cuttings, by suckers, and by grafting. =A. cordifolia= (heart-shaped-leaved).* _fl._ greenish-brown. March and April, before the development of the leaves. _l._ heart-shaped, acuminate, dark green, and shining. _h._ 15ft. to 50ft. Calabria and Naples, 1820. A large, very distinct, and handsome round-headed tree. It grows rapidly in dry soil, and is one of the most interesting of ornamental trees. =A. firma= (firm).* _l._ oval lanceolate, acuminate, sharply serrated, many-nerved. Japan. One of the most distinct of all the Alders. [Illustration: FIG. 60. ALNUS GLUTINOSA, showing Catkins and Fruit.] =A. glutinosa= (sticky).* _barren catkins_ long, large, and cylindrical, pendent, their footstalks branched. _fertile catkins_ small, ovate, with deep red scales. Spring. _l._ roundish-cuneiform, obtuse lobed at the margin, and serrated, somewhat glutinous, downy in the axils of the nerves beneath. _h._ 50ft. to 60ft. Britain. The Alder affects moist and damp situations, and, as it grows quickly, it is a useful tree to plant in bare situations. It is valuable as a nurse to other trees by the sea-side. See Fig. 60. =A. g. aurea= (golden).* Foliage golden colour. =A. g. incisa= (incised).* Compact form, with leaves quite like those of common hawthorn. SYN. _A. g. oxyacanthifolia_. =A. g. laciniata= (cut).* _l._ oblong and pinnatifid, with the lobes acute. This has elegant drooping branches and fern-like leaves, and is one of the best. =A. g. oxyacanthifolia= (sharp-prickled). Synonymous with _A. g. incisa_. =A. g. quercifolia= (oak-leaved).* _l._ with a sinuate outline, like that of the common oak. A very distinct form. The variety _imperialis_ (=_asplenifolia_) slightly differs in its more or less lobed or cut foliage; _A. g. variegata_ is a variegated form. =A. incana= (hoary).* _l._ broadly oval or ovate, rounded at the base, sharply serrate, whitened, and mostly downy beneath. _h._ 8ft. to 20ft. North Temperate regions. This affects drier situations than our native _A. glutinosa_. =A. viridis= (green). _fertile catkins_ slender stalked, clustered, ovoid. _l._ round oval or slightly heart-shaped, glutinous and smooth or softly downy beneath, serrate, with very sharp and closely set teeth. Mountainous regions of northern hemisphere. =ALOCASIA= (from _a_, without, and _Colocasia_). Allied to _Colocasia_. ORD. _Aroideæ_. Stove plants of great beauty, often with large and handsomely variegated, usually peltate, leaves, and shortly petiolate glaucous spathes. They are not difficult to grow, with a strong moist heat, and an abundant supply of water to the roots. The soil should consist of fibrous peat, with a little light fibry loam, in large lumps; to this add a good proportion of sphagnum and lumps of charcoal, with plenty of silver sand. Keep the bulbs and soil raised well above the rim of the pots, and finish off with a surfacing of either sphagnum or cocoa-nut fibre. The latter will soon encourage new rootlets. Crock the pot quite two-thirds up with clean, broken potsherds. Water freely when in good growth, and give liquid manure once or twice a week through the growing season. Shade during bright sunshine in the spring and summer months. Increased by seeds and division of the stems or rhizome. Winter temperature, 60deg. to 65deg.; summer, 75deg. to 85deg. _See also_ =Caladium= and =Colocasia=. =A. alba= (white). _fl._ white. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Java, 1854. =A. amabilis= (lovely). Synonymous with _A. longiloba_. =A. chelsonii= (Chelsea).* An interesting hybrid between _A. cuprea_ and _A. longiloba_. _l._ large, upper surface deep green, glossy and metallic, under side purplish, as in _A. cuprea_. =A. cucullata= (hood-leaved). _fl._ green, whitish. Spring. _h._ 2ft. India, 1826. =A. cuprea= (coppery).* _fl._, spathe purplish-red, with short lamina. _l._ cordate-ovate, peltate, deflexed, 12in. to 18in. long, rich bronze colour, purple beneath. _h._ 2ft. Borneo, 1860. SYNS. _A. metallica_, _Xanthosoma plumbea_. =A. gigantea= (gigantic). Synonymous with _A. longiloba_. =A. guttata= (spotted). _fl._, spathe white, spotted with purple. _l._ leafstalk also spotted. _h._ 2-1/2ft. Borneo, 1879. =A. hybrida= (hybrid).* A cross between _A. Lowii_ and _A. cuprea_. _l._ elliptic in outline, with a very short acuminate point, and very slightly parted at the base, deep olive-tinted green on the upper surface, having stout, well-defined ribs, and the margin of an ivory white; dull purple at the back. =A. illustris= (bright). _l._ ovate-sagittate, rich green, with olive-black patches, deflexed, 1-1/2ft. long. India, 1873. =A. Jenningsii= (Jennings's).* _l._ peltate, cordate-ovate, acuminate, with their blades deflexed from the top of the erect mottled stalks, ground colour green, surface marked with large wedge-shaped blotches of dark brown; veins bright green, 6in. to 8in. long. India, 1867. A very distinct and free growing species. =A. Johnstoni= (Johnston's).* _l._ semi-erect, arrow-shaped, peltate, the front lobe being about 12in. long, and the two back lobes 14in. long and divergent, olive-green, prettily variegated and strikingly veined with bright rosy red. The leafstalks are furnished at intervals with irregular whorls of stiff spines, the points of which are turned upwards. Stem darkly mottled with flesh-coloured bands just above the spines. Solomon Isles, 1875. This plant has quite a unique appearance. =A. Liervalii= (Lierval's). _l._ bright green. Philippines, 1869. =A. longiloba= (long-lobed). _l._ large, sagittate, with the upper part spreading out, green, with silvery veins. _h._ 4ft. Java, 1864. SYNS. _A. amabilis_, _A. gigantea_. =A. Lowii= (Low's). _fl._, spathe white. _l._ cordate-sagittate, 14in. to 16in. long, peltate, deflexed, olive-green, with thick white ribs, deep purple beneath. Borneo, 1862. =A. macrorhiza= (long-rooted). _fl._ green, whitish. _h._ 5ft. Polynesia. =A. m. variegata= (variegated). _l._ large, somewhat cordate, with slightly waved margins, bright green, blotched and marbled with white, sometimes nearly quite white; footstalks broadly streaked with pure white. Ceylon. A very striking and effective large growing plant. =A. Marshallii= (Marshall's). _l._ green, with dark blotches, and broad central silvery band. India, 1811. =A. metallica= (metallic). Synonymous with _A. cuprea_. =A. navicularis= (boat-shaped spathe). _fl._, spathe boat-shaped, whitish. _h._ 1ft. India, 1855. =A. Roezlii.= _See_ =Caladium marmoratum=. =A. scabriuscula= (roughish).* _fl._, spathe entirely white; limb 3in. long, oblong, cuspidate. _l._ spreading, not deflexed, sagittate, not in the least peltate, deep shining green above, pale green beneath, extreme length 22in. to 31in. _h._ 4ft. to 4-1/2ft. North-West Borneo, 1878. Although this is not such an ornamental species as _A. Lowii_, _A. Thibautiana_, or _A. cuprea_, it has the merit of being a much larger and bolder plant than either of these, and is one of the largest species in the genus. =A. Sedeni= (Seden's).* A hybrid between _A. Lowii_ and _A. cuprea_. _l._ oval, cordate, sagittate, deflexed, bronzy green, purple beneath, veins distinct ivory white. =A. Thibautiana= (Thibaut's).* _l._ ovate-acute, deeply cordate; basal lobes rounded and not sharply pointed, deep olive greyish-green, traversed by numerous grey veinlets branching from the midrib, which is greyish-white, purple beneath. Borneo, 1878. This is said to be by far the finest of the genus. =A. variegata= (variegated). _fl._ whitish. _l._ leafstalk mottled with violet. India, 1854. =A. zebrina= (zebra).* _l._ erect, broadly sagittate, rich dark green borne upon stout footstalks, which are pale green, mottled and striped with zigzag bands of dark green. _h._ 4ft. or more. Philippine Isles, 1862. =ALOE= (from _Alloeh_, its Arabic name). Allied genera: _Apicra_, _Haworthia_, _Pachidendron_, _Phylloma_. Including _Rhipodendron_. ORD. _Liliaceæ_. This hitherto much confused genus, and its allies, have been completely revised by Mr. J. G. Baker (_vide_ "Journal of the Linnean Society," vol. xxviii. pp. 152-182), to whose account we are indebted for many of the following particulars:--Plant with or without stems; shrubs or (rarely) trees; leaves thick, fleshy, frequently in a rosette; peduncles simple or racemed, endowed with few or many empty bracts. Flowers racemed; pedicels bracteated at base, solitary; perianth-tube straight or slightly recurved; segments elongated; stamens hypogynous, as long as the perianth, or longer. Mr. Baker describes over eighty species, many of which, for various and important reasons, have no claim upon our space. Natives of the Cape of Good Hope, except where otherwise stated. These very interesting and curious plants thrive well in a mixture of open loam and peat, together with a small quantity of well decomposed manure. If old brick rubbish, or any other similar material is mixed with the soil to ensure perfect and rapid drainage, so much the better. Water, especially during winter, must be carefully administered. They thrive in an ordinary greenhouse, and cannot have too much light at any time. =A. abyssinica= (Abyssinian).* _fl._, perianth twelve to fifteen lines long; raceme dense-oblong, 3in. to 4in. long, and 2in. to 3in. broad; lower pedicels nine to twelve lines long; peduncle branched, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. _l._ about twenty in a rosette, ensiform, 1-1/2ft. to 2-1/2ft. long, acuminate, green, sometimes spotted, five to six lines thick in middle; back rounded; marginal prickles distant, deltoid, one to two lines long. Stem simple, 1ft. to 2ft. long, 2in. to 3in. in diameter. Abyssinia, 1777. SYN. _A. maculata_. =A. a. Peacockii= (Peacock's). This is a rare variety. =A. africana= (African). _fl._, perianth yellow, fifteen to eighteen lines long; racemes dense, 1ft. in length, 3in. in diameter; peduncle very strong, branched. _l._ in a dense rosette, ensiform, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long, 2-1/2in. to 3in. broad, slowly narrowing from base to the apex, channelled above the middle, where it is four to five lines thick; marginal prickles close, one and a half to two lines long. Stem simple, when fully grown, 20ft. =A. albispina= (white-spined).* _fl._, perianth red, 1-1/2in. long; raceme dense, nearly 1ft. long, 4in. broad; lower pedicels fifteen to eighteen lines long; peduncles simple, 1-1/2ft. _l._ loosely disposed, lanceolate, ascending, 6in. to 8in. long, 2in. broad, green, without spots or lines; face concave upwards; middle three to four lines thick; back sparingly tubercled; marginal prickles white, horny, two lines long. Stem simple, short, 1in. to 1-1/2in. in diameter. 1796. =A. albocincta= (white-banded).* _fl._, perianth brilliant red, ten to twelve lines long; racemes twenty or more, shortly capitate, 2in. to 2-1/2in. in diameter when expanded; pedicels ascending, six to nine lines long; scape stout, branched, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. _l._ twelve to twenty in a dense rosette, outer ones recurved, lanceolate, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long, 4in. to 6in. broad, glaucous, obscurely lined and spotted; middle three to four lines thick; margin red or white tinted. Stems in old specimens, 1ft. to 2ft. long, 3in. to 4in. in diameter. SYNS. _A. Hanburyana_, _A. paniculata_, and _A. striata_. =A. arborescens= (tree-like).* _fl._, perianth red, fifteen to eighteen lines long; raceme dense, about 1ft.; pedicels ascending, twelve to fifteen lines long; peduncles strong, 1-1/2ft., simple or branched. _l._ (rosette 3ft. to 4ft. in diameter) dense, aggregate, ensiform, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft.; base 2in. broad, thence to apex attenuated, acuminated, green, rather glaucous, without spots or lines; middle three to four lines long; base five to six lines thick; upper surface beyond the base channelled; marginal prickles close, one and a half to two lines long, horny. Stem simple, finally 10ft. to 12ft. long, 2in. to 3in. in diameter. 1700. =A. a. frutescens= (shrubby). Dwarfer. _l._ often loose, and shorter, intensely glaucous; peduncle simple. Stem slender, sometimes racemosed. =A. aristata= (awned). _fl._, perianth red, fourteen to sixteen lines long; raceme simple, loose, 4in. to 6in. long, and about 4in. broad; pedicels sub-patent, thirteen to eighteen lines long; scape simple, 1ft. _l._ about fifty in a dense rosette, ascending, lanceolate, 3in. to 4in. long, six to eight lines broad, without spots or lines; face flat, sparingly tubercled; middle one and a half lines thick; back copiously tubercled; apex bearded with a pellucid awn; marginal teeth diffuse, white, half line long. 1824. =A. Bainesii= (Baines').* _fl._, perianth fifteen to sixteen lines long, yellowish red; raceme simple, dense, oblong, 3-1/2in. to 4in. in diameter when expanded; pedicels thick, two to three lines long; peduncles upright, strong, eight to nine lines in diameter. _l._ closely packed at the top of the branch, ensiform, 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. long, 2in. to 3in. in diameter, green, spotted, deeply channelled, recurved; middle two to three lines thick; marginal prickles pale, rather distant, one to one and a half lines long. Arborescent, branched. _h._ 40ft. to 60ft.; trunk 4ft. to 5ft. in diameter. SYNS. _A. Barberæ_, _A. Zeyheri_. =A. barbadensis= (Barbadoes). Synonymous with _A. vera_. =A. Barberæ= (Barber's). Synonymous with _A. Bainesii_. =A. brevifolia= (short-leaved).* _fl._, perianth red, fifteen to eighteen lines long; raceme dense, 6in. long, 2-1/2in. to 3in. in diameter; pedicels upright, six to twelve lines long; peduncles simple, hardly 1ft. long. _l._ thirty to forty in a dense rosette, lanceolate, 3in. to 4in. long, and 1in. broad at the base, glaucous, without spots or lines; face unarmed, below swollen or flat; middle three to four lines thick; back convex, sparingly tubercled; marginal teeth whitish, one to one and a half lines long. Stem short, simple. SYN. _A. prolifera_. =A. b. depressa= (depressed). _fl._ somewhat larger; peduncles 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long. _l._ 6in. long; bottom 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad; face sometimes sparingly tubercled. =A. cæsia= (bluish-grey).* _fl._, perianth red, fifteen to sixteen lines long; racemes dense, nearly 1ft. long, 2in. to 3in. in diameter; pedicels twelve to fifteen lines long; scape simple, 6in. _l._ rather dense, lanceolate acuminate, 1ft. to 1-1/2ft.; bottom 2in. to 3in. broad, intensely glaucous, without spot or lines, slightly channelled upwards; middle 3in. to 4in. thick; marginal prickles red, one to one and a half lines long. Stem simple, finally, in old specimens, 12ft. to 14ft. 1815. =A. Candollei= (De Candolle's). A mere form of _A. humilis_. =A. chinensis= (Chinese). _fl._, perianth yellow, 1in. long; raceme loose, simple, 6in. to 8in. long, and 2in. broad; pedicels one and a half to two lines long; peduncle simple, 6in. to 12in. _l._ fifteen to twenty in a dense rosette, ensiform, 9in. to 12in. long, 1-1/2in. broad at the bottom, pale green, not lined; base nearly flat; middle three to four lines thick; upper surface channelled; marginal prickles distant, pale, one to one and a half lines long. Stem short, simple. China, 1817. =A. ciliata= (ciliated).* _fl._, perianth brilliant red, twelve to fifteen lines long; raceme simple, loose, 2in. to 4in. long; pedicels three to four lines long; peduncles slender, simple. _l._ linear, widely spreading, amplexicaul, green, 4in. to 6in. long; base six to nine lines broad, slowly narrowing towards the apex, without spots or lines; middle one line thick; marginal teeth minute, white. Stems long, sarmentose; branches three to four lines in diameter; internodes six to twelve lines long, obscurely striated with green. 1826. =A. Commelyni= (Commelin's). A mere form of _A. mitræformis_. =A. consobrina= (related). _fl._, perianth yellowish red, twelve to fifteen lines long; raceme rather loose, oblong, cylindrical, 3in. to 4in. long, and 2in. in diameter; pedicels three to four lines long; scape 1-1/2ft., slender, branched. _l._ loosely disposed, ensiform, 6in. to 8in. long, and 1in. broad, green, spotted white; face channelled; middle three lines thick; marginal prickles minute, brownish; rosette 10in. to 12in. (sometimes 2ft.) in diameter; upper leaves ascending; central ones spreading half open; lower ones deflexed. Stem 2ft., simple, 1in. in diameter. South Africa, 1845. =A. Cooperi= (Cooper's).* _fl._, perianth fifteen to eighteen lines long; raceme close, 3in. to 6in. long, and 3in. to 4in. in diameter; lower pedicels 1in. to 2in. long; scape simple, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. _l._ when mature, 8in. to 10in. long, distichous, falcate, lined; outer ones 1-1/2ft. to 2ft., above the base six to eight lines broad, greenish, deeply channelled, sparingly spotted; middle one and a half to two lines thick; marginal teeth minute, close, white. Plant stemless. Natal, 1862. SYN. _A. Schmidtiana_. =A. dichotoma= (two-branched).* Quiver-tree. _fl._, perianth oblong, ten to twelve lines long; raceme loose, 2in. to 4in. long, and 2in. in diameter; pedicels three to four lines long; peduncles stout, branched. _l._ closely packed, at the top of the branch, lanceolate, 8in. to 12in. long; bottom twelve to fifteen lines broad, glaucous, without spots or lines, slightly channelled above the base; middle three to four lines thick, narrow-margined with white; marginal prickles minute, pale. Trunk short, sometimes 3ft. to 4ft. in diameter. _h._ 20ft. to 30ft. 1781. Arborescent, branched. =A. distans= (distant).* _fl._, perianth pale red, fifteen to eighteen lines long; raceme densely capitate, 3in. to 4in. in diameter; lower pedicels twelve to fifteen lines long; peduncles 1-1/2ft., usually simple. _l._ ascending, loosely disposed, ovate-lanceolate, 3in. to 5in. long, and 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, green, slightly glaucous, without spots and lines; face concave; middle three to four lines thick; back sparingly tubercled; marginal prickles close, white, horny, one to one and a half lines long. Stem short, simple, 1in. in diameter; internodes pale, striated green. 1732. =A. glauca= (milky-green).* _fl._, perianth pale red, fifteen to sixteen lines long; peduncles simple, 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. long, 3-1/2in. to 4in. in diameter; pedicels 1in. to 1-1/2in. long. _l._ thirty to forty in a dense rosette, lanceolate, 6in. to 8in. long; at the base 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, slowly narrowing towards the apex, intensely glaucous, spotless, obscurely lined; middle three to four lines thick; face above the base slightly concave; back tubercled at apex; marginal teeth spreading, brownish, one to one and a half lines long. Stem simple, at length, about 1ft., 1-1/2in. to 2in. in diameter. 1731. =A. gracilis= (graceful). _fl._, perianth yellow, straight, fourteen to sixteen lines long; raceme densely packed, simple, 2in. to 3in.; pedicels three to four lines long; peduncle simple, 6in. to 9in. long, two-edged at the base. _l._ loosely disposed, spreading, 6in. to 10in. long; base ten to twelve lines broad, ensiform, acuminated, glaucous, spotless and without lines; face slightly channelled; back rounded; marginal prickles close, minute. Stem leafy, simple. 1822. =A. Greenii= (Green's).* _fl._, perianth pale red, fourteen to fifteen lines long; raceme oblong, 4in. to 8in. long, and 3in. in diameter; lower pedicels five to six lines long; scape 2ft. long. _l._ in a dense rosette, lanceolate, 15in. to 18in. long; bottom 2-1/2in. to 3in. broad, slowly narrowing from middle to the apex; middle three to four lines thick; face flat, shining green, obscurely lined and spotted white; marginal prickles spreading, one and a half to two lines long, horny. Stem short, simple, 1-1/2in. in diameter. South Africa, 1875. =A. Hanburyana= (Hanbury's). Synonymous with _A. albocincta_. =A. humilis= (humble).* _fl._, perianth brilliant red, eighteen lines long; raceme loose, simple, 6in. long, and 2in. to 2-1/2in. in diameter; pedicels nine to twelve lines long; peduncles about 1ft. _l._ thirty to forty in a dense rosette, ascending, lanceolate, acuminate, 3in. to 4in. long, six to eight lines broad, glaucous green, obscurely lined; face slightly concave above, sparingly tubercled; middle three lines thick; back convex; marginal prickles pale, one line long. Plant stemless. 1731. =A. h. acuminata= (taper-pointed). _l._ ovate-lanceolate, 4in. to 5in. long, fifteen to eighteen lines broad; marginal prickles pale, two to two and a half lines long. _A. incurva_, _A. suberecta_, and _A. subtuberculata_, of Haworth; _A. Candollei_, and _A. macilenta_, of Baker, are mere forms of the foregoing species. =A. incurva= (incurved). A mere form of _A. humilis_. =A. latifolia= (broad-leaved).* _fl._, perianth brilliant golden scarlet, fifteen to eighteen lines long; raceme dense, corymbose, terminal, 4in. to 5in. long and wide; lower pedicels 1-1/2in. to 2in. long; peduncle robust, 2ft., often branched. _l._ twelve to twenty in a dense rosette, ovate-lanceolate, 6in. long, 2-1/2in. to 3-1/2in. broad at bottom, slowly narrowing from below the middle upwards, green, not lined, but copiously spotted white; middle three to four lines thick; marginal prickles one and a half to two lines long, horny, brownish. Stem at length, 1ft. to 2ft., 1-1/2in. to 2in. in diameter, simple. 1795. =A. lineata= (line-marked).* _fl._, perianth red, fifteen to eighteen lines long; raceme dense, 6in.; pedicels hardly perpendicular, fifteen to eighteen lines long; scape simple, 1ft. _l._ in a dense rosette, lanceolate, 6in. long, 2in. broad at base, narrowing slowly from thence to the apex, pale green, spotless, lined; middle three lines thick, channelled upwards on both sides, unarmed; marginal teeth numerous, red, one and a half to two lines long. Stem finally 6in. to 1ft., simple, 2in. in diameter. 1789. =A. macilenta= (thin). A mere form of _A. humilis_. =A. macracantha= (long-spined). _fl._ unknown. _l._ fifteen to twenty in a dense rosette, lanceolate, 15in. to 20in. long, and 3in. to 4in. broad at the bottom, slightly narrowed from middle to apex; middle four lines thick; face flat, green, obscurely lined, spotted; marginal prickles horny, three to four lines long. Stem simple, 2ft. to 3ft., 1-1/2in. to 2in. in diameter. South Africa, 1862. =A. macrocarpa= (large-fruited).* _fl._, perianth club-shaped, brilliant red, fifteen to sixteen lines long; raceme loose, terminal, 6in. long, and 2-1/2in. to 3in. in diameter; lower pedicels 1/2in. long; peduncles 2ft. _l._ twelve to twenty in a dense rosette, ovate-lanceolate, less than 1ft. long; bottom 3in. to 4in. broad; top channelled; middle three to four lines thick, green, copiously spotted; marginal prickles spreading, half line long. Stem short, simple. Abyssinia, 1870. =A. maculata= (spotted). Synonymous with _A. abyssinica_. =A. margaritifera= (pearl-bearing). _See_ =Haworthia margaritifera=. =A. mitræformis= (mitre-shaped).* _fl._, perianth brilliant red, eighteen to twenty-one lines long; raceme dense, corymbose, 4in. to 6in. long, and nearly as much in diameter; pedicels ascending; lower ones fifteen to eighteen lines long; peduncles strong, 1-1/2ft., sometimes branched. _l._ rather loosely disposed, ascending, lanceolate, about 1ft. long, 2in. to 3in. broad; green, slightly glaucous, without spots or lines; face concave; middle three to four lines thick; back convex, sparingly tubercled; apex horny, pungent; marginal prickles rather close, pale, one to one and a half lines long. Stem finally 3ft. to 4ft., simple, 1in. to 2in. in diameter. =A. m. flavispina= (yellow-spined). Differs from the type in having narrower and more lanceolate leaves, and yellow spines. _A. Commelyni_, _A. spinulosa_, _A. pachyphylla_, and _A. xanthacantha_, are also forms of this species. =A. myriacantha= (many-spined). _fl._, perianth pale red, eight to nine lines long; racemes densely capitate, 2in. in diameter; pedicels four to six lines long; peduncles slender, simple, 1ft. _l._ ten to twelve, falcate, linear, 5in. to 6in. long, four to five lines broad, green, glaucous; face deeply channelled; back convex, spotted white; marginal teeth numerous, white. Plant stemless. 1823. =A. nobilis= (noble).* _fl._, perianth red, fifteen to eighteen lines long; raceme dense, 6 or more inches long, 4in. broad; lower pedicels 1-1/2in. to 2in. long; peduncles simple, 1-1/2ft. _l._ rather loosely disposed, lanceolate, 9in. to 12in. long, 2-1/4in. to 4in. broad; face green, without spots or lines, concave above the base; middle three to four lines thick; apex rather pungent; back prickly upwards; marginal prickles rather close, one and a half to two lines long, horny. Stem simple, at length 3ft. to 4ft. high, 1-1/2in. to 2in. in diameter. 1800. =A. pachyphylla= (thick-leaved). A mere form of _A. mitræformis_. =A. paniculata= (panicled). Synonymous with _A. albocincta_. =A. Perryi= (Perry's).* _fl._, perianth greenish, nine to ten lines long; raceme dense, 3in. to 4in. long; pedicels three to four lines long; inflorescence 1-1/2ft. long, commonly two-headed. _l._ in a rosette, lanceolate, 7in. to 8in. long, and 2-1/2in. broad, from below the middle to the apex narrowed, pale glaucous green, spotless, obscurely lined, channelled above the base; middle three to four lines thick; marginal teeth close, horny, one line long. Stem simple, 1in. in diameter. Socotra, 1879. =A. prolifera= (proliferous). Synonymous with _A. brevifolia_. =A. purpurascens= (purplish). _fl._, perianth reddish, twelve to fifteen lines long; raceme dense, 6in. to 9in. long, and about 3in. in diameter; pedicels nine to twelve lines long; scape strong, simple, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. _l._ forty to fifty in a dense rosette, 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. long, ensiform, 2in. broad at the base, slowly narrowed towards the apex, green; base flat; middle three lines thick, slightly channelled upwards, sometimes spotted; marginal prickles small, white. Stem 2ft. to 3ft., sometimes forked. 1789. =A. rhodocincta= (red-margined), of gardens, is probably a form of _A. albocincta_. =A. saponaria= (soapy).* _fl._, perianth brilliant red, eighteen to twenty-one lines long; raceme dense, corymbose, 3in. to 4in. long and wide; lower pedicels 1-1/2in. to 2in. long; scape 1ft. to 2ft., simple, or sparingly branched. _l._ twelve to twenty in a dense rosette, lanceolate, 9in. to 12in. long, eighteen to twenty-four lines broad, narrowed from below the middle upwards; middle three to four lines broad; face flat at bottom; back swollen, green, copiously spotted, distinctly lined; marginal prickles adjoining, horny, one and a half to two lines long. Stem short, simple, 1-1/2in. to 2in. in diameter. 1727. =A. Schimperi= (Schimper's).* _fl._, perianth bright red, eighteen to twenty-one lines long; racemes densely corymbose, 4in. in diameter; pedicels twelve to fifteen lines long; scape strong, 3ft. long, strongly branched above. _l._ twenty in a dense rosette, oblong-lanceolate, about 1ft. long, 4in. broad, glaucous green, lined, sometimes spotted, three to four lines thick at middle, above which they are channelled; teeth minute, spreading. Stem short, simple. Abyssinia, 1876. =A. Schmidtiana= (Schmidt's). Synonymous with _A. Cooperi_. =A. serra= (saw). _fl._, perianth brilliant red, eighteen lines long; raceme simple, dense, 6in. long or more, 3in. to 4in. in diameter; pedicels six to twelve lines long; scape simple, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. _l._ thirty to forty in a dense rosette, lanceolate, 3in. to 5in. long, twelve to eighteen lines broad below, without spots and lines; base swollen, concave towards the apex; middle three to four lines thick, sparingly tubercled; marginal prickles close, one to one and a half lines long. Plant shortly stemmed. 1818. =A. serratula= (finely-toothed).* _fl._, perianth red, fifteen to eighteen lines long; raceme rather dense, 6in. long; pedicels six to nine lines long; peduncles simple, about 1ft. _l._ twelve to twenty in a dense rosette, lanceolate, 6in. to 9in. long; bottom 1-1/2in. to 2-1/4in. broad, pale green; face below the top flat or slightly concave, obscurely lined, spotted; margin minutely denticulated. Stem simple, finally 1ft. to 2ft. high, 1-1/2in. to 2in. in diameter. 1789. =A. spinulosa= (spiny). A mere form of _A. mitræformis_. =A. striata= (striated). Synonymous with _A. albocincta_. =A. striatula= (slightly striped).* _fl._, perianth yellow, twelve to fifteen lines long; raceme oblong, rather dense, simple, 3in. to 6in. long, and 2in. in diameter; pedicels short; peduncles simple, nearly 1ft. _l._ linear, spreading, green, 6in. to 9in. long; base not dilated, six to eight lines broad, above the base upwards narrowed, slightly channelled; middle one line thick; marginal prickles deltoid. Stem long, sarmentose; floral branches three to six lines in diameter; internodes 6in. to 12in. long. 1823. =A. suberecta= (slightly erect). A mere form of _A. humilis_. =A. subtuberculata= (slightly knobbed). A mere form of _A. humilis_. =A. succotrina= (Socotrine).* _fl._, perianth reddish, fifteen lines long; raceme dense, about 1ft. long, 2-1/2in. to 3in. in diameter; lower pedicels nine to twelve lines long; peduncles simple, 1-1/2ft. _l._ thirty to forty in a dense rosette, ensiform, acuminate, falcate, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long; base 2in.; middle 1in. broad, green, slightly glaucous, sometimes spotted, slightly channelled upwards; marginal prickles pale, one line long. Stem 3ft. to 5ft., often forked. Isle of Socotra. 1731. =A. tenuior= (thinned). _fl._, perianth pale yellow, five to six lines long; racemes rather loose, simple, oblong, nearly 1ft. 2in. in diameter; pedicels three to four lines long; peduncles slender, simple, 4in. to 8in. _l._ loose, linear, 5in. to 8in. long, slowly narrowing from middle towards apex, green, spotless, slightly channelled; middle one line thick; marginal prickles minute, pale. Stem long, sarmentose. 1821. =A. tricolor= (three-coloured).* _fl._, perianth coral red, fleshy; raceme loose, oblong, 3in. to 4in. long, and 2in. broad; pedicels ascending, three to four lines long; scape 1-1/2ft. long, glaucous purple; panicle deltoid. _l._ twelve to sixteen in a close rosette, lanceolate, 5in. to 6in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad at bottom, slowly narrowing from below the middle to apex; middle five to six lines thick; back rounded; face slightly swollen, copiously spotted, not lined; marginal prickles close, spreading, about one line long. Stem short, simple. South Africa, 1875. =A. variegata= (variegated).* _fl._, perianth reddish, fifteen to sixteen lines long; raceme simple, loose, 3in. to 4in. long and about 3in. in diameter; pedicels three to four lines long; scape simple, tapering, 6in. to 8in. _l._ close, erecto-patent, lanceolate, 4in. to 5in. long, 1in. broad; face concave; back keeled, bright green, copiously spotted grey on both sides; margin whitish, denticulated. 1790. This is the variegated Aloe so frequently seen in cottage windows. [Illustration: FIG. 61. ALOE VERA.] =A. vera= (true).* _fl._, perianth yellow, cylindrical, 3/4in. to 1in. long; raceme dense, 6in. to 12in. long; scape strong, 2ft. to 3ft. long, simple or branched. _l._ ensiform, dense, aggregate, 2in. to 4in. broad, narrowing from the base to apex, pale green; middle about 1/2in. thick; face channelled above the base; marginal prickles subdistant, deltoid, horny. Stem rarely more than 1ft. or 2ft. 1596. SYNS. _A. barbadensis_, _A. vulgaris_. See Fig. 61. =A. vulgaris= (common). Synonymous with _A. vera_. =A. xanthacantha= (yellow-spined). A mere form of _A. mitræformis_. =A. Zeyheri= (Zeyher's). A garden synonym of _A. Bainesii_. =ALOMIA= (from _a_, not, and _loma_, a fringe). ORD. _Compositæ_. Allied to _Eupatoria_. An ornamental half-hardy evergreen plant. Grows freely in sandy loam, and may be propagated by cuttings. =A. ageratoides= (ageratum-like). _fl.-heads_ white, many flowered; involucrum campanulate, imbricate; scales narrow, acute; receptacle naked, convex. July. _l._ opposite, or upper ones alternate, petiolate, denticulated. _h._ 1-1/2ft. New Spain, 1824. =ALONA= (primitive name, _Nolana_--letters transposed; from _nola_, a little bell, in allusion to the shape of the flowers). ORD. _Nolanaceæ_. A genus of pretty evergreen shrubs closely allied to _Nolana_, but differing principally in having several ovaries from one to six-celled, whereas _Nolana_ has five four-celled ovaries. Leaves fasciculate; stems woody. They require ordinary greenhouse treatment, in a peat and loam compost. Cuttings root freely in sandy loam, with a very gentle bottom heat, in about a fortnight. =A. c�lestis= (sky-blue).* _fl._ pale blue, very large, axillary, solitary; peduncle elongated. July. _l._ terete, fascicled; plant nearly glabrous. _h._ 2ft. Chili, 1843. This pretty species is an excellent one for growing out-of-doors during summer months. =ALONSOA= (in honour of Z. Alonso, formerly Spanish secretary for Santa Fe de Bogota). ORD. _Scrophularineæ_. A genus of very pretty little half-hardy shrubs, herbaceous perennials, or annuals, with axillary, sub-racemose flowers, which are resupinate, with a sub-rotate five-cleft limb. Leaves opposite, or ternately whorled. They will grow freely in light rich soil; and are readily increased by cuttings in August or March, which should be placed in sandy soil in gentle heat, or by seeds sown in March. The herbaceous species may be treated as outdoor summer annuals, and should be raised in a little heat, and planted out early in May. =A. albiflora= (white-flowered).* _fl._ pure white, with yellow eye, in long terminal spikes. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. Mexico, 1877. This is recommended for pot culture, as in the conservatory it will provide a succession of flowers throughout the autumn and winter. =A. caulialata= (wing-stemmed). _fl._ scarlet, racemose. June. _l._ ovate, acute, serrated. Stems and branches quadrangular, winged. _h._ 1ft. Peru, 1823. Half-hardy, herbaceous. =A. incisifolia= (cut-leaved).* _fl._ scarlet; peduncles long, alternate, disposed in terminal racemes. May to October. _l._ opposite, ovate, acute, deeply toothed, or serrate. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Chili, 1795. Glabrous greenhouse shrub. SYN. _Hemimeris urticifolia_. =A. linearis= (linear-leaved). _fl._ scarlet, with a dark bottom, like most of the species. May to October. _l._ opposite, or three in a whorl, linear, entire or remotely denticulated; young leaves fascicled in the axils of the old ones. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Peru, 1790. Greenhouse shrub. SYN. _Hemimeris coccinea_. =A. linifolia= (flax-leaved).* _fl._ scarlet. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. New Holland. This is an elegant little annual, forming symmetrical, graceful, and very free flowering plants, either for pot or outdoor culture. =A. Matthewsii= (Matthew's). _fl._ scarlet, in loose, terminal racemes. July. _l._ lanceolate, toothed, about 1in. long. Stem slender, quadrangular. _h._ 1ft. Peru, 1871. Greenhouse shrub. =A. myrtifolia= (myrtle-leaved). _fl._ scarlet, very large. New and pretty species. =A. Warscewiczii= (Warscewicz's).* _fl._ rosy scarlet. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Chili, 1858. This is probably a herbaceous variety of _A. incisifolia_, and one of the best annuals. =ALOYSIA= (in honour of Maria Louisa, mother of Ferdinand VII., King of Spain). Sweet-scented Verbena. ORD. _Verbenaceæ_. This genus is nearly allied to _Verbena_, which _see_ for generic characters. A greenhouse deciduous shrub, with a very fine perfume and graceful habit. The most satisfactory plan of culture is to obtain well-grown thrifty young plants in spring, and grow them on for the season. As the wood ripens, give less water until they are at rest, when it must be nearly withheld. About the end of January, bring into the light and warmth, and water thoroughly. As soon as the plants break, cut back to three or four eyes; and when the young shoots are about an inch long, transfer into rich sandy soil, using pots a size or two smaller than those they were in before. When the pots are full of roots, transfer to those that are to hold the plants for the season. By this mode of culture, good plants are to be maintained for any length of time. Aloysias form excellent pillar subjects for either a cold greenhouse, or out-of-doors, in which latter situation they thrive remarkably well, but require thorough protection, with straw bands or mats, from November until March, and afterwards at night, until danger from severe frosts has passed. They require no summer training, their young growth being continually cut off for the many purposes of decoration to which they are applied, and to which they are so well adapted. They are easily increased by young cuttings in spring, which should be placed in sandy soil and gentle heat, when they will root in about three weeks. =A. citriodora= (lemon-scented).* _fl._ whitish or lilac, very small, in terminal panicles. August. _l._ pale green, lanceolate, agreeably scented, arranged in whorls of threes; branches slender. Chili, 1781. SYNS. _Lippia citriodora_, _Verbena triphylla_. =ALPINE GARDEN.= A very interesting style of gardening, which succeeds best by imitating Nature as closely as possible. The situation may be an open or a sheltered one. In building a Rock or Alpine Garden, it should be so arranged that all aspects are secured--shady and sunny--fully or in degree only. Pockets and crevices of various sizes may be made, and filled with soil suitable for the subjects to be planted therein, each one having a direct connection with the bulk of the soil; and the constructing material should be arranged with a gentle fall, so that moisture drains towards rather than from the roots. Alpine plants, as a rule, flourish better on a properly constructed rockery than if placed in any other position, because thorough drainage is effected, and the long and fine roots can run down in the crevices, where the soil is cool and moist. Although most alpine plants are naturally exposed to the full action of sun and wind, they should be placed out in early autumn, or early spring, so as to become thoroughly established before the approach of scorching summer weather. Failing materials necessary for the construction of a rockery, many alpines are easily grown in the ordinary border, in a naturally or artificially well drained situation. Excavate to the depth of 18in., put in a layer of stones, broken bricks, &c., 6in. deep; fill up with rich fibrous loam and leaf mould, adding sufficient sand to keep the soil porous. When the desired subjects are firmly planted, cover the surface with small gravel or stone chippings, which, while allowing the rain to penetrate the soil, effectually checks evaporation, and keeps it moist and cool, as well as giving the appearance of rocky _débris_. The effect will be better if the surface is slightly undulated. =ALPINE ROSE.= _See_ =Rhododendron ferrugineum=. =ALPINIA= (in honour of Prosper Alpinus, an Italian botanist). ORD. _Zingiberaceæ_. A rather large genus of stove herbaceous perennials, with considerable grace and beauty. Flowers disposed in terminal spikes. Leaves lanceolate, smooth, even, entire, sheathed at the base, and having transverse veins. Roots fleshy, branched, having much of the smell and taste of ginger. The soil can hardly be too rich for the successful culture of these plants. A mixture of equal parts loam, peat, leaf mould, or thoroughly rotted hotbed manure, freely mixed with sharp sand or fine charcoal dust, forms an excellent compost. During the growing season, a top dressing of rotten dung, and a frequent application of weak manure water, prove excellent stimulants. They grow rapidly and consume a great deal of food in the production of so much stem and so many leaves. Unless the former is vigorous and of considerable thickness, it will fail to be crowned with spikes of flower. Alpinias require a high temperature, a rich, light soil, abundance of water, and not a little space, to grow them well. Soon after flowering, the plants will assume the yellow leaf, when water may be gradually withheld; but no attempt should be made to dry them off too severely, even after the stems die down. Nor must they be stored when at rest in a low temperature; in fact, they require as much heat to preserve them in health when resting as at any other time. The best time to divide the plants is after the young shoots have made an inch of growth in spring. =A. albo-lineata= (white-lined).* _l._ elliptic lanceolate, pale green, marked with oblique broad bands of white. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. New Guinea, 1880. =A. mutica= (beardless). _fl._ in pairs on a spike-like raceme; calyx white; corolla duplex, consisting of three outer oblong white segments; upper lobe concave and projecting, broad; lip large, bright yellow, veined with crimson; mouth finely crispulate at the edge. Borneo, 1882. A very handsome species. =A. nutans= (nodding).* _fl._ pink, sweetly-scented; racemes drooping. May. _l._ lanceolate, smooth, even, entire. _h._ 13ft. India, 1792. This species looks best in considerable masses, even larger than those shown in the illustration, grown in large pots or tubs, or planted out in borders of tropical houses. It should on no account be severely divided. See Fig. 62. [Illustration: FIG. 62. ALPINIA NUTANS, showing Form of Individual Flower.] =A. vittata= (striped).* _l._ 6in. to 8in. long, elliptic lanceolate, tapering to a long fine point, and also narrowed gradually towards the sheathing base, pale green, marked by broad stripes of dark green and creamy white, running off from the midrib in divergent lines, corresponding to the venation. South Sea Islands. See Fig. 63, for which we are indebted to Mr. Bull. =ALSIKE.= _See_ =Trifolium hybridum=. =ALSODEIA= (from _alsodes_, leafy; plants thickly beset with leaves). ORD. _Violarieæ_. Ornamental evergreen stove shrubs. Flowers small, whitish, racemose; petals equal; racemes axillary and terminal; pedicels bracteate jointed. Leaves usually alternate, feather-nerved; stipules small, deciduous. They thrive best in a mixture of loam and sand, and young cuttings root readily under a bell glass if planted in sand, in heat. =A. latifolia= (broad-leaved).* _fl._ on dense, glabrous racemes. _l._ ovate, obtusely acuminated. _h._ 6ft. Madagascar, 1823. =A. pauciflora= (few-flowered). _fl._ few, somewhat corymbose; pedicels reflexed. _l._ wedge-shaped, on short footstalks. _h._ 4ft. Madagascar, 1824. =ALSOPHILA= (from _alsos_, a grove, and _phileo_, to love; in reference to the situation which they affect in Nature). ORD. _Filices_. A magnificent genus of tropical and temperate tree ferns. Sori globose, dorsal, on a vein or in the forking of a vein; receptacle mostly elevated, frequently villous; involucre none. The species of this genus require an abundant supply of water, particularly in summer, and the young fronds must be carefully shaded from solar heat. They thrive well in a peat and loam compost. For general culture, _see_ =Ferns=. =A. aculeata= (prickly).* _fronds_ ample, tripinnate. _rachises_ brown-stramineous; pinnæ ovate-lanceolate, 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. long; pinnules sessile, ligulate, 3in. to 4in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad; segments close, ligulate, blunt, denticulate, often less than one line broad; both sides bright green, slightly hairy on the ribs, not scaly. _sori_ minute, medial; texture herbaceous. Tropical America; very common. A very effective stove species. SYN. _A. ferox_, &c. See Fig. 64. =A. armata= (armed).* _fronds_ ample, tripinnatifid or tripinnate. _rachises_ stramineous, densely pilose; pinnæ oblong-lanceolate, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long; pinnules ligulate-lanceolate, sessile, 3in. to 5in. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad; segments falcate, blunt, one to one and a half lines broad, sub-entire or toothed; both sides densely pilose on the ribs, not scaly. _sori_ subcostular. Tropical America; extremely abundant. Stove species. [Illustration: FIG. 63. ALPINIA VITTATA.] =A. aspera= (rough).* _cau._ slender, 10ft. to 30ft. high. _sti._ and _rachises_ strongly aculeated; main and partial rachis above strigillose, slightly scaly beneath and on the costa, the rest glabrous, often glossy. _fronds_ bipinnate; pinnules shortly petiolate, oblong; apex acuminated, pinnatifid half or two-thirds of the way down to the costa; lobes oblong-ovate, often acutely serrulate; costa bearing small, deciduous, bullate scales beneath. _sori_ very deciduous. West Indies, &c. Stove species. =A. australis= (southern).* _sti._ with very long, firm, subulate scales, 1-1/2ft. long, and as well as the main rachises, muricato-asperous, stramineous. _fronds_ ample, subglaucous beneath, more or less villous on the costæ and costule above, and very minutely bullato-paleaceous beneath, often quite naked, from 6ft. to 30ft. long; primary pinnæ 1-1/2ft. long, 6in. to 10in. wide; pinnules 3in. to 4in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. wide, oblong, acuminate, deeply pinnatifid, or towards the base even pinnate; ultimate pinnules or lobes oblong, acute, serrated, subfalcate. _sori_ copious, rather small. New Holland, &c., 1833. A very handsome greenhouse species. =A. comosa= (hairy). Synonymous with _A. Scottiana_. =A. contaminans= (contaminating).* _cau._ slender, growing from 20ft. to 50ft. high. _sti._ and _rachises_ purplish brown, glossy, aculeate. _fronds_ 6ft. to 10ft. long, ample, glabrous, deep green above, glaucous beneath; primary pinnæ 2ft. or more in length, oblong-ovate, acuminate; pinnules sessile, 4in. to 5in. long, 1/2in. to 1in. wide, deeply pinnatifid, linear-oblong, sub-falcate, entire. _sori_ nearer the costule than the margin. Java and Malaya. Stove species. SYN. _A. glauca_. =A. Cooperi= (Cooper's).* _fronds_ ample, tripinnate. _rachises_ stramineous, muricated, glabrous beneath; basal scales large, linear, pale, spreading; pinnæ oblong-lanceolate, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long; pinnules ligulate, 4in. to 5in. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad, lowest long-stalked; segments ligulate, blunt, toothed, one and a half to two and a half lines broad. _sori_ small. Queensland, &c. Greenhouse. =A. excelsa= (tall).* _trunk_ about 30ft. high. _sti._ and main _rachises_ muricated. _fronds_ ample, dark green above, paler beneath; primary pinnæ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long, 6in. to 10in. wide; pinnules numerous, oblong-lanceolate, acuminated, deeply pinnatifid, often quite pinnate; ultimate divisions 1/4in. to 3/4in. long, oblong, acute or obtuse, falcate, the margins sub-recurved, serrated. _sori_ copious near the costules. Norfolk Island. This rapid-growing and splendid species proves nearly hardy in the neighbourhood of Cornwall; and is a most effective plant for sub-tropical gardening purposes generally. Greenhouse species. =A. ferox= (fierce). Synonymous with _A. aculeata_. =A. Gardneri= (Gardner's). Synonymous with _A. paleolata_. =A. gigantea= (gigantic). _cau._ growing from 20ft. to 40ft. high. _sti._ asperous; _fronds_, primary pinnæ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. and more long, deeply pinnatifid at the apex; pinnules, upper ones sessile, lower ones petiolate, oblong-acuminate, 3in. to 6in. long, five to nine lines wide, deeply pinnatifid; lobes triangular or rounded, serrated. _sori_ copious. India, &c. Stove species. SYN. _A. glabra_. =A. glabra= (glabrous). Synonymous with _A. gigantea_. =A. glauca= (grey). Synonymous with _A. contaminans_. =A. infesta= (troublesome). _fronds_ ample, tripinnatifid; pinnæ oblong-lanceolate, 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. long; pinnules ligulate, 3in. long, 1/2in. to 1in. broad, cut down to a narrow wing; segments 1/8in. broad, ligulate, blunt, nearly entire; texture sub-coriaceous; colour deep green on both sides. Tropical America; widely distributed. Stove species. =A. Leichardtiana= (Leichardt's).* _cau._ 10ft. to 20ft. high. _sti._ jointed upon the caudex; main and secondary rachises purple, deciduously powdery, spiny. _fronds_ 6ft. to 10ft. long, firm, dark green above, sub-glaucous beneath, naked and glaucous (or nearly so), tripinnate; primary pinnæ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long, 8in. wide, oblong-lanceolate, acuminate; pinnules oblong-acuminate, sessile, pinnatifid only at the apex; ultimate divisions linear-oblong, acute, spinulose-serrate. _sori_ copious, close to the costa. Australia, 1867. Greenhouse species. SYNS. _A. Macarthurii_, _A. Moorei_. =A. lunulata= (moon-shaped pinnuled). _fronds_ ample, tripinnate. _rachises_ stramineous, glabrous below, densely muricated; pinnæ oblong-lanceolate, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long; pinnules close, ligulate, sessile, 4in. to 5in. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad; segments close, ligulate, falcate, blunt, one line broad, obscurely crenulate. _sori_ minute. _h._ 25ft. Polynesia. Greenhouse species. =A. Macarthurii= (MacArthur's). Synonymous with _A. Leichardtiana_. =A. Moorei= (Moore's). Synonymous with _A. Leichardtiana_. =A. paleolata= (scaly).* _cau._ slender, 10ft. to 20ft. high. _fronds_ ample, tripinnatifid. _rachises_ stramineous, smooth, pubescent below; pinnæ oblong-lanceolate, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long; pinnules ligulate, sessile or shortly stalked, 3in. to 4in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, deeply cut, the segments blunt and nearly entire; texture sub-coriaceous; colour deep green, both surfaces deeply pilose, the lower scaly on the ribs. _sori_ large, medial. Columbia, &c. Stove species. SYN. _A. Gardneri_. =A. procera= (tall). _sti._ aculeated and paleaceous below, with large glossy, dark brown scales. _fronds_ bipinnate, glabrous, pinnatifid at the apex; primary pinnæ 1ft. or more long, the rachis winged above; pinnules 2in. to 3in. long, oblong-acuminate or obtuse, pinnatifid half way down to the costa; lobes short, sub-rotundate, often acute, mostly entire. _sori_ small on all the lobes, between the costule and the margin. Tropical America. Stove species. =A. pruinata= (as if hoar-frosted).* _sti._ densely woolly at the base. _fronds_ glaucous, bi-tripinnate; primary pinnæ petiolate, 12in. to 18in. long, ovate-lanceolate; pinnules 3in. to 4in. long, 1in. wide, petiolulate, from a broad base, oblong-acuminate, deeply pinnatifid, or again pinnate; ultimate divisions 1/2in. long, lanceolate, very acute, deeply and sharply serrated. _sori_ solitary. Tropical America, extending to Chili. Stove or greenhouse species. =A. radens= (rasping). _cau._ 3ft. high, 3in. diameter. _sti._ 2ft. to 3ft. long, clothed with ovate, pale brown scales. _fronds_ 6ft. to 8ft. long, lanceolate-ovate, bipinnatisect; primary segments 1-1/2ft. long, elongato-oblong, acuminate; secondary ones 2in. to 3in. long, petiolulate, linear-lanceolate, pinnati-partite; segments oblong, denticulate. _sori_ between the costule and the margin. Brazil. Stove species. =A. Rebeccæ= (Rebecca's).* _cau._ slender, 8ft. high. _fronds_ ample, bipinnate; pinnules twenty to thirty on each side, the lower ones stalked, linear, 2in. to 3in. long, more or less inciso-crenate, apex acuminate. _sori_ principally in two rows between the midrib and edge. Queensland. Greenhouse species. See Fig. 65, for which we are indebted to Mr. Bull. =A. sagittifolia= (arrow-leaved).* _fronds_ oblong-deltoid, 4ft. to 6ft. long, bipinnate. _rachises_ stramineous, muricated; pinnæ lanceolate, 3/4ft. to 1ft. long, the lower shorter, deflexed; pinnules sessile, ligulate, crenulate, cordate on both sides at the base, 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, nearly 1/4in. broad. _sori_ large. Trinidad, 1872. Very handsome and distinct stove species. [Illustration: FIG. 64. ALSOPHILA ACULEATA.] =A. Scottiana= (Scott's).* _fronds_ ample, tripinnatifid. _rachises_ castaneous, naked and smooth beneath; pinnæ oblong-lanceolate, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long; pinnules sessile, 3in. to 4in. long, about 1/2in. broad, ligulate, cut down to a narrow wing on the rachis; segments ligulate, blunt, dentate, sub-falcate, not 1/8in. broad. _sori_ sub-costular. Sikkim, 1872. Greenhouse species. SYN. _A. comosa_. =A. Tænitis= (Tænitis-like).* _fronds_ 3ft. to 6ft. long, bipinnate; pinnules distant, 3in. to 5in. long, lanceolate, acuminate, glabrous, sub-entire, petioled; petiole articulated on the rachis. _sori_ in a single series, equidistant between the costa and the margin, mixed with long, copious hairs. Brazil. An elegant stove species. =A. villosa= (villous).* _cau._ 6ft. to 12ft. high. _sti._ 1ft. or more long, tubercular, densely clothed at the base with ferruginous scales. _fronds_ from 6ft. to 8ft. long, bi- or sub-tripinnate, broadly lanceolate in outline; pinnules 1in. to 3in. long, oblong-lanceolate, obtusely acuminate, deeply pinnatifid; lobes oblong, obtuse, entire or coarsely serrated. _sori_ copious. Tropical America. A very beautiful stove species. =ALSTONIA= (in honour of Dr. Alston, once Professor of Botany at Edinburgh). ORD. _Apocynaceæ_. Usually tall, lactescent, or milk-bearing stove evergreen shrubs or trees, with small white flowers, which are disposed in terminal cymes. Leaves entire, opposite or often whorled. Of easy culture, thriving best in a mixture of peat, loam, and sand. Cuttings root readily in sand, in heat. Besides the one mentioned, there are eleven other species. =A. scholaris= (school). _fl._, corolla salver-shaped, white; cymes on short peduncles. March to May. _l._ five to seven in a whorl, obovate-oblong, obtuse, ribbed; upper surface glossy, under white, and having the veins approximating the margin. _h._ 8ft. India, 1803. SYN. _Echites scholaris_. [Illustration: FIG. 65. ALSOPHILA REBECC�.] =ALSTR�MERIA= (in honour of Baron Alströmer, a Swedish botanist and friend of Linnæus). ORD. _Amaryllidaceæ_. Tall handsome hardy or half-hardy tuberous rooted plants, with leafy stems and terminal umbels of richly-coloured flowers; perianth regular, six-parted, subcampanulate; inner segments narrower, two of which are somewhat tubulose at the base; stamens included within, and inserted with perianth; stigma trifid. Leaves linear, lanceolate, or ovate, and resupinate, or inverted in position by the twisting of the petiole. Cultivation: Few plants need less attention to grow them successfully, either in pots or planted out. The best position for those kinds which succeed outside is a deep and dry, sloping, sheltered border, in a compost of two-parts peat and leaf soil, and one loam with some sharp sand. Water freely if severe drought sets in; a surface covering of common moss, or cut fern in winter, will prove an advantage. They are very effective in masses. Propagation: They may be increased by seed or root division. Sow the former when ripe, or in early spring, thinly in pans, pots, or boxes, and place in a cool house or frame, so that they will receive some fostering in their early stages. The seedlings should be pricked out singly, when large enough to handle, and grown on till well established under glass. A mixture of peat, leaf mould, and sandy loam, is the best compost in which to sow the seeds and grow the young plants. When sufficiently established, they may be placed in a warm sheltered spot outside, and about 1ft. apart. The fasciculated masses of fleshy roots are readily separated into as many pieces as there are crowns; this operation may be performed during September or October, or February and March; but it must be done carefully. Except for the sake of increase, the less they are disturbed the better. They are excellent subjects for pot culture (some can only be managed thus, unless planted out in a house), and may be potted as early in the autumn as possible, in 8in., 10in., or 12in. pots. Thorough drainage is essential; arrange the crocks carefully, and place a layer of thin turfy loam over them. A compost of equal parts turfy loam, leaf mold, and fibrous peat, with an abundance of sand, will suit them admirably. Water sparingly at first, but when root-action is fully resumed, they must never be allowed to get dry. Support the stems by staking when they require it, and just previous to flowering, top-dress with some rotten manure and leaf soil. Occasional syringings will be necessary to keep down red spider, especially if the atmosphere is very dry. As the plants finish flowering, and the leaves fade, gradually diminish the supply of water until the stems are quite down, when they may be placed somewhere out of the way, free from frost, for the winter, but not kept dry enough to make them shrivel. In repotting, as much of the old soil as is practicable should be removed, without seriously disturbing the roots, and the plants shifted into larger or the same sized pots, according to their condition. Alströmerias were at one time much more largely grown than they are at present, and the genus was represented in nearly every garden. [Illustration: FIG. 66. ALSTR�MERIA AURANTIACA, showing Habit and Flower.] =A. aurantiaca= (golden).* _fl._ orange; two upper perianth segments lanceolate, streaked with red; arranged in a five to six stalked umbel, bearing ten to fifteen blooms. Summer and autumn. _l._ numerous, linear-elliptical, obtuse, glaucous, twisted and turned back at the base, about 4-1/2in. long. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Chili, 1831. A variable but very showy species, quite hardy. See Fig. 66. =A. caryophyllæa= (clove-like scent).* _fl._ scarlet; very fragrant, perianth two-lipped; peduncles longer than the involucre. February and March. _l._ spathulate-oblong. Stem erect. _h._ 8in. to 12in. Brazil, 1776. This stove species requires perfect rest in winter. SYN. _A. Ligtu_. [Illustration: FIG. 67. FLOWER OF ALSTR�MERIA PELEGRINA.] =A. chilensis= (Chilian).* _fl._ blood-red or pink, large, the two upper interior petals longer and narrower, variegated with yellow lines; in pairs on a five to six stalked umbel. Summer and autumn. _l._ scattered, obovate, spathulate; upper ones lanceolate, twisted at the base, minutely fringed on the edges, glaucescent. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Chili, 1849. Hardy. There are many varieties of this species, varying in colour from a rosy white to a deep orange or red. =A. densiflora= (thickly-flowered).* _fl._, perianth scarlet, dotted with black spots inside towards the base; umbels many-flowered, dense; pedicels pubescent, rarely bracteated. _l._ alternate, ovate, shortly acuminate, pubescent underneath. Stem climbing, glabrous. Peru, 1865. Tender species. =A. Flos Martini= (St. Martin's flower). Synonymous with _A. pulchra_. =A. Hookeri= (Hooker's). Synonymous with _A. Simsii_. =A. Ligtu= (Ligtu). Synonymous with _A. caryophyllæa_. =A. Pelegrina= (the native name).* _fl._ white, or pale yellow, striped with rose, and yellow spot on each segment; pedicels one-flowered, on a six or more stalked umbel. Summer. _l._ lanceolate, twisted at the base. _h._ 1ft. Chili, 1754. Rather tender. See Fig. 67. =A. p. alba= (white).* Lily of the Incas. _fl._ white. Perhaps this is the most chaste of all the Alströmerias, and more tender than many others; it should have a specially warm spot, or the protection of glass. 1877. =A. peruviana= (Peruvian). Synonymous with _A. versicolor_. =A. psittacina= (parrot-like).* _fl._ bright crimson at the base, greenish upwards, spotted with purple; upper perianth segments slightly hooded, hence the specific name; umbels many-flowered; peduncles angular. September. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, acute, twisted at the base. Stem erect, spotted. _h._ 6ft. Mexico, 1829. Hardy. =A. p. Erembaulti= (Erembault's). _fl._ white, spotted with purple. August. _h._ 2ft. 1833. A beautiful but rather tender hybrid. =A. pulchella= (pretty). Synonymous with _A. Simsii_. =A. pulchra= (fair).* St. Martin's Flower. _fl._ in umbels of from four to eight in each; the lower perianth segments purplish outside, and edges of a sulphur-white; the upper part of the upper segments of a fine yellow, dotted with deep red spots, the lower part of a flesh colour; pedicels twisted. _l._ linear lanceolate. Stem erect. _h._ 1ft. Chili, 1822. A beautiful species, but one requiring protection. SYNS. _A. Flos Martini_, _A. tricolor_. =A. rosea= (rosy). A synonym of _A. Simsii_. =A. Simsii= (Sims's).* _fl._ brilliant yellow, with red streaks, very showy; umbels many-flowered; peduncles two-flowered. June. _l._ spathulate, ciliated. Stem weak. _h._ 3ft. Chili, 1822. Tender species. SYNS. _A. Hookeri_, _A. pulchella_, _A. rosea_. =A. tricolor= (three-coloured). A synonym of _A. pulchra_. [Illustration: FIG. 68. ALSTR�MERIA VERSICOLOR, showing Habit and Flower.] =A. versicolor= (various coloured).* _fl._ yellow, with purple marks; lowest segment the broadest; umbel of usually three shortly-stalked blooms, very floriferous. Late summer. _l._ linear-lanceolate, sessile, scattered. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Peru, 1831. This is a very robust species, with several beautiful varieties, which are both easily obtained and very cheap. SYN. _A. peruviana_. See Fig. 68. =A. v. niveo-marginata= (snowy-margined).* _fl._ rose, crimson and white, with green tips and black spots. _l._ lanceolate, stalked, white-edged. 1875. A charming but scarce variety. =ALTERNANTHERA= (in allusion to the anthers being alternately barren). ORD. _Amaranthaceæ_. Well known ornamental-leaved half-hardy plants, with inconspicuous flowers in axillary heads. Some of the undermentioned species and varieties belong, technically speaking, to _Telanthera_, in which genus the five stamens are inseparate below, and alternate with as many sterile filaments. They are so universally known in gardening under the present generic name, that we have here included them for convenience' sake. Where Alternantheras are used in large quantities (and if they are to be used effectively, a considerable number must be provided), their economical propagation becomes a matter of importance. A good colour can only be secured by growing them in some house or pit in the full light and warmth of the sun; for, unless so grown, green or badly coloured plants will be the result. The best and quickest way of producing this class of plants in large quantities, is to make up a special hotbed for them about the end of March or beginning of April. If a pit be used, it should be filled up within 6in. of the glass with leaves and manure, or any other material that will produce a steady bottom heat of 80deg. or 85deg., and will last for three weeks or so at that point; which, at this season, will be an easy matter. When the heat has become regular and steady, about 4in. or 5in. of light, rich, sandy soil should be placed all over the surface, adding, at the same time, a sprinkling of silver sand on the top, and pressing it moderately firm with a flat board. The cuttings may now be prepared and dibbled in, 1in. apart each way. If kept close, moist, and shaded from bright sunshine, in a few days they will be forming roots, and so soon as that takes place the shading should be discontinued, and the ventilation gradually increased until they are finally hardened off and planted out. If carefully lifted, and placed in trays or baskets, with a rhubarb leaf over them, they may be taken any distance, and planted without flagging; with this advantage-�that the plants being in good colour, the beds are effective at once. April is early enough to commence striking them, and these will be fit to plant out by the middle of June. The several species quoted in various dictionaries hitherto are unknown in English gardens. =A. amabilis= (lovely).* _l._ elliptic, acuminate, greenish in some stages, with the principal ribs stained with red, but under free growth becoming almost entirely suffused with rose colour, mixed with orange, the midribs continuing to be of a deep red hue. Brazil, 1868. =A. a. am�na= (charming).* _l._ small, spathulate, orange red and purple in colour, which is shaded with deep green and bronze. Brazil, 1865. A most elegant little plant, with a spreading habit. =A. a. tricolor= (three-coloured).* _l._ broadly ovate, glabrous, dark green at the edge, and have a centre of vivid rose, traversed by purple veins, an irregular band of orange yellow intervening between the centre and margin. Brazil, 1862. =A. Bettzichiana= (Bettzich's). _l._ olive and red. Brazil, 1862. =A. B. spathulata= (spathulate-leaved). _l._ spathulate, but more elongated than the others; the principal colours are reddish pink and light brown; these are shaded with bronze and green. Brazil, 1865. A rather tall species. =A. ficoidea= (fig-like).* _l._ variegated with green, rose, and red. India, 1865. =A. paronychioides= (Paronychia-like).* _l._ narrow, spathulate, ground colour deep orange red, beautifully shaded with olive green. Dense and compact grower, forming a little clump about 4in. high. =A. p. magnifica= (magnificent).* A very fine variety, with a much higher colour than the type. =A. p. major= (greater).* _l._ bronze, with rich orange tips; very effective. =A. p. m. aurea= (greater-golden).* _l._ bright golden yellow, which colour they retain all through the season. =A. versicolor= (various-colour).* _l._ medium sized, ovate, bright rosy pink and crimson, shaded with bronzy green, branching freely, and making a compact and handsome plant. Brazil, 1865. =ALTERNATE.= Placed on opposite sides of an axis on a different line, as in alternate leaves. =ALTH�A= (from _altheo_, to cure; in reference to the medicinal qualities of some of the species). Marsh Mallow. ORD. _Malvaceæ_. Hardy biennials or perennials, closely allied to _Malva_. Outer calyx six to nine-cleft, inner one five-cleft. Most species belonging to this genus are worthy of cultivation, particularly in woods, coppices, and shrubberies; they will thrive in almost any kind of soil. They may be either increased by dividing the plants at the roots, or by seeds; the biennial species must be raised from seed every year, which may be sown in spring where they are intended to remain, or in pans placed in a cold frame, from which the young plants may be removed when large enough. =A. cannabina= (Hemp-leaved).* _fl._ rose-coloured; peduncles axillary, many-flowered, loose, longer than the leaves. June. _l._ pubescent, lower ones palmately-parted, upper ones three-parted; lobes narrow, and grossly toothed. _h._ 5ft. to 6ft. South France, 1597. Perennial. =A. caribæa= (Caribean).* _fl._ rose coloured, with a yellow base, solitary, almost sessile. March. _l._ cordate, roundish, lobed, crenate-serrated. Stem straight, hispid. _h._ 3ft. Caribbee Islands, 1816. Biennial. =A. ficifolia= (fig-leaved). Antwerp Hollyhock. _fl._ generally yellow or orange coloured, in terminal spikes, large, single or double. June. _l._ divided beyond the middle into seven lobes; lobes oblong, obtuse, irregularly toothed. _h._ 6ft. Siberia, 1597. Biennial. =A. flexuosa= (zigzag).* _fl._ scarlet, axillary, solitary, stalked; petals obcordate. June. _l._ cordate, somewhat seven-lobed, obtuse, on long footstalks. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. North India, 1803. Perennial. =A. frutex= (shrubby). Synonymous with _Hibiscus syriacus_. =A. narbonensis= (Narbonne).* _fl._ pale red; peduncles many-flowered, loose, longer than the leaves. August. _l._ pubescent, lower ones five or seven-lobed, upper ones three-lobed. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. France, 1780. Perennial. [Illustration: FIG. 69. FLOWER AND BUDS OF ALTH�A OFFICINALIS.] =A. officinalis= (officinal). Common Marsh Mallow. _fl._ of a delicate, uniform blush colour; peduncles axillary, many-flowered, much shorter than the leaves. July. _l._ clothed with soft, white tomentum on both surfaces, cordate or ovate, toothed, undivided, or somewhat five-lobed. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Marshes, Britain. Perennial. See Fig. 69. =A. rosea= (rose).* Hollyhock. _fl._ rose-coloured, large, axillary, sessile, somewhat spiked at the top. July. _l._ cordate, with five or seven angles, crenated, rough. Stem straight, hairy. _h._ 8ft. China, 1573. For special culture and varieties, _see_ =Hollyhock=. =A. striata= (streaked). _fl._ white, 2-1/2in. in diameter, solitary, on short pedicels; calyx striped. July. _l._ cordate, bluntly three-lobed, crenated. Stem puberulous, and somewhat scabrous. _h._ 5ft. Biennial. =ALUMINOUS.= Pertaining to, or containing alum, or alumina; as Aluminous soils. =ALUM-ROOT.= _See_ =Heuchera=. =ALYSSUM= (from _a_, not, and _lyssa_, rage; in reference to a fable that the plant allayed anger). Madwort. Including _Psilonema_, _Ptilotrichum_, _Schivereckia_. ORD. _Cruciferæ_. Annuals or dwarf, branching, shrubby perennials, often clothed with hoary, stellate hairs. Flowers small, cruciform, white or yellow. Leaves distant, or the radical ones tufted, usually entire. Several of the species are very much alike. They are excellent plants for the rockery, or for the front of borders, growing freely in common but well-drained garden soil. They may be increased by cuttings, by division of the roots, or by seed. The cuttings should be made from young shoots, 2in. to 3in. in length, inserted in sandy loam, early in the season, in a shady place. Seed may be raised outside, or in a frame in pans in sandy soil, most of them germinating in two or three weeks. =A. alpestre= (alpine).* _fl._ yellow; raceme simple. June. _l._ obovate, hoary. Stem rather shrubby at the base, diffuse, greyish. _h._ 3in. South Europe, 1777. Perennial. A very neat little tufted species. _A. argenteum_ (silvery), _A. Bertolonii_ (Bertoloni's), and _A. murale_ (wall), are larger growing species allied to the above, but of less cultural merit. [Illustration: FIG. 70. ALYSSUM SAXATILE.] =A. a. obtusifolium= (obtuse-leaved). _fl._ yellow, corymbose. June. _l._ obovate-spathulate, blunt, silvery on the under surface. _h._ 3in. Tauria, 1828. A rare alpine. [Illustration: FIG. 71. ALYSSUM SAXATILE VARIEGATUM, showing Flower and Habit.] =A. atlanticum= (Atlantic). _fl._ yellow; raceme simple. June. _l._ lanceolate, hoary, and pilose. Stems shrubby at the base, erect. _h._ 6in. to 1ft. S. Europe, 1820. _A. Marschallianum_ is intermediate between _A. alpestre_ and _A. a. obtusifolium_; but is seldom met with under cultivation. =A. gemonense= (German).* _fl._ yellow, in close corymbs. April to June. _l._ lanceolate, entire, greyish-velvety from stellate down. Stem shrubby at the base. _h._ 1ft. Italy, 1710. Closely allied to _A. saxatile_, but not so hardy; it is very desirable for rockeries. =A. macrocarpum= (large-fruited). _fl._ white, racemose. June. _l._ oblong, blunt, silvery. Stem shrubby, branched, somewhat spiny. _h._ 8in. South of France, 1828. _A. spinosa_ (thorny), and _A. halimifolia_ (purslane-leaved), are very like this species. _A. dasycarpum_ (thick-fruited) is an annual with yellow flowers. =A. maritimum.= _See_ =K�niga=. =A. montanum= (mountain). _fl._ yellow, sweet-scented; raceme simple. May to July. _l._ somewhat hoary; lower ones obovate; upper ones oblong. Stems rather herbaceous, diffuse, pubescent. _h._ 2in. or 3in. Europe, 1713. A distinct and charming species for the rockery, forming compact tufts of slightly glaucous green. _A. cuneifolium_ (wedge-leaved), _A. diffusum_ (diffuse), and _A. Wulfenianum_ (Wulfenius') come close to this species, the latter being the most desirable. =A. olympicum= (Olympian). _fl._ deep yellow, small, in roundish corymbose heads. Summer. _l._ spathulate, sessile, very small, greyish. _h._ 2in. to 3in. Northern Greece. =A. orientale= (Oriental).* _fl._ yellow, corymbose. May. _l._ lanceolate, repandly-toothed, waved, downy. Stems suffruticose at the base. _h._ 1ft. Crete, 1820. There is a variety with variegated leaves. =A. saxatile= (rock).* _fl._ yellow, in close corymbose heads. April. _l._ lanceolate, entire, clothed with hoary tomentum. Stems shrubby at the base. _h._ 1ft. Eastern Europe, 1710. A very common and showy spring plant. See Fig. 70. [Illustration: FIG. 72. FLOWER SPIKE OF AMARANTHUS CAUDATUS.] =A. s. variegatum= (variegated).* A constant and prettily variegated form, which is even more handsome than the type. On the rockery it does well, as it requires a sunny, well drained, position. See Fig. 71. =A. serpyllifolium= (Thyme-leaved).* _fl._ pale yellow, in simple racemes. April to June. _l._ very small, 1/4in. to 1/2in. long, ovate, scabrous, hoary. _h._ 3in. to 4in. Branches spreading, sub-woody at the base. South Europe, 1822. =A. tortuosum= (twisted). _fl._ yellow; raceme corymbose. June. _l._ hoary, somewhat lanceolate. Stem shrubby at the base, twisted, diffuse. _h._ 6in. Hungary, 1804. =A. Wiersbeckii= (Wiersbeck's).* _fl._ deep yellow, in close corymbose heads, about 1-1/2in. across. Summer. _l._ 2in. long, oval-oblong-pointed, sessile, attenuated at the base, roughish and hairy. Stems erect, scabrous, simple, rigid. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Asia Minor. =AMARANTHACE�.= An extensive order of herbs or (rarely) shrubs, with opposite or alternate leaves, and inconspicuous apetalous flowers, which are spicately or capitately disposed. The majority of this order are weeds; well-known exceptions being many species of _Amaranthus_. =AMARANTH, GLOBE.= _See_ =Gomphrena=. [Illustration: FIG. 73. FLOWER SPIKE OF AMARANTHUS HYPOCHONDRIACUS.] =AMARANTHUS= (from _a_, not, and _maraino_, to wither; in reference to the length of time some of the flowers retain their colour). ORD. _Amaranthaceæ_. Hardy or half-hardy annuals, with alternate entire leaves and small green or red flowers in large bracteate clustered spikes. Flowers polygamous, furnished with three bracts at the base of a three or five-lobed glabrous perianth. Stamens four or five. Of very easy culture; they thrive best in rich loamy soil, and are largely employed for sub-tropical and other bedding, for vases and conservatory decorations, being very ornamental. The seed should be sown in April in a hotbed, and the plants thinned out in the same situation when about 1/2in. high. About the end of May, they can be transplanted out of doors in their permanent situations. They are also very handsome when grown in pots. The young plants should be potted off early, and freely encouraged, allowing plenty of pot-room and moisture, and be kept near the glass, to bring out their brightest colouring. To develop their full beauty, plenty of room is required. There are about twelve species (indigenous to warm and tropical countries). =A. bicolor= (two-coloured). _l._ green, variously streaked with light yellow. _h._ 2ft. India, 1802. This species is rather delicate, and must have a warm sunny situation. =A. b. ruber= (red).* _l._ brilliant glistening scarlet, merging into a dark violet red, mixed with green. Hardier than the type. =A. caudatus= (caudate).* Love Lies Bleeding. _fl._ dark purplish, collected in numerous whorls, which are disposed in handsome drooping spikes. August. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. India, 1596. A very common and vigorous growing hardy annual. There is a yellowish-flowered variety, which, though less ornamental, is an effective contrast. See Fig. 72. =A. cruentus= (dark bloody). Synonymous with _A. hypochondriacus_. =A. Henderi= (Hender's). _l._ lanceolate, undulated, intense rosy carmine, varying with orange buff, golden yellow, and olive green. _h._ 3ft. A garden hybrid, closely allied to _A. salicifolius_. Pyramidal habit. =A. hypochondriacus= (hypochondriac).* Prince's Feather. _fl._ deep crimson, on densely packed, erect spikes. July. _l._ purplish beneath. _h._ 4ft. to 5ft. Asiatic, 1684. SYN. _A. cruentus_. See Fig. 73. =A. h. atropurpureus= (dark purple).* An improved variety of above. =A. melancholicus ruber= (melancholy-red).* _h._ about 1ft. Japan. A compact growing variety, with large shaded crimson leaves. Largely used for bedding purposes. =A. salicifolius= (willow-leaved).* _l._ 7in. to 15in. long, willow-shaped, linear, and wavy, which, by their drooping outline, present a very elegant and effective appearance. When fully grown, the leaves are brilliantly banded and tipped with orange, carmine, and bronze. _h._ 3ft. Philippine Isles, 1871. =A. s. Princess of Wales.=* _l._ carmine, orange green, and bright yellow, beautifully blended. _h._ 3ft. A garden hybrid. =A. sanguineus= (bloody). _fl._ purple, disposed partly in small heads in the axils of the upper leaves, and partly in slender, flexible spikes, which form a more or less branching panicle. July. _l._ blood red. _h._ 3ft. Bahama, 1775. [Illustration: FIG. 74. AMARANTHUS TRICOLOR.] =A. speciosus= (showy).* _fl._ dark crimson purple, disposed in large erect spikes, forming a fine plumy panicle. July. _l._ suffused with a reddish tinge, which disappears at the time of flowering. _h._ 3ft. to 5ft. Nepaul, 1819. =A. s. aureus= (golden). _fl._ of a fine brownish-golden hue. Very effective when grown in masses. =A. tricolor= (three-coloured).* _l._ of a fine, transparent, purplish-red or dark carmine from the base to the middle; a large spot of bright yellow occupies the greater part of the upper end of the leaf; point generally green; leafstalks yellow. _h._ 1-1/2ft. East Indies, 1548. See Fig. 74. There are several garden varieties of this species, requiring a somewhat warmer situation. =AMARYLLIDE�.= A large and important order of usually bulbous plants, sometimes with a stem. Flowers solitary, umbellate, or paniculate; perianth superior, six-lobed, often with a corona at the top of the tube. Leaves ensiform or linear. This order contains many very beautiful genera, including _Agave_, _Amaryllis_, _Crinum_, _Hæmanthus_, _Hippeastrum_, _Narcissus_, _Pancratium_, and several others. =AMARYLLIS= (from _Amaryllis_, the name of a country-woman mentioned by Theocritus and Virgil). ORD. _Amaryllideæ_. Half-hardy or hardy, deciduous, bulbous plants. Flowers large, sweet-scented, pedicelled; spathe two-leaved; umbels few-flowered; perianth with a very short tube, funnel-shaped, six-parted, sub-regular or irregular; segments many-nerved, broad, undulate, spreading somewhat at the apices; stamens at the summit of the tube, unequal, declined; anthers fixed by the middle, incumbent, curved into a circular arch after bursting; style declined; stigma thickened, sub-three-lobed; scape tall, solid, compressed. Capsule obovate; seeds globose, fleshy. Leaves appearing at a different season from the scapes, numerous, strap-shaped. The following genera are sometimes arranged hereunder, but in this work are treated separately: _Brunsvigia_, _Crinum_, _Hippeastrum_, _Nerine_, _Sprekelia_, _Sternbergia_, _Vallota_, _Zephyranthes_. Warm, dry, and well-drained positions in front of hothouses, or at the base of south or south-west walls, are the most suitable sites for _A. Belladonna_ and its varieties. The soil should be composed of good, fibrous loam, leaf mould, and sand, in equal parts. Insert the bulbs 6in. to 8in. deep, and surround with sand, after which they may be covered with the compost, which should be pressed firmly about them; they should not be again disturbed for years, when they will ultimately establish themselves, and produce grand masses of blossom. The best time to plant a fresh stock is June or July, when they commence root-action, before the flower-stems are sent up. In their growing season, and in dry weather, an occasional soaking of clear water, or liquid manure, will be greatly beneficial. The extremely ornamental plants now largely grown, and frequently classed as _Amaryllis_ in nurserymen's catalogues, belong to the genus _Hippeastrum_. For pot-culture of the Belladonna Lily, _see_ =Hippeastrum=. [Illustration: FIG. 75. AMARYLLIS BELLADONNA, showing Habit at Flowering Season.] =A. Belladonna.=* Belladonna Lily. This splendid species is very variable, both in the size and colour of the flowers, frequently producing variously-shaded flowers, from almost white to a reddish or purplish hue. Autumn. West Indies, 1712. See Fig. 75. The leaves and flowers are not produced together. In Fig. 76 they are both shown in the same illustration for economy of space. =A. B. pallida= (pale).* A pale-coloured variety. _h._ 2ft. =AMASONIA= (named in honour of Thomas Amason, one of the earlier American travellers). SYN. _Taligalea_. ORD. _Verbenaceæ_. A genus comprising six species (which may be reduced to four) of stove sub-shrubs, natives of tropical America. Flowers yellow or sulphur-coloured, racemose or panicled; calyx five-cleft; corolla five-cleft, sub-bilabiate. Leaves alternate, toothed or rarely entire. For culture of the only species introduced, _see_ =Clerodendron=. =A. punicea= (reddish-brown). _fl._ yellow, with pretty, brownish bracts; peduncles once or twice trifid, cymose or one-flowered. May and June. _l._ slender, 3in. to 2in. long, oblong- or elliptic-lanceolate, shortly acuminate, unequally toothed. Stem erect, simple or slightly branched. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Brazil, 1884. =AMATEUR.= This term is usually meant to refer to one who has a taste for a particular pursuit, and who is, in a pecuniary point of view, independent of it. An Amateur gardener is one who rears and grows his plants, and cultivates his garden, for his own amusement--for mere love of horticulture. [Illustration: FIG. 76. AMARYLLIS BELLADONNA, showing Bulb and Flower Spike.] =AMBER, SWEET.= _See_ =Hypericum Androsæmum=. =AMBER-TREE.= _See_ =Anthospermum=. =AMBROSINIA= (commemorative of Professor Giacinti Ambrosini, of Bologna). ORD. _Aroideæ_ (_Araceæ_). A curious, half-hardy, tuberous perennial, thriving in any light soil, with protection in winter. Increased by seeds, and by divisions. The former should be sown, as soon as ripe, in a cool house; and the latter should be made just previous to new growth in spring. =A. Bassii= (Bass's).* _fl._, spathes prolonged into a long tail, and a tongue-shaped spadix, with the male flowers on one side, and so placed as to preclude the access of pollen to the stigma on the other side of the spathe, save by insect agency. _l._ oblong, stalked. _h._ 4in. Corsica, Sardinia, 1879. =AMBURY=, or =ANBURY=. The name given to galls of small Weevils (_Ceuthorhynchus sulcicollis_) which appear on the roots of Cabbages and Turnips, as well as of the Wild Mustard, and of other weeds belonging to the genus _Brassica_. The galls form swellings individually about the size of split peas, but often two or more are joined to form considerable masses. In each is a space inclosing a white grub. Anbury is usually not very hurtful. It is quite distinct from Clubbing. The galled roots should be collected, before the grubs emerge, and burned. =AMELANCHIER= (Savoy name of the Medlar, to which this genus is closely allied). TRIBE _Pomaceæ_ of ORD. _Rosaceæ_. Hardy, deciduous shrubs or small trees, with racemes of white flowers, and simple, serrated leaves; bracteas linear-lanceolate. Pome, when mature, three to five-celled. They are of easy cultivation, in a somewhat rich, loamy soil, and are propagated by layers or cuttings, in autumn, in sheltered situations; by seeds, and by grafting, in early spring, on the Hawthorn or the Quince, or the weaker on the stronger-growing species. =A. canadensis= (Canadian).* Grape Pear. _fl._ white. April. Pome purple. _l._ oblong-elliptic, cuspidate, when young rather villous, but at length glabrous. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. Canada, 1746. A very ornamental tree, having a profusion of flowers in early spring, and rich autumnal foliage. SYN. _Pyrus Botryapium_. =A. c. florida= (flowery).* _fl._ white, numerous, in upright racemes. May. Pome purple. _l._ oblong, obtuse at both ends, coarsely serrate in the terminal portion, glabrous in every state. _h._ 10ft. to 20ft. North America, 1826. =A. c. ovalis= (oval-leaved). _fl._ white; racemes pressed together. April. _l._ roundish-elliptic, acute when rather young, velvety beneath, glabrous when mature. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. North America, 1800. =A. c. parvifolia= (small-leaved). This has a dwarfer habit, and shorter leaves, than the type. =A. sanguinea=, (bloody). _fl._ white; racemes capitate. April. Pome blackish-purple. _l._ oblong, rounded at both ends, sharply serrated, always naked. _h._ 4ft. to 8ft. North America, 1800. This form differs principally from _A. canadensis_ in the fewer flowers, much shorter raceme, and shorter, broader, and more ovate petals. =A. vulgaris= (common).* _fl._ white. April. Pome darkish-purple. _l._ roundish-oval, bluntish, pubescent beneath, at length glabrous. _h._ 3ft. to 9ft. Europe, 1596. A desirable shrub, producing an abundance of flowers. SYN. _Mespilus Amelanchier_. =AMELLUS= (a name employed by Virgil for a blue, Aster-looking plant growing on the banks of the river Mella). ORD. _Compositæ_. Pretty, branched, ascending or diffuse, perennial herbs. Flowers in solitary heads. Leaves hairy, lower ones opposite, upper alternate. Of very easy culture, in ordinary garden soil. Increased by divisions, or cuttings, inserted under glass, in spring. =A. Lychnitis= (Lychnitis). _fl.-heads_ violet, solitary, terminal, and lateral. June. _l._ linear, lanceolate, entire, hoary. _h._ 6in. Cape of Good Hope. Evergreen, greenhouse trailer. =AMENTUM.= A catkin. A deciduous spike of unisexual, apetalous flowers. =AMERICAN ALMOND.= _See_ =Brabejum=. =AMERICAN ALOE.= _See_ =Agave americana=. =AMERICAN BLIGHT=, or =WOOLLY APHIS= (_Schizoneura lanuginosa_). The white, cottony-looking matter which is found upon the bark of the Apple and other trees of a similar nature, belongs to a species of Aphis, which has short legs: the females are wingless, while the males are winged; the latter appear in July and August. The insects belong to a group of Aphides unprovided with honey tubes on the hinder part of the body, and in which the third vein of the front wing shows only one fork The woolly coating also distinguishes them from true Aphides. The Blight is said to have been imported from America in 1787, but this is uncertain. As these insects get into the cracks and under the bark of trees, they are hard to dislodge. The injury inflicted is not apparent for some time; but, in process of time, large, cankerous wounds are produced, which gradually (with the aid of the insects) destroy the branches, and render the tree useless. If young trees are attacked, they are rendered valueless in a very short time. The insects hide in crevices of the bark of the trees each autumn, and remain dormant during the winter, ascending to their old quarters as the weather becomes warm. Trees which are covered with moss and lichens probably serve as places for hybernation; hence, it is desirable to remove such hiding-places, as well as all pieces of dead bark. To their being left may be frequently attributed the severe attacks of Blight experienced where they exist on trees. So soon as the cottony substance makes its appearance, one of the following remedies should be applied, and, if persisted in for a few seasons, the trees will be quite cleared. _Brushing and Scraping._ In winter, the trees should be thoroughly cleaned; and, so long as there is a chance of the insects being in the bark, all loose pieces, moss, &c., should be brushed off, and the parts affected should be thoroughly saturated with a strong solution of soft soap or of soft soap and lime-water, applied with a stiff brush, so as to enter all the crevices. _Gas Liquor._ This is the ammoniacal liquor from gas works. It must be diluted with from eight to twelve times its bulk of water, or it is dangerous to the trees; in fact, after dilution, it is advisable to test it, previous to using to any great extent. As the woolly covering of the insects resists water, it is desirable that the liquor be applied with a brush, and forced amongst the Blight. _Infusion of Tobacco Leaves_ (1/2lb. to 1 gallon) kills the insects on shoots dipped into it. _Paraffin or Petroleum._ This is a simple and useful remedy. Obtain a painter's half-worn sash-tool, free from paint, and just moisten it in the oil. Then brush out each infested place as often as the Blight appears, and in one season the trees will be cleared. _Spent Tan._ Collect spent tan into a heap a month or two before it is to be used, and if it has heated well and rotted, so much the better. In winter, clear away all leaves, rubbish, grass, &c., and spread the tan at the rate of about thirty loads to the acre, taking care that it surrounds the base of each tree infested with Blight. Practical proof of its utility has been given. _Turpentine and other Spirits._ The mode of applying these is the same as for paraffin, but they frequently injure the bark, and sometimes kill young trees. To kill insects on the roots, it is well to clear away the soil as far as possible from them, and to saturate the place with soapsuds or ammoniacal solutions; soot, quicklime, or other applications to the soil would also prove useful. Other remedies that have been suggested are the drainings of stables, and grafting-clay plastered over the bark. =AMERICAN CENTAURY.= _See_ =Sabbatia=. =AMERICAN CHINA ROOT.= _See_ =Smilax=. =AMERICAN COWSLIP.= _See_ =Dodecatheon=. =AMERICAN CRANBERRY.= _See_ =Oxycoccus macrocarpus=. =AMERICAN CRESS.= _See_ =Barbarea=. =AMERICAN DEWBERRY.= _see_ =Rubus canadensis=. =AMERICAN GOOSEBERRY.= _See_ =Pereskia aculeata=. =AMERICAN GREAT LAUREL.= _See_ =Rhododendron maximum=. =AMERICAN HIGH BLACKBERRY.= A common name for =Rubus villosus= (which _see_). =AMERICAN MANDRAKE.= _See_ =Podophyllum peltatum=. =AMERICAN MOUNTAIN ASH.= _See_ =Pyrus americana=. =AMERICAN PLANTS=. This term includes _Rhododendron_, _Azalea_, and several others of similar habit and constitution; indeed, any hardy, flowering shrubs requiring a moist peat border. =AMERICAN SPANISH OAK.= _See_ =Quercus falcata=. =AMERICAN SWAMP LILY.= _See_ =Saururus cernuus=. =AMERICAN WHITE OAK.= _See_ =Quercus alba=. =AMERICAN WILD BLACK CURRANT.= _See_ =Ribes floridum=. =AMERICAN WILD RED RASPBERRY.= _See_ =Rubus strigosus=. =AMERIMNON= (from _a_, privative, and _merinna_, care; in allusion to the little attention the plant requires; name originally applied to the House-leek). SYN. _Amerimnum_. ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Ornamental, evergreen, stove shrubs, with alternate, stalked, ovate, somewhat cordate, simple leaves. For culture, _see_ =Anona=. =A. Brownei= (Browne's).* _fl._ white, sweet-scented; peduncles axillary, ten-flowered, glabrous or puberulous. May. _l._ ovate, somewhat cordate, acute, glabrous. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. Jamaica, 1793. Requires a trellis or other support. =A. strigulosum= (strigulose). _fl._ white; racemes axillary, solitary, three times longer than the petioles. May. _l._ ovate, rather cordate, obtuse, clothed with adpressed hairs on both surfaces; branches and petioles clothed with light brown, dense, short hairs. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. Trinidad, 1817. =AMERIMNUM.= A synonym of =Amerimnon= (which _see_). =AMHERSTIA= (commemorative of Countess Amherst, a zealous promoter of natural history, particularly botany). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A stove, evergreen tree of almost unsurpassed magnificence and brilliancy, requiring a very high and moist temperature. It delights in a rich, strong loam, and may be propagated by cuttings of the half-ripened wood, inserted in sand, under a glass in bottom heat of about 80deg.; also by seeds. =A. nobilis= (noble).* _fl._ of a fine vermilion colour, diversified with yellow spots, large; racemes long, pendulous, axillary. May. _l._ large, impari-pinnate, bearing six to eight pairs of leaflets. _h._ 30ft. to 40ft. India, 1837. The flowers are, unfortunately, somewhat ephemeral, lasting but a few days in perfection, during which period, however, no object in the whole range of the vegetable kingdom presents a more striking aspect than this tree. =AMICIA= (commemorative of J. B. Amici, a celebrated French physician). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A pretty, greenhouse or half-hardy perennial, succeeding in any warm, sheltered spot. Young cuttings will root in sand, under a hand glass, in heat. =A. Zygomeris= (two-jointed-podded).* _fl._ yellow, splashed with purple on the keel; peduncles axillary, five or six-flowered. Autumn. Legumes with two joints. _l._ abruptly pinnate, with two pairs of cuneate-obcordate, mucronate leaflets, which are full of pellucid dots; branches and petioles pubescent. _h._ 8ft. Mexico, 1826. =AMMOBIUM= (from _ammos_, sand, and _bio_, to live; in reference to the sandy soil in which it is found). ORD. _Compositæ_. This well-known everlasting is closely allied to _Gnaphalium_, from which it differs principally in habit. Receptacle with oblong, pointed, toothed, chaffy scales; involucre of imbricated leaflets. It may be treated as a half-hardy annual, or as a biennial, if seeds are sown in September and kept in a cool greenhouse during the winter, and this is the best way to grow it. Any moderately good soil suits it. =A. alatum= (winged). _fl.-heads_ about 1in. across, of a silvery whiteness, with the exception of the yellow disk florets, very numerous, in loose, corymbose panicles. May to September. _l._ oblong-lanceolate; radical ones in a tufted rosette. Stems winged--hence the specific name. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. New Holland, 1822. See Fig. 77. =A. a. grandiflorum= (large-flowered).* _fl.-heads_ purer white, nearly twice the size of those in the type. This variety, which comes true from seed, is a great acquisition. =AMMOCHARIS.= _See_ =Brunsvigia=. =AMMODENDRON= (from _ammos_, sand, and _dendron_, a tree; in reference to its natural habitat). SYN. _Sophora_. ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A small, neat, hardy evergreen, silky shrub, having the petioles hardening into spines; an excellent subject for shrubberies. It thrives in an ordinary soil, with good drainage, and is propagated by layers and seeds. =A. Sieversii= (Sievers').* _fl._ purple, disposed in racemes. June. _l._ bifoliolate; leaflets lanceolate, silky-white on both surfaces. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Siberia, 1837. =AMMYRSINE.= _See_ =Leiophyllum=. =AMOMOPHYLLUM.= _See_ =Spathiphyllum=. [Illustration: FIG. 77. INFLORESCENCE OF AMMOBIUM ALATUM.] =AMOMUM= (from _a_, not, and _momos_, impurity; in reference to the quality of counteracting poison). ORD. _Zingiberaceæ_. Stove, deciduous, herbaceous perennials, chiefly aromatic, formerly used in embalming. Flowers produced close to the ground, in spikes or clusters, bracteate. Leaves distichous, sheathing at the base, lanceolate, entire. For culture, _see_ =Alpinia=. =A. angustifolium= (narrow-leaved).* _fl._ sometimes of a uniform chrome-yellow, sometimes crimson, with the labellum of a yellow colour, more or less pale, and sometimes entirely crimson; scape naked, from 3in. to 8in. in length; spike capitate. July. _l._ linear-lanceolate. _h._ 8ft. Madagascar. =A. Cardamomum= (Cardamom).* _fl._ brownish; lip three-lobed, spurred; scape compound, flexuous, procumbent. August. _h._ 8ft. East Indies, 1823. =A. Danielli= (Daniel's). _fl._ 4in. across; outer sepals fine red; the spreading labellum whitish, tinged with rose and yellow; scape short, arising from the bottom of the stem. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, 9in. long. _h._ 2-1/2ft. Western Africa. =A. grandiflorum= (large-flowered). _fl._ white, numerous, close; spike short. June. _l._ elliptic-lanceolate, pointed. _h._ 3ft. Sierra Leone, 1795. =A. Granum Paradisi.=* Grains of Paradise. _fl._ white, tinged with yellow and rose. _l._ elliptic-lanceolate, long-pointed. Stems very red at base, and dull purplish-red above from the long, sheathing leafstalks. _h._ 3ft. West Africa. =A. Melegueta= (Melegueta).* Grains of Paradise. _fl._ pale pink, solitary, with an orbicular, irregularly toothed lip. May. _l._ narrow, linear-elliptic, distichous, sessile. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Sierra Leone, 1869. Habit creeping. =A. sceptrum= (sceptre). _fl._ bright rose purple, large, sub-erect; the most conspicuous portion is the lip, which is 2-1/2in. in diameter; flower-scapes 6in. high. January. _l._ narrow, oblong-lanceolate. _h._ 5ft. to 6ft. Old Calabar, 1863. =A. vitellinum= (yolk-of-egg-coloured). _fl._ yellow; lip oblong, obtuse, toothed; spike oblong, sessile, rather loose. April. _l._ oval. _h._ 2ft. East Indies, 1846. Plant stemless, glabrous. =AMORPHA= (from _a_, not, and _morphe_, form; incomplete formation of the flowers). Bastard Indigo. ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A handsome genus of hardy deciduous shrubs with very graceful impari-pinnate leaves, and many pairs of leaflets, which are full of pellucid dots. Racemes spicate, elongated, usually in fascicles at the tops of the branches; corolla without wings and keel; vexillum or standard ovate, concave. They are well adapted for small shrubberies, requiring a sheltered situation, and thrive well in common garden soil. Increased by layers, or cuttings, taken off at a joint, and planted in a sheltered situation early in autumn; these should be allowed to remain undisturbed till the following autumn. Amorphas produce an abundance of suckers, from which they may be readily propagated. =A. canescens= (hoary).* The Lead Plant. _fl._ dark blue. July. _l._, leaflets ovate-elliptic, mucronate. _h._ 3ft. Missouri, 1812. Whole plant clothed with hoary hairs. =A. fruticosa= (shrubby).* The False Indigo. _fl._ very dark bluish purple. June. _l._, leaflets elliptic-oblong; lower ones distant from the stem. _h._ 6ft. Carolina, 1724. Shrub glabrous, or a little villous. There are several varieties, having mucronate, emarginate, or narrower leaflets, but all with purple flowers. A host of names, representing the merest forms of _A. fruticosa_, are to be found in nurserymen's catalogues. Amongst them are: _caroliniana_, _crocea_, _crocea-lanata_, _dealbata_, _fragrans_, _glabra_, _herbacea_, _nana_, _pubescens_, &c. These differ so slightly from the type and from each other, that it is impossible to distinguish them. =AMORPHOPHALLUS= (from _amorphos_, deformed, and _phallos_, a mace; alluding to the inflorescence). SYN. _Pythion_. Including _Proteinophallus_. ORD. _Aroideæ (Araceæ)_. A very remarkable genus, closely allied to _Arum_, but distinguished therefrom by "their spreading, not convolute, spathes; by their anthers opening by pores, not by longitudinal slits; by the numerous cells to the ovary; and by the solitary, erect ovules, those of _Arum_ being horizontal." A soil consisting of two-thirds good rich loam, with the additional third of sweet manure, thoroughly rotted, suits them well. Other essentials are plenty of pot room, a genial atmosphere, and a temperature ranging from 55deg. to 65deg., or even 70deg. They require to be kept dry, and warm in winter, as nothing is more fatal to them than cold or damp. Beneath a shelf or stage in the stove is an excellent spot for them, or they may be stored in sand, and kept free from frost. They are difficult to increase; the corms of most of them are of great size, and rarely make offsets. Efforts should consequently be made to induce the plants to seed whenever practicable. All the species are strikingly effective in sub-tropical bedding. For fertilising and growth of seedlings, _see_ =Arum=. =A. campanulatus= (bell-shaped).* Similar to _A. Rivieri_, but the flowers are brown, red, and black, and the scape is neither so stout nor so tall. _h._ 2ft. India, 1817. SYN. _Arum campanulatum_. =A. grandis= (large). _fl._, spathe green, white inside; spadix purplish. _h._ 3ft. Java, 1865. Stove species. =A. Lacourii= (Lacour's).* _l._ pedatisect, the ultimate segments lanceolate, yellow-spotted; petioles transversely mottled with yellow markings. Cochin China, 1879. Greenhouse. The correct name of this species is _Pseudodracontium Lacourii_. =A. nivosus.= _See_ =Dracontium asperum=. =A. Rivieri= (Rivier's).* _fl._, spadix, spathe, and scape, reaching 3ft. or more in height, appearing before the leaves; scape stout and strong, of a deep green colour, speckled or dotted with rose; spadix projecting, deep red; spathe of a rosy-green colour. March to May. _l._ solitary, decompound, 40in. to 50in. across, on tall marbled petioles. Cochin China. Perhaps the most useful species. SYN. _Proteinophallus Rivieri_. See Fig. 78. [Illustration: FIG. 78. AMORPHOPHALLUS RIVIERI, Foliage and Inflorescence.] =A. Titanum= (Titan's).* _fl._, spadix 5ft. high, black purple; spathe nearly 3ft. in diameter, campanulate in shape, with patent and deeply toothed edges. The deeper portion of the interior is pale greenish, but the limb is of a bright black purple hue; the outside is pale green, smooth in the lower portion, but thickly corrugated and crisp above; scape about 1-1/2ft. long, green, marked with small whitish orbicular spots. _l._ the divided blade covers an area of 45ft. in circumference. West Sumatra, 1878. As will be seen from the above, this extraordinary plant is of gigantic proportions, and, in size of the flowers, eclipsing nearly all others in the vegetable kingdom. SYN. _Conophallus Titanum_. =AMORPHOUS.= Without definite form. =AMPELOPSIS= (from _ampelos_, a vine, and _opsis_, resemblance; resembling the Grape Vine in habit, and to which it is closely allied). SYN. _Quinaria_. ORD. _Ampelideæ_. A genus nearly allied to _Vitis_. Calyx slightly five toothed; petals concave, thick, expanding before they fall; disk none. Fast growing and ornamental climbing, hardy deciduous shrubs, of very easy culture in common garden soil. Cuttings, having a good eye, may be taken in September, and pricked either under handlights in sandy soil on the open border, or in pots stood on the stage or shelf in a greenhouse; they root readily, and will be fit for transplanting early in the spring. Or cuttings made from the young soft wood, expressly grown for the purpose, in spring, root freely in gentle heat. This applies especially to _A. tricuspidata_. They are also easily increased by layers. Most of the species will thrive with equal vigour in almost any position, however exposed. =A. aconitifolia= (Aconite-leaved).* _l._ palmisect, with pinnatifid segments. China, 1868. A slender and very elegant free-growing species, with long reddish branches. There are two or more varieties. SYNS. _A. lucida_, _A. triloba_, _A. tripartita_, and _Vitis dissecta_. See Fig. 79. =A. bipinnata= (bipinnate). _fl._ green, small; raceme stalked, twice bifid. Berries globose. June. _l._ bipinnate, smooth; leaflets deeply lobed. _h._ 10ft. Virginia, 1700. =A. hederacea= (Ivy-leaved). Synonymous with _A. quinquefolia_. =A. japonica= (Japanese). Synonymous with _A. tricuspidata_. =A. lucida= (shining). Synonymous with _A. aconitifolia_. =A. napiformis= (turnip-like).* Greenish. China, 1870. See Fig. 80. =A. quinquefolia= (five-leaved).* Virginian Creeper. _fl._ greenish-purple; raceme corymbose. June. _l._ palmate, with three and five leaflets, smooth on both surfaces; leaflets stalked, oblong-acuminated, mucronately toothed; autumnal tint red. North America, 1629. SYN. _A. hederacea_. =A. q. hirsuta= (hairy). _l._ downy on both surfaces. =A. serjaniæfolia= (Serjania-leaved).* _l._ green, palmately five-parted, or the upper ones three-parted, the intermediate division being often ternate or pinnate; leaflets obovate acute, and incisely toothed or sublobate; the rachis is articulately winged. Japan, 1867. SYNS. _A. tuberosa_, _Cissus viticifolia_. Roots tuberous; see Fig. 81. [Illustration: FIG. 79. STEM AND LEAVES OF AMPELOPSIS ACONITIFOLIA.] =A. tricuspidata= (three-pointed).* _l._ very variable in shape; younger ones almost entire; older ones larger, roundish-cordate, divided to the middle into three deltoid lobes, which run into little tails, and are coarsely toothed at the margin. Japan, 1868. SYNS. _A. Veitchii_, _Vitis japonica_ (of gardens). =A. triloba= (three-lobed). A synonym of _A. aconitifolia_. =A. tripartita= (three-parted). A synonym of _A. aconitifolia_. =A. tuberosa= (tuberous). A synonym of _A. serjaniæfolia_. =A. Veitchii= (Veitch's). A synonym of _A. tricuspidata_. =AMPHIBLEMMA CYMOSUM.= _See_ =Melastoma corymbosum=. =AMPHIBLESTRA.= Included under =Pteris= (which _see_). =AMPHICARP�A= (from _amphi_, both, and _karpos_, a fruit; in allusion to the two kinds of pods--those of the upper flowers being scimitar-shaped, three or four-seeded; those of the lower, pear-shaped, fleshy, usually ripening but one seed; these lower pods bury themselves in the ground after fertilisation). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A genus of ornamental annuals, with herbaceous, twining stems, and sometimes apetalous flowers, allied to _Wistaria_. The species are of easy culture. Seeds should be sown in the open border, in spring, in a sunny situation. =A. monoica= (mon�cious). Hog Pea-nut. _fl._ with a pale violet vexillum, and white keel and wings; racemes axillary, pendulous. June to August. _l._ pinnately-trifoliate; leaflets ovate, glabrous. North America. 1781. [Illustration: FIG. 80. TUBERS AND LEAF OF AMPELOPSIS NAPIFORMIS.] [Illustration: FIG. 81. ROOTS OF AMPELOPSIS SERJANI�FOLIA.] =AMPHICOME= (from _amphi_, on both sides, and _kome_, a head of hair; in reference to the seeds being furnished with a tuft of hairs at both ends). ORD. _Bignoniaceæ_. Flowers axillary or terminal. Leaves alternate, unequally pinnate. Very ornamental greenhouse or half-hardy rock herbaceous plants. If planted outside, they must be protected during the winter from wet and severe frosts. A mixture of loam, sand, and leaf soil suits them well. Increased by striking the young shoots in spring in sandy soil in gentle heat; or by seed, which should be sown in early spring, in pots of sandy soil placed in a greenhouse. =A. arguta= (finely-cut).* _fl._ red, drooping; racemes axillary, terminal; corolla tubular near the base, ventricose above. August. _l._ alternate, impari-pinnate; leaflets opposite, on short petioles, three to four pairs, lanceolate, acuminated, deeply serrated. _h._ 3ft. Himalaya, 1837. =A. Emodi= (Emodian).* _fl._ rose and orange, erect; racemes axillary; corolla 1-1/2in. to 2in. long, bell-shaped, slightly tubular below. August to October. _l._ impari-pinnate, with numerous leaflets. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. India, at high altitudes, 1852. A very beautiful plant. =AMPHILOPHIUM= (from _amphilophos_, crested on all sides; limb of corolla much curled). SYN. _Amphilobium_. ORD. _Bignoniaceæ_. A handsome stove evergreen climber. Corolla somewhat coriaceous, with a short tube, and a large ventricose throat. Loam and peat, well mixed, suits it best; cuttings from young shoots root readily in sand, under a hand glass, with bottom heat, during the spring months. =A. paniculatum= (panicled).* _fl._ rose-coloured; panicle terminal, composed of three-flowered peduncles. June. _l._ joined by pairs, opposite; leaflets ovate-roundish, acuminated, sub-cordate. West Indies, 1738. =AMPLEXICAULIS.= Embracing the stem; usually applied to leaves. =AMPULLACEOUS.= Resembling a bladder or flask. =AMSONIA= (in honour of Charles Amson, a scientific traveller in America). ORD. _Apocynaceæ_. Very pretty hardy, herbaceous perennials, with alternate leaves, and terminal panicles of pale blue flowers; corolla with linear lobes, and a narrow funnel-shaped tube. They thrive in half shady positions in borders, or the edges of shrubberies, where they will not need to be frequently transplanted. Propagated by cuttings during the summer months, or by divisions of the roots in spring. =A. latifolia= (broad-leaved). Synonymous with _A. Tabernæmontana_. [Illustration: FIG. 82. AMSONIA SALICIFOLIA, showing Habit and Flower.] =A. salicifolia= (willow-leaved).* _fl._ light blue, in terminal corymbose cymes; corolla small, funnel-shaped, with a rounded tube; throat whitish, bearded. Summer. _l._ lanceolate, smooth, acute. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2-1/2ft. North America, 1812. Habit less erect than the following species. See Fig. 82. =A. Tabernæmontana= (Tabernæmontanus).* _fl._ pale blue, in cymes; petals lanceolate, acute, slightly hairy on the outside; sepals also lanceolate, acute. Summer. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, acute, shortly stalked. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2-1/2ft. North America, 1759. SYNS. _A. latifolia_, _Tabernæmontana Amsonia_. =AMYGDALUS= (from _amysso_, to lacerate; fissured channels in the stone of the fruit). Almond. ORD. _Rosaceæ_. TRIBE _Drupaceæ_. Well known, ornamental, deciduous spring flowering shrubs. Drupe clothed with velvety pubescence, with a fibrous dry rind, separating irregularly, having the stone of the fruit pitted or smooth. The larger-growing species are very excellent for shrubberies, or as specimen trees; being in blossom before most other trees, they make a fine appearance in early spring. The dwarfer kinds are also well fitted for small shrubberies or the fronts of large ones. For greenhouse culture they should be obtained in a small pyramidal shape; they are not, however, suited to a small house, as the plants, to bloom well and be effective, ought to be at least 2ft. or 3ft. high, and proportionately wide. Plenty of root room is essential. After potting, water thoroughly, and place the trees in an orchard house for a few weeks, when they may be removed to their permanent station. A temperature of about 50deg. or 55deg. is sufficient to hasten the flowering; a higher temperature is apt to frustrate the object in view. After flowering, gradually harden off the plants until about the end of May, when they may be plunged out of doors for the season. Repotting should be done as soon as the leaves fall. Increased by budding upon seedling plum-stocks in summer. The Almond is grown on the Continent for its fruit. _See also_ =Prunus=. =A. argentea= (silvery). A synonym of _A. orientalis_. =A. Besseriana= (Besser's). A synonym of _A. nana_. =A. cochinchinensis= (Cochin China). _fl._ white; racemes small, sub-terminal. _fr._ ovate, ventricose, acute at the apex. March. _l._ oval, quite entire. _h._ 30ft. to 40ft. Cochin China, 1825. Greenhouse. [Illustration: FIG. 83. FLOWERING BRANCH OF AMYGDALUS COMMUNIS.] =A. communis= (common).* Common Almond. _fl._ white or rose coloured, solitary. March. _fr._ compressed, egg-shaped, tomentose. _l._ oblong lanceolate, serrulated. _h._ 10ft. to 30ft. Barbary, 1548. See Fig. 83. =A. c. amara= (bitter).* Bitter Almond. _fl._ larger, white, but rose coloured at the base. April. Seeds bitter. =A. c. dulcis= (sweet). Sweet Almond. _fl._ red, earlier; fruit ovate, compressed, acuminated. Seeds sweet. _l._ of a greyish green colour. =A. c. flore-pleno= (double-blossomed).* _fl._ flesh colour, full double, rosy in the bud. _l._ oval-elliptic, acuminate. =A. c. fragilis= (brittle). _fl._ pale rose coloured, rising with the leaves; petals broader, deeply emarginate. _l._ shorter than those of the type. =A. c. macrocarpa= (large-fruited).* _fl._ whitish rose colour, large, rising before the leaves, with broadly obcordate undulated petals. _fr._ larger than that of the type, umbilicate at the base, but acuminated at the apex. _l._ broader than the type, acuminated. There are also numerous other varieties. =A. incana= (hoary).* _fl._ red, solitary. April. Drupe compressed, pubescent. _l._ obovate, serrated, clothed with white tomentum beneath. _h._ 2ft. A handsome dwarf shrub. Caucasus, 1815. =A. nana= (dwarf).* _fl._ rose coloured, solitary. March. _fr._ of the same form as that of _A. communis_, but much smaller. _l._ oblong-linear, attenuated at the base, serrated, quite glabrous. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Tartary, 1683. SYN. _A. Besseriana_. =A. orientalis= (Oriental). _fl._ rose coloured. March. _fr._ mucronate. _l._ lanceolate, quite entire, almost permanent, clothed with silvery tomentum, as well as the branches. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Levant, 1756. SYN. _A. argentea_. =AMYLACEOUS.= Starch-like. =AMYRIDACE�.= _See_ =Burseraceæ=. =AMYRIS= (from _a_, intensive, and _myron_, balm; the whole of the trees in this genus smell strongly of balm or myrrh). ORD. _Burseraceæ_. Ornamental stove evergreen trees, abounding in a resinous fluid. Flowers white, disposed in panicles. Leaves unequally pinnate. They thrive well in a mixture of loam and peat; and cuttings root freely in sand, under a hand glass with bottom heat, during the spring months. =A. balsamifera= (balsam-bearing). Synonymous with _A. toxifera_. =A. braziliensis= (Brazilian).* _fl._ white; panicles axillary, shorter than the leaves. August. _l._ with one to three pairs of opposite leaflets; leaflets lanceolate, tapering to the base, rounded at the apex, mucronate, quite entire, veiny, shining above, discoloured beneath. _h._ 20ft. Brazil, 1823. =A. heptaphylla= (seven-leaved). _fl._ whitish yellow; panicles branched, axillary, and terminal. _l._ with three to four pairs of alternate, simple leaflets, which are stalked, obliquely-lanceolate, acuminated, entire. _h._ 16ft. India, 1823. =A. Plumieri= (Plumier's).* Gum Elemi Tree. _fl._ white; panicles branched, terminal. The fruit of this species is the shape and size of an olive, but red, having an odoriferous pulp within it. _l._ leaflets three to five, all stalked, somewhat serrated, ovate, acuminate, villous beneath. _h._ 20ft. West Indies, 1820. =A. toxifera= (poison-bearing).* _fl._ white; racemes simple, about the length of the petioles. _fr._ the shape of a pear, and of a purple colour, hanging in bunches. _l._, leaflets five to seven, stalked, ovate, somewhat cordate, acuminated. _h._ 50ft. West Indies, 1818. The wood, known as Rhodes Wood, bears a fine polish, and has a pleasant smell. SYN. _A. balsamifera_. =ANACAMPSEROS= (from _anakampto_, to cause return, and _eros_, love). SYN. _Rulingia_. ORD. _Portulacaceæ_. Very dwarf greenhouse succulent herbs or sub-shrubs, natives of the Cape of Good Hope. Flowers large, expanding only in the heat of the sun; petals five, very fugacious; sepals five, opposite, oblong, rather concrete at the base; pedicels one-flowered, short or elongated, disposed in racemes. Leaves ovate, fleshy. They grow freely in sandy loam, mixed with some lime rubbish; but little water is needed. Cuttings root freely if laid to dry a few days before planting. Leaves taken off close to the plants, and also left to dry for a short time before being planted, will take root. Seed, when obtainable, should be sown in the spring. =A. arachnoides= (cobwebbed).* _fl._ white; petals lanceolate; racemes simple. July. _l._ ovate, acuminated, difformed, green, shining, cobwebbed. _h._ 6in. to 9in. 1790. =A. filamentosa= (thready). _fl._ reddish, or deep rose coloured; petals oblong. August. _l._ ovate-globose, gibbous on both sides, and cobwebbed, rather rugged above. _h._ 6in. to 1ft. 1795. =A. intermedia= (intermediate). Very like _A. filamentosa_, but has broader and more numerous leaves. =A. rubens= (reddish).* _fl._ red; racemes simple. July. _l._ ovate, difformed, shining, dark green, somewhat reflexed at the apex. _h._ 6in. to 9in. 1796. =A. rufescens= (rusty-coloured). _fl._ reddish, similarly disposed to _A. varians_. July. _l._ crowded, expanded and recurved, ovate, acute, thick, green, usually dark purple beneath. _h._ 6in. 1818. =A. Telephiastrum= (Telephium-like). Synonymous with _A. varians_. =A. varians= (varying).* _fl._ reddish; racemes few-flowered, sub-panicled. July. _l._ ovate, difformed, glabrous. _h._ 3in. 1813. SYN. _A. Telephiastrum_. =ANACAMPTIS.= _See_ =Orchis=. =ANACARDIACE�.= A rather large order of trees or shrubs, with a resinous, milky juice. Flowers inconspicuous. Leaves generally dotless. Ovary containing a single ovule. This order contains, among other genera, _Anacardium_, _Mangifera_, and _Rhus_. =ANACARDIUM= (origin doubtful; probably from _ana_, like, and _kardia_, the heart; in reference to the form of the nut). ORD. _Anacardiaceæ_. An ornamental stove evergreen tree with entire, feather-nerved leaves and terminal panicles of flowers; nut reniform, umbilicated, seated laterally on a fleshy, wide, pear-shaped peduncle. It requires a light loamy soil. Ripened cuttings, with their leaves left on, root freely in sand under a hand glass, in heat. =A. occidentale= (Western). Cashew Nut. _fl._ reddish, small, very sweet scented, succeeded by an edible pome-like fruit of a yellow or red colour. _l._ oval, cuneated, very blunt, somewhat emarginate, obovate-oblong, entire, smooth. _h._ 16ft. West Indies, 1699. =ANADENIA.= _See_ =Grevillea=. =ANAGALLIS= (from _anagelas_, to laugh; removing despondency: meaning doubtful). Pimpernel. ORD. _Primulaceæ_. Annual or perennial trailers with angular stems, opposite or verticillate leaves, and solitary pedunculate flowers; corolla rotate or funnel-shaped, deeply five-cleft. All are very pretty and free flowering plants, of easy culture. The annuals are raised from seed sown in a sunny spot in spring; the perennials are increased by striking cuttings of the young shoots, or division, at any time, either under a hand glass or in a close frame. Keep in the shade until well established, and gradually harden off. Plant outside in light rich soil for summer flowering, and each year secure a stock in frames during the winter. They require, if left out of doors, a protection during the winter, except _A. tenella_. =A. fruticosa= (shrubby).* _fl._ axillary, large, vermilion, with a dark throat. May to August. _l._ verticillate, four in each whorl. _h._ 2ft. Morocco, 1803. A biennial. =A. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl._ very variable, but intense blue and deep vermilion red are predominant. May to autumn. _h._ 4in. Habit very compact and neat, and very floriferous. There are several varieties. Annual. =A. indica= (Indian). _fl._ deep blue, small. July. _h._ 1ft. Nepaul, 1824. Annual; trailing. [Illustration: FIG. 84. ANAGALLIS LINIFOLIA, showing Habit and Flowers.] =A. linifolia= (flax-leaved).* _fl._ brilliant blue, large, about 1/2in. in diameter. July. _l._ opposite. _h._ 9in. to 12in. Portugal, 1796. Perennial. There are many varieties, the best of which are the following. SYN. _A. Monelli_. See Fig. 84. =A. l. Brewerii= (Brewer's).* _fl._ red. June. _h._ 9in. Known also as _Phillipsii_. =A. l. Eugenie= (Eugenie's).* _fl._ blue, margined with white. =A. l. lilacina= (lilac-flowered). _fl._ lilac. May. _h._ 1ft. =A. l. Napoleon III.= (Napoleon's).* _fl._ crimson maroon, distinct and pretty. =A. l. Parksii= (Parks'). _fl._ red, large. =A. l. ph�nicea= (Ph�nician).* _fl._ scarlet. May. Morocco, 1803. =A. l. sanguinea= (bloody). _fl._ bright ruby colour. =A. l. Wilmoreana= (Wilmore's).* _fl._ bright blue purple, with yellow eye. _h._ 6in. =A. Monelli= (Monell's). A synonym of _A. linifolia_. =A. tenella= (delicate).* _fl._ delicate pink, with deeper veins; corolla bell-shaped. Summer. _l._ roundish, very small, opposite. A beautiful little native bog trailer, and one of the prettiest in the whole genus. Requires a boggy and wet soil. =A. Webbiana= (Webb's). _fl._ blue; petals with their tops slightly denticulated. June to August. _l._ several, verticillate. _h._ 4in. Portugal, 1828. =ANAGYRIS= (from _ana_, backwards, and _gyros_, a circle; the pods are curved backwards at their extremities). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. An ornamental greenhouse or half-hardy shrub, having the two stipules placed opposite the leaves. It thrives in a mixture of loam, sand, and peat in equal proportions. Young cuttings should be planted in July in a pot of sand, and placed under a hand glass. =A. f�tida= (f�tid). _fl._ yellow, hairy, like those of the Laburnum; racemes short. May. _l._ trifoliate; leaflets lanceolate, acute, entire. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. South Europe, 1750. This shrub is f�tid in every part when bruised. =ANALOGY.= Resembling a thing in form but not in function; or _vice versâ_. Corresponding with a thing in many points, but differing in more, or in points of more importance. =ANANAS= (from _nanas_, the South American name for the Pine Apple). SYN. _Ananassa_. Pine Apple. ORD. _Bromeliaceæ_. Stove herbaceous perennials, having the berries collected with the bracts into a compound fruit. Leaves rigid; edges spiny. The variegated form is a useful plant for decorative purposes, and may be employed without the usual harmful consequences attending stove plants generally, but it must not be subjected to cold draughts. The soil should consist of two parts fibrous loam, one of peat, one of dung and leaf mould, and another of sand. Those propagated from suckers, which should be laid by a day or two and then inserted in a strong heat, have, as a rule, longer and lighter-coloured leaves. Offsets are often produced at the base of the fruit, and make stout plants, with high-coloured foliage. When the plants are potted in spring, plunge them in bottom heat, to hasten their growth; but this is not absolutely necessary. Should it be desired to fruit the variegated form, the plants may be submitted to the same process of culture as detailed under =Pine Apple= (which _see_). =A. bracamorensis= (Bracamora). Brazil, 1879. =A. bracteata= (bracted). _fl._ crimson. April. _h._ 3ft. Brazil, 1820. =A. lucida= (shining). _fl._ pink. April. _h._ 3ft. South America, 1820. =A. macrodonta= (large-toothed).* _fl._ reddish, tinted buff; spike elongate-ovoid, with imbricating dentate bracts. _fr._ conical, about 8in. long and 4in. wide, with conspicuous bracts, and highly perfumed. _l._ with conspicuous teeth. 1878. SYN. _Bromelia undulata_. =A. Mordilona= (Mordilona; native name). _fr._ large, with a fine aroma. _l._ distinguished in being without spines. Columbia, 1869. =A. Porteana= (Porter's).* _l._ armed on the margins with sharp spines, deep olive green, with a broad band of pale yellow running down the centre from base to apex. This species has a somewhat erect habit of growth. Philippines, 1866. =A. sativa= (cultivated). Pine Apple. For culture, _see_ =Pine Apple=. =A. s. variegata= (variegated).* _l._ rosulate, finely arched, 2ft. or 3ft. long, serrated on the edges; centre bright green, sometimes with a few lines of white, broadly margined with rich creamy-yellow, tinged with red towards the margins. A very elegant variegated plant for vases, &c. =ANANASSA.= _See_ =Ananas=. =ANANTHERIX= (from _a_, without, and _antherix_, an awn; there are no horn-formed processes from the base of the leaflets of the corona, as in _Asclepias_, to which it is closely allied). ORD. _Asclepiadeæ_. A small genus of pretty, hardy herbs. _A. viridis_ is of easy culture in an open situation, and light soil. Increased by division of the root; or by seeds, which ripen in abundance. =A. viridis= (green). _fl._ purplish-green, large; corolla sub-campanulate, five-cleft; umbels proceeding from the stem, sub-panicled, few-flowered. August. _l._ opposite, sessile, obovate-oblong, pointed, smoothish. _h._ 1ft. North America, 1812. =ANAPELTIS.= Included under _Polypodium_. =ANARRHINUM= (from _a_, without, and _rhin_, a snout; the corolla being without a spur, or furnished with a very short one). ORD. _Scrophularineæ_. Elegant little half-hardy biennials or perennials allied to _Antirrhinum_. Flowers small, drooping, in long spike-formed, twiggy, and interrupted racemes. Radical leaves usually in a rosette; stem and branch leaves palmate-parted, or toothed at the apex; superior ones quite entire. They are of easy culture in ordinary garden soil; seed may be sown outside in spring, or they can be increased by growing cuttings, but they require protection during severe weather. =A. bellidifolium= (Daisy-leaved).* _fl._ white, or pale blue; racemes slender, elongated. June. _l._ radical ones spathulate or obovate-lanceolate, deeply toothed; branch leaves deeply three to seven-parted. _h._ 2ft. South Europe, 1629. =A. Duriminium= (Douro). A synonym of _A. hirsutum_. =A. fruticosum= (shrubby). _fl._ white, without a spur. July. _l._ lower ones mostly tridentate at the apex; superior ones oblong, quite entire. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. South Europe, 1826. Shrubby. =A. hirsutum= (hairy). _fl._ whitish, a little larger than those of _A. bellidifolium_, of which it is, perhaps, only a downy variety. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Portugal, 1818. SYN. _A. Duriminium_. [Illustration: FIG. 85. DRY FRUITING PLANT OF ANASTATICA HIEROCHUNTINA.] =ANASTATICA= (from _anastasis_, resurrection; plant recovering its original form, however dry it may be, on immersion in water). ORD. _Cruciferæ_. A very curious and interesting little annual, the leaves of which fall off from the plant after flowering, the branches and branchlets then become dry, hard, and ligneous, and rise upwards and bend inwards at their points. This plant has the remarkable property of resuming vitality on being placed in water, after being kept in a dry state for many years. Seeds should be sown in heat, in the spring, and the plants afterwards potted off and plunged again in heat to hasten their growth, which cannot otherwise be fully developed with our precarious and sunless summers. [Illustration: FIG. 86. ANASTATICA HIEROCHUNTINA.] =A. Hierochuntina.= Rose of Jericho. _fl._ small, white, sessile, disposed in spikes along the branches; petals obovate. July. _fr._, or silicle, ventricose, with the valves bearing each an appendage on the outer side at the end. _l._ obovate, with stellate hairs; lower ones entire, upper ones slightly toothed. Branches crowded lattice-wise into a globular form. _h._ 6in. Syria, &c., 1597. Supposed by some commentators to be the "_rolling thing_ before the whirlwind" mentioned by Isaiah. See Figs. 85 and 86. =ANASTOMOSE.= Branching of one vein into another. =ANBURY.= _See_ =Ambury=. =ANCEPS.= Two-edged; as the stem of an Iris. =ANCHIETEA= (named in honour of P. Anchietea, a celebrated Brazilian writer on plants). SYNS. _Lucinæa_, _Noisettia_. ORD. _Violarieæ_. An ornamental, stove, evergreen climber. Petals five, very unequal, two upper ones smallest, two intermediate ones longer, lowest one largest, with a spur at the base. The species thrives in a mixture of loam, sand, and peat. Young cuttings root freely under a bell glass if planted in sand, and placed in a moderate heat. =A. pyrifolia= (pear-leaved). _fl._ whitish, veined with red at the base, in axillary fascicles; lower petal obovate. July. _l._ alternate, stalked, stipulate, ovate, acute, crenated. Brazil, 1826. =ANCHOMANES= (name of doubtful origin). ORD. _Aroideæ_. A remarkable and beautiful stove tuberous-rooted perennial aroid, allied to _Amorphophallus_, and requiring somewhat similar treatment. As soon as the leaves die down, the plants should be repotted in rich sandy loam and leaf mould, with ample drainage. They will need scarce any water or attention until growth commences the following spring, when they must have an abundance of water, and a moist atmosphere. Summer temperature, 60deg. to 85deg.; winter, 55deg. to 60deg. Propagated by seeds and offsets. =A. Hookeri= (Hooker's).* _fl._, spathe pale purple, appearing before the leaf, much expanded; spadix whitish; scape prickly, shorter than the petiole. June. _l._, petiole slender, prickly, bearing on its summit the horizontal blade, about 3ft. in diameter; this is divided into three primary divisions, which are again cut up into several leaflets, the largest of these being toothed. _h._ 3ft. Fernando Po, 1832. There is a variety with a paler coloured spathe. SYN. _Caladium petiolatum_. =ANCHOVY PEAR.= _See_ =Grias cauliflora=. [Illustration: FIG. 87. ANCHUSA CAPENSIS, showing Flower and Habit.] =ANCHUSA= (from _anchousa_, paint for the skin; use of some species). ORD. _Boraginaceæ_. Very pretty hardy annuals, biennials, or perennials. Flowers in scorpoid racemes; corolla funnel-shaped; throat closed by erect, obtuse processes; nuts four, one-celled, inversely conical, with a contraction towards the point, fixed to the bottom of the calyx, perforated and concave at the base. Of easy culture, in ordinary soils, and preferring a sunny situation. Propagated by seeds, which should be sown in early spring in pots of sandy soil, when most of them will germinate in three or four weeks, some less. The honey-bee is very partial to this genus. =A. Agardhii= (Agardh's). _fl._ purple, on short pedicels, distant, disposed in terminal racemes, which are generally conjugate. July. _l._ linear-lanceolate, tubercled, strigose. _h._ 1ft. Siberia, 1820. Perennial. Rare. =A. azurea= (blue). Synonymous with _A. italica_. =A. Barrelieri= (Barrelier's). _fl._ blue, with a white tube and yellow throat; racemes conjugate, panicled, bracteate. May. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, denticulated, hispid. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. South Europe, 1820. Perennial. SYNS. _Buglossum Barrelieri_, _Myosotis obtusum_. =A. capensis= (Cape).* _fl._ blue; racemes terminal, panicled. July. _l._ linear lanceolate, hispid. Stem simple, hairy. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1800. Requires greenhouse protection in winter. Biennial. See Fig. 87. [Illustration: FIG. 88. INFLORESCENCE OF ANCHUSA ITALICA.] =A. italica= (Italian). _fl._ bright blue or purple, in panicled racemes. Summer. _l._ lanceolate, entire, shining; radical ones sometimes 2ft. long. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Caucasus, &c., 1810. One of the best. SYNS. _A. azurea_, _A. paniculata_. See Fig. 88. =A. latifolia= (broad-leaved). Synonymous with _Nonnea rosea_. =A. myosotidiflora= (Myosotideum-flowered). _fl._ fine blue; throat yellow; raceme terminal, panicled, bractless. July. _l._ large, radical ones on long petioles, reniformly cordate; those of the stem sessile, ovate, hairy. _h._ 1ft. Siberia, 1825. A pretty plant. SYN. _Myosotis macrophylla_. =A. officinalis= (officinal). _fl._ blue or purple, sessile, imbricate; spikes joined by pairs, terminal. June to October. _l._ lanceolate, hispid; radical ones tufted. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Britain, naturalised here and there. =A. o. incarnata= is a variety with flesh coloured flowers. =A. paniculata= (panicled). Synonymous with _A. italica_. =A. sempervirens= (evergreen). _fl._ rich blue, in short axillary spikes, generally leafy at the base. May. _l._ broadly ovate, lower ones upon long stalks. Stem erect. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. Perennial; here and there naturalised in Britain. See Fig. 89. =A. tinctoria= (dyers'). Alkanet. _fl._ deep blue; tube blood-colour; racemes usually twin, terminal, many-flowered. June. _l._ oblong, hispid. _h._ 6in. South Europe, 1596. A diffuse perennial. =ANCYCLOGYNE.= A synonym of =Sanchezia= (which _see_). =ANDERSONIA= (in honour of Messrs. Anderson, surgeons, great promoters of botany). ORD. _Epacridaceæ_. Elegant and delicate little greenhouse shrubs. Flowers terminal, solitary, or spicate; corolla sub-campanulate, hypocrateriform, five-lobed. The undermentioned, which is the only species yet introduced, grows freely in a sandy peat with perfect drainage, which latter is most essential. Cuttings from the tips of young shoots may be made in autumn, winter, or spring, and planted in sand in a gentle heat, with a bell glass placed over them. =A. sprengelioides= (Sprengelia-like).* _fl._ pink, furnished with two small bracteas, spicate. March. _l._ spreading, bases curved inwards, so as to resemble a hood, ending in a flat point. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. New Holland, 1803. Evergreen squarrose shrub. SYN. _Sprengelia Andersoni_. =ANDIRA= (its Brazilian name). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Large ornamental stove evergreen trees, nearly allied to =Geoffroya= (which _see_ for cultivation). Flowers in axillary or terminal panicles. Pod drupaceous. Leaves alternate, unequally pinnate. =A. inermis= (unarmed). _fl._ purple, on short pedicels; panicles terminal. _l._ impari-pinnate; leaflets thirteen to fifteen, ovate-lanceolate, acute, glabrous on both surfaces. _h._ 20ft. to 30ft. Jamaica, 1773. Known as the Cabbage Tree. =A. racemosa= (branchy). _fl._ purple, in panicled racemes. _l._ impari-pinnate; leaflets thirteen, ovate-oblong, acuminated, glabrous on both surfaces. _h._ 20ft. to 60ft. Brazil, 1818. [Illustration: FIG. 89. ANCHUSA SEMPERVIRENS.] =ANDROCYMBIUM= (from _aner_, a man, and _cymbos_, a cavity; the stamens are enclosed in a hollow formed by the folding of the limb of the petals). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. A peculiar greenhouse bulbous plant, requiring a light sandy soil, dry atmosphere, no shade, and a season of rest; during the latter period, scarcely any water is required. Propagated by seeds and offsets. =A. punctatum= (dotted). _fl._ whitish, few, in a dense sessile umbel, surrounded by about four spreading lanceolate, acuminate leaves, which are 5in. to 6in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad above the base, channelled down the centre from base to tip. South Africa, 1874. =ANDR�CIUM.= The male organ of the flower. =ANDROGYNOUS.= Producing male and female flowers on the same spike. =ANDROLEPIS= (from _aner_, a man, and _lepis_, a scale; referring to the scaly stamens). ORD. _Bromeliaceæ_. Stove evergreen epiphyte. For culture, _see_ =�chmea=. =A. Skinneri= (Skinner's). _fl._ white. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Guatemala, 1850. SYN. _Billbergia Skinneri_. =ANDROMEDA= (named after the daughter of Cepheus, who was rescued from the sea monster by Perseus). ORD. _Ericaceæ_. A dwarf, hardy shrub, found in peaty bogs in the temperate and Arctic regions of the northern hemisphere. Sow seeds as soon as ripe in pots or pans, very thinly, in sandy peat soil, and place in a cool frame, giving plenty of air. Place the young plants out in spring. Layers, pegged carefully down during September, will generally take twelve months to make sufficient roots to allow of their being separated, and thus become independent plants. For other species often included under this genus in catalogues, _see_ =Cassandra=, =Cassiope=, =Leucothoë=, =Lyonia=, =Oxydendrum=, =Pieris=, and =Zenobia=. =A. polifolia= (Polium-leaved). Wild Rosemary. _fl._ pinky white, drooping, sometimes tipped with red; corolla ovate, furnished with ovate, rather leafy imbricated bracteas, terminal, umbellate. June. _l._ linear-lanceolate, mucronulate, with the margins more or less revolute, quite entire, glaucous beneath, with an elevated rib, and reticulated veins. _h._ 1ft. The numerous varieties of this very beautiful native shrub principally differ in the colouring of the flowers. =ANDROPOGON= (from _aner_, a man, and _pogon_, a beard; tufts of hair on flowers). ORD. _Gramineæ_. A large genus of grasses with polygamous flowers. The majority of species are of no horticultural value; several, however, are very ornamental subjects, and thrive well in a rich, deep soil. Easily propagated by seeds or by division of the roots. The South European kinds succeed in the open air if planted in a warm dry border. =A. citratum= (Citrus-leaved). Synonymous with _A. Sch�nanthus_. =A. Sch�nanthus.= Lemon Grass. _fl._ in threes; spikes imbricate, conjugate, panicled. A handsome species, the leaves of which emit a very fragrant odour when bruised. _h._ 2ft. India, 1786. Stove species. SYN. _A. citratum_. Other species worth growing are _furcatus_, _halepensis_, _muricatus_, _pubescens_, _scoparius_, _squarrosus_, and _strictus_. =ANDROSACE= (from _aner_, a man, and _sakos_, buckler; in reference to the resemblance of the anther to an ancient buckler). Including _Aretia_. ORD. _Primulaceæ_. Dwarf annuals or perennials, entirely alpine, agreeing in most characters with _Primula_, but having the tube of the corolla narrowed at the mouth. An airy, well-drained, and partially sunny position is essential in their culture. They thrive well between fissures of rocks or stones with a rich sandy peat soil. Drought and a sour soil are alike fatal, and both will be greatly obviated if small pieces of sandstone are mixed with the soil. The woolly species are best arranged beneath a jutting ledge of the rockery, which will afford them protection from the hottest sunshine, and from excessive wet in winter; additional comfort will be provided from the latter ill if a piece of glass is placed over them during the autumn and winter months. They can also be well grown, and make charming little specimens, in pots, with rich sandy soil and thorough drainage. Sprinkle sand among the small rosettes of leaves. They are increased by divisions, cuttings, or seed; the latter should be sown as early as possible, and raised in a frame. =A. alpina= (alpine). _fl._ purplish rose; throat and tube yellow, solitary; peduncles about 1/2in. long. June. _l._ crowded, small, tongue-shaped, in small rosettes. _h._ 2in. to 3in. Switzerland, 1775. This species requires a rather shady aspect, and to be planted almost perpendicularly in a soil composed of leaf mould, peat, fibrous loam, and sharp sand. SYN. _A. glacialis_. =A. Aretia= (Aretius'). Synonymous with _A. helvetica_. =A. aretioides= (Aretia-like). Synonymous with _A. obtusifolia_. =A. argentea= (silvery).* _fl._ white, sessile, very numerous. June. _l._ densely imbricated, lanceolate, oblong, covered with short hairs, forming very pretty silvery-grey rosettes. _h._ about 2in. Switzerland, 1826. This requires a well drained, sunny fissure. SYN. _A. imbricata_. =A. carnea= (flesh-coloured).* _fl._ pink or rose, with a yellow eye, three to seven, on hairy stalked umbels. July. _l._ awl-shaped, smooth, acuminated, not forming rosettes. Stem somewhat elongated. _h._ 3in. or 4in. Switzerland, 1768. This forms charming little cushions if allowed to remain undisturbed; it is easily increased. SYNS. _A. Lachenalii_, _A. puberula_. =A. c. eximia= (select).* Larger and more robust than the typical species, and a more rapid grower. Forms compact tufts of dense rosettes, bearing heads of rosy-crimson yellow-eyed flowers, on stems 2in. or 3in. high. Auvergne Alps, 1871. It requires moist sunny ledges and fissures of rockwork in peat, loam, and sand. =A. Chamæjasme= (rock jasmine).* _fl._ blush, ultimately deep pink, with a yellow eye, umbellate. June. _l._ lanceolate, tapering to a point towards the base, in comparatively large, not dense, rosettes. _h._ about 2in. to 4in. Austria, &c., 1768. A very free flowering species, growing freely when established, ultimately forming large tufts. It thrives best in a deep, well drained and rich loam soil. =A. ciliata= (ciliated). _fl._ deep carmine red, on stems double as long as the leaves. June. _l._ lanceolate-oblong, smooth on both surfaces, with ciliated margins, imbricated. _h._ 2in. to 3in., forming dense cushions. Pyrenees. =A. coronopifolia= (buckhorn-leaved).* _fl._ pure white, on slender pedicels, umbellate on peduncles, about 6in. high. April to June. _l._ lanceolate, distantly serrated, smooth, in flattish rosettes. Russia, 1755. This is a charming little biennial, well worthy of a place on the rockery. A colony of it is extremely pretty; it seeds freely, and a batch of young plants almost invariably takes the place of the old ones. SYN. _A. septentrionalis_. =A. glacialis= (glacial). Synonymous with _A. alpina_. =A. helvetica= (Swiss).* _fl._ white, nearly sessile, with a yellow eye, larger than the little rosettes of leaves on the stalk from which they spring. May. _l._ lanceolate, obtuse, closely imbricated, small, ciliated. _h._ 1in., forming dense cushions. Switzerland, 1775. A rare little gem, requiring a partially shaded position, and very sandy soil. SYN. _A. Aretia_. =A. imbricata= (imbricated). Synonymous with _A. argentea_. =A. Lachenalii= (Lachenal's). Synonymous with _A. carnea_. =A. lactea= (milk-white).* _fl._ pure white, with yellow throat, large, on long graceful stalks, umbellate. June. _l._ linear, or nearly so, in rosettes, sometimes scattered on the elongated branches. _h._ about 4in. Austria, 1752. Very floriferous and strong growing. Should have an eastern or western aspect, and be propagated from seeds. SYN. _A. pauciflora_. [Illustration: FIG. 90. ANDROSACE LAGGERI.] =A. Laggeri= (Lagger's).* _fl._ pink, sessile; when approaching maturity the stem becomes elongated, and bears a tuft of stalked flowers. March. _l._ awl-shaped, sharply pointed, in tiny rosettes. _h._ 3in. Pyrenees, &c., 1879. Very like _A. carnea_, but more delicate, earlier, and more abundant flowering, with deeper green foliage. It suffers from exposure to the sun, and therefore requires a partially shady position. Should be propagated from seeds or cuttings, which latter strike freely. See Fig. 90. =A. lanuginosa= (woolly-leaved).* _fl._ delicate rose, with a small yellow eye, umbellate. June to October. _l._ nearly 1in. long, clothed with shiny silken hairs. _h._ 6in. to 9in. Himalaya, 1842. A very beautiful species, with spreading or trailing shoots, easily multiplied by cuttings or layers. It requires a warm sunny spot on the rockery, with a sandy peat soil. When planted so that its shoots drape the face of a rocky ledge, it is one of the most charming plants possible to grow. A. obtusifolia (blunt-leaved). _fl._ white or rose, with yellow eye; umbels five or six-flowered. Spring. _l._ lanceolate or rather spathulate, in rather large rosettes. Stems downy. _h._ 2in. to 6in. European Alps. A very pretty form, closely allied to _A. Chamæjasme_, and differing principally in its somewhat larger rosette of leaves and stronger growth. SYN. _A. aretioides_. =A. pauciflora= (few-flowered). Synonymous with _A. lactea_. =A. penicillata= (finely hairy). Synonymous with _A. villosa_. =A. puberula= (puberulous). Synonymous with _A. carnea_. =A. pubescens= (downy). _fl._ white, with a faint yellow eye, solitary, at the ends of the branchlets, very numerous. June. _l._ oblong-ovate, ciliated, in a crowded rosette. Stem with a small swelling close to the flower. _h._ 2in. Alps, 1869. Treat like _A. Chamæjasme_. =A. pyrenaica= (Pyrenean). _fl._ white, with yellowish eyes, on a scape about 1/4in high. Summer. _l._ narrow-oblong, ciliated, recurved, keeled at the back. _h._ 1in. Pyrenees. An exceedingly pretty and diminutive little alpine plant, grown, according to Mr. Robinson, "to great perfection in fissures between large rocks, with, however, deep rifts of sandy peat and loam in them. It will also grow on a level exposed spot, but in such a position should be surrounded by half-buried stones." =A. sarmentosa= (trailing).* _fl._ bright rose, with a white eye, in umbels of ten to twenty, on an erect scape. May and June. _l._ very silvery, forming dense rosettes, whence spring a number of runners, bearing at their extremities other tufts, which should be pegged down and covered with soil, when they will root freely. Himalayas, 1876. It requires rich sandy loam, a sunny position, and to be wedged between pieces of sandstone. Cover the rosettes during winter with a sheet of glass. See Fig. 91. =A. septentrionalis= (northern). Synonymous with _A. coronopifolia_. =A. villosa= (hairy).* _fl._ rose or blush, with a deeper coloured eye, and a honey-like perfume, umbellate. May. _l._ narrow, oblong, covered with soft white down, chiefly on the under surface, in compact tufts. _h._ 2in. to 4in. Pyrenees, &c., 1790. When well grown, the flowers are produced in great abundance, almost covering the green cushions. Plant in a sunny fissure of the rockery, in sandy loam and leaf soil. SYN. _A. penicillata_. [Illustration: FIG. 91. ANDROSACE SARMENTOSA, showing Habit, and the two kinds of Leaves, &c.] =A. Vitaliana= (Vital's).* _fl._ rich yellow, comparatively large; tube inflated at the middle, almost nestling among the leaves. May to July. _l._ linear, acute, greyish. Stems numerous. _h._ 1in. to 2in. Pyrenees, &c., 1787. When well grown, it produces flowers in abundance, and is the only species in cultivation having yellow flowers. A well-drained, sunny pocket is desirable, with a calcareous soil, covering the surface with nodules of sandstone. SYN. _Gregoria Vitaliana_. =A. Wulfeniana= (Wulfen's).* _fl._ rosy or crimson, large. Summer. _l._ oval, acuminated, in dense rosettes. _h._ 2in. Styria. A very rare species in cultivation in this country. =ANDROS�MUM.= _See_ =Hypericum=. =ANDROSTEPHIUM= (from _aner_, a man, and _stephos_, a crown; some of the stamens are barren and petaloid, forming a corona). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. A very pretty little hardy bulb, of dwarf habit, allied to _Brodiæa_. It requires a rich sandy loam, in a sunny position, and may be propagated by offsets and seeds; the latter should be sown as soon as ripe in a cold frame. Plant 6in. deep, when it will require no protection in winter. =A. violaceum= (violet). _fl._ violet blue, about 1in. long, three to six in an umbel, on pedicels about their own length; tube infundibuliform, about as long as the spreading segments; corona half as long. Spring. _l._ four to six, very narrow. _h._ 6in. Texas, 1874. =ANDRYALA= (the meaning of this is unknown). ORD. _Compositæ_. These are pretty half-hardy evergreen herbaceous perennials, easily grown in ordinary well-drained garden soil. Increased by seeds and divisions in spring. Two species only are in cultivation. =A. lanata= (woolly).* _fl.-heads_ yellow, Hieracium-like. May. _l._ white, woolly, thick, oblong-ovate; radical ones stalked; upper ones sessile. Stems with a leaf at each joint. _h._ about 1ft. South Europe, 1732. =A. mogadorensis= (Mogador). _fl.-heads_ bright yellow, as large as a half-crown; disk bright orange. April. Morocco, 1871. This species is rare in cultivation. =ANEILEMA= (from _a_, not, and _eilema_, involucre; in reference to the absence of the involucre). ORD. _Commelynaceæ_. Greenhouse and stove evergreen perennials, with generally a trailing habit. A genus resembling _Commelyna_, from which it is distinguished by the inflorescence being sub-paniculate, and the peduncles entirely exserted from the bracts at the branching of the panicle. Flowers without any involucre. They thrive in a compost of loam, peat, leaf mould, and sand, well mixed. Increased by seeds and root divisions. There are a large number of species known to botanists. =A. biflora= (two-flowered).* _fl._ blue; floral stalks two-flowered. July. _l._ lanceolate. Stem creeping; plant smooth. New Holland, 1820. Greenhouse species. =A. sinicum= (Chinese). _fl._ pale blue; racemes about seven-flowered, alternate, placed in a panicle form. May. _l._ ligulate, acuminate. Stems branched, diffuse. _h._ 1ft. China, 1820. Greenhouse species. =ANEMIA= (from _aneimon_, naked; in reference to the naked panicles of sporangia). Including _Anemidictyon_. ORD. _Filices_. A well-marked genus of stove and greenhouse ferns, chiefly confined to Tropical America. Capsules small, very abundant, forming a copiously-branched panicle, quite distinct from the leafy part of the frond. This genus of handsome dwarf-growing ferns is of easy culture, in a compost of fibrous peat, leaf soil, and sand. Several species are exceedingly pretty for fern cases. For general culture, _see_ =Ferns=. =A. adiantifolia= (maidenhair-leaved).* _sti._ 12in. to 18in. long, firm, naked. _fronds_, barren portion shortly-stalked, 6in. to 9in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad, deltoid, bi-tripinnate; pinnæ close, lanceolate, the lowest the largest; ultimate divisions oblong or linear-cuneate, the outer toothed, with a firm texture; panicle 3in. to 4in. long, the peduncle 1in. to 3in. long. West Indies, 1793. A very handsome stove fern. =A. ciliata= (ciliated). Synonymous with _A. hirsuta_. =A. collina= (hill). _sti._ 8in. to 12in. long, firm, erect, densely clothed with fine ferruginous hairs. _fronds_, barren portion sessile, 6in. to 12in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad, with about twelve sessile pinnæ on each side, which are 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, and about 1/2in. broad, unequal-sided, obliquely-truncate below, blunt, sub-entire, with a sub-coriaceous texture; panicle 2in. to 3in. long, close, the peduncle 4in. to 6in. long. Brazil, 1829. Very rare stove species. SYN. _A. hirta_. =A. deltoidea= (deltoid-like). Synonymous with _A. tomentosa_. =A. Dregeana= (Drege's).* _sti._ 8in. to 12in. long, firm, slightly villose. _fronds_, barren portion sub-sessile, 8in. to 12in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad, about equal in width in the lower half, with eight to twelve pinnæ on each side, which are 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, ovate-deltoid, unequal at the base, the upper side sub-cordate, the edge inciso-crenate; panicle 3in. to 4in. long, the lower branches elongated; peduncle same length. Natal. Stove species. =A. flexuosa= (wavy). Synonymous with _A. tomentosa_. =A. hirsuta= (hairy). _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, slender, naked. _fronds_, barren portion 2in. to 6in. long, 1in. to 3in. broad, sessile, oblong-deltoid, bipinnatifid; pinnæ in six to eight opposite pairs, 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, 1/4in. to 3/4in. broad, varying from oblong, obtuse, sub-entire, truncate at the base on the lower side, to deeply pinnatifid with narrow divisions; panicle 1in. to 2in. long, close; peduncle 2in. to 6in. long, slender. Jamaica, 1704. Very handsome stove species. SYNS. _A. repens_ and _A. ciliata_. =A. hirta= (hairy). Synonymous with _A. collina_. =A. mandioccana= (Mandioccan).* _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, deciduously villose. _fronds_, barren portion 1ft. or more long, 2in. to 4in. broad, oblong-lanceolate, the lower half about equal in width; pinnæ in twenty or more close pairs, the point narrowed, but scarcely acute; edge finely serrulate, the upper base parallel with the stem, the lower obliquely truncate; rachis and surfaces finely pilose; texture sub-coriaceous; panicle very compound, 3in. to 4in. long: peduncle longer. Brazil. A very beautiful and distinct stove species. =A. Phyllitidis= (Phyllitis-like).* _sti._ 6in. to 18in. long, stramineous, naked, or fibrillose. _fronds_, barren portion sessile, 4in. to 12in. long, 2in. to 8in. broad, ovate-oblong, simply pinnate; pinnæ in four to twelve sessile pairs, the lowest the largest, ovate, 1in. to 6in. long, 1/2in. to 2in. broad, the apex acute, the edge crenulate, the base rounded or cuneate, or unequal, with a firm texture; panicle dense, 3in. to 9in. long, the branches short; peduncles the same length. Cuba, Mexico, &c. SYN. _Anemidictyon Phyllitidis_. Greenhouse species. =A. P. lineata= (lined). _fronds_ with a yellowish-green central stripe down the pinnæ. South America, 1868. =A. P. plumbea= (leaden). Synonymous with _A. P. tessellata_. =A. P. tessellata= (tessellated). Pinnæ dark green, with bright green centre and leaden-grey border. Brazil, 1875. The forms of this species are numerous: _fraxinifolia_ and _macrophylla_ are names often met with, but only show slight deviations. They all have a more hardy constitution than the other species, and grow well in the greenhouse. SYN. _A. P. plumbea_. =A. repens= (creeping). Synonymous with _A. hirsuta_. =A. tomentosa= (tomentose).* _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, strong, erect, clothed with ferruginous hairs. _fronds_, barren portion 6in. to 12in. long, half as broad, ovate-deltoid, bipinnatifid or bipinnate; lowest pinnæ the largest, the blunt lobes 1/2in. to 3/4in. long, 1/4in. broad, nearly entire; rachis and surfaces densely pilose, with a firm texture; panicle 4in. to 9in. long, loose; peduncle 1in. to 2in. long. Tropical America. Greenhouse species. SYNS. _A. deltoidea_, _A. flexuosa_, _A. villosa_. =A. villosa= (hairy). Synonymous with _A. tomentosa_. =ANEMIDICTYON.= _See_ =Anemia=. =ANEMONE= (from _anemos_, wind; the greater part of the species grow in elevated places, much exposed to the wind). Wind Flower. ORD. _Ranunculaceæ_. An extensive genus of very ornamental hardy perennials. The generic characters of Anemone proper are: Involucre of three cut leaflets, distant from the flower; calyx of five to twenty petal-like sepals; petals absent. Of sub-genus Hepatica: Involucre of three entire leaflets, just under the flowers; calyx of six to nine petal-like sepals; petals absent. For botanical purposes, they are both now included under the one generic name of Anemone; but in gardens the Hepaticas are frequently regarded as a distinct genus. They delight in a rich sandy loam, but most will thrive in ordinary garden soil. Some are suitable for borders, while others thrive best on the rockery, most of them preferring a damp and partially shady position. For the numerous varieties of _A. coronaria_, both double and single flowered, the soil can hardly be too rich, and the position, though open, should be a sheltered one, and well drained. The tubers may be planted early in October, about 6in. apart, and 3in. deep, various colours being intermixed, when a splendid effect is produced in the following spring. After flowering, the tubers should be taken up--say in June--and spread out thinly, in a shady, airy situation, until they are dry, when they should be thoroughly cleaned, and, if necessary, divided, and finally stored away in a cool place, in pots or boxes of dry sand until the planting season. Anemones make admirable pot plants if placed in a compost of two parts turfy loam, and one of leaf mould or rotten hotbed or cow manure, with about a sixth part of sharp gritty sand; but, if so grown, they should be protected through severe weather, and brought into warmth as required. The herbaceous species are propagated by root divisions or root cuttings, or by seeds, in autumn or early spring; the seeds are better sown as soon as ripe in pans in a cold frame. Some, such as _A. japonica_, are freely increased by division; while others, such as _A. narcissiflora_, are very slow; and the tuberous rooted ones, by root division and seeds. The best and most rapid means of propagating the invaluable varieties of _A. coronaria_, and also of obtaining new ones, is by seed. A careful selection of flowers, and skilful hybridising, will produce results commensurate with the trouble incurred. So soon as the seed ripen, they should be gathered and sown at once in a warm sheltered situation outside, or in pans under glass, covering lightly with sandy soil, and keeping moist. They are somewhat difficult to sow on account of a mass of cotton-like down which adheres closely to them; they should be thoroughly separated therefrom by rubbing them in dry sand. Of course, if the seed are sown at different times, plants will be produced which will flower at different periods, and a succession of bloom may be had from April to November--indeed, nearly all the year. =A. alba= (white). _fl._ white; pedicel solitary; sepals five, obovate, very blunt. June. _l._ ternate or quinate; segments deeply toothed at top; those of the involucre stalked. _h._ 6in. Siberia, 1820. =A. alpina= (alpine).* _fl._ variously coloured, sometimes white, white with the back purple, cream, yellowish or yellow with their backs paler; sepals six, spreading, elliptical, rarely ovate. May. _l._ sometimes smooth, sometimes clothed with long crowded silky hairs, biternate; segments pinnate and deeply serrated; involucre of the same form. _h._ 6in. Middle Europe, 1658. Very handsome alpine. Plant on the rockery in rich deep soil, with a damp situation. SYN. _Pulsatilla alpina_. =A. a. sulphurea= (sulphur).* _fl._ beautiful soft yellow, 2in. to 2-1/2in. across when expanded, but they are usually cup-shaped; sepals six, covered with a silky down outside; anthers of a rich golden colour. May and June. _l._ radical, stalked, drooping, more than 1ft. long; leaflets pinnatifid, deeply toothed. A very beautiful form, thriving in ordinary garden soil, and a rather moist situation. See Fig. 92. [Illustration: FIG. 92. ANEMONE ALPINA SULPHUREA, showing Habit and Flower.] =A. americana= (American). A synonym of _A. Hepatica_. =A. angulosa= (angled).* _fl._ fine sky blue, over 2in. across, with numerous black anthers surrounding a tuft of yellow styles; sepals eight to nine, elliptical, spreading. February. _l._ palmately five-lobed; lobes serrated. _h._ 8in. to 12in. East Europe. A very fine species, twice the size of _A. Hepatica_ in all its parts; it is well suited for the border or rockery, enjoying a deep rich soil. SYN. _Hepatica angulosa_. =A. apennina= (Apennine).* _fl._ blue, 1-1/2in. across; sepals ten to fourteen, oblong, obtuse, erect; pedicel one-flowered. March. _l._ binately pinnate; segments lanceolate, deeply-toothed, acute. _h._ 6in. England (naturalised here and there), and Southern Europe. An exceedingly pretty plant, with soft-looking feathery foliage. It thrives best under the partial shade of trees, where the flowers retain their colour longer. Tuberous rooted. =A. baldensis= (Mount Baldo).* _fl._ white, clothed with adpressed hairs on the outside, and reddish tinged with blue; sepals eight to ten, oblong-oval; pedicels one-flowered. May. _l._ biternate; segments many-parted; lobes linear; involucral leaves multifid. _h._ 6in. Switzerland, 1792. _A. c�rulea_ is probably identical with this species. Shady parts of the rockery. Rare. Tuberous rooted. =A. blanda= (fair).* _fl._ deep blue, nearly 2in. across; sepals nine to fourteen, narrow. Winter or early spring. _l._ triternate; segments deeply cut and acute; involucral leaves stalked, trifid, deeply cut. _h._ 6in. Eastern Europe. A very handsome early flowering plant. It requires a rich, light, and well drained sandy loam, and a warm, sheltered position. It closely resembles _A. apennina_, of which it is merely a form, with deeper blue flowers. Tuberous rooted. =A. caroliniana= (Carolina). _fl._ purple or whitish, pubescent on the outside, on a long one-flowered pedicel; sepals ten to twenty, oblong-linear. May. _l._ ternate, with three-parted, or cut acutely-toothed lobes; involucral leaves trifid, with cut lobes. _h._ 9in. Carolina, 1824. A very slender and delicate plant. Shady parts of the rockery. Tuberous rooted. =A. cernua= (drooping). _fl._ somewhat drooping, dark purple; sepals six, spreading, elliptical-oblong. May. _l._ pinnate, villous underneath; segments pinnatifid; lobes cut, oblong; scapes, petioles, and peduncles clothed with downy hairs. _h._ 6in. Japan, 1806. Rare. =A. coronaria= (garland).* Poppy Anemone. _fl._ very various in colouring, solitary; sepals six, oval, approximate. April to May. _l._ ternate; segments multifid; lobules linear, mucronated; involucral leaves sessile, multifid. South Europe, 1596. This is one of the species from which the majority of "florists' varieties" have originated, which can be purchased at such a cheap rate, either in named varieties, or in mixture, and are invaluable for spring flowering. It thrives best in a good loamy soil, and should be somewhat shaded from the mid-day sun. Tuberous rooted. See Fig. 93. [Illustration: FIG. 93. ANEMONE CORONARIA FLORE-PLENO.] [Illustration: FIG. 94. ANEMONE FULGENS.] =A. decapetala= (ten-petaled).* _fl._ cream white or pale sulphur, about 1in. to 2in. across, erect; sepals eight to twelve, oblong, spreading. May to June. _l._ tripartite, and freely divided into numerous linear-acute segments, of a deep green colour. _h._ 12in. to 18in. North-West America, &c. A pretty free-flowering species, suitable for naturalising in woods, &c. It is less ornamental than many others, but is very distinct. [Illustration: FIG. 95. ANEMONE HEPATICA.] =A. dichotoma= (forked).* _fl._ white, with a tinge of red on the under side; sepals five, elliptical; pedicels many, usually bifid. May. _l._ three parted; lobes oblong, deeply-toothed at top; those of the involucrum sessile. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Siberia, North America, &c., 1768. Border, or for naturalising in woods. SYN. _A. pennsylvanica._ [Illustration: FIG. 96. FLOWER AND LEAF OF ANEMONE JAPONICA.] =A. fulgens= (shining).* _fl._ of a dazzling vermilion or scarlet, with a black central patch of stamens, about 2in. across; sepals obovate. May. Greece, South Europe, &c., 1865. A very beautiful variety, much more showy than _A. hortensis_ (of which it is generally regarded as a variety), and a universal favourite. In "Hardy Perennials," Mr. Wood says of this splendid species: "It may be grown in pots for conservatory or indoor decoration. It needs no forcing for such purposes; a cold frame will prove sufficient to bring the flowers out in winter. Borders or the moist parts of rockwork are suitable for it; but perhaps it is seen to greatest advantage in irregular masses in the half shade of trees in front of a shrubbery; and, after all, it is impossible to plant this flower wrong as regards effect. To grow it well, however, it must have a moist situation and good loam." See Fig. 94. =A. Halleri= (Haller's).* _fl._ purplish inside, large, erect; sepals six, oval-lanceolate. April. _l._ pinnate, very villous; segments three parted; lobes with lanceolate-linear, acuminated divisions. _h._ 6in. Switzerland, 1816. A sunny border or the rockery. SYN. _Pulsatilla Halleri_. =A. Hepatica= (supposed remedy for liver diseases). Common Hepatica. _fl._ usually blue; sepals six to nine. February. _l._ cordate, three-lobed; lobes quite entire, ovate, acutish; petioles and scapes rather hairy. _h._ 4in. to 6in. There are numerous varieties of this species. England, &c. SYN. _Hepatica triloba_. Varieties: _alba_ has large pure white flowers; _c�rulea_ (blue), the double form of _c�rulea_ is scarce and very showy; _rubra_ produces reddish-pink flowers, and of which there is also a double variety, very bright and lasting; _Barlowi_ has large sky-blue flowers. Besides these there are many others. They are all charming early spring-flowering plants, preferring rich light soil, and to remain undisturbed for years, when they form grand clumps, often producing seedlings where they stand. SYN. _A. americana_. See Fig. 95. =A. Honorine Jobert= (Honorine Jobert). Synonymous with _A. japonica alba_. =A. hortensis= (garden). Nearly approaches _A. coronaria_, the parent of a large number of garden forms. _A. fulgens_ and _A. stellata_ are by competent authorities placed as varieties. =A. Hudsoniana= (Hudson's). Synonymous with _A. multifida_. =A. japonica= (Japanese).* _fl._ rosy carmine, from 2in. to 2-1/2in. across, on footstalks which spring from a whorl of three or four leaves; anthers golden yellow. Autumn. _l._ ternate, with unequally lobed, toothed segments. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Japan, 1844. See Fig. 96. [Illustration: FIG. 97. ANEMONE JAPONICA ALBA.] =A. j. alba= (white).* This is a splendid variety, with a profusion of large pure white flowers, which are produced from August to November. This white form is one of the handsomest of border flowers. The blooms are 2in. to 3in. across, with a centre of dense lemon coloured stamens. For cutting purposes the flowers are invaluable. It thrives best in deep soil. SYN. _A. Honorine Jobert_. See Fig. 97. =A. j. elegans= (elegant).* Very like _A. japonica_, with broader leaves, and pale rose-coloured flowers, which are more than 3in. across. This is also called _rosea_ and _hybrida_. Japan. =A. lancifolia= (lance-leaved). _fl._ white; sepals five, ovate-acute; scapes one-flowered. May. _l._ all stalked, ternate; segments lanceolate, crenate-toothed. _h._ 3in. Pennsylvania, 1823. Very rare. Rockery. Tuberous rooted. =A. multifida= (many-cleft).* _fl._ red, whitish yellow, or citron colour, small; sepals five to ten, elliptical, obtuse; peduncles three, one-flowered, one of which is naked and earlier, the other two longer, and bearing two-leaved multifid involucels on their middle. June. _l._ radical ones ternate; segments cuneated, three parted, multifid, with linear lobes; those of the involucrum multifid, on short petioles. _h._ 6in. to 12in. North America. Border or rockery. SYN. _A. Hudsoniana_. [Illustration: FIG. 98. ANEMONE NARCISSIFLORA, showing Habit and Flower.] =A. narcissiflora= (Narcissus-flowered).* _fl._ usually cream coloured, sometimes purplish on the outside; umbels generally many-flowered; pedicels in some instances twice or three times longer than the involucrum, and in others very short; sepals five or six, ovate or oval, blunt or acute. May. _l._ radical ones palmately three to five parted; lobes deeply toothed; lobules linear, acute; those of the involucrum three to five cleft. _h._ about 1ft. Europe, North America, 1773. An extremely variable and beautiful species. Rockery. See Fig. 98. =A. nemorosa= (grove).* Wood Anemone. _fl._ generally white; sepals six, elliptical; scapes one-flowered. March. _l._ ternate; segments trifid, deeply toothed, lanceolate, acute; involucral leaves stalked. _h._ 6in. This species varies greatly in the colour of its flowers. It is a most beautiful little plant, frequent in our native woods, and suitable for planting in shaded shrubberies, &c. Tuberous rooted. =A. n. c�rulea=, (blue),* from the North-west States of America, is very near, if not identical with, the variety _Robinsoniana_, of our native woods. =A. n. flore-pleno= (double-flowered).* _fl._ pure white, over 1in. across, solitary, double. This is an exceedingly pretty plant, and remains in beauty considerably longer than the type. It should be grown in large clumps, and in rich loam. =A. n. Robinsoniana= (Robinson's).* _fl._ bright azure blue, large, over 1-1/2in. in diameter. A charming variety for the rockery or border, and one of the prettiest in the whole genus. =A. n. rosea= (rosy).* A very pretty form, with rose-coloured flowers, of which there is a double flowered sub-variety; there is also a double form of the type, named _bracteata_ _fl.-pl._, white flowers, surrounded with a large involucrum. =A. obtusiloba= (blunt-lobed-leaved). _fl._ cream coloured; sepals five, obovate; peduncles two to three, one-flowered, villous, naked, or the lateral ones are bracteate. June. _l._ three lobed cordate, and are, as well as petioles, very villous; segments broadly cuneated, and deeply crenate; involucral leaves trifid. Himalaya, 1843. This species requires a warm and sheltered position. =A. palmata= (palmate).* _fl._ golden yellow; sepals ten to twelve, oblong, obtuse; scape one, rarely two, flowered. May. _l._ cordate, sub-orbicular, bluntly three to five-lobed, toothed; involucral leaves trifid. South-west Europe, 1597. A white flowered variety, though scarce, is in cultivation, and is very pretty. True alpines, which should be grown on the rockery, where the soil is both rich and deep, with a somewhat damp situation. Tuberous rooted. =A. patens= (spreading).* _fl._ purplish, or rarely yellow, erect, spreading, in the involucre almost sessile; sepals five to six. June. _l._ pinnate, rising after the flowers; segments three parted; lobes toothed at the top. Northern Europe, &c., 1752. =A. p. Nuttalliana= (Nuttall's).* _fl._ purple, sometimes cream coloured, erect, villous on the outside; sepals five or six, erect, connivent. June. _l._ three parted; segments cuneate, trifid, cut; lobes linear-lanceolate, elongated; those of the involucre with linear lobes. _h._ 1ft. North America, 1826. A pretty border plant. =A. pavonina= (peacock). Synonymous with _A. stellata_. =A. pennsylvanica= (Pennsylvanian). Synonymous with _A. dichotoma_. =A. pratensis= (meadow).* _fl._ dark purple, pendulous; sepals six, erect, reflexed at the top, acute. May. _l._ pinnate, many parted; lobes linear. _h._ 6in. to 12in. Northern Europe, &c., 1731. Differs chiefly from the following species in having smaller flowers, sepals narrower and more acute, connivent at base, and reflexed at apex. SYN. _Pulsatilla pratensis_. =A. Pulsatilla= (common Pulsatilla).* Pasque Flower. _fl._ generally violet, sub-erect; sepals six, spreading, externally silky, very handsome. April. _l._ pinnate; segments many parted; lobes linear. _h._ 6in. to 12in. England, &c. A singular and beautiful species, thriving best in a dry situation and well-drained soil of a calcareous nature. It is a very pretty plant for a border or rockery; when well grown, it forms handsome tufts, and flowers very freely. See Fig. 99. SYN. _Pulsatilla vulgaris_. There are numerous varieties, the best of which are: =A. P. dahurica= (Dahurian). _fl._ erect; sepals oblong, very villous. Plant dwarf. Sunny border or rockery. [Illustration: FIG. 99. ANEMONE PULSATILLA.] =A. P. lilacina= (lilac). _fl._ lilac. =A. P. rubra= (red). _fl._ erect; sepals blunter. Plant dwarfer. =A. ranunculoides= (Ranunculus-like).* _fl._ usually yellow (but in the Pyrenean variety purple), generally solitary, single or double; sepals five to six, elliptical. March. _l._ radical ones three to five parted; segments subtrifid, deeply toothed; those of the involucrum on short stalks three parted, deeply toothed. _h._ 3in. Naturalised in English woods, but rarely. Tuberous rooted. [Illustration: FIG. 100. ANEMONE STELLATA.] =A. rivularis= (river).* _fl._ white; anthers purple; sepals five, oval, smooth; pedicels three, one of which is naked. April. _l._ villous, as well as petioles, three parted; lobes cuneated, trifid; lobules cut, acutely toothed. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. North India, 1840. Should be grown on the banks of running water, or in a damp situation in the border. =A. sibirica= (Siberian). _fl._ white; sepals six, orbicular; scapes one-flowered. June. _l._ ternate; segments deeply toothed, ciliated, those of the involucrum on short stalks, ternate; segments lanceolate. _h._ 6in. Siberia, 1804. Rockery; very rare. =A. stellata= (star-leaved).* _fl._ purple, or rose red, or whitish, solitary; sepals ten to twelve, oblong, bluntish. April. _l._ three parted; lobes cuneated, deeply-toothed; involucral leaves sessile, oblong. _h._ 8in. to 10in. South Europe, 1599. A pretty and gay spring flowering plant. Tuberous rooted. SYN. _A. pavonina_. Double forms of this occur in cultivation. See Fig. 100. [Illustration: FIG. 101. ANEMONE SYLVESTRIS.] =A. sylvestris= (wood).* Snowdrop Windflower. _fl._ pure satin white, slightly drooping, 1-1/2in. across when fully open, fragrant; sepals six, elliptical; pedicel solitary. April. _l._ ternate or quinate, hairy beneath; segments deeply toothed at top, those of the involucrum stalked. _h._ 6in. to 18in. Europe, 1596. This distinct and showy species thrives best in a light vegetable soil in a rather shady and moist situation. The roots are creeping, and should be allowed plenty of room, so that they may ramble without check. See Fig. 101. [Illustration: FIG. 102. ANEMONE VERNALIS.] =A. trifolia= (three-leaved). _fl._ white, erect; sepals five, elliptical, obtuse. April. _l._ all stalked, ternate; segments ovate-lanceolate, acute, toothed. _h._ 6in. France, 1597. This species comes close to _A. nemorosa_. =A. vernalis= (spring).* _fl._ whitish inside, violet and covered with silky down outside, erect, sub-sessile or on pedicels; sepals six, straight, elliptic-oblong. April. _l._ pinnate; segments cuneate-lanceolate, trifid; involucrum very villous. _h._ 6in. Europe, 1816. A curious rather than a showy species; it makes a pretty pot plant, but must not, under any consideration, be allowed to want water. It can be plunged in sand or ashes in the open, and just as the flowers commence to expand, transfer to a cool frame. It thrives best in a peat and loam compost, to which small pieces of charcoal may be added. SYN. _Pulsatilla vernalis_. See Fig. 102. =A. virginiana= (Virginian).* _fl._ purplish green or pale purple, small; sepals five, elliptical, silky-pubescent on the outside; pedicels often rising in pairs from the involucel. May. _l._ ternate; segments trifid, acuminated, deeply toothed; those of the involucre and involucels stalked; peduncles three to four, much elongated, middle one naked, sometimes 1ft. high; lateral ones bearing two-leaved involucels. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1722. Border or woodlands, and damp places. =A. vitifolia= (vine-leaved). _fl._ white, villous on the outside; anthers copper colour; sepals eight, oval, oblong; pedicels one-flowered. July. _l._ large, cordate, five-lobed, beneath as well as the stems clothed with white wool; lobes broadly ovate, cut, and crenate; those of the involucrum stalked, woolly underneath, smooth above, bluntly cordate, five-lobed. _h._ 2ft. Upper Nepaul, 1829. This requires a warm sheltered position to stand the winter. Very near _A. japonica alba_, and probably the progenitor of it. =ANEMONOPSIS= (from _anemone_, and _opsis_, resemblance; flowers like those of the Anemone). ORD. _Ranunculaceæ_. A handsome and remarkable hardy herbaceous perennial, not unlike _Anemone japonica_, but smaller. It thrives in any light soil. Propagated by seeds and divisions of the root-stock in spring. =A. macrophylla= (large-leaved).* _fl._ in loose racemes; sepals about nine, concave, the outer three purple, internally pale lilac; petals twelve, in many rows, one-third the length of the sepals, linear-oblong. July. _l._ large, biternate, coarsely toothed, glabrous. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Japan, 1869. =ANEMOP�GMA= (from _anemos_, the wind, and _paigma_, sport). ORD. _Bignoniaceæ_. A handsome stove climbing shrub. For culture, _see_ =Bignonia=. =A. racemosum= (racemose).* _fl._ delicate buff coloured, in axillary racemes, large. September. Brazil, 1879. This beautiful and vigorous climber is, as yet, very rare in cultivation. =ANETHUM= (from _ano_, upwards, and _theo_, to run; in reference to its quick growth). ORD. _Umbelliferæ_. A genus of erect glabrous annuals. Flowers yellow; involucre and involucels wanting. Leaves decompound, with linear-setaceous lobes. This genus is of no ornamental value, its most important species being the garden Dill (_A. graveolens_), which _see_ for culture. =ANGELICA= (in reference to the supposed angelic medicinal virtues of some species). ORD. _Umbelliferæ_. Perennial or biennial herbs. Flowers white; umbels terminal; involucra wanting or of few leaves; involucels of many leaves. Leaves bipinnate. The common Angelica (_A. Archangelica_) is the only species that calls for mention. It is a native biennial, and was at one time in much request for confectionery, and as a herb of supposed great medicinal value. Seed should be sown in September or March in ordinary soil, and the young plants thinned out to about 18in. apart. =ANGELICA TREE.= _See_ =Aralia spinosa=. =ANGELONIA= (from _angelon_, the local name of _A. salicariæfolia_ in South America). SYN. _Schelveria_. ORD. _Scrophulariaceæ_. Very pretty stove herbaceous perennials. Flowers axillary, racemose; corolla irregular, bilabiate; lower lip saccate at the base, trifid; upper one smaller, bifid. Leaves opposite. Stem and branches quadrangular. A mixture of light turfy loam, peat, leaf soil, and sand, is a good compost. Cuttings of young shoots in spring strike readily under a hand glass, or plunged in the propagating bed, giving plenty of air daily. =A. salicariæfolia= (Willow-leaved).* _fl._ blue, hairy, axillary, solitary, pedicellate, disposed in terminal racemes. August. _l._ sessile, lanceolate, acute, serrated towards the apex, finely pubescent on both surfaces. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 3ft. South America, 1818. =ANGIOPTERIS= (from _aggeion_, a vessel, and _pteris_, a wing). Including _Psilodochea_. ORD. _Filices_. A genus of gigantic greenhouse ferns. Capsules eight to fifteen, opening by a slit down the side, sessile, very close but not concrete, arranged in linear-oblong or boat-shaped sori near the edge of the frond. These ferns require a very liberal supply of water, and plenty of room to fully expand. The most suitable compost is a mixture of strong loam and peat, with some sharp sand. Thorough drainage must be afforded. =A. evecta= (evectic). _cau._ erect, 2ft. to 6ft. high, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. thick, very fleshy. _sti._ swollen and articulated at the base, furnished with two large leathery persistent auricles. _fronds_ 6ft. to 15ft. long, bi- or tripinnate; pinnæ 1ft. to 3ft. long, spreading, the lowest the largest; rachis swollen at the base; pinnules 4in. to 12in. long, 1/2in. to 1-1/2in. broad, linear-oblong, sessile or shortly stalked, acuminate; edge entire or finely toothed. Tropics of Old World. This is the only clearly defined species; the others usually known as distinct species are but varieties of it, and its culture should not be attempted if plenty of room cannot be afforded it. =ANGOPHORA= (from _aggos_, a vessel, and _phero_, to bear; in reference to the shape of the fruit). ORD. _Myrtaceæ_. Australian evergreen greenhouse ornamental trees or shrubs. Flowers corymbose; calyx five or six-cleft. Leaves large, opposite. A mixture of leaf soil, peat, and sand suits them well. Ripened cuttings will root in sandy soil under a hand glass in a cool house, in a few weeks. =A. cordifolia= (heart-leaved).* _fl._ yellowish, corymbose, large. May. _l._ sessile, ovate, cordate at the base, glabrous. _h._ 7ft. to 10ft. New Holland, 1789. =A. lanceolata= (lanceolate-leaved).* _fl._ white, corymbose. May. _l._ petiolate, lanceolate, acuminate, glabrous. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. New Holland, 1816. =ANGR�CUM= (deduced from _angurek_, a Malayan name for air plants). ORD. _Orchidaceæ_. TRIBE _Vandeæ_. These are among the most beautiful of epiphytal orchids. One characteristic, both remarkable and peculiar, is the long, hollow, tail-like spur depending from the base of the lip. The flowers are produced on spikes from the axils of the leaves. The leaves are evergreen, and arranged in two rows, the one opposite to the other, and, in many kinds, being curved, give the plant a very graceful appearance. The fact of these plants producing their blooms during the winter--a period when flowers are generally scarce--considerably enhances their value. They usually continue six or eight weeks in perfection, or even more. The following table of night temperatures should be almost universally adhered to for all the species enumerated, except _A. falcatum_, which thrives best in a cool house. From November to February, 58deg. to 63deg.; March to May, September and October, 65deg.; June to August, 70deg. The day temperature should be 7deg. or 8deg. higher than that of the night. A compost of crocks, charcoal, and sphagnum is best. A layer of a few large crocks at the bottom of the pot or pan will be required; over these spread another layer of charcoal and smaller crocks, just enough to allow the roots to support the plant; so that the first pair of leaves will be, in large plants, about 4in. above the rim of the pot, or proportionately less in the case of small plants. When the plant is carefully adjusted in its proper position, and held there with one hand, the other hand should work in among the roots more crocks and charcoal, ceasing so to do when within 2in. of the rim; the remaining space must be occupied with fresh sphagnum, pressed firm (this is most essential) in a cone shape, which may be built up to within 1/2in. of the lower pair of leaves. Prior to potting, which ought to be done between February and April, water should be withheld for a short time; but give a good soaking immediately after the operation. In the process of repotting, clear the roots of the old moss, all rotten stems, and particles of decayed roots. If plants are potted as we have recommended, a thorough soaking once a week only, or if grown on blocks of wood, or in suspended baskets or pans, about twice weekly will be found sufficient. Excessive fumigation, drought, whether atmospherical or at the roots, will cause the leaves to drop, and prevent any growth being made, in which case the plant ought to be lowered. If the stems have emitted but few roots, a ring of moss fastened round the stems, and kept constantly wet, will induce the plant to throw out additional roots, when the lowering may be proceeded with. To keep the plants free from insect pests, frequently sponge the foliage. Thrips generally prove very troublesome, and a moderate fumigation is needful, dislodging the insects that may be secreted low down in the centre of the plant, shortly before the operation, by dropping a little weak tobacco water or sulphur among them. =A. arcuatum= (curved).* _fl._ white; racemes from the axils of the two-year-old leaves, two or three being produced from a single growth, about 6in. long, arching. _l._ about 4in. long, and 3/4in. broad. Natal. SYNS. _Listrostachys arcuata_. _A. (Listrostachys) Sedeni_ comes close to the above species, but is excessively rare in cultivation. =A. bilobum= (two-lobed).* _fl._ white, with a tinge of rose, about 1-1/2in. in diameter; spur 2in. long, produced from the side of the stem, just above the two-year-old leaves; racemes pendulous, 6in. or more long, bearing about a dozen flowers, which possess a slight fragrance. October to December. _l._ 4in. long by 2in. broad, two-lobed at the apex, about eight on a plant. Stem erect, about 6in. high. Cape Coast, 1841. Should be grown in a basket. =A. caudatum= (tailed). _fl._ greenish yellow, mixed with brown; labellum pure white; spur thick, pale green, about 9in. long, two-lobed at the lowest portion; racemes arching, 1ft. or more long, produced from the base of the two-year-old leaves. Autumn. _l._ pale green, drooping, about 10in. long by 1in. broad. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Stem erect, or nearly so. Sierra Leone, 1834. =A. cephalotes= (capitate).* _fl._ white. Tropical Africa, 1873. =A. Chailluanum= (Chaillu's).* _fl._ white; sepals and petals narrow, acute; spur yellowish green, 4in. or more long; racemes pendulous, 8in. or 10in. long, about twelve medium sized flowers produced from the side of the stem, just above the axils of two-year-old leaves. _l._ 6in. long, 1-1/2in. broad, slightly wavy, two-lobed at the apex, arranged in an imbricate manner. West Africa, 1866. A rare species. =A. Christyanum= (Christy's). A curious species, with yellow or greenish-white flowers, having a much developed three-lobed lip. The plant has the aspect of _A. arcuatum_. 1880. =A. citratum= (citron-like).* _fl._ creamy white, or pale yellow, nearly 1in. in diameter; spurs about 1-1/2in. long; racemes three, on strong plants, produced from the axils of two-year-old leaves, arched, about 1ft. long, bearing sometimes twenty flowers. _l._ 4in. to 6in. long and 2in. broad, six or eight on a plant, occupying about 1-1/2in. of stem. Madagascar, 1868. Habit compact; stem nearly erect. =A. distichum= (two-rowed-leaved). _fl._ whitish, 1/4in. across, on one-flowered pedicels, which are produced from the axils of the leaves. _l._ very short, closely imbricated, deep bright green. _h._ 6in. Sierra Leone, 1834. A very neat growing little species, and quite distinct. =A. eburneum= (ivory-lipped).* _fl._ sepals and petals greenish white; lip uppermost, white, very large; racemes about 18in. long, from the axils of two-year-old leaves; footstalks erect, but gradually becoming pendulous from the commencement of the flowers. _l._ 20in. long by 2in. broad, light green, stiff. Madagascar, 1826. SYN. _�robion eburneum_. _A. virens_ is an inferior variety, but _A. e. superbum_ surpasses the type in beauty; it is, however, at present extremely rare. =A. Ellisii= (Ellis's).* _fl._ pure white, fragrant, about 2in. across, with narrow reflexed sepals and petals, the column standing very prominent; spur pale brownish, 6in. to 8in.; racemes frequently 2ft. long, on the side of the stem just above the axils of the two-year-old leaves, bearing about twenty blossoms. _l._ dark green, 9in. or 10in. long, and 2in. broad, divided at the apex into two unequal lobes. Madagascar, 1879. =A. falcatum= (sickle-shaped).* _fl._ pure white, very fragrant; spur upcurved, 2in. long; racemes from the axils of the two-year-old leaves, short, bearing from two to five blooms. _l._ 2in. to 4in. long, very narrow and fleshy, dark green. 1815. An elegant little cool house species, and one of the smallest belonging to this genus. It should be grown in peat, in a basket or small pot suspended about 2ft. from the glass, but rather shaded. =A. Kotschyi= (Kotschy's).* _fl._ yellowish white, perfume similar to the common white pink, 1in. to 1-1/2in. across; spur reddish-tinted, 6in. or 7in. long, distinguished by the two spiral twistings; racemes from the axils of the lower leaves, 18in. long, bearing about twelve blossoms. _l._ 6in. long by 3in. broad, of which there are generally six or more on a good plant. Zanzibar, 1880. Should be grown in a basket, or on a cylindrical block of teak wood. =A. modestum= (modest).* _fl._ pure white, 1in. to 1-1/2in. across. _l._ distichous, 3in. to 6in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, elliptic or linear-oblong, acute, tip entire, pale bright green, leathery, nerveless. Stem short. Madagascar, about 1880. =A. pellucidum= (transparent).* _fl._ white, of a delicate semi-transparent texture, and with a finely fringed labellum; racemes from the axils of the lowest leaves, hanging perpendicularly from the stems, about 1ft. long, bearing thirty to forty blossoms. _l._ 12in. long by 2in. or 3in. broad. Sierra Leone, 1842. Must be grown in a suspended basket. =A. pertusum= (broken).* _fl._ pure white; spur comparatively short, with a well-marked yellow tinge; racemes from the axils of two-year-old leaves, horizontal, or slightly nodding, 6in. to 7in. long, with from forty to sixty densely packed, small blossoms. _l._ dark green, arching, 10in. long by 1in. broad. _h._ 1ft. Sierra Leone, 1836. Very distinct and attractive. =A. Scottianum= (Scott's).* _fl._ pure white, very delicate in texture, the lip is uppermost, 1in. or more across; spur narrow, yellowish, 3in. to 4in. long; peduncle slender, a little longer than the spur, usually but one-flowered. _l._ narrow, terete--thus differing from most of its congeners--tapering or awl-shaped, about 4in. long, 1/8in. to 1/4in. in diameter, channelled in the upper surface and ridged below. Comoro Islands, 1878. =A. Sedeni= (Seden's). A rare form of _A. arcuatum_. =A. sesquipedale= (foot-and-a-half).* _fl._ beautiful ivory white, on stout, solitary, axillary peduncles, with sepals and petals spreading out like rays, from 6in. to 8in. across; the whip-like spur or nectary hangs down from the labellum, often from 10in. to 18in. long. November, December, and January, and lasts about three weeks in beauty. _l._ dark green, distichous, about 10in. long. _h._ 1ft. Madagascar, 1823. It is one of the grandest of winter flowering orchids. =A. virens= (green). An inferior variety of _A. eburneum_. =ANGULAR.= Having angles, or forming angles. =ANGULOA= (commemorative of Angulo, a Spanish naturalist). ORD. _Orchidaceæ_. A small genus containing about six species. The flowers, which are large and beautiful, are borne singly on scapes from 12in. to 16in. high, several of which are produced from the ripened pseudo-bulbs of the preceding year's growth. Pseudo-bulbs from 5in. to 8in. high, as thick as a man's wrist, bearing two to three erect, broad, lanceolate leaves, 2ft. to 4ft. long. Temperature, summer, day (maximum), 70deg.; night (minimum), 60deg. Winter, day (maximum), 60deg.; night (minimum), 45deg. These are bold growing cool-house plants, best grown in rough fibrous peat, with good drainage. They delight in an abundant supply of water both to the roots and foliage when growing, and require to be kept in a somewhat dark or heavily-shaded place. During the season of rest, and until young shoots commence growth, they should be kept rather dry. They are propagated by dividing the pseudo-bulbs, just before they commence to grow. The flowering season is summer. =A. Clowesii= (Clowes's).* _fl._ fragrant; sepals and petals concave, clear golden yellow; lip pure white; whole conformation globular, or tulip-like. Columbia (at 5000ft. to 6000ft. elevation), 1842. This is the largest growing species, of which there are one or two rare varieties. =A. eburnea= (ivory-flowered).* _fl._, sepals and petals of the purest white; lip spotted with pink. New Grenada. In other respects similar to above, but is very rare. =A. Ruckeri= (Rucker's).* _fl._, sepals and petals yellow, with crimson spots; lip deep crimson. Columbia, 1845. Not so large a grower as either of the foregoing, but with same sized flowers. =A. R. sanguinea= (bloody).* This variety has flowers of a deep blood red colour, but is rare. =A. superba= (superb).* Synonymous with _Acineta Humboldtii_. =A. uniflora= (one-flowered).* _fl._ sub-globose, pure white, sometimes freckled with brown, spotted profusely with pink inside. Columbia, 1844. One of the best in cultivation. =ANGURIA= (one of the Greek names for the cucumber). ORD. _Cucurbitaceæ_. A stove genus of evergreen climbers allied to _Momordica_. Flowers mon�cious; corolla joined to the calyx, ventricose, red, with a five-parted spreading border. Fruit somewhat tetragonal. Several species have been introduced from time to time, but they are rarely seen in our gardens. Some of them are handsome plants, and well worthy of cultivation. =ANHALONIUM.= _See_ =Mammillaria=. =ANIGOZANTHUS= (from _anoigo_, to expand, and _anthos_, a flower; in reference to the branching expansion of the flower stalks). SYN. _Schwægrichenia_. ORD. _Hæmodoraceæ_. Greenhouse or half-hardy perennial herbs. Flowers large, racemose or corymbose; perianth tubular, elongated, woolly. Leaves linear ensiform. The species thrive in a turfy compost of peat and loam, three parts of the former to one of the latter; the whole intermixed with sand to make it porous. In the growing season they must be kept well watered, and somewhat dry during their period of rest in winter. They are very easily propagated by dividing the roots in spring. =A. coccineus= (scarlet).* _fl._ scarlet; perianth swelling towards the summit, hairy, segments a little reflexed; disposed in dichotomously-forked panicles; pedicels rather long. June. _l._ lanceolate, deep green. Stem ciliated. _h._ 5ft. Swan River, 1837. [Illustration: FIG. 103. INFLORESCENCE AND LEAF OF ANIGOZANTHUS FLAVIDUS.] =A. flavidus= (yellowish-green-flowered).* _fl._ yellowish green, panicled; scapes long. May. _l._ lanceolate, smooth, as is also the stem; down of branches deciduous. _h._ 3ft. New Holland, 1808. There is a scarlet and green-flowered variety of this species. See Fig. 103. =A. Manglesii= (Mangle's). _fl._ green; stigma capitate, projecting beyond the tube, in a short terminal spiked raceme. May. Stem erect, clothed with short thick crimson persistent velvety down. _h._ 3ft. Swan River, 1833. =A. pulcherrimus= (beautiful).* _fl._ yellow; panicles much branched, clothed with rufous bristles. May. _l._ equitant, linear falcate, covered with stellate tomentum. _h._ 3ft. Swan River, 1844. =A. tyrianthinus= (purple).* _fl._ purple and white; panicle clothed with purple tomentum. May. _l._ linear, stiff, straight, glabrous. Stem tall, ternate, panicled, clothed with hoary tomentum below. _h._ 3ft. Swan River, 1844. =ANIL.= _See_ =Indigofera Anil=. =ANIME RESIN.= _See_ =Hymenæa Courbaril=. =ANIMATED OAT.= _See_ =Avena sterilis=. =ANISANTHUS.= _See_ =Antholyza=. =ANISE= (_Pimpinella Anisum_). A hardy annual, occasionally used for garnishing or seasoning. Sow seed, in ordinary garden soil, on a warm sunny border, in May, where it is intended for the plants to remain. =ANISEED TREE.= _See_ =Illicium=. =ANISOCHILUS= (from _anisos_, unequal, and _cheilos_, a lip; in reference to the inequality of both lips of calyx and corolla). ORD. _Labiatæ_. A very ornamental genus of stove perennials or biennials. Whorls of flowers densely imbricate into oblong cylindrical spikes; corolla with an exserted, defracted tube, inflated throat, and bilabiate limb. They thrive in any light rich soil. Cuttings will root in a sandy soil under a bell glass, in heat; seeds may be sown in February in heat. =A. carnosum= (fleshy). _fl._ lilac; whorls densely imbricate into oblong cylindrical pedunculate spikes. June to September. _l._ petiolate, ovate-roundish, obtuse, crenated, cordate at the base, thick, fleshy, tomentose on both surfaces. Stem erect. _h._ 2ft. East Indies, 1788. =ANISOMELES= (from _anisos_, unequal, and _melos_, a member; in reference to the anthers of the longer stamens being halved). ORD. _Labiatæ_. Ornamental greenhouse or evergreen stove shrubs, herbaceous perennials, or annuals. Whorls sometimes densely many-flowered, at others few, and loose; corolla with upper lip erect, oblong, entire; lower lip larger, spreading, and lateral lobes ovate, obtuse. They are of very easy culture in light rich soil; young cuttings strike freely in spring, in heat, under a bell glass. _A. furcata_ requires little or no artificial heat, but the protection of a bell glass is beneficial. Seeds of _A. ovata_ may be sown in spring, in heat, and, after due hardening off, the seedlings may be planted outside in May. =A. furcata= (forked).* _fl._ small, elegantly variegated with white, red, and purple, in loose many-flowered racemose cymes. July. _l._ petiolate, ovate, acuminated, crenated, cordate at the base, hispid on both surfaces. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. Nepaul, 1824. =A. malabarica= (Malabar). _fl._ purplish; whorls distant, many-flowered, dense. July. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, 2in. to 4in. in length, obtuse, serrately crenated in the upper part, quite entire at the base. _h._ 2ft. to 5ft. Tropical Asia, in humid places, 1817. Shrub. =A. ovata= (ovate-leaved).* _fl._ purple; lower lip of a deeper colour; whorls many-flowered, lower ones distant, upper ones interruptedly spicate. August. _l._ ovate, obtuse, broadly crenated. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Nepaul, 1823. An annual. Habitat similar to last. =ANISOMEROUS.= Unequally-parted; unsymmetrical. =ANISOPETALUM.= _See_ =Bulbophyllum=. [Illustration: THREAD-LEAVED PINE, AGAVES, AND YUCCA, IN A GUERNSEY GARDEN.] =ANNUALS.= All plants which spring from the seed, flower, and die within the course of a year. A number of things, however, which are not strictly of annual duration, but which are sown every year in preference to housing the roots before they are killed by late autumn or winter frosts, are generally classed, for the sake of convenience, under the head of Annuals. Hardy Annuals are those which require no artificial aid to enable them to develop, but grow and flower freely in the open air. These are best sown in the spots where they are intended to remain during March and April, and care must subsequently be taken to keep the ground clear of weeds, and also to thin out the seedlings, allowing each sufficient room to develop and exhibit its true character. If allowed to remain too crowded, the plants, as a matter of course, suffer, and the size and number of the flowers and the general effect are considerably decreased. Successional sowings of a good many of the showy species will be found to prolong their flowering season. In well-kept establishments, where Annuals are duly appreciated, several sowings are made in pots at intervals of a few weeks. As the previously-sown clumps begin to get shabby, they are removed, and replaced by others which have still to flower. By this means a continual sheet of blossom can be maintained for a long time. It is much better to trust to plants grown in pots in order to carry out the plan just sketched, as these receive no check when placed in their new quarters; whilst transplanted clumps frequently fail, and many species do not transplant at all readily from an open border. In order to secure, in early spring, a fine show of such plants as several of the _Silenes_, _Myosotis_, _Saponaria_, and a number of others, it is best to sow the seeds in an open, sheltered border, about the end of July or beginning of August, taking care to keep a small reserve stock in a cold frame, in case very severe weather kills the unprotected plants. Half-hardy Annuals are those for which our climate is not sufficiently warm, or, rather, our summer is not, as a rule, either hot enough or long enough, to allow them to grow, flower well, and ripen seeds, if sown in the open air. Many of these are amongst the showiest of garden plants, so it is worth while to give them the shelter of a warm frame during their earlier stages, and gradually harden them off, planting out at the end of May or beginning of June, when danger resulting from severe weather is passed. After germination, the seedlings should have plenty of light and air, or a weak, spindly growth, and, as a consequence, poor flowers, will result. The most satisfactory method of watering very tiny seeds is to place a piece of fine muslin over the seed-pot, through which the water will be easily conveyed to the seeds, and thus prevent disturbance. Tender Annuals require the same treatment as the half-hardy ones, except that they need throughout their existence the protection of a glass structure. All, or nearly all, garden Annuals delight in full sunlight and plenty of air. In the open, these requirements, as a rule, obtain, but sometimes mistakes are made under glass by keeping the plants too close and over much shaded, as well as too great a distance from the glass. =ANNULAR.= Having a ring-like form. =ANNULATE.= With the appearance of rings. =AN�CTOCHILUS= (from _anoiktos_, open, and _cheilos_, a lip; in reference to the spreading apex of the lip). SYNS. _Anecochilus_, _Chrysobaphus_. ORD. _Orchideæ_. Stove terrestrial orchids, the radical leaves of which are the chief attraction, being amongst the most beautiful and delicate objects in the vegetable kingdom. The flowers, which should be pinched off so soon as they appear, are, as a rule, small and unattractive. Few of the species exceed 6in. in height, with leaves from 2in. to 6in. long, including the fleshy petioles. They require a good deal of attention. To one part of silver sand, thoroughly washed twice or three times, add two of sphagnum, which should also be well washed and picked over, when it should be chopped into minute particles, in order that it may freely amalgamate with the sand; mix a little loam and peat with the whole. In the pots, when well drained by first placing a large piece of potsherd over the bottom and nearly half filling up with pieces broken small and of uniform size, place a thin layer of crude sphagnum, afterwards filling firmly with the mixture above mentioned, and bringing it up more or less in the form of a cone above the rim of the pot, into which the plants should be firmly fixed. Plants which have been propagated by division should be carefully transferred to 32-sized pots. About five separate pieces might be placed evenly over the surface. Make holes with a neat dibble, and into these drop the roots their entire length, pressing the soil firmly with the dibble. Fix them so that they may grow inwardly, and not out over the rim of the pots, pegging each creeping root needing such attention firmly down upon the surface of the soil afterwards; after a good soaking, they may be replaced in any warm, shady situation. For propagating, a strong plant is necessary; it may be cut into pieces just below the first joint, each piece having a root. The bottom piece should have two eyes--one to root from, and the other to push into a shoot. The "bottom," or plant which has been cut, should be replaced in its pot, and then put under a bell glass. It will soon throw up a young shoot; this ought to be left on until well rooted, when it may be separated and treated similarly to the portion first removed, still leaving the old part in the pot. These plants must be grown in glass cases, or under bell glasses, but they should always have a little air, for, as Mr. Williams says, when too much confined, they grow up spindly, and damp off in the stem; the latter, being fleshy, requires more substance and sturdiness. Air should be admitted through a space of about 1in. or 2in. The following ranges of temperature are advised: Winter, night, 55deg. to 60deg.; day, 65deg. to 70deg. during March, April, and May; night, 60deg. to 70deg.; and, afterwards, a few degrees higher, with a maximum day temperature of 80deg. Bottom heat should not be given, as it induces a weak, fast growth. Great care will be needed to prevent ravages of insects. The most suitable month for repotting is March, just before growth commences, when the plants will need plenty of water up to October, excepting when it is desirous to utilise them as drawing-room ornaments, in which case they should be kept rather dry for a short time previous. _See also_ =Dossinia=, =Goodyera=, =Hæmeria=, =Macodes=, =Physurus=, and =Zeuxine=. [Illustration: FIG. 104. AN�CTOCHILUS FRIDERICI-AUGUSTI.] =A. argenteus pictus= (silvery-painted). A synonym of _Physurus pictus_. =A. argyroneurus= (silvery-veined).* _l._ light green, dark mottled; veins forming a beautiful silvery network. Java. =A. Boylei= (Boyle's).* _l._ ovate, acuminate, 2in. long and broad, olive-green, netted and pencilled with gold. India. =A. Bullenii= (Bullen's).* _l._ 2-1/2 in. long, ground colour bronzy green, with three broad distinct lines of coppery-red, or golden stripes running the entire length. Borneo, 1861. =A. concinnus= (neat). _l._ ovate, acuminate, rounded at base, dark olive-green, netted and striped with shining coppery-red. Assam. =A. Dawsonianus= (Dawson's).* _l._ ovate, of a dark velvety, rich olive-green, traversed by about seven longitudinal copper-coloured veins; the space on each side of the midrib being filled with fine reticulations of the same colour. Malay Archipelago, 1868. The proper name of this plant is _Hæmeria discolor Dawsoniana_. =A. Dayi= (Day's). A synonym of _Dossinia marmorata Dayi_. =A. Dominii= (Dominy's). _l._ dark olive-green, streaked down the centre with pale coppery-yellow, the main ribs marked by pale lines. Hybrid between _Goodyera discolor_ and _A. Friderici Augusti_. =A. Eldorado= (Eldorado). _l._ dark green, with small tracery of a lighter colour, deciduous. Central America. =A. Friderici-Augusti= (Frederick Augustus').* _l._ 2-1/2in. long, and 1-1/2in. broad, dark velvety green, with broad orange and green stripes down the centre, covered with a beautiful golden network. _h._ 5in. Very distinct. See Fig. 104. SYN. _A. xanthophyllus_. =A. Heriotii= (Heriot's). _l._ 3-1/2in. long, 2-1/2in. broad, dark mahogany-colour, golden-reticulated, and with shadowy network. India. =A. hieroglyphicus= (hieroglyphic-marked). _l._ small, dark green, with hieroglyphic-like, silvery-grey blotches. Assam. =A. intermedius= (intermediate).* _l._ 2-1/2in. long, and 1-1/2in. broad, with a silky surface, dark olive, striped and veined with gold. _h._ 3in. Will succeed with a glass covering, in a stove, if shaded. =A. javanicus= (Java). _fl._ pink, small, spicate; scape 9in. high. _l._ 2in. long, 1-1/2in. broad, dark olive-green, with lighter blotches and faint golden reticulation, pinkish beneath. Java. =A. latimaculatus= (broad-spotted).* _l._ dark green, with silvery markings. Borneo. A distinct and free-growing kind. =A. Lowii= (Low's).* _l._ 4in. to 5in. long, 3in. broad, dark velvety-green, shading to orange-brown, lined from base to apex with deep golden veins, crossed by lines of the same hue. _h._ 6in. Borneo. The correct name of this plant is _Dossinia marmorata_. =A. L. virescens= (greenish).* _l._ brighter green, with brighter markings over the whole surface. =A. Ordianus= (Ordi's).* _l._ shape and habit of _A. Dawsonianus_, but the colour is a vivid green, and lined with golden veins. Java, 1869. The proper name of this plant is _Hæmeria discolor Ordiana_. =A. pictus= (painted). A synonym of _Physurus pictus_. =A. querceticola= (forest-dwelling). A synonym of _Physurus querceticolus_. =A. regalis= (royal).* King Plant. _l._ 2in. long, 1-1/2in. broad; surface a beautiful velvety green, veined in regular lines, and covered with a network of gold. _h._ 4in. Java, 1836. If examined with a lens in sunshine, the beauty of the network will be plainly seen. SYN. _A. setaceus_ (of gardens). There are several varieties, the best of which are: =A. r. cordatus= (heart-shaped). _l._ rounder, and gold markings broader. Very rare. =A. r. grandifolius= (large-leaved).* _l._ light green, beautifully laced and banded with a network of gold. Also rare. =A. r. inornatus= (unadorned). _l._ dark rich velvety, with a few slight markings, destitute of the golden reticulation. Java. =A. Reinwardtii= (Reinwardt's).* _l._ rich, deep velvety-bronze, intersected with bright golden lines. Java. =A. Roxburghii= (Roxburgh's).* _l._ 2-1/2in. long, 1-1/2in. broad, dark velvety-green, striated with well-defined lines of silver. _h._ 3in. India. The true species is very rare; several are sold as such. =A. Ruckerii= (Rucker's).* _l._ broadly ovate-bronzy-green, with six rows of distinct spots running from base to apex. Borneo, 1861. =A. setaceus= (bristly). A garden synonym of _A. regalis_. =A. striatus= (striated). A synonym of _Zeuxine regia_. =A. Turneri= (Turner's).* _l._ large, rich bronze, freely golden-reticulated. One of the handsomest; a very free grower. =A. Veitchii= (Veitch's). A synonym of _Macodes Petola_. =A. xanthophyllus= (yellow-leaved). A synonym of _A. Friderici-Augusti_. =A. zebrinus= (striped).* _l._ ovate-lanceolate, deep olive green, with copper-coloured veins. India, 1863. Dwarf and elegant. =ANOMATHECA= (from _anomos_, singular, and _theca_, a capsule, or seed-pod). ORD. _Irideæ_. Very pretty little bulbous perennials. Perianth hypocrateriform; tube triquetrous, constricted at the throat. The species are hardy when planted in warm sunny situations in the open border. Their dwarf stature, brilliance, profusion of flowers, and habit of blossoming continuously over a long period, render them very popular subjects amongst growers of hardy perennials. Although generally credited with being hardy, when cultivated out of doors they should be lifted and stored in frost-proof quarters before winter commences, until the following March. They are excellent as window garden plants, and also for pot culture. If grown in pots, they should be shaken out, and repotted in February or March. They multiply very rapidly, and may be divided in patches, not by single bulbs, once yearly. Light sandy loam, mixed with a little leaf mould, is the best compost. Anomathecas are sometimes increased by seed, which may be sown so soon as ripe, very thinly, in seed pans. Thin out the seedlings if growing very close together; the next season they may be put out four or five in a pot. When they become crowded, shift into a much larger pot, but do not disturb the ball. The young seedlings will probably produce flowers the second season. =A. cruenta= (bloody).* _fl._ rich carmine-crimson; perianth segments elliptical, three lower ones broader than the others, with a dark blotch at the base; tube long, whitish; scapes secund, bearing about five or six flowers. Summer and autumn. _l._ two-ranked, about 1/2in. broad, sword-shape, somewhat tapering. Bulb ovate, rather large. _h._ 6in. to 12in. Cape of Good Hope, 1830. =A. juncea= (rushy). _fl._ very bright pink, with a dark spot at the base, produced in profusion. The leaves are narrower than those of the foregoing. Cape of Good Hope, 1791. A rare species. =ANONA= (_Anona_ is the name applied to these plants in St. Domingo). Custard Apple. ORD. _Anonaceæ_. Stove evergreen shrubs, with fragrant leaves. Petals six, in two rows. Carpels indefinite, joined into one fleshy, many-celled, edible, roundish fruit, with a muricated, scaly, or reticulated skin. Anonas thrive best in rich loamy soil, mixed with a little peat. Ripened cuttings, with leaves intact, will root if inserted in sand and placed under a hand glass, in a moist heat. When seeds are procurable, they should be sown in pots, and plunged into a hotbed. =A. Cherimolia= (The Cherimoyer). _fl._ outer petals somewhat concave, linear-oblong, brown on the outside, each marked with a dark spot at the base; peduncles opposite the leaves, solitary. July. _fr._ somewhat globose and scaly, dark purple; esteemed by the Peruvians as one of their most delicate, and as being not inferior to any fruit in the world. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, not dotted; under surface silky tomentose, strong scented. _h._ 20ft. Peru, 1739. =A. glabra= (smooth-fruited).* _fl._ outer petals ovate, obtuse, brown; calyx leathery, large; peduncles opposite the leaves, two-flowered. July. _fr._ greenish-yellow, conoid, blunt, smooth. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, smooth. _h._ 10ft. West Indies, 1774. =A. longifolia= (long-leaved). _fl._ purplish; outer petals concave, thick, all acute, large, axillary, solitary, stalked. May. _fr._ ovate-globose, dotted, and reticulated, flesh-coloured. _l._ oblong, acuminated, mucronate, smooth. _h._ 20ft. Guiana, 1820. =A. muricata= (muricated-fruited).* The Sour Sop. _fl._ outer petals cordate, concave, thick, acuminated, green on the outside, yellow inside, and spotted; peduncles solitary, one-flowered, sweet-scented. _fr._ muricated, with fleshy points, green. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, smooth, shining. _h._ 15ft. West Indies, 1656. =A. palustris= (marsh). Alligator Apple; Cork-wood. _fl._ yellow; petals all acute. _fr._ rather areolate, large, heart-shaped, sweet-scented. _l._ ovate-oblong, leathery, quite smooth. _h._ 10ft. to 20ft. South America, 1788. =A. reticulata= (netted). The Custard Apple, or Bullock's Heart. _fl._ outer petals oblong-lanceolate, acute, somewhat concave at the base, brownish on the outside, whitish-yellow on the inside, marked with dark purple spots. _fr._ ovate-globose, reticulate, as large as a tennis ball, with yellowish soft flesh; it is much esteemed by some people. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, acute, smooth, somewhat dotted. _h._ 15ft. to 25ft. Brazil, 1690. =A. squamosa= (scaly). Sweet Sop. _fl._, outer petals linear-oblong, somewhat concave at the base, nearly closing, greenish-yellow. _fr._ egg-shaped, scaly. _l._ oblong, bluntish, smooth, full of pellucid dots, rather glaucous beneath. _h._ 20ft. South America, 1739. =ANONACE�.= An order of trees or shrubs, mostly tropical, with axillary peduncles, lateral or opposite the leaves, and with alternate, simple, entire or hardly toothed leaves, without stipules. _Anona_ is the typical genus. =ANONYMO.= A synonym of =Saururus= (which _see_). =ANONYMOS BRACTEATA.= _See_ =Zornia tetraphylla=. =ANOPLANTHUS= (in part). A synonym of =Phelipæa= (which _see_). =ANOPLOPHYTUM.= _See_ =Schlumbergeria= and =Tillandsia=. =ANOPTERUS= (from _ano_, upwards, and _pteron_, a wing; in reference to the seeds, which are winged at the apex). ORD. _Saxifrageæ_. A very handsome greenhouse evergreen shrub, having a free branching habit, large dark shining green leaves, and long panicles of salver-shaped flowers. It would probably prove quite hardy in the south and west of England, and parts of Scotland, provided it had a slight winter protection. It grows well in sandy loam and peat. When grown in pots, it requires plenty of room and water. Half-ripened cuttings root freely under a bell glass in a cool house or frame in summer. =A. glandulosa= (glandular).* _fl._ white, rose tinted, large; racemes erect, simple, terminal. April, May. _l._ alternate, rarely nearly opposite, ovate-oblong, attenuated at both ends, nearly sessile, leathery, toothed. _h._ 3ft. Van Diemen's Land, 1823. =ANSELLIA= (named after Mr. Ansell, the botanical collector who accompanied the ill-fated Niger Expedition). ORD. _Orchidaceæ_. Strong growing, free flowering stove epiphytal orchids. Best grown in large pots, as they produce a quantity of roots. They require a compost of turfy peat, with moderate drainage. An ample supply of water during the growing season is needed; but care must be taken not to let any remain in the heart of the plants, as they are very likely to rot. During the season of rest, little or no water, but a damp atmosphere, are the chief requirements. Propagated by divisions of the bulbs just after flowering. =A. africana= (African).* _fl._, sepals and petals nearly 2in. long, greenish yellow, spotted with brownish red; lip small, yellow; spikes large, drooping, branched, each sometimes bearing nearly a hundred blooms. Stems 3ft. to 4ft. high, with light evergreen foliage. Fernando Po, 1844. Lasts two months in perfection. =A. a. gigantea= (gigantic).* _fl._ on upright spikes from the top of the pseudo-bulbs, but smaller, of a light yellow tint, with very few narrow, transverse, brown bars, and a deep yellow lip, without warts of any kind on its middle lobe, and with more or less crenulated keels. Natal, 1847. The perfume is very peculiar. Very rare. =A. a. lutea= (yellow). Not so strong a grower; producing clusters of light yellow flowers from the top of the pseudo-bulbs. Natal. =A. a. nilotica= (Nile district).* As a garden plant this is much superior to the type. The habit is dwarfer, the colours of the flowers brighter and more distinctly defined. The sepals and petals, too, are more spreading. Eastern Africa. =ANSERINA.= _See_ =Potentilla anserina=. =ANTENN�.= Two movable, articulated organs attached to the heads of insects and crustacea, commonly called "horns" or "feelers." They are variable in form and length. Antennæ seem to serve for touch, and, perhaps, for smell and hearing. [Illustration: FIG. 105. ANTENNARIA MARGARITACEA, showing Habit and Inflorescence.] =ANTENNARIA= (from _antennæ_; in reference to the similarity which exists between the seed down of the plant and the antennæ, or feelers, of an insect). ORD. _Compositæ_. Hardy herbaceous perennials, distinguished by the dry, coloured, chaffy scales encircling each head of flowers, of which the stamens and pistils are on different plants. These are charming little alpine plants, admirably adapted for rockwork, pots, edgings, or borders, in any light soil. Propagated by divisions of the roots in spring, and seeds; the latter should be sown in spring in a cold frame. Grown chiefly for their leaves. =A. dioica= (di�cious).* _fl.-heads_ pink, in crowded corymbs, 3in. to 4in. high. June. _l._ radical ones spathulate, woolly chiefly beneath; upper ones lanceolate. Stems simple; shoots procumbent. Britain. The two or three varieties of this pretty species exceed the type in beauty. SYN. _Gnaphalium dioicum_. =A. d. hyperborea= (northern). _l._ woolly on both surfaces. =A. d. minima= (smallest).* A very small growing variety. =A. margaritacea= (pearly).* _fl.-heads_ white, corymbose. August. _l._ linear-lanceolate, acute, alternate, cottony, especially beneath. Stems branched above. _h._ 2ft. Naturalised in England and on the Continent. Said to have been introduced from America about the sixteenth century. The prettier but much rarer _A. triplinervis_, from Nepaul, comes close to this species. See Fig. 105. =A. tomentosa= (downy).* _fl.-heads_ corymbose. Summer. One of the dwarfest and best of silvery-leaved plants, either as an edging for small beds or for covering the higher portions of rockwork; it is much used in carpet bedding. It scarcely grows more than 1in. high, and forms a dense carpet in a short space of time. It should be grown separate from other plants. It is frequently known under the name of _A. candida_. =ANTERIOR.= Placed in front, or outwards. =ANTHEMIS= (from _anthemon_, a flower; referring to their general floriferous character). Camomile. ORD. _Compositæ_. Receptacle convex, chaffy. Involucre hemispherical or nearly flat; scales imbricated, membranaceous at the margin. Pappus none; ray florets ligulate; disk tubular. This is a large genus, principally of medicinal value, and contains very few species worth the cultivator's trouble. Of easy culture in any ordinary soil. Propagated by divisions. =A. Aizoon= (Aizoon).* _fl.-heads_ resembling a white Daisy; florets of the ray fourteen to eighteen, trifid, twice as long as the breadth of the disk. Summer. _l._ lanceolate, or broadly so, acutely and deeply serrated, narrowed towards the base, covered with white down; lower ones crowded; stem-leaves rather acute, gradually lessening in size. _h._ 2in. to 4in. Northern Greece. Free grower, dwarf, and compact. =A. Biebersteinii= (Bieberstein's).* _fl.-heads_ yellow. Summer. _l._ pinnately divided into linear three-lobed segments, which are covered with white silky pubescence. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Caucasus. =A. Chamomilla fl. pl.= _See_ =Matricaria=. =A. nobilis= (noble). Common Chamomile. _fl.-heads_ solitary; disk yellow; ray white; scales of the receptacle membranaceous, scarcely longer than the disk. _l._ bipinnate, segments linear-subulate, a little downy. Stem procumbent, and much branched. England. A very strong smelling plant, of great medicinal value. For culture, _see_ =Chamomile=. =A. tinctoria= (dyer's). _fl._ bright yellow, in large heads. July and August. _l._ bipinnatifid, serrate, downy beneath. Stem angular. _h._ 1-1/2ft. England. A very pretty plant. =ANTHER.= The male part of a flower containing the pollen. =ANTHERICUM= (from _anthos_, a flower and _kerkos_, a hedge; in reference to the tall flower stems). SYN. _Phalangium_. ORD. _Liliaceæ_. A large genus, belonging to the capsular group of the order, and inhabiting, for the most part, the Cape of Good Hope. Flowers white, racemose or panicled, scapose; perianth segments either spreading from near the base or campanulately united; stamens short, with naked or bearded filaments. Leaves radical, filiform or linear. The hardy varieties are now extensively grown, and are among the most ornamental of border plants. They thrive best in rich light soil, and are excellent subjects for pot culture; for which purpose use a compost of fibrous loam, leaf mould, or well-decayed manure, and coarse sand. The pots should be about 12in. across, well drained, and the plants potted just previous to, or so soon as, growth commences. During activity, plenty of water is needed, until the plants have finished flowering, when the quantity may be lessened; but never allow them to get dry. Propagated by division of the roots or seeds, sowing the latter, as early as possible after they are ripe, in a cold frame. =A. graminifolium= (grass-leaved). A garden name of _A. ramosum_. =A. Hookeri= (Hooker's). _See_ =Chrysobactron Hookeri=. =A. Liliago= (Liliago).* St. Bernard's Lily. _fl._ pure white, 1in. to 1-1/2in. across; perianth segments spreading; style curved. May to August. _l._ tufted, narrow, channelled, 12in. to 18in. high. South Europe, 1596. A very free flowering species, of which there is a _major_ variety in gardens. SYNS. _Phalangium_ and _Watsonia Liliago_. =A. Liliastrum= (Liliaster).* St. Bruno's Lily. _fl._ much larger than the last, 2in. long, and as much across, fragrant, of a transparent whiteness, with a delicate green spot on the point of each segment, campanulate, arranged in loose spikes. Early summer. _l._ long, narrow, six or eight to each plant, about 1ft. to 2ft. long, _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. South Europe, 1629. SYNS. _Czackia Liliastrum_ and _Paradisia Liliastrum_ (this is the correct name). See Fig. 106. [Illustration: FIG. 106. ANTHERICUM LILIASTRUM, showing Habit and Flower.] =A. L. major= (greater). _fl._ about 1in. larger than the type. _h._ about 6ft. A very desirable border plant. =A. ramosum= (branched).* _fl._ white, rather smaller than those of _A. Liliago_; perianth segments narrow and spreading; style straight; flower stems much branched. June. _l._ long, narrow, channelled, grass-like. _h._ 2ft. South Europe, 1570. A rapid grower. SYN. _A. graminifolium_ (of gardens). =A. serotinum= (late-flowering). _See_ =Lloydia=. =A. variegatum= (variegated). _l._ keeled, grass-like, striped and margined with white. South Africa, 1875. Half hardy. The proper name of this plant is _Chlorophytum elatum variegatum_. SYNS. _A. Williamsii_ and _Phalangium argenteo-lineare_. =A. Williamsii= (Williams'). Synonymous with _A. variegatum_. =ANTHERIDIA.= The reproductive organs in cryptogamic plants, analogous to anthers in flowering plants. =ANTHERIFEROUS.= Bearing anthers. =ANTHESIS.= The opening period of flowers. =ANTHOCARPOUS.= Bearing a fruit resulting from many flowers. =ANTHOCERCIS= (from _anthos_, a flower, and _kerkis_, a ray; in reference to the radiated corolla). ORD. _Solanaceæ_. Handsome greenhouse evergreen shrubs, with alternate leaves, attenuated into the petioles or base, thick, sometimes glandularly dotted. Flowers axillary, generally solitary; corolla campanulate. Cuttings strike freely in sand under a bell glass, with a mild bottom heat. So soon as they have well rooted, pot off into very small pots in two-thirds good loam and one of peat. After having made a little headway, the leading shoots should be pinched off, to induce a lateral growth; they may be transferred to pots a size larger when the roots have filled the first pot. Continue growing throughout the summer in frames or in the greenhouse, near the glass, allowing plenty of air. Vigorous growth should be checked; thus encouraging bushy plants. =A. albicans= (whitish-leaved).* _fl._ white, streaked with bluish-purple inside the tube, fragrant; petals longer than the tube. April. _l._ oblong, obtuse, densely tomentose on both surfaces, as well as the branches. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. New South Wales, 1824. =A. floribunda= (many-flowered). _fl._ white. _h._ 3ft. New South Wales. =A. ilicifolia= (Holly-leaved). _fl._ yellowish green. June. _h._ 6ft. Swan River, 1843. =A. littorea= (shore). _fl._ white. June. _h._ 3ft. New Holland, 1803. =A. viscosa= (clammy).* _fl._ large, white. May. _l._ obovate, glandularly dotted with scabrous margins; young leaves and branches clothed with fine down. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. New Holland, 1822. =ANTHOLOMA= (from _anthos_, a flower, and _loma_, a fringe; in allusion to the fringed or crenulated limb of the corolla). ORD. _Tiliaceæ_. A very fine greenhouse evergreen tree; it thrives best in a light loamy soil, mixed with a little peat. Cuttings of ripened wood will strike root in sand, under a hand glass. =A. montana= (mountain).* _fl._ white; corolla ovately cylindrical, with a crenate, rather toothed margin; racemes axillary, somewhat umbellate, reflexed. May. _l._ elliptical-oblong, leathery, stalked, scattered at the top of the branchlets. _h._ 20ft. New Caledonia, 1810. =ANTHOLYZA= (from _anthos_, a flower, and _lyssa_, rage; in reference to the opening of the flowers, which resemble the mouth of an enraged animal). SYN. _Petamenes_. Including _Anisanthus_. ORD. _Irideæ_. A very pretty genus of bulbous plants from the Cape of Good Hope, having narrow, erect, Iris-like leaves, and flower-spikes that over-top the foliage, bearing numerous bright-coloured flowers. Perianth tubular, six-cleft, unequal, the upper segments longest; stamens three. The species may be grown in a greenhouse, or planted out in a frame. They also thrive excellently out of doors, and should be planted 8in. or 9in. deep for fear of frost, or have a winter protection of several inches of cocoa-nut fibre refuse or litter. The safer plan is to raise the roots, winter them in some dry part of the greenhouse; but, previous to storing, divide the clumps, clean them, and re-plant or pot in February, or early in March. A mixture of equal parts peat, sandy loam, and leaf soil is most suitable for their culture. Just previous to flowering, if in pots, frequent doses of weak manure water will be found beneficial. They may be propagated by offsets, which are produced in abundance, at almost any time. Seeds are sometimes procured, which should be sown so soon as ripe, in light soil, in a cool house, where they will germinate the following spring, and will be fit to plant out in the summer of the same year. With the exception of _A. Cunonia_, they all much resemble each other. Only four or five species of this genus are worth cultivating. =A. æthiopica= (�thiopian).* _fl._ scarlet and green. June. _h._ 3ft. 1759. SYNS. _A. floribunda_, _A. præalta_. =A. æ. ringens= (gaping). _fl._ red and yellow, rather smaller than those of the type. SYN. _A. vittigera_. =A. bicolor= (two-coloured). Synonymous with _A. Cunonia_. =A. caffra= (Caffrarian).* _fl._ rich scarlet; spike distichous, many-flowered. June. _l._ long, linear, or linear-ensiform. _h._ 2ft. 1828. A very showy and pretty species, but rarely seen in our gardens. SYN. _Anisanthus splendens_. =A. Cunonia= (Cunon's).* _fl._ scarlet and black, a combination of colours uncommon among bulbous plants; spikes secund. June. _h._ 2ft. 1756. SYN. _Anisanthus Cunonia_. =A. floribunda= (much-flowered). A synonym of _A. æthiopica_. =A. præalta= (very tall). Synonymous with _A. æthiopica_. =A. vittigera= (glandular). Synonymous with _A. æ. ringens_. =ANTHOMYIA.= _See_ =Beet Fly=, =Cabbage Fly=, and =Onion Fly=. =ANTHONOMUS.= _See_ =Grubs=. =ANTHOSPERMUM= (from _anthos_, a flower, and _sperma_, a seed). Amber Tree. ORD. _Rubiaceæ_. An ornamental greenhouse evergreen shrub from the Cape of Good Hope. It thrives in peat, loam, and sand, with a summer temperature of 50deg. to 65deg., and winter, 40deg. to 45deg. Increased by cuttings, in sand, under a bell glass. There are above twenty other species belonging to this genus. =A. æthiopicum= (�thiopian).* _fl._ di�cious, male brownish, and the female ones green, disposed in verticillate spikes. June. _l._ linear-lanceolate, three in a whorl, shining above, glabrous beneath, about 1/4in. long. Stem much branched, downy above. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. 1692. =ANTHOTAXIS.= The arrangement of flowers on an inflorescence. =ANTHOXANTHUM= (from _anthos_, a flower, and _xanthus_, yellow). Spring Grass. Calyx of two valves, glumaceous, one-flowered; corolla double, each of two valves: the exterior awned; the interior small, awnless; stamens two, not three, as is usually the case with grasses. ORD. _Gramineæ_. A pretty native hardy perennial, of easy culture in common garden soil. [Illustration: FIG. 107. ANTHOXANTHUM ODORATUM.] =A. odoratum= (sweet). _fl._ panicle spiked, oblong, dense, becoming dullish yellow. _l._ short, pale green. _h._ 1ft. The pleasant smell of new-made Hay is chiefly owing to this plant, which in drying emits an odour similar to that of _Asperula odorata_. See Fig. 107. =ANTHURIUM= (from _anthos_, a flower, and _oura_, a tail; referring to the inflorescence). ORD. _Aroideæ_. Flowers densely disposed on a cylindrical spadix, at the base of which is a large bract-like spathe, that ultimately bends backwards. Leaves of various shapes. This very large genus of handsome stove and greenhouse plants is remarkable both for the peculiar inflorescence and often noble leaves, and is distinguished in structure from all the European members of the order in the flowers being hermaphrodite. Fibry peat, loam, sphagnum, broken crocks, or charcoal, and silver sand, form the most suitable compost. In preparing the peat, it should be broken up into small lumps, and then have most of the earthy matter knocked out of it by giving it a few raps with a stick, or by shaking it about in a sieve. To this, after so treated, add about one-fourth its bulk of sphagnum, and about half its bulk of fibrous loam, and just a sprinkling of fresh broken crocks, or small pieces of charcoal and sharp silver sand. In placing them in the pots--�which must be well drained--�carefully spread out the roots and work the mixture among them, keeping the plant well up, so that when finished it stands clear above the rim of the pot at least 2in. or 3in., and forms a kind of mound or hillock. They must then be kept freely syringed or watered, and placed in a moist atmosphere, where they can enjoy a temperature ranging between 60deg. and 70deg., or a few degrees lower for the less tender species. Raising plants from seed requires patience. About a year elapses from the time the flowers are fertilised--�which should be done artificially--before the seed ripens, and often another to get up plants. Sow as soon as ripe in shallow, well-drained pans or pots, filled with the potting mixture, and cover slightly, and place in a close, moist propagating case, where a temperature of from 75deg. to 85deg. is maintained, or they may be covered with bell glasses. The principal thing is to keep the air about them constantly humid, and the material in which they are sown in a uniformly moist condition; if this is done, the young seedlings will make their appearance in due course. When these are of sufficient size to handle, they should be pricked off in the same sort of compost, and be kept close and moist till they get a start, after which gradually inure them to more air. January is the best month of the year wherein to propagate these plants by divisions. This is done by carefully turning them out of their pots and shaking out what soil they have amongst their roots, which must be tenderly dealt with, so as not to bruise or injure them. This done, they may then be pulled apart, and as many plants made as there are separate crowns, or the mass may be simply halved or quartered, according to the stock required. Treat now as recommended above for potting. They are all moisture-loving plants, and must have a copious supply of water at all times, although, of course, much less during the winter than spring and summer months. There is no season of the year when they can be handled for any purpose with less risk or check than January. A moderate moist stove heat is advisable for them generally. The species enumerated are selected from nearly 150, and will be found to be a very representative collection. _See also_ =Spathiphyllum=. =A. acaule= (stemless).* _fl._, spadix blue in a young state, borne on long footstalks, sweetly scented. Spring. _l._ broad, oblong, acuminate, 1ft. to 3ft. in length, erect, arranged in a rosulate manner, dark shining green on the upper surface, somewhat paler beneath. West Indies, 1853. A noble species. [Illustration: FIG. 108. ANTHURIUM ANDREANUM.] =A. Andreanum= (André's).* _fl._, spadix about 3in. long, yellowish, with a broad central band of white; spathe open, cordate-ovate, orange red, leathery, 3in. to 4in. across, and 6in. to 9in. long; surface irregularly corrugated. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, deeply cordate, green. Columbia, 1876. A very beautiful species. See Fig. 108. =A. Bakeri= (Baker's).* _fl._, spathe small, green, reflexed; the spadix, wherein lies the plant's principal beauty, exhibits a lovely combination of pink and bright scarlet; the fleshy rachis being pink, and the pea-sized fruits bright scarlet. July. _l._ linear, leathery, green, with stout midribs. Costa Rica, 1872. =A. cordifolium= (cordate-leaved).* _l._ 3ft. long and 20in. broad, heart-shaped, deep shining green on the upper surface, and paler below. _h._ 4ft. New Grenada. One of the best, and may be grown in a greenhouse or even in a sheltered spot of the sub-tropical garden during July and August. _A. Browni_, although quite distinct, comes close to this species. =A. coriaceum= (leathery).* _l._ very thick, leathery, ovate, about 2ft. long; petioles stout, about the same length. Brazil. An admirable sub-tropical species. [Illustration: FIG. 109. ANTHURIUM CRYSTALLINUM.] =A. crystallinum= (crystalline).* _l._ large, ovate-cordate, acuminate, bright rich velvety green, principal veins elegantly banded with pure crystal white; when young, the leaves are violet colour; petioles terete. _h._ 2ft. Columbia. See Fig. 109. =A. cuspidatum= (cuspidate). _fl._, spathe crimson, reflexed, shorter than the purplish spadix. _l._ ovate-oblong, acuminate, 10in. to 20in. long, green. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Columbia. _A. ferrierense_ (Ferrières).* _fl._, spathe cordate, about 5in. long, and 4in. wide, bright red; spadix erect, about 4in. long, ivory white. _l._ large, cordate. A handsome hybrid between _A. ornatum_ and _A. Andreanum_. =A. fissum= (cut-leaved). _fl._, spathe green, erect, narrowly lanceolate-acuminate. _l._ cut into four to seven elliptic oblong-acuminate segments, green; petioles longish, terete. _h._ 2ft. Columbia, 1868. =A. Harrisii pulchrum= (beautiful).* _fl._, spathe linear-lanceolate, creamy white, deflexed, and pinkish at top; spadix erect, deep crimson; scape about 1ft. long, pale green. _l._ lanceolate, rounded at the base, pale green, with confluent white markings intermixed with dark green. Stem short. Brazil, 1882. A beautiful variegated plant. The typical _A. Harrisii_ is extremely rare. =A. Hookeri= (Hooker's). _fl._, spathe green; spadix green or violet. _l._ obovate-spathulate, narrowed to a wedge-shaped base, and shortly stalked, shining, about 30in. long and 8in. broad. _h._ 3ft. Tropical America, 1840. SYNS. _A. Huegelii_, _Pothos acaulis_. =A. Huegelii= (Huegel's). A synonym of _A. Hookeri_. =A. insigne= (showy).* _l._ three-lobed, middle lobe lanceolate, the two lateral ones are nearly ovate, and have from three to five longitudinal ribs; when young, the leaves have a bronzy tinge; petioles terete, slightly sheathing at the base. Columbia, 1881. A very handsome species. =A. Kalbreyeri= (Kalbreyer's).* _l._ palmate, about 2-1/2ft. across; leaflets nine, obovate-oblong, acuminate, sinuate, thick, glabrous, rich deep green, those furthest from the stem are much larger than those next the axis; petiole cylindrical, thickened at the top. New Grenada, 1881. A very handsome climbing species. =A. lanceolatum= (lanceolate). _fl._, spathe lanceolate, deflexed, yellowish green; spadix dark brown. _l._ lanceolate, stalked, green, 1ft. long, narrowed to the base. There appears to be much confusion as regards this and many varieties of _A. Harrisii_; and the specific designation is indiscriminately applied to lanceolate-leaved forms generally. The true species was introduced to Kew from the West Indies. SYN. _A. Wildenowii_. =A. leuconeurum= (white-nerved). Green. Mexico, 1862. =A. Lindenianum= (Linden's).* _fl._ fragrant, spathe very pretty, white, not reflexed, but the pointed apex slightly arches over and shelters the white or purplish spadix. October. _l._ deeply cordate, of a roundish outline; petioles long. _h._ 3ft. Columbia, 1866. SYN. _A. Lindigi_ (of gardens). =A. Lindigi= (Lindig's). A garden synonym of _A. Lindenianum_. =A. macrolobum= (large-lobed).* _l._ large, deflexed, cordate, acuminate, with an open sinus at the base, and about three acute marginal lobes, dark green, marked with about five pale green ribs; petioles green, terete. Stem erect, short. A fine hybrid. =A. nymphæifolium= (Nymphæa-leaved). _fl._, spathe white; spadix purplish. Venezuela, 1854. =A. ornatum= (adorned).* _fl._, spathe linear-oblong, white, 5in. to 6in. long, on terete green scapes, enclosing cylindrical purplish spadices of about the same length as the spathes, and studded with white points arranged spirally. Spring. _l._ ovate or oblong-cordate, on slender terete petioles. _h._ 2-1/2ft. Venezuela, 1869. =A. regale= (royal).* _l._ large, cordate-acuminate, 1ft. to 3ft. long, dull metallic green, with white veins; young leaves tinged with rose, on long smooth footstalks. East Peru, 1866. An excellent species for conservatory or window decoration during summer. [Illustration: FIG. 110. ANTHURIUM SCHERZERIANUM.] =A. Scherzerianum= (Scherzer's).* _fl._ on bright red peduncles, which spring from among the base of the leafstalks; spathe ovate-oblong, 3in. long and nearly 2in. broad, intense and brilliant scarlet; spadix orange coloured. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, 12in. to 18in. long, and 2in. or more broad, deep rich green, leathery. Costa Rica. A very compact dwarf-growing evergreen about 1ft. high. It continues in beauty about four months. See Fig. 110. =A. S. album= (white). A synonym of _A. Scherzerianum Williamsii_. [Illustration: FIG. 111. ANTHURIUM SCHERZERIANUM MAXIMUM.] =A. S. maximum= (greater).* A very fine variety, with "gigantic flower spathes, which measure about 9in. in length by 4in. in breadth, and are of the most brilliant scarlet colour." See Fig. 111. =A. S. pygmæum= (small).* Altogether smaller than the type, with narrow leaves, which are from 4in. to 6in. long, and about 1/2in. broad. It is one of the best varieties, and produces flowers very freely. 1880. =A. S. Rothschildianum= (Rothschild's). _fl._, spathe creamy white, spotted with crimson; spadix yellow. 1880. Exactly intermediate between its parent plants--the typical species and the following variety. =A. S. Wardii= (Ward's).* _fl._, spathe 6in. long, 4in. broad, very brilliant. _l._ broader and more robust than those of the typical species. A splendid variety. =A. S. Williamsii= (Williams's).* _fl._, spathe white; spadix yellowish. May. _l._ lanceolate-acuminate. Costa Rica, 1874. SYN. _A. Scherzerianum album_. =A. signatum= (well-marked). _l._ apparently three-lobed; front lobe about 1ft. long and 4in. wide; the two side ones 4in. long, and about 6in. from the midrib to the extremity, dark green; petioles about 1ft. long. Venezuela, 1858. =A. spathiphyllum= (Spathiphyllum). _fl._, spathe about 1-3/4in. long, and nearly as much broad, erect, boat-shaped, broadly ovate, white; spadix nearly 1in. long, very obtuse, pale yellow. _l._ narrow lanceolate, 16in. to 24in. long, and about 2in. wide, bright green above, pale greyish green beneath; midrib prominent; petiole 3in. to 6in. long, trigonous. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Tropical America, 1875. =A. splendidum= (splendid).* _l._ cordate, with an open sinus, the lobes meeting behind; "the course of the nerves is marked by a broadish band of deep lustrous velvety green, the intervening spaces of about equal width being in striking contrast, of a pale yellowish green; the leaf surface is scabrous, and the portions between the ribs strongly bullate, as if raised in papillose blisters; the veins on the under surface are angular, with tooth-like projections at intervals, while the whole under surface is punctuated with small pallid dots" (W. Bull). Stem short, thick. South America, 1882. A very beautiful species, quite distinct from any others of the genus. See Fig. 112. [Illustration: FIG. 112. ANTHURIUM SPLENDIDUM.] =A. subsignatum= (nearly allied to Signatum).* _l._ thick and fleshy, hastate, with blunt points, 12in. to 18in. long, and as much in breadth at the widest part; dark shining green above, paler beneath; petioles about 1ft. long. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Costa Rica, 1861. An excellent species. =A. tetragonum= (four-angled). _l._ erect, commences very narrow, 1ft. wide at its broadest part; margins undulate, deep shining green on the upper surface, paler below; petioles short, quadrangular. Tropical America, 1860. An excellent sub-tropical species. =A. triumphans= (superior). _fl._, spathe narrow, green; spadix stout, greenish-white; peduncle quadrangular. _l._ alternate, elongately cordate, bright green; ribs prominent, and of a paler hue. Stem erect. Brazil, 1882. A handsome plant. =A. Veitchii= (Veitch's).* _l._ ovate-oblong, greatly elongated, 2ft. to 3ft. long, with a breadth of less than one-third of these dimensions, leathery, deep green, with a glossy metallic surface when first expanded that becomes paler with age; the principal nerves are arched and deeply sunk, imparting a curiously waved appearance to the surface. _h._ 2-1/2ft. Columbia, 1877. Rare but very handsome. =A. Waluiewi= (Walujew's).* _l._ broadly cordate, 12in. to 14in. long, 8in. to 10in. broad, olive metallic green, when young, bright reddish crimson; petioles four to five-angled. _h._ 2ft. Venezuela, 1880. A very distinct and noble species. =A. Waroqueanum= (Waroque's).* _l._ elongated, from 24in. to sometimes 36in. long, and 8in. to 11in. broad, very rich deep green, of a velvety lustre; midribs and veins light, forming a very pleasing contrast. Columbia, 1878. A very free grower. =A. Wildenowii= (Wildenow's). A synonym of _A. lanceolatum_. It may be here remarked that by far the majority of species enumerated in the _Supplement_ of Johnson's Dictionary are chiefly of botanical interest, and will, therefore, never become extensively cultivated. =ANTHYLLIS= (from _anthos_, a flower, and _ioulos_, down; flowers usually downy). Kidney Vetch. ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Herbaceous or sub-shrubby plants, of variable habit. Flowers in spikes or heads; calyx tubular, five toothed, permanent after flowering, more or less inflated. Petals nearly equal. Although not extensively grown, all the species are very beautiful when in flower, the hardy sorts being admirably adapted for rockwork. The herbaceous perennials may be easily propagated by seed or division. The seeds of the annual kinds should be sown in a rather dry, warm situation in the open ground. The shrubby evergreens will need the protection of a frame or cool greenhouse in cold northern climates, and are best grown in a mixture of loam, sand, and peat. Young cuttings of most species will root in a pot of sandy soil, with a bell glass placed over them, in a cool house or frame. =A. Barba-Jovis= (Jupiter's beard).* _fl._ pale yellow, numerous, in globose, bracteate heads. March. _l._ pinnate, and are as well as the branches, clothed with silky tomentum; leaflets nine to thirteen, oblong-linear. _h._ 4ft. to 8ft. Spain, 1640. Shrub. =A. erinacea= (prickly).* _fl._ bluish-purple; heads few flowered, on short peduncles, bracteate. April. _l._ very few, oval, or oblong. _h._ 6in. to 12in. Spain, 1759. A much branched, spiny, almost leafless, and slow-growing species; hardy in a dry sunny position on the rockery. SYN. _Erinacea hispanica_. =A. Hermanniæ= (Hermann's). _fl._ yellow; heads few flowered, nearly sessile in the axils of the upper leaves. April. _l._ almost sessile, simple, or trifoliate; leaflets oblong-cuneated, glabrous or clothed with adpressed pubescence. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Corsica, 1739. Shrubby, much branched. =A. montana= (mountain).* _fl._ pink or purplish, in dense heads, on peduncles, with a leafy involucre. June. _l._ pinnate, and are as well as the branches, silky and hoary; leaflets numerous, oval-oblong, acute, small, entire. _h._ 3in. to 6in. Alps of Europe, 1769. A very handsome little rock plant, with a dwarf and tufted habit. =A. tetraphylla= (four-leaved). _fl._ white; heads axillary, sessile, few flowered. July. _l._ pinnate, the terminal leaflets ovate and large, the other three small and acute. South Europe, 1640. A procumbent annual. =A. Vulneraria= (Common Woundwort).* _fl._ generally yellow, sometimes white, red, or pinkish, in crowded twin heads. Summer. _l._ pinnate, with five or more unequal leaflets; the lower ones smallest. An elegant native herbaceous, perennial, admirably adapted for rockwork. It is plentiful in most dry pastures. There are several varieties, the best of which is _alba_. =ANTIARIS TOXICARIA.= This is the famous Upas tree of Java, from which is obtained poison of a most deadly nature. It belongs to the NAT. ORD. _Urticaceæ_. =ANTIGONON= (from _anti_, against, or opposite, and _gonia_, an angle). ORD. _Polygonaceæ_. Elegant stove climbers. Flowers racemose, cirrhose at the apex of the rachides; petals five, three outer ones broadly cordate, two inner oblong. Leaves alternate, cordate. Although extremely handsome plants, they are difficult to flower. They seem to succeed best when planted out in a very thoroughly drained border over hot-water pipes or flues, the long climbing stems being trained near the glass in full light. =A. amabile= (lovely).* _fl._ bright rose, profusely borne in axillary and terminal racemes. _l._ 3in. to 5in. long, ovate-cordate, and deeply lobed at the base. It is of free slender growth, the young shoots are pubescent, and having a slight reddish tinge. An exceedingly attractive and effective species. =A. guatemalensis= (Guatemala). Probably the same as _A. insigne_. =A. insigne= (remarkable).* _fl._ very numerous, borne in tufts along the sides of long racemes or panicles, which terminate in branched tendrils; the calyx, which is the showy part of the flower, has five membranous sepals, the three outer are of a beautiful rosy pink colour, about 1in. in length by rather less in breadth, cordate at the base, oblong, rounded towards the apex; the two inner sepals about the same length as the outer ones, but much narrower, falcate, lanceolate; pedicels 3/4in. long. _l._ broadly ovate oblong, deeply cordate at the base, with two rounded lobes; 4in. by 3in., the upper ones smaller, supported on short terete downy stalks. Stems slender, angular, pubescent. Columbia, 1876. _A. leptopus_ (slender-stemmed). _fl._ numerous; the outer three sepals of a beautiful rose colour, the centre of a much deeper tint; racemes secund, bearing several coloured bracts as well as flowers, and end in a branched tendril. _l._ alternate, cordate, petiolate. Stem slender, sub-pubescent. Mexico, 1868. =ANTIGRAMME.= _See_ =Scolopendrium=. [Illustration: FIG. 113. ANTIRRHINUM CAPSULE, with Persistent Style.] [Illustration: FIG. 114. ANTIRRHINUM ASARINA, showing Habit and Flower.] =ANTIRRHINUM= (from _anti_, like, and _rhin_, a nose or snout; alluding to the shape of the corolla). Snapdragon. ORD. _Scrophulariaceæ_. Hardy herbaceous plants. Flowers in terminal racemes, or solitary and axillary; corolla personate; tube ample, saccate at the base; lobes of the upper lip erect; lower lip spreading, having the middle lobes smaller than the lateral ones, with an ample bearded palate, which closes the throat. Seed pod or capsule two-celled, upper cell bursting by one pore, lower by two many-toothed pores. See Fig. 113. Leaves entire, rarely lobed. The genus contains several very handsome species, suitable for borders and the rockery, while innumerable varieties have originated from _A. majus_, which are very popular, and extremely useful for bedding purposes; these may be increased by cuttings or seeds; if it is desired to increase certain colours or varieties, the former is the only sure method to adopt. They should be taken in September, when they will readily root in a cold frame, or under a hand glass, or they may be rapidly propagated in gentle heat in spring. Seeds should be sown in July or August, when they will produce good plants by the following season; or if sown in March in warmth, the plants will bloom late in the same year. The "Tom Thumb" strain is especially desirable for bedding, being very dwarf and free. All the other species may be increased by cuttings and seeds treated in the same way. Light soil, well enriched with manure, is most suitable for all of them, especially for the varieties of _A. majus_. [Illustration: FIG. 115. FLOWER-SPIKE OF ANTIRRHINUM MAJUS.] =A. angustifolium= (narrow-leaved). Synonymous with _A. siculum_. =A. Asarina= (Asarina).* _fl._ axillary, solitary; corolla 1-1/2in. long, white, sometimes tinged with red; palate yellow; tube glabrous, compressed on the back, marked by purple spots, and bearded by yellow hairs inside. June. _l._ opposite, on long petioles, five-nerved, five-lobed, cordate, and crenated. South France, &c., 1699. A greyish clammy procumbent plant, requiring a warm position on the rockery. See Fig. 114. =A. hispanicum= (Spanish). _fl._ in loose spikes; corolla hardly an inch long, purple, with a golden yellow palate; tube villous. Summer. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, contracted at the base, bluntish; lower ones opposite; superior ones alternate, narrower. _h._ 1ft. Spain, 1878. SYN. _A. latifolium_. =A. latifolium= (broad-leaved). Synonymous with _A. hispanicum_. =A. majus= (large).* Greater, or Common Snapdragon. _fl._ racemose, approximate; corolla 1in. to 2in. long, shades infinite; palate yellow at top, very prominent; tube downy outside. Spring, summer, and autumn. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, 1in. to 3in. long; upper ones narrower, attenuated at both ends, glabrous. Branches erect, usually branched again. _h._ 2ft. Europe (naturalised in Britain). The named varieties are numerous, but it is unnecessary to enumerate any, as an equal amount of variation can be obtained from seed. See Fig. 115. =A. molle= (soft).* _fl._ few, at the tops of the branchlets; corolla 1in. long, whitish, with a yellow palate; upper lip striped with purple. July. _l._ opposite, petiolate, clothed with glandular and clammy hairs, about 1/2in. long, and little more than 1/4in. broad; branches procumbent, slender, clothed with woolly hairs. Pyrenees, 1752. A very pretty plant, which should have a warm position on the rockery. _A. sempervirens_ comes close to this species. =A. Orontium= (Orontium). _fl._ axillary, distant; corolla rose-coloured or white, striped with purple; tube furnished with a few glandular hairs; palate veined with purple; sepals linear-lanceolate, large. June. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, acutish, attenuated at both ends, glabrous, 2in. long. _h._ 6in. to 12in. Europe (British cornfields). Annual. See Fig. 116. [Illustration: FIG. 116. ANTIRRHINUM ORONTIUM.] =A. O. grandiflorum= (large-flowered). A variety with larger, paler, and more approximate flowers, and with broader leaves, than the type. Europe (British cornfields). =A. siculum= (Sicilian). _fl._ in loose racemes; corolla hardly 1in. long, white or yellowish, rarely purple; tube rather hairy; lobes of the upper lip and the middle lobe of the lower lip emarginate. July. _l._ 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, linear-lanceolate, opposite, alternate or three in a whorl, narrowed into petioles at the base. Branches erect. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Sicily, 1804. SYN. _A. angustifolium_. =A. tortuosum= (twisted).* _fl._ disposed in spiked racemes, approximating by threes and fours; corolla (the largest of the genus) purple; tube short; upper lip large. June. _l._ linear, acute, opposite or three in a whorl, 2in. long, attenuated at both ends; upper ones very narrow. Branches erect. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. Italy. =ANTONIA.= A synonym of =Rhynchoglossum= (which _see_). =ANTROPHYUM= (from _antron_, a cavern, and _phuo_, to grow; referring to its place of growth). Including _Polytænium_. ORD. _Filices_. A small genus of stove ferns, very rarely seen in cultivation, all with simple fronds, of firm but fleshy texture, and copious, uniform, hexagonal areolæ. Sori carried along the veins, imperfectly reticulated. For culture, &c., _see_ =Ferns=. =A. cayennense= (Cayenne). _sti._ 1in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 9in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, lanceolate-oblong, narrowed at both ends; edge thickened, entire; areolæ half as broad as long. _sori_ sub-superficial, often forked. Guiana, &c. =A. coriaceum= (leathery). _fronds_ 6in. to 8in. long, about 1/2in. broad, narrowed very gradually from the centre to the base, very acute at the apex, very thick; areolæ very long and narrow, distinctly raised on the upper surface. _sori_ quite immersed, sometimes confluent. Himalayas, &c. =A. lanceolatum= (lance-leaved).* _fronds_ 1ft. or more long, 1/4in. to 1/2in. broad, point acute, edge entire, the lower half narrowed very gradually to the base; areolæ two or three times as long as broad, about three rows between the midrib and the edge. _sori_ slender, superficial, often joining. West Indies, southwards to New Grenada, 1793. =ANTS= (_Formicidæ_). Well-known pests, easily distinguished from all other insects. There are a great number of species, differing more or less in habits; but, as a rule, they dwell underground in communities, and construct extensive ant-cities, which are occupied by three classes--the neuters or workers (by far the most numerous), the males, and the females. There are often, in addition to these, larger and stronger neuters, known as the "soldiers," or defenders of the community. Ants have a long, slender body, supported on long and slender legs. The head bears a pair of elbowed horns or antennæ, constantly waving about and touching everything the insect comes across. They have powerful mandibles for cutting, sawing, and biting, and it is with these instruments that Ants do mischief in gardens. The winged males and females become mature in summer, and on a warm day they ascend in a body into the air; after a short time, they fall to the ground, the females at once free themselves from the henceforth useless wings, and begin to form new colonies. Vast numbers of eggs are laid, from which issue larvæ, and these soon become pupæ, and then perfect Ants. Some kinds are injurious from their habit (in some species) of collecting aphides together, and farming them for the sake of the honey secreted by the aphides, and that passes out from their honey-tubes (thus helping to perpetuate the stock of these most injurious insects); and also from the mechanical damage they do in pots, and other receptacles for plants. They likewise cause unsightly hills on lawns and paths, and the large black species that live in decayed wood often injure the framing of greenhouses, &c., when the woodwork has become somewhat decayed. Where fruit, such as peaches or wall pears, are grown, Ants will at times inflict damage, and, therefore, they should be kept away; but this is a comparatively easy matter, as the placing of an obnoxious substance along the base of the walls and around the stems of the trees will deter them. For the extirpation of Ants from indoors, the Arsenical solution described below is most efficacious, but it is extremely dangerous. * * * * * _Lime._ Air-slaked lime plentifully dusted, in warm, dry, weather, over and around the hills and other places infested, will cause the Ants to vacate them in a short time. A thick chalk line drawn round a smooth tree, or across an upright board or post, will render it impassable. _Arsenic._ This must be used with the utmost caution, as it is a poison most fatal to animal life. Recipe: 1oz. of ordinary arsenic is placed in an old iron pot with a quart of water, and then boiled until reduced to a pint or a little more of liquid, to which is added 1/2lb. of coarse sugar. This mixture can either be dropped about the runs and around the nests, or placed in saucers in the Ants' haunts. _Ferrocyanide of Potassium._ This is also very dangerous: Ferrocyanide of potassium, 1dr.; raspings of quassia, 1dr.; and enough sugar to form a syrup. Use in the same way as the preceding. _Calomel and Sugar._ Mix together one part of calomel and ten parts of finely-powdered loaf sugar, and lay it in little heaps about their nests and runs; the Ants will eat it and die. Spring is the best season for this method. _Guano_, when fresh, if sprinkled on and around their quarters, is said to be efficacious in driving them away. _Camphor._ If a piece of camphor, about the size of a filbert, be placed in two quarts of hot water, and this, when cool enough, applied to pot or other plants infested with Ants, the insects will be driven off without injury to the plants. _Bones._ Lay a quantity of partially-picked boiled bones in the haunts, and they will be quickly covered with insects. As soon as this occurs, throw the bones into hot water. Before laying them down again, let all superfluous moisture drain off. This is a cheap remedy, and, if persisted in, is very effectual. _Carbolic Acid._ This, if of good strength, diluted with about ten or twelve times its bulk of water, and well sprinkled over paths or other places where there is no vegetation, will keep the Ants away. It has, however, an objectionable smell. _Paraffin Oil._ Paraffin, mixed with six times its bulk of water, and sprinkled over the nests every few days, will kill and drive away Ants; but the smell is disagreeable. _Quassia._ 4oz. of quassia chips, boiled in a gallon of water for about ten minutes, and 4oz. of soap added to the liquor as it cools, if used like the preceding, is fairly effectual; but this, like the other remedies, must be persisted in for some time. Fly pans or saucers, nearly filled with thin honey or sweet oil, attract Ants, and they are drowned in them. Ants are very hard to clear effectually out of a place, and therefore it is very desirable, in all attempts to be rid of them, to persist in the above remedies. When not living close to the roots or stems of plants, the best and surest remedy of all is to flood them out or scald them in with boiling water. The specifics are endless, but the best are mentioned above. =ANTWERP HOLLYHOCK.= _See_ =Althæa ficifolia=. =AOTUS= (from _a_, without, and _ous_, an ear; in allusion to the absence of appendages in the calyx, which distinguishes it from its allied genus, _Pultenæa_). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Elegant little greenhouse evergreen shrubs, with yellow flowers, and simple, linear-subulate leaves, revolute at the margins, alternate or nearly opposite, or three in a whorl. They should be grown in a compost of equal parts loam, sand, and peat, with a little charcoal, and the pots should be well drained. Cuttings of half-ripened wood, made in April, root freely in sand, under a bell glass. =A. gracillima= (most slender).* _fl._ yellow and crimson, small, on long, dense, graceful spikes, which are often over a foot long; pedicels short. May. _h._ 3ft. New Holland, 1844. A very pretty slender growing shrub. =A. villosa= (soft-haired). _fl._ axillary, disposed in racemose spikes along the branches; calyx silky. April. _l._ smoothish on the upper surface. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. New Holland, 1790. =APEIBA= (the native name in Guiana.) ORD. _Tiliaceæ_. Very handsome stove evergreen trees or shrubs, clothed with starry down. Flowers large, golden yellow, pedunculate, bracteate. Capsule spherical, depressed, rough from rigid bristles. Leaves broad, alternate, entire or serrate. They thrive in a mixture of loam and peat. The best way to induce them to flower in this country is by cutting a ring round the bark of a large branch; by this means the growth is stopped. Well ripened cuttings should be planted in sand in heat, under a bell glass, which should be tilted occasionally, so as to give a little air to the cuttings, otherwise they are apt to damp off. =A. aspera= (rough).* _fl._ golden yellow; peduncles opposite the leaves, branched, many flowered. May. _l._ ovate-oblong, somewhat cordate, quite entire, smooth. _h._ 30ft. to 40ft. Guiana, 1792. =A. Petoumo= (Petoumo). _fl._ yellow, similarly disposed to _A. aspera_. August. _fr._ densely clothed with bristles. _l._ ovate-oblong, somewhat cordate at the base, entire, hoary beneath. _h._ 40ft. Guiana, 1817. =A. Tibourbou= (Tibourbou).* _fl._ dark yellow. August. _fr._ densely clothed with bristles. _l._ cordate, ovate-oblong, serrated, hairy beneath. _h._ 10ft. Guiana, 1756. =APETALOUS.= Without petals. =APEX.= The summit or point of anything. =APHELANDRA= (from _apheles_, simple, and _aner_, a male; the anthers being one-celled). ORD. _Acanthaceæ_. Very handsome stove evergreen shrubs, mostly of an erect habit of growth, and having handsome shining leaves, which in some instances are variegated. Flowers produced in terminal four-sided spikes-�the preponderating colours being brilliant shades of orange or scarlet�-conspicuously situated above the foliage; they are exceedingly attractive; corolla ringent, two-lipped, upper lip three-lobed; central lobe large. They bloom generally during the autumn months, and if the plants are removed to a warm dry atmosphere so soon as the flowers begin to open, they will continue much longer in perfection than if left in the moisture-laden atmosphere of the stove. From the time the flower spikes are at first seen till they bloom, the plants will derive much benefit from frequent applications of clear manure water. When the plants have finished flowering, they should be allowed to rest, by reducing the supply of water, but never allow them to shrivel. During this time they may be kept in a house or pit, where the atmosphere is rather dry, with a night temperature of 50deg. to 55deg. Here they may remain till March, when they should be pruned. This operation is commenced by thinning out the weakest shoots altogether, and cutting the others back to one or two of the strongest joints or buds above the old wood in order to keep the plants dwarf and bushy. When pruned, the plants should be placed in the stove, giving moderate supplies of water at the roots, and occasionally sprinkling the stems overhead till growth commences. When the young shoots have attained an inch or so in length, the plants should be turned out of the pots, removing the crocks and as much of the old soil as can be got away easily, at the same time shortening-in any of the straggling roots. They should then be placed into smaller-sized pots, keeping them rather close, and watering them carefully for a time till growth has commenced. When fairly started, they may be transferred into larger-sized pots, in which they are to flower. During the summer, these plants require a moist atmosphere, with a temperature of 65deg. by night, allowing it to rise 15deg. or 20deg. by day, and whilst active growth is taking place they should be frequently supplied with moisture at the roots, keeping them well exposed on all sides to the light. After growth has commenced, it is not advisable to stop the shoots, for the stouter and stronger they grow up the finer will be the flower spikes when they appear. The compost should consist of equal parts fibry loam, leaf soil, and peat, with a good proportion of sand added. In preparing it, it should be rather lumpy, and, before using, should be warmed to about the temperature of the house in which the plants are grown. Clean pots and perfect drainage are most essential. Cuttings are best prepared from half ripened wood, or taken off when young with a heel. The base of each cutting should invariably be cut clean across. These may be inserted an inch apart, in pots of sandy soil, and plunged in a brisk bottom heat. To obtain young shoots for cuttings, if the old plants break freely after pruning, and very large specimens are not required, when the shoots are 2in. long they should be thinned out, leaving the requisite number of the strongest to form the plant. If the surplus pieces are removed with a slight heel of the older wood, they make good cuttings, and should be treated the same as the others. These cuttings strike root quickest, and when rooted, if potted into 5in. or 6in. pots, and allowed to grow up without stopping or pinching out the tops, they will flower the first season. Although Aphelandras can be grown into large sized specimens, it will be found to be more generally satisfactory to have specimens of neat and moderate dimensions. The mealy bug and scale insects are very troublesome, and must be kept down, otherwise they will prove most prejudicial to the plants. =A. acutifolia= (acute-leaved). _fl._ large, deep vermilion red; the upper lip of corolla concave, and projected forward, the lower one consists of three oblong-obtuse spreading lobes. October. _l._ broad, oblong-ovate, acuminate. Columbia, 1868. =A. aurantiaca= (orange-coloured).* _fl._ deep orange scarlet; upper lip of corolla erect, bidentate, concave; lower one spreading horizontally, three lobed. December. _l._ broad, ovate, opposite, dark green, somewhat wavy at the edge. _h._ 3ft. Mexico, 1844. =A. a. Roezlii= (Roezl's).* Differs chiefly from the type in the curiously twisted leaves, which are dark green, shaded with a silvery hue between the primary veins; in the brighter scarlet of the flowers; and a few other, but purely technical, points. It is one of the best. Mexico, 1867. SYN. _A. Roezlii_. =A. cristata= (crested).* _fl._ brilliant orange scarlet, 2in. or 3in. long, in large terminal branching spikes. August to November. _l._ large, broadly ovate, and tapering to a point. _h._ 3ft. West Indies, 1733. A handsome and continuous bloomer. SYN. _Justicia pulcherrima_. =A. fascinator= (fascinating).* _fl._ bright vermilion, in very large spikes. Autumn. _l._ ovate acuminate, olive green, beautifully banded with silvery white, whilst the under side is of a uniform purplish violet. _h._ 1-1/2ft. New Grenada, 1874. =A. Leopoldi= (Leopold's).* _fl._ citron-yellow. _l._ opposite, ovate-oblong, acuminate; ground colour on the upper surface dark green, the midrib and primary veins pure white; under surface uniformly pale green. Brazil, 1854. =A. medio-aurata= (golden-centred). _fl._ unknown. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, sinuate, bright green, with yellow central brand. Brazil, 1871. SYN. _Graptophyllum medio-auratum_. =A. nitens= (shining).* _fl._ glowing vermilion-scarlet, very large, in erect, simple, terminal spikes, which, after the flowers have fallen, are clothed with the imbricating, lanceolate, appressed bracts. _l._ ovate, sub-acute, leathery, brilliant glossy on the upper surface, dark vinous purple underneath. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Columbia, 1867. =A. Porteana= (Porte's).* _fl._ in fine terminal heads; corolla and bracts bright orange. _l._ rich green, with metallic silvery-white veins. _h._ 2ft. Brazil, 1854. =A. pumila= (dwarfish).* _fl._ orange-coloured; upper lip erect, concave, entire; bracts large, purplish. _l._ large, cordate, ovate-oblong, acute. _h._ 8in. Brazil, 1878. Very distinct from all others. =A. punctata= (dotted).* _fl._ bright yellow, in large and rather dense spikes; the spiny-edged long pointed bracts are also yellow, with the exception of the tip, which is green, and forms a pleasing contrast. November. _l._ opposite, elliptic, acuminate; the green midrib is conspicuous in the middle of a white central band, which also extends beside the green veins, this silvery band breaking up on its margin into numerous small white dots, producing a pretty and distinct form of variegation. South America, 1881. =A. Roezlii.= A synonym of _A. aurantiaca Roezlii_. =A. variegata= (variegated). _fl._ yellow; spike, 6in. long, with bright orange-red bracts. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, acuminate, dark green with white veins. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Brazil. =APHELEXIS= (from _apheles_, simple, and _exis_, habit). ORD. _Compositæ_. A genus of elegant dwarf evergreen greenhouse shrubs. Flower-heads large, solitary, or small and two or more together. Leaves small. These plants are valuable for exhibition purposes, on account of their bright colours, and the length of time they last in perfection; they are included among what are familiarly known as "everlastings." The most suitable soil is a compost of two parts of good fibrous peat and one of leaf mould, with a liberal supply of silver sand, and a few pieces of charcoal added to it. Repot the plants firmly in February, and allow thorough drainage. Cuttings can be made in spring or summer; small half-ripened side shoots are best; and these will root in sandy soil, under a bell glass, in a cool greenhouse. =A. ericoides= (heath-like).* _fl.-heads_ white. April. _l._ very small, three-cornered, imbricated, appressed; branches numerous, very fine, filiform. _h._ 1ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1796. =A. fasciculata= (fascicled). _fl.-heads_ purplish, solitary, terminal; peduncles scaly. March. _l._ acerose linear, roundish, downy above; lower spreading; upper appressed. _h._ 2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1779. There are two or three forms of this species, varying in the colour of the flowers. =A. humilis= (humble, or dwarf).* _fl.-heads_ pink, solitary, terminal, opening only in sunshine; peduncles scaly. April. _l._ subulate, erect, imbricate. Branches numerous, slender, covered with white tomentum. _h._ 2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1810. A handsome greenhouse plant, with much-branched stems, terminated by the flower-head. SYNS. _A. macrantha_ and _Helipterum humile_. =A. h. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl.-heads_ rosy-purple, produced in great abundance. Habit rather dwarf, and free branching. Very highly esteemed. =A. h. purpurea= (purple).* _fl._ dark purple, very abundant. _l._ silvery white and shining. A vigorous grower, and perhaps the best for exhibition purposes. It is known in gardens as _A. macrantha purpurea_; also under the name of _A. spectabilis_. =A. h. rosea= (rose-coloured).* _fl.-heads_ delicate rose, very profuse. Habit very compact and free-branching. A very showy and desirable variety, known in gardens as _A. macrantha rosea_. =A. macrantha= (large-flowered). Synonymous with _A. humilis_. =A. sesamoides= (Sesamum-like). _fl.-heads_ purple and white, sessile, solitary, terminal. April. _l._ acerose linear, keeled, smooth, appressed. _h._ 2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1739. =APHIDES=, or =PLANT LICE=. These belong to the order _Homoptera_, meaning "same winged," and the name has reference to the fact that the fore wings are uniform in their structure from base to apex, not divided into a leathery base and a membranous tip. Aphides are all minute in size, soft bodied, and generally long legged; the mouth is furnished with a curiously-constructed beak, or rostrum, for sucking the juice of plants; the antennæ, or feelers, are long and slender; the legs have usually two joints in the tarsi, one of which is generally very ill-developed; and near the tip of the abdomen, on the back of a ring, in many kinds, stand two prominent tubes, called honey-tubes, from which a sweet secretion, much sought after by ants, is emitted. They are very destructive, and nearly every plant has its own peculiar Aphis; but among the worst are the cherry fly and bean fly. All these insects are very destructive to the young shoots and foliage of plants, on which they cluster in large numbers, sometimes completely hiding the stems, increasing with marvellous rapidity. They produce eggs in autumn, which lie dormant through the winter, and upon the approach of warm weather in spring, hatch and produce individuals which, during the summer, are viviparous, budding off young insects at a surprising rate, which quickly in turn become possessed of the same marvellous power; hence the enormous number which are produced in so surprisingly short a time. It has been computed that in a few weeks many millions of young might be produced directly or descended from a single female. _See also_ =Black Fly= and =Bean Fly=. The following remedies may be successfully employed: _Tobacco._ This is applied, as a rule, in three forms, each of which is useful for particular purposes. Tobacco powder is useful as a dry application to plants where, from any cause, the other modes of employing it are not desirable. It causes no smell, and is useful in conservatories, &c., for that reason. The mode of applying it is to dredge or dust it over the foliage of the plants affected, and to syringe off in from three to thirty hours, according to the nature of the plants. Fumigation with tobacco, if done in a proper way, is very effective, but it leaves an unpleasant smell. The foliage of the plants should be quite dry, and a still day must be chosen for the work; the house should be filled with smoke, but no flame must arise in the burning. The plants should be well syringed the next morning, and full ventilation allowed; if the fumigation is repeated twice or thrice, it will prove very effectual. Tobacco water is made by soaking a pound of coarse shag in 6gals. of hot water, to which 1/2lb. of size or soft soap has been added. The plants should be dipped into or syringed with this mixture, and well syringed with clean tepid water about twelve hours after. It should not be employed for plants having woolly or hairy foliage. Tobacco paper and cloth are used for fumigating in the same manner as tobacco; but as they vary in strength, more care is necessary, as they sometimes cause the leaves to become spotted. Judiciously employed, they are cheaper than Tobacco. _Quassia._ Boil 1lb. quassia chips in 4gals. of soft water, for about ten minutes, and after straining off the chips, add 1lb. of soft soap. Apply in the same way as Tobacco water, and syringe the plants with clean water after ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. _Soft Soap._ This, in proportion of 8lb. to 12gals. of rain water, and 1gal. of tobacco water added after it is cold, is a cheap and good remedy out of doors, and requires the same mode of application as tobacco water. _Soap Suds._ Where bleaching powder, or much soda, is not mixed with these, they make a good insect killer for hard-foliaged plants, but should be washed off with clean water in twelve hours. No mixture containing chloride of lime should be used. _Various._ Fir-tree Oil, Gishurst's Compound, and Fowler's Insecticide, are all serviceable, if used as directed on the labels. Hardeman's Beetle Powder, applied with the little French powder-bellows which is sold with it, is very efficacious. For outdoor work, nothing surpasses clean cold water, applied often and forcibly with a syringe. The best mode of clearing Aphis off Beaus, Currants, &c., is to remove the tops of the infested shoots, and to wash the plants with soapy water, or a solution of Gishurst's Compound. In some cases, a good dusting with soot and wood ashes, while the plants are wet, will keep them in check. The "Golden Eyes" or "Lacewing" fly, and also ladybirds, are to be encouraged, as the larvæ of each of these wage incessant war against Aphides, especially the green varieties, and thin them out considerably. =APHROPHORA.= _See_ =Frog Hopper=. =APHYLLANTHES= (from _aphyllos_, leafless, and _anthos_, a flower; the flowers are on rush-like branches). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. A very pretty rush-like hardy perennial, forming dense, erect tufts. It thrives best in sandy peat, requires a warm sunny situation, and slight protection in winter. Increased by division of the roots, and seeds; the latter should be sown in pots in a cool greenhouse as soon as ripe. =A. monspeliensis= (Montpelier).* _fl._, perianth six-cleft, spreading at the apex, deep blue, nearly an inch across, disposed in a small head, on slender scapes. June. _l._ absent; the very slender scapes are leaflike, with membranous sheaths at the base. South of France, 1791. =APHYLLOUS.= Without leaves. =APICRA= (from _apicros_, not bitter). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. A group of succulents allied to _Aloe_, and having the following among other characters:--Flowers small, loosely sub-spicate; perianth regular, cylindrical, with short spreading segments; peduncles simple or forked. Plants small; rosette leaves always elongated. Leaves thick, diffuse, never spinosely dentated. They require treatment similar to Aloes, under which genus they are included by some authors. =A. aspera= (rough).* _fl._, perianth 1/2in. long; raceme loose, 3in. to 4in.; pedicels three to four lines long; peduncle slender, simple, nearly 1ft. _l._ dense, in many rows, spreading, rounded, deltoid, six to seven lines long and broad; face rather flat; middle three to four lines thick; back convex hemispherical, wrinkled. Cape of Good Hope, 1795. =A. bicarinata= (double-keeled).* _fl._ unknown. _l._ dense, in many rows, ascending, deltoid-lanceolate, nine to twelve lines long, six lines broad, dirty green; face flat; middle two lines thick; margin scabrous; back copiously tubercled. Cape of Good Hope, 1824. =A. congesta= (congested). _fl._, perianth six to seven lines, whitish; raceme loose, sub-spicate, about 1ft.; pedicels short; peduncles 6in. long, simple. _l._ dense, spreading, in many rows, deltoid-lanceolate, eighteen to twenty-one lines long, three to four lines thick; back convex; top unevenly keeled towards the margins. 1843. =A. deltoidea= (deltoid). _fl._, perianth greenish, five to six lines long; raceme about 1ft. long, sub-spicate; pedicels short; peduncles 6in., simple or branched. _l._ in five regular rows, spreading, nine to twelve lines long, deltoid, shining green; when mature, upper surface rather flat, apex pungent; middle two to three lines thick; back distinctly keeled upwards; margins and keels minutely serrated. South Africa, 1873. =A. foliolosa= (small-leafy).* _fl._, perianth greenish, five to six lines long; raceme loose, sub-spicate, about 1ft.; pedicels two to three lines long; peduncle 6in., simple. _l._ dense, spreading, in many rows, rounded deltoid, cuspidate, six to eight lines long and broad, without spots or tubercles; face rather flat; middle one and a half to two lines thick; back obliquely keeled upwards towards the margins. Cape of Good Hope, 1795. =A. imbricata= (imbricated). Synonymous with _A. spiralis_. =A. pentagona= (five-angled).* _fl._, perianth whitish, 1/2in. long; raceme about 1ft., loose; lower pedicels two to three lines long; peduncles 1ft., often branched. _l._ dense, regular, lower ones spreading, upper ones ascending, lanceolate-deltoid, fifteen to eighteen lines long; bottom six to eight lines broad, shining green; face flat; middle three to four lines thick; apex pungent; margin scabrous; back irregularly one to two keeled at top. Cape of Good Hope, 1731. =A. p. bullulata= (little-blistered). _l._ irregularly spiral, five rowed; back with spreading close wrinkled tubercles. =A. p. spirella= (small spiral). _l._ smaller and more deltoid, 1in. long, six to eight lines broad at the bottom, irregularly five rowed, or as if in many rows. =A. spiralis= (spiral).* _fl._, perianth reddish-white, 1/2in. long; raceme loose, nearly 1ft.; pedicels ascending, two to three lines long; peduncles 6in., simple or branched. _l._ dense, in many rows, strong, ascending, lanceolate-deltoid, twelve to fifteen lines long, six to eight lines broad; face almost flat, without tubercles; apex pungent; back swollen, scarcely keeled; margins obscurely crenulated. Cape of Good Hope, 1790. SYN. _A. imbricata_. =APICULATE=, =APICULATED=. Terminated in a little point. =APIOS= (from _apion_, a pear; in reference to the form of the tubers of the root). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. An elegant little hardy twining perennial, easily trained into almost any shape. It must have a well-exposed, sunny position, and the soil should be of a warm or light sandy nature. Propagated by division of the tubers. [Illustration: FIG. 117. APIOS TUBEROSA, showing Habit and Flower.] =A. tuberosa= (tuberous).* Ground Nut. _fl._ brownish-purple, sweet-scented, in axillary racemes. Summer and early autumn. _l._ pinnate. Tubers edible, farinaceous. Habit very light and graceful. Pennsylvania, 1640. SYN. _Glycine Apios_. See Fig. 117. =APIOSPERMUM.= A synonym of =Pistia= (which _see_). =APIUM= (from _apon_, Celtic for water; in reference to the habitat). ORD. _Umbelliferæ_. This genus contains no species worth growing for ornament, and nearly all are more or less acrid and poisonous. A. _graveolens_ is the Celery of gardens, for culture of which, _see_ =Celery=. =APLECTRUM= (from _a_, without, and _plectron_, a spur; flower spurless). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A monotypic genus from North America. A curious, hardy, terrestrial orchid, requiring a shady spot in light loam and leaf mould, moderately damp. Very difficult to cultivate. =A. hyemale= (wintry).* _fl._ greenish-brown, large, racemose, borne on a naked scape after the leaves have died down; labellum as long as the sepals; column sessile, rather long, wingless. April. Stem pseudo-bulbous, with one large, broad, ribbed leaf. _h._ 1ft. 1827. =APLOTAXIS.= Included under =Saussurea= (which _see_). =APOCARPOUS.= Having the carpels or fruit separate, or disunited. =APOCYNACE�.= A large order of trees, shrubs, or rarely herbs, usually with a poisonous, milky sap. Flowers regular, solitary or corymbose; corolla salver-shaped or campanulate. Leaves simple, opposite, sometimes alternate or whorled. Well known genera belonging to this order are: _Allamanda_, _Nerium_, _Tabernæmontana_ and _Vinca_. =APOCYNUM= (from _apo_, away, and _kyon_, a dog; adopted by Dioscorides, because the plant was supposed to be poisonous to dogs). ORD. _Apocynaceæ_. Dog's Bane. Perennial erect herbs, with cymose flowers and membranous, opposite leaves. There are several species belonging to this genus, but only the one described below is worthy of being cultivated. They are of extremely easy culture, thriving in any ordinary soil; and may be propagated by suckers, divisions, or seeds. The best time to divide is just as they are starting into fresh growth in spring. =A. androsæmifolium= (Tutsan-leaved).* _fl._ pale red, with darker stripes; corolla campanulate; cymes terminal and lateral. July. _l._ ovate, glabrous, petiolate, pale beneath. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Virginia, and Canada, 1683. A very old garden favourite, thriving best in peaty soil, with Azaleas, &c. See Fig. 118. [Illustration: FIG. 118. INFLORESCENCE OF APOCYNUM ANDROS�MIFOLIUM.] =APONOGETON= (from _apon_, Celtic for water, and _geiton_, neighbour; alluding to the habitat of these plants). ORD. _Naiadaceæ_. Very ornamental aquatic perennials. There are several species, but _A. distachyon_ is superior to the others. This species may be cultivated in small tanks or aquaria; it delights in an abundance of light and air, and is perfectly hardy, having become naturalised in many parts of the country. Pot the plants in rich sandy loam and rotten cow manure, using, of course, small pots, if the vessel in which it is to be grown is restricted. When introducing it to large tanks or lakes, commence with strong, previously well-established plants, in large pots, breaking the latter when the plants are immersed. Place them in positions where the water is about 1ft. 6in. to 2ft. deep; they will then rapidly increase by offsets and seeds, and, when established, will flower nearly all the year round. The other kinds will thrive with the same treatment; but they are neither so hardy nor so vigorous, and should only be grown in small tanks or aquaria. [Illustration: FIG. 119. APONOGETON DISTACHYON, showing Habit and Flower-spikes.] =A. angustifolium= (narrow-leaved). _fl._ white. July. Cape of Good Hope, 1788. Half hardy. [Illustration: FIG. 120. APONOGETON DISTACHYON, showing Flower-spikes, Leaf, and Root.] =A. distachyon= (two-spiked).* Cape Pond Weed; Winter Hawthorn. _fl._ with a delicious Hawthorn-like perfume; petals none; bracts, or showy portion oval, entire, white; anthers purple-brown; scape two-spiked, each spike being from 2in. to 4in. long. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, entire, bright green, on long stalks, floating. Cape of Good Hope, 1788. See Figs. 119 and 120. =A. monostachyon= (simple-spiked). _fl._ pink. September. _h._ 1ft. East Indies, 1803. Stove species. Rare. =A. spathaceum junceum= (rush-like).* A very pretty, but rare, half-hardy aquatic plant, with the forked inflorescence having both bracts and flowers suffused with a delicate blush colour. _l._ rush-like, standing clear up out of the water. South Africa, 1879. =APORETICA.= A synonym of =Schmidelia= (which _see_). =APPENDICULATE, APPENDICULATED.= Having appendages. =APPLANATE.= Flattened out. [Illustration: FIG. 121. APPLE BLOSSOM.] =APPLE= (_Pyrus Malus_). The Apple is one of the most useful, and probably most largely cultivated, of our hardy fruits. It is known as the Crab in its wild state, and is indigenous to Britain and to all the temperate and warmer parts of Europe. It is supposed that the progenitors of the varieties now grown were introduced to this country at various times from the Continent, and not obtained here as direct improvements on the native Crab. Those now cultivated are extremely numerous, and include good varieties that can be made to prolong the season all the year round. Apart from its great value as a fruit, the apple is a strikingly handsome tree when in flower (see Fig. 121). A fruiting branch is shown at Fig. 122. [Illustration: FIG. 122. FRUITING BRANCH OF APPLE.] _Propagation._ Seeds are sown extensively, chiefly for raising stocks to graft approved sorts on; also with a view to raising new varieties. The seeds do not retain their germinative properties very long, consequently they must be sown soon after being taken from the fruit. As grown in this country, they are generally sown in the autumn, transplanted the following year, and so on until they are of sufficient size for Grafting purposes. The standard of excellence being at present so high, improved forms raised from seed are comparatively scarce. _Grafting._ This method of propagation is the one generally adopted for most purposes, the stocks being previously prepared for size or height of tree required. Cordon and other dwarf-trained trees should be worked near but not below the ground, while standards are best worked on stocks of the desired height. The practice of working standard trees low, and growing the scion to form the stem of the future tree, is not recommended, as many of the tenderer sorts will not grow straight or strong enough for the purpose. Whip-grafting is the most preferable mode adopted. The scions should be selected from healthy trees not later than January, and laid in singly in the ground until the stocks have slightly advanced in growth, which is generally about the middle of April. Several other methods of Grafting may be adopted with success, but the one above recommended is considered the best. _Budding._ Apples may be successfully propagated by Budding, and this method is practised much more now than formerly. It has many advantages, as it requires to be performed at a season when there is not so much work in hand. It should be done in damp, dull weather, if possible, as the weather if dry soon destroys the buds. July and August is the proper time for the purpose. The stocks and woods from which the buds are taken should be as much as possible in the same condition. _Propagation by Cuttings, Layers, &c._ This system may be made use of in the case of new varieties or where it is desired to increase any one variety with a limited number of scions, but the results are uncertain--at least in the case of cuttings; consequently, it is much better to resort to the safer method of Grafting. _Pruning._ _See_ =Pruning=. _Training._ _See_ =Training=. _Planting._ The best time to plant is as soon as most of the leaves have fallen, which is generally about the end of October. The roots being then in an active state, and the ground still retaining a certain amount of heat, they will form new roots before winter, which is a material advantage. Where it is impossible to plant at this time, it may be done in suitable weather any time during the winter, but it is best not deferred till spring. It is important in planting that the soil should be moderately dry and free from frost; this condition cannot always be obtained during winter. The effects of soil and situation have a very important bearing on the Apple, specimens of the same sort from different places being often hardly recognisable. Although not over fastidious in the matter of soil as far as growing is concerned, the best results are obtained where it is of a rich loamy character and well drained. Dry, sandy soils invariably produce canker, while the trees are often overgrown with lichens in undrained land. The addition of heavier loam, or sometimes trenching and mixing the sub-soil with that at the top, will convert light soils into those suitable for Apple culture; while, on the other hand, heavy soils may be improved by drainage, the addition of lime, vegetable refuse, burnt earth, and other matters. Rank manure should on no account be used anywhere near the roots, but a little well-decayed manure, mixed with the soil or used as a mulching, is beneficial. The site best suited is an open, though not exposed one, with a south, south-east, or south-west aspect. Shelter from north-east winds in spring, which destroys the bloom, and from west and south-west winds in autumn, which blow down the fruit, should be the aim of cultivators. Planting in a valley should be avoided on account of spring frosts. In Planting, care must be taken to make the bottom of the hole tolerably firm, and slightly raised under the base or bole of the tree. The roots should then be carefully spread out all round, and if any have been ruptured in transplanting, cut them clean off on the upper side, thus inducing new roots to be formed near the surface. The soil should be trodden firmly after a quantity has been filled in, if it is in a dry, suitable condition, as previously recommended. Secure with stakes in proportion to the size of tree, or injury will be caused by the wind. The distance at which Apple trees are planted varies considerably. Standards in orchards may be planted in good soil, from 20ft. to 40ft. apart, especially if they are strong-growing culinary sorts. Pyramids may be planted from 5ft. to 15ft., according to size; and similar distances will suit Bush trees. The oblique Cordon system of training admits of a large number of varieties being cultivated in a small space, as they may be planted as close as 18in. or 2ft. apart. Horizontal Cordons should be planted about 5ft. asunder, and one branch trained each way. Watering will be necessary after planting in most cases, especially should the winter and following season be at all dry. Thinning the fruit is sometimes advisable for obtaining good specimens, but it is not generally necessary, at least with many of the shy-setting sorts. If, however, the crop should be exceptionally heavy, it is best to thin the fruit, or the tree may be unable to make and ripen its wood for the crop of the succeeding year. _Gathering._ The three following tests are sure indications of the gathering period: (1) The apples will begin to fall of their own accord; (2) their seeds will be plump and brown in colour; and (3) the fruit will separate with a mere touch from the trees; the second test may be said to be infallible. All Apples should be gathered before the end of October, for none will bear frost with impunity. They must be gathered in dry weather, and handled with the greatest care, laid gently in baskets and trays, in single file only, and conveyed to the store room. _Storing._ The simplest and best method is in choosing or forming some room or place free from extremes of heat and cold, dryness or damp, where a temperature of about 45deg. is maintained. A current of air is not necessary. The shelves should be made of poplar, sycamore, lime, or other white wood. Deal, oak, ash, elm, and almost all other woods, give a bad taste to the fruit. One sheet of paper--and paper only--should be placed under the fruit. They ripen best, and are of the highest flavour when left fully exposed to the free atmosphere of the fruit room, and in order to preserve a more even temperature the light should be shut out. Early and late ripening varieties must be stored in separate places, as well as all inferior or injured fruit. The plan of isolating each fruit by packing in tissue paper, sand, burnt earth, or other substances, often destroys the flavour of the fruit, and possesses no material benefit otherwise. _Diseases._ Apple Mussel Scale, Apple or Codlin Grub, Canker, Mildew, American Blight, Scale, and Insect Pests, such as Caterpillars, Maggots, and Weevils, _see_ under their separate headings. The following are some of the best varieties in cultivation:-- =Adams' Pearmain.= Dessert. Fruit medium, very handsome; flavour juicy and sugary. December to March. =Alexander.= Kitchen. Very large, showy, and good. September to December. =Alfriston.= Kitchen. Very fine, large, white flesh. November to April. =Ashmead's Kernel=, or =Cockle Pippin=. Dessert. Fruit below medium; flavour very rich and sugary. This variety is, according to Mr. Rivers, much esteemed in Gloucestershire. November to January. =Bedfordshire Foundling.= Kitchen. Fruit large. One of the finest and most useful sorts, a great bearer. February to May. =Bess Pool.= Kitchen. Fruit large. Good late cooking apple. December to May. =Betty Geeson.= Kitchen. Fruit large, produced in great abundance. February to May. A valuable sort. =Blenheim Pippin.= One of the best kitchen sorts. November to February. =Boston Russet.= Dessert. Fruit medium; flavour very sugary and rich, similar to the Ribston Pippin. An excellent American variety. January to May. =Brabant Bellefleur.= Kitchen. Fruit large, round, pale yellow, red-streaked. A most useful cooking variety, also useful for dessert. November to April. [Illustration: FIG. 123. APPLE, CALVILLE BLANCHE.] =Calville Blanche.= Dessert. Fruit large; flavour first-class. October to December. See Fig. 123. =Cellini.= Kitchen. Fruit perfect in form, size, colour, and quality. October to January. =Claygate Pearmain.= Dessert. Fruit medium; flavour rich, aromatic, excellent, same as Ribston Pippin. January to May. =Coe's Golden Drop.= Dessert. Fruit small, with a crisp and juicy flavour. November to January. A delicious variety. =Cornish Aromatic.= Dessert. Fruit medium; flavour rich, juicy, and aromatic. October to December. =Cornish Gillyflower.= Dessert. Fruit medium; flavour very rich, quite aromatic. October, November to January. An excellent variety, thriving best in a warm situation. =Court of Wick.= Dessert. Fruit medium, very handsome; flavour somewhat similar to Golden Pippin. December to March. [Illustration: FIG. 124. APPLE, COURT PENDU PLAT.] =Court Pendu Plat.= Dessert or kitchen. Fruit medium, rich russet brown, of first-rate quality, and the tree is a good cropper. November to April. See Fig. 124. =Cox's Orange Pippin.= Dessert. Fruit medium, very handsome; flavour rich aromatic. October to December. One of the best apples grown. =Cox's Pomona.= Kitchen. Fruit very large, of superior quality. October. =Devonshire Quarrenden.= Dessert. Fruit medium, excellent quality, and handsome. July to September. A very prolific sort. =D. T. Fish.= Kitchen. Fruit large, roundish, of a clear straw-colour, with small specks of russet, slightly flushed with crimson on the side where the sun strikes it; flavour sub-acid. November to January. A fine and handsome variety. =Duchess of Oldenburgh.= Kitchen. Fruit large, red-striped. August to October. A very desirable and handsome Russian variety. =Duke of Devonshire.= Dessert. Fruit medium; flavour crisp, juicy, rich and sugary. December to March. =Dumelow's Seedling=, or =Wellington=, or =Normanton Wonder=. Kitchen. Fruit firm, large, and somewhat acid. November to March. =Early Harvest.= Dessert. Fruit medium; flavour juicy, excellent, with a pleasant sharpness. July to September. According to Mr. Rivers this variety is equally good for cooking or dessert, and is a very fertile tree on the Paradise stock. =French Crab.= Kitchen. Fruit large, pale green, firm, acid. An excellent sort, and the longest keeper. =Golden Pippin.= Dessert. Fruit small, very excellent flavour. November to January. A well-known and highly-esteemed sort. =Golden Reinette.= Dessert. Fruit rather small, yellowish red, streaked with red; flavour excellent, sweet and rich. One of the best and most useful of dessert apples. October to December. =Gravenstein.= Kitchen. Fruit large, handsome, sweet and crisp. November to January. A very prolific sort. =Greenup's Pippin.= Kitchen. Fruit very large. February to May. A vigorous grower and abundant bearer. =Irish Peach.= Dessert. Fruit medium, yellowish-green, very early; flavour juicy, excellent. July and August. A very good variety, often known as Early Crofton. =Jolly Beggar.= Kitchen. Fruit large, pale yellow, tender and juicy. November to January. A very desirable sort and an extraordinary cropper. =Keddlestone Pippin.= Dessert. Fruit small, yellow or golden colour, specked with russet; flavour delicious, highly aromatic. December to March. An excellent variety. =Kerry Pippin.= Dessert. Fruit medium, firm, yellow, and red; flavour sugary and rich. September to October. =Keswick Codlin.= Kitchen. Fruit large and early. August to October. An admirable sort for market purposes. =King of the Pippins.= Dessert. Fruit medium, yellow and red; flavour juicy and rich. October to January. =Lady Henniker.= Kitchen. Fruit yellow, with crimson streaks near the sun, highly flavoured, and with a pleasant perfume. February to May. An excellent sort, suitable for dessert or kitchen. =Lodgemore Nonpareil.= Dessert. Fruit small; flavour rich, sugary, and aromatic. January to May. An excellent sort. =Lord Suffield.= Kitchen. Fruit very large, white, soft, excellent for sauce and tarts. August to September. =Manx's Codlin.= Kitchen. Fruit large. September and October. One of the finest and most useful of kitchen sorts. =Mère de Ménage.= Kitchen. Large and good. October to March. =Mr. Gladstone.= Dessert. Fruit large and handsome, very early, scarlet cheek, striped and shaded; of excellent quality. July and August. New. =New= or =Winter Hawthornden=. Kitchen. Fruit very large, excellent. November to January. An extraordinary bearer, one of the best for sauce and cooking. =Nonsuch.= Kitchen. Fruit large, juicy. August to October. An admirable sort, unequalled for sauce and cooking. =Norfolk Beefing.= Kitchen. Large and good flavour, excellent keeper, most useful for baking whole and preserving. November to July. =Norfolk Greening.= Kitchen. Fruit medium; rather acid. Keeps till April or May. =Northern Spy.= Dessert. Fruit large, tender; flavour highly aromatic. December to May. =Old Nonpareil.= Dessert. Fruit medium, tender, and juicy. November to January. A prolific variety. =Pitmaston Pineapple.= Dessert. Fruit small; flavour very rich. July to September. According to Mr. Rivers this variety is a very abundant bearer on the Paradise stock; it is not a vigorous grower. =Red Astrachan.= Dessert. Fruit good size, bright; flavour delicate and rich. August to September. =Red Ingestrie.= Dessert. Fruit very pretty bright red next the sun, on a yellow ground, flesh pale yellow; flavour brisk and sparkling, like the Golden Pippin in quality. August and September. An excellent sort. =Red Juneating=, or =Margaret=. Dessert. Fruit medium, early, very good quality. July and August. A well-known sort, with numerous synonyms. =Red Quarrenden.= Dessert. Fruit under medium, bright scarlet; flavour crisp and sweet. August. One of the best summer sorts. =Reinette du Canada.= Dessert. Fruit greenish-yellow and brown, large; flavour juicy, brisk, sub-acid. November to May. See Fig 125. =Reinette Grise.= Dessert. Flesh yellowish-white, sugary, pleasant; flavour sub-acid. November to April. It does best on the Paradise stock, and is an abundant cropper. See Fig. 126. =Ribston Pippin.= Dessert. Fruit greenish-yellow and red, medium; flavour rich, aromatic, excellent. October to December. =Sam Young.= Dessert. Fruit small, yellowish with russet spots; flavour delicious, tender, and juicy. October to December. An excellent Irish sort. =Scarlet Crofton.= Dessert. Fruit medium, yellow and red; flavour crisp, juicy, and sweet. October to December. =Scarlet Nonpareil.= Dessert. Fruit well coloured, large; flavour crisp and juicy. January to March. =Small's Admirable.= Kitchen. Fruit large, green, crisp, sweet, and juicy. November to January. A prolific cropper. =Stamford Pippin.= Dessert. Fruit large, with a brisk flavour and an agreeable aroma. November to January. A very desirable sort. [Illustration: FIG. 125. APPLE, REINETTE DU CANADA.] =Sturmer Pippin.= Dessert. Fruit medium; flavour brisk and rich. February to June. =Syke House Russet.= Dessert. Fruit small; flavour very rich. January to May. An excellent sort. =Tower of Glammis.= Kitchen. Fruit yellow, very large, square-shaped, crisp, and excellent. February to May. A very excellent sort. =Van Mons Reinette.= Dessert. Fruit small, with a rich, aromatic, and excellent flavour. November to January. =Waltham Abbey Seedling.= Kitchen. Fruit large. November and December. An admirable sort. =Warner's King.= Kitchen. Fruit large, handsome, and good. November to March. =Worcestershire Pearmain.= Kitchen. Fruit large, conical, of a very brilliant colour; flavour crisp and juicy. August to October. A splendid variety, said to be as prolific as Lord Suffield. [Illustration: FIG. 126. APPLE, REINETTE GRISE.] =White Juneating.= Dessert. Fruit small, very early, and good quality, but a bad keeper. July and August. A prolific sort. =White Nonpareil.= Dessert. Fruit medium, very delicious. March to June. A very desirable sort. =Winter Quoining=, or =Queening=. Dessert. Fruit very bright, almost red; flavour excellent. November to May. An excellent sort, useful for dessert or culinary purposes. =Winter Strawberry.= Dessert. Fruit yellow, medium, striped with red; flavour brisk aromatic. November to March. A very useful sort. =Wormsley Pippin.= Kitchen or dessert. Fruit of an excellent quality, large, pale green; excellent for kitchen or dessert. September to October. =Yorkshire Greening.= Kitchen. Fruit large, juicy, tender. November to January. =For Cordons= the following are the best:--BETTY GEESON, COE'S GOLDEN DROP, COX'S ORANGE PIPPIN, DUKE OF DEVONSHIRE, KING OF THE PIPPINS, LODGEMORE NONPAREIL, NORTHERN SPY, REINETTE DU CANADA, RIBSTON PIPPIN, SCARLET NONPAREIL. =For Pyramidal, Bush, and Espalier Trees=, the best are:-�ADAMS' PEARMAIN, ASHMEAD'S KERNEL, BOSTON RUSSET, CLAYGATE PEARMAIN, CORNISH GILLYFLOWER, COURT OF WICK, COURT PENDU PLAT, COX'S ORANGE PIPPIN, EARLY HARVEST, GOLDEN PIPPIN, GOLDEN REINETTE, IRISH PEACH, KEDDLESTONE PIPPIN, KERRY PIPPIN, RED INGESTRIE, RED QUARRENDEN, REINETTE DU CANADA, RIBSTON PIPPIN, SAM YOUNG, SCARLET CROFTON, SCARLET NONPAREIL, STURMER PIPPIN, SYKE HOUSE RUSSET, WORMSLEY PIPPIN. The following Kitchen sorts are well adapted to this method:-�ALFRISTON, BED-FORDSHIRE FOUNDLING, BRABANT BELLEFLEUR, CALVILLE BLANCHE, CELLINI, COX'S POMONA, D. T. FISH, DUCHESS OF OLDENBURGH, DUMELOW'S SEEDLING, JOLLY BEGGAR, KESWICK CODLIN, LORD SUFFIELD, MANX'S CODLIN, NEW HAWTHORNDEN, NONSUCH, WALTHAM ABBEY SEEDLING, WARNER'S KING. =For Cold and Exposed Situations=, the following are the best:--BESS POOL, CLAYGATE PEARMAIN, FRENCH CRAB, GREENUP'S PIPPIN, KESWICK CODLIN, NONSUCH, STURMER PIPPIN, TOWER OF GLAMMIS, WINTER STRAWBERRY, WORMSLEY PIPPIN. =For Cottage Gardens=: ALEXANDER, BEDFORDSHIRE FOUNDLING, BLENHEIM PIPPIN, KING OF THE PIPPINS, MANX'S CODLIN, NEW HAWTHORNDEN, REINETTE DU CANADA, RIBSTON PIPPIN, STURMER PIPPIN, WALTHAM ABBEY SEEDLING, WARNER'S KING, WORMSLEY PIPPIN. =APPLE BERRY.= _See_ =Billardiera=. =APPLE-BLOSSOM WEEVIL= (_Anthonomus pomorum_). This is a small beetle of a reddish-brown colour, with three inconspicuous stripes of a paler colour behind the head; the wing cases show a large pitchy-coloured blotch, with oblique striæ and yellowish spots thereon. The female busily engages herself in piercing the flower buds; while the male may be usually seen flying about the trees during the breeding season, which, of course, varies according to the earlier or later expansion of the buds. The female, by means of strong jaws at the end of the long proboscis, bores a hole in the bud, in which she lays a single egg, finally closing the opening, then passing on to other buds. The laying season lasts for two or three weeks, or, indeed, as long as the buds remain unexpanded; eggs are never laid in open blossoms. In warm weather, the eggs are hatched in six or seven days, usually about the end of April, into small, white, legless maggots, which feed upon the stamens and pistil; hence, although the petals are normally coloured, and expand, the flowers ultimately wither, and in some seasons very serious consequences have arisen from these injurious little pests. The maggot is fleshy, whitish, with a few hairs and a black, hard head; in a few days, it turns into a brown chrysalis or pupa, which, in turn, is changed into the Weevil, only about a month having elapsed from the deposition of the egg till the Weevil is developed. It feeds upon the foliage during summer, and hybernates in crannies of the bark, or under the soil at the base of the trees, during winter, waking up in the following spring to go through the same performances as its parents. _Remedies._ Some of the methods advised for the extirpation of the American Blight will prove very useful for the destruction of this pest. Clear away all useless portions of the bark and rubbish round about the tree during the winter, and many will be destroyed. Place bandages of tarred cloth around the stem in spring; this will prevent the females crawling up, as they seldom fly. If a white cloth is placed beneath the tree affected when in bud, and the tree is severely shaken, a large number will be caught, as the Weevil falls to the ground when alarmed. Timely thinning of the trees, allowing the free admission of light and air, is also a very effectual preventive, as it has been proved that the greatest ravages are committed where neglect of this has been the rule; and that, on the other hand, in proportion to its being done, the pest has been lessened in numbers. =APPLE MUSSEL SCALE= (_Aspidiotus conchiformis_). This insect attacks the bark of Apple and Pear-trees. It is in outward appearance like the half of a mussel shell. Under the scale is the insect. It is closely allied to the true scale insects, and has similar habits. The scales are about 1/8in. long, brown, and wider at one end than at the other. The female is like a fat, green, fleshy maggot, without jointed limbs. The eggs of this curious insect are not laid, but simply remain in the body of the mother until she dies, thus leaving a protecting shield or case from which the hatched larvæ emerge. To get rid of this insect, therefore, the females containing eggs should be destroyed. It differs from most other species in the absence of the long tail filaments. If numerous, this Scale causes the trees to become sickly and unfruitful. It is difficult to extirpate. _Soft-soap Lather._ When the leaves fall, in autumn, the trees should be treated with a stiff sash-tool, and all the Scale rubbed off, keeping the brush just moist, and not rubbing the buds. Applied for two seasons, this should clear the trees. All loose bark should be removed. _Seal Oil_ is sometimes recommended as a good remedy: but oils are rather unsafe applications to the bark of trees, especially of the young branches. [Illustration: FIG. 127. CODLIN MOTH AND GRUB (CARPOCAPSA POMONANA).] =APPLE OR CODLIN GRUB= (_Carpocapsa pomonana_). During the month of May, the well-known Codlin Moth (see Fig. 127) lays its eggs in the calyces, usually one in each, of the young, quickly-growing apple. The moth itself is a small insect; the fore-wings are grey, prettily speckled with delicate, darker streaks, and with a curved golden mark on the hinder part, inclosing one of a reddish-brown colour. The hind wings are usually dark, as is also the body. The caterpillar, when hatched, is white, with black head and neck, and with four rows of black marks along the whole body. The colours soon, however, become less decided, taking an indistinct brownish or grey hue. After being hatched, the caterpillar gnaws its way down the fruit, keeping clear of the core, and gradually forces its gallery towards the rind of the fruit, which it finally pierces, the opening serving as the outlet for the dirt. When nearly full grown, it pierces the core and feeds upon the pips, which injury speedily causes the fruit to drop. The insect then emerges therefrom, and finds a suitable shelter in a cranny of the bark, where it spins a cocoon; and, according to British authorities, it remains in the larval state for some weeks, finally assuming the chrysalis form, and thus passing the winter; the moth emerges the following season. Shortly after development, the moths pair, the female depositing eggs in the fruit in June or July, according to the season. Practically, there is no preventive; but the following hints will serve to greatly reduce the numbers. All apples that fall ere they are ripe should be picked up as promptly as possible, and be given to the pigs; or pigs should be turned into the orchard to clear off the fallen fruit. The following is the only serviceable remedy: _Hayband Trap._ This is simply a loosely made hayband twisted around the stems of the trees, about 1ft. from the ground. The grubs, in searching for a suitable place in which to make a cocoon, will generally choose the bands. At the end of the season, all the haybands should be collected and burnt, and the stems of the trees from which they were removed should be cleared of any cocoons which may adhere to them. All loose bark and other rubbish should be removed from the tree trunks, and also from the ground below. =APPLE OR CODLIN GRUB TRAP.= An exceedingly ingenious and effective method of alluring that obnoxious pest, the Apple Grub. The trap (Fig. 128) consists of two, three, or more thin pieces of board, 12in. to 20in. in length, and 2in. to 4in. wide, with a screw (_a_) through their centre. The screw must be long enough to be firmly driven into the trunk of the tree, so as to hold the boards in position. Small slips of wood (_b_) are inserted between the boards, to keep them sufficiently open to allow of the entry of the grubs, as shown at _d_. The boards are cut on each side of the screw, as at _c_, to facilitate their separation when fastened together by the silken threads of the grubs, and to better expose the latter when the trap is opened. This handy trap, which is of American origin, is very cheap. A great number of them may be collected with little trouble, submitted to a killing heat, and replaced again; and they can be used either on the ground or on the trees. As regards killing the grubs when caught, Mr Weir, the inventor, says: "The quickest and best way is to have a large tin pan, bent in on one side, so as to fit closely to the trunk of the tree. When you reach the tree, drop upon your knees, place the depression in the pan against the trunk of the tree, hold it there by pressing your body against it, and you have both hands free to open the trap. When opening it, many of the pupæ or chrysalids will fall into the pan. The trap must be turned clear around, as many will be found between it and the bark. A person will open and kill the worms in from four hundred to eight hundred traps in a day." [Illustration: FIG. 128. APPLE OR CODLIN GRUB TRAP. B, OPEN. A, SHUT.] =APPOSITE.= Placed side by side. =APPROXIMATE=, =APPROXIMATED=, =APPROXIMATING=. Near together. =APRICOT= (_Armeniaca vulgaris_). The Apricot, or, as it was formerly written, "Abricock," is a much esteemed and luscious fruit. It is said to have been introduced into this country during the reign of Henry VIII. The Apricot is one of the earliest flowering of fruit-trees (see Fig. 129), and is generally in bloom during February. This fact is a great drawback, as it is a difficult matter to save the flowers from destruction by the spring winds and frosts. The fruit (see Fig. 130) contains less acid than most stone fruits, and in appearance it is perhaps the handsomest of all. Success with its culture in many gardens is by no means certain, but with careful preparation of borders and protection of the flowers in spring, satisfactory results are often obtained. Large quantities of fruit are annually imported to this country from France; but their quality and flavour cannot be compared with that of good home-grown produce. [Illustration: FIG. 129. BLOSSOM OF APRICOT.] _Propagation_ is effected by seeds or budding. The stones, selected from the best varieties, may be sown as soon as the fruit is ripe, in August or September, in light rich soil, and covered with about 2in. of earth, over which a little litter should be spread during winter. After one season's growth, the plants should be lifted, and the tap roots slightly cut back if the trees are intended for walls. They should then be planted in nursery lines, allowing about a yard between the rows, and 2ft. from plant to plant. [Illustration: FIG. 130. FRUITING BRANCH OF APRICOT.] Budding is the most general mode of propagating Apricots. They are frequently budded from the beginning to the middle of June on seedling, and also on plum stocks, of which latter the Mussell, Saint Julien, Brussels, and Black Damson are the best. For dwarf trees, the stock should be budded about 1ft. from the ground. There are many disadvantages in having a great length of stem. "Rider" trees require a stem from 3-1/2ft. to 6ft.; half-riders, 2-1/2ft. to 3ft. Grafting by the Whip method is sometimes employed, but, for many reasons, it is much inferior to Budding. _Planting, &c._ South-west and western aspects suit the Apricot best, but the fruit has been ripened in warm localities on walls facing several points north. Large areas of garden wall (see Figs. 131 and 132), the walls of stables, barns, outbuildings, and two sides of at least hundreds of cottages, might thus be utilised for the cultivation of this tree. If well drained, almost any garden soil will bring these fruits to perfection; light, fibrous, rather sandy loam will, however, prove most satisfactory. There should be a considerable depth of soil; a yard is not too much, provided it be on a dry base, which is most important. Heavy soils may be improved for Apricot culture by the addition of an equal portion of light loam, mortar rubbish, or charred refuse. In furnishing walls, the distance apart may vary from 2ft. between Cordons, to 12ft., 15ft., or even 20ft. between Fan-shaped trees. The roots should be carefully arranged, interlayered at all points with fine soil, and the whole covered to a depth of 3in. or 4in. Not only should the roots have a good covering of suitable earth, but a secondary one of litter, or other light material, should be added, to render them frost proof in winter, and drought and heat proof in summer. Newly planted trees should, on no account, be allowed to get dry at the root. A thorough soaking of soft rain, or manure water, will often save a crop, and restore the trees, when all other surface remedies or appliances fail. Surface sprinklings overhead with the garden engine, in the afternoons of bright days, are beneficial, and help to keep the foliage clean and healthy. So soon as the trees are cleared of their fruit, attention should be directed to the maturation of the wood. All superfluous shoots should be removed, any excess of growth left on the shoots cut back, and every effort made to perfect the wood already made, rather than force the tree to make more. Unless the weather be very dry, water should not be applied after this stage. [Illustration: FIG. 131. APRICOT TREE, showing method of Wall Training.] _Protection._ It is almost hopeless to expect a crop unless the blossoms are protected, by mats or other means, from spring frosts. Temporary wooden copings, from 1ft. to 2ft. wide, laid on iron brackets, are indispensable for warding off storms, and keeping other coverings away from the flowers. These should not be put up till the trees are just bursting into bloom, and may safely be removed about the end of May. A few fish or other nets, spread over the trees, afford considerable resistance to the radiation of heat. This is assuredly one of the easiest, if not one of the most efficient, modes of protection. Frigi-domo and other thick shadings are sometimes used, but they require to be removed from the trees in the day time. The thinner nets mentioned are generally not in use for other purposes at this time of year, and may remain over the trees altogether. Glass copings are the best, but, being rather expensive, they cannot be used by the majority of cultivators. They have, however, been applied with good results to trees that had previously failed. [Illustration: FIG. 132. APRICOT TREE, showing method of Training suitable for Gable Ends of Cottages.] _Cropping, &c._ Thinning of the fruit needs early and careful attention. The average of 3in. apart may be chosen for a maximum yield. As the fruit approach maturity, overhanging leaves, or branches of young wood, must be removed, to admit sun and light to properly ripen and colour them. Apricots for preserving should be gathered quite dry, and with the sun upon them. For dessert, they should be plucked in the morning, and placed in a cool room till wanted. _Under Glass._ The Apricot will hardly bear forcing. It is more sensitive to heat than almost any other of our semi-hardy fruits. Practically, it is found that a confined atmosphere, or the slightest excess of heat, brings its blooms off in showers, and this, of course, mars all prospect of fruit. But in cold climates and northern latitudes under glass is the best and only means of growing them. Should red-spider appear, it is proof that the roots or the atmosphere, probably both, have been too dry; more moisture, and syringing over the leaves, are the surest remedies. The borders need to be about 2ft. or 2ft. 6in. deep, of any light rich soil. Fresh planted trees should be frequently syringed overhead before and after the flowering period. After they have become fully established, less overhead sprinkling is needed. During all the earlier stages of growth, and until the fruit are stoned, an artificial temperature of 45deg. should not be exceeded. After that stage, the fruit will bear a heat of 50deg. or 55deg. It is hardly safe or desirable to exceed the latter under glass, and unless abundance of air is given, 55deg. may bring off the fruit, even at an advanced stage. A thorough soaking, at intervals of fourteen days during the height of the growing season, may be applied; and, should the trees be heavily cropped, manure water may be given at every alternate watering. It is also a good practice to mulch the surface of heavily cropped trees with 3in. or 4in. of good dung. The fruit should, however, be freely thinned to distances of from 4in. to 6in. apart at the most. There are three general methods of growing them under glass: The trees may be trained on trellises or walls; grown as natural standards, tall or dwarf; and as bushes, either planted out or in pots. _Varieties._ The varieties of Apricot, unlike most other fruit, are not numerous; and the following will be found in every way representative and satisfactory: =Blanche=, or =White Masculine=. A small and delicate fruited sort. Fruit pale whitish-yellow, tinged with brownish-red next the sun, covered with a fine white down; rich, delicate, and sugary. =Blenheim=, or =Shipley's=.* Very early and prolific. Colour deep yellow; flesh medium, rich, and juicy. Ripe in July. =Breda.=* A small sort, of excellent quality. Colour deep orange; flesh firm, juicy, and rich. Hardiest sort grown. =Kaisha.=* Fruit round, much smaller than Moorpark. Colour pale citron; flesh tender, rich, juicy; flavour delicate and delicious; kernel very sweet. =Large Red.= The deepest coloured of all. Fruit very large; colour deep reddish-orange; flesh rich and juicy; kernel bitter. =Moorpark.=* The sort most generally grown; large, handsome, and of excellent quality. Colour brownish-orange; flesh rich, juicy, and sweet. It is one of the best and most useful sorts in cultivation. =Peach=, or =Grosse Peche=. Distinct and very desirable. Fruit very large; flesh rich, firm, and juicy. One of the very best. =Royal.=* Not unlike Moorpark, but with a more robust constitution, and less given to limb dying. Fruit large, dull, yellow, rich, and juicy. =Turkey.=* A good variety. Colour pale yellow; flavour rich and juicy; flesh firm. For modes of Training and Budding, Diseases, Insect Pests, &c., full information will be found under each individual title. =APTERANTHES.= _See_ =Boucerosia=. =APTEROUS.= Without wings. =AQUATIC PLANTS.= The culture of Aquatic Plants, both indoors and in the open air, has been greatly neglected of late years; they are, therefore, rarely seen to perfection in places other than where their culture is made a speciality. Generally speaking, they are most easily grown. The following stove and greenhouse genera are well worth attention: _Aponogeton_, _Cyperus_, _Damasonium_, _Herpestis_, _Limnocharis_, _Nelumbium_, _Nymph�a_, _Ouvirandra_, _Pistia_, _Pontederia_, _Salvinia_, _Thalia_, _Trianea_, _Victoria_. Many species belonging to some of the foregoing genera are hardy, as are also the following: _Alisma_, _Butomus_, _Calla_, _Hottonia_, _Menyanthes_, _Nuphar_, _Polygonum_, _Sagittaria_, _Trapa_, _Typha_, _Villarsia_. =AQUATICUS.= Living in water. =AQUATILIS.= Living under water. =AQUIFOLIACE�.= _See_ =Ilicineæ=. =AQUILEGIA= (from _aquila_, an eagle; in reference to the form of the petals). Columbine. ORD. _Ranunculaceæ_. Erect hardy perennial herbs with fibrous roots. Flowers solitary or panicled, drooping; sepals five, petaloid, deciduous; petals five, concave, spurred; spurs very large, produced downwards into hollow tubes, and frequently curved at the extremity; carpels five, sessile, free. Radical leaves on long stalks, twice or thrice ternate, with trifid-toothed, usually blunt segments. Too much praise can scarcely be lavished upon this elegant genus of plants. They prefer a moist and sheltered situation, with exposure to the sun. The more robust species will thrive in ordinary garden soil, but the rarer and more delicate kinds require a good friable sandy loam and leaf soil, with good drainage. Seed is produced in abundance, and must be sown very thinly, as soon as practicable after being ripe, in a shady place or in pans in a cold frame. When up, and strong enough to remove, the seedlings may be planted out where they are to bloom, allowing every plant at least 9in. each way. The strong-growing kinds may be placed in the border, the dwarf ones on the rockery. When in bloom, the inferior sorts should be weeded out, retaining only the best varieties. To obtain seed true of any species, it is absolutely necessary to plant the separate kinds far apart, and cover them with fine muslin, to prevent the access of insects to the flowers, as none are more easily cross-fertilised. Division of the root is the only way to perpetuate any particular variety with certainty, unless seed is saved in the way mentioned, or imported from the native habitats of particular species. There are many beautiful hybrids, as well as species, in cultivation. =A. alpina= (alpine).* _fl._ from 2in. to 3in. in diameter when expanded, deep blue or blue and white, on leafy, two to three-flowered stems; spurs straight, but somewhat incurved at the apex, one-half shorter than the petal limb. May. _l._ with segments deeply divided into linear lobes. _h._ 1ft. Alps of Switzerland, in shady humid places, 1731. Plant this on the rockery. =A. arctica= (Arctic). A form of _A. formosa_. =A. atropurpurea= (dark purple). _fl._ dark purple or bluish violet, about 1in. or 1-1/2in. in diameter when expanded, two or three in a head; spurs straight, equal in length with the petals' limb; sepals about as long as the petals. May. _l._ petioled, biternate. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Siberia. Border plant. =A. aurea= (golden).* A synonym of _A. chrysantha flavescens_. =A. Bertoloni= (Bertoloni's).* _fl._ about 1in. across, blue-violet throughout; sepals about 3/4in. long, rounded; petals about the same length; spurs very short, knobbed; stems two to four flowered. June and July. _l._ small, dark green, and glaucous. A very pretty little alpine, growing about 1ft. high. SYN. _A. Reuteri_. [Illustration: FIG. 133. AQUILEGIA C�RULEA.] =A. cærulea= (sky-blue).* _fl._ several on a stem, blue and white, sometimes more or less tinted with lilac or claret, rarely pure white, when expanded 2-1/2in. to 3in. in diameter; spur very slender, nearly straight, green tipped, about 2in. long. April to July. _l._ large, biternate. _h._ 9in. to 15in. Rocky Mountains, 1864. A very lovely species for the border or base of the rockery. SYNS. _A. leptoceras_, _A. macrantha_. See Fig. 133. =A. c. alba= (white).* _fl._ the same size and form as the type, white throughout. Rocky Mountains. A very rare and lovely variety; sometimes met with under the name of _A. grandiflora_. =A. c. hybrida= (hybrid).* _fl._ blue and white, not so wide across as the type, but more numerous, and the plant has a much more vigorous habit. Of garden origin. =A. californica= (Californian).* A form of _A. formosa_. [Illustration: FIG. 134. AQUILEGIA CANADENSIS, showing Habit and Flower.] =A. canadensis= (Canadian).* _fl._ scarlet, mixed with yellow, less than 1in. in diameter; spur straight, longer than the limb; styles and stamens protruding; sepals acutish, a little longer than the petals' limb. April to June. _l._, segments three-parted, bluntish, and deeply toothed at the apex. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. North America, 1640. Border or rockery; very pretty. See Fig. 134. =A. chrysantha= (yellow-flowered).* _fl._, sepals primrose yellow, spreading horizontally in full expansion, nearly or quite 1in. long, tinted claret at the tip; limb of petals deeper yellow, not quite so long; spur straight, very slender, divergent, 1-1/2in. to 2in. long; stems many-flowered. May to August. _l._ biternate. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. California, 1873. One of the finest of all hardy perennials for the border. =A. c. flavescens= (yellow). _fl._ of a uniform bright canary yellow, tinged with red; spur somewhat shorter than in _A. canadensis_, and slightly incurved. California, 1872. SYN. _A. aurea_. [Illustration: FIG. 135. AQUILEGIA GLANDULOSA.] =A. eximia= (choice). Synonymous with _A. formosa_. =A. formosa= (handsome).* _fl._, sepals bright red, usually less than 1in. long, with an obtuse green tip; limb of petals yellow, about half as long as the sepals; spurs 1/2in. to 3/4in. long, slender in the lower half, nearly straight, distinctly knobbed at the tip; stems many-flowered. May to September. _l._ biternate. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. North America. Border. The following are synonyms and varieties: _A. arctica_, _A. californica_, _A. eximia_, and _A. f. truncata_, revealing only trivial differences. There is a very beautiful hybrid known in gardens as _A. californica hybrida_, with the sepals and petals yellowish, or tinged with orange, while the long slender spurs are orange red; it is one of the handsomest of all. All the forms are very showy, and well worth growing. =A. fragrans= (fragrant).* _fl._ white or pale claret purple, finely pubescent, very fragrant; sepals about 1-1/2in. long, not reflexing, twice longer than the broad petals' limb; spur slender, slightly curved, knobbed at the top, same length as the petals; stems few-flowered. May to July. _l._ biternate. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. Himalayas, 1839. This requires a warm position. =A. glandulosa= (glandular).* _fl._, sepals bright lilac blue, about 1-1/2in. long, more than twice the length of the petals' limb; petals white; spur 1/4in. long, or but little more, stout, much incurved; stems one to three-flowered. Spring. _l._ biternate. _h._ 8in. to 12in. Siberia, 1822. Extremely pretty. See Fig. 135. =A. g. jucunda= (pleasant). _fl._ rather smaller. Very handsome little plants, freely hybridised, and it is necessary to keep raising fresh batches, as they are scarcely more than biennial. =A. glauca= (glaucous). _fl._ white, tinted claret, fragrant; sepals 1in. long, not reflexing; limb of petals 3/4in. long; spur straight, or a little curved, about 1/3in. long; stem three to four-flowered. June. _l._ biternate. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. Himalayas, 1839. Rather tender; plant in a warm dry position. =A. leptoceras= (slender-horned). A synonym of _A. cærulea_. =A. macrantha= (large-flowered). A synonym of _A. cærulea_. =A. olympica= (Olympic).* _fl._ large, delicate mauve blue; petals white, rather shorter than the sepals; spur stout, short, obtuse. _l._ bi- or triternate, glaucous. _h._ 1-1/2ft. 1880. Mount Olympus. See Fig. 136. =A. pyrenaica= (Pyrenean).* _fl._, sepals bright lilac blue, about 1in. long, but not quite as much broad; limb of petals about 1/2in. long, and half as broad; spur slender, nearly straight, or rather incurved, nearly or quite 3/4in. long, scarcely knobbed at the end; stem one to three-flowered, with small and little compound deep green leaves. Summer. _h._ 9in. to 12in. Pyrenees, 1818. Plant on the rockery. =A. Reuteri= (Reuter's). Synonymous with _A. Bertoloni_. =A. sibirica= (Siberian).* _fl._ bright lilac; sepals very blunt, 1in. or a little more in length, spreading or slightly reflexing when fully expanded; limb of petals sometimes white, about 1/2in. long; spur stout, much incurved, 1/2in. to 3/4in. long; stems many-flowered, glabrous. Summer. _l._ biternate. _h._ 1ft. Siberia, 1806. Rockery species. Here are referred, by Mr. Baker, _A. bicolor_, _A. Garnieriana_, and _A. speciosa_. See Fig. 137. =A. thalictrifolia= (Thalictrum-leaved). _fl._, sepals oblong, acute, lilac blue, about 1/2in. long; limb of petals about as long, and rounded at the top; spurs slender, not quite as long as the sepals; stems about three-flowered. Summer. _l._ with three-stalked segments cut into deep oblong lobes. _h._ 2ft. Tyrol, 1879. Entire plant clothed with fine pubescence. =A. viridiflora= (green-flowered). _fl._, sepals oval-oblong, shorter than the petals; spurs straight and longer than the petals; stems two to three-flowered. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. Siberia, 1780. Border. Rather a pleasing and sweet-scented green-flowered species, but not very ornamental. =A. vulgaris= (common). Common Columbine. _fl._ variously coloured; sepals ovate acute, about 1in. long, and half as broad; limb of the petal rarely exceeding 3/4in. long, and half as much broad, rounded at the apex; spur much incurved, stout, knobbed at the end, as long as the petals; stems many-flowered. Spring and early summer. _l._ biternate. England, &c. There are numerous varieties of this very handsome species, both double and single-flowered. =A. v. alba= (white). _fl._ pure white. =A. v. a. fl.-pl.= Double white flowers. =A. v. cærulea nana fl.-pl.= Very dwarf, with double deep blue flowers. =A. v. hybrida= (hybrid). _fl._, sepals lilac purple, oblong-lanceolate, less than 1in. long; limb of the petals white, about 1/2in. long; spur scarcely incurved. =A. v. Vervæneana.= This variety has pretty yellow mottled foliage. [Illustration: FIG. 136. AQUILEGIA OLYMPICA, showing Habit and Flower.] [Illustration: FIG. 137. AQUILEGIA SIBIRICA FLORE-PLENO, showing Habit and Flower.] =A. v. Wittmanniana= (Wittmann's). _fl._ large, bright lilac purple; sepals ovate-acute, 1in. to 1-1/4in. long, more than half as much broad; limb of petals white, about half the length of sepals; spur curved. A very fine variety. The following names are also met with in gardens, some of which represent specific forms, but none are effective as garden ornaments: _advena_, _Burgeriana_, _Haylodgensis_ (hybrid), _grata_, _longissima_, _nevadensis_, _oxysepala_, &c. =AQUOSUS.= Watery. =ARABIS= (origin of the word not clear). Wall Cress; Rock Cress. ORD. _Cruciferæ_. Hardy perennial trailers, except where otherwise stated. Flowers mostly white; racemes terminal; pedicels bractless. Radical leaves usually stalked; cauline ones sessile or stem-clasping, entire or toothed, rarely lobed. Most members of this genus are peculiarly well adapted for rockwork and the alpine garden, both from their natural hardihood as well as their early and profuse flowering habits. They are of the easiest possible culture in any dry soil. The perennial species may either be increased by divisions of the root, by cuttings, placed in a shady border during the summer, or by seed. The latter may be sown outside, or in pans, in spring, when most of them will germinate in two or three weeks. The annuals and biennials are for the most part devoid of any cultural beauty. =A. albida= (whitish).* _fl._ white; racemes terminal; pedicels longer than the calyx. January to May. _l._ few-toothed, hoary, or downy with branched hairs; radical ones obovate-oblong; cauline ones cordately sagittate, clasping the stem. _h._ 6in. to 9in. Tauria and Caucasus, 1798. SYN. _A. caucasica_. =A. a. variegata= (variegated).* A very pretty variegated form for edgings. [Illustration: FIG. 138. ARABIS ALPINA, showing Habit and Flowers.] =A. alpina= (alpine).* _fl._ white, smaller than those of _A. albida_; racemes terminal; pedicels longer than the calyx, which is smoothish. March to May. _l._ many-toothed, lanceolate, acute, villous with branched hairs; radical ones somewhat stalked; cauline ones cordate, clasping the stem. _h._ 6in. European rocks, in sunny places, 1596. There are one or two varieties, including a variegated-leaved form, in cultivation. See Fig. 138. [Illustration: FIG. 139. ARABIS ARENOSA, showing Habit and Flowers.] =A. arenosa= (sand-loving).* _fl._ rose coloured, very rarely white or bluish; petals obovate; pedicels spreading. April to July. _l._ villous, with forked hairs; radical ones pinnatifid, with the upper lobes much larger than the lower; cauline ones deeply toothed. Stem branched, hispid, with simple hairs. _h._ 6in. Middle Europe, 1798. See Fig. 139. =A. blepharophylla= (fringed-leaved).* _fl._ rosy purple; petals roundish, narrowing to the base, with slender claws. Spring. _l._ naked, except the margins, which are fringed with very stiff hairs; radical ones spathulate; cauline ones oblong, sessile. _h._ 3in. to 4in. California, 1874. This succeeds best in a cool frame, where it will flower in January. =A. caucasica= (Caucasus). A synonym of _A. albida_. =A. lucida= (shining).* _fl._ white; petals entire, narrowed at the base, twice as long as the calyx. Summer. _l._ obovate, thickish, shining, clasping the stem. _h._ 4in. to 6in. Hungary, 1790. A very pretty species, with a dwarf habit; it is especially adapted for edgings, borders, or rockwork. =A. l. variegata= (variegated).* A great improvement upon the type, being broadly edged with yellow, and the green somewhat lighter. When grown in tufts or as edging, it is very effective, and should be prevented from flowering. This exceedingly desirable variety is a gem for the rockwork, and when seen in crevices, or in bold tufts, it is very striking. It must be increased by slips or rootlets, which should be taken in early summer. =A. mollis= (soft). _fl._ white, in terminal racemes. May to July. _l._ grossly toothed, somewhat pubescent, with small stellate hairs; lower ones on long petioles, cordate-roundish; cauline ones ovate-cordate, clasping the stem. _h._ 2ft. Caucasus, 1823. =A. petræa= (rock).* _fl._ white; petals ovate, with stalks. June. _l._ smooth, ciliated or scabrous, with simple or bifid radical ones on longish stalks, entire, toothed; cauline ones oblong-linear, entire, or toothed. _h._ 3in. or 4in. Britain. =A. præcox= (early). _fl._ white; petals obovately cuneated, double the length of the calyx. April to June. _l._ oblong, acute, sessile, quite entire, smooth. Stem covered with close pressed rigid hairs. _h._ 6in. to 9in. Hungary. =A. procurrens= (procurrent). _fl._ white; petals obovate, double the length of the calyx. May and June. _l._ ovate, quite entire, smooth, ciliated with two-parted hairs; radical ones narrowed into a petiole; cauline ones sessile, pointed. Stolons creeping. _h._ 9in. Servia, 1819. There is a brilliantly variegated form of this pretty species well worth growing. =A. rosea= (rosy).* _fl._ rosy purple; petals oblong, somewhat wedge-shaped, double the length of the calyx; pedicels longer than the calyx. May to July. _l._, cauline ones oblong, somewhat cordate, and rather stem-clasping, scabrous with branched hairs. _h._ 1ft. Calabria, 1832. =A. verna= (spring). _fl._ small, purple, with a white claw; pedicels shorter than the calyx. May to June. _l._, cauline ones cordate, clasping the stem, toothed, scabrous with three-parted hairs. _h._ 3in. to 6in. South Europe, 1710. The best annual species. =ARACE�= or =AROIDE�=. An extensive order of herbaceous plants, with tuberous rhizomes. Flowers on a spadix, unisexual or hermaphrodite, protected by a spathe. Leaves large, radical. Well known genera belonging to this order are: _Alocasia_, _Arum_, _Caladium_, _Colocasia_, and _Dieffenbachia_. =ARACHIS= (from _a_, without, and _rachis_, a branch; plant branchless). Ground or Earth Nut. ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A stove annual, of economical value. Corolla resupinate; calyx a long tube, with a bilabiate limb; ovary stipitate, inclosed in the tube of the calyx; the stipe at first short, but afterwards becoming elongated. Sandy loam is the soil most suitable for their cultivation. Seeds should be sown in heat; and, when the plants have grown to a sufficient size, they should be potted off singly, and placed among other stove annuals. After the plant has finished flowering, and the pods begin to lengthen, the pedicels force them into the earth, where they ripen their seeds. =A. hypogæa= (underground). Monkey Nut. _fl._ yellow, five to seven together in the axils of the leaves. May. _l._ abruptly-pinnate, bearing two pairs of leaflets, without any tendril; stipulas elongated, adnate to the petioles. _h._ 1ft., or procumbent. South America, 1812. See Fig. 140. =ARACHNIMORPHA.= A synonym of =Rondeletia= (which _see_). =ARACHNOID.= Resembling a cobweb in appearance; seeming to be covered with cobweb, in consequence of the entanglement of long, white hairs. [Illustration: FIG. 140. ARACHIS HYPOG�A, showing Leaf, Flower, &c., and Cluster of short wrinkled Pods.] =ARALIA= (meaning unknown). ORD. _Araliaceæ_. This widely-grown genus includes stove, greenhouse, and hardy, herbaceous and shrubby plants. Flowers inconspicuous, umbellate, the umbels usually disposed in panicles; petals five, inserted on the margin of the disk; stamens five (see Fig. 142). Leaves usually compound. These plants are of moderately free growth, and the majority are easy to manage. Those requiring indoor treatment thrive well under the ordinary routine of management. One most important requirement, however, is that they must be kept well supplied with water at the roots. The finer, or stove varieties, should be potted in a mixture of sandy loam and peat, with the addition of a little fibrous leaf soil, and sufficient sand to keep the whole porous. The stronger growing kinds thrive in a richer compost. Propagation by cuttings of the roots is a common and very successful method. To obtain the roots, one of the strongest plants should be turned out of the pot, and the roots should be cleared of soil by shaking or washing it out; the requisite number of pieces should then be selected. As each piece is removed, it should have the end nearest the stem cut horizontally, to distinguish it from the other or furthermost end. In planting cuttings of the roots, it is best to place the end nearest the stem uppermost. The pieces may be left about 2in. long, and should be inserted in pots, well drained, and filled with sandy soil, leaving the tops of the cuttings about level with the surface of the soil. A square of glass must be placed over the top of each pot, plunging them in moderate bottom heat. The stems of the plants from which the roots have been taken may be cut into pieces 1in. or 1-1/2in. long, leaving an eye or bud near the top; a slice of half the shoot may be taken off opposite the bud. When prepared, these pieces should be pressed into pots of sand or sandy soil, and plunged into bottom heat. The stems may be cut down without disturbing the roots; in that case, if the pots are plunged in bottom heat, and kept moderately supplied with water, they will probably throw up several suckers or shoots from the roots. These, if taken off with a portion of root to each, and placed in small sized pots, will, with a little care, soon make useful plants. All the hardy species and most of the greenhouse ones are propagated readily by cuttings or pieces of roots. Some of the stove species, however, are very difficult to increase, except by grafting. Among these are _A. leptophylla_, _A. Veitchii_, &c. These should be worked on stocks of _A. Guilfoylei_ or _A. reticulata_, the latter being the better of the two. Cuttings of either of these strike readily, and stocks fit for grafting are easily procured. In sheltered and warm positions, the greenhouse species are admirably suited for sub-tropical gardening, either planted singly or in groups. _See_ also =Dimorphanthus=, =Fatsia=, =Hedera=, =Heptapleurum=, =Monopanax=, =Oreopanax=, and =Panax=. =A. canescens= (greyish). A garden synonym of _A. chinensis_. =A. Chabrierii= (Chabrier's).* _l._ alternate, pinnate, about a foot long; pinnæ opposite, 6in. to 9in. long, linear-lanceolate, deep green, with a heavy crimson midrib. 1882. Suitable for table decoration. A charming stove species. [Illustration: FIG. 141. ARALIA CHINENSIS.] =A. chinensis= (Chinese).* _fl._ white; panicles terminal; peduncles umbelliferous. _l._ petiolate, coriaceous, woolly on both surfaces when young (only); pinnæ seven, ovate, serrated at the apex, erect and distinct. _h._ 5ft. to 6ft. 1838. This species, if planted in a soil with a dry porous bottom, will prove to be hardy. SYN. _A. canescens_, of gardens. See Fig. 141. =A. concinna= (neat). _l._ unequally pinnate; pinnæ lobed and serrate. Stem spotted. New Caledonia, 1879. A handsome stove species, but very rare. SYNS. _A. spectabilis_, _Delarbrea spectabilis_. =A. crassifolia= (thick-leaved). A synonym of _Pseudopanax crassifolium_. =A. edulis= (edible).* _fl._ numerous, white; umbels globose, axillary and terminal, united into simple or compound racemes. Summer. _l._, lower ones pinnate, with five leaflets, or three pinnate, with divisions of three to five leaflets; upper ones generally simple, with stalked leaflets, having a cordate base, ovate, acute, finely toothed, downy. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. Japan, 1843. Hardy, herbaceous, perennial, hairy, and spineless. =A. elegantissima= (most elegant).* _l._ digitate, on long dark green footstalks, which are mottled with white; leaflets seven to ten, filiform, and, being pendulous, impart a very graceful character to the plant. Stem straight, erect. South Sea Islands, 1873. Stove species, excellent for table decoration. =A. filicifolia= (fern-leaved).* _l._, leafstalks sheathing at the base, and terete in the upper part, expanding into a broad leafy limb which is impari-pinnately divided; pinnæ opposite, deeply pinnatifid, bright green, with a purplish midrib. Stem and leafstalks purplish, thickly marked with oblong white spots. Polynesia, 1876. =A. gracillima= (most graceful). Synonymous with _A. Veitchii gracillima_. =A. Guilfoylei= (Guilfoyle's).* _l._ pinnate, on long smooth terete petioles; leaflets oblong-elliptic, bluntish, from three to seven, they are sometimes obscurely lobed, and irregularly spinose, serrate, varying in size from 2in. to 3in. long, neatly and evenly margined with creamy white, the surface being in addition occasionally splashed with grey. Stem erect, copiously dotted with lenticular markings. South Sea Islands, 1876. Stove species. =A. heteromorpha= (many-formed).* _l._ sometimes ovate-lanceolate and serrated, and at others bifid or even trifid at the apex, about 6in. to 8in. or 9in. long, bright shining green. A very desirable species, of robust and compact habit. =A. japonica= (Japanese). Another name for _Fatsia japonica_. =A. Kerchoveana= (Count Kerchove's). _l._ digitate, almost circular in outline; leaflets nine to eleven, spreading, elliptic-lanceolate, conspicuously serrated or undulated margins, of a deep glossy green relieved by a pale midrib. 1883. A very elegant slender-stemmed plant from the South Sea Islands, and likely to prove valuable for decorative purposes. Stove species. =A. leptophylla= (slender-leaved).* _l._ compound, bearing often seven or more petiolate leaflets of a somewhat pendent character, and dark green in colour. 1862. An elegant stove or greenhouse slender growing species. =A. longipes= (long-stalked). _l._ digitate, long stalked, and rather distant; leaflets oblanceolate acuminate, slightly undulated at the edge; petioles elongated. Stems simple. North Australia, 1882. A very distinct erect-growing evergreen stove species. =A. maculata= (spotted). _l._ of a light green colour; leaflets oblong-acuminate, in about four pairs. Stem erect, which, as well as the stalks of the leaves, is of a blackish-purple hue, thickly spotted with green dots. This peculiar colouring is very distinct and conspicuous. South Pacific Islands. Stove species. =A. Maximowiczii= (Maximowicz's).* _l._ on long stalks, palmately five to seven-lobed; lobes lanceolate, 3-1/2in. long, serrate. Japan, 1874. An elegant and distinct hardy shrub, with erect spiny stem. SYN. _Acanthopanax ricinifolium_. =A. monstrosa= (monstrous).* _l._ pendent, pinnate; leaflets three to seven, oblong elliptic, deeply and irregularly serrated (this serration sometimes takes most fantastic forms), broadly margined with creamy white, the surface blotched with grey. South Sea Islands, 1880. Stove species. =A. nudicaulis= (naked-stemmed).* _fl._ greenish; scape trifid at the apex, shorter than the leaf, each division bearing a many-flowered umbel. June. _l._ radical, the divisions pinnately five foliate; leaflets oblong-oval, with a long tapering point, serrate. Root horizontal, very long. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. North America, 1731. Quite hardy, herbaceous perennial. =A. Osyana= (Osyan).* Resembling _A. leptophylla_, but with leaflets deeply bifid at the ends; surface colour bright green; primary veins and tips of the leaflets chocolate brown. South Sea Islands, 1870. Very elegant stove species. =A. pentaphylla= (five-leaved).* _l._ digitate, or sometimes only three leaflets are produced, each varying from 6in. to 10in. in length, and from 1in. to 2in. in breadth, deeply lobed or pinnatifid, bright shining green. Stem arboreous, prickly. _h._ 20ft. Japan. SYN. _Panax spinosa_. =A. p. variegata= (variegated). _l._ broadly edged with creamy white. Japan, 1874. =A. quercifolia= (oak-leaved).* _l._ opposite, trifoliate; leaflets deeply sinuate; lower petioles about 3in. long, light shining green. New Britain, 1880. Very pretty stove species. [Illustration: FIG. 142. FLOWER OF ARALIA RACEMOSA, enlarged.] =A. racemosa= (raceme-flowering).* _fl._ greenish-white, petals spreading; peduncles axillary, disposed in a terminal raceme, umbelliferous. June. _l._ petioles tripartite, the partitions bearing each three to five ovate or cordate, acuminated, serrated, smoothish leaflets. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. North America, 1658. Hardy herbaceous species, highly ornamental. See Fig. 142. =A. reticulata= (netted). _l._ alternate, strap-shaped when young, becoming larger with age, dark green, reticulated with a lighter shade of the same colour. A very handsome species, requiring stove heat during winter. In spring and summer it is admirably suited for conservatory or indoor decoration, having a light and graceful aspect. =A. rotunda= (round). _l._ sometimes of a single leaflet only, which is spreading, orbicular, cordate at the base, margined with distinct white tipped teeth; at other times, especially when approaching maturity, the leaves are trifoliate, the leaflets being rounded and toothed, and the terminal one being about double the size of the lateral ones. Stems erect, brownish-green, spotted when young with pale elongate blotches. Polynesia, 1882. =A. Scheffleri= (Scheffler's). _l._ on long petioles, digitate; leaflets five, petiolulate, lanceolate, attenuated at the base, serrulated, glabrous on both surfaces. Stem shrubby, smooth. New Zealand. Greenhouse species. =A. spectabilis= (showy). A synonym of _A. concinna_. =A. spinosa= (thorny).* Angelica Tree. _l._ doubly and triply pinnate; leaflets ovate, acuminated, deeply serrated. Stem simple, prickly (as are also the petioles), forming into an umbrella-like head, deciduous. _h._ 8ft. to 12ft. North America, 1688. A very fine hardy species for sheltered spots. =A. spinulosa= (small-spined). _l._ alternate, pinnate; pinnæ ovate acuminate, dark green, margined with little reddish-crimson spines or prickles. Stems and petioles spotted and suffused with crimson. 1880. A bold and robust stove plant. =A. ternata= (three-leafleted).* _l._ opposite, ternate; leaflets oblong-lanceolate; margins in some cases deeply serrate, in others sinuate, light green. New Britain, 1879. A slender growing species. =A. trifolia= (three-leaved). A synonym of _Pseudopanax Lessonii_. [Illustration: FIG. 143. ARALIA VEITCHII.] =A. Veitchii= (Veitch's).* _l._ digitate, with about eleven filiform undulated leaflets, glossy green above, dark red beneath; petioles long and slender. New Caledonia, 1867. A very handsome (said to be the best) species, with slender, erect growing stem. See Fig. 143, for which we are indebted to Messrs. Veitch and Sons. =A. V. gracillima= (most graceful).* _l._ alternate, spreading; leaflets nearly linear, but slightly narrowed at both ends, having a prominent ivory-white central rib. South Sea Islands, 1876. An erect growing species, with an elegantly graceful habit. It is allied to _A. reticulata_, but is more handsome. This charming variety is undoubtedly the finest for table decoration, and is frequently grafted upon stocks of the typical form. It enjoys plenty of heat. SYN. _A. gracillima_. =ARALIACE�.= An order of trees, shrubs, or (rarely) herbaceous plants, often pubescent, and sometimes spiny. Flowers variously disposed, hermaphrodite or unisexual, regular; petals usually five, and valvate. Leaves alternate, or (rarely) opposite. This order is closely allied to _Umbelliferæ_; and the best known genera are _Aralia_ and _Hedera_. =ARAR-TREE.= A common name for =Callitris quadrivalvis= (which _see_). =ARAUCARIA= (from _Araucanos_, its name in Chili). SYN. _Eutacta_. ORD. _Coniferæ_. A noble genus of di�cious or sub-di�cious evergreen trees, with usually imbricated persistent flat sessile scale-like leaves. Male cones large, cylindrical, terminal; female ones very large, globular, terminal, with dense ligneous deciduous scales, each bearing a solitary seed. The majority of the species are not, unfortunately, sufficiently hardy to withstand our winters out of doors. Few trees can compete with them in symmetry and elegant proportion for conservatory decoration, where they may be grown in large tubs, or planted out. Small plants grown in pots are most serviceable for table and other decorative purposes. They thrive in a good fibrous loam, mixed with leaf soil and sand. Propagation by means of seed is the surest and most satisfactory method; the seed should be sown in pans or boxes, or if in large quantities, in a bed, with but gentle heat; they usually take some time to germinate. Cuttings are procured by taking off the leading shoots, and fixing them firmly in a pot of sand; they first require a cool place, but may afterwards be subjected to slight warmth. When rooted, they should be potted off into the soil above mentioned. The young growths which afterwards shoot from the plant, whence the cutting, may be taken off and treated in much the same manner. These are the only methods of propagation worth pursuing. =A. Balansæ= (Balansa's). _male cones_ cylindrical-conical, 2in. _female cones_ elliptic globose, 4in.; scales obovate, cuneate. _l._ arcuately-uncinate, ovate triangular, imbricated round the distichous, simple branchlets. _h._ 130ft. to 160ft. New Caledonia, 1875. A fine greenhouse plumosely branched tree. =A. Bidwillii= (Bidwill's).* Bunya-Bunya Pine; Moreton Bay Pine. _cones_ sub-globose, longest diameter 10in. to 12in., shortest 9in. to 10in. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, in two nearly horizontal rows, acuminated, slightly convex above, concave beneath, leathery, deep shining green. _h._ 150ft. Moreton Bay. Habit very regular and symmetrical. Greenhouse species. =A. brasiliensis= (Brazilian). _l._ oblong-lanceolate, much attenuated at the point, loosely imbricated, deep green; lower part of the trunk usually free from branches, terminating in a rounded head. _h._ 70ft. to 100ft. Brazil, 1819. _A. b. gracilis_, and _A. b. Ridolfiana_ are two forms of this species. =A. columnaris= (columnar). A synonym of _A. Cookii_. =A. Cookii= (Cook's).* _l._ awl-shaped, short, densely imbricated around the frondose branches. Described by Mr. Abbay as having "a somewhat curious habit, even when growing alone, of shedding their branches for five-sixths or more of their height, and then replacing them by a smaller and more bushy growth, so that the tree at a distance presents a very columnar appearance, the resemblance being increased by the summit being crowned with a mass of foliage somewhat like a capital." _h._ 200ft. New Caledonia, 1851. SYN. _A. columnaris_. [Illustration: FIG. 144. ARAUCARIA EXCELSA.] =A. Cunninghami= (Cunningham's).* _l._ on the sterile branches needle-shaped, obscurely quadrangular, rigid, acute; on the fertile branches shorter, stouter, closely appressed, bright green; upper branches ascending, lower ones horizontal. _h._ 100ft. Moreton Bay. This fine species we have found to be quite hardy on the south-west coast of England. =A. C. glauca= (milky-green). A very handsome variety, with silvery glaucous leaves. =A. excelsa= (lofty).* The Norfolk Island Pine. _l._ awl-shaped, curved, sharply acuminated, bright green, densely packed on the frondose, deltoid, horizontal, or pendulous branches. When well grown, this is a beautifully symmetrical greenhouse or conservatory species, attaining to a height of 150ft., and a circumference of 20ft. or more. Norfolk Island. This is especially desirable in a small state. There are several varieties known, the best being: _A. e. glauca_, having lighter green, and very glaucous foliage; and _A. e. robusta_, which is larger in all its parts. See Fig. 144. =A. Goldieana= (Goldie's).* Allied to _A. Rulei_. _l._ produced in whorls, pendulous, dark green, varying in size. New Caledonia. Most distinct and elegant for conservatory decoration. =A. imbricata= (imbricated).* The Monkey Puzzle. _fl._, male and female catkins on separate trees; the males are six or seven in a cluster, pedunculate, yellow, and oval with numerous scales, imbricated, long, and recurved at the points; the female catkins are oval, with numerous wedge-shaped scales, with narrow oblong brittle points; they are produced at the ends of the branches. _cones_, when fully ripe globular, from 3in. to 4in. in diameter, dark brown. The branches are horizontal, inflexed, and ascending at the extremities, and are produced in whorls. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, sessile, thickened at the base, stiff, leathery, straight, somewhat keeled-shaped below, and strongly mucronate at the apex; verticillate, with seven or eight in a whorl, imbricate, and closely encircling the branches, concave, glabrous, shining, marked with longitudinal lines, dotted on both sides. _h._ 50ft. to 100ft. Chili, 1796. A well known hardy tree, of striking aspect, and indispensable to Arboreta and shrubberies. See Fig. 145. =A. Rulei= (Rule's).* _male cones_ oblong obtuse; _female cones_ oval. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, with a prominent dorsal nerve, more closely appressed, and less sharply pointed than in the foregoing species; imbricated in four rows. Branches horizontal; branchlets often quite pendulous. _h._ 50ft. Papuan Archipelago. =A. R. elegans= (elegant).* _l._ smaller; whorls of branches closer together; branchlets more slender. An elegant form; and, from its comparative dwarf and graceful habit, should be very generally grown. =ARBOR.= A tree. A perennial plant, having a distinct bole or trunk, from which the main branches grow. =ARBORESCENT.= Having a tendency to become a tree. =ARBORETUM.= A collection of hardy trees formed for pleasure or instruction, and which, when well managed, is a source of much interesting study. They afford shelter, improve the local climate, renovate bad soils, &c., and also, by concealing or hiding disagreeable objects, heighten the effect of agreeable ones, create beauty, and add value. A properly arranged Arboretum should be constructed with a view to picturesque beauty, and not systematically, as is usually the case in Botanic Gardens, although scientific purposes are best served by a systematic arrangement. =ARBOR-VIT�.= _See_ =Thuja=. =ARBOUR.= A seat surrounded by lattice work, covered by Vines, Wistarias, or other climbing plants. =ARBUTUS= (from _arboise_, Celtic for austere bush; in allusion to the austere quality of the fruit). Strawberry Tree. ORD. _Ericaceæ_. Trees and shrubs, with evergreen alternate laurel-like leaves. Corolla globose, or ovately campanulate; petals five, reflexed. Very ornamental subjects for lawns and shrubberies, thriving well in a light sandy or peaty soil. They may be propagated by seeds, which should be sown in sand during March; by budding, and by inarching; the first mentioned method is the one most generally employed, with good results. The various sorts may be grafted, budded, or inarched upon _A. Unedo_. The greenhouse species are rare in cultivation, but their management does not materially differ from other plants requiring a similar temperature. =A. Andrachne= (Andrachne).* _fl._ greenish-white; panicles terminal, erect, clothed with viscid down. March and April. _l._ oblong, bluntish, entire in some, a little serrated in others, glabrous. _h._ 10ft. to 14ft. Greece, 1724. A fine ornamental tree. =A. A. serratifolia= (saw-edge-leaved). _fl._ yellowish, disposed in rather large terminal clusters. _l._ serrated, and narrower than those of the species. SYN. _A. serratifolia_. [Illustration: FIG. 145. ARAUCARIA IMBRICATA.] =A. andrachnoides= (Andrachne-like). A synonym of _A. hybrida_. =A. canariensis= (Canary). _fl._ greenish-white; panicles erect, hispid. May. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, serrated, glaucous beneath. _h._ 8ft. to 10ft. Canary Islands, 1796. Greenhouse. =A. densiflora= (thickly-flowered).* _fl._ white; corolla oval; pedicels furnished with three bracteas at the base; panicle terminal, composed of closely packed racemes. _l._ 4in. to 5in. long, on long petioles, oblong, acute, sharply toothed, coriaceous, glabrous above and shining, but downy beneath, the middle nerve with rusty villi; branches angular, hairy. _h._ 20ft. Mexico, 1826. Greenhouse. =A. hybrida= (hybrid).* _fl._ white; panicle terminal, pendulous, downy. September to December. _l._ oblong, acute, serrated, glabrous; branches pilose. _h._ 10ft. to 0ft. A half-hardy garden hybrid; it originated about 1800. SYN. _A. andrachnoides_. =A. Menziesi= (Menzies').* _fl._ white; racemes axillary and terminal, panicled, dense-flowered. September. _l._ broad-oval, quite entire, glabrous, on long petioles. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. North-west America, 1827. A noble hardy tree. _A. laurifolia_ comes close to this species. SYN. _A. procera_. =A. mollis= (soft). _fl._ rosy, drooping; panicle terminal, crowded, racemose. June. _l._ oblong-acute, sharply toothed, coriaceous, clothed with soft pubescence above, and white tomentum beneath. _h._ 6ft. Mexico. Greenhouse shrub. =A. mucronata= (mucronate). A synonym of _Pernettya mucronata_. =A. pilosa= (pilose). A synonym of _Pernettya pilosa_. =A. procera= (tall).* A synonym of _A. Menziesi_. =A. serratifolia= (saw-edge-leaved). A synonym of _A. Andrachne serratifolia_. =A. Unedo= (Unedo).* The Strawberry Tree. _fl._ white, deep red in some of the varieties, nodding, in terminal racemose, bracteate panicles. September. _fr._ large, scarlet, nearly globose, granular, edible. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, glabrous, serrulated; branchlets clothed with glandular hairs. _h._ 8ft. to 10ft. West of Ireland, and South Europe. There are several varieties of this plant in cultivation. It is one of the greatest ornaments in the months of October and November--the season when it is in flower, and when, also, the fruit of the former year is ripe. =A. Xalapensis= (Xalapan). _fl._ reddish white; corolla ovate; panicle terminal, composed of many racemes. April. _l._ petiolate, oblong, acute, quite entire, about 2in. long, glabrous above, but clothed with brownish tomentum beneath; epidermis separating, brownish purple. Young branches glabrous, but beset with ramentæ. _h._ 6ft. to 9ft. Mexico. Greenhouse species. =ARCHEGONIUM.= The female organ in ferns, &c., analogous with the ovary in flowering plants. =ARCTOSTAPHYLOS= (from _arktos_, a bear, and _staphyle_, a grape; bears eat the fruit of some species). ORD. _Ericaceæ_. Handsome hardy or half-hardy shrubs or sub-shrubs, agreeing in generic characters with _Arbutus_, except that the fruit is five-celled and the cells one-seeded, and not granular on the outside. For culture, &c., _see_ =Arbutus=. =A. alpina= (alpine).* Black Bearberry. _fl._ white or flesh-coloured, in terminal, reflexed racemes; pedicels rather hairy. April. _l._ obovate, acute, wrinkled, serrated, deciduous. Stems procumbent, trailing. Scotland (but rare), &c. SYN. _Arbutus alpina_. =A. nitida= (shining).* _fl._ white; racemes terminal. May. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, acute, smooth on both sides and shining above. _h._ 4ft. Mexico, 1839. An erect half-hardy evergreen. =A. pungens= (stinging).* _fl._ white; pedicels close; racemes short, at first terminal, but at length lateral. February. _l._ ovate-oblong, acute, mucronate, rather pungent, quite entire, coriaceous, clothed with fine down on both surfaces; branchlets angular, downy. _h._ 1ft. Mexico, 1839. A dwarf, much branched, half-hardy evergreen shrub. =A. tomentosa= (tomentose).* _fl._ pure white, campanulately urceolate, bracteate; peduncles axillary, shorter than the leaves, somewhat capitately racemose. December. _l._ oval, acute, sub-cordate at the base, clothed with white tomentum beneath, on short petioles; branches hispid. _h._ 4ft. North-west America, 1826. Shrubby species; hardy. =A. Uva-ursi.=* Bearberry. _fl._ flesh-coloured, with a red mouth, growing in small clusters at the extremities of the branches. April. _l._ obovate, quite entire, coriaceous, shining. Highlands of Scotland and Wales. A hardy evergreen procumbent trailer. SYN. _Arbutus Uva-ursi_. =ARCTOTHECA= (from _arktos_, a bear, and _theke_, a capsule; so named from the roughness of the fruit). ORD. _Compositæ_. Greenhouse herbaceous perennial, allied to _Arctotis_. Heads radiate; involucral scales imbricate in many rows, the outer linear, herbaceous, inner larger, scariose, very obtuse; receptacle honeycombed, bearing many little fringes; achenes ovate, somewhat four-sided, without wings or pappus. It thrives in a compost of peat, leaf soil, and loam. Propagated by divisions of the plant, or cuttings, in spring. Several species formerly classed in this genus are now included under _Arctotis_. =A. repens= (creeping). _fl.-heads_ yellow. July. _l._ petioled, lyrate-pinnatifid, green and mostly smooth above, white-woolly beneath. Cape of Good Hope, 1793. A stemless, creeping or decumbent herb. =ARCTOTIS= (from _arktos_, a bear, and _ous_, an ear; in reference to the shaggy fruit). ORD. _Compositæ_. Mostly half-hardy herbaceous perennials. Involucral bracts numerous, imbricated, scariose on the margin; receptacle pitted, studded with bristles between the florets; achenes grooved, crowned with a pappus of membranous scales. The species of this genus are of easy culture in a compost of loam and leaf soil. Propagated by cuttings at any time of the year; these should be pricked in pots of very sandy soil, and placed in gentle warmth; they must be kept uncovered and moderately dry, or they will rot. The Arctotis are very handsome plants in sunny, dry positions outside during the summer months, but they must be protected during winter. A. acaulis (stemless).* _fl.-heads_ yellow and red. Summer. _l._ hoary on each side, ternate, lyrate. Stem very short, decumbent. _h._ 4in. Cape of Good Hope, 1759. Very rarely met with. =A. arborescens= (tree-like).* _fl.-heads_, ray-florets white above, pink beneath; disk-florets yellow; disposed in large circular Daisy-like heads. Summer. _l._ linear-oblong, pinnate; upper ones amplexicaul; lower ones stalked. _h._ 2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1815. =A. argentea= (silvery). _fl.-heads_ orange. August. _l._ lanceolate-linear, entire, downy. _h._ 1ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1774. =A. aureola= (golden). Synonymous with _A. grandiflora_. =A. breviscapa= (short-stalked). Synonymous with _A. speciosa_. =A. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl.-heads_ orange; outer scales of involucre reflexed, cuneate, oblong, with a broad short point, somewhat cobwebbed. July. _l._ pinnatifid, serrulate, three-nerved. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1710. SYNS. _A. aureola_ and _A. undulata_. =A. reptans= (creeping). _fl.-heads_ white, orange. July. _l._ hairy beneath; lower lyrate toothed; upper lanceolate toothed. Stem ascending. _h._ 8in. Cape of Good Hope, 1795. =A. rosea= (rosy). _fl.-heads_ pink. Autumn. _l._ spathulate-lanceolate, repand-toothed, hoary. Stem procumbent. Cape of Good Hope, 1793. =A. speciosa= (showy).* _fl.-heads_ yellow; outer scales of involucre linear recurved. July. _l._ lyrate, pinnatifid, hoary beneath, three-nerved. Plant stemless. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1812. Closely allied to _A. acaulis_. SYN. _A. breviscapa_. =A. undulata= (wavy). Synonymous with _A. grandiflora_. =ARCUATE, ARCUATED.= Curved or bent like a bow; forming an arch. =ARDISIA.= (from _ardis_, a point; in reference to the acute, spear-pointed anthers). SYN. _Pyrgus_. ORD. _Myrsineæ_. An extensive genus of greenhouse or stove, mostly ornamental, evergreen trees and shrubs. Flowers white or rose-coloured, more or less panicled; panicles sometimes many-flowered at the extremities of the branches, and longer than the leaves, sometimes few-flowered and in the axils of the leaves. Leaves alternate, rarely almost opposite, or three in a whorl, dotted. Propagated by cuttings of the half-ripened wood taken from the side shoots of the plant any time from March to September; but, as the points of these side shoots bear the blossoms and fruit, they are not well adapted for making good plants. To obtain the best plants, the largest, ripest, and best-coloured berries should be sown early in spring, as soon as gathered, in a wide-mouthed pot or seed pan, well drained and filled with loam and peat in equal parts, with the addition of some sand, and plunged in bottom heat, the soil being kept moderately moist. The seeds will germinate in a few weeks after sowing, and when about 2in. high, the strongest seedlings should be selected and placed in 3in. pots, the same mixture of soil being used, with the addition of a fourth part well decomposed manure. After potting, the plants must be moistened overhead twice a day with a fine rose or syringe, and be kept in a close atmosphere until the roots have taken to the fresh soil. When the plants begin to grow again, they should be removed to a light situation in the house; and when the pots are well filled with roots, a shift into 6in. pots may be effected, water being given judiciously until well established, and here they may remain to fruit. Until the berries are coloured, clear manure water, given once or twice a week, will be found beneficial. The plants arrive at their best when about 18in. or 2ft. high; after that, they begin to get naked at the bottom. It will then be wise to cut the worst plants down to within 2in. of the pots, in early spring, allowing them to become dry at the roots before this operation is performed. By giving moisture to the roots when the cut has become dry, the plants will soon break into growth again, when some of the worst placed shoots should be rubbed off, leaving only one or two of the strongest and best placed, calculated to develop into a well formed plant. When the shoots have grown 2in. or 3in., the plants should be turned out of their pots, the soil shaken out from the roots, and the long ends of the roots trimmed in a little with a knife; they must then be placed in a pot sufficiently large to hold the roots without squeezing. The plants should now occupy the warmest end of the house in which they are grown, care being taken in watering until new roots are formed, when they may have more air and somewhat liberal supplies of water. As soon as they are sufficiently advanced in growth, they should be transferred to a larger-sized pot. With proper treatment, they will flower and fruit the same season as they are cut down, and form handsome plants. Although most species of this genus are classed as stove plants, they will succeed very well in a temperature that does not fall below 45deg. in winter; and, when so grown, they are not so liable to become infested with large brown scale and other insect pests. This is particularly the case with _A. crenulata_, and cool treatment is also favourable to the ripe berries hanging on the plants for a much longer time than when grown in a stove. Moreover, they do not suffer so much when removed for decorative purposes. =A. acuminata= (taper-pointed). _fl._ nearly white; petals small, acute, dotted; panicles terminal and axillary, many-flowered. July. _l._ entire, glabrous, oblong, acuminated, attenuated at the base. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. Guiana, 1803. [Illustration: FIG. 146. FLOWERING BRANCH OF ARDISIA CRENULATA.] =A. crenulata= (round-notched-leaved).* _fl._ reddish violet; panicles terminal; pedicels umbellate. June. Berries numerous, bright coral-like. _l._ lanceolate-ovate, tapering at both ends, repandly crenulated, pilose. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. Mexico, 1809. When grown in a cool atmosphere, as previously alluded to, it is quite common for one crop of berries to hang on the plants until another crop is ripe. This is a splendid plant, superior even to the red-berried Solanums for decorative purposes, for which it is largely grown. See Fig. 146. =A. crispa= (curled). _fl._ small, drooping, red; cymes terminal, usually solitary, often compound; pedicels smooth, finely veined, umbellate, drooping. July. Berries red, size of peas. _l._ bluntish, oblong-lanceolate, attenuated at both ends, with repandly crenulated glandular edges, glabrous. _h._ 4ft. India, 1809. =A. humilis= (humble). _fl._ rose-coloured; peduncles solitary, bearing each a simple racemose umbel of many pretty, large, drooping flowers; petals lanceolate, first recurved, afterwards revolute. June. Berries size of peas, shining, black, juicy. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, acuminated at both ends, glabrous, veined, shining. _h._ 4ft. India, 1820. =A. japonica= (Japanese).* _fl._ white; pedicels red, sub-umbellate, secund, drooping; racemes simple, axillary. June. _l._ nearly opposite, or three to five in a whorl, on short petioles, cuneate-oblong, acute, glabrous, serrated; 4in. long. _h._ 1ft. Japan. Perhaps the hardiest of all the species. =A. macrocarpa= (large-fruited).* _fl._ flesh-coloured, dotted; petals ovate, obtuse; racemes terminal, corymbose, almost sessile, slightly hairy. Berries vermilion coloured, as large as gooseberries. _l._ oblong, acute, tapering downwards, glandularly crenated, dotted, close together, leathery, 6in. to 8in. long, paler beneath, veinless. _h._ 5ft. to 6ft. Nepaul, 1824. A beautiful shrub. =A. Oliveri= (Oliver's).* _fl._ rose pink, white eye: corolla rotate, 1/2in. across; lobes obtuse; heads terminal, consisting of a number of stalked, many-flowered corymbs; pedicels about twice as long as the flower. July. _l._ nearly sessile, entire, glabrous, 6in. to 8in. long, by 2in. in the broadest portion; oblanceolate, acuminate, tapering towards the base. Costa Rica, 1876. =A. paniculata= (panicled).* _fl._ rose-coloured; panicles terminal, composed of many alternate compound branches, large and elegant; petals and sepals ovate. July. Berries red, smooth, size of a pea, juicy. _l._ glabrous, cuneate-oblong, almost sessile, reflexed, 6in. to 20in. long, and from 3in. to 5in. broad, crowded at the ends of the branches. _h._ 8ft. to 10ft. India, 1818. =A. punctata= (dotted). _fl._ greyish white, sub-campanulate, secund, beset with dark dots, and the pedicels with dark lines; peduncles umbellate, terminal, and axillary; umbels involucrated by deciduous bracts. June. _l._ glabrous, lanceolate, leathery, repandly crenated, tapering to the base. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. China, 1822. =A. serrulata= (finely serrated).* _fl._ deep red; petals ciliated; calyces and pedicels coloured; panicles terminal; pedicels umbellate. July. _l._ glabrous, lanceolate, acuminated, wrinkled, serrulated, beset with rusty dots beneath; branches downy. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. China, 1820. =A. villosa= (hairy). _fl._ whitish, umbels axillary and terminal, very villous. October. Berries villous. _l._ lanceolate, acuminated, villous beneath, crenulated, 5in. to 7in. long, tapering to the base, copiously dotted. China. All the upper parts of the plant are densely beset with hairs. =A. v. mollis= (soft).* This variety has very fine red berries, and is superior to the type. =A. Wallichii= (Wallich's). _fl._ red, in loose racemes; peduncles axillary, one-half shorter than the leaves, and are, as well as the pedicels, pilose. July. _l._ obovate, acute, or obtuse, narrowed into the marginate petioles, repandly crenulated, 4in. to 5in. long, and 2in. broad, thickish. _h._ 2ft. India. =ARDUINA= (in honour of P. Arduini, curator of the Economical Garden of Padua, in the time of Linnæus). ORD. _Apocynaceæ_. A singular and pretty greenhouse evergreen shrub, of easy culture in carefully drained pots of peat and loam, mixed in equal proportions. Propagated by cuttings in sand, under a glass. The winter temperature should not be allowed to fall below 40deg. =A. bispinosa= (two-spined). _fl._ small, white, sweet-scented, terminal, corymbose. March to August. Berry red. _l._ cordate-ovate, mucronate, nearly sessile, dark green, larger than those of Box. Spines twin, simple, but usually bifid; in this last case, one of the clefts points downwards, and the other upwards. _h._ 3ft. to 5ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1760. SYN. _Carissa Arduina_. =ARECA= (_Areec_ is its name in Malabar, when an old tree). The Cabbage Palm. ORD. _Palmeæ_. This genus is now broken up into several, and many species formerly here arranged are now found under _Acanthoph�nix_, _Euterpe_, _Hyophorbe_, _Kentia_, _Oncosperma_, _Phænicophorum_. Very ornamental and graceful stove palms, with a branching spadix, and double spathe, which incloses the flowers. Flowers unisexual, borne upon the same spike; female flowers having six rudimentary stamens, and male flowers a six-cleft perianth. Fruit one-seeded. They thrive in a compost of loam, peat, and leaf soil, in equal parts, with a liberal addition of sand; but when they are fully grown, loam should preponderate to the extent of about two-thirds, and some rotten cow-manure may be added. Propagated from seeds, which should be sown in a compost similar to above, and placed in a moist gentle heat. They are employed, when young, with much success for the decoration of drawing rooms and dinner tables. =A. Aliciæ= (Princess Alice's). _l._ pinnatisect; segments sessile. North Australia. A very handsome species, with a comparatively dwarf habit; it is a valuable decorative plant. =A. Catechu= (Catechu). _l._ pinnate, from 3ft. to 6ft. long; leaflets 12in. to 24in. in length, and about 2in. broad, light green; petioles broadly sheathed at the base. _h._ 30ft. India, 1690. One of the best and oldest species in cultivation, very effective, in a young state, for dinner table decoration. It produces the Betel nut, of which enormous quantities are used in India. =A. concinna= (neat). _l._ pinnatisect, sub-glabrous; segments sickle-shaped, much acuminated. Stem green, 8ft. to 12ft. high, 1in. to 2in. in diameter. Ceylon. The Cingalese chew the albumen of the seeds with their Betel. =A. gigantea= (gigantic). A synonym of _Pinanga ternatensis_. =A. glandiformis= (gland-formed). _l._ pinnatisect, 9ft. to 12ft. long when fully grown. _h._ 30ft. Moluccas. A handsome stove palm, of bold aspect, and very suitable, when young, for decorative purposes. =A. Normanbyi= (Normanby's). A synonym of _Ptychosperma Normanbyi_. =A. triandra= (three-stamened). _l._ pinnate, like those of _A. Catechu_ in size, &c. _h._ 20ft. India, introduced to Britain about 1810. =ARENARIA= (from _arena_, sand; in which most of the species are found). Sandwort. ORD. _Caryophyllaceæ_. TRIBE _Alsineæ_. A very large genus of hardy herbaceous plants, consisting of about 150 species. It is distinguished by having generally three styles. The perennials only are worth growing; these are extremely pretty little alpine plants, and will thrive in any ordinary soil in exposed places; the rarer species may be grown in small pots, well drained, in a mixture of sand, loam, and leaf soil, or in well-drained crannies of the rockery. They may be increased by either division, seeds, or cuttings; the latter, placed under a hand-glass, will root freely. The best time to divide the plants is early spring, or July and August. Seeds should be sown in spring in a cold frame. =A. balearica= (Balearic).* _fl._ white, sepals erect; peduncles elongated, one-flowered. March to August. _l._ very small, ovate, shining, rather fleshy, ciliated. _h._ 3in. Corsica, 1787. A pretty little creeper, one of the best plants for covering damp borders of the rockwork. =A. cæspitosa= (tufted). Synonymous with _A. verna cæspitosa_. =A. ciliata= (ciliated). _fl._ white, usually solitary; sepals ovate, acute, five to seven ribbed; petals obovate, twice as long as the sepals. July. _l._ ovate, or obovate, roughish, with a few hairs, one-nerved, and ciliated. Ireland. _h._ 6in. A thick, tufted, spreading, procumbent plant. =A. graminifolia= (grass-leaved).* _fl._ white; panicle three-forked, hairy, loose; sepals very blunt, much shorter than the obovate petals. June. _l._ long, awl-shaped, filiform, scabrous on the margins from serratures. Stem erect, simple. _h._ 6in. to 9in. Caucasus, 1817. =A. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl._ white, usually solitary; peduncles very long, pubescent; sepals ovate, awned, three-nerved, smaller than the petals. June. _l._ awl-shaped, broadish, flat, three-nerved, ciliated, radical ones crowded. _h._ 3in. to 6in. France, 1783. _A. g. biflora_ is a two-flowered, and _A. g. triflora_ a three-flowered, variety. =A. laricifolia= (Larch-leaved).* _fl._ white; sepals bluntish, triple nerved, hairy; petals twice as long as the sepals; stems ascending, one, three, or six flowered, somewhat scabrous; calyx cylindrical. June. _l._ awl-shaped, denticulately ciliated. _h._ 6in. Switzerland, 1816. =A. longifolia= (long-leaved). _fl._ white; sepals ovate, obtuse, not half the length of the obovate petals; panicle three-forked, glabrous, crowded. June. _l._ awl-shaped, filiform, serrulated. Stem erect, simple. _h._ 6in. to 9in. Siberia, 1823. =A. montana= (mountain). _fl._ large, white; peduncles terminal, very long, one-flowered; sepals lanceolate, acuminated, much shorter than the corolla. April. _l._ lanceolate-linear; sterile stems very long, procumbent. _h._ 3in. France and Spain, 1800. =A. peploides= (Peplis-like). _fl._ white; sepals ovate, shorter than the oblong petals. May to July. _l._ ovate, light green, rather fleshy; branches procumbent, fleshy, deciduous. _h._ 3in. to 4in. Sea shores of Britain. SYN. _Honckenya peploides_. =A. purpurascens= (purplish).* _fl._ purplish; pedicels tomentose, scarcely exceeding the leaves; sepals lanceolate, smooth, with shrivelled margins, longer than the corolla; branches two to three-flowered. May. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, acuminated, glabrous. Plant tufted, decumbent. _h._ 6in. Higher Pyrenees. =A. rotundifolia= (round-leaved).* _fl._ white, solitary; petals roundish-ovate, longer than the sepals. July and August. _l._ about 1/4in. across, roundish, ciliated, on spreading tufted branches. _h._ 4in. to 6in. Siberia. =A. tetraquetra= (four-angled). _fl._ white, somewhat capitate; sepals stiff, acute, keeled, ciliated, almost equal in length to the corolla. August. _l._ ovate, keeled, recurved, edged, imbricated in four rows. Stem straight, pubescent. _h._ 3in. to 6in. France, 1731. =A. verna= (spring-flowering). _fl._ small, white; sepals ovate, lanceolate, acuminated, with three remote equal ribs, longer than the obovate petals. May. _l._ awl-shaped, bluntish. Stems panicled, elongated. _h._ about 3in. =A. v. cæspitosa= (turfy). A variety having very leafy stems. Calyces and peduncles smoothish. Europe. SYN. _A. cæspitosa_. =ARENGA= (name of doubtful origin). SYN. _Saguerus_. ORD. _Palmæ_. An extremely useful and interesting palm. The medulla of the trunk is used as sago, and the saccharine juice forms excellent sugar. It requires a strong heat and rich mould. Propagated by seeds only. =A. saccharifera= (sugar-bearing). _fl._ striped. June. _h._ 40ft. Moluccas, 1829. =AREOLATE.= Divided into distinct angular spaces, or areolæ. =ARETHUSA= (mythological: named after a nymph of Diana's, who was changed into a fountain; in allusion to the habit of the plants). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A small genus of very pretty, but rare, terrestrial orchids. They require a moist shady spot with a northern aspect, and thrive best in a compost of well-rotted manure and sphagnum. A mulching in winter, by way of protection, is needed. =A. bulbosa= (bulbous).* _fl._ large, bright rose purple, solitary, sweet-scented, terminal; lip dilated, recurved, spreading towards the summit, bearded-crested down the face; scape one-leaved. May. _l._ linear, nerved. _h._ 8in. Carolina. =ARETIA.= _See_ =Androsace=. =ARGANIA= (from _argam_, its aboriginal name). ORD. _Sapotaceæ_. A very fine greenhouse evergreen tree, said by Don to flourish against a south wall, out of doors, with the protection of a mat in severe weather. It will thrive in ordinary garden soil. Increased by layers and cuttings in autumn and spring, the latter requiring a bell glass covering; both operations must be performed in a moderately heated greenhouse. =A. Sideroxylon= (Iron-wood). _fl._, corolla greenish yellow, cup-shaped, five-parted, with ovate-lanceolate, sub-emarginate segments; lateral and axillary, scattered, crowded, sessile. _fr._ dotted with white, size of a plum, full of white, milky juice. July. _l._ lanceolate, entire, bluntish, glabrous, paler beneath; branches terminated by strong spines. _h._ 15ft. to 20ft. Morocco, 1711. As the specific name implies, the wood is excessively close and hard, so much so that it sinks in water. SYNS. _Elæodendron Argan_, _Sideroxylon spinosum_. =ARGEMONE= (from _argema_, cataract of the eye; in allusion to some real or fancied medicinal properties). ORD. _Papaveraceæ_. Very handsome annuals and perennials, abounding with yellow juice, and covered with stiff prickles. Sepals two to three, concave, mucronate; petals four to eight; peduncles axillary, always erect. Leaves sessile, repand-sinuated, usually spotted with white; recesses spiny-toothed. The species will thrive in almost any garden soil in the open border. Seed may be sown out of doors about the end of March; those of the rarer species on a hotbed, and planted out about the end of June. =A. albiflora= (white-flowered).* _fl._ white; petals usually three. July and August. _l._ sessile, feather-nerved. _h._ 1ft. Georgia, 1820. Hardy annual. =A. grandiflora= (great-flowered).* _fl._ large, panicled, white with yellow anthers. July. _l._ sinuated, smooth, glaucous, spiny-toothed; nerves unarmed. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Mexico, 1827. This species, when raised from seed, does not flower until October; but when the roots have existed through the winter, the plants produce flowers early in the summer. Hardy perennial. See Fig. 147. =A. hirsuta= (hairy).* _fl._ pure white, 3in. to 5in. in diameter. September. _l._ pinnatifid, bristly. _h._ 2ft. California, 1879. A very beautiful hardy annual. [Illustration: FIG. 147. INFLORESCENCE OF ARGEMONE GRANDIFLORA.] =A. mexicana= (Mexican). Devil's Fig. _fl._ solitary, yellow; petals four to six. June. _l._ profoundly repand-sinuated, spiny, blotched with white. _h._ 2ft. Mexico, 1592. Hardy annual. =A. ochroleuca= (yellowish-white).* _fl._ pale yellow, solitary; petals six. August. _l._ profoundly sinuated or pinnatifid, glaucescent nerves with prickly bristles, blotched with white. Stem prickly. Mexico, 1827. Hardy annual. =ARGENTEUS.= Silvery. A pale colour resembling silver. =ARGOLASIA.= _See_ =Lanaria=. =ARGIYREIA= (from _argyreios_, silvery; in reference to the silvery undersides of the leaves). Silver-weed. ORD. _Convolvulaceæ_. An elegant genus of greenhouse and stove climbers. Sepals five; corolla campanulate. Shrubs for the most part silvery, but sometimes silky and tomentose. The greater number of the species are robust, extensive twiners or climbers, usually requiring plenty of room to run, before they will flower. _A. cuneata_, and one or two others, are of dwarf habit, and produce their splendid blossoms in abundance. All the species grow well in light rich soil, or a mixture of peat, loam, and sand. Cuttings root readily if planted in sand, with a hand glass placed over them, in a little bottom heat. =A. capitata= (headed). _fl._, corolla 1in. to 2in. long, rose coloured or purple, hairy outside; peduncles exceeding the petioles. July. _l._ cordate-ovate, acuminated, 2in. to 5in, long, and 1in. to 3in. broad, hairy on both surfaces; hairs glandular at the base. Plant clothed with strigose hairs. Silhet, 1823. =A. cuneata= (wedge-leaved).* _fl._, corolla large, of a beautiful deep bright purple; peduncles downy, shorter than the leaves, three to six-flowered. July. _l._ obovate-cuneate, emarginate, glabrous above, but beset with short, crowded hairs beneath, hardly petiolate. Stem clothed with powdery down at top. _h._ 2ft. to 5ft. India, 1822. =A. cymosa= (cyme-flowered).* _fl._, corolla pale pink, tubularly funnel-shaped, villous outside; peduncles as long or longer than the leaves, leafy at top, and cymosely many-flowered. _l._ roundish-cordate, or reniformly-cordate, obtuse, terminated by a very short prickle, glabrous on both surfaces, or clothed with pruinose down. Malabar (mountains), 1823. =A. malabarica= (Malabar). _fl._ rather small; bottom of the bell deep purple; throat pink, with the edges paler, almost white, and slightly ten-lobed; peduncles as long or longer than the leaves, many-flowered at the apex. June. _l._ roundish-cordate, acute, glabrous, or furnished with a few scattered hairs on both surfaces. Coromandel, 1823. =A. pomacea= (Apple-fruited). _fl._ large, rose coloured; peduncles villous, exceeding the petioles a little, cymose, many-flowered. Berry size of a cherry, yellow. _l._ ovate-elliptic, obtuse, clothed with cinerous, velvety down on both surfaces, but especially beneath, sometimes sub-emarginate at apex. Mysore, 1818. =A. speciosa= (showy).* _fl._, corolla nearly 2in. long, of a deep rose colour; peduncles about equal in length to the petioles, umbellately capitate. July. _l._ 3in. to 12in. long, and 2in. to 4in. broad, cordate, acute, glabrous above, or rarely villous, thickly nerved beneath, and clothed with silky, silvery down. India, 1818. =A. splendens= (splendid).* _fl._, corolla tubularly campanulate, 1-1/2in. long, rather villous outside, pale red; peduncles exceeding the (hoary) petioles, corymbosely many-flowered. November. _l._ ovate-oblong or ovate-elliptic, entire or pandurately sinuated, sometimes somewhat three-lobed, smooth above, but clothed with silvery, silky down beneath, 6in. long, acuminated. India, 1820. =ARGYROCH�TA.= A synonym of =Parthenium= (which _see_). =ARGYROXYPHIUM= (from _argyros_, silver, and _xyphion_, a corn-flag; in allusion to the leaves). ORD. _Compositæ_. An ornamental greenhouse perennial herb. Involucre campanulate; receptacle conical; heads pedunculate, racemose, or in thyrsoid panicles. Leaves alternate; lower ones close, elongated, thick, on both sides silver-lined. Stems simple or slightly branched. It thrives well in rich sandy loam and leaf mould. Propagated by seed-heads. =C. sandwicense= (Sandwich Islands). _fl.-heads_ purplish. _l._ linear lanceolate, imbricate, clothed, like the stems, with silvery hairs. _h._ 3ft. Sandwich islands, 1872. SYN. _Argyrophyton Douglasii_. =ARIA.= _See_ =Pyrus Aria=. =ARIS�MA= (from _aron_, Arum, and _sana_, a standard; in reference to the close alliance to _Arum_). ORD. _Aroideæ_. Small tuberous rooted greenhouse (except where stated otherwise) herbaceous plants. Spathe rolled round the spadix at the base; spadix bearing unisexual flowers below. and rudimentary flowers in the upper part. Leaves peltate, pedate, palmate, or simple. For culture, &c., _see_ =Arum=. =A. concinna= (neat).* _fl._, spathe convolute, tubular at the base; upper portion bent over at the mouth, and gradually narrowed into a tail-like appendage about 3in. long; spathe of the female plant longitudinally barred with white and green, the latter colour being replaced with blue-purple in the male. June. _l._ solitary, sheathing at the base, and made up of ten or twelve lanceolate, entire, light green leaflets, which radiate from the top of the petiole, the latter being 1ft. to 2ft. high. Sikkim, 1871. =A. curvatum= (curved).* _fl._ crowning a scape which overtops the foliage; tube of spathe cylindrical, green, obscurely striped with white; the elliptic blade arches forward, green on the inner surface, and brownish-red on the outer; spadix produced into a purplish-red tail, about 1ft. long. April. _l._ pedate. The large bracts, which sheath the base of the stem, are beautifully marbled with dark olive green, red, and light green. _h._ 4ft. Himalayas, 1871. SYN. _A. helleborifolium_. =A. galeata= (helmeted).* _fl._, spathe about 4in long; tube and cylindrical side of spathe green, tinted purplish at base, with many longitudinal white lines; inside of the tube purple. July. _l._ solitary, trifoliate; middle leaflet 6in. long by 3-3/4in. broad; lateral ones 7in. long and nearly 4in. broad. _h._ 1ft. Himalayas, Sikkim, 1879. =A. Griffithi= (Griffith's).* _fl._, spathe large, hood-like, brown-violet, with green veins; spadix brown-violet, and the barren end at the base above the flowers has a disk-like projection, while its free extremity is prolonged into a long thread-like appendage. Spring. _l._ with bold roundish leaflets. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. Sikkim, 1879. Hardy; very handsome. SYN. _A. Hookerianum_. =A. helleborifolium= (Hellebore-leaved). A synonym of _A. curvatum_. =A. Hookerianum= (Hooker's). A synonym of _A. Griffithi_. =A. nepenthoides= (Nepenthes-like).* _fl._, spathe above the tubular portion extended into two decided auricles, which serve to distinguish it from other species, ochre, brown, green; spadix yellowish Spring. _l._ pedate, of five lanceolate or oblanceolate leaflets; central one 6in. long, the others shorter. _h._ 2ft. Himalayas, 1879. =A. præcox= (early). A synonym of _A. ringens_. =A. ringens= (gaping).* _fl._, spathe striped green and white, erect and cylindrical below, then arching suddenly over, and again contracting into a rather small deep purple orifice, with broad, reflexed margins; spadix erect, pale yellow-green. Spring. _l._, leaflets three, ovate-oblong, acuminate, and produced into a filiform point; peduncle short. Japan. Hardy. SYNS. _A. præcox_ and _A. Sieboldi_. =A. Sieboldi= (Siebold's). A. synonym of _A. ringens_. =A. speciosa= (showy).* _fl._, spadix deep glossy purple, greenish and white, with a long flexuous prolongation, sometimes nearly 20in. in length; spathe also terminating with a filiform elongation. March. _l._ solitary, trifoliate; leaflets petioled, dark green, conspicuously edged with blood red; petioles long, mottled with white. _h._ 2ft. Temperate Himalayas, 1872. [Illustration: FIG. 148. ARIS�MA TRIPHYLLA.] =A. triphylla= (three-leaved).* _fl._, spathe 4in. to 6in. long, striped with broad lines of purplish-brown, with about 1in. of green in the middle; spadix 3in. long, spotted with brown. June to July. _l._ on long stout petioles, trifoliate; leaflets entire, equal, acuminated. _h._ 9in. to 1ft. North America, 1664. This is quite hardy. SYNS. _A. zebrina_ and _Arum triphyllum_. See Fig. 148. =A. zebrina= (zebra). A synonym of _A. triphylla_. =ARISARUM= (name of Greek origin). ORD. _Aroideæ_. A small genus of half-hardy herbaceous plants, possessing but little horticultural interest, and allied to _Arisæma_. Flowers unisexual, spadix having no rudimentary flowers. Leaves on long stalks, heart-shaped or spear-shaped. The only species in cultivation thrives in a sand, loam, and peat compost. Propagated by seeds or divisions of the root in spring. =A. vulgate= (common). _fl._, spathe livid purple. May. _h._ 1ft. South Europe, 1596. =ARISTATE.= Having a beard or awn, as the glumes of barley. =ARISTEA= (from _arista_, a point or beard; in reference to the rigid points of the leaves). ORD. _Iridaceæ_. A genus of greenhouse herbaceous perennials from the Cape of Good Hope. Flowers blue; perianth rotate, six-parted, twisted after flowering; scape two-edged, rigid, often branched. Leaves narrow, sword-shaped. The species are more interesting than ornamental, and may be grown in a compost of three parts turfy peat, and one of loam. Easily propagated by divisions and seeds. They vary in height from 3in. to 3ft., and flower generally in summer. =A. capitata= (headed). _fl._ blue. July. _h._ 3ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1790. =A. cyanea= (bright blue). _fl._ blue. June. _h._ 6in. Cape of Good Hope, 1759. =ARISTOLOCHIA= (from _aristos_, best, and _locheia_, parturition; in reference to its supposed medicinal character). Birthwort. ORD. _Aristolochiaceæ_. A very large genus of stove, greenhouse, or hardy, evergreen or deciduous, climbing or erect shrubs. Flowers axillary, clustered, or solitary, pendulous, of most extraordinary forms; perianth tubular, curved, or straight, with an oblique, cordate limb; stamens six, rarely four, or numerous, adhering to the stigma; capsule six-valved. Leaves cordate entire or lobed. Good loam, with a small proportion of decayed manure and a slight addition of sharp sand to secure efficient drainage, is a good compost for the whole. They will thrive when planted out in the conservatory more satisfactorily than elsewhere; for as they usually grow a considerable height before flowering, they require very long trellises in pots, and have to be trained up and down; or, better still, round a pillar of uniform circumference, a pyramid form being useless. The best way is to train them round, close down to the pot, and keep on about 2in. from one turn to the next. Some of the larger sorts will require more room. Cuttings root freely in sand under a bell glass with bottom heat. =A. anguicida= (snake-killing). _fl._ white, spotted brown; tube of perianth inflated at base, dilated and oblique at the mouth; peduncles axillary, solitary, one-flowered. December. _l._ on short petioles, cordate acuminate; stipules cordate-roundish. _h._ 10ft. New Grenada, 1845. An evergreen stove twiner. =A. barbata= (bearded). _fl._ purple, axillary, 2-1/2in. long; perianth straight; limb spreading; lip spathulate, bearded at the end. July. _l._ cordate, oblong. _h._ 10ft. Caraccas, 1796. Stove evergreen. =A. caudata= (tailed).* _fl._ lurid; perianth cylindrical ventricose, and six-spurred at the base; lip cordate, cuspidate; the cusp twisted, filiform. June. _l._, lower ones reniform, lobed; upper ones three partite. _h._ 5ft. Brazil, 1828. Deciduous stove twiner. =A. ciliosa= (fringed).* _fl._ purple-yellow; tube of perianth obliquely ventricose at base, stretched out, from the middle to the apex cylindrical, fringed; peduncles one-flowered. September. _l._ cordate reniform. Plant glabrous. _h._ 6ft. Brazil, 1829. =A. Clematitis= (Clematis-like). _fl._ pale yellow, upright; lip oblong, shortly acuminate. July. _l._ cordate. Stem erect. _h._ 2ft. A hardy herbaceous perennial, naturalised here and there in Britain. =A. clypeata= (shielded). _fl._ axillary; tube yellowish, cylindrical; limb elliptic, white, blotched with purple, long and large, funnel-shaped. _l._ subcordate-ovate, acuminate. Columbia, 1871. =A. cordiflora= (cordate-flowered). _fl._ axillary, very large, with broad cordiform limb, creamy yellow, with blotchy purple veining. May. _l._ cordate acuminate. _h._ 30ft. Mexico, 1860. =A. deltoidea variegata= (deltoid variegated variety). _l._ variegated with white. _h._ 6ft. Columbia, 1870. =A. Duchartrei= (Duchartre's).* _fl._ racemose; tube brown; limb cream colour, with purple blotches. January. _l._ reniform-cordate, acuminate. Upper Amazons, 1868. _h._ 5ft. This stove species flowers from the old wood. SYN. _A. Ruiziana_. =A. floribunda= (free-flowering).* _fl._ numerous; limb purplish-red, with yellow veins, centre yellow. July. _l._ cordate ovate, acuminate. _h._ 10ft. Brazil, 1868. Stove species. =A. galeata= (helmeted). _fl._ creamy, with reticulated veins. August. _l._ cordate, with broad open sinus. _h._ 20ft. New Grenada, 1873. =A. gigas= (giant). _fl._ purple; perianth large, cordate ribbed outside, reticulated, downy; tube inflated, contracted in the middle; limb large, cordate ovate, with a long tail. June. _l._ downy, cordate, acuminate; peduncles solitary, bracteate. _h._ 10ft. Guatemala, 1841. =A. Goldieana= (Goldie's).* _fl._ greenish outside, deep yellow with chocolate veins inside, bent into two unequal portions, the lower portion surmounting the ovary about 8in. in length, somewhat cylindrical, terminating in a club-shaped curved knob; the upper portion, commencing from this knob, is about a foot long, funnel-shaped, ribbed, dilated above into a somewhat three-lobed limb. Stamens twenty-four--a very unusual number in the whole family. The enormous flowers are 26in. long by 11in. in diameter. July. _l._ ovate, or triangular-cordate, acuminated. Old Calabar River, 1867. This noble climber should be repotted in fresh soil in February or March. But little water will be necessary until the young shoots have made about 6in. of growth; the quantity should then be increased with moderation until early in September, when the old stem dies down within a few inches of the surface of the pot--at this period, and during winter, water must be entirely withheld. This species blooms freely in a temperature of 65deg. to 70deg. =A. indica= (Indian). _fl._ purple; perianth erect; peduncle many-flowered. July. _l._ elliptical, blunt, somewhat emarginate, slightly cordate. _h._ 10ft. India, 1780. Stove evergreen. =A. labiosa= (great-lipped).* _fl._ greenish; perianth incurved at base, saccate, two-lipped in the middle. July. _l._ reniform, roundish cordate, amplexicaul. _h._ 20ft. Brazil, 1821. Stove evergreen. =A. leuconeura= (white-veined). _fl._ purple brown. September. _l._ cordate, acuminate. _h._ 12ft. Magdalena, 1858. Stove species. =A. odoratissima= (sweetest-scented).* _fl._ purple, sweet-scented; peduncles one-flowered, longer than the leaf; lip cordate lanceolate, longer than the perianth. July. _l._ cordate, ovate, evergreen. Stem twining. _h._ 10ft. Jamaica, 1737. Stove evergreen. =A. ornithocephala= (bird's-head).* _fl._ purple, very large, and extremely singular. To render any description at all lucid, this species may be said to have the head of a hawk and the beak of a heron, with the wattles of a Spanish fowl, which, however, are grey, netted with brown; head of the same colour, veined; and the beak grey. _l._ between cordate and reniform, obtuse. October. _h._ 20ft. Brazil, 1838. Stove species. =A. ringens= (gaping).* _fl._ extremely grotesque, 7in. to 10in. long, pale green, marbled and reticulated with black purple. The perianth has an obovoid ventricose sac, or cup, 2-1/2in. long, which is woolly inside; tube ascending obliquely from the sac, terete, dividing into two very long lips, the upper of which (lower as the flower hangs) is oblong-lanceolate, recurved, and hairy inside below the middle, while the lower one is shorter, with recurved margins, and expanding into an orbicular or almost reniform limb. Unlike many other species, the flowers are produced on the young shoots. July. _l._ bright green, glabrous, roundish-reniform. _h._ 20ft. Brazil, 1820. Stove evergreen. =A. Ruiziana= (Ruiz's). A synonym of _A. Duchartrei_. =A. saccata= (pouch-flowered). _fl._ purplish-red, forming a large pouch; throat circular, vertical. September. _l._ 12in. to 15in. long, and 4in. broad, scattered, ovate-cordate, narrowed at apex, slightly waved and sinuated, entire, more silky beneath than above. _h._ 20ft. Sylhet, 1829. Stove evergreen. =A. sempervirens= (evergreen). _fl._ purple; perianth incurved. May. _l._ cordate, oblong, acuminate. Stem prostrate, flexuous, somewhat climbing. _h._ 4ft. Candia, 1727. Greenhouse species. [Illustration: FIG. 149. FLOWERING BRANCH OF ARISTOLOCHIA SIPHO.] =A. Sipho= (tube-bearing).* _fl._ yellowish-brown; corolla ascending; limb in three equal portions, not expanding, flat, brown; bracts of the peduncle large, ovate. May and June. _l._ cordate, acute. Stem twining. _h._ 15ft. to 30ft. North America, 1763. This hardy, climbing, deciduous shrub grows freely in a deep, free, rather dry soil. See Fig. 149. =A. Thwaitesii= (Thwaites'). _fl._ yellow. March. _h._ 3ft. Old Calabar, 1854. Stove species. =A. tomentosa= (tomentose).* _fl._ purple; perianth with its tube twisted back, and much more deeply divided than in _A. Sipho_, expanding, flat, and yellow, with the mouth of the tube of a deep purple; peduncle solitary, without a bract. July. _l._ cordate, downy beneath. _h._ 20ft. North America, 1799. Hardy. =A. tricandata= (three-tailed).* _fl._ dark purple-brown, solitary, split into three subulate tails. August. _l._ oblong acuminate, rugose, 5in. to 8in. long. Mexico, 1866. A curious, but pretty, stove shrub. =A. trilobata= (three-lobed). _fl._ purple; perianth cylindrical, broken saccate at base; lip cordate cuspidate. June. _l._ three-lobed. Stem twining. _h._ 8ft. South America, 1775. Stove evergreen. =A. ungulifolia= (claw-leaved). _fl._ racemose; perianth brownish-purple, stipitate at base, above which it is swollen out in a globose or oblong form, with two thickened projections near the end; upper end of tube contracted, somewhat curved, terminating in a two-lipped limb, one lip large, ovate, the other minute. June. _l._ 6in. to 7in. long, cordate, and pedately five-nerved at the base, three-lobed below the middle, with broad sinuses, the two lateral lobes arcuate, and blunt at the apex. Labuan, 1880. Stove species. =ARISTOLOCHIACE�.= An order of very curious plants, with singularly inflated flowers, consisting of a calyx only, of a dull, dingy colour. It is popularly known as the Birthwort family, and has an English representative in _Aristolochia clematitis_. =ARISTOTELIA= (said to be named in honour of Aristotle, the Greek philosopher). ORD. _Tiliaceæ_. A hardy evergreen shrub. Calyx campanulate; petals five, inserted in the base of the calyx, and alternating with its lobes. Easily grown, in ordinary garden soil, in the shrubbery. Propagated by ripened cuttings, which root freely if placed under a hand glass; or by layers. =A. Macqui= (Macqui's).* _fl._ small, greenish, axillary. May. _l._ nearly opposite, stalked, oblong, acute, smooth, shining, dentate, permanent. _h._ 6ft. Chili, 1733. A shrub esteemed for its handsome foliage. The berries are about the size of a pea, very dark purple, at length becoming black. The variegated form is not so hardy as the type, but much more ornamental. =ARMENIACA= (from Armenia, the native country of the Apricot). Apricot. ORD. _Rosaceæ_. TRIBE _Drupaceæ_. Small, hardy, deciduous trees. Flowers appearing before the leaves from scaly buds, solitary, or few together, almost sessile. Leaves, when young, convolute. Drupe ovate-globose, fleshy, covered with velvety skin, containing a nut, or stone, which is acute at one end and blunt at the other, with a furrow on both sides; the rest smooth, not wrinkled. For culture, &c., _see_ =Apricot= and =Prunus=. =A. brigantiaca= (Brigancon).* _fl._ white or pink, glomerate, almost sessile. March. _l._ somewhat cordate, acuminated, sharply toothed; the teeth numerous, and lapping over each other. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. South Europe, 1819. =A. dasycarpa= (thick-fruited).* _fl._ white, pedicellate; pedicels filiform. March. _l._ ovate, acuminate, serrated; petioles glandular. _h._ 10ft. to 15ft. China, 1800. =A. sibirica= (Siberian). _fl._ rose-coloured. April. _l._ ovate, acuminate; petioles glandless. _h._ 8ft. to 20ft. Dahuria, 1788. =A. vulgaris= (common).* Common Apricot. _fl._ pinkish-white, sessile. February. _l._ ovate, or cordate, glabrous, glandularly serrated. _h._ 15ft. Levant, 1548. Of this species numerous varieties, differing in the foliar outline, &c., are sometimes met with. _See_ =Apricot=. =ARMERIA.= (from _Flos Armeriæ_, Latin name for the flowers of a species of Pink). Thrift; Sea Pink. ORD. _Plumbagineæ_. A very interesting and pretty group of hardy alpine tufted perennials. Flowers pedicellate, collected in dense solitary heads; involucre scarious, sheathing the scape and turned downwards; petals cohering at the base, persistent; flower scapes leafless. Leaves linear, radical. As the majority of the species differ in mere technical details, we have given a representative group only. They are easily cultivated in a sandy loam and leaf soil, and are increased by seeds and division, separate pieces being planted as cuttings under hand glasses; or the rarer kinds should be potted and placed in a frame. The seed should be sown in spring, in pots of sandy soil, and placed in a cold frame. Although best grown as rock plants, most of them do well in pots and borders. _A. vulgaris_ makes one of the best of edging plants. =A. cephalotes= (round-headed).* _fl._ deep rose or crimson, in a large roundish head on erect stalk. Autumn. _l._ broadly lanceolate, glabrous, acute; petioles channelled, sheathing at the base. _h._ 12in. to 18in. South Europe, 1800. This is perhaps the finest species, and is best raised from an annual sowing of seed, as it is somewhat difficult to increase by divisions. SYNS. _A. formosa_, _A. latifolia_, _A. mauritanica_, and _A. pseudo-armeria_. =A. dianthoides= (Pink-like).* _fl._ light pink, in close heads about 6in. high. May and June. _l._ spreading, flattened, nerved, slightly downy. South Europe, 1810. =A. formosa= (handsome). Synonymous with _A. cephalotes_. =A. juncea= (rush-like).* _fl._ rose pink, in small heads about 3in. high. June. _l._ small, erect, roundish, pointed, deep green. South Europe. A very pretty little alpine species. =A. juniperifolia= (Juniper-leaved).* _fl._ deep rose, in small densely packed heads. May and June. _l._ short, stiff, erect, Juniper-like. _h._ 6in., with a dense tufted habit. Spain, 1818. Plant in a warm well-drained portion of the rockery in very sandy soil, with some nodules of sandstone intermixed. =A. latifolia= (broad-leaved). Synonymous with _A. cephalotes_. =A. leucantha= (white-flowered). A white-flowered variety of _A. plantaginea_. =A. maritima= (sea). Synonymous with _A. vulgaris_. =A. mauritanica= (Mediterranean). Synonymous with _A. cephalotes_. =A. plantaginea= (Plantain-leaved).* _fl._ bright rose; scapes taller than in _A. vulgaris_. _l._ broader, three to five-nerved, and with a stouter growing habit than the common species. _h._ 1ft. South Europe, 1818. A very pretty species. SYNS. _A. leucantha_, which is frequently called _A. p. alba_, and _A. scorzoneræfolia_. =A. pseudo-armeria= (false-Armeria). Synonymous with _A. cephalotes_. =A. scorzoneræfolia= (Scorzonera-leaved). Synonymous with _A. plantaginea_. =A. setacea= (bristly).* _fl._ light rose, in small heads about 2in. high, very freely produced from the axils of the leaves. April to June. _l._ in dense rosettes, erect, or nearly so, narrow, acute, the tufts having a bristly appearance. _h._ 3in. South Europe. Plant in a semi-perpendicular cranny of the rockery, with a sunny position. =A. vulgaris= (common).* Common Thrift; Sea Pink. _fl._ pink, rosy red, lilac, or white (the latter known as _A. v. alba_), collected into a rounded head on the top of the simple scape. June to August. _l._ all radical, numerous, linear, usually one-nerved, more or less pubescent. _h._ 6in. to 12in. Britain, on the sea coasts. _A. v. alpina_ is a dwarf alpine form of this species. The white-flowered variety is very handsome. _A. v. Laucheana_ is also a pretty form, with deep pink flowers in dense heads about 6in. high, and a very tufted habit. _Crimson Gem_, of garden origin, is stronger growing, with stems about 9in. high, carrying heads of bright crimson pink flowers, also of tufted habit. SYNS. _A. maritima_, _Statice Armeria_. =ARNEBIA= (its Arabian name). ORD. _Boraginaceæ_. Handsome hardy herbaceous perennials or annuals, allied to _Lithospermum_. Cuttings should be removed with a heel in autumn, dibbled in sandy soil in small pots, and placed in a cool house, where they will ultimately, though slowly, root; they should then be gradually hardened off, and finally planted out. _A. echioides_ is also easily increased by making cuttings of the strong roots, which should be dibbled in pots of sandy soil, and placed in gentle heat; it is also raised from seed. =A. echioides= (Echium-like).* _fl._ bright primrose yellow, with a purplish spot in the sinuses between the lobes of the corolla, which gradually disappears in a few days; spikes terminal, large, solitary, secund. May. _l._ sessile, alternate; margins-�as well as the stems-�ciliated. _h._ 9in. to 12in. Armenia. One of the showiest of hardy perennials for the border or rockery. =A. Griffithii= (Griffith's). This differs from above in having narrower leaves, rather smaller flowers, which are of a more decided yellow, a differently shaped calyx, and a longer corolla. _h._ 9in. North-west India. Equally desirable, were it a perennial; but, being an annual, it must be constantly raised from seed. =ARNICA= (from _arnakis_, lambskin; in reference to the texture of the leaves). ORD. _Compositæ_. Hardy, dwarf, herbaceous perennials, allied to _Senecio_. They thrive best in loam, peat, and sand; the plants are best divided in spring. Seeds should be procured when possible, and sown in a cold frame, in spring. The only species worth growing are described below. =A. Aronicum.= Synonymous of _A. scorpioides_. =A. Chamissonis= (Chamisso's).* _fl.-heads_ yellow, 1-1/2in. to 2in. across, arranged in a corymb. July to September. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, acuminate or acute, tomentose, tapering to the base. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. North America. A rather scarce, showy species. =A. Clusii= (Clusius's). _fl.-heads_ yellow, solitary, terminal; stalks long, thickened towards the top, and covered with long hairs. Summer. _l._ soft, radical ones entire, or nearly so, oblong, obtuse, attenuated into the petiole; cauline ones sessile, half stem-clasping, lanceolate, toothed in the lower part. _h._ 1ft. Switzerland, 1819. SYN. _Doronicum Clusii_. =A. foliosa= (leafy).* _fl.-heads_ pale yellow, about 1in. across, from three to seven in a corymb. August. _l._ lanceolate, stalked, acute, denticulate, smooth. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Stems springing from slender rhizome-like shoots. United States. Closely allied to _A. montana_. It requires a damp situation. =A. montana= (mountain).* Mountain Tobacco. _fl.-heads_ yellow, three or four together, about 2in. in diameter; ray florets numerous. July. _l._ radical, except a few on the scape, oblong-lanceo-late, entire, smooth. Habit tufted. _h._ 1ft. Europe. 1731. A very handsome but rare plant; excellent for a rockery. It is slowly increased. See Fig. 150. [Illustration: FIG. 150. ARNICA MONTANA, showing Habit and Flower-head.] =A. scorpioides= (scorpion-like).* _fl.-heads_ yellow, large, solitary; scape one to three-flowered. Summer. _l._ pale green, denticulated; radical ones on long petioles, broadly ovate; the lower stem leaves shortly stalked, amplexicaul; the upper ones sessile. _h._ 6in. to 12in. South Europe, 1710. Border. SYNS. _A. Aronicum_, _Aronicum scorpioides_. =ARNOPOGON.= _See_ =Urospermum=. =AROIDE�.= _See_ =Araceæ=. =ARONIA.= _See_ =Cratægus Aronia= and =Pyrus=. =ARONICUM.= _See_ =Arnica scorpioides= and =Doronicum=. =ARPOPHYLLUM= (from _arpe_, a scimitar, and _phyllon_, a leaf; the leaf is sword-shaped). ORD. _Orchideæ_. Distinct evergreen epiphytes. There are about six species known, and the genus belongs to the _Epidendreæ_ division of orchidaceous plants; their general characters are: Flowers small, numerous, in closely packed cylindrical spikes; anther-bed broad, shorter than the broad extension of the upper edge of the stigma; pollinia eight. Stems rather long, with white sheaths. They thrive well in fibrous peat, one-third turfy loam, freely interspersed with lumps of fresh charcoal and an abundance of crocks. When growing, a liberal supply of water at the roots is essential, as is also a situation near the light, where they will blossom much more profusely than if in any way shaded. The flowers last in perfection about four weeks. =A. cardinale= (cardinal). _fl._, sepals and petals light rose; lip deep red, on upright spikes about 1ft. high. Summer. New Grenada. =A. giganteum= (gigantic).* _fl._ dark purple and rose, densely and symmetrically arranged on the cylindrical spikes, which are from 12in. to 14in. long. April and May. _l._ dark green, about 2ft. long, borne on slender pseudo-bulbs. Mexico. =A. spicatum= (spike-flowered).* _fl._ dark red, on an upright spike about 1ft. long. During winter. Guatemala, 1839. =ARRACACHA= (its Spanish name in South America). ORD. _Umbelliferæ_. A half-hardy tuberous perennial, highly esteemed as an esculent in South America, where it yields a food, which is prepared in the same manner as potatoes, and is said to be grateful to the palate and extremely easy of digestion. It thrives best in rich loam, and is increased by divisions of the roots. =A. esculenta= (edible). _fl._ white; umbels opposite the leaves or terminal; involucre wanting. July. _l._ pinnate; leaflets broadly ovate, acuminated, deeply pinnatifid, profoundly serrated; the two lower leaflets petiolate, sub-ternate. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Mountainous districts of Northern South America, 1823. SYN. _Conium Arracacha_. =ARRHOSTOXYLUM.= Included under =Ruellia= (which _see_). =ARROW ARUM.= _See_ =Peltandra virginica=. =ARROWGRASS.= _See_ =Triglochin=. =ARROW-HEAD.= _See_ =Sagittaria=. =ARROWROOT.= _See_ =Maranta=. =ARTABOTRYS= (from _artao_, to suspend or support, and _botrys_, grapes; in reference to the way the fruit is supported by the curious tendril). ORD. _Anonaceæ_. A handsome stove evergreen shrub, thriving in a good sandy loam and peat, to which a little rotten dung may be added. Propagated by cuttings made of ripened wood, insert in sand under a bell glass, with bottom heat, in early spring. Seed, when procurable, should be sown as soon after receipt as possible. =A. odoratissimus= (sweetest-scented).* _fl._ reddish brown, extremely fragrant; peduncles opposite the leaves, hooked beneath the middle. June and July. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, acuminated, smooth, shining. _h._ 6ft. Malayan Islands, 1758. In Java, the leaves are held to be invaluable as a preventive of cholera. =ARTANEMA= (from _artao_, to support, and _nema_, a filament; in reference to a tooth-like process growing on the longer filaments). ORD. _Scrophularineæ_. An interesting and handsome greenhouse evergreen shrub, allied to _Torenia_. Flowers disposed in terminal racemes, and on short pedicels. Leaves opposite, sub-serrated. It may be treated as hardy during summer, for which purpose seeds should be sown in spring; but it requires the protection of a greenhouse during winter. Artanema grows freely in light rich soil, and is readily increased by cuttings and seeds. =A. fimbriatum= (fringed). _fl._, corolla blue, large, tubularly funnel-shaped, clothed with minute glandular pubescence outside; lobes unequally serrated; racemes terminal, four to sixteen-flowered. June, November. _l._ lanceolate, acute, serrated, rough to the touch from numerous elevated dots. Stem smooth, glossy. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. New Holland (on the banks of the Brisbane River at Moreton Bay), 1830. =ARTANTHE.= _See_ =Piper=. =ARTEMISIA= (from Artemis, one of the names of Diana). Mugwort; Southernwood; Wormwood. ORD. _Compositæ_. A very large genus of mostly hardy herbaceous perennials, few of which, comparatively speaking, are worth growing. Flower-heads disposed in spikes, or racemes, and these are usually arranged in panicles; pappus none; involucre few-flowered, ovate or rounded, imbricated; florets of the disk all tubular; of the ray, if any, slender, awl-shaped. Leaves alternate, variously lobed. All the species are of the easiest possible culture in any dry soil. The shrubby kinds are best propagated by cuttings; the herbaceous ones, by dividing at the root; and the annuals, by seeds. =A. Abrotanum= (aromatic herb).* Southernwood. _fl.-heads_ yellowish. August to October. _l._, lower ones bipinnate; upper ones pinnate, with the segments hair-like. Stem straight. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Europe, 1548. A deciduous shrub; well known for its fragrance. =A. A. humile= (low). A low spreading variety. _h._ 1-1/2ft. =A. A. tobolskianum= (Tobolskian). A much more vigorous growing variety than the last, and larger in all its parts than the type. =A. alpina= (alpine).* _fl.-heads_ yellow, solitary, on long slender stalks; scales of involucre lanceolate. Summer. _l._ pinnate, covered with whitish silky hairs; lobes linear, entire. _h._ 6in. to 10in. Caucasus, 1804. Dwarf, with a very tufted habit. =A. anethifolia= (Anethum-leaved). _fl.-heads_ yellowish-green, small; panicle very large, densely packed, nearly 2ft. long. Autumn. _l._ chiefly cauline, much divided into thread-like segments, greyish-green. Stem shrubby at the base, nearly glabrous, branching at the top. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Siberia, 1816. =A. argentea= (silvery).* _fl.-heads_ pale yellow, roundish, closely packed. July. _l._ ovate-oblong, very freely divided, densely clothed with soft silvery hairs. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Madeira, 1777. A very pretty species, requiring a warm sunny position on the rockery. =A. cana= (hoary).* _fl.-heads_ yellow, small, uninteresting, ovate, in a close spiky panicle. August. _l._ silky, hoary; lower ones wedge-shaped, sharply three-cleft; cauline ones linear-lanceolate, three-nerved. Stem ascending; branches erect. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. North America, 1800. This is a very distinct species, and its silvery leaves and stems render it well worthy of cultivation. =A. c�rulescens= (bluish).* _fl.-heads_ bluish, erect, cylindrical. August. _l._ hoary, most of them lanceolate, entire, tapering at the base; lower ones variously divided. _h._ 2ft. South Europe. An ornamental evergreen shrub. =A. Dracunculus.=* Tarragon. _fl.-heads_ whitish green; racemes panicled; heads sub-globose. July. _l._, radical ones three-fid; cauline ones sessile, linear or linear-oblong, acute, entire, toothed. _h._ 2ft. South Europe, 1548. _See_ =Tarragon=. =A. frigida= (frigid). _fl.-heads_ yellow, uninteresting, small, roundish, racemosely panicled. August. _l._ pinnate; segments narrow, silvery. _h._ 1ft. Siberia, 1826. A pretty creeping, herbaceous plant. =A. maritima= (maritime). _fl.-heads_ brown; racemes oblong, erect or drooping. August and September. _l._ downy, bipinnatifid, oblong; segments linear. Britain. A much branched, erect, or decumbent plant, excellent for rough rockwork or very dry banks, etc. =A. Mutellina= (Mutellina).* _fl.-heads_ yellowish-green; lower ones stalked, upper ones sessile. July. _l._ all palmate, multifid, white. Stem quite simple. _h._ 6in. European Alps, 1815. =A. pontica= (Pontine). _fl.-heads_ yellow, roundish, stalked, nodding. September. _l._ downy beneath; cauline ones bipinnate; leaflets linear. _h._ 3ft. Austria, 1570. =A. rupestris= (rock). _fl.-heads_ brown, globose, stalked, nodding. August. _l._ sub-pubescent; cauline ones pinnatifid; leaflets linear, acute. _h._ 6in. Norway, &c., 1748. =A. scoparia= (twiggy-branched). _fl.-heads_ small, whitish; panicle broad, densely packed, about 1-1/2ft. long. Autumn. _l._ much divided; segments hair-like; lower branches very slender. _h._ 3ft. to 5ft. East Europe. =A. spicata= (spicate). _fl.-heads_ brown, spicate. June and July. _l._ hoary; radical ones palmate multifid; cauline ones pinnatifid; upper linear, entire, blunt. Stem quite simple. _h._ 1ft. Switzerland, 1790. =A. Stelleriana= (Steller's).* _fl.-heads_ yellow, uninteresting, round, somewhat erect. Summer. _l._, lower ones spathulate-incised; upper ones obtusely lobed; end lobes often confluent, about 2in. long, silvery white. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Siberia. =A. tanacetifolia= (Tanacetum-leaved). _fl.-heads_ brownish; racemes simple, terminal. Summer. _l._ bipinnate; lobes linear sub-lanceolate, entire, acuminated, rather downy. Stem sometimes branching at the base, herbaceous. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Siberia, 1768. =A. vulgaris= (common).* Mugwort. _fl.-heads_ yellow, somewhat racemed, ovate. August. _l._ pinnatifid; segments white, and downy beneath. Stems 3ft. to 4ft. high, furrowed. Britain. The variegated form of this species exhibits a very pleasing contrast. There is also a pretty variety with golden leaves. =ARTHROPHYLLUM MADAGASCARIENSE.= _See_ =Phyllarthron Bojeriana=. =ARTHROPODIUM= (from _arthron_, a joint, and _pous_, a foot; the footstalks of the flowers being jointed). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. Very pretty greenhouse herbaceous perennials, allied to _Anthericum_. Flowers purplish or white, in loose racemes. Leaves grass-like, radical. They thrive well in a compost of sandy loam and peat, and may be increased freely by divisions or seeds. =A. cirratum= (curled). _fl._ white; racemes divided; bracteas leafy. May. _l._ lanceolate, ensiform, spreading, 1ft. long. _h._ 3ft. New Zealand, 1821. =A. fimbriatum= (fringed). _fl._ white. July. _h._ 1-1/2ft. New Holland, 1822. =A. neo-caledonicum= (New Caledonian).* _fl._ small, white, on a much-branched, many-flowered panicle. May. _l._ tufted, linear-lanceolate, barred with black linear markings near the base. _h._ 1-1/2ft. New Caledonia, 1877. =A. paniculatum= (panicled).* _fl._ white; racemes divided; pedicels clustered; inner sepals crenulate. May. _l._ narrowly lanceolate. _h._ 3ft. New South Wales, 1800. _A. minus_ is a small form of this species. =A. pendulum= (pendulous).* _fl._ white, clustered in threes, pendulous. June to August. _l._ linear, keeled, shorter than the branched scape. _h._ 1-1/2ft. New Holland, 1822. =ARTHROPTERIS.= _See_ =Nephrodium= and =Nephrolepis=. =ARTHROSTEMMA= (from _arthron_, a joint, and _stemon_, a stamen; in reference to the stamens or connectives being jointed). ORD. _Melastomaceæ_. Beautiful stove or greenhouse evergreen shrubs. Tube of calyx turbinate or campanulate, usually clothed with bristles, pili, or scales; lobes four, lanceolate, permanent, without any appendages between them; petals four. A mixture of loam, peat, and sand, suits them best; and cuttings of small firm side shoots will root, in April or August, under a hand glass in sandy soil. Only three or four out of the half-dozen species belonging to this genus have been as yet introduced. =A. fragile= (brittle). _fl._ rosy; cymes loose, terminal, few-flowered; calyx glandular. July. _l._ ovate-cordate, acute, five-nerved, serrated; branches tetragonal, beset with glandular hairs. _h._ 3ft. Mexico, 1846. Stove species. =A. nitida= (glossy-leaved). _fl._ lilac; peduncles axillary towards the top of the branches, three-flowered, longer than the petioles. June. _l._ ovate, acute, serrulated, glabrous on both surfaces, shining above, but glandularly hispid on the nerves beneath. Stems shrubby, erect, and are, as well as the branches, tetragonally winged, beset with coloured hairs. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Buenos Ayres, 1829 greenhouse species. =A. versicolor= (changeable-flowered). _fl._, petals obovate, ciliated, at first white, but at length becoming reddish, terminal, solitary. September. _l._ petiolate, ovate, serrulated, five-nerved, discoloured beneath. Plant shrubby; hairy. _h._ 1ft. Brazil (on the sea shore), 1825. Stove species. =ARTHROTAXIS.= _See_ =Athrotaxis=. =ARTICHOKE, GLOBE.= (_Cynara Scolymus_, a cultivated form of _C. Cardunculus_). As a vegetable, the Globe Artichoke is cultivated for the use of the immature flower-heads, and is highly esteemed. A good open position, free from overhanging trees, is best suited for its culture generally, but, by planting successional suckers in different aspects, the season may be considerably prolonged. The soil must be of good depth, rich, and not too heavy. It may be greatly improved for Artichoke culture by the addition of sea-weeds or salt applied as manure. [Illustration: FIG. 151. GLOBE ARTICHOKE.] _Preparation of Soil._ Trench the ground two spits deep if possible, mixing a liberal dressing of well-rotted manure in autumn, and ridge up for the winter, to sweeten. Crude manure full of straw, leaves, and sticks, often induce fungoid growths, and are most injurious to the crowns of the plants. Clay or stiff loam is about the worst soil on which to attempt the culture of this vegetable; this drawback may, however, to some extent be alleviated by the addition and thorough amalgamation of a light free soil or liberal dressings of sandy road drifts, or similar materials. An ill-drained soil is also fatal to good results. During hot, dry weather, the plants are greatly benefited by copious applications of clear water and dilute liquid manure; and this must be especially attended to on such soils as are liable to burn or dry up in summer. _Cultivation._ When the beds have been properly prepared, the plants should be put in them in April or May. Place three together in rows between 3ft. and 4ft. apart, and about 3ft. from plant to plant. Water-in carefully to settle the soil around the roots, and apply a mulching of half-decayed manure, to prevent an undue evaporation of moisture. During hot, dry weather, give liberal supplies of water, and the plants will become established as fine stools the first season. A few heads will probably be produced the first year; but there will not be much of a crop until the second season, when five or six good heads will be got from each plant, and for three or four years the produce will be large if the beds are properly attended to; after which time it will become desirable to make up new plantations. In October or November, it will be necessary to apply a good mulching of straw or fern to the beds, to protect the plants from frost. In April, all this litter should be cleaned off, a dressing of rotten manure applied, and the beds forked over and kept clean for the rest of the season, treating as before described. Great care must be taken to remove the heads as soon as they are in a fit state; and, when the whole of them are removed from the stems, cut the latter out as low as possible. Globe Artichokes will keep for some considerable time if laid in a cool place, although they will deteriorate in quality. These plants may be used in the background of flower borders in the kitchen garden, their handsome foliage being peculiarly well adapted for such purposes, whilst their economical value is also secured. See Fig. 151. Where there is plenty of room in light, warm sheds, orchard houses, or other places where frost can be kept out, some stools can be taken up with the root intact in the early part of November, placed in boxes of soil, and well watered-in. When drained, the boxes may be put in any of those positions for their winter quarters, and, if kept moist, will develop much earlier than the outdoor crops, provided they are planted out early in April on a warm border, and protected with mats when the weather is cold. Propagation may be effected by seeds, or by suckers from the old stools, the latter being the better plan. In the former case, sow the seeds in March, on a gentle hotbed, and prick the seedlings off singly, when large enough, into small pots. Harden off by the last week in May, and plant out in threes as previously recommended, protecting the plants from late frosts. During the growing season, give an abundance of water and liquid manure mulching, to prevent undue evaporation. In November, well cover with dry litter which will not heat; and, in hard frosts, or heavy snow, throw a few mats over the beds, uncovering at the same time as recommended above for the older plants. To propagate by rooted offsets or suckers, take up and divide the stools, when they have made a fair amount of growth in April or early in May, separating the suckers with as many roots and as much soil adhering to them as possible. The old woody portions are of little use, but they may be replanted to give off a fresh supply of suckers for the next year, if required. Propagation by suckers, if they are to be obtained, has many advantages; but care must be taken, in removing them from old plants, that some roots are attached, or growth will be uncertain. Seeds generally produce a large percentage of plants that are useless, and this is not found out until the flower-heads appear. On the other hand, suckers reproduce the parent plant, and if these are previously selected, the superior stock is thereby perpetuated. _Sorts._ The Green and Purple are the best for ordinary purposes; and of these preference should be given to the former. _See also_ =Cynara=. =ARTICHOKE, JERUSALEM= (_Helianthus tuberosus_). A hardy tuberous-rooted herbaceous perennial, native of Brazil. The roots are used as a vegetable principally during the winter, sometimes as a dish, but more generally for flavouring purposes. Plants will grow in almost any position, but the best results and largest tubers are obtained where they receive plenty of room and liberal treatment. Their culture has been recommended as a substitute for the potato, but they are not likely to take the place of this vegetable, the flavour being disliked by many persons. A few are, however, generally acceptable. _Cultivation._ To ensure the most successful results, trench over a piece of ground in autumn, and give a light dressing of manure. Fork over in March; at the same time plant good-shaped tubers (see Fig. 152) in rows about 3ft. apart, and allow from 18in. to 2ft. between the tubers in the rows. Keep clear of weeds; and, as soon as the foliage is yellow, in the latter part of the autumn, the roots will be fit for use. The best plan with this crop is to leave it in the ground till wanted, or till the end of February, and then to take up every tuber, replanting those which are wanted for stock, and storing the others away in a cold dry place. When they commence growth, they turn black, and are of little use for cooking, save for flavouring soups. This vegetable has of late years grown into favour as a marketable crop, and the demand seems to be increasing. Considering its very easy culture, it is fairly remunerative. _See also_ =Helianthus=. [Illustration: FIG. 152. TUBERS OF JERUSALEM ARTICHOKE.] =ARTICULATE, ARTICULATED.= Jointed; having joints. =ARTILLERY PLANT.= _See_ =Pilea microphylla=. =ARTOCARPE�.= A tribe of the large order _Urticaceæ_. =ARTOCARPUS= (from _artos_, bread, and _carpos_, fruit; the fruit, when baked, resembling bread). Bread Fruit. SYNS. _Polyphema_, _Rademachia_, _Rima_. ORD. _Urticaceæ_. TRIBE _Artocarpeæ_. Included in this most remarkable tribe, in addition to the Bread Fruit Tree, is the virulent poisonous _Antiaris toxicaria_, and the economic Cow Tree (_Brosimum Galactodendron_), of Caraccas. A genus of stove evergreen trees, requiring a high and very moist atmosphere, a copious supply of water, perfect drainage, and a compost of two parts rich loam and one of leaf mould, with the addition of a little silver sand. Under all conditions, this genus is difficult to propagate; the young and slender lateral growths are adapted for cuttings; and suckers may be utilised when procurable, which is very rare. =A. Cannoni= (Cannon's).* _l._ alternate, petiolate; petiole and midrib bright red; upper surface glossy, of a rich, full bronzy crimson hue, beautifully tinted with purple; under surface bright vinous red. The leaves vary much in form; some are simple and cordate at the base, with the apex irregularly lobate; some have the apex regularly three-lobed, with short, entire lobes; and others, again, are deep three-lobed, being divided nearly to the base, the segments, of which the centre one is largest, being slightly sinuate-lobed. _h._ 7ft. Society Islands, 1877. This is a most distinct and handsome ornamental-leaved plant. =A. incisa= (incised).* True Bread Fruit. _l._ from 2ft. to 3ft. long, deeply lobed or incised, deep green on the upper side, paler below. _h._ 50ft. South Sea Islands, 1793. This is a noble tree when full grown, and forms a most distinct and beautiful stove plant. The extraordinary fruit is produced from the axils of the leaves in large globular heads, and is highly valued as an article of food in its native country. =A. integrifolia= (entire-leaved). _l._ oblong, undivided, sinuated, scabrous, downy beneath. _h._ 30ft. India, 1778. =A. laciniata metallica= (laciniate, metallic). _l._ bronzy above, reddish purple beneath. Polynesia. [Illustration: FIG. 153. ARUM MACULATUM.] =ARUM= (formerly _aron_, and probably of Egyptian extraction). ORD. _Aroideæ_. A large genus of ornamental or curious, hardy, greenhouse or stove perennials, with thick rhizomes and pedate or hastate leaves. Spathe large, convolute; spadix naked and club-shaped at the top. They are all of easy culture, and the indoor species will thrive with such treatment as is given to _Alocasias_, _Caladiums_, &c. Rich soil is one of the first conditions of success. Like most plants grown for the beauty of their foliage, rapid and free growth is necessary. A compost of good rich loam, with a third of sweet manure, thoroughly rotted, or leaf mould, with some sharp sand, is very suitable. Plenty of moisture is necessary during the growing season, after which the tender kinds should be kept moderately dry, warm, and at rest during the winter. The hardy kinds may be left in the ground. Propagated by seeds or division of the roots--usually the latter. The best time to divide them is just as they commence their new growth, securing as many roots as possible to each division. Any rootless pieces should be placed in heat shortly after removal; this hastens the formation of roots and excites top growth. Arums are useful in sub-tropical gardening, and are otherwise interesting plants both for indoors and outside cultivation; and the hardy kinds are very suitable for naturalising in woodlands, &c. There are many other species besides those here described, but the following list comprises the best. Sub-sections of the genus will be found treated separately, such as =Amorphophallus= (which _see_), &c. [Illustration: FIG. 154. ARUM DRACUNCULUS.] =A. bulbosum= (bulbous). Synonymous with _A. ternatum_. =A. Dracontium= (Green Dragon). _fl._, spadix subulate, longer than the oblong convolute green spathe. June. _l._ pedate, entire. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1759. Hardy. =A. Dracunculus= (Common Dragon).* _fl._, spadix lanceolate, shorter than the ovate, flat, smooth, brown spathe. July. _l._ pedate, entire. _h._ 3ft. South Europe, 1548. Hardy. SYN. _Dracunculus vulgaris_. See Fig. 154. =A. indicum= (Indian). _See_ =Colocasia indica=. =A. italicum= (Italian).* _fl._, spathe ventricose below, opening nearly flat and very broad above; apex often falling over very shortly after expansion, sometimes greenish yellow, at others nearly white; spadix yellowish or creamy white, club-shaped, about one-third as long as the spathe. Spring. _l._ appearing before winter, radical, triangular-hastate. _h._ 9in. to 2ft. Channel Islands and Cornwall, &c. Hardy. =A. i. marmorata= (marbled).* _l._ marbled with yellow. A very pretty and effective hardy border plant. =A. maculatum= (spotted). Lords and Ladies; Cuckoo Pint. _fl._, spathe ventricose below and above, constricted in the middle, with inflexed edges when open, spotted with dull purple; spadix usually purple, shorter than the spathe. Spring. _l._ vernal radical, hastate-sagittate, with deflexed lobes. _h._ 9in. Britain, &c. This species is admirably adapted for a corner in the wild garden. See Fig. 153. =A. Malyi= (Maly's). _fl._ whitish. Montenegro, 1860. =A. Nickelli= (Nickel's). Levant, 1859. A form of _A. italicum_. =A. orientale= (eastern). _fl._ resembling those of _A. maculatum_. June. _l._ brownish, simple, ovate, slightly sagittate. _h._ 1ft. Tauria, 1820. Hardy. =A. palæstinum= (Palestine).* _fl._, spathe 7in. to 11in. long, purplish blotched or spotted outside, rich velvety black inside and yellowish white at the base of the tube; spadix much shorter than the spathe; petiole usually rising 8in. or 9in. above the leaves. May. _l._ four or five, triangular-hastate, acute, from 6in. to 14in. long, and from 3-1/2in. to 7-1/2in. broad; petioles 12in. to 18in. long. Jerusalem, 1864. Tender. =A. pictum= (painted). _h._ 2ft. Corsica, 1801. Hardy. =A. proboscideum= (proboscis-like).* _fl._, spathe greenish purple, navicular, horizontal, terminated by a straight tail; scapes arising from among the petioles. May. _l._ radical, about four, cordate-elliptic, entire. _h._ 6in. South Europe, 1823. Hardy. =A. spectabile= (showy). _fl._, spathe ovate-oblong, acuminate, dark purplish inside, longer than the purplish spadix. _l._ broadly hastate-sagittate. _h._ 1ft. Asia Minor. Half-hardy. =A. spirale= (spiral). _fl._, spadix lanceolate, shorter than the oblong-lanceolate spirally twisted brown spathe. May. _l._ linear-lanceolate. Plant stemless. _h._ 1ft. China, 1816. Tender. =A. tenuifolium= (narrow-leaved).* _fl._, spadix subulate, longer than the white lanceolate spathe. April. _l._ linear-lanceolate. Plant stemless. _h._ 1ft. South Europe, 1570. Hardy. =A. ternatum= (three-leafleted). A synonym of _Pinellia tuberifera_. =A. variolatum= (variegated). Dalmatia, 1859. Hardy. =A. venosum= (veined). A synonym of _Sauromatum guttatum_. =A. Zelebori= (Zelebor's). A form of _A. maculatum_. =ARUM LILY.= _See_ =Richardia æthiopica=. =ARUNDINARIA= (altered from _arundo_, a reed). ORD. _Gramineæ_. A small genus of hardy or nearly hardy shrubby grasses, having strong jointed stems, and frequently included under _Bambusa_. For sub-tropical gardening purposes more particularly it is exceedingly ornamental as an isolated tuft. It thrives best in a deep, rich soil, and requires plenty of water when in a growing state. Increased by division of the roots. [Illustration: FIG. 155. ARUNDINARIA FALCATA.] =A. falcata= (sickle-shaped).* _l._ linear-lanceolate, very acute, shortly stalked, very light green. Stems freely branched, deep green, and very slender. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. India. An extremely handsome species for greenhouse decoration; also for outdoor work, particularly in the South of England, &c. SYN. _Bambusa gracilis_, of gardens. =A. Maximowiczii= (Maximowicz's). This Japanese species is believed to be allied to, if not identical with, _Bambusa Simonii_. Quite hardy. =A. Metake= (Metake). _l._ lanceolate, with very sharp points, dark green, persistent, narrowed into a short leafstalk, 6in. to 12in. long; sheath ample. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. Japan. A handsome, hardy, dwarf, much-branched species, forming grand specimens, and producing flowers very freely. SYN. _Bambusa japonica_. =ARUNDO= (origin of word doubtful; stated by some authorities to be from _arundo_, a reed; and others as from the Celtic _arn_, signifying water). Reed. ORD. _Gramineæ_. A very ornamental group of half or quite hardy plants, of very easy culture in ordinary garden soil, preferring damp situations. Panicle loose; calyx two-valved, unequal, many-flowered; corolla of two very unequal valves; all, except the lower and imperfect one, surrounded by a tuft of hairs. Fruit free, covered by the corolla. Arundos are very valuable either for conservatory decoration, sub*-tropical gardening, or cultivation in clumps on the turf of the flower-garden or pleasure ground, and the margins of lakes. Although well worth growing, all are inferior to their ally, the Pampas Grass. Propagated by seeds or divisions, the spring being the best time to adopt either method of increase. =A. conspicua= (conspicuous).* _fl._ silky-white, on large drooping racemes, and lasting in beauty for several months. _h._ 3ft. to 8ft., but in a good deep and sandy loam it sometimes attains the height of 12ft. New Zealand, 1843. This fine species grows in dense tufts, from which arise numerous leathery, narrow, smooth (or slightly rough), long curving leaves, and erect, slender culms. The plant is not sufficiently hardy to withstand a severe winter, and should, therefore, be protected with mats, or be grown in tubs, so that it can be removed under shelter before the approach of winter. These precautions are unnecessary in the more southern counties of England. =A. Donax= (Donax).* Great Reed. _fl._ reddish, ultimately whitish, in numerous spikelets, forming a large compact panicle 12in. to 16in. long. Autumn. _l._ alternate, lanceolate-acute, large, and ornamental, glaucous green, arching. _h._ about 12ft. South Europe, 1648. This also requires protection during winter in the colder counties. See Fig. 156. =A. D. versicolor= (various-coloured).* _h._ 3ft. South Europe. Although much smaller, this variety is far superior to the type for gardening purposes, and has its leaves ribboned with white. It requires a deep, well drained, sandy loam to thrive well, and a thorough winter protection of cocoa-fibre refuse or coal ashes. For isolated tufts or groups, few plants can equal it. It is propagated by placing a stem in water, which induces little rooted plants to start from the joints; these should be separated, potted off, and kept in frames until thoroughly established. =A. mauritanica= (Mediterranean Reed). This is a rare greenhouse species, closely allied to _A. Donax_, but inferior to it. [Illustration: FIG. 156. ARUNDO DONAX.] =ARYTERA.= A synonym of =Ratonia= (which _see_). =ASAF�TIDA.= _See_ =Narthex Asaf�tida=. =ASARABACCA.= _See_ =Asarum europæum=. =ASARUM= (from _a_, not, and _saron_, feminine; derivation doubtful). ORD. _Aristolochiaceæ_. Curious hardy herbaceous perennials, with bell-shaped, three-cleft perianths. They should be planted at the foot of the rockery, or in borders or woodlands, as they are not very showy, but are, nevertheless, worth growing, and easily propagated by divisions, in spring. =A. canadense= (Canadian).* _fl._ brown, campanulate, on a short peduncle, sometimes nearly buried. May and June. _l._ in pairs, broadly reniform. _h._ 1ft. Canada, &c., 1713. [Illustration: FIG. 157. ASARUM CAUDATUM.] =A. caudatum= (tailed).* _fl._ brownish-red, with attenuated or caudate calyx lobes. July. _l_. cordate-reniform, hooded, sub-acute, or bluntish, slightly pubescent. California, 1880. A rare and pretty species. See Fig. 157. =A. europæum= (European). A sarabacca. _fl._ dull brown, solitary, rather large, drooping; segments of perianth incurved. May. _l._ two on each stem, roundish-reniform, stalked, slightly waved. _h._ 1ft. England. =ASCENDING.= Directed upwards; as the stem, which is the ascending axis. =ASCLEPIADE�.= A large order of, for the most part, lactescent, climbing shrubs. Flowers sub-umbellate, fascicled or racemose, interpetiolar; pollen collected in the form of waxy masses, coalescing to the cells of the anthers; follicles two, one of which is abortive. Leaves entire, usually opposite. =ASCLEPIAS= (the Greek name of �sculapius of the Latins). Swallow-wort. ORD. _Asclepiadeæ_. Erect, hardy, herbaceous or sub-shrubby perennials, except where otherwise specified. Corolla five-parted, reflexed; umbels interpetiolar; corona seated on the upper part of the tube of the filaments, five-leaved. Leaves opposite, verticillate, sometimes alternate. Most of the hardy species are very handsome border plants, thriving in peaty, or light rich soil, and are increased by dividing the roots in spring, and sometimes also by seeds. The doubtfully hardy or rarer species should always be grown in a peat soil, and have a little protection during severe frost, by mulching the roots. The most important of the greenhouse and stove species is _A. curassavica_. In order to obtain good bushy specimens of this, it will be necessary to cut the plants back annually, after keeping them slightly dry, and resting for a month or two in midwinter. When growth has sufficiently advanced, they should be shaken out and repotted. At this stage, a close, moist atmosphere will be needful to produce the usually very free growth. The points of the shoots must be nipped out, in order to promote a bushy habit. When the pots have become filled with roots, liquid manure may be applied; but it must be quite clear and not over strong. All the indoor species grow best in good fibry loam and leaf mould, and require to be potted firmly. Cuttings should be secured in spring, struck in gentle heat, under a bell glass, and as soon as they are well rooted, potted into 60-size pots. A shift must be given as often as the pots become filled with roots, up to the time when the plant commences flowering. Seeds may be sown in pots in spring, pricked out singly when large enough, and then treated similarly to cuttings. =A. acuminata= (taper-pointed).* _fl._ red and white; umbels lateral, solitary, erect. July. _l._ ovate, sub-cordate, acuminated, on short petioles; superior ones sessile, glabrous, but rough on the edges. Stems erect, glabrous, simple. _h._ 2ft. New Jersey, 1826. Hardy, herbaceous. =A. am�na= (pleasing).* _fl._ beautiful purple; umbels terminal, erect; appendages of corona exserted, red. July. _l._ opposite, almost sessile, oblong-oval, downy beneath, with a large purple middle nerve. Stem simple, with two rows of down. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. New England, 1732. Hardy, herbaceous. =A. Cornuti= (Cornuti's).* Synonymous with _A. syriaca_. =A. curassavica= (Curassavian). Redhead. _fl._ reddish orange-scarlet; umbels erect, solitary, lateral. July to September. _l._ opposite, oblong-lanceolate, tapering at both ends. Stem rather downy, simple, seldom a little branched. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. Tropical America, 1692. The white-flowered variety is a very pretty contrast. Stove herbaceous. =A. Douglasii= (Douglas's).* _fl._ large, waxy, purplish-lilac, sweet-scented, in many-flowered umbels. Summer. _l._ opposite, ovate-cordate, acuminated, 6-1/2in. long by 5in. or more wide, glabrous above, downy beneath. Stem thick, woolly, simple. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. West America, 1846. =A. hybrida= (hybrid). A synonym of _A. purpurascens_. =A. incarnata= (flesh-coloured).* _fl._ red or purplish; umbels numerous, usually twin. July. _l._ opposite, lanceolate, rather woolly on both surfaces. Stem erect, branched and tomentose at the top. _h._ 2ft. Canada (on the banks of rivers), 1710. Hardy, herbaceous. =A. mexicana= (Mexican). _fl._ white; umbels many-flowered. July. _l._ verticillate, linear-lanceolate, with revolute edges; lower ones four to six in a whorl; upper ones three in a whorl, or opposite. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Mexico, 1821. Greenhouse evergreen. =A. phytolaccoides= (Phytolacca-like). _fl._ purple; corona white, with truncate leaflets; umbels lateral and terminal, solitary, on long peduncles, drooping. July. _l._ broad, ovate-oblong, acute, glabrous, paler beneath. Stem erect, simple, spotted with purple. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Virginia and Carolina (on the mountains), 1812. =A. purpurascens= (purplish). _fl._ purple; umbels erect. July. _l._ opposite, large, ovate, with a purplish middle nerve, villous beneath. Stem simple, rather hairy at top, brownish green at bottom. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Virginia (in shady swamps), 1732. Hardy. SYN. _A. hybrida_. =A. quadrifolia= (four-leaved).* _fl._ white, small, sweet-scented, with red nectaries; umbels twin, terminal, loose-flowered; pedicels filiform. July. _l._ ovate, acuminated, petiolate; those in the middle of the stem larger, and four in a whorl; the rest opposite. Stems erect, simple, glabrous. _h._ 1ft. New York, 1820. Hardy species. =A. rubra= (red), _fl._ red; umbels compound, July, August. _l._ alternate, ovate, acuminated. Stem erect, simple. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Virginia, 1825. =A. Sullivanti= (Sullivant's). Similar to _A. syriaca_, but having larger and deeper coloured flowers. =A. syriaca= (Syrian).* _fl._ pale purple, sweet scented, in large, loose, drooping umbels. July. _l._ opposite, lanceolate-oblong, or oval, gradually acute, tomentose beneath. Stems simple. _h._ 3ft. to 5ft. North America, 1629. SYN. _A. Cornuti_. [Illustration: FIG. 158. FLOWERING BRANCH OF ASCLEPIAS TUBEROSA.] =A. tuberosa= (tuberous).* _fl._ bright orange, very showy; umbels disposed in a terminal sub-corymb. July to September. _l._ scattered, oblong-lanceolate, hairy. Stems erectish, divaricately branched at top, very hairy. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. North America (in stony, sandy fields and woods), 1690. A desirable hardy herbaceous border plant. See Fig. 158. =A. variegata= (variegated). _fl._, petals and foliola of corona white, fructification red, in dense umbels, very handsome; umbels almost sessile; pedicels hairy. July. _l._ opposite, ovate, petiolate, wrinkled, naked. Stems simple. erect, variegated with purple. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. New York to Carolina (on dry, sandy hills), 1597. =A. verticillata= (whorled). _fl._, corolla with yellowish green petals and white nectaries; umbels many-flowered. July and August. _l._ very narrow, linear, thick, quite glabrous, usually verticillate, but sometimes scattered. Stems erect, often branched, having a downy line on one side. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. New Jersey, 1759. =ASCYRON.= _See_ =Hypericum Ascyron=. =ASCYRUM= (from _a_, without, and _skyros_, hard; that is to say, a plant which is soft to the touch). ORD. _Hypericinæ_. A genus of elegant little herbs and sub-shrubs, with sessile, entire leaves, destitute of pellucid dots, but usually furnished with black dots beneath. Flowers resembling _Hypericum_. They require to be protected during winter by a frame; for this purpose they should be grown in pots, as they never exist long in the open border. A compost of peat, pure leaf soil, and sand, in equal portions, suits them well; young cuttings of the shrubby kinds will root in sand under a hand bell glass. Propagated by careful divisions of the roots in spring. All may be raised from seeds. =A. amplexicaule= (stem-clasping). _fl._ yellow, few, axillary, and terminal; corymbs naked. July. _l._ stem-clasping, ovate, cordate, sinuately-curled. Stem dichotomously panicled. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1823. The flowers and leaves are longer in this than in any other of the species. =A. Crux Andreæ.=* St. Andrew's Cross. _fl._, petals narrow-pale, yellow, nearly sessile, in terminal corymbs. July. _l._ ovate-linear, obtuse, usually in bundles in the axils. Stem shrubby, round. _h._ 1ft. North America (in sandy fields), 1759. This proves to be quite hardy in many situations. =A. hypericoides= (Hypericum-like). _fl._ yellow. August. _l._ linear-oblong, obtuse. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1759. =A. stans= (standing). St. Peter's Wort. _fl._ yellow. August. _l._ oval or oblong, somewhat clasping. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1816. =ASHES.= The earthy or mineral particles of combustible substances, remaining after combustion. Ashes are amongst the most economical manures. _Vegetable Ashes_ are generally the best application for manuring boggy, cold, and, consequently, sour and unprofitable land, in quantities of about forty bushels per acre, thinly and evenly distributed. The annual exhaustion of salts from large crops of grain, roots, and grass, is from 180lb. to more than 250lb. per acre; and the aggregate of a few years will so far impoverish the soil in one or more of the principles necessary to sustain a luxuriant vegetation, that it will cease to yield remunerating returns. The ashes of vegetables consist of such elements as are always required for their perfect maturity, and it is evident they must furnish one of the best saline manures which can be supplied for their growth; they contain, in fact, every element, and generally in the right proportions, for insuring a full and rapid growth. Both gardener and farmer will therefore perceive the great value of Ashes to their crops. _Coal Ashes._ The bituminous and anthracite coals afford Ashes, and, although inferior in quality to those made from wood and vegetables, are, like them, a valuable manure, and they should be applied to the land in a similar manner. If they contain many cinders, from not having been thoroughly burned, they are more suited to heavy than to light soils. Coal Ashes, if very fine, may be sprinkled half an inch deep on the surface, over peas and beans, &c., to preserve them from mice; they may also be used for garden and greenhouse walks, where bricks or tiles are absent, being tidy in appearance, and an excellent substitute for other and more expensive material. _Peat Ashes._ Peat approaching to purity, when thrown out of its bed and thoroughly dried, may be burned to an imperfect Ash, and when it does not reach this point, it will become thoroughly charred, and reduced to cinders. The process of burning should be as slow as possible. In either form, it is a valuable dressing for the soil. =ASH-TREE.= _See_ =Fraxinus=. =ASIATIC POISON BULB.= _See_ =Crinum asiaticum=. =ASIMINA= (meaning unknown). ORD. _Anonaceæ_. Hardy shrubs, with oblong, cuneated, usually deciduous leaves. Flowers sometimes rising before the leaves, usually solitary and axillary. They thrive freely in a mixture of sand and peat. Propagated by layers put down in the autumn, or by seed, procured from their native country. Seedlings should be raised in pots, and sheltered in winter, until they have acquired a considerable size. [Illustration: FIG. 159. FLOWERING BRANCH OF ASIMINA TRILOBA.] =A. triloba= (three-lobed).* _fl._ campanulate, the three outer petals pale purplish, and the three inner ones smaller, purplish on the outside as well as the inside at the base and apex, with the middle yellow, about 2in. diameter, produced between the upper leaves. May. _l._ oblong-cuneated, often acuminated, and, as well as the branches, smoothish. _h._ 10ft. Pennsylvania, 1736. A small tree or shrub. See Fig. 159. =ASKALLON= (the Eschallot). _See_ =Allium ascalonicum=. =ASPALATHUS= (from _a_, not, and _spao_, to extract; in reference to the difficulty of extracting its thorns from a wound). Including _Sarcophyllus_. ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Shrubs or sub-shrubs, natives, with one exception, of the Cape of Good Hope. Flowers usually yellow, furnished with three bracteoles, or a leaf comprised of three leaflets. Leaves of three to five leaflets, disposed palmately, rarely pinnately, having scarcely any or very short petioles. All the species are pretty when in flower, and thrive in a mixture of loam, peat, and sand. Young cuttings of half-ripened wood will strike in April, in sand, under bell glasses, which must be wiped dry occasionally. But little water is needed. Over a hundred species are known; those introduced are very rarely seen in cultivation. =ASPARAGUS= (from _a_, intensive, and _sparasso_, to tear; in reference to the strong prickles of some species). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. Erect or climbing herbs or shrubs, with very small scale-like leaves, and a profusion of numerous slender fascicled-needle, rather spiny branchlets. Flowers axillary, inconspicuous. Fruit baccate. The indoor species will all thrive well in a warm greenhouse temperature, provided they have partial shade, a good supply of moisture at the roots, and are not kept too close, in a moderately rich sandy compost. The hardy species are propagated chiefly by seeds and divisions of the roots. Rich sandy loam is necessary, and otherwise they may be treated as ordinary perennials. Some of the species belonging to this genus are among the most elegant of foliage plants for cutting purposes. _A. decumbens_ and _A. scandens_ make excellent plants for Wardian cases, and may be cut in freely if they exceed their limits. ASPARAGUS (_A. officinalis_) AS A VEGETABLE. The value and importance of this plant as a vegetable cannot be over-estimated; it is extensively grown, and, when properly managed, produces a fairly lucrative crop. _Soil and Bed._ The first thing to be done in the preparation of an Asparagus bed to stand for any length of time, is to secure an efficient drainage; and on wet soils this is best effected by placing a layer of brick rubbish over the whole of the bottom, and connecting this with a drain. On gravelly or other soils which are drained naturally, of course, this is not needed; but if really good crops are a _desideratum_, water should not stand within 3ft. of the surface. In all cases, the ground must be dug to a depth of 18in., and, if stiff, a goodly amount of road sweepings, or other gritty materials, should be well mixed with the staple soil. Asparagus requires a good soil, neither too heavy nor too light. _Manuring._ After the soil has been well trenched, and has lain long enough to settle down, a good dressing of manure--thoroughly rotted, and not too rank, at the rate of from twenty to thirty tons to the acre, dug into the surface of the beds-�will be found very beneficial. If possible, this should be introduced in January; and then, if the weather permits, the beds should be forked two or three times by the end of March, so as to render the soil as friable as possible. A very good manure, and one that is easily obtained, is common garden salt. This may be given annually to established beds. A moderate dressing should be applied just before growth commences in spring, but a little will do no harm at other times during the summer. It is best scattered on with the hand, and a showery day should be selected, as it will then soon disappear. Salt, besides acting as a manure, has also the properties of keeping the beds cool and moist in hot weather, and of preventing the growth of weeds. _Planting._ Asparagus can be planted during March and April, the latter month being the best time for the work. The soil having been thoroughly prepared, the next point is to decide on the size of the beds; this depends on the size of garden, and the class of "grass" desired. When very large and fine stocks are the object in view, the best results will accrue if the plants are fully a yard apart each way; but this means a comparatively small crop. A good plan is to make the beds 3ft. wide, planting two rows, at a distance of 1ft. from each other, and allowing 18in. between each plant, placing them in alternate order. An 18in. alley should be allowed between the beds. The roots used for making the beds should be one year old, and fresh from the ground. In planting, pull out a wide drill with a hoe, or other tool, to the depth of about 3in. or 4in., and spread out the roots all round. Carefully shake the soil in amongst the roots, and, if dry, apply some water through a coarse-rosed watering pot, to settle the earth around them. At intervals, as necessary, give other waterings till September, when they should be discontinued. At all times, keep the beds free from weeds, removing them by the hand to prevent injury to the crowns of the plants. If the ground is good, no liquid manure will be needed the first year. As soon as the foliage turns yellow, cut it off, cleanly rake over the beds, and leave till about January, when a top-dressing of from 1in. to 3in. of thoroughly rotted manure may be applied with advantage. At the end of February, rake off the bed all loose straw or other _debris_, and throw on them a little of the soil from the alleys, raking down, and finishing off the edges squarely and neatly. During this and succeeding years, apply liquid manure and clear water, from time to time, as required; and, provided the manure is not of too great strength, there is scarcely any limit to its application; but, in many instances, beds which have only received an annual dressing have given a good return. Each year they must be cut over and dressed as before described, but care must be taken to keep them flat on the surface, otherwise the plants will die out for want of moisture. When the produce appears, the beds should be kept cut over until the 20th of June, after which, cutting should cease, or they will be rendered comparatively unproductive. Cutting can commence the second or third year, or as soon as there is any "grass" worth taking. Several methods of growing these plants could be cited, but that which we have recommended will be found most satisfactory. [Illustration: FIG. 160. ASPARAGUS, Crown for Lifting.] _Seeds._ Plants are raised by sowing seeds in rows across the kitchen garden, or selected quarter, about the month of April. The seedlings make a growth, and form good plants during the first season. In March or April of the following year, or the year after, they may be removed, and planted out permanently, as already alluded to. Many cultivators prefer growing their own plants from seed; because during the transit of the roots from any distance to where they are to be grown, a frequent and injurious exhaustion takes place, and particularly so when they are carelessly packed. _Forcing._ Asparagus can, if properly treated, be obtained from December onwards; and at Christmas time the produce is very valuable; but, in order to obtain it at this season, it will be necessary to resort to forcing. Prepare some beds to secure a lasting heat, and on these place about 3in. of ordinary garden soil, not very stiff. Then take the roots, and place them crown upwards, and moderately close together, shaking the soil well amongst the roots, and covering about a couple of inches deep. Water well, to settle the whole, and put on the lights, allowing a little ventilation, to let out any steam which may arise. Unless the weather be very cold indeed, give a little air at all times, and only cover the lights in actual frost. From time to time, apply fresh linings of hot manure, and in cold rains, or wind, cover the outsides of the frames with old sacks, or other things which will keep in the heat. A regular and steady temperature of 60deg. will force this plant with better results than a higher one. Houses that are fitted with hot-water pipes to give bottom heat can be used equally as well as manure beds, and so long as the soil is kept moist, the heat thus obtained is as good as any for the purpose, and much less trouble than fermenting materials. To keep up a regular supply, a succession of beds will be necessary. Asparagus can be forced, or rather forwarded, in pots or boxes, in a warm greenhouse or vinery, and, of course, when the plants are done with, they can be cast away. We give an illustration (Fig. 160) of a bearing crown fit for gentle forcing; but, of course, it must not be left so bare of earth as appears here, which is done for the purpose of clearness. _Varieties._ Connover's Colossal, and Giant, are the most esteemed. Strains are frequently largely advertised as improvements on the sorts above-mentioned, and the charges are higher accordingly. The difference may be generally attributed to the culture the plants receive more than to an improved variety. When saving seed for home sowing, they should be taken from the strongest growths, or deterioration will ensue. =A. æthiopicus ternifolius= (ternate). _fl._ white, in shortly-stalked racemes, very profuse. August. _l._, false ones in threes, flattened, narrow, linear; prickles solitary, reversed; branches angular. _h._ 30ft. South Africa, 1872. A greenhouse evergreen. =A. Broussoneti= (Broussonet's).* _fl._ very small, succeeded by small red berries. May. _l._, lower ones solitary, the others ternate, 1in. long, needle-shaped, persistent, distant, glaucescent; stipules with reflected spines at the base. Summer. Stem tapering, streaked, shrubby. _h._ 10ft. Canary Islands, 1822. A very pretty hardy climber. =A. Cooperi= (Cooper's). _fl._ axillary, one to three, from the same nodes as the false leaves; perianth cream-coloured, one line long. April and May. _l._ minute, deltoid, scariose, reddish-brown; false leaves six to fifteen to a node, subulate, moderately firm, 1/4in. to 3/8in. long, spreading or ascending. _h._ 10ft. to 12ft. Africa, 1862. A greenhouse climber, with a shrubby terete main stem, 1-1/2in. to 2in. thick at the base, sending out crowds of spreading branches, which bear abundant slender, firm, alternate branchlets; nodes of branches and branchlets, furnished with distinct red-brown, subulate prickles, those of the main stems 1/4in. long, deflexed, but not curved. =A. decumbens= (decumbent).* Stem unarmed, decumbent, much branched; branches wavy; leaves setaceous, in threes. Cape of Good Hope, 1792. A greenhouse evergreen herbaceous perennial. =A. falcatus= (hooked-leaved). _l._ fascicled, linear, falcate; branches round; prickles solitary, recurved; peduncles one-flowered, clustered. _h._ 3ft. India, 1792. A greenhouse evergreen perennial. =A. officinalis= (officinal). Common Asparagus. _fl._ greenish-white, drooping. August. _l._ setaceous, fasciculate, flexible, unarmed. Stem herbaceous, mostly erect, rounded, very much branched. _h._ 1ft. Said to grow on "Asparagus Island," Kynance Cove, Lizard, but we have never found it there, and it has probably long since been exterminated. =A. plumosus= (plumed).* _fl._ white, small, produced from the tips of the branchlets. Spring. _l._, true ones in the form of minute deltoid scales, with an acute ultimately reflexed point; the false ones are grouped in tufts, each being 1/8in. to 1/4in. long, bristle-shaped, and finely pointed. South Africa, 1876. An elegant evergreen climber, with smooth stems and numerous spreading branches. It forms an excellent plant when trained in pots, and is invaluable for cutting. =A. p. nanus= (dwarf).* A very elegant dwarf variety of above. Stems tufted, slender, and gracefully arching. South Africa, 1880. For bouquets, the cut sprays of both type and variety have the advantage of much greater persistency than any fern, retaining their freshness in water from three to four weeks. See Fig. 161, for which we are indebted to Messrs. Veitch and Sons. =A. racemosus= (racemose). _fl._ greenish-white, in many-flowered axillary racemes. May. _l._ bundled, linear-subulate, falcate; branches striated; prickles solitary. _h._ 3ft. India, 1808. Greenhouse evergreen shrub. [Illustration: FIG. 161. ASPARAGUS PLUMOSUS NANUS.] =A. ramosissimus= (very branching). _fl._ solitary, at the tips of the branchlets; pedicels hardly perpendicular, one and a-half to two lines long; cream coloured. June. _l._ obscurely spurred at the base; false leaves three to eight-nate, flattened; linear-falcate acute, 1/4in. to 3/8in. long, spreading. South Africa, 1862. A wide climbing, copiously branched, slender greenhouse shrub, with very numerous spreading or ascending branches and branchlets. =A. scandens= (climbing).* _fl._ whitish, axillary on the ultimate branchlets, succeeded by round orange-coloured berries. The annual, much-branched, unarmed stems bear, usually in threes, numerous small linear-pointed leaves, which on the ultimate branches spread nearly in one plane. Cape of Good Hope, 1795. An elegant climbing greenhouse perennial. =A. virgatus= (twiggy).* A remarkably elegant feathery looking plant, of shrubby habit. The stems, which issue from the crown of the stout fleshy roots, are of a dark green colour, and bear at the upper end a corymbose head of erect branches, of which the lowest is the youngest or most recently developed. These branches are again twice branched, the ultimate branchlets being furnished with needle-shaped false leaves, 1/2in. long, which usually grow in threes. South Africa, 1862. =ASPARAGUS BEETLE= (_Crioceris asparagi_), or "Cross-bearer." This beautiful little insect is blue-black or greenish; the thorax is red with two black spots, and the wing-cases are yellow, with a black cross on them; the legs and antennæ are black. The short grey larva is flat underneath, arched on the back, and covered with hairs. The sides are of an olive hue, and the little legs and head are black. It ejects a drop of blackish fluid from the mouth when touched. When full grown, which takes about a fortnight, the larva measures about two lines in length; the average length of the perfect Beetle is about three lines. Although this insect does not actually destroy the plants, it inflicts much damage on the foliage, and checks the growth of the stems after they have attained some size, in consequence of which the foliage becomes much less in the next season. The eggs are fixed to the shoots, and are small, dark, pointed bodies. The larvæ do the harm, as they feed on the bark and tender portions of the plants. The mature Beetles should be picked off by hand, and, by commencing early enough in the season, their numbers will be greatly reduced. Syringing the plants with water, heated to a temperature that will not injure the plants, is found a useful method for removing the grubs. _White Hellebore._ Freshly-ground White Hellebore, sprinkled over the foliage while it is damp, and repeating the operation at intervals of about eight days for a season, will generally effect a riddance; but the following will usually be found better in such cases. Neither must be applied until after cutting ceases, as they are very poisonous. _Paris Green._ This, mixed and used as for Cherry Fly (_see_ =Black Fly=), will generally got rid of the Beetle, if applied about thrice each season for two years. It should, however, only be used in severe cases. _Soot_, applied in the same manner as White Hellebore, and in liberal quantities, will, in a season or two, clear the beds. If a bushel of salt be mixed with each twenty bushels of soot, it will enhance the effect. =ASPARAGUS KNIFE.= The Asparagus Knife consists of a strong blade fixed in a handle. There are, or were, three kinds employed: In one form, the blade was blunt on both sides, straight, with a sharp tip, and not unlike a small chisel. Another had its blade slightly hooked, and serrated at one end. But the best is that now almost universally employed, and which is illustrated by Fig. 162. [Illustration: FIG. 162. ASPARAGUS KNIFE.] =ASPASIA= (from _aspazomai_, I embrace; the column embraced by the labellum). ORD. _Orchidaceæ_. A genus of elegant stove Epidendrum-like epiphytal orchids, with the lip united to the column, and broad, thin pseudo-bulbs. The name Aspasia is now and then met with attached to a totally different genus. Salisbury gave it to a liliaceous plant which is now referred to _Ornithogalum_. For culture and propagation, _see_ =Stanhopea=. =A. epidendroides= (Epidendrum-like).* _fl._ whitish yellow; sepals linear oblong, acute; petals obtuse, concave, lateral lobes of lip roundish, entire, middle lobe crenated emarginate. February. Pseudo-bulbs oblong, two-edged. _h._ 1ft. Panama, 1833. =A. lunata= (crescent-marked).* _fl._ green, white, and brown, solitary; sepals and petals linear obtuse, spreading; lip three-lobed, lateral lobes short, middle one flat, nearly square, wavy. February. Pseudo-bulbs oblong, two-edged. _h._ 1ft. Rio Janeiro, 1843. =A. papilionacea= (butterfly-like).* _fl._, sepals and petals yellowish, mottled with brown lines on their internal inferior halves; lip fiddle-shape, its back very great, elliptic, apiculate; an orange-coloured area stands at its base, a wide violet disc before and around it. _h._ 9in. Costa Rica, 1876. Distinguished from _A. lunata_ in having thirteen keels at the base of the lip, which is higher inserted, and in the echinulate anther. It is a beautiful but rare novelty. =A. psittacina= (parrot-like).* _fl._, sepals and petals light green, with brown transverse bars, which sometimes consist of separate stripes, at other times of confluent ones; the fiddle-shaped lip shows two keels and a few purplish dots over its top; the column is brown at its top, then violet, and white at the base. Ecuador, 1878. It has a raceme of several flowers, usually one-sided, bent over. =A. variegata= (variegated).* _fl._ green, spotted with yellowish red; sepals linear oblong; petals somewhat rhomboid, acute; lateral lobes of lip recurved, middle one fleshy, serrated. February. _h._ 9in. Panama, 1836. Deliciously sweet-scented in the morning. =ASPEN.= _See_ =Populus tremula=. =ASPERA.= Rough, with hairs or points. =ASPERULA= (from _asper_, rough; in allusion to the leaves). Woodruff. ORD. _Rubiaceæ_. Hardy herbs, rarely small shrubs. Flowers terminal and axillary, in fascicles. Leaves opposite, with one, two, or three stipulas on each side; they are therefore called four to eight in a whorl, but between the uppermost leaves there are no stipulas. Stems and branches usually tetragonal. Most of the species are very pretty when in flower, and are, therefore, well adapted for borders, rockwork, and shady places, in almost any garden soil. Propagated by divisions of the roots during spring and early summer. Herbaceous perennials, except where otherwise stated. =A. azurea-setosa= (blue-bristly). A synonym of _A. orientalis_. =A. calabrica= (Calabrian). A synonym of _Putoria calabrica_. =A. cynanchica= (Cynanche-like). _fl._ on erect branches, forming a fastigiate corymb, white or bluish-coloured, elegantly marked with red lines, or sometimes pure white. Summer. _l._ four in a whorl; floral ones lanceolate-linear, acuminately awned; lower ones small, oblong, upper ones opposite. Plant glabrous, erectish. _h._ 9in. to 12in. England. =A. hirta= (hairy). _fl._ white at first, changing to pink, with oblong divisions. July and August. _l._ usually six in a whorl, four towards the upper part, linear, hairy, deep green. _h._ 3in. Pyrenees, 1817. A charming but rare little alpine, thriving best in a rather damp position on the rockery. =A. longiflora= (long-flowered).* _fl._ whitish, yellowish inside, and reddish outside; tube of corolla elongated; fascicles terminal, pedunculate; bracteas small, subulate. Summer. _l._ four in a whorl, linear; lower ones small, obovate; upper ones opposite. Stems weak, numerous, from the same neck, erectish, glabrous. _h._ 6in. Hungary, 1821. =A. montana= (mountain).* _fl._, corollas pink, four-cleft, scabrous externally; in fascicles. June, July. _l._ linear; lower ones six in a whorl; middle ones four; upper ones opposite; floral leaves linear. Stem weak, glabrous. _h._ 6in. to 8in. Hungary, 1801. =A. odorata= (sweet-scented).* Sweet Woodruff. _fl._ snowy white; corymbs terminal, pedunculate, usually trifid, each division bearing about four flowers. May, June. _l._ eight in a whorl, lanceolate, smooth, with serrulately scabrous edges. Stems tetragonal, simple, erect, or ascending. _h._ 6in. to 12in. Britain. This very pretty little plant is scentless when fresh, but, when dried, it diffuses an odour like that of spring grass; and when kept among clothes, it not only imparts an agreeable perfume to them, but preserves them from insects. =A. orientalis= (Oriental).* _fl._ sky blue, in terminal heads; bracts of involucre shorter than the flowers. Summer. _l._ lanceolate, bristly, about eight in a whorl. _h._ 1ft. Caucasus, 1867. A charming little, profuse blooming, hardy annual, bearing clusters of fragrant flowers, admirably adapted for bouquet making. SYN. _A. azurea-setosa_. See Fig. 163. [Illustration: FIG. 163. ASPERULA ORIENTALIS, showing Habit and Portion of Inflorescence.] =A. taurina= (bull). _fl._, corollas white, elongated; corymbs pedunculate, axillary, fasciculately umbellate, involucrated; bracteas ciliated. April to June. _l._ four in a whorl, ovate-lanceolate, three-nerved, with finely ciliated margins. Plant smoothish, erect. _h._ 1ft. South Europe, 1739. =A. tinctoria= (Dyers'). _fl._ white, reddish on the outside; usually trifid. June. _l._ linear; lower ones six in a whorl; middle ones four; and the uppermost ones opposite; floral leaves ovate. Plant procumbent, unless supported. Stem 1ft. to 2ft. long, purplish. Europe, 1764. =ASPHALT.= Artificial Asphalt is now generally used in England for footpaths, &c. The recipes are various, one of the best being the following: Lime rubbish two parts, coal ashes one part (both must be very dry), sifted very fine; mix them, and leave a hole in the middle of the heap, wherein pour boiling hot coal tar; mix well together. When as stiff as mortar, lay it down, 3in. thick, on a dry and previously well-levelled surface. A boy should follow with dry, finely-sifted sand, distributing just enough to prevent his boots sticking to the tar. Two men should be employed for the tarring, whilst another should attend to the boiling operation. Only just enough tar to last ten minutes must be taken from the furnace at one time, as, if it be not boiling, the walks will become soft under the action of very hot sun. This may be repeated every three years. It is imperative that the surface, lime, coal ashes and sand be perfectly dry, and that the days selected for the operation be very fine, the hotter the better. Another excellent plan is that of using gas lime and coal ashes. There must be a firm foundation and smooth surface. Spread the gas lime to about 1-1/2in. deep, and level with the back of a spade. Over this place a thin layer of coal dust, and well roll. The work is then complete. =ASPHODEL.= _See_ =Asphodelus=. =ASPHODELINE.= ORD. _Liliaceæ_. A genus of plants allied to _Asphodelus_, but distinguished from it by having erect leafy stems. They thrive in any ordinary garden soil. Propagated by division. =A. brevicaulis= (short-stemmed). _fl._ in lax, often panicled racemes, yellow, veined with green. _l._ subulate, ascending, lower ones 4in. to 6in. long. Stem slender, often flexuose. Orient. =A. damascena= (Damascene). _fl._ white, in dense generally simple racemes, 6in. to 12in. long. _l._ in dense rosette, 6in. to 9in. long, subulate. Stem simple, erect. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. Asia Minor. =A. liburnica= (Liburnian). _fl._ yellow, striped with green, in generally simple lax racemes, 6in. to 9in. long. Stem simple, erect, strict, 1ft. to 2ft. high, upper half naked. South Europe. =A. lutea= (yellow). _fl._ yellow, fragrant, in a dense, very long, straight, simple raceme, in the axils of buff-coloured bracts, which are nearly as long as the flowers. Summer. _l._ numerous, awl-shaped, triangular, furrowed, smooth, dark green, marked with lines of a paler tint; root leaves tufted. Stem 3ft. or 4ft. high. Sicily, 1596. The best known and handsomest species. SYN. _Asphodelus luteus_. =A. l. fl.-pl.= This resembles the species, but the flowers are double, and last much longer than those of the typical form; it is a very pretty plant. =A. taurica= (Taurian). _fl._ white, striped with green, in generally simple dense racemes, 6in. to 12in. long, 1in. to 2in. wide. Stem simple, erect, 1ft. to 2ft. high, densely leafy at base of raceme. Asia Minor, &c. SYN. _Asphodelus tauricus_. =A. tenuior= (slenderer). _fl._ yellow, in simple lax-flowered racemes, 3in. to 4in. long, 2in. wide. Stem simple lower half leaf, upper naked, 1ft. Orient. SYN. _Asphodelus tenuior_. =ASPHODELUS= (from _a_, not, and _sphallo_, to supplant; in allusion to the beauty of the flowers). Asphodel. ORD. _Liliaceæ_. Very pretty hardy herbaceous perennials, with fleshy fasciculated roots. Perianth white or yellow, of six equal spreading segments; stamens six, hypogynous, alternately long and short. Leaves usually radical, tufted, narrow, or triquetrous. All the species enumerated thrive in good deep sandy loam, and are very suitable for borders and shrubberies. Propagated by division of the root, which is best done in early spring. =A. æstivus= (summer). _fl._ white. Summer. _h._ 2ft. Spain, 1820. =A. albus= (white).* _fl._ white; peduncles clustered the length of the bracts. May. _l._ linear, keeled, smooth. Stem naked, simple. _h._ 2ft. South Europe, 1596. =A. creticus= (Cretan).* _fl._ yellow. July. _l._ filiform, striated, toothed, ciliated. Stem leafy, naked above, branched. _h._ 2ft. Crete, 1821. =A. fistulosus= (pipe-stalked). _fl._ white. July, August. _l._ upright, striated, subulate, fistular. Stem naked. _h._ 18in. South Europe, 1596. =A. luteus= (yellow). A synonym of _Asphodeline lutea_. =A. ramosus= (branchy). _fl._ large, white, with a reddish-brown line in the middle of each segment, springing from the axils of ovate-lanceolate bracts, and in very long dense racemes. Summer. _l._ sword-shaped, stiff, sharply keeled below, channelled above. Stem much branched. _h._ 4ft. to 5ft. South Europe, 1829. [Illustration: FIG. 164. ASPHODELUS VILLARSII, showing Habit and Flower.] =A. Villarsii= (Villars'). _fl._ white; raceme dense, elongated; bracts dark brown. Stem simple or rarely branched. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Eastern France. See Fig. 164. =ASPIDISTRA= (from _aspidiseon_, a little round shield; in reference to the form of the flower). SYN. _Porpax_ (of Salisbury). Including _Plectogyne_. ORD. _Liliaceæ_. Hardy, or nearly hardy, evergreen, foliage plants. Flowers insignificant, produced close to the ground, remarkable for the curious mushroom-like stigma, by which this genus is characterised. They thrive in almost any ordinary garden soil, but are best grown in rich loam, leaf soil, and sand; plenty of moisture being allowed. Propagated by suckers. =A. elatior= (taller).* _l._ oblong, large, on long petioles, leathery; plant stemless. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. Japan, 1835. This very easily cultivated and quite hardy foliage plant is much grown for window gardening and other decorative purposes, for which it is well suited. =A. e. variegata= (variegated).* A fine variety with alternately-striped green and white leaves. [Illustration: FIG. 165. ASPIDISTRA LURIDA.] =A. lurida= (lurid). _fl._ purple. July. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, on long petioles. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. China, 1822. A very graceful species, with long evergreen leaves. It is an effective plant for the outdoor garden during summer, and is nearly, if not quite, hardy. See Fig. 165. =A. punctata= (dotted). _l._ lanceolate, on long stalks. _h._ 1ft. China. This is very closely allied to _A. elatior_, but of inferior value. =ASPIDIUM= (from _aspidion_, a little buckler; in allusion to the form of the involucre). Shield Fern. ORD. _Filices_. Including _Cyclodium_, _Cyclopeltis_, _Cyrtomium_, _Phanerophlebia_, and _Polystichum_. Stove, greenhouse, or hardy ferns. Sori sub-globose, dorsal or terminal on the veinlets; involucre orbicular, fixed by the centre. They thrive in a compost of sandy peat with a little loam. Several species are admirably adapted for the indoor fernery. The hardy species are best grown in the shade; a little sandstone should be incorporated with the soil. For general culture, _see_ =Ferns=. [Illustration: FIG. 166. ASPIDIUM ACULEATUM.] =A. acrostichoides= (Acrostichum-like).* _sti._ 6in. to 8in. long, densely scaly below. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 2in. to 6in. broad; pinnæ of the lower half barren, 2in. to 3in. long, 1/4in. broad, spinoso-serrated throughout, auricled at the base above; the pinnæ of the upper half fertile, much smaller. _sori_ occupying the whole under side. North America. SYN. _Polystichum acrostichoides_. Hardy. =A. a. grandiceps= (large-crested).* A very handsome fern, having the apices of the fronds and pinnæ heavily crested; equally desirable for the hardy or temperate fernery. Of garden origin. =A. a. incisum= (incised).* A variety with the pinnules deeply cut and acutely pointed. =A. aculeatum= (sharp-pointed).* The Hard Shield Fern. _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 12in. long, more or less scaly. _fronds_ 1ft. to 3ft. long, 6in. to 12in. broad, ovate-lanceolate; lower pinnæ close, lanceolate, 4in. to 6in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad; pinnules ovate-rhomboidal, unequal sided, auricled on the upper base; teeth aristate. sori nearer the midrib than the edge. A variable and hardy species, common throughout the world. SYN. _Polystichum aculeatum_. _A. a. proliferum_ is a proliferous Australian form. _A. a. vestitum_ has the rachis densely clothed to the point, both with reddish-brown fibrillose and large lanceolate dark brown scales. See Fig. 166. =A. amabile= (lovely). _sti._ scattered, 6in. to 12in. long, slightly scaly below. _fronds_ 1ft. or more long, 6in. to 12in. broad, with a lanceolate terminal pinna, and three to six lateral ones on each side, which are 3in. to 6in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, the lowest sometimes divided at the base; segments sub-rhomboidal, with at least half the lower side cut away, the upper side and part of the lower lobed and sharply spinuloso-serrated. sori sub-marginal. Ceylon. Stove species. SYN. _Polystichum amabile_. =A. angulare= (angular). The Soft Shield Fern. Botanically this is only a variety of _A. aculeatum_; but, to the cultivator, it is abundantly distinct. The fronds are not so tapered at the base, the pinnules are more equal in size, and the lower ones distinctly stalked, while the texture is much less rigid than in _A. aculeatum_, the caudex has a tendency to elongate. Almost cosmopolitan in its distribution. SYN. _Polystichum angulare_. There are an enormous number of varieties, many of which are not under cultivation. Amongst the best found in gardens are _alatum_, _Bayliæ_, _concinnum_, _corymbiferum_, _cristatum_, _curtum_, _dissimile_, _grandiceps_, _imbricatum_, _Kitsoniæ_, _lineare_, _parvissimum_, _plumosum_, _polydactylon_, _proliferum_, _rotundatum_, _Wakeleyanum_, _Woollastoni_. [Illustration: FIG. 167. ASPIDIUM ANGULARE GRANDICEPS.] =A. a. grandiceps= (large-crested). This is a narrow fronded variety, having the apices of the fronds branched and crested, ultimately producing a broad tasselled head. A very handsome fern. See Fig. 167. =A. anomalum= (anomalous). _sti._ tufted, 1ft. to 2ft. long, densely scaly below. _fronds_ 2ft. to 3ft. long, 1ft. or more broad; lower pinnæ 6in. to 9in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad; pinnules lanceolate, cut down in the lower part into oblong segments; teeth blunt or slightly mucronate. _sori_ placed near the sinuses of the pinnules. Ceylon. Stove species. SYN. _Polystichum anomalum_. =A. aristatum= (awned).* _rhiz._ creeping. _sti._ scattered, 9in. to 18in. long, very scaly below. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 9in. to 12in. broad, ovate-deltoid, tri- or quadripinnatifid; lower pinnæ largest, 4in. to 6in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad; lowest pinnules much the largest, lanceolate-deltoid; teeth copious aristate. _sori_ small, principally in two rows near the midrib. Japan, Himalayas, New South Wales, &c. Greenhouse species. SYN. _Polystichum aristatum_. =A. a. coniifolium= (Conium-leaved).* _fronds_ more finely divided; segments copiously toothed, with lower lobes distinct. =A. a. variegatum= (variegated).* A handsome variety, with a broad band of green running through the bases of the pinnules along the course of the rachis. =A. auriculatum= (eared).* _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 6in. long, scaly below or throughout. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 2in. to 4in. broad; pinnæ numerous, sub-sessile, usually close, 1in. to 2in. long, about 1/2in. broad, ovate-rhomboidal, falcate, acute, spinoso-serrated, the upper base auricled, the lower one truncate. _sori_ in two rows. India, widely distributed. Stove species. SYNS. _A. ocellatum_, _Polystichum auriculatum_. =A. a. lentum= (pliant). Pinnæ cut into oblong mucronate lobes about half-way down to the rachis, the auricle sometimes quite free. =A. a. marginatum= (margined).* A variety with more coriaceous texture; upper edge of the pinnæ slightly lobed. =A. capense= (Cape).* _sti._ scattered, 1ft. to 2ft. long, densely scaly below. _fronds_ 1ft. to 3ft. long, 12in. to 18in. broad, sub-deltoid; lowest pinnæ the largest, 6in. to 9in. long, 3in. to 4in. broad; pinnules and segments lanceolate, the latter bluntly lobed. _sori_ very large and copious. South America, New Zealand, Cape Colony, Natal, &c. Greenhouse species. SYNS. _A. coriaceum_, _Polystichum capense_. =A. confertum= (compressed). Synonymous with _A. meniscioides_. =A. coriaceum= (leathery). Synonymous with _A. capense_. =A. falcatum= (hooked).* _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 12in. long, densely scaly below. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 6in. to 9in. broad, simply pinnate; pinnæ numerous, the lower stalked, ovate-acuminate, falcate, 3in. to 5in. long, 1in. to 2in. broad; edge entire or slightly undulated, the upper side narrowed suddenly, sometimes auricled, the lower rounded or obliquely truncate at the base. _sori_ small, copious, scattered. Japan, China, Himalayas, &c. SYN. _Cyrtomium falcatum_. =A. f. caryotideum= (Caryota-like) has pinnæ sometimes larger, sharply toothed, slightly lobed, sometimes auricled on both sides. SYN. _Cyrtomium caryotideum_. =A. f. Fortunei= (Fortune's).* This differs from the type in having pinnæ narrower and more opaque. All are most useful house ferns, and quite hardy in many parts of the country. SYN. _Cyrtomium Fortunei_. =A. falcinellum= (finely-hooked).* _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 8in. long, densely scaly. _fronds_ 9in. to 18in. long, 3in. to 6in. broad; central pinnæ 2in. to 3in. long, 1/4in. broad; point acute; edge finely serrated; the upper side bluntly auricled, the lower obliquely truncate at the base. _sori_ in two long rows. Madeira. Greenhouse species. SYN. _Polystichum falcinellum_. =A. flexum= (bending). _rhiz._ stout, wide-creeping. _sti._ scattered, 1ft. long, scaly. _fronds_ 2ft. to 3ft. long, 9in. to 12in. broad; lower pinnæ lanceolate-deltoid, 4in. to 6in. long, 2in. to 4in. broad; pinnules lanceolate-deltoid, cut down to the rachis below into oblong bluntly-lobed segments. _sori_ large, in two rows, copious. Juan Fernandez. Stove species. SYN. _Polystichum flexum_. =A. f�niculaceum= (Fennel-leaved).* _rhiz._ creeping. _sti._ scattered, 6in. to 12in. long, densely scaly below. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, and 9in. to 12in. broad, lanceolate-deltoid, four to five pinnatifid; lower pinnæ 6in. to 8in. long, 3in. to 4in. broad; ultimate divisions linear, awned, with a firm texture. _sori_ solitary. Greenhouse species. Sikkim, 7,000ft. to 10,000ft. SYN. _Polystichum f�niculaceum_. =A. frondosum= (leafy). _sti._ scattered, 1ft. to 2ft. long, densely scaly below. _fronds_ 18in. to 24in. long, 1ft. or more broad, sub-deltoid; lower pinnæ much the largest, long stalked; pinnules lanceolate; segments very unequal sided, pinnatifid, with rounded mucronate lobes, obliquely truncate at the base below. _sori_ large, copious. Madeira. Greenhouse species. SYN. _Polystichum frondosum_. =A. Hookeri= (Hooker's). _sti._ 1ft. or more long, naked. _fronds_ 2ft. to 3ft. long; pinnæ 6in. to 8in. long, 1in. broad, cut down to a broadly-winged rachis into nearly close, spreading, entire, linear-oblong lobes 1/8in. broad. _sori_ nearer the edge than the midrib. Malay Archipelago. Stove species. SYNS. _A. nephrodioides_ and _Cyclodium Hookeri_. =A. laserpitiifolium= (Laserpitium-leaved).* _sti._ 4in. to 6in. long, stramineous, scaly at base. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 6in. to 9in. broad, ovate-deltoid, tripinnate; lower pinnæ the largest, with pinnules on the lower side prolonged, lanceolate, imbricated with small, distinct, bluntly-lobed segments. _sori_ in two rows, very copious. Japan. A very desirable greenhouse species. SYNS. _Lastrea Standishii_ (of gardens) and _Polystichum laserpitiifolium_. =A. lepidocaulon= (scaly-stemmed). _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 9in. long, densely clothed with large cordate scales. _fronds_ 1ft. or more long, 4in. to 6in. broad, sometimes elongated and rooting at the point: pinnæ 2in. to 3in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, lanceolate-falcate, the two sides unequal, the upper one auricled at the base. _sori_ principally in two rows, near the midrib. Japan. Greenhouse species. SYN. _Polystichum lepidocaulon_. =A. Lonchitis= (spar-like).* The Holly Fern. _sti._ densely tufted, 1in. to 4in. long, scaly at base. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 1in. to 3in. broad, pinnate throughout; pinnæ 1/2in. to 1-1/2in. long, 1/4in. to 1/2in. broad, ovate-rhomboidal, sub-falcate, the two sides unequal, point mucronate, edge spinuloso-serrated, the upper side sharply auricled at the base, the lower obliquely truncate. Britain, &c. A very widely-spread hardy species. SYN. _Polystichum Lonchitis_. =A. meniscioides= (Meniscium-like). _sti._ 1ft. to 2ft. long, scaly below. _fronds_ 2ft. to 3ft. long, 1ft. or more broad, pinnate; barren pinnæ sessile, 6in. to 9in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, oblong-acuminate, nearly entire; fertile pinnæ much smaller. _sori_ in two close rows between the primary veins. West Indies, &c. Stove species. SYNS. _A. confertum_ and _Cyclodium meniscioides_. =A. mohrioides= (Mohria-like). _sti._ tufted, 2in. to 6in. long, more or less densely scaly. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad, bipinnate; pinnæ numerous, frequently imbricated, lanceolate, cut down below into slightly toothed, oblong-rhomboidal pinnules. _sori_ copious. Patagonia and the Cordilleras of Chili. Greenhouse species. SYN. _Polystichum mohrioides_. =A. mucronatum= (mucronated).* _sti._ tufted, 2in. to 4in. long, densely scaly. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, pinnate throughout; pinnæ very numerous, often imbricated, 3/4in. to 1in. long, 1/4in. to broad, sub-rhomboidal, unequal-sided, mucronate, sub-entire, distinctly auricled at the upper base. _sori_ in a long row on each side the midrib. West Indies. Stove or greenhouse species. SYN. _Polystichum mucronatum_. =A. munitum= (armed).* _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 9in. long, densely scaly. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 4in. to 8in. broad; pinnæ close, 2in. to 4in. long, about 1/2in. broad, acuminate, finely spinulose and serrated throughout, the upper side auricled, and the lower obliquely truncate at the base. _sori_ in two rows near the edge. California, &c. Hardy; very fine. SYN. _Polystichum munitum_. =A. nephrodioides= (Nephrodium-like). Synonymous with _A. Hookeri_. =A. ocellatum= (spotted). Synonymous with _A. auriculatum_. =A. pungens= (stinging). _rhiz._ stout. _sti._ scattered, 1ft. long, scaly below only. _fronds_ 2ft. to 3ft. long, 9in. to 12in. broad; lower pinnæ 4in. to 6in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad; pinnules ovate-rhomboidal, unequal-sided, often deeply pinnatifid. _sori_ principally in two rows near the midrib. Cape Colony. Greenhouse species. SYN. _Polystichum pungens_. =A. repandum= (wavy-leaved). _sti._ 1ft. to 2ft. long, naked. _fronds_ 2ft. or more long, 12in. to 18in. broad, apex deeply pinnatifid, with linear-oblong, slightly sinuated lobes; lower pinnæ four to eight on each side, 6in. to 8in. long, 1-1/4in. to 1-1/2in. broad, acuminate; edge bluntly sinuated, the lowest stalked and forked. _sori_ in two distinct rows near the main vein. Philippines. Stove species. =A. rhizophyllum= (frond-rooting). _sti._ tufted, 1in. to 2in. long, slender. _fronds_ 2in. to 6in. long, 3/4in. broad, with the long, narrow upper half of the frond lengthened out and rooting, the lower half cut down to a flattened fibrillose rachis into oblong-rhomboidal sub-entire lobes about 1/2in. broad, 1/4in. deep. _sori_ scattered. Jamaica, 1820. Stove or cool house species. SYN. _Polystichum rhizophyllum_. =A. semicordatum= (half-cordate). _sti._ scattered, 6in. to 12in. long. _fronds_ 2ft. to 3ft. long, 8in. to 12in. broad, simply pinnate; pinnæ spreading, 4in. to 6in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, nearly entire, acuminate, cordate or truncate at the base. _sori_ in one to three rows on each side, the inner one close to the midrib. Tropical America, &c. SYN. _Polystichum semicordatum_. =A. trapezioides= (Trapezium-like). Synonymous with _A. viviparum_. =A. triangulum= (triangular).* _sti._ tufted, 2in. to 6in. long, base scaly. _fronds_ 1ft. or more long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad; pinnæ numerous, sessile, lower ones distant, central ones 3/4in. to 1in. long, about 5/8in. broad, sub-deltoid, lower side obliquely truncate; apex mucronate, edge sub-entire or slightly lobed, with blunt or spinose teeth, one or both sides auricled at the base. _sori_ principally in two rows near the edge. West Indies. Stove or greenhouse species. SYN. _Polystichum triangulum_. =A. trifoliatum= (three-leaved). _sti._ tufted, 1ft. or more long, base only scaly. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 6in. to 12in. broad, with a large ovate-acuminate terminal pinna, narrowed or forked at the base, and one or two lateral ones on each side, the lowest mostly forked. _sori_ in rows near the main veins. Tropical America. Stove species. =A. t. heracleifolium= (Heracleum-leaved). A form with pinnæ pinnatifid on both sides at the base. =A. tripteron= (three-winged). _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long, densely scaly at base. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, with a large terminal and two small spreading lateral pinnæ at the base of it, the former 2-1/2 in. to 3in. broad, with very numerous spreading pinnules on each side, 1-1/2in. long, about 1/2in. broad, unequal sided, acute, deeply inciso-pinnatifid, the lower lobes again toothed; lateral pinnæ 3in. to 5in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad. _sori_ principally in two rows midway between midrib and edge. Japan. Greenhouse species. SYN. _Polystichum tripteron_. =A. varium= (variable).* _rhiz._ sub-creeping. _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, densely fibrillose below. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 9in. to 12in. broad, lanceolate-deltoid; lower pinnæ much the largest, sub-deltoid, unequal sided, 4in. to 6in. long, 3in. to 4in. broad; pinnules lanceolate, imbricated, with oblong, blunt, slightly toothed segments. _sori_ principally in two rows near the midrib. Japan. Greenhouse species. SYNS. _Lastrea varia_ and _Polystichum varium_. It is frequently met with in gardens under the former name. =A. viviparum= (bud-producing). _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 6in. long, scaly at the base. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad; pinnæ numerous, nearly lanceolate, the central ones 2in. to 3in. long, about 1/2in. broad, mucronate, sometimes bud-bearing, the edge more or less deeply lobed, in the lower part sometimes quite down to the rachis, the upper side auricled. _sori_ in two or four rows. West Indies. Stove or greenhouse species. SYNS. _A. trapezioides_ and _Polystichum viviparum_. =ASPLENIUM= (from _a_, not, and _splen_, spleen; referring to the medicinal properties formerly attributed to the genus). Spleenwort. ORD. _Filices_. Including _Anisogonium_, _Athyrium_, _Ceterach_, _Cænopteris_, _Darea_, _Diplazium_, _Hemidictyum_, _Neottopteris_. A very large and widely-spread genus, including species suitable for the stove, temperate, and hardy ferneries. Sori dorsal or submarginal, linear or oblong. Involucre similar in shape, straight or occasionally curved, single or double, plane or tumid, bursting along the outer edge. The tropical species should be grown in a compost of peat, loam, and sand; the hardy sorts in a mixture of fibrous peat and sand. Good drainage is at all times required. For general culture, _see_ =Ferns=. [Illustration: FIG. 163. ASPLENIUM ADIANTUM-NIGRUM, showing Rootstock and back of Fertile Fronds.] =A. abscissum= (clipped). _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 3in. to 4in. broad, sometimes proliferous at the apex, with twelve to twenty horizontal pinnæ on each side, which are 1-1/2in. to 2in. long, about 1/2in. broad, bluntish; edge inciso-crenate, the upper one narrowed suddenly at the base, the lower one obliquely truncate. _sori_ short, in two regular rows, falling short of both midrib and edge. Tropical America. Stove species. SYN. _A. firmum_. =A. acuminatum= (taper-pointed).* _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 9in. to 12in. broad, with very numerous close-placed lanceolate-oblong pinnæ on both sides, which are 4in. to 6in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad; pinnules numerous, unequal-sided, lanceolate, acuminate; edges sharply toothed, the lower base obliquely truncate. _sori_ in two rows in the upper part, of the pinnules, often diplazioid. Sandwich Islands. Greenhouse species. SYN. _A. polyphyllum_. =A. Adiantum-nigrum= (Black Spleenwort). _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad sub-deltoid; lower pinnæ deltoid, 2in. to 3in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad; all the pinnæ pinnate. _sori_ copious, at last often occupying the whole under surface of the segments. Great Britain. World-wide in its distribution. Hardy. _A. solidum_, from Cape Colony, is supposed to be a mere form of this species. There are several varieties the best of which are described below. See Fig. 168. =A. A.-n. acutum= (acute). _fronds_ 9in. to 15in. long, deltoid, tripinnate; ultimate segments linear, and very acute. Ireland. A copiously divided and very elegant variety. Habit more graceful than the type. [Illustration: FIG. 169. ASPLENIUM ADIANTUM-NIGRUM GRANDICEPS.] =A. A.-n. grandiceps= (large-crested). _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long; pinnæ comparatively short, and slightly crested; apex freely divided, and expanded into a broad crest, which gives the frond a very graceful contour. Frame or greenhouse variety. See Fig. 169. =A. A-n. oxyphyllum= (sharp-leaved). _fronds_ 4in. to 6in. long, ovate-lanceolate; ultimate segments narrow and very acute. A very pretty little variety. =A. affine= (related). _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long. _fronds_ 12in to 18in. long, 6in. to 12in. broad, bipinnate, with numerous pinnæ on each side, the lower ones lanceolate-rhomboidal; pinnules rhomboidal, inciso-serrate. _sori_ copious, linear. Mascaren Islands, &c. Stove or warm greenhouse species. SYN. _A. spathulinum_. =A. alatum= (winged).* _sti._ 4in. to 6in, long, slender, the upper part and the rachis, winged. _fronds_ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. long, 3in. to 4in. broad, with twelve to twenty horizontal sessile pinnæ on each side, which are 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, and about 1/2in. broad, bluntish; edge uniformly inciso-crenate, the base nearly equal on both sides. _sori_ distant, not reaching either the midrib or edge. West Indies, &c. A very elegant stove species. =A. alismæfolium= (Alisma-leaved). _sti._ 2in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ varying in shape, from simple oblong-lanceolate, 6in. to 9in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad; apex acuminate; edges entire, to ternate or pinnate, with a large terminal and three pairs of lateral pinnæ, each like the entire frond of the simple state; texture coriaceous. Isle of Luzon. Stove species. SYN. _Anisogonium alismæfolium_. =A. alternans= (alternated). _sti._ tufted, 1in. to 2in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 8in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, lanceolate-oblong, cut down into numerous bluntly-rounded lobes on each side, which reach very nearly down to the rachis, the lower gradually reduced. _sori_ copious. N. W. Himalayas. Greenhouse species. SYN. _A. Dalhousiæ_. =A. alternifolium= (alternate-leaved). Synonymous with _A. germanicum_. =A. angustifolium= (narrow-leaved).* _sti._ tufted, about 1ft. long. _fronds_ 18in. to 24in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad, simply pinnate, lanceolate-oblong, flaccid, with twenty to thirty sub-sessile pinnæ on each side, sterile ones largest, 2in. to 3in. long, 1/2in. broad, acuminate; edge obscurely-crenate, base rounded and equal on both sides; fertile pinnæ narrower and more distant. _sori_ very close and regular, extending from the midrib nearly to the edge. Canada, &c. Greenhouse species. =A. anisophyllum= (unequal-leaved). _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 12in. long. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 6in. to 9in. broad, oblong-lanceolate, simple pinnate, with ten to sixteen sub-sessile pinnæ on each side which are 3in. to 5in. long, about 1in. broad, acuminated, crenate, the two sides unequal, the upper one narrowed suddenly, the lower one obliquely truncate at the base. _sori_ distant, elliptical, reaching half-way from the edge to the margin. Cape Colony, &c. Greenhouse species. =A. apicidens= (apex-toothed). A variety of _A. Vieillardii_. =A. arborescens= (tree-like). _cau._ oblique. _sti._ 1ft. to 2ft. long. _fronds_ 3ft. to 4ft. long, 2ft. to 3ft. broad, deltoid, tripinnatifid, with numerous pinnæ, the lower ones 12in. to 18in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad; pinnules 3in. long, about 1/2in. wide, acuminate, edge cut two-thirds of the way down to the rachis into nearly entire lobes, 1/4in. deep, 1/8in. broad. Lower _sori_ 1/8in. long. Mauritius, &c., 1826. Stove species. SYN. _Diplazium arborescens_. =A. Arnottii= (Arnott's). _sti._ smooth, angular. _fronds_ ample, tripinnatifid; lower pinnæ 9in. to 12in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad; pinnules 3in. to 4in. long, 1in. or more broad, cut down below to a distinctly winged rachis into deeply crenate, blunt, oblong lobes, 1/2in. deep, 1/4in. broad. _sori_ copious, nearly all diplazioid, and filling up when mature nearly the whole surface of the lobes. Sandwich Islands, 1877. Greenhouse species. SYNS. _A. diplazioides_ and _Diplazium Arnottii_. =A. aspidioides= (Aspidium-like). _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 12in. long. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 8in. to 12in. broad, ovate-deltoid, tripinnatifid; lower pinnæ 6in. to 8in. long, lanceolate-deltoid; pinnules lanceolate, cut down below nearly to the rachis into inciso-pinnatifid ovate segments, two lines broad. _sori_ copious, oblong, the lower ones curved. Tropical America, &c. Greenhouse species. SYN. _A. multisectum_. =A. attenuatum= (attenuated). _sti._ tufted, 3in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ simple, linear-lanceolate, about 1ft. long, about 1/2in. broad, narrowed upwards very gradually, sometimes proliferous at the point, the margin toothed; the lower third also lobed; the lowest roundish, lobes reaching down nearly or quite to the rachis. _sori_ reaching nearly to the edge. Queensland, &c. Greenhouse species. =A. aureum= (golden). A variety of _A. Ceterach_. =A. auriculatum= (auriculated).* _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad, simply pinnate, lanceolate-oblong, with ten to twenty-stalked horizontal pinnæ on each side, which are 2in. to 4in. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad, lanceolate, often sub-falcate; edge deeply crenate, the two sides unequal, the upper one with a cordate auricle, the lower one obliquely truncate. _sori_ distant, not reaching either the midrib or edge. Tropical America, 1820. Stove species. =A. auritum= (eared). _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 2in. to 4in. broad, simply pinnate, with ten to fifteen stalked horizontal pinnæ on each side, which are 2in. to 3in. long, and about 1/2in. broad, acute or bluntish; edge sharply toothed or often lobed, especially on the upper side towards the base. _sori_ in two broad rather oblique rows. Tropical America. Stove species. =A. australasicum= (Australian). A variety of _A. Nidus_. =A. Baptistii= (Baptist's).* _sti._ 6in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ 1ft. long, bipinnate, broadly ovate; pinnæ stipitate, the lower about 5in. long, with four narrow stipitate linear-toothed pinnules, 2in. long, and a terminal lobe, 3-1/2in. long, 1/4in. broad, furnished with distinct linear marginal teeth, pointing forwards, and terminating in a long attenuated point, which is toothed nearly to the end. _sori_ linear-oblong, straight, parallel with, and close to, the midrib. South Sea Islands, 1879. A very handsome stove species. =A. Belangeri= (Belanger's).* _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad, bipinnate; pinnæ numerous, 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, 1/2in. broad, rounded at the point, truncate at the base on the lower side; pinnules linear, erecto-patent, half line broad; one vein and sorus to each segment, the latter marginal. Malayan Peninsula. Stove species. SYNS. _A. Veitchianum_, _Darea_, _Belangeri_, &c. =A. bipartitum= (twice-partite). _sti._ tufted, 3in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 8in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad, bipinnate, with about ten to fifteen stalked pinnæ on each side, which are 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, bluntish, cut down at the base on the upper side into one distinctly-stalked cuneate pinnule, sometimes into two or three, the outer edge inciso-crenate, the base on the lower side obliquely truncate. _sori_ in two regular rows, reaching nearly to the edge. Mascaren Isles. Stove species. =A. bisectum= (bisected).* _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad, bipinnatifid, with twenty to thirty horizontal pinnæ on each side, which are 2in. to 3in. long, 1/4in. broad, with a very long, narrow, deeply inciso-pinnatifid upper portion, the base on the upper side narrowed suddenly, on the lower obliquely truncate. _sori_ almost all in two parallel rows close to the midrib. West Indies, &c. Stove species. =A. brachypteron= (broadly-winged). _sti._ tufted, 2in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ 4in. to 6in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, bipinnate, with twelve to twenty-four horizontal pinnæ on each side, of which from half to nearly the whole of the lower side is cut away, the largest 1/2in. to 5/8in. long, cut down to the rachis into simple or forked linear pinnules, 1in. to 1-1/2in. long. _sori_ solitary, often quite marginal. Madagascar, &c. Stove species. SYN. _Darea brachypteron_. =A. brevisorum= (shortly-soriate). _sti._ 12in. to 18in. long. _fronds_ 2ft. to 3ft. long, 9in. to 18in. broad, tripinnate; lower pinnæ 1ft. or more long; pinnules lanceolate, distant, 2in. to 3in. long, and 1-1/2in. broad; segments lanceolate, 3/4in. long, two lines broad, deeply and sharply toothed. _sori_ small, six to twelve to a segment, in two rows near the midrib, the lower ones curved, often double. Jamaica, &c. Stove species. SYN. _Athyrium brevisorum_. =A. bulbiferum= (bulb-bearing). _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 12in. long. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 8in. to 12in. broad, oblong-deltoid, with numerous horizontal pinnæ on each side, which are often proliferous from the upper surface, the largest 4in. to 8in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad; pinnules lanceolate-deltoid, slightly toothed. _sori_ oblong, when mature often filling the whole breadth of the segments. New Zealand, &c., very widely distributed. Greenhouse species. =A. b. Fabianum= (Fabia's). Lower segments deeply pinnatifid, with narrow divisions and sub-marginal sori. SYN. _A. Fabianum_. =A. b. laxum= (loose). Habit more slender; segments narrow, so that the sori are often as if marginal. =A. caudatum= (tailed). Probably a form of _A. falcatum_, but having the sori more confined to the centre of the pinnæ, being often restricted to two parallel rows close to the rachis. Polynesia, &c. Greenhouse species. [Illustration: FIG. 170. ASPLENIUM CETERACH.] =A. Ceterach.=* Scale or Scaly Fern. _sti._ densely tufted, 1in. to 3in. long, scaly. _fronds_ 4in. to 6in. long, 1/2in to 1in. broad, cut down nearly or quite to the rachis into alternate, blunt, sub-entire, broadly-oblong or roundish pinnæ, with a rounded sinus between them; upper surface naked, lower densely clothed with deep brown membranous scales. _sori_ linear oblique. Britain, throughout Europe, Northern Asia, &c. This is a variable species, but the forms do not remain constant under cultivation. It should be firmly planted in a vertical chink of the rockery in loam, lime rubbish, rock chippings, and sand, and be watered freely during the summer. SYN. _Ceterach officinarum_. See Fig. 170. =A. C. aureum= (golden).* A large variety, producing fronds from 9in. to 15in. long, 1-1/2in. to 3in. broad, and pinnæ more oblong than the type; scales toothed. Canaries and Madeira. This is a charming fern, requiring greenhouse treatment. SYN. _Ceterach aureum_. =A. cicutarium= (Cicuta-leaved).* _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 15in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad, tripinnate, with ten to fifteen horizontal pinnæ on each side, the lower ones 2in. to 3in. long, 1in. broad, cut down to the rachis into numerous ovate-rhomboidal pinnules, which are 3/8in. to 1/2in. long, 1/4in. broad, obliquely-truncate on the lower side; segments once or twice cleft at the apex. _sori_ principally in two rows along the pinnules. Tropical America, &c. Stove species. =A. Colensoi= (Colenso's). _sti._ tufted, 3in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 9in. long, 2in. to 4in. broad, tripinnatifid, with numerous rather rigid erecto-patent pinnæ, the lower on stalks 1/4in. to 1/2in. long; lower pinnules spreading, deeply inciso-pinnatifid, with linear segments. _sori_ oblong, solitary. New Zealand. A beautiful greenhouse species. SYN. _A. Hookerianum_. =A. compressum= (compressed). _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ 2ft. to 3ft. long, 8in. to 12in. broad, simply pinnate, lanceolate-oblong, with ten to twenty sessile pinnæ on each side, which are 4in. to 6in. long, about 1in. broad, acute or bluntish at the point, edge slightly dentate, the upper ones decurrent at the base upon the stout fleshy compressed rachis, the upper side narrowed suddenly at about a right angle, the lower one obliquely truncate. _sori_ broad, distant, not reaching either the midrib or edge. St. Helena. Stove or greenhouse species. =A. contiguum= (contiguous). _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad, with twenty to thirty horizontal sub-falcate pinnæ on each side, which are acuminated at the apex; edge more or less serrated, the base narrowed suddenly, and sometimes auricled on the upper, obliquely truncate in a curve on the lower side. _sori_ close, copious, falling considerably short of the margin. Sandwich Isles. Greenhouse species. =A. crenatum= (crenated).* _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, scattered. _fronds_ 9in. to 15in. each way, deltoid, tri- or quadripinnate, with nine to twelve pinnæ on each side, the lowest much the largest, 6in. to 9in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad; pinnules lanceolate, cut down to the rachis except towards the point on each side into four to six blunt oblong segments, two lines long, one line broad, which are bluntly toothed. _sori_ two to six to a segment, oblong, usually nearly straight, often double. Scandinavia, &c. Hardy species. =A. cultrifolium= (hook-leaved).* _sti._ 4in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad, bipinnate, deltoid-ovate, with a lobed terminal point and six to ten pinnæ on each side, which are 3in. to 4in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, acute; edge broadly toothed, sometimes lobed below nearly or quite to the rachis, the base nearly at a right angle on the upper, but obliquely truncate on the lower side. _sori_ falling short both of the edge and midrib. West Indies, 1820. Stove species. SYN. _Diplazium cultrifolium_. =A. cuneatum= (wedge-shaped). _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 15in. long, 6in. to 9in. broad, tripinnatifid, narrow-deltoid, with numerous spreading pinnæ on each side, the lower 3in. to 4in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, lanceolate-deltoid, cut down to the rachis into several distinct ovate-cuneate pinnules, which are dentate and cut down in the lower part nearly or quite to the rachis. _sori_ linear, sub-flabellate. West Indies, and widely distributed in both hemispheres, 1832. A very handsome stove species. =A. Dalhousiæ= (Dalhouse's). Synonymous with _A. alternans_. =A. decussatum= (decussate). _sti._ 1ft. to 2ft. long. _fronds_ 2ft. to 4ft. long, simply pinnate, with numerous pinnæ on each side, which are 6in. to 12in. long, 1in. to 2in. broad, often proliferous in the axils; edge nearly entire. _sori_ reaching nearly to the edge, and copiously double. Polynesian and Malayan Islands, &c. Stove species. SYN. _Anisogonium decussatum_. =A. dentatum= (dentated).* _sti._ tufted, 2in. to 6in. long. _fertile fronds_ 2in. to 3in. long, 1in. broad, with six to eight pairs of stalked, sub-opposite pinnæ, which are 1/2in. broad, 3/8in. deep, oblong-rhomboidal, the lower side at the base truncate in a curve, the outer edge irregularly crenate. _sterile fronds_ smaller, on shorter stalks. _sori_ copious, in two parallel rows. West Indies, &c., 1820. A pretty little greenhouse species. =A. dimidiatum= (unequal-sided).* _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 12in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 15in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad, deltoid, simply pinnate, with six to nine opposite pairs of pinnæ, which are 2in. to 3in. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad, acuminated, sharply serrated. _sori_ radiant, narrow, long linear. Tropical America. Stove species. =A. dimorphum= (two-formed).* _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 12in. long. _fronds_ 2ft. to 3ft. long, 12in. to 15in. broad, ovate-deltoid, sterile and fertile ones different or combined; lower pinnæ ovate-deltoid, 6in. to 8in. long, 2in. broad, bluntly toothed, and the base on the lower side obliquely truncate; fertile pinnæ the same size, but with very narrow simple or forked pinnules. _sori_ linear, solitary, marginal. Norfolk Island. One of the handsomest warm greenhouse species. SYNS. _A. diversifolium_ (of gardens), and _Darea dimorpha_. =A. diplazioides= (Diplazium-like). A synonym of _A. Arnottii_. =A. diversifolium= (diverse-leaved). A garden synonym of _A. dimorphum_. =A. diversifolium= (diverse-leaved). Synonymous with _A. maximum_. =A. ebeneum= (ebony-stalked).* _sti._ tufted, 3in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad, linear-lanceolate, with twenty to forty sessile pinnæ on each side, which are about 1in. long, 1/8in. broad; point acute or bluntish; edge faintly serrate; base hastately auricled, often cordate. _sori_ ten to twelve on each side, oblong, short. Canada, &c., widely distributed, 1779. Greenhouse species. _A. ebenoides_ is very like this, but the pinnæ are not cut down to the rachis, and the frond has an elongated point, which is only sinuated with a single row of sori on each side. =A. erectum= (erect). Synonymous with _A. lunulatum_. =A. erosum= (bitten). _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 4in. to 8in. broad, deltoid, with nine to fifteen pinnæ on each side, which are 3in. to 4in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, the edge slightly lobed and crenato-dentate, the point acuminate, the two sides unequal. _sori_ falling short of the edge. West Indies. Stove species. =A. esculentum= (edible).* _cau._ sub-arborescent. _sti._ 1ft. to 2ft. long. _fronds_ 4ft. to 6ft. long, pinnate or bipinnate; lower pinnæ 12in. to 18in. long, 6in. to 8in. broad; pinnules 3in. to 6in. long, about 1in. broad, acuminate; edge more or less deeply lobed; base narrowed suddenly, often auricled; lines of _sori_ often on all the lateral veinlets. India, &c., 1822. Stove species. SYN. _Anisogonium esculentum_. =A. extensum= (extended). _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ 12in. to 24in. long, about 1in. broad, with twenty to forty sessile pinnæ on each side, which are 1/2in. long, 1/4in. to 3/8in. deep, blunt and entire, the upper side rather the broadest and often cordate, the lower merely rounded at the base. _sori_ linear-oblong, two or three on each side of the midrib. Andes of Columbia and Peru. A very rare greenhouse species, allied to our native _A. Trichomanes_. =A. Fabianum= (Fabia's). Synonymous with _A. bulbiferum Fabianum_. =A. falcatum= (hooked).* _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 18in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad, lanceolate, with six to twenty stalked, nearly horizontal pinnæ on each side, which are 2in. to 3in. long, 1/2in. to 1in. broad, acuminated, the edges lobed often one-third of the way down, and the lobes sharply toothed, the two sides unequal, and the lower one at the base obliquely truncate. _sori_ in long irregular lines reaching nearly to the edge. Polynesian Islands, &c., widely distributed. A very elegant greenhouse species. =A. fejeense= (Fijian).* _rhiz._ wide-climbing. _sti._ 6in. long, scaly below. _fronds_ 18in. to 24in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, lanceolate, caudate, or acuminate at the apex, and often proliferous, narrowed below to a truncate base, the margin nearly entire. _sori_ reaching from the midrib nearly to the edges. Fiji, Samoa. &c. Stove species. =A. Fernandesianum= (Juan Fernandez). A variety of _A. lunulatum_. =A. Filix-f�mina= (Lady Fern).* _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 12in. long. _fronds_ 1ft. to 3ft. long, 6in. to 12in. broad, oblong-lanceolate, with numerous pinnate pinnæ, the lower ones spreading, lanceolate, 3in. to 6in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad; pinnules deeply inciso-pinnatifid. _sori_ linear-oblong, the lower ones often curved. Britain, and world-wide in its distribution. SYN. _Athyrium Filix-f�mina_. This handsome deciduous species has a great number of varieties, the most important of which are described below: =A. F.-f. acrocladon= (summit-branched).* _fronds_ 9in. to 15in. long, slender, bi- or tripinnate, the lower part very narrow, with the apices of the pinnæ sometimes crested; upper portion of the frond freely branched, divisions narrow and crested, the whole forming a broad head. =A. F.-f. acuminatum= (taper-pointed).* _fronds_ 9in. to 12in. long, lanceolate-acuminate in outline, with closely set pinnæ, which are similarly characterised, and particularly tapering at the apices. =A. F.-f. apiculatum= (apiculate).* _fronds_ 6in. to 15in. long, 2in. to 4in. broad, lanceolate-acuminate in outline, with variously furcate apices; pinnæ closely set with distinctly acuminated apices, and small roundish obtuse serrated pinnules. =A. F.-f. Applebyanum= (Appleby's).* _fronds_ narrow, 12in. to 24in. long, with short blunt pinnæ, while the extremities are dilated into a broad furcated crest, which is very striking upon such a narrow frond. =A. F.-f. Barnesii= (Barnes's).* _fronds_ 9in. to 15in. long, 3in. to 4in. wide, lanceolate in outline, abrupt at the top, bipinnate; pinnæ alternate, closely set, lanceolate, acutely pointed, with densely set, narrow, acutely serrate pinnules, with a very membranous texture. =A. F.-f. calothrix= (beautiful-hair).* _fronds_ 9in. to 15in. long, copiously divided into exquisitely fine segments, so that the fronds present a very light and delicate appearance. =A. F.-f. contortum= (contorted).* _fronds_ very diversified, the various pinnæ occasionally combining the characters of the varieties _Applebyanum_ and _Victoriæ_. =A. F.-f. coronatum= (coronate).* _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 2in. wide; pinnæ distinctly forked, sometimes slightly crested at the apices; the upper extremity of the frond copiously forked, and by the ramification of the divisions a broad crest is formed, about 3in. to 4in. across. =A. F.-f. corymbiferum= (corymbose).* _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 4in. to 7in. broad, lanceolate-acuminate in general outline; pinnæ closely set, usually forked and crested at the apices, while the extremities of the fronds are dilated into broad crests, nearly or quite as wide at the broadest portion of the frond. =A. F.-f. crispum= (crispy or curled).* _fronds_ 6in. long, densely set with very finely divided pinnæ, which are thickly curled, presenting a crispy appearance. =A. F.-f. dissectum= (dissected).* _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, ovate or broadly lanceolate in form, with irregular and unequal pinnæ; the pinnules also differ very much, and are deeply cut, nearly down to the rachises. =A. F.-f. Elworthii= (Elworth's).* _fronds_ 12in. to 20in. long, lanceolate, tripinnate, terminated with a very dense crest, from 4in. to 6in. across; pinnæ and frequently the pinnules also more or less forked and crested. =A. F.-f. Fieldiæ= (Field's).* _fronds_ 12in. to 20in. long, narrow, with regular or variously-forked divided pinnæ, sometimes arranged crosswise, with a very graceful disposition. =A. F.-f. Friselliæ= (Frisell's).* _fronds_ pendent, sometimes 2ft. long, rarely exceeding 1in. wide, bi- or tripinnate; pinnæ alternate, imbricated, flabellate, with the margins of the pinnules or ultimate divisions dentated. =A. F.-f. grandiceps= (large-crested).* _fronds_ 9in. to 15in. long, lanceolate in outline, copiously forked both at the extremities of the pinnæ and frond. The latter is furnished with a very large globose crest, which causes the frond to present a beautifully arched appearance. =A. F-f. Grantæ= (Grant's).* _fronds_ 9in. to 12in. long, lanceolate, or broadly so, very thickly set with pinnæ, copiously divided, with the apices of the latter turned up, so that the plant has a crisp or bristly appearance. =A. F.-f. Jonesii= (Jones's).* _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, oblong-lanceolate in outline, slightly acuminate, bipinnate, furnished at the extremities with a small crest; pinnæ alternate, copiously forked and crested at the apices, even having larger crests than the one at the upper extremity of the frond; pinnules narrow, dentate, slightly crested. =A. F.-f. minimum= (smallest).* _fronds_ 4in. to 6in. long, 1in. wide, lanceolate, bipinnate; pinnules densely set, imbricated, and crispy. =A. F.-f. Moorei= (Moore's).* _fronds_ 4in. to 8in. long, linear, terminated with a broad tasselled crest, 3in. or more in diameter; pinnæ small, scattered, variously forked, crested, and slender. =A. F.-f. multifidum= (many-fid).* A very vigorous growing variety, producing fronds as large as those of the type, terminated with large tasselled crests; pinnæ and pinnules narrow, the former furnished with small crested apices. A variety known as _nanum_ much resembles the foregoing, but the crests are more dense, and the fronds are usually not more than half the length. =A. F.-f. pannosum= (pannose).* _fronds_ 10in. to 20in. long, lanceolate in outline, from 4in. to 6in. in the broadest part, bi- or (rarely) tripinnate; pinnæ thickly set, closely alternated, lanceolate-acuminate in form, with deep cut pinnules, and distinctly but irregularly lobed; the whole frond is frequently tinged with reddish-purple. =A. F.-f. plumosum= (feathery).* _fronds_ 12in. to 30in. long, 4in. to 10in. broad, broadly lanceolate in outline, tripinnate, beautifully arched; pinnæ of the same form as the frond, copiously divided; pinnules again divided into very fine segments. There are several forms of this charming variety. =A. F.-f. Pritchardii= (Pritchard's).* _fronds_ 12in. to 30in. long, very narrow, tapering especially towards the apices; pinnæ decussate, imbricate, rather irregular, with the margins of the pinnules dentate. There is also a variety named _cristatum_, which is finely crested at the apices of the pinnæ, and is particularly striking. =A. F.-f. ramosa= (branched).* _fronds_ 9in. to 12in. long, the lower portion sparsely set with short irregular pinnæ, sharply cut into finely dentate pinnules; the upper part is divided into two main branches, which are again variously forked, and furnished with short pinnæ, the ultimate divisions furcate and slightly crested. =A. F.-f. scopæ= (heavily-crested).* _fronds_ 6in. to 16in. long, with a few scattered irregular pinnæ along the main rachis; some of the pinnæ are almost obsolete, while others are an inch long with oblong-dentate pinnules and a heavy terminal crest; the upper portion has several ramifications, each of which is copiously forked and heavily crested, the whole forming a corymbose head 3in. or 4in. in diameter, which gives the plant a pendent habit. =A. F.-f. sub-lunatum= (half-crescent-shaped).* _fronds_ 9in. to 20in. long, less than 1in. wide, with curious alternated, nearly crescent-shaped, much contracted pinnæ, sparingly divided, arching. =A. F.-f. Victoriæ= (Victoria's).* _fronds_ long, lanceolate in outline, with the apices crested, as well as those of the pinnæ; the latter are forked at the base, the divisions being divergent, and crossing those of the neighbouring pinnæ. A form named _gracilis_ has narrower fronds, is more compact, and cresting rather thicker. There is also another form named _lineare_, having very small heavily crested fronds, and an extremely elegant appearance. The foregoing are the most important varieties, but a very comparative few of the total number. Although forms of an essentially hardy species, the greater number--and particularly the rarer sorts--should have a winter protection; or, what is far more preferable and satisfactory, they should be grown in the frame or temperate fernery. =A. firmum= (firm-textured). Synonymous with _A. abscissum_. =A. fissum= (cut).* _sti._ tufted, 2in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ 2in. to 5in. long, 1in. to 2in. broad, oblong-deltoid, tripinnatifid, with a few distant pinnæ on each side; pinnules flabellato-cuneate, deeply pinnatifid; ultimate segments under half a line broad. _sori_ linear-oblong, when mature occupying the whole breadth of the segments. South Europe. A pretty little frame or greenhouse species. =A. flabellifolium= (fan-leaved).* _sti._ tufted, 3in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ procumbent, wide straggling, elongated, and rooting at the apex, 6in. to 12in. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad, with ten to fifteen sessile flabellate pinnæ on each side, which are 1/4in. to 1/2in. each way, broadly lobed; lobes sharply toothed, the base cut away in a curve on the lower side. _sori_ oblique, irregular, copious. Temperate Australia, &c. Greenhouse species. =A. f. majus= (greater). This is a larger form, with longer fronds and broader pinnæ. =A. flaccidum= (relaxed). _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ 1ft. to 3ft. long, 4in. to 8in. broad, often pendent, with numerous lanceolate pinnæ, which are 4in. to 8in. long, and about 1/2in. broad, sometimes rather rigid and recurved, sometimes quite flaccid and drooping, like the main rachis, sometimes deeply pinnatifid, but more often cut down to the thick rachis in oblique or sub-falcate linear lobes. _sori_ in the divided form quite marginal. New Zealand, &c. SYNS. _A. odontites_ and _Darea flaccida_. =A. f�niculaceum= (Fennel-like). A variety of _A. fragrans_. [Illustration: FIG. 171. ASPLENIUM FONTANUM.] =A. fontanum= (rock).* _sti._ tufted, 2in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ 3in. to 6in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, oblong-lanceolate; lower pinnæ short, reflexed; central ones horizontal, about 1/2in. long; pinnules stalked, lower ones oblong, deeply inciso-pinnatifid. _sori_ copious, covering nearly the whole under surface of the pinnule. England, &c. Hardy. This requires to be planted in a well-drained chink of the rockery, in rich gritty soil. SYN. _A. Halleri_. _A. refractum_ is a well-marked variety. See Fig. 171. =A. formosum= (beautiful). _sti._ tufted, very short. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 1in. broad, with twenty to thirty sessile horizontal pinnæ on each side, which are 1/2in. long, one and a-half to two lines deep; upper edge deeply cut, point rather obtuse, lower edge truncate in a straight line. _sori_ linear-oblong, short, oblique, placed one to four on each side of the midrib. Tropical America, &c., 1822. A very elegant stove species. =A. fragrans= (fragrant).* _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 8in. long, _fronds_ 6in. to 9in. long, 3in. to 6in. broad, sub-deltoid, tripinnate, with numerous close placed deltoid pinnæ on each side, the lowest 3in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad; pinnules lanceolate-deltoid; segments sub-spathulate, one line broad, dentate round the outer edge. _sori_ copious. Tropical America, 1793. _A. f�niculaceum_ is a variety with narrowly linear ultimate segments. Both are very handsome stove plants, the latter being especially beautiful. =A. Franconis= (Franconis).* _sti._ tufted, 1ft. long. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 9in. to 15in. broad, deltoid, with numerous pinnæ on each side, the lower ones 6in. to 8in. long, much acuminated, cut down in the lower half into distinct pinnules, 1-1/2in. to 2in. long, 1/2in. broad, lanceolate, unequal sided, the edge cut half-way down below into oblong sharply-toothed lobes; the lower side obliquely truncate. _sori_ in parallel rows, not reaching the edge. Mexico, &c. Stove species. SYN. _Diplazium Franconis_. =A. furcatum= (forked).* _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 8in. long, _fronds_ 6in. to 18in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad, with twelve to twenty pinnæ on each side, which are lanceolate-deltoid, 2in. to 3in. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad, nearly or quite pinnate; pinnules linear-cuneate, sharply serrated on the outer edge. _sori_ linear, distant. Very widely distributed in the tropical and sub-tropical regions of both hemispheres. A most elegant greenhouse species. SYN. _A. præmorsum_. =A. germanicum= (German).* _sti._ densely tufted, 2in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ 2in. to 3in. long, 1/2in. to 1in. broad, lanceolate, cut down to the rachis into a few narrow flabellato-cuneate pinnæ on each side, the lowest of which are again deeply cleft. _sori_ linear, when mature covering the whole breadth, but falling short of the point of the pinnæ. Scotland and Norway to Hungary and Dalmatia. Hardy or frame species. SYN. _A. alternifolium_. =A. giganteum= (gigantic). A synonym of _A. radicans_. =A. Goringianum pictum= (painted).* A very pretty form of _A. macrocarpum_; the fronds are from 6in. to 18in. long, pendulous, somewhat lanceolate in form; rachis reddish, with the pinnæ next it on each side variegated, forming a central grey band throughout its entire length. Japan. Greenhouse species, or hardy in sheltered positions. =A. grandifolium= (large-leaved). _sti._ 1ft. or more long. _fronds_ 2ft. to 3ft. long, 9in. to 12in. broad, deltoid-lanceolate, the point pinnatifid, with twelve to twenty pinnæ on each side; the lower ones 2in. or more apart, distinctly stalked, 4in. to 6in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, acuminate; edge slightly toothed, and sometimes broadly lobed below, the base equally rounded on both sides. _sori_ irregular, falling slightly short of both midrib and edge. Tropical America, 1793. Stove species. SYN. _Diplazium grandifolium_. =A. Grevillei= (Greville's). _fronds_ undivided, 12in. to 18in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad, lanceolate-spathulate, narrowed to an acute apex, and suddenly below to a broadly winged stipe, which grows very gradually narrower downwards; the margin entire. _sori_ usually extending within a short distance of the edge. India. Stove species. =A. Halleri= (Haller's). Synonymous with _A. fontanum_. =A. Hemionitis= (Hemionitis).* _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ 4in. to 6in. each way, hastate, with a triangular, acute terminal lobe, and two large, cordate, acute lateral ones, again bluntly or acutely lobed at the base; the basal sinus rounded, 1in. or more deep, and the lobes on each side imbricated over one another and the petiole. _sori_ narrow upon the simple veins. South Europe, &c. A pretty greenhouse species. SYN. _A. palmatum_. =A. H. cristatum= (crested).* Similar in frond form and size to the species, but the apices are crested and tasselled. Where variety is sought, this should certainly be grown. =A. H. multifidum= (much-divided).* _fronds_ quite as broad as long; the main divisions again freely divided or deeply cut, so as to give them a fringed outline. Azores. =A. heterocarpum= (various-fruited).* _sti._ scattered, 4in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 15in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, narrow-lanceolate, with very numerous close-placed dimidiate pinnæ on each side, which are 3/4in. to 1in. broad, 1/4in. deep; the lower edge quite entire, the upper broadest towards the base, where it is narrowed suddenly, deeply incised throughout. _sori_ one, or rarely two, together in the teeth. Himalayas, and widely distributed in south-eastern Asia. A very lovely stove or greenhouse species. =A. heterodon= (variously-toothed). Synonymous with _A. vulcanicum_. =A. Hookerianum= (Hooker's). Synonymous with _A. Colensoi_. =A. incisum= (incised). _sti._ tufted, 1in. to 3in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, lanceolate, with numerous pinnæ on each side; lower distant and blunt, central ones 1in. long, 1/2in. broad, lanceolate-deltoid; pinnules ovate-rhomboidal, pinnate, much truncated at the base on the lower side and deeply inciso-pinnatifid. _sori_ linear-oblong, one to each vein. Japan, &c. Greenhouse species. =A. javanicum= (Javanese). _See_ =Allantodia Brunoniana=. =A. lanceolatum= (lanceolate).* _sti._ tufted, 3in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 9in. long, 2in. to 4in. broad; lower pinnæ distant, 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, 1/4in. to 3/8in. broad; pinnules oblong-rhomboidal, sharply toothed, and often broadly lobed below. _sori_ copious, when mature covering nearly the whole under surface. South-west Europe, including southern England, &c. Hardy species. =A. l. crispatum= (curled).* _fronds_ 4in. to 8in. long, broadly-lanceolate, bipinnate, with the margins of the pinnules involute and sharply toothed, giving them a curled appearance. =A. l. microdon= (small-toothed).* _fronds_ 4in. to 6in. long, simply pinnate, with deeply lobed pinnæ, the margins of the lobes very finely dentated and toothed. A pretty little gem, well adapted for case culture. =A. lanceum= (lance-shaped). _sti._ scattered, 4in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 9in. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad, attenuated gradually upwards and downwards, the edge entire or slightly undulated. _sori_ linear, irregular, reaching nearly to the edge, but not to the midrib. Himalayas, &c. Greenhouse species. SYN. _A. subsinuatum_ and _Diplazium lanceum_. =A. laserpitiifolium= (Laserpitium-leaved).* _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 12in. long, naked. _fronds_ 1ft. to 4ft. long, 4in. to 18in. broad, deltoid-lanceolate, with numerous pinnæ on each side, 2in. to 9in. long, and from 2in. to 6in. broad, cut down to the rachis into numerous distinct pinnules, the lowest with rhomboidal-cuneate segments. _sori_ short, irregular. Polynesian Islands, North Australia, &c. A very handsome greenhouse species. =A. laxum= (loose). A variety of _A. bulbiferum_. =A. lineatum= (streaked). _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 4in. to 8in. broad, oblong-lanceolate, with twenty to thirty pinnæ on each side, which are 3in. to 4in. long, about 1/2in. broad, acuminate, dentate, nearly or quite sessile, the base cuneate. _sori_ very regular, reaching from the midrib nearly to the edge. Mauritius, &c. There are several forms of this species: those with small narrow cuneate pinnules, _inequale_; those with deeply bifid or pinnatifid pinnules, _bifida_. Stove species. =A. longissimum= (longest).* _sti._ tufted, 3in. to 12in. long. _fronds_ 2ft. to 8ft. long, 4in. to 8in. broad, lanceolate-elongate, pendulous, proliferous, and rooting at the apex, with very numerous pinnæ on each side, which are 2in. to 4in. long, 1/4in. broad, acuminated, the two sides nearly equal, with a distinct central midrib; edge slightly toothed, the base on both sides often auricled. _sori_ numerous, in two regular rows on each side the midrib, and reaching nearly to the edge. Malacca, &c., 1840. A very distinct stove fern for baskets. =A. lucidum= (clear). A synonym of _A. obtusatum lucidum_. =A. lunulatum= (crescent-shaped).* _sti._ tufted, 2in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 18in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, simply pinnate, narrowly lanceolate-oblong, with twelve to twenty pinnæ on each side, which are 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, 1/4in. to 1/2in. broad, bluntish or acute, more or less deeply inciso-crenate throughout, the two sides unequal; the upper one on the base narrowed suddenly, the lower one obliquely truncate; lower pinnæ often deflexed. _sori_ falling short of both edge and midrib. Tropics. SYN. _A. erectum_. =A. l. Fernandesianum= (Fernandez).* A form with a more rigid rachis and sub-coriaceous, rather narrower pinnæ. Juan Fernandez. =A. macrocarpum= (large-fruited). _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 12in. to 24in. long, 6in. to 12in. broad, ovate-lanceolate, with numerous pinnæ on each side, the lowest 3in. to 6in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, lanceolate; pinnules oblong-rhomboidal, inciso-crenate or pinnatifid. _sori_ copious, large. Himalayas. Greenhouse species. SYN. _Athyrium macrocarpum_. =A. macrophyllum= (long-leaved). Synonymous with _A. nitens_. =A. marginatum= (margined). _sti._ 2ft. to 3ft. long, strong, erect woody, about 1/2in. thick at the base. _fronds_ simply pinnate, 4ft. to 6ft. long; pinnæ in several opposite pairs, the lowest 1ft. to 2ft. long, 3in. to 4in. broad, the edge entire, the base often cordate. _sori_ long, linear, confined to the free veins. Tropical America. Stove species. SYN. _Hemidictyum marginatum_. =A. marinum= (sea).* Sea Spleenwort. _sti._ tufted, 3in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 18in. long, 2in. to 4in. broad, oblong-lanceolate, apex pinnatifid; pinnæ of the lower half quite deltoid, the point acute or obtuse, margin crenato-dentate. _sori_ broad, falling short of the edge. Europe, including Britain. Although perfectly hardy, this requires to be grown in a frame or cool house. =A. m. coronans= (crowned).* _fronds_ 4in. to 6in. long, simply pinnate; pinnæ for two-thirds of the way up variable in form, and irregularly lobed and cut; the upper third freely branched with numerous imbricated, curled, and slightly crested divisions, forming a dense head 2in. or more across. A dwarf and pretty form. =A. m. crenatum= (crenated). _fronds_ 4in. to 8in. long, broadly-lanceolate; pinnæ nearly trapeziform, obtuse, with deeply crenated margins. A very pretty form. =A. m. mirabile= (wonderful).* _sti._ 2in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ about the same length, the rachis divided about half way down from the top into two nearly equal divisions, which are again freely forked, with the pinnules and segments obtusely lobed; the whole expanded, but not crested, into a breadth equal to the length of the frond; the lower pinnæ are more or less abnormal and bluntly lobed. =A. m. plumosum= (feathery).* _sti._ 3in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 15in. long, bi- or tripinnatifid, broadly-lanceolate; pinnæ very variable, closely set, and imbricated, cut nearly to the rachis into ovate or oblong divisions, which are again more or less deeply cut and lobed, the entire frond having a very elegant appearance. =A. m. ramo-plumosum= (branched and feathery).* _fronds_ divided nearly to the top of the stipes into two main branches, which are distinctly pinnate; pinnæ distant below, imbricated upwards, cut nearly to the rachis into ovate or oblong lobes, the margins of which are slightly dentated. It is a very handsome form, the width of the frond being greater than its length. =A. m. ramosum= (branched). _fronds_ from 4in. to 8in. long, branched at the apices; pinnæ oblong, with the margins obtusely-dentate, and slightly undulated. =A. m. sub-bipinnatum= (half-bipinnate). _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, lanceolate; pinnæ distant, deeply lobed, or cut nearly to the midribs. A very rare and pretty variety. =A. m. Thompsonii= (Thompson's).* _sti._ 3in. to 4in. long, smooth. _fronds_ 6in. to 10in. long, ovate-lanceolate, bipinnatifid; pinnæ closely set, sub-deltoid, unequal-sided, deeply cut into oblong, slightly undulated lobes below, gradually less divided upwards. A very rare and handsome variety. All the forms of _A. marinum_ require a very moist atmosphere, consequently they will not thrive in the open air, unless along the sea-coast. =A. maximum= (largest). _cau._ erect. _sti._ 2ft. or more long. _fronds_ several feet long, 2ft. to 3ft. broad, deltoid-lanceolate, with numerous pinnæ on each side, the lowest 9in. to 18in. long, 4in. to 8in. broad; pinnules sub-sessile, 2in. to 4in. long, 3/4in. broad; edge more or less lobed. _sori_ medial, the lowest two lines long. North India. Stove species. SYNS. _A. diversifolium_ and _Diplazium decurrens_. =A. melanocaulon= (black-stiped).* _sti._ 1ft. to 2ft. long. _fronds_ 2ft. to 3ft. long, 9in. to 18in. broad; lower pinnæ 4in. to 9in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad; pinnules lanceolate, 2in. to 3in. long, 3/4in. broad, cut down two-thirds of the way to the rachis into linear-oblong, falcate, inciso-crenate lobes. _sori_ short, oblong, not touching either midrib or edge. Fiji. Stove species. SYN. _Diplazium melanocaulon_. =A. Michauxii= (Michaux's).* _cau._ stout. _sti._ 4in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ 9in. to 24in. long, 3in. to 9in. broad, ovate-deltoid, bi- or tripinnate; pinnules oblong, deeply serrate, or cut quite to the rachis. United States. A very handsome hardy species, closely related to the Lady Fern, of which it may be only a variety. =A. monanthemum= (one-flowered).* _sti._ densely tufted, 3in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, about 1in. broad, with twenty to forty horizontal, sessile, sub-dimidiate pinnæ on each side, which are about 1/2in. long and 1/4in. deep, the upper side crenate, suddenly narrowed at the base, the lower more or less distinctly cut away in a straight, or, in the lower pinnæ, decurved line. _sori_ linear-oblong, usually one or two, parallel with the lower edge of the pinnæ. Temperate regions of both hemispheres. Greenhouse species. =A. montanum= (mountain).* _sti._ tufted, 2in. to 3in. long. _fronds_ 2in. to 3in. long, 1in. broad, lanceolate-deltoid; lowest pinnæ distinctly stalked, deltoid, sharply serrated round the outer edge. _sori_ short, copious. United States, 1812. Frame or greenhouse species. =A. multisectum= (much-cut). Synonymous with _A. aspidioides_. =A. musæfolium= (Musa-leaved). A variety of _A. Nidus_. =A. myriophyllum= (myriad-leaved). A variety of _A. rhizophyllum_. [Illustration: FIG. 172. ASPLENIUM NIDUS.] =A. Nidus= (nest).* Bird's-nest Fern. _fronds_ undivided, 2ft. to 4ft. long, 3in. to 8in. broad, lanceolate, acute or acuminate at the apex, tapering gradually below into a short stem; the edge entire, the midrib rounded on the back; veins fine and parallel, about 1/2in. apart. _sori_ reaching about half way towards the margin. India, &c., 1820. SYN. _A. australasicum_. See Fig. 172. =A. N. australasicum= (Australian). Midrib keeled on the back, often black. Australia, &c. The two former are best treated in the stove; the latter thrives well in the greenhouse. SYN. _Thamnopteris australasicum_. =A. N. musæfolium= (Musa-leaved).* _fronds_ larger, sometimes 6ft. long, 1ft. broad. _sori_ extending nearly to the edge. =A. nitens= (shining). _sti._ scattered, 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 1-1/2in. to 2in. long, 6in. to 9in. broad, with twelve to twenty ascending or sub-falcate pinnæ on each side, which are 4in. to 6in. long, 1/2in. to 1in. broad, much acuminated; edge finely toothed, base broadly rounded on the upper, truncate in a curve on the lower side. _sori_ in close regular rows, not extending more than half way from the midrib to the edge. Mauritius. Stove species. SYN. _A. macrophyllum_, of gardens only. =A. nitidum= (shining).* _sti._ 1ft. long, naked. _fronds_ 2ft. to 3ft. long, 6in. to 12in. broad, with many lanceolate-deltoid pinnæ on each side, which are cut down to the rachis into numerous stalked deltoid pinnules, these are again cut into broad fan-shaped cuneate segments, sharply serrated round the outer edge. _sori_ short. North India, Ceylon, &c. Greenhouse species. =A. novæ-caledoniæ= (New Caledonian).* _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 12in. long. _fronds_ 9in. to 12in. long, 6in. to 9in. broad, sub-deltoid, tripinnate; lower pinnæ and pinnules deltoid; segments rigid, scarcely flattened, 1/2in. or more long, distant, and erecto-patent. _sori_ long, linear, marginal. New Caledonia. A rare greenhouse species. SYN. _Darea novæ-caledoniæ_. =A. obtusatum= (obtuse). _sti._ tufted, 3in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 3in. to 4in. broad, oblong or ovate-deltoid, with a terminal pinna not much longer than the others, and two to six pairs on each side, which are 1in. to 2in. long and about 1/2in. broad, obtuse, edge crenate, the base truncato-cuneate, shortly stalked. _sori_ copious, broad, linear-oblong, falling short of the edge. Peru. _A. difforme_ is a variety with an ovate-deltoid frond, and the pinnæ cut quite down to a narrow-winged rachis in the lower part into distinctly separated roundish or oblong-sinuated pinnules. New Zealand, Australia, &c. Greenhouse kinds. =A. o. lucidum= (clear).* _fronds_ often 2ft. long, with fifteen to twenty pairs of pinnæ on each side, which are more herbaceous in texture, darker green in colour, the lowest 6in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, narrowed gradually to a long acuminated point, edge more deeply toothed. Greenhouse variety. SYN. _A. lucidum_. =A. obtusifolium= (obtuse-leaved).* _sti._ almost tufted, 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad, ovate-lanceo-late, with twelve to twenty stalked horizontal pinnæ on each side, which are 2in. to 3in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, acute; edges slightly undulato-crenate, the upper side with a distinct auricle at the base, and then narrowed suddenly, the lower side obliquely truncate. _sori_ distant, in two regular rows, falling short of the edge. West Indies, &c., 1838. Stove species. =A. obtusilobum= (obtuse-lobed).* _sti._ tufted, 2in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ 4in. to 6in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, with nine to twelve sub-deltoid pinnæ on each side, of which only the inner third on the lower side is cut away, the largest nearly 1in. long, 3/4in. broad; lowest pinnules 3/8in. deep, flabellately cut into three to five linear blunt lobes. _sori_ sub-marginal. New Hebrides, 1861. A very pretty little stove species. SYN. _Darea obtusiloba_. =A. odontites= (much-toothed). Synonymous with _A. flaccidum_. =A. oxyphyllum= (sharp-leaved).* _sti._ firm, 6in. to 12in. long. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 6in. to 12in. broad, lanceolate, with several pinnæ on each side, which are 3in. to 6in. long, 1in. to 2in. broad; pinnules lanceolate, in the larger forms again pinnatifid; teeth mucronate. _sori_ in two rows on the pinnæ or pinnules midway between the midrib and edge. Himalayas. A very variable greenhouse species. SYNS. _Athyrium oxyphylla_ and _Lastrea eburnea_. =A. paleaceum= (scaly).* _sti._ densely tufted, 1in. to 3in. long, spreading, densely scaly. _fronds_ 6in. to 9in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, sometimes proliferous and rooting at the apex, with twelve to twenty sub-sessile pinnæ on each side, which are 1in. long, about 1/2in. broad, bluntish; edge inciso-dentate, the upper base auricled and narrowed suddenly, the lower obliquely-truncate; the lower ones stalked, and nearly as broad as long. _sori_ linear, extending nearly to the edge. Tropical Australia. Stove or warm greenhouse species. =A. palmatum= (palmate). Synonymous with _A. Hemionitis_. =A. parvulum= (small). Synonymous with _A. trilobum_. =A. persicifolium= (Peach-leaved). _sti._ and _rachis_ grey, with a few scattered minute grey scales. _fronds_ oblong-lanceolate, 2ft. to 3ft. long, often gemmiferous at the apex; pinnæ ascending, fifteen to thirty-jugate, sub-petiolate, 4in. to 5in. long, linear-ligulate-acuminate, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, distinctly crenate throughout. _sori_ regular, reaching nearly to midrib and edge. Philippine and Sandwich Isles. Stove species. =A. Petrarchæ= (Petrarch's).* _sti._ densely tufted, 1in. to 2in. long. _fronds_ 2in. to 3in. long, 1/2in. broad, linear-lanceolate, with six to ten horizontal sessile pinnæ on each side, which are 1/4in. long and nearly as much broad, cordate-ovate, blunt; edge sinuated; the base unequal, slightly truncate on the lower side. _sori_ oblong, very short, four to six on each side of the midrib. South Europe, 1819. A very rare little gem, best treated in a cool house. =A. pinnatifidum= (pinnatifid). _sti._ tufted, 2in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ 3in. to 6in. long, 1in. or more broad at the base, lanceolate-deltoid, with a long, gradually narrowing point, which is sinuated only; the lobes below this 1/4in. to 1/2in. deep; the lowest ovate-oblong, 1/2in. deep by nearly as broad, sinuated and reaching down nearly to the rachis. _sori_ copious. Pennsylvania. Greenhouse or sheltered places outside. =A. planicaule= (flat-stiped).* _sti._ tufted, 3in. to 6in. long, naked. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad, with twelve to twenty stalked horizontal pinnæ on each side, which are 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, 1/4in. to 3/8in. broad, acute; edge lobed about half-way down, and deeply serrated. _sori_ copious, reaching nearly to the edge. Himalayas, up to 6000ft., &c., 1841. Greenhouse species. =A. plantagineum= (Plantain-like). _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 9in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad, simple, acuminate, base rounded; edge slightly undulato-dentate upwards, sometimes lobed towards the base. _sori_ slender, linear, sometimes nearly touching both edge and midrib. West Indies, &c., 1819. Stove species. SYN. _Diplazium plantagineum_. =A. polyphyllum= (many-leaved). Synonymous with _A. acuminatum_. =A. præmorsum= (bitten). Synonymous with _A. furcatum_. =A. prolongatum= (prolonged). Synonymous with _A. rutæfolium_. =A. pulchellum= (pretty).* _sti._ tufted. 1in. to 2in. long. _fronds_ 3in. to 6in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, with twelve to eighteen pinnæ on each side, which are 1/2in. to 3/4in. long, two lines to three lines broad, bluntish, almost dimidiate; the upper edge crenate, and narrowed suddenly at the base. _sori_ linear, oblique, falling short of the edge. Tropical America. Stove species. =A. pumilum= (small). _sti._ tufted, 3in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ 4in. to 6in. each way, deltoid, the upper part sinuated only, the lower cut down to the rachis into distinct pinnæ, of which the lowest pair are much the largest; the pinnules on the lower side sometimes 2in. long, reaching down to a slightly winged rachis, acuminate and deeply lobed. _sori_ very oblique, the lower ones sometimes 1in. long. West Indies, &c., 1823. A very rare and pretty stove species. =A. rachirhizon= (rachis-rooting). A variety of _A. rhizophorum_. [Illustration: FIG. 173. ASPLENIUM RADICANS.] =A. radicans= (rooting). _cau._ erect, sub-arborescent. _sti._ 1ft. to 2ft. long, tufted. _fronds_ 3ft. to 5ft. long, 2ft. to 3ft. broad, deltoid; lower pinnæ 12in. to 18in. long, 6in. to 8in. broad; pinnules lanceolate, sessile, the upper ones entire, lower ones 3in. to 4in. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad, with blunt lobes, 1/4in. broad, reaching about half way down to the rachis. Lower _sori_ sometimes 1/4in. long. Tropical America. A very variable species. SYNS. _A. giganteum_, _Diplazium radicans_, _D. umbrosum_, &c. See Fig. 173. =A. refractum= (refracted). A variety of _A. fontanum_. =A. resectum= (cut or pared).* _sti._ scattered, 4in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 15in. long, 2in. to 4in. broad, lanceolate-oblong, with ten to thirty sub-sessile horizontal pinnæ on each side, which are 1in. to 3in. long, 1/4in. to 1/2in. broad, almost dimidiate, the point bluntish, all except the truncate part crenate, the upper half at the base narrowed nearly at a right angle. _sori_ not reaching either the midrib or edge. India, &c., widely distributed, 1820. Greenhouse species. =A. rhizophorum= (root-bearing).* _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 4in. to 6in. broad, elongated, and rooting at the apex; pinnæ twelve to thirty on each side, sub-sessile, 1-1/2in. to 2in. long, about 1/2in. broad, inciso-dentate throughout; the two sides unequal, the upper one auricled and narrowed, the lower one obliquely cuneate. _sori_ not reaching either to the edge or midrib. Tropical America. A very variable stove species. _A. r. rachirhizon_, has distinctly separated oblong-rhomboidal pinnules, again deeply cut into narrow segments. =A. rhizophyllum= (leaf-rooting). _sti._ tufted, 2in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, cut down into numerous close-placed horizontal pinnæ on each side; central ones 1in. long, 1/4in. to 3/8in. broad, cut down throughout nearly to the centre into simple or forked erecto-patent pinnules, the lowest on the under side suppressed. _sori_ solitary, sub-marginal. _A. r. myriophyllum_ is a variety with broader fronds; central pinnæ 1-1/2in. long, with lower pinnules cut down into several simple or forked linear segments. North America, &c., 1680. Both handsome greenhouse kinds. =A. rutæfolium= (Rue-leaved).* _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 15in. long, 2in. to 4in. broad, ovate deltoid, with twelve to twenty pinnæ on each side, the lowest sub-deltoid, 2in. or more long, cut down to the rachis into numerous erecto-patent distant pinnules on each side, the lowest on the upper side again cut down into erecto-patent linear segments. _sori_ small, marginal. Cape Colony. A beautiful greenhouse species. SYNS. _A. prolongatum_ and _Darea rutæfolia_. =A. Ruta-muraria= (Wall-rue).* _sti._ tufted, 2in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ 1in. to 2in. long, about 1in. broad, deltoid, cut down to the rachis into a few pinnæ on each side, the lower ones again cut down into spathulato-cuneate pinnules, which are serrated round the outer edge. _sori_ copious. Great Britain, and almost worldwide in its distribution. Hardy species. This requires a well-drained position, and a soil composed mainly of old mortar rubbish. =A. salicifolium= (Willow-leaved). _sti._ tufted, 6in. to 12in. long. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 6in. to 9in. broad, oblong, with a terminal pinna and four to ten distinctly stalked ones on each side, which are 4in. to 6in. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad, acuminate; edge usually entire, the base equally truncato-cuneate on both sides. _sori_ falling short both of the edge and midrib. West Indies, &c. Stove species. =A. Sandersoni= (Sanderson's).* _sti._ tufted, 1in. to 2in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 9in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, linear, often gemmiferous at the apex, with twelve to twenty horizontal dimidiate pinnæ on each side, which are deeply crenate on the upper edge, and at the base narrowed suddenly into a winged petiole, the lower one nearly straight and quite entire. _sori_ oblong. Natal, &c. A very rare greenhouse species. =A. schizodon= (cut-toothed). Synonymous with _A. Vieillardii_. =A. Schkuhrii= (Schkuhr's). _cau._ erect. _sti._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. long. _fronds_ deltoid, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. long, tripinnatifid; lower pinnæ distant, oblong-lanceolate, 6in. to 8in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad, rachis winged to base; pinnules ligulate-oblong, 3/8in. broad, sessile, cut into shallow, close, oblong blunt lobes. _sori_ 1/8in., medial in a single row in the pinnules. Ceylon. Stove species. SYN. _Diplazium Schkuhrii_. =A. Selosii= (Selose's).* _sti._ densely tufted, 1in. to 2in. long, wiry. _fronds_ 1/2in. to 3/4in. long, palmately cleft, usually into three nearly equal forks, which are about one line broad, the edge slightly inciso-serrate. _sori_ copious, ultimately occupying the whole surface. Tyrol and Carinthia. A very rare and curious little species, requiring the protection of the frame or cool house; it should be firmly potted between pieces of sandstone in loam, leaf-soil, rock chippings and sand, with good drainage. =A. septentrionale= (northern).* _sti._ densely tufted, 3in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ simple, or cleft from the apex into two or three cuneate divisions, 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, one line broad, with a few sharp lateral and terminal teeth. _sori_ elongated, copious, often at last hiding the whole under surface. Great Britain, and widely distributed in both hemispheres. This rare little species requires to be securely planted in a well-drained elevated chink of the fernery outside, in loamy, gritty soil. =A. Shepherdi= (Shepherd's).* _sti._ tufted, 1ft. long. _fronds_ 12in. to 18in. long, 6in. to 9in. broad; lower pinnæ stalked, 4in. to 6in. long, 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad, point acuminate, edge lobed above, 1/4in. broad, somewhat toothed. _sori_ linear, not reaching the edge. South America. Stove species. SYN. _Diplazium Shepherdi_. =A. S. inæquilaterum= (unequal-sided). _fronds_, texture firm, colour duller than that of the type; pinnæ much acuminated; the lobes deeper, more uniform, and falcate, the two sides unequal, the lower one unequally truncate at the base. =A. spathulinum= (spathulate). A synonym of _A. affine_. =A. spinulosum= (very spiny).* _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, scattered. _fronds_ 9in. to 12in. each way, deltoid, tri- or quadripinnatifid, with nine to twelve pinnæ on each side, the lowest much the largest, 6in. to 9in. long, 2-1/2in. to 3in. broad, ovate-lanceolate; pinnules lanceolate, cut down to the rachis on each side into six to nine oblong-rhomboidal mucronate segments, two lines long, one line broad, which are sharply toothed. _sori_ two to ten to a segment, usually round, but occasionally oblong. Amur-land, &c. Greenhouse species. SYN. _Athyrium spinulosum_ and _Cystopteris spinulosa_. =A. splendens= (splendid). _rhiz._ creeping, scaly. _sti._ 6in. to 9in. _fronds_ deltoid, 6in. to 1ft. long, two to three-pinnate; lower pinnæ stalked, deltoid, 1in. to 2in. broad, pinnate or bipinnate; segments cuneate-flabellate, 1/4in. to 1/2in. broad, slightly lobed, sharply toothed round outer edge. _sori_ copious, slender, irregular, reaching from base nearly to tip of segments. Cape Colony. A very rare greenhouse species. =A. subsinuatum= (half-waved). Synonymous with _A. lanceum_. =A. sundense= (Sundanese). Synonymous with _A. vittæforme_. =A. sylvaticum= (woods). _cau._ decumbent. _sti._ 1ft. long. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 4in. to 8in. broad, ovate-lanceolate, with numerous spreading pinnæ, the largest 3in. to 4in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, acuminated; edge broadly and briefly lobed; base narrowed suddenly on both sides. _sori_ in long slender lines, reaching nearly to the edge. India, &c. Stove species. =A. thelypteroides= (Thelypteris-like). _sti._ 1ft. long. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 6in. to 12in. broad, lanceolate, with numerous spreading pinnæ, the lower ones 4in. to 6in. long, 1in. broad, cut down to a broadly-winged rachis into numerous nearly entire elliptical spreading pinnules. _sori_ in close regular rows, reaching nearly from the midrib to the edge, slightly curved, the lower ones often double. North America, &c., 1823. Hardy or cool house species. SYN. _Athyrium thelypteroides_. =A. Thwaitesii= (Thwaites's).* _rhiz._ wide-creeping, stout. _sti._ 6in. long, slender, densely clothed with strong white woolly hairs. _fronds_ 1ft. or more long, 4in. to 6in. broad, with eight to ten distinct pinnæ beneath the pinnatifid apex, the largest 3in. long, 5/8in. broad, cut down two-thirds of the way to the rachis in oblong crenulated lobes, 1/4in. deep, two lines across. _sori_ reaching half-way to the edge, the lowest about one line long. Ceylon. Very fine stove species. SYN. _Diplazium Thwaitesii_. [Illustration: FIG. 174. ASPLENIUM TRICHOMANES.] =A. Trichomanes= (maiden-hair).* Maidenhair Spleenwort. _sti._ densely tufted, 1in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, about 1/2in. broad, with fifteen to thirty opposite pairs of sessile horizontal pinnæ, which are 1/4in. to 3/8in. broad, one and a-half to two lines deep, edge slightly crenate, the two sides unequal, the upper one the broadest, and narrowed suddenly at the base. _sori_ linear-oblong, three to six on each side of the midrib. Great Britain, and almost cosmopolitan. Hardy species. See Fig. 174. There are several varieties in cultivation, of which the following are the most important: [Illustration: FIG. 175. ASPLENIUM TRICHOMANES CRISTATUM.] =A. T. cristatum= (crested).* _fronds_ 4in. to 6in. long, simply pinnate, with roundish pinnæ, and broad crests at their extremities, sometimes divided, each fork crested. A very pretty little variety, requiring frame or greenhouse treatment. See Fig. 175. =A. T. incisum= (deeply-cut).* _fronds_ 3in. to 6in. long; pinnæ deeply pinnatifid, the lobes again deeply cut or serrated. A very rare and pretty form. =A. T. multifidum= (much-divided).* _fronds_ 3in. to 6in. long, once, twice, thrice, or, rarely, quadri-furcate, each division terminated with a little crest. A free-growing kind. =A. T. ramosum= (branched).* _fronds_ 5in. to 8in. long, freely branched, each division being again forked; pinnæ deeply cut or crenated, or serrate. More hardy than any of the other forms. =A. trilobum= (three-lobed).* _sti._ tufted, 2in. to 3in. long. _fronds_ 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, 1in. broad, rhomboidal, apex acute, base cuneate, entire, the margin undulato-crenate, or the lower part deeply lobed, with broad inciso-crenate divisions. _sori_ broad and short. Chili and South Brazil. A very rare little stove species. SYN. _A. parvulum_. =A. umbrosum= (shady). _sti._ 1ft. or more long, scaly at the base. _fronds_ 2ft. to 5ft. long, 12in. to 18in. broad, ovate-deltoid; pinnæ ovate-lanceolate, 6in. to 9in. long, 3in. to 6in. broad, with lanceolate pinnules, which are again cut down to the midribs into unequal-sided rhomboidal lobes, with the margins sharply crenated. _sori_ copious, oblong, with large tumid membranous involucres. Madeira, Canaries, Himalayas, &c. Very widely distributed. A very handsome greenhouse species. SYNS. _Allantodia australe_, _Athyrium umbrosum_. =A. varians= (variable). _sti._ tufted, 1in. to 3in. long. _fronds_ 4in. to 6in. long, 1in. broad, oblong-lanceolate, with eight to twelve pairs of pinnæ on each side, lower ones sub-deltoid, 1/2in. to 3/4in. long, 1/4in. broad, cut down to the rachis into a few cuneato-flabellate pinnules, the lowest two lines across, sharply toothed on the outer edge. _sori_ copious, when mature, covering nearly the whole under surface of the pinnules. Himalayas, and widely distributed. Greenhouse species. =A. Veitchianum= (Veitch's). Synonymous with _A. Belangeri_. =A. Vieillardii= (Vieillard's).* _sti._ tufted, 4in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 9in. long, 6in. to 8in. broad, with large linear-lanceolate terminal pinna, lengthened out at the point, and deeply serrated, and three to four pairs of erecto-patent similar lateral ones, which are 3in. to 4in. long, upwards of 1/2in. broad, equally truncato-cuneate, and the lower ones slightly stalked at the base. _sori_ distant, falling short of both edge and margin. New Caledonia. A very graceful greenhouse species. SYN. _A. schizodon_. _A. apicidens_ is but a variety of this, with shortened sori and more obtuse venation. [Illustration: FIG. 176. ASPLENIUM VIRIDE, showing Barren and Fertile Pinnæ (_a_ and _b_), Sorus (_c_), and Sporangium (_d_).] =A. viride= (green). Green Spleenwort.* _sti._ densely tufted, 2in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ 4in. to 6in. long, 1/2in. broad, with twelve to twenty sub-sessile pinnæ on each side, ovate-rhomboid; upper edge narrowed suddenly at the base, the lower one obliquely truncate, outer part deeply crenated. _sori_ copious, linear-oblong, oblique. Great Britain, &c., widely distributed in both hemispheres. It requires to be planted in a well-drained but moist situation. Hardy species. See Fig. 176. =A. vittæforme= (narrow-fronded).* _rhiz._ creeping. _sti._ short, erect. _fronds_ entire, lanceolate, 12in. to 18in. long, 1-1/2in. to 3in. broad, narrowed to an acute point, and very gradually into the stem below; margin obscurely toothed. _sori_ copious, often reaching from the midrib nearly to the edge. Java, &c. Stove species. SYN. _A. sundense_. =A. viviparum= (plant-bearing).* _sti._ tufted. 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 6in. to 8in. broad, ovate-lanceolate, with numerous close-placed erecto-patent pinnæ on each side, which are 3in. to 4in. long, 1-1/2. to 2in. broad, cut down to a compressed rachis into numerous pinnatifid pinnules, the lower segments of which are again forked; ultimate segments 1/4in. to 3/8in. long, quarter-line broad. _sori_ solitary, marginal. Mauritius, &c., 1820. A very handsome stove species. =A. vulcanicum= (volcanic). _sti._ 6in. to 9in. long. _fronds_ 1ft. to 2ft. long, 4in. to 8in. broad, oblong-lanceolate, with a linear-terminal pinna, or gemmiferous at the apex, and six to twelve lateral ones on each side; lower ones stalked, 2in. to 4in. long, 3/4in. to 1in. broad, acuminated; edge slightly dentate; the base truncate. _sori_ very regular and parallel, falling short of the edge. Malay Islands. Stove species. SYN. _A. heterodon_. =A. zeylanicum= (Ceylonese).* _sti._ scattered, 4in. to 8in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 12in. long, 1in. to 2in. broad, the point acuminated, apex slightly lobed, the lower two-thirds more deeply so, and the base quite down to the rachis; lobes blunt, 1/4in. to 1/2in. across. _sori_ linear, two to three lines long. Ceylon. Stove species. SYN. _Diplazium zeylanicum_. =ASSONIA= (commemorative of Ignatius de Asso, a distinguished Spanish botanist, who wrote on the plants of Arragon). ORD. _Sterculiaceæ_. This genus is now included by best authorities under _Dombeya_. Ornamental stove evergreen trees, with undivided leaves, and axillary, bifid, sub-corymbose peduncles. They are of easy culture; thriving freely in any light rich soil, or a mixture of loam and peat. Young cuttings will root freely in sand, with a brisk bottom heat, if covered by a bell glass. =A. populnea= (Poplar-leaved). _fl._ white, disposed in a terminal, bifid corymb; peduncles scarcely longer than the petioles. June. _l._ cordate, acuminated, smooth, a little serrated. _h._ 10ft. to 20ft. Bourbon, 1820. =A. viburnoides= (Viburnum-like). _fl._ white; peduncles three times longer than the petioles. _l._ cordate, somewhat acuminate, crenated, tomentose beneath, as well as younger leaves. _h._ 10ft. to 20ft. Bourbon, 1822. =ASTARTEA= (a mythological name: Astarte, the Syrian Venus). ORD. _Myrtaceæ_. An ornamental greenhouse evergreen shrub, requiring a mixture of loam, peat, leaf soil, and sand. Young cuttings root readily in sand under a bell glass in gentle heat. =A. fascicularis= (bundle-flowered). _fl._ white, pedicellate, solitary, axillary. May. _l._ opposite, linear, fleshy; when young, disposed in axillary fascicles. _h._ 6ft. to 9ft. West Australia, 1830. =ASTELMA= (from _a_, not, and _stelma_, a crown; in reference to the construction of the fruit). ORD. _Compositæ_. Greenhouse evergreen shrubs from the Cape of Good Hope. Some species of this genus, which is now generally referred to _Helipterum_, are very handsome, and thrive well in a mixture of fibrous peat, leaf soil, and sand, with thorough drainage. Fill the pots one-third full of crocks; water carefully, and only when absolutely necessary; and place in a situation near the glass, allowing a free admission of air. Seeds should be sown in pots of light, open soil, and placed in a gentle heat; half-ripened cuttings will strike readily in sandy soil with a hand glass placed over them. They are now but rarely seen under cultivation. =A. canescens= (hoary). _fl.-heads_ purple; scales of involucre ovate; branches one-flowered. May to June. _l._ oblong, blunt, imbricated. _h._ 1-1/2ft. 1794. =A. eximium= (fine).* _fl.-heads_ crimson; corymbs sessile. July. _l._ sessile, ovate, close, erect, white with thick woolly pubescence. Stem stout. _h._ 3ft. 1793. This is a very beautiful species. =A. speciosissimum= (showiest). _fl.-heads_ white, large, solitary, terminal. July. _l._ sessile, lanceolate-obovate, acute, three-nerved, woolly. _h._ 8ft. 1691. =ASTEPHANUS= (from _a_, without, and _stephanos_, a corona; corona absent). ORD. _Asclepiadeæ_. A genus of pretty evergreen greenhouse twiners. Flowers few, small, disposed in interpetiolar umbels; corolla campanulate. Leaves small, opposite. They thrive in a compost of turfy peat, leaf soil, and loam, in equal parts. Very little water is required when the plants are at rest. Cuttings root readily in sandy soil in a moderate heat. Propagation may also be effected by division. =A. linearis= (linear). _fl._ white; umbels dividing in threes, lateral and terminal. July. _l._ 1in. long, opposite, linear-lanceolate. Stem glabrous. Cape of Good Hope, 1816. =A. triflorus= (three-flowered).* _fl._ white; umbels generally three-flowered. July. _l._ opposite, lanceolate, villous beneath. Stems hairy. Cape of Good Hope, 1816. =ASTER= (from _aster_, a star; general shape of flower-heads). Michaelmas Daisy; Star-wort. SYN. _Pinardia_ (of Necker). ORD. _Compositæ_. Hardy herbaceous perennials, except where otherwise stated. Heads solitary, corymbose, or panicled, heterogamous, rayed; ray florets pistiliferous, one or two-seriate, fertile or neuter; ligule elongated, white, blue, or purple; disk florets hermaphrodite, fertile, tubular, yellow, five-cleft; involucre campanulate or hemispheric; bracts few or many-seriate, outer smaller or larger; receptacle flat or convex; pappus hairs few or copious, scabrid, outer sometimes shorter, rigid, and paleaceous. Leaves alternate. This large genus contains many handsome border and alpine deciduous perennials (rarely biennials) of easy culture in ordinary soil. They may be propagated by divisions in autumn or spring, or by seeds in spring. The greenhouse species are mostly evergreen shrubs, requiring a compost of peat, leaf soil, and loam. Cuttings root readily in a sandy soil, under a hand glass, with very little heat. =A. acris= (acrid). _fl.-heads_ blue; involucre imbricated, twice as short as the disk. August. _l._ linear-lanceolate, not dotted, three-nerved. _h._ 2ft. South Europe, 1731. =A. acuminatus= (taper-pointed).* _fl.-heads_ white; panicle corymbose. September. _l._ broad-lanceolate, narrowed at base, entire, with a very long point. Stem simple, flexuous, angular. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1806. =A. adulterinus= (false). _fl.-heads_ violet; involucre squarrose, shorter than the disk. September. _l._ amplexicaul, lanceolate; lower ones sub-serrate, smooth; those of the branches linear squarrose. _h._ 3ft. North America. =A. æstivus= (summer-flowering).* _fl.-heads_ blue. July. _l._ lanceolate, somewhat amplexicaul, narrowed at the end, scabrous at edge. Stem erect, hispid; branchlets pilose. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1776. =A. albescens= (whitish). _fl.-heads_ purple or whitish, nearly 1in. across; corymbosely panicled; scales of involucre ovate-linear, apiculate; ray twenty-flowered. August. _l._ lanceolate on short petioles, denticulate, downy. Plant beset with rusty down. _h._ 3ft. Nepal, 1842. =A. alpinus= (alpine).* _fl.-heads_ bright purple, 1in. to 2in. across; scales of involucre nearly equal, lanceolate, bluntish. July. _l._, radical ones lanceolate-spathulate; those of the stem lanceolate. Stem one-flowered. _h._ 6in. to 9in. Europe, 1658. A very attractive species, having a dwarf, stout habit; it forms a useful and handsome subject for edging, and its flowers are valuable for cutting purposes. See Fig. 177. =A. a. albus= (white).* _fl.-heads_ white, in other respects resembling the type; but it is much less desirable, and has not nearly so vigorous a habit. Europe, 1827. =A. altaicus= (Altaian).* _fl.-heads_ blue-purple, about 2in. across; stem simple, corymbose, downy. June, July. _l._ linear-lanceolate, entire, blunt mucronate, three-nerved at base, veiny. _h._ 1ft. Siberia, 1804. This, which is frequently considered a variety of _A. alpinus_, is one of the handsomest. =A. alwartensis= (Alwart). _fl.-heads_ red; ray very fine; involucre loosely squarrose. May. _l._ ovate, narrowed at base, entire, about five-nerved. _h._ 1ft. Caucasus, 1807. =A. Amellus= (Amellus).* _fl.-heads_ purple, solitary, numerous; involucre imbricated squarrose; leaves blunt; inner membranous, coloured at edge. August. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, scabrous. _h._ 2ft. Italy, 1596. One of the best border kinds. [Illustration: FIG. 177. ASTER ALPINUS.] =A. A. bessarabicus= (Bessarabian).* A most desirable variety, frequently seen in gardens; it is rather taller than the type, with larger flower-heads, of a deep purple colour. One of the showiest of all the Asters. See Fig. 178. [Illustration: FIG. 178. ASTER AMELLUS BESSARABICUS.] =A. amplexicaulis= (stem-clasping). _fl.-heads_ violet. July. _l._ ovate-oblong, acute, amplexicaul, cordate, serrated, smooth. Stem panicled, smooth; branches one to two-headed. _h._ 3ft. North America. =A. amygdalinus= (Almond-leaved). _fl.-heads_ white; involucre closely imbricated. August. _l._ lanceolate, narrowed at base, acuminated, scabrous at edge. Stem simple, corymbose at end. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1759. =A. argenteus= (silvery).* _fl.-heads_ purple. August. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, silky, sessile. Stem slender, decumbent, loosely branched; branches and branchlets one-headed. _h._ 1ft. North America, 1801. =A. bellidiflorus= (Daisy-flowered). _fl.-heads_ pale red; involucre with spreading scales. September. _l._ amplexicaul, narrow-lanceolate, scabrous above, lower sub-serrated. Stem much branched. _h._ 3ft. North America. =A. Bigelovii= (Bigelow's).* _fl.-heads_ corymbose, 2-1/2in. diameter, ray-florets lilac, disk yellow. Summer. _l._ scabrous pubescent, oblong-spathulate; cauline ones amplexicaul, ovate-oblong, crenate, obscurely-toothed. _h._ 2-1/2ft. Colorado, 1878. A very handsome biennial species. SYN. _A. Townshendi_. =A. blandus= (charming). _fl.-heads_ pale purple; racemes scarcely longer than the leaves. October. _l._ sub-amplexicaul, oblong-lanceolate, acuminate, sessile, smooth. Stem pyramidal. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1800. =A. canescens= (hoary). _fl.-heads_ pale purple; involucre imbricated, very acute, longer than disk. September. _l._ linear. Panicle corymbose, much branched, leafy. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1812. Biennial or perennial. =A. cassiarabicus= (Arabian Cassia). _fl.-heads_ pink; panicles corymbose. September. _l._ ovate, acute, serrated, tapering at the petioles. Plant erect, pilose. _h._ 2ft. Russia, 1834. =A. caucasicus= (Caucasian).* _fl.-heads_ purple, solitary; scales of involucre nearly equal, linear. July. _l._ ovate, sessile, scabrous. _h._ 1ft. Caucasus, 1804. =A. ciliatus= (ciliated). _fl.-heads_ white. September. _l._ ciliated; cauline ones linear-lanceolate, nerved; those of the branches very short lanceolate, three-nerved. Stem branched, downy; branches downy. _h._ 3ft. North America. =A. concinnus= (neat).* _fl.-heads_ purple; involucre closely imbricated. October. _l._ sub-amplexicaul, lanceolate; lower ones sub-serrate, smooth. Stem simple, panicled at end. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1800. =A. concolor= (one-coloured). _fl.-heads_ purple; raceme terminal. October. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, hoary on each side. Stem simple, erect, downy. _h._ 1ft. North America, 1759. =A. conyzioides= (Conyza-like). Synonymous with _Seriocarpus conyzioides_. =A. cordifolius= (heart-leaved). _fl.-heads_ blue, small, disposed in crowded racemes, which are slightly drooping. July. _l._ cordate, pilose beneath, finely serrated, stalked. Stem smoothish, panicled; panicle spreading. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1759. =A. coridifolius= (Coris-leaved). _fl.-heads_ pale blue. October. _l._ very numerous, linear, blunt, reflexed, hispid at edge. Stem branched, diffuse, smooth; branches one-headed. _h._ 1ft. North America. [Illustration: FIG. 179. ASTER CORYMBOSUS, showing Habit and Flower-head.] =A. corymbosus= (corymbose). _fl.-heads_ corymbose, about 1in. in diameter; ray-florets few, narrow, white; disk-florets pale yellow. Autumn. _l._ 3in. long, cordate acute, lobed at the base, coarsely toothed. Stems brittle, blackish purple. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. SYN. _Biotia corymbosa_. See Fig. 179. =A. diffusus= (diffuse). _fl.-heads_ white; involucres imbricated. October. _l._ elliptic-lanceolate, equal, serrated, smooth. Branches spreading. Stem pubescent. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1777. =A. Douglasii= (Douglas's).* _fl.-heads_ purple; involucral scales linear or spathulate-linear, loosely imbricated. August. _l._ lanceolate, acute, entire, or rarely serrate, mostly tapering at the base. Stem smooth, slender, paniculately branched, leafy. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. California, &c. =A. dracunculoides= (Tarragon-like).* _fl.-heads_ white, about 1in. across, disposed in dense cymose clusters; involucre imbricated. September, October. _l._ linear, acuminated, entire; lower ones linear-lanceolate, sub-serrate. Branches corymbose. _h._ 3ft. North America, 1811. A very handsome species. =A. dumosus= (bushy).* _fl.-heads_ white, about 1/2in. across, disposed in broad clusters; involucre cylindrical, closely imbricated. October. _l._ linear, glabrous; those of the branches very short. Branches panicled. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1734. =A. d. albus= (white).* _fl.-heads_ quite white, and rather smaller than those of the species. North America. =A. d. violaceus= (violet). _fl.-heads_ violet-purple. North America. =A. elegans= (elegant). _fl.-heads_ blue, small; corymb contracted, drooping; scales of involucre oblong-cuneate, blunt, squarrose. September. _l._ scabrous; cauline ones oblong-lanceolate, acute; radical ones oblong, stalked. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1790. A very elegant species, having a graceful habit. =A. eminens= (eminent). _fl.-heads_ light blue. October. _l._ linear-lanceolate, acuminate, scabrous at edge; lower ones sub-serrated. Stem panicled; branches one-headed. _h._ 2ft. North America. [Illustration: FIG. 180. ASTER ERICOIDES.] =A. ericoides= (Heath-like).* _fl.-heads_ white; involucre squarrose, leaflets acute. September. _l._ linear, glabrous; those of the branches subulate, close together; and those of the stem long. _h._ 3ft. North America, 1758. A very pretty species. See Fig. 180. =A. floribundus= (many-flowered).* _fl.-heads_ light purple. September. _l._ sub-amplexicaul, lanceolate; lower ones serrated. Stem smooth; branches corymbose. _h._ 4ft. North America. =A. foliosus= (leafy). _fl.-heads_ pale blue; involucre imbricate. September. _l._ linear-lanceolate, acuminate, narrowed at each end. Stem downy, panicled, erect; branches few-headed. _h._ 3ft. North America, 1732. =A. fragilis= (fragile). _fl.-heads_ flesh-coloured, small; involucre imbricated. September. _l._ linear, acuminate, entire; radical ones oblong, serrate. Branches in corymbose panicles. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1800. [Illustration: FIG. 181. ASTER GRANDIFLORUS.] =A. grandiflorus= (large-flowered).* _fl.-heads_ purple, large, terminal; scales of involucre squarrose. November. _l._ linear, rigid, acute, sub-amplexicaul; those of the branches reflexed, hispid at edge. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1720. See Fig. 181. =A. hyssopifolius= (Hyssop-leaved).* _fl.-heads_ white, or purple shaded; scales of the involucre about half as long as the disk. August to October. _l._ linear-lanceolate, acute, with the margins scabrous. Branches fastigiate and corymbose, smooth. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. North America. =A. lævigatus= (smooth-stemmed). _fl.-heads_ flesh-coloured, about 1in. across, disposed in large panicles. September. _l._ sub-amplexicaul, broad-lanceolate, sub-serrate, smooth. Stem glabrous. Branches many-headed. _h._ 3ft. North America, 1794. =A. lævis= (smooth).* _fl.-heads_ blue; involucre imbricated with cuneiform leaflets. September. _l._ sub-amplexicaul, remotely oblong, entire, lucid; radical ones sub-serrated. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1758. One of the best border species. =A. laxus= (loose-flowered). _fl.-heads_ white, about 1in. across; clusters loose. October. _l._ linear-lanceolate, scabrous at edge; lower ones sub-serrated; stem ones reflexed. Stem loosely panicled. _h._ 2ft. North America. =A. linarifolius= (Toad-flax-leaved). _fl.-heads_ pale blue. September. _l._ numerous, linear, mucronated, nerveless, not dotted, keeled, scabrous, rigid. Branches fastigiate, one-headed. _h._ 1ft. North America, 1699. =A. linifolius= (Flax-leaved). _fl.-heads_ white; involucre imbricated, short. July. _l._ linear, nerveless, dotted, scabrous, reflexed, spreading. Branches corymbose, fastigiate, leafy. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1739. =A. longifolius= (long-leaved).* _fl.-heads_ white, 1in. across, in dense corymbose panicles; involucre squarrose. October. _l._ linear-lanceolate, rarely toothed, very long, smooth. _h._ 3ft. North America, 1798. There are several varieties of this handsome species. =A. l. formosus= (charming).* _fl.-heads_ pink, produced in dense corymbs. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. =A. macrophyllus= (large-leaved). _fl.-heads_ white. August. _l._ large, ovate, stalked, serrated, scabrous; upper ones cordate, sessile. Stem branched, diffuse. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1739. =A. multiflorus= (many-flowered).* _fl.-heads_ white, small; corymb large, elongated; involucre imbricated; scales oblong, squarrose, acute. September. _l._ linear, glabrous. Stem much branched, diffuse, downy; branchlets one-sided. _h._ 3ft. North America, 1732. =A. myrtifolius= (Myrtle-leaved). _fl.-heads_ white; involucre imbricated; scales length of disk. August. _l._, stem ones, amplexicaul, scabrous; those of the branches small. _h._ 2ft. 1812. =A. novæ-angliæ= (New England).* _fl.-heads_ purple, in terminal clusters. September. _l._ linear-lanceolate, pilose, amplexicaul, auricled at base. Stem simple, pilose, straight. _h._ 6ft. North America, 1710. One of the best; having a tall and robust habit. =A. n.-a. rubra= (red).* _fl.-heads_ deep red pink, in other respects like the type. North America, 1812. =A. novæ-belgii= (New York).* _fl.-heads_ pale blue. September. _l._ sub-amplexicaul, lanceolate, glabrous, scabrous at edge; lower ones sub-serrated. Branches divided. _h._ 4ft. North America, 1710. There is a variety known in gardens which belongs to this species, under the name of _amethystinus_, the flowers of which are much larger and very showy. =A. obliquus= (oblique). _fl.-heads_ numerous; ray white; disk purplish. Autumn. _l._ alternate; lower ones linear-lanceolate, oblique; upper stem ones smaller. _h._ 5ft. North America. A very fine species, forming large tufts. =A. paniculatus= (panicled).* _fl.-heads_ light blue; involucre loose. September. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, sub-serrated, stalked, smooth; petioles naked. Stem much branched, smooth. _h._ 4ft. North America, 1640. =A. pannonicus= (Pannonian). _fl.-heads_ violet; scales of involucre lanceolate, blunt, equal. July. _l._ linear-lanceolate, hispid at edge. Stem simple, corymbose. _h._ 2ft. Hungary, 1815. =A. patens= (spreading). _fl.-heads_ light purple, about 1in. across. October. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, ciliate, cordate, amplexicaul, scabrous on each side, hairy. Stem branched, hairy. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1773. =A. pendulus= (drooping).* _fl.-heads_ pure white at first, ultimately rosy pink, small. September. _l._ elliptic-lanceolate, serrate, smooth, those of the branches distant. Branches much spreading, pendulous. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1758. A very pretty species. =A. peregrinus= (foreign).* _fl.-heads_ bluish purple, 2in. across. July, August. _l._ lanceolate, sub-acute, entire, smooth, those of the stem rather narrower than the radical ones. Stem smooth, or nearly so, two or three-flowered. _h._ 1ft. North America. A very pretty little species for the rockery or border. =A. pilosus= (pilose). _fl.-heads_ pale blue; involucre oblong, loose, imbricated. September. _l._ linear-lanceolate, hoary. Stem branched, villous; branchlets somewhat one-sided, one-headed. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1812. =A. præcox= (early). _fl.-heads_ violet; involucre imbricated; scales nearly equal; outer scales somewhat spreading. July. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, narrowed at the base. Stem hairy. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1800. =A. pulchellus= (beautiful).* _fl.-heads_ purple, solitary; scales of involucre nearly equal, linear, acuminate. June. _l._, radical ones spathulate; cauline ones linear-lanceolate. _h._ 1ft. Armenia. =A. puniceus= (red-stalked). _fl.-heads_ blue, about 1in. across; panicle large, pyramidal; involucre loose, longer than the disk. September. _l._ amplexicaul, lanceolate, serrate, roughish. Branches panicled. _h._ 6ft. North America, 1710. =A. pyrenæus= (Pyrenean).* _fl.-heads_ lilac-blue (disk yellow), large, three to five in a short corymb. July. _l._ scabrous on both sides; cauline ones oblong-lanceolate, acute, sessile, sharply serrated on the upper part. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. Pyrenees. =A. Reevesi= (Reeves's). _fl.-heads_ white, with yellow centre, small; panicle dense, pyramidal. Autumn. _l._ linear, acute. Branches slender. _h._ 9in. to 12in. North America. A very desirable species, suitable for rockwork. =A. reticulatus= (netted). _fl.-heads_ white. July. _l._ lanceolate-oblong, acute at each end, sessile, revolute at end, netted, and three-nerved beneath. Plant hoary all over. _h._ 3ft. North America, 1812. =A. rubricaule= (red-stemmed). Synonymous with _A. spurius_. =A. salicifolius= (Willow-leaved). _fl.-heads_ flesh-coloured; involucre lanceolate, imbricate; scales acute, spreading at end. September. _l._ linear-lanceolate, nearly entire, smooth. Stem smooth, panicled at end. _h._ 6ft. North America, 1760. =A. salsuginosus= (salt-plains).* _fl.-heads_ violet-purple; involucral scales linear, loose, glandular. July. _l._ entire, the lower spathulate, obovate, tapering into a margined petiole; the upper ones lanceolate, acute, with broad base, usually sub-amplexicaul. Stem minutely pubescent, leafy nearly to the top, few-flowered. _h._ 9in. to 18in. North America, 1827. A very handsome species. =A. s. elatior= (tallest). This variety grows 2ft. or more high, and has rather larger flowers than the type. North America. =A. sericeus= (silky). _fl.-heads_ deep blue; terminal, about 1-1/2in. across. Summer and autumn. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, sessile, entire, three-nerved, silky with down. _h._ 3ft. Missouri, 1802. This is a half-hardy evergreen shrub, and requires a warm, well-drained soil. =A. serotinus= (late-flowering). _fl.-heads_ blue. September. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, acuminate, sessile, smooth, scabrous at edge; lower ones serrated; branches corymbose, smooth. _h._ 3ft. North America. =A. Shortii= (Short's). _fl.-heads_ purplish blue, about 1in. across; panicles long, racemose. Autumn. _l._ lanceolate, elongated, acuminated, cordate at the base. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Stem slender, spreading. North America. =A. sibiricus= (Siberian). _fl.-heads_ blue; involucre loose; leaflets lanceolate, acuminate, hispid. August. _l._ lanceolate, sub-amplexicaul, serrate, pilose, scabrous. _h._ 2ft. Siberia, 1768. =A. sikkimensis= (Sikkimese).* _fl.-heads_ purple; leaflets of involucre linear, acuminate, sub-squarrose. October. _l._ lanceolate, acuminate, spinosely denticulate; radical ones on longer petioles; cauline ones sessile; corymbs large, of many heads, leafy, erect, glabrous, branched. _h._ 3ft. Sikkim, 1850. =A. spectabilis= (showy).* _fl.-heads_ blue; scales of involucre loose, leafy. August. _l._ lanceolate, roughish, somewhat amplexicaul; lower ones serrate in the middle. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1777. A very pretty species. =A. spurius= (spurious). _fl.-heads_ purple, large, few; inner scales of involucre coloured. September. _l._ linear-lanceolate, amplexicaul, polished. Stem virgate, panicled. Branches racemose. _h._ 4ft. North America, 1789. SYN. _A. rubricaule_. =A. tardiflorus= (late-flowering). _fl.-heads_ blue, numerous. Autumn. _l._ sessile, serrated, smooth, spathulate-lanceolate, narrowed at base, and bent down towards each side. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1775. =A. Townshendi= (Townshend's). Synonymous with _A. Bigelovii_. =A. Tradescanti= (Tradescant's).* _fl.-heads_ white; involucre imbricated. August. _l._ lanceolate-sessile, serrated, smooth; branches virgate. Stem round, smooth. _h._ 3ft. North America, 1633. _A. multiflorus_ is very much like this species, and, perhaps, a mere form thereof, with somewhat smaller flowers and more obovate-oblong leaves. =A. tripolium= (Tripoli). Michaelmas Daisy. _fl.-heads_ blue; disk yellow; scales of involucre lanceolate, membranous, obtuse, imbricated. August. _l._ linear-lanceolate, fleshy, obscurely three-nerved. Stem glabrous, corymbose. _h._ 2ft. Britain. [Illustration: FIG. 182. ASTER TURBINELLUS.] =A. turbinellus= (turbinate). _fl.-heads_ delicate mauve, disposed in panicles; involucre top-shaped, scales imbricate. Summer and autumn. _l._ lanceolate, smooth, entire, with fringed margins, somewhat stem-clasping; those of the branchlets awl-shaped. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. North America. A very desirable species. See Fig. 182. =A. undulatus= (undulated). _fl.-heads_ pale blue. August. _l._ oblong-cordate, amplexicaul, entire; petioles winged. Stem panicled, hispid. Branchlets one-sided. _h._ 3ft. North America, 1699. =A. versicolor= (various-coloured).* _fl.-heads_ white, changing to purple; scales of involucre shorter than disk. August. _l._ sub-amplexicaul, broad-lanceolate, sub-serrate, smooth. Stem glabrous. _h._ 3ft. North America, 1790. The annuals (_Callistemma hortensis_), usually known as French, German, or China Asters, are very extensively grown, both for beds and pots, and their diversity and generally compact growth render them almost universal favourites. They require a rich loamy soil, and as the roots are produced near the surface, a mulching of rotten dung will be found most beneficial. Seeds may be raised in a cold frame in March or April, and, when the seedlings are large enough, they must be transplanted into beds from 9in. to 12in. apart each way. If it is desired to have them in pots, they may be removed thence with a good ball of earth adhering just before they commence flowering, liberally watered, and kept lightly shaded from the sun, until root action is resumed. Those kinds required for exhibition purposes should have several of the side shoots removed, so that the whole growing energy of the plant may be centralised into from five to seven flower-heads, by which means fine blooms may be obtained. The dwarf kinds are most valuable for bedding and pots, as the taller kinds frequently require stakes for support. The following are the most important sections: =Betteridge's Prize.= Very beautifully formed and brilliantly coloured varieties, unsurpassed for exhibition purposes. As this class has rather a straggling habit of growth, it is less suitable for bedding and borders than many of the others. =Boltze's Miniature Bouquet Pyramidal.= Dwarf and elegant, in compact bouquets of six or eight; the truss of flower-heads springs directly from the ground, having only a few leaves at base. Colours very varied. _h._ 6in. to 8in. [Illustration: FIG. 183. TRUFFAUT'S PEONY-FLOWERED ASTER.] [Illustration: FIG. 184. TRUFFAUT'S PERFECTION ASTER.] =Crown.=* Distinct. The central portion, or disk, of the head of flowers is pure white, surrounded by a broad margin of coloured ray florets, such as purple, violet, crimson, rose, &c. Flower-heads large, flat, freely produced. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. =Dwarf Chrysanthemum-flowered.=* In size of flower-heads and habit of growth, this surpasses all other dwarf varieties. The flowers are full, Chrysanthemum-shaped, produced in clusters, or bouquets, from ten to twenty in a truss, very delicate and beautiful in colour. _h._ 1ft. =Dwarf Pyramidal= or =Dwarf Bouquet=. A pretty little class, and extremely floriferous, each plant producing from twenty to fifty heads of bloom. Some of the colours are: Exquisite carmine with white points, white with blue or carmine points, white with salmon centre, &c. _h._ 1ft. =Improved Imbricate.= The best strain of pyramidal Asters with recurved florets; fine regular form of flowers, double to the centre, producing but few seeds. Colours very brilliant. _h._ 2ft. =Improved Rose.= A handsome class, producing a branched head, displaying no less than fifty large double flower-heads, the outer florets finely imbricated, and filled up to the centre when quite open. The colours are of great brilliancy, and of many shades. _h._ 2ft. =Pompone Goliath.=* Flower-heads globular, and florets very closely set. Valuable for bouquets, as the flowers remain intact for a considerable time. =Pyramidal Hedgehog.= Singular and unique. Stems upright, and branched; each branch terminated by a single flower-head, which is filled up with quill-like florets. Colours various. _h._ 1-1/2ft. =Truffaut's Pæony Perfection.=* Vigorous upright growers, having large, hemispherical-formed heads of flowers with incurved florets, 4in. across. The colours also are very varied. _h._ about 2ft. See Figs. 183 and 184. [Illustration: FIG. 185. VICTORIA ASTER.] =Victoria.=* One of the most popular classes of Asters grown; flower-heads very double, imbricate, globular, 4in. in diameter, from ten to twenty on a plant, of various shades. _h._ 1ft., with a pyramidal habit. See Fig. 185. =ASTERACANTHA= (from _aster_, a star, and _acantha_, a spine; referring to the disposition of the spines). ORD. _Acanthaceæ_. A handsome greenhouse herbaceous perennial, of easy culture in sandy loam. It should be grown in a sunny position, and be kept moderately dry, otherwise little but foliaceous growth will be produced; but, if thus treated, it flowers freely. Propagated by divisions in spring; or by seeds, sown in August. =A. longifolia= (long-leaved). _fl._ yellow, in dense axillary fascicles. July. _l._ lanceolate, tapering to the base, narrow, sessile, serrately ciliated. Stem quadrangular. Plant rather hairy. _h._ 2ft. India, 1781. =ASTERACE�.= _See_ =Compositæ=. =ASTEROCEPHALUS.= _See_ =Scabiosa=. =ASTILBE= (from _a_, without, and _stilbe_, brilliancy; in allusion to the inconspicuous flowers of some of the species). ORD. _Saxifragaceæ_. Tall branching herbs, with triternate or biternate leaves, allied to _Spiræa_, from which they differ in having not more than three carpels, eight or ten stamens, and numerous albuminous seeds. They are all more or less graceful, and some indispensable, either when grown in isolated clumps, or intermingled with other herbaceous plants. They thrive well in almost any rich garden soil, preferring damp positions, and are easily propagated by division, which is best done in early spring. _A. japonica_ is grown very extensively for decorative purposes, its elegant spikes of pure white flowers rendering it especially valuable. The majority of the plants cultivated are imported, but they may be grown fairly well in this country in heavily manured soil. They should be potted as early as possible in the autumn, and plunged in ashes or fibre outside, when they will soon commence to root, after which they may be placed in heat, and forced as required, always giving an abundance of water. Indeed, the pots may be stood in pans of water, especially when the plants are well furnished with growth. =A. barbata= (bearded). A synonym of _A. japonica_. =A. decandra= (ten-stamened). _fl._ white, in spicate racemose panicles. May. _l._ biternate; leaflets cordate, deeply lobed and serrated, glandular beneath, and on the petioles. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. North America, 1812. [Illustration: FIG. 186. ASTILBE JAPONICA.] =A. japonica= (Japanese).* _fl._ small, pure white, in large branching racemose panicles. May. _l._ triternate or pinnate, serrated. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Japan. This is best grown in pots, as early frosts generally cut it down in the open air. SYNS. _Spiræa barbata_ and _japonica_, also _Hoteia_ and _A. barbata_. See Fig 186. =A. j. variegata= (variegated).* _l._ prettily variegated with yellow; panicles much more dense than the type; indeed, it is far superior in that respect. [Illustration: FIG. 187. ASTILBE RIVULARIS.] =A. rivularis= (brook).* _fl._ yellowish-white, or reddish, in large panicled spikes. Late summer. _l._ biternate; leaflets ovate, doubly serrated, villous beneath and on the petioles. _h._ 3ft. Nepaul. A grand plant for the margins of lakes or damp woodlands. See Fig. 187. =A. rubra= (red).* _fl._ rose, very numerous, in dense panicles. Late summer and autumn. _l._ biternate; leaflets oblique, cordate, 1in. to 2in. long, with elongated, serrated points. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. India, 1851. A very pretty, but rare species; excellent for sub-tropical gardening. =A. Thunbergi= (Thunberg's).* _fl._ small, white, very numerous, in erect, much branched, pyramidal panicles, with reddish and slightly downy stalks. May. _l._ unequally pinnate or bipinnate; leaflets broad, yellowish green, sharply toothed. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Japan, 1878. This pretty little sub-shrub is extensively propagated on the Continent for forcing purposes. =ASTRAGALUS= (a name applied to a shrub by Greek writers). Milk Vetch. ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A very large genus of hardy herbs or sub-shrubs. Flowers in axillary clusters; standard larger than the wings. Leaves unequally pinnate. About one hundred species have from time to time been introduced in English gardens; many of these are lost to cultivation; the comparative few here described are still generally grown, and are good representative species. They are all of easy culture. The shrubby kinds grow well in any light dry soil, and are slowly increased by cuttings placed in a cold frame, or by seeds. The herbaceous perennials prefer a dry light soil, and may be increased by divisions or seeds; the latter mode is preferable, as many species are very liable to die if transplanted or divided, which is at best but a slow method. Seed should be sown in pots of sandy soil placed in a cold frame as soon as ripe, or very early in the spring, as they may lie a long time before germinating. The dwarfer species constitute admirable rockwork plants, and can be grown in pots containing a mixture of loam, peat, and sand. Seeds of the two annual species, _A. Cicer_ and _A. Glaux_, merely require to be sown in the open border early in spring. =A. adsurgens= (adsurgent).* _fl._ bluish purple; spikes oblong, pedunculate, longer than the leaves, densely packed. June. _l._ with eleven to twelve pairs of ovate-lanceolate acute leaflets; stipules acuminated, length of leaves. Plant ascending, smoothish. Siberia, 1818. A very handsome and rare perennial species. =A. aduncus= (hooked). _fl._ rose purple, in oblong spikes; peduncles rather shorter than the leaves. June and July. _l._ with numerous pairs of roundish-ovate, smooth leaflets, sometimes downy. _h._ 6in. to 9in. Caucasus, 1819. Perennial. =A. alopecuroides= (foxtail-like).* _fl._ yellow, disposed in thick dense ovate-oblong spikes, on short axillary peduncles. June. _l._ with numerous ovate-lanceolate, pubescent leaflets; stipules ovate-lanceolate, acuminated. Plant erect. _h._ 2ft. to 5ft. Siberia, 1737. One of the finest perennial species grown. =A. alpinus= (alpine). _fl._ bluish-purple, sometimes whitish, drooping, disposed in racemes of about 1/2in. long. Summer. _l._ impari-pinnate, with eight to twelve pairs of ovate or oblong leaflets. Britain. A very desirable, hairy, prostrate perennial. =A. arenarius= (sand-loving).* _fl._ blue; peduncles few-flowered, rather shorter than the leaves. June. _l._ with linear-obtuse leaflets; stipules connate, opposite the leaves. Plant diffuse, tomentose from white adpressed down. _h._ 6in. Denmark, 1800. Perennial. =A. austriacus= (Austrian).* _fl._ few; upper petal, or vexillum, blue, the rest purple; racemes pedunculate, longer than the leaves. May. _l._, leaflets glabrous, linear, truncately emarginate. Plant diffusely procumbent. South Europe, 1640. Perennial. =A. canadensis= (Canadian). _fl._ yellow, disposed in spikes; peduncles about as long as the leaves. July. _l._ with ten to twelve pairs of elliptic-oblong, bluntish leaflets. Plant nearly erect, rather hairy. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. North America, 1732. Perennial. =A. Cicer= (Vetch-like). _fl._ pale yellow, disposed in spike-like heads; peduncles longer than the leaves. July. _l._ with ten to thirteen pairs of elliptic-oblong mucronate leaflets. Plant diffusely procumbent. Europe, 1570. Annual. =A. dahuricus= (Dahurian). _fl._ purple, in dense racemes, which are longer than the leaves. July. _l._, leaflets, seven to nine pairs, oblong, mucronate. Plant erect, pilose. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Dahuria to China, 1822. Perennial. =A. dasyglottis= (thick-tongued).* _fl._ purple, blue, and white mixed, in capitate spikes; peduncles a little longer than the leaves. June. _l._, leaflets elliptic-oblong, somewhat emarginate; stipules connate, opposite the leaves. _h._ 3in. to 4in. Plant diffuse. Siberia, 1818. A charming little alpine perennial. =A. falcatus= (hooked). _fl._ greenish yellow, in spikes; peduncles rather longer than the leaves. June. _l._ with sixteen to twenty pairs of elliptic-oblong, acute leaflets. Plant erect, rather hairy. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Siberia (in wet, grassy places). Perennial. SYN. _A. virescens_. =A. galegiformis= (Galega-like).* _fl._ pale yellow, pendulous, racemose; peduncles longer than the leaves. June. _l._ with twelve to thirteen pairs of elliptic-oblong leaflets. Plant erect, glabrous. _h._ 3ft. to 5ft. Siberia, 1729. A showy perennial species. =A. Glaux= (Milkwort). _fl._ purplish, in dense heads; peduncles longer than the leaves. June. _l._ with eight to thirteen pairs of small, oblong, acutish leaflets. Spain, 1596. Procumbent annual, clothed with whitish hair. =A. glycyphyllos= (sweet-leaved).* _fl._ sulphur coloured, in ovate-oblong spikes; peduncles shorter than the leaves. June. _l._ with four, five, to seven pairs of oval, bluntish, smooth leaflets; stipules ovate-lanceolate, entire. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Britain. A perennial prostrate trailer. =A. hypoglottis= (under-tongued).* _fl._ variegated with purplish, blue and white, disposed in roundish heads; peduncles longer than the leaves, ascending. June. _l._ with numerous little ovate, obtuse, dark green leaflets, somewhat emarginate; stipules connate, ovate. Stems prostrate, rather hairy. _h._ 3in. Britain, &c. Perennial trailer. =A. h. alba= (white-flowered).* This resembles the type, except in the colour of the flowers. =A. leucophyllus= (hoary-leaved).* _fl._ pale yellow, about 1/2in. long, in dense racemes; peduncles much longer than the leaves. July and August. _l._, leaflets in numerous pairs, broadly-linear, covered with soft, silky pubescence. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. North America. Perennial. =A. maximus= (largest).* _fl._ yellow; spike sessile, cylindrical, nearly terminal. June. _l._ with ovate-lanceolate, pubescent leaflets; stipules oblong-lanceolate. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Armenia. A very handsome, erect, perennial species. [Illustration: FIG. 188. ASTRAGALUS MONSPESSULANUS, showing Habit and Flower.] =A. monspessulanus= (Montpelier).* _fl._ usually purplish, spicate; peduncles longer than the leaves. June. _l._, leaflets twenty-one to forty-one, ovate or lanceolate, outer ones rather the smallest. Leaves hoary, and plant almost stemless when growing in dry exposed situations; but in rich earth or moist places the leaves are almost glabrous, and the stem becomes elongated. South Europe, 1710. This species is much appreciated, and well deserves a place in all collections. Evergreen trailer. See Fig. 188. =A. narbonensis= (Narbonne). _fl._ yellow, disposed in somewhat globose spikes, on short axillary peduncles. June. _l._ with oblong-linear leaflets; stipules lanceolate. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Narbonne and Madrid, 1789. An erect hairy perennial. =A. odoratus= (sweet-scented). _fl._ pale yellow, sweet-scented, disposed in spikes; peduncles same length as leaves. June. _l._ with eleven to fourteen pairs of oblong acute leaflets; stipules connate. Plant erect, rather ascending. _h._ 6in. Levant, 1820. Perennial. =A. onobrychioides= (Onobrychis-like).* _fl._ beautiful purple, in capitate spikes on long peduncles. July. _l._ with eight to ten pairs of elliptic leaflets; stipules connate, opposite the leaves. Plant rather diffuse, shrubby at the base, clothed with adpressed hairs. _h._ 9in. to 12in. Iberia, Persia, &c., 1819. A very handsome perennial species. =A. Onobrychis= (Onobrychis). _fl._ purple; spikes oblong-ovate, pedunculate, longer than the leaves. June. _l._ with seven to sixteen pairs of oblong leaflets. _h._ 1-1/2ft., or procumbent. Mountains Southern Europe, 1640. This is an elegant perennial, and ranks among the very best. The varieties, all white flowered, are: _alpinus_, _major_, _microphyllus_ and _moldavicus_, but only the first-named is now in cultivation. =A. pannosus= (woolly).* _fl._ rose-coloured, in compact globose heads, with peduncles shorter than the leaves. July. _l._ with four, five, to nine pairs of ovate-lanceolate leaflets, thickly coated with long white woolly hairs. _h._ 6in. to 9in. Siberia. Perennial. =A. ponticus= (Pontic). _fl._ yellow; spikes sessile, almost globose. July. _l._ oblong, smoothish; stipules lanceolate. Stem rather hairy. _h._ 2ft. Tauria, 1820. A very showy, erect, border perennial. =A. purpureus= (purple). _fl._ purplish blue, disposed in capitate spikes; peduncles longer than the leaves. June. _l._, leaflets obovate, bidentate at the apex; stipules connate, opposite the leaves. Plant diffuse, procumbent, rather hairy. _h._ 3in. to 6in. Provence, 1820. Perennial. =A. sulcatus= (furrowed).* _fl._ pale violet, but with a white keel, tipped with brown; racemes pedunculate, longer than the leaves. July. _l._ with linear-lanceolate leaflets. Plant erect, glabrous; stem furrowed. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Siberia, 1783. Perennial. =A. Tragacantha= (great goat's thorn).* Gum Tragacanth. _fl._ pale violet, two to five together, axillary, sessile. June. _l._ with eight to nine pairs of linear hispid leaflets; young stipules connate, clothed with silky hairs; adult ones glabrous; petioles permanent, at length becoming hardened spines. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 3ft. Levant, 1640. Evergreen shrub. Tragacanth, a partially soluble gum, was formerly supposed to be furnished by this plant. It is, however, now known that _A. Tragacantha_ yields none. Several species from mountainous regions in Asia Minor, &c., furnish the gum. =A. vaginatus= (sheathed-stipuled). _fl._ rosy-purple, with white-tipped wings; calyx rather inflated, covered with soft white and black hairs; spikes dense. Summer. _l._ impari-pinnate, with seven or eight pairs of elongated-oblong leaflets, both surfaces covered with short silvery hairs. _h._ 1ft. Siberia. Perennial. =A. vesicarius= (bladdery). _fl._, upper petal purple, the wings yellow, and the keel white, tipped with yellow; calyx clothed with black adpressed down and long white spreading hairs; peduncles longer than the leaves. July. _l._ with five to seven pairs of elliptic leaflets. Plant diffusely procumbent, hoary from adpressed silky down. _h._ 6in. to 9in. France, 1737. Perennial trailer. =A viminens= (twiggy). _fl._, upper petal purplish rose, much longer than the pure white wings; calyx clothed with black hairs; spikes somewhat capitate, pedunculate, longer than the leaves. June. _l._ with four to six pairs of lanceolate acute leaflets, beset with adpressed hairs. _h._ 6in. to 1ft. Siberia, 1816. A handsome perennial. =A. virescens= (greenish). Synonymous with _A. falcata_. =A. vulpinus= (fox).* _fl._ pale yellow; spikes nearly globose, on very short peduncles. June. _l._ with obovate, obtuse, emarginate, rather velvety leaflets. Plant erect; stem glabrous. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Caucasus, 1815. A handsome border perennial. =ASTRANTIA= (from _astron_, a star, and _anti_, in composition signifying comparison; in reference to the appearance of the umbels of flowers). ORD. _Umbelliferæ_. Ornamental, hardy, herbaceous perennials, natives of Europe and Caucasus. Universal umbels irregular, of few rays, surrounded by variable involucre; partial umbels regular, and containing many flowers, surrounded by many-leaved involucels. Radical leaves petiolate, palmately lobed; cauline ones few, sessile. Roots blackish. These are suited for borders, banks, and woodlands, growing well in any ordinary garden soil, but preferring a damp position. Easily increased by root divisions in autumn or spring. =A. carniolica= (Carniolan).* _fl._ white. May. _l._ of involucre twelve to thirteen, quite entire, white, with a green line running along the middle of each, tinged with red; radical ones palmate; lobes five to seven, oblong, acuminated, unequally serrated. _h._ 6in. to 12in. Carniola, 1812. A pretty species. =A. helleborifolia= (Hellebore-leaved).* _fl._ (and involucre) pink, pedicellate. June. _l._ of involucre twelve to thirteen, ovate-lanceolate, exceeding the umbel a little, bristly; radical ones palmate; lobes three, ovate-lanceolate, unequally serrated. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Eastern Caucasus, 1804. SYN. _A. maxima_. =A. major= (greater).* _fl._ pinkish, pedicellate. May. _l._ of involucre fifteen to twenty, linear-lanceolate, quite entire, hardly longer than the umbel; radical ones palmate; lobes five, ovate-lanceolate, acute, rather trifid, toothed. _h._ 1ft to 2ft. Europe, 1596. Very distinct and ornamental. =A. maxima= (greatest). Synonymous with _A. helleborifolia_. =ASTRAP�A= (from _astrape_, lightning; alluding to the brightness of the flowers). ORD. _Sterculiaceæ_. Elegant stove evergreen trees. Peduncles axillary, long, bearing on their apex an umbel of large sessile flowers, enclosed in a leafy involucre. Leaves alternate, stalked, cordate, three to five-lobed. They thrive well in a mixture of loam and peat, and require a plentiful supply of water; but the best results accrue if the bottom of the pot can be stood in a saucer or tub of water. Propagated by cuttings of young wood, made in April, placed in a compost of loam and peat, or sand, under a bell glass, in heat. =A. tiliæflora= (Lime-tree leaved). _fl._ pink. _h._ 20ft. Isle of Bourbon, 1824. =A. viscosa= (clammy). _fl._ pink. _h._ 20ft. Madagascar, 1823. =A. Wallichii= (Wallich's).* _fl._ scarlet; umbels drooping. July. _l._ large, cordate, angularly lobed; stipulas leafy, ovate-acuminated; peduncles long, hairy. _h._ 30ft. Madagascar, 1820. This splendid species has often been described as being one of the finest plants ever introduced into this country; and, when in full flower, nothing can exceed it in beauty and grandeur. =ASTROCARYUM= (from _astron_, a star, and _karyon_, a nut; referring to the disposition of the fruit). SYN. _Ph�nico-phorum_. ORD. _Palmaceæ_. Very ornamental stove palms, allied to _Cocos_, having the trunk (when present), foliage, fruit-stalks, spathes, and sometimes the fruit, covered with spines. The flowers develop from the axils of the old decayed leaves. Drupes oval, one-seeded, orange or yellow, in some species fragrant. Leaves pinnate, with linear segments, dark green above, and often of a silvery white below. The species thrive in a compost of two-thirds rich loam and one-third vegetable mould; water may be given copiously. Propagation may be effected by seeds, which should be sown in spring in a hotbed; or by suckers, if they are to be obtained. =A. acaule= (stemless). _l._ pinnate, 3ft. to 10ft. long, slender and spreading; pinnæ narrow, arranged in clusters, pendent. Spines very numerous, long, flat, black. _h._ 10ft. Brazil, 1820. =A. aculeatum= (prickly). _h._ 40ft. Guiana, 1824. =A. argenteum= (silvery).* _l._ arching, wedge-shaped, pinnate, distinctly plicate, bright green on the upper surface, the under surface, as well as the stalks, covered with a fine white scurf, which gives them a silvered appearance. Columbia, 1875. One of the best of silver palms. =A. filare= (thready).* _l._ erect, narrowly cuneate, with two divergent lobes; petioles covered with white scurf, both on the upper and under surfaces. Distinct and elegant, with a comparatively small and slender growth. Columbia, 1875. =A. granatense= (New Grenadan). _l._ pinnate, with oblong-acuminate segments; the rachis is spiny, like the petiole, both on the upper and lower surfaces; leafstalks brownish, armed with numerous scattered needle-shaped dark-coloured spines. Columbia, 1876. =A. mexicanum= (Mexican). Mexico, 1864. =A. Muru-Muru= (Murumuru). _l._ pinnate, 10ft. to 12ft. long; leaflets lanceolate, sub-falcate, dark green above, silvery white below. Stem 12ft. to 15ft. high, densely clothed with strong reflexed black spines, over 6in. long. _h._ 40ft. Brazil, 1825. =A. rostratum= (beak-sheathed). _l._ irregularly pinnate, 3ft. to 8ft. long; pinnæ 12in. to 18in. long; terminal lobe much larger and bifid, dark green above, silvery white below; petioles broadly sheathing at the base, densely armed with black spines, sometimes 2in. long. Stem slender, densely clothed with long black spines. A slow grower, ultimately becoming 30ft. high. Brazil, 1854. =A. vulgare= (common). _h._ 30ft. Brazil, 1825. =ASTROLOBIUM.= _See_ =Ornithopus=. =ASTROLOMA= (from _astron_, a star, and _loma_, a fringe; in reference to the bearded limb of the corolla). ORD. _Epacridaceæ_. Very handsome, little, diffuse, greenhouse, evergreen shrubs. Flowers solitary, axillary; corolla tubular, distended above the middle, and with five bundles of hairs in the inside, near its base. Leaves crowded, alternate, linear, or obovate-lanceolate and mucronate. They thrive best in an equal mixture of sand, loam, and peat, with thorough drainage. Propagated by young cuttings, which root readily in sandy soil, under a bell glass, in a cool house. =A. denticulatum= (finely-toothed). _fl._ axillary, erect; corolla pale red, with a ventricose tube. May to July. _l._ scattered, lanceolate, ciliated, usually procumbent, but sometimes slightly erect. _h._ 1ft. New Holland, 1824. =A. humifusum= (trailing). _fl._ scarlet, similar to the foregoing. May and June. _l._ lanceolate-linear, rather convex above, with ciliated edges. Shrub prostrate, much branched. _h._ 1ft. New Holland, 1807. =ASTROPHYTUM MYRIOSTIGMA.= _See_ =Echinocactus myriostigma=. =ASYSTASIA= (meaning not clear). ORD. _Acanthaceæ_. Stove evergreen shrubs. Flowers disposed in axillary or terminal clusters; corolla somewhat funnel-shaped, five-lobed; calyx five-lobed, regular. Branches slender. They require a compost of peat and loam, with a little sand, and, to induce a vigorous growth, a little dry cow-dung may be applied. Propagated by cuttings of young shoots, placed in sandy soil, under a bell glass, in April, with a brisk bottom heat. =A. chelonioides= (Chelonia-like).* _fl._ in terminal racemes, reddish purple, the border white. _l._ opposite, ovate-acute. _h._ 34ft. India, 1871. A pretty dwarf sub-shrub. =A. coromandeliana= (Coromandel). _fl._ deep lilac; racemes axillary, elongated, secund, strict. July. _l._ opposite, cordate-ovate; branches diffuse. _h._ 4ft. India, 1845. SYN. _Justicia gangetica_. =A. macrophylla= (large-leaved).* _fl._ bilabiate, bell-shaped, rosy purple outside, and almost pure white within; spikes terminal, erect, 1ft. long. June. _l._ very large, obovate-lanceolate. _h._ 8ft. to 20ft. Fernando Po, 1867. =A. scandens= (climbing).* _fl._ cream-coloured; tube of corolla widened and recurved above, lobes of limb crenately curved; racemes terminal, compact, thyrse-formed. July. _l._ obovate or ovate acute, glabrous. _h._ 6ft. Sierra Leone, 1845. This handsome stove climber requires a high, moist temperature after shifting. SYN. _Henfreya scandens_. =A. violacea= (violet).* _fl._ violet purple, striped with white, in terminal racemes. _l._ shortly-stalked, ovate-acuminate, deep green, minutely hairy on both surfaces. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. India, 1870. A pretty dwarf plant. =ATACCIA CRISTATA.= _See_ =Tacca integrifolia=. =ATALANTIA= (mythological: Atalanta, the daughter of Sch�neus). ORD. _Rutaceæ_. A genus of ornamental stove evergreen shrubs, having the eight stamens united below into a tube, and with undivided leaves. It comprises about ten species. They thrive well in a mixture of loam and peat. Propagated by means of ripened cuttings, which will root readily if planted in sand under a hand glass, in heat. =A. monophylla= (one-leaved). _fl._ small, white, in axillary racemes. _fr._ golden yellow, about the size of a nutmeg. June. _l._ simple, ovate-oblong, emarginate at the apex. Spines small, simple. _h._ 8ft. India, 1777. A thorny shrub. =ATAMASCO LILY.= _See_ =Zephyranthes Atamasco=. =ATHAMANTA= (named from Mount Athamas, in Sicily, where some species are found). ORD. _Umbelliferæ_. A genus of greenhouse or hardy herbaceous plants, usually velvety from villi on the stem, leaves, and fruit. Flowers white; involucra of one or few leaves; involucel of many leaves. The undermentioned is the only species in cultivation, and is a very graceful perennial, with Fennel-like foliage. It thrives well in any ordinary soil. Increased by divisions, or by seeds sown in spring. =A. Matthioli= (Matthioli's). _fl._ white, twelve to twenty-five to an umbel. Summer. _l._ three or four ternate; leaflets linear-filiform, elongated, divaricate. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Alps of Carinthia, 1802. =ATHANASIA= (from _a_, not, and _thanatos_, death; alluding to the length of time which the flowers last). ORD. _Compositæ_. Rather ornamental greenhouse evergreen shrubs with yellow flowers, from the Cape of Good Hope. They grow well in a soil consisting of three parts loam and one part peat. Propagation is effected by cuttings, taken from half-ripened wood in spring, and placed in sand, under a hand glass. =A. capitata= (headed).* _fl.-heads_ yellow. March. _l._ pinnati-partite; younger hoary, older smooth. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1774. =A. pubescens= (downy). _fl.-heads_ yellow. July. _l._ oblong, entire (or tridentate), softly hairy on both sides; when old, sub-glabrous. _h._ 6ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1768. =ATHEROSPERMA= (from _ather_, an awn, and _sperma_, seed; seeds awned). ORD. _Monimiaceæ_. A beautiful greenhouse evergreen tree, with the aspect of a stately conifer. Flowers panicled, di�cious; perianth five to eight-fid. Leaves opposite, aromatic. A compost of loam and peat, in about equal proportions, is necessary. It can be readily propagated by cuttings. =A. moschata= (Musk-scented). Plume Nutmeg. _fl._ white. June. _h._ 40ft. New Holland, 1824. =ATHEROSPERME�.= _See_ =Monimiaceæ=. =ATHRIXIA= (from _a_, not, and _thrix_, a hair; the receptacle being destitute of hairs). ORD. _Compositæ_. A greenhouse evergreen shrub. It succeeds best in turfy loam, peat, and sand, and requires to be potted firmly. Propagated by cuttings of young wood, placed under a bell glass in sandy soil, and treated like _Ericas_ (which _see_). =A. capensis= (Cape).* _fl.-heads_ bright crimson, solitary, terminal. April. _l._ narrow, lanceolate, alternate, entire. _h._ 3ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1821. =ATHROTAXIS= (from _athros_, crowded together, and _taxis_, arrangement; in reference to the disposition of the scales of the cones). ORD. _Coniferæ_. A small genus of Tasmanian evergreen di�cious trees or shrubs, with small scale-like leaves, and small globular cones of many imbricated scales, with from three to six carpels under each scale. In very sheltered situations they will probably prove hardy; but, otherwise, they are only suitable for botanical collections. Increased by cuttings. This genus is almost universally misspelt _Arthrotaxis_. =A. cupressoides= (Cypress-like). _l._ small, thick, leathery, spirally arranged, closely imbricated, deep glossy green. _h._ 30ft. A small, erect, and very slow growing tree, with numerous slender branchlets. =A. Doniana= (Don's). A synonym of _A. laxifolia_. =A. imbricata= (imbricated). A garden synonym of _A. selaginoides_. =A. laxifolia= (loose-leaved). Differing from _A. cupressoides_ in having longer, more pointed, open, and spreading leaves, which stand out from the stem in a Juniper-like fashion. Its lateral growths are rather pendulous. _h._ 20ft. to 25ft. SYN. _A. Doniana_. =A. selaginoides= (Selago-like). _l._ glossy green, scale-like, spirally disposed, closely appressed to the shoots, branches and their ramifications very numerous. _h._ variable, up to 40ft. Very interesting, and quite distinct. SYN. _A. imbricata_ (of gardens). =ATHYRIUM.= _See_ =Asplenium=. =ATRAGENE= (a name originally given to _Clematis Vitalba_ by Theophrastus). ORD. _Ranunculaceæ_. A genus of ornamental, hardy, climbing, deciduous shrubs, closely allied to _Clematis_, from which they differ in having numerous petals. They are increased by cuttings, which should be pricked in light sandy soil and placed under a hand glass; also by layering in the autumn. Both methods are slow; the layers should not be separated for about a year, when they will be vigorous plants. Seeds must be sown in early spring, in gentle heat; when the seedlings are large enough to handle, they should be pricked off and grown on in pots till they are strong plants. [Illustration: FIG. 189. ATRAGENE ALPINA, showing Habit, Twining Leafstalk, and Flower.] =A. alpina= (alpine).* _fl._ blue, varying to white; petals ten to twelve, linear at the base, but dilated at the apex; peduncles one-flowered, longer than the leaves. May. _l._ biternate; leaflets ovate-lanceolate, acuminated, serrate. Mountainous parts of Europe, 1792. The white-flowered variety, named _alba_, is in cultivation. SYNS. _A. austriaca_ and _A. sibirica_. See Fig. 189. =A. americana= (American).* _fl._ large, purplish-blue; petals acute; peduncles one-flowered. May. _l._ whorled, in fours, leaflets stalked, cordate, lanceolate, acuminated, entire or somewhat lobed, or serrated. North America, 1797. SYN. _Clematis verticillaris_. =A. austriaca= (Austrian). Synonymous with _A. alpina_. =A. macropetala= (large-petaled).* _fl._ blue. Manchuria, 1870. =A. sibirica= (Siberian). Synonymous with _A. alpina_. =ATRIPLEX= (from _a_, not, and _traphein_, to nourish). Orach. ORD. _Chenopodiaceæ_. A genus of, for the most part, uninteresting weeds, of very variable form and habit, and having the calyx, which encloses the fruit, enlarging after flowering. For culture, _see_ =Orach=. =A. hortensis= (garden). An annual species from Tartary, of no value as an ornamental plant, but considered a very desirable substitute for spinach. The leaves must be gathered for use when young. The variety _A. h. atro-sanguinea_ is a very pretty form, having handsome crimson leaves, and growing to a height of about 4ft. It is well worth growing with such plants as _Amaranthus_, &c. =ATROPA= (name of mythological origin). Belladonna; Dwale. ORD. _Solanaceæ_. A small genus, having a campanulate regular corolla, and a leafy persistent calyx. The berries of this native herbaceous perennial are exceedingly poisonous. The plant is of no horticultural value. [Illustration: FIG. 190. FLOWER OF ATROPA BELLADONNA.] =A. Belladonna.= _fl._ green and purple, solitary, pedunculate, drooping. Summer. Berries about the size of a small cherry. _l._ ovate, acuminate, 4in. to 8in. long _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Britain. See Fig. 190. =ATTALEA= (from _attalus_, magnificent; referring to the beauty of the genus). ORD. _Palmaceæ_. A genus of handsome stove palm trees, distinguished from other genera in having the pinnæ arranged vertically, and not horizontally. The leaves spring up almost perpendicularly at the base, but in the upper part arch over. The pinnæ stand at right angles to the rachis--which is very narrow in proportion to its thickness--and while those of the lower side of the arch hang straight down, those of the upper side point straight up. They thrive well in a mixture of peat and loam in equal quantities, and enjoy a copious supply of water. Summer temperature, 65deg. to 80deg.; winter, 55deg. to 60deg. All the species are robust trees; but, although several have been introduced, few appear to be generally grown. =A. amygdalina= (Almond-fruited).* _l._ pinnate, 3ft. to 6ft. long; pinnæ 12in. to 18in. long, and about 1in. broad; terminal lobe broad and bifid, rich dark green. Stem slender. New Grenada. One of the best. SYN. _A. nucifera_. =A. Cohune= (Cohune).* _l._ erect, ultimately spreading, pinnate, furnished with from three to four dozen dark green pinnæ, sometimes 18in. in length; petioles rounded, and dark brown below, flat and green upon the upper side. Plant unarmed. _h._ 50ft. or more in its native habitat. Honduras. =A. compta= (decked). _h._ 22ft. Brazil, 1820. =A. excelsa= (tall).* _h._ 70ft. Brazil, 1826. =A. funifera= (rope-bearing). The Piassaba Palm. _l._ vivid deep green, very ornamental, and of economic value in Brazil. 1824. The sheathing bases of the leafstalks separate into a coarse black fringe, which is collected and exported to Europe, being used in the manufacture of brooms, brushes, &c. =A. nucifera= (nut-bearing). A synonym of _A. amygdalina_. =A. speciosa= (showy).* _h._ 70ft. Brazil, 1825. =A. spectabilis= (remarkable). _h._ 70ft. Brazil, 1824. =ATTENUATED.= Tapering gradually to a point. [Illustration: FIG. 191. FRUITING BRANCH OF ROUND AUBERGINE.] [Illustration: FIG. 192. FRUITING BRANCH OF LONG AUBERGINE.] =AUBERGINE=, or =EGG PLANT= (_Solanum melongena_, variety _ovigerum_). These plants, besides being useful for culinary purposes, are very ornamental, and present an attractive appearance on walls or trellises, or in the flower garden; and, as they do well in any ordinary rich garden soil, if the position is warm, they give a good variation to the general run of plants used for decorative effects. The Black-fruited kind is particularly suited for this purpose. Sow the seeds in a gentle heat, in the middle of April. As soon as the seedlings are large enough to handle, prick off into 4in. pots, replacing in heat till they root out freely. Gradually harden off by June, and then transfer to the positions where they are to grow. Let the plants be at least 2ft. apart, and place a strong stick to each one to support the fruit when it comes. For trellises, select the more moderate-sized varieties. In hot, dry weather, the application of liberal supplies of liquid manure tends to increase the size of the fruit, and also to make the foliage more vigorous and handsome. Where very large fruit are needed for show or other purposes, it is well to remove all but the best one on the plant, and, by careful feeding with liquid manure, specimens of from 10lb. to 12lb. weight can be had. The foliage should not be pinched, as this would prevent the free swelling of the fruit. Aubergines are not so much grown in England for culinary purposes as in France and Italy, where they are largely used in stews and soups. The following are the most desirable varieties: New York Purple, the largest kind grown, and although not as ornamental as the next, is quite as useful; Black-fruited, large black fruit, with blackish violet leaves; and White-fruited, the sort most generally cultivated. See Figs. 191 and 192. =AUBRIETIA= (named after M. Aubriet, a famous French botanical draughtsman). ORD. _Cruciferæ_. A small genus of hardy evergreen trailers. Racemes opposite the leaves, and terminal, lax, few-flowered. Leaves ovate or oblong, entire or angularly toothed, hairy. They make excellent rock plants, and will thrive in a deep rich loam anywhere, excepting under the shelter of trees. Cuttings struck, or seeds sown, during April or May generally make fine, dense, cushion-like growths, if transplanted on to a somewhat cool or shaded border, and carefully lifted in the autumn; the cuttings are best "drawn," or grown until they are soft, in a frame before they are removed. Where a stock of old plants exist, layer the long slender branches any time after flowering, and cover with a mixture of sand and leaf soil; they will then root freely and establish themselves in time for spring blooming, for which purpose, when grown _en masse_, they are most useful. After flowering, they may be divided and transplanted. [Illustration: FIG. 193. AUBRIETIA DELTOIDEA.] =A. deltoidea= (deltoid).* _fl._ purple; petals twice the length of the calyx; pedicels short, filiform; racemes opposite the leaves and terminal, lax, few-flowered. Early spring. _l._ with one or two large teeth on each side (therefore they are rhomboidal, not truly deltoid), scabrous, with short branchy stellate hairs. _h._ 2in. to 4in. Naples, &c., 1710. There are several garden varieties, the best of which are described below; most of them are regarded as distinct species. See Fig. 193. (S. F. G. 628.) [Illustration: FIG. 194. AUBRIETIA PURPUREA.] =A. d. Bouganvillei= (Bouganville's).* _fl._ light violet purple, with very even imbricated petals. Habit very dwarf and compact, with short peduncles. A pretty form. =A. d. Campbelli= (Campbell's).* Larger deep violet blue flowers, and of far more vigorous constitution than the typical form. _Grandiflora_ comes very near this. SYN. _A. Hendersonii_. =A. d. Eyrei= (Eyre's).* A very fine variety, with a free branching habit, and large flowers of a rich violet-purple colour, rather longer than broad. _A. olympica_ is very near, if not identical with this. =A. d. græca= (Grecian).* _fl._ light purple. _h._ 4in. Greece, 1872. One of the best and largest flowered forms; very vigorous grower, with neat compact habit. A variety of this, named _superba_, has rather deeper-coloured flowers, produced over a very extended period. (R. G. 697.) =A. d. purpurea= (purple).* Larger flowers and more erect habit than the type. _l._ broader, with two to five teeth. Stems more leafy. There is a variegated form, which is very pleasing and effective, useful for carpeting or edging small beds. See Fig. 194. =A. d. violacea= (violet).* This is a hybrid form, even finer than _Campbelli_, with large deep violet-purple flowers, fading to reddish-violet, and is more effective than any of the others. =A. Hendersonii= (Henderson's). A synonym of _A. d. Campbelli_. =AUCUBA= (the Japanese name of the shrub). ORD. _Cornaceæ_. A genus of hardy evergreen shrubs, thriving better than any other in the smoky atmosphere of dense cities. They grow in ordinary well-drained garden soil, and require no special culture. If grown in pots, they should be planted firmly in rather sandy yellow loam, with plenty of drainage. They should not be allowed too large pots, or an unfruitful growth is likely to result. During the growing season, an abundance of water is needed, which must be lessened when the plants are fully developed. If cultivated in the greenhouse or conservatory, they should be plunged out of doors during summer. To insure a good supply of the very ornamental berries, which are produced on the female plant, careful fertilising is necessary. The time for applying the pollen is when the pistil exudes a slightly gummy substance, and otherwise shows signs of maturity. When it happens, as is sometimes the case, that the male blooms are open and the pollen mature before the female blooms are ready, the pollen should be collected on a dry camel-hair pencil, transferred to a piece of glass, and covered over by another piece, both of which must also be dry. It may be applied afterwards when wanted, as it retains its power for some weeks. Propagated by cuttings, inserted in any light sandy soil, with or without a covering, in spring or autumn; or readily increased from seeds, sown as soon as ripe. =A. himalaica= (Himalayan).* _l._ lanceolate, or lanceolate acuminate; branches of the panicle very pilose. Berries spherical, not oblong. Himalaya. (F. d. S. 12, 1271.) =A. japonica= (Japanese).* _l._ opposite, petiolate, broad, ovate-lanceolate, acuminated, toothed, leathery, glabrous, shining, pale green, beautifully spotted with yellow, having the midrib rather prominent, the rest of the leaf reticulately veined. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. Japan, 1783. The numerous varieties, both of the male and female forms, among which will be found many of great beauty, all differ, more or less, in the variegation of their leaves. They are in very general cultivation, and nearly every nurseryman has an assortment. Among the best of them are the following: _albo-variegata_, _aurea_, _bicolor_, _latimaculata_, _limbata_, _longifolia_, _macrophylla_, _ovata_, _pygmæa_, and _pygmæa sulphurea_. =AUDOUINIA= (in honour of V. Audouin, a profound entomologist). ORD. _Bruniaceæ_. An ornamental greenhouse evergreen shrub, thriving in a mixture of peat and sandy loam. Propagated by cuttings of half-ripened wood, inserted in sand, under a bell glass, in gentle heat. =A. capitata= (headed). _fl._ purple, crowded into oblong, spike-like, terminal heads. May. _l._ spirally inserted, a little keeled. Branches erect. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1790. =AULACOSPERMUM.= A synonym of =Pleurospermum= (which _see_). =AULAX= (from _aulax_, a furrow; the under surface of the leaves of the original species being furrowed). ORD. _Proteaceæ_. Greenhouse evergreen shrubs, from the Cape of Good Hope, thriving best in a compost of fibrous loam, leaf soil, and sharp sand, with thorough drainage. Ripened cuttings, taken off at a joint, and inserted in pots of sandy soil, will root readily under a hand glass, in a cool house. =A. pinifolia= (Pine-leaved). _fl._ yellow, racemose. July. _l._ filiform, channelled. _h._ 2ft. 1780. =A. umbellata= (umbelled). _fl._ yellow. June. _l._ flat, spathulate*-linear. _h._ 2ft. 1774. (B. R. 12, 1015.) =AURANTIACE�.= An order of trees or shrubs, including the Orange and Lemon trees. Flowers fragrant. Fruit fleshy, edible. Leaves alternate, articulated above the stem, filled with transparent oil cysts, giving them a dotted appearance. Well-known genera are _Citrus_ and _Limonia_. =AURICULA= (_Primula Auricula_). This favourite spring flower (see Fig. 195) was, at one time, almost universally cultivated, but has of late years fallen into much neglect; it is now, however, happily regaining enthusiastic admirers. Although its culture is not nearly so difficult as is generally understood, a few special items of treatment are nevertheless necessary to grow it successfully. [Illustration: FIG. 195. A VARIETY OF PRIMULA AURICULA.] _Frames_ for the reception of Auriculas should be prepared, with a good bottom drainage, and an inside staging, similar to the back stage of a lean-to greenhouse, arranged as near the glass as possible. If the frames are about 4ft. wide, they will be very convenient; 1ft. deep in the front, and about 3ft. at the back. This will allow for a good stage arrangement. Of course, it is not necessary to construct an expensive staging, as common boards can be laid upon pots of various heights, the same results being practically secured. These frames should face north from May to October, and south in winter, during which latter time it will be necessary to well cover the sides with straw or brake. When frosty, the lights must also be mated; but, unless there is absolute fear of frost, the glass should not be covered, as the more light the plants receive the better. On all suitable occasions, both during summer and winter, air must be freely admitted, and a good look-out kept during showery weather; hence it may be necessary to tilt the lights with blocks rather than remove them entirely. The latter plan should be adopted whenever practicable, especially during early spring, and after they are well established in their fresh pots in summer. This will greatly assist to ripen the crown, and produce hard, stout foliage, which will endure the winter much better than if grown with less air. Many cultivators prefer small span or lean-to houses to frames; and it must be admitted that these are better, more convenient, and in every way more beneficial. Simple, inexpensive structures, no higher than is absolutely necessary for convenience, with top and side ventilation, will meet all requirements; and if a 2in. hot-water pipe is arranged next the eaves inside, it will be a decided advantage during very severe weather. _Soil._ The best compost that can be prepared for Auriculas is as follows: Four parts good fibrous loam, one part well-rotted cow manure, one part good leaf soil, and one part coarse river or silver sand, with a little charcoal or pounded oyster-shells added. Carefully mix the whole together before using. The loam should be stored about twelve months previous to being used, and it should be selected from districts with a fine atmosphere; the turf should be cut about 3in. thick. Cow manure that has lain for a year or so, and been subjected to sharp frosts, is most suitable, as insect life, which it very probably contains, is thereby destroyed, and the whole materially sweetened. _Potting._ This operation requires to be carefully done as soon after flowering as possible, unless it is desired to save seed, when it must be deferred until the seed is ripened. May and June are the best months for general potting, and whatever the size of the pots used, they should be carefully and thoroughly drained. After a good layer of potsherds, place some charcoal, leaf mould, or spent hops. Many good growers use the last very advantageously. For good flowering plants, 48-sized pots are used, many cultivators preferring glazed pots to the unglazed; but such are not absolutely necessary to ensure success. Before repotting, remove most of the old soil, and with a sharp knife cut off any bruised or cankered portion of roots; the stout tap-root may also be cut away if devoid of fresh rootlets. Do not pot very firmly. Remove the plants to their summer quarters, withholding water for a few days, and keep the frames close. About a week after potting, water may be advantageously given, the plants will then soon resume root-action, and air may be admitted afterwards on all suitable occasions. The collar or neck of the plant must be left well above the surface of the soil. _Watering_ is a point that requires careful attention, as neglect in this matter will result in failure. During the growing season, Auriculas require an abundance of water; in fact, they must never be allowed to get dry. In the winter, they must only be watered when they are really dry, especially during a severe season. Care must be taken to avoid watering the leaves, particularly in early spring, as this tends to spoil the effect of the charming farinose foliage. Above all, water must not be allowed to stand in the heart of the plant, as such will inevitably cause incipient decay. Hence it is necessary to keep a sharp lookout for drippings from the glass, and to maintain tightly-glazed frames. On all occasions, decaying leaves must be removed, and especially during winter. _Top-dressing._ About the middle or end of February, when the plants commence new growth, the surface soil should be removed about an inch or so deep, and the pots re-filled with a rich compost made up of the following: Two parts of turfy loam, one of rotten cow or hen manure, and one of leaf soil; if a little Standen's Manure is added, the compost will be improved. After this top-dressing, the plants may be watered freely. _Propagation by Offsets._ When top-dressing, any offsets with roots should be removed, and as soon after as possible the remaining ones should be taken off, as it is much more desirable to do so early than later on, when repotting; for, when making the first growth, they are the more likely to root better, and stand a greater chance of making good plants before the season is over. Fill well-drained 3in. pots with sandy soil, and arrange about four offsets round the sides; place under a bell glass, or in a close handlight, watering very sparingly so as to prevent them damping off. They will soon establish themselves, after which air may be admitted, and the plants may ultimately be potted off singly. To induce choice varieties to make offsets, the top of the old plant should be removed and treated like the others, when, as a rule, several shoots will be produced, which in due time may be removed. By this means, a nice stock of the rarer kinds may be obtained; whereas, if such a course were not adopted, the rate of increase would be extremely slow. _Flowering._ During the flowering period, watering, as already stated, must be carefully attended to, for if the plants are allowed to get dry, the flowers will quickly shrivel. They must also be kept well shaded from sunshine, which quickly destroys the delicate blossoms. As the trusses are developing, particular attention must be given to night protection. It is, perhaps, better to cover every night than to run the risk of exposing the unexpanded flowers to frost, as the effect is very prejudicial; in fact, if subject to frost, smooth even flowers may not be expected. _Seed Saving and Sowing._ The only way to obtain new varieties is by seed; hence the value of careful seed-saving will be apparent. Severe discrimination must be exercised in the selection of parents, and the flowers must be very carefully crossed. The anthers should be removed from the pistillate parent, if possible, before expansion, so as to prevent any possibility of self-fertilisation; and, when the stigma is ready, the pollen must be conveyed by means of a small camel's-hair brush, care being taken not to mistake the brushes used in different classes. It has been observed in Auriculas that the issue from crossbred seed favours the pollen more than the pistillate parent; hence the necessity of selecting good pollen parents. It is best to confine hybridisation to separate classes--_i.e._, cross a Self with a Self, and a Green-edged variety with another of the same class. The importance of selecting the best in each class scarcely needs suggestion, having regard to constitution as well as the quality of the flowers. The seed should be sown as soon as ripe, or early in March, in well-drained pots, filled with sandy soil, which must be well watered previous to sowing. When this operation is completed, the seed must be lightly covered with coarse sand, a sheet of glass placed over the pot, and the latter stood in the hand glass, where the offsets are rooted. Some of the seedlings will appear in a month, but the bulk from that sown when ripe will not be seen until the following spring; while others will germinate even during the ensuing summer. The late comers should be particularly cared for, as they frequently produce the best varieties. When the seedlings are large enough, they must be pricked off in pots of sandy soil; and, when well established, potted off singly into small thumb pots, and afterwards encouraged as judgment suggests. Some growers allow the seedlings to remain in the store pots till they flower, when the best are kept, and those not required disposed of. _Insect Pests._ Green fly are often very troublesome, and should be exterminated as speedily as possible, by tobacco fumigation, or by dipping the plants in a solution of Gishurst's Compound, or carefully prepared Fir-tree Oil, all of which are effectual. Many authorities denounce fumigation, while others advocate it. The roots are also attacked by a mealy louse, named _Trama auriculæ_, which clusters about the roots and collar of the plants, sucking nutriment therefrom; and although, provided they do not attack the collar, they have no greatly prejudicial effect on the plant, yet it is desirable to exterminate them. The only effectual way of accomplishing this is to remove all soil, and thoroughly cleanse the roots and collar in a solution of soft soap, with a little Fir-tree Oil added. Of course, this is most easily managed when repotting; and, unless the plants are very badly infested, it would not be advisable to run the risk of root washing later in the year. _Classes._ Auriculas are now arranged in five classes, four of which constitute what are known as "show or stage Auriculas," while the other is known by the name of "Alpines." Each class is characterised by special points of distinction, which, in the opinion of the strict "florists" school, it is of the utmost importance to observe; and as there is room for systematists in this, as well as in any other branch of floriculture, we will follow the arrangement usually adopted, and describe the distinguishing features of, and enumerate some of the best varieties in, each class, with their raisers' names attached: =Green-edged.= Outer edge green, or but sparingly dusted with powder; next, a zone of colour known as the body colour, which varies, the darkest being most esteemed; both edges of this zone should be even, especially the inner one, but there are few flowers perfect in this respect. Next to the body-colour is the paste, which occupies the space between the inner circle of the latter and the throat, this should be pure and dense, with a distinctly circular outline at the throat; the throat and tube should be bright yellow. Of course, this ideal standard has not yet been reached, as there are supposed defects in all or some sections of the flowers at present known. _Leading Varieties_: ADMIRAL NAPIER (Campbell), ALDERMAN WISBEY (Headley), APOLLO (Beeston), CHAMPION (Page), COLONEL TAYLOR (Leigh), DUKE OF WELLINGTON (Dickson), FREEDOM (Booth), GENERAL NEILL (Traill), HIGHLAND BOY (Pollitt), IMPERATOR (Litton), LADY ANN WILBRAHAM (Oliver), LORD PALMERSTON (Campbell), LOVELY ANN (Oliver), LYCURGUS (Smith), PRINCE OF GREENS (Traill), PRINCE OF WALES (Ashton). =Grey-edged.= Edge heavily dusted with powder, so as almost to hide the normal green colour; other points same as the Green-edged varieties. _Leading varieties_: ALEXANDER MEIKLEJOHN (Kay), CHAS. E. BROWN (Headley), COMPLETE (Sykes), CONQUEROR OF EUROPE (Waterhouse), DR. HORNER (Read), F. D. HORNER (Simonite), GENERAL BOLIVAR (Smith), GEORGE LEVICK (Walker), GEORGE LIGHTBODY (Headley), JOHN WATERSTON (Cunningham), LANCASHIRE HERO (Lancashire), RICHARD HEADLEY (Lightbody), ROBERT TRAILL (Lightbody). =White-edged.= Edge so heavily dusted with farina as to completely hide the green and give it a white appearance; the powder frequently as dense as on the paste portion; other points like the first. _Leading varieties_: ACME (Read), ANNE SMITH (Smith), ARABELLA (Headley), BEAUTY (Traill), BRIGHT VENUS (Lee), CATHERINA (Summerscales), CONSERVATIVE (Douglas), COUNTESS OF WILTON (Cheetham), EARL GROSVENOR (Lee), FAVORITE (Taylor), FRANK SIMONITE (Simonite), GLORY (Taylor), JOHN SIMONITE (Walker), NE PLUS ULTRA (Smith), REGULAR (Ashworth), SMILING BEAUTY (Heap), SYLVIA (Douglas), TRUE BRITON (Hepworth). =Selfs.= Tube bright yellow, and circular at the top; paste dense, pure, with an even edge; all the rest of the flower of one colour, without shades or edging; any colour holds good. _Leading varieties_: APOLLO (Hay), BLACKBIRD (Spalding), C. J. PERRY (Turner), DUKE OF ARGYLE (Campbell), FORMOSA (Smith), GARIBALDI (Pohlman), HELEN LANCASTER (Pohlman), LORD OF LORNE (Campbell), MAZINNA (Pohlman), METEOR FLAG (Lightbody), METROPOLITAN (Spalding), MRS. DOUGLAS (Simonite), MRS. STURROCK (Martin), OTHELLO (Netherwood), PIZARRO (Campbell), TOPSY (Kaye). =Alpines.= Centre golden yellow, or white, and destitute of powder; body colour various; edge one-coloured, shading off paler towards the margin. These are much hardier than any of the other classes, and will do well outside in most places. _Leading varieties_: A. F. BARRON (Turner), BEATRICE (Turner), BLACK PRINCE (Turner), BRONZE QUEEN (Turner), COLONEL SCOTT (Turner), DIADEM (Gorton), DUCHESS OF CONNAUGHT (Turner), EVENING STAR (Turner), GEORGE LIGHTBODY (Turner), JOHN LEECH (Turner), MRS. BALL (Turner), MRS. DODWELL (Turner), MRS. LLEWELLYN (Turner), MRS. MEIKLEJOHN (Meiklejohn), MRS. THOMSON (Turner), QUEEN VICTORIA (Turner), RUBENS (Turner), SAILOR PRINCE (Turner), SELINA (Turner), SPANGLE (Turner), SYDNEY (Turner), TRIUMPHANT (Turner). =AURICULATE.= Having ear-like appendages. =AUSTRIAN ROSE.= _See_ =Rosa lutea=. =AVENA= (derivation obscure). The Oat. ORD. _Gramineæ_. A genus of grasses with loose panicles and compressed spikelets. Of agricultural importance only, with the following exception, which is an annual of easy culture in ordinary garden soil. Propagated by seeds, sown in spring or autumn. =A. sterilis= (barren). The Animated Oat. _fl._ in drooping panicles of large spikelets. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. Barbary, 1640. An elegant plant. =AVENS.= _See_ =Geum=. =AVENUES.= In forming an Avenue, the plan must neither be tortuous nor of a "tedious sameness," but a gradually winding line should, above all, be obtained, which must in no way interfere with the view from the house. About 12ft. is the width usually allowed for the road, but this depends upon individual taste or idea--this remark applies to planting in double rows, the trees forming a series of triangles, or in single rows. The distance across the road from one row of trees to those opposite should be at least 24ft. The Lime is extensively used for Avenues on account of its regular growth and the shade it affords. The Cedar of Lebanon is one of the best and most suitable evergreens. The Dutch Elm is used because of its rapid growth, and forms one of the best deciduous trees for this purpose. The well-known Horse Chestnut, in sheltered spots, is very ornamental, as is also the Spanish Chestnut; the latter spreads rapidly. Where immediate effect is required, nothing gives more satisfaction than the White Poplar; it grows in a wet soil better than anything else. Deodars, Araucarias, Douglas Pine, the Mexican, Chinese, and Japanese Cypresses, and many others, are eminently suited for Avenue planting. Shrubs and herbaceous plants should be introduced between the trees, and so remove any bareness that may occur. _Diervilla rosea_, and its variegated form, _Aucubas_, _Rhododendrons_, _Hypericums_, and many others, could be mentioned to serve this purpose. A moderately good soil will be found to answer generally. =AVERRHOA= (in honour of Averrhoes, of Cordova, a celebrated Arabian physician, who resided in Spain during the domination of the Moors, about the middle of the twelfth century; he translated Aristotle into Arabic). ORD. _Geraniaceæ_. Ornamental stove trees, thriving in loam and peat. Half-ripened cuttings will strike in sand, under a hand glass, about April, with bottom heat. The leaves of the first-named species are irritable to the touch. [Illustration: FIG. 196 AZALEA BALSAMIN�FLORA.] =A. Bilimbi= (Bilimbi-tree). _fl._ reddish purple, disposed in racemes, rising from the trunk. May. _fr._ oblong, somewhat resembling a small cucumber, with a thin, smooth, green rind, filled with a grateful acid juice, and the substance and seeds not unlike that of a cucumber. _l._ alternate, with from five to ten pairs of ovate-lanceolate, entire, smooth leaflets on short stalks. _h._ 8ft. to 15ft. Native country unknown, 1791. (B. F. S. 117.) =A. Carambola.= Carambola-tree. _fl._ red, scattered, disposed in short racemes, usually rising from the smaller branches, but sometimes from the larger ones, and even the trunk. _fr._ the size of a hen's egg, acutely five-cornered, with a thin, yellow rind, and a clear watery pulp. _l._ alternate, with about four to five pairs of ovate, acuminated, entire, stalked leaflets, the outer ones largest. _h._ 14ft. to 20ft. 1793. This, as well as the first-named species, is cultivated throughout the hotter parts of India, but where it occurs truly wild is not known. =AVOCADO PEAR.= _See_ =Persea gratissima=. =AWL-SHAPED.= Narrow-pointed, resembling an awl. =AWLWORT.= _See_ =Subularia=. =AXIL.= Literally the armpit; in plants applied to the angle formed by union of the leaf and stem. =AXILLARIA.= _See_ =Polygonatum=. =AXILLARY.= Growing in the axil of anything. =AYRSHIRE ROSE.= _See_ =Rosa repens capreolata=. =AZALEA= (from _azaleos_, dry, arid; in allusion to the habitat of the plant). ORD. _Ericaceæ_. A genus of very popular and beautiful hardy or greenhouse plants. The species enumerated were included under _Rhododendron_ by Don, Loudon, and others, contrary to the classification of Linnæus, but the distinctive characters are not consistent. In this genus, the stamens are usually five, but in _Rhododendron_ ten is the typical number. _Ghent_ or _American Azaleas_. These are extremely popular hardy deciduous shrubs. When plants are grown in the open, artificial crossing will be unnecessary; but this method must be employed upon those grown in the cool greenhouse, if well fertilised seeds are required. The seed should be gathered and sown when ripe in a large shallow frame containing from 2in. to 3in. of peat, over which more peat must be laid very level by means of a fine sieve; or they may be kept until early the following spring. No covering will be necessary, but a thorough watering with a fine-rosed water-pot must be given. The lights should be darkened, and the frames kept close until the young seedlings begin to appear, when they must have air (carefully admitted), shade, and a daily sprinkling of water. By the autumn, they will be large enough to transplant in small clumps into boxes of peat and coarse sand, and to place in other frames, or in the open. In each case, they will need watering, shading, and to be kept close until growth commences. The hardier the plants are before winter commences, the better; but a protection of mats or similar material will prevent the probability of their being killed by severe frosts. During the following season, they will only require water during dry weather, and no protection need be afforded this winter. The next spring, they should be planted out singly in beds, sufficiently wide apart to allow the development of two years growth. If an upright growth is being made, the leading shoot must be shortened, in order to secure dwarf, well-branched plants. The same methods should be employed on a smaller scale where but a few are wanted. Grafting is largely practised to increase the stock of named varieties or choice seedlings, the stock employed being _A. pontica_. This process, of course, ensures the quicker production of flowering plants. Layering in March, encasing the part buried with moss, is also some times practised; but the layer must be left two years before separating. Cuttings of the last year's wood, 2in. or 3in. long, taken with a heel, root readily in sand; about the end of August is the best time for so doing. If they are pricked off in pots or pans of sandy soil, and kept in a cool frame until they are calloused, and afterwards introduced into a slight bottom heat, they root quicker, but this is not absolutely essential. When placed outside, they should be covered with a handlight for about two months, and, at the end of this time, air should be gradually given and increased. Ghent Azaleas are now forced extensively for the market as well as in private gardens; and, by judicious culture, they can be had in full blossom by Christmas. With this end in view, they should be grown in pots, and have the growth prematurely completed soon after flowering with the aid of a little artificial heat; after which they may be placed outside. During very hot and dry weather, the north side of a wall is necessary, to prevent their flowering in the autumn. The same plants must only be forced every alternate year. Commence to place the plants in heat in October, and keep up a succession until the following March. The best plants for forcing purposes are obtained from the Continent, where they are grown in enormous quantities. When grown permanently out of doors, the most suitable soil is peat and rough sand mixed. Failing this, leaf mould, maiden loam, and sand, will be found satisfactory. In many cases, we have known them to flourish in ordinary garden soil. The following varieties of Ghent Azaleas are distinct, and all worth growing; ADMIRAL DE RUYTER, deep red-scarlet, very fine; ALTACLERENSIS, bright yellow; AM�NA, light pink; CARNEA ELEGANS, pale pink, shaded sulphur; COCCINEA MAJOR, dark scarlet, very fine; CUPREA SPLENDENS, rich pink, shaded yellow; DECORATA, lovely pink; DIRECTEUR CHARLES BAUMANN, rich vermilion, spotted yellow; ELECTOR, rich orange-scarlet; GEANT DES BATAILLES, deep crimson, very fine; MADAME JOSEPH BAUMANN, bright pink, very free and good; MARIA VERSCHAFFELT, shaded pink and yellow; MIRABILIS, very lovely pink; MORTERI, rich yellow, shaded rosy-red; PONTICA MACRANTHA, rich deep sulphur, very large and fine; PRINCESSE D'ORANGE, salmon-pink, very fine; SANGUINEA, deep crimson; VISCOSA FLORIBUNDA, pure white, very fragrant. =A. arborescens= (tree-like).* _fl._ large, reddish, not clammy, leafy; tube of corolla longer than the segments; calyx leafy, with the segments oblong and acute. May. _l._, of the flower buds large, yellowish-brown, surrounded with a fringed white border, obovate, rather obtuse, smooth on both surfaces, glaucous beneath, ciliated on the margins, and having the midrib almost smooth. _h._ 10ft. to 20ft. Pennsylvania, 1818. Deciduous species. =A. balsaminæflora= (Balsam-flowered).* _fl._ bright salmony red, finely double and rosette-like, the segments regularly imbricated, much resembling in general appearance the blooms of a Camellia-flowered Balsam. Japan. It is a distinct species, and remains in bloom for a considerable period; the flowers are invaluable for bouquets. See Fig. 196, for which we are indebted to Mr. Bull. =A. calendulacea= (Marigold-like).* _fl._ yellow, red, orange, and copper coloured, large, not clammy, rather naked; tube of corolla hairy, shorter than the segments. May. _l._ oblong, pubescent on both surfaces, at length hairy. _h._ 2ft. to 6ft. Pennsylvania to Carolina, 1806. This is said to be the handsomest shrub in North America. There are several varieties of it in cultivation. Hardy; deciduous. (B. M. 1721, 2143.) =A. hispida= (bristly). _fl._ white, with a red border and a tinge of red on the tube, which is wide and scarcely longer than the segments, very clammy, leafy; stamens ten. July. _l._ long-lanceolate, hispid above, and smooth beneath, glaucous on both surfaces, ciliated on the margins, and having the nerve bristly beneath. Branches straight, and very hispid. _h._ 10ft. to 15ft. New York, &c., 1734. A hardy deciduous species. (W. D. B. 1, 6.) [Illustration: FIG. 197. FLOWER OF AZALEA LEDIFOLIA.] =A. ledifolia= (Ledum-leaved).* _fl._ pure white, showy; corolla campanulate; in threes at the extremities of the branches; calyx erect, glandular, and viscid. March. _l._ elliptic-lanceolate. _h._ 2ft. to 6ft. China, 1819. The whole shrub is very hairy. Hardy; evergreen. SYN. _A. liliiflora_. See Fig. 197. (B. M. 2901.) =A. liliiflora= (lily-flowered). Synonymous with _A. ledifolia_. =A. nudiflora= (naked-flowered).* _fl._ in terminal clustered racemes, appearing before the leaves, rather naked, not clammy; tube of corolla longer than the segments; teeth of calyx short, rather rounded; stamens much exserted. June. _l._ lanceolate-oblong, nearly smooth and green on both surfaces, ciliated on the margins, having the midrib bristly beneath, and woolly above. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. North America, 1734. This species hybridises very freely with _A. calendulacea_, _A. pontica_, _A. viscosa_, &c., and descriptive lists of a host of hybrids of almost every conceivable shade, both double and single, are to be found in continental and home catalogues, to which the reader is referred. Hardy. (W. F. A., t. 36.) =A. pontica= (Pontic).* _fl._ leafy, clammy; corolla funnel-shaped; stamens very long. May. _l._ shining, ovate, oblong, pilose, ciliated. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. Levant, Caucasus, &c., 1793. The varieties of this species are also numerous, differing principally in the colour of the flowers and the hue of the leaves. The flowers are of all shades, and frequently striped. The name generally adopted, as above, must not be confounded with _Rhododendron ponticum_. If the genus _Azalea_ is merged into Rhododendron, as is done by most systematists, this plant must be called by Don's name, _Rhododendron flavum_. (I. H. 1864, 415.) =A. procumbens= (procumbent). _See_ =Loiseleria procumbens=. =A. speciosa= (showy).* _fl._ scarlet and orange coloured; corolla silky, with obtuse, ciliated, lanceolate, undulated segments; calyx pubescent. May. _l._ lanceolate, ciliated, acute at both ends. Branches hairy. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. North America. The varieties of above are several, varying in the shape of the leaves and the colour of the flowers. (L. B. C. 1255) =A. viscosa= (clammy).* _fl._ white, sweet-scented, in terminal clusters, downy, clammy, leafy; tube of corolla as long as the segments. July. _l._ oblong-ovate, acute, smooth, and green on both surfaces, ciliated on the margins, having the midrib bristly. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. North America, 1734. Like nearly all species belonging to this genus, the varieties are many, varying in the colour of the flowers and otherwise. (T. S. M. 438.) =A. v. nitida= (shining).* _fl._ white, tinged with red, clammy, leafy; tube of corolla a little longer than the segments. April. _l._ oblanceolate, rather mucronate, leathery, smooth on both surfaces, shining above, having the nerve bristly beneath, with revolute, ciliated margins. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. New York, 1812. Hardy; deciduous. (B. R. 5, 414.) _Indian or Chinese Azaleas._ This is a section of greenhouse evergreen varieties obtained from _A. indica_ (which _see_), blooming continuously from November to June, or even later, and of the greatest value for all purposes, whether for decoration, cutting, or exhibition. Cultivation: Thorough drainage is essential, and a compost of half peat, the other half made up of fibrous loam, leaf soil, and sand, in equal quantities. They cannot have too much light and air, and may be grown to almost any size by shifting from one pot to a size larger. In repotting, the whole of the crocks should be taken away from the base of the ball of soil and roots, and the top should also be removed till the fine roots are reached. The plant should then be put in the new pot, and the additional soil rammed firm, in order to prevent the water running through it, and thus depriving the plant of any benefit therefrom. In all cases, the roots near the stem must be above the soil, so that the water may not sink in next the stem, or death will most certainly ensue. After potting, for a few days the plants should be kept close and freely syringed, and as the growth is completed, they may be well hardened off. The best time for potting is after flowering, before the new growth has been made. From October to June the plants should be in the greenhouse, and during the other months in a cold frame, or plunged in pots in the open; or, what is preferable in favoured localities, planted out in prepared beds; they will thus be kept cleaner, and the growth will be much superior. In autumn they may be lifted and repotted, placing in a shady position for a few days. Water in abundance must be given throughout the blooming and growing season; and the plants must, on no account, be allowed to become dry. At the same time, a proper amount of care is most essential, as an excessive amount of moisture is equally as fatal as drought. Cuttings should be placed in sand under a bell glass with moderate bottom heat; half-ripened ones are preferable. They must be cut up to a joint--the base of a leaf--the lower leaves for an inch stripped off, and the stem stuck into the sand, which should lay, about an inch thick, on the top of sandy peat soil; the bottom of the cuttings should reach, but not go quite into, the soil. The whole should be covered with a bell glass, which must be wiped dry every morning. Soon after the cuttings have commenced growing, place them in small pots. They are also very largely and easily increased by grafting; indeed, this is the only satisfactory method of securing standards. Seeds may be sown similar to the last section, but in the greenhouse, and, when well up, pricked out into little pots 1in. apart. Azaleas are liable to the attacks of thrips and red spider, the latter being especially troublesome if the plants are in a dry position; frequent syringing will materially help to eradicate both pests. If insufficient, syringe with a solution of Gishurst's Compound. =A. am�na= (pleasing). _fl._ almost campanulate, rich crimson, about 1-1/2in. across, hose-in-hose conformation, produced in great profusion. April. _l._ small, size of the common Box, hairy. _h._ 1ft. China. This is an elegant little neat and compact growing shrub, which has proved to be quite hardy in England. (B. M. 4728.) A very beautiful series of hybrids have been obtained by crossing this species with _A. indica_, which are most serviceable and free. The following are most desirable: LADY MUSGRAVE, light carmine; MISS BUIST, pure white; MRS. CARMICHAEL, rich magenta, shaded crimson; PRIME MINISTER, soft pink, deep shaded, very free; PRINCESS BEATRICE, light mauve, very distinct and free; PRINCESS MAUDE, rich magenta, rose shaded. [Illustration: FIG. 198. FLOWER OF AZALEA INDICA.] =A. indica= (Indian).* _fl._ campanulate, terminal, solitary or twin; calycine teeth long-lanceolate, obtuse, ciliated, spreading. _l._ cuneate-lanceolate, finely crenelated, covered with sharp, close-pressed rigid hairs, attenuated at both ends. Branches also covered with sharp, close-pressed, rigid hairs. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. China, 1808. See Fig. 198. There are a great number of garden seedlings of the Indian Azalea, including every shade and colour. A selection to any extent may be made from the nurserymen's catalogues, but, for the guidance of the amateur, we have made a rigid selection of the best double and single varieties. _Double-Flowered_: A. BORSIG, pure white; ALICE, rich deep rose, blotched with vermilion, very fine; BERNARD ANDR�, dark violet-purple, large, semi-double; CHARLES LEIRENS, dark salmon, good form and substance; COMTESSE EUGENIE DE KERCHOVE, white, flaked with red-carmine, semi-double; DOMINIQUE VERVAENE, bright orange, very fine; DR. MOORE, deep rose, with white and violet shading, very fine; EMPEREUR DE BR�SIL, rich rose, banded white, the upper petals marked red; FRANCIS DEVOS, deep crimson; IMBRICATA, pure white, sometimes flaked with rose; MADAME IRIS LEFEBVRE, dark orange, shaded with bright violet, and blotched with chocolate; PRESIDENT GHELLINCK DE WALLE, intense rose, upper petals blotched with lake, and crimson-rayed; SOUVENIR DE PRINCE ALBERT, rich rose peach, broadly margined with pure white, very free and beautiful. _Single-Flowered_: CHARMER, rich amaranth, very large; COMTESSE DE BEAUFORT, rich rose, the upper petals blotched with crimson; CRITERION, rich salmon pink, white-margined; DUC DE NASSAU, rich rosy-purple, very free and large; ECLATANTE, deep crimson, rose shaded; FANNY IVERY, deep salmon-scarlet, blotched magenta, very fine; FLAMBEAU, rich glowing crimson, extremely showy; JOHN GOULD VEITCH, lilac-rose, netted and bordered white, and blotched with saffron, very showy; LA SUPERBE, rich lake, bordered orange, and black spotted, a very fine variety; LA VICTOIRE, centre reddish, white towards the edge, the upper petals spotted with maroon-crimson; LOUIS VON BADEN, pure white, a grand variety; MADAME CHARLES VAN ECKHAUTE, pure white, with beautifully crisped edges, of excellent form and substance; MADAME VAN HOUTTE, richly flaked with carmine and rose, very large and free; MARQUIS OF LORNE, brilliant scarlet, of the finest form and substance; MRS. TURNER, bright pink, white-margined, and spotted with crimson; PRESIDENT VAN DEN HECKE, white, striped and speckled with crimson, with a yellow centre; PRINCESS ALICE, pure white, one of the best; REINE DES PAYS-BAS, rich violet-pink, margined with white; ROI D'HOLLANDE, dark blood-red, spotted with black; SIGISMUND RUCKER, rich rose, white bordered, with crimson blotches; WILSON SAUNDERS, pure white, striped and blotched with vivid red, very fine. =A. mollis= (soft). Synonymous with _A. sinensis_. =A. sinensis= (Chinese). _fl._ campanulate, downy, flame coloured; stamens equal in length to the petals. May. _l._ slowly deciduous, elliptic, acutish, pilosely pubescent, feather-nerved, with ciliated margins, greyish beneath. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. China and Japan. A large number of seedlings and hybrids from this species are in cultivation, known under the name of Japanese Azaleas, and all are valuable for the decoration of the cool conservatory, or for outdoor work. SYN. _A. mollis_. (L. B. C. 885.) =AZARA= (in honour of J. N. Azara, a Spanish promoter of science, but of botany in particular). ORD. _Bixineæ_. Showy evergreen, hardy and half-hardy shrubs, with alternate, simple, stalked stipulate leaves, and fragrant flowers. They thrive well in a compost of loam, leaf soil, and sand. Ripened cuttings root readily if placed in sand, under glass, in slight heat. It is believed that all the species enumerated will prove hardy if a slight winter protection in midland and northern counties be afforded. This precaution will be unnecessary in more southern parts. =A. dentata= (toothed). _fl._ yellow; corymbs sessile, few-flowered. June. _l._ ovate, serrated, scabrous, tomentose beneath; stipules leafy, unequal in size. _h._ 12ft. Chili, 1830. (B. R. 1728.) =A. Gillesii= (Gilles').* _fl._ bright yellow; panicles axillary, densely packed. Spring. _l._ large, Holly-like, ovate, coarsely toothed, smooth. _h._ 15ft. Chili, 1859. (B. M. 5178.) [Illustration: FIG. 199. AZARA MICROPHYLLA, showing Habit, and Foliage (half natural size).] =A. integrifolia= (entire-leaved).* _fl._ yellow, on numerous short axillary spikes, of an aromatic fragrance. Autumn. _l._ obovate or oblong, entire, smooth; stipules equal, permanent. _h._ 18ft. Chili (about Conception), 1832. The variegated-leaved form, although rare, is very ornamental. The variegation consists of greenish-yellow, with a blotch of dark green, and in a young state edged with deep pink. =A. microphylla= (small-leaved).* _fl._ greenish, corymbose, succeeded by numerous small orange-coloured berries. Autumn. _l._ small, distichous, obovate, obtuse, dark-shining green. _h._ 12ft. Chiloe and Valdavia, 1873. This shrub is very ornamental as a standard, and also excellent for covering walls. Quite hardy. See Fig. 199, for which we are indebted to Messrs. Veitch and Sons. =BABIANA= (from _babianer_, the Dutch for baboon; in reference to the bulbs being eaten by baboons). ORD. _Iridaceæ_. A genus of very ornamental bulbous plants confined to the Cape of Good Hope, with the exception of a single species, which is found in Socotra. Flowers occasionally fragrant, and generally characterised by their rich self-colours, or the striking contrast of very distinct hues in the same flower; perianth regular and symmetrical, with six ovate divisions (tube varying in length). Stems from 6in. to 9in. high, arising from a small bulb-like corm, and bearing tapering plaited leaves, which are usually more or less densely covered with long hairs; the scapes are racemose, each bearing about six or more simultaneously expanding flowers. They may be successfully grown in pots. By this plan there is, perhaps, less danger of loss, and their flowering season can be prolonged considerably. A light sandy compost, with a small proportion of well-decayed manure, is required, and thorough drainage is also most essential. Use 48 or 60-sized pots, placing four or five corms in the former, and two or three in the latter, and keep moderately dry until they commence to form roots. October is the best time to pot. As soon as the plants appear above ground, water may be carefully given, and the supply proportionately increased as the plants develop. Very weak liquid manure, applied twice a week, just as the spikes are pushing up, will be beneficial. When the flowers fade, and the stems show signs of decay, the supply of water must be gradually decreased, thus inducing the thorough maturation of the corms, upon which the next season's display depends. When quite down, store the pots in a dry place till the time for repotting arrives, when the corms should be carefully cleaned, and all offsets separated, the latter being potted up in the same way as the parent corms in order to produce flowering specimens; or they may be kept in a pot of sand and planted in a warm border outside in March. Outdoor culture: A sheltered, sunny, and well-drained situation is most essential to success. Although not absolutely necessary, it is preferable to replant every year in early spring, placing the bulbs about 5in. or 6in. deep, with a little sand sprinkled about them. Planting may, of course, be done in autumn, when it will be necessary to cover with cocoa nut fibre refuse to the depth of 5in. or 6in. In warm, sheltered situations, the corms may remain undisturbed; but, as a rule, it is desirable to remove them late in autumn, when the leaves are dead, and store them in dry sand through the winter in a cool, airy position, free of frost. Mixed Babianas may be purchased from dealers at a cheap rate, and, for general purposes, they are best to plant. Propagation may be effected by offsets and seeds. The former is the best and quickest method. The offsets should be grown in boxes or planted out in light rich soil until large enough for flowering. Seeds sown in pans, and placed in a gentle heat, will grow at almost any time; the young plants will require to be carefully transplanted each season until they develop into blooming corms. [Illustration: FIG. 200. BABIANA STRICTA RUBRO-CYANEA.] =B. c�rulescens= (bluish). Synonymous with _B. plicata_. =B. disticha= (two-ranked).* _fl._ with a Hyacinth-like fragrance; perianth pale blue; divisions narrow; margins undulated or crisped. June, July. _l._ lanceolate, acute. _h._ 6in. 1774. (B. M. 626.) =B. plicata= (folded).* _fl._ with a very fragrant clove carnation-like perfume; perianth pale violet-blue; anthers blue, and stigmas yellow. May, June. _l._ lanceolate, distinctly plicate. _h._ 6in. 1774. SYNS. _B. c�rulescens_, _B. reflexa_. (B. M. 576.) =B. reflexa= (reflexed). Synonymous with _B. plicata_. =B. ringens= (gaping).* _fl._ scarlet, irregular in form, gaping, very handsome. May, June. _l._ narrow, acute, deep green. _h._ 6in. to 9in. 1752. (L. B. C. 1006.) =B. sambucina= (Elder-scented). _fl._ bluish-purple, with an Elder-like fragrance; perianth divisions spreading. April, May. _l._ lanceolate, slightly plicate. _h._ 6in. to 9in. 1799. SYN. _Gladiolus sambucinus_. (B. M. 1019.) =B. stricta= (strict).* _fl._, perianth segments narrow, acute, outer three white, inner three lilac-blue, with a dark blotch near the base of each. May. _l._ broadly lanceolate, obtuse, ciliated. _h._ 1ft. 1795. (B. M. 621.) =B. s. angustifolia= (narrow-leaved). _fl._ fragrant; perianth bright blue, slightly pink in the tube. May and June. _l._ linear, acute, light green. _h._ 1ft. 1757. (B. M. 637.) =B. s. rubro-cyanea= (red-and-blue).* _fl._ 2in. or more in diameter; upper half of the perianth very brilliant blue, and the lower part rich crimson, forming a central zone, in striking contrast to the blue portion. May, June. _l._ broad, acuminated, downy on the under surface. _h._ 6in. to 8in. 1796. See Fig. 200. (B. M. 410.) =B. a. sulphurea= (sulphur-coloured).* _fl._ cream-coloured or pale yellow; anthers blue, and stigmas yellow; segments spreading. April, May. _l._ narrow-obtuse. _h._ 9in. 1795. SYNS. _Gladiolus sulphureus_, _G. plicatus_. (B. M. 1053.) =B. s. villosa= (villous).* _fl._, perianth smaller than the last, with the narrower segments rather more widely spreading than in _B. s. rubro-cyanea_, brilliant crimson, with violet-blue anthers. August. _h._ 6in. 1778. (B. M. 583.) =BABINGTONIA= (named after C. C. Babington, Professor of Botany at Cambridge, and a distinguished botanical author). ORD. _Myrtaceæ_. A very pretty greenhouse evergreen shrub, allied to _Bæckea_, from which it differs in having the stamens collected in groups opposite the sepals. Cuttings of the young unflowering shoots may be planted in sand under a bell glass, and kept in a moderate heat until rooted, when they should be placed singly in small pots, in a compost of equal parts loam and peat, with the addition of a little sand. As the small pots fill with roots, the plants should be removed into larger ones, and the compost have less sand in it; but this should not be done until the next February. The established plants must have a good shift about March or April, and should be kept in a light, airy greenhouse; the first shoots may be topped to moderate their vigour, and to produce a greater profusion of less luxuriant ones. In May, when most plants are removed from the greenhouse, these should be set to grow under a frame which, while shielding them from heavy rains, and supporting some slight shading in the hottest parts of the sunny days, will not prevent a free circulation of air. To this end, the frame should be elevated from the rests or supports at its corners; the lights should be left off at night in fine, mild weather, and on dull, cloudy days, being only replaced during heavy rains, and when shading is necessary. Towards autumn, the plants must be returned to the greenhouse. =B. Camphorasmæ= (camphor-smelling).* _fl._ pinkish-white, in little cymes, disposed in long terminal racemes. Summer. _l._ linear, opposite, nerved. _h._ 7ft. Australia, 1841. (B. R. 28, 10.) =BACCATE.= Berried, fleshy; having a pulpy texture. =BACCHARIS= (from Bacchus, wine; referring to the spicy odour of the roots). Ploughman's Spikenard. ORD. _Compositæ_. A genus of hardy, stove, or greenhouse herbs, shrubs, or trees. Flower-heads many-flowered, di�cious, terminal. Involucre sub-hemispherical or oblong, in many series, imbricated. Leaves simple, alternate, exstipulate, deciduous, oblong-lanceolate, notched, serrated, or entire. Shrubs of short duration. These plants are neither beautiful nor ornamental, but are of easy cultivation in ordinary soil. Propagated by cuttings. =B. halimifolia= (Halimus-leaved). Groundsel Tree. _fl.-heads_ white. July. _l._ oblong-cuneate, obovate, coarsely toothed; branches angular. _h._ 6ft. to 12ft. Northern United States, 1683. Hardy. =BACHELORS' BUTTONS.= The double-flowered forms of _Ranunculus acris_, _Lychnis diurna_, &c. [Illustration: HYBRID ALSTR�MERIAS] =BACKHOUSIA= (commemorative of the late James Backhouse, a botanical traveller in Australia and South Africa). ORD. _Myrtaceæ_. A greenhouse evergreen shrub, requiring a compost of fibry peat, loam, and a little white sand. Propagated, in April, by half-ripened cuttings, inserted in sand, under a bell glass, in a cool house. =B. myrtifolia= (Myrtle-leaved).* _fl._ white, disposed in corymbs, and often produced on cuttings soon after having struck root. May. _l._ ovate, acuminate, smooth. Branches slender. _h._ 16ft. New South Wales, 1844. (B. M. 4133.) =BACONIA.= A synonym of =Pavetta= (which _see_). =BACTRIS= (from _baktron_, a cane; the young stems being used for walking sticks). ORD. _Palmaceæ_. Very ornamental, slender growing, and prickly stove palms. Peduncle of the spadix bursting through about the middle of the leaf sheath. Drupes small, ovate, or nearly round, and generally of a dark blue colour. Leaves pinnatisect; segments generally linear and entire. Instead of being confined to the apex of the trunk, the leaves are scattered over nearly the whole surface, and the lower ones retain their verdure long after the upper ones have fully developed. Stems slender, varying from 2ft. to 10ft. in height. Some of the species are of easy culture in a compost of loam, peat, loaf mould, and sand, in equal parts; but most of them are very difficult to manage. Propagation may be effected by suckers, which are very freely produced. Many species are ornamental only when in a young state. =B. baculifera= (cane-bearing). _l._ pinnate, bifid at the apex, 2ft. to 6ft. long; pinnæ arranged in clusters about 1ft. long and 2in. broad, dark green above, paler below; petioles sheathing and densely clothed with sharp brown and black spines, 1-1/2in long. South America. =B. caryotæfolia= (Caryota-leaved).* _fl._, spathe ovate, prickly; branches of spadix simple, flexuous. _l._, pinnæ wedge-shaped, three-lobed, and erose; rachis, petioles, and caudex, prickly. _h._ 30ft. Brazil, 1825. =B. flavispina= (yellow-spined). Synonymous with _B. pallidispina_. =B. major= (greater). _fl._ greenish-yellow, with a broadly ovate spathe. _h._ 25ft. Carthagena, 1800. =B. Maraja= (Maraja). Maraja Palm. _fl._ yellow, with a prickly spathe. _h._ 30ft. to 50ft. Bahia, 1868. =B. pallidispina= (pale-spined).* _l._ pinnate, bifid at the apex; pinnæ clustered, 6in. to 12in. long, 1in. wide, dark; petioles sheathing at the base and furnished with a profusion of long, yellow spines, which are tipped with black. Brazil. SYN. _B. flavispina_. =BACULARIA= (from _baculum_, a walking-stick). ORD. _Palmaceæ_. A small genus containing a couple of stove species, which are amongst the smallest palms of the Old World. Both are confined to the east coast of tropical Australia. _B. monostachya_--in allusion to its slender stem, which rarely exceeds in thickness that of the thumb--is known as the Walking-stick Palm. =B. minor= (lesser). _l._ attaining 3-1/2ft. Stems, several from same rhizome, 2ft. to 5ft. high, 1/2in. thick. Queensland. =B. monostachya= (one-spiked). _l._ pinnate, pendent, 6in. to 12in. long, bifid at the apex; pinnæ about 4in. across, broad, irregular in shape, with ragged and irregular ends; dark green. Stem slender, petioles sheathing. _h._ 10ft. New South Wales, 1824. SYN. _Areca monostachya_. (B. M. 6644.) =BADGER'S BANE.= _See_ =Aconitum meloctonum=. =B�A= (commemorative of Rev. Dr. Beau, of Toulon, brother-in-law to Commerson, the discoverer of the genus). SYN. _Dorcoceras_. ORD. _Gesneraceæ_. Curious and pretty greenhouse herbaceous perennials, requiring a rich sandy loam. They are easily propagated by seeds. Probably the only species in cultivation is the following: =B. hygrometrica= (hygrometric).* _fl._ pale blue-coloured, yellowish at the throat; segments of the limb more or less reflexed; corolla five-lobed, somewhat resembling that of the Violet; scapes numerous, naked, few-flowered. Summer. _l._ in a rosette, thinly covered with coarse white hairs, ovate acute at both ends, crenate serrate. _h._ 6in. North China, 1868. (B. M. 6468.) =B�CKEA= (named after Abraham Bæck, a Swedish physician, and an esteemed friend of Linnæus). ORD. _Myrtaceæ_. Very pretty greenhouse evergreen shrubs. Flowers white, pedicellate, small. Leaves opposite, glabrous, dotted. They thrive in a compost of sandy peat, leaf soil, and lumpy, fibrous loam. Cuttings, taken from young wood, root readily, if pricked in a pot of sand, with a bell glass placed over them, in a cool house. =B. diosmæfolia= (Diosma-leaved).* _fl._ axillary, solitary, approximate, sessile. August to October. _l._ oblong, rather cuneated, keeled, acute, crowded, imbricate, and are, as well as the calyces, ciliated. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. New Holland, 1824. =B. frutescens= (shrubby).* _fl._ solitary; pedicels axillary. November. _l._ linear, awnless. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. China, 1806. (B. M. 2802.) =B. parvula= (little). _fl._, peduncles axillary, umbelliferous. _l._ elliptic-oblong, obtuse, rather mucronate. _h._ 1ft. New Caledonia, 1877. This is very close to _B. virgata._ (R. G. 886, 2.) =B. virgata= (twiggy).* _fl._, peduncles axillary, umbelliferous. August to October. _l._ linear-lanceolate. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. New Caledonia, 1806. (B. M. 2127.) =B�RIA= (named in honour of Professor Baer, of the University of Dorpat). ORD. _Compositæ_. A genus consisting of about half a dozen species. Probably the only one in cultivation is that mentioned below; it is a very pretty plant, of easy culture in ordinary garden soil. Propagated by seeds, sown in spring. =B. chrysostoma= (golden-mouthed). _fl.-heads_ bright yellow, solitary, terminal, about 1in. across; involucre of about ten leaflets, in two series. Early summer. _l._ linear, opposite, entire. Stems erect, downy. _h._ 1ft. California, 1835. (S. B. F. G. ii. 395.) =BAGGED.= Swelled like a sac or bag. =BAHIA= (probably from Port of Bahia, or San Salvador, in South America). SYN. _Phialis_. ORD. _Compositæ_. An ornamental, hardy, herbaceous perennial, much branched from the base of the stem, and having a greyish appearance. It may be increased by seeds, or by divisions. =B. lanata= (woolly). _fl.-heads_ yellow, solitary, produced in great numbers. Summer. _l._ alternate, or with the lower ones sometimes opposite, deeply divided, and sometimes ligulate and entire. _h._ 6in. to 15in. North America. This species thrives on borders of light and well-drained sandy soil. (B. R. 1167.) =BALANIUS.= _See_ =Nut Weevil=. =BALANTIUM= (of Kaulfuss). _See_ =Dicksonia=. =BALANTIUM= (of Desvaux). _See_ =Parinarium=. =BALBISIA= (commemorative of Giovanni Battista Balbis, a Professor of Botany at Turin). SYN. _Ledocarpum_. ORD. _Geraniaceæ_. A very ornamental half-hardy evergreen shrub, requiring a cool, dry atmosphere. As it is very liable to rot off, water must be applied with great care. Propagated by cuttings of half-ripened wood, inserted in sand, under a hand glass; or by seeds. =B. verticillata= (whorled). _fl._ yellow, large, with a whorl of narrow bracts beneath. Autumn. _l._ opposite, three-parted; segments linear-oblong. Branches slender, glaucous. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. Chili, 1846. (B. M. 6170.) =BALCONY.= A projection from the external wall of a house, usually resting on brackets, and having the sides encompassed by a balustrade. It should at all times be prettily decorated with plants, which in the summer is a comparatively easy matter. During winter, evergreens of various kinds are most serviceable, the best being Arbutus, Aucubas, Boxes, Euonymuses, Hollies, Irish and Goldon Yew, Portugal Laurel, Retinosporas, Vincas, &c. These may be grown in pots, and when replaced by the summer occupants, should be plunged in some reserve quarter, where they should receive plenty of water; by this means, they will increase in size, and keep in a healthy condition. Very little water will be required during the winter. Climbing plants, such as Ivy, Passion Flower, Virginian Creeper, Climbing Roses, &c., are indispensable for covering the trellises, and draping the pillars and arches. =BALDINGERA.= A synonym of =Premna=. =BALL.= This term is used in reference to the roots and mass of earth as they are moulded into form and pressed into hardness by the pot. The masses of roots and earth which, in the case of fibrous-rooted subjects (such as Rhododendrons), must be taken intact when removing the plants, are also termed Balls. =BALM= (_Melissa officinalis_). A perennial herb, often used in the manufacture of a drink for sick persons, and sometimes employed for culinary purposes. It may be grown in ordinary garden soil, and is propagated by divisions, in spring. A pretty variegated form is sometimes met with, having the additional advantage of being equal to the normal species for medicinal purposes. =BALM OF GILIAD.= _See_ =Cedronella triphylla= and =Populus balsamifera=. [Illustration: FIG. 201. CAMELLIA-FLOWERED BALSAM.] =BALSAM= (_Impatiens Balsamina_). A well-known ornamental and tender annual, native of India. It is one of the showiest of summer and autumn flowers, and well deserves a place in every garden. Although of comparatively easy cultivation, good blooms and well-grown plants are far too rarely seen. A good Balsam bloom should be quite as double as a perfect Camellia, and to show to the greatest advantage should appear like one in the arrangement of the petals. To secure this, seeds should only be saved from the finest and most perfect flowers, although the quantity must, of necessity, be small. They should be sown, about the third week in March, in properly prepared pans of rich sandy soil, and placed in a gentle bottom heat of about 65deg. As soon as the first rough leaf appears, the plants should be potted off into 3in. pots, care being taken to let the cotyledon, or seed leaves, be close to the soil. When the roots touch the sides of the pots, the plants should be moved into larger ones, and this should be repeated until they are in 8in. or 10in. pots. Some growers place one or two seeds in small pots, so as to avoid the first shift, and a good plan it is. During the time the plants are under glass, they should be kept as near the light as possible, and be frequently turned around, so that they do not draw to one side; and careful training must be given to those that are required in fine form. Disbudding is also necessary to such as are wanted at their best, removing all bloom from the main stem and base of branches until the plants are of sufficient size, and then the buds at the tops will bloom almost simultaneously. The buds that will be formed afterwards will cause a continuance of blossom for a long time, in fact, for some months, if the plants are liberally supplied with liquid manure. If it is desired for them to flower out of doors, the plants should be transferred, about May, to a frame where the heat is not above 50deg., and be kept in a steady growing state, air being admitted on all suitable occasions, cold winds and heavy rains avoided, and water supplied when needed; never allow them to get dry. They require training and disbudding the same as those grown in the greenhouse. About June, the plants should be fully exposed during the day; and, when danger of frost is over, the lights may be kept off altogether. These should bloom at the end of July. In all cases, plenty of drainage must be allowed, as the amount of water required is very great. Insects must be sharply looked after, as well as slugs and snails. There are several sections, such as Camellia-flowered (see Fig. 201), Rose-flowered, &c., each containing variously striped, spotted, and entire coloured blooms, and it is best to pay an extra figure to secure a good strain. =BALSAM APPLE.= _See_ =Momordica Balsaminea=. =BALSAMINA.= _See_ =Impatiens=. [Illustration: FIG. 202. BAMBUSA ARUNDINACEA.] =BALSAMINE�.= A tribe of plants belonging to the order _Geraniaceæ_. Sepals and petals all coloured, consisting of six segments, "two outer ones small, flat, and oblique; the next large, hood-shaped, ending below in a conical spur; the fourth opposite to it, small, very broad, concave; the two innermost very oblique, and more or less divided into two unequal lobes." The best known genus is _Impatiens_. =BALSAMODENDRON= (from _balsamon_-�an old Greek word used by Theophrastus-�balm or balsam, and _dendron_, a tree). ORD. _Burseraceæ_. Greenhouse or stove balsamiferous trees. Flowers small, green, axillary, often unisexual; calyx four-toothed, permanent; petals four, linear-oblong, induplicately valvate in æstivation; stamens eight, inserted under the annular disk, having elevated warts between them. Berry, or drupe, ovate, acute, one to two-celled, marked with four sutures. Leaves with three to five sessile, dotless leaflets. They thrive in a compost of thoroughly drained sandy loam. Propagated by cuttings of ripe young wood, taken in April, and placed under a hand glass, in bottom heat. The species named below doubtfully belongs to this genus, as the characteristics above enumerated will show. =B. zeylanicum= (Ceylon).* _fl._ white, three-petaled, glomerated, involucrated; racemes interrupted, downy. _l._ impari-pinnate, with five to seven-stalked, ovate, acute leaflets. _h._ 30ft. Ceylon. =BALSAM OF CAPEVI.= _See_ =Copaifera=. =BALSAM-TREE.= _See_ =Clusia=. =BAMBOO CANE.= _See_ =Bambusa=. [Illustration: FIG. 203. BAMBUSA AUREA.] =BAMBUSA= (from _bambu_, the Malay name). Bamboo Cane. ORD. _Gramineæ_. A genus of ornamental, shrubby, greenhouse, half-hardy or hardy shrubs, each culm flowering but once. Flowers usually hexandrous. Leaves, as a rule, relatively shorter than the stems, lanceolate, and narrowed at the base. Stems jointed, flexuose, branching, usually hollow, and, when mature, of a hard, woody nature. In well drained, sheltered situations, in the open, with rich, loamy soil, some of the species make extremely graceful objects, particularly so in the more southern counties of England, and in parts of Scotland. Unless a very severe winter is experienced, they may be left without protection. Plants of all the species, however, should have the shelter of a cold greenhouse till about the end of April; when they should be gradually hardened off, and transferred to a warm, sheltered spot, such as in woodlands, by the margins of lakes, &c., as they like plenty of moisture during the summer. A good watering must be given after planting, to settle the soil. Propagation is effected by careful division of well-developed plants, which should be done in early spring, just as new growth is commencing; and it is advisable to establish the divisions in pots. _See also_ =Arundinaria=. [Illustration: FIG. 204. BAMBUSA NANA.] =B. arundinacea= (reed-like).* Stem very stout, rising like a beautiful column to some 50ft. or 60ft. in height; the laterals producing a profusion of light green leaves, the whole presenting the appearance of a huge plume of feathers. India, 1730. This species is best treated as a stove plant, but it may be placed out of doors in summer. See Fig. 202. (B. F. S. 321.) =B. aurea= (golden).* _l._ lanceolate, acute, light green, distinguished from _B. nana_ by having their under surface less glaucescent, and the sheath always devoid of the long silky hairs. China. This very handsome species forms elegant tufts, with its slender much-branched stems, which attain a height of from 6ft. to 10ft., and are of a light green colour in a young state, ultimately changing into a yellowish hue. Hardy in most parts of the country. See Fig. 203. =B. Fortunei= (Fortune's).* _l._ linear-lanceolate, abruptly pointed, somewhat rounded at the base, on very short hairy stalks, serrated and often fringed with long hairs on the margin, downy on both sides, and distinctly variegated, the transverse veins often of a bottle-green colour. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Japan. A dwarf tufted species, with very slender stem. Quite hardy. There are only variegated varieties of this in cultivation, viz., _variegata_ and _argenteovittata_. (F. d. S. 1863, t. 1535.) =B. glauca= (milky-green). A synonym of _B. nana_. =B. japonica= (Japanese). Synonymous with _Arundinaria Metake_. =B. Maximowiczii= (Maximowicz's). Synonymous with _Arundinaria Maximowiczii_. =B. Metake= (Metake). Synonymous with _Arundinaria Metake_. =B. mitis= (small). _l._ deep green, lanceolate, acute, striated, clasping the stem; panicle simple, erect, close; spikes long, imbricated. Stem tapering. _h._ 40ft. Cochin China and Japan. This vigorous-growing species can be cultivated out of doors during summer, and, in most localities, it may be left out all the year. =B. nana= (dwarf).* _l._ lanceolate, acute, glaucous, stoutish, with the footstalks slightly downy. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. India, 1826. A rather tender species, requiring to be grown in the stove or greenhouse. SYNS. _B. glauca_ and _B. viridi-glaucescens_. See Fig. 204. =B. nigra= (black). _See_ =Phyllostachys nigra=. =B. Ragamowski= (Ragamowsk's).* _l._ 9in. to 18in. long, and about 1in. to 3in. broad. China and Japan. This species "can readily be recognised by the tomentose line on one side of the midrib, running nearly the whole length of the leaf on the underside, this line being always on the longer side of the leaf." Hardy. SYN. _B. tessellata_. =B. Simonii= (Simon's).* _l._ narrow, nearly 6in. to 10in. long, occasionally striped with white. Stems growing with great rapidity, mealy-glaucous at the joints; branchlets numerous, rather closely crowded. _h._ 10ft. China and Japan, 1866. =B. striata= (striated).* _l._ linear-oblong; culms striped yellow and green. _h._ 6ft. to 20ft. China, 1874. A very slender and graceful, rather tender, species. May be grown in the open air during summer, and in very favoured spots it is probably hardy, especially if covered with a mat in winter. It makes an excellent pot plant. SYN. _B. viridi-striata_. (B. M. 6079.) =B. tessellata= (tessellated).* A synonym of _B. Ragamowski_. =B. violescens= (nearly-violet).* _l._ green above, bluish-grey beneath, with an elongated ligule, surrounded by a bundle of black hairs. Stems much branched, blackish-violet. China, 1869. This handsome and vigorous species is intermediate between _Phyllostachys nigra_ and _B. nana_. It requires protection during winter. =B. viridi-glaucescens= (glaucous-green). A synonym of _B. nana_. =B. viridi-striata= (green-striped). A synonym of _B. striata_. =BANANA=, or =PLANTAIN=. _See_ =Musa=. =BANEBERRY.= _See_ =Actæa=. =BANISTERIA= (named after John Baptist Banister, a traveller in Virginia in the seventeenth century, author of a catalogue of Virginian plants, inserted in Ray's "Historia Plantarum"). ORD. _Malpighiaceæ_. Stove trees or shrubs, frequently climbing. Flowers yellow; calyx five-parted; petals furnished with long stalks; stamens ten. Leaves simple, stalked. They are for the most part very ornamental, but are not often seen in flower in this country. They will grow in a mixture of loam, leaf soil, and peat, with some sharp sand added. Cuttings, made from ripened wood, will root freely in sandy soil, under a hand glass, in stove heat, taking about three or four weeks to do so. =B. chrysophylla= (golden-leaved).* _fl._ deep orange, axillary, corymbose. _l._ ovate, oblong, acutish, somewhat sinuated towards the top, clothed beneath with golden shining down. Brazil, 1793. Climber. =B. ciliata= (ciliated).* _fl._ large, orange-coloured, umbellate. June. _l._ cordate, orbicular, smooth, ciliated. Brazil, 1796. Twiner. =B. ferruginea= (rust-coloured). _fl._ yellow; racemes panicled. June. _l._ 2in. long, ovate, acuminated, smooth above, and shining, rusty beneath, and are, as well as the petioles, clothed with close pressed hairs. Brazil, 1820. Climber. =B. fulgens= (glowing).* _fl._ yellow, in umbellate corymbs. _l._ ovate, acuminated, smooth above, and clothed with silky pubescence beneath, as well as the petioles. Branches dichotomous. West Indies, 1759. Climber. =B. Humboldtiana= (Humboldt's).* _fl._ yellow; umbels lateral and terminal, sessile. _l._ roundish-ovate, cordate, rather acuminated, mucronate, membranaceous, smoothish above, clothed beneath with soft hoary down as well as the branchlets. South America, 1824. Climber. =B. sericea= (silky). _fl._ yellow, racemose. July. _l._ ovate, obtuse, with a mucrone; younger ones downy on both surfaces, adult ones only on the under surface; down of a golden shining colour. Brazil, 1810. Climber. =B. splendens= (splendid).* _fl._ yellow; racemes axillary, dichotomous, umbellate. Floral leaves orbicular, and nearly sessile. _l._ cordate, kidney-shaped, orbicular, clothed with silky down beneath. South America, 1812. Climber. =BANKS.= These are usually formed with a view to increasing the amount of surface ground, and for the acceleration or retarding of vegetable crops, such as strawberries, &c. They should be from 6ft. to 12ft. apart, according to the depth of soil, and run from east to west. In constructing Banks of a uniform size, great care, and a constant use of the garden line, will be found necessary. For the warmest side of the Banks, Dwarf French Beans, Peas, Vegetable Marrows, Cucumbers, New Zealand Spinach, Capsicums, &c., may be grown. On the opposite side, and when a prolonged supply is desired, Cauliflower, Broccoli, Lettuce, Turnip, Spinach, &c., may be sown thinly in drills, to be thinned out, and remain. It needs but little discretion to produce valuable crops by this method. =BANKSIA= (named in honour of Sir Joseph Banks, once President of the Royal Society, and a distinguished patron of science, particularly of Natural History). ORD. _Proteaceæ_. Greenhouse evergreen shrubs, natives of Australia, principally grown for the beauty of their foliage. Leaves variable in form, usually dark green, clothed with white or rufous down beneath; margins deeply serrated or spinous, rarely entire. The following is the mode of culture recommended many years ago by Sweet. The pots should be well drained, by placing a potsherd about half way over the hole at the bottom of the pot, then laying another piece against it that it may be hollow, afterwards putting some smaller pieces all around them, and on the top of these some others broken very small. All the plants belonging to the order _Proteaceæ_ should be drained in a similar manner, as the roots are very fond of running amongst the broken potsherds, and consequently there is less danger of their being overwatered. Care must also be taken not to allow them to flag, as they seldom recover if once allowed to get very dry. The plants should be placed in an airy part of the house when indoors. Cuttings are generally supposed to be difficult to root, but this is not the case if properly managed. Let them be well ripened before they are taken off; then cut them at a joint, and place them in pots of sand, without shortening any of the leaves, except on the part that is planted in the sand, where they should be taken off quite close. The less depth they are planted in the pots the better, so long as they stand firm when the sand is well closed round them. Place them under hand glasses in the propagating house, but do not plunge them in heat. Take the glasses off frequently to give them air, and dry them, or they will probably damp off. When rooted, transfer to small pots; after which, place them in a close, unheated frame, and harden by degrees. Seeds are a very unsatisfactory means of multiplying the stock. =B. æmula= (rivalling).* _l._ 6in. to 10in. long, 1in. broad, linear-oblong, tapering slightly at the base; edges deeply toothed, deep green on both sides; midrib of under surface clothed with rich brown hairs. _h._ 20ft. 1824. SYN. _B. elatior_. (B. M. 2671.) =B. australis= (southern). A synonym of _B. marginata_. =B. Caleyi= (Caley's). _l._ 6in. to 12in. long, linear, deeply and regularly toothed from base to apex, dark green above, paler below. _h._ 5ft. to 6ft. 1830. Said to be an elegant species. =B. collina= (hill-loving).* _l._ 2in. to 3in. long, 1/2in. broad, linear; apex præmorse, as if bitten straight off; upper surface dark green, silvery below. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. 1822. This forms a dense and handsome shrub, especially with its large head of yellow flowers. SYNS. _B. Cunninghami_, _B. ledifolia_, and _B. littoralis_. (B. M. 3060.) =B. Cunninghami= (Cunningham's). A synonym of _B. collina_. =B. dryandroides= (Dryandra-like).* _l._ 6in. to 10in. long, 1/4in. broad, pinnatifid, divided almost to the midrib; lobes triangular, deep green above, and reddish-brown below. Stem clothed with reddish-brown hairs. _h._ 6ft. 1824. This plant is extremely graceful and elegant as a table decoration. =B. elatior= (taller). Synonymous with _B. æmula_. =B. integrifolia= (whole-leaved). _l._ cuneate-oblong, 6in. long, nearly 1in. wide at the broadest part; edges entire; upper side dark green, silvery white beneath. _h._ 10ft. to 12ft. 1788. SYNS. _B. macrophylla_, _B. oleifolia_. (B. M. 2770.) =B. i. compar= (well-matched). _l._ very densely set upon the branches, oblong, tapering at the base, blunt at the apex; edges serrulate; upper side dark olive green, silvery white beneath. _h._ 6ft., finely branching. 1824. =B. latifolia= (broad-leaved). _l._ 6in. to 10in. long, 3in. broad, obovate-oblong; edges serrated; upper surface deep green, beneath clothed with woolly greyish hairs, those on the midrib bright brown. _h._ 20ft. 1802. (B. M. 2406.) =B. ledifolia= (Ledum-leaved). Synonymous with _B. collina_. =B. littoralis= (shore). Synonymous with _B. collina_. =B. macrophylla= (large-leaved). Synonymous with _B. integrifolia_. =B. marginata= (margined). _l._ 1in. to 2in. long, 1/2in. broad, blunt at the apex, armed with several short spines, and tapering at the base, deep green on the upper surface, snowy white beneath. _h._ 5ft. to 6ft. 1822. SYN. _B. australis_. (B. M. 1947.) =B. occidentalis= (western).* _fl._ yellow, rather handsome, in spikes about 4in. long. April to August. _l._ 5in. to 6in. long, 1/4in. broad. _h._ 5ft. 1803. West coast of New Holland. A beautiful species. (B. M. 3535.) =B. oleifolia= (olive-leaved). Synonymous with _B. integrifolia_. =B. Solanderi= (Solander's).* _l._ 4in. to 6in. long, and over 2in. wide, deeply pinnatifid, with three to six pairs of lobes on each leaf; apex as if bitten off; upper side dark green, under silvery white. _h._ 6ft. 1830. =B. speciosa= (showy).* _l._ 8in. to 14in. long, about 1/2in. wide, pinnatifid, but divided almost to the midrib; lobes semicircular, with a spine on the end of each; upper side deep green, beneath silvery white, with the midrib clothed with ferruginous woolly hairs. _h._ 6ft. 1805. Both this and the preceding species are very handsome, and highly deserving of the most extensive culture. =B. quercifolia= (Oak-leaved). _l._ cuneate-oblong, deeply incised at the margins, and having a short spine upon each lobe. _h._ 5ft. 1805. (B. R. 1430.) =BANKSIA= (of Forster). A synonym of =Pimelea=. =BAOBAB-TREE.= _See_ =Adansonia=. =BAPHIA= (from _baphe_, a dye; the tree produces the camwood of commerce). Camwood or Barwood. ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A stove tree, requiring a loam and peat soil. Cuttings, not deprived of any of their leaves, will root in a pot of sand, under a hand glass, in heat. =B. nitida= (shining). _fl._ white; corolla with a roundish spreading vexillum, linear wings, which are about the length of the vexillum, and an acute carina; pedicels two to three together, one-flowered, axillary. June. _l._ entire, oval-oblong, acuminated, shining. _h._ 30ft. Sierra Leone, 1793. (L. B. C. 367.) =BAPTISIA.= (from _bapto_, to dye; so named from the economical use of some of the species). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. North American hardy herbaceous plants, with trifoliate, rarely simple leaves, and racemes of yellowish or blue flowers. They are somewhat shy bloomers, but grow freely in a loamy soil. Propagated by divisions, or, more easily, by seed, which latter may be sown in sand and leaf mould in the open, or in pots placed in a cold frame. =B. alba= (white).* _fl._ white; racemes terminal. June. _l._ stalked, glabrous; leaflets elliptic-oblong, obtuse; stipules deciduous, subulate, shorter than the petioles. Branches divaricate. _h._ 2ft. 1724. (B. M. 1177.) =B. australis= (southern).* _fl._ blue; racemes few-flowered, elongated, shorter than the branches. June. _l._ stalked, smooth; leaflets oblong-cuneated, obtuse, four times longer than the petiole; stipules lanceolate, acute, twice the length of the petiole. Stem branched, diffuse. _h._ 4ft. to 5ft. 1758. (Flora, 1856, 2; B. M. 509.) =B. confusa= (confused). _fl._ dark blue, alternate, bracteate; racemes elongated. June. _l._ stalked, smooth; leaflets oblong-cuneated or obovate; stipules linear-lanceolate, twice the length of the petioles. Stem branched. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1758. =B. exaltata= (exalted).* _fl._ deep blue; racemes many-flowered, elongated, twice the length of the branches. June. _l._ ternate, stalked; leaflets lanceolate-obovate, five times longer than the petioles; stipules lanceolate, acuminated, three times longer than the petioles. Stem erect, branched. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. 1812. (S. B. F. G. 97.) =B. leucophæa= (dusky-white). _fl._ cream-coloured; racemes many-flowered, lateral, with the flowers leaning to one side. July. _l._ sessile, somewhat villous; leaflets rhomboid-obovate; stipules and bracts ovate, acute, broad, leafy. _h._ 1ft. 1870. (B. M. 5900.) =B. minor= (less). _fl._ blue; racemes axillary, bracteate. June. _l._, leaflets rhomboid-lanceolate; stipules lanceolate, longer than the petioles. Stem erect, solid. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1829. =B. perfoliata= (perfoliate-leaved).* _fl._ yellow, small, axillary, solitary. August. _l._ perfoliate, roundish, quite entire, rather glaucous. _h._ 3ft. 1793. (B. M. 3121.) =B. tinctoria= (dyers').* _fl._ yellow, with wings each furnished with a callosity, or lateral tooth; racemes terminal. _l._ stalked, upper ones nearly sessile; leaflets roundish-obovate; stipules setaceous, almost obsolete. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. 1759. (L. B. C. 588.) =BARBACENIA.= (named after M. Barbacena, a Governor of Minas Geraes). Formerly placed in ORD. _Hæmodoraceæ_, but now referred by Bentham and Hooker to _Amaryllidaceæ_. Very singular and pretty stove evergreen herbaceous perennials, allied to _Vellozia_. Flowers purple, large, showy; perianth funnel-shaped, resinosely hairy on the outside; limb spreading; scapes one-flowered, usually clothed with glandular hairs. Leaves firm, spiral, spreading, acutely keeled. Lindley says that they are capable of existing in a dry, hot air without contact with the earth, on which account they are favourites in South American gardens, where, with Orchids and Bromeliads, they are suspended in the dwelling houses, or hung to the balustrades of the balconies, in which situation they flower abundantly, filling the air with their fragrance. They are rarely seen in our gardens. They may be grown in baskets of fibrous loam and peat, with some nodules of charcoal added. [Illustration: FIG. 205. FLOWER OF BARBACENIA PURPUREA.] =B. purpurea= (purple).* _fl._ funnel-shaped, six-cleft, terminal, solitary; ovarium elongated, tuberculated. July. _l._ linear, keeled, with spiny serratures. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Brazil, 1825. See Fig. 205. (B. M. 2777.) =B. Rogieri= (Rogers').* _fl._ purple; scape and ovaria tubercled; filaments broad, bifid. July. _l._ linear, acuminated, imbricate, with broad stem-clasping bases, finely spinely serrated on the margin, and keel recurved; caudex short. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Brazil, 1850. (L. J. F. 82.) =BARBADOS CHERRY.= _See_ =Malpighia=. =BARBADOS GOOSEBERRY.= _See_ =Pereskia aculeata=. =BARBADOS LILY.= _See_ =Hippeastrum equestre=. =BARBAREA= (anciently called Herb of St. Barbara). Winter Cress; American Cress. ORD. _Cruciferæ_. Hardy glabrous perennial herbs. Flowers yellow; racemes erect, terminal. Stems erect. They are of easy culture, but scarcely worth growing in the pleasure garden. Propagated by cuttings, suckers, divisions, or seeds. =B. præcox= (early). _l._, lower ones lyrate; terminal lobe ovate; upper ones pinnate-parted; lobes linear-oblong, quite entire. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. Commonly known as American, or Black American Cress. Here and there on roadsides, and in dry gravelly places in Great Britain. An escape from cultivation. (Sy. En. B. 124.) =B. vulgaris= (common). _l._, lower ones lyrate; terminal lobe roundish; upper ones obovate, toothed, or pinnatifid. _h._ 1-1/4ft. The double flowering form of this native species is the only one of this genus worth growing for beauty; it is generally known as Double Yellow Rocket. The variegated form is also rather pretty, and comes true from seed. (Sy. En. B. 120.) =BARBATUS.= Having long weak hairs, in one or more tufts; bearded. =BARBERRY.= _See_ =Berberis=. =BARBIERIA= (in honour of J. B. G. Barbier, M.D., a French physician and naturalist, author of "Principes Generaux de Pharmacologie ou de Matière Medicale," Paris, 1806). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. An ornamental stove evergreen, requiring a mixture of peat, loam, and sand. Propagated by cuttings of half-ripened wood, which should be placed in sand, under a glass, in stove heat. =B. polyphylla= (many-leaved).* _fl._ scarlet, 2in. long; racemes axillary, few-flowered, shorter than the leaves. _l._ impari-pinnate, with nine to eleven pairs of elliptic-oblong, mucronate leaflets, pubescent in an adult state. Porto Rico, 1818. SYNS. _Clitorea polyphylla_ and _Galactia pinnata_. =BARBS.= Hooked hairs. =BARK.= The outer integuments of a plant beyond the wood, and formed of tissue parallel with it. =BARK-BOUND.= This condition is generally the result of very rich soil, or insufficient drainage. In most fruit trees a gummy exudation takes place. If caused by stagnancy, thorough drainage should immediately be effected. Scrubbing the stem is also recommended. Slitting the bark with a knife is likely to do more harm than good, particularly so in the hands of the inexperienced. =BARKERIA= (name commemorative of the late G. Barker, of Birmingham, an ardent cultivator of orchids). ORD. _Orchidaceæ_. From a scientific point of view, this genus should be included in _Epidendrum_. Very handsome, deciduous, epiphytal, cool-house orchids, having slender pseudo-bulbs, from 6in. to 12in. high, from the top of which the numerous flower-stems are produced. In a cool, airy temperature, these plants grow vigorously, suspended in pans or small baskets close beneath the glass, and slightly shaded with tiffany. They succeed well also on flat blocks of wood, on the top of which they should be tied, without any moss, as their freely-produced, thick, fleshy roots soon cling to the blocks. During the season of growth, a good supply of water is needed, and in hot weather it may be applied three or four times daily; the blocks and plants are best immersed in water; but when at rest, a slight watering twice or three times a week will suffice. Propagated by divisions, just previous to the commencement of new growth. =B. elegans= (elegant).* _fl._ in loose racemes, four or five in each; each blossom about 2in. across; sepals and petals dark rose; lip reddish crimson, spotted and edged with a lighter colour. Winter. _h._ 2ft. Mexico, 1836. Of this beautiful slender-growing species, there are two or three varieties in cultivation. (B. M. 4784.) =B. Lindleyana= (Lindley's).* _fl._, raceme 2ft. long, very slender, bearing from five to seven blossoms near its apex; sepals and petals rosy purple; lip white, with a deep purple blotch at its apex. September, remaining in beauty for a considerable time. _h._ 2ft. Costa Rica, 1842. (B. M. 6098.) =B. L. Centeræ= (Center's).* _fl._ rosy lilac; lip oblong; margins crenulated or crisped; apex blotched deep purple. Costa Rica, 1873. =B. melanocaulon= (dark-stemmed).* _fl._ on an erect spike; sepals and petals rosy lilac; lip broader at the base than at the top, reddish-purple, having a blotch of green in the centre. August. _h._ 1ft. Costa Rica, 1848. Very rare. =B. Skinneri= (Skinner's).* _fl._ deep rose-coloured; spikes 6in. to 9in. long, from the apices of the ripened growth, often branched, forming a dense mass of deep purple blossoms, which, if kept dry, lasts from eight to ten weeks. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Guatemala. (P. M. B. 15, 1.) =B. S. superbum= (superb).* _fl._ dark rose; lip somewhat deeper tinted, and marked towards the base with yellow streaks. Guatemala. This far surpasses the type in size and number of flowers, as well as in brilliancy of colour. (W. S. O. 38.) =B. spectabilis= (showy).* _fl._ quite 2in. across, produced eight or ten together, on a spike issuing from the top of the pseudo-bulb; sepals and petals oblong, acuminate, rosy lilac; lip white, margined with deep lilac or rosy purple, and dotted or spotted with crimson. This very distinct and desirable species lasts from eight to ten weeks in beauty, and forms a very handsome object when placed in the drawing-room and covered over with a large glass shade. Guatemala, 1843. (B. M. 4094.) =BARKING-IRONS.= Instruments used in taking off the bark of trees. =BARKLYA= (named after Sir H. Barkly, formerly Governor of South Australia). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A large greenhouse tree, thriving in a compost of loam and leaf mould. Propagated by seeds and cuttings; the latter should be half ripened, and placed in sandy soil, under a bell glass, in a cool house. =B. syringifolia= (Syringa-leaved). _fl._ golden yellow, numerous, disposed in axillary or terminal racemes. _l._ alternate, simple, coriaceous. _h._ 30ft. Moreton Bay, 1858. =BARK STOVE.= A hothouse adapted for moisture-loving exotics, and having a pit from 2ft. to 4ft. deep, containing fermenting matter, chiefly tanners' bark, by which means a steady heat is maintained for a considerable time. The Bark Stove is now almost obsolete. Bark is, however, still largely used in pine pits, and in some propagating beds; but such beds are generally superseded by hot-water or hot-air tanks. =BARLERIA= (named after J. Barrelier, a French botanist of the seventeenth century). ORD. _Acanthaceæ_. A genus of interesting and ornamental stove evergreen shrubs. Flowers axillary or terminal; calyx four-sepaled, the two outer larger than the others. They thrive best if grown in loam and peat, with a little rotten dung added. Propagated by cuttings made of the young wood, and placed in a similar compost, under a bell glass, in stove temperature, with bottom heat. =B. flava= (yellow).* _fl._ yellow, aggregate, terminal, tubular; bracts very narrow, setose. Summer. _l._ lanceolate, hairy, entire. Plant unarmed. _h._ 3ft. India, 1816. SYN. _B. mitis_. (B. M. 4113.) =B. Gibsoni= (Gibson's). _fl._ pale purple, rather large, sub-terminal. Winter. _l._ ovate or oblong-lanceolate. India, 1867. A glabrous stove shrub, of branched habit. (B. M. 5628.) =B. Leichtensteiniana= (Leichtenstein's).* _fl._ very curious; spikes axillary, 2in. to 3in. long, ovoid or oblong, consisting of a large number of closely packed overlapping bracts, all turned to the fore or lower part of the spike; bracts ovate-acuminate, mucronate, spine-toothed, one-ribbed, with prominent and curved veins, and 1in. to 1-1/2. long. _l._ opposite, 1in. to 2in. long, linear-lanceolate, entire, mucronate, tapering at the base into a very short stalk. Branches slender, virgate, sub-angular. South Africa, 1870. This plant is covered over its whole surface with close, white, hoary down. (G. C. 1870, p. 73.) =B. longifolia= (long-leaved). _fl._ white; spines of whorls six. Summer. _l._ ensiform, very long, rough. _h._ 2ft. India, 1781. This is a biennial. =B. lupulina= (Hop-headed). _fl._ yellowish; spikes ovate; bracts ovate, concave, imbricated. August. _l._ lanceolate, quite entire; spines simple, spreading. _h._ 2ft. Mauritius, 1824. =B. Mackenii= (MacKen's).* _fl._ purple, large, in a terminal raceme. Spring. _l._ recurved, narrow-ovate, or elliptic-lanceolate, sub-acute, petioled. Natal, 1870. (B. M. 5866.) =B. mitis= (small). Synonymous with _B. flava_. =B. prionitis= (Prionitis-like). _fl._ orange; spines axillary, pedate, in fours. Summer. _l._ quite entire, lanceolate-ovate. _h._ 3ft. India, 1759. =BARLEY.= _See_ =Hordeum vulgare=. =BARNADESIA= (named after Michael Barnadez, a Spanish botanist). ORD. _Compositæ_. Pretty greenhouse deciduous shrubs, requiring a dry atmosphere. They should be grown in peat, loam, and sand, in equal proportions. Propagated either by seeds, sown in hotbeds in March, or by cuttings, made of half-ripened wood in April, and placed in sand under a bell glass. [Illustration: FIG. 206. BARNADESIA ROSEA.] =B. rosea= (rosy).* _fl.-heads_ rose-coloured, solitary, ovate-cylindrical, downy, sessile; florets bilabiate, one lip oblong-emarginate, villous, the other filiform; hairs on receptacle twisted; pappus stiff, plumose. May. _l._ alternate, ovate, acute at both ends. _h._ 1-1/2ft. South America, 1840. See Fig. 206. (B. M. 4232.) =BARNARDIA.= Included under =Scilla= (which _see_). =BAROMETER.= An instrument for measuring the density of the atmosphere, and hence determining the probable changes of weather, or the height of any ascent. To the gardener the Barometer is indispensable as a warning to take due precaution. =BAROSMA= (from _barys_, heavy, and _osme_, smell; referring to the powerful scent of the leaves). Name often incorrectly spelt _Baryosma_. SYN. _Parapetalifera_. ORD. _Rutaceæ_. Very pretty small, Heath-like, greenhouse evergreen shrubs, from the Cape of Good Hope. Calyx equally five-parted; petals five, oblong; stamens ten. Leaves opposite or scattered, coriaceous, flat, dotted, with their margins sometimes glandularly serrulated, sometimes almost entire or revolute. They thrive in a mixture of sand, peat, and a little turfy loam, with good drainage and firm potting. Cuttings, taken from ripened wood, inserted in a pot of sand, and placed in a shady position in a cool house, with a bell glass over them, will root readily in a few weeks. =B. betulina= (Birch-leaved). _fl._ white, axillary, solitary. February to September. _l._ opposite, obovate, serrulate, sessile, spreading. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. 1790. (B. M. Pl. 45.) =B. dioica= (di�cious).* _fl._ purplish; peduncles axillary, usually in threes, shorter than the leaves. April. _l._ scattered; upper ones ternate, lanceolate, tapering to both ends, full of glandular dots, spreading. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1816. (B. R. 502.) =B. latifolia= (broad-leaved). _fl._ white, usually solitary, lateral. July. _l._ opposite, ovate-oblong, sessile, serrulated, smoothish, without glandular dots; branches villous. _h._ 1ft. 1789. =B. pulchella= (pretty).* _fl._ pale red or purple; peduncles axillary, usually solitary, exceeding the leaves. February. _l._ crowded, ovate, quite smooth, with thickened, crenate-glandular margins. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. 1787. =B. serratifolia= (saw-edged-leaved).* _fl._ white; peduncles axillary, sub-divided. March to June. _l._ nearly opposite, lanceolate, stalked, glandularly serrulated, smooth. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. 1789. (B. M. 456, and B. Z. 1853, 12.) =BARRED.= Marked in spaces with a paler colour, resembling bars. =BARREN FLOWERS.= The male or staminate flowers of many plants, such as the Cucumber, Melon, &c., are popularly known as Barren Flowers, _i.e._, they produce no fruit. This condition is, in some respects, similar to "blind" Strawberries or "blind" Cabbages, so far as fruition is concerned, but structurally and functionally it is widely different. The Barren Flowers of the Cucumber, Melon, &c., are produced by what are known as mon�cious plants, _i.e._, having male and female organs in different flowers, but on the same plant. In the Strawberry, &c., Barren Flowers are generally the result of unfavourable surroundings, or unskilful cultivation. A good example of Barren Flowers is seen in the ray-florets of many Composite plants, which are frequently really neuter, having neither male nor female organs. =BARREN SOILS.= A term signifying such soils as are normally unprofitable. The term can only be correctly applied in very few cases; as almost any soil may be rendered capable of affording a basis for some kind of vegetable life, arboreal or other. The question of planting up the enormous quantity of what is now waste land, might well engage the most practical consideration. Of course, the natural state of any land will, to a great extent, determine what would be its ultimate condition, after all that could be effected by mechanical agency has been accomplished. Drainage, irrigation, enrichment, pulverisation, are all matters which can only be considered upon a particular basis; but we doubt not that the thousands of acres of land now practically almost useless, might, by the adoption of proper means, be rendered fairly remunerative. =BARREN-WORT.= _See_ =Epimedium=. =BARRINGTONIA= (named after the Hon. Daines Barrington, F.R.S.). ORD. _Myrtaceæ_. A genus of stove evergreen trees and shrubs, very difficult to cultivate. Flowers large, racemose. Leaves opposite or whorled, generally obovate; margins toothed or entire. Fruit one-seeded, fleshy. They require a compost of two parts loam, one peat, and one sand. Water should be given in abundance, and a moist atmosphere at all times maintained, the temperature ranging from 65deg. to 95deg. Propagated by cuttings obtained from the lateral shoots; these, taken off at a joint when the wood is ripe, planted in sand, with a hand glass over them, root readily. The cuttings should not be stripped of any of their leaves. =B. racemosa= (raceme-flowered). _fl._ red; racemes pendulous, very long. _l._ cuneate-oblong, acuminated, serrulated. _h._ 30ft. Malabar, 1822. (B. M. 3831.) =B. speciosa= (showy).* _fl._ purple and white, large and handsome, disposed in an erect thyrse. _l._ shining, cuneate-oblong, obtuse, quite entire. _h._ 20in. to 30in. in England. This beautiful species seldom attains a height of more than 6ft. or 8ft. (G. C. 1845, p. 56.) =BARROW.= Garden Barrows are very numerous, both with and without wheels. The Flower-pot Barrow has a wheel and a flat surface, on which plants, pots, or leaves are placed, either directly, or, when small, in shallow baskets. The Haum Barrow is an open box or case, of wicker or other work, placed on, or suspended from, a pair of handles, with or without a wheel, and is useful for carrying litter, leaves, &c. The Water Barrow, instead of a box, contains a barrel, tub, or cistern, in which fluid manure, or ordinary water, is conveyed to different parts of the garden. The Hand-barrow is a frame of wood, carried by two levers, which form four handles; for removing large pots or tubs of trees or shrubs it is very useful. [Illustration: FIG. 207. FLOWER OF BARTONIA AUREA.] =BARTLINGIA.= A synonym of =Plocama= (which _see_). =BARTONIA= (in honour of Benjamin S. Barton, M.D., formerly Professor of Botany at Philadelphia). ORD. _Loasaceæ_. Hardy annuals or biennials, downy, with stiff and bearded hairs. This genus is now placed under _Mentzelia_ in most standard botanical works. Flowers white or yellow, large, terminal, expanding in the evening, when they are very fragrant, and becoming reddish as they fade. Leaves alternate, interruptedly pinnatifid. The species are very showy, and well worth growing. Any ordinary garden soil suits them. Seeds should be raised in a gentle heat in spring; and, when the seedlings are sufficiently large, they should be potted singly into small, well-drained pots. In winter, they should be placed on a dry shelf in a greenhouse or frame. _B. aurea_ is one of the brightest of hardy annuals, and may be sown either in a frame, or in the open border in April. =B. albescens= (whitish).* _fl._, petals ten, pale yellow, disposed in a leafy panicle. July. _l._ sinuately toothed. Stem with a white shining epidermis. _h._ 1ft. to 4ft. Chili, 1831. Annual or biennial. (S. B. F. G. ii., 182.) =B. aurea= (golden).* _fl._ two or three together, terminal, bright golden yellow, as large as a half-crown; petals five. June. _h._ 1ft. California, 1834. Annual. See Fig. 207. (B. M. 3649.) =B. nuda= (naked) and =B. ornata= (adorned) are two very pretty white-flowered biennial species. _h._ 2ft. Missouri, 1811. =BARYOSMA.= _See_ =Barosma=. =BASAL=, or =BASILAR=. Situated at the base of anything; as the embryo, when situated at the bottom of the seed. =BASELLA= (its Malabar name). Malabar Nightshade. ORD. _Basellaceæ_. Annual or biennial stove trailers, with white or pinkish flowers, of no great horticultural value. In India, and elsewhere throughout the tropics, some of the species are cultivated as pot herbs, and are used as a substitute for Spinach. =B. alba= (white).* _fl._ white. August. _l._ heart-shaped, pointed. _h._ 8in. India, 1688. This plant, either when allowed to fall in festoons from the roof of a warm house, or treated as a basket plant, forms an elegant object when in flower. =BASELLACE�.= A series of usually herbaceous climbers, and considered a tribe of _Chenopodiaceæ_. =BASIL, SWEET= (_Ocymum basilicum_). This is a tender annual from India, and must be raised in gentle heat. The foliage is somewhat largely used for flavouring purposes. Seeds should be sown in April, the seedlings pricked out into boxes to strengthen, and finally planted out about 8in. asunder, in beds of light rich soil, in June, being well watered until fully established. As soon as they bloom, they should be cut down to within a few inches of the ground, and the portions cut off should be tied up in small bunches and dried in the shade for winter use. Some of the plants can be lifted in September, potted up, and placed in a warm greenhouse for the winter, when the fresh green leaves will be found very useful. Bush Basil (_Ocymum minimum_) is a dwarfer plant, but may be treated in the same way. Wild Basil is botanically known as _Calamintha Clinopodium_. =BASIL-THYME.= _See_ =Calamintha Acinos=. =BASI-NERVED.= When the nerves of a leaf spring from the base. =BASING-UP.= The raising of a small bank of earth entirely round a plant, so as to retain water immediately about the root. The term is sometimes used to signify =Earthing= or =Moulding=, which _see_. =BASKETS.= Few objects contribute more to the adornment of a window, or the decoration of the diningroom, drawing-room, or glass-house, than Hanging Baskets, tastefully filled with handsome foliaged and flowering plants. Baskets are made in different forms and of various materials, such as wire, terra-cotta, wood, and cork. The Wire Baskets have a very light and elegant appearance, and are generally used. In filling Baskets, the inside should be lined with a thick layer of moss, or _Selaginella Kraussiana_, next to which a layer of coarse sacking must be placed, to prevent the soil from working through. Terra-cotta Baskets are very pretty, and are extensively employed in domestic rooms, but they should always have one or more holes at the bottom, to facilitate drainage. Rustic Baskets, of cork or wood, are also very suitable for floral arrangements; those composed of teak-wood are very generally used for orchids. The compost should be prepared according to the requirements of the plant or plants intended to be grown, which can be easily ascertained on reference to such plants in this work. The soil should not be allowed to get dry; in the event of this happening, however, a thorough soaking by immersion must be given. As a rule, attention should be given in the matter of watering every other day, and light syringing every morning and evening during the spring and summer months will be most beneficial. The Baskets should be examined every week, all dead or decaying leaves being removed, and any insects, which are so likely to get a foothold, destroyed. In arranging the subjects, the centre plant should be the tallest, the next outer ones shorter, and the marginal ones of a trailing or drooping habit, so that the whole may present a symmetrical, and at the same time a natural, appearance. Wickerwork Baskets are used for carrying or transferring plants, and are generally made 18in. wide by 20in. deep; they are extremely useful, and should be in every garden. Split wood and withes are largely employed in making Baskets. The Planter's Basket, described by Loudon as a flat, rectangular utensil of wickerwork or boards, partitioned into three or more parts, for the purpose of carrying with the gardener when about to plant or remove plants, is now, unfortunately, almost obsolete. One division is for the plants, another for those taken up, and a third for the tools to be made use of, and for any decayed parts of plants, stones, weeds, or other refuse which may be collected. By using this Basket, order, accuracy, and neatness are secured. The Sussex "Truck" Baskets, made of willow-wood, are very useful, being both light and durable. _See also_ =Measures=. =BASSIA= (named after Ferdinando Bassi, Curator of the Botanic Garden at Bologna). ORD. _Sapotaceæ_. Handsome lofty-growing lactescent stove trees, with axillary, solitary, or aggregate flowers, and quite entire, smooth, coriaceous leaves. They require stove heat, and a compost of peat and loam. Cuttings, taken from ripened wood, strike readily in sand, under a hand glass, in a strong moist heat. =B. butyracea= (buttery). The Indian Butter Tree. _fl._, pedicels aggregate, and are, as well as the calyces, woolly. _l._ obovate, 8in. to 9in. long, and 4in. to 5in. broad, tomentose beneath. _h._ 30ft. to 70ft. Nepaul, 1823. (B. F. F. 35.) =B. latifolia= (broad-leaved). The Mahwah Tree of Bengal. _fl._, corolla thick and fleshy; pedicels drooping, terminal. _l._ oblong or elliptic, smooth above, whitish beneath, 4in. to 8in. long, and 2in. to 4in. broad. _h._ 50ft. India, 1799. (B. F. S. 41.) =B. longifolia= (long-leaved). _fl._, pedicels axillary, drooping, crowded round the ends of the branchlets. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, approximate at the tops of the branches, 6in. long, deciduous. _h._ 50ft. Malabar, 1811. (B. F. S. 42.) =BASS= or =BAST MATS=. These are prepared, chiefly in Russia, from the inner bark of various Limes (_Tilia_), and are very largely used in this country by nurserymen for packing purposes. They are also extensively employed as coverings, being excellent preventatives of the effects of frost. They are beneficial as a covering for beds of early vegetables, to prevent radiation during the night. For tying purposes they are now greatly superseded by Raffia Grass. Archangel Mats are larger, and of better quality than the St. Petersburgh. Dunnage Mats are heavy, and generally used for covering, as they are much cheaper. =BASTARD ACACIA.= _See_ =Robinia Pseudo-acacia=. =BASTARD BALM.= _See_ =Melittis=. =BASTARD BOX.= _See_ =Polygala chamæbuxus=. =BASTARD CABBAGE-TREE.= _See_ =Geoffroya=. =BASTARD CHERRY.= _See_ =Cerasus Pseudo-cerasus=. =BASTARD CINNAMON.= _See_ =Cinnamomum Cassia=. =BASTARD CORK TREE.= _See_ =Quercus pseudo-suber=. =BASTARD INDIGO.= _See_ =Amorpha=. =BASTARD LUPINE.= _See_ =Trifolium Lupinaster=. =BASTARD QUINCE.= _See_ =Pyrus Chamæmespilus=. =BASTARD VERVAIN.= _See_ =Stachytarpheta=. =BASTARD VETCH.= _See_ =Phaca=. =BASTARD WIND-FLOWER.= _See_ =Gentiana Pseudo-pneumonanthe=. =BASTARD WOOD-SAGE.= _See_ =Teucrium Pseudo-scorodonia=. =BAST MATS.= _See_ =Bass Mats=. =BATATAS= (its aboriginal name). ORD. _Convolvulaceæ_. This genus is now referred to _Ipomæa_. Strong, free-growing, greenhouse or stove deciduous twiners. Calyx of five sepals; corolla campanulate; stamens inclosed. They are of easy culture, only requiring plenty of room to spread, and are well adapted for trellis work, or to run up pillars. They are all tuberous rooted, and therefore require to be kept dry when in a dormant state. A rich, open, loamy soil is most suitable. Young cuttings strike readily under a hand glass, in heat. =B. bignonioides= (Bignonia-like).* _fl._, corolla dark purple, funnel-shaped, with a curled limb; peduncles many-flowered, nutant, shorter than the petioles. July. _l._ three-lobed; hind lobes rounded, imbricate. Cayenne, 1824. (B. M. 2645.) =B. Cavanillesii= (Cavanilles').* _fl._ pale whitish-red; lobes of corolla obtuse, crenulated; peduncles one to three-flowered. August. _l._ quinate; leaflets ovate, entire, unequal. Native country unknown, 1815. [Illustration: FIG. 208. BATATAS EDULIS, showing Tuber.] =B. edulis= (edible).* Sweet Potato. _fl._, corolla 1in. long, white outside and purple inside; peduncles equal in length to the petioles, or exceeding them, three to four-flowered. _l._ variable, usually angular, also lobed. Stem creeping, rarely climbing. East Indies, 1797. See Fig. 208. =B. glaucifolia= (milky-green-leaved). _fl._, corolla small, purplish, with an inflated tube, and ovate, acute segments; peduncles two-flowered, length of leaves. May. _l._ sagittate, truncate behind, on long petioles. Mexico, 1732. =B. heterophylla= (various-leaved). _fl._ blue; peduncles solitary, axillary, bearing each three sessile flowers. July. _l._ quinately palmate; lobes or leaflets ovate-spathulate, acute. Plant very villous. Cuba, 1817. =B. paniculata= (panicled).* _fl._ large, purple; peduncles much exceeding the petioles, many-flowered, dichotomously and corymbosely panicled. June _l._ palmate, five to seven-cleft; lobes ovate-lanceolate or elliptic, bluntish, rarely sub-acuminated. India, 1799. (G. C. n. s., x., 341.) =B. senegalensis= (Senegalese). _fl._ white or purplish, large; peduncles three-flowered. June. _l._ quinately palmate; lobes ovate, obtuse, middle one the largest. Stem white, tubercular. Guinea, 1823. =B. venosa= (veiny). _fl._ purple; peduncles umbellate, with an ovate-cordate, solitary leaf at the base of each pedicel. July. _l._ digitately quinate; leaflets petiolate, acuminated, quite entire. France, 1820. =BATEMANNIA= (named after Mr. J. Bateman, a collector and cultivator of orchids, and author of a "Monograph of Odontoglossum," and other works on orchidaceous plants). ORD. _Orchidaceæ_. A small and easily-grown genus of dwarf, compact-growing epiphytes, closely allied to _Maxillaria_, but differing from that genus in having the anther-bed with a membranous border. They may be grown in pots, in a compost of peat and moss, or on blocks of wood with moss. They require an intermediate house and plenty of water in the growing season. Propagated by divisions and offsets. They have generally a free-flowering habit; but some of the species are not so ornamental as many other orchids. =B. armillata= (braceleted). _fl._ green, white. 1875. (R. X. O. 316.) =B. Burtii= (Burt's). _fl._ red-brown, yellow base, 3in. across; lip white, tipped chocolate. Autumn. _l._ elliptic-oblong, or ligulate, sub-distichous. Plant bulbless. Costa Rica, 1872. (B. M. 6003.) =B. Colleyi= (Colley's). _fl._ on a pendulous raceme, rising from the base of the pseudo-bulbs; sepals and petals brownish-purple within, green without; lip white. Autumn. _h._ 6in. Demerara, 1834. (B. R. 1714.) =B. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl._, flower-spike coming up with the young growth, bearing three or four flowers, of curious structure; sepals and petals olive-green, striped with reddish-brown; lip white, with reddish-purple streaks, orange or yellow towards the base. Pseudo-bulbs ovate, 3in. or 4in. long, and bearing two large, broad, leathery leaves. New Grenada, 1866. (B. M. 5567.) =B. Wallisii= (Wallis').* _fl._, sepals light greenish-yellow outside, olive-green to chestnut-brown inside, with some yellow at the base; petals with scarlet stripes at the very base, but otherwise coloured like the sepals; lip blade greenish, with a brownish hue at the anterior part; peduncles slender, corymbose. _h._ 1ft. Columbia, 1876. =BATSCHIA.= _See_ =Lithospermum=. =BAUERA= (named after Francis and Ferdinand Bauer, German botanical draughtsmen). ORD. _Saxifragaceæ_. Small shrubs, natives of Australia, New Zealand, &c. Flowers axillary, solitary, pedunculate. Leaves six in a whorl, approximating by threes, and therefore, as it were, opposite and ternate, exstipulate. Easily cultivated in a compost of sandy loam and peat. Propagated by cuttings, placed in sandy soil, under a glass. These very pretty little greenhouse evergreens flower nearly the whole year through. =B. humilis= (low). _fl._, corolla red, one-half smaller than _B. rubioides_, and the plant is altogether much smaller. July to December. _l._ oblong, crenated. _h._ 1ft. New South Wales, 1804. (L. B. C. 1197.) =B. rubiæfolia= (madder-leaved). Synonymous with _B. rubioides_. =B. rubioides= (madder-like).* _fl._ pale red, or pink. _l._ lanceolate, crenated. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. New South Wales, 1793. SYN. _B. rubiæfolia_. (A. B. R. 198.) =BAUHINIA= (in honour of John and Caspar Bauhin, two famous botanists of the sixteenth century). Mountain Ebony. ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Very showy stove evergreen shrubs. Flowers racemose; petals five, spreading, oblong, rather unequal, upper one usually distant from the rest. Leaves two-lobed, constantly composed of two jointed leaflets at the top of the petiole, sometimes nearly free, but usually joined together, more or less, and with an awn in the recess. They succeed well in a mixture of sand, loam, and peat, requiring good drainage and moderately firm potting. Propagated by cuttings, which should be taken when the wood is neither very ripe nor very young; the leaves must be dressed off, and the cuttings planted in sand, under a glass, in moist heat. Although glorious objects in the tropics, few of the species flower under our comparatively sunless skies; those which hitherto have succeeded well in Britain are marked with an asterisk. =B. acuminata= (taper-pointed-leaved). _fl._ pure white; petals broadly ovate, hardly stipitate. June. _l._ rather cordate at the base, smoothish; leaflets connected beyond the middle, ovate, acuminated, parallel, four-nerved. _h._ 5ft. to 6ft. Malabar, 1808. =B. aurita= (eared). _fl._ white; petals ovate, on short stipes. August. _l._ glabrous, cordate at the base; leaflets connected the fourth part of their length, oblong-lanceolate, nearly parallel, six to eight-nerved. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. Jamaica, 1756. =B. corymbosa= (corymbose).* _fl._ in loose racemes; petals pinkish, regular, crenulated at the edge. Summer. _l._, leaflets semi-oval, obtuse, parallel, connected nearly to the middle, three-nerved, cordate at the base, the nerves on the under surface, as well as the petioles, branches, and calyces, clothed with rufous villi. Shrubby climber. India, 1818. (G. C. 1881, xvi., p. 204.) =B. inermis= (unarmed). _fl._ white; petals linear; racemes terminal, leafless, simple. _l._ ovate at the base, ferruginous beneath; leaflets oblong, acute, four-nerved, parallel, connected a little beyond the middle. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. Mexico, 1810. =B. multinerva= (many-nerved). _fl._ snow-white; petals linear. Legume 8in. to 12in. long. _l._ elliptic, rounded at the base, membranous, shining above, rather pilose beneath; nerves ferruginous; leaflets semi-ovate, obtuse, approximate, five-nerved; free. _h._ 20ft. Caracas, 1817. =B. natalensis= (Natal).* _fl._ white, 1-1/2in. across, opposite the leaves. September. _l._ small, alternate, of two obliquely-oblong rounded leaflets. Natal, 1870. (B. M. 6086.) =B. petiolata= (long-petioled). _fl._ white, 3in. long, in terminal clusters. Autumn. _l._ stalked, ovate-acuminate, five-nerved, glabrous. Columbia, 1852. SYN. _Casparia speciosa_. (B. M. 6277.) =B. pubescens= (downy). _fl._ white, large, much crowded; petals obovate; peduncles three to four-flowered. _l._ rather cordate at the base, pubescent beneath and on the petioles; leaflets connected beyond the middle, oval, obtuse, four-nerved, nearly parallel. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. Jamaica, 1823. =B. purpurea= (purple). _fl._, petals red, one of them streaked with white on the claw, lanceolate, acute. Legume linear, 1ft. long. _l._ cordate at the base, coriaceous, ultimately glabrous; leaflets connected much above the middle, broadly ovate, obtuse, four-nerved; free. _h._ 6ft. India, 1778. =B. racemosa= (racemose). _fl._ white; petals obovate, obtuse; raceme somewhat corymbose. _l._ cordate at the base, clothed with silky villi beneath, as well as on the peduncles, petioles, branches, calyces, and petals; leaflets broadly ovate, obtuse, connected to the middle, five-nerved. India, 1790. Shrubby climber. (B. F. S. 182.) =B. tomentosa= (tomentose). _fl._, petals pale yellow, with a red spot at the claw, obovate, obtuse; peduncles one to three-flowered. _l._ ovate or roundish at the base; under surface villous, as well as the petioles, branches, stipules, peduncles, bracts, and calyces; leaflets connected beyond the middle, oval, obtuse, three to four-nerved. _h._ 6ft. to 12ft. Ceylon, 1808. =B. variegata= (variegated).* _fl._ red, marked with white, and yellow at the base, in loose terminal racemes; petals ovate, nearly sessile. June. _l._ cordate at the base, glabrous; leaflets broadly-ovate, obtuse, five-nerved, connected beyond the middle; free. _h._ 20ft. Malabar, 1690. =B. v. chinensis= (Chinese). _fl._, petals lilac, with one purple spot at the base of each, acute. _l._ rounded at the base. China. =BAWD-MONEY.= _See_ =Meum=. =BAY-TREE.= _See_ =Laurus nobilis=. =BEAK.= Anything resembling the beak of a bird, as in _Aconitum_; the point which ends the helmet or upper sepal; hard, sharp points. =BEAM TREE.= _See_ =Pyrus Aria=. =BEAN BEETLE= (_Bruchus granarius_). This insect, by depositing its eggs in the seeds of Beans and Peas, causes a great amount of injury. It is about an eighth of an inch long, black, with brown hairs and white spots; tip of the tail prolonged, downy; front pair of legs reddish. The most effectual means of prevention is to destroy, when sowing, all seeds infested by it; and this may be detected by the skin of the seed being unusually transparent above the tunnel for exit. Imported seeds of Broad Beans are often much infested. "Dipping the Beans or Peas in boiling water for one minute is stated to kill the grub inside; but, as dipping for four minutes generally destroys the germinating power, the experiment is much too hazardous for general use", (Ormerod). =BEAN CAPER.= _See_ =Zygophyllum=. =BEAN FLY.= _See_ =Aphides= and =Black Fly=. =BEANS.= There are three sections of these in cultivation for garden purposes, viz.: The Dwarf or French Bean; the Climbing, or Scarlet Runner; and the ordinary Broad Bean. _See also_ =Faba= and =Phaseolus=. [Illustration: FIG. 209. BROAD BEAN PLANT IN FLOWER (FABA VULGARIS).] _Soil._ All Beans like a somewhat loamy soil, which, to secure good crops, must be deeply worked and heavily manured. The Kidney Beans, dwarf and tall, however, do not care for so heavy a soil as the Broad and Long-podded kinds; and this fact should be borne in mind when selecting their respective situations. The term Kidney is generally applied to both the Dwarf or French and the Climbing or Scarlet Runner. [Illustration: FIG. 210. PODS OF BROAD BEAN.] [Illustration: FIG. 211. BROAD BEAN SEED.] BROAD AND LONG-PODDED (_Faba vulgaris_). _Cultivation_: As early as possible in the autumn, deeply trench a piece of ground, and work in a heavy dressing of manure, leaving the surface of the soil in ridges, to become well aërated by winter frosts. Where desired, a piece of ground on a warm, protected border, can also be deeply dug in November, and a few rows of Mazagans sown to stand the winter. When up, draw a ridge of soil on either side the rows, and in frosty weather strew a few handfuls of bracken, or other light, dry litter, over them. Not much is, however, gained by this winter sowing. Early in January, level the ridges with a fork, working the whole of the surface soil over, and towards the end of the month, make the first sowing, choosing Mazagan and other early varieties. Mark out two rows, 9in. asunder, leave a space of 30in., then another two rows, and so on throughout the piece sown. If preferred, they may be sown in single rows at intervals of 1-1/2ft. The drills should be about 3in. deep, and the seed from 7in. to 9in. apart in the rows. Where the double-row system is adopted, arrange the seed for the plants to come alternately. In March, get in the main sowing of the Broad and later Long-podded kinds, in the manner already described; another sowing for late use may be made in April. When the plants are about 6in. high, earth up as recommended for those sown in the autumn. As soon as a good crop is set, pinch out the tops of the plants, to assist the maturation of the Beans, and prevent the attacks of the fly. Figs. 209, 210, and 211 are excellent representations of the flowering plant, pods, and seed of the Broad Bean. _Sorts._ For early use: Early Mazagan, Long-pod, Marshall's Early Prolific, and Seville Long-pod. For late use: Carter's Mammoth Long-pod, and Broad Windsor (white variety). These are all distinct and good varieties. [Illustration: FIG. 212. FRUITING PLANT OF DWARF OR FRENCH BEAN (PHASEOLUS VULGARIS).] DWARF OR FRENCH KIDNEY BEANS (_Phaseolus vulgaris_). _Cultivation_: This class (see Fig. 212) also requires a rich and deeply trenched rather light soil. A very important point is to get the ground into a good condition, by frequently forking it over; and, as the seeds are not sown till the beginning of May, there is plenty of time for the work. The finer the soil is, and the more it is aërated, the better will it suit the crop. From the beginning of May till the end of June, at intervals, draw out drills about 2ft. apart, and 3in. deep, and in these place the Beans tolerably thick, as generally they are not all certain to grow. As soon as up, carefully thin them, and slightly earth up to prevent the wind blowing them about. They should not, however, be earthed higher than the seed leaves, or they will probably rot off in wet weather. Keep free from weeds, and maintain a sharp look out for slugs. In dry weather, water occasionally, giving good drenchings, and not mere sprinklings, which do more harm than good. A good mulching of half-rotted manure is very beneficial, as it prevents evaporation to a great extent, besides affording some amount of nourishment to the plants. Great care must be taken to pick off the Beans as soon as large enough for use, or they will exhaust the plants. Where seeds are needed, a number of plants should be left for the purpose, and these should be some of the best, to prevent deterioration, or loss of the true variety. _Forcing._ French Beans require more heat than can be obtained in either a frame or an ordinary greenhouse; and, although easy enough to grow in a structure suited to their requirements, yet, if such does not exist, they are almost sure to fail. A good heat, from 60deg. to 70deg., with abundance of moisture, is necessary for successful results. Plenty of light is also most essential. A position such as that of a cucumber house is generally a suitable one; but the plants must not be placed under the cucumbers. Successional sowings in pots or boxes must be made, from the end of August till March, to keep up a supply. For soil, use good maiden loam, with a little well-rotted manure added. Use 8in. pots, sowing five or six beans in each. The first sowing should be placed in a frame and kept well watered, bringing into heat in October; but the subsequent sowings should be placed directly in the house. Keep the soil moist, and the plants free from aphides and other insect pests, and give air at every favourable opportunity. The plants should be as near the light as possible, and kept from falling about by tying or placing small pieces of Birch wood round them. In dull weather, it will be found that the blooms will not set so freely as when the sun shines brightly; therefore, every care should be taken to secure both heat and ventilation when sunshine prevails. When the pots get full of roots, and the plants are bearing fruit freely, a little liquid manure is of great assistance; at no time must the plants get dry enough to flag. Allow plenty of room for the full development of foliage, and maintain a minimum temperature of 60deg., with plenty of moisture. _Sorts._ These are very numerous, among the best being Black Negro, Canadian Wonder, Canterbury, Fulmer's Forcing, Golden Dun, Newington Wonder, Osborn's Early Forcing, Sion House, and Sir Joseph Paxton. RUNNERS OR CLIMBING KIDNEY BEANS (_Phaseolus multiflorus_). _Cultivation_: Being tall growers, these need a greater space than the Dwarf French varieties, and they also require support. Rich soil is indispensable for them, and liberal supplies of water on light soils and in dry weather. A good overhead syringing from time to time is also advantageous. Trench and heavily manure a piece of ground in autumn, leaving it in ridges for the winter. In March, level the ridges down, and well work the ground, to render it friable and in good condition. The plants being extremely tender, it is not safe to sow before the end of April or the first week in May. It is preferable to sow in rows, which should be from 6ft. to 12ft. apart, and crop the ground between with other vegetables. Earth up and stake them as soon as ready, to prevent injury from rough wind. A good plan, which may be adopted to obtain early produce, is to raise the seeds in boxes in a cold frame, getting them ready for planting out in the middle of May. Plant at the same distances, and treat afterwards as recommended for those sown out of doors. If preferred, they can be grown on the ground without stakes. Under this treatment, they must have their tops pinched off when about 18in. high, continuing this pinching from time to time as necessary. If this plan is adopted, the rows need only be 3ft. apart, the ground not being otherwise cropped. In dry seasons and on light soils, there is an advantage attached to this method, namely, that those on sticks are liable to injury from drought, while the foliage of those pinched back keeps the soil moist underneath. [Illustration: FIG. 213. RUNNER OR CLIMBING KIDNEY BEAN (PHASEOLUS MULTIFLORUS).] Runner Beans may also be planted to cover arches or fences, and in various places of a like description. See Fig. 213. _Sorts._ Common Scarlet Runner, Champion, Painted Lady, and Giant White. The first two are those generally grown. =BEAN-TREE.= _See_ =Ceratonia Siliqua=. =BEARBERRY=, and =BEAR'S GRAPE=. _See_ =Arctostaphylos Uva-ursi=. =BEARD-TONGUE.= _See_ =Pentstemon=. =BEARS BREECH.= _See_ =Acanthus=. =BEAR'S FOOT.= _See_ =Helleborus f�tidus=. =BEATONIA.= _See_ =Tigridia=. =BEAUCARNEA= (a commemorative name). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. A small genus of curious greenhouse plants, natives of Mexico. Leaves narrow, gracefully depending. Stems slender, and woody, with a peculiar swollen, somewhat napiform base. Mr. B. S. Williams recommends that these plants be potted in rich fibrous loam and sand, with ample drainage, and, during the growing season, liberally supplied with water. Propagated by cuttings, when obtainable; but chiefly by seeds, which have to be imported from their native country. Beaucarneas are principally grown for the beauty of their foliage, and are grotesque, graceful, and extremely curious in habit and form. =B. glauca= (grey).* _l._ pendent, glaucous, 2ft. to 3ft. long. Stem slender, the swollen base becoming woody with age. =B. g. latifolia= (broad-leaved) differs from the type only in its stouter and more robust stem and broader leaves. =B. longifolia= (long-leaved).* _l._ 6ft. to 10ft. long, narrow, pendent, dark green, forming a beautiful vase-like centre. _h._ 10ft. Mexico, 1868. Very distinct. (G. C. 1877, vii., 493.) =B. recurvata= (recurved-leaved).* _l._ very long, linear, gracefully pendulous, bright green. Mexico, about 1845. This is an excellent subject for open-air culture during the summer, as well as for the conservatory. SYN. _Pincenictitia tuberculata_. (G. C. 1870, 1445.) =B. r. rubra= (red). _l._ red at base. =B. stricta= (upright). _l._ 3ft. or more long, less than 1in. broad, very glaucous. Stem stout. Mexico, 1870. =BEAUFORTIA= (commemorative of Mary, Duchess of Beaufort, a botanical patroness). Including _Schizopleura_. ORD. _Myrtaceæ_. Elegant free-flowering greenhouse Australian shrubs. Flowers scarlet; calyx with a turbinate tube; stamens in bundles opposite the petals. Leaves sessile, opposite or scattered. Beaufortias require a compost of peat, leaf soil, and loam, lightened, if necessary, by the addition of sand. Cuttings of half-ripened shoots root freely in sandy soil, under a glass, with very little heat. =B. decussata= (decussate). _fl._ scarlet; bundles of stamens on very long claws; filaments radiating. May. _l._ opposite, decussate, ovate, or oval, many-nerved. _h._ 3ft. to 10ft. New Holland, 1803. (B. M. 1733.) =B. purpurea= (purple).* _fl._ purplish-red, in dense globular heads. _l._ three to five-nerved, erect or spreading, ovate-lanceolate to lanceolate-linear. New Holland. =B. sparsa= (few-leaved). _fl._ bright scarlet. _l._ many-nerved, scattered, ovate-elliptical, obtuse. West Australia. SYN. _B. splendens_. (P. F. G. xiii., 145.) =B. splendens= (splendid). Synonymous with _B. sparsa_. =BEAUMONTIA= (in honour of Mrs. Beaumont, formerly of Bretton Hall, Yorkshire). ORD. _Apocynaceæ_. A very ornamental stove twiner, remarkable for its handsome flowers. It succeeds best when planted out in the borders of a temperate house, in rich lumpy loam and peat. Propagated by cuttings, placed in sand, with bottom heat. =B. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl._, corolla large, white, greenish outside near the base, and dark throat, with a short tube, and a large campanulate five-lobed limb; corymbs axillary and terminal, many-flowered. June. _l._ opposite, broad, oblong-ovate, with a little point, tapering towards the base, smooth and shining above, but rather downy beneath; young leaves and branches rusty. Chittagong and Sylhet, 1820. (B. M. 3213.) =BED.= A term usually applied to pieces of ground laid out in gardens for sowing small seeds, or for the isolation and better protection of small collections of plants in the reserve ground. The oblong is the best shape for this purpose, about 4ft. or 5ft. wide, somewhat raised, and having a narrow path on each side, so that the workman may attend to the plants or seeds without having to tread on the bed. Any one part of a flower-garden design, cut out in grass, or otherwise formed, is also generally termed a Bed. When required to be planted for effect, as in this case, the Bed should be proportionate in size to the plants that are to be put in it, always planting the highest in the centre and gradually sloping, with other sizes, to the edges, which should be the lowest. Circular Beds are best with one centre plant; and oblong or other shapes should have the height of the centre plants carried nearly the whole length, not, however, placing them in too formal a manner. =BEDDING-IN.= A method of seed-sowing, now almost obsolete, and chiefly employed in nurseries. "In this method, the ground being dug and formed by alleys into Beds, 4ft. or 5ft. wide, each alley being a spade's width or more between Bed and Bed, and the earth being drawn off the top of the Bed with a rake or spade, 1/2in. or 1in. deep into the alleys, the seed is then sown all over the surface of the Bed; which being done, the earth in the alleys is immediately cast over the Bed, again covering the seeds the same depth, and the surface is raked smooth" (Johnson). In the case of small seeds, a very light covering is needed, and that only of very fine soil. =BEDDING-OUT.= The temporary placing out of doors of greenhouse and other tender plants during the summer months. It is considered by some to be the showiest, most expensive, and most unnatural of any style. The geometrical arrangement of gaudy colours is not at all times satisfactory, and under the most favourable conditions the design is rarely retained more than two or three months, say, from July to September. The method is, however, so extensively adopted as to demand due notice in this work. Bedding usually commences in May. An important consideration is the proper preparation of the soil for the reception of the plants. It will be found to materially assist the growth if the soil is well dug over a fortnight before the plants are put in. By this means, it will acquire a certain amount of solidity, a point of great importance with fibrous-rooted plants that are subject to injury from the fine roots not taking a firm hold of the soil. Having decided upon the arrangement of the plants, proceed to work with the planting. With round, oval, or, indeed, almost any shaped bed, begin in the centre and work towards the edge; in borders, commence at the back and finish with the front row. Plant with a trowel, disturbing the balls as little as possible, and when in the holes press the soil moderately firm. After the Bed is finished, give a good soaking of water to settle the soil at the roots. Manure for Flower-beds should always be perfectly rotten, such as that from a spent hotbed. When the plants are thoroughly established, water must only be given if they show signs of distress; and then a good soaking should be applied. A careful hoeing of the surface after planting will be most beneficial, leaving it smooth and tidy. A Dutch hoe will be the best to use. Injudicious use of manure and water will only cause a foliaceous growth. The proper treatment of the various Bedding Plants will be found under their respective headings. For spring decoration, the Beds may be filled with Dutch bulbs, and spring-flowering annuals and perennials _ad infinitum_; or, after the plants are removed in autumn, the Beds may be filled with evergreens plunged in pots, such as Aucuba, Arbor vitæ, Euonymus, and various little Conifers, which have a bright appearance through the winter, and can be removed at any time. With the relative value, or advisability of adoption, of either or any system of gardening, it scarcely comes within the province of this work to deal. No hard-and-fast rules can be laid down as regards "style," and each individual may follow his own taste and inclination. [Illustration: FIG. 214. DESIGN FOR CARPET BEDDING.] [Illustration: FIG. 215. DESIGN FOR CARPET BEDDING.] _Carpet Bedding._ This mode of gardening, although not so generally employed as it was some few years ago, has many admirers, and small plots, geometrically arranged in multi-coloured beds on lawns, are frequently seen. In our large public parks, the system is largely adopted, and evidently proves very gratifying to the multitudes who visit these places; but probably no system is more unnatural or expensive, as such a large number of plants are necessary in order to produce a desirable effect. The illustrations (Figs. 214 and 215) represent two designs for Carpet Beds. The numbers placed in the various compartments indicate the way the different colours should be arranged, repeats being marked by the same cypher. A very varied and large selection of plants can be used for Carpet Bedding, some of which are quite hardy, such as _Herniaria glabra_ and _Veronica repens_, two of the best dwarf green plants; _Sempervivum californicum_, _Sedum lydium_, _S. glaucum_, _Antennaria tomentosa_, &c. These may be planted early in the season, with Golden Feather, and are especially valuable, as they are generally employed to a great extent. Other plants, not quite so hardy, are _Mentha Pulegium gibraltarica_ and _Echeveria secunda glauca_, both of which are extensively used; while the tenderest subjects are Alternantheras of various kinds, _Coleus Verschaffeltii_ and _Mesembryanthemum cordifolium variegatum_. These latter should not be planted till the first or second week in June. As the plants are usually small, and require to be planted thickly, the work is best accomplished with the fingers, pressing the soil moderately firm. First of all, work out the design, and plant the leading lines; afterwards fill in the "panels." [Illustration: FIG. 216. DESIGN FOR BEDDING.] _Sub-Tropical Bedding._ This term is applied to the arrangement of tropical plants in Beds or groups outside for the summer months, and if discriminately adopted a very attractive and unique display may be made, depending greatly upon position, and mainly upon the material at command. If a sheltered and partially shady situation is enjoyed, a grand effect may be produced by the grouping of tree and other large ferns with palms, Cannas, Aralias, Dracænas, &c., avoiding, of course, formal arrangement, and yet, when finished, a symmetrical appearance should be produced. In more open positions, palms, Castor Oil Plants, Cannas, _Humea elegans_, Aralias, Phormiums, Wigandias, Nicotianas, &c., may be employed, the result being, if properly arranged, most gratifying. Sub-Tropical Bedding should not be done till the middle or end of June, and the Beds should be well dug and freely manured for those that are to be planted out. [Illustration: FIG 217. DESIGN FOR BEDDING.] Fig. 216 represents a Border or long piece of ground, which may be either marked out permanently with Box edging, dwarf-growing silver or golden leaved plants, tiles, stones, or pebbles, and filled in with silver sand or bright-coloured stones or gravel; or the lines may be widened out into walks. The whole of the small circles not numbered are intended for specimen foliage and other plants, such as Fuchsias, Yuccas, Aloes, Cannas, Solanums, variegated or plain Reeds, Grasses, Maize (_Zea_), &c. No. 1, tall plants of _Echeveria metallica_, edged with _E. glauca_; 2, 2, yellow or orange Calceolaria; 3, 3, Mrs. Leavers Pelargonium; 4, 4, Triomphe de Stella ditto; 5, 5, purple or blue Verbena; 6, 6, white ditto. The narrow border round the side may then be filled in with Golden-feather Pyrethrum, blue Lobelia, or _Alternanthera amabilis_. This same plan may also be treated in quite a different manner, according to the taste of those adopting it, or the stock of plants at command. [Illustration: FIG. 218. DESIGN FOR BEDDING OR CARPET BEDDING.] Fig. 217 illustrates a design admirably adapted for a rosery or small flower garden. Its only fault is the number of sharp angles at the corners of some of the Beds; but this can be counteracted by the predominance of curved lines. It is easily formed, and the effect is good if furnished in the following manner: The circle in the centre, 1, _Centaurea ragusina compacta_, edged with a double line of _Coleus Verschaffeltii_; the four figures 2, 2, 2, 2, scarlet Pelargoniums, such as Vesuvius, Bonfire, Triomphe de Stella, or others; 3, 3, Mrs. Pollock, golden-zoned Pelargoniums, edged with _Alternanthera am�na_; 4, 4, Lady Cullum, ditto, ditto, edged with ditto; 5, 5, _Lobelia speciosa_, Imperial Dwarf Ageratum, or Purple King Verbena; 6, 6, white Verbena or white Ivy-leaved Pelargonium. [Illustration: FIG. 219. ARRANGEMENT OF NURSERY FOR ROSE TREES AND SHRUBS.] [Illustration: FIG. 220. ARRANGEMENT OF NURSERY FOR ROSE TREES AND SHRUBS.] The group of Beds illustrated in Fig. 218 is effective on grass or gravel. If on the latter, the lines should be defined with Box, Golden Thyme, Cerastium, or Santolinas. The design is pretty on level, but is still more effective on sloping ground; in the latter case, it should rise from the straight walk (dotted line). Thus each Bed may be seen to the best advantage, and the group may be extended to any length. The circular Beds should be planted with two distinct colours, such as good pink and scarlet Pelargoniums of similar habits of growth, placing the colours in alternate Beds. The Beds, _a_, _a_, _a_, Flower of Spring, or another silver-leaved Pelargonium; _b_, _b_, _b_, Purple King Verbena, or Imperial Dwarf Ageratum; _c_, _c_, White Perfection Verbena, and silver-leaved or white-flowered Ivy-leaved Pelargonium; _d_, _d_, _Alternanthera magnifica_; _e_, _e_, Blue Lobelia. The long border, _Alternanthera paronychioides_, edged with _Antennaria tomentosa_; or _Iresine Lindenii_, edged with Pyrethrum, Golden Fleece or Crystal Palace Gem Pelargonium. The two sides may also be planted alike. The colours are reversed above to produce a greater variety and a more striking effect. This design is also well adapted for Carpet Bedding. [Illustration: BED A. BED B. BED C. BED D. BED E. BED F. BED G. BED H. FIG. 221. BEDDING-OUT DESIGNS.] _Nursery Bed._ This is merely a reserve ground or nursery for a large stock of plants of various sorts, such as Roses, &c. One of the first requirements is an easy access to the individual plants, and with the least possible waste of space. This may be obtained by arranging the Beds in regular geometric figures, as shown in Figs. 219 and 220, and, by exercising a little care and taste, the whole can be so contrived as to present an ornamental appearance. We are indebted to Messrs. Cannell and Sons for the diagrams of Bedding-out designs shown at Fig. 221, which may be made very effective: Bed A. This Bed may be planted with the following: Summer-flowering: 1, Gain's Yellow Calceolaria or Ageratum Lady Jane; 2, Geranium Vesuvius or another scarlet; 3 and 4, Viola Blue-bell or Purple King Verbena; 5, edged with _Gnaphalium lanatum_, or _Antennaria tomentosa_, white foliaged plants. Summer Foliage: 1, _Coleus Verschaffeltii_; 2, _Centaurea ragusina compacta_; 3 and 4, Mrs. Pollock Geranium; 5, band of any of the Echeverias, or _Kleinia repens_. Bed B. Plants mentioned for A will do for this. Bed C. This is really intended for a Carpet Bed. 1, _Alternanthera amabilis_, with a narrow line of _am�na_ for the edge; 2, _Mentha_, or _Herniaria glabra_; 3, band of _Mesembryanthemum cordifolium variegatum_. Flowering: 1, Any kind of Scarlet Geranium; 2, Golden-leaved ditto; 3, Blue Lobelia (edge). Spring: 1, White Arabis; 2, _Myosotis dissitiflora_; 3, Golden Feather. Bed D. Summer: 1, Pink Geranium; 2, _Iresine Lindenii_; 3, Golden Feather. Carpet: 1, _Alternanthera versicolor grandis_; 2, _Mesembryanthemum cordifolium variegatum_; 3, _Alternanthera magnifica_, edged with _Sempervivum montanum_. Bed E. 1, Scarlet Geranium; 2, Pink ditto; 3, _Lobelia speciosa_; or, 1, _Alternanthera am�na_; 2, _Mesembryanthemum cordifolium variegatum_; 3, _Echeveria secunda glauca_. Bed F. 1, _Dracæna_, _Chamæpeuce_, or any other graceful foliage plant for the centre; 2 and 4, _Alternanthera amabilis_, the divided lines, 6, being filled with Mentha or Echeverias; 3 and 5, _Alternanthera am�na_; and the outer edge, 7, with _Sempervivum californicum_. This bed would look well if planted with any of the above-mentioned spring flowers. Spring: Bed might be raised to a mound, and lined out with hardy Sedums, or Sempervivums, placing a larger growing one in the centre; and 2, 3, 4, and 5 divisions may be filled with any spring-flowering dwarf-growing plants. Bed G. 1, Small plant of Yucca; 2, _Coleus Verschaffeltii_; 3, _Alyssum variegatum_; 4, _Lobelia pumila magnifica_. Bed H. 1, Golden Feather; Mesembryanthemum; 3, Mentha; 4, _Alternanthera amabilis_; or 1, _Coleus Verschaffeltii_; 2, _Centaurea ragusina_; 3, Calceolaria Golden Gem; 4, Ageratum Lady Jane. =BEDDING PLANTS.= This term applies to many half-hardy subjects which are planted out in beds for summer display, such as Ageratums, Calceolarias, Geraniums, Heliotropes, Lobelias, Verbenas, &c., all of which will be treated under their respective headings. They are mostly soft-wooded plants and are easily cultivated with proper means, in spring and autumn. =BEDFORDIA= (named in honour of a former Duke of Bedford). ORD. _Compositæ_. Greenhouse evergreen shrubs, allied to _Cacalia_. They thrive in a mixture of sand, peat, loam, and brick rubbish, in equal proportions. Propagated by cuttings, which should be dried a little before inserting them in rough, sandy soil. =B. salicina= (willow-like). _fl.-heads_ yellow, axillary and solitary, or few together. April. _l._ alternate, lanceolate, linear, glossy above, covered with white tomentum underneath. _h._ 3ft. Victoria and Tasmania, 1820. SYN. _Cacalia salicina_. (B. R. 923.) =BEDSTRAW.= _See_ =Galium=. =BEECH.= _See_ =Fagus=. =BEES.= _See_ =Honey Bees=, =Humble Bees=, and =Wasps=. =BEET= (_Beta_, which _see_). The present varieties of Beetroot are the offspring of _Beta vulgaris_, a plant of biennial duration, and a native of the sea coasts of Southern Europe. It was cultivated in this country about 1656, but was probably long previously introduced by the ancient Romans. Beetroot is largely used as salad, more extensively on the Continent than with us, also pickled; medium sized, deeply coloured roots being the chief desideratum. Some varieties are largely grown for their highly-coloured foliage, being planted in bedding-out designs, and generally proving extremely effective. [Illustration: FIG. 222. LONG YELLOW BEETROOT.] Cultivation: For obtaining the best results, an open situation should be chosen, free from the shade of trees. The ground should be light and sandy, and, if possible, that which has been previously manured for some other crop, French beans, for instance. Trench the soil to a depth of 2ft. in the autumn, and ridge it up for the winter. As soon as dry enough to allow of working in spring, dig over the whole bed with a steel digging fork, and break the soil tolerably fine. Sow any time from the last week in April to the end of May. Prepare the drills about a foot or 15in. apart, and from 1in. to 2in. deep. The seeds grow quicker if steeped in water previous to sowing, afterwards allowing them to get dry enough to separate from each other. Sow thinly, and fill in the drills with a rake. As soon as the plants are up, hoe between the rows, and keep free from weeds. In a fortnight or three weeks after this hoeing, if the weather has been favourable, the plants will be large enough for thinning. Thin out to about 9in. apart, and carefully fill up, in dull weather, any blanks that may occur. Transplanting is, however, not generally a very satisfactory method. Carefully lift the roots in autumn, before frost comes, and wring off the leaves about an inch from the crowns. Place the roots in a cool shed or house, and allow the soil on them to get quite dry, when they may be stored for winter use in dry sand, or soil, in a shed free from frost. It is preferable to keep the crowns free from soil, to prevent decay from the ends of the leaves left on them. If this be carefully done, the roots will keep till the next season's early crop is ready. In all processes connected with the growing, storing, or cooking of this vegetable, the greatest care must be taken to avoid bruising or otherwise injuring the roots, as deficiency of colour would be the result, especially in the case of the red-fleshed kinds, in some cases rendering them valueless for table use. Seed Saving: When lifting the crop in autumn, select as many of the best formed and coloured roots as required, and store them separately from the rest. In April, plant them in a spot by themselves, where there is no danger of impregnation from other varieties, and in due time good seed will ripen. If good foliaged varieties are required, the best should be selected when growing in the summer, and either be marked by some means, or have the inferior ones removed from them. _Sorts._ These are somewhat numerous--almost every seedsman having a so-called "improved strain." Nutting's Dwarf Red, Chelsea, Pine Apple, Dell's Crimson and Red Castelnaudary, are the best of the crimson or red-fleshed kinds. The Egyptian Turnip-rooted is a distinct variety, with flesh of a good colour, and fine flavour; excellent for summer salads. Betterave de Bretagne is a Continental variety; the roots grow to a good size, with a distinct outer skin of a dark colour; flesh rich purple. The best of the yellow-fleshed kinds are Small Yellow and Long Yellow (see Fig. 222); but these are not grown nearly so much as the deep-coloured section; in fact, they are almost useless for garden purposes. [Illustration: FIG. 223. WHITE LEAF BEETROOT.] _Beetroot for Bedding Purposes_: In this case, where the foliage is the main object, the seed may be sown in a reserve bed, and the plants transferred to their positions in the flower garden. If, however, a line is required in a ribbon or other border, the best plan is to sow there, and thin out the plants to equal distances. Dell's Crimson is one of the best varieties for this purpose, being very compact and of a good dark colour. Varieties of the Leaf Beet (_Beta Cicla_), and Sea or Perennial Beet (_Beta maritima_), are sometimes, but very seldom, cultivated for the use of the leafstalks and leaves, the roots being hard and unfit for cooking purposes. They are at the best but substitutes for other vegetables--namely, the midrib for Sea-kale and the leaves for Spinach. If desired, seeds may be sown in the way described for Beetroot, in April for using in autumn and winter, and in August for spring use, plants of the latter sowing being protected in severe weather. The best sorts are Red-stalked, Yellow-stalked, and White (see Fig. 223) or Silver Leaf. =BEET CARRION BEETLE= (_Silpha opaca_). This destructive insect is frequently found in dead animals, but often its grub almost destroys the leaves of Beet and Mangold Wurzel crops. The grubs, which are black and shining, when full grown are from 1/3in. to 1/2in. long; the three segments next the head are rounded at the sides, but the other segments are sharp, and the tail segment has a sharp spine on each side. "When full-fed, the grubs bury themselves, and form cells at the depth of 3in. or 4in. below the surface of the earth, in which they turn to pupæ, and from these the Beetle has been seen to come up in about the space of a fortnight or three weeks" (Ormerod). The Beetles are flattish, and about five lines long, brown-black, with a tawny down; eyes large and oval; horns club-shaped; body somewhat oval; wing-cases very flat, turned up at the outer edge, each case having three sharp ridges running along it; tip of abdomen dull red. Any manures or methods of cultivation that would stimulate growth in the plants, so as to permit renovation of injuries, would be found useful. If farmyard manure were applied to the soil intended for Beet _in the autumn_ instead of in spring, it would lessen the risk of attack to the Beets. [Illustration: FIG. 224. COMMON GARDEN BEETLE.] [Illustration: FIG. 225. DEVIL'S COACH HORSE.] =BEETLES= (_Coleoptera_). Beetles form one of the most extensive orders of insects, there being upwards of 3000 known British species. They vary much in appearance, but a Beetle is readily recognised by its front wings, or elytra; these form a tough horny sheath or case, which lies over the real wings, and protects them when the insect is not flying. Sometimes, the elytra are very short (see Fig. 225); the mouth is fitted with jaws for cutting. The metamorphosis is complete, _i.e._, the larva or grub is very unlike either the quiescent pupa or the perfect insect. The period that elapses before Beetles arrive at their perfect state varies from a few weeks to two or three years, but is usually rather longer than in Butterflies or Bees. Various Beetles attack growing plants and roots. Thus, _Otiorhynchus sulcatus_ and _O. picipes_ attack Vines, Roses, and other plants, gnawing off the bark. Some species of Beetles attack Mushrooms, while others bore into the wood of old trees, or eat leaves (_e.g._ Turnip Fly), or burrow in the leaves, or form galls on roots (Cabbage-gall Weevil). Of some kinds, the beetles are hurtful; of others, the larvæ. Many kinds, however, are beneficial, such, for instance, as the common Ground Beetle (_Carabus_, Fig. 224), and the Devil's Coach Horse (_Ocypus olens_, Fig. 225). These live upon other insects and snails. One kind of Beetle--the Ladybird (see Figs. 226 and 227)--is very beneficial in a garden, as it preys upon the aphides, or plant lice. For instructions in dealing with the noxious kinds, _see_ =Asparagus Beetle=, =Bean Beetle=, =Beet Carrion Beetle=, =Click Beetle=, =Cockchafer=, =Lily Beetle=, =Rosechafer=, and =Turnip Fly=. [Illustration: FIG. 226. SEVEN-SPOTTED LADYBIRD.] [Illustration: FIG. 227. GRUB OF LADYBIRD. (Enlarged).] =BEET= or =MANGOLD FLY= (_Anthomyia betæ_). The maggots of this fly do considerable damage by feeding on the pulp of the Beet or Mangold leaves. The eggs are small, white, and oval, and are laid in small patches beneath the leaves; the maggots are about 1/3in. long, legless, cylindrical, and yellowish-white. As it is of such recent appearance in this country, specifics for its eradication are by no means numerous; but, according to Miss Ormerod, "the best treatment appears to be to nip it in the bud, where such treatment is possible, by destroying the infested plants, but generally by all means of good cultivation, or by special applications of artificial manure, to ensure a hearty growth, which may run the plants on past the power of average attacks to weaken the leafage to a serious extent." =BEFARIA= (named in honour of Bejar, a Spanish botanist). ORD. _Ericareæ_. SYN. _Bejaria_. An elegant genus of greenhouse evergreen shrubs, closely allied to _Rhododendron_. Flowers bracteate; corolla very deeply seven-cleft, spreading. Leaves racemose or corymbose, crowded, quite entire, coriaceous. They thrive in a compost of peat and loam. Propagated by cuttings, made of the young wood, and placed in sandy soil, in gentle heat. =B. æstuans= (glowing).* _fl._ purple; corymbs terminal, simple; peduncles, pedicels, rachi, calyces, and branchlets clothed with clammy glandular hairs. _l._ elliptic, rather glabrous above, but downy and glaucous beneath, while young clothed with rusty tomentum. Plant much branched; branchlets sub-verticillate. _h._ 10ft. to 15ft. Peru, 1846. SYN. _Acunna oblonga_. (G. C. 1848, 119.) =B. cinnamomea= (cinnamon-coloured). _fl._ purple; panicles close, terminal; peduncles woolly, hispid. _l._ slightly downy above, rusty tomentose beneath. Branches downy, hispid. _h._ 4ft. Peru, 1847. =B. coarctata= (close-headed). _fl._ purple; corymbs terminal, simple; peduncles, pedicels, rachi, and calyces clothed with rusty tomentum. _l._ oblong, glabrous, glaucous beneath. Shrub much branched. _h._ 4ft. to 5ft. Peru, 1847. (G. C. 1848, 175.) =B. glauca= (glaucous).* _fl._ flesh-coloured; racemes terminal and axillary; pedicels somewhat fastigiate. June. _l._ oblong, obtuse, glaucous beneath. Shrub much branched; branchlets angular. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. South America, 1826. =B. ledifolia= (Ledum-leaved).* _fl._ purple; racemes terminal; peduncles, pedicels, rachi, branchlets, and calyces clothed with clammy glandular hairs. _l._ oblong, somewhat mucronate, with revolute edges, glaucous beneath, glandular. Shrub much branched; branches purplish. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. South America, 1847. (F. d. S. 3, 195.) =B. racemosa= (racemed). _fl._ purple, disposed in racemose terminal panicles. July. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, glabrous; branchlets smooth or hispid. _h._ 3ft. to 5ft. Georgia, 1810. =BEGONIA= (named after M. Begon, a French patron of botany). ORD. _Begoniaceæ_. A large genus of succulent herbs or undershrubs (a few climbers), in many of which the stem is reduced to a tuberous rhizome, whilst some are distinctly tuberous. Flowers usually showy and large, white, rose, scarlet, or yellow, unisexual; perianth segments petaloid, four to five divisions, rarely two. Stamens numerous, filaments free or united at the base. Ovary inferior, styles two to four, free, sometimes connate, stigmas brandied or twisted. Fruit capsular, rarely succulent, often winged. Seeds numerous, minute. Leaves alternate, more or less unequal-sided, entire, or lobed, or toothed. Flower-stalks axillary, cymose. Distribution: Species about 350, in all tropical moist countries, especially South America and India; not known in Australia. Cultivated species (exclusive of garden hybrids and varieties) about 150. A large number of genera, or what were considered as such are now merged in Begonia--viz., _Barya_, _Baryandra_, _Casparya_, _Pritzelia_, &c. The rich colours and beautiful form of the flowers of Begonias, their prettily-marked foliage, and free-growing, free-blooming nature, have long marked them out as favourite garden plants. Within the last twenty years a new race, characterised by a tuberous root-stock, annual herbaceous stem, and large handsome flowers, has been introduced from the Andes of South America, from which, by means of careful cross-fertilisation and selection, a large number of beautiful and almost hardy kinds have been raised. The size, substance, and rich colours of the flowers of the majority of the plants of this race of Begonias are witness to what may be done by skilful cultivation and careful cross-breeding among plants. In the same way the large-leaved, stemless section, of which _B. Rex_ may be taken as the type and principal progenitor, have been improved both in the size and the coloration of their foliage, and countless forms are now in cultivation, both as garden plants and for the decoration of rooms, &c. The propagation of Begonias may be accomplished by means of seeds, which are freely produced by almost all the cultivated kinds, by cuttings, by division of the rhizomes, and--in the case of the large-leaved kinds--by leaf-cuttings. For the first of these methods it is necessary that the seeds should be well ripened before they are gathered, and kept dry until sown. Where it is desired to increase any particular kind of garden origin, seeds are useless, none of the hybrid or seedling forms perpetuating themselves through their seeds, although equally beautiful sorts may be raised from them. The characters of all true species are, however, reproduced in their seedlings. For the successful raising of Begonia seeds it is necessary to sow them on pans or pots of well-drained, light, sandy soil, which should be well watered before the seeds are sown. The seeds should not be covered with soil, or they will fail to germinate. Over the pans a pane of glass should be placed, and they should then be stood in warm house or a frame where a temperature of about 65deg. can be maintained, and shaded from sunshine. As soon as the plantlets are large enough to be safely manipulated, they should be pricked off into pans of light leaf-mould soil, in which they may remain until large enough to be placed singly in pots. Cuttings: These strike freely if planted in small pots, in sand and leaf mould, and placed on a bottom heat of 70deg. Where large quantities are required, a bed of cocoa nut-fibre in a stove or propagating frame may be used, and in this the cuttings may be planted and remain until well rooted. Leaf cuttings succeed best when laid on sand or cocoa-nut fibre, and shaded from bright sunlight. In preparing the leaves, old, well-matured ones should be selected, and incisions made with a sharp knife across the principal nerves on the underside. They should then be placed on the sand or fibre and held down by means of a few pieces of crock. Under this treatment, bulbils will form on the lower ends of the nerves of each section of the leaf, and these, when large enough, may be removed from the bed and potted. With the exception of _B. Evansiana_ (_discolor_), an almost hardy species from North China, all the shrubby species require a warm or intermediate house for their cultivation, although during the summer months a frame or sheltered bed answers for most of them, provided they are removed into their warm winter quarters on the approach of cold weather. Some of the species, such as _B. Dregei_, _B. semperflorens_, _B. nitida_, _B. fuchsioides_, _B. Lindleyana_, _B. Richardsiana_, along with the hybrids _Ascotensis_, _Knowsleyana_, _Weltoniensis_, and _Ingramii_, are grown in pots out of doors all the summer, and under liberal treatment they form large handsome specimens, which are of great value as flowering plants for the conservatory in winter. The tuberous-rooted herbaceous kinds should be started in heat in February, and, when vigorous growth has commenced, be gradually hardened off, for use either as bedding plants or as pot specimens for flowering in the greenhouse. A mixture of loam and leaf mould with a little sand and rotten cow-dung is suitable for the cultivation of these plants in pots. Liberal supplies of water should be given during the growing season. As the growth decays, water should be withheld until finally the tubers may be shaken out of the soil and placed in dry sand or cocoa-nut fibre, in a house or shed where a temperature above freezing can be maintained. _B. gracilis_ and its varieties, _diversifolia_ and _Martiana_, are beautiful greenhouse plants, which thrive well if treated as advised for the other tuberous-rooted kinds, with the addition of a few more degrees of heat. The _Rex_ section requires a light rich soil, plenty of moisture, and a shaded position in a warm greenhouse. These kinds are often employed with good effect for clothing peat-covered walls in ferneries, or as an undergrowth in large tropical houses. Large specimens have been grown under the stage in a warm house, the shade and moisture of such a position being exactly what they best delight in. _B. socotrana_, an interesting species from the island of Socotra, is somewhat singular in its requirements. The stem is herbaceous and annual, and about its base a cluster of bulbils are formed, from every one of which a plant will be developed the following year. The growing season for this species is from September to March, after which it goes to rest for the whole summer. A tropical temperature and all the light possible, are essential to the well-doing of this plant. It is interesting to note the apparent impossibility to cross any of the shrubby Begonias with the distinctly tuberous-rooted species; and even the species of the shrubby section, whose stems are semi-tuberous, have hitherto refused to commingle with the South American tuberous kinds, of which _B. Veitchii_, _B. rosæflora_, and _B. boliviensis_ may be said to be typical. The infusion of the blood of these large, handsome-flowered kinds into the tall, shrubby species, would almost certainly result in the production of a race of splendid winter-flowering greenhouse plants, and it is therefore in every way desirable that no pains should be spared to break through the obstacle to the union of the two races. Explanation of contractions: T, tuberous-rooted; S, shrubby. =B. acerifolia= (Acer-leaved). S. A tall-growing, thick, succulent-stemmed species, with green, lobed, serrated foliage, and large branching cymes of small white flowers; sepals of male flowers hairy; styles three, two-horned. Capsule triangular, with one of the angles prolonged into an obtuse wing. Spring. Quito, 1829. =B. acuminata= (taper-pointed-leaved). S. A low shrubby species, having semi-cordate, oblong, pointed leaves, with toothed margins, and the nerves on the under side and the petiole pilose. _fl._ white, in cymes, nearly 1in. across. Capsule wings, two short, the third 1/2in. long. Spring. Jamaica, 1798. (B. M. 4025.) =B. acutifolia= (acute-leaved). S. A smooth-stemmed, semi-erect species, 3ft. to 4ft. high, with cordate-oblong leaves, both sides and petiole glabrous, the margins denticulate. _fl._ in cymes, white and red, about 1in. in diameter. Capsule winged, one wing twice as long as the others. Spring. Jamaica, 1816. SYN. _B. purpurea_. =B. acutiloba= (acute-lobed).* A species with thick fleshy rhizomes, and palmate cordate leaves which are divided into five to seven lobes, with toothed margins and pointed apices, under side thinly covered with brown hairs. Flower-stalk tall, hairy, surmounted by a branching head of rather large white flowers. Summer. Mexico. =B. albo-coccinea= (white and red).* Stemless, with a thick root-stock. _l._ broadly ovate, peltate, entire, 3in. to 4in. long; petiole 3in. to 6in., pubescent. Flower-scape 6in. to 9in. long. _fl._ in dense cluster, bright rose on the outside, white within. Capsule regularly triangular, with short wings. Summer. India, 1844. SYN. _B. Grahamiana_. (B. M. 4172.) =B. alchemilloides= (Alchemilla-like). Stem fleshy, creeping. _l._ rotundate, with toothed, undulate, ciliated margins and short stalks. Flower-stem slender, few-flowered. _fl._ small, rose-coloured. Summer. Brazil. =B. amabilis= (lovely).* Stem creeping, fleshy, short. _l._ ovate, crenulate, acuminate, about 6in. long, tomentose, dark green, blotched with white, under side purple-red. Flower-stalk 9in. long. _fl._ rose or white, in clustering cymes. Capsule irregular. Summer. Assam, 1859. The foliage sometimes comes wholly green, but, under good treatment, it is handsomely variegated. =B. am�na= (pleasing).* Rhizome tuberous. Stem none, or very short. _l._ 3in. by 2in.; leafstalk 3in. Flower-stem 6in. long, few-flowered. _fl._ medium sized, pale rose. Capsule wings small, nearly equal. Summer. North India, 1878. SYN. _B. erosa_. =B. ampla= (large). S. Stem 1ft. to 2ft. high, very stout, woody. _l._ long-stalked, 8in. to 10in. in diameter, broadly ovate, cordate, pointed, when young densely covered with rusty stellate down. _fl._ on short petioles, rose-coloured, 2in. wide. Fruit a succulent berry, small. Summer. Guinea. =B. aptera= (wingless). Stem herbaceous. _l._ heart-shaped, pointed, shining green. _fl._ in short axillary cymes, white, small. Capsule four-angled. Spring. Celebes, 1878. =B. arborescens= (tree-like). S. A large growing species, sometimes forming a bush 8ft. to 10ft. in height. _l._ pale green, ear-shaped, 6in. long. _fl._ in large cymose clusters, white, small. Summer. Brazil. =B. argyrostigma= (silvery-spotted). Synonymous with _B. maculata_. =B. Arnottiana= (Arnott's). Synonymous with _B. cordifolia_. =B. asplenifolia= (Asplenium-leaved). S. A slender-stemmed, beautifully cut-leaved species, the foliage of which is pinnatisect, giving the plant the appearance of a Thalictrum rather than a Begonia. _fl._ very small, white. Guinea. =B. assamica= (Assam). Stem short, fleshy. _fl._ pinkish flesh-colour. _l._ oblique ovate, olive-green, marbled with silvery blotches above, and of a pale purplish-pink beneath; petioles pale green, softly hairy. Assam, 1883. =B. attenuata= (attenuated). Synonymous with _B. herbacea_. =B. aucubæfolia= (Aucuba-leaved). Synonymous with _B. incarnata_. =B. auriformis= (ear-formed). Synonymous with _B. incana_. =B. barbata= (bearded). S. Stem short, hairy. _l._ toothed, oval-shaped, pointed, hispid beneath, 4in. long. _fl._ medium-sized, white or pink; flower-stalk hairy. Capsule equal-winged. Summer. India. =B. Berkeleyi= (Berkeley's).* T. A garden hybrid, with thick, fleshy stems, and long ear-shaped foliage. _fl._ in erect panicles, rose-coloured. A useful winter-flowering kind. =B. bipetala= (two-petaled). Synonymous with _B. dipetala_. =B. biserrata= (doubly-serrated). S. Stem erect, branched, 2ft. to 3ft. high. _l._ 6in. long, 2in. to 3in. wide, deeply lobed, toothed, pale green. _fl._ in loose cymes, drooping, rose-coloured, 1-1/2in. wide, serrated edges. Capsule pilose, two short and one long wings. Summer. Guatemala, 1847. (B. M. 4746.) =B. boliviensis= (Bolivian).* T. Stem herbaceous, succulent, 2ft. high, branching. _l._ lanceolate, pointed, serrate, 3in. to 5in. long. _fl._ in drooping panicles, large, scarlet, males twice as large as females. Capsule three-winged. Summer. Bolivia, 1857. (B. M. 5657.) =B. Bowringiana= (Bowring's). Synonymous with _B. laciniata_. (B. M. 5657.) =B. braziliana= (Brazilian). S. Stem erect, tall, succulent. _l._ oblique, ovate, toothed, slightly pubescent; principal nerves brownish; stalk hairy. _fl._ white or rose, small, in short, few-flowered cymes. Capsule wing 1/2in. long. Summer. Brazil. =B. Bruantii= (Bruant's).* B. A garden hybrid between _B. Schmidti_ and _B. semperflorens_. _l._ green, with a brownish tint. _fl._ white or rose, in erect panicles. Summer, 1883. Used as a bedding plant in summer. =B. bulbifera= (bulb-bearing). Most likely a form of _B. gracilis_. =B. caffra= (Kaffrarian). A variety of _B. Dregei_. =B. carolineæfolia= (Carolinea-leaved). S. Stem erect, thick, fleshy. _l._ palmate, curiously divided into six to eight long ovate segments, each 6in. long. _fl._ in a dichotomous cyme, on long stalk, rose-coloured, small. Capsule small, wings one longer than others. Winter. Mexico, 1876. A singular-leaved species. (R. G. 1-25.) =B. Cathcartii= (Cathcart's). S. Caulescent. _l._ heart-shaped, acute, glabrous; stalks of flowers and leaves hairy; flowers and fruit as in _B. barbata_. Summer. India. SYN. _B. nemophila_. (C. H. P. 13.) =B. Chelsoni= (Chelsea).* T. A garden hybrid between _B. Sedeni_ and _B. boliviensis_. Stem fleshy, 2ft. high. _l._ oblique, lance-shaped, irregularly lobed. _fl._ large, orange-red, drooping. Summer, 1874. =B. cinnabarina= (vermilion).* S. Stem erect, short, herbaceous. _l._ 2in. to 4in. long, oblique, toothed; peduncles 6in. long, few-flowered. _fl._ (male), medium, red; female flowers very small. Summer. Capsule irregularly-winged. Bolivia, 1848. (B. M. 4483.) =B. cinnabarina= (vermilion). A variety of _B. fuchsioides_. =B. Clarkii= (Clarke's).* T. Stem purplish, fleshy, stout. _l._ oblique-cordate, serrate. _fl._ in pendulous racemes, abundant, large, bright red, very handsome, nearly related to _B. Veitchii_. Summer. Peru and Bolivia, 1867. (B. M. 5675.) =B. coccinea= (red).* S. Habit suffruticose. Stem sub-erect, 1ft. to 2ft. high, thick at the base. _l._ ovate-oblong, pointed; margins undulate and toothed. _fl._ in pendulous racemes, medium-sized; flowers and peduncles red. Capsule nearly regular; wings short. Summer. Brazil, 1842. (B. M. 3990.) =B. conchæfolia= (shell-leaved). Stem creeping, rhizomatous, thick. _l._ peltate, ovate, 3in. to 5in. long, edges almost entire; under side, along with leaf and flower-stalks, covered with ferruginous hairs; scape 9in. long, erect, surmounted by corymb of small whitish fragrant flowers. Capsule wings, one long, two short. Autumn and winter. South America, 1852. SYNS. _B. scutellata_, _B. Warscewiczii_. (R. B. 246.) =B. corallina= (coral-flowered). S. Stem woody, branching, sub-erect, brownish when matured. _l._ ovate-oblong, pointed, undulate, smooth, dull green, under side purple. _fl._ in long pendent racemes, numerous, medium-sized, bright coral-red. Summer. Brazil (?), 1875. A rare species, and one of the handsomest of the shrubby kinds, most likely closely related to _B. maculata_. =B. cordifolia= (heart-shaped). T. Stemless; root-stock fleshy. _l._ cordate, orbicular, toothed, 3in. wide, pilose above, pubescent below; flower-scape 6in. long, dichotomous. _fl._ numerous, medium-sized. Capsule with three narrow wings. Winter. Ceylon and India. SYN. _B. Arnottiana_. =B. coriacea= (leathery).* T. Stem 6in. high, herbaceous. _l._ reniform, 5in. wide by 3in. long, smooth above, pilose below. _fl._ rose-coloured, large, in twos or threes on the end of an erect scape, 8in. to 10in. long. Wings of capsule short, red. Summer. Bolivia. =B. coriacea= (leathery). Synonymous with _B. peltata_. =B. crassicaulis= (thick-stemmed). Stem short, thick, articulated, succulent. _l._ palmate; segments acuminate, toothed, under side clothed with rusty down. _fl._ in many-flowered cymes, dipetalous, white or rose-coloured, medium-sized. Capsule wings unequal. Near to _B. heracleifolia_. Spring. Guatemala, 1841. (B. R. 28, 44.) =B. crinita= (hairy).* S. Stem 1ft. high, fleshy, bright red, more or less hairy. _l._ ovate-cordate; margins toothed, dark green; petiole red and hairy, like the stems. _fl._ in lax, branching cymes, rose-coloured, 1-1/2in. in diameter. Fruit three-winged, one long and acute, two short and rounded. Spring. Bolivia, 1870. (B. M. 5897.) =B. cucullata= (hooded). A variety of _B. semperflorens_. =B. dædalea= (adorned).* Stem short, thick, succulent. _l._ large, green, thickly covered with a close network of russet-brown, scarlet when young; edges pilose. _fl._ white and rose, in loose panicles. Mexico, 1860. A handsome foliaged plant. (I. H. 1861, 269.) =B. Daveauana.= _See_ =Pellionia Daveauana=. =B. Davisii= (Davis's).* T. stemless, _l._ springing directly from root-stock, ovate-cordate, shining green, slightly hairy, underside red; petiole short, fleshy. Flower-scapes, pedicels, and flowers bright red; scape 4in. high, bearing half a dozen flowers in umbel. Capsule three-winged, one long, two very short. Summer. Peru, 1876. A handsome tuberous-rooted species, dwarf. See Fig. 228, for which we are indebted to Messrs. Veitch and Sons. (B. M. 6252.) =B. dichotoma= (branching). S. Stem tall, stout, fleshy. _l._ 5in. long by 4in. wide, lobed, dull green. _fl._ white, on long axillary scapes, numerous. Winter. 1860. =B. Digswelliana= (Digswell's). Stem short, semi-decumbent, large, green; margins red. _fl._ on long, erect scapes, pale pink, small, numerous. Useful for winter flowering purposes. A garden hybrid. (F. M. 236.) =B. dipetala= (two-petaled). Stems springing from a fleshy root-stock, erect, 18in. high, brown. _l._ half heart-shaped; margins toothed, upper surface thickly spotted with white, under side red. _fl._ in loose axillary cymes, two-petaled, large, pink. Capsule equal-winged. Spring. India, 1828. A handsome species. (B. M. 2849.) SYN. _B. bipetala_. =B. discolor= (two-coloured). Synonymous with _B. Evansiana_. =B. diversifolia= (diverse-leaved). A variety of _B. gracilis_. =B. Dregii= (Drege's).* Rootstock fleshy. Stems succulent; annual, 1ft. high. _l._ oblique, thin, green, slightly spotted with grey, reddish on the under side. _fl._ white, about 1in. across, in axillary cymes. Capsule three-winged, one much longer than the other two, and acute-pointed. Summer. Cape, 1840. SYNS. _B. caffra_, _B. reniformis_. =B. echinosepala= (spiny-sepaled).* Stem green, succulent, 18in. high. _l._ small, obliquely-oblong, serrulate. _fl._ on axillary peduncles, white, with curiously papillose sepals. Summer. Brazil, 1872. (R. G. 707.) =B. elliptica= (elliptic). Synonymous with _B. scandens_. =B. erecta multiflora= (erect, many-flowered). _fl._ bright reddish-pink, produced for several months, but especially during the winter. _l._ oblique, deep bronze coloured, very conspicuous. A decidedly handsome and very useful garden variety. =B. erosa= (bitten). Synonymous with _B. am�na_. =B. Evansiana= (Evans's).* T. Stem herbaceous, branching, smooth, 2ft. high. _l._ oblique, ovate-acute, sub-cordate, lobed; margins denticulate, green above, under side and petioles deep red; flower-stalks branching, axillary. _fl._ numerous, flesh-coloured, large. Capsule wings blunt-pointed, one longer than the others. Summer. Java, China, Japan, 1812. A handsome species, and almost hardy. SYNS. _B. discolor_, _B. grandis_. (B. M. 1473.) =B. eximia= (excellent).* A hybrid, raised from _B. rubro-venia_ and _B. Thwaitesii_. Stem short, succulent. _l._ bronzy-purple, tinged with red. A handsome foliage plant. (I. H. 1860, 233.) =B. falcifolia= (sickle-leaved).* S. Stem 1ft. to 2ft. high, erect, branching. _l._ 6in. long, 1-1/2in. wide, curved, tapering to a narrow point; margins toothed, upper surface green, more or less spotted with white, under side deep red. _fl._ on short axillary peduncles, drooping, dipetalous, bright red. Wings of capsule equal, 1/2in. wide. Summer. Peru, 1868. A pretty flowering plant. (B. M. 5707.) [Illustration: FIG. 228. BEGONIA DAVISII.] =B. ferruginea= (rust-coloured). S. Stem woody, erect, smooth branching, covered with ferruginous hairs. _l._ oblique, ovate-acute, acuminate, lobed; margins toothed. _fl._ in branching cymes, large red. Capsule unequal-winged. Summer. Bogota. SYN. _B. magnifica_. =B. Fischeri= (Fischer's). Similar to _B. falcifolia_, except that the foliage is unspotted, and the flowers are white and small. Brazil, 1835. (B. M. 3532.) =B. foliosa= (leafy).* S. Stem slender, branching, fleshy. _l._ small, ovate-oblong, dark green, numerous, distichous on stems. _fl._ small, numerous, white, tinged with pink. Summer. New Grenada, 1868. Useful for growing hanging baskets. SYN. _B. microphylla_. (Ref. B. 222.) =B. frigida= (frigid). S. Stem 1ft. high, smooth, green, succulent. _l._ cordate, acuminate, lobed, serrated, slightly pilose; upper side coppery-green, beneath deep rose-red, especially upon the veins. _fl._ small, white, in erect branching cymes. Capsule wings two long, one short. Summer. Country unknown, 1860. (B. M. 5160.) =B. Fr�beli= (Fr�bel's).* T. Stemless. _l._ numerous, cordate, acuminate, green, covered with purplish-velvety hairs. _fl._ in tall, lax, drooping, branching cymes, brilliant scarlet, large. Winter. Ecuador, 1872. A beautiful flowering plant, useful for conservatory work in winter. (Garden, pl. 96.) =B. fuchsioides= (Fuchsia-like).* S. Stem tall, drooping, herbaceous, smooth, green, tinged with red. _l._ copious, distichous, 1-1/2in. long, oblong-ovate, slightly falcate, serrated, smooth; margins tinged with red. _fl._ in branching pendulous panicles, numerous, rich, deep scarlet. Capsule wings two very short and one long. Summer. New Grenada, 1846. A handsome greenhouse plant, useful for covering pillars, &c. SYN. _B. miniata_. (B. M. 4281.) =B. f. miniata= (vermilion). _l._ smaller than in type. _fl._ cinnabar red. (F. d. S. 8, 787.) =B. gemmipara= (bud-bearing). S. Stem 1ft. high, from a tuberous root-stock, succulent, _l._ ovate-acuminate, cordate, lobed, smooth above, pilose below. _fl._ medium-sized, white, or with rose stripes, on pendulous, axillary peduncles; sometimes the peduncles bear, instead of flowers, quadrangular cups, which are closely packed with oblong viviparous bulbils. Summer. Himalaya. (C. H. P. 14.) =B. geranifolia= (Geranium-leaved).* Rootstock tuberous. Stem 1ft. high, erect, angular, succulent, green, with a purplish tinge, branched dichotomously. _l._ cordate, cut into unequal serrated lobes, green; margins red, whole plant perfectly smooth; peduncles terminal, bearing two to three flowers, which are inclined, drooping while in bud; outer petals orbicular, red, the two inner obovate, waved white. Summer. Lima, 1833. (B. M. 3387.) =B. geranioides= (Geranium-like).* T. Rootstock fleshy. Stemless. _l._ radical, somewhat reniform, lobed, serrated; surface scabrid, deep green; leafstalks red, hairy. _fl._ white, in lax, drooping panicle. Summer. Natal, 1866. A pretty, though delicate, species. (B. M. 5583.) =B. glandulosa= (glandular-leaved).* Stem a stout rhizome, scaly. Leafstalks thick, terete, erect, hairy, 9in. high. _l._ 6in. broad, fleshy, cordate, lobed, green; veins dark. _fl._ on tall, dark, erect scapes, numerous, greenish-white. Capsule wings, one very large, blunt. Costa Rica, 1854. SYNS. _B. hernandiæfolia_, _B. nigro-venia_. (B. M. 5256.) [Illustration: FIG. 229. BEGONIA HERACLEIFOLIA.] =B. gogoensis= (Gogoan).* _l._ peltate, ovate-orbicular, oblique, acute when young, with a bronzy metallic hue, ultimately changing to a deep velvety-green, intersected by the paler midribs and veins; the under surface deep red. _fl._ pale rose, in a lax panicle. Gogo, in Sumatra, 1881. A very handsome, ornamental-foliaged species. =B. gracilis= (slender).* T. Stem erect, unbranched, very succulent, _l._ thinly scattered along stems, half heart-shaped, slightly hairy, lobed, denticulate-ciliate. _fl._ on short axillary peduncles; umbel of few male and female flowers, two larger petals serrate, colour pink. Capsule winged, green. Mexico, 1829. In axils of leaves between stipules a cluster of bulbils are borne; these may be gathered and sown as seeds. This and its varieties, _annulata_, _diversifolia_, _Martiana_, &c., are beautiful summer flowering greenhouse Begonias, requiring a sandy peat soil and shade. When well grown, they are exceedingly ornamental. (B. M. 2966.) =B. Grahamiana= (Graham's). Synonymous with _B. albo-coccinea_. =B. grandiflora= (large-flowered). Synonymous with _B. octopetala_. =B. grandis= (great). A variety of _B. Rex_. =B. grandis= (great). Synonymous with _B. Evansiana_. =B. grandis= (great). Synonymous with _B. vitifolia_. =B. Griffithii= (Griffith's). Stemless; rhizome subterraneous. _l._ large, obliquely-cordate; margin crenate, hairy; surface granulated, colour a dark green; margin purple, zoned with grey, under side green, centre and margin deep purple. _fl._ on cymes, large, white internally, outside tinged with blush, slightly pilose. Capsule tubercled, one wing large, projecting. Winter. India, 1856. (B. M. 4984.) =B. Hasskarlii= (Hasskarl's). Synonymous with _B. peltata_. =B. heracleifolia= (cow-parsnip leaved). Rootstock thick, fleshy. _l._ radical, on long pilose stalks, palmate, large, bronzy green; margins toothed, hairy. Flower-stalks long, stout, erect, hairy, many-flowered. _fl._ rose-coloured. Capsule wings nearly equal. Spring. Mexico, 1831. This and the following varieties are handsome both in foliage and flowers. SYNS. _B. jatrophæfolia_, _B. punctata_, _B. radiata_. See Fig. 229. (B. M. 3444.) =B. h. longipila= (long-haired). _l._ greyish in middle; outer portions dark bronzy, blotched with green. Whole plant covered with long, stiff, fleshy hairs. _fl._ as in the type. =B. h. nigricans= (dark). This differs from the type in having foliage of a blackish tint all round the margins of the lobes, and the petals of the flowers nearly white. (B. M. 4983.) =B. h. punctata= (dotted). _l._ green, reddish near margin. _fl._ rose-colour, with deep red spots on the outside. =B. herbacea= (herbaceous).* Rhizome creeping. _l._ oblong-acute, lanceolate, toothed, ciliated. Flower-stalks shorter than leaves; male flowers in a cymose head, white, small; female flowers solitary, on very short stalks. Spring. Brazil, 1873. A small species, very succulent, with the appearance of a primrose when not in flower. SYN. _B. attenuata_. (G. C. 1873, 679.) =B. hernandiæfolia= (Hernandia-leaved). Synonymous with _B. glandulosa_. (Seemann.) =B. hernandiæfolia= (Hernandia-leaved). Synonymous with _B. nelumbiifolia_. (Gardens.) =B. hernandiæfolia= (Hernandia-leaved). Synonymous with _B. peltata_. (B. M. 4676.) =B. hirsuta= (hairy). Synonymous with _B. humilis_. =B. Hookeri= (Hooker's). A variety of _B. semperflorens_. =B. Hookeriana= (Hooker's). S. Stem woody, 5ft. to 6ft. high, branching, covered with minute rusty tomentum. _l._ ovate, unequal sided, blunt, 8in. long, tomentose, like the stem. _fl._ in axillary cymes, small, white. Spring. Brazil, 1850. =B. humilis= (dwarf).* Stem erect, fleshy, hairy. _l._ semicordate-oblong, acuminate, ciliate-serrate, hairy above, smooth beneath. _fl._ few, in cymes, small, white. Capsule unequal winged. Summer. Trinidad, 1788. Annual. SYN. _B. hirsuta_. =B. humilis= (dwarf). Synonymous with _B. suaveolens_. (B. R. 294.) =B. hybrida floribunda= (many-flowered).* A very beautiful summer blooming hybrid between _B. fuchsioides_ and _B. multiflora_. _fl._ bright rose, medium sized, produced in abundance. Summer. One of the best. =B. hydrocotylifolia= (Penny-wort-leaved).* Stem succulent, short, creeping. _l._ rotundate cordate, almost equal-sided; petiole short. Whole plant hairy. Flower-stalks 1ft. high, pilose. _fl._ in cymose head, medium-sized, dipetalous, rose-coloured, as also are pedicels and stalk. Capsule wings equal-sized, large. Summer. Mexico, 1841. (B. M. 3968.) =B. h. asarifolia= (Asarum-leaved). Leaves and flowers smaller than in the type, the latter white. Mexico. =B. imperialis= (imperial).* Stem rhizomatous, short, thick. _l._ large, broad, ovate-acute, cordate, rugose, hairy, dark olive-green; nerves banded with greyish-green colour. _fl._ in cymes, white, medium-sized. _fr._ unequal winged. Mexico, 1861. A handsome foliage species. (I. H. 1860, 262.) =B. i. smaragdina= (emerald-like). _l._ shining emerald green. =B. incana= (hoary). Stem erect, fleshy, tomentose. _l._ leathery, peltate, oblong-acute, sub-angular, whitish beneath. Flower-stalks long. _fl._ in small downy panicles, white. Winter. Mexico, 1840. SYN. _B. auriformis_. =B. i. auriformis= (ear-like). _l._ divided at the base, not peltate. _fl._ glabrous. =B. incarnata= (fleshy).* S. Stem erect, fleshy, 2ft. high, smooth; nodes swollen, reddish, spotted. _l._ on short, smooth petioles, unequally cordate, acuminate, sinuately-serrate, green. _fl._ large, rose-coloured, handsome; peduncles terminal, nodding. Capsule with unequal wings, the largest acute. Winter. Mexico, 1822. SYNS. _B. aucubæfolia_, _B. insignis_, _B. Lindleyana_. (B. M. 2900.) =B. i. maculosa= (spotted). _l._ spotted with white. =B. i. metallica= (metallic-leaved). _l._ with a bronzy-purple metallic lustre. =B. i. papillosa= (papillose). Foliage margined with bright rose; upper surface covered with little papillæ. (B. M. 2846.) =B. i. purpurea= (purple-leaved). Foliage deep bronzy-purple. =B. Ingramii= (Ingram's).* A garden hybrid, raised at Frogmore in 1849, from _B. fuchsioides_ and _B. nitida_. It combines the characters of the two parents. A useful winter-flowering plant; may be grown out of doors in summer. (G. M. B., p. 153.) =B. insignis= (remarkable). Synonymous with _B. incarnata_. =B. involucrata= (involucrate). S. Stem erect, tall, angular, covered with a reddish tomentum. _l._ oblique, ovate-acuminate, cordate; margins toothed and ciliate. _fl._ enclosed in a wrapper, or involucre, when young; peduncles graceful, bearing umbel of white, largish flowers. Capsule wings unequal, the largest falcate. Winter. Central America. =B. jatrophæfolia= (Jatropha-leaved). Synonymous with _B. heracleifolia_. =B. Josephi= (Joseph's). Stemless. _l._ radical, on petioles 6in. to 10in. long, ovate-acuminate, three-lobed, or orbicular, with numerous acute lobes, slightly pubescent; scape 1ft., branched. _fl._ small, rose-coloured. Capsule wings unequal; upper margins horizontal. Summer. Himalaya. =B. Kunthiana= (Kunth's).* S. Stem erect, smooth, slender, purple-brown. _l._ on short petioles, lance-shaped, acuminate, regularly serrated, smooth, dark green above, bright crimson below. _fl._ axillary, on short nodding peduncles, white, large, handsome. Summer. Venezuela, 1862. A pretty species. (B. M. 5284.) =B. laciniata= (cut-leaved).* Rhizome thick, fleshy. Stem short, thick, jointed, reddish, woolly. _l._ large, 6in. to 10in. long, 4in. to 6in. broad, unequally cordate; margins irregularly cut, serrated; upper side green, under dull, rufous. _fl._ on short axillary peduncles, large, white, tinted with rose. Capsule wings, one very long, others short. Spring. Nepaul to Birma, South China, 1858. SYN. _B. Bowringiana_. (B. M. 5182.) =B. Leopoldi= (Leopold's). A hybrid from _B. Griffithii_ and _B. splendida_, with large variegated foliage. 1858. =B. Lindleyana= (Lindley's).* S. Stem erect, fleshy, covered with ferruginous hairs. _l._ on long petioles, peltate, ovate, acute, 5in. to 6in. long, 3in. to 4in. wide, irregularly lobed, toothed, green above, tomentose below. _fl._ on branching peduncles, medium sized, white. Winter. Guatemala. =B. Lindleyana= (Lindley's). A garden synonym of _B. incarnata_. (Gardens.) =B. longipes= (long-stalked). S. Stem 3ft. or more high, stout, succulent, furrowed, covered with glands. _l._ large, rotundate-cordate; margin irregular, serrated, both sides green, pubescent when young. _fl._ numerous, small, white; peduncle 1ft. long, branched. Winter. Colombia, 1829. (B. M. 3001.) =B. longipila= (long-haired). A variety of _B. heracleifolia_. =B. lucida= (shining). Synonymous with _B. scandens_. =B. Lynchiana= (Lynch's). S. Stem erect, tall, succulent, smooth. _l._ fleshy, 10in. long, oblique, ovate-cordate, crenulate, green, smooth. _fl._ axillary, in drooping cymes, numerous, large, deep reddish-crimson. Winter. Mexico, 1880. One of the finest of the tall-growing winter-flowering species. When well managed, the flower-heads are almost a foot in diameter. SYN. _B. Roezlii_, of gardens. (B. M. 6758.) [Illustration: FIG. 230. BEGONIA MACULATA, showing Habit, Section of Capsule, and Flower.] =B. maculata= (spotted).* S. A woody shrub. Stems branching, smooth. _l._ oblique, ovate-oblong, leathery, slightly undulate; margins entire, under side bright crimson, above green, with numerous large round blotches of silvery white. _fl._ in drooping panicles, coral-like, handsome. Capsule with one long, narrow wing. Summer. Brazil, 1821. (B. R. 666.) There are numerous varieties of this species, some with leaves almost green, others with the markings more striking than in the type; in the flowers they differ also, ranging from white to coral-red. The beautiful _B. corallina_ is probably a variety of this. SYN. _B. argyrostigma_. See Fig. 230. =B. magnifica= (magnificent).* S. Stem erect, fleshy, smooth. _l._ ovate, unequal sided, toothed. _fl._ in terminal, cymose panicles, rosy-carmine, 1-1/2in. long. New Grenada, 1870. (R. H. 1870, 271.) =B. magnifica= (magnificent). Synonymous with _B. ferruginea_. =B. malabarica= (Malabar).* Stem thick, succulent, 2ft. high, branching. _l._ numerous, cordate, acute, unequal-sided, crenate or serrate, hairy above and sometimes below, or altogether glabrous, spotted white. _fl._ rose-coloured; peduncles axillary, short, few-flowered. Capsule wings equal, joined above and below. Summer. Malabar and Ceylon, 1828. _B. dipetala_ is made a variety of this, by Sir Joseph Hooker, in "Flora of British India." (L. B. C. 1730.) [Illustration: FIG. 231. BEGONIA MANICATA.] =B. manicata= (tunicated).* Stem fleshy, twisted, short. _l._ oblique, ovate-acute, cordate, dentate-ciliate, smooth on both sides, shining green nerves on under side, with fleshy, scale-like hairs. _fl._ pink, dipetalous, in branching cymes; upper portion of stalk scaly. Capsule wings nearly equal. Winter. Mexico, 1842. See Fig. 231. =B. Manni= (Mann's). S. Stem succulent, 2ft. to 3ft. high, branched, green; branchlets, young parts, petioles, and leaf-nerves clothed with rusty, furfuraceous pubescence. _l._ petioled, 5in. long, 2in. wide, lanceolate, cordate, acuminate, toothed. _fl._ numerous, rose-red, in axillary cymes; peduncle 1in. long. Capsule linear, densely tomentose. Winter. Fernando Po, 1862. (B. M. 5434.) =B. marmorea= (spotted). A variety of _B. xanthina_. =B. Martiana= (Martin's). A variety of _B. gracilis_. =B. maxima= (large).* Rhizome thick, hairy, creeping. _l._ large, oblique, orbicular-ovate, cordate, shortly acuminate; margins denticulate ciliate; petiole long, pilose. _fl._ in branching cymes; sepals orbicular, pilose on the outside, white. Summer. Mexico, 1853. =B. megaphylla= (large-leaved).* Stem short, thick, fleshy. _l._ large, palmate, cordate; lobes numerous, pointed; margins hairy, under side slightly pilose; nerves with scaly hairs. _fl._ in diffuse cymes, small, white; peduncles pilose. Capsule wings wide. Winter. Mexico. =B. metallica= (metallic). A variety of _B. incarnata_. =B. Meyeri= (Meyer's). S. Stem erect, stout, woody when mature. _l._ large, broadly and obliquely ovate, fleshy, pale green; margin sinuate, under side tinged with rose; both petiole and blade covered with short hairs. _fl._ on long axillary peduncles, in large paniculate heads, white. Capsule wings equal. Summer. Brazil, 1844. (B. M. 4100.) =B. microphylla= (small-leaved). Synonymous with _B. foliosa_. =B. microptera= (small-winged). Stem 1ft. high, terete, green, pubescent, as in the rest of the plant. Branches few. _l._ sub-distichous, 4in. to 6in. long, ovate-lanceolate, acuminate, serrated, dark green; petiole short; stipules as long as petiole. _fl._ in terminal panicles, medium-sized, white, tinted rose. Capsule long, triangular, two angles wingless, the other with a narrow wing. Winter. Borneo, 1856. (B. M. 4974.) =B. miniata= (vermilion). A variety of _B. fuchsioides_. =B. monoptera= (single-winged).* Stem erect, 1ft. to 2ft. high, rounded, swollen at the joints, dull red, papillose and downy. Radical leaves on long red stalks, large, reniform, truncate at the base; caulescent leaves smaller, on short petioles, angled, crenate, dark green above, red below, and minutely papillose. _fl._ on an elongated terminal raceme, white. Capsule three-angled, two wingless, the other with a long pointed wing. Summer. Brazil, 1826. A distinct and pretty species. (B. M. 3564.) =B. Moritziana= (Moritz's). Synonymous with _B. scandens_. =B. natalensis= (Natal).* T. Rootstock thick, fleshy. Stem 1-1/2ft. high, succulent, thick at the base, articulate, branched, smooth. _l._ unequal, semicordate, acuminate, lobed, toothed, spotted with white. _fl._ on axillary cymose peduncles, pale rose. _fr._ three-winged, two large, one small. Winter. Natal, 1855. (B. M. 4841.) =B. nelumbiifolia= (Nelumbium-leaved).* Rhizome thick, fleshy, creeping. _l._ on long hairy petioles; blade 12in. to 18in. long, 8in. to 12in. wide, peltate, hairy on under side; scape 1ft. to 2ft. high. _fl._ in cymose head, numerous, small, white or rose coloured. Winter. Mexico. A noble-foliaged plant. SYN. _B. hernandiæfolia_. =B. nemophila.= Synonymous with _B. Cathcartii_. =B. nigro-venia= (black-veined). Synonymous with _B. glandulosa_. =B. nitida= (shining).* S. Stem 4ft. to 5ft. high, erect, branched, woody when aged, smooth, shining. _l._ large, glossy, green on both sides, obliquely ovate, acute, crenated at margin. _fl._ in terminal and axillary panicles, numerous, large, deep rose, handsome. Capsule three-winged, one much larger than others. Jamaica, 1777. One of the best winter, and almost a perpetual, flowering species. SYNS. _B. obliqua_, _B. pulchra_, _B. purpurea_. (B. M. 4046.) =B. obliqua= (oblique). Synonymous with _B. nitida_. =B. octopetala= (eight-petaled).* T. Stemless. _l._ on long succulent downy petioles, 1-1/2ft. or more in length, cordate, 6in. long, deeply lobed and serrated at the margin, bright green; scape as long as petioles, rounded, downy. _fl._ in corymbs, greenish-white, males with eight petals, females generally fewer. Capsule three-angled, two wings almost suppressed, the other 1in. long; apex blunt, toothed. Autumn. Peru, 1835. SYN. _B. grandiflora_. (B. M. 3559.) =B. odorata= (sweet-scented). Synonymous with _B. suaveolens_. =B. opuliflora= (Guelder-rose-flowered).* S. Stem 1ft. high, branching, smooth. _l._ ovate oblong-acuminate, toothed, smooth above, hairy below. _fl._ white, in compact umbels, on erect scapes. Spring. New Grenada, 1854. =B. Ottoniana= (Otton's). A hybrid from _B. conchæfolia_ and _B. coriacea_. (R. G. 1859, p. 15.) =B. papillosa= (papillose). A variety of _B. incarnata_. =B. Pearcei= (Pearce's).* T. Stem 1ft. high, succulent, branching. _l._ lance-shaped, cordate, pointed, toothed, glabrous above, tomentose beneath, and pale red. _fl._ in loose axillary panicles, large, bright yellow. Summer. Bolivia, 1865. Interesting because of its being one of the progenitors of the handsome race of garden tuberous Begonias. =B. peltata= (shield-like). Stem short, tomentose; leaves 6in. by 4in., peltate, ovate, densely pilose. _fl._ in branching cyme, small, white; peduncle 6in. to 9in., pilose. Brazil, 1815. Interesting because of its distinctly peltate foliage and silvery appearance of whole plant. SYNS. _B. coriacea_, _B. Hasskarlii_, _B. hernandiæfolia_, _B. peltifolia_. =B. peltifolia= (peltate-leaved). Synonymous with _B. peltata_. =B. phyllomaniaca= (proliferous-stemmed). S. Stem thick, fleshy, rather twisted, green, hairy, clothed, when old, with small viviparous buds bearing small leaves, by which means the plant may be multiplied. _l._ ovate, acuminate, cordate, sinuately lobed, ciliate, smooth above and below. _fl._ in axillary cymes, drooping, pale rose. Capsule with one large wing. Winter. Guatemala, 1861. (B. M. 5254.) =B. picta= (ornamented).* T. Stem generally smooth, succulent, 6in. to 12in. high. _l._ ovate acuminate, nearly equally cordate, serrated, hairy above and on the nerves below, sometimes variegated. _fl._ pale rose, large, handsome; peduncle hairy, erect, short, few-flowered. Autumn. Himalaya, 1870. (S. E. B. 101.) =B. platanifolia= (plane-leaved).* S. Stem 5ft. to 6ft. high, erect, robust, smooth, green; joints annulated. _l._ 8in. to 10in. in diameter, reniform, lobed, hispid on both sides, dark green; lobes acute, toothed, ciliated. _fl._ in axillary, dichotomous cymes, large, white, tinted rose, handsome. Summer. Brazil, 1834. (B. M. 3591.) [Illustration: FIG. 232. BEGONIA POLYPETALA.] =B. polypetala= (many-petaled). Stem about 1ft. high, covered with a soft whitish tomentum. _l._ ovate-acute, toothed, pubescent above, and densely tomentose below. _fl._, petals nine or ten, of a fine red colour, smooth, external ones ovate-oblong, pointed; internal ones somewhat shorter and narrower; sepals two, ovate-elliptic. Capsule tomentose, three-winged, with one wing larger, ascendent. Winter. Andes of Peru, 1878. See Fig. 232. (Garden, Dec. 14, 1878.) =B. prestoniensis= (Preston).* A garden hybrid between _B. cinnabarina_ and _B. nitida_. _l._ green, lobed, glabrous. _fl._ brilliant orange-red, in drooping axillary cymes, very fragrant. Autumn and winter. 1867. (G. M. B. 3, 149.) =B. prismatocarpa= (prism-fruited).* Stems small, creeping, hairy; branchlets ascending. _l._ long, petioled, also hairy, obliquely cordate, ovate, three to five-lobed; lobes pointed, serrated; peduncles axillary, longer than foliage, bearing a small umbel of two to four dipetalous orange and yellow flowers, one female in each umbel. Capsule four-angled, scarcely winged. Summer. Tropical West Africa, 1861. The smallest of cultivated Begonias, and especially interesting because of its four-angled fruit. It forms a pretty cushion of bright shining green foliage, thickly studded with its brightly coloured flowers. Requires a stove temperature and a stony soil. (B. M. 5307.) =B. pruinata= (frosted).* Stem short, thick, fleshy, smooth. _l._ large, peltate, ovate, angular-sinuate, minutely-toothed; surface smooth, glaucous; margins pilose, on stout, fleshy petioles. _fl._ in large dense dichotomous, or small cymes, white. Winter. Central America, 1870. (R. B. 247.) =B. pulchra= (fair). Synonymous with _B. nitida_. =B. punctata= (dotted). A variety of _B. heracleifolia_. =B. purpurea= (purple). Synonymous with _B. acutifolia_. =B. purpurea= (purple). Synonymous with _B. nitida_. =B. Putzeysiana= (Putzeys'). S. Stem erect, branching, smooth. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, acute, toothed, glabrous, under side spotted with white. _fl._ in copious small corymbs, white and rose, small. Capsule small, with rather large obtuse wings. Winter. Venezuela, 1871. =B. radiata= (rayed). Synonymous with _B. heracleifolia_. =B. ramentacea= (scaly).* S. Stem erect, branching, brown, scaly, as also are the leafstalks and peduncles. _l._ ovate, reniform, oblique; margins slightly angulate, recurved, under side red, scaly; peduncles branching. _fl._ drooping, pink and white, pretty. Capsule, when ripe, a bright scarlet; wings large. Spring. Brazil, 1839. (P. M. B. 12-73). =B. reniformis= (kidney-formed). Synonymous with _B. Dregei_. (Gardens.) =B. reniformis= (kidney-formed). Synonymous with _B. vitifolia_. (Hook.) [Illustration: FIG. 233. BEGONIA REX.] =B. Rex= (Royal).* Stemless; rhizome fleshy, creeping, subterraneous. Leafstalk round, red, setose. _l._ 8in. to 12in. long, 6in. to 8in. broad, ovate, oblique, sides unequal, cordate, villose; margins toothed, surface bullate, dark olive-green, with a metallic lustre, a broad silvery zone running all round, about 1in. from the margin. _fl._ in erect branching cyme, large, pale rose. Capsule wings, two short, one long and rounded. Assam, 1858. See Fig. 233. (B. M. 5101.) This magnificent species is the principal progenitor of the numerous ornamental-foliaged Begonias, a selection of which are given below. Most of them are well worth growing, but those named have been selected from a large number: MADAME WAGNER,* _l._ large, profound green, banded by a broad silvery zone, especially fine; MARSHALLI, _l._ very large, the margins and very centre dark green, while the greater portion of the surface is covered with a silvery-grey; REGINA,* _l._ rich olive-green, banded with a broad zone of bronze-red and silvery-grey, rendering it very attractive; ROI LEOPOLD,* _l._ on long stout petioles, very large, deep bronze-red in the centre, with a broad border of a rather lighter shade, very effective; ROLLISONI,* _l._ large, on long stalks, rich velvety-green, banded with silvery-grey; SPLENDIDA ARGENTEA,* _l._ large, of a greyish hue, veined with white, and tinged with bronze-red, very beautiful. The following varieties are also very good: ADRIEN ROBINE,* BERTHE PROUTIERE, CHARLES HOVEY, DISTINCTION,* JULIA SEROT,* LOUISE CHRETIEN,* MADAME J. MENOREAU,* NARGA,* NAVALA,* TALISMAN, W. E. GUMBLETON. =B. Richardsiana= (Richards').* T. Stem 1ft. high, erect, fleshy, with slender branches. _l._ palmately lobed, the lobes sinuate or toothed. _fl._ white, males bipetalous, females with five petals. Cymes axillary near ends of branches, few-flowered. Capsule three-winged, wings equal. Summer. Natal, 1871. (G. C., 1871, p. 1065.) =B. R. diadema= (of gardens).* This is referred to here because of its close resemblance to the above. It is most likely a hybrid between _B. Richardsiana_ and _B. dipetala_. _l._ palmately lobed, rather large, spotted with white. _fl._ large, rose-coloured. Summer. 1881. =B. ricinifolia= (Ricinus-leaved).* A garden hybrid between _B. heracleifolia_ and _B. peponifolia_. _l._ large, bronzy green, in shape like those of the Castor-oil plant. _fl._ numerous, on an erect scape. Winter. 1847. =B. Roezlii= (Roezl's). Synonymous with _B. Lynchiana_. =B. rosacea= (rosy). Stem succulent, short. _l._ ovate obtuse, slightly pubescent, toothed; petioles long, pilose. _fl._ in few-flowered cymes, medium-sized, rose-coloured. New Grenada, 1860. (Garden, pl. 152.) =B. rosæflora= (rose-flowered).* T. Stemless. Petioles, scapes, bracts, and stipules bright red. _l._ green, 2in. to 4in. wide, on stout hairy petioles, 2in. to 6in. long, orbicular-reniform, concave; margins lobed, red, toothed. Scapes stout, villous, three-flowered. _fl._ 2in. across, bright rose-red. Summer. Peru, 1867. One of the parents of the popular race of tuberous-rooted large-flowered Begonias. (B. M. 5680.) =B. rubricaulis= (red-stalked).* Stemless. Leafstalks, peduncles, pedicels, and ovaries, a deep red colour. _l._ obliquely ovate, 4in. to 6in. long, slightly hairy, bright green, wrinkled; margins toothed and ciliated. Scape 1ft. high, erect, stout, branching at the top, forming a head of about a dozen flowers, which are large, white inside, rose-tinted outside. Capsule with one large wing, the others almost suppressed. Summer. Peru, 1834. (B. M. 4131.) =B. rubro-venia= (red-veined).* Rootstock thick. Stems 12in. to 18in. high, red, pubescent. _l._ 4in. to 6in. long, elliptic or lanceolate acuminate, entire or slightly angular, toothed, green spotted with white above, purplish-brown below. Scapes axillary, red. _fl._ in cymose head; outer segments white with rose-red veins, inner segments pure white. Summer. Sikkim, &c., 1853. (B. M. 4689.) =B. sanguinea= (blood-red). S. Stems woody when old, tall, stout, red, with scattered paler spots. _l._ 4in. to 6in. long, unequally cordate, acuminate, thick and somewhat fleshy in texture, minutely crenate, green above, deep red below; peduncles axillary, long, erect, red. _fl._ in a branching cyme, rather small, white. Capsule wings sub-equal. Spring. Brazil, 1836. (B. M. 3520.) =B. scabrida= (rough). Stem stout, erect, somewhat succulent, covered with small tubercles. _l._ 6in. long, oblique, ovate-acute, cordate, toothed, slightly hairy. _fl._ white, small; cyme many-flowered. Capsule wings equal, large. Venezuela, 1857. =B. scandens= (climbing).* Stem flexuose, fleshy, creeping or climbing, smooth. _l._ 4in. long, ovate acuminate, sub-cordate; margins irregularly toothed, pale shining green. _fl._ in axillary branching cymes, white, small. South America, 1874. Useful either as a basket plant or for training against moist walls. SYNS. _B. elliptica_, _B. lucida_, _B. Moritziana_. (R. G. 758.) =B. sceptrum= (princely). S. _l._ obliquely ovate in outline, deeply lobed on one side; lobes oblong; obtuse, veins sunk, and the raised spaces between marked with large silvery blotches, and numerous smaller dots of silver grey. Brazil, 1883. =B. Schmidtiana= (Schmidt's).* Stems 1ft. high, branching, herbaceous. _l._ obliquely cordate, ovate-acute, small, dark metallic green above, tinged with red below. _fl._ in loose drooping axillary panicles, white, small, numerous. Winter. Brazil, 1879. (R. G. 990.) =B. scutellata= (salver-like). Synonymous with _B. conchæfolia_. [Illustration: FIG. 234. BEGONIA SEMPERFLORENS FRAU MARIA BRANDT, showing Habit and Flower.] =B. Sedeni= (Seden's). T. A garden hybrid between _B. boliviensis_ and _B. Veitchii_. Summer. 1869. A handsome plant, but much inferior to many of the more recent hybrids. (R. H. 1872, 90.) =B. semperflorens= (always-flowering).* Stem fleshy, erect, smooth, reddish-green. _l._ ovate-rotundate, hardly cordate; margins serrated, ciliated, surface smooth, shining green. _fl._ on axillary stalks, near apex of stems, white or rose, rather large. Capsule wings two short, one long, rounded. Autumn. Brazil, 1829. A useful summer and autumn flowering species, of which there are several named varieties more or less distinct from the type, either in colour or size of flowers, or in habit of plant. The varieties _carminea_, _gigantea_, and _rosea_ are perhaps the best. SYN. _B. spathulata_. (B. M. 2920.) =B. s. Frau Maria Brandt.= A dwarf compact variety, with rose-tinted flowers. See Fig. 234. =B. socotrana= (Socotra).* Stem annual, stout and succulent, forming at base a cluster of bulbils, each of which produces a plant the following year; sparsely hairy. _l._ dark green, orbicular, peltate, 4in. to 7in. across, centre depressed; margin recurved, crenate. _fl._ in terminal, few-flowered cymes, 1-1/2in. to 2in. wide, bright rose. Capsule three-angled, one-winged. Winter. Socotra, 1880. Should be rested through the summer, and started in heat in September. A distinct and beautiful species. (B. M. 6555.) =B. spathulata= (spathulate). Synonymous with _B. semperflorens_. =B. stigmosa= (branded).* Rhizome creeping, fleshy. _l._ 6in. to 8in. long, oblique, cordate-acute, irregularly toothed, smooth above, hairy beneath, green, with brownish-purple blotches; stalks scaly, as in _B. manicata_. _fl._ in cymose panicles, white, medium-sized, numerous. Brazil, 1845. =B. strigillosa= (strigillose).* Rhizome short, fleshy, creeping, _l._ 4in. to 6in. long, oblique, ovate-acute, cordate-toothed; margins ciliate, red; stalk and blade covered with fleshy scales; blade smooth, blotched with brown. _fl._ in branching cymes, dipetalous, small, rose-coloured. Summer. Central America, 1851. =B. suaveolens= (sweet-scented). S. Stem branching, 2ft. high, smooth. _l._ 3in. to 4in. long, oblique-ovate, cordate-acute, crenulate, glabrous. _fl._ in axillary panicles, large, white. Winter. Central America, 1816. Resembles _B. nitida_, but may be distinguished by its distinctly crenulate leaves and smaller flowers, which are white, and not pale rose, as in _B. nitida_. SYN. _B. odorata_. (L. B. C. 69.) =B. Sutherlandi= (Sutherland's).* T. Stems annual, 1ft. to 2ft. high, slender, graceful, red-purple. _l._ on slender red petioles, 2in. to 3in. long; blade 4in. to 6in. long, ovate-lanceolate, deeply lobed at base; margins serrate, bright green; nerves bright red. _fl._ in axillary and terminal cymes, numerous, orange-red, shaded with dark vinous-red. Capsule wings equal. Summer. Natal, 1867. (B. M. 5689.) =B. Teuscheri= (Teuscher's). S. A strong, erect-growing, large-leaved plant, from the Dutch Indies, not yet flowered. _l._ cordate-ovate, acute, olive-green above, with greyish blotches; under side rich claret-coloured. Hort. Linden. (I. II. 1879, 358.) =B. Thwaitesii= (Thwaites's).* Stemless. _l._ 2in. to 4in. in diameter, obtuse or sub-acute, cordate at base, minutely toothed, slightly pubescent, very shaggy when young, rich coppery-green, red-purple and blotched with white; under side blood red. _fl._ in an umbel, medium-sized; scape short, white. Capsule shaped like a Beech nut; wings short. Ceylon, 1852. One of the most beautiful of coloured-leaved Begonias, requiring a close, moist atmosphere in a stove. (B. M. 4692.) =B. ulmifolia= (Elm-leaved). S. Stem 2ft. to 4ft. high, branching. _l._ 3in. to 4in. long, ovate-oblong, unequal-sided, toothed, rugose, hairy. _fl._ on hairy peduncles, numerous, small, white. Capsule wings two small, one large, ovate. Winter. Venezuela, 1854. (L. C. 638.) =B. undulata= (wavy-leaved). S. Stem 2ft. to 3ft. high, erect, branching freely, turgid below, green, succulent until old. _l._ distichous, oblong-lanceolate, undulated, smooth, shining green. _fl._ in nodding axillary cymes, white, small. Winter. Brazil, 1826. (B. M. 2723.) =B. urophylla= (caudate-leaved). Stemless. Leafstalks terete, succulent, clothed with scattered bristly hairs. _l._ large, 12in. long, broad, cordate; margin irregularly cut, toothed; apex long-pointed, green, smooth above, hairy beneath; peduncle stout, paniculate. _fl._ crowded, large, dipetalous, white. Spring. Brazil. (B. M. 4855.) =B. Veitchii= (Veitch's).* T. Stem very short, thick, fleshy, green. _l._ orbiculate, cordate, lobed and incised; margins ciliated, green, principal nerves radiating from bright carmine spot near centre; under side pale green; petiole thick, terete, with a few hairs on the upper portion; scape 10in. to 12in. high, thick, terete, pilose, two-flowered. _fl._ 2-1/4in. in diameter, cinnabar red. Capsule smooth, two short, one long wings. Summer. Peru, 1867. One of the species from which the popular garden tuberous-rooted Begonias have been obtained. (B. M. 5663.) =B. Verschaffeltiana= (Verschaffelt's).* A hybrid between _B. carolinæfolia_ and _B. manicata_, with large ovate acutely-lobed leaves and flowers in large cymes, rose-coloured and pendent. Winter. (R. G. 1855, p. 248.) =B. vitifolia= (Vine-leaved). S. Stem 3ft. to 4ft. high, thick, smooth, and fleshy. _l._ large as vine foliage, and similar in shape; peduncles axillary, erect, branching into a cymose head of small white flowers. Capsules three-angled, one-winged. Winter. Brazil, 1833. SYNS. _B. grandis_, _B. reniformis_. (B. M. 3225.) =B. Wagneriana= (Wagner's). S. Stem 2ft. to 3ft. high, erect, glabrous, green, succulent, branched. _l._ cordate-ovate, acuminate; margins obscurely lobed, slightly serrate, quite glabrous; peduncles axillary and terminal, cymose. _fl._ numerous, white. Capsules, which are ripened in abundance, three-angled, one wing long, two short. Winter. Venezuela, 1856. (B. M. 4988.) =B. Warscewiczii= (Warscewicz's). Synonymous with _B. conchæfolia_. =B. Weltoniensis= (Welton). A garden hybrid; one of the oldest of cultivated winter-flowering kinds, with light pink flowers, very free. =B. xanthina= (yellow-flowered).* Stem short, thick, fleshy, horizontal, along with petioles thickly-clothed with brown scaly hairs; petioles 6in. to 12in. long, stout, terete, fleshy, reddish-brown; blade 8in. to 12in. long, cordate-ovate, acuminate, sinuate-ciliated, dark green above, purplish beneath. Flower-stalks erect, 1ft. high, bearing a cymose head of large golden flowers. Capsule with one large wing. Summer. Boutan, 1850. (B. M. 4683.) =B. x. Lazuli= (Lapis-lazuli).* Foliage metallic purple, with a bluish tinge. =B. x. pictifolia= (ornamented-leaved).* _l._ with large silvery spots, and pale yellow flowers. The following list comprises a selection of some of the best and most distinct of the innumerable varieties now existing in gardens, and which have been obtained by crossing and re-crossing the several tuberous-rooted species found in the temperate regions of South America. [Illustration: FIG. 235. FLOWERING BRANCH OF BEGONIA ADMIRATION.] =Single-Flowered Varieties.= _Crimson and Scarlet Shaded_: ADMIRATION, flowers vivid orange-scarlet, of dwarf, compact habit, and free flowering (see Fig. 235); ARTHUR G. SOAMES,* brilliant crimson scarlet, of excellent form, and very free; BALL OF FIRE,* glowing fiery-scarlet, flowers large and compact, very free; BLACK DOUGLAS,* dark carmine crimson, flowers large, of the finest form, one of the best; BRILLIANT, deep orange-scarlet, very free; CHARLES BALTET, rich velvety vermilion; COMMODORE FOOT,* brilliant velvety crimson, very free and showy; DAVISII, flowers small, dazzling scarlet, habit dwarf and free; DR. MASTERS,* flowers large, with immense spikes, deep red-crimson, very attractive; DR. SEWELL,* glowing crimson, grand form; EXONIENSIS, brilliant orange-scarlet, immense flowers; F. E. LAING, deep velvety crimson, full and free; HON. MRS. BRASSEY,* deep glowing crimson, very rich and floriferous; J. H. LAING,* brilliant scarlet, one of the freest; J. W. FERRAND,* rich vermilion, dwarf and free, one of the finest for bedding; LOTHAIR,* dark scarlet-carmine, crimson shaded, of grand form and size; MARQUIS OF BUTE, brilliant carmine-crimson, of the finest form, and immense flowers; SCARLET GEM,* very dark scarlet, flowers medium-sized, dwarf and very floriferous; SEDENI, rich rosy-crimson, dwarf, a good bedder; VESUVIUS,* bright orange-scarlet, compact and free, one of the finest bedders. [Illustration: FIG. 236. BEGONIA QUEEN OF WHITES.] _Rose-Coloured_: ALBERT CROUSS�,* bright salmon-rose, very free; ANNIE LAING,* large and free, rich pink; CAPT. THOMPSON, rich salmon-rose, very free and compact; DELICATUM, pale flesh-rose; EXQUISITE,* rich deep rose, very free and showy; J. AUBREY CLARK, flowers very large, rich, deep; JESSIE,* soft rosy-pink, with the tips of the petals shaded carmine, a very fine, perfect variety; LADY BROOKE,* dark rose, shaded magenta, very perfect in form, and large; LADY HUME CAMPBELL,* pale pink, of good form and size, an exquisite variety; MADAME STELLA,* flowers perfect in form, large, bright rosy-pink, one of the best; MARCHIONESS OF BUTE, light rosy-pink, with an immense bloom and handsome foliage; PENELOPE,* rich salmon-rose, very free and good; PRINCESS OF WALES, very delicate pink, and free; ROSE D'AMOUR, rich rose, delicately shaded. _White-Flowered_: ALBA FLORIBUNDA, flowers medium-sized, very free; MOONLIGHT, very free, with good flowers and handsome foliage; MRS. LAING,* flowers exquisite in form and shape, pure white, one of the best; NYMPH,* large and round, white, tinted with rose at the base; PRINCESS BEATRICE,* flowers large, of excellent form, and pure in colour; PURITY, flowers round, good size and colour; QUEEN OF WHITES,* flowers pure white, large, most freely produced (see Fig. 236, for which we are indebted to Messrs. Veitch and Sons); REINE BLANCHE,* one of the best, very pure; SNOWFLAKE,* flowers large, in full spikes, pure white, habit compact, and very free. _Yellow and Orange-Flowered_: CHROMATELLA,* habit dwarf and compact, pure yellow; EMPRESS OF INDIA, deep yellow, very showy; GEM OF YELLOWS,* rich deep yellow, of grand form and size, one of the best; GOLDEN GEM,* rich golden yellow, of excellent form and size, habit free, with prettily mottled foliage; J. L. MACFARLANE, rich orange, freest form, and large; LADY TREVOR LAWRENCE,* orange-yellow, of good form, with handsome foliage; MAUDE CHURCHILL,* pale yellow, deeper shaded, with elegant foliage; MRS. PONTIFEX,* rich orange yellow, very large flowers, copiously produced; POLLIE, pale yellow, fine round flower; SULPHUR QUEEN,* pale sulphur-yellow, of good form and size. =Double-Flowered Varieties.= _Crimson and Scarlet Shaded_: ACHILLES, rich dark crimson, very large and free; DAVISII HYBRIDA FL.-PL.,* rich coral-red, very full and free; DAVISII FL.-PL. SUPERBA,* brilliant crimson-scarlet, of good size, and extremely free; DR. DUKE,* brilliant scarlet, very large and double, one of the best; FRANCIS BUCHNER,* rich cerise-red, very double, perfect in form, and very large; FULGURANT, rich crimson, full, with dark foliage; GLOIRE DE NANCY,* rich vermilion, very free; HERCULES,* bright orange-scarlet, very large and extremely free, habit compact and vigorous; LEMOINEI, deep orange-vermilion, very floriferous; MONSIEUR BAUER, deep red, tinged with violet; NIMROD,* rich red-scarlet, very large and full, with a free and very vigorous habit; PRESIDENT BURELLE,* glowing red, tinted with scarlet, very free; QUEEN OF DOUBLES,* rich rosy-crimson, very double and floriferous, one of the best varieties; ROBERT BURNS,* brilliant orange-scarlet, tinted vermilion, very double and free; SIR GARNET, deep orange-scarlet, very vigorous; WM. BEALBY,* deep velvety scarlet, immense size and perfect form, very free. _Rose-Coloured_: ADA,* bright rosy-salmon, fringed at the edge, very full and free; COMTESSE H. DE CHOISEUL, pale rose, at first nearly white, very handsome; ESTHER,* rich rosy pink, with a distinct crimson margin; FORMOSA,* rich rosy carmine, with a white centre and crimson margin, very distinct and showy; GLORY OF STANSTEAD,* deep rose, with a well-defined white centre, very distinct and handsome; JOHN T. POE,* bright rose, tinted with cerise, of excellent form and vigorous habit; MADAME COMESSE,* rich satiny salmon-rose, immense, and most profuse; MADAME LEON SIMON, soft pale rose, very full and free; MARIE LEMOINE, light salmon with a rose centre; MRS. BRISSENDEN,* salmon-rose, with a cream-white centre, of excellent form and very free; P�ONIFLORA, flowers enormous, rich salmon-rose, very full; QUEEN OF SCOTS,* satiny-pink, salmon-shaded, of a perfect form and very large, habit compact and very free; ROSINA,* deep rose, violet shaded, of exquisite form, very vigorous and free. _White-Flowered_: ANTOINETTE QUERIN,* pure white, cream, shaded centre, very large and full, a magnificent variety; BLANCHE JEANPIERRE, pure white, cream tinted, of excellent form and very free; LITTLE GEM,* pure white, of the best form and good size, habit dwarf and extremely floriferous; MRS. LUDLAM,* white, tinted with pink, a very handsome variety; PRINCESS OF WALES,* flowers very full and profuse, almost pure in colour, and immense. _Yellow-flowered_: CANARY BIRD,* flowers large, of the finest form, deep yellow, habit dwarf and very free; GABRIEL LEGROS,* pale sulphur, changing to yellow, very full and imbricated, extremely showy. =BEGONIACE�.= An order comprising a large number of useful garden plants. The only genera are _Begonia_ and _Begoniella_ (which is not yet in cultivation). Flowers apetalous; perianth single; pistillate flowers having the perianth two to eight-cleft, staminate ones two to four-cleft; stamens numerous, collected into a head. Leaves alternate, stipulate. _See_ =Begonia=. =BEJARIA.= _See_ =Befaria=. =BELLADONNA.= _See_ =Atropa=. =BELLADONNA LILY.= _See_ =Amaryllis Belladonna=. =BELLEVALIA= (named in honour of P. R. Belleval, a French botanist). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. This genus is now usually placed under _Hyacinthus_. Hardy, bulbous-rooted plants, admirably adapted for spring bedding or forcing, and invaluable as cut flowers. Flowers small, whitish, or violet, tinged with green. Leaves few, radical, broadly linear. They are of extremely easy culture in ordinary garden soil. Propagated by offsets; also by seeds, which should be sown as soon as ripe. =B. operculata= (lid-covered). Synonymous with _B. romana_. =B. romana= (Roman).* Roman Hyacinth. _fl._ white, racemose; perianth campanulate; pedicels longer than the flowers. April. _l._ from 4in. to 5in. long. _h._ 6in. Italy, 1596. A most desirable plant, and the best of the genus for forcing purposes. SYNS. _B. operculata_ and _Hyacinthus romanus_. (B. M. 939, under the name of _Scilla romana_.) _See_ =Hyacinthus=. =B. syriaca= (Syrian).* _fl._ white; peduncles spreading, racemose. May. _l._ glaucous, 1ft. long, channelled, rather scarious on the margins. _h._ 1ft. Syria, 1840. =BELL-FLOWER.= _See_ =Campanula=. [Illustration: FIG. 237. FRENCH BELL GLASS, OR CLOCHE.] [Illustration: FIG. 238. ENGLISH BELL GLASS.] =BELL GLASSES=, or =CLOCHES=. These are used for the purpose of protecting or accelerating the growth of a plant or plants. The French Cloche (see Fig. 237) is largely employed for this purpose. Ordinary Bell Glasses (see Fig. 238) are exceedingly useful for propagating purposes, especially for hard-wooded plants; or for placing over subjects which require a very moist atmosphere, such as Filmy ferns, Cephalotus, &c.; or for covering half-hardy plants or rare alpines, and thus protecting them from excessive moisture. Large Bell Glasses, inverted, serve as miniature aquaria, and many small aquatics are easily grown in them. =BELLIDIASTRUM= (from _bellis_, a daisy, and _astrum_, a star; flower-heads being star-like). ORD. _Compositæ_. A pretty dwarf, hardy, herbaceous perennial, allied to _Aster_. It thrives in a compost of loam, leaf soil, and peat. Increased by divisions in early spring, or directly after blooming. =B. Michelii= (Michel's).* _fl.-heads_ white; scape one-headed, naked; involucre with equal leaves; pappus simple. June. _l._ in a rosette, shortly stalked, obovate, repand. _h._ 1ft. Austria, 1570. =BELLIS= (from _bellus_, pretty, in reference to the flowers). Daisy. ORD. _Compositæ_. A genus of hardy herbaceous perennials, distinguished from allied genera in having conical receptacles and an absence of pappus. They grow well in all loamy soils. The garden varieties are increased by division after flowering, each crown making a separate plant. The soil must be pressed about them moderately firm. Seeds may also be sown in March, but the plants thus obtained are seldom of sufficient floricultural merit to perpetuate. [Illustration: FIG. 239. BELLIS PERENNIS FLORE-PLENO.] [Illustration: FIG. 240. HEN AND CHICKENS DAISY (BELLIS PERENNIS PROLIFERA).] =B. perennis= (perennial).* Common Daisy. _fl.-heads_ white. June. _l._ numerous, lying flat on the ground, obovate, crenate, slightly hairy, tapering at the base. _h._ 3in. England. The varieties are very numerous, the double ones being particularly fine. See Fig. 239. The handsome variegated form, _aucubæfolia_, has its leaves richly stained and veined with yellow. There are both red and white-flowered forms of this variety. The Hen and Chickens Daisy is a proliferous form, rather more quaint than pretty. See Fig. 240. Good garden kinds are _B. p. conspicua_, red; CROWN, pink; ELIZA, purple; RUBENS, red; SNOWFLAKE, white. [Illustration: FIG. 241. BELLIS ROTUNDIFOLIA C�RULESCENS.] =B. rotundifolia c�rulescens= (round-leaved, bluish).* _fl.-heads_ from 3/4in. to 1-1/4in. in diameter, resembling those of the common Daisy, but with fewer, often broader, ray-flowers, which vary from white to pale blue. _l._ more or less hairy, with slender stalks, 1in. to 3in. long; blade ovate or sub-cordate, sinuate toothed, three-nerved. Morocco, 1872. A very beautiful perennial, requiring the shelter of a cold frame during severe winters. See Fig. 241. (B. M. 6015.) =BELLIUM= (from _bellis_, a Daisy; the flowers resembling those of that plant). ORD. _Compositæ_. A genus of pretty little, free-flowering plants, differing from the common Daisy only in having a pappus of six to eight broad scales, torn at the apex, alternating with a like number of long scabrous bristles. They thrive best in a mixture of sandy loam and peat. Propagation is readily effected by means of seeds or divisions; the latter should be made in spring. [Illustration: FIG. 242. BELLIUM BELLIDIOIDES.] =B. bellidioides= (Daisy-like).* _fl.-heads_ white, solitary. June to September. _l._ spathulate, radical. Stolons creeping. _h._ 4in. Italy, 1796. Annual. See Fig. 242. =B. crassifolium= (thick-leaved). _fl.-heads_ whitish-yellow; scapes much exceeding the leaves, downy. June. _l._ sub-radical, thick, obovate, entire, attenuate at base, rather downy. Stems many, ascending. _h._ 6in. Sardinia, 1831. Hardy perennial. (S. B. F. G. 2, 278.) =B. minutum= (very small).* _fl.-heads_ white and yellow, 1/2in. across, on slender stalks, longer than the foliage. June to September. _l._ narrow spathulate, attenuated at the base, slightly hairy. _h._ 3in. Levant, 1772. A rare little species, requiring a warm, well-drained position on the rockery. =BELLOWS.= These were formerly employed for fumigating, but are now entirely superseded by the ordinary fumigators. The Sulphur Bellows is a very useful instrument for the uniform distribution of flowers of sulphur on vines and other subjects infested with mildew. In form it is very like those in common domestic use, but has a rose of small holes at the end of its nozzle, through which the sulphur is ejected. =BELL-PEPPER.= _See_ =Capsicum grossum=. =BELOPERONE= (from _belos_, an arrow, and _peronne_, a band; in reference to the arrow-shaped connectivum). SYN. _Dianthera_. ORD. _Acanthaceæ_. Very pretty stove evergreen shrubs, allied to _Justicia_. Flowers blue or purple, borne in secund, axillary, or terminal spikes, frequently subtended with coloured bracts; corolla gaping, the upper lip concave, the lower trifid. They are easily cultivated in a compost of loam, leaf soil, peat, and sand. Propagated by young cuttings, taken in spring. Beloperones may also be treated like _Justicias_ (which _see_), and will succeed admirably. There are a large number of species, but few of which have been introduced. =B. oblongata= (oblong). _fl._ rosy-purple; spikes axillary; anthers calcarate at base; bracts bracteolate. Summer. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, opposite. _h._ 3ft. Brazil, 1832. (B. H. 9, 9.) =B. violacea= (violet-coloured).* _fl._ violet. _l._ lanceolate, acuminate, entire. _h._ 3ft. New Grenada, 1859. (B. M. 5244.) =BENDING-DOWN= the branches of fruit trees, by means of weights or string attached to pegs driven into the ground, is sometimes resorted to for the purpose of acquiring a particular shape, or fruitfulness; but authorities differ as to the usefulness of the plan for the latter purpose. Young trees that are inclined to grow strong in the middle may be more evenly balanced by adopting the plan of Bending the strong branches, and so diverting the sap to the weaker ones. =BENGAL QUINCE.= _See_ =�gle Marmelos=. =BENJAMIN-TREE.= _See_ =Ficus Benjamina=. =BENT GRASS.= _See_ =Agrostis=. =BENTHAMIA= (in honour of George Bentham, a distinguished English botanist). ORD. _Cornaceæ_. Hardy evergreen shrubs or low trees, now referred to the genus _Cornus_. The first-named species is rather tender in the neighbourhood of London, and can only be grown successfully against a wall, for which purpose it is very suitable. In Cornwall and other mild places, it attains a height of 20ft. in the open. Loudon thinks it might be rendered hardier by grafting it on _Cornus sanguinea_. Flowers disposed in heads, each head attended by an involucre, which consists of four petal-like parts, and resembles a corolla; calyx with a minute four-toothed limb; petals four, fleshy, wedge-shaped; stamens four; style one. Leaves opposite, exstipulate, sub-evergreen, entire. Fruit constituted of many pomes grown together. They thrive in rather moist, loamy soil, in a sheltered spot. Propagated by seeds, sown when ripe, in a cool-house; or by layering, in autumn. =B. fragifera= (Strawberry-flowered).* _fl._ large, white, sessile, densely aggregate, forming a round head. June to October. _fr._ large, about the size of that of the common Arbutus, reddish. _l._ lanceolate, acuminated at both ends, on short petioles, rather rough, with small, adpressed down. Branches spreading, smooth. _h._ 10ft. to 15ft. Nepaul, 1825. (G. C. xiv., 728.) =B. japonica= (Japanese). _fl._ yellowish-red. Spring. _h._ 8ft. Japan, 1847. (S. Z. F. J. 16.) =BERARDIA= (named after M. Berard, a Professor of Chemistry at Montpelier). ORD. _Compositæ_. A genus containing a single species, confined to the high mountains of Western Europe. It makes a pretty rock plant, and grows best in thoroughly well-drained spots amongst rocky _débris_. Propagated by seeds, sown in spring. =B. subacaulis= (almost stemless). _fl.-heads_ whitish, solitary, very large. _l._ rounded oval, nearly heart-shaped at base, cottony. _h._ 3in. or 4in. (A. F. P. 3, 38.) =BERBERIDACE�.= An order of shrubs or herbaceous perennials. Flowers terminal or axillary, usually racemose; sepals three, four, or six in a double row; petals as many or double in number; stamens four to eight, opposite the petals. Fruit, a berry or capsule. Leaves alternate, compound. The order contributes a great number of handsome plants to our gardens. Well-known genera are _Berberis_, _Epimedium_, and _Nandina_. =BERBERIDOPSIS= (from _Berberis_, the Barberry, and _opsis_, like; resembling the Barberry). ORD. _Berberidaceæ_. A handsome evergreen shrub, with climbing habit. Sepals and petals nine to fifteen; outer small, spreading; intermediate orbicular, concave; inner obovate-cuneate, erect, inserted upon the fleshy torus. Stamens eight to nine, free. With a slight winter protection, or planted at the foot of a south wall, it will prove quite hardy, being of easy culture in ordinary garden soil. It is an excellent plant for the cool greenhouse. Increased by seeds, which should be sown in spring; by layering, in autumn; or by young cuttings, in spring. [Illustration: FIG. 243. FLOWERING BRANCHES OF BERBERIDOPSIS CORALLINA.] =B. corallina= (coral-red).* _fl._ crimson, in terminal, drooping racemes, leafy at the base. _l._ about 3in. long, alternate, simple, petiolate, oblong-cordate, obtuse or acute, spiny-toothed. Chili, 1862. See Fig. 243. (B. M. 5343.) =BERBERIS= (_Berberys_ is the Arabic name of the fruit, signifying a shell; many authors believe this to be the original derivation of the word, because the leaves are hollow, like a shell). Barberry. ORD. _Berberidaceæ_. Including _Mahonia_. A genus of hardy erect or trailing shrubs. Flowers yellow or orange, racemose or fascicled; sepals and petals similar, in two series. Leaves simple or compound, alternate or fascicled from the non-development of the branches, often spinose, or reduced to spines. The common sorts thrive well in any ordinary garden soil, but the rarer kinds require a compost of loam, peat, and a little sand. Propagation may be effected by suckers or layers, put down in the autumn; by ripened cuttings, taken at the same time, and planted in sandy soil, in a cold frame; or by seeds, sown in the spring, or, preferably, in the autumn, when, if fresh from the pulp or berry, they will germinate in the open in the following spring. The last-named is the method generally adopted. =B. Aquifolium= (Holly-leaved).* _fl._ yellow; racemes nearly erect, much crowded. Spring. _l._, leaflets two to three pairs, with an odd one, the lower part distant from the petiole; ovate, approximate, cordate at the base, one-nerved, spiny-toothed. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. North America, 1823. This is extensively planted in woodlands as an excellent covert plant. SYN. _Mahonia aquifolia_. (S. E. B. 49.) =B. aristata= (bearded). _fl._ yellow; racemes nodding, many-flowered, longer than the leaves; pedicels trifid, three-flowered. Spring. _l._ obovate-oblong or lanceolate, mucronate, membranous, smooth, serrated with four or five spinulose teeth; lower spines three-parted, upper ones simple, and hardly bidentate at the base. _h._ 6ft. Nepaul, 1820. (B. R. 729, under name of _B. Chitria_.) =B. asiatica= (Asiatic). _fl._, racemes short, many-flowered, corymbose, shorter than the leaves; pedicels elongated, one-flowered. _l._ oval, cuneated, or elliptical, mucronate, smooth; under surface glaucous, entire, or spinulosely-toothed; spines trifid, or simple. _h._ 4ft. to 8ft. 1820. Half-hardy. =B. buxifolia= (Box-leaved).* _fl._ solitary, on slender peduncles. Spring. _l._ nearly sessile, oval or oblong, about 1/2in. long, entire. _h._ 8ft. Straits of Magellan, 1830. _Nana_ is a charming little variety, not exceeding 18in. in height. SYN. _B. dulcis_. (B. M. 6505.) =B. canadensis= (Canadian).* _fl._, racemes many-flowered, nodding. Spring. _l._ obovate-oblong, remotely serrated; upper ones nearly entire; spines three-parted. _h._ 4ft. Canada, 1759. =B. cratægina= (Hawthorn-like). _fl._, racemes many-flowered, crowded, spreading, scarcely longer than the leaves. Spring. _l._ oblong, reticulated, hardly serrated; spines simple. _h._ 4ft. to 8ft. Asia Minor, 1829. =B. cretica= (Cretan). _fl._, racemes three to eight-flowered, rather shorter than the leaves. Spring. _l._ oblong-oval, entire, or somewhat serrated; spines three to five-parted. _h._ 4ft. to 5ft. Crete and Cyprus, 1759. The variety _serratifolia_ has leaves ciliately-serrated. (S. F. G. 342.) =B. Darwinii= (Darwin's).* _fl._ orange, racemose, very numerous. May, and sometimes again in autumn. _l._ oval or oblong, about 1in. long, with usually five spiny teeth. _h._ 2ft. South Chili, 1849. This very fine species is, perhaps, the best; it forms a densely-branched, spreading, evergreen bush, thus making an excellent covert plant. (B. M. 4590.) =B. dulcis= (sweet). Synonymous with _B. buxifolia_. =B. emarginata= (emarginate). _fl._, racemes scarcely pendulous, shorter than the leaves. Spring. _l._ lanceolate-obovate, ciliately serrated; spines three-parted. _h._ 6ft. Siberia, 1790. =B. empetrifolia= (Empetrum-leaved).* _fl._ few, terminal, sub-umbellate, on slender pedicels. May. _l._ in fascicles of about seven, linear, closely revolute, sharply mucronate. _h._ 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. Straits of Magellan, 1827. (B. R. 26, 27.) =B. fascicularis= (fascicled). _fl._, racemes erect, much crowded. Spring. _l._, leaflets three to six pairs, with an odd one, the lower pair distant from the base of the petiole; ovate-lanceolate, rather distant, one-nerved, spiny toothed, with four to five teeth on each side. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. New Spain, 1820. Half-hardy. SYN. _Mahonia fascicularis_. (B. M. 2396.) =B. floribunda= (many-flowered).* _fl._, racemes many-flowered, loose, solitary, pendulous. June. _l._ obovate-lanceolate, or obovate-oblong, tapering much towards the base, ending in a mucrone at the apex, paler beneath, spiny-ciliated; spines three-parted, unequal. _h._ 10ft. Nepaul. A variety of _aristata_. =B. Fortunei= (Fortune's).* _fl._ small, in terminal clustered racemes. _l._, leaflets about seven, linear-lanceolate, distant, with numerous small spiny teeth, lower pair remote from the base of the petiole. China. =B. glumacea= (glumaceous). A synonym of _B. nervosa_. =B. iberica= (Iberian). _fl._, racemes many-flowered, pendulous. Spring. _l._ obovate-oblong, quite entire; spines simple and three-parted. _h._ 8ft. to 10ft. Iberia, 1818. =B. ilicifolia= (Holly-leaved). _fl._, peduncles short, four-flowered; pedicels elongated, somewhat corymbose. July. _l._ ovate, tapering at the base, coarsely and spinulosely toothed; spines three-parted. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Tierra del Fuego, 1791. (B. M. 4308.) =B. japonica= (Japanese).* _fl._, racemes in terminal clusters. Spring. _l._, leaflets usually nine, about 3in. long, quite sessile, broadly cordate, or rotundate at the base, oblique, with about five long spiny teeth, and a terminal one, the lowest pairs close to the base of the petiole. China and Japan. Very distinct, with unbranched stems and leaves about 1ft. long. _B. Beali_ and _B. intermedia_ are mere forms of this species, the latter differing from it in having narrower leaves and longer, slender racemes. (B. M. 4852.) =B. loxensis= (Loxanese). _fl._ unusually small, erect, in panicled racemes on a long peduncle quite clear of the leaves. _l._ very shining, blunt, obovate; sides often with several teeth; spines small, palmated. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Peru. Evergreen, not hardy. (P. F. G. 1, p. 13.) [Illustration: FIG. 244. BERBERIS NEPALENSIS.] =B. nepalensis= (Nepaulese).* _fl._ yellow; racemes few, elongated, slender. _l._ 1ft. to 2ft. long; leaflets five to nine pairs, obovate-oblong, cuspidate, rounded at the base, repand-toothed, with five to ten spiny teeth on each side, tricuspidate at the apex. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. Nepaul. A very handsome species, thriving best in the southern parts of England. SYN. _Mahonia nepalensis_. See Fig. 244. =B. nervosa= (large-nerved). _fl._, racemes elongated. October. _l._, leaflets five to six pairs, with an odd one, the lower pair distant from the petiole; ovate, acuminated, remotely spiny toothed, somewhat three to five-nerved, with twelve to fourteen teeth on each side. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. North America, 1826. SYNS. _B. glumacea_, _Mahonia nervosa_. (B. M. 3949.) =B. repens= (creeping).* _fl._, racemes terminal, numerous, fascicled, diffuse, rising from the scaly buds. Spring. _l._, leaflets, two to three pairs, with an odd one, roundish-ovate, opaque, spiny toothed. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. North America, 1822. SYN. _Mahonia repens_. (B. R. 1176.) =B. ruscifolia= (Ruscus-leaved). _fl._ a little larger than those of _B. vulgaris_; peduncles short, bearing four to five flowers at the apex. _l._ oblong, tapering at the base, mucronate, entire, or grossly and spiny toothed. _h._ 4ft. to 8ft. South America, 1823. Half-hardy. =B. sinensis= (Chinese).* _fl._, racemes many-flowered, nodding. May. _l._ oblong, obtuse, entire, or the lower ones are a little toothed; spines three-parted. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. China, 1815. (B. M. 6573.) [Illustration: FIG. 245. BERBERIS STENOPHYLLA, showing Habit and Flowering Twig.] =B. stenophylla= (naked-leaved),* with narrow mucronate leaves, is said to be a hybrid between _B. empetrifolia_ and _B. Darwinii_. See Fig. 245. =B. trifoliata= (three-leafleted). _fl._, racemes small, axillary, sessile, three to five-flowered. Spring. _l._, leaflets three, sessile at the ends of the petioles, deeply scalloped, bluish-green, variegated, glaucous beneath. _h._ 5ft. Mexico, 1839. Evergreen, not quite hardy. (P. F. G. 2, 168.) =B. trifurcata= (three-forked). _fl._, racemes compound, erect. Spring. _l._ pinnate; leaflets broad, three-forked. _h._ 6ft. China, 1850. Evergreen. (P. F. G. 3, 258.) =B. umbellata= (umbellate). _fl._, peduncles solitary, erect, bearing at the top several umbellate pedicels. _l._ obovate-oblong, mucronate, entire, glaucous beneath; spines three-parted, long, equal. _h._ 6ft. Nepaul, 1842. (P. F. G. 2, 181.) =B. vulgaris= (common).* Common Barberry. _fl._, racemes many-flowered, pendulous. Spring. _l._ somewhat obovate, ciliately-serrated; spines three-parted. _h._ 8ft. to 20ft. Britain, &c. There are yellow, violet, purple, black, and white fruited, and purple-leaved forms. (Sy. En. B. 51.) =B. Wallichiana= (Wallich's).* _fl._ on drooping, aggregated peduncles, six to eight or more in a cluster. Spring. _l._ in alternate fascicles, 2in. to 3in. long, spreading or recurved, lanceolate, sinuato-serrate; spines deeply three-parted, slender but rigid. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. Nepaul, 1820. See Fig. 246. (B. M. 4656.) =BERCHEMIA= (in honour of M. Berchem, a French botanist). ORD. _Rhamnaceæ_. A genus of erect, or twining, deciduous, mostly greenhouse shrubs. Flowers sub-umbellate, in the axils of the upper leaves, or disposed in terminal panicles. Leaves alternate, many-nerved, entire. The species mentioned below is probably the only one yet in cultivation. It is quite hardy, will grow in any common soil, and is well adapted for bowers or trellis-work. Propagated by ripened cuttings, and slips of the root, planted under a hand glass; or by layering the young shoots. =B. volubilis= (twining).* _fl._ greenish-white; panicles small, axillary and terminal. Drupe oblong, violaceous. June. _l._ oval, mucronate, a little wavy. Branches smooth. Carolina, 1714. A deciduous twiner. (G. G. 165.) =BERGAMOT.= _See_ =Mentha odorata=. =BERGERA= (named after C. J. Berger, a distinguished Danish botanist). ORD. _Rutaceæ_. Interesting stove evergreen trees, now usually referred to _Murraya_. Leaves impari-pinnate; leaflets alternate, acuminated, pubescent. They thrive in a mixture of turfy loam and peat. Propagated by ripened cuttings, taken off at a joint, and placed in sand, under a hand glass, in bottom heat; or by layers. =B. K�nigi= (Konig's). _fl._ whitish-yellow, small; racemes many, forming a corymb at the top of the branches. June. _l._, leaflets serrated. _h._ 40ft. India, 1820. (L. B. C. 1019.) =BERKHEYA= (named after M. J. L. de Berkhey, a Dutch botanist), ORD. _Compositæ_. A genus of ornamental greenhouse or hardy thistle-like herbs or shrubs. Flower-heads surrounded by a spiny involucre, the scales of which are united at the base only; pappus of many flat, obtuse, or pointed, scales. They are of easy cultivation in a sandy loam soil. The perennials are increased by cuttings placed under a glass; the herbaceous perennials usually by divisions of the plant in spring. The species most frequently seen in English gardens is _B. purpurea_. [Illustration: FIG. 246. BERBERIS WALLICHIANA.] =B. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl.-heads_ yellow; scales of involucre spiny toothed. July. _l._ opposite, lanceolate, three-nerved, spiny toothed, downy beneath. _h._ 2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1812. Greenhouse evergreen. (B. M. 1844.) =B. pinnata= (pinnate). _fl.-heads_ yellow; involucral scales spine-pointed, entire or toothed. Autumn. _l._ oblong, woolly beneath, deeply cut into lance-shaped segments. SYN. _Stobæa pinnata_. (B. M. 1788.) =B. purpurea= (purplish).* _fl.-heads_ numerous, pedunculate, corymbose, circular, 3in. across, surrounded by an involucre of spreading or reflexed linear oblong bracts. _l._, lower ones 15in. to 18in. long, 2in. to 2-1/2in. wide, dark green, viscid above, paler and cottony beneath. _h._ 3ft. South Africa. A very handsome, hardy, herbaceous perennial. (G. C. 1872, p. 1261.) SYN. _Stobæa purpurea_. =B. uniflora= (one-flowered). _fl.-heads_ yellow; scales of involucre spiny toothed. June. _l._ alternate, lanceolate, three-nerved, spiny toothed, downy beneath. _h._ 3ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1815. Greenhouse evergreen. (B. M. 2094.) =BERMUDA CEDAR.= _See_ =Juniperus bermudiana=. =BERRY.= A fleshy fruit, containing seeds. =BERTHOLLETIA= (in honour of Louis Claude Berthollet, a celebrated French chemist). Brazil Nut Tree. TRIBE Lecythideæ of ORD. _Myrtaceæ_. _B. excelsa_ is a tall tree, having the young branches leafy at the apex. Leaves alternate, oblong, quite entire, rather coriaceous. From this Brazilian species are obtained the well-known Brazil or Para Nuts of commerce. The tree is of no value for decorative purposes. =BERTOLONIA= (named after A. Bertoloni, an Italian botanist, author of "Rariorum Italiæ Plantarum Decades," &c.). ORD. _Melastomaceæ_. Elegant little creeping or dwarf-growing stove plants, chiefly cultivated for their exquisitely marked leaves. Flowers white or purple. Leaves stalked, ovate-cordate, five to eleven-nerved, crenulated; cymes corymbose, terminal. They thrive in a compost of equal parts peat, leaf mould, and sand, in a warm, close, and moist atmosphere, but are most successfully cultivated under a bell glass in the stove; in fact, the latter is the only plan of growing them where a constantly humid atmosphere cannot be otherwise obtained without such means. They are easily propagated by cuttings or seeds. =B. ænea= (coppery). _fl._ purple. _h._ 6in. Brazil. =B. guttata= (spotted). _See_ =Gravesia=. =B. maculata= (spotted).* _fl._ violet-purple; peduncles axillary, bearing at the apex a short raceme of six to seven flowers. _l._ on long petioles, cordate, ovate, quite entire, pilose on both surfaces and on the margins, five-nerved. Branches, petioles, peduncles, and calyces hispid from long bristles. Stem rooting at the base. Brazil, 1850. (B. M. 4551.) =B. marmorata= (marbled).* _l._ 5in. to 8in. long, ovate-oblong, hairy, five-nerved; upper side vivid bright green, beautifully marked with irregular streaks of pure white; under surface of a uniform rich purple. Stem fleshy. _h._ 6in. Brazil, 1858. =B. pubescens= (downy).* _l._ ovate-acuminate, 3in. to 4in. long, and 2in. to 3in. broad; bright light green, with a broad chocolate-coloured band down the centre; upper surface clothed with long white hairs. Ecuador. =BERZELIA= (named in honour of Berzelius, a celebrated Swedish chemist). ORD. _Bruniaceæ_. Very pretty little greenhouse evergreen shrubs. Heads of flowers naked, with three bracts at the base of each; usually crowded at the tops of the branches. Leaves short, somewhat trigonal, imbricate or spreading. They require a mixture of peat, loam, and sand, with thorough drainage and moderately firm potting. Young cuttings root freely in sand, under a bell glass, in gentle heat. =B. abrotanoides= (Abrotanum-like). _fl.-heads_ white, the size of a filbert, terminal, crowded, sub-corymbose; bracts clavate, green, smooth, ustulate at the apex. May to July. _l._ ovate, ustulate at the apex, smooth, spreading, on short petioles. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1787. (L. B. C. 355.) =B. lanuginosa= (woolly).* _fl.-heads_ white, about the size of a pea, at the tops of lateral branches, disposed in a fastigiate panicle; bracts spathulate, callose at the apex. June to August. _l._ triquetrous, spreading, callose at the apex, rather hairy. Branches erect, villous when young. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1774. (L. B. C. 572.) =BESCHORNERIA= (in honour of H. Beschorner, a German botanist). ORD. _Amaryllidaceæ_. Greenhouse evergreen succulents, allied to _Littæa_ and _Fourcroya_. Perianth deeply six-parted; segments linear spathulate, tubulose-connivent, often spreading at the point; stamens six, about as long as the perianth. For culture, &c., _see_ =Agave= and =Aloe=. =B. bracteata= (bracteate). _fl._ at first green, turning yellowish-red when mature; panicle 2ft. to 3ft. long; branches many-flowered and corymbose, subtended by large scariose reddish bracts. _l._ in a dense rosette, 12in. to 18in. long, thin, glaucous green with scabrous margin. _h._ 5ft. to 6ft. Mexico. See Fig. 247. (B. M. 6641.) =B. Decosteriana= (Decoster's). _fl._ green, tinged with red, pendulous, bracteate; panicle 2ft. to 3ft. long, inclined, with numerous bracts. _l._ numerous, spreading, 18in. to 24in. long, by 1in. to 1-1/2in. broad; edges minutely serrulate. _h._ 8ft. Mexico, about 1880. =B. Tonelii= (Tonel's).* _fl._ tubular, 2-1/2in. long, drooping, pedicellate, dark blood-red below and down the centre, the rest very bright verdigris green; panicle 2ft. long, slender, inclined; bracts several to each fascicle of flowers; scape 4ft. high, red-purple. _l._ few, spreading, 15in. to 20in. long, by 2-1/2in. broad, acuminate and keeled beneath towards the top, minutely serrulate. Mexico, 1872. (B. M. 6091.) [Illustration: FIG. 247. BESCHORNERIA BRACTEATA.] =B. tubiflora= (tube-flowered). _fl._ greenish-purple, nutant, fascicled, bracteate; fascicles remote, secund; scapes erect, long, simple. May. _l._ radical, linear, channelled, recurved, spinosely denticulate. _h._ 6ft. Mexico, 1845. (B. M. 4642.) =B. yuccoides= (Yucca-like). _fl._ bright green, pendent, racemose, with rich rosy-red bracts; scapes slender, coral-red, simple. May and June. _l._ radical, thickish, lanceolate, acute, 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. long. _h._ 4ft. Mexico. =BESLERIA= (named in honour of Basil Besler, an apothecary at Nuremberg). SYN. _Eriphia_. ORD. _Gesneraceæ_. Very pretty stove sub-shrubs, usually erect, branched. Peduncles axillary, few-flowered. Leaves opposite, petiolate, thickish; nerves and veins very prominent beneath. Stems sub-tetragonal. A light rich earth, or a mixture of sand, loam, and peat, and a moist atmosphere, are necessary for successful cultivation. Beslerias may be increased by cuttings, which root readily in heat. =B. coccinea= (scarlet-berried).* _fl._ yellow; peduncles axillary bearing three to six flowers in an umbel at top; bracts two, at the division of the common peduncle, orbicularly cordate, toothed, scarlet. _l._ ovate, glabrous, stiff, a little toothed. Guiana, 1819. Climbing shrub. (A. G. 255.) =B. cristata= (crested). _fl._, corolla yellowish, hairy outside; peduncles axillary, solitary, one-flowered; bracts cordate, toothed, sessile, scarlet. June. _l._ ovate, serrated. Guiana, 1739. Climbing shrub. =B. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl._ large, campanulate, spotted with red; peduncles axillary, elongated, many-flowered. _l._ ovate-oblong, acuminated, crenated, densely pilose above, villous beneath, as well as on the branches. _h._ 3ft. Brazil. =B. Imrayi= (Imray's). _fl._ rather small, yellow, in axillary whorls. _l._ large, lanceolate, serrate, glabrous. Stems quadrangular. Dominica, 1862. Herbaceous perennial. (B. M. 6341.) =B. incarnata= (flesh-coloured-berried).* _fl._, corollas purplish; tube very long, ventricose; lobes of limb reflexed, roundish, unequal, fringed; peduncles axillary, solitary, one-flowered. _l._ oblong, crenated, tomentose on both surfaces. _h._ 2ft. Guiana, 1820. Herbaceous perennial. =B. violacea= (purple-berried). _fl._ purple, small; corolla with a curved tube and spreading limb; peduncles racemosely panicled, terminal. Berry purple, edible. _l._ ovate, acute, quite entire, stiff. Guiana, 1824. Climbing shrub. (A. G. 254.) =BESOM=, or =BROOM=. Birch-brooms are best for garden purposes, and are generally used. The most suitable for paved yards are those made of the common Ling (_Calluna vulgaris_). Those made of bass fibres are frequently used on paths, for which they are very suitable, but their expensiveness prevents them being generally employed. Whatever material is used in its composition, a Besom will last much longer if soaked in water for some time before using. =BESSERA= (in honour of Dr. Besser, Professor of Botany at Brody). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. An elegant little half-hardy, Squill-like, bulbous plant, from Mexico. Perianth bell-shaped, six-parted. Leaves narrow, linear. It requires a compost of loam, leaf soil, peat, and sand, with good drainage. If cultivated in pots, a plentiful supply of water must be given from the commencement of growth until ripening off. When at rest, however, it should be kept dry and cool, but secure from the effects of frost. If planted out, a well-drained sunny position must be chosen, such as close to the wall of a greenhouse with a southern aspect. Propagation may be effected by offsets. =B. elegans= (elegant).* _fl._ scarlet, or scarlet and white. July to September. _l._ 1ft. to 2ft. long, narrow, furrowed on the upper side. _h._ 2ft. Mexico, 1850. This is the only species. The colour of the flowers varies considerably, on which account other names have originated. (B. R. 25, 34.) =BETA= (from _bett_, the Celtic word for red; in reference to the colour of the Beet). Beetroot. ORD. _Chenopodiaceæ_. Perianth single, half-inferior, five-cleft, persistent. Seed one, reniform, imbedded in the fleshy base of the calyx. _B. Cicla_ is largely used as a decorative plant in sub-tropical and other styles of gardening. They require the same culture as the ordinary Beet. The other sorts, with dark blood-red leaves, are largely employed in flower gardens, and the roots utilised for culinary purposes. _See also_ =Beet=. [Illustration: FIG. 248. BETA HORTENSIS METALLICA, or VICTORIA BEET.] =B. Cicla= (Sicilian). _fl._ greenish, disposed in threes. August. _l._ with very thick ribs. Roots scarcely any. _h._ 6ft. Portugal, 1570. The variety, _B. c. variegata_, usually known as the Chilian Beet, is a very handsome plant, having its leaves often more than a yard in length and over 1ft. in diameter, with a remarkably handsome variegation. The midribs are usually dark orange or scarlet. It is a most desirable and effective plant for sub-tropical gardening. =B. hortensis metallica= (metallic). Victoria Beet. An ornamental variety with glistening deep blood-red leaves. Useful for decorative purposes in summer, either as a single specimen or in a mass. Roots may also be used for cooking. See Fig. 248. =B. maritima= (sea). _fl._ greenish, disposed in hairs. August. _l._, lower ones rhomboid-ovoid, acute; upper ones lanceolate. Stem diffuse. Root scarcely any. _h._ 1ft. Britain. =B. vulgaris= (common). The Common Beetroot. _fl._ greenish, clustered. August. _l._, lower ones ovate. Root fleshy. _h._ 4ft. South Europe, 1548. =BETCKEA.= _See_ =Plectritis=. =BETEL=, or =BETLE=. _See_ =Piper Betle=. =BETONICA.= This genus now forms a sub-division of _Stachys_ (which _see_). Betony (_Stachys Betonica_) is a native herb formerly much used in medicine, but now almost entirely discarded. =BETONY.= _See_ =Stachys Betonica=. =BETULA.= (according to some authorities, from _Betu_, its Celtic name; others give the derivation of the word as from _batuo_, to beat, the fasces of the Roman lictors, which were made of Birch rods, being used to drive back the people). Birch. ORD. _Cupuliferæ_. TRIBE _Betuleæ_. Ornamental, hardy (except where otherwise specified), deciduous trees or shrubs, allied to _Alnus_, having round, slender, often drooping branches, and the bark in most species in thin membranous layers. The flowers appear at the same time as the leaves. Male catkins cylindrical, lax, imbricated all round with ternate concave scales, the middle one largest, ovate; corolla none; filaments ten to twelve, shorter than the middle scale, to which they are attached. Female catkins similar, but more dense; scales horizontal, peltate, dilated outwards, three-lobed, three-flowered; corolla none. Nut oblong, deciduous, winged at each side. The Betulas are easily cultivated in any ordinary soil; but a light sandy loam suits them best. Most of the species are best increased by seeds, which ripen in September, and need to be dried, in order to prevent fermentation. They should be sown in March, in a sandy soil, the surface of which has been previously made perfectly level. They must be spread on the surface, and not covered with soil, but pressed down with the feet. When grown in quantities, beds 4ft. in width are preferred, with an alley of 1ft. between them. In early summer, if the weather be warm and dry, the beds should be shaded with branches. The young seedlings must be transplanted when a year old. The dwarfer kinds may be propagated by layering in the autumn. The numerous beautiful varieties are best increased by grafting or budding upon seedling stocks of the common kinds, the former being done in spring, and the latter in summer when the buds are ready. Those most useful as forest trees and for protection are quick-growing and very ornamental. The time of maturity of the Birch depends very much upon the soil and situation, but it seldom increases in size after it is thirty years old. The common species (_B. alba_) is one of the hardiest and most useful trees in cultivation, growing quickly, and withstanding exposure better than many others; consequently it is invaluable for skirting and nursing more tender subjects, and is especially desirable for clothing mountainous and exposed districts. It is also very beautiful and picturesque. It is the commonest tree throughout Russia, from the Baltic to the Eastern Sea, frequently monopolising gigantic forests. In Italy, it forms excellent forests up to 6000ft. altitude, and in our own Highlands of Scotland it occurs up to a height of 2500ft. In Greenland, although much reduced in size, it holds its own as the only arboreal vegetation. [Illustration: FIG. 249. LEAVES AND CATKIN OF BETULA ALBA.] =B. alba= (white).* Silver, White, or Common Birch. _fl._ whitish. February and March. _fr._ brown, ripe in September and October. _l._ ovate, acute, somewhat deltoid, unequally serrated; autumnal tints rich yellow, scarlet, or red. A diminutive shrub in the extreme north, but a tree from 50ft. to 60ft. high in the middle regions. Britain. A most beautiful and invaluable forest tree, with a large number of varieties. See Fig. 249. =B. a. alba-purpurea= (white and purple).* _l._ rich purple above, with a lustrous metallic hue, pale beneath. Branches with a sub-pendulous disposition. A very effective variety. =B. a. dalecarlica= (Dalecarlian).* _l._ deeply pinnatifid, with the lobes toothed. =B. a. foliis-variegatis= (variegated-leaved).* _l._ blotched with yellowish white. =B. a. laciniata pendula= (pendulous and laciniate).* _l._ rather larger than the typical form, deeply laciniated, deep green, and decidedly pendulous. It appears there are two forms of this, but that known as Young's variety is the best. =B. a. macrocarpa= (large-fruited).* Female catkins twice as long as those of the type. =B. a. pendula= (pendulous).* A well-known tree, distinct from the species in having the shoots more slender, smoother, and pendulous. =B. a. pontica= (pontic). _l._ somewhat larger than in the species, and the plant of more robust growth. (W. D. B. 2, 94.) =B. a. pubescens= (downy). _l._ covered with hairs. =B. a. urticifolia= (nettle-leaved).* _l._ deeply laciniated, serrated, and hairy. Several others, reputed as distinct, are mere forms of the typical _B. alba_. =B. Bhojpattra= (Bhojpattra).* _fl._, female catkins erect, cylindrical, oblong; bracts smooth, woody, two-parted, blunt, much longer than the fruit, which has narrow wings. May. _l._ oblong-acute, with nearly simple serratures, somewhat cordate at the base; their stalks, veins, and twigs hairy; the bark is of a pale cinnamon colour. _h._ 50ft. Himalayas, 1840. This requires a sheltered position. =B. carpinifolia= (Hornbeam-leaved). Synonymous with _B. lenta_. =B. daurica= (Daurian).* _fl._, catkins whitish-brown, larger than those of the common Birch. February and March. _l._ ovate, narrow at the base, quite entire, unequally dentate, glabrous; scales of the strobiles ciliated on their margins; side lobes roundish. _h._ 30ft. to 40ft. Siberia, 1786. The variety _parvifolia_ has smaller leaves than the type. =B. excelsa= (tall). Synonymous with _B. lutea_. =B. fruticosa= (shrubby).* _fl._ whitish-brown; female catkins oblong. February and March. _l._ roundish-ovate, nearly equally serrated, glabrous. _h._ 5ft. to 6ft. in moist situations, but much higher on mountains. Eastern Siberia, 1818. (W. D. B. 2, 154.) =B. glandulosa= (glandular).* _fl._ whitish; female catkins oblong. May. _l._ obovate, serrate, quite entire at the base, glabrous, almost sessile; branches beset with glandular dots, glabrous. _h._ 2ft. Canada, 1816. A handsome little shrub. (F. D. 2583.) =B. lenta= (pliant). _fl._ greenish-white. May to June. _l._ cordate, ovate, acutely serrated, acuminate; petioles and nerves hairy beneath; scales of the strobiles smooth, having the side lobes obtuse, equal, with prominent veins. _h._ 60ft. to 70ft. Canada to Georgia, 1759. SYN. _B. carpinifolia_. (W. D. B. 2, 144.) =B. lutea= (yellow).* _fl._ greenish-white. May. _l._ 3-1/2in. long, and 2-1/2in. broad, ovate, acute, serrated; petioles pubescent, shorter than the peduncles; young shoots and leaves, at their unfolding, downy, but ultimately quite glabrous, except the petiole, which remains covered with fine short hairs; scales of the strobiles having the side lobes roundish. _h._ 70ft. to 80ft. Nova Scotia, 1767. SYN. _B. excelsa_. =B. nana= (dwarf).* _fl._ whitish-green; catkins erect, stalked, cylindrical, obtuse; the barren ones lateral, and the fertile ones terminal; scales of the latter three-lobed, three-flowered, permanent. April and May. _l._ orbicular, crenate, reticulated with veins beneath. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. Scotland, Lapland, Sweden, Russia, &c. A shrub with numerous branches, slightly downy when young, and beset with numerous little, round, firm, smooth, sharply crenated leaves, beautifully reticulated with veins, especially beneath; and furnished with short footstalks, having a pair of brown lanceolate stipules at their base. There is also a pretty variety named _pendula_, with drooping branches. =B. nigra= (black).* The Black Birch. _fl._ greenish-white; female catkins straight, and nearly cylindrical, about 2in. long. May. _l._ rhomboid-ovate, doubly serrated, acute, pubescent beneath, entire at the base; scales of the strobiles villose; segments linear, equal. _h._ 60ft. to 70ft. New Jersey to Carolina, 1736. SYN. _B. rubra_. (W. D. B. 2, 153.) =B. papyracea= (papery).* _fl._ greenish-white; female catkins on long footstalks, drooping; scales having the side lobes short, somewhat orbiculate. May to June. _l._ ovate, acuminate, doubly serrate; veins hairy beneath; petiole glabrous; the branches are much less flexible than those of the common Birch, and are more ascending. _h._ 60ft. to 70ft. North America, 1750. (W. D. B. 2, 152.) =B. p. fusca= (brown). _l._ smaller than those of the type, and less downy. =B. p. platyphylla= (broad-leaved).* _l._ very broad. =B. p. trichoclada= (hairy-branched).* _l._ cordate. Branches extremely hairy, and twigs in threes. =B. populifolia= (Poplar-leaved).* _fl._ greenish-white. April, May. _l._ deltoid, much acuminated, unequally serrated, quite smooth; scales of the strobiles having roundish side lobes; petioles glabrous. _h._ 30ft. Canada, 1750. This species, although very closely resembling _B. alba_, grows with less vigour, and does not attain so large a size. (W. D. B. 2, 151.) =B. p. laciniata= (laciniated).* _l._ large, shining, and deeply cut. =B. p. pendula= (pendulous).* Spray drooping, like that of _B. alba pendula_. =B. pumila= (dwarf).* _fl._ whitish; female catkins cylindrical. May and June. _l._ roundish ovate, on long footstalks, densely clothed with hairs on the under surface. Branches pubescent, dotless. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Canada, 1762. A very beautiful kind, suitable for furnishing large rockeries, or planting on hill sides, or rocky ground. (W. D. B. 2, 97.) =B. rubra= (red).* Synonymous with _B. nigra_. =BETULE�.= A tribe of deciduous shrubs or trees. Perianth none, or bract-like; flowers mon�cious, in catkins, in twos or threes. Fruit, a dry, compressed, lenticular, often winged, indehiscent nut. Leaves alternate, simple, stipulated. The genera are _Alnus_ and _Betula_. =BI.= In compound words, this signifies twice. =BIANCEA SCANDENS.= _See_ =Cæsalpinia sepiaria=. =BIARUM= (an ancient name of a plant). ORD. _Aroideæ_. A genus of small, hardy, tuberous-rooted perennials, much more curious than pretty, allied to _Sauromatum_. This genus, according to Dr. Masters, differs from _Arum_ in its spathe being tubular at the base, with the limb spreading. The female flowers have a distinct style, and the fruit contains only one ovule. They will thrive in any light, rich, well-drained soil, and may otherwise be treated similar to the hardy _Arums_. There are several other species besides those named, but they are not yet in general cultivation. =B. constrictum= (constricted). A synonym of _B. tenuifolium_. =B. gramineum= (grassy). A synonym of _B. tenuifolium_. =B. tenuifolium= (slender-leaved).* _fl._, spathe dark brown-purple, reflexed in the upper part; spadix very long, subuliform. June. _l._ linear-lanceolate. _h._ 6in. South Europe, 1570. SYNS. _B. gramineum_ and _B. constrictum_. (B. R. 512, under name of _Arum tenuifolium_.) =BIAURICULATE.= Having two auricles. =BIBRACTEATE.= Furnished with two bracts. =BIBRACTEOLATE.= Furnished with two secondary bracts. =BICARINATE.= Two-keeled. =BICOLOR.= Two-coloured. =BICONJUGATE.= Having two secondary petioles, each with a pair of leaflets. =BICORNUTE.= With two horn-like processes. =BIDENS= (from _bis_, twice, and _dens_ a tooth; in reference to the seed). Bur Marigold. ORD. _Compositæ_. A rather large genus of mostly hardy annual and perennial herbs, distinguished by the pericarp having from two to four rigid awns, which are rough with minute deflexed points. Involucre erect, of several oblong, nearly equal, parallel scales. Most of the species of this genus are of no merit as garden plants. Two are natives of Britain, viz., _B. cernua_ and _B. tripartita_. They thrive in any ordinary garden soil. Propagated by divisions of the plant; or by seeds. =B. atro-sanguinea= (dark-bloody). _fl.-heads_ black-crimson, very freely produced. Late summer and autumn. Leaves pinnate. Root tuberous. _h._ 3ft. Mexico. (B. M. 5227.) =B. ferulæfolia= (Ferula-leaved). _fl.-heads_ yellow. Autumn. _l._ bipinnatifid. _h._ 2ft. Mexico, 1799. SYN. _Coreopsis ferulæfolia_. (B. M. 2059.) =B. procera= (tall). _fl.-heads_ yellow, large. _l._ finely divided, deep green. A handsome perennial. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. Mexico, 1820. (B. R. 684.) =B. striata= (striped). _fl.-heads_ rather large, in a panicled leafy corymb; ray florets white; disk yellow. _l._ ternately pinnated, glabrous. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Autumn. Mexico. (B. M. 3155.) =BIDENTATE.= With two teeth. =BIEBERSTEINIA= (named after Frederic Marschall Bieberstein, a Russian naturalist, author of "Flora Taurico-Caucasica," and other works). ORD. _Rutaceæ_. A genus of half-hardy herbaceous perennials. They thrive in a compost of loam, peat, and sand. Propagated by cuttings, placed under a hand glass in early summer; or by seeds, sown in a slight hotbed in March or April. =B. odora= (sweet). _fl._ yellow; racemes terminal, simple; petals entire. May. _l._ impari-pinnate; leaflets roundish, deeply toothed. Plant beset with glandular hairs. _h._ 1ft. Altaia, 1837. =BIENNIAL.= A term applied to plants occupying two years in the development from seed to the maturation of seed: growing one year, flowering, fruiting, and dying the next. Seeds of Hardy Biennials are, as a rule, sown from June to August, to flower the succeeding season. Tender varieties are sown in a frame or cool house, and kept there all winter, being transferred from the frames or houses to the open border, in June. Wallflowers, Foxgloves, Canterbury Bells, and Sweet Williams, may be taken as fair types of Biennials, although they often assume more than a Biennial character on light sandy soils. =BIFARIOUS.= Two-ranked; arranged in two opposite rows. =BIFID.= Divided about half-way down into two parts; two-cleft. =BIFOLIATE.= Compound leaves with two leaflets. =BIFRENARIA= (from _bis_, twice, and _frænum_, a strap; in reference to a double strap or band, by means of which the pollen masses are connected with their gland). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A genus of pretty stove orchids, allied to _Maxillaria_, and distinguished from it by having two fræna or caudicles to their pollen masses. For culture, _see_ =Maxillaria=. =B. aurantiaca= (orange-coloured).* _fl._ orange; lateral lobes of lip semi-cordate, middle one transverse, sub-undulated, callous at the base; raceme erect. October. _l._ oblong, plicate. Pseudo-bulb roundish, compressed, two-leaved. _h._ 9in. Demerara, 1834. (B. R. 1875.) =B. aureo-fulva= (orange-tawny). _fl._ orange, on long pedicels; lip unguiculate, three-lobed; scape radical, many-flowered. October. _l._ oblong-lanceolate. Pseudo-bulb roundish-ovate, wrinkled, one-leaved. _h._ 1ft. Brazil, 1840. =B. Hadwenii= (Hadwen's). _fl._ each nearly 4in. across; petals and sepals 1/2in. broad, yellow green, beautifully blotched or mottled with a rich brown; lip large, above 1in. broad, white, with striped spots of rose. June. _l._ long, 1/4in. broad. _h._ 1-1/2in. Brazil, 1851. SYN. _Scuticaria Hadwenii_. (B. M. 4629.) =B. H. bella= (charming).* A new variety with sepals and petals whitish yellow outside, brilliant shining cinnamon inside, with a few spots, bars, and blotches of whitish sulphur colour; lip wide, white, with one light brown spot behind, and a larger one in front of the callus; radiating light brown lines on lateral lobes, and mauve ones on anterior lobe. =B. H. pardalina= (leopard-marked).* A very beautiful variety, having sepals and petals with brown circles or polygonal figures on a light yellow ground; lip light ochre-coloured at its basilar part, white in front, with radiating mauve-purple streaks. This variety is extremely rare. =B. vitellina= (yolk-coloured).* _fl._ yellowish purple; lip cuneate, three-lobed; lateral lobes acute, crenulated; racemes drooping. July. _l._ lanceolate. Pseudo-bulb ovate, bluntly angular, one-leaved. _h._ 1ft. Brazil, 1838. =BIFURCATE.= Twice-forked. =BIGELOVIA= (named after Dr. Jacob Bigelow, author of "Florula Bostoniensis," &c.). ORD. _Compositæ_. A genus of hardy shrubs, sub-shrubs, or herbaceous plants, as now understood, comprising several subjects formerly referred to _Chrysothamnus_, _Linosyris_, &c. Flower-heads disposed in corymbs; involucre imbricated, oblong, or campanulate; receptacle flat. Leaves alternate, linear or lanceolate. They thrive in any ordinary garden soil. Propagated by cuttings. =B. Howardii= (Howard's). _fl.-heads_ yellow; involucre narrow. A low shrub. SYN. _Linosyris Howardii_. =B. nudata= (naked). _fl.-heads_ yellow. September. _l._ scattered, oblanceolate or linear. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. New Jersey. Perennial. =B. paniculata= (panicled). _fl.-heads_ yellow, barely 1/2in. long, loosely panicled, five-flowered. California. Shrubby. =BIGEMINATE.= Doubly paired. =BIGLANDULARIA.= _See_ =Sinningia=. [Illustration: FIG. 250. BRANCH AND FLOWERS OF BIGNONIA MAGNIFICA.] =BIGNONIA= (so named by Tournefort, in compliment to the Abbé Bignon, librarian to Louis IV.). ORD. _Bignoniaceæ_. A large genus of usually scandent shrubs, furnished with tendrils; rarely erect trees or shrubs. Flowers axillary and terminal, usually panicled; corolla with a short tube, a campanulate throat, and a five-lobed, bilabiate limb. Leaves opposite, simple, conjugate, ternate, digitate or pinnatifid. These handsome plants are particularly suited for large houses, where, if well grown, they give great satisfaction. The primary point in their culture is to obtain free and, at the same time, sturdy growth, giving due attention to training, pruning, &c., or the plants soon exceed all limits. Like all free-growing plants, Bignonias thrive best planted out in the borders of the stove or greenhouse, or out of doors, as the case may be; but the space allowed should be limited, in order to restrict root production. They may either be trained to cover the back wall, or be planted in a border in front, and trained up the rafters, or on wires, arranged where most desirable. In summer, allow all the strongest shoots to grow, training them so as to have as much sunlight as possible-�which is absolutely necessary to well ripen the wood, and make it capable of producing flowers�-without entirely shutting it out from the plants below. Soil: A compost of two part fibrous loam, one part peat, one of leaf mould, and a due proportion of sand, will be found most satisfactory. The loam and peat should be used in a rough state, unsifted, as this will keep the border open for some years, and thorough drainage should be effected. Propagation: Seed being rarely procurable, the most satisfactory method of propagation is by cuttings, made of good strong shoots, in early spring. Three joints are sufficient to make a cutting, if short-jointed; if long-jointed, two are sufficient. Place them in a well-drained pot of sandy soil, under a bell glass, in bottom heat. As these cuttings are young and fleshy, they are liable to damp off; hence it is necessary, for the first two or three weeks, to wipe the moisture from the glasses every morning, and water sparingly. If well managed, they will root in about two months, and should then have the glasses left off every night for a week; they should then be transferred to small pots in the compost above described, passing it through a coarse sieve, to extract the stones and rough pieces of soil. After potting, the plants should be kept close for a short time, till they are able to bear full exposure to the light. In a year's time, they will be large enough to plant out in their permanent quarters. Bignonias may also be increased by layering. =B. æquinoxialis= (equinoxial). _fl._ yellow; peduncles two-flowered, terminal ones racemose. June to October. _l._ glabrous, conjugate; leaflets oblong-lanceolate. Tendrils simple, axillary. Cayenne, 1768. =B. æ. Chamberlaynii= (Chamberlayn's).* _fl._, corolla yellow, funnel-shaped; segments obtuse; racemes axillary, six to eight-flowered. April to October, _l._, leaflets ovate, acuminated, glabrous, shining above. Tendrils strong, simple. Brazil, 1820. (B. R. 741.) =B. æsculifolia= (Chestnut-leaved). A synonym of _Tabebiua æsculifolia_. =B. apurensis= (Apuran). _fl._ pedicellate, 2in. long; corolla yellow, funnel-shaped, with roundish, spreading, nearly equal lobes; spikes terminal, sessile. _l._ ternate; leaflets elliptic-oblong, short-acuminated, acutish at the base. Shady banks of the river Apures, near El Diamante, 1824. =B. argyreo-violascens= (silvery-violet). _l._ white-veined, in a young state violet. South America, 1865. (F. M. 1865, 26.) =B. aurantiaca= (orange). _fl._ orange-coloured. South America, 1874. =B. capreolata= (tendrilled).* _fl._, corolla orange; peduncles axillary, one-flowered, crowded. April to August. _l._ conjugate; leaflets cordate oblong; lower ones simple. Tendrils small, trifid. North America, 1710. Hardy in south of England. (B. M. 864.) =B. c. atro-sanguinea= (dark blood-red). _fl._ red-purple. Summer. United States. (B. M. 6501.) =B. Cherere= (Chirere).* _fl._, corollas orange, 2in. long; cymes axillary. June to November. _l._, lower ones ternate, upper ones conjugate, cirrhose; leaflets ovate, acuminated, sometimes sub-cordate, glabrous. Guiana (in woods and on the banks of rivers), 1824. (B. R. 1301.) =B. Chica= (Chica). _fl._, corolla funnel-shaped, violaceous; limb with nearly equal, rounded segments; panicles axillary, pendulous. _l._ 8in. to 10in. long, abruptly bipinnate; leaflets conjugate, elliptic-ovate, acuminated, deeply cordate, glabrous. Tendrils simple. Banks of the Orinoco, 1819. =B. chrysantha= (yellow-flowered). _fl._ terminal, crowded; corolla yellow, 2in. long. May. _l._, leaflets five, ovate, acuminated, tomentose, on pedicels 5in. long. _h._ 12ft. to 26ft. Caraccas, 1823. Tree. =B. chrysoleuca= (yellowish-white). _fl._, corolla yellow, with a white limb, glabrous, 1-1/2in. long; peduncles three to five-flowered. June, July. _l._ conjugate; leaflets 5in. to 6in. long, 2in. broad, oblong acuminated, glabrous, rounded at the base, shining. Tendrils undivided. Banks of the River Magdalena, 1824. =B. Clematis= (Clematis-like).* _fl._, corolla white, yellowish inside; lobes nearly equal, roundish, red; panicles axillary, downy. _l._ 7in. to 8in. long, conjugately pinnate, with an odd one; leaflets 2in. long, 1in. broad, ovate, narrowed at top, acute, cordate at the base, glabrous. Branches quadrangular, glabrous. Caraccas, 1820. =B. diversifolia= (diverse-leaved). _fl._, corolla yellow, campanulately funnel-shaped; panicles terminal. _l._ conjugate and simple; leaflets roundish-ovate, acuminated, sub-cordate, glabrous, shining. Tendrils undivided. Branches quadrangular, striated. Mexico, 1825. =B. floribunda= (many-flowered).* _fl._, corolla purplish, funnel-shaped, eight lines long; panicles axillary, powdery, with opposite branches and dichotomous branchlets. _l._ conjugate; leaflets 2-1/2in. long, oblong-elliptic, acuminated, acute at the base, glabrous, shining. Tendrils undivided. Branches beset with white warts and fine powder. Mexico, 1824. =B. lactiflora= (milk-flowered). _fl._, corolla milk white, 1-1/2in. long, villously tomentose on the outside; racemes twin, with a petiolate bract at the base of each pedicel. April and July. _l._ conjugate; leaflets 2in. long, cordate, ovate, glabrous. Branches striated. Tendrils trifid. Santa Cruz, 1823. =B. leucoxyla= (white-wooded). A synonym of _Tabebiua leucoxyla_. =B. litoralis= (shore). _fl._, corolla funnel-shaped, red, downy outside; panicles axillary, dichotomously branched. May to July. _l._ ternate; leaflets roundish-ovate, acuminated, clothed with soft hair on both surfaces. Branches terete, glabrous; branchlets hairy. Mexico, 1824. =B. magnifica= (magnificent).* _fl._ varying from delicate mauve to rich purplish-crimson; throat light primrose colour, very large, 3-1/2in. across; panicles large, branching. Summer. _l._ opposite, on rather long petioles, broadly ovate. Columbia, 1879. A very handsome species. See Fig. 250, for which we are indebted to Mr. Bull. =B. mollis= (soft). _fl._ small, downy; panicle terminal, many-flowered. _l._ trifoliate; leaflets 5in. long, ovate, sub-cordate, downy on both surfaces. Cayenne, 1818. =B. molissima= (very soft). _fl._, corollas somewhat funnel-shaped, downy inside; panicles axillary, dichotomously branched, downy. _l._ conjugate and simple; leaflets 2-1/2in. long, 1-1/2in. broad, ovate, acute, cordate, clothed with soft hairs above. Caraccas, 1820. =B. pallida= (pale).* _fl._ axillary, usually solitary; corolla 2in. long, funnel-shaped, with a yellow tube, and a pale lilac limb; lobes crenately ciliated. July. _l._ simple, opposite, oblong, obtuse, rather cordate at the base. Branches terete. St. Vincent, 1823. (B. R. 965.) =B. picta= (painted). A synonym of _B. speciosa_. =B. radicans= (rooting). _See_ =Tecoma radicans=. =B. reticulata= (netted). Columbia, 1873. =B. Roezlii= (Roezl's). Columbia, 1870. B. SALICIFOLIA (Willow-leaved). _fl._, corolla funnel-shaped, 1-1/2in. long, copper-coloured, with a white limb; peduncles axillary, three to six-flowered, downy. Summer. _l._ conjugate; leaflets lanceolate, 3in. long, acute at both ends, quite glabrous, shining. Branches terete, sulcate. Trinidad, 1824. =B. speciosa= (beautiful).* _fl._ pink, stained with purple; calyx spathaceous, split on one side; panicles terminal. May. _l._ pinnate, ternate and verticillate; leaflets oblong-lanceolate, acuminate, shining, serrate. _h._ 4ft. Uruguay, 1840. A glabrous evergreen shrub. SYN. _B. picta_. (B. M. 3888.) =B. spectabilis= (showy). _fl._, corolla 3in. long, rather coriaceous, glabrous, purple; racemes terminal, short, having the two lower pedicels three-flowered, and the rest one-flowered. _l._ conjugate; leaflets ovate-oblong, acuminated, obtuse. Santa Cruz, &c., 1820. =B. Tweediana= (Tweedie's). _fl._ yellow; corolla glabrous, limb deeply five-parted, ciliated; segments emarginate; peduncles one-flowered. Summer. _l._ conjugate; leaflets lanceolate, acuminate; petioles downy. Buenos Ayres, 1838. (B. R. 26, 45.) =B. variabilis= (variable).* _fl._, corolla 3in. long, with a greenish-yellow tube; limb ultimately white; racemes simple, short, many-flowered, terminal. June to August. _l._, lower ones biternate; superior ones conjugate; divisions ternate. Branches tetragonal. Tendrils trifid. Caraccas, 1819. =B. venusta= (lovely). _fl._, corolla crimson, clavately funnel-shaped, with a spreading border, villous inside; corymbs terminal, many-flowered. August to December. _l._, lower ones ternate; superior ones conjugate; leaflets oblong-ovate, acuminated oblique at the base. Brazil, 1816. (B. R. 249.) =BIGNONIACE�.= A large order of trees, or twining or climbing shrubby plants. Flowers usually trumpet-shaped; corolla usually irregular, four or five-lobed, and with a swollen portion below its mouth; stamens five, unequal. Fruit, a two-valved, often pod-like capsule. Leaves usually opposite, compound. The best-known genera are _Bignonia_, _Catalpa_, _Eccremocarpus_, _Jacaranda_, and _Tecoma_. =BIJUGATE.= A compound leaf, with two pairs of leaflets. =BILABIATE.= Having two lips. =BILBERRY.= _See_ =Vaccinium Myrtillus=. =BILIMBI TREE.= _See_ =Averrhoa Bilimbi=. =BILL.= A cutting instrument, curved forward, or hook-shaped toward the point, and fitted with a handle, like a hatchet. It is used for pruning, &c. When short, it is called a Hand-bill; when long, a Hedge-bill, or Hedge-hook. =BILLARDIERA= (in honour of Jacques Julien Labillardiere, a celebrated French botanist and traveller). Apple Berry. ORD. _Pittosporaceæ_. Very desirable greenhouse evergreen climbers. Peduncles solitary from the apex of the branches, one-flowered, pendulous; calyx of five subulate sepals; petals five, combined into a tube below, generally yellow; stamens five. Fruit edible. Leaves alternate. They thrive either in pots or planted out in a compost of fibrous loam, leaf soil, and peat, in equal proportions, with thorough drainage. Cuttings, dibbled in a pot of sandy soil, placed under a bell glass, in gentle heat, root readily. They may also be raised from seed, which several of the species produce in abundance. =B. angustifolia= (narrow-leaved). A synonym of _B. scandens_. =B. longiflora= (long-flowered).* _fl._ greenish-yellow, often changing to purple, solitary; pedicels glabrous. Berries blue. May to August. _l._ lanceolate, entire. Van Diemen's Land, 1810. A very free-growing and profuse-flowering species. SYN. _B. ovalis_. See Fig. 251. (B. M. 1507.) [Illustration: FIG. 251. FRUITING PORTION OF BILLARDIERA LONGIFLORA.] =B. mutabilis= (changeable). A synonym of _B. scandens_. =B. ovalis= (oval-leaved). A synonym of _B. longiflora_. =B. scandens= (climbing).* _fl._ cream-coloured, at length purplish, solitary; pedicels same length as the flower. June to September. _l._ lanceolate-linear, entire. Branches, when young, villous. New Holland, 1795. SYNS. _B. mutabilis_, _B. angustifolia_. (B. M. 1313.) =BILLBERGIA= (named after J. G. Billberg, a Swedish botanist). ORD. _Bromeliaceæ_. A genus of handsome stove plants. Flowers borne on light panicles; calyx three-parted; corolla of three convolute petals, scaly at the base; stamens inserted into the base of the perianth. Leaves harsh, rigid. These require much the same treatment as recommended for _�chmea_. The most suitable soil is a mixture of peat, leaf soil, and loam in about equal parts, to which is added some sharp sand, to keep it open and porous. Free and perfect drainage is absolutely necessary for the successful culture of this class of plants, and a layer of moss should be placed over the crocks previous to filling the pots with soil. Although fond of heat, Billbergias will, when in flower, bear removal to a cooler house than a stove; and, if they are kept a little dry at the same time, the change will greatly prolong their blooming period. The stronger growing kinds thrive well in rich, well-drained loam and leaf mould. Propagation is effected by carefully taking off the suckers which form at the base, after the plants have done flowering; but, before doing this, they should be allowed to attain a good size. The suckers grow quickly when attached to the parent stem, from which they derive their strength, and feel the check less when severed; besides which, they become more mature, and are in better condition for rooting. The best method to adopt is as follows: Take the sucker in the hand and gently twist it off the stem; next trim the base by the removal of a few of the lower leaves, and then insert each sucker separately in a small pot, in sharp soil. A bottom heat of about 80deg. will greatly facilitate new root-growth; failing this, they will root freely in the temperature of a stove if placed in a shaded position for two or three weeks, after which they will bear increased light and sunshine during the later part of the day. _See also_ =�chmea= and =Androlepis=. =B. am�na= (pleasing). _fl._ greenish-white, tipped with blue, loosely panicled; bracts rose-coloured. July to winter. _l._ ligulate, abruptly acuminate, slightly spiny. _h._ 2ft. Brazil, 1817. (B. R. 344.) =B. Baraquiniana= (Baraquin's).* _fl._ green; spikes long, the upper portion pendulous, bearing four or five large, oblong-lanceolate, bright scarlet bracts at the base of the flowers; the stem above the bracts is hoary white. Early spring. _l._ ligulate, tapering to a point, where, as well as at the edges, they are armed with sharp reddish spines, arched, transversely variegated with white scurfy bars. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Brazil, 1865. (I. H. 1864, 421.) =B. chlorosticta= (green-spotted). Synonymous with _B. Saundersii_. =B. iridifolia= (Iris-leaved).* _fl._ red and yellow, tipped with blue, in drooping spikes; rachis and bracts crimson. March. _l._ lanceolate, ensiform, 1-1/2ft., grey beneath. _h._ 1ft. Rio de Janeiro, 1825. (B. R. 1068.) =B. Liboniana= (Libon's).* _fl._, outer perianth segments beautiful coral red, about half as long as the inner ones, which are whitish at the base, and a splendid purple upwards. Winter. _l._ in a dense rosette. _h._ 1ft. Brazil, 1858. (B. M. 5090.) =B. Lietzei= (Lietz's).* _fl._ in loose terminal racemes, each subtended by lanceolate pink bracts; sepals rosy pink, half as long as the greenish corolla. _l._ tufted, ligulate, acute; margin spiny. Brazil, 1881. A double-flowered variety, with petaloid stamens, is mentioned by M. Morren, which is interesting in being the first double-flowered Bromeliad yet recorded. (B. H. 1881, 97.) =B. marmorata= (marbled).* _fl._ deep blue; calyces green, tipped with blue; bracts very large, leafy, oblong, bright scarlet; panicles erect, branched, much longer than the leaves. _l._ broadly ligulate, sheathing at the base, truncate-mucronate at the apex; edges very regularly toothed, deep green, freely blotched and barred with dull reddish-brown. (I. H. 2, 48.) =B. Moreli= (Morel's).* _fl._, sepals red, densely woolly, less than half as long as the purplish-violet petals; spike dense, drooping; bracts large, deep rosy red, much longer than the solitary sessile flowers. February. _l._ arching, lanceolate, shining green on both surfaces; marginal spines few and weak, _h._ 1ft. Brazil, 1848. An excellent basket plant. SYN. _B. Moreliana_. (B. H. 1873, 1, 2.) =B. Moreliana= (Morel's). Synonymous with _B. Moreli_. [Illustration: FIG. 252. FLOWERS OF BILLBERGIA NUTANS.] =B. nutans= (nodding). _fl._, sepals reddish; petals yellowish-green, both with a blue margin; scapes slender, nodding, with a few large rosy bracts, terminating in a short drooping spike. Winter. _l._ numerous, long, narrow, ensiform, remotely spiny. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Brazil, 1868. See Fig. 252. (B. M. 6423.) =B. pallescens= (pallid). _fl._ greenish-white; ovary deeply grooved; spike pendulous; bracts lanceolate, of a beautiful rose-pink. Winter. _l._ dark green, and spotted on the upper surface, paler beneath, with transverse bars. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Brazil, 1856. SYNS. _B. pallida_ and _B. Wioti_. =B. pallida= (pale). Synonymous with _B. pallescens_. =B. pyramidalis= (pyramidal). _fl._ red, with purple margin, in erect spikes; bracts lanceolate, rosy. February. _l._ curved, ligulate-lanceolate, with white bands beneath. _h._ 1ft. Peru, 1822. (B. H. 1873, 16.) =B. Quesneliana= (Quesnel's).* _fl._ deep purple; bracts flesh-coloured; upper ones variegated with white. _h._ 6ft. Guiana, 1874. An erect growing species, possessing the same habit as _B. rosea-marginata_, but having the leaves more acuminate, and deep green in colour. SYN. _Quesnelia rufa_. (F. d. S. 10, 1026.) =B. rosea-marginata= (rose-margined).* _fl._, inflorescence a dense oblong spike of light blue, subtended by large, broad, deep, rose-coloured bracts, with scarious margins. January. _l._ sheathing at the base, about 2ft. long, channelled, spiny on the margin, and marked with transverse mealy bands. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Tropical America, 1880. SYNS. _B. rubro-marginata_ and _Quesnelia roseo-marginata_. =B. rubro-marginata= (red-margined). Synonymous with _B. rosea-marginata_. =B. Saundersii= (Saunders').* _fl._ about 2in. long, disposed in a loose pendulous inflorescence; sepals crimson, half the length of the petals, which are yellow outside and blue within. _l._ tufted, ligulate, rounded at the apex, terminated by a short mucro, saw-toothed, green above, purple beneath, and spotted white on both surfaces. Brazil, 1868. SYN. (according to Morren) _B. chlorosticta_. (F. M. n. s. 106.) =B. thyrsoidea= (thyrsoid). _fl._ dense, in thyrsoid spikes, almost without bracts. June. _l._ green, ligulate, shortly acuminate, the margin toothed. _h._ 1ft. Brazil, 1850. (B. M. 4756.) =B. vittata= (striped). _fl._ indigo blue, with crimson calyces and bracts; racemes nodding. _l._ banded, ligulate, elongate, shining. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Brazil, 1843. (B. H. 1871, 14, 15.) =B. Wioti= (Wiot's). Synonymous with _B. pallescens_ =B. zebrina= (zebra-streaked).* _fl._ greenish; scape clothed with large, pale, salmon-coloured bracts; inflorescence gracefully curved downwards. Early spring. _l._ sheathing for about half their length, forming thus a sort of tube, deep green, with zones of grey, the whole deepening with age. _h._ 1-1/2ft. South America, 1826. SYN. _Helicodea zebrina_. (L. B. C. 1912.) =BILOBATE.= Two-lobed. =BINATE.= In pairs. =BINDING.= The process of securing a graft or bud in its place by means of Raffia or Bast. The same term is applied to hard clay or other soil impervious to water, in summer. =BINDWEED.= _See_ =Convolvulus=. =BIOPHYTUM= (from _bios_, life, and _phyton_, a plant; the leaves of one species being sensitive to the touch). TRIBE _Oxalideæ_ of order _Geraniaceæ_. A genus of pretty and interesting perennials, differing from _Oxalis_, in which genus it has been included, in the valves of the capsule being patent and separate to the base. They will thrive in a mixture of loam and peat. Propagated by seeds, which should be sown in spring, on a hotbed. Probably the only species in cultivation is the following: =B. sensitivum= (sensitive). _fl._ yellow, small. July. _l._, leaflets oblong, obtuse, mucronate. _h._ 6in. India and China, 1823. The leaves of this plant contract on the slightest touch. SYN. _Oxalis sensitiva_. (B. R. 31, 68.) =BIOTA.= _See_ =Thuja=. =BIOTIA.= _See_ =Aster corymbosus=. =BIPARTITE.= Divided into two nearly to the base. =BIPINNATE.= Twice pinnate. =BIPINNATIFID=, or =BIPINNATIPARTED=. Having both primary and secondary segments of a leaf divided, but not to the base. =BIPLICATE.= Having two folds or plaits. =BIRCH.= _See_ =Betula=. =BIRD-CHERRY.= _See_ =Cerasus Padus=. =BIRDLIME.= A preparation made from Mistletoe berries and Holly bark. It is used for catching birds. =BIRD-PEPPER.= _See_ =Capsicum baccatum=. =BIRDS.= As a class, Birds are very much more useful than hurtful in gardens. Owls are of great use in catching mice, and Night-jars in catching night-flying insects. Rooks are very useful in lessening the numbers of wire-worms, and of hurtful insects in general; but, if very numerous, they may be driven to eat potatoes and other vegetable food, and may then do harm. The same may be said of Starlings. Blackbirds and Thrushes feed much on snails and worms, but they also feed on the ripe fruits in gardens. As a rule, slender-billed birds feed almost wholly on insects or other animals, and are to be encouraged in gardens at all seasons. Among these may be enumerated the Tree-creeper, Wryneck, Warblers, and Wrens of various kinds, Chats, Hedge-sparrow, Larks, Redstart, Robin, Titmice, and Wagtails. Swifts, Swallows, and Martins, are also great destroyers of insects. The Finches feed, in part, on insects, but also eat large quantities of seeds, and often do considerable damage among plants grown for seed, _e.g._, Cabbages, and in the seed-beds. Sparrows are about the most troublesome, though they are often assisted by Buntings, Chaffinches, Linnets, and others. When seed-beds or fruits have to be protected, this may be done by nets; or, more simply, by threads tied to sticks a few inches above the surface of the ground, or in front of the trees. =BIRD'S-EYE PRIMROSE.= _See_ =Primula farinosa=. =BIRD'S-FOOT.= _See_ =Ornithopus=. =BIRD'S-FOOT FERN.= _See_ =Pellæa ornithopus=. =BIRD'S-NEST FERN.= _See_ =Asplenium Nidus=. =BIRTHWORT.= _See_ =Aristolochia=. =BISCUTELLA= (from _bis_, double, and _scutella_, a saucer; in allusion to the form of the silicles). Buckler Mustard. ORD. _Cruciferæ_. Perennial or annual herbaceous plants, usually hispid, but sometimes downy or smoothish. Flowers yellow, scentless; pedicels filiform, bractless. Leaves oblong, entire, toothed or pinnatifid, somewhat radical or cauline. Stems round, erect, usually corymbosely branched at the top by racemes, which, when in flower, are short, but elongated at the time of fruiting. All the species produce seeds freely. The annuals should be sown in the open borders. Some of the perennial kinds are well adapted for ornamenting rockwork, in a dry, sunny situation. Of the annuals, _columnæ_, _lyrata_, _maritima_, and _obovata_, are best. Of the perennials, _coronopifolia_, _lævigata_, and _sempervirens_ are the most desirable, but none are worth cultivation outside botanical collections. =BISERIAL=, or =BISERIATE=. Arranged in two parallel rows. =BISERRATE.= Toothed in a saw-like manner, but with the primary teeth again serrated. =BISULCATE.= Doubly furrowed. =BITERNATE.= Twice ternate. =BITTER ALMOND.= _See_ =Amygdalus communis amara=. =BITTER APPLE.= _See_ =Cucumis Colocynthis=. =BITTER-SWEET.= _See_ =Solanum Dulcamara=. =BITTER VETCH.= _See_ =Orobus=. =BITUMINOUS.= Clammy, adhesive. =BIVON�A= (named after Antonio Bivona-Bernardi, a Sicilian botanist, author of "Sicularum Plantarum Centuria I. et II.," Palermo, 1806). ORD. _Cruciferæ_. A pretty little monotypic genus, well adapted for ornamenting rockwork or the front of flower borders. A dry sandy soil is most suitable for its culture. Propagated by seeds, sown in spring where the plants are intended to remain, thinning-out being necessary to ensure full growth. =B. lutea= (yellow).* _fl._ yellow, small; racemes terminal, elongated as they grow; pedicels filiform, bractless. April. _l._ alternate, lower ones stalked, the rest sessile, cordate, stem-clasping at the base, ovate, toothed, bluntish. Stem filiform, sparingly branched. _h._ 3in. to 6in. Sicily, 1823. An annual. =BIXA= (its South American name). Arnatto. ORD. _Bixineæ_. Stove evergreen trees, with dichotomous panicles of large reddish flowers, broad cordate leaves, and prickly capsules. A compost of loam and peat is well adapted to their culture. Propagated by seed, sown when ripe in bottom heat; or by cuttings, which root freely in sand, under a hand glass, in heat; the latter is the better method. If grown from seed, the trees attain a large size before they flower; whereas cuttings, taken from a flowering plant and struck, may be brought to flower when small plants. =B. Orellana= (Orellana). _fl._ pale peach-coloured; corymbs terminal, panicled; peduncles two, three, and four-flowered. May to August. _l._ cordate, ovate, acuminated, entire or angular, smooth on both surfaces. The drug called Arnatto is prepared from the red pulp which covers the seed of this species. It is used in the preparation of chocolate, and by farmers for colouring cheese, and also as an orange or yellow dye for silks. _h._ 30ft. West Indian Islands, 1690. See Fig. 253. (B. M. 1456.) =BIXINE�.= An order of smoothish tropical trees or shrubs, not remarkable for any particular beauty. Flowers with or without petals, when present five and sepal-like; stamens indefinite in number, inserted in the receptacle or at the bottom of the calyx; peduncle axillary or terminal, bracteate, one or many-flowered, usually forming terminal panicles. Fruit fleshy or dry. Leaves alternate, simple, entire, or slightly lobed, generally full of pellucid dots. The genera best known are _Azara_, _Bixa_, and _Flacourtia_. [Illustration: FIG. 253. FLOWERING BRANCH OF BIXA ORELLANA.] =BLACK BEARBERRY.= _See_ =Arctostaphylos alpina=. =BLACK BEETLES.= _See_ =Cockroaches=. =BLACK BRYONY.= _See_ =Tamus communis=. =BLACK BULLACE.= _See_ =Prunus insititia=. =BLACKBURNIA.= _See_ =Xanthoxylum=. =BLACK FLY or BEAN FLY= (_Aphis rumicis_), also called Collier and Black Dolphin. This Fly (see Fig. 254) is found on many herbaceous plants. It is very injurious to Beans; hence, immediate means of destruction must be employed directly the insect appears. Its extermination is an extremely difficult matter; but the following remedies are very effectual: _Tobacco Water._ This, made and applied as recommended for Aphides (which _see_) is a good remedy; but it is rendered more certain by the employment of soapsuds, instead of clear water, in its manufacture. [Illustration: FIG. 254. THE BEAN FLY. _a_, Female, magnified; _b_, Male, natural size, and magnified.] _Paris Green_ (Arseniate of Copper). Owing to its poisonous nature, this should not be used where there is fruit on the trees or vegetables under them; but there is no better destroyer of hard-dying insects. Its application is very simple. Mix 1lb. of the green with 30gals. of water, and well wet the infested parts of the trees, using a fine-rosed watercan or garden engine for the purpose. The operator's hands should be free from sores and scratches, or dangerous ulcerations may ensue. _Gas Liquor._ If this can be obtained from a gas-house, it should be diluted with twice its bulk of water, and applied in the same manner as Paris Green, being washed off with clean water in a few hours. If the process be repeated on two or three consecutive nights, it will be found certain in its effects; moreover, it is not very poisonous. The finger or thumb, or the Aphis brush, applied early, will often exterminate these obnoxious insects at once. The first of the methods above described is perhaps the most accessible and the safest to use. Poisonous insecticides are more or less dangerous, especially in the hands of the inexperienced. Black Fly is, however, one of the most difficult insects to eradicate, especially if allowed to multiply. A syringing of clean water should follow either of the above applications. _See also_ =Aphides=. =BLACK JACK OAK.= _See_ =Quercus nigra=. =BLACK MAIDENHAIR SPLEENWORT.= _See_ =Asplenium Adiantum-nigrum=. =BLACK PINE.= _See_ =Pinus austriaca=. =BLACKTHORN.= _See_ =Prunus spinosa=. =BLACK VARNISH TREE.= _See_ =Melanorrh�a=. =BLACK WATTLE.= _See_ =Callicoma serratifolia=. =BLADDER CATCHFLY.= _See_ =Silene inflata=. =BLADDER KETMIA.= _See_ =Hibiscus Trionum=. =BLADDER NUT.= _See_ =Staphylea=. =BLADDER SENNA.= _See_ =Colutea=. =BLADDER WORT.= _See_ =Utricularia=. =BLADE.= The lamina or expanded part of a leaf. =BL�RIA= (named after Patrick Blair, M.D., F.R.S., who practised medicine at Boston, in Lincolnshire, and was author of "Miscellaneous Observations," 1718; "Botanic Essays," 1820, &c.). ORD. _Ericaceæ_. Pretty little greenhouse evergreen shrubs, natives of Southern and Tropical Africa. Flowers terminal, glomerate; corolla short-tubular, with a four-cleft limb, very freely branched. Leaves verticillate, with revolute margins. For culture, _see_ =Erica=. =B. articulata= (jointed).* _fl._ reddish; heads drooping. May. _l._ four in a whorl, ovate or linear, glabrous, and shining; bracts solitary. _h._ 1ft. 1795. =B. ericoides= (Heath-like). _fl._ purplish-red. August. _l._ four in a whorl, oblong, obtuse, ringed; bracts three, length of the calyx. _h._ 2ft. 1774. SYN. _Erica orbicularis_. (L. B. C. 153.) =B. purpurea= (purple). _fl._ purple; heads drooping. June. _l._ four in a whorl, ovate, sub-ciliated. Stem flexuous, erect. _h._ 2ft. 1791. =BLAKEA= (named after Martin Blake, of Antigua, a great promoter of useful knowledge). ORD. _Melastomaceæ_. Handsome stove evergreen shrubs or trees. Flowers red, large, showy; peduncles axillary, terete, one-flowered, naked, opposite or solitary, shorter than the leaves, usually with brown tomentum. Leaves petiolate, three to five-nerved, coriaceous, glabrous above and shining, but usually densely clothed with rusty tomentum beneath. They thrive well in peat, or a mixture of loam and peat, and require to be liberally supplied with water, particularly in spring and summer. Cuttings root freely if taken from shoots that are quite ripe (otherwise they are apt to rot), planted in a pot of sand, and plunged in a moist heat, under a hand glass. =B. quinquenervia= (five-nerved). _fl._ flesh-coloured, large, with white disks; peduncles twin, shorter than the petioles. June. _l._ elliptic, acuminated, naked, and shining on both surfaces, five-nerved. _h._ 10ft. to 16ft. Guiana, 1820. (A. G. 210.) =B. trinervia= (three-nerved). _fl._ rose colour, large; peduncles solitary, longer than the petioles. June. _l._ oval-oblong, three-nerved, glabrous and shining on both surfaces in the adult state, and when young serrulated; petioles and branchlets clothed with rusty tomentum. Roots issuing from the branches and stems. _h._ 4ft. to 8ft. Jamaica, 1789. (B. M. 451.) =BLANCHING.= This process is effected for the purpose of obtaining crispness, and for converting what would, under ordinary circumstances, be a dangerous plant--in the case of Celery especially so--into a highly popular delicacy. Blanching can only be accomplished by entirely excluding the light from the plants, thus depriving the colouring matters of their power to decompose water and carbonic acid gas. It is also termed Etiolation. =BLANDFORDIA= (named after George, Marquis of Blandford). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. A very beautiful genus of greenhouse bulbous plants, natives of Australia. Flowers solitary, on recurved pedicels; perianth funnel-shaped, six-cleft; stamens six. Leaves linear, elongate, striate; radical ones dilated, and somewhat sheathing at the base; others shorter and more distant, appearing on the flower-stem. The best soil in which to grow them is loam and peat in equal proportions, with a little rough silver sand added. They should be repotted moderately firm in the autumn, allowing good drainage, and should then be placed under the greenhouse stage, or in any other position where they will be free from water drippings. Water must only be given when dry, until they commence to grow, when it may be gradually increased, and they may be introduced into a higher temperature, if necessary, there to remain till after flowering. When the foliage is ripened off, they may be stored away until the time for repotting. Propagated by seeds and offsets, or by division of the old plants, which must be done when repotting. =B. aurea= (golden).* _fl._ 1-1/2in. to 2in. long; scape bearing an umbellate cluster of three to five pure golden-yellow drooping bell-shaped flowers. Summer. _l._ narrow, linear, keeled or channelled, from the base of which the flower-scape arises. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. New South Wales, 1870. (B. M. 5809.) =B. Cunninghamii= (Cunningham's).* _fl._ rich coppery red, the upper part yellow; about 2in. long, bell-shaped, pendulous; from twelve to twenty, terminating in a stout scape 3ft. high. June. _l._ linear, slightly keeled at the back, about 1/3in. broad. New South Wales. This magnificent species should have a little charcoal mixed with the soil already mentioned. (B. M. 5734.) =B. C. hybrida= (hybrid). _fl._ red, margined with clear yellow, bell-shaped, in a dense drooping umbel. =B. flammea= (fiery).* _fl._ dullish yellow, in dense umbel-like clusters; bracts ovate-lanceolate, stiff; perianth inversely conical. June. _l._ linear, bluntly keeled. _h._ 2ft. Australia, 1849. =B. f. elegans= (elegant).* _fl._ crimson, tipped with yellow, large, funnel-shaped. Summer. _l._ long, linear-ensiform. This very handsome form is often taken for the type. =B. f. princeps= (magnificent).* _fl._ rich orange-red externally, and bright yellow within, about 3in. long, tubular, borne on a scape about 1ft. high, slightly pendulous, and arranged near the summit. Summer. _l._ stiff, sub-erect, long, bright green, disposed in a distichous manner. This is a very splendid greenhouse plant, and should be in every collection. Australia, 1873. SYN. _B. princeps_. See Fig. 255. (B. M. 6209.) =B. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl._ crimson, very large; bracts as long as the pedicels, the inner much the shortest. July. _h._ 2ft. New South Wales, 1812. (B. R. 924.) =B. intermedia= (intermediate). _fl._ yellow, pendulous, funnel-shaped, in sixteen to twenty-flowered racemes; bracts leaf-formed. September. _l._ channelled, acutely keeled, scabrous on the margins. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Australia. =B. marginata= (margined). _fl._ orange-red, conical, in long pendulous racemes; bracts narrow, foliaceous, about equalling in length the pedicels. July. _l._ stiff, sub-erect, with scabrous margins. _h._ 2ft. Tasmania, 1842. (B. R. 31, 18.) =B. nobilis= (noble).* _fl._ orange with yellow margins, on long pedicels, drooping, disposed in a terminal raceme; bracts twice as short as the pedicels. July. _l._ very narrow. _h._ 2ft. New South Wales, 1803. (B. M. 2003.) =B. princeps= (magnificent). Synonymous with _B. flammea princeps_. =BLATTA.= _See_ =Cockroaches=. =BLEABERRY.= _See_ =Vaccinium Myrtillus=. =BLEACHING POWDER.= _See_ =Chloride of Lime=. =BLECHNUM= (from _Blechnon_, the Greek name of a fern). ORD. _Filices_. A very attractive genus of stove and greenhouse ferns, thriving in a compost of peat, leaf soil, and loam. Sori linear, continuous, or nearly so, parallel with, and usually contiguous to, the midrib. Involucre distinct from the edge of the frond. Fronds uniform, generally pinnate or pinnatifid. Veins usually free. For general culture, _see_ =Ferns=. =B. australe= (southern).* _cau._ stout, creeping, scaly; _sti._ erect, 4in. to 6in. long. _fronds_ 9in. to 18in. long, and from 2in. to 3in. broad, lanceolate, narrowed towards both ends; pinnæ numerous, the barren ones 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, 1/4in. to 3/8in. broad, linear, hastate-cordate, or auricled at the base, especially on the upper side, with a very coriaceous texture; fertile pinnæ narrower. _sori_ in a continuous or slightly broken line, close, but not contiguous, to the midrib. South Africa, &c., 1691. Greenhouse species. =B. boreale.= _See_ =Lomaria Spicant=. =B. braziliense= (Brazilian).* _cau._ erect, stout, sub-arborescent, 1ft. or more long, densely clothed at the crown with dark brown scales. _sti._ short, stout, densely scaly. _fronds_ oblong-lanceolate, 2ft. to 4ft. long, 6in. to 16in. broad, narrowing downwards very gradually; pinnæ close, linear, 4in. to 8in. long, 1/2in. to 3/4in. broad, narrowed gradually towards the point, finely toothed or undulated, connected at the base. Brazil and Peru, 1820. See Fig. 256. (H. S. F. 3, 157.) There is a very pretty variety met with in gardens under the name of _Corcovadense crispum_, which is not quite so strong-growing as the type, with wavy, crispy edges. They will all thrive in the cool of a stove fernery. [Illustration: FIG. 255. BLANDFORDIA FLAMMEA PRINCEPS.] =B. cartilagineum= (cartilaginous). _cau._ oblique, densely scaly at top. _sti._ strong, erect, 4in. to 6in. long, scaly, muricated in the lower part. _fronds_ ovate-oblong, 2ft. to 3ft. long, 6in. to 12in. broad; pinnæ numerous, linear, 4in. to 6in. long, about 1/2in. broad, narrowed gradually towards the point, margin finely toothed, dilated, and connected at the base. _sori_ in a broad line close to the midrib. Temperate Australia, 1820. Greenhouse species. =B. hastatum= (halbert-shaped).* _rhiz._ short, stout, scaly. _sti._ 4in. to 6in. long, nearly naked. _fronds_ from 9in. to 18in. long, and 2in. to 4in. broad, lanceolate, with twenty to forty pinnæ on each side; the barren ones 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, lanceolate, falcate, narrowed gradually to a point, the lower side slightly truncate, and slightly lobed, the upper cordate, with a large hastate auricle; fertile pinnæ narrower. _sori_ midway between the midrib and margin; rachis and surfaces naked or slightly pubescent; texture coriaceous. Temperate South America, 1841. Greenhouse species. [Illustration: FIG. 256. BLECHNUM BRAZILIENSE.] =B. Lanceola= (lance-leaved). _rhiz._ slender, creeping, stoloniferous. _sti._ slender, erect, 2in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ lanceolate, undivided, 4in. to 6in. long, 1/2in. broad, or less, narrowed gradually from the centre towards each end. Tropical America, 1820. Stove species. =B. L. trifoliatum= (three-leaved). _fronds_ furnished with one or two pairs of small oblong-obtuse lateral pinnæ at the base of the large terminal one. Stove variety. (H. S. F. 3, 94.) =B. longifolium= (long-leaved).* _rhiz._ slender, creeping. _sti._ firm, erect, nearly naked, 6in. to 12in. long. _fronds_ 6in. to 9in. long, with a terminal pinna, and three to six lateral ones on each side, which are 3in. to 5in. long, and 1/2in. broad, narrowed gradually towards the point. _sori_ in broad lines close to the midrib; texture coriaceous. Tropical America, 1820. _B. l. fraxineum_ is a variety found in gardens under the name of _B. fraxiniifolium_, with a habit more close than the type; pinnæ six to eight on a side, sometimes 1in. broad. _B. intermedium_ (Link.) and _B. gracile_ (Kaulf.), often seen in gardens, are slender-growing varieties of this rather variable stove species. =B. nitidum= (shining).* _sti._ stout, erect, naked, 3in. to 4in. long. _fronds_ oblong-lanceolate, 1ft. or more long, 4in. to 6in. broad; pinnæ numerous, sub-falcate, linear, 3in. to 4in. long, 1/4in. to 1/2in. broad, narrowed gradually towards the point, dilated and connected at the base; edge undulate-dentate; texture coriaceous; both surfaces smooth. Stove species. The variety _contractum_, often seen in gardens, has its pinnæ contracted, and the edge much undulated. Brazil. (H. S. F. 3, 55.) =B. occidentale= (western).* _cau._ stout, erect, scaly at the top. _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, erect, scaly below. _fronds_ ovate-acuminate, 9in. to 18in. long, 4in. to 8in. broad, with twelve to twenty-four linear pinnæ on each side, which are 2in. to 4in. long, and about 3/4in. broad, narrowed gradually to a point, truncate or cordate; texture coriaceous. West Indies, southwards to Chili and South Brazil, 1823. A very handsome stove or greenhouse fern. =B. o. multifidum= (much-cut).* A pretty variety, said to have been introduced from Dominica; the apices of the pinnæ are copiously crested and tasselled, rendering it very desirable. Stove variety. =B. orientale= (oriental).* _cau._ stout, erect, clothed at the crown with dark brown scales. _sti._ 4in. to 8in. long, strong, erect, scaly below. _fronds_ 1ft. to 3ft. long, 6in. to 12in. broad, ovate, with very numerous nearly contiguous pinnæ on each side, which are 4in. to 8in. long, and about 3/4in. broad, narrowed to a long point. Australia, northwards to South China and the Himalayas. Greenhouse. =B. polypodioides= (Polypodium-like). A synonym of _B. unilaterale_. =B. serrulatum= (saw-edged).* _cau._ elongated, stout, ascending. _sti._ 6in. to 12in. long, strong, erect, smooth, nearly naked. _fronds_ oblong-acuminate, 1ft. to 2ft. long, 6in. to 9in. broad, with twelve to twenty-four pairs of quite distinct articulated linear oblong pinnæ on each side, which are about 4in. to 5in. long, 1/2in. broad, narrowed gradually towards the point, and downwards to a narrow base, the margins finely incised. Florida, &c., 1819. Stove or greenhouse. SYN. _B. striatum_. (H. S. F. 3, 159.) =B. striatum= (striped). A synonym of _B. serrulatum_. =B. unilaterale= (one-sided).* _cau._ elongated, densely scaly at the crown. _sti._ slender, erect, 1in. to 4in. long, slightly scaly below. _fronds_ lanceolate, 6in. to 12in. long, 1-1/2in. to 2in. broad; pinnæ numerous, spreading horizontally, linear, 3/4in. to 1in. long, central ones 1/4in. to 3/8in. broad, point usually mucronate; edge entire, or nearly so, the lower part dilated to a broad base. _sori_ in a line close to the midrib. Tropical America, 1829. Widely distributed. Stove or greenhouse species. SYN. _B. polypodioides_, under which name it is usually found in gardens. =BLECHUM= (a Greek name for an unknown plant, supposed to resemble Marjoram). ORD. _Acanthaceæ_. Stove herbaceous perennials. For culture, &c., _see_ =Justicia=. =B. Brownei= (Browne's). _fl._ white, in a dense bracteated spike, which is four-cornered; bracts ovate, downy. Summer. _l._ ovate elliptical, somewhat toothed. _h._ 2ft. West Indies, 1780. The other species introduced are: _angustifolium_, blue; _braziliense_, blue; and _laxiflorum_, white. =BLEPHARIS= (from _blepharis_, the eyelash; in reference to the fringed bracts of the calyx). ORD. _Acanthaceæ_. Dwarf shrubs or herbs, often spiny and woody, allied to _Acanthus_. Flowers in bracteate spikes; calyx cruciately four-parted, bracteate; upper segment entire, three-nerved; lower, two-nerved; corolla-tube very short; lip five-lobed, three lobes often much larger than the others; stamens four, sub-didynamous. For culture, &c., _see_ =Acanthus=. =B. boerhaaviæfolia= (Boerhaavia-leaved). _fl._ blue. July. _l._ usually four in a whorl, elliptic, toothed. _h._ 1ft. India, 1829. Stove annual. =B. capensis= (Cape Colony).* _fl._ blue. July. _l._ narrow, lanceolate, spinose. _h._ 1ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1816. Greenhouse biennial. =B. furcata= (forked-spined). _fl._ blue. July. _l._ lanceolate, entire or spiny; bracts large, strongly spinose. _h._ 2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1846. Greenhouse evergreen shrub. =B. linearifolia= (narrow-leaved). _fl._ blue. July. _l._ long, entire, linear, glabrous or hairy, not spiny. _h._ 2ft. Guinea, 1823. Stove annual. =B. procumbens= (trailing).* _fl._ blue. July. _l._ linear lanceolate, spiny. _h._ 1ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1825. Greenhouse evergreen trailer. =BLEPHILIA= (from _blepharis_, the eyelash; in allusion to the ciliated bracts). ORD. _Labiatæ_. Ornamental hardy perennials, closely allied to _Monarda_, but differing from it in the calyx tube having thirteen instead of fifteen nerves, and being naked in the throat, while the corollas are much smaller and more dilated. They are of easy culture in ordinary soil. Increased readily by dividing the roots in early spring. =B. ciliata= (ciliated). _fl._ blue; whorls all distinct; bracts ciliated, reddish at top. July. _l._ almost sessile, ovate-oblong, narrowed at the base, canescent beneath. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. North America, 1798. =B. hirsuta= (hairy). _fl._ purple or blue; whorls more numerous than in the preceding; upper ones approximate. July. _l._ petiolate, ovate, roundly cordate at the base, hairy on both surfaces. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Virginia, 1798. Habit more branched and loose than in _B. ciliata_. =BLESSED THISTLE.= _See_ =Cnicus benedictus=, properly =Carbenia benedicta=. =BLETIA= (in honour of Don Louis Blet, a Spanish botanist). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A large genus of, for the most part, stove terrestrial orchids. Flowers purple or whitish, in terminal racemes. Leaves narrow, grass-like. Pseudo-bulbs round, flattened. The flowers are freely produced when the plants are thoroughly established, and are valuable for bouquets, as well for their pleasing colour as for the time they last in perfection. Bletias thrive best in a compost of loam and leaf mould. About 2in. of crocks, covered with a layer of moss, should be placed in the bottom of the pot, which should be filled to within 1in. of the top with soil. The bulbs should then be inserted, and just covered. A good supply of water during the growing season is necessary, and only a moderate amount of heat. After growth has ceased, a period of rest is required, during which time very little water should be given. Propagation is effected by divisions, which should be made after the plants have finished flowering, or previous to their starting into growth. =B. campanulata= (bell-shaped). _fl._ deep purple, with a white centre, lasting a considerable time in perfection. Mexico. =B. florida= (florid).* _fl._ pale rose-coloured; lip not spurred. July and August. _h._ 2ft. West Indies, 1786. A very pretty species. (B. R. 1401.) =B. gracilis= (slender). _fl._ pale greenish-white; sepals and petals nearly equal, lanceolate, acuminate; lip red and yellow; scape simple. _l._ oblong, lanceolate, plicate. _h._ 1-1/2in. Mexico, 1830. (B. R. 1681.) =B. hyacinthina= (Hyacinth-like).* _fl._ purple, racemose; lip not spurred, beardless; scape about as long as the leaves. March to June. _l._ lanceolate. _h._ 1ft. China, 1802. This pretty species has proved to be quite hardy. (Garden, Nov., 1879.) =B. patula= (spreading-flowered). _fl._ purple, spreading; scape tall, branched. March. _l._ lanceolate. _h._ 2ft. Hayti, 1830. (B. M., 3518.) =B. Shepherdii= (Shepherd's).* _fl._ on branching spikes, purple, marked down the centre of the lip with yellow. Winter. _l._ long, lanceolate, dark green. Jamaica, 1825. (B. M. 3319.) =B. Sherrattiana= (Sherratt's).* _fl._ about a dozen on a spike, rich rosy purple; petals very broad, twice the breadth of the sepals; lip deep purple in front, marked with white and yellow down the centre. _l._ three to four-plicate. Pseudo-bulbs depressed. New Grenada, 1867. (B. M. 5646.) =B. verecunda= (modest). _fl._ purple; lip not spurred. January. _h._ 3ft. West Indies, Mexico, &c., 1733. (B. M. 930.) =BLIGHIA SAPIDA.= The Akee Tree. This is now included under the genus =Cupania= (which _see_). =BLIGHT=, or =BLAST=. Applied to various diseases of plants which are caused or accelerated either by the presence of parasitic fungi or insects, or by atmospheric influence. Blight generally proves fatal to the whole or part of the subject attacked. =BLIND.= A term applied to plants which fail to produce central buds. The defect is frequently noticeable in the Cabbage, and other plants of the _Brassica_ tribe; and is, perhaps, mainly due to the attacks of insects in a very early stage. Great care should therefore be exercised in keeping the seed beds clear of insect pests, by the application of ashes, lime, and soot, or spent hops. =BLOOD FLOWER.= _See_ =Hæmanthus=. =BLOODROOT.= _See_ =Sanguinaria canadensis=. =BLOOM.= A fine powder-like substance found on Grapes, Cucumbers, Plums, &c., and varying in colour in the different subjects. It should be carefully protected, as it improves the appearance of the fruit. The term is also generally used-�although incorrectly-�as the plural of blossom. =BLOSSOM.= The flower of a plant, or the essential organs of reproduction, with their appendages. =BLUE-BELLS.= _See_ =Campanula rotundifolia= and =Scilla nutans=. =BLUE-BOTTLE.= _See_ =Centaurea Cyanus=. =BLUE GUM TREE.= _See_ =Eucalyptus globulus=. =BLUETS.= The French name for _Centaurea Cyanus_. _See also_ =Houstonia c�rulea= and =Vaccinium angustifolium=. =BLUMENBACHIA= (in honour of John Frederick Blumenbach, M.D., Professor of Medicine at Göttingen, and distinguished as a comparative anatomist). ORD. _Loasaceæ_. Elegant branched, climbing or trailing, annual, biennial, or perennial herbs, generally covered with stinging hairs, which are very objectionable. Flowers axillary, solitary, bracteate, very pretty and interesting. Leaves opposite, lobed. They are of easy culture in ordinary garden soil. Propagated by seeds, which should be sown in pots, in spring, and placed in a gentle heat, where they will germinate in about a fortnight. When the seedlings are large enough, and after having been previously hardened off, they may be planted out in their blooming quarters, or potted on and trained to a trellis. [Illustration: FIG. 257. BLUMENBACHIA CHUQUITENSIS.] =B. chuquitensis= (Chuquitan).* _fl._ solitary, axillary, with five to ten boat-shaped red petals, which are yellow within. September. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, pinnate; segments pinnatifidly lobed. Peru, 1863. Half-hardy climbing perennial. See Fig. 257. (B. M. 6143.) =B. contorta= (twisted).* _fl._ orange-red, with cup-shaped green scales within. July. _l._ oblong-ovate, pinnatifid; lobes incisely toothed. Peru. Greenhouse climber, but may be grown against a wall, out of doors, during the summer. (B. M. 6134.) [Illustration: FIG. 258. FLOWER OF BLUMENBACHIA CORONATA.] =B. coronata= (crowned).* _fl._ of pure glossy whiteness, quadrangular, crown-shaped, 2in. in diameter each way. June. _l._ narrow, bipinnatifid, cut into small segments. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Chili, 1872. This is an elegant dwarf, tufted, erect biennial, with the pure white blooms imbedded in the metallic lustrous foliage. SYN. _Caiophora coronata_. See Fig. 258. =B. insignis= (remarkable).* _fl._ with whitish petals and reddish-yellow scales, axillary, on long peduncles, about 1in. in diameter. July. _l._, lower ones five to seven-lobed; upper ones deeply bipinnatifid. _h._ 1ft. Chili, 1826. Hardy annual trailer. SYN. _Loasa palmata_. (B. M. 2865.) =BOBARTIA= (named after Jacob Bobart, Professor of Botany at Oxford in the seventeenth century). ORD. _Irideæ_. A small genus of greenhouse or hardy bulbous plants, closely allied to _Sisyrinchium_. The species in cultivation are very pretty hardy plants, but require protection from severe frosts and excessive rains. They thrive best in a warm, light soil, and make pretty plants for rockwork. Propagated by separating the offsets during autumn. This genus has been much misunderstood. Among the plants which have been referred to it are some which now find places in the genera _Aristea_, _Sisyrinchium_, _Homeria_, _Marica_, _Moræa_, &c., &c. =B. aurantiaca.= _See_ =Homeria aurantiaca=. =B. gladiata= (sword-shaped). _fl._ yellow, thinly sprinkled with purple dots near the centre, handsome, nearly 2in. across. _l._ linear, ensiform, narrow, slightly glaucous, 1ft. or more in length. 1817. SYN. _Marica gladiata_. (B. R. 229.) =B. spathacea= (rush-like). _l._ rush-like, several feet in length; flower-stem as long as leaves, bearing near extremity a cluster of pale yellow flowers, with narrow segments. Each flower lasts but one day; as a good many, however, are developed in each spathe, there is a succession which lasts some time. 1832. SYN. _Xyris altissima_. (L. B. C. 1900.) [Illustration: FIG. 259. BOCCONIA CORDATA, showing Habit and Flower.] =BOCCONIA= (named after Paolo Bocconi, M.D., a Sicilian botanist, author of the "Museum des Plantes," and "Histoire Naturelle de l'Ile de Corse," &c.). ORD. _Papaveraceæ_. Two of the species are greenhouse or half-hardy shrubs. Flowers inconspicuous, in terminal panicles, with the branches and branchlets each furnished with one bract. Leaves stalked, glaucous, large, lobed. This genus does not well agree with the rest of _Papaveraceæ_, from its having one-seeded capsules and apetalous flowers. _B. cordata_ is a handsome, hardy, herbaceous plant, with a stately habit and finely-cut foliage, and, where bold subjects are desired, few will be found superior to it. As an isolated specimen on the lawn, or by frequented walks, where it will not be too closely surrounded by tall plants, it may be grown with marked effect. It also forms a good subject for pot culture, and is largely used for sub-tropical bedding. The soil most suitable for its culture is a good fat loam, of considerable depth. Propagated by cuttings, taken from the axils of the larger leaves, during early summer; or by young suckers, taken from established plants, during summer, as they will then flower the following season. If the former method is employed, the cuttings should be pushed on, so that there are plenty of roots before the winter sets in. The other two species require greenhouse culture; but both are eminently suited for sub-tropical gardening, in any light rich soil, or well-drained and airy situation. They are best propagated by seeds, sown in a hotbed in spring, the seedlings being placed out from June to September. =B. cordata= (cordate).* _fl._ buff-coloured, very numerous, borne in very large terminal panicles; individually they are not showy, but the fully grown inflorescence has a very distinct and pleasing appearance. Summer. _l._ large, reflexed, deeply-veined, roundish-cordate; margins lobed or sinuated. Stems growing rather close together, thickly set with leaves. _h._ 5ft. to 8ft. China, 1795, and 1866. Mr. Robinson recommends its being grown in the angle of two walls which shelter it from the north and east. It runs quickly at the roots, and the suckers may be cut off to the benefit of the parent plant; each sucker will form a strong plant in a year's time. SYNS. _B. japonica_ and _Macleaya yedoënsis_. See Fig. 259. (B. M. 1905.) =B. frutescens= (shrubby).* _fl._ greenish. October. _l._ large, sea-green, oval-oblong, cuneated at the base, pinnatifid. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. Mexico, 1739. (L. B. C. 83.) =B. integrifolia= (entire-leaved). _fl._ greenish; panicle crowded. _l._ flat, oblong, tapering towards each end, entire, or scarcely crenated. _h._ 9ft. Peru, 1822. =B. japonica= (Japanese). Synonymous with _B. cordata_. =B�BERA= (named after B�ber, a Russian botanist). ORD. _Compositæ_. A genus of evergreen greenhouse shrubs, now generally referred to _Dysodia_. They are of easy culture, thriving in ordinary garden soil. Propagated by cuttings, made of young, rather firm, shoots, and placed in sand, under a glass. There are several other species besides the one given below, but they are not of much horticultural value. =B. incana= (hoary).* _fl.-heads_ golden; peduncles one-headed. November. _l._ pinnate, rather hairy; leaflets linear acute, channelled, some entire, and some trifid. Stem hairy. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Mexico, 1828. (B. R. 1602.) =B�HMERIA= (named after George Rudolph B�hmer, a German botanist). ORD. _Urticaceæ_. A genus of shrubs or herbaceous plants, allied to _Urtica_, from which it is distinguished in not having stinging hairs. _B. nivea_ is the only species having any horticultural value. This thrives best in a warm, sandy soil; and is increased by divisions. =B. nivea= (snowy). _fl._ greenish, disposed in spikes. _l._ broadly cordate, about 6in. long by 4in. broad, terminating in a long slender point; edges serrate, covered on the under side with a dense coating of white down. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. China. A shrub-like perennial, rather more curious than beautiful. =BOG BEAN.= _See_ =Menyanthes trifoliata=. =BOG-EARTH.= _See_ =Peat=. [Illustration: FIG. 260. VERTICAL SECTION OF CYLINDER BOILER. A A, Wrought-iron Boiler, the shaded space showing the Waterway; B, Ashpit inside the cast base of Boiler; C, Fire-bars; D, Flue; E, Domed Top; F, Feeding Lid; G, Flow, and H, Return Pipe Sockets. ] =BOILERS.= These are very important articles in all gardens where there are glass houses, and the best should always be selected. They are made in cast and wrought iron, both of which have their special advantages and disadvantages. The former are less liable to burn through when encrusted with any deposit from the water, but will crack with sudden changes of temperature, by reason of the granular form of the metal not allowing gradual contraction; the latter may burn through where there is any deposit of mud or other matter, but they will not crack, and will stand a greater pressure than those made of cast metal. It is, however, the better plan to use Boilers of wrought iron, as, with careful usage, they are less liable to break down in hard frosts than are the others. As the value of the plants, as well as that of the Boiler, has to be considered, should such a contingency occur, it is certainly advisable to reduce all risks to a minimum; and as the average life of a Boiler is from ten to fifteen years, a slightly larger first cost is not of very serious moment. The forms of Boilers are very diverse, and, in some of the patented forms, complicated. But, whatever the shape, the following points are essential: A clear and unrestricted waterway of not less than 2in. in thickness; the greatest exposure of surface to the direct action of the fire; a sufficient fire space; and a fire-bar area calculated to supply enough fresh air to the fire to support thorough combustion. The forms generally used for horticultural work are the following, or some modifications of them; and, however grand the name, their chief value consists in the attested heating capacity at a given cost: The Saddle Boiler, which is made of various sizes, with or without check ends, cross tubes, and other devices for increasing the heating surface, and also of a tubular form; the Upright Cylinder (a vertical section of which is shown in Fig. 260); the Upright Tubular Cylinder; the Horizontal Tubular; and the Cornish or Horizontal Cylinder. Combinations of the various forms, and complicated patterns of different kinds, are made for particular purposes; but in no case should large Boilers be used, unless they are recommended, by one competent to judge, as suitable for the purpose they are needed to fulfil. In every case, it is necessary that the Boiler should be fixed in a proper manner. It is also good policy to have Boilers about 30, or even 50 per cent., more powerful than is actually required, when they are new, as, from various causes, their heating power falls off in a year or two in many places; and, under ordinary work, it is not desirable to stimulate the action in order to command sufficient heat. There is no doubt that, for general purposes, some modification of the Saddle or Cylinder Boiler is by far the best, all things duly considered; but it is impossible to give any practical advice without a thorough knowledge of the requirements of any particular place. Gas Boilers are also useful for small places. These are made in many forms, and are, as a rule, in the shape of a cylinder, with a coned inside, against which the flames play. Some Gas Boilers have also a superheater attached; this exhausts the heat from the air which has passed through the Boiler. Another good form is made of horizontal tubes, which contain the water, the flames playing over and amongst them. An atmospheric burner of approved construction should be used where gas is the heating power. A sufficient supply of gas should be assured by using supply pipes of a good size. Care should be taken to keep these pipes free from water, and protected from frost by silicate cotton lagging, or some other good non-conductor. Except for very small places, however, gas apparatus is almost useless, and will never supersede fuel Boilers. For other particulars regarding Boilers, _see_ =Heating= and =Stoking=. =BOIS-PERDRIX.= _See_ =Heisteria=. =BOLBOPHYLLUM.= _See_ =Bulbophyllum=. =BOLETUS= (from _bolos_, a mass; in reference to its massy or globular form). ORD. _Fungi_. The only species of this rather large genus demanding mention is _B. edulis_ (see Fig. 261), which is considered an excellent article of food. It is easily distinguished, and is often of large size and somewhat unshapely; the pileus is usually of a dusky yellow or brownish hue, but sometimes brighter and more of a chestnut colour; the flesh is white, and does not change to a blue colour when cut (this is a very important characteristic, and should always be noticed). It is a species common in most districts, usually growing in woods, and appearing chiefly in the autumn. [Illustration: FIG. 261. COMMON BOLETUS (BOLETUS EDULIS).] =BOLEUM= (from _bolos_, a ball; in reference to the shape of the seed-pods). ORD. _Cruciferæ_. An ornamental, hardy, evergreen shrub, well adapted for rockwork, in ordinary soil. It requires slight protection in winter if planted in very exposed situations. Propagated by seed, sown in a pot, in spring, and placed in a frame, or in the open border during summer. =B. asperum= (rough).* _fl._ cream-coloured; racemes erect, elongated; pedicels very short, the lower ones bracteate. April. _l._ alternate, oblong, linear; lower ones somewhat divided. A suffruticose, erect, branched plant, hispid from stiff hairs. _h._ 6in. to 1ft. France. 1818. =BOLLEA.= _See_ =Zygopetalum=. =BOLTED.= A term used in reference to plants that have prematurely run to seed. =BOLTONIA= (named after J. B. Bolton, an English professor of botany). ORD. _Compositæ_. A genus of rather pretty hardy herbaceous perennials. Flower-heads with white or purplish rays. Leaves pale green, lanceolate, sessile. They thrive in common garden soil. Propagated by divisions of the roots, in March. =B. asteroides= (Aster-like).* _fl.-heads_ flesh-coloured, stellate, disposed in a rather large terminal panicle. August. _l._ all entire, somewhat broadly lanceolate, narrowed at both ends. _h._ 2ft. North America, 1758. (B. M. 2554.) =B. glastifolia= (woad-leaved).* _fl.-heads_ pink. September. _l._, lower ones serrated. _h._ 1-1/2ft. North America, 1758. (B. M. 2381.) [Illustration: FIG. 262. FLOWERS OF BOMAREA CARDERI.] =BOMAREA= (derivation of name doubtful). ORD. _Amaryllidaceæ_. A genus of handsome half-hardy twiners, closely allied to _Alströmeria_, from which it is chiefly distinguished by its twining habit and some difference in the capsule. They are of comparatively easy culture, thriving in a compost of peat, leaf mould, loam, and sand, with good drainage. Manure water should be given during the season of growth. Although they make fine pot plants, their full beauty is only developed when planted out in the conservatory or greenhouse border. Propagated by seeds, or by careful divisions of the underground stem. In making a division, it is necessary to observe that the part taken has some roots by which to live till new ones are formed. It should be potted at first, and may, when established, be planted out or shifted on. Seeds may be raised in a warm house without difficulty. They germinate in a few weeks; and when the young plants are 2in. or 3in. high, they should be placed separately in small pots, shifting them on as necessary, or planting them out. In favoured southern localities, several species have proved hardy, but they are much the best when grown in a greenhouse. =B. acutifolia Ehrenbergiana= (Ehrenberg's acute-leaved). _fl._ undulate, outer segments deep orange, the inner ones paler and spotted. Spring. _l._ lanceolate acute, smooth. Mexico, 1878. (B. M. 6444). =B. Caldasiana= (Caldas's).* _fl._ orange yellow, spotted crimson. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, acute. Peruvian Andes, 1863. =B. Carderi= (Carder's).* _fl._ 2-1/2in. long by 1-1/8in. in breadth at the widest part, regularly bell-shaped, with six segments, the three outer rose-coloured, the three inner nearly equal in length, crenulate, and spotted with purplish-brown; inflorescence pendulous, and consisting of a large terminal umbellate cyme, surrounded at the base by a series of crowded leaves. _l._ oblong lanceolate, acuminate, about 7in. by 2-3/4in. Columbia, 1876. See Fig. 262, for which we are indebted to Mr. Bull. =B. chontalensis= (Chontalese). _fl._ 1-1/2in. long, sub-campanulate, obtusely trigonous; outer segments thick, fleshy, wavy, rose-red, with a few brown spots round the margin at the tip, very convex; inner segments a little shorter, pale yellow blotched with brown; umbels surrounded by a whorl of leaves, and composed of several peduncles, each bearing four to six nodding flowers. August. _l._ lanceolate or ovate oblong, acuminate. Nicaragua, 1871. (B. M. 5927). =B. conferta= (dense-flowered).* A synonym of _B. patococensis_. =B. edulis= (edible). _fl._, outer segments rose, green tipped; inner spotted with rose. St. Domingo, &c. One of the oldest species in cultivation. The tubers are said by Tussac to be eaten in St. Domingo, like those of the Jerusalem Artichoke. See Fig. 263. =B. frondea= (leafy). _fl._ 2in. long, tubulate-campanulate; outer segments narrow, oblong, yellow; inner segments 1/2in. longer than the outer ones, canary yellow, spotted with red; cymes umbellate, many-flowered, about 8in. across, base leafy. _l._ lanceolate, acuminate. Bogota, 1881. (G. C. n. s. 17, p. 669.) =B. oligantha= (few-flowered).* _fl._ regularly funnel-shaped, about 1in. long; outer segments slightly shorter than the inner, oblanceolate, under 1/4in. abroad, obtuse, unspotted, reddish on the outside, yellow within; one or two to an umbel, on simple, flexuous, glabrous pedicels, about 1in. long. _l._ long, acute, about 2in. long, bright green on the upper surface, ciliated on the ribs beneath. Peru, 1877. See Fig. 264. [Illustration: FIG. 263. FLOWERING BRANCH OF BOMAREA EDULIS.] =B. patococensis= (Patococha). _fl._ 2in. to 2-1/2in. long, elongate-funnel-shaped; the three outer segments ovate lanceolate, about one-fourth shorter than the inner segments, both of a rich crimson colour; numerously borne in drooping, contracted tufts at the ends of the shoots; peduncles about 2in. to 2-1/2in. long, intermixed at the base with broadly ovate-acute, leafy bracts. August and September. _l._ scattered, shortly stalked, broadly lanceolate, tail pointed. Bogota, 1881. (G. C. n. s. 17, p. 187.) [Illustration: FIG. 264. FLOWERING BRANCH OF BOMAREA OLIGANTHA.] =B. salsilla= (Salsilla). _fl._ purple, about 1/2in. long, the two inner segments having a darker spot at the base, and all of them tinged with green towards the points; collected into a terminal umbel. June. _l._ few, lanceolate. South America, 1806. This has proved quite hardy under various conditions. =B. Shuttleworthii= (Shuttleworth's).* _fl._, perianth about 2in. long, funnel-shaped or elongate bell-shaped; segments nearly equal, oblong acute, outer ones orange vermilion, slightly tinged with green and dotted with small dark spots at the tips; inner ones more acutely pointed, canary yellow, with a red midrib, and green with dark spots at the tips; cymes umbellate, pendulous. _l._ ovate lanceolate, 5in. to 6in. by 2in., glabrous. Bogota, 1881. (G. C. n. s. 17, p. 77.) =B. Williamsii= (Williams's).* _fl._ rose-coloured, about 2in. long, elongate funnel shape; disposed in a compound umbellate cyme. _l._ lanceolate, very acute, and tapering to a very short twisted petiole. New Grenada, 1882. =BOMBACE�.= A division of _Sterculiaceæ_. =BOMBAX= (from _bombax_, one of the Greek names for cotton; the pods are filled with a fine silky substance like cotton, but which it is impossible to spin into thread, in consequence of the edges being perfectly smooth). Silk Cotton Tree. ORD. _Malvaceæ_. A genus of large soft-wooded stove trees. Flowers scarlet or white, large, usually rising laterally from the trunk or branches, either singly or in clusters. They grow best in a rich loamy soil. Cuttings, not too ripe, taken off at a joint, placed in sand under a bell glass, in moist heat, will root readily; but plants raised from seeds brought from their natural habitats make finer trees. =B. Ceiba= (Ceiba). _fl._ pale red, large. _l._ palmate, with five leaflets. _fr._ turbinate, concave at the apex. _h._ 100ft. South America, 1692. =BOMBYX NEUSTRIA.= _See_ =Lackey Moth=. =BONA-NOX.= _See_ =Ipomæa Bona-Nox=. =BONAPARTEA.= _See_ =Tillandsia=. =BONAPARTEA JUNCEA.= A synonym of _Agave geminiflora_. =BONATEA.= (in honour of M. Bonato, a distinguished Italian botanist, and a Professor of Botany at Padua). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A handsome terrestrial stove orchid, allied to _Habenaria_, and requiring similar culture. =B. speciosa= (showy).* _fl._ white, galeate; petals bipartite; raceme many-flowered, compact; bracts cucullate, acuminate. August. _l._ oblong, sub-undulate. Stem leafy. _h._ 2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1820. (B. M. 2926; L. B. C. 284.) =BONGARDIA.= (named after Heinrich Gustav Bongard, a German botanist). ORD. _Berberideæ_. A very pretty hardy tuberous-rooted perennial, requiring a sandy soil, and good drainage, with protection at all seasons from excessive wet, otherwise it will rot. It should be carefully planted in a compost of loam, peat, leaf soil, and sand, in equal proportions, and covered with a handlight. =B. Rauwolfii= (Rauwolf's). _fl._ golden yellow, on pyramidal branched panicles; stamens and petals nearly equal in length. May. _l._ radical, pinnate; leaflets sessile, oval-oblong, three to five-cleft at the apex, glaucous, each with a dark purple blotch at the base. _h._ 6in. Syria, Persia, 1740. SYN. _Leontice Chrysogonum_. (B. M. 6244.) =BONNAYA= (named after Bonnay, a German botanist). ORD. _Scrophulariaceæ_. A small genus of usually glabrous, rarely pilose, slender, creeping or erect, annual, biennial, or perennial stove plants, almost unknown in cultivation. Flowers axillary, opposite, or alternate from abortion, usually pedicellate, the upper ones sometimes racemose, pinkish, or blue. Leaves opposite, quite entire, or toothed. They thrive in a rich sandy loam. The annual species are propagated by seeds, the others by divisions and cuttings. =BONNETIA= (commemorative of Charles Bonnet, a French naturalist, who wrote some botanical papers in 1754). ORD. _Ternstr�miaceæ_. A genus of elegant middle-sized stove trees or shrubs. Flowers large, terminal; peduncles one or many-flowered. Leaves scattered, exstipulate, coriaceous, entire, one-nerved, marked with transverse veins, sub-sessile, narrowed to the base. They thrive well in a mixture of loam and peat. Cuttings of firm young shoots will root if placed in sand under a hand glass, in a moderate heat. =B. sessilis= (stalkless). _fl._ purplish, terminal. _l._ oblong, coriaceous, entire. _h._ 15ft. Guiana, 1819. =BORAGE.= _See_ =Borago officinalis=. =BORAGINACE�.= A large order of herbs or shrubs, having spirally-coiled inflorescence; corolla usually regular and five-lobed, with an imbricated æstivation; throat generally hairy; stamens five, inserted in the corolla. Leaves alternate, rough. Among other genera belonging to this order may be named _Anchusa_, _Borago_, _Cynoglossum_, _Echium_, _Lithospermum_, and _Myosotis_. =BORAGO= (derivation very uncertain; probably a corruption of some eastern name). Borage. ORD. _Boraginaceæ_. A genus of hardy herbaceous perennials or annuals, excellently adapted for naturalising in dry stony places. Flowers blue, panicled, drooping; corolla rotate; throat furnished with emarginate vaulted processes; anthers distinct, oblong or lanceolate, awned, fixed by the inner side, conniving into a cone. Nuts four, one-celled, turbinate, fixed to the bottom of the calyx. Leaves oblong or lanceolate. All the species are easily cultivated, thriving in any common soil. Propagated by divisions, in spring, or by striking the young cuttings in a cold frame. They may also be raised from seed, which should be sown from March to May, in any good garden soil, and the plants, when large enough, thinned out to 1ft. or more apart. In hot weather, Borage is generally in demand for claret cup and other drinks. =B. laxiflora= (loose-flowered).* _fl._ on long pedicels, racemose, drooping; corolla pale blue; segments ovate, bluntish, erectly spreading. May to August. _l._ oblong, and rough from strigæ; radical ones rosulate; cauline ones half stem-clasping. Stem decumbent, many from the same root, hispid from retrograde bristles. Corsica, 1813. (B. M. 1789.) =B. longifolia= (long-leaved).* _fl._ disposed in a terminal bracteate panicle; corolla blue; segments ovate, acute, spreading. July and August. _l._ linear-lanceolate, scabrous and downy beneath; cauline ones half stem-clasping. _h._ 1ft. Numidia, 1825. [Illustration: FIG. 265. FLOWER OF BORAGO OFFICINALIS.] =B. officinalis= (officinal).* Common Borage. _fl._ blue, purple, or white; segments of the corolla limb ovate, acute, spreading. June to September. _l._, lower ones obovate, attenuated at the base; cauline ones oblong, sessile, sub-cordate at the base. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Britain. This is the kind most cultivated in gardens for flavouring. See Fig. 265. (Sy. En. B. 36.) =BORASSUS= (a name applied by Linnæus to the spathe of the Date Palm). ORD. _Palmaceæ_. A very small genus of stove trees, containing two noble species, which are distinguished by unisexual flowers, produced upon distinct plants, the males being borne in dense branching catkins, and the females on simple, or, more rarely, slightly branched spikes. Fruit very large, brown, three-seeded. Leaves fan-shaped, with spiny petioles. Trunks unarmed, often 70ft. high. They may be grown in good fibrous loam, leaf mould, and sand, mainly the former. Increased by seeds only, which require to be sown in strong bottom heat. Rarely seen in cultivation. =B. æthiopicum= (African). _l._ nearly circular, and plaited, supported upon stout petioles, 6ft. to 7ft. long. Western Tropical Africa. This handsome, but rare, species is remarkable for the bulging out or swelling in its stem, near the middle, or about two-thirds of its height from the ground. =B. flabelliformis= (fan-shaped).* _l._ nearly circular, and plaited like a partially-open fan, with about seventy ribs, which radiate from a common centre. _h._ 30ft. India, 1771. =BORBONIA= (named after Gaston de Bourbon, Duke of Orleans, son of Henry IV. of France, a great lover and patron of botany). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A genus of very ornamental greenhouse evergreen shrubs, natives of the Cape of Good Hope. Flowers yellow, disposed in terminal heads, axillary. Leaves simple, amplexicaul, alternate, exstipulate, pungent. They thrive well in a mixture of peat, loam, and sand, with good drainage. Cuttings, half-ripened, obtained in April, will root freely in sandy soil if placed under a bell glass, in a cool house. =B. barbata= (bearded).* _fl._ sessile, villous on the outside. July. _l._ narrow, lanceolate, many-nerved, complicated, ciliately-bearded, and very much acuminated; branches diverging. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. 1823. =B. cordata= (heart-shaped). _fl._, corolla densely villous, with the vexillum obcordate. July. _l._ cordate, many-nerved, quite entire, glabrous. Branches villous. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. 1759. =B. crenata= (crenated).* _fl._ less villous than in the rest of the species. July. _l._ cordate, roundish, acute, denticulated, many nerved and reticulated between the nerves, and are, as well as the branches, glabrous. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. 1774. (B. M. 274.) =B. lanceolata= (lance-shaped). _fl._ densely villous. July. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, pungent, many nerved, quite entire, sessile, glabrous, as well as the stem. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. 1752. (L. B. C. 81.) =B. ruscifolia= (Ruscus-leaved). _fl._ sparingly villous. July. _l._ cordate, many-nerved, minutely ciliated, but are otherwise glabrous as well as the branches. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. 1790. (B. M. 2128.) =BORDERS, FLOWER.= Small beds, or a continuous bed, of greater length than width, skirting a wall or shrubbery, and containing plants of a heterogeneous character. They should be slightly raised above the surrounding level, and thoroughly drained. In the first preparation of the Border, it is most essential to deeply dig or trench the ground, thoroughly incorporating a large amount of well-bodied manure; and if the soil is very stiff, wood ashes or coarse sand should be well worked in with the manure. The best time to plant such Borders is in early autumn or in March. Where, as is frequently the case, the Borders are only 2ft. or 3ft. wide, not more than two rows of plants, either in groups or singly, will be allowable. The tall plants or shrubs should constitute the background, with dwarfer subjects in front; but formal arrangements must be avoided. The object should be to secure a continuous succession of flowers. This would entail some little trouble at first, which, however, would be amply repaid by results. No hard-and-fast rules can be laid down as to the arrangement of the plants, which depends on individual taste and means; but the best results are obtained when the border is mainly made up of hardy herbaceous perennials, as permanent occupants, assisted by liberal quantities of summer bedding plants, such as Dahlias, Fuchsias, Geraniums, Heliotrope, Tropæolums, &c., as well as many hardy annuals and biennials. By this means, a very varied and beautiful display may be maintained, especially if bulbs are used for early spring effect, such as Narcissi, Scillas, Snowdrops, Tulips, &c. Of course, the herbaceous perennials should be selected with much care, all weedy subjects being avoided, and variety in colour and time of flowering secured. Anything like a full list of these would occupy too much space for repetition here, but the following will be found very showy and useful: Achilleas, Aconitums, Anemones, Aquilegias, Armerias, Asters, Campanulas, Carnations and Picotees, Delphiniums, Dodecatheons, Doronicums, Fritillarias, Funkias, Gaillardias, Geraniums, Geums, Hollyhocks, Iberises, Irises, Liliums, Pæonies, Papavers, Pyrethrums, double and single, Ranunculus, Trolliuses, &c. =BORDERS, FRUIT.= These should be well drained, and if not naturally so, the soil should be excavated from 3ft. to 5ft. deep, in order to form a bottom of stones, pieces of brick, clinkers, &c. Where it is convenient, draining pipes should be added, if an outfall in the vicinity can be secured. The base of the Border should be sloped to the front, where the pipes should be laid, and the bottom covered with draining material, thereby effectually preventing the fruit trees rooting deep, which is detrimental to healthy growth. Gross-feeding vegetables or flowers should not be grown on the surface, but shallow-rooting crops will generally do no harm. Many advocate the surface being kept free from crops of any sort, simply letting it be freely exposed; whilst others equally as strenuously condemn this plan. Where necessary, chalk or some other mineral constituent of good soil which is naturally absent, may be added; but much animal manure is rarely required. The depth and width of Border may vary for different fruit trees, but efficient drainage is in all cases important. =BORECOLE= (_Brassica oleracea fimbriata_). An important division of the Brassica tribe, often cultivated in gardens under the name of Kale. It comes in very useful when hard weather has rendered cabbages, &c., unfit for use, as it endures cold better than most other green vegetables. Some are also grown as ornamental foliaged plants. Like all other plants of a similar description, they require rich soil, and they should be put out in June or early in July, as it is almost useless to plant this kind of vegetable after the middle of the latter month. To obtain the best results, the ground should be deeply dug and well manured; but it must not be full of crude manure at planting time, or it will make the plants too tender and succulent in wet seasons, with the result that the first sharp frost would cause them to rot. Good hard-stemmed plants are the kinds most needed, especially for crops required in spring, when green vegetables are scarce. Cultivation: Early in April, and again a month later for succession, the seeds should be sown thinly in nursery beds, not covering them too deeply. The soil should be in a friable condition, and it is an advantage if the first beds be made under a south wall. As soon as the seedlings appear, if they are too thick, they should be thinned, as those which are drawn up weak and spindly are useless. When large enough, they should be carefully planted out, choosing showery weather, if possible, for the operation. If it is necessary to plant them in dry weather, they must be well watered-in. The rows should be from 2ft. to 3ft. apart, according to the variety, and the plants 2ft. apart in the rows; or, if potatoes are planted wide apart, the Borecole may be arranged between them. Dead leaves must be cleared away from time to time, but no green ones should be broken off. When the tops are cut for use, the stems should not be denuded of foliage, as they will soon break again and form successional crops. The plants must be kept free from weeds. After April, the Kales are of little use; the stems may therefore be pulled up, and the ground planted with some other crop. They all require the same treatment, and at their various seasons come in equally useful. _Sorts._ The distinct forms are somewhat limited, but being largely cultivated on the Continent as well as all parts of Britain on account of its hardy nature, the varieties of Borecole receive a large number of names that are either synonymous with, or indistinct from, a few well-known types. Dwarf Green Curled or Scotch is probably the best and most grown; other good hardy sorts are Asparagus Kale (this name is applied to several different kinds, the best one being in use very late in spring), Buda, Cottagers', Dwarf Purple, Imperial Hearting, Ragged Jack, and Tall Green Curled. Melville's Variegated and Variegated Borecole, amongst others, have fine ornamental foliage. =BORONIA= (named after Francis Boroni, an Italian servant of Dr. Sibthorp, who perished from an accident at Athens; he collected specimens of many of those plants which are figured in the "Flora Græca"). ORD. _Rutaceæ_. Very elegant and useful shrubs, requiring similar treatment to ordinary greenhouse hard-wooded subjects, and much aided with a little extra heat in spring, when breaking into growth. Flowers pretty, pink-purplish, or white; peduncles terminal, but usually axillary on the extreme branches, one to many-flowered; pedicels furnished at the base and middle with two opposite, short bracts, jointed, commonly dilated under the calyx. Leaves opposite, simple, or impari-pinnate, entire, or a little serrulated, full of pellucid dots. They should be placed out of doors from July to the middle of September; the most convenient place for them is in pits, as there are then greater facilities for protecting them from heavy rains and thunderstorms. When first put out, Boronias should not be fully exposed, but in the course of a week they may remain open to the full influence of both sun and air. Potting should be performed once a year, as soon as the top growth ceases, as the roots then extend themselves in preparation for their next year's functions. The best compost for them is one of peat and maiden loam in equal parts, and about one-sixth sharp silver sand. Many cultivators, however, prefer a compost consisting of good fibry peat and silver sand, together with some pieces of charcoal, smaller or larger, according to the size of the pots used. The soil should be rammed firmly in the pots, which must be well drained. The leading shoots should be pinched, to ensure good bushy specimens. Propagation may be effected by young cuttings, or those made from the half-ripened wood; these should be put into a thoroughly drained pot of sandy soil, with 1in. of sand on the surface, and covered with a bell glass, which must be frequently taken off and wiped dry. When in the cutting state, water must be very carefully given around the rim of the pot, without taking off the glass. If placed in a temperature of about 50deg., and shaded from bright noonday sun, they soon root, when they may be potted off singly into small pots, and plunged in sawdust, or cocoa-nut fibre refuse, in which situation but little water is needed. Pinching repeatedly, when young, is the only means to secure good ultimate growth. Air must be given on all possible opportunities. =B. alata= (winged). _fl._ pale rose-colour, small; peduncles dichotomous, usually three-flowered; bracts fringed. May. _l._, leaflets three to five pairs, or more, crenate, revolute, pilose on the nerves beneath, as well as the rachis. _h._ 2ft. to 6ft. New Holland, 1823. (L. B. C. 1833.) =B. anemonifolia= (Anemone-leaved). _fl._ pink; peduncles axillary, solitary, one-flowered. May. _l._ stalked, trifid; segments narrow, wedge-shaped, furnished with two or three teeth at the apex, or quite entire. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. New Holland, 1824. (P. M. B. 9, 123.) =B. crenulata= (crenulate).* _fl._ red, small, with a fringed calyx; pedicels axillary and terminal, one-flowered. July. _l._ obovate, mucronulate, crenulated. _h._ 1ft. to 4ft. King George's Sound. (B. M. 3915.) =B. denticulata= (finely-toothed). _fl._ rose-coloured; bracts deciduous; peduncles corymbose. March to August. _l._ linear, retuse, toothleted, terminated by a small point. _h._ 2ft. to 6ft. King George's Sound, 1823. (B. R. 1000.) =B. Drummondi= (Drummond's).* _fl._ pretty rosy pink, freely produced during spring and summer. _l._ pinnatifid. _h._ 2ft. New Holland. A very pretty species, with a slender but compact habit of growth. There is a white-flowered variety of this species (F. d. S. 9, 881.) =B. elatior= (tallest).* _fl._ pendulous, rosy carmine, very fragrant, disposed in long dense clusters along the ends of the branches. May. _l._ very prettily pinnately cut into linear segments. _h._ 4ft. Western Australia, 1874. (B. M. 6285.) =B. ledifolia= (Ledum-leaved). _fl._ red; peduncles axillary, one-flowered, each bearing two bracts in the middle. March. _l._ linear-lanceolate, quite entire, downy beneath. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. New Holland, 1814. (P. M. B. 8, 123.) [Illustration: FIG. 266. FLOWERING BRANCHES OF BORONIA MEGASTIGMA.] =B. megastigma= (large-stigma).* _fl._ numerous, axillary, fragrant, drooping, 1/2in. in diameter, sub-globose, campanulate; petals nearly orbicular, concave, maroon purple outside, and yellow within. _l._ sessile, pinnate, with three to five narrow linear rigid leaflets. _h._ 1ft. Of slender habit, with twiggy branches. South-western Australia, 1873. See Fig. 266. =B. pinnata= (pinnate).* _fl._ pink, with a scent like that of Hawthorn; peduncles dichotomous. February to May. _l._, leaflets two, three or four pairs, linear, acute, quite smooth. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. New Holland, 1794. (B. M. 1763.) =B. polygalæfolia= (Polygala-leaved). _fl._ red; peduncles axillary, solitary, one-flowered. March to July. _l._ linear-lanceolate, quite entire, opposite, alternate, and three in a whorl. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. Port Jackson, 1824. =B. serrulata= (serrulate).* _fl._ of a deep rose colour, very fragrant; peduncles aggregate, terminal. July. _l._ trapeziform, acute, serrulated in front, smooth, full of glandular dots. _h._ 1ft. to 6ft. Port Jackson, 1816. (B. R. 842.) =B. tetrandra= (four-stamened). _fl._ pale purple; pedicels short, one-flowered. May. _l._ impari-pinnate; leaflets four to five pairs, linear, obtuse, smooth; branches pilose. _h._ 1ft. to 4ft. New Holland, 1824. (P. M. B. 16, 227.) =BORRERIA= (named after William Borrer, F.L.S., a profound botanist and cryptogamist). ORD. _Rubiaceæ_. A large genus of stove herbs or sub-shrubs, now referred to _Spermacoce_. Flowers small, white, rarely blue, disposed in verticillate heads, in the axils of the leaves, or on the tops of the branches, rarely cymose or corymbose. Leaves opposite, or the young ones disposed in fascicles in the axils of the old ones, and therefore appearing verticillate; stipules joining with the petioles, more or less sheathing, fringed by many bristles. Stems and branches usually tetragonal. The species are of easy culture, thriving in a light soil. Cuttings of the perennial kinds strike root readily in the same kind of soil, in heat. The annual kinds require a similar treatment to other tender annuals. =B. stricta= (straight). A dwarf shrub, but closely allied to the next species. Porto Rico. =B. verticillata= (whorled-flowered). _fl._ white. July. _l._ linear lanceolate, acuminated, opposite, but appearing verticillate from the fascicles of young leaves in the axils. _h._ 2ft. West Indies, 1732. =BOSCIA= (named after Louis Bosc, a French professor of agriculture). SYN. _Podoria_. ORD. _Capparidaceæ_. A small genus of stove plants, requiring a soil of lumpy, fibry loam and peat. Propagated by cuttings of firm wood, placed in sand, under a glass, in heat. =B. senegalensis= (Senegal). _fl._ white, small, apetalous, corymbose. _h._ 3ft. Senegal, 1824. An unarmed evergreen shrub. (L. E. M. 395.) =BOSSI�A= (named after M. Bossier Lamartinière, a French botanist, who accompanied the unfortunate La Peyrouse round the world). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A genus of elegant Australian greenhouse shrubs. Flowers yellow, axillary and solitary, the base of the vexillum or the keel generally blotched or veined with purple. Leaves simple, of various forms. A mixture of turfy loam, leaf mould, peat, and sand, with very free drainage, suits these plants best. Half-ripened cuttings will root freely if placed in a pot of sand with a bell glass over them, in a cool house. Seeds should be sown, in March, on a slight hotbed. =B. cinerea= (ashy-grey). _fl._ yellow, the vexillum furnished with a purple circle at the base, and the keel dark purple. May. _l._ nearly sessile, cordate acute, ending in a spiny mucrone, scabrous above, but pilose on the nerves beneath, with recurved margins. Branches terete, crowded with leaves, vinous. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. 1824. SYNS. _B. cordifolia_, _B. tenuicaulis_. (B. M. 3895.) =B. cordifolia= (heart-leaved). A synonym of _B. cinerea_. =B. disticha= (two-ranked).* _fl._ yellowish-red; peduncles solitary, axillary, one-flowered, longer than the leaves. March to May. _l._ distichous, ovate, obtuse. Young branches terete. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Swan River, 1840. (B. R. 1841, 55.) =B. ensata= (sword-shaped). _fl._ yellowish, with the back and base of the vexillum of a brownish orange-purple colour; keel brownish-purple. April. Branches flat, linear, leafless, toothed, the teeth bearing the flowers; upper bracts distant from the lower ones, shorter than the pedicel. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1825. (S. F. A. 51.) =B. foliosa= (leafy). _fl._ yellow and orange. May to June. _l._ alternate, small, orbicular, retuse, scabrous, with revolute margins, silky beneath; stipules permanent, hooked, longer than the petioles. Branches straight, terete, villous. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. 1824. =B. lenticularis= (lentil-leaved). A synonym of _B. rhombifolia_. =B. linnæoides= (Linnæa-like).* _fl._ yellow; keel dark brown; corolla about twice the length of the calyx; pedicels solitary one-flowered, elongated. May. _l._ elliptic, mucronate. Branches terete, prostrate, puberulous. 1824. A procumbent shrub. =B. linophylla= (Flax-leaved).* _fl._ orange and purple. July to August. _l._ linear, with recurved margins. Branches compressed, leafy. _h._ 1ft. to 4ft. 1803. (B. M. 2491.) =B. microphylla= (small-leaved). _l._ cuneiformly obcordate, glabrous. Branches terete, leafy, spinescent; young branches rather compressed and pubescent. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1803. (L. B. C. 656.) =B. rhombifolia= (diamond-leaved).* _fl._ yellow, the vexillum having a dark red zonate mark at the base; wings red at the base; keel brownish-purple. April. _l._ rhomboidal-orbicular, somewhat emarginate and mucronate. Branches terete; branchlets compressed, leafy. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. 1820. SYN. _B. lenticularis_. (L. B. C. 1238.) =B. rotundifolia= (round-leaved). _l._ roundish, or broadly obovate, somewhat mucronate, flat, four to five lines long and five to six broad. Branches and branchlets leafy, compressed. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. 1824. =B. scolopendrium= (plank-plant). _fl._ yellow, with the back of the vexillum and keel brownish-red. May. _l._ (when present) ovate and smooth. Branches flat, linear, leafless, toothed, with the teeth bearing the flowers; keel naked; superior bracts permanent, imbricate, equal in length to the peduncles. _h._ 3ft. to 10ft. 1792. (B. M. 1235.) =B. tenuicaulis= (slender-stemmed). Synonymous with _B. cinerea_. =BOSWELLIA= (named after Dr. Boswell, formerly of Edinburgh). Olibanum Tree. ORD. _Burseraceæ_. Ornamental and economic evergreen stove trees. Flowers hermaphrodite; calyx five-toothed, permanent; petals five, obovate-oblong, spreading, with the margins incumbent in æstivation; disk cup-shaped, crenate; stamens ten; capsule trigonal. They are of easy culture, thriving well in loam and peat soil. Cuttings root readily if placed in sand under a glass. =B. glabra= (glabrous). _fl._ white, small, with a red nectary and yellow anthers; racemes aggregate, simple, terminal, shorter than the leaves. _l._ impari-pinnate; leaflets broad, lanceolate, blunt, serrated, smooth. _h._ 30ft. Coromandel, 1823. (B. F. S. 124.) =B. serrata= (saw-edged-leaved).* _fl._ whitish-yellow; racemes axillary, simple. _l._ impari-pinnate; leaflets ovate-oblong, taper-pointed, serrated, pubescent. _h._ 20ft. India, 1820. (T. L. S. xv., 4.) =BOTANY BAY GUM.= _See_ =Xanthorrhæa arborea=. =BOTANY BAY TEA= (and =TREE=). _See_ =Smilax glycyphylla=. =BOTHY.= A residence for under-gardeners, usually built behind the hothouses, or some high wall, in what is called a back shed. The place is too frequently a cramped, ill-ventilated hovel. A Bothy proper should be an independent structure, and fitted with modern conveniences; for, of all people, gardeners are the most susceptible to colds, &c. A library of standard horticultural and botanical works, as well as a few on other scientific subjects, and a moderate number of high-class books of fiction, one or more weekly gardening and other papers, should be supplied by the employer. During the winter months, for mutual improvement, lectures should be delivered, or papers read, by each gardener, on various subjects, after which a free discussion should take place upon the paper or lecture, by which means a great amount of good would be accomplished. =BOTRYCHIUM= (from _botrys_, a bunch; in reference to the bunch-like disposition of the indusia). Moonwort. ORD. _Filices_. A genus of very interesting and pretty little hardy ferns. Capsules sessile, arranged in two rows on the face of spikes which form a compound panicle. They require a compost of sandy loam; perfect drainage is most essential. For general culture, _see_ =Ferns=. =B. australe= (southern). A variety of _B. ternatum_. =B. daucifolium= (Daucus-leaved). _sti._ stout, 6in. to 12in. long; petiole of sterile segments 1in. to 6in. long, the latter 6in. to 12in. each way, deltoid, tripinnatifid or tripinnate, the lower pinnæ largest; segments lanceolate-oblong, 1/4in. to 3/8in. broad, finely toothed. _fertile peduncle_ equalling the sterile segments when mature; panicle 2in. to 4in. long; tripinnate, not very close. Himalayas, &c. Greenhouse species. SYN. _B. subcarnosum_. =B. Lunaria.= Common Moonwort.* _sti._ 1in. to 4in. long. _sterile segments_ sessile, or nearly so, 1in. to 3in. long, 1/2in. to 1in. broad, base much broader than the middle, cut down to a flattened rachis into several distinct, close, entire, or notched cuneate-flabellate pinnæ on both sides. _fertile peduncle_ equalling or exceeding the sterile portion; panicle close, 1in. to 2in. long. England, &c. Hardy. See Fig. 267. [Illustration: FIG. 267. BOTRYCHIUM LUNARIA, showing Habit, Capsule, and Spores.] =B. lunarioides= (Lunaria-like). A variety of _B. ternatum_. =B. obliquum= (oblique). A variety of _B. ternatum_. =B. subcarnosum= (sub-fleshy). A synonym of _B. daucifolium_. =B. ternatum= (ternate).* _sti._ 1in. to 2in. long. _petiole_ of the sterile segments 2in. to 4in. long, the latter 3in. to 6in. each way, deltoid, tri- or quadripinnatifid; lower pinnæ much the largest. _fertile peduncle_ 6in. to 9in. long; panicle 1in. to 6in. long; deltoid, very compound. Nootka and Hudson's Bay territory. Several so-called species come very close to this, including _australe_, _lunarioides_, and _obliquum_, which are only geographical varieties. Greenhouse species. =B. virginianum= (Virginian).* _sti._ 3in. to 18in. long. _sterile segments_ sessile, 4in. to 12in. each way, deltoid, quadripinnatifid; lower pinnæ much the largest; pinnules oval-oblong, close, cut down to the rachis into finely cut linear-oblong segments. _fertile peduncle_ equalling or exceeding the sterile part of the plant when mature; panicle 1in. to 4in. long, loose, oblong. Oregon, and North United States, 1790. A hardy species in sheltered places. (H. G. F. 29.) =BOTTLE-GOURD.= _See_ =Lagenaria=. =BOTTLE-TREE.= _See_ =Sterculia rupestris=. =BOTTOM HEAT.= This is usually secured by passing hot-water pipes through an air chamber, or a water tank, beneath a bed of plunging material. The covering of the tank or chamber is best made of slate. The heat must be regulated according to the requirements of the subjects grown; this is easily accomplished by using the valve. A thermometer should be placed in the tank or bed. Bottom-heat is indispensable for propagating plants from seeds and cuttings, especially in spring. _See_ =Heating= and =Hotbeds=. =BOUCEROSIA= (from _boukeros_, furnished with buffaloes' horns; in reference to the curved lobes of the corona) ORD. _Asclepiadaceæ_. A genus of greenhouse succulent perennials, allied to _Stapelia_, and requiring the same culture. Flowers numerous, terminal, umbellate; corolla sub-campanulate, five-cleft; segments broadly triangular, with acute recesses; stramineous corona fifteen-lobed; lobes disposed in a double series; the five inner ones opposite the stamens and lying upon the anthers; the rest exterior, erect, or a little incurved at apex, adhering to the back of the inner ones. Branches and stems tetragonal, with toothed angles. [Illustration: FIG. 268 BOUCEROSIA EUROP�A.] =B. europæa= (European). _fl._ purple-brown, yellow. Summer. _h._ 4in. Sicily, 1833. SYNS. _Apteranthes_ and _Stapelia Gussoniana_. See Fig. 268. (B. R. 1731.) =B. maroccana= (Morocco).* _fl._ dark red purple, with yellow concentric lines. Summer. _l._ minute, trowel-shaped, deflexed at tip of stem angles. _h._ 4in. Morocco, 1875. (B. M. 6137.) =BOUCHEA= (named after C. and P. Bouche, German naturalists). ORD. _Verbenaceæ_. A small genus of stove or greenhouse evergreen herbs or sub-shrubs. Flowers sub-sessile, in spicate racemes, which are either terminal or in the forking of two branches; corolla funnel-shaped. Leaves opposite, toothed. They thrive in a well-drained compost of loam and sandy peat. Propagated by cuttings, placed in sand, under a glass, and in a gentle heat, during spring. =B. cuneifolia= (wedge-shaped-leaved). _fl._ white. April. _h._ 4ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1821. A greenhouse evergreen shrub. SYN. _Chascanum cuneifolium_. =B. pseudogervao= (false-gervaô). _fl._ purplish, with white throat; spike terminal, 6in. to 10in. long, slender. September. _l._ opposite, ovate, or elliptic-ovate, acuminate, serrated. Stems tetragonous. _h._ 2ft. to 5ft. Brazil, 1874. A stove perennial. (B. M. 6221). =BOUGAINVILLEA= (named after De Bougainville, a French navigator). ORD. _Nyctagineæ_. Gorgeous warm greenhouse or conservatory plants, comprising some of the most showy climbers in cultivation. Their beauty lies in the bracts, which envelop the small greenish flowers. _B. glabra_ may be grown in pots, or planted out in the greenhouse borders; the others are best planted out, as they root very freely, and plenty of space would be occupied if allowed, but it is best to limit it, as they bloom much better. Strict training and pinching are not desirable, being prejudicial to the free production of bloom; indeed, the best plan is to allow the plants to ramble freely over the roof of a moderately high house, or along the upper portion of a back wall; they will then bloom profusely for several months in the year, provided proper attention be paid to watering, and that the plants are in a well-drained situation. In preparing a border for their reception, the first point to be considered is the drainage, which must be perfect. This is best effected by placing a layer of brick rubbish, 6in. to 9in. in thickness, communicating with the drain, by which means all sourness and stagnancy of the soil will be obviated. The bed should be excavated to a depth of 18in. or 2ft. Three parts turfy loam, and one part leaf soil, with the admixture of a liberal quantity of sharp gritty sand, will form a suitable compost for the culture of Bougainvilleas. The amount of sand incorporated must depend upon the quality of the other components, heavy loam requiring more than that which is more friable. The occasional incorporation of manure in the compost is not to be recommended; but a liberal application of liquid manure will be of material advantage, especially if the root space is limited. When the plants cease blooming each year�-about November or December�-they should be dried off and rested; and in February they should be closely spurred in, the same as with vines, and all weak leaders removed, so that strong wood only is left. When grown in pots, they must be started in brisk heat. They are easily increased by cuttings prepared from the half-ripened wood; these should be placed in sandy soil, in a brisk bottom heat, when they will soon root. Scale, red spider, and mealy bug are the only insects likely to infest the plants, and recipes for their destruction will be found under each individual name. [Illustration: FIG. 269. FLOWERING BRANCH OF BOUGAINVILLEA SPECTABILIS.] =B. glabra= (smooth).* _fl._, inflorescence panicled, smaller than that of _B. speciosa_, each branchlet producing cordate-ovate acute rosy bracts, in threes. Summer. _l._ bright green, smooth. Brazil, 1861. This is by far the best species for pot culture, and forms a very showy plant when well grown. =B. speciosa= (beautiful).* _fl._, bracts large, cordate, delicate lilac rose, produced in immense panicles, which, in well grown specimens, are so freely produced as to entirely shroud the whole plant. March to June. _l._ ovate, very dark green, covered on the upper surface with small hairs. Stems branched, abundantly furnished with large recurved spines. Brazil, 1861. (F. M. i., 62.) =B. spectabilis= (showy). _fl._, bracts of a dull brick-red, shaded with scarlet. South America, 1829. It is very difficult to obtain bloom on this plant; and when flowers are produced, they are extremely ephemeral. The species is, for all practical purposes, much inferior to either of the foregoing. SYN. _Josepha augusta_. See Fig. 269. =BOURBON PALM.= _See_ =Latania=. =BOUSSINGAULTIA= (named after Boussingault, a celebrated chemist). ORD. _Chenopodiaceæ_. Very pretty half-hardy, tuberous-rooted plants, requiring a rich vegetable sandy soil, and a well-drained sunny aspect, under which conditions the first-mentioned species develops into a very luxuriant trailing plant, attaining a length of 20in. or more. Propagated freely by means of the tubercles of the stem; these are, however, extremely brittle. =B. baselloides= (Basella-like).* _fl._ white, ultimately becoming black, fragrant, small, disposed in clusters, 2in. to 4in. long, which are axillary at the ends of the branches. Late autumn. _l._ alternate, cordate, smooth, shining, fleshy, slightly wavy. Stems very twining, tinged red, very quick-growing, producing tubercles. South America, 1835. (B. M. 3620.) =B. Lachaumei= (Lachaume's). _fl._ rose, constantly in perfection. Cuba, 1872. A stove species. [Illustration: FIG. 270. FLOWERING BRANCH OF BOUVARDIA.] =BOUVARDIA= (named after Dr. Charles Bouvard, formerly superintendent of the Jardin du Roi, at Paris). ORD. _Rubiaceæ_. Handsome greenhouse evergreen shrubs. Peduncles terminal, three-flowered, or trichotomous and corymbose; corolla funnel-shaped, tubular, elongated, beset with velvety papillæ outside, and a four-parted, spreading, short limb. Leaves opposite, or in whorls; stipules narrow, acute, adnate to the petioles on both sides. These extensively cultivated plants are among the most useful for conservatory or greenhouse decoration (see Fig. 270. for which we are indebted to Messrs. Cannell and Sons), and the flowers are largely employed in a cut state. Perhaps only two are fragrant, viz., _jasminiflora_ and _Humboldtii_. Cultivation: Presuming the grower to be commencing with young rooted cuttings, these should be potted off into a mixture of good fibrous loam, leaf soil, and sand, in equal proportions, to which may be added a small quantity of peat; they should then be placed in a temperature of from 70deg. to 80deg. until fully established in the small pots. It is necessary at this stage to stop the young plants back to the first joint, and as they continue to make fresh breaks, to keep on pinching them back during the whole period of cultivation, or until sufficiently bushy plants are produced. Many growers neglect stopping far too much, the result being ill-shaped and almost flowerless plants. The pinching, of course, can be regulated by the time the plants are required to flower; and it is unwise, in most cases, to stop them after the end of August. When the small pots are well filled with roots, the plants should be shifted into the flowering pots, viz., large 48-sized, which are quite commodious enough to grow very fine plants, a similar compost as in the first potting, with a little Standen's manure added, being used, and good drainage provided. A cool greenhouse, with a damp bottom for the pots to rest upon, and with a moist atmosphere, is the most suitable place in which to grow them during late spring and early summer, the moist air being very desirable as an effectual check to red spider, a pest very fond of the foliage, which it permanently disfigures. A cold pit or close frame is better during the summer months, as a moist atmosphere and cool bottom are then certain. Ventilation may be effected during the greater part of the day by tilting the lights below, and on fine nights they may be removed altogether. During bright sunshine, shading will be beneficial. All through the period of active growth, it is absolutely necessary that the plants should receive plenty of water, or they will surely suffer; and when the pots are filled with roots, occasional doses of manure water will be beneficial. Many cultivators plant them out about the end of June, in favoured situations, or in spent hotbeds, when they make very vigorous growth; and, if carefully pinched and watered, fine specimens are obtained. These are lifted in early autumn, with a good ball, potted, and kept shaded for a few days until the roots are again active, when they are taken to the house in which they are intended to bloom, and an enormous supply of flowers is secured. We have also seen Bouvardias planted out permanently in beds, in prepared pits, in which the winter temperature was not less than 55deg., with very satisfactory results; the quantity of bloom being very great. Of course, with the last-named treatment, it is essential to give the plants a rest and hardening-off after flowering, and when they are started into fresh growth to keep them well pinched and watered. Bouvardias are liable to the attacks of red spider and green fly. The former stands little chance of existence if the plants are kept well supplied with moisture; the latter may be destroyed by fumigating with tobacco. Mealy bug are also troublesome, and should be sponged off with a solution of Gishurst's Compound. Propagation: After flowering, and a slight rest and hardening-off, the old plants should be cut back, placed in heat, in a stove or cucumber pit, and freely syringed, which will cause them to break freely, and produce a good supply of cuttings. When the young shoots are from 1-1/2in. to 2in. long., they are in the best condition for striking. It is not necessary that they should be cut off at a joint, as they will root from any surface of the stem; and, working economically, it is wiser to cut them off just above the first joint, as other shoots will speedily break out, which may, in their turn, be taken. Pots about 5in. across should have previously been prepared for the cuttings, by being well drained and filled with a mixture of good fibrous loam, leaf soil, and coarse sand, in equal parts, with a copious supply of sand upon the surface, into which the cuttings should be dibbled pretty thickly. A good watering must be given without wetting, and thereby injuring, the foliage. The pots should be plunged in the cutting case, or in any bottom heat of about 70deg. or 80deg., and covered with a bell glass. All that is then necessary is to keep them moist and shady during sunshine, until they are rooted, which, as a rule, is effected in three weeks' time. When well established, they may be removed from the case, gradually hardened off, and finally potted singly into small thumb pots. =B. angustifolia= (narrow-leaved).* _fl._ pale red; corymbs somewhat trichotomous. September. _l._ three in a whorl, lanceolate, with revolute edges, glabrous above, but beset with fine hairs beneath. Branches terete, smoothish. _h._ 2ft. Mexico, 1838. (P. M. B. 7, 99.) =B. Cavanillesii= (Cavanilles's). _fl._ red; peduncles terminal, trifid, three-flowered. May. _l._ opposite, ovate-lanceolate, acuminated, rather villous beneath. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Mexico, 1846. SYN. _B. multiflora_. (J. H. S. 3, 246.) =B. flava= (yellow).* _fl._ yellow, drooping; racemes three to five-flowered; pedicels downy, slender. March. _l._ opposite, ovate-lanceolate, ciliated; stipules setaceous. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Mexico, 1845. (B. R. 32, 32.) =B. hirtella= (hairy). _fl._ pale red or flesh-coloured, corymbose. _l._ whorled, lanceolate, with revoluted edges, hairy on both surfaces. Branches terete. Mexico. =B. Humboldtii corymbiflora= (Humboldt's corymb-flowered).* _fl._ white, large, fragrant, disposed in terminal racemes; tubes long. Autumn and winter. _l._ ovate, oblong-acuminate, dark green. 1874. One of the finest kinds in cultivation. (G. C. 1873, 717.) =B. Jacquini= (Jacquin's). A synonym of _B. triphylla_. =B. jasminiflora= (Jasmine-flowered).* _fl._ white, fragrant, in compound cymes; very floriferous. Winter. _l._ opposite, elliptic-acuminate. South America, 1869. A very charming and largely grown species. (G. C. 1872, 215.) [Illustration: FIG. 271. BOUVARDIA LEIANTHA.] =B. leiantha= (smooth-flowered).* _fl._ scarlet; corymbs sub-trichotomous. July to November. _l._ ternate, ovate-acuminate, slightly hairy above, downy-villous beneath. _h._ 2ft. Mexico, 1850. See Fig. 271. (B. H. 2, 6.) =B. longiflora= (long-flowered).* _fl._ white, terminal, solitary, sessile, with the tube 2in. or 3in. long. _l._ opposite, oblong, acute, cuneated at the base, glabrous. Branches compressedly tetragonal, glabrous. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Mexico, 1827. (B. M. 4223.) =B. multiflora= (many-flowered). A synonym of _B. Cavanillesii_. =B. triphylla= (three-leaved).* _fl._ scarlet, nearly 1in. long; corymbs somewhat trichotomous. July. _l._ smoothish above, hairy beneath, three in a whorl, oblong. Branchlets trigonal, hairy. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Mexico, 1794. There are numerous varieties of this species. SYN. _B. Jacquini_. (B. M. 1854.) =B. versicolor= (various-coloured). _fl._, corolla with a scarlet tube, which is 3/4in. long, but having the limb yellowish inside; corymbs three-flowered, trichotomous, drooping. July to September. _l._ opposite, lanceolate, ciliated. Branches terete, glabrous, velvety while young. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. South America, 1814. (B. R. 245.) The garden hybrids are very handsome. A selection is given below: ALFRED NEUNER, flowers double, white, or slightly tinged with rose (see Fig. 272); BRILLIANT, flowers bright crimson, numerous, freely branching habit, and strong constitution; DAZZLER,* habit very bushy and compact, extremely floriferous, flowers rich scarlet, in dense clusters; HOGARTH, brilliant scarlet, very fine; LONGIFLORA FLAMMEA,* flowers long-tubed, blush-rose; MAIDEN'S BLUSH,* very free and floriferous, blush-rose; PRESIDENT GARFIELD, rich double, red-pink, very fine; QUEEN OF ROSES, rosy-pink, the tubes tinted with crimson, habit dwarf and very free; VREELANDI (=DAVIDSONI), flowers pure white, produced in great abundance; one of the most useful of them all, and grown very extensively. [Illustration: FIG. 272. BOUVARDIA ALFRED NEUNER.] =BOWENIA= (commemorative of Sir G. Bowen, Governor of Queensland). ORD. _Cycadaceæ_. A remarkable and handsome greenhouse fern-like plant, closely allied to _Zamia_, from which it is distinguished by having the leaflets decurrent to the petiole, instead of articulated, as in that genus. For culture, _see_ =Cycas=. =B. spectabilis= (showy).* _fl._, male cones small, ovoid, 1/2in. to 3/4in. long; female oblong-globose, 3-3/4in. long. _l._ bipinnatisect, on tall, slender petioles; leaflets falcate-lanceolate, decurrent; stem short, thick, cylindrical. Queensland, Australia, 1863. (B. M. 5398 and 6008.) =B. s. serrulata= (finely-toothed).* This differs from the type in having the margins distinctly toothed or serrated. Rockingham Bay, 1863. =BOWIEA= (named after J. Bowie, a botanical collector for the Royal Gardens, Kew). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. A very interesting greenhouse or half-hardy twining bulbous perennial, thriving in a sunny border, under the wall of a greenhouse, where it will require protection during winter. It does well in any light well drained soil, and may be propagated by seeds or offsets. [Illustration: FIG. 273. BOWIEA VOLUBILIS, showing Habit, Flower, and Fruit.] =B. volubilis= (twining). _fl._ few, remote, pedicellate; perianth six-partite, persistent; segments equal, green, lanceolate, 1/4in. long, at length reflexed. October. True leaves are frequently not developed for years; but the green, fleshy, mostly abortive inflorescence performs their functions. South Africa, 1866. See Fig. 273. =BOX.= _See_ =Buxus=. =BOX ELDER.= _See_ =Negundo=. =BOX THORN.= _See_ =Lycium=. =BRABEIUM= (from _brabeion_, a sceptre; in reference to the racemosed flowers). African Almond. ORD. _Proteaceæ_. An ornamental greenhouse evergreen tree. For culture, &c., _see_ =Banksia=. =B. stellatifolium= (star-leaved). _fl._ white, sweet-scented, disposed in elegant, axillary, spiked racemes. August. _l._ whorled, simple, serrate. _h._ 15ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1731. =BRACHYCHITON= (from _brachys_, short, and _chiton_, a coat of mail; plants covered with imbricated hairs and scales). ORD. _Sterculiaceæ_. A genus of tropical or sub-tropical Australian trees or shrubs, allied to _Sterculia_, from which it differs in very minor points. They are of easy culture in a loamy soil. Propagated by young cuttings, planted in sandy soil, in gentle heat. =B. acerifolium= (Acer-leaved). _fl._ bright red. _l._ long-stalked, deeply five to seven-lobed. _h._ from 60ft. to 120ft. =B. Bidwillii= (Bidwill's).* _fl._ bright red, arranged in axillary bunches. _l._ stalked, heart-shaped, entire, or three-lobed, and covered with a soft pubescence. 1851. (B. M. 5133.) =B. diversifolium= (various-leaved). _l._ coriaceous, obtuse, lanceolate, entire, or three-lobed, glabrous; lobes acuminate. _h._ 20ft. to 60ft. 1824. =BRACHYCOME= (from _brachys_, short, and _kome_, hair). Swan River Daisy. ORD. _Compositæ_. A genus of beautiful little half-hardy perennials or annuals, closely resembling _Bellis_ in structure. Involucral bracts membranous at the margin; receptacle pitted, naked. Fruit compressed, surmounted by a very short bristly pappus. _B. iberidifolia_ is one of the prettiest of summer annuals, and in the open border it flowers profusely, if in a dry, sunny spot. Towards the autumn, it may be removed to the greenhouse, where it will still continue flowering for several weeks. Seeds may be sown in a gentle hotbed, early in the spring, and, when large enough, planted out in borders or beds, 6in. apart; or they may be sown thinly out of doors, late in April, and thinned out, when they will flower a month later than those sown in the hotbed. =B. iberidifolia= (Iberis-leaved).* _fl.-heads_ blue or white, with a dark centre, about 1in. in diameter. Summer and autumn. _l._ pinnate; segments linear. Plant erect, glabrous. _h._ 1ft. Swan River, 1843. See Fig. 274. [Illustration: FIG. 274. BRACHYCOME IBERIDIFOLIA, showing Habit and Flowering Branch.] =BRACHYL�NA= (from _brachys_, short, and _læna_, a cloak or covering; referring to the shortness of the involucre). ORD. _Compositæ_. A genus of South African evergreen greenhouse shrubs, nearly allied to _Baccharis_. They thrive in a compost of peat and loam. Propagated by cuttings, made of half-ripened shoots, placed in a well-drained pot of sandy soil, under a bell glass. =B. dentata= (toothed). _fl.-heads_ yellow. _l._ lanceolate, acute, entire, rusty beneath when young, when adult quite glabrous. =B. nerifolia= (Nerium-leaved).* _fl.-heads_ yellow, in branching racemes or panicles. August to November. _l._ lanceolate, serrated with one or two teeth forward. _h._ 2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1752. =BRACHYOTUM= (from _brachys_, short, and _otos_, the ear; in reference to the short appendages at the base of the anthers). ORD. _Melastomaceæ_. A handsome greenhouse evergreen shrub, with a bushy habit. Allied, and requiring similar culture, to _Pleroma_ (which _see_). =B. confertum= (crowded).* _fl._ purple, terminal, nodding, with cream-coloured bracts. November. _l._ oblong or ovate, small, three-nerved, with adpressed hairs. Andes, Peru, 1873. (B. M. 6018.) =BRACHYSEMA= (from _brachys_, short, and _sema_, a standard; the standard of the flower is very short). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Elegant procumbent or climbing greenhouse, evergreen shrubs. Racemes axillary and terminal, few-flowered. Leaves alternate, oval or ovate, entire, mucronate, silky on the under surface. They thrive in a compost of peat, leaf soil, and loam, in equal proportions, made porous, if necessary, by the addition of sand. Increased by cuttings, made of half-ripened shoots in summer, placed in sandy soil, under a bell glass, in a gentle bottom heat; or by layers. Seeds may be sown in March, in heat. Brachysemas require thorough drainage, whether grown in pots or planted out. _B. latifolium_ does best under the latter treatment, when it forms a magnificent climber for pillars or the roof. [Illustration: THE GIANT WATER LILY (VICTORIA REGIA).] =B. lanceolatum= (lanceolate-leaved). _fl._ rich scarlet, with the margin of the vexillum white, red at the disk, with a large yellow spot in the centre, each about 1in. long, disposed in axillary, sub-compound racemes. _l._ opposite, rarely alternate, ovate or ovate-lanceolate, entire, silky white beneath. _h._ 3ft. Swan River, 1848. (B. M. 4652.) =B. latifolium= (broad-leaved).* _fl._ crimson-scarlet, large; vexillum oblong-ovate. April. _l._ ovate, flat, silky beneath. New Holland, 1803. A handsome climber. (B. R. 118.) =B. melanopetalum= (black-petaled). Synonymous with _B. undulatum_. =B. undulatum= (undulated).* _fl._ deep violet-maroon, solitary or twin; vexillum oblong, cordate, convolute, and bluntish above. March. _l._ oblong-ovate, mucronate, undulated. New South Wales, 1820. A tall subscandent plant. SYN. _B. melanopetalum_. (B. R. 642.) =BRACHYSPATHA= (from _brachys_, short, and _spatha_, a spathe; the spathe is much shorter than the spadix). ORD. _Aroideæ_. Stove tuberous perennial, allied to, and requiring the same cultivation as, _Amorphophallus_ (which _see_). =B. variabilis= (variable).* _fl._ exhaling an abominable f�tor, which is, however, of very short duration; spathe much shorter than the spadix, greenish-purple, sharply acuminate, and many-nerved; spadix whitish, with female flower at the base, and above contiguous to them are the males without any intermediate neutral flowers; anthers orange red; the naked apex of the spadix is very long, wrinkled, and pitted on the surface. _l._ solitary, 18in. across; the spotted petiole divides at the top into three main divisions, each of which is again forked and deeply pinnately cut; the segments alternate, sessile, or decurrent, very unequal in size, ovate or oval-lanceolate, acuminate, glabrous, shining. _h._ 3ft. India, 1876. (G. C. 1876, 129.) =BRACHYSTELMA= (from _brachys_, short, and _stelma_, a crown; in reference to the short coronal processes of the flowers). ORD. _Asclepiadaceæ_. Extremely curious little suffruticose, tuberous, twining, greenhouse perennials. Corolla campanulate, having angular sinuses; corona simple, five-cleft, lobes opposite the anthers, simple on the back. Leaves opposite, membranous. They thrive best in fibry loam. Propagated by cuttings, which will root in sandy soil, in heat; also by divisions of the root. =B. Arnotti= (Arnott's). _fl._ brown, green. _l._ in opposite pairs, nearly sessile, crisped, ovate, dull green above, densely grey, pubescent beneath. _h._ 4in. South Africa, 1868. (Ref. B. i., 9.) =B. Barberæ= (Mrs. Barber's). _fl._ dingy purple, speckled with yellow. August. _l._ large, linear-oblong, acute. _h._ 6in. South Africa, 1866. (B. M. 5607.) =B. ovata= (ovate-leaved). _fl._ yellowish-green. _l._ ovate, shortly-stalked, pubescent. _h._ 1ft. South Africa, 1872. (Ref. B. 226.) =B. spathulatum= (spathulate-leaved). _fl._ green. June. _l._ spathulate, oblong, hairy. _h._ 1ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1826. (B. R. 1113.) =B. tuborosum= (tuberous). _fl._ purple. June. _l._ linear-lanceolate, ciliate. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1821. (B. M. 2343.) =BRACKEN=, or =BRAKE FERN=. See =Pteris aquilina=. =BRACTEATE.= Having bracts. =BRACTEOLATE.= Having secondary bracts between the true bracts and the flowers. =BRACTS.= Modified leaves placed near the calyx on the peduncle or pedicel. =BRAHEA= (named after Tycho Brahe, the celebrated astronomer). ORD. _Palmeæ_. A small genus of dwarf palms, with fan-shaped leaves, and hermaphrodite, greenish flowers. They require rich light loam and fibrous peat, in equal parts, to which may be added a good portion of washed sand; thorough drainage and liberal supplies of water are also absolutely necessary. Propagated by seeds. During summer, they may be removed to the greenhouse, and can be employed with much success for sub-tropical gardening. =B. dulcis= (sweet).* _l._ nearly circular, bright shining green; petioles clothed with woolly tomentum, armed at the edges with small close-set spines, and enveloped at the base in a network of brown fibre. Stem stout. Mexico, 1865. A rare and slow developing species. =B. filamentosa= (filamentose). A synonym of _Washingtonia filifera_. =BRAINEA= (commemorative of C. J. Braine, Esq., of Hong Kong, China). ORD. _Filices_. Sori continuous along transverse veins, near the midrib, and also produced along the veins in the direction of the edge of the frond. =B. insignis= (remarkable), which is the only species, has a _trunk_ 3in. to 4in. thick; scales linear, nearly 1in. long. _sti._ firm, 3in. to 4in. long, scaly only at the base. _fronds_ 2ft to 3ft. long, 8in. to 12in. broad, simply pinnate; pinnæ close, numerous, linear, finely serrated. Hong Kong, 1856. A very handsome and interesting greenhouse tree fern, requiring a soil of loam and peat, in equal parts, with the addition of some sharp sand, and thorough drainage. =BRAMBLE.= _See_ =Rubus=. =BRASSAVOLA= (named in honour of A. M. Brassavola, a Venetian botanist). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A genus of epiphytal orchids, requiring the heat of an intermediate house. Flowers large, usually with narrow acuminate greenish petals and sepals, and a white lip, which is sometimes broad; column having a pair of great falcate ears on each side of the front, and eight pollen masses. Leaves solitary, succulent. They are of easy culture on blocks of wood, with a little moss, suspended from the roof. Water should be plentifully given during the growing season; at other times, a very small quantity will suffice. About seventeen or eighteen species have been introduced, of which the following only are worth growing: =B. acaulis= (stemless). _fl._ large; sepals and petals long, narrow, greenish and creamy-white; lip large, heart-shaped, and pure white; base of tube spotted with dull rose. September. _l._ very narrow, rush-like. _h._ 4in. Central America, 1852. (P. F. G. ii., 152.) =B. Digbyana= (Digby's).* _fl._ solitary, 4in. across, produced from the top of the bulb; sepals and petals creamy-white; lip same colour, streaked with purple down the centre, and beautifully fringed. Winter. _h._ 9in. Honduras, 1844. A compact-growing evergreen. (B. M. 4474.) =B. Gibbsiana= (Gibbs's).* _fl._ white, spotted with chocolate, large, three on each spike. _l._ rather broad and very thick. This rare, erect-growing species must be potted in peat and sphagnum. =B. glauca= (glaucous).* _fl._ solitary, produced from a sheath at the top of the bulb; sepals and petals yellow; lip orange, with a white throat. Early spring. _l._ of a milky-green. _h._ 1ft. Vera Cruz, 1837. A very handsome fragrant species, somewhat difficult to flower, but this obstacle may be overcome by liberally growing during the proper season, and giving it a severe dry rest. (B. M. 4033.) =B. lineata= (lined).* _fl._ large, very fragrant; sepals and petals creamy-white; lip large, pure white. _l._ long, terete, channelled above, tapering to a point, very deep green. South America, 1850. (B. M. 4734.) =B. venosa= (veined).* _fl._ small and compact; sepals and petals cream-coloured; lip white, strongly veined. A pretty free flowering species. Honduras, 1839. (B. R. 26, 39.) =BRASSIA= (named after Mr. William Brass, who was sent by Sir Joseph Banks to Cape Coast and the neighbouring districts as a botanical collector, at the end of the last century). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A genus of tropical American orchids, very nearly allied to _Oncidium_, with which, indeed, Reichenbach unites it. From this genus, however, _Brassia_ may be distinguished by its simple inflorescence, elongated tail-like sepals, and short column, which is quite destitute of the side lobes or ears that form a marked feature in the species of _Oncidium_. There are about seventeen species, of which many are not sufficiently attractive to deserve the cultivator's attention. They will succeed either in pots or in baskets, the drainage of which must be perfect. They require to be potted in good fibrous peat, broken in pieces not less in size than a walnut, placed in the warm end of a Cattleya or Brazilian house, and supplied liberally with water during summer. In winter, they must still be kept in a tolerably warm place, and given sufficient water to keep the pseudo-bulbs from shrivelling. It is useless to dry off until shrivelling takes place, for experience assures us that when a plant shrivels it is generally safe to assume that it has been tried beyond its powers of endurance, and that its constitution has given way. Propagated by dividing the plants, when growth has commenced. =B. antherotes= (brilliant).* _fl._ 7in. in diameter from tip to tip of the sepals; sepals and petals yellow, brownish-black at the base, narrow, 1/8in. broad, tapering; petals 1-1/2in. long; lip triangular, yellow, barred with brown; spike strong, about 2ft. in length. Tropical America, 1879. =B. caudata= (tailed).* _fl._, sepals and petals yellow, barred with brown, from 4in. to 6in. long; lip broad and yellow, spotted with greenish-brown. When the plant is large and healthy, it produces numerous drooping spikes, 18in. long, and many-flowered. _h._ 1ft. West Indies, 1823 (B. R. 832.) =B. Gireoudiana= (Gireoud's). _fl._, sepals and petals bright yellow, spotted and blotched with deep red, produced in many-flowered scapes of singular and beautiful flowers during spring and early summer. This species much resembles _B. Lanceana_, but has larger flowers. Costa Rica. (R. X. O. 1, 32.) [Illustration: FIG. 275. SINGLE FLOWER OF BRASSIA LANCEANA.] =B. Lanceana= (Lance's).* _fl._, sepals and petals lanceolate and tapering, bright yellow, blotched with brown, or sometimes with deep red; lip wholly yellow, slightly spotted at the base, and much waved, deliciously fragrant; scapes radical, many-flowered. In the typical species, the lip is rather more than half as long as the sepals. _l._ rich dark green. _h._ 9in. Surinam, 1843. See Fig. 275. (B. R. 1754.) =B. L. macrostachya= (large-spiked).* _fl._, sepals and petals bright rich yellow, sparingly spotted with brown, as in the type; sepals lengthened out into tail-like appendages, which are sometimes nearly 5in. in length; lip wholly of a clear pale yellow. Demerara. =B. L. pumila= (dwarf). _fl._, sepals pale yellow, without spots or markings; petals of the same colour, tinged with purple near the base; lip about half the length of the sepals, slightly contracted in the middle, yellow, with a brownish-yellow base. Caracas. =B. Lawrenceana= (Lawrence's).* _fl._ large, sweet-scented; sepals and petals bright yellow, spotted with cinnamon and green; lip yellow, tinged with green. June to August. _h._ 1ft. Brazil, 1839. (B. R. 27, 18.) =B. L. longissima= (long-sepaled).* _fl._, sepals deep orange-yellow, blotched and spotted, especially towards the base, with reddish-purple, and lengthened out into tail-like appendages, which, in well-grown examples, measure 7in. in length; petals about 2-1/2in. long and 1/4in. broad at the base, marked in the same manner as the sepals; lip about 3in. long, pale yellow, dotted and spotted towards the base with purple. August and September. Costa Rica, 1868. A magnificent variety. =B. maculata= (spotted).* _fl._ large; sepals and petals pale yellow, irregularly spotted with brown; the former being short compared with those of the other species; lip white, spotted about and below the centre with brown and purple. Spring and early summer. Jamaica, 1806. See Fig. 276. (B. M. 1691.) =B. m. guttata= (spotted).* _fl._ on spikes 2ft. or 3ft. long; sepals and petals yellowish-green, blotched with brown; lip broad, yellow, spotted with brown. May to August. Guatemala, 1842. SYN. _B. Wrayæ_. (B. M. 4003.) =B. verrucosa= (warty-lipped).* _fl._ large; sepals and petals greenish, blotched with blackish-purple; lip white, ornamented with numerous little green protuberances or warts, hence the specific name; scape many-flowered. May and June. Guatemala. =B. v. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl._ twice the size of, and a lighter colour than, the type. This variety is very rare, and is said to be the best of the genus. =B. Wrayæ= (Wray's).* A synonym of _B. maculata guttata_. =BRASSICA= (old Latin name used by Pliny; from _Bresic_, the Celtic name for Cabbage). Cabbage. ORD. _Cruciferæ_. Herbaceous, usually biennial, rarely annual or perennial, or suffrutescent plants, usually with a short caudex. Flowers yellow, rarely white, but never purple nor veined. Radical leaves usually stalked, lyrate, or pinnatifid; cauline ones sessile or stem-clasping, entire; racemes elongated; pedicels bractless, filiform. Full cultural details will be found under the popular garden name of each variety. =B. oleracea= (herb-like). _fl._ pale yellow, large. May and June. _l._ glaucous, waved, lobed, smooth. Root-stem cylindrical, fleshy. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. England. Biennial. =B. o. acephala= (headless). Borecole or Kale. Stem round, elongated. _l._ expanded, racemes panicled. =B. o. botrytis asparagoides= (Asparagus-like). The Broccoli. _fl._ abortive. Stem taller than that of the Cauliflower. _l._ greyish-glaucous, elongated. Branchlets fleshy, bearing small flower-buds at the top. =B. o. b. cauliflora= (Cauliflower). Heads of flower-buds thick, terminal. Stem short. _l._ oblong, of a greyish-glaucous colour. =B. o. bullata gemmifera= (bud-bearing). Brussels Sprouts. Heads small, numerous, rising from the axils of the leaves along an elongated stem. =B. o. b. major= (larger). Savoy Cabbage. Heads of leaves loose, thick, terminal, roundish. _l._ blistered. =B. o. capitata= (headed). The Cabbage. Stem round, short. _l._ concave, not blistered, crowded into a head before flowering; racemes panicled. =B. o. Caulo-rapa= (Kohl-Rabi). Stem tumid and somewhat globose at the origin of the leaves. =B. Rapa= (Rape). The Turnip. Radical leaves lyrate, destitute of glaucous bloom, green, covered with bristly hairs; middle cauline ones cut; upper ones quite entire, smooth. [Illustration: FIG. 276. SINGLE FLOWER OF BRASSIA MACULATA.] =BRASSICACE�.= _See_ =Cruciferæ=. =BRAVOA= (named after Bravo, a Mexican botanist). ORD. _Amaryllidaceæ_. A pretty little graceful bulbous plant, hardy in very sheltered positions, but in exposed situations requiring a slight protection in winter. It is an admirable plant for cool-house culture, and delights in a compost of light rich loam, leaf mould, and sand. Propagated by offsets, which are obtainable in autumn; or by seeds, which should be sown as soon as ripe. =B. geminiflora= (twin-flowered).* Twin Flower. _fl._ rich orange-red, tubular, drooping, disposed in the upper part of the flower-stems, which are sometimes 2ft. long. July. _l._ linear, ensiform, pale green. Mexico, 1841. (B. M. 4741.) =BRAZILIAN TEA.= _See_ =Ilex paraguariensis= and =Stachytarpheta jamaicensis=. =BRAZIL NUT.= _See_ =Bertholletia=. =BRAZIL WOOD.= _See_ =Cæsalpinia brasiliensis=. =BREAD FRUIT.= _See_ =Artocarpus=. =BREAD NUT.= _See_ =Brosimum=. =BREDIA= (named in honour of Professor J. G. S. van Bred). ORD. _Melastomaceæ_. An ornamental greenhouse shrub, thriving in rich light loam, leaf soil, and peat. Propagated by cuttings of the ripened shoots, inserted in sandy loam, under a hand glass, in heat; or by seeds. =B. hirsuta= (hairy).* _fl._ rose-pink, about 1/2in. across, disposed in loose, terminal, many-flowered cymes. Autumn. _l._ ovate acuminate, hairy. Japan, 1870. (B. M. 6647.) =BREEZE.= The small particles or refuse of gas coke. It constitutes a very cheap fuel, but, unless mixed with good coke, is only suitable for boilers of the saddle type, having a good draught. Breeze must not, however, be confounded with coke-dust. =BREVOORTIA COCCINEA.= _See_ =Brodiæa coccinea=. [Illustration: FIG. 277. FLOWERING BRANCH OF BREXIA MADAGASCARIENSIS.] =BREXIA= (from _brexis_, rain; the large leaves afford protection against rain). ORD. _Saxifrageæ_. Excellent stove trees. Flowers green, in axillary umbels, surrounded by bracts on the outside. Leaves alternate, simple, dotless, and furnished with minute stipules. Stems nearly simple. They require a compost of two parts loam and one of peat, with the addition of a little sand, to keep the whole open. A liberal supply of water must be given at all seasons. Cuttings, with their leaves not shortened, strike readily in sand under a hand glass, in heat; or a leaf taken off with a bud attached will grow. Leaves as in accompanying illustration (Fig. 277), and long, narrow, spiny-toothed ones, are often produced on the same plant. Probably the two species enumerated below are simply forms of one. Well hardened off, strong growing plants of _B. madagascariensis_ are very suitable for sub-tropical gardening. =B. madagascariensis= (Madagascar).* _l._ obovate or oblong, entire, while young minutely gland-toothed. _h._ 20ft. Madagascar, 1812. See Fig. 277. =B. spinosa= (spiny). _l._ lanceolate, 20in. long, 2in. broad, spiny-toothed. _h._ 20ft. Madagascar, 1820. =BREXIACE�.= A section of _Saxifrageæ_. =BRIAR.= _See_ =Rosa=. =BRICKS.= In England, the standard thickness of brick walls is a Brick and a-half, that is, the length of one brick and the breadth of another. Thirty-two paving bricks, laid flat, will form one square yard of flooring; if set on edge, eighty-four will be required for the same space. The best Bricks for walls are those termed Stocks, which are well burnt. Grizzells and Place Bricks, being only partially burnt, are soft and not durable. In various parts of the kingdom, different clays and methods of manufacture cause a disparity in the weight and appearance of the finished article. Several forms are made to suit various purposes, but the standard size is 9in. long by 4-1/2in. wide, by 2-1/2in. thick, although, since the remission of the duty, some slight variations occur, owing to shrinkage and other causes. Fire Bricks are made of a particular kind of clay, which will stand intense heat when once burnt, and are used in furnaces and other places where durability under great heat is a desideratum. Fire-clay should always be used in place of mortar in building with these. =BRILLANTAISIA= (named after M. Brillant). ORD. _Acanthaceæ_. A very small genus of erect, branching, stove evergreen shrubs. Flowers large, in terminal panicles; corolla ringent; upper lip falcate and overarching, with a trifid apex, the lower one large, spreading, shortly trifid. Leaves ovate-cordate, on long petioles. For culture, _see_ =Barleria=. =B. owariensis= (Owarian).* _fl._ violet-blue; cymes sub-sessile, loose; panicles terminal. March. _l._ large, opposite, petiolate. _h._ 3ft. Western Africa, 1853. This plant, in its habit of growth, resembles some of the largest species of _Salvia_. (B. M. 4717.) =BRISTLES.= Stiff hairs. =BRISTLY.= Covered with stiff hairs. =BRISTLY-TOOTHED.= Furnished with teeth like bristles, or with the teeth ending each in a bristle. =BRIZA= (from _briza_, to nod). Quaking Grass. ORD. _Gramineæ_. A genus of ornamental hardy grasses. Panicle loose; calyx two-valved; corolla two-valved, awnless; exterior one ventricose, interior small and flat. Fruit adnate with the corolla. These extremely graceful plants delight in a soil composed of loam, leaf soil, and peat. Seeds may be sown in spring or autumn. For decorative purposes, the branches should be gathered as soon as full grown, and loosely placed in flower-stands, to dry. Tufts of these plants look extremely pretty on the rockery, or amongst hardy ferns. =B. gracilis= (graceful). Synonymous with _B. minor_. =B. maxima= (greatest).* _fl._, spikelets oblong-cordate, thirteen to seventeen-flowered; panicle nodding at the end. June and July. _l._ long, linear-acuminate. _h._ 1-1/2ft. South Europe, 1633. See Fig. 278. [Illustration: FIG. 278. BRIZA MAXIMA, showing Habit and single Flower.] =B. media= (middle).* Common Quaking Grass. _fl._, spikelets broadly ovate, of about seven florets (calyx shorter than the florets), tremulous with the slightest breeze, very smooth, shining purple. Branches of the panicle thread-shaped, divaricating, purple. June. _l._ short, linear acuminate. _h._ 1ft. Britain. (S. E. B. 1774.) =B. minima= (least). Synonymous with _B. minor_. [Illustration: FIG. 279. BRIZA MINOR, showing Habit and small Panicle of Flowers.] =B. minor= (small).* Little Quaking Grass. _fl._, spikelets triangular, seven-flowered; glumes longer than the flowers; panicle with hair-like branches. June and July. _l._ pale green, short, narrow. _h._ 8in. England (but very rare). An exceedingly pretty little annual or perennial grass. SYNS. _B. gracilis_ and _B. minima_. See FIG. 279. (S. E. B. 1775.) =B. spicata= (spiked). A recent introduction from Brazil, described as being very graceful and quite distinct, having erect spikes about 8in. in height. =BROADCAST.= A method of sowing seeds by means of the hand, scattering them over the surface of the ground as equally as possible. It is now superseded, for the majority of garden and field crops, by drilling, which not only economises the quantity of seed used, but greatly facilitates subsequent weeding and thinning out. =BROCCOLI= (_Brassica oleracea botrytis asparagoides_). A cultivated variety of the Cabbage, having the young inflorescence condensed into a fleshy, edible head (see Fig. 280). To grow this popular vegetable successfully, it is necessary to have rich soil of a good depth, in an open situation, where the plants can have plenty of sun and air to keep them sturdy. They succeed the autumn Cauliflower, and are in season from November till May. _Soil._ In preparing ground for Broccoli, trench, in the autumn, to the depth of from 1-1/2ft. to 2ft., and during the process work in a liberal dressing of rotten farmyard manure. Ground which has carried a crop of Celery is very suitable for the strong-growing kinds, as, by planting where the Celery rows have been, the necessity of trenching is, to a great extent, obviated. Smaller kinds, however, need to be planted closer in order to obtain a profitable crop. _Cultivation._ At the beginning of May, prepare seed beds on a south border, and sow the earlier and sprouting kinds. The later varieties would, perhaps, be best sown in April, but they must not be put in early and allowed to remain too long in the seed bed. Sow thinly, to get the plants as sturdy as possible; and, to prevent clubbing, work in a little soot or wood ashes on the surface of the beds. Care must also be taken to pick off the club excrescences at planting time, should there be any, and to destroy the grub inside. Clubbing is not so frequent in ground which has been well trenched, and where the plants are not allowed to suffer from drought. Showery weather should be selected for transferring them to their permanent quarters. If it is desired that they should succeed potatoes, they may be planted between every two alternate rows, and the latter crop can be removed when ready. Broccoli succeed best where the ground is firm, and not recently dug or manured. Planting with a crowbar is preferable to digging the ground afresh. If grown by themselves, a distance of from 2ft. to 3ft. should be allowed between the rows, and an equal distance from plant to plant. Some of the early varieties will, in favourable seasons, follow the later Cauliflowers, while the latest will not be fit for use until the following spring. The heads should be cut as soon as they are large enough; they will keep good for a week in a cold place, while a day or two might open them too much if allowed to remain on the plants. Broccoli which have to stand the winter are liable to injury from severe frosts, and some method of protection is necessary. Two plans are recommended for both large and small gardens, and either or both may be adopted, as found convenient. The first is to apply a covering of fern or other dry protective material, not using too much, but giving sufficient to break the rays of the sun, which, perhaps, do as much harm as the actual frost. The other plan is to take up the plants as soon as the flowers can be seen, and lay them in under a hedge or wall until required for use. In sheltered positions, or where there are trees to break the force of the wind, the covering with dry litter during severe weather will generally be found sufficient; still, a little precaution in lifting will frequently save a valuable crop. Broccoli should never follow a crop of any other kind of cruciferous plants, particularly Cabbage. [Illustration: FIG. 280. BROCCOLI.] _Sorts._ Veitch's Self-protecting Autumn, Purple and White Cape, Grange's Early White, and Snow's Winter White. These are the best for autumn and mid-winter supplies. A good selection for spring and late purposes is Mitchinson's Penzance, Knight's Protecting, Cooling's Matchless, Purple Sprouting, Model, Willcove, Leamington, and Cattell's Eclipse. =BRODI�A= (named after J. J. Brodie, a Scotch cryptogamist). SYN. _Hookera_. ORD. _Liliaceæ_. Pretty, slender, hardy, or in some positions only half-hardy, bulbs. The flowers are usually borne in large clusters or umbels; the prevailing colour is blue; _coccinea_ is, however, an exception, the flowers being scarlet. The scape is usually straight and slender, but strong. Leaves from two to four in number, enveloping the part of the scape beneath the surface, and procumbent thereon. Most of them are of easy culture in rich sandy loam; if grown in pots, a mixture of loam, leaf soil, and sand, suits them well. Increased freely by offsets, which should be left undisturbed with the parent bulbs till they reach a flowering state, when they may be divided and replanted in autumn. =B. capitata= (headed).* _fl._ deep violet-blue, funnel-shaped, disposed in a compact, many-flowered umbel; valves of the spathe also deep violet. May. _l._ narrow, linear. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. California, 1871. [Illustration: FIG. 281. BRODI�A COCCINEA, showing Flower and Habit.] =B. coccinea= (scarlet).* _fl._ 1-1/2in. long, tubular, rich blood-red below, the apex of the tube and the segments yellowish-green; umbels composed of five to fifteen drooping flowers. June. _l._ linear, loose, shorter than the scape. _h._ 1-1/2ft. California, 1870. Very handsome, distinct from all other species, requiring a warm, well-drained, and sunny position, and to remain undisturbed. SYN. _Brevoortia coccinea_. See Fig. 281. (B. M. 5857.) =B. congesta= (close-headed).* _fl._ blue, with the crown paler; segments cleft at the top; umbel bearing six to eight blooms. The stamens in this species are metamorphosed into fleshy scales, which adhere to the mouth of the perianth. Summer. _l._ few, long, slender, channelled on the inside. Bulb small, roundish, and much wrinkled. _h._ 1ft. Georgia, &c., 1806. A very free-growing and rapidly increasing species. =B. c. alba= (white).* _fl._ white; in other respects like the type, but not so vigorous. =B. gracilis= (graceful).* _fl._ deep yellow, with brown nerves, 1/2in. or rather more long, in few-flowered umbels. July. _l._ solitary, about 1/4in. broad, longer than the scape. _h._ 3in. to 4in. California, 1876. A scarce and rather tender little species, but very pretty. =B. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl._ bluish-purple, with entire pointed segments; umbels bearing two to seven somewhat scattered blooms. Summer. _l._ two to three or more, linear, pointed, slender, grooved on the inside, furnished with a few membranous scales. Bulb small, roundish, dry and wrinkled. _h._ 1-1/2ft. North America, 1806. SYN. _Hookera coronaria_. (B. R. 1183.) =B. Howellii= (Howell's).* _fl._ purplish-blue, about 3/4in. across, sub-bell-shaped, in many-flowered umbels. July and August. _l._ narrow acute, grooved, shorter than the scape. _h._ 18in. to 24in. California, 1880. =B. ixioides= (Ixia-like). _See_ =Calliprora lutea=. =B. lactea= (milky-white).* _fl._ white, usually with green midribs, 1/2in. to 3/4in. across, saucer-shaped, in many-flowered umbels. June and July. _l._ linear, acute, nearly as long as the scape. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. California, 1833. SYNS. _Hesperoscordum lacteum_, _Milla hyacinthina_. =B. multiflora= (many-flowered).* _fl._ blue-purple, very numerous, in sub-globose heads. May. _l._ linear, elongate, 1ft. to 2ft. long, rather fleshy. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. California, 1872. (B. M. 5989.) =B. volubilis= (twining). _fl._ rose-coloured, in dense umbels, each containing fifteen to thirty blooms; scape twining, sometimes 12ft. long. July. _l._ narrow, linear-lanceolate, 1ft. long, synanthous. California, 1874. Half-hardy bulb. (B. M. 6123.) =BROMELIA= (named after Bromel, a Swedish botanist). ORD. _Bromeliaceæ_. A genus of stove herbaceous perennials, allied to the Pineapple. Flowers, corolla three-petaled, convolute, erect, or spreading at the top. Leaves densely packed, rigid, lanceolate, with spiny margins. Stems short. These plants require much the same treatment as _Billbergia_. Allied genera are _�chmea_, _Ananassa_, _Billbergia_, _Disteganthus_, _Greigia_, _Karatas_, _Ruckia_ (which _see_). =B. antiacantha= (opposite-spined). _fl._ purple, scarlet. Brazil, 1864. SYN. _B. sceptrum_. =B. bicolor= (two-coloured).* _fl._ scarlet, in a close central sessile head. March. _l._ numerous, narrow, ensiform, outer green, central crimson; elegantly radiate. Chili, 1872. SYNS. _B. Joinvillei_, _B. pitcairniæfolia_. (B. H. 14.) =B. bracteata= (red-bracted).* _fl._ pink; scape elongated; raceme compound; bracts red, ovate-lanceolate. September. _l._ serrate, spiny. _h._ 2ft. Jamaica, 1785. =B. Fernandæ= (Fernanda's).* _fl._ yellowish, in ovoid heads; bracts orange-red. July. _l._ linear-ligulate, 24in. to 30in. long, recurved, spiny-edged. Para, 1872. =B. Joinvillei= (Joinville's). A synonym of _B. bicolor_. =B. Karatas.= _See_ =Karatas Plumieri=. =B. pitcairniæfolia= (Pitcairnia-leaved). A synonym of _B. bicolor_. =B. sceptrum= (sceptre-like). A synonym of _B. antiacantha_ and _Karatas Plumieri_. =BROMELIACE�.= An extensive order of stemless or short-stemmed plants, having rigid, channelled, and usually spiny leaves. Flowers very showy; outer perianth three-cleft, persistent, inner one of three withering segments; stamens six, inserted in the tube of the perianth. To this order belongs the Pineapple. The genera best known in gardens are _Ananassa_, _�chmea_, _Billbergia_, _Bromelia_, and _Tillandsia_. =BROMHEADIA= (in honour of Sir Edward Finch Bromhead). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A small genus of stove orchids, comprising a couple of species, with erect stems, large flowers, and cucullate lip, which is parallel with the column. For culture, _see_ =Ansellia=. =B. palustris= (marsh).* _fl._, sepals and calyx white; lip white externally, within streaked with purple, and having a yellow blotch in centre; spike terminal, distichous, flexuous, many-flowered, on a long peduncle; bracts short, stiff, tooth-like. June. _l._ distichous, oblong-linear, emarginate. _h._ 2ft. Singapore, 1840. (B. R. 30, 18.) [Illustration: FIG. 282. BROMUS BRIZ�FORMIS.] =BROMUS= (from _bromos_, the Greek name for a wild oat). _Ord._ _Gramineæ_. _B. brizæformis_ (see Fig. 282) is an elegant biennial grass, with drooping panicles of spikelets, about as large as those of _Briza maxima_. It grows about 2ft. high, and is of very easy culture in common garden soil. Sow seeds outside in patches, in July, thinning out the plants when necessary. There are numerous other species belonging to this genus, but the above-mentioned is the only one worth growing in gardens. It forms a beautiful object in the mixed border, or among ferns. =BRONGNIARTIA= (in honour of Adolphe Brongniart, a distinguished botanist, and one of the editors of "Annales des Sciences Naturelles"). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Handsome greenhouse evergreen sub-shrubs, clothed with silky villi. Flowers large, purple; pedicels twin, axillary, one-flowered. Leaves impari-pinnate, with many pairs of leaflets, the terminal one not remote from the rest. They require a compost of sandy loam, leaf soil, and fibry peat, with perfect drainage. Cuttings of the young shoots, if firm at the base, will root if dibbled in sand, under a bell glass, in a cool house. =B. podalyrioides= (Podalyria-like).* _fl._ purple, large. September. _l._ with two to five pairs of leaflets; leaflets elliptic-oblong, rounded, and mucronate at the apex, clothed with adpressed hairs on both surfaces, but silky when young. _h._ 1ft. New Spain, 1827. =B. sericea= (silky).* _fl._ purple. September. _h._ 1ft. _l._, leaflets ovate-oblong, acute, very silky on both surfaces. Mexico, 1843. =BROOK-LIME.= _See_ =Veronica Beccabunga=. =BROOM.= _See_ =Besom=. =BROOM.= _See_ =Cytisus scoparius=. =BROOM RAPE.= _See_ =Orobanche=. =BROOM, SPANISH.= _See_ =Spartium junceum=. =BROSIMUM= (from _brosimos_, edible; fruit edible). Bread Nut. ORD. _Urticaceæ_. A genus of stove evergreen shrubs or trees, principally of economic value in their native countries. Male and female flowers generally in a globular head, but sometimes borne on separate trees; calyx and corolla wanting. Leaves entire. They generally thrive in a rich fibry loam. Cuttings of ripe wood, with their leaves on, root if placed in sand, in moist heat. =B. Alicastrum.= _fl._, catkins globose, stalked, twin, axillary. _fr._ coated. _l._ ovate-lanceolate. _h._ 6ft. Jamaica, 1776. =BROUGHTONIA= (named after Mr. Arthur Broughton, an English botanist). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A very compact-growing stove evergreen, allied to _Lælia_, succeeding best if suspended from the roof on a block of wood, with a little moss; it requires a free supply of heat and water when in a growing state. Propagated by dividing the plant. The colour of the flowers is very distinct. =B. sanguinea= (blood-coloured).* _fl._ blood-coloured, rather large, disposed in a terminal panicle; scape divided; column distinct, or at the very base united with the unguiculate lip, which is lengthened at the base into a tube, connate with the ovarium. Summer. _l._ twin, oblong, seated on a pseudo-bulb. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Jamaica, 1793. (B. M. 3076.) =BROUSSONETIA= (named after P. N. V. Broussonet, a French naturalist, who wrote numerous works on Natural History). ORD. _Urticaceæ_. Ornamental fast-growing, deciduous, Mulberry-like trees. They require rather good open garden soil, and prove hardy in situations which are not very exposed. Propagated by suckers and cuttings of ripened wood, inserted in autumn, in a cool house; and by seeds, sown when ripe, or kept till the following April. =B. papyrifera= (paper-bearing).* The Paper Mulberry. _fl._ greenish, di�cious; males in pendulous, cylindrical catkins, each flower in the axil of a bract; females in peduncled, axillary, upright globular heads. May. _l._ simple, alternate, exstipulate, variously lobed or entire, hairy, large. _h._ 10ft. to 20ft. China, 1751. There are several varieties, differing in the shape and character of the leaves. (B. M. 2358). =BROWALLIA= (named in honour of John Browall, Bishop of Abo, who defended the sexual system of Linnæus against Siegesbeck, in a book entitled "Examen epicriseos," &c., 1739). ORD. _Scrophularineæ_. A genus of handsome shrubs or herbs. Flowers blue or white, axillary and terminal; corolla salver-shaped, resupinate from the contortion of the peduncle; tube fifteen-nerved, ventricose at top. Leaves alternate, stalked, ovate in outline. They thrive best in a rich, open, sandy soil. To have strong plants in bloom by Christmas and after, seeds should be sown in July, in pans or pots of light rich sandy soil, and kept in a close frame, or hand light, where they can be shaded till germination takes place. When large enough to handle, the seedlings may either be pricked out, three in a pot, or potted singly, according to the size of the specimens required. In the former way, they form fine masses for conservatory or greenhouse decoration, or to cut from; and in the latter, they are very suitable for window recesses, &c. After potting, they should be stood in a pit or frame, and syringed every morning and evening, to ward off attacks of insect pests. An abundance of well-diluted liquid manure is required as soon as the flower-buds appear. To keep the plants dwarf and bushy, it will be needful to stop them about three times during the remainder of the summer and autumn, keeping as near the glass as possible; they should be housed by the end of September. These elegant little greenhouse annuals are unrivalled for affording choice, neat sprays for bouquets during the winter and early spring months, or for growing as pot plants, to furnish warm greenhouses or sitting-room windows. Many of the species and varieties are largely employed for summer decoration of the flower garden, with highly satisfactory results; for this purpose, seeds should be sown in gentle heat early in spring, and the plants transferred to the flower borders late in June, or early in July, having been previously encouraged in pots, and well hardened off. =B. abbreviata= (shortened). _fl._ light red; pedicels shorter than the calyx; calyx campanulate, with teeth as long as the tube. _l._ oval, hairy when young, quite glabrous when mature. 1852. (R. G. 94.) =B. demissa= (low).* _fl._ of a bright but pale blue colour, sometimes red or purple; peduncles axillary, one-flowered, downy. June. _l._ ovate-oblong, acuminated, oblique at the base. _h._ 6in. to 1ft. Panama, 1735. (B. M. 1136.) [Illustration: FIG. 283. BROWALLIA ELATA, showing Habit and Flower.] =B. elata= (tall).* _fl._ deep blue; calyx beset with glandular hairs; peduncles axillary, one or many-flowered. July. _l._ oval, acuminated. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Peru, 1768. Of this extensively-grown species there are two varieties, one with white flowers, and the other, _grandiflora_, with pale blue, both of which are well worth growing. See Fig. 283. (B. M. 34.) =B. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl._, corolla with a greenish-yellow tube, which is clothed with glandular villi, and a white or very pale lilac limb; peduncles one-flowered, axillary, racemose at the tops of the branches. July. _l._ ovate, acute, attenuated into the petioles at the base. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. Peru, 1829. (B. M. 3069.) =B. Jamesoni= (Jameson's).* _fl._ bright orange, with lighter-coloured throat, tubular. June. _h._ 4ft. New Grenada, 1850. This species has been recently re-introduced, after having been lost to cultivation for over thirty years. (B. M. 4605.) =B. Roezli= (Roezl's). _fl._ large, either of a delicate azure blue, or white, with a yellow tube. Spring to autumn. _l._ shining green. An exceedingly pretty species, having flowers double the size of any other, and forming a dense compact bush, 1-1/2ft. to 2ft. in height. Rocky Mountains. =BROWNEA= (named after Patrick Browne, M.D., author of a History of Jamaica). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Very handsome stove evergreen trees or shrubs, allied to _Amherstia_. Flowers of a rose-scarlet colour, rising in fascicled heads from the axillary buds. Leaves abruptly-pinnate, when young flaccid, and with the leaflets revolute at the edges; leaf-bud long and stipulaceous. All the species are well worthy of the most extensive cultivation. A mixture of loam, peat, and sand, is a soil well adapted for them, and great care should be taken not to over-water the plants in winter, as too great a supply will be sure to kill them. Propagated by cuttings, taken from ripened wood, planted in a pot of sand, and placed under a hand glass, in a moist heat. =B. Ariza= (Ariza).* _fl._ richest scarlet, produced in a large, globular, drooping head of immense size. Summer. _l._ pinnate, usually with six or eight pairs of pinnæ, which are oblong-lanceolate, and sharply tapered to a point. _h._ 20ft. to 40ft. Columbia, 1843. This noble tree requires a large house to fully perfect its beauty. SYN. _B. princeps_. (B. M. 6459.) =B. Birschellii= (Birschell's). _fl._ rose-coloured, in drooping racemes. April to July. _l._ pinnate; leaflets oblanceolate, 6in. long. _h._ 10ft. to 20ft. La Guayra, 1872. (B. M. 5998.) =B. coccinea= (scarlet).* _fl._ scarlet, fascicled. July to August. _l._ with two to three pairs of oval-oblong, acuminated leaflets. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. Venezuela, 1793. (B. M. 3964.) =B. grandiceps= (large-headed).* _fl._ red, in dense capitate spikes. July. _l._ with usually twelve pairs of oblong-lanceolate glandless leaflets, ending in a long cuspidate acumen; branches and petioles pubescent. _h._ (in its native home) 60ft. Caraccas, 1829. (B. M. 4859.) =B. latifolia= (broad-leaved). _fl._ red, in dense fascicles; involucre tomentose. _l._ with one to three pairs of ovate or obovate-cuspidate leaflets. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. Caraccas, 1824. =B. macrophylla= (large-leaved).* _fl._ orange-scarlet, in dense heads, often measuring nearly 3ft. in circumference. Central America, 1879. (G. C. 1873, p. 779.) =B. princeps= (chief). A synonym of _B. Ariza_. =B. racemosa= (clustered).* _fl._ rose-coloured, racemose; involucre and calyx clothed with fine tomentum. _l._ with four pairs of unequal-sided, oblong, or oblong-lanceolate, cuspidately-acuminated leaflets, which are glanduliferous at the base. _h._ 4ft. Caraccas, 1826. =B. Rosa del Monte.= _fl._ scarlet, in dense heads; leaflets of the involucre roundish, imbricated, and, when in a young state, rather velvety. June. _l._ with two to three pairs of oval-oblong acuminated leaflets; branches and petioles glabrous. _h._ 8ft. South America, 1820. (B. R. 1472.) =BROWNLOWIA= (named in honour of Lady Brownlow, daughter of Sir Abraham Hume, and a great patroness of botany). ORD. _Tiliaceæ_. Very handsome greenhouse evergreen trees, thriving well in a mixture of loam and peat. Cuttings of ripe shoots will root if placed in sand, under a hand glass, in heat. =B. elata= (tall).* _fl._ yellow; panicle terminal, conical, spreading. May. _l._ large, cordate, acute, seven-nerved, smooth. _h._ 60ft. India, 1823. (B. R. 1472.) =BRUCEA= (commemorative of James Bruce, the celebrated African traveller). ORD. _Simarubeæ_. Ornamental stove evergreen shrubs. Flowers small, purplish inside, disposed in interrupted glomerate spikes, or racemes. Leaves impari-pinnate, with six pairs of opposite, entire or serrated leaflets, without dots. Branches, peduncles, petioles, and nerves of leaves, clothed with rufescent down. They thrive in a loamy soil; and cuttings from ripened wood strike freely, in a pot of sand, under a hand glass, in a moderate heat. =B. antidysenterica= (antidysenteric). _fl._, racemes simple, spike-like. May. _l._, leaflets quite entire, clothed with rusty villi on the nerves beneath. _h._ 8ft. Abyssinia, 1775. =B. sumatrana= (Sumatra).* _fl._ dark purple; racemes usually compound. May. _l._, leaflets serrated, villous beneath. _h._ 20ft. Sumatra, 1822. =BRUCHUS GRANARIUS.= _See_ =Bean Beetle=. =BRUCHUS PISI.= _See_ =Pea Weevil=. =BRUGMANSIA.= _See_ =Datura=. =BRUNFELSIA= (named after Otto Brunfels, of Mentz, first a Carthusian monk, and afterwards a physician; he published the first good figures of plants in 1530). SYN. _Franciscea_. ORD. _Scrophularineæ_. Elegant free-flowering stove evergreens. Flowers sweet-scented; corolla large, funnel or salver-shaped, with a long tube, and a flat, five-lobed, obtuse, nearly equal limb. A light rich soil, or a compost of loam, leaf soil, and peat, is necessary to grow these plants successfully. Propagated by cuttings, planted in sand, and placed under bell glasses, in a moderate heat. When rooted, they should be placed in small pots, in a compost somewhat more sandy than that already mentioned. While growing, they require to be kept in a moist stove temperature, and should be hardened by placing them in a drier, and somewhat cooler, temperature after each growth is completed; the pots should be changed as often as the roots become thick around the ball of earth. The larger plants flower freely, and should be slightly pruned in annually, before commencing their new growth, thus securing neat and compact specimens. Repotting should be effected directly they have done flowering. The plants should then be placed in a temperature ranging from 60deg. to 68deg., and both the roots and foliage liberally supplied with water. When flowers appear--about October or November--the syringing must be less frequently performed. At this period, if it be desirable to prolong the flowering season, the plants should be removed to a temperature of about 48deg. A few administrations of weak liquid manure during the growing season are of great value. =B. acuminata= (taper-pointed-leaved).* _fl._ bluish-violet, few, sub-cymose, terminal. April. _l._ oblong, acuminated, attenuated a little at the base, glabrous; bracts lanceolate, acuminated, glabrous. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Rio Janeiro, 1840. (B. M. 4189.) =B. americana= (American).* _fl._ first yellow, then white, very sweet-scented; axillary flowers solitary, terminal ones numerous. June. _l._ obovate, elliptic, acuminated, longer than the petioles. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. West Indies, 1735. There are narrow and broad-leaved varieties of this species. (B. M. 393.) [Illustration: FIG. 284. FLOWER OF BRUNIA NODIFLORA.] =B. calycina= (cup-shaped).* _fl._ purple, disposed in large trusses, which are produced in succession throughout the whole year. _l._ large, lanceolate, shining light green. _h._ 2ft. Brazil, 1850. One of the largest-flowered species grown. (B. M. 4583.) =B. confertiflora= (dense-flowered). _fl._ soft blue, cymosely crowded, terminal. January to June. _l._ nearly sessile, oblong-acute, attenuated at the base, rather pilose, ciliated, yellowish-green above; bracteoles oblong, attenuated at the base, and are, as well as the calyces, clothed with rusty hairs. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Brazil. =B. eximia= (choice).* _fl._ produced from the points of the shoots, upwards of 2in. in diameter, deep purple. January to July. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, dark green, but not glossy. _h._ 2-1/2ft. Brazil, 1847. (B. M. 4790.) =B. grandiflora= (large-flowered). _fl._ greenish; limb of corolla 2in. in diameter, corymbose, terminal. June. _l._ elliptic-oblong, acuminated. Branches twiggy. _h._ 3ft. Peru. =B. hydrangeæformis= (Hydrangea-like).* _fl._ beautiful bluish-violet; cymes terminal, hemispherical, large. April. _l._ oblong, acute, cuneiform at base, quite glabrous, 1ft. long; bracts lanceolate, aggregate. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. Brazil, 1840. This is one of the most elegant species of the genus. (B. M. 4209.) =B. latifolia= (broad-leaved). _fl._ at first lavender-colour, with a distinct white eye, eventually becoming almost white; deliciously fragrant, sub-cymose, terminal. Winter to early spring. _l._ broad-elliptic, acutish, greyish-white, 6in. to 7in. long, and 2in. to 2-3/4in. broad. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Brazil, 1840. (B. M. 3907.) =B. Lindeniana= (Linden's).* _fl._ rich purple, with a light eye. _l._ ovate-acuminate, dark green. Brazil, 1865. (B. H. 1865, 226.) =B. uniflora= (one-flowered). _fl._ solitary; corolla with a whitish tube, and a bluish-violet or purple limb. Winter. _l._ elliptic, acute; branches greenish, hoary, diffuse, spreading. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. Brazil, 1826. (L. B. C. 1332.) =BRUNIA= (named after Corneille de Bruin, better known under the name of Le Brun, a Dutchman, a traveller in the Levant). ORD. _Bruniaceæ_. Elegant little greenhouse evergreen Heath-like shrubs, more or less branched, with the branches in whorls, erect or spreading. Flowers capitate, furnished with three bracts each, or sometimes deficient of the two lateral ones. Leaves small, closely imbricate. They require a compost of peat and sand, with a little leaf soil added, firm potting and good drainage. Cuttings of young shoots root freely in sand, under a hand light, in summer. =B. nodiflora= (knot-flowered).* _fl._ white; heads globose, size of a cherry, on the tops of the branches. July. _l._ lanceolate, awl-shaped, trigonal, acute, smooth, closely imbricate, not ustulate at the apex. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1786. See Fig. 284. =BRUNIACE�.= An order of much-branched Heath-like shrubs, usually having small leaves, which are crowded and entire. Flowers in terminal heads; petals five, alternating with the lobes of the calyx. The typical genus is _Brunia_. =BRUNONIA= (named after Robert Brown, the most eminent botanist of his time). ORD. _Goodenoviæ_. A stemless greenhouse perennial herb, with the habit of _Scabiosa_, downy from glandless simple hairs. Flowers distinct, with a whorl of five membranous bracts; corolla blue, marcescent. Radical leaves quite entire, spathulate; scapes undivided, each bearing one head; head hemispherical, lobate; lobes involucrated by foliaceous bracts. It thrives in a compost of decayed manure, or leaf soil and peat, with a little loam added; thorough drainage is necessary. Propagated by divisions, in early spring, previous to repotting. =B. australis= (southern)* is the only species known to be in cultivation. _h._ 1ft. New Holland, 1834. (B. R. 1833.) =BRUNSVIGIA= (named after the noble House of Brunswick). ORD. _Amaryllideæ_. Very showy greenhouse bulbous plants, from the Cape of Good Hope. Flowers red, on very long pedicels. Bulbs large. Leaves broad, horizontal; perianth with an evident longer or shorter tube, curving upwards, funnel-shaped, deeply six-parted, deciduous; segments sub-equal, many-nerved, flat, and recurved at the apex; stamens on the tube much curved upwards; scape appearing in summer without the leaves; umbels many-flowered. Propagation is effected by offsets, of which the large bulbs produce but few. These, when secured, may be removed after reaching some considerable size, carefully potted in a mixture of sandy loam and peat, with good drainage, and kept tolerably warm and close until established; water must be given but sparingly until root-action has commenced. The best place for growing the offsets into a flowering size is on a shelf near the glass, in a temperature of from 50deg. to 55deg. With an abundance of water while growing, and kept dry while semi-dormant, thus allowing them a rest, the bulbs will speedily increase in size; but it may be years before flowers are produced. Culture: This may be divided into two periods�-one of growth, and one of rest. After the latter period, they should be allowed to start into fresh growth, without stimulation, and, as soon as started, liberal supplies of water should be given, and a genial temperature of from 60deg. to 65deg. maintained, to make them grow vigorously. Good-sized pots are also necessary, with a mixture of loam, peat, and sand, in equal parts. They are usually confined to the greenhouse, or warm conservatory, but are sometimes successfully grown in a south border at the base of a wall, planted out in a pit, upon which the lights may be placed in winter, and matted if necessary, as they cannot endure frost. A good depth of soil, consisting of fibrous loam, peat, and sand, in equal proportions, with good drainage, should be prepared. In all cases, the bulbs should be planted somewhat deeply. One of the most satisfactory methods of ensuring the flowering of these plants consists in subjecting the bulbs, when at rest, to a hot dry heat of 70deg. or more, which thoroughly ripens them; but, after this treatment, it will be necessary to encourage the after-growth to the fullest possible extent. =B. ciliaris= (hair-fringed). _fl._ dull purple. _l._ strongly fringed with white hairs. _h._ 1ft. 1752. (B. R. 1153.) =B. Cooperi= (Cooper's).* _fl._ sulphur-coloured, edged with red; umbels twelve to sixteen-flowered. _l._ ligulate-obtuse, bifarious, fleshy. _h._ 1-1/2ft. 1872. (Ref. B. 330.) =B. falcata= (sickle-leaved).* _fl._ red. May. _l._ sickle-shaped, with a muricated, discoloured, cartilaginous edge. _h._ 9in. 1774. (B. M. 1443.) SYN. _Ammocharis falcata_. =B. Josephineæ= (Josephine's).* _fl._ scarlet; scape twice as long as the rays of the many-flowered umbel. _l._ strap-shaped, erect, spreading, glaucous. _h._ 1-1/2ft. This handsome species is much grown. 1814. (B. M. 2578.) _Minor_ and _striata_ are varieties. =B. multiflora= (many-flowered).* _fl._ red, loosely umbellate. June. _l._ linguiform, smooth, lying on the ground. _h._ 1ft. 1752. (B. M. 1619.) =B. toxicaria= (poison-bulb).* _fl._ pink; umbel hemispherical, many-flowered. September to October. _l._ many, erect, oblique, glaucous. _h._ 1ft. 1774. (B. R. 567.) _B. coranica_ is a variety of this. 1815. (B. R. 139.) [Illustration: FIG. 285. BRUSSELS SPROUTS.] =BRUSSELS SPROUTS= (_Brassica oleracea bullata gemmifera_). A cultivated variety of the Cabbage (Fig. 285). Leaves blistered. Stems covered with small, close heads. To secure this vegetable in its best form, it must be grown on deeply-worked and rich ground. In addition, the seeds should be obtained from a good source, as there are many spurious stocks in cultivation. Plenty of room must be allowed the plants to develop, and the tops and leaves should not be removed till after the sprouts are gathered; dead leaves, of course, excepted. It is a bad plan to plant Brussels Sprouts amongst potatoes or other crops, as they become unduly weakened, and never give such good returns as when grown by themselves. [Illustration: FIG. 286. BRYONIA LACINIOSA.] _Soil and Cultivation._ In February, and early in March, sow thinly in a cold frame, or carefully prepare seed beds on a warm south border. As soon as the plants are large enough, prick them off into prepared soil, to grow on; about the end of April, transplant into a piece of rich ground, which has been previously prepared for them, setting in rows from 2ft. to 3ft. asunder, and 2ft. apart in the rows. The earlier the plants are put out, the better; and they should be watered-in when planted, so that they receive as little a check as possible. They must be kept clear of weeds, and earthed up as soon an they get a good size. During severe frost, some light dry litter may with advantage be thrown over them for protection; and the less they are interfered with when frozen, the better. _Sorts._ The Imported is the best strain for general use; other good sorts are: Sutton's Matchless, The Aigburth, and Scrymger's Giant. =BRYA= (from _bryo_, to sprout; the seeds germinate before falling from the tree). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A small genus of stove shrubs or small trees, furnished with stipular spines, and solitary, or clustered, or pinnate leaves. The undermentioned species thrives in a rich fibry loam. Propagated by seeds, or by cuttings, placed in a hotbed. =B. Ebenus= (ebony). Jamaica Ebony. _fl._ bright yellow; peduncles two to three together, axillary, one to two-flowered, shorter than the leaves. July and August. _l._, leaflets aggregate, obovate. _h._ 12ft. to 14ft. West Indies, 1713. (B. M. 4670.) =BRYANTHUS= (from _bryon_, a moss, and _anthos_, a flower). ORD. _Ericaceæ_. A genus of small trailing shrubs, allied to _Loiseleuria_. Flowers terminal, somewhat racemose; calyx five-leaved, imbricate; corolla deeply five-parted, spreading. Leaves crowded, spreading, flattish. For culture, _see_ =Menziesia=. =B. empetriformis= (Crowberry-leaved). _fl._ reddish-purple, clustered near the extremities of the branches. _l._ crowded, linear, on short adpressed petioles. _h._ 6in. North-west America, 1829. SYN. _Menziesia empetrifolia_. (B. M. 3176.) =B. erectus= (erect). _fl._ red, pentamerous, broadly campanulate. _l._ linear, obtuse, obscurely serrated. _h._ about 1ft. Siberia. Trailer. (L. & P. F. G. 1, 19.) =B. Gmelini= (Gmelin's). _fl._ red; peduncles glandular, many-flowered. _l._ with denticulated margins. _h._ 2in. or 3in. Kamtschatka and Behring's Island. =BRYONIA= (from _bryo_, to sprout; in allusion to the annual growth from the tuber). Bryony. ORD. _Cucurbitaceæ_. Tuberous-rooted perennial herbaceous plants, producing annual climbing stems. The native species is well worth growing over unsightly hedges, fences, &c., and in the wild garden; it is a rapid grower, and of extremely easy culture. The stove perennial species should be grown in pots, and the stems trained up the rafters. Rich loam is the soil most suitable for their cultivation. Propagated by seeds, or by divisions of the tuber. =B. dioica= (di�cious). _fl._ greenish-white, racemose, di�cious. _fr._ globose, red. May to September. _l._ cordate, palmately five-lobed, toothed, scabrous, from callous points. England. (Sy. En. B. 517.) =B. laciniosa= (cut-leaved). _fl._ yellow, solitary; corollas hairy inside, smooth outside. _fr._ size of a cherry, striated with white. July. _l._ palmately five-parted, cordate, rough, and blistered, with oblong-lanceolate, acuminated, serrated segments; petioles muricated. Ceylon, 1710. Stove species. SYN. _Bryonopsis laciniosa_. See Fig. 286. =BRYONY.= _See_ =Bryonia=. =BRYOPHYLLUM= (from _bryo_, to sprout, and _phyllon_, a leaf; plants spring from the notches on the edges of the leaves when taken off the plant, and placed in a moist situation). ORD. _Crassulaceæ_. This very curious stove succulent thrives in pots of rich loamy soil; perfect drainage is essential, and but little water is at any time needed. =B. calycinum= (large-cupped). _fl._ yellowish-red; cymes panicled, terminal. April. _l._ opposite, thick, petiolate; some impari-pinnate, with one or two pairs of segments, the terminal one large; others solitary; all ovate and crenated. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. India, 1806. A fleshy, erect, branched evergreen shrub, grown chiefly for curiosity. =BUCCO.= _See_ =Agathosma=. =BUCIDA.= _See_ =Terminalia=. =BUCKBEAN.= _See_ =Menyanthes=. =BUCKLANDIA= (named after Dr. Buckland, a former Dean of Westminster, and Professor of Geology at Oxford). ORD. _Hamamelideæ_. A handsome greenhouse tree, allied to _Liquidambar_. It thrives in rich sandy loam, peat, and leaf mould; or peat may be left out if the leaf soil is good; perfect drainage is also essential. Cuttings of ripened shoots will strike in sandy loam, under a hand glass, with moderate heat. They must be watered carefully, or they are liable to rot off. =B. populnea= (Poplar-like). _l._ pale green, large, leathery, cordate, ovate-acute, on long stalks, pinkish when young; stipules very curious, large red, consisting of two leafy oblong plates, placed face to face in an erect position between the leafstalk and the stem. _h._ 100ft. Himalayas, 1875. (B. M. 6507.) =BUCKLER MUSTARD.= _See_ =Biscutella=. =BUCKTHORN.= _See_ =Rhamnus=. =BUCKWHEAT.= _See_ =Fagopyrum esculentum=. =BUCKWHEAT-TREE.= _See_ =Mylocaryum=. =BUDDING.= This process consists of taking an eye or bud attached to a portion of the bark, and transferring it to another and different plant; it is an operation almost confined to woody plants, but has been practised with more or less success upon herbaceous perennials. The stock should not be budded unless the sap is in circulation, which is assured if the bark will detach itself easily, when gently lifted, from the wood. There are many ways of performing the different systems, in preparing and inserting the Buds, &c., and all may prove more or less successful if undertaken when the Buds and stock are both in a suitable condition. The principal methods are Shield or T-budding, including the Circular, Square, and Inverted forms; Flute or Tube-budding, and Annular or Ring-budding. The first-named method, which is fully described below, is very extensively practised for propagating Roses and stone fruits. It is also coming more in use for the propagation of many other fruit trees, including Apples and Pears, especially new or scarce varieties, as the great advantage of making use of many more of the eyes, to form separate trees, is thereby attained. In large nurseries, where skilful propagators are employed, thousands of trees are annually budded, the majority of them with very successful results. It is, in most cases, preferable to purchase established fruit trees, as cultivators require the produce much quicker than they could get it by propagating trees themselves. The same system of Budding is, however, applicable for increasing Roses; and this may be adopted with every chance of success by even a cottager, if he takes the necessary care in performing the work. Rare varieties of ornamental deciduous trees are largely propagated in this way; for instance, many of the Acers, Elms, Horse Chestnuts, &c. Evergreen shrubs, such as Rhododendrons and Hollies, are also rapidly increased in some establishments by this means. In the case of fruit-frees, plump wood Buds must be selected, from medium-sized branches. On some sorts these are scarce, the majority being Flower-buds, and it is rather difficult to distinguish between them at the Budding season. The best time for the operation is from June to the end of August; but surrounding influences, condition of Buds, stocks, &c., must be taken into account. Clean cuts, with gentle and skilful handling, are even more important in the Budding of stone fruits than of Roses or other plants, and the ties should be lightly but firmly made. In all cases, the operation must be performed as quickly as possible, as both Bud and bark are injured if exposed to the air for any length of time. [Illustration: FIG. 287.] [Illustration: FIG. 288.] To proceed with the ordinary system of Shield-budding, the stock (see Fig. 287 _a_) should first have a longitudinal and a transverse incision made in the bark, the former about 1in. long. Next, the Bud should be prepared, removing half the leaf (see Fig. 288). Hold the branch with the left hand, and pass the knife from about 1/2in. below, gradually upwards and inwards under the Bud, bringing it out in a similar way at a somewhat shorter distance above. A portion of wood will also be taken out, and this is generally removed the opposite way to that in which the Bud has been cut. By skilful Budders, it is removed by a sort of twitch from either end. Great care must be taken not to pull out the base or root of the Bud at the same time, as this would render it useless. Should the whole come out together, leaving a hollow place under the eye of the Bud, it must be thrown away, and another prepared. The Bud being ready, loosen the bark at the point where the incisions meet, with the ivory knife handle, and insert it by means of the piece of leaf attached. It must then be tied in with soft matting or bast, to exclude air, but not tight enough to injure the bark. Shading from bright sun is advisable for a few days afterwards, and, as soon as the union takes place, the ties must be frequently examined, and loosened if necessary. Some prefer Budding late in the season, in order that the Bud may remain dormant during the winter, and breaking stronger the following spring. Occasionally, they are inserted in spring, just at the commencement of growth. The stocks of the Summer-budded trees should only be allowed a moderate amount of foliage during the autumn, and should be cut back to the established Bud before growth commences in spring. _Square and Circular Shield-budding_ consists in cutting out a piece of bark of either shape from the stock, and inserting another piece of exactly the same size, containing a Bud, and covering with a bandage, or piece of sticking plaster, all except the eye. This mode is seldom made use of. Inverted T or Shield-budding is preferred in the south of France for propagating Orange-trees, but is not otherwise much used. The only difference is that the transverse incision is made below, instead of above, the other, and the Bud inserted upwards, making it fit with the bark at the point where the stock is cut across. [Illustration: FIG. 289.] _Flute-budding_ is sometimes used, and answers well for some trees (see Fig. 289). A cylinder of bark is removed from the stock, and one of a similar size from the scion. containing Buds, is fitted in its place, being carefully made air-tight by means of a bandage or grafting wax. Some prefer splitting the hark, as shown in the illustration. and laying it over the tube or cylinder; but the parts cannot be fitted so well as when it is removed. _Ring Budding._ By this mode, it is not necessary to cut off the top of the stock. A ring of bark may be removed from any convenient part (see Fig. 290 _b_) and replaced with one containing eyes (see Fig. 290 _a_). The latter should be taken from a little larger branch than the stock, as the bark could then be made to fit better. As in Flute-budding, air must be excluded by means of adhesive paper and bandages or grafting wax. Budding operations may be performed at any time during the season; but dull cloudy weather, and morning or evening, are most suitable. If the branch, containing Buds, cannot be obtained as required for use, the ends may be placed in water, to keep them fresh; but unnecessary delay should be avoided. [Illustration: FIG. 290.] [Illustration: FIG. 291.] _Stocks for Budding upon._ For the Cherry, the Wild Gean, and seedlings from the Morello. make capital stocks for tall trees and those of moderate growth; and the Mahaleb, or Perfumed Cherry, for small trees for pots, bushes, pyramids, or cordons. For the Plum, the Mussel, Mirabelle, Magnum Bonum, St. Julian, &c., are mostly used for stocks, the Mirabelle being best for small trees. Peaches and Nectarines are generally budded on the Mussel, St. Julian, or Mirabelle Plums; the last are best for dwarfs. The Apricot is budded on the Mussel or Mirabelle Plums, for small plants; and the St. Julian Plum for standards. In France, the Damas Noir, or Black Damask, and the Cerisette, are also used. They should all be raised from seeds, and not from suckers. Seeds for raising plants for stocks may be sown as soon as ripe; but where quantities are used, the stones are thrown into heaps, so as to slightly ferment during winter. In the spring, they are sown in drills or beds, and transplanted the next year in rows 2ft. or 3ft. apart. and 10in. or 12in. from plant to plant. The dwarfs are generally budded the second year, and the standards the third or fourth. Dwarf trees are budded from within a few inches of the ground to 1ft. above; standards and riders from 3ft. to 9ft.; cordons, pyramids, &c., can hardly be budded too low. _Rose Budding._ Propagation of Roses by Budding is very extensively practised both with standard trees and dwarf plants. It is perhaps easier and more certain to succeed with these than with fruit trees; but the mode adopted is precisely the same--that of the shield-shaped Bud with the core, or root, and the bark attached. For standards, the common briar of the Dog Rose is the best. The earlier these are obtained and planted in November, the better, as roots are then formed at once. For dwarf plants, the Manetti stock is mostly used, being easily obtained and had in proper condition almost at any time when Buds are ready. Plants on this stock do not succeed in all soils, and suckers are also very liable to be produced. Budding on the seedling briar is attended with good results, and is practised more than hitherto. The De la Grifferaie stock is also used, more for Tea Roses than others, and is considered by some to produce better plants than the Manetti. The shoots on standard briars should be reduced to about three of the strongest, selected as close together as possible, and near the top, the briars having been previously cut back the desired height at planting time. Two Buds are sufficient for a good head; but, for certainty, three may be inserted. Fig. 291 represents a tall briar with three shoots; _a_ shows the shoot slit for the Bud; _b_, the Bud inserted; _c_, the Bud tied in. Fig. 292 is a branch showing Buds, the lowest ones of which are most suitable, being in firmer wood. Those at the top are often useless. Fig. 293 represents a Bud taken from Fig. 292, _a_, _b_, and Fig. 294 gives an idea of how the wood is removed. As previously remarked when describing the system, experienced Budders remove the wood from either end. Fig. 294 shows its removal from the lower end. [Illustration: FIG. 292.] [Illustration: FIG. 293. FIG. 294.] Budding as close as possible to the main stem is most desirable. Raffia grass is superior in every way for tying, which should be performed as soon after the Bud is inserted as possible. It requires much care, and, of course, the Bud itself must be entirely free. As soon as the Buds swell, the tying material should be loosened, and the top of the stock cut back to the level of the budded shoot. By Budding late, the Buds lie dormant till the next spring, and the necessity of tying the young shoots is dispensed with for that season. The shoots of the briar in advance of the Rose Buds must be cut back, as shown in Fig. 295, so soon as the Buds are safely established. The Manetti and other dwarf stocks are budded on the main shoot nearly close to, or underneath the ground, and if low enough to cover part of the rose stem when grown, the latter often roots as well and assists the stock. Being small, they may be grown in pots and removed to the required position at any time. [Illustration: FIG. 295.] Dog Roses, used for standards, are usually collected from hedgerows, and sold at about 8s. per hundred. Manetti stocks are increased by cuttings, which, after making one season's good growth, will be fit for use. Briars are raised from seed, which may be collected from hedges, and sown in the autumn, in drills. The seedlings should be transplanted the first year after sowing, and the following season they will be ready for working. =BUDDING KNIVES.= The best Budding Knives are those manufactured by Messrs. Saynor and Co., and Messrs. G. Hall and Son. They are made with handles of ivory, shaped in different ways at the end, for the purpose of opening the bark, in order to insert the Bud. Some of the blades are made with the edge rounded at the point, so as to cut the bark without the knife entering the wood underneath (see Figs. 296 and 297). Others, which may be used for Budding, and are much better for ordinary use for cutting flowers, &c., are made with the edge of the blade carried to a point, as in ordinary knives (see Figs. 298 and 299). Another form has the handle made of some other material, and a piece of ivory inserted for opening the bark; this is represented in Fig. 300. The first-named is the best, if required for Budding only; the second is the most useful for ordinary purposes, and answers admirably for Budding as well. None of the other shapes have any material advantages over these. [Illustration: FIG. 296. FIG. 297. FIG. 298. FIG. 299. FIG. 300. =BUDDING KNIVES.=] =BUDDLEIA= (named after Adam Buddle, who is so often mentioned in Ray's "Synopsis"; his collection of dried British plants is preserved in the British Museum). ORD. _Loganiaceæ_. A large genus of stove, greenhouse, or half-hardy shrubs. Flowers small, often tomentose, axillary, spicate, capitate, or thyrsoid; calyx equally four-toothed; corolla tubular-campanulate, regular; limb spreading, four-toothed. Leaves opposite, reticulately veined. Branches quadrangular. The species most extensively grown is _B. globosa_, which, among all our other shrubs, is quite unique; but it is only in the southern or favoured counties of England where it can be fairly termed hardy. It is readily propagated by cuttings or by seeds. The latter should be sown in a gentle heat the spring following the ripening, when they will vegetate pretty freely. With careful treatment and nurturing in pots for the first winter, in a frost-proof pit or house, they may soon be grown into elegant plants. Cuttings of the ripened wood, put in under bell glasses or hand lights, in a cool but frost-proof pit, will root slowly during the winter. They will root all the surer and quicker if each cutting has a heel of older wood attached to that of the current year's growth. They are best inserted in fine sand or in very sandy soil, and require but little water until rooted. As soon as fairly calloused over or rooted, their further progress may be much advanced by potting them off, and plunging them in a bottom-heat of 60deg. or 65deg. This is by no means an essential to secure success, but it hastens it, and promotes growth in an extraordinary manner. The surface temperature should range about the same as the bottom-heat. Under such treatment, the plants will be quite fit to place out about the middle of July. A warm, sheltered situation should be chosen, and a light, rich soil prepared for them; and if dry weather ensues, they only require water. South or west walls are, without doubt, the best situations for them. In all cool or unfavourable localities, much may be done to ensure success by planting on a dry bottom, and on poorish soil. A loose, free-and-easy style of training suits the plants best. This enables them to yield a great number of their peculiarly formed, distinct, and beautiful flowers; whereas, anything like a close, trim course of pruning or of training reduces the flowers to the lowest number. Throughout the southern parts of England, and, indeed, in many places in the north, _B. globosa_ makes an excellent bush for the shrubbery. It is only during severe winters that it gets badly cut. For the other presumably hardy species much the same plan as the foregoing may be adopted. The greenhouse and stove kinds may have the same routine of culture usually employed with plants requiring similar temperatures. Stove species, except where specified otherwise. =B. americana= (American). _fl._ yellow; spikes disposed in a terminal panicle, nearly 1ft. long; glomerules nearly globose, size of a sloe, on short peduncles. August. _l._ ovate, acuminated, narrowed at the base, serrately crenated. _h._ 8ft. to 12ft. Peru, 1826. =B. asiatica= (Asiatic).* _fl._ white, small, disposed in long, dense racemes. _l._ lanceolate, finely serrated. _h._ 3ft. India, 1874. A graceful and sweet-scented shrub. SYN. _B. Neemda_. (B. M. 6323.) =B. crispa= (curled). _fl._ lilac, with a white eye; numerously produced in long terminal branching spikes, forming a pyramidal head about 5in. long. March. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, crenately curled; lower ones cordate at the base; superior ones rounded, all thick and wrinkled, clothed with soft tomentum on both surfaces. _h._ 13ft. Western Himalayas. Half-hardy. (B. M. 4793.) =B. globosa= (globose).* _fl._ orange, or honey-colour; heads large, terminal, globose, pedunculate. May. _l._ lanceolate, acuminated, petiolate, crenated, 6in. long. Branches sub-tetragonal, clothed with hoary tomentum, as well as the under side of the leaves. _h._ 15ft. to 20ft. Chili, 1774. Hardy in most places. (B. M. 174.) =B. Lindleyana= (Lindley's). _fl._ purplish-red, hairy; disposed in terminal racemose spikes. September. _l._ ovate, shortly petiolate, serrate. Branches angular, glabrous. _h._ 6ft. China, 1844. Half-hardy. (B. R. 32, 4.) =B. Neemda= (Neemda). A synonym of _B. asiatica_. =BUDS, FLOWER.= These are developed like Leaf-buds, from which they differ chiefly in containing one or more incipient flowers within the leaves--the flowers being wrapped up in their own floral-leaves, within the ordinary leaves, which have their outer covering of scales. If a Bud be gathered from a Lilac or Horse-chestnut very early in spring, all the rudiments of the future flowers and leaves will be found within it, though the Bud itself may not be more than half-an-inch long, and the flowers not larger than the points of the smallest pins. =BUDS, LEAF.= These consist of rudimentary leaves, surrounding a growing vital point, and appear like a collection of scales arranged symmetrically one above the other. Leaf-buds universally originate in the horizontal or cellular system, and are formed under the bark at the extremity of the medullary rays, and at the margin or on the surface of leaves, whether perfect or rudimentary. Deciduous trees lose their leaves, but in the axil of each a little Bud previously forms, from which fresh leaves expand the following spring. In some cases, as in the Horse-chestnut, the Buds are covered with a gummy exudation. In Privet-trees, Leaf-buds are generally smaller and more elongated than Flower-buds. =BUETTNERIA= (named after David Sigismund Augustus Byttner, once a Professor of Botany in the University of Göttingen). ORD. _Sterculiaceæ_. Erect or scandent stove or greenhouse shrubs. Flowers small, usually dark purple; calyx and corolla valvate; umbels simple, disposed in something like racemes or panicles, rarely in corymbs. Leaves simple. All are of easy culture in a compost of loam and peat. _B. dasyphylla_, _hermanniæ-folia_, _microphylla_, and _scabra_, are occasionally met with, but they are hardly worth growing. =BUETTNERIE�.= A section of _Sterculiaceæ_. =BUFF-TIP MOTH= (_Pygæra bucephala_). This large and beautiful Moth is very common in many districts; it is easily recognised by the buff-coloured tips of the fore-wings--whence its common name; the head, and body between the wings and abdomen, are ochreous. According to Newman's "British Moths," "the caterpillars, when full grown, are about an inch and three-quarters long, and sprinkled with silky hairs; the general colour yellow, with black head, black lines running from the head to the tail, interrupted by a transverse orange band on each ring, and a black horny plate above the tail segment." They feed on the leaves of the Lime, Elm, and Oak, among other trees, and apparently the only remedy is that generally adopted in exterminating caterpillars, viz., to shake the branches which are infested, when the pest will be quickly dislodged, and fall to the ground. Miss Ormerod is of opinion that "as the caterpillars come down the tree to the ground for their change to chrysalids, it might be worth while to throw a few spadefuls of gas-lime, or of anything they would not cross, in a circle at about a yard from the tree; or a rough band of any material soaked in tar, or tar and oil, which would keep wet longer, would stop them from straying off ... and they might be cleared in sufficient numbers so as to considerably lessen future attack." This plan of prevention deserves a trial in any place where the destructive caterpillars of these Moths abound. It is almost a hopeless task to destroy them altogether when once established on the trees, such specimens as large Oaks being often almost or wholly denuded of foliage. =BUGLE.= _See_ =Ajuga=. =BUGLOSSUM BARRELIERI.= _See_ =Anchusa Barrelieri=. =BUGWORT.= _See_ =Cimicifuga=. =BULBIFEROUS.= Bearing bulbs. =BULBINE= (from _bolbos_, a bulb). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. A genus of rather pretty hardy, or nearly hardy, herbaceous or bulbous plants, allied to _Anthericum_. Flowers showy, fragrant; perianth with spreading segments. Leaves somewhat fleshy, narrow. Stems short. They are all of easy culture in a compost of sandy loam. The bulbous-rooted species are increased by offsets, and the herbaceous sorts by suckers and divisions. The only species which can be grown satisfactorily in the open air is _B. annua._ All the others should be grown in the greenhouse, but may be placed in the open during the summer months. =B. alooides= (Aloe-like).* _fl._ yellow, disposed in a terminal panicle. April. _l._ fleshy, tongue-shaped, lanceolate, flat on both sides. _h._ 1ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1732. SYN. _Anthericum alooides_. (B. M. 1317.) =B. annua= (annual). _fl._ yellow; scape racemose. May, June. _l._ fleshy, subulate, rounded. _h._ 9in. Cape of Good Hope, 1731. An annual species, the seeds of which should be sown in a gentle heat during spring, and the seedlings may be transplanted to the open when large enough to handle. SYN. _Anthericum annuum_. (B. M. 1451.) =B. caulescens= (caulescent).* _fl._ yellow. March. _l._ fleshy, rounded. Stem shrubby, erect, branched. _h._ 2ft. Cape of Good Hope. 1702. A shrubby species, which should be propagated by cuttings, placed under a hand glass. SYN. _B. frutescens_. (B. M. 816.) =B. frutescens= (shrubby). Synonymous with _B. caulescens_. =BULBOCODIUM= (from _bolbos_, a bulb, and _kodion_, wool; referring to the woolly covering of the bulbs). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. TRIBE _Colchiceæ_. A very pretty little bulbous plant, much resembling the _Crocus_, from which it differs principally in having a superior ovary and six stamens. It is amongst the earliest of spring-flowering plants, the flowers preceding the foliage; and, like the majority of bulbs, delights in rich sandy loam. In such positions, they multiply rapidly from offsets. It is a good plan to take up the bulbs, divide, and replant them every second year, selecting in autumn, and renewing the soil or planting in new positions. Few plants prove more welcome in the garden, in February, than _B. vernum_, either in beds, patches, or masses. =B. Aitchisoni= (Aitchison's). A synonym of _Merendera Aitchisoni_. =B. Eichleri= (Eichler's). A synonym of _Merendera caucasica_. =B. trigynum.= A synonym of _Merendera caucasica_. [Illustration: FIG. 301. BULBOCODIUM VERNUM.] =B. vernum= (spring).* _fl._ violet-purple, with a white spot on the claw; long, tubular, funnel-shaped, two to three from each bulb; preceding the appearance of the leaves. Very early spring. _l._ usually three in number, broadly strap-shaped, concave, and surrounded at the base by well-developed sheaths. Bulb black, oblong. _h._ 4in. to 6in. Spain, 1649. See Fig. 301. There is a variety with the leaves striped white, which is also desirable. =BULBOPHYLLUM= (from _bulbos_, a bulb, and _phyllon_, a leaf; referring to the leaves issuing from the apex of the pseudo-bulbs). SYNS. _Anisopetalum_, _Bolbophyllum_, _Tri-brachium_. ORD. _Orchideæ_. Of this rather large genus of orchids but few are worth cultivating except as curiosities. Racemes long or spike-like, very rarely one-flowered or sub-umbellate; sepals usually nearly equal and free; lip jointed to the foot of the column. They are of easy culture when grown on small blocks of wood with a little moss, and suspended in a warm part of the house; the roots require a good supply of water. Propagated by dividing the pseudo-bulbs. The following comparative few of the aggregate number of species already introduced are really all that are worth the cultivator's attention; what the botanist often regards as being very pretty, &c., does not always appear such in the eyes of the grower. =B. barbigerum= (bearded).* _fl._, sepals and petals greenish-brown; lip covered with dark-coloured hair, and so loosely attached at the base as to be moved with the slightest breath. Sierra Leone, 1835. A curious dwarf-growing plant, with dark green leaves and pseudo-bulbs. (B. R. 1942.) =B. Beccarii= (Beccari's). _fl._ light brownish and painted with violet; lip brown, with a violet hue, proceeding from a rhizome at the base of the leaf (just below the small pseudo-bulb), and at once turning downwards; racemes dense, cylindrical, nodding. _l._ three, 25in. long, 18in, across, very thick. Rhizome 20in. long. Brazil, 1879. A remarkable and gigantic climbing species; the odour of this plant is intolerably f�tid and the leaves are larger than those of any other known orchid. This species requires plenty of heat. (B. M. 6517.) =B. Lobbi= (Lobb's).* _fl._ large; sepals and petals yellow, the upper part spotted with purple; solitary, on radical scapes. Summer. Java, 1845. (B. M. 4532.) =B. maculatum= (spotted). _fl._ prettily spotted, _l._ long, obtuse, bright green. India. =B. reticulatum= (netted-leaved).* _fl._ in pairs, white, striped inside with purple; lip spotted with the same colour. _l._ somewhat heart-shaped, with the nerves of a deeper green than the rest of the leaf, giving it a beautifully reticulated appearance. Brazil, 1866. Perhaps the handsomest of the genus. (B. M. 5605.) =B. saltatorum= (dancing). _fl._ greenish-brown, lasting some time in perfection. Winter. _h._ 6in. Sierra Leone, 1835. (B. R. 1970.) =B. siamense= (Siamese).* _fl._ pale yellow, striped with purple; lip yellow, streaked with purplish lines. A very pretty species, closely allied to _B. Lobbi_, but with longer and stouter leaves. Pseudo-bulbs ovate. Siam, 1867. Should be grown in a pot of peat and sphagnum. =BULBOSTYLES= (from _bolbos_, a bulb, and _stylos_, the style). ORD. _Compositæ_. A. small genus of stove evergreen plants, now referred to _Eupatorium_. =BULBS.= A Bulb is formed upon or beneath the ground, and is a swollen stock, consisting, in the first place, of a more or less fleshy disk, which below gives rise to the roots; secondly, of more or less fleshy coats, or scales, borne on the disk; thirdly, of a more or less central shoot, equally borne by the disk, protected by the coats or scales already mentioned, and formed of rudimentary leaves and flowers. In some instances, small Bulbs, called Cloves, are formed at the base of the scales of the original Bulb; these are destined to reproduce the plant. Shallot and Garlic are good examples. Bulbs are, in fact, storehouses, husbanding the strength and energy acquired by the plant during one season, for the exigencies of the next. They are classified under two sections--Scaly and Tunicated. In the former, the scales of the Bulb are imbricated, as in the Lily; in the latter, they form continuous coatings, one within the other, as in the Hyacinth, &c. In several Lilies, young Bulbs are found growing in the axils of the leaves, when they are known as Bulbils. Bulbs is also a popular term given to Dutch Flower Roots, mostly arriving here in the autumn for spring flowering. Crocus, Colchicum, Cyclamen, Gladiolus, and several others, are not Bulbs, but Corms. The flowering season varies according to the different sorts of Bulbs. The majority may be lifted and kept tolerably dry during the resting period; but they wither and become exhausted if not replanted at the proper time, thereby causing many failures. Dutch Bulbs generally arrive in September, and the best results are obtained from those potted or planted at once, although some for succession may be kept in reserve up till the beginning of November. The failure in cultivating imported Liliums and other Bulbs may be often caused by their long-continued confinement in a dry atmosphere, whereby their vitality is often almost lost. The roots of some Bulbs are nearly always, more or less, in action, and these, especially, should not be kept out of the ground for any length of time. =BULLACE.= _See_ =Prunus insititia=. =BULLACE=, or =MUSCADINE=. _See_ =Vitis vulpina=. =BULLATE.= Blistered or puckered. =BULRUSH=, or =CLUB-RUSH=. _See_ =Typha=. =BUNCHOSIA= (from _bunchos_, the Arabic name for Coffee; in allusion to the similarity between the seeds of this genus and those of Coffee). ORD. _Malpighiaceæ_. Ornamental greenhouse evergreen shrubs, nearly allied to _Malpighia_, but having the racemes of flowers axillary. Fruit fleshy, indehiscent, externally smooth, and containing two or three seeds. They thrive best in a compost of loam, peat, leaf soil, and sand, in about equal proportions. Cuttings of ripened shoots will root in sand under a bell glass, in moist bottom heat, taking several weeks to do so. Good drainage is essential, both in striking cuttings and in the cultivation of the plants. [Illustration: FIG. 302. BURBIDGEA NITIDA.] =B. argentea= (silvery).* _fl._ yellow; racemes opposite, simple, pubescent. July. _l._ lanceolate, silvery beneath. Branches puberulous. _h._ 10ft. Caraccas, 1810. =B. glandulifera= (gland-bearing). _fl._ yellow; racemes simple, axillary. March to May. _l._ elliptical-ovate, on short petioles, wavy, pubescent on both surfaces, furnished with four glands beneath at the base. _h._ 10ft. Caraccas, 1806. =B. nitida= (shining). _fl._ yellow; racemes elongated, almost the length of the leaves. July. _fr._ large, red; it is much eaten by turkeys and other large fowl. _l._ 4in. long, oblong, acuminated, smooth, glandless. _h._ 4ft. Jamaica, 1800. =B. odorata= (fragrant).* _fl._ yellow, sweet-scented; racemes opposite. May. _l._ ovate, emarginate, downy on both surfaces. _h._ 7ft. Carthagena, 1806. =BUPHTHALMUM= (from _bous_, an ox, and _ophthalmos_, the eye; the disk of the flower being ox-eye-like). Oxeye. ORD. _Compositæ_. Very showy and ornamental hardy perennial plants, thriving freely in common garden soil. They are propagated by divisions, made in autumn or spring. =B. grandiflorum= (large-flowered).* _fl.-heads_ yellow, large; involucre naked. June to October. _l._ alternate-lanceolate, somewhat toothleted, smooth. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Austria, 1722. Hardy herbaceous perennial. =B. salicifolium= (Willow-leaved).* _fl.-heads_ yellow, solitary, rather large, terminal; involucre naked. June. _l._ alternate, oblong-lanceolate, sub-serrated, three-nerved, villous. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Austria, 1759. Hardy herbaceous perennial. =B. speciosissimum= (showiest).* _fl.-heads_ yellow. July. _h._ 2ft. South Europe, 1826. Hardy herbaceous perennial. SYN. _Telekia speciosissima_. =BUPLEURUM= (derivation not satisfactorily explained). Hare's-Ear. ORD. _Umbelliferæ_. A somewhat extensive genus of quite glabrous shrubs or herbaceous plants. Flowers yellowish; umbels compound. Leaves mostly quite entire. But few of this genus are worth growing, and all are of the easiest culture in common garden soil. Seeds of the annuals may be sown out of doors in March or April; divisions of the herbaceous perennials made in autumn or spring; and cutting or divisions of the greenhouse species, in March or April. =B. fruticescens= (shrubby).* _fl._, umbels small, three to five-rayed; involucre of three to five, very short, subulate leaves. August. _l._ linear-subulate, stiff, striated, five to seven-nerved. Branches slender, elongated, erect. _h._ 1ft. Spain, 1752. Hardy and evergreen. =B. fruticosum= (shrubby).* Leaves of involucre oblong. July. _l._ of a sea-green colour; oblong, attenuated at the base, coriaceous, one-nerved, quite entire, sessile. Bark of branches purplish. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. Spain, 1596. Hardy. This is nearly the only species grown. (W. D. B. 1, 14.) =B. gibraltarica= (Gibraltar). _fl._ yellow. June. _l._ lanceolate, one-nerved, coriaceous. _h._ 3ft. Gibraltar, 1784. Evergreen, half-hardy. =B. graminifolium= (Grass-leaved).* _fl._ green-yellow. June. _l._ linear, grass-like. _h._ 6in. Switzerland, 1768. Hardy perennial. =B. longifolium= (long-leaved). _fl._ green-yellow. June. _l._ ovate-oblong; radical ones stalked; cauline ones amplexicaul. _h._ 3ft. Switzerland, 1713. Hardy perennial. =BUR.= _See_ =Centotheca lappacea=. =BURBIDGEA= (named after F. W. Burbidge, the discoverer of the genus, a traveller in Borneo, and author of several horticultural works). ORD. _Scitamineæ_. A very large, brilliant-flowered stove herbaceous perennial, allied to _Hedychium_. For culture, _see_ =Alpinia=. =B. nitida= (shining).* _fl._, perianth-tube 1in. to 1-1/2in. long, slender; outer segments 1-1/2in. to 2in. in diameter, bright orange-scarlet; panicle terminal, 4in. to 6in. long, many-flowered. Summer. _l._ 4in. to 6in. long, elliptic-lanceolate, cordate-acuminate, rather fleshy, bright green above. Stems tufted, 2ft. to 4ft. high, slender, terete, leafy. N. W. Borneo, 1879. See Fig. 302, for which we are indebted to Messrs. Veitch and Sons. (B. M. 6403.) =BURCHARDIA= (named after H. Burchard, M.D., a botanical author). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. An ornamental greenhouse herbaceous perennial, allied to _Androcymbium_. It thrives best in sandy peat, or peat mixed with a little loam. Propagated by offsets or divisions, made just previous to potting, in spring. It is best to repot annually. Good drainage should be allowed, and the plant must not be potted too firmly. =B. umbellata= (umbelled). _fl._ white, green. August. _h._ 2ft. New Holland, 1820. =BURCHCHELLIA= (named after W. Burchell, a botanical traveller in the Cape of Good Hope, and in Brazil). ORD. _Rubiaceæ_. A stove evergreen shrub from the Cape of Good Hope. Flowers scarlet, disposed in heads at the tops of the branches, sessile upon a villous receptacle, intermixed with small distinct bracteoles; and each head is propped up by the ultimate pair of leaves; corolla of a clavate-funnel-shape. Leaves ovate, acute, a little cordate at the base, petiolate; stipules interpetiolar, broad, cuspidate at the apex, deciduous. It grows well in a rich light soil, or a mixture of turfy loam, turfy peat, and sand. Cuttings, not too ripe, root readily if planted in sand, and placed under a hand glass, in a gentle heat. =B. bubalina= (buffalo). A synonym of _B. capensis_. =B. capensis= (Cape).* _fl._ deep scarlet, nearly 1in. long. March. _l._ ovate, acute, clothed with hispid pubescence; stipules very broad, and very short. _h._ 3ft. to 5ft.; 12ft. to 14ft. in a wild state. SYN. _B. bubalina_. (B. M. 2339.) =BURLINGTONIA= (named after the "amiable and accomplished" Countess of Burlington). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A small genus of epiphytal orchids, all of which are beautiful and eminently well worth growing. They may be grown upon small blocks of wood, or in rustic baskets, suspended from the roof of the plant stove, where, if liberally treated with water, and a genial moisture in the air during the growing season, very little else will be required to ensure health and vigour. In the dull days of winter, they should be watered less frequently, but the plants must not be allowed to exhibit the slightest signs of distress from drought, or the consequences may be fatal to their health. When fastening these plants to blocks of wood, a little sphagnum should be used, for experience proves that they thrive best when their thin white roots can escape and hang exposed to the air. If growing them in baskets, it is preferable first to fasten them securely upon small pieces of bare cork, then to fill the basket, and finally to cover the whole thinly with a layer of sphagnum. [Illustration: FIG. 303. FLOWER-SPIKE, PSEUDO-BULB, AND LEAF OF BURLINGTONIA DECORA.] Generally speaking, this genus is not a difficult one to cultivate; its great enemy is a small white scale, which secretes itself in the sheathing bases of the leaves. Here it rapidly multiplies, to the great detriment of the plants; the leaves soon turn yellow at the base, and drop off; the whole plant looks sickly, and soon dies, or else requires a very long time and much trouble to achieve its recovery to health. To prevent this, the bases of the leaves must be carefully looked into every time the plants are taken down to be dipped in water; and, should the slightest sign of this pest appear, a thorough washing with soft soap and tepid water must be given, repeating the operation every day until all traces of the insect are removed. Red thrip are also apt to work much mischief with these plants. They take up their abode in the same way as the white scale, and if not speedily removed or destroyed, soon make sad havoc. To put a stop to the ravages of this pest, a wash should be given, as before recommended, and after the soap has been rinsed out of the base of the leaf, a little tobacco powder should be sprinkled into the hollows, and allowed to remain for a day or two before brushing it off. This process will, however, cause a somewhat dirty appearance, but it will ensure ultimate health and vigour. Propagated by dividing the plants. =B. Batemanni= (Bateman's).* _fl._ white, deliciously-scented; lip beautiful mauve. A very pretty South American species, resembling _B. candida_. =B. candida= (white).* _fl._ snowy-white, with a slight stain of yellow on the upper part of the lip, in substance and appearance like white satin, trimmed with gold; large, sweet-scented, in gracefully drooping three to four-blossomed racemes, produced from the axils of the leaves. April and May, lasting about three weeks in perfection, and sometimes having a second flowering season. _l._ one or two in number, dark green, and firm in texture. _h._ 1ft. Demerara, 1834. A very compact species, well suited for basket culture; it should never be allowed to get dry. It may be distinguished from other species by having a single row of tubercles, forming a ridge upon each side of the slightly hastate lip. (B. R. 1927.) =B. decora= (comely).* _fl._ white or rose-coloured, spotted with red; lip pure white; scapes erect, five to ten-flowered. Winter. Brazil, 1852. This species differs entirely from _B. candida_, inasmuch as it possesses a long slender-rooting stem, from different parts of which arise small oval pseudo-bulbs, each bearing a leaf; a lesser leaf appears at the base of a bulb, and from the axil of this the scape springs. It is a rather straggling but nevertheless beautiful species, and is best grown fastened upon long strips of cork, a little sphagnum being used in the operation; whilst, to prevent the plant getting too much "away from home," the young growths should be twisted back as they advance, and the practice continued until the pseudo-bulb is ultimately left near the centre, or in any spot which may appear bare. It likes strong heat and a very moist atmosphere, when growing; but during the period of rest, it should be kept cool and dry. See Fig. 303. (B. M. 4834.) =B. d. picta= (painted).* A beautiful variety, differing from the type in having shorter and more acute leaves; flowers produced in greater profusion, rose-coloured, beautifully mottled and blotched with dark purple. October. Brazil. (B. M. 5419.) =B. fragrans= (fragrant).* _fl._ very gratefully fragrant, disposed in erect racemes. April, remaining in perfection about three weeks. _l._ long, rigid, dark green. Habit compact. Brazil, 1850. =B. pubescens= (downy). _fl._, sepals and petals snow-white; distinguished by the somewhat hastate lip, which has three yellow ridges on each side, and also by the downy column. November. _h._ 6in. Brazil, 1850. =B. rigida= (rigid).* _fl._ purplish-white, spotted with pink on the lip; produced in heads. _h._ 1ft. Brazil, 1838. A handsome plant, but difficult to flower. (L. S. O. 36.) =B. venusta= (charming).* _fl._ white, slightly tinted with pink; produced in heavy pendulous clusters at various seasons of the year; lip stained with yellow. _l._ rigid, dark green. Brazil, 1840. It forms a compact mass, and requires less heat than the kinds previously described. It is often confounded with _B. pubescens_, from which it may be distinguished by its larger and more loosely arranged flowers, by its smooth column, by the lip not being hastate in shape, and by the numerous shallow ridges borne near the base upon each side. (L. S. O. 2.) =BUR MARIGOLD.= _See_ =Bidens=. =BURNET= (_Poterium Sanguisorba_; from _poterion_, a cup; being used in cooling drinks). ORD. _Rosaceæ_. A native perennial. The leaves are sometimes used in soups, and with Borage in cooling drinks; they are also put in salads. The foliage only being useful, keep the flower-spikes removed, as this tends to increase the luxuriance of the plants. It thrives in any light soil. Propagated by division. =BURNET SAXIFRAGE.= _See_ =Pimpinella=. =BURNING BUSH.= _See_ =Euonymus atropurpureus= and =E. americanus=. =BURN ONION.= _See_ =Potato Onion=. =BUR REED.= _See_ =Sparganium=. =BURSARIA= (from _bursa_, a pouch; the capsules very much resemble those of the Shepherd's Purse). ORD. _Pittosporaceæ_. A handsome, much-branched, greenhouse evergreen shrub, forming a very pretty object when covered all over with its elegant white blossoms. It thrives well in a compost of sandy loam and peat, in equal proportions. Young cuttings will root freely in sand, under a bell glass, with a little bottom heat. =B. spinosa= (thorny).* _fl._ white, small, disposed either in lateral or terminal panicles. July to December. _l._ small, oblong-cuneated, entire. _h._ 10ft. New Holland, 1793. (B. M. 1767.) =BURSERA= (named after Joachim Burser, a disciple of Caspar Bauhin). ORD. _Burseraceæ_. Stove balsam-bearing trees. Flowers polygamous, or hermaphrodite; calyx small, four to six-toothed; petals four to six, spreading, generally valvate in æstivation; stamens eight to twelve; disk annular, with usually six to ten teeth; drupe oblong, covered by a three-valved succulent rind, containing three to five nuts. They thrive in a compost of loam and peat. Propagated by cuttings, placed under a glass, with bottom heat. =B. gummifera= (gum-bearing). _fl._ whitish, hexandrous; racemes terminal and axillary. _l._ deciduous, usually impari-pinnate; leaflets ovate, acute, membranous. _h._ 60ft. West Indies, 1690. =B. serrata= (serrate).* _fl._ whitish, decandrous; panicles axillary, shorter than the leaves. _l._ impari-pinnate, with three to five pairs of broad-lanceolate, bluntly-acuminated, serrulated leaflets; petioles and pedicels pubescent. _h._ 25ft. India, 1818. =BURSERACE�.= An order of shrubs or trees, abounding in resinous juice; with opposite compound leaves, full of pellucid dots, and axillary and terminal fascicles of flowers. Fruit indehiscent, somewhat drupaceous. The genera best known are _Amyris_, _Balsamodendron_, _Boswellia_, _Bursera_, and _Canarium_. =BURTONIA= (named after D. Burton, a plant collector for Kew Gardens). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A genus of handsome greenhouse dwarf Heath-like shrubs, natives of West Australia. Flowers axillary, often thickly gathered at the ends of the branches; corollas rich purple; keel generally of a deeper colour, and the standard having sometimes a yellow blotch at its base. Leaves simple or trifoliolate, sessile, usually awl-shaped. They thrive well in a mixture of loam, peat, leaf soil, and sand, in equal proportions, with thorough drainage; but care must be taken not to give them too much water, as they require to be kept moderately dry, and are difficult to preserve in a living state. Young cuttings root freely in a pot of sandy soil, in a cool house, with a bell glass placed over them; but some of the species produce seed in abundance, which are the best means of increasing them. =B. conferta= (cluster-flowered).* _fl._ violet. July. _l._ simple, very much crowded, six to eight lines long, linear-subulate, with revolute margins, and are, as well as the branches, smooth. _h._ 2ft. 1830. (B. R. 1600.) =B. minor= (smaller). A synonym of _Gompholobium minus_. =B. pulchella= (beautiful). A synonym of _B. scabra_. =B. scabra= (rough).* _fl._ purple; peduncles axillary, bi-bracteate. April. _l._, leaflets glabrous, linear-mucronate. Branches puberulous. _h._ 2ft. 1846. SYN. _B. pulchella_. (B. M. 5000.) =B. villosa= (villose). _fl._ purple, large; peduncles axillary, bi-bracteate. May. _l._, leaflets linear-subulate, bluntish, scabrid. _h._ 2ft. 1846. (B. M. 4410.) =BUSHEL.= _See_ =Measures=. =BUTCHER'S BROOM.= _See_ =Ruscus aculeatus=. =BUTEA= (commemorative of John, Earl of Bute, once a munificent patron of botany). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A genus of very ornamental stove evergreen unarmed trees. Racemes many-flowered; flowers three together, on short pedicels, and furnished with two bracteoles each, under the calyx; corolla deep scarlet; down on the calyces usually black and velvety. Leaves pinnately-trifoliate; leaflets large, ovate, roundish, stipellate. For culture, &c., _see_ =Erythrina=. =B. frondosa= (leafy). _fl._ 2in. long. _l._, leaflets roundish, obtuse, or emarginate, rather velvety beneath. Branches pubescent. _h._ 40ft. India, 1796. (B. F. S. 176.) =B. superba= (superb).* _l._, leaflets roundish, obtuse, velvety beneath. Branches glabrous. Coromandel, 1798. This approaches the preceding species, from which it differs mainly by its scandent habit, and not by any botanical characters. (B. F. F. 143.) =BUTOMACE�.= An order of aquatic plants, now usually included under _Alismaceæ_. =BUTOMUS= (from _bous_, an ox, and _temno_, to cut; in reference to the sharp leaves, which injure the mouths of cattle that browze upon them). Flowering Rush. ORD. _Alismaceæ_. A very handsome hardy perennial aquatic, of extremely easy culture on the margins of ponds or muddy banks. Propagated by divisions of the roots, in spring. [Illustration: FIG. 304. BUTOMUS UMBELLATUS, showing Habit and single Flower.] =B. umbellatus= (umbelled).* _fl._ rose-coloured, umbellate; pedicels with scariose sheathing bracts at the base; scape naked, terete, longer than the leaves. Summer. _l._ all radical, 2ft. to 3ft. long, linear, acuminate, triquetrous. Ditches and ponds; frequent in England, and rare in Ireland. See Fig. 304. =BUTTER AND EGGS.= The double-flowered variety of =Narcissus aurantius= (which _see_). =BUTTER AND TALLOW TREE.= _See_ =Pentadesma=. =BUTTER-BUR.= _See_ =Petasites vulgaris=. =BUTTERCUPS.= _See_ =Ranunculus=. =BUTTERFLY ORCHIS.= _See_ =Habenaria bifolia= and =H. chlorantha=. =BUTTERFLY PLANT.= _See_ =Oncidium Papilio=. =BUTTER NUT.= _See_ =Caryocar= and =Juglans cinerea=. =BUTTERWORT.= _See_ =Pinguicula=. =BUTTON FLOWER.= _See_ =Gomphia=. =BUTTON-TREE.= _See_ =Conocarpus=. =BUTTON-WOOD.= _See_ =Cephalanthus=. =BUXUS= (from _pyknos_, dense; referring to the hardness of the wood). Box Tree. ORD. _Euphorbiaceæ_. A genus of hardy evergreen shrubs or small trees. Flowers unisexual, mon�cious; male flowers, calyx of four minute segments, stamens four, inserted under the rudiment of a pistil; female flowers singly, at the tips of groups of male ones. Fruit, a regma, leathery, beaked with the styles. Leaves simple, opposite, exstipulate, evergreen. These well-known plants thrive in any light, well-drained soil. Seeds should be sown in similar situations as soon as ripe. Cuttings, made of the young shoots, from 4in. to 6in. in length, inserted in a shady place, in August or September, root readily. Layers of either young or old wood, made in autumn or early spring, will make good plants. They can also be increased by suckers and division. =B. balearica= (Balearic).* _l._ yellowish-green, oblong-elliptical, emarginate, coriaceous, about 2in. long, with a cartilaginous margin. _h._ 15ft. to 20ft. South Europe, 1780. This is a handsome species. The cuttings will require a shelter in winter, and in exposed situations it will be better to afford the plants protection. =B. sempervirens= (evergreen).* Common Box. _l._ oval-oblong, retuse, convex, coriaceous, shining; stalks slightly hairy. _h._ various. England. There are numerous forms of this popular shrub: _argentea_, silver-variegated; _aurea_ has its leaves variegated with a golden colour; _marginata_ has leaves with a golden margin; _myrtifolia_ has small, oblong, narrowish leaves; _obcordate-variegata_ is a variegated variety, with obcordate leaves, from Japan; _suffruticosa_ is the form usually cultivated for edgings, its leaves are small, obovate, this is readily increased by divisions, and requires to be planted firmly, in order to keep it dwarf. =BYRSONIMA= (from _byrsa_, a hide, and _nimius_, much used; because the bark of some of the species is used in tanning, in Brazil). ORD. _Malpighiaceæ_. Ornamental stove evergreen trees or shrubs. Flowers racemose, terminal, simple or branched. All the species thrive very well in any light soil, or a mixture of loam and peat. Cuttings made of half-ripened shoots will root freely in sand, under a hand glass, in a moist bottom heat. =B. altissima= (tallest).* _fl._ white; racemes clothed with rufous hairs. July. _l._ ovate-oblong, covered with rufous down beneath, but beset with bristles above, which are fixed by the centre. _h._ 60ft. Guiana, 1820. =B. chrysophylla= (golden-leaved).* _fl._ yellow; racemes simple. August. _l._ oblong, short, acuminated, acute at the base, rather wavy on the margin, and revolute, smooth above, clothed beneath with silky down, which is of a rusty golden colour. _h._ 14ft. South America, 1823. =B. coriacea= (leathery-leaved). _fl._ yellow, sweet-scented; racemes densely spiked, pubescent, erect. May. _l._ ovate, acute, quite entire and smooth. _h._ 30ft. Jamaica, 1814. =B. crassifolia= (thick-leaved). _fl._ yellow; racemes erect, elongated, brownish-velvety. July. _l._ ovate, acute at both ends, at length smooth above, but clothed with brownish down beneath. _h._ 6ft. Guiana, 1793. =B. lucida= (shining).* _fl._ pink; petals hastately kidney-shaped; pedicels hispid; racemes spiked, erect, short, smooth. May. _l._ obovate, cuneiform, obtuse, or mucronate, smooth, veinless, shining. _h._ 8ft. Caribbee Islands, 1759. Described as "a beautiful shrub." =B. verbascifolia= (Verbascum-leaved). _fl._ yellow; racemes terminal. July. _l._ lanceolate-obovate, quite entire, downy on both surfaces. _h._ 6ft. Guiana, 1810. =BYSTROPOGON= (from _byo_, to close, and _pogon_, a beard; in reference to the throat of the flower being closed up with hairs). ORD. _Labiatæ_. Greenhouse evergreen sub-shrubs, nearly allied to _Mentha_. Flowers small, in dichotomous, sub-corymbose, or panicled cymes; or else disposed in dense spicate whorls. Bracts lanceolate or subulate. This genus contains easily cultivated species, which are, however, of no value for garden purposes. =CAA-CUYS.= _See_ =Ilex paraguariensis=. =CAA-MINI.= _See_ =Ilex paraguariensis=. =CAAPEBA.= _See_ =Cissampelos Pareira=. =CAAPIM DE ANGOLA.= _See_ =Panicum spectabile=. =CAA-QUAZU.= _See_ =Ilex paraguariensis=. =CABARET.= The French name of _Asarum europæum_. =CABBAGE.= The common name for _Brassica_; but especially applied to the plain-leaved hearting garden varieties of _Brassica oleracea_. To obtain good tender Cabbages in early spring and throughout the summer, it is necessary that they should be planted on rich, deeply-trenched ground, in a position free from the shade of fruit or other trees. Stable dung or good farmyard manure is best for this crop, and should be applied when trenching is being done, burying the manure a spit below the surface. Cabbages should not be planted successionally on the same ground, nor should they follow any of the other species of _Brassica_, if it can be avoided. A warmer position, not too much sheltered to make the plants tender, will be found beneficial for the earliest spring crop. This should not be planted too soon in autumn, as the plants are more subject to run to seed, especially if the winter be mild. The several forms of Cabbage are well known, being so much cultivated by cottagers as well as gardeners. None of those forming close hearts will bear severe frost, but the Savoys are improved by a little in the early autumn. The Coleworts are very useful in winter, being perhaps the hardiest of all; and, as the hearts do not get so close and hard as the Savoy and other Cabbages, the frost, unless it is very severe, does not injure them so much. _Cultivation._ The crop obtained in April and May is usually the most important one, young Cabbages being then much appreciated by everyone. The time for seed-sowing varies in different localities, from the third week in July to the middle of August. The first date would probably prove suitable for the northern parts of the country; and the latter would be early enough for the south. The seed should be sown thinly in beds of rather light, well pulverised soil, afterwards covering these with netting, to protect the seed from birds. The plants will be ready, in most cases, for placing out during September, or as soon as the ground can be cleared of other crops and prepared for their reception. The Early Battersea, or one of its many allied sorts, is best for sowing at this season; and, when planting out, an allowance of 2ft. apart each way will be sufficient. Seed should again be sown on a mild hotbed in February, and occasionally afterwards, for succession; and a second crop may be obtained from the plants put out in autumn if they are allowed to remain. Drumhead and other strong-growing sorts, sown in spring, will require from 6in. to 1ft. more space when planted out. These are not, however, of such good quality as the smaller-growing varieties. _Savoys._ The seed of these should be sown in March or April, according to the locality, in the same way as described above, in seed beds; and the after treatment is also very similar. The young plants must not be allowed to starve in the seed bed, but should be kept watered, and planted out in June and July, choosing dull weather for the operation. The ground should occasionally be hoed between the plants, to keep the surface open and destroy weeds. Distances of from 15in. to 30in. between the plants, according to the variety, must be allowed. See Fig. 305. [Illustration: FIG. 305. SAVOY CABBAGE.] _Coleworts._ Seed of these should be sown about the end of June, and planted out 1ft. apart on a sheltered border, when large enough. Rosette is one of the best varieties; but the early Cabbages are often grown and used as Coleworts before they have had time to form close hearts. [Illustration: FIG. 306. EARLY YORK CABBAGE.] _Pickling Cabbage._ The Red Dutch is the variety generally grown for pickling, and is probably the best to keep its colour when so treated. Seed should be sown in August, to stand the winter, and again in February for a succession; only a few plants will, in the majority of cases, be required, as, if liberally treated, they grow to a good size. [Illustration: FIG. 307. OXHEART CABBAGE.] _Sorts of White Cabbage._ These are extremely numerous, and selections or improved forms are of annual appearance. Some of the old types are, however, still much cultivated. The following are a selection of the best sorts for general purposes: Atkins' Matchless, Carter's Heartwell, Early Battersea, Early York (see Fig. 306), Ellam's Early Dwarf, Enfield Market, Little Pixie, Oxheart (see Fig. 307), St. John's Day (see Fig. 308), Sugarloaf, Wheeler's Imperial, and Portugal or Couve Tronchuda. The last-named variety was introduced from Portugal some years ago, where it is much grown. It has a large midrib, and does not form very close hearts. It is very tender when cooked, and is only suitable for culture in summer. Under the name of Gilbert's Cabbage Broccoli, or Chou de Burghley, a variety of Cabbage was recently distributed which produces, if left long enough, hearts resembling Broccoli. Although there are different opinions as to its merits, it is said to be very tender when cooked, and is considered a decided acquisition. Of Savoys, the best are: Drumhead, Dwarf Green Curled, Early Ulm, Large Late Green, and Tom Thumb. [Illustration: FIG. 308. ST. JOHN'S DAY CABBAGE.] _Insects, &c._ The majority of the Cabbage tribe is attacked by a very large number of different caterpillars and other pests, both above and below ground. The plants in their young stages are always a prey for snails and slugs, and often require a dusting of soot and lime as a protection. When planting out, many of the plants are often found with a protuberance at the root, caused by an insect, and termed "clubbing." Those so injured should be thrown away if they can possibly be spared, and the others dipped in a thick solution of soot water. This is the worst kind of disease the Cabbage tribe is subject to. The caterpillars of several moths and butterflies are very destructive in summer, often eating through the hearts of Cabbages and Cauliflowers, and so rendering them totally unfit for use. Hand-picking, or dusting with lime, is apparently the only means of diminishing the numbers of these pests. =CABBAGE CATERPILLARS.= _Large Cabbage White_ (_Pieris brassicæ_). From May to July, and again in September and October, this, the most common of our butterflies, may be seen in great numbers, frequenting gardens, lanes, and fields, being especially numerous where Cabbages are growing. Their beautiful yellow eggs are laid singly on the under surface of the leaves, and securely fastened by a natural glue; from these, in due time, issue the small, but destructive, "green caterpillars." Shortly after birth, they become quite green in front and yellow behind. They then get hairy and dotted over with black; they have eight pairs of feet, of which the three front ones only are "true" legs, or those which ultimately develop into the legs of the butterfly. They change their skin several times, and at each moult become larger in size. When full grown, they are about 1-1/2in. long, of a light green or bluish hue above, and yellow beneath; along the back of the adult caterpillar is a conspicuous yellow line, edged on each side with black dots. [Illustration: FIG. 309. CATERPILLAR AND CHRYSALIS OF LARGE CABBAGE BUTTERFLY.] The chrysalis, or pupa, is commonly found on window-ledges, palings, walls, and similar places; but is sometimes attached to the plant (see Fig. 309). It is a rather curious object, of the colour of stone, and prettily chiselled. It is fastened to the plant by the tail and by a belt of silk round the middle. [Illustration: FIG. 310. LARGE WHITE CABBAGE BUTTERFLY.] [Illustration: FIG. 311. SMALL WHITE CABBAGE BUTTERFLY AND CATERPILLAR.] The perfect male insect has the body black and wings white on the upper side, except the tips of the fore-wings, which are black and crescent-shaped; and on the upper edge of the hinder wings there is a black spot. On the under side, the fore wings are white with yellow tips, and two black patches on each; the hind wings are yellow, with small black markings. The antennæ are alternately black and yellow, with the club black above and yellow beneath. The female (see Fig. 310) differs from the male in having two large black spots on each of the fore or upper wings, and a spot on the inner margin. _The Small White_ (_Pieris rapæ_, see Fig. 311) has two broods in the year, the first batch about April, and the second in July. The eggs are always placed on the upper side of the leaf, and are hatched in from ten to thirteen days, the caterpillars becoming full grown in about three weeks after emerging. The colour of the caterpillar is dark green, with a fine line of yellow, and a row of yellow spots down the sides. The chrysalis is attached by the tail and a band of silk to the place selected by the caterpillar, and varies greatly in colour, although generally it is of a whitish-brown. _Cabbage Moth_ (_Mamestra brassicæ_). Newman, in his "British Moths," thus describes the Cabbage Moth: "The antennæ are rather long and slender, and scarcely ciliated in either sex; the fore-wings are dark, smoky, grey brown, mottled and marbled with confused markings, both darker and paler; the orbicular spot is inconspicuous, but decidedly to be traced; the reniform stigma is delicately outlined with white or whitish-grey, and has a pale anterior disc, in which the same pale grey colour predominates; the hind wings are dark, smoky brown with rather pale base, and rather darker crescentic discoidal spot and wing-rays; the head, thorax, and body have the same colour as the fore and hind wings." The eggs are laid on Cabbages, or similar plants, and are hatched in a few days. The caterpillars are very voracious, feeding by day and night, and, what is worse, they spoil with their excrement, in the case of Cabbages, more than they eat. They are of a dark colour, with a kind of marbling, more or less distinct, on the back, the effect being produced by a triangular mark containing two white dots on each of their segments. On being disturbed, they roll themselves into a tight ring, and so remain until they suppose that danger is over. They descend into the earth for change to smooth red-brown chrysalids, and remain there till the following spring. If the chrysalids were collected and destroyed during the autumn and winter digging, much injury would be obviated through the succeeding spring and summer. The destruction of these pests is a very troublesome matter, as the grubs of the last-named kind bore into the heart of the cabbage. Hand-picking is the only sure method. Anything emitting a distasteful odour will also keep them at bay. Miss Ormerod recommends throwing gas-lime over the plants, but it must be previously weakened by a few months' exposure. The following remedy may also be recommended: _Paraffin_, or _Coal Oil_. Mix one ounce of oil with a gallon of soapsuds, and water the plants with the mixture before the caterpillars appear. If any have appeared, an application at the rate of two ounces to the gallon will generally clear them off. Of course, this operation must not be performed less than a month previous to cutting the cabbages, on account of the smell. Soapsuds alone will also clear caterpillars from most smooth-leaved subjects if frequently applied. =CABBAGE FLY= (_Anthomyia brassicæ_). Among the injurious insects which infest Cabbages, none commit greater havoc to both stem and root, than the maggots of the Cabbage Fly. "They are whitish, cylindrical, and legless, tapering to the head, and blunt at the tail, which has short teeth on the lower margin, and two brown tubercles in the middle. When full grown, they are about 1/3in. long. They then leave the plants, and turn, in the earth, to pupæ, with a few black spots at the head, and short teeth at the tail, inside which the flies form, and emerge in about a fortnight or three weeks. The fly is of an ashen-grey colour, and smaller than the Onion Fly, which it much resembles. The male is of a darker grey, and has a short black stripe along the back between the wings, with a curved one on each side of it, and one black stripe along the abdomen" (Ormerod). The presence of these maggots may be easily detected by the flagging and change of colour of the leaves. The infested plants should be immediately removed and destroyed. The following remedy will be found beneficial: _Lime._ Hot lime should be soaked in water for about twenty-four hours. When clear, the infested Cabbages should be well washed with the liquid. Superphosphate of lime may also be applied with advantage. =CABBAGE GALL WEEVIL= (_Ceutorrhynchus sulcicollis_). This is a pretty little beetle, about three-quarters of a line or one line in length. Its colour is dark, but the insect is really of a coppery hue; on the thorax and head are rather large depressions; the wing-cases vary in colour from green to greenish-blue, or even black, and along the entire length of the elytra are parallel lines or holes, as may be seen with the aid of an ordinary lens. This insect, which causes much damage to plants of the _Brassica_ family, is, in some places, very difficult to eradicate. It is also very destructive to other crops, and, therefore, any effectual remedy is valuable. The following methods may be recommended: _Carbolic Acid._ Mix 1oz. Calvert's No. 5 carbolic acid with two gallons of soapsuds, and add sufficient loam or clay to make a thin paste. Dip the roots of the whole of the plants into this before they are set out. Well stir the mixture, and put the plants out in a damp soil, so that watering will not be necessary. _Paraffin_, or _Coal Oil_. This, applied in the same manner as recommended for Carbolic Acid, is also very good. _Guano, Superphosphate of Lime, and Nitrate of Soda._ A good dressing of either of these, given after the ground is dug, and in wet weather, about a month before the plants are put out, has been found very beneficial; but, although preventatives, they do not totally clear the crop from insects for the season. _Soot and Lime._ Take equal parts of air-slaked lime and soot, and mix together. Set the plants with a trowel, and, having placed some soil over the roots, throw in a little of the mixture, filling up the hole with soil. =CABBAGE MOTH.= _See_ =Cabbage Caterpillars=. =CABBAGE PALM.= _See_ =Euterpe oleracea=. =CABBAGE POWDERED-WING= (_Aleyrodes brassicæ_). A small four-winged powdery fly, closely allied to the Aphides. As implied by its name, this pest infests the various sorts of Cabbages. It is more particularly prevalent in autumn. Its presence may be readily detected by the partial discoloration of the leaves attacked. The head and body between the wings are black, with yellow variegation; abdomen yellow or rosy; wings white and mealy (whence its common name), the upper pair each having a darker spot, near the centre. Its destructive power resides in the rostrum, or sucking-tube, with which its head is furnished. _Remedies._ The only effectual means of exterminating this pest is to destroy the leaves, preferably by burning. If its presence is detected early, an application of tobacco water, or diluted soft soap, may prove beneficial. =CABBAGE ROOT-EATING FLY.= _See_ =Root-eating Fly=. =CABBAGE-TREE.= _See_ =Euterpe oleracea=. =CABBAGE WEEVIL.= _See_ =Cabbage Gall Weevil=. =CABOMBA= (the native name in Guiana). ORD. _Nymphæaceæ_. SUB. ORD. _Cabombeæ_. Small and very interesting aquatics. They thrive well in a cistern 1ft. deep, with 2in. of loam in the bottom, for the plants to root in, then filled up with water, and placed in a warm part of the greenhouse during summer, being allowed a rest in a cool part of the stove in winter. Propagation may be effected by root division. =C. aquatica= (water-loving). _fl._ yellow, small; peduncles long, axillary, solitary, one-flowered. July. Submerged leaves opposite, stalked, cut into five divisions even to the petiole; segments multifid; floating leaves alternate, on long petioles, peltate, orbicular, entire. Guiana, 1823. SYN. _Nectris aquatica_. =C. caroliniana= (Carolina) is somewhat similar to _C. aquatica_. It is a native of the Southern United States. =CACALIA= (from _kakalia_, a name used by Dioscorides). ORD. _Compositæ_. A genus of hardy herbaceous perennials, here treated as distinct from _Senecio_, of which genus, from a botanical point of view, it is but a section. Heads five to many-flowered; florets all tubular and perfect; scales of the involucre in a single row; receptacle naked; pappus of numerous capillary bristles. For culture, _see_ =Senecio=. =C. atriplicifolia= (Atriplex-leaved). _fl.-heads_ white. August. _l._, lower ones triangular-kidney shaped, or slightly cordate; the upper rhomboid, toothed. Stem terete. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. United States of America. =C. hastata= (hastate). _fl.-heads_ white, nodding, racemose. Autumn. _l._ stalked, three-lobed, hastate, serrate. _h._ 1ft. Siberia, 1780. =C. reniformis= (reniform). _fl.-heads_ white, disposed in large corymbs. August. _l._ dilated, fan-shaped, 1ft. to 2ft. broad, repandly-toothed and angled, petiolate. Stem grooved and angled. _h._ 4ft. to 9ft. New Jersey, 1801. =C. suaveolens= (sweet-scented).* _fl.-heads_ white. Autumn. _l._ triangular-lanceolate, halbert-shaped, pointed, serrate; those of the stem on winged petioles. Stem grooved. _h._ 3ft. to 5ft. North America, 1752. =C. tuberosa= (tuberous).* _fl.-heads_ whitish. June. _l._ thick; lower ones lanceolate or oval, nearly entire, tapering into long petioles; upper ones on short margined petioles, sometimes toothed at the apex. Stem angled and grooved. _h._ 2ft. to 6ft. North America. =CACOUCIA= (its name in Guiana). ORD. _Combretaceæ_. A small genus of stove twining or climbing shrubs. Flowers large, showy, racemose. Leaves opposite, oblong or ovate-elliptical. For culture, _see_ =Combretum=. =C. coccinea= (scarlet).* _fl._ scarlet, alternate, bracteate at the base, disposed in long terminal racemes. May. _l._ ovate, acuminated, shortly petiolate. Guiana. (A. G. i., 179.). A handsome stove climber. =CACTE�.= A large order of succulent plants, with remarkable spines clustered on the cylindrical, angular, two-edged, or leafy stems. Flowers very variable, showy or minute, usually solitary, sessile, rarely in fascicles, ephemeral; petals disposed in two or more series, hardly distinguishable from the inner sepals, and sometimes united with them; sepals numerous, united and adnate a great length to the ovarium. Fruit fleshy, one-celled, many-seeded. Well-known genera are _Cereus_, _Melocactus_, _Mammillaria_, _Opuntia_, _Pereskia_, and _Rhipsalis_. =CACTUS= (from _kaktos_, a name used by Theophrastus to describe a spiny plant). This generic term is popularly applied to all members of the extensive family _Cacteæ_, which order may be distinguished by the following characteristics: Calyx composed of many sepals, usually indefinite in number, the inner series not readily distinguishable from the petals, united and adnate a great length to the ovary; with the tube smooth in the genera _Mammillaria_, _Melocactus_, and _Rhipsalis_; or with the lobes of the sepals crowning the fruit, and having the tube scaly, as in the genera _Cereus_, _Opuntia_, and _Pereskia_. Petals disposed in two or more series, hardly distinguishable from the inner sepals, and somewhat united to them; sometimes irregular, and disposed in a long tube at the base, but distinct at the apex, as in the genera _Mammillaria_, _Melocactus_, and _Cereus_; sometimes equal and distinct to the very base, forming a rotate corolla, as in the genera _Opuntia_, _Pereskia_, and _Rhipsalis_. Stamens indefinite, disposed in many series, more or less cohering with the petals or inner sepals; filaments slender, filiform; anthers ovate, versatile, two-celled. Ovarium obovate, fleshy, one-celled. Fruit fleshy, one-celled, many seeded, either smooth and crowned by the calyx, or covered with scales, scars, or tubercles, and umbilicate at the apex. This order contains fleshy or succulent shrubs, very variable in habit and size. Flowers very variable, showy, or minute, usually solitary, sessile, rarely in fascicles, ephemeral, expanding by night or day. Leaves usually wanting, but, when present, small, caducous, and terete, rarely flat and expanded, sometimes alternate and disposed in a spiral order, always glabrous and fleshy. Prickles or bristles disposed in fascicles, rising from the axils of the leaves. In the leafless genera, the fascicles of spines are disposed on the angles of the stem, rising from tubercles. Stems usually angular, winged, or regularly beset with tubercles, rarely terete, usually jointed; joints compressed. A group of Cacti is shown at Fig. 312, for which we are indebted to Herr Fr. Ad. Haage, jun., of Erfurt, Germany. _See_ =Cereus=, =Disocactus=, =Echinocactus=, =Epiphyllum=, =Leuchtenbergia=, =Mammillaria=, =Melocactus=, =Nopalea=, =Opuntia=, =Pelecyphora=, =Pereskia=, =Phyllocactus=, and =Rhipsalis=. _Cultivation._ Perhaps no class of plants more easily accommodate themselves to a general system of treatment, than do these; although certain genera would undoubtedly thrive better than when subjected to the lower temperature, suited to the requirements of those coming from cooler regions. Notwithstanding that nearly all the species are natives of the western hemisphere, they occur in various geographical and altitudinal areas, in which the temperature is proportionately lessened or increased, as the case may be; yet, presuming a special house is set apart for their culture, the majority of the species may be happily suited therein. The warmest end of the structure should be selected for the tropical kinds; while those found in cooler regions may be grown in the other portions of the house; even those which are hardy in our climate are really best wintered in a house or frame. Granted that several species will endure our winter outside, it is yet necessary to give them the shelter of a friendly ledge of the rockery, or frame, or to cover them in their permanent position with a hand light, or sheet of glass, in order to prevent the ill-effects of excessive moisture. Generally, a winter temperature of from 50deg. to 55deg., and a summer one of from 70deg. to 80deg. during shade, or in sunshine up to 90deg., will be found advantageous. When thus treated, it will be necessary to keep the tropical species, on the whole, very dry during the winter. As regards soil, potting, and general treatment, all may be treated alike, except _Epiphyllum_, _Disocactus_, and _Pereskia_ (which _see_). Some growers give them the protection of a house in winter, and stand them outside during the summer, which is not, however, a very commendable plan, as, in consequence of the very variable character of our climate being especially prejudicial to several of the tender and more delicate species, the often excessive amount of moisture they would receive, will produce a weakly state of health in many, while others will be lost. It is far better if their culture is attempted at all, to give them the proper treatment. The numerous species and varieties found on the Rocky Mountains are a most interesting series, and may be well managed in a cold frame facing south, arranging them on shelves as close to the glass as possible, and keeping them very dry through the winter. If the weather is very severe, the lights should be matted. One of the best collections of these in the country, is in the possession of E. G. Loder, Esq., Floore House, Weedon, Northampton, where a great number are admirably grown in frames, and under a large ledge of the rockery outside. Amateurs may grow quantities of handsome Cacti either in dwelling rooms near the window, or in small frames or greenhouses. As they are slow growing, not much space will be occupied; at the same time, a great deal of interest will be centred in their culture. As regards watering and insect pests, they are but little trouble. Miniature Cacti, of numerous kinds, are now often sold in small pots, and most attractive little subjects they prove. [Illustration: 1. Opuntia. 2. Cereus. 3. Opuntia streptacantha. 4. Cereus candicans. 5. Mammillaria. 6. Cereus peruvianus monstrosus. 7. Echinocereus electracanthus. 8. Mammillaria. 9. Echinopsis formosa. 10 Echinocactus Visnaga. 11. Cereus peruvianus var. 12. Opuntia candelabriformis. 13. Cereus strictus. 14. Pilocereus senilis. 15. Cereus Tweedii. 16. Cereus chilensis. FIG. 312. GROUP OF CACTI.] _Soil, Drainage, and Potting._ Good ordinary fibrous loam should form about one-half of the compost, the other half should be made up of sand, broken bricks, and lime rubbish in equal quantities; the whole to be carefully mixed together, and not used until it is moderately dry. It is absolutely necessary to ensure perfect drainage; a good "stopper" should, therefore, be placed over the hole at the bottom of the pot, and about one-third of its depth filled with draining material. The best time for potting is during February and March. Turn out the plants, and remove nearly all the old soil from the roots, taking away any dead or decaying roots which may be observable. Place some of the roughest soil next the crocks, and gradually fill the pots with the finer material, well working the same amongst the roots; finally press the soil moderately firm. Do not water for a few days after potting, but syringe every evening, especially if the weather be fine; a little extra heat may be given after potting, to excite new, healthy growth. It will not be necessary every year to repot specimens in large vessels. A good top-dressing, with an occasional dose of weak liquid manure, is all they will require for several seasons. _Watering._ This must be discriminately managed, especially during the winter; for, whatever their treatment as regards temperature during that season, they must be studiously watered, and anything like a saturated condition of the soil should be avoided. If the temperature is brisk, a little water may be given once a week, or perhaps not quite so often. If the plants are subjected to very cool treatment, water must be sparingly administered during November, December, and January; after which, they should be examined weekly, and very carefully attended to. During the summer months, when in active growth, they will not suffer if watered twice a week; and, on bright afternoons, light syringings may be advantageously given. _Propagation._ Three methods are adopted, viz., by cuttings or offsets, grafting, and seeds; the former is the plan generally adopted. The cuttings or offsets should be removed with a sharp cut, and laid upon a sunny shelf until the wound is healed and roots are emitted, when they should be potted in sandy soil, and placed with the others. They will thrive freely if kept syringed. Grafting is resorted to with delicate kinds, which, from some reason or another, will not grow freely except upon the stock of a stronger species; and, by this means also, such delicate kinds can be kept from the damp soil, which frequently causes incipient decay. The stocks usually employed are those of _Cereus tortuosus_, _C. peruvianus_, &c., according to the species intended for working; they readily unite with each other. If the scion and stock are both slender, wedge-grafting should be adopted; if both are broad, it is best to make horizontal sections, placing them together and securing in proper position by tying with matting, but not too tightly, or the surface may be injured. Propagation by seeds is not often adopted, as it is a very slow method; they should be sown in very sandy soil, and placed in a semi-shady position until germination commences, when they may be exposed, and very carefully watered. =CACTUS DAHLIA.= _See_ =Dahlia Juarezii=. =CADUCOUS.= Falling off soon; deciduous. =C�NOPTERIS.= _See_ =Asplenium=. =C�SALPINIA.= (in honour of Andreas Cæsalpinus, a celebrated Italian botanist, 1519-1603). Brasiletto. ORD. _Leguminosæ_. An ornamental genus of stove evergreen trees or shrubs, not much grown, on account of the space required and the time the species take to flower. Flowers yellow or red, produced in racemes, having a top-shaped calyx, divided at the end into five parts, the lowest larger than the others; petals five, unequal-stalked, upper one shortest; stamens ten. A mixture of loam and leaf mould suits them best. Cuttings are somewhat difficult to root, but sometimes will succeed if taken off from the mother plant in a growing state and planted in sand, with a hand glass placed over them, in heat. =C. alternifolia= (alternate-leaved). _fl._ orange, clustered. _l._ alternate, very elegant, compound. Central America, 1868. =C. brasiliensis= (Brazilian). Brazil Wood. _fl._ orange; racemes rather panicled. _l._ with seven to nine pairs of pinnæ, each pinna bearing about fifteen or sixteen pairs of oval-oblong, obtuse, glabrous leaflets. Brazil, 1739. Plant unarmed. =C. Sappan= (Sappan). _fl._ yellow, panicled. _l._ with ten to twelve pairs of plane, each pinna bearing ten to twelve pairs of unequal-sided, obliquely oval-oblong leaflets, which are emarginate at the apex. _h._ 40ft. Tropical Asia, 1773. This tree furnishes the Sappan-wood of commerce. =C. sepiaria= (hedge). _fl._ yellow. April. _l._ compound; pinnæ with about ten pairs of pinnules. _h._ 60ft. India, 1857. SYN. _Biancea scandens_. =C�SIOUS.= Lavender-colour, bluish-grey. =C�SPITOSE.= Growing in tufts. =CAFFER BREAD.= _See_ =Encephalartos Caffra=. =CAFFER TEA.= _See_ =Helichrysum nudifolium=. =CAFTA.= _See_ =Catha edulis=. =CAHOUN NUTS.= A name applied to the fruits of _Attalea Cohune_, which yield a valuable oil. =CAIOPHORA.= _See_ =Blumenbachia= and =Loasa=. =CAJAN.= _See_ =Cajanus=. =CAJANUS= (_Catjang_ is the Amboyna name). Cajan. ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A genus of erect stove evergreen shrubs, clothed with velvety pubescence. Flowers yellow, distinctly peduncled, corymbose, racemose; standard sometimes beautifully veined with red. Leaves pinnately trifoliate. A light rich soil suits these plants well. Young cuttings will root in sand, with a hand glass placed over them, in heat; but plants are usually raised from seeds, obtained from the West Indian Islands and India. =C. indicus= (Indian).* Pigeon Pea. _fl._ yellow, or purple-spotted, in axillary racemes. July. _l._ pinnately trifoliate; leaflets lanceolate. _h._ 6ft. to 10ft. India. (B. M. 6440.) =C. i. bicolor= (two-coloured). _fl._ yellow. July. _h._ 4ft. India, 1800. (B. R. 31, 31.) =C. i. flavus= (yellow). _fl._ yellow. July. _h._ 4ft. India, 1687. =CAJUPUT OIL= and =CAJUPUT-TREE=. _See_ =Melaleuca leucadendron minor=. =CAKILE= (derived from the Arabic). Sea Rocket. ORD. _Cruciferæ_. A pretty hardy annual, frequently found on sea-shores. It is of easy culture in most sandy soils. Propagated by seed, sown in spring. =C. maritima= (sea). _fl._ lilac, large, densely corymbose. Summer and autumn. _fr._ a succulent pod, divided, when mature, by a horizontal partition into two cells, the upper containing a single erect seed, the lower a pendulous one. _l._ oblong, deeply lobed, fleshy. Stem much branched. _h._ 1ft. Sea-shores of Europe and North America. =CALABASH NUTMEG.= _See_ =Monodora Myristica=. =CALABASH, SWEET.= _See_ =Passiflora maliformis=. =CALABASH-TREE.= _See_ =Crescentia Cujete=. =CALABA-TREE.= _See_ =Calophyllum Calaba=. =CALADENIA= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _aden_, a gland; in reference to the disk of the labellum being finely beset with glands). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A genus of pretty greenhouse terrestrial orchids from New Zealand and Australia. They should be kept in a cool frame or greenhouse, and carefully watered, when not in a growing state. A compost of peat, loam, and sand, in equal parts, suits them well. Over thirty species are enumerated, but probably none are seen out of botanic gardens. =CALADIUM= (derivation of name doubtful; probably of Indian origin). ORD. _Aroideæ_. Stove perennials, chiefly grown for the great beauty and varied hue of their leaves. Spathe hood-like, rolled round at the base; spadix, upper portion entirely covered with stamens, but ultimately becoming bare at the extreme top, provided with blunt glands or sterile stamens in the middle, and ovaries beneath; anthers shield-shaped and one-celled; ovaries numerous, two-celled, with from two to four ascending ovules in each cell. Leaves upon long petioles, more or less sagittate, ovate, and usually very richly coloured. Fruit a one or two-celled berry, with few seeds. They are all of easy culture, and grow freely in a humid atmosphere. In March, when the tubers have been kept dry or rested for some time, they may be started into growth again, in small pots, placed in a stove or pit, where a night temperature of from 60deg. to 65deg. is maintained, and syringed daily once or twice at least. As soon as indications of activity are presented, they may be shifted into 4in., 5in., or 6in. pots, or larger ones may be used if good sized specimens are required. If the tubers should be in large pots, it is best to turn them out, dividing if necessary, and placing all the crowns in small pots, from which they can be removed when root action and growth are resumed, and they require more room. Large tubers, if sound, may be divided, and the pieces placed in pots of such sizes as it is desired to grow them in. _Soil._ Turfy loam, leaf mould, turfy peat, and a little well decomposed manure, in equal parts (not broken up too fine), with a good sprinkling of sharp sand, form an excellent compost, the whole being well incorporated together. Thorough drainage must be insured, as these plants require an abundance of water. After potting, they should be placed in a stove temperature, and kept well moistened by syringing two or three times daily. If accommodated with mild bottom heat at this time, they will make much freer and more vigorous growth than if otherwise treated. Water sparingly at first, but as soon as the leaves expand, increase the supply; and, when the pots are well filled with roots, apply clear liquid manure at every other time of watering. As the season advances, the temperature and humidity of the house should be increased. During bright sunshine, Caladiums should be slightly shaded for a few hours in the middle of the day, with some thin material, just to break the fierceness of the sun's rays; but the more they are exposed to the light at other times during growth, the brighter, richer, and more beautiful will the foliage be. As soon as the plants have attained a good size, some of them should be placed in the coolest part of the house, and partially hardened off; they may then be taken to the conservatory, allowing them a situation free from currents of cold air, and giving water only when really necessary. They may remain here for some time, but care must be taken to return them to the stove before they suffer from cold. Small neatly grown specimens make beautiful ornaments for table decoration, and their suitability for exhibition purposes is well known, and largely taken advantage of. Towards autumn, and as the foliage begins to fade, the supply of water should be gradually lessened, until all the leaves die down; the pots should then be placed under the stage in the stove, where they can be looked to now and then, and a little water given if required. By no means allow the tubers to get dried up, as is often done; for, if so, they will frequently rot away inside; whereas, kept in a semi-moist condition, even the most delicate can be preserved. In this state, they may remain until the following season. Caladiums will not endure a very low temperature; from 55deg. to 60deg. is as low as they can be safely kept. Very few of those known as "true species" are grown, being superseded, for general decorative purposes, by the numerous hybrids which have been raised of late, principally from _C. bicolor_. [Illustration: FIG. 313. CALADIUM CHANTINII.] =C. argyrites= (silvery).* _l._ small, sagittate, round colour light green; centre and margins white, with many irregular white blotches scattered over the remaining portion. Para, 1858. One of the smallest and most elegant of the genus, and much esteemed for table decoration. (I. H. 1858, 185.) =C. Baraquinii= (Baraquin's). _l._ from 20in. to 30in. long; centre deep red; margin dark green. Para, 1858. (I. H. 1850, 257.) =C. bicolor= (two-coloured).* _fl._, spadix shorter than the hooded spathe, which is contracted in the middle. June. _l._ peltate-cordate, sagittate, coloured in the disk. _h._ 1ft. Brazil, 1773. (B. M. 820.) =C. Cannartii= (Cannart's). _l._ green, with pale blotches; veins deep red. Para, 1863. =C. Chantinii= (Chantin's).* _l._ chiefly brilliant crimson, irregularly blotched with white, and margined with dark green. Para, 1858. See Fig. 313. =C. Devosianum= (Devosie's).* _l._ angular, blotched white and pink. Para, 1862. =C. esculentum= (edible). Synonymous with _Colocasia esculenta_. =C. Hardii= (Hardy's). _l._ red-tinged, slightly spotted with white. Para, 1862. =C. Kochii= (Koch's).* _l._ spotted with white. Para, 1862. =C. Lemaireanum= (Lemaire's). _l._ green, with whitish venation. Brazil, 1861. (I. H. 1862, 311.) =C. Leopoldi= (Prince Leopold's).* _l._ green, marbled with red, and blotched with pink. Para, 1864. =C. macrophyllum= (large-leaved).* _l._ large, palish green, blotched with greenish-white. Para, 1862. [Illustration: FIG. 314. CALADIUM MACULATUM.] =C. maculatum= (spotted).* _l._ oblong, acuminate, cuspidate, cordate at base, finely spotted with clear white. Plant erect, caulescent. South America, 1820. See Fig. 314. =C. marmoratum= (marbled).* _l._ broad, peltate, upwards of 1ft. long, sagittate-ovate, acute or shortly acuminate, the two basal lobes being slightly divergent, dark bottle-green, variegated with greyish or silvery angular spots and blotches; petioles terete, greenish, mottled with purple. Guayaquil. SYN. _Alocasia Roezlii_. The variety _costata_ differs from the type in having the midrib (or costa) marked out by a tapering band of silver grey. =C. Rougieri= (Rougier's). _l._ green, with white spots; the centre pale green, with red veins. Para, 1864. =C. rubronervium= (red-nerved). A synonym of _C. rubrovenium_. =C. rubrovenium= (red-veined).* _l._ greyish-green in the centre, with red veins. Para, 1862. SYN. _C. rubronervium_. =C. sanguinolentum= (blood-red blotched).* _l._ with a white midrib, blotched with red. Amazons, 1872. =C. Schoelleri= (Schoeller's). A synonym of _C. Schomburgkii_. =C. Schomburgkii= (Schomburgk's).* _l._ green, with white veins. Brazil, 1861. SYNS. _C. Schoelleri_ and _Alocasia argyroneura_. =C. S. Schmitzii= (Schmitz's). _l._, centre whitish, with green network; midrib and veins red. 1861. SYN. _Alocasia erythræa_. =C. sub-rotundum= (half-round). _l._ roundish, spotted with red and white. Brazil. 1858. =C. Verschaffeltii= (Verschaffelt's).* _l._ somewhat heart-shaped; ground colour brilliant green, entire surface irregularly spotted with bright red. Para. =C. Wallisii= (Wallis's). _l._ dark olive green, with large irregular shaped spots and blotches of the purest white, and the veins all yellowish-white. Para, 1864. The following descriptive list of hybrid varieties is, for the most part, a selection from Mr. Bull's catalogue, and contains all of importance: ADOLPHE ADAMS, green leaf-ground, densely speckled with white, and rose-coloured midribs; ADOLPHE AUDRIEN,* a very attractive variety, with fine large richly-coloured foliage; AGRIPPINE DIMITRY, leaves large, with white ground, narrow green margin and veins, and pink centre; ALCIBIADE,* crimson-rayed centre, surrounded with pale green, and blotched with pure white, green margin; ALFRED BLEU, leaves rich green, with pure white spots, and flesh-coloured centre; ALFRED MAME,* carmine-red, bordered with white, and profusely spotted with rose; ALPHAND, green, spotted with red, crimson centre; ALPHONSE KARR, rosy-carmine centre and red spots; ARISTIDE, light green, with crimson centre; AUGUSTE LEMONIER,* fine large leaves, with soft green centre, and rosy-crimson ribs and veins; AUGUSTE RIVIERE, white centre and rays upon a light green ground, with crimson spots; BARILLET,* bright rosy-crimson centre, and ribs on green ground, with broad margin of rich green; BARON DE ROTHSCHILD, rich blood-red centre, and spots, on mottled green leaf-ground; BARONNE JAMES DE ROTHSCHILD,* young leaves of a bright rose colour, the more matured foliage soft rose, with red veins; BARRAL, bright green, with a fine red centre, and large spots of rose; BEETHOVEN,* ground colour white, intersected and veined with green, centre rib delicate rose; BELLEYMEI,* fine white variegated leaves; BELLINI, mottled pale green ground, with rosy centre and spots; BLANQU�RTI, dark green, with grey veins and white spots; BUREL, dark bluish-green, veined bright rose, marked with rosy-violet, and spotted orange-red; CHANTINII FULGENS,* rich dark metallic-green, with attractive crimson centre and white spots; CHELSONI,* bright glossy green, suffused with brilliant red, and blotched with crimson; CLIO, ground colour deep rose, shaded white, green ribs and narrow green margin; DE CANDOLLE,* rich green, with beautiful rose-coloured spots and creamy white centre rays; DE HUMBOLDT, a fine variety, having glossy green leaves, spotted with scarlet; DEVINCK, leaves heart-shaped, delicate pink centre ribs, interspersed with white spots; DR. BOISDUVAL, centre rayed crimson, snow-white blotches on a green ground; DR. LINDLEY,* crimson centre, the green ground marked with rose blotches; DUC DE CLEVELAND, deep red centre, surrounded with pea-green, largely spotted with red; DUC DE MORNY,* deep green leaf borders, with large crimson-rayed centre; DUC DE NASSAU,* brilliant red centre and ribs, white spot on emerald green leaf borders; DUC DE RATIBOR, green ground, with red midribs marked with white spots; DUCHARTRE, leaf-ground white, flushed rose, green veins and red spots; EDOUARD ANDRE, crimson centre, and rose blotches; EDOUARD MOREAUX, mottled green ground, with lake centre; EDOUARD RODRIGUES,* deep carmine, margined with light green, and spotted with rose; E. G. HENDERSON,* green, with transparent rose spots and mottled crimson rays and centre; ELVINA, bright green, blotched with red, grey centre and veins; EMILIE VERDIER,* leaves of a light transparent rose colour, spotted with red; ETOILE D'ARGENT,* bright green, midribs and veins creamy-white, shaded with grey; EUCHARIS, rose centre, with violet reflections, margined with bright green, very fresh and bright looking; FELICIEN DAVID,* centre of leaf dark carmine, surrounded with white and beautifully veined with red on a light green ground; GOLDEN QUEEN, leaves large, pale golden yellow, uniform in colour; GRETRY, carmine centre, with white spots on a dark green ground; HELEVY, white midribs and marked with crimson blotches, on a green ground; HEROLD,* dark carmine veins, surrounded by light green, blotched with pure white, and margined dark green; IBIS ROSE,* a magnificent variety, with beautiful rich rose-coloured foliage, extremely attractive; ISADORA LEROY, rich metallic green, with crimson-red centre rays; JULES DUPLESSIS, bright rose centre, shaded with rich red and bordered with green; JULES PUTZEYS, rich green, with crimson midrib and veins, centre mottled grey, and the whole surface blotched with red; LAINGII,* reddish-carmine centre, surrounded with yellowish-green, the whole of the leaf sprinkled with white; LAMARTINE, deep crimson centre, with white and red spots; LA PERLE DU BR�SIL,* exceedingly attractive, large leaves, white, delicately tinted with rose, midrib and veins dark green; LEPLAY, leaves attractively marked with white, and beautifully veined with rosy-violet; LOUISE DUPLESSIS, red rays and veins on a white ground, green margin; LUDDEMANNII,* deep crimson ribs, the leaf blotched with magenta and white, border pea green; MADAME ALFRED BLEU, deep green, with large white blotches, and broad crimson-scarlet veins; MADAME ALFRED MAME, light green, covered with large white spots, rosy-carmine centre; MADAME DE LA DEVANSAYE, leaves white, shaded rose, and veined with red and green; MADAME DOMBRAIN,* centre and ribs pale yellowish-green, shaded rose, surface covered with large white and rose spots; MADAME FRITZ K�CHLIN,* white ground, with violet-rose ribs and green veins, a beautiful dwarf-growing variety; MADAME HEINE,* silvery white, stained and edged with pale green, distinct; MADAME HUNNEBELLE, leaves veined with light garnet colour on a white ground, and margined with green veins; MADAME JULES M�NOREAU, fine large leaves, with white centre tinted rose, veined rich bright rose, and margined green; MADAME LAFORGE, centre and ribs reddish-crimson, with green margin; MADAME MARJOLIN SCHEFFER,* a beautiful variety, with white foliage, charmingly veined and netted with pure rosy-lake; MADAME WILLAUME, a charming variety, with transparent leaves, of a delicate salmon-rose colour; MARQUIS DE CAUX, red centre and veins, with rose blotches on margins; MARTERSTYGINUM, crimson centre and white spots; MERCADANTE, pale copper-coloured centre and veins, bordered with green; MEYERBEER,* white leaf-ground, green veins, and red midribs; MINERVE,* silvery white midrib and rays, surrounded with greyish white, green margin, with snowy white spots; MITHRIDATE, ground colour crimson-lake, with darker ribs, and dark bronze-green margin; MONSIEUR A. HARDY, rich reddish-carmine veins on white ground, tinted with rose and spotted with green; MONSIEUR J. LINDEN,* a fine large whitish leaf, with metallic reflections, coral-rose veins, and reticulated green border; MRS. LAING,* white ground, deep rose centre and veins, green margin; MURILLO,* centre and veins metallic-red, with large crimson blotches, broad margin of lustrous bronzy-green; NAPOLEON III.,* flamed crimson centre, with forked rays, and carmine spots on green ground; ONSLOW, deep rosy-crimson centre, with broad green margin, spotted with rose; PAILLET, crimson centre, broad green margin, splashed with crimson, and dotted with white; PAUL VERONESSE, large leaves, with pinkish-white centre, deep scarlet ribs, and broad green margin; PHILIPPE HERBERT, deep mottled crimson rays, and clear white margin, spotted with crimson; PICTUM, green blotched, and spotted with white; PRINCE ALBERT,* dark emerald green, rich crimson midrib, radiating from centre to margins, the intervening spaces spotted with white; PRINCE OF WALES,* a very handsome variety, with large golden-yellow leaves; PRINCESS ALEXANDRA,* rosy-salmon leaf, green centre rib, bordered with magenta-crimson, green margin, with light pink chain; PRINCESS OF TECK,* ground colour bright orange-yellow, the veins suffused with deep red; PRINCESS ROYAL, leaves of a golden ground, with crimson centre; PYRRHUS, centre and ribs deep crimson, pea-green margins; QUADRICOLOR, centre of leaf pale yellowish-green, ribs white, edged rosy-crimson, and margined green; RAMSAU, centre and ribs deep reddish-crimson, surface covered with white blotches, shaded red; RAULINII, rich red centre and veins, finely spotted with white; REGALE, silvery grey centre, rosy-red ribs, spotted with vermilion-red; REINE MARIE DE PORTUGAL,* violet-rose centre, with red veins, dark maroon zone, and green border, very handsome; REINE VICTORIA,* green veins and margins, spotted or marbled with white and rich crimson; ROSSINI, large leaf, with pale centre, pink midribs, and red blotches; ROUILLARD, glossy green margin, pale green centre, midrib and rays rich violet-plum, the whole leaf spotted crimson; SANCHONIANTHON, crimson centre, deep glossy crimson ribs, and pea-green margin; SIEBOLDII, rich green, with fiery-red crimson-rayed centre, green spaces, spotted with claret red; SOUVENIR DE MADAME E. ANDRE,* large deep green leaves, marbled with pure white, veins fine rosy crimson; SPONTINI, pea-green, with white spots, and rosy-pink ribs and veins; THIBAUTII, fine large leaf, with rich crimson veins on a red ground; TRICOLOR, edges of leaves grey-green, intersected with dark green, centre red-lake, carmine midribs; TRIOMPHE DE L'EXPOSITION,* crimson centre, with red ribs, and green border; VERDI, crimson-lake centre with small green zone and apple-green margin; VESTA, greenish-white veins, surrounded with crimson, the whole of the leaf spotted bright rose; VICOMTESSE DE LA ROQUE-ORDAN, red midrib, and rays bordered with white, the margin beautiful emerald green; VILLE DE MULHOUSE, a beautiful variety, with greenish-white leaves, shaded rose, and rich green centre; VIRGINALE,* clear shining white, veined with dark bluish-green, a handsome variety. =CALAIS.= _See_ =Microseris=. =CALAMAGROSTIS= (from _calamos_, a reed, and _agrostis_, grass). ORD. _Gramineæ_. An extensive genus of grasses, for the most part hardy. Panicle more or less spreading; spikelets compressed, one-flowered; empty glumes two, sub-equal, lanceolate, pointed, keeled, awnless. They thrive in any ordinary garden soil. Seeds may be sown during autumn. =C. lanceolata= (lanceolate). _fl._ purple, spreading in all directions; panicle erect, loose, much branched. July. Culms about 3ft. high, smooth, slender. Britain (moist woods and hedges). (Sy. En. B. 1724.) =C. stricta= (upright). _fl._ brown, spreading in all directions; panicle erect, close. June. Culm about 2ft. high, very slender, smooth. England, &c. (bogs and marshes), but very rare. (Sy. En. B. 1725.) =CALAMANDER WOOD.= _See_ =Diospyros qu�sita=. =CALAMINT.= _See_ =Calamintha=. =CALAMINTHA= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _mintha_, mint). Calamint. ORD. _Labiatæ_. A genus of hardy herbaceous plants, having the following essential characters: Calyx two-lipped; stamens diverging; upper lip of corolla nearly flat; tube straight. Rather pretty plants, with Thyme-like flowers, well suited for furnishing rock gardens. They grow in almost any garden soil. Increased by seeds, cuttings, or divisions of the roots, in spring. =C. Acinos= (Acinos). Basil Thyme. _fl._ bluish-purple, variegated with white and dark purple, disposed in whorls, one on each flower-stalk. July and August. _l._ acute, serrate. Stems branched, ascending, leafy. _h._ 6in. England. Annual. SYNS. _Acinos vulgaris_ and _Thymus Acinos_. (Sy. En. B. 1048.) =C. alpina= (alpine). _fl._ purplish, almost sessile, four to six in a whorl, June to September. _l._ petiolate, roundish or ovate, slightly serrated. _h._ 6in. S. Europe, 1731. A freely branched, tufted plant. =C. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl._ purplish, 1-1/2in. long, in loose racemes; throat much inflated. June. _l._ petiolate, ovate, acute, coarsely toothed, rounded at the base, 2in. to 3in. long. Herbaceous stems branched at the base, and decumbent. _h._ 1ft. 1596. =C. patavina= (Paduan). _fl._ pale or purplish-red, rather large. June. _l._ petiolate, ovate, acute, pubescent. _h._ 6in. to 9in. S. Europe, 1776. =CALAMPELIS.= _See_ =Eccremocarpus=. =CALAMUS= (from _kalamos_, a reed; old Greek name used by Theophrastus). ORD. _Palmeæ_. An elegant genus of stove palms. Flowers small, usually of a rose or greenish colour, clustered upon branching spikes, each branch having a separate spathe, which is not large enough to enclose it. Fruit one-seeded, and covered with smooth, shining scales. Leaves pinnate. Stems reed-like, 1in. to 2in. in thickness. When in a young state, these palms are most effective as drawing or diningroom decorations; and, when in a more mature condition, they are excellent as stove ornaments and for exhibition purposes. They are all of slender growth, and of easy culture in a compost of equal parts loam and vegetable mould; a copious supply of water being needed to keep them in a flourishing state. Propagated by seeds. _C. Rotang_, _C. viminalis_, and several other species furnish the canes usually employed in this country for the bottoms of chairs, couches, &c. =C. accedens= (yielding). _l._ long, arching, dark green, pinnate; pinnæ long, narrow, closely set; petioles with slender black spines. India. A rare, but elegant, slender-growing, miniature tree. =C. adspersus= (scattered). _l._ pinnate; pinnæ 6in. to 8in. long, narrow, deep green; petioles about 6in. in length, sheathing at the base, clothed with long, slender, black spines. Stem not much stouter than a large wheat straw. _h._ 20ft. Java, 1866. =C. asperrimus= (very rough).* _l._ pinnate, 3ft. to 12ft. long; pinnæ 1ft. to 2ft. in length, 1in. in breadth, pendent, light green, upper side with two rows of hair-like spines; petioles broadly sheathing at the base, densely armed with long, stout, black spines. Java, 1877. A beautiful species, which attains a considerable size. (I. H. 275.) =C. ciliaris= (fringed).* _l._ pinnate, clothed with a quantity of soft hair-like bristles; petioles sheathing at the base. Stem erect and slender. India, 1869. From the plume-like habit of the leaves, it makes a splendid plant for table decoration, as well as being a beautiful specimen for exhibition. =C. draco= (dragon). _l._ 4ft. to 6ft. in length, beautifully arched, pinnate; pinnæ 12in. to 18in. long, narrow, slightly pendent, dark green; petioles sheathing at base, armed with long, flat, black spines. _h._ 20ft. to 30ft. India, 1819. A very handsome species, with a robust constitution. =C. fissus= (cleft). _l._ ovate in outline, pinnate, when young bright cinnamon; leaflets pendent, dark green, bearing on the upper side a few black hair-like bristles; petioles armed with dark, stout spines. Borneo. A very ornamental species. =C. flagellum= (whip-like). _l._ 6ft. to 8ft. in length when fully grown, pinnate; pinnæ pendent, about 1ft. in length and 1in. in breadth, dark green, furnished on the upper side with two rows of long, white, hair-like spines; petioles sheathing, copiously armed with stout white spines, much swollen at the base, and tipped with black. Stem slender. =C. Hystrix= (bristly). _l._ pinnate; petioles spiny. A compact-growing and very graceful species. =C. Jenkinsianus= (Jenkins's). _l._ pinnate, gracefully arched, 2ft. to 6ft. long; pinnæ 6in. to 12in. long, 1in. broad, rich dark green; petioles slightly sheathing at the base, armed with long flat spines. Sikkim. =C. leptospadix= (slender-spadix).* _l._ pinnate; pinnules about 1/3in. wide, and from 6in. to 12in. long, subulately acuminate; upper surface with three bristle-bearing ribs; a few smaller bristles are disposed along the midrib underneath; margins finely and regularly toothed with small ascending bristles; petiole channelled, tomentose towards the base, bearing three or four solitary needle-like spines, about 1in. long. India. A rare species, and described as one of the most graceful. =C. Lewisianus= (Lewis's).* _l._ ultimately spreading, 2ft. to 6ft. long, pinnate: pinnæ equidistant, 1/2in. broad, and front 13in. to 15in. long: veins on the upper surface bristled, under surface smooth; margins rough, with appressed bristles; petioles white, with a broad, sheathing, blackish-brown base, densely armed with long, flat, black spines. India. A fine, but somewhat rare, species. =C. Rotang= (Rotang). _l._ pinnate, from 3ft. to 4ft. in length. very gracefully arched; pinnæ 6in. to 12in. long, less than 1in. broad; upper side dark green, with two rows of hair-like spines; petioles and stems armed sparingly with stout, slightly reversed spines. Stems slender. India. When young, especially, this plant is very handsome. =C. Royleanus= (Royle's).* _l._ pinnate, arching; pinnæ very numerous, narrow, pendent, deep green; petioles with few spines, dark green. North-west Himalayas. =C. spectabilis= (showy).* _l._ pinnate, with a few pairs of smooth linear-lanceolate, three-ribbed leaflets, measuring 6in. to 8in. long; petioles green, furnished with numerous short conical white spines, tipped with brown. Malacca. A slender-growing species. =C. verticillaris= (whorled). _l._ pinnate, with a very ornamental plume-like appearance; pinnæ long, broad, drooping; petioles with the spines arranged verticillately. Malacca. This beautiful species is extremely rare. =C. viminalis= (twiggy).* _l._ 1ft. to 2ft. long, pinnate; pinnæ about 6in. long, narrow, light green; petioles sheathing, densely armed with long flat white spines. When only 3ft. or 4ft. in height, its spiny whip-like spikes of flowers are often produced. Stem slender. _h_. 50ft. Java, 1847. The following are other, but less-known, species: _australis_, _elegans_, _micranthus_, _niger_, _oblongus_, and _tenuis_. =CALAMUS AROMATICUS.= An old name of =Acorus Calamus= (which _see_). =CALAMUS ODORATUS.= An old name of =Andropogon Sch�nanthus= (which _see_). [Illustration: FIG. 315. CALANDRINIA MENZIESII, showing Flower and Habit.] =CALANDRINIA= (in honour of L. Calandrini, an Italian botanist, who lived in the beginning of the eighteenth century). ORD. _Portulaceæ_. A rather large genus of fleshy, glabrous, annual or perennial, herbaceous plants, some fourteen or fifteen species growing in Australia, the rest occurring in the New World. Flowers usually rose or purple, solitary, or in terminal umbels or racemes. Leaves quite entire, radical or alternate. Only four or five species are cultivated in this country; these are treated as half-hardy annuals--with the exception of _C. umbellata_, which is best treated as a biennial--and as such they are extensively grown in small gardens, with most satisfactory results. They should be sown in the spots where they are intended to flower, as transplantation, unless performed with more than ordinary care, will considerably check their growth or result in loss. Their flowers only expand during bright sunshine, and, consequently, they are less grown than they otherwise would be. The plants thrive in a light sandy soil. _C. umbellata_ may be sown in a pan, placed in a cold frame, in May or June; and when the plants are large enough to handle, they should be potted off, or placed out in colonies where they are to bloom. =C. discolor= (two-coloured). _fl._ bright rose, with a yellow tuft of stamens in the centre, 1-1/2in. across; raceme long. July, August. _l._ fleshy, obovate, attenuated at the base, pale green above, purple beneath. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. Chili, 1834. (B. M. 3357.) =C. grandiflora= (large.flowered).* _fl._ rosy, about 2in. across; calyx spotted; raceme simple, loose. Summer. _l._ fleshy, rhomboid, acute, petiolate. Stem suffruticose. _h._ 1ft. Chili, 1826. (B. R. 1194.) =C. Menziesii= (Menzies').* FL. deep purple-crimson, from 1/2in. to 1in. across, terminal and axillary, solitary. June to September. _l._ elongated, spathulate, much attenuated at the base. Stems much branched, prostrate. California, 1831. SYN. _C. speciosa_. See Fig. 315. (B. R. 1598.) =C. nitida= (shining). _fl._ rose-coloured, about 2in. across; raceme leafy, many-flowered. Summer. _l._ oblong-spathulate, sub-acute, glabrous, attenuated at the base, 1in. to 2in. in length. _h._ 6in. Chili, 1837. A very pretty hardy annual, forming a tuft from 4in. to 6in. across. =C. speciosa= (showy). A synonym of _C. Menziesii_. [Illustration: FIG. 316. CALANDRINIA UMBELLATA, showing Flower and Habit.] =C. umbellata= (umbellate).* _fl._ of a dazzling magenta-crimson, about as large as a sixpence; corymb cymose, terminal, many-flowered. Summer. _l._ radical, linear, acute, pilose. _h._ 6in. Peru, 1826. A very charming half-hardy biennial. See Fig. 316. (P. M. B. 12, 271.) Other species occasionally met with are: _compressa_, _micrantha_, and _procumbens_; they are, however, inferior to those described above. =CALANTHE= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _anthos_, a flower). ORD. _Orchideæ_. SEC. _Vandæ_. A very handsome genus of stove terrestrial orchids. They may be characterised as robust-growing plants, producing large, broad, many-ribbed, or plaited leaves, which are, with one or two exceptions, evergreen, and long spikes, bearing many flowers, distinguished by their calcarate lip, which is attached to the column, and by the eight thick, waxy pollen masses adhering to a separate gland. Calanthes should be special favourites with amateurs, as, in the first place, they produce an abundance of showy flowers, which last a long time in perfection; and, secondly, because they are so easily managed. In potting these plants, it will be necessary to depart from the usual style of potting orchids, and, instead of elevating them above the rim of the pot upon a cone of peat and sphagnum, they must be kept below the rim, as in potting ordinary plants. In place of the usual soil and moss, these plants should have a mixture of loam, leaf mould, and peat, broken up rough, to which may be added some silver sand and dried cow manure. During the growing season, they require abundant supply of water, and in winter even this element must be administered freely to the evergreen kinds; whilst the deciduous ones, on the contrary, enjoy a thorough rest after blooming. Good drainage is essential to all. Little more need be said upon the cultivation of Calanthes during the summer months. When growing, they enjoy strong heat and plenty of moisture; but, when growth is complete, a cooler situation is most beneficial. They are subject to the attacks of various insects, which must be continually searched for, and, when found, destroyed; for, if neglected in this particular, the bold and handsome leaves will be much disfigured, and rendered far from ornamental. Propagated by suckers and divisions. About forty species are known, of which the following are a selection: =C. curculigoides= (Curculigo-like). _fl._ beautiful orange-yellow, disposed in an erect spike. Summer and autumn. _l._ large, evergreen, plaited. _h._ 2ft. Malacca, 1844. (B. R. 33, 8.) =C. Dominyi= (Dominy's).* _fl._, sepals and petals lilac; lip deep purple. This fine hybrid is a cross between _C. Masuca_ and _C. veratrifolia_. (B. M. 5042.) =C. furcata= (forked). _fl._ creamy white, very freely produced; spikes erect, 3ft. long. June to August. Luzon Isles, 1836. An excellent exhibition plant. =C. Masuca= (Masuca).* _fl._, sepals and petals deep violet colour, with an intense violet-purple lip; numerously produced on spikes 2ft. long. June to August. India, 1838. (B. M. 4541). The variety _grandiflora_ differs from the type in its greater size both of spike and individual flower; the gigantic spikes are from 3ft. to 4ft. high, and continue blooming for three months. =C. Petri= (Peter Veitch's).* _fl._ whitish-yellow. Said to be very like _C. veratrifolia_, but bearing leaves a little narrower, and a system of five curious sulcate yellowish calli on the base of the lip, without the single lamella and teeth which are proper to that species. Polynesia, 1880. =C. pleiochroma= (many-coloured). _fl._ whitish, purplish, ochre, orange. Japan, 1871. =C. Regnieri= (Regnier's). _fl._, sepals and petals white; lip rosy-pink; middle lobe short, wedge-shaped, and emarginate. Pseudo-bulbs jointed, Cochin China. _fausta_ is a fine variety, with the base of the tip and column a warm crimson. =C. Sieboldii= (Siebold's).* _fl._ yellow, large; spikes erect. _l._ broad, dark green, plaited. _h._ 1ft. Japan, 1837. An elegant evergreen dwarf-growing species. (R. H. 1855, 20.) =C. Textori= (Textor's). _fl._ cream-white, washed with violet on the petals and column, as well as on the base of lip, where the calli are brick-red, changing later on to ochre-colour, excepting the white-lilac base of sepals and petals and the column; lip very narrow. Japan, 1877. [Illustration: FIG. 317. SINGLE FLOWER OF CALANTHE VEITCHII.] =C. Veitchii= (Veitch's).* _fl._ rich bright rose, with a white throat; spikes often attaining a height of 3ft., and bearing an immense quantity of flowers. Winter. _l._ large, plaited, light green, deciduous. Pseudo-bulbs flask-shaped. This very beautiful hybrid is the result of a cross between _C. vestita_ and _C. rosea_ (SYN. _Limatodes rosea_). See Fig. 317. (B. M. 5375.) =C. veratrifolia= (Veratrum-leaved).* _fl._ pure white, except the green tips of the sepals and the golden papillæ on the disk of the labellum; spikes 2ft. to 3ft. high, freely produced on well-grown plants. May to July. _l._ 2ft. or more long, dark green, broad, many-ribbed, with wavy margins. India, 1819. See Fig. 318. (B. M. 2615.) [Illustration: FIG. 318. SINGLE FLOWER OF CALANTHE VERATRIFOLIA.] =C. vestita= (clothed).* _fl._, sepals and petals pure white, numerously produced in a many-flowered, nodding spike. _l._ deciduous. Pseudo-bulbs large, whitish, _h._ 2-1/2ft. Burmah. (B. M. 4671.) The varieties of this species are very numerous. =C. v. igneo-oculata= (fire-eyed).* _fl._, base of the column purplish, over which is a dazzling fire-colour, the blotch in the base of the lip of the same colour. Borneo, 1876. =C. v. nivalis= (snowy).* _fl._ pure white, entirely destitute of any colour on the lip. Java, 1868. =C. v. rubro-oculata= (red-eyed).* _fl._ delicate white, with a blotch of rich crimson in the centre; upwards of 2in. across; spikes long, drooping, having a white downy covering, and rising from the base of the silvery-green pseudo-bulbs, when the latter are without leaves. October to February. =C. v. Turneri= (Turner's).* _fl._ pure white, with rose-coloured eye, larger, and produced on longer flower-spikes than the other kinds; form of flowers more compact. Java. This is considered by some authorities, to be a distinct species. =CALATHEA= (from _kalathos_, a basket; in reference to the basket-shaped stigma, or to the leaves being worked into baskets in South America). ORD. _Scitamineæ_. This genus of very ornamental-leaved stove plants is distinguished from _Maranta_ by mere botanical characters; and the two genera are often confounded. Flowers in terminal spikes, bracteate; perianth six-cleft, outer segments lanceolate, inner ones blunt and irregular; stamens three, petal-like. Leaves large, springing from the contracted stem, near the root. They delight in a rich, loose, open soil, consisting of peat, loam, and leaf soil, in about equal proportions, with the addition of a good sprinkling of sand, to keep it open and porous. The mixture should be used in a rough, lumpy state, so that the roots, which are of large size, may be able to travel with freedom. Nearly all the species admit of easy increase by division. July is a favourable time to set about it, or it may be carried out any time between that and the spring months. In order to make the necessary separation without damaging the roots, the plants should be shaken out from the soil, when they may be divided into as many pieces as there are separate crowns. Whether an increased stock be desired or not, Calatheas require fresh soil annually; and, if not reduced by division, they become much too thickly foliaged to properly develop, unless they are shifted into larger-sized pots, which can always be done if large specimens are required. When making divisions, see that each crown is well furnished with roots, so that they may at once commence sending up fresh young foliage. Although Calatheas require an abundant supply of water while growing, a stagnant moisture is most injurious; good drainage is, therefore, essential. To have the leaves in fine, healthy condition, plenty of atmospheric moisture must be maintained during their growth; and, if syringing is resorted to for the purpose of securing this, clear soft water should be used, or an unsightly deposit will be the result, by which the beauty of the plants, unless they are frequently sponged, will be spoiled. These plants require, in addition to plenty of moisture, moderate shade during the summer, as they dislike strong sunshine, and may, therefore, be grown among ferns, under creepers, in situations that would be of little use for other purposes. Calatheas are not subject to insects if properly supplied with water while growing, and a sufficiently moist atmosphere is at all times maintained; but, if either of these are lacking, red spider soon put in an appearance, and quickly disfigure the leaves. =C. applicata= (inclined). _fl._ white. Brazil, 1875. SYN. _Maranta pinnato-picta_. (B. H. 1875, 18.) =C. arrecta= (erect).* _l._ rich satin-green on the upper side, and heavy ruby colour on the under side. Ecuador, 1872. A fine species, with a very elegant growth. (I. H. 1871, 77.) =C. Bachemiana= (Bachem's). _l._ silvery, with green lines and blotches. Brazil, 1875. =C. Baraquinii= (Baraquin's).* _l._ ovate-lanceolate; ground colour bright green, relieved by beautiful bands of silvery white. Amazons, 1868. =C. bella= (handsome).* _l._ greyish-green, with the margins and two series of central patches deep green. Brazil, 1875. SYN. _Maranta tessellata Kegeljani_. =C. crocata= (saffron-coloured). _fl._ orange. Brazil, 1875. =C. eximia= (choice). 1857. SYN. _Phrynium eximium_. (R. G. 686.) =C. fasciata= (banded).* _l._ 8in. to 12in. long, 6in. to 8in. wide, broadly cordate; ground colour bright green, with broad bands of white running across from midrib to the margin; the under side pale green, tinged with purple. _h._ 1ft. Brazil, 1859. (R. G. 255.) =C. hieroglyphica= (hieroglyphic). _l._ broadly obovate, obtuse; ground colour rich dark velvety green, which, towards the midrib, shades off into light emerald green; primary veins oblique, and the spaces between them ornamented with irregular streaks and bars of silvery white; under surface of a uniform dark vinous purple. Columbia, 1873. Dwarf and distinct. (I. H. 1873, 122.) =C. illustris= (bright).* _l._ somewhat obovate; upper surface of a bright pea-green, streaked with transverse bands of a deeper green; midrib pink, with two irregular blotches of white traversing the leaves from base to point, midway between the margin and costa; under surface deep purple. Ecuador, 1866. =C. Kerchoviana= (Kerchove's).* _l._ cordate, oblong, obtuse, shortly and abruptly acuminate, greyish-green, with a row of purplish blotches on each side of the midrib. _h._ 6in. Brazil, 1879. SYN. _Maranta leuconeura Kerchoviana_. =C. Legrelliana= (Le Grell's). _l._ very dark green, relieved by a feathery band of white, extending the whole length between the midrib and margin. Ecuador, 1867. =C. Leitzei= (Leitze's). _l._ oblong-lanceolate, deep metallic green, and shining on the upper surface, with feather-like markings of deeper colour, purplish-violet beneath. Brazil, 1875. (R. G. 935.) =C. leopardina= (leopard).* _l._ oblong, pale or yellowish-green, marked on each side of the costa with several oblong acuminate blotches of deep green. _h._ 2ft. Brazil, 1875. (R. G. 893.) =C. leuconeura= (white-nerved). A synonym of _Maranta leuconeura_. =C. leucostachys= (white-spiked). _h._ 1ft. A fine species, allied to _C. Warscewiczii_. Costa Rica, 1874. (B. M. 6205.) =C. Lindeni= (Linden's).* _l._ oblong, 6in. to 12in. long, deep green, with blotches of yellowish-green on each side of the midrib; under surface purplish-rose, through which the markings of the upper side are visible. Peru, 1866. Very handsome and free-growing. (I. H. 1871, 82.) =C. Luciani= (Lucian's). _l._ shining green, the midrib festooned with silvery white. Tropical America, 1872. =C. Makoyana= (Makoy's).* _l._ oblong, somewhat unequal-sided, 6in. to 8in. long, upwards of 4in. broad; outer margin deep green, the central portion semi-transparent, beautifully blotched with creamy-yellow and white; the central part is also ornamented between the transverse veins with oblong blotches of deep green; petioles slender, purplish-red. Tropical America, 1872. SYN. _C. olivaris_. (G. C. 1872, p. 1589.) =C. Massangeana= (Massange's).* _l._ beautifully covered with rich marking, presenting a somewhat similar appearance to the wings of certain butterflies. The outer portion is olive-green; the middle, on both sides of the costa, of a delicate silvery-grey colour, from which the whitish side veins run out in a well-defined and regular manner; the portion of the leaf surrounding the silvery centre is ornamented with large blotches of dark velvety purplish-maroon, occasionally shaded with brownish-crimson; the whole of the leaf being marked with silky and sparkling reflections. Brazil, 1875. It is of neat habit, growing in close tufts, its ample foliage covering the ground. =C. medio-picta= (middle painted). _l._ oblong-acute, tapering to the base, dark green, with a feathered white central stripe. Brazil, 1878. =C. micans= (glittering).* _l._ oblong-acuminate, 2in. to 3in. long, a little over 1in. in breadth, dark shining green, with a white feathery stripe down the centre. Tropical America. The smallest species of the genus with a spreading habit, and quickly forming dense and beautiful tufts. There is a variety of this named _amabilis_. Brazil. =C. nitens= (shining).* _l._ oblong, green, with a bright glossy surface, marked on each side of the midrib with a series of oblong acute bars, alternating with numerous lines of a dark green on a pale bright green ground. Brazil, 1880. An elegant and small-growing plant. =C. olivaris= (olive-green). Synonymous with _C. Makoyana_. =C. ornata= (ornamented).* _l._ oblong acuminate, 6in. to 9in. long, 3in. or more broad, yellowish-green, relieved by broad transverse bands of dark olive-green; under side tinged with purple. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Columbia, 1849. =C. o. albo-lineata= (white-lined). Columbia, 1848. SYN. _Maranta albo-lineata_. =C. o. majestica= (majestic). Rio Purus, 1866. SYN. _Maranta majestica_. =C. o. regalis= (royal). Peru, 1856. SYNS. _Maranta regalis_ and _M. coriifolia_. =C. o. roseo-lineata= (rosy-lined).* _h._ 1ft. 1848. SYN. _Maranta roseo-lineata_. =C. pacifica= (Pacific). _l._ oblong ovate, of a fine dark green on the upper surface, olive-brown beneath. Eastern Peru, 1871. [Illustration: FIG. 319. CALATHEA VEITCHII.] =C. pardina= (leopard).* _fl._ yellow, large, handsome, produced in great abundance. _l._ 10in. to 18in. long, 5in. to 6in. wide, ovate, pale green, with dark brown blotches on each side the midrib, and which occur at regular intervals the whole length of the leaf. New Grenada. (F. d. S. ii., 1101.) =C. prasina= (leek-green). _l._ with a yellow-green central band. Brazil, 1875. =C. princeps= (magnificent).* _l._ 12in. to 18in. long; centre rich dark green, broadly margined with yellowish-green, purple beneath. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Peru, 1869. A superb large-growing species. =C. pulchella= (pretty). _l._ bright green, with two series of deep green blotches, alternately large and small. Brazil, 1859. This much resembles _C. zebrina_ in general appearance, but is not so strong a grower, and the leaves are not so dark. =C. rosea-picta= (rose-coloured). _l._ somewhat orbicular, of a rich glossy green; midrib of a lovely rose-colour, between the margin and midrib are two irregular bands of the same colour, traversing the entire length of the leaf. Upper Amazon, 1866. (R. G. 610.) =C. Seemanni= (Seemann's). _l._ about 1ft. long, 6in. broad, satiny emerald-green; midrib whitish. Nicaragua, 1872. =C. splendida= (splendid). _l._ large, oblong-lanceolate, deflexed, 10in. to 18in. long, rich dark olive-green, with distinct blotches of greenish-yellow. Brazil, 1864. =C. tubispatha= (tube-spathed).* _l._ somewhat obovate, obtuse, 6in. to 12in. long, pale greenish-yellow, beautifully relieved by a row of rich brown oblong blotches, set in pairs on each side of the midrib, throughout the entire length of the leaf. West Tropical America, 1865. An elegant species. (B. M. 5542.) =C. Vanden Heckei= (Van den Heck's).* _l._ rich dark glossy green, shaded with transverse bands of a lighter green; midrib broadly margined with silvery-white, two bands of the same colour traverse the leaf from base to apex, midway between midrib and margin; under side of a uniform purplish-crimson. Brazil, 1865. Very distinct and handsome. =C. Veitchii= (Veitch's).* _l._ large, ovate elliptic, over 1ft. long, very rich glossy green, marked along each side the midrib with crescent-shaped blotches of yellow, softened by shades of green and white; under surface light purple. _h._ 3ft. W. Tropical America, 1865. Probably the handsomest of the genus. See Fig. 319. =C. virginalis= (virginal). _l._ large, broadly ovate, light green; midrib white, also with a white band on each side; the under side of a greyish-green. Amazons, 1857. Habit dwarf and compact. =C vittata= (striped). _l._ ovate-acuminate, 9in. long, very light green, with narrow transverse bars of white on each side of the midrib. Brazil, 1857. =C. Wallisii= (Wallis's).* _l._ rather large, of a rich and pleasing light green, beautifully relieved with a ray of rich dark green. South America, 1867. A handsome and distinct sort, but somewhat rare. =C. W. discolor= (two-coloured). _l._ bright velvety green, with the centre and margins grey. South America, 1871. =C. Warscewiczii= (Warscewicz's).* _l._ 2ft. long, about 8in. wide, deep velvety green in colour, relieved by a feathery stripe of yellowish-green on either side the midrib, and extending from the base to the apex. _h._ 3ft. Tropical America, 1879. A fine sort. (R. G. 515.) =C. Wioti= (Wiot's). _l._ bright green, with two series of olive-green blotches. Brazil, 1875. [Illustration: FIG. 320. CALATHEA ZEBRINA.] =C. zebrina= (zebra).* _l._ 2ft. to 3ft. long, 6in. to 8in. wide, beautiful velvety light green on the upper side, barred with greenish-purple; under side of a dull greenish-purple. _h._ 2ft. Brazil, 1815. This is a very old inhabitant of our stoves, and, for general usefulness is not much surpassed. See Fig. 320. (B. R. 385.) =CALATHIAN VIOLET.= _See_ =Gentiana Pneumonanthe=. =CALCARATE.= Spurred, or having a spur. =CALCEOLARIA= (from _calceolus_, a little slipper, in allusion to the form of the corolla; the form _calceolarius_, shoemaker, probably chosen to include a reference to F. Calceolari, an Italian botanist of the sixteenth century). Slipperwort. ORD. _Scrophularineæ_. A genus of hardy or half-hardy shrubs, sub-shrubs or herbs. Peduncles one or many-flowered, axillary or terminal, corymbose; corolla with a very short tube; limb bilabiate; upper lip short, truncately rounded, entire; lower lip large, concave, slipper-shaped. Leaves opposite, sometimes three in a whorl, rarely alternate. SHRUBBY SECTION. In addition to the widely-known utility of this class for bedding purposes, they are fine decorative plants when well grown, and useful alike in conservatory or dwelling house. It will be found more convenient to grow these in a pit or frame, as in such places they are less liable to the attacks of fly, and make sturdier growth. If large plants are required, cuttings should be taken in August, placed in a cold frame facing the north, in sandy soil, and, when rooted, potted off into 3in. pots. They should then be placed in a light sunny frame, where they may remain until the middle of February. The points should then be pinched out. When the plants break, they must be shifted into 48-sized pots. If there are from four to six breaks to each plant, it will be sufficient; but, should such not be the case, the plants must be stopped again, when the requisite number will probably be obtained. Directly the roots touch the pots, the plants should be transferred to 7in. or 8in. pots, in which they will flower, and the shoots must be tied out so as to develop fully. Every effort should be exerted to keep the foliage green to the base of the plants, and they should be fumigated on the first appearance of green fly. As the flower-spikes are thrown up, weak liquid manure, applied two or three times a week, will prove beneficial. For potting, the following compost is most suitable: One-half good fibrous loam, one-eighth thoroughly rotted manure, and the remainder leaf soil, with enough sharp sand to keep the whole open. During frosty weather, of course, it will be necessary to protect the frames with mats, and to water judiciously, to avoid damping. Those plants intended for bedding will not require to be repotted, but should be inserted, about 3in. apart, in sandy soil, in a cold frame. The tops must be taken off early in March; and from the middle of April to the middle of May, they may be planted out where they are to remain. Should frosty weather, accompanied by drying winds, ensue, the plants will require the protection of inverted flower-pots, with pieces of slate or crock placed over the holes. A good soil, abundantly enriched with rotten manure, is most desirable for them. [Illustration: FIG. 321. HERBACEOUS CALCEOLARIA.] _Varieties._ These are very numerous. The best of them are the following: BIJOU, dark red, very free; GAINE'S YELLOW, rich deep yellow, extremely free; GENERAL HAVELOCK, crimson-scarlet, very fine; GOLDEN GEM, bright yellow, perhaps the best; SPARKLER, crimson-gold, dwarf; VICTORIA, dark maroon, very attractive. HERBACEOUS SECTION. These, like the preceding, are very useful, both for house and conservatory decoration (see Fig. 321). A packet of seed from a first-class firm will, if properly managed, produce a good percentage of excellent flowers. The seed may be sown from June to August, when large batches are required (when only one sowing is made, July will be the best month), on pans of light, sandy soil, which should be soaked with water before sowing. Care must be taken to make the surface of the soil level, and also to sow the seed as evenly as possible. It is better not to cover with soil, but a sheet of glass should be laid over the pan, which must be placed in a shady part of the greenhouse or cold frame until the young plants show the first leaf. The glass can then be gradually removed. When large enough to handle, the seedlings must be pricked out, about 2in. asunder, in pans or boxes, and placed in a close, shaded situation. As soon as of sufficient size, they must be placed singly in 3in. pots, returned to the frame, kept close for a few days, and as near the glass as possible, to make them sturdy. When necessary, they should be shifted into 5in. pots, in which they may be kept through the winter; or the later batches may be placed in small pots. By the end of October or early in November, the plants will be strong and fit for wintering; at this stage, the best place for them is in a dry, frost-proof pit, or on an airy shelf of the greenhouse, giving them sufficient water to prevent flagging. All dead leaves must be removed. On the first appearance of green fly, the plants should be fumigated with tobacco. From the end of January onwards, in order to encourage growth, the plants should be removed into 7in. or 8in. pots, giving plenty of drainage, and a compost consisting of one-half good light fibrous loam, one-fourth thoroughly decayed sheep manure, and one-fourth leaf soil, to which must be added sufficient coarse sand to keep the whole open. After potting, the plants must be again placed in the same position, and, as they require it, plenty of room given. Careful attention to watering is necessary, as they must not be allowed to get dry. Air must be given on all suitable occasions. The flower-stems, as they require it, should be supported with small neat sticks. About May, the plants will commence to bloom, and continue to do so for a couple of months. The best flowers should be selected, and cross-fertilised with a camel-hair pencil, in order to produce a good strain of seed for future sowing. The attention of horticulturists appears to be almost wholly confined to the innumerable hybrids raised from _amplexicaulis_, _arachnoidea_, _corymbosa_, _integrifolia_, _purpurea_, _thyrsiflora_, and a few others. Very few pure species are seen in cultivation, although most of them are well worth growing. =C. alba= (white). _fl._ white; peduncles elongated, racemose, dichotomous. June. _l._ linear, remotely serrated. Plant suffruticose, clammy, and resinous. _h._ 1ft. Chili, 1844. Shrubby. (B. M. 4157.) =C. amplexicaulis= (stem-clasping).* _fl._ yellow, umbellately fascicled; corymbs terminal; pedicels pilose. _l._ stem-clasping, ovate-oblong, acuminated, cordate, crenately-serrated, pilose. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Peru, 1845. Half-hardy, herbaceous. (B. M. 4300.) =C. arachnoidea= (cobwebby).* _fl._ purple; peduncles terminal, twin, elongated, dichotomous. June to September. _l._ lingulately-oblong, a little toothed, narrowing downwards into long winged petioles, which are connate at the base; about 5in. long, wrinkled. Stem herbaceous, branched, spreading, clothed with white cobwebbed wool, as well as the leaves and other parts, except the corolla. _h._ 1ft. Chili, 1827. (B. M. 2874.) =C. bicolor= (two-coloured).* _fl._ in large terminal cymes; upper lip yellow, small; lower lip large, gaping, conchiform, the front clear yellow, the back white. July to November. _l._ broadly-ovate, sub-acute, coarsely crenated, wrinkled. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Stem much branched, woody at the base. Peru, 1829. SYN. _C. diffusa_. (B. R. 1374.) =C. Burbidgei= (Burbidge's).* _fl._ rich yellow, with large lower lip. Autumn and winter. _l._ ovate, distinctly obtusely biserrate, sub-acute, with a narrow wing running down the petiole; both surfaces downy. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. This is a handsome hybrid between _C. Pavonii_ and _C. fuchsiæfolia_, raised by F. W. Burbidge, Esq., Trinity College Botanic Gardens, Dublin, 1882. =C. chelidonioides= (Chelidonium-like). _fl._ yellow. June. _h._ 1ft. Peru, 1852. Annual. =C. corymbosa= (corymbose). _fl._ yellow, marked with purple dots and lines, corymbose. May to October. _l._, radical ones ovate and cordate, petiolate, doubly crenated, white beneath; cauline ones few, cordate, half amplexicaul. Stems herbaceous, leafless at bottom, but dichotomous and leafy at top. Plant hairy. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. Chili, 1822. (B. R. 723.) =C. deflexa= (bending). Synonymous with _C. fuchsiæfolia_. =C. diffusa= (spreading). A synonym of _C. bicolor_. =C. flexuosa= (flexuose). _fl._, corolla yellow; lower lip large, ventricose; peduncles axillary and terminal, many-flowered; pedicels umbellate. _l._ cordate, unequally and bluntly crenated, petiolate, remote. Plant shrubby, rough, beset with glandular hairs. _h._ 3ft. Peru, 1847. (B. M. 5154.) =C Fothergillii= (Fothergill's).* _fl._, upper lip of corolla yellowish; lower lip sulphur colour, having the margins spotted with red, four times the size of the upper one; peduncles scape-formed, one-flowered. May to August. _l._ spathulate, quite entire, pilose above, about 1in. long. Stem herbaceous, a little divided near the root. _h._ 3in. to 6in. Falkland Islands, 1777. (B. M. 348.) [Illustration: FIG. 322. CALCEOLARIA VIOLACEA.] =C. fuchsiæfolia= (Fuchsia-leaved).* _fl._ yellow, disposed in terminal panicles; upper lip nearly as large as the lower one. Spring. _l._ lanceolate, glandless. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Peru, 1878. This is a very handsome winter-flowering shrubby species, but it is difficult to keep the foliage in anything like good condition. SYN. _C. deflexa_. (Garden, March, 1879.) =C. Henrici= (Anderson-Henry's). _fl._ yellow, disposed in terminal corymbose cymes; both lips of corolla much inflated, so as to entirely close the mouth. _l._ rather large, elongate-lanceolate, downy beneath. _h._ 2ft. Andes of Cuenca, 1865. Shrubby evergreen. (B. M. 5772.) =C. hyssopifolia= (Hyssop-leaved).* _fl._ in terminal cymes; upper lip clear yellow, about half the width of the lower, and meeting closely to it; lower lip clear canary-yellow above, nearly white beneath. May to August. _l._ sessile, linear-lanceolate, sub-acute, entire. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Chili. Shrubby. (B. M. 5548.) =C. integrifolia= (entire-leaved). Synonymous with _C. rugosa_. =C. lobata= (lobed). _fl._ yellow, disposed in erect, loosely-branched cymes; lip curiously folded on itself, and spotted on the inner surface. _l._ palmately lobed. _h._ 9in. Peru, 1877. Herbaceous species. (B. M. 6330.) =C. Pavonii= (Pavon's).* _fl._ rich yellow and brown, in large terminal clusters; upper lip small; lower lip large, widely gaping. _l._ perfoliate, the petioles connected by a broad wing, running all their length; blade broadly ovate, coarsely serrate-dentate; both sides covered with soft down. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Herbaceous. (B. M. 4525.) =C. pinnata= (pinnate). _fl._ sulphur-coloured; peduncles twin or tern, panicled. July to September. _l._ pinnate; leaflets or segments toothed, lower ones pinnatifidly toothed. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Peru, 1773. Annual, clothed with clammy hairs. (B. M. 41.) =C. pisacomensis= (Pisacomanese). _fl._ rich orange-red, large; lower lip of corolla so bent upwards as to close the mouth; cymes produced from all the upper axils, forming long leafy panicles. _l._ ovate, obtuse, coarsely crenate. _h._ 3ft. Peru, 1868. A sub-shrubby perennial, of strong, erect habit. =C. plantaginea= (Plantain-like).* _fl._ yellow; lower lip of corolla large, hemispherical; upper one small, bifid; scapes generally two to three-flowered, pilose. August. _l._ radical, ovate, rhomboid, rosulate, serrated. Plant herbaceous, stemless, pubescent. _h._ 1ft. Chili, 1826. (B. M. 2805.) =C. purpurea= (purple). _fl._, corolla of an uniform reddish-violet, rather small; corymbs terminal, many-flowered. July to September. _l._ wrinkled, hispid; radical ones cuneate-spathulate, serrated, quite entire behind, petiolate, acutish; cauline ones cordate, decussate, with a few long scattered hairs on their surfaces. Stems herbaceous, many from the same root. _h._ 1ft. Chili, 1826. There are several hybrids between this and other species. (B. M. 2775.) =C. rugosa= (wrinkled). _fl._ yellow; panicles terminal, corymbose, pedunculate. August. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, or lanceolate, denticulated, wrinkled, opaque, rusty beneath; petioles winged, connate. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. Chili, 1822. Shrubby species. SYN. _C. integrifolia_. (B. R. 744.) Two varieties of this are _angustifolia_, and _viscosissima_. =C. scabiosæfolia= (Scabious-leaved).* _fl._, corolla pale yellow; lower lip large, ventricose; peduncles terminal, corymbose. May to October. _l._, lower ones pinnate; superior ones pinnatifid, three-lobed, or simple, the terminal segment always the largest. Plant rather hairy. Peru, 1822. Evergreen trailer. (B. M. 2405.) =C. tenella= (small). _fl._ golden yellow, with orange-red spots within the lower lip; corymbs few-flowered. _l._ opposite, ovate, acuminated. _h._ 6in. Chili, 1873. Hardy, herbaceous. (B. M. 6231.) =C. thyrsiflora= (thyrse-flowered). _fl._ yellow, downy inside; thyrse terminal, crowded; peduncles compound, umbellate. June. _l._ linear, attenuated at both ends, serrate-toothed, sessile, 2in. long, and two lines broad. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Chili, 1827. Shrubby, clammy. (B. M. 2915.) =C. violacea= (violet).* _fl._, corolla pale violet, spotted with deeper violet beneath; lip spreading in a campanulate manner; peduncles terminal by threes, corymbose; pedicels one to two-flowered. June. _l._ petiolate, ovate-lanceolate, coarsely serrated, white beneath. _h._ 2ft. Chili, 1853. Shrubby. (B. M. 4929.) See Fig. 322. =CALCEOLATE.= Shaped like a slipper or round-toed shoe. =CALDASIA.= _See_ =Galipea heterophylla=. =CALDCLUVIA= (named after Alexander Caldcleugh, F.R.S. and F.L.S., who collected and sent to this country many plants from Chili). ORD. _Saxifrageæ_. A greenhouse evergreen tree. Flowers panicled, terminal. Leaves opposite, simple, serrate, glabrous; pedicels jointless; stipules twin, sub-falcate, toothed, caducous. It thrives well in a compost of peat and loam, and may be propagated by cuttings of the half-ripened shoots, planted in sand, under a hand glass, and placed in a very gentle bottom heat. =C. paniculata= (panicled). _fl._ white. June. Chili, 1831. =CALEA= (from _kalos_, beautiful; referring to the flowers). ORD. _Compositæ_. A genus of stove evergreen herbs or small shrubs. Pappus hairy; receptacle paleaceous; involucre imbricated. They thrive in a compost of peat and loam. Side shoots root readily, if placed in sand, under glass, and with bottom heat; seeds may be sown in March. Warmer parts of New World. =CALEANA= (named after G. Caley, Superintendent of the Botanical Garden, St. Vincent). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A genus of greenhouse terrestrial orchids, natives of Australia. Flowers few, greenish-brown; column broad, thin, concave; sepals and petals narrow, reflexed; lip posticous, peltate, unguiculate, highly irritable. In fine weather, or if left undisturbed, this lip bends back, leaving the column uncovered; but in wet weather, or if the plant is shaken, the lip falls over the column, securely fastening it. Leaves solitary, radical. They are of easy culture, in a compost of fibry peat, lumpy loam, and a little charcoal. =B. major= (greater). _fl._ green-brown. June. 1810. =C. minor= (less). _fl._ green-brown. June. 1822. =C. nigrita= (blackish-flowered). _fl._ dark. =CALECTASIA= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _ektasis_, extension; in allusion to the star-like perianth segments). ORD. _Juncaceæ_. An elegant greenhouse suffruticose perennial, with dry, permanent, starry flowers. It thrives best in a compost of peat and loam. Propagated by divisions. =C. cyanea= (blue). _fl._ bright blue, solitary, on short terminal branches. June. _l._ needle-shaped, sheathing at the base. Australia, 1840. (B. M. 3834.) =CALENDULA= (from _calendæ_, the first day of the month; in allusion to the almost perpetual flowering). Marigold. ORD. _Compositæ_. A genus of showy greenhouse and hardy annuals, and some few greenhouse shrubby species. Pappus none; receptacle naked; involucre of one or two series of sub-equal, acuminate, generally scarious-edged bracts. The shrubby species are propagated by cuttings, and thrive best in a compost of loam and peat.. For culture of the annuals, _see_ =Marigold=. [Illustration: FIG. 323. FLOWERS OF CALENDULA OFFICINALIS.] =C. arvensis= (field). _fl.-heads_ yellow. Pericarps urceolate, obovate, smooth; outer lanceolate-subulate, muricated at back. _h._ 2ft. Europe, 1597. Hardy annual. =C. maderensis= (Madeira).* _fl.-heads_ orange. Pericarps cymbiform, incurved, muricated; outer five ovate-lanceolate, membranous, toothed at edge. _h._ 2ft. Madeira, 1795. Hardy. SYN. _C. stellata_. =C. officinalis= (officinal).* Common Marigold. _fl.-heads_ orange. June to September. Pericarps cymbiform, all incurved, muricated. _h._ 3ft. South Europe, 1573. Hardy annual. See Fig. 323. =C. o. prolifera= (proliferous). A garden form, analogous to the Hen and Chickens Daisy. See Fig. 324. =C. stellata= (stellate). A synonym of _C. maderensis_. [Illustration: FIG. 324. FLOWER OF CALENDULA OFFICINALIS PROLIFERA.] =CALICO BUSH.= _See_ =Kalmia latifolia=. =CALIFORNIAN EVERGREEN REDWOOD.= _See_ =Sequoia sempervirens=. =CALIFORNIAN MAYBUSH.= _See_ =Photinia arbutifolia=. =CALIFORNIAN PEPPER-TREE.= _See_ =Schinus Molle=. =CALIFORNIAN POPPY.= _See_ =Platystemon californicus=. =CALIPHRURIA= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _phroura_, prison; from the handsome spathe inclosing the flowers). ORD. _Amaryllideæ_. Pretty half-hardy greenhouse bulbs. Tube of perianth narrow, funnel-shaped, nearly straight; limb regular, stellate; stamens furnished with a bristle on each side. They thrive best in a compost of sandy loam, a little peat, leaf soil, and sand. Propagated by offsets. After flowering, the plants should have a slight heat; and, when starting into new growth, should be repotted. =C. Hartwegiana= (Hartweg's).* _fl._ greenish-white; umbels seven-flowered; scape nearly terete, glaucous. May. _l._ petiolate, depressed, ovate, sub-plicate, green. _h._ 1ft. New Grenada, 1843. (B. M. 6259.) [Illustration: FIG. 325. CALIPHRURIA SUBEDENTATA.] =C. subedentata= (rarely-toothed).* _fl._ white, funnel-shaped, disposed in a truss, on a long scape. Winter. _l._ stalked, ovate-oblong. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Columbia, 1876. See Fig. 325. (B. M. 6289.) =CALISAYA BARK.= _See_ =Cinchona Calisaya=. [Illustration: FIG. 326. CALLA PALUSTRIS, showing Habit and detached Inflorescence.] =CALLA= (from _kallos_, beauty). SYN. _Provenzalia_. ORD. _Aroideæ_ (_Araceæ_). A monotypic genus. The species is a native of Central and Northern Europe and North America, has creeping or floating stems, and cordate entire leaves. _C. palustris_ is sometimes grown in collections of aquatics or bog plants; and, although, perhaps, hardly worth cultivating as a pot plant, is well worth a place in open ornamental waters. _Richardia æthiopica_ is frequently erroneously called _Calla æthiopica_. =C. palustris= (marsh). _fl._, spadix protected by a flat white spathe, upper ones female, lower hermaphrodite, with numerous thread-like stamens. _l._ stalked, emerging from a sheath. _h._ 6in. Hardy aquatic, naturalised here and there in Britain. See Fig. 326. =CALLI.= Small callosities, or little protuberances. =CALLIANDRA= (from _kallos_, beauty, and _andros_, a stamen; referring to the elegant long, silky, purple or white stamens). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A genus of beautiful stove evergreen shrubs. Flowers usually borne on stalked globose heads; corollas small, hidden by the numerous filaments of the stamens. Leaves bipinnate; leaflets varying in size and number. They thrive in a compost of peat and loam. Propagated by cuttings of rather firm young wood, inserted in sand, under a hand glass, in heat. =C. Harrisii= (Harris's). _fl._ pink; peduncles axillary, fascicled, glandularly downy. February. _l._ bipinnate; leaflets obovate, falcate, downy; stipules small, falcate. Branches puberulous. _h._ 10ft. Mexico, 1838. (B. M. 4238.) =C. Tweediei= (Tweedie's).* _fl._ red; peduncles longer than the petioles; bracts linear. March and April. _l._ with three or four pairs of pinnæ; leaflets numerous, oblong-linear, acutish, ciliated, pilose beneath; stipules ovate, acuminate. Branches and petioles pilose. _h._ 6ft. Brazil, 1840. (B. M. 4188.) =CALLICARPA= (from _kallos_, beauty, and _karpos_, fruit; referring to the beautiful berries). SYN. _Porphyra_. ORD. _Verbenaceæ_. A genus of stove, greenhouse, or nearly hardy evergreen shrubs, closely allied to _Petræa_. Flowers inconspicuous, disposed in axillary cymes; corolla-tube short, with the limb four-lobed. Fruit a very ornamental small juicy berry or drupe. The following mode of culture has been recommended: "After the old plants have been cut back in the spring, and started into growth, the young shoots will strike as readily as a Fuchsia, and with exactly the same treatment. In order to make good plants, short-jointed cuttings should be selected; and, as soon as these are struck, they should be potted into 2-1/2in. pots, using a compost of equal parts loam and peat, with a little charcoal and river sand. When they commence to grow, after being potted, remove to a pit or house with a temperature ranging from 60deg. to 75deg. Pinch out the tops of the plants as soon as they have three pairs of leaves, and whenever each of the laterals has made two pairs of leaves, pinch out their points, and continue this operation with all the rest of the shoots till the beginning of August, at the same time keeping off all the flower-buds. The next shift will be into 4in. or 5in. pots. They should always have plenty of light and air, but more especially after they come into flower." =C. americana= (American). _fl._ red, small, in axillary cymes. Berries violet-coloured. _l._ ovate-oblong, toothed, silvery beneath, with a scurf of tomentum. _h._ 6ft. South America, 1724. Greenhouse. =C. japonica= (Japanese). _fl._ pink. August. _l._ stalked, ovate, oblong, acuminate, serrate. _h._ 3ft. Japan, 1850. Stove. (L. & P. F. G. ii., p. 165.) =C. lanata= (woolly). _fl._ purplish. June. Berries purple. _l._ sessile, ovate, acuminate, serrate, hairy beneath. _h._ 3ft. India, 1788. Stove. (S. F. d. J. 1861, p. 96.) =C. purpurea= (purple). _fl._ insignificant, borne in cymose clusters, upon axillary footstalks. Berries very numerous, bright glossy deep violet coloured. _l._ opposite, ovate, acuminate; edges serrated; profusely clothed, as well as the stem, with hairs. _h._ 3ft. India, 1822. Stove. (Garden, June, 1833.) =C. rubella= (reddish). _fl._ red. May. _l._ sessile, obovate, acuminate, cordate at the base, hairy on both surfaces. _h._ 2ft. China, 1822. Half-hardy. (B. R. 883.) =CALLICHROA= (from _kallos_, beauty, and _chroa_, colour; referring to the bright yellow colour of the flowers). ORD. _Compositæ_. This genus is now usually included under _Layia_. Hardy annual, of easy culture in common garden soil. Seeds may be sown in March, on a slight hotbed, and transplanted to the open border early in May; or if sown out of doors in April, it will flower in the autumn. =C. platyglossa= (broad-tongued). _fl.-heads_ yellow, solitary, pedunculate; ray florets large, cuneate. Autumn. _l._ alternate, sessile, ciliated. _h._ 1ft. California, 1836. SYN. _Layia platyglossa_. (B. M. 3719.) =CALLICOMA= (from _kallos_, beauty, and _kome_, hair; in reference to the tufted heads of flowers). ORD. _Saxifrageæ_. A greenhouse evergreen shrub. Flowers capitate; heads terminating the tops of the branchlets, pedunculate, globose. Leaves simple, coarsely serrated, stalked. Stipules membranous, bidentate, caducous. It thrives well in a sandy peat soil. Half ripened cuttings will root if placed in the same sort of soil, under a hand glass. =C. serratifolia= (saw-leaved). Black Wattle. _fl._ yellow. May to August. _l._ lanceolate, acuminate, hoary beneath, attenuated at the base. _h._ 4ft. New South Wales, 1793. (B. M. 1811.) =CALLIGONUM= (from _kallos_, beauty, and _gonu_, a knee-joint; in reference to its leafless joint). ORD. _Polygonaceæ_. SYNS. _Pallasia_, _Pterococcus_. A genus containing about a score species of very curious, erect, evergreen, hardy shrubs, found growing in dry, arid, sandy spots in Northern Africa and Western Asia. They will thrive in any well-drained sandy loam. Cuttings will root in spring or autumn if placed under a hand glass. =C. Pallasia= (Pallas's). _fl._ whitish, in groups. May. _fr._ winged; wings membranous, curled and toothed, succulent, acid, edible. _l._ simple, alternate, exstipulate, deciduous, caducous, minute. Shoots rush-like, smooth, green. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Caspian Sea, 1780. =CALLIOPSIS.= _See_ =Coreopsis=. =CALLIPRORA= (from _kallos_, beauty, and _prora_, a front; referring to the front view of the flower). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. A very pretty little bulbous plant, now often referred to _Brodiæa_. It thrives in a well-drained spot on the lower flanks of rockwork, in dry, rich, sandy soil. Propagated by offsets, which should remain on the parent bulbs until they are a good size. =C. lutea= (yellow).* Pretty Face. _fl._, segments purplish-brown in the middle on the outside. Summer. _l._ linear-lanceolate, acuminated, channelled, longer than the flower-stem; bracts sheathing, scarious, much shorter than the pedicels. _h._ 9in. North California, 1831. SYNS. _Brodiæa ixioides_, _Milla ixioides_. (B. M. 3588.) =CALLIPSYCHE= (from _kallos_, beauty, and _psyche_, a butterfly; alluding to the handsome flowers). ORD. _Amaryllidaceæ_. Ornamental greenhouse bulbs; requiring shade, and a compost of rich sandy loam and leaf mould, with good drainage. Propagated by seeds and offsets. They should have plenty of water when growing, and, during the winter, be kept moderately dry, but not dried off, so as to cause them to shrivel. As the leaves wither, water should be gradually withheld. =C. aurantiaca= (orange).* _fl._ deep golden-yellow, several in an umbel, spreading, much flattened sideways; stamens green, twice the length of the perianth; scape erect, nearly 2ft. high. _l._ few, oblong-acute, bright green, conspicuously veined, stalked, 6in. long. Andes of Ecuador, 1868. (Ref. B. 167.) =C. eucrosiodes= (Eucrosia-like).* _fl._ scarlet and green; stamens very long, incurved; scape about ten-flowered, glaucous. March. _l._ few, green, tessellated, pitted, 4in. wide. _h._ 2ft. Mexico, 1843. (B. R. 1845, 45.) =C. mirabilis= (wonderful)*, _fl._ greenish-yellow, small, with stamens three times as long as the perianth, and spreading out on all sides; disposed in an umbellate head of about thirty blooms; scape 3ft. high. _l._ about two, oblong-spathulate, green, 1ft. long. Peru, 1868. An extremely curious plant. (Ref. B. 168.) =CALLIPTERIS= (from _kallos_, beauty, and _pteris_, a fern). ORD. _Filices_. A genus of stove ferns, founded upon the sub-genus _Diplazium_, which is now included under _Asplenium_. =CALLIRHOE= (of mythological origin, from Callirhoe, a daughter of the river-god Achelous). Poppy-Mallow. Allied to _Malva_. Species belonging to this genus have been erroneously referred to _Malva_ and _Nuttallia_. ORD. _Malvaceæ_. A genus of elegant annual or perennial herbs, natives of North America. They are of extremely easy cultivation, thriving in a compost of light, rich, sandy loam. Propagation of the perennial species may be effected by means of both seeds and cuttings; of the annuals, by seeds only. Seeds should be sown in spring, either outside, or in pans in a cold frame. Young cuttings should be taken and dibbled in sandy soil in a frame. =C. digitata= (fingered).* _fl._ reddish-purple; peduncles long, axillary, one-flowered. Summer. _l._ sub-peltate, six to seven-parted, with linear-entire or two-parted segments; upper ones more simple. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. 1824. Perennial. (S. B. F. G. 129, under the name of _Nuttallia digitata_.) =C. involucrata= (involucrate).* _fl._ crimson, nearly 2in. across, loosely panicled. Summer. _l._ divided nearly to the base, three to five-parted; segments narrow, lanceolate, three to five-toothed, hairy on both surfaces. Habit procumbent; stems hairy. _h._ 6in. Perennial. (G. W. P. A. 26.) SYN. _Malva involucrata_ (B. M. 4681). =C. Papaver= (Poppy-like).* _fl._ violet-red; sepals ovate-acute, ciliated. Summer. _l._, root leaves lobed or pedate; lower stem leaves palmato-pedate, upper digitate or simple. _h._ 3ft. Louisiana, 1833. Perennial. SYN. _Nuttallia Papaver_. (B. M. 3287.) =C. pedata= (pedate-leaved). _fl._ cherry-red, panicled. August. _l._ laciniately-pedate; upper ones trifid. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. 1824. Annual. (R. H. 1857, 148.) =C. triangulata= (triangular-leaved). _fl._ pale purple. August. 1836. Perennial. SYN. _Nuttallia cordata_ (under which name it is figured in B. R. 1938). =CALLISTACHYS.= _See_ =Oxylobium=. =CALLISTEMMA.= _See_ =Callistephus=. =CALLISTEMON= (from _kallos_, beauty, and _stemon_, a stamen; in most of the species, the stamens are of a beautiful scarlet colour). ORD. _Myrtaceæ_. Handsome greenhouse evergreen shrubs or trees, having the inflorescence rising from the old branches in crowded spikes, as in the species of _Melaleuca_, but with the stamens free, as in _Metrosideros_. Leaves elongated, stiff, alternate, usually lanceolate. All the species of this genus are very ornamental and neat in habit. They are well adapted for a conservatory. The soil best suited for them is a mixture of loam, peat, and sand. Ripened cuttings strike root in sand, under a hand glass; seeds are frequently produced on large plants, and these may also be used to increase the stock, but they do not produce flowering plants for a considerable time; whereas plants raised from cuttings, taken from flowering plants, come into flower when small. =C. linearis= (linear-leaved).* _fl._ scarlet; calyces clothed with velvety pubescence. June. _l._ linear, stiff, acute, keeled beneath, channelled above, villous when young. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. New South Wales, 1788. =C. lophanthus= (crest-flowered). Synonymous with _C. salignus_. =C. salignus= (willow). _fl._ straw-coloured, distinct, spicate, nearly terminal; petals rather pubescent, ciliated; calyx pilose. June to August. _l._ lanceolate, attenuated at both ends, mucronate, one-nerved, villous when young, as well as the branches. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. Australia, 1806. SYN. _C. lophanthus_. (L. B. C. 1302.) =C. speciosus= (showy).* _fl._ scarlet; calyx villous. March to July. _l._ lanceolate, mucronate, flat, middle nerve rather prominent; when young, rather silky from adpressed villi, and reddish. _h._ 5ft. to 10ft. West Australia, 1823. SYN. _Metrosideros speciosa_. See Fig. 327. (B. M. 1761.) [Illustration: FIG. 327. CALLISTEMON SPECIOSUS.] =CALLISTEPHUS= (from _kallistos_, most beautiful, and _stephos_, a crown; in allusion to the appendages on the ripe fruit). China Aster. SYN. _Callistemma_. ORD. _Compositæ_. A hardy annual, requiring an open situation and a rich loamy soil. Involucre of many fringed bracts; receptacle naked, pitted; pappus double. Propagated by seed, sown in a hotbed in March, the seedlings being hardened off and transplanted in May. For culture of these much grown plants and their varieties, _see_ =Aster=. [Illustration: Chrysanthemum-flowered Aster. Truffaut's Pæony-flowered Aster. Victoria Aster. FIG. 328. FLOWER-HEADS OF CALLISTEPHUS CHINENSIS VARS.] =C. chinensis= (Chinese).* _fl-heads_ dark purple. July. _l._ ovate, coarsely toothed, stalked; stem ones sessile, cuneate at the base. Stem hispid. Branches with single heads. _h._ 2ft. China, 1731. See Fig. 328. =CALLITRIS= (probably altered from _kallistos_, most beautiful; referring to the whole plant). ORD. _Coniferæ_. SYN. _Frenela_. Half-hardy evergreen shrubs or small trees, with long, very slender-jointed branches, and often very minute, scale-like, persistent leaves. Flowers mon�cious. Fruit globular, composed of four to six--rarely eight�-unequal, woody, valvate scales, with one or two seeds at the base of each. All the species are somewhat tender, in England, except in the more southern districts. They require a sandy loam compost. Propagated by cuttings, inserted under a handlight in autumn, and protected by a cold pit; or by seeds. =C. quadrivalvis= (four valved). Arar-tree; Sandarach Gum-tree. _fl._, female catkin tetragonal, with four oval valves, each furnished with a point, and two of which bear seeds. February to May. _l._ flattened, articulate. _h._ 15ft. to 20ft. Barbary, 1815. =CALLIXENE.= _See_ =Luzuriaga=. [Illustration: FIG. 329. FLOWERS AND LEAVES OF CALOCHORTUS VENUSTUS.] =CALLOSE.= Callous, hardened. =CALLOUSLY-GLANDULAR.= Having hardened glands. =CALLOUSLY-SERRATED.= Having hardened serratures. =CALLUNA= (from _kalluno_, to sweep, from the use of the plant in brooms). Common Ling; Heather. ORD. _Ericaceæ_. A small hardy spreading shrub, very common throughout Northern and Central Europe. Corolla campanulate, four-lobed, shorter than the calyx. For culture, _see_ =Erica=. =C. vulgaris= (common).* _fl._ disposed in long, terminal, spicate racemes. July to September. _l._ trigonal, obtuse, very short, imbricating in four rows, having the margins revolute and the base sagittate. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. Britain. There are numerous very ornamental varieties of this species, which are admirably adapted for planting in borders and clumps. The white-flowered (_alba_, _Serlii_, and _Hammondi_), flesh-coloured (_carnea_), and double-flowered varieties (_fl.-pl._) are all well worth growing in shrubberies; _aurea_ and _argentea_, with gold and silver coloured shoots, are also very ornamental. The value of the common form can scarcely be over-estimated for planting on barren hill sides or spaces; it affords excellent shelter for game, and food for bees. =CALLUS.= The new formation at the end of a cutting before it puts forth roots; when the Callus is formed, it shows that the cutting is in a healthy state. =CALOCHILUS= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _cheilos_, a lip; referring to the beauty of the labellum or lip). ORD. _Orchideæ_. Interesting greenhouse terrestrial tuberous-rooted orchids, allied to _Epipactis_. Sepals yellowish-green; lip purple, covered with rich brown hairs. For culture, _see_ =Bletia=. =C. campestris= (field). _fl._ greenish and brown. April to June. _l._ narrow, oblong, pointed. Stem leafy, slender, terete. _h._ 9in. Australia, 1824. (B. M. 3187.) =C. paludosus= (marsh).* _fl._ very similar in colour to those of _C. campestris_, but rather larger. May and June. _l._ rather broader. _h._ 9in. Australia, 1823. (F. A. O., part 4.) =CALOCHORTUS= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _chortos_, grass; referring to the leaves). Mariposa Lily. ORD. _Liliaceæ_. Handsome bulbous plants. Flowers showy, on erect scapes; perianth deciduous; three outer segments sepaloid, three inner ones much larger and broader, and bearded on the inside. Leaves ensiform. Bulbs tunicated. These have not, hitherto, been generally grown in the open air with much success; but in warm localities and sheltered positions, they may be flowered outside. A frame, in a sunny situation, is the best possible place for their cultivation. Here they may be fully exposed to the sun and air, during mild weather, through the winter; and, when expedient, they may be protected from excessive moisture, as that is the primary cause of failure, rather than cold, for they are perfectly hardy, and capable of enduring all the frost we are likely to get. From May onwards, the lights might be wholly removed. From the end of June to August, the bulbs will be in bloom, when, if necessary, the flowers should be fertilised to secure seed; and when the capsules are forming, material assistance would be given by placing the lights on again, allowing plenty of air. Assuming that fresh bulbs are being planted, they should be in the soil early in the autumn, as nothing is more prejudicial than keeping them dry through the winter. A good depth of soil should be provided, composed of fibrous loam, leaf soil, and sand, in equal proportions, in a well-drained position. The bulbs must be planted 3in. deep, and some sand placed about them; they may be left undisturbed for years. Of course, where no frame can be provided, they may be planted in a well-drained, sunny position in the same soil. They are also easily managed in pots, but it is necessary to pot in the autumn, and keep in a frame. Through the winter, they must never be allowed to get dry, until the leaves are withering in the autumn, when water may be withheld. _Propagation._ This may be effected by seeds or offsets, and by the tiny bulbs frequently produced on the upper portion of the stem. Sow seeds in pans, in a cool house or frame, as soon as ripe, or in the early part of the year, and keep the plants close to the glass during their early stages, as they are very liable to damp off. Sow thinly, so as to enable the young plants to pass a second season in the seed pots or pans. Early in the third season, pot off and plant out singly, encouraging them to grow freely. Propagation by offsets is the most usual method. With liberal treatment, most of the species increase pretty freely. The offsets are best removed when the plants are in a dormant state. They may be either grown in pots or pans, or planted out in pits or frames, until they reach flowering size. During the season of rest, it is the safest plan, with those in pots, to keep them in the earth in which they were grown. =C. albus= (white).* _fl._ snow-white, with a rich blotch, bearded and ciliated, large, globose, pendent; umbels many-flowered, on stems from 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. high. California, 1832. This handsome species is rare. SYN. _Cyclobothra alba_. (B. R. 1661.) =C. Benthami= (Bentham's).* _fl._ rich yellow; petals obtuse, densely covered with yellow hairs; stem three to six-flowered. July, August. _l._ linear, much elongated. _h._ 4in. to 8in. Sierra Nevada. SYN. _C. elègans lutea_. =C. c�ruleus= (bluish).* _fl._ lilac, more or less lined and dotted with dark blue, the petals covered and fringed with slender hairs; stem two to five-flowered. July. _l._ solitary, linear. _h._ 3in. to 6in. Sierra Nevada. =C. elegans= (elegant).* _fl._ greenish-white, purplish at base; stems three-flowered; petals not ciliate on the margin, or sparingly so. June. _h._ 8in. California, 1826. This is a rare species. =C. e. lutea= (yellow). A synonym of _C. Benthami_. =C. Gunnisoni= (Gunnison's).* _fl._ light lilac, yellowish-green below the middle, with a purple band encircling the base of the perianth; large, 2in. to 3in. in diameter. Rocky Mountains. =C. Leichtlinii= (Leichtlin's). A synonym of _C. Nuttallii_. =C. lilacinus= (lilac).* _fl._ pale pink, hairy below the middle, 1-1/2in. across, with three segments narrow and three broad; scape slender, leafy, bearing one to five flowers. _l._ solitary, narrow lanceolate, radical. _h._ 6in. to 8in. California, 1868. SYN. _C. umbellatus_. (B. M. 5804, under the name of _C. uniflorus_.) =C. luteus= (yellow).* _fl._ terminal, two or three together; exterior segments of the perianth greenish; the inner yellow, bordered with purple hairs. September. _h._ 1ft. California, 1831. (B. R. 1567.) =C. l. oculatus= (eyed). _fl._ very charming bright yellow, with a bold eye on the inside of each petal. =C. macrocarpus= (large-capsuled). _fl._ very large, lavender-coloured, on stems 1ft. high. August. California, 1826. (B. R. 1152.) =C. Maweanus= (Mawe's). _fl._, sepals purplish, broadly obovate acute; petals white or bluish-purple, longer than the sepals, the surfaces more or less covered with long purplish hairs. June, July. _l._ glaucous, linear. Stem three to six-flowered. _h._ 6in. to 10in. San Francisco, &c. (B. M. 5976, figured under the name of _C. elegans_.) =C. Nuttallii= (Nuttall's).* _fl._ large, 2-1/2in. across; the three smaller segments of the perianth of a greenish colour streaked with red; the three larger segments pure white, with a purple spot at the base on the inner surface; two or three flowers on a stalk. June. _l._ linear, glaucous. _h._ 6in. California, 1869. SYN. _C. Leichtlinii_. (B. M. 5862.) =C. pulchellus= (beautiful).* _fl._ bright yellow, globular, drooping; umbels three to five-flowered, on stems from 10in. to 12in. high. Summer. California, 1832. A lovely species. (B. R. 1662.) SYN. _Cyclobothra pulchella_. =C. purpureus= (purple).* _fl._, outer segments of the perianth green and purple outside and yellow within; inner segments purple outside and yellow within. August. _h._ 3ft. Mexico, 1827. (S. B. F. G. ser. ii., 20.) =C. splendens= (splendid).* _fl._ clear lilac, large. August. _h._ 1-1/2ft. California, 1832. (B. R. 1676.) =C. umbellatus= (umbelled). A synonym of _C. lilacinus_. =C. venustus= (charming).* _fl._ large, white, nearly 3in. in diameter, yellow at the base, deeply stained with crimson, and blotched on each segment with crimson. _h._ 1-1/2ft. California, 1836. See Fig. 329. (B. R. 1669.) There are three varieties of this species, viz., _brachysepalus_ (short-sepaled), _lilacinus_ (lilac), and _purpureus_ (purple-flowered). =CALODENDRON= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _dendron_, a tree). ORD. _Rutaceæ_. A very handsome greenhouse evergreen tree. Flowers in terminal panicles. Leaves large, opposite, simple, crenated. It will grow freely in a mixture of loam and peat. Cuttings of half-ripened wood root in sand if placed under a bell glass, in gentle bottom heat. =C. capensis= (Cape). _fl._ flesh-coloured; pedicels compressed, dilated under the flower; panicle trichotomously divided. Branches opposite, or three in a whorl. _h._ 40ft. Cape of Good Hope, 1789. This is supposed to be one of the finest trees at the Cape of Good Hope. (G. C., 1883, xix., 217.) See Fig 330, for which we are indebted to Mr. Bull. =CALODRACON.= _See_ =Cordyline=. =CALONYCTION.= _See_ =Ipom�a=. =CALOPHACA= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _phake_, a lentil; in allusion to the beauty of the plant, and to its being one of the leguminous kind). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A hardy deciduous shrub, with axillary pedunculate racemes of yellow flowers, and impari-pinnate leaves. This is well adapted for the front of shrubberies. It is somewhat difficult to propagate, except by seeds, which, however, in fine seasons, are produced in abundance. Grafted high on the common Laburnum, it forms an object at once singular, picturesque, and beautiful, whether covered with blossoms, or with its fine reddish pods. =C. wolgarica= (Volga).* _fl._ yellow. May, June. _l._, leaflets six or seven pairs, orbicular, velvety beneath, as well as the calyces. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Siberia, 1786. (W. D. B. 83.) =CALOPHANES= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _phaino_, to appear; alluding to the flowers). ORD. _Acanthaceæ_. A genus of about thirty species, widely distributed, principally in the tropical regions of both hemispheres. The best garden plant is that mentioned below; it is an interesting hardy herbaceous perennial, excellent for growing in borders, in loam and peat, or sandy loam soil; and may be propagated by dividing the roots, in March. =C. oblongifolia= (oblong-leaved).* _fl._ blue; corolla funnel-shaped, throat ventricose, limb bilobed, nearly equal; tube of corolla one-half longer than the calyx; pedicels axillary. August. _l._ opposite, oblong-spathulate, entire, acuminated. _h._ 1ft. Florida, &c., 1832. (S. B. F. G., ser. ii., 181.) =CALOPHYLLUM= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _phyllon_, a leaf; the leaves are large, of a beautiful green, and elegantly veined). ORD. _Guttiferæ_. Fine stove evergreen trees. Flowers disposed in axillary racemes. Leaves furnished with numerous transverse, parallel nerves. They thrive in a compost of loam, sand, and peat. Cuttings of half-ripened shoots will root in sand, if placed under a glass, in bottom heat. =C. Calaba.= Calaba-tree. _fl._ white, sweet-scented, loosely racemose; racemes lateral, very short. _fr._ green. _l._ obovate or oblong, obtuse or emarginate. _h._ 30ft. West Indies, &c., 1780. =C. inophyllum= (fibrous-leaved). _fl._ snow-white, sweet-scented, loosely racemose; racemes axillary; peduncles one-flowered, usually opposite. _fr._ reddish, the size of a walnut. _l._ oblong or obovate, obtuse, but usually emarginate. Branches round. Tropics of the Old World, 1793. A medium-sized tree. [Illustration: FIG. 330. CALODENDRON CAPENSIS.] =CALOPOGON= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _pogon_, a beard; in reference to the fringe on the lip). ORD. _Orchideæ_. Very pretty, hardy, tuberous-rooted orchids, admirably suited for a good shady position at the foot of the rockwork, or for an open situation in a hardy fernery. Propagated by offsets, taken from the tuberous roots; but this method of increase is very uncertain. Perhaps the only species in cultivation is the following: =C. pulchellus= (beautiful).* _fl._ purple, with a very pretty pale yellow beard or tuft of hairs growing from the lip; two or three to a plant. Late summer. _l._ few, radical, grass-like. _h._ 1-1/2ft. North America. 1791. SYN. _Limodorum tuberosum_. (S. B. F. G. 115.) =CALOSANTHES INDICA.= A synonym of _Oroxylum indicum_. =CALOSCORDUM= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _skorodon_, garlic). ORD. _Liliaceæ_. A genus of half-hardy bulbs, allied to _Allium_, but now referred to _Nothoscordum_. For culture, _see_ =Calochortus=. =C. nerinæflorum= (Nerine-flowered).* _fl._ rose; umbels about twelve-flowered; spathe one-valved. June and July. _l._ narrow, semi-terete, channelled above. _h._ 6in. Chusan, 1843. (B. R. 1847, 5.) =CALOSTEMMA= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _stemma_, a crown). ORD. _Amaryllidaceæ_. Handsome greenhouse bulbous plants, natives of New Holland. Flowers funnel-shaped, irregular; perianth with the orifice surmounted by a corona; stamens erect, united by their dilated bases; ovary three-celled, many-seeded. Leaves linear-lorate. =C. album= (white). _fl._ white. May. _l._ ovate, acute, 3in. to 5in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad. _h._ 1ft. 1824. =C. luteum= (yellow). _fl._ yellow. November. _l._ strap-shaped, narrow. _h._ 1ft. 1819. (B. M. 2101.) =C. purpureum= (purple). _fl._ purple. November. _l._ like those of _C. luteum_. _h._ 1ft. 1819. (B. M. 2100.) =CALOTHAMNUS= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _thamnos_, a shrub; in reference to the elegance of the shrubs, from their scarlet flowers and terete leaves). ORD. _Myrtaceæ_. Greenhouse evergreen shrubs. Flowers scarlet, axillary and solitary, sessile. Leaves scattered, crowded, terete. They require much the same culture as _Callistemon_. Cuttings of young wood, firm at the base, will root in sand, if covered by a hand glass, which requires to be occasionally taken off and wiped, to prevent damp. =C. quadrifidus= (four-cleft). _fl._ scarlet, somewhat secund; bundles of stamens four, distinct, equal. July. _l._ glabrous (as well as the flowers). _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. West Australia, 1803. (B. M. 1506.) =C. villosa= (villous). _fl._ scarlet, quinquefid; bundles of stamens equal, distinct. July to September. _l._ villous (as well as the fruit). _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. West Australia, 1823. (B. R. 1099.) =CALOTIS= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _ous_, _otos_, an ear; in reference to the chaffy scales of the pappus, or seed-head). Allied to _Bellium_. ORD. _Compositæ_. Greenhouse or half-hardy herbaceous perennials, rarely annuals, all natives of Australia. Receptacle naked; involucre nearly equal, many-leaved, in a single or double row. They may be grown successfully in any ordinary garden soil. Propagated by divisions of the root. =C. cuneifolia= (wedge-leaved).* _fl.-heads_ blue, solitary, terminal. July and August. _l._ cuneate, cut, toothed at end. _h._ 1ft. 1819. Greenhouse herbaceous perennial. (B. R. 504.) =CALOTROPIS= (from _kalos_, beautiful, and _tropis_, a keel; literally "beautifully twisted," apparently in reference to the corolla of _C. gigantea_). ORD. _Asclepiadeæ_. A genus of stove evergreen shrubs, or small trees. The three species bear large handsome flowers, in interpetiolar umbels. They thrive best in a mixture of loam, sand, and peat. Young cuttings, thinly dibbled in a pot of sand, strike root freely under a hand glass, in heat. Care must be taken that they do not receive an excess of moisture, or they will rot. =C. gigantea= (gigantic).* _fl._ very handsome, a mixture of rose and purple; corona shorter than the gynostegium, obtuse, circinately recurved at the base; umbels sometimes, though rarely, compound, surrounded by several involucral scales. July. _l._ decussate, broad, wedge-shaped, bearded on the upper side at the base, woolly-downy on the under side, 4in. to 6in. long, 2in. to 3in. broad. _h._ 6ft. to 15ft. India, &c., 1690. (B. R. i. 58.) =C. procera= (tall). _fl._ white; petals spreading, marked at the top by a purple spot. July. _l._ obovate-oblong, on short petioles, whitish from wool. _h._ 6ft. Persia, 1714. (B. R. 1792.) =CALPICARPUM.= _See_ =Kopsia=. =CALPIDIA.= A synonym of =Pisonia= (which _see_). =CALTHA= (a syncope of _kalathos_, a goblet; in allusion to the form of the perianth, which may be likened to a golden cup). Marsh Marigold. ORD. _Ranunculaceæ_. Hardy herbaceous perennials, of easy culture on the margin of a piece of water, or in a marshy bog, or in the ordinary border, where their showy blossoms look very brilliant. Propagation is readily effected by dividing the roots, in early spring, or in summer after flowering. =C. leptosepala= (slender-sepaled).* _fl._ pure white, one to two upon erect, scape-like peduncles. May, June. _l._ radical, cordate, the margins nearly entire, or sometimes crenate. _h._ 1ft. Northwestern America, 1827. (H. F. B. A. 1, 10.) [Illustration: FIG. 331. CALTHA PALUSTRIS MONSTROSA PLENA.] =C. palustris= (marsh).* _fl._ golden-coloured, large; peduncles furrowed. Spring. _l._ cordate, somewhat orbicular, roundly-crenate, with rounded auricles. Stems dichotomous, erect. _h._ 1ft. Great Britain. (Sy. En. B. 40.) The double forms of this species, under the names of _nana plena_ and _monstrosa plena_ (see Fig. 331) are excellent plants, and, though growing best in the immediate vicinity of water, and most appropriate for rough scenery, they, like the type, do very well in ordinary well-enriched soil. A variety named _purpurascens_, from Southern Europe, is also showy, more erect, and branching; the shoots and pedicels purplish. =C. p. biflora= (two-flowered). A twin-flowered variety of _C. palustris_. North America, 1827. This is not quite so tall as the type, and the flowers are rather larger. =C. p. parnassifolia= (Parnassia-leaved). _fl._ yellow, on few-flowered peduncles. April, May. _l._ cordate-ovate, crenated. _h._ 3in. to 4in. North America, 1815. =C. radicans= (rooting).* _fl._ bright yellow, several in small cyme. April, May. _l._ reniform-cordate, sharply crenate-serrate, spreading. _h._ 6in. Scotland. (Sy. En. B. 41.) =CALTROPS.= _See_ =Tribulus=. =CALTROPS, WATER.= _See_ =Trapa natans=. =CALUMBA, FALSE.= _See_ =Coscinium fenestratum=. =CALUMBA ROOT.= _See_ =Jateorrhiza Calumba=. =CALUMBA WOOD.= _See_ _Coscinium fenestratum_. =CALYCANTHACE�.= A natural order of shrubs, with square stems, having four woody axes surrounding the central one. Flowers solitary, lurid; calyx of numerous coloured sepals compounded with the petals. Leaves opposite, entire, exstipulate. The two genera known are _Calycanthus_ and _Chimonanthus_. =CALYCANTHUS= (from _kalyx_, _kalykos_, a calyx, and _anthos_, a flower; in reference to the calyx being coloured, and appearing like a corolla). Allspice. ORD. _Calycanthaceæ_. A genus of hardy, deciduous, North American shrubs. Flowers lurid purple, axillary, and terminal, stalked, sweet-scented; stamens numerous. Leaves opposite, oval or ovate-lanceolate, entire, generally rough on the surface; sweet-scented. All are handsome and well worth growing. They thrive best in a peaty compost, but grow freely in almost any soil. Increased by layers, put down in the summer; or by seed, sown as soon as ripe, or in spring, in a cold frame. =C. floridus= (Floridan).* Carolina Allspice. _fl._ with a sweet apple scent. May. _l._ ovate, downy beneath, as well as the branchlets. Branches spreading. Wood and roots smelling strongly of camphor. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. Carolina, 1726. See Fig. 332. (B. M. 503.) There are several varieties of this species. [Illustration: FIG. 332. FLOWERING BRANCH OF CALYCANTHUS FLORIDUS.] =C. glaucus= (glaucous).* _fl._ lurid purple, not strongly scented. May. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, acuminated, glaucous and pubescent beneath. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. Carolina, 1726. SYN. _C. fertilis_. (B. R. 404.) _C. oblongifolius_ is a variety with ovate-lanceolate elongated leaves. [Illustration: FIG. 333. FLOWERING BRANCH OF CALYCANTHUS L�VIGATUS.] =C. lævigatus= (smooth-leaved).* _fl._ lurid purple. May. _l._ oblong, thin, either blunt or taper-pointed, bright green, and glabrous, or nearly so, on both sides, or rather pale beneath. Branches strictly erect. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. Mountains of Pennsylvania, &c., 1806. See Fig. 333. (B. R. 481.) =C. macrophyllus= (large-leaved). A garden synonym of _C. occidentalis_. =C. occidentalis= (Western).* _fl._ brick-red, sweet-scented, 3in. to 4in. across, each petal about 2in. long and 1/2in. broad. June to October. _l._ oblong or ovate-cordate, acuminate, slightly pubescent on the veins only beneath. _h._ 6ft. to 12ft. California, 1831. In California, this is called the Sweet-scented Shrub. SYN. _C. macrophyllus_, of gardens. (B. M. 4808.) =CALYCIFLOR�.= A sub-division of dicotyledonous plants, having the stamens inserted on the calyx or disk. =CALYCIFORM.= Formed like a calyx. =CALYCINE.= Of, or belonging to, the calyx. =CALYCOPHYLLUM= (from _kalyx_, a calyx, and _phyllon_, a leaf; in allusion to one of the teeth of the calyx being expanded into a large petiolate coloured leaf). ORD. _Rubiaceæ_. Stove evergreen shrubs, requiring a compost of loam, peat, and a little sand and charcoal. Cuttings of half ripe shoots will root in sand if placed under a bell glass, in bottom heat. =C. candidissimum= (whitest).* _fl._, corolla white, campanulate, with a bearded throat, three together, the middle one bearing a petiolate leaf, but the two lateral ones naked; corymbs terminal. _l._ ovate, bluntly acuminated, 2in. to 3in. long. _h._ 30ft. Cuba, 1830. =CALYCOTOME= (from _kalyx_, _kalykos_, calyx, and _tome_, a section; lips of calyx fall off). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A small genus of hardy, divaricately-branched, spiny shrubs, formerly included as a section of _Cytisus_. Flowers yellow, disposed in short branched leafy fasicles. For culture, _see_ =Cytisus=. =C. spinosa= (spiny). _fl._ yellow. June and July. _l._, leaflets obovate-oblong. Branches angular, spiny. _h._ 5ft. to 6ft. Genoa, Corsica, &c., 1846. (B. R. 55.) =CALYCULATE.= Having bracts so placed as to resemble an external or additional calyx. =CALYMMODON.= _See_ =Polypodium=. =CALYPSO= (from the beautiful nymph, _Calypso_, or from Greek _kalypto_, to conceal; in reference to its place of growth). ORD. _Orchideæ_. An elegant terrestrial monotypic genus. It thrives well in half-shady spots on the margins of a rock garden or artificial bog, in a light, moist, vegetable soil, composed of peat, leaf soil, and sand, mulched with cocoa-nut fibre refuse in winter. Propagated by offsets. =C. borealis= (Northern).* _fl._ solitary, delicate rose and brown, with a yellow crest on the lip; labellum longer than the sepals, the lateral lobes cohering in their upper part over the saccate central one, which is usually bifid at the tip, resembling those of a Cypripedium. Summer. _l._ solitary, thin, many-nerved, ovate or cordate. Stems usually thickening into pseudo-bulbs. _h._ 1ft. High latitudes of Northern hemisphere, 1820. (B. M. 2763.) =CALYPTRA.= Literally an extinguisher; applied to the hood which covers the theca in mosses. =CALYPTRANTHES= (from _kalyptra_, a covering, and _anthos_, a flower; in allusion to the operculum of the flower). ORD. _Myrtaceæ_. Strong-growing stove evergreen shrubs or small trees. Peduncles axillary, many-flowered. Leaves feather-veined. They are of easy culture, in a compost of loam and peat, and may be propagated by layers, or by cuttings, placed in heat. =C. Chytraculia= (Chytraculia). _fl._ white, small, glomerate; peduncles axillary and terminal, trichotomous, panicled, and are, as well as the flowers, clothed with rufous velvety down. March. _l._ ovate, attenuated at the apex, stiffish, glabrous. _h._ 10ft. Jamaica, 1778. (N. S. 1, 26.) =C. Syzygium= (Syzygium). _fl._ white, on short pedicels; peduncles axillary, trichotomous, many-flowered. May to July. _l._ ovate, obtuse, stiff. _h._ 10ft. to 12ft. Jamaica, 1779. =CALYPTRARIA.= _See_ =Centronia=. =CALYPTRATE.= Resembling an extinguisher. =CALYPTRIFORM.= Shaped like an extinguisher. =CALYPTRION.= _See_ =Corynostylis=. =CALYPTROCALYX= (from _kalyptra_, an extinguisher, and _kalyx_, a calyx, in allusion to the form of the outer perianth segments). ORD. _Palmeæ_. A monotypic genus of stove palms. For culture, _see_ =Calamus=. =C. spicatus= (spiked). _fl._, spadices elongated, spicate, leafy at base; spathe opening longitudinally. _l._ terminal, pinnatisect; segments reduplicate, linear, acuminate, bifid at the apex; petiole fibrous at the base. Caudex finally smooth. _h._ 12ft. Moluccas. SYNS. _Areca_ and _Pinanga globosa_. =CALYPTROGYNE= (from _kalyptra_, an extinguisher, and _gyne_, a woman--pistil--in allusion to the form of the pistil). Including _Calyptronoma_. ORD. _Palmeæ_. A small genus comprising five species of handsome stove palms, allied to _Geonoma_ (which _see_ for cultivation). =C. Ghiesbreghtiana= (Ghiesbreght's). _fl._, peduncles erect, overtopping the leaves, bearing a single cylindrical, undivided spadix, 9in. to 12in. in length. _l._ pinnate, 2ft. to 5ft. long; pinnæ opposite or alternate, sessile, of unequal breadth, the narrower ones one to two-nerved, the broader ones six to ten-nerved, usually from six to twelve on each side of the rachis; the intervals between the pinnæ vary from 1in. to 2in.; petiole broadly sheathing at the base, from a few inches to 1-1/2ft. long. Stem short or absent. Mexico. A very elegant dwarf-growing species. SYNS. _Geonoma Ghiesbreghtiana_, _G. magnifica_ and _G. Verschaffeltii_. (B. M. 5782.) =C. spicigera= (ear-bearing). _l._ irregularly pinnate, 2ft. to 3ft. long, 1ft. broad, deeply bifid at apex, rich bright green; petioles short, sheathing at the base, flat on the upper side, rounded below. Stems stout. _h._ 5ft. Guatemala. A very elegant species. =C. Swartzii= (Swartz's). _l._ equally pinnatisect; pinnæ deeply reduplicate at the base, bifid at the top. Trunk smooth. _h._ 50ft. to 60ft. Jamaica, 1878. A handsome plant when young, and useful for general decorative purposes. SYN. _Calyptronoma Swartzii_. =CALYPTRONOMA SWARTZII.= _See_ =Calyptrogyne Swartzii=. =CALYSTEGIA= (from _kalyx_, a calyx, and _stege_, a covering; in reference to the two large persistent bracts enclosing the calyx). Bearbind. ORD. _Convolvulaceæ_. Hardy, glabrous, twining or prostrate herbs. Peduncles solitary, one-flowered; corolla campanulate, five-plicate. All the species are of easy cultivation in common garden soil. Propagation may be effected by dividing the plants; or by seeds, sown in spring. =C. dahurica= (Dahurian).* _fl._, corolla of a rosy-purple; sepals lanceolate, acute, the two outer ones broadest; peduncles tetragonal, tomentose; bracts broad-ovate, acute, longer than the calyx. July. _l._ glabrous or hairy, oblong-cordate, having the margins and nerves on the under side tomentose. Dahuria, 1826. (B. M. 2609.) =C. inflata= (inflated). Synonymous with _C. sepium incarnata_. [Illustration: FIG. 334. FLOWERING BRANCH OF CALYSTEGIA PUBESCENS FLORE-PLENO.] =C. pubescens flore-pleno= (downy, double-flowered).* _fl._ 2in. to 3in. across; petals long, narrow, wavy, and reflexed, flesh-colour, but ultimately bright rose; pedicels 2-1/2in. to 3-1/2in. long. Summer and autumn. _l._ alternate, hastate, downy. China, 1844. See Fig. 334. =C. sepium= (hedge). Common Bindweed. _fl._ white, sometimes tinged with red; peduncles tetragonal, exceeding the petioles; bracts cordate, keeled, acute, longer than the calyx, but one-half shorter than the corolla. Summer. _l._ sagittate or cordate, very acute; hind lobes obtuse, or truncate, entire. Britain. A very troublesome weed. (Sy. En. B. 924.) There is a variety named _incarnata_, with rose-coloured flowers. North America. SYN. _C. inflata_. (B. M. 732.) =C. Soldanella= (Soldanella-like).* Sea Bells. _fl._ pale red, with five longitudinal, yellowish plaits, large; peduncles angular, angles winged; bracts large, ovate, blunt, mucronate, generally shorter than the calyx. June. _l._ rather fleshy, reniform, entire or a little angular. Sea-shores, Britain. This pretty species can only be grown with success in a very sandy soil. (Sy. En. B. 925.) =CALYTHRIX= (from _kalyx_, a calyx, and _thrix_, a hair; in reference to the lobes of the calyx, which each end in a long hair). ORD. _Myrtaceæ_. A genus of very pretty and interesting greenhouse Heath-like shrubs, natives of Australia. Flowers small; bracteoles two under each flower; they are either free or joined together at the base, sometimes in the form of an operculum. Leaves scattered, crowded, opposite, full of dots, axillary, solitary, almost sessile. They grow well in a mixture of loam, peat, and sand, with good drainage and firm potting. Cuttings, made from young shoots, will root in April or May, if placed in sand, under a bell glass, in a cool house. =C. ericoides= (Heath-like). A synonym of _C. tetragona_. =C. glabra= (glabrous). A synonym of _C. tetragona_. =C. tetragona= (tetragonal).* _fl._ white; bracts one-half shorter than the tube of the calyx. _l._ scattered, petiolate, glabrous; stipules deciduous. _h._ 2ft. 1825. SYNS. _C. ericoides_, _C. glabra_. (B. R. 409.) _C. angulata_, _aurea_, and _breviseta_ are other species which have been introduced, but are not worth house room when that described above is grown. =CALYX.= The external whorl of floral leaves. =CAMARIDIUM= (from _kamara_, an arched roof; in reference to the arched tip of the stigma). ORD. _Orchideæ_. A pretty stove orchid, allied to _Cymbidium_. It thrives best if grown in a shallow basket, or raised above the surface of the pots with sphagnum and broken pots. =C. ochroleucum= (yellowish-white).* _fl._ yellowish-white. July. _l._ ligulate. Pseudo-bulbs oblong, compressed, smooth. _h._ 1ft. Trinidad, 1823. SYN. _Cymbidium ochroleucum_. (B. M. 4141.) =CAMAROTIS.= _See_ =Sarcochilus=. [Illustration: FIG. 335. CAMASSIA ESCULENTA.] =CAMASSIA= (from _Quamash_, so called by the North American Indians, who eat the bulbs). SYN. _Sitocodium_. ORD. _Liliaceæ_. A small genus (two species) of handsome bulbous plants. Perianth of six segments, slightly connected at base, and spreading out horizontally, but not equally. Leaves narrow, about 1ft. long, grooved down the inside. They thrive best in a sheltered, partially-shaded situation, but will do fairly well in almost any ordinary good garden soil. A compost of loam and leaf mould, with a liberal mixture of sharp sand, suits them best. They need not be disturbed for several years; but a top-dressing of rich soil or well-rotted manure may be given yearly. Propagated by offsets and seeds. The plants are so hardy that they ripen seeds in warm situations. These may be sown as soon as ripe, or the following spring, either in a warm situation out of doors, or in pots or boxes, under glass. The young plants make rapid progress, and should remain for at least two years in the seed beds. The best time for final transplanting is in February. Offsets are produced very freely, and should be removed either when in a dormant condition, or just previously to starting into fresh growth, and arranged in clumps or lines, placing a little sand about them. =C. esculenta= (edible).* Camash or Quamash. _fl._ blue, about 2in. across; racemes loose, ten to twenty-flowered, borne on stout scapes; perianth six-cleft, the five upper segments close together, the sixth standing by itself. Summer. _l._ linear, about 1ft. high. Columbia, &c., 1837. The colour of the flowers varies from a deep blue to nearly white. See Fig. 335. (B. R. 1486.) The white-flowered form is figured in B. M. 2774, under the name of _Scilla esculenta flore albo_. =C. e. Leichtlini= (Leichtlin's).* _fl._ creamy-white, larger than those of the type, with more numerous nerves in the keel of the segments of the perianth; racemes longer, and sometimes compound. Spring. _h._ 2ft. Columbia, 1853. This also differs from the type in its more robust habit and broader leaves. SYN. _Chlorogalum Leichtlini_. (B. M. 6287.) =C. Fraseri= (Fraser's).* _fl._ pale blue, smaller than those of _C. esculenta_; pedicels and scape much more slender. _l._ narrow, acute; capsule more acutely angled. _h._ 1ft. Eastern States of North America. A smaller and more slender plant. (B. M. 1574, as _Scilla esculenta_.) =CAMBESSEDESIA= (named after James Cambessedes, coadjutor of Auguste St. Hilaire, in his "Flora Brasiliæ Meridionalis," and author of several botanical memoirs). ORD. _Melastomaceæ_. A genus of elegant, erect, or ascending, dichotomously branched stove shrubs or herbaceous plants. Flowers terminal and axillary, in paniculate cymes; petals five, obovate; calyx bell-shaped. Leaves sessile, opposite or verticillate, obovate, oblong or linear. They thrive best in a compost of peat and sand. Propagated by half-ripened cuttings, which root freely in a similar mixture, if placed in heat and under a hand glass. There are about eight species known to science, but probably that mentioned below is the only one in cultivation. =C. paraguayensis= (Paraguay). _fl._ rose-red, 2/3in. in diameter, in terminal corymbose, glandular, hairy panicles. July. _l._ nearly 1in. long, sessile, ovate, acute, three-nerved, pale green, with entire ciliate margins. Stem annual, herbaceous, leafy. _h._ 10in. to 18in. 1880. (B. M. 6604.) =CAMBIUM.= The formative fluid found between the bark and wood of Exogens, in spring. =CAMBUY FRUIT.= _See_ =Eugenia=. =CAMELLIA= (named in honour of George Joseph Camellus or Kamel, a Moravian Jesuit and traveller in Asia, who wrote a history of the plants of the Isle of Luzon, which is inserted in the third vol. of John Ray's "Historia Plantarum"). Japanese Rose. Including _Thea._ ORD. _Ternstr�miaceæ_. A genus of elegant hardy or nearly hardy evergreen shrubs or trees. Flowers large; sepals five or six, gradually passing from bracts into petals, the latter slightly cohering at the base; stamens numerous. Leaves coriaceous. By close attention to a few particulars in the management of these beautiful plants, much disappointment may be avoided, and a succession of flowers obtained from October till the following July. The fact of the buds frequently dropping off, deters many would-be growers from attempting the culture of the Camellia. Dryness of the atmosphere, and want of water at the roots, are generally the primary causes of failure; the remedy for these evils rests with the cultivator. The roots are apt to get matted together, compressing the earth around them into a hard ball, impervious to water; hence attention is necessary to see that the water poured into the pot thoroughly moistens all the soil. In order to form handsome plants, they should be trained with single stems to rods, and pruned, so as to make them throw out side branches from every part of the stem; they must not be placed too close to each other on the stage, or when planted out. A liberal supply of water is always necessary, but especially so during the flowering period. Plants that are required to flower early may remain in the warm house till they commence to blossom, when they should be removed to a cold place, such as the back of a greenhouse, giving them plenty of light. Those kept in a hothouse or vinery during summer, will flower in the beginning or middle of October; and a large plant, having from fifty to one hundred buds, will continue in flower till the month of January. Those that are removed early, will blossom in January, and so succeed the others. The plants that have finished flowering should be brought back to the hothouse, where they will begin to make new wood, and be ready to come in succession next season. By thus shifting the plants from a warm to a cold situation, a regular succession will be secured from October to July. The soil should be kept constantly moist, and in the summer months the leaves occasionally syringed. Camellias flower best when kept in small pots or tubs. In order to raise and exhibit these handsome plants to the best advantage, they should be grown in a separate house, of ample height, as they never look so well as when 6ft. or 8ft. high, trained in a conical form, with branches from the root upwards; and the plants should be raised near to the glass on a movable stage, which should be lowered as they grow. In summer, they may either be placed in the open air in a sheltered spot, or the glass roof of the house can be taken off. The hardier sorts, such as the Double-red, Blush, and Pæony-flowered, succeed in the bed or border of a conservatory, if the roof can be taken off in summer, so as to admit air. If this cannot be managed, they are better grown in portable pots or boxes. The most suitable time for shifting Camellias is directly after flowering; they should then be put into a vinery or hothouse, where there is a little heat; or the warmest part of a greenhouse. They will soon begin to make new wood, where they should be allowed to remain, amply supplied with water, till they form their flower buds, at the extremity and sides of the young growth. A few should then be removed to a cold place, and shaded during strong sunshine. In a few weeks afterwards, others may also be transferred, so as to have a regular succession of flowering plants. _Propagation._ The red Camellias are generally propagated by layers, but cuttings will also succeed; the single red Camellia being raised by either cuttings, layers, or seeds. This latter forms suitable stocks on which to inarch or graft the rarer kinds. The ripened shoots of the preceding summer should be taken off in August, cutting them smoothly at a joint or bud. Two or three of the lower leaves should be taken off, and the cuttings planted firmly in the soil with a dibble. Some growers use peat earth and sand to strike in, while others prefer a loam mixed with sand and peat. The pans containing the cuttings should be kept in a plant or cold frame, without being covered with glasses, but shaded during powerful sunshine. In the following spring, such as have struck will begin to push, when they need to be placed in a gentle heat. The following September or October, the rooted plants will be fit to pot off, and in the second or third spring they may be used as stocks. Inarching or grafting is done in early spring, as soon as growth commences. When this process is completed, care must be taken to fix the pot containing the stock so that it may not be disturbed during the connection of the scion with the parent plant. The grafting being clayed over, is then covered with moss, to prevent its cracking. When independent grafting is resorted to, the mode called "side grafting" is generally employed, as in the case of Orange-trees; but the operation of tongueing is generally omitted, as tending to weaken the stock. Liquid or other manure is not required; nor is it desirable to apply it, as it often, sooner or later, causes the destruction of the plants. As a rule, insects do not trouble this class of plants; but scale will sometimes appear, and can easily be removed by hand. Thrips occasionally put in an appearance, but a little smoke will quickly get rid of them. =C. euryoides= (Eurya-like). _fl._ white; peduncles lateral, one-flowered, scaly. May to July. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, acuminate, serrated, silky beneath. Branches hairy. _h._ 4ft. China, 1822. (B. R. 983.) [Illustration: FIG. 336. FLOWERING BRANCH OF CAMELLIA JAPONICA.] =C. japonica= (Japanese).* Common Camellia. _fl._ variously coloured, axillary, sessile. _l._ ovate, acuminate, acutely serrated. _h._ 20ft. Japan and China, 1739. The innumerable hybrids are chiefly the offspring of this species. See Fig. 336. [Illustration: FIG. 337. FLOWER OF CAMELLIA JAPONICA ANEMON�FLORA.] =C. j. anemonæflora= (Anemone-flowered). All, or nearly all, the stamens, &c., in this variety are transformed into small petaloid bodies, and the flower has the general aspect of a double Anemone. See Fig. 337. (B. M. 1654.) [Illustration: FIG. 338. FLOWER OF CAMELLIA OLEIFERA.] =C. oleifera= (oil-yielding).* _fl._ white, very numerous, fragrant, solitary. November. _l._ elliptic-oblong, acute, serrated, coriaceous, shining. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. China, 1820. See Fig. 338. (B. R. 942.) =C. reticulata= (netted-leaved). _fl._ bright rose, large, semi-double. l. oblong, acuminated, serrated, flat, reticulated. _h._ 10ft. China, 1824. There is a form of this species with full double flowers. =C. theifera= (Tea-bearing). _fl._ white, spreading, of five sepals and five petals, axillary. November to spring. _l._ elliptical-oblong, obtuse, serrated, more than twice as long as broad, dark green. _h._ 2ft. to 6ft. China, Japan, and India, 1780. This species varies very considerably. In different countries, it has become modified by cultivation. The Green and Black Teas, formerly supposed to be produced by different species, are obtained from the same bushes, but subjected to different processes. Less-known species are: _drupifera_, _lanceolata_, _rosæflora_, and _Sasanqua_. The true species are rarely seen in cultivation. The following is a selection of the best forms of _C. japonica_; the list is a limited one, and is capable of great extension: ALBA PLENA,* double white; ARCHIDUCHESSE AUGUSTA, petals deep red, veined with blue, a white band; ARCHIDUCHESSE MARIE,* flowers bright red, banded with white, imbricated; AUGUSTE DELFOSSE, bright reddish-orange, stripes down the centre of petals; AUGUSTINA SUPERBA,* flowers clear rose, free bloomer; BEALII ROSEA, one of the best and latest deep crimson varieties known; BICOLOR DE LA REINE, white and rose; BONOMIANA,* ground colour white, banded with intense deep red; CARYOPHYLLOIDES,* white, marbled with rosy-carmine, flowers very large; CHANDLERII ELEGANS,* flowers large, light rose; COMTE DE GOMER,* petals soft rose, striped with crimson, beautifully imbricated; COMTE DE PARIS, rich pink, large and full; CONTESSA LAVINIA MAGGI, pure white, broadly flamed with rosy-cerise; CONTESSA LAVINIA MAGGI ROSEA, flowers rich rosy-red, fine form, a superb variety; CORRADINO, rose, veined with salmon, centre delicate blush pink; COUNTESS OF DERBY,* beautifully imbricated, white, striped with rose; COUNTESS OF ELLESMERE,* colour varying from pure white to flesh, streaked with carnation; COUNTESS OF ORKNEY, pure white, striped with carmine, sometimes pink, shaded with deep rose; CUP OF BEAUTY,* pure white and rose, a beautifully imbricated flower; DAVID BOSCHI, clear pink, shaded with deep rose; DE LA REINE, petals white, striped with carmine; DONCKELAARII,* large flowers, semi-double, rich crimson, marbled white; DUCHESSE DE NASSAU,* flowers light pink, very large, and of superb form; DUCHESS OF BERRY, pure white, and cupped, beautifully imbricated, one of the most beautiful of all the double whites; EMPEROR OF RUSSIA, large crimson; FANNY BOLIS, white, striped and splashed with deep crimson; FIMBRIATA ALBA,* similar to _Alba plena_, outer petals notched at the edges; GENERAL CIALDINI, beautifully imbricated, bright carmine, flaked with red; HENRI FAVRE, flowers rosy-salmon, finely imbricated; HOVEY, C. H.,* bright crimson, well imbricated; HOVEY, C. M.,* deep velvety crimson, darkly shaded, very distinct; HOVEY, MRS.,* delicate pink, very smooth in outline, medium size; IL CYGNO, flowers pure white, petals Ranunculi-formed and imbricated; IL 22 MARZO, clear rose, the petals sometimes banded with white; IMBRICATA, deep carmine, occasionally variegated; JARDIN D'HIVER, a fine variety, flowers beautifully imbricated, colour bright rose; JEFFERSONII, fine crimson; JENNY LIND,* flowers imbricated to the extreme centre, broad, and of good substance, white, striped and marbled with rose; JUBILEE,* flowers very large, with broad, round, imbricated petals, white, marbled with rose, centre pure white; LADY HUME'S BLUSH,* flowers flesh-colour, and of excellent form; LA MAESTOSA, rose, mottled with white; LEEANA SUPERBA, flowers salmon-red, very fine; LEON LEGUAY, rich crimson; MADAME AMBROISE VERSCHAFFELT,* white, shaded with blush, and dotted with red; MADAME LEBOIS, bright rose, finely imbricated, and of good form; MATHOTIANA,* flowers brilliant red, and beautifully imbricated, extra fine; MATHOTIANA ALBA, flowers large, finely imbricated to the centre, pure white; MONTIRONI,* a fine pure white flower; MRS. ABBEY WILDER, ivory-white, striped with rose, well imbricated; MRS. COPE,* white, delicately shaded with pink, and striped with rose; MRS. DOMBRAIN,* shape and substance excellent, colour beautiful soft pink; NAPOLEON III., flowers rose, beautifully veined with deep rose, and edged with pure white; PRINCE ALBERT, white, beautifully flaked with carmine; PRINCESS BACCIOCCHI,* rich velvety carmine; PRINCESS FREDERICK WILLIAM,* flowers white, tipped with bright carmine; QUEEN OF ROSES, flowers delicate rose; REINE DES BEAUT�S,* very delicate clear rose, fine form, extra fine variety; REINE DES FLEURS,* finely imbricated, petals of good substance and perfect symmetry, colour vermilion-red, flaked occasionally with white; RUBENS, deep rose-white stripes; SACCOIANA,* a finely imbricated flower, colour very variable, occasionally clear rose, at other times spotted with pure white; SARAH FROST, flowers bright red; STORYI, outer petals bright rose, centre almost white; TARGIONI, flowers beautifully imbricated, pure white, striped with cerise; TEUTONIA, flowers sometimes red, at other times white, but occasionally half red and half white; THOMAS MOORE,* flowers 4-1/2in. across, perfectly round, and well imbricated, petals also round, and well filled up in the centre, colour rich carmine, shaded with crimson; TRICOLOR DE MATHOT, flowers red, marbled with white, semidouble; TRICOLOR IMBRICATA PLENA, blush white, flaked with carmine and rose; VALTEVAREDA, colour bright rose, often spotted with snowy white; WILDERII,* soft rose, of excellent form. [Illustration: 1. C. lactiflora. 2. C. rotundifolia Hostii. 3. C. carpathica turbinata. 4. C. carpathica alba. FIG. 339. GROUP OF CAMPANULAS.] =CAMOENSIA= (named in honour of Luis Camoens, a celebrated Portuguese poet). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A genus containing a couple of handsome species. _C. maxima_ is the largest-flowered leguminous plant known. It thrives well in rich loam and leaf mould. Cuttings root in sandy loam, in bottom heat, if placed under a bell glass. It has not yet flowered in this country. The other species has not been introduced. =C. maxima= (greatest).* _fl._ cream-colour, yellow, 1ft. long, in short axillary racemes. Angola, 1878. (T. L. S. 25, 36.) =CAMOMILE.= _See_ =Chamomile=. =CAMPANEA= (from _campana_, a bell; alluding to the shape of the flowers). ORD. _Gesneraceæ_. Stove herbaceous climbing perennials, the only one at present introduced being _C. grandiflora_. For cultivation, _see_ =Gesnera=. =C. grandiflora= (large-flowered).* _fl._ in axillary tufts, at ends of long, axillary, and terminal peduncles; corolla white, lined and dotted with crimson. June. _l._ opposite, oval, acuminated, oblique, soft, crenated, stalked. Plant hairy. _h._ 2ft. Santa Fé, 1848. (R. H. 1849, 241.) =CAMPANULA= (diminutive of _campana_, a bell; in reference to the shape of the flowers). Bell-flower; Slipperwort. ORD. _Campanulaceæ_. A genus of mostly perennial--rarely annual or biennial--herbs. Flowers blue or white, for the most part pedunculate, usually racemose, rarely spicate or glomerate. Radical leaves usually different in form from the cauline ones, especially in size. All the species of this genus are elegant when in flower (see Fig. 339), and are very largely grown. The dwarf varieties make excellent subjects for pot culture, rockeries, or the fronts of borders. A rather rich sandy loam, with plenty of drainage, suits these plants. The forms of _C. pyramidalis_ may be kept in cold frames during the winter, and firmly repotted in summer, the crown of the plant being kept just a trifle raised above the soil, or they are at times liable to damp off, through the water lodging around the necks. During hot weather, the pots should be plunged in a bed of ashes. Campanulas are easily raised from seeds, which should be sown in spring. _General Culture._ As a rule, few plants are so easily cultivated as these. The strong-growing kinds may be grown with the greatest success in ordinary garden soil, well enriched with manure, while the alpine kinds are easily managed on the rockery. Sow seeds of the annuals in April, and of the biennials in June, in the open, or in a cold frame. The perennials are chiefly propagated by dividing the roots, or by young cuttings, in spring--the latter is by far the best method of propagation with many of the species--or by seeds. Those kinds requiring special treatment are particularised, and those suitable to the rockery are so designated. Perennials, except where otherwise mentioned. =C. Adami= (Adam's). _fl._ bluish, nearly erect, one on the top of each stem; corolla funnel-shaped. July. _l._ slightly ciliated; radical ones on long petioles, cuneate-spathulate, coarsely toothed at the apex; cauline ones sessile, obovate or linear. _h._ 6in. Caucasus, 1821. Alpine. =C. Allionii= (Allioni's).* _fl._ usually blue, rarely white, subnutant, large, solitary. July to September. _l._, radical ones linear-lanceolate, nearly entire, ciliated; lower ones rosulate, bluntish. Stem rather pilose. Root creeping. _h._ 3in. to 4in. Piedmontese Alps, &c., 1820. A little gem, requiring a well-drained position, in rich sandy loam, with plenty of grit in it, and an abundance of moisture when growing. SYNS. _C. alpestris_ and _C. nana_. (B. M. 6588.) =C. alpestris= (rocky). A synonym of _C. Allionii_. =C. alpina= (alpine).* _fl._ deep blue, few or numerous, scattered in a pyramidal manner along the whole stem. July. _l._ linear-lanceolate, repandly-crenate, woolly; radical ones crowded, narrowed at the base. Stem glabrous or woolly. _h._ 3in. to 9in. Europe, 1779. Rockery. (B. M. 957.) =C. americana= (American). _fl._ erect, one to three from the axil of each bract; corollas blue, a little longer than the calycine lobes. July. _l._, radical ones rosulate, ovate, acute, a little cordate, petiolate, serrated; cauline ones ovate-lanceolate, acuminated at both ends, serrulated. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. North America, 1763. Borders. =C. barbata= (bearded).* _fl._ nutant, disposed in a loose, often secund raceme; pedicels one-flowered, rising from the axils of the superior leaves; corolla pale blue or white (in the variety _alba_), glabrous outside, but woolly in the mouth. June. _l._ villous, nearly entire; radical ones crowded, lanceolate; cauline ones few, ligulate. _h._ 6in. to 18in. European Alps, 1752. This is best grown on the rockery. The white variety is very handsome. (B. M. 1258.) =C. Barrelierii= (Barrelier's). A synonym of _C. fragilis_. =C. betonicæfolia= (Betony-leaved).* _fl._ terminal and axillary, the branchlets usually bearing three; corollas purplish-blue, with a pale yellow base, tubular. May. _l._ elliptic-oblong or ovate, acute, crenate-toothed; radical ones shortly petiolate. Stems much branched. Plant pilose. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Mount Olympus in Bithynia, 1820. Borders. (S. F. G. 210.) =C. bononiensis= (Bononian).* _fl._ bluish-violet, rather small, numerous, disposed in long racemes. July. _l._ serrulated, ovate, acuminate, dark green above, pale beneath; radical ones cordate, petiolate; upper ones stem-clasping. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Europe, 1773. Borders. There is also a very showy white-flowered variety. =C. cæspitosa= (tufted).* _fl._ drooping, terminal, solitary, and sometimes three to four at the top of each stem; corollas deep blue or pure white (in the variety _alba_). May to August. _l._, radical ones crowded, on short petioles, ovate, glandularly toothed, shining. Stems numerous, tufted. Root fibrous, creeping. _h._ 4in. to 6in. Temperate parts of Europe, 1813. Rockery, delighting in rich fibrous loam and leaf mould. [Illustration: FIG. 340. FLOWERING STEM OF CAMPANULA CARPATHICA.] =C. carpathica= (Carpathian).* _fl._ blue, broadly campanulate, disposed in loose panicles, on long peduncles, which are elongated, naked, and terminated by an erect flower. June to August. _l._, lower ones on long petioles, ovate-roundish, cordate, toothed; upper ones on short petioles, ovate, acute. Stems leafy, branched. _h._ 9in. Transylvania, 1774. Borders or rockery. See Fig. 340. (B. M. 117.) =C. c. alba= (white).* _fl._ quite white, otherwise like the type. See Fig. 339. [Illustration: FIG. 341. CAMPANULA CARPATHICA PELVIFORMIS.] =C. c. pelviformis= (pelvis-formed).* _fl._ lilac, nearly 2in. across, numerously produced in lax panicles on much-branched stems, 9in. to 18in. high; fragrant. August. _l._ ovate, cordate, toothed. A distinct seedling from _C. c. turbinata_. See Fig. 341. [Illustration: FIG. 342. CAMPANULA CARPATHICA TURBINATA.] =C. C. turbinata= (top-shaped).* _fl._ nearly 2in. across, erect; corolla deep purple, campanulate. Summer. _l._ ovate, rigid, greyish-green, toothed, and pointed, with cordate bases, in stiff tufts. Stems short, erect. _h._ 6in. to 12in. Transylvania, 1868. Borders or rockery. See Figs. 339 and 342. There is also a desirable variety named _pallida_, with very pale purple flowers. =C. c. t. Hendersoni= (Henderson's). _fl._ rich mauve, in large pyramidal racemes, rather open. July to September. _l._, lower ones cordate, or ovate cordate, slightly crenulated, on long stalks; upper ones oblong, sessile. _h._ 1ft. Very handsome hybrid for borders. =C. caucasica= (Caucasian). _fl._ few, terminal and axillary, drooping; corollas glabrous outside, but bearded inside, of a violaceous-blue colour. July. _l._ crenulated; lower ones obovate, obtuse, petiolate; upper ones lanceolate, sessile. Stems erect, branched, terete, scabrous, pilose. _h._ 6in. to 9in. Caucasus, 1804. Rockery; very pretty. =C. celtidifolia= (Nettle-tree-leaved).* A synonym of _C. lactiflora_. =C. cenisia= (Mont Cenis).* _fl._ deep blue, solitary, terminal, erect. June. _l._ entire; radical ones rosulate, obovate, obtuse; cauline ones ovate-oblong. Stems numerous, glabrous, or slightly pilose. _h._ 3in. Italy, &c., 1775. A rare little rockery gem, requiring a deep gritty loam and leaf soil, between stones. (A. F. P. 3, 6.) =C. Cervicaria.= Throatwort. _fl._ blue, pilose outside; heads terminal, round, bracteate. July. _l._ crenately serrated; radical ones linear-lanceolate, bluntish, on short petioles; cauline ones linear-acuminated. Stem simple. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Mountains of Europe, 1768. Biennial. Borders. (L. B. C. 452.) =C. collina= (hill).* _fl._ deep blue, funnel-shaped, few, secund, disposed in a long raceme. July. _l._, lower ones on long petioles, ovate-oblong, crenulated; middle ones lanceolate; upper ones linear-acuminated. Stems simple, rather pilose. _h._ 1ft. Caucasus, 1803. Borders. (B. M. 927.) =C. colorata= (coloured). _fl._ purple; corolla tubular, velvety; peduncles elongated, terminal and axillary. September. _l._ scattered, lanceolate, acute, repandly denticulated. Stem branched, downy. Sikkim Himalayas, 1849. This requires frame protection during winter. (B. M. 4555.) =C. dichotoma= (forked). _fl._ bluish-purple, with a paler tube, drooping, terminal, solitary in the forks of the branches and stem. July. _l._, cauline ones ovate, acute, a little crenated. Stem erect, with dichotomous branches. Plant clothed with stiff hairs. _h._ 6in. South-western Europe, 1820. Annual. Borders. (S. F. G. 211.) =C. drabifolia= (Draba-leaved). _fl._ pedicellate, opposite the leaves; corolla inflated, with a white tube and a violaceous-blue limb. July. _l._ elliptic-oblong, toothed. Stem many times forked, slightly erect. Plant hispid. _h._ 3in. Island of Samos, 1823. Annual. Rockery. (S. F. G. 215.) =C. Elatines= (Elatine).* _fl._ scattered over the upper part of the plant, sometimes racemose, and sometimes panicled; corollas bluish-purple. June to August. _l._ cordate, coarsely and acutely toothed, ovate-acute; lower ones roundish. Stem branched. Plant downy. _h._ 3in. to 6in. Piedmont, 1823. Rockery. (A. F. P. 3, 7.) =C. Erinus= (Erinus).* _fl._ terminal and axillary, situated in the angles of the forks of the branches; corollas of a pale bluish-rose-colour, or white, pilose at the base, tubular. May to August. _l._ obovate or ovate, toothed. Stem much branched. Plant hispid. _h._ 3in. to 9in. Europe, 1768. Annual. Rockery. (S. F. G. 214.) =C. excisa= (excised). _fl._ drooping; stem one-flowered; corollas blue, funnel-shaped. June. _l._ entire, or remotely-denticulated, linear-acuminated. Stems numerous, erect, slender, simple, naked at top. _h._ 3in. to 6in. Switzerland and Transylvania, 1820. Rockery. A rare species, requiring to be treated like _cenisia_. (L. B. C. 561.) =C. floribunda= (many-flowered). A synonym of _C. isophylla_. =C. fragilis= (fragile).* _fl._ clear lilac-purple, white in the centre, solitary or in pairs, axillary, erect, or nearly so, on spreading branches. July and August. _l._, radical ones reniform, or roundish-cordate, rather deeply lobed; cauline ones broadly-ovate, slightly cordate, all stalked. _h._ 4in. to 6in. South Italy. SYN. _C. Barrelierii_. (B. M. 6504.) =C. garganica= (Gargano).* _fl._ axillary, in fascicles; corollas blue, rotate, deeply five-lobed. May to September. _l._, radical ones reniform, on long petioles; cauline ones cordate, all crenately toothed, downy. _h._ 3in. to 6in. Italy, 1832. An extremely variable species. Rockery, in rich sandy loam. (B. R. 1768.) [Illustration: FIG. 343. FLOWER-SPIKE OF CAMPANULA GLOMERATA.] =C. glomerata= (clustered).* _fl._ sessile, disposed in terminal heads on the branches and stems; corollas bluish-violet or white, glabrous, except the nerves outside, funnel-shaped. May to September. _l._ serrulated; radical ones ovate, acute; bracts ovate, acuminated. Stems simple, or branched. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Britain, &c. Borders. See Fig. 343. (Sy. En. B. 866.) A double-flowered variety, and also a white-flowered form, are very desirable. There are numerous varieties of this species which are frequently described as distinct species. The following are among the number: =C. g. cervicaroides= (Cervicaria-like). _fl._ bluish-violet, terminal and axillary. Lower leaves on long petioles. Stem flexuous, hairy. =C. g. elliptica= (elliptical). _fl._ blue, large, capitate. _l._ on long petioles, elliptic; bracts large, often longer than the flowers. =C. g. nicæensis= (Nice). _fl._ bluish-violet, disposed in short, dense spikes. _l._ approximate, ovate, acute, sessile. =C. g. pusilla= (diminutive).* _fl._ few, capitate. _l._ round, cordate. _h._ 1in. to 2in. In addition to these, there are _aggregata_ and _speciosa_ (= _dahurica_). The latter is an excellent variety, with large heads of deep-coloured flowers. =C. grandiflora= (large-flowered). _See_ =Platycodon grandiflorum=. =C. grandis= (large).* _fl._ pale violet-blue, broadly bell-shaped, with large pointed divisions, axillary and alternate, on the upper part of the stem. June. _l._ sessile, lanceolate, serrated. Stem simple, furrowed. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Siberia, 1842. Borders. There is also a very showy white-flowered variety named _alba_. =C. haylodgensis= (Hay Lodge). _fl._ light blue, rather open, bell-shaped, few, at the ends of the stems. August. _l._, radical ones tufted, roundish-cordate, with the margins slightly indented; cauline ones ovate-cordate, conspicuously toothed, light green. _h._ 6in. to 9in. Rockery. This is a hybrid, raised by Mr. Anderson-Henry, Hay Lodge, Edinburgh, probably between _C. carpathica_ and _C. pusilla_. =C. hederacea= (Ivy-like). _See_ =Wahlenbergia hederacea=. =C. Hostii= (Host's).* A synonym of _C. rotundifolia Hostii_. =C. isophylla= (equal-leaved).* _fl._ numerous, erect, disposed in a corymb; corolla lilac-blue, with a grey centre, large, salver-shaped, deeply five-lobed. August. _l._ broadly ovate, cordate, and toothed. Stems firm. North Italy, 1868. Borders and rockery. SYN. _C. floribunda_. (B. M. 5745.) C. i. alba (white).* _fl._ pure white; in other respects like the species. It is a charming rockery plant, flowering very freely. [Illustration: FIG. 344. FLOWERS OF CAMPANULA LACINIATA.] =C. laciniata= (cut-leaved). _fl._ long-stalked, in lax panicles. Stem erect, branchy, somewhat hairy. _h._ 1ft. Islands in Grecian Archipelago, 1790. This biennial species is impatient of much moisture during winter, and is therefore best kept in a cold frame. See Fig. 344. =C. lactiflora= (milk-coloured-flowered).* _fl._ in loose panicles; peduncles erect, short, usually three-flowered; corollas erect, milk-coloured, tinged with blue, or quite blue, as in the variety named _c�rulea_. July to September. _l._ sessile. ovate-lanceolate, acutely serrated. Stems branched. _h._ 2ft. to 6ft. Caucasus, 1814. Borders. SYN. _C. celtidifolia_. See Fig. 339. (B. R. 241.) [Illustration: FIG. 345. CAMPANULA LANGSDORFFIANA.] =C. Langsdorffiana= (Langsdorff's). _fl._ blue, either solitary or in few-flowered panicles, not unlike those of _C. rotundifolia_. _l._ either entire or toothed. _h._ 3in. to 9in. Mountains of Northern Asia and America. Perennial. See Fig. 345. =C. latifolia= (broad-leaved). _fl._ disposed in spicate racemes; peduncles erect, one-flowered; corolla blue, but sometimes white (in the variety _alba_) campanulately funnel-shaped, large. July. _l._ large, doubly serrated; radical ones petiolate, cordate, ovate-oblong; cauline ones sessile, ovate-acuminated. Stems simple, smooth. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Britain. (Sy. En. B. 868.) =C. l. eriocarpa= (woolly-fruited). _fl._, tube of calyx very hispid. _l._ less acuminated. Stem and leaves pilose and pale. Caucasus, 1823. Borders. =C. l. macrantha= (large-flowered).* _fl._, corollas purplish-blue, larger than those of the type. Stem and leaves rather pilose; teeth of leaves more distinct. A hybrid. Borders. =C. Loefflingii= (L�ffling's). _fl._ solitary, terminating the naked branchlets, loosely panicled, drooping; corolla blue or violaceous, with a deeper-coloured zone beneath the middle, white at the base, both inside and out, funnel-shaped. July. _l._ crenulated; lower ones ovate-reniform; superior ones ovate, stem-clasping. Stem much branched. Annual. _h._ 6in. to 18in. South-west Europe, 1818. (B. R. 29, 19.) =C. Loreyi= (Lorey's). A synonym of _C. ramosissima_. =C. lyrata= (lyrate). _fl._ disposed in a long, many-flowered, loose raceme; corolla blue, tubular, with rather pilose nerves. June. _l._, lower ones petiolate, cordate, ovate, acute, crenated; superior ones sessile, ovate-lanceolate, serrate-toothed. Stem branched. Eastern Europe, Levant, &c., 1823. Borders. [Illustration: FIG. 346. CAMPANULA MACROSTYLA.] =C. macrostyla= (large-styled). _fl._ dull purple, reticulated with violet, solitary, on stout stalks; hairy towards the base. July. _l._, lower ones ovate-oblong, acute; upper ones ovate-lanceolate, recurved, small for the size of the plant, hispid on both surfaces, and ciliated with bristles. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Taurus Mountains. Annual. Borders. The rigid habit, bristly, almost prickly, stem and leaves, curious calyx appendages, short gaping corolla, and wonderful stigma, mark this as the most singular Campanula hitherto introduced. See Fig. 346. =C. Medium= (middle-sized).* Canterbury Bells. _fl._ numerous, large, disposed in racemes; corolla blue, purple, and white, campanulate, inflated, single and double. July. _l._ sessile, ovate-lanceolate, crenately toothed. Stem erect, branched. _h._ 1ft. to 4ft. South Europe, 1597. See Fig. 347. A well-known and very handsome biennial, of which there are numerous varieties. Borders. =C. muralis= (wall).* A synonym of _C. Portenschlagiana_. =C. nana= (dwarf). A synonym of _C. Allionii_. =C. nitida= (shining).* _fl._ blue or white, disposed in spicate racemes; corolla campanulately rotate. Summer. _l._ in rosettes, leathery, very dark and shining green, oblong, crenated; cauline ones linear-lanceolate, almost entire. Stem simple. _h._ 3in. to 9in. North America, 1731. Borders. There are also double blue and white flowered forms of this species. SYN. _C. planiflora_. =C. nobilis= (noble).* _fl._ drooping, crowded towards the ends of the branchlets; corollas reddish-violet, or white, or cream-coloured, spotted, 3in. or more long. July. _l._ hairy; lower ones petiolate, ovate, toothed; upper ones lanceolate, nearly or quite sessile. _h._ 2ft. China, 1844. Borders. (B. R. 32, 65.) There is also a white-flowered variety. =C. patula= (spreading). _fl._ panicled, terminal, and axillary, on long pedicels, large, erect; corollas blue or white, funnel-shaped. July. _l._, radical ones crowded, obovate, crenated; cauline ones linear-lanceolate, sessile, nearly entire. Stems branched. Branches diverging. Europe. Borders. (Sy. En. B. 873.) [Illustration: FIG. 347. FLOWERING BRANCH OF CAMPANULA MEDIUM.] =C. peregrina= (foreign).* _fl._ disposed in a dense spicate raceme, sessile; corollas of a dark violet colour at the base, not so deep in the middle, and paler towards the margins, funnel-shaped. July. _l._ crenated; lower ones obovate; superior ones ovate, acute. Stem simple, angular. _h._ 2ft. Mount Lebanon, 1794. Borders. (B. M. 1257.) =C. persicæfolia= (Peach-leaved).* _fl._ terminal and axillary, pedunculate, solitary, inclined, racemose; corollas blue and all the intermediate shades to white, large, broadly campanulate. July. _l._ glabrous, stiff, crenulated; radical ones lanceolate-obovate; cauline ones linear-lanceolate. Stems nearly simple. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. Britain. (Sy. En. B. 871.) The forms of _C. persicæfolia_ are very numerous in gardens. The following are well worth growing: _alba_, pure white, single-flowered; _alba coronata_, pure white, semi-double; _alba fl.-pl._, flowers very double and Camellia-like, constituting one of the best hardy flowers for cutting; _cærulea coronata_, blue, in form like the white; _cærulea fl.-pl._, flowers semi-double. =C. phrygia= (Phrygian). _fl._, corolla bluish-violet, spreading, having the nerves more intensely coloured. July. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, crenated; lower ones obtuse, upper acute. Stem branched. Branches very naked, divaricate, each terminating in a single flower. _h._ 3in. to 6in. Mount Olympus, 1820. Rockery annual. =C. planiflora= (flat-flowered). A synonym of _C. nitida_. =C. Portenschlagiana= (Portenschlag's).* _fl._ light blue-purple, erect, or nearly so, bell-shaped, with spreading segments, several at the ends of the shoots, and one or two in the upper axils. June, July. _l._, radical ones broadly reniform, conspicuously but irregularly toothed, on long slender petioles; cauline ones passing from reniform to ovate. _h._ 6in. to 9in. South Europe. Rockery. SYN. _C. muralis_. (B. R. 1995.) =C. primulæfolia= (Primula-leaved). _fl._ disposed in a spicate raceme; corolla blue or purple, with a whitish downy bottom, campanulately rotate, nearly glabrous. July. _l._ unequally and doubly crenated; radical ones lanceolate, bluntish; cauline ones ovate-oblong, acute. Stem hispid, simple. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. Portugal. Borders. (B. M. 4879.) =C. pulla= (russet).* _fl._ terminal, large for the size of the plant; corollas violaceous-blue, campanulate. June. _l._ glabrous, crenulately toothed; lower ones on short petioles, ovate-roundish; superior ones sessile, ovate, acute. Stems rarely pilose at the base. _h._ 3in. to 6in. Eastern Europe, 1779. Rockery, in rich sandy peat and leaf soil. (L. B. C. 554.) =C. pumila= (dwarf). A synonym of _C. pusilla_. [Illustration: FIG. 348. UPPER PORTION OF FLOWERING STEM OF CAMPANULA PUNCTATA.] =C. punctata= (dotted). _fl._ whitish, spotted with red on the inner surface; large, pendulous. _l._ ovate-acute, somewhat crenate. Stem simple, erect, few-flowered. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Siberia, Japan, &c. Border perennial. See Fig. 348. =C. pusilla= (small).* _fl._ axillary and terminal at the upper part of the slender stems, pendulous, bell-shaped, passing from deep blue to white. July, August. _l._, radical ones tufted, broadly ovate or roundish, slightly cordate, obtusely serrated, on petioles longer than the laminæ; cauline ones linear-lanceolate, distinctly toothed, sessile. _h._ 4in. to 6in. Southern Europe. SYN. _C. pumila_. (B. M. 512.) There is a pale-coloured variety named _pallida_, and a pure white variety named _alba_, both of which, as well as the species, are most desirable for the embellishment of rockeries, or for planting in sandy soil as a front line for a border. [Illustration: FIG. 349. CAMPANULA PYRAMIDALIS, showing Habit and Flower.] =C. pyramidalis= (pyramidal).* Chimney Bell-flower. _fl._ very numerous, pedicellate, usually three together from the same bract, the whole disposed in a large pyramidal raceme, which is loose at the base; corollas pale blue or white, with a dark base. July. _l._ glandularly toothed; lower ones petiolate, ovate-oblong, somewhat cordate; cauline ones sessile, ovate-lanceolate. Stem nearly simple, but furnished with floriferous branchlets. _h._ 4ft. to 5ft. Europe, 1596. See Figs. 349 and 350. There are several excellent varieties, but the light and dark blue and white are the best. Borders, and for pot culture. =C. Raineri= (Rainer's).* _fl._ blue, erect; corolla turbinate. June. _l._ almost sessile, ovate, tomentose, remotely serrated; lower ones the smallest, obovate. Stems erect, firm, branched. Branches one-flowered, leafy. _h._ 2in. to 3in. Switzerland, Italy, &c., 1826. A beautiful little alpine, requiring a warm position in rich gritty soil; it must be religiously protected against slugs. (F. d. S. 1908.) [Illustration: FIG. 350. FLOWERING BRANCH OF CAMPANULA PYRAMIDALIS.] =C. ramosissima= (much-branched). _fl._, corolla with a white base; middle part or base of the lobes pale blue, and the lobes bluish-violet; peduncles long, naked, glabrous, bearing each an erect flower at the apex. June. _l._ sessile, glaucous; lower ones obovate, crenated; middle ones ovate-lanceolate; superior ones linear, entire. Stem branched. _h._ 6in. to 12in. South Europe, 1824. Annual. SYN. _C. Loreyi_. (B. M. 2581.) =C. r. flore-albo= (white-flowered) only differs from the type in having white flowers. [Illustration: FIG. 351. CAMPANULA RAPUNCULUS.] =C. rapunculoides= (Rapunculus-like).* _fl._ drooping, solitary, disposed in spike-formed racemes, secund, but usually hanging on all sides in strong garden specimens; corollas bluish-violet, funnel-shaped, and bearded a little inside. June. _l._ scabrous, ovate, acuminated; radical ones petiolate, cordate, crenulated; cauline ones serrulated. Stems glabrous or scabrous, usually branched in gardens, but simple in the wild state. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Europe. Borders. (Sy. En. B. 869.) =C. r. trachelioides= (Trachelium-like). Stem and leaves, but particularly the calyx, beset with stiff white hairs. =C. Rapunculus= (little turnip).* Rampion. _fl._ nearly sessile, or pedicellate, erect, forming a long raceme, which is branched at the base; corolla blue or white, funnel-shaped. July. _l._, lower ones obovate, on short petioles, nearly entire; cauline ones sessile, linear-lanceolate, entire. Stem simple, but sometimes furnished with a few branches towards the top. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Europe. Borders. See Fig. 351. (Sy. En. B. 872.) =C. rhomboidalis= (rhomboidal). _fl._ usually drooping, few, disposed in loose racemes, pedunculate; corolla blue, campanulate. July. _l._ sessile, ovate, acute, serrate. Stem glabrous, or a little pilose, furnished with flower-bearing branches at top. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Europe, 1775. Border. SYN. _C. rhomboidea_. (L. B. C. 603.) =C. rhomboidea= (diamond-leaved). A synonym of _C. rhomboidalis_. =C. rotundifolia= (round-leaved).* Blue-bell; Hare-bell. _fl._ drooping, solitary, pedunculate, few on each stem; corolla deep blue, campanulate. June to August. _l._, radical ones petiolate, cordate roundish, crenately toothed; cauline ones linear or lanceolate. Stems numerous. _h._ 6in. to 12in. Britain. (Sy. En. B. 870.) =C. r. alba= (white).* _fl._ white, the same size as those of the type. Stems much more leafy. =C. r. Hostii= (Host's).* _fl._ rich blue, much larger than those of the type, produced on stouter profusely branched stems. July, August. _l._, radical ones roundish only in a very early state; cauline ones linear, acuminate, sometimes 3in. to 4in. long. SYN. _C. Hostii_. See Fig. 339. There is a white-flowered form of this, not quite so vigorous as the blue-flowered form, but the flowers are equal in size. [Illustration: FIG. 352. FLOWERS OF CAMPANULA ROTUNDIFOLIA SOLDANELL�FLORA.] =C. r. soldanellæflora= (Soldanella-flowered).* _fl._, corolla blue, semi-double, turbinate, with shallow marginal divisions, very acutely pointed. June. _l._ long, linear, acute, sessile. Stem simple, slender. _h._ 1ft. 1870. (R. G. 473.) All the forms of _rotundifolia_ are pretty, and suitable for the front of borders, or the rockery; rising from the crevices of the latter, with their slender stems laden with flowers, they are especially beautiful. See Fig. 352. [Illustration: FIG. 353. FLOWERS AND LEAVES OF CAMPANULA SARMATICA.] =C. sarmatica= (Sarmatian).* _fl._ nutant, usually secund, terminal and axillary, forming a long, loose, scattered raceme; corolla pale blue, velvety outside. July. _l._ tomentose; lower ones petiolate, cordate, rather hastate, crenately toothed; superior ones sessile, ovate-lanceolate, serrate-toothed. Stems simple, straight, downy. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Caucasus, 1803. Borders. (B. R. 237.) See Fig. 353. =C. saxatilis= (rock). _fl._ three to five, disposed in a loose raceme; corolla blue, tubular, nutant. May. _l._ crenated; radical ones rosulate, somewhat spathulate; cauline ones ovate, acute. Stem erect. _h._ 6in. Crete, 1768. Rockery. Very rare. =C. Scheuchzeri= (Scheuchzer's).* _fl._ dark blue, pendent, on slender stems, broadly bell-shaped. July, August. _l._, lower ones similar to those of _C. pusilla_; upper ones linear. _h._ 3in. to 6in. South European Alps, 1813. (L. B. C. 485.) =C. Scouleri= (Scouler's). _fl._ pale blue, paniculate, bell-shaped. July, August. _l._, lower ones ovate, on long petioles, coarsely serrated; cauline ones ovate-lanceolate. _h._ 1ft. North-west America, 1876. Rockery. =C. sibirica= (Siberian). _fl._ panicled, numerous, drooping; corollas bluish-violet, large. July. _l._ crenulated; radical ones crowded, petiolate, obovate, obtuse; cauline ones sessile, oblong-lanceolate, undulated, acuminated. Plant beset with bristle-like hairs. Stem branched. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. East Europe, 1783. Biennial. Borders. (B. M. 659.) =C. s. divergens= (divergent).* _fl._ violaceous, rather large, at first erect, but drooping in the expanded state; peduncles many-flowered, and, like the stem, usually trichotomous. June. _l._, radical ones sub-spathulate, crenulated, narrowed at the base; cauline ones sessile, lanceolate, acuminated. Plant pilose, panicled. _h._ 1-1/2ft. Siberia, 1814. Biennial. SYN. _C. spathulata_. (S. B. F. G. ii., 256.) =C. spathulata= (spathulate). A synonym of _C. sibirica divergens_. =C. speciosa= (beautiful).* _fl._ pedicellate, disposed in a pyramidal raceme; corolla blue, purple or white, 1in. long, smooth outside, but often villous inside. June, July. _l._ sessile, repandly crenated; radical ones rosulate, linear-lanceolate; cauline ones linear. Stem simple. _h._ 12in. to 18in. South-west Europe, 1820. Borders. (B. M. 2649.) =C. spicata= (spicate). _fl._ sessile, one to three from each bract; spike long, interrupted at the base; corolla blue, funnel-shaped. July. _l._ sessile, nearly entire; radical ones crowded, linear-lanceolate; cauline ones linear, acuminated. Stem simple. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Europe, 1786. Biennial. Borders. (A. F. P. 3, 46.) =C. stricta= (strict). _fl._ almost sessile, few, solitary, spicate; corolla blue, tubular. July. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, acute, serrated, pilose. Stem branched, pilose. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Armenia, 1819. Biennial. Borders. [Illustration: FIG. 354. CAMPANULA THYRSOIDEA, showing Entire Plant and Single Flower.] =C. thyrsoidea= (thyrsoid).* _fl._ disposed in a dense pyramidal spike, sessile; corolla sulphur-coloured, oblong. July. _l._ entire, pilose; lower ones lanceolate, obtuse; cauline ones linear-lanceolate, acute. Stem simple, covered with leaves and flowers. Plant pilose. _h._ 1ft. to 1-1/2ft. Alps of Europe, 1785. Biennial. Rockery. (B. M. 1290.) See Fig. 354. =C. Tommasiniana= (Tommasini's).* _fl._ pale blue, tubular, slightly angled, in closely set, several-flowered, axillary cymes. July, August. _l._ nearly or quite sessile, linear-lanceolate, acuminate, distinctly serrated, there being no difference between the lower and upper ones. Stems at first erect, ultimately drooping through the weight of the flowers. _h._ 9in. to 12in. Italy. A very handsome alpine species. (B. M. 6590.) =C. Trachelium= (Throat-wort).* _fl._ drooping a little, one to four together, terminating the branchlets; corolla variously coloured, campanulate, bearded inside. July. _l._ scabrous, acuminated, coarsely and crenately toothed; radical ones petiolate, cordate. Stem angular, simple or branched. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Europe. Borders. (Sy. En. B. 867.) There are double blue, double white, and variously shaded single forms of this species. =C. trichocalycina= (hairy-calyxed). _fl._ disposed in an almost simple terminal raceme, approximate at the top, one to three rising from each axil, at the time of flowering erect, but afterwards drooping; corolla profoundly five-cleft, funnel-shaped. July. _l._ on short petioles, ovate, acute, coarsely serrated. Stem simple. _h._ 1ft. to 3ft. Europe, 1823. Borders. =C. Van Houttei= (Van Houtte's).* _fl._ dark blue, bell-shaped, pendulous, 2in. long, axillary and terminal. July, August. _l._, lower ones roundish-cordate, crenate on long stalks; cauline ones oblong-lanceolate, sessile, serrated. _h._ 2ft. This is a very fine hybrid. Differing from it only in colour and other unimportant details is _C. Burghalti_, a handsome hybrid, found in gardens; the flowers are of a pale purple colour, very large, pendent. These are two of the best border Bell-flowers in cultivation. =C. versicolor= (various-coloured). _fl._ disposed in long spicate racemes; corolla of a deep violaceous colour at bottom, pale in the middle, and the lobes pale violet, companulately rotate. July to September. _l._ serrated; radical ones petiolate, ovate, acute, rather cordate; cauline ones on short petioles, ovate-lanceolate, acuminated. Stems erect. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Greece, 1788. Borders. (S. F. G. 207.) =C. Vidalii= (Vidal's). _fl._ large, racemose; corolla white, wax-like, between urceolate and campanulate, pendulous; disk singularly broad, surrounded by a thick bright orange-coloured annulus. July and August. _l._ thick and fleshy, oblong spathulate, viscid, coarsely serrated. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Azores, 1851. Perennial. Cool greenhouse or (during summer) herbaceous border. (B. M. 4748.) [Illustration: FIG. 355. CAMPANULA WALDSTEINIANA.] =C. Waldsteiniana= (Waldstein's).* _fl._ three to four at the top of each stem, one of which is terminal, and the others from the axils of the superior leaves, always looking upwards; corollas violaceous-blue, campanulate. June. _l._ greyish, sessile, lanceolate, serrated; lower ones obtuse; superior ones long-acuminated. Stems erect, flexuous, stiff, simple, numerous from the same root. _h._ 4in. to 6in. Hungary, 1824. See Fig. 355. =C. Wanneri= (Wanner's). A synonym of _Symphyandra Wanneri_. =C. Zoysii= (Zoys's).* _fl._ pedicellate, drooping; corolla pale blue, with five deeper-coloured lines, cylindrical, elongated. June. _l._ entire; radical ones crowded, petiolate, ovately obovate, obtuse; cauline ones obovate-lanceolate, and linear. Plant small, tufted. _h._ 3in. Carniola, 1813. A scarce little alpine gem, thriving in a sunny chink in rich gritty soil. =CAMPANULACE�.= A large order of herbs or sub-shrubs. Flowers blue or white; corolla regular, bell-shaped, usually five-lobed. Leaves alternate, exstipulate. The genus best known is _Campanula_; other genera are _Adenophora_, _Jasione_, and _Phyteuma_. =CAMPANULATE.= Bell-shaped. =CAMPANUM�A= (altered from _Campanula_). ORD. _Campanulaceæ_. A genus of greenhouse herbaceous, tuberous-rooted, twining perennials. Flowers involucrated, solitary, on axillary and terminal peduncles. Leaves opposite, petiolate, glaucescent beneath. Stems and branches terete. They thrive best in a rich sandy loam, with a little peat. Propagated by seeds and divisions. =C. gracilis= (graceful). _fl._ pale blue; corolla membranous, with a tubular base, dilated throat, and slightly expanded, truncated limb. _l._ on long petioles, ovate, blunt. Himalayas. SYN. _Codonopsis gracilis_. (C. H. P. t. xvi. A.) =C. inflata= (inflated). _fl._ yellowish, with brownish veins; corolla herbaceous, ventricose; peduncles opposite the leaves, one-flowered. _l._ alternate, ovate-cordate, acute. Himalayas. (C. H. P. t. xvi. C.) =C. javanica= (Javan). _fl._ yellowish, with brownish veins; corolla herbaceous, very broadly campanulate, with five spreading lobes. _l._ variable, opposite and alternate, ovate-cordate, crenate. Himalayas. (C. H. P. t. xvi. B.) =CAMPEACHY WOOD=, or =LOGWOOD=. _See_ =Hæmatoxylon campechianum=. =CAMPHORA= (Camphor, commercial name of its chief product). Camphor-tree. ORD. _Laurineæ_. Cool stove evergreen trees, now referred to _Cinnamomum_. The true Camphor of commerce is a product of the oil procured from the wood, branches, and leaves of this tree, by means of dry distillation. The species thrives in a compost of peat and loam, and may be propagated by cuttings. =C. officinalis= (officinal). _fl._ greenish-white. March to June. _l._ triple-nerved, lanceolate, ovate. _h._ 20ft. Japan, 1727. SYN. _Cinnamomum Camphora_. =CAMPHOR-TREE.= _See_ =Camphora=. =CAMPION.= _See_ =Silene=. =CAMPION, MOSS.= _See_ =Silene acaulis=. =CAMPION, ROSE.= _See_ =Lychnis=. =CAMPSIDIUM= (from _kampsis_, a curving). ORD. _Bignoniaceæ_. A small genus, the best-known (perhaps the only) species being a handsome greenhouse climber. For culture, _see_ =Bignonia=. =C. chilense= (Chilian). Pipil Boqui. _fl._ rich orange colour; corolla tubular, almost regular; anthers parallel. _l._ pinnate, dark shining green. _h._ 30ft. to 40ft. Chili. (G. C. 1870, 1182.) =CAMPTERIA.= Included under =Pteris= (which _see_). =CAMPTODIUM.= _See_ =Nephrodium=. =CAMPTOPUS= (from _kamptos_, curved, and _pous_, a foot; the flower-stalk is curved downwardly). ORD. _Rubiaceæ_. A curious shrub, now referred to _Cephaelis_. It requires a most stove temperature. Cuttings will root in sandy loam, under a hand glass, in bottom heat. =C. Mannii= (Mann's). _fl._ white, numerously produced in subglobose, compound heads; peduncles stout, scarlet, drooping, from 12in. to 18in. long. Summer. _l._ large, opposite, obovate or obovate-lanceolate, glabrous, coriaceous; midrib thick, red beneath. _h._ 15ft. Fernando Po, 1863. (B. M. 5755.) =CAMPTOSORUS.= _See_ =Scolopendrium=. =CAMPYLANTHERA.= A synonym of =Pronaya=. =CAMPYLIA.= Included under =Pelargonium=. =CAMPYLOBOTRYS.= _See_ =Hoffmannia=. =CAMPYLONEURON.= _See_ Polypodium. =CAMWOOD.= _See_ =Baphia=. =CANADA BALSAM.= _See_ =Abies balsamea=. =CANADA RICE.= _See_ =Zizania aquatica=. =CANADA TEA.= _See_ =Gaultheria procumbens=. =CANALICULATE.= Channelled, or furrowed. =CANARINA= (so named from its habitat). SYN. _Pernettya_ (of Scopoli). ORD. _Campanulaceæ_. A beautiful, glaucescent, greenhouse, herbaceous perennial. It thrives in a compost of loam, leaf mould, thoroughly decomposed manure, and sand, in equal parts; ample root space and perfect drainage are essential, and when new growth commences, a little extra heat will considerably accelerate the development of the flowers. Water should be liberally supplied during the growing season. The plant may be propagated by divisions when repotting, in January; or by young cuttings, inserted in sandy soil, in a gentle warmth. =C. Campanula= (bell-shaped).* _fl._ of a yellowish purple or orange colour, with red nerves, drooping, solitary, terminating axillary branchlets; corolla six-lobed at the apex, large, campanulate. January to March. _l._ opposite, hastately sub-cordate, irregularly toothed. _h._ 3ft. to 4ft. Canary Islands, 1696. (B. M. 444.) =CANARIUM= (from _Canari_, its vernacular name in the Malay language). ORD. _Burseraceæ_. A rather large genus of stove trees. Flowers small, in axillary panicles; petals usually three, valvate, or slightly imbricate in the bud. Drupe ovoid or ellipsoid, often three-angled. Leaves large, impari-pinnate. For culture, _see_ =Boswellia=. =C. commune= (common). _fl._ white, glomerate, nearly sessile, bracteate; panicle terminal. _l._, leaflets seven to nine, on long stalks, ovate-oblong, bluntly acuminated, entire. India. The fruit has a thin olive skin, and when the nuts are mature, they contain a sweet kernel, which does not become rancid, and resembles a Sweet Chestnut; they are also used for various economic purposes. (B. M. Pl. 61.) =CANARY-BIRD FLOWER.= _See_ =Tropæolum peregrinum=. =CANAVALIA= (from _Canavali_, the name of one of the species in Malabar). ORD. _Leguminosæ_. A genus of elegant twining or climbing stove herbs or subshrubs. Flowers in racemes, produced from the axils of the leaves; calyx bell-shaped, two-lipped; corolla papilionaceous. Leaves trifoliate. They are well adapted for training up the rafters in a stove or warm greenhouse. For culture, _see_ =Dolichos=. =C. bonariensis= (Buenos Ayrean). _fl._ purple; racemes drooping, longer than the leaves. July and August. _l._, leaflets ovate, obtuse, coriaceous, glabrous. Buenos Ayres, 1824. (B. R. 1199.) =C. ensiformis= (ensiform).* _fl._ white, red, pendulous; racemes longer than the leaves. June. _l._, leaflets ovate, acute. India, 1790. SYN. _C. gladiata_. (B. M. 4027.) =C. gladiata= (sword-podded). Synonymous with _C. ensiformis_. =C. obtusifolia= (obtuse-leaved). _fl._ purple. July, August. _l._, leaflets ovate obtuse. Malabar, 1820. =CANBIA= (named in honour of W. M. Canby, of Wilmington, Delaware). ORD. _Papaveraceæ_. A monotypic genus, remarkable for its persistent (not caducous) corolla. Sepals three, caducous; petals six, barely 1/6in. in length; stamens six to nine. [Illustration: FIG. 356. CANBIA CANDIDA.] =B. candida= (glossy white). _fl._ white, solitary, on little scapes. _l._ alternate, linear, entire. _h._ about 1in. Discovered in sandy soil in South-east California, in 1876. See Fig. 356. =CANCELLATE.= Latticed; resembling lattice-work. =CANDELABRUM= or =CHANDELIER TREE=. _See_ =Pandanus candelabrum=. =CANDLEBERRY MYRTLE.= _See_ =Myrica cereifera=. =CANDLEBERRY-TREE.= _See_ =Aleurites triloba=. =CANDLE-TREE.= _See_ =Parmentiera cerifera=. =CANDOLLEA= (named after Augustus Pyramus De Candolle, formerly Professor of Botany, at Geneva, and author of numerous botanical works). ORD. _Dilleniaceæ_. A genus of very ornamental greenhouse evergreen shrubs, natives of Australia. Flowers yellow, sub-solitary, at the tips of the branches; sepals five, oval, mucronate; petals obovate or obcordate. They thrive in a compost of equal parts loam and peat, with which sufficient sand may be mixed to render the whole porous. Cuttings will root, if placed in a similar compost, under a hand glass; seeds are also sometimes obtainable. [Illustration: FIG. 357. FLOWERS AND BUDS OF CANDOLLEA CUNEIFORMIS.] =C. cuneiformis= (wedge-shaped).* _fl._ yellow. July. _l._ smooth, obovately cuneated, blunt at the top, entire. Branches cinerous. _h._ 7ft. 1824. See Fig. 357. (B. M. 2711.) =C. Huegelii= (Huegel's). _fl._ at tops of the branches, among the leaves, on short pedicels; sepals acuminate, hoary outside, longer than the petals. May. _l._ linear, quite entire, villous when young. _h._ 6ft. 1837. =C. tetrandra= (four-stamened). _fl._ yellow, solitary; petals emarginate. June. _l._ oblong, cuneate, toothed. _h._ 7ft. 1842. (B. R. 1843, 50.) =CANDYTUFT.= _See_ =Iberis=. =CANE-BRAKE.= A common name for different species of _Arundinaria_. =CANELLA= (a diminutive of _canna_, a reed; in allusion to the rolled bark, like cinnamon). ORD. _Canellaceæ_. The best-known species of this genus is a very ornamental and economically valuable stove evergreen tree, which thrives in a mixture of loam and sand. Well-ripened cuttings, taken off at a joint, will root in sand, under a hand glass, with bottom heat, in April or May; but care should be taken not to deprive them of any of their leaves. Sweet says that large old cuttings are best. =C. alba= (white).* _fl._ violet-colour, small, growing at the tops of branches in cluster, but upon divided peduncles. _l._ alternate, obovate, cuneated at the base, white, or glaucous beneath, somewhat coriaceous, sometimes full of pellucid dots. _h._ 15ft. The whole tree is very aromatic, and, when in blossom, perfumes the neighbourhood. The flowers dried, and softened again in warm water, have a fragrant odour, nearly approaching to that of Musk. The leaves have a strong smell of Laurel. West Indies, &c., 1735. (T. L. S. i., 8.) =CANELLACE�.= A small order of tropical American aromatic shrubs, allied to _Bixineæ_, from which it differs only in having the albumen firmer, and with a smaller embryo. The genera are _Canella_ and _Cinnamodendron_. =CANESCENT.= Hoary, approaching to white. =CANICIDIA.= A synonym of =Rourea= (which _see_). =CANISTRUM= (from _canistrum_, a basket; in allusion to the inflorescence resembling a basket of flowers). ORD. _Bromeliaceæ_. Stove epiphytes, with showy inflorescence, and requiring similar culture to =Billbergia= (which _see_). =C. aurantiacum= (orange).* _fl._ orange-yellow, in a cup-shaped involucre of orange-red bracts; scapes erect. June to September. _l._ ligulate-lorate denticulate, deflexed. Brazil, 1873. See Fig. 358. (B. H. 1873, 15.) [Illustration: FIG. 358. CANISTRUM AURANTIACUM.] =C. eburneum= (ivory).* _fl._ white, green, disposed in a depressed head, the white ovaries of which give an appearance as of eggs in a basket. May. _l._ tufted, mottled, the central ones cream-coloured, surrounding the flower-heads. _h._ 2ft. SYNS. _Guzmannia fragrans_ and _Nidularium Lindeni_. Brazil, 1876. (B. H. 1879, 13, 14.) =C. roseum= (rose-coloured). _fl._ white, green; bracts rosy. 1879. =C. viride= (green). _fl._ green. _l._ green, canaliculate, acuminate, irregularly toothed. Brazil, 1875. SYN. _Nidularium latifolium_. (B. H. 1874, 16.) =CANKER.= This is a disease presenting very serious difficulties, principally in the cultivation of Apples and Pears. Both the trees and fruits, especially of some varieties, are, in many localities, so far injured as not to be worth cultivating. What causes the disease is not at all times known; indeed, it is, in most cases, but imperfectly understood. Were the causes better known, the remedy might generally be much easier found. Some of the primary causes are cold and undrained soil, severe and careless pruning, extreme variations of temperature, and excessive growth, made late in the season, when it has not sufficient time to get well ripened. Trees that are badly Cankered may often be improved by lifting, and replanting in improved or better-drained soil. Immediately the disease is detected in young trees, by the cracking of the bark or the skin of the fruits, measures should be taken to find the cause, if possible, and avert its progress. Some Pear-trees, in various localities, will not produce fruit without Canker in the open garden, but they will do so when planted against a wall; and as such may be the very best varieties, trees should be placed in the latter position. The removal of large branches, late in spring, will sometimes produce Canker, at the point where mutilation has taken place; and it may be caused by severe late pruning, which induces the growth of soft shoots that are almost certain to be injured by severe frosts. The difference in the seasons, as regards the amount of moisture, is one that can scarcely be provided against. One spring may be favourable to rapid growth, and the following may be most unfavourable, thereby arresting the natural flow of the sap until the latter part of the summer, when excessive growth will probably take place. Such checks invariably produce Canker. At times, the disease seems caused by the punctures of insects, in an early stage, on the stems or branches. In such instances, a thorough cleansing, and a smearing of quicklime, made into a wash, often proves successful. Strong tobacco water will destroy insects, and a weak solution of sulphuric acid is also fatal to lichens and mosses, which should never be allowed to obtain a footing. The chief preventatives, therefore, are: Planting in well-drained soil; avoiding the use of any rank manure, to cause excessive growth; changing the old, or adding new, soil to injured trees; careful pruning, and the encouragement of early growth in spring, and subsequent well ripening in autumn. [Illustration: FIG. 359. CANNA INDICA, showing Habit, Flowers, and Leaves.] =CANNA= (derivation uncertain; according to some, from _cana_, the Celtic name for cane, or reed). Indian Shot. ORD. _Scitamineæ_. A large genus of stove herbaceous perennials, very extensively employed in sub-tropical and other methods of summer gardening. Flowers spathaceous; anther attached to the edge of the petal-like filament. Leaves very ornamental. Few plants are more easily grown, or more quickly propagated. Seeds of many of the finer sorts may be bought cheaply from respectable seedsmen. These should be sown in heat, in February or March. A warm house or cucumber pit is the best place for sowing the seeds, which are very hard. If soaked in tepid water for twenty-four hours, germination will be materially stimulated. A mixture of sand and leaf mould is best for them, and a covering of 1-1/2in. or 2in. of earth is not excessive. They should be sown thinly, in pans. As Cannas are gross, and have somewhat brittle roots in a young state, it is a good plan to sow the seed singly in small pots. This method preserves all the roots intact, and prevents any check in potting off or dividing the plants out of seed pans or boxes. When this is not done, the plants must be potted off singly, as soon as they have formed two leaves, 3in. pots being used for the first shift. The soil can hardly be too rich and porous. Equal parts rotted dung, loam, and sand, with a little peat, form a capital mixture for them. The plants must be kept in a growing temperature of 60deg. or so, during their earlier stages, and shifted as required into larger pots. Under proper management, the roots will fill 6in. pots by the middle or end of May. They ought not to be planted out till the end of May or the first week in June. Should fairly rich soil and a sheltered place be selected for them, they will not only grow, but flower freely during the late summer and autumn months. Cannas are also very effective indoors, either for greenhouse or room decoration. For these purposes they may be grown on in 8in., 10in., or even 12in., pots, with rich soil, and placed either in a stove, intermediate house, warm or cool conservatory, window, or room. Liberal supplies of manure water will be of very great benefit. Propagation is also effected by means of divisions; they form a root-stock very like some of the commoner and more free-growing Irises, each portion of which, with bud and roots attached, may be converted into an independent plant. The best mode of procedure is to divide the root-stock in early spring, when the pieces may be placed in 4in. pots at once; and, if plunged in a bottom heat of 60deg. or so, they will quickly resume root action and grow rapidly. They may also be propagated by division without bottom heat. Those who grow large quantities seldom put their plants in pots at all. Stored in pots or boxes for the winter, they are divided and placed singly in similar positions in the spring, and transferred from such vessels into the open air. The best open site for Cannas is in a sheltered spot, with a good depth of rich soil, and plenty of moisture. In such a position, their noble leaves are not so much injured by rough winds. After flowering, or at the end of the season, they may be lifted and stored away in boxes, or in pots of earth, in dry, frost-proof sheds, or under greenhouse stages during winter. In warm, sheltered situations, with dry bottoms, they winter safely in the open, provided their crowns are covered with 1ft. of litter or cocoa fibre refuse. But where the soil is wet and cold, or the situation bleak and unprotected, they should be lifted and stored away, as already described. =C. Achiras variegata= (variegated Achiras).* _fl._ dark red. August. _l._ bright green, striped with white and yellow. Better adapted for indoor culture than out. =C. Annæi= (M. Année's).* _fl._ salmon-colour, large, well formed. June. _l._ large, green, glaucescent, ovate-acute, 2ft. long by 10in. wide. Stems vigorous, stiff, sea-green. _h._ 6ft. (R. H. 1861, 470.) Of this there are many forms, the best of which are: =C. A. discolor= (two-coloured).* _fl._ rosy-yellow, few, small. Late summer. _l._ lanceolate, erect, light red, 2-1/2ft. long, 10in. wide. Stems dark red. _h._ 3ft. to 5ft. =C. A. fulgida= (red).* _fl._ orange-red, large, well-opened. _l._ 20in. long, 6in. wide, deep purple, erect. Stems small, dark red. _h._ 3ft. to 5ft. =C. A. rosea= (rose).* _fl._ carmine-rose colour, small, few. Late summer. _l._ 2ft. long, very narrow, pointed, erect. Stems dark green, with a reddish base, numerous. _h._ 5ft. =C. Auguste Ferrier= (A. Ferrier's).* _fl._ orange-red, medium-sized. _l._ very large, oval, erect, pointed, deep green, with narrow stripes and margins of dark purplish-red. Stem green, very thick, downy. _h._ 10ft. =C. aurantiaca= (orange). _fl._, segments of perianth rose-coloured outside, reddish inside; upper lip orange, lower one yellow, dotted with orange. _l._ large, broadly lanceolate, pale green; margins slightly undulated. _h._ 6-1/2ft. Brazil, 1824. =C. Bihorelli= (Bihorell's).* _fl._ deep crimson, produced upon branching spikes in great abundance. _l._ red when young, changing to deep bronze with age. _h._ 6ft. to 7ft. One of the best. =C. Daniel Hooibrenk.= _fl._ bright orange, large, freely produced. _l._ large, glaucous-green, acuminate, with bronzy margin. Stalks strong, green. _h._ 6ft. =C. Depute Henon.=* _fl._ pure canary-colour, with a yellowish base, large; spikes numerous, rising gracefully above the foliage to a height of 1-1/2ft. _l._ ovate-acute, erect. _h._ 4ft. =C. discolor= (two-coloured).* _fl._ red. _l._ very large, broad, ovate-oblong; lower ones tinged with a blood-red hue; upper ones streaked with purple. Stems stout, reddish. _h._ 6ft. South America, 1872. (B. R. 1231.) =C. edulis= (edible). _fl._ large, with purple outer segments, inner ones yellowish. _l._ broadly ovate-lanceolate, green, tinged with maroon. Stems deep purple tinged. _h._ 6ft. to 7ft. Peru, 1820. (B. R. 775.) =C. expansa-rubra= (red-expanded).* _fl._ large, with rounded bright purple segments. _l._ very large, sometimes over 4ft. long, and nearly 2ft. broad, ovate, obtuse, spreading horizontally, dark red. Stems numerous, very thick. _h._ 4ft. to 6ft. =C. flaccida= (flaccid). _fl._ yellow, very large, not very unlike those of the native _Iris pseudo-acorus_. _l._ ovate-lanceolate, erect. _h._ 2-1/2ft. South America, 1788. (L. B. C. 562.) =C. gigantea= (gigantic).* _fl._ large, very ornamental, with orange-red outer, and deep purple red inner segments. Summer. _l._ about 2ft. long; petioles covered with a velvety down. _h._ 6ft. South America, 1788. (B. R. 206.) =C. indica= (Indian).* Indian Reed. _fl._ rather large, irregular; spikes erect, with light yellow and carmine-red divisions. Summer. _l._ large, alternate, ovate-lanceolate. _h._ 3ft. to 6ft. West Indies, 1570. See Fig. 359. (B. M. 454.) =C. insignis= (magnificent). _fl._ orange-red, few, small. _l._ ovate, spreading horizontally, green, rayed and margined with purplish-red. Stems violet, downy. _h._ 3ft. to 5ft. =C. iridiflora= (Iris-flowered). _fl._ rose, with a yellow spot on the lip; spikes slightly drooping, several emanating from the same spathe. Summer. _l._ broadly ovate-acuminate. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. Peru, 1816. (B. R. 609.) =C. i. hybrida= (hybrid). _fl._ blood-red, very large, only properly developed when grown in a greenhouse. _l._ green, very large. Stem green, downy, somewhat reddish. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. =C. limbata= (bordered).* _fl._ yellowish-red, disposed in long loose spikes; spathes glaucous. _l._ oblong-lanceolate, acute. _h._ 3ft. Native country uncertain, 1818. (B. R. 771.) =C. l. major= (larger-bordered). _fl._ orange-red, large. _l._ large, lanceolate, 2-1/2ft. long, 8in. wide, spreading, deep green. Stems downy. _h._ 5ft. to 6-1/2ft. =C. nigricans= (blackish).* _l._ coppery-red, lanceolate, acuminate, erect, 2-1/2ft. long, 10in. to 12in. broad. Stems purplish-red. _h._ 4-1/2ft. to 8ft. One of the finest kinds. _C. atro-nigricans_ has leaves of a purplish shade, passing into dark red, of a deeper hue than those of _C. nigricans_. =C. Premices de Nice.= _fl._ bright yellow, very large. Stems and leaves like those of _C. Annæi_. =C. Rendatleri= (Rendatler's).* _fl._ salmon-red, numerous, large. _l._ much pointed, deep green, tinged with dark red. Stems purplish-red. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. [Illustration: FIG. 360. FLOWERING SPIKE OF CANNA SPECIOSA.] =C. speciosa= (showy).* _fl._ sessile, in pairs; petals two, erect, bifid; lip spotted, revolute. August. _l._ lanceolate. _h._ 3ft. Nepaul, 1820. See Fig. 360. (B. M. 2317.) =C. Van-Houttei= (Van Houtte's).* _fl._ bright scarlet, large, very abundantly produced. _l._ lanceolate, 2ft. to 2-1/2ft. long, acuminated, green, rayed and margined with dark purplish-red. =C. Warscewiczii= (Warscewicz's).* _fl._ with brilliant scarlet inner, and purplish outer segments. _l._ ovate-elliptic, narrowed at both ends, deeply tinged with dark purple. _h._ 3ft. Costa Rica, 1849. (B. H. 2, 48.) There are several varieties of this species, the best two are: _Chatei_, with very large dark red leaves, and _nobilis_, with deep green leaves, rayed and margined with dark red. =C. zebrina= (zebra-striped).* _fl._ orange, small. _l._ very large, ovate, erect, deep green, passing into dark red, rayed with violet-purple. Stems dark violet-red. _h._ 6ft. to 8ft. =CANNABINACE�.= This order, of which the genus _Cannabis_ (Hemp) is the type, is now merged into _Urticaceæ_. =CANNABIS= (from the Greek word _kannabis_, used by Dioscorides, and that from Sanskrit _canam_). Hemp. ORD. _Urticaceæ_. A small genus, of but little ornamental value. Flowers racemose, di�cious. Nut two-valved, within the closed calyx. The undermentioned species is a hardy annual, of easy culture in ordinary garden soil. Propagated by seeds, sown in spring. =C. sativa= (cultivated). _fl._ greenish. June. _l._ on long stalks; leaflets from five to seven, long, lanceolate, acuminated; margins serrated. _h._ 4ft. to 10ft., or even 20ft. India, &c. This plant is cultivated very extensively for the sake of its valuable fibre. Well-grown plants have rather an ornamental appearance during the summer months. See Fig. 361. [Illustration: FIG. 361. HEAD OF CANNABIS SATIVA.] =CANNON-BALL TREE.= A common name for =Couroupita guianensis= (which _see_). =CANSCORA= (from _Kansgan-Cora_, the Malabar name of _C. perfoliata_, as yet unintroduced). SYN. _Pladera_. Including _Phyllocyclus_. ORD. _Gentianeæ_. Small, erect, simple or branched, stove or greenhouse annuals. Flowers stalked or sub-sessile. Leaves opposite, sessile or amplexicaul. Corolla funnel-shaped, with a four-cleft, unequal limb; the two outer segments equal, two lower ones combined a greater distance. Stems tetragonal. _C. Parishii_ requires similar treatment to =Balsam=, and grows best in a soil to which chalk or limestone débris is added. =C. Parishii= (Parish's). _fl._ white. _l._ opposite, perfectly connate, so that the united two apparently form an exactly orbicular leaf. _h._ 2ft. Moulmein, 1864. Greenhouse. (B. M. 5429.) =CANTERBURY BELLS.= _See_ =Campanula Medium=. =CANTHARELLUS CIBARIUS.= _See_ =Chantarelle=. =CANTHIUM.= A synonym of =Plectronia=. =CANTUA= (from _Cantu_, the Peruvian name of one of the species). SYN. _Periphragmos_. ORD. _Polemoniaceæ_. Very pretty erect, branched greenhouse evergreen shrubs. Flowers in corymbs, at the termination of the branches, rarely solitary and axillary. Leaves entire or almost pinnatifid, alternate, petiolate, elliptic, acuminated, or cuneate-oblong, glabrous, or downy on both surfaces when young. They are of easy culture in a compost of turfy loam, leaf-mould, and sand, if good drainage is allowed. Propagated by cuttings, placed in sand, under a hand glass. In the western parts of England, these plants--particularly _C. buxifolia_--thrive remarkably well in sheltered situations. =C. bicolor= (two-coloured). _fl._ solitary; corolla with a short yellow tube and scarlet limb. May. _h._ 4ft. Peru, 1846. (B. M. 4729.) =C. buxifolia= (Box-leaved).* _fl._, corolla pale red, straight, funnel-shaped, with a very long tube; corymbs few-flowered; peduncles tomentose. April. _l._ cuneate-oblong, mucronulate, quite entire. _h._ 4ft. Peruvian Andes, 1849. An elegant plant, having the tops of branches, calyces, and young leaves, downy. SYN. _C. dependens_. See Fig. 362. (B. M. 4582.) =C. dependens= (hanging). Synonymous with _C. buxifolia_. =C. pyrifolia= (Pyrus-leaved).* _fl._, corolla yellowish-white, curved; stamens twice as long as the corolla; corymbs terminal, dense-flowered. March. _l._ elliptic or obovate acute, entire or sinuate-dentate. _h._ 3ft. Peru, 1846. (B. M. 4386.) =CAOUTCHOUC.= The elastic gummy substance known as indiarubber, which is the inspissated juice of various plants growing in tropical climates in different parts of the world; such as _Castilloa_, _Ficus elastica_, _Hevea_, various species of _Landolphia_, _Manihot_, &c., &c. =CAPE EVERLASTING.= _See_ =Helichrysum=. =CAPE GOOSEBERRY.= _See_ =Physalis peruviana=. [Illustration: FIG. 362. FLOWERING BRANCH OF CANTUA BUXIFOLIA.] =CAPE GUM.= The gum of _Acacia Karroo_ or _A. capensis_. =CAPE JESSAMINE.= _See_ =Gardenia florida=. =CAPER-TREE.= _See_ =Capparis=. =CAPILLARY.= Very slender; resembling a hair. =CAPITATE.= Growing in a head. =CAPITULATE.= Growing in small heads. =CAPITULUM.= A close head of flowers; the inflorescence of Composites. =CAPPARIDE�.= An order of herbs or shrubs, rarely trees. Flowers clustered, or solitary; sepals four to eight, imbricate or valvate; petals four, arranged crosswise, sometimes, but rarely, five, or eight, rarely absent. Leaves alternate, very rarely opposite, stipulate or exstipulate. The order is distributed throughout the tropical and warm temperate regions of both hemispheres, the frutescent species being largely represented in America. There are about twenty-three genera--the best-known being _Capparis_, _Cleome_, and _Cratæva_--and about 300 species. =CAPPARIS= (_kapparis_, old Greek name used by Dioscorides, from Persian _kabar_, Capers). Caper-tree. ORD. _Capparideæ_. Greenhouse or stove evergreen shrubs, of considerable beauty. Calyx four-parted; petals four; stamens numerous; succeeded by a berry. They thrive best in a compost of well-drained sandy loam. Cuttings of ripe shoots will root in sand, under a hand glass, in moist heat. This genus contains about 120 species, but it is very doubtful if more than six are to be found under cultivation in this country. =C. amygdalina= (Almond-like).* _fl._ white; peduncles axillary, compressed, corymbiferous. _l._ elliptical-oblong, narrowed towards both ends, with a callous point; upper surface smooth; under surface, as well as the branches, covered with silvery scaly dots. _h._ 6ft. West Indies, 1818. Stove. =C. cynophallophora= (Dog-phallus bearing). _fl._ white, large, fragrant; peduncles few-flowered, shorter than the leaves. _l._ smooth, leathery, oblong, on short petiole. _h._ 8ft. to 25ft. West Indies, 1752. Stove. (R. G. 1862, 351.) =C. odoratissima= (sweetest-scented).* _fl._ violet, sweet-scented, about the size of Myrtle, with yellow anthers; peduncles racemiferous at the top. _l._ oblong, acuminate, on long footstalks; upper surface smooth; under surface covered with little hard scales. _h._ 6ft. Caraccas, 1814. Stove. [Illustration: FIG. 363. FLOWER AND BUD OF CAPPARIS SPINOSA.] =C. spinosa= (spiny).* Common Caper. _fl._ white, tinged with red on the outside; pedicels solitary, one-flowered. June. _l._ ovate, roundish, deciduous. _h._ 3ft. South Europe, 1596. This is an excellent greenhouse shrub, and one which we have found perfectly hardy in the southern counties of England. See Fig. 363. (B. M. 291.) =CAPRIFOLIACE�.= A rather large order of shrubs or herbs, often twining. Flowers terminal, corymbose, or axillary; corolla superior, regular or irregular. Leaves opposite, exstipulate. Well-known genera are: _Linnæa_, _Lonicera_, _Sambucus_, and _Viburnum_. =CAPRIFOLIUM.= _See_ =Lonicera=. [Illustration: FIG. 364. FRUIT OF LONG AND ROUND CAPSICUMS.] =CAPSICUM= (from _kapto_, to bite; on account of the biting heat of the seeds and pericarp). ORD. _Solanaceæ_. Shrubs or sub-shrubs, rarely herbs. Peduncles extra-axillary, one-flowered. Leaves scattered, solitary, or twin, and quite entire. Many of the species, although possessing considerable beauty, are but rarely grown, either for decoration or for the use of their fruit; consequently, we confine our specific enumeration to the Common Capsicum, the Bird Pepper or Chili, and the Bell Pepper. The first two of these have long been in cultivation, for use either in a green state for pickles and for making Chili vinegar, or ripened and ground as Cayenne Pepper. Some sorts are exceedingly ornamental for greenhouse decoration in winter, if plants are well grown in rather small pots, and the fruit ripened under glass. The varieties producing small pods are the hottest, and consequently best suited for making Cayenne Pepper. These are generally called Chilies. All other varieties of Capsicum have a more or less pungent flavour, and those bearing larger pods are more profitable for use in a green state. The fruits of all are either red or yellow when ripe, and are of various sizes and shapes. Some are produced and stand erect on the upper side of the branches; others hang underneath. Fig. 364 represents hanging fruits of Long and Round Capsicums, the shapes of which are produced by both red and yellow varieties. _Cultivation._ Being natives of tropical countries, Capsicums cannot always be depended upon to thoroughly ripen in the open air; but a good crop of green fruits may generally be obtained by preparing the plants early in the season, and planting out in a warm situation. Sow the seeds in February or early in March, in pots or pans, placing them in heat; and so soon as the plants are large enough, pot off singly into 3in. pots, still keeping them in heat until well rooted. Place them into 6in. or 7in. pots before they become starved; and gradually harden off and plant out about 2ft. asunder, in June. The fruits ripen better if the plants are placed against a south wall and tacked on to it. The safest plan to obtain a crop of ripe fruits is to cultivate under glass. Pots of 7in. diameter are large enough. Rich soil must be used, and any spare frames are suitable in summer. Plenty of water and frequent syringings should be applied, as the plants are very liable to injury from red spider and other insects if this is in any way neglected. The fruits will keep some time after being ripe, but are never better than when fresh gathered; they may, however, be kept on the plants for a considerable period. _Sorts._ Chili, Long Red, Long Yellow, Small Red Cayenne, Round Red, and Round Yellow. Good ornamental varieties are: Little Gem, a very dwarf variety, of comparatively recent introduction, covered with small, erect, red pods; and Prince of Wales, free fruiting, with hanging bright yellow pods. =C. annuum= (annual). Common Capsicum. _fl._ white, solitary. June. Petioles glabrous. _fr._ oblong, pendulous, and erect, red or yellow, variable in shape. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. South America, 1548. =C. baccatum.= Bird Pepper or Chili. _fl._ greenish; peduncles twin. June. _fr._ small, erect, almost globose. _l._ oblong, glabrous, as well as the petiole. Branches angular, striated. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. Tropical America, 1731. Greenhouse shrub. =C. grossum= (large). Bell Pepper. _fl._ white. July. India, 1759. =CAPSULAR.= Like a capsule. =CAPSULE.= A dry dehiscent seed vessel or fruit. =CARAGANA= (_Caragan_ is the name of _C. arborescens_ among the Monguls). Siberian Pea-tree. ORD. _Leguminosæ_. Very ornamental hardy deciduous trees or shrubs. Flowers usually yellow, axillary, either solitary or crowded, but always single on thin stalks. Leaves abruptly pinnate, the midrib ending in a bristle or spine; leaflets mucronate. They are well adapted for shrubberies, and are of the easiest culture in sandy soil. Propagated by cuttings, made of the roots, or by seeds; the low-growing shrubs by seeds and layers. Caraganas are generally increased by grafting on _C. arborescens_, which is easily raised from seed, sown when ripe or in spring. =C. Altagana= (Altagana). _fl._ yellow; pedicels solitary. April to July. _l._ with six to eight pairs of glabrous, obovate-roundish, retuse leaflets; petiole unarmed. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Dahuria, 1789. Shrub. =C. arborescens= (tree-like).* _fl._ pale or bright yellow; pedicels in fascicles. April, May. _l._ with four to six pairs of oval-oblong villous leaflets; petiole unarmed. Stipules spinescent. _h._ 15ft. to 20ft. Siberia, 1752. Tree. (B. M. 1886.) =C. Chamlagu= (Chamlagu). _fl._ yellow, at length becoming reddish, large, pendulous; pedicels solitary. May. _l._ with two pairs of distant, oval, or obovate glabrous leaflets; stipules spreading, and, as well as the petioles, spinose. _h._ 2ft. to 4ft. China, 1773. Shrub. =C. frutescens= (woody).* _fl._ yellow, resupinate; pedicels solitary. April. _l._ with two pairs of leaflets, approximating the top of the petiole, obovate-cuneated; stipules membranous; petiole furnished with a short spine at the apex. _h._ 2ft. to 3ft. Siberia, 1752. Shrub. (S. B. F. G. 3, 227.) There are one or two varieties of this species. =C. jubata= (bearded).* _fl._ white, suffused with red, few; pedicels solitary, very short. April. _l._ with four or five pairs of oblong-lanceolate, lanuginously-ciliated leaflets; stipules setaceous; petioles somewhat spinose. _h._ 1ft. to 2ft. Siberia, 1796. Shrub. SYN. _Robinia jubata_. (L. B. C. 522.) * * * * * +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ | Transcriber notes: | | | | P. 14. 't rminal' under Aciotis, changed to 'terminal'. | | P. 21. 'Ternstroemiaceoe' changed to 'Ternstroemiaceæ' | | P. 27. 'producing fronds', fronds is usually in italics. Changed. | | P. 27. 'A synonymn of A. venustum.', changed 'synonymn' | | to 'synonym'. | | P. 41. 'deeply chanelled', changed 'chanelled' to 'channelled'. | | P. 41. 'A. Wislizeni ... which is under 2ft. broad'; should 'broad'| | be 'long'? Left as a query. | | P. 49. A. Scorodoprasum. 'Europ' changed to 'Europe'. | | P. 53. A. ageratoides. 'receptable" changed to 'receptacle'. | | P. 87. 'surface is punctuate', changed 'punctuate' to 'punctuated'.| | P. 87. 'of less than than', taken out one 'than'. | | P. 134. A. umbrosum. 'laceolate' changed to 'lanceolate'. | | P. 162. 'Caraccas', changed to 'Caracas'. | | P. 171. 'browish when matured.', changed 'browish' to 'brownish'. | | P. 174. 'numerous arge round', changed 'arge' to 'large'. | | P. 190. 'part the day' changed to 'part of the day'. | | P. 190. 'Rio Janeiro, 1825.' changed to 'Rio de Janeiro, 1825.' | | P. 210. 'Caraccas', changed to 'Caracas'. | | P. 213. 'Syn. B Joinvillei, B. pitcairniæfolia.', changed 'Syn.' | | to 'Syns.' | | P. 222. 'There is a is a variety', removed extra 'is a'. | | P. 235. 'petioles sheating' changed to 'petioles sheathing'. | | P. 259. 'CAPSIDIUM' is 'CAMPSIDIUM' in another volume. Changed. | | Fixed various punctuation. | +--------------------------------------------------------------------+