Deoemtai- 23, 1876. 1 JOURNAL OF HORTICULTURE AIJD COTTAGE GARDENER. 



559 



dramatist and poet. An extract from this memorial may ap- 

 propriately close the poetry of Cole Orton. 



" Beccath you eastern ride the cragpy bountl, 

 Rugged and high, of Charnwood's Forest ^'roand, 

 .... There, on the margin of a streamlet wild, 

 Did Franci.s Beaumont spurt an eager child ; 

 There, under the shadow of the neighbouring rooks, 

 Sang youthful tales of shepherds and their Hooks ; 

 Unconscious prelude to heroic themes, 

 Heart-breaking tears, and melancholy dreams 

 Of slighted love, and scorn, iiud jealous rage, 

 ■Which with his genius shook the buskined stage. 

 Communities are lost, and Empires die. 

 And things of holy use unhallowfd lie. 

 They perish; but the intellect can raise 

 From airy words alone a pile that ne'er decays." 



And now I will cbange the scene and theme, from groves 

 passing on to Grapes, and from Pinuses to Pines. The kitchen 



gardens are but a short distance from the pleasure grounds, 

 and are approached through bowers of evergreens leading to 

 an orchard, the border by the side of the walk containing 

 standard Roses of unusual vigour, their strength being sus- 

 tained by good soil, rich feeding, and very close pruning. The 

 fruit trees in this orchard are some of them old and scraggy, 

 yet healthy, and yield good produce ; but besides the fruit the 

 Mistletoe growing on the Apple trees invites attention. (It is 

 specially noticed by a correspondent on page .^Gl.] 



Entering the walled garden, which is about two acres, the 

 borders again being lined with Roses — what a place for Roaes I 

 — we see the vineries on the south wall, and could not resist 

 the involuntary mental inquiry. Are these the structures which 

 for a quarter of a century produced the Grapes which won so 

 many prizes and medals at the Royal Horticultural, Royal 

 Botanic, and other Societies' shows ? The houses are neither 



large, lengthy, nor lofty, but just such common-place erections 

 as were placed in ordinary gardens half a century ago, and the 

 Vines are certainly as old-fashioned as the houses. Their 

 gaunt stems rise from the ground, and their branches are 

 trained " any way," one Vine covering a roof and the shoots 

 disposed according to the one governing condition that the 

 foliage can have light. They are pruned, too, on " no prin- 

 ciple," as some might call it, yet on the principle of selecting 

 and cutting to the best eyes, let them be situated where they 

 may. That is how, so far as regards training and pruning, 

 Mr. Henderson has " swept the boards " on so many occasions 

 by the splendid quality and superb finish of his Grapes. It 

 may be urged that this mode of culture is without "system," 

 but rather should it be regarded as the fruit-producing and 

 prize-winning system of which Mrs. Henderson, with just and 

 commendable pride, did what the veteran winner did not 

 care to do — gave abundant proof by such a display of gold 

 medals as have probably never been won by one man. Mr. 

 Henderson showed until he was tired of showing, and won 

 until he was tired of winning, but he grows good Grapes by 

 his old "no system" mode of culture, and on the same old 

 Vines. His mantle has now fallen on Mr. Coleman who was 

 one of his pupils — a worthy pupil of a worthy tutor. 



But in worse than these old houses, or at least in a structure 

 still more unlikely and uninviting, have the conquering Grapes 

 been produced. And now I am going to state something won- 

 derful, almost incredible, yet true. At the end of the vineries 



is an old brick pit. It was once a Pine pit heated by dung, 

 the bottom being arched forming a chamber beneath in which 

 to place manure. Thirty years ago Mr. Henderson converted 

 this brick frame (for that is what it is) into a vinery by placing 

 in it a little more than a foot of soil and planting with Vines, 

 the canes being trained near the glass. The pit is now heated 

 by a hot-water pipe (no bottom heat), the lights push up 

 and down — there are twelve of them — and the bed in which 

 the Vines (seven) are planted is 7 feet wide. It is from this 

 homely pit that the aristocratic Grapes have come. And now 

 for the marvel— this twelve-light pit has produced Grapes 

 which have won prizes of the value of £300. Is not this an 

 achievement unparalleled iu the annals of Grape culture ? 

 Eleven pounds of fruit to the square yard of glass is the 

 annual produce of this pit. The canes are trained " any way," 

 and pruned as before to the " best eyes." The wood is stout, 

 and exceedingly short-jointed, and the foliage in October 

 possessed the thick leathery texture of that of the Fig. It is 

 hardly necessary to say that these Vines have been top-dressed 

 and fed with the right food, and in the right quantity, and at 

 the right time. On these Vines I make only this short com- 

 ment : they show conclusively what may be done with a small 

 amount of soil if properly attended to, and that — I make no 

 secret about it— were I essaying the production of Grapes in- 

 volving the least outlay in preparations and fuel I should 

 " go in " for the pit culture ti. la Cole Orton. 

 At the other end of the vineries is a corresponding pit, 



