428 



The Weekly Florists' Review. 



FEBRUARY 



for a leaf of the banana. She wanted 

 it for "a book mark for her prayer 

 book." The banana is the staple food 

 of millions of people whose home is in 

 the tropics, and so prolific is it that 

 compared with wheat it is almost fifty 

 to one. It is a wholesome and delicious 

 fruit, but he that has not tasted it 

 fresh from the plant knows nothing 

 about its flavor. The artificially rip- 

 ened things we get in our northern 

 states give one no more idea of the 

 excellence of this fruit than the board- 

 ing house canned salmon does of the 

 flavor of a 20-pound beauty fresh from 

 the river Tay. 



The guava (Pisidium guava) grew 

 trained to a wall, and freely and fre- 

 quently bore a crop of its dainty little 

 fruit. The granadilla (Passiflora quad- 

 rangularis) occasionally fruited, and 

 we urchins flocked round tliick when 

 one was to be dissected. These last 

 two fruits may not be relished as a 

 steady diet, but we never had enough 

 to make us tired. They were then as 

 great a treat as a dish of mushrooms 

 would be at the present moment, to the 

 writer. 



The diffusion of knowledge in half a 

 century has been marvelous, and all 

 parts of the earth (or nearly all) are 

 open to travel. Every day we meet 

 men who can tell us how this and that 

 grows in Jamaica, the Ayres, Borneo, 

 or the Soudan. Fifty years ago the 

 traveler that was intelligent was a rar- 

 ity. I say intelligent because sailors 

 are great travellers. The writer when 

 a boy questioned many a sailor who 

 claimed he had been in almost every 

 part of the world, questioned him eag- 

 erly; not about the flora of distant 

 lands, but whether he had ever seen a 

 tiger or wild elephant, a rhinoceros 

 or a kangaroo. The result has always 

 been a dismal failure. The poor sailor 

 had evidently seen little and observed 

 less. His recreations and pleasures 

 when ashore were of the same kind, 

 whether he was in Liverpool, Singa- 

 pore, Sydney, Hong Kong, or even Chi- 

 cago. The dock and its environments 

 were the limit of his explorations. So 

 to see arrow root, sugar cane, cinna- 

 mon, tea, coffee, and many other eco- 

 nomic plants and trees did not fall to 

 the lot of every boy. The coffee often 

 bore berries, but not in quantity sufli- 

 cient to make any difference to our 

 household expenses. 



That grand fruit, the mango, was 

 here grown and ripened to perfection. 

 A large plant, or rather tree, some 

 seven or eight feet high, broad and 

 dense, with dark green leaves, annu- 

 ally bore clusters of its rich fruit. A 

 lady friend in Florida kindly sent me 

 a few mangos a few years ago, picked, 

 I suppose, green. When they arrived 

 they were as difficult to masticate as 

 the toughest section of an aged owl. 

 The mango (Mangifera indica) is a lus- 

 cious fine fruit when ripened on the 

 tree. While referring to tropical 

 fruits, let me say that the mangosteen 

 (Garcinia Mangostrana) refuses to 



fruit, or readily, away from its native 

 climate, or the tropics. Themaguosi:eeu 

 is described as one of the most delight- 

 ful and nutritious fruits given to man, 

 and is with an occasional change to 

 fricasseed missit)nary, the chief food of 

 the islanders of that vast expanse dot- 

 ted with countless islands called Oce- 

 anica, or at least of those islands not 

 too far removed north or south of the 

 equator. When the writer was seven 

 or eight years old there were, in the 

 same year, two places in Great Britain 

 that each had a promise to ripen a 

 mangosteen, only one fruit each, but 

 those, I am pretty positive, were the 

 first in Europe. One was at Sion 

 House, the other in this garden, which 

 takes me so long to stroll through. As 

 the fruit developed there was a report 

 weekly in the Gardeners' Chronicle of 

 their respective progress and welfare. 

 The one at Sion House did. I believe, 

 reach maturity, but, alas, the other one 

 never got the chance. A big, raw- 

 boned Scotchman from far north, a 

 new aspirant for "improvement in his 

 profession," doubtless a very worthy 

 young man, splendidly adapted for 

 "tossing the caber." or calling himself 

 "she, ' got his elbow against this pre- 

 cious fruit and off it came. Poor fel- 

 low; in less than two hours his trunk 

 and himself were off the estate. He af- 

 terwards, so I was informed, emigrated 

 to one of the small islands, where the 

 mangosteen flourished, was presented 

 with a few dozen native wives and be- 

 came a virtual "king of the Cannibal 

 islands." 



One orchid, I will never forget it, 

 stood in an iron vase, and was some 

 three feet in diameter. It occasionally 

 made a trip to Regent's park, when 

 that was the locality where the great- 

 est flower shows were held before the 

 days of South Kensington or the Crys- 

 tal Palace. It was old Dendrobium 

 densiflorum. and I have seen 75 spikes 

 of its rich bunch of grape-like flowers 

 on it at one time. What a pity it and 

 Wardianum last but so short a time. 



To the east and west of this stove 

 was a smaller house, used for the same 

 class of plants, to begin to mention 

 which would be to you tedious. West- 

 ward the range was finished off with a 

 heath house, many fine specimens and 

 a great many species that I will per- 

 haps never see again. Seldom did this 

 heath house need any fire. On the 

 eastern end the range was flnished off 

 with a peach house that was forced 

 early, and on a shelf near the glass at 

 the back of the house strawberries 

 were forced to perfection. We hear of 

 strawberries being sold at a high price 

 for the table of New York's million- 

 aires, but I scarcely think they ever 

 bring so high a price as those I have 

 seen picked from this old house, each 

 berry in one of its own leaves, care- 

 fully packed in fiat trays, only one 

 layer in thickness. Occasionally, for 

 some extraordinary occasion, a few 

 were sent to a fruiterer in London, and 

 the consumer paid one dollar and 



twenty-five cents per ounce for them, 

 swallowing nuggets, you may call it. 



Passing through a small inclosure of 

 dwarf pear trees, we come to four vin- 

 eries heated with the old brick flues, 

 but they grew good grapes all the 

 same. To any one brought up on Con- 

 cord grapes, they don't sigh after a 

 Muscat or Black Hamburg, but I do. 

 A friend who will see these lines, like- 

 ly before they are in type, told me that 

 he did not care for hot-house grapes, 

 but preferred our Delawares and Isa- 

 bellas. What a degraded taste. What's 

 the good of education if that is the re- 

 sult? But that is only a western taste. 

 Is it not strange, and an evidence of 

 lack of enterprise — it certainly is not 

 lack of knowledge — that great quanti- 

 ties of exotic grapes are grown in Bel- 

 gium and sent to New York, and per- 

 haps other American cities, to satisfy 

 the palate of our wealthy epicures? 

 This is not Anglomanism, but a correct 

 taste. Champagne is considered su- 

 perior to elderberry wine, and this is 

 about the relative excellence of a Mus- 

 cat and Concord. 



About twenty-five years ago there 

 was a seemingly endless controversy 

 and discussion in the Gardeners' 

 Chronicle, whether outside vine bor- 

 ders, when the house w-as fo.C3d. should 

 be covered with two or three feet of 

 warm manure or not. After months of 

 windy effusions, mostly from private 

 gardeners who had nothing else to 

 do. the question was left as much un- 

 decided as when they began. Looking 

 at it from a distant view, I should say 

 that in a climate where the frost pen- 

 etrates the ground but a few inches, 

 sufficient manure to keep out the frost 

 was all that was desired, and that 

 smothering the border and roots with 

 three feet of stable manure was all 

 wrong. Neither the element of air or 

 water could be of benefit to the roots. 

 The editor, after long suffering and 

 patience, shut them up, and for fear 

 the editor of The Review will exer- 

 cise his prerogative, I will for the 

 present shut up myself. 



Bibber. 

 (To be continued.) 



ADVERTISING A FLOWER SHOW. 



( Read before the St. Louis Florists' Chib by J. J i 

 Belieke. I 



In regard to advertising a flower 

 show — does it pay? It certainly dops 

 pay if the advertising is done in the 

 right way. As to mediums to reach the 

 right people, the newspapers utidoubt- 

 edly stand at the head. You must have 

 the usual announcements in the amuse- 

 ment column, but way and above that 

 is the securing of advance announce- 

 ments in the reading columns. This 

 Is work that requires a little advance 

 experience. The newspapers will al- 

 ways print what they feel is news, and 

 very often an announcement can be so 

 worded that it will pass the editor 

 as news, when the same matter, it 

 worded in a little different manner. 



