464 
JOURNAL  OF  HORTICULTURE  AND  COTTAGE  GARDENER.  November  21,  1901, 
Water  must  be  given  at  the  roots  to  render  the  soil 
evenly  moist,  supplying  it  at  the  same  temperature  as  that 
of  the  heat  about  the  pots  ;  but  avoid  over-watering  or  a 
wet  condition  of  the  soil,  as  that  neither  favours  root  for¬ 
mation  nor  a  sturdy  development  of  growth.  Also  avoid  a 
close  moist  atmosphere,  the  moisture  arising  from  the 
fermenting  material,  with  an  occasional  damping  of  the 
paths  and  walls,  will  be  sufficient  in  dull  weather. 
Early  Forced  Planted-out  Trees.— The  earliest  house 
should  be  closed  in  December  to  have  ripe  Figs  in  May. 
Brown  Turkey  is  the  most  reliable  variety,  and  for  a  white 
one  White  Marseilles  ;  but  this  requires  restriction  at  the 
roots  and  a  rather  extensive  run  of  trellis.  Where,  how¬ 
ever,  the  earliest  Figs  are  obtained  from  trees  in  pots,  start¬ 
ing  the  trees  in  borders  may  be  deferred  until  the  new  year, 
so  as  to  afford  a  succession.  Planted-out  trees,  even  with 
the  roots  confined  (as  they  should  be  for  early  forcing)  to 
narrow  inside  borders,  will  not  ripen  the  fruit  so  early  as 
trees  in  pots  with  the  aid  of  bottom  heat ;  hence,  if  started 
at  the  same  time,  they  will  afford  a  close  succession  to  that 
from  trees  in  pots. 
The  trees  having  been  pruned  and  dressed  with  an  insecti¬ 
cide,  the  house  thoroughly  cleaned,  and  the  border  top- 
dressed,  attention  must  be  given  to  the  moisture  of  the 
border.  Assuming  the  soil  has  become  dry,  apply  water  in 
a  tepid  state  to  the  roots  at  frequent  intervals,  until  the 
soil  is  thoroughly  moistened,  but  not  made  sodden  by  over¬ 
supplies.  In  the  matter  of  temperature  proceed  as  for  the 
house  with  trees  in  pots. 
In  succession  houses  prune  the  trees  when  the  leaves 
have  fallen.  Lightly  point  the  border,  remove  the  loose 
material,  supply  fresh  loam  with  a  sprinkling  of  bonemeal, 
and  scatter  a  few  sweetened  horse  droppings  on  the  surface. 
Ventilate  freely  in  mild  weather,  only  closing  when  frost 
prevails. — Grower. 
Mostly  Irish. 
Rain — “teeming  rain,”  as  they  say  here — has  “teemed” 
all  day,  and  the  look-out  is  miserable.  One  little  ray  of 
consolation  lies  in  the  probability  of  its  pouring  in  London, 
and  is,  possibly,  more  miserable  still.  There  is  comfort  in 
comparison — in  reflecting  that,  bad  as  things  are,  they  might 
be  worse — are  worse  elsewhere.  It  has  been  noted  that 
the  dot  on  the  Liffey,  and  the  blur  on  the  Thames,  which 
represents  the  two  cities  on  the  map,  are  wonderfully  in 
accord  about  the  weather.  The  dot  is  small,  the  blur  is  big, 
and  the  weather  in  ratio.  This  is  deduced  from  the  daily 
notes  of  the  London  correspondent  of  the  “  Irish  Times  ”  ; 
cold  showers  in  Dublin,  hail  in  London  ;  leaves  tumbling 
around  us,  chimney-pots  falling  in  Fleet  Street ;  and  so  on, 
and  so  on.  It  is  a  pretty  correct  rule,  too,  barring  excep¬ 
tions,  which,  of  course,  only  prove  it.  The  bigger  the  ex¬ 
ception  the  bigger  the  proof.  So,  as  said,  it’s  miserable,  but 
“  sufficient  for  the  day  .  .  .  .” 
Yesterday — ah  !  yesterday — 60  degrees  in  the  shade,  and 
glints  of  gold,  pale  yellow  gold,  rich  ruddy  gold,  burnished 
copper,  and  red  from  the  dull  red  of  a  new  pot  to  the  bril¬ 
liancy  of  a  cardinal’s  hat,  as  mellow  shafts  of  sunshine  shot 
through  soft  misty  clouds  hurrying  up  from  the  west  and  hit 
the  old  Bird  Cherry,  the  big  Beeches  and  Birches,  to  be 
finally  focussed  in  the  dying  beauty  of  Ampelopsis  Veitchi 
on  a  south-west  wall.  But.  oh !  those  Birches  favoured  of 
spring,  well  beloved  of  the  Indian  summer.  More  gorgeous 
have  been  the  Horse  Chestnuts,  more  tintful  the  Beeches, 
but  not  one  of  them  in  all  their  glory  have  been  arrayed 
like  one  of  these.  It  stands,  this  particular  one,  on  a  hillock 
sheltered  from  all  the  winds  that  blow  by  deep-toned  Pines, 
and  long  pendulous  racemes,  feathering  the  40ft  of  silvery 
stem,  are  flecked  with  gold.  Yesterday  we  saw  it  trans¬ 
figured  for  a  brief  space  by  the  setting  sun,  and  a  thousand 
whisperings  in  an  unknown  tongue  answered  the  gentle  west 
wind  as  it  caressed  the  tresses  of  our  bonnie  birk. 
Such  things  do  not  last,  but  the  memory  of  them  lingers. 
The  great  artist  laid  on  the  colours  too  heavily,  too  hurriedly, 
too  satisfying,  so  to-day  a  great  washing-out,  leaves  half  the 
landscape  provokingly  bare,  and  mad  swirls  of  colour  lie 
on  the  ground.  How  one  could  go  on  and  on  striking  notes 
of  harmony  from  this  gem  of  the  seasons — the  Indian 
summer — which,  Bomehow,  seems  to  receive  scant  meed  of 
praise !  Here  is  one  whose  common  round  and  daily  task 
has  been  under  the  very  aegis  of  Nature  in  all  her  moods,  one 
who  has  witnessed  two  score,  at  least,  of  such  eloquent 
Indian  summers.  And  what  has  he  seen  in  them  ?  In  his 
own  words,  “nothing  but  a  terrible  mess.”  Coloui'-blind 
we  infer,  for — 
’Tis  man’s  own  sickly  blindness  makes  the  world  deformed  alone, 
Who  knows  it  most,  sees  beauty  most,  who  knows  it  least  sees  none. 
The  magic  wand  has  touched  the  Pear  trees  on  the  walls, 
and  that  reminds  one  that  they,  like  these  notes,  should 
have  something  more  than  sentiment  to  set  forth.  The 
Pears,  unfortunately,  have  all  but  failed  in  their  practical 
duties  this  year,  although  other  gardens  around  Dublin  are 
more  favoured  ;  but  Apples  are  generally  scarce.  Fine 
selected  Apples  have  realised  fancy  prices  in  the  market; 
3s.  a  dozen,  according  to  a  Press  report,  rewarded  one 
grower  for  a  limited  sample.  Peaches,  however,  during  the 
season,  went  very  cheap,  but  Strawberries  paid.  It  has,  of 
course,  been  a  dull  season  in  Dublin  city,  but  when  the 
King  comes  we  shall  alter  all  that.  Now  and  again  there 
was  a  flutter  of  excitement  when  young  Ireland  in  khaki 
went  forth  to  fight  for  the  old  flag,  and  more  excitement 
when  our  bronzed  yeomanry  came  back  ;  but  they  did  not 
all  come  back,  and  more  than  one  Irish  home  mourns  “  the 
young  master.” 
Somehow  the  year  has  slipped  away.  One  can  hardly 
realise  that  grumbles  about  drought  were  rife  when  Septem¬ 
ber  proved  to  be  the  wettest  of  its  name  for  some  years. 
Ib_our  weather — wanted  more  mixing.  Apropos  of  drought 
and  fruit  trees,  old  friends  (one  old,  one  young)  from  Straffan 
—Straffan  in  Kildare — skipped  in  unexpectedly  some  little 
time  ago,  and  gave  a  growl  (the  old  ’un  growled)  anent  his 
fruit  trees,  which  had  made  no  growth  this  season.  Another 
little  ray  of  consolation  in  finding  that,  dry  as  this  district 
had  been,  the  neighbouring  inland  counties  were  worse. 
Doubtless  the  Straffan  rain  guage  has  another  tale  to  tell 
ere  this.  This  year  should  have  been  a  record  one  for 
Potatoes.  As  it  is,  an  opinion  one  way  or  the  other  is 
scarcely  justified,  for  personal  experience  is  limited,  and  com¬ 
plaints  have  been  neither  loud  nor  deep.  We  do  know  that 
10  per  cent,  of  our  late  Potatoes  were  bad  when  dug  early 
in  October,  but  first  early  varieties  were  marvellous  for 
quality  and  quantity.  One  line  of  “  Dunardagh,”  an  early 
kidney,  dug  previously,  elicited  notes  of  admiration  from 
the  digger.  “Thirty  to  a  root;  I’ve  counted  ’em.”  The 
case  was  not  over-stated,  one  exceptionally  strong  root  being 
turned  up  yielding  forty-five  clean,  shapely  tubers.  The 
passing  year  has  shown  what  Potatoes  like,  for  they  have 
fairly  revelled  in  heat,  and,  one  may  add,  drought,  huge 
tubers  having  been  proverbial. 
Writing  on  the  eve  of  the  Royal  Horticultural  Society  of 
Ireland’s  winter  show,  notice  may  be  given  of  a  new  feature 
introduced — viz.,  competition  for  Apple-packing  in  barrels. 
It  is  feared  that  packing  in  punnets  would  be  more  in  agree¬ 
ment  with  the  season’s  shortage.  However,  anything  tend¬ 
ing  to  stimulate  the  resources  of  our  “  distressful  ”  country 
should  be  welcomed.  The  Board  of  Agriculture  and 
Technical  Instruction  has  also  been  endeavouring  to  en¬ 
courage  economic  gardening  with  lectures  by  an  horticultural 
expert,  but  it  is  probably  uphill  work  for,  saving  those  few 
centres  where  cottage  gardening  has  been  invested  -with 
spirit  by  the  powers  that  rule  manorially,  it  is  all  but  an 
unknown  quantity.  Perhaps  the  fillip  of  competition  by  the 
introduction  of  local  societies  would  do  much.  Perhaps  not, 
for  it  is  hard  to  get  off  the  beaten  track — the  track  of  the 
mongrel  hen  running  through  the  Potato  patch. 
It  was  gratifying  to  note  in  “  our  Journal’s  ”  Rose  analysis 
how  that  old  favourite,  Ulrich  Brunner,  is  still  to  the  fore. 
We  are  not  blessed  with  an  ideal  Rose  soil ;  some  H.P.’s  do 
fairly  well,  others  better,  but  Ulrich  Brunner  best  of  all. 
It  is  the  only  variety  of  its  section  which  has  been  exempt 
from  mildew,  and  mildew  this  year  has  been  ultra  bad.  The 
practically  thornless  growths,  vigorous  habit,  and  dependable 
qualities  of  summer  and  autumn  blooming  of  this  fine  Rose 
deserve  a  note  of  admiration ;  but  we  find  close  pruning  is 
necessary  to  bring  out  its  best  qualities.  Rosa  hermosa  is 
a  charming  decorative  subject,  and  a  continuous  bloomer. 
A  long  border  of  it  is  still  flowering  profusely,  and  its 
charming  pink  blossoms  are  most  useful  for  cutting ;  the 
more  appreciated,  perhaps,  for  the  “  mums  ”  are  late,  the 
only  fault  in  this  year’s  culture,  if  fault  it  is.  Outside 
flowers  are  scarce,  more  owing  to  continuous  wet  than  to 
frost,  for  our  coldest  night  as  yet  has  shown  but  two  degrees 
of  frost,  and  only  on  one  other  occasion  has  the  needle 
pricked  us  below  freezing  point.  The  only  bright  thing  in 
