24 



JOURNAL OF HOETICDLTUEE AND COTTAGE GABDENEE. 



[ January 8, 1867. 



Far into November the leaves were fresh and green, growing on 

 still. Cousin Herbert became uneasy, " It could not be right," 

 he said, " they ought to be going to rest as aU the Vines in 

 the houses about were. Papa sent George in to look at them 

 and hear what he thought ; but George came back a Job's 

 comforter. " Ah, well ! " he said, " they have grown much too 

 fast. Such soft, hollow, fuzzy canes will never ripen to bear 

 fruit, whatever Mr. Herbert may say, or his fine gentleman 

 gardener. I know better than that, a bit of practice is worth a 

 deal of theory." 



Soon after this some frosty nights came and the leaves 

 changed rapidly. Bright golden leaves they were, speckled 

 over with brown, and they tumbled down in all directions, dust- 

 dry withered things. Then, in December, Cousin Herbert 

 bought a new knife to cut back the canes. It was quite an 

 affair; we formed a procession to the vinery to see the opera- 

 tion. " They are easy enough to cut," said Cousin Herbert, 

 when high up the ladder, " did not need a new knife for the 

 operation." I begin to think, After aU George is right, they 

 are a. bit soft and fuzzy. 



" They are no such thing," said papa, who always sticks up 

 for the Vines against everything and everybody. " Why, look 

 here, at these good thick buds, I should not wonder but you 

 may have fruit next year." 



" Yes, if our Vine doctor will let us," said Kate, "but he 

 says they ought not in justice to the plants." 



" I would take no notice about what he says," said papa. 

 " To be sure not," said Cousin Walter, " take the gifts the 

 gods send, and not wait for the years that may never be." 



^ " I rather think your Vine doctor, as you call him, will have 

 his own way, in spite of all you can do or say," said Aunt 

 Mai-garet, " and I would not injui-e my Vines for the sake of 

 one year's waiting. Some of us may live to see the fruiting 

 years if Walter do not." 



Cousin Herbert had a soitv time of it up the ladder, one 

 wanting them to be cut shorter, another to be left longer ; but 

 in and out among the canes his knife went, and the work was 

 soon done. 



So the Vines were once more at rest ; the canes were thicker 

 and darker, the little brown beetle would have to get himself 

 a darker coat if he wished to escape observation as easily as 

 before ; and the buds were large and plump and full of promise. 

 Throughout the month of February we could see the sign of 

 coming growth, the hidden life ready to burst forth when the 

 spring sunshine called it. March they were out in fuU leaf, 

 growing vigorously— nay, madly growing, as the Willow grows 

 by the waterside, as if all hfe meant so much cane and leaf, 

 and nothing more. Such monster leaves George could not 

 find on our South Field Vines. He said he " was glad he could 

 not, for coarse leaves would lead to coarse fruit." 



In this second year we did not forget the syringing process, 

 and tried our best to keep the house at a proper and increasing 

 temperature. Several bunches of incipient bloom made, their 

 appearance to our infinite deUght, but as the weeks passed the 

 bloom did not open, but twirled and twisted itself up into 

 tendrils. We puUed it down, even made httle cotton bags and 

 put in stones and bits of bricks and hung them up to the 

 bunches to keep them straight, but they still twirled and 

 twisted and would have their own way. 



" Why, there would have been blossom. Miss," said George, 

 only Mr. Herbert has washed it all away. Vines should never 

 be wet after they come into leaf." 



One day the Vine doctor, as we call him, came in. "I have 

 been into youx hotise," he said, " and looked round. Your 

 Vines are in first-rate condition. I have cut them back properly 

 and stopped the laterals. They will go on now famously. It 

 should have been done before, but I could not get over sooner." 

 " I suppose they are bleeding, then," said Kate. 

 " Well, perhaps you had better take in some basins, or 

 dishes, or something ; it is a pity anything should be wasted ; 

 and yet it will do them no harm, they are in such rude health 

 they can bear a trifle with impunity. I would cease syringing 

 for the present if I were you, they grow fast enough." 



When we went into the vinery and found the floor and 

 shelves covered with leaves, and shoots, and laterals, we gave 

 a great cry of horror. We thought surely ruin had come and 

 no mistake, and asked in dismay, "Where would be the roots 

 which all these leaves would have made ?" 



" Never you mind the philosophy of the roots ; but look 

 here, these are the leaves to take care of, for they feed the buds 

 for next year's bloom ; they must not be injured or broken off 

 by any means. If you want Vine leaves, take some of those 



high up belonging to the eyes that will be cut away. It is 

 better, though, to let them alone. Next year you will have fruit, 

 I hope." 



Although we told all this to Uncle Tetley, he laughed and 

 would not believe, and a few days after a lady came begging 

 Vine leaves to put about her French Grapes, a sort of make- 

 believe they were English. What does Uncle Tetley do but 

 invite her in to choose. So she, of course, all unknowing, 

 chooses the lowest down, easiest to get, and the largest. Poor 

 Kate declared boldly he must not take those, but one, two, were 

 already gone. By main force — half play, half earnest — we held 

 him back, Janet scolding all the time, asking what right we 

 had to interfere to prevent her father from breaking off any 

 leaves he might fancy — all of them, if it would give him 

 pleasure. He was surely worth more than all the Vines in the 

 world. " If I were you, papa, I would take what I wanted, 

 they are all your own." 



" They are not," I said sharply, " they are our Vines, and 

 Uncle Tetley never calls them his." 



Uncle only laughed, and the visitor declared she would much 

 rather have a few small leaves if they could be reached. 

 Though she said so, I am afraid she went away with her hand- 

 ful of leaves which our young Vines could ill spare, thinking us 

 shabby, niggardly creatures. 



So on into the summer months we went all prosperous, and 

 yet we were not quite safe through the wood ; for during 

 August several of the leaves on two of the Black Hamburghs 

 assumed a strange appearance, the edges of the leaves curl- 

 ing in as if to hide the stems ; and the leaves when broken 

 off and examined were scabbed and blistered, as if the green 

 liquid which fills the little cells had flooded over, and in seme 

 evil hour broken up the light tissue boundaries. What could 

 it be ? what had caused it ? were questions asked continually. 

 We turned to the gardening books which had been pored over 

 beforetimes without number, and soon found a name for the 

 disease, its cause and prevention. But, oh ! those warted 

 leaves, how beautiful they were when seen through a magnifier ! 

 What a marvellous world each seemed to hold in its hollow ! 

 What glorious mountains covered with green moss and scarlet 

 Lichens, the very stones among which seemed to sparkle like 

 diamonds ! and then such soft deep-sheltered vaUies as to live 

 in would be Paradise. Where the scabbed edge had been 

 broken there seemed to rise up immense rocks, pile upon pUe, 

 and beyond these stretched long weary gi-een plains, over which 

 a feeble spider moved, like one of those huge, clumsy, extinct 

 animals of the era before man was. 



" Never mind fretting about it, Herbert." said Aunt Mar- 

 garet one day, "it's my opinion Vines are like little ehildreu; 

 there are so many diseases they are liable to, which they must 

 have if they are ever to grow up. It's only their measles or 

 chicken-pox period ; they wiU be all the better when they get 

 through it." 



" Then after all we may sit under our own Vine and Fig tree, 

 and hope to eat the fruit of our own growing," said Cousin 

 Herbert one evening in autumn, as we lingered in the vinery. 

 The rich sunset was tinging the dark leaves oS an old Sycamore 

 tree, and a silver-barked Birch was swaying to and fio, making 

 long graceful shadows on the grass beneath. 



"I wonder," said Kate, "if we should ever grow rich and 

 great, and be forced to keep gardeners, if we should have as 

 much enjoyment in proportion as we have in this little place." 

 " No, indeed, you would not; you are too independent, and 

 like your own way too aauch, Kate, and you know too much. 

 No, you would feel very like renting your own property, or 

 living by sufferance in the house you had mortgaged," said 

 Cousin Herbert. 



'■ I think there would be a great deal more pleasure and com- 

 fort, certainly less labour," said Janet. 



" I think there would be less idle time," said Aunt Margaret. 

 " All, girls ! you waste a gi-eat deal of precious time. When I 

 was young, people never sat as you do, with folded hands doing 

 nothing ; they even took out their work with them when they 

 went visiting." 



" Then, I think, dea!f Aunt, we must be living in the re- 

 action period," I said, "and yet aU rest, aU folding of the 

 hands is not idleness." 



" Perhaps," said Kats,. " we work harder when we do work, 

 and so get through mors. At any rate, they say Ufe's pulses- 

 beat faster than of old." 



" Then why do you work so hard,." said Janet, " and at a 

 man's work, too ?" 



" Because 1 Mke it," said Kate, "■ smd aertainlp it i& not moift 



