2 
BARR’S Gold Medal Daffodils, 1899. 
under orders not to go into dithyrambics, nor to quote Wordsworth, lliese are cruel orders. 1 ernaps 
the next best thing is to quote Mr. Barr, jun., the guide through the daffodils. 
< “ How many bulbs are there in the ground, here ?” you ask, wondering if figures can express the 
prose aspect of these waves and billows of innocent gold. “ I could hardly tell,” says Mr. Barr ; “at all 
events, some millions. There are 20,000 bulbs in this bed.” Ye gods ! And “ this -bed ” is but a drop m 
the daffodil stream ! 
* Turn your attention to the individual flower. You never saw such daffodils. . . . These before you, 
in the 20,000 bed, are monsters for size, and marvels for loveliness of tint. “That is the Emperor, 
Mr. Barr tells you, “and is one of the finest of the trumpeters.” . . • 
< We wander on to another little bed of scores of thousands. This time the splendid yellows are toned 
down, the gold of the trumpet is a little paler, the tints of the perianth arc shaded from pale gold to 
silver. “ This is a new bicolor narcissus,” is the explanation. “ It is the VICTORIA, and only came into 
the market in Jubilee year. Hence its name.” There is a dainty beauty, a kind of dream-daffodil, in 
shades of velvety gold and silver, a Madame de Graaff ; a tiny, delicate cup of almost transparently 
clear yellow, Queen of Spain; then, again, a splendid flower of various shades of gold named 
p Barr ; and score upon score of others each lovelier than all the rest. It is no use trying to picture 
up in mere words the perfect form of the silvery white Swan’s Neck Daffodil, the Barrii Con- 
spicuus, with its cup brimming over with burnished gold ; the fragrance of the Odorus rugulosus, 
three twinkling stars growing on one stalk. The number of names becomes confusing, and you clutch, 
with somewhat of relief, at the three pretty double daffodils which the voice of the people (in prehistoric 
times, of course, for we would never have the genius of inventing names of such classic simplicity) 
dubbed respectively Butter and Eggs, Eggs and Bacon, and Codlins and Cream. 
< <1 Are there still single bulbs which, for their cost, remind you of the times when fortunes were paid 
for a rare bulb ? ” “ Not exactly. We have a daffodil, the Monarch, a large golden yellow trumpeter, 
which we sell at £15. 151. a bulb. Who buys such? Why, enthusiasts. The cheapest daffodil is the 
Narcissus princeps, a fine early Irish flower ; it sells nt;£l. ior. the thousand. 
1 The show of daffodils, it may be noted, begins when, early in February, two small “trumpeters” 
begin to blow, and goes on till, in the middle of May, the Pheasant’s Eye twinkles upon the early 
summer flowers. It is a pageant of great beauty all the time, but most beautiful at the end of April, 
when more shades of yellow than our philosophy dreams of are sported by the daffodils. And the best 
place, all the world over, to see a complete collection is in the grounds of Messrs. Barr & Sons, which 
are open to all comers, down at Long Ditton, Surrey.’ 
Extract from ‘The Saturday Review,’ April 29, 1899. 
‘ Daffodii.ua.’ 
< From the dim ages, when all that flourished in the land were I.ent-lilies and the Poet’s Daffodil, to 
this year of grace 1S99 — from the cottage-gardens with their “Codlins and Cream .to that veiitable 
Paradi sus Aanissonim, Messrs. Barr’s nurseries at Long Dillon, is a far cry. As the tiains urns out 
beyond Surbiton, the eyes of every traveller must have been caught and enchained by those stretches of 
white, and sulphur, and gold that cover the land on his left, now glistening in the sun, now subdued into 
a pearl and primrose mist over the earth at twilight. Unsatisfied with a mere passing impression of all 
this beauty we alight and visit these fields, wander leisurely up and down them, contemplate one by one 
each bed in turn. For a while we arc in confusion, and so undiscriminating. The general loveliness of 
the flowers needs, indeed, no practised eye : but it is here as always where art and science arc concerned, 
the niceties of distinction, the pleasure that comes to the connoisseur from his curious appreciation of these 
niceties, are not to be arrived at but gradually and with attention. As the connoisseur’s sense steals over 
us, how alert grow our perceptions, into how charmed a circle we feel ourselves entering, full of strangely 
new interests and sensations ! The very language of the scientist and his orderly divisions have something 
captivating about them ; yielding to the spell, we would ourselves become students and cultivators. IIow 
superb are°thesc blooms of the large Barrii conspicuus with its rich yellow perianth, and its yet richer 
cup deeply edged with orange; or the Stella superra, white and brilliant gold; or the Incompara- 
Hl Lis Gwyther, soft sulphur and chrome; or the splendid yellow of the clustered heads of Odorus 
rugulosus 1 Let us leave these Medio-coronati , these Star Narcissi, and turn to the true Trumpet 
Daffodils, the llagni-coronati , of which some more imposing, but certainly no lovelier example may be 
found than the Queen of Spain, the clear brilliant yellow hybrid from the exquisite little “Angels 
Tears,” this a natural hybrid, too, let us remark, one of Mr. I’eter Barr’s many discoveries on the 
borders of Spain. Or is it showier blooms we hanker after ? Then, take the majestic flower appropriately 
enough styled “Emperor,” or the Santa Maria noticeable among them all for its elegantly twisted 
perianth. 
