Chapter VII: Front Matter (7)

The Cabbage Rose, that perfect emblem of healthful rural life, is the pride of the cottager; the daily China Rose, which cheats the window of the crowded city of its gloom, is the joy of the daughter of the humblest day laborer; the delicate and odorous Tea Rose, fated to be admired and to languish in the drawing room or the boudoir, wins its place in the affections of those of most cultivated and fastidious tastes; while the moss rose unites the admiration of all classes, coming in as it does with its last added charm to complete the circle of perfection.

Then there is the infinity of associations which float like rich incense about the rose, and that after all bind it most strongly to us, for they represent the accumulated wealth of joys and sorrows which has become so inseparably connected with it in the human heart.

“What were life without a rose?”

seems to many, doubtless, to be a most extravagant apostrophe; yet if this single flower were to be struck out of existence, what a chasm in the language of the heart would be found without it. What would the poets do? They would find their finest emblem of female loveliness stolen away. Listen, for instance, to old Beaumont and Fletcher:

“Of all flowers,
Methinks a rose is best;
It is the very emblem of a maid;
For when the west wind courts her gently,
How modestly she blows and paints the sun
With her chaste blushes. When the north wind comes near her,
Rude and impatient, then, like chastity,
She locks her beauties in her bud again,
And leaves him to base briars.”

What would the lovers do? What tender confessions hitherto uttered by fair half-open buds and bouquets, more eloquent of passion than the Nouvelle Heloise, would have to be stammered forth in miserable clumsy words; how many doleful suits would be lost; how many bashful hearts would never venture; how many rash and reckless adventurers would be shipwrecked, if the tender and expressive language of the rose were all suddenly lost and blotted out. What could we place in the hands of childhood to mirror back its innocent expression so truly? What blossoms could bloom on the breast of the youthful beauty so typical of the infinity of hope, and sweet thoughts that lie folded up in her own heart, as fair young rose buds? What wreath could so lovingly encircle the head of the bride, as that of white roses, full of purity and grace? And, last of all, what blossoms, so expressive of human affections, could we find at the bier, to take the place of the rose? the rose, sacred to this purpose for so many ages, and with so many nations:

“Because its breath
Is rich beyond the rest; and when it dies
It doth bequeath a charm to sweeten death.”

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PRIDE OF THE HUDSON RASPBERRY.

This is one of the new aspirants for public attention, and as the readers of the CANADIAN HORTICULTURIST desire to be informed with regard to the new things as well as the old, we shall put them in possession of what information we have in regard to this variety. Its origin is shrouded in darkness that can not be penetrated; no hybridist claims to have wedded its parents, and all that can be said of it is that it was found in an old garden in Newburgh, N. Y. “I ’spects I growed,” said Topsy, and that is the history of the origin of this new raspberry, it grew. So many varieties of raspberries were grown in this old garden that even guessing seems to be for once at fault. But no matter how it came into existence, especially since no one can ever tell, yet here it is, challenging the world to prove its worth. It claims, among other things, to be very hardy. It is five years old, and has passed through five winters without injury, though wholly unprotected. Hardiness is a very desirable quality in a plant that must stand out in our winters; we may take the pains to protect a few pets, but can not summon the patience to lay down and cover acres of raspberry canes. It pays well, we are told, to take this trouble, but we want a raspberry that will pay well without the trouble. It claims to be a most vigorous grower, and thus far to have thrown up suckers moderately. Raspberry canes that sucker immoderately are an immoderate nuisance. There’s the Brandywine, it suckers awful. It is well for this new-comer that so far it has not gone extensively into the suckering business, else it would soon be voted more trouble than profit. It has a long period of ripening, beginning to ripen about the first of July, and having yet on the 24th of July an abundance of green berries and blossom. This is very nice for the private garden, where one requires a quart or so of berries a day, and wants them to continue until blackberry time; but the market gardener does not want to be everlastingly travelling up and down the rows to pick the berries; he wants them to ripen up when their time comes, so that he may pick them and be done with it; he prefers to grow another variety that will come in with a crop afterwards, to being continually gleaning over the same bushes. To compensate in some measure for this, it promises to be a great bearer. On one short cane, three feet high, over six hundred berries were counted, and on a single branch, eighty-eight. Yes, that is considerable. But in growing fruit for market, it does not answer to apply the rule of three to the problem, if one cane, three feet high, will produce six hundred berries, how many will an acre of them produce. It is said “figures do not lie,” but they do though; if any one does not believe it, let him try to grow an acre of raspberries by the rule of three, and see how he will come out. However, this variety proposes to do better in this respect than many others, by reason of the great size of the berries; several were picked last summer that measured three inches in circumference. We all remember the amusing _equivoque_ of the man who had gooseberries so large that many of them would weigh a pound; how many it took to weigh the pound he forgot to mention. But this is no equivocation, each berry measured three inches in circumference, not many it is true; and some of the canes yielded berries nearly every one of which would measure two and a half inches. And then in flavor it is thought to resemble closely that standard of raspberry excellence, Brinkle’s Orange; while the color is that bright-red so popular in the markets.

The plant has the habit of dropping its leaves early, like the Hudson River Antwerp, those at the tips of the canes remaining green, and continuing to grow until the advent of cold weather. It thrives best in northern exposures, and in cool, moist rich soils.

Chas. Downing, our greatest American authority on fruits, says of this berry, “I regard it as the largest, finest, best flavored, and most promising red raspberry that I have yet seen.” William Parry, the great small fruit raiser of New Jersey, says, “I consider it superior to any other raspberry that I have seen; plant a remarkably strong, vigorous grower; fruit of mammoth size, measuring from two and a half to three inches around; bright red color, firm, excellent quality, and very productive.”

Perhaps our readers would like to give this promising stranger a trial. It is not the custom of periodicals to advertise gratuitously; but as the object of this journal is to promote the dissemination of good fruit in our country, if any one wishes to procure plants of the Pride of the Hudson, they can get them from E. P. Roe, Cornwall-on-the-Hudson, Orange County, New York, the gentleman who first introduced it to public notice.

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LETTUCE.

Who does not welcome with a cheerful satisfaction the first crisp heads of lettuce that grace our tables in early spring? If any there be among our readers who do not feel like rubbing their hands in gleeful complacency as the tender, succulent leaves, nicely folded over each other in delicate whiteness, are placed before them, they had better pass this page by; it will have no interest for them. But those who know how to enjoy a good head of lettuce after the long winter, may derive some pleasure by reading on, even if they do not find anything instructive to them in this short chapter about a very common, plain, simple, vegetable.

Those who wish to have nice early lettuce will sow the seed in this month of September, not later than the middle of the month. Having selected a bit of ground that is thoroughly drained, and in good heart; it should be spaded and pulverized in the usual manner, so as to be light and porous, and perfectly friable, and the seed sown in drills. The extent of the sowing will depend upon the number of heads one wishes to winter over. In about a month the lettuce plants will be ready for transplanting into the beds in which they are to pass the winter.

The bed in which the plants are to pass the winter in this climate, is what gardeners term a cold frame. This bed should be of good, rich soil, well pulverized, located in some place sheltered—a spot sheltered by buildings, or tight board fence—from the cold, bleak winds of winter and early spring, yet exposed to the south, so that it may feel the first warm breath of the south wind, and enjoy all the sunlight as the days begin to lengthen. As a sash is usually about three feet wide and six long, a frame of boards should be set up on the bed by running two boards, set on edge, parallel to each other, and nearly three feet apart so that the sash may rest on them; and a board at the back ten or twelve inches wide, and another at the front seven or eight inches wide, to give the sash sufficient pitch to carry off the rain and catch to the best advantage the rays of the sun. These boards can be held in their places by nailing them to posts placed in the corners. In a sash of this size, five or six hundred lettuce plants can be safely wintered. That will be quite sufficient for the wants of a family of the average number; those who require more can increase the number of sashes.

The cold frame should be ready to receive the plants by the middle of October. By this time the lettuce plants will be ready for transplanting, and may be set in the frame two inches apart each way. Of course they will need a little attention to see that they do not suffer for want of water, or from weeds springing up among them. When winter approaches, they will need to be protected by covering with the sash at night, and when the weather becomes very cold it will some of the time be necessary to leave the sash on all day. The plants are sufficiently hardy, if properly treated, to endure twenty degrees of frost—that is, they will not perish if not exposed to a lower temperature than twelve degrees, Fahrenheit. But in order to enable them to endure that temperature safely, they should be abundantly aired on every mild day by lifting up the sash at the back, and keeping it tilted up while the weather will admit, and closing it only when necessary. On fine days the sash should be drawn off altogether, and the plants exposed as fully as possible, unless, indeed, the thermometer indicate too great a degree of cold. In this way the plants will be kept hardy and vigorous, able to endure the changes of temperature with no other covering than the sash, even though the thermometer outside the frame falls to zero. In those parts of the country where the cold is much below zero, it will be necessary to add a straw mat to the covering of sash.

When the spring has opened, and the ground become quite settled and in condition for working, a bed should be prepared and the lettuce plants transplanted into it about twenty inches apart each way. Some fifty of them may be allowed to remain in the frame at a suitable distance apart, and by covering them with the sash at night, and when the weather is cold, forced, so as to make fine heads very much sooner than those in the open ground. If one wishes, a few frames may be prepared in the fall, and filled with leaves or any coarse litter that will prevent the soil in them from freezing, and when the weather becomes mild in the early spring the litter can be taken out, the soil forked over and enriched, and about fifty lettuce plants transplanted into each of these frames, covered with sash, and forced so as to be fit for use by the time the remaining plants can be set out in the open ground.

The variety of lettuce that seems to give the best satisfaction for early spring, is the one found in our seed stores under the name of Gardeners’ Favorite. It not only forces well, making large, solid heads, but is exceedingly crisp and tender. For a late crop, we have found no variety that will stand the heat of summer better than Bruce’s Nonpareil; besides, it is very tender, and heads well.

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FRUIT SHIPPED IN 1877 FROM MEAFORD AND OWEN SOUND.

BY HIRAM BOND, MEAFORD.

Believing that it would be interesting to the numerous readers of the CANADIAN HORTICULTURIST, I have taken some pains to ascertain the amount of plums and apples shipped from two of our towns, during the season of 1877, respectively, Meaford and Owen Sound. There was shipped from Meaford, 5,000 boxes of plums, and 3,000 barrels of apples; Owen Sound, 3,327 boxes of plums, and 1,579 barrels of apples.

Your readers will see by this that although this is but a new county we are not altogether behind in horticulture. And I might say that trees are coming into the county by the thousands every year, and we hope before long to be one of the first counties in the province for apples, plums, pears, cherries, grapes, &c., and in some localities peaches do well. Our prospects this year for apples and grapes are good, but plums, cherries, pears, &c., are light.

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THE EARLY HARVEST AND RED ASTRACAN APPLES.

There is a strange fascination about new things, and when a new fruit or new flower is heralded, with considerable flourish of trumpets, great is the desire to see and to possess the stranger. This is quite natural; we all love variety, and the advent of a new fruit produces a flutter of pleasurable excitement among pomologists, quite akin to that produced by some new discovery in the scientific world. But while it is well to be interested in the dissemination and testing of new fruits, it is not well to forget those that have been long and thoroughly tried, and have stood the test. Designing and unscrupulous persons have often availed themselves, and still do and will avail themselves of this love of novelty to sell at high prices fruit trees of some new sort that is not as valuable or profitable as many that might be purchased at a much more moderate cost. To-day it shall be our pleasure to call attention to two of our best summer apples—varieties that have been long tried and have proved themselves to be well worthy of a place in every fruit garden or orchard.

The Early Harvest is of American origin, according to the authorities, but the writer has never seen any account setting forth either the time or place of its nativity. It has been very widely disseminated, and in the last report of the American Pomological Society is recommended for cultivation in thirty-three of the States and Provinces represented in that Association, extending from Nova Scotia to Texas, and from Maine to California.

According to our observation, this variety produces the finest fruit when planted in soils that abound in lime and are thoroughly drained. In rich alluvial soils, and especially if imperfectly drained, the fruit is frequently spotted and cracked, and deficient in flavor. But on the other hand, when the soil is suitable, the fruit is perfectly developed, fair, smooth, and of high flavor. The tree is a moderate grower, comes into bearing early, and yields abundantly. The fruit is of medium size, light yellow with white flesh, juicy, and of a sprightly sub-acid flavor, ripening in the end of July and beginning of August. It is very valuable both for cooking and dessert, and worthy of a place in the smallest collection.

The Red Astracan was introduced into England from Sweden in 1816, and thence it has been brought to this continent, in no part of which is it more at home than in Canada. The tree is very hardy and will thrive vigorously in places where the Early Harvest would suffer from the cold. It receives the double star of great merit in Nova Scotia and Maine, Michigan and Wisconsin, and twenty-two other States, and that even as far south as Louisiana and Texas. It is reported as doing well in the Counties of Glengarry and Carleton, and may with safety be planted in very cold parts of our Province; yet we have heard of its failing to succeed in Arnprior, in the County of Renfrew.

It is one of our most handsome fruits, being of full medium size, of a dark crimson, covered with a light bloom. The flesh is white, crisp and juicy, of a rich acid flavor. It is an excellent cooking apple, and its showy color gives it great popularity in the markets. It begins to ripen before the middle of August, and continues to ripen its crop gradually, so that it lasts for some time.

These two varieties of summer apples may be safely recommended for general cultivation, and while the Red Astracan is the more hardy sort, and may be planted farther northward than the Early Harvest, yet the latter, on soils abounding in lime, is by no means a tender tree. Having these, the possessor may well be content on the score of early apples, and leave to others the pleasure, and the labor too, of testing new and untried substitutes.

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THE ARCHIPPUS BUTTERFLY.

(_Danais Archippus._)

The writer was recently examining one of the species of the milk-weed that is grown in our greenhouses, the _Asclepias Curassavica_, when to his surprise there were found several of the larvæ of the Archippus Butterfly feeding upon the leaves. The plants had been taken from the greenhouse and plunged in a frame for the summer, and the female of this butterfly, in her wanderings about the grounds in search of milk-weed plants upon which to deposit her eggs, with a knowledge of botany far beyond that of many a gardener, had recognized this A. Curassavica as a species of milk-weed upon which the young larvæ could comfortably feed.

It is very interesting to observe the habits of insects. They seem to be endowed with some faculties that are not given to animals of a higher order. By what powers of perception was this butterfly enabled to tell that this plant, which she had never seen before, that cannot endure our climate but must be kept in a warm greenhouse, belonged to that genus of plants which were the proper food of her young? We attain to such knowledge only by much study and comparison; she sailing past on careless wing, without having read the first lesson in botany, knows the foreigner to be a milk-weed, and stops to deposit her eggs upon it, that when the young larvæ hatch out they may have suitable food at hand.

The eggs she lays are very small, conical objects, about the twenty-fifth part of an inch long, white at first, but in two or three days turning yellow, and then just before the time of hatching they become a dull grey. If one of these eggs is examined with a microscope it is seen to be covered with a beautiful net-work of raised lines, the longitudinal lines appearing like ribs joined together by cross lines, and coming together at the apex. The lower part of the egg, by which it adheres to one of the leaf-ribs on the under side of the leaf, is flattened, giving the egg the appearance of a truncated cone, or of one of those conical bullets, which are used in breech-loading rifles. If the reader will look at fig. 11, _a_, he will see a magnified representation of the egg, showing the longitudial ribs and cross lines; and at _c_, the egg of natural size, attached to the rib on the under side of the leaf, just as the butterfly places it.

In about a week after the butterfly has deposited the egg, there hatches from it a very small caterpillar, not more than the tenth of an inch long. It however grows very rapidly, and soon becomes too large for its jacket. But its jacket is very accommodating, and when the little fellow has got tired of it and wants a new one, the old one splits down the back, so that he can crawl out of it with a new jacket on, and looking as bright and gay as any new suit. And now it is a very pretty little creature, with transverse bands of black, yellow, and white, and a pair of black horns near the head, and another pair not quite so long near the other end. If it is examined with a microscope a few black hairs will be seen on each segment; these are shown at _e_ and _f_ in fig. 11.

The caterpillar seems to eat as though eating was the sole purpose of its life, and in consequence it increases in size very rapidly, so that it is obliged to crawl out of its skin twice more before it has attained its full size. This process of changing its coat is called moulting. Just before each moult it ceases to eat for a few hours, but as soon as that process is over, it falls-to again with greater voracity than ever. At each moult the black fleshy horns become longer. The new horns are nicely folded up under the skin, as can be seen at _d_, fig. 11, but soon grow straight after the old skin has been cast off.

If any of our readers, the younger readers especially, have a desire to begin the study of entomology, they will find this insect a very interesting subject with which to make a beginning. The writer can well remember his excursions to a neighboring field overgrown with milkweeds, when he had scarce attained to the dignity of pantaloons, in search of these beautiful larvæ. These he gathered in considerable numbers, confined them in a box, and watched with delighted interest the various metamorphoses they underwent. Those who have never witnessed them, if they have any taste for the study, will be surprised and greatly gratified to watch the changes undergone in the progress from the egg to the butterfly. The creature is of such a size, and so beautiful in all its stages, that there is no difficulty in seeing it at all times, and each step adds some new feature of interest.

When the caterpillar has attained its full size it will be about an inch and three quarters in length, and will have the appearance shown in fig. 12. The markings are very distinct. Each segment has a transverse band of black in the centre, bordered on each side with white, with a yellow band between. After it has reached this stage of its life it ceases to eat, and presently begins to roam about in search of a suitable place to undergo its next change. And a wonderful change it is; instead of a hungry creeping creature, eating voraciously night and day, it is about to fasten itself to a spot from which it can not move, and pass into a condition in which it will have neither mouth to eat with, nor feet with which to walk. To all outward seeming it will have ceased to live; cold, and stiff, and motionless, it will manifest no sense of feeling whatever, nor any symptom of life.

Having found a place suitable for the metamorphose about to take place, which will always be the underside of some convenient support, the caterpillar proceeds to cover a considerable space, a diameter of three or four inches, with fine, white, silken threads, which it spins from its mouth, or from spinnarets placed at the mouth. These silken threads are laid on thicker and thicker towards the centre of the chosen spot, and at the centre a small pointed knob is raised of the same material. All this is done in order that the creature may suspend itself, head downwards, and hang securely by this silken knob without danger of being torn by its weight from its fastenings. Having completed all these arrangements, it proceeds to suspend itself by fastening the hooks on the pair of feet upon the last or anal segment into the silken knob, and when these are secured lets go its hold of the silken carpet with all the other feet and hangs suspended in mid-air, from the underside of some fence rail, or horizontal bar, or if in confinement, from the lid of the box or ceiling of the room.

What strange spell is upon the creature that it leaves its food, which a short time ago was all its desire, and travels off in search of some hidden retreat, some lonely nook? And why is it now travelling round and round within the circumference of a few inches upon the ceiling, laying down so carefully such a network of silken threads? Who has told it to lay them down increasing in thickness from the circumference to the centre? And now it has ceased to travel about, and has stationed itself with its head in the centre of its silken carpet; if you will watch it closely, you will see that it is yet spinning, and now and then it moves its head to the right and left, about as far as it can conveniently reach. As you look you see a little projection is being built up directly under its head, and that these motions to the right and left are made in the act of laying down some anchoring cables that shall fasten it securely to the web or carpet it has fastened upon the ceiling. What schoolmaster taught it that a cone is the strongest form in which it can arrange its gossamer threads? And who told it to go and hang itself thereby, suspended from its hindermost feet? Does it know the future that is before it; the life that lies beyond this gateway of seeming death? (_Continued in next No._)

=VOL. I.]= =OCTOBER, 1878.= =[NO. 10.=

THE ARCHIPPUS BUTTERFLY.

(_Danais Archippus._)

If our readers will look at fig. 13, _a_, they will see how the caterpillar appears after it has suspended itself. Yet it is not motionless, but keeps continually stretching forth its head and bringing it in again, with very much the same motion as is made while feeding, with the edge of the leaf between its claws, beginning as far from itself as it can reach, and cutting it down as it draws the head in towards the body. What this movement of the head has to do with the changes that are going on within its body we can not say, but for some reason it keeps up this motion with very little intermission until it is ready to cast off its skin. The approach of this event may be known by its shrivelled appearance, the fleshy horns have become withered and almost dry looking, and the skin is wrinkled and thin. The caterpillar occasionally draws itself up and strains itself, until it succeeds in bursting the skin on the back not far from the head. And now commences a series of movements very difficult accurately to describe, but wonderful to look upon. The creature stretches and contracts its body with an astonishing rapidity, and at each movement forces the skin upwards, until it has reached the spot from which it is suspended. At the hinder, or what is now the upper, end of the body, there has been formed beneath the skin a black little spike, crowned at the extremity with a number of little hooks by which it is to fasten itself to the silken knob from which it is hanging. To withdraw this black spike from the shrivelled skin that envelopes it, and fasten its hooks into the little knob, so that it can hang there while the skin falls to the ground, is the feat now to be performed.

Fig. 13, _b_, represents the creature at this most interesting and critical moment. How shall it sustain itself in mid-air while this is being done? It has neither hands, nor feet, nor mouth by which to hold on and keep itself from falling. And yet it will do this very thing, and though the writer has witnessed this performance probably not less than a thousand times, he has never seen it fail to succeed. Who taught this creature how?

Look now at fig. 13, _c_, and you will learn how it is done. It seizes a portion of the skin between the joints of the upper portion of the body, and compressing the joints together, holds securely by the skin while it withdraws the black spike, and bending it over the mass of skin fastens the hooks with which the point is armed into the silken knob, and then, letting go of the skin, it wriggles itself about, bedding the hooks more securely in the silk, and working the skin loose from its fastening until it drops to the ground.

When this has been accomplished, it ceases its hurried movements, as though wearied by its own exertions, and slowly contracts the upper segments until it assumes the appearance shown in fig. 14. In a little while it will have become quite hard and motionless. If you touch it, there will be no evidence that it feels your touch, and to you it will feel cold and lifeless. But it is a pretty object to look upon, of a beautiful pale-green, dotted with gold, with a crimped band of gold margined with black more than half way around the body; it seems to be a casket containing something of more than common interest.

In about a week the chrysalis will begin to change its color, gradually growing darker until the green is entirely gone, and the colors of the butterfly within can be distinctly seen through its now transparent walls. The butterfly is now ready to come out of its prison, and while you are watching it a sudden crackling noise announces the fact that the chrysalis has been split, and the head and fore legs of the butterfly begin to appear, followed very speedily by the whole body. And it looks almost as if it were all body, for the wings are very small indeed, and seem to be but mere rudiments of wings, wholly unsuited to the purpose of supporting such a body in the air. The butterfly now seeks a place where the wings can hang freely, often remaining hanging to the empty chrysalis, or under surface of some support, to which it fastens by means of its claws. In this position the wings grow with a rapidity that is most marvellous. They are not folded up and merely unfolded, but actually grow from the size of the wings of a large bee until they measure four inches across, and that within thirty minutes.

The appearance of the butterfly when its wings are fully grown may be seen at fig. 15. The ground color of the wings is a bright orange-red, margined with black, and dotted with white spots in the black border.

We have given this account of the history of this insect, not because it does any injury to our crops of fruit or grain, but because its history illustrates the metamorphoses of many other insects, and any who wish can easily rear it in confinement, and watch the changes it undergoes.

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RISE AND FALL OF SAP.

It is a very commonly received idea that the sap of trees descends in autumn, and when the leaves fall, returns to the roots whence it came in the spring. It does not seem to have once occurred to those who accept this view of the matter, that there would be any difficulty in cramming a quart of water into a pint cup; perhaps, in order to accommodate the sap, the roots are supposed to be as large and capacious as the trunk and head of the tree; in short, that there is as much tree underground as above. Whence the idea sprang into existence that the sap retires to the roots on the approach of winter, it is not now possible to say, but its very general popular acceptation is an evidence of the way in which false views gain currency because some one ventures to make the assertion, and the public mind stops not even to weigh the probabilities, much less to investigate the ground upon which it rests. Surely the time has come when we should cease to accept assertions upon trust, and demand the facts on which they are based. Having these, we can consider the theory, and if it does not suit us we can make one for ourselves.

Now, in this matter of the sap, by which we mean all the fluids which are contained in the interior of a tree, the facts are these: if the trunk be cut in spring, the sap will run out; in summer, autumn, and winter it will not, except under exceptional circumstances. But nevertheless the sap is in motion in the summer and autumn, and winter too; nay, save when extreme cold may for a time interfere with its flow, it is always in motion; and the reason why it runs out of the trunk in the spring is because it is then present in much greater abundance than at any other season of the year. During the summer, when the tree is covered with foliage, the leaves are evaporating large quantities of the fluid parts of the tree into the air, while another portion is being elaborated and converted into the tissues and structure of the tree, producing what we call growth. When the autumn has come, what with the evaporation and solidification that has taken place, the interior of the tree has become comparatively dry, so that the quantity of sap has become so greatly diminished that it no longer exudes when an incision is made. Our readers are, at least many of them, aware that if a branch be cut off from a grape vine in spring when the buds are starting, the sap will run out quite freely, producing what is called bleeding; but if the same branch were allowed to remain until the leaves on the vine have became fully expanded, then if it be cut off no bleeding will take place. The reason is, that the evaporation which is taking place in the leaves has exhausted the supply of sap to such an extent that there is no surplus in the vine to escape in that way.

The leaves being the principal organs of assimilation and perspiration, it follows that when they have fallen off there is no longer much loss of fluid to the tree from these causes. But the power of the roots to absorb moisture from the earth is not diminished by the loss of the leaves; they continue to draw fluid from the earth, and to send it up into the tree. This action continues, except as modified by extreme cold, all winter; the fluids are drawn from the soil by the roots and sent into the tree, and by the time that spring has come the tree is full of fluids and every vessel distended with sap. During the winter we are not able to find sap by cutting the tree, because the process of filling with fluid is gradual.

M. Biot, many years ago, made some very interesting experiments on the flow of sap, and made a contrivance by which the rate of motion could be measured at any season, and showed that there was considerable activity even in winter. He found that the direction in which the sap moved was very considerably affected by frost. When the weather was mild the sap was always ascending; but when it was freezing weather the sap flowed down. This he attributed to the contraction of the sap-vessels by the cold, which forced the sap into the larger vessels which were unaffected by the frost under ground. When, however, the frost was sufficiently severe and continued to reach the roots, then the sap was forced back into the trunk; but when it came on to thaw and the frost left the ground, the sap returned to the roots. Thus we see that, as a rule, the sap is always ascending, and that when it descends it is because it is forced to do so by some temporary cause, and when that cause ceases to act the sap immediately begins to ascend again.

In connection with the supposed ascent of the sap in spring, and growing out of it, is the popular idea that this ascent of the sap is the cause of the expansion of the buds and leaves. It would be nearer the truth to say that the expansion of the buds and leaves was the cause of the motion of the sap. Any of our readers can make the following experiment for themselves, and see the true state of the case. If a tree be cut into or tapped in some of the upright branches near the top very early in the spring, and be again tapped just below the branches on the trunk, and again just above the surface of the ground, it will be found that the sap will flow from the wound that is nearest to the top first, from the one just below the branches next, and last of all from the one near the ground. The reason for this is, that the light and warmth tell first upon the excitable buds at the extremities of the tree, and therefore the sap is set into an accelerated motion that lies nearest to them. The gentleman who first made this discovery came to the conclusion that in the spring the sap of trees descended instead of ascending, but he forgot that the moment the buds begin to expand they draw the sap from the parts nearest to them; this causes the sap just beyond to push upwards to supply the place of that taken up by the buds, and as the buds increase and expand is this absorption increased, and the circle of motion enlarged from the buds downwards.

Were it not true that the sap is constantly ascending, we should lose all our evergreens during the very first winter, for the evaporation that goes on in winter from their leaves would soon season the wood of the tree were it not made good from the roots below; and hence it is that some evergreens are killed by a severe winter while they are small, which would survive without injury had they attained to a greater size; for, being small, the roots have not penetrated to sufficient depth to reach below the frozen ground, and consequently can not draw from the frozen earth in sufficient quantity, nor with sufficient rapidity, to supply the waste by evaporation; whereas when larger the roots will have penetrated quite below the reach of frost, and will be able to draw from the soil sufficient moisture to supply the loss.

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TOMATOES.

Messrs. John A. Bruce & Co., seedsmen, of Hamilton, give considerable attention to the testing of the different varieties of vegetables, and after thorough trial find in their experience that Hubbard’s Improved Curled Leaf is the earliest. It is small compared with many of the later sorts, and the plant is of a dwarf habit. Next to this they place the Early Conqueror, which is of good size, and very uniform in shape. Then the General Grant, a firm fleshed, bright crimson, productive variety, for the main crop; and after it the Trophy, for a later variety, one of the largest and best flavored of them all. These four sorts, ripening in the order named, they consider the best market sorts. We have found the General Grant very productive, and to ripen its fruit rapidly after it once begins to come in.

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THE MONTREAL HORTICULTURAL SOCIETY, AND FRUIT GROWERS’ ASSOCIATION OF
PROVINCE OF QUEBEC.

It is gratifying to learn that our sister Province of Quebec has succeeded in organizing a provincial association similar to our own, and standing in a similar relation to the government. It has a double existence, arising from its union with the Montreal Horticultural Society, and, as that society, it holds an annual exhibition in the City of Montreal, with a city membership paying an annual fee of two dollars, while, as the Fruit Growers’ Association, it publishes an annual report, as an appendix to the provincial agricultural report, and charges the rural members one dollar per year.

Will it seem boastful to say that, from the experience of what has been done in Ontario, we are confident a career of great usefulness is opening up before our sister society; that a vast amount of useful information locked up in individual experiences will now be brought out, and made the common stock of all; that many valuable seedling fruits will be brought from their modest retirement and disseminated, to enrich the orchards and gardens of the whole Province; that a medium of communication will be established between all the fruit growers, that will make them to know and esteem each other, and stimulate to harmonious efforts for the advancement of pomology; and that an increased impetus will be given to the cultivation of fruits, to the originating of new and valuable varieties, and the diffusion of information on all matters involved in the growing of superior fruit.

There is no department of the work accomplished by these associations more productive of benefit to all, than the meetings for discussion of topics in which all have an interest. By means of these discussions, the experiences of many practical cultivators are brought together, and whether they are experiences of success or failure, they throw light on the subject, and serve either as beacon lights to give warning of the danger, or as finger posts to guide into the best and safest way. Many have been saved the trouble and vexation of testing worthless varieties, the experience of one being made the experience of all. Again, when a fruit has proved itself valuable in the hands of one cultivator, there is reason to believe that it will also be valuable in the hands of many.

These meetings for discussion will be the more interesting and valuable the more those who attend them accurately observe the facts that come within the range of their individual observations and experiences, and come to the meetings prepared to impart what they have gathered. We remember hearing a very successful grower of grapes say, when asked about the cultivation of them, that he did not know anything about growing grapes. The trouble with him was that he supposed that everyone knew all that he did on the subject, and merely meant that he had no special method peculiar to himself. He was far too modest; experience had taught him much that others did not know, and it is the giving out of this experience from all that increases the knowledge of all.

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THE GRAVENSTEIN APPLE.

Those readers of the CANADIAN HORTICULTURIST who are best acquainted with this apple, will fully corroborate anything that can be said in its praise. It derives its name from the place of its birth, Gravenstein, in Holstein, Germany, and has the reputation of being one of the best apples of Northern Europe. The reputation it enjoys there has been fully maintained by it in America, and here it ranks as one of our very best and most valuable October apples. It has been widely disseminated throughout the Dominion, and is highly esteemed. The trees thrive well in Nova Scotia, and certainly in a large part of Ontario, having been reported as bearing fruit in the county of Renfrew. They are of an upright habit, stout bodied, and form large, spreading heads; come into bearing early, and are very productive.

The fruit is of large size, and when ripe is of a bright-yellow color, most beautifully striped and splashed with various shades of red and orange. The flesh is tender, crisp, and juicy, with a high aromatic flavor; in quality ranking “best.” It is excellent as a cooking apple, and as valuable for the dessert, pleasing to the eye by reason of its beauty, and delighting the palate with its exquisite flavor. In the markets it always commands the highest price of any of its season, and on that account may be profitably grown in limited quantity for a convenient market.

It is not desirable to multiply fall-ripening varieties of apples, indeed we already have too many of them for profit. The wise plan will be to select two or three of the very best, and plant enough of these to meet the demand. A very few kinds will meet the wants of the family, and fewer yet will be enough for market. It is a great mistake, but one that is very often made, that of planting out a great many varieties of apples. The experience of all who have grown fruit for profit coincides in this, at least, that a large quantity of only one variety of saleable apples is much more remunerative than the same quantity made up of a great number of kinds.

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AUTUMN MEETING.

The usual autumn meeting was held in the Town Hall, at Sarnia, on Wednesday, the eleventh day of September, 1878. President Burnet being absent at the New York State Fair, the Secretary called the meeting to order, which was duly organized by choosing Chas. Arnold, of Paris, chairman. After the reading of the minutes, Messrs. Ebenezer Watson, George Mill, and Townsend G. Vidal were appointed a committee to examine and report upon the seedling fruits exhibited; and Messrs. Joshua Adams, Hugh Smith, and Chas. Duncan, a committee to prepare subjects for discussion. While the latter committee were considering their report, the meeting proceeded to the discussion of pear culture and pear blight.

W. Mowbray grew pear trees in clay soil, in what used to be a garden, but was now in grass, he had not seen any blight, but some varieties winter killed; had found the Flemish Beauty the most hardy. E. Watson had succeeded in getting some very fine pears, but the blight has always destroyed his trees. Near the water the crop of fruit this year is good, but on farms away from the lake shore, the late frosts injured it very much. James Watson had not suffered much from pear blight until lately. His trees are growing in clay soil on the bank of a creek, in the Township of Moore. Bartlett is too tender, Beurre d’Anjou has stood the winters, Doyenne d’Ete, and Beurre Clairgeau stand well, Clapp’s Favorite does well, is hardy and good, Flemish Beauty has not suffered in any way. Thought he had greatly benefitted some of his pear trees which showed blighted spots on the trunk, by wrapping over them a mixture of clay, sulphur, and lime. Charles Duncan said that Flemish Beauty and Clapp’s Favorite promise to be hardy, and suited to the climate of his section, Township of Moore, and that there had been no blight on these varieties with him. Had found leached ashes very beneficial to fruit trees. Thos. Watson, of Sarnia, had found Flemish Beauty and Clapp’s Favorite, and indeed all sorts of pears, to lose their leaves, they would spot and curl up. Joshua Payne said that Flemish Beauty does well, though some of the trees blight, the Bartlett does well, also the Seckel, Clapp’s Favorite, and Beurre Clairgeau. Thinks the pear trees do better without cultivation, but spreads a little manure occasionally on the surface of the ground around the trees, which acts as a mulch, and keeps the ground from cracking in drouth. Thomas Watson said that he used saw-dust and chips as a mulch, and found that his trees were infested with the borer, and asked if this mulch was the cause of the attacks of the borer. W. Saunders replied that it was not the cause, and that if an alkaline wash were applied to the trees it would prevent the borer from attacking them, it would prevent the beetle from laying its eggs, or kill them if laid. That it would not kill the borers however if they have got into the tree. E. Watson had never mulched his trees with saw-dust or chips, but had plenty of borers. Jas. Dougall, of Windsor, was asked in regard to Eliot’s Early Pear, and replied that it was larger than Doyenne d’Ete, a week earlier, and superior in quality. The tree is a strong grower, and very hardy.