170 



JOURXAL OP HORTICULTURE AND COTTAGE GARDENER. [ February 28, laos. 



I have been led to these thoughts by the winterly pros- 

 pect as I gaze out of my study window upon the broad 

 snow-covered ralley to my right, and the umbrageous park 

 to my left. 



The other night when coming home from a penny reading 

 meeting (I hope our readers support penny readings — aids 

 to education u£ well as sources of great amusement to the 

 working classes), my feet at each step scattered the snow 

 then embrowned by thaw, for the snow seemed literally 

 flowing away. But, lo! a change came in the night, the 

 frost returned, and gently, most gently, and amply too, 

 fell the beautiful snow. In the morning I beheld a scene 

 rarely to be looked upon, except in a picture. There had 

 been no wind, hence every little branch arid tiny twig bore 

 its white load, and bright and glistening lay the snow, in 

 park and garden, j ust toned down and its beauty heightened 

 by a shght mist. There was the snow upon the earth, and 

 upon everything growing up from the earth, whether it was 

 a lofty Elm, or a dwai-f standard Rose. A delightful picture 

 until the thaw came, and the trees again stood out black 

 and naked, though still knee-deep in snow. By-the-way, 

 some of my trees and shrubs were broken before I could get 

 the snow shaken off them. Still on the ground lies the 

 snow, too deep to disappear before a gentle thaw, though it 

 is dirty and ribbed with brown now, the surface of the 

 ground looking like a dissipated man's face on the morning 

 after the poor wretch has bad what he calls, " A night of it." 



By-the-way, how strangely and variously frosty weather 

 alters, and not for the better, the human countenance. A 

 summer beauty, dependant for smooth complexion on soft 

 air, looks now no beauty at all. Then, perhaps, a weU- 

 featured face is now spoiled by a very red nose^another 

 has a blue tinge on nose and cheek — another has a deep 

 purple hue, as if " painted with port," as a lover of that 

 now old-fashioned wine expressed it, and so on, while in 

 contrast, a ruddy face of other weather is now pale, almost 

 dead white ; and even dear little children, the soft-cheeked 

 nd the peachy-bloomed, look mealy and queer. N.B. — Let 

 no one have his, or especiaOy her, likeness taken in fr'osty 

 weather. 



But, I was speaking at the beginning of this paper of the 

 mind flying off from the present, and hugging in thought a 

 future season. Strange feeling this of a wonderful yearning 

 longing. Crabbe could not exist without a sight of the sea 

 at least once a-year, and the longing at times came over 

 him so strongly, that it is said he one day mounted his 

 horse and rode forty miles to gratify it. Then, again, Sir 

 TValter Scott could not live many months, without a peep, 

 at least, at the Heather. I find myself amid the snow the 

 victim of an intense longing for spring. I pine for a sight 

 of the spring flowers — the Primroses, the Celandines. Oh ! 

 give me spring flowers ! Golden Alyssum, varied Polyanthus. 

 Oh ! for a Jonquil in my border, a bunch of Wallflowers on 

 my table, or a single Hepatica in my tiny specimen glass, to 

 look at while I write. The spring flowere bloomed badly 

 here last year, and shall I have any this year? is my thought 

 after that dreadfully dry summer. Garden disappoint- 

 ments, like disa^jpointment in love, are terrible things, hard 

 to bear, long to recover from. 



Four years ago, that wicked insidious black frost, a very 

 villain, ior he came on Christmas-eve, a joval kindly time, 

 and villain-like in disguise, for I was not aware of his dire 

 presence — "Only a bit of a frost this morning," I said, as 

 I drew up my blind — further a villain, for he killed the young 

 and tender ; for that year the Hybrid Perpetuala flowered 

 late, and all things in the garden were, what the gardeners 

 here call "froom" — that wicked frost (to close this long 

 and disjointed sentence), killed my Clotli of Gold Roses on 

 my south front. I knew not my loss for a long time, I began 

 to suspect, then to fear. Then, to buoy up my hopes, the 

 higher branches sent out tiny shoots ; but these were merely 

 owing to some little sap left, for the first sun made them 

 wither and die. So in April, knife in hand, I attacked my 

 precious darlings. Sweep down camo the long branohes, 

 and bare and miserable stood my wall — desolate and naked. 

 I have not quite recovered that VjIow, neither have I got 

 Eoseg aa yet to equal their predfceasors ; but I have taken 

 the precaution to sink the buddod part below tho surface, 

 and I mean to go into flowers with full zeat this spring, and 

 forget tho past. 



Spring — the word makes a fountain of joy to spring (alas ! a 

 pun even when writing sentiment. I am a candidate for 

 the hospital for " Incurables "), up in one's heart ; but 

 " la not tlie sweet spring tide 

 Worth all the chaD);:cful year beside? " 



A garden-loving friend of mine, as soon as Christmas is 

 forgotten, and the days begin to lengthen, is, she tells me, 

 in the habit of getting down from the bookshelf, for her 

 young people's pleasure and edification, all her books; relat- 

 ing to flowers, and the country and spring, so that their 

 hearts may, with even more than young hearts' readiness, 

 meet the season. A garden — who loves it not ? I read the 

 other day, that Jeremy Bentham, strange old oddity as he 

 was, utilitarian as he was, yet loved to walk round his 

 garden several times each day. True, indeed, he spoiled 

 the whole thing by the fearful name he gave to these walks. 

 He said they were h^ " Ante-prandial cu-cumgyrations." 

 Dear me ! what a name to give to a stroll round one's gar- 

 den ! Then, I wonder, what sort of garden this philosopher 

 of matter-of-fact circumgyrated. Was is it more than 

 what the Scotch call a " Kail-yard " — a garden of mere use- 

 fuls ? Did he merely ofrcumgyrate Onion and Leek-beds, or 

 Potato patches, or compost heaps ? Had he flowers ? — the 

 man who said, that " The game of pushpin had done more 

 good in the world than poetry ? " 



But to let Jeremy Bentham's ghost rest in peace, or still 

 " circumgyrate," as in the flesh, with " white hah% long and 

 flowing, his 'neck bare, in a quaker-cut coat, list shoes, 

 and, " Oh ! the old guy ! " white worsted stockings drawn 

 over his breeches' knees." Return we to the far pleasanter 

 subject of the spring. How I long for it, and what a com- 

 pensation to life's evils is a love of Nature. It abides — if 

 it leaves one for a-while it returns like an old love, all the 

 stronger for the brief lea", ing. May we be blessed with a 

 genial glorious spring ; may we watch, with the sun shining 

 above us, the tender green of the hedges. Then, when 

 the spring comes, how I love to walk round, not " ofrcum- 

 gyrate," my garden each morning; and watch another, and 

 yet another flower, first showing a little point of colour, then 

 open into full bloom. May my hope be realised. Perhaps 

 the colder the winter, the warmer will be the spring. I trust 

 it will be so. — Wiltshire Rector. 



HOW TO KEEP PEAHS. 



Some three or four years since I was much struck with 

 the tendency in our winter Pears to ripen prematurely in 

 cool wet seasons, and particularly so in the remarkable 

 season of 1860. Somewhere about that period I became 

 acquainted with the fact, that late Pears in the wai'mer 

 parts of France, particulaiiy the Doyenne d'Hiver (our 

 Easter Beurre), were often in fine perfection as late as 

 May. There was nothing new in what I deduced fi'om this 

 — viz., that our late Pears were not fully matured : hence 

 premature ijuaji-ripening and decay. In 18G1 I commenced 

 my experiment of ripening Peai-s in a greenhouse, on a bench 

 formed of slates about .'3 feet from the glass. Tho roof over 

 the slates was shaded from the time the Pears were gathered, 

 in October, tUl the end of November, and tho shading then 

 removed. Tho autumn Pears ripened slowly and kept well; 

 the late sorts unusually well till, in Januai-y, I found some 

 of the kinds inclined to shrivel ; I then placed them in flower- 

 pots with covers to them, still keeping tliem in the green- 

 liouse, and in the end I had several kinds that ripened well 

 in May. 



So far I was encouraged, and last autumn (1864) I deter- 

 mined to endeavour to reduce Peai--ripening and Pear-keep- 

 ing to a system, the jiioJus ojierancJt of which I now give. 



1 flelocted a span-roofed orchard-liouse, 60 feet long by 

 1 4 feet wide, with a floor of boards slightly raised, so as to 

 be about 6 feet from the roof. Towards tho end of Septem- 

 ber we commenced to gather the autumnal-ripening Pears ; 

 as they wore brought in some wore laid in small heaps, from 

 one to two pecks in each, and others in single layers. In 

 the course of October tho winter Pears were gathered, and 

 placed in tho same house and after the same manner. The 

 Brown Bourrij, Urbaniste, Beurru Hardy, Gansel's Berga- 

 mot, Conseiller de la Cour, Ooyonn<j du Comice, Louise 

 Bonne, Marie Louise — in short, all our finest autumn Peora 



