JOURNAL  OF  HORTICULTURE  AND  COTTAGE  GARDENER . 
January  14,  18'J?. 
3(i 
strains  and  selections,  now  long  ago,  became  so  popular  that  a 
business  was  so  to  say  forced  upon  him,  and  in  time  increased, 
till  as  above  indicated,  it  turned  him  out  of  his  home  ;  but  not 
unhappy,  for  a  more  happy,  genial,  interesting  man,  and  more  real 
lover  of  the  garden  and  its  crops,  it  would  be  hard  to  find.  His 
hospitality  was  almost  overwhelming,  and  his  converse  of  the  past 
most  entertaining.  It  is  said  Mr.  Dobbie  is  an  octogenarian  ;  if 
this  is  really  so  there  can  surely  be  few  like  him,  for  he  is  as 
straight,  sturdy,  and  active  as  even  hea'thy  men  are  commonly 
ssen  before  they  reach  the  “sixties.”  However,  whether  there 
has  been  any  mistake  in  age  or  not  there  is  no  mistake  about  Mr. 
Dobbie  being  a  genuine  man.  It  was  a  treat  to  spend  an  evening 
with  him  and  his  help-meet,  who  is  the  equal  of  himself  in  making 
his  visitors  linger  till  late  in  their  bountiful  haven  of  rest  on 
the  eastern  shore  of  Rothesay  Bay. 
But  are  we  to  have  nothing  about  the  nurseries  of  Dobbie  and 
Go.,  of  Cuthbertson,  Burnie,  and  Fife  ?  Yery  little.  The  several 
catalogues  are  a  faithful  reflex  of  the  whole.  Of  Pansies  and 
Yiolas  there  are  acres — a  singularly  complete  collection.  Of 
Dahlias  still  more  acres — certainly  one  of  the  greatest  emporiums 
in  the  world  of  the  grand  “  autumn  ”  flowers,  of  which  a  brilliant 
collection  was  shown  at  the  early  summer  show  of  the  Royal 
Horticultural  Society  in  the  London  Temple  Gardens  last  “  May.” 
Think  of  it,  Dahlias  in  May  !  Novelties,  surely  :  and  as  such 
graciously  accepted  by  the  Queen.  The  twirling  Cactus  forms 
figured  freely,  as  they  will  in  many  a  drawing-room  in  the  future, 
and  it  may  be  expected  that  all  kinds  will  figure  attractively  in 
the  forthcoming  monograph,  edited  by  the  head  of  the  firm,  whose 
“  head”  may  be  seen  in  fig.  11,  page  34 — a  gentleman  of  decided 
literary  capacity.  Then  as  to  all  the  rest  of  the  border  and  florists’ 
flowers  ;  they  are  all  in  the  grounds.  There  is  no  mistake  about 
it  ;  but  in  September  cartloads  of  gay  bunches  were  in  the 
sheds  waiting  their  turn  to  be  sent  to  many  shows.  Under  glass, 
Tomatoes  commanded  attention — a  forest  of  plants  of  the  Cham¬ 
pion,  roped  with  smooth,  firm,  scarlet  fruits  just  of  the  right  size  | 
for  market  ;  while  for  fragrance  were  the  Tea  Rose  scented  and 
rose-tinted  tuberous  Begonias,  showing  that  Dobbies  are  up  to  date, 
and  it  will  be  their  own  fault  if  they  lag  behind.  But  we  must 
leave  them  for  a  day  on  the  lochs  in  the  noble  “  Lord  of  the  Isles.” 
The  Clyde  steamers  are  admittedly  the  finest  pleasure  boats  in 
the  kingdom.  They  are  floating  palaces  and  hotels — temperance 
and  otherwise — conducted  in  the  best  possible  manner.  About 
three  hours  after  leaving  Glasgow  they  call  at  Rothesay,  and 
proceed  up  the  different  lochs.  For  a  long  run,  some  sixty  miles, 
we  take  the  “  Lord  of  the  Isles  ”  for  Inverarv,  pass  through  the 
Kyles  of  Bute  (from  the  Celtic  caol  or  caolus — a  narrow  passage) 
leave  Tighnabruiaich  on  the  left,  where  lives  the  Pansy  man, 
Mr.  A.  Irvine,  and  go  on  past  Ardlamont  Point,  through  Loch  Fyne, 
till  in  the  course  of  three  or  four  hours  we  arrive  at  our  destination 
close  to  the  Castle  of  the  Duke  of  Argyll,  “  land,”  remain  on  shore 
for  an  hour  or  so,  then  return.  To  and  fro,  a  run  of  more  than 
100  miles,  and  ac  what  price  do  you  think,  dear  reader?  You 
would  not  think  the  return  ticket  dear  at  2s.,  would  you  ?  It  was 
no  special  “  cheap  trip,”  but  the  ordinary  fare.  True,  if  you  wish 
to  be  extravagant  and  aristocratic  you  can  pay  4s.  for  the  saloon 
end  ;  but  the  “  fore  ”  is  just  as  good,  while  many  like  it  better, 
except,  perhaps,  at  dinner  time,  where  the  menu  of  the  table  d'hote 
is  choicer  and  terms  naturally  somewhat  higher. 
Acting  on  the  advice  of  two  charming  young  lady  amateur 
guides,  who  pointed  out  and  explained  features  of  interest  on 
the  way,  we  took  tickets  for  the  “  fore,”  and  all  went  well  till 
dinner  time,  and  not  very  badly  then.  As  only  the  best  could 
be  offered  for  much  kindness  places  were  booked  for  the  saloon 
dinner,  which  was  excellent,  and  the  price  not  extravagant  ; 
but  during  a  little  chat  “  abaft  the  funnel  ”  the  purser  came  to 
examine  tickets.  “  Ah  i  ”  (sharp  purser),  “  wrong  end  ;  another 
shilling,  please.”  “  But  we  have  only  been  to  dine.”  “Yes,  sir, 
another  shilling.”  “  Then  if  we  travel  5  yards  to  spend  5s.  extra 
on  the  ship  we  have  to  pay  for  the  privilege  of  crossing  the  line 
to  do  so.”  “  If  you  like  to  put  it  so  ;  but  you  are  here ,  and  it  is  my 
duty  to  take  an  extra  shilling  on  the  tickets.”  A  matter  of  small 
consequence,  but  just  a  question  of  being  “caught”  and  marking 
an  anomaly  ;  for  be  it  noted  we  travelled  nearly  sixty  miles  for  a 
shilling,  and  then  paid  an  equal  sum  for  walking  across  the 
boundary  to  pay  more  ;  or,  to  put  it  another  way,  at  the  rate  of 
five  miles  a  penny  for  the  trip,  “  resting  ”  in  a  chair  if  we  liked, 
and  nearly  2d.  a  yard  for  walking  to  dinner  Such  little  surprises 
are  good  for  the  memory.  As  to  the  pocket,  well,  when  you  go 
a  touring  you  have  to  “  pay,”  at  least  such  is  the  experience  of — 
The  Scribe. 
HARDY  FLOWER  NOTES. 
“  Bricks  without  straw  ”  might  well  be  the  heading  of  these 
notes  now.  Flowers  there  are  in  bloom  it  is  true  ;  but  these  are 
few  and  have  been  spoken  of  before,  and  the  garden  is  in  its 
dullest  time.  Recently  it  was  as  frosted  silver.  Tree  and  bush ; 
withered  stem  or  mound  of  verdure  ;  level  ground  or  rockwork 
pile  were  glittering  with  tiny  crystals.  With  that  silver  plating 
which  the  most  skilled  worker  in  metals  could  not  hope  to  rival, 
the  network  of  the  hedges  was  beautiful  to  see.  Thorn,  and  bud, 
and  branching  bough  were  covered  with  their  silvery  coating,  and 
even  the  haws  which  still  keep  crimson  at  Christmas  Eve  were 
frosted  over.  The  veil  of  mist  which  hung  o’er  all  was  drawn  aside, 
and  the  cold  sunlight  of  December  shone  for  a  time  upon  this 
wintry  scene,  and  gave  it  a  greater  glory — cold  though  that  glory 
seemed.  Hard  was  the  soil,  and  the  adventurous  Snowdrops  and 
Crocuses  were  arrested  in  their  eager  desire  to  win  our  admiration. 
The  Water  Lily  pool  was  covered  with  thick  ice,  through  which 
we  could  only  faintly  discern  the  crowns,  which,  when  summer 
comes  with  genial  breath,  will  yield  us  their  fairy  flowers  afloat 
upon  the  waters,  which — though  now  congealed  and  chilling  even 
to  see  —  will  then  give  a  welcome  coolness.  Everything  was 
wintry,  yet  inexpressibly  beautiful.  That  blackbird,  with  ebony 
garments  and  yellow  bill,  which  comes  to  the  window  side  to 
breakfast  off  the  berries  of  the  Cotoneaster,  looking  quickly  round 
to  see  if  danger  were  near,  seemed  like  Keats’  owl,  which  “  for  all 
his  feathers  was  a-cold.”  He  is  black  but  beautiful  indeed,  and  for 
his  beauty  is  welcome  to  the  berries  in  return  for  his  company. 
In  summer  we  are  less  pleased  with  his  presence  (though  his  music 
is  welcome),  by  reason  of  his  raids  upon  the  Gooseberries,  the  Straw¬ 
berries,  and  Peas.  Then  we  are  apt  to  greet  him  with  explosions 
of  wrath,  forgetting  that  even  then  he  does  some  service  in  return, 
and  only  claims  his  just  recompense.  The  tits  and  the  robins  are 
about  aiso,  while  the  perky  sparrow  is  never  absent,  seeking  crumbs 
by  day,  and  by  night  resting  on  the  Rose3  on  the  house  front. 
But  as  the  misty  veil  was  drawn  back  the  clouds  aloft  were 
seen  driving  from  the  west,  and  through  the  night  the  frost 
vanished  and  the  silvering  fled  before  the  south-west  wind  and 
heavy  rains.  The  ice  is  melting  swiftly,  and  though  the  skaters 
and  curlers  may  grieve  the  Snowdrop  and  Winter  Aconite  will 
rejoice.  The  latter  will  be  in  flower  in  some  gardens,  but  here 
it  is  just  coming  through  the  soil  with  its  little  yellow  flowers 
protected  by  their  green  ruff.  “  Too  common,”  perhaps,  for  some 
folk’s  gardens,  but  of  welcome  brightness  in  the  dark  and  gloomy 
days  of  winter,  and  doubly  welcome  for  lighting  up  a  dull  corner 
where  something  lively  is  needed  at  any  time,  but  especially  at 
present.  One  such  corner  here  has,  by  way  of  experiment,  been 
planted  with  Lily  of  the  Yalley  and  Winter  Aconites  intermingled. 
Should  these  succeed,  as  they  are  expected  to  do,  a  pleasing  picture 
will  be  lormed  both  when  the  Aconites  dare  the  storms  of  January 
and  when  the  Lilies  of  the  Yalley 
“  Droop  on  slender  threads 
With  broad  hood  leaves  above  their  heads, 
Like  white-robed  maids  in  summer  hours, 
Beneath  umbrellas,  shunning  showers.  ” 
But  these  are  pleasures  of  anticipation  ;  sights  of  the  days  we 
may  never  see  ;  and  we  must  turn  to  the  winter-flowering 
Jasmine  on  the  wall,  to  these  white  Christmas  Stocks,  to  the 
Primroses,  the  few  Crocuses  and  Snowdrops,  or  to  the  greenery 
around  for  subjects  of  thought. 
That  Jasmine  with  its  golden  stars  is  a  winter  flower  that  some 
despise,  but  which  we  cannot  well  spare,  with  its  green  branches 
and  its  yellow  blooms.  On  the  wall  it  gives  that  touch  of  gold  we 
love  to  see,  and  small  though  its  flowers  are,  they  are  flowers  still, 
and  with  beauty  of  their  own.  At  the  foot  of  the  south-west 
gable  of  an  outhouse  in  a  narrow  border  are  some  white  Christmas 
Stocks,  the  seed  of  which  was  procured  nearly  two  years  ago  to 
produce  plants  to  flower  the  following  Christmas.  This  they  did, 
and  last  spring  were  turned  out  into  the  border,  where  they  have 
been  almost  continuously  in  bloom.  They  have  stood  the  frost 
well,  and  this  day  of  Christmas  Eve  quite  respectable  flowers  could 
be  cut,  though  a  water  cask  near  had  ice  nearly  5  inches  thick  on 
its  surface.  These  Stocks  were  recommended  for  greenhouse  work 
at  the  festive  season,  but  it  is  pleasant  to  have  them  outdoors  too, 
though  their  beauty  may  be  a  little  dimmed  by  frost  and  rain. 
On  the  wall  behind  is  a  plant  of  the  rare  Lathyrus  pubescens 
from  Uruguay,  kindly  given  to  the  writer  by  a  connoisseur  in 
flowers.  What  disaster  this  or  other  winters  may  bring  to  it  time 
alone  will  tell,  but  much  to  our  surprise  this  South  American 
Perennial  Pea  remains  as  yet  fresh  and  green,  and  unharmed  by 
the  ordeal  it  ha*  undergone.  It  did  not  flower  last  summer,  but  it 
was  only  a  young  plant  then,  and  not  strong  enough  for  blooming. 
May  winter  spare  it  so  that  1897  may  afford  us  the  treat  of 
