BAR R’S 
Beautiful English Daffodils 
At LONG D1TTON, Surbiton Station, South Western Rail, 
Close to the Surbiton New Recreation Grounds. 
Extracted from the “Daily News,” March 27tli, 1893. 
DAFFADOWNDILLIES. 
“ You arc a little early,” says Mr. W. Barr, as he leads the way out into thr 
open grounds at Long Litton, already ablaze with colour — “a little early. In 
a fortnight's time we shall have more to show you.” 
It is just as well to be a little early. The (lowers that are coming on, and 
have already got their advance guards flaunting their silken banners on the 
spring winds, are a cheerier sight than those same flowers when they have 
reached the zenith of their beauty, and have begun to show signs of exhaustion 
and decliue. And the daffodils themselves are early this year — the 
Daffodils 
’ That corao before the swallow dares, and take 
The winds of March with beauty. 
Already they are out here hy the thousand — by-and-by they will be out by 
the million — and a pleasant thing it has been in sauntering along from the 
station at Surbiton to peep through the ragged hawthorn hedge, itself just 
bursting into spring verdure, and see the yellow blossoms shimmering over a 
carpet of fresh green, and dancing to tho music of the larks soaring and 
carolling up into the blue that is hardly so intense overhead as are the streets 
of Scillas and Chionodoxas now in full glory. What an invigorating, life- 
giving, thing it is to get out here away from all the strife and turmoil of the 
town, and to listen to the birds, and the fitful roar of the winds in the naked 
elms, and to watch the cloud shadows and sunbeams gambolling over the 
springing turf and the brown clods and the woods and hedgerows ! How easy 
it is to be a philosopher out here — to sit on a five-barred gate and pour con- 
tempt on the pitiful wire-puller, stock jobbing, money grabbing, self-seeking, 
glory hunting that is going on in the crowded city yonder. 
“ A little early,” says Mr. W. Barr, “ but come along,” and he leads the way 
out into the grounds, where five acres of daffodils will soon be all aflaunt — great 
Trumpet Daffodils and Hoop Petticoated Daffodils, and Snow Whites and Tenby 
Yellows, and “ Angels’ Tears,” and Poets’ Narcissus, and Golden Spurs, and 
mountain daffodils, and tiny wee things not so big as a cowslip. Already they 
are out here in great sheets of luscious colour, and some of them delicately 
perfumed, and with larks over one’s head, and thrushes and starlings warbling 
around, it is so pleasant to stride about the beds here, to make intimate 
acquaintance with these lusty trumpeters to the coming floral hosts; and to feel 
that, under the tuition of an expert, you are rapidly yourself becoming a daffo- 
dilidarian, or whatever may be the proper term by which to dub one who knows 
all about the flower. 
“ What are the conditions of success, now ? What is the secret of growing 
these things Well ? ” 
“ Plant early, for one thing. I don’t know how tho idea originated,!’ says 
the famous grower, “ but there is a very common notion that spring-flowering 
bulbs should be put in about Lord Mayor’s Day. The earlier bulbs are planted 
the better they do, and September is not too early ; indeed, September is a 
good month for planting.” 
“ Aud what about soil? They do splendidly with you here, and you seem 
to have a loamy soil.” 
“ Yes, a light loam. If the soil is stiff they should not be planted deep. 
In a stiff loam they should be about the depth of the bulb beneath the surface 
— that is to say, if the bulb is an inoh in depth, the crown should be put an 
inch under ground. If the soil is light they may be planted deeper. Plant 
them carefully and leave them undisturbed, and don’t overdo them with 
manure. If the soil is fairly good they don’t want any at all. They’ll do best 
without manure.” 
