18 THE FORCING GARDEN. 
be found, such parts being of a more intermediate con- 
dition, and where the sun and air exert their influence. 
It will be found on examination that the roots of a 
vine planted inside a house where the bed of the house 
is made of the best material from the front to the 
back, if the vines are planted at the front the roots will 
crowd and cling to the front wall, and creep along the 
wall in search of a way out—and out they will get if 
possible. And why? Because they love the sun and 
free air. Now go outside and carefully search the sur- 
face of the ground an inch or two deep, and if the vines 
have been planted, say, five, seven, or ten years, you 
will find the fibrous roots twenty or thirty feet from 
the main stem, a little under the surface; and if there 
should by any means be a common sewer, foul ditch, 
pool, or anything of that sort near, it will be found that 
the spongioles have dipped their mouths only, into the 
contents just at the edges, unless they are half dry, or 
nearly so, then they may be further advanced ; but, as 
a rule, it will be observed that no really sound roots of 
a hard and durable kind can exist in a deep mass of 
rich fatty matter where no sun, heat, or oxidising air 
can get to them. 
Moisture is absolutely necessary for the well-being 
of the vine; but to surcharge the tender fibre with it 
will ultimately be its death. Besides, the mischief 
will show itself in various forms—such as mildew, 
shanking of the berries, and, finally, general weakness. 
I have lately had to do with some fine vines, twenty or 
more years old, which are planted on a hill facing the 
south. The soil is naturally poor, with a narrow vine- 
border of about six feet or so wide. They are planted 
outside, and next to the border comes a broad carriage 
