April  23,  1903. 
JOURNAL  OF  HORTICULTURE  AXD  COTTAGE  GARDENER, 
355 
flight,  and  reap,  unreprovcd,  nay,  indeed,  welcomed,  their 
honeyed  treasures.  As  the  j’earsi  pass  away  this  little  Heath  is 
more  and  more  prized  as  one  of  the  garden’s  most  cherished 
treasures,  prized  for  its  beauty,  its  earliness,  its  long-continued 
bloom,  and  its  perfect  hardiness.  There,  too,  i.s  another  trea¬ 
sured  shrub,  though  its  delightful  peach-coloured  flowers  are 
.sometimes  caught  and  destroyed  by  late  and  unrespecting  frosts. 
This  is  Rhododendron  prsecox,  a  hybrid  whoso  raiser  should 
surely  have  been  made  a  V.M.H.  for  giving  us  such  a  charming, 
early,  hardy  shrub  of  so  much  beauty.  On  the  trellises  and  on 
walls  are  Forsythias  and  Cydonias  crowded  with  buds,  and  the 
dwarf  Almonds  begin  to  show  colour  along  the  leafle.ss  branches. 
Flowering  trees  are  laden  with  buds,  which  will  ere  long  become 
sheets  of  beautiful  colour ;  for  the  voice  of  Spring  is  heard  over 
valley  and  mountain,  by  the  stream  and  by  the  sea.  The  earth 
will  ^soon  be  full  of  beauty,  in  which  the  garden  will  for  ns  who 
love*  it  have  a  double  share.  Nor  will  this  be  ephemeral ;  for 
when  the  blossoms  now  so  bright  have  faded  away  there  are 
many  more  to  take  their  places  till  the  long  summer  days  come 
on,  and  the  riper  beauty  of  the  later  daughters  cf  the  year  will 
be  revealed. — S.  Arnott. 
A  Bank  of  Violets. 
I  came  across  one  to-day  in  an  old  orchard.  I  am  certain 
they  are  not  the  ordinary  hedgerow  variety,  they  are  too  big, 
too  long  in  the  stalk,  and,  oh,  so  sweet  I  I  found  them  quite 
as  much  by  scent  as  by  sight.  The  flowers  stood  up  well  above 
the  green,  and  in  the  bright  sunshine  looked  truly  regal — a 
purple  fit  for  a  king’s  robes.  I  am  always  amused  when  I  see 
the  perfume  “  Wood  Violets.”  Wood  Violets  are  a  pale  lavender, 
and  utterly  devoid  of  scent,  very  lovely,  very  delicate,  but  no 
more.  Children  generally  speak  of  them  as  Dog  Violets.  Have 
you  ever  seen  an  orchard  covered  with  white  Violets?  I  know 
where  there  is  one.  I  suppose  the  reason  they  do  well  there  is 
because  they  are  never  molested.  There  are  lanes  with  Violet 
banks,  both  purple  and  white,  in  several  of  the  northern 
counties  where  I  have  lived,  but  I  always  do  wish  the  children 
would  let  them  come  to  maturity.  They  are  far  too  fond  of 
getting  every  bud,  and  in  that  stage  when  they  will  not  develop 
in  water,  and  they  have  such  queer  receptacles  for  them.  Fancy 
my  horror  yesterday  when  the  grocer’s  boy  took  off  his  cap  to 
show  me  a  mass  of  white  Violets  that  had  rustled  in  his  hair 
for  some  hours.  He  had  got  them  in  a  neighbouring  parish,  and 
the  cap  was  his  only  means  of  transport.  He  is  a  flower-loving 
boy,  and  never  grudges  the  cost  of  a  buttonhole  for  Sunday. 
Fir.st  in  favour  comes  a  Marechal  Niel,  then  a  cluster  of  Sweet 
Peas. 
Just  now  no  walk  is  without  interest.  Gathering  Anemones 
in  a  copse  I  came  across  a  bed  of  Marsh  Marigold  in  a  swampy 
hollow,  and  close  by  on  higher  ground  the  delicate  trefoil  of 
the  Wood  ^rrel ;  the  lambs’  tails  hung  out  to  dry  were  on  the 
Hazels,  and  the  Palms  are  golden.  The  green  spikes  of  the 
Hyacinths  or  Bluebells  were  thicker  than  the  grass,  but  the 
flowers  will  not  be  here  just  yet.  But  the  prettiest,  sweetest 
sight  of  all  were  the  nodding,  waving  Daffodils.  I  do  not 
wonder  at  their  popularity.  Be  they  of  whatever  kind,  they 
are  lovely — the  gold  and  cream  and  green.  Do  not  they  make 
your  heart  dance,  as  they  did  the  hea'rt  of  Wordsworth  up  in 
the  lake  country?  Now  they  bear  to  be  gathered  as  buds — that 
is,  if  there  is  any  sign  of  colour,  and  perhaps  they  open  better 
in  water  than  in  the  field  or  wood.  At  any  rate,  you  have  got 
them  safe,  for  no  one  can  resist  them  ;  but  please  do  not  gather 
too  much  of  their  grassy  leaves,  by  doing  so  the  bulb  is 
weakened  for  next  year,  and  it  is  well  to  take  thought  for  the 
future. 
Do  you  know  that  the  opening  leaves  of  the  Honeysuckle 
give  off  a  sweet  perfume,  and  there  is  a.  subtle  odour  hanging 
around  the  Lilac  buds — just  a  promise  of  what  is  to  come?  Here 
in  April  I  should  be  worse  than  Peter  Bell  if  I  forgot  the  mode.st 
Primrose.  To  see  it  at  its  best  seek  for  it  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  wood  or  by  tho  sides  of  the  “  ride.”  Flower  and  leaf  are 
.so  well  blended,  and  one  sets  off  the  other  to  perfection.  The 
best  plants  grow  on  the  steep  sides  of  a  wee  stream  running 
through  an  Oak  wood.  The  Primrose  pays  for  moisture.  Like 
all  the  family,  it  does  best  in  coniparative  shade. 
Look  at  the  number  of  weeks  in  the  year  when  the  country 
child  can  go  out  daily  and  return  with  a  posy  such  as  will  make 
the  town  child  green  with  envy.  What  can  exceed  the  delights 
of  a  field  sprinkled  over  with  Cowslips?  I  believe  it  is  a  fallacy 
that  the  cows  eat  them;  it  is  a  fallacy  respecting  the  Buttercups. 
What  unbounded  pleasure  Cowslips  will  give  a  child!  Did  you 
ever  make  a  Cowslip  ball,  or  put  the  tiny  flowerets  in  the  nursery 
teapot  and  then  enjoy  the  pale  yellow  beverage  with  its  faint 
(the  elders  said)  sickly  perfume?  or,  as  you  grew  older,  did  the 
glass  of  Cowslip  wine  serve  to  cheer  but  not  inebriate?  There 
is  the  larger  variety  of  Cowslip,  or  rather  perhaps  a  cross 
between  it  and  the  Primrose,  the  Kingcup:  indeed,  it  might  be 
really  a  garden  Polyanthus,  though  I  have  found  it  frequently 
in  the  woods. 
Wo  in  the  north  can  hardly  class  the  Hawthorn  as  a  spring 
flower.  Certainly  it  is  never  out  on  May  Day.  What  might 
happen  if  we  had  a  genial  spring  I  cannot  say,  but  spring  usually 
is  the  reverse  of  genial.  There  is  in  “Our  Mutual  Friend”  the 
best  description  of  the  ordinary  spring  I  ever  read.  Cold,  harsh 
winds  that  dry  the  skin,  blinding  dust  clouds  that  make  one 
feel  like  the  under  sawyer  in  a  saw  pit.  Weather  that  sets  all 
the  nerves  on  edge,  and  makes  the  respiratory  organs  untract- 
able,  and  gives  a  livery  tinge  to  all  our  sentiments.  Dickens 
was  a  far  more  faithful  delineator  of  spring  than  the  poet  who 
sings  of  warmth  and  soft  air  and  general  gorgeousn^.  I  do 
not  mean  to  say  that  we  have  not  odd  day.s  of  this  kind,  when 
we  all  feel  young  again,  and  cast  off  the  burden  of  years,  but 
these  days  are  in  the  minority.  I  do  not  think  it  is  because  I 
am  no  longer  young  that  the  springs  seem  less  bright,  for  as  a 
child  I  can  recall  to  mind  east  wind  and  stinging  sleet  and 
inopportune  frosts. 
Yellow  has  always  been  a  favourable  colour  with  me.  You 
may  dub  it  “flaunting”  if  you  like.  It  is  the  sun’s  colour.  It 
is  a  regal  colour,  and  in  all  places  produces  a  sensation  of  bright¬ 
ness  and  light.  The  derided  Dandelion,  although  it  often 
springs  where  it  should  not,  serves  to  brighten  iip  many  a  dull 
spot.  I  wish  it  would  keep  open  in  water,  but  it  is  a  true  child 
of  freedom,  and  closes  tight  in  captivity.  I  began  with  purple, 
I  end  with  gold.  First  the  sweet  and  fragrant,  last  the  gay  and 
acrid.  A  true  simile  of  many  lives,  each  filling  its  own  parti¬ 
cular  corner,  and  each  doing  its  own  work. — The  Missus. 
Bee  Food. 
Apiarians,  equally  with  fruit  growers,  have  reason  to  bewail 
the  havoc  produced  by  the  recent  severe  w’eather.  The  wealth 
of  flowers  usually  prevailing  in  all  directions  during  April  is 
seriously  curtailed.  The  Winter  Aconite  and  the  Crocuses, 
the  Palm  or  Goat  or  Sallow  Willow  have  some  time  ago  yielded 
the  all-important  food  (pollen)  in  vast  profusion,  and  the  Box  in 
flower  is  still  affording  pollen,  while  from  Arabis  albida  or  VVhite 
Rock  Cress,  along  with  Wallflow’ers  no  small  amount  of  honey  and 
some  pollen  is  drawn  by  the  bees;  but  the  Arabis,  in  full  beauty 
for  some  time  past,  is  most  sought  after  by  the  bees.  Daffodils 
and  Tulips  also  afford  some  pollen  andl  honey  to  them,  even 
the  Primroses,  Daisies,  and  Pilew’orts,  with  Dandelions  and  Cow¬ 
slips,  are  laid  under  contribution  by  the  bees,  so  that,  with 
many  other  plants  of  free  flowering  habit  in  gardens,  fields,  hedge¬ 
rows,  and  woodlands,  the  bees  may  be  able  to  obtain  enough 
food  for  their  daily  requirements,  if  not  actually  store  a  surplus. 
This  however,  seems  unlikely,  as  the  woods  and  hedges  are  not 
sheets  of  wdiite  in  places  with  the  small  but  countle.ss  flowers  of 
the  Sloe,  and  even  the  Wild  Cherry,  of  which  there  are  many  fine 
specimens  in  some  woods,  have  a  bloom  anything  but  white. 
Pear  and  Plum  orchards  and  plantations  are  of  little  or  no  bee 
food  value  this  year,  so  that  the  bees  will  be  hard  put  to  obtain 
enough  hoiiej’’  for  their  daily  requirements. 
Still,  tho  bees  have  something  in  store,  for  Nature  is  more 
certain  than  cultivation ;  it  never,  like  the  latter,  halving  the 
“  eggs  in  one  basket.”  The  Wood  Anemone  is  only  beginning  to 
carpet  the  woodland  and  deck  the  vast  areaa  with  its  beautiful 
flowers,  bees  appreciating  it  to  the  full  and  travelling  great  dis¬ 
tances  to  work  on  it.  The  hum  of  bees  is,  perhaps,  nowhere  so 
noticeable  in  springtime  as  where  the  Sycamore  is  in  flower,  and 
this  is  only  beginning,  the  trees  fast  opening  their  droojnng 
flowers  which  produce  honey  in  abundance,  also  pollen,  which  is 
so  necessary  for  the  well-being  of  bees  at  this  season.  It  is  from 
the  great  field  of  Nature,  the  fields,  woodlands,  and  commons, 
that  bees  draw  their  chief  supplies  of  pollen  and  honey,  yet  those 
with  gardens  and  pleasure  grounds  so  planted  as  to  give  flowers 
at  all  seasons — from  Winter  Aconite  to  Ivy  blossom  in  autumn—— 
not  only  beautify  their  surroundings,  but  supply  the  bees  with 
their  requirements. — St.  Albans. 
Adiantum  “  hybridum.’’ 
In  a  recent  issue  “  The  Florists’  Kxchange  ”  gives  an  excellent 
figure  of  this  Fern,  and  the  following  notes:  “The  Aihantum 
shown  was  raised  and  introduced  into  commerce  by  John  H.  Ley. 
Good  Hope,  D.C.,  several  years  ago,  but  being  totally  barren  of 
spores,  the  stock  was  limited  to  a  few'  hundred  speciiiiens.  It  is 
a  very  rapid  grower,  the  specimen  (about  4ft  through  as  illus¬ 
trated)  being  planted  on  a  bench  from  a.  2in  pot  in  c 
potted  into  a  lOin  pan  in  September,  150  plants  filling  bOOtt  of 
bench  room.  The  fronds  are  very  valuable  for  cutting,  and 
realise  a  high  price  in  Now  York.  The  Fern  is  a  distinct  cross 
between  A.  decorum  and  A.  amabile. 
