THE GARDEN AT HOME 



I was told the other day, by one who has a bungalow 

 there, of a state of affairs in a seaside village in Essex 

 that would be laughable were it not so lamentable, 

 and so characteristic of hundreds of other localities, 

 especially in the suburbs of large towns, where the jobber 

 flourishes. This Essex village shall be nameless, but it 

 boasts a little local nursery, and the owner (who was not 

 always a gardener) has won great fame in the district 

 as a " budder." But, alas ! he seems to bud only one 

 variety of rose namely, the old-fashioned pink and 

 white Homere ; consequently, in every garden through- 

 out the length and breadth of the village, Homere and 

 Homere alone flourishes, " proud monarch of all he 

 surveys " (in the way of roses). How deplorable it is ! 

 I wonder that the roses in the great Colchester nurseries 

 do not rise in protest, and lend their fragrance to the 

 summer wind when it blows in the direction of this 

 misguided village. Such a message would surely bring 

 the residents to a right state of mind, so far as roses 

 are concerned, and remind them of the countless and 

 incomparable varieties now obtainable, against the glory 

 of which Homere fades into insignificance. 



But too often is the same tale told. The owner will 

 not take the trouble to make a selection himself under 

 expert guidance, so I suppose he must be ignorant 

 of the wealth of kinds that nurserymen now have in 

 stock. But " times change, and we change with them," 

 so gradually, taught by the ever-increasing output 



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