170 
JOURNAL  OF  HORTICULTURE  AND  COTTAGE  GARDENER. 
February  28,  1901. 
mostly  Irish. 
A  thin,  white  pall  laid  lightly  o’er  ground  and  greensward  as  the 
momentous  month  of  January  glided  away.  It  was  the  first  touch  of 
winter  on  the  seaboard  of  Dublin  where,  until  then,  Nasturtiums  and 
similar  tender  plants  had  lingered  on  sufferance.  The  mildness  of  the 
season  has  been  remarkable,  albeit  mild  winters  are  not  phenomenal  in 
our  generation,  but  wet  and  wind  have  been  its  accompaniments.  The 
new  century  has  not  apparently  dawned  propitiously  upon  us 
gardeners,  for  much  of  that  work  which  the  approach  of  spring  begets 
an  anxiety  to  be  wrestling  with  will,  as  far  as  present  appearances  go, 
have  to  be  grap>pled  with  later  on.  Such  things,  however,  seem  in 
touch  with  the  times,  as  the  heart  of  the  Empire  throbs  painfully  at 
its  irreparable  loss.  Yet  the  deep  chill  which  spread  so  far  on  the 
setting  of  the  Victorian  era  is  succeeded  by  a  rich  afterglow  which 
will  long  remain  to  show  what  that  pregnant  period  has  done  for 
gardeners  and  gardening. 
Domestic  servants  !  When  the  coming  census  paper  arrives  where 
shall  we  be  ?  The  welfare  of  gardening  and  gardeners  goes  hand  in 
hand,  and  granted  that  such  is  the  case,  with  due  recognition  of  the 
progress  that  has  obtained,  the  greater  appears  to  be  the  anomaly  that 
men  who,  by  their  intelligence  and  devotion,  have  advanced  it  and 
themselves  to  the  present  position  are  inscribed  on  the  statute  book  as 
domestic  servants.  Who  will  be  bold  enough  to  initiate  an  agitation 
which  shall  for  once  and  for  all  sever  the  red  tape  which  binds  us  to 
footmen  and  housemaids  ?  Let  there  be  not,  however,  the  shadow  of 
a  reflection  upon  bond  fide  domestic  servants.  These  are  most  excellent 
people  in  their  way,  but  their  ways  are  not  our  ways,  and  we  ought  to 
have  parted  name,  as  we  have  company,  long  ago.  With  our  legislators 
presumably  this  matter  is  a  kind  of  “as  it  was  in  the  beginning,  is 
now,  and  ever  shall  be,”  unless  one  whose  love  of  country  is  equalled 
by  his  love  of  gardening  will  take  it  up,  now — when  the  new  vear 
marks  a  new  century  and  the  accession  of  his  Majesty  Edward  VII. 
Long  live  the  King  !  and  all  honour  to  the  man  who  will  redress  the 
gardener’s  grievance. 
It  is  a  matter  for  regret  that  the  Royal  Horticultural  Society  of 
Ireland,  whose  shows  are  confined  to  the  Irish  metropolis,  is  in  a  bad 
way — starts  the  new  era  with  a  balance  to  the  bad.  Is  it  that  the 
society  in  leaning  too  much  upon  its  traditions  of  the  past  is  slow  to 
embrace  that  practical  progressiveness  which  rules  the  present  ? 
There  is  more  than  a  suspicion  that  such  is  the  case,  for  in  spite  of  much 
pre-puffing  by  the  press  as  a  show  approaches,  with  after  refreshers  on 
the  morn  of  each  eventful  day,  provided  by  perambulating  “  sandwich  ” 
men,  a  pleasure  loving  public  stands  aloof.  V'hy  is  it  so  ?  The  man 
in  the  street  says,  “  Those  flower-show  folks  ask  too  much  and  give  too 
little.”  Possibly  he  is  right.  As  for  gardeners,  Iona  fide  gardeners, 
between  whom  and  the  public  no  pocket  distinction  is  made  by  the 
society,  they  are  prone  to  take  purloined  peeps  by  making  strategical 
entry  with  the  exhibitors.  Perhaps  it  the  premier  horticultural 
society  of  Ireland  would  put  aside  past  prestige,  and  abolish  prohibitive 
prices,  lure  the  public  generally  by  all  the  legitimate  means  which 
have  given  happy  results  elsewhere,  as  well  as  encourage  the  gardener 
and  his  “  missus  ”  to  come  at  a  reasonable  hour  by  admitting  them  at 
a  reasonable  rate,  there  would  be  less  occasion  for  passing  round  the 
hat  to  atone  for  a  deficit  at  the  gate.  However,  the  powers  that  be 
are  facing  unpleasant  facts,  so  knowledge  comes  if  wisdom  lingers. 
A  dismal  city  and  a  dull  people  might  be  the  inference  drawn  from 
the  above  remarks,  or,  at  least,  that  we,  Irish,  do  not  appreciate  the 
beautiful  and  interesting  as  represented  by  a  flower  show.  Yet  those 
who  know  ub  best  would  least  think  so.  Flowers  appeal  to  all.  There 
js  a  touching  story  of  a  little  street  Arab  who  on  seeing  the  placards 
in  Grafton  Street,  Dublin  (placards  are  placed  flat  on  the  ground 
here)  announcing  the  Queen’s  death,  purchased  a  bunch  of  Violets  from 
a  flower  seller  at  hand  with  what  was  probably  his  last  penny,  and 
reverently  laid  them  on  the  word  “  Queen.”  Thousands  of  floral 
offerings  have  appropriately  expressed  that  intense  affection  felt  for 
Victor!  r,  the  Well  Beloved,  and  some  of  the  most  exquisite  designs  and 
workmanship  were  contributed  by  Ireland,  but  the  simple  act  of  a  city 
waif  makes  that  humble  posy  rank  with  the  richest  and  rarest  of 
them  all.  To  the  lasting  honour  of  that  warm-hearted  Irish  boy,  whose 
loyal  act  was  witnessed  by  a  gentleman  and  communicated  to  the 
press,  pray  let  it  be  recorded  in  these  pages. 
Frcm  Siraffan  in  Kildare,  that  gardening  home  of  interest  and 
beauty,  lately  came  seme  sprays  of  Pernettvas,  superb  bunches  of 
bright  berries,  amongst  which  the  large,  pure  white  variety  was 
eminently  conspicuous.  Davis’  charming  hybrids  are  not  sufficiently 
known,  perhaps,  to  the  gardening  world  at  large,  but  these  peat-loving 
Irish-raised,  Pernettyas  bold  a  unique  position,  and  will  probably 
retain  it  to  the  credit  of  the  raiser  for  all  time.  From  StraffaD,  too, 
came  the  rain  record  for  the  departed  year,  which,  in  its  total  of 
43*27  inches  holds  the  record,  Mr.  Bedford  says,  for  twenty-five  years. 
For  nearly  that  period  of  time  has  the  writer  been  privileged  to 
observe  and  occasionally  bear  witness  to  the  progressive  policy  under 
the  Bedfordian  administration.  Far  from  the  madding  crowd,  with  its 
glorious  Gunneras  and  elegant  Bamboos  by  the  picturesque  Liffey, 
with  its  breadths  of  Daffodils  stretching  away  beyond  the  Italian 
garden,  or  stealing  onwards  and  downwards  towards  the  river’s  brim 
with  its  great  patch  of  Cypripedium  spectabile  in  never-to-be-forgotten 
luxuriance;  with  all  these  and  a  thousand  things  waxing  and  waning 
according  to  season  as  each  year  slips  away,  Straffan  is  eloquent  with 
ever-increasing  beauty  peculiarly  its  own. 
Lenten  Roses — muddy  whites,  dull  purples,  washy  greens,  with 
here  and  there  some  better  bred  fellow  of  the  Oriental  Hellebore 
family,  whiter,  purpler,  greener,  or  taller,  perhaps,  made  a  quaint 
but  acceptable  picture  on  a  chill  February  day  in  the  Trinity 
College  Botanic  Gardens,  Dublin.  Coming  alter  the  Christmas 
Roses,  and  before  the  Lilies  of  Lent,  these  Lenten  Roses  appear  to 
occupy  a  niche  not  easily  filled  by  any  other  flower.  In  this,  at 
first  sight,  appears  to  lay  their  especial  claim  to  attention  more 
than  for  that  brightness  of  bloom  or  subtlety  of  scent  which  arrests 
the  notice  of  a  casual  observer.  It  was  only,  in  fact,  after  a 
prolonged  Burbidge-Hardy  discussion,  emanating  from  the  esteemed 
curator  and  a  friend,  that  the  shivering  one  warmed  to  them, 
begged  a  couple  of  blooms,  and  returned  with  a  bunch  of  the  quaint 
blossoms.  These  varieties  of  Helleborus  orientalis  are  hybrids  of 
Mr.  Burbidge’s  raising,  si  me  of  the  more  distinguished  of  them 
having  been  named  by  him  in  compliment  to  gardeners  of  both  sexes. 
A  few  of  these  seedlings  are  prettily  spotted,  and  probably  all  possess 
capability  for  further  development,  entitling  them  to  rank  high  among 
the  earliest  of  early  spring  flowers. 
Growling  and  grumbling  from  sundry  private  growers  in  the 
matter  of  market  returns  for  such  superfluous  “  stuff  ”  as  they  have 
to  dispose  of,  or  are  expected  to  dispose  of,  at  remunerative  rates,  has 
led  to  the  inauguration  of  “The  Growers’  Association,”  with  a  central 
dep&t  in  Dublin  for  the  sale  of  garden  produce.  That  there  has  been 
in  some  instances  cause  for  complaint  is  possible,  but  supplies  of  this 
kind  must,  obviously,  be  more  or  less  spasmodic,  with  the  contingent 
results  of  a  dearth  or  a  glut.  The  legitimate  market  grower,  whose 
catering  is  constant,  and  who  knows  how,  what,  and  when  to  provide 
for  the  public,  does  not,  as  a  rule,  complain  of  Dublin  prices,  and  high 
grade  goods  are  quickly  cleared  at  prices  which  compare  very  favourably 
with  London  or  elsewhere.  There  is  an  art,  too,  in  marketing  which 
amateurs  do  not  quickly  grasp,  and  they  are  beset  by  difficulties  not 
easily  understood  by  employers,  and  for  which  due  allowance  should 
be  made. — K.,  Dublin. 
Pear  Olivier  de  Serres. 
This  Pear,  which  was  raised  at  Rouen  and  fruited  in  1864,  was 
exhibited  at  the  Drill  Hall  at  the  last  meeting  of  the  Royal  Horticultural 
Society  in  December  by  Mr.  W.  Barn,  gardener  to  Sir  Trevor  Lawrence, 
Bart.,  Burford  Lodge,  Dorking,  and  received  an  award  of  merit  from 
the  Fruit  and  Vegetable  Committee.  It  is  thus  described  by  Dr.  Hogg’ 
in  the  “  Fruit  Manual  :  ” — 
“  Fruit,  medium  sized,  2£  inches  wide,  and  2J  high  ;  round,  flattened, 
or  Bergamot-shaped,  sometimes  irregular  in  its  outline.  Skin,  entirely 
covered  with  cinnamon  coloured  ruBset.  Eye,  large  and  closed,  set  in 
a  pretty  deep  basin.  Stalk,  three-quarters  of  an  inch  long,  very  stout, 
and  thickest  at  the  end.  Flesh,  half-buttery,  sweet,  with  a  brisk  vinous 
flavour  and  a  strong  musky  aroma.  A  delicious  Pear;  in  use  from 
February  to  March.  It  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  best  very  late  Pears,  of 
which  there  are  so  few.  The  tree  bears  well,  makes  strong  standards 
and  handsome  pyramids,  either  on  the  Pear  or  Quince.  Mr.  R.  D.  Black- 
more  says  of  it,  ‘  Very  good  for  so  late  a  kind.  The  best  I  have  yet 
found  when  Josephine  de  Malines  is  over.’” 
- «.#.> - 
Tlje  Manuring  of  Fruit  Trees. 
I.— Nitrogen. 
The  problem  of  manuring,  so  as  to  get  the  maximum  of  produce 
at  the  minimum  of  cost,  instead  of  becoming  simpler  with  the  increase 
of  scientific  knowledge,  becomes  more  and  more  complicated.  Our 
forefathers  applied  dung  for  everything,  on  all  soils,  and  it  must  be 
admitted  that  some  good  crops  were  the  result;  but  it  wa6  at  great 
cost,  and  the  produce  of  an  acre  of  fruit  was  certainly,  taking  one 
year  with  another,  nothing  like  the  produce  of  an  acre  under  skilled 
cultivation  to-day  where  the  best  scientific  knowledge  has  been 
brought  to  bear.  Sir  John  Lawes  was  laughed  at  sixty  years  ago 
when  he  prophesied  a  man  would  be  able  to  carry  enough  manure  on 
his  back  to  manure  an  acre  of  corn  land  ;  but  he  fulfilled  his  own 
prophecy,  and  we  are  reaping  the  fruits  of  his  work  to-day — and 
