3 86 



Garden and Forest. 



[Number 182. 



planted with exotic trees and flowers and bisected by 

 scientifically built and neatly curbed roads, even though 

 we may know that as much thought and as much pains, 

 of a certain kind, have been expended on their construc- 

 tion as though the outcome were more clearly artistic and 

 refined. 



The Central Park was laid out before the modern 

 taste for boulders and rough-hewn stones had developed, 

 and in it one may well study the method of treating 

 architectural features in such a place. Here and there, in 

 quiet corners and shady nooks, we find rough little flights 

 of steps' and rustic summer-houses of unhewn wood ; but 

 in all conspicuous places, and for all important construc- 

 tions, work of a more polished and elegant sort is employed. 

 But in the new Franklin Park at Boston, for example, 

 there are structures in the most conspicuous situations 

 which would seem more appropriate in a woody glen a 

 hundred miles from any town. A drinking-fountain, care- 

 fully built of jagged stones so that it looks as if carelessly 

 thrown together for a temporary purpose, may have 

 a beauty of its own, but whether it is fitly placed 

 beside the principal building, and near the principal drive- 

 way of an urban park, is open to question. Steps of rude 

 slabs, scarcely revealing the use of the chisel, hardly seem 

 appropriate in contact with the accurately shaped and 

 smoothed curbing of this drive. In building the gateways 

 at the principal entrance to this beautiful pleasure- 

 ground it seems to have been the artist's purpose to 

 make them inconspicuous, and thus disturb as little 

 as possible the rural effect of the outlook over the 

 distant country. But the existence of gateways, and their 

 eminently artificial character, cannot really be disguised ; 

 and to build them wholly of small boulders sacrifices 

 beauty and appropriateness to an unattainable end. A 

 comparison of these gateways with those recently erected 

 at one of the southern entrances to Prospect Park, in 

 Brooklyn, would prove, we think, that the more confess- 

 edly artistic a work of art is made the better is its effect in 

 such a situation. And at Prospect Park the low marble 

 seats, small classic-looking shelters and graceful piers, in- 

 terfere no more with the prospect than the rugged- 

 looking seats and shelters at Franklin Park. 



Of still more doubtful propriety is the use of unhewn 

 stones in the construction of bridges. It seems contrary 

 to the primary canons of art that an arch should have 

 voussoirs of irregular shape and different lengths, so that, 

 instead of seeming strong and homogeneous, they appear 

 to be sliding past one another. Yet many rustic bridges 

 have been erected in this fashion. How Richardson 

 thought a bridge in a park ought to be built is shown by 

 the one over which Boylston Street crosses the Fens in 

 Boston. It is entirely devoid of ornament, perfectly sim- 

 ple ; but with its wide, graceful, yet vigorous sweep, its 

 beautifully modeled buttresses and coping, and the care- 

 fully finished surface of its stones, it is as true and refined 

 and as noteworthy a work of art as any of the more elabo- 

 rate things he ever built. Not far away now stands an- 

 other bridge of three arches, built in the prevalent 

 "natural" manner. In general design it is very good, 

 and were its fabric as architectural and its finish as 

 perfect as those of Richardson's bridge, the two would 

 form a most happy contrast. But it looks weak despite its 

 actual solidity, and careless despite the careful study un- 

 questionably bestowed upon it, while its curtain of vines 

 is not, we think, a fortunate substitute for an architectural 

 balustrade in a work of art designed for a place which 

 will soon be in the heart of a great city. In structures 

 such as these we seem to be trying to go back to the 

 infancy of art, but such efforts can hardly result in 

 true simplicity or true appropriateness to modern tastes, 

 conditions and abilities. 



creation of a general Board of Commissioners who can act 

 for all the cities and towns which are comprised in Greater 

 Boston. It is generally admitted that, as this large and 

 populous district becomes still more densely inhabited, 

 there will be need for many more open spaces for recrea- 

 tion-grounds and breathing-places. As the case now stands, 

 each of the municipalities can select grounds within its 

 own limits, but where this is done the action must neces- 

 sarily be controlled by purely local considerations. In 

 many cases the most favorable grounds to be selected 

 would extend across one or more of these town or city 

 boundaries, and unless something like united action can 

 be secured on a plan which embraces within its scope the 

 entire area in question, there is little hope that a sufficient 

 number of plots will be reserved, or that these plots will 

 be the best ones for the purpose they are intended to fulfill. 

 It is very plain that co-operation is an absolute necessity 

 in a case like this. This principle is one with which our 

 people should become familiarized, for it is capable of a 

 "much wider application. Wherever forests need to be re- 

 served at the sources of rivers the importance of co-operation 

 by different states is apparent. Such rivers as the Connec- 

 ticut, the Merrimac and the Ohio, whose head-waters are 

 in the highlands of different states, can never be adequately 

 protected unless all these states unite upon some general 

 plan of forest-preservation. The board suggested by Mr. 

 Eliot might therefore prove of value not only immediately 

 to the eastern part of Massachusetts, but it might set an 

 example which could be followed to advantage on a much 

 more comprehensive scale throughout the country. 



We invite attention to a letter from Mr. Charles Eliot in 

 another column of this paper. Referring to Mr. Baxter's 

 project for a Massachusetts forest, Mr. Eliot suggests the 



The Seeding of the Bamboo. 



T^HE hardier species of Bamboo are becoming deservedly 

 A more popular year by year for the adornment of English 

 pleasure-grounds. One thing, however, seems not unlikely 

 to be lost sight of, namely, the fact that the culms of the Bam- 

 boo flower but once, the plant perishing immediately after the 

 ripening of the seed. After flowering and seeding, when the 

 plants have reached the climax of their grace and beauty, no 

 art of the gardener can stay their death. It would be, I 

 imagine, almost impossible to determine the age at which 

 these hardy Bamboos will produce flowers when grown in this 

 country ; most probably the term of years will differ with the 

 various species. 



With regard to the great Bamboo of tropical India, Bambusa 

 arundinacea, it is a well-ascertained fact, that the coming to 

 maturity of this gigantic Grass only occurs after a growth of 

 some fifty years' duration ; and the phenomenon of its flower- 

 ing, seeding and subsequent death in India and other climes — ■ 

 where it covers with its huge and picturesque clumps many 

 square miles of country — is an extraordinary spectacle which 

 can have been seen but by few Englishmen of the present 

 generation. 



It is unnecessary to give any lengthy description of the 

 plant ; suffice it to say, that in the locality in India where I had 

 the rare fortune of witnessing the flowering and seeding of 

 this gigantic Grass on a large scale, the culms frequently at- 

 tain a height of from sixty to seventy feet, and a diameter at 

 their thickest part of from eight to ten inches. These culms 

 are furnished with lateral branches, throughout their whole 

 length adorned with a profusion of light green leaves. The 

 plant is deciduous, shedding its leaves in India during the dry 

 season, and renewing them on the approach of the spring 

 showers. The clumps present the apppearance of colossal 

 plumes of feathers, and when seen in full leaf are beautiful 

 beyond description. 



The soil of the tract of country the Bamboo affects in south 

 India is mostly shallow, with a gritty, ferruginous subsoil, and 

 it is not found where the rainfall is excessive. When the 

 clumps are in full vigor, the culms are produced of the above 

 dimensions with amazing rapidity. 



It was during the years 1 863-1 864, while engaged in Coffee- 

 planting in the district of Wynaad, in the province of Malabar, 

 that I witnessed the phenomenon of the seeding of Bambusa 

 arundinacea. The plantation I had charge of at the time was 

 situated in the midst of an extensive Bamboo jungle within 

 but a short distance of the frontier of Mysore, and on the main 

 road from the Malabar coast to Seringapatam and Bangalore. 

 At the time of my arrival in the district, the magnificent Bam- 



