November 8, 1887. ] 
JOURNAL OF HORTICULTURE AND COTTAGE GARDENER. 
379 J 
kingdom, and divide it into groups, according to some important points 
ot structure. These groups are again divided and sub-divided on a pre¬ 
arranged plan until the individual plants are reached. Thus, according 
to the presence or absence of flowers, vegetables are formed into the two 
great sections of flowering plants (Phanerogamia) and flowerless plants 
(Oryptogamia). Each section is divided into sub-kingdoms, each sub- 
kingdom into classes, and the classes are divided into orders, orders into 
genera, and genera into species, and some species into varieties. The 
natural system begins with the individual plants, placing together those 
which are most closely related in important points of structure, and 
thus by the repeated grouping of nearly related forms rising at last to a 
general view of the entire vegetable kingdom. All those plants which 
agree together in all essential characters, and which appear to have 
/vvwu a 9 ommon stock; are placed togetherand called a species. 
AU the species which agree together in the essential characters of their 
*»"»» or reproductive organs are collected into a genus. We would 
still like to have the opinion of some more of our experienced florists on 
the subject. Cannot Mr. James Grieve help up ? We have no better 
judge, and few have done more than Mr. Grieve to raise the Viola to its 
present high position. —G. Steel, 
MEMORIES OF A TOUR. 
CARDIFF AND ITS GARDENS. 
Five minutes under the roof of Mr. Pettigrew, the Marquis of 
M. te s t> t f u . sted gardener, sufficed to make us feel quite at home. With 
lrs. Pettigrew and Mrs. Tourist it appeared to be a case of “ love 
ii i and as to her “ gude man,” his geniality is proverbial to 
an who know him. Though darkness deepened lone before the dis¬ 
cussion on sundry matters ended, we could not retire without a look 
lound the garden, or rather “ the houses,” and with the necessary 
lantern for our guide we sallied forth at a time that we had been taught 
yeais ago all good people should be in bed. Many a midnight hour have 
1 spent happily in exploring glass ranges with a guttering candle. We 
■can look at plants leisurely then, and individually, for we cannot see 
many at once, while those under the light appear to look better and 
Tighter in contrast with the dark veil beyond ; and if we alight on a 
s ug or a cockroach, it is hooked with the glee of the sportsman who 
plays his salmon to the bank. We passed through the different 
ranges, fumigating as we went along; but at each pause to examine 
n ?' more <dose ly- the voice of the chief chimed in, “ We will see 
it better in the morning.” It is not always so, for I have often noticed 
that a candle-light view seems to heighten in effect that which is good, 
and. throws a mask over that which is comparatively inferior. We found 
no slugs or any such “ game,” but peered among the Melons and the 
ines, gauged the merits of the plants, and climbed up to the Grapes, 
-still to the same refrain, “ We will see. them better in the morning ; ” 
and so. in the small hours we prepared for rest, perhaps not feeling 
ourselves much worse than those very good people who had gone some 
time before us. Our best friends, however, waited with exemplary 
•patience, and hoped we had had a good “ crack.” 
The morning opened brightly after the rain ; the air was sweet, and 
the lawn a bright emerald green, like spring. But we could see no 
Castle. The gardens seemed someway mixed up in the town, for we 
could see houses on two sides of them, and a highway on a third ; over 
this road and behind the trees on the slopes of the moat the historical 
building was hidden—forming a boundary, so to say, of another part of 
the tovvn, ohly a narrow sunken garden, bounded by a low wall over 
which loungers can lean, separating the great pile from the street. But 
we are on the garden side of the highway, and have to see what is to be 
seen there by daylight. 
Mr. Pettigrew’s residence overlooks a lawn of two or three acres. 
It is like a villa in its own pleasure grounds. The first thing to arrest 
attention was a great clump of the New Zealand Flax, Phormium tenax 
variegaturn, in the shrubbery border. This and other such clumps 
have been established for years and are not protected in winter. The 
bottom ot older leaves are cut off, torn into strips as fine as is desired, 
and used forthwith for tying, instead of harsh dry bast. The fresh 
strands are soft, tough, and admirable for the purpose. And here a 
rather curious fact may be recorded. It is this. Only the variegated 
form of the plant survives the winter, the green species succumbing. 
If variegation, as some think, is an indication of weakness and the ex¬ 
pression of disease, how is it, to speak paradoxically, that the “ weak ” 
lives while the “ strong is killed by cold ? The problem is delegated 
to some of the thinkers of the Journal whereon to exercise their mental 
powers in finding a solution. 
On the lawn are large beds, pot all of them filled with tender plants. 
In one we remember a fine collection of tree Paeonies that must be 
grand in their season, edged with a broad margin of white Pinns. com¬ 
pact and agreeable by its neatness, while practically keeping its If in 
■order. Another bed is filled with choice Roses, producing growths that 
presage prize blooms, such as the plants have often produced. Then 
we find beds of Hydrangeas, the mention of which calls to memory 
some specimens at another place, over which we caught Mr. Watson, of 
Ivew, rhising his hands in astonishment ; but of those more anon ; we 
have not yet done with Cardiff There are beds of Brompton Stocks on 
Mr. Pettigrew’s lawn—sturdy, plants that we should like to see next 
June ; also there is a large bed of a plant we had not seen massed before, 
forming a sheet of white that puzzled at a distance, but on nearer ap¬ 
proach asserted itself as Achillea Ptarmica flore pleno, with the largest 
rosette-like blooms we had seen—the effects of cultivation, or deep rich 
soil. Thus large beds on lawns can be effectively filled with other 
than tender plants, and we suspect are here filled with a purpose. The 
Castle is a huge building, and small handfuls of flowers and dainty 
“ table ” plants are lost in it ; to be “ seen ” flowers must be sent in by 
armfuls, and these beds will afford them, and the decoiative plants 
must be exhibition specimens, and tlnse too are provided. On the 
margin of the lawn are bees, in the management of which Mr. Petti¬ 
grew proves himself worthy of the name he b ars, though he is not of 
the family of the “ old Pettigrew ” of world-wide fame, who not only 
kept bees but made his bees keep him. At Cardiff 100 lbs. of honey in 
sections are taken from a hive, which is not bad work for a gardener 
with a wide range of duties far outside the garden walls. On the cot¬ 
tage just one plant may be mentioned—the variegated form of Rhynco- 
spermum jasminioides, that has been there for years without being covered, 
and flowers most profusely. A variegated plant again that ought to be 
tender according to some philosophers, yet there it is, growing against 
the chimney back, which no doubt helps it, though it must have been 
frozen over and over again when 15° to 20° of frost were registered in the 
garden. 
And now we enter the kitchen garden. The town buildings arc 
close to the main wall ; one of them, a hideous barn-like structure, 
jutting against it, and made more ugly in contrast with a romantic 
looking Ivy-covered ruin, a monastic relic, perhaps, on the opposite 
side. This garden may fairly be called a town garden, and it will 
be proclaimed the best town garden in the kingdom till another 
is found surpassing it in general all round excellence indoors and out ; 
indeed it would run a close race with most of the best country gardens 
in those respects. The soil is good, and by intelligent deep culture has 
been made wonderfully fertile ; and it may be safely said it could not 
have been rendered equally productive by any other means. The glass 
structures are good, commodious, well designed, well ventilated, and 
well built. Under these circumstances it may be asked, What drawback 
can there be as placing the garden at a disadvantage against real country 
gardens ? This, the prevalence of red spider. No one who has not had 
the charge of gardens in or near large towns can fully appreciate the 
persistency of the attacks of this destructive pest, and the difficulty of 
combating it. It is bad enough in some country districts, no doubt, 
but, as a rule, very much worse where the breezes cannot play freely 
in a long refreshing sweep over vegetation in summer. The subject 
can be made clear by an illustration. Plant some Violets close to a south 
wall, and before there lias been a month of hot weather they will be 
“eaten up with spider,” the dry air rebounding from the wall being 
exactly suited to the well-being of the pest, which multiplies accord" 
ingly ; then go to a hedgerow or bank in an open field, and though the 
soil may be much less rich than in the garden, the leaves of the Violets 
will be fresh and green. The air coming in contact with buildings is 
deprived of its moisture to a far greater extent than when passing over 
cornfields and pastures. In touching on this subject, memory takes me 
back to a time when I had to grow Violets somewhat extensively. Some 
were planted near a wall facing south, with the idea that in such a 
warm sheltered place the plants would afford flowers in the winter; 
otheis were grown on the south side of a hedge of espalier fruit trees. 
Those near the wall were a complete failure ; those sheltered by the 
trees, yet with a current of air passing through them and over the 
plants, a great success. This little Violet test shows the difference in 
town and country gardens as affected by the insects in question. 
In the town-sheltered garden under notice the pest abounds greatly 
in summer. The row of Elms on the “country” side of the walled 
enclosure get red with it ; the leaves of Apple trees are drained of their 
juices, but Pears escape with comparative immunity. How is that ? Is 
it not because the cuticle of the leaves is harder, hence more resisting, 
and the insects attack the softer and thinner leaves of the Apple ? Do 
not they proceed on the same lines in vineries, attacking the laterals 
and thin flimsy leaves first, leaving those that are stout and “ leathery ” 
till the last when the others are drained of their juices ? If that is so, 
and I believe it is, the moral is clear—namely, the stouter, hence better, 
the leaves the less vulnerable they are to the attacks of the enemy. 
The best preventive of insects is good culture and good management. 
Pines, Grapes, Peaches, Melons, Cucumbers, and plants are grown 
well at Cardiff, but all have to be shaded more or less in the summer to 
aid in keeping the ubiquitous foe at bay. Syringing, damping, and care 
in ventilating do not suffice, nor would the shading wore it not con¬ 
ducted with judgment—not used in excess, and when not wanted, nor if 
vigorous growth were not induced. Dark, firm-leaved Pines, with their 
massive fruit—onea Jamaica Queen,if I remember rightly—15 or 16 pip 
deep, show that shading has not hurt them : a grand house of Alicante 
Grapes, with hard, short-jointed wood, stout dark foliage, and a crowded 
crop of well-finished fruit, gives the same assurance, as does the Peach 
house, 60 feet long or more, occupied with four splendid trees ; and it is 
the same with Melons and Cucumbers, that bear continuously through¬ 
out the season, the latter watered to the last like the former, and the 
flavour of the best. Shading, as it is understood and practised by some 
persons, would ruin all those crops, but as applied at Cardiff they are 
benefited. If I were asked to what extent the shading is conducted, 1 
should answer, without knowing, just enough for mastering the red 
spider, and no more ; and as to the material employed, I should say, 
brains. If further particulars are wanted, Mr. Pettigrew must be good 
enough to supply them. I cannot; for 1 either forgot to ask, or forget 
if I were told ; but I hear that friend Iggulden arrived, tantalisingly, 
the day I left, and perhaps he knows, so 1 leave him to put me right 
