Jan. 1, 1865.] THE TECHNOLOGIST. 



ON THE COTTON PLANT. 251 



monsoon may foster rather than injure. Each and all of these diffi- 

 culties seem to have vanished whenever the strong will of these gallant 

 pioneers had determined they should do so. Eoyle alludes to experi- 

 ments in hyhridisation once or twice, but no authenticated results have 

 been recorded. A year or two ago, however, certain of the American sorts 

 were intercrossed, both by myself and Dr. Bonavia, of Luckncw. We are 

 now waiting the final report of the Doctor's experiments. Mine pro- 

 duced what is apparently a very beautiful and prolific cotton, second 

 only, according to Watson — the Cocker of cotton fibre — to the best Sea- 

 Island. 



I must here offer my tribute of thanks to all good friends who 

 started me and helped me on my way. First and foremost to my kind 

 friend Dr. Lindley, who, always ready alike to encourage an aspirant or 

 smash an impostor, supplied me with advice and introductions. To Dr. 

 Wight the same. To the Manchester Cotton Supply Association, Dr. 

 Forbes Watson, Mr. Clements Markham, Mr. Arthur Grote, Mr. P. L. 

 Simmonds, and Dr. Welwitsch, for plentiful supplies of seed of com- 

 mercial or botanical interest ; and last, but not least, to my friend Mr. A. 

 Henderson, of Pine Apple Place, for the seeds of the Nankin and Sea 

 Island, from which 1 produced my first cross-bred plant. In Cotton 

 literature I have profited by and used largely the contents of Royle's 

 great work, the prize Essays by Dr. Shortt and others, and the Journal 

 of the Agri-Horticultural Society of India. There was one want, however, 

 which neither men nor books seemed able to supply. Search where 1 

 would I could not find " the poetry of cotton." One could wander 

 through ferny glades with Mr. Moore, and feel inspired ; there was 

 poetry in the fairy bells of the modern and in the mournful ai at of the 

 mythic hyacinth ; the rose was bathed in it ; but there was no poetry 

 in cotton. At last I found it — in a negro melody : " picking cotton 

 in the field, there first I saw a yellow girl, her name was Lucy Neal." Nay, 

 scoff not ; nigger melody though it be, it is one of the most exquisitely 

 pathetic ballads of modern times. Listen to the last verse, the outpour- 

 ings of the poor negro's profound love melancholy — 



" They bore her from my bosom, but the wound they cannot heal, 

 For my heart is breaking, breaking, for the love of Lucy Neal ; 

 Ah. ! yes, and when I'm dying, and dark visions o'er me steal, 

 The last low murmur of this life shall be poor Lucy Neal." 



Farewell now, my friends, and thank you for your kind attention. 

 If I have mixed science and Lucy Neal, it was that you should not be 

 sent home to your firesides with ears quite stuffed with cotton. 



The lecture was amply illustrated by samples of cotton pods of 

 the Major's own growth under glass in this countiy and seeds of 

 various kinds and drawings ; also by numerous living plants from his 

 conservatory, in most cases well furnished with pods, and by others in 

 blossom grown at Kensington. 



