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JOURNAL  OF  HORTICULTURE  AND  COTTAGE  GARDENER. 
August  24,  1899. 
drooping  rays,  their  distinct  appearance  and  colour  give  them  high 
value  in  the  eyes  of  those  who  are  of  the  cult  of  hardy  flowers.' 
Then  there  are  the  pretty  R.  tomentosa  and  the  ever- valued  R. 
speciosa,  with  others  of  greater  or  lesser  worth. 
Ere  we  wander  far  from  the  lludbeckias  or  Coneflowers  we  must 
pause  for  a  moment  to  look  at  some  of  the  Heleniums,  whose  tasselled 
blooms  help  to  make  up  the  gold  of  the  autumn  days.  Pretty  and 
valuable  as  H.  autumnale,  H.  pumilum,  and  H.  Bolanderi,  lighter 
than  these  and  more  elegant,  are  the  Coreopsis,  whose  grace  is,  in 
some  species  at  least,  apparent  to  all.  One  species  the  writer  has 
admired  since  he  first  saw  it  nigh  upon  a  score  of  years  ago.  This  is 
C.  verticillata,  whose  elegant  foliage  combined  with  its  pretty  flowers 
makes  it  one  of  the  prettiest  of  our  autumn  composites.  Fine,  too,  is 
<1.  monstrosus,  a  variety  of  either  C.  lanceolata  or  C.  auriculata.  It 
is  an  unhappy  use  of  language  which  applies  to  so  pretty  a  flower  the 
word  “monstrous.”  It  is  grossly  inapplicable,  though  the  flowers  are 
larger  than  those  of  the  type  from  whence  it  comes.  We  have,  also, 
the  very  beautiful  C.  grandiflora  whose  only  fault  in  our  eyes  is  that  it 
is  often  too  short-lived,  and  needs  to  be  grown  from  seed  to  keep  up 
one’s  stock. 
Leaving  the  Coreopsis  we  are  drawn  to  the  Anthemises  or 
Camomiles,  whose  best  blooms  are,  perhaps,  over,  but  which,  if  kept 
cut  back,  will  give  fresh  flowers  till  the  hand  of  winter  touches 
it  with  its  icy  grasp.  The  thought  of  them  now  transports  one  in 
a  fancy  to  the  famous  garden  at  Edge  where,  in  front  of  a  hedge,  the 
'"writer  once  saw  a  line  of  the  Anthemises  in  gallant  array,  a  row  of 
starry,  golden  flowers,  a  sight  which,  once  seen,  elevated  the  flower  to 
a  higher  place  in  one’s  estimation.  More  gold  still !  The  precious 
metal,  or  its  colour  at  least,  is  scattered  thick  as  the  leaves  in 
Vallambrosa  over  the  garden  of  the  time.  It  is  from  the  towering 
Mulleins  mentioned  in  our  last  note.  It  is  from  the  tall  biennial 
Evening  Primrose,  a  disappointing  flower  on  a  bright  day,  but  a 
glorious  one  when  the  shades  of  night  come  on,  or  when  awaking  in 
the  early  morn,  we  see  it  standing  in  the  day-dawn,  a  tower  laden 
with  soft  yellow  shallow  cups  of  bloom. 
Doubly  pleasing  because  of  the  showers  of  gold  around  are  the 
blue  and  purple  flowers  of  the  season.  We  need  among  the  tasselled 
yellow  flowers  those  graceful  spikes  of  blue  or  white  given  by  the 
Yeronicas.  There  is  much  beauty  in  these  Speedwells,  and  those  who 
grow  them  will  think  them  not  unworthy  of  hearing  the  name  of  that 
gentle  woman  whose  compassion — true  or  imaginary — has  caused  the 
name  of  Veronica  to  be  held  in  high  regard.  The  Yeronicas  are 
numerous,  and  one  cannot  refer  to  them  in  detail.  Whether  of 
herbaceous  or  of  shrubby  habit ;  whether  tall  and  wand-like,  or  creeping 
close  to  the  soil,  almost  all  are  beautiful  in  their  way. 
Long  past  is  St.  John  s  Day,  to  which  the  Hypericum  by  its  popular 
name  of  St.  John’s  Wort  has  been  inseparably  attached,  yet  we  have 
the  plant  in  bloom.  Everyone  admires  the  sub-shrubby  species,  such 
as  H.  patulum,  H.  calycinum,  or  the  hybrid — surpassing  nearly  every 
other — Moserianum.  A  few  flowers  left  on  a  plant  of  the  tiny  little 
H.  nummularium  caught  the  eye  of  a  hardy  plantsman  who  was  in 
my  garden  the  other  day.  The  writer  was  absent,  hut  came  in  and 
found  him  studying  this  little  alpine  with  delight.  A  pretty  little 
flower,  growing  only  a  few  inches  in  height,  it  is  hardy  and  beautiful 
enough  to  please  those  to  whom  the  large,  and  to  me,  charming 
flowers  of  the  larger  species  do  not  commend  themselves. 
Though  one  rejoices  at  the  rain,  which  will  save  the  labour  of 
plying  the  watering  can,  the  joy  is  chastened  by  a  sight  of  one’s  big 
hush  of  Olearia  Haasti,  which  on  the  rockery  has  been  covered  with 
crowded  Daisy  blooms.  Like  0.  stellulata,  its  flowers  delight  in  dry 
and  sunny  weather,  in  which  they  long  retain  their  purity  and  beauty. 
After  rain  they  quickly  lose  their  colour,  and  the  counterfeit  of 
Chaucer’s  favourite  flower  soon  grows  unsightly. 
Again  must  one  lay  down  the  pen  ;  again  lament  an  unfinished 
tale.  Jackman’s  Clematis  is  full  of  bloom  by  the  window  and 
over  the  doorway.  Behind  the  house  Clematis  flammula  covers 
a  little  pergola,  and  mounts  the  gable  to  gratify  its  longing 
to  curtain  the  chimney  with  its  dangling  sprays.  Starry  are 
its  flowers,  beautiful  because  of  their  number,  lightnesSj 
and  softness.  Perennial  Peas — less  varied  in  their  hues  than  the 
Sweet  Peas  grown  for  their  beauty  and  their  sweet  perfume  — 
climb  trellises  and  cover  them  with  clustered  heads  of  flowers. 
There  is  a  shimmer  of  lilac  on  the  earlier  Michaelmas  Daisies,  and 
soon  we  may  he  on  the  alert  for  the  appearance  of  the  Meadow 
Saffrons  and  the  autumn  Crocuses.  Already  the  autumn  Snowflake — 
Leucoium  autumnale — dangles  its  exquisite  little  flowers  from  their 
slender  stalks,  and  the  autumn  Cyclamen  has  thrust  its  flowers  up 
from  the  bare  soil. 
The  garden  of  hardy  flowers  is  a  moving  picture,  but  its 
mechanism  is  unseen  and  unfelt.  There  is  no  jerking,  no  feeling 
that  the  “  machine  ”  is  at  hand,  as  in  the  cinematograph.  It  is  the 
gentle,  unhurried  movement  of  that  power  which,  through  countless 
ages,  has  pursued  a  great  plan  unerringly,  and  has  in  that  colossal 
task  ceased  not  to  clothe  the  earth  with  beauty  to  refresh  and  give  joy 
to  feeble  man. — S.  Arnott. 
PEAS  IN  1899. 
For  weeks  past  outdoor  gardening  has  been  wearying  work.  True, 
we  have  had  some  violent  thunderstorms,  which  have  made  the 
farmers  look  sorrowfully  at  the  corn,  beaten  down  to  the  ground  ;  but 
we  gardeners  felt  thankful  for  the  storms,  in  spite  of  the  harm  they 
did.  They  gave  us  a  respite  for  a  few  days  at  any  rate,  and  any 
change  from  the  constant  slush,  slush  of  the  watering  can  was 
welcome.  It  was  not  for  long,  however ;  the  torrents  ot  rain  have 
fallen  at  wide  intervals  like  waterspouts,  the  dry  parched  earth  drank 
in  the  moisture,  and  vegetation  looked  like  a  giai  t  refreshed.  But 
King  Sol  was  only  resting,  and  burst  forth  with  all  his  pitilessness, 
the  surface-sodden  ground  baked  and  cracked,  and  a  few  hours  after 
the  rain  ceased  there  was  no  trace  of  moisture  left. 
I  cannot  say  that  the.  season  up  to  now  has  been  entirely  unfavour¬ 
able,  or  that  we  have  reason  to  complain  very  much,  considering  how 
seasons  go  in  this  fickle  climate ;  but  it  is  sad  about  the  Peas.  It 
seems  so  long  since  we  had  a  really  good  Pea  year  that  one  is  apt  to 
become  disheartened,  and  set  the  crop  down  as  being  one  of  the  garden’s 
uncertainties.  Never  were  prospects  brighter,  and  it  is  only  fair  to  the 
clerk  of  the  weather  to  say  that  never  have  we  had  better  crops  of 
early  Peas.  The  sad  part  of  the  story,  however,  has  yet  to  come,  and 
when  we  were  picking  basket  after  basket  of  delicious  Green  Peas 
from  the  rows  of  Chelsea  Gem,  Daisy,  Gradus,  and  the  rest  of  them, 
the  succession  crops  close  at  hand  looked  a  picture  of  vigorous  health. 
The  haulm  was  of  that  vivid  green  we  so  like  to  see,  blossom  showed 
in  quantity,  and  the  sticks  looked  hardly  strong  enough  to  support 
the  crop. 
Our  hopes,  plans,  and  forecasts  have  been  turned  topsy  turvy, 
and  we  are  obliged  to  write  failure  near  the  names  of  most  of  the 
successional  Peas.  At  first  it  was  only  a  whispered  fear,  and  a  hope 
that  we  should  get  rain  soon.  A  yellow  change  in  the  haulm  close 
to  the  ground  mounted  higher  up  the  stem,  flowers  failed  to  set,  or 
only  resulted  in  small  spotty  half-filled  pods,  and  then  a  plague 
of  thrips  came,  just  to  put  the  finishing  stroke  on,  and  after  that 
despair.  True,  some  of  the  once  healthy  rows  retained  vigour  enough 
to  fill  the  pods,  and  a  favourable  reply  went  hack  to  the  kitchen  in 
response  to  an  inquiry  as  to  whether  there  were  any  Peas.  It  was  a 
bad  move,  though,  for  every  other  pod  was  tenanted  by  maggots,  and 
the  cook  has  not  yet  regained  her  evenness  of  temper. 
Gardeners  who  have  kitchens  to  supply  are  worried  to  know  how 
to  keep  up  a  continuation  of  the  delicious  Green  Peas  from  the  early 
rows.  Some  struggle  manfully  against  the  opposing  forces  of  Nature, 
others  have  thrown  up  the  sponge,  and  many  are  asking  a  verv 
natural  question,  “  What  is  the  best  treatment  for  Peas  during  a  dry 
season  like  this  ?”  Everybody  can  advance  his  own  theory,  and  this, 
I  think,  would  form  a  very  suitable  subject  for  a  little  controversv  bv 
practical  growers  in  these  columns.  In  the  first  place,  I  do  not  think 
there  is  a  great  deal  in  variety,  so  far  as  withstanding  drought  is 
concerned.  There  is  a  large  number  of  good  Peas  on  the  market  at 
the  present  time,  and  I  have  grown  a  selection  side  by  side  for  trial. 
Some  of  the  latest  sorts  maintain  a  healthy  appearance,  but  I  do  not 
see  much  to  choose  in  the  second  early  and  main  crop  sorts,  all  ot 
which  fall  prey  to  thrips  and  maggot. 
Many  growers  pin  their  faith  on  watering  and  mulching  to  keep 
the  Pea  crop  going,  but  others  again  question  the  wisdom  of  it,  while 
personally  I  am  short  of  water,  and  the  idea  of  sparing  any  of  that 
commodity  for  the  Peas  is  out  of  the  question.  I  think  the  most  that 
can  be  done  to  save  the  Peas  in  dry  seasons  must  be  effected  before  we 
know  whether  we  are  going  to  have  a  dry  season  at  all,  or  when  the 
ground  is  being  prepared  for  the  reception  of  the  seeds.  Experience 
has  proved  to  me  that  good  farmyard  manure  and  manual  labour  are 
