I02 



IRISH GARDENING. 



JULY 



Broad-leaved species from the Eastern States, such as 

 hickories, planes, tulip tree, Robinia, &c., are not 

 likely to attain a great size in the cool and moist sum- 

 mers of this portion of Ireland, and great results are 

 not expected from them. Japanese species, such as 

 larch, Crptoineria and Zelkova, are doing well at present, 

 but little can be said about their ultimate development. 

 A curious feature is the almost complete failure of all 

 Siberian species in the way of growth, larch, silver fir 

 and spruce from that region remaining in a dwarfed 

 and stunted state for many years when planted in the 

 British Isles, and they are maintaining this character at 

 Avondale. 



The development oi many species has been greatly 

 retarded by late spring frosts. On May i6th of this 

 year the Avoca valley experienced a very severe frost, 

 and young growths of ash, oak, Spanish chestnut, silver 

 firs, &c., were completely killed. Tw-o years ago a 

 somewhat similar frost produced the same results. 

 Apart from this climatic feature, conditions are fairly 

 suitable for most species being experimented with. 



Current Topics. 



By E. Knowldin, F.R.H.S. 



WHAT is the world coming to? \Vc mean the 

 gardening world, it doesn't matter about 

 another just at the moment. Has any one ever 

 seen such a joyless June ? Beds of tuberous begonias 

 cut off in their innocent youth during the second week, 

 and this within sniffing distance of the briny, sweet 

 Dublin Bay, to be exact ! Killed ? Yes, killed dead, 

 and the question is, unless one has a pile of blankets 

 ready, is it safe to bed out nowadaj-s before July, or 

 leave out mifFy plants after August, considering that 

 September is often snappish enough to tickle tender 

 things to death, or at least, sufficient for a label, whicli 

 might be writ " werry large " as poor Joe would have it, 

 Ichabod — their glory has departed? And we saw too, 

 Citvman's garden in Suburbia beautifully bedded out, 

 and Cityman himself in brilliant smoking cap, and broad 

 smile complacently offering incense from a capacious 

 Kapp & Peterson, as he opened his heart and purse 

 wide enough to satisfy that artist, yclept the jobbing 

 gardener who hied him with all haste to the " Dodder 

 Arms" to "wet 'em." And we saw the wreck (the 

 garden we mean — not the gardener) a week after, and 

 we thought it very bad taste of that piano-organist to 

 grind out the glory song with such gusto at the gate, 

 when he might have soothingly switched on something 

 more appropriate, such as " 'Tis but a little faded 

 flower. " Blessed are those who have no tender bedding 

 to belr.iy them, and hardy plants suffice their heart's 

 desire. We were assured a decade ago that the bed- 

 ding fashion was dying out ; but it dies hard. It wants a 

 couple more of such joyful Junes in succession to hasten 

 its obsequies, at which the man in the street would, 

 we suspect, be chief mourner, for if he did not get 

 his bedding in his — the People's Gardens, Stephen's 

 Green, and other public parks — he might " heckle " his 

 member to raise a row in the English Parliament. And 

 he should get it — the bedding we mean. The rows are 

 more easily raised. 



But, apart from this winter of our discontent, what of 

 the drought which parched retentive soils to the parting 

 point? In a good garden of this kind, where the muck 

 barrow moves merrily through the winter months, the 

 soil had shrunk sufficiently to leave opening chasms — 

 ■'chawms "an old gardener called them —daily increasing, 

 and the much worried head asked us " ivhat the 'divil,' " 

 with his limited number of hands, he was going to do ? 

 Like a good few other gardening questions an answer 

 was not looked for, still we ventured to suggest that, as 

 his cracks and chasms were gaily and daily gaping 

 wider and deeper, it might be as well to tie a horizontal 

 bar to each hand-back, we mean to prevent the sad and 

 sudden exit of what he could ill spare. " Good mulch- 

 ing," "copious watering," "hoeing galore," that's the 

 way, says Plentyhanded Happyhead, to circumvent the 

 drought. Such advice is cheap. It is excellent too ; 

 a pennyworth of it from any gardening paper will go a 

 long way, but not far enough for any head handicapped 

 by a shortage of hands to overtake all, and we know, as 

 every gardener knows who wades through these topics, 

 that a very large percentage of gardens is suffering 

 from this evil, which is now, with the haymaking for the 

 head and his hands to tackle, at its acute stage, and — 

 and it's a weary world, m_v masters, and would that 

 more understood it when complaining of the second- 

 hand look of the garden and grounds - stake on just at a 

 time when all should be taut and trim. .And what a 

 difference it all makes ! How pleasant it is to see all 

 swept and garnished from the lodge to the bye paths 

 and backways of all within the gates ! 



"Mr. B , I must compliment vou on the 



beautiful order of the avenues." Thus the late Canon 

 Sadleir said to an old friend who had a big lot to look 

 after, but knew that a clean walk covered a multitude 

 of sins. "Well, Sir, you see I never know the 

 moment the Lord might come (the Lord, and his 



family were absent)," replied B . "Exactly 



so," said the Canon, who saw his opportunity for a 

 clerical shot, " that's what I am always telling my 

 people." What a fine subject for a sermon ! But why 

 start preaching in Irish G.\rdexi.ng, some critic of our 

 current thoughts may ask ? Well, my friend, there is no 

 topic running a stronger current generally at the present 

 moment than this of the struggle to keep all decently 

 and in order, under the high pressure alluded to, and 

 from experience both sides of the Channel none more 

 relevant to Irish Gardening particularly. We know 

 of more than one master who is openly repining over 

 his meadows being but half a crop through the drought, 

 and we know, also, of more than one head gardener 

 who sub rosa is secretly rejoicing that it is so, in order 

 that he may the sooner get back to his beloved garden 

 where his heart is. Gardeners, the bulk at least, are 

 men of many parts, but the steward pure and simple 

 where such is kept, is, saving his presence, and with all 

 deference to his stewardship, a steward pure and simple 

 to the end of his days. By the way, we were talking to 

 one recently 91 years of age, still in harness, nimble, 

 hale, and hearty. It is not a difficult picture-puzzle 

 drawn from life for our critic to find the moral. 



Ever and anon through the pages of gardening history, 

 and we have lately gone through a little library of the 

 chief gardening papers, the question crops up — What 



