282 
JOURNAL  OF  HORTICULTURE  AND  COTTAGE  HARDENER. 
September-  23,  1897. 
reduced  to  one.  The  bunches  exhibited  weighed  4^  lbs.  and  4^  lbs. 
respectively. 
“  Eeverting  to  the  border,  its  depth  is  2  feet  3  inches,  or  1  foot 
9  inches  of  soil  and  6  inches  of  drainage.  The  composition  of  the 
border  is  as  follows  :  -  To  every  six  cartloads  of  soil  was  added  one  of 
old  lime  rubble,  two  barrowloads  of  charcoal  and  wood  ashes,  and  2  cwt. 
of  raw  half-inch  bones.  Beyond  this  no  manure  of  any  description  was 
added.  The  soil,  which  was  taken  from  the  surface  of  a  pasture  field, 
was  of  a  heavy  and  retentive  description.  It  was  not  rich  in  nitro¬ 
genous  food,  which  was  practically  limited  to  the  roots  of  the  various 
grasses  and  other  plants  growing  in  it.  It  was  also  deficient  in  lime. 
“  The  soil  was  chopped  up  roughly,  and  the  other  materials 
thoroughly  mixed  with  it  before  making  the  border.  When  the 
compost  was  in  a  moderately  dry  condition  it  was  firmly  packed 
together,  so  that  but  little  settling  has  taken  place. 
“  During  the  summer  of  1896  a  comparatively  small  quantity  of 
water  was  applied  to  the  border.  A  larger  supply  has  been  given  this 
year,  but  still  much  less  than  is  frequently  advocated  by  some 
cultivators.  It  has  been  asserted  that  if  a  Vine  border  is  well 
drained  it  cannot  be  ‘  over  watered.’  My  belief  is  that  quite  as  many 
Vines  are  ruined  by  the  application  of  an  excess  of  water  to  their 
roots  as  by  using  it  too  sparingly.  Some  soils  have  a  much  greater 
cai^acity  for  holding  moisture  than  others,  and  consequently  they 
do  not  require  to  be  watered  so  often;  but  whatever  the  character 
of  the  soil  may  be,  whenever  water  is  needed  it  should  be  given  in 
sufficient  quantity  to  thoroughly  moisten  the  entire  mass. 
“The  good  condition  of  the  soil  and  the  requisite  food  con¬ 
stituents  are  essential  to  the  growing  Vine,  but  I  believe  that  the 
atmospherical  conditions  to  v  hich  Vines  are  subjected  are  of  at  least 
equal  importance.  Grapes  of  good  quality  can  be  grown  when  the 
borders  are  in  an  indifferent  state,  provided  the  atmosphere  of  the 
house  is  in  the  most  favourable  condition  for  Vine  growth. 
“  The  bottom  of  the  border  was  concreted  to  prevent  the  descent 
of  the  roots  into  the  clay  subsoil.  A  thorough  watering  with  weak 
liquid  manure  was  given  before  the  Vines  came  into  flower,  and 
again  after  the  stoning  period  of  the  fruit  was  jiassed.” 
Such  is  the  plain  practical  narrative  of  the  preparation  and 
preCedure  adopted  by  Mr.  Neild,  who  is  to  be  congratulated  on  the 
success  he  has  achieved  so  soon  at  the  greatest  show  of  Grapes  in 
England.  He  is  evidently  not  a  believer  in  “  big  ”  borders,  nor  are  we, 
and  he  also  knows  that  the  best  of  borders  fail  in  producing  superior 
Grapes  in  the  absence  of  otherwise  good  cultural  treatment.  We 
rather  think  we  have  somewhat  of  a  sensation  in  store  in  the  way  of 
Vine  borders,  and  hope  to  show  the  smallest  on  record  in  proportion 
to  the  crop  of  Grapes  it  has  been  made  to  support. 
THE  OLD  GARDEN— A  MEMORY. 
There  is  a  constant,  nameless  grace 
About  the  dear  old-fashioned  place 
I  never  can  forget. 
I  find  it  in  the  Hollyhocks, 
And  in  the  scented  rows  of  Phlox, 
The  beds  of  Asters,  fragrant  Stocks, 
And  darling  Mignonette, 
The  dear  old  flowers  our  grand-dams  knew. 
The  dear  old  shrubs  they  loved  and  grew. 
Still  make  it  sweet  and  fair. 
The  modern  grower,  who  insists 
On  novelties  from  seedsmen’s  lists. 
With  barbarous  names  by  botanists. 
Will  find  small  pleasure  there. 
The  above  tuneful  lines  by  “  M.  S.”  in  the  “  Westminster  Gazette  ” 
come  opportunely,  one  ventures  to  think,  and  if  savouring  of  a 
sentiment  which  praises  the  past  to  the  depreciation  of  the  present, 
one  cannot  but  admit  the  soothing  and  softening  influence  they 
possess ;  and  few  probably  will  deny  the  value  of  these  little  asides 
which  retouch  the  notes  of  some  long-forgotten  harmony  of  early  life, 
whose  faint  reverberations  are  all  but  drowmed  iu  the  din  and  rattle 
of  latter  days. 
If  the  pleasures  of  gardening  are  enjoyed  as  much  by  anticipation 
as  they  are  in  realisation,  like  so  many  of  the  pleasures  of  life,  retro¬ 
spection  possibly  affords  the  most  unqualified  satisfaction,  hence 
“  A  Traveller  ”  tells  his  little  tale  of  woe,  and  “  Invicta  ”  pines  for  the 
open-air  Peaches  of  his  boyhood  days,  softly  impeaching  those. who 
neglect  their  walls,  and  ever  and  anon  some  old  showman  resting  on 
his  laurels  figuratively  shoulders  his  crutch  and  shows  how  fields 
were  won  in  the  brave  old  days  of  long  ago. 
Now,  in  low-toned  cadence  “  M.  S.”  touches  one  tender  spot  that 
all  must  have  in  their  hearts,  conceal  it  as  they  may,  for  the  old- 
fashioned  garden  —  the  gardm  of  auld  lang  syne.  Fewer  and 
farther  between  as  we  hurry  along  are  these  havens  of  all  that  is 
restful,  such  an  one  as  above  depicted;  for  somehow  this  restless  spirit 
of  the  age  appears  to  have  invaded  most  gardens,  and,  where  it  rules, 
all  must  be  “up  to  date.”  What  “  dear  old-fashioned  place  ”  ins[iired 
our  gentle  singer  to  chant  its  charms  we  need  not  inquire.  That  such 
with  “their  nameless  grace”  still  exist  it  is  good  to  know.  One 
wishes,  daring  as  the  wish  may  be,  to  keep  them  ;  one  hopes,  though 
vain  may  be  the  hope,  that  the  improving  (?)  hand  may  never  there 
display  its  trained  dexterity,  and  improve  them  out  of  existence. 
Our  smart  young  gardeners,  what  think  they  of  our  theme?  Is  it 
of  “  such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of  ?  ”  Possibly.  But  granted  that  it 
is  so,  I  would  that  they  momentarily  closed  their  eyes  on  all  that  is 
so  big  now,  even  great  Shrew.sbury ;  upon  all  that  is  so  smart  and  so 
severely  trim,  and  hie  back  with  me  to  a  Gloucestershire  garden.  Lest 
any  should  imagine  that  such  an  illustration  as  I  will  endeavour  to 
re-draw  is  not  adapted  to  our  present  “  up  to  dateness,”  I  dare 
venture  to  assert  that  the  flower  borders  would  adorn  in  their  “nameless 
grace  ”  any  garden  in  proportion  to  its  size,  from  that  of  prince  to 
peasant.  Far  removed  by  what  seems  to  be  a  lifetime  ;  ever  journey¬ 
ing  and  settling,  in  the  vicissitudes  of  life,  there  is  one  treat  long 
self-promised,  and  that  is  to  renew  acquaintance  some  day  with  “  the 
dear  old-fashioned  place.”  Ah  !  some  day.  I  know  it  cannot  be,  for 
good  men  there  of  high  and  low  estate  have  gone ;  yet,  hapiuly,  one 
retrospective  peep  in  memory’s  mirror  flashes  back  the  whole  scene  of 
that  old  garden  of  delight. 
I  do  not  know  but  what  even  then,  when  last  seen,  that  changes 
were  not  in  contemplation,  fur  it  was  remarked  that  “  Old  Eph  ”  was 
“  on  his  last  legs,”  not  but  what  one  supposes  they  were  the  identical 
pair  which  had  borne  him  through  a  long  and  honourable  life  of 
labour,  which  was  certaiidy  one  of  love  in  caring  for  these  particular 
flower  borders,  over  which  he  ruled  despotic.  These  ran  parallel  with 
the  path,  which  in  its  turn  ran  centrally  the  full  length  of  a  long 
rectangular  garden,  some  4  acres  in  extent.  The  first  time  I  saw  these 
borders  was  at  this  season  of  the  year  in  all  their  autumn  glory,  and 
during  my  sojourn  they  were  a  source  of  endless  gratification,  no  day 
passing  without  a  visit  to  them  at  early  morn  or  dewy  eve.  It  is 
but  right  to  remark  that  my  old  friend,  as  I  came,  to  regal'd  him— we 
had  so  much  in  common — was  not  the  head  gardener,  never  had  been, 
nor  ever  had  aspired  to  the  jiost.  For  some  forty  years  on  the  regular 
staff,  the  last  decade  of  life  found  him  generously  allowed  by  the 
noble  family  he  had  humbly  and.  faith I'ully  served  to  work  or  rest  on 
the  same  terms  as  when  the  bent  back  was  straight.  He  chose  to 
work,  and  chose  wisely,  as  the  guardAn  of  the  two  long  flower 
borders,  to  their  decided  gain. 
Such  a  alorious  vista  of  colours  and  of  grace,  such  fragrance,  it 
would  be  difficult  to  equal,  impossible  to  surpass.  Though  possessed 
of  a  supreme  contempt  for  all  the  primness  and  uniformity  so 
characteristic  of  the  bedding  craze  then  in  vigorous  youth,  the  old 
man  did  not  disdain  to  gather  up  what  he  could  of  the  surplus  stock 
of  Nosegay  “Geraniums,”  Fuchsias,  Heliotropes,  or  what  not,  and 
“  stick  them  in  ”  here  and  there  as  gaps  occurred,  to  adorn  his  darling 
borders.  That  these  were  “the  dear  old  flowers  our  grand-dams 
knew”  is  doubtful,  but  “the  dear  old  shrubs  they  loved  and  grew” 
were  there.  Lavender  and  Rosemary,  Southernwood  and  Sweet 
Briar  rubbed  shoulders  with  big  bushes  of  scented  Verbena ;  and  as 
for  “Asters,  fragrant  Stocks,  and  darling  Mignonette,”  they  were 
there  galore.  Sunflowers,  Sweet  Peas,  and  Peas  that  if  not  sweet 
were  bright  in  their  perennial  ramblings  were  there,  with  majestic 
Hollyhocks  towering  over  all.  What  a  medley  it  was  surely,  and 
here  and  there  one  detected  a  piece  of  red  worsted  tied  round  the 
neck  of  some  flower  or  seed  pod,  which  “Old  Eph”  designed  to 
multiply,  as  of  the  best  in  the  borders. 
He  was  always  busy  on  the  “  last  legs,”  always  genial— to  me — 
although  he  was  said  to  be  a  “  bit  cranky”  by  those  who  had  no  sympathy 
with  his  loose  flower  gardening  ways.  True,  some  tall  plants  had 
a  habit  of  being  near  the  walk,  and  short  things  vice  versa,  yet  it 
would  have  been  a  libel  to  say  that  anything  was  uncared  for.  Even  a 
“Chaney  Aster,”  ere  it  could  bow  its  heavy  head,  if  inclined  to  do  so,  was 
supported,  though  all  his  staking  was  very  heterodox,  being  merely  a 
support  in  the  way  the  plants  were  inclined  to  go  instead  of  the  right  and 
proper  (?)  method  of  bunching  them  upright  in  regimental  correctitude. 
It  may  not  be  seemly,  scane  may  think,  to  ramble  on  about  things 
of  the  past.  “  We  are  altering,  and  have  altered,  the  wildness  of  the 
old  gardens,”  probably  not  a  few  can  say ;  but 
You  may  break,  you  may  shatter  the  vase  as  you  will, 
The  scent  of  the  Roses  will  cling  round  it  still. 
— The  Squire, 
