SOILS. 79 



divides my Rose-gardens, and passing over the narrow 

 streamlet, from a cold clay soil, fertilised by cultivation, to 

 a light, porous, feeble loam, best described by a labourer 

 digging it, when he said, " it had no more natur In it than 

 work'us soup." Nor was it ever my Intention to try Roses 

 in this meagre material, until a friend happened one day to 

 say of It, " No man In England could grow Roses there.'' 

 Then, fired by a noble ambition, or pig-headed perverse- 

 ness, whichever you please, I resolved to make the experi- 

 ment. I took a spade as soon as he was gone, for a happy 

 thought had struck me that this soil might resemble that 

 boy-beloved confection. Trifle, which, thin, frothy, and 

 tasteless in the upper stratum, has below a delicious sub- 

 soil of tipsy-cake and jam. So I found out in my garden, 

 not far from the surface, a dark, fat, greasy marl, rich as the 

 nuptial almond-paste, and looking as though the rain had 

 Avashed into It all the goodness of the upper ground. The 

 lean and the fat, the froth and the preserves, were soon 

 mixed for me by the spade aforesaid ; and In this soil, 

 trenched and exposed to the air for a few weeks afterwards, 

 I planted my Briers. Then followed the manure, of which 

 I have yet to speak, and in due course the Roses. These 

 in their first summer, 1865 (I do not chronicle my success 



