210 
THE FLOEIST AND POMOLOGIST. 
found in cultivation. Then there were Achille, clear red with white marking, 
and very fine ; Louis Van Houtte, a brilliant scarlet flower, but pale with me 
in consequence of “reposing in the shade;” Raphael, vermilion with white 
centre, very fine under almost any circumstances; Penelope, white, shaded 
with clear rose and yellow, very pretty; Yesta, white, with purplish carmine 
stains, but not so pure in colour as I have seen it w*hen grown under better 
conditions ; Eveline Bryere, delicate blush with purple marking, a beauty; 
Dr. Andry, bright orange red, a good and useful flower; Clemence, pale rose, 
with carmine stains, extra fine ; and Janire, clear orange scarlet. 
Unless rain come, and with it the mild westerly wind, that plays uninter¬ 
ruptedly at this season of the year about the shrubs that screen the Gladioli 
from the morning sun, and that invariably tears to shreds every fragment of a 
flower it chances to meet with when at its wild revels, these Gladioli will re¬ 
main in bloom till winter shall warn us that it is ready to assume the sovereignty 
of that portion of the year allotted to it in the economy of nature. 
How strange to be hinting of winter, even just when the hottest weather of 
the year is parching and drying up the vegetative life about us. The wetness 
and coldness of the harvest month has changed to the burning heat of July, 
and the dimmed and bespattered occupants of the flower garden have again 
“ Bisen up to meet the light of day, 
Spread all their leaves and flowers and tendrils forth; 
And, bathed and ripened in the genial ray, 
Pour forth then’ perfume to the wandering gales.” 
“ And at night so cloudless and so still! Not a voice of living thing—not a 
whisper of leaf or waving bough—not a breath of wind—not a sound upon 
the earth or in the air! and overhead bends the blue sky, dewy and soft, and 
radiant with innumerable stars, like the inverted bell of some blue flower, 
sprinkled with golden dust, and breathing fragrance!” So says Longfellow, 
and singularly appropriate is his description at the present moment. 
My Liliums, now out of flower, are put by in a dry cool place to ripen the 
bulbs. Occasionally I give them a small quantity of water, just enough to 
slightly moisten the soil and prevent any decrease of vitality. Here they will 
rest till February, when I shall repot them for next year’s blooming. Fuchsias 
also have been discarded from the window; they are also in the shade, ripen¬ 
ing their wood preparatory to being placed in their winter quarters. The 
other plants also, that stood with those in the window, are undergoing their 
term of probation, or rather, their period of rest, for that comes in due season, 
as do the buds and blossoms. The sole occupants of the in-doors department 
are some Asters in pots, consisting of Truffaut’s Pseony-flowered, Dwarf 
Chrysanthemum-flowered, and some remarkably fine specimens of the Crown- 
flowered Emperor, crimson, with white centre; a very excellent variety for 
decorative purposes. The two former are also very effective, and as they are 
full of flowers, they make quite a display. I shade them during the day, 
though they occupy a window that is visited by the sun only for a short time, 
and occasionally they are treated to a little well-diluted manure water, which 
they seem to like excessively. I think this has been a remarkable Aster year, 
wherever I have seen them they have been marvellously fine. Generally, 
failure results from some error in cultivation, for so sharp is the competition 
among the trade in Germany that seed from good varieties only must be sent 
into this country if the reputation of any house would be maintained. Mr. 
Macintosh, of Hammersmith, who is the London agent for Mr. Y/endel, of 
Erfurt, had a magnificent batch of Asters in several varieties this season, and 
he informs me that for the past three or four years Mr. Wendel’s varieties can 
compete with any in the trade. 
Indications are not wanting that already the advent of the autumn season 
