January 1, 1885. ] 
JOURNAL OF HORTICULTURE AND COTTAGE GARDENER. 
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COMING EVENTS 
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2 nd Sunday after Christmas. 
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Old Christmas Day. 
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A FEW STIRRING WORDS TO GARDENERS 
YOUNG AND OLD. 
HAT! attempt to write another New Year’s 
address in the Journal of Horticulture after 
writing, let me see, twenty—yes, actually 
twenty ! ” So I said, to myself on Christmas 
Eve. The old pen is surely quite worn out, 
the nib utterly done for, the hand that holds 
it—well, not quite utterly done for, I hope. 
Still, the knuckles show plainer than they 
used to do ; the skin is thinner and the veins 
larger. What!—to change the simile—actually trot out the 
old horse once again ?—a little stiff in the joints, the old fire 
not so bright in the eye ; but he’ll warm to the work and 
with the work, I fancy. He loves the work. And now to 
drop figure altogether. I do love the old Journal, though I 
flirt with young “ Poultry.” Still, she was part of the old 
Journal, but now grown up, and set up for herself. How 
can I do otherwise than love the old Journal, for she has 
always loved me through the voice of her kindly and sympa¬ 
thetic readers ? 
Here is a letter lying before me, come by this very Christ¬ 
mas Eve’s post, and in it I read these words: “I am looking 
out for another stirring letter for the New Year from our old 
friendand then there is a further comment: “ Thus writes 
a correspondent ; and you, ‘ Wiltshire Rector,’ are un¬ 
doubtedly the old friend referred to.” 
Well, then, we meet once again, my friends. Spared 
hitherto, all of us; hit hard, no doubt, many of us by old 
Father Time, but he has not yet cut us down with his 
scythe; so let us be thankful. “ A few stirring words ” shall 
be attempted. A bugle’s note stirs the blood; it stirs it in 
various ways. It stirs on to the attack, but it also warns, 
and on a review day it cheers all. My bugle shall do all 
three. 
Gardeners, we have all enjoyed a glorious summer and a 
gorgeous autumn. Work is doubly pleasant if the weather 
be pleasant. I have used the word pleasant as connected 
with work, and am I not right ? Work, with health to do 
it, is really pleasant, whether it be hand or head work, spade 
labour or brain labour; whether it be training a tree and 
seeing its symmetry improve under your hand, or watching 
nouns and verbs drop from your pen, and sentence after 
sentence become rounded off. 
Work, I say, is pleasant. Oh, young men, never scamp 
it. I was shown some beautifully carved doors and door 
frames in a building which had seen its century. I admired 
them ; the graceful lines, the flower groups, the choice pro¬ 
ductions of the wood-carver. My guide said, “ Come here, sir; 
here is the back of a door which no one visitor could possibly 
see, and yet it is carved just as well.” He touched me 
lightly on the arm and added, “ Men loved their work then, 
so they did not scamp it.” Young lads and young men, here 
is a lesson: Don’t scamp your work, but delight in it. 
Remember the carving on the back of the door which no 
visitor could possibly see was yet as well and as painstak- 
No. 236 .—Vol. X., Third Series. 
ingly done as the front of the doors open and visible for all to 
see. The upper gardener will respect the young lad or man 
who does his work thoroughly and keeps all as clean inside 
the houses and places, whether easy to be seen or only to be 
seen on close examination. I would, therefore, stir you up 
to doing work thoroughly, both what is seen and what is not 
so readily seen. Give me the man who never scamps his 
work, and who takes delight in it. I would say, too, good 
work always pays the worker. The reward comes sooner or 
later, and if it does not come by way of reward there still is 
conscience, and conscience may and does comfort as well as 
prick. Some Scotch gardeners, no doubt, will read this. 
They will remember their own poet’s words, the words of 
poor Robbie Burns :— 
“ Yes ; to be just, and kind, and wise, 
There solid self-enjoyment lies ; 
But foolish, selfish, faithless ways 
Lead to the wretched, vile and base.” 
Better it is to take your watch out of your pocket and be 
surprised how fast time has gone while you have been work¬ 
ing loyally and faithfully, than to be always looking at it, 
and wondering why it does not go faster, and saving, “ When 
will the day be over ? ” Work well done always pays. 
“ You have been a good gardener. I have noticed all you 
have done has been well done,” said a deceased nobleman to 
his head gardener; “ I now make you my steward,” and he 
was for years as good a steward as he had been gardener; 
and I knew him well. But the good v/orker is honoured in 
his grave often long after he has passed from this life. I 
will give an example. Inside evoiy old double-cased watch 
there is a kind of guard to a portion of the works, a circular 
little thing, less than a shilling in size, but exquisitely de¬ 
signed and worked, not two alike. I have often admired 
them. Dozens were lying by in all watchmakers’ drawers. 
A lady of taste noted them, saw their beauty, had a number 
made into a necklace, others made into wrist studs and 
brooches. This set the fashion, and now the carefully 
worked, and beautifully designed “ watch locks ” of the 
old workmen, honoured and gilded, glitter on the necks and 
wrists of many a fair English dame and damsel. Yes, good 
work is honoured in the long run. I sound this stirring 
bugle note : “ Work your best.” 
But the bugle note warns as well. One who knows 
thoroughly what he writes, says:—“ There are no doubt 
500 gardeners in and around London alone seeking situations 
and cannot find them. A worthy man from the north 
brought up to London his six children, and they are now 
starving in a garret. He is but a type of others. Country 
gardeners should avoid Babylon as they would a plague- 
stricken city, unless they have previous arrangements with 
some quite sure to give them employment when they come 
to London.” 
Now, then, for a few stirring words of warning. Country 
gardeners, act with extreme caution and prudence, and only 
relinquish your situations when you have another to go to, 
and then remember there is the removal, and “ three re¬ 
moves are as bad as a fire,” saith the old proverb. If every¬ 
thing is not exactly what you wish—well, would everything 
be exactly what you wish in any place ? Circumstances 
have changed for the worse with a great many em¬ 
ployers, and they cannot give the wages they did for¬ 
merly. Agricultural depression weighs on all shoulders 
—squire’s and clergyman’s, retired people of formerly 
ample means, now of lessened means; on tradesmen, on 
all. We must bear the load patiently. Remember—and 
especially married gardeners, remember—and act wisely. A 
mistake made in a moment, a hasty word said, and the 
effects may be felt for years. If spoken to it may be warmly 
—well, “ hard words break no bones,” saith another 
good old proverb. Bite your tongue through rather than 
make a hot angry answer, and so lose your place. Think 
of the poor wife at home, and how sad she would look in 
lodgings instead of her now pleasant tidy cottage; think of 
No. 1892.—VOL. LXXII., Old Series. 
