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JOURNAL  OF  HORTICULTURE  AND  COTTAGE  GARDENER, 
August  1, 1895. 
purposes  we  might  accept  as  true  that  plants  do  not  absorb  water 
by  means  of  their  leaves  unless  they  be  wetted  with  rain  or  dew, 
and  are  wanting  it. 
The  proofs  brought  showing  that  leaves  do  absorb  water  if 
exposed  to  dew  is  not  sufficient  evidence  to  say  water  or  watery 
vapour  does  not  pass  through  the  stomata  ;  for  is  it  not  a  fact  that 
the  leaves  used,  which  absorbed  the  largest  amount  of  water,  are 
those  having  the  most  stomata  on  their  surfaces,  those  having  the 
least  number  absorbing  very  little  ?  I  think  it  much  easier  to 
accept  that  water  passes  through  the  stomata  in  some  leaves  than 
through  the  impervious  cuticle,  which  may  also  be  covered  with 
wax.  For  are  not  these  impervious  substances  for  the  purpose  of 
protecting  the  water  from  evaporating  from  the  underlying  cells  ? 
and  as  they  will  not  allow  water  or  watery  vapour  to  pass  from 
inside  to  outside,  it  seems  hard  to  believe  that  it  is  able  to  be 
absorbed  so  easily. 
The  leaves  of  some  cells  do  not  develop  cutin  or  wax,  others 
which  do  have  cells  in  the  epidermis  where  water  can  pass  through  ; 
while  others  have  hairs  specially  adapted  for  the  absorption  of 
water.  Many  other  instances  might  be  given,  but  these  are  of  no 
practical  value  to  us  engaged  in  horticulture. 
I  find,  as  your  correspondent  says,  “  no  stomata  on  the  upper 
surface  of  the  Ground  Ivy,”  but  it  is  covered  with  a  large  number 
of  hairs,  and  the  cells  of  the  epidermis  are  not  very  much 
cuticularised,  so  that  I  think  it  quite  an  easy  matter  for  water 
to  pass  into  these  leaves  under  these  circumstances. — W.  D., 
Ttirnford. 
LITTLE  FOLKS’  GARDENS. 
To  look  back,  far  back,  over  the  snows  of  many  winters  to  the 
earlier  days  of  life’s  springtime  may  be  taken  as  the  antithesis  of 
looking  ahead.  We  may,  and  do,  derive  strength  and  comfort 
in  the  present  from  the  boundless  possibilities  held  out  by  hope 
for  the  future.  Not  less  may  the  past  contribute  its  quota  to  the 
higher  ends  of  life.  Even  to  the  busiest  man,  urged  on  by  the 
severely  practical  spirit  of  the  age,  there  come  momentary  halts 
when,  'by  means  of  some  simple  flower  or  subtle  perfume,  he 
is  wafted  back  to  the  long  ago,  and  he  thinks  of  his  earliest 
efforts  in  the  cause.  Reviewing  the  opening  chapters  of  life 
is  not,  1  think,  a  betrayal  of  weakness.  They  are  there,  a? 
indelible  as  they  are  indispensable  to  the  volume  when  finis  shall 
be  written,  and  the  moral  shall  be  extracted  by  others  for  their 
benefit. 
The  last  tributes  of  respect  paid  in  these  pages  to  some  dis¬ 
tinguished  gardener,  which  ever  and  anon  occur,  leave,  with  some 
at  least,  the  desire  to  trace  a  successful  life  to  its  source,  were  it 
possible  to  do  so  ;  but  to  accomplish  this  we  should,  indeed,  have 
to  go  very  far  back.  Yet,  without  these  retrospective  glances,  we 
cannot  accord  that  measure  of  sympathy  to  the  little  folks  of  the 
present  generation  which  is  due  to  them,  or  unbend  from  the 
loftier  ideals  we  are  ever  pursuing  —  seldom  reaching  ;  hence, 
without  recalling  a  past — the  past — children’s  gardens  and  children’s 
gardening  are  set  aside  as  puerile,  beneath  notice. 
It  would,  I  think,  be  a  fatal  mistake  to  have  in  view  the  idea 
of  grafting  old  heads  on  to  young  shoulders,  but  rather  should  we 
in  the  initial  stage  aid  the  development  of  that  innate  love  of 
nature  characterising  our  race,  that  it  may  not  perish  by  inanition 
nor  be  malformed  by  neglect.  Inculcate  the  doctrine  of  love 
which  preserves  and  does  not  destroy,  and  encourage  the  purest 
of  human  pleasures.  The  making  of  gardeners  has  nought  to  do 
with  this  question,  so  far  as  competition  in  life  is  concerned. 
Train  the  earliest  footsteps  of  the  child  in  the  way  they  should 
go,  and  the  dawning  intellect  will  readily  grasp  the  spirit  of  that 
unwritten  law  which  enforces  respect  for  bed  or  border,  flower 
or  fruit,  and  I  venture  to  add  be  the  means  of  regarding  the 
gardener’s  incumbrance  in  a  different  light  from  that  in  which 
it  is  often  viewed. 
As  an  instance  of  what  may  be  done,  a  garden  in  this  neigh¬ 
bourhood  furnishes  a  practical  example.  This  garden  —  which 
does  not  measure  its  interest  by  the  extent  of  its  acres — is  partly 
surrounding  an  old-fashioned  poly-gabled  house,  under  the  windows 
of  which  a  little  formal  bedding  is  tolerated,  sufficient  to  give 
that  variety  which  is  charming.  Knowing,  as  I  do,  the  keen 
interest  which  is  taken  by  the  family  in  its  quaint  old-world 
garden,  where  scarce  a  plant,  tree,  or  shrub  has  not  a  history 
attached  to  it,  one  would  reasonably  suppose  that  here,  of  all 
places,  little  feet  never  stray,  or  small  hands  meddle  ;  in  short,  \ 
that  any  gardener  with  an  incumbrance  would  be  de  trop.  As  a 
fact,  the  gardener  at  H - is  in  that  respect  one  of  the  most 
heavily  encumbered  men  that  I  am  acquainted  with,  and  neither 
is  his  progeny  fenced  in  nor  hedged  about  by  such  warnings  as 
are  deemed  necessary  in  public  gardens  or  elsewhere.  Love,  not 
fear,  is  the  safeguard.  Sympathy  and  encouragement  take  the 
place  of  prohibition  or  coercion.  I  have  not  peeped  into  the 
gardener’s  snug  little  cottage,  or  fathomed  the  mystery  of  the 
nightly  bedding-in  of  the  olive  branches,  but  they  are  a  healthy 
well-cultivated  lot,  possessing  a  full  share  of  animal  spirits ; 
nevertheless  I  do  occasionally  investigate  a  series  of  little  beds  at 
the  rear  of  the  dwelling,  where  all  the  variety  conceits,  so  dear  to 
the  childish  mind,  are  fully  displayed,  and  the  best  endeavour  is 
annually  rewarded  by  the  prize  of  half-a-crown  from  “the  Mistress.” 
Moreover,  on  Saturdays,  when  the  school  doors  are  closed,  the 
garden  gates  are  open  to  admit  some  half-dozen  of  the  incumbrance 
— boys  and  girls — who  may  be  seen  actively  engaged  in  the  garden 
proper,  weeding,  sweeping,  or  watering  ;  whilst  on  certain  feast 
days,  movable  according  to  the  season,  the  little  gardeners  for  the 
nonce  suspend  the  gleaning  of  erudition  to  gather  the  ripe  Goose¬ 
berries,  or  other  crop,  to  be  afterwards  rewarded  by  “  the  Mistress  ” 
with  a  basket  for  home  sampling.  So  are  they  early  trained  into 
desirable  habits,  and  appear  to  be  so  much  a  part  and  parcel  of 
the  place  that  should  any  change  occur — of  which  there  is  no 
probability — I  should  expect  to  see  the  worthy  Mistress  adver¬ 
tising  for  a  gardener  with  an  incumbrance. 
There  appears  to  be  some  harmonious  chord  connecting  child- 
life  with  the  flower-world,  and  it  is  a  matter  of  surprise — nay, 
even  of  regret — that  the  claims  of  little  folks  of  all  degrees  should 
not  have  due  recognition.  It  is  their  prerogative  ;  deprive  them 
of  it — of  the  pleasure  of  having  a  little  plot  of  their  own,  their 
very  own — and  they  will  fully  justify  the  harsh-sounding  term  of 
incumbrances,  for  Nature  will  then  assert  her  rights  in  some  way 
more  or  less  disagreeable.  The  claims  of  youthful  gardeners  are 
justly  recognised  in  many  of  our  industrial  schools  or  institutions, 
and  various  good  habits  inculcated  contemporaneously  with  primary 
instruction  in  the  art  of  gardening.  This  is  beyond  the  subject 
of  the  present  paper  ;  it  is,  in  fact,  a  comparatively  far  advanced 
stage.  I  would  have  the  indentures  of  my  young  apprentices 
fixed  from  such  time  as  these  young  lords  (and  ladies)  of  creation 
commence  to  assert  the  dignity  of  the  species  by  rising  from  the 
quadrupedal  attitude  of  going  on  all-fours,  and  from  such  time 
should  they  have  the  facilities  for  gratifying  the  instinctive 
craving. 
To  realise  how  much,  how  important,  this  is  to  a  child,  we 
must  again  look  back  to  our  own  experience,  and  note  how  much 
joy,  sunshine  (the  griefs  are  forgotten),  and  happiness  were  derived 
from  that  tiny  garden  we  called  our  own.  Still,  having  the 
memory  of  some  difficulties  encountered  as  a  small  landed  pro¬ 
prietor,  I  would  request,  on  behalf  of  our  little  gardeners,  that 
they  should  not  be  relegated  to  some  dark  shady  corner  because 
“  it  is  of  no  use — nothing  will  grow  there.”  Give  them  the 
advantages  which  are  indispensable  to  ourselves,  and  if  they 
conduct  their  operations  on  lines  which  no  fellow  can  understand, 
be  sure  they  understand  it  themselves,  and  “  .  .  .  every  minute 
as  it  springs  conveys  fresh  knowledge  on  its  wings.”  It  is  a  stage 
I  would  not  abridge  by  any  consideration  of  the  mess  they  make 
or  the  failures  they  court,  for  every  failure  is  a  step  to  success. 
Supply  a  few  roots,  a  few  seed.s,  with  a  little  advice  judiciously 
timed,  but  let  them  have  a  good  deal  of  their  own  way  in  the 
preliminary  stage  ;  they  are  keen  observers,  and  like  older  folk 
can  best  learn  something  by  experience. 
We  can,  even  in  these  times,  afford  to  unbend  a  little  to  enter 
occasionally  into  the  mimic  joys  and  troubles  of  miniature  workers. 
Statesmen  bearing  the  burden  of  a  nation’s  cares  have  done  so, 
and  in  the  act  have  found  a  safety  valve  to  high  pressure.  Herein 
lies  an  apology,  if  one  is  needed  for  introducing  matter  so  childish 
where  we  look  for,  and  find,  the  more  exalted  expositions  of 
horticulture.  Here,  too,  am  I  afforded  an  excuse  for  touching  on 
a  matter  relevant  to  the  question,  viz  ,  children’s  literature  as 
far  as  matter  pertaining  to  gardening  is  concerned.  Little  folk 
have,  I  observe,  a  very  large  measure  of  faith  in  whatever  they 
find  in  print,  as  undoubtedly  they  should  ;  hence  writers  in 
catering  for  them  should  take  heed  that  no  stumblingblocks  are 
placed  in  their  way.  I  am  led  to  these  remarks  by  a  short  article 
in  a  well-known  magazine  for  children  describing  the  Pitcher 
plant,  in  which  we  (self  and  children)  find  that  “  It  can  be  grown 
in  a  basket  on  our  window-sills  .  .  .  with  no  more  trouble 
than  Geraniums.”  From  the  water’s  remarks  I  conclude  that  his 
description  is  a  jumbled  one  of  the  Sarracenia,  the  Nepenthes  and 
the  Marvellous,  as  he  goes  on  to  say  “  The  pitcher  has  no  handle, 
but  it  has  a  hinged  lid,  which  remains  open  all  day  and  shuts  at 
night.”  There  is  no  difficulty  in  recognising  the  plant  described 
as  a  Nepenthes,  but  a  variety  only  existent  in  imagination.  Not 
so  with  my  j uvenile  critics  whose  faith  in  the  book,  though  somewhat 
shaken,  still  leads  them  to  think  that  I  have  not  the  right  kind  of 
Pitcher  plant.  Truly,  these  are  small  matters  to  us  elders,  but 
not  entirely  indifferent  ones,  for  to  the  little  folk  “  wrong  teaching 
is  as  fatal  as  ignorance.” — Nemo. 
