September  26,  1895. 
JOURNAL  OF  HORTICULTURE  AND  COTTAGE  GARDENER. 
291 
this  greatly  resembles  the  one  previously  referred  to,  bat  the  fruits 
are  somewhat  larger,  as  also  is  the  growth  of  the  plant.  Next  in 
sequence  comes  one  of  the  gems  of  the  whole  coliection,  which  is 
well  named  Best  of  All.  In  this  we  have  a  variety  bearing  handsome 
smooth  fruits  in  splendid  numbers,  such  as  could  not  fail  to  have 
ready  appreciation.  In  flavour  it  is  excellent,  so  that  it  cannot  be 
wondered  at  that  it  is  very  extensively  grown.  The  leafage  is 
large,  stout,  and  quite  distinct  from  that  of  all  others.  Abun¬ 
dance,  with  its  brilliantly  hued  crop,  is  a  beauty,  and  one  that  is 
certain  to  find  favour  with  many  persons,  though  perhaps  not 
more  so  than  an  unnamed  variety  resulting  from  a  cross  between 
Perfection  and  Chemin,  for  which  it  is  safe  to  predict  a  great 
future,  as  it  comprises  all  the  necessary  points  in  the  making  of  a 
first-class  Tomato. 
An  Apple-shaped  variety  next  rivets  the  attention  on  account 
of  its  beautiful  crop  of  smooth  fruits  borne  on  a  plant  having 
large  leaves.  A  test  of  the  flavour  shows  that  if  good  in  appear¬ 
ance  it  is  equally  as  pleasing  to  the  palate,  a  combination  of  quali¬ 
ties  that  renders  it  worthy  of  close  consideration.  It  is  well 
named  Sutton’s  Al.  Of  the  style  of  Ham  Green  Favourite  is 
Brook’s  Freedom,  but  it  is  superior  to  the  type  in  every  respect. 
Main  Crop,  another  variety  for  which  Messrs.  Sutton  &  Sons  are 
responsible,  has  enormous  foliage  and  strong  shoots,  carrying  grand 
clusters  of  even,  round  fruits.  This  is  one  of  which  special 
note  should  be  made.  Of  vastly  different  appearance  is  Sutton’s 
Dessert,  which  bears  its  charming  fruit  in  racemes  of  great  length. 
It  was  noticed  that  this  was  one  of  the  earliest  in  the  collection. 
As  a  good  variety  was  mentioned  in  opening  the  list  it  was 
obviously  wise  to  reserve  a  good  one  for  closing  it,  at  least  so  far  as 
red  sorts  are  concerned  ;  thus  we  now  come  to  Perfection,  further 
than  which  one  cannot  be  expected  to  go.  Everyone  who  grows 
Tomatoes,  and  does  not  know  Sutton’s  type  of  Perfection,  is  recom¬ 
mended  to  seize  the  first  opportunity  of  securing  it,  as  satisfaction 
is  sure  to  follow — that  is,  for  indoor  culture,  for  which  it  is 
especially  adapted.  In  addition  to  those  named  there  ai’e  several 
very  interesting  forms  obtained  by  crossing  the  Peach  Tomato  with 
the  variety  just  named.  The  characteristics  of  each  are  observable, 
and  more  will  doubtless  be  heard  of  them  in  the  future. 
Turning  now  to  the  yellow  fruited  section,  we  see  some  very 
handsome  varieties,  of  which  an  improvement  on  Golden  Nugget 
is  one  of  the  best.  The  size  is  rather  larger  than  that  of  the  one 
named,  the  flavour  being  quite  equal  if  not  superior  to  it.  There 
is  a  briskness  in  the  taste  of  the  yellow  fruits  that  is  not  observable 
amongst  the  reds,  and  to  this,  combined  with  their  charmingly 
distinct  appearance,  they  doubtless  owe  their  increasing  popularity. 
Perhaps  the  best  of  the  yellows,  all  things  considered,  is  Sunbeam. 
Such  a  name  should  only  be  attached  to  a  variety  of  the  first 
merit,  and  so  it  is.  The  fruits  are  smooth,  of  medium  size,  with  a 
clear  yellow  skin,  and  in  the  front  rank  as  regards  flavour.  For 
an  early  yellow  Golden  Queen  can  be  grown,  while  to  complete  the 
selection  growers  may  be  reminded  that  in  Golden  Perfection 
they  will  find  the  yellow  counterpart  of  the  red  in  every  respect. 
Though  these  splendid  trials  have  now  been  carried  on  for 
some  years  only  once  previously  have  they  been  accompanied  by 
greater  success  than  in  the  present  season.  Next  year,  it  is  hoped, 
they  will  be  continued,  and  that  the  results  attained  to  will  be  even 
superior  to  those  of  the  present.  The  neat  condition  of  the  plants 
and  the  cleanliness  of  the  soil  prove  that  all  necessary  care  is 
bestowed  to  induce  success.  The  labour  and  expense  involved 
must  be  very  great  indeed,  but  they  cannot  be  otherwise  than  met 
by  the  benefits  that  must  accrue  to  the  gardening  community  in 
general,  while  certainly  the  authors  of  the  trials  deserve  a  full 
share. — Scrutator. 
LESSONS  BY  THE  WAY 
SULHAMPSTEAD. 
While  it  would  be  very  nearly  correct  to  say  I  was  moved 
by  “A.  D.”  in  his  article  on  ‘’Fruit  Farming”  (page  219, 
September  5th),  and  his  note  on  Potatoes  at  Sulhampstead 
(page  226),  to  go  and  see  for  myself  what  he  had  described,  I  was 
really  moved  by  a  cart.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  had  been  suffering 
from  “  Fenn  on  the  brain  ”  for  some  time,  and  was  anxious  to  see 
the  old  veteran  and  thus  find  a  cure.  I  knew  he  was  a  veteran, 
because  I  used  to  devour  his  writings  in  the  “old  Cottage 
Gardener”  some  thirty  years  ago,  and  1  wished  to  see  this  ancient 
wielder  of  the  pen  and  the  spade.  In  opening  negotiations  I  found 
that  he  could  wield  the  pen  yet  with  firmness,  clearness,  and  fluency, 
and  a  few  days  subsequently  had  ocular  demonstration  that  he  is 
equally  master  of  the  spade,  as  exemplified  by  his  use  of  the 
Potato  fork.  He  used  it  as  though  he  loved  it  as  much  as  a  star 
cricketer  loves  his  bat,  and  made  more  balls  fly  out  of  the  ground 
at  a  stroke  than  ever  did  the  champion  wielder  of  the  willow 
propel  through  the  air.  But  what  about  getting  there  to  see  the 
fork  at  work,  or  at  play,  or  both  ? 
There  are,  as  all  the  world  knows,  differences  in  people — in 
their  circumstances  and  their  ways.  Not  long  ago,  in  arranging  a 
visit  to  a  garden,  I  was  informed  the  pony  cart  would  meet  the 
train  ;  on  another  occasion  I  was  to  be  met  by  the  carriage.  The 
pony  cart  proved  to  be  a  richly  appointed  carriage  and  pair  ;  the 
other  “  carriage  ”  a  broad-wheeled,  springless  Potato  cart,  with 
wide  shelvings  all  round  and  a  board  across  to  sit  on,  with  lazy- 
looking  Smiler  in  the  shafts,  as  sleek  and  fat  as  a  porpoise.  Mr. 
Fenn  will  not  in  the  least  mind  my  saying  the  last-named  vehicle 
was  his.  I  was  fortunate  in  having  as  a  guide  and  introducer  an 
old  familiar  friend  of  the  veteran,  but  there  was  little  ceremony  at 
the  meeting.  “  So  this  is  Mr.  Inspector,  is  it?  Well,  glad  to  see 
you  ;  come  along,  no  time  to  lose  !  ”  and  up  the  hill  he  bounded 
from  the  railway  platform.  “Now,  gentlemen,”  ha  continued, 
“  this  ia  my  carriage.  I  rode  here  in  it,  and  am  going  to  ride  back  ; 
but  if  you  would  like  something  different  we  can  soon  get  it  from 
the  inn  ?  ”  The  personal  emphasis  was  too  significant  fora  change  ; 
it  seemed  to  say — “  This  carriage  is  good  enough  for  me.  and  if  I 
ride  in  it,  ought  it  not  to  be  giod  enough  for  anybody  ?  ”  and  in 
we  went,  the  driver  springing  up  like  a  cat,  the  guests  scrambling 
up  and  helping  each  other,  the  groom  taking  bis  seat  on  the 
shelvings.  “  Now  which  way,  gents  ;  Coach  Road  or  Jack’s 
Booth  ?  ”  the  “  booth  ”  having  reference  to  a  roadside  hostelry 
bearing  this  curious  sign,  “  Three  Kings  and  Jack’s  Booth  ;  ”  but 
there  is  another  in  a  Sussex  village  almost  more  curious  still  to  the 
stranger — the  Run-tin-tun.  However,  we  gave  the  “houses”  a 
wide  berth  and  took  “  Fenn’s  Coach  Road,”  a  treey  avenue-looking 
route  of  a  mile  or  two  to  the  Cottage  Farm. 
As  we  jogged  along,  the  coachee  telling  “  Smiler  ”  he  ought  to 
be  proud  of  such  great  men  behind  him,  the  “  familiar  ”  asked  a 
question  of  his  friend  that  some  persons  might  have  thought  a 
delicate  one.  It  came  out  brusquely — “  I  want  to  know  how  old 
you  are  Fenn?”  “Old,  why  I  am  seventy-eight,  to  be  sure.” 
Then  the  querist  wanted  to  know  something  else  (he  is  famous  for 
“wanting  to  know,”  and  that  is  perhaps  why  he  does  know  so 
much),  and  went  on — “Teli  me  this,  then,  fs  it  true  that  when  a 
man  passes  seventy  every  year  counts  two,  and  after  seventy-five 
counts  three  ?”  The  reply  was  such  as  few  could  have  given,  but 
it  was  as  convincing  as  prompt.  “  I  cannot  answer  that  question, 
as  I  have  never  felt  any  different  yet.”  It  is  said  that  garden¬ 
ing,  with  one  exception,  is  the  most  healthy  of  all  vocations  or  pro¬ 
fessions,  and  time  has  certainly  dealt  kindly  with  the  grand  old 
Potato  man  of  Sulhampstead. 
The  “cottage”  is  such  as  a  poet  and  the  painter  would  rejoice 
in — an  old-time  farmhouse  covered  with  Roses,  Honeysuckles, 
Jasmines,  Figs,  Vines,  Plums,  and  I  know  not  what  besides.  In 
exterior  picturesque  ;  interior,  well,  cosy,  yet  roomy,  hospitable, 
and  flowery,  for  ‘‘  Alice  ”  fills  every  inch  of  table  space  with  flowers 
that  “  mother  ”  does  not  need  for  the  viands  she  provides  so 
abundantly  and  so  well.  Then  there  is  the  “  workhouse,”  which  is 
Fennian  for  kitchen,  and  it  is  there  or  thereabouts  that  the  flitches 
hang  ;  cider,  perry,  wines,  jam,  jellies,  and  other  things  are  stored 
and  prepared  for  daily  needs,  or  the  delectation  of  guests  w'ho  are 
“patriots,”  and  like  everything  made  in  England.  This  is  what 
our  host  likes,  and  will  have  so  far  as  his  country  can  produce  it. 
No  foreign  Wheat,  meat,  cheese,  or  butter  for  him,  but  an  omission 
was  made  in  not  learning  whether  he  extracts  sugar  from  his  Beet 
or  Carrots,  or  whether  he  goes  without. 
But  he  is  tolerant  is  our  friend,  and  while  he  will  have  no 
“foreign  stuff,”  ho  does  not  object  to  his  guests  enjoying  them¬ 
selves  in  their  own  way  so  far  as  they  can,  and  as  he  can  minister 
to  their  (to  him)  corrupted  tastes.  How  far  he  is  consistent  in  so 
doing  is  another  matter,  and  he  would  very  soon  “  bang  con¬ 
sistency  ”  if  that  aspect  of  the  case  were  brought  forward  when  he 
offers  a  glass  of  port,  which  is  not  English.  It  must  be  under¬ 
stood  he  is  always  offering  something,  and  it  is  creditably  reported 
that  when  one  of  his  callers  had  spoken  approvingly  of  his  Eliza 
Fenn  Potatoes  and  First-and-Foliow-on  Cabbages  at  dinner  that 
a  hamper  was  packed,  and  when  the  recipient  reached  home  he 
found  under  the  Cabbages  a  big  chunk  of  “  home-fed  and  home- 
cured,”  the  same  brand  as  that  which  had  “  gone  ”  so  well  with  the 
accompaniments  at  the  repast  alluded  to  ;  however,  the  port  is 
now  in  question,  and  Mr.  Fenn’s  “old  familiar”  reckons  to  be  an 
adept  at  sampling. 
It  is  something  to  see  a  connoisseur  sample  wins.  He  smells 
and  sniffs,  peeps  and  sips,  looks  up  at  the  ceiling,  then  straight  down 
his  nose — seems,  indeed,  to  do  everything  he  can  except  drink  it  ;  at 
least,  until  he  finds  it  right,  and  then  the  trying  ordeal  is  over.  It 
here  ended  with  a  sententious  inquiry — not  in  the  familiar  style, 
the  subject  was  too  serious — “  What  age  is  this  port,  Mr.  Fenn  ?  ” 
“  Oh,  I  am  sure  I  can’t  tell  you.  I  only  know  I  have  had  it  fifty- 
eight  years  ;  if  you  like  it  you  are  welcome  to  the  lot  ;  Mother, 
