April  15,  1897. 
JOURNAL  OF  HORTICULTURE  AND  COTTAGE  GARDENER . 
313 
DU  BLIN-BY-THE-SE  A, 
A  little  bu»iness  on  a  wild  March  morning  left  a  narrow 
margin  of  time  for  those  pleasures  dear  to  the  gardener’s  heart — 
viz.,  a  look  in  on  a  kindred  spirit,  a  walk  over  comparatively  new 
ground,  and  a  talk  over  decidedly  old  subjects,  yet  ever  new  and 
fresh,  with  a  little  to  say  of  what  was  seen.  Visitors  to  Dublin — 
some  of  them,  at  least — have  left  us  under  the  vague  charge  of 
being  rather  slow — “a  little  behind  the  times,  you  know.”  We 
know,  at  any  rate,  that  the  charge  is  somewhat  vague,  for  one  with 
whom  I  endeavoured  to  join  issue  upon  that  point  clinched  the 
only  visible  nail  in  the  argument  by  triumphantly  trailing  his 
timepiece,  testifying  to  the  fact  indisputable  of  our  being  twenty- 
five  minutes  behind  the  time.  We  grant  it ;  but  for  other  matters. 
Whew  !  not  so  fast,  my  friend  ;  that  was  in  pre-electric  days  of 
Dublin  trams.  What  would  yc  u  think  of  us  now  ?  Now  that  we 
have  hitched  the  lightning  on  to  our  brand  new,  long-bodied, 
comfortably  cushioned,  neatly  trimmed  trams  swiftly  running  to 
and  fro  as  far  as  Dalkey-by-the  Sea  ;  and,  be  it  known  to  those  of 
frugal  mind,  for  fourperce  all  the  way. 
From  “  The  Pillar  ” — the  pillar  of  the  greatest  salt,  who  really 
looks  very  small  so  far  up  on  that  splendid  Corinthian  column  near 
the  G.P.O. — a  penny  tram  of  the  ante- electric  type  takes  one  to 
the  Haddington  Road,  where  the  overhead  wires  and  a  waiting 
motor-car  with  its  rakish-looking  mast  invite  us  to  mount  the 
upper  deck  to  see  all  that  we  can  see  of  Dublin-by-the-Sea.  All 
aboard.  The  motor  man,  with  a  handle  in  each  hand  and  one  foot, 
planted  on  as  bell  push,  pulls  and  prods  simultaneously,  and  the 
triple  movement  sets  us  gliding  off  and  away.  Surely  ’tis  the 
poetry  of  motion !  On  by  an  impenetrable  evergreen  screen 
stretched  along  the  face  of  old  Trinity’s  Botanic  Gardens,  truly 
tantalising  to  prying  eyes  ;  but  amongst  the  dense  leafage  of  Ever¬ 
green  Oaks  and  luxuriant  Hollies,  the  latter  still  having  quite  a 
Christmasy  tint  with  a  profusion  of  berries,  we  note  two  fine  speci¬ 
mens  of  the  yellow  fruited  variety,  which  are  charming.  Wonder 
what  “F.  W.  B.”  is  doing?  Oh,  we  know,  for  it  is  the  time 
when  Daffadowndillies  do  blow,  and  our  mental  X  rays  detect  him 
pacing  the  long  border,  revelling  in  a  wealth  of  high  colours, 
bicolors,  maximuses,  and  others  of  that  ilk. 
On — on  the  smooth  tram  track,  no  shaking  our  bones  over  the 
stones  of  this,  the  rocky  road  to  Dublin,  till  the  grand  panorama  of 
“  Sweet  Dublin  Bay  ”  breaks  into  view.  Opposite  is  the  low-lying 
shore  of  Clontarf,  which  the  Danes  found  so  handy  for  beaching 
their  long-waisted,  high-prowed  craft,  and  where  they  were  defeated 
in  the  great  battle  fought  on  Good  Friday  ad.  1014;  but  “The 
waves  that  brought  them  o’er,  still  roll  in  the  bay,  and  throw  their 
spray,  as  they  break  along  the  shore.”  It  is  a  glorious  view  this 
gusty  morning.  Half  a  gale  last  night  has  worked  old  Neptune  up 
to  a  frolicsome  pitch — pitch  and  toss  for  a  large  steamer  seen 
beating  up  ’gainst  wind  and  tide.  Comforting  thoughts  from  the 
top  of  a  tram.  We  have  passed  through  several  suburban  villages, 
hamlets,  or  what  not,  all  bearing  distinctive  or  historic  names,  but 
they  are  in  touch  with  each  other  through  to  the  parent  city,  after 
leaving  which  the  bona-fide  traveller  feels  rather  at  sea  on  the 
subject,  for  when  one  thinks  they  are  in  Booterstown  Mr.  Cityman 
at  our  elbow  says  it  is  Blackrock,  and  the  later  suddenly  resolves 
itself  into  Kingstown,  which  there  is  no  mistaking,  with  its  boldly 
projecting  harbour  visible  for  a  long  distance,  and  up  to  this  point 
we  may  relevantly  call  all  Dublin-by-the-Sea. 
Booterstown  must  be  particularised,  for  here  spare  time  permits 
of  a  call  at  St.  Helens,  Lord  Gough’s  charming  marine  residence,  a 
somewhat  plain  unpretentious  mansion,  terraced  on  the  sea  front 
with  a  bijou  Italian  garden.  This  is,  indeed,  the  feature  of  St. 
Helens,  and  perfect  from  all  points  of  view.  Between  it  and  the 
sea  there  is  a  stretch  of  greensward  to  the  boundary  wall,  over 
which  that  polar  erection  on  the  electric  motor  cars  is  seen  gliding 
past,  while  the  Dublin,  Wicklow,  and  Wexford  Railway  runs 
immediately  beyond  and  parallel  with  the  highway.  Yet  these 
tracts  of  civilisation  are  but  little  in  evidence,  and  from  the  terrace 
garden  looking  down,  and  over  the  third  of  a  mile  between  us  and 
the  briny,  all  is  absorbed  in  the  satisfying  seascape.  This  snug 
little  demense  of  120  acres  is  well  timbered  and  undulating  in 
character.  A  noble  Beech  near  the  north  front  of  the  mansion 
girths  I  do  not  know  how  many  feet,  but  its  waist  is  only  in 
proportion  to  its  far-reaching,  well-balanced  head,  for  it  is  one  of 
those  picturesque  specimens  which  delighteth  not  the  timber 
merchant’s  eye. 
Among  the  many  fine  trees  which  adorn  the  demesne  is  a 
remarkable  Evergreen  Oak  ;  it  is,  in  fact,  a  giant  of  the  tribe,  and 
I  am  told  that  the  late  John  Lamont  of  Edinburgh  accorded  to  it 
as  liberal  a  meed  of  praise  from  his  more  extended  arboreal 
experience.  The  position  of  St.  Helens  is  particularly  favourable 
to  the  well-being  of  many  so-called  hardy  trees  and  shrubs,  which 
so  often  planted  in  hope  are  scotched  if  not  killed  by  abnornal 
severity  further  inland.  Mr.  Cumming,  the  head  gardener,  and 
manager  of  all  he  surveys  to  boot,  has  advantageously  introduced 
some  nice  Conifer®  about  the  grounds.  Amongst  flowering  shrubs 
a  group  of  Staphylea  colchica  has  made  vigorous  growth.  Our 
guide  is  great  at  Carnations,  and  holds  a  special  trophy  for  good 
and  all.  having  won  it  out  last  year  in  Dublin.  As  a  “  Mummer  ” 
he  has  done  his  duty  in  the  years  that  have  fled,  but  it  is  not  a  good 
time  to  be  talking  of  Chrysanthemums  now,  and  here  in  the  very 
stronghold  of  Irish  “  Mum  ’’  growers  it  may  not  be  expedient, 
but  the  glory  of  the  garden  this  day  is  a  house  of  Cinerarias, 
all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow,  and  more  besides,  if  there  are 
any.  These  are  shapely  plants  bearing  huge  blooms  of  surpassing 
beauty. 
With  the  exception  of  a  fine  and  well -placed  conservatory 
attached  to  the  east  wing  of  the  mansion  the  houses  are  small  but 
useful,  compact,  clean,  and  all  is  done  decently  and  in  order.  The 
garden,  too,  is  comparatively  small  and  of  quaint  formation,  yet 
one  feels  in  looking  at  the  old  brick  walls  that  it  is  one  with  a 
history,  probably  contemporaneous  with  the  adjoining  demesne  of 
Lord  Pembroke.  Mount  Merrion,  which  good  Queen  Bess  honoured 
with  a  visit.  Well  cared  Pear  trees  cover  the  walls,  promising  well 
so  far  as  bloom  is  concerned,  and  a  small  but  choice  collection  of 
hardy  plants  adorn  the  borders.  Myrsiphyllum  reticulatum  is  a 
pretty  evergreen  climber,  hardy  here,  and  appreciated  for  furnishing 
long  sprays  of  its  elegantly  marbled  foliage  for  decorating.  A 
batch  of  Spiraea  astilboides  in  pots  endorses  the  opinion  pre¬ 
viously  formed  that  this  is  a  charming  plant  thus  grown,  its 
slightly  bronzed  characteristic  foliage  being  not  the  least  of  its 
attractions. 
Souvenirs  of  the  illustrious  Field  Marshal  Viscount  Gough  are 
to  be  seen  as  we  ramble  round,  and  one  can  well  understand  how, 
after  his  long  distinguished  career  initiated  under  Wellington  at 
Talavera,  and  concluding  with  decisive  victories  gained  during  the 
Sikh  rebellion,  he  loved  to  rest  here  upon  his  laurels  when  not 
spending  his  leisure  at  Loughcutra  Castle,  the  family  seat  in  the 
West  of  Ireland.  Shortly  St.  Helens  will  change  owners — pass 
into  other  hands — and  Mr.  Cumming  will  know  it  no  more.  Rather 
regretfully  our  gardening  friend  speaks  of  the  attachment  ten 
years  has  engrafted.  It  is  a  right  and  proper  feeling,  easy  to 
understand,  as  we  take  a  last  look  from  the  terrace  ere  leaving. 
Happily  another  door,  and  opening  into  a  wider  field,  has  presented 
itself,  to  which  Mr.  Cumming  will  shortly  migrate,  and  which  we 
trust  will  eventually  afford  to  him  the  pleasant  reflections  this  has 
done. 
A  short  cut  across  the  greensward  previously  mentioned  brings 
us  again  to  that  triumph  of  modern  locomotion — the  electric  tram. 
One  is  passing,  and  the  motor  man  cuts  off  the  current  for  a  pick¬ 
up.  Some  two  miles  out  at  sea,  immediately  opposite,  the  waves 
curl  over  the  battered  hull  of  that  wretched  vessel  the  “  Palme,” 
which,  driven  in  during  a  gale,  left  Kingstown,  mourning  for  its 
gallant  lifeboat’s  crew,  at  Christmas,  fifteen  months  ago,  and  all 
but  caused  a  lesser  disaster  on  at  least  two  occasions  since.  With 
a  last  look  one  wishes  that  the  waves,  “  which  roll  in  the  bay  as 
they  rolled  that  day,”  would  finish  their  work  of  destruction  by 
removing  the  relics  of  that  mournful  episode  in  the  history  of 
Dublin-by-the-Sea. — K 
EARLY  CINERARIAS. 
I  was  pleaied  to  read  Mr.  Molyneux’s  remarks  about  Cinerarias  (on 
page  276),  but  cannot  agree  with  his  idea  that  behind  a  north  wall  is 
the  best  place  for  growing  the  plants  for  the  first  four  months  of  their 
growth.  It  is  a  vague  idea  of  gardeners  of  the  old  school,  but  as  a 
matter  of  fact  such  places  are  mostly  cold  and  too  dark,  and  I  prefer  to 
put  the  young  plants  in  cold  pits  or  frames  facing  the  north,  and  shading 
them  with  light  material  during  strong  sunshine. 
I  have  eighty  plants  of  Cinerarias,  including  six  C.  cruenta  and  the 
same  number  of  C.  multiflora,  which  Mr.  Lynch,  Cambridge  Botanic 
Gardens,  kindly  sent  me.  I  sowed  the  seed  the  first  week  in  July,  and, 
what  mav  interest  some  young  gardeners,  they  have  been  grown  from 
the  seedling  stage  in  Boil  that  contained  no  fibre,  and  I  shall  be  able 
to  blcom  my  plants  without  any  insecticide  ever  being  near  them.  I 
have  fourteen  specimen  plants  mostly  in  9  inch  pots,  grown  without 
stopping,  that,  when  in  full  bloom,  which  will  be  in  a  fortnight’s  time, 
will  measure  2  feet  6  inches  across  the  head,  with  leaves  more  than  a 
foot  in  width. 
It  has  often  been  said  the  Cineraria  is  an  easy  plani  to  grow,  but 
young  gardeners  should  not  make  too  sure  of  this,  or  they  may  find  that 
even  the  Cineraria  will  not  Iiok  so  well  a;  it  should  do.  I  once  heard 
a  Welsh  gardener  tell  his  employer  that  any  labourer  can  grow  a  Chrys¬ 
anthemum,  and  so  I  think  they  could  grow  a  Cineraria  in  some  sort  of 
way,  but  it  would  certainly  be  a  very  poor  way. — THOMAS  W eager. 
