46 
The Garden Magazine, September, 1923 
A much loved dog of ours, “General Pershing” by name, came in 
contact with red pepper similarly placed for the same purpose by a 
thoughtless neighbor and never fully recovered from the effects of the 
red pepper in his eyes, the acute inflammation causing a permanent 
partial blindness. The dog was so well known and loved that just 
before Armistice Day when the teacher of one of the primary grades in a 
near-by school asked “Who is General Pershing?” the children answered 
in chorus “Mrs. Browne’s dog”! 
If Mrs. Horrub will wrap her garbage in old newspaper before putting 
it in the can and have the container large enough so that it will not 
overflow and the lid kept tight, she will have no future trouble with 
inquisitive dogs, marauding cats, insanitary flies, etc. 
In the proper place, squirrels are most entertaining and well worth 
feeding when their food is scarce. We have a squirrel house occupied 
by Punch, Judy, and a family of baby squirrels just learning to shift 
for themselves; a mischievous Irish Terrier; a large Persian pussy 
(with three bells on his collar); ten birdhouses occupied; two small 
ducklings belonging to a neighbor’s children, but constantly in our 
garden and swimming in our bird bath; not to mention six or seven dogs 
in the immediate neighborhood. But by taking proper precautions, 
as suggested above, we have very little or no trouble between the odd, 
but friendly assortment and our rather large garden, containing, 
among other things, five or six hundred Tulips, the same number of 
Daffodils, at least four hundred Rose bushes, most of the perennials 
listed in the catalogues, and two hundred and fifty varieties of Iris in as 
many as a thousand plants. I make this statement not to brag, but in 
case Mrs. Horrub should feel inclined to challenge what I have said, and 
think, “Oh, well, she hasn’t much of a garden to spoil!”— Anna V. L. 
Browne, Rutherford, N. J. 
Spring Anemones and Achimenes 
To the Editors of The Garden Magazine: 
HAVE been greatly interested in the several notes and queries which 
have been appearing in your columns of late concerning two plants 
of very diverse type, namely, the spring-flowering Anemones, and 
Achimenes, and as 1 have met with some success in the culture of each, 
a note on the subject from yet one more corner of the country may be of 
interest. 
It is not alone in the more northern portions of the Pacific coastal 
region that Anemone coronaria and its hybrids thrive in gardens, for 
they flourish under the more arid conditions of southern California as 
well. If one sows seed in the spring, many of his little plants will 
flower the spring following, even some of those transplanted for con¬ 
venience in the fall. If the latter procedure be the principal method 
adopted, the seedling bed may be allowed to go quite dry through the 
summer, whereupon the leaves wither away and the little dry tubers 
can be sifted out and set in their permanent positions just before the 
autumn rains begin. Established corms frequently commence flower¬ 
ing with us much earlier than your Puget Sound correspondent states to 
be the case there. In fact, on September 30th, the day I chanced to be 
reading her article, the first bud in my Anemone bed had already pushed 
above the foliage. And as soon as October 15th this bud had blown, 
affording the paradox of the “spring-flowering” A. coronaria and 
a clump of pink A. japonica in the background in simultaneous bloom! 
Your correspondent’s encomiums of these lovely flowers are indeed 
deserved. Few nooks in a garden receive more attention from visitors 
than that where the Anemones are blossoming, and they look equally 
happy in the house as cut flowers. Since Quarantine 37 went into 
effect it has become nearly impossible to get fresh supplies of ripe 
corms, and not all of the strains are at present available from seed. 
The Giant Poppy, de Caen, and St. Brigid are those that I personally 
have tried in this way. Another strain, called St. Bavo, seems to be 
highly thought of in parts of Europe, but 1 have not yet been able to 
get any. Of the other three, that first named has done very finely for 
me, but I am inclined to think that the best of the St. Brigid Anemones 
are as thoroughly satisfactory as anything I have had, for they are not 
only about the easiest to grow in perfection, but they show exceptional 
variety both in form and color. Generally, my personal preference is 
best suited by single Anemones, but some of the double and semi¬ 
double St. Brigids are extraordinarily lovely, nevertheless. I do not, 
however, find that any of the strains yield plants of permanent garden 
value, and for that reason a supply of fresh seedlings should be grown 
along'each year for replacing those which have run out. Contrary to 
the experience of your correspondent, they bloom well with us perhaps 
only the first year or two. After that the plants do indeed appear to 
“ last forever, ” and their foliage, itself an exceedingly attractive feature 
of the plant, will remain luxuriant, but the flowers tend ever to become 
smaller, less perfect, and less frequent in appearance—yet this is not a 
great drawback when one recalls how easy it is to raise new ones. I 
have not yet met with notable success in restoring youth and beauty to 
these senile corms by the suggested method of breaking them up and 
replanting, but will give it another test this year. These Anemones 
appear to like soil made rich by the use of plenty of leaf mold or well 
decayed manure, and will grow well either in partial sunshine or nearly 
complete shade. They probably attain highest perfection when the 
seeds are planted directly in the semi-shady nook where the plants are 
intended to bloom and subjected to judicious thinning later, but lacking 
space for such luxurious schemes, 1 have gotten along nicely by the more 
prosaic seed-flat method. 
Of other species of spring Anemone, I have tried only A. Pulsatilla, 
and this without success, as I have been quite unable to effect the safe 
establishment of such plants as have been sent me. Seeds 1 have not 
tried. 
Achimenes is a plant with which 1 had only speaking acquaintance in 
conservatories until this last season. In the fall of 1921 a few of the 
tiny, cone-like tubers were sent me by Mrs. Norman Stoner of Indiana. 
For me they were an entire experiment, and I was dubious. Acting 
under instructions from the sender, I kept them through the winter 
under shelter in some cans of semi-dry earth. In February I pro¬ 
ceeded to pot them off in prepared soil and kept them carefully watered. 
Nothing happened. Finally, along in the spring, as I was to be away 
for some months on an extended journey and would no longer be able to 
coddle them, I dug them all up again and planted them out in a shady 
corner under a Redwood tree not far from the Anemones. Knowing 
that Achimenes is supposed pre-eminently to be a plant, like Gloxinia, 
for the moist greenhouse, 1 had small hope of the hot, dry air of a 
California inland summer bringing anything but complete destruction 
to them. Now what did I find upon my return in mid-September but 
my Achimenes, every last plant of them, healthy and fine, and all, 
even the smallest, fairly loaded with their rich, violet-purple bloom. 
Curiosity led me to exhume one, and from the appearance of the root I 
judge I am going to have violet Achimenes in plenty and to spare. 
As a success they are as complete as unexpected, and I hope by 
digging and keeping sheltered and dry each winter as the one before, I 
can keep them with me always. Whether other varieties would do as 
well under prevailing conditions as the two 1 have, 1 do not know, but 
1 hope it will not be many years before a test will be possible. Probably 
others have grown them out-of-doors in California before now, but 
if so it is a pity that the possibilities have not become more generally 
understood that a multitude might share the pleasure.— S. Stillman 
Berry, Redlands, California. 
A Piquant Hardy Climber 
To the Editors of The Garden Magazine: 
E ARE inclined to be more conservative in our choice of vines 
than in our choice of trees and shrubs. We take them more 
for granted and choose from a limited circle of perhaps twenty well 
known kinds. This is partly because the nurseries do not offer a large 
variety (though demand will always create a supply) and partly be¬ 
cause vines in a planting bear such definite and important functions— 
here to accentuate, there to conceal—that we hesitate to risk in these 
important positions vines not of the tried and true class. 
While this “safety first ’’rule may be justified in our house vines, there 
is another large class of vines where we should be freer and less exclu¬ 
sive. These are the informal twining and scrambling vines like the 
Bittersweet and wild Clematis—the vines we plant to hang over rocks 
or to grow among trees and shiubs to give luxuriance and color to our 
wild garden and our wood. 
The Climbing Knotweed (Polygonum baldschuanicum) should add 
welcome variety to this class, first because of its rapid and rampant 
growth, and second because of its own individual charm. It is a 
strong woody climber, growing as much as twenty feet in one season 
and often with a stem an inch or two thick at the base. The leaves are 
firm and a good green, comparatively small, and not unlike those of the 
Bittersweet. At its flowering season in late August and September 
it is covered with showers of delicate pink or white panicles of flowers 
which do not droop but stand out and even turn up, giving the plant 
a certain piquant daintiness. The individual flowers are exquisite 
against the dark green leaves. The sprays are attractive also for 
cutting and last well indoors. They are followed by curious tiny 
three-cornered vessels holding shiny black seeds. 
The illustration shows the vine growing in ideal conditions in an 
old garden. It has found an old tree willing to support its weight and 
