January 4, 1896. 
THE GARDENING WORLD. 
291 
the parents of B. Woodmani, but I am free to confess 
that if anyone who really knows the facts were to 
tell me that the pedigree of that variety, as given, 
was an apocryphal one, I should not be in the least 
surprised ; but, in any case, if the round-flowered B. 
Veitchii was one of the parents, it does not 
necessarily follow that the progeny was round- 
flowered also, and I do not believe that it was, or the 
fact would have been stated at the time and by the 
raiser, because, as I have already stated, such a 
novelty “ about that time" would certainly have 
been too great a prize to hide in the Exeter Nursery. 
In the same connection it would now be interesting 
to know what the other varieties were like that 
were obtained from the same pod of seed. 
Now, as to the date of the catalogue which the 
Editor kindly forwarded to me for perusal. I had 
several reasons for being interested in that catalogue, 
but need only state one of them, which was to see if 
I could discover any internal evidence which would 
afford a clue to its possible date of publication. I 
did discover something that Mr. Napper has over¬ 
looked, and therefore, although he now says he has 
a copy signed by Dr. Woodman, and by him dated 
1872, I make no apology for expressing my belief 
that even that is an error. It is but fair to Mr. 
Napper that I should state upon what grounds I 
base my disbelief, and here they are. “ About that 
time” it was the custom of all nurserymen who 
made new plants a special feature of their business 
to issue their catalogue in April and to commence 
sending out their novelties on May 1st, a custom 
which still largely obtains. Now, in the catalogue 
sent to me much prominence is given to the descrip¬ 
tion of a new Fern—Polystichum angulare var. 
cristatum gracile Grayii—in connection with]which it 
is stated that it gained a First-class Certificate at 
the Royal Botanic Show on May 22nd, 1872, and the 
same catalogue also contains a list of New Roses of 
1872. I think these two facts, without searching 
further, afford strong presumptive evidence that the 
catalogue was not published in 1872 but more 
probably in 1873, and the twelve months' difference 
in time has an important bearing upon the whole 
case, though Mr. Napper may not appreciate it. 
I have no concern with Mr. Napper’s “ humble 
reputation ” except that I would rather at any time 
defend than injure it, but, when he makes statements 
that he cannot prove, I have the same right as any¬ 
one else to put his veracity to the test in defence cf 
the reputation of friends whose record as pioneers in 
Begonia hybridisation he wantonly impugned.— A 
Lover of the Begonia. 
When anything gets popular somebody is sure to 
come forward and claim originality. Once said a 
clever gardener to me : " Oh ! that conservatory at 
Chatsworth wasn’t Paxton's ingenuity so much as a 
Derbyshire joiner's.” I really felt annoyed at this 
gratuitous onslaught upon the great horticulturist 
and designer’s skill. “Very well,” I replied, “ you 
stick to your man and imagine you see the conserva¬ 
tory with the iron, the glass, the wood, the date and 
the bricks left out.” 
Now the first hybrid Begonia is being dexterously 
handled in your columns ; and I am sure a “ Lover 
of the Begonia” and “J.S.” are fair and courteous in 
tone. This is in itself a fine testimonial showing as 
they do the true essence of common sense and per¬ 
spicacity. Just remember, if you please, the fate of 
these two poor unfortunate “Lovers” who dare to 
question, and to express an opinion adverse to the 
gentleman holding an indignation meeting in room 
489, King’s Road, Chelsea. What amazes me is that 
our friend cannot be fair Why, he ought to be better 
able to gauge the mental standard of your readers rather 
than resorting to the farmyard chanticleer, &c., for 
stocks whereon to engraft language and elucidation. 
There is no harm in asking for true facts or writing 
incognito, so long as we fight under the last named 
properly. 
In Mr. Wynne's book, p. 16, it says B. Veitchii was 
put into commerce in 1869. " Lover of the Begonia,” 
p. 143 in your columns, says it was in the following 
year. If the latter be correct, sharp work must be 
accredited to Mr. Pope, then foreman to the Messrs. 
Lucombe, Pince & Co. 
Fertilisation would have to be effected and seed 
ripened and saved in 1870, and sown, flowered, and 
B. Woodmanii selected in 1871. Mr. Napper does 
not say whether the cross produced pure B. Wood¬ 
manii seedlings, or on selected plant only from the 
batch. If only from the latter, where did they get 
the stock of plants from to catalogue it in 1872. I 
am afraid that private dated copy will not coincide 
with the printed undated one. I quite agree 
that a thing like Celery has to be unearthed 
before we can test the quality as to its truth 
and reasonableness. Should I be going too 
far to offer a suggestion that the Messrs. Veitch 
would give the year and month when a plant or 
plants were supplied to the above named firm ?— B. L. 
COVENT GARDEN IN EARLY 
MORNING. 
Londoners are so accustomed to the possession of a 
good supply of fruits, flowers, and vegetables, that 
they take it very much as a matter of course that it 
should be so, and but an exceedingly small percentage 
of them have any adequate idea of the vastness and 
far-reaching character of the system that enables the 
best of material in first-class condition to be retailed 
at the various greengrocers' establishments through¬ 
out the metropolitan radius, and at prices so reason¬ 
able as to bring all the necessities and many of the 
luxuries of life within the reach of the greater 
portion of the populatien. Scores of market growers 
are situated within easy cartage distance of this great 
centre, and from these each market morning are sent 
forth streams of vehicles laden with all kinds of 
produce which ultimately converge at Covent Garden. 
Indeed, soon after midnight, dwellers in outlying 
towns are greeted with the lumbering roll of huge 
heavy carts, drays, lorries, and waggons of all 
descriptions, some, perhaps, crawling sleepily along 
with the driver completely buried, with the exception 
of the tip of his nose, in an improvised cloak, ofien 
formed from a sack or two that may be lying handy; 
others will clatter along at a famous rate, taking 
every advantage of the absence of ordinary traffic. 
A visit to the market in the early morning is well 
worth anyone’s while to make. An ordinary person 
can have no adequate conception of the scene, which 
indeed, beggars description ; for the one half of the 
world does not know how the other half lives, and 
while ordinary people are courting Morpheus’ sweet 
embrace there are those whom the exigencies of 
their calling compel to practically turn night into day. 
To those of us who are acquainted with London 
awake, roaring, bustling, seething, swindling London, 
the sight of her asleep, or at least as much sleep as 
she ever gets, is something of a surprise. The roomy 
streets and squares are deserted, and the pavements 
ring uncannily to the tread of the nocturnal wanderer, 
whilst the flickering gas-lamps throw their fitful glare 
upon surroundings that in the absence of their wonted 
business seem strangely unfamiliar. Even the police¬ 
men, when they can be seen, glance at you 
suspiciously, as they blink wearily from the shelter 
of doorways whither they have retired for a slight 
shelter from the keen December wind as it whistles 
through the open spaces, causing the long ghostlike 
shadows to lengthen and dance merrily. Foot- 
passengers are few, although now and again one 
meets a belated reveller returning from some mid¬ 
night orgie, at which he has left any little wits 
he may ever have had with the greater part of his 
control, over his legs at least. A coffee stall or two, 
erected in sheltered corners to supply a drop of some¬ 
thing warm to those who need it, are indeed the only 
signs of life. 
But, as we near any one of the many approaches 
to the market, things begin to wake up a bit. First 
we pass long droves of waggons that are being 
emptied of their loads, stumble, it may be over a few 
baskets that have been placed so comfortably in the 
way, and are invited as a consequence by their 
owner to “ tike our blooming ’ook.” This we proceed 
to do with all speed, until at last we are greeted with 
a babel of sounds that proceed from innumerable 
tongues, half of which are at least in danger of getting 
twisted, so rapidly do they work. All nationalities 
appear to be represented, and each, it would seem, 
is trying to “jew” the other, so animated is the 
conversation, and so sublime the confusion. But we 
spy a big "bobby ’’yonder, standing calm and 
tranquil amidst the hubbub, and we feel that the 
majestic eye of the law is looking on, and we take 
comfort accordingly. We wander amidst piles of 
vegetables and fruits of all sorts, until the wonder 
arises as to however all of it is to be disposed of. 
What consummate gluttons Londoners must be, we 
think, for here are supplies seemingly inexhaustible, 
and yet they will soon melt away before the daily 
wants of the dwellers in our huge metropolis. Only 
a Covent Garden could supply a London. 
It must be taken into consideration that it is here 
that all the greengrocers come to purchase the stock 
for their numerous shops, and they flock thither in 
crowds in the early hours of the morning, in order to 
be on the spot to seize the best bargains. In addition 
to these the place appears to be overrun with assis¬ 
tants of all kinds, some rolling baskets and barrels 
about in all directions with inconceivable rapidity, 
and with utter disregard of the pedal extremities of 
the luckless individuals that chance to be in the 
way. Some are helping others do nothing; in other 
words they are simply loafers who do nought but 
smoke the vilest tobacco, and swear at each other in 
their strange jargon with a fluency sufficient to 
paralyse the uninitiated into utter silence. Talk of 
the eloquence of Cicero, or the blunt, scathing humour 
of Johnson, the Covent Garden coster is a match for 
either, whether it be with regard to eloquence or 
rough and ready wit. 
After a good look round the vegetable market we 
wend our steps from thence to the flower market, a 
large building a slight distance off from the “ greens 
and taters.” The sales of flowers commence about 
5 a.m. in these winter mornings, and last until the 
material has been disposed of, or buyers have all 
disappeared. Flowers of all kinds, both on the 
plants and off them, are everywhere, and the fun 
waxes fast and furious. Long brilliant banks of floral 
beauty stretch away on every hand. Here, perhaps, 
we come across a rich glowing mass of Erica gracilis 
or E. hyemalis, or there the more gaudy Tulip, chiefly 
represented by the Due Van Thol varieties. These 
may be seen in pots by themselves, or with a few of 
their bright blooms deftly introduced in pots of 
Adiantum diaphanum and A. formosum. We, in our 
ignorance, thought that this was something new, and 
ventured to say so to the gentleman in charge, who 
promptly and respectfully informed us that “that y’ere 
bloomin’ dodge was as hold as Adam.” We retired 
crushed ; not from the words, although they were 
scathing enough, but from the onslaught of a fat old 
market woman (why is it market women are always 
fat ?), who bore down from behind with a wooden 
tray full of plants. The good dame swore too, which 
we thought rather unfair as we had received all the 
injury. With footsteps thus quickened we continued 
our quest, noticing bunches of cut flowers of Narcissi, 
Hyacinths, Freesias, Lilium Harrisii, Azaleas, 
Camellias, Roses, Chrysanthemums, etc., in almost 
prodigal profusion. 
Flower girls of all sorts and sizes were laying 
in their stock of the fragile blooms to be hawked 
round the streets presently when the world of 
London awoke. It was terribly pathetic to watch 
how tenderly the slim, starved, and yet toilworn 
fingers handled the flowers as if they really loved 
them and liked to fondle them reverently, and yet the 
lips of the owners of the hands would, perhaps, a few 
seconds afterwards, be framing some obscene jest or 
launching torrents of abuse at some other luckler s 
one for some offence, imaginary or real. Truly our 
flower girls are a strange anomaly—at one moment 
pleading and pathetic, at another abandoned little 
viragos. But our moralisings were rudely interrupted 
by a “ mind yer nob, gov’nor ” followed by an empty 
basket thrown from an adjacent stall that whizzed 
past within a very few inches offtur nose, and we 
were once again constrained to move on. Presently 
the rattle and hum of outside traffic announced'the 
fact that the ordinary business of the day was 
beginning to fill the streets, and, sundry qualms 
assuring us that some refreshment would be accept¬ 
able, we departed in search of the same, carrying 
with us impressions, both mental and physical, that 
will not soon be forgotten. 
-—+>- 
Hardening |f iscellany, 
DOUBLE WHITE ROCKET. 
This form of Hesperis matronalis is really one of 
the most beautiful hardy border plants we have and 
yet it is seldom seen. The reason why is possibly 
not far to seek, and yet it seems a little strange that 
so beautiful a subject and one admired by all who 
see it should become scarce through sheer neglect of 
a very simple requirement, without which, it soon 
ceases to exist. We allude to the taking up and 
dividing the old stools every season. It will grow in 
