76 
THE FLORIST AND POMOLOGIST. 
[ April, 
segments cut into tlie quick. In Prince of Greens, a splendid pip or whole head, 
will come, with a “ blanket eye,” f.c., hardly meal enough in the paste to cover the 
ground, which has thus a baldness of its own (as much as we have!). In 
choosing pips, therefore, all these and other contingencies are to be allowed 
for, in the face of which one rude, rough thinning-out would be very poor, and 
rueful practice. 
No Auricula, however strong, should be allowed to carry more than one truss. 
The second would be a terrible pull upon the plant, which would have to heart 
past it, and would feel the effort acutely. Such pips would also be of very in¬ 
ferior quality, and they should be removed by cutting or rubbing off when they 
stand on an inch or so of stem. If the whole second head were cut short off, it 
would die by soft green-rot into the heart and probably cause the death of the plant. 
When the bloom is opening, there is one very unwelcome visitor^ and that is 
the bee, especially the humble, or “ bumble,” as he is generally called. The 
sight of a “ bumble ” upon a white-edged Auricula is a horror. Scratched by 
his horny legs, blurred by his humming wing, the fair flower is an irreparable 
ruin. I dare leave no aperture unprotected by perforated zinc-slides or shading 
material against the busy bee. 
In this connection I will utter a warning cry against another possible intruder 
—the baleful cat. Who among us does not know him in the garden for an evil 
beast ? He is a very valid reason, beyond that of untrusty April weather, for 
keeping the Auricula-house safely closed at night. He will otherwise regard it 
as a benevolent institution, erected, on the principle of a “ cabmen’s shelter,” for 
the accommodation of himself and his vilely tuneful brotherhood on uncomfort¬ 
able nights. He casts an admiring eye, just now, upon the newly-planted 
Ranunculus-bed, as being beneficently arranged for him to scratch up. He re¬ 
connoitres the freshly set-out pots of Carnations and Picotees, and discovers 
splendid strategic positions among them which he may utilise when on the war¬ 
path ; and unless we fortify our treasured plants by screens or thorn-twigs, or 
something proof against him, we may find ruin wrought among them; their 
beauty trodden in the dust, like the purple and gold of vineyards and corn-lands 
on deadlier battle-fields. 
Unlike the midnight cat, the florist himself is most welcome among his plants 
at night. He is not the man to subside too easily into the warm retirement of 
dressing-gown and slippers in the evening, nor to sleep heavily into broad, sunny, 
summer mornings. Early morning hours are golden opportunities in the garden, 
and so is an hour after dark. My “ garden lamp,” trimmed at sun-down, is an in¬ 
stitution of the household, and I hardly miss a night the year round in looking 
the plants over, if I am at home. There is as little tax and trouble in it as the 
mother finds in quietly slipping upstairs now and then to see that the little one 
is asleep and safe from nightly harm. The florist, indeed, should be the glow¬ 
worm, the veritable “ Jack-o’-Lantern ” of his garden; and then, instead of 
moaning in the morning over the mischief of the night, he is often in time to 
