May 3,1894. 
JOURNAL OF HORTIGULTURF AND COTTAGE GARDENER. 
335 
S UCH was the expression of one of our foremost gardeners on 
a bright and beautiful day at the close of April—a day 
following refreshing showers—in describing the weather of the 
year up to date. Here is the summary :—“ A winter that did 
no harm, destroyed scarcely anything that we wished to preserve ; 
next came sun to dry and warm the soil, enough to accomplish 
that important purpose and no more, yet we began to look and 
wish for rain ; then just at the right time a cold wave passed 
over, arresting the too rapid expansion of fruit blossom, but not 
injuring it, and in its wake came welcome showers with sunny 
alternations—warmth without blight, and the results we see if 
we look around—clean, free, healthy growth, the growth of an 
ideal season.” 
A glance, however rapid, over the great charge of this gardener 
—of park and woodland drive ; of avenues of ancient and modern 
fruit trees shedding their myriads of petals ; of young orchard 
trees starting into vigorous growth from almost knee-deep herbage ; 
of the branches of wall trees clustered with swelling fruit ; of 
field-like breadths of vegetable ground, some in full yield and 
others full of promise by the up-springing plants ; of the long 
fruit ranges of glass, with ripe and advancing crops of Grapes, 
Melons, Cherries, and Strawberries—all in profusion ; with health 
and brightness in exotic plants and flowers ; and last, but not 
least, the pleasure garden filled with charming colour and com¬ 
binations—when we see all this—all the present health in vege¬ 
tation, also towering Chestnuts like mountains of foliage and 
flowers, golden showers of Laburnum, in contrast with the Lilacs, 
and White Thorns laden with fleecy “ May blossom ” in April the 
appositeness of the remark is forced upon ns—an ideal season. 
“ But all this must have reference to the south ” our northern 
friends will be saying ; and they will be right. It is not far 
from the banks of the Thames and where the famed stream is 
silvery that so much beauty was existent in April—so much 
fulness in park and gardens in the early year. The “ May ” in 
April was covering the hedge-row trees in the approach to 
historic Runnjmede and the rest within the home demesne of 
Royal Windsor, and it was Mr. Owen Thomas who so pithily 
characterised the season with which he has been so well satisfied, 
and not without good reason. He does not belong to the 
pessimistic family who appear never so happy as when preaching 
the doctrine of despair embodied in bad climate, bad crops, bad 
laws, bad land, bad luck, and bad everything ; nor, on the 
other band, is he an ultra-sanguine enthusiast. There are few 
more level-headed men than he—a man of sober thought, and 
keeping well in mind the lessons of experience. He believes in 
the law of compensation as an established fact, and has observed 
that if Nature is hard on the husbandman in one year, as through 
the drought of last season and the consequent scant herbage, 
she is bountiful in another in the luxuriance of growth after a 
summer’s rest. He believes in making so-called “bad” land 
better, more productive, by the cultural skill that it is in the 
interest of every tiller to acquire and invest. He believes that 
bad luck vanishes under the conquering force of better methods 
and prudent foresight, and he believes firmly in the future of 
his country, notwithstanding temporary drawbacks and periodic 
terms of depression, if every man will learn the lesson he ought, 
No. 723.— VoL. XXVIII., Third Series. 
and strenuously endeavour to do his duty. Hundreds fortunately 
share in this belief, men who look facts in the face and find that 
neither on the European continent nor in America are there so few 
natural or artificial impediments to success in the pursuit of soil 
cultivation as have to be encountered in the British Isles. It is 
true that many persons do not share this view, and all the better 
for those who do—men who have faith in the future, and who 
ever keep in mind the grand and imperishable truth that faith 
without works is dead. These are rot the men who rest in the 
delusion that everything is bad—but themselves. 
What, then, was there to see at Windsor in April to justify 
the above verdict in reference to the season being an ideal one ? 
It may be as well to begin by a bold statement—something that 
will perhaps startle those who are prone to sing the praises of 
other lands at the expense of their own. Here is the venture. 
When “ Victoria, our Queen,”—whose goodness no persons know 
so well as those who come in near contact with her—viewed from 
the royal apartments the terrace flower garden on the first morning 
after the return of the Court from the Cot tinent a scene as 
bright and fair would be presented as even Italy could not excel. 
Perhaps at no time and in no season has this beautiful enclosure 
been so delightfully attractive as it was then and is now ; beautiful, 
too, in its simplicity, so far, at least, as regards the masses and 
margins of flowers—sheets of yellow and crimson Wallflowers ; 
groups of white and purple Honesty rising above creamy masses of 
Polyanthuses ; coloured forms of these beautiful flowers, also 
Primroses and Auriculas, forming a sparkling groundwork ; 
cushions of pink in Silene pendula, with contrasting colours in 
Violas and Pansies ; broad rich margins of Aubrietias and golden 
tufts of Pyrethrum—these, and other simple spring flowers, taste¬ 
fully blended with each other, and relieved by choice, chaste 
Evergreens and Conifers, with appropriate statuary in harmony 
with the rich surroundings, and the central fountain producing 
slender arching jets that glistened in the sunlight—these, in 
combination, produced a scene in April as satisfying as the most 
exacting critic could desire. In this royal enclosure slopes descend 
from the terrace in the smoothest and greenest of lawn on which 
the beds are formed, the broad surrounding walk being in keeping 
by its smooth dressing of new gravel. Altogether it was as perfect 
a dressed flower garden scene as the mind could conceive, and 
this in April, with familiar, homely flowers. Nor is it provided 
for Royal eyes alone, for on Saturday and Sunday afternoons the 
public have free access, so that those who can may see for them¬ 
selves if aught is set down here that is not true. It was an ideal 
garden on an ideal day in this, up to then, ideal season. 
Then if the gardening visitor could go farther afield, pass 
down the majestic avenue, and find entrance to the gardens at 
Frogmore, he would see much of a different kind, but not to him 
less gratifying. Houses filled with ripe Grapes ; excellent, 
uniform, well finished crops of Black Hamburghs and Foster’s 
Seedling would meet with approval, and others “ coming on ” in 
various stages, including a fine promise of Duke of Buccleuch. 
He would see the difference in one house between Vines planted 
—all at the same time—in outside and inside borders, the former 
covering the roof with fruit, the latter not yet bearing. There is 
a greater promise of Grapes than ever at Frogmore, while Peaches 
abound in the long ranges of healthy trees. 
The visitor would also see Strawberries almost everywhere—in 
warm houses and cool, also planted out in pits to “ meet ” the 
outdoor supply. Yet with all the glass room provided there did 
not seem to be space enough for the thousands of pots of this 
favourite berry, and the fruit room was packed full of plants 
from which ripe fruit, cool and delicious, was being gathered. 
La Grosse Sucree is slill the best of the earlies ; fruits large, well 
coloured, firm, and full flavoured. This is the variety mainly 
relied on for first and successional crops. Others are grown, and 
of these the one to be increased the most, or at least as much 
No. 2379.-VoL. XG., 1>LD Series. 
