96 
JOURNAL OF HORTICULTURE AND COTTAGE GARDENER. 
[ February 1, 1863. 
Then we went out of the hall to spend that tedious hour-and-a-half 
as best we might, while the judges had it all their own way.” 
“ Everything comes to the man who knows how to wait,” even 
admission to a flower show. 
It came ; and again we entered the hall. The dinner-table 
decoration was in the centre of the room, right opposite to us as we 
entered. 
“ What is it ? First Prize ! Bravo, Ethel! Well done ! 
There was G-reybridge, standing by the table as pleased as Punch. 
Leaving Ethel with him for a moment, to admire her own work and 
to hear the remarks of unknown spectators, I hurried on to my 
Twenty-four. The fact was, I felt that I must see it alone first of all. 
My excitement was too great. 
There was the place. Aha ! it must be all right. There was quite 
a big crowd round my box already. I hurried on. 
Hullo ! What could there be to laugh at ? Why ! They were 
roaring! Shaking their sides! In fits of laughter ! 
“ Smart,” I called out in some little alarm, “ Smart, what is it ? ” 
“ Oh, it warn’t right,” said Smart, shaking his head. 
It clearly was not right. I never saw Smart’s face so long in my 
life. 
“ What is it ? For goodness’ sake tell me what we’ve got,” I 
almost screamed. 
“ Dis—qualified,” answered poor Smart. 
“ What ? ” I shouted. 
“Go and see, sir,” said Smart; and he turned away. His feelings 
were too much for him. 
I made my way as best I could through the crowd, and reached 
my box. I could not believe my eyes. Where were the Devoniensis, 
the Prince Camille, the A. K. Williams, the Catherine Mermet, the 
Emilie Hausburg ? Gone ! gone 1 gone ! And in their places were 
five huge hideous Paul Nerons ! the labels were unchanged. Was 
it any marvel, then, that on my box lay a large card, with “ Dis¬ 
qualified for Duplicates ” written on it in great black letters ? 
Five Paul Nerons, all named differently ! Two actually put side 
by side, and called Prince Camille de Rohan and Devoniensis ! No 
wonder the judges and everybody else laughed till they cried. 
I couldn’t speak. I knew all about it at once. Only one man in 
Europe could have done that thing. He stood before me. 
“ Well, old chap,” he said, “I did the best I could for you, but 
there’s no satisfying these beggars. Cheer up! You never could 
have won with the things I pulled out of the box. So there isn’t 
much harm done after all. 
“ What is the matter ? ” asked Ethel, as she came up. 
“ Five Paul Nerons in my Twenty-four, Ethel,” I said in my misery. 
If my look was one which ought to have slain Greybridge, the 
look which Ethel gave him was one which apparently very nearly 
succeeded in killing him outright. 
“ Mr. Greybridge, I’ll never forgive you. Never in all my life. 
Never! ” and she evidently meant it. “ Go this moment to the Com¬ 
mittee, and explain what you have done ; and ask Mr. D’Ombrain 
to come and speak to me.” 
By this time Mr. D’Ombrain had come upon the scene, and in two 
minutes more the hateful “Disqualified” card had disappeared, and 
had been replaced by one on which was printed “ Extra Prize.” 
“ Good afternoon, Mr. Greybridge,” said Ethel, with the coldest 
little bow imaginable ; and then she turned short round. “ Let us 
go,” she said to me ; “ I don’t want to stay any longer.” 
And home we went. As we were in the train, I could not help 
feeling sorry for poor James, and I told Ethel so. 
“Uncle John,” she said, “you are the kindest old thing in the 
world.” And I thought I saw a tiny tear glistening in her eye. 
When I got home, I sat down at once and wrote a note :—“ Dear 
James—Come and dine this evening, I am sure you meant it all for 
the best. Yours sincerely, John Briggs.” 
The answer was not long in coming. “ Dear Briggs—I think you 
are the best fellow I know. Thanks, old chap, a hundred times. I’ll 
come. Yours ever, J. G.” 
He came, and was forgiven. Yes, in spite of everything. A very 
pleasant little party it was ; just James and ourselves. After dinner 
we went into the drawing room, and first we had a little music. Then 
my wife, I am sorry to say, began to nod, and in two minutes she 
was fast asleep. It is a shocking habit that she has, and I do all I 
can to break her of it; but I am afraid she rather enjoys it. 
I myself never go to sleep in the drawing room. I make a great 
point of always keeping awake, so that I may be conscious of setting 
a good example to Mrs. Briggs. But on this occasion—I really don’t 
know how it was (I had been up very early, you see, and had been 
through a very trying day) — well, on this particular evening I 
believe I did drop off too. I had only been asleep for a minute or 
two—in fact, I believe I had only just closed my eyes—when I woke 
with a start. James and Ethel were not in the room. The next 
minute I heard their steps on the gravel outside. They came in. 
“Oh! Uncle John,” said Ethel, kissing me, and looking wonder¬ 
fully pretty, “ it is such a lovely night.” 
“ Ethel, dear,” said my wife, waking up, “ it’s time for bed.” 
James Greybridge came into my room for asmoke and a chat. We 
talked for a long while ; in fact, it was past one when he rose to go. 
As for our conversation, I need not give it in detail. The tenor of it 
may be gathered from the last remark which James made to me. 
“ By Jove ! ” he shouted, as he slapped me on the back ; “ what a 
lark ! I never thought of that! ” 
“ Thought of what ? ” I asked. 
“ Why, you’ll be my uncle John ! ” 
CHRYSANTHEMUMS AT KINGSTON. 
On reading the remarks by Mr. T. H. Bryant last week I 
referred to what I said about his plants at page 29, and I do not 
find there any “unfair” remarks or anything “devoid of truth.” 
What I do find is a harmless criticism of the large plants exhibited 
by him, and if he is afraid about his plants being criticised he 
ought not to send them to a public exhibition. Anyone reading 
my remarks would naturally believe his plants were not in com¬ 
petition, at least I intended they would have that meaning. Mr. 
Bryant may think his plants were the best in the exhibition ; I 
think they were not the best, and because I was unfortunate 
enough to express my opinion Mr. Bryant accuses me of making 
unfair statements, and also statements utterly devoid of truth. I 
know nothing of Mr. Bryant—I did not even know the name of 
his gardener before I saw it in print, and beg to say that I am 
not jealous anent his plants, and said not a word but what I 
believed to be strictly in accordance with facts. I hope I have 
the right both to express an opinion and also to differ from Mr. 
Bryant, with whom I do not intend to enter into any controversy. 
“ Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us 
To see ourselves as others see us, 
It would from many a blunder free us 
And foolish notion.” 
—J. Douglas. 
NOTES FROM MY GARDEN IN 1882.—No. 1. 
GLADIOLUS. 
Several letters that I have received privately from corre¬ 
spondents who want to know when I am going to give these notes 
convince me of the fact that they have some degree of interest for 
many of your readers. As certain manuals of health teach us 
what to eat, drink, and avoid, so the lessons of horticulture are 
as much what we are not to do as what we are to follow ; and yet 
there are some cases in which all our failures seem to advance us 
no whit further in the avoidance of them for the future. Con¬ 
spicuously is this the case with the Gladiolus. I have now been 
a grower of it for five and twenty years ; I have watched it 
narrowly in my own garden and in those of friends for that 
length of time, and I honestly confess I am just as far from under¬ 
standing them as we are from understanding the cause of the 
Potato disease and suggesting a remedy. And now to my experi¬ 
ence of last season. 
I was very much struck at the Great Exhibition at Manchester 
with some magnificent spikes exhibited by Mr. Thompson of 
Newcastle, and especially to find amongst them some of the 
older flowers which I had never seen in such good form. On 
inquiring of them as to their method of culture they informed me 
that they planted the corms in pots first, and then turned them 
out into the open ground in April. As I had tried various plans, 
none of which had been of the slightest avail in preventing loss, 
I determined to try this plan, although it involved some trouble, 
and I reserved one bed for this purpose. I had a considerable 
number of corms imported from France, some of Mr. Kelway’s, 
and some of my own saving ; and having some good, sound, 
fibrous loam about 140 were planted in pots and kept in a 
cool house. They started well, and when they had grown about 
G inches and were looking very promising they were planted out 
with great care about 6 inches deep, and nothing could be more 
satisfactory to a grower than the regular-looking condition of the 
beds. I had from them some magnificent spikes of bloom, but I 
had, alas ! also a large number of failures. They spindled for bloom, 
they opened their flowers well, and then withered. I mention this 
because Mr. Kelway attributes some of the failures to the corms 
being exhausted by seed-bearing. In other cases the plants never 
bloomed but withered away, the foliage turning yellow and brown. 
When the corms were lifted they were found to be more or less 
spotted, the outer skin rough and thready (if I may use the ex¬ 
pression), and the base of the corms from whence the roots pro¬ 
ceed quite black. The degree of the decay differed, but I have 
always found that it proceeds rapidly, and, no matter how the 
corm is treated, it is utterly useless. I think there was probably 
less loss in the imported ones, but the difference was not very 
great, and this disposes of the idea that there is no such loss 
among the growers abroad. Thus out of two dozen imported 
corms of Meyerbeer I only lifted a dozen sound ones. Again, it 
showed that the idea of English-raised and English-grown Gladioli 
