JtnauT li 1874. ] 



JOUBNAL OF HORTICULTUEE AND COTTAGE GARDENER. 



THE NEW YEAR AND "OUR .JOURNAL." 



HIS first number of "our Journal" for the 

 year 1874 will bear upon its first page the 

 date of the first day of that year. The two 

 will begin together hand in hand like two 

 little children, the new year and "our Jour- 

 nal " hand in hand from the first day of the 

 new year. On this day, the year being so 

 very new, a great many people will begin 

 their letters with a wrong date ; many a D 

 for December will be blotted over, and turned 

 into a J for January. A great many threes will be turned 

 into fours ; for, somehow, 1874 wo'n't come to the fingers' 

 ends naturally ; just as a very new bride, forgetting that 

 after signing her name in the vestry of the old church 

 at the old home, she has done with it for ever, will 

 make a Uke mistake and write, or begin to write, her 

 former name. But after a short while new year and 

 new bride will come naturally to their places. Thus this 

 year will be spoken of without the prefix " new," and 

 " bride " will altogether be gone, and that best name of 

 all, " wife," reign permanently. But however we may 

 make a mistake for awhile in a word or a figure, yet 

 none of us, save very new readers, will make a mistake in 

 the name of Joubn.«il of Horticulture, for it is getting 

 an old periodical now ; it has passed its coming of age, 

 and even its twenty fifth birthday — it is more than a 

 quarter of a century old, and like a man about that age, 

 is better than in former years. Take, for instance, the 

 engravings, which are twice in number to what they were 

 some years ago, and, I make bold to say, twice as good. 

 Among the engravings that gave me particular pleasm-e 

 were those of Tortworth Court, and Beckett House, and 

 WestonbLrt, and Longleat, some well known to me, and 

 the spirit and character of the places " L. B." has caught 

 and well produced. Let her — for " L. B." is a " her "—go 

 on cheerily in her work, and prove that woman's dainty 

 fingers can be useful fingers, and woman's little light 

 hand be a breadwinner in an art in which man had once 

 no competitor. Let women take courage, and without 

 noisy women's-rights meetings, they may find work, 

 and excel in work, and be something besides cooks and 

 governesses. 



Nor let me speak only of the engravings of the past 

 year. When old writers like old soldiers fall, I see others 

 step into their places, and, if their hands lack all the 

 cunning of the old ones, they have a freshness all their 

 own. And in speaking of old soldiers falling, I feel I 

 must speak of that special one, that excellent writer and 

 excellent man whom we have this year lost— I mean, of 

 course, Robert Fish. Much at the time of his decease 

 was written of him, and nicely written, and feelingly 

 written, in these pages of ours, but I must add yet a 

 little more. Robert Fish knew what to say, and he knew 

 also how to say it : these are rare gifts, or rather a kind 

 of double gift. The man of deep knowledge so often 

 lacks the power of pleasantly expressing his ideas, while 

 the man who has a happy style has frequently but a small 



No. 666.— Vol. XXVI., New Sebieb. 



store from which to draw. But not so Robert Fish : the 

 wine was rich in body, and it came also bright-coloured 

 and sparkling to the lip. Let me recommend a close 

 perusal of Mr. Fish's papers to young contributors. For 

 twelve years I read him closely, scarcely ever omitting 

 an article, the style was so good, the words so wise. Let 

 me ask younger writers to turn to Mr. Fish's charming 

 contribution to our Christmas number of 18C0 ; or if they 

 have not that, to the piece which opened our volume for 

 1873. The latter he most kindly wrote in my place, for 

 a terrible grief had caused my pen to drop from my hand, 

 and his private letter to me on that occasion is among 

 my veriest treasured letters. I knew Mr. Fish personally, 

 and I am so glad I did. Some writers who please, do 

 not please when seen in the flesh ; they are men of the 

 pen only, they, feel all right, but are the slaves of an un- 

 happy manner. Not one of these was Robert Fish — a 

 little robin redbreast of a man (ah! how the httle men 

 do the work of the world with brain as well as body — 

 e.;/., England's Lord Russell, and France's M. Thiers) with 

 a cheery eye and nice address, and a shake of the hand 

 in the pressure of which you felt his heart. (Oh ! how I 

 hate a hand just coldly put into one's own — a fin rather 

 than a hand.) But there was one point which in the 

 many notices of Mr. Fish— viz., his eloquence of tongue, 

 was not mentioned. I once heard him speak in pubhc, 

 and he was, to my surprise, an orator ; his language 

 choice, his tongue fluent. Gardeners, you have reason to 

 be proud of Robert Fish ! I scarcely ever knew a man of 

 so complete a character, personally, literary, oratorically. 

 He is gone, we have all of " our Journal " lost a friend. 

 Young gardeners with now greater educational advan- 

 tages than he had, press on in your profession, honour 

 it, and bring honour on it. Be enthusiastic as to your 

 profession, feel that none is its equal — that is what each 

 man in every profession should feel if he wishes to excel 

 in it. You gardeners, remember that you can boast of 

 some living, whom I know, who have brought honour on 

 old Adam's trade, and among them none wiser, kinder, 

 abler than was Robert Fish. Peace to his memory. I 

 write of him even now months after his decease with 

 dimmed eyes. Follow him, men of the spade, read his 

 writings, and each say, "I too will be what he was in 

 character, if I cannot in ability." 



In looking through the numbers of the past year I 

 notice some indications of a revival of the love of old- 

 fashioned ways and old-fashioned flowers. Thus there 

 was an article, given the place of honour by our Editors, 

 on avenues by one of our rising writers. It has often 

 struck me that this artistic way of planting trees is not 

 Bufliciently foUowed now-a-days ; perhaps because Hko 

 " Pears, they are planted for our heirs " chiefly, and this 

 is a hurrying, railway, rapid-developing age that does not 

 hke to wait ; and money's worth is wanted for the money, 

 and paid down at once, too. Belts of wood are imposing, 

 massive clumps tell well. Openings cut in woods to let 

 in views show taste and add to the landscape, and please 

 as much as tbe atmospheric distances in Claude's pictures ; 

 but the old-fashioned avenue has its distinct charms, it 



No. 1318.— Vol. LI., Old Series. 



