JOURNAL OF HOETICCLTURE AND COTTAGE GARDENER. 



( Janunrv 1, 1867. 



slack," and these had to be put down very near to the front- 

 lutohen door. And certainly a great deal of fuel was consumed, 

 for the old man burnt away at the coal, and often said he had 

 the best fire for miles round ; he had no thought about him, for 

 the hotter the sun shone the more and more he put on the fire. 

 It had uo rest, no peace with him. When spoken to about it 

 he took offence, and never made his appearance again. Then, 

 too, all the dust, and dirt, and spoiled dinners, and mischief 

 that happened in the house, were put down to the greenhouse. 

 Aunt Margaret, who had lived with uncle Tetley many years, 

 ever since his wife died, and had brought up .Janet and Kate, 

 was very much put out ; she often said she would go away before 

 the time of ruin came, for that vinery wouldpiove to Herbert, 

 if not to all of us, a very white elephant. , 



Things wore on in this uncomfortable way until December, 

 when one evening just as it was growing dark, Kate came run- 

 ning across to our house in great trouble, exclaiming, "Oh, 

 Maud, what shall we do ? all our plants wiU be killed. The 

 thermometer in the garden is standing below 30°. The green- 

 house fire is out, the old man has not come, and there is no 

 one to make it. What shall we do ? Papa told the housemaid 

 to see after it, and she walked straight up-stairs to Aunt 

 Margaret, and gave notice to leave. The kitchen girl would 

 have tried to make it, but cook kept her very busy , and would 

 let her have neither fire nor wood. What must we do ? 



" We must go and make it, Kate. We have more plants 

 than we can afford to lose." 



" I wanted to do it, but Aunt Margaret said it was not a lady's 

 work, and if I were bringing myself down to minding a furnace 

 fire, it was a pity Papa had spent so much on my education." 



" Never mind that, we must go." 



So we pulled on our hoods, ran through the two gardens as 

 fast as we could, tucked up our sleeves and flowing skirts, and 

 commenced operations. It was a good thing Uncle Tetley was 

 so fond of herrings, but for the old boxes I do not know what 

 we should have done ; with the help of a huge blocker they 

 were soon chips, that day's Times, found by chance near at 

 hand, for we dare not go into the house, was thrust into the 

 long, narrow grate, wood after wood piled upon it, then coals, 

 then a light put to it, and all shut up close, fire-door, and ash- 

 door, and so close did they fit. not a ray of light reached us as 

 we sat on the lowest step of the stairs in the splendour of a 

 twenty-four dip candle. Our white petticoats were soiled, and 

 no wonder, for dust from the coals, and ashes, and soot, and 

 spiders' webs, lay thick upon the walls, and the flue-doors, and 

 in every comer. Three cell-like cellars opened out before us, 

 for coals, cinders, and slack ; into their gloomy darkness we 

 dare not penetrate, they lay beyond the reach of our poor rush- 

 light. 



" It does not make a bit of noise, Kate, it must be going out." 



So we opened the door and tried to look in, we could see 

 nothing for the volumes of smoke that rolled out, half blinding 

 us. This soon cleared away, for our fire would not bum, was 

 dying out as fast as it could, smothered, though we knew it not. 



All this time Master Frost came on, nearer and nearer; 

 already he stood close by, working fast with his icy tools, 

 carving strange fantastic figures on the glass, roof, and window, 

 travelling round every square of glass, seeking any point how- 

 ever small for entrance ; and then we knew full well, ruin and 

 death, death and ruin we could not avert, must follow. 



Again and again we tried to make our fire burn, thrusting 

 in wood and paper and coal, and found out after an hour's toil 

 that it would burn- if we would let it have air. All by chance 

 we left open the ash-door, then crackling and sparkling up 

 went the fire with a roaring noise, as if to make up for lost 

 time. Once more we sat down upon the stairs to watch and 

 wait, no use in going up into the \inery, and so letting in great 

 gushes of frost. The sun had shone upon the house all day, 

 and it had not been opened, so the chance was it might contain 

 enough heat to set at defiance, for an hour or two at least, the 

 outside cold. 



What beauties we were to be sure ! Our elbows sooted, our 

 arms grimed, as if some Indian chief had painted us for his 

 especial pleasure. And, then, what hands we had ! Kate de- 

 clared " we should have to take in washing for a mouth before 

 they were clean." 



When they knew all about it, how Uncle Tetley laughed, and 

 Aunt Margaret scolded, and Cousin Herbert said, " It must not 

 happen again, something or other must be done." And yet 

 what ? for Aunt Margaret would not have a man hanging about 

 the house, doing nothing two-thirds of his time, and then to 

 have a regular gardener, why that would run away with more 



than £1 a-week, and to get a man or boy for an hour or two 

 each day was just impossible ; and then, too. Cousin Herbert 

 wanted to manage the Vines— have them all his own way. And 

 we wished to have our plants all to ourselves without a gar- 

 dener to knock them about, and call them his, and to look 

 cross when we cut a few flowers for our pastor's wife. So we 

 talked about it at home, and at Uncle Tetley's, and were doing 

 so one day, when Mary, the cook's help, a young girl from the 

 country, came into the room with some coal ; in her eagerness 

 to speak, she dropped her box down with a great noise, saying, 

 " I am sure I could manage that fire if you would teach me, 

 Miss Kate." 



So we set to work under Cousin Herbert's directions, re- 

 ceiving our lessons night and morning, and duly imparting the 

 same to Mary, who acted under our supervision. A month 

 and the fire was managed to everybody's satisfaction. There 

 might be mistakes sometimes that could not be prevented ; but 

 we kept the frost at bay. Cousin Herbert always made up the 

 fire safely for the night, that was his portion of work, his duty. 



My own opinion is, many a young girl would manage a 

 greenhouse fire as easily as she does one in her kitchen grate, 

 if she were rightly taught. Kate had often called the little 

 boiler-house the darkest, dirtiest, and most badly-planned one 

 in the world. It soon changed under Mary's management, 

 brush, and broom, and lime, making short work of ashes, and 

 coal dust, and spiders' webs, and we could w-alk down into 

 it without soiling our feet, or having to take extra care of our 

 skirts. — Maud. 



(To be continued.) 



[Heartily, very heartily, the Editors respond to your good 

 wishes. They thank you for your kindly greeting, and wish 

 for you and yours a very merry Christmas and a truly happy 

 New Year. Tlieir Christmas would be merrier, and tlicir New 

 Year happier, if they knew more of your name than " Maud," 

 and more of your whereabouts than is revealed by the post- 

 mark.] 



POTATOES. 



In page 462, Mona's Pride is highly eulogised, in the follow- 

 ing page it has a poor character. Mr. Myers, an experienced 

 cultivator, in his advertisement last sin-ing gave it a high 

 character. I have found it not earlier than the Ashleaf, and 

 so inferior in flavour and liable to disease as to be worthless. 

 What, then, can we say to opinions so equally balanced ? I 

 have been for many years a sort of amateur cultivator, trying 

 all or nearly all the varieties to test their qualities, merely to 

 gain a knowledge of the sorts best adapted to the wants of my 

 family, and have come to the conclusion, that except the Ash- 

 leaf and two or three other early sorts, there is scarcely a 

 variety that can be safely recommended for all soils and 

 climates, as they differ to so great an extent according to the 

 nature of the soil, and, I may add, of the season. In 1862, 1863, 

 and 1864, 1 imagined that my choice was fixed for life — Ashleaf 

 forced for spring, in the open ground the same sort for summer, 

 the Lapstone tor autumn up to Christmas, and the King (Hud- 

 son's), for early spring. They were all perfect, and when 

 steamed and brought to table with their jackets bursting, one 

 often declared that one could dine off them. Alas ! that this 

 is for the present passed away. 



In 1865, the bines of all but the very late sorts died off in 

 August from the disease, but as they had finished their gi-owth 

 and the tubers were particularly clean and sound, I thought 

 but Uttle of it. Towards the end of the month the tubers of 

 the Royal Ashleaf became too firm and had lost their flavour. 

 As these had been our grand resource for the summer and 

 early autumn and had never failed, we were loth to credit the 

 fact. It was too true, however, and so we turned to our 

 autumn favourite, the Lapstone, steamed and served as usual 

 To our discomfort we found the flesh yellow, firm, and flavour- 

 less—no bursting of jackets — so for the first time for many 

 years paring and boiling with salt, and drying-cloth i:i-c>mdiim 

 artevt, was resorted to. They were drier, but still flavourless, 

 and this lasted all through the winter, not only with the Lap- 

 stone, but with the King and Pink Fluke, both hitherto so 

 good, and thus two unsatisfactory Potato seasons have nearly 

 passed ; for this season they are exactly of the same character 



there is no satisfaction in eating them. I may add, that in 



1865 I planted for trial eight or ten of the popular sorts of 

 Kidney Potatoes, all of which proved as unsatisfactory as my 

 hitherto above-mentioned favourite kinds. The question is, 

 Is this disagreeable change to be permanent ? I hope not, but 



