76 
JOURNAL  OF  HORTICULTURE  AND  COTTAGE  GARDENER. 
July  25,  1895. 
farther,  it  was  noticed  that  cut  grass  that  became  wilted  at  night 
was  obviously  freshened  when  examined  early  in  the  morning. 
Then  it  was  that  leaves  and  sprays  were  cut  from  trees  and 
plants,  and  when  decidedly  wilted  immersed  in  water  with  the 
stalks  above  the  surface,  the  result  being  that  many  of  them  were 
restored  to  their  original  freshness.  It  is  certain  that  these  leaves 
both  lost  and  gained  weight,  though  I  had  no  scales  delicate  enough 
for  ascertaining  the  amount  of  the  difference.  They  lost  moisture 
and  gained  it  as  I  thought,  and  think  yet,  through  the  leaves  ;  but 
still  I  have  amongst  others  been  told  that  they  cannot  do  so. 
“  W.  D.”  does  not  think  that  under  “  ordinary  circumstances  ” 
plants  “are  able  to  absorb  water  by  means  of  their  leaves.”  I 
should  like  to  know  what  he  means  by  “ordinary  circumstances,” 
as  the  withering  of  herbage,  cut  and  uncut,  and  its  freshening 
under  the  influence  of  dew  seems  to  me  to  be  “  ordinary  ”  enough. 
I  can  understand,  in  a  sense,  the  case  proposed  by  “  W.  D.,”  that  a 
young  leaf  may  absorb  watery  vapour  if  wetted  while  an  old  one 
cannot,  though  I  am  all  the  same  by  no  means  sure  of  the  fact  ; 
nor  does  the  subsequent  remarks  of  your  obliging  correspondent 
help  me,  for  he  goes  to  show  that  water  does  enter  leaves,  though 
he  seems  to  think  “  it  cannot  do  so  through  the  epidermis.”  He, 
in  fact,  seems  to  agree  with  both  sides  and  so  will  be  right 
anyhow.  Evidently  he  at  least  is  no — Greenhorn. 
They  can  do  so  most  undoubtedly.  With  reference  to  the 
interpretation  given  by  “  W.  D.”  in  your  last  issue,  I  think  he 
makes  the  stomata  play  too  important  a  part  in  the  matter.  They 
are  so  excessively  minute,  being  utterly  invisible  to  the  naked  eye, 
that  it  is  inconceivable  that  water — i.e.,  as  water  and  not  vapour — 
can  enter  them  when  air  is  on  the  other  side  within  the  leaf  ;  for 
what  can  first  displace  this  air  ? 
On  the  other  hand,  water  can  be  readily  shown  to  be  absorbed 
by  the  surfaces  of  leaves  which  have  no  stomata  at  all.  If  a 
shoot  with  several  leaves,  say  of  Ground  Ivy,  have  two  or  three 
gently  laid  on  a  soup  plate  of  water,  with  the  upper  surfaces  in 
contact  with  it,  only  the  ends  of  the  stalks  being  in  the  air,  not 
only  will  the  whole  keep  fresh  for  many  days,  but  buds  in  the 
axils  will  develop  into  branches.  The  absorption  by  the  stoma¬ 
less  surface  supplies  the  water  for  transpiration — not  only  from 
the  lower  surfaces  exposed  to  the  air,  but  for  any  other  leaves  on 
the  shoot  also  wholly  in  air. 
As  a  general  rule,  when  plants  are  growing  healthily  and  well 
supplied  with  water,  they  do  not  require  to  take  up  an  extra 
amount  by  their  foliage  ;  but  to  prove  that  they  are  quite  capable 
of  absorbing  water,  such  as  rain  or  dew,  the  following  experiment 
will  be  sufficient. 
Gather  leaves  from  as  many  different  plants  or  trees  as  may  be 
thought  desirable.  Lay  them  out  in  the  sun  for  two  or  three  hours, 
so  that  they  may  lose  some  of  their  water  and  become  more  or  less 
flaccid.  Now  they  must  be  weighed.  They  must  then  be  spread 
out  on  a  lawn  after  sundown  and  exposed  to  dew  during  a  night, 
as  usually  occurs  in  the  autumn.  The  cut  ends  soon  dry  up,  so 
that  no  moisture  can  enter  by  them.  The  leaves  must  be  examined 
early  the  following  morning  before  sunrise.  They  will  all  be 
evidently  “  freshened  up.”  All  superficial  moisture  must  be  care- 
fully  wiped  off  with  a  soft  cloth,  and  each  leaf  weighed  again. 
Reducing  the  “gains”  to  percentages  the  results  will  be  somewhat 
as  follows  ; — Lime,  gains  p.c.  16  40  ;  Oak,  gains  p.c.  GAO  ;  Gera¬ 
nium,  gains  p.c.  11  32  ;  Nettle,  gains  p.c.  27  31  ;  Grass,  gains  p.c. 
35  0;  Dock,  gains  p.c.  16  66  ;  Beech,  gains  p.c.  24  05  ;  Bryony, 
gains  p.c.  16  49  ;  Thistle,  gains  p.c.  10  71  ;  Mallow,  gains  p.c. 
9  09  ;  Privet,  gains  p.c.  3  36  ;  Clover,  gains  p.c.  31’ 16  ;  Yew,  gains 
p.c.  1-94  ;  Barbery,  gains  p.c.  0  94.  This  table  I  have  taken  from 
my  own  paper,  “On  the  Absorption  of  Rain  and  Dew  by  the 
Green  Parts  of  Plants”  (“  Journ.  Lin.  Soc.,  Bot.  xvii.,  313,  1879). 
The  practical  application  is  that  it  is  always  advisable  to 
sprinkle  the  foliage  of  cut  flowers  or  Ferns  with  water  (but  not 
the  flowers  themselves)  if  they  are  obliged  to  remain  for  any  time 
out  of  water.  Before  putting  them  in  water  the  ends  should 
always  be  cut  off  under  water,  or  at  least  with  a  wet  blade,  and 
immediately  put  into  water,  for  if  the  cut  ends  be  left  unwetted 
for  a  very  short  time  the  flow  of  water  will  be  impeded.  Of  course 
to  keep  flowers  fresh  as  long  as  possible  the  water  must  be  daily 
renewed,  and  half  an  inch  at  least  of  the  stem  should  be  cut  off 
each  time  as  before. — George  Henslow. 
A  GARDEN  OF  VIOLAS. 
With  no  rain  to  speak  of  for  weeks,  or  even  months — less,  in 
fact,  than  for  the  first  half  of  any  year  for  perhaps  forty  years 
past ;  with  grass  brown  and  sere,  garden  crops  languishing,  the 
leaves  of  Lilac  and  other  bushes  drooping,  those  of  Lime  and 
Chestnut  trees  falling,  making  an  autumn-like  litter,  a  quest  for 
Violas,  when  the  weather  was  at  its  hottest  on  a  scorching  day  last 
week,  was  not  entered  on  with  the  most  buoyant  hopefulness  that 
anything  beyond  patchy  beds  and  broken  lines  of  seedy-looking, 
mildewed  plants,  would  be  discovered.  True,  an  invitation  from 
an  ardent  florist,  and  more  particularly  perhaps,  violaist,  em¬ 
bodied  a  modest  suggestion  that  he  might  have  a  few  flowers 
left ;  but  still  you  never  know  exactly  what  such  intimations  mean, 
and  it  is  on  the  whole  the  best  plan  to  go  and  see.  Another  thing, 
if  you  enter  into  a  sort  of  tacit  understanding  that  you  will  visit 
the  garden  of  an  ardent  amateur  on  a  certain  day,  it  is  prudent  to 
be  there,  let  the  weather  be  what  it  may,  as  disappointments  do  not 
add  to  the  tranquillity  of  his  home.  He  fidgets  about,  in  and  out 
of  the  house,  and  round  and  round  the  garden,  but  can  do  nothing ; 
is  constantly  looking  stationwards,  if  not  meeting  trains,  and  is 
ever  and  anon  startled,  as  if  by  the  sound  of  wheels,  which  may  be 
correct,  but  the  wrong  wheels,  or  it  may  be  the  mere  delusion  of 
a  disturbed  mind.  Never,  then,  break  faith  with  a  florist  who 
is  expecting  you  to  pall,  as  this  may  have  results  you  little 
anticipate. 
One  man  is  said  to  refuse  to  go  to  bed  on  the  nights  on  which 
his  expected  friends  do  not  arrive,  as  he  cannot  sleep,  and  being  of 
a  musical  turn  finds  solace  in  improvising  on  the  piano,  which  is 
not  conducive  of  the  nocturnal  peace  of  others  ;  another,  as  a  last 
resort,  finds  an  outlet  for  his  feelings  in  fancying  his  friends  are 
with  him  in  spirit,  and  proceeds  to  drink  their  healths  in  turn  in 
complimentary  speeches,  and  as  spirit  friends  keep  coming  the 
proceedings  are  protracted.  Yet  another  good  man  has  a  different 
way  of  assuaging  his  grief  under  the  circumstances,  and  tries  to 
forget  his  friends  in  the  process  of  devouring  Tomatoes.  This 
may  seem  all  very  strange,  but  it  is  true,  and  it  is  better  to  avert 
such  and  other  contingencies  by  always,  whether  the  weather  be 
rainy  or  roasting,  keeping  appointments. 
It  must  not  be  supposed  for  a  moment  that  our  friend  the 
violaist  of  Woodford  would  have  been  moved  in  any  of  the 
abnormal  directions  indicated,  had  his  friends  failed  him  on  the 
occasion  in  question.  As  a  prominent  railway  man — the  superin¬ 
tendent  of  a  line,  or  something  of  that  kind — his  mind  is  too  well 
disciplined  to  be  upset  by  a  hitch,  and  his  head  too  cool  to  be 
flurried  by  a  surprise  ;  still,  as  busy  men  can  only  get  a  day  off 
occasionally,  they  enjoy  their  gardens  the  more  on  such  holiday 
occasions  if  a  few  acquaintances  of  like  tastes  can  share  their 
pleasures  with  them.  Thus  it  was  that  Mr.  A.  J.  Rowberry,  the 
President  of  the  Viola  Conference,  was  so  happy,  and  made  his 
friends  so  happy  too,  on  Wednesday  in  last  week.  Among  those 
friends  was  another  President — he  of  the  National  Amateur 
Gardeners’  Association,  as  well  as  the  great  medico  florist  of 
Sydenham,  Dr.  H.  Shackleton.  The  Doctor  is  a  great  rosarian, 
and  never  sees  a  Briar  without  the  laudable  wish  arising  to  change  it 
into  a  Rose.  The  Doctor  evidently  knows  Violas  too,  and  went  as 
if  instinctively  to  the  best  varieties  ;  but  delightful  as  they  were,  he 
always  appeared  drawn  irresistibly  to  the  Rose  bed.  He  admired 
the  Roses,  but  they  were  not  after  all  the  great  attraction.  Ho 
had  espied  a  clean  Briar,  and  returned  to  look  at  it  again  and 
again,  until  he  could  no  longer  resist  the  temptation,  and  at  last  out 
came  his  knife,  and  next  year  that  Briar  will  be  bearing  Tea  Roses. 
The  Woodford  florist  is  a  new  grower  of  Teas,  and  judging  by  the 
intensity  of  his  watchfulness  of  the  Doctor’s  expert  manipulation 
he  might  have  been  taking  his  first  lesson  in  budding.  This  duty 
done  the  Violas  were  enjoyed  in  tranquillity. 
It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Mr.  Eowberry’s  garden  is  large  ; 
on  the  contrary,  it  is  very  small — a  suburban  enclosure  a  little 
more  than  100  feet  long  by  40  feet  wide  ;  one  of  thousands  that 
are  to  be  found  on  the  outskirts  of  the  metropolis,  but  few  that 
could  be  discovered  on  that  sultry  day  so  full  of  floral  beauty,  so 
fresh,  and  so  sweet,  and  none,  regardless  of  size,  could  be  more 
cherished  ;  and  this  garden  gives  all  the  more  satisfaction  to  its  owner 
since  he  does  all  the  work  in  it.  It  is  a  source  of  health,  interest, 
and  pleasure  to  Mr.  Rowberry  and  his  family.  Along  each  side 
next  the  fence  are  herbaceous  borders,  then  a  feet  gravel  walk, 
and  the  rest  lawn.  It  is  on  beds  in  the  lawn  where  the  Violas  are 
grown,  but  not  all  of  them,  and  the  rest  are  not  in  the  borders, 
and  not  exactly  where  they  would  have  been  planted  by  an  orthodox 
gardener. 
At  the  house  end  of  the  lawn  is  the  Tea  Rose  bed  margined 
with  Violas.  In  the  centre  another  large  bed  of  Carnations  and 
Violas  ;  at  the  opposite  end  a  third  large  bed  of  standard  Roses 
thinly  planted,  and  carpeted  with  seedling  Violas.  In  addition,  and 
occupying  the  rest  of  the  lawn  space  are  four  long  narrow  serpen¬ 
tine  beds,  each  containing  a  row  of  choice  Carnations,  margined 
with  Violas.  There  is  thus  room  for  a  large  collection  of  the 
compact,  low  growing,  diversified,  and  charming  flowers,  but  not 
room  enough  for  all  Mr.  Rowberry  desired  to  grow,  so  he  scraped 
away  the  gravel  from  next  the  lawn,  and  as  he  thought  the  soil 
