NoTembor 3, 1868. ] 



JOORNAL OF HORTICULTUBB AND COTTAGE GAEDENER. 



341 



port. To show yon, yonns people, what tho cnltivation of a flower 

 may do, I will havo road to yoa l)y ono of tlio yonnR tlorists, an article 

 from tliat interoatini? periodical tho ' British Workman,' of May 

 let. It will show you tho effect which tho cnltivation of a sin^'le 

 flower had ou tlio man who was an iniidel. (A littlo yi'l named Grey 

 was hero called uijou to reail tho story of Charney and the prison 

 flower, which she did in a clear and distinct voice). Mr. Chapman 

 continued — It is not only tho ^ratit'yiu':; of onr sight, hut flowers are 

 Tolnahle and useful a=i medicines. What too, can he more pleasing 

 to an invalid, conSnod to a hod of sickness, than to havo a few sweet 

 flowers to look at ? " — [Llandudno Ileffister.) 



GARDENERS' TROUBLES. 



"Yotr talk about a gardener's life, 'Will," said Sir Simon 

 Shirley's head gardener to lii.s brother, who was on a visit to 

 him, " and thinlv it free from cares and annoyances. Why the 

 fact is, it is full of them, they spring np thick and fast as 

 weeds in a rainy season. I wish I had been anything else; 

 it is nothin;? but work, work, from Sunday morning to Saturday 

 night, and however much yoti may have done, there i.^ always 

 something undone which leaves an uneasy dissatisfied feeling 

 on the mind." 



"But, tlien, Charles, it is pleasant work, the blue sky above 

 you, and Nature, with her freshness and her beauty, all around 

 you." 



" That is the mere outside of the matter, the hit of poetry 

 not yet driven away from our much too-practical times. Yet 

 I say nothing against the work, or the pleasure of it. I suppose 

 a man thinks it so, or he would not take to it, though if he 

 choose to dwell upon it, there is a large amount of discomfort, 

 of wear and tear both of body and mind, and more worry than 

 he is always able to endure ; for, whatever people may say about 

 the seasons, a gardener has often to fight against them, instead 

 of work with them." 



" But it has a refining, elevating, and beneficial influence." 



" Not much elevation or refinement possible, in the plodding 

 unsatisfactory lives many gardeners are compelled by circum- 

 stances to lead. And as for beneficial influences — physical, I 

 think you mean — there's not overmuch of that, for he is 

 necessarily exposed to all the changes of the weather. It is 

 all very well for a master to say ' How delightful the soil smells 

 during the rain !' but a man loses tho delight of the smell 

 when he is out working in it for hours ; and there is not much 

 good to be derived from the raking away of mouldy leaves, 

 though when the wind moves them as they are rolled over-and- 

 over, they do bring too many ears whisperings of the sea, like 

 the breaking of waves on a sandy shore." 



" Come now, Charles, you must acknowledge to a strong man 

 most of the labour is light." 



" Well, so it may bo in a measure — but what of mowing by 

 scythe or machine ou a wet day, with your boots turned into 

 bathhouEe^, or digging through 2 or 3 inches of frozen soil, or 

 weeding with the full sunshine on your back, in .such a summer 

 as this last, when your clothes, if not your lite, proved a burden ; 

 or waking up at midnight to rusli through the blinding snow 

 across a field, or garden, or, as I have known it, up a pretty 

 long lane, to make sure the stove fire was burning? Ah ! Will, 

 these stove-fires are the very nightmare of a gardener's dreams ; 

 they will not always do as you want therh, and if they die-out 

 it is sure to be when you need them most. When the air 

 is dry and balmy, and you would have them just sleep and no 

 more, they a,re sure to be roused up by a brisk wind and burn 

 away like mad ; and your employer raps his pocket and calls it 

 ' wilful waste,' and goes away quite sure in his own mind there 

 is always such a useless fire. Believe me, a gardener has 

 generally his full share of work, and more than his share of 

 worry. His holidays, few and short as they are forced to be by 

 the very nature of things, have all the sweetness eaten out of 

 them by the dread that in his absence some iron or other will 

 burn in the fire from want of tending. And then there is a 

 feeling of being always behindhand, dragging ever at the heels 

 of things, never able to get up to the work you desire should 

 be done at a certain time — perhaps sowing to-day seeds of 

 plants that should have been planted out yesterday, or thinning 

 coloured Grapes, or finding the summer half over before the 

 bedding plants are out. And even when they are out, and you 

 think tho worst is past, and a quiet breathing time come, 

 lots will die off and leave ugly gaps, more than your reserve 

 plants can fill up, and you lie awake many a night wondering 

 where you can pick up a few to supply their places. You 

 have no idea. Will, the trouble bedding plants are, when the 

 sources of supply are too scanty for the demand, and it is 



very seldom they are not ; for the perpetual cry of onr gardens 



is ' more, more.' To answer this cry a man has to use all hig 

 wits, and to work on under disadvantages in many an unac- 

 knowledged way, and to fight against difCculties few masters 

 could understand if tliey were explained to them, and all with 

 nothing to look forward to in the end, as I heard an old Scotch 

 gardener say the other day, ' but rheumatism and a bent back.' " 

 " But, surely, Charles, times must be easier with you now." 

 " Only the other side of the picture, less digging, more care, 

 and I am not eure which is the heavier in the long run. I 

 used to think when I was a boy, that when I became head 

 gardener, things would go smoothly with me ; a bed of Eoseg 

 to lie on, no crumpled leaf in it to disturb my happiness. I 

 assure you the Apple is not quite so sweet to the taste as it 

 appeared when out of reach." 



" I always considered it a life free from vexation." 

 " No doubt most men who live out their lives within brick 

 walls do, gathering fruits and flowers on a sunny day ; it is 

 only gardeners, Will, who remember rainy weather, east winds, 

 and biting frosts, for they must work on less or more let the 

 weather be what it may. Now of all things grown, none are the 

 cause of more anxiety than vegetables. They are always poor 

 either in quantity or quality. Master grumbles, cook grumbles; 

 in many places they are the killing straw on the camel's 

 back. Fruit and flov/ers with few exceptions pass from the 

 grower's presence into the master's ; there is no half-way house 

 to loiter in and so come to grief ; but vegetables, why there is not 

 one grown which may not be spoiled in its journey from the 

 garden to the dining-table. You can guess where the blame 

 falls. I havo known Celery be dressed long before it was wanted, 

 and left soaking and losing its nut-like sweetness in question- 

 able water for hours ; and young early Peas which had given 

 a world of care and trouble, tossed violently into foaming boil- 

 ing water until every Pea lost shape and form, and the costly 

 dainty became nothing but an unsightly mess. It is common 

 enough, too, to see fresh crisp Lettuce left in the sunshine or 

 exposed to the kitchen fire until every leaf is like a piece of 

 unstarched muslin. Then most masters have their whims and 

 fancies, which it is not always possible to realise, yet they 

 are quite sure if they were gardeners they could bring about 

 thjB desired end. There is the Squire at Castlestead, he is 

 always out of sorts if he sees a Camellia in bloom before or after 

 his own, he says there is nothing else worth growing under 

 glass ; yet he allows the same Camellias no peace all the sea- 

 son through. Flowers, and buds, and young growth are out 

 away without mercy, as though they were of no more value 

 than summer Boses. Last winter his man told me that in a 

 short space of time he cut more than two hundred blooms ; and 

 then when the flowering was over, and the plants were put to 

 make growth ready for another cutting, tho Squire declared his 

 gardener's treatment must be wrong, for the Camellias grew 

 less and less ever year, and they were like none he had ever 

 seen before. Things were not so bad before the Squire took anew 

 wife, then flowers were cut without sense or reinon, and there 

 was a pair of sharp eyes following the men up and down and 

 everywhere, and sending them to do thi?, and that, and the 

 other. I have known her have three men running after her, 

 and their real work standing undone the while, and some one 

 not forgetting at the end of the week that much less was done 

 than was expected." 



" Ah ! Then it is not all sunshine I see, Charles." 

 " No, I could tell you of many things apparently of little im- 

 portance, which feed the tire of discontent and take the strength 

 out of a man's arm, the willingness out of his heart. There is 

 Mr. Norton, of Westfield, ho considers it lost money to buy 

 flowerpots; quite a dreadful affai'. He bought some several 

 years ago, and thinks they should last for ever ; there is no 

 need they should ever bo broken ; and he walks about and 

 picks up any stray bits of crocks, and puts them together with 

 the air of a man who is afraid his pots are broken up for crocks. 

 Then there is his brother Mr. Henry, passionately fond o£ 

 Cinerarias and other greedy plants, yet he cannot bear to see 

 dead leaves and rubbish rotting under a wall, why cannot it be 

 carted into the field at once and done with ? And there is 

 Mr. Garnet on the hill, he is always in a fever of disappoint- 

 ment about his Fuchsias ; he used to have great, round, splen- 

 did plants flowering in a new vinery, they were indeed a sight 

 to see, but when the Vines took full possession of tho house, 

 and curtained over the windows, taking all the sunshine to 

 themselves and nearly all the light, the Fuchsias dwindled 

 away, grew out in long soft slender shoots, with here and there 

 a bud that never opened its petals. The man did what he 



