602 
JOURNAL OF HORTICULTURE AND COTTAGE GARDENER. 
[ June 22, 1893. 
people, and, if report speaks truly, one who knows both a good book and 
a good picture. Such a man can hardly fail to be capable of appreciating 
a good garden too, for the one is quite as much a work of art as the 
other, and consequently appeals to the same instincts. A little more 
“ cheap culture ” of the garden kind would do good to many, including 
the critics. Mr. and Mrs. Keckitt take great interest in their estate, and 
have reason to be proud of it. Although denied the picturesque effects 
of a mere undulating country the ground has been so well laid out that 
the general effect is excellent; moreover, the timber is good, and that 
is a great deal in itself. The place is particularly rich in Thorns and 
Beeches, and on the tennis ground is a grand specimen of Crataegus 
oxyacantha, 30 feet high and about the same through. It is a really 
noble tree, probably one of the best of its kind in the country. 
Mr. George Wilson, who has charge of the Swanland Gardens, has 
made a reputation as an all-round cultivator, and particularly as an 
exhibitor of Chrysanthemum groups. Victories at Hull have followed 
each other with a regularity which must have become very tedious to 
the other competitors, and a ubiquitous judge has pronounced Mr. 
Wilson’s groups to be amongst the beat, if not quite the best, he had 
seen. This being the case, it seemed appropriate enough that the head 
gardener should be found in his shed hard at work, in shirt sleeves and 
apron, potting Chrysanthemums. I fancied I detected a gleam in his eye 
that displayed enthusiasm or first prize next autumn ; but this may have 
been fancy, decidedly there is no imagination about the plants. About 
400 are grown, and they are making splendid progress. But plenty of 
other things are well managed ; particularly should Crotons be mentioned. 
Table decoration is a considerable part of the gardener’s work at Swan- 
land, and these plants are therefore in great request. The collection is 
a large and very varied one, comprising Weismanni, Queen Victoria, 
Warreni, Mrs. Dorman, variegatus, Johannis, Emperor Alexander III., 
Princess of Wales, undulatus, Morti, nobilis, and others. Where all are 
so clean, healthy, and richly marked it is difiBcult to make special 
mention ; but Queen Victoria, Mrs. Dorman, and variegatus are magnifi¬ 
cently coloured. Caladiums, Dracaena?, and Dieffenbachias, all largely 
used for house work, are also extensively cultivated ; indeed, it may be 
•aid that foliage plants are a special feature of the houses at Swanland. 
Mr. Wilson is an adept in their management—that can be seen at a 
glance, and they do him very great credit. 
Palms are, as would be expected, in considerable request, and Kentia 
Belmoreana, Phoenix tenuis, and Areca lutescens are prominent amongst 
them. ATess familiar plant, but one of great beauty as grown at Swan¬ 
land, is the old Amaranthus tricolor. The beautiful rosy red colouring, 
broken with yellow and green, produces a distinct and glowing effect. 
Eulalia japonica variegata is not met with in every garden, and in few 
so good as under Mr. Wilson’s care. Later in the season the plumes rise 
to a height of 5 feet, and play a by no means unimportant part in the 
prize groups. Cyperus distans, with its long slender green leafage, is 
in good force, and so are the two handsome “ foliage ” Abutilons, tes- 
selatum variegatum and marmoratum. To say that these are grown is 
to say that they are grown well. Somewhat of an oddity, but a very 
brilliant one, is a huge plant of Cereus Jenkinsoni. By oddity, I mean 
something out of the usual run of greenhouse plants. It has had 200 
of its glowing blooms open at once, and those who are familiar with its 
colour can give themselves an idea of the effect it produces. The hue, 
or rather hues—for there seem to be all manner of strange shades and 
glows about the flower—are indescribable. The plant is in a 10-inch 
pot, and has not been repotted for many years. Of Richardias there are 
some stalwart specimens, capable of yielding abundance of spathes, 
which are greatly in request. Ivy-leaved Pelargoniums and Gladiolus 
The Bride are two other “ leading lines,” to quote the language of the 
commercial. Large numbers of Gloxinias are grown, and presumably 
these beautiful plants are special favourites. There is a splendid batch 
of Sutton’s strain now in bloom, and 150 more coming in to succeed 
them. Eucharises are another prominent feature. Roses and Ferns 
naturally have particular attention, and the collection of Orchids is 
growing. Of the latter a fine piece of Dendrobium suavissimum full of 
bloom, and a grand plant of D. nobile, which had 700 flowers on it last 
year, are worth mentioning. 
But little reference can be made to the fruit. Let it suffice to say 
that the Vines, rejuvenated by Mr. Wilson, are bearing excellent crops, 
and that the Peaches and Nectarines are equally good. Alexander, 
which at Hesslewood, two or three miles away, gives great trouble 
through refusing to stone, is in every way satisfactory at Swanland, and 
greatly valued ; so is that grand late Peach, Gladstone. More might 
very well be said about these if thoughts of space did not prevail; but 
they form no exception to the general rule of excellence.—W. P. W. 
IN MEMORIAM : SAMUEL BARLOW. 
It is truly a very marked sorrow in my life to w'rite this brief 
memorial of a dear old friend. I can only say what many others 
would, as I lay it for “ a spray of Lavender ” in the pages of the old 
Journal, or as a white wreath of loving words, to the memory of one 
whom all who knew him so well will never forget. 
By no men was dear Samuel Barlow more beloved than by his 
fellow florists. Just as flowers were the earliest choice of his child¬ 
hood, and floriculture the favourite recreation in his busy after life, 
so the friends who gathered round him in share or sympathy in this 
were among his dearest, and seemed to see him in the very sunshine 
of his life. There is an attachment in this relationship through 
flowers for which there probably can be no quite kindred tie in the 
cares, competitions, and responsibilities of business life. Still, however,, 
in those there are very many who deeply grieve at the loss of one so true 
and just in all his dealings, and who gave so freely of his time and 
thought, not to his own interests and leisure, but to the public good. I 
know there were circles of other specialist friends around him, in the 
world of Science and Art; and not seldom have segments, so to say, of 
these circles met at Stakehill—the artist and the florist, for example— 
each to see types and triumphs in his own pursuit, each wondering at 
what was plain and well known to the other, each receiving some 
expansion of knowledge, and perhaps wishing there could be some 
transfusion of powers. 
To those of us who as middle-aged or older men have known Stake- 
hill, with an intimacy like my own of five-and-twenty years, it is not 
probable that we shall ever know the like again. There is not the life¬ 
time left for it 1 The Primroses of life’s spring, and the Buttercups of 
its June, cannot bloom in its mellow August and chill October. It is 
thirty-five years since I first met Samuel Barlow, and it was over & 
mutual grief in Tulips that acquaintance ripened till we were as brothers- 
born. He had grown for twelve years the only constant feathered 
Kate Connor (Rose) there ever was, and for another ten years it was 
under my care. Then, in a travelling accident, and along with many 
other of my Tulips, “ Kate ” was killed. Thinking Mr. Barlow would 
have more of her I wrote, and found that neither he nor I had ever had 
an offset from this supreme feathered strain of Kate. 
Just before the Stakehill firm became “ S. Barlow & Co.” it had been 
an anxious question with Mr. Barlow whether or no he should start busi¬ 
ness in America. But in all the anxious thoughts he had remembered 
his Tulips, and provided for their welfare under the care of his brother- 
in-law, Mr. Wm. Bentley, then of Royton, until he had a good home 
for them across the Atlantic. Most happily in every respect, however, 
he resolved to stay at the old English home, otherwise how many of us 
would have lost the many happy years of fellowship we have enjoyed 
with him 1 and the help of his love, enthusiasm, impulse, tact and 
discernment that he gave to the culture and improvement of the old 
florist flowers. 
It is only fair to say, as quite independent of all regard for him a& 
a loved friend, that we have no one who can fill his place. There may 
be specialists in one or another of the old florists’ flowers (sacred to me 
by the memories of a lifetime), but we have no one able to create, 
foster, and maintain the interest all round as he did. He was the 
beat field officer we had. His aid in counsel and organisation was 
always sought and always trusted ; it was never refused, and never 
failed. His sanguine hope and cheery spirit, his clear business capacity 
and foresight, his power of inspiring confidence, and courage in facing 
difficulties, were all qualities for which we esteemed and loved him in 
this one cause alone, to say nothing of what he was as a warm-hearted 
and faithful friend. 
Mr. Barlow was familiar with all florists’ flowers, both as to their 
properties and their culture, and if there was one more than another 
associated with him, it was the Tulip, which he grew for so many 
successive years at Stakehill—a collection so noted for its wealth of 
refinement, and into which he gathered the best new Tulips as they 
appeared among the raisers of the day. There is every hope that the 
Stakehill Tulips will be kept together, and that at Stakehill still. 
As I stood on the summer morning of the closing scene there by the 
coffin, resting in the dear familiar old room at Stakehill, where with so 
many cheerful and now vanished faces I have spent numerous happy days 
and evenings, words rushed back to memory from Thackeray’s ballad, 
“ The Mahogany Tree,” which we used to read and talk of together :— 
•» -If « « 
Life is but short; 
Whea we are gone 
Let them sing on 
Bound the old tree. 
Evenings we knew, 
Happy as this, 
Faces we miss 
Pleasant to see. 
Kind hearts and true. 
Gentle and just, 
Peace to your dust! 
We sing round the tree. 
Although in health my dear friend had been failing for some time, 
he fought on, perhaps all too bravely, against the tide and tale of years, 
and was still so engaged in the activities of a very husy and public life, 
that the end, coming after all from the effects of an accident, seems to 
have been sudden and untimely. 
So, in a favourite picture in that same room—“ The Angel of Death,” 
by G. F. Watts—I could not but see a fresh sad emphasis now. It is 
full of restful light, and calm, and beauty. But among all the figures 
grouped round the Solemn Presence, from the little child playing with 
the Angel’s robe to the blind old toothless lion resting at Its feet, I 
thought that one was most symbolic of our dear friend at rest, W'hich 
shows a strong man in armour, with bowed head, standing before the 
Angel, and not in fear, but firm obedience, laying his sword upon the 
altar of the Accepting Angel.— F. D. Horner. 
EMBOTHRIUM COCCINEUM. 
Although introduced many years ago, this beautiful evergreen 
shrub is seldom seen in gardens, it being apparently not generally 
known. It may sometimes be met with in gardens in Devonshire, 
Cornwall, and other south-western co-rnties, also in Ireland ; and when 
