December 28, 1889. 
THE GARDENING WORLD. 
267 
Dickens, Garrick, and Robert Burns. Single yellow : 
Obelisk, Rowland Hill, and Ida. Double yellow : 
Bouquet Orange, Heroine, and Sovereign. 
Tulips. 
No more fitting associate could be found for the 
Hyacinth, than the Tulip—“ Like, yet so unlike.” 
Like the Hyacinth, the Tulip stands out prominently 
as a decorative plant, either in pots, vases, or borders, 
blooming at the same time, though, perhaps, with a 
greater brilliancy of colour, and requiring very much 
the same cultural treatment. As some varieties are 
well adapted for growing in pots, they form a valuable 
acquisition in any conservatory in early spring. But 
more especially are they adapted for the decoration of 
the flower garden, planted in masses in designs of 
different colours, or masses of one colour. Nothing 
can possibly excel the Tulip in creating a pleasing 
effect. I do not know much of the history of the 
Tulip, except that it was introduced into this country 
during the seventeenth century (though it was known 
long before that time), that it has been mors or less 
cultivated ever since, and, also, that very high prices 
were realised for a single bulb ; but now, happily, 
they are kept within the reach of all lovers of flowers. 
Though there are many species, my remarks in this 
paper must be confined to those familiar to all—the 
common flower generally found in gardens, and to the 
florists’ flower proper. 
The propagation of the Tulip is a long and tedious 
process, taking years to grow flowering bulbs, either 
from seeds or offsets. The best method is by offsets, 
because then the cultivator would know what he was 
growing. 
Culture. 
For pot-culture, Tulip bulbs, as in the ease of Hyacinths, 
must be potted early in September and October, to 
allow the bulbs to get well rooted into the soil, as 
unless there is an abundance of roots the forcing of 
Tulips will be a failure. When potting, use soil as 
advised for Hyacinths, plunging in ashes. As they 
start growth, they should be brought gently forward, 
as in the case of Hyacinths, care being taken never to 
allow them to suffer from drought, or to be subjected to 
too strong a heat. 
Tulips are most at home when planted in beds or 
borders. Select a sheltered position, where the beds 
are naturally protected from strong winds, in a compost 
as previously described, but thoroughly well drained, 
so that water may never lay about the roots. Early in 
October is the best time for planting, as at that period 
they begin to make roots, which, for the perfect de¬ 
velopment of the flower, must be encouraged. If grown 
in masses, they may be planted from 6 ins. to 9 ins. 
apart, according to their several heights, the tallest 
being so arranged that the shorter ones may be seen in 
front of them. If planted in designs in single or double 
rows on borders, there are many varied and beautiful 
colours, both of single and double flowers, that may be 
employed with splendid effect. After planting, the 
beds must be kept perfectly clean, and the surface 
kept broken to allow rain to pass freely away. As they 
show flower, it is a good plan to protect them, which, 
if planted in beds, may be easily done by having a 
light framework of wood or iron, so that a light canvas 
covering may be quickly drawn over them, thus pro¬ 
tecting them either from strong winds or heavy rains, 
or from the sometimes too exciting influence of the sun. 
When the flower stems become tough after blooming, 
the bulbs may be taken up and stored away for a time 
in sand, afterwards placing them in a cool dry place, 
where the air may have free access and circulation as 
Tulips, though apparently dormant, are never perfectly 
at rest. 
The Florists’ Tulip. 
It is a matter much to be regretted that the real flower 
of the florists’ school is so seldom seen, because when 
rectified or permanent flowers are seen they cannot fail 
to create a warm enthusiasm in any lover of flowers, 
embracing as they do most beautiful, soft, warm or 
glowing colours in their perfectly-defined feathered, or 
flamed markings on a clear ground of either pure white 
or clear yellow. Perhaps because such bulbs are so 
valued by their owners, and not easily circulated, really 
good varieties are scarce. Be that as it may, they are 
not so popular by a long way as they deserve to be. 
Though it takes some time to raise a flowering bulb 
from seed, and is so long during its first form or breeder 
stage before it breaks or rectifies—that is, assumes its 
true character—yet one would think from that fact 
alone that they would be more extensively cultivated. 
Nowadays one must always have something new. 
Besides, there is a peculiar fascination in watching 
an opening flower of the florist Tulip, in speculating on 
what it will be, and what form it will take, though 
experienced growers can very nearly judge, during the 
breeder stage, what the bulbs will eventually turn out. 
Yet even to the most experienced it is an interesting, 
almost anxious time till the ultimate character is 
decided to be either a feathered byblcemen, flamed rose, 
bizarre, or vice versa. Whatever form they take, all 
six petals should be marked exactly alike, each segment 
of the perianth corresponding with its fellow. If a 
feathered flower, it should have close even markings on 
each segment, to present when expanded an unbroken 
edge, with close even feathers. If flamed, its distinctive 
colours must be clean, either light, dark, or bright, 
perfectly defined and distinct in outline, with a clear 
base of white or yellow.— II. Bee* 
-->£<-- 
THE DIAMOND RING. 
A Story Founded on Fact. 
My neighbour, Bagshot, had this year a very fine crop 
of Apples from his tall trees, and being a bit proud of 
the fine Blenheim Pippins which now adorn the shelves 
of his cellar, I got a note from him the other day in¬ 
viting me to come and see them. Bagshot has retired 
on his means, having, in current phrase, “made his 
pile ” in the retail trade, and his garden is his hobby. 
He might have plenty of worse ones, and few better. 
When I called at “The Cottage”—for such is the 
modest designation Bagshot has given to his little 
villa residence—I found him busy still gathering the 
later of his Apples ; but he came from off the ladder 
as brisk as a sailor when he saw me. 
“ Halloo, Smith ! glad you’ve come over. I’ve got 
such a sight for you, old fellow ; it’ll make your 
mouth water. Can’t set his teeth on edge,” he said 
jocularly aside to Mrs. Bagshot, gibingly referring to 
my almost toothless gums. “I’ll show you pippins, 
my boy ! Talk about pippins and cheese ! Sir John 
Falstaff’s pippins were as sour crabs to mine, I can tell 
you !—grand Blenheims, fit for the Queen, and can’t be 
beat in the kingdom ! ” Here were big words, and 
loud praise indeed ; but I made some allowance for 
Bagshot’s strong animal spirits, and was none too 
sanguine. However, when I got to the cellar, I found 
a sight indeed—one of the grandest lots of Blenheims I 
ever saw—huge, round, rosy, and even. Set out on the 
clean strawed shelves, they formed a sight for the gods, 
and if my mouth did not water for them raw, at least 
one baked would have been a delicious treat. 
Returning upstairs, Bagshot led me into the parlour, 
where his wife had in the meantime laid out a tempting 
tea, and as we sipped our Bohea, ate of the delicious 
bread and home-made butter, and chatted of the 
Apples, Mrs. Bagshot suddenly burst in upon our talk 
with the observation, “Mr. Smith, has Bagshot ever 
told you the story of his diamond ring?” “No,” I 
replied, “he has not.” “Tell it, then,” said Mrs. 
Bagshot to her husband. “No, you tell it,” said he; 
and at once the good lady broke into the role of story¬ 
teller. 
“You must know that in the summer of 1887, 
when it was so hot and dry, Bagshot used to amuse 
himself in the evenings when the weather became 
cooler by watering the Apple trees. Now he never 
wore his diamond ring when at work in the daytime, 
but after he had dressed tor tea he usually put it on, 
not because he was proud or foppish, but it was a gift 
from an old and dear friend, long since dead, and Bag- 
shot thought that in not wearing it some time each day, 
showed for the memory of his old friend a lack of respect. 
“"Well, on one evening when wearing the ring, he 
went out into the garden, took off his coat, and set to 
work watering. Later in the evening, when we sat 
down to supper, all at once the ring was missed, and 
of course there was a pretty hullaballo. We did very 
much like the monks in the story of the ‘Jackdaw of 
Rheirns.’ We hunted literally everywhere, but not a 
gleam of the ring could be found. We searched 
upstairs, downstairs, all over the garden, not in the 
water, but in the water cans and buckets, clothes, 
boots, everything and everywhere, and next day also ; 
but no ring could be found. 
“Now Belle’s sweetheart then, Tom Burton—you know 
they are married now—had been in during the evening, 
and Belle and he were mooning about the garden for 
some time after Bagshot came in and sat down. Still 
no suspicion was cast in his direction for a week or 
more, when, one day, who should call in but old Mrs. 
Wilton. Now the old woman was rather put out with 
Tom, because she had tried to hook him for her niece, 
* The essay which won the first prize offered by the Ealing 
and District Gardeners’ Improvement Society. 
Fanny Stevens, and when she found out that he was 
accepted by our Belle, she was as awkward as could be 
for a time, and, I think, took it into her head that she 
would do Tom a bid turn. 
“ If it was not for that reason I could not make out 
why she should have somehow put it into our heads 
that Tom might have got the ring. The old wretch ! 
How I hated her for the suggestion, and yet somehow 
as days and weeks went by and nothing was heard of 
the ring, the thought seemed to burn into our minds 
that he was guilty. I don’t know what either he or 
Belle would have said if they had known what our 
thoughts were, but although w r e did think so hard of 
Tom, still we kept our thoughts to ourselves. Bagshot 
said that as we only suspected, and there was no other 
ground for suspicion than the loss of the ring and a 
jealous old woman’s chatter, that it would be best to 
say nothing, but keep a sharp look-out. Of course, it 
made us look rather coldly upon Tom, and we could 
see that both he and Belle felt something was wrong, 
yet could not be certain. I think it was at the end of 
July—for it was just after Belle’s birthday—that the 
ring was lost, and here was Michaelmas, yet still 
nothing heard of it. 
“Twice when Bagshot was in town he went into 
several pawnshops on pretence of wanting a ring, to see 
whether he could recognise his lost one, but all to no 
purpose. One evening after the young ones had been 
out for a walk, and came in rather late, when we had 
had supper, Bagshot, apparently by chance, for he 
startled me as much as he did the others, said, ‘ I 
s’pose you’ll be buying the ring soon, Tom ’; and, of 
course, Tom and poor Belle both turned red, and 
blushed up to the eyes. It was a rather rough sort of 
thing to say, and, of course, confused all of us. Tom, 
however, whom I could see Bigshot looking at hard, 
said, 1 When Belle tells me I may.’ Then there was 
some blushing and giggling, and Belle exclaiming, ‘ He 
can do as he likes,’ ran off upstairs. Then it came 
into my silly head that Bigshot had brought up about 
the ring in this way to see how Tom took it, and as we 
found that he acted so natural-like and so honestly, we 
were satisfied that there was no truth in Mother 
Wilton’s suspicion, and so far we were easy on that 
head, and looked upon Tom with all our old fondness 
and favour. 
“ Well, it was agreed that the wedding should come 
off in about a month, for it was a fact that the young 
ones had made up their minds on that very night to 
tell us of what they intended. It was rather sharp 
work, but they had been planning for a long time, so it 
was nothing fresh to them, if it was to us. So it came 
about that the wedding-day should be the last Monday 
in October, and we were as busy as bees getting every 
thing ready. I believe we only wanted the diamond 
ring found to make us all happy, for all the same its 
loss hung over us like a cloud at times when it was 
remembered. The Sunday before the wedding was 
rather wild and windy, and towards night it blew a 
regular hurricane. We had then a good crop of Blen¬ 
heims—not so fine as this year’s, but still, a good lot— 
and they were not all picked, for we wished them to 
hang as long as they could to colour up, and ours do 
colour up like robins’ breasts, as you have seen to-day. 
Well, the wind blowing so just when we were thinking 
about the wedding for next day, did rather put a 
damper on us, for it seemed like an ill omen, and when 
Tom left Belle at the gate I found she had been crying. 
‘Not a good prospect for future happiness,’ I thought ; 
‘ it seems as though something will cross them in life 
after all ’ ; and thinking gloomy-like all round off we 
went to bed. 
“It did blow that night to be sure ; the cottage shook 
and the trees made such a moany noise that it was late 
before I got to sleep. In the morning, however, when 
we awoke, the sun was shining in the window, and the 
wind was as quiet as a lamb. It was a lovely morning, 
and put hope and joy into us, I can tell you. We got 
breakfast out of the way as quick as we could, for some 
friends and Polly Smith, Belle’s bridesmaid, were to be 
in at ten o’clock. Bagshot went out into the garden, 
and presently came in with such a basket of Apples 
blown down during the night, and he said there were 
lots more to pick up then. However, I got him to leave 
the rest, as it was time for him to get dressed for church. 
“ My story is nearly over. To church we went, and 
back we came, about a dozen altogether, and sat down 
to the wedding breakfast. All went off capitally 
everybody was happy, and Belle was in first-rate 
spirits. Then the men went out into the garden to 
have a smoke, and Bagshot took a basket to pick up 
the othir Apples. They had not been gone five minutes 
before there was such a shouting and calling, ‘Mother! ’ 
