JOtlimAL  OF  HORTICULFUk^  AFt)  OOTfAOF  GAHDEiS^FR. 
tto^^ember  12, 
460 
would  nod  as  we  passed  in  a  pitiable  kind  of  way  as  if  to  say, 
“  It  will  be  too  late  to-raorrow,”  and  as  every  gardener  would, 
we  tamed  back  jast  for  another  canful  to  save  the  little 
outcast. 
Such  episodes  strike  on  the  memory  in  looking  backward ;  but 
in  course  of  time  the  rain  came— and  I  might  add  has  been  coming 
ever  since,  till  for  someticce  past  the  gardeners’  grumbles  have  been 
just  as  earnest  on  the  score  of  too  much  moisture  as  they  were 
before  for  the  want  of  it.  “  Oh,  dear  1  ”  said  one  the  other  day,  “  I 
wonder  when  we  shall  have  any  fine  weather.  Here  I  want  to  get 
on  with  a  lot  of  shifting  and  planting,  but  can  do  nothing  for  the 
wot.”  Such  expressions  are  no  doubt  becoming  general,  but  what 
is  far  worse  in  many  places  we  hear  sad  accounts  of  the  wholesale 
disease  amongst  Potatoes.  This  is  discouraging,  and  to  nse  the 
expression  of  a  lady  the  other  day,  who  said,  “  Whatever  shall  we  do 
if  there  is  a  famine  amongst  the  Potatoes,  and  what  will  become  of 
the  poor  Irish  ?  ”  This  disease  is  a  serious  matter,  and  it  would  be 
interesting  to  learn  from  the  numerous  correspondent!  of  the 
Journal  of  Horticulture  in  which  districts  the  Potatoes  are  affected, 
and  to  what  extent.  With  regard  to  Erin  I  am  not  in  a  position  to 
say  how  matter!  stand,  but  hope  there  is  no  danger  of  the  dreaded 
disease  being  added  to  the  numerous  difficulties  with  which  Pat  has 
to  contend.  Perhaps,  however,  “E.  K.”  would  be  able  to  give 
some  information  respecting  the  Irish  Potato  crop  that  would  be 
interesting.  We  heard  little  or  no  complaints  of  the  early  and 
midseasou  tubers  being  bad,  so  that  it  would  seem  as  though  the 
continaed  rain  following  the  weeks  of  drought  has  brought  the 
murrain  abont. 
The  flower  garden  hai  been  well  spared  this  year,  though  in 
mauy  cases  some  anxieties  were  felt  as  to  whether  the  Dahlias 
would  last  till  over  the  harvest  festival.  G  enerally  speaking,  how¬ 
ever,  they  have  done  so,  and  a  daily  paper  recently  told  of  an 
instance  where  the  thanksgiving  service  appeared  to  have  got 
slightly  out  of  place,  as  when  the  choir  was  iinging  “  Summer  suns 
are  glowing  ”  a  snowstorm  was  at  its  height  outside  the  precincts 
of  the  sacred  edifice. 
The  garden  on  the  morning  after  the  first  frost  strikes  one  as 
being  anything  but  cheerful.  Yesterday,  our  favourite  Dahlias 
were  resplendent  with  green  foliage  and  bright  flowers,  aud  though 
there  was  an  autumnal  look  abont  the  place,  yet  there  was  also 
another  aspect  which  told  that  all  was  not  over.  To  day,  however, 
how  different !  What  was  bloom  and  verdure  is  a  blackened  mass, 
which  tells  only  of  decay,  and  we  know  the  end  has  come.  There 
is  a  ruitling  too  overhead,  and  leaves  are  scattered  all  round  us. 
We  look  up  and  note,  perhaps  with  some  regret,  that  the  clothing 
of  greenery  is  rapidly  becoming  detached,  and  soon  the  trees  will 
be  bare  and  leafless.  Then  the  wall,  which  yesterday  was  ablaze 
with  the  rich  red  glow  of  Ampelopsis  Veitchi,  the  well-known 
Virginian  Creeper,  is  rapidly  becoming  bare,  and  what  was  a 
covering  of  glorious  colour  will  only  be  leafless  stems.  However, 
it  has  done  its  duty,  and  its  last  day*  are  by  far  the  most 
beautiful. 
To  the  Londoner  the  Virginian  Creeper  is  worth  more  than  a 
passing  remark,  for  without  it  how  dull  and  gloomy  many  of  the 
houses  would  be.  We  find  it  everywhere,  covering  walls  and 
climbing  over  arches  in  diminutive  back  gardens,  where  one  would 
hardly  expect  anything  to  grow,  and  even  among  the  smoke,  dust, 
and  grime  of  some  of  the  thickest  populated  districts  the  Ampe¬ 
lopsis  seems  quite  at  home,  while  on  the  villa  in  the  suburbs  it 
simply  luxuriates,  often  hiding  many  defects  of  the  speculative 
builder.  Daring  the*  last  few  weeks  the  bright  tints  of  the 
leafage  have  been  charmingly  effective,  and  if  1  mistake  not  have 
to  some  extent  gladdened  the  heart  of  many  a  hard-worked 
Londoner  who  has  a  taste  for  the  beastiful  in  Nature,  and  is 
therefore  thankful  that  there  is  at  least  one  creeper  that  so 
readily  accommodates  itself  to  the  adverse  conditions  of  the 
surroundings. 
Harking  back  to  the  garden,  how  disorderly  everything  looks 
now  the  frost  has  come,  the  neat  trim  appearance  of  a  few  week! 
before  being  obliterated  by  the  changes  that  must  necessarily  take 
place  as  autumn  days  advance.  The  beds  are  all  topsy  turvey,  so 
to  speak,  as  the  plants  have  been  taken  up  and  stored  for  the 
winter,  except  a  few  not  required,  and  the  annuals,  which  have  been 
left  to  their  own  devices.  They  look  woe-begone  and  straggling 
enough,  aud  one  feels  glad  when  the  ragged  remnants  of  the 
summer  are  cleared  away.  Cleared  away  they  must  be,  as  there  is 
much  to  be  done  in  preparation  for  brightness  in  the  spring.  The 
whole  thing  is  a  matter  of  change  and  replacement,  and  what  has 
done  duty  in  the  past  must  face  the  inevitable,  as  bulbs  will  soon 
be  spoiling  for  the  want  of  planting.  Wallflowers  and  Polyanthus 
are  overgroving  themielves  in  the  nursery  beds,  and  where  not 
already  removed  no  time  should  be  lost  in  transferring  them  to 
their  permanent  quarters. 
Nearing  the  end  ?  we  say,  and  so  we  are  in  many  respects,  but 
sad  though  it  may  seem,  and  reluctant  as  we  are  to  part  with  our 
favourite  flowers,  what  a  glorions  end  it  is  !  The  woodland  has 
been  brilliant  with  autumnal  tints.  What  artist  could  faithfully 
pourtray  them  ?  Imagine  a  Beech  wood  for  instance,  with 
here  and  there  a  Scotch  Fir  or  Spruce,  the  dark  gieen  of  which 
forms  a  pleasing  contrast  to  the  rich  hues  of  the  surrounding 
foliage.  It  is  interesting  to  watch  the  process  of  change.  First 
come  the  patches  of  light  yellow  here  and  there  among  the  green, 
then  a  more  general  transformation,  gradually  deepening  into  a 
golden  amber — and  lastly  a  rustle  in  the  autumn  wind,  and  bare 
twigs  remain. 
Such  is  the  end,  and  the  gardener  looks  back,  and  in  looking 
backward  marks  the  changes.  He  recollects  his  early  plans  and 
anticipations,  notes  where  he  has  made  mistakes,  and  resolves,  if 
prudent,  to  avoid  them  in  future.  He  thinks  of  the  difficulties  he 
has  had  to  meet,  which  at  the  time  never  daunted  him,  though 
now  their  magnitude  has  melted  since  jiQ  overcame  them.  All 
such  thoughts  crowd  on  ns  as  the  end  draws  nearer,  parallels  are 
drawn,  and  comparisons  made  according  to  varying  circumstances 
and  conditions.  Nature  closes  another  chapter  in  her  ceaseless 
round.  Well,  she  has  done  her  duty,  and  if  the  gardener  has  done 
his  there  ought  to  be  no  need  for  regrets.— *G.  H.  H. 
THE  GARDENERS’  PATH. 
[^Continued  from  page  437.) 
I  SHALL  now  ask  you  to  take  a  flying  leap  over  many  miles  of 
this  journey  of  life — this  path  of  duty.  Each  milestone  hurried 
past  is  one  of  the  fateful  threescore  and  ten.  How  fateful  to  my 
own  quiet  life  matters  not ;  one  may  look  back  where  they  cannot 
turn  back,  and  note  bow  very  faint  impressions  have  become  deep 
convictions,  one  of  which  is  that,  however  fair  the  weather  appeared 
at  starting,  prudence  should  prompt  some  preparation  for  the 
rainy  day.  However,  there  is  much  I  would  speak  of  if  I  could, 
and  much  that  I  could  if  I  would.  The  task  is  now  more  difficult ; 
old  boy*  are  watching  me.  I  feel  it ;  but,  if  they  will  be  kind,  I 
will  be  caretul,  so  now  for  the  middle  milestone  of  life.  It  is  not 
only  a  convenient  but  a  necessary  halting  place.  There  are, 
indeed,  but  few  travellers  who  will  not  pause  here  to  note  what 
hopes  have  been  realised,  also  to  consider  what  prospects  are  yet 
before  them  in  the  decline  of  that  hill  they  must  shortly  face.  It  is 
at  this  period  we  are  apt  to  be  painfully  conscious  of  some  burdens 
which  have  accumulated  en  route,  one  of  which,  at  least,  we  may 
here  prudently  unpack  to  see  if  it  is  really  necessary  to  endure  its 
strain  any  further. 
For  a  brief  space  I  venture  to  shunt  back  to  a  side-track  visited 
in  our  last  short  travel  along  the  path.  Through  the  Editor  comes 
a  letter  which  is  not  only  a  practical  comment  on,  but  an  endorse¬ 
ment  of  some  views  expressed — viz.,  those  relating  to  neighbourly 
visits  by  gardeners.  It  was  the  writer’s  lot,  he  says  (che  writer  of  the 
letter  I  mean)  “to  once  serve  a  gentleman  who  was  by  many  regarded 
as  a  '  terror.’  The  previous  gardener  would  not  visit  any  neighbour¬ 
ing  brother  of  the  craft,  because  as  he  alleged-—*  feeling  without 
knowing  ’ — that  he  was  not  free  to  receive  their  visits  in  return. 
The  *  new  ’  gardener,  after  a  service  of  six  months,  did  not  find 
the  gentleman  unreasonable.  He  was  a  very  busy  man  and  held  a 
