ie Gardening World, October 31, 1908. 
An Amateur’s Letter to Amateurs. 
MOTTO FOR THE WEEK: 
“ Man is not a piece of clay to be moulded, 
t a plant to be cultivated.” — Garve. 
CONTENTS. 
mateur's Letter to Amateurs, An 681 
iples, Heavy . 684 
ribs in Boxes . 688 
rmpetition Awards . 6S2 
nquire Within . 689 
vhibition at the White City . 686 
.ower Garden, How I planned my 682 
lower Garden, The (illus.) . 687 
ruit Garden, The (illus.) . 687 
rapes. Shanking in . 682 
reenhouse, The Amateur's . 688 
dleborine, The Great (illus.) . 683 
itchen Garden. The (illus.) . 687 
rchids for Amateurs . 688 
rotographv for Garden Lovers 
(illus.) . 685 
irawberry Tree, The (illus.) . 684 
olets in Frames . 683 
'ork of the Week. 687 
Slouous jUUmn. 
>llow me, follow me, up hill and down, 
Where the wild rivers are winding 
along; 
ander and saunter through forests all 
brown, 
Where the mad wind sprites are rev’ling 
in song 
astle and hustle, atwirl of the leaves, 
Running and dancing in clouds of the 
air; 
wonder and glamour Nature conceives, 
Weaving a chaplet of beauty most rare. 
olden October, so rugged and wild, 
Flushed with the crimson of autumn’s 
cold breath, 
hou art dear Nature’s bright, favourite 
child, 
Laughing, while leading old earth to 
her death. 
CLXVII. 
There is one charming minor char¬ 
acteristic of The Gardening V orld that 
helps to give it its own clear and distinct 
individuality, if we may use the word, 
as I think we may, for a magazine. I 
say to myself, the Editor has a delightful 
sense of the association between gardens 
and literature, of poets' praise of flowers, 
of great men’s appreciation of gardens. 
It may be a stray sentence, or some 
fugitive verse, but these things link in 
a fascinating way our gardens and our 
books. “ Oh the sense of the yellow 
mountain flower ” — who that has ever 
come across that single line has not felt 
a thrill of gratitude to Browning for 
having brought our flowers so close to 
us ?—and it is the same with other lines. 
There is another association that 
readers of The Gardening W orld may 
like to recognise. I mean the geographi¬ 
cal sense in the garden. To me it appeals 
intensely and I get far more pleasure 
from my flowers when I know the country 
which gave them to us. The knowledge 
adds very deeply to the interest of our 
gardens. ’ It is the something over and 
above the mere practical working that 
we seem to need. 
And now that we are busy with our 
autumn planting we may, perhaps, find 
this particular interest in grouping and 
associating certain plants from the same 
continent. Let us take Asia. We can 
plant a beautiful border of hardy flowers 
from thence if we choose, with something 
of the glamour and the subtle mystery 
upon them that all things have that 
come to us out of the Far East. Shall 
we plant this border ? It will contain 
that curiously beautiful Dicentra specta- 
bilis — the Lyre flower or the Bleeding 
Heart as we familiarly know it; it is a 
native of Siberia and North China in 
spite of its wonderful delicacy of aspect. 
And there is that handsome Corydalis 
nobilis, with rich golden flowers, also the 
gift of Siberia; and still among the 
choicest of our perennials on account of 
a rare delicacy of appearance are the 
Epimediums, so beautiful and dainty as 
to their foliage, as well as their flowers. 
Our noble Eremurus for some sheltered 
position, in deep light soil, is strangely 
and marvellously beautiful, and it comes 
from Persia, from India, and from Asia 
Minor; and reaching a height of three 
feet or more is the gift of the Orient. 
Eryngium oliverianum is closely allied 
to our Sea Holly, and having that strik¬ 
ing amethyst blue tint over leaves and 
.stems and flowers that is remarkably 
effective as a set off to more brilliant 
colourings. For moist positions in the 
border there is the fine Astilbe rivularis, 
with its lofty plumes of cream coloured 
flowers, that in its native haunts grows 
under Indian suns, and the stately Boc- 
conia cordata and B. microcarpa from 
Japan. There are the Funkias from 
Japan, the Anemone japonica, Primula 
japonica, and the dainty Adenophora. 
All these and many more are Asia s con¬ 
tributions to our hardy flower gardens. 
But it is not my intention to write an ex¬ 
haustive list; my idea is to suggest an 
interesting association and bond between 
the far countries of the earth and our 
garden plots, and each for himself can 
find the flowers he loves best to grow', 
and discover from w'hence they come. 
Planting Roses. 
The season for this interesting work 
has fully come, and I >vould say to those 
who are removing Roses or establishing 
fresh ones, deal generously with them— 
they are gross feeders. An open, airy 
situation should be given whenever pos¬ 
sible, and when planting do not let us 
always be drawn towards the novelties ; 
many of these have not the robust consti¬ 
tution of older varieties. Such varieties 
as Caroline Testout, La France, Vis¬ 
countess Folkestone, Duke of Edinburgh, 
the good old General Jacqueminot, 
Madame Abel Chatenay, Madame Lam- 
bard, Madame Hoste, the Hon’ble Edith 
Gifford, are all reliable to a degree. 
It is a good thing at this time to re¬ 
member the house walls, and for this 
purpose w'hat a stand-by is the old Gloire 
de Dijon. It is capital for most aspects. 
I have tried it everywhere but due north, 
and I would, if necessary, even experi¬ 
ment with it there. The earliest Rose of 
summer, and often the latest Rose of au¬ 
tumn, it is in the cooler aspects of won¬ 
derfully rich colouring. I think when 
planting at the base of a wall it is es- 
pecially necessary to pay attention to the 
soil; it' is well worth while clearing out a 
barrow load or two of the existing earth 
and replenishing with good, rich compost, 
and adding also some well-rotted stable 
manure. For a southern aspect I look 
upon Devoniensis as a charming variety, 
and one of the most sweetly scented of all 
the Roses. 
F. Norfolk. 
-- 
She. Ernies ase. Sese. 
The leaves are sere, and on the ground 
They rustle with an eerie sound, 
A sound half-w'hispei and half-sigh— 
The plaint of sweet things fain to die, 
Poor things for which no ruth is found. 
With summer once the land was crowned , 
But now that autumn scatters round 
Decav, and summer fancies die, 
The leaves are sere. 
Once, too, my thought within the bound 
Of summer frolicked, like a hound 
In meadows jocund with July, 
And now I sit and wonder why, 
With all mv waste of plack and pound, 
The leaves are sere! 
W. E. Henley. 
