52 THE WILD GARDEN. 
in the whole course of gardening no worse or more profitless 
custom. When winter is once come, almost every gardener, 
although animated with the best intentions, simply prepares 
to make war upon the roots of everything in his shrubbery 
border. The generally-accepted practice is to trim, and often 
to mutilate the shrubs, and to dig all over the surface that 
must be full of feeding roots. Delicate half-rooted shrubs 
are disturbed; herbaceous plants are destroyed; bulbs are 
displaced and injured; the roots as well as the tops of shrubs 
are mutilated; and a sparse depopulated aspect is given to 
the margins, while the only “improvement” that is effected 
by the process is the annual darkening of the surface by the 
upturned earth. 
Illustrations of these bad practices occur by miles in our 
London parks in winter. Walk through any of them at that 
season, and observe the borders around masses of shrubs, choice 
and otherwise. Instead of finding the earth covered, or nearly 
covered, with vegetation close to the margin, and each indi- 
vidual plant developed into something like a fair specimen 
of its kind, we find a spread of recently-dug ground, and the 
plants upon it with an air of having recently suffered from a 
whirlwind, or some calamity that necessitated the removal of 
mutilated branches. Rough-pruners precede the diggers, and 
bravely trim in the shrubs for them, so that nothing may be in 
the way; and then come the diggers, plunging their spades 
deeply about plants, shrubs, or trees. The first shower that 
occurs after this digging exposes a whole network of torn-up 
roots. There is no relief to the spectacle; the same thing 
occurs everywhere—in botanic gardens as well as in our large 
West-end parks; and year after year is the process repeated. 
