460 
JOURNAL  OF  HORTICULTURE  AND  COTTAGE  GARDENER. 
June  2,  1898. 
composure,  of  the  extensions  that  are  to  be  made.  He  speaks  of  the 
pleasant  past,  of  the  hopeful  future. 
On  these  garden  Alps  flowers  of  nearly  every  genus  bloom.  As 
far  as  may  be,  the  conditions  of  existence  of  every  species  in  its 
niountain  home  are  copied.  There  is  more  than  the  plain  features  of 
display  and  adornment;  there  is  an  intimate  study  of  the  require- 
inents  of  the  plants  for  their  own  sake.  It  is  as  though  the  grower 
did  not  strive  to  snatch  from  the  plant  its  beauty,  but  to  set  on  it  the 
crowp  of  its  own  health  and  contentment.  If  this  be  so — and  it  was 
the  impression  which  I  for  one  gathered  strongly — it  suggests  a  love 
for  Nature  which  must  inevitably  sweeten  life’s  thorny  pathway  to  a 
degree  which  selfish  culture  can  never  attain.  The  beautiful  mass  of 
Eritrichium  nanum,  with  its  azure  lake  of  sunny  blossom,  the  soft 
cushion  of  silvery  Saxifrage  on  the  grey  promontory,  are  not  simply 
to  be  spoken  of  as  gay  lumps  of  carbon  pressed  into  the  service  of 
mankind,  but  as  objects  of  solicitude  and  care,  of  affection,  I  might 
almost  say  of  reverence.  There  is  a  new  and  appealing  beauty  in  this 
view  of  gardening.  It  is  the  unwritten  poetry  of  flower  culture. 
To  mention  half  the  beautiful  plants  on  the  Antwerp  Alps  would 
be  to  draw  up  something  like  a  catalogue,  and  as  I  have  a  rooted 
dislike  to  note-taking,  which  awakens  reminiscences  of  feverish  work 
in  stuffy  tents  in  past  years,  when  yard-long  reports  were  being 
prepared  for  waiting  presses,  I  resort  to  it  only  as  a  last  extremity. 
Far  sweeter  is  it  to  drink  in  the  pleasure  of  a  garden  like  this  in  such 
draughts  as  Nature  gives,  and  through  her  own  media.  The  inter¬ 
position  of  paper  and  pencil  would  be  appropriate  onlj'  in  the  hands  of 
an  artist,  who  could  pourtray  natural  beauty  as  only  those  wonderful 
Dutch  and  Flemish  painters  have  been  able  to  do.  It  may  be  said 
that  through  note-taking  comes  information.  True,  but  not  inspira¬ 
tion.  And  it  is  through  inspiration  rather  than  through  abstract 
learning  that  there  comes  capacity  for  putting  into  force,  either  in 
gardens  or  on  canvas,  those  mysterious  impulses  of  genius  which  have 
made  the  little  kingdoms  of  the  Low  Countries  such  vast  powers  in 
civilised  life. 
Thus  it  is  that  I  am  no  more  going  to  make  an  attempt  to  describe 
the^  materials  vdth  which  M.  and  Madame  Everaerts  have  built  up 
their  unique  and  beautiful  garden  than  to  indicate  the  separate  colours 
employed  by  Rubens  and  Rembrandt,  Hobbema  and  Van  Dyck, 
^  ^  Neer  and  Wouwerman,  or  other  great  artists  of  the  Dutch 
and  Flemish  school.  Antwerp  throws  open  its  beautiful  art  galleries 
fme  to  the  world,  and  I  have  very  strangely  misread  the  disposition  of 
the  hospitable  pair  mentioned  above  if  they  would  decline  to  permit 
ar^  traveller  animated  by  a  pure  love  of  horticulture  to  see  the  ■work 
which  they  have  done.  The  visitor  does  ’not  see  merely  one  of  the 
rnost  astonishing  and  remarkable  rock  gardens  of  Europe,  but  groves 
of  beautiful  trees  and  shrubs,  naturalised  wherever  possible,  including 
small  forests  of  Rhododendrons,  snowy  mounds  of  Andromedas,  and 
huge  old  clumps  of  Magnolias,  studded  with  bloom.  He  finds  colonies 
of  plants,  colonies  ot  trees,  colonies  of  birds,  and  even  colonies  of  fish, 
3,  chronometer-like  touch  to  Nature  by  the  accuracy 
with  which  they  assemble  at  the  pond  edges  when  the  hour  has 
arrived  to  expect  the  master  and  mistress  with  the  early  morning  meal. 
There  will  be  seen,  too,  beautiful  borders  of  hardy  herbaceous 
plants,  extending  in  the  aggregate  to  half  a  mile  long  or  more,  and 
full  of  choice  flowers;  an  extensive  Rose  garden,  comprising  all 
classes  of  plants  and  long  lists  of  varieties ;  a  large  collection  of  hardy 
fruits,  carefully  grown  and  pruned  ;  houses  of  Strawberries ;  houses  of 
Roses ;  houses  of  this  plant  and  that  plant  and  the  other — in  fact, 
every  item  of  a  great  private  horticultural  establishment,  where 
everything  that  is  thought  worth  growing  is  thought  worthy  of  being 
grown  well.  When  the  head  gardener  appeared  on  the  scene  he 
proved  to  be  what  might  have  been  anticipated — an  intelligent,  active, 
^rnest  man.  In  connection  with  him  I  had  a  pleasant  surprise.  The 
Belgian  spoke  English  much  better  than  the  Briton  did  French,  and 
Belgian — had  learned  our  tongue  under  the  encouragement  of 
his  employers^  for  the  express  purpose  of  reading  our  gardening  papers. 
If  the  editorial  blue  pencil  has  become  at  all  impatient  over  these 
jottings,  I  am  sure  it  will  learn  composure  at  the  news  that  the 
practical  articles  in  the  Journal  are  closely  scanned  every  week,  and 
the  hints  given  put  freely  into  practice. 
Having  the  blue  pencil  still  before  my  eyes,  in  spite  of  a  triumphant 
sense  of  having  momentarily  disarmed  it,  I  refrain  from  making  this 
pleasant  little  tribute  to  British  horticultural  journalism  the  text  for  a 
homily  on  gardeners’  education.  Warily,  too,  must  I  tread  in  a 
comparison  of  the  readiness  with  which  the  Belgian  gardener  brought 
out  his  note-book  at  the  mention  of  any  new  name,  and  the  caution, 
almost  amounting  to  suspicion,  with  which  a  new  thing  is  often 
greeted  here  in  Great  Britain,  lest  I  draw  sarcastic  charges  from 
indignant  horticulturists  that  I  am  younger  than  I  ought  to  be. 
Humbly  acknowledging  this  damaging  trait  of  mine,  I  still  venture  to 
mention  a  forcing  Strawberry  which  struck  me  as  good ;  it  was  being 
grown  by  hundreds,  I  might  also  say  by  thousands,  and  appeared  to 
be  remarkably  free.  While  the  Briton  was  making  a  mental  note  of 
the  name  (it  is  called  Vilmorin’s)  the  Belgian  was  putting  into  the 
ever-ready  note-book  the  name  of  Royal  Sovereign,  which  will  speedily 
have  to  undergo  a  test  of  superiority  with  the  French  sort. 
Speaking  of  Strawberries  reminds  me  of  an  allusion  by  ISIadame 
Everaerts  to  a  variety  grown  years  ago  in  her  ancestral  home  near 
Aix-la-Chapelle,  which  had  many  distinctive  qualities.  It  was  a  fruit 
of  good  size,  very  dark  in  colour,  in  fact  almost  black,  and  having  so 
powerful  an  aroma  that  a  few  fruits  of  it  would  perfume  a  whole 
basket  of  another  sort.  Its  other  most  notable  feature  was  a  negative 
one — great  sparsity  of  fruiting.  All  qualities,  good  and  bad,  are 
mentioned,  because  they  are  characteristic  of  the  sort,  and  may  help  to 
identify  it.  If  any  Strawberry  specialist  recognises  the  variety  let  him 
send  the  name  along  for  publication.  It  was  much  prized  by  the 
lady  of  the  house,  but  unhappily,  owing  to  its  being  a  poor  fruiter,  it 
fell  under  the  ban  of  a  former  gardener,  who  promptly  threw  it  away. 
This  particular  gardener  is  spoken  of  with  a  certain  mingling  of  awe, 
wonder,  and  admiration.  Only  equal  to  his  sublime  knowledge  of 
every  branch  of  gardening  was  the  sublime  calmness  with  which  he 
denied  the  most  rudimentary  knowledge  of  the  art  to  his  employers. 
Do  you  imitate  my  own  thoughtless  act,  and  inquire  his  nationality  ? 
Then  the  truth  must  out,  though  thrones  may  totter  and  dynasties 
collapse.  He  was  a  Briton,  too  ! 
After  this  blow  to  the  national  pride  it  would  gratify  me  to  pass 
on  to  son»thing  comforting.  Well,  I  found  it — for  myself — but  can 
only  transmit  it  in  the  form  of  a  hint.  Hundreds  of  acres  of  land 
around  Brussels  are  devoted  to  the  culture  of  a  vegetable  which  is 
rarely  seen  here  except  in  large  country  gardens.  I  allude  to  Witloef. 
That  it  is  grown  by  us  to  a  limited  extent  I  happen  to  have  the  best 
means  of  knowing — namely,  concurrence  in  the  distribution  of  seed. 
But  the  almost  complete  absence  of  the  vegetable  from  our  markets, 
and  the  rarity  with  which  it  is  included  in  mdnu  cards,  tell  their  own 
story.  Now,  Witloef  etuve,  that  is,  Witloef  boiled,  then  browned  in 
a  saucepan  and  served  with  sauce,  is  an  exceedingly  tender  and  whole¬ 
some  vegetable.  It  is  as  melting  as  Seakale,  but  the  flavour,  otherwise 
somewhat  similar,  has  a  bitter  reaction  reminiscent  of  Turnip  tops,  so 
that  you  lose  your  Seakale  comparison  all  in  a  hurry.  Those  whose 
palate  is  robust  enough  to  appreciate  an  occasional  dish  of  Turnip  tops 
would  soon  become  very  fond  of  Witloef.  Nothing  could  be  much 
simpler  than  the  way  in  which  the  Belgians  secure  a  spring  supply. 
They  grow  the  roots  in  deep  and  well-pulverised  soil,  lift  them  in 
autumn,  trim  off  the  fops,  replant,  and  cover  thickly  with  straw. 
The  price  this  April  was  about  4d.  per  lb. — W.  Pea. 
(To  be  concluded.) 
LATE  GARDEN  TULIPS. 
It  is  no  disparagement  to  the  English  florists’  Tulips  to  say  that  they 
are  better  suited  for  cultivation  in  a  bed,  properly  protected  and  shaded, 
than  for  undergoing  the  vicissitudes  of  growing  among  border  flowers. 
J'or  this  purpose  there  is  nothing  finer  than  the  Tulips  with  self  or 
almost  self-coloured  blooms.  A  very  beautiful  gathering  of  nine  different 
flowers,  sent  me  by  Mr.  Wm.  B.  Hartland,  is  before  me  now.  Some  of 
these  I  grow,  but  as  there  are  others  I  have  not  had,  it  may  be  more 
convenient  to  take  them  as  they  are.  Very  brilliant  is  T.  fulgens  lutea, 
with  long,  rather  narrow,  petals  of  the  brightest  yellow.  Fine,  too,  is 
elegans  lutea,  bright  yellow,  flushed  with  orange  red,  of  pretty  form  and 
large  in  size.  A  pretty  form  of  T.  Billietiana,  a  variable  species,  has 
rather  paler  yellow,  shorter,  and  rounder-petalled  flowers,  strongly 
marked  with  carmine.  T.  ixioides  is  a  charming  yellow  flower,  but  with 
black  spots  at  the  base  of  the  interior,  and  with  black  anthers.  Two 
exquisitely  delicately  coloured  flowers  are  T.  Leghorn  Bonnet  and 
T.  flava.  I  presume  the  name  Leghorn  Bonnet  is  taken  from  the  pale 
straw  colour  of  the  flower.  T.  flava  is  of  much  the  same  shade,  but 
whiter  towards  the  base  and  round  the  margins  of  the  flowers.  Brides¬ 
maid  is  a  Tulip  with  dark  crimson  ground,  resembling  the  old  double 
Pasony,  but  feathered  broadly  with  white.  It  is  very  large.  The  Moor 
is  a  deep  brownish  red.  One  hearing  the  awkward  name  of  T.  Gesneriana 
major  rosea  coerulea  is  deep  rose  red,  with  blue  at  the  base.  I  have  had 
this  for  years  under  the  same  name,  with  the  exception  of  “rosea.” 
Gesnera  aurantia  maculata  is  magnificent  in  its  colouring,  and  one 
despairs  of  trying  to  describe  the  combination  of  rose,  orange,  and 
yellow,  with  the  intermediate  tints  of  shading  it  possesses.  Such  flowers 
as  these  are  more  brilliant  than  the  Darwin  Tulips,  and  are  more  elegant 
among  other  flowers  by  reason  of  their  less  formally  shaped  hlooms. 
— S.  Arnott. 
[We  wonder  if  our  closely  observant  correspondent  has  been  impressed 
by  the  fragrance  of  the  brilliant  T.  macrospila.  It  was  obtained  from 
Messrs.  Barr,  and  is  a  gfuiTal  favourite.] 
