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21442	----	file was produced from images produced by Core Historical Literature in Agriculture (CHLA), Cornell University) YOUR PLANTS. PLAIN AND PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS FOR THE TREATMENT OF TENDER AND HARDY PLANTS IN THE HOUSE AND IN THE GARDEN. BY JAMES SHEEHAN. NEW YORK: ORANGE JUDD COMPANY, 1919 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1884, by the ORANGE JUDD COMPANY, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. * * * * * CONTENTS. PAGE. CHAPTER I. How to Make a Lawn 7 CHAPTER II. Soil for Potting--Artificial Fertilizers 10 CHAPTER III. Selecting and Sowing Seeds 12 CHAPTER IV. Making and Planting Flower Beds 14 CHAPTER V. Watering Plants--Is Cold Water Injurious? 16 CHAPTER VI. Atmosphere and Temperature.--Insects 19 CHAPTER VII. Wintering Plants in Cellars 21 CHAPTER VIII. The Law of Color in Flowers 22 CHAPTER IX. The Relation of Plants to Health 23 CHAPTER X. Layering 25 CHAPTER XI. Propagation of Plants from Cuttings 26 CHAPTER XII. Grafting 29 CHAPTER XIII. Hanging Baskets, Wardian Cases and Jardinieres 31 CHAPTER XIV. Aquatics--Water Lilies 35 CHAPTER XV. Hardy Climbing Vines.--Ivies 37 CHAPTER XVI. Annual Flowering Plants--Pansy Culture 39 CHAPTER XVII. Fall or Holland Bulbs 42 CHAPTER XVIII. Tropical Bulbs.--Tuberoses 44 CHAPTER XIX. Roses, Cultivation, and Propagating 46 CHAPTER XX. Japan and other Lilies.--Calla Lilies 50 CHAPTER XXI. Geraniums, the Best Twelve Sorts 53 CHAPTER XXII. Azaleas; How to Cultivate Them 53 CHAPTER XXIII. Camellias.--Orange and Lemon Trees 55 CHAPTER XXIV. Fuchsias, Training and Management 57 CHAPTER XXV. Cactuses--Night Blooming Cereus.--Rex Begonias 59 CHAPTER XXVI. Rockeries--How to Make Them 62 CHAPTER XXVII. Budding 64 CHAPTER XXVIII. Pruning 68 CHAPTER XXIX. Miscellaneous Notes 72 CHAPTER XXX. Sentiment and Language of Flowers 76 INTRODUCTION. In the winter of the year 1880, while the author was in attendance upon a large horticultural meeting in a neighboring city, which was attended by nearly all the leading florists and nurserymen in Western New York, the idea of writing this work was first suggested to him. An intelligent lady, present at that meeting, widely known for her skill and success as an amateur florist, in conversation with the writer made the following remarks: "I have in my library at least a dozen different works on floriculture, some of them costly, all of which I have read over and over again, often having to pore over a large volume of almost useless matter, in order to find information on some points I was looking for. "It has occurred to me that some one ought to write a work on flowers, for the use of amateurs, that would contain in a brief space all the requisite information ordinarily needed by those who cultivate flowers in and about their homes. I predict that such a work could not fail to meet and merit a general demand." In writing this little volume, I have earnestly endeavored to carry out, as near as I could, the above suggestions. How far I have succeeded in accomplishing this end, my readers must judge. I trust that "Your Plants" will be useful and instructive in the field it was designed to occupy--that of a help to amateurs in the successful cultivation of plants and flowers in the house and garden. JAMES SHEEHAN. _Geneva, N. Y., October, 1884._ YOUR PLANTS. CHAPTER I. HOW TO MAKE A LAWN. A smooth lawn is a great attraction of itself, even if there is not a tree or shrub upon it. When it is once made, a lawn is easily kept in order, yet we seldom see a good one. There are three things to be taken into consideration in securing a fine lawn. First, location; Second, quality of the soil; Third, the kinds of seed to be sown. LOCATION. This is the most important matter relating to a good lawn. In selecting a site upon which to build, not the least consideration should be the possibility of having a fine lawn, one that will cost as little as possible to keep in a nice and attractive condition. The nearer level the land is, the better. If a house is built on an elevation back from the road, a sloping lawn has a good effect. Where the land is rolling and hilly, it should be graded into successive terraces, which, though rather expensive, will look well. Low lands should be avoided as much as possible in selecting a site on which it is intended to make a good lawn. Low land can be improved by thorough under-drainage. If the land is wet on which we design making a lawn, we should first thoroughly underdrain it by laying tiles two rods apart, and two feet below the surface. Large-growing trees should never be planted on the lawn, grass will not thrive under them. Fruit trees, like the apple, cherry, and peach, are exceedingly out of place on a fine lawn. The finest yard we ever saw had not a tree on it that exceeded ten feet in hight. Flowering shrubs, low-growing evergreens, a few weeping and deciduous trees of moderate size, with flower-beds neatly planted, make an attractive door-yard. SOIL. This is the mother of all vegetation. Nothing, not even grass, will flourish on a poor soil. The quality of the soil varies in different localities. We often find a fine sward on a stiff clay soil, and also on a light gravelly one. The soil best adapted to the growth of a good sward, is a sandy loam with a gravelly bottom. In making new lawns, there is sometimes more or less grading to be done, and often where a knoll has been cut off the sub-soil is exposed, and it will not do to sow the seed upon these patches until the spots have been thoroughly covered with manure which is to be worked in. If a new lawn of any extent is to be made, it should first be plowed deep, and if uneven and hilly, grade it to a level surface. The surface should have a heavy dressing of manure, which should be lightly plowed under, and then the surface should be dragged several times until fine, and then rolled with a heavy roller. The seed may now be sown, after which it should be rolled again. The spring is the best time to do this work, although if the fall be dry, it will answer nearly as well to do it at that time. The dryer the ground in preparing it for the seed, and for the sowing of the same, the better. In preparing a small plot of ground for a lawn, the spade, hand-rake, and small roller may be used in place of the larger implements. SEED. Much difficulty is often experienced in obtaining a good mixture of grass seed for the lawn, and different mixtures are recommended and sold for sowing lawns, some of which are entirely worthless. Great pains should be taken to have nothing but first-class seeds, which should be obtained direct of some responsible dealer. The finest sward we ever saw was made from the following mixture: 10 quarts Rhode Island Bent-grass. 4 " White Clover. 8 " Kentucky Blue-grass. 6 " Red-top Grass. Sow at the rate of six bushels to the acre. Grass seed can be sown in the fall any time from the first of October to the first of December. If the seed be sound, a good sward may be expected the following summer, and a good turf may be expected from spring sown seeds if the season is not too dry. The dryer the ground is when the seeds are sown, the better. To keep the lawn in a flourishing condition, fresh and green all summer, it will need a top-dressing of well-rotted manure applied in the fall, at least once every two years. Grass roots derive their nourishment close to the surface, hence the great advantage of top-dressing. In some localities where the frost "heaves" the sod to any extent during the winter, it will be advantageous to roll it down in the spring with a heavy roller, doing it just after a heavy rain. When the ground is soft and pliable, this will make the surface smooth, and in proper condition for the lawn-mower to pass over it. Frequent mowing will thicken the sward. It is not necessary to sow oats, as some do, to shade the ground until the seeds have started, that is an "old fogy" notion, and is now obsolete. CHAPTER II. SOIL FOR POTTING.--ARTIFICIAL FERTILIZERS. Good, fresh, rich soil, is an element that is indispensable to the growth of healthy, vigorous plants. A plant cannot be thrifty if grown in soil that has become musty and stale with long continued use; it must have fresh soil, at least once a year. Perhaps the best soil for general potting purposes, and the kind most extensively used by florists, is a mixture of equal parts of decayed sods, and well-rotted stable manure, and occasionally, especially if the sod is clayey, a little sand is added. The sods for this purpose may be obtained from along the road-side, almost anywhere, while good stable manure is always readily obtainable. Select some out-of-the-way place in the lot, or garden, and gather the sods in quantity proportioned to the amount of potting to be done. Lay down a course of the sods, and on top of this, an equal course of well-rotted manure, and so on, alternately, until the heap is finished; the last layer being sod. This heap should be turned over carefully, two or three times a year, breaking up the sods finely with a spade, or fork. The whole mass will become thoroughly mixed, rotted, and fit for use in a year from the time the heap was made. For those who have a large number of plants, we think it will pay to adopt this method of preparing soil for them, instead of purchasing it of the florist at twenty-five cents or more per bushel. Some florists sport a great variety of different soils, which are used in the growing of plants of different natures, requiring, as they claim, particular kinds of soil. Whatever of truth, if any, there is in this view, it has never been demonstrated to our mind. All kinds of plants have a common requirement in respect to soil, and the differences in growth of various species is attributable to climate and other causes than that of soil. At least that has been our experience. ARTIFICIAL FERTILIZERS. This question is frequently asked! Do you recommend the use of artificial fertilizers for house plants, and does it benefit them? I invariably answer yes, if used judiciously. The use of good special fertilizers will help the growth of some kinds of plants, which, without such aid, would scarcely meet our expectations. The term artificial fertilizers, applies to all manurial applications, save those produced by domestic animals. I have always believed, however, that when any fertilizer is needed, good, well-rotted stable-manure should have the preference over all artificial fertilizers. Where this manure cannot be readily obtained, or used conveniently, then special fertilizers can be employed as substitutes with good results. In applying manure in the liquid form to plants, use an ounce of guano to every gallon of water, and apply it to those plants that are in a healthy growing condition, about once every two weeks. It is a mistake to try to stimulate into growth, by the use of fertilizers, those plants which give every indication of being sickly or stunted; they will make such a plant sicker, if they do not kill it outright. If guano is used in potting soil, it should be in the proportion of one pound to every bushel of soil. CHAPTER III. SELECTING AND SOWING SEEDS. All individuals of the vegetable world are so created as to reproduce themselves from seed or its equivalent. Every plant that grows seems to possess the power to perpetuate its kind. All kinds of flowering plants can be grown from the seed, providing good, sound seeds are obtained, and they are placed under the proper influences to make them germinate and grow. The amateur cultivator has many difficulties to contend with in raising plants from seed. Some times it is difficult to obtain pure, sound seeds, but these should always be secured if possible, taking great pains in selecting varieties, and in obtaining them of some reliable dealer. If we sow seeds, and they fail to germinate, our first thought is to censure the dealer or raiser of the seed for lack of integrity in his business, while in reality the fault may be our own, and due to careless sowing. Those who raise seed for the market take great pains to produce none but good, sound seeds, and in nine cases out of ten, where seeds fail to germinate and grow, the fault is with those who sow them, and not on account of poor quality of seed. This we know from experience. Three things are absolutely essential in the sowing of seeds, in order to have that success which we all desire to attain: First; care should be taken to obtain fresh, pure seeds, without which all our after work with them will be in vain. Second; the soil in which to sow them should be a fine, mellow loam, free from stones and other coarse materials. Thirdly; sowing the seed. The general custom is to sow in drills. The depth at which seeds should be sown must of course be regulated according to their fineness, or coarseness. Seeds that are exceptionally fine, like those of Lobelias, Petunias, Ferns, and other very tiny seeds, ought never to be covered deeper than the sixteenth of an inch, with very fine soil sifted on them through a fine sieve; the soil should then be lightly patted down with the back of a shovel. This will prevent the seeds from shriveling before they start to germinate. Seeds like those of the Pansy, Verbena, etc., require a covering of a quarter to a half inch of soil, while those like the Nasturtium, Ricinus, etc., may be covered to the depth of an inch. The regular florist has facilities for raising plants from seed that most amateurs do not possess, but we will give a few suggestions that will enable those who desire to start their own plants, to do it successfully by the aid of the directions here given. A cheap and simple method is, to take four plain boards, of an equal length, say three feet long, and ten inches deep, and nail together to form a square frame. Then place this frame upon a bed of rich soil, prepared for the purpose in some sheltered, warm spot. The bed should be just wide enough to be enclosed within the frame. Within this enclosure sow your seeds, and cover with a glass sash. Seeds can be started in March in this frame, and afford plants for setting out in April and May. A bank of earth, or manure, may be thrown around the outside of the frame to keep it snug and warm. After sowing the seed in this frame, shade it for four or five days by placing a cloth over the sash, this will prevent too much heat and light until the seeds have commenced to germinate, after which it can be removed without injury. CHAPTER IV. MAKING AND PLANTING FLOWER-BEDS. People of the present day can scarcely be contented with tall, waving timothy in the front door-yard, and the rickety board-fence that enclosed a scene of almost primitive rusticity--the state of things in our "forefathers' days." In place of the timothy growing to hay in the front yard, we now see fine, smoothly-cut lawns of refreshing greenness; and fences of pickets, wire, and rustic iron, have supplanted the ancient board fences. In place of the tall-growing Sunflower and Hollyhock that sprung up here and there at random, we now see beds of choice and beautiful flowers artistically arranged and carefully cultivated by loving hands. All is system now about the door-yard and premises, where once were neglect and confusion. Every home should have one or more beds planted with attractive flowers. It would be a difficult matter to give specific instructions as to planting these beds, as every one has his own peculiar tastes in such matters, which is sometimes governed by surroundings, locality, etc. There are some general rules however, observed by gardeners in planting flower-beds that it would be well to observe. The following notes on planting flower-beds were handed us some time ago. We do not know the name of the writer, but have strong reason to believe them to be from the pen of the late James Vick. "There are a great variety of opinions as regards the most effective way of planting flower-beds. Some prefer to mix plants of different colors and varieties, others prefer the ribbon-style of planting, now so generally in use in Europe. If the promiscuous style is adopted, care should be taken to dispose the plants in the beds, so that the tallest will be at the back of the bed; if the leader is against a wall or background of shrubbery, the others should graduate to the front, according to the hight. In open beds, on the lawn, the tallest plants should be in the centre, the others grading down to the front, on all sides, interspersing the colors so as to form the most effective contrast in shades. "But for grand effect, nothing, in our estimation, can ever be obtained in promiscuous planting, to equal that resulting from planting in masses, or ribbon lines. In Europe lawns are cut so as to resemble rich, green velvet; on these the flower-beds are laid out in every style one can conceive of; some are planted in masses of blue, yellow, crimson, white, etc., separate beds of each harmoniously blended on the carpeting of green. "Then again, the ribbon-style is used in large beds, in forms so various that allusion can here be made to only a few of the most conspicuous. In a circular bed, say twenty feet in diameter, the bordering can be made of blue Lobelia, attaining a hight of six inches; next plant Mrs. Pollock Geranium, or Bijou Zonal Geraniums, growing about nine inches high. If you plant Mrs. Pollock, on the next row to it plant Mountain of Snow (silvered-leaved geranium), next a circle of Red Achyranthes; there are several varieties of this plant. Next Centaurea candidissima (Dusty Miller); the centre being a mound of Scarlet Salvias. "Narrow beds along the margins of walks can be formed of low-growing plants, such as the White Lobelia, Gypsophila, or Silvered Alyssum, for the front line, followed next by the Tom Thumb Tropæolum; then as a centre, or third line, Fuchsia Golden Fleece; as a second margined-line on the other side, Silver-leaved Geraniums with scarlet flowers, followed by a line of blue Lobelia. "Shaded stars have a fine effect on a lawn; cut a star and plant it with either Verbenas, Petunias, Phlox Drummondii, or Portulaca. The ends of the stars should be white, and shaded to the centre." A whole volume might be written on the subject of gardening, without exhausting its variety or interest, but we take it for granted that our readers will exercise their own tastes, or call on some competent gardener to give advice in the premises. CHAPTER V. WATERING PLANTS.--IS COLD WATER INJURIOUS? Probably the most important matter to be observed in growing house-plants is that of watering them. The cultivator should know just when to water, and to give it where it will do the most good. Amateur florists often exhibit much poor judgment in watering. It is the habit of some to keep the soil about their plants constantly soaked with water, and they wonder why they are not thrifty or healthy. These cultivators do not stop to consider that such treatment is unnatural, and will have an effect contrary to what is desired. There are those who resort to the opposite extreme, and keep their plants all the time in a perishing condition of dryness, which is even worse than if they were watered to death. If we will observe how judiciously Nature distributes the sunshine and shadow, the periodical rains, and the refreshing dews, we will learn an important lesson. A pot, or other receptacle in which plants are grown, should be porous; glazed, or painted pots, ought never to be used, where plain, unglazed pots can be obtained; all non-porous pots of tin and similar material, should be discarded. Plants growing in them can never compare in health with those that have the advantage of plain porous pots. There should be a hole of sufficient size in the bottom of each pot, to allow the water to drain off, and to pass away as soon as possible. Placing a few pieces of broken crocks, or charcoal, in the bottom of the pots will facilitate a rapid drainage, as good drainage is essential to the growth of strong, and healthy plants. When plants require water, it will be indicated by a light, dry appearance of the top of the soil, and if watered when in this condition, it will do the most good. Give water only when in this condition, and then copiously, giving them all they will soak up at the time, then withhold water until the same indication of their want of it again appears, then apply it freely. Unless plants are in a very dry atmosphere, as in a warm parlor in winter, they will seldom require watering. In summer they should be closely watched, and if exposed to wind and sun, they will require daily watering, to keep them in a flourishing state. When plants are suffering from drouth, it will be indicated by the drooping of the leaves, and they will frequently turn yellow, and drop off prematurely; this can be avoided by timely attention each day. In summer, watering in the cool of the evening will be followed by the best results, for it will give the plants time to take up and assimilate the moisture necessary to their life, and being completely charged with water, they will be prepared for the hot sun and drying winds of the following day. IS COLD WATER INJURIOUS TO PLANTS? Those who study works on horticulture by different writers, will discover many opposing views in respect to the modes of caring for, and the treatment of plants. The proper temperature for water when applied to plants, has been frequently discussed by different writers; some contend that cool water, just drawn from a well or cistern, should never be showered upon plants, but that it should first be heated to the temperature of the room in which the plants are standing. Others, with equal zeal, claim that cold water will not injure the plants in the least, contending that the water will assume the right temperature before injury is done the plant. Now which is right? We have experimented in this matter to a considerable extent, in order to satisfy ourselves as to which of these two views is correct. In the month of December I took from my collection twelve large geraniums and placed them by themselves in the conservatory; six of these I watered with cold water, drawn from a hydrant pipe at the temperature of 45°, and the other six were supplied with water from a barrel standing in the conservatory, and was of the same temperature of the house, that is from 60° to 80°. The plants watered with the cold water gave little if any bloom throughout the winter, while the six watered from the barrel grew finely, and bloomed profusely. Always water your plants in winter time with lukewarm water, if you would have a profusion of flowers, and thrifty-growing plants. The water should be of the same temperature as the room or place where the plants are. There is no theory about it, it is a practical fact, all talk to the contrary notwithstanding. CHAPTER VI. ATMOSPHERE AND TEMPERATURE.--INSECTS. The proper regulation of the atmosphere as to moisture and temperature, is one of the most important points to be observed in cultivating plants in the parlor, or window-garden. Plants will not flourish, bloom, and be healthy, in a dry, dusty atmosphere, even though the best of care otherwise may be bestowed upon them; hence it is that those who attempt to raise plants in their dwellings meet with so little success. There is an immense contrast between the atmosphere of a well regulated green-house and that of an ordinary dwelling. In the green-house, the atmosphere is moist and well-tempered to the healthful growth of plants; while that of the parlor or sitting-room is invariably dry and dusty, and plants will not flourish in it as they would in the conservatory. If the dwelling be heated by coal, there is more or less gas constantly discharged into the air of the room, which is of itself enough to destroy vegetation, or make it sickly. Houses heated by steam, are better adapted to the cultivation of plants. All plants will not flourish in the common temperature of a living-room; some require a low temperature, and others need a warmer one. The following plants require a temperature of from 70° to 80° in the day-time, and 55° to 60° at night Begonias, Coleuses, Calceolarias, Bouvardias, Ferns (tropical), Hibiscuses, Poinsettias, Tuberoses, Heliotropes, Crotons, Hoyas, Cactuses, all kinds, Caladiums, Cannas, Palms, Orange and Lemon Trees, Geraniums, etc. The following will do well in an atmosphere ranging from 50° to 60° by day, and 40° to 45° by night: Camellias, Azaleas, Oleanders, Roses, Carnations, Callas, Ivies, Abutilons, Jessamines, Holland-bulbs, Lily-of-the-Valley, Primroses, Violets, Verbenas, Chrysanthemums, etc. Plants will flourish better in the kitchen, where the steam and moisture from cooking are constantly arising, and tempering the atmosphere, than in a dry, dusty sitting-room; hence it is that we find "Bridget" sometimes cultivating a few plants in her kitchen window, that are envied by the mistress of the house, because they are so much finer than those in her parlor or sitting-room. If a pan of water is set upon a stove in a room where plants are growing, it will help to materially relieve the dryness of the atmosphere. But most all kinds of house-plants will do fairly in a uniform temperature, from 70° by day to 55° by night. Careful observation of the habits and requirements of different kinds of plants, as they come under our care, will greatly assist the cultivator, and in a short time he will be so conversant with their various habits as to know just how to properly treat each and every plant in his collection. INSECTS UPON PLANTS. The little green insects so frequently seen on house-plants, are called aphis (plural aphides), plant-lice, or green-fly. They feed upon the tender growth of plants, especially the new leaves, and will rapidly sap and destroy the life of any plant if allowed to remain undisturbed. In the spring these insects abound in great numbers on the plants in green-houses and parlors, or wherever they may be growing, and the remedy should be promptly applied. The greatest enemy to the green-fly is tobacco smoke, made by burning the stems, the refuse of the cigar-maker's shops; allowing the smoke to circulate among the leaves to which the insects are attached, will readily exterminate them. Place the infested plant under a barrel, an ordinary cracker barrel will do, and put under it a pan of burning tobacco, slightly moistened with water. Leave the plant in the smoke for fifteen or twenty minutes, after which remove it. If one "smoking" fails to destroy the insects, repeat the dose three or four times, once each day, until they are completely exterminated. A strong solution, or "tea," made from soaking tobacco stems in water, and syringing the same over the plants, will effectually destroy the little pests, and not injure the plant in the operation. CHAPTER VII. WINTERING PLANTS IN CELLARS. Many plants, such as Agaves (Century Plants), Oleanders, large Cactuses, etc., that have grown too large to be accommodated in the sitting-room or conservatory; can be successfully wintered in any moderately dry, frost-proof cellar. After placing these large plants in the cellar, it will not be necessary to give them any water, the object being to keep them dormant all winter, which can be done by keeping the soil as dry as possible, but not so dry as to allow the plants to shrivel, or become withered. Large plants of the kinds mentioned, often form desirable ornaments during the summer time, but it is impracticable, in most cases, to bring them into the house in winter, but they can be kept for years by cellaring through the winter as stated. Large Geraniums, Salvia and Heliotrope roots, and even Tea Roses, and Carnations, can be kept moderately well in the cellar by trenching them in dry, or moderately moist sand. Thus many choice specimens of these plants that we are loth to pull up and threw away when winter approaches, can be successfully kept over until the next season. It is a needless expense to purchase a stock of new plants for the garden every year, when we can winter many of the old ones in this simple and inexpensive manner. The leaves of all deciduous plants should be removed before they are put away in this manner. The foliage should remain on the Oleanders and Carnations. CHAPTER VIII. THE LAW OF COLOR IN FLOWERS. The public are so often duped by a set of travelling frauds, who make it their business to represent themselves as being the sole proprietor or agent of some "wonderful" kinds of plants, bulbs, or seeds, which possess the virtue of being remarkably distinct from anything ever seen or heard of before, that many over-credulous ladies or gentlemen fall victims to the unprincipled sharks. Did you ever see any one who could sell rose bushes that would certainly bear blue roses, or plants of the Verbena that produce yellow blossoms, or Tuberose bulbs bearing scarlet flowers? If you have not, you have something to learn, and many have paid dearly for experiences of this kind. There is a natural law of color in flowers, that the varieties of a species invariably present a certain range of colors. To attempt to introduce a new and distinct color, as for example a blue rose, into a family where the colors are always white, red, and yellow, is an impossibility, and any one who claims to do this, may be set down as a swindler. Much credit is due Mr. Peter Henderson, an eminent florist and seedsman of New York City, for the vigorous methods employed by him in exposing frauds of this kind, whenever his attention has been called to them. We quote from an article written by Mr. Henderson on this subject, some years ago: "It has long been known among the best observers of such matters, that in certain families of plants, particular colors prevail, and that in no single instance can we ever expect to see blue, yellow, and scarlet colors in varieties of the same species. If any one at all conversant with plants, will bring any family of them to mind, it will at once be seen how undeviating is this law. In the Dahlia we have scarlet and yellow, but no approach to the blue, so in the Rose, Hollyhock, etc. Again in the Verbena and Salvia, we have scarlet and blue, but no yellow. If we reflect, it will be seen that there is nothing out of the order of nature in this arrangement; why then should we expect nature to step outside of what seems to be her fixed laws, and give us a blue rose, etc." A word to the wise, we take it, is sufficient in view of the foregoing facts. CHAPTER IX. THE RELATION OF PLANTS TO HEALTH. Plants at present are more generally cultivated in-doors than formerly, and they may be seen in almost every home. The cultivation of plants in dwellings is decidedly a modern custom--at least to the extent to which it is now practised. One who now contemplates building a dwelling house, plans to have included with the other conveniences of a first-class home, a suitable window for house plants. As the cultivation of plants in dwelling houses increases, the question is raised by some: "Are not plants injurious to health, if growing in the apartments in which we live and sleep?" We know of persons who would not sleep in a room in which a number of plants were growing, giving as the reason that the amount of carbonic acid gas given off by the plants, is detrimental to health. Now this view is either true or it is not true. We have made a particular study of this matter, and speak from experience. Over ten years of my life had been spent in the green-house, among all kinds of plants; I have frequently slept all night among them, and I have never observed it to be in any way detrimental to my health, but, on the contrary, I have never felt better than when among plants. Gardeners, as a class, those who have spent their lives among plants, show, so far as we have observed, a longevity equal to, if not exceeding that of any other class who are engaged in any of the vocations usually regarded as healthy. We must admit, however, that we have never known of a case of chronic rheumatism to be benefited in the least by working in hot-houses, on account of the perpetual dampness of the air. On the other hand, we know of a number of persons afflicted with various other diseases, who have been noticeably benefited by working among plants: perhaps it was owing to the health-giving bodily exercise required by the work, rather than the supposed health-giving effects of the plants themselves; we think the result was due to both. An eminent physician cites a case in which his sister, aged fifty years, was afflicted with tubercular consumption, her death, as the natural result of such a terrible disease being expected at any time, but being an ardent lover of plants and flowers, she was daily accustomed to move among her plants, of which she possessed a large number, in her sleeping room as well as many others in beds outside. Her friends reproved her for sleeping in the same room with her plants; but the years came and went, and she was still found moving among her flowers in her eightieth year, surviving those, who many years before predicted her immediate demise, as the result of her imprudence. Who will say but what the exhalation from her numerous plants increasing the humidity of the atmosphere in which she lived, prolonged her life? The above is but one of many cases, in which tubercular consumption has been arrested and sometimes wholly cured by the sanitary effects produced by working among plants for a considerable time. We know of cases in which druggists, ministers, and students from school, compelled to relinquish their chosen vocations on account of failing health, have resorted to the nursery or hot-house. In almost every case restoration to vigorous health was the result. We contend, therefore, that this old superstition that house plants are injurious to health, is nothing but a myth. The amount of carbonic acid gas at night discharged from two dozen large plants, will not equal that exhaled by one infant sleeper, as has been demonstrated by scientific men. Because a few old cronies stick to the absurdity that "plants are awful sickenin' things," it is no reason why sensible people should be at all alarmed by it. CHAPTER X. LAYERING. Layering is a simple method by which plants may be multiplied. Moss Roses, nearly all kinds of hardy vines, like the Wistaria, Clematis, Honeysuckle, Ivy, and many others, are easily multiplied in this manner, together with most of our hardy shrubs. Many of our tenderer plants like Chrysanthemums, Verbenas, Heliotropes, etc., layer finely, by first bending the branches down to the ground, and partially covering them with sand or soil. Pots may be plunged in the ground so that the limbs will not require to be bent much in layering them. In layering hard-wooded plants like the Rose or Clematis, it is customary to cut a slight gash on the underside of each limb to be laid down, just cutting inside of the bark; this will arrest the flow of sap, and new roots will form at this point. Where vines are layered, such as the Grape, a simple twisting of the vine until the bark is cracked, will answer in place of cutting, and we believe it is just as well. It should be understood, however, that in layering, the entire shoot is not to be covered; a good portion of the tip of the shoot should be in sight, and only the middle of the branch be under ground, and securely fastened down by means of a peg. All layering should be done while the wood is young; just ripe enough to bend without snapping off, and all hardy vines and shrubs are in condition to layer from the first to the middle of June. For tender plants any month during the summer will answer for the operation. Most tender plants will root in a month or six weeks. Examine the layers in the fall, and if rooted, remove them; if not, they should remain undisturbed for another season. CHAPTER XI. PROPAGATION OF PLANTS FROM CUTTINGS. In the propagation of plants from cuttings or otherwise, the amateur, with limited facilities, of course cannot compete with the trained and experienced propagator, who makes the rearing of plants his business, devoting his whole attention to that special branch. Many men have devoted the greater part of a lifetime to experiment and study, as to the best and most practicable methods for the successful propagation of plants. There are, however, common and ordinary methods for propagating plants from cuttings, that the most inexperienced can practice with a measure of success. All florists root their cuttings in sand, and that obtained from the beach of some fresh water lake is the best for the purpose, being free from gravel and clay, and will not hold water long. If lake sand cannot be easily obtained, common building sand will answer by thoroughly washing it with several waters to free it from clay, etc. I can recommend to the reader no more simple and practical method of propagating plants on a small scale, than the following, from the pen of an experienced florist, which expresses my own views exactly: "Take a pan, or dish, at least three inches deep--the circumference of which may be as large as you wish, fill to within one half inch of the top with sand. The cuttings are to be inserted in the sand, which is made very wet, of the consistency of mud. The pan should then be placed on the window case, where it will receive the full light of the sun, which will not injure the cuttings in the least, providing the sand is kept constantly wet, being careful to never allow it to become dry for a moment, otherwise the plants will be lost. "'Is there no drainage from the pan necessary?' none, the atmosphere will evaporate the water fast enough to prevent any stagnation during the brief time required for the cuttings to take root." Success in propagating in this way, depends altogether upon keeping the sand wet like mud until the cuttings in it are "struck" or rooted, and this may be easily determined--with the hand gently try to lift the cutting, you will know if it is rooted by the hold maintained on the sand, if not, it will come out. A little experience in feeling with the hand in this way, will enable you to readily determine whether the cutting is rooted or not. I have no doubt that the following table, which I have carefully prepared from my own extensive experience in regard to length of time required by different plants to take root from cuttings, will be of interest to all who desire to propagate plants in this manner. I am supposing now, in the following table, that all the conditions and facilities are such as are generally found in a first-class propagating house, with bottom heat, etc.: _Days._ Ageratums 6 to 8 Amaranthus 6 " 8 Alyssum 10 " 12 Abutilon 12 " 15 Azalea 60 " 90 Begonias 12 " 15 Bouvardias 20 " 30 Clematis 30 " 40 Carnations 20 " 30 Cuphea (cigar plant) 6 " 8 Chrysanthemums 12 " 15 Centaurea 30 " 40 Coleus (all kinds) 6 " 8 Dahlias 15 " 20 Eupatoriums 15 " 20 Echeverias 30 " 40 Geraniums 12 " 15 Hibiscus 20 " 30 Heliotrope 12 " 15 Lobelia 12 " 15 Lantanas 12 " 15 Lavender 20 " 30 Mignonette 15 " 20 Myosotis 12 " 20 Nasturtium 10 " 12 Primroses 30 " 40 Pyrethrums 15 " 20 Poinsettia 30 " 40 Petunias 20 " 30 Roses 30 " 40 Oleander 30 " 40 Verbenas 6 " 8 Vinca 12 " 15 All hardy shrubs, taken when the wood is green and young, may be propagated in like manner. The summer is the time to take off the wood for such cuttings. CHAPTER XII. GRAFTING. Grafting is a simple art, that both old and young should become acquainted with and be able to perform. In my garden there had stood, for a number of years, away in a corner by itself, a wild apple tree, which had sprung up from the seed; it always bore fruit, but of a worthless character, so sour and insipid that even the swine refused to devour it when it was thrown to them. I became tired of seeing this tree, and resolved to change its nature. I went to work, being a nurseryman, and procured cions of ten or a dozen different sorts of apple trees, and took the first favorable opportunity in the spring to graft my old and useless apple tree. When I had finished grafting, I found that I had inserted here and there on the different branches, fifty cions, all of which, with the exception of three, lived, grew, bore fruit, each "after its own kind," Baldwins, Greenings, Gravensteins, Spitzenbergs, etc., and it is now the most desirable tree in the garden; I completely transformed the nature of the tree. Any one who understands grafting can do the same thing. Apple, Pear, Plum, and Cherry trees can be successfully top-grafted in the manner spoken of above, and the month of April is the best time to perform the operation. The outfit necessary to perform the operation of grafting is a small hand-saw, a hatchet, a wedge, grafting-knife, and wax to cover the wound. If the tree be a large one, and you wish to change the sort entirely, begin by sawing off all those limbs that, being removed, will leave enough to graft upon, and not spoil the symmetry of the tree. With the hand-saw saw off the limbs to be grafted about midway, then with the hatchet or wedge, cleave an opening in the remaining end of the limb, and entirely across, and deep enough to receive the cion; insert an iron in the cut to hold it open until the cion is placed, then withdraw the iron, and the graft will be held fast. The cions to be inserted should be cut before ascending the tree to graft, and, together with the wax, can be carried in a small basket for the purpose. If the diameter of the limb to be grafted is more than an inch, it is best to insert two grafts, placed so that each cion will stand near the edge of the cut, in juxtaposition with the bark of the limb. Immediately after setting the graft, plaster the cut over with a heavy coat of wax, being careful to leave no crack or crevice open through which it would be possible for air or water to enter. Each cion, in wedge-grafting, is cut in the shape of a wedge; the whole cion need not be over three to four inches in length. The following is a good receipe for making grafting-wax: One and a half pound of bees-wax, six pounds of resin, and one and a half pound rough beef tallow; put all into a pot, and boil one half hour, keeping it stirred; pour it out into a tub of cold water, and when it is sufficiently stiff it should be gathered into balls. When wanted for use the balls should be laid in warm water, which will readily soften the wax; work the wax with the hands thoroughly before using. Wedge-grafting is by no means the only way to graft, although it is about the only method of grafting large trees. There are from ten to twenty other modes of grafting, the difference being in the manner of cutting the cion, and in fitting it to the stock. To go into detail in regard to them would occupy too much space in these limited pages. Any one, with a little practice, can learn to cut a cion, and to graft with success. CHAPTER XIII. HANGING BASKETS.--WARDIAN CASES AND JARDINIERES. Hanging Baskets for plants are made of different materials, and in a great variety of forms. Some are made of wire, others of clay, and ornamented with fancy mouldings, etc. Very pretty baskets in rustic style are made by covering the outside of a wooden bowl with fantastic knots and roots; this makes a pleasing basket, but we know of none so desirable as the old style semi-globular wire basket, when properly filled. DIRECTIONS FOR FILLING HANGING BASKETS. To fill a wire basket, first obtain some of the green moss to be found on the lower portion of the trunks of trees in almost any shady piece of woods. This is to be used as a lining to the basket, turning the green side out, and entirely covering the inside of the wire form with the moss. Before filling the basket with soil, place a handful of charcoal or gravel in the bottom, which will hold the moisture. Fill the basket with rich, loose loam, such as will not harden by frequent waterings. Plants that are peculiarly suitable for hanging baskets are quite numerous, and from them a selection may be made that will please the most exacting taste. It is a mistake to crowd too many plants into a basket, if they grow they will soon become root-bound, stunted, and look sickly. If the hanging basket be of the ordinary size, one large and choice plant placed in the centre with a few graceful vines to droop over the edges, will have a better effect when established and growing, than if it were crowded with plants at the time of filling. Hanging baskets being constantly suspended, they are exposed to draughts of air from all sides, and the soil is soon dried out, hence careful watching is necessary in order to prevent the contents from becoming too dry. If the moss appears to be dry, take the basket down and dip it once or twice in a pail of water, this is better than sprinkling from a watering-pot. In filling hanging baskets, or vases of any kind, we invariably cover the surface of the soil with the same green moss used for lining, which, while it adds materially to the pleasing appearance of the whole, at the same time prevents the soil from drying out or becoming baked on the surface. The following is a list of choice plants suitable for hanging-baskets. Those marked thus (+) are fine for the centre, those marked thus (*) have handsome foliage, and this mark (**) indicates that the plants have flowers in addition to handsome foliage: **Begonia glaucophylla scandens. +Oxalis. **Begonia Rex, very fine. *Fittonia +Cuphea platycentra (Cigar Plant). +Pandanus (Screw Pine). +Dracæna (Young's). +Neirembergia. +Centaurea gymnocarpa. **Geraniums, Mrs. Pollock and Happy Thought. *Tradescantia discolor. *Peperomias. **Gloxinias. *Fancy Ferns. +Ageratum (John Douglass, blue). +Achyranthes. **Variegated Hydrangea. *Ficus Parcelli. **Gesnerias. *Variegated Grasses, etc., etc. TRAILING PLANTS. **Fuchsia, microphylla. Sedum (Stone Crop). **Ivy-leaved Geraniums. German Ivy. Indian Strawberry Vine. Kenilworth Ivy. Lycopodium. Moneywort. **Trailing Blue Lobelia. *Cissus discolor. **Lysimachia (Moneywort). **Tropæolums. **Torrenia Asiatica. **Mesembryanthemums (Ice Plant). **Cobæa scandens. **Pilogyne suavis. +Lygodium scandens (Climbing Fern). WARDIAN CASES--JARDINIERES, ETC. A Wardian Case consists of a base, which is generally an oblong box, covered with a square glass frame, under which certain plants can be successfully grown. This is now considered by many to be a desirable ornament in the window-garden during the winter months. When neatly and artistically filled with suitable plants, a Wardian Case becomes a thing of beauty. These cases can be easily and cheaply made by any one possessed of ordinary mechanical skill. The base or box should be oblong in shape, at least eight inches deep, and lined inside with zinc or tin-plate, securely soldered to prevent the water and soil from staining the wood. A case made in this manner will endure a number of years without decaying. Over the case a square glass frame should be made to fit snugly; it should be from eighteen inches to two feet high, so as to allow the plants that are to grow under it plenty of room. When the case and frame are finished, the whole should be mounted upon a stand, or legs can be made with the case, under which are casters, by which to move it about easily. Before planting, make a small funnel hole through the bottom of the box, to allow the surplus water to escape rapidly, and before putting in the soil, cover the bottom of the box two inches deep with broken crocks or charcoal, or even gravel, to facilitate a rapid drainage, a matter absolutely essential to the healthy growth of the plants. Fill the box within an inch of the top with fine, rich, peaty loam, and all will be ready to receive the plants. Those suitable for growing in a case of this kind, should be such as will live and thrive in a moist, still atmosphere, and are of slow growth; all rampant, rank-growers must be discarded as being wholly unsuitable, as they would soon become of such proportions that they could not be confined in so limited a space. The following plants are eminently suited for Wardian Cases, Jardinieres, etc.; Fittonias (Gymnostachyum), Fancy Caladiums, Tradescantias, Cissus discolor, Gesnerias, some varieties of Crotons, Dwarf-growing Begonias, Fancy Ferns, Lycopods, etc., etc., are very suitable for this purpose. In arranging the plants in the case, particular care should be taken to have them so placed that the tallest-growing ones will be in the centre, and grading downward, according to size, the Lycopods being on the bottom. The whole surface of the soil may be covered with the trailing Lycopodium; by placing small pieces here and there, it will soon spread over the entire surface, making a beautiful ground work of purplish-green. Small, highly-colored sea-shells, and beautifully-colored pebbles, are scattered about among the plants, to enhance the beauty of the whole. After the case has been filled the soil should be thoroughly soaked with lukewarm water. Remove the case to a shady place for three or four days, to allow the plants to recuperate, after which it can be placed in the full light with safety. The lid or top should be lifted whenever there is excessive moisture on the inside, which will be indicated by the moisture trickling down on the inside of the glass. As a rule the plants should have fresh air, by lifting the lid for a few minutes each day, but beware of all cold draughts, or too much exposure to chilly atmospheres. Ordinarily, once a month is often enough to water, this must be governed by the circumstances, but they should never be allowed to become dry, remembering that as warmth, moisture, and a still atmosphere are secured, success will be certain. CHAPTER XIV. AQUATICS--WATER LILIES. The native Water Lilies that abound in many of our lakes, ponds, and rivers, are more or less familiar to all. They grow up year after year through the placid waters, unfolding their blossoms of spotless purity to the silent stars, and after a short while, disappear, to return at another favorable season. The American Water Lily, _Nymphæa odorata_, has flowers of a yellowish-white, and an odor that is peculiar and pleasant. The size of the flowers averages three to four inches across. This is by no means the only aquatic lily, for we have in cultivation quite a number of other choice and striking species quite different in leaf and flower from _N. odorata_. Among the most noticeable of these is, _N. rubra_, a native of India, which has flowers of a rosy-red, measuring from eight to ten inches in diameter, with scarlet stamens; the large leaves of this Water Lily turn to a gorgeous crimson color in the fall. There are also _N. Devonensis_, bearing flowers of a brilliant red, which often measure from twelve to fourteen inches across, are star-shaped, and very beautiful. _N. cærulea_, a native of Egypt, has light blue flowers, and light green leaves; the flowers are very fragrant. _N. flava_ has yellowish flowers, sometimes beautifully variegated with brown. There is quite a number of other interesting species, but those already mentioned are the best. The cultivation of Water Lilies is very simple, they can be grown with success in tubs or tanks, or in little artificial ponds, constructed to accommodate them. A hogshead sunk in the ground in the open air, in some sunny location, will answer to grow them in. Fill a hogshead half full of the compost recommended for aquatics, then set the plants in the compost, press down firmly, and fill the cask with pure water. If possible connect a flow and waste pipe with the barrel, to keep the water fresh, as this is highly essential in growing these plants in this manner. A Mr. Sturtevant, we believe, now of Burlington Co., N. J., is an enthusiast on the cultivation of Water Lilies, and no doubt an excellent authority, He has written some valuable hints on the culture of aquatics, from which we are tempted to quote. He says, "I will add here a few words on the possibilities of aquatic gardening. One argument in favor of cultivating tropical lilies in the open air is, that larger leaves and flowers are obtained, and in case of the colored kinds, greater depth of color than when under glass." And again, "Let us suppose that you wish to have an aquatic garden, fifty, sixty, or a hundred feet in diameter. We will not build it in the stiff form of a circle or oval. There is a small bay, across which we will throw a rustic bridge to a peninsula: somewhere on the margin we will build a rustic summer-house." * * * * * "Now let us suppose that all has been planted, and come to mid-summer perfection. Some morning, before the night-blooming lilies (there are varieties that bloom only in the night), have taken their mid-day sleep, let us ascend the tower, and take a view of the picture." He graphically describes the beauty of this miniature Eden, with all its rare and beautiful tropical plants, which certainly must be enchanting for any who love the beautiful. It is surprising that many people of ample means, and with good facilities for growing aquatics, and who have a taste for flowers, do not take more interest in domesticating these plants. Any one who keeps a gardener can have a very fine show of these beautiful flowers, and a comparatively small outlay will bring good results in a short time. Let those who can, try it. SOIL FOR GROWING AQUATIC PLANTS. The best soil for growing aquatics, is that obtained from the bed of a pond, or a slow, swampy stream, but when this is not readily obtainable, a mixture of equal parts of good, rich garden loam and stable manure will be almost as good. Some use a mixture of muck and bog peat, from which they claim very satisfactory results in growing aquatics; either we think can be used with good success. CHAPTER XV. HARDY CLIMBING VINES.--IVIES. Hardy Climbing Vines seem to be in large demand in different sections of the country, either for training upon trellises as single specimens, or for training upon the side of the building, piazza, portico, or to screen unsightly places, etc. We select from a large number of hardy climbing vines the following sorts, which we think are the most desirable: Wistaria, Chinese (blue and white). Honeysuckles, Belgian. Clematis Jackman's (purple). Clematis Henry's (pure white). Clematis, _viticella rubra grandiflora_ (red). Virginia Creeper, _Ampelopsis quinquefolia_ (strong grower). Japan Creeper, _Ampelopsis tricuspidata_, or _Veitchii_, of most catalogues. Bignonia, Trumpet-Flower. Rose, Baltimore Belle (white). Rose, Queen of the Prairies (pink). All of the above named vines are strong, vigorous growers, perfectly hardy, and with the exception of the two Creepers, are handsome bloomers. IVIES--GROWING AND TRAINING. "A dainty plant is the Ivy green, That creepeth o'er ruins old."--Boz. The Ivy is one of the oldest and most venerable of all climbing shrubs, and is preëminently the poet's vine. In some of the older countries, especially in England, where the climate is particularly favorable to its growth, the Ivy is very attractive, and is said to reach the greatest perfection there. Travellers who have journeyed through that country, describe the old Ivy as clinging closely to, and completely covering the walls of ancient castles, and churches, and often it runs rampant over the fields, mounting stone walls, clinging to trees, etc. The Ivy in our climate is entirely hardy, enduring the severest winters without any protection. If the vine is allowed to grow over the walls of a dwelling, either on the inside, in a living-room, or on the outer walls of the building, is not only beautiful as an ornament of the home, but beneficial; in a sanitary point of view it is regarded as useful. Some plants of Ivy growing in the living and sleeping rooms, will do more to keep the atmosphere of the apartments pure and wholesome, than anything we can possibly imagine, and I recommend their more extensive cultivation in malarial localities. The Ivy may be easily cultivated from slips or layers. In soil, sand, or even in pure water, cuttings will root, and they will take up with almost any kind of soil, but that which can be easily kept loose, is preferable. The Ivy is partial to shade, and if it never saw the sun it would make no difference, as it would grow and flourish just the same. There is no sight more attractive in a window-garden than a fine Ivy vine trained up the casement, over the wall and ceiling; its dark, rich, glossy leaves, and thrifty look, make it an object to be admired. If grown in pots in the house, the soil will soon become exhausted, if the plant is growing rapidly, and it should be changed or enriched with decayed manure at least once each year, care being taken not to disturb the roots to a great extent. It is a mistake to allow Ivies too much pot-room, they will do better if the roots are considerably confined. Soap-suds or liquid manure if applied once a mouth when the plants are growing, will promote a luxuriant growth. When dust accumulates on the leaves, as it will, if grown in-doors, wash it off with a damp cloth or sponge; if this is long neglected, you need not be surprised if you soon discover the leaves to be covered with red-spider or scale-lice. Cold water is the best wash, when washing be sure and treat the underside of the leaves as well as the upper surface. I would recommend the "English Ivy" as being the best sort for general cultivation. CHAPTER XVI. ANNUAL FLOWERING PLANTS.--PANSY CULTURE. Annuals flower the same season the seeds are sown, perfect their seeds, and then die. "There is," says James Vick, "No forgotten spot in the garden, none which early flowering bulbs or other spring flowers have left unoccupied, that need remain bare during the summer. No bed but what can be made brilliant with these favorites, for there is no situation or soil in which some of these favorites will not flourish. Some delight in shade, others in sunshine; some are pleased with a cool, clay bed, while others are never so comfortable as in a sandy soil, or burning sun. The seed, too, is so cheap as to be within the reach of all, while a good collection of bedding plants would not come within the resources of many, and yet very few beds filled with expensive bedding plants look as well as a good bed of our best annuals, like Phlox, Petunia, or Portulaca, and for a vase or basket many of our annuals are unsurpassed. To annuals, also, we are indebted mainly for our brightest and best flowers in the late summer and autumn months. "Without the Phlox and Petunia, and Portulaca and Aster, and Stock, our autumn gardens would be poor indeed, and how we would miss the sweet fragrance of the Alyssum, Mignonette, and Sweet Pea, if any ill-luck should befall them, or deprive us of these sweet favorites!" Annuals are divided into three classes, hardy, half-hardy, and tender. The hardy annuals are those that, like the Larkspur, Candytuft, etc., may be sown in the autumn, or very early in the spring in the open ground. The half-hardy annuals should not be sown in the open ground until all danger of frost is over. The Balsams and Marigolds belong to this class. The tender annuals generally require starting in a green-house, or hot-bed, to bring them to perfection, and should not be set in the open ground until the weather is fine and warm, some time in June. From a perplexing number to be found in plant catalogues, we select the following twelve sorts of annuals as being the most desirable for the garden; they are a galaxy of gems, indeed: Asters, Balsams, Phlox Drummondii, Double Petunias, Pansies, Double Sweet Alyssum, Double White Pyrethrum, Dwarf Ageratum, Verbenas, Salvias, Double Stocks, Celosias (Coxcomb). Sow the seed in the open ground the latter part of May, and the first of July most of the sorts will be in bloom, and they will continue to bloom until arrested by frosts. PANSY CULTURE. Pansies are old and popular favorites, they embrace varieties with variously-colored flowers, from almost jet black, to pure white and yellow. They are easily grown from seed. The general custom is to sow Pansy seed in the fall, but we are in favor of spring sowing. We have tried sowing seed at both seasons, and find that plants grown from spring-sown seed bloom more freely throughout the hot months of summer, while plants raised by fall sowing become exhausted, and cease flowering much sooner. Seed sown in March, in light, rich soil, will make fine blooming plants the same season. Pansies are hardy, if they have good protection with a litter of leaves or straw, or any light covering, which should be removed very early in the spring, or as soon as danger of heavy frosts is over. Plants remaining in ground through the winter, if proper care is given them, will bloom very early in the spring, as soon as the frost is out of the ground. We have even seen the frail blossoms peeping up through the snow, but the plants become exhausted and cease flowering before mid-summer. It is possible to have them bloom throughout the entire winter by taking up old plants from the open ground in October, and carefully planting them in a tight, cold frame in a sheltered location, covering the frame with glazed sash. This is often done by florists whose trade demands the flowers at that season of the year, and especially early in spring. Treated thus, they flower abundantly. The same can be done with Violets. Pansies require a partial shade and a good, rich, loamy soil, and an occasional watering through the dry season will help them. CHAPTER XVII. FALL OR HOLLAND BULBS. That class of bulbs known as Fall, or Holland Bulbs, includes Hyacinths, Crocuses, Jonquils, Tulips, Narcissuses, Snow-drops, and several less known kinds. These bulbs are grown in Holland in immense quantities, the soil and climate of that country being peculiarly favorable to them, and they are annually imported into this country in great numbers. The fall is the time to set them out; any time from the first of October, to the middle of December. Tulips, Jonquils, Narcissuses, and Hyacinths, should be planted four inches deep, and eight inches apart each way; the Snow-drops and Crocuses two inches deep, and six inches apart. All of the above named bulbs are entirely hardy, and will stand in the ground without any surface protection through the severest winters. Some go to the trouble of covering the surface with leaves or other litter for protection, but this is entirely unnecessary. A very pretty effect may be had, where one has a large number of bulbs, by selecting the different colors and planting each color in a row by itself, so that when they blossom, it will be in ribbon-lines of red, white, blue, or yellow, as the case may be. Or, if one has a large number of beds of different shapes, cut so as to form a design of some kind, each section may be planted with a different color (Hyacinths are the best for this work), and when all come into bloom in April, the effect will be most charming. We tried this "massing" of the differently colored bulbs one year, in a "design" of one hundred different sections of all conceivable shapes. Planting the bulbs so that, when in blossom, the whole would present a harmonious effect. It would be hard to conceive of a more attractive sight than that presented by all those bulbs in full bloom in early April, when every thing else looked barren and cheerless. They were admired by every one who saw them. Bulbs of this character bloom and pass away in season to allow room for other plants to be set out. These may be set between the rows of bulbs, and not disturb them in the least. Any of the above named bulbs are especially desirable for house culture in winter. Make an oblong box, say four feet in length, fifteen inches wide, and twelve deep, fill this with fine, rich loam, then plant a row of Hyacinths in the centre, and on each side of this plant a row of either Snow-drops or Crocuses, water thoroughly, and set away in a dark, cool place. In three weeks remove the box into the full light, and water freely, they will grow and bloom throughout the winter. If the box can be set near a front window, it will make a pretty display while the bulbs are in bloom. These bulbs can be started in pots, or glasses filled with water, and treated in the same manner as stated above. Place a single bulb of Hyacinth in each pot or glass. Four-inch pots filled nearly to the top with soil, and the bulbs set in and pressed down, so that nothing but the crown is above ground, are all that is necessary. The same bulbs can be used a number of years, but they are not so good as fresh ones, which should be obtained each year if possible. After the bulbs are through blooming, they may be left in the soil in which they grew through the winter, and removed to a dry place to rest, in preparation for starting them another fall. If fresh bulbs are desired for this purpose, the old ones may be planted out in the open ground, where they will again renew their strength, and bloom annually for a number of years. They are multiplied from the seed and from offshoots. CHAPTER XVIII. TROPICAL BULBS.--TUBEROSES. Gladioluses, Tuberoses, Cannas, and Caladiums, come under this head, and are the best known of this class of bulbs. They are not hardy, and the slightest frost will injure them more or less. It is customary to allow tender bulbs of this kind to rest during the winter, the same as one would an onion. They can be safely kept through the winter under the staging of the green-house, in a dry, frost-proof cellar, where there is plenty of light, or in any other place where potatoes can be safely stored. Tropical bulbs of all kinds are much benefited by planting them in good, light, loamy soil, well enriched with well-rotted stable manure. They may be planted out in the open ground as soon as it can be worked in the spring, and all danger from heavy frosts is over. Any of the above named bulbs of ordinary size, should be planted at least from three to four inches deep, and from six to eight inches deep when the bulbs are of extra size. I am in favor of planting these bulbs in the open ground much earlier than most gardeners are in the habit of doing. Experience has shown me that the earlier in spring those summer bulbs are set out in the open ground, the better. Just as soon as the ground is in good condition to work, spade it up deeply, and plant the bulbs; the roots will soon begin to develop in the cool ground, before the tops start to grow, which is the true principle in growing all plants. They will thus receive a fine start before hot weather sets in. We have had Tuberoses and Gladioluses to bloom much earlier than usual, and much more continuously throughout the summer and fall, as the result of planting them as soon as the ground can be worked in the spring. If a continuation of bloom is desired, the bulbs should be planted at successive intervals of not less then three weeks; this will give a sucession of bloom throughout the entire season. In the fall remove the bulbs from the ground as soon as the tops have been touched by frost, cutting the stalk off to within a couple of inches of the base, and setting the bulbs away to rest for the winter. TUBEROSES. No collection of garden flowers is complete without the Tuberose. For the spotless purity of its flowers, and for incomparable fragrance, it has no superior. It is very easy to grow them successfully. Bulbs intended for fall blooming, should be planted in the open ground from the first to the middle of May; plant them about two inches deep. They will do well in any good, rich garden soil, if the soil is occasionally moved around them with the rake or hoe, after they are up and growing. Such treatment will cause the bulbs to grow rapidly, and the flower trusses, when they come into bloom, will consequently be much larger and finer. As the Tuberose is not hardy in our Northern climates, the bulbs should be dug up in the fall, the tops or stalks removed to within two or three inches of the bulbs, which should then be laid away in some dry, warm place, a dry and frost-proof cellar will do, or better yet, store them if possible, under the staging of a green-house. In the spring, before planting, remove all the young offsets from around the parent bulb; there are usually a number of young shoots clinging to it, and as the old bulb blooms but once, and only once, it is henceforth good for nothing, save for the production of more bulbs, if desired. The young offshoots of the first season's growth will not become blooming bulbs until the third year, but if you have quite a number of young bulbs, say twenty-five or fifty, there will naturally be a number that will bloom in rotation, from year to year, and give some bloom each season. Some enterprising florists have Tuberoses nearly the whole year round. In order to do this, the bulbs must be "started" in pots; the bulbs are potted in the usual manner, so that the top, or crown of the bulb, when potted, will just show above the soil, and they should be kept rather dry until they show signs of growing, when they can be watered freely and set in a warm place. Of course bulbs intended for winter blooming must rest, or be kept from growing during the summer, and bulbs to be in bloom in April or May, must be started in January or February in pots. Tuberoses are rapidly productive; ten old bulbs having been known to produce one hundred young offshoots in one season. There are many "fine points" in growing Tuberoses, but the instruction here given will enable any one to grow them successfully. CHAPTER XIX. ROSES--CULTIVATION AND PROPAGATING. The Rose is preëminently the Queen of Flowers. It has no rival in the floral kingdom, and will always stand at the head in the catalogue of Flora's choicest gems. To it alone belongs that subtle perfume that captivates the sense of smell, and that beauty of form and color so pleasing to the eye. Add to all this, it is one of the easiest plants to cultivate, as it will grow and flower in almost any soil or climate, requiring but little care and attention as compared with many other favorites of the garden. There has been great improvement made in Roses in the last twenty years by skillful cultivators in this country and in Europe, and from a few common sorts formerly grown, many hundred choice and desirable varieties have been produced, and to-day the choice cultivated varieties are very numerous. These differ in respect to hardiness, habit of growth, and peculiar characteristics of blooming, and for these reasons cultivators have grouped them into several distinct classes, each class differing in certain characteristics from the others. TEA ROSES. The Roses best adapted for in-door culture belong to the class known as Tea Roses; these are tender, of a bushy growth, and if properly treated, will bloom the year round; the flowers have a strong tea-scent. Tea Roses can be cultivated out-of-doors with success, but they must be taken up in the fall and removed in-doors. We know it is the custom of some gardeners to lay the bushes down in the fall, and cover them with earth and leaves; while in some cases this may preserve them, it cannot be depended on as a rule. To keep up a steady bloom, pinch off all flowers as soon as they begin to fade. It is best to not let the buds open fully while on the bush, but they should be cut in the bud, and placed in a vase of water, where they will expand and keep for a long while. All dead leaves and flower stems should be carefully removed, and the surface of the soil in the pots should be stirred up occasionally with a stick, this will keep the plants in a growing condition, and if they can be kept growing, they will bloom continuously. The following varieties of Tea Roses are in every respect among the best for house culture: _Bon Silene._--Flowers purplish-carmine; highly scented. _Niphetos._--Pure white, magnificent long buds; an incessant bloomer. _Perle de Jardins._--Sulphur-yellow, full and double; a splendid rose. _La France_ (Bourbon).--Bright lilac-rose, fine form; perpetual bloomer, half hardy. _Hermosa_ (Bourbon).--Light rose-color, cupped-shaped; a most perpetual bloomer. HYBRID PERPETUAL, AND MOSS ROSES. Both of the above classes are entirely distinct from either the Tea, Noisette, or Bourbon Roses; they are entirely hardy, exceedingly free-bloomers in their season--from June to July; their flowers have a delightful perfume, and are noted for the richness and variety of their colors. They require to be closely pruned annually. The spring is the most desirable time to prune. They should have a top-dressing of manure every fall. The ground should be kept well shaded around their roots in summer. They require a strong, rich soil to make them flower well. These roses are not desirable for house culture. The following are among the best varieties of the Hybrid Perpetual, or Remontant Roses: _Gen. Jacqueminot._--Brilliant crimson-scarlet; magnificent buds. _La Reine._--Deep rosy-pink; an ideal rose. _Coquette des Alps._--White; blooms in clusters. _Black Prince._--Blackish-crimson; large, full, and globular. _Victor Verdier._--Rich deep-rose; elegant buds. MOSS ROSES. Of this class we need not speak in detail to any who have ever seen its delicate moss-covered buds, and inhaled their delightful odor. They are perfectly hardy, and can be wintered without any protection. They are called perpetual, but this is a misnomer, for we know but one variety of Moss Rose that approaches it, that is the _Salet_ Moss. The rest are no more so than are the so-called Hybrid Perpetuals. Moss Roses should be severely pruned in spring, removing all the old wood. _Salet_, deep pink; _White Perpetual_, pure white; and _Crested_, rose-color, are the most desirable sorts. PROPAGATING THE ROSE. The Rose is somewhat difficult to propagate from cuttings, and it takes from three to four weeks for them to root under the best conditions. Moss Roses are generally multiplied by layering (see "Layering"), and by budding on the common Manetti or Multiflora stocks. The following will be found to be a very practicable and simple method of propagating roses on a small scale, and is attended with very little trouble or expense: In the fall place sand in a box, or cold frame, to the depth of eight inches. Take from the bushes the number of cuttings it is desired to propagate, making them with two or three points or eyes; insert them in the sand (which should be previously packed as solid as can be), then water thoroughly. As the cuttings are to remain in this frame all winter, it should be provided with a glass sash, and the whole covered with leaves and manure. It need not be banked up until freezing weather. If rightly done, we may expect at the least fifty per cent of the cuttings to come from their winter bed finely rooted. They should then be potted, and after growing awhile, planted out, and some of them will bloom the first season. CHAPTER XX. JAPAN AND OTHER LILIES.--CALLA LILIES. If we call the rose the "Queen of Flowers," what royal title shall we bestow upon the beautiful Japan Lilies? We sometimes think it would be proper to name the Rose the King, for its commanding aspect, and the grandly beautiful Lily, the Queen of the floral kingdom. But, be this as it may, we have only to gaze upon a collection of Japan Lilies when in full bloom, and inhale their delicious odor, that perfumes the whole atmosphere, to be convinced of their superiority over all other flowers. Surely Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. There are many different species and varieties of Lilies, but none approach those known as Japan Lilies in the beauty and variety of their flowers, and their exquisite fragrance. They are perfectly hardy, and the fall is the proper time to plant them. If good strong bulbs are set out in the ground in October or November, planted about eight inches deep, they will throw up strong shoots the following summer, and bloom freely. The flowers increase in size and beauty with the age of the bulb, and this should be left to grow undisturbed in the same spot for five or six years; afterwards, if desired, the bulbs can be dug up, the offshoots removed, and the old bulbs reset, and they will do better than ever. Any of the young bulbs that have been removed can be planted out in the ground, and in a few years will form good blooming bulbs. The time to perform this work is in the fall. Although entirely hardy without protection, it will benefit these lilies very much, if during the winter, they are covered with a coarse litter, leaves or any other good covering. This should be raked off early in the spring, as manure of any kind seems to injure them when they come in contact with it. The soil in which they do best is a light, sandy loam, well drained. The lily flourishes best in sunny locations. The following is a description of the leading varieties: LILIUM AURATUM.--This is the well-known Gold-banded Lily, and most decidedly the finest of all the Japan Lilies. L. CANDIDUM.--The old White Lily (not Japan) of the gardens; a splendid sort; elegant, large, pure white flowers, in clusters; blooms earlier than the others, but not the first year; it is one of the most beautiful Lilies. L. CITRINUM.--Very rare and beautiful; large, elegantly formed flowers; color, pale yellow, exquisitely tinged with blush. L. LONGIFLORUM.--Exceedingly beautiful; very long trumpet-shaped flowers, pure snow white. L. SPECIOSUM RUBRUM.--One of the finest of Japan Lilies; bright crimson and white spotted; splendid large flower, borne in clusters, stem two to three feet. L. TIGRINUM--SINGLE TIGER LILY.--This splendid Lily is one of the best in the list; the stem is tall; the flowers large and elegantly formed; blooms in large clusters; color, brilliant orange scarlet with intense black spots; remains in bloom a long time. L. UMBELATUM.--Very showy, brilliant red, variegated flowers in clusters. THE CALLA LILY. The Calla Lily, or "The Lily of the Nile," is an old and popular favorite, and is found in window-garden collections everywhere. It is a native of the tropics, where it is said it grows to an enormous size; a single flower often measuring one to two feet in diameter. The Calla will attain its highest perfection if planted in a rich, mucky soil, obtained from a swamp or bog. It also requires an abundance of water during the growing season. Callas, like all other bulbous plants, must have a season of rest. If required to bloom during the winter or spring months, they must be rested in the summer season, if this is not done we must not expect to have any success in flowering them. The blooming season can be reversed if desired, by resting in winter. Without allowing them at least three months of rest, it is useless to expect to flower them successfully. By "resting," we mean to withhold water, and allow the leaves and stalks to die down completely to the bulb. Then turn the pot on its side under a tree or grape-arbor, and let the soil dry up completely; this will kill the stalk but not injure the bulb. HOW TO PREPARE CALLAS FOR WINTER BLOOMING. After three months of this rest; or about the first of October, we "dump" out the plant, shake off all the old soil from the bulb or bulbs, and re-pot in fine, rich soil, using pots one size larger than those used the previous year; place the plants in a cool, shady spot, and water freely. Let them remain for two or three weeks, until new roots have formed, after which all danger is passed, and they can be removed into full light and heat. When growing, water freely. An application of strong liquid-manure once a week will add greatly to the growth of the plants, and to the number of blossoms produced. A very pretty effect can be obtained by arranging the plants about a fountain or pond where they will bloom freely throughout the summer season, presenting a tropical appearance. They will also grow well by standing the pots completely in the water. CHAPTER XXI. GERANIUMS--THE BEST TWELVE SORTS. There is no flower that can surpass the Geranium for profusion of bloom, brilliancy and variety of color, and general adaptability for house culture. The following are the best twelve sorts: DOUBLE VARIETIES. Madam Ballet, pure white; Jewel, dark crimson; Asa Gray, salmon, very free bloomer; Madam Lemoine, light pink, large trusses; Bishop Wood, rich scarlet, approaching to carmine; Charmieux, scarlet; Casimer Perrier, a very near approach to yellow SINGLE VARIETIES. New Life, variegated, crimson, and white; Gen. Grant, dazzling scarlet; Pauline Lucca, pure white, with pink-eye; Chief Justice, the darkest of all Geraniums, immense trusses; Pinafore, salmon, with white eye; La Vienne, pure white, pale stamens, splendid; Master Christine, light pink, elegant for bedding. CHAPTER XXII. AZALEAS; HOW TO CULTIVATE THEM. Comparatively few of these charming plants are to be seen outside of green-houses and private conservatories, we know not for what reasons, unless it be the erroneous idea that they cannot be successfully grown unless one has the facilities of the florist. I think there is no class of plants more easy of culture, when the manner of treating them is once understood, than Azaleas. As they are decidedly winter-flowering plants, generally coming into bloom from December to March and April, they must be treated as such. They should have the same kind of treatment during the summer as recommended for Camellias, allowing them to rest in some cool, shady spot out-of-doors, during which period the flowering shoots will grow that are to give the bloom through the winter months. They can be taken into the house any time in the fall before freezing weather, and they will thrive well in an atmosphere suited to the generality of plants, although to bring the bloom out to the best, an atmosphere of 55° is needed. There are over one hundred distinct varieties, ranging from pure white to lilac-purple, scarlet and pink, and when in full bloom the entire plant might be easily mistaken for a large bouquet, so literally covered is it with dazzling blossoms. One or two varieties of Azaleas should grace every collection; almost every florist keeps them in stock, and the price asked is but a small consideration compared with the amount of pleasure one will derive by having them in full bloom himself. Florists hardly ever attempt to multiply the Azaleas from cuttings, on account of the hardness of the wood, but the common mode of multiplying them is by grafting on the stock of the Wild Azalea, plants being easily and quickly obtained through this method. The Azalea will flourish best with a rich, mucky loam, a rather shady locality, and an abundance of water. CHAPTER XXIII. CAMELLIAS.--ORANGE AND LEMON TREES. Dear reader, did you ever see a large Camellia plant in full blossom? If you have not, I will risk my reputation by saying that all other flowers within my knowledge, barring the rose, dwindle into insignificance when compared with it. It excels the finest rose in doubleness and form of its flowers, and puts the virgin lily to shame for spotless purity and whiteness; if it only possessed fragrance, it would be unquestionably the Queen of the floral world. What I shall have to say in regard to this plant, I hope will have the effect of introducing it into many homes where it has hitherto been little known. Few outside of professional florists have undertaken to cultivate the Camellia, for the reason, we suppose, that it is thought to be quite an impossibility to raise and bloom it successfully outside of a green-house; this is a mistake, although many believe it otherwise. I contend that Camellias can be as easily and as successfully grown in the window-garden as the Rose or Geranium. Camellias bloom in the winter, and at no other season of the year. Plants should be purchased of the florist in the fall or early in winter, and such plants as have flower-buds already formed; those plants, if kept in the right atmosphere, will bloom profusely, but they must have an atmosphere of 50° until the buds are all expanded, after which there will be no danger of the flowers blasting. As soon as the bloom has all passed off, the plants should be taken from their cool quarters, and placed with the other plants in a warm temperature, and watered freely, to encourage a vigorous growth previous to removing them out-of-doors in the spring. As soon as all danger of heavy frosts is over in the spring, the plants should be taken from the house and removed to some shady location, under a grape-arbor, in a pit or frame covered with shades; here leave them standing in the pots "plunging" the pots in earth or sand to prevent too rapid drying out. The summer is the period in which the flower-buds are formed that bloom in winter; the plants should be kept growing, and watered freely throughout the summer. They must be left out-of-doors as long as the weather will permit, but, on the approach of frost, take the plants into the house, and let them stand in a cool room, where the temperature is not over 50°. This is the critical time, for if they are removed into a warm temperature of 70° or 80°, the buds will all blast and drop off, and no flowers will be produced. If the plants are large and well-budded, a succession of bloom will be yielded throughout the entire winter. There are a number of varieties, embracing colors from red, pink, variegated, etc., to the purest waxy-white. The Double White Camellia Japonica, the white sort, is the most valuable for its bloom, the flowers being sometimes four to five inches in diameter, exceedingly double, with the petals imbricated, and of a waxy texture, and are highly prized by florists, who often charge as high as one dollar per flower for them. They are invaluable for funeral occasions, when pure white flowers are required. Plants are multiplied by either grafting or budding them on the common stock; it is almost impossible to raise plants from cuttings; they are slower than the Azalea to take root. ORANGE AND LEMON TREES. Both Orange and Lemon trees can be easily raised by sowing the seeds in good, rich soil, and after the seedlings become of sufficient size, a foot to fifteen inches high, they should be budded or grafted, otherwise blossoms and fruit cannot be expected. In the tropical climes, where these fruits are grown, there are varieties that spring up from the seeds of sweet oranges, called naturals; these yield a fruit that is edible, but is of an insipid taste. In no case can we obtain edible fruit of either Oranges or Lemons, budded or unbudded, in northern climates. The best time to bud these trees is when the seedlings are about a year old. They can be budded in the same manner as other trees, and as a rule, the buds take readily if the stock is in the right condition. Some graft them, but buds take better than grafts, and grow more rapidly. If the budding is successful, and the bud looks fresh and green in two weeks after it has been inserted, the union has taken place. The stock may then be cut off within two inches of the bud, and after the bud has started to grow, cut the stub still lower down, close to the bud. One bud in each stock is better than three or four. The soil best adapted to these trees is a rich, mucky loam. They should have plenty of pot room when growing, and, if possible, a warm, moist atmosphere. CHAPTER XXIV. FUCHSIAS--TRAINING AND MANAGEMENT We confess to have a special liking for the Fuchsias, and think no assortment of house plants is complete without one or two varieties of these beautiful flowers. They are easily propagated, either from cuttings or by layers, and the amount of bloom one strong, healthy plant is capable of producing under favorable circumstances, is truly wonderful. Upon one plant of Fuchsia speciosa, started from a cutting of a single eye in March, we counted at one time, in the December following, one hundred and fifty perfect blossoms. The plant stood in an eight-inch pot, and measured four feet in hight. Some kinds do better as house plants than others, among the best are _F. speciosa_, _F. fulgens_, and the Rose of Castile, and I would particularly recommend these sorts as superior to all others for the window-garden. The right kind of soil has everything to do with success in growing fine Fuchsias; it should be of a light peaty quality, with one-third cow manure, and thoroughly mixed together until well decayed. They also relish an abundance of water; and if they have, while growing, an application of liquid manure once or twice a week, it will be beneficial; never allow the roots to become potbound, but when the roots begin to form a mat on the outside of the ball of earth, it is time to shift the plant into a pot of the next larger size, and so on as the plant requires it. This is a very important point, and should not be overlooked if strong, healthy plants are expected. Fuchsias are especially desirable for training on trellises. They can be trained over an upright trellis, and have a very pretty effect, but the best form is that of an umbrella. Secure a strong, vigorous plant, and allow one shoot to grow upright until about two feet high, then pinch off the top of the shoot. It will branch out and form a head, each shoot of which, when sufficiently long, may have a fine thread or hair-wire attached to the tip, by which to draw it downward; fasten the other end of the wire or thread to the stem of the plant, and all the shoots will then be pendent. When each of these branches has attained a length of eight inches, pinch off the tip, and the whole will form a dense head, resembling an umbrella in shape, and the graceful flowers pendent from each shoot will be handsome indeed. Remember to keep the stock clear of side-shoots, in order to throw the growth into the head. If properly taken care of, most Fuchsias will bloom the year round, but some kinds can be especially recommended for winter blooming, among them are _F. speciosa_, flesh-colored, with scarlet corolla; _F. serratifolia_, orange-scarlet corolla, greenish sepals; Meteor, deep-red corolla, light-pink sepals. The following are the finest in every respect that the market affords: Mrs. Bennett, pink; Sir Cohn Campbell, double blue; Rose of Castile, single violet; Elm City, double scarlet; Carl Holt, crimson; Tower of London, double blue; Wave of Life, foliage yellow, corolla violet; _F. speciosa_, single, flesh-colored, and _F. fulgens_, long red corolla. CHAPTER XXV. CACTUSES.--NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS.--REX BEGONIAS. For singularity and grotesqueness of form, as well as for the exceptional conditions under which they grow to the best advantage, no class of plants is more remarkable than the _Cactaceæ_. Of these, about a thousand species have been described by botanists; nearly all are indigenous to the New World, though but a small proportion are in cultivation. Cactuses delight in a dry, barren, sandy soil. They are naturally children of the desert. It is said by travellers that many of the species bear edible fruit, resembling somewhat in taste the gooseberry. So much for the peculiarities of the Cactus family in its native localities, but how can we succeed in cultivating the plants with satisfactory results in the window-garden? There are two simple methods of treatment that Cactuses should receive, namely: First, keep the soil about them constantly dry, and keep them in a warm place. Secondly, the soil should be of a poor quality, mixed with a little brick dust, and they should never be allowed too much pot room. If either of these two points are observed in the treatment of Cactuses, there will be no difficulty in keeping them in a flourishing condition all the time. THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS. The Night-blooming Cereus is an interesting plant, and excites much admiration when in flower, as it blooms at night-time only, the flowers closing up when exposed to the day-light. They are magnificent flowers when in full blow, but, unhappily, are short-lived, a flower never opening a second time. The plant belongs to the Cactus Family, and requires the same general treatment. There are a number of night-flowering species and varieties, but the one especially known as the Night-blooming Cereus is _Cereus grandiflorus_, which, when in full bloom, presents a rare sight. Some of the flowers of the night-blooming kinds are exceedingly fragrant, notably _Cereus triangularis_, a single flower of which, when in fall bloom, will fill the air of a room with its pleasant odor. These plants can be made to bloom freely by keeping the soil quite dry, and allowing them very little pot-room, as they depend more upon the atmosphere than the soil for their growth. We have known large plants of _Cereus grandiflorus_, to produce as many as twenty-five fine blossoms each in the course of a season. We have found that liquid manure, if applied to these plants about once a month, and when the soil about them is very dry, will work wonders in their growth, and when a rapid growth can be obtained, there will be no trouble in having an abundance of flowers at regular intervals. Care must be taken not to have the liquid too strong. A small quantity of brick dust, mixed with the soil in which they are growing, will be beneficial. These species of Cereus are easily propagated by cuttings, which will root readily in sand of any kind. Being of a slender habit of growth, and rather rampant, they should have some sort of support, and it is advisable to either train them to a trellis, or upon wires, or a string stretched over and along the window sash. We have had a number of flowers of a pure feathery white, _C. grandiflorus_, that were over fifteen inches in diameter; this is the best of the night-flowering species. PROPAGATING REX BEGONIAS. Those Begonias, known as belonging to the Rex division, are very beautiful, and also very distinct in both leaf and flower from all other species and varieties. The leaves are noted for their peculiar shape and markings, making them very valuable as ornamental house plants. They are easily multiplied from the leaf with its stalk. To propagate these, the leaf, or leaves, including the stalk, should be taken off close to the plant. Insert the stem of the leaf in sand, and deep enough to allow the leaf to lie flat upon the surface of the sand. It will take them about from two to three weeks to root, after which they should be potted in good, rich soil. It will take sometime to start them into a growth, but they grow very rapidly when they begin, and in two years will make large plants. CHAPTER XXVI. ROCKERIES--HOW TO MAKE THEM. Many have a taste for forming grotesque pieces of rock work, selecting therefor such oddly-shaped and variously-colored rocks as may be gathered near the locality; these are generally piled in the form of a pyramid in a conspicuous place on the lawn, and if nicely arranged, cannot be surpassed in attractiveness, and are in pleasing contrast with the flower-beds and shrubbery. Some prefer to have merely the bare rocks heaped into a pile, which will appear grotesque and rugged; others set out suitable plants, and train vines to creep over them. We think the latter the best method, where common rocks are used, but if one is fortunate enough to live in a locality where a large number of variously-colored rocks can be obtained, their natural colors when arranged will make them highly attractive. One of the finest pieces of work of this kind we ever saw, was formed of a number of rocks gathered from almost every country on the globe, each stone having a peculiar tint of its own. On the top of this valuable pile was a rare specimen of Red Rock obtained from Siberia, in the region of eternal frost. HOW TO MAKE A ROCKERY. Having selected a site in a partly shaded spot, we will then proceed to form a mound of earth which may be drawn to the spot for the purpose if necessary. Upon and around this mound the rocks are to be placed, one layer thick, leaving here and there between them a small crevice in which to plant vines, or to drop a few seeds. The top of the heap may be left open, to allow of setting out, either in a pot or planted out in the earth, a choice specimen plant. Among the plants the most appropriate for the centre are: _Eulalia Japonica variegata_, and _Zebrina_. A variegated Agave may appropriately occupy the place, or some of the tall native wild ferns. A narrow circle may be cut around the base of the rockery, six or eight inches wide; after this is spaded up a row of blue Lobelia may be planted around the whole circle. Instead of the Lobelia, a row of _Echeveria secunda glauca_, or of the Mountain-of-Snow Geranium would look very finely. It may be well to mention here a number of the plants most appropriate for rockeries. Who is not familiar with the Moneywort, with its low-trailing habit and small yellow flowers? It is peculiarly adapted for rockeries. Portulaca, Paris Daisy (_Chrysanthemum frutescens_), _Myosotis_ (Forget-me-not), are among the most popular plants for rockeries. The small Sedum or Stone Crop (_Sedum acre_), is an interesting and useful little plant, growing freely on rock or rustic work. As vines are much used for such places, we will mention as the best hardy vines for this purpose Veitch's _Ampelopsis_ (_A. tricuspidata_), English or Irish Ivy, and the so-called running Myrtle. The above are entirely hardy and will stand any amount of freezing without injury. The following vines, although not hardy, are much used for rockeries: Thunbergias, Tropæolums, Kenilworth Ivy, and the German Ivy (_Senecio scandens_). Where a rockery is formed in the midst of a pond of water, as is often done, plants of the kind mentioned will not flourish so well as those of a semi-aquatic nature, such as Caladiums, Callas, some Ferns, Cannas, and Lycopodiums, all of which will flourish in moist places. CHAPTER XXVII. BUDDING. Budding as an art is simple, useful, and easily acquired by any one with a little practice. More can be learned practically about budding in a few hours spent with a skillful nurseryman while he is performing the operation, than could be derived from anything we might write on the subject. We are aware that we shall not be able to state in this brief chapter what will be new or instructive to experienced gardeners or nurserymen. This is not our aim, what may be old to them is likely to be new to thousands of amateur gardeners. In another part of this book will be found a chapter on grafting; this, though differently performed, is analogous in its results to budding, and many amateurs not infrequently speak of them in the same terms. To graft a cion, one end is carefully cut in the shape of a wedge, and inserted in a cleft where it is to grow; on the other hand, in budding, we use but a single eye, taken from a small branch, and insert it inside of the bark of the stock or tree we wish to bud. From this one eye, we may in time look for a tree laden with precious fruit. To be more explicit, and by way of illustration, we will imagine a seedling apple tree, a "natural," to have grown up in our garden. If left alone, the fruit of that seedling tree would probably be worthless, but we don't propose to risk that, and will proceed to bud it with some kind more worthy of room in a garden. When the proper season for budding fruit arrives, generally from the first to the latter part of July, will be the time to bud, if the stock is growing thriftily. A keen-bladed budding knife made for the purpose, a "cion" or "stick" of the variety to be budded, some twine (basswood bark is the best), make up the needed outfit for this operation. If the seedling is large, say five or six feet high, it should be top-budded, putting in a bud or two in each of the thriftiest branches. If the stock is not over one to two feet high, a single bud a few inches from the ground will be the best way to make a good tree of it. At the spot where we have decided to insert the bud, we will make a short, horizontal cut, then downwards a short, perpendicular "slit," not over an inch long, and just penetrating through the bark; open the slit, care being taken not to scratch the wood within, then insert the bud at the top of the cut, and slide it down to its proper place inside of the bark, the top of the bud being in juxtaposition with the horizontal cut above. Considerable skill is required to cut a bud properly, and two methods are practised, known as "budding with the wood in," and "budding with the wood out." The former consists in cutting a very little wood with the bud, a little deeper than the bark itself, and in the latter the wood is removed from the bud, leaving nothing but the bare bark. Unquestionably the surest way for a young budder is to remove the wood, cutting a pretty deep bud, and then in making the cross cut let it be only as deep as the bark, and by giving it a twitch the bud will readily leave the wood. I will say, however, that most nurserymen insist on budding with the wood, which it is claimed is the surest and best way to bud. We have tried both ways for years, and have been able to discover no difference, excepting where the buds are quite green at the time of budding, when it is best to have a little wood with the bud to sustain it. Plums should invariably be budded with the wood out. After the bud has been properly set, it should be firmly tied with a broad string, making the laps close enough to entirely cover the slip, leaving the eye of the bud uncovered. Various kinds of strings for tying buds are used by nurserymen, but the basswood bark, which is made into broad, ribbon-like strips, seems peculiarly adapted for the purpose, and we advise its use where one has any considerable amount of budding to do. It usually takes from three to four weeks for a bud to callous and form a union with the stock; at the expiration of this time the strings should be taken off; we would except only those cases where the stock is growing, when if the strings pinch the stock too closely, they can be removed some time sooner. The stock or stocks can now be left until the following spring, when the top should be cut away to within an inch or less of the bud; this will assist the roots to throw all their energy into the bud. TOP-BUDDING TREES. The top-budding of fruit and ornamental trees is much practised now-a-days by orchardists and fruit-growers generally, and sometimes with marked success. A famous horticulturist of Geneva, N. Y., some years ago planted a large number of Lombard plum trees, which he fondly expected to see come into bearing while quite young, and be early compensated for his labor and expense in planting them. He waited a number of years without seeing his hopes realized; his patience at last became exhausted, and starting, lie top-budded them all with the Bradshaw plum, which grew rapidly, and bore abundantly in a couple of years, and last season he received eight dollars per bushel for the fruit in the Philadelphia market. It is a well known fact among fruit-growers that some rank-growing varieties of fruit trees, as for instance the Keiffer Hybrid Pear, do not produce fruit so early, or in such abundance as some less thrifty-growing varieties, such as the _Beurre Clairgeau_, but by top-budding the latter-named sort on to a thrifty specimen of the former, we have a tree that will bear fruit almost every year. Nothing will take better from the bud than the rose; some elegant tree roses can be grown by simply training up a shoot of any common or wild rose to a sufficient hight, about five feet, and then top-budding it with three or four choice hybrids, as the _Gen. Jacqueminot_, _La Reine_, _Coquette des Alps_, and _Black Prince_, and those gems of the floral kingdom, when in blossom, will form a variety of dazzling beauties, the effect of which will not only be charming to the eye, but novel as well. I once removed from the door-yard a large rose bush of the _Crimson Boursault_ variety, which had a number of large limbs on, into a corner of the conservatory, and there budded into it fifty different choice varieties of Roses of all classes: Hybrids, Teas, Noisettes, Bourbons, China, and Bengal varieties. The effect of all these different Roses, when in full blow the following summer was amazing; a perfect galaxy of the "Queen of Flowers." A similar operation is possible for any skillful amateur florist to perform who has the facilities of a hot-house. Budding can only be done when, ripe buds can be obtained, and when the stock to be budded is in a growing and thrifty condition, so that when opening the bark of the stock, the same peels freely, and opens readily at the touch of the knife. We will append here a brief table showing at what months of the summer different trees may be budded: Apples July 10th to 12th. Pears July 10th to 12th. Plums July 10th to 12th. Cherries July 20th to Aug. 1st. Quinces July 20th to Aug. 1st. Peaches July 20th to Aug. 1st. Nectarines Aug. 10th to 20th. Apricots Aug. 10th to 20th. Most all sorts of ornamental trees, including Roses, in the ordinary season; namely, from July to August 1st. CHAPTER XXVIII. PRUNING. If we plant trees or shrubs upon our grounds with the hope of making them more attractive, and at the same time indulge in the common and mistaken idea that, if we only plant them that nature will take care of their future, and grow them into handsome and shapely trees and shrubs--we labor in vain. It is not uncommon to see in the centre of refinement and culture every where, sadly neglected door-yards; these are filled with rampant bushes, and wide-spreading evergreens; such yards have more of a "cemetery look" than should belong to the surroundings of a cheerful home. With a little pruning in the proper season, these unshapely bushes might become things of beauty, and not only look better, but will do better, if given a severe trimming in the spring. Hedges of Privet, Purple Barberry, and Japan Quince, look much prettier along the walk than the old-fashioned fences, which are now being rapidly done away with. They should be kept pruned low as to not allow them to grow over two feet high. The proper time for trimming hedges of all kinds is in mid-summer, after the shrubs have made a thrifty growth; we would advise an annual pruning in order to have the hedge looking finely. It is a bad plan to allow a hedge of any kind, especially an evergreen one, to run a number of years without trimming. If a hedge is neglected so long, and then severely pruned, it will look stubby and shabby for a year or two after. With a pair of sharp hedge-shears, a person having a straight eye will make a good job of the trimming every time. The spring is the time of the year in which to do the pruning of all kinds of plants, vines, and shrubs, that are out of doors, as they are then dormant. Some prefer to prune grape vines in the fall, just after they have ripened and shed their leaves. We think it unsafe to prune anything too severely in the fall, especially the grape vine. Much experience has taught us to select the month of March as the time of the year most suitable for performing the operation. Every one who has a garden should possess a pruning knife with a long blade, curved at the end, for the operation. Armed with this implement, let us take a walk upon the lawn, and down into the garden, while the snow is still white upon the ground. The first thing that we meet as we enter the garden, is the large grape trellis, with its mass of tangled brown canes, a perfect mat of long vines and curling tendrils. How are we to attack this formidable network of vines in order to do anything with them? The first thing to be done is to sever all the cords and ties that fasten the vines to the trellis, and allow them to fall to the ground for convenience in trimming them. Spread the vines out full length upon the ground, and beginning at one of its arms, cut each shoot of the previous season's growth back to two eyes; if the canes are too numerous some may be cut out entirely. After all the "arms" of each vine have been pruned in this manner, the vine can be returned to the arbor and tied up as before. If there is a prospect of cold weather let the vines lie upon the ground, as they will be less liable to "bleed," or to suffer from the cold. This is the simplest way we know of to trim grape vines, and any amateur gardener can do it if he tries this manner. Walking a little further, we come upon some rose bushes: there are too many branches among them, and too much old wood, and some that is entirely dead. With our knife we will remove at least one half of this excess of wood, leaving as much young wood of the previous season's growth as possible by thinning out the old limbs and dead wood severely. Here is one Moss Rose bush, the stems appear as brown and looking as seared as a berry; it is apparently winter killed, and by cutting into it we find that to be the case; the roots are in all probability sound, and we will cut the stems down to the ground and cover the place with a forkful of stable manure; if the roots are alive it will grow and bloom the coming summer. Here is a large standard Rose with a fine top, we will head this back short, cutting each stem to an eye or two of the bottom. Proceeding to the lawn we run across some weeping deciduous trees, among them is a large Kilmarnock Weeping Willow, its beautiful pendant branches fairly reach the ground, and switch the snow as they sway to and fro. Nothing more beautiful could be imagined. We would head this back close, and it should be done every spring and most of the old wood thinned out. This large climbing Rose that clings so close to the piazza, should be trimmed about in the same way as we did the grape vine, and also this large Clematis Jackmanii should be cut to the ground and allowed to start up anew in the spring. Here is a clump of shrubbery among which we see the _Weigela_, _Spiræas_, _Purple Fringe_, _Deutzia crenata_, _Hydrangea paniculata grandiflora_, the Syringa, and a number of other favorite shrubs. These will all need more or less cutting back and trimming, and now is a good time to do it. We know one gentleman who boasted the finest display of Roses in his county, who was in the habit of cutting his Rose bushes down to the ground every spring, and when they began to grow he had dug in around each one an abundance of well rotted compost, "and," said he, "I have never seen the day, from June to October, that I could not pluck a large bouquet of the choicest Hybrid Perpetual roses, while my next door neighbor, who also had rose bushes, could find no flower after June." I will say that this gentleman was in the habit of cutting his roses once a day, and never allowing the flowers to fade on the bush, which is an excellent plan to keep up a perpetuity of bloom. CHAPTER XXIX. MISCELLANEOUS NOTES. TREE ROSES. In planting tree roses received from the nursery or elsewhere, be sure and set them deep; the stem, for six or eight inches above the collar, should be under ground. If wet moss be tied about the stem and head of the tree after it has been planted, and the moss kept wet for a week or two after planting, or until the buds begin to start, it will, in nine cases out of ten, save the tree. The moss maybe removed after the growth begins. If planted in the fall, the body and top should be well wrapped up in straw. THE LAWN. If one has a fine lawn and desires to keep it so, he should never work upon or mow it when the turf is wet or soggy. The impression made by the feet in walking over the sod while in this state, will leave the surface rough and uneven afterwards. Do not water the grass or plants while the sun is shining hot, as it will scorch the leaves and make them turn yellow. All weeds, such as dandelions, plantain, etc., growing up through the grass, should be carefully and thoroughly dug out by the roots with a knife or pointed spade; if allowed to remain, they will soon become so numerous as eventually to kill out the grass and give to the lawn an appearance of neglect. LAWN VASES. The earth in vases of plants that stand out in exposed places, will rapidly dry out; if shells or fine gravel is laid over the surface of the soil, they will prevent it from "baking" after watering, and hold the moisture much longer than without. Try it. PLANTING TREES. The spring is preferable to the fall for setting out trees and shrubs of all kinds. In the Northern States they should be set out about the first of April, to give the roots time enough to become established before warm weather starts the leaves. Of thousands of trees and shrubs that we have planted at this season, comparatively few failed to live and grow, providing they were in good condition at the time of planting. Young trees should not be headed back the year they are set out, but the roots may be trimmed a little, cutting off all that are bruised and broken. The hole in which a tree or shrub is to be set, should be ample enough to receive all the roots without cramping them into a ball, as is the habit of some who plant trees, the soil filled in about the roots should be fine, but not the sub-soil, which should be replaced by richer earth. Never allow manure to come in direct contact with the roots at the time of planting. It is very injurious, but it may be applied on the surface as a mulch, with safety. BOTANICAL NAMES. All species of plants belong to some particular genus, and bear a botanical, as well as a common name, by which they are distinguished. Those who have studied botany will know the exact botanical name of the plants in most collections. We sometimes see persons making themselves ridiculous by a pretended display of knowledge on matters of horticulture and botany, giving or pretending to give the botanical name of every plant one may happen to mention. The following anecdote will apply to such: Mr. Sidney Smith, the famous English writer, was once visiting the conservatory of a young lady who was proud of her plants and flowers, and used (not very accurately) a profusion of botanical names. "Madam," he said, "have you the _Psoriasis septennis_?" "No," she said, very innocently, "I had it last winter, and I gave it to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and it came out beautifully in the spring." _Psoriasis septennis_, is the medical name for the "Seven year Itch!" FROZEN PLANTS. Tender plants that have become frozen, or but slightly touched by frost, can be saved, if taken before they commence to thaw out; sprinkle or dip the affected part in cold water, and then remove the plant or plants into a dark place to remain for a day, then bring them to the light. We have saved whole beds of tender plants from death by early frosts in the autumn, by getting up long before sunrise, drenching the leaves with water, and then covering the plants with a sheet or blanket. CUTTING GRASS. It is so easy to mow the lawn with the light-running modern lawn-mower, that many fine lawns are injured by too frequent mowings. We should not follow any set time for mowing, but be governed by the growth of the grass and the weather. When hot weather approaches, the grass should be cut less often, for too close cutting will expose the roots, and if the weather be dry and hot for a considerable period, the grass as a consequence will wither prematurely. AN ARCH. A very simple thing sometimes will look the most attractive. By driving two limber poles into the ground by the side of each of two gate posts, and bringing the two ends of the poles together, and fasten them securely, a respectable arch can be made. At the foot of each pole plant a _Clematis Jackmanii_, and train them to run up their poles; they will grow rapidly, and in a short time the arch will be covered with beautiful purple stars. This Clematis is entirely hardy, and can be used for the same purpose every year by cutting it close to the ground in the fall when done growing. BLOOM. When watering plants avoid wetting the foliage as much as possible, as they will not bloom as freely as if the leaves were dry. Geraniums are known to bloom a great deal more freely where the roots are confined to a small space, and the soil about them kept rather dry; especially is this so with the double sorts. Geraniums may be grafted successfully; the short growers, like Mrs. Pollock, Mountain of Snow, and Happy Thought, can be top-grafted on to the strong-growing kinds, like Gen. Grant, Madam Lemoine, and other strong-growers. If half a dozen sorts are grafted on a single stock, they will, when in bloom, appear as a curiosity. MILDEW. Mildew is a microscopic fungus, that is parasitic upon cultivated plants. Roses, Bouvardias, and especially grape vines, are subject to its attacks. If not arrested, mildew will soon strip a plant of its foliage. Whenever a whitish dust, as if flour had been sprinkled upon them, appears upon the leaves, particularly those of the Rose, and its leaves curl up, it is evident that the plant is attacked by mildew, and some remedy must be at once applied to prevent the spread of the trouble. Several excellent remedies are used by florists and gardeners for the prevention and cure of mildew. None of these are more effective than the following, which, if applied in time, before the disease has become so bad as to be beyond help, will very surely arrest it. Take three pounds each, of Flowers of Sulphur and Quick-lime, put these together and add sufficient hot water to slake the lime. When the lime is slaked, add six gallons of water, and boil down to two gallons. Allow the lime to settle, and pour off the clear liquid and bottle it for use. To treat plants affected by mildew, add one gill of the liquid, prepared as above, to six gallons of water, and mix well together. This is to be freely syringed upon the plants every other day. It will not only arrest mildew, but prevent it. Sudden changes of temperature, as cool nights following warm days, tend to the production of mildew, and with house plants, these sudden changes should be carefully guarded against. CHAPTER XXX. SENTIMENT AND LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. Amaranth Immortality. Amaryllis Beautiful, but timid. Aster, double Variety. Aster, German Afterthought. Arbutus Thee only do I love. Acacia Friendship. Apple Blossom Preference. Asphodel Remembered after death. Arbor Vitæ Unchanging friendship. Alyssum Worth beyond beauty. Anemone Your love changes. Azalea Pleasant recollections. Argeratum Worth beyond beauty. Balsam Impatience. Blue Bell Constancy. Balm Pleasantry. Bay-leaf I change but in death. Bachelor's Button Hope. Begonia Deformed. Bitter Sweet Truth. Buttercup Memories of childhood. Brier, Sweet Envy. Calla Feminine Modesty. Carnation Pride. Clematis Mental Excellence. Cypress Disappointment, Despair Crocus Happiness. Columbine I cannot give thee up. Cresses Always cheerful. Canterbury Bell Constancy. Cereus, Night-blooming Transient beauty. Candytuft Indifference. Chrysanthemum Heart left desolate. Clover, White I promise. Clover, Four-leaved Be mine. Crown Imperial Authority. Camellia Spotless purity. Cissus Changeable. Centaurea Your looks deceive me. Cineraria Singleness of heart. Daisy, Field I will think of it. Dahlia Dignity. Daffodil Unrequited love. Dandelion Coquetry. Everlasting Always remembered. Everlasting Pea Wilt thou go with me. Ebony Blackness. Fuchsia Humble love. Foxglove Insincerity. Fern Sincerity. Fennel Strength. Forget-me-not For ever remembered. Fraxinella Fire. Geranium, Ivy Fond of dancing. Geranium, Oak A melancholy mind. Geranium, Rose I prefer you. Geranium, Scarlet Stillness. Gladiolus Ready armed. Golden Rod Encouragement. Gillyflower Promptness. Hyacinth Benevolence. Honeysuckle Devoted love. House Leek Domestic economy. Heliotrope I adore you. Hibiscus Delicate beauty. Hollyhock Ambition. Hydrangea Vain glory. Ice Plant Your looks freeze me. Ivy Friendship. Iris, German Flame. Iris, Common Garden A message for thee. Jonquil Affection returned. Jessamine, White Amiability. Jessamine, Yellow Gracefulness. Larkspur Fickleness. Lantana Rigor. Laurel Words though sweet may deceive. Lavender Mistrust. Lemon Blossom Discretion. Lady Slipper Capricious beauty. Lily of the Valley Return of happiness. Lilac, White Youth. " Blue First emotions of love. Lily, Water Eloquence. May Flower Welcome. Marigold Sacred affection. Marigold and Cypress Despair. Mandrake Rarity. Mignonette Your qualities surpass your charms. Morning Glory Coquetry, Affectation. Mock Orange Counterfeit. Myrtle Love in absence. Mistletoe Insurmountable. Narcissus Egotism. Nasturtium Patriotism. Oxalis Reverie. Orange Blossom Purity. Olive Peace. Oleander Beware. Primrose Modest worth. Pink, White Pure love. " Red Devoted love. Phlox Our hearts are united. Periwinkle Sweet memories. Pæony Ostentation. Pansy You occupy my thoughts. Poppy Oblivion. Rhododendron Agitation. Rose, Bud Confession of love. " " White Too young to love. " Austrian Thou art all that is lovely. " Leaf I never trouble. " Monthly Beauty ever new. " Moss Superior merit. " Red I love you. " Yellow Infidelity. Rosemary Remembrance. Sensitive Plant Modesty. Snow-Ball Thoughts in heaven. Snow-Drop Consolation. Sumach Pride and poverty. Sweet William Gallantry. Syringa Memory. Sunflower Lofty thought. Tuberose Purity of mind. Thyme Activity. Tulip, var Beautiful eyes. Tulip, Red Declaration of love. Tritoma Fiery temper. Verbena Sensibility. " Purple I weep for you. " White Pray for me. Violet, Blue Faithfulness. " White Purity, candor. Woodbine Fraternal love. Wall Flower Fidelity in misfortune. Wistaria Close friendship. Wax Plant Artificial beauty. Yucca Your looks pierce me. Yew Sadness. 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A complete exposition of important facts concerning the relation of bacteria to various problems related to milk. A book for the classroom, laboratory, factory and farm. Equally useful to the teacher, student, factory man and practical dairyman. Fully illustrated with 83 original pictures. 340 pages. Cloth. 5-1/2 x 8 inches. $1.25 =Modern Methods of Testing Milk and Milk Products= By L. L. VANSLYKE. This is a clear and concise discussion of the approved methods of testing milk and milk products. All the questions involved in the various methods of testing milk and cream are handled with rare skill and yet in so plain a manner that they can be fully understood by all. The book should be in the hands of every dairyman, teacher or student. Illustrated. 214 pages. 5 x 7 inches. $0.75 =Animal Breeding= By THOMAS SHAW. This book is the most complete and comprehensive work ever published on the subject of which it treats. It is the first book which has systematized the subject of animal breeding. The leading laws which govern this most intricate question the author has boldly defined and authoritatively arranged. The chapters which he has written on the more involved features of the subject, as sex and the relative influence of parents, should go far toward setting at rest the wildly speculative views cherished with reference to these questions. The striking originality in the treatment of the subject is no less conspicuous than the superb order and regular sequence of thought from the beginning to the end of the book. The book is intended to meet the needs of all persons interested in the breeding and rearing of live stock. Illustrated. 405 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.50 =Forage Crops Other Than Grasses= By THOMAS SHAW. How to cultivate, harvest and use them. Indian corn, sorghum, clover, leguminous plants, crops of the brassica genus, the cereals, millet, field roots, etc. Intensely practical and reliable. Illustrated. 287 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.00 =Soiling Crops and the Silo= By THOMAS SHAW. The growing and feeding of all kinds of soiling crops, conditions to which they are adapted, their plan in the rotation, etc. Not a line is repeated from the Forage Crops book. Best methods of building the silo, filling it and feeding ensilage. Illustrated. 364 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.50 =The Study of Breeds= By THOMAS SHAW. Origin, history, distribution, characteristics, adaptability, uses, and standards of excellence of all pedigreed breeds of cattle, sheep and swine in America. The accepted text book in colleges, and the authority for farmers and breeders. Illustrated. 371 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.50 =Clovers and How to Grow Them= By THOMAS SHAW. This is the first book published which treats on the growth, cultivation and treatment of clovers as applicable to all parts of the United States and Canada, and which takes up the entire subject in a systematic way and consecutive sequence. The importance of clover in the economy of the farm is so great that an exhaustive work on this subject will no doubt be welcomed by students in agriculture, as well as by all who are interested in the tilling of the soil. Illustrated. 5 x 7 inches. 337 pages. Cloth. Net. $1.00 =Land Draining= A handbook for farmers on the principles and practice of draining, by MANLY MILES, giving the results of his extended experience in laying tile drains. The directions for the laying out and the construction of tile drains will enable the farmer to avoid the errors of imperfect construction, and the disappointment that must necessarily follow. This manual for practical farmers will also be found convenient for reference in regard to many questions that may arise in crop growing, aside from the special subjects of drainage of which it treats. Illustrated. 200 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.00 =Barn Plans and Outbuildings= Two hundred and fifty-seven illustrations. A most valuable work, full of ideas, hints, suggestions, plans, etc., for the construction of barns and outbuildings, by practical writers. Chapters are devoted to the economic erection and use of barns, grain barns, horse barns, cattle barns, sheep barns, cornhouses, smokehouses, icehouses, pig pens, granaries, etc. There are likewise chapters on birdhouses, doghouses, tool sheds, ventilators, roofs and roofing, doors and fastenings, workshops, poultry houses, manure sheds, barnyards, root pits, etc. 235 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.00 =Irrigation Farming= By LUTE WILCOX. A handbook for the practical application of water in the production of crops. A complete treatise on water supply, canal construction, reservoirs and ponds, pipes for irrigation purposes, flumes and their structure, methods of applying water, irrigation of field crops, the garden, the orchard and vineyard, windmills and pumps, appliances and contrivances. New edition, revised, enlarged and rewritten. Profusely illustrated. Over 500 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $2.00 =Forest Planting= By H. NICHOLAS JARCHOW, LL. D. A treatise on the care of woodlands and the restoration of the denuded timberlands on plains and mountains. The author has fully described those European methods, which have proved to be most useful in maintaining the superb forests of the old world. This experience has been adapted to the different climates and trees of America, full instructions being given for forest planting of our various kinds of soil and sub-soil, whether on mountain or valley. Illustrated. 250 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.50 =The Nut Culturist= By ANDREW S. FULLER. A treatise on the propagation, planting and cultivation of nut-bearing trees and shrubs adapted to the climate of the United States, with the scientific and common names of the fruits known in commerce as edible or otherwise useful nuts. Intended to aid the farmer to increase his income without adding to his expenses or labor. Cloth, 12mo. $1.50 =Cranberry Culture= By JOSEPH J. WHITE. Contents: Natural history, history of cultivation, choice of location, preparing the ground, planting the vines, management of meadows, flooding, enemies and difficulties overcome, picking, keeping, profit and loss. Illustrated. 132 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.00 =Ornamental Gardening for Americans= By ELIAS A. LONG, landscape architect. A treatise on beautifying homes, rural districts and cemeteries. A plain and practical work with numerous illustrations and instructions so plain that they may be readily followed. Illustrated. 390 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.50 =Grape Culturist= By A. S. FULLER. This is one of the very best of works on the culture of the hardy grapes, with full directions for all departments of propagation, culture, etc., with 150 excellent engravings, illustrating planting, training, grafting, etc. 282 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.50 =Gardening for Young and Old= By JOSEPH HARRIS. A work intended to interest farmers' boys in farm gardening, which means a better and more profitable form of agriculture. The teachings are given in the familiar manner so well known in the author's "Walks and Talks on the Farm." Illustrated. 191 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.00 =Money in the Garden= By P. T. QUINN. The author gives in a plain, practical style instructions on three distinct, although closely connected, branches of gardening--the kitchen garden, market garden and field culture, from successful practical experience for a term of years. Illustrated. 268 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.00 =Greenhouse Construction= By PROF. L. R. TAFT. A complete treatise on green-house structures and arrangements of the various forms and styles of plant houses for professional florists as well as amateurs. All the best and most approved structures are so fully and clearly described that any one who desires to build a green-house will have no difficulty in determining the kind best suited to his purpose. The modern and most successful methods of heating and ventilating are fully treated upon. Special chapters are devoted to houses used for the growing of one kind of plants exclusively. The construction of hotbeds and frames receives appropriate attention. Over 100 excellent illustrations, especially engraved for this work, make every point clear to the reader and add considerably to the artistic appearance of the book. 210 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.50 =Greenhouse Management= By L. R. TAFT. This book forms an almost indispensable companion volume to Greenhouse Construction. In it the author gives the results of his many years' experience, together with that of the most successful florists and gardeners, in the management of growing plants under glass. So minute and practical are the various systems and methods of growing and forcing roses, violets, carnations, and all the most important florists' plants, as well as fruits and vegetables described, that by a careful study of this work and the following of its teachings, failure is almost impossible. Illustrated. 382 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.50 =Fungi and Fungicides= By PROF. CLARENCE M. WEED A practical manual concerning the fungous diseases of cultivated plants and the means of preventing their ravages. The author has endeavored to give such a concise account of the most important facts relating to these as will enable the cultivator to combat them intelligently. 90 illustrations. 222 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00 =Mushrooms. How to Grow Them= By WILLIAM FALCONER. This is the most practical work on the subject ever written, and the only book on growing mushrooms published in America. The author describes how he grows mushrooms, and how they are grown for profit by the leading market gardeners, and for home use by the most successful private growers. Engravings drawn from nature expressly for this work. 170 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.00 =Rural School Agriculture= By CHARLES W. DAVIS. A book intended for the use of both teachers and pupils. Its aim is to enlist the interest of the boys of the farm and awaken in their minds the fact that the problems of the farm are great enough to command all the brain power they can summon. The book is a manual of exercises covering many phases of agriculture, and it may be used with any text-book of agriculture, or without a text-book. The exercises will enable the student to think, and to work out the scientific principles underlying some of the most important agricultural operations. The author feels that in the teaching of agriculture in the rural schools, the laboratory phase is almost entirely neglected. If an experiment helps the pupil to think, or makes his conceptions clearer, it fills a useful purpose, and eventually prepares for successful work upon the farm. The successful farmer of the future must be an experimenter in a small way. Following many of the exercises are a number of questions which prepare the way for further research work. The material needed for performing the experiments is simple, and can be devised by the teacher and pupils, or brought from the homes. Illustrated. 300 pages. Cloth. 5 x 7 inches. $1.00 =Agriculture Through the Laboratory and School Garden= By C. R. JACKSON and Mrs. L. S. DAUGHERTY. As its name implies, this book gives explicit directions for actual work in the laboratory and the school garden, through which agricultural principles may be taught. The author's aim has been to present actual experimental work in every phase of the subject possible, and to state the directions for such work so that the student can perform it independently of the teacher, and to state them in such a way that the results will not be suggested by these directions. One must perform the experiment to ascertain the result. It embodies in the text a comprehensive, practical, scientific, yet simple discussion of such facts as are necessary to the understanding of many of the agricultural principles involved in every-day life. The book, although primarily intended for use in schools, is equally valuable to any one desiring to obtain in an easy and pleasing manner a general knowledge of elementary agriculture. Fully illustrated. 5-1/2 x 8 inches. 462 pages. Cloth. Net $1.50 =Soil Physics Laboratory Guide= By W. G. STEVENSON and I. O. SCHAUB. A carefully outlined series of experiments in soil physics. A portion of the experiments outlined in this guide have been used quite generally in recent years. The exercises (of which there are 40) are listed in a logical order with reference to their relation to each other and the skill required on the part of the student. Illustrated. About 100 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $0.50 =The New Egg Farm= By H. H. STODDARD. A practical, reliable manual on producing eggs and poultry for market as a profitable business enterprise, either by itself or connected with other branches of agriculture. It tells all about how to feed and manager, how to breed and select, incubators and brooders, its labor-saving devices, etc., etc. Illustrated. 331 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.00 =Poultry Feeding and Fattening= Compiled by G. B. FISKE. A handbook for poultry keepers on the standard and improved methods of feeding and marketing all kinds of poultry. The subject of feeding and fattening poultry is prepared largely from the side of the best practice and experience here and abroad, although the underlying science of feeding is explained as fully as needful. The subject covers all branches, including chickens, broilers, capons, turkeys and waterfowl; how to feed under various conditions and for different purposes. The whole subject of capons and caponizing is treated in detail. A great mass of practical information and experience not readily obtainable elsewhere is given with full and explicit directions for fattening and preparing for market. This book will meet the needs of amateurs as well as commercial poultry raisers. Profusely illustrated. 160 pages. 5 x 7-1/2 inches. Cloth. $0.50 =Poultry Architecture= Compiled by G. B. FISKE. A treatise on poultry buildings of all grades, styles and classes, and their proper location, coops, additions and special construction; all practical in design, and reasonable in cost. Over 100 illustrations. 125 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $0.50 =Poultry Appliances and Handicraft= Compiled by G. B. FISKE. Illustrated description of a great variety and styles of the best homemade nests, roosts, windows, ventilators, incubators and brooders, feeding and watering appliances, etc., etc. Over 100 illustrations. Over 125 pages. 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $0.50 =Turkeys and How to Grow Them= Edited by HERBERT MYRICK. A treatise on the natural history and origin of the name of turkeys; the various breeds, the best methods to insure success in the business of turkey growing. With essays from practical turkey growers in different parts of the United States and Canada. Copiously illustrated 154 pages 5 x 7 inches. Cloth. $1.00 
45599	----	unkown source Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations. See 45599-h.htm or 45599-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/45599/45599-h/45599-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/45599/45599-h.zip) Transcriber's note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). A WOMAN'S HARDY GARDEN * * * * * * [Illustration: Printer's Mark.] THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA, LIMITED TORONTO * * * * * * [Illustration: Rose Arch and Garden Walk. From a water-color sketch by George B. Bartholomew.] A WOMAN'S HARDY GARDEN by HELENA RUTHERFURD ELY With Illustrations from Photographs Taken in the Author's Garden by Professor C. F. Chandler New York The Macmillan Company London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd. 1930 Copyright, 1903, By the Macmillan Company. All rights reserved--no part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. Set up and electrotyped. Published January, 1903. Printed in the United States of America by Berwick & Smith Co. Dedication TO THE BEST FRIEND OF MY GARDEN, WHO, WITH HEART AND HANDS, HAS HELPED TO MAKE IT WHAT IT IS PREFACE This little book is only meant to tell briefly of a few shrubs, hardy perennials, biennials and annuals of simple culture. I send it forth, hoping that my readers may find within its pages some help to plant and make their gardens grow. MEADOWBURN FARM October, 1902 TABLE OF CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. Introduction 2 II. Hardy Gardening and Preparation of the Soil 9 III. Laying Out a Garden and Borders Around a House 19 IV. How to Plant a Small Plot 35 V. The Seed-bed 57 VI. Planting 65 VII. Annuals 75 VIII. Perennials 93 IX. Biennials and a Few Bedding-out Plants 117 X. Roses 125 XI. Lilies 139 XII. Spring-flowering Bulbs 149 XIII. Shrubs 159 XIV. Water, Walks, Lawns, Box-Edgings, Sun-dial and Pergola 171 XV. Insecticides. Tool-room 189 XVI. Conclusion 203 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE Rose arch and garden walk _Frontispiece_ From a water-color sketch made by George D. Bartholomew Garden gate, with Japanese gourds 1 September twenty-ninth Broad grass walk 5 August twenty-fifth A shady garden walk 12 May thirty-first Asters blooming in a border 16 September fifteenth A clump of Valerian 19 June sixth _Rhododendron maximum_ and Ferns along north side of house, with _Ampelopsis Veitchii_ 23 July fourth Arch over Rose-walk covered with Golden Honeysuckle and _Clematis paniculata_ 26 September fifteenth _Rhododendron maximum_ under a cherry tree 30 July fourth Vase of Delphinium (Perennial Larkspur) 33 June twenty-first Vase of Peonies 39 June sixth _Lilium speciosum rubrum_ 42 September fifteenth Vase of Altheas 48 September sixteenth Planting on the edge of lawn 51 August second Asters in rows for picking 55 August twenty-fifth Foxgloves--seedlings ready for final transplanting 58 September twenty-ninth Long grass walk, with _Narcissus Poeticus_ blooming in the border 62 April twenty-sixth Long grass walk, with Peonies in the border 65 June sixth Long grass walk, with Foxgloves blossoming in the border 67 June thirteenth Long grass walk, with Hydrangeas; Rudbeckias in background 78 August twenty-fifth A single plant of Asters 80 September tenth Poppies growing in rows 83 July fourteenth A bowl of Cosmos 87 September twenty-ninth A mass of Phlox; Rudbeckias in the background 90 August second Hollyhocks in blossom 94 July twelfth A single plant of Delphinium (Perennial Larkspur) 97 June twenty-first Yuccas in blossom 103 July twelfth Bed of Peonies, on edge of lawn 106 June sixth A single plant of Phlox 112 August twenty-fifth Vase of Canterbury Bells 115 June twenty-first A single plant of Foxgloves, White Sweet William in front 119 June thirteenth Vase of Foxgloves 122 June fourteenth Summer-house covered with Clematis and Crimson Rambler Roses 126 June twenty-first Rose bed carpeted with Pansies 129 June twenty-first Canterbury Bells blooming in a border 133 June twenty-first _Lilium auratum_ growing behind Peonies and Columbines that bloomed earlier 140 August tenth Vase of _Lilium auratum_ 144 August second Vase of _Lilium speciosum album_ and _rubrum_ 147 September sixth Garden arch, covered with Japanese Gourds 151 August twenty-seventh Vase of Phlox; single blossoms actual size 154 August second _Spiræa Van Houttei_ 158 May thirty-first _Hydrangea paniculata grandiflora_ 161 August twenty-sixth Vase of _Hydrangea paniculata grandiflora_ 165 September tenth Vase of double Hardy Sunflowers (_Helianthus multiflorus plenus_) 172 September fifteenth Vase of Monkshood 176 September thirtieth Sun-dial in center of formal garden 179 August second The Pergola (first summer) 190 August twenty-fifth Tritoma (Red-Hot Poker Plant) 197 September twenty-eighth Bringing in the flowers 204 September sixth [Illustration: Garden gate, with Japanese gourds September twenty-ninth] INTRODUCTION CHAPTER I INTRODUCTION Love of flowers and all things green and growing is with many men and women a passion so strong that it often seems to be a sort of primal instinct, coming down through generation after generation, from the first man who was put into a garden "to dress it and to keep it." People whose lives, and those of their parents before them, have been spent in dingy tenements, and whose only garden is a rickety soap-box high up on a fire-escape, share this love, which must have a plant to tend, with those whose gardens cover acres and whose plants have been gathered from all the countries of the world. How often in summer, when called to town, and when driving through the squalid streets to the ferries or riding on the elevated road, one sees these gardens of the poor. Sometimes they are only a Geranium or two, or the gay Petunia. Often a tall Sunflower, or a Tomato plant red with fruit. These efforts tell of the love for the growing things, and of the care that makes them live and blossom against all odds. One feels a thrill of sympathy with the owners of the plants, and wishes that some day their lot may be cast in happier places, where they too may have gardens to tend. [Illustration: Broad grass walk August twenty-fifth] It has always seemed to me that the punishment of the first gardener and his wife was the bitterest of all. To have lived always in a garden "where grew every tree pleasant to the sight and good for food," to have known no other place, and then to have been driven forth into the great world without hope of returning! Oh! Eve, had you not desired wisdom, your happy children might still be tilling the soil of that blessed Eden. The first woman longed for knowledge, as do her daughters of to-day. When the serpent said that eating of the forbidden fruit would make them "as gods," what wonder that Eve forgot the threatening command to leave untouched the Tree of Life, and, burning to be "wise," ate of the fateful apple and gave it to her Adam? And then, to leave the lovely place at the loveliest of all times in a garden, the cool of the day! Faint sunset hues tinting the sky, the night breeze gently stirring the trees, Lilies and Roses giving their sweetest perfume, brilliant Venus mounting her accustomed path, while the sleepy twitter of the birds alone breaks the silence. Then the voice of wrath, the Cherubim, the turning flaming sword! Through trials and tribulations and hardly learned patience, I have gained some of the secrets of many of our best hardy flowering plants and shrubs. Many friends have asked me to tell them when to plant or transplant, when to sow this or that seed, and how to prepare the beds and borders; in fact, this has occurred so often that it has long been in my mind to write down what I know of hardy gardening, that other women might be helped to avoid the experiments and mistakes I have made, which only served to cause delay. But just this "please write it down," while sounding so easy and presenting to the mind such a fascinating picture of a well-printed, well-illustrated and prettily bound book on the garden, is quite a different matter to one who has never written. When you diffidently try to explain the chaos in your brain, family and friends say, "Oh! never mind; just begin." That often-quoted "_premier pas_!" To-day is the first snow-storm of the winter, and, while sitting by the fireside, my thoughts are so upon my garden, wondering if this or that will survive, and whether the plants remember me, that it seems as though to-day I could try that first dreaded step. Living all my life, six months and sometimes more of each year, in the country,--real country on a large farm,--I have from childhood been more than ordinarily interested in gardening. Surrounded from babyhood with horses and dogs, my time as a little girl was spent out of doors, and whenever I could escape from a patient governess, whose eyes early became sad because of the difficulties of her task, I was either riding a black pony of wicked temper, or was to be found in a lovely garden with tall Arborvitæ hedges and Box-edged walks, in the company of an old gardener, one of my very best friends, who for twenty years ruled master and mistress, as well as garden and graperies. Under this old gardener, I learned, even as a child, to bud Roses and fruit trees, and watched the transplanting of seedlings and making of slips; watched, too, the trimming of grape-vines, fruit trees and shrubs; so that while still very young I knew more than many an older person of practical garden work. Then, as I grew older, the interests of a gay girl, and, later, the claims of early married life and the care of two fat and fascinating babies, absorbed my time and thoughts to the exclusion of the garden. But as the babies grew into a big boy and girl, the garden came to the front again, and, for more than a dozen years now, it has been my joy,--joy in summer when watching the growth and bloom, and joy in winter when planning for the spring and summer's work. There is pleasure even in making lists, reading catalogues of plants and seeds, and wondering whether this year my flowers will be like the pictured ones, and always, in imagination, seeing how the sleeping plants will look when robed in fullest beauty. HARDY GARDENING AND THE PREPARATION OF THE SOIL CHAPTER II HARDY GARDENING AND THE PREPARATION OF THE SOIL It has not been all success. I have had to learn the soil and the location best suited to each plant; to know when each bloomed and which lived best together. Mine is a garden of bulbs, annuals, biennials and hardy perennials; in addition to which there are Cannas, Dahlias and Gladioli, whose roots can be stored, through the winter, in a cellar. All the rest of the garden goes gently to sleep in the autumn, is well covered up about Thanksgiving time, and slumbers quietly through the winter; until, with the first spring rains and sunny days, the plants seem fairly to bound into life again, and the never-ceasing miracle of nature is repeated before our wondering eyes. I have no glass on my place, not even a cold-frame or hot-bed. Everything is raised in the open ground, except the few bedding plants mentioned whose roots are stored through the winter. Therefore, mine can truly be called a hardy garden, and is the only one I know at all approaching it in size and quantity of flowers raised, where similar conditions exist. [Illustration: A shady garden walk May thirty-first] I have observed that, with few exceptions, the least success with hardy perennials is found in the gardens of those of my friends whose gardeners are supposed to be the best, because paid the most. These men will grow wonderful Roses, Orchids, Carnations, Grapes, etc., under glass, and will often have fine displays of Rhododendrons. But to most of them the perennial or biennial plant, the old friend blossoming in the same place year after year, is an object unworthy of cultivation. Their souls rejoice in the bedding-out plant, which must be yearly renewed, and which is beautiful for so short a time, dying with the early frost, I was astounded last summer on visiting several fine places, where the gardeners were considered masters of their art, to see the poor planting of perennials and annuals. I recall particularly two Italian gardens, perfectly laid out by landscape gardeners, but which amounted to nothing because the planting was insufficient,--here a Phlox, there a Lily, then a Rose, with perhaps a Larkspur or a Marigold, all rigidly set out in single plants far apart, with nothing in masses, and no colour effects. To attain success in growth, as well as in effect, plants must be so closely set that when they are developed no ground is to be seen. If so placed, their foliage shades the earth, and moisture is retained. In a border planted in this way, individual plants are far finer than those which, when grown, are six inches or a foot apart. First of all in gardening, comes the preparation of the soil. Give the plants the food they need and plenty of water, and the blessed sunlight will do the rest. It is wonderful what can be done with a small space, and how from April to November there can always be a mass of bloom. I knew of one woman's garden, in a small country town,--house and ground only covering a lot hardly fifty by one hundred feet,--where, with the help of a man to work for her one day in the week and perhaps for a week each spring and fall, she raises immense quantities of flowers, both perennials and annuals. For six months of the year she has always a dozen vases full in the house, and plenty to give away. More than half the time her little garden supplies flowers for the church, while others in the same village owning large places and employing several men "have really no flowers." I remember returning once from a two weeks' trip, to find that my entire crop of Asters had been destroyed by a beetle. It was a horrid black creature about an inch long, which appeared in swarms, devoured all the plants and then disappeared, touching nothing else. Such a thing had never before happened in my garden. One of the men had sprayed them with both slug-shot and kerosene emulsion to no effect,--and so no Asters. My friend with the little garden heard me bemoaning my loss, and the next day sent me, over the five intervening miles, a hamper--almost a small clothes-basket--full of the beautiful things. It quite took my breath away. I wondered how she could do it, and thought she must have given me every one she had. Yet, upon driving over in hot haste to pour out thanks and regrets, lo! there were Asters all a-blow in such quantities in her garden that it seemed as if none had been gathered. Except by the sea-coast, our dry summers, with burning sun and, in many places, frequent absence of dew, are terribly hard on a garden; but with deep, rich soil, and plenty of water and proper care, it will yield an almost tropical growth. Therefore, whenever a bed or border is to be made, make it right. Unless one is willing to take the trouble properly to prepare the ground, there is no use in expecting success in gardening. I have but one rule: stake out the bed, and then dig out the entire space two feet in depth. Often stones will be found requiring the strength and labor of several men, with crowbars and levers, to remove them; often there will be rocks that require blasting. Stones and earth being all removed, put a foot of well-rotted manure in the bottom; then fill up with alternate layers, about four inches each, of the top soil, taken out of the first foot dug up, and of manure. Fill the bed or border very full, as it will sink with the disintegration of the manure. Finish off the top with three inches of soil. Then it is ready for planting. If the natural soil is stiff or clayey, put it in a heap and mix with one-fourth sand, to lighten it, before returning to the bed. Thus prepared, it will retain moisture, and not pack and become hard. [Illustration: Asters blooming in a border September fifteenth] LAYING OUT A GARDEN AND BORDERS AROUND THE HOUSE [Illustration: A clump of Valerian June sixth] CHAPTER III LAYING OUT A GARDEN AND BORDERS AROUND THE HOUSE Perplexities assail a would-be gardener on every side, from the day it is decided to start a garden. The most attractive books on the subject are English; and yet, beyond the suggestions for planting, and the designs given in the illustrations, not much help is to be derived in this latitude from following their directions. In England the climate, which is without great extremes of heat and cold, and the frequent rains, with the soft moist atmosphere, not only enable the English gardener to accomplish what would be impossible for us, but permit him to grow certain flowers out of doors that here must be housed in the winter. Daffodils and Narcissi bloom in England, near the coast, at the end of February and early in March,--Lilies-of-the-Valley in March. Many Roses live out of doors that would perish here during our winters. Gardening operations are begun there much earlier than in this part, at least, of the United States, and many of the methods for culture differ from those employed here. In England there is excess of moisture; therefore, care in securing good drainage is essential, while here, except in low places near streams, special provision for drainage is rarely necessary. It is more important to have a deep, rich preparation of the soil, so that plants may not be dried out. A serious part of the gardener's work during the average summer consists in judicious watering of the garden. One writer will say that this or that plant should have sun, another that it does best in the shade. One advocates a rich soil, another a light sandy soil; so that after all, in gardening, as in all else in life, experience is the best teacher, either your own or that of others who have already been successful under similar conditions. A garden is almost sure to be gradually increased in size, and its capacity limited only by the grounds of the owner and his pocket-book. The possibilities and capabilities of a couple of acres are great, and will give the owner unlimited pleasure and occupation. Individuality is one of the most marked of American characteristics; hence, in making a place, whether it is big or little, the tastes and individuality of the owner will generally direct his efforts, and no hard and fast rules can be given. In starting a garden, the first question, of course, is where to plant. If you are a beginner in the art, and the place is new and large, go to a good landscape gardener and let him give advice and make you a plan. But don't follow it; at least not at once, nor all at one time. Live there for a while, until you yourself begin to feel what you want, and where you want it. See all the gardens and places you can, and then, when you know what you want, or think you do, start in. The relation of house to grounds must always be borne in mind, and simplicity in grounds should correspond with that of the house. A craze for Italian gardens is seizing upon people generally, regardless of the architecture of their houses. To my mind, an Italian garden, with its balustrades, terraces, fountains and statues, is as inappropriate for surrounding a colonial or an ordinary country house as would be a Louis XV drawing-room in a farm-house. [Illustration: _Rhododendron maximum_ and Ferns along north side of house, with _Ampelopsis Veitchii_ July fourth] What is beautiful in one place becomes incongruous and ridiculous in another. Not long ago, a woman making an afternoon visit asked me to show her the gardens. Daintily balancing herself upon slippers with the highest possible heels, clad in a costume appropriate only for a fête at Newport, she strolled about. She thought it all "quite lovely" and "really, very nice," but, at least ten times, while making the tour, wondered "Why in the world don't you have an Italian garden?" No explanation of the lack of taste that such a garden would indicate in connection with the house, had any effect. The simple, formal gardens of a hundred years ago, with Box-edged paths, borders and regular Box-edged beds, are always beautiful, never become tiresome, and have the additional merit of being appropriate either to the fine country-place or the simple cottage. [Illustration: Plan for a Small Plot] For a small plot of ground, like the one before mentioned, the plan of which is on page 24, the matter is simple, because of the natural limitations. I love to see a house bedded, as it were, in flowers. This is particularly suitable for the usual American country house, colonial in style, or low and rambling. Make a bed perhaps four feet wide along three sides of the house,--south, east and west. Close against the house plant the vines. Every one has an individual taste in vines,--more so, perhaps, than in any other ornamental growth. If the house be of stone, and the climate not too severe, nothing is more beautiful than the English Ivy. It flourishes as far north as Princeton, New Jersey. I have never grown it, fearing it would be winter-killed. _Ampelopsis Veitchii_, sometimes called Boston Ivy, grows rapidly, clinging closely to the wall and turning a dark red in the autumn, and is most satisfactory. The Virginia Creeper, and the Trumpet Creeper, with its scarlet flowers, are both beautiful, perfectly hardy, and of rapid growth. All of these vines cling to stone and wood, and, beyond a little help for the first two or three feet, need not be fastened to the house. Care must be taken to prevent the vines growing too thickly to admit sun and air to the house. If the house be of wood, the question of repainting must be considered. Both the White and the Purple Wistaria, which can be twined about heavy wire and fastened at the eaves, Rambler Roses and Honeysuckles may be grown. They can be laid down, to permit painting. But, if the house be of wood and well covered with vines, put off the evil day of painting until it can be deferred no longer, and then have it done early in November. Never, never permit it to be done in the spring, or before November, unless you would take the risk of killing the vines or of losing at least a season's growth. The house surrounded by my gardens is colonial, something over a hundred and fifty years old, stern and very simple. Tall locusts, towering above the roof, and vines that cover it from ground to eaves, have taken away its otherwise puritanical and somewhat uncompromising aspect. These vines are mostly the ordinary Virginia Creeper, which I had dug from the woods and planted when the first fat baby was two months old. Now their main trunks are, in places, as large as my arm. They have never been laid down. Whenever the house has been repainted, I have been constantly by, and admonished the men to gently lift the heavy branches while painting under them, and not to paint the light tendrils. When the master-painter has remonstrated, that it was not a "good job" and took three times as long as if the vines were laid down, my reply has been, that "three times" was nothing in comparison with the years it had taken to grow them, and that stunting or killing the vines could never be a "good job." [Illustration: Arch over rose-walk, covered with Golden Honeysuckle and _Clematis paniculata_. September fifteenth] Among the creepers are the Crimson Rambler Rose and the Honeysuckle. In three years the Roses have grown above the second-story windows. _Clematis paniculata_, with its delicate foliage and mass of starry bloom in early autumn, is particularly good to plant by veranda posts in connection with other vines. It grows luxuriantly and is absolutely hardy. The large white-flowered Henryi and purple-flowered Jackmani Clematis, though of slow growth, should always have a place, either about a veranda, a summer-house or a trellis, for the sake of their beautiful flowers. While waiting for the hardy vines to make their first year's growth, the seeds of the Japanese Morning-Glory, the Japanese Moonflower and _Coboea scandens_ may be planted. All of these will grow at least ten feet in a summer, and cover the bare places. But I would not advise sowing them among the hardy vines, except the first summer. In their luxuriance they may suffocate the Roses and Clematis. The seeds of the Moonflower must be soaked in hot water, and left over night, before sowing. So much for the vines about a house. In front of the vines, and on the south side in the same bed, plant masses of Hollyhocks, from eight to twelve in a bunch, and Rudbeckia in bunches of not more than five, as they grow so large. Hollyhocks and Rudbeckias plant two feet apart; they will grow to a solid mass. In front of these, again, put a clump of Phloxes, seven in a bunch, and Larkspur, _Delphinium formosum_ being the best. On either side of the Delphinium have clumps of about a dozen _Lilium candidum_, which bloom at the same time. Edge the border with Sweet Williams, three kinds only,--white, pink and dark scarlet. I should not advise making all the borders around a house alike. The easterly one will be most lovely if planted with tall ferns or brakes, taken from near some stream in early April, before they begin to grow. These will become about four feet high if you get good roots and keep them wet. Plant in among them everywhere Auratum Lilies, and you will have a border that will fill your heart with joy. On the north side of the house it is not possible to have much success with vines, as they need the sun. They will grow, but not with great luxuriance. Here plant two rows of the common _Rhododendron maximum_, which grows in our woods. I crave pardon for calling it "common," since none that grows is more beautiful. In front of these plant ferns of all kinds from the woods, and edge the border with Columbines. If these Rhododendrons do not grow in your vicinity, they can be ordered from a florist. In the hills, about five miles from us, acres of them grow wild, and twice a year I send my men with wagons to dig them up. They stand transplanting perfectly if care is taken to get all the roots, which is not difficult, as they do not grow deep. Keep them quite wet for a week after planting, and never let them get very dry. A good plan is to mulch them in early June to the depth of six inches or more with the clippings of the lawn grass, or with old manure. When once well rooted, the Rhododendrons will last a lifetime. They seem to bear transplanting at any season. Some think they do best if taken when in full bloom. I have always done this in April or late October, and, of a wagon-load transplanted last October, all have lived. Many of these were like trees, quite eight feet tall and too large to be satisfactory about the house, so they were set among the evergreens in a shrubbery. [Illustration: _Rhododendron maximum_ under a Cherry tree July fourth] In cold localities, where the thermometer in winter falls below zero, Rhododendrons should be mulched with stable litter or leaves to the depth of one foot, after the ground has frozen. They should also have some protection from the winter sun, which can be easily given them by setting evergreen boughs of any kind into the ground here and there among them. Rhododendrons are as likely to be killed by alternate freezing and thawing of the ground in winter as by summer drought. The lovely _Azalea mollis_, and many beautiful varieties of imported Rhododendrons, are usually described as "hardy," but I cannot recommend them to those who live where the winters are severe. In such places their growth is very slow, and many perish. Maidenhair, the most beautiful of the hardy ferns, is to be found in quantities in many of our woods, particularly those covering hillsides. Their favorite spot is along the edges of mountain brooks. I know such a hillside, where Maidenhair Ferns are superb. But nothing would induce me to venture there again, since I have been told it was infested with rattlesnakes, and that the woodchoppers kill a number of them every year. This fact, too, gives me scruples about sending the men to dig them up, although it is an awful temptation. All ferns should be transplanted late in the autumn, or very early in the spring before the fronds are started, as they are very easily broken. This is particularly the case with ferns from wet places. When planted on the east or north side of a house, the tall ones at the back, and Maidenhair and other low varieties in front, they make a beautiful bank of cool green. They must be kept moist, however, to be successful, and in dry weather require a daily soaking. [Illustration: Vase of Delphinium (Perennial Larkspur) June twenty-first] The Cardinal Flower, whose natural haunt is along the banks of streams, and whose spikes are of the most beautiful red, can also be safely transplanted, and will bloom in deep, rich soil equally well in shade or sun and will be very effective among the Ferns. About the end of November, after cutting the dead stalks, cover each plant with a piece of sod, laid grass-side down. Remove this the first of April, and the little sprouts will soon appear above the ground. Cardinal Flowers bloom for nearly a month--during the last two weeks of August and first two weeks of September. HOW TO PLANT A SMALL PLOT CHAPTER IV HOW TO PLANT A SMALL PLOT I am frequently surprised to hear people say, "Oh, a flower garden is very nice, but such a trouble!" I have heard this expression several times from friends who employ a number of men and have large places with extensive lawns, shrubberies and vegetable gardens, but without flowers, except, perhaps, a few annuals growing among the vegetables. Yet no one is indifferent to the beauty of garden, or unobservant of the improvement which even a few flowers can make around the humblest cottage. Think of the pretty thatched cottages one sees everywhere in England and France, covered to the eaves with Roses and Clematis, and surrounded by flowers growing wherever they can find root in the tiny gardens. Yet all this is the result of only a half hour's daily care after the long day's work is done. One should begin with a few plants--perhaps a dozen only--and the "trouble" will soon become a delight, unless one is devoid of all love for flowers. [Illustration: Vase of Peonies June sixth] Whenever I hear remarks on the "trouble" of a flower garden, I think of those peasant homes, and also of a little plot grown and cared for by a certain tenant farmer's wife I know. She has six children, and must cook and bake and clean for four men in addition; yet, some time every day, she finds a few minutes to tend her flowers. She has a border along the fence four by fifty feet, filled with perennials; a border across the front of her house with Phlox and Funkias, and a couple of beds with Asters, Poppies, Balsams, Portulaca and Pinks. The perennials were given her, a few at a time. She separated the roots, saved the seeds to raise others, and has been able in this way to increase her borders. The seeds of the few annuals she buys do not cost more than a dollar a year. Thus, for a trifling expenditure and a short time every day, this woman makes her humble surroundings beautiful, while her soul finds an object upon which to expend its love of beauty, and her thoughts have a respite from the daily cares of life. Many people have the mistaken idea that a flower garden, however small, is an expensive luxury, and are so convinced of this, that they never venture any attempt at gardening, and pass their lives knowing nothing of its pleasures. Let us suppose some one is starting a suburban home in a simple way, and see how flowers can be had for many months at small cost. If one has a place in a town or village, the plot of ground not over fifty by two hundred feet, still the possibilities are great, and the owner can easily gather flowers for herself and her friends from April until mid-November. A house or cottage on such a piece of ground generally stands back from twenty to fifty feet, with a gravel or flagged walk running to the street. If the owner be a beginner in gardening and expects to do most of the work herself, let her commence with a few plants in a small space. As the plants thrive and become beautiful, the care of them will give an added pleasure to life, and, little by little, the beds and borders can be increased. In beginning to plant a small plot, the most natural place first is a border, say two feet wide, on either side of the walk leading from the house to the street. Have these borders dug out and made properly. Then, if the owner wishes to see them continually abloom, bulbs must be planted, to give the early spring flowers. Tulips can be had for eighty cents a hundred, _Narcissus Poeticus_ for sixty-five cents a hundred, and Yellow Daffodils for one dollar and twenty-five cents a hundred. Hyacinths are more expensive, and cost from four dollars a hundred up. If a hundred each of the Tulips, Narcissi, Hyacinths and Daffodils were planted they would make the borders lovely from early in April until late in May. The Daffodils will bloom first, then the Hyacinths, followed by the Narcissi, and the Tulips last, if care is taken to buy a late variety. There should certainly be three or four Peonies in the borders,--pink, white, and dark red; good roots of these can be had for about thirty-five cents each. Once planted, they should not be disturbed for years; and, although the first season they may not yield more than two or three blossoms, in each succeeding year the flowers will increase in number. A friend told me, not long ago, that she had counted sixty blossoms upon each of several of her plants. There should also be at least a dozen Columbines (Aquilegias) to bloom the end of May and the first of June. The roots of these can be bought for a dollar and a half a dozen, or they can be raised from seed; in the latter case, however, they would not bloom until the second year, being perennials. No border can be complete without Delphiniums (Larkspur). Good-sized roots of the _Delphinium formosum_, lovely dark blue, are a dollar and twenty-five cents a dozen. _Formosum Coelistina_, the light blue variety, is two dollars and a half a dozen. Then, of course, there must be other perennials,--Phlox, at least a dozen plants in the different colours, which will cost a dollar and a half. A few Lilies will add greatly to the beauty of the borders. Tiger Lilies, which are only sixty cents a dozen; Auratums, which can be had from eighty-five cents a dozen up, according to the size of the bulbs; _Speciosum rubrum_ from eighty-five cents a dozen up, and Candidums, or Madonna Lilies, a dollar and a half a dozen. German Iris, a dollar a dozen, and Japanese Iris, at a dollar and a quarter a dozen, should also have a place. [Illustration: _Lilium speciosum rubrum_ September fifteenth] Excellent Gladioli can be bought for a dollar and fifty cents a hundred, and these will be most satisfactory if planted in the border about May fifteenth in groups of six to ten. A dozen Chrysanthemums of the hardiest varieties to be obtained, and costing a dollar and a half a dozen, will, with the other plants mentioned, about fill two borders two feet wide by thirty long. It would also be well to sow the seeds of some Calendulas, Nasturtiums and Asters wherever there may be a vacant place. Or better, perhaps, sow the seeds in boxes in mid-April, and transplant to the border the early part of June. The first cost will be the only expense for these borders, except in the case of the Auratum Lilies, which will die out in about three years, and of the few flower seeds. The only care needed is to keep the borders free from weeds, to stir the soil every week, and to water after sunset in dry weather. It will be seen, from the following list, that such borders can easily be made and planted at a cost of less than thirty dollars. This can be reduced by omitting the Hyacinths. Directions for planting are given elsewhere. PRICE Tulips $0 80 Narcissi 65 Daffodils 1 25 Hyacinths 4 00 Peonies 1 40 Columbines 1 50 _Delphinium Formosum_ 1 25 _Delphinium Coelestina_ 2 50 Phlox 1 50 Tiger Lilies 60 Auratum 85 _Lilium rubrum_ 85 _Lilium candidum_ 1 50 Japanese Iris 1 25 _Iris Germanica_ 1 00 Chrysanthemums 1 50 Flower seeds 1 00 Three days' work, at $1.50 per day 4 50 Manure 1 50 ------ Total $29 40 After a year or two, the owner of the cottage may want to increase the flower garden, and the next place to plant is close about the house. It is to be taken for granted that the house and piazzas have the proper gutters. This is necessary, of course, for the preservation of the house, and without gutters the drip from the eaves would be such that nothing could grow directly against the house. The bed might be three feet wide and run across the front of the house on either side of the steps. The owner would probably wish to plant vines over the porch or piazza, in case it has not already been done. The best for this purpose are mentioned elsewhere. Should the house front the south, east or west, nearly everything can be grown; but should it face the north, nothing but Ferns and Rhododendrons would be successful on the front. Dahlias of the Cactus variety, in different colours, could be planted at the back of the bed on one side of the steps. Get good-sized roots, plant them two feet apart. They will grow against the house like a tall hedge. If planted the third week in April quite deep, say eight inches, they will begin to bloom about the sixth of July, and continue to be covered with flowers until killed by frost. In front of the Dahlias, plant white Phlox. In front of the Phlox sow a row of _Centaurea_ or Cornflowers, the Emperor William variety. These should be sown early in April, will begin to bloom by June tenth, and, if they are not allowed to go to seed, will blossom all summer. Sow in front of the Cornflowers, at the same time, a row of white Candytuft, of the Empress variety. This also will bloom continuously if the flowers are cut as soon as they wither. On the other side of the steps, at the back of the bed, plant Rudbeckia (Golden Glow) two feet apart. The roots should be bought and planted, preferably in October, otherwise as soon as the frost is out of the ground in the spring, as they start very early. In front of the Rudbeckias plant Cannas--the Tarrytown, of most vivid scarlet hue, I have found the best and freest-flowering of all. The roots should be planted about May fifteenth. On the edge of the bed, sow by April fifteenth a row of salmon-pink Zinnias, and when they are well up, thin out to six inches apart. They begin to blossom when very small, and will stand considerable frost. The expense of these beds will be trifling. Rudbeckias of the Golden Glow variety, one dollar a dozen; the Tarrytown Canna, two dollars and a half a dozen; Cactus Dahlias, two dollars a dozen; Phlox, one dollar and a half a dozen. The small quantity of flower seeds required will cost less than a dollar. A man can easily make the beds in three days. Therefore, the cost with manure will be less than fifteen dollars. After a hard frost has killed the tops, the Dahlias, Cannas and Gladioli should be taken up, the tops cut off, the roots well dried, and then stored in a cellar that does not freeze. The Canna and Dahlia roots will have grown so large that they can be divided and it will be found that there are enough to plant, the following spring, nearly twice the space they occupied before. It is impossible, if successful with the borders already planned, for the owner not to wish for more garden. She sees the neighbors' gardens with newly opened eyes; flowers and their treatment become an absorbing topic of conversation, and the exchange of plants a delightful transaction. [Illustration: Vase of Altheas September sixteenth] It will be seen that the next places to plant are along the boundary lines of the property. Even if one side only be laid out at a time, a large number of plants will be required. The owner will find great pleasure in raising as many of these herself as possible. To accomplish this, somewhere at the back of the place, a seed-bed should be made, and in April the seeds of perennials and annuals sown. The border must be made by September the twentieth and should be at least four feet wide. Either a hedge can be placed at the back of the border, or tall-growing flowering shrubs, such as white and purple Lilacs (not the Persian), Mock Oranges (Syringa), Deutzia and Roses of Sharon (Althea). These shrubs will grow about equally high, yield an abundance of flowers, the Altheas in August, the others in May or June, and in four or five years will form a complete screen from the neighboring grounds. In front of the shrubs perennials can be planted, taller ones at the back, lower-growing ones in front, and annuals along the edge. Such a border, if from fifty to a hundred feet in length, will be a garden by itself. The plants will do best if closely set, and every vacant space filled in June with annuals. Weeds then have little chance to grow, and a short time every day will keep such a border in order. The border can be of any width from four to twelve feet, but when more than four feet, the front edge should be made with irregular curves to avoid a stiff appearance. Shrubs should be set out not later than October tenth, and, as they or the hedge would be at the back of the bed, the planting of them will not interfere with the perennials that have already been transplanted from the seed-bed. Hedges are so much more beautiful than any fence that ever was built that, in towns or villages where cattle are not allowed to run at large, hedges should, wherever possible, be used in place of fences. To prepare the ground for a hedge, make a trench eighteen inches deep, put a good layer of well-rotted manure in the bottom and fill up with earth. When the hedge is planted give it a good top-dressing of manure, and continue this top-dressing, with a little bone-meal sown on the surface of the ground, every spring. [Illustration: Planting on the edge of lawn August second] The best and hardiest evergreen hedge is of Hemlock Spruce. Plants of this can be bought for fifteen dollars a hundred, and should be set eighteen inches apart. The Privet is a favorite hedge in this country. It keeps green until December, and leafs out early in the spring. It is hardy and of rapid growth. Good plants are six dollars a hundred, and should be planted a foot apart. Catalogues say that if planted in rich soil one foot apart, a hedge five feet high can be grown in three seasons. Common Privet is more hardy than California Privet. _Hydrangea paniculata grandiflora_ makes a beautiful low-growing hedge; good plants can be bought for six dollars a hundred. _Berberis Thunbergii_, or Barberry, makes a fine hedge, on account of its beautiful foliage and scarlet fruit. It is, however, slow-growing. The owner of a small place should avoid the temptation to scatter flower beds about the lawn. Keep all the planting along the edges of the property and around the house, and leave the lawn unbroken by flower beds. The years when gardening consisted only of beds of Coleus, Geraniums, Verbenas and bedding plants have passed away, like the black walnut period of furniture. And even as the mahogany of our grandfathers is now brought forth from garrets and unused rooms, and antiquity shops and farm-houses are searched for the good old-time furniture, so we are learning to take the old gardens for our models, and the old-fashioned flowers to fill our borders. The nurseryman of to-day has greatly improved the size and colour of the old varieties of perennials, so that they are far more beautiful than formerly, and offer a much greater choice. By skilful hybridization a hundred or more kinds of Phlox have been developed. In the same way, numerous varieties of Delphiniums, Iris, Peonies, Columbines, Canterbury Bells and Foxgloves have been produced. The old-fashioned annuals also appear in many new forms. In addition to the pink and white "Painted Lady," the pure white and the dark purple Sweet Peas of our mothers' time, we may now cultivate some eighty varieties of this delicate flower. Thus the garden of hardy perennials, annuals and bulbs will give us a continual sequence of flowers in every form and colour from April until November, if properly made and tended. [Illustration: Asters in rows for picking August twenty-fifth] THE SEED-BED CHAPTER V THE SEED-BED The possessor of a garden, large or small, should have a seed-bed, where seeds of perennials and some of the annuals can be sown and grown until large enough to be permanently placed. Not only will this bed give great pleasure in enabling one to watch the plants from the time the first tiny leaf appears, but also when laden with blossoms in fullest beauty. The knowledge that you have raised them gives a thrill of pride in the result which no bought plants, however beautiful, can impart. It is not necessary to prepare the seed-bed over a foot in depth, but the soil must be very light and fine, as well as rich. It is best, if possible, to have a portion of the bed somewhat shaded from the sun for a part of the day. If this combination cannot be had in one bed, there should be a second for plants that want less sun. Biennials must, of course, be sown every year, as they bloom but once, then die. Every year some perennials will disappear, killed by severe winters, by pests of one kind or another, or dying without apparent cause. To keep up the supply, therefore, some of each variety should be raised every year. Foxgloves and Sweet Williams, if allowed to go to seed, will sow themselves and increase rapidly. The same with Hollyhocks, but, except on the edges of shrubberies and in wild borders, it is better to cut the stalk just before the seed is ready to fall, and save it to sow in the seed-bed. [Illustration: Foxgloves--seedlings ready for final transplanting September twenty-ninth] In my garden, some seventy miles from New York, and where the spring opens ten days later, I sow my seeds,--the perennials about the tenth of April and the annuals from April twentieth to May first. Buy the seeds, if the garden is large, by the ounce or half-ounce; if small, in the seedsman's packets. I always have the seeds of perennials soaked for twenty-four hours before planting, and find that by so doing they are very sure to germinate. Care must be taken, when soaking a number of different kinds at the same time, to place the name of each variety of seed under the glass or bowl containing the same. When ready for planting, pour off the water and mix the wet seeds carefully with very dry earth, in a cigar-box, which is of the right size and easy to handle. Then sow, not too deeply, in rows about a foot apart in the bed, covering very lightly, according to size. One-half inch is enough for the large seeds. The very fine varieties should simply have the earth sprinkled on them. If planted too deep they will never come up. Seeds of annuals do not require soaking. Pat the earth down firmly with the back of the trowel, sprinkle with a fine sprinkler late every afternoon, and it is not your fault if you do not have hundreds and thousands of young plants to make your own place beautiful and to give to your friends. It is a keen delight, when a friend says that she has not raised such and such plants this year, to run and get your trowel and dig a bunch of this and that from the rows of sturdy little plants. It is a pleasure to know that a bit of your garden has gone to help make another's beautiful. One of the greatest pleasures of a garden is in giving flowers and plants to your friends. Every October, when arranging the borders and separating plants, I send away great boxes of them, some to fortunate friends with lovely gardens, but without the same varieties; some to humble cottage gardens, and others to friends who have never grown a flower, but would like to try. This year, having made a large new garden, I was able to give away to friends and neighbors only about seven hundred plants, not seedlings but large plants and roots. Generally I can send away far more. Think what a delight this is! A request for some plants came to me last autumn from the baggage-master of a railroad station some twenty miles from us, who, by the boxes of shrubs and plants that came to me, inferred that I might have some to spare. I learned that all this man's spare time was spent in his little garden plot, so great was his love of flowers. I know, too, a village expressman (another whom nature intended for a gardener), whose little plot of ground is always a mass of beauty. He has a surprising variety of plants, and every one is a fine specimen of its kind. His _Anemone Japonica alba_ are the finest I have ever seen, each one sending up perhaps a dozen slender stalks of the beautiful flowers. I have had great difficulty with this plant and have lost dozens of them. I always drive very slowly by the expressman's garden, burning with envy and wondering how he does it. In fact, it was only last year that I had my first success with these obdurate plants. They must grow under trees whose branches are sufficiently high to admit the sun half the day. As they bloom in September and October, the tree protects them from the frost, and in winter they should be well covered with stable litter. They are among the few plants to be set out in the spring, for if not well established they are always winter-killed. It is well not to empty the perennial seed-bed entirely in the autumn, but to leave a few plants of each variety to transplant in the spring, to take the place of those which have not survived the winter. When the bed is empty, in the spring, have a good coating of manure spaded in and proceed again with the sowing. Biennials, and also most perennials, must be raised every year to keep up the supply. [Illustration: Long grass walk, with _Narcissus Poeticus_ blooming in the border April twenty-sixth] PLANTING [Illustration: Long grass walk, with Peonies in the border June sixth] CHAPTER VI PLANTING I cannot impress too strongly upon my readers the importance of ordering their plants and seeds of well-known firms. The best are always the cheapest in the end. Inquiry among friends will generally give the best information as to reliable seedsmen and growers. In ordering shrubs and plants it is important to specify the precise date of delivery, that you may know in advance the day of arrival. The beds or borders should be prepared in advance, so that everything may be set out without delay. Care must be taken that the roots are not exposed to the air and allowed to become dry. It is a good plan, when unpacking a box of plants, to sort them, laying each variety in a pile by itself, covering the roots with the moss and excelsior in which they were packed, and then, if at all dry, to sprinkle thoroughly. Unpacking should, if possible, be done under cover--in the cellar if there be no other place. Great care must also be taken in setting out plants that ample room be given; as the roots should be well spread out and never doubled up. Do not be afraid of having the hole too big; see that the earth is finely pulverized and well packed about the roots; that the plant is thoroughly soaked, and, if the weather is dry, kept watered for a couple of weeks. If the plants have arrived in good condition and are carefully set out, but few should die. I have never lost a deciduous tree, and frequently, in setting out a hundred shrubs at one time, all have lived. [Illustration: Long grass walk, with Foxgloves blossoming in the border June thirteenth] Wherever there is a fence make a border, wide or narrow according to your space; if wide,--and it may be as much as twelve feet wide,--always make the edge irregular, never straight. Some prefer a hedge at the back of the border. The best effect and quickest screen is made by planting, against the fence at the back of the border, White Lilacs (not the Persian), Syringas, Deutzias and the beautiful new Altheas. Plant these shrubs three feet apart. In good soil they will send up great canes, and in four years time should be six feet high and shut you in from all prying gaze. In planting a border, always keep in mind the fact that it should be blooming from May to November. Put in the plants according to height, the tallest, of course, at the back and the lowest in front, filling the front also with spring-flowering bulbs, Daffodils, Tulips and Narcissi, which will blossom and be over before the plants come on. You will thus have the longest succession of bloom. If the border is quite wide--from four to six feet--and perhaps one hundred and fifty feet long, it will hold a surprising number of plants. Certain plants, in a long border with a background of shrubs, look best in rows, in spite of all that has been written against it: For instance, Hollyhocks, a long row of plants three deep, broken every ten feet or so by a clump of a dozen, and in front of these a single row of Rudbeckias, broken with clumps of six or so, and the rest of the border planted in masses, more or less according to space, of Phloxes, Larkspur, Lilies, Columbines, Sweet Williams, with every now and then a good clump of Chrysanthemums to blossom when all other flowers are gone. In filling a border along a rather short path, the plants should always be set in clumps of from six to twelve of a kind. If the border is narrow and has no shrubs or hedge back of it, the effect will be better if the plants do not exceed three feet in height. Omit from such a border Hollyhocks, Rudbeckias, Sunflowers and Cosmos. Sweet Williams, Columbines, Sweet Alyssum, Candytuft, Nasturtiums and _Phlox Drummondii_ can all be grown as edging for borders. I have a border, two and a half feet wide and three hundred and fifty feet long, that is a mass of bloom from the middle of May until the last of September. It may give the reader a suggestion to know its contents. Everything is in rows, the only border in my garden where the planting is done in this way. Along the edge is _Narcissus Poeticus_; back of _Narcissus Poeticus_ a row of Sweet Williams, pink, white and very dark red; back of the Sweet Williams, Foxgloves; back of the Foxgloves, Peonies and _Hydrangea grandiflora_ planted alternately; and back of these, a row of Hollyhocks. About two feet behind this border, a row of Rudbeckia (Golden Glow) grows like a tall hedge. When _Narcissus Poeticus_ has finished blooming, the Peonies come on. Before the last Peony has lost its petals, the Sweet Williams (quite two feet high) are in blossom, and the Foxgloves (from three to four feet high) begin to bloom, and last for a month. While these flowers are still lovely, the tall Hollyhocks begin to flower, each plant sending up from three to five stalks. Then, by the time the Hollyhock stalks are cut down, the Hydrangeas, which are trimmed back very severely every autumn, are a mass of white. Meanwhile the Rudbeckias, for quite six weeks, form a yellow background. The illustrations show this row of flowers while the Narcissi, Peonies, Foxgloves, and Hydrangeas are successively in blossom. Early in June, I transplant into perennial borders, wherever a spot can be found, clumps of Asters, Cosmos and other late annuals, which are beautiful in September and October when most flowers have ceased to bloom. From September twentieth to October fifteenth is a busy time in the garden. New beds and borders should be made then. The plants in all borders four years old should be lifted, and the beds or borders spaded deeply with plenty of manure, the plants reset, and the young perennials transplanted from the seed-bed into their final places. All perennial plants whose roots are sufficiently large, should now be divided and reset. This fall planting and transplanting should be done at about the time mentioned, for the shrubs and plants must become well rooted before the ground freezes, or they will rarely survive the winter. No matter how rich a bed or border may be, I always have the hole to receive the plant made larger than is necessary, and put a spadeful of manure in the bottom. In transplanting, my man always has a wheelbarrow of this at his side to work from. If there are bare places in lawns or grass paths, sow grass seed about the twentieth of September, then roll, and the grass will be well rooted before cold weather. It must be borne in mind that everything possible should be done in the fall. Perennials start early in the spring, and it is a pity, when they are once started, to disturb them. When the frost has finally killed everything, all the dead tops should be cut off at the ground, the dead annuals pulled up, the borders made clean and neat, and, about the last of November, covered with a good layer of stable litter, leaves or straw. I have always found the plants start earlier and do better for this slight protection. Whenever I tell my inquiring friends of the proper preparation of beds, and the spring top-dressing, and winter covering with manure, there is generally an exclamation of alarm at the quantity used. But much is required to make the garden grow. I call upon the farm for manure when the stable supply is insufficient, and both my farmer-husband and his manager at times look askance. But how can I live unless my garden has what it needs! The farmer-husband looks upon my gardening as a mild species of insanity, and cannot understand why a _little_ garden with a few plants is not enough for any woman. By dint of much showing and explanation through many years, he has acquired a floricultural knowledge which enables him to tell a Rose, Lily, Sunflower and Phlox, and of this knowledge he is proud. All manure should be drawn out into the garden when the ground is still frozen, in March or earlier, and placed in convenient piles, so that the ground may not be cut up, when soft, by the wagon wheels; and also to facilitate work when the first spring days come, and there are a hundred things to be done. If possible, have a spadeful of well-rotted stable manure stirred into the ground around each shrub and vine in early spring. The result will amply repay you. Save all wood-ashes carefully, under cover, for the garden, and scatter them on the beds and on the grass. Get well-ground fresh bone-meal, and let all plants have only a handful in the spring, and the reward in bloom is great. To have good results from the hardy Chrysanthemums the soil cannot be too rich, and I generally "give them something to eat," as a boy who helps in the garden calls it, about the fifteenth of June and the fifteenth of August. Care must be taken, in using bone-meal, not to put on too much, and to keep it away from contact with the rootlets. ANNUALS CHAPTER VII ANNUALS There are so many annuals that I will write only about the few which are easiest to grow and are most desirable. For me a flower must have merits for decorating the house as well as for making the garden beautiful. The other day I found an English book on flowers, and at once sat down to read it, expecting enjoyment and profit from every page; but at the end of a few minutes I came upon the following paragraph: "Particularly to most women one of the chief uses or functions of a garden is to provide flowers to be cut for the decoration of rooms. But I hold that a flower cut from its plant and placed in a vase is as a scalp on the walls of a wigwam." And I read no further in that book. I grow flowers to gather them, both for the house and to give away. We keep about sixty vases full in the house from late May until October, and never allow more than two colours in the same room. I have a yellow room, where only yellow and white flowers, or white and blue, are permitted; a pink room, for white and pink or pink and crimson flowers; and a hall, whose dominant tone is a rich red, where the flowers are red and white. Some of the annuals, like Mignonette and Poppies, must be sown where they are to grow. Mignonette does best in cool, rather moist soil. [Illustration: Long grass walk, with Hydrangeas; Rudbeckias in the background August twenty-fifth] Poppies, and oh! have plenty of them and all kinds. Get the Shirley Poppies, the Giant Double, the fringed kind, and the California with their sunny petals. Sow in great numbers wherever they are wanted, here and there in the borders wherever there is space. If there is no other place, sow them in rows in the vegetable garden. They are splendid in the house, but, alas! fall too quickly. The Shirley Poppies are almost like fairy flowers, they are so delicate and beautiful. They are the first of the annual Poppies to bloom. Then comes the variety which grows wild in France and Germany,--scarlet, with black blotches at the base of the petals. Last to bloom are the tall, fringed double and single Poppies,--white, pink and scarlet, growing on strong stems three feet high. Poppies must be sown thinly and the earth only sprinkled over the seeds. Sow as early in the spring as the ground can be worked, and thin out to six inches apart when the plants are well up. Nasturtiums, too, should be planted where they are to grow, also Sweet Alyssum and Candytuft. All of these make good edgings for borders. If not allowed to go to seed they will bloom all summer. Sunflowers, the Dwarf Double, and the tall Giant Sunflowers, are fine in backgrounds and against fences. THE FOLLOWING ANNUALS SHOULD BE SOWN IN THE SEED-BED ABOUT APRIL TWENTIETH TO MAY FIRST _Antirrhinum_, or _Snapdragon_, growing eighteen inches high. If sown in early May they will bloom from August until late autumn. The same is true of the German Ten-weeks Stocks, which have a long period of bloom. The white ones are most lovely. _Asters_, all varieties; sow a quantity. They are not only beautiful, but they give an abundance of blossoms in late September and early October, when flowers are beginning to be scarce. I prefer the Giant, Comet, Ostrich Plume and the late-flowering branching kind. Of these last, "Purity" (snow-white) and "Daybreak" (shell-pink) are the best, often bearing thirty flowers on a plant and lasting, in water, five days. A small quantity of wood-ashes stirred into the soil of the Aster bed is a fine fertilizer and destroys insects that attack the roots. Transplant in June to wherever they are to blossom. [Illustration: A single plant of Asters September tenth] I have lately learned, that the only way to destroy the black beetle which appears upon the Asters and eats the flowers, is to have them picked off morning and evening and thrown into a pan containing kerosene oil, which kills them. _Cosmos._ The early-summer flowering variety of Cosmos will begin to bloom in July, and, if not allowed to go to seed, will be a mass of flowers until killed by frost. In favorable soil Cosmos grows luxuriantly, and resembles a small tree six or eight feet high. This plant should be staked, or it is likely to be blown down. It is very effective when transplanted to the borders, blooming gayly when there is not much else. The pink and crimson varieties are beautiful, but do not compare with the white. _Calendula_, growing about a foot high in every shade of yellow from deep orange to pale ivory, is one of the best and most constant blooming of the yellow flowers. _Centaurea_, or _Cornflower_. These come in many colours, but I grow only the tall, ragged, blue variety. If not permitted to go to seed, they will bloom plentifully for several months. On the dinner-table with blue and white china, and in June combined with Syringa, they make a beautiful and unusual decoration. _Marigold_, both the double African and the double French. These flowers always give me a pricking of the conscience, for during the summer, when there are plenty of others, I give them the "go by," but in October turn to them with shame and thankfulness. _Phlox Drummondii_ grows about six or eight inches high, and comes in many colours. It makes beautiful borders, particularly the white, pink and dark red. _Plumed Celosia_, or _Cockscomb_. The new varieties are very effective. [Illustration: Poppies growing in rows July fourteenth] _Zinnias._ Lately I have grown only two varieties, a vivid scarlet and a salmon-pink. They are not only lovely when growing, but make a beautiful house decoration, as the stems are long and stiff. _Sweet Peas_, which no garden can do without. Several books say, plant in autumn, very late. I have twice sown two pounds at this time, carefully following the directions, and not one single Pea came up the following spring. Sweet Peas should be sown in the spring the moment the frost comes out of the ground, so that they may become deeply rooted before dry weather. Make a trench about a foot deep and a foot wide. Have a good layer of manure in the bottom of the trench, over which put a couple of inches of earth, and over this earth put a good layer of wood-ashes, again a sprinkling of earth. Then sow the Peas, and cover them with a couple of inches of earth. As they grow, fill in the trench, and keep on hilling up the plants until the roots are very deep. It is well to mulch them with the clippings of lawn grass. In this way the plants are kept from drying up, and will bloom until October. Sweet Peas flourish best on a trellis of galvanized wire netting. It should be a permanent trellis, made of cedar posts set three feet deep, so as to be below the frost line and four feet high. To this attach the wire netting. A trench should be made on either side of the netting, so that a double row of Peas may be sown. The quantity sown depends on the length of the trellis; three pounds will sow a double row one hundred and twenty-five feet long. I always sow the different colours separately. It simplifies the task of arranging them, if they can be gathered separately. A bowl of white Sweet Peas and Maidenhair Fern is indeed a "thing of beauty." _Pansies_, every one loves them. They are annuals, but do best if treated as biennials. The most practical hint that I was able to get from "Elizabeth's German Garden" was where she spoke of carpeting her Rose beds with Pansies. This instantly appealed to me, as I greatly dislike to see the earth in the beds and borders, and in Rose beds it always is to be seen. So I bought an ounce each of white and yellow Pansy seed, sowed it about the tenth of July in the partly shaded end of the seed-bed, and by October first had splendid great plants. I did not allow these to blossom, but picked off the buds, and, after the Rose beds had been given a plentiful top-dressing of manure carefully stirred in with a large trowel, I transplanted my Pansy plants. Of course, they had to be covered over with the Roses the last of November, and often during the winter I wondered whether the dears would be smothered. On the twenty-eighth of March the beds were uncovered, and, imagine it! there were Pansies in bloom. From April tenth until late in August these beds were simply a carpet of white and yellow. I never saw anything like it. It was probably due to the rich soil, perhaps also to the free watering necessary for the Roses. Then, in order that no Pansies should go to seed, my own maid, who is very fond of flowers, undertook each morning to cut off all that were beginning to wither. This required from one to two hours, but certainly prolonged the bloom, and I could never have spared a man so long for just the Pansies. Sow Pansy seed in the seed-bed about the tenth of July, and transplant late in October. * * * * * These are some of the more important annuals which no garden should be without. All of them are easy to raise, and blossom abundantly. I do not speak of the many others, but advise trying new flowers every year. [Illustration: A Bowl of Cosmos September twenty-ninth] The first week in June is the time to transplant all annuals. Do it, if possible, directly after a rain, always late in the afternoon, and, of course, water well after transplanting. I have a method of my own for the transplanting of seedlings, and by following it the tiny plants never wither or are set back, and in fact do not seem to know that they have been moved. Take a tin box, such as biscuits come in, half fill it with water, then lift into it from the seed-bed about one hundred seedlings at a time. With a sharp-pointed stick make holes in the bed where the little plants are to go, and then put them in. Soak the ground thoroughly after each patch is finished. In this way the tiny rootlets never become dry. All the beds and borders can be kept free from weeds and in good condition if gone over with a trowel every five days, or once a week, the earth stirred thoroughly, and any weeds that may have grown taken out. It is particularly necessary, for a few weeks in the spring, to keep well ahead of the weeds. I always think of my sins when I weed. They grow apace in the same way and are harder still to get rid of. It seems a pity sometimes not to nurture a pet one, just as it does to destroy a beautiful plant of Wild Mustard, or of Queen Anne's Lace. LIST OF ANNUALS, WITH HEIGHT, COLOUR AND PERIOD OF BLOOMING _Asters_, all colours; one to two feet; August to October. _Alyssum_, white, dwarf for borders; six inches; blooms all summer if not allowed to go to seed. _Balsam_, Camellia-flowered, pale pink, dark red, white; two to three feet; July and August. _Calendula_ (Pot Marigold), all shades of yellow; mid-July until killed by frost. _Calliopsis_ (Coreopsis), yellow with red or brown center; two feet; mid-July, until killed by frost. _Candytuft_, red, white, purple, Empress variety white the best, fine for edging; six inches; blooms continually if not allowed to go to seed. _Centaurea_ (Cornflower), all shades of blue; three feet; blooms three months if kept cut. _Cockscomb_, crimson and scarlet; two to three feet; August and September. _Cosmos_, white, pink, crimson; three to five feet; from the fifteenth of July until killed by frost. _Eschscholtzia_, yellow Poppies; one foot; blooms all summer. _Godetia_, pink, crimson, white; one foot; blooms all summer. _Marigold_, all shades of yellow; one to two and one-half feet; mid-July until killed by frost. _Mignonette_, average height one foot; blooms all summer if kept from seeding. _Nasturtiums_, all shades of yellow and red; dwarf, nine inches; climbing, five feet; bloom all summer until killed by frost. _Pansy_, many colours; six inches; from early spring until November, if kept well cut. _Petunia_, double giant-flowered the only kind to raise; white, crimson and pink; one and one-half feet; bloom all summer. _Phlox Drummondii_, many colours; one foot; blooms July, August and September if not allowed to seed. _Poppy_, all shades of pink and red, also white; one to three feet. If several varieties are planted can be had in bloom from three to four weeks; end of June and July. _Snapdragon_, scarlet and white, white and yellow, pure white; one and one-half feet; July and August. _Stocks_ (German Ten-Weeks), white, pink, red, purple; one and one-half feet; middle of July until middle of September. _Sunflower_, yellow, dwarf and tall varieties, single and double; three to six feet; all summer. _Sweet Peas_, all colours; three feet; grown on bush or trellis; end of June until October if kept well cut and moist. _Sweet Sultan_, purple, white, yellow; one and one-half feet; June, July and August. _Zinnia_, many colours; one and one-half to two feet; July, August and September. [Illustration: A mass of Phlox; Rudbeckias in the background August second] PERENNIALS CHAPTER VIII PERENNIALS Some of the perennials to be sown yearly in the seed-bed from about April first to tenth, are the following: _Columbines_ of all varieties, yellow, white, shading from pink to red and from pale blue to darkest purple. Of Columbines every garden should have plenty. Blooming about May twentieth for three weeks, they are a perfect delight. They are very hardy, germinate readily in the seed-bed, are easy to transplant and need but little care. I have never been able to get them much over three feet in height, but then I have often a dozen stalks of bloom on a single plant, which is very satisfactory. The first dozen plants were sent to me by a friend from his garden on Long Island; now I have hundreds of them,--single and double, white, yellow, all shades of red and pink, pale blue, and a blue one with a white center almost like an Orchid; many shades of purple, also purple and white. _Hollyhocks_, single and double, of all colours. In order to get the desired colour effect with these, keep each variety separate. [Illustration: Hollyhocks in blossom July twelfth] No one can have too many Hollyhocks. Plant them at the back of the borders among the shrubbery, along fences, and in great clumps in any odd corner, or around buildings; they are never amiss, and always beautiful. I find that a Hollyhock cannot be counted upon to bloom more than three years. First-year stalks are about four feet high; afterwards, if in good soil, they will be from six to eight feet. There were hundreds of this size in my garden last summer, each plant with from three to five towering stalks of bloom. As soon as they have gone to seed, I save what seed I want and the stalks are then cut down and burned. By sowing the seeds as soon as thoroughly ripe and dry, plants can be raised which will be large enough to transplant in October, and will bloom the next year. These young plants should be given a slight covering the first winter, that they may not be winter-killed. When in a border, the Hollyhock, which will flourish in any soil, grows to such an extent that Lilies or Phloxes, or anything else near by, are likely to be crowded out, unless care is taken to cut off the lower leaves, which become enormous. I have this done usually three times before they bloom, beginning early in May, and great wheelbarrow-loads of leaves are taken away at each cutting. _Sweet Williams_, red, white and pink. These will grow from eighteen inches to two feet. The stems are straight and stiff, and the trusses of bloom about five inches across, with individual flowers as large as a nickel; they keep well in water and make a beautiful edging for a border, or give great effect when planted in masses. They bloom for three weeks or more, and make fine decorations for church or house. _Platycodon Mariesi_, beautiful blue; they resemble Canterbury Bells, and, as they blossom after the Canterbury Bells, are valuable in continuing the period of blue flowers, with the advantage of being perennials. _Delphiniums_, perennial Larkspurs, all varieties. These seeds I have found more difficult to make germinate than any others, so I do not rely upon what I raise, but purchase many plants. My best results have come from saving the seeds from the first crop of blossoms, drying thoroughly, and then sowing at once. I have found these seeds more sure to germinate than those bought in early spring. Perhaps nature intends them to be sown in this way, instead of nine months later. [Illustration: A single plant of Delphinium (Perennial Larkspur) June twenty-first] One can never say enough in praise of Delphiniums. Three-year-old plants will send up eight to ten beautiful great spikes of the richest blue, four feet high. The moment a blossom withers, cut the stalk down to the ground; another will immediately spring up. I had four crops of blossoms from some of my Delphiniums last summer, so that, from the end of June until the middle of October, there were always some of them in blossom. Some varieties of tall English Delphiniums are very beautiful. Among them is one, Coelestinum, of the loveliest shade of light blue, with very large, double individual flowers. As I have said before, the Delphinium blossoms at the same time as _Lilium candidum_, and should be planted near by. Great bunches of these two flowers, in tall vases, are lovely as well as unusual. There is a horrid small white worm which attacks the roots of the Delphinium, and gives no sign until you see the plant dying. I have found that keeping the soil around the plant well covered with coal ashes is a preventive. Delphiniums are hardy and long-lived (unless the worm gets them), and, once planted, they live a dozen years. _Coreopsis_ (Grandiflora). Every one knows the Coreopsis, which, by continual cutting, will give abundant bloom for three months. The variety with velvety maroon centers is particularly fine. _Hibiscus_ is very easy to raise, and should be planted among and along the edge of shrubbery. The plants are quite hardy, grow four feet high, and masses of them in pink or white are fine. They bloom in August and September. _Rockets_, white and purple. These increase tremendously from self-sowing, so be careful or they will suffocate all that grows near them. I have many plants, all of which have come from a single one that a colored woman gave me a few years ago. She is a nice comfortable old "mammy," black as the ace of spades, with a great love for flowers and a nice patch of them. We have exchanged plants several times. Some of the nicest things I have in my garden came to me in this way, and it is great fun. Whenever, in driving about, I see a particularly fine plant in a dooryard, I make friends with its owner, and later suggest that if she (it is usually "she") will give me a small root of this or that, I will bring her some plants or bulbs from my garden, of a kind which she has not. So we are both equally benefited. In this way I was once given a plant of _Valerian_, which has a tall, beautiful white flower with a most delicious odour like vanilla. It blooms for three weeks in late May and early June. From this one plant there are now in the garden a number of large clumps several feet in diameter, and I have given away certainly fifty roots. Valerian is a small white flower in good-sized clusters on long stems, seen now-a-days only in old-fashioned gardens. I am told it cannot be bought of horticulturists. One must have _Chrysanthemums_, but where the thermometer falls below zero there are not many to be bought, other than the pompon varieties, that will blossom in the garden before being killed by frost, or that will survive the winter. Year after year I have bought dozens of the so-called "September-flowering Chrysanthemums," and have only succeeded in making them blossom by the middle of October, by planting them on the south side of a building, in richest soil, giving abundance of water, and covering on all cold nights. But I have beautiful plants of perfectly hardy, good-sized blossoms of yellow, white, pink and red, the roots of which have come from the gardens of my farmer friends. I have never been able to buy this old-fashioned hardy kind. In the spring, as soon as the plants begin to sprout, divide them, setting out three or four sprouts together. In this way the stock will increase wonderfully. Chrysanthemums require very rich soil, must have sun, and do best against a building or a wall. About the first of July and the first of September have a couple of trowelfuls of manure carefully dug in about the roots of each plant. Buds should not be allowed to form until September, and the new shoots should be pinched back until then, to make the plants strong and bushy. I do not envy any one who has only the great, solemn, stiff flowers of the prize-show variety. An armful of the hardy garden ones, with their delicious odour, is worth a green-house full of the unnatural things which are the professional gardener's pride. When you can keep twenty or more vases filled from your own garden with these last blossoms of the year, in all their lovely colours, and not miss one of them from the plants, you will agree with me that they are the only kind to raise. Perennials, sown in rows in the seed-bed in April, will be nice little plants by July, when they should be lifted and transplanted some six inches apart. The portion of the seed-bed where the annuals were raised can be used now for the purpose. This is particularly necessary for Larkspur, Columbines, Monkshood, Platycodon, Coreopsis, Hibiscus and Pinks. If, when transplanting, each plant is set with a trowelful of manure, the result will be plants twice as large by the first of October, when they can be again transplanted to their permanent places. _Oriental Poppies_ and _Pinks_ should also be sown in the perennial seed-bed. Oriental Poppies, with great blossoms as large as a tea plate borne on strong stems, make a grand show about the end of May and beginning of June. Pinks, too, should be in every garden, if only for their delicious, spicy odor. The Chinensis, or China Pinks, are the best. Sweet Williams and Oriental Poppies need not be moved from the time they are sown until finally transplanted in the autumn. [Illustration: Yuccas in blossom July twelfth] _Yucca filamentosa_, the hardy native of Mexico, sends up, about the tenth of July, great stalks six to eight feet high, bearing masses of white flowers. The individual blossoms are of creamy waxy texture and as beautiful as an orchid. A single stalk of Yucca, in a tall vase, will last nearly a week, and is as unusual as it is beautiful for house decoration. Yuccas are perfectly hardy, need no protection in winter, no fertilizer, no water in dry weather. In my garden, at least, they have not been attacked by insects and have grown placidly on, needing absolutely no care but to have the stalks cut down when they have finished blossoming. They are most effective when grown in clumps, but look very well along a fence with Hollyhocks at the back. The plants are so inexpensive that I have bought mine, but see no reason why they cannot be raised from seed. Small plants form near the parent stem, and these can be separated and transplanted. A late spring frost will sometimes nip the flower stalk that has just started, and there will be no bloom that year. To avoid such a disaster, whenever, in late spring, a frosty night is suspected, cover the plants with a piece of burlap. _Tritomas_ (Red-hot Poker Plant) bloom in September and October, and should always be planted in masses, and in full sun. They must be well covered with leaves or stable litter late in November, or they will be winter-killed. They increase rapidly. _Gaillardias_ bloom all summer, and keep fresh in water for days. The plants are covered with long-stemmed, yellow flowers with dark crimson centers, and should also be protected in winter. _Veronica longifolia_, a most beautiful dark blue flower, which grows in long spikes. Veronica remains in bloom during the month of August, and is one of the most showy flowers in the garden at that time. _Iris_, Japanese and German, do well when naturalized in the grass. These plants increase so, that every four years they can be separated. Beginning with the German Iris, flowering the end of May, they can be had in bloom until the Japanese Iris finishes blossoming the middle of July. No Orchids are more beautiful than the Japanese Iris. A couple of weeks before and during the period of bloom they must be kept very moist. Both the German and the Japanese Iris are perfectly hardy and increase rapidly. The English Iris, of which the white variety, known as Mont Blanc, is the most beautiful, and the Spanish Iris, in all its varieties, are not hardy. But with careful winter covering, about equal to that given to the everblooming Roses, they will generally survive, and are well worth the trouble. The roots of all varieties of Iris are very long, and care must be taken to give them plenty of room and to plant deep. _Peonies._ For beauty and usefulness Peonies rank with Phloxes. Large plants will frequently bear twenty great blossoms. By raising both early and late varieties, their period of bloom can be continued for a month. The old, dark crimson variety is the first to bloom; the old-fashioned double pink and double white are beautiful enough to satisfy any one, but the new varieties give immense choice as to colour and form. The Japanese Tree Peonies do not die to the ground every year, like the herbaceous kinds, but form woody branches and grow like a small shrub. The blossoms of these Tree Peonies are truly wonderful; the only care needed is a little fertilizer in the autumn and a slight winter covering. They are best grown in front of the shrubbery. They blossom before the herbaceous varieties. The herbaceous Peonies can be grown in large beds by themselves, in borders with other plants, or as single specimens in the grass or among the shrubs. Peonies start so early in the spring that they should be manured in the fall, or there is danger of breaking the tender shoots. [Illustration: Bed of Peonies on edge of lawn June sixth] _Phlox._ There is no flower in the garden more beautiful, more easily cultivated, or giving so much bloom as the Phlox. I could certainly never have a garden without it. In mine there must be a couple of thousand. I have a great mass, of probably two hundred herbaceous Phloxes, growing together in one corner of my garden, the very tall varieties over four feet high. About the fifteenth of July, every year, this corner is a superb sight. Most of these plants are over fifteen years old. They have been kept fine by heaviest top-dressing every year, and by lifting all the plants every three years and digging in quantities of manure, and also by separating each plant into three, by cutting the roots with a spade, or pulling apart with the fingers. The newer varieties of Phlox come in the most beautiful colours,--dark crimson, fiery scarlet, many shades of pink, pink striped with white, and pink with a white eye; all shades of lilac, lilac with white and purple, the beautiful pure white, and the white with the scarlet eye. Of all the varieties, my favorites are the snowy white, and the salmon-pink with the dark red eye. Buy fifty large field-grown plants; at the end of three years separate them, and you have a hundred and fifty. They present a picture of progression much surer than the tale of the eggs that were to do so much. Many of the individual blossoms of my Phloxes are larger than a fifty-cent piece; a number of them larger by measurement than a silver dollar, and the heads also are very large. Always erect, neat and smiling, never needing to be staked (such a task in a large garden), when once grown they must always be dear to a gardener's heart. By breaking off the heads of Phlox immediately after blooming, a second crop of flowers will appear in about three weeks. The heads will not be so large as the first, but they will amply repay the slight trouble. Every owner of a garden has certain favorites; it really cannot be helped, although the knowledge that it is so makes it seem almost as unfair as for a mother to have a favorite child. A real lover of flowers finds it difficult to cast away a plant that has bloomed its best, even though the blossom is unsatisfactory. In my garden there are, at present, some plants that I am longing to dig up and burn. There are two climbing Roses that came by mistake in a large order and were set out. They have thriven as no others, cover a very large space on a trellis, and in June bear thousands of a most hideous, small, purplish crimson Rose. The other plant is _Scabiosia Caucasica_. Beware of the same. The description of it in a catalogue caused me to feel that without it the garden was nothing. A dozen were ordered and set out in a border, in two clumps. They grew and waxed strong, and fairly clambered over everything within several feet of them, seeming to be like gigantic thistles. Finally in August, on stems two feet long, the eagerly looked-for blossoms appeared. These were described in the catalogue as "a large head of pale blue flowers." But, to my despair, it developed a round green ball about three inches in circumference, with white thistle-like petals. And yet the plants had surpassed themselves. It seems a poor reward to turn them out to die. _Lychnis_ (London Pride). I cannot now recall any perennial except the Cardinal Flower, which has blossoms of so brilliant a scarlet as Lychnis, or London Pride, growing tall and erect, with its bright colour. It is most effective when grown in large clumps. _Monkshood_ (_Aconitum Napellus_) grows four feet high, and has a beautiful blossom of rich blue growing in quite large clusters. The name must come from the resemblance each individual blossom bears to the capuchin of a monk. These plants should be grown under tall trees, for they cannot stand too strong sun, and will blossom very late in the autumn if protected by the trees from frost. I gathered them last year in November. Phloxes, Rudbeckias, Monkshood, Valerian, Lychnis, Tritomas, Iris, Peonies and Veronica are best raised, not from seed, but by buying the plants, and then after a time, as I have said before, dividing them. For instance, take a fine large plant of Phlox of some choice variety, divide all the roots and set out each one separately. From one plant you may, in two years' time, get twenty splendid ones, and the same with the other varieties I have mentioned. _Rudbeckias_, of the Golden Glow variety, grow from six to eight feet high, and must be staked, or when heavy with blossoms they will blow down or be beaten down by the rain. Each plant will bear quantities of long-stemmed double yellow blossoms, which resemble a double Dahlia. These will keep nearly a week in water. When the plant has finished blossoming, cut down the tops, and in October there will be a second crop of blossoms just above the ground. The Golden Glow should be divided every other year, and in this way it is even more remunerative than the Phlox. I started with fifty plants, and think it will soon be possible to have a farm of them. LIST OF HARDY PERENNIALS, WITH HEIGHT, COLOUR AND TIME AND PERIOD OF BLOOMING, ARRANGED ALPHABETICALLY. _Aquilegia_, or Columbine, all colours; one to two and one-half feet; tenth of May to first week in June. _Chrysanthemums_, all colours but blue; three feet; end of September until very cold weather. _Delphiniums_, all shades of blue; three to four feet; July; later crops after cutting down. _Dianthus barbatus_ (Sweet William), red, pink, white; one to two feet; June. _Dicentra spectabilis_ (Bleeding Heart), red and white; one to two feet; May. _Gaillardia_, yellow, red center; two feet; July, August and September until killed by frost. [Illustration: A single plant of Phlox August twenty-fifth] _Helianthus multiflorus plenus_, hardy double Sunflower; yellow; four to five feet; all summer. _Hibiscus_, pink, white; four to five feet; August and September. _Hollyhocks_, all colours but blue; single, double, four to eight feet; tenth of July to middle of August; two to five stalks on a plant. _Hyacinthus candicans_, white; four feet; last three weeks of August. _Iris Germanica_, all colours; two to three feet; end of May to first of June. _Lychnis_ (London Pride), scarlet; two and one-half feet; July. _Oriental Poppy_, scarlet, also pink; three feet; end of May and first of June. _Peonies_, all colours but blue; two to two and one-half feet; end of May, for three weeks. _Pentstemon_, many colours; three feet; August and September. _Phlox_, all colours; two to four feet; early July until killed by frost, if the heads are cut as soon as finished flowering. _Platycodon Mariesi_, blue; one and one-half feet; August. _Rocket_ (_Hesperis Matronalis_), white and purple; two feet; May. _Rudbeckia_ (Golden Glow), yellow; five to eight feet; middle of July to September first; second crop in October. _Tritoma_ (Red-hot Poker Plant), orange-scarlet; three to four feet; September and October until killed by frost. _Valerian_, white; three feet; May and June. _Veronica longifolia_, blue; two feet; August. _Yucca filamentosa_, white; three to five feet; second and third weeks in July. [Illustration: Vase of Canterbury Bells June twenty-first] BIENNIALS AND A FEW BEDDING-OUT PLANTS CHAPTER IX BIENNIALS AND A FEW BEDDING-OUT PLANTS There are but few hardy biennials. The important ones, which no garden should be without, are: _Digitalis_ (Foxgloves) and _Campanula medium_, (Canterbury Bells.) Foxgloves and Canterbury Bells bloom in June and July for more than a month, and give a touch of glory to any garden. Catalogues and many gardening books say that the seeds should be sown in early autumn, and the plants will bloom the following year. It is true that they will bloom when sown in the autumn, but unless kept over the winter in a cold-frame the plants will send up stalks, only about a foot in height. Sow the seeds of Foxgloves and Canterbury Bells in the shady part of the seed-bed in early April. Keep the young plants moist. About the fifteenth of July, if there are a large number of plants and there be no other place, they should be transplanted to the vegetable garden, where they can follow early crops of peas or lettuce. Have the ground spaded finely, and make shallow trenches, perhaps six inches deep, in which put a good layer of manure and cover this with earth, then set the plants about six inches apart. Keep them well watered when the weather is dry, and the earth thoroughly stirred. By the twentieth of September or the first of October they should be transplanted to the places where they are to bloom the following year. The plants should then be a foot across, and next June will send up several stalks about three feet high. The Canterbury Bells should be six inches across in the fall, and the next year about two feet high. [Illustration: A single plant of Foxgloves; White Sweet William in front June thirteenth] _Foxgloves_ seed themselves with great abundance, unless the stalk is cut before the seed ripens. In the spring I have the little plants, seeded in this way from the year before, taken from the borders and transplanted in rows, and find they are larger and stronger than any others. Foxgloves, white, spotted and pale lilac, are the pride of the garden. Plant them back of the Sweet Williams, in clumps of six or eight, or else with Peonies. They blossom at the same time, and the pinks or reds of Sweet Williams or Peonies, with here and there a mass of white, and the tall, graceful spikes of the Foxgloves rising above them, produce so beautiful an effect that you will simply have to go and look at them many times a day. _Canterbury Bells._ Let any one who has been at Oxford in June and July recall the Canterbury Bells in those loveliest of all gardens, New College and St. Johns, and she will not rest until they have a place in her garden. I did not know these flowers before going to Oxford, and after seeing them could not wait to raise them from seed, but bought three dozen plants to look at the first year. The roots that came to me were miserable little things, and, in spite of every care, half of them died. Those which lived and bloomed were very lovely. They begin to blossom with us about the sixth of June, and last four or five weeks. In colour they are white, pink, purple and blue. Canterbury Bells and Foxgloves are biennials. They are sown one year and grow for a year, then bloom and die. This seems a great deal of trouble for one season's flowers, but their beauty repays the gardener a hundred fold. They require a slight winter protection of leaves or stable litter, but care must be taken that the tops of the plants are not covered. THE BEDDING-OUT PLANTS And now a little about the only three bedding-out plants that I grow--Dahlias, Cannas and Gladioli. I should have said four, for there is always a large bed of about four dozen Scarlet Salvia (the Bonfire variety is the best), whose brilliant colour and sturdy growth cannot be spared. They begin to blossom in July. By driving a tall stake in the center, and other stakes around the edge of the bed of Salvia, it can be covered with burlaps or carriage covers when the nights are frosty and preserved in all its beauty until November. _Dahlias_ can be grown in rows in the vegetable garden, if there be no other place for them. They are decorative and desirable for cutting. Plant two or three tubers in a hill about the third week in April. They should be planted eight inches deep and three feet apart, and kept well staked. The soil should not be too rich, or they will all grow to stalk and leaf, and blossom but little. All the varieties are lovely, the Cactus kind more so, perhaps, than the others. In the autumn, when the tops have been killed by the frost, the tubers must be taken up, dried off carefully, and stored in a cellar that does not freeze. _Gladioli_ can be planted from April fifteenth to June fifteenth, in beds by themselves or in clumps in the borders, so that the blossoms may be had in succession. Gladioli come in many colours. _Cannas_, the beautiful French varieties. These, of course, are most effectively grown in masses, and require full sun. The roots, like those of the Dahlias, increase so that there is almost double the quantity to plant the next spring. It is well to have the Cannas started in boxes in sunny windows, in tool-room or carriage-house, by mid-April. They can be kept through the winter with the Dahlias and Gladioli. [Illustration: Vase of Foxgloves June fourteenth] ROSES CHAPTER X ROSES The Rose asserts her right to the title of the "queen of flowers" through her very exclusiveness. She insists upon being grown apart from other plants; otherwise she sulks and is coy, refusing to yield more than an occasional bloom. I speak from experience, having tried several times to grow Roses in the front of wide borders, where soil and sun and everything except the proximity of other plants was propitious. But they scarcely bloomed at all. Now, the same bushes, planted in rows so that a cultivator may be run between them, flourish satisfactorily. Grow Roses, then, in beds by themselves or in rows. If one has but half a dozen Roses, let them be grown apart from other plants. Pansies, however, can be grown in the Rose beds, as I have elsewhere described; Gladioli can also be planted among them without detriment to either. The reason for this is that the roots of these two flowers are not deep and do not interfere with the nourishment of the Roses. Roses on their own roots should live for years, if given proper treatment. Witness the Rose bushes in gardens, where with but little care they have flourished more than a generation. [Illustration: Summer-house, covered with Clematis and Crimson Rambler Roses June twenty-first] Budded stock must be planted very deep. The joint should be at least three inches under ground. Roses grown on their own roots are more expensive than the budded stock, but a far better investment. The budded stock is apt to send up from the parent root suckers or shoots of Sweetbrier, Buckthorn, Flowering Almond, or whatever it may be. These shoots must be carefully cut off. A friend told me that, when new to Rose growing, his bed of budded Roses sent up so many strange shoots that, not knowing what to do, he dug them all up but one. This he kept as a curiosity, and now it is a bush of Flowering Almond six feet in circumference. Everblooming Roses should be set out in the spring, about the middle of April. Hybrid Perpetual and Hardy Roses are best set out in autumn, about October tenth. When planting, always cut the plants back to about a foot in height. All Roses should be lifted every three years, late in October, and plenty of manure, with fresh earth and leaf-mould, mixed with sand if the soil is heavy, dug in. After five or six years I dig up my Roses about October tenth, cut the tops down to about twelve inches, cut out some of the old wood, cut off the roots considerably, trench the ground anew, and replant. The following year the Roses may not bloom very profusely, but afterwards for four or five years the yield will be great. My physician in the country is a fine gardener, and particularly successful with Roses. We have many delightful talks about gardening. When I told him of my surgical operations upon the Roses he was horrified at such barbarity, and seemed to listen with more or less incredulity. So I asked him if, as a surgeon as well as physician, he approved, on occasion, of lopping off a patient's limbs to prolong his life, why he should not also sanction the same operation in the vegetable kingdom. He was silent. I shall not say much about Roses, because there is so much to say. They need a book by themselves, and many have already been written. In my garden there are not more than five hundred Roses, including the climbing varieties. They have done very well, and have not been given more care than other plants. [Illustration: Rose bed carpeted with Pansies June twenty-first] For years I did not grow Roses, fearing they would not be a success. I had read about the beetles and spiders and other creatures that attack them, and dreaded the spraying and insect-picking that all the books said must be done. But, of course, I finally yielded to the temptation of having the very flower of all flowers, in my garden, and have found the trouble slight and the reward great. I have them in beds in a little formal garden, and in rows in a picking garden. The beds and the trenches for the rows are both made in the usual way, and every fall, in late October, before the Pansies are set out as already described, manure is dug in, and in the early spring, about the tenth of April, a handful of finely ground fresh bone-meal is stirred in around each plant with a trowel. They are sprayed with slug-shot three times between April tenth and May fifteenth, when they get a thorough spraying with kerosene emulsion, and, as a result, my Roses are not troubled with the usual pests. In November the hardy perpetuals are all cut back to about two feet in height, and the old wood is thinned out. The everblooming Roses are cut back to a foot in height. And Roses! well, really, no one could ask better from a garden. I have not many varieties, but when I left the country last fall, the tenth of November, although ice nearly an inch in thickness had formed, there were Roses still in bloom in the garden. The very hardy Roses, which, with a few exceptions, bloom only in June and early July, with an occasional flower in the autumn, should be planted together, as they need but slight covering. In late November the hardy ones get about a foot of stable litter over the beds. The everblooming kinds have six inches of manure, then a foot of leaves, and then a good covering of cedar branches over all. But cover late and uncover early (the very minute the frost is out of the ground), or your Roses will die. If asked to name, from my own experience, the best dozen Roses, I should say the following were the most satisfactory: General Jacqueminot, Jubilee, Ulrich Brunner, Madame Plantier, Clothilde Soupert, Kaiserin Augusta Victoria, La France, Mrs. Robert Garrett, Princess Alice de Monaco, Soleil d'Or, Perle des Jardins, and Mrs. John Laing or Baroness Rothschild. Paul Neyron and Prince Camille de Rohan might also be added to the list. Between Mrs. John Laing and Baroness Rothschild, it is a toss-up. Mrs. John Laing is a healthy, strong Rose, and a most constant bloomer. But none that grows is more beautiful than the Baroness Rothschild. Rather a shy bloomer; still each Rose, on its long, strong stem, surrounded by the very fine foliage that distinguishes this variety, makes a bouquet in itself. Baroness Rothschild is also vigorous, and I have never seen it attacked by the enemies of most Roses. Climbing Roses have so much use, as well as beauty, in a garden, that my advice is, wherever there is an excuse for having one, plant it there. They do finely on the south side of a house, on arches, summer-houses and trellises. I have a trellis along one side of a grass walk three hundred and fifty feet long. At each post are planted two Roses, a Crimson Rambler and a Wichuraiana. The Wichuraiana blossoms when the Rambler is done. Imagine the beauty of this trellis when the Roses are in bloom! On the other side of this walk there is a border four feet wide, with shrubs at the back, filled, all of the three hundred and fifty feet, with many varieties of perennials, also with Lilies and annuals planted in wherever a foot of space can be found. All of the Ramblers are good, but none blooms so luxuriantly as the crimson. The Climbing Clothilde Soupert, Baltimore Belle and Climbing Wootton are also fine. Of the Wichuraiana Hybrids, Jersey Beauty and Evergreen Gem are the best. The foliage is lovely, and the perfume of the flowers delicious. [Illustration: Canterbury Bells blooming in a border June twenty-first] The Climbing Roses should be yearly enriched in the spring with manure and bone-meal, and, after two years, some old wood should be cut out every autumn. Many of the Crimson Ramblers and Wichuraiana in my garden made growth last summer of splendid great canes, larger around than one's thumb and from ten to fourteen feet long. Monday was the day for tying and training the Roses, and often it seemed impossible for them to grow so much in a week. It would have been incredible, had we not the actual proof before our eyes. LIST OF HYBRID PERPETUAL AND HARDY ROSES BLOOMING IN JUNE, WITH AN OCCASIONAL BLOOM IN SEPTEMBER _Red_ General Jacqueminot Prince Camilla de Rohan, (darkest Rose of all). Jubilee. Baron Bonstetten. General Washington. John Hopper. Ulrich Brunner. Victor Verdier. _Pink_ Mrs. John Laing (constant bloomer). Anne de Diesbach. La France (blooms all summer). Magna Charta. Mme. Gabriel Luizet. Baroness Rothschild. Paul Neyron. _White_ Margaret Dickson. Coquette des Alpes. White Maman Cochet (blooms continually). Madame Plantier (blooms continually). Coquette des Blanches. Mme. Alfred Carriere. Marchioness of Londonderry. _Yellow_ I know but two hardy yellow Roses: The Persian Yellow. Soleil d'Or. The monthly or everblooming Roses, which need very heavy covering in winter, should be planted together. The following are a few of the best and most constant bloomers: Kaiserin Augusta Victoria, white. Bride, white. Clothilde Soupert, white with faint blush center. Madame Hoste, creamy white. Perle des Jardins, yellow. Sunset, yellow. Mlle. Germaine Trochon, yellow. American Beauty, rich crimson. Marion Dingee, deep crimson. Souvenir de Wootton, crimson. Bridesmaid, pink. Hermosa, pink. Madame de Watteville, pink. Burbank, pink. Mrs. Robert Garrett, pink. Princess Alice de Monaco, petals white, edged with blush-pink. LILIES CHAPTER XI LILIES Lilies, too, should have a book for themselves. My knowledge of them is slight. _Lilium auratum_ (Auratum Lily), the grandest of all Lilies, disappears after a few years. If large-sized bulbs are bought there will be the first year from twenty to thirty Lilies on a stalk four feet high, the second year seven to ten, the third year perhaps two or three, but oftener none at all. If you then dig for the bulb, lo! it is gone. The expense, therefore, of these Lilies is great, from their having to be often renewed. Still, do not fail to have them, if possible, for nothing can take their place. They bloom from the middle of July for about a month. I wrote to an authority on Lilies to ask the cause of this disappearance. He told me that, as soon as planted in this country, a microbe disease attacked them and they gradually disappeared under its ravages. Botanists surely should find a specific, or antidote for this; but perhaps, like some of the most terrible diseases of the human being, it evades all research. Miss Jekyll, in her book on Lilies for English Gardens, in speaking of _Lilium auratum_ says: "This grand Lily, well planted, and left alone for three years, will probably then be at its best. After this the bulbs will be likely to have increased so much that it will be well to divide them." This would seem to imply that the Auratums thrive in England. Well, they have climate in England, even if we have weather, and English gardens will always fill American gardeners with despair. [Illustration: _Lilium auratum_ growing behind Peonies and Columbines that bloomed earlier August tenth] _Lilium candidum_, which blooms before the other Lilies, is hardy and fragrant and increases rapidly. These Lilies must have full sun and light soil. About every three or four years they can be separated, which should be done as soon as the stalks turn yellow, as the bulb makes an autumn growth. For this reason the Candidums must always be bought and planted by the tenth of September. Other Lilies may be planted in the spring, when the frost leaves the ground, or in October. _Lilium speciosum rubrum_ thrives and increases in our climate, needs a partly shaded location and, therefore, does well when planted among Rhododendrons. It blooms after the Auratum, the end of August and first two weeks of September. _Lilium speciosum album_ blooms at the same time as _Lilium rubrum_. It is a beautiful pure white Lily with wax-like curved petals, grows best in full sun, and averages six Lilies on a stalk, although I have often counted more. _Lilium longiflorum_ blooms early in July. These lilies are very much like the Bermuda Lily, except that they have, as a rule, about four blossoms on a stalk, and are hardy. In my garden they have not increased. _Hansoni_, a Japanese Lily, flowering in June; bright yellow in color; perfectly hardy and very desirable. _Lilium Canadense_ (the Meadow Lily), yellow, red and orange, increases, and is very satisfactory, but likes as moist a situation as possible. _Tigrinum_, the old Tiger Lilies, both single and double. These bloom in July, increase rapidly, and by planting, when fully ripened, the little black bulbils which form on the stalk, any number of bulbs can be raised. _Funkia subcordata_ is the old-fashioned white Day Lily of our grandmothers' gardens. The broad leaves of this plant are almost as handsome as the spikes of bloom. These Lilies flower best when grown in the sun, but then the leaves turn yellow--so give them a partly shaded place. _Funkia cærulea_, with the blue blossom, is worthy of a place in the garden, though far from being as effective as the white-flowered variety. I also grow the kind with the small white and green variegated leaves for the sake of the foliage, so useful in house decoration. Funkias are not, botanically speaking, Lilies, but are mentioned in this chapter because popularly known as Day Lilies and on account of the lily-like form of their blossoms. _Lily-of-the-valley_ should have a place in every garden. Absolutely hardy, requiring no care, it blooms prolifically in early May, fills the air with its fragrance, and is beloved by every one. The German name for this flower, Mai Glöcken (May Bells) is particularly appropriate. I have heard of one woman whose bed of these flowers, four feet by fifty feet, has yielded as many as twenty thousand sprays in one season. The pips can be set out the end of October or the beginning of November. If the bed is quite large, when the Lilies have finished blooming, some can be lifted here and there and transplanted. As the pips increase rapidly, their places will soon be filled. Lilies-of-the-valley do best in a partially shaded place, and require a deep, rich soil, well mixed with leaf-mould. * * * * * A Lily bed should be prepared, if the place is damp and drainage not good, by digging out the soil for three feet, and putting a foot of cobblestones in the bottom; then fill up with a mixture of good soil, leaf-mould and sand, and very old, well-rotted manure. In the ordinary garden that is not wet, two feet are enough to dig out the bed, and the cobblestones can be omitted. Lilies should always be set with a handful of sand around the bulb, to prevent any possibility of manure coming in contact with it, as the manure will destroy the bulb. [Illustration: Vase of _Lilium auratum_ August second] In my garden there is no special place prepared for the Lilies, but they are grown in all the borders, the _Rubrums_ in the shade, the others in the sun, and this year there have been thousands of them. If there are no woods near, where the men can gather leaf-mould, have the rakings of the autumn leaves put in a pile, cover with boards, and occasionally during the spring and summer have them well forked over; the next autumn there will be a quantity of the finest thing for Lilies, Rhododendrons, Ferns, or indeed any kind of plant. This should be mixed in a pile in the proportion of one wheelbarrow of mould, two of good soil, two coal-scuttlefuls of wood-ashes, one-half barrow of old manure and two spadefuls of fine bone-meal. There is also nothing better for the Roses than some of this mixture. All Lilies do better if well mulched with clippings of lawn grass or with very old manure. The varieties of Lilies mentioned are the easiest grown and the most satisfactory. Lilies should always be planted in clumps of the same kind--never less than six, and the number increased according to the size of the garden. Alternate clumps of a dozen each of _Lilium auratum_ and _Lilium album_ planted in a border just behind Foxgloves and Canterbury Bells will come into bloom when these two biennials have finished, the _Auratum_ first, then the _Album_; these four flowers will keep the border gay from early in June until the middle of September. Lilies should be planted about eight inches deep, and have a covering of litter late in the autumn. [Illustration: Vase of _Lilium speciosum album_ and _rubrum_ September sixth] SPRING-FLOWERING BULBS CHAPTER XII SPRING-FLOWERING BULBS Bulbs can be planted at any time in the autumn before the ground freezes; the first week in November is as good a time as any. The cost of Tulips, Narcissi and Daffodils is not great. They multiply and need not be disturbed for three or four years. _Snowdrops._ The earliest of all flowers to bloom is the Snowdrop. After the long, cold winter, with the melting of the snow and the first suspicion of milder air, these frail beauties send up their graceful bells of white. With what triumph the first one is found and brought to the house, and what a thrill of joy it gives to know that spring will soon be here! Snowdrops can be planted thickly in the borders and also, like Crocuses, in the grass. The foliage of both will die before it is time to mow the lawn. _Crocuses_, which should be planted in the grass, will begin to bloom as soon as the Snowdrops pass. The gay little things make the lawn, while still brown, a carpet of bright colors. I heard of a gentleman who planted ten thousand of them in this way, and was rewarded by a most beautiful display at a time when there were no other flowers. [Illustration: Garden arch, covered with Japanese gourds August twenty-seventh] _Tulips_ I plant everywhere in the borders about four inches apart, all kinds, such as single, double, Gesnerianas and Parrot Tulips; but always a quantity of only one kind together. The bed where later the Salvias are put, has three hundred Golden Yellow Tulips. When these have faded, the Salvia plants are set out in the same bed, without disturbing the bulbs. This can be done if the men are careful, and when the Tulip leaves are quite yellow they are cut off (for unless allowed to ripen the bulb does not grow and multiply). Every three years all Tulips are dug up in the autumn, after the Salvias have died; the bed is then made very rich, and the Tulips reset. There are generally more than enough to refill the bed. The same treatment is pursued in the Canna bed, only here the Tulips are double white. Tulips will bloom from April twentieth until the last of May, if both the very early as well as the late kinds are planted. The late varieties are the Parrot and Gesneriana, which latter grow two feet high and are very showy. I have been constantly surprised to find that many good gardeners take up all bulbs when through flowering in the spring, store through the summer and replant in the autumn. This is not only unnecessary, but it is better for the bulbs to remain in the ground as nature intended. Mine have always been so treated and have been successful. In planting bulbs in newly prepared soil, great care must be taken that they do not come in contact with manure. To prevent this, the man should have a box of sand, in a handful of which each bulb should be set. Spring-flowering bulbs should be planted about four inches deep. _Poeticus Narcissus_ and _Daffodils_, both single and double, do well when naturalized in grass that need not be cut until the foliage of the bulb has died in June. They also make a very good edging for a border along a walk. The single Van Sion and Emperor Narcissus are excellent varieties. The old-fashioned sweet-scented Jonquil and double Van Sion, or Double Yellow Daffodil, are as satisfactory as any of the numerous kinds named in the catalogues. One early spring, the Double Yellow Daffodils were all in bloom on the tenth of April. Narcissi and Daffodils live for generations. I know some double yellow Daffodils growing in my great-grandfather's garden, that were planted over seventy years ago. The place was sold and the house burned about thirty years since, and all this time has been entirely neglected. Some one told me that Daffodils and Narcissi still bloomed there bravely in the grass. With a cousin, one lovely day last spring, I took the train out to this old place and there found quantities of the dainty yellow flowers. We had come unprovided with any gardening implements, having nothing of the kind in town, and brought only a basket for the spoils, and a steel table-knife. We quickly found the knife of no avail, so borrowed a sadly broken coal-shovel from a tumble-down sort of a man who stood gazing at us from the door of a tumble-down house. The roots of the Daffodils were very deep, and neither of us could use a spade, so the driver of the ramshackle wagon taken at the station was pressed into service. Handling of shovel or spade was evidently an unknown art to him. The Daffodil roots were nearly a foot deep, but we finally got them, several hundreds of them, all we could carry. The driver seemed to think us somewhat mad and said "Them's only some kind of weed," but when I told him the original bulbs from which all these had come were planted by my great-grandmother and her daughter, and that I wanted to carry some away, to plant in my own garden, he became interested and dug with all his heart. The bulbs were in solid clumps a foot across and had to be pulled apart and separated. They were the old Double Yellow Daffodil and a very large double white variety, the edges of the petals faintly tinged with yellow and delightfully fragrant. My share of the spoils is now thriving in my garden. By the process of division every three years, these Daffodils can be made to yield indefinitely, and perhaps some great-grandchild of my own may gather their blossoms. [Illustration: Vase of Phlox; single blossoms actual size August second] _Hyacinths_, too, should have a place in the spring garden. They are more expensive, as a rule, than Tulips, Narcissi and Daffodils, but, in large or small quantities, are well worth the money. The single varieties are generally preferred, while, of all kinds, the white and pale blue are the loveliest. Nothing in the garden gives so much pleasure as the early spring flowers. Perhaps this is because they are the first to bloom. Every one knows how beautiful the first lovely Dandelion seems, gold-starring the new grass. Many bulbs can be had for little money, and I would say to all, plant as many as you can squeeze in. From April fifteenth to May fifteenth I receive in town, twice a week, great boxes of spring flowers from my garden, enough each time to fill sixteen to twenty vases; yet my orders to the men are to cut always so that the flowers cannot be missed from the garden. SHRUBS [Illustration: Spiræa Van Houttei May thirty-first] CHAPTER XIII SHRUBS Of the hundreds of shrubs, comparatively few survive the severe winter climate of interior New York, or grow very luxuriantly. Lilacs of all varieties, white and purple, single and double; Deutzias, white and pink; and Syringa, the improved large-flowered variety, are most beautiful. _Spiræa Van Houttei_, sometimes called Bridal Wreath, with its long trails of white blossoms; and _Viburnum plicatum_, or Japanese Snowball, which in late May bears a ball of bloom on every twig and is both healthy and hardy, are also desirable shrubs. The old variety of Snowball is attacked by a blight, the leaves curl up and grow black and the blooms are imperfect. A few years ago I dug up all of mine and burned them. Altheas, or Rose of Sharon,--not by any means the old purplish red variety, but the beautiful new double white and double pale pink kinds, with blossoms coming in August and reminding one of Camellias,--are indispensable. Do not fail to have _Hydrangea paniculata_, with its great heads of white bloom, slowly changing to dull pink, and lasting quite six weeks. [Illustration: _Hydrangea paniculata grandiflora_ August twenty-sixth] Japanese Barberry, a dwarf shrub, covered in autumn with scarlet berries which remain on the bush all winter, is very ornamental. Many of us remember _Calycanthus floridus_, or the Sweet-scented Shrub of our young days, when the children would tie two or three of the queer brown blossoms in the corner of a handkerchief to regale their less fortunate companions with a sniff of the delicious odor. _Forsythia_ and _Laburnum_, or Golden Chain, both have yellow blossoms. Others are, _Weigela Rosea_, the well-known pink-flowering shrub; _Rhus Cotinus_, or Purple Fringe, and _Cydonia Japonica_, or Japanese Quince, deep rose-pink, flowering early in the spring. These all yield beautiful flowers, beside being hardy and of rapid growth. All shrubs should be trimmed as soon as they have finished flowering, but only enough to prevent their becoming spindling, with the exception of _Hydrangea grandiflora_, which should be trimmed back, at least three-quarters of the new growth, every year. It is important, also, to thin out the old wood of most shrubs after five or six years. Shrubs can be grown from cuttings if one has patience to wait for the result. But as it takes from three to four years' time and considerable care to grow a shrub that would cost but twenty cents, for which price many varieties of shrubs can be bought, few people care to raise them. On a large place it might be worth while to raise shrubs from cuttings. And where there is plenty of space, a small nursery of them might be kept. At the end of June take clippings about a foot long, make a shallow trench in good ground and plant them a couple of inches deep. They should be well rooted, in about six weeks. If the weather be dry, after planting them, they must be watered daily. The following spring they should be reset, a foot apart, where they can grow until transplanted to their final resting place. I know a beautiful hedge of _Cydonia Japonica_, or Japanese Quince, that has been grown from cuttings. Privet can easily be grown from cuttings, and I have raised Box from clippings. Fortunately, the season was a wet one, for if allowed to become dry before being well rooted, they would probably have died. LIST OF MOST SATISFACTORY SHRUBS _Altheas_, pink or white; blooms in August. Jeanne d'Arc, pure double white, the best. Grows six to eight feet in five years; must be trimmed in October. _Berberis Thunbergii_, or Barberry, of slow growth; about three feet high; desirable for its beautiful foliage and scarlet fruit in winter. _Calycanthus floridus_, or Sweet-scented Shrub. It yields its brown blossoms the end of May; slow-growing; requires but little trimming; height, five to six feet. _Cydonia Japonica_, Japanese Quince, has brilliant red blossoms in early May; grows six to seven feet high. _Deutzia crenata_, variety of pale pink, and _Candidissima_, white; of rapid growth, and very high; six to eight feet in five years. _Forsythia_ blooms in April with masses of yellow flowers; moderate, quick growth; seldom over six feet high. _Hydrangea paniculata grandiflora_, the finest of all hardy shrubs. The flowers are great panicles of white. They bloom about the first of August and remain beautiful for six weeks, slowly changing to a soft, dull pink. This shrub is most effective when grown in masses of a dozen or more, although single specimens are very fine. They must be vigorously cut back late every fall, leaving only about six inches of new growth. _Lilac_, common purple and common white; also _Marie Legray_, a fine white Lilac, and _Madame Lemoine_, a new double variety bearing very large trusses of flowers. All of these varieties of Lilac grow high and rapidly--frequently eight feet in six years. They require little or no pruning. It is sufficient to cut the blossoms either before or after they go to seed. _Lonicera rosea_ and _Lonicera albida_, upright Honeysuckles, in shrub form, vigorous, quick-growing, requiring but slight pruning in late autumn. They flower in May, and in midsummer are covered with beautiful berries. [Illustration: Vase of _Hydrangea paniculata grandiflora_ September tenth] _Magnolia conspicua_, with large white blossoms, blooms the middle of April; _Soulangeana_ has large pink flowers and blossoms the end of April. Magnolias should be pruned when set out, and should be moved only in spring. _Philadelphus syringa_, or Mock Orange; _grandiflorus_ is the finest. The flowers are pure white, very fragrant and bloom about the middle of June. The shrub grows high, is perfectly hardy and in every way satisfactory. It should be trimmed as soon as it has finished blossoming. Cut back about three-quarters of the new growth; it will then send out side shoots and become continually thicker. _Privet._ The common Privet is of very rapid growth and excellent for a screen. It should be trimmed the end of June, but only enough to prevent its becoming scraggly. The California Privet is not so hardy. _Rhus Cotinus_, popularly known as Smoke Tree or Purple Fringe, grows as high as a small tree and requires almost no pruning. In midsummer it is covered with fine, mist-like, purple flowers. _Spiræa Van Houttei._ This is one of the most satisfactory shrubs; is rather dwarf in habit, growing about five feet high. The end of May it is covered with clusters of white flowers on long, pendulous branches. Trim as soon as it has finished blooming, cutting off about half of the new growth. _Spiræa Anthony Waterer,_ another Spirea, very dwarf, only about a foot in height, and covered with bright crimson flowers from June to October. _Viburnum plicatum,_ Japan Snowball, one of the finest shrubs. It grows about six feet high, and is completely covered with its balls of snow in early June. It requires comparatively little trimming. _Weigela._--The two most satisfactory varieties of this shrub are _Candida_, whose blossoms are white, and _Rosea_, with pink flowers. They bloom most freely about the tenth of June, when each shrub becomes a mass of flowers. Care must be taken to cut out the old wood from time to time, and to trim after the shrub has finished blooming. A FEW EVERGREEN SHRUBS Of evergreen shrubs, _Kalmia latifolia_, or Mountain Laurel, is most satisfactory, growing three to four feet high. It is covered in early June with large clusters of pale pink and white flowers. _Rhododendron maximum_, the large-leaved hardy American variety. Under cultivation this shrub seldom grows more than six feet high; in the woods it is found much larger. _Japanese Holly_, a dense-growing shrub about four feet high, with deep glossy green foliage. _Tree Box_, generally trimmed in standard or pyramidal form and very slow-growing. PERENNIAL VINES AND CREEPERS _Ampelopsis quinquefolia_, Virginia Creeper. _Ampelopsis Veitchi_, Boston Ivy. _Aristolochia Sipho_, Dutchman's Pipe. _Bignonia radicans_, Trumpet Creeper. _Clematis paniculata_, clusters of fine white flowers. _Clematis Henryi_, large white flowers. _Clematis Jackmani_, large purple flowers. _English Ivy._ _Honeysuckle_, Hall's Japan, Golden Japan. _Hops._ _Vitis Coignetiæ_, Japanese ornamental grapevine; rapid grower. _Wistaria_, both purple and white. A FEW OF THE BEST ANNUAL VINES _Cobæa scandens_, purple and white. _Moonflower_, white. _Japanese Morning-glory_, all colors. _Passion Flower_, blue and white; must be started very early, and if well protected will sometimes survive the winter. _Japanese Gourd._ This must be descended from Jonah's Gourd of biblical fame, as it often grows from forty to fifty feet in a summer. It has yellow flowers and gourds, and is very decorative. WATER, WALKS, LAWNS, BOX-EDGINGS, SUN-DIAL AND PERGOLA CHAPTER XIV WATER, WALKS, LAWNS, BOX-EDGING, SUN-DIAL AND PERGOLA It is not advisable to arrange for a garden of any size without considering the question of water. Within the limits of a town supply there is only the comparatively simple matter of laying the pipes. But when the place is dependent upon its own water system, the amount to be counted upon and the situation of the garden with reference to the source of supply must be seriously considered. If possible the garden hydrants should not be more than fifty feet apart. This greatly facilitates watering. When further apart, plants are in danger of being injured by the unwieldy hose. A nozzle that will regulate the flow of water from a fine spray to a strong stream will be found convenient. Opinions differ upon the best way to lay water-pipes through a place, some preferring to put them but a foot under ground, and turn off the water in winter; others lay them in trenches three and a half to four feet deep, so that they are beyond all danger from frost. This latter plan was followed in my garden and I recommend it as being most satisfactory. The watering of a garden requires nearly as much judgment as the seasoning of a soup. Keep the soil well stirred and loose on the surface, going through the garden, where possible, with a rake; and if there is no room for a rake, stir gently with a trowel every five days or once a week. In this way moisture will be retained in the soil, since the loose earth acts as a mulch. [Illustration: Vase of double hardy Sunflowers (_Helianthus multiflorus plenus_) September fifteenth] When watering, be generous. Soak the plants to the roots; wet all the earth around them, and do it late in the afternoon, when the sun is low. How often have I been obliged to chide the men for watering too early in the afternoon, and not doing it thoroughly, for, upon stirring the ground, I would find that the water had penetrated but a couple of inches. During long periods of dry weather, the garden, without water, will simply wither and burn. Rhododendrons, Ferns and Lilies suffer in dry time, even though well mulched, and must be kept moist. Japanese Iris blooms but indifferently unless quite wet. When dry weather continues for a long period I divide the garden into three parts; one part is thoroughly watered every evening, and the following day the soil is stirred. In this way the plants suffer comparatively little. For years we had no water supply through the gardens, and really, in dry weather, life had no pleasure for me because of my unhappiness at the sight of the withered garden. I would drag watering-cans about, and beg and bribe all the family to do likewise. Every afternoon, about five o'clock, one of the men would fill eight ten-gallon milk-cans with water, put them in a wagon, and drive about the place watering the flower beds and borders. Frequently he would fill these cans three times in one afternoon. This, as may be imagined, was slow and unsatisfactory work, and, except in the case of a small garden, is too great a task. Often in a dry time, after dinner, I bethink me of the Rhododendrons or Ferns or Iris, or some other plants to which drought means death, and I feel sure "that boy has not watered them enough." Then, in ten minutes the garden skirt, shoes and gloves are on, and those thirsty plants get a drenching to their very roots such as they would never receive from any perfunctory "boy" or gardener. I go to bed warm and weary, yet sleep is sweet from satisfaction at the thought of the garden's happiness. WALKS Unquestionably, walks near the house should be graveled; they naturally have too hard usage to keep turf in good condition. Graveled walks should be dug out a foot or more in depth, filled in with broken stone, this covered well with coarse gravel, and finished with a coating of a couple of inches of whatever fine gravel is chosen. A walk thus made will be dry and well drained and weeds have little chance to grow. The most beautiful walks of all are those of grass. Strange to say, they are seldom seen in this country. Through any garden, some little distance from the house, where they will be walked on only by those going to the garden, the turf-walks, with ordinary care, will last well, require only the usual cutting with the lawn-mower, and, especially if edged with Box, should be the very pride and joy of the possessor's heart. The ground for such walks should be spaded deeply with plenty of manure, raked carefully and made very smooth. Prepare in September, and by the fifteenth or twentieth sow, very thickly, a mixture of one-third each to the bushel of Kentucky Blue Grass, Long Island Bent Grass and Red Top. Roll thoroughly, and if the weather be dry have the newly sown paths sprinkled daily and kept moist. The tender grass should appear in two weeks, and will continue to grow during October. [Illustration: Vase of Monkshood September thirtieth] About Thanksgiving time of the first year, cover with a layer of straw, and uncover about the twenty-fifth of March. At this time it is well to sow thinly some more grass seed of the same kinds, and again roll, the reason for the additional spring sowing being to replace any of the grass that may have been winter-killed. About the twentieth of April spread cotton-seed meal, the best of all fertilizers for grass, all over the paths. For years we have had the lawns covered with stable manure in February and raked off the first of April, and for years I have waged war with the weeds and wild grasses. But sow cotton-seed meal early in April, and if possible give the paths a little wood-ashes in June; the result will be a hundred per cent better than from the use of manure. Cotton-seed meal should not be sown too thickly, and wood-ashes must be spread thinly, so as not to burn the grass. The men tell me that a sharp-pointed mason's trowel is more satisfactory than any other tool for removing weeds from the lawns and grass paths. If this is carefully attended to the end of May, and again the latter part of June, and only artificial fertilizer used, there will be but little trouble with weeds in the grass. BOX-EDGING Box-edging should be set out in the spring, that it may be thoroughly rooted before winter. Great care must be taken in setting out the Box, that the row be absolutely straight and even. The garden cord is carefully stretched; a shallow, narrow trench is dug with the spade, and then the little plants are placed about three inches apart, each plant against the string. The trench is half filled in with earth, then a layer of manure, and finally more earth packed down. Box planted in this way should grow and thrive, especially if given, along in May, a little bone-meal. [Illustration: Sun-dial in center of formal garden August second] I write feelingly of Box-edging to-day. Last week, Holy Week, I spent in the country, and most of my time was passed on my knees. For, when not at church or driving the intervening five miles, I was setting out plants in the garden, and that, like one's prayers, requires kneeling. Four men were working, setting out plants and trees, but the earth was so sweet and warm and brown that it was impossible to keep away from it. With trowel in hand and joy in my heart, I set out hundreds of little Box plants, transplanted Columbines, Foxgloves and Canterbury Bells. Big robins were hopping tamely about, calling to one another; blackbirds and meadow-larks were singing their refrains; the brave plants were pushing their way through the earth to new life, and I thought how good it was to be alive, to have a garden to dig in, and, above all, to be well and able to dig. With work in the garden care and worry vanish. The cook (as some cooks of mine have done) may announce that "'tis a woild waste of a place. I be lavin' the mornin'." The hamper of meat does not arrive on the one train from town, or somebody smashes something very dear to your heart,--just go to the garden, tie up some Roses or vines, or poke about with a trowel, and though murder may have been in your thoughts, in half an hour serenity will return. And what does it all matter, anyway? Another maid can cook for a few days, and there are always bacon and eggs. Philosophy is inevitably learned in a garden. Speaking of eggs, I think of hens. Living on a farm, of course there have always been hens and chickens. These creatures were provided with houses and yards and fences, and given every inducement to remain where they belonged; yet with diabolical ingenuity they would escape from their quarters, dig under the fence, fly over it, or some one would leave a door or a gate open, and then, with one accord, all the flock would make for the gardens and scratch and roll in the borders. This sort of thing happened repeatedly, until I felt there must be a league between the farmer's wife and the hens. But the limit of endurance was reached when, one afternoon, coming out to look at a bed of several dozen Chrysanthemums set out in the morning, I found the poor plants all scratched out of the ground, broken and wilted. Then in wrath the fiat went forth, "No more hens on this farm, those on hand to be eaten at once." For days a patient family had hen soup, hen croquettes, hen salad and hen fricassee, until the last culprit came to her end. SUN-DIAL There is no more charming and interesting addition to a garden than a sun-dial. For hundreds of years sun-dials have been used as timekeepers, and though some of the very old ones were occasionally set into the façade of a building, they are generally found in the _plaisaunce_ or garden, mounted upon quaint pedestals. Sun-dials are supposed, by their owners, to keep accurate time, but it must be remembered that there is always a difference between clock-time and sun-time. While, to-day, our lives are frequently portioned into minutes, and it would seem as if one might loiter and be lazy in a garden, if anywhere, still even among the flowers we find a "_tempus fugit_." For a time after my sun-dial was set, it was amusing to notice how often, about half after eleven o'clock, and again at five, this late addition to the garden would claim the attention of the workmen. My sun-dial stands in the center of a formal garden where four paths meet, forming a circle twenty feet across. The pedestal is a simple column of marble, four and one-half feet high, slightly tapering toward the top, with beveled corners. This is placed on a stone foundation three and one-half feet deep, laid in cement. The pedestal I found at the yard of a second-hand building-material man, on Avenue B, in New York city. After it had been set in place, I wanted it rubbed up and a chipped place smoothed. The only available man for this work, was the gravestone-cutter from the nearest town. When he was recognized at work in the garden by passing countrymen, they supposed, of course, that some one was buried there, and many have been the inquiries as to "whose be that mouny-ment." Crimson Rambler Roses twine about the pedestal. At the corners of the four paths are standard Box trees, which stand like sentinels, and between them there are Bay trees in terra-cotta vases of simple shape--copies of antique ones. The dial made for the latitude bears this inscription, "_Utere praesenti, memor ultimae_" (Use the present hour, mindful of the last), which I found in an old book on sun-dials in the Avery Library, at Columbia University. PERGOLA Across the end of this garden is a rustic pergola seventy feet long, made of cedar posts cut from the woods on the farm, ten posts on a side, each post being set four feet deep. A string-piece of heavy chestnut rests on the tops of each row of posts. Cedar poles ten inches apart extend across the top and project two feet over each side. The pergola is eight feet wide and ten feet high, is easy to build and very effective. Care must be taken to set the posts at least four feet. At each post are planted a two-year-old root of Wistaria and one of Virginia Creeper, and I live in the hope of some day seeing the vines cover the pergola. The ground slopes gently where this is built, and the first autumn after it was made, it looked, from a little distance, so much like a section of an elevated railroad as to be very depressing. But one must possess imagination to be a gardener, and have the ability to see the garden as it will look "next year." So I refused to see the pergola except as clothed with vines, and in May, with the beautiful racemes of Purple Wistaria hanging from every rafter. Patience and perseverance are traits necessary to the gardener. One must not be discouraged, but determined to succeed. If a set of plants die, or do not flourish this year, try them again next season, under different conditions, until the difficulties are overcome. I have known people who began gardening as a mere pastime when over forty years old, and who have told me what an absorbing interest it had become and how greatly it changed the whole aspect of life for them in the country. What a delightful tie, fondness for gardening makes between people! I know several men with beautiful places and lovely gardens in which they take the warmest personal interest. Whenever I meet one of them at dinner, if by chance I am not seated next to him, I am unhappy and cannot listen sympathetically, either to the enthusiasm of the man on one side whose heart is, perhaps, bound up in golf, or to the laments of my neighbor on the other, who may be suffering from rheumatism or gout, and unable to eat or drink what he wants. INSECTICIDES--TOOL-ROOM CHAPTER XV INSECTICIDES--TOOL-ROOM The enemies of growing things have certainly increased alarmingly of late years. I cannot recall that formerly any insect was to be found in either vegetable or flower garden, other than the potato bug, currant-worm, cabbage-worm, and the green worm and small black beetle on the Rose; but now there are so many horrid creatures lying in wait until a plant is in perfection, to cut the stalk, or eat the root, or eat the pith from the stalk so that it falls, or to devour the leaves and eat the blossoms, that insecticides and a spraying machine are as necessary to a garden as a spade. For a small garden a spraying machine holding from a couple of quarts to a gallon, can be bought for a trifling sum, that will answer the purpose very well For a larger garden, a good air-pump, costing from five dollars upwards, will be found an excellent investment. One of the best insecticides is Bordeaux mixture, which can either be bought or made. I have twenty-five gallons made at a time and keep it always on hand. The following is the receipe: Three pounds of blue vitriol in coarse crystals; three pounds of unslaked lime. Slake the lime in two and one-half gallons of water; pour two and one-half gallons of water over the blue vitriol in another receptacle, and let both stand over night. In the morning stir the blue vitriol until all is dissolved; then let two persons pour simultaneously the lime water and the blue vitriol into the same receptacle, and add twenty gallons of water; stir well before filling the spraying machine. [Illustration: The Pergola (first summer) August twenty-fifth] Bordeaux mixture is to be used for rust, mildew, and all kinds of blight, whenever the leaves of plants have a tendency to turn black. Hollyhocks seem to be universally attacked by rust. Spraying the plants at the end of April, and again in the middle of May, should entirely prevent this. I have found that Bordeaux mixture prevents the leaves of Monkshood from turning black and falling off, if the plants are well sprayed with it about the middle of June and the first of July. Phloxes grown in rather shady places will, in damp weather, fall victims to mildew on the leaves. Spraying with Bordeaux mixture the end of June and middle of July should prevent this. Roses also have a tendency in warm, damp weather to mildew, which can be prevented by spraying the plants with Bordeaux mixture. Kerosene emulsion may also be prepared, and is excellent for killing, both the small green aphids that often cover the leaves of Roses, and other hard, scaly insects. Following is the receipe: Put one cake of laundry soap shaved fine into one gallon of water. When dissolved, add two gallons of kerosene oil. This makes the emulsion. For spraying, use one quart of the emulsion in fourteen quarts of water. Be sure that this is very thoroughly mixed before filling the sprayer. Powdered hellebore, if dissolved in the proportion of one pound of powder to one gallon of water, will destroy both the green worm on the Rose leaf and the small dark beetle that eats the Roses. It will also dispose of green worms on other plants. Slug-shot dissolved, one-half pound of powder to one gallon of water, will, if used the latter part of April and several times in May, keep the Roses comparatively free from insects. Slug-shot and hellebore may also be used dry and blown on to the plants with a bellows. I have used Hellebore in my garden for many years without harm to anything except the worms and beetles. But recently I heard of a lady who was severely poisoned in using dry Hellebore. The wind blew it into her face; perhaps some was inhaled, and serious illness resulted. I mention the fact here, to caution all who use it not to let either the spray or the powder come in contact with the skin. Some persons may be susceptible to the poison while others are not,--presenting a case of what the doctors call an "idiosyncrasy." Paris green, mixed in the proportion of two tablespoonfuls to three quarts of water and used as a spray, will destroy a beetle that sometimes appears upon the Gourd vines. Tobacco water will kill the black aphids which appear on the stems and leaves of hardy Chrysanthemums. It will also kill green aphids. This spray is made by filling an ordinary pail lightly, not pressed down, with tobacco stems. Pour as much cold water into the pail as it will hold; let it stand for three hours, when it is ready to use in the spraying machine. This mixture will be good for only twenty-four hours. Tobacco spray will also destroy the large red aphid (I call it this for want of, perhaps, the proper name) that has recently appeared in some localities upon the stems of the Rudbeckia (Golden Glow) and of the single hardy Sunflower, just below the blossom. The enemy of the Box is the white spider. The insect spins its web on the Box and works from the inside. If the branches are pulled aside, the inside of the plant will be found full of dead leaves in the vicinity of the web. Recently I read in a well-known gardening monthly, that this spider could be destroyed by spraying with kerosene emulsion. I have some fine Box trees, and there were several white spider-webs on each. Watering with a very strong force of water had been tried without effect. Upon reading the article in the monthly and finding that the spider was certainly causing disaster which might be fatal, I proceeded to have the trees sprayed with kerosene emulsion, using it of the same strength as for Roses. In fact, the sprayer was not re-filled, as there was enough left in it since last using it on the Roses. About three days after the Box had been sprayed, large, unsightly brown patches appeared on the trees, showing that the emulsion had killed the leaves wherever it touched them. The spider was not harmed. I mention this experience as an example of the danger of taking all the directions found in horticultural publications as gospel truth. Nor should an amateur gardener ever be tempted to trifle with plant medicines. I have a certain friend whose affection for her Roses is more profound than her knowledge of how to treat their natural diseases. Observing last summer that one of her most cherished Crimson Ramblers was covered with aphids, she concluded to spray it with "something." A bottle of carbolic acid being most available, she tested its merits at once. The efficacy of carbolic acid as a poison was proved beyond a doubt, for the insects became singularly dead in a day or two, and so did the leaves; they fell off together. There was nothing left but the forlorn stems and branches, looking like some freak of the vegetable kingdom. TOOL-ROOM [Illustration: Tritoma (Red-Hot Poker Plant) September twenty-eighth] It is of the greatest importance to have a tool-room or closet according to the size of the place, and to require all implements to be kept there when not in actual use. There should be shelves across one end or side, where shears, trowels, garden cord, clippers, watering-cans, mallet, various mixtures for spraying, oil-cans, keys for turning on the water, twine and all the smaller things one uses, may be found at a moment's notice. Garden sticks painted green, in three sizes, three and a half and four feet long, and five-eighths of an inch in diameter, and thicker ones an inch in diameter for Dahlias, should be kept on hand in barrels. They can be bought of lumber-dealers in New York, where they are known as "dowels." They come in bundles of one hundred, costing from sixty cents to a dollar and twenty-five cents a bundle, according to size, unpainted, and the men can paint them on rainy days. The lawn mowers and the roller (which should be a heavy one) can also be kept in the tool-room. Rakes, both iron and wooden, hoes, spades and shovels, the latter both long-handled and short-handled, are best kept hung up along one side of the closet, where the men can see at a glance what they want. There should also be a pickaxe and a crowbar for taking out refractory stones, and, most necessary of all things in a garden, the wheelbarrow should be kept here, too. A sickle and a scythe must not be forgotten. If the garden is large, a two-wheel tip-cart will prove a great saver of labor in carting manure and soil and in the removal of debris. On a particular shelf in my tool-room I keep my private trowel and flower scissors, to which are attached long red ribbons as a warning of "Hands off!" to others. There is also a clipper which I often use in walking about to trim a bit here and there from a shrub or a climbing Rose. If a scrap-book be kept, in which everything of interest pertaining to the garden can be pasted or written, it will be found a great help. In this way items about fertilizers, insecticides, special treatment of plants, with copies of lists ordered, can be preserved, and also, most interesting of all, notes of when the different plants bloom each year. I find the following under date of October 18, 1901: "To-day, though ice has formed three times, I have filled nineteen vases with flowers. They are Phlox, Larkspur, Monkshood, Salvia, Nasturtium, Roses, Mignonette and Chrysanthemums." After trying many kinds of gloves for gardening, including the rubber ones, I now use only old Suede gloves; they give sufficient covering and permit more freedom of movement to the hands and fingers than those of heavier material. It would be quite impossible to transplant tiny seedlings while wearing gloves with clumsy finger-tips. Unless a woman possesses a skin impervious to wind and sun, she is apt to come through the summer looking as red and brown as an Indian; and if one is often out in the glare, about the only headgear that can be worn to prevent this, is the old-fashioned sunbonnet. With its poke before and cape behind, protecting the neck, one really cannot become sunburned, and pink ones are not so bad. Retired behind its friendly shelter, you are somewhat deaf to the world; and at the distant house, people may shout to you and bells be rung at you, and, if your occupation be engrossing, the excuse "no one can hear through a sunbonnet," must be accepted. CONCLUSION CHAPTER XVI CONCLUSION The character of professional gardeners seems to be changing. They have become more perfunctory, more stubborn, more opinionated, until now it is a really serious question with them of "the danger of a little knowledge." To find a man who combines sobriety and a good disposition with a fair knowledge of his business and a real liking for it, is a difficult matter. Where but one man is kept to care for vegetables, flowers and lawn, he is more than likely to have little interest beyond potatoes or corn, or to be good at raising small fruits, and to consider everything else he has to do as so much waste of time. When first married, one of our gardeners was a German who took no interest in flowers, and planted half the vegetable garden with "kohlrabi" and "korn salad." We had never heard of these delicacies before, and did not care for them. I remember also his telling me that one kind of flower was enough to raise anyway. If a young man with an elementary knowledge of gardening can be found, who wants to learn, is strong, willing and intelligent, it is better to supply most of the brains yourself. You will find your own wishes more apt to be carried out than by the gardener who "knows it all," and seems to resent what he calls "interference" on the part of his employer. I remember, when a child, seeing my father's gardener walking about in the early evening after his supper, smoking a meditative pipe, tying up Roses or spraying plants, and often setting out seedlings after sundown. He was never idle; he loved his work and attended to it. But now it is rare indeed to see a gardener, after hours, going about his work; _autre temps autres moeurs_. [Illustration: Bringing in the flowers September sixth] Remember always that it is the overcoming of the difficulties in the gardener's way, the determination to succeed, that gives zest to the occupation. Did everything planted grow and flourish, gardening would be too tame. Rust and blight, cutworms, rose-beetles and weeds, afford the element of sport so attractive to us all. A lesson must be learned from every failure; with renewed patience persevere until success is reached. I would make the strongest plea in favor of a garden to all those who are so fortunate as to possess any land at all. The relaxation from care and toil and the benefit to health are great, beyond belief, to those who may have to work with head or hands. If you can snatch a few minutes in early morning or late afternoon, to spend among the plants, life takes on a new aspect, health is improved, care is dissipated, and you get nearer to Nature, as God intended. If the rich and fashionable women of this country took more interest and spent more time in their gardens, and less in frivolity, fewer would suffer from nervous prostration, and the necessity for the multitude of sanitariums would be avoided. Flower gardening is preëminently a woman's occupation and diversion. Nearly every great lady in England takes a personal interest in her gardens and conservatories, and knows all about the plants and flowers. Here, the majority of women having large places leave the direction of the flowers, as well as the vegetables and fruit, to the taste and discretion of the gardener, and thus miss a great and healthful pleasure. As a rule, young people do not care for gardening. They lack the necessary patience and perseverance. But in the years of middle life, when one's sun is slowly setting and interest in the world and society relaxes, the garden, with its changing bloom, grows ever dearer. [Illustration] [Illustration: Bed edged all the way with Sweet Williams PLAN FOR BORDER] [Illustration: PLAN FOR BORDER] INDEX _Aconitum Napellus_, 110. Altheas, 160. _Ampelopsis Veitchii_, 25. _Anemone Japonica alba_, difficulty with, 61. Annuals-- List, with height, colour and period of blooming, 88. Sowing, 78, 80. Transplanting, 86. [_See also names of flowers._] Antirrhinum, sowing, 80. Aquilegias, _see Columbines_. Asters-- Destruction by beetle, 14, 81. Sowing, 80. Auratum lily, 139. Disappearance of bulb, 139. Price, 42. Autumn work in garden, 70-72. _Azalea mollis_, perishability of, 13. Barberry as hedge, 51, 160. Bedding-out plants, 120. [_See also names of plants._] Beds, rule for making, 16. Beetle destroying asters, 14, 81. Biennials, 117. [_See also names of flowers._] Bone-meal, 73, 74. Bordeaux mixture, 190. Borders-- Around house, 29. Blooming from May to September, contents of border, 69. Planting, 29, 40-44, 67. Short path and narrow borders, 68. Small plot borders-- Boundary lines of property, 48-50. Cost, 44. Planting, 40-44. Boston ivy, 25. Box, white spider pest, 194. Box-edging, 177-178. Bulbs, purchasing and planting, 40-44, 149-156. Calendula, 81. _Calycanthus floridus_, 160. _Campanula medium_, 117. Candytuft, planting, 46. Cannas, 48, 120, 122. Canterbury bells, 117, 190. Cardinal Flower, transplanting, etc., 32. Centaurea, _see Cornflower_. Chrysanthemums, 43, 99. Clayey soil, lightening, 16. _Clematis paniculata_, 27. Climbing roses, 27, 131. Columbines, 41. Planting, 41. Sowing, 93. _Coreopsis_, 98. Cornflowers-- Blooming, etc., 81. Planting, 46. Cosmos, sowing, 81. Cost, _see Expense_. Creepers, _see Vines_. Crocuses, 150. Daffodils, 41, 152-154. Dahlias, 120, 121. Cost, 47. Planting, 45. Storage, 47, 48. Delphiniums, 96. Digitalis, 117. Double yellow daffodils, 152-154. "Dowels," 197. England-- Gardening seasons, etc., 19. Gardens, small plots, 37. English ivy, 25. Everblooming roses, 127, 134. Evergreen shrubs, 167. Exchange of plants, 98, 99. Expense-- Border planting, 40-44. Front beds, 47. Fall work in the garden, 70-72. Ferns-- Border of, 29. Maidenhair haunts, 31. Planting, 32. Transplanting, 32. Watering, 173, 174. Flowers-- Annuals, _see that title_. Gathering, extract from English book, 77. Perennials, _see that title_. [_See also names of flowers._] Flower garden-- Small plots of ground, 23, 37. Foxgloves, 117-120. France, small plots, 37. Front of the house, planting bed, 45. _Funkia cærulea_, 142. _Funkia subcordata_, 142. Gaillardias, 104. German iris, 104. Gladioli, 120, 122, 126. Purchasing, 43. Storing, 47. Gloves for gardening, 198. Golden Glow, 46, 47, 111. Grandiflora, 98. Grass walks, 175-177. Graveled walks, 174-175. Ground, _see Soil_. Hansoni, 142. Hardy roses, 127, 130. List of roses blooming in June and September, 133. Hedges-- Beauty of, as fences, 50. Preparing ground for, 50. Quick screens, 67. Varieties, 50-51. [_See also names, Privet, etc._] Hellebore, 192. Hemlock spruce, 50. Henryi, 27. Hibiscus, 98. Hollyhocks, 94. Planting, 28, 68. Seeding, 58. House-- Painting, 25-27. Plan of garden to suit style of house, 21. Vines, _see that title_. Hyacinths, 40, 154. Hybrid perpetual roses, 127. List of roses blooming in June and September, 133. _Hydrangea paniculata_, 160. Insects and insecticides, 189. Asters destroyed by beetle, 14, 81. Bordeaux mixture, 190. Hellebore, 192. Kerosene emulsion, 191. Paris green, 192. Slug-shot, 192. Tobacco water, 193. White spider on box, 194. Iris, 104, 173, 174. Ivy-- Boston ivy, 25. English ivy, 25. Jackmani clematis, 27. Japanese barberry, 51, 160. Japanese iris, 104, 173, 174. Japanese lily, 142. Japanese tree peonies, 106. Japanese vines, planting, 28. Kerosene emulsion, 191. Laying out a garden-- Beds in front of vines, 28. Borders, _see that title_. North side of house, 29. Plan of garden, suiting to style of house, 21. Soil, _see that title_. Vines, _see that title_. [_See also names of flowers, etc._] Lilac, 164. Lilies, 139-146. Auratum lily, _see that title_. Border planting, 42. Planting, etc., 144-146. Watering, 173. [_See also names, Lilium, etc._] _Lilium auratum, see Auratum lily._ _Lilium Canadense_, 142. _Lilium candidum_, 140. _Lilium longiflorum_, 141. _Lilium speciosum album_, 141. _Lilium speciosum rubrum_, 141. Lily-of-the-valley, 143. London Pride, 110. Lychnis, 110. Maidenhair fern, haunts of, 31. Mai Glöcken, 143. Marigolds, 82. Meadow lily, 142. Monkshood, 110. Moonflower, Japanese, 28. Morning-glory, Japanese, 28. Narcissus, 40, 152. Nasturtiums, planting, 79. Ordering plants, 65. Oriental poppies, 102. Painting of house and care of vines, 25-27. Pansies, carpeting rose beds with, 84, 126. Paris green, 192. Peonies, 41, 105. Perennial vines and creepers, 167. Perennials-- Development, 52. List, with height, colour and time of blooming, 112. Planting, 49. Raising in seed-bed, 48, 57. Seed-bed, _see that title_. Sowing seeds, 59, 93. Transplanting, 102. [_See also names of perennials._] Pergola, 183-184. Pests, _see_ Insects. _Philadelphus syringa_, 165. Phlox, 82, 106, 111. Pinks, 102. Plan of garden, suiting to style of house, 21. Planting, 66-74. Borders, 29, 40-44, 67. Candytuft, 46. Cornflowers, 46. Dahlias, 45. Fall work, 70-72. Ferns, 32. Hollyhocks, 28, 68. Lilies, 144-146. Perennials, 49. Roses, 126, 127. Rows, 68, 69. Small plot, 37-54. Starting a garden, 21. Transplanting, _see that title_. Plants-- Exchange, 98, 99. Ordering, 65. Unpacking, 65. _Platycodon Mariesi_, 96. Poeticus narcissus, 40, 152. Poppies, 102. Sowing, 78-79. Privet, purchase, etc., 51. Professional gardeners, 13, 203. Red-hot poker plant, 104. Rhododendrons-- Planting and care of, 29-31. Watering, 173, 174. Rockets, 98. Roots, purchasing, 40-44. Rose of Sharon, 160. Roses, 125-135. Best roses, list of, 131. Budded stock, 126. Carpeting rose bed with pansies and gladioli, 84, 126. Climbing, 27, 131. Everblooming, 127, 134. Exclusiveness, 125. Hardy, _see that title_. Hybrid Perpetual, _see that title_. List of hybrid perpetual and hardy roses blooming in June and September, 133. Planting, 126, 127. Replanting and cutting, 127, 130. Rudbeckias, 28, 46, 47, 111. Salvia, 121. _Scabiosa Caucasica_, 109. Scarlet salvia, 121. Scrap-book, 198. Screens, quick, 67. Seed-bed-- Empty, 62. Importance and satisfaction, 48, 57. Preparing, 57. Seeds, sowing, 58. Setting of plants, 13. Shirley poppies, 78, 79. Shrubs, 159-168. Evergreen shrubs, 167. Growth from cuttings, 161, 162. List of most satisfactory shrubs, 162. Planting, 50. [_See also names of shrubs._] Slug-shot, 192. Small plot, planting, 37-54. Borders, _see that title_. Front of the house, 45-48. Snowball, blight, 159. Snowdrops, 149. Soil-- Beds, rules for making, 13. Clayey, lightening, 16. Manure, use of, 71-74. Preparation of, 13, 16, 20. Sowing-- Annuals sown in seed-bed in spring, list of, 80. Seeds, 58. Spider on box, 194. Spring-flowering bulbs, 40-44, 149-156. Starting a garden, 21. Sticks, "dowels," 196. Suburban gardens, 39. Sunbonnet, 199. Sun-dial, 181-183. Sweet Peas-- Sowing, 83. Trellis, 84. Sweet Williams, 95. Tigrinum, 142. Tobacco water, 193. Tools and tool-room, 196-199. Transplanting-- Annuals, 86. Cardinal flower, 32. Fall work, 70-72. Ferns, 32. Perennials, 102. Tritomas, 104. Trumpet creeper, 25. Tulips, 41, 150. Unpacking plants, 65. Valerian, 99. _Veronica longifolia_, 104. Vines and Creepers-- _Ampelopsis Veitchii_, 25. Best annual vines, 168. Care of, 25. _Clematis paniculata_, 27. English ivy, 25. Henryi, 27. Jackmani clematis, 27. Japanese vines, 28. North side of house, 29. Painting of house, 25-27. Perennials, 167. Planting, 23. Roses, climbing, 27, 131. Trumpet creeper, 25. Virginia creeper, 25. Walks, grass and graveled, 174-177. Water supply and watering, 171-174. Weeding, 87. White spider on box, 194. _Yucca filamentosa_, 102. Zinnias, varieties of, 82. F. C. Printed in the United States of America. * * * * * * Transcriber's note: Apparent typographical errors have been corrected and hyphenation standardised, e.g., sunbonnet and Sunflower are written without hyphens throughout the book. Unusual punctuation and original spelling have been retained, receipe (recipe?) left as printed. The 1930 date on the title page might be a misprint for 1903, although there was a 1930 edition. 
36279	----	WOOD AND GARDEN [Illustration: _Frontispiece._] WOOD AND GARDEN NOTES AND THOUGHTS, PRACTICAL AND CRITICAL, OF A WORKING AMATEUR By GERTRUDE JEKYLL _With 71 Illustrations from Photographs by the Author_ [Illustration] Second Edition Longmans, Green, and Co. 39 Paternoster Row, London New York and Bombay 1899 _All rights reserved_ Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. At the Ballantyne Press PREFACE From its simple nature, this book seems scarcely to need any prefatory remarks, with the exception only of certain acknowledgments. A portion of the contents (about one-third) appeared during the years 1896 and 1897 in the pages of the _Guardian_, as "Notes from Garden and Woodland." I am indebted to the courtesy of the editor and proprietors of that journal for permission to republish these notes. The greater part of the photographs from which the illustrations have been prepared were done on my own ground--a space of some fifteen acres. Some of them, owing to my want of technical ability as a photographer, were very weak, and have only been rendered available by the skill of the reproducer, for whose careful work my thanks are due. A small number of the photographs were done for reproduction in wood-engraving for Mr. Robinson's _Garden_, _Gardening Illustrated_, and _English Flower Garden_. I have his kind permission to use the original plates. G. J. CONTENTS CHAPTER I INTRODUCTORY 1-6 CHAPTER II JANUARY 7-18 Beauty of woodland in winter -- The nut-walk -- Thinning the overgrowth -- A nut nursery -- _Iris stylosa_ -- Its culture -- Its home in Algeria -- Discovery of the white variety -- Flowers and branches for indoor decoration. CHAPTER III FEBRUARY 19-31 Distant promise of summer -- Ivy-berries -- Coloured leaves -- _Berberis Aquifolium_ -- Its many merits -- Thinning and pruning shrubs -- Lilacs -- Removing Suckers -- Training _Clematis flammula_ -- Forms of trees -- Juniper, a neglected native evergreen -- Effect of snow -- Power of recovery -- Beauty of colour -- Moss-grown stems. CHAPTER IV MARCH 32-45 Flowering bulbs -- Dog-tooth Violet -- Rock-garden -- Variety of Rhododendron foliage -- A beautiful old kind -- Suckers on grafted plants -- Plants for filling up the beds -- Heaths -- Andromedas -- Lady Fern -- _Lilium auratum_ -- Pruning Roses -- Training and tying climbing plants -- Climbing and free-growing Roses -- The Vine the best wall-covering -- Other climbers -- Wild Clematis -- Wild Rose. CHAPTER V APRIL 46-58 Woodland spring flowers -- Daffodils in the copse -- Grape Hyacinths and other spring bulbs -- How best to plant them -- Flowering shrubs -- Rock-plants -- Sweet scents of April -- Snowy Mespilus, Marsh Marigolds, and other spring flowers -- Primrose garden -- Pollen of Scotch Fir -- Opening seed-pods of Fir and Gorse -- Auriculas -- Tulips -- Small shrubs for rock-garden -- Daffodils as cut flowers -- Lent Hellebores -- Primroses -- Leaves of wild Arum. CHAPTER VI MAY 59-76 Cowslips -- Morells -- Woodruff -- Felling oak timber -- Trillium and other wood-plants -- Lily of the Valley naturalised -- Rock-wall flowers -- Two good wall-shrubs -- Queen wasps -- Rhododendrons -- Arrangement for colour -- Separate colour-groups -- Difficulty of choosing -- Hardy Azaleas -- Grouping flowers that bloom together -- Guelder-rose as climber -- The garden-wall door -- The Pæony garden -- Moutans -- Pæony varieties -- Species desirable for garden. CHAPTER VII JUNE 77-88 The gladness of June -- The time of Roses -- Garden Roses -- Reine Blanche -- The old white Rose -- Old garden Roses as standards -- Climbing and rambling Roses -- Scotch Briars -- Hybrid Perpetuals a difficulty -- Tea Roses -- Pruning -- Sweet Peas autumn sown -- Elder-trees -- Virginian Cowslip -- Dividing spring-blooming plants -- Two best Mulleins -- White French Willow -- Bracken. CHAPTER VIII JULY 89-99 Scarcity of flowers -- Delphiniums -- Yuccas -- Cottager's way of protecting tender plants -- Alströmerias -- Carnations -- Gypsophila -- _Lilium giganteum_ -- Cutting fern-pegs. CHAPTER IX AUGUST 100-111 Leycesteria -- Early recollections -- Bank of choice shrubs -- Bank of Briar Roses -- Hollyhocks -- Lavender -- Lilies -- Bracken and Heaths -- The Fern-walk -- Late-blooming rock-plants -- Autumn flowers -- Tea Roses -- Fruit of _Rosa rugosa_ -- Fungi -- Chantarelle. CHAPTER X SEPTEMBER 112-124 Sowing Sweet Peas -- Autumn-sown annuals -- Dahlias -- Worthless kinds -- Staking -- Planting the rock-garden -- Growing small plants in a wall -- The old wall -- Dry-walling -- How built -- How planted -- Hyssop -- A destructive storm -- Berries of Water-elder -- Beginning ground-work. CHAPTER XI OCTOBER 125-143 Michaelmas Daisies -- Arranging and staking -- Spindle-tree -- Autumn colour of Azaleas -- Quinces -- Medlars -- Advantage of early planting of shrubs -- Careful planting -- Pot-bound roots -- Cypress hedge -- Planting in difficult places -- Hardy flower border -- Lifting Dahlias -- Dividing hardy plants -- Dividing tools -- Plants difficult to divide -- Periwinkles -- Sternbergia -- Czar Violets -- Deep cultivation for _Lilium giganteum_. CHAPTER XII NOVEMBER 144-157 Giant Christmas Rose -- Hardy Chrysanthemums -- Sheltering tender shrubs -- Turfing by inoculation -- Transplanting large trees -- Sir Henry Steuart's experience early in the century -- Collecting fallen leaves -- Preparing grubbing tools -- Butcher's Broom -- Alexandrian Laurel -- Hollies and Birches -- A lesson in planting. CHAPTER XIII DECEMBER 158-170 The woodman at work -- Tree-cutting in frosty weather -- Preparing sticks and stakes -- Winter Jasmine -- Ferns in the wood-walk -- Winter colour of evergreen shrubs -- Copse-cutting -- Hoop-making -- Tools used -- Sizes of hoops -- Men camping out -- Thatching with hoop-chips -- The old thatcher's bill. CHAPTER XIV LARGE AND SMALL GARDENS 171-187 A well done villa-garden -- A small town-garden -- Two delightful gardens of small size -- Twenty acres within the walls -- A large country house and its garden -- Terrace -- Lawn -- Parterre -- Free garden -- Kitchen garden -- Buildings -- Ornamental orchard -- Instructive mixed gardens -- Mr. Wilson's at Wisley -- A window garden. CHAPTER XV BEGINNING AND LEARNING 188-199 The ignorant questioner -- Beginning at the end -- An example -- Personal experience -- Absence of outer help -- Johns' "Flowers of the Field" -- Collecting plants -- Nurseries near London -- Wheel-spokes as labels -- Garden friends -- Mr. Robinson's "English Flower-Garden" -- Mr. Nicholson's "Dictionary of Gardening" -- One main idea desirable -- Pictorial treatment -- Training in fine art -- Adapting from Nature -- Study of colour -- Ignorant use of the word "artistic." CHAPTER XVI THE FLOWER-BORDER AND PERGOLA 200-215 The flower-border -- The wall and its occupants -- _Choisya ternata_ -- Nandina -- Canon Ellacombe's garden -- Treatment of colour-masses -- Arrangement of plants in the border -- Dahlias and Cannas -- Covering bare places -- The Pergola -- How made -- Suitable climbers -- Arbours of trained Planes -- Garden houses. CHAPTER XVII THE PRIMROSE GARDEN 216-220 CHAPTER XVIII COLOURS OF FLOWERS 221-228 CHAPTER XIX THE SCENTS OF THE GARDEN 229-240 CHAPTER XX THE WORSHIP OF FALSE GODS 241-248 CHAPTER XXI NOVELTY AND VARIETY 249-255 CHAPTER XXII WEEDS AND PESTS 256-262 CHAPTER XXIII THE BEDDING FASHION AND ITS INFLUENCE 263-270 CHAPTER XXIV MASTERS AND MEN 271-279 INDEX 280 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FRONTISPIECE _face title_ A WILD JUNIPER _face page_ 19 SCOTCH FIRS THROWN ON TO FROZEN WATER BY SNOWSTORM " 27 OLD JUNIPER, SHOWING FORMER INJURIES " 29 JUNIPER, LATELY WRECKED BY SNOWSTORM " 29 GARDEN DOOR-WAY WREATHED WITH CLEMATIS GRAVEOLENS " 39 COTTAGE PORCH WREATHED WITH THE DOUBLE WHITE ROSE (_R. alba_) " 39 WILD HOP, ENTWINING WORMWOOD AND COW-PARSNIP " 43 DAFFODILS IN THE COPSE " 48 MAGNOLIA STELLATA " 50 DAFFODILS AMONG JUNIPERS WHERE GARDEN JOINS COPSE " 51 TIARELLA CORDIFOLIA " 53 HOLLYHOCK, PINK BEAUTY. (_See page 105_) " 53 TULIPA RETROFLEXA " 55 LATE SINGLE TULIPS, BREEDERS AND BYBLOEMEN " 55 TRILLIUM IN THE WILD GARDEN " 61 RHODODENDRONS WHERE THE COPSE AND GARDEN MEET " 65 GRASS WALKS THROUGH THE COPSE " 66 RHODODENDRONS AT THE EDGE OF THE COPSE " 68 SOUTH SIDE OF DOOR, WITH CLEMATIS MONTANA AND CHOISYA " 72 NORTH SIDE OF THE SAME DOOR, WITH CLEMATIS MONTANA AND GUELDER-ROSE " 72 FREE CLUSTER-ROSE AS STANDARD IN A COTTAGE GARDEN " 77 DOUBLE WHITE SCOTCH BRIAR " 81 PART OF A BUSH OF ROSA POLYANTHA " 82 GARLAND-ROSE SHOWING NATURAL WAY OF GROWTH " 82 LILAC MARIE LEGRAYE (_See page 23_) " 84 FLOWERING ELDER AND PATH FROM GARDEN TO COPSE " 84 THE GIANT LILY " 96 CISTUS FLORENTINUS " 101 THE GREAT ASPHODEL " 101 LAVENDER HEDGE AND STEPS TO THE LOFT " 105 HOLLYHOCK, PINK BEAUTY " 105 SOLOMON'S SEAL IN SPRING, IN THE UPPER PART OF THE FERN-WALK " 107 THE FERN-WALK IN AUGUST " 107 JACK (_See page 79_) " 117 THE "OLD WALL" " 117 ERINUS ALPINUS, CLOTHING STEPS IN ROCK-WALL " 121 BORDERS OF MICHAELMAS DAISIES " 126 PENS FOR STORING DEAD LEAVES " 150 CAREFUL WILD-GARDENING--WHITE FOXGLOVES AT THE EDGE OF THE FIR WOOD. (_See page 270_) " 150 HOLLY STEMS IN AN OLD HEDGE-ROW " 153 WILD JUNIPERS " 154 WILD JUNIPERS " 156 THE WOODMAN " 158 GRUBBING A TREE-STUMP " 161 FELLING AND GRUBBING TOOLS (_See page 150_) " 161 HOOP-MAKING IN THE WOODS " 167 HOOP-SHAVING " 169 SHED-ROOF, THATCHED WITH HOOP-CHIP " 169 GARLAND-ROSE WREATHING THE END OF A TERRACE WALL " 178 A ROADSIDE COTTAGE GARDEN " 185 A FLOWER-BORDER IN JUNE " 200 PATHWAY ACROSS THE SOUTH BORDER IN JULY " 202 OUTSIDE VIEW OF THE BRICK PERGOLA SHOWN AT PAGE 214, AFTER SIX YEARS' GROWTH " 202 END OF FLOWER-BORDER AND ENTRANCE OF PERGOLA " 210 SOUTH BORDER DOOR AND YUCCAS IN AUGUST " 210 STONE-BUILT PERGOLA WITH WROUGHT OAK BEAMS " 214 PERGOLA WITH BRICK PIERS AND BEAMS OF ROUGH OAK " 214 EVENING IN THE PRIMROSE GARDEN " 217 TALL SNAPDRAGONS GROWING IN A DRY WALL " 251 MULLEINS GROWING IN THE FACE OF DRY WALL (_See "Old Wall," page 116_) " 251 GERANIUMS IN NEAPOLITAN POTS " 267 SPACE IN STEP AND TANK-GARDEN FOR LILIES, CANNAS, AND GERANIUMS " 268 HYDRANGEAS IN TUBS, IN A PART OF THE SAME GARDEN " 268 MULLEIN (VERBASCUM PHLOMOIDES) AT THE EDGE OF THE FIR WOOD " 270 A GRASS PATH IN THE COPSE " 270 WOOD AND GARDEN CHAPTER I INTRODUCTORY There are already many and excellent books about gardening; but the love of a garden, already so deeply implanted in the English heart, is so rapidly growing, that no excuse is needed for putting forth another. I lay no claim either to literary ability, or to botanical knowledge, or even to knowing the best practical methods of cultivation; but I have lived among outdoor flowers for many years, and have not spared myself in the way of actual labour, and have come to be on closely intimate and friendly terms with a great many growing things, and have acquired certain instincts which, though not clearly defined, are of the nature of useful knowledge. But the lesson I have thoroughly learnt, and wish to pass on to others, is to know the enduring happiness that the love of a garden gives. I rejoice when I see any one, and especially children, inquiring about flowers, and wanting gardens of their own, and carefully working in them. For the love of gardening is a seed that once sown never dies, but always grows and grows to an enduring and ever-increasing source of happiness. If in the following chapters I have laid special stress upon gardening for beautiful effect, it is because it is the way of gardening that I love best, and understand most of, and that seems to me capable of giving the greatest amount of pleasure. I am strongly for treating garden and wooded ground in a pictorial way, mainly with large effects, and in the second place with lesser beautiful incidents, and for so arranging plants and trees and grassy spaces that they look happy and at home, and make no parade of conscious effort. I try for beauty and harmony everywhere, and especially for harmony of colour. A garden so treated gives the delightful feeling of repose, and refreshment, and purest enjoyment of beauty, that seems to my understanding to be the best fulfilment of its purpose; while to the diligent worker its happiness is like the offering of a constant hymn of praise. For I hold that the best purpose of a garden is to give delight and to give refreshment of mind, to soothe, to refine, and to lift up the heart in a spirit of praise and thankfulness. It is certain that those who practise gardening in the best ways find it to be so. But the scope of practical gardening covers a range of horticultural practice wide enough to give play to every variety of human taste. Some find their greatest pleasure in collecting as large a number as possible of all sorts of plants from all sources, others in collecting them themselves in their foreign homes, others in making rock-gardens, or ferneries, or peat-gardens, or bog-gardens, or gardens for conifers or for flowering shrubs, or special gardens of plants and trees with variegated or coloured leaves, or in the cultivation of some particular race or family of plants. Others may best like wide lawns with large trees, or wild gardening, or a quite formal garden, with trim hedge and walk, and terrace, and brilliant parterre, or a combination of several ways of gardening. And all are right and reasonable and enjoyable to their owners, and in some way or degree helpful to others. The way that seems to me most desirable is again different, and I have made an attempt to describe it in some of its aspects. But I have learned much, and am always learning, from other people's gardens, and the lesson I have learned most thoroughly is, never to say "I know"--there is so infinitely much to learn, and the conditions of different gardens vary so greatly, even when soil and situation appear to be alike and they are in the same district. Nature is such a subtle chemist that one never knows what she is about, or what surprises she may have in store for us. Often one sees in the gardening papers discussions about the treatment of some particular plant. One man writes to say it can only be done one way, another to say it can only be done quite some other way, and the discussion waxes hot and almost angry, and the puzzled reader, perhaps as yet young in gardening, cannot tell what to make of it. And yet the two writers are both able gardeners, and both absolutely trustworthy, only they should have said, "In my experience _in this place_ such a plant can only be done in such a way." Even plants of the same family will not do equally well in the same garden. Every practical gardener knows this in the case of strawberries and potatoes; he has to find out which kinds will do in his garden; the experience of his friend in the next county is probably of no use whatever. I have learnt much from the little cottage gardens that help to make our English waysides the prettiest in the temperate world. One can hardly go into the smallest cottage garden without learning or observing something new. It may be some two plants growing beautifully together by some happy chance, or a pretty mixed tangle of creepers, or something that one always thought must have a south wall doing better on an east one. But eye and brain must be alert to receive the impression and studious to store it, to add to the hoard of experience. And it is important to train oneself to have a good flower-eye; to be able to see at a glance what flowers are good and which are unworthy, and why, and to keep an open mind about it; not to be swayed by the petty tyrannies of the "florist" or show judge; for, though some part of his judgment may be sound, he is himself a slave to rules, and must go by points which are defined arbitrarily and rigidly, and have reference mainly to the show-table, leaving out of account, as if unworthy of consideration, such matters as gardens and garden beauty, and human delight, and sunshine, and varying lights of morning and evening and noonday. But many, both nurserymen and private people, devote themselves to growing and improving the best classes of hardy flowers, and we can hardly offer them too much grateful praise, or do them too much honour. For what would our gardens be without the Roses, Pæonies, and Gladiolus of France, and the Tulips and Hyacinths of Holland, to say nothing of the hosts of good things raised by our home growers, and of the enterprise of the great firms whose agents are always searching the world for garden treasures? Let no one be discouraged by the thought of how much there is to learn. Looking back upon nearly thirty years of gardening (the earlier part of it in groping ignorance with scant means of help), I can remember no part of it that was not full of pleasure and encouragement. For the first steps are steps into a delightful Unknown, the first successes are victories all the happier for being scarcely expected, and with the growing knowledge comes the widening outlook, and the comforting sense of an ever-increasing gain of critical appreciation. Each new step becomes a little surer, and each new grasp a little firmer, till, little by little, comes the power of intelligent combination, the nearest thing we can know to the mighty force of creation. And a garden is a grand teacher. It teaches patience and careful watchfulness; it teaches industry and thrift; above all, it teaches entire trust. "Paul planteth and Apollos watereth, but God giveth the increase." The good gardener knows with absolute certainty that if he does his part, if he gives the labour, the love, and every aid that his knowledge of his craft, experience of the conditions of his place, and exercise of his personal wit can work together to suggest, that so surely as he does this diligently and faithfully, so surely will God give the increase. Then with the honestly-earned success comes the consciousness of encouragement to renewed effort, and, as it were, an echo of the gracious words, "Well done, good and faithful servant." CHAPTER II JANUARY Beauty of woodland in winter -- The nut-walk -- Thinning the overgrowth -- A nut nursery -- _Iris stylosa_ -- Its culture -- Its home in Algeria -- Discovery of the white variety -- Flowers and branches for indoor decoration. A hard frost is upon us. The thermometer registered eighteen degrees last night, and though there was only one frosty night next before it, the ground is hard frozen. Till now a press of other work has stood in the way of preparing protecting stuff for tender shrubs, but now I go up into the copse with a man and chopping tools to cut out some of the Scotch fir that are beginning to crowd each other. How endlessly beautiful is woodland in winter! To-day there is a thin mist; just enough to make a background of tender blue mystery three hundred yards away, and to show any defect in the grouping of near trees. No day could be better for deciding which trees are to come down; there is not too much at a time within sight; just one good picture-full and no more. On a clear day the eye and mind are distracted by seeing away into too many planes, and it is much more difficult to decide what is desirable in the way of broad treatment of nearer objects. The ground has a warm carpet of pale rusty fern; tree-stem and branch and twig show tender colour-harmonies of grey bark and silver-grey lichen, only varied by the warm feathery masses of birch spray. Now the splendid richness of the common holly is more than ever impressive, with its solid masses of full, deep colour, and its wholesome look of perfect health and vigour. Sombrely cheerful, if one may use such a mixture of terms; sombre by reason of the extreme depth of tone, and yet cheerful from the look of glad life, and from the assurance of warm shelter and protecting comfort to bird and beast and neighbouring vegetation. The picture is made complete by the slender shafts of the silver-barked birches, with their half-weeping heads of delicate, warm-coloured spray. Has any tree so graceful a way of throwing up its stems as the birch? They seem to leap and spring into the air, often leaning and curving upward from the very root, sometimes in forms that would be almost grotesque were it not for the never-failing rightness of free-swinging poise and perfect balance. The tints of the stem give a precious lesson in colour. The white of the bark is here silvery-white and there milk-white, and sometimes shows the faintest tinge of rosy flush. Where the bark has not yet peeled, the stem is clouded and banded with delicate grey, and with the silver-green of lichen. For about two feet upward from the ground, in the case of young trees of about seven to nine inches diameter, the bark is dark in colour, and lies in thick and extremely rugged upright ridges, contrasting strongly with the smooth white skin above. Where the two join, the smooth bark is parted in upright slashes, through which the dark, rough bark seems to swell up, reminding one forcibly of some of the old fifteenth-century German costumes, where a dark velvet is arranged to rise in crumpled folds through slashings in white satin. In the stems of older birches the rough bark rises much higher up the trunk and becomes clothed with delicate grey-green lichen. The nut-walk was planted twelve years ago. There are two rows each side, one row four feet behind the other, and the nuts are ten feet apart in the rows. They are planted zigzag, those in the back rows showing between the front ones. As the two inner rows are thirteen feet apart measuring across the path, it leaves a shady border on each side, with deeper bays between the nearer trees. Lent Hellebores fill one border from end to end; the other is planted with the Corsican and the native kinds, so that throughout February and March there is a complete bit of garden of one kind of plant in full beauty of flower and foliage. The nut-trees have grown into such thick clumps that now there must be a vigorous thinning. Each stool has from eight to twelve main stems, the largest of them nearly two inches thick. Some shoot almost upright, but two or three in each stool spread outward, with quite a different habit of growth, branching about in an angular fashion. These are the oldest and thickest. There are also a number of straight suckers one and two years old. Now when I look at some fine old nut alley, with the tops arching and meeting overhead, as I hope mine will do in a few years, I see that the trees have only a few stems, usually from three to five at the most, and I judge that now is the time to thin mine to about the right number, so that the strength and growing power may be thrown into these, and not allowed to dilute and waste itself in growing extra faggoting. The first to be cut away are the old crooked stems. They grow nearly horizontally and are all elbows, and often so tightly locked into the straighter rods that they have to be chopped to pieces before they can be pulled out. When these are gone it is easier to get at the other stems, though they are often so close together at the base that it is difficult to chop or saw them out without hurting the bark of the ones to be left. All the young suckers are cut away. They are of straight, clean growth, and we prize them as the best possible sticks for Chrysanthemums and potted Lilies. After this bold thinning, instead of dense thickety bushes we have a few strong, well-branched rods to each stool. At first the nut-walk looks wofully naked, and for the time its pictorial value is certainly lessened; but it has to be done, and when summer side-twigs have grown and leafed, it will be fairly well clothed, and meanwhile the Hellebores will be the better for the thinner shade. The nut-catkins are already an inch long, but are tightly closed, and there is no sign as yet of the bright crimson little sea-anemones that will appear next month and will duly grow into nut-bearing twigs. Round the edges of the base of the stools are here and there little branching suckers. These are the ones to look out for, to pull off and grow into young trees. A firm grasp and a sharp tug brings them up with a fine supply of good fibrous root. After two years in the nursery they are just right to plant out. The trees in the nut-walk were grown in this way fourteen years ago, from small suckers pulled off plants that came originally from the interesting cob-nut nursery at Calcot, near Reading. I shall never forget a visit to that nursery some six-and-twenty years ago. It was walled all round, and a deep-sounding bell had to be rung many times before any one came to open the gate; but at last it was opened by a fine, strongly-built, sunburnt woman of the type of the good working farmer's wife, that I remember as a child. She was the forewoman, who worked the nursery with surprisingly few hands--only three men, if I remember rightly--but she looked as if she could do the work of "all two men" herself. One of the specialties of the place was a fine breed of mastiffs; another was an old Black Hamburg vine, that rambled and clambered in and out of some very old greenhouses, and was wonderfully productive. There were alleys of nuts in all directions, and large spreading patches of palest yellow Daffodils--the double _Narcissus cernuus_, now so scarce and difficult to grow. Had I then known how precious a thing was there in fair abundance, I should not have been contented with the modest dozen that I asked for. It was a most pleasant garden to wander in, especially with the old Mr. Webb who presently appeared. He was dressed in black clothes of an old-looking cut--a Quaker, I believe. Never shall I forget an apple-tart he invited me to try as a proof of the merit of the "Wellington" apple. It was not only good, but beautiful; the cooked apple looking rosy and transparent, and most inviting. He told me he was an ardent preacher of total abstinence, and took me to a grassy, shady place among the nuts, where there was an upright stone slab, like a tombstone, with the inscription: TO ALCOHOL. He had dug a grave, and poured into it a quantity of wine and beer and spirits, and placed the stone as a memorial of his abhorrence of drink. The whole thing remains in my mind like a picture--the shady groves of old nuts, in tenderest early leaf, the pale Daffodils, the mighty chained mastiffs with bloodshot eyes and murderous fangs, the brawny, wholesome forewoman, and the trim old gentleman in black. It was the only nursery I ever saw where one would expect to see fairies on a summer's night. I never tire of admiring and praising _Iris stylosa_, which has proved itself such a good plant for English gardens; at any rate, for those in our southern counties. Lovely in form and colour, sweetly-scented and with admirable foliage, it has in addition to these merits the unusual one of a blooming season of six months' duration. The first flowers come with the earliest days of November, and its season ends with a rush of bloom in the first half of April. Then is the time to take up old tufts and part them, and plant afresh; the old roots will have dried up into brown wires, and the new will be pushing. It thrives in rather poor soil, and seems to bloom all the better for having its root-run invaded by some stronger plant. When I first planted a quantity I had brought from its native place, I made the mistake of putting it in a well-prepared border. At first I was delighted to see how well it flourished, but as it gave me only thick masses of leaves a yard long, and no flowers, it was clear that it wanted to be less well fed. After changing it to poor soil, at the foot of a sunny wall close to a strong clump of Alströmeria, I was rewarded with a good crop of flowers; and the more the Alströmeria grew into it on one side and _Plumbago Larpenti_ on the other, the more freely the brave little Iris flowered. The flower has no true stem; what serves as a stem, sometimes a foot long, is the elongated style, so that the seed-pod has to be looked for deep down at the base of the tufts of leaves, and almost under ground. The specific name, _stylosa_, is so clearly descriptive, that one regrets that the longer, and certainly uglier, _unguicularis_ should be preferred by botanists. What a delight it was to see it for the first time in its home in the hilly wastes, a mile or two inland from the town of Algiers! Another lovely blue Iris was there too, _I. alata_ or _scorpioides_, growing under exactly the same conditions; but this is a plant unwilling to be acclimatised in England. What a paradise it was for flower-rambles, among the giant Fennels and the tiny orange Marigolds, and the immense bulbs of _Scilla maritima_ standing almost out of the ground, and the many lovely Bee-orchises and the fairy-like _Narcissus serotinus_, and the groves of Prickly Pear wreathed and festooned with the graceful tufts of bell-shaped flower and polished leaves of _Clematis cirrhosa_! It was in the days when there were only a few English residents, but among them was the Rev. Edwyn Arkwright, who by his happy discovery of a white-flowered _Iris stylosa_, the only one that has been found wild, has enriched our gardens with a most lovely variety of this excellent plant. I am glad to be able to quote his own words:-- "The finding of the white _Iris stylosa_ belongs to the happy old times twenty-five years ago, when there were no social duties and no vineyards[1] in Algiers. My two sisters and I bought three horses, and rode wild every day in the scrub of Myrtle, Cistus, Dwarf Oak, &c. It was about five miles from the town, on what is called the 'Sahel,' that the one plant grew that I was told botanists knew ought to exist, but with all their searching had never found. I am thankful that I dug it up instead of picking it, only knowing that it was a pretty flower. Then after a year or two Durando saw it, and took off his hat to it, and told me what a treasure it was, and proceeded to send off little bits to his friends; and among them all, Ware of Tottenham managed to be beforehand, and took a first-class certificate for it. It is odd that there should never have been another plant found, for there never was such a free-growing and multiplying plant. My sister in Herefordshire has had over fifty blooms this winter; but we count it by thousands, and it is _the_ feature in all decorations in every English house in Algiers." [1] The planting of large vineyards, in some cases of private enterprise, had not proved a financial success. Throughout January, and indeed from the middle of December, is the time when outdoor flowers for cutting and house decoration are most scarce; and yet there are Christmas Roses and yellow Jasmine and Laurustinus, and in all open weather _Iris stylosa_ and Czar Violets. A very few flowers can be made to look well if cleverly arranged with plenty of good foliage; and even when a hard and long frost spoils the few blooms that would otherwise be available, leafy branches alone are beautiful in rooms. But, as in all matters that have to do with decoration, everything depends on a right choice of material and the exercise of taste in disposing it. Red-tinted Berberis always looks well alone, if three or four branches are boldly cut from two to three feet long. Branches of the spotted Aucuba do very well by themselves, and are specially beautiful in blue china; the larger the leaves and the bolder the markings, the better. Where there is an old Exmouth Magnolia that can spare some small branches, nothing makes a nobler room-ornament. The long arching sprays of Alexandrian Laurel do well with green or variegated Box, and will live in a room for several weeks. Among useful winter leaves of smaller growth, those of _Epimedium pinnatum_ have a fine red colour and delicate veining, and I find them very useful for grouping with greenhouse flowers of delicate texture. _Gaultheria Shallon_ is at its best in winter, and gives valuable branches and twigs for cutting; and much to be prized are sprays of the Japan Privet, with its tough, highly-polished leaves, so much like those of the orange. There is a variegated Eurybia, small branches of which are excellent; and always useful are the gold and silver Hollies. There is a little plant, _Ophiopogon spicatum_, that I grow in rather large quantity for winter cutting, the leaves being at their best in the winter months. They are sword-shaped and of a lively green colour, and are arranged in flat sheaves after the manner of a flag-Iris. I pull up a whole plant at a time--a two-year-old plant is a spreading tuft of the little sheaves--and wash it and cut away the groups of leaves just at the root, so that they are held together by the root-stock. They last long in water, and are beautiful with Roman Hyacinths or Freesias or _Iris stylosa_ and many other flowers. The leaves of Megaseas, especially those of the _cordifolia_ section, colour grandly in winter, and look fine in a large bowl with the largest blooms of Christmas Roses, or with forced Hyacinths. Much useful material can be found among Ivies, both of the wild and garden kinds. When they are well established they generally throw out rather woody front shoots; these are the ones to look out for, as they stand out with a certain degree of stiffness that makes them easier to arrange than weaker trailing pieces. I do not much care for dried flowers--the bulrush and pampas-grass decoration has been so much overdone, that it has become wearisome--but I make an exception in favour of the flower of _Eulalia japonica_, and always give it a place. It does not come to its full beauty out of doors; it only finishes its growth late in October, and therefore does not have time to dry and expand. I grew it for many years before finding out that the closed and rather draggled-looking heads would open perfectly in a warm room. The uppermost leaf often confines the flower, and should be taken off to release it; the flower does not seem to mature quite enough to come free of itself. Bold masses of Helichrysum certainly give some brightness to a room during the darkest weeks of winter, though the brightest yellow is the only one I much care to have; there is a look of faded tinsel about the other colourings. I much prize large bunches of the native Iris berries, and grow it largely for winter room-ornament. Among the many valuable suggestions in Mrs. Earle's delightful book, "Pot-pourri from a Surrey Garden," is the use indoors of the smaller coloured gourds. As used by her they give a bright and cheerful look to a room that even flowers can not surpass. [Illustration: A WILD JUNIPER.] CHAPTER III FEBRUARY Distant promise of summer -- Ivy-berries -- Coloured leaves -- _Berberis Aquifolium_ -- Its many merits -- Thinning and pruning shrubs -- Lilacs -- Removing suckers -- Training _Clematis flammula_ -- Forms of trees -- Juniper, a neglected native evergreen -- Effect of snow -- Power of recovery -- Beauty of colour -- Moss-grown stems. There is always in February some one day, at least, when one smells the yet distant, but surely coming, summer. Perhaps it is a warm, mossy scent that greets one when passing along the southern side of a hedge-bank; or it may be in some woodland opening, where the sun has coaxed out the pungent smell of the trailing ground Ivy, whose blue flowers will soon appear; but the day always comes, and with it the glad certainty that summer is nearing, and that the good things promised will never fail. How strangely little of positive green colour is to be seen in copse and woodland. Only the moss is really green. The next greenest thing is the northern sides of the trunks of beech and oak. Walking southward they are all green, but looking back they are silver-grey. The undergrowth is of brambles and sparse fronds of withered bracken; the bracken less beaten down than usual, for the winter has been without snow; only where the soil is deeper, and the fern has grown more tall and rank, it has fallen into thick, almost felted masses, and the stalks all lying one way make the heaps look like lumps of fallen thatch. The bramble leaves--last year's leaves, which are held all the winter--are of a dark, blackish-bronze colour, or nearly red where they have seen the sun. Age seems to give them a sort of hard surface and enough of a polish to reflect the sky; the young leaves that will come next month are almost woolly at first. Grassy tufts show only bleached bents, so tightly matted that one wonders how the delicate young blades will be able to spear through. Ivy-berries, hanging in thick clusters, are still in beauty; they are so heavy that they weigh down the branches. There is a peculiar beauty in the form and veining of the plain-shaped leaves belonging to the mature or flowering state that the plant reaches when it can no longer climb, whether on a wall six feet high or on the battlements of a castle. Cuttings grown from such portions retain this habit, and form densely-flowering bushes of compact shape. Beautiful colouring is now to be seen in many of the plants whose leaves do not die down in winter. Foremost amongst these is the Foam-flower (_Tiarella cordifolia_). Its leaves, now lying on the ground, show bright colouring, inclining to scarlet, crimson, and orange. _Tellima_, its near relation, is also well coloured. _Galax aphylla_, with its polished leaves of hard texture, and stalks almost as stiff as wire, is nearly as bright; and many of the Megaseas are of a fine bronze red, the ones that colour best being the varieties of the well-known _M. crassifolia_ and _M. cordifolia_. Among shrubs, some of the nearly allied genera, popularly classed under the name Andromeda, are beautiful in reddish colour passing into green, in some of the leaves by tender gradation, and in others by bold splashing. _Berberis Aquifolium_ begins to colour after the first frosts; though some plants remain green, the greater number take on some rich tinting of red or purple, and occasionally in poor soil and in full sun a bright red that may almost be called scarlet. What a precious thing this fine old Berberis is! What should we do in winter without its vigorous masses of grand foliage in garden and shrubbery, to say nothing of its use indoors? Frequent as it is in gardens, it is seldom used as well or thoughtfully as it deserves. There are many places where, between garden and wood, a well-considered planting of Berberis, combined with two or three other things of larger stature, such as the fruiting Barberry, and Whitethorn and Holly, would make a very enjoyable piece of shrub wild-gardening. When one reflects that _Berberis Aquifolium_ is individually one of the handsomest of small shrubs, that it is at its very best in mid-winter, that every leaf is a marvel of beautiful drawing and construction, and that its ruddy winter colouring is a joy to see, enhanced as it is by the glistening brightness of the leaf-surface; and further, when one remembers that in spring the whole picture changes--that the polished leaves are green again, and the bushes are full of tufted masses of brightest yellow bloom, and fuller of bee-music than any other plant then in flower; and that even then it has another season of beauty yet to come, when in the days of middle summer it is heavily loaded with the thick-clustered masses of berries, covered with a brighter and bluer bloom than almost any other fruit can show,--when one thinks of all this brought together in one plant, it seems but right that we should spare no pains to use it well. It is the only hardy shrub I can think of that is in one or other of its varied forms of beauty throughout the year. It is never leafless or untidy; it never looks mangy like an Ilex in April, or moulting like a Holly in May, or patchy and unfinished like Yew and Box and many other evergreens when their young leafy shoots are sprouting. We have been thinning the shrubs in one of the rather large clumps next to the lawn, taking the older wood in each clump right out from the bottom and letting more light and air into the middle. Weigelas grow fast and very thick. Quite two-thirds have been cut out of each bush of Weigela, Philadelphus, and Ribes, and a good bit out of Ceanothus, "Gloire de Versailles," my favourite of its kind, and all the oldest wood from _Viburnum plicatus_. The stuff cut out makes quite a respectable lot of faggoting. How extremely dense and hard is the wood of Philadelphus! as close-grained as Box, and almost as hard as the bright yellow wood of Berberis. Some of the Lilacs have a good many suckers from the root, as well as on the lower part of the stem. These must all come away, and then the trees will have a good dressing of manure. They are greedy feeders, and want it badly in our light soil, and surely no flowering shrub more truly deserves it. The Lilacs I have are some of the beautiful kinds raised in France, for which we can never be thankful enough to our good neighbours across the Channel. The white variety, "Marie Legraye," always remains my favourite. Some are larger and whiter, and have the trusses more evenly and closely filled, but this beautiful Marie fills one with a satisfying conviction as of something that is just right, that has arrived at the point of just the best and most lovable kind of beauty, and has been wisely content to stay there, not attempting to pass beyond and excel itself. Its beauty is modest and reserved, and temperate and full of refinement. The colour has a deliciously-tender warmth of white, and as the truss is not over-full, there is room for a delicate play of warm half-light within its recesses. Among the many beautiful coloured Lilacs, I am fond of Lucie Baltet and Princesse Marie. There may be better flowers from the ordinary florist point of view, but these have the charm that is a good garden flower's most precious quality. I do not like the cold, heavy-coloured ones of the bluish-slaty kinds. No shrub is hardier than the Lilac; I believe they flourish even within the Arctic Circle. It is very nearly allied to Privet; so nearly, that the oval-leaved Privet is commonly used as a stock. Standard trees flower much better than bushes; in this form all the strength seems to go directly to the flowering boughs. No shrub is more persistent in throwing up suckers from the root and from the lower part of the stem, but in bush trees as well as in standards they should be carefully removed every year. In the case of bushes, three or four main stems will be enough to leave. When taking away suckers of any kind whatever, it is much better to tear them out than to cut them off. A cut, however close, leaves a base from which they may always spring again, but if pulled or wrenched out they bring away with them the swollen base that, if left in, would be a likely source of future trouble. Before the end of February we must be sure to prune and train any plants there may be of _Clematis flammula_. Its growth is so rapid when once it begins, that if it is overlooked it soon grows into a tangled mass of succulent weak young stuff, quite unmanageable two months hence, when it will be hanging about in helpless masses, dead and living together. If it is left till then, one can only engirdle the whole thing with a soft tarred rope and sling it up somehow or anyhow. But if taken now, when the young growths are just showing at the joints, the last year's mass can be untangled, the dead and the over-much cut out, and the best pieces trained in. In gardening, the interests of the moment are so engrossing that one is often tempted to forget the future; but it is well to remember that this lovely and tenderly-scented Clematis will be one of the chief beauties of September, and well deserves a little timely care. In summer-time one never really knows how beautiful are the forms of the deciduous trees. It is only in winter, when they are bare of leaves, that one can fully enjoy their splendid structure and design, their admirable qualities of duly apportioned strength and grace of poise, and the way the spread of the many-branched head has its equivalent in the wide-reaching ground-grasp of the root. And it is interesting to see how, in the many different kinds of tree, the same laws are always in force, and the same results occur, and yet by the employment of what varied means. For nothing in the growth of trees can be much more unlike than the habit of the oak and that of the weeping willow, though the unlikeness only comes from the different adjustment of the same sources of power and the same weights, just as in the movement of wind-blown leaves some flutter and some undulate, while others turn over and back again. Old apple-trees are specially noticeable for their beauty in winter, when their extremely graceful shape, less visible when in loveliness of spring bloom or in rich bounty of autumn fruit, is seen to fullest advantage. Few in number are our native evergreens, and for that reason all the more precious. One of them, the common Juniper, is one of the best of shrubs either for garden or wild ground, and yet, strangely enough, it is so little appreciated that it is scarcely to be had in nurseries. Chinese Junipers, North American Junipers, Junipers from Spain and Greece, from Nepaul and Siberia, may be had, but the best Juniper of all is very rarely grown. Were it a common tree one could see a sort of reason (to some minds) for overlooking it, but though it is fairly abundant on a few hill-sides in the southern counties, it is by no means widely distributed throughout the country. Even this reason would not be consistent with common practice, for the Holly is abundant throughout England, and yet is to be had by the thousand in every nursery. Be the reason what it may, the common Juniper is one of the most desirable of evergreens, and is most undeservedly neglected. Even our botanists fail to do it justice, for Bentham describes it as a low shrub growing two feet, three feet, or four feet high. I quote from memory only; these may not be the words, but this is the sense of his description. He had evidently seen it on the chalk downs only, where such a portrait of it is exactly right. But in our sheltered uplands, in sandy soil, it is a small tree of noble aspect, twelve to twenty-eight feet high. In form it is extremely variable, for sometimes it shoots up on a single stem and looks like an Italian Cypress or like the upright Chinese Juniper, while at other times it will have two or more tall spires and a dense surrounding mass of lower growth, while in other cases it will be like a quantity of young trees growing close together, and yet the trees in all these varied forms may be nearly of an age. [Illustration: SCOTCH FIRS THROWN ON TO FROZEN WATER BY SNOWSTORM.] The action of snow is the reason of this unlikeness of habit. If, when young, the tree happens to have one main stem strong enough to shoot up alone, and if at the same time there come a sequence of winters without much snow, there will be the tall, straight, cypress-like tree. But if, as is more commonly the case, the growth is divided into a number of stems of nearly equal size, sooner or later they are sure to be laid down by snow. Such a winter storm as that of the end of December 1886 was especially disastrous to Junipers. Snow came on early in the evening in this district, when the thermometer was barely at freezing point and there was no wind. It hung on the trees in clogging masses, with a lowering temperature that was soon below freezing. The snow still falling loaded them more and more; then came the fatal wind, and all through that night we heard the breaking trees. When morning came there were eighteen inches of snow on the ground, and all the trees that could be seen, mostly Scotch fir, seemed to be completely wrecked. Some were entirely stripped of branches, and stood up bare, like scaffold-poles. Until the snow was gone or half gone, no idea could be formed of the amount of damage done to shrubs; all were borne down and buried under the white rounded masses. A great Holly on the edge of the lawn, nearly thirty feet high and as much in spread, whose head in summer is crowned with a great tangle of Honeysuckle, had that crowned head lying on the ground weighted down by the frozen mass. But when the snow was gone and all the damage could be seen, the Junipers looked worse than anything. What had lately been shapely groups were lying perfectly flat, the bare-stemmed, leafless portions of the inner part of the group showing, and looking like a faggot of dry brushwood, that, having been stood upright, had burst its band and fallen apart in all directions. Some, whose stems had weathered many snowy winters, now had them broken short off half-way up; while others escaped with bare life, but with the thick, strong stem broken down, the heavy head lying on the ground, and the stem wrenched open at the break, like a half-untwisted rope. The great wild Junipers were the pride of our stretch of heathy waste just beyond the garden, and the scene of desolation was truly piteous, for though many of them already bore the marks of former accidents, never within our memory had there been such complete and comprehensive destruction. [Illustration: OLD JUNIPER, SHOWING FORMER INJURIES.] [Illustration: JUNIPER, LATELY WRECKED BY SNOWSTORM.] But now, ten years later, so great is their power of recovery, that there are the same Junipers, and, except in the case of those actually broken off, looking as well as ever. For those with many stems that were laid down flat have risen at the tips, and each tip looks like a vigorous young ten-year-old tree. What was formerly a massive, bushy-shaped Juniper, some twelve feet to fifteen feet high, now covers a space thirty feet across, and looks like a thick group of closely-planted, healthy young ones. The half broken-down trees have also risen at the tips, and are full of renewed vigour. Indeed, this breaking down and splitting open seems to give them a new energy, for individual trees that I have known well, and observed to look old and over-worn, and to all appearance on the downward road of life, after being broken and laid down by snow, have some years later, shot up again with every evidence of vigorous young life. It would be more easily accounted for if the branch rooted where it touched the ground, as so many trees and bushes will do; but as far as I have been able to observe, the Juniper does not "layer" itself. I have often thought I had found a fine young one fit for transplanting, but on clearing away the moss and fern at the supposed root have found that it was only the tip of a laid-down branch of a tree perhaps twelve feet away. In the case of one of our trees, among a group of laid-down and grown-up branches, one old central trunk has survived. It is now so thick and strong, and has so little top, that it will be likely to stand till it falls from sheer old age. Close to it is another, whose main stem was broken down about five feet from the ground; now, what was the head rests on the earth nine feet away, and a circle of its outspread branches has become a wholesome group of young upright growths, while at the place where the stem broke, the half-opened wrench still shows as clearly as on the day it was done. Among the many merits of the Juniper, its tenderly mysterious beauty of colouring is by no means the least; a colouring as delicately subtle in its own way as that of cloud or mist, or haze in warm, wet woodland. It has very little of positive green; a suspicion of warm colour in the shadowy hollows, and a blue-grey bloom of the tenderest quality imaginable on the outer masses of foliage. Each tiny, blade-like leaf has a band of dead, palest bluish-green colour on the upper surface, edged with a narrow line of dark green slightly polished; the back of the leaf is of the same full, rather dark green, with slight polish; it looks as if the green back had been brought up over the edge of the leaf to make the dark edging on the upper surface. The stems of the twigs are of a warm, almost foxy colour, becoming darker and redder in the branches. The tips of the twigs curl over or hang out on all sides towards the light, and the "set" of the individual twigs is full of variety. This arrangement of mixed colouring and texture, and infinitely various position of the spiny little leaves, allows the eye to penetrate unconsciously a little way into the mass, so that one sees as much tender shadow as actual leaf-surface, and this is probably the cause of the wonderfully delicate and, so to speak, intangible quality of colouring. Then, again, where there is a hollow place in a bush, or group, showing a cluster of half-dead stems, at first one cannot tell what the colour is, till with half-shut eyes one becomes aware of a dusky and yet luminous purple-grey. The merits of the Juniper are not yet done with, for throughout the winter (the time of growth of moss and lichen) the rugged-barked old stems are clothed with loveliest pale-green growths of a silvery quality. Standing before it, and trying to put the colour into words, one repeats, again and again, pale-green silver--palest silvery green! Where the lichen is old and dead it is greyer; every now and then there is a touch of the orange kind, and a little of the branched stag-horn pattern so common on the heathy ground. Here and there, as the trunk or branch is increasing in girth, the silvery, lichen-clad, rough outer bark has parted, and shows the smooth, dark-red inner bark; the outer covering still clinging over the opening, and looking like grey ribands slightly interlaced. Many another kind of tree-stem is beautiful in its winter dress, but it is difficult to find any so full of varied beauty and interest as that of the Juniper; it is one of the yearly feasts that never fails to delight and satisfy. CHAPTER IV MARCH Flowering bulbs -- Dog-tooth Violet -- Rock-garden -- Variety of Rhododendron foliage -- A beautiful old kind -- Suckers on grafted plants -- Plants for filling up the beds -- Heaths -- Andromedas -- Lady Fern -- _Lilium auratum_ -- Pruning Roses -- Training and tying climbing plants -- Climbing and free-growing Roses -- The Vine the best wall-covering -- Other climbers -- Wild Clematis -- Wild Rose. In early March many and lovely are the flowering bulbs, and among them a wealth of blue, the more precious that it is the colour least frequent among flowers. The blue of _Scilla sibirica_, like all blues that have in them a suspicion of green, has a curiously penetrating quality; the blue of _Scilla bifolia_ does not attack the eye so smartly. _Chionodoxa sardensis_ is of a full and satisfying colour, that is enhanced by the small space of clear white throat. A bed of it shows very little variation in colour. _Chionodoxa Lucilliæ_, on the other hand, varies greatly; one may pick out light and dark blue, and light and dark of almost lilac colour. The variety _C. gigantea_ is a fine plant. There are some pretty kinds of _Scilla bifolia_ that were raised by the Rev. J. G. Nelson of Aldborough, among them a tender flesh-colour and a good pink. _Leucojum vernum_, with its clear white flowers and polished dark-green leaves, is one of the gems of early March; and, flowering at the same time, no flower of the whole year can show a more splendid and sumptuous colour than the purple of _Iris reticulata_. Varieties have been raised, some larger, some nearer blue, and some reddish purple, but the type remains the best garden flower. _Iris stylosa_, in sheltered nooks open to the sun, when well established, gives flower from November till April, the strongest rush of bloom being about the third week in March. It is a precious plant in our southern counties, delicately scented, of a tender and yet full lilac-blue. The long ribbon-like leaves make handsome tufts, and the sheltered place it needs in our climate saves the flowers from the injury they receive on their native windy Algerian hills, where they are nearly always torn into tatters. What a charm there is about the common Dogtooth Violet; it is pretty everywhere, in borders, in the rock-garden, in all sorts of corners. But where it looks best with me is in a grassy place strewn with dead leaves, under young oaks, where the garden joins the copse. This is a part of the pleasure-ground that has been treated with some care, and has rewarded thought and labour with some success, so that it looks less as if it had been planned than as if it might have come naturally. At one point the lawn, trending gently upward, runs by grass paths into a rock-garden, planted mainly with dwarf shrubs. Here are Andromedas, Pernettyas, Gaultherias, and Alpine Rhododendron, and with them three favourites whose crushed leaves give a grateful fragrance, Sweet Gale, _Ledum palustre_, and _Rhododendron myrtifolium_. The rock part is unobtrusive; where the ground rises rather quickly are a couple of ridges made of large, long lumps of sandstone, half buried, and so laid as to give a look of natural stratification. Hardy Ferns are grateful for the coolness of their northern flanks, and Cyclamens are happy on the ledges. Beyond and above is the copse, or thin wood of young silver Birch and Holly, in summer clothed below with bracken, but now bristling with the bluish spears of Daffodils and the buds that will soon burst into bloom. The early Pyrenean Daffodil is already out, gleaming through the low-toned copse like lamps of pale yellow light. Where the rough path enters the birch copse is a cheerfully twinkling throng of the Dwarf Daffodil (_N. nanus_), looking quite at its best on its carpet of moss and fine grass and dead leaves. The light wind gives it a graceful, dancing movement, with an active spring about the upper part of the stalk. Some of the heavier trumpets not far off answer to the same wind with only a ponderous, leaden sort of movement. Farther along the garden joins the wood by a plantation of Rhododendrons and broad grassy paths, and farther still by a thicket of the free-growing Roses, some forming fountain-like clumps nine paces in diameter, and then again by masses of flowering shrubs, gradating by means of Sweetbriar, Water-elder, Dogwood, Medlar, and Thorn from garden to wild wood. Now that the Rhododendrons, planted nine years ago, have grown to a state and size of young maturity, it is interesting to observe how much they vary in foliage, and how clearly the leaves show the relative degree of relationship to their original parents, the wild mountain plants of Asia Minor and the United States. These, being two of the hardiest kinds, were the ones first chosen by hybridisers, and to these kinds we owe nearly all of the large numbers of beautiful garden Rhododendrons now in cultivation. The ones more nearly related to the wild _R. ponticum_ have long, narrow, shining dark-green leaves, while the varieties that incline more to the American _R. catawbiense_ have the leaves twice as broad, and almost rounded at the shoulder where they join the stalk; moreover, the surface of the leaf has a different texture, less polished, and showing a grain like morocco leather. The colour also is a lighter and more yellowish green, and the bush is not so densely branched. The leaves of all the kinds are inclined to hang down in cold weather, and this habit is more clearly marked in the _catawbiense_ varieties. There is one old kind called _Multum maculatum_--I dare say one of the earliest hybrids--for which I have a special liking. It is now despised by florists, because the flower is thin in texture and the petal narrow, and the truss not tightly filled. Nevertheless I find it quite the most beautiful Rhododendron as a cut flower, perhaps just because of these unorthodox qualities. And much as I admire the great bouncing beauties that are most justly the pride of their raisers, I hold that this most refined and delicate class of beauty equally deserves faithful championship. The flowers of this pretty old kind are of a delicate milk-white, and the lower petals are generously spotted with a rosy-scarlet of the loveliest quality. The leaves are the longest and narrowest and darkest green of any kind I know, making the bush conspicuously handsome in winter. I have to confess that it is a shy bloomer, and that it seems unwilling to flower in a young state, but I think of it as a thing so beautiful and desirable as to be worth waiting for. Within March, and before the busier season comes upon us, it is well to look out for the suckers that are likely to come on grafted plants. They may generally be detected by the typical _ponticum_ leaf, but if the foliage of a branch should be suspicious and yet doubtful, if on following the shoot down it is seen to come straight from the root and to have a redder bark than the rest, it may safely be taken for a robber. Of course the invading stock may be easily seen when in flower, but the good gardener takes it away before it has this chance of reproaching him. A lady visitor last year told me with some pride that she had a most wonderful Rhododendron in bloom; all the flower in the middle was crimson, with a ring of purple-flowered branches outside. I am afraid she was disappointed when I offered condolence instead of congratulation, and had to tell her that the phenomenon was not uncommon among neglected bushes. When my Rhododendron beds were first planted, I followed the usual practice of filling the outer empty spaces of the clumps with hardy Heaths. Perhaps it is still the best or one of the best ways to begin when the bushes are quite young; for if planted the right distance apart--seven to nine feet--there must be large bare spaces between; but now that they have filled the greater part of the beds, I find that the other plants I tried are more to my liking. These are, foremost of all, _Andromeda Catesbæi_, then Lady Fern, and then the dwarf _Rhododendron myrtifolium_. The main spaces between the young bushes I plant with _Cistus laurifolius_, a perfectly hardy kind; this grows much faster than the Rhododendrons, and soon fills the middle spaces; by the time that the best of its life is over--for it is a short-lived bush--the Rhododendrons will be wanting all the space. Here and there in the inner spaces I put groups of _Lilium auratum_, a Lily that thrives in a peaty bed, and that looks its best when growing through other plants; moreover, when the Rhododendrons are out of flower, the Lily, whose blooming season is throughout the late summer and autumn, gives a new beauty and interest to that part of the garden. The time has come for pruning Roses, and for tying up and training the plants that clothe wall and fence and pergola. And this sets one thinking about climbing and rambling plants, and all their various ways and wants, and of how best to use them. One of my boundaries to a road is a fence about nine feet high, wall below and close oak paling above. It is planted with free-growing Roses of several types--Aimée Vibert, Madame Alfred Carrière, Reine Olga de Wurtemburg, and Bouquet d'Or, the strongest of the Dijon teas. Then comes a space of _Clematis Montana_ and _Clematis flammula_, and then more Roses--Madame Plantier, Emélie Plantier (a delightful Rose to cut), and some of the grand Sweetbriars raised by Lord Penzance. From midsummer onward these Roses are continually cut for flower, and yield an abundance of quite the most ornamental class of bloom. For I like to have cut Roses arranged in a large, free way, with whole branches three feet or four feet long, easy to have from these free-growing kinds, that throw out branches fifteen feet long in one season, even on our poor, sandy soil, that contains no particle of that rich loam that Roses love. I think this same Reine Olga, the grand grower from which have come our longest and largest prunings, must be quite the best evergreen Rose, for it holds its full clothing of handsome dark-green leaves right through the winter. It seems to like hard pruning. I have one on a part of the pergola, but have no pleasure from it, as it has rushed up to the top, and nothing shows but a few naked stems. [Illustration: GARDEN DOOR-WAY WREATHED WITH CLEMATIS GRAVEOLENS.] [Illustration: COTTAGE PORCH WREATHED WITH THE DOUBLE WHITE ROSE (_R. alba_).] One has to find out how to use all these different Roses. How often one sees the wrong Roses used as climbers on the walls of a house. I have seen a Gloire de Dijon covering the side of a house with a profitless reticulation of bare stem, and a few leaves and flowers looking into the gutter just under the edge of the roof. What are generally recommended as climbing Roses are too ready to ramp away, leaving bare, leggy growth where wall-clothing is desired. One of the best is climbing Aimée Vibert, for with very little pruning it keeps well furnished nearly to the ground, and with its graceful clusters of white bloom and healthy-looking, polished leaves is always one of the prettiest of Roses. Its only fault is that it does not shed its dead petals, but retains the whole bloom in dead brown clusters. But if a Rose wishes to climb, it should be accommodated with a suitable place. That excellent old Rose, the Dundee Rambler, or the still prettier Garland Rose, will find a way up a Holly-tree, and fling out its long wreaths of tenderly-tinted bloom; and there can be no better way of using the lovely Himalayan _R. Brunonis_, with its long, almost blue leaves and wealth of milk-white flower. A common Sweetbriar will also push up among the branches of some dark evergreen, Yew or Holly, and throw out aloft its scented branches and rosy bloom, and look its very best. But some of these same free Roses are best of all if left in a clear space to grow exactly as they will without any kind of support or training. So placed, they grow into large rounded groups. Every year, just after the young laterals on the last year's branches have flowered, they throw out vigorous young rods that arch over as they complete their growth, and will be the flower-bearers of the year to come. Two kinds of Roses of rambling growth that are rather tender, but indispensable for beauty, are Fortune's Yellow and the Banksias. Pruning the free Roses is always rough work for the hands and clothes, but of all Roses I know, the worst to handle is Fortune's Yellow. The prickles are hooked back in a way that no care or ingenuity can escape; and whether it is their shape and power of cruel grip, or whether they have anything of a poisonous quality, I do not know; but whereas hands scratched and torn by Roses in general heal quickly, the wounds made by Fortune's Yellow are much more painful and much slower to get well. I knew an old labourer who died of a rose-prick. He used to work about the roads, and at cleaning the ditches and mending the hedges. For some time I did not see him, and when I asked another old countryman, "What's gone o' Master Trussler?" the answer was, "He's dead--died of a canker-bush." The wild Dog-rose is still the "canker" in the speech of the old people, and a thorn or prickle is still a "bush." A Dog-rose prickle had gone deep into the old hedger's hand--a "bush" more or less was nothing to him, but the neglected little wound had become tainted with some impurity, blood-poisoning had set in, and my poor old friend had truly enough "died of a canker-bush." The flowering season of Fortune's Yellow is a very short one, but it comes so early, and the flowers have such incomparable beauty, and are so little like those of any other Rose, that its value is quite without doubt. Some of the Tea Roses approach it in its pink and copper colouring, but the loose, open, rather flaunting form of the flower, and the twisted set of the petals, display the colour better than is possible in any of the more regular-shaped Roses. It is a good plan to grow it through some other wall shrub, as it soon gets bare below, and the early maturing flowering tips are glad to be a little sheltered by the near neighbourhood of other foliage. I do not think that there is any other Rose that has just the same rich butter colour as the Yellow Banksian, and this unusual colouring is the more distinct because each little Rose in the cluster is nearly evenly coloured all over, besides being in such dense bunches. The season of bloom is very short, but the neat, polished foliage is always pleasant to see throughout the year. The white kind and the larger white are both lovely as to the individual bloom, but they flower so much more shyly that the yellow is much the better garden plant. But the best of all climbing or rambling plants, whether for wall or arbour or pergola, is undoubtedly the Grape-Vine. Even when trimly pruned and trained for fruit-bearing on an outer wall it is an admirable picture of leafage and fruit-cluster; but to have it in fullest beauty it must ramp at will, for it is only when the fast-growing branches are thrown out far and wide that it fairly displays its graceful vigour and the generous magnificence of its incomparable foliage. The hardy Chasselas, known in England by the rather misleading name Royal Muscadine, is one of the best, both for fruit and foliage. The leaves are of moderate size, with clearly serrated edges and that strongly waved outline that gives the impression of powerful build, and is, in fact, a mechanical contrivance intended to stiffen the structure. The colour of the leaves is a fresh, lively green, and in autumn they are prettily marbled with yellow. Where a very large-leaved Vine is wanted nothing is handsomer than the North American _Vitis Labrusca_ or the Asiatic _Vitis Coignettii_, whose autumn leaves are gorgeously coloured. For a place that demands more delicate foliage there is the Parsley-Vine, that has a delightful look of refinement, and another that should not be forgotten is the Claret-Vine, with autumnal colouring of almost scarlet and purple, and abundance of tightly clustered black fruit, nearly blue with a heavy bloom. Many an old house and garden can show the far-rambling power of the beautiful _Wistaria Chinensis_, and of the large-leaved _Aristolochia Sipho_, one of the best plants for covering a pergola, and of the varieties of _Ampelopsis_, near relations of the Grape-Vine. The limit of these notes only admits of mention of some of the more important climbers; but among these the ever-delightful white Jasmine must have a place. It will ramble far and fast if it has its own way, but then gives little flower; but by close winter pruning it can be kept full of bloom and leaf nearly to the ground. [Illustration: WILD HOP, ENTWINING WORMWOOD AND COW-PARSNIP.] The woods and hedges have also their beautiful climbing plants. Honeysuckle in suitable conditions will ramble to great heights--in this district most noticeable in tall Hollies and Junipers as well as in high hedges. The wild Clematis is most frequent on the chalk, where it laces together whole hedges and rushes up trees, clothing them in July with long wreaths of delicate bloom, and in September with still more conspicuous feathery seed. For rapid growth perhaps no English plant outstrips the Hop, growing afresh from the root every year, and almost equalling the Vine in beauty of leaf. The two kinds of wild Bryony are also herbaceous climbers of rapid growth, and among the most beautiful of our hedge plants. The wild Roses run up to great heights in hedge and thicket, and never look so well as when among the tangles of mixed growth of wild forest land or clambering through some old gnarled thorn-tree. The common Brambles are also best seen in these forest groups; these again in form of leaf show somewhat of a vine-like beauty. In the end of March, or at any time during the month when the wind is in the east or north-east, all increase and development of vegetation appears to cease. As things are, so they remain. Plants that are in flower retain their bloom, but, as it were, under protest. A kind of sullen dulness pervades all plant life. Sweet-scented shrubs do not give off their fragrance; even the woodland moss and earth and dead leaves withhold their sweet, nutty scent. The surface of the earth has an arid, infertile look; a slight haze of an ugly grey takes the colour out of objects in middle distance, and seems to rob the flowers of theirs, or to put them out of harmony with all things around. But a day comes, or, perhaps, a warmer night, when the wind, now breathing gently from the south-west, puts new life into all growing things. A marvellous change is wrought in a few hours. A little warm rain has fallen, and plants, invisible before, and doubtless still underground, spring into glad life. What an innocent charm there is about many of the true spring flowers. Primroses of many colours are now in bloom, but the prettiest, this year, is a patch of an early blooming white one, grouped with a delicate lilac. Then comes _Omphalodes verna_, with its flowers of brilliant blue and foliage of brightest green, better described by its pretty north-country name, Blue-eyed Mary. There are Violets of many colours, but daintiest of all is the pale-blue St. Helena; whether it is the effect of its delicate colouring, or whether it has really a better scent than other varieties of the common Violet, I cannot say, but it always seems to have a more refined fragrance. CHAPTER V APRIL Woodland spring flowers -- Daffodils in the copse -- Grape Hyacinths and other spring bulbs -- How best to plant them -- Flowering shrubs -- Rock-plants -- Sweet scents of April -- Snowy Mespilus, Marsh Marigolds, and other spring flowers -- Primrose garden -- Pollen of Scotch Fir -- Opening seed-pods of Fir and Gorse -- Auriculas -- Tulips -- Small shrubs for rock-garden -- Daffodils as cut flowers -- Lent Hellebores -- Primroses -- Leaves of wild Arum. In early April there is quite a wealth of flower among plants that belong half to wood and half to garden. _Epimedium pinnatum_, with its delicate, orchid-like spike of pale-yellow bloom, flowers with its last year's leaves, but as soon as it is fully out the young leaves rush up, as if hastening to accompany the flowers. _Dentaria pinnata_, a woodland plant of Switzerland and Austria, is one of the handsomest of the white-flowered _cruciferæ_, with well-filled heads of twelve to fifteen flowers, and palmate leaves of freshest green. Hard by, and the best possible plant to group with it, is the lovely Virginian Cowslip (_Mertensia virginica_), the very embodiment of the freshness of early spring. The sheaf of young leafage comes almost black out of the ground, but as the leaves develop, their dull, lurid colouring changes to a full, pale green of a curious texture, quite smooth, and yet absolutely unreflecting. The dark colouring of the young leaves now only remains as a faint tracery of veining on the backs of the leaves and stalks, and at last dies quite away as the bloom expands. The flower is of a rare and beautiful quality of colour, hard to describe--a rainbow-flower of purple, indigo, full and pale blue, and daintiest lilac, full of infinite variety and indescribable charm. The flowers are in terminal clusters, richly filled; lesser clusters springing from the axils of the last few leaves and joining with the topmost one to form a gracefully drooping head. The lurid colouring of the young leaves is recalled in the flower-stems and calix, and enhances the colour effect of the whole. The flower of the common Dog-tooth Violet is over, but the leaves have grown larger and handsomer. They look as if, originally of a purplish-red colour, some liquid had been dropped on them, making confluent pools of pale green, lightest at the centre of the drop. The noblest plant of the same family (_Erythronium giganteum_) is now in flower--a striking and beautiful wood plant, with turn-cap shaped flowers of palest straw-colour, almost white, and large leaves, whose markings are not drop-like as in the more familiar kind, but are arranged in a regular sequence of bold splashings, reminding one of a _Maranta_. The flowers, single or in pairs, rise on stems a foot or fifteen inches high; the throat is beautifully marked with flames of rich bay on a yellow ground, and the handsome group of golden-anthered stamens and silvery pistil make up a flower of singular beauty and refinement. That valuable Indian Primrose, _P. denticulata_, is another fine plant for the cool edge or shady hollows of woodland in rather good, deep soil. But the glory of the copse just now consists in the great stretches of Daffodils. Through the wood run shallow, parallel hollows, the lowest part of each depression some nine paces apart. Local tradition says they are the remains of old pack-horse roads; they occur frequently in the forest-like heathery uplands of our poor-soiled, sandy land, running, for the most part, three or four together, almost evenly side by side. The old people account for this by saying that when one track became too much worn another was taken by its side. Where these pass through the birch copse the Daffodils have been planted in the shallow hollows of the old ways, in spaces of some three yards broad by thirty or forty yards long--one kind at a time. Two of such tracks, planted with _Narcissus princeps_ and _N. Horsfieldi_, are now waving rivers of bloom, in many lights and accidents of cloud and sunshine full of pictorial effect. The planting of Daffodils in this part of the copse is much better than in any other portions where there were no guiding track-ways, and where they were planted in haphazard sprinklings. [Illustration: DAFFODILS IN THE COPSE.] The Grape Hyacinths are now in full bloom. It is well to avoid the common one (_Muscari racemosum_), at any rate in light soils, where it becomes a troublesome weed. One of the best is _M. conicum_; this, with the upright-leaved _M. botryoides_, and its white variety, are the best for general use, but the Plume Hyacinth, which flowers later, should have a place. _Ornithogalum nutans_ is another of the bulbous plants that, though beautiful in flower, becomes so pestilent a weed that it is best excluded. Where and how the early flowering bulbs had best be planted is a question of some difficulty. Perhaps the mixed border, where they are most usually put, is the worst place of all, for when in flower they only show as forlorn little patches of bloom rather far apart, and when their leaves die down, leaving their places looking empty, the ruthless spade or trowel stabs into them when it is desired to fill the space with some other plant. Moreover, when the border is manured and partly dug in the autumn, it is difficult to avoid digging up the bulbs just when they are in full root-growth. Probably the best plan is to devote a good space of cool bank to small bulbs and hardy ferns, planting the ferns in such groups as will leave good spaces for the bulbs; then as their leaves are going the fern fronds are developing and will cover the whole space. Another way is to have them among any groups of newly planted small shrubs, to be left there for spring blooming until the shrubs have covered their allotted space. Many flowering shrubs are in beauty. _Andromeda floribunda_ still holds its persistent bloom that has endured for nearly two months. The thick, drooping, tassel-like bunches of bloom of _Andromeda japonica_ are just going over. _Magnolia stellata_, a compact bush some five feet high and wide, is white with the multitude of its starry flowers; individually they look half double, having fourteen to sixteen petals. _Forsythia suspensa_, with its graceful habit and tender yellow flower, is a much better shrub than _F. viridissima_, though, strangely enough, that is the one most commonly planted. Corchorus, with its bright-yellow balls, the fine old rosy Ribes, the Japan Quinces and their salmon-coloured relative _Pyrus Mauleii_, _Spiræa Thunbergi_, with its neat habit and myriads of tiny flowers, these make frequent points of beauty and interest. In the rock-garden, _Cardamine trifoliata_ and _Hutchinsia alpina_ are conspicuous from their pure white flowers and neat habit; both have leaves of darkest green, as if the better to show off the bloom. _Ranunculus montanus_ fringes the cool base of a large stone; its whole height not over three inches, though its bright-yellow flowers are larger than field buttercups. The surface of the petals is curiously brilliant, glistening and flashing like glass. _Corydalis capnoides_ is a charming rock-plant, with flowers of palest sulphur colour, one of the neatest and most graceful of its family. [Illustration: MAGNOLIA STELLATA.] [Illustration: DAFFODILS AMONG JUNIPERS WHERE GARDEN JOINS COPSE.] Border plants are pushing up vigorous green growth; finest of all are the Veratrums, with their bold, deeply-plaited leaves of brilliant green. Delphiniums and Oriental Poppies have also made strong foliage, and Daylilies are conspicuous from their fresh masses of pale greenery. Flag Iris have their leaves three parts grown, and Pæonies are a foot or more high, in all varieties of rich red colouring. It is a good plan, when they are in beds or large groups, to plant the dark-flowered Wallflowers among them, their colour making a rich harmony with the reds of the young Pæony growths. There are balmy days in mid-April, when the whole garden is fragrant with Sweetbriar. It is not "fast of its smell," as Bacon says of the damask rose, but gives it so lavishly that one cannot pass near a plant without being aware of its gracious presence. Passing upward through the copse, the warm air draws a fragrance almost as sweet, but infinitely more subtle, from the fresh green of the young birches; it is like a distant whiff of Lily of the Valley. Higher still the young leafage of the larches gives a delightful perfume of the same kind. It seems as if it were the office of these mountain trees, already nearest the high heaven, to offer an incense of praise for their new life. Few plants will grow under Scotch fir, but a notable exception is the Whortleberry, now a sheet of brilliant green, and full of its arbutus-like, pink-tinged flower. This plant also has a pleasant scent in the mass, difficult to localise, but coming in whiffs as it will. The snowy Mespilus (_Amelanchier_) shows like puffs of smoke among the firs and birches, full of its milk-white, cherry-like bloom--a true woodland shrub or small tree. It loves to grow in a thicket of other trees, and to fling its graceful sprays about through their branches. It is a doubtful native, but naturalised and plentiful in the neighbouring woods. As seen in gardens, it is usually a neat little tree of shapely form, but it is more beautiful when growing at its own will in the high woods. Marshy hollows in the valleys are brilliant with Marsh Marigold (_Caltha palustris_); damp meadows have them in plenty, but they are largest and handsomest in the alder-swamps of our valley bottoms, where their great luscious clumps rise out of pools of black mud and water. _Adonis vernalis_ is one of the brightest flowers of the middle of April, the flowers looking large for the size of the plant. The bright-yellow, mostly eight-petalled, blooms are comfortably seated in dense, fennel-like masses of foliage. It makes strong tufts, that are the better for division every four years. The spring Bitter-vetch (_Orobus vernus_) blooms at the same time, a remarkably clean-looking plant, with its cheerful red and purple blossom and handsomely divided leaves. It is one of the toughest of plants to divide, the mass of black root is like so much wire. It is a good plan with plants that have such roots, when dividing-time comes, to take the clumps to a strong bench or block and cut them through at the crown with a sharp cold-chisel and hammer. Another of the showiest families of plants of the time is _Doronicum_. _D. Austriacum_ is the earliest, but it is closely followed by the fine _D. Plantagineum_. The large form of wood Forget-me-not (_Myosotis sylvatica major_) is in sheets of bloom, opening pink and changing to a perfect blue. This is a great improvement on the old smaller one. Grouped with it, as an informal border, and in patches running through and among its clumps, is the Foam-flower (_Tiarella cordifolia_), whose flower in the mass looks like the wreaths of foam tossed aside by a mountain torrent. By the end of the month the Satin-leaf (_Heuchera Richardsoni_) is pushing up its richly-coloured leaves, of a strong bronze-red, gradating to bronze-green at the outer edge. The beauty of the plant is in the colour and texture of the foliage. To encourage full leaf growth the flower stems should be pinched out, and as they push up rather persistently, they should be looked over every few days for about a fortnight. [Illustration: TIARELLA CORDIFOLIA. (_Height, 12 inches._)] [Illustration: HOLLYHOCK, PINK BEAUTY. (_See page 105._) (_Height, 9 feet._)] The Primrose garden is now in beauty, but I have so much to say about it that I have given it a chapter to itself towards the end of the book. The Scotch firs are shedding their pollen; a flowering branch shaken or struck with a stick throws out a pale-yellow cloud. Heavy rain will wash it out, so that after a storm the sides of the roads and paths look as if powdered sulphur had been washed up in drifts. The sun has gained great power, and on still bright days sharp _snicking_ sounds are to be heard from the firs. The dry cones of last year are opening, and the flattened seeds with their paper-like edges are fluttering down. Another sound, much like it but just a shade sharper and more _staccato_, is heard from the Gorse bushes, whose dry pods are flying open and letting fall the hard, polished, little bean-like seeds. Border Auriculas are making a brave show. Nothing in the flower year is more interesting than a bed of good seedlings of the Alpine class. I know nothing better for pure beauty of varied colouring among early flowers. Except in varieties of _Salpiglossis_, such rich gradation of colour, from pale lilac to rich purple, and from rosy pink to deepest crimson, is hardly to be found in any one family of plants. There are varieties of cloudings of smoky-grey, sometimes approaching black, invading, and at the same time enhancing, the purer colours, and numbers of shades of half-tones of red and purple, such as are comprised within the term _murrey_ of heraldry, and tender blooms of one colour, sulphurs and milk-whites--all with the admirable texture and excellent perfume that belong to the "Bear's-ears" of old English gardens. For practical purposes the florist's definition of a good Auricula is of little value; that is for the show-table, and, as Bacon says, "Nothing to the true pleasure of a garden." The qualities to look for in the bed of seedlings are not the narrowing ones of proportion of eye to tube, of exact circle in the circumference of the individual pip, and so on, but to notice whether the plant has a handsome look and stands up well, and is a delightful and beautiful thing as a whole. [Illustration: TULIPA RETROFLEXA.] [Illustration: LATE SINGLE TULIPS, BREEDERS AND BYBLOEMEN.] Tulips are the great garden flowers in the last week of April and earliest days of May. In this plant also the rule of the show-table is no sure guide to garden value; for the show Tulip, beautiful though it is, is of one class alone--namely, the best of the "broken" varieties of the self-coloured seedlings called "breeders." These seedlings, after some years of cultivation, change or "break" into a variation in which the original colouring is only retained in certain flames or feathers of colour, on a ground of either white or yellow. If the flames in each petal are symmetrical and well arranged, according to the rules laid down by the florist, it is a good flower; it receives a name, and commands a certain price. If, on the other hand, the markings are irregular, however beautiful the colouring, the flower is comparatively worthless, and is "thrown into mixture." The kinds that are the grandest in gardens are ignored by the florist. One of the best for graceful and delicate beauty is _Tulipa retroflexa_, of a soft lemon-yellow colour, and twisted and curled petals; then Silver Crown, a white flower with a delicate picotee-like thread of scarlet along the edge of the sharply pointed and reflexed petals. A variety of this called Sulphur Crown is only a little less beautiful. Then there is Golden Crown, also with pointed petals and occasional threadings of scarlet. Nothing is more gorgeous than the noble _Gesneriana major_, with its great chalice of crimson-scarlet and pools of blue in the inner base of each petal. The gorgeously flamed Parrot Tulips are indispensable, and the large double Yellow Rose, and the early double white La Candeur. Of the later kinds there are many of splendid colouring and noble port; conspicuous among them are _Reine d'Espagne_, _Couleur de vin_, and _Bleu celeste_. There are beautiful colourings of scarlet, crimson, yellow, chocolate, and purple among the "breeders," as well as among the so-called _bizarres_ and _bybloemen_ that comprise the show kinds. The best thing now in the rock-garden is a patch of some twenty plants of _Arnebia echioides_, always happy in our poor, dry soil. It is of the Borage family, a native of Armenia. It flowers in single or double-branching spikes of closely-set flowers of a fine yellow. Just below each indentation of the five-lobed corolla is a spot which looks black by contrast, but is of a very dark, rich, velvety brown. The day after the flower has expanded the spot has faded to a moderate brown, the next day to a faint tinge, and on the fourth day it is gone. The legend, accounting for the spots, says that Mahomet touched the flower with the tips of his fingers, hence its English name of Prophet-flower. The upper parts of the rock-garden that are beyond hand-reach are planted with dwarf shrubs, many of them sweetly scented either as to leaf or flower--_Gaultherias_, Sweet Gale, Alpine Rhododendron, _Skimmias_, _Pernettyas_, _Ledums_, and hardy Daphnes. _Daphne pontica_ now gives off delicious wafts of fragrance, intensely sweet in the evening. In March and April Daffodils are the great flowers for house decoration, coming directly after the Lent Hellebores. Many people think these beautiful late-flowering Hellebores useless for cutting because they live badly in water. But if properly prepared they live quite well, and will remain ten days in beauty. Directly they are cut, and immediately before putting in water, the stalks should be slit up three or four inches, or according to their length, and then put in deep, so that the water comes nearly up to the flowers; and so they should remain, in a cool place, for some hours, or for a whole night, after which they can be arranged for the room. Most of them are inclined to droop; it is the habit of the plant in growth; this may be corrected by arranging them with something stiff like Box or Berberis. _Anemone fulgens_ is a grand cutting flower, and looks well with its own leaves only or with flowering twigs of Laurustinus. Then there are Pansies, delightful things in a room, but they should be cut in whole branches of leafy stem and flower and bud. At first the growths are short and only suit dish-shaped things, but as the season goes on they grow longer and bolder, and graduate first into bowls and then into upright glasses. I think Pansies are always best without mixture of other flowers, and in separate colours, or only in such varied tints as make harmonies of one class of colour at a time. The big yellow and white bunch Primroses are delightful room flowers, beautiful, and of sweetest scent. When full-grown the flower-stalks are ten inches long and more. Among the seedlings there are always a certain number that are worthless. These are pounced upon as soon as they show their bloom, and cut up for greenery to go with the cut flowers, leaving the root-stock with all its middle foliage, and cutting away the roots and any rough outside leaves. When the first Daffodils are out and suitable greenery is not abundant in the garden (for it does not do to cut their own blades), I bring home handfuls of the wild Arum leaves, so common in roadside hedges, grasping the whole plant close to the ground; then a steady pull breaks it away from the tuber, and you have a fine long-stalked sheaf of leafage held together by its own underground stem. This should be prepared like the Lent Hellebores, by putting it deep in water for a time. I always think the trumpet Daffodils look better with this than with any other kind of foliage. When the wild Arum is full-grown the leaves are so large and handsome that they do quite well to accompany the white Arum flowers from the greenhouse. CHAPTER VI MAY Cowslips -- Morells -- Woodruff -- Felling oak timber -- Trillium and other wood-plants -- Lily of the Valley naturalised -- Rock-wall flowers -- Two good wall-shrubs -- Queen wasps -- Rhododendrons -- Arrangement for colour -- Separate colour-groups -- Difficulty of choosing -- Hardy Azaleas -- Grouping flowers that bloom together -- Guelder-rose as climber -- The garden-wall door -- The Pæony garden -- Moutans -- Pæony varieties -- Species desirable for garden. While May is still young, Cowslips are in beauty on the chalk lands a few miles distant, but yet within pleasant reach. They are finest of all in orchards, where the grass grows tall and strong under the half-shade of the old apple-trees, some of the later kinds being still loaded with bloom. The blooming of the Cowslip is the signal for a search for the Morell, one of the very best of the edible fungi. It grows in open woods or where the undergrowth has not yet grown high, and frequently in old parks and pastures near or under elms. It is quite unlike any other fungus; shaped like a tall egg, with the pointed end upwards, on a short, hollow stalk, and looking something like a sponge. It has a delicate and excellent flavour, and is perfectly wholesome. The pretty little Woodruff is in flower; what scent is so delicate as that of its leaves? They are almost sweeter when dried, each little whorl by itself, with the stalk cut closely away above and below. It is a pleasant surprise to come upon these fragrant little stars between the leaves of a book. The whole plant revives memories of rambles in Bavarian woodlands, and of Mai-trank, that best of the "cup" tribe of pleasant drinks, whose flavour is borrowed from its flowering tips. In the first week in May oak-timber is being felled. The wood is handsomer, from showing the grain better, when it is felled in the winter, but it is delayed till now because of the value of the bark for tanning, and just now the fast-rising sap makes the bark strip easily. A heavy fall is taking place in the fringes of a large wood of old Scotch fir. Where the oaks grow there is a blue carpet of wild Hyacinth; the pathway is a slightly hollowed lane, so that the whole sheet of flower right and left is nearly on a level with the eye, and looks like solid pools of blue. The oaks not yet felled are putting forth their leaves of golden bronze. The song of the nightingale and the ring of the woodman's axe gain a rich musical quality from the great fir wood. Why a wood of Scotch fir has this wonderful property of a kind of musical reverberation I do not know; but so it is. Any sound that occurs within it is, on a lesser scale, like a sound in a cathedral. The tree itself when struck gives a musical note. Strike an oak or an elm on the trunk with a stick, and the sound is mute; strike a Scotch fir, and it is a note of music. [Illustration: TRILLIUM IN THE WILD GARDEN.] In the copse are some prosperous patches of the beautiful North American Wood-lily (_Trillium grandiflorum_). It likes a bed of deep leaf-soil on levels or cool slopes in woodland, where its large white flowers and whorls of handsome leaves look quite at home. Beyond it are widely spreading patches of Solomon's Seal and tufts of the Wood-rush (_Luzula sylvatica_), showing by their happy vigour how well they like their places, while the natural woodland carpet of moss and dead leaves puts the whole together. Higher in the copse the path runs through stretches of the pretty little _Smilacina bifolia_, and the ground beyond this is a thick bed of Whortleberry, filling all the upper part of the copse under oak and birch and Scotch fir. The little flower-bells of the Whortleberry have already given place to the just-formed fruit, which will ripen in July, and be a fine feast for the blackbirds. Other parts of the copse, where there was no Heath or Whortleberry, were planted thinly with the large Lily of the Valley. It has spread and increased and become broad sheets of leaf and bloom, from which thousands of flowers can be gathered without making gaps, or showing that any have been removed; when the bloom is over the leaves still stand in handsome masses till they are hidden by the fast-growing bracken. They do not hurt each other, as it seems that the Lily of the Valley, having the roots running just underground, while the fern-roots are much deeper, the two occupy their respective _strata_ in perfect good fellowship. The neat little _Smilacina_ is a near relation of the Lily of the Valley; its leaves are of an even more vivid green, and its little modest spikes of white flower are charming. It loves the poor, sandy soil, and increases in it fast, but will have nothing to say to clay. A very delicate and beautiful North American fern (_Dicksonia punctilobulata_) proves a good colonist in the copse. It spreads rapidly by creeping roots, and looks much like our native _Thelipteris_, but is of a paler green colour. In the rock-garden the brightest patches of bloom are shown by the tufts of dwarf Wallflowers; of these, _Cheiranthus alpinus_ has a strong lemon colour that is of great brilliancy in the mass, and _C. Marshalli_ is of a dark orange colour, equally powerful. The curiously-tinted _C. mutabilis_, as its name implies, changes from a light mahogany colour when just open, first to crimson and then to purple. In length of life _C. alpinus_ and _C. Marshalli_ are rather more than biennials, and yet too short-lived to be called true perennials; cuttings of one year flower the next, and are handsome tufts the year after, but are scarcely worth keeping longer. _C. mutabilis_ is longer lived, especially if the older growths are cut right away, when the tuft will generally spring into vigorous new life. _Orobus aurantiacus_ is a beautiful plant not enough grown, one of the handsomest of the Pea family, with flowers of a fine orange colour, and foliage of a healthy-looking golden-green. A striking and handsome plant in the upper part of the rockery is _Othonna cheirifolia_; its aspect is unusual and interesting, with its bunches of thick, blunt-edged leaves of blue-grey colouring, and large yellow daisy flowers. There is a pretty group of the large white Thrift, and near it a spreading carpet of blue Veronica and some of the splendid gentian-blue _Phacelia campanularia_, a valuable annual for filling any bare patches of rockery where its brilliant colouring will suit the neighbouring plants, or, best of all, in patches among dwarf ferns, where its vivid blue would be seen to great advantage. Two wall-shrubs have been conspicuously beautiful during May; the Mexican Orange-flower (_Choisya ternata_) has been smothered in its white bloom, so closely resembling orange-blossom. With a slight winter protection of fir boughs it seems quite at home in our hot, dry soil, grows fast, and is very easy to propagate by layers. When cut, it lasts for more than a week in water. _Piptanthus nepalensis_ has also made a handsome show, with its abundant yellow, pea-shaped bloom and deep-green trefoil leaves. The dark-green stems have a slight bloom on a half-polished surface, and a pale ring at each joint gives them somewhat the look of bamboos. Now is the time to look out for the big queen wasps and to destroy as many as possible. They seem to be specially fond of the flowers of two plants, the large perennial Cornflower (_Centaurea montana_) and the common Cotoneaster. I have often secured a dozen in a few minutes on one or other of these plants, first knocking them down with a battledore. Now, in the third week of May, Rhododendrons are in full bloom on the edge of the copse. The plantation was made about nine years ago, in one of the regions where lawn and garden were to join the wood. During the previous blooming season the best nurseries were visited and careful observations made of colouring, habit, and time of blooming. The space they were to fill demanded about seventy bushes, allowing an average of eight feet from plant to plant--not seventy different kinds, but, perhaps, ten of one kind, and two or three fives, and some threes, and a few single plants, always bearing in mind the ultimate intention of pictorial aspect as a whole. In choosing the plants and in arranging and disposing the groups these ideas were kept in mind: to make pleasant ways from lawn to copse; to group only in beautiful colour harmonies; to choose varieties beautiful in themselves; to plant thoroughly well, and to avoid overcrowding. Plantations of these grand shrubs are generally spoilt or ineffective, if not absolutely jarring, for want of attention to these simple rules. The choice of kinds is now so large, and the variety of colouring so extensive, that nothing can be easier than to make beautiful combinations, if intending planters will only take the small amount of preliminary trouble that is needful. Some of the clumps are of brilliant scarlet-crimson, rose and white, but out of the great choice of colours that might be so named only those are chosen that make just the colour-harmony that was intended. A large group, quite detached from this one, and more in the shade of the copse, is of the best of the lilacs, purples, and whites. When some clumps of young hollies have grown, those two groups will not be seen at the same time, except from a distance. The purple and white group is at present rather the handsomest, from the free-growing habit of the fine old kind _Album elegans_, which forms towering masses at the back. A detail of pictorial effect that was aimed at, and that has come out well, was devised in the expectation that the purple groups would look richer in the shade, and the crimson ones in the sun. This arrangement has answered admirably. Before planting, the ground, of the poorest quality possible, was deeply trenched, and the Rhododendrons were planted in wide holes filled with peat, and finished with a comfortable "mulch," or surface-covering of farmyard manure. From this a supply of grateful nutriment was gradually washed in to the roots. This beneficial surface-dressing was renewed every year for two years after planting, and even longer in the case of the slower growing kinds. No plant better repays care during its early years. Broad grass paths leading from the lawn at several points pass among the clumps, and are continued through the upper parts of the copse, passing through zones of different trees; first a good stretch of birch and holly, then of Spanish chestnut, next of oak, and finally of Scotch fir, with a sprinkling of birch and mountain ash, all with an undergrowth of heath and whortleberry and bracken. Thirty years ago it was all a wood of old Scotch fir. This was cut at its best marketable maturity, and the present young wood is made of what came up self-sown. This natural wild growth was thick enough to allow of vigorous cutting out, and the preponderance of firs in the upper part and of birch in the lower suggested that these were the kinds that should predominate in their respective places. [Illustration: RHODODENDRONS WHERE THE COPSE AND GARDEN MEET.] It may be useful to describe a little more in detail the plan I followed in grouping Rhododendrons, for I feel sure that any one with a feeling for harmonious colouring, having once seen or tried some such plan, will never again approve of the haphazard mixtures. There may be better varieties representing the colourings aimed at in the several groups, but those named are ones that I know, and they will serve as well as any others to show what is meant. The colourings seem to group themselves into six classes of easy harmonies, which I venture to describe thus:-- 1. Crimsons inclining to scarlet or blood-colour grouped with dark claret-colour and true pink. In this group I have planted Nigrescens, dark claret-colour; John Waterer and James Marshall Brook, both fine red-crimsons; Alexander Adie and Atrosanguineum, good crimsons, inclining to blood-colour; Alarm, rosy-scarlet; and Bianchi, pure pink. 2. Light scarlet rose colours inclining to salmon, a most desirable range of colour, but of which the only ones I know well are Mrs. R. S. Holford, and a much older kind, Lady Eleanor Cathcart. These I put by themselves, only allowing rather near them the good pink Bianchi. 3. Rose colours inclining to amaranth. 4. Amaranths or magenta-crimsons. 5. Crimson or amaranth-purples. 6. Cool clear purples of the typical _ponticum_ class, both dark and light, grouped with lilac-whites, such as _Album elegans_ and _Album grandiflorum_. The beautiful partly-double _Everestianum_ comes into this group, but nothing redder among purples. _Fastuosum florepleno_ is also admitted, and _Luciferum_ and _Reine Hortense_, both good lilac-whites. But the purples that are most effective are merely _ponticum_ seedlings, chosen when in bloom in the nursery for their depth and richness of cool purple colour. My own space being limited, I chose three of the above groups only, leaving out, as of colouring less pleasing to my personal liking, groups 3, 4, and 5. The remaining ones gave me examples of colouring the most widely different, and at the same time the most agreeable to my individual taste. It would have been easier, if that had been the object, to have made groups of the three other classes of colouring, which comprise by far the largest number of the splendid varieties now grown. There are a great many beautiful whites; of these, two that I most admire are Madame Carvalho and Sappho; the latter is an immense flower, with a conspicuous purple blotch. There is also a grand old kind called Minnie, a very large-growing one, with fine white trusses; and a dwarf-growing white that comes early into bloom is Cunningham's White, also useful for forcing, as it is a small plant, and a free bloomer. [Illustration: GRASS WALKS THROUGH THE COPSE.] Nothing is more perplexing than to judge of the relative merits of colours in a Rhododendron nursery, where they are all mixed up. I have twice been specially to look for varieties of a true pink colour, but the quantity of untrue pinks is so great that anything approaching a clear pink looks much better than it is. In this way I chose Kate Waterer and Sylph, both splendid varieties; but when I grew them with my true pink Bianchi they would not do, the colour having the suspicion of rank quality that I wished to keep out of that group. This same Bianchi, with its mongrel-sounding name, I found was not grown in the larger nurseries. I had it from Messrs. Maurice Young, of the Milford Nurseries, near Godalming. I regretted to hear lately from some one to whom I recommended it that it could not be supplied. It is to be hoped that so good a thing has not been lost. A little way from the main Rhododendron clumps, and among bushy Andromedas, I have the splendid hybrid of _R. Aucklandi_, raised by Mr. A. Waterer. The trusses are astoundingly large, and the individual blooms large and delicately beautiful, like small richly-modelled lilies of a tender, warm, white colour. It is quite hardy south of London, and unquestionably desirable. Its only fault is leggy growth; one year's growth measures twenty-three inches, but this only means that it should be planted among other bushes. [Illustration: RHODODENDRONS AT THE EDGE OF THE COPSE.] The last days of May see hardy Azaleas in beauty. Any of them may be planted in company, for all their colours harmonise. In this garden, where care is taken to group plants well for colour, the whites are planted at the lower and more shady end of the group; next come the pale yellows and pale pinks, and these are followed at a little distance by kinds whose flowers are of orange, copper, flame, and scarlet-crimson colourings; this strong-coloured group again softening off at the upper end by strong yellows, and dying away into the woodland by bushes of the common yellow _Azalea pontica_, and its variety with flowers of larger size and deeper colour. The plantation is long in shape, straggling over a space of about half an acre, the largest and strongest-coloured group being in an open clearing about midway in the length. The ground between them is covered with a natural growth of the wild Ling (_Calluna_) and Whortleberry, and the small, white-flowered Bed-straw, with the fine-bladed Sheep's-fescue grass, the kind most abundant in heathland. The surrounding ground is copse, of a wild, forest-like character, of birch and small oak. A wood-path of wild heath cut short winds through the planted group, which also comprises some of the beautiful white-flowered Californian _Azalea occidentalis_, and bushes of some of the North American Vacciniums. Azaleas should never be planted among or even within sight of Rhododendrons. Though both enjoy a moist peat soil, and have a near botanical relationship, they are incongruous in appearance, and impossible to group together for colour. This must be understood to apply to the two classes of plants of the hardy kinds, as commonly grown in gardens. There are tender kinds of the East Indian families that are quite harmonious, but those now in question are the ordinary varieties of so-called Ghent Azaleas, and the hardy hybrid Rhododendrons. In the case of small gardens, where there is only room for one bed or clump of peat plants, it would be better to have a group of either one or the other of these plants, rather than spoil the effect by the inharmonious mixture of both. I always think it desirable to group together flowers that bloom at the same time. It is impossible, and even undesirable, to have a garden in blossom all over, and groups of flower-beauty are all the more enjoyable for being more or less isolated by stretches of intervening greenery. As one lovely group for May I recommend Moutan Pæony and _Clematis montana_, the Clematis on a wall low enough to let its wreaths of bloom show near the Pæony. The old Guelder Rose or Snowball-tree is beautiful anywhere, but I think it best of all on the cold side of a wall. Of course it is perfectly hardy, and a bush of strong, sturdy growth, and has no need of the wall either for support or for shelter; but I am for clothing the garden walls with all the prettiest things they can wear, and no shrub I know makes a better show. Moreover, as there is necessarily less wood in a flat wall tree than in a round bush, and as the front shoots must be pruned close back, it follows that much more strength is thrown into the remaining wood, and the blooms are much larger. I have a north wall eleven feet high, with a Guelder Rose on each side of a doorway, and a _Clematis montana_ that is trained on the top of the whole. The two flower at the same time, their growths mingling in friendly fashion, while their unlikeness of habit makes the companionship all the more interesting. The Guelder Rose is a stiff-wooded thing, the character of its main stems being a kind of stark uprightness, though the great white balls hang out with a certain freedom from the newly-grown shoots. The Clematis meets it with an exactly opposite way of growth, swinging down its great swags of many-flowered garland masses into the head of its companion, with here and there a single flowering streamer making a tiny wreath on its own account. On the southern sides of the same gateway are two large bushes of the Mexican Orange-flower (_Choisya ternata_), loaded with its orange-like bloom. Buttresses flank the doorway on this side, dying away into the general thickness of the wall above the arch by a kind of roofing of broad flat stones that lay back at an easy pitch. In mossy hollows at their joints and angles, some tufts of Thrift and of little Rock Pinks have found a home, and show as tenderly-coloured tufts of rather dull pink bloom. Above all is the same white Clematis, some of its abundant growth having been trained over the south side, so that this one plant plays a somewhat important part in two garden-scenes. Through the gateway again, beyond the wall northward and partly within its shade, is a portion of ground devoted to Pæonies, in shape a long triangle, whose proportion in length is about thrice its breadth measured at the widest end. A low cross-wall, five feet high, divides it nearly in half near the Guelder Roses, and it is walled again on the other long side of the triangle by a rough structure of stone and earth, which, in compliment to its appearance, we call the Old Wall, of which I shall have something to say later. Thus the Pæonies are protected all round, for they like a sheltered place, and the Moutans do best with even a little passing shade at some time of the day. Moutan is the Chinese name for Tree Pæony. For an immense hardy flower of beautiful colouring what can equal the salmon-rose Moutan Reine Elizabeth? Among the others that I have, those that give me most pleasure are Baronne d'Alès and Comtesse de Tuder, both pinks of a delightful quality, and a lovely white called Bijou de Chusan. The Tree Pæonies are also beautiful in leaf; the individual leaves are large and important, and so carried that they are well displayed. Their colour is peculiar, being bluish, but pervaded with a suspicion of pink or pinkish-bronze, sometimes of a metallic quality that faintly recalls some of the variously-coloured alloys of metal that the Japanese bronze-workers make and use with such consummate skill. [Illustration: SOUTH SIDE OF DOOR, WITH CLEMATIS MONTANA AND CHOISYA.] [Illustration: NORTH SIDE OF THE SAME DOOR, WITH CLEMATIS MONTANA AND GUELDER-ROSE.] It is a matter of regret that varieties of the better kinds of Moutans are not generally grown on their own roots, and still more so that the stock in common use should not even be the type Tree Pæony, but one of the herbaceous kinds, so that we have plants of a hard-wooded shrub worked on a thing as soft as a Dahlia root. This is probably the reason why they are so difficult to establish, and so slow to grow, especially on light soils, even when their beds have been made deep and liberally enriched with what one judges to be the most gratifying comfort. Every now and then, just before blooming time, a plant goes off all at once, smitten with sudden death. At the time of making my collection I was unable to visit the French nurseries where these plants are so admirably grown, and whence most of the best kinds have come. I had to choose them by the catalogue description--always an unsatisfactory way to any one with a keen eye for colour, although in this matter the compilers of foreign catalogues are certainly less vague than those of our own. Many of the plants therefore had to be shifted into better groups for colour after their first blooming, a matter the more to be regretted as Pæonies dislike being moved. The other half of the triangular bit of Pæony ground--the pointed end--is given to the kinds I like best of the large June-flowered Pæonies, the garden varieties of the Siberian _P. albiflora_, popularly known as Chinese Pæonies. Though among these, as is the case with all the kinds, there is a preponderance of pink or rose-crimson colouring of a decidedly rank quality, yet the number of varieties is so great, that among the minority of really good colouring there are plenty to choose from, including a good number of beautiful whites and whites tinged with yellow. Of those I have, the kinds I like best are-- Hypatia, pink. Madame Benare, salmon-rose. The Queen, pale salmon-rose. Léonie, salmon-rose. Virginie, warm white. Solfaterre, pale yellow. Edouard André, deep claret. Madame Calot, flesh pink. Madame Bréon. Alba sulfurea. Triomphans gandavensis. Carnea elegans (Guerin). Curiosa, pink and blush. Prince Pierre Galitzin, blush. Eugenie Verdier, pale pink. Elegans superbissima, yellowish-white. Virgo Maria, white. Philomèle, blush. Madame Dhour, rose. Duchesse de Nemours, yellow-white. Faust. Belle Douaisienne. Jeanne d'Arc. Marie Lemoine. Many of the lovely flowers in this class have a rather strong, sweet smell, something like a mixture of the scents of Rose and Tulip. Then there are the old garden Pæonies, the double varieties of _P. officinalis_. They are in three distinct colourings--full rich crimson, crimson-rose, and pale pink changing to dull white. These are the earliest to flower, and with them it is convenient, from the garden point of view, to class some of the desirable species. Some years ago my friend Mr. Barr kindly gave me a set of the Pæony species as grown by him. I wished to have them, not for the sake of making a collection, but in order to see which were the ones I should like best to grow as garden flowers. In due time they grew into strong plants and flowered. A good many had to be condemned because of the raw magenta colour of the bloom, one or two only that had this defect being reprieved on account of their handsome foliage and habit. Prominent among these was _P. decora_, with bluish foliage handsomely displayed, the whole plant looking strong and neat and well-dressed. Others whose flower-colour I cannot commend, but that seemed worth growing on account of their rich masses of handsome foliage, are _P. triternata_ and _P. Broteri_. Though small in size, the light red flower of _P. lobata_ is of a beautiful colour. _P. tenuifolia_, in both single and double form, is an old garden favourite. _P. Wittmanniana_, with its yellow-green leaves and tender yellow flower, is a gem; but it is rather rare, and probably uncertain, for mine, alas! had no sooner grown into a fine clump than it suddenly died. All Pæonies are strong feeders. Their beds should be deeply and richly prepared, and in later years they are grateful for liberal gifts of manure, both as surface dressings and waterings. Friends often ask me vaguely about Pæonies, and when I say, "What kind of Pæonies?" they have not the least idea. Broadly, and for garden purposes, one may put them into three classes-- 1. Tree Pæonies (_P. moutan_), shrubby, flowering in May. 2. Chinese Pæonies (_P. albiflora_), herbaceous, flowering in June. 3. Old garden Pæonies (_P. officinalis_), herbaceous, including some other herbaceous species. I find it convenient to grow Pæony species and Caulescent (Lent) Hellebores together. They are in a wide border on the north side of the high wall and partly shaded by it. They are agreed in their liking for deeply-worked ground with an admixture of loam and lime, for shelter, and for rich feeding; and the Pæony clumps, set, as it were, in picture frames of the lower-growing Hellebores, are seen to all the more advantage. [Illustration: FREE CLUSTER-ROSE AS STANDARD IN A COTTAGE GARDEN.] CHAPTER VII JUNE The gladness of June -- The time of Roses -- Garden Roses -- Reine Blanche -- The old white Rose -- Old garden Roses as standards -- Climbing and rambling Roses -- Scotch Briars -- Hybrid Perpetuals a difficulty -- Tea Roses -- Pruning -- Sweet Peas, autumn sown -- Elder-trees -- Virginian Cowslip -- Dividing spring-blooming plants -- Two best Mulleins -- White French Willow -- Bracken. What is one to say about June--the time of perfect young summer, the fulfilment of the promise of the earlier months, and with as yet no sign to remind one that its fresh young beauty will ever fade? For my own part I wander up into the wood and say, "June is here--June is here; thank God for lovely June!" The soft cooing of the wood-dove, the glad song of many birds, the flitting of butterflies, the hum of all the little winged people among the branches, the sweet earth-scents--all seem to say the same, with an endless reiteration, never wearying because so gladsome. It is the offering of the Hymn of Praise! The lizards run in and out of the heathy tufts in the hot sunshine, and as the long day darkens the night-jar trolls out his strange song, so welcome because it is the prelude to the perfect summer night; here and there a glowworm shows its little lamp. June is here--June is here; thank God for lovely June! And June is the time of Roses. I have great delight in the best of the old garden Roses; the Provence (Cabbage Rose), sweetest of all sweets, and the Moss Rose, its crested variety; the early Damask, and its red and white striped kind; the old, nearly single, Reine Blanche. I do not know the origin of this charming Rose, but by its appearance it should be related to the Damask. A good many years ago I came upon it in a cottage garden in Sussex, and thought I had found a white Damask. The white is a creamy white, the outsides of the outer petals are stained with red, first showing clearly in the bud. The scent is delicate and delightful, with a faint suspicion of Magnolia. A few years ago this pretty old Rose found its way to one of the meetings of the Royal Horticultural Society, where it gained much praise. It was there that I recognised my old friend, and learned its name. I am fond of the old _Rosa alba_, both single and double, and its daughter, Maiden's Blush. How seldom one sees these Roses except in cottage gardens; but what good taste it shows on the cottager's part, for what Rose is so perfectly at home upon the modest little wayside porch? I have also learnt from cottage gardens how pretty are some of the old Roses grown as standards. The picture of my neighbour, Mrs. Edgeler, picking me a bunch from her bush, shows how freely they flower, and what fine standards they make. I have taken the hint, and have now some big round-headed standards, the heads a yard through, of the lovely Celeste and of Madame Plantier, that are worth looking at, though one of them is rather badly-shaped this year, for my handsome Jack (donkey) ate one side of it when he was waiting outside the studio door, while his cart-load of logs for the ingle fire was being unloaded. What a fine thing, among the cluster Roses, is the old Dundee Rambler! I trained one to go up a rather upright green Holly about twenty-five feet high, and now it has rushed up and tumbles out at the top and sides in masses of its pretty bloom. It is just as good grown as a "fountain," giving it a free space where it can spread at will with no training or support whatever. These two ways I think are much the best for growing the free, rambling Roses. In the case of the fountain, the branches arch over and display the flowers to perfection; if you tie your Rose up to a tall post or train it over an arch or _pergola_, the birds flying overhead have the best of the show. The Garland Rose, another old sort, is just as suitable for this kind of growth as Dundee Rambler, and the individual flowers, of a tender blush-colour, changing to white, are even more delicate and pretty. The newer Crimson Rambler is a noble plant for the same use, in sunlight gorgeous of bloom, and always brilliant with its glossy bright-green foliage. Of the many good plants from Japan, this is the best that has reached us of late years. The Himalayan _Rosa Brunonii_ is loaded with its clusters of milk-white bloom, that are so perfectly in harmony with its very long, almost blue leaves. But of all the free-growing Roses, the most remarkable for rampant growth is _R. polyantha_. One of the bushes in this garden covers a space thirty-four feet across--more than a hundred feet round. It forms a great fountain-like mass, covered with myriads of its small white flowers, whose scent is carried a considerable distance. Directly the flower is over it throws up rods of young growth eighteen to twenty feet long; as they mature they arch over, and next year their many short lateral shoots will be smothered with bloom. Two other Roses of free growth are also great favourites--Madame Alfred Carrière, with long-stalked loose white flowers, and Emilie Plantier. I have them on an east fence, where they yield a large quantity of bloom for cutting; indeed, they have been so useful in this way that I have planted several more, but this time for training down to an oak trellis, like the one that supports the row of Bouquet d'Or, in order to bring the flowers within easier reach. Now we look for the bloom of the Burnet Rose (_Rosa spinosissima_), a lovely native plant, and its garden varieties, the Scotch Briars. The wild plant is widely distributed in England, though somewhat local. It grows on moors in Scotland, and on Beachy Head in Sussex, and near Tenby in South Wales, favouring wild places within smell of the sea. The rather dusky foliage sets off the lemon-white of the wild, and the clear white, pink, rose, and pale yellow of the double garden kinds. The hips are large and handsome, black and glossy, and the whole plant in late autumn assumes a fine bronzy colouring between ashy black and dusky red. Other small old garden Roses are coming into bloom. One of the most desirable, and very frequent in this district, is _Rosa lucida_, with red stems, highly-polished leaves, and single, fragrant flowers of pure rosy-pink colour. The leaves turn a brilliant yellow in autumn, and after they have fallen the bushes are still bright with the coloured stems and the large clusters of bright-red hips. It is the St. Mark's Rose of Venice, where it is usually in flower on St. Mark's Day, April 25th. The double variety is the old _Rose d'amour_, now rare in gardens; its half-expanded bud is perhaps the most daintily beautiful thing that any Rose can show. [Illustration: DOUBLE WHITE SCOTCH BRIAR.] After many years of fruitless effort I have to allow that I am beaten in the attempt to grow the Grand Roses in the Hybrid Perpetual class. They plainly show their dislike to our dry hill, even when their beds are as well enriched as I can contrive or afford to make them. The rich loam that they love has to come many miles from the Weald by hilly roads in four-horse waggons, and the haulage is so costly that when it arrives I feel like distributing it with a spoon rather than with the spade. Moreover, even if a bed is filled with the precious loam, unless constantly watered the plants seem to feel and resent the two hundred feet of dry sand and rock that is under them before any moister stratum is reached. But the Tea Roses are more accommodating, and do fairly well, though, of course, not so well as in a stiffer soil. If I were planting again I should grow a still larger proportion of the kinds I have now found to do best. Far beyond all others is Madame Lambard, good alike early and late, and beautiful at all times. In this garden it yields quite three times as much bloom as any other; nothing else can approach it either for beauty or bounty. Viscountess Folkestone, not properly a Tea, but classed among Hybrid Noisettes, is also free and beautiful and long-enduring; and Papa Gontier, so like a deeper-coloured Lambard, is another favourite. Bouquet d'Or is here the strongest of the Dijon Teas. I grow it in several positions, but most conveniently on a strong bit of oak post and rail trellis, keeping the long growths tied down, and every two years cutting the oldest wood right out. It is well to remember that the tying or pegging down of Roses always makes them bloom better: every joint from end to end wants to make a good Rose; if the shoots are more upright, the blooming strength goes more to the top. The pruning of Tea Roses is quite different from the pruning required for the Hybrid Perpetuals. In these the last year's growth is cut back in March to within two to five eyes from where it leaves the main branch, according to the strength of the kind. This must not be done with the Teas. With these the oldest wood is cut right out from the base, and the blooming shoots left full length. But it is well, towards the end of July or beginning of August, to cut back the ends of soft summer shoots in order to give them a chance of ripening what is left. When an old Tea looks worn out, if cut right down in March or April it will often throw out vigorous young growth, and quite renew its life. [Illustration: PART OF A BUSH OF ROSA POLYANTHA.] [Illustration: GARLAND-ROSE, SHOWING NATURAL WAY OF GROWTH.] Within the first days of June we can generally pick some Sweet Peas from the rows sown in the second week of September. They are very much stronger than those sown in spring. By November they are four inches high, and seem to gain strength and sturdiness during the winter; for as soon as spring comes they shoot up with great vigour, and we know that the spray used to support them must be two feet higher than for those that are spring-sown. The flower-stalks are a foot long, and many have four flowers on a stalk. They are sown in shallow trenches; in spring they are earthed up very slightly, but still with a little trench at the base of the plants. A few doses of liquid manure are a great help when they are getting towards blooming strength. I am very fond of the Elder-tree. It is a sociable sort of thing; it seems to like to grow near human habitations. In my own mind it is certainly the tree most closely associated with the pretty old cottage and farm architecture of my part of the country; no bush or tree, not even the apple, seems to group so well or so closely with farm buildings. When I built a long thatched shed for the many needs of the garden, in the region of pits and frames, compost, rubbish and burn-heap, I planted Elders close to the end of the building and on one side of the yard. They look just right, and are, moreover, every year loaded with their useful fruit. This is ripe quite early in September, and is made into Elder wine, to be drunk hot in winter, a comfort by no means to be despised. My trees now give enough for my own wants, and there are generally a few acceptable bushels to spare for my cottage neighbours. About the middle of the month the Virginian Cowslip (_Mertensia virginica_) begins to turn yellow before dying down. Now is the time to look out for the seeds. A few ripen on the plant, but most of them fall while green, and then ripen in a few days while lying on the ground. I shake the seeds carefully out, and leave them lying round the parent-plant; a week later, when they will be ripe, they are lightly scratched into the ground. Some young plants of last year's growth I mark with a bit of stick, in case of wanting some later to plant elsewhere, or to send away; the plant dies away completely, leaving no trace above ground, so that if not marked it would be difficult to find what is wanted. [Illustration: LILAC MARIE LEGRAYE. (_See page 23._)] [Illustration: FLOWERING ELDER AND PATH FROM GARDEN TO COPSE.] This is also the time for pulling to pieces and replanting that good spring plant, the large variety of _Myosotis dissitiflora_; I always make sure of divisions, as seed does not come true. _Primula rosea_ should also be divided now, and planted to grow on in a cool place, such as the foot of a north or east wall, or be put at once in its place in some cool, rather moist spot in the rock-garden. Two-year-old plants come up with thick clumps of matted root that is now useless. I cut off the whole mass of old root about an inch below the crown, when it can easily be divided into nice little bits for replanting. Many other spring-flowering plants may with advantage be divided now, such as Aubrietia, Arabis, Auricula, Tiarella, and Saxifrage. The young Primrose plants, sown in March, have been planted out in their special garden, and are looking well after some genial rain. The great branching Mullein, _Verbascum olympicum_, is just going out of bloom, after making a brilliant display for a fortnight. It is followed by the other of the most useful tall, yellow-flowered kinds, _V. phlomoides_. Both are seen at their best either quite early in the morning, or in the evening, or in half-shade, as, like all their kind, they do not expand their bloom in bright sunshine. Both are excellent plants on poor soils. _V. olympicum_, though classed as a biennial, does not come to flowering strength till it is three or four years old; but meanwhile the foliage is so handsome that even if there were no flower it would be a worthy garden plant. It does well in any waste spaces of poor soil, where, by having plants of all ages, there will be some to flower every year. The Mullein moth is sure to find them out, and it behoves the careful gardener to look for and destroy the caterpillars, or he may some day find, instead of his stately Mulleins, tall stems only clothed with unsightly grey rags. The caterpillars are easily caught when quite small or when rather large; but midway in their growth, when three-quarters of an inch long, they are wary, and at the approach of the avenging gardener they will give a sudden wriggling jump, and roll down into the lower depths of the large foliage, where they are difficult to find. But by going round the plants twice a day for about a week they can all be discovered. The white variety of the French Willow (_Epilobium angustifolium_) is a pretty plant in the edges of the copse, good both in sun and shade, and flourishing in any poor soil. In better ground it grows too rank, running quickly at the root and invading all its neighbours, so that it should be planted with great caution; but when grown on poor ground it flowers at from two feet to four feet high, and its whole aspect is improved by the proportional amount of flower becoming much larger. Towards the end of June the bracken that covers the greater part of the ground of the copse is in full beauty. No other manner of undergrowth gives to woodland in so great a degree the true forest-like character. This most ancient plant speaks of the old, untouched land of which large stretches still remain in the south of England--land too poor to have been worth cultivating, and that has therefore for centuries endured human contempt. In the early part of the present century, William Cobbett, in his delightful book, "Rural Rides," speaking of the heathy headlands and vast hollow of Hindhead, in Surrey, calls it "certainly the most villainous spot God ever made." This gives expression to his view, as farmer and political economist, of such places as were incapable of cultivation, and of the general feeling of the time about lonely roads in waste places, as the fields for the lawless labours of smuggler and highwayman. Now such tracts of natural wild beauty, clothed with stretches of Heath and Fern and Whortleberry, with beds of Sphagnum Moss, and little natural wild gardens of curious and beautiful sub-aquatic plants in the marshy hollows and undrained wastes, are treasured as such places deserve to be, especially when they still remain within fifty miles of a vast city. The height to which the bracken grows is a sure guide to the depth of soil. On the poorest, thinnest ground it only reaches a foot or two; but in hollow places where leaf-mould accumulates and surface soil has washed in and made a better depth, it grows from six feet to eight feet high, and when straggling up through bushes to get to the light a frond will sometimes measure as much as twelve feet. The old country people who have always lived on the same poor land say, "Where the farn grows tall anything will grow"; but that only means that there the ground is somewhat better and capable of cultivation, as its presence is a sure indication of a sandy soil. The timber-merchants are shy of buying oak trees felled from among it, the timber of trees grown on the wealden clay being so much better. CHAPTER VIII JULY Scarcity of flowers -- Delphiniums -- Yuccas -- Cottager's way of protecting tender plants -- Alströmerias -- Carnations -- Gypsophila -- _Lilium giganteum_ -- Cutting fern-pegs. After the wealth of bloom of June, there appear to be but few flowers in the garden; there seems to be a time of comparative emptiness between the earlier flowers and those of autumn. It is true that in the early days of July we have Delphiniums, the grandest blues of the flower year. They are in two main groups in the flower border, one of them nearly all of the palest kind--not a solid clump, but with a thicker nucleus, thinning away for several yards right and left. Only white and pale-yellow flowers are grouped with this, and pale, fresh-looking foliage of maize and Funkia. The other group is at some distance, at the extreme western end. This is of the full and deeper blues, following a clump of Yuccas, and grouped about with things of important silvery foliage, such as Globe Artichoke and Silver Thistle (_Eryngium_). I have found it satisfactory to grow Delphiniums from seed, choosing the fine strong "Cantab" as the seed-parent, because the flowers were of a medium colour--scarcely so light as the name would imply--and because of its vigorous habit and well-shaped spike. It produced flowers of all shades of blue, and from these were derived nearly all I have in the border. I found them better for the purpose in many cases than the named kinds of which I had a fair collection. The seedlings were well grown for two years in nursery lines, worthless ones being taken out as soon as they showed their character. There is one common defect that I cannot endure--an interrupted spike, when the flowers, having filled a good bit of the spike, leave off, leaving a space of bare stem, and then go on again. If this habit proves to be persistent after the two years' trial, the plant is condemned. For my liking the spike must be well filled, but not overcrowded. Many of the show kinds are too full for beauty; the shape of the individual flower is lost. Some of the double ones are handsome, but in these the flower takes another shape, becoming more rosette-like, and thereby loses its original character. Some are of mixed colouring, a shade of lilac-pink sliding through pale blue. It is very beautiful in some cases, the respective tints remaining as clear as in an opal, but in many it only muddles the flower and makes it ineffective. Delphiniums are greedy feeders, and pay for rich cultivation and for liberal manurial mulches and waterings. In a hot summer, if not well cared for, they get stunted and are miserable objects, the flower distorted and cramped into a clumsy-looking, elongated mop-head. Though weak in growth the old _Delphinium Belladonna_ has so lovely a quality of colour that it is quite indispensable; the feeble stem should be carefully and unobtrusively staked for the better display of its incomparable blue. Some of the Yuccas will bloom before the end of the month. I have them in bold patches the whole fifteen-feet depth of the border at the extreme ends, and on each side of the pathway, where, passing from the lawn to the Pæony ground, it cuts across the border to go through the arched gateway. The kinds of Yucca are _gloriosa_, _recurva_, _flaccida_, and _filamentosa_. They are good to look at at all times of the year because of their grand strong foliage, and are the glory of the garden when in flower. One of the _gloriosa_ threw up a stout flower-spike in January. I had thought of protecting and roofing the spike, in the hope of carrying it safely through till spring, but meanwhile there came a damp day and a frosty night, and when I saw it again it was spoilt. The _Yucca filamentosa_ that I have I was told by a trusty botanist was the true plant, but rather tender, the one commonly called by that name being something else. I found it in a cottage garden, where I learnt a useful lesson in protecting plants, namely, the use of thickly-cut peaty sods. The goodwife had noticed that the peaty ground of the adjoining common, covered with heath and gorse and mossy grass, resisted frost much better than the garden or meadow, and it had been her practice for many years to get some thick dry sods with the heath left on and to pack them close round to protect tender plants. In this way she had preserved her Fuchsias of greenhouse kinds, and Calceolarias, and the Yucca in question. The most brilliant mass of flower in early July is given by the beds of _Alströmeria aurantiaca_; of this we have three distinct varieties, all desirable. There is a four feet wide bed, some forty feet long, of the kind most common in gardens, and at a distance from it a group grown from selected seed of a paler colour; seedlings of this remain true to colour, or, as gardeners say, the variety is "fixed." The third sort is from a good old garden in Ireland, larger in every way than the type, with petals of great width, and extremely rich in colour. _Alströmeria chilense_ is an equally good plant, and beds of it are beautiful in their varied colourings, all beautifully harmonious, and ranging through nearly the same tints as hardy Azaleas. These are the best of the Alströmerias for ordinary garden culture; they do well in warm, sheltered places in the poorest soil, but the soil must be deep, for the bunches of tender, fleshy roots go far down. The roots are extremely brittle, and must be carefully handled. Alströmerias are easily raised from seed, but when the seedlings are planted out the crowns should be quite four inches under the surface, and have a thick bed of leaves or some other mild mulching material over them in winter to protect them from frost, for they are Chilian plants, and demand and deserve a little surface comfort to carry them safely through the average English winter. Sea-holly (_Eryngium_) is another family of July-flowering plants that does well on poor, sandy soils that have been deeply stirred. Of these the more generally useful is _E. Oliverianum_, the _E. amethystinum_ of nurserymen, but so named in error, the true plant being rare and scarcely known in gardens. The whole plant has an admirable structure of a dry and nervous quality, with a metallic colouring and dull lustre that are in strong contrast to softer types of vegetation. The black-coated roots go down straight and deep, and enable it to withstand almost any drought. Equalling it in beauty is _E. giganteum_, the Silver Thistle, of the same metallic texture, but whitish and almost silvery. This is a biennial, and should be sown every year. A more lowly plant, but hardly less beautiful, is the wild Sea-holly of our coasts (_E. maritimum_), with leaves almost blue, and a handsome tuft of flower nearly matching them in colour. It occurs on wind-blown sandhills, but is worth a place in any garden. It comes up rather late, but endures, apparently unchanged, except for the bloom, throughout the late summer and autumn. But the flower of this month that has the firmest hold of the gardener's heart is the Carnation--the Clove Gilliflower of our ancestors. Why the good old name "Gilliflower" has gone out of use it is impossible to say, for certainly the popularity of the flower has never waned. Indeed, in the seventeenth century it seems that it was the best-loved flower of all in England; for John Parkinson, perhaps our earliest writer on garden plants, devotes to it a whole chapter in his "Paradisus Terrestris," a distinction shared by no other flower. He describes no less than fifty kinds, a few of which are still to be recognised, though some are lost. For instance, what has become of the "_great gray Hulo_" which he describes as a plant of the largest and strongest habit? The "gray" in this must refer to the colour of the leaf, as he says the flower is red; but there is also a variety called the "_blew Hulo_," with flowers of a "purplish murrey" colouring, answering to the slate colour that we know as of not unfrequent occurrence. The branch of the family that we still cultivate as "Painted Lady" is named by him "Dainty Lady," the present name being no doubt an accidental and regrettable corruption. But though some of the older sorts may be lost, we have such a wealth of good known kinds that this need hardly be a matter of regret. The old red Clove always holds its own for hardiness, beauty, and perfume; its newer and dwarfer variety, Paul Engleheart, is quite indispensable, while the beautiful salmon-coloured Raby is perhaps the most useful of all, with its hardy constitution and great quantity of bloom. But it is difficult to grow Carnations on our very poor soil; even when it is carefully prepared they still feel its starving and drying influence, and show their distaste by unusual shortness of life. _Gypsophila paniculata_ is one of the most useful plants of this time of year; its delicate masses of bloom are like clouds of flowery mist settled down upon the flower borders. Shooting up behind and among it is a tall, salmon-coloured Gladiolus, a telling contrast both in form and manner of inflorescence. Nothing in the garden has been more satisfactory and useful than a hedge of the white everlasting Pea. The thick, black roots that go down straight and deep have been undisturbed for some years, and the plants yield a harvest of strong white bloom for cutting that always seems inexhaustible. They are staked with stiff, branching spray, thrust into the ground diagonally, and not reaching up too high. This supports the heavy mass of growth without encumbering the upper blooming part. Hydrangeas are well in flower at the foot of a warm wall, and in the same position are spreading masses of the beautiful _Clematis Davidiana_, a herbaceous kind, with large, somewhat vine-like leaves, and flowers of a pale-blue colour of a delicate and uncommon quality. The blooming of the _Lilium giganteum_ is one of the great flower events of the year. It is planted in rather large straggling groups just within the fringe of the copse. In March the bulbs, which are only just underground, thrust their sharply-pointed bottle-green tips out of the earth. These soon expand into heart-shaped leaves, looking much like Arum foliage of the largest size, and of a bright-green colour and glistening surface. The groups are so placed that they never see the morning sun. They require a slight sheltering of fir-bough, or anything suitable, till the third week of May, to protect the young leaves from the late frosts. In June the flower-stem shoots up straight and tall, like a vigorous young green-stemmed tree. If the bulb is strong and the conditions suitable, it will attain a height of over eleven feet, but among the flowering bulbs of a group there are sure to be some of various heights from differently sized bulbs; those whose stature is about ten feet are perhaps the handsomest. The upper part of the stem bears the gracefully drooping great white Lily flowers, each bloom some ten inches long, greenish when in bud, but changing to white when fully developed. Inside each petal is a purplish-red stripe. In the evening the scent seems to pour out of the great white trumpets, and is almost overpowering, but gains a delicate quality by passing through the air, and at fifty yards away is like a faint waft of incense. In the evening light, when the sun is down, the great heads of white flower have a mysterious and impressive effect when seen at some distance through the wood, and by moonlight have a strangely weird dignity. The flowers only last a few days, but when they are over the beauty of the plant is by no means gone, for the handsome leaves remain in perfection till the autumn, while the growing seed-pods, rising into an erect position, become large and rather handsome objects. The rapidity and vigour of the four months' growth from bulb to giant flowering plant is very remarkable. The stem is a hollow, fleshy tube, three inches in diameter at the base, and the large radiating roots are like those of a tree. The original bulb is, of course, gone, but when the plants that have flowered are taken up at the end of November, offsets are found clustered round the root; these are carefully detached and replanted. The great growth of these Lilies could not be expected to come to perfection in our very poor, shallow soil, for doubtless in their mountain home in the Eastern Himalayas they grow in deep beds of cool vegetable earth. Here, therefore, their beds are deeply excavated, and filled to within a foot of the top with any of the vegetable rubbish of which only too much accumulates in the late autumn. Holes twelve feet across and three feet deep are convenient graves for frozen Dahlia-tops and half-hardy Annuals; a quantity of such material chopped up and tramped down close forms a cool subsoil that will comfort the Lily bulbs for many a year. The upper foot of soil is of good compost, and when the young bulbs are planted, the whole is covered with some inches of dead leaves that join in with the natural woodland carpet. [Illustration: THE GIANT LILY.] In the end of July we have some of the hottest of the summer days, only beginning to cool between six and seven in the evening. One or two evenings I go to the upper part of the wood to cut some fern-pegs for pegging Carnation layers, armed with fag-hook and knife and rubber, and a low rush-bottomed stool to sit on. The rubber is the stone for sharpening the knife--a long stone of coarse sandstone grit, such as is used for scythes. Whenever I am at work with a knife there is sure to be a rubber not far off, for a blunt knife I cannot endure, so there is a stone in each department of the garden sheds, and a whole series in the workshop, and one or two to spare to take on outside jobs. The Bracken has to be cut with a light hand, as the side-shoots that will make the hook of the peg are easily broken just at the important joint. The fronds are of all sizes, from two to eight feet long; but the best for pegs are the moderate-sized, that have not been weakened by growing too close together. Where they are crowded the main stalk is thick, but the side ones are thin and weak; whereas, where they get light and air the side branches are carried on stouter ribs, and make stronger and better-balanced pegs. The cut fern is lightly laid in a long ridge with the ends all one way, and the operator sits at the stalk end of the ridge, a nice cool shady place having been chosen. Four cuts with the knife make a peg, and each frond makes three pegs in about fifteen seconds. With the fronds laid straight and handy it goes almost rhythmically, then each group of three pegs is thrown into the basket, where they clash on to the others with a hard ringing sound. In about four days the pegs dry to a surprising hardness; they are better than wooden ones, and easier and quicker to make. People who are not used to handling Bracken should be careful how they cut a frond with a knife; they are almost sure to get a nasty little cut on the second joint of the first finger of the right hand--not from the knife, but from the cut edge of the fern. The stalk has a silicious coating, that leaves a sharp edge like a thin flake of glass when cut diagonally with a sharp knife; they should also beware how they pick or pull off a mature frond, for even if the part of the stalk laid hold of is bruised and twisted, some of the glassy structure holds together and is likely to wound the hand. CHAPTER IX AUGUST Leycesteria -- Early recollections -- Bank of choice shrubs -- Bank of Briar Roses -- Hollyhocks -- Lavender -- Lilies -- Bracken and Heaths -- The Fern-walk -- Late-blooming rock-plants -- Autumn flowers -- Tea Roses -- Fruit of _Rosa rugosa_ -- Fungi -- Chantarelle. _Leycesteria formosa_ is a soft-wooded shrub, whose beauty, without being showy, is full of charm and refinement. I remember delighting in it in the shrub-wilderness of the old home, where I first learnt to know and love many a good bush and tree long before I knew their names. There were towering Rhododendrons (all _ponticum_) and Ailanthus and Hickory and Magnolias, and then Spiræa and Snowball tree and tall yellow Azalea, and Buttercup bush and shrubby Andromedas, and in some of the clumps tall Cypresses and the pretty cut-leaved Beech, and in the edges of others some of the good old garden Roses, double Cinnamon and _R. lucida_, and Damask and Provence, Moss-rose and Sweetbriar, besides tall-grown Lilacs and Syringa. It was all rather overgrown, and perhaps all the prettier, and some of the wide grassy ways were quite shady in summer. And I look back across the years and think what a fine lesson-book it was to a rather solitary child; and when I came to plant my own shrub clump I thought I would put rather near together some of the old favourites, so here again we come back to Leycesteria, put rather in a place of honour, and near it Buttercup bush and Andromeda and Magnolias and old garden Roses. [Illustration: CISTUS FLORENTINUS.] [Illustration: THE GREAT ASPHODEL.] I had no space for a shrub wilderness, but have made a large clump for just the things I like best, whether new friends or old. It is a long, low bank, five or six paces wide, highest in the middle, where the rather taller things are planted. These are mostly Junipers and Magnolias; of the Magnolias, the kinds are _Soulangeana_, _conspicua_, _purpurea_, and _stellata_. One end of the clump is all of peat earth; here are Andromedas, Skimmeas, and on the cooler side the broad-leaved Gale, whose crushed leaves have almost the sweetness of Myrtle. One long side of the clump faces south-west, the better to suit the things that love the sun. At the farther end is a thrifty bush of _Styrax japonica_, which flowers well in hot summers, but another bush under a south wall flowers better. It must be a lovely shrub in the south of Europe and perhaps in Cornwall; here the year's growth is always cut at the tip, but it flowers well on the older wood, and its hanging clusters of white bloom are lovely. At its foot, on the sunny side, are low bushy plants of _Cistus florentinus_. I am told that this specific name is not right; but the plant so commonly goes by it that it serves the purpose of popular identification. Then comes _Magnolia stellata_, now a perfectly-shaped bush five feet through, a sheet of sweet-scented bloom in April. Much too near it are two bushes of _Cistus ladaniferus_. They were put there as little plants to grow on for a year in the shelter and comfort of the warm bank, but were overlooked at the time they ought to have been shifted, and are now nearly five feet high, and are crowding the Magnolia. I cannot bear to take them away to waste, and they are much too large to transplant, so I am driving in some short stakes diagonally and tying them down by degrees, spreading out their branches between neighbouring plants. It is an upright-growing Cistus that would soon cover a tallish wall-space, but this time it must be content to grow horizontally, and I shall watch to see whether it will flower more freely, as so many things do when trained down. Next comes a patch of the handsome _Bambusa Ragamowski_, dwarf, but with strikingly-broad leaves of a bright yellow-green colour. It seems to be a slow grower, or more probably it is slow to grow at first; Bamboos have a good deal to do underground. It was planted six years ago, a nice little plant in a pot, and now is eighteen inches high and two feet across. Just beyond it is the Mastic bush (_Caryopteris mastacanthus_), a neat, grey-leaved small shrub, crowded in September with lavender-blue flowers, arranged in spikes something like a Veronica; the whole bush is aromatic, smelling strongly like highly-refined turpentine. Then comes _Xanthoceras sorbifolia_, a handsome bush from China, of rather recent introduction, with saw-edged pinnate leaves and white flowers earlier in the summer, but now forming its bunches of fruit that might easily be mistaken for walnuts with their green shucks on. Here a wide bushy growth of _Phlomis fruticosa_ lays out to the sun, covered in early summer with its stiff whorls of hooded yellow flowers--one of the best of plants for a sunny bank in full sun in a poor soil. A little farther along, and near the path, comes the neat little _Deutzia parviflora_ and another little shrub of fairy-like delicacy, _Philadelphus microphyllus_. Behind them is _Stephanandra flexuosa_, beautiful in foliage, and two good St. John's worts, _Hypericum aureum_ and _H. Moserianum_, and again in front a Cistus of low, spreading growth, _C. halimifolius_, or something near it. One or two favourite kinds of Tree Pæonies, comfortably sheltered by Lavender bushes, fill up the other end of the clump next to the Andromedas. In all spare spaces on the sunny side of the shrub-clump is a carpeting of _Megasea ligulata_, a plant that looks well all the year round, and gives a quantity of precious flower for cutting in March and April. I was nearly forgetting _Pavia macrostachya_, now well established among the choice shrubs. It is like a bush Horse-chestnut, but more refined, the white spikes standing well up above the handsome leaves. On the cooler side of the clump is a longish planting of dwarf Andromeda, precious not only for its beauty of form and flower, but from the fine winter colouring of the leaves, and those two useful Spiræas, _S. Thunbergi_, with its countless little starry flowers, and the double _prunifolia_, the neat leaves of whose long sprays turn nearly scarlet in autumn. Then there comes a rather long stretch of _Artemisia Stelleriana_, a white-leaved plant much like _Cineraria maritima_, answering just the same purpose, but perfectly hardy. It is so much like the silvery _Cineraria_ that it is difficult to remember that it prefers a cool and even partly-shaded place. Beyond the long ridge that forms the shrub-clump is another, parallel to it and only separated from it by a path, also in the form of a long low bank. On the crown of this is the double row of cob-nuts that forms one side of the nut-alley. It leaves a low sunny bank that I have given to various Briar Roses and one or two other low, bushy kinds. Here is the wild Burnet Rose, with its yellow-white single flowers and large black hips, and its garden varieties, the Scotch Briars, double white, flesh-coloured, pink, rose, and yellow, and the hybrid briar, Stanwell Perpetual. Here also is the fine hybrid of _Rosa rugosa_, Madame George Bruant, and the lovely double _Rosa lucida_, and one or two kinds of small bush Roses from out-of-the-way gardens, and two wild Roses that have for me a special interest, as I collected them from their rocky home in the island of Capri. One is a Sweetbriar, in all ways like the native one, except that the flowers are nearly white, and the hips are larger. Last year the bush was distinctly more showy than any other of its kind, on account of the size and unusual quantity of the fruit. The other is a form of _Rosa sempervirens_, with rather large white flowers faintly tinged with yellow. [Illustration: LAVENDER HEDGE AND STEPS TO THE LOFT.] [Illustration: HOLLYHOCK, PINK BEAUTY.] Hollyhocks have been fine, in spite of the disease, which may be partly checked by very liberal treatment. By far the most beautiful is one of a pure pink colour, with a wide outer frill. It came first from a cottage garden, and has always since been treasured. I call it Pink Beauty. The wide outer petal (a heresy to the florist) makes the flower infinitely more beautiful than the all-over full-double form that alone is esteemed on the show-table. I shall hope in time to come upon the same shape of flower in white, sulphur, rose-colour, and deep blood-crimson, the colours most worth having in Hollyhocks. Lavender has been unusually fine; to reap its fragrant harvest is one of the many joys of the flower year. If it is to be kept and dried, it should be cut when as yet only a few of the purple blooms are out on the spike; if left too late, the flower shakes off the stalk too readily. Some plantations of _Lilium Harrisi_ and _Lilium auratum_ have turned out well. Some of the _Harrisi_ were grouped among tufts of the bright-foliaged _Funkia grandiflora_ on the cool side of a Yew hedge. Just at the foot of the hedge is _Tropæolum speciosum_, which runs up into it and flowers in graceful wreaths some feet above the ground. The masses of pure white lily and cool green foliage below are fine against the dark, solid greenery of the Yew, and the brilliant flowers above are like little jewels of flame. The Bermuda Lilies (_Harrisi_) are intergrouped with _L. speciosum_, which will follow them when their bloom is over. The _L. auratum_ were planted among groups of Rhododendrons; some of them are between tall Rhododendrons, and have large clumps of Lady Fern (_Filix foemina_) in front, but those that look best are between and among Bamboos (_B. Metake_); the heavy heads of flower borne on tall stems bend gracefully through the Bamboos, which just give them enough support. Here and there in the copse, among the thick masses of green Bracken, is a frond or two turning yellow. This always happens in the first or second week of August, though it is no indication of the approaching yellowing of the whole. But it is taken as a signal that the Fern is in full maturity, and a certain quantity is now cut to dry for protection and other winter uses. Dry Bracken lightly shaken over frames is a better protection than mats, and is almost as easily moved on and off. The Ling is now in full flower, and is more beautiful in the landscape than any of the garden Heaths; the relation of colouring, of greyish foliage and low-toned pink bloom with the dusky spaces of purplish-grey shadow, are a precious lesson to the colour-student. [Illustration: SOLOMON'S SEAL IN SPRING, IN THE UPPER PART OF THE FERN-WALK.] [Illustration: THE FERN-WALK IN AUGUST.] The fern-walk is at its best. It passes from the garden upwards to near the middle of the copse. The path, a wood-path of moss and grass and short-cut heath, is a little lower than the general level of the wood. The mossy bank, some nine feet wide, and originally cleared for the purpose, is planted with large groups of hardy Ferns, with a preponderance (due to preference) of Dilated Shield Fern and Lady Fern. Once or twice in the length of the bank are hollows, sinking at their lowest part to below the path-level, for _Osmunda_ and _Blechnum_. When rain is heavy enough to run down the path it finds its way into these hollow places. Among the groups of Fern are a few plants of true wood-character--_Linnæa_, _Trientalis_, _Goodyera_, and _Trillium_. At the back of the bank, and stretching away among the trees and underwood, are wide-spreading groups of Solomon's-seal and Wood-rush, joining in with the wild growth of Bracken and Bramble. Most of the Alpines and dwarf-growing plants, whose home is the rock-garden, bloom in May or June, but a few flower in early autumn. Of these one of the brightest is _Ruta patavina_, a dwarf plant with lemon-coloured flowers and a very neat habit of growth. It soon makes itself at home in a sunny bank in poor soil. _Pterocephalus parnassi_ is a dwarf Scabious, with small, grey foliage keeping close to the ground, and rather large flowers of a low-toned pink. The white Thyme is a capital plant, perfectly prostrate, and with leaves of a bright yellow-green, that with the white bloom give the plant a particularly fresh appearance. It looks at its best when trailing about little flat spaces between the neater of the hardy Ferns, and hanging over little rocky ledges. Somewhat farther back is the handsome dwarf _Platycodon Mariesi_, and behind it the taller Platycodons, among full-flowered bushes of _Olearia Haasti_. By the middle of August the garden assumes a character distinctly autumnal. Much of its beauty now depends on the many non-hardy plants, such as Gladiolus, Canna, and Dahlia, on Tritomas of doubtful hardiness, and on half-hardy annuals--Zinnia, Helichrysum, Sunflower, and French and African Marigold. Fine as are the newer forms of hybrid Gladiolus, the older strain of gandavensis hybrids are still the best as border flowers. In the large flower border, tall, well-shaped spikes of a good pink one look well shooting up through and between a wide-spreading patch of glaucous foliage of the smaller Yuccas, _Tritoma caulescens_, _Iris pallida_, and _Funkia Sieboldi_, while scarlet and salmon-coloured kinds are among groups of Pæonies that flowered in June, whose leaves are now taking a fine reddish colouring. Between these and the edge of the border is a straggling group some yards in length of the dark-foliaged _Heuchera Richardsoni_, that will hold its satin-surfaced leaves till the end of the year. Farther back in the border is a group of the scarlet-flowered Dahlia Fire King, and behind these, Dahlias Lady Ardilaun and Cochineal, of deeper scarlet colouring. The Dahlias are planted between groups of Oriental Poppy, that flower in May and then die away till late in autumn. Right and left of the scarlet group are Tritomas, intergrouped with Dahlias of moderate height, that have orange and flame-coloured flowers. This leads to some masses of flowers of strong yellow colouring; the old perennial Sunflower, in its tall single form, and the best variety of the old double one of moderate height, the useful _H. lætiflorus_ and the tall Miss Mellish, the giant form of _Harpalium rigidum_. _Rudbeckia Newmanni_ reflects the same strong colour in the front part of the border, and all spaces are filled with orange Zinnias and African Marigolds and yellow Helichrysum. As we pass along the border the colour changes to paler yellow by means of a pale perennial Sunflower and the sulphur-coloured annual kind, with Paris Daisies, _Oenothera Lamarkiana_ and _Verbascum phlomoides_. The two last were cut down to about four feet after their earliest bloom was over, and are now again full of profusely-flowered lateral growths. At the farther end of the border we come again to glaucous foliage and pale-pink flower of Gladiolus and Japan Anemone. It is important in such a border of rather large size, that can be seen from a good space of lawn, to keep the flowers in rather large masses of colour. No one who has ever done it, or seen it done, will go back to the old haphazard sprinkle of colouring without any thought of arrangement, such as is usually seen in a mixed border. There is a wall of sandstone backing the border, also planted in relation to the colour-massing in the front space. This gives a quiet background of handsome foliage, with always in the flower season some show of colour in one part or another of its length. Just now the most conspicuous of its clothing shrubs or of the somewhat tall growing flowers at its foot are a fine variety of _Bignonia radicans_, a hardy Fuchsia, the Claret Vine covering a good space, with its red-bronze leaves and clusters of blue-black grapes, the fine hybrid Crinums and _Clerodendron foetidum_. Tea Roses have been unusually lavish of autumn bloom, and some of the garden climbing Roses, hybrids of China and Noisette, have been of great beauty, both growing and as room decoration. Many of them flower in bunches at the end of the shoots; whole branches, cut nearly three feet long, make charming arrangements in tall glasses or high vases of Oriental china. Perhaps their great autumnal vigour is a reaction from the check they received in the earlier part of the year, when the bloom was almost a failure from the long drought and the accompanying attacks of blight and mildew. The great hips of the Japanese _Rosa rugosa_ are in perfection; they have every ornamental quality--size, form, colour, texture, and a delicate waxlike bloom; their pulp is thick and luscious, and makes an excellent jam. The quantity of fungous growth this year is quite remarkable. The late heavy rain coming rather suddenly on the well-warmed earth has no doubt brought about their unusual size and abundance; in some woodland places one can hardly walk without stepping upon them. Many spots in the copse are brilliant with large groups of the scarlet-capped Fly Agaric (_Amanita muscaria_). It comes out of the ground looking like a dark scarlet ball, generally flecked with raised whitish spots; it quickly rises on its white stalk, the ball changing to a brilliant flat disc, six or seven inches across, and lasting several days in beauty. But the most frequent fungus is the big brown _Boletus_, in size varying from a small bun to a dinner-plate. Some kinds are edible, but I have never been inclined to try them, being deterred by their coarse look and uninviting coat of slimy varnish. And why eat doubtful _Boletus_ when one can have the delicious Chantarelle (_Cantharellus cibarius_), also now at its best? In colour and smell it is like a ripe apricot, perfectly wholesome, and, when rightly cooked, most delicate in flavour and texture. It should be looked for in cool hollows in oak woods; when once found and its good qualities appreciated, it will never again be neglected. CHAPTER X SEPTEMBER Sowing Sweet Peas -- Autumn-sown annuals -- Dahlias -- Worthless kinds -- Staking -- Planting the rock-garden -- Growing small plants in a wall -- The old wall -- Dry-walling -- How built -- How planted -- Hyssop -- A destructive storm -- Berries of Water-elder -- Beginning ground-work. In the second week of September we sow Sweet Peas in shallow trenches. The flowers from these are larger and stronger and come in six weeks earlier than from those sown in the spring; they come too at a time when they are especially valuable for cutting. Many other hardy Annuals are best sown now. Some indeed, such as the lovely _Collinsia verna_ and the large white Iberis, only do well if autumn-sown. Among others, some of the most desirable are Nemophila, Platystemon, Love-in-a-Mist, Larkspurs, Pot Marigold, Virginian Stock, and the delightful Venus's Navel-wort (_Omphalodes linifolia_). I always think this daintily beautiful plant is undeservedly neglected, for how seldom one sees it. It is full of the most charming refinement, with its milk-white bloom and grey-blue leaf and neat habit of growth. Any one who has never before tried Annuals autumn-sown would be astonished at their vigour. A single plant of Nemophila will often cover a square yard with its beautiful blue bloom; and then, what a gain it is to have these pretty things in full strength in spring and early summer, instead of waiting to have them in a much poorer state later in the year, when other flowers are in plenty. Hardy Poppies should be sown even earlier; August is the best time. Dahlias are now at their full growth. To make a choice for one's own garden, one must see the whole plant growing. As with many another kind of flower, nothing is more misleading than the evidence of the show-table, for many that there look the best, and are indeed lovely in form and colour as individual blooms, come from plants that are of no garden value. For however charming in humanity is the virtue modesty, and however becoming is the unobtrusive bearing that gives evidence of its possession, it is quite misplaced in a Dahlia. Here it becomes a vice, for the Dahlia's first duty in life is to flaunt and to swagger and to carry gorgeous blooms well above its leaves, and on no account to hang its head. Some of the delicately-coloured kinds lately raised not only hang their heads, but also hide them away among masses of their coarse foliage, and are doubly frauds, looking everything that is desirable in the show, and proving worthless in the garden. It is true that there are ways of cutting out superfluous green stuff and thereby encouraging the blooms to show up, but at a busy season, when rank leafage grows fast, one does not want to be every other day tinkering at the Dahlias. Careful and strong staking they must always have, not forgetting one central stake to secure the main growth at first. It is best to drive this into the hole made for the plant before placing the root, to avoid the danger of sending the point of the stake through the tender tubers. Its height out of the ground should be about eighteen inches less than the expected stature of the plant. As the Dahlia grows, there should be at least three outer stakes at such distance from the middle one as may suit the bulk and habit of the plant; and it is a good plan to have wooden hoops to tie to these, so as to form a girdle round the whole plant, and for tying out the outer branches. The hoop should be only loosely fastened--best with roomy loops of osier, so that it may be easily shifted up with the growth of the plant. We make the hoops in the winter of long straight rent rods of Spanish Chestnut, bending them while green round a tub, and tying them with tarred twine or osier bands. They last several years. All this care in staking the Dahlias is labour well bestowed, for when autumn storms come the wind has such a power of wrenching and twisting, that unless the plant, now grown into a heavy mass of succulent vegetation, is braced by firm fixing at the sides, it is in danger of being broken off short just above the ground, where its stem has become almost woody, and therefore brittle. Now is the moment to get to work on the rock-garden; there is no time of year so precious for this work as September. Small things planted now, while the ground is still warm, grow at the root at once, and get both anchor-hold and feeding-hold of the ground before frost comes. Those that are planted later do not take hold, and every frost heaves them up, sometimes right out of the ground. Meanwhile those that have got a firm root-hold are growing steadily all the winter, underground if not above; and when the first spring warmth comes they can draw upon the reserve of strength they have been hoarding up, and make good growth at once. Except in the case of a rockery only a year old, there is sure to be some part that wants to be worked afresh, and I find it convenient to do about a third of the space every year. Many of the indispensable Alpines and rock-plants of lowly growth increase at a great rate, some spreading over much more than their due space, the very reason of this quick-spreading habit being that they are travelling to fresh pasture; many of them prove it clearly by dying away in the middle of the patch, and only showing vigorous vitality at the edges. Such plants as _Silene alpestris_, _Hutchinsia alpina_, _Pterocephalus_, the dwarf alpine kinds of _Achillea_ and _Artemisia_, _Veronica_ and _Linaria_, and the mossy Saxifrages, in my soil want transplanting every two years, and the silvery Saxifrages every three years. As in much else, one must watch what happens in one's own garden. We practical gardeners have no absolute knowledge of the constitution of the plant, still less of the chemistry of the soil, but by the constant exercise of watchful care and helpful sympathy we acquire a certain degree of instinctive knowledge, which is as valuable in its way, and probably more applicable to individual local conditions, than the tabulated formulas of more orthodox science. One of the best and simplest ways of growing rock-plants is in a loose wall. In many gardens an abrupt change of level makes a retaining wall necessary, and when I see this built in the usual way as a solid structure of brick and mortar--unless there be any special need of the solid wall--I always regret that it is not built as a home for rock-plants. An exposure to north or east and the cool backing of a mass of earth is just what most Alpines delight in. A dry wall, which means a wall without mortar, may be anything between a wall and a very steep rock-work, and may be built of brick or of any kind of local stone. I have built and planted a good many hundred yards of dry walling with my own hands, both at home and in other gardens, and can speak with some confidence both of the pleasure and interest of the actual making and planting, and of the satisfactory results that follow. The best example I have to show in my own garden is the so-called "Old Wall," before mentioned. It is the bounding and protecting fence of the Pæony ground on its northern side, and consists of a double dry wall with earth between. An old hedge bank that was to come away was not far off, within easy wheeling distance. So the wall was built up on each side, and as it grew, the earth from the hedge was barrowed in to fill up. A dry wall needs very little foundation; two thin courses underground are quite enough. The point of most structural importance is to keep the earth solidly trodden and rammed behind the stones of each course and throughout its bulk, and every two or three courses to lay some stones that are extra long front and back, to tie the wall well into the bank. A local sandstone is the walling material. In the pit it occurs in separate layers, with a few feet of hard sand between each. The lowest layer, sometimes thirty to forty feet down, is the best and thickest, but that is good building stone, and for dry walling we only want "tops" or "seconds," the later and younger formations of stone in the quarry. The very roughness and almost rotten state of much of this stone makes it all the more acceptable as nourishment and root-hold to the tiny plants that are to grow in its chinks, and that in a few months will change much of the rough rock-surface to green growth of delicate vegetation. Moreover, much of the soft sandy stone hardens by exposure to weather; and even if a stone or two crumbles right away in a few years' time, the rest will hold firmly, and the space left will make a little cave where some small fern will live happily. The wall is planted as it is built with hardy Ferns--_Blechnum_, Polypody, Hartstongue, _Adiantum_, _Ceterach_, _Asplenium_, and _Ruta muraria_. The last three like lime, so a barrow of old mortar-rubbish is at hand, and the joint where they are to be planted has a layer of their favourite soil. Each course is laid fairly level as to its front top edge, stones of about the same thickness going in course by course. The earth backing is then carefully rammed into the spaces at the uneven backs of the stones, and a thin layer of earth over the whole course, where the mortar would have been in a built wall, gives both a "bed" for the next row of stones and soil for the plants that are to grow in the joints. [Illustration: JACK. (_See page 79._)] [Illustration: THE "OLD WALL."] The face of the wall slopes backward on both sides, so that its whole thickness of five feet at the bottom draws in to four feet at the top. All the stones are laid at a right angle to the plane of the inclination--that is to say, each stone tips a little down at the back, and its front edge, instead of being upright, faces a little upward. It follows that every drop of gentle rain that falls on either side of the wall is carried into the joints, following the backward and downward pitch of the stones, and then into the earth behind them. The mass of earth in the middle of the wall gives abundant root-room for bushes, and is planted with bush Roses of three kinds, of which the largest mass is of _Rosa lucida_. Then there is a good stretch of Berberis; then Scotch Briars, and in one or two important places Junipers; then more Berberis, and Ribes, and the common Barberry, and neat bushes of _Olearia Haastii_. The wall was built seven years ago, and is now completely clothed. It gives me a garden on the top and a garden on each side, and though its own actual height is only 4-1/2 feet, yet the bushes on the top make it a sheltering hedge from seven to ten feet high. One small length of three or four yards of the top has been kept free of larger bushes, and is planted on its northern edge with a very neat and pretty dwarf kind of Lavender, while on the sunny side is a thriving patch of the hardy Cactus (_Opuntia Raffinesquiana_). Just here, in the narrow border at the foot of the wall, is a group of the beautiful _Crinum Powelli_, while a white Jasmine clothes the face of the wall right and left, and rambles into the Barberry bushes just beyond. It so happened that these things had been planted close together because the conditions of the place were likely to favour them, and not, as is my usual practice, with any intentional idea of harmonious grouping. I did not even remember that they all flower in July, and at nearly the same time; and one day seeing them all in bloom together, I was delighted to see the success of the chance arrangement, and how pretty it all was, for I should never have thought of grouping together pink and lavender, yellow and white. The northern face of the wall, beginning at its eastern end, is planted thus: For a length of ten or twelve paces there are Ferns, Polypody and Hartstongue, and a few _Adiantum nigrum_, with here and there a Welsh Poppy. There is a clump of the wild Stitchwort that came by itself, and is so pretty that I leave it. At the foot of the wall are the same, but more of the Hartstongue; and here it grows best, for not only is the place cooler, but I gave it some loamy soil, which it loves. Farther along the Hartstongue gives place to the wild Iris (_I. foetidissima_), a good long stretch of it. Nothing, to my mind, looks better than these two plants at the base of a wall on the cool side. In the upper part of the wall are various Ferns, and that interesting plant, Wall Pennywort (_Cotyledon umbilicus_). It is a native plant, but not found in this neighbourhood; I brought it from Cornwall, where it is so plentiful in the chinks of the granite stone-fences. It sows itself and grows afresh year after year, though I always fear to lose it in one of our dry summers. Next comes the common London Pride, which I think quite the most beautiful of the Saxifrages of this section. If it was a rare thing, what a fuss we should make about it! The place is a little dry for it, but all the same, it makes a handsome spreading tuft hanging over the face of the wall. When its pink cloud of bloom is at its best, I always think it the prettiest thing in the garden. Then there is the Yellow Everlasting (_Gnaphalium orientale_), a fine plant for the upper edge of the wall, and even better on the sunny side, and the white form of _Campanula cæspitosa_, with its crowd of delicate little white bells rising in June, from the neatest foliage of tender but lively green. Then follow deep-hanging curtains of Yellow Alyssum and of hybrid rock Pinks. The older plants of Alyssum are nearly worn out, but there are plenty of promising young seedlings in the lower joints. [Illustration: ERINUS ALPINUS, CLOTHING STEPS IN ROCK-WALL.] Throughout the wall there are patches of Polypody Fern, one of the best of cool wall-plants, its creeping root-stock always feeling its way along the joints, and steadily furnishing the wall with more and more of its neat fronds; it is all the more valuable for being at its best in early winter, when so few ferns are to be seen. Every year, in some bare places, I sow a little seed of _Erinus alpinus_, always trying for places where it will follow some other kind of plant, such as a place where rock Pink or Alyssum has been. All plants are the better for this sort of change. In the seven years that the wall has stood, the stones have become weathered, and the greater part of the north side, wherever the stone work shows, is hoary with mosses, and looks as if it might have been standing for a hundred years. The sunny side is nearly clear of moss, and I have planted very few things in its face, because the narrow border at its foot is so precious for shrubs and plants that like a warm, sheltered place. Here are several Choisyas and Sweet Verbenas, also _Escallonia_, _Stuartia_, and _Styrax_, and a long straggling group of some very fine Pentstemons. In one space that was fairly clear I planted a bit of Hyssop, an old sweet herb whose scent I delight in; it grows into a thick bush-like plant full of purple flower in the late summer, when it attracts quantities of bumble-bees. It is a capital wall-plant, and has sown its own seed, till there is a large patch on the top and some in its face, and a broadly-spreading group in the border below. It is one of the plants that was used in the old Tudor gardens for edgings; the growth is close and woody at the base, and it easily bears clipping into shape. The fierce gales and heavy rains of the last days of September wrought sad havoc among the flowers. Dahlias were virtually wrecked. Though each plant had been tied to three stakes, their masses of heavy growth could not resist the wrenching and twisting action of the wind, and except in a few cases where they were well sheltered, their heads lay on the ground, the stems broken down at the last tie. If anything about a garden could be disheartening, it would be its aspect after such a storm of wind. Wall shrubs, only lately made safe, as we thought, have great gaps torn out of them, though tied with tarred string to strong iron staples, staples and all being wrenched out. Everything looks battered, and whipped, and ashamed; branches of trees and shrubs lie about far from their sources of origin; green leaves and little twigs are washed up into thick drifts; apples and quinces, that should have hung till mid-October, lie bruised and muddy under the trees. Newly-planted roses and hollies have a funnel-shaped hole worked in the ground at their base, showing the power of the wind to twist their heads, and giving warning of a corresponding disturbance of the tender roots. There is nothing to be done but to look round carefully and search out all disasters and repair them as well as may be, and to sweep up the wreckage and rubbish, and try to forget the rough weather, and enjoy the calm beauty of the better days that follow, and hope that it may be long before such another angry storm is sent. And indeed a few quiet days of sunshine and mild temperature work wonders. In a week one would hardly know that the garden had been so cruelly torn about. Fresh flowers take the place of bruised ones, and wholesome young growths prove the enduring vitality of vegetable life. Still we cannot help feeling, towards the end of September, that the flower year is nearly at an end, though the end is a gorgeous one, with its strong yellow masses of the later perennial Sunflowers and Marigolds, Goldenrod, and a few belated Gladioli; the brilliant foliage of Virginian Creepers, the leaf-painting of _Vitis Coignettii_, and the strong crimson of the Claret Vine. The Water-elder (_Viburnum opulus_) now makes a brave show in the edge of the copse. It is without doubt the most beautiful berry-bearing shrub of mid-September. The fruit hangs in ample clusters from the point of every branch and of every lateral twig, in colour like the brightest of red currants, but with a translucent lustre that gives each separate berry a much brighter look; the whole bush shows fine warm colouring, the leaves having turned to a rich red. Perhaps it is because it is a native that this grand shrub or small tree is generally neglected in gardens, and is almost unknown in nurserymen's catalogues. It is the parent of the well-known Guelder-Rose, which is merely its double-flowered form. But the double flower leaves no berry, its familiar white ball being formed of the sterile part of the flower only, and the foliage of the garden kind does not assume so bright an autumn colouring. The nights are growing chilly, with even a little frost, and the work for the coming season of dividing and transplanting hardy plants has already begun. Plans are being made for any improvements or alterations that involve ground work. Already we have been at work on some broad grass rides through the copse that were roughly levelled and laid with grass last winter. The turf has been raised and hollows filled in, grass seed sown in bare patches, and the whole beaten and rolled to a good surface, and the job put out of hand in good time before the leaves begin to fall. CHAPTER XI OCTOBER Michaelmas Daisies -- Arranging and staking -- Spindle-tree -- Autumn colour of Azaleas -- Quinces -- Medlars -- Advantage of early planting of shrubs -- Careful planting -- Pot-bound roots -- Cypress hedge -- Planting in difficult places -- Hardy flower border -- Lifting Dahlias -- Dividing hardy plants -- Dividing tools -- Plants difficult to divide -- Periwinkles -- Sternbergia -- Czar Violets -- Deep cultivation for _Lilium giganteum_. The early days of October bring with them the best bloom of the Michaelmas Daisies, the many beautiful garden kinds of the perennial Asters. They have, as they well deserve to have, a garden to themselves. Passing along the wide path in front of the big flower border, and through the pergola that forms its continuation, with eye and brain full of rich, warm colouring of flower and leaf, it is a delightful surprise to pass through the pergola's last right-hand opening, and to come suddenly upon the Michaelmas Daisy garden in full beauty. Its clean, fresh, pure colouring, of pale and dark lilac, strong purple, and pure white, among masses of pale-green foliage, forms a contrast almost startling after the warm colouring of nearly everything else; and the sight of a region where the flowers are fresh and newly opened, and in glad spring-like profusion, when all else is on the verge of death and decay, gives an impression of satisfying refreshment that is hardly to be equalled throughout the year. Their special garden is a wide border on each side of a path, its length bounded on one side by a tall hedge of filberts, and on the other side by clumps of yew, holly, and other shrubs. It is so well sheltered that the strongest wind has its destructive power broken, and only reaches it as a refreshing tree-filtered breeze. The Michaelmas Daisies are replanted every year as soon as their bloom is over, the ground having been newly dug and manured. The old roots, which will have increased about fourfold, are pulled or chopped to pieces, nice bits with about five crowns being chosen for replanting; these are put in groups of three to five together. Tall-growing kinds like _Novi Belgi_ Robert Parker are kept rather towards the back, while those of delicate and graceful habit, such as _Cordifolius elegans_ and its good variety Diana are allowed to come forward. The fine dwarf _Aster amellus_ is used in rather large quantity, coming quite to the front in some places, and running in and out between the clumps of other kinds. Good-sized groups of _Pyrethrum uliginosum_ are given a place among the Asters, for though of quite another family, they are Daisies, and bloom at Michaelmas, and are admirable companions to the main occupants of the borders. The only other plants admitted are white Dahlias, the two differently striped varieties of _Eulalia japonica_, the fresh green foliage of Indian Corn, and the brilliant light-green leafage of _Funkia grandiflora_. Great attention is paid to staking the Asters. Nothing is more deplorable than to see a neglected, overgrown plant, at the last moment, when already half blown down, tied up in a tight bunch to one stake. When we are cutting underwood in the copse in the winter, special branching spray is looked out for our Michaelmas Daisies and cut about four feet or five feet long, with one main stem and from two to five branches. Towards the end of June and beginning of July these are thrust firmly into the ground among the plants, and the young growths are tied out so as to show to the best advantage. Good kinds of Michaelmas Daisies are now so numerous that in selecting those for the special garden it is well to avoid both the ones that bloom earliest and also the very latest, so that for about three weeks the borders may show a well-filled mass of bloom. [Illustration: BORDERS OF MICHAELMAS DAISIES.] The bracken in the copse stands dry and dead, but when leaves are fluttering down and the chilly days of mid-October are upon us, its warm, rusty colouring is certainly cheering; the green of the freshly grown mossy carpet below looks vividly bright by contrast. Some bushes of Spindle-tree (_Euonymus europæus_) are loaded with their rosy seed-pods; some are already burst, and show the orange-scarlet seeds--an audacity of colouring that looks all the brighter for the even, lustreless green of the leaves and of the green-barked twigs and stems. The hardy Azaleas are now blazing masses of crimson, almost scarlet leaf; the old _A. pontica_, with its large foliage, is as bright as any. With them are grouped some of the North American Vacciniums and Andromedas, with leaves almost as bright. The ground between the groups of shrubs is knee-deep in heath. The rusty-coloured withered bloom of the wild heath on its purplish-grey masses and the surrounding banks of dead fern make a groundwork and background of excellent colour-harmony. How seldom does one see Quinces planted for ornament, and yet there is hardly any small tree that better deserves such treatment. Some Quinces planted about eight years ago are now perfect pictures, their lissome branches borne down with the load of great, deep-yellow fruit, and their leaves turning to a colour almost as rich and glowing. The old English rather round-fruited kind with the smooth skin is the best both for flavour and beauty--a mature tree without leaves in winter has a remarkably graceful, arching, almost weeping growth. The other kind is of a rather more rigid form, and though its woolly-coated, pear-shaped fruits are larger and strikingly handsome, the whole tree has a coarser look, and just lacks the attractive grace of the other. They will do fairly well almost anywhere, though they prefer a rich, loamy soil and a cool, damp, or even swampy place. The Medlar is another of the small fruiting trees that is more neglected than it should be, as it well deserves a place among ornamental shrubs. Here it is a precious thing in the region where garden melts into copse. The fruit-laden twigs are just now very attractive, and its handsome leaves can never be passed without admiration. Close to the Medlars is a happy intergrowth of the wild Guelder-Rose, still bearing its brilliant clusters, a strong-growing and far-clambering garden form of _Rosa arvensis_, full of red hips, Sweetbriar, and Holly--a happy tangle of red-fruited bushes, all looking as if they were trying to prove, in friendly emulation, which can make the bravest show of red-berried wild-flung wreath, or bending spray, or stately spire; while at their foot the bright colour is repeated by the bending, berried heads of the wild Iris, opening like fantastic dragons' mouths, and pouring out the red bead-like seeds upon the ground; and, as if to make the picture still more complete, the leaves of the wild Strawberry that cover the ground with a close carpet have also turned to a crimson, and here and there to an almost scarlet colour. During the year I make careful notes of any trees or shrubs that will be wanted, either to come from the nursery or to be transplanted within my own ground, so as to plant them as early as possible. Of the two extremes it is better to plant too early than too late. I would rather plant deciduous trees before the leaves are off than wait till after Christmas, but of all planting times the best is from the middle of October till the end of November, and the same time is the best for all hardy plants of large or moderate size. I have no patience with slovenly planting. I like to have the ground prepared some months in advance, and when the proper time comes, to do the actual planting as well as possible. The hole in the already prepared ground is taken out so that the tree shall stand exactly right for depth, though in this dry soil it is well to make the hole an inch or two deeper, in order to leave the tree standing in the centre of a shallow depression, to allow of a good watering now and then during the following summer. The hole must be made wide enough to give easy space for the most outward-reaching of the roots; they must be spread out on all sides, carefully combing them out with the fingers, so that they all lay out to the best advantage. Any roots that have been bruised, or have broken or jagged ends, are cut off with a sharp knife on the homeward side of the injury. Most gardeners when they plant, after the first spadeful or two has been thrown over the root, shake the bush with an up and down joggling movement. This is useful in the case of plants with a good lot of bushy root, such as Berberis, helping to get the grains of earth well in among the root; but in tree planting, where the roots are laid out flat, it is of course useless. In our light soil, the closer and firmer the earth is made round the newly-planted tree the better, and strong staking is most important, in order to save the newly-placed root from disturbance by dragging. Some trees and shrubs one can only get from nurseries in pots. This is usually the case with Ilex, Escallonia, and Cydonia. Such plants are sure to have the roots badly matted and twisted. The main root curls painfully round and round inside the imprisoning pot, but if it is a clever root it works its way out through the hole in the bottom, and even makes quite nice roots in the bed of ashes it has stood on. In this case, as these are probably its best roots, we do not attempt to pull it back through the hole, but break the pot to release it without hurt. If it is possible to straighten the pot-curled root, it is best to do so; in any case, the small fibrous ones can be laid out. Often the potful of roots is so hard and tight that it cannot be disentangled by the hand; then the only way is to soften it by gentle bumping on the bench, and then to disengage the roots by little careful digs all round with a blunt-pointed stick. If this is not done, and the plant is put in in its pot-bound state, it never gets on; it would be just as well to throw it away at once. Nine years ago a hedge of Lawson's Cypress was planted on one side of the kitchen garden. Three years later, when the trees had made some growth, I noticed in the case of three or four that they were quite bare of branches on one side all the way up for a width of about one-sixth of the circumference, leaving a smooth, straight, upright strip. Suspecting the cause, I had them up, and found in every case that the root just below the bare strip had been doubled under the stem, and had therefore been unable to do its share of the work. Nothing could have pointed out more clearly the defect in the planting. There are cases where ground cannot be prepared as one would wish, and where one has to get over the difficulty the best way one can. Such a case occurred when I had to plant some Yews and Savins right under a large Birch-tree. The Birch is one of several large ones that nearly surround the lawn. This one stands just within the end of a large shrub-clump, near the place of meeting of some paths with the grass and with some planting; here some further planting was wanted of dark-leaved evergreens. There is no tree more ground-robbing than a Birch, and under the tree in question the ground was dust-dry, extremely hard, and nothing but the poorest sand. Looking at the foot of a large tree one can always see which way the main roots go, and the only way to get down any depth is to go between these and not many feet away from the trunk. Farther away the roots spread out and would receive more injury. So the ground was got up the best way we could, and the Yews and Savins planted. Now, after some six years, they are healthy and dark-coloured, and have made good growth. But in such a place one cannot expect the original preparation of the ground, such as it was, to go for much. The year after planting they had some strong, lasting manure just pricked in over the roots--stuff from the shoeing-forge, full of hoof-parings. Hoof-parings are rich in ammonia, and decay slowly. Every other year they have either a repetition of this or some cooling cow manure. The big Birch no doubt gets some of it, though its hungriest roots are farther afield, but the rich colour of the shrubs shows that they are well nourished. As soon as may be in November the big hardy flower-border has to be thoroughly looked over. The first thing is to take away all "soft stuff." This includes all dead annuals and biennials and any tender things that have been put in for the summer, also Paris Daisies, Zinnias, French and African Marigolds, Helichrysums, Mulleins, and a few Geraniums. Then Dahlias are cut down. The waste stuff is laid in big heaps on the edge of the lawn just across the footpath, to be loaded into the donkey-cart and shot into some large holes that have been dug up in the wood, whose story will be told later. The Dahlias are now dug up from the border, and others collected from different parts of the garden. The labels are tied on to the short stumps that remain, and the roots are laid for a time on the floor of a shed. If the weather has been rainy just before taking them up, it is well to lay them upside down, so that any wet there may be about the bases of the large hollow stalks may drain out. They are left for perhaps a fortnight without shaking out the earth that holds between the tubers, so that they may be fairly dry before they are put away for the winter in a cellar. Then we go back to the flower border and dig out all the plants that have to be divided every year. It will also be the turn for some others that only want division every two or three or more years, as the case may be. First, out come all the perennial Sunflowers. These divide themselves into two classes; those whose roots make close clumpy masses, and those that throw out long stolons ending in a blunt snout, which is the growing crown for next year. To the first division belong the old double Sunflower (_Helianthus multiflorus_), of which I only keep the well-shaped variety Soleil d'Or, and the much taller large-flowered single kind, and a tall pale-yellow flowered one with a dark stem, whose name I do not know. It is not one of the kinds thought much of, and as usually grown has not much effect; but I plant it at the back and pull it down over other plants that have gone out of flower, so that instead of having only a few flowers at the top of a rather bare stem eight feet high, it is a spreading cloud of pale yellow bloom; the training down, as in the case of so many other plants, inducing it to throw up a short flowering stalk from the axil of every leaf along the stem. The kinds with the running roots are _Helianthus rigidus_, and its giant variety Miss Mellish, _H. decapetalus_ and _H. lætiflorus_. I do not know how it may be in other gardens, but in mine these must be replanted every year. Phloxes must also be taken up. They are always difficult here, unless the season is unusually rainy; in dry summers, even with mulching and watering, I cannot keep them from drying up. The outside pieces are cut off and the woody middle thrown away. It is surprising what a tiny bit of Phlox will make a strong flowering plant in one season. The kinds I like best are the pure whites and the salmon-reds; but two others that I find very pretty and useful are Eugénie, a good mauve, and Le Soleil, a strong pink, of a colour as near a really good pink as in any Phlox I know. Both of these have a neat and rather short habit of growth. I do not have many Michaelmas Daisies in the flower border, only some early ones that flower within September; of these there are the white-flowered _A. paniculatus_, _Shortii_, _acris_, and _amellus_. These of course come up, and any patches of Gladiolus are collected, to be dried for a time and then stored. The next thing is to look through the border for the plants that require occasional renewal. In the front I find that a longish patch of _Heuchera Richardsoni_ has about half the plants overgrown. These must come up, and are cut to pieces. It is not a nice plant to divide; it has strong middle crowns, and though there are many side ones, they are attached to the main ones too high up to have roots of their own; but I boldly slice down the main stocky stem with straight downward cuts, so as to give a piece of the thick stock to each side bit. I have done this both in winter and spring, and find the spring rather the best, if not followed by drought. Groups of _Anemone japonica_ and of _Polygonum compactum_ are spreading beyond bounds and must be reduced. Neither of these need be entirely taken up. Without going into further detail, it may be of use to note how often I find it advisable to lift and divide some of the more prominent hardy plants. Every year I divide Michaelmas Daisies, Goldenrod, _Helianthus_, _Phlox_, _Chrysanthemum maximum_, _Helenium pumilum_, _Pyrethrum uliginosum_, _Anthemis tinctoria_, _Monarda_, _Lychnis_, _Primula_, except _P. denticulata_, _rosea_, and _auricula_, which stand two years. Every two years, White Pinks, Cranesbills, _Spiræa_, _Aconitum_, _Gaillardia_, _Coreopsis_, _Chrysanthemum indicum_, _Galega_, _Doronicum_, _Nepeta_, _Geum aureum_, _Oenothera Youngi_, and _Oe. riparia_. Every three years, _Tritoma_, _Megasea_, _Centranthus_, _Vinca_, _Iris_, _Narcissus_. A plasterer's hammer is a tool that is very handy for dividing plants. It has a hammer on one side of the head, and a cutting blade like a small chopper on the other. With this and a cold chisel and a strong knife one can divide any roots in comfort. I never divide things by brutally chopping them across with a spade. Plants that have soft fleshy tubers like Dahlias and Pæonies want the cold chisel; it can be cleverly inserted among the crowns so that injury to the tubers is avoided, and it is equally useful in the case of some plants whose points of attachment are almost as hard as wire, like _Orobus vernus_, or as tough as a door-mat, like _Iris graminia_. The Michaelmas Daisies of the _Novæ Angliæ_ section make root tufts too close and hard to be cut with a knife, and here the chopper of the plasterer's hammer comes in. Where the crowns are closely crowded, as in this Aster, I find it best to chop at the bottom of the tuft, among the roots; when the chopper has cut about two-thirds through, the tuft can be separated with the hands, dividing naturally between the crowns, whereas if chopped from the top many crowns would have been spoilt. Tritomas want dividing with care; it always looks as if one could pull every crown apart, but there is a tender point at the "collar," where they easily break off short; with these also it is best to chop from below or to use the chisel, making the cut well down in the yellow rooty region. Veratrums divide much in the same way, wanting a careful cut low down, the points of their crowns being also very easy to break off. The Christmas Rose is one of the most awkward plants to divide successfully. It cannot be done in a hurry. The only safe way is to wash the clumps well out and look carefully for the points of attachment, and cut them either with knife or chisel, according to their position. In this case the chisel should be narrower and sharper. Three-year-old tufts of St. Bruno's Lily puzzled me at first. The rather fleshy roots are so tightly interlaced that cutting is out of the question; but I found out that if the tuft is held tight in the two hands, and the hands are worked opposite ways with a rotary motion of about a quarter of a circle, that they soon come apart without being hurt in the least. Delphiniums easily break off at the crown if they are broken up by hand, but the roots cut so easily that it ought not to be a difficulty. There are some plants in whose case one can never be sure whether they will divide well or not, such as Oriental Poppies and _Eryngium Oliverianum_. They behave in nearly the same way. Sometimes a Poppy or an Eryngium comes up with one thick root, impossible to divide, while the next door plant has a number of roots that are ready to drop apart like a bunch of Salsafy. Everlasting Peas do nearly the same. One may dig up two plants--own brothers of say seven years old--and a rare job it is, for they go straight down into the earth nearly a yard deep. One of them will have a straight black post of a root 2-1/2 inches thick without a break of any sort till it forks a foot underground, while the other will be a sort of loose rope of separate roots from half to three-quarters of an inch thick, that if carefully followed down and cleverly dissected where they join, will make strong plants at once. But the usual way to get young plants of Everlasting Pea is to look out in earliest spring for the many young growths that will be shooting, for these if taken off with a good bit of the white underground stem will root under a hand-light. Most of the Primrose tribe divide pleasantly and easily: the worst are the _auricula_ section; with these, for outdoor planting, one often has to slice a main root down to give a share of root to the offset. When one is digging up plants with running roots, such as Gaultheria, Honeysuckle, Polygonum, Scotch Briars, and many of the _Rubus_ tribe, or what is better, if one person is digging while another pulls up, it never does for the one who is pulling to give a steady haul; this is sure to end in breakage, whereas a root comes up willingly and unharmed in loosened ground to a succession of firm but gentle tugs, and one soon learns to suit the weight of the pulls to the strength of the plant, and to learn its breaking strain. Towards the end of October outdoor flowers in anything like quantity cannot be expected, and yet there are patches of bloom here and there in nearly every corner of the garden. The pretty Mediterranean Periwinkle (_Vinca acutiflora_) is in full bloom. As with many another southern plant that in its own home likes a cool and shady place, it prefers a sunny one in our latitude. The flowers are of a pale and delicate grey-blue colour, nearly as large as those of the common _Vinca major_, but they are borne more generously as to numbers on radical shoots that form thick, healthy-looking tufts of polished green foliage. It is not very common in gardens, but distinctly desirable. In the bulb-beds the bright-yellow _Sternbergia lutea_ is in flower. At first sight it looks something like a Crocus of unusually firm and solid substance; but it is an Amaryllis, and its pure and even yellow colouring is quite unlike that of any of the Crocuses. The numerous upright leaves are thick, deep green, and glossy. It flowers rather shyly in our poor soil, even in well-made beds, doing much better in chalky ground. Czar Violets are giving their fine and fragrant flowers on stalks nine inches long. To have them at their best they must be carefully cultivated and liberally enriched. No plants answer better to good treatment, or spoil more quickly by neglect. A miserable sight is a forgotten violet-bed where they have run together into a tight mat, giving only few and poor flowers. I have seen the owner of such a bed stand over it and blame the plants, when he should have laid the lash on his own shoulders. Violets must be replanted every year. When the last rush of bloom in March is over, the plants are pulled to pieces, and strong single crowns from the outer edges of the clumps, or from the later runners, are replanted in good, well-manured soil, in such a place as will be somewhat shaded from summer sun. There should be eighteen inches between each plant, and as they make their growth, all runners should be cut off until August. They are encouraged by liberal doses of liquid manure from time to time, and watered in case of drought; and the heart of the careful gardener is warmed and gratified when friends, seeing them at midsummer, say (as has more than once happened), "What a nice batch of young Hollyhocks!" In such a simple matter as the culture of this good hardy Violet, my garden, though it is full of limitations, and in all ways falls short of any worthy ideal, enables me here and there to point out something that is worth doing, and to lay stress on the fact that the things worth doing are worth taking trouble about. But it is a curious thing that many people, even among those who profess to know something about gardening, when I show them something fairly successful--the crowning reward of much care and labour--refuse to believe that any pains have been taken about it. They will ascribe it to chance, to the goodness of my soil, and even more commonly to some supposed occult influence of my own--to anything rather than to the plain fact that I love it well enough to give it plenty of care and labour. They assume a tone of complimentary banter, kindly meant no doubt, but to me rather distasteful, to this effect: "Oh yes, of course it will grow for you; anything will grow for you; you have only to look at a thing and it will grow." I have to pump up a laboured smile and accept the remark with what grace I can, as a necessary civility to the stranger that is within my gates, but it seems to me evident that those who say these things do not understand the love of a garden. I could not help rejoicing when such a visitor came to me one October. I had been saying how necessary good and deep cultivation was, especially in so very poor and shallow a soil as mine. Passing up through the copse where there were some tall stems of _Lilium giganteum_ bearing the great upturned pods of seed, my visitor stopped and said, "I don't believe a word about your poor soil--look at the growth of that Lily. Nothing could make that great stem ten feet high in a poor soil, and there it is, just stuck into the wood!" I said nothing, knowing that presently I could show a better answer than I could frame in words. A little farther up in the copse we came upon an excavation about twelve feet across and four deep, and by its side a formidable mound of sand, when my friend said, "Why are you making all this mess in your pretty wood? are you quarrying stone, or is it for the cellar of a building? and what on earth are you going to do with that great heap of sand? why, there must be a dozen loads of it." That was my moment of secret triumph, but I hope I bore it meekly as I answered, "I only wanted to plant a few more of those big Lilies, and you see in my soil they would not have a chance unless the ground was thoroughly prepared; look at the edge of the scarp and see how the solid yellow sand comes to within four inches of the top; so I have a big wide hole dug; and look, there is the donkey-cart coming with the first load of Dahlia-tops and soft plants that have been for the summer in the south border. There will be several of those little cartloads, each holding three barrowfuls. As it comes into the hole, the men will chop it with the spade and tread it down close, mixing in a little sand. This will make a nice cool, moist bottom of slowly-rotting vegetable matter. Some more of the same kind of waste will come from the kitchen garden--cabbage-stumps, bean-haulm, soft weeds that have been hoed up, and all the greenest stuff from the rubbish-heap. Every layer will be chopped and pounded, and tramped down so that there should be as little sinking as possible afterwards. By this time the hole will be filled to within a foot of the top; and now we must get together some better stuff--road-scrapings and trimmings mixed with some older rubbish-heap mould, and for the top of all, some of our precious loam, and the soil of an old hotbed and some well-decayed manure, all well mixed, and then we are ready for the Lilies. They are planted only just underground, and then the whole bed has a surfacing of dead leaves, which helps to keep down weeds, and also looks right with the surrounding wild ground. The remains of the heap of sand we must deal with how we can; but there are hollows here and there in the roadway and paths, and a place that can be levelled up in the rubbish-yard, and some kitchen-garden paths that will bear raising, and so by degrees it is disposed of." CHAPTER XII NOVEMBER Giant Christmas Rose -- Hardy Chrysanthemums -- Sheltering tender shrubs -- Turfing by inoculation -- Transplanting large trees -- Sir Henry Steuart's experience early in the century -- Collecting fallen leaves -- Preparing grubbing tools -- Butcher's Broom -- Alexandrian Laurel -- Hollies and Birches -- A lesson in planting. The giant Christmas Rose (_Helleborus maximus_) is in full flower; it is earlier than the true Christmas Rose, being at its best by the middle of November. It is a large and massive flower, but compared with the later kinds has a rather coarse look. The bud and the back of the flower are rather heavily tinged with a dull pink, and it never has the pure-white colouring throughout of the later ones. I have taken some pains to get together some really hardy November-blooming Chrysanthemums. The best of all is a kind frequent in neighbouring cottage-gardens, and known hereabouts as Cottage Pink. I believe it is identical with Emperor of China, a very old sort that used to be frequent in greenhouse cultivation before it was supplanted by the many good kinds now grown. But its place is not indoors, but in the open garden; if against a south or west wall, so much the better. Perhaps one year in seven the bloom may be spoilt by such a severe frost as that of October 1895, but it will bear unharmed several degrees of frost and much rain. I know no Chrysanthemum of so true a pink colour, the colour deepening to almost crimson in the centre. After the first frost the foliage of this kind turns to a splendid colour, the green of the leaves giving place to a rich crimson that sometimes clouds the outer portion of the leaf, and often covers its whole expanse. The stiff, wholesome foliage adds much to the beauty of the outdoor kinds, contrasting most agreeably with the limp, mildewed leafage of those indoors. Following Cottage Pink is a fine pompone called Soleil d'Or, in colour the richest deep orange, with a still deeper and richer coloured centre. The beautiful crimson Julie Lagravère flowers at the same time. Both are nearly frost-proof, and true hardy November flowers. The first really frosty day we go to the upper part of the wood and cut out from among the many young Scotch Firs as many as we think will be wanted for sheltering plants and shrubs of doubtful hardiness. One section of the high wall at the back of the flower border is planted with rather tender things, so that the whole is covered with sheltering fir-boughs. Here are Loquat, Fuchsia, Pomegranate, _Edwardsia_, _Piptanthus_, and _Choisya_, and in the narrow border at the foot of the wall, _Crinum_, _Nandina_, _Clerodendron_, and _Hydrangea_. In the broad border in front of the wall nothing needs protection except Tritomas; these have cones of coal-ashes heaped over each plant or clump. The Crinums also have a few inches of ashes over them. Some large Hydrangeas in tubs are moved to a sheltered place and put close together, a mound of sand being shovelled up all round to nearly the depth of the tubs; then a wall is made of thatched hurdles, and dry fern is packed well in among the heads of the plants. They would be better in a frost-proof shed, but we have no such place to spare. The making of a lawn is a difficulty in our very poor sandy soil. In this rather thickly-populated country the lords of the manor had been so much pestered for grants of road-side turf, and the privilege when formerly given had been so much abused, that they have agreed together to refuse all applications. Opportunities of buying good turf do not often occur, and sowing is slow, and not satisfactory. I am told by a seedsman of the highest character that it is almost impossible to get grass seed clean and true to name from the ordinary sources; the leading men therefore have to grow their own. In my own case, having some acres of rough heath and copse where the wild grasses are of fine-leaved kinds, I made the lawn by inoculation. The ground was trenched and levelled, then well trodden and raked, and the surface stones collected. Tufts of the wild grass were then forked up, and were pulled into pieces about the size of the palm of one's hand, and laid down eight inches apart, and well rolled in. During the following summer we collected seed of the same grasses to sow early in spring in any patchy or bare places. One year after planting the patches had spread to double their size, and by the second year had nearly joined together. The grasses were of two kinds only, namely, Sheep's Fescue (_Festuca ovina_) and Crested Dog's-tail (_Agrostis canina_). They make a lawn of a quiet, low-toned colour, never of the bright green of the rather coarser grasses; but in this case I much prefer it; it goes better with the Heath and Fir and Bracken that belong to the place. In point of labour, a lawn made of these fine grasses has the great merit of only wanting mowing once in three weeks. * * * * * I have never undertaken the transplanting of large trees, but there is no doubt that it may be done with success, and in laying out a new place where the site is bare, if suitable trees are to be had, it is a plan much to be recommended. It has often been done of late years, but until a friend drew my attention to an article in the _Quarterly Review_, dated March 1828, I had no idea that it had been practised on a large scale so early in the century. The article in question was a review of "The Planter's Guide," by Sir Henry Steuart, Bart., LL.D. (Edinburgh, 1828.) It quoted the opinion and observation of a committee of gentlemen, among whom was Sir Walter Scott, who visited Allanton (Sir Henry Steuart's place) in September 1828, when the trees had been some years planted. They found them growing "with vigour and luxuriance, and in the most exposed situations making shoots of eighteen inches.... From the facts which they witnessed the committee reported it as their unanimous opinion that the art of transplantation, as practised by Sir Henry Steuart, is calculated to accelerate in an extraordinary degree the power of raising wood, whether for beauty or shelter." The reviewer then quotes the method of transplantation, describing the extreme care with which the roots are preserved, men with picks carefully trying round the ground beneath the outer circumference of the branches for the most outlying rootlets, and then gradually approaching the bole. The greatest care was taken not to injure any root or fibre, these as they were released from the earth being tied up, and finally the transplanting machine, consisting of a strong pole mounted on high wheels, was brought close to the trunk and attached to it, and the tree when lowered, carefully transported to its new home. Every layer of roots was then replanted with the utmost care, with delicate fingering and just sufficient ramming, and in the end the tree stood without any artificial support whatever, and in positions exposed to the fiercest gales. The average size of tree dealt with seems to have had a trunk about a foot in diameter, but some were removed with complete success whose trunks were two feet thick. In order that his trees might be the better balanced in shape, Sir Henry boldly departed from the older custom of replanting a tree in its original aspect, for he reversed the aspect, so that the more stunted and shorter-twigged weather side now became the lee side, and could grow more freely. He insists strongly on the wisdom of transplanting only well-weathered trees, and not those of tender constitution that had been sheltered by standing among other close growths, pointing out that these have a tenderer bark and taller top and roots less well able to bear the strain of wind and weather in the open. He reckons that a transplanted tree is in full new growth by the fourth or fifth year, and that an advantage equal to from thirty to forty years' growth is gained by the system. As for the expense of the work, Sir Henry estimated that his largest trees each cost from ten to thirteen shillings to take up, remove half a mile, and replant. In the case of large trees the ground that was to receive them was prepared a twelvemonth beforehand. * * * * * Now, in the third week of November, the most pressing work is the collecting of leaves for mulching and leaf-mould. The oaks have been late in shedding their leaves, and we have been waiting till they are down. Oak-leaves are the best, then hazel, elm, and Spanish chestnut. Birch and beech are not so good; beech-leaves especially take much too long to decay. This is, no doubt, the reason why nothing grows willingly under beeches. Horse and cart and three hands go out into the lanes for two or three days, and the loads that come home go three feet deep into the bottom of a range of pits. The leaves are trodden down close and covered with a layer of mould, in which winter salad stuff is immediately planted. The mass of leaves will soon begin to heat, and will give a pleasant bottom-heat throughout the winter. Other loads of leaves go into an open pen about ten feet square and five feet deep. Two such pens, made of stout oak post and rail and upright slabs, stand side by side in the garden yard. The one newly filled has just been emptied of its two-year-old leaf-mould, which has gone as a nourishing and protecting mulch over beds of Daffodils and choice bulbs and Alströmerias, some being put aside in reserve for potting and various uses. The other pen remains full of the leaves of last year, slowly rotting into wholesome plant-food. With works of wood-cutting and stump-grubbing near at hand, we look over the tools and see that all are in readiness for winter work. Axes and hand-bills are ground, fag-hooks sharpened, picks and mattocks sent to the smithy to be drawn out, the big cross-cut saw fresh sharpened and set, and the hand-saws and frame-saws got ready. The rings of the bittle are tightened and wedged up, so that its heavy head may not split when the mighty blows, flung into the tool with a man's full strength, fall on the heads of the great iron wedges. [Illustration: PENS FOR STORING DEAD LEAVES.] [Illustration: CAREFUL WILD-GARDENING--WHITE FOXGLOVES AT THE EDGE OF THE FIR WOOD. (_See page 270._)] Some thinning of birch-trees has to be done in the lowest part of the copse, not far from the house. They are rather evenly distributed on the ground, and I wish to get them into groups by cutting away superfluous trees. On the neighbouring moorland and heathy uplands they are apt to grow naturally in groups, the individual trees generally bending outward towards the free, open space, the whole group taking a form that is graceful and highly pictorial. I hope to be able to cut out trees so as to leave the remainder standing in some such way. But as a tree once cut cannot be put up again, the condemned ones are marked with bands of white paper right round the trunks, so that they can be observed from all sides, thus to give a chance of reprieve to any tree that from any point of view may have pictorial value. Frequent in some woody districts in the south of England, though local, is the Butcher's Broom (_Ruscus aculeatus_). Its stiff green branches that rise straight from the root bear small, hard leaves, armed with a sharp spine at the end. The flower, which comes in early summer, is seated without stalk in the middle of the leaf, and is followed by a large red berry. In country places where it abounds, butchers use the twigs tied in bunches to brush the little chips of meat off their great chopping-blocks, that are made of solid sections of elm trees, standing three and a half feet high and about two and a half feet across. Its beautiful garden relative, the Alexandrian or Victory Laurel (_Ruscus racemosus_), is also now just at its best. Nothing makes a more beautiful wreath than two of its branches, suitably arched and simply bound together near the butts and free ends. It is not a laurel, but a _Ruscus_, the name laurel having probably grown on to it by old association with any evergreen suitable for a victor's wreath. It is a slow-growing plant, but in time makes handsome tufts of its graceful branches. Few plants are more exquisitely modelled, to use a term familiar to the world of fine art, or give an effect of more delicate and perfect finish. It is a valuable plant in a shady place in good, cool soil. Early in summer, when the young growths appear, the old, then turning rusty, should be cut away. No trees group together more beautifully than Hollies and Birches. One such happy mixture in one part of the copse suggested further plantings of Holly, Birches being already in abundance. Every year some more Hollies are planted; those put in nine years ago are now fifteen feet high, and are increasing fast. They are slow to begin growth after transplanting, perhaps because in our very light soil they cannot be moved with a "ball"; all the soil shakes away, and leaves the root naked; but after about three years, when the roots have got good hold and begun to ramble, they grow away well. The trunk of an old Holly has a smooth pale-grey bark, and sometimes a slight twist, that makes it look like the gigantic bone of some old-world monster. The leaves of some old trees, especially if growing in shade, change their shape, losing the side prickles and becoming longer and nearly flat and more of a dark bottle-green colour, while the lower branches and twigs, leafless except towards their ends, droop down in a graceful line that rises again a little at the tip. [Illustration: HOLLY STEMS IN AN OLD HEDGE-ROW.] The leaves are all down by the last week of November, and woodland assumes its winter aspect; perhaps one ought rather to say, some one of its infinite variety of aspects, for those who live in such country know how many are the winter moods of forest land, and how endless are its variations of atmospheric effect and pictorial beauty--variations much greater and more numerous than are possible in summer. With the wind in the south-west and soft rain about, the twigs of the birches look almost crimson, while the dead bracken at their foot, half-draggled and sodden with wet, is of a strong, dark rust colour. Now one sees the full value of the good evergreens, and, rambling through woodland, more especially of the Holly, whether in bush or tree form, with its masses of strong green colour, dark and yet never gloomy. Whether it is the high polish of the leaves, or the lively look of their wavy edges, with the short prickles set alternately up and down, or the brave way the tree has of shooting up among other thick growth, or its massive sturdiness on a bare hillside, one cannot say, but a Holly in early winter, even without berries, is always a cheering sight. John Evelyn is eloquent in his praise of this grand evergreen, and lays special emphasis on this quality of cheerfulness. Near my home is a little wild valley, whose planting, wholly done by Nature, I have all my life regarded with the most reverent admiration. The arable fields of an upland farm give place to hazel copses as the ground rises. Through one of these a deep narrow lane, cool and dusky in summer from its high steep banks and over-arching foliage, leads by a rather sudden turn into the lower end of the little valley. Its grassy bottom is only a few yards wide, and its sides rise steeply right and left. Looking upward through groups of wild bushes and small trees, one sees thickly-wooded ground on the higher levels. The soil is of the very poorest; ridges of pure yellow sand are at the mouths of the many rabbit-burrows. The grass is of the short fine kinds of the heathy uplands. Bracken grows low, only from one to two feet high, giving evidence of the poverty of the soil, and yet it seems able to grow in perfect beauty clumps of Juniper and Thorn and Holly, and Scotch Fir on the higher ground. On the steeply-rising banks are large groups of Juniper, some tall, some spreading, some laced and wreathed about with tangles of Honeysuckle, now in brown winter dress, and there are a few bushes of Spindle-tree, whose green stems and twigs look strangely green in winter. The Thorns stand some singly, some in close companionship, impenetrable masses of short-twigged prickly growth, with here and there a wild Rose shooting straight up through the crowded branches. One thinks how lovely it will be in early June, when the pink Rose-wreaths are tossing out of the foamy sea of white Thorn blossom. The Hollies are towering masses of health and vigour. Some of the groups of Thorn and Holly are intermingled; all show beautiful arrangements of form and colour, such as are never seen in planted places. The track in the narrow valley trends steadily upwards and bears a little to the right. High up on the left-hand side is an old wood of Scotch Fir. A few detached trees come half-way down the valley bank to meet the gnarled, moss-grown Thorns and the silver-green Junipers. As the way rises some Birches come in sight, also at home in the sandy soil. Their graceful, lissome spray moving to the wind looks active among the stiffer trees, and their white stems shine out in startling contrast to the other dusky foliage. So the narrow track leads on, showing the same kinds of tree and bush in endless variety of beautiful grouping, under the sombre half-light of the winter day. It is afternoon, and as one mounts higher a pale bar of yellow light gleams between the farther tree-stems, but all above is grey, with angry, blackish drifts of ragged wrack. Now the valley opens out to a nearly level space of rough grass, with grey tufts that will be pink bell-heather in summer, and upstanding clumps of sedge that tell of boggy places. In front and to the right are dense fir-woods. To the left is broken ground and a steep-sided hill, towards whose shoulder the track rises. Here are still the same kinds of trees, but on the open hillside they have quite a different effect. Now I look into the ruddy heads of the Thorns, bark and fruit both of rich warm colouring, and into the upper masses of the Hollies, also reddening into wealth of berry. [Illustration: WILD JUNIPERS.] Throughout the walk, pacing slowly but steadily for nearly an hour, only these few kinds of trees have been seen, Juniper, Holly, Thorn, Scotch Fir, and Birch (a few small Oaks excepted), and yet there has not been once the least feeling of monotony, nor, returning downward by the same path, could one wish anything to be altered or suppressed or differently grouped. And I have always had the same feeling about any quite wild stretch of forest land. Such a bit of wild forest as this small valley and the hilly land beyond are precious lessons in the best kind of tree and shrub planting. No artificial planting can ever equal that of Nature, but one may learn from it the great lesson of the importance of moderation and reserve, of simplicity of intention, and directness of purpose, and the inestimable value of the quality called "breadth" in painting. For planting ground is painting a landscape with living things; and as I hold that good gardening takes rank within the bounds of the fine arts, so I hold that to plant well needs an artist of no mean capacity. And his difficulties are not slight ones, for his living picture must be right from all points, and in all lights. [Illustration: WILD JUNIPERS.] No doubt the planting of a large space with a limited number of kinds of trees cannot be trusted to all hands, for in those of a person without taste or the more finely-trained perceptions the result would be very likely dull or even absurd. It is not the paint that make the picture, but the brain and heart and hand of the man who uses it. CHAPTER XIII DECEMBER The woodman at work -- Tree-cutting in frosty weather -- Preparing sticks and stakes -- Winter Jasmine -- Ferns in the wood-walk -- Winter colour of evergreen shrubs -- Copse-cutting -- Hoop-making -- Tools used -- Sizes of hoops -- Men camping out -- Thatching with hoop-chips -- The old thatcher's bill. It is good to watch a clever woodman and see how much he can do with his simple tools, and how easily one man alone can deal with heavy pieces of timber. An oak trunk, two feet or more thick, and weighing perhaps a ton, lies on the ground, the branches being already cut off. He has to cleave it into four, and to remove it to the side of a lane one hundred feet away. His tools are an axe and one iron wedge. The first step is the most difficult--to cut such a nick in the sawn surface of the butt of the trunk as will enable the wedge to stick in. He holds the wedge to the cut and hammers it gently with the back of the axe till it just holds, then he tries a moderate blow, and is quite prepared for what is almost sure to happen--the wedge springs out backwards; very likely it springs out for three or four trials, but at last the wedge bites and he can give it the dexterous, rightly-placed blows that slowly drive it in. Before the wedge is in half its length a creaking sound is heard; the fibres are beginning to tear, and a narrow rift shows on each side of the iron. A few more strokes and the sound of the rending fibres is louder and more continuous, with sudden cracking noises, that tell of the parting of larger bundles of fibres, that had held together till the tremendous rending power of the wedge at last burst them asunder. Now the man looks out a bit of strong branch about four inches thick, and with the tree-trunk as a block and the axe held short in one hand as a chopper, he makes a wooden wedge about twice the size of the iron one, and drives it into one of the openings at its side. For if you have only one iron wedge, and you drive it tight into your work, you can neither send it farther nor get it out, and you feel and look foolish. The wooden wedge driven in releases the iron one, which is sent in afresh against the side of the wedge of oak, the trunk meanwhile rending slowly apart with much grieving and complaining of the tearing fibres. As the rent opens the axe cuts across diagonal bundles of fibres that still hold tightly across the widening rift. And so the work goes on, the man unconsciously exercising his knowledge of his craft in placing and driving the wedges, the helpless wood groaning and creaking and finally falling apart as the last holding fibres are severed by the axe. Meanwhile the raw green wood gives off a delicious scent, sweet and sharp and refreshing, not unlike the smell of apples crushing in the cider-press. [Illustration: THE WOODMAN.] The woodman has still to rend the two halves of the trunk, but the work is not so heavy and goes more quickly. Now he has to shift them to the side of the rough track that serves as a road through the wood. They are so heavy that two men could barely lift them, and he is alone. He could move them with a lever, that he could cut out of a straight young tree, a foot or so at a time at each end, but it is a slow and clumsy way; besides, the wood is too much encumbered with undergrowth. So he cuts two short pieces from a straight bit of branch four inches or five inches thick, levers one of his heavy pieces so that one end points to the roadway, prises up this end and kicks one of his short pieces under it close to the end, settling it at right angles with gentle kicks. The other short piece is arranged in the same way, a little way beyond the middle of the length of quartered trunk. Now, standing behind it, he can run the length easily along on the two rollers, till the one nearest him is left behind; this one is then put under the front end of the weight, and so on till the road is reached. Trees that stand where paths are to come, or that for any reason have to be removed, root and all, are not felled with axe or saw, but are grubbed down. The earth is dug away next to the tree, gradually exposing the roots; these are cut through with axe or mattock close to the butt, and again about eighteen inches away, so that by degrees a deep trench, eighteen inches wide, is excavated round the butt. A rope is fastened at the right distance up the trunk, when, if the tree does not hold by a very strong tap-root, a succession of steady pulls will bring it down; the weight of the top thus helping to prise the heavy butt out of the ground. We come upon many old stumps of Scotch fir, the remains of the original wood; they make capital firewood, though some burn rather too fiercely, being full of turpentine. Many are still quite sound, though it must be six-and-twenty years since they were felled. They are very hard to grub, with their thick taproots and far-reaching laterals, and still tougher to split up, their fibres are so much twisted, and the dark-red heart-wood has become hardened till it rings to a blow almost like metal. But some, whose roots have rotted, come up more easily, and with very little digging may be levered out of the ground with a long iron stone-bar, such as they use in the neighbouring quarries, putting the point of the bar under the "stam," and having a log of wood for a hard fulcrum. Or a stout young stem of oak or chestnut is used for a lever, passing a chain under the stump and over the middle of the bar and prising upwards with the lever. "Stam" is the word always used by the men for any stump of a tree left in the ground. [Illustration: GRUBBING A TREE-STUMP.] [Illustration: FELLING AND GRUBBING TOOLS. (_See page 150._)] A spell of frosty days at the end of December puts a stop to all planting and ground work. Now we go into the copse and cut the trees that have been provisionally marked, judged, and condemned, with the object of leaving the remainder standing in graceful groups. The men wonder why I cut some of the trees that are best and straightest and have good tops, and leave those with leaning stems. Anything of seven inches or less diameter is felled with the axe, but thicker trees with the cross-cut saw. For these our most active fellow climbs up the tree with a rope, and makes it fast to the trunk a good way up, then two of them, kneeling, work the saw. When it has cut a third of the way through, the rope is pulled on the side opposite the cut to keep it open and let the saw work free. When still larger trees are sawn down this is done by driving in a wedge behind the saw, when the width of the saw-blade is rather more than buried in the tree. When the trunk is nearly sawn through, it wants care and judgment to see that the saw does not get pinched by the weight of the tree; the clumsy workman who fails to clear his saw gets laughed at, and probably damages his tool. Good straight trunks of oak and chestnut are put aside for special uses; the rest of the larger stuff is cut into cordwood lengths of four feet. The heaviest of these are split up into four pieces to make them easier to load and carry away, and eventually to saw up into firewood. The best of the birch tops are cut into pea-sticks, a clever, slanting cut with the hand-bill leaving them pointed and ready for use. Throughout the copse are "stools" of Spanish chestnut, cut about once in five years. From this we get good straight stakes for Dahlias and Hollyhocks, also beanpoles; while the rather straight-branched boughs are cut into branching sticks for Michaelmas Daisies, and special lengths are got ready for various kinds of plants--Chrysanthemums, Lilies, Pæonies and so on. To provide all this in winter, when other work is slack or impossible, is an important matter in the economy of a garden, for all gardeners know how distressing and harassing it is to find themselves without the right sort of sticks or stakes in summer, and what a long job it then seems to have to look them up and cut them, of indifferent quality, out of dry faggots. By the plan of preparing all in winter no precious time is lost, and a tidy withe-bound bundle of the right sort is always at hand. The rest of the rough spray and small branching stuff is made up into faggots to be chopped up for fire-lighting; the country folk still use the old word "bavin" for faggots. The middle-sized branches--anything between two inches and six inches in diameter--are what the woodmen call "top and lop"; these are also cut into convenient lengths, and are stacked in the barn, to be cut into billets for next year's fires in any wet or frosty weather, when outdoor work is at a standstill. What a precious winter flower is the yellow Jasmine (_Jasminum nudiflorum_). Though hard frost spoils the flowers then expanded, as soon as milder days come the hosts of buds that are awaiting them burst into bloom. Its growth is so free and rapid that one has no scruple about cutting it freely; and great branching sprays, cut a yard or more long, arranged with branches of Alexandrian Laurel or other suitable foliage--such as Andromeda or Gaultheria--are beautiful as room decoration. Christmas Roses keep on flowering bravely, in spite of our light soil and frequent summer drought, both being unfavourable conditions; but bravest of all is the blue Algerian Iris (_Iris stylosa_), flowering freely as it does, at the foot of a west wall, in all open weather from November till April. In the rock-garden at the edge of the copse the creeping evergreen _Polygala chamæbuxus_ is quite at home in beds of peat among mossy boulders. Where it has the ground to itself, this neat little shrub makes close tufts only four inches or five inches high, its wiry branches being closely set with neat, dark-green, box-like leaves; though where it has to struggle for life among other low shrubs, as may often be seen in the Alps, the branches elongate, and will run bare for two feet or three feet to get the leafy end to the light. Even now it is thickly set with buds and has a few expanded flowers. This bit of rock-garden is mostly planted with dwarf shrubs--_Skimmia_, Bog-myrtle, Alpine Rhododendrons, _Gaultheria_, and _Andromeda_, with drifts of hardy ferns between, and only a few "soft" plants. But of these, two are now conspicuously noticeable for foliage--the hardy Cyclamens and the blue Himalayan Poppy (_Meconopsis Wallichi_). Every winter I notice how bravely the pale woolly foliage of this plant bears up against the early winter's frost and wet. The wood-walk, whose sloping banks are planted with hardy ferns in large groups, shows how many of our common kinds are good plants for the first half of the winter. Now, only a week before Christmas, the male fern is still in handsome green masses; _Blechnum_ is still good, and common Polypody at its best. The noble fronds of the Dilated Shield-fern are still in fairly good order, and _Ceterach_ in rocky chinks is in fullest beauty. Beyond, in large groups, are prosperous-looking tufts of the Wood-rush (_Luzula sylvatica_); then there is wood as far as one can see, here mostly of the silver-stemmed Birch and rich green Holly, with the woodland carpet of dusky low-toned bramble and quiet dead leaf and brilliant moss. By the middle of December many of the evergreen shrubs that thrive in peat are in full beauty of foliage. _Andromeda Catesbæi_ is richly coloured with crimson clouds and splashes; Skimmias are at their best and freshest, their bright, light green, leathery foliage defying all rigours of temperature or weather. Pernettyas are clad in their strongest and deepest green leafage, and show a richness and depth of colour only surpassed by that of the yew hedges. Copse-cutting is one of the harvests of the year for labouring men, and all the more profitable that it can go on through frosty weather. A handy man can earn good wages at piece-work, and better still if he can cleave and shave hoops. Hoop-making is quite a large industry in these parts, employing many men from Michaelmas to March. They are barrel-hoops, made of straight poles of six years' growth. The wood used is Birch, Ash, Hazel and Spanish Chestnut. Hazel is the best, or as my friend in the business says, "Hazel, that's the master!" The growths of the copses are sold by auction in some near county town, as they stand, the buyer clearing them during the winter. They are cut every six years, and a good copse of Chestnut has been known to fetch £54 an acre. A good hoop-maker can earn from twenty to twenty-five shillings a week. He sets up his brake, while his mate, who will cleave the rods, cuts a post about three inches thick, and fixes it into the ground so that it stands about three feet high. To steady it he drives in another of rather curly shape by its side, so that the tops of the two are nearly even, but the foot of the curved spur is some nine inches away at the bottom, with its top pressing hard against the upright. To stiffen it still more he makes a long withe of a straight hazel rod, which he twists into a rope by holding the butt tightly under his left foot and twisting with both hands till the fibres are wrenched open and the withe is ready to spring back and wind upon itself. With this he binds his two posts together, so that they stand perfectly rigid. On this he cleaves the poles, beginning at the top. The tool is a small one-handed adze with a handle like a hammer. A rod is usually cleft in two, so that it is only shaved on one side; but sometimes a pole of Chestnut, a very quick-growing wood, is large enough to cleave into eight, and when the wood is very clean and straight they can sometimes get two lengths of fourteen feet out of a pole. [Illustration: HOOP-MAKING IN THE WOODS.] The brake is a strong flat-shaped post of oak set up in the ground to lean a little away from the workman. It stands five and a half feet out of the ground. A few inches from its upper end it has a shoulder cut in it which acts as the fulcrum for the cross-bar that supports the pole to be shaved, and that leans down towards the man. The relative position of the two parts of the brake reminds one of the mast and yard of a lateen-rigged boat. The bar is nicely balanced by having a hazel withe bound round a groove at its upper short end, about a foot beyond the fulcrum, while the other end of the withe is tied round a heavy bit of log or stump that hangs clear of the ground and just balances the bar, so that it see-saws easily. The cleft rod that is to be shaved lies along the bar, and an iron pin that passes through the head of the brake just above the point where the bar rides over its shoulder, nips the hoop as the weight of the stroke comes upon it; the least lifting of the bar releases the hoop, which is quickly shifted onwards for a new stroke. The shaving tool is a strong two-handled draw-knife, much like the tool used by wheelwrights. It is hard work, "wunnerful tryin' across the chest." The hoops are in several standard lengths, from fourteen to two and a half feet. The longest go to the West Indies for sugar hogsheads, and some of the next are for tacking round pipes of wine. The wine is in well-made iron-hooped barrels, but the wooden hoops are added to protect them from the jarring and bumping when rolled on board ship, and generally to save them during storage and transit. These hoops are in two sizes, called large and small pipes. A thirteen-foot size go to foreign countries for training vines on. A large quantity that measure five feet six inches, and called "long pinks," are for cement barrels. A length of seven feet six inches are used for herring barrels, and are called kilderkins, after the name of the size of tub. Smaller sizes go for gunpowder barrels, and for tacking round packing-cases and tea-chests. The men want to make all the time they can in the short winter daylight, and often the work is some miles from home, so if the weather is not very cold they make huts of the bundles of rods and chips, and sleep out on the job. I always admire the neatness with which the bundles are fastened up, and the strength of the withe-rope that binds them, for sixty hoops, or thirty pairs, as they call them, of fourteen feet, are a great weight to be kept together by four slight hazel bands. [Illustration: HOOP-SHAVING.] [Illustration: SHED-ROOF, THATCHED WITH HOOP-CHIP.] In this industry there is a useful by-product in the shavings, or chips as they call them. They are eighteen inches to two feet long, and are made up into small faggots or bundles and stacked up for six months to a year to dry, and then sell readily at twopence a bundle to cut up for fire-lighting. They also make a capital thatch for sheds, a thatch nearly a foot thick, warm in winter, and cool in summer, and durable, for if well made it will last for forty years. I got a clever old thatcher to make me a hoop-chip roof for the garden shed; it was a long job, and he took his time (although it was piece-work), preparing and placing each handful of chips as carefully as if he was making a wedding bouquet. He was one of the old sort--no scamping of work for him; his work was as good as he could make it, and it was his pride and delight. The roof was prepared with strong laths nailed horizontally across the rafters as if for tiling, but farther apart; and the chips, after a number of handfuls had been duly placed and carefully poked and patted into shape, were bound down to the laths with soft tarred cord guided by an immense iron needle. The thatching, as in all cases of roof-covering, begins at the eaves, so that each following layer laps over the last. Only the ridge has to be of straw, because straw can be bent over; the chips are too rigid. When the thatch is all in place the whole is "drove," that is, beaten up close with a wooden bat that strikes against the ends of the chips and drives them up close, jamming them tight into the fastening. After six months of drying summer weather he came and drove it all over again. Thatching is done by piece-work, and paid at so much a "square" of ten by ten feet. When I asked for his bill, the old man brought it made out on a hazel stick, in a manner either traditional, or of his own devising. This is how it runs, in notches about half an inch long, and dots dug with the point of the knife. It means, "To so much work done, £4, 5s. 0d." IIXXX·I·, IIXXXX·II[V] IIII[V]XX,IIXX CHAPTER XIV LARGE AND SMALL GARDENS A well done villa garden -- A small town garden -- Two delightful gardens of small size -- Twenty acres within the walls -- A large country house and its garden -- Terrace -- Lawn -- Parterre -- Free garden -- Kitchen garden -- Buildings -- Ornamental orchard -- Instructive mixed gardens -- Mr. Wilson's at Wisley -- A window garden. The size of a garden has very little to do with its merit. It is merely an accident relating to the circumstances of the owner. It is the size of his heart and brain and goodwill that will make his garden either delightful or dull, as the case may be, and either leave it at the usual monotonous dead-level, or raise it, in whatever degree may be, towards that of a work of fine art. If a man knows much, it is more difficult for him to deal with a small space than a larger, for he will have to make the more sacrifice; but if he is wise he will at once make up his mind about what he will let go, and how he may best treat the restricted space. Some years ago I visited a small garden attached to a villa on the outskirts of a watering-place on the south coast. In ordinary hands it would have been a perfectly commonplace thing, with the usual weary mixture, and exhibiting the usual distressing symptoms that come in the train of the ministrations of the jobbing-gardener. In size it may have been a third of an acre, and it was one of the most interesting and enjoyable gardens I have ever seen, its master and mistress giving it daily care and devotion, and enjoying to the full its glad response of grateful growth. The master had built with his own hands, on one side where more privacy was wanted, high rugged walls, with spaces for many rock-loving plants, and had made the wall die away so cleverly into the rock-garden, that the whole thing looked like a garden founded on some ancient ruined structure. And it was all done with so much taste that there was nothing jarring or strained-looking, still less anything cockneyfied, but all easy and pleasant and pretty, while the happy look of the plants at once proclaimed his sympathy with them, and his comprehensive knowledge of their wants. In the same garden was a walled enclosure where Tree Pæonies and some of the hardier of the oriental Rhododendrons were thriving, and there were pretty spaces of lawn, and flower border, and shrub clump, alike beautiful and enjoyable, all within a small space, and yet not crowded--the garden of one who was a keen flower lover, as well as a world-known botanist. I am always thankful to have seen this garden, because it showed me, in a way that had never been so clearly brought home to me, how much may be done in a small space. Another and much smaller garden that I remember with pleasure was in a sort of yard among houses, in a country town. The house it belonged to, a rather high one, was on its east side, and halfway along on the south; the rest was bounded by a wall about ten feet high. Opposite the house the owner had built of rough blocks of sandstone what served as a workshop, about twelve feet long along the wall, and six feet wide within. A low archway of the same rough stone was the entrance, and immediately above it a lean-to roof sloped up to the top of the wall, which just here had been carried a little higher. The roof was of large flat sandstones, only slightly lapping over each other, with spaces and chinks where grew luxuriant masses of Polypody Fern. It was contrived with a cement bed, so that it was quite weather-tight, and the room was lighted by a skylight at one end that did not show from the garden. A small surface of lead-flat, on a level with the top of the wall, in one of the opposite angles, carried an old oil-jar, from which fell masses of gorgeous Tropæolum, and the actual surface of the flat was a garden of Stonecrops. The rounded coping of the walls, and the joints in many places (for the wall was an old one), were gay with yellow Corydalis and Snapdragons and more Stonecrops. The little garden had a few pleasant flowering bushes, Ribes and Laurustinus, a Bay and an Almond tree. In the coolest and shadiest corner were a fern-grotto and a tiny tank. The rest of the garden, only a few yards across, was laid out with a square bed in the middle, and a little path round, then a three-feet-wide border next the wall, all edged with rather tall-grown Box. The middle bed had garden Roses and Carnations, and Mignonette and Stocks. All round were well-chosen plants and shrubs, looking well and happy, though in a confined and rather airless space. Every square foot had been made the most of with the utmost ingenuity, but the ingenuity was always directed by good taste, so that nothing looked crowded or out of place. And I think of two other gardens of restricted space, both long strips of ground walled at the sides, whose owners I am thankful to count among my friends--one in the favoured climate of the Isle of Wight, a little garden where I suppose there are more rare and beautiful plants brought together within a small space than perhaps in any other garden of the same size in England; the other in a cathedral town, now a memory only, for the master of what was one of the most beautiful gardens I have ever seen now lives elsewhere. The garden was long in shape, and divided about midway by a wall. The division next the house was a quiet lawn, with a mulberry tree and a few mounded borders near the sides that were unobstrusive, and in no way spoilt the quiet feeling of the lawn space. Then a doorway in the dividing wall led to a straight path with a double flower border. I suppose there was a vegetable garden behind the borders, but of that I have no recollection, only a vivid remembrance of that brilliantly beautiful mass of flowers. The picture was good enough as one went along, especially as at the end one came first within sound and then within sight of a rushing river, one of those swift, clear, shallow streams with stony bottom that the trout love; but it was ten times more beautiful on turning to go back, for there was the mass of flowers, and towering high above it the noble mass of the giant structure--one of the greatest and yet most graceful buildings that has ever been raised by man to the glory of God. It is true that it is not every one that has the advantage of a garden bounded by a river and a noble church, but even these advantages might have been lost by vulgar or unsuitable treatment of the garden. But the mind of the master was so entirely in sympathy with the place, that no one that had the privilege of seeing it could feel that it was otherwise than right and beautiful. Both these were the gardens of clergymen; indeed, some of our greatest gardeners are, and have been, within the ranks of the Church. For have we not a brilliantly-gifted dignitary whose loving praise of the Queen of flowers has become a classic? and have we not among churchmen the greatest grower of seedling Daffodils the world has yet seen, and other names of clergymen honourably associated with Roses and Auriculas and Tulips and other good flowers, and all greatly to their bettering? The conditions of the life of a parish priest would tend to make him a good gardener, for, while other men roam about, he stays mostly at home, and to live with one's garden is one of the best ways to ensure its welfare. And then, among the many anxieties and vexations and disappointments that must needs grieve the heart of the pastor of his people, his garden, with its wholesome labour and all its lessons of patience and trust and hopefulness, and its comforting power of solace, must be one of the best of medicines for the healing of his often sorrowing soul. I do not envy the owners of very large gardens. The garden should fit its master or his tastes just as his clothes do; it should be neither too large nor too small, but just comfortable. If the garden is larger than he can individually govern and plan and look after, then he is no longer its master but its slave, just as surely as the much-too-rich man is the slave and not the master of his superfluous wealth. And when I hear of the great place with a kitchen garden of twenty acres within the walls, my heart sinks as I think of the uncomfortable disproportion between the man and those immediately around him, and his vast output of edible vegetation, and I fall to wondering how much of it goes as it should go, or whether the greater part of it does not go dribbling away, leaking into unholy back-channels; and of how the looking after it must needs be subdivided; and of how many side-interests are likely to steal in, and altogether how great a burden of anxiety or matter of temptation it must give rise to. A grand truth is in the old farmer's saying, "The master's eye makes the pig fat;" but how can any one master's eye fat that vast pig of twenty acres, with all its minute and costly cultivation, its two or three crops a year off all ground given to soft vegetables, its stoves, greenhouses, orchid and orchard houses, its vineries, pineries, figgeries, and all manner of glass structures? But happily these monstrous gardens are but few--I only know of or have seen two, but I hope never to see another. Nothing is more satisfactory than to see the well-designed and well-organised garden of the large country house, whose master loves his garden, and has good taste and a reasonable amount of leisure. I think that the first thing in such a place is to have large unbroken lawn spaces--all the better if they are continuous, passing round the south and west sides of the house. I am supposing a house of the best class, but not necessarily of the largest size. Immediately adjoining the house, except for the few feet needed for a border for climbing plants, is a broad walk, dry and smooth, and perfectly level from end to end. This, in the case of many houses, and nearly always with good effect, is raised two or three feet above the garden ground, and if the architecture of the house demands it, has a retaining wall surmounted by a balustrade of masonry and wrought stone. Broad and shallow stone steps lead down to the turf both at the end of the walk and in the middle of the front of the house, the wider and shallower the better, and at the foot of the wall may be a narrow border for a few climbing plants that will here and there rise above the coping of the parapet. I do not think it desirable where there are stone balusters or other distinct architectural features to let them be smothered with climbing plants, but that there should be, say, a _Pyrus japonica_ or an Escallonia, and perhaps a white Jasmine, and on a larger space perhaps a cut-leaved or a Claret Vine. Some of the best effects of the kind I have seen were where the bush, being well established, rose straight out of the grass, the border being unnecessary except just at the beginning. The large lawn space I am supposing stretches away a good distance from the house, and is bounded on the south and west by fine trees; away beyond that is all wild wood. On summer afternoons the greater part of the lawn expanse is in cool shade, while winter sunsets show through the tree stems. Towards the south-east the wood would pass into shrub plantations, and farther still into garden and wild orchard (of which I shall have something to say presently). At this end of the lawn would be the brilliant parterre of bedded plants, seen both from the shaded lawn and from the terrace, which at this end forms part of its design. Beyond the parterre would be a distinct division from the farther garden, either of Yew or Box hedge, with bays for seats, or in the case of a change of level, of another terrace wall. The next space beyond would be the main garden for hardy plants, at its southern end leading into the wild orchard. This would be the place for the free garden or the reserve garden, or for any of the many delightful ways in which hardy flowers can be used; and if it happened by good fortune to have a stream or any means of having running water, the possibilities of beautiful gardening would be endless. [Illustration: GARLAND-ROSE WREATHING THE END OF A TERRACE WALL.] Beyond this again would come the kitchen garden, and after that the stables and the home farm. If the kitchen garden had a high wall, and might be entered on this side by handsome wrought-iron gates, I would approach it from the parterre by a broad grass walk bounded by large Bay trees at equal intervals to right and left. Through these to the right would be seen the free garden of hardy flowers. For the kitchen garden a space of two acres would serve a large country house with all that is usually grown within walls, but there should always be a good space outside for the rougher vegetables, as well as a roomy yard for compost, pits and frames, and rubbish. And here I wish to plead on behalf of the gardener that he should have all reasonable comforts and conveniences. Nothing is more frequent, even in good places, than to find the potting and tool sheds screwed away into some awkward corner, badly lighted, much too small, and altogether inadequate, and the pits and frames scattered about and difficult to get at. Nothing is more wasteful of time, labour, or temper. The working parts of a large garden form a complicated organisation, and if the parts of the mechanism do not fit and work well, and are not properly eased and oiled, still more, if any are missing, there must be disastrous friction and damage and loss of power. In designing garden buildings, I always strongly urge in connection with the heating system a warmed potting shed and a comfortable messroom for the men, and over this a perfectly dry loft for drying and storing such matters as shading material, nets, mats, ropes, and sacks. If this can be warmed, so much the better. There must also be a convenient and quite frost-proof place for winter storing of vegetable roots and such plants as Dahlias, Cannas, and Gladiolus; and also a well-lighted and warmed workshop for all the innumerable jobs put aside for wet weather, of which the chief will be repainting and glazing of lights, repairing implements, and grinding and setting tools. This shop should have a carpenter's bench and screw, and a smith's anvil, and a proper assortment of tools. Such arrangements, well planned and thought out, will save much time and loss of produce, besides helping to make all the people employed more comfortable and happy. I think that a garden should never be large enough to be tiring, that if a large space has to be dealt with, a great part had better be laid out in wood. Woodland is always charming and restful and enduringly beautiful, and then there is an intermediate kind of woodland that should be made more of--woodland of the orchard type. Why is the orchard put out of the way, as it generally is, in some remote region beyond the kitchen garden and stables? I should like the lawn, or the hardy flower garden, or both, to pass directly into it on one side, and to plant a space of several acres, not necessarily in the usual way, with orchard standards twenty-five feet apart in straight rows (though in many places the straight rows might be best), but to have groups and even groves of such things as Medlars and Quinces, Siberian and Chinese Crabs, Damsons, Prunes, Service trees, and Mountain Ash, besides Apples, Pears, and Cherries, in both standard and bush forms. Then alleys of Filbert and Cob-nut, and in the opener spaces tangles or brakes of the many beautiful bushy things allied to the Apple and Plum tribe--_Cydonia_ and _Prunus triloba_ and _Cratægus_ of many kinds (some of them are tall bushes or small trees with beautiful fruits); and the wild Blackthorn, which, though a plum, is so nearly related to pear that pears may be grafted on it. And then brakes of Blackberries, especially of the Parsley-leaved kind, so free of growth and so generous of fruit. How is it that this fine native plant is almost invariably sold in nurseries as an American bramble? If I am mistaken in this I should be glad to be corrected, but I believe it to be only the cut-leaved variety of the native _Rubus affinis_. I have tried the best of the American kinds, and with the exception of one year, when I had a few fine fruits from Kittatinny, they had been a failure, whereas invariably when people have told me that their American Blackberries have fruited well, I have found them to be the Parsley-leaved. Some members of the large Rose-Apple-Plum tribe grow to be large forest trees, and in my wild orchard they would go in the farther parts. The Bird-cherry (_Prunus padus_) grows into a tree of the largest size. A Mountain Ash will sometimes have a trunk two feet in diameter, and a head of a size to suit. The American kind, its near relation, but with larger leaves and still grander masses of berries, is a noble small tree; and the native white Beam should not be forgotten, and choice places should be given to Amelanchier and the lovely double Japan Apple (_Pyrus malus floribunda_). To give due space and effect to all these good things my orchard garden would run into a good many acres, but every year it would be growing into beauty and profit. The grass should be left rough, and plentifully planted with Daffodils, and with Cowslips if the soil is strong. The grass would be mown and made into hay in June, and perhaps mown once more towards the end of September. Under the nut-trees would be Primroses and the garden kinds of wood Hyacinths and Dogtooth Violets and Lily of the Valley, and perhaps Snowdrops, or any of the smaller bulbs that most commended themselves to the taste of the master. Such an orchard garden, well-composed and beautifully grouped, always with that indispensable quality of good "drawing," would not only be a source of unending pleasure to those who lived in the place, but a valuable lesson to all who saw it; for it would show the value of the simple and sensible ways of using a certain class of related trees and bushes, and of using them with a deliberate intention of making the best of them, instead of the usual meaningless-nohow way of planting. This, in nine cases out of ten, means either ignorance or carelessness, the planter not caring enough about the matter to take the trouble to find out what is best to be done, and being quite satisfied with a mixed lot of shrubs, as offered in nursery sales, or with the choice of the nurseryman. I do not presume to condemn all mixed planting, only stupid and ignorant mixed planting. It is not given to all people to take their pleasures alike; and I have in my mind four gardens, all of the highest interest, in which the planting is all mixed; but then the mixture is of admirable ingredients, collected and placed on account of individual merit, and a ramble round any one of these in company with its owner is a pleasure and a privilege that one cannot prize too highly. Where the garden is of such large extent that experimental planting is made with a good number of one good thing at a time, even though there was no premeditated intention of planting for beautiful effect, the fact of there being enough plants to fall into large groups, and to cover some extent of ground, produces numbers of excellent results. I remember being struck with this on several occasions when I have had the happiness of visiting Mr. G. F. Wilson's garden at Wisley, a garden which I take to be about the most instructive it is possible to see. In one part, where the foot of the hill joined the copse, there were hosts of lovely things planted on a succession of rather narrow banks. Almost unthinkingly I expressed the regret I felt that so much individual beauty should be there without an attempt to arrange it for good effect. Mr. Wilson stopped, and looking at me straight with a kindly smile, said very quietly, "That is your business, not mine." In spite of its being a garden whose first object is trial and experiment, it has left in my memory two pictures, among several lesser ones, of plant-beauty that will stay with me as long as I can remember anything, one an autumn and one a spring picture--the hedge of _Rosa rugosa_ in full fruit, and a plantation of _Primula denticulata_. The Primrose was on a bit of level ground, just at the outer and inner edges of the hazel copse. The plants were both grouped and thinly sprinkled, just as nature plants--possibly they grew directly there from seed. They were in superb and luxuriant beauty in the black peaty-looking half-boggy earth, the handsome leaves of the brilliant colour and large size that told of perfect health and vigour, and the large round heads of pure lilac flower carried on strong stalks that must have been fifteen inches high. I never saw it so happy and so beautiful. It is a plant I much admire, and I do the best I can for it on my dry hill; but the conditions of my garden do not allow of any approach to the success of the Wisley plants; still I have treasured that lesson among many others I have brought away from that good garden, and never fail to advise some such treatment when I see the likely home for it in other places. [Illustration: A ROADSIDE COTTAGE GARDEN.] Some of the most delightful of all gardens are the little strips in front of roadside cottages. They have a simple and tender charm that one may look for in vain in gardens of greater pretension. And the old garden flowers seem to know that there they are seen at their best; for where else can one see such Wallflowers, or Double Daisies, or White Rose bushes; such clustering masses of perennial Peas, or such well-kept flowery edgings of Pink, or Thrift, or London Pride? Among a good many calls for advice about laying out gardens, I remember an early one that was of special interest. It was the window-box of a factory lad in one of the great northern manufacturing towns. He had advertised in a mechanical paper that he wanted a tiny garden, as full of interest as might be, in a window-box; he knew nothing--would somebody help him with advice? So advice was sent and the box prepared. If I remember rightly the size was three feet by ten inches. A little later the post brought him little plants of mossy and silvery saxifrages, and a few small bulbs. Even some stones were sent, for it was to be a rock-garden, and there were to be two hills of different heights with rocky tops, and a longish valley with a sunny and a shady side. It was delightful to have the boy's letters, full of keen interest and eager questions, and only difficult to restrain him from killing his plants with kindness, in the way of liberal doses of artificial manure. The very smallness of the tiny garden made each of its small features the more precious. I could picture his feeling of delightful anticipation when he saw the first little bluish blade of the Snowdrop patch pierce its mossy carpet. Would it, could it really grow into a real Snowdrop, with the modest, milk-white flower and the pretty green hearts on the outside of the inner petals, and the clear green stripes within? and would it really nod him a glad good-morning when he opened his window to greet it? And those few blunt reddish horny-looking snouts just coming through the ground, would they really grow into the brilliant blue of the early Squill, that would be like a bit of midsummer sky among the grimy surroundings of the attic window, and under that grey, soot-laden northern sky? I thought with pleasure how he would watch them in spare minutes of the dinner-hour spent at home, and think of them as he went forward and back to his work, and how the remembrance of the tender beauty of the full-blown flower would make him glad, and lift up his heart while "minding his mule" in the busy restless mill. CHAPTER XV BEGINNING AND LEARNING The ignorant questioner -- Beginning at the end -- An example -- Personal experience -- Absence of outer help -- Johns' "Flowers of the Field" -- Collecting plants -- Nurseries near London -- Wheel-spokes as labels -- Garden friends -- Mr. Robinson's "English Flower-Garden" -- Mr. Nicholson's "Dictionary of Gardening" -- One main idea desirable -- Pictorial treatment -- Training in fine art -- Adapting from Nature -- Study of colour -- Ignorant use of the word "artistic." Many people who love flowers and wish to do some practical gardening are at their wit's end to know what to do and how to begin. Like a person who is on skates for the first time, they feel that, what with the bright steel runners, and the slippery surface, and the sense of helplessness, there are more ways of tumbling about than of progressing safely in any one direction. And in gardening the beginner must feel this kind of perplexity and helplessness, and indeed there is a great deal to learn, only it is pleasant instead of perilous, and the many tumbles by the way only teach and do not hurt. The first few steps are perhaps the most difficult, and it is only when we know something of the subject and an eager beginner comes with questions that one sees how very many are the things that want knowing. And the more ignorant the questioner, the more difficult it is to answer helpfully. When one knows, one cannot help presupposing some sort of knowledge on the part of the querist, and where this is absent the answer we can give is of no use. The ignorance, when fairly complete, is of such a nature that the questioner does not know what to ask, and the question, even if it can be answered, falls upon barren ground. I think in such cases it is better to try and teach one simple thing at a time, and not to attempt to answer a number of useless questions. It is disheartening when one has tried to give a careful answer to have it received with an Oh! of boredom or disappointment, as much as to say, You can't expect me to take all that trouble; and there is the still more unsatisfactory sort of applicant, who plies a string of questions and will not wait for the answers! The real way is to try and learn a little from everybody and from every place. There is no royal road. It is no use asking me or any one else how to dig--I mean sitting indoors and asking it. Better go and watch a man digging, and then take a spade and try to do it, and go on trying till it comes, and you gain the knack that is to be learnt with all tools, of doubling the power and halving the effort; and meanwhile you will be learning other things, about your own arms and legs and back, and perhaps a little robin will come and give you moral support, and at the same time keep a sharp look-out for any worms you may happen to turn up; and you will find out that there are all sorts of ways of learning, not only from people and books, but from sheer trying. I remember years ago having to learn to use the blow-pipe, for soldering and other purposes connected with work in gold and silver. The difficult part of it is to keep up the stream of air through the pipe while you are breathing the air in; it is easy enough when you only want a short blast of a few seconds, within the compass of one breath or one filling of the bellows (lungs), but often one has to go on blowing through several inspirations. It is a trick of muscular action. My master who taught me never could do it himself, but by much trying one day I caught the trick. The grand way to learn, in gardening as in all things else, is to wish to learn, and to be determined to find out--not to think that any one person can wave a wand and give the power and knowledge. And there will be plenty of mistakes, and there must be, just as children must pass through the usual childish complaints. And some people make the mistake of trying to begin at the end, and of using recklessly what may want the utmost caution, such, for instance, as strong chemical manures. Some ladies asked me why their plant had died. They had got it from the very best place, and they were sure they had done their very best for it, and--there it was, dead. I asked what it was, and how they had treated it. It was some ordinary border plant, whose identity I now forget; they had made a nice hole with their new trowel, and for its sole benefit they had bought a tin of Concentrated Fertiliser. This they had emptied into the hole, put in the plant, and covered it up and given it lots of water, and--it had died! And yet these were the best and kindest of women, who would never have dreamed of feeding a new-born infant on beefsteaks and raw brandy. But they learned their lesson well, and at once saw the sense when I pointed out that a plant with naked roots just taken out of the ground or a pot, removed from one feeding-place and not yet at home in another, or still more after a journey, with the roots only wrapped in a little damp moss and paper, had its feeding power suspended for a time, and was in the position of a helpless invalid. All that could be done for it then was a little bland nutriment of weak slops and careful nursing; if the planting took place in the summer it would want shading and only very gentle watering, until firm root-hold was secured and root-appetite became active, and that in rich and well-prepared garden ground such as theirs strong artificial manure was in any case superfluous. When the earlier ignorances are overcome it becomes much easier to help and advise, because there is more common ground to stand on. In my own case, from quite a small child, I had always seen gardening going on, though not of a very interesting kind. Nothing much was thought of but bedding plants, and there was a rather large space on each side of the house for these, one on gravel and one on turf. But I had my own little garden in a nook beyond the shrubbery, with a seat shaded by a _Boursault elegans_ Rose, which I thought then, and still think, one of the loveliest of its kind. But my first knowledge of hardy plants came through wild ones. Some one gave me that excellent book, the Rev. C. A. Johns' "Flowers of the Field." For many years I had no one to advise me (I was still quite small) how to use the book, or how to get to know (though it stared me in the face) how the plants were in large related families, and I had not the sense to do it for myself, nor to learn the introductory botanical part, which would have saved much trouble afterwards; but when I brought home my flowers I would take them one by one and just turn over the pages till I came to the picture that looked something like. But in this way I got a knowledge of individuals, and afterwards the idea of broad classification and relationship of genera to species may have come all the easier. I always think of that book as the most precious gift I ever received. I distinctly trace to its teaching my first firm steps in the path of plant knowledge, and the feeling of assured comfort I had afterwards in recognising the kinds when I came to collect garden plants; for at that time I had no other garden book, no means of access to botanic gardens or private collections, and no helpful adviser. One copy of "Johns" I wore right out; I have now two, of which one is in its second binding, and is always near me for reference. I need hardly say that this was long before the days of the "English Flower-Garden," or its helpful predecessor, "Alpine Plants." By this time I was steadily collecting hardy garden plants wherever I could find them, mostly from cottage gardens. Many of them were still unknown to me by name, but as the collection increased I began to compare and discriminate, and of various kinds of one plant to throw out the worse and retain the better, and to train myself to see what made a good garden plant, and about then began to grow the large yellow and white bunch Primroses, whose history is in another chapter. And then I learnt that there were such places (though then but few) as nurseries, where such plants as I had been collecting in the cottage gardens, and even better, were grown. And I went to Osborne's at Fulham (now all built over), and there saw the original tree of the fine Ilex known as the Fulham Oak, and several spring-flowering bulbs I had never seen before, and what I felt sure were numbers of desirable summer-flowering plants, but not then in bloom. Soon after this I began to learn something about Daffodils, and enjoyed much kind help from Mr. Barr, visiting his nursery (then at Tooting) several times, and sometimes combining a visit to Parker's nursery just over the way, a perfect paradise of good hardy plants. I shall never forget my first sight here of the Cape Pondweed (_Aponogeton distachyon_) in full flower and great vigour in the dipping tanks, and overflowing from them into the ditches. Also I was delighted to see the use as labels of old wheel-spokes. I could not help feeling that if one had been a spoke of a cab-wheel, and had passed all one's working life in being whirled and clattered over London pavements, defiled with street mud, how pleasant a way to end one's days was this; to have one's felloe end pointed and dipped in nice wholesome rot-resisting gas-tar and thrust into the quiet cool earth, and one's nave end smoothed and painted and inscribed with some such soothing legend as _Vinca minor_ or _Dianthus fragrans_! Later I made acquaintance with several of the leading amateur and professional gardeners, and with Mr. Robinson, and to their good comradeship and kindly willingness to let me "pick their brains" I owe a great advance in garden lore. Moreover, what began by the drawing together of a common interest has grown into a still greater benefit, for several acquaintances so made have ripened into steady and much-valued friendships. It has been a great interest to me to have had the privilege of watching the gradual growth, through its several editions, of Mr. Robinson's "English Flower-Garden," the one best and most helpful book of all for those who want to know about hardy flowers, offering as it does in the clearest and easiest way a knowledge of the garden-treasures of the temperate world. No one who has not had occasional glimpses behind the scenes can know how much labour and thought such a book represents, to say nothing of research and practical experiment, and of the trouble and great expense of producing the large amount of pictorial illustration. Another book, though on quite different lines, that I find most useful is Mr. Nicholson's "Illustrated Dictionary of Gardening," in eight handy volumes. It covers much the same ground as the useful old Johnson's "Gardener's Dictionary," but is much more complete and comprehensive, and is copiously illustrated with excellent wood-cuts. It is the work of a careful and learned botanist, treating of all plants desirable for cultivation from all climates, and teaching all branches of practical horticulture and such useful matters as means of dealing with insect pests. The old "Johnson" is still a capital book in one volume; mine is rather out of date, being the edition of 1875, but it has been lately revised and improved. It would be delightful to possess, or to have easy access to, a good botanical library; still, for all the purposes of the average garden lover, these books will suffice. I think it is desirable, when a certain degree of knowledge of plants and facility of dealing with them has been acquired, to get hold of a clear idea of what one most wishes to do. The scope of the subject is so wide, and there are so many ways to choose from, that having one general idea helps one to concentrate thought and effort that would otherwise be wasted by being diluted and dribbled through too many probable channels of waste. Ever since it came to me to feel some little grasp of knowledge of means and methods, I have found that my greatest pleasure, both in garden and woodland, has been in the enjoyment of beauty of a pictorial kind. Whether the picture be large as of a whole landscape, or of lesser extent as in some fine single group or effect, or within the space of only a few inches as may be seen in some happily-disposed planting of Alpines, the intention is always the same; or whether it is the grouping of trees in the wood by the removal of those whose lines are not wanted in the picture, or in the laying out of broad grassy ways in woody places, or by ever so slight a turn or change of direction in a wood path, or in the alteration of some arrangement of related groups for form or for massing of light and shade, or for any of the many local conditions that guide one towards forming a decision, the intention is still always the same--to try and make a beautiful garden-picture. And little as I can as yet boast of being able to show anything like the number of these I could wish, yet during the flower-year there is generally something that at least in part answers to the effort. I do not presume to urge the acceptance of my own particular form of pleasure in a garden on those to whom, from different temperament or manner of education, it would be unwelcome; I only speak of what I feel, and to a certain degree understand; but I had the advantage in earlier life of some amount of training in appreciation of the fine arts, and this, working upon an inborn feeling of reverent devotion to things of the highest beauty in the works of God, has helped me to an understanding of their divinely-inspired interpretations by the noblest minds of men, into those other forms that we know as works of fine art. And so it comes about that those of us who feel and understand in this way do not exactly attempt to imitate Nature in our gardens, but try to become well acquainted with her moods and ways, and then discriminate in our borrowing, and so interpret her methods as best we may to the making of our garden-pictures. I have always had great delight in the study of colour, as the word is understood by artists, which again is not a positive matter, but one of relation and proportion. And when one hears the common chatter about "artistic colours," one receives an unpleasant impression about the education and good taste of the speaker; and one is reminded of an old saying which treats of the unwisdom of rushing in "where angels fear to tread," and of regret that a good word should be degraded by misuse. It may be safely said that no colour can be called artistic in itself; for, in the first place, it is bad English, and in the second, it is nonsense. Even if the first objection were waived, and the second condoned, it could only be used in a secondary sense, as signifying something that is useful and suitable and right in its place. In this limited sense the scarlet of the soldier's coat, and of the pillar-box and mail-cart, and the bright colours of flags, or of the port and starboard lights of ships, might be said to be just so far "artistic" (again if grammar would allow), as they are right and good in their places. But then those who use the word in the usual ignorant, random way have not even this simple conception of its meaning. Those who know nothing about colour in the more refined sense (and like a knowledge of everything else it wants learning) get no farther than to enjoy it only when most crude and garish--when, as George Herbert says, it "bids the rash gazer wipe his eye," or when there is some violent opposition of complementary colour--forgetting, or not knowing, that though in detail the objects brought together may make each other appear brighter, yet in the mass, and especially when mixed up, the one actually neutralises the other. And they have no idea of using the colour of flowers as precious jewels in a setting of quiet environment, or of suiting the colour of flowering groups to that of the neighbouring foliage, thereby enhancing the value of both, or of massing related or harmonious colourings so as to lead up to the most powerful and brilliant effects; and yet all these are just the ways of employing colour to the best advantage. But the most frequent fault, whether in composition or in colour, is the attempt to crowd too much into the picture; the simpler effect obtained by means of temperate and wise restraint is always the more telling. CHAPTER XVI THE FLOWER-BORDER AND PERGOLA The flower-border -- The wall and its occupants -- _Choisya ternata_ -- Nandina -- Canon Ellacombe's garden -- Treatment of colour-masses -- Arrangement of plants in the border -- Dahlias and Cannas -- Covering bare places -- The pergola -- How made -- Suitable climbers -- Arbours of trained Planes -- Garden houses. I have a rather large "mixed border of hardy flowers." It is not quite so hopelessly mixed as one generally sees, and the flowers are not all hardy; but as it is a thing everybody rightly expects, and as I have been for a good many years trying to puzzle out its wants and ways, I will try and describe my own and its surroundings. There is a sandstone wall of pleasant colour at the back, nearly eleven feet high. This wall is an important feature in the garden, as it is the dividing line between the pleasure garden and the working garden; also, it shelters the pleasure garden from the sweeping blasts of wind from the north-west, to which my ground is much exposed, as it is all on a gentle slope, going downward towards the north. At the foot of the wall is a narrow border three feet six inches wide, and then a narrow alley, not a made path, but just a way to go along for tending the wall shrubs, and for getting at the back of the border. This little alley does not show from the front. Then the main border, fourteen feet wide and two hundred feet long. About three-quarters of the way along a path cuts through the border, and passes by an arched gateway in the wall to the Pæony garden and the working garden beyond. Just here I thought it would be well to mound up the border a little, and plant with groups of Yuccas, so that at all times of the year there should be something to make a handsome full-stop to the sections of the border, and to glorify the doorway. The two extreme ends of the border are treated in the same way with Yuccas on rather lesser mounds, only leaving space beyond them for the entrance to the little alley at the back. [Illustration: A FLOWER-BORDER IN JUNE.] The wall and border face two points to the east of south, or, as a sailor would say, south-south-east, half-way between south and south-east. In front of the border runs a path seven feet wide, and where the border stops at the eastern end it still runs on another sixty feet, under the pergola, to the open end of a summer-house. The wall at its western end returns forward, square with its length, and hides out greenhouses, sheds, and garden yard. The path in front of the border passes through an arch into this yard, but there is no view into the yard, as it is blocked by some Yews planted in a quarter-circle. Though wall-space is always precious, I thought it better to block out this shorter piece of return wall on the garden side with a hedge of Yews. They are now nearly the height of the wall, and will be allowed to grow a little higher, and will eventually be cut into an arch over the arch in the wall. I wanted the sombre duskiness of the Yews as a rich, quiet background for the brightness of the flowers, though they are rather disappointing in May and June, when their young shoots are of a bright and lively green. At the eastern end of the border there is no return wall, but another planting of Yews equal to the depth of the border. Notched into them is a stone seat about ten feet long; as they grow they will be clipped so as to make an arching hood over the seat. The wall is covered with climbers, or with non-climbing shrubs treated as wall-plants. They do not all want the wall for warmth or protection, but are there because I want them there; because, thinking over what things would look best and give me the greatest pleasure, these came among them. All the same, the larger number of the plants on the wall do want it, and would not do without it. At the western end, the only part which is in shade for the greater part of the day, is a _Garrya elliptica_. So many of my garden friends like a quiet journey along the wall to see what is there, that I propose to do the like by my reader; so first for the wall, and then for the border. Beyond the _Garrya_, in the extreme angle, is a _Clematis montana_. When the _Garrya_ is more grown there will not be much room left for the Clematis, but then it will have become bare below, and can ramble over the wall on the north side, and, in any case, it is a plant with a not very long lifetime, and will be nearly or quite worn out before its root-space is reached or wanted by its neighbours. Next on the wall is the beautiful Rose Acacia (_Robinia hispida_). It is perfectly hardy, but the wood is so brittle that it breaks off short with the slightest weight of wind or snow or rain. I never could understand why a hardy shrub was created so brittle, or how it behaves in its native place. I look in my "Nicholson," and see that it comes from North America. Now, North America is a large place, and there may be in it favoured spots where there is no snow, and only the very gentlest rain, and so well sheltered that the wind only blows in faintest breaths; and to judge by its behaviour in our gardens, all these conditions are necessary for its well-being. This troublesome quality of brittleness no doubt accounts for its being so seldom seen in gardens. I began to think it hopeless when, after three plantings in the open, it was again wrecked, but at last had the happy idea of training it on a wall. Even there, though it is looked over and tied in twice a year, a branch or two often gets broken. But I do not regret having given it the space, as the wall could hardly have had a better ornament, so beautiful are its rosy flower-clusters and pale-green leaves. As it inclines to be leggy below, I have trained a Crimson Rambler Rose over the lower part, tying it in to any bare places in the _Robinia_. [Illustration: PATHWAY ACROSS THE SOUTH BORDER IN JULY.] [Illustration: OUTSIDE VIEW OF THE BRICK PERGOLA SHOWN AT PAGE 214, AFTER SIX YEARS' GROWTH.] Next along the wall is _Solanum crispum_, much to be recommended in our southern counties. It covers a good space of wall, and every year shoots up some feet above it; indeed it is such a lively grower that it has to endure a severe yearly pruning. Every season it is smothered with its pretty clusters of potato-shaped bloom of a good bluish-lilac colour. After these I wanted some solid-looking dark evergreens, so there is a Loquat, with its splendid foliage equalling that of _Magnolia grandiflora_, and then Black Laurustinus, Bay, and Japan Privet; and from among this dark-leaved company shoots up the tender green of a Banksian Rose, grown from seed of the single kind, the gift of my kind friend Commendatore Hanbury, whose world-famed garden of La Mortola, near Ventimiglia, probably contains the most remarkable collection of plants and shrubs that have ever been brought together by one man. This Rose has made good growth, and a first few flowers last year--seedling Roses are slow to bloom--lead me to expect a good show next season. In the narrow border at the foot of the wall is a bush of _Raphiolepis ovata_, always to me an interesting shrub, with its thick, roundish, leathery leaves and white flower-clusters, also bushes of Rosemary, some just filling the border, and some trained up the wall. Our Tudor ancestors were fond of Rosemary-covered walls, and I have seen old bushes quite ten feet high on the garden walls of Italian monasteries. Among the Rosemaries I always like, if possible, to "tickle in" a China Rose or two, the tender pink of the Rose seems to go so well with the dark but dull-surfaced Rosemary. Then still in the wall-border comes a long straggling mass of that very pretty and interesting herbaceous Clematis, _C. Davidiana_. The colour of its flower always delights me; it is of an unusual kind of greyish-blue, of very tender and lovely quality. It does well in this warm border, growing about three feet high. Then on the wall come _Pyrus Maulei_ and _Chimonanthus_, Claret-Vine, and the large-flowered _Ceanothus_ Gloire de Versailles, hardy _Fuchsia_, and _Magnolia Soulangeana_, ending with a big bush of _Choisya ternata_, and rambling above it a very fine kind of _Bignonia grandiflora_. Then comes the archway, flanked by thick buttresses. A Choisya was planted just beyond each of these, but it has grown wide and high, spreading across the face of the buttress on each side, and considerably invading the pathway. There is no better shrub here than this delightful Mexican plant; its long whippy roots ramble through our light soil with every sign of enjoyment; it always looks clean and healthy and well dressed, and as for its lovely and deliciously sweet flowers, we cut them by the bushel, and almost by the faggot, and the bushes scarcely look any the emptier. Beyond the archway comes the shorter length of wall and border. For convenience I planted all slightly tender things together on this bit of wall and border; then we make one job of covering the whole with fir-boughs for protection in winter. On the wall are _Piptanthus nepalensis_, _Cistus ladaniferus_, _Edwardsia grandiflora_, and another Loquat, and in the border a number of Hydrangeas, _Clerodendron foetidum_, _Crinums_, and _Nandina domestica_, the Chinese so-called sacred Bamboo. It is not a Bamboo at all, but allied to _Berberis_; the Chinese plant it for good luck near their houses. If it is as lucky as it is pretty, it ought to do one good! I first made acquaintance with this beautiful plant in Canon Ellacombe's most interesting garden at Bitton, in Gloucestershire, where it struck me as one of the most beautiful growing things I had ever seen, the beauty being mostly in the form and colouring of the leaves. It is not perhaps a plant for everybody, and barely hardly; it seems slow to get hold, and its full beauty only shows when it is well established, and throws up its wonderfully-coloured leaves on tall bamboo-like stalks. There is nothing much more difficult to do in outdoor gardening than to plant a mixed border well, and to keep it in beauty throughout the summer. Every year, as I gain more experience, and, I hope, more power of critical judgment, I find myself tending towards broader and simpler effects, both of grouping and colour. I do not know whether it is by individual preference, or in obedience to some colour-law that I can instinctively feel but cannot pretend even to understand, and much less to explain, but in practice I always find more satisfaction and facility in treating the warm colours (reds and yellows) in graduated harmonies, culminating into gorgeousness, and the cool ones in contrasts; especially in the case of blue, which I like to use either in distinct but not garish contrasts, as of full blue with pale yellow, or in separate cloud-like harmonies, as of lilac and pale purple with grey foliage. I am never so much inclined to treat the blues, purples, and lilacs in gradations together as I am the reds and yellows. Purples and lilacs I can put together, but not these with blues; and the pure blues always seem to demand peculiar and very careful treatment. The western end of the flower-border begins with the low bank of Yuccas, then there are some rather large masses of important grey and glaucous foliage and pale and full pink flower. The foliage is mostly of the Globe Artichoke, and nearer the front of _Artemisia_ and _Cineraria maritima_. Among this, pink Canterbury Bell, Hollyhock, Phlox, Gladiolus, and Japan Anemone, all in pink colourings, will follow one another in due succession. Then come some groups of plants bearing whitish and very pale flowers, _Polygonum compactum_, _Aconitum lycoctonum_, Double Meadowsweet, and other Spiræas, and then the colour passes to pale yellow of Mulleins, and with them the palest blue Delphiniums. Towards the front is a wide planting of _Iris pallida dalmatica_, its handsome bluish foliage showing as outstanding and yet related masses with regard to the first large group of pale foliage. Then comes the pale-yellow _Iris flavescens_, and meanwhile the group of Delphinium deepens into those of a fuller blue colour, though none of the darkest are here. Then more pale yellow of Mullein, Thalictrum, and Paris Daisy, and so the colour passes to stronger yellows. These change into orange, and from that to brightest scarlet and crimson, coming to the fullest strength in the Oriental Poppies of the earlier year, and later in Lychnis, Gladiolus, Scarlet Dahlia, and Tritoma. The colour-scheme then passes again through orange and yellow to the paler yellows, and so again to blue and warm white, where it meets one of the clumps of Yuccas flanking the path that divides this longer part of the border from the much shorter piece beyond. This simple procession of colour arrangement has occupied a space of a hundred and sixty feet, and the border is all the better for it. The short length of border beyond the gateway has again Yuccas and important pale foliage, and a preponderance of pink bloom, Hydrangea for the most part; but there are a few tall Mulleins, whose pale-yellow flowers group well with the ivory of the Yucca spikes and the clear pink of the tall Hollyhocks. These all show up well over the masses of grey and glaucous foliage, and against the rich darkness of dusky Yew. Dahlias and Cannas have their places in the mixed border. When it is being dismantled in the late autumn all bare places are well dug and enriched, so that when it comes to filling-up time, at the end of May, I know that every spare bit of space is ready and at the time of preparation I mark places for special Dahlias, according to colour, and for groups of the tall Cannas where I want grand foliage. There are certain classes of plants that are quite indispensable, but that leave a bare or shabby-looking place when their bloom is over. How to cover these places is one of the problems that have to be solved. The worst offender is Oriental Poppy; it becomes unsightly soon after blooming, and is quite gone by midsummer. I therefore plant _Gypsophila paniculata_ between and behind the Poppy groups, and by July there is a delicate cloud of bloom instead of large bare patches. _Eryngium Oliverianum_ has turned brown by the beginning of July, but around the group some Dahlias have been planted, that will be gradually trained down over the space of the departed Sea-Holly, and other Dahlias are used in the same way to mask various weak places. There is a perennial Sunflower, with tall black stems, and pale-yellow flowers quite at the top, an old garden sort, but not very good as usually grown; this I find of great value to train down, when it throws up a short flowering stem from each joint, and becomes a spreading sheet of bloom. One would rather not have to resort to these artifices of sticking and training; but if a certain effect is wanted, all such means are lawful, provided that nothing looks stiff or strained or unsightly; and it is pleasant to exercise ingenuity and to invent ways to meet the needs of any case that may arise. But like everything else, in good gardening it must be done just right, and the artist-gardener finds that hardly the placing of a single plant can be deputed to any other hand than his own; for though, when it is done, it looks quite simple and easy, he must paint his own picture himself--no one can paint it for him. I have no dogmatic views about having in the so-called hardy flower-border none but hardy flowers. All flowers are welcome that are right in colour, and that make a brave show where a brave show is wanted. It is of more importance that the border should be handsome than that all its occupants should be hardy. Therefore I prepare a certain useful lot of half-hardy annuals, and a few of what have come to be called bedding-plants. I like to vary them a little from year to year, because in no one season can I get in all the good flowers that I should like to grow; and I think it better to leave out some one year and have them the next, than to crowd any up, or to find I have plants to put out and no space to put them in. But I nearly always grow these half-hardy annuals; orange African Marigold, French Marigold, sulphur Sunflower, orange and scarlet tall Zinnia, Nasturtiums, both dwarf and trailing, _Nicotiana affinis_, Maize, and Salpiglossis. Then Stocks and China Asters. The Stocks are always the large white and flesh-coloured summer kinds, and the Asters, the White Comet, and one of the blood-red or so-called scarlet sorts. Then I have yellow Paris Daisies, _Salvia patens_, Heliotrope, _Calceolaria amplexicaulis_, Geraniums, scarlet and salmon-coloured and ivy-leaved kinds, the best of these being the pink Madame Crousse. [Illustration: END OF FLOWER-BORDER AND ENTRANCE OF PERGOLA.] [Illustration: SOUTH BORDER DOOR AND YUCCAS IN AUGUST.] The front edges of the border are also treated in rather a large way. At the shadier end there is first a long straggling bordering patch of _Anemone sylvestris_. When it is once above ground the foliage remains good till autumn, while its soft white flower comes right with the colour of the flowers behind. Then comes a long and large patch of the larger kind of _Megasea cordifolia_, several yards in length, and running back here and there among taller plants. I am never tired of admiring the fine solid foliage of this family of plants, remaining, as it does, in beauty both winter and summer, and taking on a splendid winter colouring of warm red bronze. It is true that the flowers of the two best-known kinds, _M. cordifolia_ and _M. crassifolia_, are coarse-looking blooms of a strong and rank quality of pink colour, but the persistent beauty of the leaves more than compensates; and in the rather tenderer kind, _M. ligulata_ and its varieties, the colour of the flower is delightful, of a delicate good pink, with almost scarlet stalks. There is nothing flimsy or temporary-looking about the Megaseas, but rather a sort of grave and monumental look that specially fits them for association with masonry, or for any place where a solid-looking edging or full-stop is wanted. To go back to those in the edge of the border: if the edging threatens to look too dark and hard, I plant among or just behind the plants that compose it, pink or scarlet Ivy Geranium or trailing Nasturtium, according to the colour demanded by the neighbouring group. _Heuchera Richardsoni_ is another good front-edge plant; and when we come to the blue and pale-yellow group there is a planting of _Funkia grandiflora_, whose fresh-looking pale-green leaves are delightful with the brilliant light yellow of _Calceolaria amplexicaulis_, and the farther-back planting of pale-blue Delphinium, Mullein, and sulphur Sunflower; while the same colour of foliage is repeated in the fresh green of the Indian Corn. Small spaces occur here and there along the extreme front edge, and here are planted little jewels of colour, of blue Lobelia, or dwarf Nasturtium, or anything of the colour that the place demands. The whole thing sounds much more elaborate than it really is; the trained eye sees what is wanted, and the trained hand does it, both by an acquired instinct. It is painting a picture with living plants. I much enjoy the pergola at the end of the sunny path. It is pleasant while walking in full sunshine, and when that sunny place feels just a little too hot, to look into its cool depth, and to feel that one has only to go a few steps farther to be in shade, and to feel that little air of wind that the moving summer clouds say is not far off, and is only unfelt just here because it is stopped by the wall. It feels wonderfully dark at first, this gallery of cool greenery, passing into it with one's eyes full of light and colour, and the open-sided summer-house at the end looks like a black cavern; but on going into it, and sitting down on one of its broad, low benches, one finds that it is a pleasant subdued light, just right to read by. The pergola has two openings out of it on the right, and one on the left. The first way out on the right is straight into the nut-walk, which leads up to very near the house. The second goes up two or three low, broad steps made of natural sandstone flags, between groups of Ferns, into the Michaelmas Daisy garden. The opening on the left leads into a quiet space of grass the width of the flower and wall border (twenty feet), having only some peat-beds planted with Kalmia. This is backed by a Yew hedge in continuation of the main wall, and it will soon grow into a cool, quiet bit of garden, seeming to belong to the pergola. Now, standing midway in the length of the covered walk, with the eye rested and refreshed by the leafy half-light, on turning round again towards the border it shows as a brilliant picture through the bowery framing, and the value of the simple method of using the colours is seen to full advantage. I do not like a mean pergola, made of stuff as thin as hop-poles. If means or materials do not admit of having anything better, it is far better to use these in some other simple way, of which there are many to choose from--such as uprights at even intervals, braced together with a continuous rail at about four feet from the ground, and another rail just clear of the ground, and some simple trellis of the smaller stuff between these two rails. This is always pretty at the back of a flower-border in any modest garden. But a pergola should be more seriously treated, and the piers at any rate should be of something rather large--either oak stems ten inches thick, or, better still, of fourteen-inch brickwork painted with lime-wash to a quiet stone-colour. In Italy the piers are often of rubble masonry, either round or square in section, coated with very coarse plaster, and lime-washed white. For a pergola of moderate size the piers should stand in pairs across the path, with eight feet clear between. Ten feet from pier to pier along the path is a good proportion, or anything from eight to ten feet, and they should stand seven feet two inches out of the ground. Each pair should be tied across the top with a strong beam of oak, either of the natural shape, or roughly adzed on the four faces; but in any case, the ends of the beams, where they rest on the top of the piers, should be adzed flat to give them a firm seat. If the beams are slightly curved or cambered, as most trunks of oak are, so much the better, but they must always be placed camber side up. The pieces that run along the top, with the length of the path, may be of any branching tops of oak, or of larch poles. These can easily be replaced as they decay; but the replacing of a beam is a more difficult matter, so that it is well to let them be fairly durable from the beginning. [Illustration: STONE-BUILT PERGOLA WITH WROUGHT OAK BEAMS.] [Illustration: PERGOLA WITH BRICK PIERS AND BEAMS OF ROUGH OAK. (_See opposite page 202._)] The climbers I find best for covering the pergola are Vines, Jasmine, Aristolochia, Virginia Creeper, and Wistaria. Roses are about the worst, for they soon run up leggy, and only flower at the top out of sight. A sensible arrangement, allied to the pergola, and frequent in Germany and Switzerland, is made by planting young Planes, pollarding them at about eight feet from the ground, and training down the young growths horizontally till they have covered the desired roof-space. There is much to be done in our better-class gardens in the way of pretty small structures thoroughly well-designed and built. Many a large lawn used every afternoon in summer as a family playground and place to receive visitors would have its comfort and usefulness greatly increased by a pretty garden-house, instead of the usual hot and ugly, crampy and uncomfortable tent. But it should be thoroughly well designed to suit the house and garden. A pigeon-cote would come well in the upper part, and the face or faces open to the lawn might be closed in winter with movable shutters, when it would make a useful store-place for garden seats and much else. CHAPTER XVII THE PRIMROSE GARDEN It must be some five-and-twenty years ago that I began to work at what I may now call my own strain of Primroses, improving it a little every year by careful selection of the best for seed. The parents of the strain were a named kind, called Golden Plover, and a white one, without name, that I found in a cottage garden. I had also a dozen plants about eight or nine years ago from a strong strain of Mr. Anthony Waterer's that was running on nearly the same lines; but a year later, when I had flowered them side by side, I liked my own one rather the best, and Mr. Waterer, seeing them soon after, approved of them so much that he took some to work with his own. I hold Mr. Waterer's strain in great admiration, and, though I tried for a good many years, never could come near him in red colourings. But as my own taste favoured the delicately-shaded flowers, and the ones most liked in the nursery seemed to be those with strongly contrasting eye, it is likely that the two strains may be working still farther apart. They are, broadly speaking, white and yellow varieties of the strong bunch-flowered or Polyanthus kind, but they vary in detail so much, in form, colour, habit, arrangement, and size of eye and shape of edge, that one year thinking it might be useful to classify them I tried to do so, but gave it up after writing out the characters of sixty classes! Their possible variation seems endless. Every year among the seedlings there appear a number of charming flowers with some new development of size, or colour of flower, or beauty of foliage, and yet all within the narrow bounds of--white and yellow Primroses. [Illustration: EVENING IN THE PRIMROSE GARDEN.] Their time of flowering is much later than that of the true or single-stalked Primrose. They come into bloom early in April, though a certain number of poorly-developed flowers generally come much earlier, and they are at their best in the last two weeks of April and the first days of May. When the bloom wanes, and is nearly overtopped by the leaves, the time has come that I find best for dividing and replanting. The plants then seem willing to divide, some almost falling apart in one's hands, and the new roots may be seen just beginning to form at the base of the crown. The plants are at the same time relieved of the crowded mass of flower-stem, and, therefore, of the exhausting effort of forming seed, a severe drain on their strength. A certain number will not have made more than one strong crown, and a few single-crown plants have not flowered; these, of course, do not divide. During the flowering time I keep a good look-out for those that I judge to be the most beautiful and desirable, and mark them for seed. These are also taken up, but are kept apart, the flower stems reduced to one or two of the most promising, and they are then planted in a separate place--some cool nursery corner. I find that the lifting and replanting in no way checks the growth or well-being of the seed-pods. I remember some years ago a warm discussion in the gardening papers about the right time to sow the seed. Some gardeners of high standing were strongly for sowing it as soon as ripe, while others equally trustworthy advised holding it over till March. I have tried both ways, and have satisfied myself that it is a matter for experiment and decision in individual gardens. As nearly as I can make out, it is well in heavy soils to sow when ripe, and in light ones to wait till March. In some heavy soils Primroses stand well for two years without division; whereas in light ones, such as mine, they take up the food within reach in a much shorter time, so that by the second year the plant has become a crowded mass of weak crowns that only throw up poor flowers, and are by then so much exhausted that they are not worth dividing afterwards. In my own case, having tried both ways, I find the March sown ones much the best. The seed is sown in boxes in cold frames, and pricked out again into boxes when large enough to handle. The seedlings are planted out in June, when they seem to go on without any check whatever, and are just right for blooming next spring. The Primrose garden is in a place by itself--a clearing half shaded by Oak, Chestnut, and Hazel. I always think of the Hazel as a kind nurse to Primroses; in the copses they generally grow together, and the finest Primrose plants are often nestled close in to the base of the nut-stool. Three paths run through the Primrose garden, mere narrow tracks between the beds, converging at both ends, something like the lines of longitude on a globe, the ground widening in the middle where there are two good-sized Oaks, and coming to a blunt point at each end, the only other planting near it being two other long-shaped strips of Lily of the Valley. Every year, before replanting, the Primrose ground is dug over and well manured. All day for two days I sit on a low stool dividing the plants; a certain degree of facility and expertness has come of long practice. The "rubber" for frequent knife-sharpening is in a pail of water by my side; the lusciously fragrant heap of refuse leaf and flower-stem and old stocky root rises in front of me, changing its shape from a heap to a ridge, as when it comes to a certain height and bulk I back and back away from it. A boy feeds me with armfuls of newly-dug-up plants, two men are digging-in the cooling cow-dung at the farther end, and another carries away the divided plants tray by tray, and carefully replants them. The still air, with only the very gentlest south-westerly breath in it, brings up the mighty boom of the great ship guns from the old seaport, thirty miles away, and the pheasants answer to the sound as they do to thunder. The early summer air is of a perfect temperature, the soft coo of the wood-dove comes down from the near wood, the nightingale sings almost overhead, but--either human happiness may never be quite complete, or else one is not philosophic enough to contemn life's lesser evils, for--oh, the midges! CHAPTER XVIII COLOURS OF FLOWERS I am always surprised at the vague, not to say reckless, fashion in which garden folk set to work to describe the colours of flowers, and at the way in which quite wrong colours are attributed to them. It is done in perfect good faith, and without the least consciousness of describing wrongly. In many cases it appears to be because the names of certain substances have been used conventionally or poetically to convey the idea of certain colours. And some of these errors are so old that they have acquired a kind of respectability, and are in a way accepted without challenge. When they are used about familiar flowers it does not occur to one to detect them, because one knows the flower and its true colour; but when the same old error is used in the description of a new flower, it is distinctly misleading. For instance, when we hear of golden buttercups, we know that it means bright-yellow buttercups; but in the case of a new flower, or one not generally known, surely it is better and more accurate to say bright yellow at once. Nothing is more frequent in plant catalogues than "bright golden yellow," when bright yellow is meant. Gold is not bright yellow. I find that a gold piece laid on a gravel path, or against a sandy bank, nearly matches it in colour; and I cannot think of any flower that matches or even approaches the true colour of gold, though something near it may be seen in the pollen-covered anthers of many flowers. A match for gold may more nearly be found among dying beech leaves, and some dark colours of straw or dry grass bents, but none of these when they match the gold are bright yellow. In literature it is quite another matter; when the poet or imaginative writer says, "a field of golden buttercups," or "a golden sunset," he is quite right, because he appeals to our artistic perception, and in such case only uses the word as an image of something that is rich and sumptuous and glowing. The same irrelevance of comparison seems to run through all the colours. Flowers of a full, bright-blue colour are often described as of a "brilliant amethystine blue." Why amethystine? The amethyst, as we generally see it, is a stone of a washy purple colour, and though there are amethysts of a fine purple, they are not so often seen as the paler ones, and I have never seen one even faintly approaching a really blue colour. What, therefore, is the sense of likening a flower, such as a Delphinium, which is really of a splendid pure-blue colour, to the duller and totally different colour of a third-rate gem? Another example of the same slip-slop is the term flame-coloured, and it is often preceded by the word "gorgeous." This contradictory mixture of terms is generally used to mean bright scarlet. When I look at a flame, whether of fire or candle, I see that the colour is a rather pale yellow, with a reddish tinge about its upper forks, and side wings often of a bluish white--no scarlet anywhere. The nearest approach to red is in the coals, not in the flame. In the case of the candle, the point of the wick is faintly red when compared with the flame, but about the flame there is no red whatever. A distant bonfire looks red at night, but I take it that the apparent redness is from seeing the flames through damp atmosphere, just as the harvest-moon looks red when it rises. And the strange thing is that in all these cases the likeness to the unlike, and much less bright, colour is given with an air of conferring the highest compliment on the flower in question. It is as if, wishing to praise some flower of a beautiful blue, one called it a brilliant slate-roof blue. This sounds absurd, because it is unfamiliar, but the unsuitability of the comparison is scarcely greater than in the examples just quoted. It seems most reasonable in describing the colour of flowers to look out for substances whose normal colour shows but little variation--such, for example, as sulphur. The colour of sulphur is nearly always the same. Citron, lemon, and canary are useful colour-names, indicating different strengths of pure pale yellow, inclining towards a tinge of the palest green. Gentian-blue is a useful word, bringing to mind the piercingly powerful hue of the Gentianella. So also is turquoise-blue, for the stone has little variety of shade, and the colour is always of the same type. Forget-me-not blue is also a good word, meaning the colour of the native water Forget-me-not. Sky-blue is a little vague, though it has come by the "crystallising" force of usage to stand for a blue rather pale than full, and not far from that of the Forget-me-not; indeed, I seem to remember written passages in which the colours of flower and firmament were used reciprocally, the one in describing the other. Cobalt is a word sometimes used, but more often misused, for only water-colour painters know just what it represents, and it is of little use, as it so rarely occurs among flowers. Crimson is a word to beware of; it covers such a wide extent of ground, and is used so carelessly in plant-catalogues, that one cannot know whether it stands for a rich blood colour or for a malignant magenta. For the latter class of colour the term amaranth, so generally used in French plant-lists, is extremely useful, both as a definition and a warning. Salmon is an excellent colour-word, copper is also useful, the two covering a limited range of beautiful colouring of the utmost value. Blood-red is also accurately descriptive. Terra-cotta is useful but indefinite, as it may mean anything between brick-red and buff. Red-lead, if it would be accepted as a colour-word, would be useful, denoting the shades of colour between the strongest orange and the palest scarlet, frequent in the lightest of the Oriental Poppies. Amber is a misleading word, for who is to know when it means the transparent amber, whose colour approaches that of resin, or the pale, almost opaque, dull-yellow kind. And what is meant by coral-red? It is the red of the old-fashioned dull-scarlet coral, or of the pink kind more recently in favour. The terms bronze and smoke may well be used in their place, as in describing or attempting to describe the wonderful colouring of such flowers as Spanish Iris, and the varieties of Iris of the _squalens_ section. But often in describing a flower a reference to texture much helps and strengthens the colour-word. I have often described the modest little _Iris tuberosa_ as a flower made of green satin and black velvet. The green portion is only slightly green, but is entirely green satin, and the black of the velvet is barely black, but is quite black-velvet-like. The texture of the flower of _Ornithogalum nutans_ is silver satin, neither very silvery nor very satin-like, and yet so nearly suggesting the texture of both that the words may well be used in speaking of it. Indeed, texture plays so important a part in the appearance of colour-surface, that one can hardly think of colour without also thinking of texture. A piece of black satin and a piece of black velvet may be woven of the same batch of material, but when the satin is finished and the velvet cut, the appearance is often so dissimilar that they may look quite different in colour. A working painter is never happy if you give him an oil-colour pattern to match in distemper; he must have it of the same texture, or he will not undertake to get it like. What a wonderful range of colouring there is in black alone to a trained colour-eye! There is the dull brown-black of soot, and the velvety brown-black of the bean-flower's blotch; to my own eye, I have never found anything so entirely black in a natural product as the patch on the lower petals of _Iris iberica_. Is it not Ruskin who says of Velasquez, that there is more colour in his black than in many another painter's whole palette? The blotch of the bean-flower appears black at first, till you look at it close in the sunlight, and then you see its rich velvety texture, so nearly like some of the brown-velvet markings on butterflies' wings. And the same kind of rich colour and texture occurs again on some of the tough flat half-round funguses, marked with shaded rings, that grow out of old posts, and that I always enjoy as lessons of lovely colour-harmony of grey and brown and black. Much to be regretted is the disuse of the old word murrey, now only employed in heraldry. It stands for a dull red-purple, such as appears in the flower of the Virginian Allspice, and in the native Hound's-tongue, and often in seedling Auriculas. A fine strong-growing border Auricula was given to me by my valued friend the Curator of the Trinity College Botanic Garden, Dublin, to which he had given the excellently descriptive name, "Old Murrey." Sage-green is a good colour-word, for, winter or summer, the sage-leaves change but little. Olive-green is not so clear, though it has come by use to stand for a brownish green, like the glass of a wine-bottle held up to the light, but perhaps bottle-green is the better word. And it is not clear what part or condition of the olive is meant, for the ripe fruit is nearly black, and the tree in general, and the leaf in detail, are of a cool-grey colour. Perhaps the colour-word is taken from the colour of the unripe fruit pickled in brine, as we see them on the table. Grass-green any one may understand, but I am always puzzled by apple-green. Apples are of so many different greens, to say nothing of red and yellow; and as for pea-green, I have no idea what it means. I notice in plant-lists the most reckless and indiscriminate use of the words purple, violet, mauve, lilac, and lavender, and as they are all related, I think they should be used with the greater caution. I should say that mauve and lilac cover the same ground; the word mauve came into use within my recollection. It is French for mallow, and the flower of the wild plant may stand as the type of what the word means. Lavender stands for a colder or bluer range of pale purples, with an inclination to grey; it is a useful word, because the whole colour of the flower spike varies so little. Violet stands for the dark garden violet, and I always think of the grand colour of _Iris reticulata_ as an example of a rich violet-purple. But purple equally stands for this, and for many shades redder. Snow-white is very vague. There is nearly always so much blue about the colour of snow, from its crystalline surface and partial transparency, and the texture is so unlike that of any kind of flower, that the comparison is scarcely permissible. I take it that the use of "snow-white" is, like that of "golden-yellow," more symbolical than descriptive, meaning any white that gives an impression of purity. Nearly all white flowers are yellowish-white, and the comparatively few that are bluish-white, such, for example, as _Omphalodes verna_, are of a texture so different from snow that one cannot compare them at all. I should say that most white flowers are near the colour of chalk; for although the word chalky-white has been used in rather a contemptuous way, the colour is really a very beautiful warm white, but by no means an intense white. The flower that always looks to me the whitest is that of _Iberis sempervirens_. The white is dead and hard, like a piece of glazed stoneware, quite without play or variation, and hence uninteresting. CHAPTER XIX THE SCENTS OF THE GARDEN The sweet scents of a garden are by no means the least of its many delights. Even January brings _Chimonanthus fragrans_, one of the sweetest and strongest scented of the year's blooms--little half-transparent yellowish bells on an otherwise naked-looking wall shrub. They have no stalks, but if they are floated in a shallow dish of water, they last well for several days, and give off a powerful fragrance in a room. During some of the warm days that nearly always come towards the end of February, if one knows where to look in some sunny, sheltered corner of a hazel copse, there will be sure to be some Primroses, and the first scent of the year's first Primrose is no small pleasure. The garden Primroses soon follow, and, meanwhile, in all open winter weather there have been Czar Violets and _Iris stylosa_, with its delicate scent, faintly violet-like, but with a dash of tulip. _Iris reticulata_ is also sweet, with a still stronger perfume of the violet character. But of all Irises I know, the sweetest to smell is a later blooming one, _I. graminea_. Its small purple flowers are almost hidden among the thick mass of grassy foliage which rises high above the bloom; but they are worth looking for, for the sake of the sweet and rather penetrating scent, which is exactly like that of a perfectly-ripened plum. All the scented flowers of the Primrose tribe are delightful--Primrose, Polyanthus, Auricula, Cowslip. The actual sweetness is most apparent in the Cowslip; in the Auricula it has a pungency, and at the same time a kind of veiled mystery, that accords with the clouded and curiously-blended colourings of many of the flowers. Sweetbriar is one of the strongest of the year's early scents, and closely following is the woodland incense of the Larch, both freely given off and far-wafted, as is also that of the hardy Daphnes. The first quarter of the year also brings the bloom of most of the deciduous Magnolias, all with a fragrance nearly allied to that of the large one that blooms late in summer, but not so strong and heavy. The sweetness of a sun-baked bank of Wallflower belongs to April. Daffodils, lovely as they are, must be classed among flowers of rather rank smell, and yet it is welcome, for it means spring-time, with its own charm and its glad promise of the wealth of summer bloom that is soon to come. The scent of the Jonquil, Poeticus, and Polyanthus sections are best, Jonquil perhaps best of all, for it is without the rather coarse scent of the Trumpets and Nonsuch, and also escapes the penetrating lusciousness of _poeticus_ and _tazetta_, which in the south of Europe is exaggerated in the case of _tazetta_ into something distinctly unpleasant. What a delicate refinement there is in the scent of the wild Wood-Violet; it is never overdone. It seems to me to be quite the best of all the violet-scents, just because of its temperate quality. It gives exactly enough, and never that perhaps-just-a-trifle-too-much that may often be noticed about a bunch of frame-Violets, and that also in the south is intensified to a degree that is distinctly undesirable. For just as colour may be strengthened to a painful glare, and sound may be magnified to a torture, so even a sweet scent may pass its appointed bounds and become an overpoweringly evil smell. Even in England several of the Lilies, whose smell is delicious in open-air wafts, cannot be borne in a room. In the south of Europe a Tuberose cannot be brought indoors, and even at home I remember one warm wet August how a plant of Balm of Gilead (_Cedronella triphylla_) had its always powerful but usually agreeably aromatic smell so much exaggerated that it smelt exactly like coal-gas! A brother in Jamaica writes of the large white Jasmine: "It does not do to bring it indoors here; the scent is too strong. One day I thought there was a dead rat under the floor (a thing which did happen once), and behold, it was a glassful of fresh white Jasmine that was the offender!" While on this less pleasant part of the subject, I cannot help thinking of the horrible smell of the Dragon Arum; and yet how fitting an accompaniment it is to the plant, for if ever there was a plant that looked wicked and repellent, it is this; and yet, like Medusa, it has its own kind of fearful beauty. In this family the smell seems to accompany the appearance, and to diminish in unpleasantness as the flower increases in amiability; for in our native wild Arum the smell, though not exactly nice, is quite innocuous, and in the beautiful white Arum or _Calla_ of our greenhouses there is as little scent as a flower can well have, especially one of such large dimensions. In Fungi the bad smell is nearly always an indication of poisonous nature, so that it would seem to be given as a warning. But it has always been a matter of wonder to me why the root of the harmless and friendly Laurustinus should have been given a particularly odious smell--a smell I would rather not attempt to describe. On moist warmish days in mid-seasons I have sometimes had a whiff of the same unpleasantness from the bushes themselves; others of the same tribe have it in a much lesser degree. There is a curious smell about the yellow roots of Berberis, not exactly nasty, and a strong odour, not really offensive, but that I personally dislike, about the root of _Chrysanthemum maximum_. On the other hand, I always enjoy digging up, dividing, and replanting the _Asarums_, both the common European and the American kinds; their roots have a pleasant and most interesting smell, a good deal like mild pepper and ginger mixed, but more strongly aromatic. The same class of smell, but much fainter, and always reminding me of very good and delicate pepper, I enjoy in the flowers of the perennial Lupines. The only other hardy flowers I can think of whose smell is distinctly offensive are _Lilium pyrenaicum_, smelling like a mangy dog, and some of the _Schizanthus_, that are redolent of dirty hen-house. There is a class of scent that, though it can neither be called sweet nor aromatic, is decidedly pleasing and interesting. Such is that of Bracken and other Fern-fronds, Ivy-leaves, Box-bushes, Vine-blossom, Elder-flowers, and Fig-leaves. There are the sweet scents that are wholly delightful--most of the Roses, Honeysuckle, Primrose, Cowslip, Mignonette, Pink, Carnation, Heliotrope, Lily of the Valley, and a host of others; then there is a class of scent that is intensely powerful, and gives an impression almost of intemperance or voluptuousness, such as Magnolia, Tuberose, Gardenia, Stephanotis, and Jasmine; it is strange that these all have white flowers of thick leathery texture. In strongest contrast to these are the sweet, wholesome, wind-wafted scents of clover-field, of bean-field, and of new-mown hay, and the soft honey-scent of sun-baked heather, and of a buttercup meadow in April. Still more delicious is the wind-swept sweetness of a wood of Larch or of Scotch Fir, and the delicate perfume of young-leaved Birch, or the heavier scent of the flowering Lime. Out on the moorlands, besides the sweet heather-scent, is that of flowering Broom and Gorse and of the Bracken, so like the first smell of the sea as you come near it after a long absence. How curiously scents of flowers and leaves fall into classes--often one comes upon related smells running into one another in not necessarily related plants. There is a kind of scent that I sometimes meet with, about clumps of Brambles, a little like the waft of a Fir wood; it occurs again (quite naturally) in the first taste of blackberry jam, and then turns up again in Sweet Sultan. It is allied to the smell of the dying Strawberry leaves. The smell of the Primrose occurs again in a much stronger and ranker form in the root-stock, and the same thing happens with the Violets and Pansies; in Violets the plant-smell is pleasant, though without the high perfume of the flower; but the smell of an overgrown bed of Pansy-plants is rank to offensiveness. Perhaps the most delightful of all flower scents are those whose tender and delicate quality makes one wish for just a little more. Such a scent is that of Apple-blossom, and of some small Pansies, and of the wild Rose and the Honeysuckle. Among Roses alone the variety and degree of sweet scent seems almost infinite. To me the sweetest of all is the Provence, the old Cabbage Rose of our gardens. When something approaching this appears, as it frequently does, among the hybrid perpetuals, I always greet it as the real sweet Rose smell. One expects every Rose to be fragrant, and it is a disappointment to find that such a beautiful flower as Baroness Rothschild is wanting in the sweet scent that would be the fitting complement of its incomparable form, and to perceive in so handsome a Rose as Malmaison a heavy smell of decidedly bad quality. But such cases are not frequent. There is much variety in the scent of the Tea-Roses, the actual tea flavour being strongest in the Dijon class. Some have a powerful scent that is very near that of a ripe Nectarine; of this the best example I know is the old rose Goubault. The half-double red Gloire de Rosamène has a delightful scent of a kind that is rare among Roses. It has a good deal of the quality of that mysterious and delicious smell given off by the dying strawberry leaves, aromatic, pungent, and delicately refined, searching and powerful, and yet subtle and elusive--the best sweet smell of all the year. One cannot have it for the seeking; it comes as it will--a scent that is sad as a forecast of the inevitable certainty of the flower-year's waning, and yet sweet with the promise of its timely new birth. Sometimes I have met with a scent of somewhat the same mysterious and aromatic kind when passing near a bank clothed with the great St. John's Wort. As this also occurs in early autumn, I suppose it to be occasioned by the decay of some of the leaves. And there is a small yellow-flowered Potentilla that has a scent of the same character, but always freely and willingly given off--a humble-looking little plant, well worth growing for its sweetness, that much to my regret I have lost. I observe that when a Rose exists in both single and double form the scent is increased in the double beyond the proportion that one would expect. _Rosa lucida_ in the ordinary single state has only a very slight scent; in the lovely double form it is very sweet, and has acquired somewhat of the Moss-rose smell. The wild Burnet-rose (_R. spinosissima_) has very little smell; but the Scotch Briars, its garden relatives, have quite a powerful fragrance, a pale flesh-pink kind, whose flowers are very round and globe-like, being the sweetest of all. But of all the sweet scents of bush or flower, the ones that give me the greatest pleasure are those of the aromatic class, where they seem to have a wholesome resinous or balsamic base, with a delicate perfume added. When I pick and crush in my hand a twig of Bay, or brush against a bush of Rosemary, or tread upon a tuft of Thyme, or pass through incense-laden brakes of Cistus, I feel that here is all that is best and purest and most refined, and nearest to poetry, in the range of faculty of the sense of smell. The scents of all these sweet shrubs, many of them at home in dry and rocky places in far-away lower latitudes, recall in a way far more distinct than can be done by a mere mental effort of recollection, rambles of years ago in many a lovely southern land--in the islands of the Greek Archipelago, beautiful in form, and from a distance looking bare and arid, and yet with a scattered growth of lowly, sweet-smelling bush and herb, so that as you move among them every plant seems full of sweet sap or aromatic gum, and as you tread the perfumed carpet the whole air is scented; then of dusky groves of tall Cypress and Myrtle, forming mysterious shadowy woodland temples that unceasingly offer up an incense of their own surpassing fragrance, and of cooler hollows in the same lands and in the nearer Orient, where the Oleander grows like the willow of the north, and where the Sweet Bay throws up great tree-like suckers of surprising strength and vigour. It is only when one has seen it grow like this that one can appreciate the full force of the old Bible simile. Then to find oneself standing (while still on earth) in a grove of giant Myrtles fifteen feet high is like having a little chink of the door of heaven opened, as if to show a momentary glimpse of what good things may be beyond! Among the sweet shrubs from the nearer of these southern regions, one of the best for English gardens is _Cistus laurifolius_. Its wholesome, aromatic sweetness is freely given off, even in winter. In this, as in its near relative, _C. ladaniferus_, the scent seems to come from the gummy surface, and not from the body of the leaf. _Caryopteris Mastacanthus_, the Mastic plant, from China, one of the few shrubs that flower in autumn, has strongly-scented woolly leaves, something like turpentine, but more refined. _Ledum palustre_ has a delightful scent when its leaves are bruised. The wild Bog-myrtle, so common in Scotland, has almost the sweetness of the true Myrtle, as has also the broad-leaved North American kind, and the Candleberry Gale (_Comptonia asplenifolia_) from the same country. The myrtle-leaved Rhododendron is a dwarf shrub of neat habit, whose bruised leaves have also a myrtle-like smell, though it is less strong than in the Gales. I wonder why the leaves of nearly all the hardy aromatic shrubs are of a hard, dry texture; the exceptions are so few that it seems to be a law. If my copse were some acres larger I should like nothing better than to make a good-sized clearing, laying out to the sun, and to plant it with these aromatic bushes and herbs. The main planting should be of Cistus and Rosemary and Lavender, and for the shadier edges the Myrtle-leaved Rhododendron, and _Ledum palustre_, and the three Bog-myrtles. Then again in the sun would be Hyssop and Catmint, and Lavender-cotton and Southernwood, with others of the scented Artemisias, and Sage and Marjoram. All the ground would be carpeted with Thyme and Basil and others of the dwarfer sweet-herbs. There would be no regular paths, but it would be so planted that in most parts one would have to brush up against the sweet bushes, and sometimes push through them, as one does on the thinner-clothed of the mountain slopes of southern Italy. Among the many wonders of the vegetable world are the flowers that hang their heads and seem to sleep in the daytime, and that awaken as the sun goes down, and live their waking life at night. And those that are most familiar in our gardens have powerful perfumes, except the Evening Primrose (_Oenothera_), which has only a milder sweetness. It is vain to try and smell the night-given scent in the daytime; it is either withheld altogether, or some other smell, quite different, and not always pleasant, is there instead. I have tried hard in daytime to get a whiff of the night sweetness of _Nicotiana affinis_, but can only get hold of something that smells like a horse! Some of the best of the night-scents are those given by the Stocks and Rockets. They are sweet in the hand in the daytime, but the best of the sweet scent seems to be like a thin film on the surface. It does not do to smell them too vigorously, for, especially in Stocks and Wallflowers, there is a strong, rank, cabbage-like under-smell. But in the sweetness given off so freely in the summer evening there is none of this; then they only give their very best. But of all the family, the finest fragrance comes from the small annual Night-scented Stock (_Matthiola bicornis_), a plant that in daytime is almost ugly; for the leaves are of a dull-grey colour, and the flowers are small and also dull-coloured, and they are closed and droop and look unhappy. But when the sun has set the modest little plant seems to come to life; the grey foliage is almost beautiful in its harmonious relation to the half-light; the flowers stand up and expand, and in the early twilight show tender colouring of faint pink and lilac, and pour out upon the still night-air a lavish gift of sweetest fragrance; and the modest little plant that in strong sunlight looked unworthy of a place in the garden, now rises to its appointed rank and reigns supreme as its prime delight. CHAPTER XX THE WORSHIP OF FALSE GODS Several times during these notes I have spoken in a disparaging manner of the show-table; and I have not done so lightly, but with all the care and thought and power of observation that my limited capacity is worth; and, broadly, I have come to this: that shows, such as those at the fortnightly meetings of the Royal Horticultural Society, and their more important one in the early summer, whose object is to bring together beautiful flowers of all kinds, to a place where they may be seen, are of the utmost value; and that any shows anywhere for a like purpose, and especially where there are no money prizes, are also sure to be helpful. And the test question I put to myself at any show is this, Does this really help the best interests of horticulture? And as far as I can see that it does this, I think the show right and helpful; and whenever it does not, I think it harmful and misleading. The love of gardening has so greatly grown and spread within the last few years, that the need of really good and beautiful garden flowers is already far in advance of the demand for the so-called "florists" flowers, by which I mean those that find favour in the exclusive shows of Societies for the growing and exhibition of such flowers as Tulips, Carnations, Dahlias, and Chrysanthemums. In support of this I should like to know what proportion of demand there is, in Dahlias, for instance, between the show kinds, whose aim and object is the show-table, and the decorative kinds, that are indisputably better for garden use. Looking at the catalogue of a leading Dahlia nursery, I find that the decorative kinds fill ten pages, while the show kinds, including Pompones, fill only three. Is not this some indication of what is wanted in gardens? I am of opinion that the show-table is unworthily used when its object is to be an end in itself, and that it should be only a means to a better end, and that when it exhibits what has become merely a "fancy," it loses sight of its honourable position as a trustworthy exponent of horticulture, and has degenerated to a baser use. When, as in Chrysanthemum shows, the flowers on the board are of _no use anywhere but on that board_, and for the purpose of gaining a money prize, I hold that the show-table has a debased aim, and a debasing influence. Beauty, in all the best sense, is put aside in favour of set rules and measurements, and the production of a thing that is of no use or value; and individuals of a race of plants capable of producing the highest and most delightful forms of beauty, and of brightening our homes, and even gardens, during the dim days of early winter, are teased and tortured and fatted and bloated into ugly and useless monstrosities for no purpose but to gain money. And when private gardeners go to these shows and see how the prizes are awarded, and how all the glory is accorded to the first-prize bloated monster, can we wonder that the effect on their minds is confusing, if not absolutely harmful? Shows of Carnations and Pansies, where the older rules prevail, are equally misleading, where the single flowers are arrayed in a flat circle of paper. As with the Chrysanthemum, every sort of trickery is allowed in arranging the petals of the Carnation blooms: petals are pulled out or stuck in, and they are twisted about, and groomed and combed, and manipulated with special tools--"dressed," as the show-word has it--dressed so elaborately that the dressing only stops short of applying actual paint and perfumery. Already in the case of Carnations a better influence is being felt, and at the London shows there are now classes for border Carnations set up in long-stalked bunches just as they grow. It is only like this that their value as outdoor plants can be tested; for many of the show sorts have miserably weak stalks, and a very poor, lanky habit of growth. Then the poor Pansies have single blooms laid flat on white papers, and are only approved if they will lie quite flat and show an outline of a perfect circle. All that is most beautiful in a Pansy, the wing-like curves, the waved or slightly fluted radiations, the scarcely perceptible undulation of surface that displays to perfection the admirable delicacy of velvety texture; all the little tender tricks and ways that make the Pansy one of the best-loved of garden flowers; all this is overlooked, and not only passively overlooked, but overtly contemned. The show-pansy judge appears to have no eye, or brain, or heart, but to have in their place a pair of compasses with which to describe a circle! All idea of garden delight seems to be excluded, as this kind of judging appeals to no recognition of beauty for beauty's sake, but to hard systems of measurement and rigid arrangement and computation that one would think more applicable to astronomy or geometry than to any matter relating to horticulture. I do most strongly urge that beauty of the highest class should be the aim, and not anything of the nature of fashion or "fancy," and that every effort should be made towards the raising rather than the lowering of the standard of taste. The Societies which exist throughout the country are well organised; many have existed for a great number of years; they are the local sources of horticultural education, to which large circles of people naturally look for guidance; and though they produce--and especially the Rose shows--quantities of beautiful things, it cannot but be perceived by all who have had the benefit of some refinement of education, that in very many cases they either deliberately teach, or at any rate allow to be seen with their sanction, what cannot fail to be debasing to public taste. I will just take two examples to show how obvious methods of leading taste are not only overlooked, but even perverted; for it is not only in the individual blooms that much of the show-teaching is unworthy, but also in the training of the plants; so that a plant that by nature has some beauty of form, is not encouraged or even allowed to develop that beauty, but is trained into some shape that is not only foreign to its own nature, but is absolutely ugly and ungraceful, and entirely stupid. The natural habit of the Chrysanthemum is to grow in the form of several upright stems. They spring up sheaf-wise, straight upright for a time, and only bending a little outwards above, to give room for the branching heads of bloom. The stems are rather stiff, because they are half woody at the base. In the case of pot-plants it would seem right only so far to stake or train them as to give the necessary support by a few sticks set a little outwards at the top, so that each stem may lean a little over, after the manner of a Bamboo, when their clustered heads of flower would be given enough room, and be seen to the greatest advantage. But at shows, the triumph of the training art seems to be to drag the poor thing round and round over an internal scaffolding of sticks, with an infinite number of ties and cross-braces, so that it makes a sort of shapeless ball, and to arrange the flowers so that they are equally spotted all over it, by tying back some almost to snapping-point, and by dragging forward others to the verge of dislocation. I have never seen anything so ugly in the way of potted plants as a certain kind of Chrysanthemum that has incurved flowers of a heavy sort of dull leaden-looking red-purple colour trained in this manner. Such a sight gives me a feeling of shame, not unmixed with wrathful indignation. I ask myself, What is it for? and I get no answer. I ask a practical gardener what it is for, and he says, "Oh, it is one of the ways they are trained for shows." I ask him, Does he think it pretty, or is it any use? and he says, "Well, they think it makes a nice variety;" and when I press him further, and say I consider it a very nasty variety, and does he think nasty varieties are better than none, the question is beyond him, and he smiles vaguely and edges away, evidently thinking my conversation perplexing, and my company undesirable. I look again at the unhappy plant, and see its poor leaves fat with an unwholesome obesity, and seeming to say, We were really a good bit mildewed, but have been doctored up for the show by being crammed and stuffed with artificial aliment! My second example is that of _Azalea indica_. What is prettier in a room than one of these in its little tree form, a true tree, with tiny trunk and wide-spreading branches, and its absurdly large and lovely flowers? Surely it is the most perfect room ornament that we can have in tree shape in a moderate-sized pot; and where else can one see a tree loaded with lovely bloom whose individual flowers have a diameter equal to five times that of the trunk? But the show decrees that all this is wrong, and that the tiny, brittle branches must be trained stiffly round till the shape of the plant shows as a sort of cylinder. Again I ask myself, What is this for? What does it teach? Can it be really to teach with deliberate intention that instead of displaying its natural and graceful tree form it should aim at a more desirable kind of beauty, such as that of the chimney-pot or drain-pipe, and that this is so important that it is right and laudable to devote to it much time and delicate workmanship? I cannot but think, as well as hope, that the strong influences for good that are now being brought to bear on all departments of gardening may reach this class of show, for there are already more hopeful signs in the admission of classes for groups arranged for decoration. The prize-show system no doubt creates its own evils, because the judges, and those who frame the schedules, have been in most cases men who have a knowledge of flowers, but who are not people of cultivated taste, and in deciding what points are to constitute the merits of a flower they have to take such qualities as are within the clearest understanding of people of average intelligence and average education--such, for instance, as size that can be measured, symmetry that can be easily estimated, thickness of petal that can be felt, and such qualities of colour as appeal most strongly to the uneducated eye; so that a flower may possess features or qualities that endow it with the highest beauty, but that exclude it, because the hard and narrow limits of the show-laws provide no means of dealing with it. It is, therefore, thrown out, not because they have any fault to find with it, but because it does not concern them; and the ordinary gardener, to whose practice it might be of the highest value, accepting the verdict of the show-judge as an infallible guide, also treats it with contempt and neglect. Now, all this would not so much matter if it did not delude those whose taste is not sufficiently educated to enable them to form an opinion of their own in accordance with the best and truest standards of beauty; for I venture to repeat that what we have to look for for the benefit of our gardens, and for our own bettering and increase of happiness in those gardens, are things that are beautiful, rather than things that are round, or straight, or thick, still less than for those that are new, or curious, or astonishing. For all these false gods are among us, and many are they who are willing to worship. CHAPTER XXI NOVELTY AND VARIETY When I look back over thirty years of gardening, I see what an extraordinary progress there has been, not only in the introduction of good plants new to general cultivation, but also in the home production of improved kinds of old favourites. In annual plants alone there has been a remarkable advance. And here again, though many really beautiful things are being brought forward, there seems always to be an undue value assigned to a fresh development, on the score of its novelty. Now it seems to me, that among the thousands of beautiful things already at hand for garden use, there is no merit whatever in novelty or variety unless the thing new or different is distinctly more beautiful, or in some such way better than an older thing of the same class. And there seems to be a general wish among seed growers just now to dwarf all annual plants. Now, when a plant is naturally of a diffuse habit, the fixing of a dwarfer variety may be a distinct gain to horticulture--it may just make a good garden plant out of one that was formerly of indifferent quality; but there seems to me to be a kind of stupidity in inferring from this that all annuals are the better for dwarfing. I take it that the bedding system has had a good deal to do with it. It no doubt enables ignorant gardeners to use a larger variety of plants as senseless colour-masses, but it is obvious that many, if not most, of the plants are individually made much uglier by the process. Take, for example, one of the dwarfest Ageratums: what a silly little dumpy, formless, pincushion of a thing it is! And then the dwarfest of the China Asters. Here is a plant (whose chief weakness already lies in a certain over-stiffness) made stiffer and more shapeless still by dwarfing and by cramming with too many petals. The Comet Asters of later years are a much-improved type of flower, with a looser shape and a certain degree of approach to grace and beauty. When this kind came out it was a noteworthy novelty, not because it was a novelty, but because it was a better and more beautiful thing. Also among the same Asters the introduction of a better class of red colouring, first of the blood-red and then of the so-called scarlet shades, was a good variety, because it was the distinct bettering of the colour of a popular race of garden-flowers, whose red and pink colourings had hitherto been of a bad and rank quality. It is quite true that here and there the dwarf kind is a distinctly useful thing, as in the dwarf Nasturtiums. In this grand plant one is glad to have dwarf ones as well as the old trailing kinds. I even confess to a certain liking for the podgy little dwarf Snapdragons; they are ungraceful little dumpy things, but they happen to have come in some tender colourings of pale yellow and pale pink, that give them a kind of absurd prettiness, and a certain garden-value. I also look at them as a little floral joke that is harmless and not displeasing, but they cannot for a moment compare in beauty with the free-growing Snapdragon of the older type. This I always think one of the best and most interesting and admirable of garden-plants. Its beauty is lost if it is crowded up among other things in a border; it should be grown in a dry wall or steep rocky bank, where its handsome bushy growth and finely-poised spikes of bloom can be well seen. [Illustration: TALL SNAPDRAGONS GROWING IN A DRY WALL.] [Illustration: MULLEINS GROWING IN THE FACE OF DRY WALL. (_See "Old Wall," page 116._)] One of the annuals that I think is entirely spoilt by dwarfing is Love-in-a-Mist, a plant I hold in high admiration. Many years ago I came upon some of it in a small garden, of a type that I thought extremely desirable, with a double flower of just the right degree of fulness, and of an unusually fine colour. I was fortunate enough to get some seed, and have never grown any other, nor have I ever seen elsewhere any that I think can compare with it. The Zinnia is another fine annual that has been much spoilt by its would-be improvers. When a Zinnia has a hard, stiff, tall flower, with a great many rows of petals piled up one on top of another, and when its habit is dwarfed to a mean degree of squatness, it looks to me both ugly and absurd, whereas a reasonably double one, well branched, and two feet high, is a handsome plant. I also think that Stocks and Wallflowers are much handsomer when rather tall and branching. Dwarf Stocks, moreover, are invariably spattered with soil in heavy autumn rain. An example of the improver not knowing where to stop in the matter of colouring, always strikes me in the Gaillardias, and more especially in the perennial kind, that is increased by division as well as by seed. The flower is naturally of a strong orange-yellow colour, with a narrow ring of red round the centre. The improver has sought to increase the width of the red ring. Up to a certain point it makes a livelier and brighter-looking flower; but he has gone too far, and extended the red till it has become a red flower with a narrow yellow edge. The red also is of a rather dull and heavy nature, so that instead of a handsome yellow flower with a broad central ring, here is an ugly red one with a yellow border. There is no positive harm done, as the plant has been propagated at every stage of development, and one may choose what one will; but to see them together is an instructive lesson. No annual plant has of late years been so much improved as the Sweet Pea, and one reason why its charming beauty and scent are so enjoyable is, that they grow tall, and can be seen on a level with the eye. There can be no excuse whatever for dwarfing this, as has lately been done. There are already plenty of good flowering plants under a foot high, and the little dwarf white monstrosity, now being followed by coloured ones of the same habit, seems to me worthy of nothing but condemnation. It would be as right and sensible to dwarf a Hollyhock into a podgy mass a foot high, or a Pentstemon, or a Foxglove. Happily these have as yet escaped dwarfing, though I regret to see that a deformity that not unfrequently appears among garden Foxgloves, looking like a bell-shaped flower topping a stunted spike, appears to have been "fixed," and is being offered as a "novelty." Here is one of the clearest examples of a new development which is a distinct debasement of a naturally beautiful form, but which is nevertheless being pushed forward in trade: it has no merit whatever in itself, and is only likely to sell because it is new and curious. And all this parade of distortion and deformity comes about from the grower losing sight of beauty as the first consideration, or from his not having the knowledge that would enable him to determine what are the points of character in various plants most deserving of development, and in not knowing when or where to stop. Abnormal size, whether greatly above or much below the average, appeals to the vulgar and uneducated eye, and will always command its attention and wonderment. But then the production of the immense size that provokes astonishment, and the misapplied ingenuity that produces unusual dwarfing, are neither of them very high aims. And much as I feel grateful to those who improve garden flowers, I venture to repeat my strong conviction that their efforts in selection and other methods should be so directed as to keep in view the attainment of beauty in the first place, and as a point of honour; not to mere increase of size of bloom or compactness of habit--many plants have been spoilt by excess of both; not for variety or novelty as ends in themselves, but only to welcome them, and offer them, if they are distinctly of garden value in the best sense. For if plants are grown or advertised or otherwise pushed on any other account than that of their possessing some worthy form of beauty, they become of the same nature as any other article in trade that is got up for sale for the sole benefit of the seller, that is unduly lauded by advertisement, and that makes its first appeal to the vulgar eye by an exaggerated and showy pictorial representation; that will serve no useful purpose, and for which there is no true or healthy demand. No doubt much of it comes about from the unwholesome pressure of trade competition, which in a way obliges all to follow where some lead. I trust that my many good friends in the trade will understand that my remarks are not made in any personal sense whatever. I know that some of them feel much as I do on some of these points, but that in many ways they are helpless, being all bound in a kind of bondage to the general system. And there is one great evil that calls loudly for redress, but that will endure until some of the mightiest of them have the energy and courage to band themselves together and to declare that it shall no longer exist among them. CHAPTER XXII WEEDS AND PESTS Weeding is a delightful occupation, especially after summer rain, when the roots come up clear and clean. One gets to know how many and various are the ways of weeds--as many almost as the moods of human creatures. How easy and pleasant to pull up are the soft annuals like Chickweed and Groundsel, and how one looks with respect at deep-rooted things like Docks, that make one go and fetch a spade. Comfrey is another thing with a terrible root, and every bit must be got out, as it will grow again from the smallest scrap. And hard to get up are the two Bryonies, the green and the black, with such deep-reaching roots, that, if not weeded up within their first year, will have to be seriously dug out later. The white Convolvulus, one of the loveliest of native plants, has a most persistently running root, of which every joint will quickly form a new plant. Some of the worst weeds to get out are Goutweed and Coltsfoot. Though I live on a light soil, comparatively easy to clean, I have done some gardening in clay, and well know what a despairing job it is to get the bits of either of these roots out of the stiff clods. The most persistent weed in my soil is the small running Sheep's Sorrel. First it makes a patch, and then sends out thready running roots all round, a foot or more long; these, if not checked, establish new bases of operation, and so it goes on, always spreading farther and farther. When this happens in soft ground that can be hoed and weeded it matters less, but in the lawn it is a more serious matter. Its presence always denotes a poor, sandy soil of rather a sour quality. Goutweed is a pest in nearly all gardens, and very difficult to get out. When it runs into the root of some patch of hardy plant, if the plant can be spared, I find it best to send it at once to the burn-heap; or if it is too precious, there is nothing for it but to cut it all up and wash it out, to be sure that not the smallest particle of the enemy remains. Some weeds are deceiving--Sow-thistle, for instance, which has the look of promising firm hand-hold and easy extraction, but has a disappointing way of almost always breaking short off at the collar. But of all the garden weeds that are native plants I know none so persistent or so insidious as the Rampion Bell-flower (_Campanula Rapunculus_); it grows from the smallest thread of root, and it is almost impossible to see every little bit; for though the main roots are thick, and white, and fleshy, the fine side roots that run far abroad are very small, and of a reddish colour, and easily hidden in the brown earth. But some of the worst garden-weeds are exotics run wild. The common Grape Hyacinth sometimes overruns a garden and cannot be got rid of. _Sambucus ebulis_ is a plant to beware of, its long thong-like roots spreading far and wide, and coming up again far away from the parent stock. For this reason it is valuable for planting in such places as newly-made pond-heads, helping to tie the bank together. _Polygonum Sieboldi_ must also be planted with caution. The winter Heliotrope (_Petasites fragrans_) is almost impossible to get out when once it has taken hold, growing in the same way as its near relative the native Coltsfoot. But by far the most difficult plant to abolish or even keep in check that I know is _Ornithogalum nutans_. Beautiful as it is, and valuable as a cut flower, I will not have it in the garden. I think I may venture to say that in this soil, when once established, it cannot be eradicated. Each mature bulb makes a host of offsets, and the seed quickly ripens. When it is once in a garden it will suddenly appear in all sorts of different places. It is no use trying to dig it out. I have dug out the whole space of soil containing the patch, a barrow-load at a time, and sent it to the middle of the burn-heap, and put in fresh soil, and there it is again next year, nearly as thick as ever. I have dug up individual small patches with the greatest care, and got out every bulb and offset, and every bit of the whitish leaf stem, for I have such faith in its power of reproduction that I think every atom of this is capable of making a plant, only to find next year a thriving young tuft of the "grass" in the same place. And yet the bulb and underground stem are white, and the earth is brown, and I passed it all several times through my fingers, but all in vain. I confess that it beats me entirely. _Coronilla varia_ is a little plant that appears in catalogues among desirable Alpines, but is a very "rooty" and troublesome thing, and scarcely good enough for garden use, though pretty in a grassy bank where its rambling ways would not be objectionable. I once brought home from Brittany some roots of _Linaria repens_, that looked charming by a roadside, and planted them in a bit of Alpine garden, a planting that I never afterwards ceased to regret. I learnt from an old farmer a good way of getting rid of a bed of nettles--to thrash them down with a stick every time they grow up. If this is done about three times during the year, the root becomes so much weakened that it is easily forked out, or if the treatment is gone on with, the second year the nettles die. Thrashing with a stick is better than cutting, as it makes the plant bleed more; any mutilation of bruise or ragged tearing of fibre is more harmful to plant or tree than clean cutting. Of bird, beast, and insect pests we have plenty. First, and worst, are rabbits. They will gnaw and nibble anything and everything that is newly planted, even native things like Juniper, Scotch Fir, and Gorse. The necessity of wiring everything newly planted adds greatly to the labour and expense of the garden, and the unsightly grey wire-netting is an unpleasant eyesore. When plants or bushes are well established the rabbits leave them alone, though some families of plants are always irresistible--Pinks and Carnations, for instance, and nearly all Cruciferæ, such as Wallflowers, Stocks, and Iberis. The only plants I know that they do not touch are Rhododendrons and Azaleas; they leave them for the hare, that is sure to get in every now and then, and who stands up on his long hind-legs, and will eat Rose-bushes quite high up. Plants eaten by a hare look as if they had been cut with a sharp knife; there is no appearance of gnawing or nibbling, no ragged edges of wood or frayed bark, but just a straight clean cut. Field mice are very troublesome. Some years they will nibble off the flower-buds of the Lent Hellebores; when they do this they have a curious way of collecting them and laying them in heaps. I have no idea why they do this, as they neither carry them away nor eat them afterwards; there the heaps of buds lie till they rot or dry up. They once stole all my Auricula seed in the same way. I had marked some good plants for seed, cutting off all the other flowers as soon as they went out of bloom. The seed was ripening, and I watched it daily, awaiting the moment for harvesting. But a few days before it was ready I went round and found the seed was all gone; it had been cut off at the top of the stalk, so that the umbel-shaped heads had been taken away whole. I looked about, and luckily found three slightly hollow places under the bank at the back of the border where the seed-heads had been piled in heaps. In this case it looked as if it had been stored for food; luckily it was near enough to ripeness for me to save my crop. The mice are also troublesome with newly-sown Peas, eating some underground, while sparrows nibble off others when just sprouted; and when outdoor Grapes are ripening mice run up the walls and eat them. Even when the Grapes are tied in oiled canvas bags they will eat through the bags to get at them, though I have never known them to gnaw through the newspaper bags that I now use in preference, and that ripen the Grapes as well. I am not sure whether it is mice or birds that pick off the flowers of the big bunch Primroses, but am inclined to think it is mice, because the stalks are cut low down. Pheasants are very bad gardeners; what they seem to enjoy most are Crocuses--in fact, it is no use planting them. I had once a nice collection of Crocus species. They were in separate patches, all along the edge of one border, in a sheltered part of the garden, where pheasants did not often come. One day when I came to see my Crocuses, I found where each patch had been a basin-shaped excavation and a few fragments of stalk or some part of the plant. They had begun at one end and worked steadily along, clearing them right out. They also destroyed a long bed of _Anemone fulgens_. First they took the flowers, and then the leaves, and lastly pecked up and ate the roots. But we have one grand consolation in having no slugs, at least hardly any that are truly indigenous; they do not like our dry, sandy heaths. Friends are very generous in sending them with plants, so that we have a moderate number that hang about frames and pot plants, though nothing much to boast of; but they never trouble seedlings in the open ground, and for this I can never be too thankful. Alas that the beautiful bullfinch should be so dire an enemy to fruit-trees, and also the pretty little tits! but so it is; and it is a sad sight to see a well-grown fruit-tree with all its fruit-buds pecked out and lying under it on the ground in a thin green carpet. We had some fine young cherry-trees in a small orchard that we cut down in despair after they had been growing twelve years. They were too large to net, and their space could not be spared just for the mischievous fun of the birds. CHAPTER XXIII THE BEDDING FASHION AND ITS INFLUENCE It is curious to look back at the old days of bedding-out, when that and that only meant gardening to most people, and to remember how the fashion, beginning in the larger gardens, made its way like a great inundating wave, submerging the lesser ones, and almost drowning out the beauties of the many little flowery cottage plots of our English waysides. And one wonders how it all came about, and why the bedding system, admirable for its own purpose, should have thus outstepped its bounds, and have been allowed to run riot among gardens great and small throughout the land. But so it was, and for many years the fashion, for it was scarcely anything better, reigned supreme. It was well for all real lovers of flowers when some quarter of a century ago a strong champion of the good old flowers arose, and fought strenuously to stay the devastating tide, and to restore the healthy liking for the good old garden flowers. Many soon followed, and now one may say that all England has flocked to the standard. Bedding as an all-prevailing fashion is now dead; the old garden-flowers are again honoured and loved, and every encouragement is freely offered to those who will improve old kinds and bring forward others. And now that bedding as a fashion no longer exists, one can look at it more quietly and fairly, and see what its uses really are, for in its own place and way it is undoubtedly useful and desirable. Many great country-houses are only inhabited in winter, then perhaps for a week or two at Easter, and in the late summer. There is probably a house-party at Easter, and a succession of visitors in the late summer. A brilliant garden, visible from the house, dressed for spring and dressed for early autumn, is exactly what is wanted--not necessarily from any special love of flowers, but as a kind of bright and well-kept furnishing of the immediate environment of the house. The gardener delights in it; it is all routine work; so many hundreds or thousands of scarlet Geranium, of yellow Calceolaria, of blue Lobelia, of golden Feverfew, or of other coloured material. It wants no imagination; the comprehension of it is within the range of the most limited understanding; indeed its prevalence for some twenty years or more must have had a deteriorating influence on the whole class of private gardeners, presenting to them an ideal so easy of attainment and so cheap of mental effort. But bedding, though it is gardening of the least poetical or imaginative kind, can be done badly or beautifully. In the _parterre_ of the formal garden it is absolutely in place, and brilliantly-beautiful pictures can be made by a wise choice of colouring. I once saw, and can never forget, a bedded garden that was a perfectly satisfying example of colour-harmony; but then it was planned by the master, a man of the most refined taste, and not by the gardener. It was a _parterre_ that formed part of the garden in one of the fine old places in the Midland counties. I have no distinct recollection of the design, except that there was some principle of fan-shaped radiation, of which each extreme angle formed one centre. The whole garden was treated in one harmonious colouring of full yellow, orange, and orange-brown; half-hardy annuals, such as French and African Marigolds, Zinnias, and Nasturtiums, being freely used. It was the most noble treatment of one limited range of colouring I have ever seen in a garden; brilliant without being garish, and sumptuously gorgeous without the reproach of gaudiness--a precious lesson in temperance and restraint in the use of the one colour, and an admirable exposition of its powerful effect in the hands of a true artist. I think that in many smaller gardens a certain amount of bedding may be actually desirable; for where the owner of a garden has a special liking for certain classes or mixtures of plants, or wishes to grow them thoroughly well and enjoy them individually to the full, he will naturally grow them in separate beds, or may intentionally combine the beds, if he will, into some form of good garden effect. But the great fault of the bedding system when at its height was, that it swept over the country as a tyrannical fashion, that demanded, and for the time being succeeded in effecting, the exclusion of better and more thoughtful kinds of gardening; for I believe I am right in saying that it spread like an epidemic disease, and raged far and wide for nearly a quarter of a century. Its worst form of all was the "ribbon border," generally a line of scarlet Geranium at the back, then a line of Calceolaria, then a line of blue Lobelia, and lastly, a line of the inevitable Golden Feather Feverfew, or what our gardener used to call Featherfew. Could anything be more tedious or more stupid? And the ribbon border was at its worst when its lines were not straight, but waved about in weak and silly sinuations. And when bedding as a fashion was dead, when this false god had been toppled off his pedestal, and his worshippers had been converted to better beliefs, in turning and rending him they often went too far, and did injustice to the innocent by professing a dislike to many a good plant, and renouncing its use. It was not the fault of the Geranium or of the Calceolaria that they had been grievously misused and made to usurp too large a share of our garden spaces. Not once but many a time my visitors have expressed unbounded surprise when they saw these plants in my garden, saying, "I should have thought that you would have despised Geraniums." On the contrary, I love Geraniums. There are no plants to come near them for pot, or box, or stone basket, or for massing in any sheltered place in hottest sunshine; and I love their strangely-pleasant smell, and their beautiful modern colourings of soft scarlet and salmon-scarlet and salmon-pink, some of these grouping beautifully together. I have a space in connection with some formal stonework of steps, and tank, and paved walks, close to the house, on purpose for the summer placing of large pots of Geranium, with sometimes a few Cannas and Lilies. For a quarter of the year it is one of the best things in the garden, and delightful in colour. Then no plant does so well or looks so suitable in some earthen pots and boxes from Southern Italy that I always think the best that were ever made, their shape and well-designed ornament traditional from the Middle Ages, and probably from an even more remote antiquity. [Illustration: GERANIUMS IN NEAPOLITAN POTS.] There are, of course, among bedding Geraniums many of a bad, raw quality of colour, particularly among cold, hard pinks, but there are so many to choose from that these can easily be avoided. I remember some years ago, when the bedding fashion was going out, reading some rather heated discussions in the gardening papers about methods of planting out and arranging various tender but indispensable plants. Some one who had been writing about the errors of the bedding system wrote about planting some of these in isolated masses. He was pounced upon by another, who asked, "What is this but bedding?" The second writer was so far justified, in that it cannot be denied that any planting in beds is bedding. But then there is bedding and bedding--a right and a wrong way of applying the treatment. Another matter that roused the combative spirit of the captious critic was the filling up of bare spaces in mixed borders with Geraniums, Calceolarias, and other such plants. Again he said, "What is this but bedding? These are bedding plants." When I read this it seemed to me that his argument was, These plants may be very good plants in themselves, but because they have for some years been used wrongly, therefore they must not now be used rightly! In the case of my own visitors, when they have expressed surprise at my having "those horrid old bedding plants" in my garden, it seemed quite a new view when I pointed out that bedding plants were only passive agents in their own misuse, and that a Geranium was a Geranium long before it was a bedding plant! But the discussion raised in my mind a wish to come to some conclusion about the difference between bedding in the better and worse sense, in relation to the cases quoted, and it appeared to me to be merely in the choice between right and wrong placing--placing monotonously or stupidly, so as merely to fill the space, or placing with a feeling for "drawing" or proportion. For I had very soon found out that, if I had a number of things to plant anywhere, whether only to fill up a border or as a detached group, if I placed the things myself, carefully exercising what power of discrimination I might have acquired, it looked fairly right, but that if I left it to one of my garden people (a thing I rarely do) it looked all nohow, or like bedding in the worst sense of the word. [Illustration: SPACE IN STEP AND TANK-GARDEN FOR LILIES, CANNAS, AND GERANIUMS.] [Illustration: HYDRANGEAS IN TUBS, IN A PART OF THE SAME GARDEN.] Even the better ways of gardening do not wholly escape the debasing influence of fashion. Wild gardening is a delightful, and in good hands a most desirable, pursuit, but no kind of gardening is so difficult to do well, or is so full of pitfalls and of paths of peril. Because it has in some measure become fashionable, and because it is understood to mean the planting of exotics in wild places, unthinking people rush to the conclusion that they can put any garden plants into any wild places, and that that is wild gardening. I have seen woody places that were already perfect with their own simple charm just muddled and spoilt by a reckless planting of garden refuse, and heathy hillsides already sufficiently and beautifully clothed with native vegetation made to look lamentably silly by the planting of a nurseryman's mixed lot of exotic Conifers. In my own case, I have always devoted the most careful consideration to any bit of wild gardening I thought of doing, never allowing myself to decide upon it till I felt thoroughly assured that the place seemed to ask for the planting in contemplation, and that it would be distinctly a gain in pictorial value; so there are stretches of Daffodils in one part of the copse, while another is carpeted with Lily of the Valley. A cool bank is covered with Gaultheria, and just where I thought they would look well as little jewels of beauty, are spreading patches of Trillium and the great yellow Dog-tooth Violet. Besides these there are only some groups of the Giant Lily. Many other exotic plants could have been made to grow in the wooded ground, but they did not seem to be wanted; I thought where the copse looked well and complete in itself it was better left alone. But where the wood joins the garden some bold groups of flowering plants are allowed, as of Mullein in one part and Foxglove in another; for when standing in the free part of the garden, it is pleasant to project the sight far into the wood, and to let the garden influences penetrate here and there, the better to join the one to the other. [Illustration: MULLEIN (VERBASCUM PHLOMOIDES) AT THE EDGE OF THE FIR WOOD.] [Illustration: A GRASS PATH IN THE COPSE.] Under the Bracken in both pictures is a wide planting of Lily of the Valley, flowering in May before the Fern is up. (_See page 61._) CHAPTER XXIV MASTERS AND MEN Now that the owners of good places are for the most part taking a newly-awakened and newly-educated pleasure in the better ways of gardening, a frequent source of difficulty arises from the ignorance and obstructiveness of gardeners. The owners have become aware that their gardens may be sources of the keenest pleasure. The gardener may be an excellent man, perfectly understanding the ordinary routine of garden work; he may have been many years in his place; it is his settled home, and he is getting well on into middle life; but he has no understanding of the new order of things, and when the master, perfectly understanding what he is about, desires that certain things shall be done, and wishes to enjoy the pleasure of directing the work himself, and seeing it grow under his hand, he resents it as an interference, and becomes obstructive, or does what is required in a spirit of such sullen acquiescence that it is equal to open opposition. And I have seen so many gardens and gardeners that I have come to recognise certain types; and this one, among men of a certain age, is unfortunately frequent. Various degrees of ignorance and narrow-mindedness must no doubt be expected among the class that produces private gardeners. Their general education is not very wide to begin with, and their training is usually all in one groove, and the many who possess a full share of vanity get to think that, because they have exhausted the obvious sources of experience that have occurred within their reach, there is nothing more to learn, or to know, or to see, or to feel, or to enjoy. It is in this that the difficulty lies. The man has no doubt done his best through life; he has performed his duties well and faithfully, and can render a good account of his stewardship. It is no fault of his that more means of enlarging his mind have not been within his grasp, and, to a certain degree, he may be excused for not understanding that there is anything beyond; but if he is naturally vain and stubborn his case is hopeless. If, on the other hand, he is wise enough to know that he does not know everything, and modest enough to acknowledge it, as do all the greatest and most learned of men, he will then be eager to receive new and enlarged impressions, and his willing and intelligent co-operation will be a new source of interest in life both to himself and his employer, as well as a fresh spring of vitality in the life of the garden. I am speaking of the large middle class of private gardeners, not of those of the highest rank, who have among them men of good education and a large measure of refinement. From among these I think of the late Mr. Ingram of the Belvoir Castle gardens, with regret as for a personal friend, and also as of one who was a true garden artist. But most people who have fair-sized gardens have to do with the middle class of gardener, the man of narrow mental training. The master who, after a good many years of active life, is looking forward to settling in his home and improving and enjoying his garden, has had so different a training, a course of teaching so immeasurably wider and more enlightening. As a boy he was in a great public school, where, by wholesome friction with his fellows, he had any petty or personal nonsense knocked out of him while still in his early "teens." Then he goes to college, and whether studiously inclined or not, he is already in the great world, always widening his ideas and experience. Then perhaps he is in one of the active professions, or engaged in scientific or intellectual research, or in diplomacy, his ever-expanding intelligence rubbing up against all that is most enlightened and astute in men, or most profoundly inexplicable in matter. He may be at the same time cultivating his taste for literature and the fine arts, searching the libraries and galleries of the civilised world for the noblest and most divinely-inspired examples of human work, seeing with an eye that daily grows more keenly searching, and receiving and holding with a brain that ever gains a firmer grasp, and so acquires some measure of the higher critical faculty. He sees the ruined gardens of antiquity, colossal works of the rulers of Imperial Rome, and the later gardens of the Middle Ages (direct descendants of those greater and older ones), some of them still among the most beautiful gardens on earth. He sees how the taste for gardening grew and travelled, spreading through Europe and reaching England, first, no doubt, through her Roman invaders. He becomes more and more aware of what great and enduring happiness may be enjoyed in a garden, and how all that he can learn of it in the leisure intervals of his earlier maturity, and then in middle life, will help to brighten his later days, when he hopes to refine and make better the garden of the old home by a reverent application of what he has learnt. He thinks of the desecrated old bowling-green, cut up to suit the fashion of thirty years ago into a patchwork of incoherent star and crescent shaped beds; of how he will give it back its ancient character of unbroken repose; he thinks how he will restore the string of fish-ponds in the bottom of the wooded valley just below, now a rushy meadow with swampy hollows that once were ponds, and humpy mounds, ruins of the ancient dikes; of how the trees will stand reflected in the still water; and how he will live to see again in middle hours of summer days, as did the monks of old, the broad backs of the golden carp basking just below the surface of the sun-warmed water. And such a man as this comes home some day and finds the narrow-minded gardener, who believes that he already knows all that can be known about gardening, who thinks that the merely technical part, which he perfectly understands, is all that there is to be known and practised, and that his crude ideas about arrangement of flowers are as good as those of any one else. And a man of this temperament cannot be induced to believe, and still less can he be made to understand, that all that he knows is only the means to a further and higher end, and that what he can show of a completed garden can only reach to an average dead-level of dulness compared with what may come of the life-giving influence of one who has the mastery of the higher garden knowledge. Moreover, he either forgets, or does not know, what is the main purpose of a garden, namely, that it is to give its owner the best and highest kind of earthly pleasure. Neither is he enlightened enough to understand that the master can take a real and intelligent interest in planning and arranging, and in watching the working out in detail. His small-minded vanity can only see in all this a distrust in his own powers and an intentional slight cast on his ability, whereas no such idea had ever entered the master's mind. Though there are many of this kind of gardener (and with their employers, if they have the patience to retain them in their service, I sincerely condole), there are happily many of a widely-different nature, whose minds are both supple and elastic and intelligently receptive, who are eager to learn and to try what has not yet come within the range of their experience, who show a cheerful readiness to receive a fresh range of ideas, and a willing alacrity in doing their best to work them out. Such a servant as this warms his master's heart, and it would do him good to hear, as I have many times heard, the terms in which the master speaks of him. For just as the educated man feels contempt for the vulgar pretension that goes with any exhibition of ignorant vanity, so the evidence of the higher qualities commands his respect and warm appreciation. Among the gardeners I have known, five such men come vividly to my recollection--good men all, with a true love of flowers, and its reflection of happiness written on their kindly faces. But then, on the other hand, frequent causes of irritation arise between master and man from the master's ignorance and unreasonable demands. For much as the love of gardening has grown of late, there are many owners who have no knowledge of it whatever. I have more than once had visitors who complained of their gardeners, as I thought quite unreasonably, on their own showing. For it is not enough to secure the services of a thoroughly able man, and to pay good wages, and to provide every sort of appliance, if there is no reasonable knowledge of what it is right and just to expect. I have known a lady, after paying a round of visits in great houses, complain of her gardener. She had seen at one place remarkably fine forced strawberries, at another some phenomenal frame Violets, and at a third immense Malmaison Carnations; whereas her own gardener did not excel in any of these, though she admitted that he was admirable for Grapes and Chrysanthemums. "If the others could do all these things to perfection," she argued, "why could not he do them?" She expected her gardener to do equally well all that she had seen best done in the other big places. It was in vain that I pleaded in defence of her man that all gardeners were human creatures, and that it was in the nature of such creatures to have individual aptitudes and special preferences, and that it was to be expected that each man should excel in one thing, or one thing at a time, and so on; but it was of no use, and she would not accept any excuse or explanation. I remember another example of a visitor who had a rather large place, and a gardener who had as good a knowledge of hardy plants as one could expect. My visitor had lately got the idea that he liked hardy flowers, though he had scarcely thrown off the influence of some earlier heresy which taught that they were more or less contemptible--the sort of thing for cottage gardens; still, as they were now in fashion, he thought he had better have them. We were passing along my flower-border, just then in one of its best moods of summer beauty, and when its main occupants, three years planted, had come to their full strength, when, speaking of a large flower-border he had lately had made, he said, "I told my fellow last autumn to get anything he liked, and yet it is perfectly wretched. It is not as if I wanted anything out of the way; I only want a lot of common things like that," waving a hand airily at my precious border, while scarcely taking the trouble to look at it. And I have had another visitor of about the same degree of appreciative insight, who, contemplating some cherished garden picture, the consummation of some long-hoped-for wish, the crowning joy of years of labour, said, "Now look at that; it is just right, and yet it is quite simple--there is absolutely nothing in it; now, why can't my man give me that?" I am far from wishing to disparage or undervalue the services of the honest gardener, but I think that on this point there ought to be the clearest understanding; that the master must not expect from the gardener accomplishments that he has no means of acquiring, and that the gardener must not assume that his knowledge covers all that can come within the scope of the widest and best practice of his craft. There are branches of education entirely out of his reach that can be brought to bear upon garden planning and arrangement down to the very least detail. What the educated employer who has studied the higher forms of gardening can do or criticise, he cannot be expected to do or understand; it is in itself almost the work of a lifetime, and only attainable, like success in any other fine art, by persons of, firstly, special temperament and aptitude; and, secondly, by their unwearied study and closest application. But the result of knowledge so gained shows itself throughout the garden. It may be in so simple a thing as the placing of a group of plants. They can be so placed by the hand that knows, that the group is in perfect drawing in relation to what is near; while by the ordinary gardener they would be so planted that they look absurd, or unmeaning, or in some way awkward and unsightly. It is not enough to cultivate plants well; they must also be used well. The servant may set up the canvas and grind the colours, and even set the palette, but the master alone can paint the picture. It is just the careful and thoughtful exercise of the higher qualities that makes a garden interesting, and their absence that leaves it blank, and dull, and lifeless. I am heartily in sympathy with the feeling described in these words in a friend's letter, "I think there are few things so interesting as to see in what way a person, whose perceptions you think fine and worthy of study, will give them expression in a garden." INDEX Adonis vernalis, 52 Alcohol, its gravestone, 12 Alexandrian laurel, 16 Alströmerias, best kinds, how to plant, 92 Amelanchier, 52, 182 Ampelopsis, 43 Andromeda Catesbæi, 37; A. floribunda and A. japonica, 50; autumn colouring, 128, 165 Anemone fulgens, 57; japonica, 109, 207 Aponogeton, 194 Apple, Wellington, 12; apple-trees, beauty of form, 25 Aristolochia Sipho, 43 Arnebia echioides, 56 Aromatic plants, 235 Artemisia Stelleriana, 104 Arum, wild, leaves with cut daffodils, 58 Auriculas, 54; seed stolen by mice, 260 Autumn-sown annuals, 113 Azaleas, arrangement for colour, 69; A. occidentalis, 70; autumn colouring, 128; as trained for shows, 246 Bambusa Ragamowski, 102 Beauty of woodland in winter, 7, 153 Beauty the first aim in gardening, 2, 196, 244, 248, 253, 254 Bedding-out as a fashion, 263 and onward; bedding rightly used, 265 Berberis for winter decoration, 16; its many merits, 21 Bignonia radicans, large-flowered variety, 110 Birch, its graceful growth, 8; colour of bark, 9; fragrance in April, 51; grouped with holly, 152 Bird-cherry, 182 Bitton, Canon Ellacombe's garden at, 206 Blue-eyed Mary, 44 Books on gardening, 192 and onward Border plants, their young growth in April, 51 Bracken, 87; cut into layering-pegs, 98; careful cutting, 99; when at its best to cut, 106; autumn colouring, 127 Bramble, colour of leaves in winter, 20; in forest groups, 44; in orchard, 181; American kinds, 182 Briar roses, 80, 104 Bryony, the two wild kinds, 43 Bulbous plants, early blooming, how best to plant, 49 Bullfinch, a garden enemy, 262 Butcher's broom, 151 Cactus, hardy, on rock-wall, 119 Caltha palustris, 52 Campanula rapunculus, 257 Cardamine trifoliata, 50 Carnations, 94; at shows, 243 Caryopteris mastacanthus, 102 Ceanothus, Gloire de Versailles, 205 Cheiranthus, alpine kinds, 62 Chimonanthus fragrans, 229 Chionodoxa sardensis and C. Lucilliæ, 32 Choisya ternata, 63, 71, 205 Christmas rose, giant kind, 144 Chrysanthemums, hardy kinds, 144; as trained at shows, 245 Cistus laurifolius, 37; C. florentinus, 101; C. ladaniferus, 102, 206 Claret vine, 110 Clematis cirrhosa, 14; C. flammula when to train, 24; wild clematis in trees and hedges, 43; C. montana, 71, 203; C. Davidiana, 95, 205 Clergymen as gardeners, 175 Clerodendron foetidum, 110, 206 Climbing plants, 202; for pergola, 215 Colour, of woodland in winter, 19; of leaves of some garden plants, 21; colour-grouping of rhododendrons, 66; of azaleas, 69; colour of foliage of tree pæonies, 73; colour arrangement in the flower-border, 89, 109, 207; colour of bracken in October, 127; of azaleas and andromedas in autumn, 128; of bark of holly, 152; study of, 197; of flowers, how described, 221 and onward Copse-cutting, 166 Corchorus japonicus, 50 Coronilla varia, 259 Corydalis capnoides, 50 Cottage gardens, 4, 185; roses in, 79 Cottager's way of protecting tender plants, 91 Cowslips, 59 Crinums, 206 Crinums, hybrid, 110, 119; protecting, 146 Crocuses, eaten by pheasants, 261 Daffodils in the copse, 34; planted in old pack-horse tracks, 48 Dahlias, staking, 114; digging up, 133 Delphiniums, 89; grown from seed, 90; D. Belladonna, 91 Dentaria pinnata, 46 Deutzia parviflora, 103 Digging up plants, 139 Discussions about treatment of certain plants, 3 Dividing tough-rooted plants, 53; spring-blooming plants, 85; how often, 136; suitable tools, 136 and onward Dog-tooth violets, 33, 47 Doronicum, 53 Dressing of show flowers, 243 Dried flowers, 17 Dwarfing annuals, 249 Edwardsia grandiflora, 206 Elder trees, 83; elder-wine, 84 Epilobium angustifolium, white variety, 86 Epimedium pinnatum, 16, 46 Erinus alpinus, sown in rock-wall, 121 Eryngium giganteum, 93; E. maritimum, 93; E. Oliverianum, 93, 209. Eulalia japonica, flowers dried, 17 Evergreen branches for winter decoration, 16 Everlasting pea, dividing and propagating, 138 Experimental planting, 183 Felling trees, 162 Fern Filix foemina in rhododendron beds, 37, 106; Dicksonia punctilobulata, 62; ferns in rock-wall, 120; polypody, 121, 165 Fern-pegs for layering carnations, 98 Fern-walk, suitable plants among groups of ferns, 107 Flower border, 133, 200 Forms of deciduous trees, beauty of, 25 Forsythia suspensa and F. viridissima, 50 Forget-me-not, large kind, 53 Foxgloves, 270 Fungi, Amanita, Boletus, Chantarelle, 111 Funkia grandiflora, 212 Galax aphylla, colour of leaves in winter, 21 Gale, broad-leaved, 101 Garden friends, 194 Garden houses, 215 Gardening, a fine art, 197 Garrya elliptica, 202 Gaultheria Shallon, value for cutting, 16; in rock-garden, 165 Geraniums as bedding plants, 266 and onward Gourds, as used by Mrs. Earle, 18 Goutweed, 257 Grape hyacinths, 49, 258 Grass, Sheep's-fescue, 69 Grasses for lawn, 147 Grey-foliaged plants, 207 Grouping plants that bloom together, 70 Grubbing, 160; tools, 150, 261 Guelder-rose as a wall-plant, 71; single kind, 129 Gypsophila paniculata, 95, 209 Half-hardy border plants in August, 108, 210 Happiness in gardening, 1, 274 Hares, as depredators, 260 Heath sods for protecting tender plants, 91 Heaths, filling up Rhododendron beds, 37; wild heath among azaleas, 69; cut short in paths, 70; ling, 106 Hellebores, caulescent kinds in the nut-walk, 9; for cutting, 57, 144; buds stolen by mice, 260. Heuchera Richardsoni, 53, 135 Holly, beauty in winter, 8; grouped with birch, 152; cheerful aspect, 154 Hollyhocks, the prettiest shape, 105 Honey-suckle, wild, 43 Hoof-parings as manure, 133 Hoop-making, 166, and onward Hop, wild, 43 Hutchinsia alpina, 50 Hyacinth (wild) in oak-wood, 60 Hydrangeas, protecting, 146; at foot of wall, 206 Hyssop, a good wall-plant, 121 Iris alata, 14; I. foetidissima, 120; I. pallida, 129 Iris stylosa, how to plant, 13; white variety, 14; time of blooming, 33, 164 Ivy, shoots for cutting, 17 Japan Privet, foliage for winter decoration, 16 Japan Quince (Cydonia or Pyrus), 50 Jasminum nudiflorum, 164 Junction of garden and wood, 34, 270 Juniper, its merits, 26; its form, action of snow, 27; power of recovery from damage, 29; beauty of colouring, 30; stems in winter dress, 31; in a wild valley, 154, and onward Kitchen-garden, 179; its sheds, 179, 180 Larch, sweetness in April, 51 Large gardens, 176 Lavender, when to cut, 105 Lawn-making, 146; lawn spaces, 177, 178 Leaf mould, 149 Learning, 5, 189, 190, 273 Lessons of the garden, 6; in wild-tree planting, 154; in orchard planting, 183; of the show-table, 241 Leucojum vernum, 33 Leycesteria formosa, 100 Lilacs, suckers, as strong feeders, good kinds, 23; standards best, 24 Lilium auratum among rhododendrons, 37, 106; among bamboos, 106 Lilium giganteum, 95; cultivation needed in poor soil, 142 Lilium Harrisi and L. speciosum, 106 Lily of the valley in the copse, 61 Linaria repens, 259 London Pride in the rock-wall, 120 Loquat, 204 Love-in-a-mist, 251 Love of gardening, 1 Luzula sylvatica, 61 Magnolia, branches indoors in winter, 16; magnolia stellata, 50; kinds in the choice shrub-bank, 101 Mai-trank, 60 Marking trees for cutting, 151 Marsh marigold, 52 Masters and men, 271 Mastic, 102 Meconopsis Wallichi, 165 Medlar, 129 Megaseas, colour of foliage, 17; M. ligulata, 103; in front edge of flower-border, 211 Mertensia virginica, 46; sowing the seed, 84 Mice, 260, 261 Michaelmas daisies, a garden to themselves, 125; planting and staking, 126; early kinds in mixed border, 135 Mixed planting, 183; mixed border, 206 Morells, 59 Mulleins (V. olympicum and V. phlomoides), 85; mullein-moth, 86, 270 Muscari of kinds, 49 Musical reverberation in wood of Scotch fir, 60 Myosotis sylvatica major, 53 Nandina domestica, 206 Narcissus cernuus, 12; N. serotinus, 14; N. princeps and N. Horsfieldi in the copse, 48 Nature's planting, 154 Nettles, to destroy, 259 Novelty, 249 Nut nursery at Calcot, 11 Nut-walk, 9; catkins, 11; suckers, 11 Oak timber, felling, 60 Old wall, 72, 116 and onward Omphalodes verna, 45 Ophiopogon spicatum for winter cutting, 16 Orchard, ornamental, 181 Orobus vernus, 52; O. aurantiacus, 62 Othonna cheirifolia, 63 Pæonies and Lent Hellebores grown together, 76 Pæony moutan grouped with Clematis montana, 70; special garden for pæonies, 72; frequent sudden deaths, 73; varieties of P. albiflora, 74; old garden kinds, 75; pæony species desirable for garden use, 75 Pansies as cut flowers, 57; at shows, 243 Parkinson's chapter on carnations, 94 Pavia macrostachya, 103 Pea, white everlasting, 95 Pergola, 212 Pernettya, 165 Pests, bird, beast, and insect, 259 Phacelia campanularia, 63 Pheasants, as depredators, 261; destroying crocuses, 261 Philadelphus microphyllus, 103 Phlomis fruticosa, 103 Phloxes, 135 Piptanthus nepalensis, 63, 206 Planes pollarded, 215 Planting early, 129; careful planting, 130; planting from pots, 131; careful tree planting, 148 Platycodon Mariesi, 108 Plume hyacinth, 49 Polygala chamæbuxus, 164 Polygonum compactum, 136; Sieboldi, 258 "Pot-pourri from a Surrey garden," 18 Primroses, white and lilac, 44; large bunch-flowered kinds as cut flowers, 58; seedlings planted out, 85; primrose garden, 216 Primula denticulata, 184 Progress in gardening, 249 Prophet-flower (Arnebia), 56 Protecting tender plants, 145 Pterocephalus parnassi, 107 Pyrus Maulei, 50 Queen wasps, 63 Quince, 128 Rabbits, 260 Ranunculus montanus, 50 Raphiolepis ovata, 204 Rhododendrons, variation in foliage, 35; R. multum maculatum, 35; plants to fill bare spaces among, 37; arrangement for colour, 64 and onward; hybrid of R. Aucklandi, 69; alpine, 165 Ribbon border, 266 Ribes, 50 Robinia hispida, 203 Rock garden, making and renewing, 115 Rock-wall, 116 and onward Rosemary, 204 Roses, pruning, tying, and training, 38; fence planted with free roses, 38; Reine Olga de Wurtemburg, 38; climbing and rambling roses, 39; Fortune's yellow, Banksian, 40; wild roses, 43; garden roses: Provence, moss, damask, R. alba, 78; roses in cottage gardens, ramblers and fountains, 79; free growth of Rosa polyantha, 80; two good, free roses for cutting, 80; Burnet rose and Scotch briars, Rosa lucida, 81; tea roses: best kinds for light soil, pegging, pruning, 82; roses collected in Capri, 105; second bloom of tea roses, 110; jam made of hips of R. rugosa, 111, 184; R. arvensis, garden form of, 129; R. Boursault elegans, 192; China, 205; their scents, 235 Ruscus aculeatus, 151; R. racemosus, 152 Ruta patavina, a late-flowering rock-plant, 107 Sambucus ebulis, 258 Satin-leaf (Heuchera Richardsoni), 53 Scilla maritima, 14; S. sibirica, S. bifolia, 32 Scents of flowers, 229 and onward Scotch fir, pollen, 53; cones opening, 54; effect of sound in fir-wood, 60 Show flowers, 242 Show-table, what it teaches, 241 Shrub-bank, 101; snug place for tender shrubs, 121 Shrub-wilderness of the old home, 100 Skimmeas, 101, 165 Slugs, 262 Smilacina bifolia, 61 Snapdragon, 251 Snowstorm of December 1886, 27 Snowy Mespilus (Amelanchier), 52 Solanum crispum, 204 Solomon's seal, 61 Spindle-tree, 127 Spiræa Thunbergi, 50, 104; S. prunifolia, 104 St. John's worts, choice, 103 Stephanandra flexuosa, 103 Sternbergia lutea, 139 Sticks and stakes, 163 Storms in autumn, 122 Styrax japonica, 101 Suckers of nuts, 11; robbers, how to remove, 24; on grafted rhododendrons, 36 Sunflowers, perennial, 134 Sweetbriar, rambling, 39; fragrance in April, 51 Sweet-leaved small shrubs, 34, 57, 101 Sweet peas, autumn sown, 83, 112 Thatching with hoop-chips, 169 Thinning the nut-walk, 10; thinning shrubs, 22; trees in copse, 151 Tiarella cordifolia, 53; colour of leaves in winter, 21 Tools for dividing, 136; for tree cutting and grubbing, 150; woodman's, 158; axe and wedge, 159; rollers, 160; cross-cut saw, 162 Training the eye, 4; training Clematis flammula, 24 Transplanting large trees, 147 Trillium grandiflorum, 61 Tritomas, protecting, 146 Tulips, show kinds and their origin, 55; T. retroflexa, 55; other good garden kinds, 56 Various ways of gardening, 3 Verbascum olympicum and V. phlomoides, 85 Villa garden, 171 Vinca acutiflora, 139 Vine, black Hamburg at Calcot, 12; as a wall-plant, 42; good garden kinds, 42; claret vine, 110, 205; Vitis Coignettii, 123 Violets, the pale St. Helena, 45; Czar, 140 Virginian cowslip, 46; its colouring, 47; sowing seed, 84 Wall pennywort, 120 Water-elder, a beautiful neglected shrub, 123 Weeds, 256 Wild gardening misunderstood, 269 Wilson, Mr. G. F.'s garden at Wisley, 184 Window garden, 185 Winter, beauty of woodland, 7 Wistaria chinensis, 43 Whortleberry under Scotch fir, 51, 61 Woodman at work, 158 Woodruff, 60 Wood-rush, 61, 165 Wood-work, 163 Xanthoceras sorbifolia, 103 Yellow everlasting, 120 Yuccas, some of the best kinds, 91; in flower-border, 201 THE END Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. Edinburgh & London Transcriber's Notes: 1. Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been retained from the original. (where both are acceptable usage) 2. Inconsistencies in the use of capitalisation and spelling within botanical names have been retained from the original (where both are acceptable usage). 3. Punctuation has been normalised. 4. Page numbering format in the index has been standardised. 5. The following words have been changed: p. 52 Amelancheir to Amelanchier: The snowy Mespilus (_Amelanchier_) p. 89 at to as: such as Globe Artichoke p. 93 Olivieranum to Oliverianum: useful is _E. Oliverianum_ p. 109 Rudbekia to Rudbeckia: _Rudbeckia Newmanni_ reflects p. 110 accomypaning to accompanying: the accompanying attacks p. 100 Ailantus to Ailanthus: and Ailanthus and Hickory p. 138 Olivieranum to Oliverianum: and _Eryngium Oliverianum_. p. 206 foetidium to foetidum: Hydrangeas, _Clerodendron foetidum_ p. 209 Olivieranum to Oliverianum: _Eryngium Oliverianum_ has turned p. 281 ladaniferns to ladaniferus: C. ladaniferus, 102, 206 p. 281 Olivieranum to Oliverianum: E. Oliverianum, 93, 209 p. 285 Coignetti to Coignettii: Vitis Coignettii, 123 6. p. 170 in the bill of sale, a "letter" best described as an inverted V, is here represented by [V]: IIXXX·I·, IIXXXX·II[V] IIII[V]XX, IIXX