THE GARDENING WORLD 
December 26, 1883. 
GUNPOWDER SEED. 
A Story for the Christmas Fireside. 
In the old days of the Chartist agitation there was 
probably permeating a large portion of our working 
population, a deeper-seated brooding over what were 
regarded as political wrongs than could be found in the 
same class now. Without doubt, times were then 
much harder, and the poor had to endure great and 
grievous hardships, so that when men did think, they 
almost invariably thought with depth and much bit¬ 
terness. The granting of the franchise to all classes 
without exception then would—and very naturally— 
have been regarded as a terrible and dangerous experi¬ 
ment. Since that time, however, we have seen a social 
revolution, which has changed so much what once was 
bitter into mildness ; and so much that was full of 
want and suffering into comparative abundance and 
prosperity. To that end the press of this country has 
largely contributed, and now we find happier and wiser 
counsels prevailing, and far more willingness to wait 
patiently for needful reforms. Thus it has happily 
come about, that a great political contest has been 
conducted during the last few weeks with such an 
absence of serious excitement or alarm as could scarcely 
have been anticipated but a few years ago. 
Our little story dates from the earlier period to which 
we have referred, in fact, to the politically agitated year 
of 1848, which had been full of fright, excitement, and 
intense political pstrty feeling ; and the plot is laid in a 
near suburb of the great metropolis, where not a few of 
our sturdy artizans and mechanics reside. Our hero 
was, however, but a humble cobbler, a mender of boots 
and shoes, and a maker, to the best of his ability, when 
orders for new ones came in—which, by-the-bye, was 
none too often, for shop-work had broken the back of 
the genuine cobbler, and he had to be content with 
what jobs his poor neighbours could find for him. 
Tim Stokes got a livelihood of a sort, poor enough, but 
his wants were few, and to some extent he provided for 
those in other ways. Tim was held in high esteem by 
his fellows, not only for his honesty and shrewdness, 
but also for his political proclivities, for he was as 
earnest a Chartist as could be found in the kingdom. 
Happily, he was not a man to let his political dissatis¬ 
faction take the form of angry threats and denunciations. 
Cobbler that he was, he was very intelligent, and a stern 
thinker, hence he kept his stronger passions in check, 
and not less held control over those of his fellows, for 
in Barford, where Tim lived, the Chartist agitation, 
found a warm habitation. 
But Stokes had another characteristic which proved 
of immense value to him in those days of political 
turmoil He was an enthusiastic amateur florist, and 
in his little plot of 20 roods or so of ground, found 
day after day sweetness and solace, aye, and much 
food for generous reflection, that very materially aided 
to sooth his path in life, and toned down harsh and bitter 
feelings towards those wdiom he and others considered 
his oppressors. The very elements of his life that kept 
him so well under control, served also to give him 
in Barford a especially high status, not only in matters 
of common life, but also in political matters,-.and 
thus he was looked upon in the locality as a leading 
Chartist. Tim grew Auriculas and Polyanthuses well, 
and of such as they were in his day, he had some of 
the best. He was also a bit of a Tulip fancier, having 
in that respect some of the tastes which marked then, 
as now, the sturdy artisans of the north. But of no 
flower was he more fond than of his Sweet Williams, 
for sentiment held some little sway over the old cobbler, 
and remembrance of his childhood home and ancient 
cottage garden in a far off county remained imprinted 
on his mind, and of all flowers the Sweet William was 
the one most lovingly remembered. We may be sure 
that the Chartist even in the bitter days of ’48, who 
could exhibit such a love for flowers as Tim did, was 
not a dangerous demagogue or political firebrand, 
although his thorough earnestness and depth of con¬ 
viction none could question. 
It happened, however, that in Barford there were a 
few evil spirits, whom it is but charitable to assume 
were more influenced by excitement and hardships than 
controlled by knowledge and judgment, and who 
rebelled against the cooler and more temperate advice 
which Tim gave at the Chartist meetings. They were 
for violence, for wild night attacks upon property, and 
especially upon some newly introduced machinery 
in their employers factory, and which had the 
temporary result of reducing the number of hands em¬ 
ployed. That such a result should have happened just 
then, naturally tended to inflame mens’ minds against 
capitalists and property, and thus the few more ardent 
though evil spirits in the place found no inconsiderable 
following. A dangerous spirit of insubordination and 
of threatened violence broke out at one of the Chartist 
meetings, which Tim did his best to subdue, and for 
the moment the danger seemed to have passed away. 
The mutineers, however, feeling that Tim s power 
was greater than them’s, resolved on some form of 
injury or humiliation to the cobbler, and a few, in 
secret meeting, determined that they would visit his 
cottage some night, and themselves disguised, force the 
old man, either by threats or violence, to quit the 
place, if not for good, at least for a time. Tim’s 
cottage, which was literally in the midst of his pretty 
garden, stood somewhat apart from other houses. Still 
further, Tim lived alone, for being without children, 
and his wife having died several years previously, he 
had lived a true batchelor life, his wants being few, 
and those supplied by his own hands. 
A night that was at once dark and stormy was chosen 
by the violent men for their attempt on Tim, and when 
about nine o’clock they reached the garden gate, they 
saw the glimmer of a light through the chinks in the 
closed shutters, and the old cobbler’s hammer could be 
heard thumping his leather, as he still, at that late 
hour, thought and worked by the fireside. Presently, 
above the sound of the hammer, a knock was heard at 
the door, and fearless Tim calls out, “ Come in !” The 
door is opened, and in walked a man clothed in a long 
overcoat, wet, dirty, and draggled, and wearing over 
the greater portion of his face a black calico mask. 
The sight of this unlooked-for object naturally made 
Tim quail somewhat, though naturally so fearless. 
But when two others, similarly disguised, entered, then 
closed and bolted the door, Tiin'was deeply alarmed, 
and naturally felt in great danger of bodily harm. 
“What do you want ?” Tim asked as firmly as he well 
could. “We want you to leave Barford, and that 
pretty soon,” said one of the intruders. The voice was 
a bit husky, but Tim thought he recognised it, and, of 
course, the speaker. “Why should I leave here ?” said 
Tim. “Because you are in the way here,” was the 
reply, “and most likely, if you don’t go quietly you’ll 
be helped off. We don’t want to do you any harm if 
you’ll give your word you’ll go away at once. If you 
don’t it will be the worse for you !” Tim said that he 
had done no one harm, and should not go for them, to 
which the fellow rejoined that they meant business, 
and if he did not agree to quit Barford in five minutes 
they would take him out of it a dead man. 
Naturally alarmed at the turn matters were taking, 
Tim reflected for a moment, and as if suddenly struck 
with a bright idea, said, “Well mates, I don’t know 
why you should want to harm me but as you’re 
stronger than I am I suppose I must submit; it’s hard 
to leave my little home and garden, and go away to 
find another home,” and the old man seemed as if 
choked with emotion for a moment, but the feeling 
■ passed off. Rising, however, as if with the intention 
of acting as he was bid, he turned to the shelf "behind 
him and took down a large tin canister, placed it on 
the table, and again sat down on his chair. Then he 
took a box of matches from his jacket pocket ap¬ 
parently with as little concern as though he were about 
to light his pipe, opened it, and took out a match. 
Then he lifted the lid from the canister, placed it on 
one side, and emptied some of the contents, which 
resembled coarse gunpowder, out on to the table before 
him, with its bottom towards the intruders, so that the 
contents were partly hid. . Still, tliey.could see as they 
thought, aheap of powder on the table, and the big can¬ 
ister apparently half-full lying beside it. The men were 
a little taken aback with Tim’s cool and apparently odd 
proceeding, and for a moment did not scent any danger. 
When, however, the old man took the match box in one 
hand and a match in the other, and held both close to 
the black heap, the hearts of the wretches fairly crept into 
their mouths, for they instinctively thought that Tim 
was about to blow them all up. This effect the old man 
had hoped to create, and at once he said in firm and 
stern words “You came here to do me harm, and even 
to kill me if I would not do your bidding. Now prepare 
for death yourselves, for sure as fate there is no power 
on earth can prevent me from sending you into 
eternity in a moment. ” 
The men were paralyzed by this address, for they felt 
that their lives were in Tim’s power, and also that the 
old man would not hesitate to punish them even if he 
sacrificed his own life. “Stop for God’s sake ” shouted 
the men simultaneously, and in terror, for they were 
afraid to move, lest Tim should be alarmed and fire the 
heap before him. “You had better say your prayers,” 
the old man said with terrible solemnity, or leave the 
house immediately, but I will only let you do that 
when each one has sworn not to attempt doing me 
further harm. Immediately the men did so with all 
the force and fervour they were capable of, for their 
hearts were in their mouths with fright. “ Now you 
may go,” said Tim, “but only one at a time,” and the 
man nearest the door moved hastily, drew back the 
fastenings, opened the door, and dashing out, ran with 
all speed away. “ Now the next,” said Tim, and the 
second made as hasty an exit, j Then the third was bid¬ 
den to follow, with the abjurgation ringing in his ears, 
“ Clear out, sharp !” and sharp he went. 
Tim then arose and followed him to the open door, 
and having satisfied himself that the cowards had 
decamped, he re-fastened the door, and setting himself 
down in his chair, laughed heartily. Happily, his 
intending assailants were a long way out of hearing, 
for had they but known that the heap which, to their 
affrighted minds, appeared to be fresh gunpowder was 
really only Tim’s crop of Sweet William Seed, they would 
doubtless have returned and wreaked upon the old man 
terrible vengeance. After replacing the seed in its 
canister, Tim retired to rest, and passed a quiet night. 
Next day he told the story far and wide, well knowing 
that the ridicule the telling would produce would prove 
his safest protection. In this respect he was right, for 
not only did the report of the attempted attack upon 
Tim bring over to his side most of the previous mal¬ 
contents, but suspicion as to the personality of the 
offenders was so strong and apparently correct, that 
ere many days had passed the culprits were missing, 
and were never more heard of in Barford. 
Tim’s life henceforth, though not less of a political 
kind, was, at least, both more peaceful and prosperous 
than before ; and those who had sworn to work him 
harm seemed only to have brought the old man 
blessings. Specially did his Sweet Williams become 
popular ; plants and seeds were in great demand, and 
for many a day the neighbours would joke with Tim 
over the wonderful powers of his Gunpowder Seed. 
-- 
FRUITS, FLO WERS & V EGETABLES. 
Poinsettias for the Christmas Decora¬ 
tions.— I read with interest the article on Poinsettias 
by “W. B. G.,” at p. 251, in which he gives us his 
novel mode of starting the old stools, plunged in a 
Yine-border in the open air. We grow Poinsettias here 
in large quantities, not only for stove, mansion, and 
church decoration, but also to follow up the Chrysan¬ 
themums in the conservatory, where, arranged amongst 
Primulas, Eupatoriums, Roman Hyacinths, Lily of the 
Valley, Coronillas, Callas, &c., they make a grand 
display at this season. Although we have given up 
growing old plants, finding that young ones keep their 
foliage better and give us the largest bracts, still I shall 
be pleased to try a few on “ W. B. G.’s” system next 
year. Our plants were taken into the conservatory 
last week. When the Chrysanthemums were removed 
they were grown under the following conditions, and I 
have sometimes kept them good without losing their 
leaves for nearly two months. After the plants have 
got past their best, a few are stowed away in a warm 
potting-shed, giving them water once or twice whilst 
there. They are introduced into heat again in time to 
get the first batch of cuttings early in May, and we 
continue propaga ting until the beginning of July. The 
cuttings are dibbled singly into tlmmb-pots, then 
watered and plunged in a close propagating-box, where 
they are kept close without any more water until they 
have rooted, when they are shifted into 60-sized pots, 
and when established are removed to cold pits, gradu- 
ally increasing the air until the lights are tilted night 
and da}q and removed altogether on warm days. 
When the pots are full of roots they are potted into 
48 and 40 (deep 4S’s) sized pots, in loam, leaf-soil, and 
sand. We never syringe overhead, as we find it pro¬ 
motes too soft a growth for conservatory work. About 
the end of August, the plants are removed into an 
intermediate house, and have air for a time on all 
favourable occasions. When the bracts begin to show 
