January 19. 1S7I. ] 



JOURNAL OF HOBTICULTUBE AND COTTAGK GAEDENEB. 



49 



mature of from 55° to 60°, with 10° more at the roots. There 

 13 not the same loss with them as with Asparagns taken up, as 

 instead of being of no farther use after forcing, every bit of 

 the forced roots, when cut up into 4 or 6-inch lengths, hardened 

 off, and planted out, soon makes a fine plant. Of late, partly 

 owing to birds interfering with the seeds, we have raised few 

 Ssa-kale plants from seed. We prefer planting the pieces of 

 the roots in rows in the way referred to, and find they make 

 better plants than seedlings. Some of these pieces grew so 

 strongly the first season, that we have taken them up in the 

 following November ; but in general we let them have two 

 summers' growth before raising them. Thus, supposing we 

 plant the root pieces in March or April, 1871, we should gene- 

 rally lift to force again in October or November, 1872. 



Bliuiiarh taken up to force may be transplanted again in the 

 same way ; but it is as well that each piece should have a bud. 

 There is no necessity for anything of the sort as respects the 

 roots of Sea-kale ; we have used them as small as a straw of 

 wheat ; but we like them better if as large in diameter as our 

 little or even our middle finger. These cut at bottom and straight 

 across at top, and of the lengths specified, are planted with the 

 dibber firmly in rows 2 feet apart from row to row, the upper 

 end being close to the surface of the ground. To keep vermin 

 irom them, a cone of ashes is laid along the row. As the spring 

 advances the upper end will bristle round the edges with buds, 

 and the only trouble required is to thin these out to two or 

 three. "With seedlings there will only be the one bud. From 

 seed sown in April we have had fine plants for forcing in the 

 second autumn, but we think there is less risk from fly, birds, 

 Ac , by using pieces of the roots. 



Our reason for alluding to the matter is, that we know there 

 are thousands of cases in which the holders of gardens are 

 satisfied with Sea-kale in the spring months, by placing a pot 

 over it, with or without protecting material, as leaves or litter. 

 They look upon getting fresh plantations, rearing seedlings, as 

 something to be shunned. Many of these might have a dish 

 not every day, but frequently during the winter, were they con- 

 vinced that the roots taken up could be cut to pieces and 

 ■planted again. We have seen very fine Sea-kale in a common 

 •cellar without any covering, where it was dark enough ; and 

 when wanted early the roots were packed in large pots, watered 

 with water at about 100°, and pots placed over them and kept 

 close to retain the heat. We have seen it very fine in a close 

 box near a kitchen fire. In fact, it will do very well in any 

 place where a little heat can be obtained along with darkness. 



In the open air after this time, where appearance is no object. 

 Sea-kale may be forwarded after the frost is out of the ground, 

 by placing over it a foot or even less of clean tree leaves. The 

 shoots will make little mounds in the leaves before they are 

 6 inches in length, so as to show you they want looking at. On 

 taxing our memory, perhaps the very sweetest and whitest Sea- 

 kale we ever saw was gathered from beds out of doors, covered 

 in the autumn with 7 inches of bog earth, and that covered 

 with a foot of litter. We have had it very fine covered with 

 clean ashes, but these do not fall off so clean as the bog earth. 

 Xfnder pots it can be had very clean, the great point is to cut 

 in time before it becomes lanky, and then every bit, except a 

 scale or two at the base, should go to table. Much ground 

 would be required if only the heart bit were cooked. — E. F. 



HOAR FEOST. 



When summer droughts are gone, and autumn rains have 

 oeased to fill the running brooks and fiood the river banks — 

 when the short sunless days and long cold nights have stolen 

 from the soil its generous warmth — then the keen, mastering, 

 all-subduing Frost wakes up from bis long summer sleep ; by 

 slow degrees he throws aside the torpor of inactivity, and 

 musters all his powers for the coming struggle with winter 

 •storms. With a cruel smile he mocks at summer's beauty and 

 autumn's lingering growth, and in his long duration threatens 

 to rob spring buds of their promise. Down from snow moun- 

 tains, and over icy plains, and across frozen streams he comes 

 Dearer and nearer ; a clear bright sky, not blue but white, and 

 a sharp ringing air through which sounds travel fast and far, 

 herald his approach. Through the dark hours of the night he 

 steals silently along, working best and surest when night is 

 dying into morning. Nothing can stay his progress, every- 

 where he spreads his pure garment of dazzling beauty ; over 

 fields, and hedges, and woods, and broad highways leading to 

 busy cities, and lonely footpaths leading out into Nature's 

 desolate places, he throws his glittering array. Nothing too 



high or too low ; he climbs the loftiest hills, and sinks into the 

 lowliest valleys ; he covers with an equal grace thatched cot- 

 tage, and ancient church, and stately hall, and sloping lawn, 

 and creeping moss, and withered Ferns, and tiny pebbles. 



He passes thi-ough quiet lanes and breathes his destroying 

 breath on every wayside weed, or wandering insect seeking too 

 late its winter home ; he crosses with rapid strides the wide 

 open common, and uttering a cry of distress the birds seek the 

 shelter of the nearest covert ; he lingers in the forest where the 

 tall naked trees stand forth in their magnificence of form and 

 branch and interlacing twig, and turns each venerable Oak and 

 sturdy Elm into coral reefs of glittering whiteness ; he hangs 

 graceful plumes on the lady Birch, yet leaves not the smallest 

 blade of grass or fallen acorn unadorned. He creeps into 

 every hole and cranny, looks over every garden wall, enters 

 every open door and unclosed shutter. He paints his colour- 

 less pictures on every cathedral window, and writes in pencil 

 lines of exceeding beauty the ancient story of his visit on 

 every pane of glass. He silences the sweet music of the run- 

 ning brook, changes all its laughing smiles to still cold stone. 

 He interrupts the current of the mighty river, driving to its 

 deeper depths the lives that sported near its surface. He 

 presses on closer and closer to the homes of men, hangs 

 glittering icicles round cottage porch where Eoses and jasmine 

 so lately bloomed, and stands waiting for admission at the 

 well-guarded door of princely mansion. He lays a cold heavy 

 hand on every living thing that comes unfriended within his 

 reach ; he overtakes the laggard gardener, and seals the death 

 warrant of his tender treasures. He hushes all too soon the 

 redbreast's song, and tracks the thrush to its safe retreat 

 within the warm entwining arms of the thick Holly. All 

 around the dwelling places of men he weaves his sparkhng 

 web, turning each drop of moisture to brilliant crystal, sub- 

 duing all colour to his ghost-like whiteness. He finds his way 

 to every town and village, passing noiselessly through the open 

 squares where wealth and plenty are safely sheltered from 

 winter frosts ; through narrow streets and dark alleys, where 

 the want of food and fuel makes his presence keenly felt. He 

 pushes his way through the porous walls of mean-built houses, 

 sits by the hearth an unbidden guest, steals from the fire its 

 accustomed warmth, from the home its welcome comfort; ha 

 brings strength to the strong, and weakness to the weak, en- 

 feebling the feeble step, and blanching the maiden's cheek, and 

 imparting a deep joy to the young strong life that can bear his 

 keenest blasts. Over all the hoar frost throws a charm, a 

 marvellous grace, reveals to us a new creation, before which W9 

 stand in reverent wonder. — Maud. 



SNOW -iND ICE DESTRUCTIVE TO GLASS ROOFS. 

 We may here make some remarks as respects lean-to orchard 

 houses that are at all flat, in reference to their carrying a good 

 weight of snow when glazed with large squares, say 20 inches 

 across from bar to bar. These lean-to's are rather more than 

 11 feet wide, 10 feet high at the back, and from 4 to 4i feet 

 high in front, according to the ground. Such a root would sub- 

 tend an angle of from 55° to 60°, and, therefore, be consider- 

 ably flatter than a roof at 45°, the angle subtended by a right- 

 angled triangle. On a roof at 55° the snow will lie longer 

 than on one at 43°, but until this season we never knew it 

 lie long enough to do any harm. In our larger house we do 

 not think a square of glass was cracked, for the snow, as it got 

 heavy, slid ofl, or melted gradually away. Here, however, 

 nothing was done to interfere with the cold and the snow except 

 keeping the house shut. In the smaller house other matters 

 were alike, except that for securing comfort and preserving some 

 things that otherwise might have been injured, a little firing 

 was used in an iron stove, which tended to melt the snow a 

 little towards the top of the roof, and the moisture trickling 

 down towards the front under the snow froze in the sharp frost, 

 and became a firm mass of ice and snow, which we could not 

 move if we wished. The greater weight of this mass told on 

 the glass in some cases, so that in looking over we found we 

 had to replace two squares broken outright by this congealed 

 weight, and we find there are four or five more squares cracked 

 in the middle, which we shall replace the first fine day. Now, 

 the cracking of these few squares we attribute not at all to eon- 

 traction or expansion, but merely to the weight of the frozen 

 mass of ice and snow over them, and that weight would not 

 have been felt but for the heat from the iron stove and the 

 keen frost acting together, nor if, whilst the snow was soft, 

 we had swept the snow from the lowest part of the roof, as 



