April IS, 1876. ] 



JOUBNAL OP HORTICULTURE AND COTTAGE GARDENER. 



281 



WEEKLY CALENDAR. 



JOHN BROWN'S "WINDOW GAEDEN. 



HERE is an old saying that " you never 

 know what you can do till you try:" and 

 as a boy have I heard it from my father's 

 lips so often that at last I took no heed at 

 all, and certainly then did not try to prove 

 the truth of it. But it is to show how at 

 last the old words came back to me and 

 brought forth fruit, or rather flowers, that 

 I now venture to bring this short sketch 

 before you. 



I am a labouring man, and ever since I can remember 

 have lived in the village of Henbury near Bristol, earning 

 regular wages, and altogether leading a happy life ; my 

 wife always having a clean house and a cheerful face to 

 welcome me after work. Then came the long evenings 

 when I could work in the garden, with poor Mary, our 

 invalid daughter, lying on her bed by the window watch- 

 ing and giviog directions for the dearly-loved flowers. 

 But "every path hath its puddle," and at last we came to 

 it. My old master died. Times were bad, I left Henbury 

 and came to live ia Bristol near the Hotwell Road, having 

 procured work at the Quarries. 



What a change it was from the fresh air of the country 

 to the smoke and noise of the city ! but being winter we 

 did not seem to miss the garden so much at first ; for 

 where my wife is the inside of the house is sure to be 

 comfortable. I can say from my heart that " a good wife 

 is a blessing." But at last the spring-time came with 

 all its freshness, even the sparrows seemed to get more 

 lively. Then a wistful look came into Mary's eyes which 

 I could not mistake. She was thinking of the garden and 

 flowers at our old home ; and though I missed it much, 

 still I had the fresh ah' by the river and the Leigh Woods 

 to look at on my way to and from work, while Mary 

 could only lie on her bed by the window and watch what 

 ■was going on in the narrow street where we lived. During 

 one dinner-hour at the Quarry I was telling Jim Smith, 

 a fellow workman, about her, and that there was no 

 help for it. " Why, man," said he, " I suppose you have 

 windows where you live ? — have a garden there. I 've 

 had one for years. ' You never know what you can do till 

 you try,' especially in that way." The old saying roused 

 me up, and never before an afternoon went so slowly ; I 

 wanted to get home to talk with Mary about it. 



The first thing I procured was some wood, and made a 

 box the size of the window, then I nailed some dry fir 

 cones, which I had collected, over the outside, and that 

 bos was ready ; but it looked so pretty that I determined 

 to make boxes for every window. One I covered with 

 virgin cork, which I believe can be bought at all iron- 

 mongers for 2(Z. or 3(1. the pound, and a few pounds will 

 go a long way. Then another I covered with small 

 knotted branches of trees ; this was the most trouble, but 

 fully repaid me. Of course all the boxes had holes at 

 the bottom, as the flowers would die without drainage. 

 But when these were made it was stQl too early to sow 

 seeds, so I had to think what could be done next ; and 

 No. 785.— Vol. XXX., New Series. 



Mary proposed banging baskets and brackets for the side 

 of the window. And fine fun we had over it all. I could 

 not spare much money ; but, as you have heard, " Neces- 

 sity is the mother of invention," and it is wonderful what 

 can be done with almost nothing. " To him that wills, 

 ways are seldom wanting." I found an old blacking 

 box, covered it with small fir cones, with wire at the 

 four corners to hang it by. An old wooden bowl made 

 another ; then I twisted some rough wire into a basket 

 shape, till at last Mary said, " Why, father, we shall 

 never find room for them all!" "Then the neighbours 

 shall have them ; a few flowers on the sill may tempt 

 them to clean their windows more." 



In April I obtained some mould from a friend, mixed 

 with a little manure which I had swept up from the 

 roads, and filled the boxes. In the first box I sowed 

 Nasturtiums at one end and at the other Convolvuluses 

 to twine up the string, which I had fastened on each side 

 of the window ; then a few seeds of Mignonette to smell 

 sweet ; cuttings of the variegated Ivy-leaved Geranium 

 to hang over the side, with scarlet Geranium in the 

 centre. And all the boxes were different : Canary plants 

 at the sides. Fuchsias in the middle, or mixed Ten-week 

 Stocks, which looked very bright. But the back window 

 was my great success ; for having a little court behind, 

 and by taking up a couple of paving stones, there was 

 room for a small bed below the window, and there I 

 planted Kidney Beans — the Painted Lady is the prettiest, 

 its flowers being scarlet and white ; and when the Cana- 

 rieusis round the window mixed with it, I thought nothing 

 could look prettier. Then when the Beans came — why, 

 one day I picked as many as lbs., and during the 

 season 19. I was saying to my wife that I enjoyed eat- 

 ing them ten times more than if I had gone to the shop 

 for them. "Why, of course, John, you have had all the 

 trouble, and watched their growth from the first. It is 

 like one's children ; the trouble and anxiety only makes 

 you love them the more, and if they turn out well at 

 last it makes all the trouble a pleasure, and so with 

 flowers." 



Then I filled pots with earth, of course with some 

 broken bits of crock at the bottom for drainage like I 

 had put in the boxes, and planted Musk, Mignonette, or 

 Nasturtium, and hung them up before the windows in the 

 wire baskets, lined with dry moss to hide the pots, or stood 

 them on the little brackets which I had made with pieces 

 of wood covered with fir cones ; the drooping plants are 

 the best for this. My prettiest hanging basket was the 

 wooden bowl, in which I planted the Ivy-leaved Gera- 

 nium with Lobelia mixed. The neighbours could hardly 

 believe their eyes. They said 'twas town and country 

 close together — their houses were town and mine country ; 

 and then I would give a pot of flowers to encourage them 

 to begin for themselves. 



But neither summer nor flowers can last always, though 

 some Asters planted later than the other seeds kept my 

 window gay far into the autumn. Then I cleared out 

 the boxes, taking a few cuttings I had saved from them 

 into the house to keep during the winter. I then planted 



No. 1137.— Vol. LV., Old Series. 



