48 MY SHRUBS 
ripe fruit has not yet been seen in England, I believe. The petals, 
a waxy crimson that fades to white, support a sheaf of little red 
pins headed with gold. I have found the promise of fruit, but it 
never swelled to any size, for Feijoa blossoms into late August, when 
the solar heat begins to lessen. Don da Silva Feijo, Director of 
the natural History Museum at San Sebastian, has given the precious 
shrub its name. 
Fendlera rupicola is a plant for a warm wall, and has beauty 
when really successful. This white-flowered Texan has a slow 
habit of growth. Some years must pass before it blossoms abun- 
dantly ; then the sprays are fair to see. It thrives, or throve, on 
a wall at Kew. 
Forsythia we have always with us. My F. suspensa is twelve 
feet high, and spires up into golden splendour during April; but 
the bullfinches love the buds, and often I find a sad litter beneath 
the plant when March has returned. JI admire, but do not esteem, 
the bullfinch. To see these faithful couples haunting my pears and 
plums in spring-time is among my most distressing annual ex- 
periences. All birds are welcome here save the ‘“‘ bud-hawks,”’ but 
they come unbidden—the most fearful enemy of deciduous shrubs. 
Of Ficus, one may mention that in the stove F. radicans variegata, 
from Japan, is quite beautiful. It showers its little green and 
silver foliage liberally, and, for indoor decoration, a fine plant of 
this dwarf fig cannot be excelled. But return it quickly to the 
moist heat that it loves; otherwise it will shed its foliage and 
delight you no more. 
I understand that handsome little conifer, Fitzroya, from Tas- 
mania, is hardy with us, but have never seen it out of doors. Yet 
I would try the shrub did I know where it was to be found. 
