310 
THE COTTAGE GARDENER AND COUNTRY GENTLEMAN, September <), 1859. 
or in sheer yellow loam. One might think there is something in 
Rhododendrons which of itself causes all hardy bulbs to do better 
with them than when grown any other way. All the Lilies which 
will grow out of doors will do so all the better in Rhododendron- 
beds. All Gladioluses the same. All dwarf Tulips, Crocuses, 
Scillas, Snowdrops, and every one of the low dwarf Narcissuses. 
But there is one rule to be observed in planting any or all of 
these in an American bed, and that is to have every one of the 
bulbs twice as deep as they ought to be in loam. The Snow¬ 
drops and the Crocuses to be exactly two inches deep. Scillas 
and Dog’s-tooth Violets one inch and a half. Early Tulips and 
Hyacinths, Lilies and Gladioluses fully three inches ; and the 
measurement is from the surface to the top of the bulbs after the 
soil is settled with rain. The soil under them, and all round 
them, must be dug, and kept from the roots of the Rhododen¬ 
drons at all times and seasons. Rotten leaves, and tli afresh 
parings of grass sides and verges in the spring make the best 
compost for Lilies and Gladioluses to help them on in these 
Rhododendron-beds—one spadeful at the bottom of a good hole 
for a large patch of five, seven, or eleven bulbs.] 
AMONG THE HOPS. 
There was a time, not very long ago, when the popularity of 
a popular beverage was seriously threatened. 
A rumour, rife in cities, reached the ears of men in their 
country retirement that they were the unconscious victims of 
misplaced confidence. 
Their beer, so charming to the eye and so gratifying to the 
palate, was pronounced to be slow poison to the stomach. This 
was a terrible possibility for Englishmen to entertain. It was 
reluctantly believed by some, and the bright pale tonic was 
banished from its wonted place of honour at lunch and dinner. 
Others debated on the subject while they drank it. Happily, 
for the patience of the former and the health of the latter, the 
accusation was found to be false. 
The reassuring fact that neither strychnine nor any other 
subtle and pernicious agent is employed in producing the bitter¬ 
ness of beer—even of that pre-excellent which Burton gives ns— 
was established beyond the sphere of controversy. And not only 
so much has been proved, but also that less dangerous, but, at 
the same time, to the consumer unknown means, have no share 
in the important work. 
Now, then, we may drink our beer with confidence as well as 
present relish: and, when wo would describe the secret of its 
potent charm, may speak and write of Hops. 
Entering as these do into the composition, in a greater or less 
degree, of all our malt liquors, they must possess for us some 
interest. 
Even the total abstainer from fermented drinks cannot shut 
his eyes to the importance of a crop, for the growth of which 
47,600 acres of the finest land in England—chiefly in the home 
counties and in Herefordshire—are at this moment under culti¬ 
vation, aud upon which the amount of duty charged in tho year 
ending Juno 1859 was £254,557. 
But, apart from such considerations, Hops are worthy of 
notice for the beauty they possess in the maturity of their growth ; 
and, indeed, for the fact that something of instruction or amuse¬ 
ment may be extracted from the observation of each stage of 
their existence—from the first planting of the sets to the final 
process which unites them with the sweet malt liquor, thenceforth 
to be recognised only as a pleasant, wholesome flavour. There 
is, too, another aspect under which this subject presents itself— 
a social one., They who are conversant with the steps by which 
Hops arrive at the perfection necessary to their ultimate use, 
know that they afford labour to laborious hands throughout the 
greater portion of the year. 
Digging, planting, poleing, tying, picking, drying, pocketing. 
These are some of tho operations necessary to then 1 well-being 
and preparation for the market. 
The digging—on the stiff land of Kent and Sussex especially— 
is very hard work, and, for the most part, admirably done. 
The planting, in soil strongly manured, is by sets—four or five 
in a station, or, as it is called, a hill; the hills being a few feet 
apart every way. 
The first year all that is required for the support of the 
climbing plant is a stake of no great length. Subsequently poles, 
commonly of Chestnut, but in some localities Qf fir, are necessary, 
aud these of from twelve to eighteen feet in height. 
Sharpened at the larger end, they are firmly fixed, (o the 
number of three or four, into each hill; and the Hop Vines, 
when they have well started in the spring, are tied to them with 
green rush-bands. 
Women are employed at Ibis work, which they perform with 
marvellous rapidity and neatness. 
Throughout the summer the plantations need constant at¬ 
tention ; the grounds, or gardens, being kept by good cultivators 
in the cleanest and most trim condition. 
August and September arrive ; and the social bearing of Hop- 
growing becomes more evident, or rather more important. 
The employment which it gives has hitherto been confined to 
the ordinary staff of the farm ; but now it is extended far and wide. 
Hop-picking calls into the country pale families from the heart 
of London. St. Giles, Clerkenwell, Whitechapel, and Shore¬ 
ditch send forth their hundreds to breathe, for a month or so, 
the free uncontaminated ah’ of Heaven, and to drink water 
innocent of sewage. 
An Irish host, from which the ancient uniform,—battered, 
brimless hat, and swallow-tailed coat,—has not yet wholly dis¬ 
appeared, is seen upon the field of action. 
Tho towns and villages adjacent to the Hops are represented 
there. 
Y r ou shall see something, by-and-by, of the work for which so 
many are annually called together. 
Meanwhile, stroll into this garden, still untouched. It is in its 
third, and, like the Strawberry, its best year of cropping. 
Several varieties aro cultivated, of varying value in the market, 
all having a common origin,—the wild Hop ( Rumulus lupuhis), . 
of the hedgerows. 
The variety before you is a strong-growing one. 
Look down the vistas—new at every step. 
Look up and around at the wondrous growth of vine and Hop. 
You must “stoop to couquer,” for the luxuriance overhangs 
the path, falling down, like some fan’ girl’s hail’, in its very wealth 
of golden beauty. 
Gather a good specimen of ripened flowers from any bough. 
It will be longer than the longest white finger of your hand, my 
gentle friend. These, that hold this pen, are hard and brown, 
and they have been out-measured in a Sussex Hop-garden by a 
Sussex Hop. 
Press the seed-vessels, and let your nose be buried for a second 
in their depths. There lies the raw material for the bouquet of 
the drying-floor and factor’s sample: there is an essential prin¬ 
ciple of the beer that Britons love. 
Now, go a little further on, into that garden where tho picking 
lias been begun. 
It is a phase of country life worth studying. 
It must, be studied on the spot. 
There have been but very few faithful pictures, drawn or 
painted, of this scene, so quiet, yet so busy. 
Photography, valuable as it is, must of necessity be a failure 
where life is the chief characteristic to be caught and kept. 
Notice that tall fellow. He is known as a “ pole puller,” and 
is armed with two formidable-looking weapons. One of these is 
a sharp-edged hook attached to a long handle. 
With this ho severs the vine ,—“ bind,” or “ bine,” he calls it, 
—almost close to the bottom of the poles. With the other, a 
simple contrivance of wood, having a short blunt hook inserted 
near the end, he lifts, leverwise, the poles out of the ground. 
There are bins and baskets, of various materials, forms, and 
sizes, across wdiich the laden poles are placed. The Hops aro 
picked from their stems into these receptacles by a rapid move¬ 
ment of the fingers,—a kind of scratching,—which long ex¬ 
perience makes amazingly dexterous. 
You may see representatives of every class in life and every age 
about those bins. Whole families are there, from the grand¬ 
mother to the latest infant, who is consigned, except at mealtime, 
to the custody of another child but a few years its senior. 
Some of the workers are pretty “ well to do,” and can afford 
to dress suitably to the weather and the work, besides providing 
for the necessities of the day : but it is not so with all. 
Some of them are very poor,—extremely poor. 
Those vagrants, English and Irish, whose encampments are in 
the fields close by, may be looked upon by an unaccustomed eye 
as such. 
Rags, indeed, are fashionable among them. The younger 
members of the families are shoeless and stockingless, and their 
uncovered hair has been changed by the sun to hay; but they 
are regular tramps, and used to this sort of life. 
