158 



THE GARDEN MAGAZINE 



April, 190 



For shipping, a root grown in a pot is the most 

 compact 



Once the first frost is over we usually have 

 splendid flowering weather until almost 

 Thanksgiving. 



WHEN WINTER COMES 



Taking up the dahlia roots need not be 

 done until severe frost has killed the foliage 

 right to the ground. Then allow a couple of 

 days for the root to adjust itself, and cut 

 back to within six inches of the ground. 

 You may then carefully proceed to lift, using 



a fork rather than a spade. They often take 

 up a space of two feet and even more at times. 

 Loosen the ground before you try to lift the 

 roots. The lifting of the roots should take 

 place only on a bright, sunny day and during 

 the sunny hours when the temperature is 

 highest. Do not shake any soil off the roots. 

 After the roots are taken up, place them 

 upside down on the ground until the soil 

 round them seems to be dry. Then before 

 sundown place them in a cool, dry cellar, 

 spread them out, and let them dry thoroughly. 

 When this has been accomplished, which 

 usually takes from a week to ten days, 

 they can either be placed in boxes or left on 

 the floor, provided it is dry, and covered with 

 newspapers. The temperature must not fall 

 below 40 degrees, nor rise above 50 degrees. 

 From time to time look at the roots and see 

 that no decay makes progress. If any parts 

 show that they are decaying they should be 

 immediately removed and the freshly cut 

 parts well coated with air-slaked lime. If, 

 on the other hand, the roots begin to dry, 

 it will not do any harm — in fact, it will 

 benefit them considerably — to sprinkle the 

 newspaper above them with water, also to 

 sprinkle the floor upon which they are lying. 



RAISING FROM SEED 



This is a most fascinating work for the 

 amateur, particularly if you use your own 

 seed. If you have a plant of specially good 

 habits and fine flowers it would be worth 

 your while making a start. Do not cut 

 blooms after perfect flowers have appeared, 



A. comparison between seedling and cutting plants. 

 Both are ten weeks old. The seedling on the right 

 is much the weaker and smaller 



but allow them all to go to seed, which 

 gathered and dried in late summer. Start 

 these seeds in the house about February and 

 transplant to single pots about the end of 

 March. They are then best placed in a cold- 

 frame until the weather is absolutely safe for 

 planting out of doors, which usually takes 

 place about June 1st. Subsequent care 

 will be the same as that given to the other 

 dahlias, and if the result should be only 1 per 

 cent, of the entire product one should feel 

 more than gratified. The pleasure of await- 

 ing each new day with a hope of seeing a new 

 flower open and realize the result of the whole 

 year's work is indescribable — and it is a 

 safe wager that no two plants will be alike! 



English Effects With Broad-leaved Evergreens— By w. Mill 



New 

 CI, York 



WE MAY GET ONLY THREE - FOURTHS OF THE ENGLISH LUXURIANCE, BUT WE CAN BEAT ENGLAND ON 

 VARIETY— SEVEN EFFECTS WE CAN HAVE AND FOUR WE CAN'T— APRIL THE BEST MONTH TO PLANT EVERGREENS 



[Editor's Note. — This is the fourth of twelve articles that explain how we waste about a million dollars a year in trying to copy English effects literally, and the only way in 

 which we can excel England. "Conifers" appeared in January; "Trees" in February; "Shrubs" in March. This series is devoted to the materials of gardening, while a 

 companion series in Country Life in America deals with the different kinds of gardening, such as Landscape Gardening {January), Formal Gardening {February) and Rose 

 Gardens {March). The author went to England last year to get facts for these articles]. 



TT IS no wonder that the myriads of 

 *■ Americans who visit England every 

 year become intoxicated with the beauty 

 of the broad-leaved evergreens. The first 

 glimpse of the rhododendrons in Rotten 

 Row is enough to turn any one's head, 

 and the Americans who crowd into the 

 big tent at the inner circle, Regent's Park, 

 to view that matchless color show in June, 

 can hardly wait to get back home and 

 begin planting. For, in England, anyone 

 can see that broad-leaved evergreens are 

 the most sumptuous plants in cultivation. 

 True, pines and other narrow-leaved ever- 

 greens are also attractive the year round, 

 and many of them attain far grander dimen- 

 sions, but they do not have gorgeous flowers 

 or red berries that last all winter. More- 

 over, conifers as a class are a little inclined 

 to coldness and monotony, while the broad- 

 leaved evergreens, from the greater breadth 

 and lustre of their leaves, are pleasanter 

 to live with the year round. For the imme- 



diate environment of a house, broad-leaved 

 evergreens are certainly the most desirable 

 plants in the world, while tall conifers are 

 quite unsuited to that position. 



But the most precious quality in broad- 

 leaved evergreens is a certain mystic charm 

 which has nothing at all to do with showy 

 flowers or berries. It resides in the foliage. 

 Everyone feels' it, but I have never seen any 

 attempt to express or explain it, or even 

 a name for it. I venture to call it the 

 "classic" effect, because the first glimpse 

 of a Greek temple in England framed by 

 luxuriant masses of rhododendron, box, 

 and holly overwhelms one with feelings 

 that seem to well up from the depths of the 

 soul. They are deeper than the instinct 

 that England is "our old home." One 

 might almost call them memories of a 

 previous existence. There is a sudden con- 

 sciousness that we, too, once lived in 

 Italy — that Greece also is our old home. 



I know I spoil this by talking about it, 



because words, are such frightful liars, 

 but I feel assured that the secret of all 

 "garden magic" is simply the power which 

 old plants and old gardens have of 

 stimulating the imagination, or, as I like to 

 say, these old memories. Everyone knows 

 a few precious moments in life when a 

 sense of the brotherhood of man floods the 

 consciousness. So everyone who sees in 

 England this combination of classic archi- 

 tecture and broad-leaved evergreens is 

 momentarily transported in spirit to Italy 

 and Greece, or, at least, feels some dim 

 sense of kinship with the mighty past. 



Yet the plants I spoke of are not Italian 

 symbols. Rhododendron, box, and holly 

 may flourish in the Mediterranean region, 

 but they are surcharged with British feeling. 

 The master-words to the Italian are laurel, 

 myrtle, and olive. And right here rises our 

 great hope. For if England can transport 

 those who behold her gardens, though she 

 lacks the older symbols, so America may 



