March 25. 
THE COTTAGE GARDENER, 
897 
move them one by one, put them on the old bed or tray, 
carry them to their destination, and then and there 
divide them, according as you see lit. The roots of the 
grasses, and those of your seedlings, have so interlaced 
by this time that you might almost divide the pieces to 
shreds, without doing much violence to the seedlings 
themselves. The grass will soon rot, and then is the 
best feeding thing that one can think of—the very thing 
which the best potters advise us to use over the drain¬ 
age. Eor getting up a large quantity of mignonette and 
ten-week stocks in a hurry, two bad things to transplant 
at any time, this is just the very process that the best 
of us could hit upon at a push. Then, if you want a 
row of Sweet Peas, where so-and-so are soon to be in 
flower, and you cannot think of destroying them just 
yet, or the weather is cold or wet, and you are afraid of 
trusting the peas out, see how ready the grass strips 
come in to nurse your young plants for a time, and all 
that you will have to do at the time of setting is to 
open a drill, and lay the strips down at full length, and 
cover an inch of soil over them, and, next moment, who 
can tell but the whole were sown in the usual way; 
besides, you have the nourishment from the rotting turf 
to the bargain D. Beaton. 
MOSS. 
There are few subjects that have not two sides—the 
dark and foreboding on the one hand, the bright and 
the cheering on the other. It matters not what may be 
the subject; whether the highest that can engage the 
human intellect, or the merest trifles of every day 
life—express but the pleasure you feel, and you will 
soon be cooled down by the depreciating inuendos, the 
awful, lowering, ever-ready “ huts" of some who are the 
wet-blanketers of society. That such unfortunates 
should really enjoy the delights of gardening, we do 
not expect; though we hope that if they have a spark 
of benevolence left, they will keep the gloomy to them¬ 
selves, aud not throw its blighting spell over others 
more joyously disposed. I have often been struck with 
the vivid contrast in this respect between adjoining 
neighbours. Enter the garden of the one, and your old 
favourites are rendered greater favourites still, as you 
witness the delight and enthusiasm of their proprietor. 
Blemishes here and there might be found, but with so 
much to admire, who could think of looking narrowly 
for defects? You have little to do but to sympathize 
with your entertainer’s delight. You pass one or several 
assistants; every countenance is lightened up by an 
employer’s smile of approbation, if not a kindly greeting. 
Ask whether that smile, or the haughty fault-finding, 
will be the most promotive of continued and exercised 
effort? But you pass on. The next garden is quite 
as beautiful, if not more so; but, somehow, the sunlight 
has gone from your spirit. You feel as if a mesmerist, 
or rather a biologist, had got you entrapped. Anything 
like admiration must come from yourself, followed by 
directions to look at this and that defect, with continued 
grumblings of disappointments. “Even John Trueman, 
there, that after much trouble I managed to obtain from 
neighbour Goodheart, don’t seem to be the same as he 
was; he just looks as if he did not care whether I was 
satisfied or not.” Ah! the fault did not all lie at True¬ 
man’s door. We pass a beautiful basket filled with 
plants still more beautiful, growing in moss, and the 
moss looking so enticingly green. \Ve cannot get away 
from it; wo cannot help stating our imagination; we 
even think that honest Trueman may be none the worse 
for otir deserved commendation; we even get some¬ 
what poetical, and, thinking aloud, say something of 
the beautiful structure of the lovely moss; the delight 
which must swell the bosom of the traveller as he lights 
on an oasis of green in the wide wilderness of sands; 
| the—“Humph,” breaks in our proprietor, as we were 
\ going to descant on some of the many uses to which the 
common moss might be applied—“ Humph, I wish you, 
basket, and plants, and altogether, carried oft’ to your 
oasis, if, by so doing, you could convey all the moss 
from my premises. I am not fanciful, you see. I pride 
myself in not being poetical! I am a matter-of-fact man, 
as you know ! and the fact too truly is, that that moss 
in its various shapes is the worry and torment of my 
life. Look at these meadows; 1 cannot go in some 
parts of them without getting up to my ankles in moss. 
Even that lawn you keep talking about, though it is 
not so much seen now, will present you nothing but 
moss towards autumn. Neighbour Goodheart, it is true, 
talks just as you do; of its being soft and elastic as a 
superfine Brussels carpet; but then I wish for grass, and 
not for moss; and there now, it is regularly seizing the 
top and the joints in the bricks of my wall, not so very 
old, and is getting over the stems of my fruit-trees; and— 
but I need not say more, 1 am always sure to be disap¬ 
pointed, &c.” And until he can look at the bright side 
of things, it is very likely he will ever be. 
Now it is not my purpose to say how much in grass 
lands the moss may be prevented smothering the grass, 
by drainage, that removes the humidity on which it 
feeds; how by harrowing and raking, and pulling up 
that moss, and good surface-dressings of ashes and other 
matters, rich in alkaline properties, the grass will be 
made to smother the moss; there are readers who have 
had more experience in this respect than 1 can boast 
of; neither would I say much about its removal from 
lawns, for, unless the moisture would be excessive, we 
would prefer a mossy lawn for its softness, and the ease 
and the economy with which it can be kept, owing 
to the minimum of mowings and sweepings it would 
require, and also because those who are anxious to 
banish it altogether will find the best instructions 
from our friend Mr. Beaton. Neither do I find it my 
duty to say much as to the removal of moss from trees 
and walls, wherever desirable, because the remedy pro¬ 
pounded by, and, for ought I know, originating with, 
Mr. Errington, namely, a dashing or scrubbing of salt- 
1 water, is one of the many plans of that gentleman, not 
J more striking from their effectiveness than their extreme 
j simplicity, i find I must now allot the space remaining 
| to me to mention a few of the uses to which moss may I 
be successfully applied by all gardeners, and especially 
by amateurs of moderate means. Let us glance, then 
First, at moss as a packing medium, bio far as my 
limited experience goes, I imagine that Mr. Beaton has 
hit the mark in so strongly recommending damp moss 
j for the roots of plants destined to a long journey. Both 
' in a wet and a dry state, however, it is equally useful 
for packing plants that are merely to travel from one 
part of our home empire to another. We have already 
seen that for general purposes, utility and economy are 
combined by obtaining plants in a young state. These 
latter conditions are also secured by their occupying the 
least possible space, and being of the least possible 
weight. Tying moss over the mouths of pots, and then 
placing these pots upright in round shallow baskets, 
unless in the case of large, costly plants, is a mode that 
must soon be reckoned amongst the antiquities. Laying 
down on their broadsides, is the mode that, for mode¬ 
rate distances, combines safety and economy, as some 
scores of plants may thus be safely sent in a small 
basket. There are several modes of doing this :—First, 
liacking the pots in moss, slightly moist, and the plant 
above the pot in moss too, but thoroughly dry; secondly, 
growing the plants in small pots, removing the pots, 
and thus getting rid of the chief weight and incum¬ 
brance, aud wrapping each ball in moss or stout paper; 
and, thirdly, by a mode which we shall mention, using 
the moss itself chiefly as a growing medium, and thus i 
