70 
JOURNAL OF HORTIGULTURE AND COTTAGE GARDENER. 
[ July 2T, 18»3. 
the specialist—notably, Countess of Jersey, a fine variety ; Annie 
Douglas, very large ; and Mrs. Sydenham, rich in ground colour, 
and chastely margined with reddish-pink. Iver White was con¬ 
sidered the best of the early white Carnations. 
In America Roses are produced much in the same way as Car- 
Fations. Vigorous young plants grown in beds of soil 4 or 5 inches 
thick on benches, flowered once then thrown away. Plants 8 feet high 
in pots of Marechal Niel and others, including the new Crimson 
Rambler interested the visitor at Slough, and he recognised the 
excellence of the work in producing them, as he did the specimens 
in pots for producing forty or fifty fine blooms next year ; and it 
may interest growers of Roses in pots to know that Mr. Turner 
finds that the best time for repotting the plants is soon after 
they have bloomed, keeping them under glass for a few weeks 
and duly syringed, then removing them to the open air. That is 
not the plan adopted by the majority, though it is the practice 
of the most successful growers. A line about the new Rambler 
in the open ground. The growth is marvellous, and the adapta¬ 
bility of this distinct Rose for pillars, arches, walls, hedges, or 
any other space that requires covering with wreaths of semi- 
double crimson flowers can no longer be doubted. It is 
probably destined to find its way into most gardens in most 
countries. The Manetti stock suits it to perfection. 
Now we start for the picturesque and ancient arboricultural 
scene afforded by the historical Burnham Beeches. Passing East 
Burnham Park, the country residence of Mr. H. J. Veitch, where 
much was evidently being done in beautifying the grounds, and in 
which a new gardener’s house was observed—good, we may be sure 
—we twist and turn down the embowered lanes in which we “ whip ” 
even the U S. A., and soon find ourselves in the forest. It is, with 
a little open common land, 374 acres in extent, the property of the 
Corporation of London, free for the citizens and for all whence¬ 
soever they may come. Mr. Forbes, the Ranger, says in his concise 
“ Guide,” “ the trees are among the existing remnants of the 
ancient forests that once covered the greater part of Britain, and 
Burnham Beeches will bear comparison for hoary antiquity and 
sylvan beauty with any forest scenery in Europe.” No doubt he 
is right. By whom or when the trees were last pollarded no one 
knows, but it is centuries ago. The result of it is that each 
gigantic trunk, with its grotesque contortions, supports a number 
of branches of tree-like dimensions, and though several of the 
tranks are mere hollow shells, and the half of some wasted away in 
the lapse of centuries, the young growths are as healthy and the 
leafage as fresh and green as on many youthful trees. These relics 
of past ages have their local names founded on structural 
peculiarities. Thus the “Elephant” and the “Camel,” from 
fancied and not far fetched resemblances to those animals, while 
Gray’s tree commemorates the name of the famous poet whose 
remains rest at Stoke Pogis near by. There are numbers of these 
trees, but the “ Queen,” standing alone on the margin in solitary 
majesty, is the monarch of them all, strong, sound, and healthy, 
with still a long future before her, typical let us hope of the life 
of our noble Queen, whose magnificent home is in view beyond 
the trees. But we must pass on, though not before recording the 
American’s notions. Have you, Mr. Buffalo, any such Beeches 
at home ? “ No, sir, we have not, and I guess if some of our 
people had them they would think they were not worth much, 
and pretty soon turn some of the wood into fuel. Mind, I don’t 
say I should, but some of the boys would not be long before 
they did some clearing.” 
“Dropmore” was the word given to the coachman, and in 
twenty minutes we were shaking hands with Mr. C. Herrin, the 
able and courteous gardener there. Fair is the scene from this 
mansion of the Fortescues, with the towers of Windsor in the 
distance. Richly is the country wooded all around, the blue 
Surrey hills rising above the trees, forming a splendid background 
to a real English landscape. Quaintly interesting is the long 
terrace in front of ancient glass structures and unique apiaries. 
Pleasurable it is to see the beds of old English flowers, with 
brighter masses of exotics to enliven the scene, and the stately 
woolly-headed Thistle, Carduus eriophorus, in bold contrasting 
effect in the borders. Blue Chinese vases and pedestals collected 
by the late Lord Grenville are a feature, and stand all weathers 
in an avenue between and among the flowers. Cool are the 
glades of noble trees, and then in openings in the wood beyond 
are the famous Conifers, splendid in stature, health, and contour 
—monuments of the late Mr. Phillip Frost, who planted them. 
The noble Douglas Fir, 120 feet high, the glory of the fine old 
place ; while others, such as the gigantic Araucaria, graceful 
A’oies Albertiana, weeping A. Morinda, and massive Pinus 
insignis, with several more falling little short in beauty. As 
their dimensions were recently given in the Journal of Horticulture 
(page 312, April 20th, 1893) it is not necessary to repeat them. 
A glance through the Peach houses containing splendid fruit, and 
with an expression of surprise that Mr. Herrin had kept things so 
fresh with no rain to speak of, and a nearly exhausted water 
supply, we took a hasty departure. And what do you think of 
this, Mr. American ? “ Well, it’s very good and very fine, but 
your gentry keep the wood growing till it’s worth nothing, and I 
guess our people would have some of it out sooner — before it 
was spoiled.” This in reference to the old plantation trees 
through which we passed via, Cliveden en route for Windsor. 
Looking over the wall our friend guessed Cliveden was bought by 
one of his people. “ The richest man in America, worth 
£40,000,000, Mr. Astor.” He supposed “ our man ” had to sell 
it because he wanted money, but was promptly told “ No ” by an 
ardent Englishman from Germany, as “ the Duke of Westminster 
could buy Mr. Astor out and out, and then have plenty to spare ! ’ 
What sturdy Britons our naturalised citizens become! A native 
would scarcely have made the correction in that form. 
Windsor, or rather Frogmore, for we entered on the Datchet 
side, was reached under a slanting sun, just the time to run through 
the houses comfortably and see the home park in fullest beauty, 
with the shadows of the trees reaching far across the grass, and 
golden streaks of sunUght playing between them. It was calm, 
cool, and restful, a perfect evening after a somewhat fatiguing day, 
yet a day as the law-made loyal Britain said at its close, “ long to be 
remembered.” The district around Windsor has borne the brunt of 
the drought. Large Elm trees on the way appeared as if roasted, and 
hedges were sere and brown. The rainfall at Frogmore was 1'70 
inch between the 4th of March and 4th of July, surely the driest 
experience yet recorded. 
“ Look out for red spider ” was the silent thought as we entered 
the Peach ranges. Healthier, cleaner, greener foliage was not to 
be seen, and Walburton Admirable Peaches weighed 1 lb. each 
and more. Most of the trees were cleared of fruit. The demand 
has been unusually great and met, with abundance to follow on the 
outside walls. Not a sign of red spider to be seen on the trees 
inside or out. House after house cleared of Grapes, but a good 
supply still left for later use. Young Vines, two years planted, 
bearing heavily, and last year’s planted Muscats carrying two fine 
bunches each at the base of splendid long, strong, and short-jointed 
extension canes — two from each Vine. Earliest Vines nearly 
ready for pruning ; second house maturing fast, but shaded. 
“ Shaded,” does someone exclaim ? Yes, shaded. Mr. Thomas 
does not work by rule of thumb, but according to circumstances, 
and wishes to keep the foliage working a little longer than it would 
under brilliant sun. He would shade Melons rather than have 
injured and consequently ineffective leaves. Speaking of Melons 
reminds of a house of the new Frogmore Seedling (recently 
certificated), the plants swelling a full fine crop. The variety 
is evidently as free as it is good, but, like all Melons, to 
develop fullest quality there must be no premature collapse by 
exhaustion. 
We climb up and look down into the Pine pits. Splendid are 
the plants in sturdiness and colour with fruits of Smooth Cayennes 
