120 
JOURNAL  OF  HORTICULTURE  AND  COTTAGE  GARDENER. 
February  10,  1898. 
frost  finds  its  way  into  loose  and  compressed  soil  (or,  to  put  it  more 
correctly,  the  radiation  of  heat  in  the  case  of  these  two  conditions),  I 
do  not  think  for  a  moment  that  Mr.  Dunn  would  use  any  body  of  a 
solid  or  compressd  character  in  preference  to  an  open  or  porous  one  to 
prevent  the  radiation  of  heat  from  pits  or  frames.  Neither  in  a  frosty 
night  would  he  put  on  a  closely  woven  linen  garment  in  preference  to 
an  Irish  frieze  to  prevent  the  heat  leaving  his  body.  The  very  same 
law  that  determines  these  cases  determines  the  depth  to  which  frost 
penetrates  the  earth.  The  reason  w'hy  an  jron  bar  conducts  heat  more 
rapidly  than  a  wooden  one  is  the  same  as  conducts  the  heat  more 
rapidly  out  of  solid  soil,  and  lets  frost  or  cold  into  it,  than  takes  place 
in  loose  soil.  And  you  may  as  well. try  to  alter  the  law  that  makes  a 
man  stoop  when  climbing  a  steep  road,  and  compels  him  to  stand  at 
anything  but  a  right  angle  from  the  surface  of  the  incline. 
As  I  have  already  remarked,  the  well  recognised  circumstance 
that,  to  prevent  the  summer  sun  from  sending  its  heat  down  into  the 
ground,  causing  the  more  rapid  evaporation  of  moisture  from  the  roots 
of  crops,  the  proper  thing  to  do  is  to  keep  the  surface  constantly  in  a 
loose  porous  state ;  either  this,  or  to  mulch  with  some  loose  manure  or 
litter.  If  the  surface  he  left  in  a  caked  or  compressed  condition  you 
have  a  medium  fitted  by  natural  law  to  convey  the  moisture  far  more 
rapidly  out  of  the  ground,  and,  moreover,  exclude  the  air  from  exerting 
its  food-preparing  power  in  the  soil.  It  is  impossible  to  reverse  this 
law’s  action,  and  it  accounts  for  what  I  have  over  and  over  again 
found,  the  fact  that  compressed  soil  radiates  the  heat  out  of  the 
ground  in  winter  just  as  it  conducts  the  heat  of  the  sun  into  the 
ground  in  summer.  Mr,  Dunn’s  reference  to  a  piece  or  lump  of  soil 
lying  on  the  surface  of  the  ground  and  one  buried  a  foot  deep  in  it 
proves  nothing  for  or  against  the  depth  to  which  frost  penetrates  under 
the  two  conditions  in  question.  It  seems  to  me  to  point  to  a  mere 
surface  pulverisation. 
It  might  he  further  remarked  that  the  amount  of  air  in  a  soil  has 
much  to  do  with  the  penetration  of  frost.  ‘The  more  air  the  more 
frost-resisting  power,  hence  it  is  found  that  a  comparatively  thin 
covering  of  earth  keeps  the  frost  out  of  our  Potato  pits,  provided  there 
is  laid  carefully  next  to  the  Potatoes  a  layer  of  straw,  with  its  hollow 
tubes  or  stems  full  of  air.  This  same  holds  good  in  the  keeping  of 
frost  out  of  glass  pits  or  frames.  Lay  the  mats,  or  whatever  the 
covering  may  be,  closely  on  the  glass,  and  the  beat  radiates  far  more 
quickly  than  if  kept  an  inch  or  two  off  the  glass,  leaving  a  vacuum 
for  a  stratum  of  air.  I  have  seen  damage  done  to  cold  water  pipes  in 
a  hard  gravel  walk,  while  not  one  was  broken  or  burst  by  frost  in 
the  same  depth  of  loose  garden  soil.  For  the  same  reason  a  wooden 
shanty  is  warmer  in  winter  and  cooler  in  summer  than  one  of  sheet 
iron  ;  but  the  illustration  of  the  working  of  this  law  is  endless,  and  no 
power  of  man  can  alter  it. — D.  Thomson. 
THE  PHILOSOPHER  IN  THE  TRENCH. 
In  the  trench  ?  Why,  yes  !  and  if  you  will  believe  me,  prostrate 
there.  But  we  all  respect  the  philosopher  so  much  that  we  would  fain 
see  him  on  his  feet  again.  If  it  be  thought  that  sentence  No.  1  here 
indicates  too  great  a  complacency,  then  perhaps  the  compliment  in 
No.  2  will  balance  matters,  because  Complacency  and  Compliments 
have  gone  together  since  the  world  began,  and  the  discreet  pages  of 
our  Journal  give  them  all  the  respect  which  is  due  to  their  venerable 
character. 
The  beginning  of  wisdom  is  often  the  ending  of  philosophy.  The 
latter  is  one  of  those  cheerful  things  which  do  useful  fair-weather 
duty,  but  come  to  grief  under  stress  of  circumstance.  As  a  phrase  it 
has  many  merits.  It  possesses  resonance  and  sonority.  It  bespeaks 
dignity.  When  a  controversialist  lays  hands  on  it  common  weapons 
are  of  little  avail.  It  possesses  certain  awe-inspiring  qualities,  so  that 
timid  persons  are  rather  afraid  to  take  too  close  stock  of  it  lest  it 
should  go  off.  When,  however,  courage  is  screwed  up  to  the  sticking 
point  and  examination  takes  place  a  flaw  is  sometimes  revealed. 
But  if  philosophy  is  formidable  in  itself  alone,  what  are  we  to  think 
of  it  in  the  hands  of  a  past  master  in  the  art  of  gardening  like  Mr.  D. 
Thomson  ?  Doubt  then  becomes  almost  treasonable,  as  leagued  with 
Presumption.  This  is  a  combination  so  formidable  as  to  give  pause  to 
any  critic  who  does  not  enjoy  the  twin  distinction  of  professional 
eminence  and  ripe  years.  So  he  hesitates.  It  is  not,  you  understand, 
a  thwack  from  the  philosophic  flail  which  he  fears  so  much  as  the 
keener  barb  of  seeming  disrespect.  The  new  idea  likes  to  assert  itself, 
yet  claims  the  saving  grace  of  modesty.  There  is  but  one  way  out  of 
the  dilemma,  and  that  is  to  remember  that  conscious  strength  feels 
pleasure  rather  than  anger  in  perceiving  that  youth  is  trying  to  feel 
its  devious  way  to  wisdom. 
I  read  the  article  of  Mr.  Thomson  with  so  much  interest  that 
when  I  had  finished  it  I  read  it  again.  It  was  that  lurking  philo¬ 
sophy  which  tempted  me.  I  feared  it,  but  still  it  lured  me  on.  Mr. 
Thomson’s  philosophy  is  that  winter  digging  and  trenching  is  not  so 
good  'as  spring  work.  Not  a  very  startling  thesis,  you  will  say ; 
indeed,  rather  an  old  friend,  but  put  forward  so  weightily  and  with 
so  much  brainful  resource  behind  it  as  to  almost  command  the 
attention  of  something  entirely  new.  Like  a  wise  general  our  vener¬ 
able  teacher  throws  up  two  lines  of  entrenchments,  one  of  which 
consists  of  philosophic  deduction,  the  other  of  practical  example. 
On  reflection  it  seems  to  me  that  only  the  latter  of  these  is  of  much 
defensive  value  ;  as  for  the  other,  why  it-  confounds  its  own  designer, 
and  instead  of  leaving  him  triumphant  on  the  edge  of  the  trench 
throws  him  prostrate  in  it. 
“A  loose  porous  body  ol  material  holds  more  water  than  one  that 
is  solid  and  compact.”  The  assertion  is  Mr.  Thomson’s,  and  it  is 
indubitably  correct,  lie  bases  his  argument  upon  it,  hut  goes,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  astray  in  his  deductions.  It  is  because  of  the  fact 
herewith  stated  that  the  grand  old  gardener  would  leave  stiff  soil 
alone  till  the  spring ;  it  is  because  of  the  self-same  fact  that  I  would 
attack  it  in  winter,  Mr.  Thomson  goes  to  natural  philosophy  for  his 
deductions,  and  I  will  follow  him  there.  Is  it  not  a  fact  that  water  at 
freezing  point  expands  ?  Undoubtedly  ;  what  then  ?  Why^  this, 
that  the  greater  the  amount  of  moisture  within  the  soil  the  greater 
must  he  the  disintegrating  action  of  frost.  Natural  laws,  says  Mr. 
Thomson,  are  inexorable  ;  but  when  he  goes  on  to  say  that  “  they  act 
powerfully  in  producing  results  that  tell  against  the  recomnaendation 
of  the  winter  tillage  of  heavy  soils  in  wet  districts  ”  I  beg  respectfully 
to  suggest  that  he  has  allowed  himself  to  be  misled. 
All  our  excellent  friend’s  arguments,  all  his  “philosophy,”  would 
come  out  right  side  up  if  there  were  no  such  thing  as  winter  frost ;  with  it 
they  are  turned  topsy-turvy.  Take  a  piece  of  strong  adhesive  clay, 
such  as  most  horticulturists,  old  and  young,  have  had  to  deal  with 
some  time  or  other  in  their  lives  (not  less  often,  perhaps,  because  they 
are  not  for  ever  crying  their  practical  experience  from  the  housetops). 
The  thoughtless  man  will  worry  this  soil  about  at  much  expense  of 
manual  labour  ;  the  wiser  one  will  let  Nature  do  it  for  him.  Tluwv 
it  up  in  December,  and  what  happens  ?  In  nine  seasons  out  of  ten 
it  gets  well  saturated  with  the  rains  of  early  winter,  taking  up,  as 
Mr.  Thomson  truly  tells  us,  more  water  than  if  left  packed.  The 
greater  amount  which  it  holds  the  greater  will  be  the  natural 
crumbling  or  disintegration  from  the  action  of  the  following  frosts, 
which  rarely  fail  to  do  their  work.  Note  that  I  say  “  December  ” 
digging.  It  is  an  important  stipulation.  I  have  seen  stiff  land  dug 
early  in  November,  and  the  surface  became  greasy  from  the  long 
delay  of  frost  action.  This  surface  grease  clogs  the  soil,  excludes  the 
air,  and  to  a  certain  extent  the  frost.  Perhaps  I  should  not  be  very 
wide  of  the  mark  if  I  suggested  that  Mr.  Thomson  has  observed  this 
soil  paste,  and  been  driven  by  it  to  the  other  extreme— spring  digging. 
But  if,  as  I  contend  is  the  case  from  the  law  he  himself  proclaims, 
winter  digging  is  theoretically  sound,  it  is  not  less  so  practically.  I 
should  be  surprised  if  hundreds  of  instances  of  its  benefits  could  not  be 
quoted.  Staggered  by  the  weight  of  Mr.  Thomson’s  name,  not  a  few 
worthy  workers  may  doubt  the  evidence  of  their  own  experience,  but 
when  they  have  had  time  for  calm  reflection  and  a  quiet  look  round 
they  will  view  the  matter  as  I  do.  I  venture  to  refer  to  one  instance 
as  a  set-off  to  the  case  quoted  by  Mr.  Thomson. 
A  particularly  vicious  example  of  the  London  clay  in  a  Kentish 
suburb  had  for  years  set  at  defiance  the  hopes  of  the  master,  who  had 
been  assured  by  his  landscape  gardener  that  if  scientifically  drained  the 
clay  would  give  abundant  crops.  Somehow,  though,  it  did  nothing  of 
the  kind.  There  was  no  doubt  about  the  systematic  (and  expensive) 
character  of  the  drainage ;  there  was  equally  none  about  the  poorness 
of  the  crops.  Then  came  along  an  adviser  of  another  sort — one  with 
a  very  qualified  belief  in  drain-pipes,  but  a  heartily  unqualified  one  in 
garden  forks  well  wielded — myself.  Examination  elicited  the  interest¬ 
ing  fact  that  3  feet  of  solid,  sour,  sticky  clay  rested  on  tho.se  immaculate 
drains.  It  was  followed  by  a  prompt  inquiry  and  a  prompt  answer  ; 
“  May  I  do  as  I  think  best  ?  ”  “  Yes  ;  go  ahead  !  ”  Within  twenty- 
four  hours  a  small  army  of  diggers,  fork-armed,  were  at  the  clay.  By 
mid-December  the  last  rod  was  ridged.  There  was  rain,  there  was 
frost,  and,  hey,  presto  !  a  transform ation  scene,  all  brought  about  by 
Mother  Nature.  Crumbly  soil  instead  of  sticky  lumps,  changed  in 
character  by  frost,  greeted  eye  and  hand.  By  the  time  Mr.  Thomson 
would  have  commenced  his  digging  the  garden  was  in  kindly  working 
order — the  master  staring,  the  scientific  drainer  rubbing  his  nose. 
If  he  saw  anything  that  was  a  lesson  to  him,  and  set  him  thinking, 
let  others  follow  his  example.  And  now  I  think  of  it,  I  will  quakingly 
rub  mine  own,  in  anticipation  of  Mr.  Thomson’s  return  blow.— 
W.  Pea. 
Early  Floavers  in  Scotland.  —  I  imagine  it  must  be  very 
unusual  to  see  the  Hepaticas  flower  before  the  Winter  Aconite  and 
Snowdrops.  May  I  ask  if  it  is  so  ?  Until  this  season  I  have  no  recollec¬ 
tion  of  having  noticed  this.  Hepatica  angulosa  flowered  ten  days,  and 
the  single  Pink — blue,  white,  and  double  red — a  few  days  before  the 
plants  mentioned.  If  this  is  the  reverse  of  the  usual  order,  it  must,  I 
presume,  be  due  in  some  way  to  the  very  exceptional  nature  of  the  season. 
— Selkirkshire. 
