THE ENEMIES OF THE VINE. 



47 



attempt at precision — for the division does not hold good through- 

 out — we find the enemies of fungoid race manifold, and hard to 

 be defined, even by the skilled mycologist. We, the ordinary 

 gardeners, know that they are a Protean multitude ; and, knowing 

 little more than that, we treat them, according to their choice of 

 aggression, as mildew — of the roots, of the shoots and foliage, or 

 of the bunch and berry. Of fungoid inroad on the roots of the 

 Vine I have had very little experience, having only discovered it 

 once or twice, and then it was not extensive. It appeared to 

 exist in places only, where the roots had missed their proper 

 share of moisture, and upon this point — unless I am mistaken — 

 theory accords with practice. 



But upon mildew of the foliage and berry, pages have been 

 written, and to better purpose than can be presented here. It 

 is plain that there are many forms of mildew, nicely discerned by 

 the microscopist, and requiring to be dealt with according to their 

 sort. But with one and all, the great rule is — have at them at 

 once, and be as quick as they are. In nine cases out of ten the 

 evil is caused by want of genial warmth — that is to say a soft 

 glow of moisture, that seems to suckle the lambent growth, and 

 crisp it with the sparkling gems of health. 



Perhaps there has been a little creeping draught* or a sudden 

 fall of temperature, or something in the air that seems to send a 

 shiver through the foliage, and stroke it against the grain, as 

 when a hat is brushed against the nap — horridus is the Latin 

 word for this condition, I believe — and then the sad grower, in 

 the early morning, espies the first symptom of mildew. It is 

 but a little grey breath, perhaps, on the under side of some young 

 leaf, or a dull curl at the very top of the shoot ; but it means to 

 the eye of experience the vanguard of an army of pestilence. In 

 vegetable, even more than in animal existence, " Hit him while 

 he's down " is the ignominious law. The unnumbered idle spores 

 that are for ever wandering in the ambient air have found a weak 

 spot to fasten on, and suck, and grow, and propagate. Cold- 

 blooded creatures as they are, let them have a hot reception. At 

 once raise the temperature of the house, stop every crevice of 

 draught, and, if there be no young grapes to forbid it, fill the air 

 with a moist exhalation of sulphur and quick-lime painted on the 

 pipes. Also the leaves where the inroad has begun should be 

 dipped in a slush of sulphur, and the border where the Vines are 



