THE MARKET GARDENS OF PARIS. 467 



Be it observed that this is no contrast of 1868 ; it is the 

 same thing, to some extent, every year. The year 1867, for 

 example, was anything but a dry one ; yet, in passing through 

 the central markets at Paris during the month of July, 1867, 

 with an excellent cultivator who has every convenience and 

 good ground in the prettiest and richest part of Surrey, he 

 was more surprised with the Eadishes and young Turnips than 

 with anything else. "We cannot get anything like these 

 at this season," said he. Of course not, and simply because 

 we do not take the simplest precautions to secure them. 

 We have them when the weather is dewy and favourable, 

 and where the climate and soil are moist ; but a few weeks 

 of dryness puts an end to all such luxuries, and should the 

 drought continue, everything becomes worthless and uneat- 

 able, as during the past season. But are we in a position 

 to boast of our horticulture while this is the case ? Does 

 the routine work, which merely waits upon the seasons thus, 

 deserve the name of skill ? I think not, and moreover that 

 it is absurdly unsatisfactory to reflect that the very things 

 which our watery and cloudy clime is supposed to be most 

 favourable to, are to be found in greatest perfection with the 

 French, in the drier and, for vegetables, less favourable 

 climate of Paris ! The secret of it all is that the French 

 market gardener, in addition to tilling and enriching his 

 ground in the best manner, waters thoroughly and repeatedly 

 every crop that requires water for its perfect development. 



Our gardens are no more prepared to encounter a great, or 

 even an unusual scarcity of water, than they are to meet a 

 second deluge. The practice of dragging water considerable 

 distances in pots and barrels is a very doubtful good ; 

 watering is useless if not thoroughly done. I need not 

 remind the reader of the many things to which water is 

 almost the life. Extract the water from a juicy Lettuce, 

 or any other appreciated vegetable, and how much remains ? 

 Our soils are of course saturated with water in winter, when 

 plants do not want it; but it is often absent when they 

 would absorb it as thirstily as the hart the cooling stream, 

 and when the absence of it leaves them mere accumulations 

 of tough fibre. I am not sanguine enough to hope that any 



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