300 
April  3,  1902. 
JOURNAL  OF  HORTICULTURE  AND  COTTAGE  GARDENER, 
farmer’s  energies  have  been  so  taxed  to  effect  this  end 
that  he  has  had  little  time  to  give  to  the  parts  of  his 
holding  that  do  not  materially  help  to  pay  the  rent.  I 
say  this  may  be  so,  but  I  must  also  add  that  as  a  rule  the 
farmer  is  not  a  gardener ;  he  does  not  want  to  be,  and  is 
quite  content  to  remain  on  his  own  side  of  the  fence  that 
marks  the  division  between  agriculture  and  horticulture. 
If  such  is  the  case,  then  the  occupier  of  the  Manor 
Farm  must  be  an  exception  to  the  rule.  Perhaps  he  is, 
for  his  interest  in  gardening  is  not  unfeigned,  though  I 
am  not  sure  whether  it  is  natural  or  acquired.  The  truth 
is,  he  possesses  a  gardening  wife,  and  instances  are  not 
uncommon  where  the  influences  of  the  latter  have  made 
themselves  felt  on  the  husband  in  this  direction.  At  any 
rate,  the  good  man  says  that  he  is  no  gardener,  but  a 
farmer,  like  his  father  and  grandfather  were  before  him, 
and  then  he  laughingly  adds  that  the  “  Missus  ”  likes  the 
garden,  and  he  must  needs  do  her  bidding  for  the  sake 
of  his  own  peace  of  mind.  I  have  formed  my  own  opinion 
about  this,  for  the  man  who  will  stroke  the  quarters  of  a 
favourite  cow  one  minute  and  then  stroll  into  the  garden 
to  see  how  his  newly-budded  Rose  stocks  are  progressing, 
is  something  of  a  gardener  as  well  as  a  farmer,  in  spite 
of  his  assertions  to  the  contrary.  The  man  must  needs 
have  recreation  too,  and  here  he  finds  it,  for  when  the 
serious  business  of  the  day  is  over— even  in  harvest  time, 
when  evening  finds  him  tired — he  may  be  seen  in  the 
garden,  just  pottering  about,  as  he  terms  it,  but  in  reality 
doing  odd  jobs — staking  up  a  straggling  flower  here  and 
there,  nailing  in  a  wayward  Rose  shoot  on  the  wall, 
attending  to  the  needs  of  the  Cucumber  in  the  frame,  or 
trying  the  flavour  of  the  Green  Peas  in  a  raw  state.  He 
is  rarely  alone,  for  the  “  Missus,”  who  would  never  think  of 
interfering  as  to  the  way  in  which  any  of  the  fields  should 
be  cropped,  or  when  the  hay  should  be  carried,  is  the 
ruling  power  inside  the  walls  that  enclose  the  garden.  In 
the  early  summer  mornings,  before  half  the  world  is 
awake,  and  when  the  master  is  superintending  milking 
operations,  she  snatches  odd  minutes  to  prick  off  a  few 
seedlings,  but  without  neglecting  the  more  important 
business  of  the  dairy. 
The  Manor  Farm  is  one  of  the  brightest  spots  amongst 
agricultural  homesteads.  It  may  have  felt  the  strain,  but 
the  signs  have  never  become  apparent,  and  there  is  the 
old-time  air  of  prosperity  and  comfort  about  the  place. 
The  house  is  old,  rambling,  and  heavily  timbered,  and 
the  first  rays  of  the  morning  sun  peep  through  the  low 
windows  into  rooms  with  low  ceilings  and  mighty  time- 
blackened  beams.  From  the  back  door  one  steps  into  the 
farmyard,  where  the  buildings  form  a  square,  and  the 
picturesque  old  barn,  with  its  great  expanse  of  roof,  seems 
to  be  keeping  guardian  over  the  lesser  structures.  But 
we  have  nothing  to  do  with  this  department,  and  turn 
through  the  little  side  door  under  an  ancient  Yew  tree 
which  leads  the  way  to  the  garden. 
What  a  charming  place  it  is !  Old  and  quaint,  like  the 
house  itself,  but  there  seems  to  be  a  personality  about 
every  plant,  flower,  and  tree.  Try  to  imagine  an  early 
summer  morning  in  the  Manor  Farm  garden,  when  the 
windows  are  thrown  open  to  admit  air,  laden  at  different 
seasons  with  the  delicious  odour  wafted  from  the  flowers 
of  the  old  Wistaria,  that  rambles  in  a  way  of  its  own  over 
the  housefront  ;  the  white  and  purple  Lilac,  that  grow  in 
the  corner ;  and  the  Laburnum,  a  little  further  down,  which 
showers  its  yellow  petals  on  the  grass  along  with  those  of 
the  sweet  Hawthorn  when  flowering  days  are  drawing  to 
a  close.  At  another  time  the  scent  is  that  of  Roses  from 
the  old  York  and  Lancaster  bushes,  Cabbage  Roses  and 
Sweet  Briars,  mingled  with  more  modern  varieties  ;  for, 
as  I  have  said,  the  farmer  has  a  weakness  for  the  Queen 
of  Flowers,  and  takes  a  wondrous  pride  in  the  plants 
budded  by  himself  on  briars  obtained  from  the  hedgerows. 
A  border  runs  round  the  garden,  with  one  on  either  side 
of  the  centre  path  ;  and  what  a  mixture  they  present,  to 
be  sure,  but  there  seems  to  be  always  plenty  of  flower. 
Snowdrops  appear  in  the  farm  garden  before  anywhere 
else' in  the  village,  followed  by  the  Yellow  Crocuses,  which 
the  “  Missus  ”  makes  such  a  trouble  over  because  the 
sparrows  play  sad  havoc  with  them.  Then  follow  the 
Lenten  Lilies,  the  Polyanthuses,  the  Wallflowers  of 
delicious  odour,  and  the  Forget-me-nots,  which  have  their 
own  place  near  to  where  the  Sweet  Violets  gi'ow. 
To  know  what  there  really  is  in  the  borders  you  must 
have  time  to  investigate  them  and  the  “  Missus  ”  for  a 
guide.  She  picks  her  way  in  and  out,  telling  the  history 
of  this  clump  of  Clove  Carnations,  that  border  of  Pinks, 
or  the  big  batch  of  purple  Irises  further  on.  She  has 
quaint,  homely  names  for  many  of  her  favourites,  such  as 
her  grandmother  used  in  her  day,  and  wishes  for  nothing 
better.  The  “  Old  Man  ”  bush  near  the  door  has  a  scent  of 
its  own,  and  the  clurnp  of  Lavender  is  tended  carefully  for 
household  purposes.  Sweet,  indeed,  is  the  smell  of  the 
Sweet  Williams  in  the  garden,  and  bright  the  colour  of  the 
Canterbury  Bells.  Larkspurs,  Phloxes,  Day  Lilies,  Chrys¬ 
anthemums,  and  Michaelmas  Daisies  seem  to  join  hands 
in  providing  a  succession  of  bloom,  and  when  they  are  all 
over  the  Christmas  Rose  clump,  which  is  given  the 
privilege  of  a  handlight  in  winter,  has  its  turn.  Every 
summer  sees  a  blaze  of  gaudy  Sunflowers  in  one  corner ; 
but  they  are  grown  with  a  purpose,  for  the  chickens  in  the 
yard  appreciate  the  oily  seeds. 
The  Currant  and  Gooseberry  bushes,  jumbled  up  in  a 
mixed  medley  way  amongst  the  flowers,  are  ancient,  and 
not  particularly  attractive,  but  they  always  bear ;  and  the 
Elderberry  bush,  which  few  people  would  tolerate  in  a, 
garden,  provides  material  for  the  annual  brewing  of  wine. 
The  espalier  Apple  trees  alongside  the  centre  walk,  the 
Apricot  on  the  house  front,  the  Jargonelle  Pear  which 
covers  the  stable  end,  and  the  big  Blenheim  Orange  which 
stands  in  the  garden,  are  evidence  of  the  fruit-growing 
tastes  of  some  former  tenant,  and  if  more  is  wanted  it  can 
be  found  in  the  aged,  but  still  profitable,  trees  in  the 
orchard  behind  the  house.  It  would  seem  as  though  the 
flower  borders  have  wandered  on  to  the  parts  intended  for 
vegetables,  as  there  seems  to  be  no  defining  line  between 
them ;  but  it  is  quite  characteristic  of  the  garden,  this 
mixture  of  the  ornamental  and  the  useful.  Never  was 
there  such  a  south  border  as  that  in  farm  garden  for  early 
Potatoes,  according  to  our  friend’s  statement,  and  it  is  a 
proud  boast  of  his  that  he  cuts  Asparagus  from  his  forty 
years  old  bed  a  week  earlier  than  the  gardener  up  at  the 
Hall.  The  Rhubarb  is  a  mighty  clump,  and  provides 
material  for  tarts  till  the  green  Gooseberries  come  along, 
and  then  its  sticks  are  utilised  for  wine.  The  “  Missus,”’ 
by  the  way,  is  famous  for  this  beverage,  though  she  never 
touches  it  herself,  and  her  husband  jokingly  remarks  that 
she  would  make  wine  of  the  paving  stones  if  she  could  get 
nothing  else.  But  the  garden  does  not  supply  all  the 
material,  and  at  certain  seasons  the  little  lawn  is  strewn 
with  Cowslip  and  Dandelion  flowers  drying  for  the  purpose 
indicated. 
Have  I  yet  desci'ibed  this  simple,  dear  old  garden 
fully  ?  I  am  afraid  not  ;  but  I  must  stop  now,  for  my  space 
is  filled.  At  times  the  farmer  talks  of  retiring,  on  the 
ground  that  he  is  getting  past  it.  His  neighbours  hope  he 
won’t  for  many  reasons.  But  when  the  time  does  come 
I  trust  that  his  successor  will  be  something  of  a  gardener 
as  well  as  farmer.  I  fancy  the  “  Missus  ”  hopes  so  too.. — 
A  British  Rustic. 
Figs  Under  Glass. 
The  fruits  of  the  very  early  varieties,  Early  Violet  and  St.. 
John’s  or  Pingo  de  Mel,  are  now  showing  signs  of  ripening; 
syringing  must  cease,  or  the  fruit  is  liable  to  decay  at  the  “  eye,” 
being  attacked  by  a  fungus,  Glceosporium  Iseticolor,  and  a 
lessened  supply  of  water  given,  or  the  fruit  will  be  indifferent  in 
flavour.  A  circulation  of  warm  air  is  necessary  for  securing, 
highly  flavoured  Figs.  The  temperature  should  be  GOdeg  to  65deg 
at  night,  70deg  to  75deg  bv  day,  with  SOdeg  to  85deg  from  sun, 
advancing  to  90deg  or  more  after  closing,  admitting  air  or 
increasing  it  from  75deg,  closing  at  SOdeg  to  85deg.  Trees- 
swelling  their  fruit,  such  as  White  Marseilles  and  Brown  Turkey, 
must  be  well  supplied  with  water  and  top-dressings  of  rich  com¬ 
post,  continuing  to  syringe  until  the  fruit  shows  signs  of  ripen¬ 
ing.  Planted  out  trees  started  early  in  the  year  should  have  the 
superfluous  growth  removed  at  an  early  stage,  stopping  a  fair 
amount  of  shoots  at  the  fifth  leaf  to  form  spurs ;  but  avoid  over¬ 
crowding  and  attend  to  tying  in  the  shoots,  allowing  space  for 
growth.  Surface  roots  should  be  encouraged  by  a  mulching  of 
lumpy  manure,  which  will  prove  beneficial  if  kept  moist,  both 
by  attracting  the  roots  to  the  surface  and  affording  nourishment. 
Liberal  supplies  of  water  or  liquid  manure  will  be  necessary  to 
assist  the  fruit  in  swelling  satisfactorily.  The  temperature 
should  be  increased  to  GOdeg  to  GSdeg  at  night,  and  in  the  day¬ 
time  from  75deg  to  85deg  with  sun  heat.  Syringe  the  trees  freely 
on  fine  days,  so  as  to  keep  red  spider  in  check,  but  avoid  keeping 
the  foliage  wet  late  in  the  day. — Grower. 
