5*8 



Garden and Forest. 



[Number 193. 



individually narrow and placed rather remotely in narrow 

 few-flowered clusters ; they appear with the unfolding of the 

 leaves and offer a warm and cheerful welcome to the trav- 

 eler from the snow and ice of the north as he first reaches 

 the south in early spring. Although this pretty plant can- 

 not withstand the severity of our northern winters, the 

 name is often found in the catalogues of nurserymen who 

 confound it with some of the red-flowered varieties of the 

 Sweet Buckeye. 



The fourth species of eastern America is the rarest of all 

 our American Horse-chestnuts, although, strange to say, it is 

 more commonly planted than any of the others, and, there- 

 fore, perhaps the best known. It is the sEsculus parvifolia or, 

 as it was once called, ^sculus macrostachya. It is an inhab- 

 itant of the foot-hills of the extreme southern Alleghanies, 

 where the younger Bartram found it, more than a hundred 

 years ago, when he crossed from the sea-board to the head- 

 waters of the Tennessee and saw, before any other educated 

 man, the beauties of that marvelous region, covered then 

 with one great forest, save where the Cherokee had made for 

 himself a home by some swift-flowing river. The Dwarf 

 Horse-chestnut, as the plant which Bartram discovered is 

 now most often called, spreads, in cultivation, into a broad 

 bush of compact habit, sometimes twenty or thirty feet across 

 and six or eight feet tall. From spring to autumn it is a 

 handsome plant as it stands out singly on the lawn, and 

 in early summer it covers itself with long narrow spikes 

 of slender creamy white flowers, made conspicuous by their 

 long exserted stamens and yellow anthers. Although it is 

 a southern species, peculiar to a region whose plants are 

 not, as a rule, hardy at the north, the Dwarf Horse-chest- 

 nut flourishes in all parts of New England, where it flow- 

 ers abundantly, although the season is rarely long enough 

 for the fruit to ripen. 



The last of the North American Buckeyes is an inhabitant 

 of California — the /Esculus Californica of botanists. It is a 

 low tree, sometimes thirty or forty feet in height, with a 

 short stout trunk, often much enlarged just above the 

 ground, and spreading branches, which form a wide dense 

 head ; or more often it is a shrub with stems ten or twelve 

 feet high, forming dense thickets. It is widely distributed 

 in all the foot-hill region of the Coast ranges and of the 

 western slopes of the Sierra Nevada, from the northern 

 almost to the extreme southern part of the state, lining the 

 banks of many streams and the sides of innumerable 

 canons. The flowers of the California Buckeye are more 

 beautiful than those of the other American species ; they 

 are white or pale rose color, an inch or more long, with 

 broad, spreading petals and long conspicuous stamens, and 

 are produced in long, very compact, many-flowered clus- 

 ters. The fruit, which is pear-shaped and rather larger 

 than that of our other species, is also ornamental. The 

 only drawback to the California Buckeye, as it appears in 

 the valleys of California, is, that the leaves, which appear 

 early and are fully grown when the tree is in flower in 

 May, ripen under the influence of the hot sun very early 

 and often fall by midsummer, thus leaving the branches 

 bare for a considerable part of the year. 



An idea of the habit the California Buckeye is capable of 

 assuming when it has grown under the most favorable 

 conditions, and of the profusion of its flowers, can be ob- 

 tained from the illustration which appears on page 523 of 

 this issue. It represents a tree growing at San Mateo 

 which is thirty-two feet high, with a head sixty feet in 

 diameter and a forked trunk six and a half feet through 

 two feet above the surface of the ground. It is an excep- 

 tionally fine specimen, although others nearly as large and 

 symmetrical can be seen in the same region. For the pho- 

 tograph from which our illustration has been made we are 

 indebted to Dr. L. D. Morse, of San Mateo. 



The California Buckeye is not very often cultivated, 

 although it was first sent to Europe nearly forty years ago 

 and flowered in England as early as 1858. Unfortunately, 

 it is not hardy in the eastern states, and probably, out- 

 side of California, it will never really flourish except in 



climates similar to that of the Pacific coast. It is well 

 worth planting, however, in all the Mediterranean coun- 

 tries, and, perhaps, in Australia, as an ornamental plant, 

 for it is one of the handsomest of the whole genus, and, 

 when in flower, one of the most beautiful of all North 

 American trees. 



The Delayed Frost. 



THE charm of a long autumn is very great, but seldom 

 permitted by our capricious climate, which is apt to 

 spoil the garden in September and then make the misfor- 

 tune the more apparent by a succession of mild October 

 days, when flowers and green leaves would suit the 

 weather. 



This year, which has made eccentric shifts of all the 

 months in turn, giving us a dry April and a cold July, 

 bestowed upon us a most enchanting autumn, mild and 

 free from storms, so that vegetation remained perfect till 

 late October, and the harvest-time was most propitious. 



No early frost blighted the corn-field or marred the 

 golden pumpkin's fairness. No rain made the apple and 

 pear gathering a disappointment and a sorrow. Late 

 flowers lined the garden-walks in unchilled splendor until 

 mid-October, while the soft September haze and the mel- 

 low glow of the succeeding month showed Maples in 

 full green leaf, and Oaks with only a touch of ripened 

 crimson. 



When the autumn comes thus slowly to maturity a tinge 

 of russet and gold creeps softly into the landscape. Here 

 and there is the accent of a red leaf or branch like the note 

 of a trumpet in an orchestra. Soft browns steal into the 

 meadows and form a shade on northern slopes. Dead are 

 the Golden-rods and Asters, faded the road-side flowers. 

 The Rose-hips make ruddy gleams in the bushes, and a few 

 belated Barberries cling to their thorny stems in wizened 

 splendor, while other berries, purple and black, cluster by 

 the fences, and the nut-trees hang out their smooth or 

 prickly burrs, promising a. harvest of brown fruit. 



This is the green old age of the year, cheery and fruit- 

 ful, bountiful and rich. Gone are the hurry of spring and 

 the burden of summer, the slow harvest has been gathered, 

 and repose has come to the teeming earth. Now must the 

 gardener look forward and plan for the coming season, and 

 set his bulbs for spring blooming, and clear away the rub- 

 bish of dead stems from the flower-beds, and transplant 

 perennials that they may blossom freely the following 

 summer. 



It is well in planting a garden to arrange for this season, 

 which is so pleasing, by having a profusion of hardy plants 

 that are not easily, disheartened by a chill, and make a 

 brave show as the year wanes. This is a care often neg- 

 lected by public gardeners, who stock their parterres with 

 ephemeral blooms that the first cold breath destroys, leav- 

 ing but a dreary group of dry sticks behind. 



Well mingled with these more delicate plants should be 

 those hardy perennials that lift their gallant little heads and 

 smile in the very teeth of winter. The hardy Chrysanthe- 

 mum, the Marigold and Calendula are a delight in the late 

 autumn, with their cheery tints. The Salvia, less hardy, is 

 the glory of a September garden, and many another flower, 

 with a little shelter at night, will make a walk gay and 

 cheerful that would otherwise be gloomy with decay and 

 desolation. The Japanese Anemone is a treasure at this 

 season, and those bushes bearing ornamental fruit which 

 hangs on even amid the snows of winter should never be 

 omitted from a border. 



Like a happy temper in adversity is a gleam of color in 

 the garden in the late autumn. One draws a lesson of good 

 cheer from a Calendula, so undaunted and gay even when 

 the snows are falling on its golden head. A cluster of red 

 berries on a dry stem give a distinct joy in early winter, 

 and life is made brighter by the aspect of hardy blossoms 

 and hardier fruit when all the trees around are stripped of 

 foliage. 



